The Polis in the Hellenistic World 3515120203, 9783515120203

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The Polis in the Hellenistic World

Ancient History Franz Steiner Verlag

Edited by

Henning Börm and Nino Luraghi

The Polis in the Hellenistic World Henning Börm / Nino Luraghi

The Polis in the Hellenistic World Edited by

Henning Börm and Nino Luraghi

Franz Steiner Verlag

Gedruckt mit freundlicher Unterstützung des Exzellenzclusters 16 „Kulturelle Grundlagen von Integration“ der Universität Konstanz.

Umschlagabbildung: Odeon von Messene, © Nino Luraghi Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek: Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über abrufbar. Dieses Werk einschließlich aller seiner Teile ist urheberrechtlich geschützt. Jede Verwertung außerhalb der engen Grenzen des Urheberrechtsgesetzes ist unzulässig und strafbar. © Franz Steiner Verlag, Stuttgart 2018 Druck: Hubert & Co., Göttingen Gedruckt auf säurefreiem, alterungsbeständigem Papier. Printed in Germany. ISBN 978-3-515-12020-3 (Print) ISBN 978-3-515-12027-2 (E-Book)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Henning Börm and Nino Luraghi Foreword 7 Clifford Ando The Political Economy of the Hellenistic Polis: Comparative and Modern Perspectives 9 Christel Müller Oligarchy and the Hellenistic City 27 Henning Börm Stasis in Post-Classical Greece: The Discourse of Civil Strife in the Hellenistic World 53 Anna Magnetto Interstate Arbitration as a Feature of the Hellenistic Polis: Between Ideology, International Law and Civic Memory 85 Peter Funke Poleis and Koina: Reshaping the World of the Greek States in Hellenistic times 109

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Table of Contents

Frank Daubner Peer Polity Interaction in Hellenistic Northern Greece: Theoroi going to Epirus and Macedonia 131 Graham Oliver People and Cities: Economic Horizons beyond the Hellenistic Polis 159 Angelos Chaniotis The Polis after Sunset: What is Hellenistic in Hellenistic Nights? 181 Nino Luraghi Documentary Evidence and Political Ideology in Early Hellenistic Athens 209 Hans-Ulrich Wiemer A Stoic Ethic for Roman Aristocrats? Panaitios’ Doctrine of Behavior, its Context and its Addressees 229 General Index 259

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FOREWORD: THE HELLENISTIC POLIS Henning Börm and Nino Luraghi

A

fter having been for decades the province of a relatively small group of scholars, typically specializing in Greek epigraphy and more often than not writing in French or German, the Hellenistic polis has finally become central to the research agenda of Greek historians more broadly. This development can be traced from the early nineties of the last century, and has picked up pace in a sustained fashion at the turn of the millennium. Debates such as the one on political participation, driven implicitly or explicitly by the need to claim for the Hellenistic polis equal status with its classical predecessor, are essentially behind us, at least in that form. More recent research has started approaching the polis of the centuries between Alexander and Cleopatra as a specific historical phenomenon, striving to define its most peculiar aspects from as many angles as possible, and to point to new avenues of interpretation that might contribute to recognizing its historical role in its Mediterranean and Near Eastern contexts. In this general framework, the present volume attempts to explore new lines of thought, to question established ways of reading the evidence, and to take stock of recent developments. The authors do not subscribe to any particular shared approach or school of thought; on the contrary, their approaches and questions stem from many different scholarly traditions and methodologies. Rather than seeking to achieve a complete coverage, which would be extremely hard to do and might be less than desirable after all, the authors provide a selection of current research agendas, in many cases offering glimpses of ongoing research projects whose coming to fruition over the next years will be sure to have an impact on the field of Ancient Greek history. It is the editors’ sincere hope that the reader will gain a sense of the vitality of this particular subfield within the broader study of the ancient cultures. Most of the essays that comprise this book were previously delivered as conference papers – the majority at the conference Rethinking the Polis in the Hellenistic Age, organized by the editors and held at the Kulturwissenschaftliches Kolleg (KuKo) of 7

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Konstanz University on June 2nd and 3rd, 2014. A second round of papers were delivered at a one-day workshop in the Department of Classics of Princeton University on February 6th, 2015. The financial support of the Center of Excellence Cultural Foundations of Social Integration, and of the Program in the Ancient World of Princeton University made these meetings possible; moreover, funds for editing the present volume have been generously provided by the Center of Excellence Cultural Foundations of Social Integration of Konstanz University. The editors would like to express their special gratitude to Fred Girod, Daniela Göpfrich and Christina Thoma (KuKo Konstanz), Isabel Raff (Konstanz University) and Barbara Leavy (PAW Princeton) for their selfless help and patience. At Franz Steiner Verlag, Katharina Stüdemann supported this project with the patience and good cheer that all those who know her have made experience of. Our gratitude for her goes well beyond the specific case of this book. Konstanz and Princeton January 2018

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1 THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF THE HELLENISTIC POLIS: COMPARATIVE AND MODERN PERSPECTIVES Clifford Ando

1. Introduction The topic of this chapter is contemporary collusion in the Greek solution to the democratic boundary problem. The term refers to the issue that any democracy (and indeed, any political society) functions in reference to a bounded community of persons, a citizen body, whose members are deemed capable of politics and bearers of rights and duties in direct relation to the sovereign.1 The constitution of this community and the formation of its boundaries and agreement on its principles of inclusion and exclusion are acts logically prior to the actualization of democratic principles in its running.2 No meaningful moral or political judgment can be rendered on the question of how democratic a society is without confronting this fact. Indeed, as I shall stress, the loud proclamation of adherence to democratic principles within a democratic oligarchy is the principal means by which Hellenistic poleis outside peninsular Greece asserted the legitimacy of their profoundly inegalitarian politics and essentially extractive domination of those they deemed non-political. My interest in this subject derives from two sources: one is a broad interest in the history of government, and in particular in the conjoined histories of governmental and social power and the ideological and normative accounts by which societies describe, justify and constrain particular distributions of wealth and power. The second 1 This language is intended to distinguish those directly interpellated by the sovereign from others, such as dependent members of households, who possess publicness only through the head of household. 2 Whelan 1983.

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is more strictly empirical: the contexts of ancient historical study are ones in which regional and macro-regional empires were ever-present, and in which social, political and economic life for the vast majority of human beings was nevertheless centered on villages and cities. Indeed, one might say – many ancient and medieval theorists did in fact say – that a principal contribution of empire was the sustaining of republican civic life. Put more bluntly, the ancient Mediterranean was simultaneously a world of monarchic empires and one of cities that described themselves as autonomous and democratic, not to say republican.3 In the past, my work has concentrated on a later stage of ancient history, when, as Jones and Finley clearly saw, the emergence of a unified legal and political structure radically altered the discursive structures and networks of social obligation that had theretofore sustained civic life.4 In this perspective, the great turning points in the history of the Greek city after Alexander came in 212 ce with the Constitutio Antoniniana, when cities were nominally required to extend civic citizenship to all residents of the chôra, their hinterlands composed of dependent, dominated villages,5 and in the later fourth century, when control over the incidence of taxation was taken out of the hands of local dynasts. But of course, a proper understanding of those emergent realities will depend ultimately on some portrait of the world it succeeded, and it is to that problem that I turn my attention in this chapter and its companion, a more strictly empirical study.6 The concerns of this paper are largely of a comparative and theoretical nature. My ambition is to reflect on democratic ideologies in light of the networks of social power in which they find meaning and which they work in turn to describe, shape and sustain: relations of slave and master, woman and man, metic and citizen, and nonelite and elite. To accomplish this, I draw upon a fairly eclectic body of theoretical and empirical work produced outside the fields of classical studies and ancient history, but I hope to have found language that makes its salience to the project of ancient history reasonably transparent. Let me offer first a brief outline of the topics on which I will touch: – In what sense can and should democracies be understood as oligarchies? What power relations inhere in the functioning of ideologies of democratic equality? How do the acts of exclusion that inevitably attend definitions of democratic citizenship shape ideological and political constructions of difference within the democratic citizen body?

3 4 5 6

Ando 2016. Cf. Jones 1940 and Finley 1985 (especially 177–207). Dig. 50.1.30. Ando 2016.

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–

– –

Was the rise of plutocratic elites inevitable?7 What mechanisms would have had to exist to forestall this? Or would a contemporary view from political economics endorse, for an agrarian economy at least, the validity of Michels’ iron law of oligarchy?8 Can and should we understand democratic politics as serving both to enable elite rule but also to constrain intra-elite competition? How might we address the questions of how democratic were Hellenistic democracies and, just as crucially, what sort of democratic politics did they conduct, with what sort of outcomes?

As regards the themes of this volume – in particular, the question of whether Greeks of the Hellenistic period imagined any alternative to democracy as the basis for communal government – let me offer one suggestion now and another at the close. On my reading, democracy allowed for the consolidation of elite power within a framework, and employing a language, of very high prestige.

2. Democracies are democracies over someone Let me begin with the banal but still valuable observation that in premodern democracies in particular, the citizen body – the collective unit of those exercising a full panoply of rights and obligations – was always a minority and very often a very small minority of persons resident within the territory over which the demos claimed sovereignty and jurisdiction. As a related but essential matter, only that small minority at most will have fulfilled the normative understanding of political personhood that always, in circular fashion, worked to legitimate the structures that broadcast and enforced it as normative. In consequence, ideologies of citizenly equality within the citizen body are purchased at the expense of, or perhaps by means of, categorizing all others (which is to say, the majority of the population) as somehow defective, deficient or political persons merely in statu nascendi. One aspect of my project might be clarified by entertaining the brilliant question posed by Paul Kosmin at the close of the conference that gave birth to this volume: In what ways would the conference have been different, had its topic been the Hellenistic city and not the Hellenistic polis? What we call the polis is an analytic abstraction largely congruent with an ancient notion. It refers to a population and set of institutions, operative within a conurbation and asserting dominance over both a popula7 Wiemer 2013. 8 Michels 1911.

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tion and a landscape. Membership in the so-called polis is strictly limited: it includes neither the total population of the city nor, emphatically, the total population of the political space over which the polis-population asserts its power. To put the matter in somewhat different terms, poleis outside of peninsular Greece in the Hellenistic and Roman periods were oligarchies that made claims of sovereignty over other human beings and their property.9 This is true whatever the formal quality of the distribution of power and authority within the oligarchic elite that called itself the demos of the polis. In consequence, when we take the polis as analytic primary, we collaborate with an interested ancient representation, and hence efface the operation of (racialized and colonial) oligarchic power in systems of domination and wealth extraction. The contemporary vogue for celebrating the achievements of the Greek world in economic matters is nearly hopelessly implicated in analytic and moral error deriving from just this confusion. The refusal of poliadic oligarchies to give political and legal rights to persons over whom the city-states exercised sovereignty meant that benefits from economic activity were radically restricted. The so-called growth in the economy was largely accomplished by a vast increase in the aggregate means of production of the socalled Greek world, but of course the Greek world expanded almost entirely through imperialist enterprises, whether colonial ones or wars of conquest. The result was a steady increase in persons and lands available for exploitation and extraction, while poliadic law restricted rights of ownership of the means of production, particularly of land, to the few. That the polis economy “grew” as a result is not surprising. Owners of the means production in the ante-bellum South should on similar grounds be admired for their actualization of contemporary modes of capitalism. As an historical matter, I should like to emphasize one further point. The dominance of poliadic elites over the wider Mediterranean was not possible on the scale they achieved apart from the existence of superordinate political structures wielding macro-regional power. In short, without kingdoms and empires to backstop their claims to sovereignty, Hellenistic cities would have been vastly smaller and less wealthy. Empire was the foundation of the historical stability of the oligarchic form that we call the “Hellenistic polis”. It will do no good to point to the mere fact of contestation or debate as an index of the robustness of democratic politics. As I have written elsewhere about Roman politics, “[n]otional competition, however narrow its terms, more easily hegemonizes debate than does mere harmony”.10 The questions are rather, who controlled what 9 On the language of religious, political and fiscal sovereignty see Ando 2017. 10 Ando 2011: 49. The passage continues: “At Rome, this competition so dominated public life that the narrow interests of the socio-economic elite, and above all the publicly-articulated values that guided competition within it, came to be civic values, to be exercised by the mere citizen only in derivative form, as soldier, say, rather than leader. On this understanding the function

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came up for debate and what interests defined the boundaries of the political.11 In the case of the Hellenistic polis, the space of politics was filled by this so-called contestation, and by sheer ostensive force, the limits of legitimate inquiry were defined. The performance of contestation thus operated to convey the impression that existing debate covered the full terrain of possibility, and thus to exclude voices and issues not allowed into the staged cacophony. Does anyone doubt but that had women been admitted to speak, issues might have been raised other than subventions for oil at the gymnasium or the placement of statues for men? Does anyone doubt that, had a slave been allowed to speak, very different issues would have come to the fore?12 Or if indigenous villagers had been allowed the vote, the structures of taxation or placement of markets would have differed? But these were not political questions. The effects of political language narrowly and representations of politics more generally in sustaining this system are scarcely in need of demonstration. To begin with, there is the intense circularity of Greek language, polis, polites, politeusthai, and so forth, being co-derived and co-dependent. Conduct by those excluded a priori from politics was by definition non-political.13 Similar conclusions can be derived from consideration of the metaphorical apparatus employed by Greeks to describe citizenly conduct: “having a share” in the polis; contributing to rites; participating in markets; serving in the army.14 To a point, these are understood as semi-autonomous social fields. As a result, their overlapping patterns of inclusion and exclusion, in noof Roman voters might be said to have been the granting of honor, power, and opportunity for further self-aggrandizement to successful competitors among the elite, who fought on terms set by themselves in their own self-interest, but which had been successfully universalized and naturalized over generations. The result was a fundamental incapacity of the Roman political imagination, or of Roman political language, to conceive and then to articulate meaningful reform. The differing crises of the late Republic – under the Gracchi, Saturninus, Marius, Sulla, Pompey and Caesar (and it is significant that we associate them with individuals; as Cicero remarked to Atticus, the dynasts contended not over policy, but “each for his own power, to the peril of the state” [ad Att. 126.4, Shackleton Bailey]) – which we might diagnose as reflecting the inability of Roman civic institutions, still largely those of an ancient city-state, to contain the distortionate effects of magnitude and wealth – were thus addressed by the Romans through merely incremental reform: the reduplication of magistracies, the institution of momentary checks on career advancement, the institution and adaptation of courts as a further venue for competition, or the settlement of people on the land (but the land must come from somewhere). In other words, more (or less) of the same.” 11 For an influential statement of this approach to the study of politics see Bachratz and Baratz 1962. 12 Put differently, the non-existence of any advocacy for the abolition of slavery in antiquity is a function of who monopolized legitimate cultural production. 13 Ando 2017; cf. Ando 2012. 14 Filonik 2017.

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tionally discrepant domains of sociability and social action, naturalized their rules (whether imminent or explicit) and mutually reinforced each other. Taken as a group, they undergird the totalizing force of what were in fact synecdoches: demos = population; and polis = city or city-state. Such problems are not, of course, exclusive to ancient politics. For example, in contemporary liberal democracies, the principal unit of analysis is the atomized rights bearer. But for various reasons, even in modern liberal democracies, a very large portion of the population does not exercise a full range of human rights: children below some age a majority (and often there are multiple ages at which different rights are accessed), racial and religious minorities, often women, the elderly, the mentally ill, the handicapped, the temporarily disabled. The simple fact of the matter is that the majority of the population of most modern democracies does not remotely qualify as fully capable legal persons, and in eras before women’s rights or countries that permitted slavery and all countries before the demographic revolution, this situation was dramatically worse. Numerically, then, premodern democracies were de facto oligarchies, and in my view, their ideological operations – the meaning of their own self-representations – are best studied in light of this observation. Let me explore this issue quickly by reference to four literatures, each of which reflects on the kinds of work and effects of power entailed by democratic politics: on how a “we the people” is constructed, with what effects on those inside and outside the citizen body. In each case, the work I cite may be taken as emblematic of a larger literature. (i) The democratic boundary problem is now the subject of a vast and sophisticated literature. It is of course a problem of very great moral salience, many of whose aspects may be without final solution: as Frederick Whelan pointed out many years ago, it is simply not obvious how one can democratically settle the question of who constitutes the demos.15 Another classic in the field is Charles Taylor’s seminal essay, “The Dynamics of Democratic Exclusion”. In that essay,16 Taylor poses the question of how modern liberal democracies can be at once more inclusive than any other form of political society and at the same time “push toward exclusion.” In his view, the dynamic is set in motion by the very fact of democratic inclusion: Exclusion is “a by-product of the need, in self-governing societies, of a high degree of cohesion. Democratic states need something like a common identity”.17 15 Whelan 1983. I here set aside the question of whether liberal-republican notions of citizenship are in fact the best means for advancing modern emancipatory politics. For a classic inquiry into this theme see Young 1989; further bibliography at Ando 2014a: 5. 16 Taylor 1998. 17 Taylor 1998: 143.

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The Political Economy of the Hellenistic Polis We can see why as soon as we ponder what is involved in self-government. To form a decision-making unit of the type demanded here, its members must not only decide together but deliberate together … Thus, to function legitimately, a people must be so constituted that its members effectively listen to one another, or at least come close enough to that condition to ward off possible challenges to its democratic legitimacy from subgroups. In practice, even more is normally required. Our states aim to last, so we want an assurance that we shall continue to be able to listen to one another in the future. This demands a certain reciprocal commitment. In practice, a nation can only ensure the stability of its legitimacy if its members are strongly committed to one another by means of a common allegiance to the political community … In other words, a modern democratic state demands a “people” with a strong collective identity.18

But, as Taylor points out, the need for a common identity can lead by various routes to practices of exclusion and even of self-exclusion: for example, communities that consider themselves culturally or ethnically homogeneous (or both) can be hostile to immigrants, and likewise hostile to forms of self-fashioning or conduct that cross some contingent ideological boundary into deviance. Taylor ultimately focuses on a very modern liberal democracy, namely Québec. But others have conducted similar inquiries into the ideological dynamics of societies with structural qualities of salience to scholars of the Hellenistic polis. Let me name two. (ii) Eugene Genovese was one of the great historians of American slavery in the third quarter of the twentieth century, at one phase of his career a notable academic Marxist and later a passionate advocate of the so-called Southern Agrarians, a conservative movement that attempted to recuperate an anti-Enlightenment form of southern American Aristotelian republicanism. In two famous books, Genovese studied the culture of civility, chivalry, and gentility that characterized the slave-owning class of the American South.19 Unsurprisingly, Genovese identified this culture as an interested construct, a form of paternalism that operated to construct (elite) white males as an homogenous elite. The inner logic by which this unified ideology disenfranchised and subordinated white women and black slaves in quite different ways is an object lesson to students of other historical slaves societies. Likewise, the narrow but real elision of the juridical boundary between slaves and poor whites, both practitioners of banausic labor, fractured the ability of this ideology to efface distinctions of class within the white population. One question his work might provoke among historians of Hellenistic poleis is when, why and how the co-dependent ideologies of racial homogeneity, citizenly equality and gender are sundered, and to what effect. 18 Taylor 1998: 143 f. 19 Genovese 1971 and 1976.

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(iii) Similar critiques of ideologies and practices that simultaneously include and exclude have been offered by feminists, notably analysts of male homosociality. The two most prominent are probably Jean Lipman-Blumen 20 and Eve Kosofky Sedgwick.21 Homosociality refers to the tendency of men to be attracted to, stimulated by and interested in other men: being excluded from public occupations, powers, and resources, women were forced to compete and be evaluated within wholly different systems of social prestige. The conclusion to Lipman-Blumen’s seminal essay sums up why a particular structure of gender relations turns out to be not merely exclusionary but also self-sustaining: Men, recognizing the power their male peers have, find one another stimulating, exciting, productive, attractive and important, since they can contribute to virtually all aspects of one another’s lives. The contribution that women can make to men’s lives, under the constraints of our present segregated society, are decidedly less important  – and offer less scope. Women, whose resources are limited to sexuality, beauty, charm, service and parenthood, must focus upon this narrow range in order to distract men from the endless enticement of the male homosocial world. Women must emphasize what they feel men want most from them – sexuality, motherhood, service – in order to share their world at all … Women’s attempt to amass resources, according to this theory, is an unfeminine act in itself. And the vicious cycle is kept intact. The various institutions within society – the labor force, economic and legal institutions, the political forum, the military and the family – all act in analogous and integrated ways to perpetuate the homosocial world of men. The result is a self-sufficient, male homosocial world which need not deliberately conspire to keep women segregated. Merely by ignoring the existence of women outside the domestic, sexual and service realms, the male homosocial world relegates women to the sidelines of life.22

This is, of course, painting with a very broad brush. It nonetheless has the ring of truth and has been enormously influential in sociological and literary scholarship and, indeed, in politics. My point, once again, is simply to encourage specific forms of suspicion in regard to the political, ideological and moral evaluation of democratic politics; and likewise to discourage as insufficient merely immanent reconstructions of their discourses, of courage or manliness or what have you. We show no respect for history through uncritical rehearsal of the categories by which oligarchies justified themselves, whatever the beauties (or idiocies) of their metaphysics. 20 Lipman-Blumen 1976. 21 Kosofky Sedgwick 1985. 22 Lipman-Blumen 1976: 30 f.

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(iv) This point might be made one last time by reference to a particular strand in contemporary empire studies, which has its origin, I think, in work by Geoffrey Hosking, a notable historian of early modern Russia. Hosking distinguished between states that have, and states that are, empires.23 States that have empires distinguish radically between metropolitan and colonized populations. They also tend strongly to divide colonized populations, one from another, in order to prevent the realization of solidarity between them. Instead, each is them bound through purely bilateral relations to the metropole. This work was also performed through the juridical classification of persons and populations, who, whatever they were before (and remained), were now also classed and sorted in the superordinate schema of empire. A common entailment of empires so organized is the notional equality before the law of all persons holding metropolitan citizenship, such that those belonging to the center are equal amongst themselves in contradistinction to those over whom they as a collective rule.24 Metropolitan citizens as a collective thus constitute a demos; their negotiations over matters of shared, public interest are the stuff of politics; subalterns whom they dominate, by contrast, are governed, and sometimes resist. In states that are empires, there exists a single or unified logic of social differentiation, which extends uniformly through the population and establishes metropolitans and others in mutual relation in a single hierarchical scheme, nearly always in subordination to an absolutist sovereign. To conclude this section, let me offer two observations. First, so long as democratically organized citizen bodies were in fact numerical minorities actively dominating others, self-interest would have strongly encouraged individual citizens to subscribe to whatever ideology of democratic equality obtained in their polity and so to ignore, insofar as possible, actual material inequalities within the citizen body, the better to sustain their position within a wider network of privilege and power.25 Second, modern scholars who praise ancient democracy risk the endorsement of a narrow elitism in politics. No intelligent person in the 21st century can avoid knowing that ancient democracies were democracies of an elite over others. Whatever else it does, the praise of ancient democracy nearly always calques a desire to deliver power in contemporary society into the hands of a guardian class.

23 Hosking 1995; see also Maier 2006: 5 f. 24 The long history of the emergence of Roman citizenship in its classical form adheres to some such story: juridical equality within the citizen body follows upon the decision to cease to incorporate the conquered as citizens and instead use citizenship to distinguish between metropolitans and subjects; see Ando 2015: 95, building on Millar 2002: 143–161. 25 For an application of this claim to Rome see Ando 2015: 87–96.

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3. The source and stability of plutocratic power What explains the emergence and stability of elites within democratically-organized classical city-states? My remarks here are inspired by a reading of Thomas Piketty’s Capital and some related historical literatures (esp. by Angus Maddison, Raymond Goldsmith and Robert Lucas, Jr.), as well as by some reflection on Finley and his critics.26 Theoretical reflection and comparative empirical work overwhelmingly suggest the following: (i) In conditions of low population growth, low inflation and low productivity growth – and in the classical world generally all three conditions obtained, and not simply any one or two – the rate of growth in income from capital, which is to say, from just owning stuff, is basically always greater than the rate of growth of income from labor. In consequence, over time, inherited wealth will claim a greater and greater share of total income. In other words, an elite of wealth, once it emerges, will inevitably distance itself from non-elites and strengthen its position. (ii) The greater ability of elites to store value across years, derived in part from their heightened participation in a monetary economy, will have accelerated this distancing between elites and non-elites. As was already clear to John Locke, non-agricultural capital accumulates; it is generally less subject to spoilage and other sources of risk. (iii) Ownership of land beyond subsistence and its lease to tenant farmers further insulated elites from risk. After all, arrears in rent may eventually be paid off and so were accounted in Roman public and private law as assets. By contrast, the borrower or tenant farmer mortgages future income in times of bad harvests. In this way, the incidence of bad harvests upon the poor is vastly greater than on the rich.27 (iv) In the later Hellenistic period, and certainly in the Roman era, the development of macro-regional and transregional trade allowed elites to escape the moral claims of local networks of social obligation and even the legal claims of poliadic jurisdiction. As an example, note how often elites are described as escaping local efforts at price controls and anti-hoarding measures by selling grain outside city limits during famines.28 (v) Bracketing some exogenous intervention, conditions of low economic growth produce little sociological change, at least in the sphere of production, and little or no professional differentiation and technical specialization. There is therefore little 26 Piketty 2014; Goldsmith 1984; Maddison 2007. 27 This is so even if the legal system sought to respect the long-term interests of both landlords and tenant farmers in the stability of tenure and cultivation, on which see Kehoe 2007. 28 See, e. g., Wiemer 1997.

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chance for alternative regimes of social differention or new forms cultural capital to emerge. Conversely, if per capita growth reaches a level even of 0.5 %, let alone 1 %, generational change is enormous: something between a quarter and a third of what is produced in one generation did not even exist a generation before. The result is also the creation of between a quarter and a third more jobs and often occupations. To quote Piketty, “Insofar as tastes and capabilities are only partially transmitted from generation to generation (or are transmitted much less automatically and mechanically than capital in land, real estate, [etc.]), growth can thus increase social mobility for individuals whose parents did not belong to the elite of the previous generation”.29 In light of these considerations, it might be appropriate to reflect on the contingencies that likely mitigated the incidence of these forces in fifth-century Athens: certainly the acquisition of an empire and the exploitation of the silver mines would have issued in a dramatic and, for a time at least, continuously increasing (if not linearly increasing) money supply.

4. Republican elites in Italian Aristotelian thought Having suggested the nearly overwhelming likelihood of the emergence of an economic elite of increasing power in the material conditions of the late Hellenistic polis, let me now discuss the nature of politics in city states with similar demographic and economic regimes. To do so, I take up the work of two Florentine political theorists who lived through the Great Siege and wrote in its aftermath, Francesco Guicciardini and Donato Giannotti.30 Both witnessed Florence’s multiple transitions, from the expulsion of the Medici (which Giannotti can have known only through report, having been two years old when it occurred), to the rule of Savanarola, to the foundation of the Florentine Republic with its Consiglio Grande, to the re-assertion of Medicean influence, the re-establishment of the Republic, and so forth. Both were avid readers of Aristotle; Giannotti is the first writer of the Italian Renaissance to cite Polybius by name. Like many of their Florentine contemporaries, both were also fascinated by Venice. Why? Above all, Venice was notoriously stable. Whereas Florence had suffered a half dozen changes in form of government in forty years, Venice had employed the same constitution since the foundation of its own Consiglio Grande in 1170, with only one significant change: in 1297, membership in the Council was made hereditary and new 29 Piketty 2014: 85. 30 Giannotti 1840; Guicciardini 1953.

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citizens, new gentiluomini, were almost never created. (There’s a bleeding between juridical and moral categories!) The question posed by reflection on Venice was therefore whether Aristotelian analysis could explain its success in a fashion that would allow its reduplication at Florence. Beyond the question of form of government, however, two questions came insistently to the fore. These are, first, whether Venice remained a democracy, as the law of 1297 had the effect of gradually reducing the size and representativeness of the Council. In Italian terms, one would ask what importance to attach to its numerical transformation from a governo largo to a governo stretto. Second, as regards both Venice and Florence, what difference did the presence of a council or assembly make, given the fact of a plutocratic elite? What was the difference between an oligarchy comprised of plutocratic elites and government that was de iure democratic but de facto oligarchic? As regards the first question, Guicciardini and Giannotti agree that the law of 1297 should be understood not as an effort to change the form of government but rather as an effort to define the Venetian citizen body. Venice therefore remained a governo largo, or democratic, in Aristotelian terms, because it extended membership in its assembly to all citizens and observed an appropriate [proportionate] equality among them. That democratic principles were observed only within what was, numerically, an oligarchic elite, was troubling, however, because it was possible to observe both the narrowing of that elite and the sharpening of class distinctions within it.31 (Giannotti in particular remained troubled that no historical account of the transformation of 1297 survived, so that theories about the need to exclude merchants settled in the city – metics – in the interest of purity of blood must remain in the realm of conjecture.) What about the further presence in all democratic assemblies of persons of greater and lesser wealth, prestige and power? On this topic Guicciardini and Giannotti largely agree once again. The value to the polity of sustaining a democracy in form and name despite the inevitable emergence and power of elites of wealth was as follows: the presence of an assembly, a Council, or what Habermas would call an agora, “render[ed] public and political the emergence” of that elite.32 In this way, the form of virtue, of aristocratic excellence adopted and performed by the elite, might be preserved untainted by private rivalries. This was so even at Venice, where they used a secret ballot: of this, the Florentines did not approve, but even this they understood to endow the selecting of one’s ruling elite with impersonality in process and equality among electors.

31 Pocock 1975: 272–320. 32 Quotation from Pocock 1975: 287. “Agora”: Habermas 1989.

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In other words, the politics of democratic councils of Renaissance Italy was not understood as constraining elites of wealth by means of some ideology of citizenly equality or communitarian values, nor as defanging wealth, so that it yields merely prestige for its owners and not social power. Rather, it offered the very powerful but very different advantage of defining and delimiting the nature of intra-elite competition. As John Pocock puts it, in a reading of Guicciardini: “For [aristocratic] virtue to be recognized purely for what it is, … for the elite to be truly free to develop it, recognition must be a public act performed by a public authority”.33 In another context it might be useful to set out how anti-Machiavellian and anti-Roman the writings of these two men are: for Machiavelli, elites and non-elites existed in irresolvable structural tension, so that, for example, each had its own form of freedom. Elites wished to be free to exercise virtue, to be sure, but the principle expression of aristocratic virtue in politics was the domination of others; and non-elites wished merely to be free from domination.34 Guicciardini and Giannotti offer a distinctly different view of plutocratic power in democratic politics: for them, elites play at democracy and so compete with each other according to known and public rules; and non-elites vote and grant them statues.

5. Assessing democratic politics In contrast to the relatively foreshortened horizons of inquiry into Greek politics, a vast literature has developed to address questions such as how many kinds of democratic politics are there, how democratic are they, whose interests are represented in policy outcomes, and so forth.35 I want to say a word about a recent and much celebrated development in this literature and the landscape that it surveys. The development consists in the analysis conducted by Martin Gilens and Benjamin Page correlating survey data with legislative outcomes;36 Gilens has also written a book about the project,37 and one can find similar recent analyses in work by

33 Pocock 1975: 253. 34 Pocock 1975, 194–218; Pocock 2003, 203–235. 35 Highlights include Arrow 1963, on the possibility of majoritarian consensus; Dahl 1961, an optimistic view of the voices represented in local legislative fora; cf. idem 1956, 1989 on contemporary democratic theory; Truman 1971 (1951) and Olson 1965, on challenges to majoritarian pluralists; and Winter/Page 2009 and Winters 2011, on the emergence of oligarchy within neoliberal democracies. 36 Gilens/Page 2014. 37 Gilens 2014.

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Larry Bartels, among others.38 They build upon decades of work that attempts to assess at an empirical level which parties or mechanisms determine the outcomes of legislative processes. Some of this work has been historical and attended to the documentary record of the passage of a single law; some has relied upon massive quantitative analysis of spending by lobbying groups; and so forth. Another way to describe this work is that it has sought to address the question, “What sort of democracy is the United States?” Is it characterized by majoritarian pluralism, in which legislative outcomes track the policy preferences of the average voter? Is it better described as a form of elite domination, in which the preferences of wealthy elites dominate the majority? Is it a form of majoritarian pluralism, in which sub-groups within the population and political organizations fight one another, but (for various reasons) the resulting legislation largely tracks the preferences of the majority? Or is it a form of biased pluralism, in which political organizations so influence the outcome that legislation essentially reflects the interests of corporations? Gilens has constructed a database and conducted a multivariate analysis that allows him to assess all these theories against each other at the same time. The database includes significant information for an astonishing 1,779 separate pieces of legislation, for which he has national polling data that includes differentiation according to wealth. The results are stark: “When the preferences of economic elites and the stands of organized interest groups are controlled for, the preferences of the average American voter have a minuscule, near-zero, statistically non-significant impact upon public policy”.39 What is more, on those issues where their interests diverge, the net alignments of business groups and of economic elites correlates negatively with the professed wishes of the average voter, and still they win. America is best described as dominated by an economic elite and secondarily by biased pluralism. To paraphrase Abraham Lincoln, if the long history of democracy teaches us anything, it is apparently that most democracies are governments of a democratic elite, by a democratic elite, for a socio-economic elite. Their form has not yet passed from this earth. I should immediately issue the caveat that the literature cited in this section was produced by American political scientists, studying a two-party system and representative democracy. That said, at a formal level, it – and all other western democracies, and perhaps all other modern democracies – are formally far more inclusive than any ancient one. What is more, we do not have evidence for popular opinion that would allow us to assess the policies and legislative outcomes of democratic politics in Hellenistic poleis in the fashion designed by Gilens, though it must also be said that I know of no attempt to exploit the possibilities in this regard presented by 38 Bartels 2010. 39 Gilens/Page 2014: 575.

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the aggregate data for Greek legislative action assembled by Rhodes and Lewis.40 Nonetheless, before we speak of any ability of so-called communitarian ideology to compel elites to subscribe to notions of citizenly equality, we must find some means to assess whether the actual outcomes of political decision-making conformed in any meaningful way to the policy preferences of non-elites. Until we do, I remain skeptical about the status of Hellenistic poleis as “actual democracies”, or perhaps it would be far more accurate to say, the term “actual democracy” seems to me to have close to no analytical or evaluative meaning.

6. Conclusion I have elsewhere written a few words on the absence from many ancient contexts of a robust notion of public goods conjoined with institutional mechanisms to fund them in a disinterested and depersonalized way.41 To my mind, thanking elites for spending private resources on public goods merely surrenders to them a moral authority that distracts from the extent to which their wealth and power rests upon the contingent, artificial and unnecessary operation of social institutions.42 What is more, it seems ever more clear that this wealth and power increased and consolidated over time.43 That said, historical economics strongly suggests that only a wealth tax or very substantial estate tax might have addressed the structural processes governing wealth accumulation in agrarian societies, such as I described earlier. This is no special indictment of ancient polities; we are doing no better in solving these problems ourselves. This essay has focused on what it means to talk about the actualization of democratic principles in the city-states of the Hellenistic world, in two senses: first, how well did they wrestle with the democratic boundary problem, and how shall we adjust our inquiries in light of the solutions that they crafted; and second, what meaning shall we attach to the ideologies of citizenly equality and democratic politics that they claimed to support, in light of their imbricated functions to distinguish citizens from others and to efface distinctions of wealth and power within the citizen body. In my view, historical questions concerning the distribution of power in democratic polities cannot be answered by attending to their language alone, nor by purely formal analysis using Aristotelian or neo-Aristotelian categories, as Guicciardini and Giannotti

40 41 42 43

Rhodes/Lewis 1997. Ando 2012: 115–116; Ando 2014b. Cf. Ando 2014b. Cf. Meier 2011; Chaniotis 2013; Ellis-Evans 2013.

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already saw. Democracies are complex structures, deserving complex analysis. Scholarly work in other contexts offers ancient history a model and a call to arms. Indeed, consideration of historical study in other fields provokes somber reflection on the state of affairs in Greek history. In no other field known to me do scholars assert the normative salience of lessons derived from their object of study as is commonly practiced in ancient history: historians of the Andes do not offer the silver mines at Potosí as exemplars of scaled resource extraction; scholars of the ante-bellum South do not affirm the beauties of plantation gentility, like Hellenistic paideia a site of resistance to both the sordidness of the world and the crudities of Northern/ Roman power; no one holds out the treaty of Nanking or convention of Peking as advancing the causes of free trade and unrestricted capital flows. But Greek democracy and the Greek economy are imagined as distinct from the regimes of slavery, sexual predation, patriarchy and imperialism that were their essential and inextricable context. To an extent, this must represent a legacy of Enlightenment and Romantic attachments to Hellenism. It must likewise derive, in part, from an anxiety on the part of Greek historians that the on-going relevance of their field to contemporary culture depends not on its intrinsic interest (and hence, not on its alterity or comparative interests, as scholars in the age of Vernant or Connor might put it), but rather upon its historical prestige, before which they continue – at best, unknowingly – to genuflect. I close with two suggestions. First, as emphasized above, in respect to jurisdiction, legislative autonomy, and control over the incidence of taxation, the history of the Greek polis after Alexander has two major turning points: 212 and c. 400 ce. Whether we should posit any broad change in public law as relevant to the history of membership in the elite (e. g., whether membership in local councils became hereditary at any point) is of course an important but also a very difficult question whose answer, I have suggested, may tell us little about the material fact of elite power. Second, I return to the question posed by Paul Kosmin paraphrased at the start of this essay: Paul asked, what difference it would make to organize a conference around the Hellenistic city rather than the Hellenistic polis. My response is this: polis-talk was the principal means employed by Hellenistic democratic elites to rule the Hellenistic city.

Bibliography Ando, C., 2011. From Republic to Empire, in: Peachin, M. (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Social Relations in the Roman World, Oxford, 37–66. Ando, C., 2012. The Roman city in the Roman period, in: Benoist, S. (ed.), Rome, a city and its empire in perspective. The impact of the Roman World through Fergus Millar’s research. Rome, une cité impériale en jeu. L’impact du monde romain selon Fergus Millar, Leiden, 109–124.

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The Political Economy of the Hellenistic Polis Ando, C., 2014a. Pluralism and empire, from Rome to Robert Cover, Critical Analysis of Law. An International & Interdisciplinary Law Review 1, URL: http://cal.library.utoronto.ca/index. php/cal/article/view/20917. Ando, C., 2014b. Review of J. Ma, Statues and Cities. Honorific Portraits and Civic Identity in the Hellenistic World (Oxford, 2013), Bryn Mawr Classical Review, URL: http://bmcr. brynmawr.edu/2014/2014-02-21.html. Ando, C., 2015. Roman Social Imaginaries. Language and Thought in Contexts of Empire, Toronto. Ando, C. 2016. Colonialism, Colonization. Roman Perspectives, in: Selden, D. L. – Vasunia, P. (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Literatures of the Roman Empire, Oxford. Oxford Handbooks Online (published May 2016): DOI: 10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199699445.013.4. Ando, C., 2017. City, village, sacrifice. The political economy of religion in the early Roman empire, in: Evans, R. (ed.), Mass and Elite in the Greek and Roman Worlds. From Sparta to Late Antiquity, New York, 118–136. Arrow, K. J., 1963. Social Choice and Individual Values, 2New York. Bachrach, P. – Baratz, M. S., 1962. Two faces of power, APSR 56, 947–952. Bartels, L., 2010. Unequal Democracy. The Political Economy of the New Gilded Age, Princeton. Chaniotis, A., 2013. Public Subscriptions and Loans as Social Capital in the Hellenistic City. Reciprocity, Performance, Commemoration, in: Martzavou, P. – Papazarkadas, N. (eds.), Epigraphical Approaches to the Postclassical Polis. Fourth Century bc to Second Century ad, Oxford, 89–106. Dahl, R. A., 1956. A Preface to Democratic Theory, Chicago. Dahl, R. A., 1961. Who Governs?, New Haven. Dahl, R. A., 1989. Democracy and its Critics, New Haven. Ellis-Evans, A., 2013. The Ideology of Public Subscriptions, in: Martzavou, P. – Papazarkadas, N. (eds.), Epigraphical Approaches to the Postclassical Polis. Fourth Century bc to Second Century ad, Oxford, 107–121. Filonik, J., 2017. Metaphorical appeals to civic ethos in Lycurgus’ Against Leocrates, in: Busetto, A. – Cecchet, L. (eds.), Citizens and citizenship in the Graeco-Roman world, Leiden, 223–258. Finley, M. I., 1985. The Ancient Economy, 2Berkeley. Genovese, E., 1971. The World the Slaveholders Made. Two Essays in Interpretation, New York. Genovese, E., 1976. Roll, Jordan, Roll. The World the Slaves Made, New York. Giannotti, D., 1840. La repubblica fiorentina e la veneziana, Venice. Gilens, M. – Page, B., 2014. Testing Theories of American Politics. Elites, Interest Groups, and Average Citizens, Perspectives on Politics 12, 564–581. Gilens, M., 2014. Affluence and Influence. Economic Inequality and Political Power in America, Princeton Goldsmith, R., 1984. An Estimate of the Size and Structure of the National Product of the Early Roman Empire, Rev. Income Wealth 30, 263–288. Gotter, U., 2008. Fundamental Differences and Cross-Cultural Contact. The Semantics of Power in Greece and Rome, HSCPh 104, 179–230. Ricciardi, R. (ed.), 1953. F. Guicciardini: Opere, Milan. Habermas, J., 1989. The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere. An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society, Cambridge. Hosking, G., 1995. The Freudian Frontier, Times Literary Supplement 4797, 27.

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Clifford Ando Jones, A. H. M., 1940. The Greek City from Alexander to Justinian, Oxford. Kehoe, D. P., 2007. Law and the Rural Economy in the Roman Empire, Ann Arbor. Leppin, H., 2013. Unlike(ly) Twins. Democracy and Oligarchy in Context, in: Beck, H. (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Greek Government, Malden, 146–158. Lipman-Blumen, J., 1976. Toward a homosocial theory of sex roles. An explanation of the sex segregation of social institutions, Signs 1.3, 15–31. Maddison, A., 2007. Contours of the World Economy 1–2030 ad. Essays in Macro-Economic History, Oxford. Maier, C. S., 2006. Among empires. American ascendancy and its predecessors, Cambridge. Martzavou, P. – Papazarkadas, N. (eds.), 2013. Epigraphical Approaches to the Postclassical Polis. Fourth Century bc to Second Century ad, Oxford. Meier, L., 2011. Die Finanzierung öffentlicher Bauten in der hellenistischen Polis, Berlin. Millar, F., 2002. Rome, the Greek World, and the East. Vol. 1: The Roman Republic and the Augustan Revolution, Chapel Hill. Michels, R., 1911. Zur Soziologie des Parteiwesens in der modernen Demokratie. Untersuchungen über die oligarchischen Tendenzen des Gruppenlebens, Leipzig. Olson, M., 1965. The Logic of Collective Action. Public Goods and the Theory of Groups, Cambridge. Piketty, T., 2014. Capital in the Twenty-First Century, Cambridge. Pocock, J. G. A., 1975. The Machiavellian Moment. Florentine Political Thought and the Atlantic Republican Tradition, Princeton. Pocock, J. G. A., 2003. Barbarism and Religion. Vol. 3: The First Decline and Fall, Cambridge. Rhodes, P. J. – Lewis, D. M. (eds.), 1997. The Decrees of the Greek States, Oxford. Sedgwick, E. K., 1985. Between Men. English Literature and Male Homosocial Desire, New York. Simonton, M., 2017. Classical Greek Oligarchy, Princeton. Taylor, C., 1998. The Dynamics of Democratic Exclusion, Journal of Democracy 9, 143–156. Truman, D. B., 1971. The Governmental Process, 2New York. Whelan, F. G., 1983. Democratic theory and the boundary problem, Nomos 25, 13–47. Wiemer, H.-U., 1997. Das Edikt des L. Antistius Rusticus. Eine Preisregulierung als Antwort auf eine überregionale Versorgungskrise?, AS 47, 195–215. Wiemer, H.-U., 2013. Hellenistic Cities: The End of Greek Democracy?, in: Beck, H. (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Greek Government, Malden, 54–70. Winters, J. A., 2011. Oligarchy, New York. Winters, J. A. – Page, B., 2009. Oligarchy in the United States?, Perspectives on Politics 7, 731–751. Young, I. M., 1989. Polity and group difference. A critique of the ideal of universal citizenship, Ethics 99, 250–274.

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2 OLIGARCHY AND THE HELLENISTIC CITY Christel Müller*

After three or more decades of constant celebration of democracy, and especially ancient Greek democracy as embodied by Classical Athens,1 oligarchy is now back on stage, with more than a hint of bitterness from those who study it because of the weaknesses and failures of Western states.2 To be fair, the book published in 2000 by Roger Brock and Stephen Hodkinson, Alternatives to Athens, had already tried to breach the pan-democratic paradigm,3 but it was devoted to counter-models of Athens during the Archaic and Classical periods only. For the Hellenistic period, at least the early part of it, democracy is still seen as a pervasive regime shaped on the Athenian one,4 and writing about oligarchy in such a straightforward way as I will do might seem to rub up the wrong way. However, everything is first and foremost a matter of definition. The trivial definition of oligarchy, that has become a common place in political theory, is that of a constitutional form meaning “the rule of a few” (oligoi): it’s often trapped in between monarchy (the rule of one) and democracy (the rule of the many) *

I owe a lot of important comments to my friends and colleagues, fellow-members of the European Network for the Study of Ancient Greek History, especially Josine Blok, Lin Foxhall, Hans-Joachim Gehrke, Nino Luraghi, Irad Malkin, Christian Mann and Oswyn Murray. I am also most grateful to Vincent Azoulay and Emeline Priol for reading drafts of this chapter and suggesting improvements. Responsibility for what follows remains mine. 1 See for instance the celebration of Athenian democracy and its material culture in 1992 in Coulson et al. 1994, a “conference celebrating 2500 years since the birth of democracy in Greece, held at the American School of Classical Studies at Athens”. 2 As is obvious in contemporary political studies; cf. Winters 2011, to whom I will go back. 3 See the excellent introduction “Alternatives to the Democratic Polis” by the two editors in Brock/Hodkinson 2000: 1–32. 4 See e. g. Philippe Gauthier, who talks about a “democratic koiné” (Gauthier 2011 [1993]: 360) and insists on the influence of the Athenian democratic model, cf. Gauthier 2011 (1984): 337 f.

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in a tripartite conception that goes back maybe to Pindar,5 but more surely to Herodotus and his famous Constitutional debate that supposedly took place among three Persian conspirators.6 With Plato, the tripartite division falls into six types, according to their degree of acceptance or rejection of the laws and precepts conceived by the expert knowledge of the basilikos, the “royal stateman”: these are kingship (n° 1) vs tyranny (n°6), aristocracy (n°2) vs oligarchy (n°5) and democracy standing in the middle (n°3 and 4), both the “worst of all the law-abiding constitutions, and the best of all those that transgress the laws.”7 This scheme, which lasted with adaptations throughout the fourth century bce and the Hellenistic period, was always in competition with a crude binary opposition between dèmokratia and oligarchia: that can be observed in the pseudo-Xenophontic Constitution of the Athenians,8 whose author has been tagged as the “Old Oligarch”, or even more in Thucydides who shaped the idea that oligarchies were linked with Sparta and democracies with Athens.9 This major divide, whose aim for Thucydides was to explain the ideological issues of the Peloponnesian War, has gained such a wide recognition that it has been since taken for granted (classical Greek cities are either democracies or oligarchies).10 For the Hellenistic period, this couple “democracy/oligarchy” has made its way, in recent literature, along two lines: either Hellenistic poleis are seen as fake democracies, while de facto oligarchies, or are described as real democracies in their beginning that finally turned into “governments of a few”, obeying R. Michels’ famous “iron law of oligarchy”.11 But things are not that simple, as the “great divide” between democracy and oligarchy is not operative enough and seeks more elaboration in my opinion. Oligarchy needs to be redefined and viewed as potentially separable from its mirror-concept. Following the political scientist Jeffrey A. Winters, in his recent opus on oligarchy,12 I make here two proposals. First, I suggest that the central notion implied in oligarchy is wealth and the defence of wealth by its owners, a point that might seem banal, but has been obliterated, or at least not highlighted enough for a long time by historians, especially when studying Hellenistic cities; thus, as stated by Winters, oligarchy is not a synonym for “elites”, in so far as there are multiple types of elites whose power is based on different kinds of assets (education, culture, networks …)

5 Pind., Pyth. 2.86–88, with the commentary of Ostwald 2000: 15. 6 Hdt. 3.80–82. 7 Plat. Pol. 303a7–8; transl. Ostwald 2000: 33 (slightly modified). 8 Ps.-Xen. Ath. Pol. 2.17 and 20. 9 E. g.: Thuc. 3.47.2 or 6.11.7. 10 Cf. Hansen/Nielsen 2004, passim. 11 Michels 2001 [1911]. 12 Cf. Winters 2011.

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and not necessarily on wealth.13 It follows therefore, and this is the second point, that oligarchy, far from being incompatible with, is closely intertwined into different kinds of regimes and notably democracy.14 It might seem an anachronistic use of the term, as it draws on contemporary political theory and goes far beyond any traditional legalistic approach, but we’ll see that the link between wealth and power has been part of all definitions of oligarchy in Greek sources themselves. I will here focus on what I call “oligarchic situations”, that is cases where the power detained by wealthy people, citizens or foreigners, interferes in a spectacular way with their civic environment. To achieve the demonstration, I will use textual evidence, starting with Aristotle and Polybius, but the main bulk of material consists in the hundreds of inscriptions engraved by cities and individuals between the fourth and the first centuries bce. That will lead me to evoke the political terminology used in the Hellenistic period (I), the concentration and the display of wealth (II) and the oligarchisation of civic institutions themselves (III).

I. Words: oligarchia and demokratia in Hellenistic texts 1. Aristotle The best way to start is to go back just before the Hellenistic period to Aristotle, as always the closest of all to what could be called a synthetic view of both political theory and practice. Martin Ostwald has given a remarkably clear conspectus on Aristotle and oligarchy, which perfectly fits the idea of wealth as the key-element of the latter.15 In his Rhetoric already, the philosopher establishes that among four kinds of empirically defined constitutions, the aim of oligarchy is wealth and its base property qualification16. Interestingly enough, it is clearly distinguished from aristocracy, a regime based on the distribution of archai, offices, according to an education (paideia) defined by law that gives birth to the elite. The next step is in the Politics, where one finds the most famous classification of constitutions, with the tripartite scheme, obviously recalling Plato’s Politikos, in which a good version of each of the three (one,

13 See the excellent analysis by Winters 2011: 1–39, especially chapter one, devoted to “The Material Foundations of Oligarchy”. 14 “Democracy and oligarchy are remarkably compatible, provided the two realms of power do not clash” (Winters 2011: 11). 15 Cf. Ostwald 2000: 37–75. 16 Arist. Rhet. 1.8, 1365b21–1366a16.

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a few, many) is accompanied by a perverted one.17 Democracy is here on the wrong side, while a regime called simply politeia (and usually translated as “polity”) is the best possible one, as it aims at what is best for the governed; oligarchy appears in a classical way as a perverted aristocracy. In Book 4 of the same opus, the tripartite scheme gives way to the couple “oligarchy” vs “democracy”.18 The most interesting statement for my purpose is here that the main characteristic of oligarchia is wealth and not the “rule of a few”. Of course, wealth usually goes with eugeneia, “nobility of birth”, and minority,19 but these two criteria are not enough. To quote Aristotle, “what really distinguishes democracy from oligarchy is poverty (penia) and wealth (ploutos).”20 The (absurd) proof of this statement is that if a minority was poor and in charge, the regime would not be called an oligarchy and vice-versa.21 Oligarchy also means the attempt by the rich (euporoi) to maintain their wealth: if it’s classified as a perverted regime (at least in Book 3 of the Politics), it’s precisely because rich people, when in charge, aim at their own interest, instead of aiming at the common good as it happens with aristocracy.22 Oligarchy is based on the timema, which means “property qualification” and is called therefore the regime apo timematôn, “based on ratable properties”, mostly land ownership, but probably not only.23 There is though, according to Aristotle, a whole gradation of oligarchic stages according to the level of wealth required to get an office, while the more powerful wealth is, the less respected is the law.24 The existence of a gradation leads in Aristotle to the idea that there is no great divide (and on the contrary a continuum) between democracy and oligarchy. And the tight intertwining of the two already appears throughout his work: the polity (i. e. the best regime) is indeed a mix of both in the Politics,25 and even shows

17 Arist. Pol. 3.7.3–5 (1279a32–1279b10). 18 Arist. Pol. 4.3.6 (1290a13–16). 19 According to Aristotle (Pol. 4.4.6 [1290b19–20]), oligarchia occurs when a minority of plousioi (rich) and eugenesteroi (more noble) control the polis. 20 Arist. Pol. 3.8.7 (1279b39–40). Concerning plutocracy (made on ploutos), I know only of one occurrence of the word in Greek literature before the Imperial period, precisely where oligarchia is expected, in Xenophon’s Mem. 4.6.12: καὶ ὅπου μὲν ἐκ τῶν τὰ νόμιμα ἐπιτελούντων αἱ ἀρχαὶ καθίστανται, ταύτην μὲν τὴν πολιτείαν ἀριστοκρατίαν ἐνόμιζεν εἶναι, ὅπου δ’ ἐκ τιμημάτων, πλουτοκρατίαν, “and where the officials are chosen among those who fulfil the requirements of the laws, the constitution is an aristocracy, as he [Socrates] thought; where rateable property is the qualification for office, it is a plutocracy”. 21 Arist. Pol. 4.1–3 (1290a30–40). 22 Arist. Pol. 3.7.5 (1279b7–8). 23 Cf. Ostwald 2000: 48. 24 Arist. Pol. 4.6.7–11 (1293a10–34) and Ostwald 2000: 70 f. 25 Arist. Pol. 4.8.3 (1298b33–34).

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up as a timocracy in the Nicomachean Ethics,26 implying that it is based on property qualification (timema). No surprise then if Sparta fits the model of the polity and if the Spartans would have been the last to call their own regime an oligarchy!27 2. Polybius Compared to the thorough reflection of Aristotle on oligarchia, Polybius’ Histories are quite disappointing, as they give only six occurrences of words containing the oligarch- stem. This set can be divided into two sections. The first mention of oligarchy in Polybius is to be found incidentally in Book 4, when the author deals with the symmachikos polemos (“Social War”) that took place in 220–217 bce. The Hellenic League, under the impulsion of the Achaians and Philip V, had made the decision to go to war with the Aitolians. But the Messenians, when asked by the envoys to ratify the common decision, answered they could not participate, as long as their neighbour, the city of Phigaleia, would be under the control of the enemy. Polybius stops at this point to harshly castigate the cowardice of this behaviour: according to him, the Messenian leaders took the wrong decision and that was due to their belonging to the oligarchikoi, the oligarchic faction. Oligarchs, he writes, are only driven by their own interest.28 The use of the word oligarchikoi appears not as a self-qualification by the Messenian leaders (“we are the oligarchic party”), but as a pejorative characterisation by Polybius, that fits his reflection on oligarchy as a perverted (one should say disgusting) regime in Book 6. The second and most interesting series belongs precisely to this book, the famous “pause” in the narrative used by the historian to explain Rome’s conquest of the oikoumene (“inhabited world”) mostly thanks to its mixed constitution. One finds here the very traditional classification of politeiai, picked up from the Greek philosophical tradition. The three types of constitutions, kingship (basileia), aristocracy and democracy, have perverted counterparts: tyranny, oligarchy and ochlokratia (“rule of the mob”).29 Nothing original then, except for the way Polybius instills movement 26 Arist. Nic. 8.10 (1160a31–b22). 27 Arist. Pol. 4.9.7–9 (1294b18–34). 28 Pol. 4.31.2: The guilty leaders are the ephors Οἶνις καὶ Νίκιππος καί τινες ἕτεροι τῶν ὀλιγαρχικῶν (“Oinis, Nikippos and some other members of the oligarchic party”); Pol. 4.32.1: οἱ δὲ τῶν Μεσσηνίων προεστῶτες ὀλιγαρχικοί, [καὶ] στοχαζόμενοι τοῦ παραυτὰ κατ᾽ ἰδίαν λυσιτελοῦς, φιλοτιμότερον τοῦ δέοντος ἀεὶ διέκειντο πρὸς τὴν εἰρήνην (“The leaders of Messenia, being members of the oligarchic party and aiming at their immediate personal interest, were always inclined to maintain peace more eagerly than needed”) 29 Pol., 6.3.5–4.10 and 5.4–9.9. In these pages, the bad version of basileia is called either tyranny or monarchy (see Walbank 1957: 642).

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into all these regimes, a process known as the anakuklôsis, that leads from basileia to ochlokratia through all the intermediary phases, and back again to the beginning when the leader of the ochlos starts behaving like a ferocious beast and meets a new “master” (despotes), the monarch.30 In Book 6, therefore, oligarchia is always labeled as a bad constitution, which develops when (1.) the inexperienced sons of the aristocratic leaders inherit of power, having only enjoyed the privileges of their rank (“proagôgai”) since they were born; (2.) are driven by pleonexia (“cupidity”) and philargyria (“love of money”); (3.) or, according to Polybius’ usual standards, by a passion for getting drunk (methe), eating too much (euôchia), and last but not least committing rapes (hybreis) of women and abductions (harpagai) of boys!31 Beyond the topos, one is mostly left with economic motives to explain the transformation from aristokratia to oligarchia, although wealth is not bad in itself but in its perverted use. The scheme underlying the process is roughly the same when one shifts from basileia to tyrannis, a regime based on an excessive social display of their wealth by monarchs. And it’s the reverse when one shifts from demokratia to ochlokratia, in which the leader of the mob is poor and seeks to redistribute wealth, especially through violence and the hated ges anadasmos, “redistribution of land”.32 It would be wrong then to assume that economic motives are absent from Polybius’ analysis of political regimes: the question of wealth, its acquisition and display, is central to the anakuklôsis. That’s all there is about oligarchy in the whole Polybian corpus, which might be explained of course by the historian’s personal agenda, but also by the fact political terminology underwent transformations in Late Hellenistic period. One finds a hint of this in the anakuklôsis itself in Book 6, although quite hidden. The shift from democracy to ochlocracy is operated by the leader of the mob, who is “deprived of civic timia because of his poverty”.33 Nothing is said about his being a foreigner or a slave and he appears simply as excluded from the civic body. The timia here mentioned could be of course honors, but they more probably refer to “magistracies”: the poor leader is deprived of access to offices under a regime called democracy. The latter is therefore to be understood as a timocracy, implying a tax-qualification.34 That reminds directly of Aristotle’s politeia, the best possible democracy. But it differs from the first-grade 30 Pol. 6.9.10. 31 Pol. 8.4 f. 32 Pol. 7.7 (transition from basileia to tyranny) and 9.8 f. (transition from democracy to ochlocracy). 33 Pol. 6.9.8: ἐκκλειόμενον δὲ διὰ πενίαν τῶν ἐν τῇ πολιτείᾳ τιμίων. 34 That seems to contradict Musti’s opinion of ‘Polybian’ democracy (Musti 1995: 306) as incompatible with a numerus clausus, based on the case of Cyrene that had eleutheria restored but could not qualify as a demokratia. Nicolet 1983: 31 rightly states that, for Polybius, the tax-qualification criterion is not essential.

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democracy as stated by him, which implies an equal access (isotes) to power for all citizens and the freedom (eleutheria) to act as they please.35 Polybius, even more than Aristotle, hates the rule of the mob, the wildest and brutal of all regimes. He defines democracy at a social level, as a matter of piety towards the gods, respect for parents and elders, and, at a political one, as the obedience to the laws and the decisions of the majority36 – all these parameters already existed in the fifth and fourth centuries bce, but were far from enough to define a true democratic regime. Polybian democracy certainly praises freedom of speech (isegoria and parrhesia),37 and that’s why the Achaian koinon had the most authentic democratic constitution according to him,38 but certainly not freedom of action of the mass (plethos) equated to social disorder. At an external level, in terms of relations with other states and outside global classifications, democracy in Polybius is clearly opposed to “the kings”: in 185 bce, concerning gifts offered by Eumenes II of Pergamon, Apollonidas of Sikyon reminds the Achaians that “the interests of democracies and kings are naturally opposed”,39 a leitmotiv to be observed also in the inscriptions. To give a brief conclusion on literary evidence, the texts show, as we’ve seen, that there are two kinds of uses for oligarchia and demokratia, often overlapping: a legalistic one, where these political words are included in global classifications of politeiai and analysed in a technical manner for the way power is distributed and exercised when these regimes are in place; and an ideological one, recalling Thucydides, where they become values or anti-values. That can be found also in the epigraphic record.40

35 Arist. Pol. 4.4.22 f. 36 Pol. 6.4.4 f. 37 Both Nicolet 1983: 23–32 and Musti 1995: 294–310 emphasize the role played by isegoria and parrhesia in the way Polybius defines demokratia. 38 Pol. 2.38.6. Cf. Walbank 1957: 221 f. 39 Pol. 22.8.6 (transl.  Paton): τῶν δὲ πραγμάτων ἐναντίαν φύσιν ἐχόντων τοῖς βασιλεῦσι καὶ ταῖς δημοκρατίαις. Pol 24.9.2 (about the political conduct that prevails towards the Romans in 180  bce): ἐν πάσαις ταῖς δημοκρατικαῖς πολιτείαις, “in all democratic states”, has probably the same meaning. The same applies to Pol. 31.2.12 (164/3 bce), about the division of Macedonia in four districts: συνέβαινε γὰρ τοὺς Μακεδόνας ἀήθεις ὄντας δημοκρατικῆς καὶ συνεδριακῆς πολιτείας στασιάζειν πρὸς αὑτούς (“It happened that stasis started among the Macedonians who were not used to a democratic and representative government”). 40 Neither historical texts nor inscriptions use the word aristokratia to describe any kind of political regime: one finds only one occurrence in a Hellenistic hymn from Epidauros (IG IV2, 1. 128, c. 280 bce) in a context that has nothing to do with political theory or practice. This word belongs to philosophers as rightly underlined by Mogens H. Hansen in a recent and synthetic survey of this terminology; cf. Hansen 2015: 54 f.

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3. Epigraphic terminology In the early Hellenistic period, oligarchia and demokratia still form in the epigraphic record a couple in clear opposition, oligarchia being the hated regime and demokratia the one to maintain at any price, both sometimes referring to previous historical episodes. Following famous Classical examples, oligarchia tends to be associated with tyranny, so that everything that is not tyrannical must be democratic! That is best seen through the law of Ilion in Asia Minor protecting democracy in the 280s, which explicitly condemns the person “who will become a tyrant or the head of an oligarchy, or anyone who will install a tyrant or participate in a revolution or dissolve democracy”.41 Such a concern is expressed by different cities in the third century bce, like Athens in 270/269 in the decree honoring Kallias of Sphettos for the way he fought against the oligarchy allegedly set up by Demetrios Poliorketes in 295,42 or in Cos, at the very end of the third century bce, during the renewing of the homopoliteia (“common constitution”) with the neighbouring island of Kalymna, a text in which the participants swear “not to install any oligarchy, tyrant, or any regime other than damokratia under any pretext”.43 The word demokratia functions here more as a slogan than anything else, while oligarchia is raised as a spectre. These texts do not specify what the word means in a technical sense. It seems pretty obvious, though, that it designates any attempt at restricting the civic body by instituting a timema, a tax-qualification, just as it happened during the famous oligarchical episodes that took place in Athens at the end of the fifth century bce in 411 and 40444 or, later, at the very beginning of the Hellenistic period, between 317 and 307, when Demetrios of Phaleron was in charge: the civic body was then restricted to Athenians testifying of a wealth of 41 I.Ilion [IK 3] 25, ll. 116–119: ὃς ἂν τύρανν[ος] ἢ ἡγεμὼν γένηται ὀλιγαρχίας, ἢ τύραννον στ[ή] σηι ἢ συνεπαναστῆι ἢ δημοκρατίαγ καταλύσηι κτλ. Such a vocabulary recalls the Eretrian “law” against tyranny and oligarchy (c. 340 BCE), cf. Knoepfler 2001 and 2002. 42 SEG 28, 60: ll.  80–83: [κ]αταλελυμένου τοῦ δήμου, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν οὐσίαν τὴν ἑ̣[αυτοῦ] προέμενος δόσιν δοθῆναι ἐν τεῖ ὀλιγαρχίαι ὥστε μ[ηδὲν ὑ]πεναντίον πρᾶξαι μήτε τοῖς νόμοις μήτε τεῖ δημοκ̣[ρατί]αι τεῖ ἐξ ἁπάντων Ἀθηναίων (“… when the democracy had been overthrown, [but] during the oligarchy he gave up his [own] property, so as not to act [in any way] against the laws or against the democracy of all the Athenians”; transl. Austin 20062, n°55). On Demetrios and this episode, see Habicht 1997: 87–97 and Knoepfler 2011: 442. 43 IG XII.4, 152: ll. 21–22: ὀλιγαρχίαν δὲ οὐδὲ τύραννον οὐδὲ ἄλλο πολίτευμα ἔξω δαμοκρατίας οὐ καταστάσω παρευρέσει οὐδεμιᾶι. 44 On these two episodes, see Shear 2011. About the body of the 5000 citizens, Aristotle (AP 29.5) writes that τὴν δ᾽ ἄλλην πολιτείαν ἐπιτρέψαι πᾶσαν Ἀθηναίων τοῖς δυνατωτάτοις καὶ τοῖς σώμασιν καὶ τοῖς χρήμασιν λῃτουργεῖν (“The rest of the government was to be in the hands of those Athenians most able to serve the city with their persons and their property”; transl. Shear 2011: 32).

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1000 drachmas,45 which explains why Plutarch calls him an oligarch.46 There is, in this respect, a clear continuity in the epigraphic terminology, between the Classical and the early Hellenistic periods. There is also an “external” use of demokratia, already mentioned about literary texts. It appears at the end of the fourth and flourishes during the third century bce in diplomatic documents47. It tends to designate the capacity of a city to self-government against any attempt of domination and certainly does not tell us much about how the city is ruled internally. It often shows up when a polis deals with a king, as in the case of Smyrna with Seleukos II, praised to “have confirmed to the demos its autonomy and democracy” around 241 bce.48 The use of these terms tends to change in the Late Hellenistic period. One could object that there is less interesting “normative” material in this period, as decrees ceased progressively to be engraved to the benefit of honorary inscriptions especially in the first century bce,49 but not every aspect of the lexical evolution can be attributed to a change in epigraphic habits. Oligarchia seems to disappear from common political use: among the occurrences of this word, the earliest ones are dated from the fifth century bce, but, to my knowledge, none is later than the 200s bce. Demokratia stops therefore being opposed to its counterpart and is limited to its second “external” meaning, especially when the Romans enter the scene and are perceived as the defendants of Greek freedom: that also fits the way the contemporary Polybius uses the term, as previously noticed. As shown by J.-L. Ferrary and Ph. Gauthier, demokratia is henceforth the equivalent of eleutheria, that is the freedom for a city from any monarchic domination.50 A decree issued in 184/3 bce by the Delphic Amphictiony in honor of the Thessalian Nikostratos of Larissa mentions, side by side, the “autonomous people (ethne) and democratic cities” that form the Council (koinon), while the character is said “to have accomplished everything that was in the common interest of the Amphictyons and the other Greeks attached to freedom (eleutheria)

45 Habicht 1997: 52. Diod. 18.74.3: τὸ πολίτευμα διοικεῖσθαι ἀπὸ τιμήσεων ἄχρι μνῶν δέκα (“The civic body was organised on the base of a tax-qualification reaching 100 minas”). 46 Plut. Demetr. 10.2: The government was ruled λόγῳ μὲν ὀλιγαρχικῆς, ἔργῳ δὲ μοναρχικῆς καταστάσεως γενομένης διὰ τὴν τοῦ Φαληρέως δύναμιν (“nominally as an oligarchy, but really as a monarchy, owing to the great influence of the Phalerean”); cf. Grieb 2008: 66–68. 47 Hamon 2009: 369 f. 48 I.Smyrna 573.1 (decree of Smyrna concerning a treaty with Magnesia ad Sipylum): Seleukos II ἐβεβαίωσεν τῶι δήμωι τὴν αὐτονομίαν καὶ δημοκρατίαν (l. 10/11). 49 Hamon 2009: 375. 50 Ferrary 1987–1989: 203–216; Ferrary 2014 [1988]; Gauthier 2011 [1993]: 359 f.

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and democracy”.51 Another telling example is that of Pergamon, freed from monarchy when Attalos III died bequeathing his kingdom to the Romans: in a decree for a citizen dated after 125 bce, the polis is said to have shifted to “democracy”, meaning here simply “self-government” as the first step taken is to elect a synedrion (“council”) of the best men!52 But the most obvious example remains the bilingual dedication by the Confederation of Lykian cities in 167 bce of a statue of Rome to Jupiter Capitoline and the Populus Romanus to celebrate the restitution of their patrios demokratia (instead of patrios politeia, a much more common phrase), translated into Latin as maiorum libertas.53 The question is therefore the following: do these changes in political terminology reflect evolutions in Greek societies and, if so, which evolutions?

II. The accumulation of wealth and its display in social institutions 4. Are Hellenistic cities democracies or régimes de notables? The terms of the debate For the last thirty years, a major debate, to which I alluded in the introduction, has arisen to identify continuities and changes in the political and social history of the Hellenistic period. To make it short, following L. Robert’s studies and the French epigraphic school, Ph. Gauthier has promoted the following ideas: democratic regimes shaped on the Athenian classical demokratia were flourishing in the Early Hellenistic period, in continuity with the Classical period; but around the middle of the second century bce, they progressively changed: the elites stopped behaving as citizens competing for power and recognition inside the frame of civic institutions to exert a real patronage upon the masses and obtain more or less hereditary powers, with the difficult question of the potential Roman influence.54 In this situation, euergetism, i. e. the system of benefactions granted to a city and its inhabitants by rich individuals

51 CID 4.106, ll. 3/4: ἔδοξ[εν τῶι] κ[οι]νῶι τῶν Ἀμφικτιόνων τῶν ἀπὸ τῶν αὐτονόμων ἐθνῶν καὶ δημοκρατουμένων πόλεων; ll. 18/19: ἐπετέλεσεν πάντα τὰ κοινῇ συμφέρον[τα] τοῖς τε Ἀμφικτίοσιν καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις Ἕλλησιν τοῖς αἱρουμένοις τὴν ἐλευθερίαν καὶ δημοκρατίαν. See Ferrary 2014 [1988], 161–163. 52 SEG 50.1211 (decree of Pergamon in honor of Mènodôros), ll. 11/12: μεταπεσόντων τε τῶν πραγμάτων εἰς δημοκρατίαν [κα]ὶ τοῦ δήμου συνέδρους χειροτονήσαντος τῶν ἀρίστων ἀνδρῶν, “the regime having shifted to democracy and the People having elected by hand councillors among the best men”. 53 CIL I2, 725: cf. Ferrary 2014 [1988]: 185 f. 54 For a synthesis on democratic civic institutions in the Hellenistic period, see Wiemer 2013.

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and rewarded by civic honors, proved an essential tool.55 P. Hamon has followed and extended this trend of thinking and suggested that the elites of the Late Hellenistic period were “en voie d’aristocratisation”.56 In opposition to this opinion, some historians see no real rupture between the Early and Late Hellenistic times, arguing either that democracies never stopped being democratic at all or that the so-called democracies were only fake ones hardly concealing oligarchical systems. C. Habicht, for instance, considers Greek democratic regimes as remarkably stable and rejects the idea that a new elite deprived the masses from their power after 150 bce: any modifications in vocabulary and legal procedures visible in the decrees throughout the period should therefore be seen as merely formal.57 Fr. Quass, on the contrary, sees the Honoratiorenschicht, the “group of prominent citizens”, as the key to understand the Greek city in the longue durée.58 According to these historians, whatever their final verdict on the true nature of political regimes, “the balance between the active minority and the mass of passive citizens”,59 was not deeply modified between the end of the fourth and the first century bce. Such a debate (Are Greek Hellenistic cities democracies or régimes de notables and when did change occur if it ever did?) can last forever as the same institutional facts can be given totally contradictory interpretations. In Carian Iasos, for instance, we know that, from the mid-third century bce, proposals had to be submitted to the board of the prytaneis to be examined.60 That has been taken to signify two opposite things: either that proposals were filtered by this very narrow board (6–8 members) acting as probouloi on top of the existence of a proper boule61 and that political power had gradually fallen into the hands of a restricted number of families; or, on the contrary, that individuals were still submitting proposals and therefore that democracy was still vivid, as the procedure called ephodos or prosodos, “access” or “introduction”, was fairly common in Greek cities.62 This is an extreme case, but highly significant.

55 See Veyne 1990 [1976] and Gauthier 1985. 56 Hamon 2007: 99, who offers a good overview of all the previous hypotheses and positions. 57 Habicht 1995: “Der Beweis, daß eine neue Klasse von ‘Notabeln” die demokratischen Institutionen der Städte obsolet gemacht und die Masse der Bürger nach ihrem Willen gegängelt habe, scheint mir nicht erbracht” (92). 58 Cf. Quaß 1992 and Quaß 1993. 59 As put nicely by Hamon 2007: 90. 60 See, for instance, I.Iasos 36 (224/3 bce), ll.  4–5: πρυτάνεων [γνώμη· περὶ ὧν] ἐπῆλθεν Δημαγόρας Ἐξηκέ̣[στου, ἵνα κτλ.]: “Proposal of the prytaneis, concerning what Demagoras son of Exekestos has presented, so that etc.” 61 Fabiani 2012: 160–165; Fabiani 2015: 295–301. 62 Hamon 2009: 361 f.

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This debate also leads to an artificial distinction between, on the one hand, constitutional organs and legal procedures called “institutions” (especially in the French tradition) and perceived as the official frame of Greek societies, and, on the other hand, practices and behaviours seen as the way (real) people lived inside (or outside) the frame.63 The word “institution” needs in fact to be applied to any kind of norms, uses and social constraints, formal or informal, produced by these societies, including the tensions and dynamics operating in them.64 I suggest therefore changing the focus and shifting from a purely either constitutional or social/anthropologic perspective to an analysis of oligarchic symptoms, that is of any link between wealth and the power to maintain this wealth,65 in Hellenistic institutions in a wide sense. 5. Spartan imbalances The first question is that of the accumulation of wealth during the Hellenistic period and my inquiry starts with Sparta, far too neglected by “non-Spartologists”, although there is no better lookout for such a subject. The Spartan civic and social system reaches in the middle of the third century bce the acme of a crisis that had already started in the fifth century. This crisis has a well-known name, oliganthrôpia, which means a dramatic decrease in the number of citizens called the Homoioi: the latter were defined by the ownership of a kleros (a “land-plot”) and the ability to pay their contribution to the syssition or “common mess”, the local form of the tax-qualification and the distinctive legal mark of the Spartan oligarchy.66 Such a phenomenon had huge consequences on the military capacities of the Lacedaemonian army, as is well-known. There were about 8000 Homoioi at the time of the Persian Wars, among 63 This supposed gap between “institutions” and “practices” has led, in the way French scholars wrote about Greek history, to a divide between epigraphists and anthropologists that tends to disappear with the present generation (see Azoulay 2014), although P. Hamon himself still speaks in terms of a distinction between the “mécanismes institutionnels” (equated to legal procedures) and the “représentations” deployed for instance during banquets (Hamon 2007: 91–93). 64 This still needs to be put forward in the field we are dealing with, although it would seem very banal to any sociologist or economist, notably the so-called “neo-institutionalists” such as D. North (see, inter alia, North 1990). For a recent and excellent reflection on norms and their “production”, see Marmursztejn 2012. 65 See the introduction to this paper. 66 The major importance of the syssition is very clearly underlined by Aristotle in the Politics (2.32 [1271a 34–37]): μετέχειν μὲν γὰρ οὐ ῥᾴδιον τοῖς λίαν πένησιν, ὅρος δὲ τῆς πολιτείας οὗτός ἐστιν αὐτοῖς ὁ πάτριος, τὸν μὴ δυνάμενον τοῦτο τὸ τέλος φέρειν μὴ μετέχειν αὐτῆς (“Indeed, it is not easy for the very poor to participate, but their ancestral boundary for citizenship is that the one who is unable to pay this tax doesn’t take part in the politeia”).

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whom 5000 took part in the battle of Plataiai, says Herodotus;67 at Leuctra, they were only 700 on the battlefield according to Xenophon;68 and when Agis IV became a king in 244 bce, there were 700 Spartans left altogether, according to Plutarch.69 Although the drop appears to have been more severe between the fifth and the fourth centuries, the crisis felt worse in the third century and led to a stasis that finally gave rise to three successive episodes of turmoil under the so-called “revolutionary kings” of the third and second centuries: Agis IV (244–241), Cleomenes III (237–221), and Nabis (207–192).70 The richest of the rich were the kings themselves, described by Plutarch as Hellenistic monarchs, like Seleucids or Ptolemies, even if their wealth could not compete with the latters’. Agis IV had been brought up “in wealth (ploutos) and luxury (tryphe) by two women, his mother Agesistrata and his grand-mother Archidamia, who possessed the most considerable fortune (pleista chremata) of Lacedaemon”: Sparta therefore started looking like a miniature Hellenistic kingdom.71 But the main reason for the stasis situation clearly rests on a massive accumulation of wealth by some individuals, that had reached unbearable levels for the society: the concentration of land into a few hands, through acquisition from people unable to maintain their domains, had considerably reduced the number of landowners who could not access the syssition anymore. Plutarch’s text is worth quoting here, as it clearly shows the entire mechanism and its consequences: The men of power at once began to acquire estates without scruple, ejecting the rightful heirs from their inheritances; and speedily prosperity (euporia) streamed into the hands of a few men (oligoi), and poverty (penia) became the general rule in the city, bringing in its train indifference to the good and servility (aneleutheria), along with envy and hatred towards the men of property; thus there were left not more than seven hundred Spartans, and of these there were perhaps a hundred who possessed land (ge) and allotment (kleros); while the ordinary throng (ochlos), without resources (aporos) and without civic rights (atimos), lived in enforced idleness, showing no zeal or energy in fighting external enemies, but

67 Hdt. 7.234 and 9.10. 68 Exactly 938, according to Figueira 2003: 195, but Xen. Hell. 6.4.15, says that the Spartans numbered 700. 69 Plut. Agis 5.6. 70 On Hellenistic Sparta, see Cartledge/Spawforth 2002. 71 Plut. Agis 4.1: ἐντεθραμμένος δὲ πλούτοις καὶ τρυφαῖς γυναικῶν, τῆς τε μητρὸς Ἀγησιστράτας καὶ τῆς μάμμης Ἀρχιδαμίας, αἳ πλεῖστα χρήματα Λακεδαιμονίων ἐκέκτηντο.

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Christel Müller ever watching for some opportunity to subvert and change affairs (transl. B. Perrin 1921, modified).72

There is no reason to doubt Plutarch’s figures when he says that the people owning some land (ge) on top of their kleros, the big landowners, were only a hundred, a real negative peak. Property had always been unequal in Sparta and the myth of a fair distribution by the famous legislator Lycurgus certainly originates in the Hellenistic propaganda meant to justify the social measures and anchor them in a glorious past, as shown by S. Hodkinson.73 These measures, listed in Agis IV’s program,74 are wellknown and recall processes of the Archaic period: the cancellation of debts (chreôn apokope), the redistribution of the land (ges anadasmos), and the filling up of the civic body (anaplerôsis), to which Cleomenes and Nabis added the freeing of helots. This is not the place to elaborate on these reforms and I will simply underline two points. Firstly, Sparta gives a paradigmatic example of the mechanisms underlying the concentration of wealth and the consequences of the links between wealth and power in a super-oligarchic regime (Plutarch says oligoi for the few landowners), when rich people lead the system to its breaking point. Historians should therefore stop making it a separated case, simply because it has not yielded any decent epigraphic material before the second century bce, when the Spartan regime normalizes,75 or because of their idea of Sparta’s peculiarity. The Spartan case was so important to contemporary cities or confederations that their leaders feared to be contaminated by metabole and metastasis, “revolution”, especially in the Peloponnesus.76 Polybius often expresses his hatred of social changes in Sparta, both a topos and a real concern: at some point, he sketches a brief history of the Spartan state of affairs from the ideal constitution of Lycurgus till the destruction of the patrion politeuma by Cleomenes and the tyranny of Nabis, with a special mention of the numerous anadasmoi.77 Secondly, these episodes take place right in the middle of the third century bce and not in the Late Hellenistic 72 Plut. Agis 5.3 f.: ἐκτῶντο γὰρ ἀφειδῶς ἤδη παρωθοῦντες οἱ δυνατοὶ τοὺς προσήκοντας ἐκ τῶν διαδοχῶν καὶ ταχὺ τῆς εὐπορίας εἰς ὀλίγους συρρυείσης πενία τὴν πόλιν κατέσχεν, ἀσχολίαν τῶν καλῶν καὶ ἀνελευθερίαν ἐπιφέρουσα μετὰ φθόνου καὶ δυσμενείας πρὸς τοὺς ἔχοντας, ἀπελείφθησαν οὖν ἑπτακοσίων οὐ πλείονες Σπαρτιᾶται, καὶ τούτων ἴσως ἑκατὸν ἦσαν οἱ γῆν κεκτημένοι καὶ κλῆρον, ὁ δ᾽ ἄλλος ὄχλος ἄπορος καὶ ἄτιμος ἐν τῇ πόλει παρεκάθητο, τοὺς μὲν ἔξωθεν πολέμους ἀργῶς καὶ ἀπροθύμως ἀμυνόμενος, ἀεὶ δέ τινα καιρὸν ἐπιτηρῶν μεταβολῆς καὶ μεταστάσεως τῶν παρόντων. 73 Hodkinson 2000: 60. 74 Plut. Agis 8. 75 On Late Hellenistic Spartan ‘normalisation’, see Kennell 2009. 76 In the year 226/5 bce, the Achaian leader Aratos for instance was more than afraid of Cleomenes’ influence: Plut., Cleom. 16 f. 77 Pol. 4.81.12 f.

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period: therefore neither do they owe anything to the Romans, nor do they fit the chronological scheme established by epigraphists. One will object that the latter was made for cities listed as “democratic” and not Sparta, but it’s a very pervasive frame that tends to give a shape to the whole of Greek Hellenistic history. 6. Euergetism as a financial transaction I turn now to the case of other cities where inscriptions form an essential part of the documentation. In these places, the accumulation of wealth is made particularly visible through euergetism, which affects vital financial processes. Till now, this phenomenon has been studied mostly from a social and political point of view, and has given rise to a controversy about the role and place of benefactors in Greek societies, which is part of the larger debate on the nature and functioning of Hellenistic cities previously mentioned. This controversy opposes P. Veyne, in his major opus Bread and Circuses, which came out in French in 1976, and Ph. Gauthier who published Les cités grecques et leurs bienfaiteurs in 1985.78 According to Veyne, euergetism must be seen as a “fait social total” that goes back to the Late Classical period and, thanks to the weakness of Hellenistic cities, developed without any substantial modification between the third century bce and the early Roman Empire. Gauthier does not accept this view. According to him, the great benefactors replacing the kings in their role do not appear before the 150s, and alongside the famous megistai timai, the “biggest honors”, such as a statue, a meal in the prytaneion or the proedria (“front-row seating”) during the festivals, or even cultic honors.79 Since the 1980s, euergetism has been a major topic for historians, and everything has been said about the mechanisms of “don/contredon” operating between benefactors and cities, the use of rhetoric in honorary decrees and the expanding honors granted to benefactors. Therefore, a more interesting angle to read these texts is that of the level of wealth displayed by benefactors and the use they make of it in terms of power and in their relationship with the city.80 I will take here three examples, each of them belonging to a century of the Hellenistic period. The first one is that of Polykritos of Erythrai, in Asia Minor, who greatly helped his city some time around 270 bce.81 The decree praises 78 On this controversy, see Müller 2011a: 346–348. 79 Gauthier 1985: 72: “C’est dans le cours du IIe siècle, semble-t-il, que le rôle et la place des évergètes dans les cités se modifient. Alors, et alors seulement, l’évergétisme devient peu à peu l’équivalent d’un ‘système de gouvernement’: une minorité de citoyens riches et influents rend des services et obtient des honneurs tels qu’ils semblent dominer leurs concitoyens”. 80 Cf. Müller 2011a. 81 Bielman 1994, n°21 (I.Erythrai I.28).

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him for different actions accomplished while he was holding offices, such as military commander, ambassador or agoranomos (“clerk of the market”). But the leitmotiv of the text is money. Polykritos is so rich that he can repeatedly meet civic expenses: he pays for the ransoms of hostages, the grain for the city-fund, or the wages of the seamen. One figure is very telling: he is able to lend 6000 drachmai for the grain fund (l.  41). The same amount is lent, in 243/2 bce, by another benefactor, Boulagoras of Samos,82 to his mother-city for a trip to Alexandria in honor of King Ptolemy III and Queen Berenice. This sum, 6000 drachmai, is the equivalent of a talent, which represented in Classical Athens an important level of wealth. For the fourth century bce, J. K. Davies has proposed to identify a sort of “liturgical tax-qualification” of three talents to be able to hold the liturgy called trierarchy, the most expensive one, as the cost to equip a trireme would oscillate between half and one talent.83 Although one should be very careful about such conclusions, it might be that the wealth of the wealthiest gradually increased during the Hellenistic period, on the model of Sparta, which cannot be that exceptional. If Polykritos and Boulagoras are able to put 6000 drachmai on the table, it means that they have much more cash in reserve. Where does this cash come from? Probably from diverse resources, including land-ownership, but also commercial activities: Polykritos obviously has contacts with merchants (emporoi) whom he has protected (from war or pirates) and he is able to activate his network to make these merchants import grain into the city. But that’s not all. Polykritos, just like Boulagoras, invests money and gets more cash from it. Both characters are said to have lent money to their fellow-citizens: their benefaction lays in the fact they have done this for free, but a loan is not a gift. Gauthier, in a remarkably non-economical interpretation of this gesture, sees it as a form of modesty on the part of someone who does not want to create a clientele by continuous gifts and, on the city-side, as the proof that the city is not depending on her euergetai, as in theory she gives back the money.84 But one can look at this behaviour in a completely different manner: if benefactors lend money for free here and are rewarded for it, it means that in other circumstances, de facto absent from the decrees, they have done interest-bearing loans. A careful analysis of the sums mentioned leads to the idea that benefactors were alternatively giving and lending money to their city, the loans implying that the latter would pay back. And, in general, loans and credit induce a high degree of dependency on the part of the indebted

82 IG XII 6, 11 (Austin 20062, no. 132). 83 Davies 1971 and Davies 1981. 84 Gauthier 1985: 69 (about Boulagoras): “Ce riche citoyen ne cherche pas à se constituer une clientèle par des dons répétés”.

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community or individual. This financial game was not played first and foremost in the interest of the polis and its politai, contrary to the “music” of the decrees, but in the interest of the wealthy, busy maintaining their wealth. The atokon (“zero-interest”) loan can be seen as a way to keep one’s place on the credit-market. This system reaches a sort of acme with the case of Protogenes of Olbia in the Black Sea, around 200 bce: a calculation of all his expenses reveals that his family has spent in total more than 13000 staters of gold in gifts and loans for public or private use, which is the equivalent of 260,000 drachmai or 43 talents.85 His father and he himself certainly achieved this in several years. But I don’t see how to avoid the conclusion that Protogenes’ family had bigger financial capacities than its home-city.86 Next to him, but below, one identifies other rich men, called euporoumenoi (A l. 66), which draws the image of a highly stratified society. I don’t imply that the city had no means of any sort, but it suffered from a cash crisis and was perpetually indebted, just as were indebted the fellow-citizens of Protogenes. Neither do I think that the polis was totally paralysed in terms of power. Protogenes is accountable for his magistracies (B l. 72–75) and democracy is still vivid in Olbia. But this constitutional side of affairs is not incompatible with an oligarchical situation, where a little group of very rich and influential men, that can be called a lobby in some cases, retains and perpetuates its wealth and power, in a context of major disruptions in the financial balances. In the first century bce, the situation gets worse. An extreme example of what I call “euergetic transactions” is that made by Gytheion, a city in Southern Peloponnesus and the old port of Sparta. In 71/0 bce, the city which owes money to M. Antonius Creticus for his war against the pirates is forced to borrow from two Roman brothers, Nemerius and Marcus Cloatii.87 The polis considers this loan as a benefaction (hence the honorific decree), because the two loan sharks have agreed to lend money when nobody else would, and have reduced the interest to 24 % instead of 48 %! One reaches here the breaking point of the euergetic system, when foreigners whose sole aim is the exploitation of the situation to their own benefit detain wealth and power with potentially dramatic consequences on the local population.

85 IOSPE I2, 32 (SIG3, 495; Müller 2010: 391–399, no. 21). I summarise here the main arguments given in Müller 2011b, where one finds a thorough study of this inscription. 86 That is also Veyne’s position (Veyne 1976: 235 f.). 87 IG V.1.1146 (SIG3, 748). See Migeotte 1984: 90–96, no. 24.

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III. Wealth and the archai: the oligarchisation of civic legal institutions 7. Privatisations In connection with but besides the institution of euergetism and its financial implications, one must look at constitutional organs and legal procedures to see if they show any sign of oligarchisation during the Hellenistic period. A major clue for such a phenomenon is the privatisation of public institutions by wealthy people. The transformation of archai, “offices”, into leitourgiai, i. e. offices accomplished by rich citizens or resident foreigners at their own expense, is a good example, mostly visible in honorific decrees praising benefactors for their generosity during the tenure of their magistracy. In relationship with this phenomenon, one observes a progressive loosening of the control exercised on euergetai-magistrates by the cities, mostly from the end of the second century bce, although probably not everywhere at the same pace.88 One goes naturally with the other, as the city cannot hold accountable someone who pays her expenses from his own pocket. Protogenes of Olbia, already mentioned, belongs to a sort of “transitional phase”: he gives or lends huge amounts of cash for which he is not accountable, but when he’s in charge of the financial administration of the city, he manipulates a lot of money during three years, for which he is constantly accountable.89 Another excellent example of the way wealthy people took hold of civic offices is that of Hellenistic Rhodes. While living under a so-called democratic regime, the richest seized power by practising adoption and therefore being recorded in two different demes so that they could multiply their chances to get the highest priesthoods, notably of Athana Lindia, from the middle of the third century onwards, and mostly during the second and first centuries bce: in this case, one can say they diverted a legal procedure to their own benefit and perturbed the democratic turnover.90 Finally, the case of the ephebeia, especially in Athens, is also very telling. This institution evolved on two major points during the Late Hellenistic period: it opened to foreigners in the second half of the second century bce with a neat increase of their number during the first century bce.91 These xenoi had in common to belong to wealthy families often coming from royal courts. The second element, linked with 88 Fröhlich 2004: 453–508 (Attica and Boeotia) and 532 f. Cf. Hamon 2007: 92 f. 89 IOSPE I2, 32, ll. 72–75: πλεῖστα δὲ χειρίσας τῶγ κοινῶν, τρία ἔτη συνεχῶς πάντα διώικησεν ὀρθῶς καὶ δικαίως, τοὺς μὲν λόγους ἐν τοῖς ὡρισμένοις χρόνοις ἀποφέρων (“Having manipulated a lot of common money, he has been during three years a fair and just administrator, giving his accounts within the time limits allowed”). 90 Gabrielsen 1997: 112–136. 91 Perrin-Saminadayar 2005: 76 and 83 f.

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the first one, is that the ephebes had to pay for the activities implied by the system.92 As soon as the beginning of the Hellenistic period, the city stopped giving them the four-obols indemnity that existed at the end of the fourth century bce 93 and, on the contrary, the young people started paying for sacrifices, dedications and even the maintenance of the gymnasion itself. Ephebeia turned into a private club, having its own agenda and not organised by the city anymore.94 This evolution corresponds to the fact that the cosmètès, i. e. the magistrate in charge of the ephebic system, ceased to be accountable for his office at the end of the second century: the last euthynai (“accounts”) are given in 106/5 bce, which makes sense if the city had stopped giving any money.95 Also, after the Mithridatic War, the recruiting of the teachers was no longer controlled by the city.96 8. Late Hellenistic timocracies The last point concerns the legal definition of civic bodies in the Hellenistic period. It’s a well-known fact that a massive part of the population, including women, foreigners and slaves, had always been kept apart from political power in Greek cities, whatever the regime.97 But the narrowing in civic participation in the Hellenistic period, linking wealth and power (here the power to hold offices) through the introduction of a tax-qualification, seems to take us a step further. This can be observed for the boule (“council”) in some regions, like Boeotia and Euboea. In Boeotia for instance, after the dissolution of the koinon by the Romans in 171 bce during the Third Macedonian War, the bouleutai changed their names for that of synedroi. The word obviously came from the political terminology provided by the federal system, where a Council named synedrion is attested in the third century bce.98 As there is no reason why such a change should be a purely linguistic matter, it has been interpreted in a highly probable manner as an evolution in the recruitment of the counsellors with the introduction of a timema. A good example of it, and the oldest one in Boeotia, is a proxeny decree by the city of Akraiphia dated between 170 and 167 in honor of a Roman, Gaios Oktaios, son of Titos, where the proposal is made by the archontes (the “magistrates” 92 Perrin-Saminadayar 2004: 94. 93 See Ps.-Arist. Ath. Pol. 42.3. 94 Perrin-Saminadayar 2004: 101 f. 95 IG II2, 1011, ll. 41/2: καὶ περὶ πάντων τῶν κατὰ τὴν ἀρχὴν ἔδωκεν τὰς εὐθύνας ἐν τῷ δικαστ[ηρίω] ι κατὰ τὸν νόμον (“And concerning all expenses pertaining to his office, he has been accountable in front of the judges as prescribed by law”). 96 Perrin-Saminadayar 2004: 100. See also Perrin-Saminadayar 2005. 97 See the contribution of Clifford Ando to the present volume. 98 Müller 2005: 114–117.

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in general) and the synedroi.99 In other decrees, the synedroi appear as the authors of the decision with the demos.100 In the first century bce, the synedroi started to form a consistent group that could be called an “embryonic ordo”,101 whose advice was still needed even after they had been discharged of their office, as one can see in a decree from Megarian Pagai dated between 65/4 and 57/6 bce.102 The same tendency is observable in the formal organisation of banquets given by the great benefactors from the end of the second century bce. Banquets reflect how rich individuals chose to organise and present the community in a way that considerably differs from what happened during public ceremonies of the same type. One of the best examples is that of Archippe, a wealthy heiress from Kyme in Asia Minor (c. 120 bce), who, on two occasions, set up a banquet for her fellow-citizens, ordered according to their ‘social group’, in a hierarchical way that she created: the bouleutai, the 12 tribes of the civic body and the resident foreigners (paroikoi or metoikoi).103 Social change is here revealed, if not shaped, by the wealthy benefactor, whose power touches the community deeply. The introduction of a timema has been considered a powerful innovation, as the Greeks started drawing lines inside the civic body, which they had not done for a long time according to P. Hamon.104 I don’t completely subscribe to this judgment, as it’s a way to set apart again Spartan-type politeiai. Also we can’t take for granted that this potential evolution has left a visible trace in every period and every city where it might have happened. One should not forget how stable the political vocabulary has been on the long term, potentially hiding multiple changes: the word demos, “People”, for instance is one that never disappeared from the official texts! Finally, the possible in99 IG VII 4127, l.  3, [τὺ ἄρχοντες κὴ τὺ σ]ούνεδρυ ἔλεξαν (“the magistrates and the synedroi have proposed etc.”). The change is probably to be observed elsewhere and might provide a key to improve local chronologies, as in Arcadia where synedroi appear in an honorific decree from Mantinea/Antigoneia (IG V 2, 263, l. 5). 100 E. g., in a decree from Thisbe (Boeotia), where the city accepts ca 120/110 bce to recognise as a penteteric festival the Akraiphian Ptoia, IG VII 4139 (+ BCH 44 [1920], 247–249, no.  9, ll. 17/18: δεδογμένον εἶναι τοῖς τε συνέδροις καὶ τῶι δήμωι Θισβέων: “Be it resolved by the synedroi and the People of the Thisbaeans …”). 101 Hamon 2007: 88. 102 IG VII 190, improved by Wilhelm 1907 (1984). The enactment formula reads ll. 38/39 (new ed.): ἔδ[οξε τοῖ]ς ἄρχουσι καὶ συνέδροις τοῖς ἐκ πάντω[ν τ]ῶν ἐτέων καὶ τῷ δάμ[ῳ] (“It was resolved by the magistrates, the synedroi of all the years and the People”). 103 As suggested by Hamon (2005: 126–129) who deals extensively with the case: SEG 33, 1035–1041. 104 Hamon 2007: 88: “Cette innovation fut d’une importance capitale, car elle définissait pour la première fois depuis bien longtemps en Grèce une frontière entre les citoyens ordinaires et ceux qui participaient activement aux affaires”.

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troduction of a timema for bouleutai and maybe other magistracies did not mean, contrary to the Spartan model, that the ordinary citizens had no access to the assembly.105 All depended on what the timema aimed at and how restricted the civic body was. Yet, the introduction of a timema in the government of Greek democracies meant that only the richest families could hold the charges and therefore that the turnover among citizens would gradually stop to the benefit of the wealthiest, although without eliminating potential new people, as there is no proof that office holding became hereditary. This phenomenon might be associated with the fact that the leading families of the Imperial period can often be traced back in the second century bce. That much is true for cities like Thespiai and Tanagra, free and flourishing Boeotian poleis during the early Empire. Such an evolution fits well the historical context of the settlement of the Third Macedonian war by the Romans in 168/7 bce, at least in mainland Greece. Boeotia for instance endured a harsh and massive political cleansing in the cities that had embraced Perseus’ side.106 The question is therefore to identify the possible influence of the imperatores and the Senate in these changes. Part of the changes obviously came from internal evolutions in the way cities governed themselves.107 But in some cases, there have been authoritarian modifications of politeiai by the Roman victors.108 In 194, Flamininus reorganised Thessaly so that members of the Councils and judges would be recruited according to a tax-qualification;109 in 167, the Romans, having put an end to the Antigonid kingdom, set up four merides (districts) administered by magistrates and a “federal” Council composed of synedroi, access to which was probably limited to people reaching the tax-qualification;110 in 146, in mainland Greece, L. Mummius Achaicus is said by Pausanias to have put an end to democracies and

105 Cf. Hamon 2009: 355 f. 106 Cf. Müller 1996. 107 Cf. Hamon 2007: 374. 108 Ferrary 1987–1989: 206–213, has gathered all the relevant cases. 109 Liv. 34.51.6: a censu maxime et senatum et iudices legit potentioremque eam partem civitatium fecit cui salva et tranquilla omnia esse magis expediebat (“He chose the senate and magistrates mainly on the basis of property and strove to make that element in the communities more influential which found it advantageous to have everything peaceful and quiet”). The measure has been understood as concerning only the federal level in Thessaly (Hamon 2005: 131), but in my view that is not what Livy writes since he explicitly talks about civitates. 110 Liv. 45.32.2: pronuntiatum, quod ad statum Macedoniae pertinebat, senatores, quos synhedros vocant, legendos esse, quorum consilio res publica administraretur (“Concerning the constitution of Macedonia it was announced that senators, whom they call synhedri, were to be chosen to form a Council through which affairs of state were to be conducted”).

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installed offices based on a timema;111 finally, Cicero in 59 calls Temnos’ boule in Asia Minor an ordo senatorius, although that might be simply an interpretatio Romana of a much more complex reality.112 All these testimonies are quite consistent and show that the introduction of a tax-qualification has probably been a major tool used by the Romans to settle the affairs of Greek cities, at least those who had resisted them during the wars: mainland Greece was more and earlier affected than Asia Minor, where the process seems to have been more autonomous and was certainly not achieved before the mid first century bce.113

Conclusion It’s time to conclude briefly. About the way “oligarchy” evolved during the Hellenistic period, it needs to be underlined, once again and loudly so, that trying to sketch a global evolution is virtually impossible, if not meaningless. The key factor to look for is the level of wealth, private and public, but it is not easy to establish in what proportions material inequalities increased then, compared to Classical times. Also, the differences in the accumulation of wealth and the imbalances implied for the period itself are notably difficult to assess, due to the uneven chronological and spatial distribution of literary and epigraphic sources. The wealthiest people seem to belong to the second and first centuries bce, but there is no doubt that high levels of riches are already observable during the third century. In this respect, there is no clear-cut limit between an Early and a Late Hellenistic period. One is therefore better off looking at various “oligarchic situations”, in which wealth and power associated express themselves through different institutions (euergetism, banquets, ephebeia, citizenship, civic offices …) in a variety of places, to the benefit of the wealthiest. The only general noticeable trend might be the changes in legal procedures, and especially the access to offices, from the second third of the second century bce. But, even then, 111 Paus. 7.16.9: πόλεων δέ, ὅσαι Ῥωμαίων ἐναντία ἐπολέμησαν, τείχη μὲν ὁ Μόμμιος κατέλυε καὶ ὅπλα ἀφῃρεῖτο πρὶν ἢ καὶ συμβούλους ἀποσταλῆναι παρὰ Ῥωμαίων: ὡς δὲ ἀφίκοντο οἱ σὺν αὐτῷ βουλευσόμενοι, ἐνταῦθα δημοκρατίας μὲν κατέπαυε, καθίστα δὲ ἀπὸ τιμημάτων τὰς ἀρχάς (“The walls of all the cities that had made war against Rome Mummius demolished, disarming the inhabitants, even before assistant commissioners were dispatched from Rome, and when these did arrive, in these places he proceeded to put down democracies and to establish governments based on a property qualification”). On this controversial passage, see Ferrary 2014 [1988]: 199–209: Pausanias has condensed a lot of information here and he’s probably wrong for some regions like Boeotia as we have seen that synedroi had existed there already from 167. 112 Cic. Flacc. 18.43. See Hamon 2005: 133 f. 113 Hamon 2005: 144.

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the probable introduction of a timema for bouleutai can be traced only in mainland Greece, while Asia Minor seems to be affected a century later. In a way, the distinction established by some historians between Early and Late Hellenistic, that has turned into a new orthodoxy,114 although probably justified in some respects and some cities, can be considered just another version of the “decline” of the Greek city, simply postponed: instead of dying at Chaeronea in 338 bce or after Alexander’s death in 323, the Greek democratic city is now perceived as disappearing (or changing in substantial proportions) around the time the Romans got to Greece in the first half of the second century bce.115 Nonetheless, all the cases we have looked at display a common point, not immune from paradoxes: the close intertwining of democracy and oligarchy. The two terms are not in opposition, nor do they form the two sides of the same coin.116 Also, they are not to be put on a continuous line with oligarchy on one end and democracy on the other, as they are not a matter of proportion. If one goes beyond any constitutional aspect of the vocabulary and accepts the central idea that oligarchy means much more than a narrowing of the civic body based on tax-qualification, one can observe how oligarchical practices tend to divert legal procedures, even in places like Rhodes where democracy does not simply mean freedom (from monarchic domination), and still implies an active political participation of most citizens. In other cities, privatisation affects different institutions: in Athens, the city progressively stops being involved in some major institutions as the ephebic system, which is finally privatised, just as one can talk about privatisation when magistracies (archai) are transformed into liturgies through benefactions. In this respect, the euergetic system, always labelled as a wonderful invention of the Greeks, works first and foremost for the benefit of the wealthiest through complex credit operations. Such situations clearly show, as Winters argues, that democracy and oligarchy are perfectly compatible, with oligarchy operating inside democratic regimes. Troubles begin when the community starts suffering from the imbalances created by the behaviour of the wealthiest who do not hesitate to create, as in Sparta, Olbia or Gytheion, intolerable indebtedness situations leading to stasis if not metastasis.117

114 See for instance the recent book by J.-M. Roubineau on the social history of Greek cities, which does not contain anything on Spartan history (!) and stops in the middle of the second century bce, perceived as a global rupture (Roubineau 2015: 11). 115 Cf. Wiemer 2013: 64–67; Müller 2015: 356 f. On the distinction between the Early and Late Hellenistic period see Gauthier 2005. 116 Cf. Leppin 2013. 117 On stasis, cf. the contribution by Henning Börm to the present volume.

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Bibliography Austin, M., 2006. The Hellenistic World from Alexander to the Roman Conquest, 2Cambridge. Azoulay, V., 2014, Rethinking the Political in Ancient Greece, Annales HSS 69, 11–32. Bielman, A., 1994. Retour à la liberté. Libération et sauvetage des prisonniers en Grèce ancienne, Lausanne/Athens. Carlsson, C., 2010. Hellenistic Democracies. Freedom, Independence and Political Procedure in Some East Greek City-States, Stuttgart. Cartledge, P. – Spawforth, A., 2002. Hellenistic and Roman Sparta: a tale of two cities, 2London. Coulson, W. D. E. – Palagia, O. – Shear T. L. (eds.), 1994. The Archaeology of Athens and Attica under the democracy: proceedings of an international conference celebrating 2500 years since the birth of democracy in Greece, held at the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, December 4–6, 1992, Oxford. Davies, J. K., 1971. Athenian Propertied Families, 600–300 b. c., Oxford. Davies, J. K., 1981. Wealth and the power of wealth in classical Athens, New York. Fabiani, R., 2012. Dedochthai tei boulei kai toi demoi: protagonisti e prassi della procedura deliberativa a Iasos, in: Mann, C.  – Scholz, P. (eds.), “Demokratie” im Hellenismus. Von der Herrschaft des Volkes zur Herrschaft der Honoratioren? Mainz, 109–165. Fabiani, R., 2015. I decreti onorari di Iasos, cronologia e storia, Munich. Ferrary, J.-L., 1987–1989. Les Romains de la République et les démocraties grecques, Opus 6–8, 203–216. Ferrary, J.-L., 1988. Philhellénisme et impérialisme. Aspects idéologiques de la conquête romaine du monde hellénistique, Rome. Figueira, T. 2003. The demography of the Spartan Helots, in: Luraghi, N. – Alcock, S. E. (eds.), Helots and their Masters in Laconia and Messenia, Cambridge/London, 193–239. Fröhlich, P., 2004. Les cités grecques et le contrôle des magistrats, Geneva/Paris. Gabrielsen, V., 1997. The Naval Aristocracy of Hellenistic Rhodes, Aarhus. Gauthier, P., 1985. Les cités grecques et leurs bienfaiteurs, Paris/Athens. Gauthier, P., 2005. Introduction, in: Fröhlich, P. – Müller, C. (eds.), Citoyenneté et participation à la basse époque hellénistique, Geneva/Paris, 1–6. Gauthier, P., 2011 [1984]. Les cités hellénistiques: épigraphie et histoire des institutions et des régimes politiques, in: Gauthier, P., Études d’histoire et d’institutions grecques. Choix d’écrits, Geneva/ Paris, 315–350. Gauthier, P., 2011 [1993]. Les cités hellénistiques, in: Gauthier, P., Études d’histoire et d’institutions grecques. Choix d’écrits, Geneva/Paris, 351–373. Grieb, V., 2008. Hellenistische Demokratie. Politische Organisation und Struktur in freien griechischen Poleis nach Alexander dem Großen, Stuttgart. Habicht, C., 1995. Ist ein “Honoratiorenregime” das Kennzeichen der Stadt im späteren Hellenismus?, in: Wörrle, M. – Zanker, P. (eds.), Stadtbild und Bürgerbild im Hellenismus, Munich, 87–92. Hamon, P., 2005. Le Conseil et la participation des citoyens: les mutations de la basse époque hellénistique, in: Fröhlich, P. – Müller, C. (eds.), Citoyenneté et participation à la basse époque hellénistique, Geneva/Paris, 121–144.

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Oligarchy and the Hellenistic City Hamon, P., 2007. Élites dirigeantes et processus d’aristocratisation à l’époque hellénistique, in: Fernoux, H.-L. – Stein, C. (eds.), Aristocratie antique : modèles et exemplarité sociale. Actes de la Journée d’étude de Dijon, 25 novembre 2005, Dijon, 77–98. Hamon, P., 2009. Démocraties grecques après Alexandre. À propos de trois ouvrages récents, Topoi 16, 347–382. Hansen, M. H., 2015. Political Obligation in Ancient Greece and in the Modern World, Copenhagen. Hansen, M. H. – Nielsen, T. H. (eds.), 2004. An Inventory of Archaic and Classical Poleis, Oxford. Hodkinson, S., 2000. Property and Wealth in Classical Sparta, Swansea. Kennell, N. M., 2009. From Perioikoi to Poleis: The Laconian cities in the late Hellenistic period, in: Hodkinson, S. – Powell, A. (eds.), Sparta. New perspectives, Swansea, 189–210. Knoepfler, D., 2001. Loi d’Érétrie contre la tyrannie et l’oligarchie (première partie), BCH 125, 195–238. Knoepfler, D., 2002. Loi d’Érétrie contre la tyrannie et l’oligarchie (deuxième partie), BCH 126, 149–204. Knoepfler, D., 2011. Athènes hellénistique (2e partie): nouveaux développements sur l’histoire, les institutions et les cultes de la cité, in Cours du Collège de France 2011, 435–459. Leppin, H., 2013. Unlike(ly) Twins. Democracy and Oligarchy in Context, in: Beck, H. (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Greek Government, Malden, 146–158. Marmursztejn, E., 2012. Introduction, in: Beaulande, V. – Claustre, J. – Marmursztejn, E. (eds.), La fabrique de la norme: lieux et modes de production des normes au Moyen Âge et à l’époque moderne, Rennes, 7–14. Michels, R., 2001 [1911]. Political Parties: A Sociological Study of the Oligarchical Tendencies of Modern Democracy, Kitchener. Migeotte, L., 1984. L’emprunt public dans les cités grecques, Québec/Paris. Müller, C., 1996. Le comportement politique des cités béotiennes dans le premier tiers du IIe s. a. C.: le cas d’Haliarte, Thisbé et Coronée, in: Fossey J. M. (ed.), Proceedings of the 8th International Conference on Boiotian Antiquities. Boiotia Antiqua VI, Amsterdam, 127–141. Müller, C., 2005. La procédure d’adoption des décrets en Béotie de la fin du IIIe s. av. J.-C au Ier s. ap. J.-C., in: Fröhlich P. – Müller, C. (eds.), Citoyenneté et participation à la basse époque hellénistique, Geneva/Paris, 95–119. Müller, C., 2010. D’Olbia à Tanaïs. Territoires et réseaux d’échanges dans la mer Noire septentrionale aux époques classique et hellénistique, Bordeaux. Müller, C., 2011a. Évergétisme et pratiques financières dans les cités de la Grèce hellénistique, REA 113, 345–363. Müller, C., 2011b. Autopsy of a Crisis: Wealth, Protogenes and the City of Olbia in c. 200 bc, in: Archibald, Z. H. –Davies, J. K. – Gabrielsen, V. (eds.), The Economies of Hellenistic Societies. Third to First Centuries BC, Oxford, 324–344. Müller, C., 2015. De l’époque classique à l’époque hellénistique: la citoyenneté des Grecs, une citoyenneté en mutation? Réflexions sur la question de l’appartenance multiple, Studi Ellenistici 29, 355–369. Musti, D., 1995. Demokratía. Origini di un’idea, Rome/Bari. Nicolet, C., 1983. Polybe et la “constitution” de Rome. Aristocratie et démocratie, in: Nicolet, C. (ed.), Demokratia et Aristokratia. À propos de Caius Gracchus: mots grecs et réalités romaines, Paris, 15–35. North, D., 1990. Institutions, Institutional Change and Economic Performance, Cambridge.

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Christel Müller Ostwald, M., 2000. Oligarchia. The Development of a Constitutional Form in Ancient Greece, Stuttgart. Perrin-Saminadayar, E., 2004. L’éphébie attique, de la crise mithridatique à Hadrien: miroir de la société athénienne?, in: Follet, S. (ed.), L’hellénisme d’époque romaine: nouveaux documents, nouvelles approches, Paris, 87–103. Perrin-Saminadayar, E., 2005. Images, statut et accueil des étrangers à Athènes: le tournant de l’époque hellénistique, in: Perrin, Y. – Nourrisson, D. (eds.), Le barbare, l’étranger: images de l’autre, Saint-Étienne, 67–91. Perrin-Saminadayar, E., 2013. Stratégies collectives, familiales et individuelles en œuvre au sein de l’éphébie attique: l’instrumentalisation d’une institution publique, in: Fröhlich, P.  – Hamon, P. (eds.), Groupes et associations dans les cités grecques (IIIe s. a. C.–IIe s. p. C.), Geneva, 159–175. Quaß, F., 1992. Bemerkungen zur “Honoratiorenherrschaft” in den griechischen Städten der hellenistischen Zeit, Gymnasium 99, 422–434. Quaß, F., 1993. Die Honoratiorenschicht in den Städten des griechischen Ostens, Stuttgart. Roubineau, J.-M., 2015. Les cités grecques (VIe–IIe siècle avant J.-C.). Essai d’histoire sociale, Paris. Simonton, M., 2017. Classical Greek Oligarchy, Princeton. Shear, J. L., 2011. Polis and revolution: responding to oligarchy in classical Athens, Cambridge. Veyne, P., 1990 [1976]. Bread and circuses. Historical Sociology and Political Pluralism, London. Walbank, F., 1957. A Historical Commentary on Polybius, vol. 1 (Books 1–6), Oxford. Wiemer, H.-U., 2013. Hellenistic Cities: the End of Greek Democracy?, in: Beck, H. (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Greek Government, Malden, 54–69. Wilhelm, A., 1907. Inschrift aus Pagai, JÖAI 10, 17–32 (= Kleine Schriften [1984], II.1, 261–276). Winters, J. A., 2011. Oligarchy, New York/Cambridge. Addendum: It was not before this article was completed and submitted that I could read M. Simonton’s book Classical Greek Oligarchy: A Political History, which from now on will be the reference on the topic. I especially appreciated the efforts made by the author to define membership in a Classical oligarchy as a matter of wealth (Simonton 2017: 35–40), although he is concerned by the political side of things rather than by economy.

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3 STASIS IN POST-CLASSICAL GREECE: THE DISCOURSE OF CIVIL STRIFE IN THE HELLENISTIC WORLD Henning Börm*

At some point in the third century bce, in the small Greek polis of Nacone in Western Sicily, something extraordinary happened. According to a decree inscribed on a bronze tablet published in 1980,1 citizens of Nacone who had been involved in civic strife were supposed to appear before the demos on a specific day. Each of the two factions was expected to produce a list of thirty of their enemies’ names. The archons were then to distribute by lot the sixty citizens on the two lists into thirty pairs consisting of one citizen from each faction. They were to add to each pair the names of three further citizens, also chosen by lot, who could not be close relatives of any faction-member. Each of the thirty groups of five men created through this process formed an adelphotetia, an artificial brotherhood. All remaining citizens were to be divided by lot into groups of five, which could not include close relatives. Thereafter, the resulting brotherhoods were to offer yearly sacrifice to the goddess Homonoia.2 We may well wonder whether this unusual procedure was ever really put into practice, since the inscription, thanking three arbitrators who had come from Segesta, apparently never reached the place where it was supposed to be displayed, the temple of Zeus Olympius in Nacone. Be that as it may, even though the word is never used *

This essay was written during a stay at the Institute of Advanced Study at the University of Konstanz, part of the university’s Center of Excellence “Cultural Foundations of Social Integration,” established in the framework of the German Federal and State Initiative for Excellence. My special thanks are due to Nino Luraghi (Princeton), John Noël Dillon (Berkeley) and Thomas Wilson (Princeton) for helping to prepare the English version of this paper. 1 SEG 30,1119; ASNP 6.1, 2001, 5–6. 2 Cf. the translation of Gray 2016: 60.

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in the text, it is clear that the events behind this episode amounted to an outbreak of stasis. It is typical that this oft-studied text,3 otherwise so precise, glosses over the obviously unpleasant events that inspired it. I will return to this below.

*** First, however, some general remarks are in order. Earlier scholars, following ancient authors like Lycurgus4 and Pausanias,5 assumed that the age of the polis6 more or less ended with the battle of Chaeronea in 338 bce.7 From then on, it was thought, political history really happened on the level of the Hellenistic kingdoms8 or the koina.9 It is well known, of course, that this notion has been generally questioned and largely rejected over the past thirty years.10 According to the new consensus, however, if we regard the Hellenistic period as a time when the polis generally had not lost any of its importance in the lives of most Greeks,11 then sooner or later we will need to address a phenomenon that has hitherto been investigated primarily for the period before Alexander – namely civil strife,12 or as the Greeks usually called it, stasis (στάσις).13 3 Cf. Asheri 1982, van Effenterre 1988, Dössel 2003: 235–247, Eich 2004: 95–98, Chaniotis 2010, and Gray 2015: 36–41. 4 As early as 330 bce, Lycurgus claimed that Macedonia’s victory over Thebes and Athens was the moment when Greece fell into slavery; Lyc. contra Leocrat. 50. 5 Paus. 1.25.3. On Pausanias’ account of Hellenistic history, cf. Ameling 1994. 6 Cf. the critical remarks by Vlassopoulos 2007: 97–141. 7 Cf. Bengtson 1960: 315; Urban 1981: 11. 8 Cf. Grainger 2017: 9–72. From the multitude of modern publications on Hellenistic monarchy, see, e. g., Austin 1986, Bringmann 1993, Ma 2003, Strootman 2011, Gehrke 2013, Gotter 2013, and Thonemann 2018: 40–56. 9 Cf. Beck/Funke 2015. 10 Gruen 1993 and Gauthier 1993 were groundbreaking. See also Deininger 1993 and Zimmermann 2008. Still useful is Jones 1940: 157–169, while Runciman 1990 takes a fundamentally different position. 11 Billows 2003, Chamoux 2003: 165–213, Wiemer 2013, and Ma 2014 offer good summaries of the lively scholarly debate over the Hellenistic city. On Hellenistic urbanism cf. Kolb 1984: 121–140 and Bielfeldt 2012. 12 Cf. Börm 2016a: 15–20. On civil strife in general, see Kalyvas 2007, Ferhadbegović/Weiffen 2011, Veit/Schlichte 2011, and Armitage 2017. 13 Cf. Hansen 2006: “The word stasis actually means ‘stance’; but it underwent shifts of meanings as follows: (1) stance, (2) standpoint, (3) group of people with the same standpoint, (4) in the plural: two or more groups with opposing standpoints, (5) the split between groups, and (6) civil war” (125). See also Finley 1983: “When employed in a socio-political context, stasis had a broad range of meanings, from political grouping or rivalry through faction (in its pejorative

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In the years between 220 and 146 bce, Polybius had occasion to mention several cases of stasis. One such episode took place in Cynaetha, where in 220 bce the losing faction called in the Aitolians,14 who then apparently massacred the members of both factions.15 On numerous occasions, Polybius states without adding further detail that civil strife broke out in various poleis,16 especially during a siege.17 Thanks to Diodorus, we know of numerous civil conflicts in the Early Hellenistic period, including the massacre incited by Agathocles’ faction in Syracuse in 316 bce, 18 and Strabo, Livy, Plutarch, Polyaenus, Pausanias, and Appian are rich sources for stasis in the Post-Classical period. It is thus all the more surprising that these conflicts – typically between two rival factions19 – in Hellenistic poleis have received little systematic scholarly treatment.20 In my view, a study of stasis and of how ancient contemporaries conceptualized it gives us insight into the nature of the Hellenistic polis. Viewed as the disintegration of the community, which all too often – albeit not always – devolved into violence, stasis was considered the worst disaster that could befall a polis even in the Classical period, and Plutarch states around 100 ce that preventing stasis was still the most important task a Greek politician faced, even under the conditions of Roman rule.21 As sense) to open civil war. That correctly reflected the political realities. Ancient moralists and theorists, who were hostile to the realities, understandably clung to the pejorative overtones of the word and identified stasis as the central malady of their society” (105). 14 Cf. Funke 2015. 15 Pol. 4.3–29. Cf. Rubinstein 2013: 147–149. In this context, it is noteworthy that Polybius attributes the particular brutality of this stasis to the fact that the citizens of Cynaetha had failed to restrain their passions with music, ring-dances, and marches – this can only mean an education in a gymnasion – so that they ultimately ran completely wild; cf. Gschnitzer 1996: 182. On the widespread notion that the wrath (θυμός) of youth could and must be tamed by education in the gymnasion, cf. Gehrke 2016. On Hellenistic discourses on wrath, cf. also Harris 2001: 362–390. 16 E. g. Pol. 2.39.3–4. 17 Pol. 10.43.8. At the dawn of the Hellenistic Period, Aeneas Tacticus notably warned of stasis and concomitant acts of treason in the case of a siege; cf. Urban 1986 and Winterling 1991. Winterling rightly stresses that Aeneas does not presume “an economically based division in society” (217) as the cause of stasis, but rather power-struggles among the elite, combined with the efforts of certain segments of the population to obtain economic advantages (222). 18 Diod. 19.6.6–19.7.4. The influence of tragic historiography on this passage is striking. For an enlightening analysis of the depiction of violence and related discourses in Hellenistic literature, see Zimmermann 2013: 165–218 (esp. 187–197). On the history of Syracuse in the fourth century, cf. Evans 2016: 163–189. 19 Cf. Gehrke 1985: 245–249. 20 See, however, my habilitation thesis, which I hope to publish in the near future; cf. Börm 2017. 21 Plut. Mor. 824c–e. Cf. Halfmann 2002.

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late as the third century ce, Dexippus remarks that there was nothing worse and more destructive than conflict within the citizen body.22 Stasis entailed huge risks. Whoever decided to go down this path anyway did so anticipating that the effort would be worth the danger. Herein lies the importance of stasis for the Post-Classical Greek city: in my view, these existential crises that befell so many cities in fact indicate the abiding relevance and vitality of the Hellenistic polis. Since the purpose of stasis was, as it had always been, to take control of a polis, this goal must have still seemed worthwhile to convince the citizens involved to make every sacrifice necessary and to break any rule. Accordingly, a better understanding of Hellenistic stasis will give us a better understanding of the Hellenistic polis itself. Of course, it hardly need be pointed out that historians have long recognized the importance of stasis. Earlier scholars, however, besides concentrating primarily on the period before Alexander,23 devoted most of their energy to the question of the causes of stasis. The explanations they propose can be subsumed under three models. Some scholars believe that outbreaks of violence in a polis were caused primarily by the involvement of the parties in external conflicts.24 Along these lines, Jürgen Deininger once maintained that the Roman presence in Greece from 200 bce onwards provoked a series of polarizing conflicts and led to the rise of factions in Greek cities.25 According to this model, stasis thus is a by-product of interstate conflict. A much older model identifies economic inequality, social tensions, and class struggle as the real roots of stasis. Scholars who follow this model, which was particularly prominent in Anglo-Saxon research, argue that the ancient actors alleged other reasons, in particular the struggle between oligarchs and democrats,26 to put an ideological veneer on conflicts that were primarily economic in nature.27

22 ὅτι ἰσχυρότατον στάσις ταράξαι εὐεξίαν καὶ εὐταξίαν φθεῖραι πόλεώς τε καὶ στρατοπέδων; BNJ 100 F 32 f. 23 Cf. especially Legon 1966, Heuß 1973: 24–34, Lintott 1982, Gehrke 1985: 11–199, Hölkeskamp 1989, Berger 1992 (for the Western Greeks), Loraux 1995, Berent 1998, Fisher 2000, Loraux 2002, Hansen 2004, Dotter 2014, Pozzatello 2014, and Simonton 2017. 24 Cf. Ruschenbusch 1978: 32, for the period between 454 and 346 bce. For a thorough discussion, cf. Gehrke 1985: 277–287. 25 Cf. Deininger 1971: 128–134 and 262–270. Deininger calls Roman influence a Spaltpilz (39). 26 Cf. Leppin 2013. See also Winters 2011: 72–77. 27 Cf. Briscoe 1967, Oliva 1974, de Ste. Croix 1981: 300–326, Mendels 1982, and Fuks 1984. Tarn 1924 is still worth reading. The assumption that there was a “class struggle” between “rich” and “poor” in the polis still appears in recent scholarly studies; cf. Walsh 2000, Martínez-Lacy 2000 and Cartledge 2012: 323. In contrast, Gruen 1976 is extremely skeptical of the interpretation presented by the sources. The fundamental criticism of Passerini 1930 has also been very influential.

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Proponents of the third model agree with the second insofar as they also believe that the real motives of the historical actors were often concealed. However, scholars such as Hans-Joachim Gehrke and Aloys Winterling argue that stasis was essentially the product of feuds and power struggles among polis elites: competing factions mobilized the citizenry merely as pawns in their struggle against their rivals, who themselves were members of the elite.28 According to this view, honor and vengeance were often the motives for the violent escalation of conflicts.29 I do not intend to engage these discussions in this paper, nor do I intend to explore the plausibility of these models or their applicability to the Hellenistic period.30 This is partly because any investigation of Hellenistic stasis faces daunting problems of evidence. In the second century ce, Aelius Aristides explicitly declares that there was no subject on which one should keep silent more strictly than stasis, because as soon as one recalls the events, the conflict all too easily can escalate anew.31 Aristides, of course, is a late witness,32 but in my view what he says also applies to the Hellenistic period. Inscriptions from this period often make reference to discord, conflict, and stasis in poleis, as we have seen in the case of Nacone, but when it comes to the actual events, they are usually so vague that a reconstruction is impossible. They tend to do no more than remark that there had been a conflict and that harmony now needed to be restored, without giving any further explanation. This phenomenon can hardly be merely the result of the concern expressed by Aristides – that recalling traumatic events may revive the conflict.33 Rather, these inscriptions themselves are intended to document the restoration of concord within the polis and are products of negotiation;34 as such, they often avoid any explicit attribution of guilt. On the other hand,

28 Cf. Gehrke 1985: 309–353; Winterling 1991. See also Lintott 1982: 252–263, Figueira 1991, Shipley 2000: 132 f., Hansen 2004, and Schmitz 2014: 95–110. Eich 2006: 522–540 is critical of this “elitäre Stasismodell.” In sociology, a model of the “circulation of elites,” who seek support from the “common people” in the context of inter-elite rivalries, was developed in 1916 by Vilfredo Pareto; cf. Pareto 1962: 148–155. 29 Cf. Gehrke 1987, Flaig 1998, Fisher 2000, and Ruch 2013. Cf. Flaig 2006: “Die eigenhändige Rache führt zur Gewaltanwendung innerhalb der Bürgerschaft und zur Tötung von Mitbürgern. Sie provoziert Gegenschläge und befördert damit Eskalationen, die den inneren Frieden einer Gemeinschaft außer Kraft setzen und damit die Grundlagen des Zusammenlebens einer Polis zerstören” (50). 30 These questions are discussed at lenght in Börm 2017. 31 Ael. Arist. orat. 24.41. 32 Cf. Buraselis 1998. 33 The “classical” formula in the inscriptions is μὴ μνησικακεῖν (ἀλλήλοις τῶν γεγενημένων). Cf. Carawan 2012 (challenging the traditional view) and Gray 2015: 15. 34 Cf. Luraghi 2010.

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inscriptions that were commissioned by victorious factions are of course even more problematic.35 However, the sources are less reticent if we look for evidence of the conceptualization of stasis. In other words, it is possible to investigate the discursive construction of discord within the citizen community, and this is what I intend to do in the present paper: regardless of how plausible contemporary explanations appear to be from the point of view of modern historians, I intend to discuss several examples of how Greeks in the Hellenistic and Early Imperial period explained stasis and its causes.36 One central question I wish to address is whether the dramatic change of political parameters caused by the rise of the Hellenistic kingdoms had a substantial impact on the discourse of stasis.

*** If we assume that there is a kernel of truth in the bleak picture Isocrates paints of late Classical Greece,37 the problem of stasis had escalated over the course of the fourth century bce.38 This inference is supported by the fact that both Democritus39 and Plato40 discussed the subject at length, and that Aristotle dedicated the entire fifth book of the Politics to it.41 If we believe Diodorus, on the occasion of the proclamation 35 Cf. Ma 2009: “Within cities, the construction of memory may have been the means or the prize in struggles or personal agendas […]. ‘Collective memory’, like other products of the Greek city, may have to be read against the grain” (256). 36 For an overview of political thought in this period, cf. Aalders 1975. See now Gray 2015: 35–78, suggesting a distinction between a “Nakonian” and a “Dikaiopolitan” (cf. Driscoll 2016; Scharff 2016) paradigm: “In many cases Greeks treated stasis as a collective madness or disease, for which individuals could not reasonably be held responsible […]. At Dikaia, by contrast, there was much less hesitancy […] about assigning responsibility for the stasis to the voluntary agency of individual citizens” (54). 37 Isoc. Pan. 174. Fuks 1984: 52–79 offers further passages, but his analysis is often excessively schematic. 38 Cf. Lintott 1982: 222–238 and Rhodes 2015: 39–44. On the Athenian discourse of stasis and violence in the fourth century, cf. also Piepenbrink 2001: 33–48, Allen 2006, and Rieß 2012: 379– 394. 39 Cf. McConnell 2012: 98–101. The Hellenistic Epicurean theory of stasis was apparently heavily influenced by Democritus. 40 Plat. Pol. 351d–352a; 443d–444e; 545c–549d. Cf. Bertrand 1999 and Pontier 2006. 41 From the multitude of publications on Aristotle’s theory of stasis, see, e. g., Davis 1986, Polansky 1991, Kalimtzis 2000, Weed 2007, Skultety 2009, and Rogan 2014. Annas 1995 gives a good overview of its reception in the Hellenistic period.

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of the Exiles Decree in 324, there were tens of thousands of phygades in Olympia,42 which may be regarded as yet another indication of the ubiquity and virulence of the problem in the fourth century. The “prohibition” of revolutions by the Corinthian League in 338 bce also points in this direction.43 An enumeration of all cases of stasis that occurred in the context of Alexander’s campaigns44 and the wars of the Diadochi would take us well beyond the scope of this paper. Around 300 bce, a certain Leon of Byzantium is said not only to have composed a lost history of Alexander the Great, but also to have resolved a conflict within the citizen body of his own polis.45 The work On staseis (περὶ στάσεων) attributed to him has unfortunately been completely lost,46 but its existence highlights the importance of the topic in the Hellenistic period. The Epicureans also explored civil strife in depth, apparently identifying envy and ambition as its primary causes.47 Stasis was taken for granted to such an extent that around the middle of the second century bce Menecles of Barca declared that Herodotus’ version of the foundation of Cyrene48 was a myth, because the true reason for the departure of the colonists, he assumed, was clearly stasis in the mother-city Thera.49 For Polybius it was natural to call the revolt of the mercenaries in Carthage after the First Punic War stasis.50 In doing so, he made use of a common image from Archaic and Classical times, comparing civil wars in a city to a disease,51 and his depiction of this conflict clearly recalls Thucydides’ famous “pathology” of civil war.52

42 Diodor 18.8.2–7. Besides Heuß 1973: 36 f., Seibert 1979: 158–162, Gehrke 1985: 306 f. and Worthington 2015, cf. esp. Zahrnt 2003, who interprets the decree as a deliberate attempt by Alexander to incite unrest in Hellas (cf. Zahrnt 2016: 314–317). Bosworth 1988: 220–228 also assumes that its purpose was “destabilisation.” Cf. contra Dmitriev 2004. On phygades in pre-Hellenistic Greece, cf. Balogh 1943, Telschow 1952, and Gehrke 1985: 216–236. Cf. also Garland 2014: 79–98 and Gray 2015: 293–379. 43 Cf. Urban 1981 and Jehne 1994: 166–197. 44 Cf. Arr. Anab. 1.17.12; 1.18.1 f.; Curt. Ruf. 4.5.23. 45 Plut. Mor. 804a–b. 46 FGrHist 132 T 1. 47 Cf. McConnell 2012: 101–107. 48 Hdt. 4.150–152. Cf. Osborne 2002: 505–508. 49 FGrHist 270 F 1. 50 Pol. 1.66.10; 1.67.2; 1.67.5. In my view, this is an interpretatio Graeca. 51 Pol. 1.81.7–10 and 1.83.4. There, Polybius considers stasis as a mental illness: ταῖς τε ψυχαῖς παραπλησίως τοιαῦται πολλάκις ἐπιφύονται μελανίαι καὶ σηπεδόνες ὥστε μηδὲν ἀσεβέστερον ἀνθρώπου μηδ᾽ ὠμότερον ἀποτελεῖσθαι τῶν ζῴων (Pol. 1.81.7). On stasis as a disease of the polis, cf., for instance, Aeschyl. Pers. 715; Plat. Soph. 228a. Cf. Kalimtzis 2000: 17–22; Dreyer 2016: 93 f. 52 Thuc. 3.79–84. Cf. Price 2001: 6–66.

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Among the explanations provided by the sources, economic factors take pride of place. Aristotle notes that according to Phaleas of Chalcedon “all staseis” (τὰς στάσεις πάντας) were property disputes (περὶ τὰς οὐσίας).53 In the third century bce, the Cynic philosopher Cercidas of Megalopolis attacked the rich, apparently urging them to improve the situation of the poor before it was too late.54 According to Diodorus, the people of Achaea were spurred to stasis in 147 bce by the promise of a general cancellation of debts (χρεῶν ἀποκοπή),55 while Plutarch reports that a redistribution of land (γῆς ἀναδασμός) was demanded during the stasis between Agis IV and Leonidas in Sparta.56 Both reports undoubtedly derive from Hellenistic authors. Obviously, we need to be alive to the possibility that, to some extent, the connection between stasis, agrarian reform, and property redistribution may be a topos intended to emphasize the gravity of the conflict.57 There is no doubt, however, that material compensation played a key part in reestablishing peace in a community and reintegrating exiles:58 thus Ptolemy II is said to have given the massive sum of 150 talents to Aratus of Sicyon in 250 bce to pacify the polis.59 Plutarch reports that Aratus established a sixteen-man commission under his leadership that, with great effort, used the Egyptian money to achieve reconciliation in Sicyon.60 Epigraphic evidence also documents the role of socio-economic tensions in generating discontent, for instance a well-known decree of the Arcadian polis of Alipheira, probably from 273  bce.61 This inscription, preserved largely intact but not always easy to understand, alludes vaguely to acute conflict within the citizen body; the cancellation of debts is ostensibly meant to restore concord: “Nobody shall bear a grudge against anybody because of previous conflicts … and nobody shall ever again mention previ-

53 Arist. Pol. 1266a. 54 Pap. Oxy. VIII 1082. Cf. Moles 1995: 150–152. 55 Diod. 32.26.3. Cf. Pol. 38.12.10. 56 Plut. Agis 8.1. Cf. Shipley 2000: 143–147, Préaux 2004: 530–541, and Cartledge 2002: 38–58. Geske 2009 offers some valuable reflections on the “social program” that Agis IV and Cleomenes III pursued. Cicero (following Panaetius) viewed the plans for land reform as the immediate cause of Agis’ death; Cic. Off. 2.80. 57 On γῆς ἀναδασμός, cf. Asheri 1966, Gehrke 1985: 323–325, and Orth 1986, who assumes that the phenomenon is situated less in the real social development than in the realm of political slogans (739). See, however, Eich 2006: 543–555. 58 Cf. Lonis 1991; Gray 2015: 80–98. See, for example, an inscription from Cos recording a civic reconciliation at Telos around 305 bce; cf. IG XII 4.1.132 (l. 79–110). 59 Cf. Walbank 1933: 35 f.; Bringmann 1995: 119–122; Rubinstein 2013: 149–154. It is obvious that the king intended to maintain Ptolemaic influence over the Peloponnese. 60 Plut. Arat. 13.4–14.2; Cic. Off. 2.81 f.; Paus. 2.8.3. Cf. Grabowski 2012: 87 f. 61 Cf. Dössel 2003: 223–234.

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ous debts or demand that they be paid back, and nobody, magistrate or private citizen, shall send anybody into exile.”62 The inscription explicitly mentions a χρεῶν στάσις. It is well possible, however, that we should interpret this as a “freezing of debt service payments” rather than “civil strife arising over debts.”63 Be that as it may, the notion that stasis had economic causes was already well established in the Classical Period. According to Thucydides, many self-professed democrats in Corcyra were actually plotting to kill their creditors.64 The same is true of the other prominent explanation for stasis, namely, external conflicts. In the fifth century, Greek poleis were torn between Athens, Sparta, and Persia, and by the same token the literary sources again and again suggest that during the Hellenistic period staseis escalated in tandem with conflicts between the kings, the koina, and the Romans. This, for instance, is how Livy depicts stasis in Hypata in 177 bce: eighty exiles or fugitives belonging to the faction of Proxenus, who had distinguished himself as pro-Roman, were murdered upon returning to their polis by the pro-Macedonian faction led by Eupolemus, in spite of previous agreements.65 In some cases, however, not even contemporaries seem to agree on whether stasis preceded an interstate conflict. In 184 bce, for example, when a large part of the citizen body of Maronea had been eliminated the Romans accused Philip V of Macedon, claiming that the culprits were his men. The king, however, replied that what had happened was simply a consequence of stasis, in the course of which the citizens who supported the Antigonids had eliminated those who supported the Attalids – in other words, the episode was purely an internal affair of Maronea that concerned neither Philip himself nor the Romans. It is entirely possible that the Romans were making scapegoats of the Macedonians: we have no way of knowing what actually happened, since Polybius gives only the Roman reading of the events.66 In 318 bce, Polyperchon apparently repeated the general proclamation of freedom that had been declared in the name of the kings the year before67 and promised

62 IPArk 24 = SEG 25,447. Cf. Rubinstein 2013: 142–147. Debt-disputes are mentioned elsewhere, too; cf. Syll.3 364 and SEG 26,677. 63 However, since such a cancellation of debts was always tantamount to an expropriation of the creditors, one may in fact wonder if this was really an attempt at reconciliation. 64 Thuc. 3.81.4. Cf. Gehrke 1985: 88–93. 65 Liv. 41.25.1–4. Cf. Deininger 1971: 151, Seibert 1979: 209, and Gray 2015: 235 f. “The problem at Hypata would seem to be local to that city, for Eupolemus is identified as a man of Hypata, not as strategos, or as a league official” (Grainger 1999: 512). 66 Pol. 22.13.6–9. 67 Diod. 18.55 f. For the context, cf. most recently Poddighe 2013.

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autonomy to the cities of the Peloponnese.68 This amounted to no less than an incitement to stasis: if Diodorus correctly reports the content of the proclamation, it not only ordered the restoration of exiles (φυγάδες), but also the banishment and dispossession of all those who had opposed the kings or Polyperchon himself – a remarkable way to spell out what one meant by “freedom.”69 The goal clearly was to replace the ruling class in the poleis by force.70 And indeed, according to Diodorus, those who had supported Antipater in many places were massacred.71 The same narrative appears all over the Hellenistic world. According to Livy and Appian, for instance, remarkable events occurred in Apulian Salapia in 212 bce. After the Battle of Cannae, the city had fallen to Hannibal; the citizen body, however, had already long been split into two hostile groups, who now respectively sought the support of the Romans or Carthaginians. The “friends of Rome” finally got the best of their enemies: after neutralizing the Carthaginian garrison with the Romans’ help, they slaughtered the rival party in a bloodbath.72 In this context, Polybius’ remarks on events that took place in Arcadian Mantinea in the third century bce warrant closer scrutiny. His account is not integrated into the narrative proper, but rather formed part of his attacks on Phylarchus, whose lost account of the events Polybius subjects to harsh criticism: since the citizens of Mantinea feared both stasis and attacks by the Spartans and Aitolians, they had petitioned for an Achaian garrison.73 When an uprising actually occurred shortly thereafter, however, the Achaian soldiers were killed and the Spartans called in.74 Polybius accuses Phylarchus of giving a distorted and exaggerated account of the punishment of Mantinea

68 Cf. Errington 2008: 23–25, who emphasizes how important controlling the Peloponnese was for Polyperchon’s survival. 69 Diod. 18.56.7: ποιήσασθαι δὲ δόγμα πάντας τοὺς Ἕλληνας μηδένα μήτε στρατεύειν μήτε πράττειν ὑπεναντία ἡμῖν: εἰ δὲ μή, φεύγειν αὐτὸν καὶ γενεὰν καὶ τῶν ὄντων στέρεσθαι. Cf. Gehrke 1985: 287 f. 70 On the slogan of freedom under the Diadochi, cf. Dmitriev 2011: 112–141, who, however, concentrates primarily on “international” aspects – the slogan will have served to legitimate wars against other Diadochi (128) – and thus, in my view, overlooks the relevance of corresponding slogans for the domestic affairs of poleis. This aspect similarly does not receive sufficient attention in the otherwise very lucid discussion of Gruen 1984: 133–143. 71 Diod. 18.69.3 f. 72 App. Hann. 7.47; Liv. 26.38.6–14. Cf. Fronda 2010: 60–64. 73 Pol. 2.58.1: μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα προορώμενοι τὰς ἐν αὑτοῖς στάσεις καὶ τὰς ὑπ᾽ Αἰτωλῶν καὶ Λακεδαιμονίων ἐπιβουλάς, πρεσβεύσαντες πρὸς τοὺς Ἀχαιοὺς ἠξίωσαν δοῦναι παραφυλακὴν αὑτοῖς. 74 Pol. 2.58.4: μετ᾽ οὐ πολὺ δὲ στασιάσαντες πρὸς σφᾶς οἱ Μαντινεῖς καὶ Λακεδαιμονίους ἐπισπασάμενοι τήν τε πόλιν ἐνεχείρισαν καὶ τοὺς παρὰ τῶν Ἀχαιῶν διατρίβοντας παρ᾽ αὑτοῖς κατέσφαξαν.

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by Antigonus Doson and Aratus  – because in reality, after the city had been plundered, the citizens had merely been sold into slavery, which in Polybius’ opinion was a just and moderate punishment for their treachery.75 From the middle of the second century bce, such episodes become rarer, and understandably so, because from that point on there was usually no realistic alternative to Rome. Those who posed most convincingly as the Romans’ friends thus seized control of many cities.76 Mithridates VI Eupator seemed to offer one last challenge,77 and indeed Appian says that he attacked Chios because of its pro-Roman faction (διὰ τοὺς ῥωμαΐζοντας).78 There were clear cases of stasis in Chaeronea,79 Colophon,80 Adramyttium,81 Magnesia ad Sipylum,82 and, most famously, Athens.83 If we believe Pompeius Trogus, or rather Justin, it appears that stasis also broke out in Antioch on the Orontes, where the rival factions in the citizen body respectively supported Mithri-

75 Pol. 2.58.12. On this passage, cf. the analysis of Zimmermann 2013: 176 f. On Polybius’ depiction of uprisings, cf. also Mendels 1982, who, like Fuks, adopts a Marxist approach and concludes – somewhat irritated – that “the polarity between the ‘haves’ and the ‘havenots’ is only implied in Polybius’ Histories” (87). 76 Cf. Ferrary 1988, Badian 1984, McGing 2003 and Schulz 2011. Cf. Wiemer 2013: “No Greek city could do without citizens who were acceptable as hosts to Roman knights and senators; and being known to be on good terms with Romans greatly increased one’s standing among fellow citizens” (66). 77 Cf. Ñaco et al. 2011. 78 App. Mithr. 7.46–47. 79 Plut. Kim. 1.2–2.2. Cf. Ma 1994, Kallet-Marx 1995: 279–281, Mackay 2000, Franco 2003, Ellinger 2005, and Niebergall 2011: 63–65. 80 Plut. Luc. 3.3. Cf. Bernhardt 1985: 52. 81 Strab. 13.1.66: ἠτύχησε δὲ τὸ Ἀδραμύττιον ἐν τῷ Μιθριδατικῷ πολέμῳ. τὴν γὰρ βουλὴν ἀπέσφαξε τῶν πολιτῶν Διόδωρος στρατηγὸς χαριζόμενος τῷ βασιλεῖ, προσποιούμενος δ᾽ ἅμα τῶν τε ἐξ Ἀκαδημίας φιλοσόφων εἶναι καὶ δίκας λέγειν καὶ σοφιστεύειν τὰ ῥητορικά. Cf. Berve 1967: 430. 82 In Magnesia, Cretinas and Hermeias were involved in a controversy (ἀντιπολιτευόμενος ἀνδρὶ; cf. Ruschenbusch 1980) at the moment that Pontic troops approached the city. Instead of seeking support from the external enemy, the stasiarchoi of both parties – according to Plutarch – reached a peaceful agreement: Cretinas, who seems to have the narrator’s sympathies, supposedly proposed to Hermeias that one of them should leave the city so that the other could defend it against Mithridates. Hermeias agreed and willingly went into exile with his family (Plut. Mor. 809b–d). It is, however, much more likely that he was simply forced to leave the city, because it was feared that his faction would otherwise betray it to the king. 83 Athen. 5.47–53 (= FGrHist 87 F 36); App. Mithr. 5.28. The sources connect this case of stasis with the philosophers Athenion and Aristion; the numerous related problems cannot adequately be discussed here; cf. Badian 1976, Bugh 1992, Habicht 1995a: 299–310, and Antela-Bernárdez 2015.

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dates VI and Ptolemy IX, until they compromised on Tigranes of Armenia.84 Finally, the sources regularly attribute widespread outbreaks of stasis during the Roman Civil War after the Ides of March to external causes. For instance, civil strife broke out in Tarsus in 43 bce between the supporters of Dolabella and Cassius, for which the citizen body would ultimately pay dearly.85 In Rhodes, fifty people were killed after the city was betrayed to the Romans later that same year.86 A third explanatory paradigm, rarer in the literary sources but very well represented in inscriptions, is derived from the apparently widespread perception of unfair judgments. Over forty years ago, Louis Robert published a fundamental study of the problem of foreign judges (μετάπεμποι δικασταί) in Hellenistic Greece.87 As representative of the over 270 cases known so far,88 I will highlight that of Samos, where a decree from the first half of the third century honors judges sent from Myndus, Miletus, and Halicarnassus, through the mediation of the Ptolemaic admiral Philocles of Sidon, in order to reestablish homonoia in Samos.89 In another case, dating probably to the end of the second century bce, a foreign judge named Glaucon brought an end to stasis in Phalanna in Thessaly by validating numerous private contracts (συμβόλαια) among citizens.90 A conflict between citizens was similarly resolved without obvious royal intervention in Calymna around 200 bce: it was decided by decree to call in five judges from Iasus to tackle a mass of over 350 trials.91 Obviously, many citizens mistrusted the local courts and were not prepared to accept their judgments, which would have hindered the normal course of civic life. In almost all of these cases, the foreign judges – who received special praise for their incorruptibility – successfully resolved the dispute by way of mediation;92 only in ten cases did they actually have to pronounce judgment.

84 Iust. 40.1.2. 85 App. civ. 4.64. On outbreaks of stasis after the Ides of March, cf. Börm 2016b. 86 App. civ. 4.73. Cf. Börm 2016b: 106–112. 87 Cf. Robert 1973. 88 Many cases are listed by Cassayre 2010: 131–154. However, a comprehensive monograph on this important subject and a corresponding corpus of the epigraphic evidence remain desiderata. There is no lack of case studies, however, which illustrate the widespread importance of the phenomenon; cf., for instance, Hitzig 1907, Crowther 1993, Crowther 1995, Ager 1997, Crowther 1999, Walton 2006, Crowther 2006, Habicht 2007, Scafuro 2014 and Magnetto 2016. 89 SEG 1,363. 90 IG IX 2.1230. 91 CIG 2671 = StV III 545. Cf. Dössel 2003: 249–272 and Gray 2015: 96 f. It should be noted, however, that this does not mean that 700 different people were involved in lawsuits. 92 Cf. Scafuro 2014: 380–385.

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This balance illustrates that the cause of the impasse was indeed a temporary breakdown of trust,93 not the technical complexity of the cases at hand.94

*** The inscription from Nacone mentioned at the beginning of this paper corroborates these observations. The text clearly shows which factors were deemed relevant. First of all, kinship: not only was it taken for granted that natural kinship relations automatically inspired solidarity, or at least made the suspicion of partiality plausible – hence disqualifying citizens related by blood from belonging to the same adelphotetia – but natural kinship was even deliberately replaced by artificial brotherhood. By compelling citizens to become their enemies’ brothers, the decree sought to break down political solidarity along (natural) kinship lines. Second, the decree also shows that the number of citizens who posed a threat to civic concord was believed to be relatively small. Clearly, the core of each faction was not thought to exceed roughly thirty men. Third, by implication, a substantial portion of the citizen body of Nacone was apparently not party to the conflict. The political reality may have been different: one of the two factions may actually have controlled the polis. The decree, however, presupposes with perfect clarity that the citizen body was not exclusively composed of the two rival factions, but rather, on the contrary, a majority of citizens simply wanted the conflict to end. And finally, the inscription makes no reference to conflicts involving property or judgments; although the mediators from Segesta do seem to have been brought in as judges. On the contrary, the decree explicitly cites the problem of rivalries among the citizens over public affairs (ὅσσοις ἁ διαφορὰ τῶ πολιτᾶ γέγονε ὑπὲρ τῶν κοινῶν ἀγωνιζομένοις). How should these political conflicts be understood? A little-known fragment of the Stoic philosopher and historian Posidonius of Apamea can give us some clues. In a passage that presumably comes from his discussion of the revolt of Eunus in Sicily,

93 Cf. Plut. Mor. 493a–b. Cf. Crowther 1992: “In divided communities in which […] too many people had too much at stake for citizen juries to be easily constituted, the use of foreign judges, initially imposed by the kings, offered a safety valve that helped to prevent disputes from getting out of hand” (27). 94 Cf. Wiemer 2013: “This practice is not, however, a symptom of a complete breakdown of the judicial system, as has often been thought, since foreign judges were entrusted with adjudicating a clearly defined range of cases and bound to apply the laws of the city to which they were invited” (61).

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in 135 bce,95 Posidonius draws an illuminating parallel: anyone who occupies a position of power, whether as a citizen in a polis or as the master of slaves in a household, should treat his subordinates mildly, because the arrogance (ὑπερηφανία) and excessive harshness (βαρύτης) of those in power lead slaves to revolt against their masters and cause staseis within the citizen community. The more those who possess power (ἐξουσία) behave with cruelty (ὠμός) and lawlessness (παράνομος), the more their subjects are goaded into wild behavior.96 This remarkable analysis seems to address the same situation presupposed by the phenomenon of foreign courts: the ruling elite of a polis could very easily attract accusations of abuse of power and criminal acts, especially in the framework of judicial procedures. An inscription from Gytheum dating to around 70 bce illustrates this point: in articulating what was expected of a foreign judge, it reveals by implication what the perceived deficiencies of the local dikastai were: the judge, according to the inscription, was fair to rich and poor alike, to slaves and free men (εἰς τὸ πᾶσιν ἴσος εἶναι κα[ὶ πένησι καὶ] πλουσίοις καὶ δούλοις καὶ ἐλευθέροις).97 To summarize thus far, first of all, we can observe that, during the Hellenistic period, stasis was as present in philosophical discussions as it was in historiographical texts and in public documents preserved in inscriptions. Moreover, the interpretive models encountered today in modern scholarship had essentially already been formulated in Antiquity. Thus, we can see that, throughout the Hellenistic age, the polis remained a decisive locus for political struggle. The persistence of stasis and the persistent fear of it point to the important role of the polis in this period – even after the middle of the second century bce. The literary evidence does not give the impression that international politics was a primary catalyst of the outbreak of stasis. Livy, in a passage presumably paraphrasing Polybius, explicitly remarks that many Greek principes sided with Rome on the eve of the war against king Perseus only because they hoped thereby to achieve a position of supremacy in their respective poleis.98 And in his famous excursus On traitors, Polybius declares that the archetypical traitor is one who puts his polis in the hands of a foreign power for personal gain or out of hatred of his political opponents (πρὸς

95 Diod. 34.2. Most recently on Eunus, cf. Morton 2013. On the events, see further Manganaro 1983 and Bradley 1989: 46–65, as well as Engels 2011. 96 FGrHist 87 F 108c (= Diod. 34.2.33). Cf. Rizzo 1976. 97 IG V 1.1145. 98 Pars ita in Romanos effusi erant, ut auctoritatem inmodico favore corrumperent, pauci ex iis iustitia imperii Romani capti, plures ita, si praecipuam operam navassent, potentes sese in civitatibus suis futuros rati; Liv. 42.30.3. On this passage, cf. the commentary of Briscoe 2012: 250–253. Cf. Rostovtzeff 1941: 611–615, Gruen 1976, Mendels 1978, and de Ste. Croix 1981: 518–529 (contra Gruen).

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τοὺς ἀντιπολιτευομένους).99 In Aenus, for example, stasis had long raged in the city before the two factions finally sought backing from the Attalids and Antigonids after 188 bce: a rare explicit statement that notes the merely secondary nature of the factions’ international orientation as if it were self-evident.100 Not only literary evidence, but also the epigraphic record frequently indicates that tensions between rich and poor played an important part in outbreaks of stasis. If literary sources alone had described conflicts between wealthy and poor, between mass and elite, or between young and old as the cause of stasis, we might be tempted to brush them aside as mere rhetoric.101 Often enough we indeed have reason to suspect that our authors are simply applying traditional stereotypes in using such labels.102 The epigraphic evidence, however, shows that symbolaia actually were quite often identified as sources of conflict in cases when attempts at mediation and reconciliation in specific poleis were made.103 This fact warns us not to be too quick to dismiss the terminology of the literary sources as empty labels.104 In spite of the obvious importance of these factors, though, the sources offer a further model, something we might describe as a “legitimacy deficit.” When the ruling class of a polis articulated its power in such a way that the other citizens felt they were being treated no better than slaves, stasis might be the consequence. At heart, the Greek conception of “freedom” meant freedom from the necessity of working for someone else.105 Accordingly, it comes as no surprise that citizens who rejected an asymmetrical distribution of power within the polis could also easily construe economic inequality as unfair.

99 Pol. 18.15.2 f. Cf. Eckstein 1987. 100 συνέβαινε τοὺς Αἰνίους πάλαι μὲν στασιάζειν, προσφάτως δ᾽ ἀπονεύειν τοὺς μὲν πρὸς Ἐὐμένη, τοὺς δὲ πρὸς Μακεδονίαν; Pol. 22.6.7. Cf. Seibert 1979: 200 f. and Gray 2015: 228. Cf. Gehrke 1985: “Die Außenpolitik ist ein Mittel des inneren Kampfes, nicht mehr und nicht weniger” (286 f.). 101 In Termessos, for example, a division within the citizen body apparently escalated in 318 bce. Diodorus depicts it as a conflict between younger men, who had taken a stand against their parents, and their seniors (Diod. 18.46.1–18.47.2). Cf. Bauer 2014: 221–228: “Die Existenz der beiden Altersgruppen wird man nicht bezweifeln wollen. Es erscheint aber fraglich, ob der von Diodor vorgestellte Generationenkonflikt so wirklich stattgefunden hat” (227 f.). Cf. also Kennell 2013: 221–224. 102 Cf. Finley 1983: “Distrust of such sources is certainly justified – but distrust, not neglect” (108). 103 Cf. Walser 2008: 258–272. On reconciliation, see, for example, Voutiras 2008, Chaniotis 2013, Rubinstein 2013, Grangé 2015, and Gray 2016. 104 The fundamental study of χρεῶν ἀποκοπή is Asheri 1969. 105 Cf. Meiksins Wood 2011: 29.

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In many Hellenistic poleis, there obviously was no single unimpeachable and unquestioned source of legitimacy.106 It was apparently almost taken for granted that those in power would abuse their position. The boundary between arche and eleutheria was hazy, as we saw in Posidonius above and in other sources; it accordingly was easy to hurl accusations of oligarchy or tyranny. It is worth noting in this connection that the famous tyranny law of Ilium from the early third century bce 107 treats it as obvious that even ostensibly democratic processes could be manipulated108 – in other words, there do not seem to have been any objective criteria for determining whether one was dealing with an oligarchy or tyranny. In applying the traditional atimia of the tyrant to an entire group,109 not only did polemics take on a sharper edge, but so did the conflicts behind them.110 The anti-tyranny laws that were carved in stone in many cities111 can scarcely be regarded as signs of the triumph of democracy – in Hellenistic discourse, democracy was regarded as the only legitimate form of government anyway112 – and likewise will not have served to deter “anti-democrats,”113 but rather normally indicate the triumph of a faction that now sought to justify itself. The fact that the stasis between the “tyrant” Lachares and his opponent Charias, which shook Athens in the year 300 bce,114 is not even mentioned by Plutarch,115 Polyaenus,116 and Pausanias,117

106 Cf. Finley 1983: 122–126. 107 OGIS 218 = I.Ilion 25. Cf. Brueckner 1894, Koch 1996, and Teegarden 2014: 173–214. 108 ἐάν τις ἐν ὀλιγαρχίαι κακοτεχνῶν περὶ τοὺς νόμους βουλὴν αἱρῆται ἢ τὰς ἄλλας ἀρχάς, ὡς ἐν δημοκρατίαι θέλων διαπράσσεσθαι τ[ε]χνάζων, ἄκυρα εἶναι καὶ τὸν τεχνάζοντα πάσχειν ὡς ἡγεμόνα ὀλιγαρχίας, l. 111–116. 109 Cf. Ober 2003, Luraghi 2013b: 51 f. and Haake 2016. 110 For a different view cf. Rainer 1986: “Diese politische Atimie dürfte in hellenistischer Zeit abgeschwächt worden sein, und in manchen Fällen ist lediglich mit einer floskelhaften Übernahme der Atimieklausel zu rechnen” (172). 111 E. g. SEG 12.87; OGIS 8. Cf. Lott 1996, Knoepfler 2001/2002, and Ellis-Evans 2012. See now Teegarden 2014: 115–214. Although this study is quite illuminated on individual questions, it suffers from the basic assumption that “tyranny,” “oligarchy,” and “democracy” in the Hellenistic period are descriptions of actual facts. On the Greek discourse of tyranny, cf. most recently Luraghi 2015. 112 Cf. Quaß 1979: 40 f.; Hansen 2006: 112. 113 Cf. Teegarden 2014: “Subsequent to the law’s promulgation, anti-democrats were deterred from staging a coup d’état” (213). 114 FGrHist 257 F 1–3 (= Pap. Oxy. XVII 2082). Cf. Ferguson 1929 and now the edition and commentary in Rzepka 2011. 115 Plut. Demet. 33. On the Life of Demetrius, cf. now Diefenbach 2015. 116 Polyaen. 3.7.1–3. 117 Paus. 1.25.7 f. Elsewhere (1.29.10) Pausanias casually mentions the graves of men who had tried in vain to kill the “tyrant Lachares” (τοῖς μὲν ἐπιθεμένοις τυραννοῦντι Λαχάρει).

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thus creating what appears to be a thoroughly consistent picture,118 vividly illustrates how what the sources present as an alleged tyranny may in reality be unmasked as the denunciation of the losers by the winners (and the identification of a scapegoat).119 Of course it was always one’s enemy who was opposed to freedom and democracy and who had to be defeated – never oneself.120 Obviously, in many cases, it was impossible to counteract this structural deficit with a demonstrative appeal to the meritocratic principle, the most prominent expression of which was euergetism.121 Even the establishment of cults of Homonoia (or of Aphrodite Homonoia, as in Cos),122 which occurs frequently from the late Classical period onwards,123 or oaths to respect the constitutional order sworn by the citizen body124 were symptomatic of conflict and clearly could not produce lasting stability 118 Cf. De Sanctis 1928, Berve 1967: 387–389, Osborne 1982: 144–153, Habicht 1995a: 88–94, Shipley 2000: 122 f. and Anson 2014: 176. For an in-depth discussion, see Dreyer 1999: 17–110. Dreyer – like most scholars – follows the assessment of the sources and discusses the “tyranny” of Lachares, although in light of the extant epigraphic material he argues that, until Lachares’ “Staatsstreich” in 295, he was “nicht notwendigerweise ein völlig außerhalb der Legalität stehender Tyrann” (44). Dreyer states that in 294 Lachares still seems to have been supported by broad sections of the demos, but he apparently shies from viewing the label “tyrant” as polemic. 119 Cf. Gauger 2005: 1093. Helmut Berve had already perceived the problem; cf. Berve 1967: 476. No less an authority than Polybius attests how serious an allegation of tyranny was in the Hellenistic period: “It would not be easy to bring a graver or more bitter charge against a man than this. For the mere word involves the idea of everything that is wickedest, and includes every injustice and crime possible to mankind” (ταύτης δὲ μείζω κατηγορίαν ἢ πικροτέραν οὐδ᾽ ἂν εἰπεῖν ῥᾳδίως δύναιτ᾽ οὐδείς. αὐτὸ γὰρ τοὔνομα περιέχει τὴν ἀσεβεστάτην ἔμφασιν καὶ πάσας περιείληφε τὰς ἐν ἀνθρώποις ἀδικίας καὶ παρανομίας); Pol. 2.59.6. Cf. Lévy 1996. 120 I do not intend here to dispute the existence of tyrants as such in the Hellenistic period; the fact that Agathocles, for instance, indeed established autocratic rule is demonstrated by his eventual assumption of the title of king. It would probably be wise, however, to reverse the burden of proof: insofar as there are no strong indicators in favor of actual autocracy, allegations of tyranny should be regarded as polemic. 121 Cf. Gehrke 2008: 193 and van der Vliet 2011. 122 I.Cos EV 2. 123 E. g. SEG 40,412. Cf. Thériault 1996: 5–70 and Hansen 2006: 126. The view of Vinogradov/Sceglov 1997 that appeal to homonoia is always a sure reference to the resolution of stasis is rejected by Dössel 2003, who assumes that it rather concerned the “Herstellung der Einigkeit innerhalb der sich gegenüber stehenden Gruppen” (187). 124 A well-known example is the oath of the citizens of Itanus on Crete (Syll.3 526 = I.Cret III iv 8) from the third century bce, the exact context of which (cf. Chaniotis 1996: 14), however, remains unclear. The famous oath of the young men of Dreros, probably dating to the years around 220 bce, also originated in Crete; in it, the agelaoi swear that they will not ally themselves with enemy neighbors and in particular will not initiate stasis (Syll.3 527 = I.Cret I ix 1, l. 60–70: μηδὲ στάσιος ἀρξεῖν, καὶ τῶι στασίζοντι ἀντίος τέλομαι, μηδὲ συνωοσίας συναξεῖνμήτε ἐμ πόλει μήτε

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and political legitimacy that everyone could accept.125 On the contrary, leading citizens who felt cheated out of the social standing they were entitled to were prepared to resort to violence and use any means necessary to free themselves from the actual or perceived domination of their enemies. In the words of Polybius: “All those who by nature are inclined towards leadership and love freedom fight incessantly against one another, because they are not prepared to back off in the competition for primacy.”126 Of course, we cannot avoid the question whether all these observations might also apply to the Archaic and Classical periods. The notions that every human community is divided into rulers and subjects and that those with power inevitably use it as ruthlessly as possible were indeed quite common in Classical Athens, as Ulrich Gotter has shown.127 The Old Oligarch had assimilated political subordination to slavery in much the same way we have seen in Posidonius.128 Also, the fact that all three ancient explanations for stasis – external politics, economic conflict,129 and power struggles – do not initially appear in the Hellenistic period points to structural continuity extending to the late Hellenistic and early Imperial periods.130 The parameters for reflecting on and discussing stasis do not seem to have significantly changed, in spite of the massive changes to the external political context. The number of people really involved in such conflicts seems to have been generally ἐξοῖ τᾶς πόλεως, μήτε ἄλλωι συντέλεσθαι). But this is by no means a phenomenon limited to Crete, as the oath of the Chersonesites, for example, demonstrates (Syll.3 360). The citizens’ oath sworn in Cos around 200 bce (StV III 545) on the occasion of the incorporation of Calymna belongs in this group, too. See also IG XII 4.1.132, ll. 128–136 (Telos, c. 305 bce). 125 Cf. Gehrke 1985: “Gerade der beschwörende Appell an die Einigkeit, die Mobilisierung aller juristisch-sakralen Zwangsmittel zur Aufrechterhaltung der Versöhnungsbestimmungen zeigt doch in erster Linie, wie prekär sie eigentlich waren” (265). 126 Pol. 5.106.5: ἅπαντες γὰρ ἡγεμονικοὶ καὶ φιλελεύθεροι ταῖς φύσεσι μάχονται συνεχῶς πρὸς ἀλλήλους, ἀπαραχωρήτως διακείμενοι περὶ τῶν πρωτείων. Cf. Thuc. 3.82.8. 127 Cf. Gotter 2008: 183–199. This was one of the factors that invested autocratic power in Greece with a structural deficit of legitimacy; cf. Luraghi 2013a and Börm 2015: 11–15. 128 Ps.-Xenoph. 1.8–9. Cf. Gotter 2008: “Political philosophers of the fourth century and the Hellenistic period put the ‘polarity of power’ at the center of their theories […]. If one accepts Aristotle’s premises, it follows that every social relation has to be understood ultimately as an asymmetrical relation of power” (194). 129 We cannot rule out, however, that the Hellenistic Period experienced growing economic inequality that led to potential unrest not only among, but also below the elite. Cf. Davies 1984, Walbank 1992: 159–175, Reger 2003, Gabrielsen 2005, and Davies 2006. See, however, Shipley 2000: “References to land and debt should not necessarily be seen in modern terms, as evidence of severe hardship or a proletarian underclass. This was a slave-owning society in which any free man was, by virtue of being free and a citizen, a privileged individual enjoying political and economic rights that set him above other men” (132). 130 For Late Antiquity, the question should probably be put in different terms.

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small, even in large poleis.131 In Hypata, eighty people died, and in Rhodes the list of those denounced by their enemies to Cassius in 43 bce comprised only some seventy-five names.132 These small numbers point to minor conflicts confined to hetairiai that may perhaps be interpreted as symptomatic of the growing power of local elites and incipient oligarchic structures.133 Cases in which the number of people involved in stasis is quite small, however, are also documented for the Classical period.134 We thus should avoid drawing wide-reaching conclusions. It is certainly tempting to connect a specifically “Hellenistic” kind of stasis to the particular character of Hellenistic democracy,135 but a full elaboration of these issues would be beyond the scope of this paper.136 The same is true of the influence of the Hellenistic monarchies, the koina, and the Roman Republic on the internal conflicts of Greek poleis.137

*** In conclusion, we may regard the following points as secure: even in the Post-Classical period, stasis was seen as a constant threat to the polis and as such was ubiquitous in Hellenistic political thought. The discourse of stasis that we can trace in the literary sources was not fundamentally different from what it had been in the Classical period. Radical challenges to the legitimacy of the prevailing political order of a polis remained perfectly conceivable in Hellenistic times. Social, economic, and political conflicts were closely intertwined, while contemporaries often assigned a subordi131 For Syracuse in particular, however, a significantly higher number of casualties is attested; cf. Diod. 19.8.1; Polyaen. 5.37. 132 App. civ. 4.73. 133 In the present context, no more than brief reference may be made to the controversy over the “oligarchization” of the polis: cf. Quaß 1993 (esp. 57–79), Müller 1995 (contra Quass), Savalli-Lestrade 2003, Dmitriev 2005: 140–188, Hamon 2007, Dreyer/Weber 2011, van der Vliet 2011, Ma 2013: 291–307, and Scholz 2015: 187–195, as well as the discussion in Habicht 1995 and Mann 2012 (contra Habicht). Scholz 2008: 71 cites “democratic oligarchs” (97). Gehrke 2008: 70 f. also argues for an “aristocratization” of Hellenistic poleis. Cf. the contribution of Christel Müller to the present volume. 134 Cf. Gehrke 1985: 328–335. 135 On Hellenistic democracy, cf. Grieb 2008 (esp. 355–364), who like Gauthier views the middle of the second century bce as a caesura; see also Carlsson 2010 (esp. 334–343), Müller 2015, Cartledge 2016: 231–245, the papers collected in Mann/Scholz 2012, and the outstanding overview in Wiemer 2013. 136 Cf. Börm 2017. 137 Cf. Bickerman 1939, Ferrary 2001, Champion 2007, Schulz 2011, Chrubasik 2012, and Wiemer 2017.

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nate role to external political circumstances, instead stressing the importance of aristocratic feuds.138 In contrast to the Classical period, however, the incomparably richer epigraphic record makes it much easier to see that these explanatory models, especially in light of the numerous attempts to avoid or resolve stasis, indeed played an important part in the everyday life of the Greeks and were not limited to Athens.139 The fact that, from Sicily to Syria, we encounter the same basic patterns again and again suggests that we have before us a fundamental principle of Greek thought, or at least a structural aspect of the polis that straddles the boundaries between major periods of Greek history.

Bibliography Aalders, F., 1975. Political Thought in Hellenistic Times, Amsterdam. Agamben, G., 2015. Stasis. Civil War as Political Paradigm, Stanford. Ager, S., 1997. Foreign Judges and δικαιοδοσία: A Rhodian Fragment, ZPE 117, 123–125. Allen, D. S., 2006. Talking about Revolution: on Political Change in Fourth-Century Athens and Historiographic Method, in: Goldhill, S. – Osborne, R. (eds.), Rethinking Revolutions Through Ancient Greece, Cambridge, 183–211. Ameling, W., 1994. Pausanias und die hellenistische Geschichte, in: Bingen, J. (ed.), Pausanias historien, Geneva, 117–160.

138 According to Plutarch, “just as a conflagration does not often begin in sacred or public places, but some lamp left neglected in a house or some burnt rubbish causes a great flame and works public destruction, so disorder in a State (στάσιν πόλεως) is not always kindled by contentions about public matters, but very frequently differences arising from private affairs and offences pass thence into public life and throw the whole State into confusion” (Plut. Mor. 824 f–825a; tr. North Fowler). 139 In some cases, it is possible to compare the accounts of literary sources with the epigraphic tradition. A good example is the polis Thisbe: according to Livy, C. Lucretius Gallus had restored the banished Roman sympathizers (qui Romanorum partio erant) and sold the families of their opponents into slavery (Liv. 42.63.12: Adversae factionis hominum fautorumque regis ac Macedonum familias sub corona vendidit). The stasis that had preceded these events, leading to the exiles, thus was interpreted as a dispute over the international political orientation of the polis. An inscription demonstrates that Livy was not the only one who subscribed to this interpretation of the conflict: a senatus consultum (Syll.3 646 = IG VII 2225) from October 9, 170 bce, confirms that the Romans distinguished between their “friends” and “enemies” in Thisbe: the exiles brought home by Lucretius received massive support from the Senate. They not only recovered their property, but, among other things, also received permission to fortify the citadel (ἄκρα) and to settle there; the φίλοι of the Romans were moreover given control of the key offices and priesthoods of the polis for ten years; cf. Gehrke 1993.

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Stasis in Post-Classical Greece Wiemer, H.-U., 2013. Hellenistic Cities: The End of Greek Democracy?, in: Beck, H. (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Greek Government, Malden, 54–70. Wiemer, H.-U., 2017. Siegen oder untergehen? Die hellenistische Monarchie in der neueren Forschung, in: Rebenich, S. (ed.), Monarchische Herrschaft im Altertum, Berlin, 305–339. Winterling, A., 1991. Polisbegriff und Stasistheorie des Aeneas Tacticus. Zur Frage der Grenzen der griechischen Polisgesellschaften im 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr., Historia 40, 193–229. Winters, J. A., 2011. Oligarchy, Cambridge. Worthington, I., 2015. From East to West: Alexander and the Exiles Decree, in: Wheatley, P. – Baynham, E. (eds.), East and West in the World Empire of Alexander, Oxford, 93–106. Zahrnt, M., 2003. Versöhnen oder Spalten? Überlegungen zu Alexanders Verbanntendekret, Hermes 131, 407–432. Zahrnt, M., 2016. Von Siwa bis Babylon: Alexanders Weg vom Gottessohn zum Gott, in: Binder, C. – Börm, H. – Luther, A. (eds.), Diwan. Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East and the Eastern Mediterranean, Duisburg, 303–323. Zimmermann, M., 2008. Stadtbilder im Hellenismus – die hellenistische Polis in neuer Perspektive, in: Matthaei, A. – Zimmermann, M. (eds.), Stadtbilder im Hellenismus, Berlin, 9–20. Zimmermann, M., 2013. Gewalt. Die dunkle Seite der Antike, Munich.

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4 INTERSTATE ARBITRATION AS A FEATURE OF THE HELLENISTIC POLIS: BETWEEN IDEOLOGY, INTERNATIONAL LAW AND CIVIC MEMORY Anna Magnetto*

Among the diplomatic instruments created by the polis during its history, interstate arbitration was one of the longest-lived. In spite of the remark Herodotus attributes to Mardonius,1 according to which “since [the Greeks] speak the same language, they should end their disputes by means of heralds or messengers or in any way rather than fighting”, the evidence shows that the Greeks used arbitration since the sixth century bce at the latest.2 Furthermore, Thucydides on several occasions mentions that already in the fifth century bce Sparta and Athens (and certainly their respective allies as well) regarded the possibility of resolving conflicts by entrusting a judgment to an external jury, be that a third polis or a prestigious individual whose impartiality was accepted by both sides, as an established component of their ancestral traditions (πάτρια).3 In the following centuries, Greek historians and a growing corpus of epigraphic evidence witness to the continuation of this practice. Inscriptions document the details of a complex procedure, meant to satisfy the need for impartiality

*

I am indebted to Nino Luraghi for translating the paper and for many productive discussions on several points of the text. 1 Hdt. 7.9b. 2 Piccirilli 1973, Ager 1996, and Magnetto 1997 collect the evidence on Greek interstate arbitrations. On the Achaian League, see Harter-Uibopuu 1996; on Republican Rome, Camia 2009. The comprehensive studies of Raeder 1912 and Tod 1913 are still fundamental. Recent appraisals include Giovannini 2007: 177–184, Ager 2013, Ager 2015 and Magnetto 2016. 3 See Thuc. 4.118 (armistice between Athens and Sparta in 423); 5.79 (treaty between Sparta and Argos and their respective allies).

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and transparency of the parties. They also shed light on the world of the small poleis, which often turned to arbitration, occasionally with success, if at times temporary. With one single and partial exception, arbitration remained a feature of the relations between poleis. There is no known case of a Hellenistic king who accepted to undergo an arbitration,4 and the Romans consistently rejected the role of party to an arbitration.5 Throughout its history, interstate arbitration was an expression of the political culture of the Greek polis. This observation immediately raises a question. Is it possible to identify an evolution of this instrument through time? How did it change, if it did, from the classical to the Hellenistic age? How would these possible changes relate to transformations that impacted the polis itself? Any serious answer to these questions needs to take into account that much of what we know about Greek interstate arbitration, and especially on its procedural aspects, derives from documents dating to the Hellenistic age. In spite of this limitation of the evidence, it is nevertheless possible to point to specific elements of a development, which reflect directly peculiar aspects of the cultural life and institutional practice of the Hellenistic period. In this contribution, I will discuss three aspects in particular: First, the ideological underpinnings of the use of arbitration and the additional meanings attached to this practice in the Hellenistic age; second, the development in the procedure of arbitration, which comes to apply to an ever growing set of controversies, involving fundamental aspects of the life of the political communities that recur to it; third, the public aspect of the documents referring to arbitrations and their function in embodying and making visible the collective memory of the polis.

1. Ideological paths As is well known, ancient sources provide no theoretical reflection on international relations and on their diplomatic instruments;6 interstate arbitration is no exception. All we can tell about the principles that regulated it derives from our knowledge of 4 The two treaties between Antigonos Doson and the Cretan poleis of Eleutherna and Hierapytna (Ager 1996: nos 47 and 48; Magnetto 1997: nos 45 and 46) mandate that, in case one of the parties did not send troops or other conditions of the treaty were violated, the two poleis had to pay a fine to the king. The amount of the fine was to be decided by another polis acting as an arbitrator. Since the arbitrator had a say on the amount of the fine, but not on the controversy itself (i. e. the reason why troops had not been sent or whether or not a violation of the treaty had taken place), its role was marginal; more importantly, Antigonos was not himself bound by corresponding conditions in case he had not fulfilled the obligations of the treaty. 5 On Rome’s attitude, see infra and n. 27. 6 Cf. recently Low 2007: 1–3.

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individual episodes. From the very earliest cases, arbitration appears to be inspired by certain fundamental concepts. Ἴσος or ‘fair’ is the adjective that defines the arbitrator, and the decision to submit a controversy to an arbitrator is described by Thucydides as δίκας διδόναι ἐπὶ τοῖς ἴσοις καὶ ὁμοίοις (“submit to arbitration on fair and equal terms”).7 Accordingly, arbitration is based on an assumption of impartiality and applies to equal parties, that is, to free and autonomous poleis with full sovereignty over their territories. The principle of the freedom of the parties is often formulated explicitly in the verdict of the arbitrators, who often say that they were entrusted with their task by both parties in agreement with one another. The autonomy of the parties was a necessary presupposition of this free choice. This language appears in one of the earliest preserved arbitration clauses, mentioned by Thucydides as part of the peace and alliance treaty between Sparta and Argos with their respective allies in 418, in which the parties agreed to resolve peacefully any future dispute.8 To take only one example for a widespread phenomenon, we find the same principles in the first lines of a much later and more complex treaty concluded between the Cretan poleis of Priansos and Hierapytna towards the end of the third century.9 In this case, too, the basic premises are the autonomy and territorial integrity of the parties, which agree on pursuing a peaceful solution of future disputes according to the terms of an arbitration clause that occupies the final lines of the agreement (47–71). At least in theory, the evidence is consistent in associating arbitration to some of the core values that define the polis. In practice, of course, through their history the Greek poleis did not always implement the arbitration procedures in accordance to such values. Many arbitrations did not originate from the voluntary agreement of the parties, but from the initiative of one of them, which requested the intervention of an external power acknowledged by the other, too. This mechanism is found inside the Leagues of the classical period, while in the Hellenistic periods kings are typically called upon as arbitrators, until finally the role devolves upon the Romans. The same mechanism is met within the Hellenistic koina, some of which tried to regulate it with specific rules, to which we shall return. The reasons for this course of action are known, and rooted in the very nature of the arbitration, in which accepting the judgment by a third party and respecting the verdict were left to the discretion of the parties. Accordingly, throughout the history of the polis seeking a powerful arbitrator, whose influence could ensure both conditions, remained a viable option. Needless

7 Thuc. 5.79; see 1.145. 8 Thuc. 5.79; in more general terms, see also Thuc. 1.140.2. 9 I.Cret. III.iii 4 ll. 5–12; Chaniotis 1996, no 28.

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to say, when one of the parties turned to a higher authority the freedom of the other party was immediately compromised. In spite of these clearly contradictory aspects, arbitration kept being perceived as a direct expression of the most cherished values of the polis. This explains firstly the extraordinarily long life of interstate arbitration among the Greeks, in spite of its built-in fragility, which under certain circumstances inevitably doomed it to failure.10 Secondly, and more importantly for the present discussion, this perception of interstate arbitration helps explain why, over time, the procedure itself took up different meanings. This process was linked to the increasingly propagandistic use of the core values of the polis, and especially of the principles of freedom and autonomy. Research of the last thirty years has shown how difficult it is to circumscribe the meaning of these concepts, while at the same time shedding light on the gap between propaganda and the actual respect of these values.11 What seems clear is that until the end of the fourth century the use of these concepts for propaganda purposes remained confined to the Greek world. Already in the fifth century Athens and Sparta manipulated them in their relations with their allies, and during the fourth century these principles became enshrined and formalized in the agreements of the common peace, which, in spite of the participation of the Great King, remained essentially Greek in their inspiration.12 Things started changing when an external factor, the Macedonian monarchy of Philip II,13 entered the picture. Philip had spent some years in Thebes as a hostage, and was thoroughly familiar with the mechanisms that regulated the public life and the decision-making processes of the poleis. In his political action, the principles of freedom and autonomy became instruments of the propaganda of a hegemonic power that was external to the world of the poleis. In this framework, arbitration acquired an additional dimension as an instrument and an expression of this propaganda.14 10 A constant feature in the history of interstate arbitration is the unwillingness of hegemonic powers or particularly powerful entities to undergo it. Among the best-known examples, Athens and Sparta ignored the arbitration clauses in the treaty between them or with other poleis, and refused proposals to undergo arbitrations (see e. g. Piccirilli 1973: nos 21, 25, 27, 31, 38). In later times, the Hellenistic kings and Rome behaved in quite the same way, refusing arbitration and even less formalized mediations (cf. Magnetto 1997 nos 51, 56, 59, 60, 74). 11 On the recent stages of the debate, cf. Low 2007: 175–211. 12 On the common peace agreements, see Ryder 1965, Jehne 1994, Scherberich 2009. More recent discussions are found in Ager 2013: 504–506 and Ager 2015: 483–486; cf. Raaflaub 2015: 444–446. 13 On Philip II, see Worthington 2008. 14 Perlman 1985 points to the continuity between Philip’s actions and pre-existing Greek political and diplomatic practice.

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After his victory at Chaeronea in 338 bce, Philip took two important measures. The first, less known, was of a more limited import. Faced with pressing requests of Sparta’s enemies who wanted him to intervene in the Peloponnese, Philip chose a solution that was formally conform to Greek tradition. Rather than intervening personally, he promoted the constitution of a Panhellenic jury in charge of resolving the territorial controversies in the region.15 His next step, much better known and with a much higher impact on the Greek world, was the constitution of the first League of Corinth, based on a common peace agreement and equipped with a collegial organ called synedrion. A rather marginal controversy between the two small islands of Melos and Kimolos shows that the two had brought their dispute to the synedrion and the latter had entrusted Argos, a polis of Dorian stock and approved by both parties, with the arbitration.16 The relevant inscription, which comprises the verdict of the Argives, does not by itself prove that the synedrion could act as an arbitrator, but shows that for the first time the Greek poleis had a common interlocutor to which they could turn to resolve their conflicts.17 Philip used and revitalized political practices that had originated within the world of the polis, such as the common peace and the structure of the hegemonic league, and favored the recourse to arbitration. In the framework of the League of Corinth, arbitration could seem the most natural option, considering that the league was based on a common peace agreement. Philip’s intervention in the Peloponnese is more revealing. The king promoted the use of arbitration because it was a convenient instrument, but even more because it was an expression of those values that were perceived as characteristic of the Greek polis and rooted in its culture – Thucydides’ πάτρια. His decision was meant to cement the consensus of those Greek ruling elites that were already favorable to Macedonia taking a leading role in the Greek world. In the long run, Philip’s policy would become a model for the Hellenistic monarchies. In our sources several Hellenistic kings show up with the role of arbitrators between Greek poleis. Often they were called in by one of the parties, but already with Alexander the Great the initiative of recurring to arbitration could come from the king himself, without implying that the king was himself the arbiter, too. According to Arrian, in the spring of 333 Aspendos, after seeking from Alexander acceptable conditions and obtaining them, decided to revolt.18 Alexander besieged the city into surrender, then punished it with much less favorable conditions than those previously 15 On this episode and its historical context see Luraghi 2008: 17 f. 16 Rhodes/Osborne, GHI: no 82. See Ager 1996: no 3; Magnetto 1997: no 1. 17 On the Hellenic League of Philip II and its successors, see the recent overview of Smarczyk 2015. 18 Arr. 1.27.

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granted and imposed an arbitration for the possession of a territory that the Aspendians were deemed to illegitimately occupy. This clause, peculiar in many ways, points to a mechanism that can often be observed in the relations between kings and poleis. Another polis, probably Side, had tried to take advantage of Aspendos’ misfortune, in hopes of obtaining from Alexander the territory in question. The same clause reveals two separate decisions taken by the king: on the one hand, he dealt harshly with Aspendos as far as the relation between that polis and himself was concerned, but employed the instruments of Greek diplomacy as far as relations between poleis were concerned.19 The letters of Antigonos Monophthalmos to Teos regarding the synoikism with nearby Lebedos, which never materialized, show a similar course of action.20 Antigonos claimed for himself tight control over the laws of the future polis and over its economy, both crucial fields that concerned directly the relations between the polis-to-be and the kingdom, but at the same time encouraged the recourse to arbitration of a third polis for any contrast that might emerge between the two parties. An arbitration between Klazomenai and a second polis whose name is not preserved likely documents the same policy: the judges from Kos adjudicated “according to the διάγραμμα” of a king, usually identified as Antigonos Monophthalmos.21 Demetrios Poliorketes followed his father’s policy, too: At the end of the record of an arbitration they won against a family of creditors from Kos, the Kalymnians granted honors to their main advocate, a Milesian by the name of Hekatonymos, son of Prytanis. The decree shows that the polis of Knidos had provided a panel of judges ‘according to the διάταγμα of king Demetrios’.22 In this instance, too, Demetrios did not formulate a verdict, but played a part in the controversy encouraging the parties to find an impartial arbitrator. One wonders whether Antigonos’ διάγραμμα and Demetrios’ διάταγμα were measures ad hoc, taken in response to the specific situations, or general policy decisions, addressed to all the poleis within the sphere of influence of the two kings. The same question is prompted by the διαγράμματα mentioned repeatedly in the (unfortunately lacunose) dossier of a border controversy between Herakleion and Gonnoi, which goes back to the reign of Philip V.23 If, as some scholars think, all these 19 On this episode, see Ager 1996: no 6; Magnetto 1997: no. 4. 20 RC nos 3–4; Bencivenni 2003: no 7. 21 IG XII.4 264a, l. 5 (where the name of the king is not supplemented). See Ager 1996: no 15; Magnetto 1997: no 13. 22 Tit.Cal. 7 ll. 11–12; Magnetto 1997: no 14. This decree provides evidence for the use, in Antigonid documents, of yet another kind of diplomatic text, the diatagma, alongside the diagrammata and letters, already noted by Hatzopoulos 1996: 398. 23 I.Gonnoi II 93A; Magnetto 1997: no. 49. Cf. Hatzopoulos 1996: 399 f., who thinks of a royal decree as a narrower import, confined to the specific circumstance of the controversy.

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edicts were to be seen as general policy decisions, they would indicate that the kings attempted not only to promote, but also to regulate the use of arbitration between the poleis included in their kingdoms or at any rate within their sphere of influence.24 The verdict pronounced by Lysimachos around 283 bce in the age-old controversy between Samos and Priene provides a very interesting example.25 The king had been called in by the Prieneans, who complained against the Samians’ illegitimate possession of a region called Batinetis. The king summoned the Samians, thereby bringing to light the Prieneans’ deceit. Their claims were completely unfounded, because the Samians owned the region since a long time. Nonetheless, Lysimachos decided to abide by his previous decision and allow the two parties to debate the issue in his presence, as required by the arbitration procedure. In his letter, Lysimachos’ language is definitive – ἀναγκαῖον ἦν διακούε̣ ιν τὰ ἀ̣[ρχ]αῖα τῶ̣[ν διαφό]ρων, “it was necessary to hear about the origins of your disputes” (ll. 10–12) – although what it describes is ultimately the king’s own decision. This, just as the expression of the king’s resentment for having been deceived, should not be taken as an improvised reaction to the situation. The letter is carefully formulated in order to show and emphasize in an unequivocal way the respect of the king for the political values of the polis and for the procedures that derived from such values. From Alexander the Great onwards, both in the political practice and in the propaganda of the Hellenistic kings the promotion of arbitration became an integral part of the relation between kings and poleis, alongside the adoption of language and procedures that emphasized the king’s respect, at least on the surface, for the autonomy of the Greek poleis. As John Ma has shown, beyond the realities of power asymmetry this was a complex relationship, consciously saturated of ideology that translated into concrete reciprocal initiatives.26 The way the Romans took over these patterns of interaction has been long since observed and elucidated by scholars.27 Starting with Flamininus’ striking gesture at the Isthmian Games of 196 bce, leading Roman politicians appropriated the traditional propagandistic themes of the Hellenistic kings, engaging in analogous political practices. Arbitration was employed as a way of pacifying the Greek world after the victories of Kynoskephalai and Magnesia, albeit based on the balance of power es24 A detailed discussion of the meaning of this term in Antigonid documents can be found in Hatzopoulos 1996: 396–424; Mari 2006. Documents published later are collected in Hatzopoulos 2009 (see SEG 59, 627). 25 IG XII.6 155; see Ager 1996: no 26; Magnetto 1997: no 20; further discussion in Magnetto 2008: 125 f. 26 Cf. Ma 2000: 179–242 and Ma 2009. 27 Cf. Marshall 1980; Gruen 1984: 96–111; Kallet-Marx 1995: 160–183; Heller 2006: 27–83; Camia 2009: 167–215; Ferrary 20142: 45–218 and 702–717; Magnetto 2015.

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tablished by the Romans and within guidelines dictated by them. In the following decades, the behavior of the Republic remained constant, and at least until the first century bce the Romans kept supporting the practice of interstate arbitration, both taking up the role of the arbitrator and turning it to third parties accepted by the two parties to the strife. In spite of this essential continuity with respect to the patterns established by the Hellenistic kings there is, however, a fundamental difference in mentality. Such difference did not come to the fore in the meaning that the Romans attributed to arbitration, nor in the reaction of the Greeks, who transferred to Rome the role previously played by the kings. It was in the field of procedure that the Republic attempted to bring in elements that were foreign to Greek tradition. This attempt brought the political elites of the Greek poleis face to face with the legal mentality of the Romans, contributing, as we will see below, to stimulate their reflection on the principles of international law.

2. Diplomacy and international law If we move from observing the values that underpinned the practice of arbitration to the practical aspects of its implementation, the Hellenistic age shows interesting developments on at least two levels. The first involved the way arbitration was used, that is, the kinds of problems the judges were asked to address and the procedures they followed in instructing the case. The second touches upon aspects more strictly connected to law, such as the formulation of standards of judgment shared internationally, and the attempt, within the federal states, to regulate the recourse to arbitration formulating a specific legislation. Starting with the first aspect, scholars have long since noticed that the controversies that Greek poleis submitted to arbitration were of very different kinds. Already in 1913 Tod concluded that there was no category of disputes that could not be resolved by the judgment of an impartial jury.28 This observation can be further specified. In the Hellenistic age we not only observe a high diversity of cases, but also some very complex ones, in which the panel of judges was required to solve at the same time several different problems with a deep impact on the life of the poleis involved. A striking example of this comes from the arbitration of the Aitolian League between two of its members, the more powerful Melitaia and the smaller town of Peraia.29 In 213/12 bce, three judges from Kalidonia selected by the koinon with the agreement of the two parties met in order to decide over a whole series of questions, involving Peraia’s re28 Cf. Tod 1913: 69. 29 IG IX.12 188; see Ager 1996: no. 56; Magnetto 1997: no. 55.

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maining in the sympoliteia with Melitaia, and the conditions of a possible separation. Their judgment had an impact on the boundaries, the ownership and exploitation of common land, the representation of Peraia in the council of the League, the repayment of preexisting debts, and the funds that Peraia received from Melitaia for defraying public activities (money for the archontes, for the civic herald, for the oil for the gymnasium and for the sacrifices to be performed at the Soteria). The judges also decided which laws each polis should use and how trials at the court of the agoranomoi should take place. The verdict, which was displayed also in Delphi and in the federal sanctuary of Thermon, constituted a comprehensive regulation of the relations of the two communities between themselves and with the Aitolian League for the future. In this case, we can sense some tension between the parties. Other arbitrations took place in situations of outright war, where the resolution of the conflict was wholly entrusted to the arbitrators. This happened, in the early second century, between the Aiolic polis of Temnos and the Ionic polis of Klazomenai30 and also between Parion and Lampsakos, in the Thracian Propontis.31 A similarly complex situation, albeit here without explicit reference to war, is revealed by the arbitration of Eretria between the two islands of Naxos and Paros, possibly somewhat later than the aforementioned two.32 The texts leave no doubt as to the wide responsibilities invested in the courts, which were put in charge of resolving any sort of ongoing conflict.33 The treaty between the two Cretan poleis of Hierapytna and Priansos, mentioned above, was also very likely stipulated at the end of a war. Its clauses strove to deal with and resolve all critical aspects in the relation between the two poleis, laying the foundation for a long-lasting peaceful coexistence. After confirming allegiance to previous friendship and alliance agreements which involved also the polis of Gortyn (ll. 5–12), the two parties agreed on a series of important points: reciprocal grant of isopoliteia, epigamia, enktesis, “the sharing in human and divine things” and the right to buy, sell and borrow according to the existing laws (ll. 12–18); regulation of the agricultural exploitation of public land (ll. 18–21), of import and export (ll. 21–27) and of the right of pasture (ll. 27–30); privileges of the ambassadors (ll. 30–33) and of the kosmoi (ll. 34–38) who might go from one polis to the other and for all citizens who happened to be in the other polis for religious festivals (ll. 38–40); joint military 30 Herrmann 1979; see Ager 1996: no. 71. 31 Vanseveren 1937, republished by Matthaiou 2013. 32 IG XI 1065; Ager 1996: no. 83. 33 The formulation of the peace treaty between Magnesia on the Maiander and Miletus (196 bce), mediated by several communities lead by Rhodes, points to an analogous situation and shows the international mediators intervening in an equally meticulous way; see Milet I.3 148 with the translation and notes by P. Herrmann in I.Milet VI.1 148; see also Ager 1996: no 109; for the chronology Wörrle 2004.

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actions (ll. 53–58). Taken together, these clauses impacted many key aspects of the life of the two communities and of the well-being of their citizens. Most interestingly for us, the document ends with an arbitration clause: Any violation of the agreement by a magistrate or by a private citizen was going to be judged by a panel provided by a third polis agreed upon by both poleis (ll. 47–53 and 58–74). The use of arbitration was here planned carefully, knowing that, given the complexity of the agreement, the judges were going to be asked to adjudicate controversies that impacted the everyday life of the civic communities and could involve them as a whole, but also their magistrates and the private citizens. Precisely for this reason, as we will see, the solution chosen was new and striking.34 These cases are matched by others which, while not responding to similarly critical situations, point to complex situations that would have faced the judges. Such cases generated perplexity among scholars, because they refer, like the ones just mentioned, to a number of questions that were put to the arbitrators at the same time. Already the complex document that regulates the synoikismos between the Arkadian poleis of Orchomenos and Euaimon, around the middle of the fourth century bce, involved panels of judges to be sent from Heraia for three years in a row. Their task was going to be to adjudicate all controversies arising with respect to a tract of land attributed, at least in part, to new dwellers from Euaimon, on top of a series of preexisting cases.35 An Athenian decree from around 251/0 honors judges from Lamia who, in accordance with the symbolon (judiciary agreement) between Athenians and Boeotians, conducted the trials (δίκαι), in same cases effecting a reconciliation, on others formulating a verdict.36 In the controversy between Megalopolis and Thouria, during the first half of the second century, the advocates of Thouria (syndikoi) asked the polis of Patrai to provide a panel of judges ἐπὶ τὰς δίκας, for the cases (in the plural) which opposed their polis to Megalopolis (ll. 3–4). Alongside the advocates, all the members of the synedrion of Thouria and any other citizen who so wished were expected to go to Patrai ἐπὶ τὰς κρίσεις, “for the trials” (l. 7).37 A decree of Stratonikaia in Karia from the second century honors five judges from Myndos who had arbitrated in a territorial controversy with Alabanda.38 Myndos, the text explains, “had saved no 34 The meaning of the judicial clauses is discussed in Magnetto 2014, to be consulted for a more detailed presentation of the conclusions summarized here and for earlier research. 35 IPArk 15 with the commentary by G. Thür; it is a complex document, and many of the problems it presents are still open. 36 SEG 32, 117, ll. 3–5: οἱ χει]ροτονηθέντες δικασταὶ ὑπὸ [τῆς πόλεως τῆς Λαμιέ]ων ἐπὶ τὰς τᾶς δίκας τὰς εἰληγμένα[ς κατὰ τὸ σύμβολον] Βοιωτοῖς καὶ Ἀθηναίοις τὰς μ[ὲν διέλυσαν, τὰς δ᾽ ἔκ] ριναν δικαίως); Magnetto 1997: no 34, to be read with the remarks of Gauthier 1999: 157–164. 37 ISE 51; see Ager 1996: no 145. 38 See Blümel/Sayar 2011; on the nature of the document see Patrice Hamon, BE 2012, no. 379.

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effort to ensure that the trials be conducted in a fair and equitable way” (ll. 6–7: εἰς τὸ διεξαχθῆναι τὰς κρίσε[ις] ἴσως καὶ δίκαιως). The judges had gone to Stratonikaia and then travelled to the region under dispute, had talked to the parties both right there and in the sanctuary of Zeus at Labraunda, and had been able to effect an agreement on some of the issues, while formulating a verdict on other issues (ll. 11–17). All these cases give us a clear sense of the way the Hellenistic poleis regarded arbitration. Beside cases that we might consider more traditional, such as ownership of borderlands, a public debt that had not been repaid, control over sanctuaries and so forth, we observe a tendency towards entrusting the judges with a broader task. The judges could be called upon to deal with more than one problem, facing questions that had an impact on the interests of the communities at multiple levels, all the way to that of private citizens.39 Using arbitration to this kind of circumstances must have requested adaptations in the procedure and structure of the trials. In the most typical cases, in which only one controversy had to be resolved, one meeting could be sufficient for the panel of judges to listen to the advocates of the two parties and to witnesses, if any, and come to a verdict. In the case of territorial controversies, it could be necessary to actually visit the territories under dispute before the final meeting of the panel. When however multiple questions had to be dealt with, the judges needed a different approach, conducting long hearings and formulating more than one verdict. In most cases, we can do no more than speculate about these more complex procedures, which we have to assume anyway. A couple of cases, however, provide direct evidence on them. The synoikismos between Orchomenos and Euaimon assumes that the arbitration would take the shape of a whole series of trials which would be celebrated over three years, while the expansive arbitration clause that concludes the treaty between Hierapytna and Priansos included an unprecedented measure: Every year the two poleis were supposed to agree upon a third polis which would be asked to produce a panel of judges. The panel would adjudicate all cases of violation of the agreements and all offences, at any level, of both sides, to the extent that they had an impact on the relations between the two poleis. In other words, the two communities decided to have a permanent arbitration court, which ensured that every possible future controversy would be resolved in a peaceful manner. These two cases show clearly that interstate arbitration had become in the Hellenistic period a multi-purpose intrument, whose actual mechanisms were specified case by case by the parties based on their specific needs. Such flexibility was rooted in the nature of arbitration, but only during the Hellenistic period the potential was fully exploited. 39 On the role of individuals in causes resulting from interstate arbitration see Magnetto 2014.

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The development in the practice of interstate arbitration was consistent with and influenced by general trends towards an intensification and rise in complexity of international relations during the Hellensitic age. Inscriptions document an increasing number of complex agreements, often a function of geographic proximity and of shared economic and political interests. The traditional clauses on alliance and military support are now accompanied by religious, civic, economic and juridical dispositions, with the purpose of maintaining peace by defining and regulating the relations between the communities involved in a much more detailed and pervasive way than was the case previously. In the agreements, a wide spectrum of violations are foreseen, setting off, in cases when arbitration was necessary, multiple and complicated judicial procedures.

*** As we turn to the more specifically juridical aspects of arbitration, here, too, the Hellenistic period ushers in interesting novelties. Here, as some of the cases mentioned above show, an important role was played by the federal states.40 The evidence on Greek federal states shows that all of them favored arbitration, which they regarded as an instrument for the preservation of internal peace. In spite of the increased amount of evidence, we cannot tell much on how exactly this came about, and most of the information we have pertains to the Aitolian League and the Achaian League. In both cases we know that federal organs had a role in the peaceful resolution of controversies, although for the Achaian League cases are documented in which the League does not appear to have been involved.41 An epigraphic dossier from the first half of the second century bce found in Messene a few years ago and still only partially published has shed new light on the Achaian League and integrates in a significant way our knowledge. A decree of Messene, the only part of the dossier published so far, narrates the story of a territorial dispute with Megalopolis, which went through several phases involving multiple arbitration and ended, at least as far as we can tell based on this document, with the victory of Messene.42 The lively narrative confirms that the council of the League could accept 40 On Greek federal states see now the contributions in Beck/Funke 2015. 41 Ager 2015 provides an overview on the use of arbitration within Greek federal states; on the Achaian League see especially Harter-Uibopuu 1998 and Rizakis 2015. 42 First published by Thémélis 2008 (see SEG 58, 370), the text of the decree of Messene has been republished and commented by Luraghi/Magnetto 2012; see also Thür 2012 and the remarks of Denis Rousset, BE 2013: nos 153–154.

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requests of arbitration and see to the constitution of a court. On how exactly this happened, no obligatory procedure seems to have existed: the two parties could choose between a panel of judges provided by a third polis and one selected ad hoc and composed of prominent representatives of the political and military elite of the League. In certain cases, when the League itself or its magistrates were one of the parties, a polis which was not a member of the League could be asked to act as an arbitration court. Most interestingly, this document shows that the League had developed explicit norms that regulated the application of arbitration between its members. It appears that, when one party requested an arbitration, the other party was compelled to accept it, under penalty of a sanction meted out by the League through its damiourgoi. Once, however, a controversy had been adjudicated, there was no obligation of undergoing a second arbitration. A third-party arbitration could be requested also in the case in which the sanction meted out by the damiourgoi was deemed unfair, in which case the very operations of the League and its ability to abide by its own regulation were under judgment. Federal norms regarding the use of arbitration are documented also in the case of the Thessalian koinon. A senatus consultum from around the year 140 bce regarding the last documented phase of a controversy between Melitaia and Narthakion refers to previous verdicts in favor of Narthakion given ‘in accordance with the laws of the Thessalians’. The representatives of Narthakion had specified that the laws had been given to the koinon by T. Quinctius Flamininus following the opinion of the decem legati and in accordance with a senatus consultum, and that they were still valid. The text refers to the time when, between 196 and 194 bce, the Roman proconsul and the decem legati had granted freedom and new political institutions to the Thessalians. Most likely, this was a new constitution for the koinon, and it included norms for the peaceful resolution of controversies. We cannot tell whether, already at that point or in a later stage, by the organs of the koinon, further norms regulating the implementation of arbitration had been formulated.43 A further interesting case is that of the Cretan koinon. The treaty between Hierapytna and Priansos specifies that the common court (κοινὸν δικαστήριον) which was supposed to resolve controversies between the parties every year replaced a preexisting federal organ, the koinodikion. Up until a few years before, the koinodikion had had the function of a permanent arbitration court for the Cretan poleis. It had disappeared with the dissolution of the koinon. The koinodikion had operated based on the diagramma, a sort of shared code of law, which included procedural guidelines and fines, which remained valid for the Cretan poleis even after the koinon dissolved. The new 43 See Sherk, RDGE 9, ll. 48–67, Camia 2009: no 5. On the historical background of this inscription see Snowdon 2014; on the Thessalian League Bouchon/Helly 2015.

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arbitration court was supposed to refer to it. This indicates that, in spite of a somewhat discontinuous history, the Cretan koinon had provided itself of surprisingly sophisticated judicial instruments.44 These cases show that federal states not only acted in order to make sure that controversies between their members found a judicial or at any rate diplomatic solution, but also took care of making available the relevant instruments. The federal council was typically indicated as the organ to which the parties had to turn, and specific magistrates were put in charge of overseeing and facilitating the phases of the procedure, from the appointment of a panel of judges to the instruction of the cause, the trial, and finally the sanctions in case of non-compliance. Norms were formulated which specified under which conditions an arbitration could be pursued, with clear limits in order to avoid the proliferation of lawsuits. Since the Greek federal states were very different from one another in institutional terms, the same diversity certainly obtained in the case of regulating arbitration. On the other hand, it is clear, and particularly interesting, that the need to make sure that a federal state remained peaceful and cohesive, on top of being united in political and military terms, had important consequences of juridical nature, in that it induced the political elites to think in new ways about law, about the shapes it could assume in the relations between different political communities, and about the structures necessary for its implementation. A question that arises is whether these new achievements in the field of international law, and the reflection that accompanied their elaboration, had any impact on how the several political communities shaped their international relations, within the boundaries of the federal states and across them. The question is all the more important considering the high number of poleis that were, at least temporarily, members of a federal state.45 While the evidence does not allow formulating confident conclusions, we can point to one case at least in which the impact is obvious: The treaty between Hierapytna and Priansos shows clearly that the Cretan koinon influenced the way in which the individual poleis viewed their reciprocal relations. The framework of peaceful cohabitation which the koinon offered its members as well as the political and diplomatic instruments it developed, such as the diagramma and the koinodikion in its function as a common court of law, were seen as positive elements, so much so

44 See the overview of Chaniotis 2015, esp. 382–384 with abundant further references; for a slightly different take on the competences of the koinodikion see Magnetto 2014. The unpublished inscription announced in Chaniotis 2010 promises to offer new important information on the judicial relations between members of the Cretan koinon. 45 Mackil 2013: 1 and n. 3 reckons that already towards the end of the Classical age almost half of the poleis of central Greece and the Peloponnese were included in a federal state.

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that the individual poleis strove to keep them alive even at times when the koinon itself was dissolved. Another aspect of the reflection on international law that I want to call attention to has to do with the elaboration of shared standards of judgment. Over the last two decades, scholars have already devoted attention to this problem with interesting results.46 The territorial controversies, the most frequent and easiest to regulate, had a role in facilitating the formulation and consolidation of some fundamental principles. Such principles show up explicitly only once, in the verdict of the judges from Magnesia on the Maiander in the controversy between the Cretan poleis of Itanos and Hierapytna (111 bce). According to the judges, “people have ownership of a territory either because they received it from their ancestors, or because they themselves bought it, or because they have conquered it by the spear, or because they received it from one of the powerful ones”.47 Angelos Chaniotis has argued persuasively that all these principles have their roots in the classical period and were consistently implemented in the following centuries. The explicit expression of these principles in a verdict from the late second century suggests some further thoughts. We find here confirmation of the fact that a reflection on legal norms applicable internationally was alive among the Greeks of this age. The reflection extended to civil law, as well, inspired by the experience of the foreign judges.48 This is all the less surprising if we consider that the same elites who ruled the poleis also provided panels of arbitrators and foreign judges.49 Developments both in international relations and in legal thought are two sides of the same coin and contribute to an understanding of the cultural climate of the Hellenistic age, with all its vitality. It is also interesting to observe that these principles become visible in Crete, an area which had experienced the koinon and used the regulations of the diagramma.50 46 See especially Bertrand 1991; Guizzi 1997; Chaniotis 2004, Chaniotis 2005 and Chaniotis 2009. 47 ICret III.iv 9, ll. 133–134: ἄν]θρωποι τὰς κατὰ τῶν τόπων ἔχουσι κυριείας ἢ παρὰ προγόνων π[αραλαβόν]τες αὐτοὶ [ἢ πριάμενοι κατ’] ἀργυρίου δόσιν ἢ δόρατι κρατήσαντες ἢ παρά τινος τῶν κρεισσόν[ων σχόντες. 48 Foreign judges were called upon for trials within individual poleis (Magnetto 2016 assembles and discusses the abundant research on this topic). Already Louis Robert (1973) speculated that the circulation of these citizens, who came from the political elites of their poleis, stimulated a process of convergence between the laws of the several poleis. 49 See Rousset 1994: 103. 50 It is unclear whether the koinon existed between 145 and 109, when Crete entered a new phase of wars, but its existence is documentd again at the beginning of the first century. On the chronology of the koinon see now Chaniotis 2015.

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Familiarity with a supra-national law code may have had an influence on how the parties formulated their arguments, which were as usual adopted by the court in formulating its verdict.51 Finally, a word on the context in which this arbitration took place is in order. The judges from Magnesia stepped in upon mandate from the Roman senate, which, here as in other cases, laid out for the judges a precise criterion: they were to attribute the territory under dispute to the party that owned it at the time when the war started which had provoked the intervention on Crete of Servius Sulpicius Galba. Such a standard was foreign to Hellenistic tradition, which tended to look for the origin of a claim in the past, even in the mythic past. The judges and the parties accepted this criterion, but the Itanians (who won the case), reinforced their claim by showing that it was legitimate even in the terms, typically Greek, of the “original ownership” (ἐξ ἀρχῆς). The judges showed themselves to be positively inclined towards this way of adjudicating and repeated the claim in the verdict (ll. 54–58). Seen from this angle, the list of legitimate criteria for territorial claims in the verdict of Magnesia points to one further facet in the development of Hellenistic juridical thought, namely the struggle between the principles formulated and consolidated within the Greek tradition and Roman legal mentality, with which the Greek elites had been forced to come to terms.52

3. Civic memory The documents resulting from an arbitration, both the verdicts and decrees that celebrate success of one party or praise the advocates, become veritable monuments of civic memory. This aspect, too, comes to the fore in the Hellenistic age, supported by two trends typical of this period. The first is the increase in complexity of epigraphic documents: this is a trend observable in decrees of a strictly political nature as well as in decrees in honor of individuals and communities, treaties, and of course, arbitrations. The second is the stronger presence of historical memory in public documents, and especially in documents of diplomatic nature. To be sure, the past played a role in diplomatic discourse during the classical age already.53 Its function is well known: preexisting bonds and benefactions support present requests. It is, however, in the Hellenistic period that the phenomenon that Peter Herrmann characterized as “the inclusion of the historical dimension in the self-perception and self-representation of 51 On this, see below. 52 For this interpretation of the text, see Magnetto 2015: 82–84. 53 Cf. Piccirilli 2002: 65–108.

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the polis” becomes ubiquitous.54 In inscriptions referring to international relations this trend takes the shape of insistence on the antiquity of an enduring claim, relationship, or bond, of emphasis on kinship between communities rooted in mythic traditions consolidated in time or occasionally refunctionalized.55 This background makes sense of transformations in arbitration verdicts. We now find expansive documents, occasionally over 200 lines long, often reporting verdicts μετ᾽ ἀποφάσεως, in which the judges do not confine themselves to expressing their final vote, but deliver to the parties a detailed justification of their decision.56 Texts of this kind are the ones that reserve more space to the history of the controversy, which is unsurprising and in keeping with the principles of adjudication discussed in the previous section of this essay. The roots of a claim are usually to be sought in a more or less distant past. The research necessary for this purpose was carried out entirely by the representatives of the two parties, using and combining different methods. For the distant past, poets, historians, and writers of other genres were drawn upon, while for the more recent past, to a depth of up to a century or so, decrees from the public archive and other kinds of public documents could be used. The whole array of evidence was worked into a uniform narrative that supported the claims of one party and/or undermined those of the other. This research work was subsumed into the verdict in different ways. In some cases the judges summarize the arguments of the parties before formulating their conclusions, in other cases they include in their judgment the arguments they found most persuasive. Either way, the final result was a veritable page of local history, which can go back in time a long way and tends to reflect the major turning points of political history in the region. The verdict of a panel of judges from Pergamon which, some time after 150 bce, attributed to Pitane a territory disputed by Mytilene, pieces together the history of the region and the relations between the victorious party and the kings who had controlled it over time. After having been conquered by Seleukos I with the victory of Curupedion in 281, the disputed territory had been sold by his successor Antiochos I to Pitane for 380 talents. A letter of Eumenes I, produced by the advocates of Pitane, confirmed the legitimacy of their ownership.57 The senatus consultum which decided 54 “Die Einbeziehung der historischen Dimension in das Selbstverständnis und die Selbstdarstellung der Polis”; Herrmann 1984: 115. 55 For a recent overview see Gehrke 2010: 26–31; on the historical dimension of inscribed documents see especially Boffo 1988; Chaniotis 1988; on kinship between poleis (and/or ethne) see Curty 1995; Jones 1999; Battistoni 2010; on the documents of asylia see Rigsby 1996. 56 For an overview of this feature, see Magnetto 2008: 184–187. 57 See OGIS 335; Ager 1996: 146.

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in favor of Narthakion the controversy with Melitaia, mentioned above, refers to the legislative intervention of Flamininus and the decem legati in the area and to some earlier verdicts which confirmed Narthakion’s claims. The verdict of Magnesia in favor of Itanos and against Hierapytna of 111 bce, also mentioned above, rehearses with abundant references to documents the history of Itanos and of its relations with the Ptolemies, with Rome and with the other Cretan poleis over a span of half a century. Finally, the verdict of the Rhodians in favor of Priene against Samos, to be dated between 196 and 192, follows the history of the region under dispute for some 500 years, albeit with chronological leaps required by the argumentative strategies of the two parties. The starting point is the Meliac War, traditionally seen as a key moment of early Ionian history and dated around 700 bce. With abundant use of literary and archival evidence, the narrative continues down to the years immediately before the verdict, touching upon Alexander’s campaign in Asia Minor, the reigns of Antigonos Monophthalmos, Lysimachos, Antiochos II, Philip V, Antiochos III and a Ptolemy who is variously identified as Philopator or Epiphanes.58 Such historical reconstructions have first and foremost a juridical value for the poleis. Having gone through the scrutiny of an external entity that is impartial by definition, namely the arbitration panel, they acquire a certification of reliability that makes them authoritative for any future controversy. This was the main motive for the polis to put on public display arbitration verdicts: they bore witness to the official acknowledgement of a claim. This peculiar form of local history, however, a veritable certified civic memory, conspicuously displayed in prominent places in the victorious polis, took on a material dimension. The inscribed text of the arbitration verdict became the visible embodiment not only of the rights of the community, but also of the past that provided a foundation for those rights in the present and for the future. The north wall of the temple of Athena Polias in Priene offers one of the best examples of this transposition on stone of civic memory. Here, the Prieneans inscribed, alongside the verdict of the Rhodians, also two senatus consulta on the same matter and one further verdict from the end of the second century bce confirming the judgment of the Rhodians.59 In this case, the polis clearly intended to collect in the same place documents scattered over a period of time that represented not only the legal foundation of certain rights, but also represent an official narrative of sorts, made of documents produced by external entities, with a high symbolic value for the history of Priene.

58 See I.Priene (2014) 132; Magnetto 2008 provides a commentary on the individual episodes; cf. Badoud 2013: 177 for 195 as the date of the inscription. 59 Different reconstructions of the wall are discussed in Magnetto 2008: 15–25 and 243–245 plates 1–3.

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A different but equally striking case is constituted by the dossier from Messene mentioned above. The long inscription was engraved on a statue base that supported an equestrian statue or more likely a group, in the agora of Messene, right by the temple of the eponymous heroine Messene. It included four documents. The first document, the only one published so far, is a decree of Messene which affirms the polis’ legitimate ownership of two border territories repeatedly claimed by Megalopolis, and traces a history of the judgments faced and won by the Messenians after they had been forced to join the Achaian League in 183/2 bce: The list included a debate in the council of the League, a judgment given by officers of the League in the famous Messenian sanctuary of the Karneiasion, one further judgment by the polis of Aigai, and a verdict of judges from Miletos. The three documents that follow, including the challenge to an arbitration issued by Megalopolis, a fine meted out on the Messenians, and the verdict of the Milesian judges cancelling the fine, constitute the documentary underpinning of the narrative in the decree of the Messenians, confirming its reliability. The reconstruction operated by the Messenians and displayed on their agora was itself a form of local history, of civic memory. As was the case in the examples discussed above, the publication of this dossier had a precise practical purpose. The decree of the Messenians informs us that a law of the Achaian League mandated arbitration between any two member poleis if one of them requested it, but prohibited requesting a second arbitration on the same matter with the same parties. Accordingly, the Messenians were claiming that their rights had been acknowledged and could not be questioned any longer, and the dossier monumentalized in the agora also served to prove this. What we have in front of us is of course something rather different from an arbitration verdict. It is the reconstruction made locally, submitted to the assembly of the citizens and approved by them, of a narrative that inevitably privileges certain aspects rather than others. If we compare it with Polybius’ narrative, with all due caution imposed by the historian’s own origin and bias, we see that the story told by the Messenians tends to obfuscate certain aspects, if not in the events themselves, certainly in their interpretation. The duplicity and deceitfulness of the Megalopolitans are emphasized with a choice of words that by contrast showcases the correctness of the Messenians, confirmed by several verdicts in their favor.60 In this case, civic memory is not embedded in the simple reproduction of documents, but recast in a narrative of strongly local bent, displaying the features of what recent scholarship has appropriately termed ‘intentional history’.61 60 On these aspects see Luraghi/Magnetto 2012. 61 The dossier of the controversy between Magnesia and Priene, adjudicated by Mylasa upon request of the Romans, on display on a stone block in the agora of Magnesia, presents analogies

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4. Conclusion The present discussion has shown that during the Hellenistic age interstate arbitration displays new aspects, corresponding to specific stimuli coming from the culture and political context of the time. A clear novelty is the ideological value acquired by arbitration in certain contexts, in connection with the rise of new hegemonic powers and the propaganda output that accompanied their relations with the world of the poleis. Other aspects can be seen as developments of traits that existed already in earlier periods or implementations of potentialities built into the practice of arbitration but as yet not fully expressed. The latter is the case for the practice of submitting to panels of arbitrators increasingly complex questions, which involved different aspects of the relations between poleis and generated longer and more complex procedures. The same kind of development pertains to the emergence of forms of international law, with the purpose both of establishing shared principles of judgment and, in the special case of the federal states, to regulate the very application of arbitration. The habit of treating arbitration verdicts as part and parcel of the historical memory of a community strengthens and partly modifies the traditional custom of publicly celebrating the successes of the polis. All these aspects show that the poleis adapted the use of arbitration to the needs of a new situation, in which reciprocal relations had become more intense and complex. They successfully addressed the new challenges, both in terms of regulating their relations and in terms of the broader cultural debate that went along with them.

Bibliography Ager, S., 1996. Interstate Arbitrations in the Greek World. 337–90 b. c., Berkeley. Ager, S., 2007. Keeping the Peace in Ionia. Kings and Poleis, in: Elton, H. – Reger, G. (eds.), Regionalism in Hellenistic and Roman Asia Minor, Paris/Bordeaux, 45–52. Ager, S., 2013. Interstate Governance. Arbitration and Peacekeeping, in: Beck, H. (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Greek Government, Malden/Oxford, 497–511. Ager, S., 2015. Peaceful Conflict Resolution in the World of the Federal States, in: Beck, H. – Funke, P. (eds.), Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge, 471–486. Badoud, N., 2013. Le Temps de Rhodes. Une chronologie des inscriptions de la cité‚ fondée sur l’études des ses institutions, Munich. to this case. The dossier is composed of a decree of Magnesia, followed by the letter of M. Aemilius transmitting the senatus consultum, by the verdict of Mylasa and the list of the advocates of Magnesia (Ager 1996: no 120; Camia 2009: no 7). On the concept of ‘intentional history’, see the works collected in Foxhall/Gehrke/Luraghi 2010, and especially Luraghi’s contribution, which discusses the role of the demos as a narrator in inscriptions from early Hellenistic Athens.

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Interstate Arbitration as a Feature of the Hellenistic Polis Battistoni, F., 2010. Parenti dei Romani. Mito troiano e diplomazia, Bari. Beck, H. – Funke, P. (eds.), 2015. Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge. Bencivenni, A., 2003. Progetti di riforme costituzionali nelle epigrafi greche dei secoli IV–II a. C., Bologna. Bertrand, J. M., 1991. Territoire donné, territoire attribué. Note sur la pratique de l’attribution dans le monde impérial de Rome, CCGG 4, 125–164. Blümel, W. – Sayar, M. H., 2011. Ehrendekret von Stratonikeia in Myndos, EA 44, 115–120. Boffo, L., 1988. Epigrafi di citt. Greche. Un’espressione di storiografia locale, in: Gabba, E. (ed.), Studi di storia e storiografia antiche per Emilio Gabba, Pavia, 9–48. Bouchon, R. – Helly, B., 2015. The Thessalien League, in: Beck, H. – Funke, P. (eds.), Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge, 231–249. Camia, F., 2009. Roma e le poleis. L’intervento di Roma nelle controversie territoriali tra le comunità greche di Grecia e d’Asia Minore nel secondo secolo a. C. Le testimonianze epigrafiche, Athens. Chaniotis, A., 1988. Historie und Historiker in den Griechischen Inschriften, Stuttgart. Chaniotis, A., 1996. Die Verträge zwischen kretischen Städten in der hellenistischen Zeit, Stuttgart. Chaniotis, A., 2004. Justifying territorial claims in classical and Hellenistic Greece. The beginning of international law, in: Harris, E. M. – Rubinstein, L. (eds.), The law and the courts in Ancient Greece, London, 185–213. Chaniotis, A., 2005. Victory’s Verdict. The Violent Occupation of Territory in Hellenistic Interstate Relations, in: Bertrand, J.-M. (ed.), La violence dans les mondes grec et romain, Paris, 455–464. Chaniotis, A., 2009. Überzeugungsstrategien in der griechischen Diplomatie. Geschichte als Argument, in: Chaniotis, A. – Kropp, A. – Steinhoff, C. (eds.), Überzeugungsstrategien, Berlin/ Heidelberg, 147–165. Chaniotis, A., 2010. Prozessrechtliches aus dem hellenistischen Kreta, in: Thür, G. (ed.), Symposion 2009. Vorträge zur griechischen und hellenistischen Rechtsgeschichte (Seggau, 25.–30. August 2009), Vienna, 169–183. Curty, O., 1995. Les parentés legendaires entre cités grecques. Catalogue raisonné des inscriptions contenant les terme syggeneia et analyse critique, Geneva. Ferrary, J.-L., 2014. Philhellénisme et impérialisme. Aspects idéologiques de la conquête romaine du monde hellénistique, 2Rome. Gauthier, P., 1999. Symbola athéniens et tribunaux étrangers à l’époque hellénistique, BCH 123, 157–174. Gehrke, H.-J., 2010. Greek Representation of the Past, in: Foxhall, L. – Gehrke, H.-J. – Luraghi, N. (eds.), Intentional History. Spinning Time in Ancient Greece, Stuttgart, 15–33. Giovannini, A., 2007. Les relations entre États dans la Grèce antique du temps d’Homère à l’intervention romaine (ca. 700–200 av. J. C.), Stuttgart. Gruen, E. S., 1984. The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome. Vol. 2, Berkeley/Los Angeles/ London. Guizzi, F., 1997. Conquista, occupazione del suolo e titoli che danno diritto alla proprietà. L’esempio di una controversia interstatale cretese, Athenaeum 85, 35–52. Harter-Uibopuu, K., 1998. Das zwischenstaatliche Schiedsverfaheren im achäischen Koinon. Zur friedlichen Streitbeilegung nach den epigraphischen Quellen, Cologne. Hatzopoulos, M. B., 1996. Macedonian Institutions under the Kings, Vol. 1–2, Athens.

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Anna Magnetto Hatzopoulos, M. B., 2009. Some New Documents from the Macedonian Chancery. Problem of Form and Content, in: Politismou, H. et al. (eds.), ΚΕΡΜΑΤΙΑ ΦΙΛΙΑΣ. Τιμητικός τόμος για τον Ιωάννη Τουράτσογλου. Vol. 2, Athens, 47–55. Heller, A., 2006. Les bêtises des Grecs. Conflits et rivalités entre cités d’Asie et de Bithynie à l’époque romaine (129 a. C.-235 p. C.), Bordeaux. Herrmann, P., 1979. Die Stadt Temnos und ihre auswärtigen Beziehungen in hellenistischer Zeit, MDAI(I) 29, 249–271. Herrmann, P., 1984. Die Selbstdarstellung der hellenistischen Stadt in den Inschriften. Ideal und Wirklichkeit, in: Pelekides, C. et al. (eds.), Πρακτικά τoυ Η' Διεθνoύς Συνεδρίoυ Eλληνικής καί Λατινικής Eπιγραφικής, Aθήνα 3–9 Oκτωβρίoυ 1982, Vol. 1, Αthens, 108–119. Jehne, M., 1994. Koine Eirene. Untersuchungen zu den Befriedungs- und Stabilisierungsbemühungen in der griechischen Poliswelt des 4. Jahrhunderts v. Chr., Stuttgart. Jones, C., 1999. Kinship Diplomacy in the Ancient World, Cambridge. Kallet-Marx, R. M., 1995. Hegemony to Empire. The Development of the Roman Imperium in the East from 148 to 62 B. C., Berkeley/Los Angeles/Oxford. Low, P., 2007. Interstate Relations in Classical Greece, Cambridge. Luraghi, N., 2008. The Ancient Messenians. Construction of Ethnicity and Memory, Cambridge. Luraghi, N., 2010. The Demos as Narrator. Public Honors and the Construction of Future and Past, in: Foxhall, L. – Gehrke, H.-J. – Luraghi, N. (eds.), Intentional History. Spinning Time in Ancient Greece, Stuttgart, 247–263. Luraghi, N. – Magnetto, A., 2012. The Controversy between Megalopolis and Messene in a new Inscription from Messene. With an Appendix by Christian Habicht, Chiron 42, 509–550. Ma, J., 1999. Antiochos III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor, Oxford. Ma, J., 2009. City as Memory, in: Graziosi, B. – Vasunia, P. – Boys-Stones, G. (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Hellenic Studies, Oxford, 248–259. Mackil, E., 2013. Creating a Common Polity. Religion, Economy and Politics in the Making of the Greek Koinon, Berkeley. Magnetto, A., 1997. Gli arbitrati interstatali greci. Introduzione, testo critico, traduzione, commento e indici, Vol. 2, dal 337 al 196 a. C., Pisa. Magnetto, A., 2008. L’arbitrato di Rodi fra Samo e Priene. Edizione critica, commento e indici, Pisa. Magnetto, A., 2014. Le clausole giuridiche del trattato fra Hierapytna e Priansos e la presenza di privati cittadini nelle cause di arbitrato interstatale, ASNP 6.1, 475–503. Magnetto, A., 2015. L’arbitrato dei Romani nel rapporto con la diplomazia dei Greci. Alcuni spunti di riflessione, in: Grass, B. – Stouder, G. (eds.), La diplomatie romaine sous la République. Réflexions sur une pratique, Besançon, 65–86. Magnetto, A., 2016. Interstate arbitration and Foreign Judges, in: Harris, E.  – Canevaro,  M. (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Ancient Greek Law, Oxford (forthcoming). Mari, M., 2006. L’activité législative du roi et des cités en Macédoine, in: Guimier-Sorbets, A. M. – Hatzopoulos, M. B. (eds.), Rois, cités, nécropoles. Institutions, rites et monuments en macédoine, Athens, 209–225. Marshall, A. J., 1980. The Survival and Development of International Jurisdiction in the Greek World under Roman Rule, ANRW II.13, 626–661. Matthaiou, A., 2013. An Arbitration concerning Lampsakos and Parion, in: Martzavou, P. – Papazarkadas, N. (eds.), Epigraphical Approaches to the Post-Classical Polis. Fourth Cantury BC to Second Century AD, Oxford, 57–68.

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Interstate Arbitration as a Feature of the Hellenistic Polis Perlman, S., 1985. Greek Diplomatic Tradition and the Corinthian League of Philip of Macedon, Historia 34, 153–174. Piccirilli, L., 1973. Gli arbitrati interstatali greci. Introduzione, edizione critica, traduzione, commento e indici. Vol. 1, dalle origini al 338 a. C., Pisa. Piccirilli, L., 2002. L’invenzione della diplomazia nella Grecia antica, Rome. Raaflaub, K. A., 2015. Forerunners of Federal States: Collaboration and Integration through Alliance in Archaic and Classical Greece, in: Beck, H. – Funke, P. (eds.), Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge, 434–451. Raeder, A., 1912. L’arbitrage international chez les Hellènes, Kristiania. Rigsby, J. K., 1996. Asylia. Territorial Inviolability in the Hellenistic World, Berkeley. Rizakis, A., 2015. The Achaian League, in: Beck, H. – Funke, P. (eds.), Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge, 118–131. Robert, L., 1973. Les juges étrangers dans la cité grecque, in: von Caemmerer, E. (ed.), Xenion, Athens, 765–782. Rousset, D., 1994. Les frontières des cités grecques. Premières réflexions à partir du recueil des documents épigraphiques, CCGG 5, 97–126. Ryder, T. T. B., 1965. Koine Eirene. General Peace and Local Independence in Ancient Greece, Oxford. Scherberich, K., 2009. Koine symmachia. Untersuchungen zum Hellenenbund Antigonos’ III. Doson und Philipps V. (224–197 v. Chr.), Stuttgart. Smarczyk, B., 2015. The Hellenic Leagues of Late Classical and Hellenistic times and their place in the History of Greek Federalism, in: Beck, H. – Funke, P. (eds.), Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge, 452–470. Snowdon, M., 2014. “In the Friendship of the Romans”. Melitaia, Narthakion and Greco-Roman Interstate Friendship in the Second Century bce, Historia 63, 422–444. Themelis, P., 2008. Κρίμα περὶ χώρας Μεσσηνίων καὶ Μεγαλοπολιτῶν, in: Pikulas, G. A. (ed.), Ἱστορίες για τὴν ἀρχαία ‘Αρχαδία. Πρακτικὰ/Proceedings of the International Symposion in Honour of J. Roy. 50 χρόνια ‘Αρχάς (1958–2008), Stemnitsa, 211–222. Thür, G., 2012. Dispute over Ownership in Greek Law. Preliminary Thoughts about a New Inscription from Messene (SEG LVIII 370), in: Legras, B. – Thür, G. (eds.), Symposion 2011. Études d’histoire du droit grec et hellénistique (Paris, 7–10 septembre 2011), Vienna, 293–316. Tod, M. N., 1913. International Arbitration amongst the Greeks, Oxford. Vanseveren, J., 1937. Inscriptions d’Amorgos et de Chios, RPh 63, 337–344. Wörrle, M., 2004. Der Friede zwischen Milet und Magnesia. Methodische Probleme einer Communis opinio, Chiron 34, 45–58. Worthington, I., 2008. Philip II of Macedonia, New Haven.

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5 POLEIS AND KOINA: RESHAPING THE WORLD OF THE GREEK STATES IN HELLENISTIC TIMES Peter Funke*

When the Macedonian king Demetrios II died at the beginning of the year 229 bce, the Athenians exploited the unstable situation of the pending regime change to free themselves once and for all from Macedonian hegemony, which had lasted for nearly a hundred years.1 In the course of successful negotiations Diogenes, the commander of the Macedonian garrison, was induced to vacate all the fortresses in Attica and to dismiss all troops assigned to him. We cannot conclusively determine to what extent the recovery of Athenian freedom at that time was due to the Achaian politician Aratos of Sikyon. Plutarch and Pausanias leave no doubt that Aratos should be credited with the actual realisation of the agreement: he had had himself carried to Athens in a litter, in spite of a severe illness, in order to convince the Macedonians to give up their outposts in Attica. Furthermore, he had personally made a significant financial contribution towards the sum the Athenians had to pay Diogenes.2 It has long been recognized that Plutarch and Pausanias clearly based their descriptions of the events on Aratos’ own presentation in his memoirs, and so they “greatly exaggerated” his role.3 Nonetheless, we must start from the fact that Aratos gambled everything on freeing Athens from the grip of Macedon. He saw the opportunity to finally achieve peacefully a goal he had long been unable to achieve by force, namely, to bring Athens to the Achaian side and per*

The following is a revised and expanded version of Funke 2007a. 1 For additional information on these events see Habicht 1982: 79–105 and Habicht 1997: 173– 194. 2 Plut. Arat. 34.5–6; Paus. 2.8.6. 3 Habicht 1997: 174.

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suade the Athenians to join the Achaian League. The escalating conflict with Sparta made Athenian support seem more important than ever. Aratos’ expectations were famously disappointed. The Athenians withstood his courtship and opted for a strict political neutrality. Aratos’ bitterness over the failure of his political endeavours still resonates in Polybius’ comments on the failure of his plan, also likely deriving from Aratos’ memoirs: “The Athenians were now delivered from the fear of Macedonia and regarded their liberty as securely established … They took no part in the affairs of the rest of Greece, but were profuse in their adulation of all the kings, and chiefly of Ptolemy.”4 Clearly the Athenians, after decades deprived of freedom, hoped to seamlessly resuscitate their old foreign policy and regain an autonomous course of action in order to defend their newly-won freedom.5 Aratos’ offer to join the Achaian League, on the other hand, was obviously not an acceptable option in their eyes. Their categorical rejection of Aratos, however, was based on an overestimate of their own capability for power politics and on a certain atavism, which would also leave its mark on Athenian foreign politics in the period that followed. The fear of losing their recently regained sovereignty must have been, at the least, one of the decisive factors in the Athenians’ staying away from the Achaian League and looking elsewhere for coalition partners. The signs of the times, however, pointed in a different direction. By that time, federal structures had established themselves as a viable alternative to the traditional patterns of alliances in power politics and proven their clout. They appeared attractive especially because they provided new means to offset the weaknesses that consistently undermined the interstate cohesion of bilateral or multilateral alliances of other kinds. The structure of a federal state, while compelling the poleis that joined it to give up parts of their own sovereignty in order to function in an institutionally cohesive system, made it possible to give appropriate consideration to the particular interests of individual states. At its heart it was all about creating for individual states overarching associations for political action which provided to each member, as a result of joining the federation, greater security and power, while at the same time ensuring for every polis an adequate level of participation in the making of political decisions in a balanced interplay between federal authority and member states. To achieve this, an institutional structure was established at the federal level parallel to the member states’ political decision-making bodies, consisting generally of at least a federal assembly, a federal council and several federal magistracies. Every league member participated in these 4 Pol. 5.106.6–8 (trans. W. R. Paton, F. W. Walbank, C. Habicht). 5 Habicht 1982: 79–158; Habicht 1997: 173–194; Perrin-Saminadayar 1999; Cuniberti 2006: 77–123; Scherberich 2009.

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institutions in a balanced, mostly proportional fashion. There were no strict rules on how powers were distributed between federal authorities and member states. Rather, individual federal states arranged them quite differently, adapting them repeatedly over time to the changing needs of the member states. In this way, the framework of federal states could ensure a balance of interests, which was very difficult to achieve and even more difficult to preserve for long periods of time in alliances of other kinds, in which the member states joined forces for purely offensive and/or defensive alliances. These military alliances, termed symmachíai, tended generally to develop into so-called “hegemonic” symmachíai, where – as in the times of the Delian or Peloponnesian League – a single state became prevalent. The other members of such alliances, despite still having their full sovereignty, at least formally (unlike members of federal states), were severely limited in voicing their own respective interests. Precisely this tendency toward hegemonic powers repeatedly doomed to failure all attempts in pre-Hellenistic times at establishing a shared peaceful order encompassing the whole world of the Greek city-states (koiné eiréne) based on the strictly enshrined autonomy of the polis.6 Compared with this the application of federal principles presented an attractive possibility for the arrangement of interstate coexistence. What in 229 bce may have appeared to the Athenians as an unacceptable loss of autonomy in reality presented a chance to reposition the polis in the reconfigured political landscape after Alexander the Great without surrendering it in its basic form. It was no coincidence that Athens was surrounded by communities organised in federal states. When in 224 bce a Hellenic League was founded under the leadership of Antigonos III Doson, this league, unlike its predecessors, was not comprised of individual communities, but rather was exclusively comprised of federal states with different legal frameworks.7 And after Sparta had been forced to join the Achaian League as a result of their defeat at Sellasia in 222 bce, Athens remained the only polis in the whole of Greece which was not a member of any federal state. While the Achaian League and the Aitolian League were the biggest federal states, they were far from the only ones asserting their autonomy – with mixed results – in the power struggles of the Hellenistic empires.

6 On the symmachiai see Tausend 1992 and Baltrusch 1994. On the koiné eiréne see Jehne 1994. See also Buraselis 2003, Funke 2007b and Figuera/Jensen 2013. 7 StV III, 212–217 (= no. 507); cf. Scherberich 2009.

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1. A reshaped political landscape The political map of Hellas had changed fundamentally over the course of the third and the first half of the second century bce. The federal states known as éthne or koiná had altered the character of Greece.8 And yet they were far from an entirely new phenomenon unknown before Hellenistic times. Their origins went far back into classical times: as early as the fifth and fourth century bce a process of fundamental political change was beginning, especially in the periphery of the polis-world – thus especially in north-western and central Greece and parts of the Peloponnese.9 The changes taking place at that time are likely to have been sparked by the power political quarrels which culminated in the Peloponnesian War and its war-like aftermath. Even regions which had previously been sheltered from events were increasingly dragged into the conflicts. The pressure to be increasingly engaged in foreign politics led to a progressive dissolution of the traditional tribal structures, because these structures could not meet the new challenges for appropriate action in the interstate domain. This disintegration correlated with a growing political self-confidence on the part of the individual parts of the various collapsing tribal communities. One could indeed speak in this context of a ‘politicisation’ of the individual tribal subdivisions. And although this resulted in a breakdown of the institutional framework of the tribal state structures, it did not lead to a full-scale fragmentation: despite all tendencies to disintegration an awareness of tribal solidarity persisted. This tie rendered it possible to (re)integrate the various sub-tribes, which had assumed a separate existence as independent poleis, in a newly founded federal state, especially external pressure forced a closer cohesion. As a result the newly established federal structures developed a remarkably strong cohesive power, precisely because the individual member states retained an exceptionally large political scope. This structural principle eased the inclusion also of foreign political units under the umbrella of such a federal state. The result was that the tribal element receded into the background and affiliation to a federal state came to be principally politically based, and in consequence legally constituted. In this way, the federal states provided entirely new opportunities to take into account the ubiquitous tension between the insistence on the autonomy of the individual states and the pursuit of interstate security. Therefore, in Hellenistic times federal associations gained even more appeal, as the political structure of the world of Greek city-states came under continual pressure, in particular as a result of the claims 8 For problems of terminology see Giovannini 1971: 14–24, cf. also Walbank 1976/1977, who rightly contradicts Giovannini’s overly narrow interpretation of the terms in question; cf. Funke 1998: 66 f.; Beck 1997: 10–13; Beck/Funke 2015: 14 f. 9 Cf. the contribution of Frank Daubner to the present volume.

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to power of the new kingdoms. The federal apparatus, which should have secured a balanced political participation, opened new scope in interstate relations. This, however, was not only able to help protect the poleis’ self-interests, but at the same time also created new ways for individual states to dress their desire for international power in new constitutional structures.

2. The Aitolian League – a case study These two aspects are two sides of the same coin especially in Hellenistic times. This is made particularly clear by the rise of the Aitolian League to a leading power in the world of Greek free states at the time.10 By the beginning of the third century bce the Aitolians had extended their sphere of influence from the Aitolian inland to West Lokris and brought Delphi under their control. After their victory over the Celts who invaded Greece in 279 bce 11 they were able to expand their federal territory to the north and east in the course of the third century over all of central Greece. Temporarily they also annexed parts of the Akarnanian League, Kephalonia and Thessaly. They even tried to extend their political influence into the Peloponnese and to constitutionally bind especially Elis and the southern parts of Triphylia and Messenia closely to their federal state.12 This powerful expansion was doubtless driven by the Aitolians’ resistance to the Macedonian claims of power and by their firm intention to expand their own hegemonic status, especially given their hostile stance toward the Achaian League. Although there is no doubt about the aggressiveness of the Aitolians’ foreign policy, their striking success cannot be ascribed to their military power alone. The victory over the Celts, which the Aitolians represented propagandistically with immense

10 Flacelière 1937 remains fundamental on the expansion of the Aitolian League; important corrections in Lefèvre 1998 and in Sánchez 2001; cf. also Grainger 1995; Grainger 1999; Scholten 2000; Tsangari 2007: 22–36; Mackil 2013: 91–128 and 359–361. 11 Paus. 1.4.1–4; 10.19.5–23.14; see Nachtergael 1977; Champion 1995; Scholten 2000: 31–45. 12 Because of the terminological vagueness in Polybius’ report the precise legal form of the temporary connection of parts of the Peloponnese to the Aitolian league cannot be clearly ascertained; cf. Larsen 1968: 202 f.; Scholten 2000: 116–130. There is evidence that the Aitolians constructed around their federal state, which at the height of its powers covered nearly all of central Greece, a network of relationships with states of the Peloponnese and also especially in many parts of the Aegean. This network tied these states tightly to the Aitolian koinon by bestowing citizenship (isopoliteía) or special protection agreements (asyleía) without their actually receiving the status of a member state. For the Aitolian actions in the Aegean cf. Funke 2008.

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votive offerings and in their coinage,13 and the fact that the Aitolian league was the only serious anti-Macedonian adversary in Greece, had doubtless given the Aitolians a certain prestige, which made them appear to many states a welcome, or at least the only possible, ally. In addition to this their adroit integration policy set the large-scale expansion of the league on a comparatively solid foundation by means of a suitable organisation of the internal federal structures, and in particular was able to integrate the political elites of the newly won over member states each time. All central Greek tribal communities (West and East Lokrians, Phokians, Dorians, Malians, Ainianians, Oitaians, Dolopians etc.), many of which were at that time already organised in federal states, were incorporated in the Aitolian League by integrating their respective subunits as autonomous member states. Nevertheless, these tribal communities could preserve their identity in its entirety, since certain institutional structures on a middle level between federal authority and individual member states were conceded to them in the form of districts (télē).14 This may be the reason why after Rome’s declaration of Greek freedom in Isthmia (196 bce) and in particular after the end of the Third Macedonian War in 168 bce the Aitolian League was forced to reduce its territory more or less to its original heartland once again, while the states in central Greece and Thessaly were able to seamlessly find a new, sovereign existence on the scale of their old tribal communities, but in federal state structures.15

13 There is a belated reflection of the propaganda in Iust. 28.2.1–14. – On the coinage cf. Tsangari 2007: esp. 73–81, 201 and 250–253 as well as pl. XXIII–XXVIII. – On the erection of a statue in reaction to the Aitolian victory over the Celts see Jacquemin 1985; Knoepfler 2007; Antonetti 2012b; Papapostolou 2015. 14 In case of the Aitolian League there are only two verifiable districts: telos Stratikon (IG IX.12 1, 3B, l. 2) and telos Lokrikon (SGDI 2070, ll. 1–2; SGDI 2139, ll. 1–2; IG IX.12 3, 618, ll. 1–2; 625a, l. 1). At least the region of Doris seems to have constituted its own telos during its membership of the Aitolian League. This is suggested by an inscription from Xanthos of the year 206/5 bce containing several documents regarding an embassy of the polis Kytenion in Doris, which was part of the Aitolian League (SEG 38, 1476). It needs to be contemplated whether the differentiation between the koinon of the Dorians, the polis of the Kytenians, and the remaining Aitolians (esp. lines 7–11, 35–37) may be an indication of the existence of a telos Dōrikon. – About the districts see Larsen 1968: 197; cf. also Sordi 1953: 442–445; Rzepka 2006: 33–45; Mackil 2013: 380–384. Löbel 2014: 145–161 is as unconvincing as Corsten 1999: 133–159, who interprets the Aitolian districts as administrative districts of equal size and split up “ohne Rücksicht auf ethnische Zugehörigkeit [with no regard for ethnic togetherness]” (158); cf. Funke 2015: 95–97 and Funke 2016. 15 On the smaller Greek federal states in late Hellenistic times see Martin 1975; cf. also the respective chapters in Beck/Funke 2015.

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3. The Greek world of states – a world of leagues In Hellenistic times a second prevalent power emerged parallel to the Aitolian League and in constant confrontation with it: the Achaian League. The Achaians, too, were experts in playing the game of federal state building to extend their supremacy. In the early fourth century bce a first federal alliance already included a few poleis north of the Gulf of Corinth and so exceeded the tribal borders, but it broke up by the end of the century. After this, a union of some west-Achaian poleis founded in 281 bce gave birth to a federal state, which very soon reached beyond the geographical borders of Achaia once more. Politicians such as Aratos and Philopoimen promoted an exceedingly dynamic expansion, and ultimately the League’s territory encompassed the entire Peloponnese.16 Just as with the Aitolian League, the inclusive force of federal structures ensured – at least by Greek standards – a remarkable stability. For precisely this reason it was not only in Boiotia and Akarnania that the federal state structures originating in the classical era functioned once again in the Hellenistic period as the basis of the state order; in fact even quite diverse regions like Epirus and Euboia evolved in the same direction.17 After the death of the last Molossian king 232 bce a federal state proved to be the right arrangement to ensure the future cohesion of the complex and variously subdivided tribal structures together. In the same way the poleis of Euboia organised themselves in a loose federal state in an attempt to preserve their individual autonomy in a world completely altered in its power political conditions. Further, these developments towards the organization of new forms of federal entities crossing polis- and tribal boundaries were not restricted to the Greek motherland. A number of island states of the Aegean Sea united in the so called Nesiotic League under the patronage of the Ptolemies in the third century bce; it was then renewed with the help of a Rhodian initiative in the second century bce.18 In Asia Minor the Lycian League emerged in the second century bce at the latest and consisted of twenty-three poleis. Its constitution preserved in Strabo along with the one known from the Achaian League were still highly regarded in the context of constitutional debates in the late 18th century, especially in France and the USA.19

16 On the Achaian League cf. Larsen 1968: 215–240; Urban 1979; Lehmann 1983; Roy 2003; Rizakis 2015. 17 See the relevant chapters in Beck/Funke 2015. 18 On the Nesiotic League see König 1910, Wiemer 2003: 271–276 and Buraselis 2015. 19 Strab. 14.3.3. – On the Lycian League see Larsen 1968: 240–264 and Behrwald 2015. – On the importance of the Lykean and the Achaian federal constitution in state theoretical debates of the early modern time cf. Lehmann 2015.

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The Greek world of poleis had taken on a new shape. It is all the more surprising that the significance of the federal states is perceived and reflected in different ways in the literary sources. Aristotle knew about the existence of federal states and differentiated between them and poleis. But then again he failed to recognise their political potential.20 It took Polybius and his famous description of the Achaian League for a detailed account of the idiosyncrasies of a federal state organisation. He accurately characterised the federal state’s structure and its particular capability of integration even though he tended to idealise it to some extent.21 Although Polybius’ praise of the Achaian League is without question patriotic in tone, it could have been applied in a comparable manner to other koiná. The position of the member states within the Achaian League, which Polybius so firmly emphasizes, is based on a particular organization of the franchise, which also formed the decisive link between the federal authority and the individual member poleis in the other federal states, since it ensured 20 Cf. Winterling 1995; Funke 1998; Lehmann 2001: 34–45. 21 Pol. 2.37.9–2.38.9: “For while many have attempted in the past to induce the Peloponnesians to adopt a common policy, no one ever succeeding, as each was working not in the cause of general liberty, but for his own aggrandizement, this object has been so much advanced, and so nearly attained, in my own time that not only have they formed an allied and friendly community, but they have the same laws, weights, measures and coinage, as well as the same magistrates, senate, and courts of justice, and almost the whole Peloponnesus falls short of being a single city only in the fact of its inhabitants not being enclosed by one wall, all other things being, both as regards the whole and as regards each separate town, very nearly identical. (38) In the first place it is of some service to learn how and by what means all the Peloponnesians came to be called Achaians. For the people whose original and ancestral name this was are distinguished neither by the extent of their territory, nor by the number of their cities, nor by exceptional wealth or the exceptional valor of their citizens. Both the Arcadian and Laconian nations far exceed them, indeed, in population and the size of their countries, and certainly neither of the two could ever bring themselves to yield to any Greek people the palm for military valor. How is it, then, that both these two peoples and the rest of the Peloponnesians have consented to change not only their political institutions for those of the Achaians, but even their name? It is evident that we should not say it is the result of chance, for that is a poor explanation. We must rather seek for a cause, for every event whether probable or improbable must have some cause. The cause here, I believe to be more or less the following. One could not find a political system and principle so favorable to equality and freedom of speech, in a word so sincerely democratic, as that of the Achaian league. Owing to this, while some of the Peloponnesians chose to join it of their own free will, it won many others by persuasion and argument, and those whom it forced to adhere to it when the occasion presented itself suddenly underwent a change and became quite reconciled to their position. For by reserving no special privileges for original members, and putting all new adherents exactly on the same footing, it soon attained the aim it had set itself, being aided by two very powerful coadjutors, equality and humanity. We must therefore look upon this as the initiator and cause of that union that has established the present prosperity of the Peloponnese” (tr. W. R. Paton – F. W. Walbank – C. Habicht).

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the political involvement of each and every citizen on the federal level as well. The distinguishing feature of all these koiná was the so called ‘double citizenship’ of its members, who possessed an additional common citizenship, in that they were citizens of one of the member states of the league, and in this way were directly integrated into the decision-making processes both in their individual polis and in their koinón. This specific type of citizenship22 – as varied in form as it may have been in individual cases – offered entirely new and flexible ways of interstate interaction and made federal states seem particularly attractive. This sketch of Hellenistic Greece’s political landscape leaves no doubt about the dominance of federal state organizations as a characteristic feature. It is one thing to establish this as something unusual. It is another to actually evaluate the feature’s significance. Stating and describing it alone will not be sufficient to accomplish this task. Since we must interpret the phenomenon of Hellenistic federal states as an element or a consequence of a process of historical change, the question inevitably arises what exactly constitutes its novelty, and above all what element of this novelty, if any, is in fact characteristic of Hellenistic times. This question is even more pressing in this case because federal state structures were certainly already available in Classical times and were by no means a product of the Hellenistic period.23 One could refer to the example of the Boiotian League, newly founded in 447 bce, the constitution of which is described in detail in the Hellenika Oxyrhynchia.24 One may also mention here the Chalkidian League led by Olynth and founded in the late fifth or early fourth century bce, and the Arkadian koinón founded after 371 bce.25 In the beginning the sense of tribal solidarity still formed built an important foundation for these alliances. However, the integration into the Achaian League of the originally Aitolian polis Kalydon, situated on the north coast of the Gulf of Corinth, which took place a considerable time before 389 bce,26 as well as the integration of Triphylia into the Arkadian League in the 360s bce 27 indicate that even in Classical times federal connections of individual member states among themselves had to some extent replaced tribal affiliation as the decisive factor. Thus, even states from beyond the original tribal boundaries 22 The ‘double citizenship’ is usually labelled as sympoliteía. The term is not, however, as unambiguous as is often assumed; cf. Beck 1997: 9–29 and 174–187; Funke 1997b; Freitag 2012; Beck/ Funke 2015: 5–19. 23 Cf. e. g. Funke 1998 and Siewert 2005. 24 Hell. Oxy. 19.2–4, 373–405 (Chambers); see Lehmann 2001: 25–33 and Lérida Lafarga 2007: 509–600. 25 On the Chalkidian League see Psoma 2001 and Zahrnt 2015. – On the Arkadian League see Nielsen 2002 and Nielsen 2015. 26 Xen. Hell. 6.6.1; cf. Merker 1989. 27 Cf. Nielsen 1997; Nielsen 2002: 229–269.

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could join in this way. The ‘double citizenship’ had shown even then how powerful its integrative force was, and it had already become clear that it could be deployed for political integration even beyond the narrow tribal boundaries. Thus although federal states were not a new phenomenon in Hellenistic times, it is obvious that the application of federal state principles in the face of the changed political circumstances of the Hellenistic times, and conditioned by those circumstances, took on a new momentum. At first, this momentum is recognisable in purely quantitative terms through the simple increase in federal state structures in comparison to earlier times. These can then correspondingly be registered and their ways of functioning and acting can be described. This will certainly not suffice if one wishes to define more precisely the significance of this process of political transformation. Hence it is instead necessary to also consider the qualitative change and its consequences, which are reflected in the increasingly widespread establishment of federal states in Greece’s overall political structure.

4. The federal authority and the power of the member states In his description of the Achaian League Polybius is entirely right to particularly emphasize the legal equality of the poleis within the koinón and the balance of interests of the individual memberstates member states.28 However, this cannot hide the fact that political action followed different rules in a world characterized by federal states in contrast to a world of individual states. Decision processes were more complex and political interaction more diverse.29 In 206/5 bce a delegation from the polis Kytenion, situated in the Doris in central Greece and at that time part of the Aitolian League, approached Xanthos in Lykia to gather money for the rebuilding of their city’s fortifications, which had been first destroyed by an earthquake and shortly after (about 228 bce) by Antigonos Doson about. The envoys presented to the Xanthians not only a letter from their home town which confirmed their orders and contained a detailed description of Kytenians’ request, but together with it an authorizing decree from the Aitolian federal assembly and a corresponding letter from the league’s highest magistrates and the league council. Thus the polis Kytenion was certainly still allowed to maintain direct diplomatic relations with foreign states about its own concerns. Still, these activities evidently required for a compulsory referral to the federal organs. The detailed epigraphic documentation of this procedure not only sheds light on the ambivalent relation between the federal authority and the member states, but 28 See above, n. 21. 29 Cf. e. g. Flaig 2013: 300–312.

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also gives the impression that as early as the late third century such a procedure ran in accordance with well-practised diplomatic routines, which the changed circumstances had already internalized, even for the action of individual poleis.30 This example nicely illustrates how the relation between member states and the federal authority set the tone of political action. Although this interplay existed in an always-unsteady and constantly renegotiated balance, federal state systems nevertheless gained a lot of their obvious appeal through the possibilities for flexible organizational structures. It is often said in scholarship that the spread of federal states indicates political decline or more drastically the demise of the polis. Quite the contrary, one should rather pose the question whether in an altered world of states federalism provided a new chance of survival for the poleis.

5. Novel political opportunities in a changing world One of the main features of Hellenistic Greece was the systematic construction of numerous urban complexes in regions which had until then been scarcely or not at all urbanised. For all of central and north-western Greece and parts of the Peloponnese a process of urbanisation can be observed. The process also seems to have played out in a similar way in other regions of the Greek world of states, especially in Asia Minor, at roughly the same time. This development, too, began in late Classical times but came to maturity in the Hellenistic period. At that time an extraordinary efflorescence of urban development occurred in formerly peripheral areas of the Greek world, which also went hand in hand with the development of new technologies of fortification. There is much evidence that the increase in urbanisation processes may stand in a causal relation to the contemporaneous expansion of federal state structures in precisely these regions. The initial impulse evidently stemmed from a set of conditions in a dialectic relationship between in terms of the organization of the federal states’ central power on the one hand and the strengthening of the respective member states on the other. Some of the latter, before their integration into the relevant koinón, were not constituted as a polis but were in parts still organised in a tribal manner. These tribal structures increasingly dissipated over the course of the federalisation in favor of a fundamental polis-structure. Although this was initially a mere political development it was often reflected in settlement processes, which could lead to the formation of urban centres with a corresponding cityscape.31

30 Bousquet 1988; cf. SEG 38, 1476. 31 Cf. Funke 1987 and Funke 1997 (with further literature).

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These processes of urbanisation were a significant side effect of the federalisation the actual importance of which was quite independent of the degree of urbanisation but rather lay in the political constitution of the member states. The creation of a central federal power did not lead to a process of centralisation, which would have accorded the member states at best a marginal position. Rather it ensured a constant renewal of the balance between the central power and the member states as well as between the members themselves, who were careful to ensure that their respective interests were adequately taken into consideration. So, even if the strictly equal status of the members in federal states was not a concern, achieving a relatively balanced equilibrium was. In accordance with this the competences seem to have been distributed among the federal state and the member states very carefully. All matters which reached beyond the concerns of an individual state (especially matters of foreign policy, but also legal relations between member states) apparently involved making a decision on the federal level. Questions of private law, the right to acquire property inside the federal territory, commerce, prerogative of coinage and much more required common rules and a corresponding vote on the federal level. Unfortunately, the available source-material prevents us from knowing how in detail the competences were distributed between the central power and the member states in individual federal states. Therefore, in the absence of adequate sources, the fundamental question about the scope of action available to the member states within their respective federal states cannot be answered with precision. All the evidence, though, suggests that the relationship between federal body and member states was not as fiercely competitive as is often generally assumed for Greek federal states.32 Rather, it was an organised interaction on the basis of an agreement on the distribution of the various powers in order to avoid overlapping competences. Generally speaking to the fundamental organisation of these relationships cannot have been very different from that typical of federal states in modern times, where decisions of a member state affecting the other participants and the federal state itself must be made together. The same goes for decisions on the federal level, if they affect areas of competence attributed to the members. However, we cannot progress beyond these quite general observations. In particular, there is no satisfactory way to answer the decisive problem for the characterization of a federal state, the so-called ‘competence-competence’, i. e. the federation’s right to autonomously expand the federal power’s area of competence. If there was ever such a ‘competence-competence’ in an ancient federal state, then it would have been very restricted. As Polybius’ de-

32 Cf. e. g. Swoboda 1923.

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scription of the Achaian League shows,33 the legal equality of the league-members took absolute priority. In principal, this obtained for all other federal states, too. Their organisational structure aimed at preventing domination by the central power and hence avoided an undue limitation of the league-members’ independent legal status. It is telling that in Hellenistic federal states the function of administrative centres was not fulfilled by those poleis, who were exceptionally large or politically powerful. In founding of the Arkadian League in the fourth century bce, the Arkadians attempted to respond to this problem by building a massive federal capital from scratch according to the most modern principles of urban planning at the time: Megalopolis, where they resettled inhabitants of numerous surrounding cities.34 Their attempt was nevertheless unsuccessful, as once again it ultimately resulted in the predominance of a single polis. For this reason, in Hellenistic times temples and cult places performed the role of administrative centres in most federal states, since they had often enjoyed more than regional importance since time immemorial, and were thus better able to convey an identity simply because of their cultic status.35 Aigion with its Achaian sanctuary of Zeus Homarios succeeded the city of Helike, which had been destroyed by an earthquake in 373 bce, as the Achaian League’s federal centre. The centre of the Aitolian League was Thermon with its sanctuary of Apollo. In 338 bce a very conscious decision made Onchestos, with its Boiotian sanctuary of Poseidon, the administrative centre of the renewed Boiotian League, in order to nip a renewed Theban hegemony in the bud. This drew on a principle which had already proved its usefulness in Archaic times, when in many places tribal states and even poleis had come together in so called Amphiktyonies (amphiktyoníai) equipped with a central cult centre to deal with interstate matters besides sharing a common practice of worship.36 Furthermore, several federal states tried to confront their innate polycentrism by carrying out at least some of their federal assemblies at rotating locations.37

33 See n. 21. 34 A compilation of the sources is provided by Moggi 1976: 293–325 (= no. 45); see also Nielsen 2002: 414–455 and Nielsen 2004: 520–522. 35 Cf. Funke/Haake 2013. 36 Cf. Funke 2013a (with further literature). 37 Although in the Aitolian League the regular autumn meeting (Thermiká) always took place at the central federal sanctuary in Thermos, the regular spring meeting (Panaitoliká) occurred at different places. This change of place was probably introduced in the context of the expansion of the league in the third century bce; see Funke 2013b. In the Achaian League a similar rotation system, initiated by Philopoimen, was introduced in 189/8 bce (Liv. 38.30.2–5); cf. Lehmann 2001: 51–53.

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6. New scope for politics The federal states’ polycentrism permanently defined their political elites’ range of action, too. They attempted to position themselves in the complex network of relationships on the levels of league and member states with the aim of keeping an enduring political influence as long as possible. We can determine only to a limited extent which strategies the politicians employed to achieve this aim since our literary sources convey an incomplete picture and the inscriptions can only provide limited information on this point. Nevertheless, the example of the Aitolian League may allow us to sketch a plausible outline of the answer. The annual replacement of all federal magistrates and the reappointment of all positions in the federal council, which was proportionally filled by the member states, clearly formed an obstacle to a permanent concentration of power. In particular, there was a rule which, although it did not prohibit re-election of the chief federal magistrates, did prevent consecutive terms. Thus, a continuous occupation of the highest offices by one and the same person was impossible. However, the conduct of the annual elections for the federal council (synédrion), which took place in the member states, was by all accounts different, and it is clear that there no ban on re-election or continuing in office. As a result the Aitolian federal council’s composition did not change annually, unlike e. g. the Council of 500 in the Athenian democracy, by way of which a general participation of all eligible citizens had been accomplished. In fact the member states’ leading families, who in turn provided the inner circle of the foremost federal politicians, could establish themselves in the federal council on a long-term basis and produce their own ‘classe politique’, legitimised by periodical elections, on the level of the koinón. The massacre of 167 bce, which occurred in the Aitolian synédrion, is at any rate evidence for a composition of the federal council along these lines.38 Otherwise it would be hard to explain how the assassination and expulsion of the council members who stood in opposition to Rome could have hit the core of anti-Roman resistance in Aitolia. This only makes sense if we assume that the group gathered in the synédrion was not a body of representatives more or less randomly assembled through an annual rotation, but rather the long-term protagonists of Aitolian politics. Therefore, the way in to federal politics was necessarily via the member states whose strength was also revealed in the filling of federal offices. In the third and second century bce citizens of the Aitolian main land and of all subsequently included central Greek regions held such offices. In this context it is worth pointing out that politicians from newly incorporated states were elected to even the highest federal 38 Liv. 45.28.7.

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offices, sometimes immediately after their states’ admittance. It must have been precisely these integration mechanisms that made federal states appear so appealing to many poleis; Polybius describes them as follows with reference to the Achaian league: One could not find a political system and principle so favourable to equality and freedom of speech, in a word so sincerely democratic, as that of the Achaian league. Owing to this, while some of the Peloponnesians chose to join it of their own free will, it won many others by persuasion and argument, and those whom it forced to adhere to it when the occasion presented itself suddenly underwent a change and became quite reconciled to their position. For by reserving no special privileges for original members, and putting all new adherents exactly on the same footing, it soon attained the aim it had set itself, being aided by two very powerful coadjutors, equality and humanity.39

7. Adaptation by change The importance of the member states in Hellenistic federal states is also reflected by an institutional change which can be observed in the third and second centuries bce. As the federal states grew – and thus developed a more complex internal structure – the federal council’s importance as a representative organ of the members consistently gained significance compared to the federal assembly. This development correlated with structural changes, which are particularly well illustrated by the example of the Aitolian League. These changes show the dynamic, which the federal states were able to deploy in their relationship to the federal power. This is clear from the striking innovations of the Aitolian federal council’s governing board, which are revealed above all by the epigraphic sources.40 The federal council was under the direction of a presidium that simultaneously participated in the supervision of the federal assembly. The numerical composition of this board changed over the course of time. Initially, two or three boúlarchoi headed the synédrion; in the course of the third century bce, their number increased at first to four, then to six.41 This numerical enlargement of the council presidium took place simultaneously with the Aitolian League’s major phases of expansion during the 70s and 60s as well as 39 Pol. 2.38.6–9 (tr. W. R. Paton – F. W. Walbank – C. Habicht); cf. also n. 21. 40 For the following see Funke 2015: 116–117. 41 The increase in the number of boúlarchoi can be extrapolated from the chronology of the following inscriptions: IG IX.12 1, 8, ll. 11–15; 11 f., ll. 42–43; 12 f., ll. 39–41; 16b, ll. 9–15; 9, ll. 8–14; 22, ll. 5–8; 23, ll. 2–3; 6, ll. 10–13; 7, ll. 5–7; 31k, ll. 74–76; StV 542, ll. 9–12; IG IX.12 3, 605, ll. 2–5; cf. also Antonetti 2012a: 179–181 (T 5), 192–193 (T 17), and 194–195 (T 19).

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the 30s of the third century bce, when there was also a considerable extension of the synédrion, which was proportionally composed from the elected representatives of all member-states. The increase in the number of boúlarchoi and the numerical augmentation of the federal council can probably be traced back to an effort to adapt the organisational structures of the synédrion to the changed conditions in the koinón, which by now extended far beyond its more narrow boundaries. Thus, the new league-members’ claim to political participation was accounted for not only through proportional involvement in the council, but also by an enlargement of the council presidium. The regulation mandating that the Panaitoliká take place in various locations had a similar aim.42 A further change in the chairmanship of the council occurred at the end of the third century bce. As part of a fundamental reorganization of the council’s chairmanship, the responsibility and leadership of the synedrion was transferred to two magistrates now called prostátai (“principals”), who were provided with their own secretary.43 In fact, there seems to be much evidence to suggest that the restructuring of the Aitolian synédrion was by no means limited to a reorganisation of the executive committee but was linked to a farther-reaching reform of the federal council aimed at expanding its authority, and at stronger cooperation between the federal council and the federal magistrates. Since the primary assembly, convening only occasionally, was hardly able to react suitably to all the new challenges of the quickly expanding league, the political weight of the council and other governing bodies grew, especially in the third century, when the increasing importance of Aitolia in power politics meant that their decisions had ever greater consequences for the League and its members. This development most likely tended to accommodate the needs of the individual member-communities to participate as much as possible in federal politics, which was far better achieved by means of a proportionally staffed federal council than through a primary assembly, where individuals voted, rather than each state as a body. Thus, the question arises as to whether the reform of the council in the late third century bce also triggered a re-allocation of competences between federal council and federal assembly, in addition to the institutional rearrangement of the synédrion, in order to take account of the more complex circumstances of political business. The extremely disparate sources do not permit a definite answer. Yet despite all the uncertainties we can conclude that the federal council as an independent, decision-making body was noticeably more prominent in Aitolian documents from the end of the third century BC than in earlier documents.

42 See n. 37. 43 IG IX.12 1, 188, ll. 32–35.

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This observation suggests that structural changes had taken place in the Aitolian League at that time which clearly corresponded both temporally and in substance with developments in other Greek koiná. There are documents of the Akarnanian League from after the Social War (220 to 217 bce), in which besides the federal secretary (grammateús) a second council Secretary (grammateús tai boulai) is mentioned for the first time. Furthermore, the mode of appointment to the most important federal offices underwent a decisive change between 216 to 208/7 bce. Up until then only citizens of a single member state at a time constituted the executive committee in a yearly rotation. This principle was given up in favour of a new one, whereby citizens of different member states were chosen simultaneously for the leading magistracies.44 This doubtless arose from an attempt to ensure a stronger presence of as many member states as possible in the federal councils. At the same time the Achaian League’s constitution was probably subject to substantial revision, too, so that most of the competences – all federal decisions, including federal legislation, with the exception of decisions on war and peace – were transferred from the primary assembly to the federal council. In addition, around this time or earlier, the voting procedure in the Achaian federal assembly, just as in the Boiotian League, changed. While it had previously been the case that every participant in the assembly had a vote it now was common to assign a collective vote to each member state (katá póleis).45 Most of the Greek federal states experienced a fundamental political change at that time. Unfortunately, only a few set pieces can be recognized and it is difficult to piece them together into an overall pattern. But at least a shared basic tendency is apparent. It appears that in every case the status of the federal council and of the federal magistrates within the internal structures of the koinón were strengthened so that the representative organs of the member states increased in importance with respect to the primary assemblies. Underlying these changes were two aims. On the one hand, they certainly served to improve the capacity for political action, and so achieved pragmatic aims. On the other hand, the desire of the member communities for a more intensive participation in league affairs was probably decisive. This cemented the internal cohesion of the koinón, but also secured the member states’ political identity. The increasing extension of the principle of proportional representation thus offered the poleis a new pattern for a survival in a politically changed world. Viewed in this way, the federal states contributed to a revitalisation of its poleis in Hellenistic times,

44 On the changes in the Akarnanian League see Funke/Gehrke/Kolonas 1993 and Freitag 2015. 45 Cf. Lehmann 2001: 72–81 (with references) and Rizakis 2015: 123–128.

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which would then take on an entirely different trajectory through the intervention of Rome.46

Bibliography Antonetti, C., 2012a. Il fondo epigrafico Petsas presso l’Università Ca’ Foscari Venezia. Iscrizioni di Termo (Etolia), ZPE 180, 173–201. Antonetti, C., 2012b. Aitolos and Aitolia. Ethnic Identity per imagines, in: Offenmüller, M. (ed.), Indentitätsbildung und Identitätsstiftung in griechischen Gesellschaften. Vorträge gehalten im Rahmen eines Symposiums vom 28.–29. Jänner 2010, Graz, 183–200. Baltrusch, E., 1994. Symmachie und Spondai. Untersuchungen zum griechischen Völkerrecht der archaischen und klassischen Zeit (8.–5. Jahrhundert v. Chr.), Berlin/New York. Beck, H., 1997. Polis und Koinon. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte und Struktur der griechischen Bundesstaaten im 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr., Stuttgart. Beck, H. (ed.), 2013. A Companion to Ancient Greek Government, Malden/Oxford. Beck, H. – Funke, P. (eds.), 2015. Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge. Behrwald, R., 2015. The Lykian League, in: Beck, H. – Funke, P. (eds.), Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge, 403–418. Bousquet, J., 1988. La stèle des Kyteniens au Létôon de Xanthos, REG 101, 12–53. Buraselis, K., 2003. Symmachia and Sympoliteia in the Hellenistic Period, in: Buraselis, K.  – Zoumboulakis, K. (eds.), The Idea of European Community in History. Vol. 2, Aspects of Connecting Poleis and Ethne in Ancient Greece, Athen, 39–50. Buraselis, K., 2015. Federalism and the Sea. The koina of the Aegean Islands, in: Beck, H.  – Funke, P. (eds.), Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge, 358–376. Buraselis, K. – Zoumboulakis, K. (eds.), 2003. The Idea of European Community in History. Vol. 2, Aspects of Connecting Poleis and Ethne in Ancient Greece, Athen. Champion, C., 1996. Polybius, Aetolia and the Gallic Attack in Delphi (279 b. c.), Historia 45, 315–328. Corsten, T., 1999. Vom Stamm zum Bund. Gründung und territoriale Organisation griechischer Bundesstaaten, Munich. Cuniberti, E., 2006. La polis dimezzata. Immagini storiografiche di Atene ellenistica, Turin. Figuera, T. – Jensen, S. R., 2013. Governing Interstate Alliances, in: Beck, H. (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Greek Government, Malden/Oxford, 480–496. Flacelière, R., 1937. Les Aitoliens à Delphes. Contributions à l’histoire de la Grèce centrale au IIIe siècle a. J.-C., Paris. Flaig, E., 2013. Die Mehrheitsentscheidung. Entstehung und kulturelle Dynamik, Paderborn.

46 Walbank 1981: 157 f. rightly claims that “in a world of monarchies the federal states […] exemplify the continuing ability of the Greeks to respond to a new political challenge with new solutions. One is bound to ask whether, given another century without Rome, federalism might not have developed fresh and fruitful aspects […]. Federalism offered the possibility of transcending the limitations of size and relative weakness of the separate city-state. But time ran out.”

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Poleis and Koina Freitag, K., 2012. Zur Integration von Neubürgern in den griechischen Bundesstaaten in hellenistischer Zeit. Ein Problemaufriss, in: Günter, L.-M. (ed.), Migration und Bürgerrecht in der hellenistischen Welt, Wiesbaden, 83–95. Freitag, K., 2015. Akarnania and the Akarnanian League, in: Beck, H. – Funke, P. (eds.), Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge, 66–85. Funke, P., 1987. Zur Datierung befestigter Stadtanlagen in Aitolien. Historisch-philologische Anmerkungen zu einem Wechselverhältnis zwischen Siedlungsstruktur und politischer Organisation, Boreas 10, 87–96. Funke, P., 1997. Polisgenese und Urbanisierung in Aitolien im 5. und 4. Jh. v. Chr., in: Hansen, M. H. (ed.), The Polis as an Urban Centre and as a Political Community, Copenhagen, 145–188. Funke, P., 1998. Die Bedeutung der griechischen Bundesstaaten in der politischen Theorie und Praxis des 5. und 4.  Jh. v. Chr. (Auch eine Anmerkung zu Aristot. pol. 1261a22–29), in: Schuller, W. (ed.), Politische Theorie und Praxis im Altertum, Darmstadt, 59–71. Funke, P., 2007a. Die staatliche Neuformierung Griechenlands. Staatenbünde und Bundesstaaten, in: Weber, G. (ed.), Kulturgeschichte des Hellenismus. Von Alexander dem Großen bis Kleopatra, Stuttgart, 78–98. Funke, P., 2007b. Alte Grenzen – neue Grenzen. Formen polisübergreifender Machtbildung in klassischer und hellenistischer Zeit, in: Albertz, R.  – Funke, P. (eds.), Räume und Grenzen. Topologische Konzepte in den antiken Kulturen des östlichen Mittelmeerraumes, Munich, 187–204. Funke, P., 2008. Die Aitoler in der Ägäis. Untersuchungen zur so genannten “Seepolitik” der Aitoler im 3. Jh. v. Chr., in: Winter, E. (ed.), Vom Euphrat bis zum Bosporus. Kleinasien in der Antike. Festschrift für E. Schwertheim zum 65. Geburtstag. Vol. 1, Bonn, 253–267. Funke, P., 2013a. Greek Amphiktyonies. An Experiment in Transregional Governance, in: Beck, H. (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Greek Government, Malden/Oxford, 451–465. Funke, P., 2013b. Thermika und Panaitolika. Alte und neue Zentren im Aitolischen Bund, in: Funke, P. – Haake, M. (eds.), Greek Federal States and Their Sanctuaries. Identity and Integration, Stuttgart, 49–64. Funke, P., 2015. Aitolia and the Aitolian League, in: Beck, H. – Funke, P. (eds.), Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge, 86–117. Funke, P., 2016. Bundesstaatliche Kompetenz oder Kompetenz der Gliedstaaten? Einige Überlegungen zu den Bronzeprägungen des Aitolischen Bundes, in: Nieswandt, H. – Schwarzer, H. (eds.), “Man kann es sich nicht prächtig genug vorstellen!” Festschrift für Dieter Salzmann zum 65. Geburtstag. Vol. 1, Marsberg, 103–111. Funke, P. – Gehrke, H.-J – Kolonas, L., 1993. Eine neue Urkunde des Akarnanischen Bundes, Klio 75, 131–144. Funke, P. – Haake, M. (eds.), 2013. Greek Federal States and Their Sanctuaries. Identity and Integration, Stuttgart. Giovannini, A., 1971. Untersuchungen über die Natur und die Anfänge der bundesstaatlichen Sympolitie in Griechenland, Göttingen. Grainger, J. D., 1995. The Expansion of the Aitolian League, Mnemosyne 48, 313–343. Grainger, J. D., 1999. The League of the Aitolians, Leiden. Habicht, C., 1982. Studien zur Geschichte Athens in hellenistischer Zeit, Göttingen. Habicht, C., 1997. Athens from Alexander to Antony, Cambridge/London.

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Peter Funke Jacquemin, A., 1985. Aitolia et Aristaineta. Offrandes monumentales étoliennes à Delphes au IIIe s. av. J.-C., Ktema 10, 27–35. Jehne, M., 1994. Koine Eirene. Untersuchungen zu den Befriedungs- und Stabilisierungsbemühungen in der griechischen Poliswelt des 4. Jahrhunderts v. Chr., Stuttgart. Knoepfler, D., 2007. De Delphes à Thermos. Un témoignage épigraphique méconnu sur le trophée galate des Etoliens dans leur capitale (le traité étolo-béotien), CRAI, 1215–1254. König, W., 1910. Der Bund der Nesioten. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Kykladen und der benachbarten Inseln im Zeitalter des Hellenismus, Halle. Larsen, J. A. O., 1968. Greek Federal States. Their Institutions and History, Oxford. Lefèvre, F., 1998. L’Amphictionie pyléo-delphique. Histoire et institutions, Paris. Lehmann, G. A., 1983. Erwägungen zur Struktur des achaiischen Bundesstaates, ZPE 51, 237–261. Lehmann, G. A., 2001. Ansätze zu einer Theorie des griechischen Bundesstaates bei Aristoteles und Polybios. Göttingen. Lehmann, G. A., 2015. Greek Federalism, the Rediscovery of Polybius, and the Framing of the American Constitution, in: Beck, H. – Funke, P. (eds.), Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge, 512–523. Lérida Lafarga, R., 2007. Commentario históricode las Helénicas de Oxirrinco, Zaragoza. Löbel, Y., 2014. Die Poleis der bundesstaatlichen Gemeinwesen im antiken Griechenland. Untersuchungen zum Machtverhältnis zwischen Poleis und Zentralgewalt bis 167 v. Chr., Alessandria. Mackil, E., 2013. Creating a Common Polity. Religion, Economy, and Politics in the Making of the Greek Koinon, Berkeley. Martin, D. G., 1975. Greek Leagues in the Later Second and First Centuries b. c., Ann Arbor. Merker, I. L., 1989. The Achaians in Naupactos and Kalydon in the Fourth Century, Hesperia 58, 303–311. Moggi, M., 1976. I sinecismi interstatali greci. Introduzione, edizione critica, traduzione, commento e indici. Vol. 1, Dalle origini al 338 a. C., Pisa. Nachtergael, G., 1977. Les Galates en Grèce et les Sotéria de Delphes. Recherches d’histoire et d’épigraphie hellénistique, Brussels. Nielsen, T. H., 1997. Triphylia. An Experiment in Ethnic Construction and Political Organisation, in: Nielsen, T. H. (ed.), Yet More Studies in the Ancient Greek Polis, Stuttgart, 129–162. Nielsen, T. H., 2002. Arkadia and its Poleis in the Archaic and Classical Periods, Göttingen. Nielsen, T. H., 2004. Arkadia, in: Hansen, M. H. – Nielsen, T. H. (eds.), An Inventory of Archaic and Classical Poleis, Oxford, 508 f. Nielsen, T. H., 2015. The Arkadian Confederacy, in: Beck, H. – Funke, P. (eds.), Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge, 250–268. Papapostolou, I. A., 2015. Thermos, AE, 95–110. Perrin-Saminadayar, È., 1999. Les succès de la diplomatie athénienne de 229 a168 av. J.-C., REG 112, 444–462. Psoma, S., 2001. Olynthe et les Chalcidiens de Thrace. Études de numismatique et d’histoire, Stuttgart. Rizakis, A., 2015. The Achaian League, in: Beck, H. – Funke, P. (eds.), Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge, 118–131. Roy, J., 2003. The Achaian League, in: Buraselis, K. – Zoumboulakis, K. (eds.), The Idea of European Community in History. Vol. 2, Aspects of Connecting Poleis and Ethne in Ancient Greece, Athen, 81–95. Rzepka, J., 2006. The Rights of Cities within the Aitolian Confederacy, Valencia.

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Poleis and Koina Sánchez, P., 2001. L’Amphictionie des Pyles et de Delphes. Recherches sur son rôle historique, des origines au II. siècle de notre ère, Stuttgart. Scherberich, K., 2009. Koinè symmachía. Untersuchungen zum Hellenenbund Antigonos’ III. Doson und Philipps V. (224–197 v. Chr.), Stuttgart. Scholten, J. B., 2000. The Politics of Plunder. The Aitolians and their Koinon in the Early Hellenistic Era, 279–217 BC, Berkeley. Siewert, P., 2005. Föderalismus in der griechischen Welt bis 338 v. Chr., in: Siewert, P. – AignerForesti, L. (eds.), Föderalismus in der griechischen und römischen Antike, Stuttgart, 17–41. Sordi, M., 1953. Le origini del koinon etolico, Acme 6, 419–445. Swoboda, H., 1923. Zwei Kapitel aus dem griechischen Bundesrecht, Vienna 1923. Tsangari, D. I., 2007. Corpus des monnaies d’or, d’argent et de bronze de la confédération étolienne, Athens. Tausend, K., 1992. Amphiktyonie und Symmachie. Formen zwischenstaatlicher Beziehungen im archaischen Griechenland, Stuttgart. Urban, R., 1979. Wachstum und Krise des Achäischen Bundes. Quellenstudien zur Entwicklung des Bundes von 280 bis 222 v. Chr., Stuttgart. Walbank, F. W., 1981. The Hellenistic World, Brighton. Walbank, F. W., 1976–77. Were there Greek Federal States?, SCI 3, 27–51. Wiemer, H.-U., 2003. Krieg, Handel und Piraterie. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des hellenistischen Rhodos, Berlin. Winterling, A., 1995. Polisübergreifende Politik bei Aristoteles, in: Schubert, C. – Brodersen, K. (eds.), Rom und der griechische Osten, Stuttgart, 313–328. Zahrnt, M., 2015. The Chalikidike and the Chalkidians, in: Beck, H. – Funke, P. (eds.), Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge, 341–357.

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6 PEER POLITY INTERACTION IN HELLENISTIC NORTHERN GREECE: THEOROI GOING TO EPIRUS AND MACEDONIA Frank Daubner*

1. Northern Greece in Hellenistic contexts The epigraphical record of Imperial northern Greece provides us with many extraordinary documents from remote places which illustrate in quite a lively manner the functioning of the Greek koiné culture of this time. There is Kaikilis, the baker from Beroia, who claims to have traveled to the Olympic Games twelve times.1 The erudite Aurelius Krates Ptolemaios from Lychnidos was honored by the Dassaretians because the Athenians had erected a statue of him in the Asklepieion at the Acropolis.2 The polis of Trikke announced to the federal authorities of Roman Thessaly the lavish celebration of a public funeral for the young Markellos who died “while he was attending to the city of the Hellenes”, which of course means that he studied in Athens.3 *

This paper is part of a two-part examination of the process of the integration of the north into the Panhellenic cultural network of Hellenistic times. While I deal here with the Greeks from the south, from “Old Greece”, and their changing perception of the developing status of the cities in the northern kingdoms, the second part of the project (Daubner 2016) is concerned with the role which sport and agonistic festivals played in those cities and with athletic or music competitors from the north participating in the festivals of the Hellenic world. The present paper was written in 2014 during a stay at the Institute of Advanced Studies at the University of Konstanz, part of the university’s “Cultural Foundations of Integration” Center of Excellence, established in the framework of the German Federal and State initiative for Excellence. I thank Helen Imhoff for revising the English text and thus for saving me from making a number of errors. 1 EKM 1, 398. 2 IG X 2, 2, 1, 371. 3 ἐπεφοίτα τῇ πόλει τῶν Ἑλλήνων. Bouchon/Tziafalias 2012.

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The citizens of the poleis of Beroia, Lychnidos or Trikke  – peripheral from a southern, western or eastern point of view – were natural and undisputed members of the Greek world as it presented itself after the Romans became the rulers of the Eastern Mediterranean. However, when we talk about the Hellenistic age, the poleis of the northern federal states or kingdoms are readily disregarded. This is not so much because of a lack of sources but because of a traditional and habitual disregard for dependent poleis or even tribal states, going back to Aristotle’s Politics, which completely ignored contemporary historical developments such as the emergence of the kingdoms and the federal states of the north. Already in Aristotle’s time, however, the dependent polis prevailed in the Greek world; the “Normalpolis” was by no means the standard.4 Thus, when we try to rethink the Hellenistic polis in order to give it its right place as a phenomenon sui iuris, we cannot limit ourselves to those poleis which experienced the sovereignty of a king as something new, as a groundbreaking disruption of their political tradition of being a more or less independent city state, which ended – according to the conventional cliché – in their becoming “the playthings of the great powers”, as Erich Gruen put it.5 The dichotomy between the democratic poleis of southern and central Greece and Asia Minor on the one hand, and the northern kingdoms and tribal states, which were organized in a different way and considered undemocratic and even un-Greek, on the other, is deeply rooted even in popular culture (with Thessaly under Macedonian rule taking a somehow hybrid position in between).6 One needs only to recall the title of a recent exhibition in Oxford: “Heracles to Alexander the Great. Treasures from the Royal Capital of Macedon, a Hellenic Kingdom in the Age of Democracy”. In fact, Polybius would have been content with this description. He did not believe in the democratic credentials of those who had been subjects of kings. About the kingless Macedonians of the 160s and 150s bce he says: “The Macedonians, being unaccustomed to democratic and parliamentary government, were quarrelling among themselves.”7 In the same vein, Pausanias says the following about the Epirotes after they disestablished royalty: “When the Epirotes were rid of their kings, the people discarded all control and disdained to listen to their magistrates.”8 However, the in4 Cf. Hansen 2013: 36 f.; Hansen 1995b. See also Vlassopoulos 2007: 60 f. and 191–193, Gschnitzer 1958, and Gschnitzer 1987/1991: 429–442. 5 Gruen 1993: 339. 6 See Hatzopoulos 2003. 7 Pol. 31.12.11: προσενετείλαντο δὲ τούτοις καὶ τὰ κατὰ τὴν Μακεδονίαν ἐπισκέψασθαι: συνέβαινε γὰρ τοὺς Μακεδόνας ἀήθεις ὄντας δημοκρατικῆς καὶ συνεδριακῆς πολιτείας στασιάζειν πρὸς αὑτούς. Cf. Walbank 1979: 467. On Polybius and democracy see Musti 1967. 8 Paus. 4.35.3–5: τὰ ἐν Ἠπείρῳ τῇ Θεσπρωτίδι ὑπὸ ἀναρχίας ἐφθάρη· Δηιδαμείᾳ γὰρ τῇ Πύρρου παῖδες οὐκ ἐγένοντο, ἀλλὰ ὡς τελευτᾶν ἔμελλεν, ἐπιτρέπει τῷ δήμῳ τὰ πράγματα … Ἠπειρῶται δὲ

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fluential Delphic amphictyony seemed to have had no problems whatsoever with the status of Macedonia: In a decree from the 180s bce, they included it without hesitation in the ἀυτόνομα ἔθνη and δημοκρατούμεναι πόλεις9 – the “koinè démocratique”, as Philippe Gauthier puts it.10 Certainly, there were differences between the worlds of the southern, the “classical”, Greeks and the northern Greeks, whose elites were – not least thanks to the huge Thessalian buffer – quite capable of repelling the constant threats to their order by the “civilized” southerners.11 There were no peace or isopoliteia treaties, no symmachia pacts, no involvements in international arbitration, no participation in the exchange of foreign judges, all of which are institutions claimed to be typical of Hellenistic poleis. The inscriptions we have are mostly about individuals – manumissions, declarations of citizenship, proxeny decrees. In most cases, royal political action did not have to be acknowledged by the public. What we also lack are the benefactions by individual citizens, so typical of the classical Hellenistic poleis. That is to say, we lack their enduring record via honorific inscriptions. Benefactions certainly existed in small numbers and are mostly erected for royal functionaries, who could well be fellow citizens, as in the Hellenistic decree from east Macedonian Gazoros.12 Even the Hellenicity of the northerners was not an established fact and had to be negotiated anew from time to time.13 A key text in this context is the Periplus of Pseudo-Skylax, an Athenian author who assembled his dry place list between the 340s and the 330s.14 He is very anxious to distinguish the Greeks not from the Barbarians but from the Epirotes (a term used strictly geographically) and Macedonians. He not only carefully differentiates between the Epirote tribes or Macedonian poleis and a πόλις Ἑλληνίς on Epirote or Macedonian soil, but he also very decidedly indicates the frontiers of Hellas: “After Molossia there is Ambracia, a Greek polis … Here Hellas begins, which continues to the Peneius river and Homolium, the Magnesian polis which lies

ὡς ἐπαύσαντο βασιλεύεσθαι, τά τε ἄλλα ὁ δῆμος ὕβριζε καὶ ἀκροᾶσθαι τῶν ἐν ταῖς ἀρχαῖς ὑπερεώρων. Admittedly, Pausanias did not believe in democracy at all; he continues: “We have yet to hear of a democracy bringing prosperity to a nation other than the Athenians” (οὐ γάρ πω δημοκρατίαν ἴσμεν ἄλλους γε ἢ Ἀθηναίους αὐξήσαντας). 9 Syll.3 613A ll. 2–4: ἔδοξ[εν τῶι] / [κοι]νῶι τῶν Ἀμφικτιόνων τῶν ἀπὸ τῶν αὐτονόμων ἐθνῶν / καὶ δημοκρατουμένων πόλεων; see Hatzopoulos 1996: 223. 10 Gauthier 1993: 218. 11 Graninger 2010: 313. 12 SEG 30, 1892 = Veligianni 1983. See also Veligianni 1995. 13 Cf. Hatzopoulos 2003; Hall 2001. 14 For the date and the author, see Marcotte 1986.

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Fig. 1: “… a map of relations in a world of peers” (Ma 2003, 11)

on the river.”15 It was not until three centuries later that it was clear for Strabo that ἔστι μὲν οὖν Ἑλλὰς καὶ ἡ Μακεδονία.16 However, terminological details and Athenian propaganda notwithstanding, the decidedly non-Aristotelian17 poleis north of the Ambracian and Malian gulfs have to be included in the rethinking process this volume is intended to instigate. The kings and queens from the north have always been on the agenda of the scholars of Hellenistic history, unlike the northern poleis, which are virtually irrelevant in academic debate on Hellenism. On the map (fig. 1) from John Ma’s seminal article on Hellenistic peer polity interaction from 2003,18 showing the places he deals with, the regions beyond Pseudo-Skylax’ Hellenic borders are a white area. This is strikingly similar to the map (fig. 2) Anthony Snodgrass uses in his 1986 article on peer polity interaction in Archaic Greece.19 Of course, both had good reasons to design their argument the way they did. However, I will try to reverse the perspective and to examine the north not 15 Ps.-Skylax 33 (GGM I p.  35 f.): Μετὰ δὲ Μολοττίαν Ἀμβρακία πόλις Ἐλληνίς … Ἐντεῦθεν ἄρχεται ἡ Ἑλλὰς συνεχὴς εἶναι μέχρι Πηνειοῦ ποταμοῦ καὶ Ὀμολίου Μαγνητικῆς πόλεως, ἤ ἐστι παρὰ τὸν ποταμόν. 16 Strab. 8 frg. 9. 17 Cf. Davies 2000. 18 Ma 2003. 19 Snodgrass 1986.

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Fig. 2: “… developments which took place between approximately 750 and 650 BC” (Snodgrass 1986, 49)

just as the barbarous backwater from where some hillbilly kings came, fringe Greek at best, who created supra-regional imperial states and imposed them onto the network of Greek poleis which transcended the borders of kingdoms or of regional leagues. From this point of view, the monarchy is something alien to the classical Greek poleis, and “Hellenism” was ultimately imposed on them. This idea I will leave aside, instead I will focus on the north as the source of Hellenism where the historical processes are not regarded as having been imposed from the outside. I will not challenge the concept of Hellenism as such – not here – but rather attempt to find a place for the poleis of the north in the Hellenistic world. This might help to understand some of the “paradoxes” of the Hellenistic polis which have been brought into focus by John Ma.20 To put it more grandly, I will attempt to bridge the gap between the research on the classical Hellenistic poleis and that on Hellenistic Macedonia and Epirus.

20 Cf. Ma 2008.

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2. Peer polity interaction and cult activity In considering a way to find a suitable place for communities like Morrylos or Chaonia among Megalopolis, Argos, Athens, Cos, and Miletus, which are without any doubt Hellenistic poleis, I was inspired by the chapter on “International Religion” in Denver Graninger’s book on late Hellenistic Thessaly21 and by the two articles by Anthony Snodgrass and John Ma mentioned above. The concept of peer polity interaction, introduced to the classicists’ world by a 1986 anthology edited by Colin Renfrew and John Cherry,22 with its insistence on a network of collaboration and recognition between peer entities, seems to be a useful starting point as an alternative to a core-periphery explanation. From this point of view, the Classical period, dominated by the antagonism between Athens and Sparta, appears to be “an anomalous interlude in a continuum of peer polity interaction”,23 which had shaped the Archaic as well as the Hellenistic worlds through a network of dialogue and mutual recognition. Of course, Macedonia as a state was no outsider, and epigraphic evidence gives us some impressions of the Macedonian role in political and cultural relationships. The alliance policies of Antigonus II and III did much to establish good relations with the Greek world on a state level. Macedonian kings and officials were honored by Greek poleis; Macedonian individuals became proxenoi there.24 In Imperial times, the equality between Macedonians and Greeks was beyond question: Macedonia hosted Panhellenic festivals in Thessalonica and Beroia, Thessalonica provided an archon of the panhellenion,25 and three Macedonian poleis – Thessalonica, Beroia, and Styberra26 – received the honor of styling themselves neokoroi. My question, however, is rather whether and how the northern poleis were part of what Herodotus famously called τὸ Ἑλληνικόν, which he explains as “the kinship of all Greeks in blood and speech, and the shrines of gods and the sacrifices that we have in common, and the similarity of our way of life”.27 To put my question clearly: To what extent were the communities of the 21 Graninger 2011: 115–151. 22 Snodgrass 1986. 23 Cf. Ma 2003: 37. For a sceptical view on the use of the PPI-concept, see Hansen 1994: 13. However, his points of criticism can all be refuted. 24 The evidence is collected in Xydopoulos 2006. For proxenoi, see also the lists in Marek 1984: 8–118. 25 IG X 2, 1, 181. 26 According to an unpublished inscription at the archaeological site of Cepigovo, ancient Styberra. 27 Hdt. 8.144, 2: τὸ Ἑλληνικὸν ἐὸν ὅμαιμόν τε καὶ ὁμόγλωσσον καὶ θεῶν ἱδρύματά τε κοινὰ καὶ θυσίαι ἤθεά τε ὁμότροπα. Of the many scholars who have reflected on this point, I cite Funke 2009 as an example.

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Hellenistic north integrated into the Panhellenic network of the “shrines of gods and the sacrifices” and how did this integration evolve through the Hellenistic age? The lists of theorodokoi, the local entertainers of sacred envoys, which were written on stone in some Panhellenic sanctuaries represent invaluable sources that are nowhere near exhausted. My concern is not the shape and the history of this institution of “state pilgrimage”; there are two recent monographs on this topic by Ian Rutherford and Paula Perlman, and Hans-Joachim Gehrke has just recently published a paper on its Olympic origin.28 However, I will recapitulate some results of more than 60 years of scholarly debate which are relevant for my argument: 1. The heavy involvement in cultic activities abroad played an important role in the ethnogenesis of the Greeks from Archaic times onwards, a process which was never completed, as we see in the negotiations accompanying the creation of the Hadrianic Panhellenion.29 2. The institution of “state pilgrimage” was almost exclusively focused on poleis and created a network – or an ‘imagined community’30 – of local communities united by their participation in common festivals, which meant that their relation to a ruler was never their only point of reference. 3. As Louis Robert assumed already in the 1940s,31 the lists are not lodging lists but they have a political character: The communities mentioned had been invited and so were able to decide and to act by means of their political institutions. The lists record only those poleis which were recognized in a world of poleis, those places which had joined the network.32 Not one of the toponyms in the lists can be securely identified as belonging to a dependent community (in the sense of not being a political entity in its own right) at the time when its name was included in the list.33 4. From its Archaic beginning, the world of Panhellenic feasting had been arranged according to geographical principles,34 and so the inscriptions I will deal with “made visible a map of relations in a world of peers.”35 28 Cf. Perlman 2000; Gehrke 2013; Rutherford 2013.. 29 Cf. the case of Ptolemais-Barca, which had to argue with the emperor for the recognition of its Hellenicity: SEG 28, 1566 with Jones 1996: 47–53. 30 Cf. Rutherford 2013: 87, calls this community a mere ‘illusion’ but I do not follow him in that. See also Van Nijf 2015. 31 Robert 1946: 510, arguing against Kahrstedt 1936: 425. 32 This is the main point of Perlman 1995; see also Hansen/Nielsen 2004: 103–106. 33 For the political role of the theorodokiai, the evidence of the Thessalian Olympia from about 230 bc is most revealing: Parker 2011; Malay/Ricl 2009: 48–53. 34 Gehrke 2013: 46 f. 35 Ma 2003: 21.

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3. The theorodokoi lists After these general remarks we will now proceed to the dry lists of places and people which form the basis of this essay (table 1).36 The earliest among them that mentions places in the north is a list from Epidaurus, written on stone around 360 bce but containing later addenda going down to at least 316.37 The Argivan and Nemean lists of the last third of the third century bce seem to supplement each other and are rather short but nevertheless revealing in some historical details. The most impressive is the great Delphic list from the 220s bce. In its 647 lines it provides a catalogue of the Hellenistic world along at least six routes covering the area between Sicily and the Levant and between Cyrene and the northern fringes of Hellenicity close to the Dalmatian border. Particularly noteworthing updates to this list are made in the fragmentary mid-second-century list from Delphi.38 The picture given by these lists must be adjusted and completed with the help of the so-called asylia decrees issued on the occasion of the announcements of the new festivals hosted by Cos, Magnesia-onMaeander, and Carian Stratonicea (see table 2).39 Table 1: Lists of theorodokoi Source IG IV2 1, 94/95 SEG 23, 189 SEG 66, 331 BCH 45, 1921, 1 ff. REG 62, 1949, 28

Festival Epidaurus, Asklepieia Argos, Nemeia & Heraia Nemea, Nemeia & Heraia Delphi, Pythia & Soteria Delphi, Pythia & Soteria

Date 360–316 bce 330–324 bce 315–313 bce 220s bce mid-2nd century bce

In the following I will give an overview of the developments illustrated by the lists concerning Epirus and Macedonia. This will highlight the historical dimension of the rather static concept of peer polity interaction. This network of interaction will prove to be highly sensitive vis-à-vis changing situations. After this overview, which is supplemented by some detailed observations, I will examine the agents of and possible reasons for this historical sensitivity.

36 37 38 39

A short overview is found in Rutherford 2013: 73–76. For the addenda, see Perlman 2000: 78–81. Cf. Daux 1949: 34; Perlman 2000: 34. For an overview, see Rutherford 2013: 76–88.

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3.1 The Epidaurus list In the Epidaurus list, which is no. 1 in the epigraphical appendix, there are 20 Greek poleis in Macedonia which are not Macedonian yet because they were not incorporated until the conquests of Philip II during the two decades that followed. Considering Potideia to be an Athenian cleruchy and thus using it as evidence for the unpolitic character of the theorodokoi lists is a recurrent mistake. Christian Habicht has shown that Potideia only formed a cleruchy as phrourion against the Olynthians and was formally free.40 The theorodokos for “Macedonia”, which is not a regional appellation but refers to the kingdom, is Perdiccas III, who ruled from 365–359 bce.41 This is in no way unusual: in our lists we have altogether six kings and one queen acting as theorodokoi. Two additions to this list deserve attention (fig. 3): Where there is the entry “Olynthos: Archon” in the original list in l. 14, the Delphians added “en Kassandreiai: Timosthenes Kritonos” in ll. 41–43. Cassandrea, founded in 316, was the political and administrative successor of Olynthus, occupying the same settlement area. This is a point that was important to the Delphians as they could well have added the Cassandrean theorodokos three lines below beside the entry for Potideia, which was Cassandrea’s name before the re-foundation.42

Fig. 3: Theorodokoi list from Epidaurus, IG IV2 1, 94. tab. 5, squeeze of ll. 6–27; 34–50 40 Habicht 1959: 707. For the use of the supposed Potideian dependency as an argument, see Rutherford 2006, following Hansen 1995a: 39. 41 He needs no basileus title to be identified; cf. SEG 57, 576 from Dikaia, ll. 22 f. and 27. 42 Cf. Kahrstedt 1936: 425 and Zahrnt 1971: 119.

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Beside Makedonia in l. 9 “Menelaos Nikanoros ex Euordaias” was added in l. 37 f. The reference to the Eordaia, an Upper Macedonian region settled by Macedonians from the sixth century onwards, has caused some confusion: Why should the theorodokoi go only to the king and to the rather remote Eordaia? There is an odd debate suggesting that Eordaia was a town; Paula Perlman thinks that, had it been a region, the envoys would not have known where to go.43 However, they seem to have had no problems finding their way in Molossia or Thesprotia in the same list. The town Eordaia is “a ghost that must be exorcised outright”, as Miltiadis Hatzopoulos puts it.44 Another theory is that of Fanoula Papazoglou, who proposes that Eordaia had emancipated itself somehow from the central government.45 The solution is quite simple: No Delphian ambassador went to the western mountains. As one can see on the squeeze (fig. 3), the addition could well be a substitution for the late king’s name. A distinctive feature of this entry is that the person’s name precedes the place name, a characteristic which singles out this case from all the hundreds of others in all our lists. Furthermore, the place name is not introduced by “en” but by “ex”, which occurs in only two other cases. The usual way to indicate the citizenship of a Macedonian is to add “Makedon ek + genitive of city name” to his name. This type of nomenclature is typical of federal states and occurs, for example, in Messene, Aitolia, Arcadia, and Phocis.46 Both Menelaos and Nikanor are among the most common names in Macedonia, so it would be futile to hazard a guess as to the identity of this man, but I would propose interpreting him as the theorodokos for the kingdom, appointed by Kassandros. Another addition mentions Perrhaibian Pythion among the Macedonian poleis instead of the Thessalian. Pythion, close to the important Volustana pass, had been settled by relocated Macedonians under Philip II and thus became a free ally of Macedonia, like Ainos in Thrace, which was also added to the Macedonian towns.47 Under the geographical heading “Apeiros” we find some independent poleis on Epirote territory, but beside them the tribes of the Molossoi, with a Tharyps from the royal house as theorodokos, and the tribes of the Thesprotoi. The Chaonoi, who according to Pseudo-Skylax (32 f.) lived κατὰ κώμας even 20 years later, do appear under 43 Perlman 2000: 127 n. 117. 44 Hatzopoulos 1996: 93. For the debate, see also Kefalidou/Nigdelis 2000. 45 Papazoglou 1988: 166. 46 Funke 1997: 182 n. 68; Grandjean 2002: 553 f. Gabbert 1988 is more confusing than enlightening. 47 The population transfer from Macedonian Balla to Perrhaibian Pythion is mentioned in Theagenes’ Makedonika: Steph. Byz. s. v. Βάλλα = BNJ 774 frg. 3 (Engels). There is a decree for a Macedonian from Pytheion in the Elimiotis (Perdrizet 1897: 112), and an as yet unpublished letter from a Macedonian king has been found there (Hatzopoulos 2003: 62 n. 61).

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the title “Chaonia” as if it were a polis and not a tribe. Indeed, a Dodonian oracular tablet from the 220s has the text “The city of the Chaones (ἁ πόλις ἁ τῶν Χαόνων) requests Zeus Naios and Dione to answer whether it is better and more good and more expedient that they transfer the building of the temple of Athena the Citadel-Goddess.”48 I think that this is the Chaonia from our list, which is not as unusual as it might seem: Under Philip II the ethne of Upper Macedonia obtained the status of poleis,49 and the term “Polis of the Lacedaemonians” does not necessarily mean Sparta. We will encounter this peculiar role of the Chaonic north of Epirus again in the later lists. So far, it can be stated that Epirus as it appears in the Epidaurian list is far from being a unitary state or even a state at all.50 3.2 The Argive and Nemean lists51 Despite its brevity, the Argive list from the 320s, which is no. 2 in the epigraphic appendix, is highly revealing regarding the political situation in post-Alexandrian Epirus: Following the entry for the free polis Ambracia, we find Apeiros with Queen Cleopatra, Alexander’s sister, as theorodokos. The representation by the queen and the absence of its constituent peoples for the first time provide certainty that “Apeiros” is the name of a recognized political community.52 Chaonia seems not to be part of it. The country is represented by its new capital Phoenice (and possibly, if we accept Nicholas Hammond’s proposal53 for l. 13, also by Kemara). According to a fragment of Arrian, after the death of Alexander, the Successors made the Chaonic part of Epirus subject to Antipater. The fragment says “Epirus extending up to the Ceraunian mountains”, which must mean, from a Macedonian point of view, the area between Butrint, then still part of the Corcyraean peraea,54 and Cape Glossa, the northernmost point of Epirus.55 The Macedonian part of the Nemea list (no. 3 in the epigraphic appendix), mentioning Amphipolis, Lete, and Allante, may be an appendix to the lost Macedonian part of the Argive list. In a contemporary list of contributions from Argos, we find six Macedonian poleis: Aigai, Edessa, Atalante/Allante, Europos, Cassandrea, and 48 SEG 15, 397; cited after Davies 2000: 249. 49 See Hatzopoulos 1996: 482. 50 Cabanes 1976: 116–120. 51 At the time of the inscriptions, Argos had retained control of the Nemean Games, possibly due to Macedonian influence: Miller 1988: 144 f. 52 Cf. Davies 2000: 257. 53 Cf. Hammond 1980: 472. 54 For the Corcyraean peraea, see Carusi 2011: 95–107. 55 Arrian, FGrH 156 frg. 1, 7: ἡ Ἤπειρος ὡς ἐπὶ τὰ ὄρη τὰ Κεραύνια; see Hammond 1980: 471 f.

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Philippi.56 All are tributaries of the king but act in this affair on their own behalf. Given the extraordinary rarity of his name, Aphtonetos from Allante may well be the pais of Philip II of the same name,57 while the following name Aristonous seems to belong to the Macedonian part of the list but has neither a patronym nor an ethnicon nor an assigned toponym. This connects him with the Aristonous in a contemporary Eretrian proxeny decree,58 who is also designated by his name only. He may be identified as the somatophylax of Alexander who had been put to death on Cassander’s order. 3.3 The great Delphi list The Delphic theorodokoi of the 220s bce, who made their long journeys through the entire Hellenic oikoumene announcing the Pythia and the Soteria,59 visited eight places in Epirus (fig. 4). Besides visiting the more or less independent poleis Cassope and Ambracia, they went up to Dodona, the main sanctuary of the Epirote League, but I would emphasize the surprising fact that they visited five places in the Chaonic north; these are Phoenice, Kemara, Oricus, Abantia/Amantia, and Byllis.60 In Macedonia the Delphians had appointed theorodokoi before, as we learn from an honorary inscription of the middle of the third century.61 It mentions persons in Ichnai, Pella, Edessa, and Cassandrea, the Cassandrean being a man from Phocis who may have served in the garrison which was always stationed in the city.62 In the 220s, more than 30 places received the holy embassy (fig. 5). Until Cassandrea in l. 77, the list is effectively an itinerary;63 then some additions and corrections follow. If we fol56 IG IV 617 ll. 15–21. For references and commentary, see Pilhofer 2009, no. 752a. 57 Mari 2000: 311 no. 84; Paschidis 2006: 258 with n. 38. 58 IG XII 9, 221. He is discussed at length in Knoepfler 2001: 185–195. See also Perlman 2000: 129 f. 59 The Soteria had had a Panhellenic status since 250/49: Rutherford 2013: 45. 60 For a historical interpretation, cf. Melfi/Piccinini 2012: 39 f.; 54. 61 FD III 3, 207. 62 In some Cypriote poleis, the theorodokos was the Ptolemaic commander; cf. Jones/Habicht 1989: 343–345. 63 In fact, the Aianea in l. III 75 might well be the Elimean capital Aiane in Upper Macedonia instead of the rather unimportant Chalcidian Ainea, which at first sight seems to fit better into the itinerary, Aiane was part of the Panhellenic cultural interaction since Archaic times, much earlier than the rest of Macedonia (see Daubner 2016: 232 f.), and the necessary detour would have been not as problematic as one might think: On their way through Thessaly, the theorodokoi visited Perrhaebian Phalanna (l. III 45). The seven place names before and after Phalanna are not preserved in the inscription, but one might suppose a visit of the other poleis of the Perrhaebian tetrapolis including Doliche as well as of Pythion, which appeared already in the Epidaurus list. From there, from the Volustana pass, one can catch sight of Aiane.

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Fig. 4: Epirote poleis in the great Delphi list (map by Christian Fron, Stuttgart)

low the route, including the additions in their proper place, we notice an ambitious but reasonable and comprehensive tour through the central part of Macedonia: Coming from the Tempe valley, the theorodokoi followed the coastal road to the north, then turning westward to visit the cities on the slopes of Mount Vermion and avoiding the swamps of the Bottian plain. After they had visited the capital Pella, a detour took them north to Europos. After returning to the route of the later Via Egnatia, they took the path along the Axius river northwards into Paeonia, to Idomenae and to Astraea, which has not been identified with certainty but which was most probably situated 143

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Fig. 5: Macedonian itinerary of the theorodokoi according to the great Delphi list (map by Christian Fron, Stuttgart)

in the Strumica valley. On their way back south, they left the Axius valley and went through the fertile hills of Crestonia to Thessalonica and further on to Cassandrea. From here on, there are some obvious omissions in their itinerary, and there is some discussion about the absence of nearly all Chalcidian poleis and of the Strymon valley including Gazoros and Serrae. However, this problem can be solved very easily: In Cassandrea, or rather already in Thessalonike, the theorodokoi embarked on a ship,64 and from that point on, every place they visited had a convenient harbor. In fact, they landed at every convenient harbor between Cassandrea and Byzantion. These harbors (leaving aside the dubious place name Asseros) are Acanthus, Amphipolis, Oesyme, Neapolis, Thasus, Maroneia, Bisanthe, and Perinthus. This fact poses some problems which I cannot solve in this paper. It is impossible that all the cities that were not visited were considered uninvited. However, if there were other ways of issuing an invitation, why did the embassy go to the effort of visiting the obviously unimportant places Idomenae and Astraea, which meant a detour of a week? Delphi was very selective concerning the new world of the Hellenistic east: we can find hardly any new foundations in the itineraries of 64 For the special, ritual status of the vessels used by theoriai, see Rutherford 2013: 178–182. For the coastal preferences of the theorodokoi, see Erskine 2013a: 19 f.

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the theorodokoi.65 This points to a complex mixture of motives of the receiving and the emitting parties of this interaction which have to be studied in detail.66 Later, I will raise a strong point to indicate the influence of the receiving poleis, but of course the view of the Delphians and of the receiving poleis is not all there is to be considered. Of the Macedonian theorodokoi in the great Delphi list, we can identify Philippos Alkimachou in Pydna as having been proxenos in Oropos at the same time.67 The theorodokos of Amphipolis is most probably Xenotimos, son of Epicrates, whom we know as the eponymous priest in an Amphipolitan inscription of 214/3.68 3.4 The so-called asylia decrees Table 2: Newly established festivals announced by theorodokoi Source IG XII 4, 1, 207–245 I.Magnesia 16–87 I.Stratonikeia 505–508

Festival Cos, Asklepieia Magnesia, Leukophryena Lagina, Hekatesia-Rhomaia

Date 2nd half 3rd century bce 206 bce 81 bce

I will, very briefly, address the so-called asylia decrees for the newly established festivals in Cos and in Magnesia-on-Maeander because they have been frequently investigated. They are roughly contemporary with our Delphi list. In the late 240s, the Coans sent at least eight theoroi throughout the Hellenic world to announce the Asklepieia.69 One of them visited the Peloponnese, central Greece, Thessaly, and Macedonia. We have one heavily mutilated decree, which may be that of Antigonus Gonatas, and decrees of the Macedonian cities Cassandrea, Amphipolis, Philippi, and Pella.70

65 Cf. Erskine 2013b: 355 f. In contrast, the organizers of the Olympic games deliberately strengthened the integrative role of their festival by inviting the inhabitants of marginal Greek territories as early as the fifth century bce; cf. Kertész 1999. 66 The theorodokoi surely did not find top athletes in the small and remote poleis. Thus, neither their itineraries nor the lists of victors can tell us who ultimately went to the games as competitors or as visitors. However, the small coins found in the sanctuaries can give further indications about the catchment area of the respective festival: for the case of Nemea, see Knapp/Mac Isaac 2005: 36–49. 67 IG VII 316; Daux 1949: 43. 68 Hatzopoulos 1991. 69 IG XII 4, 1, 207–245; Rigsby 1996: 106–153. 70 Antigonos: IG XII 4, 1, 208; Cassandrea, Amphipolis, Philippi: IG XII 4, 1, 220; Pella: IG XII 4, 1, 221.

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Although all the four cities refer to the Coan embassies to Antigonus and although Cassandrea and Philippi also refer to his decision to respect the asylia,71 it is obvious that the decrees had been passed and that the theorodokoi had been appointed by civic authorities. The restriction of the autonomy of the theorodokoi was no stronger than in the federal states. The Acarnanian League instructed the poleis to appoint theorodokoi for the Magnesian theoroi,72 and the authorities of the Aitolian poleis had to announce the names of their theorodokoi to the strategos of the league.73 Thus, the appointment of the theorodokoi by the civic authorities cannot be regarded as a sign of real dependency. This is instead the case in the response of Chalkis on Euboea to the Magnesian theoroi. Antigonid Chalkis cited a letter from Philip V, allowing the city to accept the request, and also cited the arguments for the syngeneia between Magnesians and Macedonians, all of which had nothing to do with Chalkis or its relations to Magnesia.74 That such behavior was neither usual nor expected by Philip is proven by the Eretrian decree acknowledging the Magnesian asylia, as well as by every single inscription of Gonnoi in Thessaly, the evidence concerning whom always raises interesting points.75 3.5 Some glimpses of late Hellenistic practice From the second century bce onwards, the evidence for sacred envoys announcing festivals decreases. A very fragmentary list from mid-second-century Delphi (no. 5 in the epigraphic appendix) has a heading for Macedonia in l. 3. Unfortunately, the place names that follow are all lost. It would also be important to know if the inscription predates the formation of the province of Macedonia or if the theoroi went to provincial poleis. Later on, when all of Hellas had come under Roman rule, they had no choice: The Stratonicean theoroi who announced the celebration of the Hekatesia-Rhomaia of Lagina in 81 bce went to at least three towns in the province of Macedonia. This set of towns appears to have been selected at random: Cassandrea, Antigonea, and

71 Bengtson 1955: 462 f., stresses this point. 72 For the Magnesian inscriptions concerning the announcment of the Leukophryena, see I.Magnesia 16–87; Rigsby 1996: 179–279. The introduction of the festival is analyzed by Wiemer 2009: 86–93. 73 Acarnania: IG IX 12, 2, 582, ll. 31–43; Aitolia: FD III 3, 240. See Corsten 1999: 86. 74 I.Magnesia 47 = Syll.3 561. I.Magnesia 24, a fragment containing the letters ΒΑΣΙΛ, may well be the remains of Philip’s decree. 75 Eretria: I.Magnesia 48. Gonnoi: I.Magnesia 33 = I.Gonnoi 111. For Antigonid Gonnoi, see Daverio Rocchi 1996.

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Stratonicea.76 However, for this “early Roman” time, we would be thankful for a bit more information. In the Delphi list of the second century, we also find the Chaonian polis Buthrotum, with its theorodokos Appoitas Antigonou. A man of the same name from the family of the Kydestoi is known to have held high offices in the koinon of the Prasaibians, which was constituted as a result of the Third Macedonian War.77 With this example, I will proceed to some general remarks, which do not represent a conclusion but rather summarize my main points in order to outline an agenda for future research.

4. General observations The main problem in the examination of the theorodokoi lists as evidence for peer polity interaction is the determination of the role and the status of the toponyms visited by the envoys. For the Macedonian cities we have observed a significantly increasing role over the one and a half centuries between the Epidauric and the great Delphic list. This corresponds to what we know about the development of the relationship between the cities and the kings from Perdiccas III to Philip V; this relationship did not take the one-way form of a dependency. Some distinguished members of the civic elites, who acted as theorodokoi, made their way into the court elite – and never vice versa.78 It is hard to imagine that the appearance of a Macedonian polis in the lists goes back to a decision of the sanctuary’s authorities to send their busy envoys to some remote place close to the barbaricum. Instead, we have to assume some activity by the communities themselves, which we cannot ascertain for most of the Macedonian poleis. However, we can draw parallels to cases which are more evident, that is, cases in which a newly created political community sought recognition by its peers by claiming a place in the network of Panhellenic cult activities. In fact, this is the first thing a new Greek state did. Denver Graninger has demonstrated the importance of the newly established festivals and of participation in the international cultic circuit illustrated by the Thessalian states after the Third Macedonian War, which brought with it the abolition of Macedonian supremacy over Thessaly.79 The new Athamanian 76 OGIS 441 = I.Stratonikeia 507 f. Stratonicea is most likely modern Stratoni on the Chalcidian east coast (Papazoglou 1988: 432 f.), Antigonea is more likely to be the Chalcidian one than the one in the Axius valley (Papazoglou 1988: 419–421), and there is no reasonable completion for -eia other than Cassandrea (Papazoglou 1988: 420 n. 26). 77 Cf. Cabanes/Drini 1994. 78 Paschidis 2006: 251–268. 79 Graninger 2011.

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kingdom, which separated from the Epirote state by at least 220 bce, sought its recognition as a Greek state by participating in the cultic activities carried out in all parts of the Greek world.80 In the course of the fourth and third centuries bce, the civic centers of the Chaonic north of Epirus, such as Phoenice, Byllis, and Amantia, made constant efforts to monumentalize, or, rather, to hellenize their cities, to build theaters, agorai, sanctuaries, and public buildings. The same was the case in the rest of Epirus, in Macedonia, in Acarnania, in Aitolia, in Arcadia, and in the indigenous hinterlands of Magna Graecia and of Asia Minor. To draw an overall picture of this urbanistic revolution in non-Aristotelian Greece and its neighbors is an urgent task. Since at least the constitution of the Roman protectorate in Illyria in 228 bce, the economy of northern Epirus had been oriented more to the north and the west; the cities became prosperous, self-confident, and politically emancipated from the central power. This is expressed not only in the townscape, but also in the autonomous, unmediated participation in the network of peer polity interaction. The appearance of Butrint in the short Delphic list supports this view: After the disturbances following the Epirote raid by Aemilius Paullus and the creation of the κοινὸν τῶν Ἠπειρωτῶν [τῶν] περὶ Φοινίκη[ν,81 dominated by Charops the Younger, the brutal friend of Rome, the town, which had been part of the Chaonian koinon until the 160s,82 separated from the terrorist regime of Charops and became the center of the koinon of the Prasaiboi, which extended to Konispol in the south. This new state immediately sought its recognition by the great sanctuaries, and when a Butrintian won the Olympic stadium race in 136 bce, this was so important for the whole community that they honored his trainer from Teos with the proxeny.83 In Macedonia, the problem of the integration of the old or new poleis into the state was solved satisfactorily after the external and civil wars of the fourth century. Thus, there were no violent separatist movements, but this does not mean that the Macedonian poleis stood under the iron fist of the king. The negotiations about the role of a polis in a kingdom or a federal state had been successful, as they were in the Archaic “polis belt”. The integration problems which we encounter in the core areas of Hellenism had been solved in northern Greece in the fourth and third centuries. The center of political creativity was here, not in the established and stable poleis which had severe difficulties in maintaining their sovereignty in the face of the new situa-

80 81 82 83

Baslez 1987; Oost 1957; Welwei 1965; Rigsby 1996: 296 f. Syll.3 653a. I.Bouthrotos 7. Moretti 1959, no. 643; I.Bouthrotos 9; Cabanes 2001; Robert 1989.

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tion.84 The poleis of northern Greece, shaping their identity and sovereignty at a time when the old poleis were running the risk of losing both, were no latecomers now but formed the avant-garde in creating the Hellenistic world because they developed as parts of larger states and had found their own way of creating and maintaining relationships with their sovereign as well as being part of the Hellenic – or Hellenistic – world. The central element in the world of Hellenistic poleis is the peer polity interaction, the functioning network of equals, which counterbalanced and complemented the power of the big states, which have been the main focus of historic research for long enough. This network was not the illusion of an “imagined community”, as proposed by Ian Rutherford in his book on theoriai,85 but rather a very real, connected community whose activity shaped the Hellenistic world no less than the bloody deeds of Alexander III and his successors.

84 Here I follow Davies 2000: 258. See also Marc 2014 as well as M. B. Hatzopoulos, BE 2007, 373: “Il est évident que si les cités macédoniennes avaient joui d’une indépendance totale, il n’y aurait pas eu d’État macédonien.” For the problems of the Greek poleis with the kings in the Hellenistic age, see Strootman 2011. For the Macedonian answers to these problems, see Hatzopoulos 2015. 85 Rutherford 2013: 87.

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Epigraphic appendix 1) Epidaurus, IG IV2 1, 94/95, 360–316 bce IG IV2 1, 94, ll. 6–27; 34–50

IG IV2 1, 95 ll. 20–39; 73–91

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2) Argos, SEG 23, 189, 330–324 bce col. I 10 [Ἀμβρ]ακία· [Φ]ορβάδας [Ἄπε]ιρος· Κλεοπάτρα [Φοιν]ίκα· Σατυρῖνος, Πυλάδας Κάρ̣χαξ [Κόρκυ]ρα· . . . c.6. . .ί̣δας Αἰσχρίων Τεύθραντος [Ἀπο]λ[λ]ωνία· Δω . .θεος 15 . . . . c.7. . .ΝΗ̣ΝΟΣ

3) Nemea, SEG 36, 331, 319–313 bce col. B 16 Ἐμ Μακεονίαι Ἐν Ἀμφιπόλι Πέρσας Νικολάου Ἐν Λήτηι 20 Μένανδρος Λυςάνδρου Ἐξ Ἀλάντης Ἀφθόνητος Πυθοδώρου vacat Ἀριστόνους

4) Delphi, BCH 45, 1921, 1 ff., 220’s bce Macedonia col. III ἐν Ἡρακλείωι Γλαυκίας Ἀντίγονος Ποσειδωνίου ἐν Λειβήθροις Νικόστρατος Νίκωνος ἐν Δίωι Μέντωρ Ἀγαθοκλέους Πολυκλῆς 55 ἐν Πύδναι Ἀρχίας Φίλιππος Διο[ν]υσογένης Ἀλκιμάχου ἐν Βεροίαι Ἀντάνωρ Νεοπτολέμου Μένανδρος Ἀπελλᾶς Φιλώτα ἐμ Μέζαι Νικωνίδας Νικάνωρ Μνασιγένεος 60 ἐν Ἐδέσσαι Μοσχίων Τριάκας Μόσχος ἐν Πελλαῖ Ἀπολλωνίδης Δίφιλος Χάρης ἐν Ὠρωπῶι Παράμονος 151

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65

70

75

80

85

90

ἐν Ἴχναις Δίης Ἀλκέτου ἐν Ἀλλ[α]ντείωι Ἀνδρόνικος Δίκαιος Χιωνίδου ἐν Θεσσαλονίκαι Ἀρχέδημος Τιμοθέου Μένιππος Πυθίωνος. ἐν Οἴωι ἐν Ἰδομέναις Ἱκκότιμος. Ἀμεινοκράτης ἐν Ἀστρέαι Ἀντίγονος. Ἀριστοκράτεος ἐν Βραγύλαις Ἀνδρόνικος Κασσάνδρου Κεφάλων Ἀντιόχου ἐν Χαρακώματι Δημόκριτος Εὐδήμου ἐν Ληταῖ Ἀργεῖος Μελανθίου Ἀπολλώνιος Διονυ[σ– – –] ἐν Αἰανέαι Ἀγορα– – – ἐν Ἀντιγον[είαι Ἡ]ρ̣ακλέων Ξένωνος ἐν Κασσανδ[ρείαι] Ξένων Ξένωνος ἐν Αμφιπόλε[ι ..]τιμος Ἐπικράτους Πυθίων Μενίππου ἐν Φιλί[ππ]οις Ἀντινικίδης Ἐπικράτους [ἐν Ο]ἰσύμαι Ἐπιγήθης Τελεσίου ἐν Νέαι Πόλι Φίλτων Ἀπολλωνίδης Φίλτωνος ἐν [Σ]άπαις Ἀντιφάνης Ἀντιγένης [Κ]λ̣ έωνος ἐμ Μορύλλωι Ἅδυμος Σέλευκος Α.παίου ἐν Κλίτ[α]ι Φ̣ανέας Σόλωνος ἐν Ἀ[κ]άνθωι Ἀλέξανδρος Ἀλεξάνδρου ἐν Θάσωι Ἀ[ρισ]τοφάνης Ἀ[ρκ]εσιλάου ἐ[ν Ἀ]σ[σ]άροις Διονυσᾶς Διονυσοδώρου Διονυσόδωρος Νυμφοδώρου Εὔφαντος Διονυσᾶ [ἐμ] Μαρω[ν]είαι Ἄκεστο[ς] Καλλικρατίδης [Ἐ]πίγονος Διονυσᾶ [καὶ Στ]ράτιππος Καλλίππου [ἐν] Σκα[π]τ[α]ῖ [Ὕλαι]..ΛΟ..Σ

Epirus (and Aitolia/Acarnania) col. IV ἐν Δωδώναι Πανταλέω[ν] ἐν Δαυλία Κλεύβουλος Νικοστ[ράτου] Δολόπων ἐν Ψιλαίναι vac. Πολυκλέας Γοργία 152

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35 ἐν Ἀπολλωνίαι Λαμίσκος Ἀριστίππου ἐν Βύλλιδι Νικοσθένης Κ..ω̣[νος] ἐν Απομπωι Ἀγαθοκλῆς Λυ– – ἐν Πεύματι Σάμος Φιλονίκο[υ?] 40 Κούτας Σάμων Δαθύμας ἐν Λιλαίαι Ἀριστοκράτης [Πολ]υμήδεος καὶ Ἐπι– – ἐν Ὠρίκωι Μένων Μεν– – ἐν Ναυπάκτωι Κλεα– – 45 ἐν Καλυδῶνι vac. ἐν Φυταίωι Νίκων Σ– – ἐν Τριχονείωι Εὔμνασ[τος] ἐν Στράτωι Ἀριστοφ– – ἐν Ἄργει Λεοντεύς 50 ἐν Ἀμβρακίαι Ἀγαθο– – ἐν Κασσώπαι Δεινα[– – –]του vac. ἐμ Φοινίκαι Ἄδμα[τος] ἐν Κεμάραι Θώραξ 55 Θρασύμαχος Κ– – ἐν Ἀβαντίαι Θεᾶς ἐν Δυρραχίωι Σα– – ἐν Ποτειδανίαι Λα– – ἐν Αμπραι Εὔνικο[ς] 60 ἐν Καλλιπόλι Ι– – Λυκίδα vac. 5) Delphi, REG 62, 1949, 28, mid-2nd bce front side col. A [τᾶς ἐπὶ] Μακεδονίαν καὶ 4 [-----]εων Ἁγήσων Ἀρισ[------]ος Νικοστράτ τέα 6 [-----]ΣΤΙΑ ου [-----]ος Σωφά[ν]ε[ος]

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right side ἐν Βουθρώτω[ι] 12 Ἀπποίτας Ἀν[τι]γόνου vacat

Bibliography Baslez, M.-F., 1987. La monarchie athamane a la fin du IIIe siècle et au début du IIe siècle, in: Cabanes, P. (ed.), L’Illyrie méridionale et l’Épire dans l’antiquité. Vol. 1, Paris, 167–173. Bengtson, H., 1955. Randbemerkungen zu den koischen Asylieurkunden, Historia 3, 456–463. Bouchon, R.  – Tziafalias A., 2012. Consolations anonymes a l’occasion de la mort du jeune Markellos de Trikke, AErgoThess 3, 495–503. Cabanes P., 1976. L’Épire de la mort de Pyrrhos a la conquête romaine, Paris. Cabanes, P., 2001. La techné d’un étranger au service d’un Épirote, in: Brun, J.-P. – Jockey, P. (eds.), Techniques et sociétés en Méditerranée. Hommage à Marie-Claire Amouretti, Paris, 103–108. Cabanes, P. – Drini, F., 1994. Appoitas, fils d’Antigonos, théarodoque de Delphes, dans les inscriptions de Bouthrôtos, BCH 118, 113–130. Carusi, C., 2011. La Grecia nord-occidentale e il problemo storico del rapporto fra isole e peree, in: Breglia, L. – Moleti, A. – Napolitano, M. L. (eds.), Ethne, identità e tradizioni. La “terza” Grecia e l’occidente, Pisa, 89–112. Corsten, T., 1999. Vom Stamm zum Bund. Gründung und territoriale Organisation griechischer Bundesstaaten, Munich 1999. Daubner, F., 2016. Agone im hellenistischen Nordgriechenland, in: Mann, C. – Remijsen, S. – Scharff, S. (eds.), Athletics in the Hellenistic World, Stuttgart, 231–245. Daux, G., 1949. Listes delphiques de théarodoques, REG 62, 1–30. Daverio Rocchi, G., 1996. Kulturmodelle und Gerichtserfahrung bei Hirtengemeinschaften der Länder Nord-Griechenlands, in: Olshausen, E. – Sonnabend, H. (eds.), Gebirgsland als Lebensraum, Amsterdam, 335–342. Davies, J. K., 2000. A Wholly Non-Aristotelian Universe. The Molossians as Ethnos, State, and Monarchy, in: Brock, R. – Hodkinson, S. (eds.), Alternatives to Athens. Varieties of Political Organization and Community in Ancient Greece, Oxford, 234–258. Erskine, A., 2013a. The View from the East, in: Prag, J. R. W. – Quinn, J. C. (eds.), The Hellenistic West. Rethinking the Ancient Mediterranean, Cambridge, 14–34. Erskine, A., 2013b. The View from the Old World. Contemporary Perspectives on Hellenistic Culture, in: Stavrianopoulou, E. (ed.), Shifting Social Imaginaries in the Hellenistic Period. Narrations, Practices, and Images, Leiden, 339–363. Funke, P., 1997. Polisgenese und Urbanisierung in Aitolien im 5. und 4.  Jh. v. Chr., in: Hansen, M. H. (ed.), The Polis as an Urban Centre and as a Political Community, Copenhagen, 145–188. Funke, P., 2009. Was ist der Griechen Vaterland? Einige Überlegungen zum Verhältnis von Raum und politischer Identität im antiken Griechenland, GeogrAnt 18, 123–131. Gabbert, J., 1988. The Language of Citizenship in Antigonid Macedonia, AHB 2, 10–11.

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Frank Daubner Ma, J., 2003. Peer Polity Interaction in the Hellenistic Age, P&P 180, 9–39. Ma, J., 2008. Paradigms and Paradoxes in the Hellenistic World, Studi Ellenistici 20, 371–385. Malay, H. – Ricl, M., 2009. Two New Hellenistic Decrees from Aigai in Aiolis, EpAnat 42, 39–60. Marc, J.-Y., 2014. Les villes de Macédoine. Un modèle de l’urbainsme hellénistique?, in: Bourdin, S. – Dubouloz, J. – Rosso, E. (eds.), Peupler et habiter l’Italie et le monde romain. Études d’histoire et d’archéologie offertes à Xavier Lafon, Aix-en-Provence, 57–75. Marcotte, D., 1986. Le periple dit de Scylax. Esquisse d’un commentaire épigraphique et archéologique, BollClass 7, 166–182. Marek, C., 1984. Die Proxenie, Frankfurt a. M. Mari, M., 2000. Al di là dell’Olimpo. Macedoni e grandi santuari della Grecia dall’età arcaica al primo ellenismo, Athens. Melfi, M.  – Piccinini, J., 2012. Geografia storica del territorio di Hadrianopolis nella valle del Drino (V sec. a. C.–44 a. C.), in: Perna, R. – Çondi, D. (eds.), Hadrianopolis II. Risultati delle indagini archeologiche 2005–2010, Bari, 37–65. Miller, S. G., 1988. Excavations at the Panhellenic Site of Nemea. Cults, Politics, and Games, in: Raschke, W. R. (ed.), The Archaeology of the Olympics. The Olympic Games and Other Festivals in Antiquity, Madison, 141–151. Moretti, L., 1959. Olympionikai, i vincitori negli antichi agoni olimpici, MemAccLinc 8, 51–198. Musti, D., 1967. Polibio e la democrazia, AnnPisa 36, 155–207. Oost, S. I., 1957. Amynander, Athamania, and Rome, CPh 52, 3–15. Papazoglou, F., 1988. Les villes de Macédoine à l’époque romaine, Paris. Parker, R., 2011. The Thessalian Olympia, ZPE 177, 111–118. Paschidis, P., 2006. The Interpenetration of Civic Elites and Court Elite in Macedonia, in: Guimier-Sorbets, A.-M.  – Hatzopoulos, M. B.  – Morizot, Y. (eds.), Rois, cités, necropoles. Institutions, rites et monuments en Macédoine, Athens, 251–268. Perdrizet, P., 1897. Proxènes macédoniens à Delphes, BCH 21, 102–118. Perlman, P., 1995. ΘΕΩΡΟΔΟΚΟΥΝΤΕΣ ΕΝ ΤΑΙΣ ΠΟΛΕΣΙΝ. Panhellenic Epangelia and Political Status, in: Hansen, M. H. (ed.), Sources for the Greek City-State, Copenhagen, 113–147. Perlman, P., 2000. City and Sanctuary in Ancient Greece. The Theorodokia in the Peloponnese, Göttingen. Pilhofer, P. (ed.), 2009. Philippi Band II. Katalog der Inschriften von Philippi, 2Tübingen. Rigsby, K., 1996. Asylia. Territorial Inviolability in the Hellenistic World, Berkeley. Robert, L., 1946. Villes de Carie et d’Ionie dans la liste des théorodoques de Delphes, BCH 70, 506–523. Robert, L., 1989. Un citoyen de Téos a Bouthrôtos d’Épire, OMS 5, 675–696. Rutherford, I., 2006. Review of Perlman 2000, CR 56, 408–409. Rutherford, I., 2013. State Pilgrims and Sacred Observers in Ancient Greece. A Study of Theoria and Theoroi, Cambridge. Snodgrass, A., 1986. Interaction by Design. The Greek City States, in: Renfrew, C. – Cherry, J. F. (eds.), Peer Polity Interaction and Socio-Political Change, Cambridge, 47–58. Strootman, R., 2011. Kings and Cities in the Hellenistic Age, in: van Nijf, O. M.  – Alston,  R. (eds.), Political Culture in the Greek City After the Classical Age, Leuven, 141–153. Van Nijf, O. M. – Williamson, C. G., 2015. Re-Inventing Traditions. Connecting Contests in the Hellenistic and Roman World, in: Boschung, D. – Busch, A. W. – Versluys, M. J. (eds.), Re-

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7 PEOPLE AND CITIES: ECONOMIC HORIZONS BEYOND THE HELLENISTIC POLIS Graham Oliver*

Introduction The Greek poleis of the Hellenistic period offer an important focus for studying the economies of the Mediterranean not least because they are one of the most widespread organisational and institutional centres of population. Their number and geographical distribution increase considerably in the years following the death of Philip II.1 Economic activity was organized on multiple social and institutional planes and while the polis was not the only form of organization it offers a significant window through which to observe economic organization, governance, and commerce. This chapter provides an overview that underlines how significant changes and continuities affected the polis in the fourth to first centuries bce, not least in the critical relations between the poleis and the Hellenistic powers of the various kings and Rome. The chapter stresses that while the now ‘orthodox’ institutional approach to polis economies is inevitable, it is dangerous to ignore the contingent nature of such economies that were continuously operating within the wider synergies of Mediterranean political economies.2 *

I owe thanks to the advice, encouragement, and patience of the editors, Henning Börm and Nino Luraghi, and to all the participants at Konstanz who made the meeting there such a profitable one. Attendance at the conference in 2014 was made possible by funding from the Kulturwissenschaftliches Kolleg Konstanz, Universität Konstanz, Germany. Errors remain the responsibility of the author. 1 Hansen 2013. On the Archaic and Classical poleis, see Hansen – Nielsen 2004; on the diffusion of cities in the Hellenistic period, see Cohen 1995, Cohen 2006, and Cohen 2013. 2 For the emphasis on institutions (and governance), see Ober 2015 and Bresson 2016a.

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Our appreciation and whole approach to the economies of the Hellenistic poleis has been radically shifted in the last forty years. The contents pages of Alain Bresson’s landmark The Making of the Ancient Greek Economy moves our analysis of the economies of Greek polities away from the constrained view of the 1970s to 1990s when first and second editions of Moses I. Finley’s The Ancient Economy was the dominant orthodoxy.3 Bresson offers a dynamic approach that contextualizes in a theory-friendly way the economies of Hellenistic cities. He builds on evidence that is epigraphical (inscriptions), numismatic (coins), and archaeological, in addition to the other more familiar written sources. Onto the familiar layer of the required analysis of the agrarian economy and trade, is the new perspective prompted by terms such as markets, networks, and growth. This approach moves beyond the document-based studies. The epigraphical and written evidence for the Hellenistic city dominates Leopold Migeotte’s Les Finances des cités grecques.4 This important synthesis of material, over 700 pages long, offers a rich survey of the institutions of the Greek poleis of the Classical and Hellenistic eras but lacks the economic analysis that makes Bresson’s work now the most complete single-volume study of the economy for the Greek historian.5 Bresson’s work has grown out of close readings of such documentary evidence but has adopted new horizons. He asks questions more familiar perhaps to economic historians of other periods in line with the application of theories such as New Institutional economic that has for some years now been the basis of what one might call the Stanford School.6 Fundamental to Bresson’s fresh take on the ancient Greek economy has been his longstanding argument that commerce was an essential element in the Greek polis. A cornerstone of this argument has been a reading of self-sufficiency (autarkeia) that moves far away from the very restricted view of trade that underpinned Finley’s Ancient Economy.7 Bresson understands Aristotle as presenting the polis as a community which would typically depend on the market for those commodities that it does not or cannot produce. The importance of Bresson’s argument is underlined by the inclusion of the English translation immediately after the intro-

3 Cf. Bresson 2016a (a revision and translation into English of Bresson 2007–2008); Finley 1999. The Ancient Economy was first published in 1973 and the second edition appeared in 1985. 4 Cf. Migeotte 2014; his earlier studies have collected epigraphical dossiers on borrowing (Migeotte 1984) and public subscriptions, the Greek institution known as epidosis (Migeotte 1992). 5 On Hellenistic economies see Archibald et al. 2001, 2005 and 2011; Reger 2003 and 2007; Rostovtzeff 1953. 6 Cf. Scheidel et al. 2007. 7 Cf. Bresson 2016b.

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duction to a new collection of material from a conference that re-focused attention on commerce and the market and moved away somewhat from institutions per se.8 Although some of the essential ingredients of Finley’s arguments about the agrarian basis of ancient economies remain a staple ingredient for the historian, there is now so much more scope to embrace the evidence of archaeology and epigraphy that was largely under-exploited in the early 1970s. Changes in archaeological method (survey archaeology) and awareness among archaeologists, numismatics, and epigraphists, of the ways that their “materials” can inform these debates, has led to more scope of integrating these important forms of evidence. Such new visions take us further and allow for greater comparison within and beyond the Hellenistic world. The Greek polis offers a unique opportunity to review long-term economic developments. The poleis as important nodes present a concentration of producers, consumers, and agents, intrinsic to the integration (or not) of Hellenistic economies. The polis offers us a lens through which to see adaptation within the political economy over time. The changing economic and political contexts of the Mediterranean and beyond saw many communities adapt to shifting environments. The focus in this volume on the Hellenistic world is a convenient laboratory in which to test how the polis adapted in a period which witnesses two major series of political transformations in the shape of the flourish of Hellenistic monarchies and the rise of the Roman Empire. Greek poleis had developed institutions – legal, social, and political mechanisms – that enabled the community to engage in, and exploit, as best as possible the economic and political contexts of their environments. Just how these communities governed themselves and precisely how they developed which mechanisms depended considerably on the scale and regional context in which they existed. The flourish of evidence for many Greek poleis from the later fourth century onwards offers an enhanced insight into aspects of polis life for which there is typically less evidence from earlier periods. By the Hellenistic period, a larger number of poleis are visibly engaged in what becomes a familiar discourse using the vocabulary and realities of institutions of governance, commerce, and taxation.9 Moreover, in an ever changing world, the single polis in the Hellenistic period was typically insufficient to disturb (or threaten) the geo-political world of the Hellenistic kings and Rome. The multi-polis entities such as the koina (federations) gave smaller poleis a voice and a platform which only the larger poleis (e. g. Rhodes and Athens) were capable of managing.10

8 Harris/Lewis/Woolmer 2016; Bresson 2016b is the translation into English of Bresson 1987 (included later in Bresson 2000). 9 This has been described as a “great convergence” ( John Ma in Ober 2015, 303). 10 On koina see now Mackil 2013 and the contribution of Peter Funke to the present volume.

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This chapter offers three snapshots through which we can consider the ways in which polis economies adapted and responded to these changing environments: first, continuities and changes; second, institutions (trade and governance); and third, the human glue, people, mobility and networks.

1. Degrees of Continuity and change: commerce and coinage Change in the Hellenistic period was not necessarily linear. Continuities and changes punctuate the life-stories of Greek poleis and are not equally perceptible over time and space though the four centuries of the Hellenistic age. Different Greek poleis confronted a shifting variety of pressures. The superficial homogeneity of the institutions of the Greek polis belies the complexity of the myriad of push/pull forces and interactions among, and beyond, the poleis.11 Micro-regional variation, as stressed by Horden and Purcell in their landmark study The Corrupting Sea, defines specific ecological contexts within which poleis existed (economically).12 But the wider disruptions brought about by major political events also provide evidence for the strategies deployed by the poleis to accommodate and adjust within the shifting Mediterranean world. Considerable disruption in the economic environment was frequently brought about by other powers. The polis typically had little or no control over such events. Poleis were often little more than observers, sometimes participants, and on occasion victims, of the ongoing political history around them. What the Hellenistic period demonstrates was the complex array of mechanisms and institutions that poleis developed and honed to integrate themselves within this changing world. The continuity of institutions should not however be used to conceal the diplomatic and inter-personal relations that the polis engaged in to assert their own agency. Two different sets of evidence present some insight into the nature of such change and continuity. If we look to the evidence of shipwrecks as an indicator of commerce, we find an increase in activity through the Hellenistic period shipwrecks. The data suggests that Mediterranean sea-borne trade intensified in this period.13 Wilson’s review of shipwreck data shows a dramatic increase in shipwreck evidence in the mid-Hellenistic period (c. 200 bce onwards) through to the early imperial era.14 The 11 On push and pull factors see Davies 2002. On interaction between Hellenistic states, great and small, see Ma 2003 and the contribution of Frank Daubner to the present volume. 12 Cf. Horden/Purcell 2000. 13 On the relative intensity of ancient Greek trade, see now Kron 2016. 14 Cf. Wilson 2011 and Strauss 2013 for the data, Parker 1992 for the initial presentation of material.

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data presented by the Oxford Roman Economy Project allows us to bore down into some details and the following charts draw on this material to provide further observations (see figures 1–2).15 Although the absolute numbers are small, a closer look at the data that relates to the Aegean, mainland Greece and western Asia Minor regions echoes the more general conclusions that Wilson has pointed out.

Shipwrecks  by  Year:  Origins  in  the   Aegean/Mainland  Greece  (n=145)   18   16  

14   12   10   8   6  

Data series 1  

2   0  

600-­‐550  AD   550-­‐500  AD   500-­‐450  AD   450-­‐400  AD   400-­‐350  AD   350-­‐300  AD   300-­‐250  AD   250-­‐200  AD   200-­‐150  AD   150-­‐100  AD   100-­‐50  AD   50-­‐0  AD   0-­‐50  BC   50-­‐100  BC   100-­‐150  BC   150-­‐200  BC   200-­‐250  BC   250-­‐300  BC   300-­‐350  BC   350-­‐400  BC  

4  

Figure 1: Dated shipwrecks whose origins are in Greece and the Aegean (data drawn from Strauss 2013).

Vessels whose cargoes have a provenance in the Aegean basin are increasing through the Hellenistic period. Although a more detailed study is desirable, one may well equate such a shift with the intensification in movement of commodities. The shift in the evidence is quite significant from the early fourth century through to the mid-Hellenistic. The degree of change from the early Hellenistic to the later Hellenistic indicates a doubling in intensification.

15 I thank Jacob Weber, a Brown undergraduate in Archaeology and Economy, for drawing the Figures 1 and 2.

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Aegean  (from  Istanbul  to  Rhodes)  (n  =   97*)  

Data series 1   600-­‐550  AD   550-­‐500  AD   500-­‐450  AD   450-­‐400  AD   400-­‐350  AD   350-­‐300  AD   300-­‐250  AD   250-­‐200  AD   200-­‐150  AD   150-­‐100  AD   100-­‐50  AD   50-­‐0  AD   0-­‐50  BC   50-­‐100  BC   100-­‐150  BC   150-­‐200  BC   200-­‐250  BC   250-­‐300  BC   300-­‐350  BC   350-­‐400  BC   400-­‐450  BC   450-­‐500  BC  

14   12   10   8   6   4   2   0  

Figure 2: Dated shipwrecks found in Greece and the Aegean (data drawn from Strauss 2013).

A slightly differently shaped graph (Figure 2) is produced when looking at wrecks in the Aegean basin as opposed to those with an Aegean provenance. The increase through the Hellenistic is visible but the increase remains steady. The evidence of ships of an Aegean origin in the previous graph suggest, if the chronological evidence is taken at face value, that one might equate the demise of the Macedonian Kingdom at the hands of Roman military power and the resulting relative peace of the second half of the second century bce as a time of greater commercial activity. The level of trade with its origins in the Aegean area is however grows far less from the mid-Hellenistic to the early Imperial period and this suggests that the commercial interactions from the Aegean from sometime after 200 bce were operating at a very high level, if not quite the peak level, of intensity. The graphs all demonstrate a common theme: intensification, and therefore perhaps growth, in commerce and therefore perhaps in the wider economies of the regions where Greek poleis are most densely distributed. It is perhaps an oversimplification to equate war and peace with times of economic depression and economic prosperity (although ancient sources can be found that make that equation). Xenophon’s Poroi asserts that peace offers greater opportunity for prosperity: If, on the other hand, any one supposes that financially war is more profitable to the state than peace, I really do not know how the truth of this can be tested better than by considering once more what has been the experience of our state in the past. [5.12] He will find that in old days a very great amount of money was paid into the treasury in time of peace, and that the whole of it was spent in time of war; he will conclude on consideration that in

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The multiple and often prolonged warfare that affected the poleis of the Aegean basin looks from this reading to have dampened economic development. Certainly profits could be made from war, but military action was expensive and could exhaust resources as Xenophon stresses. But war could bring profit for some states, not least the Hellenistic kings whose power was typically built on military power.16 It is widely believed that royal coin production was closely related to military operations and that minting was required to meet military payments often driven by the need to pay mercenaries.17 The production of coinage gives some indication of the different scales of operation that can distinguish the Hellenistic kings and Rome from the polis. In the Hellenistic era, federal states became major producers of coinage although not necessarily for the whole of the period. In terms of bronze coins, poleis had a much more significant output in the Hellenistic period. But the focus here is on silver coinage. We can look more closely at some examples presented in Figure 3, based on de Callataÿ’s estimates of annual die use for a variety of powers, both kings and poleis, in the period from c. 400 bce to the end of the Hellenistic period. What is remarkable is the large discrepancy between the Alexander issues and pretty much every other authority. The injection of coinage into the money supply in the third quarter of the fourth century bce was enormous and perhaps unparalleled in the history of Greek coinage in antiquity. What is also striking is that Greek poleis typically produced extremely small numbers of coins. The coinage of Athens and Rhodes are exceptionally large and compare to significant Hellenistic powers when one looks at the output of Athenian New Style coinage or even the smaller output of Rhodian coinage. The commercial power of both of these communities was surely a factor in the importance of their coinage.

16 Cf. Austin 1986; Chaniotis 2005: 57–77; Gehrke 2013. 17 E. g. de Callatay 2013: 188.

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OBVERSE  DIES  

35   30   25   20   15   10  

0  

164/3   162/1   160/59   158/7   156/5   154/3   152/1   150/49   148/7   146/5   144/3   142/1   140/39   138/7   136/5   134/3   132/1   130/29   128/7   126/5   124/3   122/1   120/19   118/17   116/15   114/13   112/11   110/09   108/07   106/05   104/03   102/01   100/99   98/87   96/95   94/93   92/91   90/89   88/87   86/85   84/83   82/81   80/79   78/77   76/75   74/73   71/70   69/68   67/66   65/64   63/62   61/60   59/58   57/56   55/54  

5  

DATE  

Figure 3: Number of dies on average per annum calculated for selected polities (based on De Callataÿ 2005; 2013)

The penetration of (silver) coinage into Greek poleis is varies considerable in the Hellenistic period. In general, the production of autonomous silver issues much more restrained than in the centuries before Alexander the Great. It is clear that the Hellenistic kings introduced considerable change. In de Callataÿ’s recent study of the neighbouring regions of Pontus and Bithynia, the production of silver and bronze coinages demonstrates distinctive ruptures. The number of poleis that issued bronze coins in the Pontus region is transformed in the period after 120 bce under Mithridates  VI Eupator: significant civic silver issues (but no bronze) in this region are known at Sinope and Amisos before 120 bce and a limited number of Royal silver issues. But after 120 bce although no silver and bronze civic issues are known, a considerable flourish of royal silver and bronze issues (the latter ostensibly in the name of the cities) appear as a result of a Hellenistic king, Mithridates VI.18 The impact of Mithridates is considerable and radically changes the nature of coin production and especially bronze production in Pontus. In neighbouring Bithynia, many more poleis were issuing civic coinages before 120 bce but none minted either silver or coin issues after 120 when an intensive production of royal silver coinage took off.19 Like the Hellenistic kings, Rome too had an impact on coinage among the Greek poleis. For some time, the general view has been that Rome interfered very little with 18 De Callataÿ 2011a. 19 Summary: De Callataÿ 2011b: 472.

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Greek coin production. Roman denarii are rarely found in circulation among Greek poleis until the second half of the first century bce.20 Both Crawford and Kinns demonstrated the very slight impact of denarii on the coinage of Greece and Asia Minor.21 But de Callataÿ asks how Roman soldiers were paid if not in denarii and looks for evidence of Roman influence on local Greek coinage as an indication that Rome, through its military presence, not only affected coin production but may also have directed in some pragmatic ways local coin production. De Callataÿ’s proposals require further thought and it is not clear to me yet that historians have considered the impact of his proposals that challenge the view that civic coinage was autonomous and was something in which external powers did not typically intervene. One example of such an intervention by Rome relates to Athenian New Style coinage. De Callataÿ points to the four years’ production of Athenian stephanephoroi (126/5– 123/2 bce) that are found largely in the Northern Aegean. He proposes that the coinage was required by the Romans to pay for soldiers in their service in the region.22 De Callataÿ concludes that this is an example of a direct interference by Rome in the Athenian mint and its production: there was “a Roman presence in the Athenian mint.”23 My impression is that de Callataÿ sees the coin output of cities less as a purely economic operation of the cities and more as part of wider politico-economic manipulations of the Hellenistic powers and that Rome, in particular, interfered more directly in local coinage production than has been generally considered. Change brought about by the kings and Rome in the Hellenistic period had a massive impact on the poleis. The two examples, the Pontus/Bithynia region and late second century bce Athens, indicate the value of the numismatic data and illustrate the potential influence of the larger political powers, Hellenistic kings and Rome, on the poleis. Whether we conclude that poleis were subject to interference by these authorities or not, what we see clearly is a break from the patterns of earlier periods. In a similar vein, the archaeological evidence of the shipwreck data presents another strand of information that shows an increased movement of commodities by sea in the Hellenistic era. I have used the archaeological evidence for shipwrecks and coinage to indicate a broad spectrum of changes to underline that the polis economies cannot be understood in isolation and only in terms of their institutions. It is useful at this higher level of abstraction to use vocabulary and concepts that allow us to see poleis operating within a wider network of relationships. Within this nexus these poleis were often competing with each other to establish and consolidate relationships 20 21 22 23

Cf. Giovaninni 1978. Cf. Crawford 1985 and Kinns 1987. De Callataÿ 2011b: 70. De Callataÿ 2011b: 77.

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that would benefit themselves. So we turn now to consider these poleis more closely and in terms of theirs relation not only with the Hellenistic powers but also with other poleis.

2. Poleis as economic nodes How did the polis respond to changing circumstances? One of the drawbacks of the higher, satellite-level histories is that the great powers are seen as all-powerful. Such studies deploy the polis-as-pawn scenario and while I stress the interference and impact wider considerations in the previous section, what we consider here is an examination of agency of the polis. A polis-centric approach allows a more nuanced understanding. There is a danger however that an exclusively institutional approach to the Greek polis risks removing the contingent factors of the powers beyond the poleis. Whilst there is no question of the utility of examining the institutional efficiency of the polis, reflecting on the agency of the polis without ignoring the enormous capacity of the Hellenistic kings and Rome to impact on the economies of the poleis, offers a way of balancing institutions and interactions. The interactions between poleis and Hellenistic kings and/or Rome, when viewed from the level of the polis, present different perspectives: multiple and simultaneous requests, presentations, demands, complaints, entreaties were made by poleis to the Hellenistic powers. Diplomatic manoeuvring proliferated in a dynamic way between competing poleis and the kings and Rome. Statements that Rome effected an increase in coin output at Athens by interfering in their numismatic production do little to help us understand the diplomatic, political, and institutional realities that we must consider if such an operation had in fact played out in the last third of the second century bce. An example from literary sources offers a useful illustration. Polybius highlights the interactions between competing poleis and Hellenistic powers and Rome. This literary evidence of constant interchanges between Hellenistic poleis and the greater powers is echoed in the epigraphical record. At the close of the Third Macedonian War (171 to 168 bce), Polybius presents a scenario in which it is Athens who demands from Rome the Aegean islands of Delos and Lemnos: The first object of the Athenian embassy was the restoration of Haliartus; but when they met with a refusal on that point, they changed the subject of their appeal and put forward their own claim to the possession of Delos, Lemnos, and the territory of Haliartus … [7] However, the Senate granted them Delos and Lemnos. Such was the decision in the Athenian business (Pol. 30.20.1–2,7; translated by E. S. Shuckburgh).

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For Polybius this outcome is not a spontaneous Roman decision but a response to one of the many requests that we have to envisage as part of the diplomatic to-and-fro that characterizes so well the actions of the poleis in Hellenistic history.24 The presentation here is one that sees the polis seeking out a development for its own benefit. Rather than seeing the grant of Delos to Athens as a grandiloquent gesture on the part of Rome, Polybius offers us a view of the pro-active polis energetically pursuing its own interests in its representations to the Hellenistic powers. Perhaps this says something about Polybius’ own construction of politics but it is nevertheless one that was not inconceivable. The decisions made about Delos in particular were ill-received by Rhodes who made their own subsequent representations to Rome because they claimed that their revenues are affected by the change of Delos’ tax-free status.25 Astymedes’ representation was not the first made by Rhodes: The Senate next called in the Rhodians and heard what they had to say. When Astymedes entered, he adopted a more moderate and more effective line of argument than on his former embassy (Pol. 30.31.1; translated by E. S. Shuckburgh).

Precisely how much historical fact is in the precise points made here in the speeches recorded by Polybius is not really the point. For Polybius, the representation of the poleis making representations at Rome is a pervasive feature of the Histories as it is too in the inscribed discourse of the poleis in their interactions with Hellenistic kings and Rome alike. Astymedes’ intervention in Rome was not his first. Astymedes’ speech to the Senate at Rome reaffirmed the island’s negotiations with Hellenistic powers in recent times. This perspective sees a world in which the competing nodes, the poleis, are part of a wider game of inter-polity relations: poleis are not mere pawns, they have agency, and can envisage that presentations to the Hellenistic power is worthwhile. The recovery of Delos is widely believed to coincide with the establishment of the Athenian New Style Coinage, the stephanephoric issue that became the widely accepted coinage in Greece in the latter half of the second century bce. Now that many scholars follow the lower dating, the pattern of coin output based on Margaret Thompson’s 1961 identification of the obverse dies can be used to narrate one aspect of the Athenian economy in the mid-/late-Hellenistic period.26 24 See e. g. Ma 1999 on the interactions between the poleis of western Asia Minor and Antiochus III. 25 Pol. 30.31.1–18. 26 For the data, see Thompson 1961: 532–538. Analysis: Kroll 1993: 13–16, with Bresson 2006 and 2016a: 425–427; see also van Alfen 2012: 98–100.

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Al ex an AVE.  NUMBER  OF  OBV.  DIES   Al der ex  th a e Ly nde  Gr sim r   ea t t   h ac hu e  Gr e s a Ph  (2 97 t   De ilip -­‐2   I 8 m et I  (35 1)   Ci rius 6-­‐3 st op  Pol 28)   io h At oro rce te he i  ( s   18 ni a 0 Ni n  N -­‐13 co S  ( 0) M med 180   ith -­‐4 es 5 rid  I at II  an )   es d Rh  VI  E  IV   od up e a AM s  (3 tor   40 al -­‐ id 1 Ca s  (2 90 pp 63 )   ad -­‐1 Ph oci 85) an   as   el is   King ( s   2 Fir st 50-­‐  P 1 on 30 Qc )    K in gs  

120   100   80   60   40   20   0  

ISSUER  

Figure 4: The number of obverse dies of the Athenian New Style tetradrachm (164/3 to 55/4 bce)

The annual output of coins based on the number of the obverse dies varies over time: the evident increase from the 160s to the 140s coincides with the collapse of the Macedonian empire and perhaps also the demise of Corinth. The Thessalian federation and Athens are the few mainland Greek polities minting significant silver coinages in the second century bce. The decision made by the Delphic Amphictyony in the 120s to make the Athenian stephanephoric issue the preferred coinage will also have boosted output.27 Analysis of some of the New Style Athenian silver coinage by Thompson reveals a clear change in the relative shift in the impurities of the silver in the second and first centuries bce. The data suggest that at the outset and at the start of the first century bce the Athenians used less exclusively Laurion silver and were perhaps melting down other coins or bullion. But the Attic ores seems to have been the likely, perhaps exclusive, source of silver for last thirty years of the second century production of New Style silver tetradrachms.28 Certainly slave revolts reported in Athenaeus (quoting Posidonius) disrupted south eastern Attica for a considerable period at the start of the first century bce and this is surely a major explanation of the considerable change in copper levels at this time.29

27 CID IV 127 = Syll.3 729 (translated in Austin 2006, no. 252). 28 See Kroll 1993: “Analyses of 39 tetradrachms of the “Middle” Period 135/4–100/99 b. c.) give consistently the same minimal copper percentages that characterized Laurion silver of the sixth through fourth centuries b. c.” (15). 29 Athenaeus 4.272 E-F with Kroll 1993: 108 (n. 66) and Tracy 1979.

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161/0   157/6   154/3   151/0   149/8   146/5   144/3   140/39   139/8   138/7   135/4   133/2   132/1   127/6   126/5   125/4   124/3   122/1   120/19   119/18   118/17   117/16   116/15   115/14   114/13   113/12   112/11   111/10   106/05   105/04   101/100   99/98   98/87   92/91   89/88   88/87   87/86   81/80   76/75   75/74   70/69   61/60   60/59  

%  of  Cu  and  Au  

%  of  Copper  &  Gold  in  Athenian  New  Style  Silver    Coinage  (Data  adapted  from   Thompson  1961)  

Date  of  Tested  Coins  

Figure 5: a study of the purity of some Athenian New Style silver tetradrachms (after Thompson 1961)

The Athenian New Style coinage became the established issue in Greece and the Aegean in the later second century bce and most scholars suspect that external factors, not only Delphi, boosted its status. The success of the New Style coinage marks a high point in the economic history of the Athenian polis in the mid-Hellenistic period. Its economic capital seen through its coinage had reached new heights, a good supply of domestic silver provided the metal for the coinage, and the New Style issue was no doubt boosted too by the markets on Athenian Delos. But just how much of this success is the result of efficient institutions? Certainly the complex array of magistrates and symbols on the New Style coinage heralds a bureaucratic complexity whose significance and operation has now been lost. But the political and historical context should not obscure the influence of Rome and the demise of competing Hellenistic powers. Just how did Athens benefit from its grant of Delos? The Athenians were unable to impose sales taxes and customs duties. Bresson has argued that revenue was extracted by Athenians insisting on exchanging incoming coin for its own local coin on Delos.30 An agio (Greek epikatallage – a fee for converting coins) was one possible source of income for the polis. Precisely this kind of operation is what can be envis-

30 Cf. Bresson 2006.

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aged at another polis, Sestos.31 If we understand that this kind of scenario existed in Athenian controlled Delos from the middle third of the second century bce onwards, we have a good demonstration that the polis was in a position to promote its own economic welfare but on the back of decisions made by Rome (which of course the Athenians had presumably tried to influence). The conclusion is clear: as economic nodes, Greek poleis in the Hellenistic period exercised their agency to promote their own economic welfare. Whether this required diplomatic interventions with a Hellenistic king or Rome, Greek poleis were actively engaged in overseeing their own economic welfare. The Hellenistic kings and Rome were powerful and able to have considerable impact on polis economies, but poleis had the capacity to make choices: the agency of the polis is not a factor that can be dismissed but the political economy could, and did, constrain what a polis could or could not achieve.

3. People and economic networks In this final section we turn to the players or agents in the polis, the people, the human glue that held together these economic ties.32 In this long-run economic game our identification of poleis as nodes must not detract from appreciating the human elements that made the agency of the polis a reality. An honorific decree from the Athens in the 180s bce offers a useful illustration.33 Kephisodoros is a senior political figure who has enjoyed an unblemished career, free from corruption. Since Kephisodoros has applied continuous goodwill to the People at every moment and been in politics for thirty years without blemish and without bribery; and he has shirked no toil nor risk for the sake of common benefit, and in respect of all other services undertaken that the People have appointed him to, he has served as Treasurer of the Stratiotic Fund well and cherishing fame has also undertaken the role of Treasurer of the Sitonia fund as the third officer in the year of Apollodoros (204/3 bce) and in the year of Proxenides (203/2 bce); and he has established laws advantageous for the homonoia of all Athenians and advised on revenues of monies that were equal and fair.34

31 OGIS 339 ll. 43–47 = IK 19 (Sestos) no. 1; translation: Austin 2006 no. 257. See also Sosin 2002, who cites Theophr. Char. 30.15 and IG IV2 103 ll. 40–43. 32 For a good example of the kind of individual on whom a polis could depend so much, Protogenes of Olbia, see Müller 2011. 33 IG II/III3 1, 4 1292. 34 IG II/III3 1, 4 1292 lls. 7–17 (184/3 bce) = Ag. xvi 261 = Moretti, ISE I no. 33.

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Important indicators of Kephisodoros’ successful political life include his critical role asthe Treasurer of the Stratiotic Fund, the principal financial official at Athens throughout the Hellenistic period. The decree indicates that Kephisodoros’ term in this position was one of the highest moments of his career. Similarly the two terms of office as Treasurer of the Sitonic fund belong to the upheavals on the eve of the Second Macedonian War (200 to 197 bce) which saw Rome and her allies confront the Macedonian Kingdom (and its allies). If this is not already a significant indication of the central value of economic-related office holding, then the value judgements on Kephisodoros’ contribution to law-making that was of benefit “for the harmony of all Athenians” and also his advice on “revenues of monies that were equal and fair” underline the central role that individuals could be seen to play in shaping the economic welfare of the community. Kephisodoros illustrates the role played by individuals, here as officials of the polis, in the successful governance of the polis economy. Law was one of the civic institutions that could constrain individuals and indeed communities. Our next document presents laws as a tool of constraint. Bruno Helly’s important new edition of a fascinating inscription from Thessaly illustrates the nexus of inter-state relations in the Hellenistic period and dependence on individuals to drive the economic interactions between communities.35 The fragmentary inscription records the tax agreements that Athens has enjoyed with the Thessalian polis Larisa. The decree from the second half of the second century recalls two earlier agreements between the communities: the earliest Helly dates before 205 bce,36 and the later one belongs after 196 bce.37 The inscription is set up in light of the most recent decision passed around 140–130 bce.38 The decree preserves in some detail the text of the second document from after 196 bce presented here: Decree B (lines 22 ff.): “Since among those ambassadors that have been chosen by the Athenian people there are present here Laches and Ergochares and (25) they have given over the decree concerning the exportation of grain, in view of the fact that before the Athenians have granted numerous privileges to the koinon of the Thessalians and to the Larisaean people (28) and since on many occasions [– – –] the tax on the 20th (eikoste; 5 %) among the Greek cities [– –] and having accepted that the tax on the 100th (ekatoste; 1 %) has been granted by the (31) Larisaean people [– – two lines – –] and the exportation [– –]. (34) The Larisaean people decided to praise the | Athenian people for the good disposition that exists among them in relation to [– – (and for having chosen good ambassadors?) – –] | 35 36 37 38

Cf. Helly 2008, a revised version of IG IX 2, 506. Decree C; at line 54. Decree B; lines 15 ff. Decree A; lines 1 ff.

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The inscription reveals the familiar agency of the diplomats. The specific individuals whom the Athenians have sent, Laches and Ergochares, are singled out for praise. Their role compares well with the Rhodian envoy, Astymedes, who spoke at Rome in the 160s bce to appeal against the treatment of Delos. Such men could and did make a difference. Their education and ability to speak well can be explained by their elite education. Menippos, honored by Claros in Asia Minor, exemplifies the career politician whose upbringing has seen education in international centres of philosophical schooling.39 Individuals negotiate and confirm the connections between the poleis of Larisa and Athens. The tax agreements agreed between the communities will provide favourable terms for merchants to buy and sell commodities such as grain between the two communities. The reduction in tax is an encouragement to merchants to sell Thessalian grain in Athens as the transaction costs will be lowered by the inter-state agreement. The polis can effect adjustments to improve the political and economic relations. The Athenians send an embassy to Larisa in search of improved tax relations regarding the export of grain from Thessaly to Athens. The people of Larisa will help: they will reduce the tax imposed on such operations from 5 % to 1 % but their laws prevent them from granting complete immunity from taxation (ateleia).40 This is a wonderful detail: it gives us insight into how negotiations between communities integrated individuals into the dialogue. The lowering of tax is an efficient intervention by the polis in trade. But the people of Larisa are restricted by their own laws that prevent complete ateleia and so they reduce the export tax to the perhaps the lowest possible level (1 %). Here is a balanced example of the synergy between the encouragement extended to individual merchants by the lowering of tax and the institutions that serve to constrain the degree to which the polis can remove revenues from its operations.

39 The honorific inscription for Menippos at Claros: Robert 1989: 63–104; on which see Oliver 2006. On the formation of notables at Athens, see Perrin-Saminadayar 2007. 40 On ateleia, see e. g. Rubenstein 2009.

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The rule of law was important for the polis: Kephisodoros was complemented on his work on the revenues, that they be lawful/just and equal. The mechanisms used by Greek poleis may have been familiar (embassies, tax privileges etc.), but local factors make it difficult to assume that all Greek communities operated in the same way.41 The networks between Larisa and Athens had been established for some time as the inscription made clear from the two earlier agreements from the late third and early second centuries. But the pressures of food supply remained a factor in the opening decades of the second century: the favourable terms developed with Larisa were made possible by the individuals who facilitated critical interstate activity. The movements of individuals such as Laches and Ergochares can be hard to see but they were essential to the operation of the polis economies. Poleis were vulnerable to the movement of individuals both in and out of the community. Precisely how therefore the polis engaged its members through its governance was of central importance to the management of the economy. People provided contacts, networks, and diplomacy, that enabled the community to link itself into the world beyond the polis. The analysis of such networks has been brought to the ancient world and in some instances can be used as a framing concept that allows historians to view the function of people and their agency within the economies of the Hellenistic period.42 Movement in the Hellenistic period was complex, often pendular reflecting well-established relations such as those the poleis of Larisa and Athens sought to establish after 196 BCE in the grain trade.43 But spatially and temporally, movement varied. People could engage in long and short distance. As economic agents, all people had the capacity to move or stay put. Whilst economic rationalism may not have motivated all movement, it may well have been a factor for at least a small but significant proportion of people.44 Merchants were among the most mobile of economic agents and they would have been susceptible to attractive trading agreements which allowed lower taxes on the commodities they were transporting and so reduced transaction costs. The LarisaAthenian agreement was not operable without the individual traders who would engage in the buying and selling of grain between these two communities. The institutional operations of the polis depended on individuals. The people of the poleis played a crucial role in communicating to Rome and royal courts alike. Greeks were sent to Hellenistic kings and to Rome, as ambassadors, as sacred envoys, as educators, 41 On such indirect interventions in the economy, see Foraboschi 2000. 42 Cf. Malkin/Constantakopoulou/Panagopoulou 2011 and Mack 2015. 43 Moatti/Kaiser 2007. 44 Oliver 2011. E. g. the hyper-mobile “friends” of Hellenistic Kings, see Herman 1980–1981 and Savalli-Lestrade 1998.

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as intellectuals as well as artists.45 But people also moved as merchants and the polis was interested in making their desired operations attractive to such individuals, which is where adjustments of tax could play a role. Such was the integrated inter-dependent of the polis and the individual that economic decisions needed to embrace the interactions of the poleis, the efficacy of the institutions, and the capacity to embrace potentially mobile individuals who will have been interested in reducing their own transaction costs.

4. Conclusion I have tried in a series of three lines of enquiry to explore aspects of change and continuity using the evidence of shipwreck data and coinage in the Hellenistic era. I have tried to repackage familiar evidence concerning the polis in terms of the agency of the community but to balance that agency with the constraining influence of the Hellenistic powers. And finally, I have tried to demonstrate the central role of the people who negotiated, officiated, and bought, moved, and sold the commodities that were so important to the operation of polis economies. The agency of such individuals operated within the framework of the polis, its institutions, and the wider political economy beyond the polis. It is clear that the polis remains a useful tool for looking at economic governance and its persistence can inform us about developments over the longue durée. But we cannot look only to the institutions of the polis to explain polis economies. There are many contingent factors in play. The capacity of the polis to operate was constrained considerably by the actions and decision of the Hellenistic powers. Inevitably there were winners and losers in negotiations with Hellenistic kings and with Rome and few poleis enjoyed the positions that Rhodes and Athens held during some periods of the Hellenistic Age. Many communities, and especially the smaller ones, were members of a wider federal structure and/or were much more likely to be affected by the actions of other polities. It is limiting to assume that economic success at the polis level was the result largely of institutions and it is dangerous to overlook the contingent factors that had such an impact on the economies of the Hellenistic polis.

45 Cf. Archibald 2011.

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Bibliography Archibald, Z., 2011. Mobility and innovation in Hellenistic economies. Causes and consequences of human traffic, in: Archibald, Z. – Davies, J. K. – Gabrielsen, V. (eds.), The economies of Hellenistic societies, third to first centuries bc, Oxford, 42–65. Archibald, Z. – Davies, J. K. – Gabrielsen, V., (eds.), 2005. Making, moving and managing. The new world of ancient economies, 323–31 bc, Oxford. Archibald, Z. – Davies, J. K. – Gabrielsen, V. (eds.), 2011. The economies of Hellenistic societies, third to first centuries bc, Oxford. Archibald, Z. et al. (eds.), 2001. Hellenistic economies, London/New York. Austin. M. M., 1986. Hellenistic Kings, War, and the Economy, CQ 36, 450–466. Austin, M. M., 2006. The Hellenistic world from Alexander to the Roman conquest, 2Cambridge. Bresson, A., 1987. Aristote et le commerce, REA 89, 217–238. Bresson, A., 2000. La Cité Marchande, Bordeaux. Bresson, A., 2006. The Athenian mint in the second century BC and the Amphictionic decree, Annali dell’Istituto di numismatica 52, 45–85. Bresson, A., 2008. L’économie de la Grèce des cites (fin VIe–Ier si`cle a. C.). Vol. 2: Les espaces de l’échange, Paris. Bresson, A., 2016a. The Making of the Ancient Greek Economy. Institutions, markets, and growth in the city-states, Princeton. Bresson, A., 2016b. Aristotle and Foreign Trade, in: Harris, E. M. – Lewis, D. M. – Woolmer, M. (eds.), The Ancient Greek Economy. Markets, Households and city-states, Cambridge, 41–65. Chaniotis, A., 2005. War in the Hellenistic World. A Social and Cultural History, Oxford. Cohen, G. M., 1995. The Hellenistic settlements in Europe, the Islands, and Asia Minor, Berkeley/ Los Angeles. Cohen, G. M., 2006. The Hellenistic settlements in Syria, the Red Sea Basin, and North Africa, Berkeley/Los Angeles. Cohen, G. M., 2013. The Hellenistic settlements in the East from Armenia and Mesopotamia to Bactria and India, Berkeley/Los Angeles. Crawford, M. H., 1985. Coinage and Money under the Roman Republic, Berkeley/Los Angeles. Davies, J. K., 2002. The interpenetration of Hellenistic sovereignties, in: Ogden, D. (ed.), The Hellenistic world. New perspectives, London, 1–21. De Callataÿ, F., 2005. Coinage and Money Supply in the Hellenistic Age, in: Archibald, Z.  – Davies, J. K. – Gabrielsen, V. (eds.), Making, moving and managing. The new world of ancient economies, 323–31 bc, Oxford, 44–72. De Callataÿ, F., 2011a. Productions et circulations monétaires dans le Pont, la Paphlagonie et la Bithynie. Deux horizons différents (Ve-Ier s. av. J.-C.), in: Faucher, T. – Marcellesi, M.-C. – Picard, O. (eds.), Nomisma. La circulation monétaire dans le monde grec antique, actes du colloque international, Athènes, 14–17 avril 2010, Athens, 455–482. De Callataÿ, F., 2011b. More than it would seem. The use of coinage by the Romans in late Hellenistic Asia Minor (133–63 bc), AJN 23, 55–86. De Callataÿ, F., 2013. Royal Hellenistic Coinages. From Alexander to Mithridates, in: Metcalf, W. E. (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Greek and Roman Coinage, Oxford, 175–190. Finley, M. I., 1985. The Ancient Economy, 2Berkeley/Los Angeles.

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Graham Oliver Foraboschi, D., 2000. The Hellenistic economy. Indirect intervention by the state, in: Lo Cascio, E. – Rathbone, D. W. (eds.), Production and public powers in classical antiquity, Cambridge, 37–43. Gehrke, H.-J., 2013. The Victorious King: Reflections on the Hellenistic Monarchy, in: Luraghi, N. (ed.), The Splendors and Miseries of Ruling Alone, Stuttgart, 73–98. Giovannini, A., 1978. Rome et la circulation monétaire en Grèce au IIe siècle avant Jésus-Christ, Basel. Hansen, M. H., 2013. Greek City-States, in: Bang, P. F. – Scheidel, W. (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of the State in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean, Oxford, 259–278. Hansen, M. H. – Nielsen, T. H. (eds.), 2004. An inventory of archaic and classical poleis, Oxford. Harris, E. M. – Lewis, D. M. – Woolmer, M. (eds.), 2016. The Ancient Greek Economy. Markets, Households and city-states, Cambridge. Helly, B., 2008. Encore le blé thessalien. Trois décrets de Larisa (IG IX 2, 506) accordant aux Athéniens licence d’exportation et reduction des droits de douane sur leurs achats de blé, Studi Ellenistici 20, 25–108. Herman, G., 1980–81. The ‘Friends’ of the early Hellenistic rulers. Servants or officials?, Talanta 12–13, 103–149. Horden, P. – Purcell, N., 2000. The Corrupting Sea. A Study of Mediterranean History, Malden/ Oxford. Kinns, P., 1987. Asia Minor, in: Burnett, A. M. – Crawford, M. H. (eds.), The Coinage of the Roman World in the Late Republic. Proceedings of a colloquium held at the British Museum in September 1985, Oxford, 105–119. Kroll, J. H., 1993. The Athenian Agora. Vol. 26: The Greek Coins, Princeton. Kron, G., 2016. Classical Greek Trade in Comparative Perspective, in: Harris, E. M.  – Lewis, D. M. – Woolmer, M. (eds.), The Ancient Greek Economy. Markets, Households and citystates, Cambridge, 356–380. Ma, J., 1999. Antiochos III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor, Oxford. Ma, J., 2003. Peer polity interaction in the Hellenistic Age, Past & Present 180, 9–39. Mack, W., 2015. Proxeny and Polis. Institutional Networks in the Ancient Greek World, Oxford. Mackil, E., 2013. Creating a Common Polity, Berkeley/Los Angeles. Malkin, I. – Constantakopoulou, C. – Panagopoulou, K. (eds.), 2011. Greek and Roman Networks in the Mediterranean, London/New York. Metcalf, W. E. (ed.), 2012. The Oxford Handbook of Greek and Roman Coinage, Oxford. Migeotte, L., 1984. L’emprunt public dans les cités grecques. Receuil des documents et analyse critique, Paris/Quebec. Migeotte, L., 1992. Les souscriptions publiques dans les cités grecques, Geneva. Migeotte, L., 2014. Les finances des cités grecques aux périodes classique et hellénistique, Paris. Moatti, C. – Kaiser, W. (eds.), 2007. Gens de passage en Méditerranée de l’Antiquité à l’époque moderne. Procédures de contrôle et d’identification, Paris. Müller, C., 2011. Autopsy of a crisis. Wealth, Protogenes, and the city of Olbia in c. 200 bc, in: Archibald, Z. –Davies, J. K. – Gabrielsen, V. (eds.), The economies of Hellenistic societies, third to first centuries bc, Oxford, 324–344. Ober, J., 2015. The Rise and Fall of Classical Greece, Princeton. Oliver, G. J., 2006. History and Rhetoric, in: Bugh, G. (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Hellenistic World, Cambridge, 113–135.

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Economic Horizons beyond the Hellenistic Polis Oliver, G. J., 2011. Mobility, society, and economy in the Hellenistic period, in: Archibald, Z. – Davies, J. K. –Gabrielsen, V. (eds.), The economies of Hellenistic societies, third to first centuries bc, Oxford, 345–367. Parker, A., 1992. Ancient shipwrecks of the Mediterranean & the Roman provinces, Oxford. Perrin-Saminadayar, É., 2007. Éducation, culture et société à Athènes. Les acteurs de la vie culturelle athénienne (229–88). Un tout petit monde, Paris. Reger, G., 2003. The Economy, in: Erskine, A. (ed.), A companion to the Hellenistic world, Oxford, 331–353. Reger, G., 2007. Hellenistic Greece and Western Asia Minor, in: Scheidel, W.  – Morris, I.  – Saller, R. (eds.), The Cambridge Economic History of the Greco-Roman World, Cambridge, 460–483. Robert, J. – Robert, L. (eds.), 1989. Claros I. Décrets hellénistiques, fascicule, Vol. 1, Paris. Robinson, D. – Wilson, A. I., (eds.), 2011. Maritime Archaeology and Ancient Trade in the Mediterranean, Oxford. Rostovtzeff, M. I., 1953. Social & Economic History of the Hellenistic world, Oxford. Rubinstein, L., 2009, Ateleia grants and their enforcement in the Classical and early Hellenistic periods, in: Mitchell, L. – Rubinstein, L. (eds.), Greek History and Epigraphy. Essays in honour of P. J. Rhodes, Swansea, 115–143. Savalli-Lestrade, I., 1998. Les philoi royaux dans l’Asie hellénistique, Genua. Scheidel, W.  – Morris, I.  – Saller, R. (eds.), 2007. The Cambridge Economic History of the Greco-Roman World, Cambridge. Sosin, J. D., 2002. Boeotian Silver, Theban Agio and Bronze Drachmas, NumChron 162, 333–339. Strauss, J., 2013.  Shipwrecks Database. Version 1.0, URL: oxrep.classics.ox.ac.uk/databases/ shipwrecks_ database/. Thompson, M., 1961. New Style Coinage of Athens, New York. Tracy, S. V., 1979. Athens in 100 b. c., HSCPh 83, 213–235. Van Alfen, P., 2012. The Coinage of the Athens, Sixth to First Centuries b. c., in: Metcalf, W. E. (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Greek and Roman Coinage, Oxford, 88–104. Wilson, A. I., 2011. Developments in Mediterranean Shipping and Maritime Trade from the Hellenistic Period to ad 1000, in: Robinson, D. – Wilson, A. I., (eds.), Maritime Archaeology and Ancient Trade in the Mediterranean, Oxford, 33–59.

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8 THE POLIS AFTER SUNSET: WHAT IS HELLENISTIC IN HELLENISTIC NIGHTS? Angelos Chaniotis*

1. Introduction: The historicity of the night The mother of all night stories set in a Classical Greek polis is the narrative given by Euphiletos, the defendant in Lysias’ speech On the Murder of Eratosthenes. Explaining the circumstances under which he had killed his wife’s lover, Euphiletos describes night-time activities in a non-elite Athenian household in the early fourth century bce.1 I have a modest, two-storey house, which has equal space for the women’s and men’s quarters on the upper and lower floors. When our child was born its mother nursed it, and, so that she would not risk a fall on her way downstairs whenever the baby needed bathing, I took to living on the upper level while the women lived downstairs. From that time, then, it became such a regular arrangement that my wife would often go downstairs to sleep with the child to nurse it and to stop it crying. This was the way we lived for quite a while, and I never had any cause for concern, but carried on in the foolish belief that my wife was the most proper woman in the city. Time passed, gentlemen, and I came home unexpectedly from the farm. After dinner, the child started to cry and become restless. It was being deliberately provoked by our slave girl into behaving like this, because that individual was in the house; I found out all about this later. So, I told my wife to go away and nurse the * All dates are bce, unless explicitly stated otherwise. The abbreviations of epigraphic publications are those of the Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum. I would like to thank Ross Brendle for correcting my English. 1 Lysias 1.9–14 and 22–26 (transl. Caroline Faulkner).

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Angelos Chaniotis child to stop it crying. To begin with, she did not want to go, claiming that she was glad to see me home after so long. When I got annoyed and ordered her to leave she said: “Yes, so you can have a go at the young slave here. You made a grab at her before when you were drunk.” I laughed, and she got up, closed the door as she left, pretending it was a joke, and drew the bolt across. Thinking there was nothing serious in this, and not suspecting a thing, I happily settled down to sleep as I had come back from my farm work. About dawn my wife returned and opened the door. When I asked why the doors had made a noise in the night, she claimed that the lamp near the baby had gone out, and so she had gone to get a light from the neighbors. I said nothing, as I believed this was the truth. I noticed though, gentlemen, that her face was made up, although her brother had died not thirty days earlier. Still, I said nothing at all about it, and I left without a word …

Then, the defendant explains how he received information concerning his wife’s extramarital adventures, and prepared a plan to catch the seducer (22–26): Sostratos is my friend, and is well disposed towards me. I met him at sunset as he was coming home from his farm. Realizing that none of his family would be at home at that time to welcome him on his return, I invited him to have dinner with me. We came to my house, went upstairs and had dinner. After he had had a good meal, he left, and I went to bed. Eratosthenes came in, gentlemen, and the girl woke me immediately and informed me that he was inside. I told her to mind the door, and went downstairs, leaving without making a sound. I went around to different neighbors, and found that some were not at home and others were out of town. Gathering the largest group I could find of those who were at home, I made my way back to the house. We took torches from the nearest inn, and entered – the door was open because the girl had seen to it. We pushed open the door of the bedroom, and those of us who were the first to enter saw him still lying next to my wife; the ones coming in later saw him standing naked on the bed. I struck him, gentlemen, and knocked him down. Then I twisted him round and tied his hands behind his back. I asked him why he was disgracing my house by entering it. He confessed that he was in the wrong, and he begged and entreated me not to kill him, but to agree to a financial settlement. I said to him: “Your executioner is not I, but the law of the city, whose violation you thought less important than your pleasures. It was your choice to commit an offence like this against my wife and my children, rather than to obey the laws and behave properly.”

I have chosen this passage as an introduction to this study, firstly because of the information it provides about aspects of Athenian nights, some more familiar than others: dining, getting drunk, having sex, inviting a friend, spending time in an inn, and having the segmented sleep that seems to have been quite common in European culture before the invention of the uninterrupted 8-hour sleep at the time of the Industrial 182

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Revolution,2 a sleep often interrupted by various activities – going to the neighbors to get light, feeding a child, opening the door to receive a lover, going to the neighbors to seek help, going to an inn to get torches, arresting and killing an adulterer. Secondly, I chose this passage because it also clearly indicates the historical dimensions of the night. As an astronomical phenomenon the night is universally defined as the period between sunset and sunrise, between twilight and dawn. But beyond this clear and simple definition, everything that fills the night with life, differs depending on age, gender, social position, occupation, and historical context.3 Already in the brief narrative in Lysias we observe that the night is experienced in a different manner by the infant and the grown-ups, the man and the woman, the master and the slave, the farmer who returns from the fields exhausted and those who still have the energy to go to an inn, the inhabitant of an urban center and the population of the countryside. Such parameters that differentiate the way the night is experienced differ both synchronically, from one culture to another, and diachronically, from one historical period to another. The reality of the night was not the same in a Cretan city, in which common meals in the men’s houses continued to take place until the Roman conquest, and in cosmopolitan Rhodes or Delos; in the harbor town of the small island of Anaphe, fearing the attacks of pirates, and in Chalkis, under the control of a Macedonian garrison.4 The impact of parameters such as those mentioned before make the night into a subject of historical enquiry and justify the question raised by the title of this study: What is Hellenistic in the nights of the Hellenistic poleis? How did the changes that occurred around the time of Alexander and continued in the following centuries affect nightlife? For the longest part of human history the night has been a period in which human activities were impeded by darkness and the inadequacies of artificial light. This does not mean, however, that the night was a time of inertia and rest; on the contrary, many daytime activities had their nocturnal counterpart – hunting, fighting, socializing, performing religious rituals, dancing, creating literature, and so on. When individual daytime activities are systematically contrasted to their nocturnal counterpart, we observe that the night-time version of a daytime activity sometimes has its own peculiarities and is subject to a different perception and evaluation. In some cases 2 Cf. Ekirch 2005: 300–323. 3 Cf. Schivelbusch 1988, Delattre 2000, Ekirch 2005, Bronfen 2008, Cabantous 2009, Koslofsky 2012, Wishnitzer 2014, and Chaniotis 2018b. 4 On Syssitia in Hellenistic Crete see Chaniotis 1996: 4, 18, 20–21, 94, 103, 123, 133, 170, 172, 175, 187, 261, 313, 374, 414. Pirate attack in Amorgos: IG XII.7.386; Bielman 1994: no. 38. Macedonian garrison in Chalkis: Hatzopoulos 2001: 29–32.

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such contrasts have been observed and studied, in others they have not. For instance, the conscious contrast between sacrifice during the day and by night is a well-known phenomenon, as is the difference between a prayer made during a sacrifice and the nocturnal magical prayer.5 Let us take for instance a very common activity: writing on the walls. When texts were chiseled on stone during the day, this was an activity sanctioned by authority, dictating norms, insinuating communality, and done by professionals. Writing on the walls in the night is a different matter: it is individual, not communal; it is divisive, subversive, and offensive.6 Or let us take the case of debates. In democratic theory and in part in democratic practice debate primarily took place in locations accessible to all the citizens: the assembly, the courts, the agora, or the gymnasion. What these places have in common is that they were only accessible from sunrise to sunset. But debates, and important debates at that, took place on a daily basis during the joint evening dining of councilors; and one of the most important political factors, the conspiracy of like-minded, politically engaged men, is a child of the night. Political companionship was forged through convivial drinking in the night, and its products were political ambitions, plans, conspiracies, and sometimes acts of violence.7 Debate during the day was at least in theory open to all; debate in the night  – not only political but also philosophical debate – was a matter of small groups; it often was exclusive and undemocratic, secretive, and potentially subversive. Similarly, there are differences between day- and night-time fighting, competing, drinking, sleeping, dreaming, writing, having processions, eating and so on. But apart from such contrasts, which can best be observed in synchronic contexts, the night has a historical dimension also in a diachronic perspective, and this brings me to the Hellenistic period, its poleis, and its nights. A contextualized study of the night allows us to recognize a development and a transformation not of the perception of the night but of its reality in urban centers.

5 The difference between sacrifices at daytime (for the heavenly gods) and during the night is explained, for instance, in an oracle of Sibylla quoted by Zosimos 2.6. Nocturnal sacrifice and prayer: cf. e. g. Petrovic 2007: 10–40 (magic sacrifice and prayer); Petropoulou 2008: 35 f. (chthonic sacrifice); Parisinou 2000: 145–147 (lamp-lit sacrifices). 6 Chaniotis 2018c. 7 See e. g. the incident of the hermokopidai in Athens: Thuc. 6.27.1; Bearzot 2013: 12–15. On hetaireia see Bearzot 2013: 53–62, 145–149.

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2. The markedness of the night: stereotypes and emotional enhancement Although life in many historical periods reached extremely high levels of sophistication – through urbanization, technological advancement, and increased social complexity, among other factors – the principal activities, experiences, and perceptions of the night have demonstrated surprising persistence. The night offers time for rest, thus it is a common metaphor for death.8 Although sexual intercourse can take place any time, erotic desire is usually linked with the time between dusk and dawn. For instance, the idea of spending the night in love-making is expressed by a graffito in Hellenistic Nymphaion: “Theodora to Pithon, greetings; you shall treat me well, you shall keep me awake all night”.9 The night never ceased to require defense measures;10 the prevailing emotions connected with it are, therefore, fear and anxiety; the expression ‘nocturnal fear’ is proverbial.11 The night was the most effectual time for the private communication between mortals and the gods, the living and the dead.12 Perennially, the night provides the setting for conviviality and entertainment – joint consumption of food, storytelling, singing, and dancing – usually in small groups: the family, the members of associations, and conspirators. On special occasions the night gathers masses of the like-minded and communities of worshippers in all-night celebrations and vigils. For this reason, the night plays a great part in the creation of a sense of togetherness – initiation rites in ancient mystery cults and contemporary secret societies alike usually take place in the night. Part of the unchanged perception of the night is the polarity between day and night, which has made the ‘night’ into a culturally marked term, a term which is bearer of special significance, giving emphasis to a statement and enhancing emotional display. In 220 the young men in the Cretan city of Dreros swore eternal enmity towards the Lyttians:13 Truly, I will never be benevolent towards the Lyttians, in no way and through no pretension, neither by day nor by night; and I will try, to the best of my capacity, to harm the city of the Lyttians. 8 Cf. e. g. Merkelbach/Stauber 1998: no. 05/01/64 (third century ce); Lattimore 1942: 164–165. 9 SEG 58, 894 (third century): [Θ]εοδώρα | Πίτθωνι χαί|ρειν· καλῶς | ποήσεις με, ἀγρυπνίσεις με. 10 Chaniotis 2017. 11 Orphic Hymn to the Night 3.14 ed. Quandt: φόβους νυχαυγεῖς; Psalm 90: οὐ φοβηθήσῃ ἀπὸ φόβου νυκτερινοῦ. 12 On epiphanic dreams, see Harris 2009: 23–90; Renberg 2010 and 2017; for their equivalent in early modern Greece (dreaming of saints), see Stewart 2012. 13 I.Cret. I.ix.1; cf. Chaniotis 1996: 195–201 no. 7.

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By formulating the text in this manner, the author of the oath prevented a sophistic interpretation of the oath – hating the Lyttians by day, and doing nothing by night. But the opposition of night and day had more than a practical significance: it also underlined the weight of the obligation. This is why we often find the expression ‘by day and by night’ in ritual performative texts such as oaths and curses.14 The words νύκτωρ, νυκτί, and their synonyms function as enhancers of a statement and as acoustic signals for emotional arousal. But precisely because the night is associated with dangers, sex, and the supernatural, nocturnal events that correspond to these stereotypes are over-represented in our sources: attacks, murders, earthquakes, crimes, and erotic adventures.15 We can see how authors exploit the emotive impact and the dramatic effect of a nocturnal setting in an honorific decree for a statesman in late Hellenistic Olbia. Although the text is heavily restored, the reference to the night is not:16 For this reason the enemies feared the unbreakable strength of his virtue and did not have the courage to openly attack him, but instead they ambushed him by night and murdered him. In response to this, the people seeing this sudden calamity – that the city had lost a virtuous citizen – were deeply grieved because of his goodness and repulsed because of the cruel manner of his death.

We will never find out who and how many the enemies were or whether the murder was avenged. But the author made sure to mention that the murder took place during the night, and we do not have to speculate why. The reference to the night is part of the author’s effort to demonstrate the enemies’ cowardice: the enemies were full of fear (δείσα[ντες), they lacked courage (οὐκ [ἐθ]άρρησαν), they ambushed (ἐνεδρεύσα ντες), they killed him using cunningness (δόλος), and treachery (ἐδο[λοφ]όνη[σαν), and they did all that covered by the darkness of the night. In cases such as this an explicit reference to the night amplifies the emotional impact of a narrative. This observation can be confirmed with innumerable examples in Hellenistic literary texts, inscriptions, and papyri. Narratives about captured cities, assaults against cities or sanctuaries, pirate attacks, and street battles acquire a more dramatic note when it is 14 Chaniotis 2018b. 15 On this methodological problem in the study of the night in antiquity see Chaniotis 2018b. 16 IOSPE I2 17: διὸ καὶ οἱ πολέμιοι, τὸ ἀνυπόστατον αὐτοῦ τῆς ἀρετῆς δείσα[ντες, ἐκ μὲν τοῦ φανεροῦ] οὐκ [ἐθ]άρρησαν ἐπιβαλεῖν, ἐνεδρεύσαντες δὲ αὐτὸν νύκτρ ἐδο[λοφ]όνη[σαν· ὥστε ἐπὶ τούτοις ὁ δῆμο]ς, αἰφνίδιον σμφορὰν θεασάμενος, τῆς πόλεως ἀποβεβλημένη[ς ἀ]γαθὸν [πολείτην, χαλεπῶς μὲ]ν ἤνενκεν τὸ πένθος αὐτοῦ διὰ τὴν χρηστότητα, ἐπαχθῶς δὲ διὰ τὴ[ν τοῦ θανάτου ὠμότητα]. More examples in Chaniotis 2017.

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added that the event occurred during the night.17 In the case of honorific decrees, reference to a nocturnal attack, one of the most fearful experiences for the inhabitant of any Greek city, stresses the magnitude of the danger, in order to also amplify the heroism of the soldiers and justify the honors.18 References to the night are further used to highlight the extraordinary character of an achievement. The Magnesian arbitrators in a territorial dispute between Itanos and Hierapytna in the late second century did more than was expected of them, allowing the advocates for their orations ‘not only the daytime, but also most part of the night’.19 Another reason for explicit references to the night is the occurrence of something extra-ordinary. We do not often find references to people sleeping in the night, but when their sleep leads them to the eternal sleep, this is something that the author of an epitaph will mention.20 Similarly, we find references to the fact that sleep was interrupted by a significant dream,21 anxiety and grief,22 or erotic desire. A nice poem by Meleagros (first century) expresses this idea. It is a prayer to a mosquito to go to Zenophila, the object of his desire, wake her up and bring her to him:23 Fly for me, mosquito, swift messenger, and touching the rim of Zenophila’s ear whisper thus into it: ‘While he lies awake expecting you, you sleep, forgetting those who love you.’ Yes, go! Fly, you lover of music. But speak quietly to her, lest you awake her companion in bed and arouse painful jealousy of me. But if you bring me the girl, I will crown your head, mosquito, with the lion’s skin and give you a club to carry in your hand.

3. ‘Entnachtung’: Historicizing Hellenistic nights Because the night is a marked word, we will not get very far in understanding Hellenistic nights simply by collecting references to the night in literary sources, inscriptions, and papyri. An author’s decision to explicitly mention the night as the background of an event or to create a night-time setting for a fictional narrative is intrinsically con17 Cf. Chaniotis 2017. 18 IG II2 1209 (Athens, late fourth century); IG XII.8.150 (Samothrace, c. 287–281); IG XII.7 386; Bielman 1994: no. 38 (Aigiale, third century bce). 19 I.Cret. III.iv.9 (112 bce). 20 IG X.2.1.719 (Thessalonike, second century CE); SEG 59, 286 (Athens, third century ce). 21 Cf. e. g. Harris 2009: 90 f.; cf. Harrison 2013 and Renberg 2010. 22 See e. g. BGU III 846 (Arsinoite nome, second century ce): γινώσκειν σε θέλω ἀφ᾽ ὡς ἐξῆλθες ἀπ᾽ ἐμοῦ πένθος ἡγούμην νυκτὸς κλαίων ἡμέρας δὲ πενθῶν (“I want you to know that ever since you left me I have been in mourning, weeping at night and lamenting during the day”). 23 AP 5.155; cf. the discussion in Gutzweiler 2010.

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nected with widespread perceptions of the night and with the function of the night as an intensifier of empathy. The image that we will construct based on such sources will be distorted. Some phenomena – sex and violence – will be over-represented. For a historical study of the night one needs to go beyond these textual references, and also beyond the study of Greek myths related with the night. The study of myths might be fruitful for certain concepts but of limited use for a broader study of the night. Myths, as traditional stories, are usually slower to reflect change; sometimes they are narrated as fossils of past perceptions in a changed world, as intentional archaisms and expressions of nostalgia. We therefore need a different approach. We need to ask what the most important new developments were in the Hellenistic period and what impact they had on the night. Roughly from the time of Alexander we observe important transformation processes in Greek culture, society, and institutions: the influence of monarchy, larger mobility of persons including that of women, stronger urbanization, changes in the position of women, and the diffusion of voluntary associations (see below). While the illusions and some forms of democracy, equality, and freedom were maintained, cities were strongly dependent on benefactors; political power – election in offices, initiative in the assembly – became de facto the exclusive, almost hereditary, privilege of a wealthy elite.24 Mystery cults were more strongly diffused than ever before (see below), and at the same time the progress of technology and science, accompanied by the advancement of technical literature, reached an unprecedented peak.25 For most of the Hellenistic period urban centers and rural communities in Greece, Asia Minor, along the coast of the Black Sea, and in the Near East were also confronted with increased violence due to wars. To the traditional wars between Greek cities and federal states, civil wars, barbarian attacks in the periphery of the Greek world, piracy, and brigandage; the Hellenistic period added the wars between cities and kings, the wars of the Roman expansion in Greece and Asia Minor, the bella civilia of the Late Republic.26 Did the developments that I just sketched have an impact on the night as it was lived and experienced in Hellenistic poleis? As I shall argue, from approximately the mid-fourth century bce onwards we may observe an increased effort to invade the territory of the night in order to make the night brighter, safer, more efficient, and 24 Hellenistic aristocratization: Quaß 1993; Hamon 2007; Mann/Scholz 2012. See also the contribution by Christel Müller to the present volume. Euergetism: Gauthier 1985; Quaß 1993; Domingo Gygax 2016. 25 On the emergence and development of technical literature see Meißner 1999. 26 On Hellenistic wars see Chaniotis 2005; Boulay 2014. On civil wars see Gray 2015; cf. also the contribution by Henning Börm to the present volume.

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more filled with life; this effort can be observed both in the technical literature and in the documentary sources. This process only started in the Hellenistic period; it continued and was intensified after Actium, and it culminated in Late Antiquity. From the first to the fifth century ce we also find sources that reveal an awareness of this process among the intellectuals.27 In German, we might call this process ‘Entnachtung’ – the equivalent of the English term ‘denocturnalization’ which was coined to describe a student’s return to normal sleeping hours after a prolonged period of nocturnal work.28 I am not claiming that any of the phenomena that I will be discussing appeared for the first time in the fourth century or during the Hellenistic period. We do, however, observe, first, the culmination of pre-existing trends and, second, an unprecedented diffusion of institutions and phenomena that were only sporadically attested in the Archaic and Classical period. Although it is not possible to have quantitative studies for most aspects of ancient history – the available data do not allow this – this does not mean that we cannot observe trends or that we cannot determine whether certain phenomena are more common in one place than in another or that they occur more often in one period than in another. The Hellenistic polis invites us to see the roots of a process that ultimately filled the urban centers of the later Imperial period in the Roman East with life and light.

4. Securing the night War, arguably the single most important factor that affected the lives of the Hellenistic populations, is the best place to start. War had an impact on the outlook of cities, both because of destructions and defense measures; it affected the supply of goods; it was connected with their economy, political life, and institutions; it determined their relations with kings; and it caused the increased influence of wealthy benefactors.29 Different forms of war – attacks by enemy armies, sieges, pirate raids, and civil wars – were more common in the world of the Greek poleis in the period between Alexander and Cleopatra than in any preceding period. Because of the advantages offered by darkness for sudden attacks, we should not be surprised if references to nocturnal military operations are common in the Hellenistic literary and epigraphic sources.30 27 For the Imperial period see Chaniotis 2018a and Wilson 2018. For Late Antiquity see Dossey 2018 and Carlà-Uhink 2018. 28 For this definition see http://www.geocities.ws/jordy99999/dictionary.html. 29 Cf. Chaniotis 2005. 30 For examples see Chaniotis 2017.

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Needless to say that both attacks during the night and defense measures in response to nocturnal threats (sentinels and patrols) are attested as early as Homer. The Greeks did not have to wait until the Hellenistic period in order to become aware of the nightly challenges to the safety of cities and private houses and to respond to them. That no nocturnal attack is mentioned in an inscription of the Classical period whereas such references are not uncommon after Alexander31 should not be attributed alone to the fact that such attacks were more frequent because of the frequency of wars. It should rather be attributed to the interest of the authors of Hellenistic decrees in dramatic narratives and emotional arousal.32 If nocturnal attacks, the awareness of dangers, and responses to threats were not phenomena peculiar to the Hellenistic period, how did Hellenistic wars and other forms of violence affect the night? The source material suggests that a significant change can be seen in the systematic approach to defense measures – nocturnal guarding, policing, and patrolling – which is directly connected with an important development in Greek science and literature: the emergence of technical handbooks,33 first in medicine (in the fifth century), then in other fields. Military handbooks appear around the mid-fourth century, at a time in which war had become a sophisticated discipline, with new siege techniques and specialized troops; for this reason these manuals often deal with matters pertaining to siege.34 They are continually attested in the Hellenistic period. As far as we can judge from the surviving texts, such handbooks primarily presented pre-existing knowledge in a systematic matter. In his manual on sieges, Philon of Byzantion (third or second century) recommends numerous nocturnal activities to both the assailants and to the besieged: the digging of trenches (A 36), the efforts of the besiegers to listen to the recognition signals of the nightguards (C 35), attacks (C 42, D 73, and D 99), and night-watches (D 94: τῆς νυκτὸς ἐκκοιτίαι).35 The earliest author of a military manual, Aeneas the Tactician (mid-fourth century), explicitly addressed the efficient protection of cities during the night and, unsurprisingly, recommended the organization of night watches (νυκτοφυλακεῖσθαι).36 His recommendation was certainly not innovative, but for many cities it was nevertheless necessary. Neither regular night watches nor the keeping of watchdogs could be taken 31 Cf. e. g. IG II2 1209 (Athens, 319 bce); IG XII.8.150 (Samothrace, c. 287–281); Bielman 1994: no. 38 (Aigiale, third century); IG V.2.412 (Thelphousa, c. 300); IG IX2.1.2.313 (Thyrreion, late second century). 32 On these trends in Hellenistic decrees see Chaniotis 2013a and 2013b. 33 Cf. note 25. 34 Chaniotis 2005, 97–99; Chaniotis 2013c. On the emergence of military handbooks see Burlinga 2008. 35 References are to the edition of Garlan 1974: 291–327. 36 Aeneas Tacticus 22.3. Nightguards are mentioned e. g. in Xenophon, Anabasis 7.2 and 7.3.

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for granted – and some cities lacked the funds for such measures. As late as 100 bce, Tomis did not have a regular force that was specifically dedicated to night watch. It was only during a period of increased threats that Tomis created a special guard of forty men, who were assigned the task of patrolling the city, guarding the gates day and night, and spending the night near the gates (παρακοιτήσοντας τὰς νύκτας).37 Mesambria had day and night patrols (φύλακες ἁμερινοί, φύλακες νυκτερινοί, περίοδοι) in the late second and first centuries, but we do not know how early this institution was introduced.38 Another suggestion given by Aeneas concerns the use of watchdogs in forts and fortifications;39 again, this hardly is a revolutionary innovation. But the explicit praise for commanders who did keep watchdogs presupposes the existence of the neglectful officers who did not.40 Apart from the advice given by the authors of manuals, impulses for measures for the efficient guarding of cities during the night may have come from the administration of kingdoms and from measures taken in royal capitals. Ptolemaic Alexandria had the office of the nyktostrategos (‘general of the night’),41 and this may have served as the model for the analogous office of the ‘general of the night’ (νυκτοστρατηγός, διὰ νυκτὸς στρατηγός, νυκτερινὸς στρατηγός) that is attested in Asia Minor, especially in coastal cities that had been under Ptolemaic control for part of the third century.42 Although nocturnal safety was not a new phenomenon, the evidence suggests the unprecedented determination of civic authorities to address it systematically. But the creation of night guards is only part of a broader picture that includes provisions for the severe punishment of crimes committed during the night and the creation of the office of the gynaikonomoi. The severe punishment of nocturnal acts of injustice is attested already for Classical Athens. According to a law attributed to Solon, theft committed during the day resulted in the death penalty only if the stolen goods had a value of more than fifty drachmas. But if a thief stole anything, however small, by night, the victim had the right to kill or wound him himself.43 According to the Alexandrian laws, “when someone commits an injury to the person while drunk, or by night, or in a sanctuary, or

37 Syll.3 731 = I.Tomis 2 LL. 14–16; Brélaz 2005: 83. 38 IGBulg I2 324; V 5103; Brélaz 2005: 83. 39 Aeneas Tacticus 22.14. 40 SEG 24, 154 ll. 14–15; SEG 26, 1306 ll. 19–20; SEG 41, 76; cf. Plut. Aratos 7.5 and 24; Cf. Chaniotis 2005: 35, 121, 140. 41 Strabo 17.1.12; Hennig 2002: 288–289 with note 34; Brélaz 2005: 80. 42 For the evidence see Brélaz 2005: 79–84; Boulay 2015: 51. 43 Dem. 24.113; cf. a law proposed by Pl., Leg. 874 bc. For early Rome see XII Tab. 2. For early modern Europe see Ekirch 2005, 86–87.

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in the market, he shall pay twice the amount of the prescribed penalty”.44 Similar measures are attested in Hellenistic Stymphalos (c. 300 bce): “When someone steals something from a house or commits theft during the night, let him be killed without punishment.”45 The diffusion of the office of the gynaikonomoi, who supervised the conduct of women in cities and protected them, especially during nocturnal festivals, is truly a Hellenistic innovation, directly connected with two significant developments: the increased visibility of women in public space46 and the frequency of nocturnal religious celebrations (see below). The office of the gynaikonomos is already attested in the first half of the fourth century in Thasos and Samos,47 but it was only during the Hellenistic period that it spread throughout the Greek world. Its introduction in Athens in the late fourth century can be attributed to Lykourgos or, more likely, Demetrios of Phaleron.48 In the Hellenistic period it is also attested in Lesbos, Asia Minor, the Peloponnese, Crete, and Alexandria.49 When the duties of the gynaikonomoi are explicitly mentioned, they usually concern the supervision of women during religious celebrations and funerals.50 An inscription from Methymna directly associates the service of the gynaikonomos with nocturnal rites (παννυχίς), and the same applies to the korybantic rites in Erythrai and the Thesmophoria in Gambreion.51 The authorities were not only concerned about the conduct of women during nocturnal celebrations, they were also concerned

44 P.Halensis 1 LL. 193–195 (259 bce): ὅταν τις τῶν εἰς τὸ σῶ[μ]α ἀδικημάτ[ων] μεθύων ἢ νύκτωρ ἢ ἐν ἱερῶι ἢ ἐν ἀγορᾶι ἀδικήσηι, διπλασί[αν] τὴν ζημίαν ἀποτεισάτω τῆς γεγραμμένης. 45 IPArk 17: εἰκ ἐξ οἰ̣[κίας] κλέπτοι ἢ ἰσφωρέοι νύκτωρ̣, [ἀ]π̣ ο̣ θ̣ ανέτω ἄτιμος. 46 Cf. e. g. van Bremen 1996; Stavrianopoulou 2006; Günther 2014. 47 Thasos: SEG 57, 820 (c. 360). Samos: IG XII.6.461 (c. 400–350). 48 O’Sullivan 2009: 66–72 and 312–318, and Banfi 2010; cf. Piolot 2009. 49 Velissaropoulos-Karakostas 2011: I 213–222. Thespiai: I.Thespiai 84 l. 47 (late third century). Sparta: IG V.1.209; SEG 11, 626; SEG 44, 358 (first century bce – second century ce); Messene (Andania): IG V.1.1390 (24 ce or 92/91 bce); Methymna: IG XII.2.499 = LSCG 127 (late fourth century?); Gortyn: I.Cret. IV 252 (late first century); Erythrai: IG XII.6.1197 (second century); Magnesia on the Maeander: I.Magnesia 98 l. 20 (second century); Gambreion: LSAM 16 (late third century); Notion: SEG 4, 469 (Hellenistic?); Ilion: I.Ilion 63 l. 13 (c. 100). Alexandria: Velissaropoulos-Karakostas 2011: I 221–222 (P.Hibeh II 196, c. 280–250). Attestations in Miletos in the Imperial period: I.Didyma 84, 415, 462; Milet VI.3.1151. 50 IG V.1.1390 (Andania); IG XII.2.499 = LSCG 127 (Methymna); IG XII.6.1197 (Erythrai); I.Magnesia 98; I.Ilion 3; LSAM 16 (Gambreion); cf. Piolot 2009; O’Sullivan 2009: 67–70 and 312–318; Velissaropoulos-Karakostas 2011: I 216–221; Gawlinski 2012: 133. 51 Methymna: IG XII.2.499 = LSAM 127. Erythrai: IG XII.6.1197. Gambreion: LSAM 16 LL. 17–23.

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about their safety. The rape of a girl during a nocturnal religious festival is a topos in New Comedy.52 Finally, we have information about measures aiming to provide safety in sanctuaries. Such measures are directly connected with night-time religious activities, which became more frequent in the course of the Hellenistic period (see below). The fact that worshippers camped in tents in sanctuaries during festivals, bringing valuables with them, was a source of conflicts and crime. The sacred regulation of Andania devotes a short section to the erection of tents and the items that were not allowed in them.53 Threats for public order also came from people who spent the night in sanctuaries seeking accommodation or refuge. A regulation concerning shops in the Heraion of Samos (c. 245 bce) envisages suppliants, runaway slaves, and unemployed mercenaries (στρατιώτης, ἄπεργος, ἱκέτης, καθίζοντες οἰκέται) as people who might seek accommodation there for shorter or longer period.54 And a cult regulation from Xanthos forbids the accommodation of visitors in the porticos of a sanctuary, with the exception of those who had come to offer a sacrifice.55 This evidence suggests an increased awareness of issues of safety and public order in the Hellenistic cities.

5. Conviviality in the dark: voluntary associations Voluntary associations (κοινά, ἔρανοι, θίασοι) are a good example of how Hellenistic socio-cultural trends had an impact on the night. In Athens, they are already attested in the Solonian legislation in the early sixth century, but, to judge from the epigraphic evidence, they became common only from the fourth century onwards;56 the associations of non-citizens especially experienced a ‘dramatic expansion’ in the third century.57 In other cities, we have to wait until the Hellenistic period to find significant evidence for private voluntary associations – religious, professional, ethnic, convivial and other  – as a common and significant feature of urban centers.58 They were 52 Bathrelou 2012. 53 IG V.1.1390 LL. 34–39; Gawlinski 2012: 143–149. 54 IG XII.6.169 LL. 9–10 and 21. 55 SEG 38, 1478 (third/second century): μηδ᾽ ἐν ταῖς στοιαῖς καταλύειν μηθένα ἀλλ᾽ ἢ τοὺς θύοντας (‘no one should find accommodation in the halls, except for those who offer sacrifices’). 56 Solon: Ustinova 2005: 183–185; Ismard 2010: 44–57. Classical and Hellenistic Athens: Parker 1995: 334–342; Ismard 2010: 146–404. Hellenistic Athens: Arnaoutoglou 2003 and 2011a. 57 Parker 1995: 338. 58 Poland 1909, still remains an indispensable reading. See also esp. Kloppenborg/Wilson 1996; Arnaoutoglou 2003; Harland 2003; Gabrielsen 2007; Kloppenborg/Ascough 2011; Maillot 2013; Harland 2014; Gabrielsen/Thomsen 2015. For Egypt see San Nicolò 1972.

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common especially in cities with significant numbers of foreign residents, such as Delos, Rhodes, and Kos,59 later also Thessalonike, Smyrna, Sardeis and other cities.60 Voluntary associations are not an innovation of the Hellenistic period but they are far more common in Hellenistic cities than they had ever been before. Many factors contributed to this: the mobility of people, economic specialization and professionalization, the desire of immigrants to experience forms of community and identity,61 the diffusion of cults that were based on initiation and exclusivity. So, the question is legitimate. Did this social and legal phenomenon have an impact on the night? Regular convivial drinking was the most common feature of any association.62 Usually, this convivial drinking took place only once a month, on a particular day of the month, from which the association derived its name. For instance the noumeniastai gathered on the first day of the month, the tetradistai on the fourth, the hebdomaistai on the seventh, the dekatistai on the tenth and so on.63 In some cases, the intervals were shorter, and some people belonged to more than one association. Conviviality regularly – not always – took place after sunset; for instance, the supervisor of a cult association of worshippers of Agathe Thea in Athens (third century) provided torches for the (presumably nocturnal) gatherings.64 An Athenian club of worshippers of Herakles in the second century ce had officials called pannychistai (“those who conduct service during the all-night celebration”).65 Unlike the nocturnal drinking parties of the Archaic and Classical period, that were primarily elite entertainment – except for extra-ordinary celebrations, e. g. weddings – admittance to most associations and their convivial life was open to broader social groups. Foreigner res-

59 Athens: Arnaoutoglou 2003 and 2011a. Kos: Maillot 2013. Delos: Baslez 2013. 60 Cf. e. g. Roman Thessalonike: Nigdelis 2010. Smyrna and Sardeis: Harland 2009: 145–160. Lydia: Arnaoutoglou 2011b. 61 Cf. Gabrielsen 2007; Harland 2009: 63–122. 62 Cf. e. g. Poland 1909: 263–264; Parker 1996: 335–336; Harland 2003: 57–61, 74–83; Gabrielsen 2007: 184; Harland 2014: 53–54, 271. Cf. e. g. I.Délos 1520 LL. 32–34 (κλισία and πρωτοκλισία, Delos, 153/2); P.Lond. VII 2193 (Philadelphia, Egypt, first century). Common officials of associations include people responsible for the distribution of wine and food and the organization of the feast: ἑστιάτορες, δειπνοφόροι, θαλίαρχοι, συμποσιάρχαι, οἰνοποσιάρχαι, οἰνοχόοι, οἰνοφύλακες, κρατηρίαρχοι, etc.; see Poland 1909: 392–393. 63 Poland 1909: 253; Parker 1996: 335–337. Noumeniastai: e. g. IG XII.9.1151 (Chalkis, third century); neomeniastai existed in Olbia already in the sixth century: IGDOP 96. Hebdomaistai: SEG 32, 244 (Athens, late fourth century). Enatistai kai dekatistai (in connection with the cult of the Egyptian gods): IG XII.4.551 (Kos, second/first century). 64 SEG 56, 206 ll. 8–9: (δᾶιδα ἔστησεν τῆι θεῶι ἐν πάσαις ταῖς συνόδοις. 65 SEG 31, 122 ll. 25–26 ἐὰν μὴ ὑπομένῃ ἢ μὴ θέλῃ παννυχιστὴς εἶναι λαχών (121/122 CE). See also SEG 36, 198.

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idents and craftsmen formed voluntary associations, e. g. in Kos and Rhodes.66 And there is evidence also for women and slaves belonging to associations, although not in large numbers; this phenomenon became more common in the Imperial period.67 The diffusion of this regular nocturnal conviviality, which increased in the Imperial period, coincided with the rise of communal dining in the royal courts and public banquets in the cities. At least in the early Hellenistic period, the royal courts shared an important feature with voluntary associations: the basis for the relationship between the king and his male companions (hetairoi and philoi) was, at least in theory, companionship and friendship.68 The nocturnal dining in the court continued the tradition of communal dining and drinking of military units and aristocratic symposia; in its more sophisticated form, the royal banquet included discussions, the composition and performance of poetry, and other cultural activities.69 Public feasts (δημοθοινία) offered wealthy benefactors an important stage of self-representation and an arena to compete with their peers.70 Whether nocturnal dining and celebrations in the courts and the splendid feasts offered by benefactors exercised any influence on the drinking parties of associations cannot be determined on the basis of the available Hellenistic sources. The great mobility of persons who may have been guests in royal courts (military officers and envoys of cities) must have made the transfer of information and practices possible. But we may assume that the sympotic rituals of the aristocratic symposium were adopted by private associations. Cups inscribed with toasts to friendship (φιλίας) and various gods (e. g. Agathos Daimon and Zeus Soter)71 were used for libations during drinking parties. We also have direct evidence for drinking rituals. Phylarchos reports that the Athenian settlers in Lemnos expressed their gratitude to Seleukos I, who had ‘liberated’ them from Lysimachos (281 bce), by toasting him in their symposia: “At their feasts, the cup which they use for libations they call ‘the cup of Seleukos the Savior’”.72 With the diffusion of private associations a typi66 Rhodes: Pugliese Carratelli 1939/40; Maillot 2009. Kos: Maillot 2013. 67 Poland 1909: 289–298, 303–329; Arnaoutoglou 2011a. 68 On Hellenistic courts and the philoi see Mooren 1977; Le Bohec 1985; Savalli-Lestrade 1996, Savalli-Lestrade 1998, and Savalli-Lestrade 2001; Strootman 2010 and Strootman 2014. 69 On Hellenistic royal banquets see Capdetrey 2013 and Strootman 2014: 188–198. 70 On Hellenistic public banquets see Schmitt Pantel 1992: 255–358 and Schmitt Pantel 1997. 71 Philia: IG IX2.1.1903 (Halai, Hellenistic); SEG 56, 546 (Thebes, Hellenistic); Agathos Daimon: SEG 58, 550 (Akanthos, c. 350); Eros: SEG 56, 545 (Thebes, Hellenistic); Hekate: SEG 61, 597 (Aktašski Mogilnik, undated); SEG 56, 545–547, SEG 58, 550; Zeus Soter: SEG 56, 547 (Thebes, Hellenistic), 59, 647 (Amphipolis, undated), 831 (Gospital’, c. 300), 851 (49) (Pantikapaion, fourth century); Zeus Philios: SEG 45, 780 (Pella, c. 330), SEG 55, 705 (Pella, Hellenistic). On toasts see also Schneider 1969: II 65; Alonso Déniz 2011: 235–240. 72 Phylarchos, FGrHist 81 F 29: καὶ τὸν ἐπιχεόμενον κύαθον ἐν ταῖς συνουσίαις Σελεύκου σωτῆρος καλοῦσι.

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cal nocturnal activity associated with the aristocracy and the propertied classes was opened for specific days to larger groups of the population.

6. Nocturnal piety A phenomenon directly associated with the rise of private associations, more specifically of cult associations, is the diffusion of cults with a soteriological or initiatory aspect: Dionysiac associations, associations of worshippers of the Egyptian gods, and later associations of worshippers of the so-called Oriental deities. Nocturnal ceremonies played an important part in all these exclusive religious groups, thus increasing the number of nocturnal religious activities, especially in cosmopolitan urban centers. Again, I have to be clear: nocturnal celebrations are not an innovation of the Hellenistic period. They have existed since the Bronze Age, and presumably earlier. In the urban setting, with which I am concerned here, there have always been festivals, both public and private, and other celebrations (e. g. weddings) that took place during the night. Catherine Trümpy has observed that most Attic festivals were celebrated between the 11th and 20th day of the month. On the basis of this observation she has suggested that the most important festivals, i. e. the festivals after which the months were named, took place around the middle of the month, i. e., on (or close to) full moon. Consequently, they must have included nocturnal rituals.73 Athens, whose festive calendar is best known, had a significant number of public festivals that either included in their program an all-night celebration – a pannychis – or had other nocturnal rituals. Pannychides, typically with active female participation, are attested for the Panathenaia, the Mysteries in Eleusis, the Stenia, the Haloa, the Pyanopsia, the Tauropolia, the Bendideia, the Epidauria, the Asklepieia, the Heroa, the Brauronia, the Nemesia in Rhamnous, and the sacrifice to Hebe in Aixone; privately organized rites took place in the night at the Adonia and the Sabazia; and the Dionysiac festival of the Anthesteria included nocturnal rites and drinking parties.74 The evidence is less abundant outside of Athens, although pannychides and choral dances of girls during the night are occasionally attested.75 Also the worship of certain deities, which were closely associated with the moon and the night – such as Artemis 73 Cf. Trümpy 1998. 74 Parker 2005: 166 with references; on the Anthesteria see Parker 2005: 290–326; for the individual festivals see also Deubner 1932. 75 Bravo 1997; D’Alessio 2000 (Boiotia); Ferrari 2008 (Sparta); Schlesier 2018 (Lesbos). A cult regulation in Ephesos in the third century CE mentions traditional pannychides: I.Ephesos 10 ll. 13–15.

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Phosphoros, Hekate, Ennodia, and Nyx, the personification of the night – was connected with nocturnal rites.76 So, what changes did the Hellenistic period bring? First, because of the increased popularity of mystery cults, the relevant sanctuaries attracted increased number of initiates; also private associations of mystai became more common. Nocturnal rites are a shared feature of cults of an initiatory character; e. g., the Eleusinian mysteries are labeled ‘the nocturnal rites of Persephone’ in an epigram from Didyma, and night-time rites are directly or indirectly attested for most mystery cults.77 Sanctuaries that performed initiatory rites, such as those of Demeter and Kore in Eleusis, the Great Gods in Samothrace, and Despoina in Lykosoura, had a long tradition in Greek religion,78 but until the end of the Classical period only the sanctuary of Eleusis had a truly panhellenic aura. In the Hellenistic period, Eleusis saw competition from the sanctuary of the Great Gods in Samothrace. The sanctuary of the Great Gods had been an important religious center for northern Greece and the northern Aegean, but it did not rise to panhellenic prominence until the third century, as the large number of lists of initiates demonstrates.79 The cult and the mysteries of the Samothracian Gods were also ‘exported’ to Tomis80 and probably Odessos, Histria, and Kallatis, where the Samothrakia counted among the most important sanctuaries.81 Associations of Samothrakiastai existed in Rhodes, the Rhodian Peraia, and Teos.82 76 Artemis: see e. g. Athenaios 645 a-b. Hekate: Zografou 2010. Ennodia: Chrysostomou 1998. On the rare dedications to Nyx see Rousset 2006: 421–423. On lamp-lit sacrifices see Parisinou 2000: 145–147. 77 I.Didyma 216 l. 20: ἐν νυχίοις Φερ[σεφό]νης τελ̣ ετα̣ [ῖ|ς] (70 bce); cf. I.Eleusis 515: ὄργια πάννυχα (Eleusis, c. 170 ce). Nocturnal rites in the Eleusinian mysteries: I.Eleusis 175 (third century bce); 250 l. 44 (c. 100 bce); 515–516 (c. 170 ce); cf. the office of the pyrphoros (e. g. I.Eleusis 489). Light in the Eleusinian mysteries: Parisinou 2000: 67–71. Nocturnal rites in the Samothracian mysteries: Cole 1984: 36–37; cf. Nonnus, Dionysiaca 4.183–185: οὐκέτι λεύσσω μητρῴης Ἑκάτης νυχίην θιασώδεα πεύκην; 13.402: μυστιπόλων δαΐδων θιασώδεές εἰσιν ἐρίπναι. On light in nocturnal Dionysiac celebrations see Parisinou 2000: 71–72 and 118–123. 78 Eleusis: Clinton 2007; Cosmopoulos 2015. Lykosoura: Jost 1985: 331–337. Samothrace: Cole 1984. 79 Dimitrova 2008. 80 I.Tomis 1 (second century). 81 IGBulg I2 42 (third/second century); I.Histria 11 and 58 (third and second century); I.Kallatis 4 (third century). 82 Rhodes: MDAI 25 (1900) 109 no. 108. Syme: IG XII.3.6 (first century). Aulai (Rhodian Peraia): Bresson, Recueil 57 (first century). Teos: Pottier and Hauvette-Besnault 1880: 164–167 no. 21 (second century). Local mystery cults in Asia Minor, which become visible in the epigraphic record in the late Hellenistic and Imperial period, may be older. Cf. e. g. Lagina: I.Stratonikeia 527, 658, 672, 674–676, 705 (second century ce). Mylasa: I.Mylasa 305 (second century ce), 604 (second century ce). Panamara: I.Stratonikeia 14, 23, 30, 115, 147, 203, 205, 248, 259, 286,

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Secondly, cult associations that celebrated rites labeled as mysteria spread in the course of the Hellenistic period, although they reached their greatest distribution in the Imperial period.83 There are also good reasons to assume that the so-called Dionysiac-Orphic mysteries attracted a much larger number of initiates in the Hellenistic period than before. Inscribed gold tablets were placed in the graves of the initiates as tokens of their initiation. Although this practice was not an innovation of the Hellenistic period – the earliest tablet (from Hipponion in Italy) is dated to c. 400–all tablets from mainland Greece and Crete date to the period between c. 350 and 50.84 For this reason, there can be no doubt that the popularity of initiation in private mystery cults increased in the Hellenistic period. It follows that because of the diffusion of private associations that performed initiatory rites and other celebrations during the night, nocturnal religious activities beyond the public celebrations were far more frequent than ever before. Thirdly, nocturnal celebrations acquired greater glamour under the influence of festivals organized by the Hellenistic kings and with the support of benefactors. The first celebration of the Ptolemaia of Alexandria (275/4?) was so impressive that half a millennium later, Athenaios was able to quote a long description of the procession preserved in the work of Kallixeinos of Rhodes. The procession started already before dawn and ended after sunset, with monumental, valuable torches providing artificial light.85 Such a celebration became a trend-setter, and more impulses came from Egyptian rites86 and the rituals of mystery cults. The Delian accounts regularly mention expenses for torches and lamps in connection with festivals.87 Even when 310–312 and 346 (first–third century ce). Sardeis: Sardis VII.1.21 (second century bce). Kyme: SEG 32, 1243 (first century bce). 83 A few examples: Mantineia: IG V.2.265 (first century). Samos: IG XII.6.132 (second century). Tomis: I.Tomis 120 (first century). Kallatis: I.Kallatis 47 (second century). Teos: Pottier and Hauvette-Besnault 1880: 164–167 no. 21 (second century). Halikarnassos: GIBM 909 (second century). Sardeis (mysteries of Apollo): SEG 32, 1236 (first century). 84 The text from Hipponion: Graf and Johnston 2007: 4–5 no. 1. The texts from Greece and Crete: Graf and Johnston 2007: 20–46 nos. 10–38 (c. 350–50 bce); Tzifopoulos 2010: 64–66; a new text in SEG 62, 644. Cf. the identification of people as mystai in Hellenistic grave inscriptions: IG XII.1.141 (Rhodes, second century); IG IX2.1.313 (Thyrrheion, late second century). 85 On the procession see Rice 1983 (Kallixeinos, FGrHist 627 F 2; Athenaios 5.197c–203b). The beginning and end: Athenaios 5.197d–203a. Torches (λαμπάδες, δᾷδες) are only mentioned in connection with the procession’s early and late part, i. e., before and after sunset: Athenaios 5.197e, 202b. 86 Light in the cult is Isis: Podvin 2011. On καύσεις λύχνων in Egypt see e. g. SB I 1161(first century). 87 See e. g. I.Délos 316 ll. 76–78 (231 bce): for the Apollonia, ἔλαιον καὶ ἐλλύχνι̣α τοῖς φανοῖς … τῶι χορῶι δᾶιδες, for the Ptolemaia λανπάδες … ἔλαιον, ἐλλύχνια τοῖς φανοῖς etc. (ll. 79–88).

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we do not have explicit references to the time of a celebration, references to torches (δᾷδες, λαμπάδες), lamps (λύχνοι, λυχνίαι), and torch-bearers (πυρφόροι) are reliable indicators of night-time rites.88 It is not certain that torch races, a common competition in the Hellenistic gymnasia, took place before sunrise or after sunset, but the equestrian torch races in Larisa (ἀφιππολαμπάς) cannot have been an event that took place in sunlight.89 This evidence shows the interest of religious agents (priests and organizers of festivals) in the acquisition of cult paraphernalia for nocturnal ceremonies and the impressive staging and performance of rituals.90 An honorific inscription from Athens (138 bce) is a good example. The text describes the services of Leonides, son of Nikokrates, priest of Asklepios. He organized pannychides during three festivals (Asklepieia, Epidauria, and Heroia), and in doing this he certainly followed the tradition.91 But he did more than what was expected, obviously using private means: Wishing to increase the honors paid to the gods and the salvation of the city, he offered in a beautiful and glorious manner the sacrifice of a bull, adorned the offering table, and conducted a pannychis with participation of a chorus of girls. He appointed his son Dios to the offices of the key-bearer and the torch-bearer for all the religious services that take place every day, generously served as choregos for those who offered sacrifices to the god.

An Athenian decree concerning the worship in Eleusis (late second or early first century) stipulates that the initiates “should jointly come to Eleusis together with Iakchos, in accordance with the arrangements made by the basileus and the epimeletai, 88 Pyrphoroi in the cult of Herakles: IG II2 1247 (Athens, third century); in the cult of Asklepios: IG II2 1944 (Athens, Hellenistic); λαμπάδες in the cult of Demeter Thesmophoros: SEG 36, 206 (Athens, c. 300); λυχνεῖα in the festival Aphrodisia in Delos: IG IX.2.145 l. 43 (302 bce); λυχνίαι in the cult of Demeter in Lykosoura: IG V.2.514 (second century); λύχνος in the cult of the Nymphs in Kafizin (Cyprus): Mitford no. 307 (225/4). Torches used in the gatherings of an association for the cult of Agathe Thea: SEG 56 206 ll. 8–9 (Athens, third century: δᾶιδα ἔστησεν τῆι θεῶι ἐν πάσαις ταῖς συνόδοις); on this text see Parker 2010: 208, who adduces as parallels the erection of torches during the mysteries (Theoph., Characters 18) and the setting up of a torch in honor of King Ariarathes by the Dionysiac artists (IG II2 1330, c. 130). For the Imperial period see Chaniotis 2018b. 89 Torch races in the gymnasion: Gauthier 1995. Ἀφιππολαμπάς: IG IX.2.528, 531, 532, 534; SEG 53, 550; SEG 54, 559 (Larisa, second/first century). 90 This is a general trend of this period: Chaniotis 2013d. 91 IG II2 974 lines 18–28: βουλόμ[ενος δὲ καὶ ἐπὶ πλέον αὔξειν τὰς] | πρὸς τοὺς θεοὺς τιμὰς καὶ τὴν τ[ῆς πόλεως σωτηρίαν ἐβουθύτη]|σεν καλῶς καὶ ἐνδόξως ταῦρον [καὶ ἐκόσμησεν τὴν τράπεζαν] | καὶ παννυχίδα συνετέλεσεν | παρθ̣ [ενικῶι χορῶι· καταστήσας] | δὲ καὶ τὸν ὑὸν Δῖον κλειδοῦχον κα[ὶ πυρφόρον ἐπὶ ἁπάσας τὰς | κ]αθ’ ἑκάστην ἡμέραν γινομένας θε[ραπείας ἐν αἷς τοῖς θύουσιν] | [τ]ῶι θεῶι κεχορήγηκεν ἐκτενῶς.

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and they should be present in the night, wearing wreaths made of (seasonal) fruit in the designated place” (1 bce).92 It is also possible that in the Hellenistic period pannychides were added to festivals that previously lacked such celebrations – although we should be careful not to misunderstand absence of evidence as as evidence for absence.93 Fourthly, and more importantly, a particular religious activity that exclusively took place in the night acquired unprecedented prominence: incubation (enkoimesis) in oracular and healing sanctuaries. Enkoimesis, only sporadically attested in the fifth century in connection with divination,94 became a prominent feature of religious behavior in the Hellenistic and Imperial periods, and numerous sanctuaries of healing gods acquired special facilities (enkoimeteria) that allowed worshippers suffering from illness and anxieties to spend the night expecting to be visited by a god in their dream and be cured or given instructions.95 Humans have had dreams for thousands of years; but the construction of incubation halls for dream encounters with the gods is a phenomenon belonging to a specific cultural context. The earliest evidence for incubation halls dates to the late fifth century and is limited to the Asklepieia of Epidauros and Athens and the sanctuary of Amphiaraos in Oropos. The practice of incubation only became common in the Hellenistic period, when relevant archaeological and textual evidence exists for numerous cities in Greece, Asia Minor, and the Aegean (inter alia in Pergamon, Kos, Lebena and Lissos on Crete, Messene, and Beroia). Worshippers also visited sacred sites in order to receive divinatory dreams. For instance, a certain Achilleus visited the ‘Memnoneion’ in Abydos in the second century specifically in order to see a dream that would reveal to him the things he was praying for.96 A phenomenon related to the creation of infrastructure for epiphanic dreams is the increased awareness of supernatural experiences in the night. People seeking explanations for their dreams are mentioned as early as Homer, and interpreters of 92 I.Eleusis 250 lines 43–44: κ̣ α̣ ὶ̣ ἐν Ἐλ̣ ε̣ υ̣[σῖνι τ]ῷ τε Ἰάκχῳ συνεισελαύνειν ὡς ἂν ὁ βασιλεὺς καὶ̣ ο̣ ἱ ἐπ̣ ι̣μ[εληταὶ τά]|[ξωσι καὶ παρεῖναι] ν̣ ύ̣κ̣τωρ̣ καρ̣[ποῖς ἐσ]τ̣ εφανωμένους ἐπ̣ ά̣ναγκες ἐν τῷ [ἀποδ]ε̣ δ̣ειγμ̣[ένῳ χωρίῳ – –]. 93 E. g. a pannychis is attested during the Athenian Chalkeia only for the Hellenistic period (Agora XV 253, 117/8); the same applies for the pannychis supervised by the priestess of Aglauros, probably at the eisiteteria (SEG 33, 115, c. 246 bce). See also I.Erythrai 207 (pannychides in the cults of the ὄπισθε θεαί and Dionysos, Erythrai, second century). 94 The early evidence (Pind., Ol. 13.61–82; Hdt. 8.133–134) has been collected and discussed by Renberg 2017, 100–106. 95 The evidence for sanctuaries with incubation facilities has now been collected by Renberg 2017, 115–326. 96 Perdrizet/Lefebvre 1919: no. 238: ἐγὼ Ἀχιλλεὺς ἔχομαι θεάσασθαι ὄνιρον σημένοντά μοι περὶ ὧν εὔχομαι.

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dreams existed in Classical Athens.97 But no individuals mentioned their professional specialization or function as oneirokritai in inscriptions earlier than the second century (mainly in connection with Egyptian cults).98 Similarly, dedications were made by people who had received divine instructions in a dream as early as the fifth century; but the relevant evidence is extremely limited. It is only from the third century that the habit of setting up dedications with the formula κατ᾿ ὄναρ, κατ᾿ ἐπιταγήν et sim. becomes common, explicitly stating that the dedicants had communicated with a god in their dreams. Sometimes these dedications also provide details about the dream.99 That we have such information in the Hellenistic period – and the evidence becomes more common in the Imperial period – is not the result of an increased number of dreams. It is the result of a change in ‘epigraphic habit’ which is directly connected with changes in mentality. When some dedicants proudly stated that they had been visited by a god in their dreams, others were quick to follow. An inscription from Miletos (second century ce) shows how the intense dream experience of a few individuals can become a trend-setter. The inscription contains the inquiry of a priestess of Demeter, Alexandra, who was startled at the fact that people of every gender and age in her city suddenly had epiphanic dreams: “For the gods had never been so apparent through dreams as from the day she received the priesthood, both in the dreams of girls and in those of married women, both in the dreams of men and in those of children. What is this? And is it auspicious?”100 Presumably, when some people talked about dreaming of the gods, other people also started having similar dreams and soon a wave of epiphanic dreams had afflicted the community.101 The strong awareness of the importance of dreams and the strong interest in communicating dream experiences to others explains the increased number of dedications ‘upon a dream’. We are dealing with a change in mentality reflected by the ‘epigraphic habit’. Also astrologers must have existed in Greece since Bronze Age, but that an astrologer could give lectures on the subject of his profession in a gymnasium, as a

97 Harris 2009: 134–136. 98 Oneirokritai: IG II2 4771; I.Délos 2071–2073, 2105–2106, 2110, 2120, 2151, 2619. Cf. SEG 42, 157: κρίνοντος τὰ ὁράματα (an officer of the Sarapiasts in Athens, late second century). See also Renberg 2015. 99 Renberg 2010. The epigraphic evidence for dedications made upon a dream will be presented by G. Renberg in a forthcoming book. 100 I.Didyma 496: ἡ ἱέρεια τῆς Θεσμοφόρου Δήμητρος Ἀλεξάνδρα ἐρωτᾷ· ἐπεὶ ἐξότε τὴν ἱερατείαν ἀνείληφεν, οὐδέποτε οὕτως οἱ θεοὶ ἐνφανεῖς δι’ ἐπιστάσεων γεγένηται· τοῦτο δὲ καὶ διὰ παρθένων καὶ γυναικῶν, τοῦτο δὲ καὶ δι’ ἀρρένων καὶ νηπίων· τί τὸ τοιοῦτο καὶ εἰ ἐπὶ αἰσίωι. Also published by Merkelbach and Stauber 1998: 82–83 no. 01/19/05, but with wrong translation. 101 For similar phenomena in Naxos in the 1830s and 1930s see Stewart 2012.

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Roman astrologer did in Delphi in the late first century, is a phenomenon that I am tempted to associate with a new evaluation of the night.102 Finally, the night had always been a privileged period for the communication with chthonic powers through magic practices, such as nocturnal offerings and the deposition of curse tablets in graves of people who had died young or had been the victims of violence (aoroi, biaiothanatoi). Since the exact dating of curse tablets is a difficult enterprise and the dates given in old publications are not reliable, it is not possible at this point to present distribution charts.103 Nevertheless, one can safely claim that their number increased in the Hellenistic period. More importantly, a peculiar category of curse tablets, identified by Hendrik S. Versnel and labeled as ‘prayers for justice’, made its first appearance in the fourth century and became very common in the Hellenistic period.104 Through the use of rhetorical devices – such as the presentation of the defigens as the victim of injustice, the use of flattering attributes for the gods, and the use of emotional language – the authors of ‘prayers for justice’ attempted to make this communication more efficient.

7. Conclusions and perspectives The Hellenistic polis was a place of multiple and complex interaction: between citizens and foreigners, enemies and defendants, benefactors and the people, kings and civic authorities, the living and the dead, the mortals and the gods, men and women, the free and the slaves. A lot of this interaction took place during the night, exactly as it had taken place in the past: there were convivial gatherings, religious festivals, private celebrations, acts of worship, and acts of violence. A study of the textual material gives the impression that the amount of interaction that took place during the night increased. This impression may be partly wrong, determined by the nature of the source material. If we have more information about nocturnal activities in the Hellenistic period than in any previous period, this is in part due to the abundance of inscriptions and papyri and to the interest of Hellenistic authors in dramatic narratives. 102 Syll.3 771 (Delphi, c. 29 bce). 103 The surveys by Jordan 1985 and 2000 need an update. A database currently being prepared by Martin Dreher at the University of Magdeburg (Thesaurus Defixionum Magdeburgensis: http://www-e.uni-magdeburg.de/defigo/wordpress/) will significantly contribute to a better understanding of the chronological and geographical distribution of curse tablets. 104 For the most recent treatments of the ‘prayers of justice’ see Versnel 2009 and 2012. I associate the appearance of ‘prayers of justice’ in the fourth century with a more general trend in Greek rituals to move away from ritual automatisms and to give emphasis on the circumstances in which the ritual is performed; see Chaniotis 2012: 133–135.

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But it would be wrong to think that the only change concerns the quantity of sources and not the reality of life. Because of the frequency of wars, there were more nocturnal attacks than ever in the past. There certainly were more nocturnal celebrations not only because of an increased number of festivals but also because of the spread of cults with an initiatory character. The spread of voluntary associations made nocturnal conviviality more frequent. There was certainly no increase in dreaming, but organized, institutionalized dreaming in the incubation halls of sanctuaries spread for the first time in the Greek cities. We do not know if more people used magic than in the past, but their magic acquired rhetorical qualities that created the impression of efficiency. Astrology and the interpretation of dreams were introduced into public epigraphy. Policing and defense measures in the night were not introduced for the first time but the did become the subject of inquiry by the authors of military manuals and systematic measures by the civic authorities. People did not get less sleep than in earlier periods but there were more nocturnal events and the diversity of the people who attended them was larger. In different and unconnected areas we observe an increase in nocturnal activities; people tried to make the night safer and more efficient. However, nightlife itself did not become a subject of inquiry and discourse until the first century ce. The ‘taming’ of the night was a long and slow process that only started in the Hellenistic period due to various historical factors, especially wars, religious trends, and migration. The relevant evidence mostly dates to the late Hellenistic period – from the mid-second century on – and increases in the Imperial period. Also new phenomena of nocturnal life appear from the first century ce, such as initiatives by benefactors for street illumination and to keep the baths and the gymnasia open during the night on certain days.105 The contribution of technology to Hellenistic nightlife, apart from the massive production of mould-made clay lamps and extravagant and luxurious torches and metal lamps, was limited. I can only think of Ktesebios’ invention of a water-clock that made the exact measurement of time possible, independent from sunshine106 and the Antikythera mechanism that in part concerned the observation of the heavenly bodies.107 The historical dimensions of the night in Hellenistic cities were primarily determined by social and cultural factors.

105 Chaniotis 2018a. 106 Schneider 1969: II 390–391. 107 On the inscriptions of the Antikythera mechanism see most recently Allen et alii 2016.

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Angelos Chaniotis Günther, L.-M., 2014. Bürgerinnen und ihre Familien im hellenistischen Milet: Untersuchungen zur Rolle von Frauen und Mädchen in der Polis-Öffentlichkeit, Wiesbaden. Gutzweiler, K., 2010. The Demon Mosquito, ZPE 174, 133–138. Hamon, P., 2007. Élites dirigeantes et processus d’aristocratisation à l’époque hellénistique, in: Fernoux, H.-L. – Stein, C. (eds.), Aristocratie antique. Modèles et exemplarité sociale, Dijon, 79–100. Harland, P. A., 2003. Associations, Synagogues, and Congregations. Claiming a Place in Ancient Mediterranean Society, Minneapolis. Harland, P. A., 2009. Dynamics of Identity in the World of the Early Christians, New York/London. Harland, P. A., 2014. Greco-Roman Associations: Texts, Translations, and Commentary. II. North Coast of the Black Sea, Asia Minor, Berlin. Harris, W. V., 2009. Dreams and Experience in Classical Antiquity, Cambridge/London. Harrison, J., 2013. Dreams and Dreaming in the Roman Empire. Cultural Memory and Imagination, London. Hatzopoulos, M. B., 2001. L’organisation de l’armée macédonienne sous les Antigonides. Problèmes anciens et documents nouveaux, Athens. Hennig, D., 2002. Nyktophylakes, Nyktostrategen und die παραφυλακή τῆς πόλεως, Chiron 32, 281–295. Ismard, P., 2010. La cité des réseaux: Athènes et ses associations, VIe-Ier siècle av. J.-C., Paris. Jordan, D. R., 1985. Survey of Greek Defixiones not Included in the Special Corpora, GRBS 26, 1–81. Jordan, D., 2000. New Greek Curse Tablets (1985–2000), GRBS 41, 5–46. Jost, M., Sanctuaires et cultes d’Arcadie, Paris. Kloppenborg, J. S. – Ascough, R. S., 2011. Greco-Roman Associations. Texts, Translations and Commentary. I. Attica, Central Greece, Macedonia, Thrace, Berlin. Kloppenborg, J. S. – Wilson, S. G. (eds.), 1996. Voluntary Associations in the Graeco-Roman World, London/New York. Koslofsky, C., 2011. Evening’s Empire: A History of the Night in Early Modern Europe, Cambridge. Lattimore, R., 1942. Themes in Greek and Latin Epitaphs, Urbana. Le Bohec, S., 1985. Les philoi des rois Antigonides, REG 98, 93–124. Maillot, S., 2009. Une association de sculpteurs à Rhodes au 2e siècle avant J.-C., in: Bodiou, L. – Mehl, V. – Oulhen, J. – Prost, F. – Wilgaux, J. (eds.), Chemin faisant: mythes, cultes et société en Grèce ancienne. Mélanges en l’honneur de Pierre Brulé, Rennes, 39–57. Maillot, S., 2013. Les associations à Cos, in: Fröhlich, P. – Hamon, P. (eds.), Groupes et associations dans les cités grecques (IIe siècle a. J.-C.-IIe sècle apr. J.-C.), Geneva, 199–226. Mann, C. – Scholz, P. (eds.), 2012. ‘Demokratie’ im Hellenismus. Von der Herrschaft des Volkes zur Herrschaft der Honoratioren, Mainz. Meißner, B., 1999. Die technologische Fachliteratur der Antike. Struktur, Überlieferung und Wirkung technologischen Wissens in der Antike (zirka 400 vor Christus – zirka 500 nach Christus), Berlin. Merkelbach, R. – Stauber, J., 1998. Steinepigramme aus dem griechischen Osten. Band I: Die Westküste Kleinasiens von Knidos bis Ilion, Stuttgart/Leipzig. Mooren, L., 1977. La hiérarchie de cour Ptolémaique. Contribution à l’étude des institutions et des classes dirigeantes à l’époque hellénistique, Louvain. Nigdelis, P. M., 2010. ‘Voluntary Associations’ in Roman Thessalonike: In Search of Identity and Support in a Cosmopolitan Society”, in: Nasrallah, L. – Bakirtzis, C. – Friesen, S. J. (eds.),

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The Polis after Sunset From Roman to Early Christian Thessalonike. Studies in Religion and Archaeology, Cambridge, MA, 13–47. O’Sullivan, L., 2009. The Regime of Demetrius of Phalerum in Athens, 317–307 bce, Leiden. Parisinou, E., 2000. The Light of the Gods. The Role of Light in Archaic and Classical Greek Cult, London. Parker, R., 1996. Athenian Religion: A History, Oxford. Parker, R., 2005. Polytheism and Athenian Society, Oxford. Parker, R., 2010. New Problems in Athenian Religion: The ‘Sacred Law’ from Aixone, in: Dijhkstra, J. – Kroesen, J. – Kuiper, Y. (eds.), Myths, Martyrs, and Modernity: Studies in the History of Religions in Honour of Jan N. Bremmer, Leiden, 193–208. Perdrizet, P. – Lefebvre, G., 1919. Les graffites grecs du Memnonion d’Abydos. Nancy/Paris/Strasbourg. Petropoulou, M.-Z., 2008. Animal Sacrifice in Ancient Greek Religion, Judaism, and Christianity, 100 BC to AD 200, Oxford. Petrovic, I., 2007. Von den Toren des Hades zu den Hallen des Olymp. Artemiskult bei Theokrit und Kallimachos, Leiden. Piolot, L., 2009. À l’ombre des maris, in: Bodiou, L. – Mehl, V. – Oulhen, J. – Prost, F. – Wilgaux, J. (eds.), Chemin faisant: mythes, cultes et société en Grèce ancienne. Mélanges en l’honneur de Pierre Brulé, Rennes, 87–113. Podvin, J.-L., 2011. Luminaire et cultes isiaques, Montagnac. Poland, F., 1909. Geschichte des griechischen Vereinswesens, Leipzig. Pottier, E. – Hauvette-Besnault, A., 1880. Inscriptions d’Érythrées et de Téos, BCH 4, 153–182. Pugliese Carratelli, G., 1939/40. Per la storia delle Associazioni in Rodi Antica, ASAA 22, 147– 200. Quaß, F., 1993. Die Honoratiorenschicht in den Städten des griechischen Ostens: Untersuchungen zur politischen und sozialen Entwicklung in hellenistischer und römischer Zeit, Stuttgart. Renberg, G., 2010. Dream-Narratives and Unnarrated Dreams in Greek and Latin Dedicatory Inscriptions, in: Scioli, E. – Walde, C. (eds.), Sub imagine somni: Nighttime Phenomena in Greco-Roman Culture, Pisa, 33–61. Renberg, G., 2015. The Role of Dream-Interpreters in Greek and Roman Religion, in Weber, G. (ed.), Artemidor von Daldis und die antike Traumdeutung. Texte – Kontexte – Lektüren, Berlin, 233–262. Renberg, G., 2017. Where Dreams May Come. Incubation Sanctuaries in the Greco-Roman World, Leiden. Rice, E., 1983. The Grand Procession of Ptolemy Philadelphus, Oxford. Rousset, D., 2006. Les inscriptions de Kallipolis d’Étolie, BCH 130: 381–434. San Nicolò, M., 1972. Ägyptisches Vereinswesen zur Zeit der Ptolemäer und der Römer, Munich. Savalli-Lestrade, I., 1996. Courtisans et citoyens: le cas des philoi attalides, Chiron 26, 149–181. Savalli-Lestrade, I., 1998. Les philoi royaux dans l’Asie hellénistique, Geneva. Savalli-Lestrade, I., 2001. Amici del re, altri funzionari e gestione del potere principalmente nell’Asia Minore, Simblos 3, 263–294. Schivelbusch, W., 1988. Disenchanted Night: The Industrialization of Light in the Nineteenth Century. Translated from the German by Angela Davies. Berkeley/Los Angeles/London. Schlesier, R., 2018. Sappho bei Nacht, in: Chaniotis, A. (ed.), After Sunset: Perceptions and Histories of the Night in the Graeco-Roman World, Geneva (forthcoming).

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Angelos Chaniotis Schmitt Pantel, P., 1992. La cité au banquet. Histoire des repas publics dans les cités grecques, Paris. Schmitt Pantel, P., 1997. Public Feasts in the Hellenistic Greek City: Forms and Meanings, in Bilde, P. et alii (eds.), Conventional Values of the Hellenistic Greeks, Aarhus, 29–47. Schneider, C., 1969. Kulturgeschichte des Hellenismus, Munich. Stavrianopoulou, E., 2006. ‘Gruppenbild mit Dame’: Untersuchungen zur rechtlichen und sozialen Stellung der Frau auf den Kykladen im Hellenismus und in der römischen Kaiserzeit, Stuttgart. Stewart, C., 2012. Dreaming and Historical Consciousness in Island Greece, Cambridge, MA. Strootman, R., 2010. Hellenistic Court Society: The Seleukid Imperial Court under Antiochos the Great, 223–187 bce, in: Duindam, J. – Kunt, M. – Artan, T. (eds.), Royal Courts in Dynastic States and Empires: A Global Perspective, Leiden, 63–89. Strootman, R., 2014. Courts and Elites in the Hellenistic Empires. The Near East after the Achaemenids, c. 330 to 30 bce, Edinburgh. Trümpy, C., 1998. Feste zur Vollmondszeit: Die religiösen Feiern Attikas im Monatslauf und der vorgeschichtliche attische Kultkalender, ZPE 121, 109–115. Tzifopoulos, Y., 2000. Paradise Earned. The Bacchic-Orphic Gold Lamellae of Crete, Washington. Ustinova, Y., 2005. Lege et consuetudine. Private Cult Associations in the Greek Law, in: Dasen, V. – Piérart, P. (eds.), Ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ. Les cadres “privés” et “publics” de la religion grecque antique (Kernos Suppl. 5), Liège, 177–190. van Bremen, R., 1996. The Limits of Participation. Women and Civic Life in the Greek East in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods, Amsterdam. Velissaropoulos-Karakostas, J., 2011. Droit grec d’Alexandre à Augustue (323 av. J.-C.–14 ap. J.-C.). Personnes, biens, justice, Athens. Versnel, H. S., 2009. Prayers For Justice, East And West: New Finds And Publications Since 1990, in: Simòn, M. – Gordon, R. L. (eds.), Magical Practice in the Latin West, Leiden, 275–356. Versnel, H. S., 2012. Response to a Critique, in: Piranomonte, M. – Simón, F. M. (eds.), Contesti Magici – Contextos Magicos, Rome, 33–45. Wilson, A., 2018. Roman Nightlife, in: Chaniotis, A. (ed.), After Sunset: Perceptions and Histories of the Night in the Graeco-Roman World, Geneva (forthcoming). Wishnitzer, A., 2014. Into the Dark: Power, Light, and Nocturnal Life in 18th-Century Istanbul, International Journal of Middle East Studies 46, 513–531. Zografou, A., 2010.  Chemins d’Hécate: portes, routes, carrefours et autres figures de l’entre-deux, Liège.

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9 DOCUMENTARY EVIDENCE AND POLITICAL IDEOLOGY IN EARLY HELLENISTIC ATHENS Nino Luraghi

During the last few decades, research in Greek history has produced a significant amount of work with the purpose of refocusing the discussion on the polis during the Hellenistic period. Topics such as political participation and the role of political elites have been revisited repeatedly and from different angles. At times, the presence on the back of scholars’ mind of the polis of the fifth and fourth centuries bce, or perhaps of a specific view of it, has narrowed the scope of the debate, reducing it to an attempt at claiming equal status for the polis of the third, second and first centuries,1 but unquestionably the new research agenda has expanded and deepened in many ways our understanding of political life in the post-classical polis.2 Try as we might, to be sure, there is no denying that, because of the nature of the evidence, the research on the polis after Alexander cannot really match the texture and themes associated with the polis of Pericles and Demosthenes.3 Even once we get past the age-old prejudice that favors a priori the classical above the post-classical, the fact remains that the nature of the surviving evidence changes drastically with the end of the fourth century, with a steep increase on the side of documents, especially of a public nature, accompanied by an even steeper decrease on the side of literary evidence. Hence the widespread perception that Hellenistic history tends to be more 1 Cf. Mann 2012: 22–23. 2 The seminal contributions of Gruen 1993 and Gauthier 1993 marked a clear acceleration in the research on the Hellenistic poleis. For a broad spectrum of approaches, see recently Fröhlich 2005 and Mann/Scholz 2012; Hamon 2009, in the guise of a detailed review of Grieb 2008, Carlsson 2010 and Dmitriev 2005 offers a helpful Bilanz of recent research and several suggestions for the future (see esp. p. 379). 3 Sensible observations to this effect in Mann 2012: 24.

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fact-oriented – which in some quarters it certainly is – and less responsive to topics such as political ideology and political culture more broadly. It has to be said, however, that this perception is only partially justified by the evidence – that is, only as long as Hellenistic inscriptions are read paying close attention to the substantial information that can be extracted from them and treating the rest more or less as background noise. On the contrary, if one thinks of some of the most representative genres of Hellenistic inscriptions, such as for instance royal letters or decrees of poleis, it is easy to see that they provide abundant and striking evidence for the dominant political ideology of the period.4 As a matter of fact, one could easily argue that very many Hellenistic documents pose a special challenge precisely to interpreters who approach them in order to extract facts from them – facts of the who-didwhat-to-whom-when kind. The ideological constrains presiding over the formulation of these texts often generate statements and narratives that stand in a complex and somewhat oblique relationship to the events they refer to or comment upon. In this spirit, my contribution will offer a preliminary attempt at shedding light on certain aspects of the political ideology that appears to have underpinned Athenian decrees of the decades that go from the death of Alexander the Great to the middle of the third century bce, on what, in these texts, could and could not be said, and why. In previous contributions I have tried to show how the voice of the demos, as expressed in Athenian decrees, could convey political statements of individual parties, while at the same time conforming to shared parameters that reflected the system of values expressed in the dominant political ideology of the polis, in the framework of a shared vision of Athenian history that often involved a highly peculiar take on past events.5 Building on those previous investigations, I will now focus in particular on problems of historical interpretation that result, directly or indirectly, from a literal reading of the texts of some Athenian decrees. Traditionally, the solution to these problems has been sought in a more precise interpretation of the events referred to in the decrees. The present contribution will offer a preliminary exploration of a complementary way of dealing with the texts, alerting attention to the impact of Athenian political ideology on the rendering of events. Comparing texts and recurrent narrative configurations will serve as a means to identify (some of) the ideological constraints that presided over the formulation of the decrees themselves. *** 4 On royal letters and their ideological idiom, the bibliography has been accumulating over the last few years; Virgilio 2011 provides a book-length study. The debate has been largely shaped by Ma 1999: 182–214. Ceccarelli 2013: 298–311 offers an illuminating comparison of the respective formal and communicative aspects of royal letters and civic decrees. 5 Cf. Luraghi 2010, Luraghi 2018 and Luraghi (forthcoming a).

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By the southern wall of the Athenian Akropolis, close to a monumental dedication of king Attalos II of Pergamon, Pausanias saw a statue of the Athenian Olympiodoros accompanied by an inscription that provided a brief list of the man’s achievements. It is from the inscription, in all likelihood, that he drew his summary of Olympiodoros’ career.6 Clearly a successful military leader, Olympiodoros had saved or re-conquered from the Macedonians Eleusis, Mounychia and the Peiraieus, while on the diplomatic side he had secured for Athens the alliance of the Aitolians at the time of the Fouryears War.7 His most prestigious achievement, however, had consisted in leading the Athenians against a Macedonian garrison installed by Demetrios Poliorketes on the Mouseion Hill, thereby liberating Athens from the Macedonians.8 Although the real import of the episode was unclear until about half a century ago, by connecting this passage to another one in Plutarch’s Life of Demetrios, that speaks of Demetrios besieging Athens before embarking on his last campaign in Asia, modern scholars had long since come to the conclusion that Athens, since 295 bce under the rule of Demetrios, had somehow regained its freedom in 287 bce or thereabouts: this, it was thought, was the time when Olympiodoros stormed the Mouseion.9 A new document, an inscription containing a long honorific decree found almost intact in the American excavations of the Athenian agora in 1971, shed dramatically new light on this event, confirming its date and adding a wealth of detail.10 In the dead of winter of 269 bce, on the eve of the Chremonidean War, the Athenians granted to a man by the name of Kallias, son of Thymochares, from the Attic deme of Sphettos, the highest honors they could grant to one of their fellow citizens.11 6 Paus. 1.25.2 and 26.1–3. On Pausanias’ reliance on a honorary inscription associated with the statue, see Habicht 1985: 90–92. Von den Hoff 2003: 176 f., shows and discusses a marble bust currently in the National Museum in Oslo, identified by the inscription as Olympiodoros, usually thought to be a later copy of the honorary statue from Athens. 7 On the translation of the verb that indicates Olympiodoros’ action with respect to the Peiraieus and Mounychia, see Bultrighini 1984: 54–57, discussing Habicht 1979: 103–107. 8 Paus. 1.25.2 and 26.1–3; Pausanias was also aware of a statue of Olympiodoros dedicated in Delphi by the Phokians of Elateia (see also Paus. 10.18.7 and 34.3). De Sanctis 1936: 147–150 provides a detailed explanation of Olympiodoros’ activities during the war against Kassandros. Of the major military achievements mentioned by Pausanias, only the storming of the Mouseion Hill can be dated with any precision (thanks to the decree for Kallias). The defense of Eleusis may or may not be part of the same enterprise as the preservation of the Peiraieus, see below. 9 Plut. Life of Demetrios 24.1–3; see De Sanctis 1970: 274. 10 IG II/III3 1, 911. See especially the richly commented first edition, Shear 1978, and cf. Habicht 1979: 45–67, and Osborne 1979 (and again Osborne 2012: 36–43). On Kallias’ career, see more recently Paschidis 2008: 145–150. 11 Decrees of highest honors for Athenians, usually referred to as ‘megistai timai decrees’, form a special class among Athenian honorary decrees; see Kralli 1999.

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The honors included a golden crown, whose grant was to be announced publicly during the competitions for tragic poets at the festival of the Great Dionysia, some three months later, a bronze statue to be erected in the agora, a front seat for all sportive events organized by the polis, and finally the engraving of the decree itself, which would stand beside the statue and preserve eternal memory of Kallias’ deeds. Rather obscure, although not completely unknown, up to the discovery of the decree, Kallias belonged in fact to a very prominent political family, known largely thanks to a famously enigmatic decree in honor of Kallias’ brother, Phaidros, from the years after the Chremonidean War.12 Their father Thymochares, whose distinguished military career was summarized in the decree for Phaidros, appears to have been connected with Antigonos in the late twenties, before becoming one of the closest associates of Demetrios of Phaleron, who controlled Athens on behalf of Kassandros between 317 and 307 bce.13 In the inscription, the narrative of Kallias’ worthy actions takes up over 70 lines of text. A contextualized summary of such actions could run more or less as follows. After Demetrios’ army had melted away in front of Pyrrhos, in the fall of 288, the Athenians had probably started covert negotiations with his enemies, and in particular with Ptolemy Soter, with an eye to changing sides.14 They waited until the harvest of 287 could be collected before taking action, then they attacked the garrison that Demetrios had installed on the Mouseion Hill, while Kallias, an officer of Ptolemy Soter, arrived from Andros with 1000 mercenaries and marched into the Athenian countryside to protect the crops.15 During the siege that followed, Kallias led sallies from Athens, and then represented the polis in the negotiations with Demetrios. 12 The decree for Phaidros, severely damaged by erasures connected with the memory sanctions against the Antigonids passed by the Athenians in 200 bce (Byrne 2010), is IG II/III3 1, 985. Before the discovery of the decree for Kallias, Davies 1971: 526 had already linked the Athenian Kallias son of Thymochares who had received the proxeny from Delos in the early third century (IG XII 4, 527) with the family of Phaidros and Thymochares. 13 On Thymochares, see O’Sullivan 2009: 129 and passim and Bayliss 2006. 14 Negotiations with Ptolemy are not mentioned in the inscription, but it seems inevitable to assume that they indeed took place, for otherwise Kallias’ behavior would make no sense; see Luraghi (forthcoming b). Habicht 2006: 112, who states without further comments that Kallias acted on orders of Ptolemy, assumes, I presume, this scenario. On the date of Demetrios’ defeat at the hands of Pyrrhos, see Wheatley 1997: 21 f. 15 This reconstruction, which puts the Athenian insurrection in the Attic year 288/7 (archon Kimon), and more precisely in the late spring of the Julian year 287, involves accepting that the decree for Phaidros, IG II/III3 1, 985, refers to these same events, albeit in very different terms, in the lines 30–44. Such interpretation of the documents has been advanced by Habicht and Osborne immediately after Shear’s publication of the decree for Kallias; Shear had suggested dating the insurrection to the archonship of Xenophon, Attic year 287/6, in the spring of

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Later, he visited his polis several times, engaging in acts of generosity in connection with the relations between the Athenians and their new allies, the kings of Egypt:16 immediately after peace was concluded, Kallias returned to the Ptolemaic court and there offered support to Athenian embassies; later, having come to Athens probably in connection with the accession of Ptolemy Philadelphos, he heeded a request of the Athenian strategoi and secured supplies and money from the new king; then he accepted to serve as architheoros for the first edition of the Ptolemaia, funding the Athenian theoria out of his own pocket, and on that occasion he secured support from Ptolemy for the impending celebration of the Panathenaia.17 Finally, the text jumps back to the time before the revolt of 287 in order to outline a brief characterization of Kallias’ profile as a citizen, explaining that he had left the polis because of an oligarchy and had (probably) preferred to give up his own estate rather than doing anything against the democracy of all Athenians.18 In different ways, both the military narrative of the first part of the motivation clause and the euergetic activities described in the second show interesting peculiarities. The insurrection of the Athenians is said to target ‘those who were occupying the polis’, the Macedonian garrison of Peiraieus is referred to simply as ‘those operating from Peiraieus’, and only a few lines later do we learn by implication that these unidentified people were in fact troops of Demetrios. The alliance between Athens and Ptolemy goes entirely unmentioned, and Kallias’ expedition is motivated simply by Ptolemy’s benevolence towards the Athenians. In other words, the international context in which the insurrection took place, namely a war between Ptolemy, with further allies, and Demetrios is completely obfuscated, and the formulation of the text carefully avoids saying in so many words that Athens was then under the domination of Demetrios.19 On the civilian side, as it were, the narrative insists in presenting Kallias as a good Athenian citizen, who obeyed the magistrates, diverting attention from the fact that, after the peace was concluded, Kallias went back to the Ptolemaic court and 286. Shear’s chronology has been defended, in part with different arguments, by Dreyer 1999: 204–223. 16 On Athens and the Ptolemies, see Habicht 1994: 140–163. 17 The reference to the Panathenaia is at the center of a heated debate; see most recently Osborne 2016, with references to earlier contributions. 18 This part of the inscription is affected by the two only substantial lacunae in the text, in lines 78 and 79; for a discussion of the somewhat puzzling expression that describes the fate of Kallias’ estate in lines 80–81, see Gauthier 1982: 221–226. 19 Note especially the sibylline reference in lines 12–13 of the decree for Kallias to ‘those who occupied the polis’. On Athens under Demetrios, see Habicht 2006: 103–113; the international context in which the revolt took place, on which see Will 1979: 94–97, is documented especially by several passages in Plutarch’s lives of Demetrios and Pyrrhos (Dem. 44–46 and Pyrrh. 12.4–5).

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returned to Athens only briefly and for specific occasions.20 Summarizing, we could say that the text of the decree systematically diverts attention from the international context, and especially from its political aspects, and tries to depict Kallias as just a model Athenian citizen who acted on behalf of the political community, fully respecting its values and – in some ways more strikingly, given his personal standing – its hierarchies. To some extent, the peculiar focus of the decree derives simply from the choice of depicting Kallias as an Athenian citizen, rather than as a Ptolemaic official, but this observation rather begs the question: the fact that for the Athenians it was obviously preferable to honor an Athenian-born Ptolemaic official as an Athenian citizen is in itself not something we should take for granted. In a similar vein, some of the silences of the decree, most prominently regarding the relations between Athens and Ptolemy Soter before the uprising of 287, may betray nothing more than embarrassment at the circumspect – some might say treacherous – conduct of the Athenians on that occasion. Explanations of this kind become however much less satisfactory once we observe that the occlusion of what would seem to us fundamental aspects of the international context, in spite of their specific relevance to the deeds narrated and praised in the Athenian decrees, may be hypothesized or clearly recognized in several other documents, suggesting that in fact it may be a pervasive feature of Athenian decrees, requiring a general explanation. A particularly striking case in point  – striking because of the problems it has caused to modern interpreters – is provided by what most scholars take to be Pausanias’ summary of the highest-honors decree for Olympiodoros. The last two deeds of the Athenian general and politician, involving Eleusis and the Peiraieus, with the fortress of Mounychia,21 are referred to in a way that has made it nearly impossible for scholars to locate them securely within the political history of Athens, and especially the recovery or, less likely, preservation of the Peiraieus has been the source of endless inconclusive debates.22 To be sure, things might look different if we had the decree rather than Pausanias’ summary thereof, but this conclusion should not be 20 Note that Kallias “obeys” the Athenian magistrates (ὑκακούω, lines 78–79) but “discusses” with King Ptolemy (διαλέγομαι, line 66); I owe this very fine observation to Kostas Bouraselis. On Kallias’ whereabouts, I disagree from the interpretation of line 45 found in Paschidis 2008: 148 (especially because of Jones 2003); for a more detailed argument, see Luraghi (forthcoming b). 21 Paus. 1.26.3. 22 With Habicht 1979: 95–102 (and see also Habicht 2006: 144), Oliver 2007: 57 f., and Osborne 2012: 23, I follow De Sanctis 1970: 483–500 in the conclusion that the Peiraieus was never recovered by the Athenians between 287 and 229; a different view, based precisely on Pausanias, has been argued for by several scholars, especially in the past (see the references in Habicht 1979:

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embraced too hastily, making Pausanias alone responsible for the problems of interpretation associated with Olympiodors’ career: after all, in the very same passage the war against Kassandros is directly mentioned in so many words. One rather has the strong suspicion that the Peiraieus affair may well turn out to be an episode in the history of Athens that we already know about, but with a different protagonist, as it were, such as for instance the possible secession of the Peiraieus at the time of Lachares and of Demetrios’ second conquest of Athens or even the storming of Peiraieus and Mounychia by Demetrios’ army in 307 bce.23 After all, it is only the relative density of external evidence that allows us to see Kallias’ actions in their broader context, and the vagueness of references to the international context in the decree in his honor has other parallels – think of references to ‘the polis engulfed by war’ or ‘difficult times’ in other Athenian documents,24 to say nothing of the decree of the deme of Aixone for Demetrios of Phaleron that we will be looking at in a moment.

*** In order to characterize this peculiar reticence in a more precise fashion, it is necessary to return to the decree for Kallias for some further observations. In spite of the sense of conformity to the political values of the Athenians that emanates from it, the biography of Kallias posed a challenge to the inner logic of Athenian political ideology. The remarkable inversion of the chronological sequence in the last portion of the motivation clause of the decree is a strong indication in this sense. To be sure, one could claim that Kallias’ deeds are listed according to their relevance, or perhaps combining relevance and chronology, but comparison with other decrees of the same kind, that is, highest-honors decrees for Athenian citizens, shows that this explanation is not entirely satisfactory. On the contrary, one surmises that an important reason for 96 f. n.  11), and recently and most extensively by Dreyer 1999: 257–273 (further references in Osborne 2016: notes 2 and 3). 23 The first alternative was advanced tentatively by Ferguson 1929: 4 (n. 1) and more definitely by De Sanctis 1936: 147; Bayliss 2003: 140 and, more in detail, Oliver 2007: 61 f. suggest the possibility that Olympiodoros was in fact involved in the conquest by Demetrios himself. The 307 scenario is discussed by Oliver 2007: 60, but set aside because it would involve admitting that Pausanias has subverted the chronological order of the decree (not impossible in itself: the storming of the Mouseion is out of its chronological order anyway). For the alternate view that Olympiodoros was instrumental in protecting rather than regaining the Peiraieus, see the references in n. 7 above. 24 Cf. IG II/III3 1, 917 line 8 and 985, line 33 respectively; the former is usually taken to be a reference to the Chremonidean War, the latter to the Athenian uprising in 387 bce.

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this inverted sequence was that, if Kallias’ career had been set out in its actual chronological order, it would have started with his leaving Athens, possibly as an exile and in any case out of dissatisfaction with the polis’ political line – a peculiar start for the life of such a model citizen.25 Even in the somewhat marginal position that it has come to occupy in the text of the decree, Kallias’ exile, formal or substantial, still needed an explanation, and it is here that we see Athenian political ideology operating in the most transparent way, with serious consequences for any attempt at reconstructing Athenian political and constitutional history based on documents of this kind. According to the decree, the direct reason for Kallias’ abandoning Athens was the subversion of democracy, and we are told that he had preferred to give up his own possessions rather than be in Athens under the oligarchy.26 Alongside references to oligarchy in the decree proposal for Demochares of Leukonoion, dated to the year before, the decree for Kallias has caused scholars to look for oligarchic interludes in Athens, to little avail:27 if Kallias had been born around 330 bce or shortly thereafter, the most likely time for him to leave Athens would have been the late fourth century, when in Athens, according to the unanimous testimony of the decrees, freedom and democracy ruled. Accordingly, some have concluded that in these documents the reference to oligarchy was simply a way of expressing retrospective disapproval of politicians who had been especially prominent in those years, in particular Stratokles of Diomeia.28 While there certainly is something to this line of interpretation, it has to be recognized that its explana25 The remarkably circumspect wording of the lines 79–83 has generally baffled interpreters. In any case, much more attention has been devoted to identifying the oligarchy mentioned in line 81 than to explaining under which conditions exactly Kallias had left Athens; see most recently Paschidis 2008: 146 and n. 1. One may perhaps venture the guess that, had Kallias been the victim of oligarchic repression and confiscation, this would reinforce his democratic credentials and the decree might accordingly be expected to be more explicit (cf. the decree proposal for Demochares, ps.-Plut. Lives of the ten orators 851d–f, and the remarks of Shear 1978: 49 on the ‘self-imposed exile’). 26 Shear 1978: 52 is right, I think, to insist on the determinate article; this looks like a specific reference, one that the intended audience would decipher without ambiguities. 27 The most comprehensive scrutiny of the respective levels of democratic freedom of the several phases of Athenian history from the late fourth century to the revolt against Demetrios and beyond is provided by Dreyer 1999: 149–195. Lehmann 1997: 17 f. takes literally the reference to an oligarchy in the decree for Kallias, and accordingly dates the moment when the latter had left Athens to the years before 307. One might be inclined to point out, however, that Demochares certainly left Athens after that date, most likely in 304/3 (see Smith 1962). 28 See Habicht 2006: 158 and consider the accusation of leveled at Stratokles by the comic poet Philippides of Kephale (fr. 25 Kassel-Austin in Plut. Dem. 26.5 and 12.7 f.), discussed in Luraghi 2012: 360–364.

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tory power is much more obvious in the case of the decree proposal for Demochares, which includes, if by implication, a clear indictment of other Athenian politicians of the same generation. In the case of Kallias, though, re-labeling the years 307–301 as a period of oligarchy, if this is what the decree does, was not the most obvious option. Especially with an eye to his subsequent deeds, one would think, it would have been just as logical to say that Kallias had left Athens because of a foreign domination. The moment we broaden our observations to include a wider selection of documents, however, we immediately realize that this alternative explanation was not really available, because it clashed against a fundamental tenet of Athenian political ideology. Even though the possibility that someone could wage war on Athens in order to deprive it of its freedom was very present in Athenian political ideology, actual loss of freedom and democracy in conjunction with a foreign domination was clearly very difficult to articulate, as after all the opening of the Kallias decree itself clearly shows. In other words, in Athenian political ideology it seems to have been impossible to say in so many words that at some point in the past Athens had been subject to a foreign king. On the contrary, the actual interruption of freedom, and by implication also of democracy, was typically construed in retrospect in terms of oligarchy, or in some cases even of tyranny, that is, of subversion emerging from within the citizen body itself. Lest we should fail to notice how peculiar this discursive choice was, let us remind ourselves of the systematic occlusion of local collaboration with the German occupants in the collective memory of the Second World War in many European countries, which most would consider functional to national reconciliation in the post-war era, and imagine by contrast, say, a history of the Italian freedom fighters and of their struggle against the RSI that omitted or marginalized the presence of the German Army Group C in Italy.29 In the political ideology of early Hellenistic Athens, occluding the reality of foreign domination to the advantage of endogenous subversion of the democratic legitimacy had its own specific logic. Unlike foreign domination, oligarchic subversion, which in Athenian political language was called κατάλυσις τοῦ δήμου or dissolution of the democracy, had been stably integrated in Athenian political ideology for decades, and had the advantage of allowing the Athenians to draw on their reconstruction of their past in order to make sense of the present in a satisfactory way. Athens had been 29 For an authoritative survey of the history of the Italian resistance movement see Pavone 2013. The myth of the unanimous resistance of the French people to German occupation, exposed by Marcel Ophüls’ famous 1971 documentary Le Chagrin et la pitié, bears however an interesting structural resemblance to the Athenian myth of the unanimous opposition of the Athenian demos to the oligarchy of the Thirty (on which see Wolpert 2002). For a documented survey of the facts behind the myth, see Gildea 2015.

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ruled by an oligarchy backed by the Spartans for a short period of time, after the end of the Peloponnesian War. Back then, Spartan support for the oligarchs had turned out to be lukewarm at best, and democratic exiles had been able to overthrow the oligarchic junta, the notorious Thirty.30 From the very first years of the fourth century, the memory of the Thirty appears to have become a key component of the ideology of the Athenian democracy.31 As shown by Athenian public rhetoric from the years immediately after the battle of Chaeronea, in 338 bce, that oligarchic interlude, reinterpreted as a mere product of internal strife, could be mobilized as part of an optimistic narrative plot that showed that democracy always won in the end. In his speech Against Philippides,32 the orator Hypereides evoked the situation of the Thirty as a way to attack a pro-Macedonian politician, equating a pro-Macedonian stance in the present with philo-Lakonism in the past and reinterpreting the recent military defeat at the hands of a foreign enemy in terms of a civil strife (stasis) between the demos and its opponents.33 This realignment of events and interpretation enjoyed a striking success in the following decades, and documents such as the ones we have been discussing are evidence of this.34 Even events, as they do, had their way of conforming to ideology. After the capitulation of Athens to Antipatros that concluded the Lamian War, the Athenian politician Demades, who had negotiated the capitulation, pushed through the Athenian assembly a decree that outlawed the political leaders most closely associated with the war, including Demosthenes and Hyperides.35 The execution was in fact carried out by Antipatros’ death squad, and one can surmise that the decree of the assembly had no real impact on the fate of these men, so why exactly was the decree neces30 On the rule of the Thirty in Athens, see Wolpert 2002: 15–28 with references to the relevant evidence. 31 See Lambert 2012: 257–259 and further references in n. 7, as well as the extensive study by Shear 2011. 32 Hypereid. contr. Philipp. XVb 8. 33 See Whitehead 2000: 62 f., with a helpful list of references to the Thirty in fourth-century oratory. Note especially Lyc. Leocr. 61 and Aeschines’ attempt, in the speech Against Ktesiphon, at hijacking the memory of the Thirty in his attack on Demosthenes (Aesch. 3.187–190). 34 See the remarks of Shear 2012: 289–292. 35 Plut. Demosth. 28.2 and Arr. FGrHist 156 F 9. See Poddighe 2002: 34–36 and (specifically on Demades’ role) Brun 2000: 118 f. Although both are convinced that the delivery of the antiMacedonian politicians was one of the conditions of the capitulation imposed by Antipatros, it has to be pointed out that, among the sources that refer to the capitulation of the Athenians, only Plut. Phoc. 27.5 (a source strongly hostile to Antipatros) refers to the request of delivering Demosthenes and Hypereides (sic); the delivery of the 10 politicians mentioned in the Suda s. v. Antipatros 2705 Adler is clearly the product of a confusion with the conditions imposed by Alexander after the destruction of Thebes (as rightly pointed out by Poddighe 2002: 35).

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sary?36 The Athenians, sure enough, were trying to distance themselves in all possible ways from their leaders in order not to share their fate, but part of what was going on, one would suggest, was a discursive transformation of defeat at the hands of a foreign enemy into an episode of civil strife. This suggestion is confirmed, or at least reinforced, by the crucial observation that the same transformation underlies the way the events were described from the other political side: in the proposal of decree in honor of Demosthenes submitted posthumously by Demochares in 281/0  bce we read that Demosthenes had been compelled to go into exile under the oligarchy, after the democracy had been overthrown – again, the role of Antipatros and in general the international circumstances are entirely elided, and Demosthenes’ fall is reinterpreted in terms of internal politics.37 Over and above opposite political agendas, the same ideological constraints obtained. This observation is confirmed by a further document, a decree from the Attic deme of Aixone, on the Attic paralia east of Peiraieus, which happens to be the only surviving document that mentions Demetrios of Phaleron, the Athenian who had been installed as Kassandros’ Gauleiter in 317.38 It should not go unnoticed, of course, that in the inscription we are told that Demetrios had been elected to whatever position he had by the Athenian demos – it would not have been impossible, after all, to formulate in a tactful way the fact that he had really been installed by Kassandros, but clearly a vote of the Athenian assembly had taken place, much as in the case of the decree of Demades discussed above.39 Even more intriguing, however, is the description of Demetrios’ achievement, namely restoring concord and unity among the Athenians at a time when the city and the Peiraieus were separated by war, and bringing peace to Athens and its territory. We might think, based on this document alone, that the situation resembled that which occurred when Thrasyboulos and the other democrats occupied the Peiraieus against the Thirty, and we could not be farther away 36 Antipatros’ posse was lead by the infamous Archias of Thourioi, nicknamed “the hunter of fugivites” (Plut. Demosth. 28–30; on Archias see also Paus. 1.8.3). It seems doubtful to me that Antipatros might have felt the necessity of a decree of the Athenian assembly to give a legal framework to the assassinations, as sometimes assumed: the sources are very explicit that the Athenians had to capitulate without conditions, so Antipatros did not need any further justification to proceed against them as he saw fit. 37 Ps.-Plut. Lives of the ten orators 851c; on the decrees transmitted in this work, see Faraguna 2003. 38 IG II2 1201. On Demetrios’ regime, see the extensive study of O’Sullivan 2009, with the updates provided in Faraguna 2016. 39 On the vote of the Athenian assembly, see the comments of Faraguna 2016: 43 f. with further references. The name of the office to which Demetrios had been elected is not preserved on the stone; the most likely supplement for the lacuna appears to be nomothetes, or ‘law-giver’, as shown by Canevaro 2011: 64–66.

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from the truth. The Peiraieus was at this point occupied by a Macedonian garrison loyal to Kassandros, who had previously, in 318, secured this strategically important position and prevented his father’s designated successor Polyperchon from gaining control of it. Demetrios himself, at that point condemned to death in absentia, had sought refuge under the protection of Kassandros’ garrison when Polyperchon had sent his son Alexander with an army to ‘liberate’ Athens.40 The reconciliation between Athens the and Peiraieus our decree refers to is in fact identical with the surrender of the Athenians to Kassandros, which cost the lives of the political leaders of the democracy that had been restored in 318 bce. Once again, in an ever so striking fashion, our text implicitly presents a conflict waged largely by foreign entities as a purely internal Athenian incident. Once again, we could of course attempt an explanation based on contingent factors, such as the fact that Demetrios, being the one who had been propelled on the stage by foreign support, had specific reasons to obfuscate this point, but then again, the general pattern that this decree appears to follow is so clear that an explanation by reference to contingent factors can only be seen as partial and accessory.

*** The upshot of these observations can be summarized as follows. Athenian political ideology appears to have mandated interpreting as far as possible the consequences of the international context on the political life of the Athenians in terms of internal politics. This way of seeing things may appear counterintuitive, and it certainly had the disadvantage that it effectively deprived the Athenians of the option of externalizing responsibility for political failures, or more broadly for political actions they no longer approved of – such as the political situation that had induced Kallias to leave Athens, for one. On the other hand, by writing out of the picture the actual balance of power Athenian political ideology could avoid to acknowledge the massive loss of political sovereignty suffered by the Athenians in the aftermath of Chaeronea, a catastrophic event whose objective consequences were never really repaired, and to confront the increasing power asymmetry that characterized the position of Athens, as that of almost any other Greek polis, in the world of the Hellenistic kingdoms. The discursive obfuscation of foreign domination over Athens had one important consequence: the only option available in order to express discontinuity according to the rules of Athenian political ideology required retrospectively to label as oligarchy 40 On Demetrios’ connection with Nicanor, the commander of Kassandros’ garrison in Peiraieus, see Athen. 12.542e (quoting the second-century bce grammarian Carystius of Pergamon).

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periods of time when the assembly in its official pronouncements was in fact speaking the language of democracy. This is precisely what happens in the decree proposal for Demochares. The solution was not perfect, however, because this process of re-labeling periods of the recent past during which the idiom of freedom and democracy had never been interrupted, as documented for the Athenians by a host of monuments from those periods, ran the risk latently to undermine the proclamation of democratic values in the present. It is the awareness of this paradox, one may surmise, that generates that strange definition, “the democracy of all Athenians,” that we find in the decree for Kallias. Other documents from the same years show variations on this theme, pointing to a fundamental anxiety about the continuity of democratic memory.41 Beyond the fact of foreign domination, one has the impression that the kings themselves represented a discursive problem for the Athenians. Most of the Kallias decree, as noted above, is about the relationship of Athens and the kings of Egypt Ptolemy the First Soter and Ptolemy the Second Philadelphos  – incidentally, the enemy king, Demetrios, is not even granted the royal title in the text of the inscription. All of Kallias benefactions had in fact consisted in acting as a well-meaning go-between, mediating Ptolemaic decisions and turning them into actions on behalf of the Athenians. Sure enough, his benevolence had implied spending his own resources and spilling his own blood, but he was, after all, a benefactor by choice and a soldier by trade. In light of this, we need to consider again the strange reticence of the text in talking about the support of Ptolemy Soter for the insurrection in 287. Even if we want to keep believing that the Athenians had not arranged with him the timing of the insurrection, there still can be no question that it came as no surprise to the Ptolemaic forces in the Aegean and that a decision on how to react to it had been made beforehand. So why not be more explicit about Ptolemy’s role in the re-conquest of freedom? It is unthinkable that the Athenian who formulated the decree, Euchares of the deme of Konthylai, intentionally understated the role of Ptolemy Soter: around the time when the decree was passed the Athenians had just concluded or were about to conclude an alliance with his son Ptolemy Philadelphos, and eight months later they were going to accept the alliance offered by Sparta, itself an ally of Philadelphos, provoking to war Antigonos Gonatas, king of Macedon and son of Poliorketes, in order to regain the Peiraieus.42 For all intents and purposes, Philadelphos was their most 41 On this, see Luraghi (forthcoming a). 42 The alliance is mentioned in the famous Chremonides Decree, IG II/III3 1, 912. On the Chremonidean War, Heinen 1972: 95–213 remains the standard work of reference, as we patiently wait for the publication of the new document from Rhamnous alluded to in Habicht 2006: 161– 167 with nos. 68 and 78. For some updates, especially on the archaeological evidence, see also O’Neal 2008.

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important ally, or more precisely, their only hope of success against Antigonos. They had not the slightest reason to downplay his father’s activities on their behalf, on the contrary, one would not be surprised if they had tried to exaggerate them. But they did not. Clearly, our text responds to a different logic. The reticence of the decree for Kallias regarding the role of Ptolemy Soter in the liberation of Athens may be taken as an indicator of a broader problem with articulating the role of kings specifically as political agents in Athenian political discourse. This problem derived directly from the very foundations of Athenian political ideology. From the point of view of the citizens of fifth- and fourth-century Athens, a king was a political and anthropological other. He existed in a different space, outside the world of the polis, and could not really be integrated into it – and here it will be sufficient to recall Aristotle’s comments on legitimate monarchy: it could exist only among the non-Greeks, who were supposed to be anthropologically different and ready to endure political subjection without protesting.43 In the world of the Greeks, on the other hand, sovereignty always belonged to a corporate body of some sort, and interaction with a political unit that responded to the will of one single individual and could essentially be identified with that individual was problematic, in theory and practice. These fundamental differences had clear repercussions on how political interaction was conceptualized and historical narratives were formulated in Athenian political discourse. It was relatively easy to insert a king into a narrative with the role of the enemy – otherness performs this role with matchless panache. A monarch could always be depicted as a tyrant, and besides, the master plot of the Persian Wars provided an excellent narrative template that could be reused ad libitum, with a positive predictive implication. The option of otherizing enemy kings was activated in a robust way during the third quarter of the fourth century, in the age of Demosthenes, when a phase of sharp decline in the role of Athens as a political power took place in coincidence with, and largely as a consequence of, the conflict against king Philip of Macedon.44 It was on the contrary not so easy to define a political and/or narrative role for a king who acted as an ally or a friend while at the same time being more powerful than Athens itself. For friendly kings and sundry rulers, during the fourth century the Athenians had fundamentally two protocols, which they kept recurring to during the first decades after the death of Alexander. Kings could be allies on a base of reciprocity, bound by the same requirements that the Athenians took upon themselves, or they could be benefactors, in which case the Athenians honored them qua benefactors, not qua kings. The latter protocol is the foundation of the discursive elaboration 43 See the famous statement in Aristot. Pol. 3.1285a16–22. 44 On Philip as a tyrant in Athenian political discourse, see Squillace 2004.

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of the king as an extraordinary benefactor that underpins much of the communication between kings and Greek poleis in general, and of course, Athens in particular, during the Hellenistic period. In spite of empirical reality, though, in Athenian ideology there was no way of talking about a king who was a senior ally of the Athenians. One example will clarify this bundle of problems. After the end of the Peloponnesian War, after having for a short time ruled the waves with their navy, largely built with money coming from the Persian King, the Spartans damaged their relationship with the Achaemenid throne by supporting the wrong candidate in the succession to Darius II. Accordingly, the ultimately successful successor, King Artaxerxes II, decided to shift Persian support from Sparta to Athens.45 In 394 bce, a Persian fleet led by the satrap of Phrygia Pharnabazos and the Athenian exile Konon, with the participation of Euagoras, king of Salamis on Cyprus and a subject of the Persian king, inflicted a crushing defeat on the Spartan fleet at the battle of Knidos. Soon thereafter, Konon and Euagoras landed in the Peiraieus bringing the Athenians money from Artaxerxes in order to rebuild the Long Walls that connected the city to its harbor.46 In response, the Athenians granted honors, including a statue, to the two of them, but there was no expression of official gratitude for Artaxerxes, in spite of the fact that he had been absolutely decisive in the demolition of Spartan sea power.47 To be sure, the Greek-barbarian divide also played a role here, but the fact that Artaxerxes was clearly the senior partner in the alliance at that point was at least as important. After Alexander conquered the Achaemenid Empire, however, the very structure of political power in the Eastern Mediterranean world changed radically, and for good. When the conqueror king died, after a transition crisis of a couple of decades there emerged a new world crowded by very powerful kings, mostly Macedonian by stock and culturally Greek, all interacting with poleis within and without their kingdoms and their broader spheres of influence. The Greek poleis, and Athens more prominently than most, had to come to terms with the fact that the only way of successfully opposing a king was to enlist the support of another king, with all the risks that this involved. A superficial observer might think that the Athenians did their best to turn a blind eye to this new world, but in fact, it is clear that they registered the new situation and tried to deal with it as best they could. Conflicts between Athenian politicians affiliated to different kings kept being described with the age-old idiom of the struggle of democracy against oligarchy. Accordingly, for the first half-century of the Hellenistic period, the kings of Egypt, Syria, Macedonia occupied a complex and somewhat 45 See Lewis 1977: 137–143. 46 On the reconstruction of the Long Walls, see Conwell 2008: 109–118, including the relevant epigraphic evidence. 47 On the honors for Konon and Euagoras, see Gauthier 1985: 96 f.

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awkward discursive place in Athenian political ideology: sources of benign support or unmotivated hostility, powerful political entities that appeared to be dominated by a different sort of logic. Attempts at capturing this logic within the constraints of Athenian political ideology could be quite creative. In particular with Demetrios Poliorketes, at the very dawn of post-Argead monarchy, we witness a moment of vigorous experimentation: in order to articulate their relation to him, the Athenians created the paradoxical figure of the king as a fellow-fighter for freedom and democracy.48 The other side of the coin, it needs to be remembered, is represented by the extravagant divine honors they granted Demetrios and his father Antigonos.49 But Demetrios was a special case for various reasons, first and foremost, because between 307 and 302 he spent significant periods of time in Athens. In the political ideology of the early third century, the other kings, and at this point also Demetrios himself, appear in the best case as benign distant entities, but not really as political counterparts. The Athenians’ blind-spot for monarchy as a kind political order was among the most enduring legacies of Greek political ideology. It is time to conclude. It could be said that the documents I have discussed, all in their different ways, provide distorted reports of the events they pretend to refer to. This however would be a reductive and unhelpful conclusion, because at a closer scrutiny there is a clear and consistent logic to their distortions. This logic, in turn, is motivated by what I have called the political ideology of the Athenian democracy. This paper has attempted to show that such a phenomenon is as worthy an object of study as what the Hellenistic Athenians did and what was done to them.

Bibliography Bayliss, A. J., 2006. Antigonos the One-Eyed’s return to Asia in 322: a new restoration for a rasura in IG II2 682, ZPE 155, 108–126. Bayliss, A. J., 2003. Curse-tablets as evidence: identifying the elusive “Peiraikoi Soldiers”, ZPE 144, 125–140. Brun, P., 2000. L’orateur Démade: essai d’histoire et d’historiographie, Paris. Bultrighini, U., 1984. Pausania 1,26,3 e la liberazione del Pireo, RFIC 112, 54–72.

48 See SEG 25, 149 (= ISE 7), a decree in honor of Demetrios by an elite unit of the Athenian army, and also SEG 36, 164, a decree in honor of Sotimos of Cyrene dated 304/3 bce, where Demetrios himself is said to have informed the Athenians of the fact that the honoree was a fellow-fighter for democracy. 49 See Habicht 1970: 44–58 and Mikalson 1998: 74–90.

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Documentary Evidence and Political Ideology in Early Hellenistic Athens Byrne, S. G., The Athenian damnatio memoriae of the Antigonids in 200 B. C., in: Philathenaios: Studies in Honour of Michael G. Osborne, Athens, 157–177 Canevaro, M., 2011. The Twilight of Nomothesia: Legislation in Early-Hellenistic Athens (322– 301), Dike 14, 55–85. Carlsson, S., 2010. Hellenistic democracies: freedom, independence and political procedure in some east Greek city-states, Stuttgart. Ceccarelli, P., 2013. Ancient Greek letter writing: a cultural history (600 bc–150 bc), Oxford. Conwell, D. H., 2008. Connecting a city to the sea: The history of the Athenian Long Walls, Leiden and Boston. Davies, J. K., 1971. Athenian propertied families, 600–300 b. c., Oxford. De Sanctis, G., 1970. Scritti minori, vol. 1, Rome. Dmitriev, S., 2005. City government in Hellenistic and Roman Asia Minor, Oxford and New York. Dreyer, B., 1999. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des spätklassischen Athen (322 – ca. 230 v. Chr.), Stuttgart. Faraguna, M., 2003. I documenti nelle “Vite dei 10 oratori” dei moralia plutarchei, in: Biraschi, A. et al. (eds.), L’uso dei documenti nella storiografia antica. Atti del convegno di Gubbio, 22–24 maggio 2001, Naples, 479–503. Faraguna, M., 2016. Un filosofo al potere? Demetrio Falereo tra democrazia e tirannide, MedAnt 19, 35–64. Fröhlich, P. (ed.), 2005. Citoyenneté et participation à la basse époque hellénistique: actes de la table ronde des 22 et 23 mai 2004, Paris. Gauthier, P., 1993. Les cités hellénistiques, in: Hansen, M. H. (ed.), The Ancient Greek City-State: symposium on the occasion of the 250th Anniversary of the Royal Danish Academy of Sciences and Letters, July, 1–4 1992, Copenhagen, 211–231. Gauthier, P., 1985. Les cités grecques et leurs bienfaiteurs (IVe-Ier siècle avant J.-C.). Contribution à l’histoire des institutions, Bulletin de correspondence hellénique, Supplément XII, Paris. Gauthier, P., 1982. Notes sur trois décrets honorant des citoyens bienfaiteurs, RPh 56, 215–231. Gildea, R., 2015. Fighters in the shadows: a new history of the French Resistance, London. Grieb, V., 2008. Hellenistische Demokratie. Politische Organisation und Struktur in freien griechischen Poleis nach Alexander dem Großen, Stuttgart. Gruen, E., 1993. The polis in the Hellenistic world, in: Rosen, R. – Farrell, J. (eds.), Nomodeiktes: Greek studies in honor of Martin Ostwald, Ann Arbor, 339–354. Habicht, C., 2006. Athènes hellénistique: histoire de la cité d’Alexandre le Grand à Marc Antoine, second edition, revised and augmented, Paris. Habicht, C., 1994. Athen in hellenistischer Zeit: gesammelte Aufsätze, Munich. Habicht, C., 1985. Pausanias’ Guide to Ancient Greece, Berkeley. Habicht, C., 1979. Untersuchungen zur politischen Geschichte Athens im 3. Jahrhundert v. Chr., Munich. Habicht, C., 1970. Gottmenschentum und griechische Städte, second revised edition, Munich. Hamon, P., 2009. Démocraties grecques après Alexandre. À propos de trois ouvrages récents, Topoi 16, 347–382. Heinen, H., 1972. Untersuchungen zur hellenistischen Geschichte des 3.  Jahrhunderts v. Chr.: Zur Geschichte der Zeit des Ptolemaios Keraunos und zum Chremonideischen Krieg, Wiesbaden. Jones, C. P., 2003. Epigraphica. VI–VII, ZPE 144, 157–163.

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Nino Luraghi Kralli, I., 1999. Athens and her leading citizens in the early Hellenistic period (338–261 b. c.): the evidence of the decrees awarding the highest honours, Archaiognosia 10, 133–162. Lambert, S. D., 2012. Inscribing the past in fourth-century Athens, in: Marincola, J. – LlewellynJones, L. – Maciver, C. (eds.), Greek Notions of the Past in the Archaic and Classical Eras, Edinburgh, 253–275. Lehmann, G. A., 1997. Oligarchische Herrschaft im klassischen Athen, Wiesbaden. Lewis, D. M., 1977. Sparta and Persia, Leiden. Luraghi, N., 2010. The demos as narrator: public honors and the construction of future and past, in: Foxhall, L. – Gehrke, H.-J. – Luraghi, N. (eds.), Intentional history: Spinning time in Ancient Greece, Stuttgart, 247–263. Luraghi, N., 2012. Commedia e politica tra Demostene e Cremonide, in: Perusino, F. – Colantonio, M. (eds.), La commedia greca e la storia, Pisa, 353–376. Luraghi, N., 2018. Stairway to heaven: the politics of memory in early Hellenistic Athens, in: Canevaro, M. – Gray, B. (eds.), The Hellenistic and early Imperial Greek reception of Classical Athenian democracy and political thought, Oxford, 21–43. Luraghi, N. (forthcoming a). Memory and community in early Hellenistic Athens, in: Pohl, W. (ed.), Visions of Community, Turnhout. Luraghi, N. (forthcoming b). Kallias of Sphettos between two worlds, in: Dana, M. – SavalliLestrade, I. (eds.), La cité interconnectée, Paris. Ma, J., 1999. Antiochos III and the cities of Western Asia Minor, Oxford. Mann, C., 2012. Gleichheiten und Ungleichheiten in den hellenistischen Poleis: Überlegungen zum Stand der Forschung, in: Mann, C. – Scholz, P. (eds.), “Demokratie” im Hellenismus. Von der Herrschaft des Volkes zur Herrschaft der Honoratioren?, Mainz, 11–27. Mann, C. – Scholz, P. (eds.), 2012. “Demokratie” im Hellenismus. Von der Herrschaft des Volkes zur Herrschaft der Honoratioren?, Mainz. Mikalson, J. D., 1998. Religion in Hellenistic Athens, Berkeley. Oliver, G. J., 2007. War, food, and politics in early Hellenistic Athens, Oxford. Osborne, M. J., 2012. Athens in the third century b. c., Athens. Osborne, M. J., 1979. Kallias, Phaidros and the revolt of Athens in 287 b. c., ZPE 35, 181–194. Osborne, M. J., 2016. Panathenaic Phantasies, ZPE 198, 88–96. O’Sullivan, L., 2009. The regime of Demetrius of Phalerum in Athens, 317–307 bce: A philosopher in politics, Leiden and Boston. Paschidis, P., 2008. Between city and king: prosopographical studies on the intermediaries between the Cities of the Greek Mainland and the Aegean and the Royal Courts in the Hellenistic period, 322–190 bc, Athens. Pavone, C., 2013. A civil war: a history of the Italian resistance, London and New York. Poddighe, E., 2002. Nel segno di Antipatro: l’eclissi della democrazia ateniese dal 323/2 al 319/8 a. C., Rome. Shear, J. L., 2012. The politics of the past: remembering revolution at Athens, in: Marincola, J. – Llewellyn-Jones, L. – Maciver, C. (eds.), Greek Notions of the Past in the Archaic and Classical Eras, Edinburgh, 276–300. Shear, J. L., 2011. Polis and revolution: responding to oligarchy in classical Athens, Cambridge and New York. Shear, T. L., 1978. Kallias of Sphettos and the Revolt of Athens in 286 b. c., Princeton. Smith, L. C., 1962. Demochares of Leuconoe and the dates of his exile, Historia 11, 114–118.

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Documentary Evidence and Political Ideology in Early Hellenistic Athens Squillace, G., 2004. Βασιλεῖς ἢ τύραννοι: Filippo II e Alessandro Magno tra opposizione e consenso, Soveria Mannelli. Virgilio, B., 2011. Le roi écrit: la correspondance du souverain hellénistique, suivie de deux lettres d’Antiochos III à partir de Louis Robert et d’Adolf Wilhelm, Pisa. Von den Hoff, R., 2003. Tradition and innovation: portraits and dedication on the early Hellenistic Akropolis, in: Palagia, O. – Tracy, S. V., The Macedonians in Athens: Proceedings of an international conference at the University of Athens, May 24–26, 2001, Oxford, 173–182. Von den Hoff, R., 2009. Die Bildnisstatue des Demosthenes als öffentliche Ehrung eines Bürgers in Athen, in: C. Mann, – Haake, M. – von den Hoff, R. (eds.), Rollenbilder in der athenischen Demokratie. Medien, Gruppen, Räume im politischen und sozialen System, Wiesbaden, 193–220. Wheatley, P. V., 1997. The lifespan of Demetrius Poliorcetes, Historia 46, 19–27. Whitehead, D., 2000. Hyperides: The forensic speeches, Oxford. Will, É., 1979. Histoire politique du monde hellénistique (323–30 av. J.-C.), second edition revised and augmented, Nancy. Wolpert, A., 2002. Remembering defeat: Civil War and civic memory in ancient Athens. Baltimore/ London.

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10 A STOIC ETHIC FOR ROMAN ARISTOCRATS? PANAITIOS’ DOCTRINE OF BEHAVIOR , ITS CONTEXT AND ITS ADDRESSEES Hans-Ulrich Wiemer*

I. Panaitios between Greeks and Romans Panaitios’ work On that which is appropriate (Peri tou kathêkontos, usually but less precisely translated as On duty) is considered the best-known work by a Stoic philosopher of the Hellenistic age. To be sure, previous Stoic philosophers had also composed works with this title, and the distinction between actions that are advantageous and right according to the nature of man as a social being and therefore extra-moral (kathêkonta) and moral actions that are good in ethical terms (katorthômata) goes back to the founder of the school.1 The works of the earlier Stoics, however, are lost and it is not possible to reconstruct them;2 our knowledge of their doctrines derives from paraphrases, summaries and short quotes. By contrast, Panaitios’ work Peri tou *

This is a revised and modified version of the paper I delivered for the first time in Konstanz on June 3, 2014 at the conference ‘Rethinking the polis in the Hellenistic age’, invited by Henning Börm and Nino Luraghi, and then again on February 18, 2015 in Mannheim, invited by Sophie Remijsen. I am very grateful to the audiences, and especially to Ruth Bielfeldt, Ulrich Gotter and Christian Mann, for their constructive criticism. Maximilian Forschner, Angela Ganter, Matthias Haake, Daniel Kah, Charlotte Köckert, Sebastian Scharff and Andreas Victor Walser later provided valuable remarks. My greatest debt, however, is to Nino Luraghi, who meticulously translated the text into English. 1 See the fundamental discussion in Forschner 1981/1995: 183–211, who demonstrates against Pohlenz 1959: I 129–131; II 73 f. and others that τὰ καθήκοντα are not obligations or duties in a moral sense, but rather actions appropriate to the human nature. 2 Cf. Dyck 1996: 3 f.; Brunt 2013b: 109 with n. 5 (both with references to the evidence): Zenôn, Kleanthês, Sphairos, Chrysippos.

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kathêkontos is generally considered to have been Cicero’s main source for the first two books of his De officiis.3 Panaitios lived in eventful times. He came from a wealthy and respected family that belonged to Rhodes’ political elite. We can trace its members in cultic, political and military magistracies and functions over four generations. In 177 bce, his father had held the most prestigious priesthood in Lindos. At that time, the Rhodian republic was at the height of its power. Apparently, in 170/69 the Rhodians put Panaitios’ father in charge of an embassy to the Roman senate.4 But Panaitios, who witnessed in his youth the failure of the Rhodians’ hegemonic politics and its final catastrophe,5 broke with the tradition of his family and abandoned his island when he was still young, probably in the 150s. After studying with Krates of Mallos, he moved to Athens, where he followed Diogenes of Babylon and Antipatros of Tarsos. In 149/8 he is documented as a member of a board of magistrates that organized in Athens a celebration in honor of the Ptolemies. Two decades later, around 129, he took over the direction of the Stoic school in Athens, after he had already been giving preparatory courses for a while. He died in Athens, probably some 20 years later, at the latest in 110/09. Panaitios’ influence, however, was not confined to the Greeks from all parts of the eastern Mediterranean that congregated in Athens.6 In his mid-life, probably soon after 146, he came in personal contact with Roman senators who had an interest for the Greek east and its culture. In 140/39 he accompanied Scipio Aemilianus Africanus, the destructor of Carthage, in the embassy of Roman senators that caused a sensation travelling through Egypt, Cyprus, Syria, Asia Minor and Greece. It is well attested that he was a welcome guest in the house of Scipio, although the frequency and duration of his stays in Rome are unknown. Furthermore, in his writings Cicero mentions, beyond Scipio, a dozen Roman senators who heard Panaitios’ lectures;7 to 3 Modestus van Straaten republished his original 1946 edition (van Straaten 1946, on which see Pohlenz 1949b) in a second edition in 1952 and in a third in 1966, each time revising it. References here are to the third edition and also to Alesse 1997, but not to Vimercati 2002, whose edition includes a translation and useful notes, but no critical apparatus. 4 On the life of Panaitios cf. Haake 2007: 198–205, whose dates for his ancestors are however some ten years too high in light of the revised chronology of the Rhodian inscriptions (Badoud 2015: 299), and Wiemer 2016. 5 Cf. Wiemer 2002: 235–340. 6 Cf. Habicht 1988. 7 1) C. Laelius, cos. 140 (Cic. fin. 2.24 = F 141 van Straaten = T 47 Alesse); 2) C. Fannius, cos. 122 (Cic. Brut. 101 = T 50 Alesse); 3) Q. Mucius Scaevola, cos. 117 (Cic. orat. 1.75 = F 145 van Straaten = T 49 Alesse); 4) P. Rutilius Rufus, cos. 105 (Cic. Brut. 113–114 = T 48 Alesse; Cic. off. 3.10 = F 35 van Straaten = T 94 Alesse); 5) Q. Aelius Tubero, tr. pleb. 130 (?) (Cic. fin. 4.23 = F 113 van Straaten = T 83 Alesse); 6) M. Vigellius (Cic. orat. 3.78 = F 162 van Straaten = T 51 Alesse). It

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one of them, Q. Aelius Tubero, Scipio’s nephew, Panaitios dedicated a consolatory treatise in Greek.8 Especially because of these contacts Panaitios is often seen as influential in the transmission of Stoic culture to the Roman aristocracy. Both in De republica and in De amicitia, Cicero draws the picture of a group of philhellenic senators gathering around young Scipio Africanus, who used to frequent Greek intellectuals like Panaitios and Polybius. Hermann Strasburger, however, showed long ago that Cicero in both dialogues exaggerated the size and, more importantly, the internal cohesion and the philosophical inclinations of the group of people connected to Scipio, in order to provide historical legitimacy for his own vision of political leadership. There is no doubt that the Roman aristocracy during the second century absorbed Greek literature and philosophy in large quantities, but the circle of Scipio did not have a decisive role in the process: its image is a product of Cicero’s wishful thinking.9 In spite of this, scholarship has long assumed, and still generally assumes, that Panaitios wrote his work on adequate behavior especially or even exclusively for Roman readers. An expert of Stoic philosophy like Max Pohlenz insistently affirmed this view, and more recently Giovanna Garbarino, Hans-Joachim Gehrke and Peter Brunt, among others, argued for it, while Andrew Erskine implicitly presupposes it.10 Moreover, some scholars believe that his familiarity with Roman senators had a significant influence on Panaitios’ philosophy. While Pohlenz thought that Panaitios had found in Scipio Africanus the ultimate model of a political leader,11 Gehrke argued that Panaitios’ practical ethics was developed with an eye to the Roman world, or even in direct contact with the Romans.12 should be noted that M. Vigellius, who is unlikely to have been a senator, is also the only one to be called a Stoic by Cicero. 8 Cic. fin. 4.9.23 = F 113 van Straaten = T 83 Alesse; see also Cic. Luc. 135 = F 137 van Straaten = T 89 Alesse. 9 Cf. Strasburger 1966. Similar conclusions in Zetzel 1972, accepted by Gruen 1993: 226. Astin 1967: 294–306 questions Panaitios’ influence on Scipio and warns against overestimating the importance of Scipio’s circle for the reception of Greek philosophy in Rome; similarly Garbarino 1973: 46 and 380–445, who considers Cicero’s references to the characters of his dialogues reliable but thinks that the ideas they represent are a literary fiction (15–21). Ferrary 1988: 589–615 as well thinks that Panaitios’ influence on Scipio and his friends was modest, but points out that his example found followers. 10 Cf. Pohlenz 1934: 5 and 143; Pohlenz 1959: I 193; similarly Garbarino 1973: 35; Moretti 1977: 87; Erskine 1990: 159–161 (implicitly) and 209 f.; Gehrke 1998: 117–121; Brunt 2013a: 195 f., 208 and 214 f. 11 Cf. Pohlenz 1959: I 203. 12 Cf. Gehrke 1998: 121: “Die praktische Ethik von Panaitios [wurde] im Blick auf die römische Welt oder gar in unmittelbarem Kontakt mit den Römern erarbeitet”. Vimercati 2002: 14, 36 f.

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There are, however, dissenting voices. No less an authority than Ulrich von Wila mowitz-Moellendorff declared in a lecture on Panaitios in 1924 that the philosopher wrote for youths from aristocratic Greek families,13 and he repeated this view forcefully once again before his death: Den Panaitios immer von Rom aus zu betrachten hat zu dem geradezu grotesken Irrtum geführt, daß er geschrieben hätte, um die Römer zu erziehen, sogar das einzige Buch von ihm, das wir kennen, wo doch für jeden, der einigermaßen weiß, wie es in den griechischen Städten und wie es in dem Rom des Cato und Nasica aussah, sonnenklar ist, daß der athenische Professor weder für Römer noch für Studenten der stoischen Philosophie spricht, sondern für griechische Jünglinge, die in ihren Gemeinden einmal als tüchtige Menschen und Bürger ein nützliches Leben führen sollten.14

The divergence from the communis opinio could hardly be more radical: according to Wilamowitz, Panaitios did not intend to offer a philosophically-sublimated class moral for Roman senators, but rather a code of behavior for adolescent citizens of late Hellenistic poleis. This interpretation of Panaitios’ philosophy of practice received little attention for a long time, until it recently found a prominent advocate in Andrew Dyck.15 The time seems ripe, therefore, to subject the communis opinio to a scrutiny. Considering the almost total loss of the writings of the Hellenistic philosophers, it is not inconsequential for the cultural history of the second century bce whether Panaitios’ philosophy of practice is to be seen against the background of the social conventions and cultural norms of the Greek poleis or presupposes the conditions under which Roman aristocrats acted. From this observation derive the questions that will be explored in the present essay: which social conventions and cultural norms are seen by Panaitios as proband 2004: 8 f. goes even further: he thinks that the contact with the Romans left a mark not only on Panaitios’ ethics and politics, but also on his physical doctrines. 13 Wilamowitz-Moellendorff 1924: II 210: “Jünglinge aus der guten hellenischen Gesellschaft”. 14 Wilamowitz-Moellendorff 1931/1932: II 389–396, here: 390 (“The habit of looking at Panaitios always from the perspective of Rome has caused the almost grotesque misconception that he wrote – even his only book we know – in order to educate the Romans, while for everyone who has any idea of how things were in the Greek cities and in the Rome of Cato and Nasica it is perfectly clear that the Athenian professor spoke neither to Romans nor to students of the Stoic philosophy, but to Greek youths who were expected to lead useful lives as stalwart men in their communities”). 15 Cf. Dyck 1996: 24–28; in the same vein, but without any more specific discussion, Bringmann 1971: 230; Botermann 1987: 22; Lefèvre 2001: 192. Ferrary 1988: 395–400 mediates between Wilamowitz and Pohlenz.

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lematic and accordingly subjected to philosophical scrutiny? Which are the fields of action and the social roles that he considers when he formulates advice for a wise conduct of life conform to human nature? How does he envision the men who are supposed to understand and apply his doctrine? In other words: what are the features of the implied audience of his text? The present contribution endeavors to interpret Panaitios’ ethics as a confrontation with the rules of discourse and the forms of action that were important for his intended audience. This line of argument rests on two premises: first, that an investigation of the implied audience that can be deduced from Panaitios’ text allows conclusions as regards his intended audience, since it is reasonable to assume that Panaitios tried to make an impact on a contemporary readership; second, that Panaitios could not completely suppress the social and cultural context in which he lived, even as he tried to formulate statements that would be valid for all civilized men of any time. These premises seem legitimate because what Panaitios saw as human civilization was inevitably culture-specific. But there is more: it is legitimate to postulate a connection with non-philosophical discourses because it can be shown that Panaitios took account not only of the use of ethical terms in a non-philosophical sense, or at any rate in a non-technical sense from a Stoic point of view,16 but also of social conventions. He was convinced that he could show that a conduct of life corresponding to his doctrine did not conflict with generally recognized values and aims in life. This opinion was fundamentally consistent with the doctrine of the early Stoics, since they defined actions that correspond to human nature (kathêkonta) as actions according to rules sanctioned by the customs and institutions of a particular social community.17 Accordingly, it comes as no surprise that Panaitios explicitly recognized popular judgment as the benchmark of appropriate behavior. To the Cynics he objected that customs and institutions of the community had the force of rules of behavior, which could not be ignored without offending the sense of propriety.18

16 Cic. off. 2.35 = F 62 van Straaten = T 105 Alesse. 17 “Die καθήκοντα sind definiert als Handlungen nach Regeln (praecepta), die in den Sitten und Institutionen einer Sprach- und Handlungsgemeinschaft in Geltung stehen” (Forschner 1981/1995: 186 f.). 18 Cic. off. 1.147–148. That this statement goes back to Panaitios is indicated also by the comparison with workmen and artists, which had no practical relevance for Cicero; see also Cic. off. 1.128 = T 73 Alesse. Cynics are not documented in Rome before the imperial age: Cf. Dudley 1937, 118 ff.

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II. Panaitios’ Peri tou kathêkontos and Cicero’s De officiis Earlier generations believed in the possibility of reconstructing lost works of Hellenistic philosophers by discovering the sources of Cicero’s philosophical works. Of the products of this approach, not much has stood the test of time. Our knowledge of the philosophical literature of the Hellenistic age is too limited for it to be possible to identify in a reliable way sources that are not explicitly quoted by the author at hand: there are too many unknowns in the equation. Moreover, nowadays scholars are rightly inclined to attribute to Cicero a stronger personal agenda and accordingly a higher degree of autonomy vis à vis his sources. For this reason, the attempt at reconstructing Panaitios’ work “On providence” (Peri pronoias) based on the second book of Cicero’s De natura deorum has found few supporters.19 Likewise, the assumption that De republica and De legibus make it possible to grasp Panaitios’ political theory is met with skepticism.20 However, widespread suspicion towards the so-called Quellenforschung, justified as it may be in many cases, should not go so far as to regard even Cicero’s De officiis as a work that deals with its topic in such a profound and original way as to make impossible any conclusion regarding a main source. Cicero wrote his work “On obligations” (De officiis) in the fall of 44 bce, as an instruction of sorts for his s on Marcus, who was at that point living in Athens for study, but in writing it he was clearly thinking of the Roman aristocratic youth as a whole.21 He began writing it in August at the earliest, and it was by no means his only or even his main occupation at that point. At the same time, he was preparing his return to Rome and writing the first two Philippics. At the end of October, he wrote to Atticus saying that he was busy dealing with the issue of appropriate behavior in a work that he was going to dedicate to his son.22 On November 9th he could already report that the first two books of De officiis were finished.23 The third book was written in a hurry, too: on December 9th Cicero was already back in Rome and took up again the struggle against Marc Antony.24

19 Cf. e. g. Pohlenz 1959: I 195 f. with II 98 f. 20 E. g. Pohlenz 1959: I 204–206 with II 102; Schäfer 1960; cf., along the same lines, recently Vimercati 2004: 183–204. Cf. convincingly Pöschl 1934; Ferrary 1988: 363–381. 21 Cf. Bringmann 1971: 229–250; Dyck 1996: 8–16; Brunt 2013a: 220–222. 22 Cic. Att. 15.13.6. 23 Cic. Att. 16.11, 4 = F 34 van Straaten = T 92 Alesse. 24 For Book III, Cicero had the Stoic Athenodorus Calvus (on whom see Rawson 1985, 81 f.) prepare a summary (ὑπόμνημα) of the six books of Poseidônios on decorum, which presumably included also doctrines of other Stoics on this topic: Cic. Att. 16.11.4; 16.14.4. Return to Rome: Cic. fam. 11.5.1 with Bringmann 2010: 266–283.

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Since De officiis was not a dialogue in which different positions were displayed, but rather a didactic work which dealt with its subject matter from a single point of view, Cicero – who wanted to be considered a skeptical Academic – felt obliged to justify explicitly the use of a Stoic source.25 In the work itself Cicero writes that, since Panaitios had dealt with the question of obligations with the highest precision (accuratissime), he mostly followed him with a few corrections: quem […] correctione quadam adhibita potissimum secuti sumus.26 Elsewhere Cicero remarks that he followed Panaitios to a large extent (multum), although not to the point of providing a downright translation.27 At the beginning of book III, on the other hand, he explicitly informs his reader that from that point on he will conduct the discussion autonomously (Marte nostro), because Panaitios had not treated the problem of a conflict between honestum and utile.28 In the first two books, however, Cicero not only mentions Panaitios many times as his source, but he also repeatedly points out explicitly that he deviates from Panaitios on a specific point.29 Accordingly, at the end of Book II he emphasizes that Panaitios had not dealt with the care for health and property, before embarking on his own remarks on the subject.30 It seems inevitable to conclude that, wherever Cicero does not explicitly say otherwise, he follows Panaitios. In the first two books of De officiis Cicero reproduces both the layout of the subject matter and the argumentative structure of his model, even though he reduces it from three books to two by leaving out what seems to him superfluous. For instance, Cicero reduces to two chapters (1.18–19) the discussion of theoretical reason, in spite of its belonging to the same systematic order as the other three virtues – a nameless practical virtue, “high-mindedness” (megalopsychia) and moderation (sophrosynê). Furthermore, Cicero added passages whenever he felt he could supplement Panaitios or improve upon him, and complemented the Greek examples adduced by Panaitios with Roman counterparts, which as a rule follow them and refer to events from the time after Panaitios’s death. 25 Cic. off. 2.7 f. 26 Cic. off. 3.7 = F 35 van Straaten = T 94 Alesse. 27 Cic. off. 2.60 = F 122 van Straaten = T 17 Alesse: et hic ipse Panaetius, quem multum in his libris secutus sum non interpretatus. In Cicero’s usage, the verb interpretari means ‘to translate’; see Brunt 2013a: 185 n. 11 against Atkins/Griffin 1991: 87. 28 Cic. off. 3.34 = F 102 van Straaten = T 104 Alesse. 29 Lack of a treatment of the conflict between honestum and utile: Cic. off. 1.152 = F 36 van Straaten = T 100 Alesse; Cic. off. 2.88 = F 38 van Straaten = T 101 Alesse; off. 3, 7–10 = F 35 van Straaten = T 94 Alesse; Cic. off. 3.33 = T 95 Alesse; cf. Cic. Att. 16.11.4 = F 34 van Straaten = T 92 Alesse. Lack of a definition of καλν: Cic. off. 1.7 = F 39 van Straaten = T 96 Alesse. Evaluation of temple-building: Cic. off. 2.60 = F 122 van Straaten = T 17 Alesse. 30 Cic. off. 2.86–87 = T 76 Alesse.

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Finally, it must be kept in mind that the translation into Latin of Panaitios’ main concepts partially modified their meaning. This is the case for the very title: unlike the concept of kathêkon, officium belongs to the vocabulary of patronage. What Panaitios discussed was not reciprocal obligations, symmetric or asymmetric relationships resulting from benefactions (beneficia) performed or expected, along the lines of Roman patronage,31 but rather the question of which behavior was consistent with the standard of reason and accordingly appropriate for a specific individual in specific situations; the concept of to kathêkon came very close to what was called in everyday Greek parlance to prepon, that is, decorum.32 In most cases we can still reconstruct the terms used by Panaitios because we know Stoic terminology thanks to other sources. In some cases, however, uncertainties remain, which cannot be discussed here case by case. As a general trend affecting the translation of Stoic terms into Latin, we can observe the intrusion of notions originating from the Senatorial class ethic, which were absent from the original Greek concepts.33 We possess some information about Panaitios’ work. It comprised three books and a sequel was announced, but never actually composed.34 According to Poseidonios, Panaitios lived on for 30 years after publishing this work. Counting back, we come to ca. 140 bce as the date of publication: when L. Crassus visited Athens around 110 bce, the representative of the Stoa he met was Mnesarchos, not Panaitios. Since on this occasion Crassus heard lectures by several representatives of the Academy and by the scholarch of the Peripatos, Diodoros, it is almost inevitable to conclude that Panaitios at this point was already dead, or else Crassus would have certainly visited such a famous philosopher.35 31 Cicero hat to justify to Atticus the translation of τὸ καθῆκον with officium: Cic. Att. 16.11.4 mit Dyck 1996: 4–8. On the concept of officium see Hellegouarc’h 1963: 152–170; Saller 1982: 7–40; on patronage in Cicero see now Ganter 2015: 27–74. 32 τπρέπον: Pohlenz 1933. 33 τὸ ἀγαθόν/honestum: Philippson 1930; Pohlenz 1934: 12–16. It is not certain whether the concept of fides, an essential element of justice for Cicero, had a counterpart in Panaitios, whose name would presumably be πίστις. Earlier scholarship – e. g. Hirzel 1902 – strongly underestimated the importance of respecting contractual obligation as a moral norm for the Greeks: cf. Sommerstein/Bayliss 2013; Sommerstein/Torrance 2014; Scharff 2016. It cannot be excluded, though, that Cicero in this point reinforced conceptually Panaitios’ argument. 34 Cic. Att. 16.11.4 = F 34 van Straaten = T 92 Alesse; Cic. off. 2.10 = F 35 van Straaten = T 94 Alesse; Gell. 13.8.1 = F 116 van Straaten = T 87 Alesse. 35 Cic. orat. 1.45 = F 155 van Straaten = T 9 Alesse. The late date advanced by Pohlenz 1934:125 f. and Erskine 1990: 158–161 has been rightly rejected by Ferrary 1988: 395–400; Dyck 1996: 21 f.; Alesse 1997: 235 f.; Brunt 2013a: 241. Emmanuele Vimercati (Vimercati 2002: 26 f. and 36 f.; Vimercati 2004: 134–138) pushes the date down to ca. 130 bce, for otherwise there wouldn’t be sufficient time for the Roman influence on Panaitios’ philosophy he postulates.

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It follows from this that Panaitios wrote his work on appropriate behavior precisely in the years in which he became acquainted with Scipio Africanus, but we cannot tell anything about the situation and the place in which he wrote. This may have happened in Athens or in Rome, more likely before than after the journey to the East. The destruction of Carthage and Corinth (146 bce) was still fresh in people’s minds when Panaitios wrote his doctrine of behavior, while the tribunate of Tiberius Gracchus, which provoked a crisis of the Roman political order and a bitter strife within the ruling elite, was instead still in the future; and the same is true of the war in Western Asia Minor, which the Roman republic conducted from 132 bce onwards in order to affirm its claim on the inheritance of the last legitimate king of the Attalid dynasty, Attalus III. At the end of this war, which lasted four years and saw many Greek poleis of Western Asia Minor and of the adjacent islands join the side of Rome, the last kingdom disappeared from the Aegean and the first Roman province in Asia Minor was created.36 The assumption that Panaitios wrote primarily for Roman aristocrats has been supported in the past with arguments which still cast a shadow although their bases have been long since undermined. For instance, it is often assumed or claimed that Panaitios’ remarks on war and military protection no longer had any meaning for the Greeks of his times. Recent research has shown, however, that the Greek poleis were often involved in military confrontations even after the downfall of the Macedonian monarchy, and their military institutions were still functional at the time of the Roman civil wars. Therefore, even in the first century bce the good citizen still needed to be a good soldier.37 Even less persuasive is the assumption that, after Alexander or at the latest after the destruction of Corinth (146 bce), political life was all but dead in the poleis. On the contrary, even after 146 bce in the islands and in the poleis of Asia Minor there were bitter conflicts, which could turn violent.38 Accordingly, it can no longer be maintained that the social behavior of the civic elites in the second century was no longer determined by their sense of citizenship but rather by individualism and cosmopolitanism, taken to be the two complementary sides of an apolitical mentality, as older scholarship was wont to maintain.39 The transformation of particularistic norms 36 On the war of Aristonikos see Daubner 2006. 37 On military institutions of the Hellenistic poleis cf. Boulay 2014: 25–158 (summary). On epheby in Athens cf. Pélékidis 1962; Perrin-Saminadayar 2007; on epheby in Asia Minor cf. Chankowski 2010. On the transformation of the Athenian epheby under the Roman Empire cf. Wiemer 2011. On the ‘culture’ and ideology of war see Chaniotis 2005, esp. 143–244. 38 Cf. Bernhardt 1985; Kallet-Marx 1995. 39 E. g. Pohlenz 1934: 127; Bengtson 1977: 252; Forschner 1981/1995: 29: Vimercati 2002: 52.

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and notions defined within the horizon of a particular polis under the impact of individualistic life-styles, of activities that went beyond the borders of the polis, and of universalistic systems of values was a long-lasting process, which was at that point still in its early phases and reached a preliminary conclusion only in the early Empire.40 Like Panaitios himself, the vast majority of his pupils known to us came from the Greek poleis. We can identify over 20 pupils with Greek names, originating mostly from Rhodes, Western Asia Minor, and the Levant.41 Most of them will have heard him in Athens, the place where he spent most time. Greek pupils of Panaitios like Hekatôn and Poseidônios knew his work Peri tou kathêkontos; and even Antipatros of Tyros, a pupil of Stratoklês who himself had heard Panaitios, dealt with it.42 Only Cicero mentions pupils of Panaitios from the senatorial order, and there don’t seem to have been all too many of them. All of them knew Greek and accordingly could follow the discussions of a philosopher who made his doctrines public exclusively in Greek. Panaitios learnt Latin, but wrote all his works in Greek, even the consolation to Aelius Tubero.43 Our information is fragmentary and it is risky to infer the intended addressee from the attested recipients, because an author cannot control or even foresee the reception of his work. Nevertheless, the evidence does seem to lend some plausibility to the assumption that Panaitios with this work intended to reach at least also Greek readers. This assumption can however only be confirmed through a close analysis of De officiis.

III. Panaitios’ doctrine of behavior In the following, I will try to present the layout and contents of Panaitios’ work, as they can be reconstructed based on the first two books of Cicero’s De officiis. The Greek equivalent of the concepts used by Cicero will be indicated in parenthesis,

40 Cf. Fröhlich/Müller 2005 and Gray 2013a. 41 On this, see in detail Wiemer 2016. 42 Poseidônios of Apameia: Cic. off. 3.10 = F 35 van Straaten = T 94 Alesse; Hekatôn of Rhodes: Cic. off. 3.63 = F 154 van Straaten = T 41 Alesse; 3, 89. Antipatros of Tyros: Cic. off. 2.86 = T 76 Alesse. Later, P. Rutilius Rufus had an exchange with Poseidônios on the question why Panaitios never wrote the announced fourth book: Cic. off. 2.10 = F 35 van Straaten = T 94 Alesse. 43 According to Cic. Tusc. 4.4 = F 139 van Straaten = T 88 Alesse, Panaitios praised a poem by Appius Claudius Caecus in a letter to Q. Aelius Tubero.

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when it can be identified with certainty. The choice will be explicitly justified only when it is doubtful whether an idea actually comes from Panaitios.44 Panaitios began with the question of what constitutes morally good behavior. For this, he will presumably have used the concept of kalon, which Cicero translates with honestum. In the process, four virtues (aretai) are identified: 1) theoretical reason; 2)  social attitude; 3) high-mindedness; 4) moderation. Panaitios must have called theoretical reason either sophia or phronesis; Cicero uses the word cognitio. Social attitude was a practical virtue which consisted of two components, rightfulness and benevolence. Cicero’s iustitia corresponds to the Greek dikaiosyne; liberalitas probably renders eleutheriotes. For social attitude, which, although consisting of two components, was seen as a unit, Panaitios had no specific name, and Cicero did not find any, either. High-mindedness was called by Panaitios megalopsychia, which Cicero renders with magnitudo animi. Finally moderation, called sophrosyne by Panaitios and moderatio by Cicero, was a virtue whose goal was decorum. For this, Panaitios used the concept to prepon, which Cicero translates as decorum. Panaitios, who had devoted himself to a life of research, certainly considered theoretical reason important, but Cicero only touches upon it briefly. Social attitude as a practical virtue is incomparably more important also for the questions dealt with in the present study. According to Panaitios, rightfulness (1.20–41) consisted in not hurting others (1.20), benevolence (1.42–60) in helping others (1.42). Both, according to the Stoic doctrine, correspond to human nature. In his discussion of rightfulness, Panaitios dealt with the question whether a measure of revenge and punishment existed also in war. He argued that rational discourse was a human prerogative, the practice of violence an animal one. Accordingly, the use of military violence was justified only under certain circumstances, and in particular when its purpose was to be able to live in peace without suffering damage (sine iniuria, 1.35). Panaitios may have limited the generally recognized traditional right to deal with defeated enemies in an arbitrary fashion, 45 in that he admitted the annihilation of the enemy only when the latter had showed themselves cruel (crudeles) and inhuman (immensi) in war. Everything else however, and especially the section on wars fought for the sake of domination and glory (1.38), is probably to be attributed to

44 I consciously avoid to engage in a discussion of Lefèvre 2001, who claims that Cicero already in Book I freely manipulated his model and then all but abandoned it in Book II of De officiis. This theory is based on the a priori assumption that Panaitios wrote a philosophical treatise without any relation to actual practice (189–195), and is very difficult to reconcile with what Cicero himself says about the genesis of De officiis, as discussed above. 45 Cf. Ducrey 1968: 80–92; Chaniotis 2005: 111–113.

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Cicero.46 Rightfulness for Panaitios was also the foundation of norms for interaction with socially inferior people: slaves were not to be treated worse than free workers (1.41).47 Panaitios dealt in depth with the question of how to help other human beings in an adequate way. He did not confine himself to the recommendation that benefaction should not damage anybody, neither the person that is its target nor anybody else (1.43), or the advice that benefaction should not cause the financial ruin of the benefactor (1.44). He argued that the support due to other people was to be measured based on the claim that such people had to it because of their character, of the proximity to the benefactor, or of earlier benefactions (1.45). Here, Panaitios distinguished four levels of human community, namely humanity, the community that binds people of the same ethnicity (gens), origin (natio) and language (lingua) (1.53), the citizen body (civitas), and the kinship group (societas propinquorum). The citizen body is that of a city-state: the citizens share a market (forum), sanctuaries (fana), porches (porticus), streets (viae), laws (leges) and law-courts (iudicia), voting (suffragia), customs (consuetudines) and personal proximity (familiaritates); furthermore, they are connected by professional and trading relations (1.53). For Panaitios, family was the basic unit of sociability; its members shared cults and burial sites (1.55). High-mindedness (megalopsychia) consisted in despising external goods and performing great deeds (1.66–67). It expresses itself through warlike exploits, that is, it overlaps in part with what is otherwise called bravery (andreia). Panaitios however insisted that bravery needed to be paired with rightfulness, or else it could turn into a vice. For Panaitios, using one’s own patrimony for benefactions was morally good. Meanness and pettiness were to be avoided. Retreating from politics was legitimate under certain circumstances – if the purpose was a philosophical life. However, those who were capable should pursue office, in order to act for the good of the community (1.73). Panaitios opposed the notion that warlike deeds were superior to actions performed in peace, and insisted that only a good constitution constituted the precondition for victory in war (1.75–76). Even in war, mental strength was more important than physical force (1.79). Fighting man against man was contrary to human nature, 46 The widespread notion that Panaitios developed an ethical theory of Roman imperialism is based on Cic. off. 1.34–40 (and on Cic. rep. 3.36): see e. g. Capelle 1932; Pohlenz 1934: 32 f.; Walbank 1965 (but cf. Walbank 1972: 181 f.); Ferrary 1988: 401–415; Erskine 1990: 192–200; against this theory, see e. g. Strasburger 1965: 928–930; Bringmann 1971: 242 f.; Dyck 1981: 219 f.; Botermann 1987: 11 f. and 28. Dyck 1996: 137 f. and 146–148 argues that Panaitios approved only of defensive war, discussed in Cic. off. 1.34, but not war with the purpose of power and glory, discussed in § 38 (cum vero de imperio decertatur belloque quaeritur gloria); similarly Brunt 2013a: 203–208, who sees in § 38 “Cicero’s own second thoughts”. 47 Panaitios did not exclude totally the physical punishment of slaves: Cic. off. 2.24.

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although there could be circumstances that made it necessary (1.81). In peace, those who were leading the communities were expected always to look after the good of the whole community, and never after the interests of a single group; this was the only way to avoid strife among citizens – what the Greeks called stasis (1.85).48 For this reason, leading citizens were to treat each other with respect. Panaitios warned against pride, arrogance and haughtiness. He pointed to the example of Philip II of Macedon, who surpassed his son Alexander in approachability and humanity,49 and quoted Scipio Africanus, who often said that men who became unrestrained because of favorable circumstances should be brought to appreciate the fragility of all things human through reason and wisdom (1.90). Panaitios insisted that men who lived a public life were particularly exposed to the blows of fate (1.72–73); for this reason, they needed to learn to be steadfast in the face of misfortune (1.90–91). This may be the context in which the only actual fragment of Panaitios’ work belongs. It is transmitted by Aulus Gellius in Latin translation: The life of men who pass their time in the midst of affairs (aetatem in medio rerum agunt), and who wish to be helpful to themselves and to others, is exposed to constant and almost daily troubles and sudden dangers. To guard against and avoid these one needs a mind that is always ready and alert, such as the athletes have who are called pancratiasts. For just as they, when called to the contest, stand with their arms raised and stretched out, and protect their head and face by opposing their hands as a rampart; and as all their limbs, before the battle has begun, are ready to avoid or to deal blows, so the spirit and mind of the wise man, on the watch everywhere and at all times against violence and wanton injuries, ought to be alert, ready, strongly protected, prepared in time of trouble, never flagging in attention, never relaxing its watchfulness, opposing judgment and forethought like arms and hands to the strokes of fortune and the snares of the wicked, lest in any way a hostile and sudden onslaught be made upon us when we are unprepared and unprotected.50

48 Cf. the contribution by Henning Börm to the present volume. 49 See Wiemer 2015: 103–105. 50 Gell. 13.28.3 f. = F 116 van Straaten = T 87 Alesse (transl. Rolfe). Ever since Schmekel 1892: 33 it has generally been assumed that the passage comes from the discussion of μεγαλοψυχία; see e. g. Jungblut 1907: 50–52; Pohlenz 1934: 50 f.; Bringmann 1971: 269 f.; Dyck 1979: 410–412; Dyck 1996: 28 and 204. It is debatable whether it should be connected to Cic. off. 1.80–81 or to Cic. off. 1.72–73 (as suggested by Bringmann 1971: 269 f.). Gärtner 1974: 71 f. locates this fragment in the context of the discussion of decorum, because elsewhere (Cic. or. 228) Cicero compares the orator to athletes (and gladiators!), who neither in attack nor in defense make any inelegant move, but this aspect is not present in the passage quoted by Gellius; it is thus more than questionable that the passage of the Orator derives from Panaitios, see also Dyck 1979: 409 f.

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Panaitios compared the political arena, in which leading citizens operated, to the gymnasium, where wrestlers entered their contests: presence of mind, concentration and provident behavior were necessary for both if one wanted to prevail; only by being constantly on guard could one escape the attacks of the opponents. The comparison had a long tradition in Greek philosophy. Already Plato said that the man who wanted to act for the good of the polis had to prepare as for an athletic competition. Cicero instead left out the agonistic metaphor in his rendering of Panaitios’ passage, because athletes were no adequate model for Roman senators.51 Panaitios dealt comprehensively with the concept of decorum and with its implications for a definition of appropriate behavior. He isolated four different roles (prosôpa) that a man has to play, each of which implying specific requirements. These four roles resulted respectively from a man’s belonging to the human species, from his individual personal character – his personality – from concrete circumstances over which the individual has no control – among these, Panaitios included age but also wealth, legal status, noble birth, offices and honors – and finally from a man’s conscious choice of occupying himself in a specific field, such as for example philosophy (1.115). Based on this theory of roles, Panaitios developed a casuistry of decorum: appropriate behavior must correspond to age and legal status. The youth must strengthen the body and be respectful of old age. Older men need to train less, but have to support the community with their advice (1.122–123). Panaitios put high demands on the office-holder: he needed to be conscious of the fact that he represented the community, defend its dignity and reputation and uphold the laws (1.124). The common citizen instead was expected to interact with his fellow-citizens on a foot of equality. He would be called a good citizen only if he pursued the moral good in politics. A foreigner, on the contrary, was to mind his own business and never to meddle in public affairs (1.125). Decorum should be kept in mind in every action and statement, in sitting and lying, in standing and walking.52 Even for gesture and facial expression there was an appropriate measure: nothing should look unmanly or coarse (1.128–129). Panaitios recommended physical training as a way to achieve a healthy skin color, and urged to avoid exaggeration in clothing, too (1.130). In walking, hasty precipitation was to be avoided as well as careless roaming (1.131). Panaitios attributed great importance to 51 Plat. Alc. I 119b; cf. Xen. Mem. 3.5.13. 52 In Cic. off. 1.126–127 Cicero says that nature has withheld from view those body parts whose sight is ugly; accordingly, it is also unseemly to mention these body parts. Panaitios did not, as is often said, reject nudity, which in certain contexts for the Greeks was not at all indecorous, but was against relieving oneself in the sight of others.

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speech. He distinguished between speeches in a trial, in the popular assembly, and in the council on the one hand and conversation among friends on the other. Apparently, he provided advice also regarding the size and location of houses.53 Always and everywhere, what mattered was the appropriate situation – eutaxia – and the right timing  – eukairia (1.142).54 Therefore, Periklês had been right to scold Sophoklês when the latter, upon seeing a beautiful youth, called out: “What a beautiful youth, Periklês!” As a strategos, he was supposed to stay away from him not only with his hands, but also with his thoughts. In scrutinizing athletes on the contrary, added Panaitios, the same utterance would have been entirely appropriate (1.144). He did not need to elaborate any further, because for the citizen of a polis it was obvious that participants in athletic competitions were sorted in age groups before the event and in the process scrutinized in terms of their physical constitution, a process called krisis or enkrisis, which Cicero renders with athletarum probatio.55 The question of decorum brought Panaitios to discuss in depth way of life and choice of profession. He distinguished activities unworthy of a free man and those that were appropriate for him, referring to discussions on handworkers (banausoi) and their professions (banausikai technai) that had been held in Greek theory since the fifth century bce.56 Cicero’s list of inappropriate occupations can be easily translated back into Greek: tax-farmers (telônai) and money-lenders (tokistai), wageworkers (misthôtoi/thêtes), petty traders (kapêloi) and craftsmen (technitai). The same verdict applied also to the performing artists, the Dionysian technitai, and to those who prepared delicacies and made ointments. On the contrary, medicine, architecture and philosophy were in his opinion praiseworthy occupations, and the same was true of those who engaged in trade on a large scale (emporoi), especially if they invested their gains in landed property, for agriculture was the most appropriate occupation for a free man.57

53 Cic. off. 1.138–140; cf. Cic. off. 2.64 (Kimôn). 54 Cicero himself uses these Greek terms. 55 Robert 1939: 239–244; Frisch 1988; on age-classes see Golden 1994: 104–112. 56 The locus classicus is Xen. Oec. 4.2–3; see also Hdt. 2.166–167; Arist. Pol. 3.5 (= 1278a); Pol. 6.128 with Aymard 1943. 57 Cic. off. 1.150–151. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff 1931/1932: II 390 n. 1 rightly emphasized that the list of approved and disapproved activities goes back to Panaitios. It would otherwise be impossible to explain why Cicero discusses medicine, architecture and the sciences as sources of income, considering that in Rome in Cicero’s times physicians were often Greek, unfree, or both, and their profession accordingly inappropriate for senators. Brunt 1973: 26–33 = Brunt 2013b: 172–178 argues for Panaitios as the source, too, emphasizing that in the year 44 bce Cicero would not have called tax-farmers and money-lenders dishonorable without any further qualification.

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In a further step, Panaitios tried to prove that moral behavior was in the interest of every man, if correctly understood. He did not confine himself to repeating the old Stoic doctrine according to which only that which is morally good could be really useful.58 Rather, he turned the argument on its head by starting from the premise that every man needed the help of other men and then proceeding to show that this was particularly true for the man who sought recognition from his fellow-citizens. The main and most durable way of obtaining the admiration and affection of one’s fellow-citizens was acting in a morally right way. He quoted a maxim that Xenophon attributed already to Sokrates: the shortest and safest way to be considered excellent (agathos) consisted in showing oneself excellent in one’s actions.59 People admired and honored those who stood out for their rightfulness and their benefactions. Panaitios explained the importance of rightfulness with reference to the origin of monarchy among the Medes, instituted in order to protect the week from the strong.60 When later kings ceased to fulfill this task, laws were invented in order to guarantee equality among the citizens.61 He discussed in detail the question of how young men could achieve reputation: by way of deeds in war and in peace, by way of modesty and compliance with their elders, by way of friendliness and approachability in conversation (2.48). He also dealt with the question of whether young men should appear as orators in law-courts. He warned against speaking often for the accuser: sycophants make themselves odious. Speaking for the defendant was less problematic: under certain circumstances, according to Panaitios it was even acceptable to defend someone who was guilty.62 In this context, benefaction, its measure and its goals was discussed again. Panaitios distinguished between wastefulness and generosity. As an example of the former, he pointed to the financing of food and drink for public banquets, for which late-Hellenistic benefactors were praised by their fellow-citizens.63 Here, he may also 58 Cic. off. 3.7–10 = F 35 van Straaten = T 94 Alesse; Cic. off. 3, 18 = T 100 van Straaten; Cic. off. 3, 34 = T 100 Alesse. 59 Cic. off. 2.43; cf. Xen. Mem. 2.6.39. 60 Cic. off. 2.41 = F 120 van Straaten = T 108 Alesse. Panaitios referred to Herodotus (Hdt. 1.96). 61 Cic. off. 2.42 = F 120 van Straaten = T 108 Alesse. 62 Cic. off. 2.51 = F 95 van Straaten = T 117 Alesse. Brunt 2013a: 195 f. thinks that here Panaitios was thinking of Roman practice, since advocacy did not enjoy as high a status in classical Athens as it did in Rome. Indeed, in classical Athens defendants often delivered their speeches themselves, even though they could also put advocates in charge of them: Harrison 1991: 157–159. Whether this was the case elsewhere, too, we cannot determine out of lack of evidence. It is certain, however, that in the Hellenistic period advocates could represent in trial both private persons and corporate entities: Cassayre 2010: 214–224 and 320–328. 63 Cic. off. 2.55. Cicero’s epulae et viscerationes correspond to the ἀκρατίσματα and γλυκυσμοί of late-Hellenistic honorific decrees: Cf. Schmitt Pantel 1992: 261–289 and 334–347.

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have criticized gladiatorial combats, with which leading citizens of the Greek poleis were familiar through sojourns in Rome.64 Criticism of fights with animals, which became common in the Greek world only after Panaitios’ death, may well have been added by Cicero.65 For Hellenistic poleis, piracy was a chronic problem. Panaitios discussed its consequences. He explicitly approved of buying the freedom of prisoners who had fallen in the hands of pirates.66 Supporting friends who were unable to repay a mortgage or to put together a dowry for their daughter had been common since time immemorial (2.55). With Aristotle, Panaitios spoke against expenses which only provided a brief entertainment to the masses.67 He was also critical of the trend towards monumentalizing cityscapes by creating an architectural framework for public spaces or sanctuaries.68 He thought that the dedication of buildings and constructions was reasonable only when it served the community: city-walls, harbors, quays, aqueducts. He criticized instead expenses for theaters and porticoes, and considered the refurbishing of temples unnecessary, too (2.60). In his view, generosity consisted rather in helping deserving men when they were in need. One had to be generous and not mean in claiming credits. To entertain guests in his home was becoming to a man wishing to yield political influence (2.64); Panaitios quoted with approval Theophrastos, who pointed to the Athenian Kimôn as a model of hospitality, because he opened his estate to members of his same dêmos (2.64). Holding office, according to Panaitios, ought not to be misused as a way to accumulate wealth at the expenses of the community or of other citizens. Here he pointed to his patron Scipio Aemilianus as a shining example (2.75–76). He warned against encroaching upon existing property and urged to recur to expropriation only in cases 64 On gladiators during the Roman republic see Ville 1981: 1–51 and 57–128. Greek poleis started putting on gladiatorial spectacles only in the early empire: cf. Robert 1940: 239–266; Mann 2011: 46–54. However, according to Liv. 41.20.10–13, Antiochus IV organized often during his reign (175 to 164 bce) gladiatorial combats Roman style somewhere in his kingdom (Antiocheia?). In favor of the assumption that Panaitios discussed gladiatorial contests one could point out that in Philodemus’ History of the Stoics (hist. Stoic. LXIV = F 1 van Straaten = T 1 Alesse) μονομάχοι were mentioned (it is unclear in which context). 65 Fighting with animals in the Greek world: Robert 1940: 309 f. Venationes in the Roman republic: Ville 1981: 51–56 and 88–99; Bernstein 1998: 298 f. 66 This example was irrelevant for Roman senators, both in Panaitios’ lifetime and in the time when Cicero composed De officiis, but very relevant for the citizens of Hellenistic poleis: Bielman 1994 (with an abundant collection of commented sources). The anti-Caesarian tendency of De officiis excludes that Cicero might be alluding to Caesar’s captivity in the hands of Cilician pirates (Plut. Caes. 2; Suet. Iul. 4). 67 Cic. off. 2.56 = Arist. F 89 Rose; vgl. Arist. F 88 Rose = Them. Or. 2.27a. 68 Cf. Lauter 1986 and the contributions in Matthaei/Zimmermann 2009.

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of emergency for the community (2, 74).69 Requests of redistribution of landed property and cancellation of debts – gês anadasmos and chreôn apokopê – endangered social order. At the time when Panaitios was writing, this was a salient issue: in 147/6 bce, in preparation for the revolt against Rome, the administration of the Achaian League had announced a moratorium on debts, had liberated slaves and imposed special taxes, measures which after the failure of the revolt were seen as expressions of a demagogic policy, and certainly not only by Polybius.70 These observations do not imply denying that particularly in this part of De officiis much derives from Cicero himself. Cicero, however, would hardly have described in such detail (2.78–83) how, after overthrowing the tyrant Nikoklês in 251, Aratos of Sikyôn managed to reintegrate 600 exiles in his city without violating the rights of those who had come in possession of the exiles’ estates in the course of 50 years, if he had not found in Panaitios this example, so ill-fitting for Roman society and institutions.71 Aratos was able to avoid the conflict between returning exiles and residents only because he succeeded in convincing a king, Ptolemy II, to provide a generous donation.

IV. Implied readers, intended addressees and historical context of Panaitios’ doctrine of behavior The scrutiny of Cicero’s De officiis has made it possible to reconstruct the main lines of Panaitios’ doctrine of behavior. This reconstruction in turn makes it possible to draw conclusions regarding the social conventions and cultural norms that Panaitios presupposed his readers to be familiar with. In order to test the hypothesis that Panaitios had in mind the conditions of social practice that obtained in late-Hellenistic poleis, I will now project the horizon of expectation of the author Panaitios, as obtained from the close reading of the text, upon the public discourse of the good citizen in the late-Hellenistic poleis, documented for us by the texts of decrees in honor of deserving citizens. In so doing I assume that philosophers like Panaitios belonged to the same social stratum as the citizens who were honored as civic benefactors. This same social group was also responsible for the formulation of honorific decrees, since the text that was approved by the citizen body was normally based on a draft provided by the honoree himself or by his close associates.72 Unlike philosophers, however, the 69 On exceptional contributions (ἐσφοραί) in Athens and elsewhere see now the comprehensive treatment of Migeotte 2014: 278–282 and 518–524. 70 Pol. 38.11.11; 38.15.3–6 with Fuks 1970; in general, cf. Fuks 1966; Asheri 1969; Fuks 1974. 71 Plut. Arat. 12–14 with Walbank 1984: 221–256, esp. 243 f. 72 Gauthier 1985: 77–128 and 181–196.

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proponents of honorific decrees had to comply with the expectations of poorer citizens, for only if the decree proposals were uncontroversial could they be approved in the name of all citizens. In other words, my purpose is not to show the influence of philosophical concepts on the language of honorific decrees;73 rather, I intend to argue that Panaitios was dealing with models of behavior and norms that are also present, implicitly or explicitly, in the public discourse of late-Hellenistic poleis. Panaitios target audience lived under the public eye, striving for recognition, called timê or doxa, attributing the highest importance to a good reputation among fellow citizens (eudoxia). Consistent engagement on behalf of the community to which they belonged was taken for granted by Panaitios’ addressees. Expected components of their engagement included participation in the general assembly, office-holding, and the readiness to provide foundations and donations which were employed for the construction of public buildings but also for festivals. Precisely this set of expectations finds expression in the decrees of late-Hellenistic poleis, in which expenses for religious cult, festivals and buildings are praised as the actions of exemplary citizens.74 For Panaitios’ audience, political and military engagement were inseparable. The good citizen needed to prove himself in war as well. Accordingly, Panaitios criticized Demosthenes because, in spite of being a remarkable orator, he could not be compared to Kimon, Thukydides and Perikles in terms of incorruptibility and bravery.75 The communities these leading citizens served were organized as a citizen-state and provided with an urban center. Panaitios took for granted that resident aliens would be excluded from political participation. He did not even consider that serving a king could represent an equivalent sphere of action with specific challenges and opportunities. For him, monarchy was an institution of the early stages of human history, whose regulating function was in developed societies taken up by the laws.76 As shown by the example of the reintegration of exiles in Argos, though, implemented thanks to 73 See Gray 2013b, who sees in honorific decrees of late-Hellenistic times especially peripatetic notions. See also Moretti 1977, who collects passages in honorific decrees which praise the selfless engagement for the common good of exemplary citizens and connects these notions to stoic influence; his collection of documents can now be integrated with e. g. I.Metropolis I = SEG 53, No. 1312, B, ll. 14–23. 74 On this, the standard reference is now Migeotte 2014: 359–380 and 548–576; on the buildings see also Meier 2012. 75 Plut. Dem. 13 = F 94 van Straaten = T 118 Alesse. 76 Cf. Pol. 6.5–7. According to Polybius, monarchy emerges in the beginning of every cycle of cultural and constitutional development as the rule of the strongest, turns into kingship after the emergence of moral concepts, and finally morphs into tyranny. In Scipio’s speech in Cic. rep. 1.56–64 monarchy appears as the best of all unmixed constitutions; see Cic. rep. 2.65 on the end of monarchy in Rome.

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Ptolemy II’s support, Panaitios did not ignore the role of the kings as benefactors of the Greeks. The federal states, by contrast, with their tiered political organs and their divided identities, do not seem to have attracted his interest. Within the community of citizens, Panaitios distinguished a group of people who devoted their entire life to serving the community. They were expected to be incorruptible, generous, and dignified. Panaitios took it for granted that in every community there were honoratiores and commoners, which faced each other as elite and mass. The leading citizen was seen as a benefactor (euergetês), who put his person and his property in the service of the community and thereby served the common good selflessly and incorruptibly. In the poleis of the late-Hellenistic period we find the same situation. The expectations that exemplary citizens had to meet are described in an analogous way in honorific decrees of the second and first centuries bce.77 The model citizen puts himself and his property selflessly at the disposition of the community. Motivated solely by desire for honor and prestige (philotimia), he is constantly ready to take action for the community, undaunted by trouble or danger. This ideal image expressed the precarious social consensus on the notion that those who were superior to their fellow-citizens in terms of wealth and power would not take advantage of their superiority and would allow for their wealth to benefit the whole community. The reward for those who behaved as it was appropriate for a model citizen was public gratitude and recognition. Often this set of expectations was expressed with words from the semantic field of appropriateness, the same words that characterize Panaitios’ doctrine of behavior, such as prepon, kathêkon or proshêkon (esti). As an example, we can turn to an excerpt from the long decree that the polis of Klaros approved between 130 and 110 bce in honor of the benefactor Polemaios: In his other benefactions, too, he gave clear proof of his zealous engagement (philotimia) for his mother country: he funded performances of artists according to the requests of the people, he pledged and paid money for the ambassadors from Crete without asking for a refund, he also hosted Romans and shouldered the costs involved out of his own money. When he celebrated his wedding he distributed an offering of sweet wine and fed his fellow-citizens, distributing among other things also the meat from the victims sacrificed to the gods for the common safety, and allowed them to take it home. He distributed meat to the metics, to the foreigners with equal rights in terms of taxes, and to the foreigners who were in the city for purposes of education. When he was elected as organizer of the games (agônothetês) with the mere task of overseeing the sacred games, persuaded that this service would bring the same glory (doxa) to his mother country as all the others, he was eager 77 A tour d’horizon in Wörrle 1995, supplemented by Wörrle 2007.

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Panaitios’ Doctrine of Behavior to make his own excellence (aretê) and his keen engagement (philotimia) for the people visible not only to his fellow-citizens but also to everybody, he oversaw the sacred games with justice alongside with the others who had been appointed with him for this task. Exerting himself with generosity (megalomerôs) he took on every expense munificently; he invited everybody to the games that were about to be celebrated and to the sacrifices for the gods …78

According to Panaitios, however, the reputation of the leading citizens did not depend only on whether they managed to gain and keep the recognition of their fellow-citizens by way of restless engagement for the common good. Rather, their whole life was regulated by conventions whose respect was watched over by the citizen body. Respect for these conventions is called propriety (aidôs). The intended addressees of Panaitios’ ethic pay attention to decorum in their clothes and in their gait, in the care of their bodies and in conversation. For them, gymnastics is much more than a way of acquiring and preserving into an advanced age the level of fitness required for success in war. The palaistra is not merely an arena for sport, but at the same time the place where appropriate deportment is learned. These notions correspond perfectly to the function of the gymnasium as an educational institution in late-Hellenistic poleis.79 Here, the habitus of a citizen could be learned, expressed by concepts such as eutaxia (discipline), eukosmia (obedience), philoponia (readiness for effort) or sophrosyne (moderation, propriety).80 This is how the polis of Iasos praised a young man by the name of Melaniôn, then the leader of the ephebes (ephêbarchos): Melaniôn, son of Theodôros, descends from ancestors who were benefactors (euergetai) of the polis, and behaves in a way worthy of their excellence (aretê). He constantly acts in an exemplary fashion (kalokagathikôs) and is a true gentleman (kalos kagathos); he has a pious attitude (eusebôs) vis-à-vis the divine; he treats with affection his parents and his other relatives, as is appropriate (prepon) for a decorous (sophrôn) and educated man (pepaideumenos); he deals with all his fellow-citizens with benevolence and generosity (philodoxôs). Ever since his early youth he strove for that which is most beautiful, behaving in the gym78 I.Claros Polémaios = SEG 39, No. 1243, IV, ll. 12–53. See also the decree of the polis of Sestos for the benefactor Menas, dating around 120 bce: Syll.3 339 = I.Sestos 1 with Wörrle 1995: 240 f.; Wörrle 2007: 501–503. 79 A state of the art in the contributions collected in Kah/Scholz 2004; important supplements in Wörrle 2007. 80 εὐταξία: Louis Robert in Fıratlı 1964: 160–162; Gauthier/Hatzopoulos 1993: 104 f.; I.Metropolis I = SEG 53, No. 1312, B, l. 6. In the gymnasia of Amphipolis and Sestos there were prizes for εὐταξία, εὐεξία and φιλοπονία: SEG 27, No. 261, ll. 45–51; Syll.3 339 = I.Sestos 1, l. 83.

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Hans-Ulrich Wiemer nasium with love of exertion (philoponôs) und of learning (philomathôn) devoting himself to that which is most beautiful. Having devoted himself to the occupations appropriate for his age, and having achieved in speeches regarding philosophy an adequate competence and progresses, he behaves with moderation (sophronôs) and in a way worthy of imitation, providing a beautiful example of his attitude (prohairesis). Overall in every circumstance he continuously says and does that which is most beautiful, in keeping with his own excellence (aretê) and reputation (doxa) and with the excellence (kalokagathia) he derives from his ancestors (progonoi)…81

The canon of virtues of the gymnasium is the same that applied to the excellent citizen, too. As an example, we can consider a decree of the polis of Mêtropolis for the benefactor Apollônios, from the year 144/3 bce or thereabouts: Apollonios, son of Attalos, son of Andron, having received the most excellent upbringing (agogê) since his earliest years, has chosen to concern himself with the best course of action and to strive for virtue (aretê) in everything industriously (philoponôs) and with discipline (eutaxia) arranging his own life, so that not only in his city has he won the good opinion (euphêmia) of his fellow citizens, but also abroad, in the cities which he has visited, he has made himself conspicuous (endoxos), bringing a certain honor (timê) to his ancestral city, receiving testimony from the cities to his good repute (euphêmia); and on his return from his absence abroad, he entered into political life suitably, and made himself useful in public services, giving of himself unsparingly …82

The intended addressees of Panaitios were well-to-do citizens, whose problem was to find criteria in accordance to which to help poorer fellow-citizens. They offered loans, welcomed guests in their homes, and appeared in court in order to help friends. They expected to be prosecuted by their enemies, and were themselves prepared to appear as prosecutors. This situation presupposes competition within the ruling elite of the polis and the readiness to use trials as a weapon against one’s enemies. Accordingly, Panaitios compared the situation of a leading citizen to that of a pankration fighter: like the latter, the former could never let his guard down, in order to protect himself from blows. At the same time, the fact that Panaitios often turned to kings in order to provide models of political behavior suggests that his addressees were used to measuring their own behavior against that of kings; this, too, points to a sense of distance between them and the common citizens.

81 IBM IV 925b = I.Iasos 98, ll. 1–22. 82 I.Metropolis I (with Jones 2004) = SEG 53, No. 1312, B, ll. 4–12 (translation C. P. Jones).

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Overall we can conclude that the aspects of Panaitios’ doctrine of behavior extracted from Cicero’s De officiis are easily compatible with the assumption that the philosopher in formulating his doctrine had in mind readers who came from the ruling groups of the Hellenistic poleis, precisely those groups that in modern research go under the name of honoratiores. Especially his critical discussion of euergetism and the clear separation between elite and mass point to the long process of transformation that Patrice Hamon and others call the ‘aristocraticization’ of the Hellenistic polis.83 In the formulation of his ideas, the experiences Panaitios made in his youth as the scion of a family of Rhodian honoratiores may well have played a role, given that the political elite of this polis enjoyed a relatively high prominence in epigraphic representation.84 The discursive rules and forms of practice mentioned by him, though, were not specific to the polis of Rhodes, and De officiis shows that they were not illustrated with examples taken from this polis. We can further test this conclusion by asking whether Panaitios’ doctrine of behavior engaged with characteristic aspects of the political culture of the Roman republic that distinguished it from that of Greek citizen-states.85 It is immediately clear that Panaitios devoted no attention to the forms and conditions of aristocratic competition typical of Rome. His doctrine of behavior makes no reference to any kind of regulated sequence of offices that might make one think of the Roman cursus honorum,86 or to the accumulation of capital through the deeds of the ancestors, the maiores, which fueled the major families of the Roman aristocracy.87 Likewise, Panaitios did not consider the fact that Roman senators needed to hold their own not only in assemblies of citizens, but first and foremost in a corporate body that consisted of their peers. Panaitios juxtaposes mass and elite, not populus and senatus. The typical Roman procedure for popular vote, and the problems that went along with it, subsumed by the Romans under the concept of ambitus, were equally indifferent to Panaitios. Finally, one looks in vain in his work for a discussion of military command and martial glory as starting points for a political career – and yet both, imperium and gloria, were crucial to the political culture of the Roman republic.88 83 Cf. Hamon 2007. See also the review-article of Hamon 2010 as well as Wiemer 2013. 84 On the Rhodian constitution see Wiemer 2002: 21 f.; Grieb 2008: 262–353 (with Hamon 2010). An analysis of the political culture of Hellenistic Rhodes, for which Badoud 2015 has now provided the chronological groundwork, remains a desideratum. 85 It is neither possible nor desirable here to provide comprehensive references to recent research on the political culture of the Roman republic. An authoritative introduction is found in Hölkeskamp 2004; Hölkeskamp 2006, an updated summary in Flower 2014. 86 Cf. Beck 2005. 87 Cf. Flower 1996. 88 See Harris 1979: 10–40.

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There are indeed solid reasons to regard Panaitios’ ethic as a doctrine of behavior for the citizens of the late-Hellenistic poleis, as already Wilamowitz had thought. Men such as that Skylax of Halikarnassos, on whom Cicero says that he was in regenda sua civitate princeps,89 were certainly among the readers that Panaitios intended to reach. Unlike Wilamowitz, however, I would not like to formulate this conclusion in terms of either-or. The fact that Panaitios, in formulating his doctrine of behavior, took for granted the conditions of political practice that obtained in the poleis of the second century bce does not exclude, in my opinion, that he might have thought that his ethic applied in principle to the Roman republic, too. In other words, even though the people whose interests, concerns and goals Panaitios responded to were leading citizens of the late-Hellenistic poleis, it is entirely possible that he believed his doctrine of behavior to be able to speak to the leading citizens of Rome, the senators, as well. This assumption is suggested also by the fact that among the Greeks it was widely believed that the political order of Rome was not fundamentally different from those of their poleis. In all likelihood, Panaitios viewed Rome as a kind of polis with an oversized dominion, just as his contemporary Polybius did.90 But unlike Polybius, who, as a historian, looked for the explanation of the rise of Rome to global dominance and accordingly tried to capture its peculiarities,91 Panaitios, being a philosopher, strove to formulate a doctrine that could be generalized and applied both to the poleis of the Hellenistic world and to the ‘polis’ Rome. Because he unconsciously remained captive of notions that derived from the political culture of the Greek east, he was not in a position to reflect adequately on the characteristics of the Roman republic. The interest that some Roman senators showed in him and in his doctrines was facilitated in a fundamental way by his readiness to give up the principle of the equality of citizens, which the public discourse of the late-Hellenistic poleis hesitated to abandon. Panaitios addressed honoratiores who competed in public under the eyes of a citizen body that accepted the dominance of an elite. Since Panaitios treated as a fact the ‘aristocraticization’ of the polis, a process which in his times was still highly controversial and anything but accomplished, his ethic could be understood in Rome as a deeper version of the traditional aristocratic ethic, which was itself taken to be the mos maiorum. Cicero however was the first to adapt the doctrine of behavior of Panaitios to the

89 Cic. div. 2.88. 90 According to Cic. rep. 1.34 (= F 119 van Straaten = T 23 Alesse), Scipio argued about the best state with Panaitios and Polybius. 91 A task he undertook with only partial success; see, alongside the classic von Fritz 1954, especially Walbank 1998 and now Erskine 2013.

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Roman situation to the point that it could be taken as a source of practical advice for the conduct of life of Roman senators.92

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258

GENERAL INDEX

A

Antipatros: 62, 141, 218 f. Apollonios of Metropolis: 250 Appian: 62 f. Aratos of Sikyon: 40, 60, 109 f., 246 Arbitration: 53, 85–107, 133, 187 Arkadia: 45, 60, 62, 94, 116, 117, 121, 140, 148 Archai: see magistrates Archaic: 40, 59, 70, 121, 134, 137, 148, 194 Argos: 85, 87, 89, 136, 138, 141, 151, 248 Aristion: 63 Aristocracy: 20 f., 27–49, 71, 72, 188, 195 f., 229–253 Aristotle: 15, 19–21, 23, 29 f., 34, 38, 58, 70, 116, 132, 160, 222, 245 Arrian: 89, 141 Artaxerxes II: 223 Asia Minor: 34, 41, 46, 48, 102, 115, 119, 132, 148, 163, 167, 169, 188, 191, 198, 200, 230, 237 Aspendos: 89 f. Astymedes: 169, 174 Athena: 102, 141 Athenion: 63 Athens: 19, 27, 34, 41, 44, 49, 54, 61, 63, 68, 70, 85, 109, 111, 131, 136, 165, 167, 168 f., 171–176, 184, 191, 193, 194, 196, 199, 201, 209–224, 230, 234, 236, 238, 244, 246 Atimia: 39, 68 Attalos III: 35, 237 Autonomy: 10, 24, 35, 62, 87 f., 91, 111, 112, 115, 146, 167

Academy: 235, 236 Achaia, Achaian League: 31, 33, 60, 62, 85, 96, 103, 109 f., 115–118, 121, 125, 246 Acropolis: 131, 211 Adonia: 196 Adramyttion: 63 Aelius Aristides: 57 Aeneas Tacticus: 55, 190, 191 Agathocles: 55, 69 Agis IV: 38–40, 60 Agora: 20, 41, 93, 103, 148, 184, 211, 212 Aiane: 142 Aigai: 103, 141 Ainos: 67, 140 Aitolia, Aitolian League: 31, 55, 62, 92, 93, 96, 111, 113–115, 118, 121, 122–125, 140, 146, 152, 211 Aixone: 196, 215, 219 Akarnania, Akarnanian League: 113, 115, 125, 146, 148, 152 Alabanda: 94 Alexander III of Macedon: 10, 48, 59, 89 f., 102, 132, 141, 142, 218 Alipheira: 60 Amphipolis: 141, 144, 145, 195, 249 Anaphe: 183 Andania: 192, 193 Antigonos I Monophthalmos: 30, 102, 212, 224 Antigonos II Gonatas: 145, 221 Antigonos III Doson: 63, 86, 111, 118 Antioch in Syria: 63, 245 Antiochos I: 101 Antiochos II: 102 Antiochos III: 102, 169 Antiochos IV: 245

B

Benefactors: see euergetism Beroia: 131, 136, 201 Bithynia: 166, 167 Black Sea: 42, 188

259

General Index

D

Boiotia: 45–47, 94, 115, 117, 121, 125, 197 Boulagoras: 41 f. Boule: see council

Debt: 40, 42, 43, 49, 60 f., 70, 93, 95, 246 Delos: 168 f., 171 f., 174, 183, 194, 199, 212 Delphi: 35, 93, 113, 133, 138–145, 146 f., 170 f., 202, 211 Demades: 218 f. Demetrios I Poliorketes: 34, 90, 170, 211, 212, 213, 215, 221, 224 Demetrios II: 109 Demetrios of Phaleron: 34, 192, 212, 219 f. Demochares: 216, 219, 221 Democracy: 9–24, 27, 28–31, 32–37, 43 f., 47, 49, 56, 61, 68, 71, 116, 122 f., 132 f., 184, 188, 213, 216, 217 f., 219–221, 224 Democritus: 58 Demos: 11, 14, 17, 35, 45, 46, 53, 69, 104, 210, 217, 218, 219, 245 Demosthenes: 209, 218 f., 222, 247 Dexippos: 56 Diodorus: 55, 58, 60, 62, 67 Dionysos: 196, 197, 198, 200, 212, 243 Dreros: 69, 185

C

Caesar: 13, 245 Carthage: 59, 62, 237 Cassandrea: 139, 142, 144–147 Celts: 113 f. Cercidas of Megalopolis: 60 Chaeronea: 48, 54, 63, 89, 218 Chalkis: 146, 183, 194 Chaonia: 136, 140–142, 147, 148 Charops the Younger: 148 Chora: 10 Chremonidean War: 211 f., 215 Chremonides: 221 Cicero: 13, 47, 60, 228–253 Citizenship: 10, 14, 17, 38, 48, 113, 117, 133, 140, 237 Classical: 18, 27, 28, 34, 36, 41, 48, 55, 61, 69, 70, 71, 86, 100, 115, 117, 135, 136, 160, 181, 189, 191, 193, 197, 201, 209, 244 Cleomenes III: 39, 40, 60 Concord: see homonoia Constitutio Antoniniana: 10 Constitution: 9, 19, 28, 31, 33, 34, 37, 38, 40, 43, 47, 69, 89, 97, 113, 115, 117, 120, 125, 148, 216, 240, 247, 251 Copper: 170 f. Corinth: 59, 89, 170, 237 Corinthian League: 59, 89 Cos: 34, 60, 69, 70, 90, 136, 145, 194, 195 Council: 19–21, 24, 35, 37, 45, 47, 93, 96, 98, 103, 110, 118, 122–125, 184, 243 Crassus: 236 Crete: 69, 86, 87, 93, 97–100, 102, 183, 185, 192, 198, 248 Cult: 41, 69, 121, 136 f., 147, 185, 188, 193, 194, 196–199, 203, 240, 247 Curse tablets: 202 Cynaetha: 55 Cynics: 60, 233 Cyrene: 32, 59, 138, 224

E

Edessa: 141, 142 Egypt: 60, 193, 194, 196, 199, 213, 221, 230 Eleusis: 196 f., 200, 211, 214 Eleutherna: 86 Ephesus: 197 Epidauros: 33, 138, 139–141, 150, 196, 200 Epirus: 115, 131–133, 138, 140–143, 148, 152 Erythrai: 41, 192, 200 Euagoras: 223 Eudoxia: 247 Euergetism: 36, 40, 41–43, 46, 49, 69, 100, 133, 188, 189, 195, 198, 202, 213, 221, 222 f., 236, 240, 244, 246, 248, 249, 251 Eumenes I: 101 Eumenes II: 33 Euphiletos: 181 f. Europos: 141, 143 Exclusion: 9 f., 13–16 Exile: 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 72, 216, 218, 223, 246, 248

260

General Index

F

Kephisodoros: 172–175 Kimolos: 89 King, kingdom: 12, 28, 31, 33, 35, 38 f., 41, 54, 58, 61, 65, 69, 86–89, 90–92, 101, 113, 132, 135, 140, 147 f., 159, 161, 168, 172, 175, 188, 191, 195, 198, 202, 217–220, 221–224, 237, 244, 247 f., 250 Klaros: 248 Klazomenai: 90, 93 Koinon: 45, 54, 61, 71, 87, 92, 96, 97 f., 99, 103, 109–126, 135, 142, 147, 161, 173, 246 Konon: 223 Kyme: 46, 198 Kytenion: 114, 118

Feast: 137, 194, 195 Federal assembly: 110, 118, 123–125 Freedom: 21, 32, 33, 35, 49, 61, 62, 67, 68, 69, 87, 88, 97, 109, 110, 114, 123, 188, 211, 216 f., 221, 224, 239, 245

G

Gold: 42, 171, 198, 212 Gambreion: 192 Gonnoi: 90, 146 Great King: 88, 223 Gymnasion: 13, 44, 55, 93, 184, 199, 202, 203, 242, 249, 250 Gytheion: 43, 49, 66

L

Lachares of Athens: 68 f., 215 Lampsakos: 93 Laris(s)a: 35, 173–175, 199 League: see koinon Lebedos: 90 Lebena: 201 Lemnos: 168, 195 Lesbos: 192, 197 Lindos: 230 Lissos: 201 Livy: 47, 55, 61, 62, 66, 72 Lycia: 36, 115, 118 Lycurgus (Athens): 54 Lycurgus (Sparta): 39, 40 Lysias: 181, 183 Lysimachos: 91, 102, 170, 195

H

Haliartos: 168 Halikarnassos: 64, 198, 252 Hannibal: 62 Heraia: 94, 138 Herakleion: 90 Herodotus: 28, 38, 59, 85, 136, 244 Hierapytna: 86, 87, 93, 95, 97, 98, 99, 102, 187 Homonoia: 53, 57, 60, 64, 65, 69, 172, 219 Hypata: 61, 71 Hypereides: 218

I

Iasos: 37, 64, 75, 249 Ilion: 33, 68, 192 Illyria: 148 Incubation: 200, 203 Itanos: 69, 99, 102, 187

M

Macedonia: 33, 47, 61, 72, 88 f., 109, 113, 132– 135, 136, 139–143, 146 f., 148, 164, 170, 183, 211, 213, 218, 220, 221, 223, 237 Macedonian War (Second): 173 Macedonian War (Third): 45, 47, 114, 168 Magistrate: 29, 43 f., 45, 47, 49, 61, 94, 97, 116, 124, 132, 171, 213, 230 Magnesia ad Maeandrum: 93, 99 f., 102, 103 f., 138, 145 f., 192 Magnesia ad Sipylum: 35, 63, 91

J

Judges: 45, 47, 64, 65, 66, 90, 92, 94 f., 97–101, 102, 133

K

Kalidonia: 92 Kallias: 34, 211–217, 220, 222 Kalymna: 34, 64, 70, 90 Kassandros: 140 f., 211 f., 215, 219, 220

261

General Index

P

Mantineia: 45, 62, 138 Maroneia: 61, 144 Marxism: 15, 63 Melanion: 249 Meleagros: 187 Melitaia: 92 f., 97, 102 Melos: 89 Memory: 58, 100–103, 212, 217, 218, 221, 237 Messene, Messenia: 31, 96, 103, 113, 140, 192, 201 Methymna: 192 Metropolis: 247, 249, 250 Miletus: 64, 93, 103, 136, 192, 201 Mithridates VI Eupator: 45, 63, 166, 170 Molossoi, Molossia: 115, 133, 140 Monarchy: 10, 27, 31, 32, 34, 35, 49, 54, 89, 126, 135, 181, 188, 222, 224, 244, 247 Morrylos: 136 Mouseion: 211 f., 215 Mummius: 47 Myndos: 64, 94 Mytilene: 101

Pagai: 45 Panaitios: 60, 229–253 Panaitolika: 121, 124 Panathenaia: 196, 213 Panhellenism: 89, 131, 136, 137, 142, 147, 197 Patrai: 94 Pausanias: 47, 54, 55, 68, 109, 132, 211, 214 f. Peloponnesian War: 28, 112, 218, 223 Peloponnesus: 40, 43, 60, 62, 89, 98, 112, 113, 115, 116, 119, 145, 192 Peraia: 92 f. Pergamon: 35, 101, 201, 220 Perdikkas III: 139, 147 Pericles: 209, 243, 247 Perseus of Macedon: 47, 66 Persia, Persians: 28, 61, 223 Phalanna: 64, 142 Phaleas of Chalcedon: 60 Pharnabazos: 223 Philip II: 88, 89, 139, 141 f., 159, 170, 222, 241 Philip V: 31, 61, 90, 102, 146, 147 Philippi: 142, 145, 146 Philippides: 218 Philon of Byzantium: 190 Philosophy: 29, 31, 58, 60, 63, 65, 66, 70, 174, 184, 229–253 Philotimia: 248 f. Phrygia: 223 Pitane: 101 Plato: 28, 29, 58, 242 Plethos: 33 Plutarch: 34, 38, 39 f., 55, 60, 63, 68, 72, 109, 211 Polemaios: 248 Politeia: 30, 31, 33, 34, 38, 46, 47 Polybius: 19, 29, 31–33, 35, 40, 55, 59, 61, 62 f., 66, 69, 70, 103, 110, 113, 116, 118, 120, 123, 132, 168 f., 231, 246, 247, 252 Polykritos: 41 f. Polyperchon: 61, 62, 220 Pontos: 166, 167 Popular assembly: 20, 46, 103, 184, 188, 218, 219, 221, 243, 247 Poseidonios: 65 f., 68, 70, 170, 234, 236, 238

N

Nabis: 39 f. Nakone: 53, 57, 65 Narthakion: 97, 102 Network: 10, 17 f., 28, 42, 85–104, 109–126, 131–149, 160, 162, 167, 172–176 New Style Coinage: 165 f., 167, 169, 170 f. Nyktostrategos: 191 Nymphaion: 185, 199

O

Olbia: 42–44, 49, 172, 186, 194 Old Oligarch: 28, 70 Oligarchy: 9–12, 14, 16, 20 f., 27–49, 56, 68, 71, 213, 216 f., 218, 220, 223 Olympiodoros: 211, 214 f. Olynth: 117, 139 Onchestos: 121 Orchomenos: 94, 95 Oropos: 145, 200

262

General Index Potideia: 139 Prayer: 184, 187, 201, 202 Priansos: 87, 93, 95, 97, 98 Priene: 91, 102, 103 Protogenes: 42–44 Pseudo-Skylax: 133 f., 140 Pseudo-Xenophon: see Old Oligarch Ptolemy I Soter: 212, 214, 221 Ptolemy II: 60, 213, 221, 246, 248 Ptolemy III: 41 Ptolemy IX: 64 Pydna: 145 Pyrrhos: 212, 213 Pytheion: 140

Silver: 19, 24, 165, 166, 170 Slavery: 10, 13, 14, 15, 24, 32, 45, 54, 63, 66, 67, 70, 72, 170, 181, 183, 193, 195, 203, 240, 246 Smyrna: 35, 194 Social War: 31, 125 Soteria: 93, 138, 142 Sparta: 28, 30, 38–40, 46, 49, 60, 62, 85, 87, 88, 110, 111, 141, 218, 221, 223 Stasis: 33, 38, 39, 49, 53–72, 218, 241 Stoics: 65, 229–253 Strabo: 55, 115, 135, 191 Stratonikeia: 94, 95, 145, 146 f., 198 Styberra: 136 Stymphalos: 192 Synedrion: 35, 45–47, 89, 94, 122–124 Syracuse: 55, 71 Syria: 72, 223, 230

R

Renaissance: 19, 21 Rhamnous: 196, 221 Rhodes: 44, 49, 64, 71, 93, 102, 115, 161, 165, 169, 174, 176, 183, 194, 195, 198, 230, 238, 251 Roman Republic: 13, 71, 85, 92, 188, 237, 245, 251 f. Rome: 12, 17, 31, 36, 47, 62, 66, 88, 92, 102, 114, 122, 126, 148, 159, 165, 166 f., 168, 169, 171, 172 f., 175, 191, 230–234, 243, 245, 251, 252 f.

T

Tarsos: 64, 230 Tax: 10, 13, 23, 32, 34, 38, 41, 45, 47, 49, 161, 171, 173–176, 243, 246, 248 Temnos: 47, 93 Teos: 90, 148, 198 Termessos: 67 Thasos: 144, 192 Thebes: 54, 88, 195, 218 Theophrastos: 245 Theorodokoi: 137–147, 150 Thesprotoi: 140 Thessalonica: 136, 144, 187, 193 Thessaly: 47, 64, 113, 114, 121, 136, 142, 145, 147, 173, 174 Thisbe: 45, 72 Thucydides: 28, 33, 59, 61, 85, 87, 89, 247 Time: 41, 211 Timema: 30, 34, 45, 46–48 Timocracy: 30, 32, 45–48 Tomis: 191, 197 f. Trade: 18, 24, 160, 162, 164, 174, 175, 243 Tyranny: 28, 31, 32, 34, 68 f., 217, 222, 247

S

Sacrifice: 48, 53, 93, 136, 184, 193, 196, 200, 248 f. Salapia: 62 Samos: 41, 64, 91, 102, 192, 193, 198 Samothrake: 187, 190, 197 Samothrakia: 197 f. Sanctuary: 93, 95, 103, 121, 137, 142, 145, 147 f., 186, 191, 193, 197 f., 200, 203, 240, 245 Sardeis: 194, 198 Scipio: 230 f., 237, 241, 245 Seleukos I: 101, 195 Seleukos II: 35 Sestos: 172, 249 Sexuality: 16, 24, 183, 185, 188 Shipwrecks: 162–164, 167, 176 Sicily: 53, 65, 138 Side: 90 Sikyon: 33, 60, 109, 246

263

General Index

W

X

War: 12, 42, 47, 59, 62, 93, 99 f., 125, 148, 164 f., 188, 189 f., 203, 215 Wealth: 9,12, 18, 20–23, 28–30, 32, 34, 36–48, 67, 116, 188, 195, 242, 245, 248 Women: 13 f., 16, 32, 39, 45, 188, 192, 195, 201, 202

Xanthos: 114, 118, 193 Xenophon: 38, 164, 165, 190, 244

Z

Zeus: 53, 95, 121, 141, 195

264

After having been for decades the province of a relatively small group of scholars, the Hellenistic polis has become central to the research agenda of Ancient historians more broadly. This development can be traced from the early nineties of the last century, and has picked up pace in a sustained fashion at the turn of the millennium. Recent research has started approaching the Greek polis of the centuries between Alexander and Cleopatra as a specific historical phenomenon, striving to define its most peculiar aspects from as many angles as possible, and to point to new avenues of interpretation that might contribute to recognizing its historical role. In this general framework, this volume attempts to explore new lines of thought, to question established ways of reading the evidence, and to take stock of recent developments. The contributors do not subscribe to any particular shared approach; on the contrary, their approaches and questions stem from many different scholarly traditions and methodologies. Rather than seeking to achieve a complete coverage, the volume provides a selection of current research agendas, in many cases offering glimpses of ongoing projects.

ISBN 978-3-515-12020-3

9 7835 1 5 1 20203

www.steiner-verlag.de Franz Steiner Verlag