Download Leadership in Direct Democracy. The Classical experience

Leadership in Direct Democracy: The Classical Experience
George Th. Mavrogordatos
University of Athens
ABSTRACT
Despite the many lacunae in our knowledge, the experience of
Athenian democracy over almost two centuries offers a vast amount of
historical material on the issue of leadership, and may illuminate the
failure to integrate the concept of leadership in at least some variants
of democratic theory. There are contrasting views of Athens in this
respect. According to the most popular view (largely shaped by
Plutarch) the evolution of Athenian democracy is perceived as a
succession of individual leaders and their deeds. At the other extreme,
some scholars are wondering today who actually ran democratic
Athens. For them, the answer is far from obvious. Athenian democracy
was imbued with a deep-rooted suspicion of personal leadership,
which was associated with the past experience of tyranny. Ostracism
was only the most extreme measure to prevent its comeback. Several
crucial questions of enduring relevance are raised by the Athenian
experience. Is “leadership” compatible with selection by lot, or only
with election to public office? And what about “informal” leadership,
which does not require the holding of public office? How does
leadership blend with citizen participation and deliberation? Despite
their instinctive suspicion of leadership and their ingrained attachment
to political equality, the Athenians needed generals to lead them in
battle, and orators to lead them in discussion and decision-making.
There may be important lessons to be drawn from the Athenian
experience for any discussion of leadership in democratic theory.
Paper presented to the Workshop "Political Leadership: A Missing Element
in Democratic Theory", ECPR Joint Sessions, Helsinki, 7-12 May 2007
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1. Introduction
Our thinking about democracy is inevitably influenced, if not haunted, by the
Athenian archetype. The word itself evokes its historical origin, and the cleverest
alternatives, such as Robert Dahl’s “polyarchy” (Dahl 1971 and 1989), have failed to
displace it.
There is more than the word, however. To this day, Athenian democracy remains not
only the earliest, but also the most important historical experience of direct
democracy, insofar as the citizens’ assembly was the sovereign body of a major
international power for almost two centuries. None of the subsequent historical
experiences can compare in this respect (cf. Hansen 1999: 1-3).
It is therefore surprising that contemporary theories of democracy have not shown
more than a passing interest in classical Athens (e.g., Dryzek 2000: 2; Saward 2001).
Politically correct but anachronistic objections related to slavery and the position of
women may explain this lack of interest, at least in part. This is clearly not the place
to examine them at length. Suffice it to point out that the overwhelming majority of
Athenian citizens actually had to work for a living, contrary to the widespread
misperception that they were exempt from this need, thanks to slavery. This was true
only of the Spartan citizens, thanks to the conquered Helots, but Sparta never became
a democracy. In other words, the causal link between slavery and Athenian
democracy is not as straightforward as many assume, thereby dismissing or ignoring
the latter. On the other hand, the exclusion of female citizens (astai) from political
rights was largely derived from the prevailing ideology linking political rights to
military service. Born in Ancient Greece, this conception has died out only recently.
Despite the many lacunae in our knowledge, Athenian democracy offers a vast
amount of historical material on the issue of leadership, and may illuminate the failure
to integrate the concept of leadership in at least some variants of democratic theory.
Several crucial questions of enduring relevance are raised by the Athenian experience.
Is “leadership” compatible with selection by lot, or only with election to public
office? And what about “informal” leadership, which does not require the holding of
public office? How does leadership blend with citizen participation and deliberation?
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2. Two Contrasting Images
At the outset, one is confronted with an initial puzzle. When it comes to leadership,
there are two sharply contrasting views of Athens.
“Should someone unacquainted with the history of Athens in the fifth and fourth
centuries B.C. select as his only source for the period the relevant biographies of
Plutarch, he would come away from reading that author seriously misled. Preoccupied
with the character of prominent figures, and devoid of any sustained interest in
constitutional theory or practice, Plutarch presents a city which, whatever its formal
system of administration, has surrendered its affairs to a series of great men” (Hamel
1998: 158, emphasis added).
Without much thought, this image has often been extended to include lesser men. On
the basis of Aristophanes alone (Knights 129-133), some have written of Eucrates as
the first of the merchants “to control the state”, followed by Lysicles “as ruler of
Athens” (West 1924: 131-2).
At the other extreme, some scholars are wondering today who actually ran democratic
Athens. For them, the answer is far from obvious, and eventually turns out to be
negative: “the potential for anarchy was always there” and “no one man, however
influential, was ever entirely in control” (Rhodes 2000: 475).
In this context,
“anarchy” is of course a misnomer: it merely means “lack of direction”. In another
striking formulation, the problem is “explaining how a direct democracy could
function without institutionalized leadership” (Ober 1989: 19, emphasis added).
Max Weber has stressed that “it is necessary to distinguish the type of plebiscitary
democracy from that which attempts to dispense with leadership altogether” (Weber
1978, 1: 269, emphasis added). Athenian democracy exemplifies the latter type, as a
review of its institutions will show.
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3. Leadership by Lot?
Apart from the Assembly of the People (Ekklesia tou Demou), in which every adult
male citizen was entitled to participate in person, all other public bodies and offices
were filled by lot, with few exceptions (to be discussed later).
The People´s Court (Heliaia) was composed of 6,000 jurors drawn annually by lot
among citizens over thirty. Cases were tried by panels of varying size, drawn again by
lot among the jurors who had shown up on that particular day. During the 4th century,
the panels of lawmakers (nomothetai) were also drawn by lot from the pool of 6,000
jurors (Hansen 1999: 165-9).
The Council (Boule) was similarly drawn annually by lot among citizens over thirty.
It was composed of 500 members, 50 from each tribe, further apportioned among the
139 municipalities (demes). Each tribe´s councilors served as the Council´s executive
committee (prytaneis) for a tenth of the year, in the order designated by lot. Each day,
a different chairman (epistates ton prytaneon) was chosen by lot among them. In
foreign relations, he was the equivalent of a head of state, receiving foreign
messengers and envoys (Hansen 1999: 250, 265).
Finally, there were as many as 600 other public officials selected annually by lot
among citizens over thirty, beginning with the traditional nine archons (Hansen 1999:
232-40). After their term, these nine officials became life members of the Council of
the Areopagus. An ancient body and a stronghold of aristocratic power, this council
lost its earlier significance in 462, and remained mostly as a court for homicides.
The impression of completely random selection needs to be corrected somewhat.
There was a degree of self-selection, since lots were drawn in each case only among
those actually volunteering. Normally, their number must have been much smaller
than the eligible population. Filling the Council, in particular, probably proved
difficult in the course of the 4th century. As a remedy, a citizen could serve as
councilor twice, though not in consecutive years (Hansen 1999: 249; Rhodes 1972: 3).
Otherwise, no public office could be held twice.
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Moreover, collegiality further reduced the potential for individual influence. Most
Athenian officials served on boards composed of several members (usually ten, to
ensure representation of the ten tribes).
Can one even speak of “leadership” under these conditions? The place to look is the
Council, which was the actual center of government. It met every working day, while
among its 500 members the 50 prytaneis were continuously on duty in shifts.
Although it managed day-to-day affairs, including foreign relations, the Council had
limited decision-making authority on its own, in secondary matters. Its most
important function was to prepare the business of the Assembly, as its steering
committee, and draft a proposal (probouleuma) on each item of the agenda. This
agenda-setting function might indeed have provided opportunities for leadership were
it not for the brevity of tenure. At most, a politician might succeed in getting selected
for the Council in a particular year (Rhodes 1972: 3-4). But then politicians, like other
citizens, anyway could obtain leave (or be invited) to address the Council and
influence its decisions, without being members.
In conception, the Council was a typical case of “descriptive representation” in which
there is “no room for leadership” (Pitkin 1972: 90, emphasis added). A famous
example may serve to illustrate and confirm this conclusion. In 406, Socrates
happened to be a member of the Council and of the prytaneis at a crucial moment: the
unlawful summary trial and execution of the generals after the naval battle of
Arginusae. As Xenophon relates (Hellenica 1.7.15), Socrates was the only one among
the presiding prytaneis who was not cowed by the menacing multitude in the
Assembly, and insisted on respect for the law (in vain). In his subsequent trial (in
399), he reminded his judges of that incident as proof of his character, but also
insisted that he had always opted to remain a private citizen and not meddle in politics
(Plato´s Apologia 31D-32B; cf. Gorgias 473E, where Socrates emphatically states that
he is no politician). In other words, even a strong stand by an individual prytanis in
extraordinary circumstances would not qualify as “politics” (even less as
“leadership”).
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4. Leadership by Election
But then, there was war. Despite their attachment to political equality, the citizen
soldiers of Athens were not foolish enough to entrust their lives and the survival of
their city-state to someone chosen by lot. The polemarch used to be the supreme
commander of the Athenian army. The last time we hear of him is 490, when he
played a critical role in the Battle of Marathon, alongside the ten generals. Beginning
in 487, however, the polemarch was chosen annually by lot, like the other eight
traditional archons, and became a civil magistrate, mostly concerned with resident
aliens (metics). During the next Persian invasion in 480, he is not even mentioned.
Ten generals (strategoi), one from each tribe, were first elected in 501, extending and
completing the reforms of Cleisthenes in the military sphere (Fornara 1971). The ten
artificial tribes among which he distributed the citizen population continued to be the
basis of military organization thereafter. Apart from the board of ten generals, lesser
military commanders were also elected annually (two to command the cavalry,
usually deployed on the two wings, ten for the tribal infantry regiments, and ten for
the tribal cavalry squadrons).
Once other magistrates and especially the traditional nine archons began to be chosen
by lot (always for a single term), the office of general assumed political importance
far beyond the military sphere: it was not only elective, but also uniquely free of term
limitations. A citizen could be elected and reelected general indefinitely. Pericles
seems to have been reelected more or less continuously for almost twenty-five years
(Develin 1989; Fornara 1971), while the record appears to be held by Phocion in the
latter half of the 4th century. According to Plutarch, Phocion was elected general
forty-five times, without ever attending the elections (Phocion 8.1).
Under these conditions, the generalship was the only office appropriate for an aspiring
political leader. A telling indication is the list of examples offered by Xenophon, to
show how his beloved teacher Socrates served Athens by advising those wishing to
serve it (Memorabilia 3.1.1-3.5.28). The list begins with an anonymous young man
who desired to become general. After three more cases involving generals (and a
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cavalry commander), the most striking example is the son of Pericles, urged by
Socrates to become a general like his father.
If political leaders would normally become generals in the 5th century (not the 4th),
the converse was not necessarily true: many, if not most, generals were probably
chosen for their military experience and ability, and kept to a strictly military role.
Nevertheless, the generals are often referred to as the top officials, in charge of affairs
of state as a whole. In any emergency, they and the prytaneis would be the first to be
notified and take action. They were significantly housed in adjacent buildings.
There was a time when classicists were writing freely about the annual election of
generals as they would write about modern parties and elections (West 1924). In fact,
we do not even know the exact procedure used (cf. Mitchell 2000; Piérart 1974;
Staveley 1972: 87-8), except that voting was by show of hands (cheirotonia).
There has long been an exaggerated image of the constitutional power of the generals
in Athens, mostly inspired by the single case of Pericles and, on some issues, by a
single passage of Thucydides. For example, we are told that, during the first
Peloponnesian invasion of Attica in 431, Pericles did not summon the Assembly nor
any other meeting (Thuc. 2.22.1). During the second invasion in 430, he did summon
a meeting (of the Assembly?) “being still in office as general” (Thuc. 2.59.3). Was a
general entitled on his own authority to summon the Assembly? Was he even entitled
to postpone its meeting? There has been much debate about the meaning of these
passages in constitutional terms (cf. Hansen 1987: 22; Hornblower 1991: 275, 331).
The exaggerated image of the constitutional power of the generals in Athens has been
corrected on several grounds (Hamel 1998). The Assembly maintained pervasive
control of military operations, and the generals were bound by its instructions.
Otherwise, they risked deposition and prosecution, perhaps even the death penalty.
Moreover, collegiality further reduced the authority of any single general, since all ten
were equals and were required to make decisions by majority vote. Unless an
expedition was entrusted to a single general, the same rule applied on campaigns (cf.
Thuc. 6.47-50).
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Apart from the generals, other elective offices in Athens do not appear relevant to a
discussion of leadership, with two major exceptions in the latter half of the 4th
century, involving treasurers (cf. Hansen 1983b: 157). The first was the official in
charge of the Theoric Fund, elected for a single term of four years. Eubulus held the
office in 354-350, and then apparently guided his successor until 346. For these eight
years, he supervised and restored state finances as a whole, and was responsible for a
peaceful foreign policy (Sakellariou 1999: 270, 392-3). The second was the official in
overall charge of state finances or “administration” (epi te dioikese), elected for four
years without term limitation. This office was instituted after the disastrous defeat at
the Battle of Chaeronea in 338, and was held by the Athenian Lycurgus for three
terms, a total of twelve years. His achievements were similar to those of Eubulus
(Sakellariou 1999: 270, 395).
These institutional developments involved a radical break with the past in three
respects: a single office, financial rather than military, and a longer term (four years),
with eventually no limit on reelection. It is impossible to say whether these
innovations would have permanently transformed the Athenian democracy, since it
was abolished by the Macedonians in 322 (cf. Ober 1989: 102). In any case, they
certainly throw a different light on its last thirty years.
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5. Leadership by Persuasion
As the foremost contemporary authority on Athenian democracy has put it: “In
Athens, election was a condition only for becoming a strategos, whereas political
leadership was open to any citizen who would address and could persuade the people”
(Hansen 1983a: 35).
Xenophon’s previously mentioned list of examples continues with a young man who
was not yet twenty and started speaking to the Assembly “because he wanted to
become leader of the city” (Mem. 3.6.1). Only Socrates was able to dissuade him from
making a fool of himself. In typical Socratic fashion, he helped him realize the extent
of his youthful ignorance.
To become “leader” (prostates) of Athens, one had to dominate the Assembly as an
orator. He could then “trample” on the Council and even subdue or “screw” the
generals, as Aristophanes tells us (Knights 165, 355), aiming at the demagogue Cleon.
This fits what Max Weber has to say about leadership in Athens: “The real political
leader created by the fully developed Democracy in Periclean Athens, the demagogue,
as a rule formally occupied the leading military position. In fact, however, his power
rested not upon law or office, but entirely upon personal influence and the trust of the
demos” (Weber 1978, 2: 1314). Weber may be using the term “demagogue” in a
pejorative sense, and makes no distinction between Pericles and Cleon (Weber 1978,
2: 1130). The term, however, originally had a purely descriptive sense, meaning the
one who leads or guides the People (demos).
In Athens, one of the earlier concepts denoting political equality was isegoria
(Herodotus 5.78): the equal right to speak publicly, primarily in the Assembly.
Although every citizen was entitled to address the Assembly and make proposals,
very few actually did, and even fewer did so regularly. It has been suggested that the
latter group did not exceed twenty at any one time, or one hundred for the entire 4th
century (Ober 1989: 108). From a larger inventory of all Athenian citizens known to
have spoken publicly (or to have been elected generals or treasurers) between 403 and
322, a grand total of 368 persons (Hansen 1983b: 158-179), only some 160 are known
to have addressed specifically the Assembly.
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To address an audience of perhaps as many as 6,000 men in the open air was
obviously a very demanding task, both physically and psychologically. (By
comparison, addressing the Council or a panel of jurors was far less demanding.) The
most eloquent testimony comes from no other than Isocrates, a professional master of
rhetoric, with many paying students (and an important political thinker in his own
right). He repeatedly states that he could not enter politics himself, because he was
born lacking in the two things that have the greatest power in Athens: a strong voice
and sufficient self-assurance (Isoc. 12.10; cf. 5.81).
The latter was needed to face the multitude and its reactions, which included heckling,
laughter, protests, and interruptions (Hansen 1987: 70-71; 1999: 146). Many were
simply terrified by the prospect of ascending the speakers’ tribune (bema) under these
conditions. The last example in Xenophon’s previously mentioned list involves a wise
citizen who was too shy to address the Assembly (Mem. 3.7). Socrates reportedly
chided him for his timidity, and urged him to speak to the Assembly, offering the
same good advice that he hitherto offered to the politicians in private conversations. If
he was not ashamed before the wisest nor afraid of the strongest, why should he be
ashamed before the most foolish and weak: the weavers, shoemakers, masons, tinkers,
farmers, and merchants composing the Assembly?
This is of course a common theme in Socratic dialogues, and points to still another
category of citizens who did not speak in the Assembly by choice (if they ever
attended). Their sense of social and/or intellectual superiority simply prevented them
from addressing and trying to persuade their inferiors, thereby submitting to their
judgment and vote. This attitude seems to have been typical of Socrates and his circle,
but, in any case, involved only a small minority in Athens.
To become a political leader, therefore, one was required to become an accomplished
orator, capable of speaking effectively in public, whether in the Assembly, the
Council, or the courts. Apart from natural ability or talent, skill in public address also
required practice, and even formal training in rhetoric (Ober 1989: 113-6). This was
available in Athens from the time of Pericles onward, beginning with the Sophists,
and continuing with renowned schools of rhetoric in the 4th century. In other words,
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the making of an orator typically required leisure and wealth that not many citizens
could afford.
The orators may have belonged to the social elite, and may have constituted a political
elite (Ober 1989). Nevertheless, it was recognized by all that they had a useful, indeed
an essential role to play in the democracy. They were required and legitimized above
all as advisers of the People (e.g., Demosthenes 18.212), arguing for or against
alternative proposals. Isegoria might be exercised in practice by few, but otherwise it
would have been impossible to have an orderly discussion leading to an informed
decision in the course of an Assembly meeting.
Another function of the orators was that of scapegoats. In a monarchy, the fiction that
the King “can do no wrong” is required to safeguard the very foundations of the
constitution. Its counterpart in a democracy is the fiction that the People cannot be
wrong (cf. Hansen 1999: 207). Wrong decisions by the Athenian Assembly had to be
explained (away) by poor advice, manipulation, and deception on the part of bad
demagogues, self-seeking, or even bribed. This is a common topos in Athenian
rhetoric, far more common than the criticisms addressed to the citizens themselves on
the part of exceptionally courageous orators like Demosthenes (Ober 1989: 319-24).
Characteristically, a law passed at the end of the 5th century made it a crime to
receive payment, as an orator, “so as not to give the best advice to the demos of
Athens” (Hansen 1999: 213). All this points to the dangers attached to leadership.
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6. The Perils and Pitfalls of Leadership
Unlike the Roman republic, which abhorred kings but had a use for temporary
dictators, the Athenian democracy was based on the rejection of one-man rule in any
form and under any circumstances. Hereditary kingship had become extinct without
upheaval in the 8th century, and its restoration was never envisaged or threatened
thereafter. This explains why the title “king” (basileus) was innocuous enough to be
retained for one of the nine archons, who had mostly religious duties (whereas the
Latin equivalent rex remained taboo even in imperial Rome).
The experience of one-man rule that shaped and defined democratic institutions and
attitudes in Athens was more recent. It was not kingship, but the tyranny of
Peisistratus and his sons (546-510). Its restoration was threatened until at least 490,
when the surviving son Hippias attempted a comeback with the Persian army that was
eventually defeated at Marathon. A distinctive feature of the Peisistratus regime was
its informality. The preexisting constitutional setup was retained. The tyrant himself
held no public office, but made sure that public offices were filled by his trusted
relatives and associates. He thus ruled the city with an iron hand, while ostensibly
remaining a private citizen.
This background explains the perennial suspicion of the Athenians that a private
citizen might conspire to establish himself as tyrant, presumably with foreign help. It
also explains the peculiar institution invented by Cleisthenes upon the downfall of the
tyranny: ostracism. Its purpose was to simply remove from Athens the threat that such
a citizen represented, and exorcize the attendant danger of civil war. Each year, the
Assembly would decide in principle, without discussion, whether such an
extraordinary measure was needed. In the affirmative, a second, secret vote was held,
with the use of potsherds (ostraka), each inscribed with a name. If the required
quorum of 6,000 was attained, the citizen named most frequently (i.e., by a plurality)
was exiled for ten years. Neither his family nor his property suffered, but his political
career was terminated or, at the very least, interrupted.
Throughout the 5th century, political leaders in Athens were constantly threatened
with ostracism. Even the most outstanding or, rather, precisely the most outstanding
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fell victim to this arbitrary procedure, including Aristides, Themistocles, and Cimon.
Only Pericles was eventually spared (although his teacher and adviser Damon was
ostracized in his stead). The last known ostracism was that of Hyperbolus in 417,
when the rivals Nicias and Alcibiades joined forces against him in an unholy alliance,
to avert the danger of either of them being ostracized instead. This cynical
manipulation apparently condemned ostracism to disuse, although it was never
formally abolished (Sakellariou 1999: 397-9).
Apart from ostracism, political leaders were also constantly threatened with
prosecution for a variety of crimes. Embezzlement and bribery were probably the
most common allegations against them. Any citizen could denounce them, usually
acting on behalf of their political enemies. Moreover, such public prosecutions
resulted in a trial before the People’s Court (Hansen 1999: 203-18). Typically poor
themselves, the jurors were regularly moved by envy and resentment whenever they
had the opportunity to try the powerful and the rich (Ober 1989: 205-14). Sentences
included the death penalty, as well as exorbitant fines, which could turn the
condemned into a state debtor, deprived of political rights (atimia).
The generals, in particular, had a very dangerous job indeed, not only on the
battlefield (where they were expected to lead in person). Demosthenes (4.47) was to
argue in 351 that generals ought to die in battle, not by death sentences. Earlier, the
hapless general Nicias in Sicily was more afraid of the Athenians than of dying in
battle, as Thucydides (7.48) relates. In rejecting the opinion of his colleague for
immediate evacuation, Nicias predicted that the very same soldiers clamoring for it,
upon their return to Athens would clamor, instead, that the two generals had been
bribed to betray and depart. Knowing the character of the Athenians, he preferred to
die at the hands of the enemies rather than die at the hands of his fellow citizens,
unjustly, on a shameful charge.
What applied to other officeholders (mostly chosen by lot) also applied to the elected
generals. They were subject to scrutiny (dokimasia) before taking office. They were
subject to an examination of their financial accounts and conduct in office (euthynai)
after the expiration of their term. During that term, they were confirmed in office
(epicheirotonia) by the Assembly at ten regular intervals (once during each prytany).
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Otherwise, they could be deposed and put on trial (Hamel 1998: 122-6). Pericles
himself was briefly deposed and fined in 430, shortly before his death. It has been
estimated that roughly 20% of the generals faced prosecution at one time or another
(Hamel 1998: 130-57; Hansen 1999: 216-7).
Some have argued that, unlike generals, political leaders who held no office were
unaccountable, and consequently irresponsible. To counter this view, attempts have
been made to show that few never held any office (including that of ambassador). The
others were, therefore, held accountable at one time or another (Roberts 1982).
Moreover, even orators were subject to scrutiny (dokimasia), as if they were
officeholders. They were also vulnerable to prosecution, especially on the charge
(graphe paranomon) that they had proposed to the Assembly an unconstitutional or
“unlawful” decree. “In the fifth century the state’s strongest weapon against its
political leaders had been ostracism, but in the fourth it was a trial before the People’s
Court and, typically, a graphe paranomon” (Hansen 1999: 205). This charge was
apparently made quite often in the 4th century, although convictions seem to have
been relatively rare. One orator, for example, once boasted that he had been indicted
seventy-five times but never convicted (Ober 1989: 302, 328).
What is perhaps most remarkable in the way the Athenians (mis)treated their leaders,
and especially their generals, is not the unfairness and ingratitude, but rather the sheer
irrationality underneath it all. Repeatedly, the Athenians managed to deprive
themselves of the services of their best generals (including several who fled the city,
like Thucydides, rather than face trial and punishment). The case in point is surely the
execution of the victorious generals of Arginusae in 406, although they had managed
against all odds to redress a desperate military situation. In light of what was to
follow, they were probably irreplaceable. Two years later, their successors managed
to lose the Peloponnesian War in a single encounter, and in the most disastrous and
inept manner.
What is also remarkable, nevertheless, is that a substantial number of Athenians
continually aspired to leadership, despite all the constraints and the dangers involved.
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7. Generals and Orators
“I am neither a general, nor an orator” (Isoc. 5.81). This is what Isocrates tells Philip
of Macedon, to make plain that he holds no position of authority in Athens. “Generals
and orators” (or vice versa) is the expression commonly used to designate the city’s
political leaders in the 4th century (Hansen 1983a: 37-38, 49-55).
In the 5th century, political leaders typically combined the two roles. It is generally
agreed that things changed right after the death of Pericles. Nevertheless, this needs to
be corrected to some extent. Until the end of the century, both Nicias and Alcibiades
conformed to the old model, as generals and orators. Even Cleon, who is usually
considered the first of a new type of leader, may be regarded as a transitional case. He
may have established his powerful position as an orator in the Assembly, but then
became a general and even died as one.
What is far more clearcut is that the rise of Cleon signified the end of the monopoly
that a few aristocratic families had hitherto held on political leadership (even as
champions of the common people). Beginning with him, most political leaders were
more or less wealthy, but lacked aristocratic ancestry, although they sometimes tried
to establish such connections (cf. Ober 1989: 280-5).
Another major difference between the 5th and the 4th century does not seem to have
drawn much attention in the literature. This is political polarization between the many
(hoi polloi) and the few (hoi oligoi). The Aristotelian Constitution of the Athenians
(28.2) evidently intends to convey an image of continuity until the end of the 5th
century by listing the succession of individuals who became in turn “leaders of the
common people” (prostates tou demou), paired with their counterparts as “leaders of
the wellborn” (prostates ton gnorimon). Perhaps for variety, the latter are also
designated as “the rich” or simply as “the others”. It seems rather hasty and
superficial to conclude that “the politicians of the fourth century are dismissed
collectively and anonymously” (Rhodes 1993: 357). After the traumatic experiences
with oligarchy in 411 and, especially, 404, when the victorious Spartans imposed the
so-called Thirty Tyrants, there could be no room for an aristocratic “party” in the
restored Athenian democracy, and, consequently, no polarization with a democratic
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“party” in the 4th century. This is why the list of paired leaders ends with the 5th
century.
In the 4th century, the most visible aspect of political leadership in Athens was the
separation between generals and orators, which is precisely what gave birth to the
novel expression pairing them. This separation has been explained as the outcome of
growing professionalism, specialization, and division of labor (Hansen 1987: 50-54;
1999: 268-70; Ober 1989: 91-3). Aristotle himself in his Politics (1305a 11-14)
observes that, in earlier times, the demagogues were recruited among the generals.
Now, with the growth of the art of rhetoric, those who are gifted speakers become
demagogues, but are ignorant of warfare. Three additional factors reduced the
political influence of the generals:
a) Military professionalism had distinct political implications, since it weakened the
ties between the generals and the citizen body. Athenian generals in the 4th century
often commanded mercenary troops rather than a purely citizen army (as in the 5th).
Some even served themselves a spell or two as mercenary commanders abroad.
Conversely, in at least one instance, a distinguished professional soldier was awarded
Athenian citizenship so that he could be elected general (cf. Demosthenes 23.65).
b) Whether through lack of training or for other reasons, several able generals were
poor speakers, and could not (or would not) seek popularity in the Assembly. The
orator Aeschines (3.229) laments the general who has done great things for the city,
but is a poor speaker and, therefore, cannot present his achievements and take credit
for them.
c) Another factor was the forced absence of generals on campaigns, which deprived
them of any influence they might have had as orators in the Assembly. The earliest
example is Cimon in 462. During his absence with an expeditionary force to help the
Spartans quell a Helot revolt, the democrats seized the opportunity to reduce the
powers of the traditionally aristocratic Council of the Areopagus (Hansen 1999: 37).
As campaigns became more distant and longer in the course of the Peloponnesian
War and later, the generals in command were condemned to longer spells of political
impotence. The prime example here would be Nicias, trapped for two years in Sicily.
16
The same military professionalism that limited the political influence of the generals,
also limited that of the orators, who were apparently discouraged from seeking the
generalship for themselves (as they would have in the 5th century). Lacking the
additional authority that the political leaders of the 5th century had derived from their
tenure as generals, the orators of the 4th were unable to build or increase a political
following by military success. Instead, they were prepared to fight under the generals
as ordinary foot soldiers (hoplites). In 338, both Demades and Demosthenes, leading
orators of the day, fought as hoplites in Chaeronea (Hansen 1983a: 51). This is
perhaps the most remarkable manifestation of the division of labor.
There were those who were sharply critical of this state of affairs, and advocated a
return to the “good old days” of undivided or combined leadership. One was
Isocrates, comparing unfavorably the Athenians of his day to their ancestors, who
“made leaders of the city and elected as generals the very same men” (Isoc. 8.54-5).
Another was the outstanding general Phocion, the one who was reportedly elected no
less than forty-five times. Again according to Plutarch (Phocion 7.3), Phocion
considered that the political leaders of his day had divided among themselves the
generalship and the tribune “as if by lot”. For his part, he longed to restore the
integrity and plenitude of political authority (combining the two) that Pericles,
Aristides, and Solon (?) had enjoyed. How far he achieved this goal is open to
discussion (cf. Hansen 1999: 269-70; Ober 1989: 92).
Finally, among the political leaders elected as treasurers in the latter half of the 4th
century, Eubulus apparently preferred not to address the Assembly himself, but rather
through his associates (Sakellariou 1999: 392-3). On the contrary, Lycurgus was an
accomplished orator, and is known to have addressed the Assembly on many
occasions (Hansen 1983b: 172).
Again, it is impossible to say whether the cases of Phocion and Lycurgus point to a
permanent return of unitary leadership in Athens, combining influence in the
Assembly with elected military or financial office, since the democracy was abolished
by the Macedonians in 322. Ironically, Phocion ended his long career as their
collaborator, and was consequently executed as a traitor in 318.
17
8. Conclusions and Lessons
Despite their instinctive suspicion of leadership and their ingrained attachment to
political equality, the Athenians needed generals to lead them in battle, and orators to
lead them in discussion and decision-making. In both instances, selection by lot was
not an option. This ready-made recipe for equality in practice was of no use. If this is
the major conclusion to be drawn from the Athenian experience, it may provide
lessons for any discussion of leadership in democratic theory.
Perhaps the most damaging lacuna in contemporary thinking about democracy is the
absence of any reference to war, as if it had already been exorcized, finally. This may
be related to the theory of the “Democratic Peace” and its optimistic determinism that
democracies are not likely to wage war, especially among themselves (e.g., Weart
1994). The Athenian experience does not seem to confirm this expectation.
As long as there is war, democratic theory cannot simply ignore it. All the more so,
since this is the most vital decision (or set of decisions) that a people is ever likely to
make. The Athenians always made sure that they would make it themselves, in the
Assembly, and fight under generals of their own choice.
Nowadays, at a time of highly professional soldiers (and vanishing citizen armies) any
idea of election on the Athenian model may be unthinkable. Instead, civilian control
of the military requires perforce a civilian “commander in chief”— to employ the
American expression that evokes today the most intractable problem of democratic
control.
In modern times, only the beginning and the end of war have been conceived as
subject to democratic control: the declaration of war, and the ratification of the peace
treaty. As distinct and formal acts, they can be assimilated to other major decisions
that only the people or its representatives are constitutionally empowered to make. In
the absence of a declaration or a treaty, other formal acts (like the infamous Gulf of
Tonkin Resolution in 1964) may be considered as equivalent.
18
What happens in-between, however, that is, the actual planning and conduct of
military operations, is a different matter altogether. The need for secrecy and speed,
above all, militates against any kind of democratic decision-making. It is inevitable
that these decisions will be made in secrecy by the competent civilian and military
leaders, subject only to ex post facto sanctions.
If the Athenian experience has
anything to teach in this respect, it is that the meddling of the Assembly in military
operations more often than not had adverse consequences, if only by preventing able
generals in the field from acting on their own best judgment.
If we turn to the second item, the picture may be brighter. The model of the Athenian
orator as a leader by persuasion is by no means limited to “leader democracy”
(Körösényi 2005: 366). If rhetoric is allowed in “authentic” deliberation (Dryzek
2000: 1), the model can be readily extended to “deliberative democracy” as well.
There are several well-known and perhaps insoluble problems in this connection. One
is the line separating rhetoric from manipulation and deception—or acceptable
“orators” from unacceptable “demagogues” (cf. Dryzek 2000: 52-4, 69-70). Where
exactly is the line to be drawn, and how can it ever be policed? Another is the
hierarchy inevitably generated by rhetoric, which is an art that few can ever master
(cf. Dryzek 2000: 67, 173). The Athenian experience highlights these problems,
without providing satisfactory solutions.
Instead, it offers the insight that leadership by persuasion is not just inescapable, but
indeed essential to democracy. Even in the most “non-coercive” setting imaginable,
there will be those who “lead” the discussion (if nothing else). Alternative courses of
action need to be formulated, presented, and supported by argument, if debate is to
result in decision (and not deliberation for its own sake). Sooner or later, after one or
several such debates, the exponent of the winning proposal(s) is thereby propelled to a
position of leadership that has nothing authoritarian or undemocratic about it. It is,
moreover, extremely fragile, precarious, subject to continual renewal, and at the
mercy of changing moods or circumstances. Here, in a nutshell, is a “positive” theory
of leadership in democracy.
19
This is perhaps the place to recall the famous dictum of Thucydides (2.65.9) that, in
the time of Pericles, Athens was in name a democracy, but was in fact ruled by its
first (or greatest) citizen. This passage is usually interpreted as a lucid, even cynical,
diagnosis of a contradiction denying the reality of Athenian democracy. Yet, it can
also be interpreted as an expression of marvel and wonder, in light of the historian’s
manifest admiration for Pericles. How was it possible for him to “rule” a democracy
as if it was a monarchy (or, worse, a tyranny, as his opponents would argue)? The
cause of wonder is the reality of the democracy, not its sham character.
Thucydides himself provides the elements of an answer. Pericles was “most powerful
in word and deed” (Thuc. 1.139.4): an orator, but also a man of action (especially as a
successful general). The qualities of his rhetoric may be appreciated in his Funeral
Oration and two Assembly addresses, as reproduced by Thucydides (2.35-46, 1.140144, 2.60-64). They are “the earliest speeches by an Athenian politician that have any
reasonable claim to being close to the original” (Ober 1989: 87). Pericles’ power of
persuasion was magnified rather than diminished by his unwillingness to merely
please his audience, and by his readiness to oppose them, and even provoke their
anger. He dominated the multitude “as free men” and “he led them rather than was led
by them” (Thuc. 2.65.8; cf. Hornblower 1991: 344-5). Moreover, this formidable
power of persuasion had a solid foundation: his own personal integrity and measured
lifestyle. Pericles offered himself as an example to his fellow citizens, just as he
offered Athens as an example to the rest of Greece in his Funeral Oration. A less
admiring Plutarch was to elaborate on all these points five centuries later.
If this is the more valid interpretation of the famous dictum, Pericles does not
constitute an example of strong leadership that is incompatible with democracy. On
the contrary, he emerges as an exceptional leader precisely insofar as he was
compatible with democracy—a model democratic leader. His power rested entirely
upon persuasion and trust, continually subject to renewal in the Assembly, including
the annual test of reelection to the generalship.
20
After Pericles, there was no one like him. The Athenian experience confirms, if need
be, that the provision of leadership in a democracy remains inherently contingent and
unpredictable. This “existential” fact constitutes perhaps the biggest obstacle
preventing the integration of the concept of leadership in democratic theory. Gifted
yet compatible leaders may not always be available in a democracy, which will have
to do without them. Hence, perhaps, the need for “leaderless” theories. It has often
been said that the people have the leaders they deserve. But then, it has also been said,
almost as frequently, that they deserve better!
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