The
origins of democracy: A radical, short-lived, violent experiment
By Mary Beard
In 427BCE the people of Athens voted, democratically, to put to
death the entire adult male population of the town of Mytilene and
to throw into slavery the women and children — thousands in
all. As a punishment for changing sides in the great war between
Athens and Sparta, this was brutal even by the permissive rules
of ancient warfare. The next day the voters got cold feet.
Meeting again, they reversed the decision, and sent a second message
to their commander in the field, cancelling their earlier orders.
With good luck, incentive payments and favourable winds, this arrived
just in the nick of time, before the mass slaughter had been carried
out. Under the new ruling, the number of executions barely reached
four figures — a selective cull of the leading insurgents.
Most
ancient writers used this kind of incident not, as we might, as
an indictment of Athens's ruthlessness, but of the incapacity and
fickleness of its democratic decision-making process. And they had
plenty of other examples to choose from — whether the disastrous
invasion of Sicily, which effectively lost Athens the war with Sparta,
or the execution of the dissident Socrates. Needless to say, all
these writers were the equivalent of the ancient rightwing. They
were acerbic, sometimes nasty critics of the power of the people,
and at the same time victims — from Plato down — of
the odd delusion that an intelligent autocrat or an elite cabal
was less likely to make military or political blunders than a democracy.
All
the same there is a stark contrast here with our own modern political
fetish, from both left and right of the spectrum, for Athenian democracy.
The more that "democracy" becomes an empty slogan —
all too often the west's convenient alibi for intervention in non-western
politics (a bubble pricked only when our new democratic converts
vote in some regime we don't much like) — the more we hark
back to its ancient pedigree.
Think, for example, of the self-congratulatory celebrations a decade
or so ago of the 2,500th anniversary of world democracy, which fixed
on some murky and probably self-serving reforms in 508BCE as the
originary moment.
It was for this occasion that Bush Sr penned, or presumably had
penned for him, a gushing introduction to a US exhibition catalogue
celebrating The Greek Miracle. (www.nga.gov/past/data/exh659.-shtm).
But
the Athenian democratic allure extends beyond the Bush-Blair axis.
As far away as the Pacific island of Tonga there is a university
parading its intellectual credentials with the title "Atenisi"
and with a mission to embrace the "democratic ideals"
of ancient Greece (www.atenisi.edu.to).
This
fetish casts ancient democratic Athens as the foundation of modern
political virtues: one man one vote, freedom of expression, communal
decision-making, the sovereignty of the law and equality before
it, and so on. At the same time, it deftly airbrushes out the less
appealing aspects of Athenian democratic culture. The well-known
exclusion of women and slaves from any form of political action
is one factor, but not the only one. And to be honest, even if Athens
operated a more thoroughgoing repression of its female population
than any other Greek state we know, no ancient culture would score
highly here.
The
Athenian democracy which we so admire was, in reality, a short-lived
and violent political experiment; it lasted 50 or so years in its
most radical form, a half-century that saw the assassination of
one of the most influential democratic reformers and numerous attempts
by the enemy within to betray the city to the undemocratic Persians
or Spartans. During its almost equally short-lived empire in the
fifth century BCE, it imposed democratic government on its satellites
with as much ruthlessness (and probably as little understanding)
as George Bush and his allies. It was also a tiny community, with
perhaps some 30,000 full male citizens, making its political nucleus
roughly the same size as the student population of the modern University
of Manchester, or, to put it another way, half the size of Kidderminster.
And their citizen rights were fiercely guarded. With a strategy
that would endear it to the British Nationalist Party (BNP), it
made sure that only those born of both Athenian mothers and Athenian
fathers would qualify to be part of the exclusive club of citizens.
No political integration of migrants or asylum seekers here.
It
goes without saying, of course, that there were, and are, many attractive
and important features in Athenian democratic politics. For a poor,
free, male and ambitious citizen, over a short period in the fifth
century, it was surely the best Greek city in which to live: with
a chance of playing a full political role (thanks to the selection
of most political office-holders by lottery) and of being adequately
compensated financially for time taken up with political duties.
Pay for taking on public responsibility was anathema to the noblesse
oblige attitudes of the rightwing, but a central plank in the sharing
of power. Equality of political opportunity between the male citizens
was as close to being a reality as it ever has been in history.
Classical
democracy also launched (thanks, ironically, to ancient theorists
who were deeply opposed to it) the whole tradition of western political
analysis, from Plato and Aristotle on — as well as giving
a kick-start to numerous 19th century movements for political change.
Most of us in the UK have reason to be very grateful that those
behind the 1832 Reform Act, such as the historian George Grote,
rejected the idea that democratic Athens was a dreadful warning
of the dangers of mob rule and saw in it instead a model for the
extension of the vote and electoral change.
But
is it a model for us now? To be fair, very few people still imagine
that we can draw directly on the Athenian experience — except
a few crackpots who would like to have the members of the House
of Lords selected, Athenian style, by lottery (and even they have
come to seem less crackpot over the past few weeks). The danger
of Athens's example is more insidious than that. By choosing —
or clinging to — a tiny community with a narrowly restrictive
idea of citizen rights and of nationality as our founding democratic
myth, we are in a sense turning our back on the central political
issues that face us now. Not so much "democratic myth",
more "head in the sand".
The
big problem for the 21st century is surely how to redefine the notion
of "people power" (Greek demokratia) so that it can work
for vast political conglomerates from which almost everyone feels
alienated, and in which power has moved decidedly away from the
"people" in any meaningful sense. There is also, as Paul
Cartledge hinted in some recent discussions of Greece on Radio 4's
Westminster Hour, the need to reconfigure ideas of the rights and
obligations of citizenship in the new context of a global political
economy that transcends the boundaries of the nation state. In projects
of this kind, the founding myth of a small city, the size of a large
student union — and with a decidedly unglobal and unmulticultural
agenda — is more of a hindrance than a help.
- The Guardian, UK (Mary Beard is a professor of classics
at Cambridge University.)
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