Classical Greece was a high period for city networks, with trading centers dotting the map of the Aegean Sea like “frogs around a marsh” in the words of Aristotle. These were strange times, where Spartans annually declared war on their slaves. Where the Athenian reformer Solon banned the export of vital foodstuffs – on penalty of death – while at the same time laying the groundwork for unprecedented political pluralism. Yet we see an uncommon iteration of city networking that was well ahead of its time. Embedded in the lives of these cities was an early echo of the modern. Athens was the alpha city in a polis system of autonomous city-states that, at its height, spanned from Spain to Africa to the Black Sea with a total population of thirty million people. This was an incredible period of seafaring. Language, culture, aesthetics, and revolutionary political ideas flowed in the currents alongside goods and services in an elaborate trading network. Far from localized cultures of self-sufficiency, most Greek cities depended on trade for basics such as foodstuffs, but also for military, intellectual, and cultural production.

This chapter is focused on a battle in the Athenian law-court between two great orators. Aeschines was trained as a tragic actor who worked in a mask, and brought the skills of the stage to the democratic arena. He argued for making peace with the new rising imperial power, Macedon, and tried to persuade the jury to position themselves as authentic democrats. Demosthenes was a skilled writer who wrote speeches for others, and later learnt how to present himself as a public speaker. He won the debate for two reasons. He persuaded the jury to position themselves in nationalistic terms as Athenians, and he also persuaded them that he was sincere while his opponent was merely acting. The reputation of Demosthenes has undergone many changes, and it was only in the nineteenth century that he emerged as an archetypal democrat. In Demosthenes’ day the drive for sincerity was tied to a shift from communitarian thinking to a higher degree of individualism, in a political context where the city was losing its power of self-determination. I end by drawing on Peter Brook’s minimalist definition of theatre to create a definition of democracy.

Let us begin by looking at a tragedy that is largely choral. Aeschylus’ Persians was staged at the Great Dionysia in 472, only one year after the Battle of Salamis, where the Athenian fleet had defeated Xerxes’ armada. The Great King had invaded continental Greece, and on reaching Athens had set fire to the Acropolis and destroyed the temple of its tutelary deity Athena, the Old Parthenon. Aeschylus’ choregos was none other than Pericles. Here we follow the dramatic – and choral – unfolding of this tragedy whose action takes place in Susa, the capital of Persia.

Chapter one argues for the significance of visualized divine music by situating ancient viewers’ experience of representations of divine music within their ancient contexts, thereby establishing a well-defined space in which divine music could have been seen, imaginatively heard, and experienced. Laferrière takes as her focus a corpus of fourth-century BCE votive reliefs that depict Pan playing his syrinx and the Nymphs dancing; dedicated to these same gods, the reliefs were consistently deposited in cave shrines throughout Attica. Since the clear archaeological record allows for a reconstruction of the worshipper’s religious experience, Laferrière draws attention to the ways the reliefs provoked specific sensory experiences in the ancient worshippers. Within the cave shrines, worshippers could have gazed upon votive reliefs that were visually similar to the physical cave, so that the distinction between image and reality blurred and collapsed. As a result, these reliefs allowed for a fully embodied experience of the Nymphs: by imaginatively listening to the music that Pan plays, and perhaps even contributing their own music, worshippers are invited to join in the Nymphs’ dance.

The introduction establishes the characteristics of divine music. Noting the discrepancies between the visual and literary accounts of the gods and the variability in the instruments with which they choose to perform, Laferrière argues that the gods’ active use of their instruments lends a sonic quality to their representation. In demarcating divine music-making as distinct from human musical practices, she shows that these images require a correspondingly distinct mode of interpretation and analysis, since the scenes feature musical performances that are undertaken outside the human world.

Nobody hates like a Greek neighbour does, to paraphrase Simon Hornblower. But did this reflect a genuine inimical attitude, or are there more layers to commemorative practices? An analysis of the neighbourly commemorative practices reveals a different reality. Looking at dedications, festivals and literary sources provides a more nuanced insight. Rather than a preference for Panhellenic arenas to propagate a warring rivalry to the largest audience, local venues and spaces were preferred. The thinking behind this localised commemoration are the intentions to strengthen local cohesion vis-à-vis a known ‘other’, in this case the neighbouring polity. Dedications at sanctuaries like Olympia or Delphi were inspired by a desire to proclaim credentials for leadership over all of Greece, rather than stress the localised interactions. Often these were made with or in relation to the Spartans, meaning these sanctuaries provided a different audience for other goals. This becomes clearest by looking at a local sanctuary, the Amphiareion at Oropos. Here both polities aimed to promote their ownership by mostly targeting local audiences. This example demonstrates the potential of contested sanctuaries for understanding local rivalries and commemorative practices and how they acted as mirrors for neighbourly relations.

How should we perceive the relationship between Athenians and Boiotians in the Archaic and Classical periods (550–323 BCE)? Previous scholarship regarded it as rife with hostility, perpetually locked in mutual fear, only rarely interspersed with times of peace or alliance. In this introduction, the speech given by the Boiotian general Pagondas prior to the Battle of Delion (424 BCE) will be used to argue that his arguments about moralistic behaviour, commemoration and borderland interaction between the neighbours were an exception, rather than the rule, unlike conclusions of previous scholars. Following this speech, the chapter turns to a description of the geographical layout of both regions and how these were intertwined and connected. After this description, the three themes of the book – norms of interstate relations, geopolitical considerations and commemorative practices – are elaborated upon to show what the current state of scholarship on these issues is. It stresses that human experience and nature are complex and multifocal and should therefore treated as such, rather than aim for an overarching framework to capture the lived experience.

A look at Spartan commemoration in the Peloponnesian War, focusing on Brasidas and the rhetoric of liberation. Brasidas was a new kind of Spartan that put freedom in the forefront, which led to Brasidas receiving more lavish commemoration but also drew Sparta into more wars.

The author first addresses the contents and the nature of the proems of the Histories, secondly the arrangement of Ephorus’ work and, thirdly, the main contents of each of the thirty books that formed it.

This chapter explores the contrast between two types of ultimate authority (the tyrant and the sovereign) and the material limits on both through a study of Sophocles’ Oedipus Tyrannos. It begins with an examination of the shared terrain between the two terms, and then moves to a study of the discursive development of tyrannos in ancient Greece. Two insights result: first, notions of sovereignty depend on some idea of limits or boundaries, whether recognized or not, to differentiate it from illegitimate tyranny. Second, the legitimacy problem is always political, depending on power and contestation; claims to either sort of ultimate authority will never find secure or self-evident foundations. Oedipus – a benevolent tyrant who has faith in his power because he escaped his fate and has bested the Sphnix – ends up unwittingly demonstrating the limits of both types of claims to ultimate authority. Attempting to find freedom beyond democratic knowledge and the constraints of time and inheritance, Oedipus’s refusal to remain bounded by the material limits of human existence results in his tragic downfall.

This chapter looks into the constitutions of Antiquity, notably those of the Greek city states - the (old) constitution of Dreros and Athens (the Draconian and Solonian constitutions), and Rome - the twelve tables. Aristotle claims to have had access to 158 city state constitutions: every respectable city state had on. For the first time in history we see evidence that communities (cities) try to learn from examples set by other city-states. Rome, for example, sends out envoys to learn from (and copy) the Athenian constitution before enacting the laws in their own Twelve Tables

Known chiefly from sources related to democratic Athens, the Sophists emerge from the competitive ethos of aristocratic Greek society. The impetus for the Sophistic movement was the transformation of social and political relations within the Greek world following the defeat of Xerxes. These changes were most dramatically felt and best recorded at Athens. The phenomenal wealth of fifth-century Athens increased the number of Athenians aspiring to an aristocratic lifestyle and intensified the competition for social recognition and for preeminence in politics. Verbal dexterity was a key attribute in the pursuit of such standing. Sophists attracted students by promising to impart such skills in the young men of wealthy families. The turmoil of war in the late fifth century encouraged some of those influenced by Sophists to turn toward oligarchic revolution at Athens, tainting the reputation of Sophistic learning, leading to the condemnation of Socrates for his engagement with these self-proclaimed teachers of political virtue and wisdom.

This chapter discusses connections between the Sophists and their wider intellectual context. It argues for the value of the term “enlightenment” as a characterization of the period in two respects: as pointing to a widespread self-consciousness of intellectual change, and as encompassing a range of discourses and thinkers beyond the philosophical. Using Aristophanes’ Clouds as a guide, the chapter discusses three modes of thinking that are characteristic of the sophistic period as an enlightenment, understood in these senses: an interest in empirical research and collection, particularly in the human social realm; a concentration on methods of argument and widespread employment of antilogistic forms; and a skepticism toward causal reasoning concerning divinity and the unseen generally. These three modes of thinking are found importantly among the Sophists, but are manifest widely beyond their thought, and are best understood as characteristic practices and attitudes of a fifth-century enlightenment.

In this opening chapter, I attempt to situate Plato’s philosophizing and literary production in its historical context. The evidence external to the dialogues that such an enterprise can rely on is either scrappy or suspect, or both. So what I offer here is a series of snapshots. They follow a chronological sequence, from Plato’s relationship with Socrates and the Athens that executed him; through his momentous first visit to Italy and Sicily and its impact on his thinking about politics and philosophy; to the founding of the Academy, Plato’s rivalry with Isocrates, and the birth of the theory of Forms; and ending with the worlds of the late dialogues.