Socrates' Athens and Modern Politics

What the Peloponnesian War can teach us about war and rhetoric today

In this excerpt from the Introduction to my latest book, How to Think Like Socrates, I explain its relevance to the modern political climate. (Check out the audiobook, which has 4.8 stars from Audible reviewers.) Since the book was published, readers have noted more and more parallels between the Peloponnesian War, in which Socrates fought, and which shaped his philosophical concerns, and our modern world. Socratic philosophy can only be understood, I believe, in relation to the political rhetoric of the time. Philosophy, to a large extent, evolved as a remedy against the use of rhetoric to manipulate our emotions and our impression of the world. We need the same therapy today, to counter the effect of political propaganda and other forms of manipulation in the Age of the Internet.

Why Ancient Philosophy Matters Today

We should brace ourselves for the possibility that reflecting philosophically on our own deepest values may lead us to question some of the prevailing values of the society in which we live.

As I became more interested in Socrates’s life and the period in which he lived, I was struck by how many parallels there are with recent history. The Athens of Socrates was a fledgling democracy, in which the basic strengths and weaknesses of that system were laid bare. Their city initially flourished, and built up strong alliances, under the leadership of great statesmen, in whom the people believed wholeheartedly. Following the outbreak of a great war and a devastating pandemic, however, their trust in government was shaken, leading to a split between two political factions that became more extreme and polarized as they fought for control of the state. The political and legal systems of Athens strained under the weight of corruption, as their weaknesses were exploited to the maximum. Demagogues soon realized that populist measures and emotive rhetoric could be used to manipulate the people and to swing votes in the Assembly, by pandering to human weaknesses such as greed, fear, and anger.

Professional advisors, the Sophists, became increasingly famous, and staggeringly wealthy, by teaching politicians the art of persuasion. These men gave celebrated speeches themselves, which often exploited common insecurities and prejudices. A curious hybrid of political and self-improvement rhetoric evolved, which encouraged privileged young men to view contempt for their perceived inferiors as something “strong” and “manly.” The violent suppression of foreign nations abroad and total loss of faith in the democratic process at home led, in due course, to armed coups, political purges, and even civil war. Socrates didn’t explicitly align himself with any political faction or system of government, but rather his main concern was whether or not those wielding power possessed the wisdom and virtue that might make them competent to be in charge. He was, however, forced to watch as Athenian democracy was first hijacked by demagogues and then reverted to an “oligarchy,” or rule by the few, which ultimately collapsed into “tyranny,” or what we call “authoritarianism.”

I will leave it to you to observe more specific parallels between ancient Athens and our modern political landscape. Different people may perhaps draw quite different, and even opposing, conclusions about what lessons we should learn. Most of us can agree, however, that the struggles of Athenian democracy throughout the Peloponnesian War, which marked the main period of Socrates’s life with which we are concerned, provide a clear warning to us regarding both the fragility of the democratic system and its vulnerability to abuse. Socrates, if anything, was a critic of the Athenian democratic system, particularly the ease with which speakers could sway votes by pandering to the worst tendencies, or vices, of the people. Nevertheless, the ability to reason well and maintain self-awareness, then as now, may be our best defense against the rhetoric of fear and anger that threatens to tear our democracy apart, as it once tore apart that of Athens.

Who is the Modern Cleon?

[In this excerpt, I describe the Athenian demagogue Cleon. You’ll arguably find similar politicians and political commentators today all around the world. This is a historically accurate depiction of how the Athenian empire was hijacked by demagogues.]

The war that followed the Battle of Potidaea exceeded any previously recorded in Western history. Whereas the Trojan War, if we are to believe Homer, had lasted ten years, this war between Athens and Sparta would last twenty-seven. The two main combatants were at the peak of their martial powers. Sparta had become the great beast of the land, with an infantry feared by every other nation. Athens had become the great beast of the sea, ruling the waves with a fleet of around three hundred ships. Most of the other Greek cities were forced to ally themselves with one side or the other, joining the Delian League of Athens or the Peloponnesian League of Sparta. The war would engulf the whole Mediterranean world and even drew in the neighboring “barbarian” races of Thrace and Persia.

The Periclean war strategy was clearly stated and well known to every citizen: Athens must refrain from further expansion […] and endure patiently until her enemies grew exhausted and sued for peace.

The Athenians called it the Peloponnesian War after the region in which Sparta and most of her allies were located. The Spartans must have thought of it as the Athenian War and, although its first phase is named after the Spartan king Archidamus, we might also think of it as the War of Pericles, the Athenian statesman under whom it began. The Periclean war strategy was clearly stated and well known to every citizen: Athens must refrain from further expansion, hold her existing empire together, avoid fighting the Spartans on the land, trust in her navy, retain total control of the waves, and endure patiently until her enemies grew exhausted and sued for peace. Though distasteful at first to many Athenians, who would rather have gone out to fight and defend their farmlands, this strategy was based on sound knowledge of Athens’s strengths and weaknesses as well as those of her adversaries. Pericles was now dead, however, and the course of the war would soon be shaped by the influence of political orators pushing for a change of strategy.

Pericles led the Athenian empire at the height of its power.

Although Pericles was a Democrat, and something of a populist, he tried to reconcile the interests of common people and aristocrats for the greater good of Athens, and he would challenge the will of the people where necessary. Cleon was also a Democrat, but more radically populist, and in some ways the opposite of Pericles. If Pericles was a moderate, Cleon was an outright firebrand. To garner support, he denounced the prudent but unpopular strategy of withdrawing the population within the city. Although he inherited a lucrative business, critics claimed that he entered politics heavily in debt. He used the war, they said, as a cover for enriching himself by extorting money from Athenian aristocrats and foreign allies, accepting bribes, and embezzling public funds.

Pericles had appealed to what was best in the people; Cleon to what was worst. He would yell insults at his opponents in the Assembly, running to and fro, hitching up his robe and slapping his thigh, for dramatic effect. It worked. The people found his unusually brash style more entertaining than the polished rhetoric of established statesmen such as Nicias. In the aftermath of the plague, as Athens tried to reassert herself, Cleon’s rhetoric became more violent, crude, and aggressive, as he attacked his critics rather than refuting them, but most often he carried the Assembly with him. Soon, this kind of outlandish behavior became normalized, and the political climate at Athens degenerated into partisan bickering. Genuine statesmen gave way to demagogues, who stoked the fear and anger of the citizens and pandered to their greed and other vices.

The change became evident the year after Pericles’s death, when Mytilene, the major city of the island of Lesbos, was discovered to have plotted a revolt against Athens, with aid from Sparta. Mytilene was one of the few members of the Delian League who avoided paying tribute to Athens by providing the coalition with crewed ships. In response to the revolt, the Athenians sent a fleet to blockade the city, while troops laid siege by land. When Spartan ships finally reached the northern Aegean, nine months into the campaign, Mytilene had already fallen. The Athenian Assembly was divided about what to do with the captives, presumably numbering tens of thousands. Cleon fumed that a show of strength was required: these foreigners are a threat to our state, he said, and they must be crushed. He moved that the entire male population of Mytilene should be put to death, and the women and children enslaved. The demagogue whipped up such outrage and lust for revenge among his fellow Athenians that they voted to send a trireme with orders for the troops surrounding Mytilene to carry out a massacre.

After reflecting on the decree overnight, however, many Athenians regretted the cruelty of the decision that Cleon had convinced them to make. They insisted on reconvening the Assembly. Cleon mounted the rostrum again and gave a speech that became infamous. The days of Pericles, in which sober debates about justice were the norm, were gone. Cleon launched into a shameless diatribe against the moderates who opposed him and, despite his own reputation for corruption, accused them of taking bribes. Yelling loudly above the opposing voices, he raged against the Mytileans, invoking every prejudice to blacken their name. An example must be made of their city, he boomed, warning other cities against contemplating revolt. The Athenians, he cried, were fooling themselves if they believed the Periclean myth that their empire was a civilized alliance of friends, held together by justice and diplomacy. They should realize it was pure despotism and their subjects were slaves, who must be forced into submission by punishing them until they learn to fear their masters. He induced terror in the assemblymen, stoking their fear of losing control and then working that fear up into anger and a lust for revenge. If Athens didn’t have the strength to punish her enemies, he said, they would punish her. Teach them, he roared, that the penalty for rebellion is death!

After Cleon finally stepped down from the rostrum, the son of one of Pericles’s former advisers, a moderate, stepped forward and called for reason. The two things most opposed to good counsel, he said, were haste and anger. The Assembly should give themselves time for sober debate. Cleon, he said, was fearmongering and manipulating the vote by attacking the character of anyone who disagreed with him rather than answering their objections. There was no logic to his strategy. The punishment he had demanded was so extreme that it would blacken the reputation of Athens for many years to come. Support for democracy among the lower classes in other cities, he said, was their greatest political asset. By punishing not only the powerful but the entire population, Athens risked losing its moral authority, which was the glue that held its fragile empire together.

The Assembly voted, by a hair’s breadth, to change its decree. A second trireme raced through the night to catch the first ship, which had left a day earlier. Miraculously, it arrived just in time to avert a genocide. Cleon’s opponents would later accuse him of using the threat of a massacre to extort money, for his own pockets, from the residents of Mytilene.

Cleon had stood before the Athenian Assembly and castigated the democracy itself for being incapable of governing an empire. He complained that the debates permitted by the Assembly led to delay and indecision. The Assembly was too easily swayed by rhetoric and changed its mind too easily, he said. Weak laws, he argued, which are subject to change, were worse than bad ones applied consistently. During a war, he claimed, the Athenians needed a strong leader like him, to save them from the chaos caused by indecision. Of course, by accusing his political opponents of corruption and escalating conflicts with other states, he could make this need appear more urgent.

It should have been obvious that Cleon was doing the very thing he accused his enemies of doing: manipulating the debate, through appeals to emotion rather than reason. Like many authoritarians, he managed to combine demagoguery and antidemocratic rhetoric. Socrates watched from a distance, observing how easily Cleon was able to conceal his own corruption by accusing his critics of corruption, undermining the democratic process, while posing as a champion of the people and promising to be their savior. Democracy worked if the people behaved rationally, but once they fell completely under the spell of a demagogue, rule by the people became a form of tyranny in disguise.