One of Herodotus’s great themes is the distinction between political life proper, as practiced in the Greek cities, and the manifestations of power in other forms of social or communal organization, especially the Persian empire. While there are many significant differences between the cities of the west and the empires of the east—not least of all the sacred bounds of the former and utter boundlessness of the latter—preeminent among them is the status of speech.
Political speech is severely handicapped in Persia, in no small part because of the radical inequality and separation between the king and his subjects, prefigured by the customs inaugurated by Deiokes and manifested visibly in the seven walls of Ecbatana (1.98–99). Cyrus welcomes the sound advice of Croesus (1.86–89), but Cyrus is the exception, and Croesus’s advice itself is not foolproof (1.207); even a good king should want a whole court of free-speaking advisors. Cambyses? Forget about it. Xerxes struggles on-and-off to orchestrate a free debate among his advisors; their fear and flattery, and his anger and ambivalence, more often than not thwart the culture of political deliberation at his court (7.8). Deliberation is subject to the whims of the king, and Xerxes’s faltering attempts at deliberation before his monumental decision to invade Hellas are finally short-circuited by signs from the gods (7.12–19), as if to say: in Persia, reason cannot rule, or even gain much of a hearing. It is only when there is no king in Persia, when there is real equality among a small number of Persian noblemen—the seven conspirators deliberating on forms of government after their overthrow of Smerdis the Magi—that a political debate can occur in Persia (3.80–83). This debate is confined to the ultimate question, which regime to institute, and concludes by re-instating the very regime whose structure is most inimical to free political speech.
By contrast, political speech flourishes in the Greek cities precisely because citizens enter the deliberations as equals. Equality here is a means, not an end; the end is success (supremacy over others) for speaker and city alike. It is because they are political equals that the Greek citizens are able to compete fiercely with one another in their speeches, and through this competition establish a hierarchy among themselves that, one hopes, will correspond to the ranking of their political wisdom as expressed in their speeches. The system is far from perfect—there is never a guarantee that the best argument will win; most obviously, Themistokles cannot persuade the non-medizing Greeks to fight at Salamis by speech alone (8.75)—but the contrast with Persia, where political prudence rarely even has the chance to make itself heard in speech, is stark nonetheless.
But at a critical moment, as Xerxes’s invasion force approaches the Greek heartland, Athenian political deliberation is almost overwhelmed by expert pronouncement. First the Athenian delegates sent to Delphi, and then Themistokles himself, must persevere in seeking the practical truth through reasoned speech, thereby saving Athens itself—or at least, the Athenians—and all of Greece.
Herodotus introduces the episode concerning the oracles with his greatest praise for Athens. Without Athens’s determination to fight the Persians at sea, all of Greek resistance would have collapsed or eventually been crushed, and Greece would have fallen under Persian hegemony. In this moment, Athens was threatened by not just the overwhelming numbers of Xerxes’s army. Before they could fight at Salamis, the Athenians had to reassert their own characteristic culture of political speech against the threat of oracular doomerism and defeatist expertise.
[The Athenians] chose that Hellas should survive in freedom; and after rousing to that cause all the other Hellenes who had not medized, they repelled the King with the help of the gods. Indeed, not even the frightening oracles they received from Delphi threw them into a panic or persuaded them to abandon Hellas. Instead, they stood fast and had the courage to confront the invader of their land (7.139.5–6).
The oracle at Delphi—the ultimate expert, as it were—first issued a deeply discouraging message, urging the Athenians to flee the certain destruction of their city by the Persians. Not only will their city be captured; “into the devouring fire he [Ares] will give the temples of eternal gods” (7.140.3). To destroy the temples of Athens is to destroy the identity of the city, cutting it off from its sacred roots and sacred center.1
Fortuitously, the despair of the Athenian delegates is checked by Timon of Delphi, who advises that they consult the oracle again, this time as suppliants. The Athenian delegates have the boldness to do so. By accepting Timon’s advice, the Athenians use their desperation to convert despair into stubborn determination:
Lord, deliver to us a better oracle concerning our fatherland out of respect for their branches which we carry, coming here as suppliants, or else we shall not leave your shrine but shall remain here until we die (7.141.2).
The second oracle is grim as well, reaffirming the destruction of Athens, but adds that Zeus will grant to Athena “a wall made of wood […] alone and unravaged, to help you and your children,” and concludes by addressing a personification of Salamis, the island that off the coast of Attica: “O Salamis Divine, the children of women you will yet destroy” (7.141.3).
This second oracle the messengers copy down and convey to Athens, where it sparks a debate in the assembly. “Some of the elders” interpret the “wall of wood” as referring to the Acropolis, relying perhaps on their memory of a thorny hedge that had enclosed it “in ancient times,” while “others” interpret it as referring to their ships (7.142.1–2), an interpretation that naturally suits Themistokles, whom we soon learn had persuaded the Athenians to build up a navy several years earlier (7.144). As for the chilling address to “Salamis Divine,” it is again the well-credentialed authorities (the “oracle interpreters,” χρησμολόγοι) on one side, arguing that if they committed to a sea battle they would be defeated near Salamis, and Themistokles on the other, arguing that the oracle’s reference to “Salamis Divine” rather than, e.g., “Salamis Cruel,” portends victory rather than defeat, and that the “children of women” whom Salamis would destroy must be Persians rather than Greeks.
Themistokles wins the debate, and the Athenians prepare to fight the Persians at sea—a decision that makes possible their victory at Salamis. The Athenian assembly affirms Themistokles’s interpretation, the argument of a man “who had just recently come into the highest prominence,” over those offered by “some of the elders” and by the “oracle interpreters.” Notably, Themistokles’s argument is attractive not only because it is bold and confident rather than timid and defeatist (its pathos, and his ethos). It also gains persuasive power by its superior logos, based as it is on a more-carefully-reasoned reading of the precise words of the oracle than the oracle-experts themselves could offer. Themistokles’s political rhetoric triumphs over the authority of the experts in part by surpassing them in their own area of expertise. His triumph, during an acute national-security emergency, is possible only because Athens is a city that habitually permits, or even encourages, citizens to enter freely into debate—regardless of their credentials.
One final jab at experts. The Pythia (Delphic priestess) who delivers both oracles is named Aristonike (7.140.1), a name that means “the best victory” or perhaps “victory of the best.” A Herodotus expert comments that “this name of good omen counts for nothing in these responses; perhaps Hdt. records it a little ironically.” This misses the point entirely. The Athenian messengers prove themselves best, and thus worthy of victory, by weaving together piety and prudence (offering themselves as suppliants, on the advice of Timon of Delphi), humility and boldness (trust in the authority of the oracle, determination to ask it not once but twice). A similar combination of virtues is required by the statesman as he confronts the claims of expert authority, and by any community that cultivates a culture of political speech in the hopes that the competition that results will elevate the best ruler and the best policy.
As for Themistokles, he proves himself best, and thus secures victory, in at least three ways: by his previous prudent policy to build up a navy, thus providing a “wooden wall” for the oracle to point to; by beating the oracle-experts at their own game through greater attention to the actual words of the oracle; and, later, by recognizing both the necessity of persuasive speech in the pan-Hellenic deliberations on when and where to fight the Persians as well as the limitations of speech.
Notably, the first oracle is not overturned by the second. Not only is Athens occupied by the Persians; the greatest disaster specified by the first oracle, that Ares will consign Athenian “temples of eternal gods” to “consuming fire,” is precisely what happens (8.50–53). Its sanctuaries are plundered and the whole Acropolis is set on fire. Xerxes, interestingly, quickly sends the exiled Athenians in his entourage to perform sacrifices on the Acropolis (8.54), and these exiles observe that the olive tree planted by Athena herself on the Acropolis is recovering from the fire at a miraculous rate (8.55).
Fine post, and excellent use of the Perseus site! I hadn't considered the possibilities there....
Thank you for this excellent post. I will be sharing it with my students.