PEISISTRATUS and the Secrets of Power:
Instructions for Hippias and Hipparchus

Illustration by M. A. Barth 1838 depicting the return of Pisistratus to Athens, accompanied by a woman dressed as Athena.

 

Is there something like a ‘good tyrant’?

Such a notion appears counterintuitive at first sight, especially for proponents of a strong democracy, as they care about a political culture that is inclusive, participatory, and transparent. Yet even at the height of democracy in the 5th century, the Athenians maintained a highly positive image of their ‘tyrant’ Peisistratus, under whom Athens rose to one of the strongest and wealthiest poleis of Greece (564-529 BCE).

Although he had used cunning and violence to obtain preeminence in the running of the state, his government actually showed innovation, moderation, and balance, benefitting all levels of society. He reserved the top positions for the wealthiest in accordance with the Constitution of Solon (594 BCE), but at the same time, he lifted thousands of the poor up into the middle class, who remained the arbiter of public affairs in the assembly of the people (ecclesia).

Most of what is known about him is derived from the short and legendary account of how he came to power (Herodotus’ Histories I 59-64), whereas Herodotus’ book on 6th-century constitutional history only covers the unfortunate end of his sons Hippias (ruled 529-510 BCE) and Hipparchus (killed in 514 BCE). But thanks to another spectacular discovery of Rabbi Ben – relentless on his quest for understanding and dismantling the secrets of power – we now have the opportunity to look deeper into the mechanisms of Peisistratus’ rule. It appears that he wanted to bequeath his sons not only his estate and preeminence in Athens, but also a collection of political reflections, written down in leisurely nights to guide them through the storms of the future. We shall never know if the scroll with his invaluable insights ever reached his sons, but through miraculous ways, they ended up on the Rabbi’s desk, and he is now presenting their first English translation to us.

  • My sons:

    We have had many discussions, and I have tried to teach you many things for when, as I hope, you will rule. I think that we know that we are good for the people, that while, yes, we have striven to gain power and maintain our grip, we do so not only for ourselves but for everyone. There is ambition for its own sake, and then there is ambition that is noble. I believe, in my heart, that we have noble ambition.

    We are necessary because while the people are for the most part good, they are not as wise as we are, nor as quick. If we are to lead them, we must always have a clear picture where we are leading them to. We must never be so fixed in our ways that we cannot bend when we need to, or at least, seem to be bending.

    As your father and your teacher, I can see that sometimes, you do not seem to understand what I am doing. So, I will write some of my thoughts down for you to refer to when it will be your time. There is always a great deal to think about, and there are new situations, but there are principles and methods by which we should lead. In this first chapter, I am writing about a method, a way to lead. I want to remind you about something that happened between us not long ago.

    When you were helping me to store manuscripts of oracular poetry on the Acropolis, Hippias, you kept wondering why we were going through so much trouble to do this, why we would be concerned with what you called “silly old poetry”. I asked both of you to sit and think and offer me a reason.

    Hipparchus, you thought that this was for my vanity, to possess poetry the way one collects jewelry or amasses a fortune for its own sake or owns a field. You took it as a sign of my wealth and power but nothing more. In short, you thought we were collecting poetry for my vanity.

    Hippias, you thought that since poetry is entertainment, control over entertainment is a useful tool. By controlling the performance of poetry, we have the power to withhold it from the public. We can limit the public’s opportunities to have this enjoyment or edification. But then we can turn around and present ourselves not as controlling but rather lavish and generous to the public in providing them with opportunities to hear poetry. You said that you have heard some complaint that all poetry should be in the public domain, not in private control. Those complainers are intelligent and idealistic. But giving in would lessen our power.

    We have envied our friend Polycrates of Samos, not only for the naval empire he built, but also for his friendship with the renowned poet Anacreon who helped him sweeten his otherwise tyrannical rule for his subjects. But have we not done even more by enhancing the glory of the yearly Panathenaea? We’ve established the Great Panathenaea to take place every four years. Prizes are no longer confined to athletes, but we also award them to the bards who recite the Homeric epics. And after we placed the cult of Dionysus under our state sponsorship – another brilliant move, you generously said with a smile –, we have sponsored prizes at the yearly Dionysia for the singing of dithyrambs and lately for the performance of tragedies.

    And all of this is entertainment; this is true, in a narrow way. But it is so much more. Song, poetry, and celebration help create a sense of belonging, of purpose, of We.

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