The later Archaic periods

The decline of the aristocracy

The first state in which the old aristocratic order began to break up was Corinth. The Bacchiadae had exploited Corinth’s geographic position, which was favourable in ways rivaled only by that of the two Euboean cities already discussed. Like Chalcis, which supervised sea traffic between southern Greece and Macedonia but also had close links with Boeotia and Attica, Corinth controlled both a north-south route (the Isthmus of Corinth, in modern times pierced by the Corinth Canal) and an east-west route. This second route was exploited in a special way. Corinth had two ports, Lechaeum to the west on the Gulf of Corinth and Cenchreae to the east on the Saronic Gulf. Between the two seas there was a haulage system, involving a rightly famous engineering feat, the so-called diolkos (“portage way”). The diolkos, which was excavated in the 1950s, was a line of grooved paving-stones across which goods could be dragged for transshipment (probably not the merchant ships themselves, though there is some evidence that warships, which were lighter, were so moved in emergencies). There is explicit information that the Bacchiadae had profited hugely from the harbour dues. As the Greek world expanded its mental and financial horizons, other Corinthian families grew envious. The result was the first firmly datable and well-authenticated Greek tyranny, or one-man rule by a usurper. This was the tyranny of Cypselus, who was only a partial Bacchiad.

Aristotle, in the 4th century, was to say that tyrannies arise when oligarchies disagree internally, and that analysis makes good sense in the Corinthian context. The evidence of an inscribed Athenian archon list, found in the 1930s and attesting a grandson of Cypselus in the 590s, settled an old debate about the date of Cypselus’s coup: it must have happened about 650 (a conclusion for which there is other evidence) rather than at the much later date indicated by an alternative tradition. Cypselus and his son Periander ruled until about 587 bce; Periander’s nephew and successor did not last long. Precisely what factor in 650 made possible the success of the partial outsider Cypselus is obscure; no Bacchiad foreign policy failure can be dated earlier than 650. General detestation for the Bacchiadae, however, is clear from an oracle preserved by Herodotus that “predicts” that Cypselus will bring dikē, or justice, to Corinth after the rule of the power-monopolizing Bacchiadae. No doubt this oracle was fabricated after the event, but it is interesting as showing that nobody regretted the passing of the Bacchiadae.

Changes in warfare

Modern scholars have tried to look for more general factors behind Cypselus’s success than a desire in a new world of wealth and opportunity to put an end to Bacchiad oppressiveness and exclusivity. One much-favoured explanation is military, but it must be said straightaway that the specific evidence for support of Cypselus by a newly emergent military class is virtually nonexistent. The background to military change, a change whose reality is undoubted, needs a word.

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Aristocratic warfare, as described in the Homeric epics, puts much emphasis on individual prowess. Great warriors used chariots almost as a kind of taxi service to transport themselves to and from the battlefield, where they fought on foot with their social peers. The winner gained absolute power over the person and possessions of the vanquished, including the right to carry out ritual acts of corpse mutilation. That general picture is surely right, though it can be protested that Homer’s singling out of individuals may be just literary spotlighting and that the masses played a respectably large part in the fighting described in the epics. There is some force in that objection and in the converse and related objection that in Archaic and Classical hoplite fighting individual duels were more prevalent than is allowed by scholars anxious to stress the collective character of hoplite combat. Still, a change in methods of fighting undoubtedly occurred in the course of the 7th century.

The change was to a block system of fighting, in which infantry soldiers equipped with heavy armour, or hopla (including helmet, breastplate, greaves, sword, spear, and a round shield attached to the left arm by a strap), fought, at least during part of an engagement, in something like coherent formation, each man’s sword arm being guarded by the shield of the man on his right. This last feature produced a consequence commented on by Thucydides—namely, a tendency of the sword bearer to drift to the right in the direction of the protection offered by his neighbour. For this reason the best troops were posted on the far right to act as anchor-men. The system, whose introduction is not commented on by any literary source, is depicted on vases in the course of the 7th century, though it is not possible to say whether it was a sudden technological revolution or something that evolved over decades. The second view seems preferable since the discovery in the 1950s of a fine bronze suit of heavy armour at Argos in a late 8th-century context.

Clearly, the change has social and political implications. Even when one acknowledges some continuation of individual skirmishing, much nonetheless depended on neighbours in the battle line standing their ground. An oath sworn by Athenian military recruits (ephēboi) in the 4th century includes clauses about not disgracing the sacred weapons, not deserting comrades, and not handing down a diminished fatherland (to posterity); the oath and the word ephēbe are 4th-century, but the institutionalizing of hoplite obligations and expectations is surely much older. Early land warfare can, in fact, be thought of as a symbolic expression of the Greek city’s identity. This helps to explain the strong ritual elements in a hoplite battle, which typically began with a sacrifice and taking of omens and ended with victory dedications, often of bronze suits of armour, in some appropriate sanctuary. It is above all the heavily armed troops, not the lightly armed or the sailors in the fleet (nor even the cavalry), who were thought of as in a special sense representing the Classical polis. Thus at Classical Athens the 10-tribe citizen system determined the organization of the hoplite army but is much less important in the manning of the fleet.

The influential “hoplite theory” of the origin of tyranny seeks to explain one general phenomenon of the 7th century—namely, the beginning of tyranny—by reference to another, the introduction of hoplite weapons and tactics with their greater emphasis on a collective, corporatist ethos. Insofar as both phenomena represent reactions against aristocratic rule, it is reasonable loosely to associate the two, but it is important to realize that the theory, however seductive, is in its strict form a modern construction.

In the first place, the connection is never made by intelligent ancient writers interested both in the mechanics and psychology of hoplite warfare on the one hand and in tyranny on the other. Thucydides, for instance, a military historian if ever there was one, saw tyranny primarily in economic terms. Aristotle does indeed say that the extension of the military base of a state is liable to produce a widening of the political franchise, but this comment has nothing specifically to do with tyranny. He explains tyranny elsewhere either as resulting from splits within oligarchies or by an anachronistic 4th-century reference to demagogic leadership, which, when combined with generalship, is liable to turn into tyranny (there he is surely thinking above all of Dionysius I of Syracuse).

In the second place, it is discouraging for the hoplite theory that there is so little support for it in the best-attested case, that of Cypselid Corinth. Attempts have indeed been made to get around the natural implication of the evidence, but they are not convincing. For instance, the ancient statement that Cypselus had no bodyguard ought to be given its natural meaning, which is a denial of the military factor; it ought not to be ingeniously twisted so as to imply that he did not need a bodyguard because (it is argued) he had the support of identifiable army groups. Furthermore, although it is true that Cypselus is called polemarch (which ought to mean a “leader in war”), it is suspicious that his activities in this capacity were entirely civil and judicial. Suspicion increases when one notes that polemarch was indeed the title of a magistrate in Classical Athens.

The early tyrannies

Other tyrannies are equally resistant to general explanations, except by circularity of reasoning. The Corinthian tyranny has been treated first in the present section because its dates are secure. There is, however, a more shadowy figure, Pheidon of Argos, who may have a claim to be earlier still and who has also been invoked as an exemplification of the military factor in the earliest tyrannies. Unfortunately, one ancient writer, Pausanias, puts him in the 8th century, while Herodotus puts him in the 6th. Most modern scholars emend the text of Pausanias and reidentify Herodotus’s Pheidon as the grandson of the great man. This allows them to put Pheidon the tyrant in the 7th century and to associate him with a spectacular Argive defeat of Sparta at Hysiae in 669 bce. His success is then explained as the product of the newly available hoplite method of fighting. (The 8th-century suit of armour from Argos would in fact allow the connection between Pheidon and hoplites even without discarding Pausanias.)

That construction assumes much that needs to be proved, and the hoplite theory is in fact being invoked in order to give substance to Pheidon rather than Pheidon lending independent support to the theory. It is a further cause for disquiet that some of the detail in the literary tradition about Pheidon is suspiciously suggestive of the 4th century; thus, Aristotle’s statement that Pheidon was a king who became a tyrant is strikingly appropriate for Philip II of Macedon, who built up his military autocracy from a hereditary base of a traditional sort and whose dynasty did in fact interestingly claim Argive origins and thus regarded Pheidon as an ancestor.

Two other tyrannies date securely from the 7th century and perhaps happened in imitation of Cypselus; both arose in states immediately adjoining Corinth. Theagenes of Megara makes an appearance in history for three reasons: he slaughtered the flocks of the rich (an action incomprehensible without more background information than is available); he tried about 630 to help his son-in-law Cylon to power at Athens; and he built a fountain house that can still be seen off the “Road of the Spring-House” in modern Megara. The last two items reveal something interesting about the social and cultural character of established tyrannies, but none of the three offers much support for the military or any other general theory of the cause of tyranny.

At Sicyon the Orthagorid tyranny, whose most splendid member was the early 6th-century Cleisthenes, may have exploited the anti-Dorianism already noted as a permanent constituent of the mentality of some Greeks; but since the relevant action—a renaming of tribes—falls in the time of Cleisthenes himself, it is no help with the problem of why the first Sicyonian tyrant came to power at all. In any case, the main object of Cleisthenes’s dislike seems to have been not Dorians in general but Argos in particular: the renaming is said to have been done to spite the Argives.

Notwithstanding the skepticism of what has been said above, some solid general points can be made about the tyrannies mentioned (Athens and Sparta followed peculiar paths of development and must be treated separately). First, those tyrannies have more in common than their roughly 7th-century dates: several of the most famous are situated around or near the Isthmus of Corinth. That surely suggests a partly geographic explanation; that is, there was an influx of new and subversive notions alongside the purely material goods that arrived at this central zone. Places with a more stagnant economic and social life, such as Boeotia and Thessaly, neither colonized nor experienced tyrannies. In fact, some version of Thucydides’ economic account of the rise of tyranny may be right, though there too (as with the origins of the city-state or the motives behind acts of colonization) one must be prepared to accept that different causes work for different states and to allow for the simple influence of fashion and contagion.

Reflection on the places that avoided tyrannies leads to the second general point. Another way of looking at tyranny is to concentrate on its rarity and seek explanations for that. After all, there were hundreds of Greek states, many of them extremely small, which, as far as is known, never had tyrannies. The suggested explanation is that in places with small populations there was enough scope for office holding by most of the city’s ambitious men to make it unnecessary for any of them to aspire to a tyranny. (One can add that certain places are known to have taken positive steps to ensure that regular office did not become a stepping-stone to tyranny. For example, a very early constitutional inscription shows that 7th-century Drerus on Crete prohibited tenure of the office of kosmos—a local magistracy—until 10 years had elapsed since a man’s last tenure.) That is a refreshing approach and surely contains some truth. Nonetheless, the qualification “as far as is known” is important: with regard to many places there is no better reason for saying that they avoided tyranny than for saying that they had it. Moreover, the view that tyranny was widespread may indeed be a misconception, although, if so, it was an ancient one: Thucydides himself says that tyrannies were established in many places. Finally, the psychological argument from satisfaction of ambition is only partly compelling: it was surely more rewarding in every way to be a tyrant than to be a Dreran kosmos.