The Marketplace and the Touchstone

As Bejan notes, the doctrine of freedom of expression originated in religious arguments for liberty of conscience made by Protestant dissenters. In her apt phrase, it was “rendered secular and respectable” (Bejan Reference Bejan2021, 156) by John Stuart Mill (see also Bejan Reference Bejan2017). Although Mill never explicitly called for a marketplace of ideas, in On Liberty he claims that free speech is essential for finding the truth: “The peculiar evil of silencing the expression of an opinion is, that it is robbing the human race; posterity as well as the existing generation; those who dissent from the opinion, still more than those who hold it. If the opinion is right, they are deprived of the opportunity of exchanging error for truth: if wrong, they lose, what is almost as great a benefit, the clearer perception and livelier impression of truth, produced by its collision with error” ([1859] Reference Mill, Bromwich and Kateb2003, 87). Mill’s argument is more nuanced than is the marketplace metaphor popularized by the American legal tradition, Footnote ¹³ but it shares the similarly progressive premise that, over the long term, liberty of speech will produce better speech (even if the process was not without its harms). The marketplace of ideas has formidable philosophical foundations.

Notwithstanding its deep roots in the liberal tradition, a character within the Histories makes an argument that echoes its central premise. At an assembly convened by the despot Xerxes before the invasion of Greece, the royal advisor Artabanus insists that free debate is necessary to find the truth: “My lord, when no opposing opinions are presented, it is impossible to choose the better, but one must accept what is proposed. When such opposites are stated, it is as it is with gold, the purity of which one cannot judge in itself, but only if you rub it alongside other gold on the touchstone and see the difference” (7.10). Artabanus insists that the airing of bad opinions strengthens and reveals good ones, that good ideas will triumph if they are allowed to be tested. Artabanus’s opinion is daring; he speaks not to an audience of equals but in front of a despot. Therefore, his speech in defense of free debate is not itself free; he must flatter (Pelling Reference Pelling, Dewald and Marincola2006, 109), for speaking in front of despots is a fraught art (Forsdyke Reference Forsdyke2001; Gottesman Reference Gottesman2021; Hohti Reference Hohti1975; Landauer Reference Landauer2019; Zali Reference Zali2013). Despite this flattery, Xerxes is enraged:Footnote ¹⁴ “Artabanus, you are my father’s brother; that shall save you from a punishment adequate for your empty words” (7.11). Scholars often take Artabanus’s failure to persuade Xerxes as yet another iteration on the theme of despotic illogic (cf. Forsdyke Reference Forsdyke2001). If that is the case, Artabanus’s failure in fact vindicates his claim (and the marketplace metaphor). Yet the Histories are long, and, as many note (Baragwanath Reference Baragwanath2008; Irwin Reference Irwin2014; Landauer Reference Landauer2019; Pelling Reference Pelling, Dewald and Marincola2006; Reference Pelling, Irwin and Greenwood2007), its pages are rife with counterexamples where despots listen, learn, and adapt to changing and complex situations. Herodotus’s narrative does not uncritically reproduce the binary of free polis/unfree despotism. It is possible to speak frankly to despots, and, as we shall see, sometimes one must self-censor before the demos. Xerxes was wrong not to give Artabanus a hearing; the defeat of his army reveals that. However, it does not follow that Artabanus was right. His statement displays profound faith in the efficacy of open debate. In his presentation, deliberation is as reliable as, well, the gold standard: other opinions are the touchstone upon which we find the truth (7.10). Artabanus could not test this opinion, but Herodotus’s narrative will.

Testing the Touchstone Theory

The Ionian revolt provides several illuminating instances of multiple opinions failing to produce the truth. The Ionian narrative sets the stage for the later Persian invasion of Hellas, a tragi-comic dumb-show version of the later Persian war (Baragwanath Reference Baragwanath2008, 204; Munson Reference Munson, Irwin and Greenwoo2007). Although the Ionians do not practice Athenian isegoria, at many junctures they engage in open debates about how to face the Persian onslaught. This allows us to disentangle the effects of the political culture of isegoria from deliberation itself. Absent the culture of isegoria and its effects on the bearing of the citizens, we can see whether multiple opinions on their own act as a touchstone for gold. As Schlosser observes, the Ionians both have the potential to be free yet are unable to sustain freedom (Reference Schlosser2020, 120–1,134). I argue that isegoria (and its absence) is central to this: the Ionians have the opportunity to deliberate absent the feeling that one is entitled to speak. The text of the Histories suggests that thinking is beset by all sorts of cognitive biases, which are on full display during the Ionian Revolt. At the later battle of Salamis, the Athenian general Themistocles will successfully navigate the same hurdles that crippled the Ionian Revolt. As Landauer observes, “The text pushes its readers to learn from logos’ success as well as its failures” (Reference Landauer2019, 85). The events of Salamis will show how the political culture wrought by isegoria interacts with the bad thinking that can derail open debate; the Ionian revolt lets us see these limitations unmitigated by the culture of isegoria.

Herodotus underscores an especially bad decision made by the Ionian Carians. Facing the assembled might of the Persian military, they gather to debate how to defend themselves—and incidentally reveal the difficulty of recognizing wise policy. “As the Carians collected in strength, various plans were put forward. The best seems to me to have been that of Pixodarus… . The Carians would have no line of escape but would have to stand their ground there and prove better than their nature. However, this plan did not win out” (5.118). Pixodarus argues for putting the Carians into a position of utmost necessity—of choosing, in fact, that necessity. Stripped of any escape, they must either win or die. Because of this, Pixodarus suggests they just might win: the phrase “better than nature” suggests that it is in our nature to do more than the natural in situations of extreme duress. Herodotus deems Pixodarus’s plan the best, and its strategy is vindicated at the battle of Salamis (8.83–96). However, the Carians are not persuaded. They choose a less risky plan and fail. Free debate did not lead to the best outcome; the wisest decision was unappealing and difficult and therefore unpopular. Pixodarus’s plan required short-term sacrifice for long-term gain. The Carians’ rejection of this plan suggests the difficulties human beings have in weighing present hardships against future gain.

A later incident in the Ionian revolt brings this into sharp relief. Dionysius, a Phocaean general, states the choice starkly: “Men of Ionia, our fortunes are on the very razor edge of decision: whether we will be freemen or slaves… . If you people are willing, for now, to endure hardships, you will have, for the immediate moment a hard time, but you will be able to beat your enemies and be free. If you settle into sloth and disorder, I have no hope that any one of you shall avoid the punishment of the Great king for your revolt. Listen to me and entrust yourselves to me” (6.11).Footnote ¹⁵ The Ionians are at first persuaded, and initially they follow Dionysius’s grueling training regimen. After a week, however, they are worn out: “What god can we have sinned against that we pay a penalty like this? We must have been entirely mad and sailed out of our minds’ bearings to trust ourselves to this Phocaean braggart… . He takes us over and afflicts us with sufferings from which we will never recover… . Rather than horrors like these it would be better for us to endure anything at all, including this future slavery—whatever that maybe—rather than what now oppresses us” (6.12). The Ionians’ inability to withstand the discipline that they themselves have agreed to means that they are unable to remain free from domination by others.

Their stated reason for shirking discipline bears closer scrutiny. First, they conceive of their self-chosen activity as a punishment from the divine; they disown their decision to entrust themselves to the Phocaean braggart. What was chosen by them now appears to be an external oppression inflicted upon them—by a god, no less. If isegoria captures a state of autonomy, of commitment to one’s own, the Ionians have reverted to its opposite, reveling in the lack of autonomy, the powerlessness of the god-afflicted. They do not do—they suffer. The temporarily sore muscles resulting from uncharacteristic exertion are cast as suffering from which they will never recover, and the future slavery, destruction, and death that will result from military defeat seem preferable to the present yet fleeting pain of an overtaxed body. Herodotus suggests that human beings outweigh present circumstances and dismiss the pains of the future. The political culture of the Ionians—many of whom are ruled by tyrants—does not allow for the daring and commitment that the self-ownership characteristic of isegoria nourishes, even when given the formal opportunity to debate and decide for themselves.

Yet when open debates occur in a culture of isegoria, they incur their own failures. Herodotus highlights an idiotic—and disastrous—decision made by the Athenian assembly.Footnote ¹⁶ This episode demonstrates that if the desire for ease can inhibit judgment, so too does the desire for gain. Aristagoras, a tinpot tyrant from Ionia, appeals to Athens for support against the Persians in the doomed Ionian revolt. Aristagoras had earlier sought Spartan support but had been rejected by their king, Kleomenes (5.49–5.51). The Athenians were more easily duped: “It seems then that it is easier to fool (διαβάλλειν) many men than one; Kleomenes the Lacedaemonian was only one, but Aristagoras could not fool him, though he managed to do so to thirty thousand Athenians” (5.97). Aristagoras was not himself Athenian, but his audience is. To a crowd of individuals who seek to “achieve for their very self” (5.78), Aristagoras made promises of great gain. Their appetites whetted (the very same appetites that have been unleashed by isegoria), the Athenians accept Aristagoras’s claims without investigating them (Balot Reference Balot2006, 130; Baragwanath Reference Baragwanath2008, 201). The greatness of Athenian democracy lies in its energetic pursuit of what it deems good; this same zeal renders it incautious and easy to dupe. Isegoria dignifies the Athenians—and they in turn dignify their own appetites. They are thus more receptive to speeches that appeal to these. The political culture of isegoria thus affects not just speakers but audience. Equal say does not lead to wise deliberation.

Herodotus’s observations cohere with what political psychologists have generally found: people reason badly about politics. As Brennan summarizes, “The overwhelming consensus in political psychology, based on a huge and diverse range of studies, is that most citizens process political information in deeply biased, partisan, motivated ways rather than in dispassionate, rational ways” (Reference Brennan2017, 37). This faulty reasoning often leads to flawed outcomes. Because of this, Brennan argues that we should engage in politics less, that we should reduce or even do away with democratic engagement: “Democracy is a tool, nothing more. If we can find a better tool, we should feel free to use it” (Reference Brennan2017, xiv). The story that Herodotus tells shows us that people debate badly and make poor decisions with often disastrous consequences. In the pages of the Histories, and in real life, people die because we are bad at deliberating. Herodotus, then, agrees with critics of democracy, both modern (like Brennan) and ancient (like Plato) who argue that democracy is often unwise and unjust, fractious and stupid. Yet he still defends it. His defense has often been regarded as unclear. I argue that to understand Herodotus’s defense of equal speech and democracy, we have to look at his portrait of Athenian democracy in action.

Zeal Not Wisdom

For Herodotus, the value of democratic debate lies not in its truthfulness or wisdom, but in the energy it unleashes:

What Herodotus praises about isegoria, equal right of speech, does not have to do with speech itself. Isegoria does not promote the truth or produce wisdom, or rather this is not what is praiseworthy about it. Equal speech matters because of its effects on the broader political culture, speakers and audience alike. As Schlosser puts it, “Everyone strives for what is best for himself, with the assumed reward being theirs; yet while each pursues his own cause, this leads to the strength of the whole” (Reference Schlosser2020, 70). It is critical to democratic self-rule, to freedom from tyranny.Footnote ¹⁷ Decisions and actions, for good or ill, are owned by the whole of the community; they do more and dare more because the doings of the city are the achievements of each individual within it.

This public spiritedness is not an unambiguous good. But first, I wish to note how it differs from the Berlin-Constant view of the ancients, which contrasts ancient moderation and self-restraint with modern hedonism. Patrick Deneen provides a recent articulation of this: “The Greeks especially regarded self-government as a continuity from the individual to the polity… . Self-governance in the city was possible only if the virtue of self-governance governed the souls of citizens” (Reference Deneen2018, 22). Yet as some have argued (Edge Reference Edge2009; Karagiannis and Wagner Reference Karagiannis, Wagner, Arneson, Raaflaub and Wagner2013; Miller Reference Miller2001; Raaflaub Reference Raaflaub2004), there is greater continuity (although not total similarity) between ancient and modern liberty than is often urged. Herodotus in particular complicates the notion of an abrupt fissure between the two. His treatment of democratic Athens locates resistance to tyranny not in an orderly soul but in the zeal that isegoria unleashes; sheer feistiness, rather than virtue, is critical to self-rule. By granting autonomy to individuals, free speech unleashes their vitality: “Each was eager to achieve for their very self” (5.78). Isegoria enlivens the Athenians by granting them autonomy. They belong to themselves, and in this, belong to the city. In contrast, the rule of tyrants was like “working for a taskmaster.” Deprived of autonomy, the Athenians willfully give less than their all. In contrast, under isegoria the individual is motivated to do well because their achievements are theirs.

This renders Herodotus’s treatment of isegoria much closer to modern accounts of liberty than is usually admitted. As Naketegawa puts it, “The most important characteristic of isegoria consists in a rousing sense of community, a sense that the Polis is not a tyrant’s possession but every citizen’s own property” (Reference Naketegawa1988, 270). The Athenians take pride in the city because they are the city: equal speech grants each Athenian a stake in Athens. This motivates the individuals to do better and to do more. Herodotus’s understanding of isegoria thus bears both some remarkable similarities with liberal respect for individual agency and some important differences. Its similarities lie in its commitment to individual autonomy: Herodotean equal speech enables the individual to pursue his own good, to exercise autonomy and agency in the development of a life. Each seeks to achieve for their very self. This way of valuing free speech resembles what Howard terms “speaker autonomy” (Reference Howard2019, 97–8). As Baker puts it, “Respect for personhood … requires that each person must be permitted to be herself and to present herself” (Reference Edwin1997, 992).Footnote ¹⁸ Equal right of say guarantees the person space in the public realm; it doesn’t matter how valuable or moral or wise their contribution is but rather that they are entitled to be there, to exist, to develop their own selves through their pursuit of their own good. As Kateb states, “Much expression comes out of the character of the expressers. Their expression is not only theirs, it is them. To tolerate their expression is to tolerate their being” (Reference Kateb and Yack1996, 233). To allow speech, to give each the right to have their say, is to recognize an individual’s existence, his right to occupy part of the public space. Isegoria, the equal right of speech, insists that each individual has a say—that they be included, whether or not they are wise, judicious, or virtuous.

Yet, whereas liberal proponents of free speech imagine it as a protection against a government that might seek to infringe an individual’s speech, as Saxonhouse has observed, equal right of speech is what includes the people within the city; it is freedom as autonomy, not from the state but within and through the civic realm (Reference Saxonhouse2006). This becomes evident when we turn to the proofs Herodotus provides that isegoria is a good: victory in war. The emphasis on war is a striking departure from the liberal emphasis on comfortable self-preservation. Athens’ greatness lay not in the increase of any given individual’s wealth but in their successful defense of their city, first against the Lacedaemonians (5.70–77) and later against the Persians at the battle of Marathon (6.112–117).Footnote ¹⁹ I have so far downplayed the role of the assembly in understanding Herodotean isegoria, precisely because the proofs of its worth are located on the battlefield. But actions on the battlefield are authorized by the assembly; those who vote are also those who fight. Although they may not deliberate wisely, they do so with spirit.Footnote ²⁰ The Athenians choose to resist occupation and domination; they choose to fight rather than surrender. Therefore, epistocratic critiques of democracy (like Bell’s and Brennan’s) miss the point; the main strength of democracy is not its wisdom but the way in which it empowers people to resist domination (Cammack Reference Cammack, Ando and Sullivan2020; Kirshner Reference Kirshner2016). Herodotus’s account thus coheres with Bagg’s defense of the power of democracy (Reference Bagg2018): the Athenians resisted tyrants at home and the threat of Persian domination abroad.

Herodotus’s narrative urges that this resistance to domination can spur the domination of others. As Ward (Reference Ward2008) observes, Athenian freedom involves the domination of other Greek city-states, and as Bejan notes, the inclusive energy of the Athenian assembly rested on those whom it excluded (Reference Bejan2021, 165–6). Power affects character, for mass and elite alike, in ways that contemporary democratic theorists should consider. If epistemic accounts of democracy understate the challenges of voter ignorance, as Bagg (Reference Bagg2018) argues, instrumental accounts should not neglect the transformational power of democratic institutions. Holding power can transform, for better and for worse, those who hold it. Aristagoras succeeded in fooling the Athenians not because they were ignorant but because they were greedy. The confidence and autonomy characteristic of isegoria meant that the Athenians could and did act on their appetites. They “achieved” for their very selves, but these achievements have a dark side. The demos both acts and authorizes those actions; they vote and they do, and in all this, they “seek to win”—whatever it takes.

This suggests that Athenian imperialism is a choice; it is a project authorized by the self-governing people of isegoria. As Munson has observed, the Scythian narrative shows a possibility of freedom without domination (Munson Reference Munson2001a, 212–4): in the Histories, “an invasion is an act of the will and an unnecessary choice” (Munson Reference Munson2001b, 41). Athens’ success at war is not an unmitigated good—Herodotus calls war an evil (8.3). The superlative character of Herodotus’s praise of Athens effectively highlights the ambiguities in his portrayal. Athenian freedom leads her to dominate her neighbors but is also responsible for the success of the Greek allies against the Persian invasion. As Herodotus proclaims, “So, as it stands now, a man who declares that the Athenians were the saviors of Greece would hit the very truth. For to whichever side they inclined, that was where the scale would come down. They chose that Greece should survive free, and it was they who awakened all the part of Greece that had not Medized, and it was they who, under Heaven, routed the king” (7.139). Themistocles will probe this tension and put it to productive work at the Battle of Salamis. But his success underscores just how precarious the alliance between Athens and the rest of the Hellenes is. Herodotus repeatedly shows how close the allied Greeks came to collapsing into fractious infighting; the narrative is structured so as to render the fact that the Hellenes held together against the Persians surprising (Baragwanath Reference Baragwanath2008, 203–39).

Yet just as the coalition of Athens and her allies is precarious, so too is the coincidence of interest between Athens and individual Athenians; the zeal unleashed by Athenian isegoria threatens Athens as well.Footnote ²¹ The excellence of Athens rests in the way its norms stir the vigorous pursuit of what the individuals take to be their own good—and these whetted appetites can impair public deliberation, as Aristagoras’s temptation of Athens revealed.Footnote ²² The particular virtue of Athenian democracy, its zeal, seems especially in need of the guidance of wise speech. That Athenian equal speech does not in itself lead to wisdom does not mean that there is no wisdom to be found in Athens. Its equality opens up space for the wisdom of previously excluded individuals to emergeFootnote ²³ while simultaneously leading to crises that require that wisdom. This will make plain the relationship between isegoria and diabole (trickery, deception). Gottesman contrasts these modes: “Isegoria describes the experience in sharing in a community of equals, without any need to dissemble or flatter” (Reference Gottesman2021, 180) while conceding that sometimes equal speech still involves deceptive speech (189–90). Yet this assumes that diabole in isegoria is incidental and that the primary reason to dissemble is fear. Themistocles’s efforts at Salamis will suggest that, for the isegoria to prevail, diabole might be required. The ambiguities of Themistocles’s character, and the deeds necessary to secure victory at Salamis, will suggest the dark side to democratic dignity. Equal speech captures the bearing of a citizen; but equals might not always talk straight to one another.

Dirty Tricks and a Good Story

This becomes clear through Themistocles, the Athenian general who successfully engineered the strategy that saved Hellas from the Persian invasion (7.144). Because Herodotus finds the ultimate proof of the goodness of isegoria in Athens’ military success, Themistocles’s central role in staving off annihilation at the hands of the Persians will illuminate just how Athenian isegoria promotes such success. Yet the character of his success also limns the dilemma of Athenian equal speech. Schemes and spin are his signature talents.Footnote ²⁴ Both of these skills are put to use for Athens and for Greece as a whole, but their power to help is also the power to harm. The ambiguity of Themistocles thus encapsulates the complex character of speech at Athens.Footnote ²⁵ Indeed, Themistocles’s first appearance in the Histories illustrates how equal speech opens up space for the previously unheard. Herodotus highlights his newness; the son of Neokles, “New Renown,” he only recently came into the front ranks of the city (7.143). Footnote ²⁶ This new actor intervenes at a crucial moment to offer a wise speech that is also persuasive.

Faced with an oracle that seems to foretell the defeat of Athens at the hands of the Persians (7.141–142), Themistocles interprets in such a way that it promises success—if the Athenians were to take action. He spun his reading of the oracle to work with the motivation of the Athenians: “This was Themistocles’ explanation, and the Athenians decided that it was preferable to that of the oracle-interpreters; for the latter would not have them prepare for a sea fight or indeed, to tell the truth, put up a hand’s worth of resistance at all” (7.143). Themistocles provides an optimistic narrative that shapes the Athenians’ appetite for resistance into sound defensive action. Schlosser treats this incident as an example of successful democratic deliberation: “The Athenians allow Themistocles to propose an alternative interpretation. Themistocles does not persuade them or demand their obedience” (Reference Schlosser2020, 123). Yet Herodotus’s emphasis on the affective state of the Athenians shows that what Themistocles is doing is indeed persuasion (Ward likewise highlights Themistocles’s rhetorical skill; Reference Ward2008, 132). This does not undermine isegoria but rather confirms that Themistocles knows and shares its character: the Athenians are open to listening to him, but he is heard because he understands and directs their own motivations. The political culture that grants the upstart Themistocles the right to speak also kindles the desire to assert themselves within the Athenians. As Ober notes, this action was owned by the whole of the demos (Reference Ober2017, 152; cf. Schwarzberg Reference Schwarzberg2014). Ober reads this decision as confirming the validity and wisdom of democratic deliberation. Indeed, this spirited decision was also wise: as Herodotus makes plain, with this plan the Athenians became “the saviors of Greece” (7.139). Although spirited decisions can be wise, they are not necessarily so. The narrative will explore how zeal, wisdom, and deliberation at times intersect—and conflict.

Indeed, the Athenians are rather unseemly saviors. At the battle of Artemisium, Athens initially displays a noble Panhellenic solidarity. Despite Athens’ obvious naval superiority, the allies objected to putting them in charge of the Greek fleet. But “the Athenians gave way; they thought what mattered most was the survival of Greece and knew very well that if there was a dispute about the leadership, Greece would perish—and that thought was correct, for strife within the nation is as much a greater evil than a united war effort as war itself is more evil than peace” (8.3). They put aside vanity for the greater good, a fine moment for Athenian democracy. Yet Herodotus does not leave this noble vision of Athens untarnished, for they yielded “only so long as they had urgent need of the others, as they later proved” (8.3). Herodotus’s ever-restless narrative, which roves back and forth in time, keeps both sides of Athens’ character in frame: its brave selflessness and its predatory attitude toward its neighbors.

Themistocles’s behavior at Artemisum likewise combines both the interest of the group and his own self-interest, which here coincide—yet not quite seamlessly. Faced with the ominous spectacle of the Persian fleet, the assembled Greek allies become fearful and wish to flee. Despite this, Themistocles entices the Hellenes to fight an ultimately successful battle by accepting a bribe, bribing others, and managing to pocket the remainder for himself (8.4–5). His conduct has struck many as ignoble; some readers of Herodotus, aghast, have seen in it evidence of Herodotus’s reliance on hostile sources (How and Wells Reference How and Wells1928). But as Baragwanath notes, for an Athenian audience, Themistocles’ ability to reconcile the common interest with his own “rather enhance[d] his achievement” (Reference Baragwanath2008, 292). Themistocles’s selfish cunning here served the greater good (Fornara Reference Fornara1971, 72–3). Achieving “for his very self” (cf.5.78) helped him achieve for Athens—and for Greece. Themistocles once again understands and directs the self-interest of others in order to support the common good. However, what brings these together is not wise speech but bribery. Unlike his interpretation of the oracle, Themistocles’s persuasive speech is insufficient to move his audience.

Salamis and the Dark Side of Democratic Dignity

The limits of speech become more apparent during the battle of Salamis, often regarded as a foundational moment for Athenian democracy. As Euben writes, Herodotus suggests “that the victory at Salamis … was won by men because of their political culture” (Reference Euben1997, 65); Raaflaub (Reference Raaflaub2004) has likewise noted how fundamental Athenian power in the Persian war was to the development of democratic constitutionalism, Forsdyke (Reference Forsdyke2001) has explored its role in democratic ideology, and Ober notes how, after Salamis, “democratic Athens went on to become the preeminent state of the Greek world” (Reference Ober2017, 152). In Schlosser’s words, the Persian invasion “leads the Greeks to articulate a political notion of freedom not just as resistance to tyranny but as something secured through their cooperative effort—that is, as a political achievement” (Reference Schlosser2020, 126). Yet it is striking—and sobering—how vulnerable this achievement is: how close it came to not happening, the sneaky tricks required to pull it off. This emerges most clearly through the role of deliberation at Salamis. Schlosser suggests that persuasion is critical to the collective efforts of the Greeks at Salamis (Reference Schlosser2020, 126), and Ober likewise finds in Athenian victory proof of the wise judgment of the Athenians (Reference Ober2017, 151–2).Footnote ²⁷ However, persuasion is remarkably impotent at Salamis.Footnote ²⁸ Themistocles, an upstart who feels entitled to speak, will trick and scheme to save Hellas from itself. The character wrought by isegoria will in fact prove to be decisive for victory, but in ways that bring its ambiguity to the fore.

This ambiguity is evident from the moment the assembled Greeks debate where best to fight (8.49). The majority resolve to return to the Peloponnese and give up on Attica (8.49). But Mnesiphilus, an Athenian, tells Themistocles how disastrous this plan will be: “If once they draw off the ships from Salamis, you will never again fight for any fatherland at all; everyone will run off, each one to his own city, and neither Eurybiades [the Spartan commander], nor any other man will be able to keep the army from scattering. Greece will be lost, and all through sheer folly. If there is any means at all by which you can undo this decision, if by any means (μηχανή: contrivance, device, or art) you can persuade Eurybiades to change his mind and stay here, do so” (8.57). Each will prefer their own and will abandon the common project of fighting once the temptation of home is nearby. Much like the Carians, the preference for present ease and comfort will lead them to gamble their futures. Mnesphilus’s final entreaty for Themistocles to use any μηχανή/means conveys his desperation: do this by any means necessary.

Themistocles first tries persuasion, with some success: he persuades Eurybiades to summon the generals back to revisit their decision (8.58). Herodotus underscores the tactical and rhetorical aspect of Themistocles’s speech to the generals. The way he fashions his speech is a μηχανή, a scheme itself: the presentation of his words is designed to suit his purpose, which is to sway—to win. Themistocles begins by disguising his true opinion: as Herodotus says “for in the presence of the allies it would not have been suitable for him to make accusations against anyone” (8.60). As Pelling states, Themistocles “did not speak his mind… . He cannot say [his true opinion] in public” (Reference Pelling, Dewald and Marincola2006, 112). Although this is an open debate, Themistocles does not speak openly. His earlier successful speech interpreting the oracle to the Athenians suggests why. There, Themistocles had understood the Athenians’ desire to fight and gave it a concrete form. This suggests a profound limit to the persuasive power of speech. It can shift and direct, but it has to appeal to what people already want. The zealous Athenians, bred in a culture of isegoria, want to fight; the assembled generals do not.

Instead of accusation, Themistocles takes “quite another tack” (8.60). Rather than speak an insulting truth, he chooses to frame his message in a way that flatters. Themistocles tells them that “it is in your hands to save Greece if you will be persuaded by me” (8.60). Just like Artabanus had to flatter Xerxes (7.10–11), so too does Themistocles flatter an audience of his peers.Footnote ²⁹ Yet this flattery does not contradict isegoria. Themistocles still displays the characteristic verve of Athenian isegoria, the character of a citizen who belongs and is entitled to speak. The Corinthian general admonishes him for this: “In the games, those who get off the mark too soon are whipped.” Themistocles’s reply is marked by the energy of democratic Athens: “Those who get left behind never get crowned” (8.59). One can be insouciant and bold yet still take care in how one’s opinions are expressed. Isegoria does not mandate parrhesia, frank speech.Footnote ³⁰ Only after this flattery does he list concrete reasons why it would be superior to fight at Salamis, concluding that they are likely to win “if the probable chances of war occur” (8.60). He concludes that “it is when men make probable designs that success oftenest attends them; if their designs are improbable, not even the god is willing to lend his help to the plans of men” (8.60). Echoing his tactics in the interpretation of oracle, he recruits divine support in order to support human agency.

Flattery, reason, the divine: Themistocles employs three powerful hooks in order to persuade his audience. But these fail, and so Themistocles turns to threats: “There are no Greeks able to withstand an attack by us” (8.61). This is hardly an uplifting display of deliberation. Herodotus refers to these debates as a “verbal skirmish (ἀκροβολισάμενοι)” (8.64). Debate here is agonistic combat—not collaborative deliberation, but spectacle.Footnote ³¹ It works on the Spartan general Eurybiades, but what persuades is not reason but fear (Eurybiades “especially dreaded that the Athenians would desert them” [8.63]). Yet this does not persuade the other generals: “For a while they would stand close together … whispering their bewilderment at the stupidity of Eurybiades. But at last it all burst into the open” (8.74). The commander of the Greeks had resolved to fight but could not simply command the allies to do so. Without widespread support, his decision lacked force. The generals were bewildered by the “stupidity” of Eurybiades; yet their own plan to retrench at the Isthmus has already been impugned by what happened to the Carians. They are unable to see the wisdom of Themistocles’s proposition.

That the gifted orator Themistocles is unable to persuade the generals demonstrates that persuasion has its limits. He must seek other, more duplicitous methods—a μηχανή/scheme to override the flawed results of open debate. Themistocles dispatches a member of his household to transmit a message to the Persians: that Themistocles is an “adherent of the king” and as such is informing him of the dissent amongst the Greeks and the opportunity it provides (8.75). This apparent betrayal is successful because it is plausible. Not only do the Persians generally view the Greeks as fractious and disloyal (1.153, 7.9); many Greeks have in fact gone over to the Persian side (7.132; Pelling Reference Pelling, Irwin and Greenwood2007, 112). It is entirely plausible that the Greeks would collapse, because they are already on the verge of collapsing. Themistocles will use that disunity to ensure that the Greeks are all equally forced into a situation of extreme duress. Informed by Themistocles’s message, the Persians encircle the Hellenes, who now must fight. In this, they are forced into the extreme necessity that Pixodarus envisioned for the Carians, yet without the freedom to choose that necessity. Themistocles has stripped the Panhellenic council of choice (Collins Reference Collins2019). The allies may freely debate what to do, but Themistocles has engineered a situation in which the decision is out of their hands. Themistocles, empowered by the isegoria of Athens, has taken power away from the rest of the Greeks.

Ironically, having deprived the Hellenes of choice, Themistocles makes an impressive speech urging the gathered generals to “choose the better” (8.83). Herodotus does not let us hear this speech; he merely describes its contents. Herodotus thus disenchants his audience. We know that words are spoken, but because we do not experience their charm, we are prevented from being taken in by them. Herodotus thereby draws our attention to what Themistocles is doing, rather than what he is saying (Zali Reference Zali2013, 483–4). Herodotus’s treatment of this speech thus underscores its irony. Just when Themistocles seems to have abandoned speech in favor of sneaky tricks, he uses it again—to reframe and inspire, not to persuade. Themistocles has engineered a situation where the Hellenes have no choice, where they must fight or be destroyed. Once in that situation, however, the power of his speech encourages them to view their situation as a choice: he imbues it with dignity. In doing what they must, they are made to feel that they are acting nobly. Necessity forces them to fight, but Themistocles’s speech (and Herodotus’s praise of it) suggests that the proper mental framing—the right narrative—can help them to fight well. As Schlosser writes, Herodotus’s provocative narration asks us to consider the effects of stories on their audience, directing us to reflect on how “stories direct the reader toward particular activities” (Reference Schlosser2020, 89). Stories can elevate and motivate, and thus they have a political power reason often lacks. The speeches of isegoria sometimes persuade, sometimes flatter, sometimes trick, sometimes inspire, and sometimes dupe. This power becomes evident through Herodotus’s own story. Herodotus thus equips us to be more sophisticated audiences (Schlosser Reference Schlosser2014; Rathnam Reference Rathnam2018).

A more fitting metaphor for equal speech is thus not the marketplace of ideas but rather the agora as depicted by the Persian Cyrus in his mockery of the Hellenes: “I never yet feared men who have a place set apart in the midst of their cities where they gather to cheat one another and exchange oaths, which they break” (1.153).Footnote ³² Skulduggery and spin are characteristic of isegoria. We are less shoppers than hagglers, moved by performances, schemes, and a good story. This suggests that the marketplace metaphor itself succeeds not because it is true but because it sells a good story. Cyrus’s depiction of the agora more accurately grasps the nature of equal speech. Therefore, he is not wrong in his dismissal of the Greeks as duplicitous. Yet Cyrus underestimates the worth of unseemliness. If Themistocles had not been such a dirtbag, the Hellenes would have lost the war. But if such vice has its virtues, Herodotus never lets one eclipse the other—the narrative keeps both sides of Themistocles in view. In the aftermath of the battle, after failing to convince the other Hellenes to pursue the fleeing Persians, Themistocles changes his position and persuades the Athenians to let the Persians go (8.109). However sound this policy, Herodotus is clear about Themistocles’s motivations: “He intended that this act should be as a reserve to his credit with the Persians, that he might have a refuge if, one day, trouble overtook him at the hands of the Athenians, which is indeed what took place. With such words Themistocles deceived them (διέβαλλε), but the Athenians were convinced” (8.109–110). The verb recalls Aristagoras. The hero of the war has done to the Athenians what the petty tyrant who duped them into a disastrous military expedition did: tricked them (Pelling Reference Pelling, Irwin and Greenwood2007, 181).

Further shading this characterization of Themistocles is the way in which, after letting the Persians go, the Athenians quickly turn on their Hellenic neighbors who had medized. Although this can be framed as retribution for collaborating with the Persians, Herodotus is quite clear about Themistocles’s motivations, for his “greed for money was insatiable” (8.112). Themistocles’s personal greed mirrors that of Athens. This unleashed self-interest fosters the greatness of Athens, the unique and spectacular achievements of its citizens. But Themistocles’s career reminds us that such self-interest threatens both domestic and international politics. The best and worst of Athens are interconnected; its customs are volatile, a precarious balance. What is best about it also renders it vulnerable—to strife within, to domination and war without. As Herodotus says of the Athenian decision to (temporarily) put Hellas first, “For strife within the nation is as much a greater evil than a united war effort as war itself is more evil than peace” (8.3). Athens’ energy, the political culture nourished by equal speech, allows them to resist domination at home and abroad, but it also fosters its capacity for greed, domination, and imperialism.

By cultivating the wise judgment of his readers through his performance of inquiry, Herodotus equips us to recognize this. Athens might already be lost, given over to its temptation to empire, but we, the future audience of the Histories envisioned by the proem,Footnote ³³ might learn from its example, its virtues, and its mistakes. And for this reason, Herodotus’s mode of speech—and his skills—differ from those of Themistocles. Themistocles understands his audience, and the power of a good story, but to accomplish his ends, he hides his art, obscures the ways in which he persuades, schemes, and tricks his way into securing Hellenic victory. Themistocles, the paragon of isegoria, must at times practice diabole—and this diabole may be for good or ill. But in showing us the schemes, stories, and spin, the diabole characteristic of the citizen of isegoria, Herodotus practices a form of parrhesia—frank speech. He boldly speaks the truth, what his inquiry has uncovered; he shows what some would conceal and what others would rather not hear. His praise of Athens is such frank speech. In declaring his opinion that the Athenians were the saviors of Greece, Herodotus acknowledges the unpopularity of this opinion yet the necessity of stating it: “At this point I am forced to declare an opinion that most people will find offensive; yet because I think it is true, I will not hold back” (7.139). His depiction of Athens praises what is offensive to others but does not shy away from what is unflattering about Athens. Herodotus feels compelled to speak the truth—but only after showing us how difficult it can be to hear it, the stories and biases that impair our ability to separate gold from the dross, the ways in which Artabanus’s faith in a marketplace might be mislaid—and ours as well.