Hello! Χαίρετε, and welcome to Epic Greek History Episode 17, Poetry Slam: Early Greek Politics in Verse. I’m Scott Emmons. 

In the last few episodes I’ve talked a lot about one of the big challenges in understanding events of the early Archaic Period. No one in Greece was writing history until the 5th century BCE. But that doesn’t mean we have no voices speaking to us from earlier times. There were poets who often wrote about what was going on in their cities and sometimes in the Greek world at large. They have their own biases, of course, but they’re eyewitnesses who can give us valuable information about what was going on in their times. And they make it clear that these were tumultuous times when their city-states were going through major and often painful changes. In this episode I’m going to focus on two poets who are especially concerned with social and political issues. Their names are Theognis of Megara and Alcaeus of Mytilene.

We’ll see that these two were very different personalities, but they were both aristocrat men writing for an aristocratic audience in a particular setting. It’s a different way of experiencing poetry than we’re used to. Here in the modern world, we usually think of poetry as something to be read. Except for certain genres like spoken word, we consume it in books and poetry journals. And even if we go to a reading of an established poet, they’ll have their books for sale at the merch table. In ancient Greece, it was just the opposite. Poetry was a public form of expression, meant to be recited — or more accurately sung — for an audience. We’ve seen that rhapsodes would recite the Homeric epics for the crowds at state festivals. Theognis and Alcaeus composed their poems to be performed at a symposium, the traditional aristocratic drinking party. The word itself, symposion, literally means “drinking together.” And this was where upper-class men would get together to relax and enjoy some wine, music, often some hired entertainment, and conversation. Which would typically include some talk about politics.  

In theory, at least, the symposium was a very civilized, ordered sort of social occasion. There was a leader, a kind of master of ceremonies called the symposiarch, who would set the tone, first by determining how strong the wine would be, because it was always diluted with water. The Greeks thought drinking undiluted wine was barbaric. And the symposiarch would decide the seating arrangement, guide the conversation, and so on. Now, of course, with all that wine flowing, that highly ordered system often broke down and ended in drunken carousing. But the ideal was that you’d drink to the point where the mood would be light, your conversation would be livelier, and you’d have some good, civilized bro time. So poets like Theognis and Alcaeus not only composed their works to sing at a symposium, but many of their poems are about the symposium itself.  

With that backstory, let’s dive in. We’ll start with Theognis, who was active in the mid-6th century BCE. Other than that, we know almost nothing about his life. He came from the city of Megara, but even that’s uncertain, because there were two Megaras — one on the mainland not far from Athens and the other over in Sicily. Even ancient authors had different opinions as to which one he came from. The other strange thing about Theognis is the way his works have come down to us. With most early Greek poets, we have only fragments — mostly short quotations from later authors or scraps of papyrus from Egypt, where the material could be preserved. With Theognis, we have a full text of nearly 1400 lines. But what the gods give us with one hand they take back with the other. Because what we have is a collection that someone compiled some time after Theognis’ time, and that collection includes a lot that can’t be his work. Some of the poems are contradictory, some include references that are too late for his lifetime, and some are even known to be the works of other authors. So there’s always some doubt about whether any given poem is one by Theognis himself. The irony is that his most famous poem is one where he says he’s put a quote-unquote “seal” on his work so that no one will be able to steal it or pass their work off as his. And the big scholarly question is what he meant by the seal. Some think it a literal seal that he put on a manuscript of his poetry. Others think maybe it was his distinctive style that marked his work out as his own. 

In any case, the collection is a mess, but it’s still consistent enough to give us a clear picture of Theognis’ character. And the picture we get is that of an old-school aristocrat, set in his ways, a firm believer in aristocratic values and the superiority of his class. And he’s absolutely disgusted with the shift in the social structure that he sees going on around him, with more wealth and power in the hands of people who don’t have his kind of noble pedigree. A lot of his poems are addressed to his beloved, a young man named Kyrnos. At some point I’m going to have to do at least a short episode about these homosexual relationships in ancient Greece. It’s way more complex than a simple straight-versus-gay dichotomy. In a nutshell, the ideal is an attachment between a mature man and a young adolescent. And while there’s certainly an erotic element, the older man is supposed to be a sort of mentor, giving the boy the benefit of his experience and wisdom. Theognis plays that role in his poems, and a great many of them say essentially the same thing, that Kyrnos should take care to associate with “good” men and avoid the “bad”

This is a very sharp, black-and-white contrast for Theognis. Men are divided into good and bad, which usually equates to high and low. Noble and base. And in his own time, he sees the distinction getting muddied. The influence of money in society is raising common people to a level where they’re challenging aristocratic privilege, and many of the so-called “good” people are getting corrupted. So everything is going to hell in a handbasket. In one poem, he complains about former country bumpkins who have become the nouveaux riches of his time. This and all the other lines I quote from Theognis are translations by Douglas Gerber in the Loeb Classical Library edition. Quote: 

Cyrnus, the city is still a city, but the people are different, people who formerly knew neither justice nor laws, but wore tattered goatskins about their sides and lived outside this city like deer. And now they are noble, while those who were noble before are now base. Who can endure the sight of this? They deceive one another and mock one another, knowing neither the distinctive marks of the base nor those of the noble. Unquote. 

To Theognis, the proper place for those “base” types is out in the fields. An increase in wealth has put them in a position where they shouldn’t be. It’s an interesting contrast with contemporary American debates about money in politics. Nowadays, the concern is that too much money is concentrated in the hands of a few billionaires, and that gives them outsized influence in government. For Theognis, it’s just the reverse. Money is getting distributed to too many people, and it’s upsetting the social hierarchy. 

Another poem shows just how closely goodness and noble bloodlines are connected in Theognis’ mind. Quote: 

We seek out rams and asses and horses that are purebred, Cyrnus, and everyone wishes that they mount (females) of good stock; but a noble man does not mind marrying the base daughter of a base father if the latter gives him a lot of money, and a woman does not refuse to be the wife of a base man who is rich, but she wants a wealthy man instead of one who is noble. It is money people honor; one who is noble marries the daughter of one who is base and one who is base marries the daughter of one who is noble. Wealth has mixed up blood. And so, do not be surprised that the townsmen’s stock is becoming enfeebled, since what is noble is mixing with what is base. Unquote.

Wow. Wealth has mixed up blood. The city is in decline because noble families are getting polluted with lower-class blood. I remember reading this for the first time in a Greek class in college and thinking how revolting it was. I still find it revolting, even if I see worse things on the internet today. But it’s an interesting peek into the aristocratic Greek mindset, where good character and noble bloodlines are inseparable. Another poem ends with the pithy line, “You will never make the base man noble through teaching.” In other words, nobility is innate. You can’t learn it. It’s a striking statement in the history of Greek thought, because about a century later, one of the hot topics of debate will be whether excellence, arete, can be taught. For Theognis, there’s no question. Arete is something you have to be born with. 

 So Theognis is clearly not happy with the situation in Megara. As I said earlier, we know very little about his life. But some of the poems, if they really are his, give us some hints of what he went through. Quite a few of them talk about the evils of poverty and what a pernicious effect it can have on a noble soul. In one poem he says he was “robbed” of his property. We don’t know exactly how, but of course the “base” are to blame. In a few places he talks about how hard life is for an exile, and it’s possible that he suffered that fate himself. It’s been suggested that maybe at one point he was exiled from mainland Megara to Megara over in Sicily. In any case, he seems to have had a rough time, and in one poem he sums up his attitude. Quote: 

Everything here has gone to the dogs and to ruin, Cyrnus, and we can’t hold any of the blessed immortal gods responsible. It’s the violence of men, their base gains and insolence that have cast us from prosperity into misery. Unquote. 

The word that’s translated there as “insolence” is “hybris,” that iconic Greek word that we often associate with tragic heroes whose pride leads to their destruction. It can’t really be translated in one word, but it means a kind of arrogance that does violence to the natural, proper order of things. The hybris of base men has violated aristocratic privilege and caused all of the poet’s misfortunes. 

The poems I’ve quoted so far are typical of Theognis in that they comment on general social and economic trends. They focus on the evil influence of money, the debasement of noble bloodlines, and so on. There’s very little if anything about specific political events or the individuals behind them. There are a couple of poems, though, that reference one of the universal fears of aristocrats — the rise of a tyranny. Using a bold metaphor, he says, quote: 

Cyrnus, this city is pregnant and I am afraid she will give birth to a man who commits wanton outrage, a leader of grievous strife. These townsmen are still of sound mind, but their leaders have changed and fallen into the depths of depravity. Unquote. 

In another passage, he seems disgusted but resigned to the inevitability of a tyranny. Quote: 

Trample the empty-headed people, jab them with a sharp goad, and place a painful yoke round their necks. For among the people whom the sun looks down upon you’ll find none so much in love with tyranny. Unquote. 

Before I move on, I’m going to indulge in a little value judgment. Of all ancient Greek authors, Theognis has to be my least favorite. He shows a lot of poetic talent and has fascinating turns of phrase, but his whole outlook strikes me as narrow-minded, self-pitying, and quick to blame others for everything. And I’m not alone in feeling that way. When I was researching this episode, I came across Dorothea Wender’s introduction to her Penguin translation of Theognis. I can’t resist repeating her remarks. Quote: 

Unfortunately, as his personality is revealed in the poems, Theognis is not at all likeable. He seems to have been a savage, paranoid, bigoted, bitter, narrow, pompous, self-pitying person.” Unquote. 

Okay, Ms. Wender, but tell us how you really feel.

Well, the other poet we’re looking at today is Alcaeus, and he comes across as a much more boisterous kind of character. Some of that can probably be chalked up to a difference in their cultural backgrounds. Alcaeus was from the city of Mytilene over on the island of Lesbos. That part of the Greek world was Aeolian, and the Aeolians had a reputation for being a bit less buttoned-up than the Dorians. In any case, Alcaeus comes across as a more dashing personality with a fighting spirit and up for a good time. That difference in attitude comes through in their poems about the symposium. A typical example from Theognis says, quote: 

Wine drunk in large quantities is a bane, but if one drinks it wisely, it is not a bane but a blessing. Unquote.

So, just a garden variety Greek exhortation to moderation. And then there’s Alcaeus. All my quotes from him, by the way, are from the Loeb translation by David Campbell. A typical drinking song by Alcaeus begins, quote: 

Let us drink! Why do we wait for the lamps? There is only an inch of day left. Friend, take down the large decorated cups. The son of Semele and Zeus (in other words Dionysus) gave men wine to make them forget their sorrows. Mix one part of water to two of wine, pour it in brimful, and let one cup jostle another. Unquote.

Which party sounds like more fun? Alcaeus isn’t shy about saying, “Let’s all get hammered.” Things aren’t going too well? Let’s get drunk to forget it. Something good happened? Let’s get drunk to celebrate!

Well, there was plenty to get drunk about in Alcaeus’s time. I haven’t gone in chronological order. Alcaeus was active a bit earlier than Theognis, in the late 7th to the early 6th century. And this is a time when the political situation in Mytilene is extremely unstable. I’m going to go through some of the specifics, which get very messy, but fortunately, there won’t be a quiz after the podcast. The point is just to give a general sense of the chaotic political world Alcaeus was operating in. 

Well, like so many other Greek states, Mytilene replaced kingship with aristocratic rule, and in this phase, power was concentrated in a clan called the Penthelids. They were the cream of the aristocracy with their ancestry supposedly tracing back to the hero Penthelus, the son of Orestes, who was the son of Agamemnon himself. So, an impeccable bloodline. But by all accounts, the Penthelids ruled with an iron fist and became very unpopular. Of course, there were plenty of noble families eager to capitalize on their unpopularity, and the Penthelids ultimately fell, which led to a succession of short-lived tyrannies.  

So this is the world that Alcaeus was born into. And at the time he started to play a part in the political struggles, the most prominent figure in Mytilene was a man named Pittacus. He had come to power by overthrowing a tyrant by the name of Melanchros. One ancient source tells us that Alcaeus’s brothers were involved in that plot. And there’s a fragment of Alcaeus that may refer to this event as one that he remembers but was too young to take part in at the time. 

In any case, Alcaeus and his family seem to have had good relations with Pittacus at first. At least to the extent that Alcaeus could fight in a military operation under Pittacus. Mytilene had gotten into a tussle with Athens over possession of an important town called Sigeum right at the entrance of the Hellespont. Pittacus is said to have fought heroically in single combat with the Athenian commander. Alcaeus maybe not quite so much. In one of his poems he imitated the earlier poet Archilochus by openly admitting he threw his shield away in battle and ran away to save his own skin. Well, ultimately, that war was settled by arbitration. The arbiter was none other than the Corinthian tyrant Periander, who had a starring role in the last episode. He judged in favor of Athens, and that evidently settled the matter. 

That adventure may have put some of the aristocratic rivalries on hold, but as soon as it was over, the infighting was as violent as ever. As the author Albin Lesky puts it in his classic history of Greek literature, “Events took a course reminiscent of medieval Italian city-states.” Out of this chaos, a new tyrant named Myrsilos came to power. Alcaeus and his political allies tried to overthrow him, but their plot failed, and they were forced to go into exile in a town called Pyrrha across the island. Pittacus was originally a part of that cabal, but he evidently cut a deal with the tyrant Myrsilos and shared power with him. Alcaeus was not pleased, to say the least. He vents his anger in a poem addressed to a triad of deities, Zeus, Hera and Dionysus. Quote: 

Come, with gracious spirit hear our prayer, and rescue us from these harships and from grievous exile; and let their Avenger pursue the son of Hyrrhas (in other words Pittacus) since once we swore never to abandon any of our comrades, but either to die at the hands of men who at that time came against us and to lie clothed in earth, or else to kill them and rescue the people from their woes. But Pot-belly (meaning Pittacus again) did not talk to their hearts; he recklessly trampled the oaths underfoot and devours our city… 

And the manuscript trails off there. This is one of those poems that we have on a badly damaged piece of papyrus, where some parts are preserved and others are either missing or unreadable. But the last legible word in the text is the name of the tyrant Myrsilos.  

So Pittacus was now on Alcaeus’s — let’s call it his poop list to keep it family friendly. And of course, being in exile was a huge source of anguish for an aristocrat. Another poem on the hardships of exile gives us a glimpse of his experience. Quote: 

I, poor wretch, live with the lot of a rustic, longing to hear the assembly being summoned and the council: the property in possession of which my father and my father’s father have grown old among these mutually destructive citizens, from it I have been driven, an exile at the back of beyond… 

And the poem goes on from there. The loss of his ancestral property is of course a terrible blow, but notice that even before that, Alcaeus says what he misses. The sound of the assembly and the council being summoned. Political engagement was so much a part of the aristocrat’s identity, it must have been traumatic to be cut off from it. If I can digress for a moment, I think you can draw a parallel with the way American professionals often become so identified with their work that they go into a tailspin if they’re laid off or they have to retire. Having worked in the declining greeting card industry and the very fickle entertainment industry, I’ve seen a lot of that and even experienced some of it myself. It may be a stretch, but I imagine Alcaeus might have struggled with similar kinds of identity issues. 

In any case, it wasn’t too long before Alcaeus got some good news, and we have just two lines from the poem he wrote to celebrate it. Quote: 

Now must men get drunk and drink with all their strength, since Myrsilus has died! Unquote.

The evil tyrant has gone, and that means it’s party time. But Alcaeus’s high spirits didn’t last long, because the political situation in Mytilene took a strange turn. Our old friend Pittacus was now elected to a position called aisymnetes, which essentially meant a legally sanctioned tyrant. It probably started as an emergency measure, because Aristotle tells us that he was elected to protect the city against the exiles, including Alcaeus. But the broader purpose was that he would rule as a monarch for a limited time and try to restore some stability to the state. Which seems to be just what he did. He ruled for ten years and then gave up the reins of power. We’ll see a very similar thing happening later on in Athens.  

Our information about Pittacus is very sketchy, but I get the sense that he must have been an enormously talented politician. Just to survive in that political climate was quite an accomplishment, and to keep coming back the way he did is pretty remarkable. He was later regarded as one of the seven sages, the seven wise men of Greece. It’s kind of a pity that we know so little about him. As it is, we know of only one law he passed during his 10-year reign: that people who committed crimes while drunk would have to pay twice the normal penalty. Which may have been a measure aimed at curbing abuses by the aristocracy. You can imagine that young, entitled men, when they got together for a drinking party, might end the evening by going out and causing some trouble. Some things haven’t changed much in two and a half millennia.

But to get back to Alcaeus… He could celebrate the death of Myrsilos, but when he sobered up, things weren’t much better for him. Pittacus was back in power, and now the Mytileneans had given him their stamp of approval. In a fragment of one poem, Alcaeus lashes out at the citizens. Quote: 

They established base-born Pittacus as tyrant of that gutless, ill-starred city, all of them loud in his praise. Unquote.   

When he calls Pittacus “base-born,” we can’t take that seriously. Pittacus would never have had the kind of career he had if he’d been a commoner. But when Greek aristocrats quarreled, one of their standard accusations was that their opponent was low-born.  

Well, beyond what we have in Alcaeus’s poetry, or what’s left of it, we really don’t know much about his life. An ancient comment on one of the poems refers to his “first exile,” which suggests he may have been exiled more than once. But even without a lot of detail, it’s clear that his life and work were shaped by the political upheavals of his time. One device he uses to convey the turmoil in the city is an image known as the “ship of state.” It’s a perfect metaphor in the cultural context, because the Greeks were a seafaring people with tremendous respect for the dangers involved. So the image of a ship in a storm represents a city state racked by civil strife. In a classic example by Alcaeus, quote: 

I fail to understand the direction of the winds: one wave rolls in from this side, another from that, and we in the middle are carried along in company with our black ship, much distressed in the great storm. Unquote. 

It could be taken as just a colorful description of a ship in a storm. But when Alcaeus says he doesn’t understand the “direction of the winds,” the word that’s translated as “direction” is “stasis,” which is a standard word for civil strife in a Greek polis. Alcaeus used the “ship of state” image in several poems, and it became a favorite metaphor for classical authors. It appears in Theognis, for example, and even later Roman authors like Horace. 

The few pieces of Alcaeus’s poetry that survive show some variety in their tone and content. We’ve seen that he could do lighthearted drinking songs. One interesting fragment is just a description of the armory in his house, where he lovingly describes each piece of armor and weaponry. Being a warrior is very much part of his identity. But his political poetry is what he’s best known for. The much later historian and rhetorician Dionysius of Halicarnassus observed, quote: “Often if you removed the meter, you would find political rhetoric.” Unquote. 

There’s a lot more that could be said about Alcaeus. For one thing, he’s important for his innovations in meter and poetic structure. Since I’m trying to focus on history, I’ll let that be a wrap for Alcaeus. But since we are talking about poets, I feel like this episode needs a epilogue. Because his contemporary, also from the island of Lesbos, was Sappho, who I think is much better known in today’s world. She’s the only female poet from ancient Greece whose work is preserved in any quantity, and she was so highly regarded in Greece that she was later called the “tenth Muse.” And of course, the homoerotic themes in some of her poems are the basis of our word “lesbian.” Being a woman, she was naturally excluded from playing a direct role in politics, and virtually all her work is love poetry. But she did belong to a noble family and felt the impact of the turbulence in Mytilene. She spent part of her life in exile in Sicily, and in one fragment she seems to express a low opinion of the Penthelid clan. That’s about as political she gets in her extant poems. There were even later Greek stories that Alcaeus and Sappho were lovers. But there’s no good evidence for that. It was inevitable that legends would bring the two greatest lyric poets of Lesbos together as a couple.  

And that concludes Episode 17. I hope you’ve enjoyed it, and if you have questions or anything to add, I’d love to hear from you. My email is scott@epicgreekhistory.com, or you can leave a comment on Facebook or Instagram. I’m Scott Emmons. The music for my theme song was composed and recorded by Parry Gripp. My logo and other artwork are by Chris Harding. Until next time, εὐτυχεῖτε, be well.