Short History Of... - The Golden Age of Athens

Episode Date: June 18, 2023

While the Roman Republic was still in its infancy, the Greek city-state of Athens rose from the ruins of war with the Persians to become the most beautiful and powerful in the region. During this Golden Age, many Athenian citizens enjoyed unprecedented freedoms in the world’s first democracy. Architects and engineers designed buildings of unparalleled sophistication, while writers, philosophers and scientists created works that still resonate today. And after shining so brightly, Athens’ rapid decline is a lesson in how great civilisations rise and fall. This is a Short History of the Golden Age of Athens. Written by Kate Harrison. With thanks to Thomas Martin, Professor of Classics at the College of the Holy Cross, and the author of Ancient Greece from Prehistoric to Hellenistic Times. For ad-free listening, exclusive content and early access to new episodes, join Noiser+. Now available for Apple and Android users. Click the Noiser+ banner on Apple or go to noiser.com/subscriptions to get started with a 7-day free trial. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Get groceries delivered across the GTA from Real Canadian Superstore with PC Express. Shop online for super prices and super savings. Try it today and get up to $75 in PC Optimum Points. Visit superstore.ca to get started. It's daybreak on the 28th of September, 480 BCE. On the coast of Greece, west of the port of Piraeus, a young marine stands on the deck of a warship. The vessel, a wooden trireme named for its three rows of oars, is moored at the bottom of a narrow channel. The rugged island of Salamis rises to the left, the mainland to the right. Sunlight

glitters on the clear blue Aegean sea, and gulls swoop low. But this is the calm before the storm. The man is not a professional sailor. Usually he farms land at Attica, on the outskirts of Athens, but like most of the crew, he's been drafted to fight for the independence of his homeland. Athens has been ransacked and burned by the Persians, a global superpower determined to occupy Greece. Now they are mounting the next stage of their invasion. The enemy ships outnumber the Greek defense force by three to one and are crewed by experienced sailors from across the Persian Empire. The sound of singing travels on the sea breeze and the marine

and the other crew members join in the battle song designed to intimidate their powerful foes. Despite his bronze armor he he feels horribly exposed, but at least up here he can breathe. Below his feet, the tiered decks hold over 200 rowers, crammed together amid the stench of sweating bodies. He is ordered to sit down as his hulking ship moves. There are so many fighters on deck they risk destabilizing the trireme. They're heading into the channel, drawing the Persian fleet behind them. The Athenian tries to keep count, but there are hundreds of enemy vessels. It's been rumored that the Persian king, Xerxes, is so certain of victory

that he's had his golden throne set up on the mountain overlooking the strait. To the marine, it feels like madness to lure them up the cramped waterway. But that's what's happening. Soon, as the ships power forward, they battle for limited space. They ram into each other, wood splintering, seamen shrieking as they try to regain control of their floundering craft. The marine has no sense of which side is suffering the most losses. But as he progresses up the strait, he gets a clearer picture.

The Persian craft might be more maneuverable, but in this cramped chaos, that's meaningless. He watches as a Greek trireme smashes into the side of an enemy ship, its cedar hull collapsing like it's made of parchment. He's close enough to see men decapitated, others crushed to death. Marines from the invading force plunge into the water. Athenian sailors can all swim, but the Persians thrash their limbs about uselessly. Their cries don't last long.

And now the sailor braces himself as the helmsman steers them towards the rival ship alongside them. The hard, bronze ram shears through the bank of rowers, slicing oars in half so the vessel can't move. Another Greek trireme attacks on the other side. The Persians sink in seconds. Undamaged, the Athenians sail through waters darkened by debris and blood. Ahead, another enemy ship is trapped. The sailor prepares to board, to wipe out

any surviving combatants. He might just make it home to Athens after all. The victory at Salamis is an incredible naval achievement and ends the Persian campaign to dominate Greece. But the battle's real significance lies in what the Athenians do next. In the coming decades, Athens will rise from the ruins to become the most beautiful and powerful city-state in the region. the most beautiful and powerful city-state in the region. This period will become known as the Golden Age, a time when many Athenian citizens are given unprecedented freedoms in the world's first democracy. When architects and engineers design buildings of unparalleled sophistication. And when writers, philosophers and scientists create works that still have meaning two and a half thousand years later.

So how did Athenian democracy operate? Why do the ideas, stories, and innovations from this era still resonate today? And, after shining so brightly, what does the city-state's rapid decline tell us about how great civilizations rise and fall? I'm John Hopkins, and this is a short history of the Golden Age of Athens. The Battle at Salamis forces the Persians to postpone their land offensive. By the time they're ready to try again, Greece's city-states have united against the enemy. At last, the brutal conflict is over. But the citizen fighters and evacuees of Athens return home to a city in ruins, burned and sacked twice over by

vengeful Persian forces. Yet Athens' post-war leaders now see an opportunity. They have grand ambitions to create a beautiful, sophisticated super-state, and, crucially, the funds to make it happen. Thomas Martin is professor of classics at the College of the Holy Cross and the author of Ancient Greece from Prehistoric to Hellenistic Times. They had more money than they'd ever had before, both from natural resources like the gold mines that were in their territory,

the profits from international commerce that came through their port, and also from the fact that they had more military power than ever before. And they made sure that everybody else knew about this, both from what they said and from what they built. money really mattered because in order to create an environment in which people can then do many other cultural activities from art to religion to political theory, you really needed to have the security that came from being able to know that, yes, we'll be able to eat next year. Because remember, the economy is in many ways basically agricultural, and that has its ups and downs. And so this sense of security that, yes, we will still be here tomorrow,

means, okay, we can invest time and effort and money in these other aspects of life beyond just trying to scratch a living out of an unwelcoming earth. The top priority is to rebuild. And, after so much destruction inflicted by enemies, better defenses are essential. Athens' giant stone walls protect the center of the city, but the population risks starvation if an enemy blockades the route from the port of piraeus six miles west so the fortifications are extended to become the famous long walls that allow visitors citizens and supplies to travel safely between the vibrant

harbor and the busy center a dozen or more gates in the city walls open onto the roads and the countryside, where grapes, figs, olives, and barley are cultivated. Around 100,000 people live in the city itself, with twice as many again in the settlements around the Attica countryside. Now, if the outskirts are attacked, the rural population will shelter within the walls. But the Athenians don't ignore the other, more spiritual form of defense, keeping the gods happy. In the 5th century BCE, people believe their lives are governed by the gods, who can bestow

good fortune or send death and disease at will. Each region favors a different god, and in Athens, it's Athena, the goddess of war and wisdom. The citizens must offer thanks for the favors they've received so far and show respect so she'll continue to look after the city. Ancient Greek society was sexist, but the gods, remember, were female and male. And female divinities could be extremely powerful, like Athena, who's both extremely smart and extremely warlike. And so the Athenians saw themselves as being especially protected by

Athena, and so they built temples on top of the Acropolis in her honor. The one that's best known today is called the Parthenon. The architecture devoted to the gods is what made Athens architecturally famous in the modern period, meaning above all the buildings that were on this rocky mesa in the center of town, the Acropolis, which means the high part of the city-state, where above all, there were built various magnificent buildings, magnificent in their size and in their elaborate decoration, in honor of the goddess Athena. Construction of the new buildings begins in 447 BC.

The Parthenon, the new temple to Athena, takes 13 years to finish. The Acropolis buzzes with activity and workers. Architects, masons, carpenters, enamelers, painters, plus slaves brought in from other countries. Over 100,000 tons of beautiful, fine-grained white marble is mined from Mount Pentelicus, 10 miles away, then brought by wagon up the steep sides of the Acropolis. Masons carve the building blocks precisely on site. Around 13,000 stones are lifted and positioned using sophisticated pulleys. The architects include subtle refinements

so that the Parthenon looks perfect from all angles. The completed building measures 100 feet by 228 and includes a colonnade made up of 46 Doric columns. Its stunning carved friezes and stones depict mythical battles and processions involving gods, men and animals. Stunning carved friezes and stones depict mythical battles and processions involving gods, men, and animals. A colossal bronze statue of Athena Promachos, showing the goddess in her role as a warrior,

gazes out to sea. At 30 feet tall, her gleaming helmet and spear can be seen from 60 miles away. The Parthenon alone costs around 500 silver talents, or possibly much more. Some experts suggest an equivalent value of 3 billion US dollars today. So where does the money come from? Athens has joined forces with other Greek city-states to form the Delian League, which aims to protect members from powerful enemies like the Persians. The Parthenon itself houses the treasury for the entire League, but there are suspicions that the Athenians aren't being entirely honest about where the League's money is being spent.

honest about where the League's money is being spent. The Allies, other Greek city-states, would make contributions that would be used to finance a giant navy to protect the communal interests of all these city-states, or at least that was the notion. And scholars have assumed, many anyway, that these contributions were taken by the Athenians and not used solely for the purposes of the military naval strength of the alliance, but for the adornment of Athens. Whatever the doubts about the misuse of money, visitors can't deny that the new Acropolis is breathtaking. taking. Ordinary Athenians aren't actually allowed inside the Parthenon because it's a residence for the goddess Athena when she pays the city a visit. But from outside,

mere humans can glimpse the other sculpture of Athena erected within. This monument, even taller than the one overlooking the Aegean, has been carved from wood. It's covered in ivory and gold plates, which can be removed if the city runs out of money. As well as impressing visitors, the temple takes center stage in Athenian life, especially the hundred or more feast days celebrated every year. The altars in ancient Greek temples are outside the temple, not inside. So this is the scene of large, important public gatherings where sacrifices would be made to the god outside the temple, where you, the citizen, could gaze upon

this manifestation, this demonstration of how successful your community was, of how well protected it was, and how much benefit, to use the Greek term, how much shared advantage you got from being part of this community instead of common good. And so these buildings, they proclaimed to the citizens and to anyone else who was there, the shared advantage of being Athenian at this time in history. But the number one shared advantage of being an Athenian over living in a neighboring state is its political system. Tyrants are common elsewhere in Greece, kings and oligarchs with their power rooted in wealth and family background. But in Athens, a great experiment in democracy is underway. Over the last century, progressives

have broken free of the old system where laws were made and enforced by aristocrats. Now, at last, ordinary citizens make their own decisions about their city's future. From the director of The Greatest Showman comes the most original musical ever. I want to prove I can make it. Prove to who? Everyone. So, the story starts. Better Man, now playing in select theaters.

playing in select theaters. By this period in the mid-400s, democracy had become the government in Athens. It wasn't a republic. It was a direct democracy where the major decisions are voted on by citizens who just show up at a public meeting on the day announced. They listen to speeches

and then they just hold up their hands and decide. And there were hundreds of public offices filled by citizens, but they're always termed limited, usually just for one year, and they often serve on boards. Why? So that you can have maximum input and at least possible domination by oligarchs or tyrants. But the goal was to really allow people to participate, men, of course, directly anyway, regardless of their financial status. This is not to say that women didn't have political opinions. They did. And men would hear about it, but only men could vote.

Women aren't the only disenfranchised group. Foreigners are also barred from any part in decision-making. And the hardest work in the city is performed by slaves. Not only are they bought and sold in the market, they can even be killed by their masters at will, and rarely rebel because they live so far from their original homelands. For all the progressiveness, it's still wealth that counts. Everyday life in Athens, as in all ancient Greek cities, depended to a huge amount on your financial position. The overwhelming majority of people were,

by almost any standard, poor, in the sense that they would have to work every day and they would have very little capital laid up. For those people, it was work, agricultural, making products, serving other people. The richer men are expected to be good citizens, and in outstanding physical shape. Gymnasiums, Greek for places to train naked,

allow the wealthy to work out and make connections. Later in the day they can head into the agora, or marketplace, in the city center. While the women and slaves sell and buy goods, the richer men trade gossip or embark on philosophical discussions. When the sun sets, symposiums or drinking parties spring up, as the favored few enjoy wine, music, and the company of beautiful courtesans. music, and the company of beautiful courtesans. But for Athens' typically wealthy leaders, there are few better or more respectable ways to spend the surplus wealth

than in the sponsorship of the arts. Drama plays a central role in the city's life. The Athenians and other Greeks too, they recognized that even in a world in which you had to work so hard just to stay alive, you needed to have breaks and relaxation and entertainment in communal gatherings. Otherwise, human beings simply couldn't survive. And one of the things that made Golden Age Athens work was that there was a real serious attention to how to make publicly sponsored entertainment in a communal sense available as a human necessity for flourishing. The experience was so deeply emotional.

It drew you in. In fact, we know that the audiences would weep, they would laugh, they would cry out. In other words, the productions are so all-encompassing, and they involve music as well as dialogue, that they cook your soul, as the Greeks said, and that's how they captured you. It is the year 431 BCE, and in the amphitheater, built in the shadow of the Acropolis, citizens jostle for the best seats. As usual, the richer sponsors have the prime positions,

but with space for 15,000 on arcs of tiered stone benches, there's still plenty of room to get a good view. A merchant and his friends arrive with wine and snacks. They're here for the long haul. During the Dionysian Festival, three playwrights compete to win the prize for the best tragedy. Later, there'll be comedy, mocking the great and the good of the city. Then, after dark, a raucous satyr play that presents tragic themes, but in a humorous, light-hearted style. The merchant settles onto his bench, preparing to be put through the emotional wringer. The first play is Medea, written by Euripides, who has a reputation for shocking drama. A nurse steps onto the wooden stage, played, of course, by a male actor.

Women don't feature in the cast or the audience, but this play is about one of the most vengeful females in the cast or the audience, but this play is about one of the most vengeful females in the Greek myths. The merchant takes a mouthful of wine mixed with water. He'd never drink it neat, he's not a barbarian. Now two child actors enter, laughing and singing. They're Medea's young son from her marriage to Jason. In happier days, their mother led Jason to the Golden Fleece, but now their home is a place of anguish. Audience members lean forward.

Their lives in modern Athens are forgotten as they lose themselves in the bloody world of Corinth. Medea rages against Jason's decision to leave her and marry the daughter of the Corinthian king. But then she persuades the king to give her one last night to pack before she and her young boys are exiled into poverty and probable death. A bowl of olives sit in the merchant's hand, untouched and forgotten. He's lost his appetite, gasping when Medea sends a poisoned cloak and veil to Jason's new bride, killing her. But worse is to come. Medea paces the stage, driven mad by grief and hatred for the man whose life she once saved by slaughtering her own brother. A foreigner, she is about to be cast out with no refuge beyond

Corinth's walls. The merchant feels for her as she rails against her powerlessness. Even in Athens, outsiders have few rights. Now Medea's pain leads her to a shocking decision. Killing Jason's bride is not enough. To destroy him, she must murder his young sons, too. The merchant and his friends protest loudly. On stage, the actors in the chorus do the same. By convention, they never intervene, but now each one tries to dissuade Medea from her heinous crime. She ignores them. The audience watch, helpless, as Medea's boys plead with their mother, but she stabs them anyway, before confronting her husband with blood on her hands. Medea escapes to Athens, of all places, leaving Jason sobbing and broken on stage.

As the play ends, the merchant tries to hide the tears that sting his eyes. Those around him are silent, shell-shocked. The scenes will give him nightmares. They might give women and slaves ideas. But he knows which of the three tragedies he and his friends will be talking about for weeks. The shocking play comes last in the competition. Yet within a year, it'll be the most performed in the region. Its appeal, though, outlives its own era. Even today it's produced more often than any other Greek tragedy. One of the famous lines from Medea that I'm sure the great majority

of ancient Greek women agreed with was, I'd rather fight three times in the front of a men's battle than give birth to a child only once. Men were defensive. The theatrical performances were judged by a board of citizens. That means what gender. Men judged these contests, right? And all the plays were produced as a contest, and there would be first prize, a second prize, and a third prize. Not winning meant that this board of men decided they didn't think you were the best. Maybe because they were bribed, because remember, there are rich people backing these productions, but also because they, as men, felt offended by what they saw as attacks on their assertions of dominance.

And my suspicion is that that's why Medea didn't win first prize, but it also helps explain why Medea is still read and produced and discussed and debated to this very day. The importance of drama isn't lost on the man who comes to represent the golden age. Pericles is born in 495 BCE, around the time of the Persian Wars. According to historians, his mother dreamed before giving birth that she was bearing a lion. When he's born, his huge skull earns him the nickname Sea Onion Head. Members of his family helped found the Athenian democracy, but though his war hero father is politically influential, he's also experienced years of banishment.

So, while Pericles is privileged, he understands that power is a fickle thing. He would have grown up during this really turbulent and scary time, but he was very fortunate because he came from a rich family. Pericles then was able to have a private education. There was no public education. He was able to serve successfully in the military. And above all, he was able to make himself, thanks to training, into an extremely effective and persuasive public speaker in Athenian democracy, where that was the real source of influence. The young Pericles serves as a general in the army. But his first political move involves the theater.

Aged just 23, Pericles sponsors a performance of the Persians, a play depicting the dramatic events of the sea battle at Salamis. His sponsorship is a power move, intended to bring his name to the fore. After an early marriage, Pericles divorces the mother of his two children before beginning a new relationship, much like Jason in Medea. But he's not allowed to marry his new partner, Aspasia, because of a law he himself has helped to create. It gives fewer rights to women born outside the city and also lowers the status of any children they have. Aspasia was born in Miletus, so both she and the son she bears, Pericles, have lower status.

Despite this, their relationship lasts, but Aspasia, whose name means pleasing or welcome, is dogged by gossip about her history and influence over Pericles. Aspasia, who became Pericles' consort, was obviously resented by lots of people. And Athens in the Golden Age was a time when you could say all kinds of things about people, and they didn't necessarily have to be true, and they could be quite insulting. And so Aspasia was said to have been a prostitute furnisher. She runs a brothel.

That's what she's famous for. There's no evidence to make any kind of decision about this. That seems, in many ways unlikely. But you also have to remember that for elite men, they expected to have charming and alluring, but not necessarily sexually available women come to their drinking parties. And so it might well have been quite possible to run a lucrative escort service that wasn't necessarily a source for sex. While Pericles loves Aspasia's company, he's no party animal. He's too ambitious for that. Accounts of his first decade in politics are sketchy, but he gains power by working to expand democracy and strengthen the rights of citizens.

And by 461 BCE, aged 34, he becomes ruler of Athens. Many historians consider this the true beginning of the Golden Age. It is Pericles who commissions the transformation of the Acropolis and increases the control he exerts over the partner states in the Delian League. At times, his behavior towards them is not too unlike that of the tyrants he claims to despise. But at home, he works to appeal to all his citizens, not just his wealthy peers. Pericles lived an idiosyncratic life. He was rich. He ostentatiously rejected the expected behavior of elite males.

For example, he didn't go to the raucous dinner parties, the symposiums, at which women, except for entertainers, were not allowed. No wives accompanied their husbands, and drinking went wild. Pericles refused to attend. On the other hand, he was able to appeal through his speech both to elite contemporaries, but also to the demos, the people, the overwhelming majority, remember, who could make the majority votes that controlled political decisions. He could persuade them, even though he's in some sense, not one of them. And he'll need all that persuasive power to convince the citizens that it's time to go back into battle. Because despite the city's grand

new buildings and the political progress, peace is fragile. Pericles leads several successful military expeditions and invasions over the next three decades, but his ambitions push the Delian League to breaking point. Athens' main rival, Sparta, is a very different place, ruled by a small elite with a fearless army. They prefer to be left alone, but Pericles' increasing attempts to gain territory provoke them into action. A year after Sparta withdraws from its peace treaty with Athens, the Peloponnesian War begins.

It is the year 431 BCE, and in the northwest of Athens, citizens, women, and slaves gather to pay tribute to its war dead. Ten wooden coffins represent fallen soldiers from the city's ten tribes. And now, an eleventh coffin arrives, holding the remains of men who could not be identified at all. A young widow watches as that final coffin is lifted onto the shoulders of the men who will bear it to the cemetery. She can tell it barely weighs anything. Only bones have been recovered from the funeral pies lit on distant battlefields, where the soldiers lost their lives fighting the Spartans in a war they hoped would never come. She takes her place at the head of the procession with other grieving wives, mothers and daughters. Athens has no professional army, so when war comes,

every family shares the pain. Rich and poor are buried together. The women wail as they walk. Usually wealthier wives like her are hidden from view. She envies her servants, who at least get to leave their homes to shop. But today, women of all classes lead the way, openly expressing their grief. They pass along wide streets lined with fountains, shrines, and marble statues, created to honor the dead. But the widow doesn't think much of honor. As a girl, she lost her father in the Persian War. Now her son has lost his father, and perhaps he'll have to fight when he is old enough.

When the procession reaches the serene Kerameikos Cemetery, the coffins are moved into place and the people fall silent. This place is so peaceful, with plain trees shading the graves. The widow waits for the funeral oration, the usual hollow words about the glory and courage of the dead. This year, Pericles, the city's first citizen, has been chosen to speak. the city's first citizen has been chosen to speak. The stage is so tall she must crane her neck to see him. The nicknames are right, his head's too big for his body. He's older than he looks in the statues, in his 60s now, with white curly hair and eyes wrinkling in the sunlight. The woman's young husband himself voted

to go to war after hearing one of Pericles' speeches. Things would be different if the women had their say. She reaches for her little boy's hand. Pericles takes a breath before telling the crowd he doesn't want to dwell on past glories. Instead, he's going to explain why this city is worth dying for. He points up at the distant Parthenon, the white marble gleaming in the winter sun. Athens' beauty and culture make it the envy of the world. Now he is addressing the children, his dark eyes passing over the widow's son, as he reminds them that all Athenian boys, whatever their class, benefit from education. They too, he says, can rise to the top because

their fathers have fought for this ideal. Then, looking the widow right in the eyes, he tells the women to be braver, less emotional. She holds her cloak to her face to hide her tears as Pericles steps down. He's convinced her that Athens is worth the sacrifice. She's proud of the city her son will inherit. A generation later, the Athenian historian Thucydides writes of the Oration's incredible impact on the crowd. And it's still celebrated over two millennia later as one of the most powerful speeches ever delivered. Pericles' Oration influences Lincoln's Gettysburg Address and speeches by both JFK and Barack

Obama. But within two years, Pericles will be dead. Life in Athens is about to get a lot less golden. Pericles died two years into the war because there was, this will sound horribly familiar, a giant pandemic that decimated the population. pandemic that decimated the population. People would become extremely ill with all kinds of horrifying physical symptoms, and the mortality rate was very high. Not everybody died who got the pandemic, but a great many did. The pandemic was especially disastrous because remember, this is a society that doesn't have hospitals. It doesn't have first aid stations.

It doesn't have antibiotics. It doesn't have any effective way, frankly, to put people apart from other people. And the poor often were reduced to simply putting their dead, diseased corpses out in the street. Up to one-third of the population die of the sickness, including Pericles, his sister, and his two sons from his first marriage. Modern explanations for the Athenian plague suggest overcrowding plays a big part. When the countryside comes under attack from Spartan armies, people flee into the urban center with all their possessions, even though they have nowhere

to sleep and no means of earning money to eat. The lucky ones set up home in the turrets of the long walls, while others sleep on the street. These conditions are ideal for spreading disease. But the God-fearing Athenians don't see it that way. The normal assumption, which, you know, is not silly, is that, yes, this actually must come from more powerful beings, i.e. somehow from the gods. But we haven't done anything to offend the gods. Look at these fantastic buildings that we built

to honor them upon our Acropolis. And yet we are being absolutely terrorized, brutalized, punished. What am I supposed to believe? I mean, the historian Thucydides tells us that there was a real crisis of confidence because so many had been killed, so much money had been wasted, and Athenian democracy in basically the last 15 years of the 5th century tore itself apart under the stress of military expenditure, population decline,

and disagreement about how in the world to save themselves. The Peloponnesian War between Athens and Sparta will last for 27 years and claim the lives of 30,000 Athenians. Some historians see the plague, the war, and the death of Pericles as marking the end of the Golden Age. But when catastrophe strikes, another vital aspect of the city's cultural life comes to the fore. In the aftermath of conflict, the philosophers' search for meaning seems more important than ever. The philosopher's search for meaning seems more important than ever. When Athens is finally defeated by Sparta in 404 BCE, a group known as the Thirty Tyrants comes to power.

They select 3,000 Athenians to share government over the city and murder their opponents, killing one in twenty of the Athenian population and seizing wealth and property. After a brutal eight months, the tyrants themselves are forced out and democracy is restored. But this is a raw, divided city whose citizens are still reeling. Amnesty is offered to those who colluded with the tyrants, but with memories still fresh, many still harbor bitterness to those who supported them. And when one man in particular avoids taking sides in the aftermath, he pays the price. Socrates is a generation younger than Pericles. Socrates is a generation younger than Pericles. Though his background is not as privileged, he can still afford to devote his life to discussing the important questions with his peers, instead of laboring.

He travels the city barefoot, striking up conversations with wealthy and poor Athenians alike, challenging them to discuss how to live a worthwhile life. He questions the role of religion, a risky thing to do in a society where most people fear provoking the gods. Yet young men flock to him, wanting to debate the nature of love, beauty, and wisdom, while high-ranking citizens invite him to their parties to keep conversation flowing. But not everyone falls under Socrates' spell, and though he never cooperated with the thirty tyrants during their brief reign of terror, his refusal to condemn them puts him in danger. So there were many people who found Socrates, men in particular, extremely unpleasant.

And some actually hated him on the grounds that he must have been responsible, at least in some way, for the horrors that struck Athens at the end of the Peloponnesian War and afterwards. views that contradicted the accepted belief in the gods and for ruining the morals of the young men of Athens. It is 399 BCE, and in the heart of Athens, a trial is about to begin. 501 men, all chosen by lot, gather at the People's Court, just to the side of the marketplace. One of them, a cook by profession, has left his apprentice in charge today. But from the crowd gathering this morning, it looks like he's in for an interesting case. After he is sworn to the gods of Zeus, Apollo and Demeter,

the cook sits on a wooden bench at the front. The court herald announces the charges, and the guards bring out the defendant, Socrates. He's an old man with a long, unkempt beard, a fraying woolen cloak draped over his left shoulder, and nothing on his feet. He looks like a harmless grandfather, not a criminal. Yet as the clerk reads out the charges, the cook frowns. Socrates is accused of impiety, disrespecting the gods, and of encouraging his pupils to do the same. Maybe Socrates has caused all the bad fortune Athens has suffered lately by invoking

the wrath of the gods. His three accusers climb onto the raised stage and begin making their cases. They're revolted by his refusal to recognize the city's gods and furious that he's invented gods of his own. Yet Socrates looks amused, kicking at the dust with his gnarled feet. Eventually the herald calls time, and it's Socrates' turn. He stumbles onto the platform, but his voice is confident.

He is a teacher, he says, but the city is his classroom, where he poses questions he doesn't have the answer to. The cook shares a glance with the man next to him. What a windbag this Socrates is. Perhaps he does need to be taught a lesson. When Socrates finally sits down, it's time to vote. The cook joins the queue to receive his two bronze ballot discs, then approaches the area where the votes are cast.

Here, men drop their ballots into different urns according to whether or not they think Socrates is guilty of the two charges of impiety and corrupting the young. But as the cook passes Socrates, he slows. The old man stinks, and his hair is weighed down with grease. Maybe it's this that swings it, but at the last moment the cook throws his discs into the two urns for guilty. The four urns are turned out, and the discs are counted. Then finally the herald stands. Socrates is guilty of both charges. The old man's smile

barely changes as his accusers return, gleefully proposing a death sentence. The cook expects Socrates to plead for mercy, but instead the old man insists he's a gift from the gods to Athens. man insists he's a gift from the gods to Athens. He suggests his punishment should be free lunches for life. His self-importance is too much for the cook. Why didn't this man speak out against the 30 tyrants? When the jurors are balloted again, he votes for the strongest possible punishment. The ballots are counted again, and this time it's clear Socrates' arrogance has pushed the jury too far. The sentence is death. The only calm person in the court is Socrates. Turning to the jury, he tells them this sentence will one day be seen as shameful, though he bears them no ill will.

bears them no ill will. Then he allows the guards to usher him out of the court towards the city's prison, where he'll soon be made to drink a deadly dose of poison. As the juror queues for his jury payment, the other men discuss the case. They're certain the prisoner won't actually die. Men like Socrates always choose exile over execution. The clerk hands the cook his three obols, coins embossed with an owl, the symbol of Athena. As he walks through the agora, Socrates' supporters are in tears, while his prosecutors congratulate each other that justice has been done. As soon as they're allowed into the jail, Socrates' students and supporters beg him to leave Athens.

Citizens who'd been convicted of horrible crimes, including capital crimes, were normally allowed to put themselves permanently into exile if they wished to escape the penalty. But Socrates was idiosyncratic in the extreme. He never left Athens except when he had to go on citizen militia service. And he kept that, I don't know, truth for himself to the very end. And he accepted his death. He said, after all, I'm towards the end of my age. He was, you know, basically 70 years old. But he did it, I think, as a demonstration that he never, ever departed from what he saw as a necessity of sticking to one's convictions. What were Socrates' convictions? Hard to say, except that you must always and forever keep investigating and asking, what is it to do the right thing? I don't know, so I need to keep thinking and talking about it.

Once it's clear the prisoner has no intention of fleeing, the execution is scheduled. Socrates bans all women from attending, including his own wife. When the hour arrives, a prison official brings a vial of hemlock to the convict's cell. The philosopher's friends and students watch as he accepts the poison and slugs it like wine. Paralysis spreads through his body, starting at his feet before his heart finally stops. The story is that eventually the majority came to regret what they had done, although in fairness we have to say that Socrates was definitely his own person. But he wasn't willing to make any concessions about how it's important to win over the emotions of those people whom you would like to improve before you try to get

them to reason about how and why they should improve. Unusually for a philosopher, he never wrote down his teachings for posterity. But his influence passes down through those who document his ideas and try to explore the questions that mattered to him. One of his students, Plato, writes about Socrates' concepts and his questioning method of philosophy. He also sets up his famous Academy in Athens, where he explores what might lie beyond the everyday human existence. Despite the difficulties the city faces, it remains a beacon of philosophical study. In turn, the work of Plato's student Aristotle focuses on exploring oratory, science, and the arts.

Aristotle was, for example, particularly, I think, successful in discussing how it is that you use public speaking to persuade people. Because after all, there's no book industry, there's no radio, TV, internet. It's people speaking to each other, whether individually or in the great theater productions or afterwards, that information is shared, ideas are created, conflicts begin, and resolutions might occasionally be found. Even as Plato and Aristotle push intellectual boundaries, the influence of Athens continues to wane. Eventually the city is absorbed into the Spartan Empire. The balance of power shifts again

when King Philip II of nearby Macedonia defeats forces from Athens and Thebes. Philip establishes a federal Greece before his son, Alexander the Great, embarks on building his own enormous empire. Though the Athenian Golden Age was fleeting, its legacy is timeless. One million visitors each year marvel at the incredible buildings that grace the Acropolis of Athens, most of which date back to this one period. The comedies and tragedies of Aristophanes, Euripides, and Sophocles still inspire modern audiences through the mediums of film, theater, and even video games.

And two and a half millennia later, the human struggles that the Athenians faced, including war, a pandemic, and changing economic fortunes, are not so different to those we face today. Thinking about what we're calling the golden age of Athens seems to me to have value because it makes us think about what is it that we should do when we really are successful, when we have more than we used to, when we can share more than we could before, knowing how human life is unpredictable, then what should we be thinking about? And how should we be treating ourselves and other people? I mean, the golden age, in some sense, seems to me to show that the Athenians could have prepared themselves for the bad times that would inevitably come. The Golden Age shows us that when you are successful, you should be grateful,

but you should also have forethought. Next time on Short History Of, we'll bring you a short history of the Wright Brothers. What kept the early aeronauts going and doing these experiments was the quest for immortality. who broke aviation, the person who launched the first great controlled powered flight would be in the history books forever and attain eternal glory. But it was also just the spirit of adventure. And again, on a scientific endeavor, it was just, could it be done? That's next time.