Pseudo‑Xenophon (Old Oligarch)

We do not know the Old Oligarch’s name or exact dates, only that he wrote in the mid‑fifth century BCE, likely in Athens and likely from an elite vantage point. Scholars once attributed his Constitution of the Athenians to Xenophon; its abrasive tone and content prove otherwise. He writes like a hoplite‑class conservative: quick with contempt for the “base” multitude, keenly observant of institutions, and too honest to deny what he sees. The city’s clangor—the roar of the Assembly on the Pnyx, the rabble in the courts, the forest of masts at the Piraeus—runs through his pages.

In this timeline’s story, his treatise is a field report from democracy’s engine room. He explains that the empire’s tribute and maritime commerce, recorded from the 450s, finance the stipends and naval crews that bind poor citizens to the regime. He notes sortition’s role in staffing offices beyond elite capture, the Assembly’s regular deliberations that let even the unlettered participate, and the popular courts’ sovereign reach over policy and accountability by the later fifth century. Crucially, he argues the system is rational on its own terms: if the poor row the ships that defend and enrich the city, then policy will and should serve them. The result, he thinks, offends aristocratic ideals but delivers stability and power.

He is a difficult witness—acerbic, biased, sometimes unfair—but never dull. He recoils from the distribution of honor away from the kaloi kagathoi, and he bristles at the noise and unpredictability of mass decision. Yet his grudging admiration peeks through: the Athenians, he concedes, have tailored institutions to their interests with ruthless coherence. The treatise’s voice is that of a reluctant realist, not a mere scold, and his clarity comes from close contact with the mechanisms he dislikes.

The Old Oligarch’s legacy is paradoxical. Intended as an indictment, his work has become a cornerstone source for understanding how Athenian democracy functioned in practice—its logistics, incentives, rhythms, and reliance on sea power. He answers the timeline’s central question obliquely: ordinary citizens can rule when institutions harness their labor and align rewards to responsibilities. That alignment—tribute to ships, ships to votes, votes to policy—renders democracy resilient, and, as later events show, vulnerable to shocks when those links fray. His critique endures because it respects the machine, even as it despises the driver.