Sophocles[1] wrote the play ‘Philoctetes’ toward the very end of his long life—he was nearly ninety at the time. He had witnessed both the rise and the decline of the Golden Age of Athens. While Greek tragedies based on mythology typically do not reflect contemporary events, in ‘Philoctetes’, Sophocles seems to bring to the fore the decay of his era—and the profound inner turmoil that this decay stirred within him. In this respect, the play stands apart from other Greek tragedies. It also demands a distinct approach in terms of its presentation; it is a one-act play, set in a single location, and unfolds without any scene changes. Furthermore, the use of the chorus is unique: the members of the chorus appear as distinct individuals rather than a collective, unified voice. While in other Greek tragedies the playwright often conveys his message to the audience through the chorus, here, Sophocles centers his message primarily on the character of Philoctetes[2] himself. One can easily sense the playwright’s empathy for the anger and deep-seated resentment of Philoctetes—a man unjustly exiled from society and left to suffer in his crippled state. Moreover, unlike in other tragedies, where the chorus often acts as a narrator—providing accounts of off-stage events and guiding the progression of the plot—the chorus in ‘Philoctetes’ functions differently; instead, it serves to reflect the internal conflicts experienced by the characters.
The play ‘Philoctetes’ was written approximately two and a half thousand years ago (in 408 BCE). It offers insight into the values held by the civilized society of ancient Greece. While Neoptolemus[3]—son of Achilles[4]—affirms his commitment to personal integrity and moral principles, the Greek commander Odysseus[5] (or Ulysses) views the attainment of victory—by any means, including deceit and cunning—as the ultimate objective. His sole aim is self-advancement, regardless of the method. Clearly, Sophocles presents Odysseus as a villain, while portraying Neoptolemus as a figure struggling against social decay; his internal conflict serves as a reflection of that very integrity.
This play stands apart from other Greek tragedies in one significant respect. Greek tragedies are primarily action-centric; characters are defined largely by the roles they play within the unfolding sequence of events. Typically, these tragedies focus on mythological heroes who, as a consequence of their own actions, fall from divine favor and suffer the resulting repercussions. Regardless of their physical or mental prowess, these plays convey the idea that such figures are merely playthings of fate. While ‘Philoctetes’ largely adheres to this tradition, it shifts the focus away from the external sequence of misfortune and toward the conflicts between characters and an analysis of their respective roles. In this sense, it is a character-driven drama.
Various critics have highlighted this particular aspect of ‘Philoctetes’. Some argue that Sophocles sought to explore the very origins of human character. He engages with the classic debate—‘environment versus innate essence’—and clearly sides with the latter. He rejects the notion that the environment plays a decisive role in the development or transformation of human personality. Instead, he posits that acting against one’s own nature severely undermines self-respect and necessitates the sacrifice of one’s personal freedom. This is why Neoptolemus, having deceived Philoctetes, is consumed by profound self-reproach; conversely, for Odysseus, this act of deception is simply a necessary means to achieve his goal—a perspective he views as entirely natural and pragmatic.
According to another critic, the character of Philoctetes in this play serves as a vehicle for the lament of Sophocles’ own artistic persona—an echo of the anguish felt by an artist, crippled and cast aside by society, who finds himself unable to exert any influence upon it. It has also been suggested that the play reflects the influence of contemporary events. Historical records indicate that Sophocles’ own sons once brought a legal case against him, claiming that, due to his advanced age, he was no longer capable of managing his estate; they sought, therefore, to claim his inheritance. To refute this, the elderly Sophocles appeared before an Athenian court and, in his own defense, recited a passage from his recently composed play, ‘Oedipus at Colonus’.[6] Impressed by his creative genius, the judges immediately dismissed the case, declaring it inappropriate to label such a gifted artist as mentally unfit. Although modern scholars have questioned the veracity of this account, the episode nonetheless offers a glimpse into Sophocles’ attempt to understand the base impulses emerging in the children of a noble lineage. Deeply pained by this moral decline among the elite, he responded with sharp, biting satire. Through this play, he leveled his accusations and rebukes at the young aristocrats of contemporary Athens—men who, despite their prestigious ancestry, were so driven by greed and self-interest that they seemed prepared to lead the city toward ruin. Such are the various perspectives that critics have offered regarding this play.
Yet, it seems to me that any discussion concerning the influence of contemporary events on ‘Philoctetes’ remains incomplete unless the play is examined within the specific social and political context of Athens—a city then ravaged by war. Sophocles wrote ‘Philoctetes’ during the Peloponnesian War[7], a conflict between Athens and the Peloponnesian League, which was led by Sparta. For nearly twenty-five years, the lives of the citizens were defined by the shifting fortunes of war, and their once-unrivaled naval and military might found itself increasingly cornered by the coalition led by Sparta. Naturally, finding a way out of this predicament became a pressing concern. On several occasions, the possibility of negotiating a peace treaty with Sparta—under favorable terms—was raised; yet, the Athenian populace consistently chose to continue the war—a decision for which they would eventually pay a heavy price. Various factions within society had vested interests in steering the public down the wrong path, and in these ancient societies, the influence of certain individuals often proved to be of critical importance. Misled by such self-serving figures, the people were frequently swayed into making reckless decisions. One such instance was the ‘Sicilian Expedition[8]’—a venture undertaken in blatant disregard of the realities of the ongoing war. Alcibiades[9], the leader of the democratic faction at the time, incited the public to pursue this course to satisfy his own personal ambitions. This aggression went forward despite the warnings of Nicias[10] and other leaders of the aristocratic faction. The expedition resulted in the destruction of a major portion of the Athenian navy, including the loss of seasoned commanders like Nicias and Demosthenes[11]. During the campaign, Alcibiades—one of the expedition’s commanders—was accused of desecrating the gods and sentenced to death by the judges. Upon learning of this, he fled, joined the Spartan alliance, and became the architect of much of Athens' ruin. The profound anguish caused by the senseless loss of the society’s leading figures is captured in Sophocles’ play, ‘Philoctetes’, in which the protagonist inquires about the fate of various great heroes of the Trojan War, only to discover their tragic ends—a realization that leads him to openly express his resentment toward the gods.
[
Neoptolemus: The great Ajax is no longer among us. Had he been alive, I might not have had to endure the sting of this humiliation.
Philoctetes: Oh! Ajax is dead?
Neoptolemus: It is true!
Philoctetes: What a cruel twist of fate! Those who ought to be alive are dead—while that loathsome son of Tydeus, and Odysseus—the son of Laertes (though I have heard that Sisyphus sold him to Laertes)—they are the ones who remain alive!
Neoptolemus: And not just alive—they are held in high honor! They are among the foremost heroes of the Greeks.
Philoctetes: And Nestor! My old friend, the King of Pylos—is he no longer alive? He, who always sought to restrain their wicked deeds with his wise counsel?
Neoptolemus: Nestor has fallen upon hard times; his heroic son, Antilochus, has been killed in the war.
Philoctetes: Alas, poor lad! What news you bring, one blow after another! Ajax and Antilochus—two such great men—are they both dead? And that wretched worm, Odysseus—does he still walk the earth? He, of all people, should have been the first to die! Oh, gods! What kind of decree is this?
Neoptolemus: He is cunning—he bends fate to his will through his guile. Yet, surely, a day will come when he, too, must face the consequences.
Philoctetes: And Patroclus—what of him? That man who was such a close companion to your father?
Neoptolemus: He, too, is dead. War never seems to claim the wicked.
Philoctetes: Let me ask about one more—the vilest of the vile, a creature from the depths of hell—cunning, deceitful, treacherous—
Neoptolemus: You must be speaking of Odysseus!
Philoctetes: No, no! Not him! I speak of Thersites—the man whose mouth was always full of grand, boastful words! Is he still alive?
Neoptolemus: I do not know him, but I have heard that he is alive.
Philoctetes: Of course he is! Of course he is! Not a single scoundrel has died. The gods keep them happy—perhaps that is where the gods themselves find their own happiness! Keeping all the treacherous and deceitful ones far away from death, while bidding farewell to all the good people of this world—is this their idea of justice? Tell me, how can I possibly place my trust in them?
]
In this respect, the play stands apart from other Greek tragedies. Typically, in such tragedies, the downfall of a Greek hero is brought about by shifts in divine favor or vengeance. However, the playwright refuses to simply validate the notion that Philoctetes’ misfortune is merely the result of a divine curse. Instead, he challenges the gods, questioning their complicity in the injustice inflicted upon Philoctetes by his own companions. As he nears the end of his life, this burgeoning doubt regarding his allegiance to the gods is portrayed in the play with great subtlety.
...
To understand the roles of individuals and the general public in contemporary Athens, one must have some grasp of the politics and social life of that era. To discern the message a playwright intended to convey to their audience, it is essential to explore the relevant aspects of hopes, aspirations, and anxieties of those very spectators. For this reason, a brief overview of the social and administrative structure of democratic Athens is presented here.
The population of Athens was divided into ten groups. The territory centered around Athens—known as Attica—was subdivided into 30 regions, each of them referred to in Greek as a 'deme' or ‘demos’. Each of the ten groups was assigned three such demes. Every citizen was required to be a member of one of these demes. Members of these demes held equal rights within the governance system—a system termed 'democracy', a word that, in modern usage, denotes 'rule by the people’. What was this Athenian democracy like? In a sense, it stands as a unique phenomenon in world history—a striking example of the general public exercising active political power over an extended period. It should be noted, however, that Athenian society was divided into free individuals and slaves. Furthermore, among the free population, only male citizens participated in this democracy; slaves and women, by contrast, possessed virtually no rights. Nevertheless, all free male citizens—regardless of their wealth or poverty—shared in the decision-making process of the state and were eligible to hold almost any administrative position, whether military or civil. We gain insights into the governance and social life of democratic Athens through the writings of authors from that period; one such primary source is the treatise on the 'Constitution of the Athenians'[12] attributed to Aristotle[13]. In that treatise, Aristotle describes the evolution of democracy in Athens—a process that unfolded through various changes over the course of nearly 150 years—and provides a clear picture of its system of governance. Let us present a brief overview of that system, in Aristotle’s own words - “Democracy asserted its authority over all matters, and every administrative decision was reached through voting in the ‘Assembly’ (Ekklesia) and the law courts. Even the legislative power of the ‘Council’ (Boule) effectively remained in the hands of the people. This shift was undoubtedly a prudent one—had such power been confined to a small group, it would have inevitably become a hotbed of corruption, driven primarily by wealth and social standing, while the broader populace would have been sidelined. Initially, no monetary incentive was extended for attending at the Assembly. However, as all efforts by the Prytaneis[14] to ensure public attendance and participation in voting proved unsuccessful, Agyrrhius[15] introduced a payment of one obol[16] per person for each session. Later, Heracleides of Clazomenae[17]—known as ‘the King’—increased this amount to two obols. Subsequently, Agyrrhius raised it further to three obols.”
Although this work by Aristotle was written fifty years after the composition of ‘Philoctetes’, this relatively short interval did not result in any significant change within the democratic governance of Athens—a fact noted by Aristotle himself. The two primary pillars of the Athenian political system were the ‘Assembly’ and the ‘Council’. All citizens were eligible to participate in the Assembly. For the Council—which consisted of five hundred members—each tribe would select and send fifty representatives to serve for a one-year term. These selections were made not by a vote, but by a lottery. Interestingly, almost all official positions in Athens were filled through this lottery system, and all such appointments were for a duration of one year. Military officials, however—such as generals and commanders of the cavalry—were elected by a vote, also for a one-year term. The responsibility for convening and presiding over the Council and the Assembly rested with the prytaneis (presiding officers). Members from each tribe served as prytaneis on in rotation. The order was determined by a lottery. During the tenure of each group of prytaneis (lasting 35 or 36 days), the Assembly was convened four times. The Council met daily, excluding holidays. The prytaneis were responsible for setting the agenda—the list of topics to be discussed—for both the Council and the Assembly. Notably, one of the four Assembly sessions was specifically designated for setting agenda for discussion from the general public; any matter, whether personal or of public concern, could be brought forward for consideration. These Assemblies served as the core center of political power. Any prominent individual in society was required to account for their conduct and decisions before this body. If the citizenry remained dissatisfied, a majority vote could lead to the individual’s exile—or, in some cases, even the imposition of the death penalty. Naturally, eloquence and rhetorical skill played a dominant role in gatherings of this kind. In the Athens of that era, a struggle for political power unfolded between two factions. One faction was led by aristocrats, who sought to preserve the privileged status of their class. The opposing faction was committed to democracy. Initially, this democratic faction was also led by individuals from aristocratic backgrounds; however, its leadership gradually expanded to encompass various other segments of society. This transformation in the nature of democratic leadership took place during the course of the Peloponnesian War.
…
In contrast to the democratic system of Athens, one might also examine the oligarchic system of Sparta. Governance was in the hands of an elite group, though the system included safeguards to prevent any single individual from establishing a dictatorship. These elite administrators were elected by the ordinary citizens. Political power in Sparta was centered in three main bodies: the 'Popular Assembly' (Apella or Ekklesia); a senate of thirty members (Gerousia), which included the two kings of Sparta; and five 'Ephors' (public representatives). Of these, the Popular Assembly held virtually no real power; the citizens could only vote to elect members of the senate and the Ephors. Only individuals over the age of sixty could serve in the senate, and they held their positions for life. The Ephors, by contrast, were elected annually. While the senate served as the primary seat of power, the Ephors eventually grew to become extremely influential. Whenever a critical decision needed to be made, the Popular Assembly was convened, where the public could express their support or opposition solely through a voice vote. They had no right to participate in any deliberations, nor could they propose any changes to the wording of the decisions. For historical reasons, Sparta had two royal families, from which its kings were drawn. It is also worth noting that a form of egalitarian system existed in Sparta. This political and social structure was established by the Spartan lawgiver Lycurgus[18]—roughly four centuries before the play ‘Philoctetes’ was written—and remained largely unchanged throughout the long period that followed. In this society, the pursuit of personal wealth by free individuals was actively discouraged. The state assumed full responsibility for all aspects of a citizen's life, beginning with their education. Instead of cooking and dining within their own families, all citizens— kings, commoners, and administrators—ate their meals in a common dining place. Every citizen was required to be a member of a specific dining group, with each table accommodating approximately 15 members; new members could only be admitted with the collective consent of the existing group. Each member was expected to contribute a set portion of food supplies. Spartan women participated equally with men in education and physical training, though they played little role in military or political affairs. It is also important to note that Spartan society was a slave-based society, which included not only enslaved people but also a large population of serfs (Helots). These individuals possessed virtually no rights, yet they were responsible for all productive labor within the society. In this regard, democratic Athens was far more humane toward its enslaved population; according to Xenophon[19], striking an enslaved person was a punishable offense in Athens, and there was no visible distinction in attire or conduct between the enslaved and the free. The citizens of Sparta viewed themselves primarily as a military people; engaging in trade or commerce was considered contrary to their customs. Instead of gold or silver currency, they used a form of iron coinage, which made trade with the outside world unattractive. Sparta’s military might commanded respect and caution from other Greek city-states, who would often seek Spartan mediation when conflicts arose.
The conflict between Athens and Sparta also centered on this issue of prestige and status. Shortly after the Greek city-states, being united under the joint leadership of Sparta and Athens, successfully repelled the formidable Persian Empire, Athens emerged as a powerful state; it expanded its own empire by diminishing Spartan influence across various Greek territories. [20] Initially, drawn to the free, democratic society of Athens—and seeking to escape the rigid discipline imposed by Sparta—these city-states entered into an alliance with, and pledged their allegiance to, Athens. Over time, however, they began to rebel against Athenian imperial rule and economic exploitation. The seeds of Athens' eventual downfall lay within this very imperialist policy.
Compounding this was the opposition from Sparta. At the time, a conflict between two competing political systems—aristocracy and democracy—permeated the various city-states. Tensions between aristocratic and democratic factions were constant; naturally, the aristocratic groups looked to Sparta for support, while the proponents of democracy sought aid from Athens. Sparta and Athens were inevitably drawn into the disputes between these rival factions. The Peloponnesian War, in fact, originated from such internal factional conflicts.
…
At the onset of the Peloponnesian War, Athens was virtually unrivaled in both wealth and military power; its navy, in particular, was considered invincible. In the ancient world, maritime routes were of immense importance to trade and commerce across Greece and Asia Minor—routes that were then controlled by Athens. Consequently, Athens held the key to the trade of the civilized world at that time. As a result, few states—especially those situated along the coast or on islands—wished to risk economic ruin by opposing Athens. Emboldened by this, Athens entered the conflict with full determination, aiming to preserve and expand its influence and prestige. Sparta, by contrast, relied primarily on its land forces—highly disciplined troops trained as warriors from childhood. In his ‘History of the Peloponnesian War’[21], Thucydides[22] examines the relative positions of Athens and Sparta by recounting the arguments presented by the leaders of the time. King Archidamus of Sparta[23], for instance, expressed his reservations about initiating the war before the Spartan assembly as follows—
“Men of Sparta, I have the experience of many wars. There are many here of my own age and with similar experience; I am certain that, like me, they do not wish to be drawn into a war—a decision that would be both rash and ill-considered—merely out of a desire for victory or the dream of a peaceful post-war future. If you reflect upon the conflict you are currently discussing, you will grasp its true scale. While we might weigh ourselves against the Peloponnesians or our other immediate neighbors, such comparisons do not hold when facing a distant power—especially one that has attained extraordinary mastery in maritime operations. They are, in fact, exceptionally well-prepared in every respect: in private and public wealth, in naval vessels, in cavalry, in armed forces, and in the sheer size of their citizenry—none of the other Greek states can compare. Furthermore, they have their own subject allies. Why, then, should we be so reckless as to initiate this war? Why rush into it while we are so ill-prepared? Consider our naval strength—we are weak in this regard. If we are to prepare and reach a level of parity, we require time. And what of our finances? We possess no public treasury, nor any significant private wealth. Perhaps our confidence stems from our armed forces and our large population; yet, Athens holds numerous colonies and can import whatever it requires by sea. Moreover, if we intend to incite rebellion among Athens’ allies, we would need a powerful navy of our own—for most of those allies reside on islands. Unless we defeat Athens at sea or cut off the revenues they derive from these islands, we shall gain nothing but suffering. Once we take the responsibility of initiating this war, we will be bound to see it through to defend our honor. Do not for a moment imagine that this conflict will end quickly; on the contrary, I fear that we may well bequeath this war to our descendants, and that the bitter memory of this campaign against Athens will continue to haunt them.”
While Archidamus is hesitant about starting a war, Pericles[24]—the leading statesman of Athens at the time—is brimming with confidence. His argument in favor of war—
“Citizens of Athens, my one and only principle is this: no concessions should be made to the Peloponnesians[25]. I am well aware that the fervent support people show for a war at its outset often wanes under the pressures of reality. Nevertheless, I stand by my counsel—word for word, just as I have before—that we must go to war. ... It was already becoming clear that Sparta was acting with a deliberate intent to move against us; now, that has become even more evident. According to our treaty[26], any disputes between us ought to be resolved through legal channels—and until such a resolution is reached, neither side should infringe upon the rights of the other. Yet, Sparta has never chosen this path, nor have they ever proposed a legal settlement. Instead, they seek war; they are unwilling to engage in any form of negotiation. One day they demand that we lift the siege of Potidaea[27]; the next, they insist that we grant independence to Aegina[28]. Do not, for a moment, imagine that we are being driven to war solely over the Megarian Decree[29]—though that may appear to be their primary demand. Do not be deceived; this trivial demand is merely a test of our resolve. If you yield so easily now, be prepared to make even greater concessions later. Conversely, by firmly saying ‘no,’ we make it clear that we are equally prepared to fight. Therefore, we must decide in favor of war—and we must do so without delay. Either submit before suffering any losses, or prepare for battle. We must not retreat out of fear of the harsh challenges that may lie ahead. Our stance against making any concessions must remain firm. We demand the status of equals. If a neighbor arrives at our gates not with a proposal for a legal settlement, but with the drums of war, and we are expected to bow to their demands—what greater form of servitude could there be?
If one were to assess the relative strength and resources of both sides, it would become clear that Athens is, in no respect, inferior to its adversary. Most of the Peloponnesians are engaged in agriculture; they possess little in the way of personal or national wealth. Furthermore, they lack any experience in prolonged naval warfare. This poverty is a major obstacle to sustaining a war. Maintaining a navy or deploying additional troops to support their cause is a daunting challenge for them, as they are reluctant to remain away from their homes for long periods. Moreover, bearing the costs of war would prove burdensome. They have no control over the seas. Only accumulated wealth can sustain a war, and one cannot rely on sporadic, emergency-based private contributions to fund a long-drawn-out conflict. Farmers, when faced with the demands of war, would invariably prefer to participate personally rather than contribute financially—assuming, of course, that they will return home unscathed. And who can say when their resources might run dry—especially if the conflict proves to be long-lasting? That is precisely what is likely to happen here. While the Peloponnesians might succeed against all of Greece in a single, specific engagement, they are ill-equipped to sustain a protracted war—particularly against an adversary so fundamentally different from themselves. Establishing a unified command center for their war effort would be difficult, and sustaining an army composed of diverse peoples is no simple task. Each group would have its own distinct agenda: some might seek the total destruction of a particular enemy, while others might simply look for a way to escape the heat of the conflict. Forming an alliance would take time, and agreeing upon a common objective would be even harder; they would constantly attempt to shift the burden of responsibility onto one another.
Ultimately, however, it is the financial constraint that poses the greatest hurdle. Securing the necessary funds will take time—but in war, does ‘opportunity’ ever wait? We need not fear that they will be able to maintain a blockade across Attica, nor should we be concerned about their naval power. Even in times of peace, maintaining a siege against an enemy city is no easy feat. They will certainly be unable to prevent our maritime incursions, given that our proficiency in naval operations—which sustains our very way of life—is so well-developed. Moreover, their land forces will be of little help to those living at sea. If we have not yet mastered the art of naval warfare—even after all this time since the conflict with Persia began—how could it possibly be easy for these agrarian populations, who are entirely unaccustomed to seafaring, to do so? Furthermore, the mere presence of our troops in these small city-states will suffice; they will not dare to engage in war, and will gradually become timid and unaccustomed to military life. …. Even if they were to attempt to use the treasures from the temples at Delphi or Olympia[30] —or sought to entice foreign residents with further financial incentives, which could indeed become a source of trouble for us—we would still be well-equipped to contend with them. This is because our own citizenry includes a large number of highly skilled sailors, and our foreign residents, fearing that they might become outcasts in their own homelands, will remain firmly on our side.
These are the ways in which our situation differs from that of the Peloponnesians. They face various obstacles that we do not. Should they advance against our land with an army, we shall set sail with our fleet and strike at their territories. Even if the whole of Attica were to be left deserted, the impact of such an attack on a portion of their own lands would be far greater than any loss we might suffer. They have no means to abandon their homelands, whereas we are capable of establishing settlements across various lands and islands. ... Therefore, this is the policy we must adopt for the future: we must not cling to our lands and property; instead, we must remain ever-vigilant in protecting our seas and our city. Given the numerical superiority of the Peloponnesians, we cannot afford to engage them in direct land warfare. Even if we were to win one battle, we would only face an equally large enemy force in the next—while a single defeat could prove catastrophic. We must prioritize the preservation of our people over our possessions; for it is not property that defines a people, but the people who claim and secure such property. I advise you, therefore, to destroy your own property if necessary—show the Peloponnesians that you are not the sort of people to submit.
I am quite optimistic about our victory in this war, provided you agree with me on a few key points. We must not embark on any new expeditions at this time, nor should we voluntarily court even the slightest risk. In truth, I fear our own rashness far more than I fear the strength of the enemy. ...... We must clearly understand that the war is inevitable. The sooner we accept this reality, the more effectively we can undermine the morale of our adversaries. It is in the face of such extreme peril that both a nation and its individuals can attain the greatest glory. Did our own ancestors not fight against the Persians, even when they were in a position of relative weakness? Did they not win the war by forsaking their possessions[31] and relying on their own intelligence and courage? Was that merely a stroke of good fortune? We ought to follow in their footsteps. The enemy must be opposed in every possible way, at any cost. Only then can we spare our descendants the shame of having had our sovereignty bartered away.”
It is worth noting that Pericles played a pivotal role in the expansion of Athenian power and the development of its democracy. For nearly forty years, he served as the undisputed leader of the people, exerting influence over virtually every major decision. It is rare to find such a long-lasting individual impact within the democratic framework of that era. Consequently, his tenure is often referred to as the "Age of Pericles”[32], even though he always participated in governance strictly as an elected representative of the people. During the early part of his leadership, he focused intently on expanding the Athenian empire, eventually securing a thirty-year peace treaty with Sparta—an agreement that ensured peace and stability for Athens. Throughout this period, he also dedicated himself to transforming Athens into a preeminent center for art and culture. He possessed an immense, unwavering faith in the strength of democratic Athens. In the writings of Thucydides, this perspective on democracy—attributed to him—is presented:
“Our constitution is not a copy of those of our neighbors; rather, it serves as an inspiration to others. Its system of governance favors the majority over the few—which is why it is called democracy. If we examine our legal system, we find that it remains impartial in the private disputes of citizens. Participation in our governance is not determined by social standing; merit is not measured by class. Thus, poverty is no barrier for a capable individual to serve the state. The freedom we enjoy within our political system extends into our private lives as well. Neighbors do not pry unnecessarily into one another’s affairs. Yet, this relaxed approach to personal relations does not lead to lawlessness. We harbor a collective fear of lawlessness—and that fear is the key to our security. It teaches us to respect our judges and our laws. Above all, we are ever-vigilant in protecting those in distress—regardless of what may be written in the statute books. ... Our foreign policy, too, stands in stark contrast to that of our adversaries. We keep our city open to the world; we impose no restrictive laws to prevent foreigners from learning or traveling here, even if such openness might benefit our enemies. In the realm of education—where our rivals subject their youth to rigid, lifelong discipline—we in Athens are free to grow as we choose. Yet, we remain prepared to face any danger. Consider this: Sparta never dared to attack us alone; they always brought their allies along. In contrast, we Athenians have often triumphed on foreign battlefields without any assistance from neighboring states. Furthermore, our enemies have never truly encountered the full force of our combined power, as our citizens are engaged in various pursuits—even during wartime—and are frequently deployed across different lands. ... In short, our city is the school of Greece. I doubt whether anyone else in the world could lead a life as free as ours, amidst such great diversity.”
At the onset of the Peloponnesian War, Athens was brimming with self-confidence. Yet, very early on, it faced a catastrophic disaster—one that did not arrive through the flash of an enemy’s sword, but in the form of a devastating plague. For nearly two years, the epidemic ravaged the city of Athens, inflicting a severe blow to its vitality. Pericles had evacuated the population from Attica, bringing them within the safety of the city’s walls to preserve the state’s human resources; however, the plague shattered his calculations. In its final, lethal strike, the epidemic claimed the life of Pericles himself. Athens was never able to fill the void left by his passing. For this reason, the writings of a historian from defeated, post-war Athens reflect a profound sense of regret: “During peacetime, while he stood at the helm of the state, he pursued a cautious, low-risk policy—a period during which the state reached the pinnacle of its greatness. Even when war broke out, his assessment of his country’s strength proved remarkably accurate. He lived for two and a half years after the conflict began, and the soundness of his judgment was subsequently vindicated. He had urged the Athenians to exercise patience, to safeguard and strengthen their navy, to refrain from embarking on new expeditions, and to avoid exposing the city to unnecessary peril. He had assured them that following this course would lead to a favorable outcome. Yet, they did the exact opposite; they prioritized their own personal ambitions and self-interest. They engaged in ventures and activities unrelated to the war—actions that were entirely ill-advised. Had these endeavors succeeded, they would have served only to further the ambitions and interests of a few individuals; instead, their failure pushed the nation toward total ruin. It is not difficult to understand why these individuals were able to sway the public. Pericles, by virtue of his position, his competence, his unquestionable integrity, and his profound wisdom, exercised a unique authority over the populace. Because he never sought power through illicit means, he was under no obligation to pander to the masses. On the contrary, he commanded such immense respect that he did not hesitate to oppose the public, even at the risk of provoking their anger. Whenever he sensed them becoming recklessly arrogant or overconfident, a few well-chosen words would serve as a stern warning. Conversely, when they were gripped by panic and despair, he could restore their confidence in an instant. In short, while nominally a democracy, the state was, during his tenure, effectively governed by its ‘first citizen.’ This changed under his successors, as they became rivals to one another—leaving the state at the mercy of the masses. It fell victim to caprice—perhaps an inevitable consequence for a great, independent state. As a result, Athens had to pay the price for a series of blunders, the Sicilian expedition being one of them. Yet, despite such setbacks, Athens managed to sustain the struggle for a long time, ultimately surrendering only due to its own internal disarray[33]. So immense was its wealth that the genius of Pericles could confidently foresee an easy victory over the Peloponnesians, who lacked the support of external allies.”
The regret over Athens' failure in the Peloponnesian War likely left its mark on the writings of Sophocles. Perhaps it was in light of the experience—where, despite having highly favorable circumstances, the city ultimately faced such adversity—that he had Philoctetes deliver this warning to Neoptolemus:
[
Philoctetes: ... Behold what terrible curses can descend upon this fleeting human life. Do not take comfort in your apparent security; you never know when a dire peril might suddenly confront you. Therefore, remain ever vigilant.
]
And intertwined with this is the lament of Philoctetes: "Why do the gods take away good people?" Undoubtedly, in the heart of Sophocles, Pericles was one of those "good" men.
…
Yet, at the end of the play, the playwright offers a message of hope. Following the mythological narrative of the Trojan War, Philoctetes moves toward both a cure for his affliction and ultimate victory; in this sense, the ending remains consistent with the traditional story.[34] Yet, transcending the familiar boundaries of the myth, the playwright’s optimistic vision resonates through the voices of Philoctetes and the chorus. He expresses the hope that Athens might halt its decline and reclaim its former glory—a sentiment that reflects the mindset of the Athenian public at the time. A glimpse of this is captured in a dialogue between Socrates[35] and the son of Pericles (who was also named Pericles), as recorded by Xenophon in his recollections of Socrates. In this exchange, when the younger Pericles[36]—distressed by the decay of Athens and anxious about impending catastrophe—expresses his despair, Socrates seeks to hearten him by highlighting the indomitable self-confidence and vitality of the Athenian people, while urging him to provide capable leadership. At that time, the younger Pericles was serving as one of the ten generals of the war. When Socrates congratulated him on his election as a general and voiced his hope for an Athenian victory, he could not entirely conceal his underlying despondency. He says,
“Perhaps you mean to say that on wings of beauty and courage, humanity has taken flight and forsaken our city.. For instance, when will the Athenians ever learn to respect their elders, as the Spartans do? Instead, they begin by treating their own aged fathers with disrespect, hurling insults and mockery at them. When will they turn their attention to the healthy habits that build a sound body, rather than ridiculing those who dedicate themselves to such pursuits? When will we learn to respect our judges once again, instead of taking pride in defying their authority? When will we ever be united? Currently, we sacrifice the common good, preoccupied instead with character assassination. Our animosity toward our neighbors seems to run even deeper than our hostility toward the outside world. Our greatest failure, however, lies in the fact that—whether in private or public discourse—we are fractured by conflicting opinions, ensnared in endless legal disputes, and, rather than helping a neighbor in distress, we are busy scheming for our own personal gain. It is this very behavior that has led us to our false pride where we equate our own national interest with that of foreign powers—treating our national interest as if it were a mere plaything, and deriving a foolish pleasure from it. Our state rests upon a powder keg—burdened by the blind ignorance and cowardice of its own citizens. Hatred and mutual distrust have taken root in the hearts of our people. My heart trembles with apprehension when I think of what the future holds for us.”
These words of Pericles of the second generation seem to refute the words of his great father at the beginning of the war. Incidentally, this dialogue of Pericles the Younger with Socrates is contemporary with the writing of 'Philoctetes'. The year after ‘Philoctetes’ was written, the Athenian public took the drastic decision to execute six generals over a naval accident. Among those generals was this Pericles. Socrates, however, did not sympathize with Pericles' despair. Instead pleaded earnestly,
" Please, do not unnecessarily belittle the people of Athens. Don’t you see the discipline of the naval forces? Don’t you see the innate discipline of the citizens in the gymnastic contests? Don’t you notice the unquestioning devotion to the teachers in the teaching of their chorus?"
Socrates therefore calls on Pericles to shake off the despair and provide resolute leadership. The belief that the people of Athens will not accept defeat so easily is evidenced by Socrates' speech. They still dream of restoring their lost empire. Perhaps Sophocles also shared that dream. So like Socrates, the octogenarian playwright, having lived through many springs, yet awaits the arrival of another.
12/11/2026
(Translated from an article written in Bengali in November, 2005 with the help of Google Translate.)
[1] Sophocles (c. 497/496–406/405 BCE) was one of the three supreme tragedians of classical Athens—alongside Aeschylus and Euripides—whose ninety-year life spanned the entire arc of Athens’s fifth-century ascent, Golden Age triumph, and slow disintegration in the Peloponnesian War, and whose seven surviving tragedies defined the dramatic architecture and moral psychology of Western theater. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[2] Philoctetes is a tragic Greek hero and master archer of the Trojan War, best known for possessing the invincible bow of Heracles and enduring ten years of agonizing exile on a deserted island after being abandoned by his own comrades. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[3] Neoptolemus (also known as Pyrrhus) is the son of the legendary Greek warrior Achilles and Princess Deidamia of Scyros, celebrated as a decisive hero in the final fall of Troy yet notorious in classical literature for his brutal conduct during the city's sack. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[4] Achilles is the foremost Greek warrior of the Trojan War and the central figure of Homer’s Iliad, revered as the epitome of heroic prowess and defined by his fateful choice between a long, obscure life and a short life of eternal glory. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[5] Odysseus (known to the Romans as Ulysses) is the legendary king of Ithaca and the consummate strategist of Greek mythology, famed for his unmatched intellect, silver-tongued persuasion, and resourcefulness —qualities celebrated in Homer’s Odyssey but viewed with deep suspicion in fifth-century Athenian tragedy. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[6] Oedipus at Colonus (Oidipous epi Kolōnō) is the final tragedy written by Sophocles—composed shortly before his death in 406 BCE and staged posthumously in 401 BCE—dramatizing the final hours, moral vindication, and mysterious apotheosis of the blinded, exiled king of Thebes on the outskirts of Athens. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[7] The Peloponnesian War (431–404 BCE) was a devastating 27-year conflict fought between the Delian League, led by maritime and democratic Athens, and the Peloponnesian League, led by land-based, oligarchic Sparta—a struggle that shattered the Golden Age of Greece and directly shaped the political and moral anxiety of Sophocles' late tragedies. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[8] The Sicilian Expedition (415–413 BCE) was a massive, hubristic Athenian military invasion of the island of Sicily—targeted primarily at the wealthy Corinthian colony of Syracuse—that ended in the total annihilation of Athens's expeditionary fleet and army, permanently shifting the balance of the Peloponnesian War. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[9] Alcibiades (c. 450–404 BCE) was the most brilliant, charismatic, and polarizing Athenian statesman and general of the Peloponnesian War—a figure of dazzling talent and boundless ambition whose repeated betrayals and shifting allegiances embodied the instability of late fifth-century Athens. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[10] Nicias (c. 470–413 BCE) was a wealthy, conservative, and deeply pious Athenian general and statesman who emerged as the foremost leader of the moderate peace faction after Pericles' death—and whose tragic inability to match his personal virtue with decisive leadership doomed the Sicilian Expedition. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[11] Demosthenes (d. 413 BC), son of Alcisthenes, was Athens's most daring and innovative military commander during the Peloponnesian War—a sharp tactical contrast to the cautious, conservative Nicias. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[12] The Constitution of the Athenians (Athenaion Politeia) is a foundational historical and political treatise detailing the evolution, structure, and institutions of the Athenian democracy, attributed to the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle (or his school) and composed between 330 and 322 BCE. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[13] Aristotle (384–322 BCE) was a foundational ancient Greek polymath, philosopher, and empirical scientist whose systematic treatises on logic, metaphysics, ethics, politics, biology, and literary criticism shaped Western, Islamic, and medieval intellectual traditions for over two millennia. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[14] The prytaneis (sing.: prytanis) were the executives of the Council or Boule of Ancient Athens. They served in a prytaneion. - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prytaneis
[15] Agyrrhius (active c. 405–388 BCE) was a prominent Athenian democratic politician, financier, and general of the early fourth century BCE—best known in Aristotle’s Constitution of the Athenians for introducing and expanding Assembly pay (ekklesiastikon), a pivotal reform that enabled poorer citizens to participate directly in Athenian democracy. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[16] A silver coin of the smallest amount that could be traded then.
[17] Heracleides of Clazomenae (nicknamed ho Basileus, "the King"; active c. 424–390s BCE) was a naturalized Athenian diplomat, general, and populist politician of Ionian birth—notable both as one of the rare foreigners granted Athenian citizenship for diplomatic service and as the rival who doubled Assembly pay (ekklesiastikon) in Aristotle’s Constitution of the Athenians. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[18] Lycurgus of Sparta (c. the 9th-8th Century BCE) was the quasi-mythical lawgiver credited by ancient authors (such as Herodotus, Xenophon, and Plutarch) with establishing Sparta’s unique constitutional and military system—the Great Rhetra—transforming Sparta from an ordinary Greek polis into a disciplined, egalitarian warrior state (Homoioi, "the Equals"). (Ack. Google Gemini)
[19] Xenophon (c. 430–354 BCE) was an Athenian soldier, historian, Socratic philosopher, and essayist—famed for leading the legendary Greek mercenary "Ten Thousand" (Anabasis) out of the Persian Empire and for leaving behind an extraordinarily versatile body of historical, philosophical, and practical treatises.
[20] In Greco-Persian Wars (499–449 BCE)—specifically the decisive defense of mainland Greece during King Xerxes I's invasion of 480–479 BCE, a coalition of rival Greek City States or poleis (the Hellenic League) set aside internal rivalries under the complementary military leadership of Sparta on land and Athens at sea to defeat the vast Achaemenid Persian Empire. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[21] The History of the Peloponnesian War is a monumental, eight-book contemporary account of the conflict between Athens and Sparta (431–404 BCE), written by the Athenian general and historian Thucydides (c. 460–c. 400 BCE) and widely regarded as the foundational work of scientific historiography and political realism. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[22] Thucydides (c. 460–c. 400 BCE) was an aristocratic Athenian general, historian, and intellectual whose unfinished History of the Peloponnesian War established the standards of historical inquiry, rigorous evidence-gathering, and political realism for the Western world. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[23] Archidamus II (reigned c. 469–427 BCE) was the Eurypontid king of Sparta who commanded the Peloponnesian forces at the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War and whose cautious, deliberate military strategy defined the opening decade of the conflict. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[24] Pericles (c. 495–429 BCE) was the preeminent statesman, orator, and general of Athens during its Golden Age—a visionary populist aristocrat whose unmatched political dominance, cultural patronage, and naval strategy defined the peak of Athenian democracy and shaped the tragic crucible of the Peloponnesian War. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[25] The Peloponnesians—collectively designating the inhabitants, city-states, and military coalition of the Peloponnese peninsula in southern Greece—formed the backbone of the Peloponnesian League, the dominant land-based military alliance led by Sparta that opposed Athens throughout the Peloponnesian War (431–404 BCE). Key members of this league were Sparta, Megara, Corinth and Boeotia (Thebes). (Ack. Google Gemini)
[26] The Thirty years’ peace treaty (446/445 BCE) - Following the outbreak of the First Peloponnesian War (c. 460–446 BCE)—fought across central Greece between Athens's burgeoning land empire and the Peloponnesian League—both exhausted states agreed to a formal truce. The treaty formally recognized two distinct, competing spheres of influence: Athens retained undisputed control of its maritime empire (the Delian League) and its Aegean trade routes, while Sparta and its allies maintained hegemony over the Peloponnese. Crucially, neutral city-states (poleis) were permitted to join either alliance, and provisions were made for binding arbitration (dike) to resolve future disputes peacefully without resorting to war. Lasting barely fourteen years, the treaty disintegrated in 433–431 BCE when escalating regional crises—specifically Athenian intervention in Corcyra and the Megarian Decree—pushed Corinth and Sparta to declare that Athens had violated the terms, plunging Greece into the ultimate conflict chronicled by Thucydides. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[27] The Siege of Potidaea (432–430 BCE) was one of the critical, escalating flashpoints that directly triggered the Peloponnesian War—a bitter, two-year investment of a rebellious Corinthian colony by Athenian forces that forced Sparta and its Peloponnesian allies into open conflict. Located on the narrow isthmus of the Pallene peninsula in Chalcidice, Potidaea was originally a Corinthian colony. However, because it had later joined the Athenian-led Delian League, it paid annual tribute to Athens. As Athenian-Corinthian tensions mounted over regional hegemony in northern Greece, Athens demanded that Potidaea tear down its seaward defensive walls, dismiss Corinthian magistrates (epidamiurgoi), and expel Corinthian envoys to preempt a revolt. Refusing these humiliating terms, Potidaea openly revolted in 432 BCE, backed by a secret promise from Sparta to invade Attica if Athens attacked. Athens dispatched a powerful expeditionary force of 3,000 hoplitic troops and 70 ships to subdue the city. Trapped inside the city as the Plague of Athens raged across Greece, the starving defenders were reduced to eating one another before finally surrendering (430 BCE). The Athenian generals permitted the surviving citizens and Corinthian garrison to evacuate unharmed, while Athens later settled its own cleruchy (citizen colony) on the ruins. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[28] The wealthy island-state of Aegina—situated strategically in the Saronic Gulf just 20 miles from the Athenian port of Piraeus was a commercial powerhouse and a dominant naval thalassocracy, competing fiercely with Athens for dominance in the Saronic Gulf and the Aegean Sea. When Athens successfully converted the Delian League into an imperial apparatus following the Persian Wars, Aegina—along with a few other autonomous island states—found itself pressured to submit to Athenian hegemony or face subjugation. Seeking to break away from Athenian taxation and imperial control, Aegina openly revolted (c. 458/457 BCE), drawing assistance from Spartan and Peloponnesian allies (such as Corinth) who wished to check Athens's expanding naval dominance. In a fierce naval battle off Aegina, the Athenians crushed the Aeginetans. Following their naval victory, the Athenians landed on the island and laid siege to the city of Aegina for nine months until the starving population surrendered. Aegina’s subjugation remained a raw wound in Greek politics right up to the official outbreak of the main Peloponnesian War. In 431 BCE—the very first year of the war—fearful that the strategically vital island would revolt again or serve as a staging ground for Sparta, the Athenian Assembly took the draconian step of expelling the entire indigenous Aeginetan population from the island. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[29] The Megarian Decree (c. 433/432 BCE) was a sweeping set of economic sanctions passed by the Athenian Assembly on the proposal of Pericles, barring merchants of the neighboring city-state of Megara from all harbors of the Athenian Empire and from the Athenian Agora (marketplace)—an act of economic warfare that served as the immediate diplomatic flashpoint for the Peloponnesian War. At the Spartan War Congress of 432 BCE, Megarian envoys joined Corinth in demanding Spartan intervention. Sparta subsequently sent ambassadors to Athens declaring that war could still be averted if Athens simply revoked the Megarian Decree. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[30] The treasures from the temples at Delphi and Olympia functioned as the sacred financial reserves, diplomatic vaults, and monumental dedications of the ancient Greek world—wealth amassed over centuries from grateful city-states, victorious generals, and foreign monarchs, which became a central strategic temptation during the Peloponnesian War. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[31] The Athenian strategy for resisting the Persian army evolved dramatically across the two Persian invasions of Greece—shifting from a conventional hoplite stand on the plains of Marathon (490 BCE) to an audacious, asymmetric maritime strategy engineered by Themistocles during King Xerxes I's invasion (480–479 BCE), which sacrificed the physical city of Athens to destroy the Persian fleet at Salamis. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[32] The Age of Pericles (roughly 461–429 BCE, also known as the Golden Age of Athens) denotes the three decades between the end of the Greco-Persian Wars and the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War when Pericles dominated Athenian politics—an era defined by the radicalization of direct democracy, the height of Athens's Aegean maritime empire, and an unmatched flowering of tragedy, philosophy, architecture, and sculpture. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[33] Athens surrendered to Sparta in 404 BCE, ending the 27-year-long Peloponnesian War after their defeat in the Battle of Aegospotami (405 BCE), where Spartan general Lysander launched a surprise attack that virtually destroyed the Athenian fleet and cut off Athens' vital Black Sea grain supply lines.
[34] Upon arriving at Troy, Philoctetes' festering wound was finally healed by the Greek physician Machaon (or Podalirius). Returning to combat, Philoctetes challenged and shot Paris—the Trojan prince whose abduction of Helen had sparked the war—killing him with Heracles' Hydra-poisoned arrows. With Paris dead and Troy's key defenders eliminated, the Trojans' morale collapsed, paving the way for the stratagem of the Trojan Horse and the final sack of the city. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[35] Socrates (c. 470–399 BCE) was an Athenian stonemason, war veteran, and philosopher who left no writings of his own yet permanently transformed Western philosophy by shifting inquiry from cosmological speculation to ethics, self-examination, and the definition of virtue—ultimately dying by state-ordered hemlock in the turbulent aftermath of the Peloponnesian War. (Ack. Google Gemini)
[36] Pericles the Younger (c. 445–406 BCE) was the illegitimate son of the Athenian statesman Pericles and his celebrated Milesian consort Aspasia—a tragic figure of the late Peloponnesian War who was granted Athenian citizenship by special decree after the Plague of Athens wiped out his father's legitimate heirs, rose to become an Athenian general (strategos), and was executed by his own city following his victory in the Battle of Arginusae (406 BCE) but failing to rescue roughly 1,000–2,000 shipwrecked Athenian sailors immediately after the battle, as a violent Aegean gale prevented them from the task. (Ack. Google Gemini)
