Atheism in Pagan Antiquity — Background and Themes
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n was in reality political; the idea being to hit Pericles through his friend the naturalist. What Anaxagoras was charged with was that he had assumed that the heavenly bodies were natural objects; he had taught that the sun was a red-hot mass, and that the moon was earth and larger than Peloponnese. To base an accusation of impiety on this, it was necessary first to carry a public resolution, giving power to prosecute those who gave natural explanations of heavenly phenomena.
As to Anaxagoras’s attitude to popular belief, we hear next to nothing apart from this. There is a story of a ram’s head being found with one horn in the middle of the forehead; it was brought to Pericles, and the soothsayer Lampon explained the portent to the effect that, of the two men, Pericles and Thucydides, who contended for the leadership of Athens, one should prove victorious. Anaxagoras, on the other hand, had the ram’s head cut open and showed that the brain did not fill up the cranium, but was egg-shaped and lay gathered together at the point where the horn grew out. He evidently thought that abortions also, which otherwise were generally considered as signs from the gods, were due to natural causes. Beyond this, nothing is said of any attack on the popular belief on the part of Anaxagoras, and in his philosophy nothing occurred which logically entailed a denial of the existence of the gods. Add to this that it was necessary to create a new judicial basis for the accusation against Anaxagoras, and it can be taken as certain that neither in his writings nor in any other way did he come forward in public as a denier of the gods.
It is somewhat different when we consider the purely personal point of view of Anaxagoras. The very fact that no expression of his opinion concerning the gods has been transmitted affords food for thought. Presumably there was none; but this very fact is notable when we bear in mind that the earlier naturalists show no such reticence. Add to this that, if there is any place and any time in which we might expect a complete emancipation from popular belief, combined with a decided disinclination to give expression to it, it is Athens under Pericles. Men like Pericles and his friends represent a high level, perhaps the zenith, in Hellenic culture. That they were critical of many of the religious conceptions of their time we may take for granted; as to Pericles himself, this is actually stated as a fact, and the accusations of impiety directed against Aspasia and Pheidias prove that orthodox circles were very well aware of it. But the accusations prove, moreover, that Pericles and those who shared his views were so much in advance of their time that they could not afford to let their free-thinking attitude become a matter of public knowledge without endangering their political position certainly, and possibly even more than that. To be sure, considerations of that kind did not weigh with Anaxagoras; but he was—and that we know on good authority—a quiet scholar whose ideal of life was to devote himself to problems of natural science, and he can hardly have wished to be disturbed in this occupation by affairs in which he took no sort of interest. The question is then only how far men like Pericles and himself may have ventured in their criticism. Though all direct tradition is wanting, we have at any rate circumstantial evidence possessing a certain degree of probability.
Drachmann opens his inquiry by confronting a definitional problem: atheism in pagan antiquity cannot be equated with modern denial of God. He narrows the term to mean rejection of the existence of the ancient gods—a stance that, he notes, has become universal among modern readers. This framing immediately distinguishes his project from philosophical atheism and anchors it in the concrete religious conceptions of Greeks and Romans.
The excerpts show a methodical reliance on textual evidence: oracles, novels, historical accounts, and philosophical treatises. Drachmann does not merely assert decline in belief; he cites specific episodes—the Phocian seizure of Delphi, Polybius on Dicaearchus’s altars to “godlessness and lawlessness”—to trace changing attitudes. His approach is philological and historical, not speculative.
Defining Atheism by Its Ancient Context
Drachmann’s introduction establishes a crucial distinction: his study concerns not philosophical atheism but the denial of the gods of popular worship. He writes that “we are nowadays all of us atheists” regarding the Greek and Roman pantheon, a claim that reframes the inquiry as an investigation into how ancient people themselves understood disbelief. The definition is deliberately narrow, excluding later philosophical concepts of God. This precision allows Drachmann to examine specific accusations of atheism—such as those leveled against Socrates or the Epicureans—without anachronism. The excerpts do not reveal whether he applies this definition consistently throughout the book, but the opening chapters likely trace the term’s usage from Homeric times through late antiquity.
Evidence from Literature and Religious Practice
Drachmann draws on diverse sources to gauge the weakening of traditional belief. He points to the Hellenistic novels, where fate is governed by Tyche rather than the gods, and notes that these works reached a broad audience. He also examines the decline of oracles: the Delphic Oracle’s loss of political influence after the Holy War, Strabo’s observation of indifference in his day, and Plutarch’s monograph on oracles ceasing to function. The detail that Delphi once employed three priestesses but later needed only one is a concrete marker of diminished demand. Drachmann interprets these phenomena as symptoms of a shift in religious sentiment, though he acknowledges that the connection to atheism is not always straightforward.
Historical Episodes and the Question of Motive
The excerpts include a striking account of Philip V’s admiral Dicaearchus, who reportedly erected altars to “godlessness and lawlessness” and sacrificed on them. Drachmann cites Polybius as the source, noting that the admiral’s practice “must have answered to his theory.” This episode illustrates how acts of impiety could be interpreted as deliberate statements. Drachmann also discusses the destruction of temples during the war between Philip and the Aetolians, suggesting that such actions reflect a weakening of reverence for the old gods. However, he does not claim that these acts prove widespread atheism; rather, he presents them as evidence of changing attitudes toward sacred spaces and institutions.
Drachmann’s study is best approached as a philological investigation rather than a philosophical argument. Readers should attend to his careful separation of ancient and modern definitions of atheism, and to the way he uses specific historical events and literary texts as evidence. The excerpts suggest a work that is cautious in its claims, grounding broad observations in particular sources. Those interested in the history of religion or classical reception will find a methodical treatment of a topic often treated anachronistically.
I kept thinking about how the ancients questioned what everyone else simply accepted as truth. It made me wonder about the quiet persistence of belief itself, and how these old stories shape what we hold onto. That feeling followed me into The Bible in its Making: The most Wonderful Book in the World — Edition Insights, which felt like watching a different kind of certainty take form, slowly, almost gently. Strange how both stayed with me.
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