Why the Agora Was the Heart of Athenian Democracy

At the foot of the Acropolis in Athens, Greece, lies the Agora, the civic center where ancient democracy took shape. Once crowded with merchants, magistrates and philosophers such as Socrates, it served as the city’s political and commercial hub. Within this open square, Athenians tested a new form of governance—one that placed the power of decision in the hands of ordinary citizens.

“Athenian democracy was predicated on the idea that most citizens could and would be actively engaged in making the system not only run but succeed,” says Jessica Paga, an archaeologist and architectural historian at William & Mary. “And so much of this engagement happened in the Agora, which is why it’s considered the physical heart of Athenian democracy.”

More than two millennia later, the Agora remains a powerful symbol of civic engagement and transparency. Its artifacts, whether shards of pottery or bronze ballots (psephoi), demonstrate that democracy was born not in palaces or fortresses, but in a public space where citizens met to speak, listen and shape their collective future.

The term agora comes from the Greek word meaning “to gather.” Beginning around the sixth century B.C., the Agora evolved from a simple public gathering spot into a carefully designed civic center. Bordered by stoas—long, covered colonnades offering shade and shelter—it contained temples, fountains, workshops and government buildings. Citizens from all walks of life mingled, bringing together commerce, religion and politics in a single dynamic space.

“For a participatory system—like democracy—to work,” Paga says, “it is important that citizens encounter each other in a myriad of ways and in a plurality of situations, all of which was facilitated by the Agora and its multipurpose development."

The Agora’s physical layout reflected its civic purpose. Built around 500 B.C., the Bouleuterion, or council house, held meetings of the Boule, a 500-member committee chosen by lottery to prepare legislation for the citizen assembly.

“People going to the Agora for other purposes—like frequenting the market stalls, drawing water from the fountain houses and so on—would have seen the Bouleuterion and councilors attending meetings,” says Paga. “In this way, the participatory nature of democracy was on full view and inserted into the daily, lived experiences of the people living there.”

Nearby stood the Tholos, a round building constructed in the mid-fifth century B.C. that functioned as both a dining hall and dormitory for 50 rotating council members known as the prytaneis. These officials “were responsible for determining the topics to be discussed in the Boule—essentially a steering committee,” explains Nicholas Hudson, an archaeologist specializing in the Roman and Late Antique Mediterranean at the University of North Carolina Wilmington. Their on-site presence ensured the government could operate without interruption, even overnight or during emergencies.

Not far from the Tholos stood the Stoa Basileios, or royal stoa, where the city’s chief magistrate, the archon basileus, oversaw legal matters. It was here that Athens’ laws were engraved on stone slabs and displayed openly, and where officials swore their oaths on a large stone at the stoa's steps. Both acts reinforced that power was to be both shared and accountable.

Buried beneath centuries of later settlements, the Agora was rediscovered in the 1930s, revealing more than 30 acres of public buildings and artifacts that captured how deeply Athenians valued civic life. Among them are ostraka—shards of pottery used to exile a citizen deemed too powerful. To protect the system from tyranny, Athenians could scratch a name onto a piece, and if enough votes were cast, that person was banished for 10 years.

The Athenians also relied on kleroteria, marble machines used to randomly select jurors and officials. Citizens placed bronze identity tokens into the slots, and a metal rod released colored balls to determine who was chosen. In the Heliaia, the city’s largest court, jurors chosen by lottery voted with bronze discs bearing solid or hollow centers to indicate guilt or innocence, preserving anonymity and integrity.

Even timekeeping was regulated with equality in mind. Water clocks, or klepsydra, measured how long each litigant could speak. When the water stopped, so did their turn. Archaeologists have also found ceramic tableware and wine cups stamped with the letters ΔΕ, short for demosion (meaning “public”).

“The Greeks drank their wine mixed with water and each gathering began with a discussion of what ratio of wine to water was to be prepared,” explains Hudson. “In other words, the event began with a collective debate and vote. Was the intent to enjoy company and camaraderie? Then less water. Was the intent to discuss important issues of state? Then more water. With the collective agreement, we can see hints of a value placed on consensus, a feature baked into the democratic system devised by the Athenians.”

Many of the artifacts are now housed in the Stoa of Attalos, rebuilt in the 1950s as a museum.

By the time the Romans took control of Athens in 86 B.C., the Agora’s role had begun to change. “In a very real sense, with Roman oversight, the Athenian Agora lost its central place as a public space linked to local political discourse,” explains Hudson. Roman architects filled much of its open space with new monuments, including the massive Odeon of Agrippa, a covered concert hall that dominated the center of the square. A few decades later, a new Roman Agora was constructed, drawing merchants and activity away from the old heart of the city.

The Romans remade the Agora in their image, but they could not erase what it stood for. The idea that citizens should gather to speak, argue and decide remains one of democracy’s most enduring gifts—one first imagined in a public square beneath the Acropolis.