Greek Historiography

by Thomas F Scanlon

  these are overly detailed data that would have been revised in a later draft. In the end, the intriguing documents elude any certain explanation.

  Book 5

  The traditional bounds of Book 4 are awkward, and many would reason-

  ably link to Book 4 the section 5.1–24 as part of the prior narrative, since it rounds off the episodes with Brasidas and brings the first ten years of conflict (the Archidamian War) to an end. This section is followed by a

  “second preface” (Th. 5.26) and the account of the uneasy peace in 421

  bc until hostilities resumed in 415 bc; this account covers years eleven to sixteen of the war (Th. 5.26–116) and is highlighted by the Melian dialogue (Th. 5.84–114).

  The death of two major protagonists in the battle of Eïon (Th. 5.10)

  opens the way for the Peace of Nicias (Th. 5.15–17). The historian

  summarizes the effect of the death of the two in the conflict,

  Cleon and Brasidas, certainly the main opponents of peace on each side –

  one of them because of the success and honor derived from the war, the

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  other because he thought that in calmer times he would be recognized as a rogue and his slanders lack credibility. (Th. 5.16)

  In their final confrontation, Thucydides appreciates the words and action of Brasidas (Th. 5.9–10), which reflect his “courage and intelligence”

  noted in the introduction (Th. 4.81). Cleon tried to flee the fight and was killed ingloriously by a light‐armed warrior (Th. 5.10), in line with the generally unfavorable characterization of this man by Thucydides.

  Thucydides sees the motives for peace in terms of failed expectations of swifter victory on both sides (Th. 5.14), that is, as indications of unreasonable hopes and unclear analysis. Furthermore, it is the personal motives of the Spartan king Pleistoanax and of the Athenian Nicias for making

  peace that are instrumental to their peace making: Nicias wanted to preserve his good fortune by never bringing disaster to the state, and the king had achieved return from exile and sought to bolster himself against his enemies (Th. 5.16). The description of Nicias is wholly ironic in view of his role in the Athenian defeat in Sicily and his loss of good fortune. In sum, the character of these two men enables a turnabout from the

  situation engineered by the character of the two men who died at Eïon,

  and we can see that the tide of Athenian power changed because of a shift in leadership, which passed on to men with different personal motivations. The course of war is, as often for the author, determined by

  individual human qualities.

  The Peace of Nicias was stipulated to last for fifty years and was agreed to restore the status quo ante, in other words to return all territories gained in the war; this process included Athens’ giving of Pylos and of the Spartan prisoners from it back to Sparta, and Sparta’s relinquishing of all Northern territories gained by Brasidas (Th. 5.18).

  Within this section of “peace” two narrative “picture units” stand out, one drawing attention to the author’s reasons for considering the subject a single twenty‐seven‐year war (Th. 5.26) and a second narrating

  the Spartan–Elean tensions at the Olympics of 420 bc (Dewald 2005:

  128–9). The “second preface” (Th. 5.26), naming the author again,

  follows the formal note that the two sides “stopped short of invading one another” during the six years and ten months of the peace, but continued to harm each other as much as possible without violating the truce

  (Th. 5.25). The argument for the continuity of the war across the

  peace then alludes to “wrongs on both sides” that are more fully docu-

  mented in the rest of Book 5. The Olympics narrative stands out in clarity, suggesting that Thucydides may have been present, but its inclusion is

  justified by a vivid example of the real tension among the Greek states just

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  after a fourfold alliance of Athens, Elis, Mantinea, and Argos is formed (Th. 5.42–8). As Dewald notes, the participants at the Olympic Games

  are on the brink of war, and we, like the spectators, draw our breath in suspense.

  On the whole, either the narrative of an uneasy peace demanded an

  entirely different narrative mode, seen in 5.26–83, or the author left the text in a choppy form that was to be revised later; we will see that the same issues exist in Book 8, which has caused critics to suggest similar explanations there. If what we have of Book 5 was the final form, it conveys a strange, tense, and fast‐paced atmosphere of political maneuvering in which events could at any time lead to a major eruption of hostilities (Dewald 2005: 142–3). Instead of pointing up isolated episodes of battle, which receive very brief treatment, Thucydides goes more deeply into

  alliances, treaties, and the Spartan recovery of prestige. The disconnectedness of episodes does not allow a consistent narrative thread, yet the author dutifully records the dead ends and the lesser outcomes as the

  honest events of his year‐by‐year format.

  The Melian Dialogue, 5.84–116

  Coming after the shifting and terse run of episodes earlier in the book, the Melian narrative is an explosion of connected, powerful rhetoric, a quintessential exercise in reporting the discourse of hegemony and the

  frailness of human hopes against Realpolitik. The dialogue form is itself a notable innovation by Thucydides, in the extent and manner used here

  (cf. Th. 3.113). The narrative seems to shift sharply from the events on land that figure largely earlier in this book to a naval issue of the Cycladic island’s reluctance to become an Athenian ally, and from diplomacy to

  great issues of imperialism (Hornblower 2008: 216–25). The passage

  echoes the power politics of Books 1–4 and presages the naval aggression of Athens in the Sicilian expedition of Books 6 and 7.

  Scholars have taken sides regarding whether the juxtaposition of mer-

  ciless power politics in the dialogue next to the ambitious expedition

  implicitly signals the author’s condemnation of the “might over right”

  philosophy. It is very tempting to say that it does, but some have noted that the author gives no clear expression of pathos, as he does in the case of the slaughter of children in Mycalessus, and that “the Melians had the opportunity to prevent the fate they had done something to provoke”

  (Th. 7.30; see also Dover 1970: 410). Thucydides is too fine a stylist and thinker to deliver moralistic judgments instead of portraying events

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  almost as an intellectual and ethical puzzle that begs for the thought and analysis of the reader, even if he has a personal opinion or conviction.

  While the dialogue proper focuses on whether Melos should surrender

  and not on the Melians’ punishment for not doing so, a thoughtful reader might well consider how the behavior of the mightier reinforces their

  “tyrannical” character, recalling the Athenians’ characterization of their own rule as a “tyranny” (Th. 2.63; 3.37). The importance of issues of

  power and human nature in this dialogue were noted above, in quoting

  chapters 89 and 105 of Book 5 – respectively on the Athenians’ unwill-

  ingness to include questions of justice in a situation where power is

  unequal and on their invocation of the rule of the stronger. The Athenians here extend the axiom of the powerful ruling where they can to the gods themselves (Th. 5.105). These are restatements of the Athenian rule of

  the stronger at 1.76. But readers might well also consider how the mer-

  ciless attitude of the present passage contrasts with the ultimate sparing of the Mytileneans in Book 3, albeit still in the context of Athens’ absolutely pragmatic reasoning. The Athenians belittle unfounded hop
es (Th.

  5.103), recalling Diodotus’ cautions about unreasonable hope and desire leading the weaker on, despite all threats (Th. 3.45). The piece is, in any case, unquestionably rooted in a vocabulary of power and human nature

  that the author has fashioned and led us to use.

  As has been observed, the core issues of the dialogue proceed from the

  discussion of the Athenians (how sparing Melos might be in their interests: Th. 89–101), to that of the gods, hope, and the Spartans (how these each might save them: Th. 102–11; see Hornblower 2008: 220–5). Sparta’s

  relationship is one of a metropolis, founding mother city, hence a colonial relationship – a politically reasonable point, and one in line with the kinship and colony themes of the work; but the metropolis does not save the Melians. The killing of all adult men and the enslavement of women and

  children are reported succinctly and without comment, right before the

  beginning of the narration of the Sicilian expedition (Th. 5.116).

  Book 6

  Books 6 and 7, virtually all on the Sicilian campaign, constitute the

  greatest single unified narrative of the work. They also differ sharply in style and unity from the adjacent, more episodic Books 5 and 8. Is their unity given by the single great event, or is it a result of greater refinement than received by the other books, which were to be reworked later?

  Cogent arguments have been made for both explanations and, in the

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  absence of any definitive proof either way, readers might better focus on the considerably fine literary qualities of the history as we have it.

  An ominous comment on the Athenians’ gross miscalculation of the

  magnitude of the Sicilian undertaking opens the book (Th. 6.1), followed by an ethno‐geographical digression on Sicily (Th. 6.2–5). The latter

  functions like the “archaeology” chapters prefacing Book 1, beginning

  with crucial facts that will lead to an elaboration on familiar themes, namely overzealous imperialism and strategies misdirected by emotion on the part of Athens, and intelligent and innovative response by the main opponent, Syracuse. The digression is summarized through an allusion to 1.23 on how a truest cause underlies the given pretexts: “against a place of this size the Athenians were bent on campaigning, their eagerness for complete conquest the truest cause but with a reasonable pretext as well in wanting to help their kinsmen and allies they had acquired” (Th. 6.6).

  The digression highlights colonization of the island in the past, which resonates with Athens’ present colonizing efforts and with the Corinth–

  Syracuse colonial allegiance (Hornblower 2008: 262–3).

  Overtly, the Athenians vote for the expedition because the Egestans

  have asked for their aid against the rival city of Selinus (Th. 6.6), though even the city of Egesta tricks the Athenians with a show of borrowed gold and silver and a promise of more financial help than it can afford (Th.

  6.46). In fact the vote is represented as arising out of a desire for greater imperial power, personal wealth, and glory. At an assembly about equip-ping the fleet, three speeches by two of the chosen generals are reported, namely one by Nicias, then one by Alcibiades, and one by Nicias again.

  The historian grants this length to address the issues for and against this huge venture, with emphasis on the cautions of Nicias. The “second

  thoughts” about the aggressive use of power recall the Mytilenean debate, but here they are called for by Nicias’ deep doubts about the expedition.

  The whole passage is built on the classic literary theme of the clash between the older, wiser, tragic warner and the impetuous young warrior (see barbs traded at Th. 6.13, 16, 18). Nicias first assesses the situation and proposes a suitable policy (like Pericles at Th. 1.141–4), including

  attending to Thrace before venturing overseas (Th. 6.10–11). Alcibiades contends that Sicily is not too formidable, noting how fragmented it is and recalling the great victory over Persia (6.17). Nicias sees that dissuading the people is impossible and devotes his second speech to a shopping list of sorts, reasoning that he would either dissuade them through the magnitude of the needs or at least secure safety if the needs are met (Th. 6.24).

  The enthusiasm for the expedition is not only unabated, but trans-

  formed into a “passionate desire” ( ero ̄ s) that afflicted everyone, old and

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  young (Th. 6.24) – an ominous description. The celebration before the

  outset is marred by an infamous episode, a night of revelry in Athens in which youths deface public statues of Hermes – an episode known as the

  “desecration of the Herms” – and some perform a parody of the sacred

  Eleusinian Mysteries (Th. 6.27). Alcibiades is among those accused;

  nonetheless he is allowed to sail with the fleet. Thucydides gives a virtually cinematic description of the fleet’s departure, certainly performable in a public recitation – “an expedition no less celebrated for the miraculousness of its daring and its splendor to look upon than for its military superiority” (Th. 6.31; see 6.30–2; Hornblower 2008: 31).

  The scene shifts to Syracuse to gauge the thought and mood there,

  beginning with speeches by Hermocrates, a voice of reason urging

  Syracusans to believe in rumors of the expedition and strongly resist; by Athenagoras, a popular leader perhaps representing a demagogic emotionalism (like Cleon’s in the Mytilenean speech), who sows doubt that

  the expedition will happen; and by an anonymous general taking a middle ground (Th. 6.33–41). Thucydides also implies parallels to the three

  Athenian speeches about preparing for the clash, analogies between the

  democracies of Syracuse and Athens in their daring and ambitious

  character, and the perils inherent in their response to crisis (Connor 1984: 168–76). Nicias had observed that the opponent cities in Sicily were “not likely to accept our rule [ arche ̄] instead of freedom” and were “prepared in all ways with a character very similar to our power” – not least Syracuse and Selinus (Th. 6.20, Scanlon).

  My translation emphasizes the fact that it is not just types of similar armed forces at play, as are enumerated, but the unusual phrase “similar character” ( homoiotropos) intends to allude also to their determination to fight to maintain their freedom, as Athens had typically done. The same word is used by Thucydides of the Sicilian opponents later, before the

  decisive battle in Syracuse: “similar in character, democratically ruled just as they were, and possessing ships, cavalry, and size” (Th. 6.55).

  “National” character, in other words the public image of the character of a city‐state as formulated by itself or others, of course loomed large in the speech of the Corinthians describing Athens and Sparta at 1.70.

  “Character” ( tropos) is a dimension of human nature, but is not “nature”

  ( phusis) entirely; rather, in Greek, character is literally a “turning” (< tre-pein) or “disposition” that marks one group or individual apart from others. If human nature is inclined across cities and peoples toward greed, ambition, and emotionality, then character may be less predictable; but might it also be more educable, less universally engrained? The answer is not clear from the text.

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  From the inconclusive debate at Syracuse we return to the arrival of the Athenian fleet to a less than enthusiastic welcome, to its staying on the Italian mainland at Rhegion, and to the Athenians being misled by a show of Egestan wealth (Th. 6.42–6). The three generals Nicias, Alcibiades, and Lamachus discuss their strategies, respectively, Nicias’ plan to attack Selinus, win, and go home; Alcibiades’ to win many allies, then attack Selinus and Syracuse; and Lamachus’ to sail right against Syracuse (Th. 6.47–51).

  Alcibia
des’ plan is adopted but no progress is made, until the sacred trireme, the Salaminia, arrives from Athens to recall Alcibiades for trial in connection with the profanation of the Mysteries and desecration of the herms (Th.

  6.53). This narrative only resumes in Book 6, chapter 61, where Alcibiades disappears in his own ship, en route back to Athens, is sentenced to death in absentia by the Athenians, and turns up later in Sparta (Th. 6.88).

  The interim digression turns to the story of the so‐called “tyranni-

  cides” during Pisistratid rule and to Hippias’ tyranny in Athens a century earlier (Th. 6.53–60). The excursus is justified here as an explanation of the extreme concern about Alcibiades, in view of the Athenians’ decades-long, traumatic fear of tyrannical activity (Raaflaub 2003). The digression circles back to this at the end: “the people of Athens were at this time bitter and suspicious of anyone who stood accused over the Mysteries,

  and it seemed to them that it had all been done to further oligarchic

  and tyrannical conspiracies” (Th. 6.60). The conspiracy of the would‐be tyrant slayers, Harmodius and Aristogeiton, arose out of a lover’s

  grievance. The pair were pederastic lovers, and the younger Harmodius

  rejected the advances of the tyrant’s brother, Hipparchus, who in turn

  seriously slighted Harmodius’ sister by excluding her from a public procession and thus impugning her chastity (Th. 6.54). The pair then plot-

  ted revenge and “in all the fury that a man in love and a man humiliated could feel,” ended up killing the main offender, Hipparchus. They were

  caught and killed, and the tyranny continued under Hippias.

  So much for Thucydides’ version, which is an overt corrective to the

  popular Athenian understanding of the two lovers as “tyrant slayers,” since the tyranny was not harsh to start with but only became so after the

  conspiracy, and the ones who ended the tyranny were not the conspirators, but the Spartans. This is a point Thucydides emphasizes here and echoes as a prime example of faulty popular reasoning in the work’s introduction (Th. 6.53, 59; cf. 1.20). Yet, in its length, the elaboration here goes far beyond the point made in the introduction, being justified by a brilliant virtual allegory uniting major themes running through the work, notably from the start of Book 6 up until here: the tyrannicide episode and the Sicilian expedition, and to some degree the whole war, were events that