If Herodotus from Halicarnassus was the Father of History, then his younger contemporary, the Athenian Thukydides, son of Olorus, is the Father of Critical History. Few others have given so much critical thought to the workings, risks, and dangers of democracy.

We know little about his life, but the main events can be determined from his literary masterpiece, the History of the Peloponnesian War, and can be summarized as follows: he survived the plague in Athens (430 to ca. 427 BCE) and failed to protect Amphipolis from the Spartan general Brasidas during his military command in the northern Aegean in (424/23 BCE), whence he withdrew into exile to his family estates somewhere in southern Thrace. He dedicated the rest of his life to investigating the great war that after nearly three decades resulted in the destruction of the Athenian empire (431-404 BCE). He died in or soon after 399 BCE, apparently with his stylus in his hand since his account breaks off in the middle of his narrative of 411 BCE.

Every word in the History of the Peloponnesian War is unbelievably knowledgeable and insightful, written with a calm mind and dwelling on the benefit of hindsight. How Thucydides really felt and how he struggled to temper his anger and frustration about the shocking events of his lifetime, and how wrestling with these setbacks inspired his deeper political reflections — all this we can only appreciate thanks to the incredible discovery that my friend Ben made in the sheer limitless shelves of his private library. He found fragments from an anonymous manuscript dealing with Athenian matters. They are in an old handwriting that he, with his admirable learnedness and inspiring ability to fill some gaps in the documents, deciphered, translated and then shared with me, to make sense of them. Being trained as a Greek and Roman Historian, it was easy for me to determine Thucydides as the author of these notes, probably composed in a diary format, as he mentions them right at the beginning of his war account (1.1). After scrupulous examination, I was even able to find out the exact historical contexts in which Thucydides wrote those notes.

Ben and I were struck by how meaningful Thucydides’ observations and warnings were and still ar,e two and a half millennia after they were written down. Although we trust that the big academic publishing houses would pay millions to reserve the copyright on these unique documents of humanity, we decided to share them as quickly as possible with everyone out there who has an interest in democracy.

The values and practices of a society come under scrutiny in a severe crisis. What should we think about freedom, democracy and the rule of law in a pandemic? On this perhaps oldest sheet of the Diaries that Ben discovered Thucydides explores such thoughts after surviving the Athenian epidemic. We can connect this fragment with another that mentions the archon (‘leading annual official’) Epameinon and the month Boedromion, so that these reflections were first written down in fall 429 BCE. Thucydides would later write in more detail about the plague and what it did to the Athenians (History of the Peloponnesian War, Book II 47-54). The present diary entry shows us the young Thucydides, much more concerned with making the right political choices in most challenging times.

IN PRAISE OF OUR LEADER IN THE MIDST OF THIS TERRIFYING EPIDEMIC

The scenes are horrific. Many people die alone. Countless burning funeral pyres. Mass graves.

During this terrible time, during this horrible epidemic, I rise to defend the leader of our beloved Athens, the esteemed Pericles. When I say that I rise, I mean that literally, I have just risen from my own sickbed. Somehow, the gods have allowed me to recover from what we call the “Plague of Athens.”

Clearly, there is a never a good time for a plague, but one of the ironies is that it has attacked us just when a victory over our enemies, the Spartans, seemed so close at hand. This savage sickness has devastated our nation during this war with Sparta and its allies. They had huge land armies that we could not match, so the brilliant Pericles devised a strategy to retreat behind our strong city walls, “the Long Walls”, and let our superior navy attack the enemy. This was working, but it also meant that all our people who lived outside the city moved into the city, and into our port of Piraeus. Our population tripled, leading to some logistical chaos (though Pericles had made sure that the supplies would come in without any shortages), and bad hygiene, and all sorts of terrible pests. All fertile ground for sickness. I do not know what the exact disease is. Did it come from Piraeus, through which all our food comes?

I rise at this horrific moment to defend Pericles. How could he have known that his strategy would help breed a plague? What shall we expect from a leader of our nation? That he knows the future, like an Oracle? The Oracles themselves are notoriously ambiguous, and can be interpreted every which way, and re-interpreted later. The leader has no such luxury; he must deal with the present as it unfolds.

Shall we expect the leader to make every decision as we would make it? How can we even presume to say this, since we do not have all the information the leader has, and we cannot know all the pressures he faces?

It is so ironic: Pericles had a great strategy for winning the war, and it led to nearly losing the war. Many of our soldiers and sailors have died. We will be defeated, and we may not be a major power for some time.

The illness is uncannily and unbelievably contagious. The rich have died along with the poor; the leaders have died like the slaves. Pericles is in mourning for his two sons, and I fear for his own health. Disease makes everyone equal. The plague is attacking us in waves; just when we think it has stopped, it starts again.

It is not that we do not have physicians; we have very fine ones. But they do not know this new disease or what it does and, the poor souls, most of them have died trying to treat the sick. Someday, we hope that we will know how to prevent such diseases, or if not, that physicians will have more medicines to dispense so that their patients will heal.

There has been another price that we have paid for this plague: what it has done to our society. Many question the rule of law, saying, ‘We may die tomorrow anyway, and no one knows what to do, so why should we follow the rules or listen to our leaders?’

I will follow the lead of our leader Pericles in his adaptation of the annual Funeral Oration, which in the past was praise for those who had died in our military during that year. Pericles thought about this Oration deeply and transformed it into a meditation about the values of our nation for which our people died.

I want to do the same thing here. While it is difficult to think about anything except sickness and death, it is at this very moment that we must find a way to look ahead. Athens has reached its greatness because of its national values, and my greater fear is that this plague will undermine those values forever.

Our laws afford equal justice to all. We enjoy extraordinary freedom in our ordinary lives. Some have proposed that we should exercise a jealous surveillance over each other, calling on us to be angry with our neighbors for doing what they choose. They are cruel to even propose such things. It is our equality and openness that make our nation what it is.

This plague is horrible beyond any words that I can offer. One cannot overestimate its impact not only on our bodies but also on our minds. Still, we must not let this plague ruin our society. We must understand that while there are irresponsible leaders, there also are good ones, like Pericles. He has tried to include everyone, to promote the rights and the privileges of all. Pericles knows, and we should know, that without laws that apply to everyone, none of us will be safe.

For all our so-called differences, rich/poor, strong/weak, we are all the same. The plague knows no distinctions between human beings. Perhaps this, above all, is what we should learn from this horrible disease so that when it finally ends, we will be a better society than before.

Another lesson we might learn from ancient Athens is on the value of great leadership. It is not only essential in a monarchy, but also much needed in a democracy. The skilled, loyal and far-sighted leader can elevate a whole nation, whereas the reckless demagogue can bring it down. Pericles and Alcibiades illustrate these two potentials: the one raised Athens to its greatest glory as the commander of a naval empire (active 460–429 BCE), the other had it destroyed through the Sicilian Expedition (415–413 BCE) and the Deceleian War (413–404 BCE).

Ben discovered another chapter from the lost diaries of Thucydides. This was written soon after the conclusion of the Archidamian War, as the first phase of the Peloponnesian War is often called (431–421 BCE). Thucydides was in exile at the time, holding a grudge at his opponent Cleon (active 428 to 422 BCE), but still feeling closely attached to his hometown. He did not yet know Alcibiades and the damage he would do to Athens a few years later. Reflecting on the misdeeds of Cleon, he explored with much foresight the question whether a democracy can survive a demagogue.

IS A DEMOCRACY ONLY AS GOOD AS ITS CURRENT LEADER?

Rather than speak in general terms, I want to give you a specific example, Cleon, and contrast him with a great leader, Pericles.

You may say, Cleon died in battle last year and Athens is now at peace with Sparta, so what are you afraid of? While I will never forgive him for what he did to me, my fear is much more basic than that. I am concerned about a system that can create a Cleon and therefore I am concerned about the future of democracy.

Cleon was a no one, a commoner. He was a new kind of politician who was not from our class. He was a corrupter of the people, a rabble rouser. He was like an actor in a play of his own making, a vulgar speaker, but very effective. He had a screeching voice; a perverse nature and he spoke the language of the marketplace. All these things offended me and those like me, but they were very attractive to the commoners. Sometimes I thought that the more outrageous he acted, the more popular he became.

He dominated Athens through his forceful speeches in the assembly and lawcourts. He knew how to make promises to the masses, extravagant promises that he could not keep. Cleon preferred war to peace so that his wickedness would be less conspicuous. He made an insane promise to finish off the Pylos mission in twenty days. He gambled and won. It was like he fed our citizens pastry, so they tasted something sweet for the moment.

Cleon is an example of a demagogue, but now, thinking with the perspective of one who can see the past clearly and has some vague vision of the future, I ask myself: What is the true difference between a Pericles and a Cleon? That I loved one and hated the other? That one was of my class and the other was not? What separates a true democratic leader from a demagogue? Every democratic leader must get the people on his side to be effective.

I do believe, however, as objectively as I can be, that Cleon was a brutal enemy of peace, whereas Pericles believed in limited war and was measured and refined. I believe that Pericles knew how to control democracy and make it fair for all, the rich and the poor. He sought balance and long-term solutions. All loved him, all benefitted from his guidance.

But Cleon gave in to the basest instincts of the populace. He made terrible and baseless accusations against his opponents. When Pericles was alive, Cleon attacked him directly and through his friends. He also attacked a play of Aristophanes and called it a slander on the state, although our most famous comedian pours out his witty criticism quite evenly on all politicians; he must not be intimidated. Cleon recklessly increased the tribute to be paid by our allies and made them waiver in their loyalty towards us. He was merciless, unnecessary merciless, with our enemies, when he proposed a decree to execute all the men of Mytilene. Fortunately, it was too much for everyone else and Cleon’s decree was overturned the next day.

Well, we did survive Cleon, because his last gamble – a random attack on Brasidas in Amphipolis – cost him everything: the admiration of the masses, together with his life. But there is a conclusion to draw for the future, for all nations that will choose democracy over tyranny:

No one person should have complete, ultimate power, because there will not only be leaders like a Pericles, there also will be others like Cleon. There must be powers that can resist the demagogue when he arises. These powers, courts, assemblies, councils, must have walls that are so strong that they can resist the mob when the demagogue commands them to breach and break them. Democracy has its weaknesses, but its walls can be shored up and fortified.

For all its inherent dangers, democracy contains the answers. We must not dissolve into tyranny and monarchy and oligarchy. We must keep our nation strong by holding everyone accountable. Democracy must assume the rise of demagogues and be vigilant, like soldiers standing on guard, prepared to protect that which is most precious to all of us.

This week, Ben has chosen an entry from Thucydides’ Diaries that reflects on the level of fairness that democratic societies do or don’t display to their leaders. The historical event in the background is the naval Battle at the Arginusae near the island of Lesbos, which the Athenians won in 406 BCE, or rather the condemnation of the ship commanders who had failed to rescue stranded Athenians – a double tragedy! You can read between the lines of Thucydides’ frustration about his own fate. Had he not been in exile himself, he would not have failed to mention Socrates: the famous philosopher was among the presiding judges, but he could halt the illegal trial only for the one day he officiated (as we know from Xenophon, Hellenica 1.7.15). The wrath of the Athenians was stronger than the voice of their conscience. Ben and I could not establish the year when Thucydides’ friend encountered the disgraced Callixeinus: was it before or after the destruction of the Athenian fleet at Aegospotami in 405 BCE? This disaster can be regarded as the direct consequence of the miscarriage of justice. Either way, the ancients showed a much higher awareness of the dire and unexpected effects that foul play might have on a society.

Callixeinus and the Responsibility of Both Leaders and Citizens

A friend of mine was in Athens the other day and saw a man, walking the streets, begging for food, but rejected by the people he passed, who clearly hated him. My friend was curious and asked a passerby who told him that this sorry specimen was none other than the man who used to be a politician of influence, Callixeinus.

I had not known what became of him. But now that I know, I have been reflecting on him as a symbol, as a warning about democracy when it goes awry. Callixeinus is not only a crass politician who used his skills to influence the citizenry to execute their leaders. He is also a symbol of the worst of Athenian democracy which blames unfairly in the name of accountability.

I have a need to tell the story, with the picture of Callixeinus in my mind. The Athenians were victorious over the Spartans at the Battle of Arginusae. When it ended, the Athenian commanders had to quickly decide whether to rescue the survivors of the battle who were stranded in the water, or to go break the Spartan blockade of our force at Mytilene. They decided to do both, with eight generals going to fight the Spartans and two trierarchs to lead the rescue mission. But then a storm suddenly came upon them, preventing both efforts. The Spartan fleet left Mytilene. Tragically, all the stranded sailors drowned.

Athens went into an uproar, but the trierarchs defended themselves; the storm, they said quite reasonably, was not their fault. The generals were recalled to stand trial. While there should have been a long debate, Callixeinus preyed on the emotions of the people to stop any discussion; the generals were convicted and executed.

Athenians regretted this impulsive decision, and now they blamed those who had led them in their rush to judgment. Callixeinus escaped but at some point came back to Athens, and this is the hungry and despised man my friend saw on the streets.

Why do I review this terrible story? It is not so different from the other attacks on our most famous general and leaders.

Think about some of the greatest Athenians. Cimon was a celebrated military hero but was unsuccessful in one expedition and was ostracized. Themistocles was the great champion not only of Athens but of all Greece, who defeated the Persians at Salamis, but he was ostracized some years later. Xanthippus, father of Pericles, also was a great general and helped Athens to achieve its prominent place. Yet he was ostracized. Pericles himself exemplified everything that is great about Athens, but when the plague destroyed a quarter of the population, and the war with Sparta was not going well, Pericles was removed from office and fined. Nearly all great Athenian leaders have been subject to these kinds of campaigns of savage criticism.

Are leaders responsible for things that are out of human control? Is it right to blame leaders for natural events such as a storm or a plague? We talk about the responsibilities of a leader and whether they fulfill them, but what about our responsibility to these people who devote their lives to the city?

Still, what is the deeper meaning of all this? Some Greek cities have rituals where they drive out a scapegoat, usually a slave, who represents hunger. This is the mentality; a kind of barbaric thinking that if someone or something is sent out of the city, the city will be safe and healthy. They place all their hopes in a leader, as if that leader is a god, and then heap all their scorn and blame on that leader when they find that he is a mere mortal. We leaders are treated like scapegoats, one step away from human sacrifices. We probably would kill the gods if we could.

We do not want to recognize the truth: The difference between a successful leader and a failure has as much to do with chance as anything else. Success and failure depend on the vagaries of chance and then on the whims of a crowd. All is balanced on the edge of the sword.

My biggest concern is this: good people give their all, but if they are not victorious in every battle and the weather does not always cooperate with their plans and strategies, their careers are destroyed in a moment. If we treat good people like this, the best will never enter public service, leaving the field of leadership to those who do not have the noble virtues. If we are to have a true democracy that perpetuates itself, if Athens is to fulfill the vision of Pericles, then we must do right by Pericles and the leaders who will carry his ideals into the future.

Callixeinus is Athens, destroying itself through the misuse of its finest institutions. If Athens does not use its laws carefully, it will be a pauper among the nations, scrounging for respect but scorned by all. Even worse, it will destroy the idea of democracy for thousands of years to come.

This time, Ben pulled out from Thucydides’ Diaries a letter that he wrote to a friend. How great would it be to know his name or whereabouts. It could have told us so much about the circles with which Thucydides remained in contact during his exile. Regardless, the document is highly revealing. Thucydides explains to his friend why he told the story of the centralization of Athens by the legendary hero king Theseus (2.15). I had always been musing about the question why the most rational of all ancient historiographers told us a myth that he could barely have believed in himself. Now I understand much better how subtly Thucydides had reflected on the pains of the people from Attica who had to abandon their farms at the very beginning of the Archidamian War (431 BCE). The myth of Theseus encourages the readers to reflect on the bonds with their land, with their capital, with their cults, and last but not least with their fellow citizens. The central role of the Synoecia, the ‘Feast of Union’, recalls the importance that our national holidays have: they, too, dwell on national or even religious legends to bring the people together in harmony, if only for a short time, before the lively, even fierce, political debates resume. And yet, these celebrations remind us throughout the year that our political opponents are still our fellow citizens.

A LETTER FROM THUCYDIDES TO A FRIEND CONCERNING THESEUS

Dear Friend,

First, let me thank you for reading the latest chapters of my History of the Peloponnesian War. Aside from your generous, general remarks, I was happy to receive your pointed question about my reference to Theseus. You share with me the interest in producing history and refraining from myth, and so you were rather surprised that I mentioned Theseus, who, as you say, has a life more legendary than historical. You question his very existence.

Do not, even collegially, accuse me of mythologizing. I did not even mention any of the famous stories. I did not relate the legend of Theseus and the Minotaur and how Ariadne, daughter of King Minos, fell madly in love with him and gave him a thread to unravel as he would penetrate deeper into the Cretan Labyrinth, so that he knew the way out when he killed the monster.

The thread I am following is into the labyrinth of our own time. The context of my reference to Theseus was my discussion of how our leader Pericles has acted in a real and historical way but has become, to my mind, a legend in our own time. Most Athenians lived in the country, outside the city, with their families. They did so when the Persians came, and returned as soon as the enemy had left. But then came the Spartan invasion. Still, they did not want to leave their homes and come to the city where they did not have homes of their own. Pericles understood the urgency of the moment and that we must all be prepared for war. His actions in unifying Athens, bringing them inside the walls of the city, fortifying our defenses against our enemies, strengthening our fleet were breathtaking.

I did refer to how Theseus, with both intelligence and power, united the various Attic communities into a single state and extended the territory of Attica. He left a great legacy. Theseus, to me, is a symbol of centralization, an inspiration from the past.

My friend, we do need heroes, and an occasional myth thrown in with the history is legitimate. My thread is the metaphor of unity. What unifies us? We all know the divisions and factions; we think about what separates us every day. What is harder to find is the common ground. We must gather inside the walls. To be within the walls is to be within the myth, and we need to bring everyone inside the walls.

Just as we hear that the holiday of Synoecia dates from the time of Theseus, and we need holidays that all Athenians celebrate with pride in their city, we can all adore Theseus and the Theseus of our own time. Do I need to believe that the holiday began in the time of Theseus to celebrate the feast of union?

And if I can be truly honest in the confidence of our relationship, I will tell you that the true sophistication is to be inside and outside of the myth at the same time, to know that myth is fiction and history is fact, but to know that myth becomes a part of history as it motivates our citizens to protect and defend our country.

Another of Thucydides’ letters to his anonymous friend has come to the fore. In this, he reflects on the Hermocopidae Scandal, the uproar that broke out in Athens in 415 shortly before Alcibiades would be sent out with the largest fleet ever on a military campaign to Sicily. The whole story is told in Book VI of the History of the Peloponnesian War, though spread out over various chapters (VI 27–29, 53, 60–61), which makes it a bit difficult to follow the line of events. Since the expedition had been controversial, yet voted to go ahead at the assembly of the people, the nocturne mutilation of the statues of Hermes, the protector god of travelers, was a desperate move designed to halt the operation last minute.

The gravity of the deed is difficult to assess for modern people unless perhaps their own religious laws demand the death penalty for sacrilege. The timeless message contained in this story is not depending on whether you agree with such harsh punishment, if meted out to culprits. It is neither advocacy for Alcibiades, a difficult character himself, who then seems to have been innocent albeit. Thucydides rather reminds us of how stirring up panic or giving in to blind fears can lead to disastrous outcomes. In a ‘witch hunt’, truth or just procedures count for little, and a society inflicts many wounds on itself. It seems that Thucydides not only remembers the victims lynched by the Athenians in 415, but also the long-term ramifications of the Hermecopidae: the failure of the Sicilian Expedition and the downfall of Athens ten years later.

THE HERMOCOPIDAE INCIDENT AND THE FACE OF TRUTH

Thank you for reading my draft on the history of the Sicilian Expedition and offering your comments and questions. I would like to respond to one subject you raise, what you call the Hermocopidae scandal. You understand that in writing a chronological narrative, I must sometimes scatter references to events, and so you find what I say about this event to be somewhat disjointed. Let me try to discuss it in a clearer fashion here.

You are right to select this event for special attention. The trials of the Hermocopidae and the profaners of the Mysteries are well known. It is a horrible example of how justice can be trampled down in the name of democracy, and how conspiracy theories and debates born out of bigotry and prejudice can divert the focus of a society from the immediate and dangerous crises that it truly faces.

While Nicias attempted to deter the Athenians from the huge undertaking to win the Sicilian expedition, his words had the opposite effect and inspired enthusiasm to send the huge forces required. All this, remember, after the city was recovering from the plague.

And then it happened. The faces of most of the stone Hermae of the temples and the homes of the city were mutilated in a mysterious way in one night. This was taken as a terrible omen about the expedition, and it was seen as a conspiracy to cause a revolution and undermine the democracy.

Who had committed these unspeakable acts, and why? No one knew, and so fingers were pointed to previous crimes where some had mocked the religious ceremonies of the Mysteries at Eleusis. And rumors were spread about Alcibiades, so that the instigators could remove him as an obstacle to their own ambitions. Alcibiades denied the accusations, of course, and was willing to stand trial immediately so that he could be cleared before the expedition, rather than living under a cloud while leading the military force. But his enemies saw that this would be to his advantage because he would have the sympathy and support of the army and others in the prelude to the expedition. So he was allowed to sail off, and while in my narrative I followed him and the forces to Sicily, I now stay in Athens, where the matter was being pursued, and badly. While the accusers were rascals, charging good citizens without evidence, the people believed them, fearing tyranny and monarchy and plots by the oligarchy. Fears of such conspiracies were so rampant that there was no attempt to investigate and find the truth. After executing those who they thought were conspirators, the people felt at ease.

But they were not finished. Now they recalled Alcibiades, convinced both that he had profaned the Mysteries by a sacrilegious, mocking, private performance of the secret rites, and that he had been involved in the conspiracy against the democracy. Alcibiades, in the midst of military operations, fled, fearing for his life. He was not wrong; he was condemned to death in his absence.

It is strange to think about it, but the true mutilators were never found. These might have been sacrilegious acts, perhaps performed by youths who were never caught. If their goal was havoc and disorder, they were very successful.

I also would not be surprised if the perpetrators were those who accused others, and that this was their strategy from the start, to bring down those that they saw as their enemies. But their success was short-lived and in an important way, undermined the society.

Conspiracy theories based on falsehoods destroy the very fabric of a state. For big and persistent lies subvert the truth, and there cannot be justice without truth, and there cannot be a democratic society without justice.

If I am right, and the mutilators of the statues were those that accused others of those crimes, they mutilated the very face of Athens, as it could no longer look to the future, or even in the mirror.

Ben found another sheet from Thucydides’ Diaries. It reports an encounter that he had sometime before Alcibiades returned to Athens early in 407 BCE, to be celebrated as its savior, only to withdraw once more after the first defeat suffered by the Athenian fleet the same year. But the vicissitudes of fortune is not the point of the dialogue. Thucydides was rather astonished by the short-sightedness of a fellow citizen who ignored the risks that may come with promises of quick success. Some risks are just inherent to the lack of honesty or loyalty. Is Thucydides’ frustration hypocritical, after he had cautioned us against expecting too much from our politicians? Find our for yourselves ...

My sometimes visitor from Athens came to my estate this morning with the latest news from the city.

“Alcibiades is the answer,” he said.

I couldn’t believe it. My mind screamed: “But he betrayed us!” I would have thought this was a jest, but I saw that my friend’s eyes glistened as if he were in a trance. I wanted to keep the friendship and my source of information, so I let him talk.

“Alcibiades will make us great again,” he said, “He knows how to win. He has told us that we will win so many victories that we will not be able to count our triumphs.”

I approached my conclusion slowly. I wanted to convince my friend with a logical argument.

“Alcibiades has many good qualities.”

“Absolutely.”

“By any measure, he is an excellent general, one of the best that I know of.”

“Coming from you, Thucydides, that is a great compliment.”

“He is an eloquent speaker.”

“Like his father.”

“Pericles was not actually his father,” I said. “But he was his guardian and mentor.”

“He was like a father to him. He is the true heir of Pericles.”

“He is very different from our great leader.”

“But he is great, nonetheless. As you say, he has great qualities.”

“He misuses those qualities in his thirst for power. He stops short of nothing to gain more power.”

My friend ignored this. “I know that you know him personally.”

“I do indeed. Let us talk about him as a person. He is an immoral man. He is a Betrayer.”

“How can you label him as such?”

“How can I not? In his personal life, he has betrayed every woman and every man with whom he has had a relationship. He indulges in every sensual pleasure.”

“This is irrelevant. I do not care what he does in his personal life. Athens is filled with people who indulge themselves in pleasure.”

“But his personal betrayals reflect his lack of morality or conscience. He shows no respect for other people's feelings. They are all objects to him, mere things.”

“I do not care about any of that.”

“You should. They are part and parcel of his worst betrayal of all, his betrayal of Athens.”

“Oh, that one again. This is in the past. And he was unjustly thrown out of Athens.”

“Think back. Picturing himself as a great conqueror, he advocated an expedition to conquer Sicily, but then he became the main suspect in the profanation of a secret religious ritual. The Athenians sent a ship to Sicily to bring him back to stand trial. Did your great leader come home to stand trial? He escaped and went straight to the Spartans, who welcomed him with open arms.”

“No, but I do not care. As you said, he is a good general, and we need him.”

“He gave away Athenian secrets. He told the Spartans how to send troops to Sicily, and they defeated the Athenians. How can you forget that he helped Sparta to almost destroy Athens? This is the man that you want to rule Athens? But did he become a loyal Spartan? He cuckolded the king himself and made him a mortal enemy. So, he had to flee again, and where did he go? To another enemy, the king of Persia's satrap. And he turned traitor again and told the Persians how to defeat the Spartans. And then he betrayed them to ingratiate himself once more with us Athenians.

“This is where we are now. He will say beautiful words. He will say, ‘MAGA, Make Athens Great Again.”

He ignored my sarcasm and readily agreed: “And indeed, this is what he will do, the past is past. He regrets the deeds that he committed against us. I have read what he wrote to us. He means it. And above all, we need a great general.”

I realized, as we went back and forth, that I was talking to a stone. He did not get angry. He did not call me a liar. He just did not care about the facts.

But I kept trying: “So, if you forgive him and expediently accept him again, your morals are just like his.”

“Say what you like,” my friend said. “But in my mind, he is like a god.”

“A god,” I scoffed, “And please tell me, which god is he?”

“Proteus. He could assume whatever shape he pleased. In your biography of him, you neglect to admire how he can transform himself into any shape and adopt any fashion he observes to be the most agreeable to those around him. Now he has resumed his Athenian shape.”

I lost control and shouted with my most sarcastic tone:

“Now I understand. In order to make Athens great again, we have to Make Alcibiades Athenian Again. You will get what you deserve!”

At that, my friend stormed away. I may not see him again.

I believe in dialogue. I tried to engage my friend in dialogue. But how can I talk to someone who does not care if a leader is immoral and a traitor?

How can I talk to someone who thinks that his all-too human is a god?

I am shaken. I mourn for my friendship. But even more, I fear for Athens.

Ben found another Diary entry that shows Thucydides’ fascination with Pericles. But we finally see Thucydides moving on, acknowledging that reality rarely gifts us with an ideal leader. We owe the Athenians not only the idea of democracy as such and the model of its champion, but also a couple of remedies against poor or reckless leadership.

Democracy may be the greatest form of government, but it also has its costs. The price of the free election of leaders is electing the wrong leaders.

In my work, and even more, in the drama of my thoughts, Pericles has played the main role. Now that he is gone, I think about his legacy. Rather, I fear for his legacy. I fear that without a man of his ability to turn aspirations into practical realities, without his combination of leadership and virtue, Athens will slide down into a pit of antagonisms and manipulations of the populace. We worry, correctly, about giving too much power to one man. We fear tyrants and monarchs; we fear our successful generals more than our failed military leaders.

On the other hand, one of the costs of democracy is that it will produce inadequate leaders. Adequacy is very much dependent on the moment: Does the leader meet the moment? A time of war demands one kind of leader; a time of peace and prosperity requires less of the current ruler.

Pericles was a great man, but even he could not point to success in many of the challenges that his moment placed before him. If this is true for Pericles, how much the more so for others, such as

• the good man who is not great

• the bad man who uses the vocabulary of the good

• the man who is completely absorbed in his own ambition

I am thinking about three of the most important leaders to follow in the time after Pericles

First, I am thinking of Nicias. He had served with Pericles. He seemed to be his logical successor. Nicias desperately wanted to be everything that Pericles was. Like Pericles, he was careful in the way he lived: He was careful where he went, whom he associated with, what he said. He worked all the time and made sure everyone knew he was working all the time. It did not really succeed; Nicias was like the shadow of the real man who pretended to be the real man.

I am thinking about Cleon, a most violent man, the opposite of Pericles in his calm restraint. Pericles treated rebellious allies with moderation, sought certain outcomes in war, and led prolonged and free discussions of the issues. Cleon treated such allies with cruelty, trying to make them examples for others, had no regard for the costs of war and tried to squash debate.

Alcibiades, who was Pericles’s ward, felt entitled to the leadership of Athens and felt prepared to equal his guardian’s achievements. His goals required the unity of the people, and he did not have the gifts to bring the people behind him. And he condoned brutality in a way Pericles never would have.

In every time, there will be leaders of these different qualities and abilities. We cannot reasonably expect a Pericles every time.

To protect itself, both against tyrants and inadequate leaders, Athens has the mechanism of ostracism. While I know the pain of living in exile first-hand (for different reasons), I realize, from the perspective of time and distance, that the option to expel a dangerous general or demagogue is a harsh but effective way to ensure democracy. If a leader is corrupt, exile him. If the demos then finds that it has a need for the leader, bring him back from exile, if he can be trusted.

Athens has strong institutions against bad leadership, the foremost being annual elections, complemented by votes on bills and jury courts.

Democracy will create the wrong leaders, but this does not invalidate democracy. Democracy is an experiment, and there will be trial and error, perhaps many errors. Yet there is no better system. We cannot go back to a hereditary monarchy, where the leader is an accident of birth.

Yes, democracy has its perils. This is why our institutions and laws must be so strong that they will override tyrants and withstand mobs. Only then can our noble experiment in democracy survive.

Ben retrieved another sheet from the Diaries obviously dating from 411 BCE. Thucydides has just received notice that the Athenian sailors stationed at Samos (with the main fleet) resisted the oligarchic coup in their home city. The authenticity of this Diary entry is beyond doubt: Thucydides gives full credit to the common Athenian sailors and does not yet know Thrasybulus, who would soon take a leading role in the opposition (first mentioned in The History of the Peloponnesian War VIII 73.4). The common sentiment of the Athenians, who were loyal to their democratic freedom, strikes a chord with our author: for the second time, the whole nation of the Athenians takes to the ships, embodies the best of Athens, and gains victory for everyone, just as against the fleet of king Xerxes at Salamis in 479 BCE. This heroism induces Thucydides to reflect on the essence of Athenian political identity. Two themes stand out: that a well-rounded education is the backbone of mature and resilient citizens and that Athens had model character for Greece and beyond. These are well known topics from the famous Epitaphios Logos (‘Funerary Speech’), which Thucydides puts into the mouth of Pericles in 431 BCE (II 32–46). Did he write this speech while being mesmerized by the bravery of the sailors at Samos?

I have been hearing the news from Athens and Samos, how the oligarchy has taken control of the city but the democrats of the fleet at Samos have held firm, resisting attempts to forego their democratic ideals. Despite the attempted coup and despite events in Athens itself, the democrats have survived and have vowed to stay united in their resolve to keep democracy at Samos, to support democracy at Athens and to have nothing to do with the oligarchs there.

Why am I so struck by this moment in time?

It is no light matter for Athens to forego democracy, almost a century after we dispensed with tyrants, long after Salamis, when we understood what Athens is. I always think about our great victory at Salamis. As citizens of a democracy, the Athenians embodied freedom and fought for it unstintingly. Without hope of reinforcements, even after we had abandoned our city and our property, we had the spirit to run onto our ships to meet the danger. The land did not hold us; we achieved a new freedom in breaking free of that hold.

We fought not just for a city but for a concept of life that we share.

We fought because we committed ourselves, not because someone forced us to act.

We did not fight for our past history but to fulfill our moment in history.

We are not so much a land power or a sea power as a power of ideas. Athens is not dependent on our geographical position. I am not thinking about geography at all. I am thinking about time. And Athens is an island in time.

History is a series of opportunities for the exercise of power used for the good of human beings.

Laws are opportunities to change, and change again, how a society defines itself.

It will not be external events or our enemies that will destroy us; it will be our own mistakes, our self-induced blunders of judgment about leaders and internal problems.

I say again: Athens is not just a city; it is an idea. And so even when Athens is not living by that idea, Athenians are still living by Athenian values. I am struck by the sailors at Samos who, at this moment, have become Athens. It is a great moment in our history.

But then, I ask myself: What is Athens? Pericles said: “As a city, we are the school of Greece.” As always, his words are deeply considered, and we should attempt to fully understand them.

I know that I was given a very special education. I learned oratory and philosophy under Anaxagoras. I am well-versed in Greek history. I even listened to Herodotus reciting his Histories, nine days I will never forget for their inspiration.

I am not only talking about the education of an Athenian, but how Athens must educate Greece and the whole world. In every generation, there are special places in the world where great experiments are conducted. The world focuses its eyes on these special places. But even more: Athens is not just a school for our time, but for all time. And so:

If democracy fails here, the world will learn.

If democracy continues and progresses and expands here, the world will learn.

If democracy fails here, the tyrants will shout with glee.

If democracy flourishes here, the tyrants will shudder in fear because their subjects will see what they do not have.

Those sailors at Samos, like the sailor at Salamis, may have saved us all.

This is the earliest piece that Ben has retrieved from Thucydides’ Diaries so far. It falls into spring 431 BCE, when the later historiographer was still a young attendee of the assembly of the people in Athens. He had heard the harsh demands of the Spartan embassy and the thoughtful, authoritative response of Pericles, which he would later write on in more detail (The History of the Peloponnesian War I 139-145).

When sifting through the newly-found sheets of the Diaries for the first time, it did not strike Ben as an overly intriguing piece, when his own mind was focusing on domestic politics. The contrast between Athens and Sparta might at first appear a bit simplistic. It is only under the impression of the reversals of our own time that we can see better the real dilemma that Thucydides was struggling with in his own heart: choosing the right thing when the outcome is unpredictable and may result in much worse.

Pericles is trying to persuade the assembly of the polis to enter the war against Sparta, because over time, Sparta is only getting more and more powerful and thus growing into a stronger threat.

He has given his audience a list of reasons for making such a decision: Peaceful negotiations are fruitless since their opponents “wish complaints to be settled by war”. Pericles has said that the tone in which the Lacedaemonians deal with the Athenians has shifted from persuasion to giving orders. The list of orders Sparta wants to impose on Athens includes raising the siege of Potidaea, letting Aegina be independent, and revoking the Megara decree. In addition, Sparta has, as Pericles also mentioned, stated in an ultimatum to Athens the serious warning “to leave the Hellenes independent”.

Pericles then comments on this list by admitting that each item by itself may seem a trifle demand, but then adds: “This trifle contains the whole seal and trial of your resolution.” Urging a speedy decision, he spells out clear alternatives: Either “submit before you are harmed” or “if we are to go to war, as I (Pericles) for one think we ought to do, we must move ahead and stop thinking whether our cause is great or small, and we must resolve that we will never make concessions.”

Pericles always persuades me. Great orators and great thinkers overwhelm our emotions. I want Athens to fight, but I fear my reason cannot reason. For I know that I think about this war on another level, a higher level.

I understand that the war between Athens and Sparta, in my mind, is not just a war between two nations of our current time. I find myself imagining a nation of the future. It will have to choose: Athens or Sparta?

The choice of Athens will seem to be the natural choice if the nation believes in democracy and trading freely. The choice of Athens would seem to be fitting for a nation that believes in the merits and survivability of its own culture. But there may be much in that future nation's political and military culture that will lean to the fortress mentality and uncompromising attitudes of Sparta.

If the future nation chooses Athens, it will be open to the world and encourage the growth of other democracies. If the nation chooses Sparta, it will be self-enclosed and defensive, it will not engage in free trade, and it will be so consumed with maintaining military superiority that many other priorities will not be given the resources they require.

The nation that chooses Athens will seek to work with allies and partners with a common purpose. The nation that chooses Sparta will be so jealous of its national sovereignty that it will resist cooperation with other states and will prefer vassals and clients to allies that might someday challenge it.

I think about a war between Athens and Sparta in such universal, timeless ways. And as for now, I have supported Pericles, as I always do.

I had good teachers who taught me to think for myself, and to even think twice about my own thoughts. I have been raised in this culture that prizes the glories of war. Yet I must recognize that there is a growing fear in my heart. I fear a terrible trap, and this is what I consign to this private writing.

For all of the issues and all of the differences and all of the threats, I fear this war that is coming, for it may be the undoing of us all.

With the deadly attack on the Ukrainian people and their display of heroic resistance going into the third week, it seems that the harshness of the human condition and the unresolved conflicts between justice and power continue holding hostage Ben’s mind. Hence, he dug out a sheet from Thucydides’ Diaries which is less about politics than about the essence of humanity. It was probably written soon after the Athenian defeat at Notion in 407 BCE, though before the destruction of their fleet at Aigospotamoi in 405 BCE, as the opaque indication of the Athens’ fluctuating fate seems to imply. The piece is a reflection on the brutal slaughter of the Melians by the ‘freedom-loving’ Athenians in 416 BCE. The contrast between the plea for justice by the Melians and the cynicism of Athenian imperialism forms one of the highlights – and low points – of Thucydides’ oeuvre.

Thucydides (V 89) quotes the Athenians saying that “the standard of justice depends on the equality of power to compel and ... the strong do what they have the power to do and the weak accept what they have to accept.” Thucydides did not contradict and simply concluded with a laconic report of the ensuing slaughter. Many readers misunderstood this as silent approval of the crimes, but this interpretation fails to see the ambiguity. One could have seen all along the honest helplessness with which Thucydides contemplated the crime of the Athenians. And now, this new piece of evidence from the Diaries reveals the true depth of his thought – and suffering.

Of all the events I have discussed in my History, one haunts me more than any other. I have given an account of the negotiations between the Athenians and the Melians. The Melians were neutral in the war with Sparta, even though they had ancient ties to that city. When the Athenians invaded the island of Melos and demanded surrender and tribute, and that the Melians join the Delian League, the Melians refused.

In my account, I dramatize the dialogue that took place before the siege. For Athens, it was not just an exercise in strength. It was a presentation of strength to the world and all who they have conquered or would conquer. Strength is displayed to appear strong.

I think, of course, about aspects of war, and in my mind there is a category: reasons for war. What is the rallying cry to the troops? What is the moral justification for the conquest? In my presentation, I do not pretend that Athens had any moral justification at all. I portray this event as it was. Melos should submit to survive. The strong do what they can and the weak must suffer what they must.

I was not there, so in a sense, this is art and not a report. But I mean this dialogue to explain how things are. The dialogue I have written is a dialogue inside me.

I have the Melians saying that the gods are on their side because their side is just, and the Athenian side in its unprovoked invasion is unjust. They assume that there are gods, and that those gods are moral themselves, and so would have been on their side.

And then I have the Athenians respond that the gods, by a necessary law of their nature, rule wherever they can. The Athenians say therefore that as far as the gods are concerned, they will be in consonance with them, for both gods and men strive to rule.

I can only write this here, in the privacy of my chambers: The gods did not help the Melians very much. The gods do not have a navy. For that moment in time, they seem to have helped the Athenians. But where have the gods been during the Athenian defeats since then? By the argument that I have the Athenians make in the dialogue, the gods must be fickle, moving with the victorious, but perhaps not causing the victories. The careful reader of my History may see my questions and my doubts.

I hope that there will be such readers. And if there are, they will see how I end my Book Five, by merely describing the massacre of the men and the enslavement of the women and the children. If there is justice in this world, there is punishment for atrocities.

Are there no limits to our brutality? Is there no end to our violence? The plague came from nature and killed. The enemies like the Persians came and killed. We must deal with all those external forces.

But even more, we must deal with the forces inside ourselves. Waging war to display strength is not a justification of anything. To say we kill because we want to rule is not a justification for one death. Such violent actions and such feeble words are all expressions of the darkness inside us.

I end Book Five without a comment, without judgement. But Melos hovers like a dark cloud over me. Does it hover over Athens?

The next piece that Ben pulled from the Diaries of Thucydides must have been written in winter 412/11 BCE: after the devastating defeat of the Athenians on Sicily, its most loyal allies such as the Chians revolted. The Athenians pulled all their forces together to bring the islanders back under their control, a near-desperate attempt to save whatever could be maintained of their thalassocracy. The hardship of this campaign brings up recollections of the dramatic siege of Potidaea in the northern Aegean from 432 to 430 BCE: this had resulted, on the one hand, in the destruction of that city and its people, but also brought, on the other hand, unfathomable pain on the Athenians themselves.

I have been hearing about the ongoing siege of Chios. The Chians are trapped by land and sea. The people are starving. In my History, I praise the Chians. They are a noble people. When they are prosperous, they are wise. They have worked hard to make their city secure. They did not act rashly in rebelling, but they underestimated the ability and the patience of the Athenians to continue the siege. So, now it is winter, and they are besieged, and they are starving. I do not know how long this can go on.

I have been reading through my History, remembering another siege, one that took place some twenty years ago: Potidaea. It was a Corinthian colony settled by Corinthians. Every year, it hosted magistrates from Corinth. It paid tribute to Athens. But Athens was worried that Potidaea would rebel. Athens wanted Potidaea to be completely within its control. Other Athenian allies or subject-states were at least thinking about rebelling and moving into the sphere of influence of Macedon. Athens could not bear this possibility. There was something else: Athens had just suffered a defeat. Often, when we are defeated, we need to re-establish ourselves, our very identities, in our own minds.

Athens demanded that Potidaea would stop accepting Corinthian magistrates, which went against its heritage. It demanded hostages. But it also demanded something impossible, that Potidaea pull down part of its walls. The idea was that Athens would protect it. No city should do this. Every city must be able to protect itself. Athens may have been worried about rebellion, but it demanded things that certainly caused a rebellion.

To back up these demands, Athens sent a whole military expedition. The Potidaeans tried negotiations; they sent ambassadors to Athens but negotiations broke down. Corinth, which did not want a war with Athens, sent soldiers but claimed that they were just "volunteers.” This was a way to pretend that Corinth was not at war with Athens. But who would be fooled by this? War would soon be coming.

Then came the siege, a siege that lasted into a second year. In the winter, it was the hunger more than anything else that destroyed the Potidaeans. The hunger was so severe that some the inhabitants even had to resort to eating each other, the most horrible thing a human being can imagine.

This siege was terrible for the besiegers as well. It was very expensive and drained the Athenian economy. It weakened Pericles himself. And while to this day none of us has truly explained the plague that ravaged Athens, and nearly killed me, there was some connection with the fact that so many people lived in such close quarters in the cities. Even if a plague starts in some natural way, it spreads by the close contact of people. The combination of war and epidemic leads to desolation. The usual ways of life and death collapse, and loss and grief pile up like mounds of bodies. War and plague are the violent besiegers.

Without looking at my whole History, I think of many of the sieges that I have mentioned. As I glance through my History, I think about all the Athenian sieges. The long siege at Mytilene and the debate that concluded that all the inhabitants would not be massacred; only a thousand would be executed. Only a thousand? This was the “merciful” decision.

When there is a siege, time often stands still. If the most famous siege of all, the siege of Troy, lasted ten years, what a waste of the finest men of Greece! Life is so short, and it is wasted on these protracted blockades.

Sometimes I think it is our minds that are besieged, by pride, fear, and ambition. Our pride gets hurt, we feel diminished, we need to rebuild our confidence, we need to tear down someone else’s walls, and so we attack. For all the lives that are lost, even the living will lose part of their lives to such unnecessary and protracted wars.

A siege causes terrible hunger for those within the walls. But it is the hunger of hate and fear that drives the besiegers, and that is the hunger that destroys.

Thanks to Ben’s latest discovery from the Lost Diaries, we now know that Thucydides was confronted with radical ideas of freedom, when democracy and self-confidence were still brimming in Athens. The text mentions the Kakodaimonistai, a libertarian circle attested since the early-4th century thanks to Lysias (frg. 143) – perhaps these had been behind the Hermokopidai scandal in 415 BCE (#5)? It is noteworthy that Thucydides also speaks of the Triballoi, an unruly Thracian tribe that seems to have come to greater prominence among the Athenians in 414 BCE, when Aristophanes mocked their divinised allegory Triballos in his comedy The Birds (1529-65). Now read Thucydides’ own words, followed by some comments on how the concepts of democratic freedom developed in Athens.

I was taking a long walk near my estate and met a man who knows about my career in Athens. Thinking that he would ingratiate himself with me, he started to condemn democracy. He said that democracy is anarchy and that in such a system every man lives as he pleases. He even said that Pericles said so. He said that he heard about speeches from commanders on the battlefield, exhorting the Athenian soldiers to die for the country that allowed them to live in total freedom.

I was not in the mood to debate him there on the road, but his words have been bothering me. It is true that Athens gives its citizens the right to choose their lifestyle. Athenians are not slaves; they are masters of their bodies. But Pericles did not say that every man can do as he pleases; he said that the person who acts to benefit the polis is the person whom we admire. And battlefield exhortations, or the reports of them, are dramatic to fit the urgent occasion.

In a way, it may sound good to say that one can do whatever he wants and that he should not care about what anyone else thinks. But one cannot have a society this way, not for a day.

When I hear “living as one pleases,” I picture groups like the Kakodaimonistai or Triballoi swaggering around and boasting that they live in a democratic state and can do anything they want. I recognize that there is a danger of such groups becoming mobs.

Democracy seeks a balance between individual freedom and individual responsibility. There will be times of terrible imbalance. But it is still better than any other system. A king is not accountable to anyone and can do whatever he wishes, which means that he can exercise power, even leading men to their deaths, on a whim. A tyrant is the law; he has attained absolute freedom through force. His subjects are so afraid of him that they do not say what they truly think.

If we are going to live in a democratic society, we need to care about what others think. We need to care about our image in the eyes of the other citizens. Acting in a way that is concerned about what others think sounds like one is just trying to please others to become popular. What I mean, instead, is that we should rein in our impulses because we want the respect of respectable people in a moral and legal compact.

In a democracy, people hold offices and are held accountable for what they do and bring their proposals forth to the public. We should live accountable lives so that one can aspire to hold such offices. Athens has many checks imposed on individuals and the dēmos. We should have checks on ourselves.

There are many aspects of freedom. Freedom should not mean to do what one pleases if it harms one’s fellow citizens or the society. Freedom is the right to be responsible.

And here is some more backround to Thucydides’ deliberations. Athenian reflections on freedom probably go back to the 7th century BCE, when kingship was replaced by aristocratic rule. It is not easy to trace how the concept developed, given the fragmentary nature of our sources for the earlier periods. Solon was mostly concerned with a balanced government run by the wealthy, Cleisthenes with securing a share in politics for the middle class. In the age of Pericles, democracy was not understood as a blank cheque either but as even a poor citizen’s freedom to enjoy his part of the rule, while still being subject to the polis (cf. the Old Oligarch I 8, written around 443 BCE). Thucydides expresses the same thought in the Epitaphios Logos (#8), though complements it with the freedom the Athenians had in their private lives (Thucydides 2.37). This combination can still be found in Aristotle’s Politics a century later (VI 2, 1317a.40–1317b.13).

The libertarian notion of freedom that disregards laws or customs was – quite notably – first related to tyrants (Herodotus 3.80f.). Its association with misconstrued democracy is a recurring theme only in the 4th-century, thus most clearly pronounced by Aristotle (Politics V 9, 1310a.25–36; cf. Jakub Filonik in Classical Philology 114.1, 2019, who takes his survey down to John Locke’ Second Treatise of Civil Government VI 57 in 1690).

This is another late sheet from the Lost Diaries of Thucydides that Ben has discovered. These considerations date from a time when the war was ongoing and its end yet uncertain. This reflection on the olive trees of Attica will remind its readers of yet another facet of the utter destruction that war brings with it. More on the historical background to follow below, but for now, listen to the melancholic thoughts of Thucydides.

When I walked on my peaceful estate this morning and looked at the woods, I had a rather unusual thought, at least for my mind: We fight over land. But do we ever think about the land itself?

As I look over my work, in a self-critical way, I see how I write, at different places, about armies plundering property, ravishing the countryside, ravaging the land. I see passages where the land is ruined by various armies, including both Athenians and Spartans. I pay no attention, give no details. For example, in my treatment of the Archidamian War, before the plague that came the next year, the Spartans destroyed the spring harvest.

I look at the olive trees on my grounds. And I think about the famous olive trees of Attica, both the private orchards and the groves of sacred olive trees. I heard that they were cut down or burned by the Spartans. Perhaps this is polemic; I do not know to what extent it is true. But I fear that it is.

Even if I am wrong about what the Spartans are doing, I am certain that I am right about what the Athenians have done as well in at least some places. I read over what I write about the Athenians under Pericles invading the territories of Potidaea and Megara. I say that they “ravage the greater part of the territory.” But I am uninterested in what this actually means.

In another passage I write: “The territory of Athens was being ravaged before the very eyes of the Athenians, a sight which the young men had never seen before and the old only in the Persian wars, and it was naturally thought a grievous insult.” I do not give any description of what they saw. I am looking at their eyes, but not through their eyes. I refer to their wounded pride, but not a word about how the land was wounded and scarred.

In my History, in careful detail, I discuss every movement of armies, the sieges, the battles, the diplomatic negotiations. But I ask myself: In my History, am I so focused on recording events that I ignore what the historical events do to the lands involved?

Nations want to possess land, but do they ever consider the impact on the land they kill to possess? But how can I hope that men who kill men will care about trees? Still, I keep thinking: They kill to gain the land. And in the process, they destroy the very land they kill for.

I picture soldiers with their swords and axes, cutting and burning the olive trees of Attica. I see the stumps of sacred groves. I see the ashes of orchards. The land gave us life, and this is what we do. We destroy the land and we destroy ourselves.

Since the historiographer looks back on the Archidamian War (431-421 BCE), we can surmise a moment during the Decelean War, before the destruction of the Athenian fleet at Aigospotamoi (413-405 BCE). The devastation of the countryside of Potidaea and Megara dates to around 431 BCE (II 31.2-3). How the Athenians were stunned by the ravaging of Attica is described earlier in the same book (II 21).

The focus on the olive may have a deeper meaning. This tree held a high symbolic meaning throughout the Mediterranean. It is mentioned repeatedly in the Torah, first as a sign for Noah that the deluge was over (Genesis 8.11). For the Athenians, it was fundamental, as expressed in the myth according to which it was the foundational gift that let them choose Athena as their patron (or rather matron) goddess. This was remembered through the ages on Athenian coinage. In fact, the people of Attica boasted that the olive tree originated from their homeland (Herodotus 5.82).

This is indeed the title that Ben found attached to the next piece, although it is not so much on the burial of the Spartan conqueror Brasidas (on which see the History of the Peloponnesian War V 11) as on the burial of memory itself in the formerly Athenian settlement of Amphipolis.

I just finished writing about the burial of Brasidas. In my History, I believe I was quite fair and judicious, paying due respect to him as a great general who had courage and resolve. And so I understand that his followers buried him with great honors. The Amphipolitans sacrificed to him as a hero and have paid tribute to him with contests and have instituted annual sacrifices.

But I am disturbed that they now call him the founder of the settlement. It was not enough that they made this declaration. In order to create the lie that Brasidas was the founder, they felt the need to erase anything and everything that would tell the truth, that Hagnon was the founder. Anything that was going to serve as a reminder of Hagnon’s founding was erased. They even destroyed the Hagnonian buildings.

I know why they did this. They see Brasidas as the one who saved them. They are afraid of the Athenians and they want to be protected by the Spartans. It is to say: We were always for the Spartans; we were never connected to the Athenians. So honoring Hagnon no longer suits their purposes.

On the level of history, however, I am offended by this … I cannot find the right word … this “mis-historicization” for political expediency. It goes against my very purpose as a historian. Should every generation pretend it is the first generation that ever existed? Should children pretend that they did not have parents? Why, then, are we so concerned with genealogy and pedigree and inheritance?

The founding of a settlement is such a deep and important moment. It turns a place in the ground into a human place. That place always carries the spirit of the founder who dedicated and transformed it into a human space for living.

I am thinking about the erasure of memory when a settlement or city goes through a more important and more positive change, say, from tyranny to democracy. I would understand that the people do not want to think about the terrible past, so symbols are erased, objects are appropriated; the tyrants are no longer visible anywhere. I understand that one would not want to see statues or decrees honoring those evil figures in the past. They do not want to remember and thereby keep alive those figures and the pain they caused.

I would argue, however, that everyone should keep that past in mind, so they do not allow a tyrant to rise again. Democracy is an experiment. It may not survive. People are fickle. People love kings and heroes and follow them down dark paths into bloody endings. We cannot forget the tyrants. If we do, we will not recognize a new tyrant when he starts his covert steps towards a seizure of power. I wonder what the Amphipolitans are really doing: are they taking the stones from the Hagnonian buildings and paving a road from democracy to oligarchy?

As a historian, I fear the erasure of memory. Without history, we will start life and society anew in every generation, and we will be doomed.

There must be another way. We must relegate the unfortunate or unacceptable symbols of the past to a place where they hurt less but we can still learn from them without honoring them. Amphipolis may mean “around the city.” Time surrounds us on all sides. We must know what is all around us. There is so much to learn from the past, and so much to fear from a future that does not know the past.

Amphipolis held a special place in the memory of Thucydides. It had been founded by his fellow citizen Hagnon, son of Nikias, around 437 BCE. It was located strategically in southeastern Thrace from where the mouth and the middle course of the Strymon river could be controlled. The city was lost to Brasidas in 424 BCE, when no one other than Thucydides himself had been the Athenian general in charge of the area. His fleet arrived one day too late for Amphipolis (IV 106), but just in time to occupy the harbor town of Eion, which remained Athenian until the breakdown of the Athenian Empire in 404 BCE.

Recently, I am complaining a lot about the loss of humor in our society. While there are ever more comedians entertaining us on stage or on screen, there seems to be ever less laughter in our lives. And then Ben told me that he just happened to be reading an entry in Thucydides’ Diaries on humor, and I asked for permission to publish it -before I even saw it. Now I am stuck with a piece that I do not know how to respond to …

My work is serious. My task is to provide a history for the ages, concerning times and wars and institutions that will provide models, both positive and negative, for the future. Near the beginning of my work, I am very clear. I am not writing for popularity. I do not write to entertain. Comedies win applause; I do not seek applause, for all that applause dies in a moment, and I do not seek the glory of the moment. Long after the applauders are silent, my work will be read by the generations to come. I do not tell little stories or anecdotes for amusement. Could I write a different work if I wanted to? I am not certain. I am a serious person with a serious purpose.

I understand certain things. I understand irony, I understand trickery. I discussed the ‘good advice’ that Alcibiades gave the Spartan ambassadors, and how the Egestaeans duped the Athenian ambassadors. I understand how one could find grim humor in much of what I write, say, how Paches deceived Hippias of Arcadia. I understand how there would be rich material in Athenian politics, with some of the fools who have risen to power.

Once in a while, I will offer an ironic understatement, such as where I say that Alcidas was not doing a good job of freeing Greece when he killed innocent prisoners, or when I write that Nicias deluded himself by making a peace treaty so that he could gain a good reputation. The readers may find humor in my depiction of Cleon. Perhaps the darkest humor in my work is when I write about the competition to steal other people’s funeral pyre at the height of the plague.

But I leave it to the readers to react as they will, to see the irony, to be shocked, to shake their heads when, knowing how an event will unfold, I take them step by step to the inevitable conclusion. On the stage, there is much humor, if you like this kind of thing. Amusing attacks on politicians and showing men who are drunk on stage. I do admit that sometimes I find insights in comedy, though I use it for my serious purpose.

Here, in the privacy of my own thoughts, I do not regret my humor-less work. I am who I am, and my work is what it is, and I am completely proud. I do not have second thoughts. But for myself, for my own mind, for the way I see the world, I wish that I could see things differently. I cannot be this writer, but there are plays that can and will give men some moments of light in all this darkness.

I have been thinking of a phrase, I call it “deep humor.” It is not the humor of drunks on stage, or foolish politicians, or nations going to wars for no reason at all. It is the humor of the human condition, that we live and then we die. This is the biggest jest of all. Deep humor, a deeply comic perspective, could bring us up short, make us laugh at ourselves, make us think about our mistakes.

Perhaps if we could hear ourselves laughing at ourselves, if we could see our foolishness on the stage of our minds, we could clear our minds and stop destroying ourselves. And then there would be no need for a work like mine, a chronicle of war, and blood, and treachery. Perhaps if the world could start laughing, I could learn to laugh, too.

The first lines of these musings from the Lost Diaries will remind the attentive readers of Thucydides’ famous characterization of his own work as ktema es aei (a possession for all times), rather than something to enjoy only in the moment (History of the Peloponnesian War I 22.4). The reference to Alcibiades relates to his deceitful maneuvering between the Spartans, Argives and Athenians in the interwar period in 420 BCE (V 45.2). The Egestaeans duped the Athenian ambassadors by making them believe how rich they were (VI 46). The admiral Paches bluntly lied to Hippias of Arcadia, when reasserting Athenian supremacy over Notion in 427 BCE (III 34.3). The campaign of the Spartan admiral Alcidas around Lesbos occurred in the same year (III 32.2). Nothing of this is really funny, and one has to look hard for something hilarious in Thucydides’ work.

I never understood the stealing of the funeral pyres during the plague as dark humor, but as an expression of total despair, and I hesitate to buy it that he was joking about it when he wrote II 52.4. But is he now admitting that he made it up to illustrate the limitless suffering in Athens?

The only exception that I am aware of is the scorn he was pouring out over Cleon. A good example is the passage that explains the motivation of those who wanted war (to cover up their mischief), such as Cleon, and those who wanted peace (for the opposite reasons), such as Nicias (V 16.1).

Anyways, the conclusion Thucydides draws leaves me speechless ...

Thucydides is well-known for his inexorable realism. Have we not all learned from him that the facts on the ground rule? But the latest recovery from the Lost Diaries reveals that Constructivists can likewise claim Thucydides as their intellectual forebear.

Kosmos: A Word that Embellishes to Create Order

I have been thinking about the word kosmos in its range of meanings. I have used the word in many ways. It can be “embellishment” or “orderly arrangement.” While many writers embellish reality, I strive to present reality with clear eyes. With my clear eyes, I admire those who can create order, in both war and peace. An army or navy must have discipline and solidarity, but it also must have weapons, armor, ships, and food. And yet for all that, in the raging fury and violence of war, how does a leader keep his force in good order? Ironically, with embellishment.

I am thinking about Phormio's naval battle in the Gulf of Corinth against the Peloponnesian fleet that I recounted in Book 2 and for which I cited (or reconstructed) the two speeches. The Peloponnesian commanders knew that their men were demoralized by the previous defeat, when they had formed a circle with their ships, but Phormio waited for the winds of dawn and then skillfully attacked, confusing the enemy, and capturing triremes.

Now their fleet is larger, but less experienced, and the commanders decide that they had better join battle before more Athenian ships come. But they need to raise the spirits of their men and rouse them from their discouragement. First, they recast the defeat as the result of an accident and lack of preparation. Second, they admit their inexperience, but say that the fact of their defeat now gives them experience. Yes, the Athenians have superior experience, but the Peloponnesians have superior numbers. For good measure, if anyone conducts themselves badly, they will be punished.

These commanders speak to the moment; they use the very thing that was concerning their men, their defeat based on inexperience, and turn it around to say that the defeat gave them experience!

On the other side, the Athenians see the same imbalance in numbers, and they are now alarmed at the odds against them. Phormio also meets the moment with his speech, saying that the enemy must have superior numbers because they are afraid; they know that their success has only been on land and not at sea. The Athenians have the experience and should have confidence. The Spartans know that they were defeated and now join battle against their will. Their superior numbers will give them the illusion of strength, and that illusion will be their downfall.

The situation is as the commander says it is. The commander frames the picture that the soldiers see as they move into battle. He creates kosmos, the ordered and effective military force, through kosmos, surrounding the reality of the situation with his glorious embellishments.

Just as the military leader surveys the battlefield and presents the scene to his soldiers, so the political leader analyzes the present and envisions the future. If the leader says that there is malaise, the people will feel the malaise. If he says that the city is prospering, they will enthusiastically engage in business, assuming prosperity and thus creating that prosperity.

On the battlefield in war and in the public square in peace, the leader can change destiny. Words not only inspire actions; words, in the mouths of great leaders, can win a battle or preserve a democracy. Kosmos creates kosmos.

Thucydides reflects on the naval campaign of the Athenian admiral Phormio in the Corinthian Gulf in 429 BCE. The first combat resulted in a clear victory over the Peloponnesians, as described in The History of the Peloponnesian War II 83-84. The second resulted in significant losses on both sides, but given the lower numbers of the Athenians (20 versus 77), it may well be counted as another conquest (II 90-92). Indeed, the superior leadership of Phormio paired with the courage of his oarsmen was crucial for maintaining Athenian thalassocracy in the dimmest phase of the Archidamian War.

Thucydides’ narrative is a most worthy read for those interested in military – and political – strategy. We see Peloponnesian leaders making sound judgments. Under normal circumstances, their choices would have set their ships on a course of success and earned them much praise – were it not for the brilliance of Phormio. He not only demonstrates this in analysing the enemy’s plans and devising suitable responses, but also in displaying psychological leadership. His pep talk is not based on ‘fake news’ or ignoring risks, but it allows his men to understand the outline of his plan and makes them see their own strength prevail over all challenges.

The last papyrus fragment from The Lost Diaries contains two consecutive entries: mature and conciliatory thoughts on a life that went different paths (presented here), followed by anxious concerns about the future (presented next week). Thucydides looks back on the long war which had determined his own life and that of his whole generation, he contemplates an Athens that had barely survived the destruction of its erstwhile glorious fleet and the bloody tyranny of the 30 Oligarchs (405–403 BCE).

I know that I am at the end of my life. I can feel it in my bones and my blood. I do not think much about myths, but there is one that keeps coming back to me now. The swan, a bird consecrated to Apollo, makes a shrill whistle before it dies. While I still can, I want to sing my swan song, my shrill whistle to all who may see this. Close to eternity, I feel like I can see backwards and forwards.

I have tried to write a history of the greatest war, but I will not finish it, because the war went on and on. Since I was uncompromising with my research, I will fail to take my account to its end. I was once a strategos, a general, a leader of soldiers. But I will not die in battle side by side with my compatriots. I will not have a glorious death like I once imagined.

I survived the plague of Athens, that mysterious disease that killed so many thousands of people, but I do not know why I survived. I am dying from some other illness, just as mysterious, and I do not know what or why. I suppose it does not matter what it is that is draining my strength and affecting my mind. Or is it just old age?

Before I am too weak to think or write, I want to express some thoughts about my life. I have nursed my hatred for Cleon like a wound all these years. I have thought about it every day. I think about it now, one last time, but now, like a swan singing his final song, I can look both into my past and, in a way I can only imagine now, into my future.

In the winter of the ninth year of the war, the Spartan general Brasidas marched against Amphipolis, an Athenian colony. One night, in stormy, snowy weather, he hurried to take the city by surprise. He had another weapon; some of those who lived in Amphipolis helped him to approach the city without warning. Brasidas stopped outside the city, waiting for his allies to open the gates. The Athenian general Eucles sent a message to me, as the other commander in Thrace. I was half a day’s sail away at the isle of Thasos. I set sail at once with seven ships, all that I had, to save Amphipolis or at least to save their port of Eion. When Brasidas heard I was coming, he offered moderate terms and the city surrendered. Later that very day, I entered the harbor of Eion and saved it for Athens.

Why, then, was I exiled? What else could I have done? Who could have done more?

I hold Cleon responsible for this unfair judgement; he was in power at the time of my sentence, and he knew I was an adherent of Pericles and that I despised him.

While I will never forgive him for what he did to me, I realize that he made me who I am, and who I will be. I do not believe in the Fates, and I have no serious concerns about the gods. But now I think about what would have happened if I had won a great victory at Amphipolis, or even if I had not been condemned and was allowed to continue as a strategos.

I was forced to find a different life. And I found a life I never would have imagined for myself. The richest man in the world is he who is fulfilled. I have been able to use my experience in war and politics, and especially the terrible things, and I have been able, without illusions, to closely examine war and human nature and the world as it really is.

I write history with the full confidence that my work will instruct the generations and the centuries to come. My War will be seen as a prototype for every war, and my analysis of the motivations and the reasons for war will spark debates and discussions.

I am fulfilled and truly grateful – even to Cleon.

If my History of the Peloponnesian War is less about the past but about the present of all human existence, then it is also about the future. Alas, it is not given to me to finish my account – or should I be also grateful that I am saved from reliving the pain of seeing my home city fall? And yet every day that I spent researching and describing those wartime events, I was thinking of how the conclusions of my work would spell out the lessons of detailed analysis that leaves so much to the readers to find for themselves.

And this is why my swan song sings about the future.

I do not fear for myself. But I do fear for Athens. Cleon did not destroy me, but he destroyed himself, and Athens survived. I am concerned about a system that can create a Cleon and therefore I am concerned about the future of democracy. How many Cleons can our democracy survive? Under the leadership of demagogues, we squandered our empire and allowed the Spartans to destroy our proud city. The little they left us barely deserves the name.

Athenians, like children, have learned how to stand up on our own two feet and walk tentatively and awkwardly, and we have taken a series of steps. Democracy itself is like a child, wondering what it will grow up to be. Democracy is the glory of our state.

But how do those of my class who praise democracy truly feel about democracy? Do we not look down on the lower classes? Are we not afraid of them? What we call radical democracy is not so radical. Because we are terrified of true democracy.

In this moment of clarity, can I look beyond myself, beyond what I have learned to be the right place for man and woman, child and doter, freeborn, metic and slave? I cannot imagine women being given the rights of men. I cannot imagine a world without slaves. But someday, I see in my vision, there will be another state, perhaps a Greek state, one called Atlantis, or else, where there will be a true democracy for everyone. While this is beyond my ken, I can imagine it as an idea.

I wonder: Would this state, this true democracy, survive? They will be faced with the problem of demagogues who control the masses with lies and needless wars. How will they cope with all that? When they are confronted with a demagogue, and they surely will be, what will they do? Will they take steps backwards, in the other direction?

Regardless of the present humiliation, I trust that Athens will rise again from the ashes. To our next generation, and to all other nations that will choose democracy over tyranny, I have this final message:

No one person should have complete, ultimate power, because there will not only be leaders like a Pericles, there will also be others like Cleon. There must be powers that can resist the demagogue when he arises. These powers, courts, assemblies, councils, must have walls that are so strong that they can resist the mob when the demagogue commands them to breach and break them. For all its inherent dangers, democracy contains the answers.

We must not dissolve into tyranny and monarchy and oligarchy. We must keep our nation strong by holding everyone accountable. Democracy must assume the rise of demagogues and be vigilant, like soldiers standing on guard, prepared to protect that which is most precious to all of us: Freedom.

This is my swan song. This is my shrill whistle to warn the future.