Thucydides and Sparta. 9781910589755, 9781910589991, 1910589756

Table of contents :
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
In Memoriam Anton Powell
Introduction and Acknowledgements
1. Thucydides’ General Attitude to Sparta
2. ΒΡΑΔΥΤΗΣ ΛΑΚΩΝΙΚΗ: Spartan Slowness inThucydides’ History
3. The Presence of Sparta in the Funeral Oration of Perikles
4. ΝΟΜΙΜΑ ΑΡΧΑΙΟΤΡΟΠΑ ΚΑΙ ΑΜΕΙΚΤΑ: Thucydides’ Alienation of Spartan Kingship
5. Thucydides, Ethnic Solidarity, and Messenian Ethnogenesis
6. Xenia and Proxenia in Thucydides’ Sparta
7. The Mytho-Political Map of Spartan Colonisation in Thucydides
8. Information from Sparta: A Trap for Thucydides?
Index
Back Cover

Citation preview

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THUCYDIDES AND SPARTA

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T HUCYDIDES AND

S PARTA edited by Anton Powell† and Paula Debnar

Contributors Jean Ducat, Thomas J. Figueira, Maria Fragoulaki, Emily Greenwood, Polly Low, Ellen Millender

The Classical Press of Wales

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First published in 2021 by The Classical Press of Wales 15 Rosehill Terrace, Swansea SA1 6JN [email protected] www.classicalpressofwales.co.uk Distributor in North America. E-book distributor world-wide ISD, 70 Enterprise Drive, Suite 2, Bristol, CT 06010, USA Tel: +1 (860) 584-6546 Fax: +1 (860) 516-4873 www.isdistribution.com © 2021 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. ISBN hard-back 978-1-910589-75-5; ebook 978-1-910589-99-1 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Typeset by Louise Jones, and printed and bound in the UK by Gomer Press, Llandysul, Ceredigion, Wales ––––––––––––––––– The Classical Press of Wales, an independent venture, was founded in 1993, initially to support the work of classicists and ancient historians in Wales and their collaborators from further afield. It now publishes work initiated by scholars internationally, and welcomes contributions from all parts of the world. The symbol of the Press is the Red Kite. This bird, once widespread in Britain, was reduced by 1905 to some five individuals confined to a small area known as ‘The Desert of Wales’ – the upper Tywi valley. Geneticists report that the stock was saved from terminal inbreeding by the arrival of one stray female bird from Germany. After much careful protection, the Red Kite now thrives – in Wales and beyond.

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To Simon Hornblower for his many contributions to the study of Thucydides, as a researcher and teacher.

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CONTENTS Page In memoriam Anton Powell Thomas J. Figueira and Ellen Millender

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Introduction and Acknowledgements Paula Debnar

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1 Thucydides’ general attitude to Sparta Emily Greenwood

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Βραδυτὴς Λακωνική:

Spartan slowness in Thucydides’ History

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Paula Debnar 3 The presence of Sparta in the Funeral Oration of Perikles Jean Ducat 4

Νόµιµα ἀρχαιότροπα καὶ ἄµεικτα:

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Thucydides’ alienation

of Spartan kingship Ellen Millender

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5 Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis Thomas J. Figueira

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6 Xenia and proxenia in Thucydides’ Sparta Polly Low

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7 The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides: the ‘Spartan colonial triangle’ vs. the ‘Spartan Mediterranean’ 183 Maria Fragoulaki 8 Information from Sparta: a trap for Thucydides? Anton Powell

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Index

275

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IN MEMORIAM ANTON POWELL Thomas J. Figueira and Ellen Millender My heart is filled with great sorrow over the passing of an excellent scholar, marvelous editor, and beloved friend. Anton Powell introduced himself to me at a reception of the Association of Ancient Historians at the simulacrum of the Parthenon in Nashville, Tennessee in 1995. That venue was perfect for two individuals with sensibilities over what might be counterfeit in academe. By the mid-1980s, I thought that I had Sparti-ed hearty and out with several long articles. Yet Anton invited me to the first meeting of the International Sparta Seminar at Hay-on-Wye in 1997, which began a lasting re-enchantment with Laconian studies under his encouragement and with his enduring collaboration. His positive impact on my scholarship is almost inexpressible. I think that the projects which we shared with many dear friends embodied fine scholarship and great generosity, inclusiveness, and empathy. His unstinting work in building the International Sparta Seminar, Classical Press of Wales, and Celtic Conferences in Classics were enhanced by his ability to draw into these endeavors many gifted disparate fellow toilers. Let us all keep bright the memory of our friend and colleague. Thomas J. Figueira, Lawrenceville, New Jersey

Like many of my fellow classicists, I was deeply saddened to learn of the passing of Anton Powell. I had the great fortune to have known Anton as a friend and colleague since September 1997, when he invited me to participate in the international conference on Spartan history held at Hay- on-Wye. At this and subsequent conferences, Anton demonstrated his interest in promoting the work of young scholars and making our field as inclusive as possible. His impact on my own career, as on that of many other scholars, has been immeasurable. With his own publications, his organization of numerous conferences, and his creation of the highly esteemed Classical Press of Wales, Anton has fostered what seems to be an unquenchable interest in ancient Lacedaemon. As an editor, Anton was always there to give a boost, when one had doubts about an argument or a paper’s feasibility, and to give tough love when a paper needed drastic revision.

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In Memoriam Anton Powell Together with Stephen Hodkinson, Anton created the International Sparta Seminar, which I have viewed over the years as an ever-growing family of Spartan specialists. Our “family” would meet up every few years at conferences that promoted collaboration, prompted deep debate, and created lifelong friendships. When one considers the many contributions to our field and to our lives that Anton has made as a scholar, conference organizer, editor, collaborator, and mentor, it is impossible to imagine classics without him. I know, however, that I and his other friends will miss most the empathy, humor, generosity, and humanity that Anton brought to every aspect of his life. Ellen Millender, Portland, Oregon

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INTRODUCTION AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The seeds of this volume were first sown in 2008 at the International Sparta Seminar on ‘Thucydides, Herodotus, and Sparta’, organized by Anton Powell, Stephen Hodkinson, and Ellen Millender. Some of the chapters included here began as papers at that panel of the Celtic Conference in Classics held at the University of Cork. In the interim new contributors were recruited and, thus, new topics were added to the project. The final result is a collection that is international as well as intergenerational and that reflects current streams in scholarship both on Thucydides and on Sparta. It joins the debate on Sparta’s alleged exceptionalism, for example, and contributes as well to ongoing explorations of ethnicity in the ancient world. Throughout, in their nuanced readings of the History, the contributors cast a critical eye on the image of the Spartans, including both Thucydides’ role in its creation and his own susceptibility to the image the Spartans wanted to project. Anton Powell’s essay on Thucydides’ use of Spartan sources, which concludes this volume, is a conclusion in another sense as well. In June of this year, as he was completing work on the chapter, Anton died unexpectedly after a short illness. The obituaries that have appeared and this volume’s two tributes to him by colleagues who knew and worked with Anton for over twenty years attest to his extraordinary life, many talents, and outstanding character. He played an enormous role in the resurgence of Spartan studies through his own scholarship, as well as through his founding of the Classical Press of Wales and his co-founding with Stephen Hodkinson of the International Sparta Seminar. Equally impressive are his contributions to the discipline of classics in general – his book on Virgil, for example, and his creation of the Celtic Conferences in Classics. Those who knew him better than I did have spoken eloquently about my co-editor’s qualities and accomplishments. Here I will simply add that it was a great honor and pleasure to work with Anton Powell. Much gratitude is due those who helped to give birth to Thucydides and Sparta. First of all, I offer belated thanks to Noreen Humble, Keith Sidwell, and Konstantin Doulamis, all of whom were members of the Department of Classics at the University of Cork in 2008 and helped with the logistics of hosting the original conference. Thanks as well are due Mount Holyoke College, South Hadley, Massachusetts, for helping to support this project. In the final stages of production, Louise Jones at Gomer Press has been enormously understanding and accommodating, especially given the

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Introduction and Acknowledgements disruptions resulting from the ongoing Covid-19 pandemic; the index was compiled by Pam Scholefield, who likewise coped graciously with our shifting schedule. Both deserve my personal thanks. So, too, I was touched by the offers of assistance I received from colleagues and friends when news of Anton’s death became public. Ellen Millender, Tom Figueira, and Paul Cartledge all provided welcome emotional as well as practical support. Moreover, without Nancy Bouidghaghen’s coming to the rescue (carting documents from Swansea to Nottingham so that she could scan and relay them to me in Massachusetts), there would likely have been a significant delay before I could make use of Anton’s handwritten notes on almost half the chapters. In this and other respects, Nancy has been a guardian angel for this volume. So, too, I extend my gratitude to Stephen Mitchell, who attended to many of the details required for the continuation of the Press. Most of all, my heartfelt thanks go to Ioanna Kralli, Anton’s wife, who, despite her enormous grief, worked with Nancy to assemble his papers, and who reached out to assure me that the project would go forward and that Anton had faith in me to complete it. *

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In her outline of Thucydides’ view of the Spartans, Emily Greenwood moves beyond questions about the historian’s possible bias toward or against Sparta. Instead she demonstrates the unusual degree to which the Spartans are presented in the History in terms of how others perceived them – what might be termed the ‘virtual Spartans’. Moreover, in unveiling the critique to which Thucydides subjects the perceptions of ethnic identity, Greenwood highlights the fluidity of national character and ethnic identity in the History. She further points out Thucydides’ interest in how changes in the Spartans’ fortunes affected perceptions of them, which in turn had very real effects on both their behavior and that of their opponents. Paula Debnar turns to a negative perception of the Spartans, their allegedly incurable slowness. She contends that, although Thucydides himself (along with his translators and commentators) seems to privilege this aspect of Spartan character as a historical cause, the historian also details situations in which the Spartans move swiftly. She argues that rather than being primarily a function of national character, Spartan slowness in the History is often the consequence of practical factors, in particular the serious difficulties the Spartans faced in managing sometimes fractious allies and in building and financing a fleet to confront the Athenians at sea.

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Introduction and Acknowledgements These, she points out, are the very obstacles to Spartan success that the Thucydidean Pericles articulates in Book 1. Jean Ducat’s nuanced analysis of the Funeral Oration brings into clear focus the received views of Spartan virtues that form the background against which Pericles tries to establish the Athenians’ superiority in every aspect of life (e.g. government, daily life, education) – and in death. Especially insightful is his interpretation of the intellectual component of the Athenian soldier’s decision to die for his city as a response to the Spartans’ ‘beautiful death’ and a rejection of the Spartans’ unthinking obedience. Equally original is the possibility he raises that Pericles’ treatment of women may be a commentary on the behavior of their Spartan counterparts. In the fourth chapter, with its juxtaposition of King Archidamus II and the regent Pausanias, Ellen Millender contends that Thucydides uses the pair to set up the polar opposition between the Spartans and Athenians in Book 1. For Millender, the Spartans’ stubborn retention of kingship (times two) indicates their political difference and points as well to the Spartans’ general torpor and resistance to technical changes. Likewise, she explains Archidamus’ ineffectual leadership as a function of his traditionalism. In turn, the way in which Pausanias ‘degenerates both morally and physically into a barbarian despot’ strengthens the association between Spartans and barbarians in the History, already present in their retention of kingship. She offers the Spartans’ response to Pausanias’ behavior as further evidence of their extreme hesitation and caution, which the Corinthians in Book 1 contrast to Athens’ quickness and innovation. Thomas Figueira focuses on one of the most important and yet most mysterious elements of Spartan society, the Helots. Figueira points out that, although Thucydides was skeptical of ethnic allegiances and focused on the bipolarity that marked inter-polis affairs, the History is a vital source for understanding Messenian identity. He argues that ‘Helots and former Helots were the main engine of Messenian ethnogenesis’, which itself is ‘a testing ground for understanding fifth-century identity formation’. After laying out his understanding of ancient ethnicity and Thucydides’ treatment of it, Figueira contextualizes the disparate pieces of evidence for Messenian ethnogenesis in the History by filling in evidentiary gaps with an impressively wide range of ancient sources.

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Introduction and Acknowledgements Polly Low mines the History for examples of xenia and proxenia involving Spartans. Neither vein runs deep, but, as she points out, Thucydides is equally stingy with information about such relationships involving other cities. Moreover, even in the case of the History’s most famous xenoi, Archidamus and Pericles, Thucydides focuses on perceptions concerning the implications of their relationship, that is, on how others suspected their being xenoi might affect their behavior. Low argues that for Thucydides, practical factors outweighed such personal (or quasi-personal) ties, a pattern that holds true for the Athenians as much as, if not more than, it does for the Spartans. As Maria Fragoulaki demonstrates, Thucydides understood the critical role of kinship ties in the quarrels that led to the outbreak of war as well as the subtle ways in which intercommunal kinship and ethnicity could operate. Nonetheless, the historian restricts Sparta’s kinship nexus to what she calls ‘the Spartan triangle’, an area whose vertices were the mainland city of Herakleia and the islands of Melos and Kythera. After elucidating a number of significant ties that Thucydides glosses over, Fragoulaki maintains that his ‘masking’ of Sparta’s broader colonial activity across the Mediterranean is part of a strategy to cast Athens and Sparta as opposites, with the Spartans operating ‘close to home’ and ‘back in time’, and the Athenians being ‘mobile, expansive, and opportunistic’. Moreover, she contends that the historian omits mention of the Spartans’ colonial ties in order to obscure their long-term interests in Sicily. Closing the volume is Anton Powell’s chapter on Thucydides’ use of Spartan sources, a trap for Thucydides. He argues that, despite Thucydides’ avowed claims about his methods for investigating the past, the historian uncritically accepted information that he must have received from Spartan sources. In doing so, he – perhaps unwittingly – confirmed notions the Spartans themselves wanted to project concerning, for example, the stability of their institutions, as well as their professionalism and bravery in battle. Powell’s speculations about why Thucydides may have fallen into this trap are especially provocative. At the same time, his exposure of the tensions and contradictions between Thucydides’ proclaimed methods and his practice when it comes to Spartan history is a fitting conclusion to the volume. His paper establishes that questions about ancient Sparta are an indispensable key to a critical understanding of ancient sources such as Thucydides, Herodotus and Xenophon.

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1 THUCYDIDES’ GENERAL ATTITUDE TO SPARTA Emily Greenwood Studies of Thucydides’ attitude to Sparta have tended to approach this question as a debate about his (im)partiality.1 For François Ollier, writing in 1933, Thucydides did not qualify as a laconist – an idealizer of Sparta – but was rather an aristocratic liberal whose loyalty to Athens did not preclude admiration for Sparta. In Ollier’s analysis, Thucydides occasionally succumbed to Spartan propaganda – the so-called ‘mirage spartiate’.2 Writing a decade after Ollier, Paul Cloché concluded that, although Thucydides’ depiction of Sparta is generally even-handed, his loyalty to Athens and his Athenian cultural chauvinism sometimes result in harsh and ironic depictions of Sparta’s faults.3 The difficulty with trying to gauge Thucydides’ bias or impartiality towards Sparta is the complex relationship between Thucydides’ own thought, the stereotypes about Sparta articulated by actors in his History, and the intricacy of his narrative presentation. Consequently, in this chapter I distinguish between Thucydides’ own attitude to Sparta – which is largely elusive – and Thucydides’ representation of perceptions of and attitudes to Sparta among participants in the Atheno-Peloponnesian War. Simon Hornblower’s salutary observation on the question of Thucydides’ opinions holds strong: ‘It cannot be emphasized enough that the few authorial comments by Thucydides, and only such comments, are the evidence from which we can hope to construct Thucydides’ own opinions’ (Hornblower 1994, 163).4 While Sparta and the Spartans are opaque in Thucydides,5 I will suggest that, for Thucydides, the opacity of Spartan culture functions as an extreme example of the imperfect circulation of knowledge (both information and mis-information) in the Greek world in the high stakes atmosphere of the Atheno-Peloponnesian War. As such, what I call ‘the Sparta effect’ illustrates Thucydides’ profound interest in the projections of different polis-actors and the role that these projections played in the war. The fallibility of perceptions about Sparta is one of the major insights of the work and demonstrates Thucydides’ interest in intelligent understanding in interstate relations. I will argue that Thucydides subjects intra-ethnic perceptions to the same critical analysis and appraisal as other perceptions in the war.6

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Emily Greenwood Related to Thucydides’ interest in the fallibility of perceptions in human history is a specific interest in the way in which the Atheno-Peloponnesian war exposed the contingency, constructedness, and relational interdependency of cultural and ethnic identities. On the one hand, Thucydides clearly depicts the climate of ethnic suspicion and estrangement, which was inculcated by this intra-Hellenic war, and many of the prejudices which Greek peoples harbored against their fellow Greeks are reproduced in the mouths of different actors in the History; on the other hand – in his own authorial voice and narrative presentation – Thucydides is careful to critique the fallacious logic of ethnic divisiveness, which reified cultural differences into supposedly ‘natural’ divisions between different political communities. Drawing on recent research on Greek ethnicity, I try to tease out ways in which Thucydides’ analysis of Sparta reveals a projection interposed between historical interpreters and the imagined referent, Sparta. Although the terminology is anachronistic, Thucydides’ treatment of attitudes to the Spartans reveals an instrumentalist understanding of cultural identity and ethnicity.7 It is misguided to analyze Thucydides’ general attitude to Sparta in isolation from his larger historiographical project. As research on experience and teleology in Thucydides’ History has demonstrated, the study of realtime expectations and perceptions and their subsequent disappointment or reversal is integral to the plan and structure of the History.8 The rigid, essentialist inter-subjective prejudices about different ethnic groups, which Thucydides observed in the minds of his contemporaries, was a rich canvas against which to explore the gap between perceptions and expectations and reality. Every passage where the Spartans are said to be acting ‘contrary to type’ or acting ‘against their customs’, simultaneously reflects stereotypes and undermines their authority, since these remarks demonstrate the fluidity of national character (see pp. 10–13 below). Over the course of the History the Spartans change and surprise their fellow Greeks’ expectations, as do the Athenians.9 Culture and ethnicity in the theatre of war Jonathan Price has demonstrated how Thucydides presents the AthenoPeloponnesian War as an ‘internal war’ over the hegemony of the Hellenic world, in which inter-state hostilities prompted states to emphasize differences between them and to reconceive of cultural differences as inherent, natural differences, along ethnic and racial lines (Price 2001). Similarly, from an anthropological perspective, Marshall Sahlins has explored the process of complementary differentiation between the two main state protagonists in Thucydides’ History:

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Thucydides’ general attitude to Sparta In the fifth century Athens and Sparta were making a system of their differences. They joined in schismogenic competition on the principle that each was as good as and better than, the same as and different from, the other. (Sahlins 2004, 82)

In his Archaeology of Greek History (1.1–20), Thucydides stresses intraHellenic schism, as different states align with either the Athenians or Spartans, using the verbs διακρίνω, διαφέρω, and διΐστημι.10 In Thucydides’ analysis, the polarization of Athens and Sparta creates fertile conditions for mutual suspicion and mistrust; in turn, actors exploit these suspicions to foster essentialist ethnic distinctions. At 1.102.3, describing the Spartans’ mistrustful treatment of the Athenians in the context of the Helot revolt on Mt. Ithome in 462 BCE, Thucydides comments that, The Spartans became fearful lest the daring and initiative of the Athenians (τὸ τολμηρὸν καὶ τὴν νεωτεροποιίαν) – whom they thought of anyway as a race apart (καὶ ἀλλοφύλους ἅμα ἡγησάμενοι) – might, if they stayed on, lead to them being persuaded by the men in Ithome to cause trouble.

Thucydides’ interest in the interplay of perceptions (Spartan fears and conceptions based on the psychology and character which they impute to the Athenians) is striking. In the context of ideas of ethnicity, it is also notable that Thucydides’ account of Spartan motivations depicts the Spartans harbouring ethnic stereotypes of the Athenians which echo ethnic stereotypes articulated by the Corinthians earlier in the book (1.70.2–4), alongside a racialized conception of the differences which set them apart from the Athenians: ἀλλοφύλους ... ἡγησάμενοι.11 It is as though, through this juxtaposition, Thucydides shows us the construction of ethnic and cultural stereotypes into full blown race-thinking. In this chapter, I use the adjective ‘ethnic’ in a rather specific sense, to refer to the emphasis on cultural differences between different groups in the History, which are explained in terms of their belonging to a particular ethnos. While I accept Jonathan Hall’s circumscribed definition of ethnic identity in Greek history more broadly (Hall 1997), and believe that this applies to much of the rhetoric used by actors in the History, Thucydides is skeptical about this discourse and instead focuses on ethnicity as a contingent projection of cultural identity – a way of projecting specious, racialized distinctions between cultures.12 Perceptions How does one go to war with an idea? This is a perennial question in military handbooks and studies of warfare. Interest in the war of ideas has seen a resurgence in the context of the contemporary ‘war on terror’ and a greater emphasis on Information Operations (IO), in the parlance of the

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Emily Greenwood US military.13 Studies on information warfare abound with phrases such as ‘perceptual conflict’, ‘war of perceptions’, ‘perception management’, ‘perception failure’, and ‘perception warfare’. Although there are profound differences and discontinuities between warfare in the Greek world in the second half of the fifth-century BCE and the current era of so-called Fourth Generation Warfare (4GW), contemporary interest in the study of perceptions in warfare finds an analogue in Thucydides’ analysis of ‘the Sparta effect’. More than any other state or people in the History, the Spartans repeatedly vex their allies, their enemies and neutral observers with the play of perceptions.14 We can trace this effect in Thucydides’ language, both in the words attributed to historical actors in direct speech and in third-person narrative. There is a cluster of vocabulary that identifies the Spartans as the object of report, rumour, myth, appearance, perception and evaluation, often involving passive verb forms (the Spartans are said to be ... are thought to be ... are perceived as): ἐλέγεσθε, φαίνησθε, νομίζεσθε, ἀξιοῦσι, δόξης, ἀξίωμα, γνώμη, ὄψις, φαίνεσθαι. Thucydides flags up the ‘phenomenological’ challenges in writing the history of states and their power in a famous passage at 1.10.2–3, suggesting that future observers relying on the evidence of archaeology would arrive at mistaken projections for both Athens and Sparta: overestimating Athens and underestimating Sparta.15 The terminology is interesting: Thucydides writes that Sparta ‘would appear really rather inferior’ (φαίνοιτ’ ἂν ὑποδεεστέρα – 1.10.2), and that the power of Athens would be conjectured to be double what it is in fact (διπλασίαν ἂν τὴν δύναμιν εἰκάζεσθαι ἀπὸ τῆς φανερᾶς ὄψεως τῆς πόλεως ἢ ἔστιν – 1.10.2–3). As we will see, Thucydides’ depiction of Sparta is typically filtered through projections and reports, and is characterized by the language of appearance, reputation, hearsay, and conjecture. Many of the impressions about Sparta in the History are focalized through Sparta’s Peloponnesian allies or third parties (such as the Plataeans and the Mytileneans), who are caught between the two pre-eminent powers. These impressions are typically received impressions, formed as a result of hearsay. Both the Corinthians in Book 1 and the Plataeans in Book 3 speak of the Spartans in the passive voice, commenting on how they are spoken of and how they are thought of: ‘you used to be thought a source of security’ (ἐλέγεσθε ἀσφαλεῖς εἶναι), say the Corinthians at 1.69.5 in a speech calculated to rile the Spartans. At 3.13.7, the Mytileneans refer to the accusation (aitia) that Sparta does not help states that rebel from Athens, and exhort the Spartans – using the medio-passive voice – ‘to be seen to be liberators’ (ἢν δ’ ἐλευθεροῦντες φαίνησθε). Finally, in a life and death scenario, the Plataeans attempt to leverage the Spartans’ reputation to

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Thucydides’ general attitude to Sparta influence their judgment and behaviour, reinforcing mention of perceptions (the passive voice is also used here) with the language of exemplarity: ‘you are regarded as a model of manly character by most of the Greeks’ (παράδειγμα τοῖς πολλοῖς τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἀνδραγαθίας νομίζεσθε, 3.57.1). The discussion of Sparta’s reputation and whether or not it is justified is an overt topic in several speeches. The Mytileneans challenge the Spartans to, ‘prove yourselves the men the Greeks believe you to be’ (γίγνεσθε δὲ ἄνδρες οἵουσπερ ὑμᾶς οἵ τε Ἕλληνες ἀξιοῦσι)’ (3.14.2); and in their negotiations with the Athenians over the blockade of Sphacteria, the Spartans themselves refer to their pre-eminent status among the Greeks (οἵτινες ἀξίωμα μέγιστον τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἔχοντες – 4.18.1). Doxa (reputation / status) is also key to the war of perceptions. In the Plataean debate the Plataean representatives evoke the Spartans’ reputation (τῆς ὑμετέρας δόξης – 3.59.1), and in the later Melian debate, which shares some interesting correspondences with the Plataean debate, the Athenians pour scorn on the Melians’ expectations (i.e. their credulity in trusting the Spartans’ reputation): ‘As for your expectations (δòξης) about the Spartans – your faith that they will come to your aid from some sense of honour – we congratulate you on your innocence but do not envy you your folly’.16 Thucydides also echoes this language in his authorial voice, commenting on the degree to which the other Greeks were deeply affected by the image and reputation of the Spartans (‘the Sparta effect’ again). Remarking on the unexpected (παρὰ γνώμην) outcome of the blockade of Sphacteria, and the Athenians’ success in capturing the island and the Spartans who were holding it, Thucydides observes, ‘they [the Greeks] would never have expected Spartans to surrender their arms from starvation or any other form of compulsion’ (τοὺς γὰρ Λακεδαιμονίους οὔτε λιμῷ οὔτ’ ἀνάγκῃ οὐδεμιᾷ ἠξίουν τὰ ὅπλα παραδοῦναι) – 4.40.1–2. There is an even more striking passage in the narrative of the fighting on Sphacteria, where Thucydides describes the impact of ‘the Sparta effect’ on the Athenian combatants (4.34.1): But as the Spartans became less able to run out and respond quickly to the point of attack, the light-armed troops observed that they were now slower in defence, while they themselves were very greatly emboldened by seeing (τῇ τε ὄψει τοῦ θαρσεῖν τὸ πλεῖστον εἰληφότες) how much more numerous they were than the enemy; and since they had not immediately suffered as badly as they had expected (οὐκ εὐθὺς ἄξια τῆς προσδοκίας ἐπεπόνθεσαν), they were increasingly coming to feel that the Spartans no longer seemed quite so formidable to them as when they first landed (μηκέτι δεινοὺς αὐτοὺς ὁμοίως σφίσι φαίνεσθαι...ὥσπερ ὅτε πρῶτον ἀπέβαινον), when they were overawed [lit. enslaved] by the thought that it was the Spartans they were taking on (τῇ γνώμῃ δεδουλωμένοι ὡς ἐπὶ Λακεδαιμονίους).

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Emily Greenwood Again, we have the language of expectation and prior impressions, formed in response to the Spartans’ reputation, and then the revision of these expectations on the basis of direct experience (τῆς προσδοκίας...μηκέτι δεινοὺς αὐτοὺς ὁμοίως σφίσι φαίνεσθαι). The strength of the Sparta effect is revealed in this graphic metaphor: it enslaves their opponents, overpowering their judgment. Thucydides’ account of the Athenians’ conquest and capture of the Spartans on Sphacteria, which he presents as the greatest reversal of expectation in the war up to this point (4.40.1–2), plays on the Spartans’ self-fashioning as a polity with a very high degree of group integrity and homogeneity. As Paula Debnar has noted, one of the catchwords of Spartan ideology in the History is ὁμοῖοι – the quality of being the same.17 In this section of Book 4, the emic, Spartan self-conception of strong group homogeneity is critiqued, with Thucydides commenting that, ‘[The Greeks] could not believe that those who surrendered were men of the same kind (ὁμοίους) as those who had died’ (4.40.1–2), evoking the Spartan ideology of sameness.18 This is followed by the memorable anecdote, in which an anonymous Athenian ally poses a sardonic question to one of the Spartan prisoners from Pylos sneering at the Spartan ideal of military virtue, given that some Spartans died in battle on Sphacteria while others chose to surrender. The Spartan prisoner replies, pithily, that it would be ‘a valuable spindle (arrow) that could pick out the brave’ (4.40.2). Presumably Thucydides included this anecdote because it typifies the stereotype of Spartan brachylogy while reasserting the larger historical point – borne out in the subsequent narrative – that military valour and training are not undone by contingent successes and failures.19 There is no primordial trait that makes all Spartans brave, but this anecdote reaffirms the strength of culture and education. This is not just a dichotomy between technology, on the one hand, and bravery on the other hand, but a manysided anecdote in which this Spartan’s gnomic insight echoes traditional Spartan γνώμη, exemplifies the laconic verbal smarts for which the Spartans were well known, and encapsulates Thucydides’ intense interest in the force of cultural identity and the difference it makes.20 In this instance, the recalibrating of perceptions of the Spartans in real time leads to further-reaching questions about the validity of the Spartans’ reputation tout court. According to Thucydides, following their defeat on Sphacteria the Spartans themselves even begin to doubt their own character and self-image (4.55.4): They were less confident about giving battle; their morale had been undermined because of their previous inexperience of adversity and they now thought that every move they made would end in failure.

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Thucydides’ general attitude to Sparta As readers progress through the narrative of the History, they are alerted to the gap between expectation and reality. In the case of the Spartans, expectations are long drawn out. Beginning with the congress in Book 1, where Sparta’s Peloponnesian allies try to provoke and pressure her into declaring war against the Athenians, the Spartans are repeatedly depicted stalling and taking their time. Even their first decisive ‘invasion’ – of Attica in 431 BCE – is a slow one, marked by delays.21 The Spartans themselves are conscious of their reputation and of the Greeks’ expectations of them, and exploit the distinction between expectation and hearsay on the one hand, and actual experience of the Spartans on the other hand. The Spartan general Brasidas is adept at manipulating perceptions and fostering expectations. The considerable geographical gap between the Thraceward region in Northern Greece and Sparta in the Peloponnese, combined with the Spartans’ general avoidance of extensive travel, means that few of the cities to whom Brasidas speaks on his ‘liberation tour’ in 424 BCE have much direct experience of the Spartans. As Thucydides comments at 4.81.2–3, the contact that Brasidas had with some of these cities and their experience (πείρα) of him prompted the circulation of reports (ἀκοῇ), and ultimately fostered the expectation that all Spartans would be like this: And later on in the war, after the events in Sicily, it was the character and intelligence Brasidas showed at this time, which some experienced firsthand (τῶν μὲν πείρᾳ αἰσθομένων) and others knew by report (τῶν δὲ ἀκοῇ νομισάντων), that did most to inspire enthusiasm for the Spartan cause among those who were allies of the Athenians. As the first Spartan to go abroad and win a reputation for being in all respects a good man, he left behind him a firm expectation that others too would be like him (ἐλπίδα ἐγκατέλιπε βέβαιον ὡς καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι τοιοῦτοί εἰσιν).

Thucydides tells us this in his own voice and then shows how Brasidas skilfully disseminated these impressions, giving us an insight into his rhetoric. Addressing the citizens of Torone, Thucydides has Brasidas comment explicitly on his audience’s lack of experience of the Spartans (4.114.4–5): He expected that when they had got some experience of the Spartans they would feel more rather than less favourably disposed towards them, as they saw that they were the ones behaving with more regard for justice; their present fear of them now was just based on inexperience (οὐδ’ ἂν σφῶν πειρασαμένους αὐτοὺς τῶν Λακεδαιμονίων δοκεῖν ἧσσον, ἀλλὰ πολλῷ μᾶλλον, ὅσῳ δικαιότερα πράσσουσιν, εὔνους ἂν σφίσι γενέσθαι, ἀπειρίᾳ δὲ νῦν πεφοβῆσθαι).

To paraphrase Thucydides’ Brasidas and to purloin the song: ‘to know us is to love us and if you don’t love us you don’t know us’.

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Emily Greenwood Thucydides uses the hype surrounding Brasidas to reflect on the larger irony about the hopes vested in the Spartans by a large part of the Greek world. At the beginning of his account, Thucydides presents a picture of the entire Greek world in schism – aligned either with the Athenians or Spartans. When the Corinthians speak for Sparta’s allies in Book 1 (1.68– 71), they imply that the national characters of Athens and Sparta are clearly delineated and well known, and they present an image of Spartan fighting power, as established during the Persian invasions of Greece. It is a surprise, then, to read at 4.108.6, that the Greeks in the Thracian region were eager to join the Spartans’ cause, because they were about to witness the Spartans provoked into decisive action: But above all they were ready to take any sort of risks because they felt a rush of excitement in their present situation and were for the first time about to have some demonstration of what the Spartans could do when strongly aroused. τὸ δὲ μέγιστον, διὰ τὸ ἡδονὴν ἔχον ἐν τῷ αὐτίκα καὶ ὅτι τὸ πρῶτον Λακεδαιμονίων ὀργώντων ἔμελλον πειράσεσθαι, κινδυνεύειν παντὶ τρόπῳ ἑτοῖμοι ἦσαν.

This later passage casts doubt on the enthusiastic support for Sparta at the beginning of the war (2.8.4–5), as made according to perceptions, hearsay, and expectations, rather than any substantial knowledge of the Spartans and their foreign policy. The point of this ironic framing is not to deny the Spartans’ military strength, but rather to expose the lack of substance to the national stereotypes that prevailed during the Atheno-Peloponnesian War and the propensity for states to be taken in by propaganda. In fact, the Hellenic states themselves are complicit in fostering a climate of inflated, rumour-driven reports. While on the surface the Spartans eschew the language-based politics of the Athenians and instead let their deeds do the talking, Thucydides’ account undermines this logos / ergon antithesis in reference to Athens and Sparta. To be sure, there are many instances in the History in which the Spartans and their allies promote the stereotype of Spartan excellence in action versus Athenian confidence in the power of speeches, but this self-image is itself a construction of language and education, as seen here in the description of the Spartans steeling themselves prior to combat at Mantinea (5.69.2): For their part the Spartans took their encouragement from each other and joined in war songs (μετὰ τῶν πολεμικῶν νόμων) together to remind themselves of what as brave warriors they already knew – that their long training in action (ἔργων ἐκ πολλοῦ μελέτην) would be more important to their safety than any brief exhortation in words, however well turned (λόγων δι’ ὀλίγου καλῶς ῥηθεῖσαν παραίνεσιν).

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Thucydides’ general attitude to Sparta There has been some debate about the correct translation of the noun nomoi, which Mynott translates as ‘war songs’. I accept Mynott’s translation, which is suggestive of the tradition of martial elegy, as opposed to the alternative translation ‘following their military customs’ (opting for the more common sense of nomos – a custom).22 However, either translation supports a constructivist reading of this passage: the Spartans have recourse to shared cultural references to reinforce a particular construction of identity. In a subtle paradox, Thucydides shows the Spartans encouraging each other through sung words with the message that military action (ergon) is more important than exhortatory battle rhetoric (logos). And the Spartans do resort to words when it suits them. What is more, as scholars have pointed out, their brachylogia and even their silences are themselves rhetorical strategies.23 Brasidas is a clear example of a Spartan’s capacity for rhetorical flair and using logoi (speeches) to predispose listeners to a particular interpretation of actions (erga). Although Thucydides represents him as an atypical or exceptional Spartan, particularly in his talent for rhetoric, the Greeks in the Thraceward region have no difficulty in accepting Brasidas as a typical Spartan and, as Thucydides reports, Brasidas’ conduct came to define prevailing expectations of the Spartans in the remainder of the war (4.81.2–3, see p. 7 above). The point is that Spartan ethnic identity is fluid and is defined by the interactions of individual Spartans with other Greeks, as much as it defines them. Brasidas is no more representative of all Spartans than the stereotypes about Spartan ethnicity apply to every Spartan. In perturbing the stereotype, Brasidas serves to illustrate the fragility of constructions of nationalism in Thucydides’ narrative. What is more, the duplicity of Brasidas’ actions and his cynical manipulation of audiences’ credulity, mean that, rather than providing a countertype to the Spartan stereotype, he destabilizes the very idea of a fixed ethnic character.24 Arguably, Brasidas embodies and perfects a Spartan aptitude – the product of culture and education – for manipulating perceptions in warfare and controlling how Spartans are seen. We might call this figment ‘virtual Spartans’. While Spartan soldiers may have real military prowess, their effectiveness is enhanced by the virtual image which they project. Far from the Spartans being exclusively a people of action, they are deeply invested in report, rumor, and expectation. According to Thucydides, part of the frustration of the Spartans (and their allies) towards Agis after his failure to deploy them against the Argives in 418 BCE, was his failure to capitalize on expectations and achieve something worthy of the resources and preparation that had gone into their vast mobilization (5.60.2–3):

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Emily Greenwood Amongst themselves they [the Spartans] were severely critical of Agis, since they thought that they had a good opportunity to strike ... but that they were now going away without anything to show for all the military build-up (οὐδὲν δράσαντες ἄξιον τῆς παρασκευῆς ἀπιέναι). For this was indeed the finest (κάλλιστον) Greek army ever assembled up to this time, as was most obvious (ὤφθη δὲ μάλιστα) while they were still all gathered together at Nemea.25

The instability of tropoi Over the course of his narrative, Thucydides tracks the reversal of expectations and the constant recalibration and revision of perceptions as the Spartans defy other Greeks’ assumptions about their character and customary behavior. The Spartans disappoint expectations at Pylos, and then continue to surprise other Greeks’ expectations through their ability to recover from this setback and to change and adapt to the shifting challenges of the war. In this narrative context, which reflects the historical experience of those involved in the war, every statement about entrenched Spartan customs and manners is reversible. Rather than treating statements about Spartans acting contrary to custom or out of character, as reinforcing the idea of a closed and traditional Spartan society (as portrayed by the Corinthians in Book 1), we can read them as evidence of observers’ surprise at the Spartans’ flexibility and adaptability. In three notable passages, Spartan actions are framed as παρὰ τὸ εἰωθóς (twice) and παρὰ τὸν τρόπον and in each instance the effect is to question the validity of normative assumptions and stereotypes. The Spartan envoys who travel to Athens to negotiate the recovery of the Spartans trapped on Sphacteria, effectively make the point that local customs are changeable and depend on context. They preface their speech by acknowledging their reputation for brevity (brachylogy), but subtly correct the stereotype by remarking that their local custom is to use few words where appropriate, but to speak at greater length when it is called for (4.17.2): τοὺς δὲ λόγους μακροτέρους οὐ παρὰ τὸ εἰωθὸς μηκυνοῦμεν, ἀλλ’ ἐπιχώριον ὂν ἡμῖν οὗ μὲν βραχεῖς ἀρκῶσι μὴ πολλοῖς χρῆσθαι, πλέοσι δὲ ἐν ᾧ ἂν καιρὸς ᾖ διδάσκοντάς τι τῶν προὔργου λόγοις τὸ δέον πράσσειν.

If we explain this at some length, that will not be counter to our usual practice; in fact, although it is the custom of our country not to use many words where few will suffice, we do have more to say whenever there is occasion to expound a matter of real importance in a speech and so achieve a necessary objective.

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Thucydides’ general attitude to Sparta In other words, their local customs are flexible. In fact, the Spartans’ statement here destabilizes the very idea of fixed cultural stereotypes. While their fellow Greeks may have come to expect customary patterns of behavior (τὸ εἰωθός), this behavior is seen to be contingent on the rhetorical occasion (καιρός). Later in Book 4, in a striking passage in which Thucydides describes the effect of the defeats at Pylos and Cythera on Spartan morale, the phrase παρὰ τὸ εἰωθός is used in a more negative sense: the Spartans respond to the shock of recent military losses by abandoning their ‘usual’ military confidence. The passage merits quoting in full, as it showcases the complex play of interdependent perceptions about national character (4.55.1–4): [...] καὶ τὰ ἄλλα ἐν φυλακῇ πολλῇ ἦσαν, φοβούμενοι μὴ σφίσι νεώτερόν τι γένηται τῶν περὶ τὴν κατάστασιν, γεγενημένου μὲν τοῦ ἐν τῇ νήσῳ πάθους ἀνελπίστου καὶ μεγάλου, Πύλου δὲ ἐχομένης καὶ Κυθήρων καὶ πανταχόθεν σφᾶς περιεστῶτος πολέμου ταχέος καὶ ἀπροφυλάκτου, ὥστε παρὰ τὸ εἰωθὸς ἱππέας τετρακοσίους κατεστήσαντο καὶ τοξότας, ἔς τε τὰ πολεμικά, εἴπερ ποτέ, μάλιστα δὴ ὀκνηρότεροι ἐγένοντο, ξυνεστῶτες παρὰ τὴν ὑπάρχουσαν σφῶν ἰδέαν τῆς παρασκευῆς ναυτικῷ ἀγῶνι, καὶ τούτῳ πρὸς Ἀθηναίους, οἷς τὸ μὴ ἐπιχειρούμενον αἰεὶ ἐλλιπὲς ἦν τῆς δοκήσεώς τι πράξειν· καὶ ἅμα τὰ τῆς τύχης πολλὰ καὶ ἐν ὀλίγῳ ξυμβάντα παρὰ λόγον αὐτοῖς ἔκπληξιν μεγίστην παρεῖχε, καὶ ἐδέδισαν μή ποτε αὖθις ξυμφορά τις αὐτοῖς περιτύχῃ οἵα καὶ ἐν τῇ νήσῳ. ἀτολμότεροι δὲ δι’ αὐτὸ ἐς τὰς μάχας ἦσαν, καὶ πᾶν ὅτι κινήσειαν ᾤοντο ἁμαρτήσεσθαι διὰ τὸ τὴν γνώμην ἀνεχέγγυον γεγενῆσθαι ἐκ τῆς πρὶν ἀηθείας τοῦ κακοπραγεῖν.

[the Spartans]...in general put themselves on high alert,26 fearing some new threat 27 to their established order of things: the disaster at Sphacteria had been unexpected and calamitous, both Pylos and Cythera were now in enemy hands, and on all sides they were encompassed by a war that was developing rapidly and in ways that it was difficult to anticipate and defend against. And so, quite contrary to their usual practice (παρὰ τὸ εἰωθὸς), they organized a force of four hundred cavalry and [some] archers, and in their approach to military action became far more hesitant than ever before, engaged as they were in a naval struggle that made demands outside the normal scope of their resources (παρὰ τὴν ὑπάρχουσαν σφῶν ἰδέαν τῆς παρασκευῆς) – and that too a struggle against the Athenians, for whom an attempt foregone was always an opportunity lost. At the same time, the reverses of fortune that had been so many, unaccountable (παρὰ λόγον) and rapid had shocked them to the core, and they were now afraid that some new disaster might strike, just like the one on the island. As a consequence, they were less confident about giving battle; their morale had been undermined because of their previous inexperience of adversity and they now thought that every move they made would end in failure.28

This time, the emphasis is on the Spartans’ coming to terms with the precariousness of their military superiority and the fragility of their self-

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Emily Greenwood image. There is a heavy focus on perceptions and the contradiction of expectations, signalled by privative prefixes (ἀ-, ἀν-), and the preposition παρά (contrary): φοβούμενοι, ἀνελπίστου, ἀπροφυλάκτου, παρὰ τὸ εἰωθὸς, δοκήσεώς, παρὰ λόγον, ἔκπληξιν, ἐδέδισαν, ᾤοντο, ἀηθείας. Perhaps most striking of all is Thucydides’ comment that the Spartans’ judgment had become insecure (lit. unsecured): γνώμην ἀνεχέγγυον γεγενῆσθαι.29 In this financial metaphor, their judgment lacks a security (ἐγγύη).30 The noun γνώμη has a wide and subtle range, as demonstrated by Lowell Edmunds’ study of the character of intelligence in Thucydides and the relationship between gno¯me¯ and techne¯.31 In the sense in which Thucydides uses it here, its general meaning is clearly ‘judgment’/‘opinion’,32 but its precise meaning is arguably more subtle. The Spartans’ judgment/opinion is revealed as unfounded, but what does judgment/opinion consist of in this case? Their planning and calculations for the defence of Pylos and Sphacteria; their general strategic competence; or their broader outlook, character and opinion of themselves? Thucydides’ use of the term gno¯me¯ in reference to the Spartans in a subsequent passage suggests that the latter sense might be uppermost here. In a passage in Book 5, Thucydides comments that, with the Spartan victory at Mantinea, they regained credibility in the eyes of their fellow Greeks and repaired the damage that their reputation had suffered at Pylos: ‘They were now thought to have been the victims of a chance misfortune (τύχῃ) but to be still the same men in spirit that they always were (γνώμῃ δὲ οἱ αὐτοὶ ὄντες)’ (5.75.3).33 In this latter passage, γνώμη must mean something like ‘mental character’ or ‘cast of mind’, rather than mere ‘soundness of intellectual judgment’, particularly since the other Greeks have accused the Spartans of softness, lack of judgment, and slowness. To return to the earlier passage (4.55): an unexpected military failure precipitates a shift in Spartan perceptions and a reversal of expectations which causes them to doubt their opinion of themselves as a people and their group identity. When they subsequently experience an unexpected military victory, their confident group identity is restored. Between these two passages, we see the Spartans confront the performance gap at the centre of all identities: the gap between the performative cultural/national identity and the vagaries of experience. Thucydides’ analysis, shared with his readers, enables us to appreciate the fault-lines opened up by contingency, which shows the fragility of these identities and their vulnerability to chance and changed circumstances. Where does this leave the ethnographic discourse of tropoi in Thucydides? Ethnic identities in Thucydides are underpinned by shared cultural practices (tropoi). Alongside passages where Spartans are described as acting παρὰ τὸ εἰωθός (contrary to their established customs or norms),

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Thucydides’ general attitude to Sparta are passages where the Spartans are described as acting para tropon (contrary to their national character), or in an unprecedented manner. As an example of the first, consider the passage where Thucydides describes the Spartans’ reaction to Agis’ campaign blunders (5.63.2): When news started coming in that Orchomenus had been taken too, they became even angrier and in the heat of the moment made a decision – in a manner quite out of character for them (παρὰ τὸν τρόπον τὸν ἑαυτῶν) – that they should demolish his house and fine him 100,000 drachmas.

While such passages have traditionally been taken to reinforce stereotypes about Spartan identity, they can equally be read as undermining those stereotypes and pointing to their fragility. Put simply: if the Spartans act para tropon, then how stable is the tropos in the first place? That this ethnographic focalization relies on the shaky logic of precedent is made clear a few lines later, where the Spartans’ response – appointing ten Spartiates to act as advisers to King Agis – is described as something ‘which was without precedent at Sparta’ (ὃς οὔπω πρότερον ἐγένετο αὐτοῖς – 5.63.3–4). The fact that Spartans can act in a certain way, whether or not the action has a precedent, requires observers to enlarge their conception of the range of Spartan behaviour. The logic of ethnic stereotyping represented here is susceptible to the philosophical challenge to legal arguments from precedent: that they lack rational force.34 Spartan archaeo-modernity One of the ways in which Thucydides exposes the indeterminacy of ethnic / national stereotypes is by calling attention to the contradictions in Spartan identity. One of the more striking contradictions is what we might call the Spartans’ ‘archaeo-modernity’ – their old-newness.35 This contradiction is particularly instructive because it generally splits along narrative lines: the perception of the Spartans and Spartan society as traditional, inflexible and resistant to modernization tends to occur in the mouth of non-Spartan speakers in the History, while the converse – the presentation of Spartans as innovative and flexible – mostly occurs in the (authorial) narrative sections. The idea that the Spartans in Thucydides are typecast as fossilized preservers of old ways is heavily influenced by the Corinthians’ contrast between the Athenian and Spartan character in a speech to the Peloponnesians at Sparta (1.70.2): They are natural innovators (νεωτεροποιοί), quick to have ideas and then to put their plans into action. Your instinct on the other hand is to keep things as they are (τὰ ὑπάρχοντά τε σῴζειν), not to make any new decisions and not even to take the minimum action necessary.

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Emily Greenwood But well before the first mention of Athenian νεωτεροποιία, in his summary of early Greek history, Thucydides has depicted the Spartans as having demonstrated greater cultural innovation than the Athenians in the past. At 1.6.3, the Athenians are credited as being ‘the first of the Greeks (πρῶτοι) to put aside their arms and adopt a more relaxed and comfortable lifestyle’. But at 1.6.4, the Spartans are described as double innovators, having been ‘the first (πρῶτοι) to adopt a simpler form of dress in the modern fashion, and in other respects too the better off among them made every effort to share the lifestyle of the ordinary people’, and ‘the first (πρῶτοι) to strip naked for exercise in public and anoint themselves with oil afterwards’, in contrast to ‘the old way’ (τὸ δὲ πάλαι). It is notable that Thucydides foregrounds the Spartans’ Hellenic modernity in previous generations at the beginning of his History, and that he does so should serve as something of a corrective to the ethnic stereotyping of the Spartans that we encounter in the speeches in Book 1. Even Archidamus’ speech to his fellow Spartiates (1.80–85),36 which has sometimes been interpreted as confirmation of the stereotype of the conservative, hesitant Spartan, is decidedly ambiguous. Archidamus seems to typify a cautious, reactionary mindset, appealing to a highly traditional conception of Spartan culture based on the strength of the old ways. However, when it comes to military innovation, Archidamus’ message is not that the Spartans should resist it, but that they should create delays in order to give them time to adapt and develop stronger naval technology. In other words, a speech that is often taken as evidence of Spartan dilatoriness instead uses the tactic of delay to strategic advantage, in pursuit of technological change. As Lisa Kallet-Marx has noted in a persuasive discussion of Archidamus’ speech (1.80–85),37 Archidamus’ emphasis on the imperative of naval power and the centralized funding necessary to acquire and maintain this power, demonstrates that the prerequisites and methods of war have suddenly, drastically (and irrevocably) changed. The Athenians, by virtue of having achieved naval dunamis themselves, have necessarily affected fundamentally the way in which the Greek world would now wage war.38

Rather than entrenching deep divisions between the Spartans and Athenians in respect of military character, Archidamus is attuned to the complex interaction between cultural and technological change in the Greek world and the need to adapt in warfare and interstate relations.39 The fact that the Spartans delay in taking Archidamus’ advice is another matter, but it is questionable to identify the delay and reluctance to change as character-

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Thucydides’ general attitude to Sparta istically Spartan, if we are not also willing to identify Archidamus’ shrewd appraisal of geo-politics and willingness to adapt as also characteristically Spartan. In fact, Archidamus’ speech challenges the idea of ethnic determinism and Spartan or Athenian exceptionalism. He attributes Spartan military superiority and sound counsel to education and training – to culture, in short (διὰ τὸ εὔκοσμον, 1.84.3). And, in its essential elements, ‘culture’ is not exclusive to any one people. In terms of military training and strategic objectives, Archidamus claims that, ‘we are taught to believe that our neighbours’ approach to planning is much like ours’ (νομίζειν δὲ τάς τε διανοίας τῶν πέλας παραπλησίους εἶναι,1.84.3). This is followed by an even more explicit comment on the contingency of cultural difference: ‘nor should we suppose that there is much difference between one man and another, but the one to come out on top will be the one trained in the hardest school of necessity’ (πολύ τε διαφέρειν οὐ δεῖ νομίζειν ἄνθρωπον ἀνθρώπου, κράτιστον δὲ εἶναι ὅστις ἐν τοῖς ἀναγκαιοτάτοις παιδεύεται – 1.84.4).40 It would seem that this insight into the broad similarity of peoples and the determinant influence of circumstance is included in ‘the practices (μελέτας) our fathers bequeathed to us’, which Archidamus mentions in his summation at 1.85.1. So rather than a statement of Spartan difference, Archidamus portrays a traditional Spartan culture that perpetuates a strong group identity and which, at the same time, is responsive to other cultures and alert to the centrality of education in human cultures. This is somewhat different from the Corinthian ambassadors’ critique of Spartan isolationism at 1.68.1. Technology and culture Thucydides’ interest in the constructedness of ethnic identity and how this relates to Spartan identity is particularly manifest in passages that focus on the acquisition of technology. The History represents the generalizations and assumptions about Athenian supremacy at sea and Spartan supremacy on land which were entertained in the minds of participants and observers of the war. To an extent, these assumptions contribute to the structural ironies and reversals that are such an important part of the work’s narrative shape.41 Hence the contrast of land and sea and the gradual overturning of this pattern, with the Spartans gaining naval power and the Athenians famously forced to fall back on infantry warfare in the Sicilian campaign. This stereotype reflects the experience of those involved in the war, but Thucydides’ narrative alerts readers to the mutability of state power and the basis of that power. When we turn to Pericles’ encouragement to the Athenians about their naval superiority in his assembly speech at 1.142.6–7 his language is

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Emily Greenwood nuanced. Instead of deterministic claims about Athenians ruling the waves as an ethnic given, he alludes to the process through which the Athenians have come to acquire naval dominance and the fact that this is still work in progress: It will not be an easy matter for them [the Spartans] to acquire an expert knowledge of the sea (τὸ δὲ τῆς θαλάσσης ἐπιστήμονας γενέσθαι). Even we – who have been practicing (μελετῶντες) this ever since the Persian Wars – have not yet fully mastered the art. How then could men who are farmers (γεωργοί) and not seamen (θαλάσσιοι) achieve anything worthwhile?

Based on the preceding statement, Pericles’ image of Athenian seamen versus Spartan farmers is seen to be contingent in the extreme. Archidamus has already signalled Spartan awareness of the need to improve its naval power and the time that this will require (1.80.4): ‘Our ships? But we are weak there, and if we are to train and to match our preparations to theirs that will take time’. The implication is that there is no reason why the Spartans should be any less skilled at sea with the right training and adequate time. Pericles’ clinching argument as to why the Spartans will not be able to challenge the Athenians at sea is highly flawed, since it also contains an admission that it all comes down to techne¯ (1.142.9): Seamanship is a matter of skill like anything else (τὸ δὲ ναυτικὸν τέχνης ἐστίν, ὥσπερ καὶ ἄλλο τι). It cannot just be practised now and then, as a sideline (οὐκ ἐνδέχεται...ἐκ παρέργου μελετᾶσθαι); on the contrary, it leaves no time for anything else to be a sideline.

Pericles’ speech also contains another interesting implicit concession to the fluidity of cultures, when he exhorts his Athenian audience to adopt the mentality of islanders (1.143.5): ‘Mastery of the sea is the key. Just consider. If we were island dwellers (νησιῶται) who is there who would be more impregnable? So we must now think like islanders as much as we can (καὶ νῦν χρὴ ὅτι ἐγγύτατα τούτου διανοηθέντας)’. Conclusion Against the backdrop of a massive ‘internal’ war, which witnessed a shift in ethical values and constructions of cultural identity in the Hellenic world (as argued by Price 2001), and led to the internal migration of Athenian and Spartan (and Syracusan) identities (see Debnar 2001), Thucydides undertook a nuanced analysis of the constructed, instrumental nature of polis-based ethnic and cultural identities. Normative cultural and ethnic expectations are in place at the outbreak of the war and help to structure Thucydides’ narrative and the claims of various speakers, but his narrative puts pressure on these norms, showing their instability and hollowness.

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Thucydides’ general attitude to Sparta In Thucydides’ account, Spartanness is mutable – an exterior projection of values that is under construction – and is precariously embodied by actual Spartans. Whereas François Ollier chose to see this in terms of ‘le mirage spartiate’ (see p. 1 above), I have described this as ‘the Sparta effect’ – acknowledging the role that constructions and projections of identity play on the perceptions of actors in the war and the serious explanatory power which Thucydides accords to this effect.

Notes 1 See the discussion of Thucydides’ ‘objectivity’ in Cartledge and Debnar 2006, 559–562. 2 Ollier 1933, 159: ‘Quoi qu’il en soit, il me paraît certain que cet historien au regard clair et à la pensée lucide ne s’en est pas moins laissé prendre par moments aux prestiges trompeurs du mirage spartiate’. [‘...it seems certain to me that this historian, possessed of perspicuous vision and lucid thought, nonetheless allowed himself to fall prey at times to the deceptive illusions of the Spartan mirage’.] For Ollier’s main discussion of Thucydides see 1933, 149–59. Ollier stresses the general evenhandedness of Thucydides’ depiction of Sparta, collecting examples of its bad side at pp. 150–1, and evidence of its positive qualities at 151–2. See Powell (this volume). 3 Cloché 1943, especially 112–13. Cloché provides a roll-call of these faults at p. 96. 4 See Price 2001, 148–9, on the tendency of scholars to elide the Corinthians’ sketch of the Athenian national character with Thucydides’ remarks in his own voice at 8.96.5: ‘to equate the two passages is to forget the different contexts of each statement and the different implications arising from each context’ (ibid., 149). 5 These authorial remarks include the comment at 4.80.1, that ‘the Spartans’ relations with the helots had always been largely determined by issues of security’; the remark about the size of the Spartan army and the number of its casualties at the Battle of Mantinea in 418 BCE: ‘Because of their secrecy about matters of state the size of the Spartan force was not known’ (τὸ μὲν γὰρ Λακεδαιμονίων πλῆθος διὰ τῆς πολιτείας τὸ κρυπτὸν ἠγνοεῖτο, 5.68.2); and the statement that, ‘although it is difficult to know the truth about the Spartans themselves they were said to have had about 300 men killed’ (αὐτῶν δὲ χαλεπὸν μὲν ἦν τὴν ἀλήθειαν πυθέσθαι, ἐλέγοντο δὲ περὶ τριακοσίους ἀποθανεῖν, 5.74.3). All translations of Thucydides in this chapter are taken from Mynott 2013. 6 See Price 2001, 151: ‘The historian remains far above the ideological fray’. In relation to modern warfare, there is a growing body of scholarship on perceptions of race and ethnicity in the minds of populations at war (combatants and civilians), including the question of how the trans-national mobilization of different ethnic groups in major wars both inculcates and challenges racial attitudes. On World War I, see Das (ed.) 2011, Smith 2004, Streets 2005, and Whalan 2008; on World Wars I and II, see Liebau, Bromber, Lange, Hamzah, and Ahuja (eds) 2010. 7 Siapkas 2014, 66–71 has a good, recent overview of instrumentalist vs. primordial conceptions of ethnicity. 8 See Stahl 2003, 189–72; Grethlein 2013, 29–52, and Greenwood 2017, 170–2. 9 Debnar 2001 has analyzed how, over the course of the History, the Spartans are

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Emily Greenwood represented as becoming more and more like the Athenians; see ibid., 10 for a succinct statement of the argument. Furthermore, as Edmunds 1975, 90 notes: ‘there are Athenian Spartans and Spartan Athenians’ in Thucydides. In terms of the broader historical context, Flower (2002, 208–9) examines classical and Hellenistic Sparta from the perspective of the invention of tradition (after Hobsbawm and Ranger (eds) 1983), and stresses the constant reinvention of Spartan society in this period. 10 In the following verb forms: διεκρίθησαν (1.18.2); διενεχθέντες (1.18.3), διασταῖεν (1.18.3). 11 The Helot Revolt on Mt. Ithome (462 BCE) is chronologically prior to the Corinthians’ speech at the congress of Peloponnesian allies (432 BCE), although the latter is related first in Thucydides History. In narratological terms, Thucydides reverses the order of the fabula (the raw material, or subject on which the narrative draws) and the ‘story’ (the way in which events are represented in the narrative) – using these terms after Bal 2009. The verbal correspondence between these two distinct passages, at some remove (textually and historically), is effective in showing the circulation and traction of ethnic stereotypes. 12 Lape 2010, 167–85 has a good discussion of Thucydides’ treatment of ethnic identity. See, especially, ibid., 167: This is not to say that he denies that ethnic (or racial) identities can operate as motives for collective action. Rather, by depicting speakers playing to and even confronting ethnic identities in order to garner support for their policies, Thucydides illustrates the power of ethnic/racial identities to incite collective action, while simultaneously emphasizing the contingency and constructedness of these identities. Compare the observation of Price 2001, 156–7, on Thucydides’ critical presentation of ethnicity in the catalogue of Athenian allies during the Sicilian campaign (7.57): ‘Thucydides pays close attention to ethnic affiliations in the catalogue in order to emphasize that members of the same race fought each other, thus belying propagandistic motives aimed at reinforcing solidarity and justifying the war’ (quoting from p. 157). For an excellent overview of trends in the study of Greek ethnicity, see Luraghi 2014. 13 See Paul 2008, and David and Mckeldin (eds) 2009. 14 See Powell 1989 on the Spartans’ manipulation of the visual. 15 I owe this use of the term ‘phenomenological’ in relation to Thucydides 1.10.2–3 to Martin Devecka. 16 5.105.3–4: τῆς δὲ ἐς Λακεδαιμονίους δόξης, ἣν διὰ τὸ αἰσχρὸν δὴ βοηθήσειν ὑμῖν πιστεύετε αὐτούς, μακαρίσαντες ὑμῶν τὸ ἀπειρόκακον οὐ ζηλοῦμεν τὸ ἄφρον. 17 Debnar 2001, 227–9. 18 This claim does not entail the argument that Thucydides is using homoioi in the technical sense (‘peers’), used to refer to the Spartiates as a category of citizens. See Hornblower 1996, 194–5. Thucydides may also be punning on the ideology of Spartan sameness with his use of the adverb ὁμοίως (equally, to the same degree) when he writes that the Spartans ‘no longer seemed equally formidable to [the Athenians] as they had when they had landed’ (4.34.1). 19 For Spartan brachylogy, see Francis 1991–1993; Debnar 2001, 6–8; Bayliss 2009; and David 2009.

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Thucydides’ general attitude to Sparta 20

Edmunds 1975, 108–9; and Debnar 2001, 228 bring out interesting aspects of this passage. 21 See Westlake 1968, 127–9. 22 Hornblower 2008, 184 discusses the interpretation of nomos in this passage, expressing skepticism about the translation ‘war songs’. 23 Cartledge and Debnar 2006, 576 put this well: ‘As Thucydides knew: the Spartans were not enemies of rhetoric; they merely developed their own effective brand of it.’ 24 See Powell 1989 on Spartan mendacity; and Debnar 2001, 173 on Thucydides’ exposure of Brasidas’ lies. 25 Ellen Millender has an apposite comment on the Spartans’ sensitivity to the visual spectacle of hoplite warfare as a marker of their power: ‘Thucydides’ account of the battle of Mantinea shows just how effective a tool victory in hoplite warfare could be, both ideologically and politically. Success in this level of conflict – the most performative and theatrical form of Greek warfare – reminded allies and enemies alike of Sparta’s lone ability to protect and police its sphere of influence’ (Millender 2017, 95). In this passage, Millender also refers the reader to Millender 2016. 26 ‘Put themselves on high alert’ is Jeremy Mynott’s translation for the Greek phrase ἐν φυλακῇ πολλῇ ἦσαν. This is surely the primary sense here (a good alternative translation would be ‘went into lockdown’), but perhaps the phrase also conveys the sense that the Spartans were imprisoned by perceptions and expectations of failure. 27 μὴ σφίσι νεώτερόν τι γένηται is generally understood to refer to the fear of a helot uprising, exploiting Spartan weakness. 28 Hornblower 1996, 218 notes of this passage that, ‘This is the second of the six excursions on morale in iv–v.24’. See also ibid., p.109 for the broader narrative significance of this focus. 29 Mynott’s translation, ‘their morale had been undermined’ conveys the tenor of this passage and Thucydides’ interest in Spartan morale, but it misses some of the nuance in this phrase. 30 The metaphor has an interesting afterlife. To smuggle in a pop culture reference (with no suggestion of direct quotation or allusion), recall the admonition of Commander Tom Stinger Jordan (James Tolkan) to Maverick (played by Tom Cruise) in the 1986 film Top Gun: ‘What you should have done was land your plane! You don’t own that plane, the taxpayers do! Son, your ego is writing checks your body can’t cash’ (my underlining). 31 Edmunds 1975. 32 LSJ s.v. III. 33 5.75.3 ‘So through this single action the Spartans wiped away the stain of the charges the Greeks had been holding against them at that time – of cowardice (μαλακίαν) over the disaster on the island, and more generally of indecision and slowness (ἀβουλίαν τε καὶ βραδυτῆτα). They were now thought to have been the victims of a chance misfortune but to be still the same in spirit that they always were’. 34 See Kronman 1990, 1033–4. [On this important topic of ‘against Spartan precedent/character/custom’, see also Powell, this volume, ch. 8.] 35 See the interesting discussion of David 2009, 122 on the Spartans as ‘pseudo-archaic’. 36 Following the assembly with their Peloponnesian allies. See also Millender, this volume, ch. 4. 37 Kallet-Marx 1993, 81–89.

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Emily Greenwood 38

Kallet-Marx 1993, 82. See Kallet-Marx 1993, 84, ‘Thucydides presents Archidamos as perspicacious and knowledgeable about the connection between the use of reserve and revenue and war with a naval power. The Spartan king’s speech is unusual in the degree of attention devoted to financial resources: more than any other in the History, it provides a lucid and cogent explanation of the necessity of chremata to the coming war’. Compare Millender 2017, 8–4 on the sophistication of Archidamus’ strategic insights. 40 The reference to ‘the hardest school of necessity’ may suggest the rigors of the Spartan ago¯ge¯, but the basic emphasis on culture and education ( paideia) transcends any one particular culture. 41 See Flory 1993; and Millender 2017, 87–90. Contrary to the argument I present here, which focuses on the implied interchangeability of Athenian and Spartan naval superiority in Thucydides’ narrative, Millender argues that Thucydides presents the Spartans’ naval power in a negative light in the first phase of the war and emphasizes their slowness to adapt. 39

Bibliography Bal, M. 2009 Narratology. Introduction to the Theory of Narrative, 3rd edn., Toronto. Bayliss, A. J. 2009 ‘Using few words wisely?: “Laconic swearing” and “Spartan duplicity”’, in S. Hodkinson (ed.) Sparta: Comparative approaches, Swansea, 231–260. Cartledge, P. A. and Debnar, P. 2006 ‘Sparta and the Spartans in Thucydides’, in A. Rengakos and A. Tsakmakis (eds) Brill’s Companion to Thucydides, Leiden and Boston, 559–87. Cloché, P. 1943 ‘Thucydide et Lacédémone’, Les études classiques 12, 81–113. David, E. 1999 ‘Sparta’s kosmos of silence’, in S. Hodkinson and A. Powell (eds) Sparta: New perspectives, Swansea, 117–46. David, G. J., Jr., and McKeldin, T. R. III (eds) 2009 Ideas as Weapons: Influence and perception in modern warfare, Washington, D.C. Das, S. (ed.) 2011 Race, Empire and First World War Writing, Cambridge. Debnar, P. 2001 Speaking the Same Language: Speech and audience in Thucydides’ Spartan debates, Ann Arbor. Edmunds, L. 1975 Chance and Intelligence in Thucydides, Cambridge, Mass. Flory, S. 1993 ‘The death of Thucydides and the motif of “land on sea” ’, in R. M. Rosen and J. Farrell (eds) Nomodeiktes: Greek studies in honor of Martin Ostwald, Ann Arbor, 113–23. Flower, M. A. 2002 ‘The invention of tradition in Classical and Hellenistic Sparta’, in A. Powell and S. Hodkinson (eds) Sparta: Beyond the mirage, Swansea, 191–217.

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Thucydides’ general attitude to Sparta Forsdyke, S., Foster, E. and Balot, R. K. (eds) 2017 The Oxford Handbook of Thucydides, New York and Oxford. Francis, E. D. 1991–1993 ‘Brachylogia Laconica: Spartan speeches in Thucydides’, BICS 38, 198–212. Greenwood, E. 2017 ‘Thucydides on the Sicilian Expedition’, in Forsdyke et al. 2017, 161–77. Grethlein, J. 2013 Experience and Teleology in the Ancient Historiography: ‘Futures past’ from Herodotus to Augustine, Cambridge. Hall, J. 1997 Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge. Hobsbawm, E., and Ranger, T. (eds) 1983 The Invention of Tradition, Cambridge. Hornblower, S. 1994 Thucydides. Second, revised edition, London. 1996 A Commentary on Thucydides, Vol 2, Oxford. 2008 A Commentary on Thucydides, Vol 3, Oxford. Kallet-Marx, L. 1993 Money, Expense, and Naval Power in Thucydides’ History 1–5.24, Berkeley. Kronman, A. T. 1990 ‘Precedent and tradition’, Yale Law Journal 99, 1029–68. Lape, S. 2010 Race and Citizen Identity in the Classical Athenian Democracy, Cambridge. Liebau, H., Bromber, K., Lange, K., Hamzah, D. and Ahuja, R. (eds) 2010 The World in World Wars: Experiences and perspectives from Africa and Asia, Leiden and Boston. Luraghi, N. 2014 ‘The study of Greek ethnic identities’, in J. McInerney (ed.) 2014, 213–27. McInerney, J. (ed.) 2014 A Companion to Ethnicity in the Ancient Mediterranean, Chichester. Millender, E. G. 2016 ‘The Greek battlefield: classical Sparta and the spectacle of hoplite warfare’, in W. Riess and G. Fagan (eds) The Topography of Violence in the Greco-Roman World, Ann Arbor, 162–94. 2017 ‘Sparta and the crisis of the Peloponnesian League in Thucydides’ History’, in Forsdyke et al. (eds) 2017, 81–98. Mynott, J. 2013 Thucydides. The War of the Peloponnesians and the Athenians, ed. and trans. J. Mynott, Cambridge. Ollier, F. 1933 Le mirage spartiate, [I]: étude sur l’idéalisation de Sparte dans l’antiquité grecque de l’origine jusqu’aux cyniques, Paris. 1943 Le mirage spartiate, II: étude sur l’idéalisation de Sparte dans l’antiquité grecque du début de l’école cynique jusqu’à la fin de la cité, Paris.

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Emily Greenwood Paul, C. 2008

Information Operations – Doctrine and Practice: A reference handbook, Praeger Security International, psi.praeger.com. Accessed 7 July 2017.

Powell, A. 1989 ‘Mendacity and Sparta’s use of the visual’, in A. Powell (ed.) Classical Sparta: Techniques behind her success, London, 173–192. Price, J. J. 2001 Thucydides and Internal War, Cambridge. Sahlins, M. 2004 Apologies to Thucydides: Understanding history as culture and vice versa, Chicago. Siapkas, J. 2014 ‘Ancient ethnicity and modern identity’, in McInerney (ed.) 2014, 66–81. Stahl, H.-P. 2003 Thucydides: Man’s place in history, Swansea. Westlake, H. D. 1968 Individuals in Thucydides, Cambridge.

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2 ΒΡΑΔΥΤΗΣ ΛΑΚΩΝΙΚΗ : SPARTAN SLOWNESS

IN THUCYDIDES’ HISTORY Paula Debnar Slowness is the hallmark of Spartan behavior in Thucydides’ History. In Book 1, for example, Corinthian speakers ironically complain to the Spartans that ‘you are [quick] to preserve what you have and to resolve nothing’ (1.70.2), and add that they are μελληταί (1.70.4), something like ‘specialists in delay’.1 The speakers are hardly objective witnesses of Spartan behavior, but Thucydides does seem to support their assessment when in Book 8 he remarks on the Spartans’ slowness and want of daring (8.96.5). βραδυτής, it would seem, is an innate character flaw, or perhaps a trait so deeply ingrained by Spartan upbringing that it amounts to much the same thing. Consequently, modern scholars tend to treat it as a kind of congenital disease and grant immunity to but a few individuals, notably Brasidas and Gylippus.2 I want to resist this tendency.3 Thucydides often provides more than a single explanation for actions by both collectives and individuals, even if he expresses a preference for one, as he does with the ‘truest cause’ for the war (1.23.6). In Book 1, for example, he has Pericles emphasize practical factors impeding the Spartans. After asserting that surplus funds rather than forced contributions support wars, in an interesting aside on rustic parsimony he explains that the Peloponnesian allies, being farmers, are likely to contribute their lives more readily to the war than their money. In his view, ‘They have faith that their bodies will survive the danger, but are not sure that they won’t spend all their money, especially if the war goes on longer for them than expected, as is likely’ (1.141.5). For Pericles, in fact, lack of surplus funds is the Spartans’ biggest problem (μέγιστον): ‘They will be hindered by the lack of money, when they continually delay because they bring it in slowly, while the opportunities of war do not wait’ (1.142.1).4 In the same speech Pericles cites the inherent political fragmentation of the Peloponnesian League as an obstacle to its success: They are not able to fight against an opponent of a different nature, since, without a single council [i.e. like ours], they do not accomplish anything

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Paula Debnar quickly, and since all have an equal vote, and are not of the same stock (ὁμόφυλοι), each promotes its own ends; consequently, they usually accomplish nothing. (1.141.6)5

My goals, then, are first, to show how unexamined assumptions about the Spartans’ character underlie scholars’ judgments of their slowness in the History, and, second, to balance these judgments against principles and practical factors influencing the Spartans’ behavior, especially those that Pericles highlights. The bulk of my discussion will focus on the Archidamian War, with a brief examination of the interlude of peace. For the Ionian War I have limited myself to two episodes, since the ways in which the Spartans try to solve their financial problems in Book 8 are more apparent than they are in the earlier books of the History.6 Although my primary emphasis (like Pericles’) will be on the difficulties they encountered in funding the Peloponnesian League’s fleet, I will also touch on related political challenges.7 As I hope to demonstrate, Thucydides provides evidence substantiating the analysis he attributes to Pericles, even if he privileges other factors influencing the Spartans’ behavior, including their collective ethos as he understood it.8 The first invasion of Attica In Book 1, after the synod of the Peloponnesian League votes for war, Thucydides offers a brief epilogue. Disagreement about how to render the Greek of this passage helps to reveal the assumptions underlying scholars’ interpretations. I begin with Crawley’s translation: This decided, it was still impossible for them to commence at once, from their want of preparation; but it was resolved that the means requisite were to be procured by the different states, and that there was to be no delay. And indeed, in spite of the time occupied with the necessary arrangements, less than a year elapsed before Attica was invaded, and the war openly begun. (1.125.2; my emphasis)

Crawley’s rendering of ὅμως, ‘And indeed, in spite of the time’, stresses the speed with which the Spartans and their allies made their preparations.9 Gomme (ad loc.), on the other hand, considers two possibilities: Is ὅμως ‘even so’, i.e. in spite of their resolution that there was to be no delay, nearly a year passed before the invasion; or ‘still’, i.e. though they were unprepared, the invasion took place before a year was out?

Unlike Crawley, he concludes (with Steup) that it means the former and that the phrase ἐνιαυτὸς μὲν οὐ διετρίβη ‘obviously implies a delay’.10 The problem, however, may be less a matter of semantics than it is of perspective. For the aggrieved allies, especially the Corinthians, even a little

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Spartan slowness in Thucydides’ History less than a year was likely to have seemed a delay. When the envoys from Corinth complain to the Spartan assembly of being wronged by the Athenians and advise the Spartans, ‘So let a limit be put on your slowness here; help the Potidaeans and the rest, as you promised, by invading Attica in haste’ (1.71.4), they are not likely to have meant, ‘in a year or so’. They wanted an immediate invasion. After all, they feared for the Potidaeans (1.67.1), no doubt afraid that the Athenians would take Potidaea or that the Potidaeans would submit. They were unlikely to have thought that the city could hold out as long as it eventually did. Gomme argues that the battle of Potidaea, a source of the Corinthians’ complaints concerning Athenian aggression, took place no later than midJune and that the Spartans convened the League sometime after the beginning of August 432.11 If he is correct and the League made its decision to go to war in August, the Spartans could have mustered troops for an invasion that summer, much as they would do following the Olympic festival of 428.12 In all likelihood, I suggest, this is what the Spartans would have done, had they genuinely believed that hoplite invasions alone could bring the Athenians, if not to their knees, at least to the negotiating table. Indeed, some Spartans may have thought that such a strategy would work. Others, like Archidamus, did not.13 Far from counseling inaction, however, in his speech to the Spartans in Book 1 Archidamus stresses the need to acquire ships, recruit rowers, and levy funds before commencing a war – a marked departure from the usual Spartan strategy of invasion.14 His advice is to recruit allies from among both Greeks and barbarians with a view to acquiring money and ships (1.82.1), and for this, he warns, the Spartans will need time: ‘I ask you not to take up arms yet, but to send [a delegation] and lay your complaints before [the Athenians], neither making war too obvious, nor that we will yield’ (1.82.1). He recommends waiting two to three years before taking decisive military action, if, that is, it is still necessary (1.82.2).15 The king also understands that embedded in the Corinthians’ complaints about Spartan slowness is a charge of cowardice. In response he assures his fellow Spartans that what the Corinthians refer to as their ‘slowness and hesitation’ (καὶ τὸ βραδὺ καὶ μέλλον, 1.84.1)16 may in fact be ‘sensible moderation’ (σωφροσύνη ἔμφρων, 1.84.2).17 In other words, he considers it part of an intelligent and principled strategy. Indeed, for Archidamus the invasion came too soon. Moreover, the Spartans might have taken more time had the Thebans not precipitously invaded Plataea.18 According to Thucydides, once the Thebans attacked the city and overtly broke the Peace, each side prepared for war. Both were intending to send embassies to the Persian king and to other barbarians

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Paula Debnar from whom they thought they could procure help (2.7.1). Perdiccas, the Macedonian king, is a likely candidate for the Spartans.19 Although he was not the most reliable friend, Thucydides says that before the outbreak of the war he was scheming with the Spartans and in contact with the Chalcidians in Thrace (1.57.4): Macedon and Thrace were prospective sources of timber (and pitch) for shipbuilding20 and of silver and gold. The Spartans also ordered friendly cities in Sicily and Italy to build ships and provide money in accordance with their size. The goal, Thucydides notes, was to have a fleet of five hundred ships (2.7.2). Regardless of the inflated expectations implicit in this number, according to Thucydides, at least, the Spartans understood that the war would entail significant naval operations.21 It is also possible that the Spartans tried to obtain rowers, money, and matériel from Greeks outside their alliance. Aegina, one of the cities pushing for war, may have offered help (presumably clandestinely, 1.67.2). Cities on Lesbos, too, tried to negotiate with the Spartans before the war (3.2.1). The fleet from Magna Graecia did not materialize, and in Book 3 Thucydides says that the Sicilians were allies from the beginning of the conflict but ‘had not taken part in the war’ (οὐ μέντοι ξυνεπολέμησαν γε, 3.86.2). Nonetheless, since we are not sure exactly what ξυνεπολέμησαν means, the statement does not rule out financial contributions from friendly, although technically neutral, cities (or individuals) in Italy or Sicily.22 Later in the war, in fact, a treaty between the Spartans and Athenians stipulates that the Athenians are to receive tribute from otherwise neutral cities in the Thraceward region (5.18.5). We should also keep in mind that Thucydides says that at the start of the war ‘Every individual and city, if possible, eagerly tried to help them [the Spartans and their allies] in speech and action’ (2.8.4).23 There is yet another perspective. As Kallet observes, after digesting Thucydides’ account of the development of Athens’ power over fifty or so years, a reader is likely to find the speed with which the Spartans built up their forces prior to the outbreak of war impressive.24 After all, as she points out (93), it took the Corinthians two years to prepare for the second attack on Corcyra (1.31.1). Unfortunately, Thucydides does not tell us the exact number of ships the Spartans and their allies controlled at the outbreak of the war in 431. He may not have known, given the Spartans’ secrecy and the scattering of ships among members of their alliance. Kelly’s rough calculation of a minimum of 147, and more likely 160 or 170, seaworthy vessels available in 431 seems reasonable; he concedes that there could have been more.25 At any rate, even a fleet of 170 ships is nothing to scoff at. Thucydides estimates that Athens had 250 ships in service at the

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Spartan slowness in Thucydides’ History beginning of the war, and fifty of these were tied up in the siege of Potidaea and elsewhere (3.17.2).26 The attempt on the Piraeus Sometimes the Spartans could move downright quickly. By the end of the sailing season of 429 the Spartan admiral Cnemus and his fleet had little to show for their efforts.27 But rather than give up and go home, At the beginning of the winter, before dispersing the fleet, ... Cnemus and Brasidas, and the rest of the Peloponnesian officers, at the prompting of the Megarians, were willing to make an attempt upon the Piraeus, the Athenians’ harbor. (2.93.1)

Thucydides creates the impression that all of those involved came to a decision quickly. At least, there is no mention of any consultation with the Spartans in charge at home. The scheme was clever and well organized. Taking an oar, cushion, and oar strap, each crewmember was to march from the Corinthian to the Saronic Gulf and then to proceed ‘in haste’ (κατὰ τάχος, 2.93.2) to Megara, where they were to launch forty ships and sail ‘straightway (εὐθύς) to the Piraeus’ (2.93.2). Thucydides adds, ‘So they resolved and straightway (εὐθύς) they set out’ (2.93.4). As the Greek makes clear, emphasis here falls on the rapidity of the operation.28 They embark at night, on ships in Megara’s dockyards at Nisaea, but once under way they change their minds. Thucydides explains, ‘They were afraid of the risk and some wind, too, is said to have prevented them’ (2.93.4).29 So instead they assault the Athenian fort on Salamis, capturing three triremes, taking some captives, and then pillaging most of the island. Before the Athenians can come to the rescue of Salamis, the Peloponnesians sail quickly (κατὰ τάχος) back to Nisaea carrying with them captives and booty (2.94.3). In addition to being colorful and dramatic, the episode is rich in personal comment by Thucydides. He reports that, when fire signals were raised, those in the city thought the enemy had sailed into the Piraeus, while those in the Piraeus thought that, having taken Salamis, the Peloponnesians were on the verge of sailing against them. Thucydides then observes, ‘Which easily could have happened, had they refused to back off [from the attack], and no wind would have prevented them’ (2.94.1). So much for the Spartans’ excuses. Thucydides clearly doubts that there was any wind, or at least a wind strong enough to interfere with the operation.30 In his view the affair is yet another example of hesitation and lost opportunity. Modern scholars agree, and their comments about Brasidas’ likely role in this

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Paula Debnar episode reflect their view of this remarkable Spartan as generally immune to the charge of slowness. Gomme (ad 2.93.4), for example, supposes that Cnemus, not Brasidas, was responsible for aborting the attack on the Piraeus, while Westlake observes that the original, imaginative plan ‘contains all the ingredients later associated with the projects of Brasidas’.31 Gomme (ad 2.93.4), however, also asks, ‘But was he [i.e. Cnemus] so certainly wrong? How much harm could they have done to Athens?’ Thucydides certainly thought they could have achieved something. Exactly what, however, remains unclear, as Gomme’s tentative answer (ad 2.94.1) to his own question implies: ‘They could have sailed into one or more of the Peiraeus harbours (and burnt an arsenal)?’ Falkner raises the stakes: burning some shipsheds, including those housing Athens’ reserve of one hundred ships, would have inflicted a greater blow than destroying their arsenals; in her view a surprise attack on the Piraeus at this time ‘could have had a decisive result on their will to resist’.32 What Thucydides does not say, however, is that they could have taken Athens or even the Piraeus. After all, they were armed, so it seems, only with cushions, oars, and oar straps – and were operating at night (2.93.2–4).33 Moreover, Thucydides offers a second reason for aborting the attack, and this one he leaves unchallenged: the Peloponnesians were anxious because their ships, which had been in dry-dock, were not watertight (2.94.3). This explanation is entirely plausible.34 Gomme (ad 2.93.4) points out that in Thucydides’ account the condition of the hulls comes into play only toward the end of the raid. Although he creates the impression that only then did the Peloponnesians think about the condition of the hulls, they could easily have been worried about them from the start. What if, as they were nearing Salamis, they began to realize that they might make it to the Piraeus but be unable to return? What if, after their swift initial decision, they recognized that, unprepared as they were, they were not likely to accomplish much in the Piraeus? And what if Salamis was just too good to pass up?35 Which leads me to another point. As an example of ‘what could be done by a small force with the advantage of surprise’, Hornblower (ad 2.93.4) refers to ‘the Spartan Teleutias’ spectacular raid on the Piraeus of 388’ in Xenophon (Hell. 5.1.21–4). Although he orders his men to try to make unseaworthy any trireme they encounter, the main purpose of this raid was not to inflict great damage on Athens, but to fund the fleet.36 Teleutias explains to his men that they will provide themselves with supplies from the most honorable source, that is, from their enemy (Xen. Hell. 5.1.17). Prime targets were merchant ships in the Piraeus. These they towed away, but, after leaving the harbor, they also captured fishing vessels and

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Spartan slowness in Thucydides’ History ferryboats, as well as ships full of corn near Sunium. Thanks to this booty, Xenophon says, Teleutias ‘was able to pay his soldiers a month in advance’ (5.1.24). To return to 429, perhaps raiding all of Salamis and taking three good triremes, plus captives to be ransomed, without losing any ships was not a bad night’s work. A little plundering as the winter began could have gone a long way toward encouraging the crews to return to work in the spring.37 Furthermore, as Falkner notes, their success may have encouraged bolder naval enterprises in the following season.38 The revolt of Lesbos The next year (428), after most of the cities on the island of Lesbos had decided to rebel from the Athenians, the Mytileneans dispatched envoys to persuade the Spartans to take them into alliance (3.4.5). They probably arrived in Sparta sometime in July and seem to have spent several weeks there before being sent on to Olympia, where they addressed the allies lingering after the festival, that is, around mid-August. Here, too, the Spartans have been accused of indecision and dragging their feet.39 In their defense Roisman explains that they had no choice but to consult their allies, and that they could not have done so any earlier.40 Moreover, as I have argued elsewhere,41 the Spartans’ move may have been part of a calculated strategy. There was much to gain by using Olympia for the backdrop of a speech urging the alliance to show that they were leaders of all Hellas. Rich in possibilities for propaganda, Olympia could also have been fertile ground for soliciting money and hiring rowers. The Spartans already knew what the Mytileneans wanted, no doubt having conferred with them before they went to Olympia.42 Political divisions, as Pericles predicted, play an important role in this episode. At Olympia the Spartans and their allies decide to receive the cities of Lesbos into alliance and immediately set into motion the first part of their plan: to attack Attica by both land and sea. Thucydides says that the Spartans ordered the allies to assemble quickly (κατὰ τάχος) at the isthmus and ‘they themselves were the first to arrive’ (3.15.1). This is hardly the mark of incurable slowness. The Spartans also set out at the earliest time feasible.43 According to Herodotus (6.106), at least, religious scruples prevented them from taking the field in any month before the full moon, and the full moon marked the end of the games at Olympia. Any way you look at it, the Spartans’ response was quick and decisive, especially since the Mytileneans had been forced to rebel prematurely (3.2.1). Even if the Spartans themselves had helped to stir up the rebellion (as the arrival in Mytilene of the Laconian Meleas before the revolt appears to suggest,

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Paula Debnar 3.5.2), the Mytileneans were forced to move sooner than they originally intended. Once at the isthmus, the Spartans are energetic, as they prepare machines for dragging the ships from the Corinthian to the Saronic Gulf. Thucydides says, ‘They were doing these things with zeal (προθύμως), but the rest of the allies gathered slowly, since they were in the middle of the harvest and sick and tired of campaigning’ (3.15.2). To compound the problem, before the Spartans can launch the League’s fleet, the Athenians offer a remarkable display of naval force. Perceiving their enemy’s activity and rightly understanding why they had chosen this moment to attack, [The Athenians] wanted to show that they [the Peloponnesians] had not judged correctly, but that without moving the fleet from Lesbos they could easily defend themselves against the attack from the Peloponnese as well. (3.16.1)

Consequently, they launched one hundred ships with crews comprised of Athenians from the lower two census classes and metics, put on a show of their naval power, and made incursions into the Peloponnese. The plan worked. The Spartans gave up, at least on the double invasion, and went home. Of course, what the Athenians wanted to show was not necessarily the whole truth.44 Given that we do not know how easily the Athenians could have manned and supported multiple squadrons at sea for an extended time,45 we should not be too hard on the Spartans for failing to see through the Athenians’ ruse, if indeed it was a ruse. Despite this setback, the Spartans did not give up altogether on Mytilene. Thucydides says that afterwards they ordered a fleet of forty ships to be prepared to send to Lesbos and that they appointed Alcidas as commander (3.16.3). Toward the end of the winter, they also dispatched the Spartan Salaethus to let the Mytilenians know that help was on the way (3.25.1). When the next campaigning season came around (τοῦ δ᾽ ἐπιγιγνομένου θέρους, 3.26.1), the ships set out. This was a forceful move on Sparta’s part, yet for this, too, they have been criticized: why didn’t they send ships to Lesbos the year before?46 Thucydides provides one answer: they wanted to coordinate the expedition with an invasion of Attica.47 I suggest that Sparta’s allies also needed the winter to construct the ships that had been requested and to recruit rowers,48 assuming, that is, that the Spartans did not want to deplete the Peloponnesian forces at home. Forty is not an insignificant number of triremes. Thucydides, however, is silent on this point. Other possible answers depend on what the Spartans expected to accomplish in Ionia and thus how long they expected to stay there. At the

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Spartan slowness in Thucydides’ History time of the aborted invasion the end of the preferred season for sailing was approaching.49 Had the ships set out in late August and been successful in Mytilene, the combined fleet would have risked facing worsening weather, possibly even winter seas, had they tried to stir up trouble in the east, if this was their plan. Then there was the money problem, which brings me back to Alcidas, the Spartan whose reputation has suffered most from Thucydides’ judgments. About Alcidas and the fleet dispatched to Lesbos Thucydides says, The Peloponnesians in the forty ships, which ought to have arrived quickly (οὓς ἔδει ἐν τάχει παραγενέσθαι), wasted time (ἐνδιέτριψαν) in sailing round the Peloponnesus itself, and proceeding for the rest of the voyage at a leisurely pace (σχολαῖοι), they escaped detection by the Athenians from the city before they put in at Delos, and from there, when they approached Icarus and Myconus, they first learned Mytilene had been taken. (3.29.1, my emphasis)

Thucydides makes it seem as if Alcidas had been enjoying a pleasure cruise of the islands. Clearly, however, the delay was not for fun. Why was he so slow? Like the hoplite forces in the previous fall, the naval allies were far from eager: much of the League’s navy came from cities on the Gulf of Corinth or further west, and they were likely to be unenthusiastic about an expedition so far from the Peloponnese. If so, as Roisman notes, Alcidas would have had to ‘remind or persuade the allies to follow Spartan orders’.50 What this ‘reminding’ and ‘persuading’ is likely to have entailed can perhaps be inferred from the heavy-handed way King Agis procures money to fund the Peloponnesian fleet at the beginning of the Ionian War (8.3.1). But even without reluctance on the part of the naval allies, for an expedition (even of this modest size) headed far from home and intending (perhaps), if things went well, to spend months in Ionia, Alcidas is likely to have needed more gear and more men than he could gather easily.51 He would also have needed money. Thucydides says little about how the League manned and funded its ships, but it is likely that the crews were composed in large part of mercenaries, perioikoi, and slaves.52 Alcidas certainly needed money to pay both mercenaries and perioikoi.53 Nor should we assume that it cost nothing to man a fleet with helots, whose main responsibility was to supply their masters’ requisite contributions to the communal messes. If helots were taken from the land for any length of time, their masters would need to be compensated. Members of perioikic communities most likely had chattel slaves,54 and these slave owners, too, would require compensation. Moreover, all crewmembers needed money for rations.

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Paula Debnar If the Peloponnesian fleet set out from Cyllene, as is likely,55 Alcidas could have dunned the Eleans,56 whose coffers were likely to be full thanks to their stewardship of the Olympic festival. We know that at least one Elean, Teutiaplus, presumably a commander, was present (3.29.2), and so the Eleans are likely to have supplied at least one ship and crew, if not more. The Peloponnesians also had friends north of Cyllene (e.g. Leucas and Ambracia, 3.69.1; 6.104.1).57 Moving south, we know that there was enough wealth around Pylos and elsewhere on the coast of the Peloponnese outside of Laconia for the Athenians to think it worth raiding (6.105.2). The Sphacteria episode in Book 4 also shows that the area produced men familiar with the sea: some helots even had boats (4.26.5–7). Continuing the cruise around the Peloponnese, the perioikic communities at Methone and Asine could have been called upon to contribute to the cause. In Book 4 (13.1) we learn that Asine was a source of timber, which is perhaps why Gylippus goes there before heading to Sicily (6.93.3).58 Other towns near the coast may have provided rowers and possibly officers and pilots.59 In the Ionian War there is a perioikic naval commander named Diniadas (8.22.1).60 Then, of course, there is Cythera. When captured by the Athenians in 425 it was wealthy enough to buy its autonomy with the promise of 4 talents of tribute a year (4.57.4). Based on the Athenian rate of pay for seasonal crews, 4 talents would have funded eight ships for a month.61 Alcidas could have been engaged in similar activities at Delos, Myconus, and Icarus, perhaps having stopped in Melos.62 This is not the place to discuss the problems surrounding the ‘strictly undatable’ (Hornblower ad 8.9.3) Spartan war fund inscription (ML 67, IG v.1.1), but if, as some have argued, it dates to the early 420s, Adcock may have been right to associate the contributions with Alcidas’ expedition.63 As it turns out, after learning that the Mytileneans have capitulated, Alcidas decides against a surprise attack.64 Nor does he take the advice of Ionian exiles and Lesbians, who urge him to incite the cities of Ionia to revolt and argue that there is hope of success since they will be welcome everywhere (3.31.1). Of course, the situation would have been much more hopeful had the Spartans gained control of Mytilene’s fleet. Later in the war, the Spartans will learn first-hand that fomenting revolt in Ionia is not an easy task, even with the Athenians seriously weakened by their defeat in Sicily, and even with the help of almost sixty Chian ships.65 What is most surprising, in fact, is that Alcidas does not head back to the Peloponnese the minute he learns of Mytilene’s surrender. Instead he confers with Samians in Ephesus and seems to have busied his crews (and thereby compensated them) with raiding.66 Raiding, at least, explains his having

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Spartan slowness in Thucydides’ History taken captives (murdering some, 3.32.1–3), and raiding is what the Athenians think he is doing (3.33.2). It is, moreover, the tactic to which the Athenians as well as the Spartans will later resort, given the absence of both surplus capital and a steady flow of tribute in the Ionian War.67 Demonstrating that they could strike deep within Athenian-held territory was also a political gain for the Spartans.68 Roisman theorizes that Thucydides treated Alcidas unfairly because his source was either Brasidas or someone close to him and that the historian wanted to use the slow Alcidas as a foil for the quick Brasidas.69 He may be right. It is also likely, however, that Thucydides did not know exactly why the Spartans took so long to get the fleet to Lesbos,70 what their original plans were, or why they first lingered and then raced back to the Peloponnese. For an Athenian, however, whose city could (relatively) easily replace triremes and supply them with rowers, the seriousness of losing ships or having them immobilized by a blockade may not have been immediately apparent. Consequently, Spartan character may have seemed to Thucydides the best explanation for Alcidas’ failure to rescue Mytilene. Corcyra The involvement of Brasidas in Corcyra certainly helps to explain the bad press Alcidas has received for his conduct there. The charge against Alcidas is that with his forty ships reinforced by thirteen triremes from Leucas and Ambracia, and with Brasidas as an adviser (3.69.1), he refused to follow up on the Peloponnesians’ naval victory over combined Corcyraean and Athenian forces, despite Brasidas’ supposedly (ὡς λέγεται) having urged him to attack the city (3.79.3). Like Roisman, I am not convinced of the wisdom of Brasidas’ daring, since Alcidas seems to have correctly anticipated that the Athenians would send more ships to Corcyra, and he most likely did not want to risk having his fleet cornered or blockaded.71 I also wonder whether the Spartans even wanted to take Corcyra once the oligarchs had lost control of the island – a piece of news Alcidas likely received from Corinthian envoys who had been in Corcyra, but had sailed off after the defeat of the oligarchs (3.74.3). To control Corcyra the Peloponnesians would have had to commit far greater forces, including hoplites, than they had.72 Neutralizing them by depleting their fleet (a neat trick used by the Athenians before the war, 1.44.2)73 is likely to have seemed equally attractive, especially if they could inflict harm without a high risk of loss on their own side – the Peloponnesians’ modus operandi for naval warfare throughout most of the war. Building ships required money and time. At Corcyra they captured thirteen triremes with the loss of only one on their side.

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Paula Debnar Once the Corcyraean demos gained control of the city, there may have been another reason the Peloponnesians limited their involvement. Thucydides says that trouble on the island began with the return of the Corcyraeans captured by the Corinthians in the naval battles near Epidamnus, and he reveals that the captives were said (λόγῳ) to have been exchanged for 800 talents. This is an astonishing amount, if true. But, in reality (ἔργῳ), Thucydides counters, they were returned in order to help bring the island over to Corinth (3.70.1). Despite the doubt Thucydides raises about the 800 talents (or the possibility that the number is corrupt),74 his explanation does not rule out the possibility that some money exchanged hands or that the oligarchs had promised payment in the future for help in their domestic political affairs. After all, Thucydides tells us that in the years just before the outbreak of war Corcyra was one of the wealthiest cities in Hellas (1.25.4). At any rate, with the oligarchs out of the picture, there were few reasons for the Peloponnesians to press on and face unnecessary risks for dubious gains – a naval correlative of the Athenians’ decision to avoid engaging the Peloponnesians in hoplite battle. Brasidas in Chalcidice In Thucydides’ History Brasidas is a rare Spartan, earning praise for intelligence, moderation, and valor (e.g. 2.25.2; 4.81.2). His quickness is evident in his conduct of the war in the Thraceward region. He moves so rapidly on Amphipolis that the city surrenders before Athenian forces, led by Thucydides himself, can come to its relief (4.106.3–4).75 Yet even Brasidas does not always move as quickly as needed. Concerning Amphipolis, for example, Thucydides reports, It is even said that, if Brasidas had not allowed the army to turn to plundering, but had proceeded straightway against the city, it seems he could have taken it. But as it was, he encamped the army, and after he overran the country outside and nothing was accomplished for him by those [sympathizers] inside, as he expected, he remained inactive. (4.104.2–3)

Thucydides may not have been convinced by this assessment, but he implies that others were. As the narrative of the campaign in the Thraceward regions shows, however, Brasidas’ local troops could be difficult to control. It may not have been so much a matter of allowing them to pillage as it was of being unable to stop them and needing to supply them with pay.76 Nor can Brasidas move quickly enough to come to the aid of Mende or Scione (4.129.1–2). In fact, he cannot move at all because he is helping Perdiccas against Arrhabaeus in Lyncestis (4.124.1; 129.2). Why is he helping Perdiccas? In part, at least, because he needs money and Perdiccas has hired him. Why does he need money? First, he has to pay his army.

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Spartan slowness in Thucydides’ History We know that 1,000 of the 1,700 men he set out with from the Peloponnese were mercenaries, while the rest were helots (4.78.1; 80.5). In the meantime, he had acquired more soldiers.77 Moreover, Brasidas motivated his troops, at least once, with the promise of a substantial bonus. During the attack on Torone he offered a prize of 30 silver minas to the first troops on the wall of the fort (4.116.2).78 We also learn that after Amphipolis Brasidas ‘made preparations for building triremes’ (4.108.6).79 To construct and operate a fleet he would need money – a lot of it. As it is, the only trireme we hear of is the single ship that escorts Brasidas’ small boat when he steals from Torone to Scione (4.120.2). Unfortunately, Thucydides’ sources were not forthcoming about Brasidas’ ultimate schemes for Thrace. Melos With the deaths of Brasidas and Cleon there comes a period of unstable peace. During this time the Spartans and their allies limit themselves to actions on land, and eventually under the leadership of King Agis at the battle of Mantinea they regain some of their lost prestige. The only mention of naval activity during the period of peace is the garrisoning of Epidaurus with three hundred men who pass by sea (5.56.1–2). That operation, however, is likely to have involved only a few vessels, possibly not triremes.80 Its aim was to circumvent the unpropitious border sacrifices that several times prompted Agis to turn back from campaigns (e.g. 5.54.2; 55.3). Hesitation in these instances and in the case of festivals (5.54.2) can be attributed to religious scruples.81 Religious scruples also help to explain the Spartans’ failure to act immediately on Alcibiades’ advice to establish a fort in Decelea (6.91.6).82 When Alcibiades addressed the Spartans in the winter of 415/14, the Peace of Nicias still held. In the context of the invasion of Attica and fortification of Decelea, Thucydides reveals that the Spartans blamed their misfortunes in the Archidamian War on having acted contrary to the oaths of the Thirty Years Peace (7.18.2). In 415 they were not about to repeat the mistake. On the other hand, once the Athenians had attacked cities in Laconia, a blatant rupture of the Peace (6.105.1; 7.18.2), the Spartans prepared for an invasion of Attica and the fortification of Decelea.83 Although Thucydides is silent on the matter, the Spartans may have harassed Epidaurus in order to provoke the Athenians’ attack on Laconia. Any concerns, religious or otherwise, about obligations as a mother-city failed to prompt the Spartans to help their Melian colonists in 416. The intransigence shown by some of Sparta’s most powerful allies may be one reason for their lack of action. Even if the Spartans had been willing to go

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Paula Debnar to the aid of the Melians, they could not have done so. Both the Corinthians and the Boeotians had refused to swear to the Peace, and, far from helping the Spartans, the Corinthians had failed to accompany King Agis and the Peloponnesian forces in their attack on Argos.84 Without a commitment of ships from Corinth, the Spartans could not undertake any serious naval operation. As Pericles understood, the Spartans could be held hostage by their allies. An appeal from their own Syracusan colonists was necessary for the Corinthians to spring into joint action with Sparta.85 The strains of the Archidamian War, however, seem to have taken a toll on Corinth’s fleet.86 The Corinthians are likely to have incurred a serious blow with the loss of the triremes the Spartans surrendered to the Athenians in negotiating for their own men on Sphacteria in 425 (4.23.1).87 After Pylos the Spartans themselves seem to have had few, if any, ships.88 The Spartan commander Gylippus asks the Corinthians to send a mere two ships ahead to meet him in Asine (6.93.3); with these and a single pair of Laconian vessels (Λακωνικαῖν, 6.104.1)89 he proceeds to Leucas and on to Italy. Although ten additional Corinthian ships plus two each from Ambracia and Leucas are to follow,90 the fleet is remarkably small.91 The Ionian War The inability of both sides to obtain money goes a long way toward explaining what Kallet calls ‘the sense of inactivity, the delaying, and the cat-and-mouse episodes between Athens and Sparta that characterize most of the [final] book’.92 Nonetheless, scholars often fault Astyochus, the first Spartan navarch in the Ionian War, for slowness and delay.93 So, too, the Spartans in general are the targets of Thucydides’ criticism when they refuse yet again to attack the Piraeus: ‘Not just on this occasion, but on many others, the Spartans were the most convenient enemies for the Athenians to be at war with’ (8.96.5), given their slowness and lack of daring. For those who view the actions of Books 1–5 through a monochromatic lens of Spartan βραδυτής, this judgment is difficult to resist.94 As I will argue, however, character was not the sole, nor even the most important, factor conditioning the actions of the Spartans in Thucydides’ final book. Given the limits of space and the complexity of Book 8, I will restrict my discussion to the Peloponnesian fleet’s lengthy sojourn at Rhodes and to the Piraeus episode. Rhodes In the winter of 412/11 Astyochus transferred the Peloponnesian fleet from Miletus to Rhodes (8.44.2). By then, about a year had passed since the

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Spartan slowness in Thucydides’ History Athenians’ defeat in Sicily, and for about half of that time the Spartans and their allies had been waging a naval war in Ionia. What had they learned in this time? First, although the Spartans’ request for one hundred ships the previous winter (8.3.2) was modest compared to what they called for at the outset of the war, raising even this number turned out to be difficult.95 The Syracusans, whom they expected to join them in the spring, seem only to have appeared late in the first summer (8.26.1),96 and Sparta’s mainland allies had been worn down by the war. Even the Corinthians, instigators of war in Book 1, dragged their feet (8.9.1).97 Short on enthusiasm, they are likely to have been short on ships and cash as well.98 In contrast, the Spartans are said to be eager to sail (ἐπειγομένων αὐτῶν τὸν πλοῦν, 8.9.1).99 The Spartans assumed that after the disaster in Sicily the Athenians were without ships and money. The truth about Athens’ treasury and fleet, however, began to dawn on them as soon as the Athenians blockaded the first twenty ships the Spartans tried to send to Chios. The Spartans did manage to dispatch five ships quickly and set a series of Athens’ allies into revolt, but they soon recognized that they did not have enough ships or men to retain control of all the cities they alienated from Athens,100 especially when there were political divisions within these cities (8.9.3).101 Moreover, although they correctly anticipated the willingness (at least initially) of Athens’ allies to rebel, they apparently did not foresee that so many would approach Sparta at the same time (8.5–6). They simply could not help all of the prospective rebels at once. The League’s compromise was to send a fleet to Chios first, with the understanding that afterwards they would dispatch forces to Lesbos and the Hellespont.102 As with many compromises, this one satisfied few, and the Spartans found themselves tugged in several directions at once: by prospective rebels, by two competing Persian satraps offering to fund the war, and by the allies within their own fleet who supported different causes.103 These tensions revealed both the disadvantages of a fleet comprised of squadrons from different cities and the weaknesses of the Spartan command structure. In other words, Pericles’ analysis of the Peloponnesian League before the outbreak of war aptly describes Sparta’s naval confederacy in the Ionian War: ‘Each [ally] promotes its own ends; consequently, they usually accomplish nothing’ (1.141.6).104 The first season of naval warfare also taught them that hope (πανταχόθεν τε εὐέλπιδες ὄντες, 8.2.4) is expensive.105 Naval defeats in the early years of the Archidamian War led them to adopt a strategy of confronting the Athenian fleet only from a position of clear numerical superiority, both because of their own inferior skills and because they could not afford to lose ships or men. In 412 they were in much the same position.106

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Paula Debnar The expertise of Peloponnesian crews had not improved in the previous decade. It turns out that the Athenians at Melos were correct: they were masters of the sea (ναυκρατόρων, 5.109). In fact, from 421 to 412 the Peloponnesians had few opportunities to exercise their naval skills. Moreover, it seems that the League had neither built a financial reserve nor rebuilt its fleet. When the Athenians did not quickly capitulate following the debacle in Sicily, the Spartans must have begun to realize that they were in for an expensive war. Indeed, over the course of the first year and a half of the Ionian War (i.e. Book 8), the biggest challenge of a naval arms race emerged: as both the Athenian and Peloponnesian fleets expanded, funding them became exponentially more difficult. During the six months of naval warfare leading to their retreat to Rhodes, Spartans learned another lesson: conducting operations in the winter is risky. Prior to Book 8 Thucydides records only two cases of Spartan naval activity during that season:107 the surprise attempt on the Piraeus at the onset of winter (2.93.1) and the garrisoning of Epidaurus (5.56.1). The Epidaurus incident, as I have pointed out, involved the transport of only three hundred men (possibly in merchant vessels), and neither initiative entailed a lengthy voyage or protracted time away from home. The Ionian War was very different. After the onset of winter in 412/11 both the Athenian and the Peloponnesian fleets found themselves buffeted by storms.108 Rain and fog worked in Astyochus’ favor at Syme (8.42), and his victory may have encouraged the Spartans to pursue their strategy in the south.109 At the same time, as Astyochus must have known, the elements are fickle: the encounter could easily have turned out the other way.110 All of these lessons help to explain why the Spartans remained inactive on Rhodes, possibly for as long as eighty days (8.44.4).111 By the winter of 412/11 their patience had been worn thin by the reluctance – or inability – of the Persian satrap Tissaphernes to pay their troops regularly or in full.112 Indeed, even before the move to Rhodes, the Spartans were contemplating a shift of their operations to the Hellespont, where the satrap Pharnabazus had promised support. In fact, Pharnabazus paid for the Peloponnesian fleet that conveyed Lichas and his fellow Spartan advisers (ξύμβουλοι) to Ionia, and these advisers had orders to move north if they saw fit (8.39.2). Matters came to a head when Lichas bluntly objected to the terms of Sparta’s two earlier agreements with Persia, in particular to handing over the Greeks of Asia to the king. At this, Tissaphernes (ὁ μέν) abandoned the negotiations in a rage (8.43.4), and in turn (οἱ δ’) the Spartans resolved to head to Rhodes, where they had been invited to set the island into revolt (8.44.1). Rhodes and Cnidus (8.35.2), together with Syme, which lay between the

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Spartan slowness in Thucydides’ History two, were well located for intercepting trade from Egypt and the Levant.113 The Spartans could also claim an ethnic connection with Rhodes, settled by Dorians, and by this point in the war the famous Olympic victor Dorieus, originally from Rhodes, was one of the commanders of a contingent of Thurian ships in the Peloponnesian fleet (8.35.1).114 Powerful in both naval and land forces (8.44.1), Rhodes was also wealthy. The Peloponnesians anticipated gaining some financial independence from the Persians by going to Rhodes (8.44.1), where they managed to levy 32 talents (8.44.4). Although this amount would not stretch very far,115 they may have thought that it would at least buy them enough time to call Tissaphernes’ bluff. According to Thucydides, they were right. He says that, fearing the Peloponnesians would run out of supplies, engage the Athenians, and suffer a defeat – or, what was worse in his opinion, that they would begin raiding the mainland – Tissaphernes resumed negotiations (8.57.1–2).116 The resulting treaty, while affirming the king’s power over the territory he controlled, guaranteed pay for the ships provided by Sparta and its allies ‘until the arrival of the king’s ships’ (8.58.5–7). A new element in this treaty was the Phoenician (i.e. Persian) navy (cf. 8.18; 37). It was irresistible bait, implying, so the Spartans may have inferred, that King Darius had fully embraced their cause.117 Thucydides says that in the same summer (i.e. of 411) Tissaphernes sailed to Aspendus, inviting the Spartan Lichas to join him, purportedly (ὡς ἐδόκει δή) to assuage Peloponnesian suspicions and to verify the presence of the promised ships (8.87.1). But nothing happened: no ships arrived from Aspendus and the Persians provided even less pay (8.87.3). Thus Mindarus, who had replaced Astyochus as navarch (8.85.1), moved the fleet to the Hellespont (8.99). Thucydides says it was not easy to determine why Tissaphernes sailed to Aspendus or why he did not bring back the fleet,118 but, after reviewing other theories, he concludes that the satrap wanted to wear down the Greek forces through delay and to keep them balanced by not throwing his weight to either side (8.87.3–4).119 Rejecting Tissaphernes’ excuse that there were not as many ships as he anticipated, Thucydides contends that even the addition of a smaller fleet would have given them victory (8.87.5). Nonetheless, although the king and satrap eventually reneged on their promise of the Persian fleet, when the Spartans were negotiating the third treaty, they must have thought it worthwhile to take one final gamble with Tissaphernes. And even if Thucydides was right about the Persians’ real aims, the difficulty he had deciphering Tissaphernes’ motives shows that the gamble was reasonable. There were, however, lessons that the Spartans had yet to learn.

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Paula Debnar First, as Lewis reminds us, the Persian Empire was immense and the Aegean may not have been at the top of their priorities.120 Nor were the king’s (let alone Tissaphernes’) resources unlimited.121 It is also possible that, looking for revenge against Athens and the restoration of tribute and control of the coast, the king was more interested in the Athenians’ defeat than in the Spartans’ victory. Only after the defeat of the Peloponnesians at Cynossema (411) and Cyzicus (410), when the Athenians were on the verge of winning the war, did the Persian King Darius throw his full weight behind the Spartans.122 It is not difficult, therefore, to understand how in the winter of 412/11 the Spartans could have miscalculated. Miscalculation, however, is not the same as βραδυτής. Moreover, the Spartans had gained something from the expedition to Rhodes. They had drawn the Rhodians away from the Athenians and won them as allies; they had avoided naval operations (and losses) at sea during the winter; they had dried out their triremes,123 and they had prompted the renegotiation of their treaty with the Persians.124 The winter of 412/11 taught them another important lesson: to bring down the Athenians they needed much more money than they could ever acquire by taxing Rhodes or raiding coastal towns. The failure to attack the Piraeus – again When the Spartans with a fleet of forty-two ships defeated the Athenians near Eretria and set virtually all of Euboea into revolt (8.95), the Athenians feared that their fleet would sail against the Piraeus (8.96.3). Thucydides remarks, ‘which, if they were bolder, they easily could have done’ (8.96.4). He explains that the attack would have set off a chain reaction putting the entire Athenian empire into Sparta’s hands. Not all modern scholars agree. Kagan, for example, thinks that the move could have backfired, with the Athenians united against their external enemy.125 He adds that it would have required a blockade, for which the Peloponnesians were not prepared, and doubtless would have prompted the return to Athens of the Athenian fleet on Samos. Thucydides offers some indirect support, at least for the first part of this argument. King Agis had personal experience of the effect of a large Spartan force near the city: when he marched against Athens’ walls in the summer of 411, instead of falling into civil discord or showing a willingness to surrender, the Athenians calmly defended themselves (8.71.1–2). The Spartans are likely to have felt that even after the revolt of Euboea, and even with civil strife in Athens, a direct attack on the Piraeus might gain them little, while risking much. In other words, as Archidamus observed, τὸ βραδύ is sometimes intelligent good sense. In place of a direct attack on Athens, the Spartans opted for a systematic squeezing of the Athenians’ resources. They began

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Spartan slowness in Thucydides’ History with the fortification of Decelea and the undermining of the collection of tribute in Ionia, much as Archidamus and the Mytileneans had advised years before. They then cut off Euboea. The Hellespont was the obvious next step. Ironically, the actions of Mindarus, a quick and daring Spartan navarch,126 confirmed the wisdom of the Spartans’ earlier caution. Mindarus’ defeat at Cynossema and at Cyzicus almost ended the Spartans’ efforts. But when the Athenians failed to accept an offer of peace, they had little choice but to commit themselves fully to the control of the Hellespont. It took them three more years to find a leader who could secure a reliable and virtually endless source of money, as Lysander found in Cyrus – and longer to rebuild the fleet, this time with a larger Spartan component.127 The suffering that the Athenians experienced between 407 and 404, not to mention during the months immediately before the city surrendered, hardly makes the Spartans seem like such convenient enemies of war.128 Conclusion This is not to deny that Spartan character, upbringing, and institutions inclined them to excessive deliberateness and caution.129 But concerning the incidents of delay and hesitation I have discussed, financing the fleet, or protecting ships that would be costly to replace, and wrestling with political divisions within their alliance are likely to have played important roles. There is not a great deal of evidence, but there is some, and Thucydides may not have been able to provide more. Before his exile he had limited access to Peloponnesian sources and the Spartans were secretive. Obtaining reliable information about the Persians seems to have been even more difficult. At the very least, however, I hope to have confirmed Kelly’s point that, while Thucydides’ general statements are on the whole reliable, it is also possible to find in the History ‘evidence against their universality’.130

Notes 1 All translations are my own unless otherwise noted. 2 E.g. Westlake (1956, 1968) is critical of the slowness and lack of enterprise of most Spartan leaders (with the usual exceptions), but does sometimes point out practical factors that hampered their efforts. Similarly, Meiggs 1972. See Falkner 1999, 206 nn. 3–5 for critics of Astyochus in particular; see Roisman 1987 on Alcidas. 3 See Hodkinson 2006 for a nuanced reexamination of another Spartan stereotype. See also the stimulating debate between M. Hansen and S. Hodkinson on Spartan exceptionalism (Hansen 2009, Hodkinson 2009, and Hansen and Hodkinson 2009). 4 Earlier in Book 1 King Archidamus mentioned their lack of a common treasury (1.80.4).

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See Millender (this volume) on the Spartans’ government as a symptom of their conservatism. 6 See the thorough analysis in Kallet 2001, 227–84. She observes (228), ‘The theme of money and naval financing not only pervades the book [Book 8] but often serves as a linking device between seemingly disconnected episodes’. Spartans (aside from Gylippus) play a limited part in the Sicilian campaign in Books 6 and 7. 7 Brunt 1993 is especially useful on these points. 8 On ‘national character’ (or characteristics) in Thucydides see, for example, Edmunds 1975, Connor, 1984, 36–47, Luginbill 1999, Debnar 2001, Cartledge and Debnar 2006, and Greenwood (this volume). 9 See also Kallet-Marx 1993, 91–3. 10 As does Hornblower (ad 2.2.1); however, he believes the thought is ‘although there was a delay, it was less than a year’. He concedes, though, that Thucydides ‘has expressed himself strangely’. 11 For Gomme’s chronology, which explains why the Corinthians argue against delay, see HCT 1: 421–5. Gomme (422) thinks the invasion of Attica (c. May 20) took place nine and a half to ten lunar months after the League conference, which he argues was held not earlier than August 1. Thus he believes the invasion of Plataea occurred not in the sixth, as in our mss., but tenth month after the battle of Potidaea, which he places in mid-June. He points out (HCT 1: 404 with n. 1) that mss. often confuse δεκάτῳ and ἕκτῳ. Alberti (ad loc.) accepts this emendation. Contra Smart 1986; (following Thompson 1968) he retains ‘sixth’ as does Hornblower (ad 2.1). The latter concedes, however, if the battle of Potidaea was in October, the League conference in November, and the invasion of Attica in June, this is hardly a delay of close to a year as 1.125.2 implies. Against Smart, see Pritchett 1995, 173–204. On the corruption of numerals in Thucydides, see Pritchett 1995, 24–61 and Dow 1961, 66–9. 12 Gomme (HCT 1: 421 n. 3) notes that the conference could not conflict with the Olympic festival of 432. 13 Brunt (1993) points out that their strategy depended on whether their goal was total victory. 14 Kallet-Marx 1993, 80–8. However, she thinks that Archidamus’ Spartan audience could not have fully recognized or understood the problem (85–7). On Archidamus’ inability to persuade see Millender (this volume). Kelly 1979 argues that the Spartans well understood the importance of naval matters. But as Brunt (1993, 94–6) observes, past experience would still have led them to think that invasions would be effective. 15 The advice Thucydides attributes to Archidamus supports the historian’s comment that the Spartans were customarily slow to go to war unless compelled (1.118.2). The remark, however, is not necessarily criticism of the Spartans, since Thucydides does not suggest that quickness to go to war is a categorically admirable quality. 16 An article with an adjective creates an abstract substantive. But see Starkie ad Arist. Ach. 10: ‘Note that the article is used with a word which, in English, would be italicized or printed within inverted commas’; he compares Av. 58, where οὐκ ἀντὶ τοῦ παιδός refers to the exclamation παῖ, παῖ. See also Zanker 2016, 35–42. Thus Archidamus’ τὸ βραδύ could mean something like ‘what they claim is slow’. 17 On δύναται as a way to express meaning, see Zanker 2016, 65–9. Morris (ad 1.84.1), however, observes, ‘It is probable that in connexion with μάλιστα, “approximately”...it means it may turn out to be...’. He points out that Classen’s

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Spartan slowness in Thucydides’ History rendering, ‘has the same meaning [as]’, ignores εἶναι, absent from his other examples. 18 See Smart 1986, 19–22 and Munn 2002, 245–6 on the range of candidates for the event marking the commencement of war, including three in Thucydides. 19 See also 2.67.1, where in 430 Spartan envoys en route to Persia try to persuade the Thracian king Teres to switch alliances. 20 Gabrielsen 1994, 140. 21 On lessons the Spartans should have learned about Athens’ naval forces in the first Peloponnesian War see Kelly 1982, 28–30. 22 In 415 the people of Rhegium are said to have refused ‘to campaign with’ (ξυστρατεύειν, 6.46.2) the Athenians, having decided to remain neutral (6.44.3). But their neutrality did not preclude offering financial help – if, that is, an inscription recording their contribution of over 50 talents to the Athenians (ML 63=IG.13291) should be assigned to 415. Dover (HCT 4 ad 6.46.2) accepts this date. Hornblower (ad 6.44.3) agrees, and in the introductory n. to 6.62–71 defends the date against recent challenges. Contra Ampolo (1987), who argues for 427–4, during the Athenians’ earlier expedition to Sicily. Bauslaugh (1991, 148–50) also prefers the earlier date, in part because the large sum (if Thucydides knew about it) seems to weaken the grounds for the Athenians’ great disappointment when the Egestaeans produced a mere 30 talents (6.46.1), partly because the contribution would have been seen as a violation of the Rhegians’ neutrality in 415 (although he concedes that the treaty at 5.18.5 allows neutrals to provide tribute). 23 Smarczyk (1999, 60) suggests that the Spartan war fund inscription may be connected with these efforts. Contra Bleckmann 2002, 1993; Piérart 1995. 24 Kallet-Marx 1993, 91–3. 25 Kelly 1979, 247–8. 26 Kallet (Kallet-Marx 1993, 130–4) contends that the ships enumerated in 3.17 are, in fact, those from the beginning of the war, but retains the passage where it stands. Gomme (HCT 2: 276–7) is inclined to believe (with Adcock) that it refers to 430, in which case it may be misplaced; however, he adds that (with minor emendations) it could refer loosely to the first two years of the war, in which case he would retain it where it is. Hornblower (ad 3.17) prefers 430, although he, too, would keep the passage at 3.17, as do Pritchett (1974–91, 1: 15 n. 46) and Weil (1967, 86–7). 27 See, however, Falkner 1992, 148 n. 3. 28 Falkner 1992, 149; see also 154 n. 23, where she characterizes Crawley’s and Warner’s translations of κατὰ τάχος at 2.93 as tendentious. She believes that both (‘as quickly as possible’ and ‘as quickly as they could’) downplay the Peloponnesians’ speed, and notes that, concerning the retreat from Salamis (2.94.3), they render the same expression ‘hastily’ and ‘hurriedly’. 29 On the use of ὡς λέγεται to express skepticism concerning an excuse see Westlake 1977, 353. 30 Somewhat differently, Falkner (1992, 150) thinks that Thucydides (wrongly) denies the effect of the wind on triremes. 31 Westlake 1968, 141; at the same time, Westlake acknowledges that this judgment of the plan and the feeling that Brasidas could have pulled it off are likely impressions Thucydides intended to create.

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Falkner 1992, 148. Lateiner (1975, 177–8) emphasizes the potential psychological effect. 33 On reasons for refraining from attack, see Roisman 1987, 398. Adcock (1957, 38) reminds us that triremes ‘were blind at night and had poor means of communications at sea’. It is unclear, however, whether Alcidas would have had moonlight, and there are other examples of the movement of fleets at night (e.g. 1.48.1). 34 Falkner 1992, 151. On the range of conditions of the hulls even in the Athenian fleet, see Gabrielsen 1994, 129–31. 35 Wick (1979, 5) notes that Thucydides understates the importance of the fort for preventing ships from coming in and out of Megara (2.93.4). 36 Westlake (1968, 142 n. 1) also observes that Teleutias had a larger force [i.e. than that of Brasidas and Cnemus], but that even so ‘the results were not catastrophic for Athens’. 37 Falkner (1992, 152) recognizes the difficulty they are likely to have had hiring crews, much as Pericles predicted (1.143.5). On the challenges the Athenians faced in assembling crews, see Gabrielsen 1994, 105–10. 38 Falkner 1992, 155; she also suggests (154–5) that the fear of a repeat performance explains the Athenians’ interest in Minoa. 39 E.g. Kelly (1982, 44) speaks of their ‘indecisiveness in firmly committing aid to the Lesbians earlier in the summer’. 40 Roisman 1987, 387. 41 Debnar 2001, 102–7. 42 Similarly, Roisman 1987, 387. 43 Debnar 2001, 107. 44 Debnar 2001, 121–2 with n. 58. Contra Kallet-Marx 1993, 127–30; nonetheless, she concedes (134), ‘the effect [of the passage] is tempered by the sense that the Athenians were putting on a show (ἐπίδειξις)...and by the fact that Thucydides does not give the total of Athenian ships in 428, but only at the beginning of the war’. 45 Kagan 1974, 141–2. Gabrielsen (1994, 107) explains the conscription of citizens and metics as a result of the 17,000 men needed for crews of the 100 ships cruising around the Peloponnese on top of the 25,000 in the 150 triremes already in commission. Morrison et al. (2000, 115) take the use of hoplites in 428 to row themselves to Mytilene (3.18.4) as evidence that ‘Athenian naval resources were fully stretched’. 46 Meiggs (1972, 312), for example, claims, ‘Sparta had neither the heart nor the money to put an effective fleet on the sea’. Kagan (1974, 139), too, suggests that the Spartans, reluctant to man a large fleet or fight at sea, initially, at least, were ‘in no hurry to act’. 47 Roisman (1987, 390–1), however, rightly notes the failure of earlier invasions to inhibit Athens’ naval activity. But Brunt (1993) thinks that in what they saw as a war of attrition the Spartans continued to believe the invasions, in themselves, useful. 48 Salmon (1984, 336–7) posits that the ships requisitioned by Sparta in the fall of 412 were not ready even in the spring of 411. Roisman (1987, 393) points out that the Peloponnesian fleet had been shrinking since at least 430, if not earlier, noting that forty ships was a small force. See also Kelly 1979, esp. 43–8. 49 See Rosivach 1985, 42–4 on the preferred (i.e. safest) period for sailing, which ran from about mid-May to mid-September. For a succinct list of the limitations of triremes see Adcock 1957, 37–9.

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Roisman 1987, 393. Given the large number of rowers needed, Wallinga (1982, 464–8) may be right that there were often instances when they were undermanned, even if a full complement of rowers for each trireme was the desideratum. Contra Morrison et al. 2000, 107–8 with n. 1. Mercenaries hired by the Corinthians from within Athens’ empire (if the Corcyraeans’ statement at 1.35.4 is reliable) are likely to have been less readily available once the war began (cf. 1.143.1–2). On the gear carried by triremes (e.g. extra oars, ropes, leather, masts, sails, cooking utensils, etc.) see Casson 1994, 67 and Morrison et al. 2000, 168–78. On shortages see Gabrielsen 1994, 146–9. 52 After a careful review of the sparse evidence in Thucydides for the composition of crews in ‘non-Athenian’ navies’, Hunt (1998, 84–7) concludes that 50 to 80 percent of the rowers may have been slaves. 53 Without state resources commanders would have to raise funds, as does the Spartan commander Teleutias in 388 (Xen. Hell. 5.1.14); Gabrielsen 1994, 114–15. Hodkinson (2000, 154–86) thoroughly debunks the myth that Spartans did not employ coinage before the defeat of Athens in 404. 54 Cartledge 2002, 154–5. 55 Possibly from Pheia in Elis, where Demosthenes later finds a merchant ship with Corinthian hoplites headed to Sicily (7.31.1). 56 Adcock 1932, 2. 57 Thirteen ships from Leucas and Ambracia later join Alcidas’ fleet for the expedition to Corcyra (3.69). Could these ships have failed to appear in time for the expedition to Lesbos? Alcidas may also have had to wait for monetary contributions from inland allies to arrive. Corycra may have been part of Alcidas’ original plan. 58 Whether this Asine was on the Messenian gulf (Dover, HCT 4 ad 6.93.3; contra Salmon 1984, 332 n. 32) or near Gytheum does not affect my argument. 59 Alcidas could have solicited help in Helus (4.54.4), Taenarum (7.19.4), Las (8.91.2), and Laconian Asine (8.91.2), all places with natural harbors. See Falkner 1994, 495 with n. 5. 60 Although Thucydides says (8.6.4) that the Spartans sent Phrynis, a perioikos, to verify the size of the Chian fleet, he does not identify his rank or position. Cartledge (2002, 225) suggests another possible perioikic commander from Zarax or Tyros, an admiral mentioned in an inscription at Delphi offering thanks for Aegospotami (ML 95). The reading, however, is ‘very uncertain’, as Lazenby (2004, 284 n. 15) points out. Only the first letter of the place name remains, and there is some debate whether it is a zeta or tau. 61 According to Rosivach (1985, 51–3) the rate for seasonal crews in the Athenian fleet was 3 obols per rower per day and twice that for long-term service, as in the Sicilian Expedition (6.8.1; 6.31.3). On expenses for provisioning crews, see Gabrielsen 1994, 118–25; he also mentions the additional amount that trierarchs in Athens contributed for bonuses for talented helmsmen and thranitai. 62 Roisman 1987, 392. Hornblower (ad 5.108) points out that Melos is due east of Gytheum and was of strategic importance for the Spartans in relation to the eastern Aegean (cf. 8.39.2). He may be wrong about Sparta’s use of Gytheum at this early date (cf. Falkner 1994), but the route would have been similar from Taenarum or Asine. Gomme (ad 3.29.1) thinks Müller-Strübing’s suggestion of Μήλῳ for Δήλῳ ‘not impossible’. 51

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Adcock 1932; his article predates the publication of a new fragment. More recently, Loomis (1992) and Smarczyk (1999) both support a date in the Archidamian War (late 430s to mid-420s). Contra Hornblower (ad 8.9.3) favors (with Bleckmann 2002, 1993, and Piérart 1995) a date during the Ionian War, possibly related to the early chapters of Book 8. See also Hornblower ad 3.32.2, 8.19.3, and the introductory note to 4.51. Lewis (ML, p. 184) proposes the early fourth century. 64 On the wisdom of his decision see Roisman 1987, 398–9. Contra Lateiner 1975. 65 Roisman (1987, 399–400) accurately assesses the difficulties. See also Westlake 1989; he shows that many lesser cities in Ionia were more concerned with selfpreservation than with supporting either side, especially as the war dragged on. 66 Roisman 1987, 401. 67 In Book 8 the Persian Tissaphernes is said to think the Peloponnesians will resort to raiding the mainland, if he fails to conclude a new treaty with them (8.57.1). On Alcibiades’ raids to raise money for the Athenian fleet see, e.g. Thuc. 8.108.2; Xen. Hell. 1.1.8, 1.4.8; Diod. 13.69.5; 73.3; Plut. Alc. 35.4. 68 Roisman 1987, 403–4. 69 Roisman 1987, 411–18. 70 Roisman (1987, 394–6) argues that Alcidas was not even particularly slow in getting to Mytilene, given his point of departure, the speed of triremes, and the likelihood that the winds were not always favorable. 71 See Roisman 1987, 409–11; on Brasidas’ rashness see Wylie 1992 and Debnar 2001, 174–7. On the Spartans and kairos see Powell (this volume). 72 Roisman 1987, 409. 73 The Corcyraeans are said to have lost seventy ships in the sea battle against the Corinthians (1.54.2), a high number, but one that Wilson (1987, 49–51) thinks plausible. 74 Gomme (ad 3.70.1) thinks 800 talents impossibly large, twice that of Athens’ annual tribute, while 80 talents would be a maximum number and 800 minas also possible. Pritchett (1995, 52–3) favors 80 talents, the number in Valla’s translation; as in Pritchett 1974–91, 5: 257–8, he points out Bloomfield’s claim that in a cursive ms. pi (80) can look like omega (800). 75 On Brasidas’ rapid march through Thessaly see 4.78.5. 76 On the trouble Brasidas had controlling his troops (e.g. 4.104.2; 110.2; 112.3) see Debnar 2001, 193–6. 77 On the use of mercenaries in the Thraceward region and the problems they presented see Kallet-Marx 1993, 178 n. 72. 78 Pritchett (1974–91, 2: 289 n. 55) thinks 30 minas may be correct, although in Pritchett 1995 he sounds more skeptical: ‘The question is whether Brasidas would have had such a large sum to dispense’ (54). 79 Johnson 1927, 204, calls the Spartans’ move north ‘shrewd’. If successful, not only could they have built triremes, they could have deprived Athens of access to timber. 80 Salmon (1984, 330) assumes they used Corinthian vessels launched from Cenchreae, but Thucydides does not specify this. 81 See Goodman and Holladay 1986, 156–7 and Pritchett 1974–91, 3: 67–71. See also Powell 2010 on the Spartans’ genuine respect for divination. 82 Kagan 1981, 289–90.

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The time of year may also have played a role in delaying the fortification until the spring. The lack of a formal chronological break at the end of Book 6 and the apparent chronological overlap of the events of 7.1–9 with those at the end of Book 6 make it difficult to tell how late in the summer the Athenians attacked Laconia. See Dewald 2005, 144–63, on the fluid units of action in 6.8–8.109. As she observes (145), ‘highly diverse elements of place, subject, and even time are considered together (and make sense together)’. 84 Kagan 1981, 141–2. 85 Moreover, the Corinthians could act with energy when they had vested interests. According to Hell. Oxy. 7.3–4, the Corinthian Timolaus conducted naval operations near Amphipolis, an area in which they had colonial ties. McKechnie and Kern (1988, 137) assign the activity to 411. Salmon (1984, 339), however, notes that this is apparently an independent operation. 86 It also restricted their supply of timber for shipbuilding. See Johnson 1927, 203–4 on the impact of the Athenians’ occupation of Naupactus. 87 On the importance of this loss for the Peloponnesian League see Kelly 1982, 51–2. 88 Falkner (1994, 498) concedes that the Spartans must have had a few ships in the Archidamian War, but argues that assigning themselves the task of supplying twentyfive ships for the Ionian War (8.3.2) is the first indication of an intent to build their own navy. 89 Kagan (1981, 257–8) may be right that the ships belonged to perioikoi, but ‘Laconian’ proves little, since ethnics are flexible. At 3.5.2, e.g., it is unclear whether Λάκων means Spartan. 90 The delay of these ships seems to be due to the need to raise crews (6.104.1). 91 Salmon (1984, 332) suggests that the number was small because they expected a long campaign. This factor would be all the more important, however, if Corinth had only a modest number of ships in its fleet. 92 Kallet 2001, 281. 93 See Falkner 1999, 206. 94 Although Kagan agrees with many of Thucydides’ negative presentations of Spartan commanders (e.g. Kagan 1987, 55 and 58), he finds the historian less than fully persuasive at 8.96.3 (1987, 200). 95 See Andrewes (HCT 5: 27–32) for a calculation of the number of ships on both sides from spring of 412 through summer of 411. 96 On Sicily’s contribution of ships see Andrewes, HCT 5 ad 8.26.1. In 409 the invasion of Sicily by the Carthaginians led them to withdraw their fleet from Ionia (Diod. 13.61.1), while domestic political problems may have dampened their enthusiasm for war in the east (Diod. 13.34.6; 63; 75.2–9; Xen. Hell. 1.1.27–31). See also Kagan 1987, 15–16. 97 Hornblower (ad 8.9.1 and 8.6.5) thinks the Corinthians’ delay may have been due to genuine religious scruples concerning the Isthmian games, perhaps strengthened by the earthquake reported at 8.6.5. Yet they also refuse to accept Agis’ offer to take command of their fleet (8.9.1). See Goodman and Holladay 1986, 158 on the Greeks’ general willingness to provide ships and (presumably) crews (as opposed to hoplite forces) even during festivals. 98 Cf. the benefits Argos enjoyed from neutrality in the Archidamian War (5.28.2).

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Paula Debnar Lewis (1977, 88) contrasts the levy of fifteen ships from Corinth in 412 (8.3.2) with the ninety ships they provided for the attack on Corcyra just before the outbreak of war (1.46.1). Even if Corinth possessed fifty (or more) ships in 412, it contributed a relatively smaller portion of the fleet than it had in the Archidamian War. See Hornblower ad 8.3.2. See Salmon 1984, 337–9 on Corinth’s dwindling power. 99 Hornblower ad loc. If ἅμα δὲ τῷ ἦρι (8.7) is not an interpolation (Alberti retains the phrase; Hornblower notes that while it appears only in B, it is also in Valla’s translation), the Spartans themselves acted quickly in sending three Spartiates to Corinth to drag the ships to the Saronic Gulf ‘as quickly as possible’ (8.7). 100 Westlake 1989, esp. 114; see also p. 132 on Sparta’s reliance on mercenaries for land forces. On the composition of the alliance’s crews see Hunt 1998, 84–7 and the earlier remarks of Andrewes (HCT ad 8.84.2). 101 Although they sent someone to verify the number of Chian ships and size of the city, their investigation into the situation in Chios failed to reveal its political divisions, on which see Hornblower ad 8.9.3 (also ad 8.7, πάντες γὰρ κρύφα...). See also Hornblower ad 8.5.4 on the epigraphic evidence for divisions in Erythrae. 102 At 8.6.3–4 the Spartans decide to send help to Chios and to work with the Persian satrap Tissaphernes; at 8.8.2 the allies, apparently at a congress of the League (Lewis 1977, 88–9 with n. 34), decide on a three-stage plan: Chios, Lesbos, the Hellespont. 103 Resistance from the Corinthians and the Chians blocks Astyochus’ attempt to aid Lesbos (8.32.1); conversely, at 8.40.3 the view of the allies is said to induce the reluctant navarch to help Chios. The Athenians were immune from such pressures, having very few ‘foreign’ ships in their fleet; even before the Ionian War, the only allied cities to contribute ships were Chios and Methymna. 104 As Falkner (1994, 499–500) argues, only after their defeat at Cyzicus do the Spartans finally move to make themselves independent of their allies by investing seriously in a fleet of their own. 105 As the Athenians point out to the Melians at 5.103. 106 Consequently, scholars criticize the navarch Astyochus for much the same reasons they fault Alcidas. In defense of Astyochus, see Falkner 1999. Despite his criticism of the navarch Westlake (1968, esp. 290) concedes that his mission was difficult. 107 Regarding Athenian crews, Rosivach (1985, 51–3) argues that during the Archidamian War, at least, only the ‘professional’, that is, year-round, well-trained crews usually participated in expeditions in the marginal periods for sailing, i.e. roughly from March to May and from September to November. 108 See Westlake 1989, 149 n. 78, for passages (including 8.31.3; 32.1; 34) in which bad weather is a factor. The summer, of course, is not free of storms either (8.80.3; 99); Diodorus (13.41.2–3) reports the destruction of a large Peloponnesian squadron off Mt. Athos in the summer of 411. 109 Falkner 1995, 122–4. 110 Which is not to deprive Astyochus of due credit; he did, after all, capitalize on the situation; see Falkner 1995, 121. Falkner also raises the possibility that Astyochus intentionally divided his fleet. Westlake 1968, 298, is far more critical. 111 The length of the Spartans’ stay on Rhodes depends on the date of the end of winter in 412/11 (i.e. when the Spartans left Rhodes), the possibility of a corrupt

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Spartan slowness in Thucydides’ History number in the text, and the date of their new treaty with the Persians – issues whose complexities are beyond the scope of this paper. Briefly stated, Pritchett (1965, 259–61; also 1995, 173–202, esp. 183–4) convincingly argues that a fixed astronomical point marked the end of winter, which in 412/411 would have been early in March, and that the new treaty with the Persians was sworn to in February. Pritchett (1965) offers cogent paleographic support for emending the stay of the Spartans on Rhodes at 8.44.4 from ‘eighty’ to ‘forty’ days (with M possibly misread as Π). See also Gomme, HCT 3: 699–715, esp. 705–6. The end of Hornblower’s note ad 8.60.3 also suggests some sympathy with Pritchett 1995. Against the early March date, see Andrewes, HCT 5 ad 8.60.3 and Wenskus 1986. Even if Pritchett is right, forty days is a significant period of inaction without financial resources beyond the money the Spartans collected in Rhodes. 112 See Hyland 2018, esp. 60–75 on the financial difficulties the satrap faced as the war dragged on and he was asked to finance a growing fleet. 113 See Falkner 1995, 117–18 on their importance to Athens’ supply of grain, flax, and linen. Cnidus was also a Spartan colony; Fragoulaki (this volume), 197. 114 Kagan (1987, 102) wonders whether Dorieus may have gone with Leon to Chios. 115 Andrewes (HCT 5 ad 8.44.4) compares the sum to the total annual tribute of 40 talents paid to Athens by the cities on Rhodes. As he observes (ad 44.4), however, even at the low rate of 3 obols per day per crew member, 32 talents would not have supported ninety-four triremes for a full month. 116 Hyland (2018, 66–71), however, argues that news of Tissaphernes’ negotiations with the Athenians was likely to have pushed the Peloponnesians toward resuming discussions with the satrap, and that the king was willing to renegotiate the treaty to create a show of strength after the Athenians defied him. 117 The treaty, however, may also have implied that the king had had his fill of dependence on the Spartans. Falkner (1995, 123) observes that the treaty ‘looks to the end of their [i.e. Spartan and Persian] association’. See also Lewis 1977, 106–7. The financial burden of supporting both the Phoenician and the Peloponnesian fleet would have been immense, and the king is likely to have wanted to bring the conflict to a rapid close; Hyland 108, 74–5. 118 This is one of the few places where Thucydides reveals his thought process, mentioning other explanations that circulated, while also showing how limited his evidence was. On the Herodotean flavor of this passage, see Munson 2012, 268–72. Wiesehöfer (2006, 661) concludes that ‘[Thucydides’] remarks at 2.65 do not suggest he ever appropriately assessed the role of the Persians, without whose financial support Peloponnesian naval operations would probably have ended after the battle of Arginusae’. 119 Recently, Hyland (2018, 76–91) has persuasively argued that attacks (possibly with Peloponnesian involvement) on Persian garrisons and supply depots for the fleet would have seriously compromised the naval operation and infuriated the king, thus prompting a recall of the fleet. Lateiner (1976, 2819) posits that, because of the Phoenician fleet’s poor military record, Tissaphernes did not want the fleet to engage the Athenians, at least with the number of ships that appeared at Aspendus. Hornblower (introductory note to 8.87) with Erbse (1989, 22) rejects the theory of Lewis 1958 (abandoned in Lewis 1977, but supported by Andrewes, HCT 5 ad

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Paula Debnar 8.87.2) that a revolt in Egypt drew away the king’s fleet. Similarly, Lateiner 1976, 279–80. 120 Lewis 1977, 133–4. 121 See Hyland, 2018, 77–81 and 90 on the finances of the Persian fleet. Falkner (1995, 123) also observes that before the third treaty with the Spartans, Tissaphernes had expected to finance only the Peloponnesians’ ships. 122 Even before the defeats, although the Spartans likely knew about Tissaphernes’ approach to the Athenians and possible concessions (so Lewis 1977, 103; Kagan 1987, 97; Hyland 2018, 71), they may have calculated that the Persian king would never hand victory to the Athenians. 123 Lazenby 2004, 183–4. He also points out that there was no good reason for the Spartans to engage the Athenians, especially before they had more ships; see also Falkner 1999, 218. So, too, they had to contend with attacks by the Athenians (8.44.3; 55.1). 124 Kallet (2001, 259) may be right, however, to conclude that 8.44.4 emphasizes the Spartans’ ‘shortsightedness’ and depicts them ‘as amateurs at military/naval financing’. Hornblower (ad 8.44.4) agrees that Thucydides’ chronology here obscures the significance of what the Spartans accomplished. See Rood 1998, 262–7, on the narrative displacement at 8.45.1. 125 Kagan 1987, 200–1. 126 Kagan (1987, 217), for example, calls Mindarus’ dash to Rhoeteum and Sigeum ‘a daring and imaginative achievement worthy of the highest praise’. 127 Immediately after the debacle at Cyzicus in 410, the Spartans began rebuilding the League’s fleet. By 407 there were seventy ships; Kagan 1987, 294. The cooperation of the king’s son clearly reflects Darius’ decision to put an end to the war by supporting the Spartans fully; Lewis 1977, 131–2. 128 Kagan (1987, 200), in fact, suggests that from the Spartans’ perspective the Athenians may have seemed ‘the most convenient of opponents’, given the risks they took in Sicily. See also Powell 2006. 129 See Millender (this volume). 130 Kelly 1982, 54 n. 105. Bibliography HCT = Gomme, A., Dover, K. and Andrewes, A. 1945–81 A Historical Commentary on Thucydides, 5 vols., Oxford. ML = Meiggs, R. and Lewis, D. (eds) 1988 A Selection of Greek Historical Inscriptions to the End of the Fifth Century 2nd ed. rev., Oxford.

BC,

Adcock, F. E. 1932 ‘Alcidas ἀργυρολόγος’ in Mélanges Gustave Glotz, vol. 1, Paris, 1–6. 1957 The Greek and Macedonian Art of War, Berkeley. Alberti, J. B. 1972–2000 Thucydidis Historiae, 3 vols., Rome. Ampolo, C. 1987 ‘I contributi alla prima spedizione ateniese in Sicilia (427–424 a.c.)’, PP 42, 5–11.

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Spartan slowness in Thucydides’ History Bauslaugh, R. A. 1991 The Concept of Neutrality in Classical Greece, Berkeley. Bleckmann, B. 1993 ‘Sparta und seine Freunde im Dekeleischen Krieg: Zur Datierung von IG V 1,1’, ZPE 96, 297–308. 2002 ‘Nochmals zur Datierung von IG V 1,1’, Ktèma 27, 35–8. Brunt, P. 1993 ‘Spartan policy and strategy in the Archidamian War’ in Studies in Greek History and Thought, Oxford, 84–111 (= Phoenix 19 [1965], 255–80). Cartledge, P. A. 2002 Sparta and Lakonia: A regional history, 1300–362 BC, 2nd edn., London and New York. Cartledge, P. A. and Debnar, P. 2006 ‘Sparta and the Spartans in Thucydides’ in A. Rengakos and A. Tsakmakis (eds) Brill’s Companion to Thucydides, Leiden, 559–87. Casson, L. 1994 Ships and Seafaring in Ancient Times, Austin. Connor, W. R. 1984 Thucydides, Princeton. Crawley, R., trans. 1910 Thucydides: The History of the Peloponnesian War, London (1st edition, London, 1874). Debnar, P. 2001 Speaking the Same Language: Speech and audience in Thucydides’ Spartan debates, Ann Arbor. Dewald, C. 2005 Thucydides’ War Narrative: A structural study, Berkeley. Dow, S. 1961 ‘Thucydides and the number of Acharnian hoplitai ’, TAPA 92, 66–80. Edmunds, L. 1975 Chance and Intelligence in Thucydides, Cambridge, MA. Erbse, H. 1989 Thukydides-Interpretationen, Berlin. Falkner, C. L. 1992 ‘Thucydides and the Peloponnesian raid on Piraeus in 429 BC’, AHB 6, 147–55. 1994 ‘A note on Sparta and Gytheum in the fifth century’, Historia 43, 495–501. 1995 ‘The battle of Syme, 411 BC (Thuc. 8.42)’, AHB 9, 117–24. 1999 ‘Astyochus, Sparta’s incompetent navarch?’, Phoenix 53, 206–21. Gabrielsen, V. 1994 Financing the Athenian Fleet: Public taxation and social relations, Baltimore. Goodman, M. D. and Holladay, A. J. 1986 ‘Religious scruples in ancient warfare’, CQ 36, 151–71. Hansen, M. H. 2009 ‘Was Sparta a normal or an exceptional polis?’ in Hodkinson (ed.), 385–416.

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Paula Debnar Hansen, M. H. and Hodkinson, S. 2009 ‘Spartan exceptionalism? Continuing the debate’ in Hodkinson (ed.) 2009, 473–98. Hodkinson, S. 2000 Property and Wealth in Classical Sparta, London. 2006 ‘Was classical Sparta a military society?’ in Hodkinson and Powell (eds) 2006, 111–61. 2009 ‘Was Sparta an exceptional polis?’ in Hodkinson (ed.) 2009, 417–72. Hodkinson, S. (ed.) 2009 Sparta: Comparative approaches, Swansea. Hodkinson, S. and Powell, A. (eds) 2006 Sparta and War, Swansea. Hornblower, S. 1991–2008 A Commentary on Thucydides, 3 vols., Oxford. Hunt, P. 1998 Slaves, Warfare, and Ideology in the Greek Historians, Cambridge. Hyland, J. O. 2018 Persian Interventions: The Achaemenid empire, Athens, and Sparta, 450–386 BCE, Baltimore. Johnson, A. C. 1927 ‘Ancient forests and navies’, TAPA 58, 199–209. Kagan, D. 1974 The Archidamian War, Ithaca, NY. 1981 The Peace of Nicias and the Sicilian Expedition, Ithaca, NY. 1987 The Fall of the Athenian Empire, Ithaca, NY. Kallet [-Marx], L. 1993 Money, Expense, and Naval Power in Thucydides’ History 1–5.24, Berkeley. Kallet, L. 2001 Money and the Corrosion of Power in Thucydides: The Sicilian Expedition and its aftermath, Berkeley. Kelly, T. 1979 ‘Peloponnesian naval strength and Sparta’s plans for waging war against Athens in 431 BC’ in M. A. Powell, Jr, and R. H. Sack (eds) Studies in honor of Tom B. Jones, Kevelaer and Neukirchener-Vluyn, 245–55. 1982 ‘Thucydides and Spartan strategy in the Archidamian War’, AHR 87, 25–54. Lateiner, D. 1975 ‘The speech of Teutiaplus (Thuc. 3,30)’, GRBS 16, 175–84. 1976 ‘Tissaphernes and the Phoenician fleet (Thucydides 8.87)’, TAPA 106, 267–90. Lazenby, J. F. 2004 The Peloponnesian War: A military study, London and New York. Lewis, D. M. 1958 ‘The Phoenician fleet in 411’, Historia 7, 392–7. 1977 Sparta and Persia, Leiden. Loomis, W. T. 1992 The Spartan War Fund: IG V.1.1 and a new fragment, Stuttgart.

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Spartan slowness in Thucydides’ History Luginbill, R. D. 1999 Thucydides on War and National Character, Boulder. McKechnie, P. R. and Kern, S. J. (eds) 1988 Hellenica Oxyrhynchia, Warminster. Meiggs, R. 1972 The Athenian Empire, Oxford. Morris, C. D. 1886 Thucydides: Book I, Boston. Morrison, J. S., Coates, J. F. and Rankov, N. B. 2000 The Athenian Trireme: The history and reconstruction of an ancient Greek warship, 2nd edn., Cambridge. Munn, M. 2002 ‘Thucydides on Plataea, the beginning of the Peloponnesian War, and the “Attic question” ’ in V. Gorman and E. Robinson (eds) OIKISTES: Studies in constitutions, colonies, and military power in the ancient world, offered in honor of A. J. Graham, Leiden, 245–69. Munson, R. V. 2012 ‘Persians in Thucydides’ in E. Foster and D. Lateiner (eds) Thucydides and Herodotus, Oxford, 241–77. Piérart, M. 1995 ‘Chios entre Athènes et Sparte: la contribution des exilés de Chios à l’effort de guerre lacédémonien pendant la Guerre du Péloponnèse. IG V 1, 1 + (SEG XXXIX 370)’, BCH 119, 253–82. Powell, A. 2006 ‘Why did Sparta not destroy Athens in 404, or in 403 BC?’ in Hodkinson and Powell (eds) 2006, 287–303. 2010 ‘Divination, royalty and insecurity in classical Sparta’ in A. Powell and S. Hodkinson (eds) Sparta: The body politic, Swansea, 85–135. Pritchett, W. K. 1965 ‘The Thucydidean summer of 411 BC’, CP 60, 259–60. 1974–91 The Greek State at War, 5 vols., Berkeley. 1995 Thucydides’ Pentekontaetia and Other Essays, Amsterdam. Roisman, J. 1987 ‘Alkidas in Thucydides’, Historia 36, 385–421. Rood, T. 1998 Thucydides: Narrative and explanation, Oxford. Rosivach, V. J. 1985 ‘Manning the Athenian fleet, 433–426 BC’, AJAH 10, 41–66. Salmon, J. B. 1984 Wealthy Corinth: A history of the city to 338 BC, Oxford. Smarczyk, B. 1999 ‘Einige Bemerkungen zur Datierung der Beiträge zu Spartas Kriegskasse in IG V,1 1’, Klio 81, 45–67. Smart, J. D. 1986 ‘Thucydides and Hellanicus’ in I. S. Moxon, J. D. Smart, and A. J. Woodman (eds) Past Perspectives: Studies in Greek and Roman historical writing, Cambridge, 19–35.

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Paula Debnar Starkie, W. J. M. 1979 The Acharnians of Aristophanes, New York (first edition, London, 1909). Thompson, W. E. 1968 ‘The chronology of 432/1’, Hermes 96, 216–32. Wallinga, H. T. 1982 ‘The trireme and its crew’ in J. den Boeft and A. H. M. Kessels (eds) Actus: Studies in honour of H. L. W. Nelson, Utrecht, 463–82. Weil, R. 1967 Thucydides: la guerre du Péloponnèse, Livre III, Paris. Wenskus, O. 1986 ‘Thukydides VIII, 29–60: Die Chronologie des Kriegswinters 412/411’, Hermes 114, 245–7. Westlake, H. D. 1956 ‘Phrynichos and Astyochos (Thucydides VIII. 50–1)’, JHS 76, 99–104. 1968 Individuals in Thucydides, Cambridge. 1977 ‘λέγεται in Thucydides’, Mnemosyne 30, 345–62. 1989 ‘Ionians in the Ionian War’ in Studies in Thucydides and Greek History, Bristol, 113–53 (= CQ 29 [1979], 9–44). Wick, T. E. 1979 ‘Megara, Athens, and the West in the Archidamian War: A study in Thucydides’, Historia 28, 1–14. Wiesehöfer, J. 2006 ‘ “... Keeping the two sides equal”: Thucydides, the Persians and the Peloponnesian War’ in A. Rengakos and A. Tsakmakis (eds) Brill’s Companion to Thucydides, Leiden, 657–67. Wilson, J. 1987 Athens and Corcyra: Strategy and tactics in the Peloponnesian War, Bristol. Wylie, G. 1992 ‘Brasidas – Great commander or whiz-kid?’, QUCC 70.2, 75–95. Zanker, A. T. 2016 Greek and Latin Expressions of Meaning: The classical origins of a modern metaphor, Munich.

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3 THE PRESENCE OF SPARTA IN THE FUNERAL ORATION OF PERIKLES Jean Ducat (Translated from the French by Anton Powell)

What is the place of Sparta – or more precisely of Sparta’s image – in the Funeral Speech delivered by Perikles in the winter of 431, in honour of those who died in the first year of the Peloponnesian War (Thuc. 2.35–46)? This familiar question has been answered in a variety of ways. Gomme took a minimalist line: in his view Sparta was referred to only in ch. 39, where ‘the Lakedaimonians’ are named and in ch. 40, where their name is not mentioned. But if we admit that Sparta can be alluded to without being named explicitly, perhaps we should not restrict ourselves to a single chapter. And in fact most commentators appear rather to have conceded that Perikles on this occasion was alluding to Sparta frequently, while some even appear to favour the view that in one way or another the subject of Sparta defined the whole speech. Such is the viewpoint expressed in the paper by Paula Debnar published in 2018 (and compare the comments of A. Powell in the same collection, pp. 64–9), several years after the initial delivery of the present chapter. The present writer is in complete agreement with Debnar on this central point. He also agrees with her in another respect: that competition between Athens and Sparta for the position of model polis can be expressed in two almost opposite ways. Sometimes, and obviously, there is a contrast expressed between the systems and the behaviour of the two cities. But at other times, as Debnar puts it, it is claimed in effect that ‘The Athenians can do everything the Spartans can, but can do it even better’; Debnar’s is the best formula I have ever read for characterising the tone of Perikles’ speech. In the present chapter we have tried as far as possible to keep to the Spartan side of the picture, while at the same time to follow as strictly as possible the wording given by Thucydides which is frequently – and deliberately – difficult and ambiguous. As with all the speeches in Thucydides’ work (see his explicit comment at 1.22.2), The Funeral Speech does not claim to reproduce exactly the actual words of the speaker; the historian can only report what ‘could have been said most appropriately in the circumstances’ (‘ce qui aurait pu être

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Jean Ducat dit qui répondît au mieux à la situation’, in the translation of Jacqueline de Romilly). The words, then, are Thucydides’ own, but for simplicity we shall refer to them here as those of Perikles. The speech had to conform with two potentially divergent principles. On the one hand, it had to conform to the rules of what was from now on a recognised genre with a rhetoric of its own.1 On the other hand, its historical context meant that it was in fact a speech of war. Perikles successfully combined the requirements of both genres. At 2.36.4 he claims to be abandoning the usual themes of funerary rhetoric in favour of eulogy of the polis, because it was for the city that the Athenian warriors gave their lives. What results is a political speech, but in this case the politics are those of a true statesman, and a statesman at that who clearly – to adapt a phrase of De Gaulle – ‘always had a certain idea’ of his community. This leads Perikles to depict the democracy of Athens in a way acceptable to all his fellow-citizens,2 and also to praise the city by contrasting it – usually by implication only – with Sparta, which at the time seemed to many to be a positive model of government. To the modern reader, what Perikles says about Sparta may often seem fairly conventional. This was, I believe, to a degree deliberate on Perikles’ part. He was probably concerned to say not so much what he actually knew or thought about Sparta, but rather what he knew his audience expected. Otherwise it would be difficult to see how it could be clearly implied (at 2.40.2) that the Spartans hated speeches while Thucydides in his own voice in Book 1 reports long speeches given at Sparta before the citizen assembly.3 Like every statesman, Perikles said what was required, and not necessarily what he actually thought. FORMS OF GOVERNMENT 1. The question of model, 2.37.1. Χρώμεθα γὰρ πολιτείᾳ οὐ ζηλούσῃ τοὺς τῶν πέλας νόμους, παράδειγμα δὲ μᾶλλον αὐτοὶ ὄντες τισὶν ἢ μιμοῦμενοι ἑτέρους, ‘our form of government does not seek to emulate the laws of neighbouring states; we ourselves are more imitated than imitating’. Jacqueline de Romilly in translating the words οὐ ζηλούσῃ here by ‘does not hold up as its model’ interprets the expression as containing a single idea, that of imitation. Accordingly one might see here an allusion to Sparta, given the tradition reported by Herodotos (1.65) as being ‘that of the Lakedaimonians themselves’, namely that Lykourgos had ‘imported’ his laws from Crete. However, rather than impute to Thucydides a tautology, it is preferable to see here two ideas in succession: first that of rivalry (ζηλούσῃ: ‘emulate’, so Gomme and Debnar; envier, Lévy) and finally, less loaded, that of imitation.

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The presence of Sparta in the funeral oration of Perikles If, as I believe, there is here an allusion to Sparta, it lies rather in the word for ‘model’, παράδειγμα. How has Perikles led up to this idea? After ch. 35, which is strictly speaking his exordium, he signals (36.1) that he will speak on the theme of Athenian ancestors. But he promptly drops this traditional theme in favour of a better-defined subject, namely the progressive development of Athenian power, which was essentially the achievement of the two previous generations. At 36.4 he raises the fundamental question of why this development came about. His suggested answer amounts to outlining the plan of his speech. ‘What are the principles of behaviour (epite¯deusis) which have brought us to our current situation? With what form of government (politeia), and thanks to what traits of character (tropoi), have things reached their present extent? This is what I shall first demonstrate, before I proceed to a eulogy of the dead men here.’ (de Romilly’s version, translated) ‘Epite¯deusis’ seems to me an abstract, general term which is then clarified by two others: first ‘politeia’, dealt with in ch. 37 and in much of 40.2, and then ‘tropoi ’ (chs. 38–41). After which there follows, as announced, the eulogy of the dead. The idea of a ‘model’ implies difference, with an element of superiority. This idea pervades Xenophon’s Constitution of the Lakedaimonians (Lak. Pol.). The same is true, albeit more discreetly, of Perikles’ speech. The idea is expressed rather abstractly by phrases such as ‘other people’ (40.3, preceded by ‘differently’ at the start of the sentence), ‘most people’ (40.4; 42), and in an extreme form, by a reference to all other people in the phrase ‘we are the only’ (40.2, 5; 41.3). Perikles is indeed claiming that Athens is unique, just as Xenophon does for Sparta. But in several more obviously agonistic passages he refers not merely to ‘other people’ but to ‘the other’: ‘them’, οἱ μέν, as opposed to ‘us’, at 39.2. This ‘other’ is named once (‘the Lakedaimonians’, at 39.2), and described as ‘our opponents’ (οἱ ἐναντίοι, 39.1). All this is unsurprising, given that Athens is at war, against Sparta. But Perikles is well aware that if he were to ask any Greek, at random, to say which city most deserved to be taken as a model state, in all probability he would be told, ‘Sparta’. His purpose here, then, is to show not only that Athens itself has a claim to be a model to imitate, and thus that the present conflict between the great powers is also a conflict between models,4 but also that Athens as model is superior to the one accepted by most Greeks. The presence, and from the beginning of the speech, of the concept of a model implies that Perikles’ discourse constitutes a form of ago¯n. 2. The nature of the régime, 37.1 (cont.) καὶ ὄνομα μὲν διὰ τὸ μὴ ἐς ὀλίγους ἀλλ’ ἐς πλείονας οἰκεῖν δημοκρατία κέκληται..., ‘as to its name, it has been given

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Jean Ducat the title of democracy, from the fact that we govern ourselves not according to the will of a few but to that of the majority’. The problem with these words is the meaning of the phrase οἰκεῖν ἐς. I follow those who see a reference here to the control of affairs,5 rather than those who think that Perikles here means only that government is run in the interest of the majority. I reason as follows: the purpose of Perikles’ words is to explain the term de¯mokratia; so, if he had meant ‘government for the people’, his explanation would have been strangely far-removed from the word in question. There is admittedly a certain distance involved, but only in the subsequent phrase (see item 3, below). For the moment he is making a strong assertion of democracy. Perikles is not seeking nuance. He boldly utters the coarse word: Athens is a democracy, and he claims as much. In doing so, he can have only one aim: to assert the fact that Athens offers a model which is not only at the opposite extreme from that of Sparta but also outdoes Sparta’s, inasmuch as it seems natural to consider government by the majority to be fairer than domination by a few. Later, in the fourth century, writers, including some of the most respected,6 would argue that Sparta’s constitution contained elements of democracy; this mode of thought culminated in the Aristotelian theory of the ‘mixed constitution’. But in Perikles’ day the Peloponnesian War was universally seen as the clash of two blocks, democracy and oligarchy. 3. The choice of the best men, 37.1 (cont.) ...μέτεστι δὲ κατὰ μὲν τοὺς νόμους πρὸς τὰ ἴδια διάφορα πᾶσι τὸ ἴσον, κατὰ δὲ τὴν ἀξίωσιν, ὡς ἕκαστος ἔν τῳ

εὐδοκιμεῖ, οὐκ ἀπὸ μέρους τὸ πλέον ἐς τὰ κοινὰ ἢ ἀπ’ ἀρετῆς προτιμᾶται..., ‘However, even if, in application of the laws, all citizens are, in their private contests, on an equal footing, it is according to his own reputation, because he is considered as excelling in this or that sphere, that an individual is chosen to exercise a public responsibility, and that, essentially, not so much because of his belonging to a certain social group [or: of his participating in some formal share-out] as due to his personal value’. These complex lines have occasioned much learned discussion,7 but here we shall try to restrict ourselves to possible allusion to Sparta. The contrast involved in the words ὄνομα μὲν...μέτεστι δέ may at first seem to give the general structure, but in reality it is soon overtaken by another contrast, between κατὰ τοὺς νόμους and κατὰ τὴν ἀξίωσιν. The most important verb comes in the second element: προτιμᾶται. Up to the words τὸ ἴσον, Perikles continues his praise of democracy, in the usual sense of that term, although with one unexpected feature: he limits the sphere of equality to the settlement of private lawsuits. As regards politics (ἐς τὰ κοινά), the main thing is access to office-holding, and here the rule is: to choose the most competent.

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The presence of Sparta in the funeral oration of Perikles Now, admirers of Sparta and indeed Greeks in general, apparently, considered the choice of the best individuals as one of the essential principles of Sparta’s government. In his Lak. Pol. Xenophon depicts the choice of hippeis (4.2) and the election of the gerontes (10.3) as competitions of personal virtue. Accordingly, Perikles omits completely to mention appointment by lottery, a supremely democratic feature of Athenian government, and concentrates exclusively on elective offices (which admittedly were the most important). The impression is given that he is borrowing from Sparta, and claiming as Athenian, one of the Spartans’ best-known political practices (cf. Debnar 2018, p.6). But we shall see that, whenever he does this, it is to offset a claim immediately preceding, about the democratic nature of the Athenian democracy. The format is always: ‘It is a democracy, but...’ . He does this in order to distract attention from those features of democracy which might be disliked or even hated by many Athenians, whether passionate opponents of that system (such as the ‘Old Oligarch’) or simply moderates like himself. To achieve this appearance of balance, Perikles gives full emphasis to features shared with Sparta. We have deliberately left until now discussion of the qualifying words οὐκ ἀπὸ μέρους τὸ πλέον ... ἢ ἀπ’ ἀρετῆς, which are of distinctive importance. The phrase ἀπὸ μέρους has been much discussed, and remains unclear. I believe that de Romilly was right that this cannot refer to rotation of office-holding;8 that idea would have been conveyed rather by κατὰ μέρος or ἐν μέρει. The word μέρος means a part as distinct from the whole. The meaning here would seem then to be ‘social group’ and de Romilly translates accordingly as ‘l’appartenance à une catégorie’ (so also Debnar 2018, 6, ‘position in society’). This method of selection was apparently considered by Perikles and his audience as typical of Sparta; they certainly believed that ephors and gerontes were chosen from within a minority, from rich and distinguished families.9 Interpreted thus, the words ἀπὸ μέρους import an element of clear polemic. Perikles would thus be implying that, while the Athenian democracy really did practise the choice of the best, because the choice was made from among the whole citizen body (he says nothing about the different property classes!), Sparta in fact did not. For Spartans, what governed promotion to public office was not so much personal merit as belonging to a certain social class. This interpretation is plausible, and certainly fits the somewhat winding nature of the sentence. However, in seeking to understand ἀπὸ μέρους, for us to move from the sense – which is attested elsewhere – of ‘by sections’ to the meaning ‘by virtue of belonging to a particular category’ may seem rather drastic. In particular, we shall see at 40.2 (text 4b below) that Perikles does consider the wealthy to be better qualified than citizens in more

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Jean Ducat humble circumstances to manage public business. In addition, we should note the reading of this passage by an anonymous commentator in an Oxyrhynchus papyrus of the second century AD.10 The latter glosses οὐκ ἀπὸ μέρους as follows: οὐ κατὰ τὸ μέρος τὸ ἐπιβάλλον ἴσον αὐτῷ τῆς πολιτείας, ‘not in accordance with the strictly equal share which he has in the government of the city’. Elsewhere μέρος can indeed mean the share which falls to someone. Ἀπὸ μέρους in this case would not be an allusion to Sparta but rather to a fundamental principle of extreme democracy, something which Perikles rejects. The resulting sense would then, admittedly, be close to that proposed by Gomme and others, although arrived at differently (μέρος = ‘part’ and not ‘in turn’) and, in my own opinion, more acceptably. 4. The roles of rich and poor in the sharing of power, 37.1 and 40.2. Let us first note, following E. Lévy, that in these two passages, Perikles avoids using the terms ‘rich’ and ‘poor’, no doubt judging them too discriminatory for the circumstances of his speech.11 (a) 37.1, fin.: οὐδ’ αὖ κατὰ πενίαν, ἔχων δέ τι ἀγαθὸν δρᾶσαι τὴν πόλιν, ἀξιώματος ἀφανείᾳ κεκώλυται, ‘likewise no capable citizen has ever been prevented by poverty from doing good service to his city, because lacking reputation or illustrious birth’. Perikles has just claimed that at Athens personal merit alone determines access to public office. We expect him to continue in the same vein, and to claim that what we would call economic status, wealth or poverty, plays no role in this process. Now, this is not quite what he does say. Certainly, he says that the poor can play a role in political life.12 In the Lak. Pol. (10.7) Xenophon has the same idea about Sparta: ‘those who meet the demands imposed by the laws [the sequel shows that he means the so-called homoioi] would, Lykourgos decided, all share possession of the city on similar terms (ὁμοίως), with no account to be taken of the fact that some were inferior to others in physique or in wealth’. This equality of participation, be it noted, concerns only the homoioi. Perikles too qualified his assertion with significant nuances. For one thing, he expresses himself – as often – in negative mode (‘the poor are not prevented’),13 and thus with a hint of restriction: we understand that in his view poverty and obscurity are indeed serious handicaps. Also, the mere fact that he devotes a special section of his argument to the poor shows that in his eyes they form a distinct category in political matters. Further, he in no way says that they will reach supreme positions in government, unlike the class of men he described previously (while carefully not identifying them explicitly): the poor will simply ‘do good service to the city’. What he means by this can be better understood by comparing –

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The presence of Sparta in the funeral oration of Perikles as many have done – the passage of Euripides’ Suppliants (ll. 438–9, of c.422/1 BC) in which Theseus defines democratic freedom as follows: ‘it is comprised in these words: “Who wishes, who is able, to give us all advice which can help the city?”’ Although Perikles’ word δρᾶσαι strictly means an action, it is pretty clear that here he is thinking above all of active participation in the assembly. (b) 40.2. ἔνι τε τοῖς αὐτοῖς οἰκείων ἅμα καὶ πολιτικῶν ἐπιμέλεια, καὶ ἑτέροις πρὸς ἔργα τετραμμένοις τὰ πολιτικὰ μὴ ἐνδεῶς γνῶναι, ‘it is allowable for the same citizens to look after both their private affairs and public affairs too, and for other citizens, whose main concern is with their work, to contribute valuable advice on political matters.’ Although this passage comes three chapters later than the one previously discussed, and forms part of an argument which is not now about the politeia but about tropoi (meaning that it is not a law which is being discussed but rather custom and practice), it does come as a coherent logical extension of the former passage. Here too the subject is the rich and poor or, to be more precise, those who need only to administer their inherited property as distinct from those who need to work for their living.14 Now, as in the earlier passage but even more clearly, to each social category there corresponds a particular form of participation in politics: the ἐπιμέλεια of the first category certainly refers to the conduct of magistracies, and the γνῶναι applying to the second category refers to participation in the discussions and decisions of the assembly.15 In these two passages Perikles aims to show that rich and poor take part in administering the city’s affairs – one class far more than the other, certainly, but both play their part. And most probably he is implying that at Sparta, by contrast, the poor are excluded from playing any such role.16 This is in effect what Xenophon says in the Lak. Pol., where (7.1–2) he assimilates every kind of work to money-making (chre¯matismos), something strictly forbidden by Lykourgos. He writes, ‘in the other city-states, everyone amasses as much money as he can. One man cultivates the land, another charters merchant ships, another is involved in trade [clear allusions to Athens]; others again earn their living through a variety of professions. But at Sparta Lykourgos forbade free men to have anything to do with activity which made possible the accumulation of money. Instead he ordered free men to regard as their sole field of activity whatever ensured a city’s freedom.’ By contrast, in the Athens of Perikles even the very richest are not obliged to devote themselves exclusively to the service of the city. However, it may be wondered, is it a real Sparta that Xenophon is here praising? Spartiates, even though rich – and he does not deny that rich and poor did exist – clearly needed, like Athenians, to devote some of their

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Jean Ducat time to running their ancestral estates.The ban on work was, I believe, a reality. But do we have to believe that every Spartiate who had to work for a living lost his citizen status? And likewise with those who could not afford to contribute their share to the common meals, or whose fathers had been unable to afford the expense of having them take part in the state education system? The likeliest answer is that poor Spartiates retained Spartiate status but were no longer homoioi.17 And this is what is suggested by another passage of the Lak. Pol. (10.7, cited above). This would mean that such men could not hold magistracies, but could take part in meetings of the assembly. Their situation, then, would not have been so very different from that of the citizen poor in the Athens portrayed by Perikles. 5. Fear as a means of government, 37.3. ἀνεπαχθῶς δὲ τὰ ἴδια προσομιλοῦντες τὰ δημόσια διὰ δέος μάλιστα οὐ παρανομοῦμεν, τῶν τε αἰεὶ ἐν ἀρχῇ ὄντων ἀκροάσει

καὶ τῶν νόμων, καὶ μάλιστα αὐτῶν ὅσοι τε ἐπ’ ὠφελίᾳ τῶν ἀδικουμένων κεῖνται καὶ ὅσοι ἄγραφοι ὄντες αἰσχύνην ὁμολογουμένην φέρουσιν, ‘Although in private

life we get on with fellow-citizens in a relaxed way, in public affairs fear does have a role to play: it is the thing which does most to inhibit us from acting illegally in public affairs. We pay heed to each serving magistrate and to the laws, and above all to those laws which exist to protect victims of injustice. We obey also laws which, though unwritten, carry as penalty the disapproval of the whole community’. The beginning of the sentence is structured by a double opposition. There is the distinction, frequent in this chapter, between public and private. But in addition – and this is the distinction which Perikles here emphasises – the easy fluency which characterises interpersonal relations is contrasted with the rigour involved in obedience to magistrates and respect for laws. Two classes of laws are presented as having special authority. One class appears to consist of those laws which protected individuals from abuse by officials; the other class, ‘unwritten laws’, apparently meaning traditional norms of behaviour, mainly to do with ethics. The latter class carried non-judicial sanctions which involved ‘disgrace’ (αἰσχύνη), meaning the spontaneous disapproval of society as a whole. The latter point would inevitably have called to mind Sparta, where there similarly existed a dual system: some misdeeds gave rise to trials and judicial punishments, while others incurred αἰσχύνη and αἰδώς, two ‘social feelings’ which played a major role in that community (cf. Debnar 2018, 9). When Perikles speaks of the fear (δέος, a very forceful term) which Athenians felt concerning their magistrates and laws, this too seems a clear reference to Sparta. Xenophon devotes to this subject the whole of ch. 8 of his Lak. Pol. Indeed, that chapter begins with the words ‘We all know that Sparta

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The presence of Sparta in the funeral oration of Perikles surpasses all other cities in respect for magistrates and laws’, which reads almost like a retort to Perikles. Xenophon goes on to say (8.3), concerning the ephors, ‘the greater is the power of the public authorities, the more we should think it capable of intimidating (καταπλήξειν) citizens into obedience’. In the Memorabilia (3.5.16) he makes Perikles the Younger say the exact opposite of what Perikles the Elder says in the Funeral Speech: ‘so when will they [the Athenians] learn to act like them [the Lakedaimonians] and obey their magistrates, instead of taking delight in despising them as they do now?’ The reputation of Sparta in this respect was widespread in the fifth century, as shown by a familiar passage of Herodotos (7.104) in which Damaratos explains to Xerxes the nature of freedom for Spartiates: ‘they are free men, certainly, but not totally. In fact they have a master, one whose power is absolute, the law, and they fear that master more than your subjects fear you’. This surely is almost exactly what Perikles the Elder claims here about Athens. The whole of ch. 37 has, thus, a double structure: there are claims to the effect that the regime is democratic, and, on each point, a counterclaim about the limits of that democracy. First (at 37.1) we are told that ‘it is called democracy’, but (a) this system includes deliberate selection of the best people and (b), with 47.2, though the poor are able to play a role, it is the rich who are the best qualified to lead. Then (37.2–3) in our community we are perfectly free but democracy does not mean anarchy, and we are compelled by fear to obey the magistrates and the laws. The paradox of liberty within a structure of obedience applies alike in the Athens of Perikles and the Sparta of Lykourgos. In reminding the Athenians about the role played by fear in all good government – especially their own, Perikles is not telling them anything new. He is merely following a line of thought current in the fifth century. In the Athens evoked by Aeschylus’ Eumenides, the ‘Kindly Ones’ of the play’s title are acting in character when they state (ll. 517–9), ‘fear at times can be a good thing, and it should always dwell as a guardian in men’s hearts’. Athena herself, a little later, reinforces the point (ll. 698–9): ‘my advice is ... not to remove all fear from the city. For what mortal man will respect justice if he has nothing to fear?’ The idea recurs in the Ajax of Sophokles (ll. 1073–4). However, it remains probable that in the circumstances of the year 431 Perikles’ audience, when they heard him talk about fear as the indispensable partner of citizens’ freedom, will have thought of Sparta. And in this matter, claims Perikles, Athens does no less well than Sparta. 6. The citizen as political activist, 40.2 (cont.) μόνοι γὰρ τόν τε μηδὲν τῶνδε [sc. τῶν πολιτικῶν] μετέχοντα οὐκ ἀπράγμονα ἀλλ’ ἀχρεῖον νομίζομεν,

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Jean Ducat ‘for we are the only people who do not think that a citizen who never takes part in anything is someone who “minds his own business’’; instead, we alone consider him as “useless’’.’ The word γάρ links this passage to the one treated above at 4b, about political participation by rich and poor. The argument accordingly is that poverty is no excuse for political passivity. Μόνοι makes the point that, in Perikles’ eyes, Athens in this respect contrasts with every other polis, starting – needless to say – with Sparta. Ἀπράγμων here has a rather positive meaning: not ‘indifferent’ but ‘someone who stays out of other people’s affairs’. That favourable view, he thinks, would be the one taken of such a person by other Greeks, but he disapproves of it. This implies that Perikles, and even more so his audience, think of Sparta as a community ruled by a few men who require of their fellowcitizens only one thing: that they do not get involved in politics. Now, in his Lak. Pol. (10.4–7) Xenophon asserts the exact opposite, repeatedly and with emphasis: ‘At Sparta [Lykourgos] has obliged everyone to practise every virtue in the public sphere’ (10.4); ‘he has equally imposed an absolute obligation to practise every civic virtue’ (10.7). In his view, the citizen of Sparta was compelled by the law to be a full-time political actor in his city. This view, admittedly, is likely to be coloured by ideology. But everything that we know about life at Sparta does portray citizens as not confined to the private sphere of their oikos, but instead as forming a true community with intense political and social activity. Another passage deals with a rather special aspect of civic activism: the obligation to produce children for the city. At 44.3 Perikles turns to those men in his audience who have lost children in this first year of the war, addressing them as follows: ‘you similarly must stay resolute in the hope of having other children, if you are still of an age to procreate (τέκνωσιν ποιεῖσθαι). For some, in their private lives, these future children will make them forget those who have died. And the community will benefit in two ways, by avoiding depopulation and by having people to guarantee its security. For equality and justice require that only by running the same risks as other people, by exposing their sons to danger, can men share in the community’s decision-making’. We need not dwell on the questionable, even grossly undiplomatic, quality of the last words here, addressed as they are to fathers who have already sacrificed the life of a son, or several sons, for the good of the community. We restrict ourselves rather to the meaning of the phrase τέκνωσιν ποιεῖσθαι, an idea which Xenophon conveys with the abstract τεκνοποιία (Lak. Pol. 1.3): the fact of procreation (of sons, as a Greek would understand it). This, for Perikles as for Lykourgos of Sparta, was a citizen’s duty. Xenophon reports in detail (Lak. Pol. 1.7–8) the

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The presence of Sparta in the funeral oration of Perikles measures which at Sparta allowed aged husbands to arrange for their wives to conceive children with the aid of young men, and permitted unmarried men to sire children on married women who were already mothers. Perikles, evidently, does not commend such extreme measures. 7. Words and deeds, 40.2 (end) – 3: οὐ τοὺς λόγους τοῖς ἔργοις βλάβην ἡγούμενοι, ἀλλὰ μὴ προδιδαχθῆναι μᾶλλον λόγῳ πρότερον ἢ ἐπὶ ἃ δεῖ ἔργῳ ἐλθεῖν. 3. διαφερόντως γὰρ δὴ καὶ τόδε ἔχομεν ὥστε τολμᾶν τε οἱ αὐτοὶ μάλιστα καὶ περὶ ὧν ἐπιχειρήσομεν ἐκλογίζεσθαι· ὃ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἀμαθία μὲν θράσος, λογισμὸς δὲ ὄκνον φέρει, ‘for we do not think that words undermine action. On the contrary: what really does damage action is not having made oneself clear through words before engaging in necessary acts. 3. And there is something else, too, which sets us apart: that we know how to combine extreme boldness with calculation about what we are about to do. Other people are not like this: for them, excessive boldness comes from not calculating in advance. And when they do calculate, they lose the will to act.’ A preliminary word is needed about the exact meaning of the term θράσος, as used here (40.3). It is normally pejorative: ‘excessive boldness’, ‘temerity’. However, Gomme (‘confidence’), Hornblower (‘courageous’) and de Romilly (‘resolution’) have here assigned it a positive sense. I cannot agree, since it here refers to the behaviour of ‘others’ who in any event are reduced to bad alternatives: either to temerity or to inaction. The opposite here of θράσος is τολμᾶν, which is applied only to the Athenians; only they act properly. Here two ideas in succession are expressed, and it is fairly clear that the image of Sparta lies behind each. The first is that, before acting, one should ‘be instructed verbally’ (by λόγος, a term which seems to me to mean here discussion rather than speeches,18 even though the latter too, and pre-eminently in Thucydides, ‘clarify’ things. In contrast, the Spartans were seen as the arch-enemy of speeches, viewing them precisely as an obstruction to effective action; instead they were supposed to practise brachylogy, our ‘Laconism’. Countless anecdotes and apophthegms illustrate this, dating in the main from the Hellenistic and Roman eras.19 The idea was, however, already familiar in the fifth century: Ion of Chios reports an anecdote on these lines, while Herodotos has two.20 Thucydides himself has the ephor Sthenelaidas say, at the start of his speech at 1.86, ‘I understand nothing of these wordy speeches of the Athenians’. But the historian does not seem to accept totally this popular idea of ‘Laconism’, since his report of the debate at Sparta on the eve of war is a lengthy one, and elsewhere he ascribes to eminent Spartans, Archidamos, Brasidas and unnamed envoys, speeches of classic form.

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Jean Ducat The second idea derives from the first one, and is linked to it by the fact that logos is the instrument which makes possible calculation (ἐκλογίζεσθαι) about the future; the underlying metaphor is that of a game in which one calculates future moves. Perikles’ reasoning brings in five concepts concerning popular psychology in different communities.21 These are, in the order of the text: boldness, calculation, lack of calculation, rashness and indecision. Most Greeks do not calculate and reflect, with the disastrous consequence that they act rashly. The Athenians, however, are special by virtue of their ability to combine calculation with daring. And this makes them superior. The Spartans too calculate, but to excess; the result in their case is indecision. Indeed slowness and hesitation are presented in Book 1 of Thucydides as permanent features of Spartiate behaviour: this is done first in the speech of the Corinthians (1.69.2 and esp. 4; 70.3–4; 71.1, 4), and even in the speech of Archidamos, who (1.84.1) cites those traits as forming one of the main reproaches that others cast on his city. We arrive, then, at a paradox: the general opinion in Greece is both that Spartiates refuse to waste time on speeches, but also that because they discuss matters for too long they fail to decide on action. Now, public opinion may often be self-contradictory, as it surely was in this case, but it is hard to think that Thucydides himself was confused. No doubt he thought that the Spartans had a taste for brevity when the moment seemed appropriate. They may even have played up to that image of themselves. But Thucydides also probably realised that on major questions, such as a decision for war or peace, they discussed things thoroughly, as every other city did. He knew, then, that the Spartans too were capable of ‘enlightening themselves through words’, contrary to what he makes Perikles imply – but not actually say – in the present passage. SOCIAL LIFE 8. Freedom and surveillance, 37.2

ἐλευθέρως δὲ τά τε πρὸς τὸ κοινὸν πολιτεύομεν καὶ ἐς τὴν πρὸς ἀλλήλους τῶν καθ’ ἡμέραν ἐπιτηδευμάτων ὑποψίαν, οὐ

δι’ ὀργῆς τὸν πέλας, εἰ καθ’ ἡδονήν τι δρᾷ, ἔχοντες, οὐδὲ ἀζημίους μὲν, λυπηρὰς δὲ τῇ ὄψει, ἀχθηδόνας προστιθέμενοι, ‘Freedom is the principle that guides us,

both in respect of our actions as citizens in public life and also in the way we keep an eye on each other in our daily lives. If our neighbour chooses to please himself in some action or other, we do not get angry with him, and we are careful not to inflict on him signs of heavy disapproval which, although not formal punishments, are still a painful spectacle’. Because freedom is the first defining quality of democracy, it was to be expected that Perikles would speak about it. But on the subject of freedom in political life he utters no more than a few vague words and then proceeds

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The presence of Sparta in the funeral oration of Perikles promptly – even more rapidly than he did when dealing with democracy – to describe its limits. At this point Sparta makes a discreet appearance in the speech, to serve as counter-model to what Perikles will treat, namely how these limits are themselves subject to limits of their own. The limit to freedom is the ὑποψία which Athenians apply to each other in their daily, non-political, activities. Some commentators have been surprised to find that Perikles admits (or positively claims) that such ὑποψία exists at Athens. This word should not, then, be taken in its normal, strong, sense of ‘suspicion’. That meaning, we should understand here, is to be applied to Sparta, where mutual suspicion does indeed reign. This is made clearer by the negative ἀνεπαχθῶς, which immediately follows, as the first word of the next sentence (37.3, text 5, above). Evidently Perikles has no problem in stating that a form of mutual surveillance exists among Athenians. Indeed he was only saying something that everyone knew: in an urban neighbourhood or a country village, everybody lived where other people could watch them. What made Athens special (at least compared with Sparta), was that this surveillance was not political or repressive in nature. Everyone lived as they pleased; the neighbours knew it and made no objection. At Sparta, on the other hand, Perikles is thus implying, this limitation to freedom is itself almost unlimited. There, when a citizen judges that his neighbour is acting contrary to law or custom, he can – indeed must – report him to the authorities. That, at least, is how Perikles sees things.22 Proof that the idea of Sparta is here in the background is the way the passage ends: ‘we are careful not to inflict on him signs of heavy disapproval which, although not formal punishments, are still painful to see.’ How else are we to understand this other than as an allusion, absolutely clear to the audience, to certain customs of the Spartans? That is why we have translated ἀχθηδόνας as ‘signs of heavy disapproval’,23 whereas the usual meaning of the word is vaguer, ‘worries’, ‘problems’. The term ἀζήμιος also has most often a fairly weak sense, such as ‘inoffensive’; here I have preferred a more precise meaning, echoing its original element ζημία, ‘legal penalty’ (cf. Xen. Ages. 6.8). Meant here are sanctions imposed by society as a whole, reacting spontaneously rather than through judicial procedure. They are certainly not ‘inoffensive’. The final words point in the same direction, given the deep disapproval which they imply. The words λυπηρὰς τῇ ὄψει might be translated as ‘painful to witness’, and even that would be very forceful. But we have preferred to stress the word ὄψει by employing the idea of ‘spectacle’. Recalling the only detailed description we have from the classical period of a punishment of this kind, Xenophon’s portrayal of how cowards were treated at Sparta

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Jean Ducat (Lak. Pol. 9.4–6), we are struck by its visual element: the coward, wherever he goes, is indeed providing a spectacle for the community. Perikles was not necessarily thinking of this particular case; cowardice was beyond doubt a supreme offence, which at Athens could involve the death penalty. But other offences probably incurred similar punishments,24 albeit less rigorous (the present context, we recall, is of men acting καθ’ ἡδονήν). To us Perikles’ claims are entirely convincing: at Athens citizens lived with greater freedom than at Sparta. But for a Greek of the fifth century things were not so simple; freedom could be defined as something other than being able to do whatever one wanted within the law. Probably more often than individual liberty, freedom meant (as in Herodotos) civic liberty; that is, a way of life in which the citizen could devote himself to the ‘profession of citizen’. That is why Kritias called the Spartans ‘supremely free’, μάλιστα ἐλεύθεροι. The claims made here by Perikles could, then, have been challenged in his own day as resting on a highly controversial premise. 9. The ‘good life’, (a) 38. καὶ μὴν καὶ τῶν πόνων πλείστας ἀναπαύλας τῇ γνώμῃ

ἐπορισάμεθα, ἀγῶσι μέν γε καὶ θυσίαις διετησίοις νομίζοντες, ἰδίαις δὲ κατασκευαῖς εὐπρεπέσιν, ὧν καθ’ ἡμέραν ἡ τέρψις τὸ λυπηρὸν ἐκπλήσσει. 2. ἐπεσέρχεται δὲ διὰ μέγεθος τῆς πόλεως ἐκ πάσης γῆς τὰ πάντα, καὶ ξυμβαίνει ἡμῖν μηδὲν οἰκειοτέρᾳ τῇ ἀπολαύσει τὰ αὐτοῦ ἀγαθὰ γιγνόμενα καρποῦσθαι ἢ καὶ τὰ τῶν ἄλλων ἀνθρώπων,

‘And besides, we have provided for our spirits definitely the most numerous imaginable relaxations from toil, with our customary contests and sacrifices throughout the year, with luxurious items to enjoy daily in our homes, to remove the tedium of life. (2) Because we live in so great a city, all the products of every country in the world flow to us. We have reached the point that the products of other countries feel as naturally familiar in the pleasure they give us as do the good things which are produced locally here’. Perikles here describes two elements which make Athenian life ‘fine’ and pleasant. One is offering the citizen as compensation for the hardships which he has to endure in other ways (τῶν πόνων, a hard reality to which he will return at 39.4, albeit in connection with ‘those other people’),25 moments of relaxation in the form of sacred celebrations and of public contests, and, on top, the comfort of their own homes. On the other hand, the Spartan way of life at this period and later was a byword for austerity. The allusion to Sparta is clear, even though in certain respects it may perhaps be misguided. At this period Athenian democracy was often criticised for having too many religious festivals, which were thought to encourage idleness.26 But there were many such also at Sparta and, from the descriptions we have of them,27 they were spectacular, exciting, and

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The presence of Sparta in the funeral oration of Perikles attracted many visitors. However, Athens was clearly superior in one respect, which Perikles may be thinking of here: the rise of competitive theatre. On the subject of comfortable homes at Athens we lack evidence, though by modern standards any such comforts would have been universally modest. Perikles next introduces another element, entirely material, which really did make life at Athens a ‘dolce vita’ – for those who could afford it. This is the massive importation of various merchandise, made possible by Athens’ control of trade routes at sea. Clearly Perikles here had in mind food and drink. Indeed, this was a theme much in evidence in various media of the period. The Old Oligarch excoriates it in his prose pamphlet;28 the comic poet Hermippos made a joke of it in a list of imports which survives in a fragment of the Phormophoroi,29 and later (in 380) Isokrates solemnly sang its praises in his Panathenaikos (ch. 42). In this respect, Sparta of course could never hope to compete with the ‘supermarket’ of Athens. (b) 40.1. φιλοκαλοῦμέν τε γὰρ μετ’ εὐτελείας καὶ φιλοσοφοῦμεν ἄνευ μαλακίας, ‘We are lovers of beauty without being extravagant, and we appreciate mental pursuits without becoming soft’. The last sentence of ch. 39 acts as a bridge, and has signalled the start of a different stage in the eulogy of Athens. We may still use the present text to complete what was said in ch. 38 about ‘the good life’ at Athens. The level, however, has changed. Ch. 38 concerned the material pleasures of daily life,30 whereas the first sentence of ch. 40 is about culture. The speaker evidently reckons that his brief formulation encapsulates the whole of Athenian culture since, immediately afterwards, he returns to one of his favourite themes: wealth and poverty. Is the shadow of Sparta present in this sentence? For most Greeks the contrast between Athens and Sparta in this domain probably went without saying, since they deemed the Spartans to have no real culture and to care little about beauty and the things of the mind. But would Perikles have entirely agreed? The answer is not clear, because the allusions to Sparta detectable in this sentence are contained in words which describe Athenian culture as having rigorous limits. μετ’ εὐτελείας: the Athenians know how to cultivate physical beauty to a degree far exceeding Sparta’s level,31 but do so with a concern for financial economy,32 a quality of which Sparta is the living embodiment. ἄνευ μαλακίας: Athens is the proof that it is possible to excel at mental activities while being at the same time a military power of the first rank; Sparta, in contrast, has neglected the former activities in pursuit of such military status. Once again we meet the idea of the correct mean (Debnar 2018, 13, ‘moderate position’),which Perikles applies to every aspect of Athenian democracy.

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Jean Ducat 10. Open society, closed society, 39.1. τήν τε γὰρ πόλιν κοινὴν παρέχομεν καὶ οὐκ ἔστιν ὅτε ξενηλασίαις ἀπείργομέν τινα ἢ μαθήματος ἢ θεάματος, ὃ μὴ κρυφθὲν ἄν τις τῶν πολεμίων ἰδὼν ὠφεληθείη, ‘We make our city accessible to all, and never do we use expulsions of foreigners (xenelasiai ) to prevent anyone from learning about or seeing something which, by not being hidden but visible, could help an enemy of ours’. The word γάρ here refers to the previous sentence, the first of the chapter, which acts as transition: ‘here again (καί) are ways in which we differ from our opponents: they concern the preparation for war’. The word ‘again’ confirms that in the previous chapters (37–38), which dealt with, first, the politeia and then the tropoi (‘characteristic forms of behaviour’, which remain the subject here), the counter-model of Sparta was always present in the background of the speech. But now that presence emerges as explicit. Under the heading ‘preparation for war’ (αἱ τῶν πολεμικῶν μελέται), Perikles collects various topics which ch. 39 deals with: xene¯lasiai, education, and what we shall here call ‘amateurism’. The xene¯lasiai are not treated for their own sake, but for what they reveal of Spartan mentality. These ‘expulsions of foreigners’ – which do not, it should be noted, amount to the expulsion of all foreigners – are presented as proof of Sparta’s characteristic obsession with secrecy, and in particular with military secrecy. On this subject it is clear that the opinion expressed by Perikles was shared by Thucydides himself, who adverts to the theme several times elsewhere. It is found at 4.80.4 concerning the ‘disappearance’ of 2,000 helots; at 5.54.1, where the soldiers taking part in an expedition are deliberately kept ignorant of its destination; at 5.68.2 comes the famous phrase on ‘the secrecy of the [Spartan] constitution’, διὰ τῆς πολιτείας τὸ κρυπτόν; at 5.74.3 the historian returns to the subject, again in connection with military numbers, and at 6.92.5 it recurs in a speech of Alkibiades. Thucydides, moreover, is not the only author to consider Sparta’s use of power opaque. To return to the xene¯lasiai: the only other reference that we have to their use, at this period,33 comes from Perikles again, in an earlier speech (1.144.2). There it seems to concern only a threat. But for the threat to have been judged credible there must have been at least one case of its actually having been carried out. The most natural time for this to have occurred would be the troubled period on the eve of the Peloponnesian War, and humorous allusions in Aristophanes and Plato probably refer to that period.34 Evidently Athenian propaganda had seized on what was in reality an occasional practice at Sparta, used only in emergencies, to present it as a permanent rule of behaviour. On this subject as on many others, the speech of Perikles tells us more about Sparta’s image at Athens than about the realities of Laconia.

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The presence of Sparta in the funeral oration of Perikles 11. Education, 39.1, καὶ ἐν ταῖς παιδείαις οἱ μὲν ἐπιπόνῳ ἀσκήσει εὐθὺς νέοι ὄντες τὸ ἀνδρεῖον μετέρχονται, ἡμεῖς δέ ..., ‘and in systems of education, they are compelled to undergo painful training, starting when they are very young, in pursuit of manly valour, whereas we ...’ Here it is quite explicit that Perikles is comparing the educational systems of Sparta and Athens; the phrase ἐν ταῖς παιδείαις proves that two models are being contrasted. Most Greeks of the period, if asked what was the main defect of Spartan education, would have identified its intellectual inadequacy. Indeed, this subject has been touched on earlier in Thucydides’ work (1.84), in a speech of Archidamos, king of Sparta. There the reasoning is so strange that it is hard not to detect some irony on Thucydides’ part. Archidamos is shown turning the criticism into praise, claiming that young Spartiates are brought up rigorously but without much education so as to ensure that they will not have enough mental agility even to dream of disobeying the law. Perikles employs the opposite method. In his view, what made Spartan education appear to many as a model was precisely its extreme rigour, for it went without saying that a good upbringing was above all a tough upbringing (thus the ‘Old-style Education’ in Aristophanes’ Clouds). Spartan education was so appreciated because it produced real men, ἄνδρες, warriors. Perikles does not challenge this claim about Spartan success. Rather he contrasts two kinds of Greek citizens: those (the Spartiates) whose education had as its sole objective to inculcate in them the art of war and who were in a sense programmed to kill (or be killed), and on the other hand those (the Athenians) who followed a ‘liberal’ education, a true intellectual training, and who fight well only because they love their city. Clearly the latter education is the better one; in fact, it is the only genuine education.35 However, this argument runs into one major objection: it still has to be the case that on the battlefield those who have profited from a ‘liberal’ education can hold their own against those whose entire education has been directed towards war. For Perikles, the Athenians are the case which proves that this – and more besides – is possible, as we shall see below in the section on war (text no. 13). 12. Women, 45.2. εἰ δέ με δεῖ καὶ γυναικείας τι ἀρετῆς, ὅσαι νῦν ἐν χηρείᾳ ἔσονται, μνησθῆναι, βραχείᾳ παραινέσει ἅπαν σημανῶ. τῆς τε γὰρ ὑπαρχούσης

φύσεως μὴ χείροσι γενέσθαι ὑμῖν μεγάλη ἡ δόξα καὶ ἧς ἂν ἐπ’ ἐλάχιστον ἀρετῆς πέρι ἢ ψόγου ἐν τοῖς ἄρσεσι κλέος ᾖ, ‘And if I need to make mention similarly

of the virtue of women, for those who will now be widows, one short piece of advice will be enough. If you simply do not fall below the standard which your nature confers, great will be your reputation, as for all

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Jean Ducat women who are spoken of least among males, whether positively or negatively’. After addressing, one after the other, each of the various categories of male relatives of the dead (fathers, sons, brothers), Perikles turns to the wives. He may give the impression, as many modern commentators have believed, that he does so reluctantly. This sense arises above all from his sheer brevity, and from the tone he uses in giving what he himself admits is a piece of stern moral advice. In reality coldness and absence of empathy run through all those parts of the Funeral Speech which are addressed to families. This does not mean that Perikles was hard-hearted. Rather, it reflects Thucydides’ portrayal of him as throughout adopting the point of view of the state, and the tone of a Head of State. However, when he addresses women, his unbending tone becomes positively severe, and we need to try to explain this. On the other hand, he does not simply leave women unmentioned; this fact too needs explanation. In order to be fair, two initial observations are necessary. First, the severity of tone is limited to the piece of moral advice. The speaker’s opening sentence is dry, but entirely neutral. At the start of the second sentence, the phrase τῆς ὑπαρχούσης φύσεως μὴ χείροσι γενέσθαι is less severe than it might seem. Expressions of the form μὴ χείρους γίγνεσθαι (literally, ‘not to be inferior to’) are standard in Thucydides, and amount in practice to ‘show oneself the equal of’ (cf. 2.11.2). Rather, what may hint at some negativity on his part is the very idea of γυναίκεια φύσις (‘women’s nature’). On the other hand, throughout the passage we meet terms which on the face of it are highly complimentary (ἀρετή used twice, μεγάλη δόξα), and the ‘heading’ which Perikles gives to this section, [περὶ τῆς] γυναικείας ἀρετῆς, shows that in his view feminine virtue is a reality. His definition of it is, however, somewhat remarkable. That virtue consists of being selfeffacing.36 ‘She who succeeds in being least spoken of among men’: the whole passage stresses the contrast between the sexes (or, perhaps more accurately, between the genders),37 as if the city had been split into two communities, with no communication between them. In all this there is no explicit reference to Sparta. But when the position of women in a Greek city is mentioned, the image of Spartan women comes naturally to mind.38 The hypothesis that the latter were indeed in the background here may perhaps help us to explain the unusual features of the passage. In a funerary context, the idea that Perikles’ moral advice may refer to displays of mourning is natural, since such displays were a feminine speciality among Greeks. The speaker may, then, be advising the women of Athens to show discretion in this role. If, on this point as on so many

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The presence of Sparta in the funeral oration of Perikles others, Sparta was intended as a negative model, that would suggest that for Perikles Spartan women were not discreet. This may indeed have been the case, though we cannot be sure. Our only information on this subject concerns what happened at Sparta after the defeat at Leuktra. Then, Xenophon reports (Hell. 6.4.16), ‘the ephors instructed them [the women] in advance not to utter cries of lamentation (krauge¯ ), but to bear their suffering in silence’. What should be inferred from this? It does not amount to evidence of extravagant display of grief; rather, what is exceptional is the ephors’ advice about silence. But then the circumstances, and above all the number of dead, were themselves exceptional. The question about relative displays of mourning is, then, unproductive. Besides, we note that such displays have already occurred before Perikles begins his speech (2.30.4), and that in his last sentence he himself invites the women to make their lamentations for one final time (2.46.2). Evidently these acts of mourning are under control. What Perikles, as statesman, is aiming to control is women’s behaviour after the ceremony and, as he indeed says, throughout their widowhood. To appreciate the role played by Sparta as counter-model in this passage, we need to adopt Perikles’ viewpoint as he considers the city as a whole. The feeling which governs his treatment of Athenian women is certainly not one of contempt, since he recognises that they can achieve excellence. Rather, I believe, he feels mistrust. For him, as for most Greek men, women are to be feared as a source of potential disruption in a city.39 Sparta, however, provides a different model. There, the rights women had did not amount, admittedly, to ‘freedom’ as is often supposed, nor to ‘power’, as certain Greek writers held – notably Aristotle. Rather, Spartan women were acknowledged as one of the groups forming the city, partly because of their role in procreation;40 also they were given, in specified circumstances and in respect of strictly defined actions, the right of access to the city’s public space. Perikles utterly rejects such an idea for Athens, as something unsuitable and even dangerous. The fact that the women in question were war-widows to him made no difference. WAR AND ITS VALUES 13. Praise of ‘amateurism’ (a) 39.1. This paragraph, as we have observed, is devoted to the subject of war, and deals first with xene¯lasiai (our text 10) then with education (text 11). In both cases the last sentence, or its last element, contrasts Spartan conduct, which has just been described and implicitly criticised, with that of Athenians. – xene¯lasiai: πιστεύοντες οὐ ταῖς παρασκευαῖς τὸ πλέον καὶ ἀπάταις ἢ τῷ ἀφ’

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Jean Ducat ἡμῶν αὐτῶν ἐς τὰ ἔργα εὐψύχῳ,

‘because in general we place less trust in training and trickery than in the courage to act which we find in ourselves’. Taking as his starting point the Spartan desire to deceive, evidenced in his view by the xene¯lasiai, Perikles widens the scope of his argument to include the whole conduct of war, as conceived respectively by Sparta and by Athens. Sparta’s military practice is both laborious (the term παρασκευαί here refers to their long and stressful training) and devalued by a certain lack of honesty in that it depends frequently on deceit (ἀπάταις). Numerous texts of the Classical Period, from Herodotos to Isokrates, show that criticism of Sparta on these lines was almost a commonplace at Athens.41 As for Athens, the key words are ἀφ’ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν: they emphasise that, far from relying on training and calculation, courage for them was something spontaneous, which sprang from within42 (cf. Debnar 2018, p.11–12). – Education: ἡμεῖς δὲ ἀνειμένως διαιτώμενοι οὐδὲν ἧσσον ἐπὶ τοὺς ἰσοπαλεῖς κινδύνους χωροῦμεν, ‘whereas in our case, living as we please does not prevent us from confronting, and no less resolutely, the dangers that we face, which are equal to theirs’.43 Here the main point is conveyed by the words ἀνειμένως διαιτώμενοι. The Athenians’ ‘philosophy of life’ is diametrically opposed to that of the Spartans: as regards war, it implies what I have termed their amateurism. Perikles’ meaning is already clear enough, but he spells it out again at the end of the chapter. (b) 39.4. καίτοι εἰ ῥᾳθυμίᾳ μᾶλλον ἢ πόνων μελέτῃ καὶ μὴ μετὰ νόμων τὸ πλέον ἢ τρόπων ἀνδρείας ἐθέλομεν κινδυνεύειν, περιγίγνεται ἡμῖν τοῖς τε μέλλουσιν

ἀλγεινοῖς μὴ προκάμνειν, καὶ ἐς αὐτὰ ἐλθοῦσι μὴ ἀτολμοτέρους τῶν αἰεὶ μοχθούντων φαίνεσθαι, ‘in any case, if it is without over-exerting ourselves rather than being

schooled to suffering and it is with courage which arises less from legal constraint than from our own characters that we are willing to face dangers, it is for us pure gain. We thereby avoid having to suffer in advance the rigorous tests to come, and also, when at last we do face them, we prove ourselves no less bold than those who spend their lives stressing themselves’. In the whole of ch. 39, as Debnar has emphasised (2018, 12), the contrast with Sparta is made explicitly. Thus, on the one hand, there are the Spartans with their incessant training which alone makes it possible for them to show martial valour (and Perikles does not dispute the idea that they do indeed show it), at the cost of living a grey and laborious existence. On the other hand, we have the Athenians, who profit fully from the pleasures their city offers them, while not having to exert themselves beyond their own inclinations (for that is what rhathymia means). In the military sphere, then, they apply the same fundamental principle as in their form of government: liberty. They live in freedom, whereas the Spartans are, as it

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The presence of Sparta in the funeral oration of Perikles were, fastened to the chain of military toil and political constraint. Praising the Spartans by saying that they were ‘the only true professionals in warfare’ (μόνους τῷ ὄντι τεχνίτας τῶν πολεμικῶν, Xenophon, Lak. Pol. 13.5) was then customary.44 Perikles turns the argument on its head, by claiming it to be a finer thing, more noble and more worthy of a free man, to fight as an ‘amateur’, meaning as a citizen rather than as a military man. Commentators have judged this little more than a rhetorical paradox. This may perhaps be so. Or, we might equally – and more helpfully – point out that the contrast drawn here by Perikles (and indeed the whole speech) is founded on myth rather than on reality, especially as regards the Spartans and their alleged system of permanent training. But Perikles’ argument is perfectly aligned with his strategic doctrine.45 Moreover, the sentences in 39.2–3, beginning with the formula τεκμήριον δέ, supply a strong basis for his argument. There the speaker contrasts, on the one hand, the unintelligent strategy of the Spartans, with its brute force, of mobilising all their troops (including those of their allies) for the sole purpose of invading part of Attike¯, thereby preventing themselves from gaining any decisive advantage, with – on the other hand – the mobility of the Athenians. That mobility involved the opposite process: splitting their forces so as to be able, while still defending their city, to carry out a number of successful expeditions by sea.46 Perikles thus feels justified in claiming that this strategy is profitable in military terms while giving the Athenians a better life than the Spartans had. 14. The conduct of hegemony, 41.3. μόνη γὰρ τῶν νῦν ἀκοῆς κρείσσων ἐς πεῖραν ἔρχεται, καὶ μόνη οὔτε τῷ πολεμίῳ ἐπελθόντι ἀγανάκτησιν ἔχει ὑφ’ οἵων

κακοπαθεῖ, οὔτε τῷ ὑπηκόῳ κατάμεμψιν ὡς οὐχ ὑπ’ ἀξίων ἄρχεται,

‘alone of the city-states of today she [Athens], when put to the test, proves superior to her reputation. She alone, when some enemy has attacked her unsuccessfully, does not make that enemy feel angry at having been defeated by a mediocre opponent. Nor do the states she rules feel they can be blamed for taking orders from an unworthy master.’ Sections 2–4 of ch.41 form the conclusion to the argument (announced at 36.4) concerning the politeia and the tropoi (‘character’) which have allowed Athens to become the great power that she is.47 This explains why 41.3 contains the only reference to the Empire in the whole speech. The reference is brief, since the subject has been amply dealt with in Book 1 (chs. 73–8). But the Athenian Empire is never a topic on its own; it is always compared, explicitly or implicitly, with the hegemony of Sparta. The first part of the sentence (as far as the word ἔρχεται) addresses a new and most interesting theme: image and reality. Alongside this pair of

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Jean Ducat terms is another: Athens and Sparta. Although, literally, the word μόνη contrasts Athens with all other cities, the audience knows that Sparta is the chief among these ‘others’. What the speaker says about the Empire confirms this, since there are only two Empires. The duo ‘image-andreality’ concerning Athens implies a similar pairing for Sparta, but with the poles reversed: if the reality is superior (κρείσσων) to the image only in the case of Athens, for Sparta it follows that the reality is inferior to the image. This is the same idea as in the modern phrase ‘the Spartan mirage’. As for the adjective κρείσσων, it is ambiguous and no doubt will remain so. Its context initially suggests superiority in respect of power (cf. 41.2), but what follows indicates, in addition, an idea of superior merit. The second part of the sentence claims that Athens alone (again the word μόνη is used, and with the same implications) conducts its hegemony properly, because Athens alone deserves to have such, and because her subjects recognise as much. The key term in the passage is ἄξιοι, which already has been used prominently in Book 1, where the Athenians speak in their own defence.48 The defeated enemy recognises her conqueror as superior in merit and agrees to obey her; the city which is already a subject accepts that her own subordination is legitimate. The case of Sparta, it is understood, is different: she rules through force alone. It is certainly no accident that similar antitheses occur in Xenophon’s Lakedaimonion Politeia (14.5–7). There has been some shift in the model over time: the contrast is no longer between Athens and Sparta but applies within Sparta itself. The positive model is now the Sparta of the past, and the negative one is the Sparta of ‘today’. However, the point of contrast remains the same as in Thucydides: the idea of merit. The Sparta of the past was a legitimate he¯gemo¯n, because she deserved her dominant position and everyone admitted as much. The Sparta of ‘today’ is a boss whose domination depends on force alone and is, in consequence, under challenge. 15. ‘La belle mort ’, Athenian-style. The theme of the ‘beautiful death’ of Spartan warriors was current in Greece from the time of Tyrtaios.49 In Herodotos it pervades the Thermopylai episode, and it occurs again in Xenophon (Lak. Pol. 9.1–2). It was so familiar that the expression ‘beautiful death’ is enough on its own to prompt thoughts of Sparta. However, there was no reason why Sparta should monopolise the idea, and Perikles uses the ‘beautiful death’ of Athenians as the main theme of that part of his speech which is dedicated to ‘the praise of those who lie here’ (2.42–3). At 2.41.5, a moment of transition in the speech, it is stated, ‘This, then, is the city which these men nobly refused to lose and for which they died fighting’.50 When the speaker ends his eulogy, and begins his

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The presence of Sparta in the funeral oration of Perikles address to the relatives of the dead (2.44.1), he states, ‘Good fortune (τὸ εὐτυχές) it is for men who, like those who lie here, have met the most glorious of deaths (εὐπρεπεστάτη) ... and whose life has been so apportioned that its end has coincided with this state of grace (ἐνευδαιμονῆσαι)’.51 For Perikles it was not enough to say that Athenian warriors could meet an end no less beautiful than that of Spartans. The eulogy, strictly speaking, begins (2.42.1) as follows: ‘that is precisely why I have dwelt on matters concerning our city. I wanted to show that for us the fight is not on the same level as for those who do not enjoy the benefits we do’. Because of everything the city has conferred on them while they live, Athenian warriors neither live nor die in the same way as others (meaning the Spartans). They have fought to defend different values; because they have lived richer lives, their deaths too have more meaning.52 In the long and complex text of 42.4, the speaker analyses the state of mind of the Athenian warriors just before the final clash. ‘None of these men showed cowardice from a desire not to lose the wealth that was theirs; nor did any of them put off the moment of danger through the hope that one day he would escape the poverty of his life and even become rich. For them, punishing the enemy was an aim nobler than such things. Reckoning that it was the finest of risks to run, they desired, as they took that risk, both to punish those enemies and still to pursue those personal goals,53 entrusting to hope the obscure question of whether they would succeed, and relying on action in the situation they could actually see before them, because they chose to have faith in themselves. There they preferred to resist and die rather than to give up and survive.54 What they retreated from was being the target of shameful words; their deeds consisted of physically standing their ground. And in one brief moment, at the height of their destiny, it was glory rather than fear that they left behind them when they bade farewell to life.’ 55 In a funeral speech it is quite surprising to describe in this way the moments which immediately preceded the warriors’ deaths. The surprising thing is not that death itself is not mentioned explicitly;56 the whole speech avoids such mention. Still less surprising of course is the warriors’ decision, τὸ ἀμύνεσθαι καὶ παθεῖν μᾶλλον ... ἢ τὸ ἐνδόντες σῴζεσθαι, ‘to resist and die rather than to give up and survive’. That was the fundamental tenet of hoplite morality, and the way it is expressed here strongly resembles what the law of Sparta, as all-powerful ruler, ordered Spartan soldiers to do – according to Damaratos’ speech to Xerxes (Hdt. 7.104). The fact that, in the last analysis, Athenian and Spartan warriors share the same ethic shows up even more strikingly the unusual and surprising way in which the last moments of life are mentioned.

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Jean Ducat What should we make of this? Whereas Spartan soldiers (at least as Athenians imagined them) know exactly what they are required to do and so act unquestioningly, Athenian warriors never stop thinking about their situation, and so at all times have a choice. The first element of the problem is something which Perikles has been – understandably – very conscious of throughout his speech: that the citizen body was divided between rich and poor. This split gives rise to two different arguments which, however, each lead to the same decision: ‘punish the enemy’. Next comes Perikles’ detailed description of the Athenian warrior’s state of mind as he comes to this decision. Several thoughts come in rapid succession.57 ‘This is the finest of risks’, the one which on every count most deserves to be taken. The warrior does not renounce his personal projects; rather, since they are wrapped in the mists of the future and are at present beyond his reach, he decides to postpone them and to concentrate instead on his immediate future, something over which he does have complete control. He chooses to fight, and so perhaps to die. In doing so, says the speaker (literally), ‘he has escaped from a shaming discourse’. This negative expression is deeply surprising, but it will be qualified by the last phrase, which portrays the warrior dying in conspicuous glory. The modern reader is bound to be surprised by the long and tortuous account of the Athenian warrior’s thoughts before his death – indeed, he is already dead; this is his funeral. How to explain the inclusion of this in a funeral speech? For the present writer, the only way it can be understood is to see in it an implicit retort directed at Sparta. Not only do Athenian warriors too have a ‘belle mort’ – which no one would think of denying – but the Athenian’s death is, when properly considered, more beautiful than that of the Spartan warrior, because made through a permanent choice, resulting from a sort of democratic debate which the soldier conducts with himself. He decides to risk his life, but never does he choose to die, witness the fact that he does not give up his personal projects but rather only postpones them. That makes a difference, subtle perhaps but crucial, from the Spartan model par excellence, Thermopylai. The phrase applied to the Athenian soldier, μᾶλλον ἢ τοῦ δέους, even seems to suggest that he was capable of fear.58 After death, glory. 2.43.2–3: ‘by making together a gift of their lives, they gained – each of them personally – immortal eulogy and the most distinguished grave of all. Their grave is, not so much where they lie, but where their glory will remain forever commemorated whenever word or deed calls for it. 3. For men of distinction, the whole world is their tomb. That tomb is marked not only in their homeland by words upon a gravestone, but in foreign lands too an unwritten memorial dwells in all hearts, a memorial not so much of what they achieved as of their mentality.’

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The presence of Sparta in the funeral oration of Perikles The grave; the words of praise; the glory: these themes occur also in the poetry of Tyrtaios (F 12 West, ll. 27–32), and I believe we may even see a reference to them by Perikles here: ‘All alike bewail him, young men and Elders. The whole city is plunged into deep mourning. His grave and his children are noted among men, and with them his children’s children and all his descendants for ever. Never will his shining glory be extinguished, nor his name. Though he be under the earth, he transcends death.’ The resemblances are clear, and there is even some precise echoing.59 But no less clear are the differences. The main difference is that – notwithstanding the merely formulaic expression ‘among men’ – the glory of the Spartan warrior does not extend beyond his city, whereas that of his Athenian counterpart is not linked to the grave where he lies, as in Tyrtaios,60 but is incorporeal and thus extends to the whole of mankind.61 How have Athenians earned this privilege? Above all through the brilliance of their city (cf. 2.41.1), which has relations with the whole world (cf. 2.38.2). But also through the ‘immortal eulogy’ – which is, in fact, none other than the present speech. And if this speech will indeed live for ever in the memory of men (a variation on Thucydides’ theme of the κτῆμα ἐς αἰεί, the ‘possession for ever’), is that not because the historian has set it down in writing and included it in his work of history? In the office of preserving the memory of the past, the historian has now definitely superseded the poet: a major change in civilisation. To sum up: in the present writer’s view, Sparta is present in the following passages of the Funeral Speech: the whole of chs. 37–9; ch. 40.1–3; ch. 41.3, 5; ch. 42.1, 4; ch. 43.2–3; ch. 44.1 and ch. 45.2. This represents 121 lines out of 231 (in the edition of J. de Romilly) if we exclude the exordium (ch. 35) and the introduction (ch. 36): in other words, more than half. This result was as much of a surprise to me as to anyone. It is perhaps even more significant that these allusions to Sparta occur in every chapter, except for the brief conclusion (ch. 46). Thus reference to Sparta is made not only in the ‘political’ chapters (37 on politeia; 38–41 on tropoi) but also in the eulogy for the dead (including the address to their relatives), 42–5. The conclusion is clear: the image of Sparta is present in Perikles’ mind throughout his speech, even if it only emerges clearly from time to time, whether explicitly or (more often) implicitly, and above all in the ‘political’ section. This is entirely explicable. We have, for one thing, a speech of war, and the image of the enemy is present in the minds of all in Perikles’ audience. His allusions are thus easily understood. Also, just as the Parthenon frieze showing the Panathenaia introduced Athenian citizens into the temple, next to the gods, so Perikles placed the city at the heart of his speech, as a model relevant to all. And this inevitably involved a contrast throughout with the enemy model, that of Sparta.

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Jean Ducat However, the modern reader is bound to receive the impression that the contrast between the two models is not as deep and clear as Perikles states or implies. There are two reasons for this. First, in most cases the contrast arises from an image of Sparta drawn more from stereotypes widely believed by the Athenians than from accurate observation. This can be seen clearly in the case of the ‘belle mort’ (text 15): the contrast implied by the speaker depends mainly on the image of the Spartan warrior as a kind of machine, incapable of feeling or thoughtfulness. The second reason is more surprising, because it arises from within the speech itself. Here the best example concerns the nature of the political regime (texts 2–5). Athens, Perikles says, is a democracy, whereas Sparta is an oligarchy (the term is implicit in his phrase ἐς ὀλίγους): no greater contrast could be imagined. But the picture which he draws of the Athenian democracy is hedged about by so many limitations that in numerous respects – such as the choosing of the best citizens; the eminent role given to the rich; surveillance and fear – that his ‘democracy’ ends up resembling the ‘oligarchy’ which he so decries. Editor’s note (A.P.) The text of this chapter was delivered by the author soon after the conception of the present volume in 2008. It was formed independently of the chapter by Paula Debnar, on the same theme, which appeared in 2018 in the volume The Greek Superpower. However after seeing the latter, subsequent, paper, the author has here added in his main text a record of his agreement with it on several points.

Notes 1 On this subject, Loraux 1981. 2 For example, in his argument at 2.37.1 he is careful not to mention misthoi, to which some Athenians might object. 3 1.79–87. A further example is the way in which his mention of xene¯lasiai at 1.144.2 (as a means of exerting pressure in foreign policy) hardly matches the (vulgate) image of it which he gives here, at 2.39.4. 4 Lévy 2003, 150, n.14. 5 So already Classen in his commentary on Thucydides (1892–1919), followed by de Romilly 1962. I have also taken account of the argument of Andrews 2004, 550– 4. The other interpretation is supported by Lévy 2003, 150–1. 6 Isocrates, Panath., 153, 158; Plato, Laws 4.712d. Cf. Ducat 2017, 251–6. 7 See especially the decisive remarks of Lévy 2003, 152–5. 8 So most recent commentators on this passage: Gomme, Kakridis, Rhodes, Rusten and Hornblower.

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The presence of Sparta in the funeral oration of Perikles 9

Historians of modern times have long thought so, but the point seems now highly dubious. On the ephors, see Richer 1998, 271–89; on the gerontes, Birgalias 2007, 346–7. 10 P. Oxy. 853 (Grenfell-Hunt VI, p.129). Lévy 2003, 154, finds the interpretation ‘subtle’ while rejecting it. On the other hand Andrews 2004, 549, accepts it. 11 Lévy 2003, 155. Note, however, that he uses the term πενία (also at 2.42.4, and τὸ πένεσθαι at 2.40.1). 12 It is this which justifies translating αὖ by ‘likewise’: in both cases there is the same process of participation, where only merit counts. 13 Accordingly, αὖ might also be translated as ‘conversely’: some ‘are chosen’, others are ‘not rejected’. On the importance of negative formulae in the Funeral Speech, Debnar 2018, 2 and passim. 14 Note the extreme delicacy with which the point is made! 15 For further detail, see the excellent commentary at Lévy 2003, 160–1. 16 On the poor at Sparta, cf. Lévy 2013. 17 Cf. Ducat 2013, 145–9. 18 Involved here would be words from a leader who in this way acts as ‘guide’ for a city, exactly as Perikles does, not only here but in all the speeches which Thucydides ascribes to him: 1.140–4; 2.13 (in indirect discourse); 2.60–4. 19 Plutarch, Lyc. 19–20, collects numerous examples. 20 Ion, F 107 in the edition of A. von Blumenthal (1939); Hdt. 3.46 (embassy of Samos) and 4.77 (a dictum of Anacharsis). 21 Cf. Huart 1968. 22 It will be observed that in the following paragraph (text 5) Perikles will say, however, that at Athens too certain forms of behaviour incur ‘the disapproval of everyone’. 23 Translators have generally done likewise: so de Romilly and Lévy (‘vexations’). 24 Thus Xenophon, at Lak. Pol. 3.3, mentions the possibility that a paidiskos may incur ‘complete disgrace in the city’. 25 This term is often used to refer to the ‘toil’ of being a soldier. 26 See the Old Oligarch 3.2 and 8. 27 The most detailed is that of the Hyakinthia by Polykrates, in the second century BC (588 F 1). 28 2.7, where food is explicitly involved, and 12. 29 Of ca.425 BC. F 63 in the editions of Kock (1880), Edmonds (I, 1957) and KasselAustin (V, 1986, 591–4); cited by Athenaeus 1.27 E – 28 A. 30 Although festivals and contests are primarily religious, Perikles regards them exclusively as forms of relaxation, as shows for the public; he sees only their festive aspect. 31 We inevitably recall the famous passage (1.10.2) on the future ruins of Athens, and of Sparta ‘which possesses no expensive temples or structures’. 32 This term, εὐτελεία, has seemed strange to many commentators, since it often has an almost negative tone (cf. ‘cheap’). It is perhaps to be understood here as connected with a slightly ironic allusion to Sparta. 33 Cf. Rebenich 1998 and Figueira 2003. 34 Birds 1012–3; 414; Protagoras 342d (dramatic date c. 431). Unlike Debnar (2018, 11), I do not believe that ὃ μὴ κρυφθέν can allude to the krypteia. 35 For further detail, cf. Ducat 2006, 38–40.

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Jean Ducat 36

Rusten 1989 describes Perikles’ phrasing as ‘deliberate oxymoron’. There exists a γυναικεία φύσις and a γυναικεία ἀρετή; as for men, they are not ἄνδρες, but ἄρσενες (‘males’). 38 On the role of women at Sparta, cf. Ducat 1998 and 1999. 39 This is also, apparently, Thucydides’ own opinion: cf. Loraux 1985. 40 Perikles, in contrast, is concerned with wives who have lost husbands, and not with mothers who have lost sons; Laconian apophthegms take the opposite viewpoint. 41 Cf. Bradford 1994; Powell 1989 [2001], 219–21; Ducat 2004, 134–5. 42 This expression recurs often in the speech. In the present chapter: αὐτοί in 39.2, ἡμῶν αὐτῶν in 39.3. 43 For the much-discussed ἰσοπαλεῖς κινδύνους, I have followed the interpretation of de Romilly (‘dangers équivalents’), while noting the comments of Loraux (1981, 405, n.86). For a full discussion, Debnar 2018, 12. 44 This theme of eulogy is already much in evidence in Herodotos: cf. 7.211, where the Spartans are said ἐν οὐκ ἐπισταμένοισι (while their opponents are Persia’s famous ‘Immortals’!) μάχεσθαι ἐξεπιστάμενοι. Similarly at 9.62, where we read of their σοφίη in this domain. 45 It is treated in his great speech at the end of Book 1 (ch.143, 4–5). 46 Around the Peloponnese 2.23.2; 25.1 and 3; 26.1; 30.1–2; to Aigina 27.1; in Chalkidike: 29.6. On the other hand, the siege of Poteidaia, which has lasted since 432 deploying 3000 hoplites, is not a success. 47 The initial notice at 2.36.4 is resumed in conclusion at 2.41.2, by the phrase ἡ δύναμις τῆς πόλεως, ἣν ἀπὸ τῶνδε τῶν τρόπων ἐκτησάμεθα. 48 Ἄξιοι: 1.75.1; 76.2 and 3. 49 Cf. Loraux 1977. 50 Because the texts on this theme are many and long, they will only be given here in translation. 51 The beginning of the sentence (not quoted here) confirms that Perikles is now thinking of the words spoken by Solon to Croesus in Herodotos (1.30–3): the happiness of a life can only be assessed at its end. 52 By saying this, Perikles is justifying himself for having turned what should have been a funeral speech into praise of Athens – in other words, of his own policies. 53 I have retained the ἐφίεσθαι of the manuscripts, which is initially puzzling to the reader but is clarified by the two participial expressions which follow. 54 On the words μᾶλλον ἡγησάμενοι, see de Romilly’s commentary (p.97, while not forgetting that it is normal for the infinitive, a verbal noun, to simply act as a noun, like the English gerund). 55 On the construction I follow Gomme but retain the text of the MSS, which seems to me not to present insuperable problems (cf. Hornblower). Τύχης ἅμα ἀκμῇ will be clarified at 2.44.1 (see below, p. 78). 56 Death is expressed only by a single, final, word: ἀπηλλάγησαν, itself a euphemism (with τοῦ βίου to be understood). 57 Cf. Rusten ad 2.44.2: ‘the effect is of a swift series of calculations, by which the soldiers persuade themselves to place their lives at risk’; see also Rusten 1986. 58 Thucydides’ use in the Funeral Speech of the expressions (often preceded by a negative) μᾶλλον ... ἤ (2.37.1; 39.4; 40.1; 40.5; 41.2; 42.3; 44,1) and τὸ πλέον ... ἤ (37.1 39.1; 39.4) is a tricky subject, deserving of a separate study. When he wishes genuinely 37

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The presence of Sparta in the funeral oration of Perikles to contrast two terms, he uses rather οὐκ (μή) ... ἀλλά (there are many examples); the expressions involving μᾶλλον or τὸ πλέον should, then, be taken to dilute a contrast. This dilution itself may come in subtly different degrees: thus, at 43.2 and 44.4, we find οὐ ... μᾶλλον ... ἀλλά. It appears, then, that the turns of phrase involving μᾶλλον or τὸ πλέον are not simply rhetorical variatio for marking a contrast, but mark a weakening of that contrast (for a similar view, Lévy 2003, 154–5). Thus it is admitted that the Athenian warrior may have felt some fear. 59 τύμβος καὶ παῖδες ... ἀρίσημοι ( Tyrtaios), τὸν τάφον ἐπισημότατον (Thucydides); ὑπὸ γῆς (Tyrtaios), πᾶσα γῆ (Thucydides). 60 While the mention of a name on a stele is certainly appropriate for Athens, one inevitably thinks of Spartan usage, whereby among citizens this honour was reserved for those who had died in war. The close connection with the grave reflects ‘Archaic’ thinking involving cult of the dead. Perikles’ thinking is far more intellectual and ‘modern’. 61 Likewise, the dead soldier is remembered not, as at Sparta, for his exploits, but for the state of mind in which he acted (thus referring back to the analysis at 2.42.4).

Bibliography Andrews, J. 2004 ‘Pericles on the Athenian constitution ( Thucydides II.37)’, AJP 125, 539–58. Birgalias, N. 2007 ‘La gérousia et les gérontes à Sparte’, Ktèma 32, 341–9. Bradford, A. S. 1994 ‘The duplicitous Spartan’, in A. Powell and S. Hodkinson (eds) The Shadow of Sparta, London and Swansea, 59–85. Cartledge, P. and Powell, A. (eds) 2018 The Greek Superpower: Sparta in the self-definitions of the Athenians, Swansea. Classen, J. and Steup, J. 1892–1919 Thukydides erklärt, Berlin (reprinted 1963). Debnar, P. 2018 ‘Sparta in Pericles’ Funeral Oration’, in Cartledge and Powell (eds) 2018, 1–32. Ducat, J. 1998 ‘La femme de Sparte et la cité’, Ktèma 23, 385–406. 1999 ‘La femme de Sparte et la guerre’, Pallas 51, 159–171. 2004 ‘L’enfant spartiate et le renardeau’, REG 117, 125–140. 2006 Spartan Education, Swansea. 2013 ‘Homoioi’, Ktèma 38, 137–55. 2017 ‘Du caractère “mixte’’ du régime spartiate’, Ktèma 42, 251–69. Figueira, T. J. 2003 ‘Xenelasia and social control in classical Sparta’, CQ 53, 44–74. Flashar, H. 1969 ‘Der Epitaphios des Perikles. Seine Funktion im Geschichtwerk des Thukydides’, Sitzungsberichte der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften,

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Jean Ducat Philosophisch-Historische Klasse = Eidola. Ausgewählte Kleine Schriften (M. Klaus, ed.), Amsterdam 1989, 435–481. Gomme, A.W. 1956 A Historical Commentary on Thucydides, vol. 2, Oxford. Hornblower, S. 1991 A Commentary on Thucydides, vol. 1, Oxford. Huart, P. 1968 Le vocabulaire de l’analyse psychologique dans l’oeuvre de Thucydide, Paris. Kakridis, J. T. 1961 Der thukydideische Epitaphios. Ein stilistischer Kommentar, Zetemata 26, Munich. Lévy, E. 2003 ‘Démocratie et aristocratie. Commentaire de deux passages de l’Oraison funèbre (Thucydide II.37,1–3 et 40.1–2)’, Lalies 22, 147–164. 2013 ‘Les pauvres à Sparte’, Ktèma 38, 157–70. Loraux, N. 1977 ‘La belle mort spartiate’, Ktèma 2, 105–20. 1981 L’invention d’Athènes. Histoire de l’oraison funèbre dans la cité classique, Paris (2nd ed. 1993). 1985 ‘La cité, l’historien, les femmes’, Pallas 32, 7–39. Powell, A. 1989 Athens and Sparta, London (2nd edn. 2001, 3rd edn. 2016), ch.5. 2018 ‘Athens as New Sparta? Lakonism and the Athenian revolution of 404/3 BC’, in Cartledge and Powell (eds) 2018, 61–85. Rebenich, S. 1998 ‘Fremdenfeindlichkeit in Sparta? Überlegungen zur Tradition der spartanischen Xenelasie’, Klio 80, 336–59. Rhodes, P. J. 1988 Thucydides, History II, Warminster. Richer, N. 1998 Les éphores, Paris. Romilly, J. de 1962 Thucydide, livre II, Paris. Rusten, J. S. 1986 ‘Structure, style and sense in interpreting Thucydides: the soldier’s choice (Thucydides II.42.4)’, HSCP 90, 49–76. 1989 Thucydides. The Peloponnesian War, Book II, Cambridge.

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4 ΝΟΜΙΜΑ ΑΡΧΑΙΟΤΡΟΠΑ ΚΑΙ ΑΜΕΙΚΤΑ:

THUCYDIDES’ ALIENATION OF SPARTAN KINGSHIP Ellen Millender Scholars have long pondered Thucydides’ treatment of the two royal Spartans who figure prominently in the first book of his History: the Eurypontid dyarch, Archidamus II, and the infamous Agiad regent, Pausanias. Much ink has been spilt over attempts to account for Archidamus’ failure to persuade the Spartans against going to war with Athens at the debate at Sparta in 432 (1.80–7).1 Thucydides’ later digression on the medizing Pausanias’ fall from grace (1.128.3–135.1) has prompted even more commentary on a host of issues, starting with its oddly anecdotal tone, relatively loose relevance to the main narrative, and use of folk-tale motifs.2 Previous studies, however, have not addressed these historiographical problems by examining these figures together or considering their respective roles in the programmatic antithesis between Athens and Sparta that largely structures Book One of the Histories. This chapter argues that Archidamus and Pausanias perform key functions in the polarity that Thucydides constructs between Athens as the revolutionary Greece of the future and Sparta as the backward Hellas of the past. Thucydides’ portraits of Archidamus and Pausanias express this cultural differentiation primarily in terms of political structure and psychology rather than in terms of general national character, as scholars have long argued.3 Using kingship as an indicator of political difference between Sparta and the other Hellenes, especially Athens, Thucydides portrays Sparta as a state whose conservative politeia failed to progress politically along the same lines as most other Greek poleis. Thucydides, as we shall see, suggests that such political stagnation placed Sparta at a disadvantage in its struggle with the far more progressive democracy that fueled Athens’ new brand of imperialism and underpinned Athens’ rise to the pinnacle of Greek economic, cultural, and constitutional development. Like Herodotus, however, Thucydides also employs kingship to link the Spartans and the barbarian enemies of Hellas with whom they eventually cooperated in their struggle for Greek hegemony.4

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Ellen Millender Through this dual construction of the Spartan dyarchy as ἀρχαιότροπος (1.71.2: ‘old-fashioned’) and ἄμεικτος (1.77.6: ‘unmixed’ – that is, it does not mix well with normal Greek practice), Thucydides actively contributes to what Jonathan Price has aptly deemed ‘a deadly rhetorical struggle over the legitimate representation of “Hellas” and “Hellenes.” ’ This struggle was closely bound up with the Athenians’ contestation of Sparta’s assumed role of liberator of Hellas.5 Thucydides’ treatment of Spartan leaders in the first book of his History, in fact, reveals that he was far more caught up in the ideological fray than he suggests in his description of his methodology at 1.21–2. There he depicts himself as a neutral witness and reporter of the conflict between Athens and Sparta. I. Sparta’s νόμιμα ἀρχαιότροπα: Archidamus and Spartan political torpor Throughout his work on the Peloponnesian War, Thucydides exhibits a belief in the profound difference in temperament and mores between Athens and Sparta that shapes his analysis of the course of their struggle. Thucydides’ polarization of Athens and Sparta is particularly prominent in the first book of his History. Starting with the Archaeology, which traces the early history of the Greek city-states and reveals Thucydides’ understanding of the development of both Athens and Sparta into the leading states in Hellas (1.2–19), Thucydides constructs an antithesis between Athens as a dynamic and innovative polis and Sparta as an antiquated society. While he states that Sparta gained strength from its long-enduring political stability (1.18.1), he does not offer the type of detailed examination of Lacedaemon’s rapid growth in the archaic period that Herodotus provides in his account of the Persian Wars (cf. 1.65–8). Thucydides rather focuses on the development of sea-power in Hellas. He implicitly suggests that Athens belonged among the more progressive societies, like Corinth and Samos, which acquired wealth and power through their fleets (1.13–15.1). Thucydides’ treatment of Sparta, on the other hand, repeatedly emphasizes its links with the past, most notably in his commentary on Sparta’s unimpressive appearance, despite its control of two-fifths of the Peloponnesus and hegemony over the Peloponnesian League (1.10.2):6 For if the city of the Lacedaemonians were deserted and both the temples and the foundations of buildings remained, I think that after the passage of much time, there would then be considerable doubt among future generations that their power measured up to their reputation (and yet they occupy two-fifths of the Peloponnesus and preside over the whole of it and many allies beyond; nevertheless, since the city is neither concentrated nor furnished with magnificent temples and buildings, but inhabited in scattered villages in the old Greek way, it would appear inferior).7

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Thucydides’ alienation of Spartan kingship By concentrating on Sparta’s seemingly incongruous and old-fashioned (τῷ παλαιῷ τρόπῳ) retention of separate villages and lack of impressive temples and monuments, Thucydides implicitly associates Sparta with the unfortified early Greek communities he mentions throughout the Archaeology (1.2.2, 5.1; cf. 1.7, 8.3). At the same time, he contrasts Sparta with what he considered to be the norm, best exemplified by Athens (1.10.2) with its complete synoecism and elaborate civic and religious monuments (cf. 2.15–16). Spartan conservatism receives further attention – though not as explicitly – in Thucydides’ analysis of Greek constitutional progress at 1.13.1: When Hellas became more powerful and placed even more emphasis on the acquisition of wealth than before, tyrannies were established in most of the cities as a result of increased revenues (previously there had been hereditary kingships with fixed prerogatives), and Hellas began to fit out fleets and to apply itself more closely to the sea.

Although he casts this discussion in general terms, Thucydides must have Sparta in mind when he refers to the early kings’ fixed prerogatives. He may even be alluding to Herodotus’ detailed description of the privileges accorded to Sparta’s hereditary kings, the Agiads and Eurypontids (6.56–60). Even more striking is his exaggerated claim concerning the transition from hereditary monarchy to tyranny that occurred in the majority of archaic Greek poleis – Sparta being an obvious, albeit unnamed, exception.8 Thucydides here seems to highlight Sparta’s unusual failure to progress politically along these lines, by holding onto an obsolete constitutional form and avoiding an important political transition connected with growing economic prosperity and the development of naval power in Hellas. Thucydides later calls attention to Sparta’s march to its own political drum in his account of the Spartans’ famous deposition of tyrants in Athens and the rest of Hellas. This account, it should be noted, offers an overall positive assessment of Sparta’s development into a leading power in Hellas (1.18.1; cf. 1.122.3):9 But when the tyrants of Athens and those of the rest of Hellas (most of which had been ruled by tyrants for much longer than Athens) were, with the exception of those in Sicily, finally put down by the Lacedaemonians (for although Lacedaemon after its settlement by the Dorians, who now occupy it, experienced the longest known period of faction, it became well ordered at a very early date and has never been subject to tyrants. In fact, the Lacedaemonians have enjoyed the same form of government for slightly more than four hundred years approximately, reckoning to the end of this war, and consequently have been powerful enough to arrange the affairs of other cities as well).

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Ellen Millender By again exaggerating the endurance and prevalence of tyranny in Hellas, Thucydides underlines Sparta’s unusual inexperience of tyranny, an anomaly that Herodotus also notes in his Histories (5.92α2; cf. 5.92α1, 5.92η5).10 Thucydides’ ensuing assertion that the Spartans had possessed the same constitution for over four hundred years likewise points to their unique political development – or rather the lack thereof. While this passage provides evidence of Thucydides’ admiration of Spartan stability, we should keep in mind the link that Thucydides repeatedly forges between change and progress in the Archaeology.11 Moreover, in his claim regarding Sparta’s constitution, Thucydides again exaggerates and deviates from his own usual caution about the remote past (cf. 1.1.3).12 A quick look at Herodotus’ treatment of Spartan kingship, including Cleomenes’ assaults on the dyarchy (cf. 6.50–1, 61–71.1) and the change in policy regarding the kings’ command of the armies (cf. 5.75), makes it clear that Sparta’s political system continued to experience change during the archaic and classical periods.13 Thucydides amplifies the contrasts between Athenian and Spartan development adumbrated in the Archaeology into a full-fledged antithesis of the two societies in his account of the debate at Sparta in 432. Thucydides has the aggrieved Corinthians introduce this debate with a plea for Spartan resistance to Athenian aggression which likely reflects Athenian attitudes toward Sparta that were current at the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War (1.68–71).14 Instead of focusing on their particular complaints against Athens, the Corinthian envoys indulge in a harangue against Sparta’s inaction and incapacity for innovation that simultaneously eulogizes the Athenians’ almost demonic polypragmosyne and initiative (1.70–71.3). According to the Corinthians, Sparta’s ways, which they describe as oldfashioned (ἀρχαιότροπα – a neologism), and unchanging institutions (ἀκίνητα νόμιμα) are no match for Athenian innovation. Although the Corinthians never explicitly talk about Sparta’s politeia, a number of scholars have convincingly argued that at 1.71.2–3 the Corinthians are primarily referring to political institutions in their attack on Sparta’s outmoded νόμιμα:15 ‘But at the present time, as we have just shown, your ways are old-fashioned compared with theirs. In politics, as in any other craft, innovations must always prevail. And though traditional institutions are best for the city at peace, those who are forced into full activity have need of much invention. For this very reason the Athenians’ state, because of its vast experience, has undergone far more extensive reforms than yours’.16

The Corinthian envoys simultaneously treat politics as a craft (τέχνη) and define progress as an advance in τέχνη – which E. R. Dodds defined as ‘the systematic application of intelligence to any field of human activity’.17

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Thucydides’ alienation of Spartan kingship They claim that the Athenians have advanced far along the path of technical innovation in the political realm. The Spartans, conversely, have failed to make the changes both demanded by the τέχνη of politics and necessary to compete with Athens. As we have seen, Thucydides himself earlier associated such political change with progress in the Archaeology’s account of the Hellenes’ interconnected acquisition of wealth, establishment of tyrannies, and development of naval power (1.13.1). As I have argued elsewhere, the Corinthians here advise the Spartans to embrace another kind of innovation in political action if they want to compete with Athens on the Aegean stage: the dynamic harmonization of deliberation and action that Pericles’ Athenians had developed into a τέχνη (cf. 2.40.2–3).18 Thucydides’ Pericles supports this reading of the Corinthians’ critique of Spartan institutions when he opposes the Athenians’ rapid transformation of deliberation into action against the Peloponnesians’ lack of a central deliberative authority, rare meetings, and consequent inertia (1.140–4).19 If Thucydides’ Corinthians are indeed critiquing Spartan political torpor, it seems almost ironic that the response to their diatribe comes from the Lacedaemonian king, Archidamus II, the embodiment of Spartan political conservatism in the History (1.80–5). As we shall see, Thucydides’ Archidamus, through his unusual position as a king, his high level of concern with security and preparation, and his conservative attitude toward speech and τέχνη in general, seems to be a political throwback more at home in the earlier stages of Greek historical development than in fifthcentury Hellas. As head of the Eurypontid dynasty, one of Sparta’s two hereditary royal houses, Archidamus cannot help but recall those hereditary kingships (πατρικαὶ βασιλεῖαι) that – according to Thucydides – disappeared with the rise of tyranny throughout the Greek world (1.13.1). Not only was Archidamus’ kingship thus a relic of a bygone age, but Thucydides also portrays this Spartan king as, at heart, a traditionalist. Thucydides sets the tone for this portrait of Archidamus in his introduction to the king’s speech, where he describes the Eurypontid ruler as ‘a man held to be intelligent and prudent’ (1.79.2: ἀνὴρ καὶ ξυνετὸς δοκῶν εἶναι καὶ σώφρων). By labeling him alone in the History as σώφρων, Thucydides casts Archidamus as the epitome of Sparta’s cautious conservatism.20 It must be admitted, of course, that Thucydides provides a complex portrait of Archidamus II, particularly in his account of the Eurypontid king’s speech at the debate at Sparta.21 Archidamus emerges from his speech as an impressive figure. His integrity, sound judgment, obedience to the laws, and inability to be swayed by emotion and rhetoric into making hasty decisions represents the stability – and concomitant σωφροσύνη – of Sparta that repeatedly receives Thucydides’ praise (1.18.1, 132.5; 8.24.4;

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Ellen Millender cf. 1.68.1).22 Indeed, Thucydides’ characterization of Archidamus parallels his complex treatment of the term σωφροσύνη, which encapsulates, among other things, the concepts of soundness of mind, moderation, and selfcontrol – and which I thus translate here as ‘prudence’.23 In addition, Thucydides, as we have seen, claims that Archidamus was considered intelligent (ξυνετός). In his speech at the debate, Archidamus offers an intelligent estimation of Athens’ strengths and Sparta’s weaknesses. At the same time, he demonstrates an almost uncanny foresight in his theoretical discussion of the changes that the Lacedaemonians will need to make in order to address Athenian aggression (cf. 1.80–3).24 Archidamus, moreover, reveals an understanding of the limitations of the Spartans’ traditional tactics of invasion and devastation (1.81.2–6) and even of their superiority in hoplite tactics (1.83.2).25 Most surprising, perhaps, is his apparent ability to think outside the Spartan ‘box’ in his advice to his fellow Spartans to seek alliances among both Greeks and non-Greeks and to build up their naval and financial resources (1.82.1).26 Archidamus, however, responds to the Corinthians’ demand for action in purely materialist terms. He seems incapable of envisioning or embracing the kind of fundamental changes in Spartan character or institutions that would be necessary for the implementation of new military tactics.27 Instead, in the concluding sections of his speech (1.84–85.1), Thucydides’ Archidamus eulogizes the Spartans’ rigid conservatism, particularly their distrust of education that could threaten traditional Spartan values (1.84.3): We are good at both war and deliberation because we are well-ordered; warlike because self-control is largely based upon a sense of honor, and a sense of shame is largely based on courage. And we are good at deliberation because we are educated with too little learning to despise the laws and too rigorously trained in self-control to disobey them. And we are trained to avoid being too clever in useless matters – such as being able to produce in words an excellent criticism of the enemy’s preparations and then failing to proceed against them with equal success in practice.

He later goes on to claim that the Spartans are the best of men thanks to their education ‘in the severest school’ (1.84.4). Archidamus then concludes his speech by calling on his fellow Spartiates to adhere to their ancestral practices, which, he suggests, are capable of meeting the threat posed by Athenian imperialism (1.85.1). Thucydides’ Archidamus may be able to envision, and to advise, the Spartans to embrace new strategies and tactics. Nevertheless, his speech reveals his belief that such adaptations can occur without concomitant changes in Spartan character and politics – either internally or externally.

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Thucydides’ alienation of Spartan kingship Indeed, while Archidamus provides an analysis of the political situation that ostensibly represents and defends the Spartan point of view, his speech contrasts Sparta and Athens in much the same terms as the earlier oration delivered by the angered Corinthians. E. N. Tigerstedt goes even further and argues that Archidamus’ insistent praise of Sparta’s rigid conservatism results in an essentially Athenian-based portrait of Sparta that ‘resembles the Corinthians’ as the obverse does the reverse’.28 The dyarch’s attempt to refute the Corinthians’ attack upon Spartan inaction (ἡσυχία) certainly builds upon their criticism of Spartan caution and lethargy.29 It is perhaps not surprising that Archidamus uses the Corinthians’ terms in his attempt to put a positive spin on their attack on the Spartans’ slowness and hesitation (1.84.1: τὸ βραδὺ καὶ μέλλον; cf. 1.69.2, 70.4, 71.4).30 What is striking is his simple redefinition of these ingrained Spartan qualities as ‘sensible moderation’ (1.84.1–2: σωφροσύνη ἔμφρων) in place of a substantive response to the Corinthians’ call for change in Spartan character and practice.31 In addition, at various points in his speech, Archidamus provides a depiction of his fellow Spartans that closely links the Lacedaemonians to the early Hellenes that Thucydides describes in his Archaeology. Even though Archidamus himself does not categorically oppose an attack on Athens, he suggests that the Spartans’ usual military successes against the Peloponnesians and neighboring cities should make them reconsider a larger-scale attack against men who live far away (1.80.3). Here the king recalls Thucydides’ descriptions of the early Greeks’ small-scale attacks on their neighbors at 1.15 and 1.17. Equally noteworthy are Archidamus’ opposition of land-based and sea-based power and his description of the benefits that accrue to those that possess the latter – wealth and freedom from dependence on local resources (1.80, 81.1–4; cf. 1.82.1, 83.2).32 As Archidamus repeatedly argues, the Spartans – like all early Greeks and those Greeks that did not develop naval power – lack both financial resources and maritime experience (1.80.3–4, 82.1, 83.2–3; cf. 1.2–11). In his recognition of the interrelationship between naval power, revenue, and empire, Archidamus echoes Thucydides’ discussion of the early Hellenic navies at 1.15.1. One, at this point, might defend Archidamus as different from his fellow Spartans – and perhaps even radical – in his advice to take immediate steps to build up their navy and put their finances in order (1.82.1). Throughout the speech that Thucydides attributes to him, however, Archidamus likewise presents himself in terms that position him in the world of the past. He begins by asserting the authority of experience and age (1.80.1; cf. 2.11.1) and concludes by demanding that the Spartans not give up the

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Ellen Millender practices that their ancestors handed down to them and that have always benefited them (1.85.1; cf. 2.11.1–2, 9).33 In between these two points, Archidamus’ speech contains ‘all the familiar catchwords of Dorian conservatism’, often repeated, such as σωφρόνως (‘prudently’: 1.80.2) and σωφροσύνη (‘prudence’: 1.84.2, 3), εὔβουλοι (‘wise’: 1.84.3), τὸ εὔκοσμον (‘orderliness’: 1.84.3), and καθ᾿ ἡσυχίαν (‘at leisure’: 1.83.3, 85.1).34 As E. D. Francis has noted, Archidamus also peppers his speech with bits of quaint, aphoristic wisdom, such as his admonition against undertaking the war unprepared, since hurry at the beginning will result in delay at the end (1.84.1).35 Even more worthy of attention is Archidamus’ preoccupation with security, which recalls the Corinthians’ critique of the Spartans as risk averse (cf., esp., 1.69.5). This stance also links the king with those archaic tyrants who ostensibly ruled much of Hellas and whose focus on security stifled achievement in the poleis that they controlled (1.17):36 And wherever there were tyrants in the Hellenic cities, their habit of providing for themselves alone, of looking to their personal comfort and the aggrandizement of their own family, led them to govern their cities above all with the maximum security, and only against neighboring peoples did they accomplish anything at all significant.

Archidamus opens his speech by noting his concern that the war will not be a safe thing (ἀσφαλές: 1.80.1). He later claims that the Lacedaemonians properly ground their hopes in the secure provisions they make (ἡμῶν αὐτῶν ἀσφαλῶς προνοουμένων) rather than in the possible mistakes that the enemy may make (1.84.4). Archidamus’ concern for security reappears in his later speech before the Peloponnesians’ invasion of Attica in 431 at 2.11.3 (ἀσφάλεια), 2.11.5 (ἀσφαλέστατοι), and 2.11.9 (ἀσφαλέστατον). One might argue that such a concern for preparation is just another manifestation of Archidamus’ intelligence and that it would be sensible for any leader to plan carefully before going to war. June Allison, however, has noted the unparalleled proliferation of terms connected with the theme of preparation in Archidamus’ first speech at 1.80–5. The term ἀπαράσκευος (‘unprepared’) occurs three times (1.80.3, 82.5, 84.1); παρασκευή (‘preparation’: 1.82.3, 84.3), παρασκευάζειν (‘to prepare’: 1.84.4, 85.2), and ἐξαρτύειν (‘to get ready’: 1.80.3, 82.1) each turn up twice; and ἀντιπαρασκευάζειν (‘to prepare oneself in turn’: 1.80.4), πορίζειν (‘to provide’: 1.83.3) and ἐκπορίζειν (‘to provide’: 1.82.1) each make one appearance.37 These and similar terms appear eight more times in his later speech at 2.11, especially when he extols the advantages of careful planning (2.11.3–5): ‘Accordingly, even if there are some who think that we are attacking with the advantage in numbers and that there is full certainty (ἀσφάλεια) that the

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Thucydides’ alienation of Spartan kingship enemy will not meet us in battle, we must not on that account proceed with any less care in our preparations (παρεσκευασμένους); but the commanders and soldiers of each city should constantly be prepared to encounter danger (προσδέχεσθαι ἐς κίνδυνον) in their own quarters. There is much that is unpredictable in war, and attacks are generally dictated by the impulse of the moment. And often an apprehensive (δεδιός) smaller force has been better able to fight off superior numbers unprepared (ἀπαρασκεύους) through overconfidence. When in enemy territory, an army should always advance confidently, but after making thorough preparations based on fear (δεδιότας παρεσκευάσθαι); in this way armies are likely to be most courageous in attacking their enemies and most secure (ἀσφαλέστατοι) in meeting attacks’.38

Many other aspects of Archidamus’ speech help to locate this king in the past, especially his use of and attitude toward speech.39 Daniel Tompkins has observed the absence or rare appearance of a substantial number of stylistic features in Archidamus’ speech. He argues that through this speech Thucydides portrays Archidamus as a cautious and prudent figure who was either unaware of or uninterested in the major developments in rhetoric in the late fifth century.40 Thucydides’ Archidamus, however, not only consistently avoids the innovative rhetorical forms of his day but also reveals a hostility toward rhetorical skill, which he views as dangerous in its contribution to lawlessness and lack of grounding in reality (1.84.3). Especially striking are both the king’s characterization of the Spartans as immune to the destructive power of seductive rhetoric (1.84.2) and his contempt for rhetorical skill – likely of the Athenian variety – as useless cleverness (τὰ ἀχρεῖα ξυνετοί) (1.84.3).41 Granted, Archidamus’ avoidance of verbal pyrotechnics and antipathy toward rhetoric are not unique. These traits likewise appear in Thucydides’ characterization of the ephor Sthenelaïdas as a philistine unable either to understand or to make long speeches (1.86). Sthenelaïdas, in fact, goes even further than Archidamus in his call for an end to speech and focus on action. In addition, the ephor appears even more attached to the past in his praise of the Spartans as ‘the same men then [i.e. during the Persian Wars] and now’ (1.86: ἡμεῖς δὲ ὁμοίοι καὶ τότε καὶ νῦν ἐσμέν).42 He also seems more conservative than the king in terms of his understanding of the new strategies that the Spartans will need to embrace in order to fight Athens effectively.43 In comparison to the ephor, who calls for a declaration of war, Archidamus may even seem to be progressive in his suggested changes in diplomacy and military tactics.44 At the same time, however, Thucydides’ portrait of these Lacedaemonians emphasizes their differences as political players and ultimately strengthens Archidamus’ links with the past. In his vehemence and call for an

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Ellen Millender immediate response to Athenian aggression, the ephor – at least temporarily – seems to suspend Thucydides’ polarization of Spartan torpor and Athenian dynamism. He alone answers the Corinthians’ demands for change in the form of speed and action. More importantly, Sthenelaïdas proves far more politically successful than Archidamus. Although Archidamus offers cogent arguments against the decision to go to war with Athens and its allies, his speech proves ineffectual, in marked contrast to Sthenelaïdas’ brief harangue and ensuing manipulation of the Spartan assembly. According to Thucydides, the ephor claimed that he could not determine which side’s acclamation was louder and thus forced the Spartans to declare their opinions openly, by asking them to move to a particular place in order to increase their eagerness for war (1.87.2). Sthenelaïdas’ speech underlines Archidamus’ failure as a political leader both through its immediate appeal and, more importantly, through its almost total lack of engagement with the dyarch’s preceding call for caution.45 Even more remarkable is the ephor’s critique of the more experienced king’s assessment of Sparta’s status in the Greek world in 432, which becomes explicit in his scornful treatment and redefinition of the terms that Archidamus uses in his analysis of Spartan character.46 One should note, for example, Sthenelaïdas’ mocking repetition of terms denoting ‘hesitation’ – μελλήσομεν, μέλλουσι (1.86.2), and μέλλοντας (1.86.4). Reminiscent of the Corinthians’ earlier attack on Spartan caution (1.69.2 and 4, 70.4, 71.1), his critique of Spartan dawdling subverts Archidamus’ idealization of slowness and hesitation (τὸ βραδὺ καὶ μέλλον) as sensible prudence (σωφροσύνη ἔμφρων) at 1.84.1–2.47 Sthenelaïdas also attacks Archidamus’ understanding of σωφροσύνη at 1.84.2–3. He even parodies the king’s use of this term in his calculations at 1.80.2 (σωφρόνως ... ἐκλογίζοιτο) with his own biting redefinition of this term as swift aid for Sparta’s wronged allies (1.86.2: καὶ τοὺς ξυμμάχους, ἢν σωφρονῶμεν, οὐ περιοψόμεθα ἀδικουμένους οὐδὲ μελλήσομεν τιμωρεῖν): ‘And if we are sensible, we will not allow our allies to be wronged or wait to help them’.48 By thus divorcing σωφροσύνη from the concepts of slowness and hesitation, Sthenelaïdas offers a revised definition of Spartan character to meet the criticisms of the Corinthian envoys present at the debate. Like them, the Spartan ephor represents the traditional virtues that Archidamus embodies and defends – caution and moderation – as old-fashioned and incapable of meeting the challenge of Athens’ new brand of hegemony. While Sthenelaïdas in the end does not make a call for political change or innovation in military strategies and tactics, his demand for action has serious political consequences. As superficial as his call for change may be, the ephor answers the Corinthians’ demand for a speedy response. He

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Thucydides’ alienation of Spartan kingship thereby addresses their threat that if the Spartans did not move quickly, their angered allies would have to look elsewhere for an alliance (1.71.4–6). After concluding his speech, Sthenelaïdas adds further insult to injury when he demands that his fellow Spartiates advertise their opinions by standing in designated places in the assembly, thereby turning Archidamus’ political failure into a visual spectacle (1.87.2). When the debate ends, King Archidamus finds himself embattled by angered allies, arrogant enemies, a contemptuous ephor, and now his fellow citizens, who reject his traditional equation of prudence and caution (1.84.1–3) and his reading of the political situation.49 Archidamus not only appears old-fashioned but also becomes politically outdated in his own right, as the ephor assumes the reins of Spartan foreign policy, and his fellow Spartiates willingly acquiesce in the king’s humiliating defeat. In the end, however, Thucydides does not provide an explanation for Archidamus’ inability to achieve his ends – at least not explicitly, perhaps to impress his reader with the striking nature of Archidamus’ failure to persuade his fellow Spartiates.50 Scholars have typically attributed Archidamus’ failure to advance his political agenda either to Sthenelaïdas’ effective rhetoric or to the irrational mood of the Spartan assembly in 432.51 Both theories rest on the assumption that Archidamus was an intelligent figure whose ‘persuasive abilities were simply not sufficient to overcome the pressures of necessity produced by the growth of Athens and the subsequent complaints of Sparta’s allies’.52 This reading of Archidamus’ political acumen, however, is not warranted by Thucydides’ treatment of the Spartan king in Book One, despite his aforementioned introduction of Archidamus as ‘a man held to be intelligent and prudent’ (1.79.2: ἀνὴρ καὶ ξυνετὸς δοκῶν εἶναι καὶ σώφρων). While many have interpreted this statement as explicit praise of Archidamus’ intelligence (ξύνεσις), it is noteworthy that Thucydides’ description of Archidamus’ ξύνεσις differs from his references to other figures’ intelligence in the History. As Price has noted, intelligence is a quality that Thucydides attributes ‘to only a few leaders whom he admires, and significantly in each case, the individual’s intelligence is said to be complemented by capacity for action or actual accomplishment’.53 In his introduction to Archidamus, on the contrary, Thucydides fails to combine his reference to Archidamus’ ξύνεσις with ‘a mention of this same capacity for decisive and important action’.54 More importantly, even though Thucydides’ Archidamus offers cogent arguments against war with Athens, Thucydides obscures his own view of the dyarch’s intelligence by using the term δοκῶν (‘having the reputation’) to qualify his description of the dyarch as ξυνετός (‘intelligent’). Preceded as it is by the Corinthians’ and

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Ellen Millender Athenians’ criticism of Sparta and then followed by Sthenelaïdas’ disdainful speech and his fellow Spartiates’ complicity in Archidamus’ political failure, Thucydides’ introduction of the king at 1.79.2 becomes even more puzzling.55 Such qualified recognition of Archidamus’ intelligence, however, is far from surprising, when we consider Thucydides’ similar claim concerning the Spartan general Brasidas’ reputation for ξύνεσις (4.81.2).56 While it is true that Thucydides likewise notes the Athenian Phrynichus’ reputed intelligence at 8.27.5, he elsewhere offers an unalloyed description of Phrynichus as ξυνετός (8.68).57 Indeed, Thucydides’ unqualified references to intelligence are only applied to the Athenians and to the Syracusan Hermocrates (6.72.2) – perhaps not coincidentally another democratic figure.58 Archidamus further undermines his reputation for intelligence in his eulogy of the Spartans’ well-ordered society. Here he describes his compatriots as both educated with too little learning (ἀμαθέστερον) to despise the laws and not overly intelligent in useless things (τὰ ἀχρεῖα ξυνετοί), such as rhetoric (1.84.3).59 Even though Archidamus himself demonstrates that he is well aware of the Athenians’ activities (cf., esp., 1.82.1), his praise of his fellow Spartiates’ ignorance cannot help but recall the Corinthians’ criticism of Sparta’s ἀμαθία regarding foreign affairs (1.68.1), which they offer to correct through instruction (1.68.2–3).60 Archidamus’ defense of ignorance also parallels the Athenian demagogue Cleon’s later diatribe against clever speech in Thucydides’ account of the Mytilenean Debate (3.37–40). Cleon’s speech resonates with Archidamus’ eulogy of Spartan character in its praise of σωφροσύνη, which Cleon combines with a defense of ἀμαθία and an attack on those with greater intelligence (τοὺς ξυνετωτέρους), whose clever speech threatens to undermine the city’s laws (3.37.3–5; cf. 3.40.2–3).61 Archidamus’ defense of Spartan ἀμαθία receives an indirect rebuttal in all three of Pericles’ orations, which question the efficacy of confidence that arises from ignorance in the face of the Athenians’ superior naval skill (1.142.8), daring born of reasoned deliberation (2.40.3), and intelligence (2.62.4–5).62 Pericles’ Funeral Oration offers a particularly sharp response to the dyarch’s knock at clever speech at 1.84.2–3. The Athenian leader contrasts the – albeit unnamed – Spartans’ inability to harmonize speech and action with the Athenians’ natural ability to combine careful deliberation with activity that is both daring and thorough in its calculations (2.40.2–3).63 Thucydides, too, views the ability to speak and ξύνεσις as mutually supportive components of effective leadership, as he demonstrates in his descriptions of Themistocles (1.138.2–3), Pericles (1.139.4; 2.34.6, 60.5, 65.4–9), and Hermocrates (6.72–73.1).64

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Thucydides’ alienation of Spartan kingship By simultaneously qualifying Archidamus’ ξύνεσις and emphasizing his σωφροσύνη, Thucydides represents the Spartan king as a leader whose traditional outlook overshadows his insight.65 At the same time, as we have already seen, Thucydides’ unique labeling of the Spartan king as σώφρων (‘prudent’) at 1.79.2 firmly links Archidamus with the qualities of slowness (βραδυτής), inactivity (ἡσυχία), caution (cf., e.g., forms of μέλλω and ἀσφαλής), and ignorance (ἀμαθία) that both the Corinthians and Archidamus himself attach to Spartan σωφροσύνη in their speeches at the debate at Sparta.66 As an ἀνὴρ σώφρων, Archidamus, moreover, consistently reveals an ambivalent – if not outright hostile – attitude toward the change and progress that the Corinthians earlier demand and define as an advance in τέχνη (cf. 1.71.2–3). He avoids new rhetorical techniques, defends his compatriots’ ignorance, and remains attached to Sparta’s ancestral practices.67 Thucydides’ Archidamus, however, does not simply disdain clever words. He also lacks that talent so essential to successful political leadership – as conceived by the Athenians at least: the ability to adjust one’s rhetoric to meet the demands of the situation and the temper of one’s compatriots so finely demonstrated by Thucydides’ Pericles (2.65.8). Instead, the Spartan dyarch proves to be out of sync with his audience and consequently unable to persuade the Spartan assembly to adopt what he considers the best course of action. Thucydides makes this disjuncture especially clear in his claim that before Archidamus’ speech most Spartiates believed that war should be declared without delay (1.79.2). This description of the Spartan assembly’s mood, in terms of its demand for haste (πολεμητέα εἶναι ἐν τάχει), both echoes the Corinthians’ call for an immediate invasion of Attica (1.71.4: κατὰ τάχος) and foreshadows Sthenelaïdas’ own demand for a rapid response to Athenian aggression (1.86.3: τιμωρητέα ἐν τάχει).68 Such a mood could only clash with the king’s cautious prudence. Even though Archidamus seems to surpass his conservative compatriots in his adherence to the Spartans’ traditional slowness and hesitation, Thucydides makes it clear that the king was no outlier but rather symptomatic of Spartan political torpor.69 Despite his defeat at the debate at Sparta in 432, Thucydides’ Archidamus appears to have suffered no diminution in political power. Rather, when Thucydides next introduces Archidamus II in the History, he informs us that the king was now in command of the Spartans’ first invasion of Attica in 431 BCE (2.10–23). It cannot but seem ironic that the leading opponent of the war was put in charge of the very kind of expedition that he earlier viewed as futile (1.81.2–6) – despite his own attachment to this strategy (1.82.2–4) – and hoped to delay for at least a few years (1.82). This expedition only further undermined Archidamus’ status, as the slow progress of the invasion

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Ellen Millender prompted the Peloponnesian troops’ criticism of his strategy (2.18.2–5).70 Nevertheless, Thucydides makes it clear that Archidamus remained stubbornly supportive of this tactic (2.11.1) and believed – incorrectly – that the Athenians would fight because of their attachment to their land (2.11.6–8; cf. 1.82.2–4).71 Despite the king’s growing unpopularity and his failure to provoke the Athenians into battle, Thucydides suggests that Archidamus remained at the helm in Sparta until his death in 428/7 BCE (cf. 2.71–5; 3.1.1, 89.1).72 In both his own recalcitrant traditionalism and the longevity of his rule, Archidamus thus exemplifies the Spartans’ failure to advance in the area of political τέχνη – an advancement that Thucydides himself explicitly associates with progress in his Archaeology (1.13.1). Archidamus’ kingship, as we have seen, likewise underlines the Spartans’ failure to make the political innovation that the Corinthians view as a necessity to compete with Athens (1.71.2–3): the dynamic harmonization of deliberation and action. Thucydides’ Spartans may follow Sthenelaïdas’ call for a speedy response to Athenian aggression, but they fail to escape their political tone deafness. Sparta continues to be politically and militarily dominated by a king who is at once distrustful of discourse and rhetorically ineffective. He thus cannot turn any of his cogent advice into policy; instead, he ends up implementing outmoded and largely unsuccessful military tactics – in 431 and again in 430 (2.47.2, 55–56.1, 57) and 428 (3.1–3). Thucydides’ chronological distancing of Sparta – and concomitant opposition between Athenian innovation and Spartan torpor – not only figures prominently in the Archaeology and Thucydides’ account of the debate at Sparta in 432. It also reappears at the conclusion of Book One in Pericles’ first speech to the Athenians following the Spartans’ ultimatum (1.140–4). In this speech Pericles claims that Athens’ development of a navy made it a formidable foe to the land-based, impoverished, and oldfashioned Peloponnesians (1.141.2–143). The Athenian leader here clearly recalls the Corinthians’ and Archidamus’ opposing of the rival poleis.73 Pericles’ speech, moreover, reflects Thucydides’ own understanding of the strength and advantages enjoyed by naval powers (cf. 1.13–15). Pericles’ description of the underdeveloped Peloponnesians, more importantly, parallels Thucydides’ portrait of the early Greeks, who likewise lacked both financial resources (1.141.3–142.1; cf. 1.2–11) and knowledge of seafaring (1.141.4, 142.2–143; cf., esp. 1.3.4), had no experience of long wars across the sea (1.141.3; cf. 1.15.2), could not sustain extended military campaigns because of their need to cultivate the soil (1.141.4–5; cf. 1.11), and were incapable of effectual collective action (1.141.6–7; cf. 1.3.4, 15.2, 17).74 As Pericles concludes, their limited funds and seafaring experience would

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Thucydides’ alienation of Spartan kingship make it all but impossible for the Peloponnesians to match the Athenians’ experience and knowledge of seamanship (1.142.5–6), which he describes as a τέχνη (1.142.9). By the conclusion of Book One, accordingly, Thucydides has continuously portrayed the Spartans as obsolescent, particularly in comparison with their unnaturally progressive Athenian rivals. What is so interesting about Thucydides’ construction of Sparta’s chronological ‘otherness’ is its focus on the Lacedaemonians’ failure to advance in two interrelated areas of cultural development that Thucydides equates with progress and that speakers in the History deem τέχναι: politics and seafaring. Both Archidamus and Pericles argue that the Lacedaemonians’ lack of naval expertise puts them at a serious disadvantage in a hegemonic contest with Athens. The Corinthian envoys’ tirade against Spartan torpor, however, suggests that political innovations are even more necessary, if the Lacedaemonians are going to compete successfully in a world so altered by Athenian dynamism (1.71.2–3). Pericles indirectly supports the Corinthians’ call for political change in his Funeral Oration, which underlines the central role that Athens’ pedagogic constitution played in the progress of his polis (2.36.4, 37.1). In his implicit opposition of Athens and Sparta, Pericles suggests that the Spartans have to contend with a rival that has made unprecedented advances – socially, culturally, militarily, and economically – thanks to the kind of political innovations that the Corinthians call for in their advice to the Spartans in 432. The Corinthians’ and Pericles’ focus on Athenian political development recalls Thucydides’ aforementioned account of historical progress in the Archaeology, where he prioritizes political change over the development of naval power (1.13.1). Thucydides, more importantly, seems to support these various speakers’ suggestions that the Lacedaemonians need to make innovations – especially in the realm of politics – in order to survive in a world redefined by Athenian imperialism. His agreement with Sparta’s critics is most apparent in his barbed commentary on the Peloponnesians’ failure to exploit Athens’ lack of naval defense in 411 (8.96.5; cf. 1.118.2; 4.108.6): But on this occasion, as on many others, the Lacedaemonians proved to be the most convenient of all people for the Athenians to be at war with. For being the most different from them in their way of doing things – the one people being quick, the other slow, the one enterprising, the other timid – they proved of the greatest service, especially to a naval power [like Athens]. The Syracusans demonstrated this; for since they were most similar to the Athenians in manner, they also fought the best against them.

Thucydides’ vague description of the differences among the Athenians, Spartans, and Syracusans may remind one of the Corinthian envoys’

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Ellen Millender seemingly generalized critique of the Lacedaemonians’ old-fashioned ways (ἀρχαιότροπα ἐπιτηδεύματα) and unchanging institutions (ἀκίνητα νόμιμα).75 Jonathan Price, however, has convincingly argued that Thucydides is primarily focusing upon forms of political management and military conduct in his claim that the Spartans and Athenians were ‘the most different in their way of doing things’ (διάφοροι πλεῖστον ὄντες τὸν τρόπον), while the Athenians and Syracusans were ‘most similar in manner’ (μάλιστα ὁμοιότροποι). As Price notes, Thucydides makes this emphasis clear in his earlier explanation of Syracuse’s relatively rapid victory over Athens, where he defines this similarity of manner (ὁμοιοτρόποις) in terms of both poleis’ democratic forms of government, naval forces, cavalry, and size – in that precise order (7.55.2).76 Taken together, these two passages reveal Thucydides’ belief that Syracuse, unlike slow and unenterprising Sparta, enjoyed the type of political structure which fueled the military innovations that were needed to compete with Athens. II. Sparta’s νόμιμα ἄμεικτα: Archidamus, Pausanias, and Spartan political ‘otherness’ Thucydides’ location of the Lacedaemonians in the past, through their adherence to outmoded ways and inertia, conceptually alienates Sparta from the rest of Greece not only temporally but also spatially by implicitly linking the Spartans with the barbarian enemies of Hellas.77 Thucydides effects this spatial distancing in several ways in Book One of the History, beginning with his explicit association of the past with the foreign in his Archaeology (1.6) – the same section of his text that repeatedly emphasizes Spartan conservatism (cf. 1.10.2, 13.1, 18.1). The Athenian envoys featured in Thucydides’ account of the debate at Sparta in 432 make this spatial distancing far more explicit in a surprisingly understudied passage in which they distinguish Spartan customs (νόμιμα) from those of the rest of the Greeks (1.77.6). In an attempt to defend their own imperial rule, the Athenians suggest that the Spartans would prove to be equally unpopular rulers because of their νόμιμα, which are ἄμεικτα – i.e., they do not mix well with those of others – and which the Lacedaemonians fail to observe when abroad.78 The envoys’ use of the term ἄμεικτα is noteworthy, since it recalls Thucydides’ description of the early Greeks’ failure to accomplish anything in common because of their weakness and lack of contact (ἀμειξία) at 1.3.4. The envoys’ language also brings to mind Herodotus’ description of the early Spartans as ‘not mixing with strangers’ (1.65.2: ξείνοισι ἀπρόσμεικτοι).79 The Spartans’ ‘unmixed’ customs again situate them in the past and likewise distance them from their fellow Hellenes. The Athenians’ reference to a disjuncture between Spartan and Hellenic

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Thucydides’ alienation of Spartan kingship νόμιμα (1.77.6) acquires both clarity and validation in the History’s treatment of the infamous Spartan regent, Pausanias, in Thucydides’ account of the Pentecontaetia (1.89–117) and his later excursus on the fall of Pausanias and the Athenian Themistocles (1.128–38). It is in his depiction of Pausanias, moreover, that Thucydides most firmly associates the Spartans – particularly those belonging to the hereditary royal houses – with both Greece’s barbarian foes and tyranny. Thucydides first fleshes out the Athenians’ complaints about Spartan rule (1.77.6) in his description of the Lacedaemonians’ leadership of the Hellenes against the Mede (1.94–96.1). Thucydides here also begins to illuminate Sparta’s ostensibly ‘unmixed’ customs when he briefly recounts Pausanias’ violence (1.95.1), imitation of tyranny (1.95.3), and the charge of medism lodged against the regent. As Thucydides claims, such outrageous behavior alarmed the Hellenes (1.95.1), who brought accusations against Pausanias (1.95.3) and turned to Athens (the traditional defender of Greek suppliants) for protection against the would-be tyrant (1.95.1–2, 4; cf. 1.75.2). The true meaning and extent of the ‘unmixed nature’ of the Lacedaemonians’ customs, however, is only revealed in Thucydides’ later excursus on Pausanias, which recounts in detail the ties of the Agiad regent with the court of Achaemenid Persia and his transformation into a tyrant manqué (1.128.3–135.1). As I have stated above, scholars have long been troubled by many aspects of Thucydides’ digression on Pausanias. Thucydides’ treatment of the correspondence between Pausanias and the Persians as authentic, for example, has sparked suspicion regarding the entire episode. Debate also continues to abound concerning Thucydides’ sources for this excursus, his chronology of events, and the true nature of Pausanias’ intentions.80 For these and other reasons, several historians have dismissed the whole account as an Athenian fabrication, along with the trumped-up charges of medism that were ‘invented to facilitate the Athenian seizure and retention of hegemony’.81 Whatever the reality may be behind Pausanias’ activity in Sparta and Byzantium, Thucydides chose to include this problematic account in the History. Moreover, his own vehement testament to its accuracy (1.132.4; cf. 1.95.5) and Herodotus’ skepticism concerning Pausanias’ aspirations to become tyrant of Greece with Persian aid (5.32) demonstrate that there were likely several versions of Pausanias’ downfall circulating in Greece at the time.82 Thucydides’ depiction of the regent certainly bears little or no relation to Herodotus’ portrait of the victor of Plataea. In his treatment of the events following the Hellenes’ victory at Plataea, Herodotus portrays Pausanias as a noble and wise leader, who succors the Coan concubine of Pharandates (9.76.3), repudiates barbarian mutilation of the dead (9.79.1),

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Ellen Millender mocks Persian luxury (9.82), and spares the innocent children of the Theban medizer, Attaginus (9.88). Granted, Herodotus refers to Pausanias’ hubris in his brief statement about Athens’ eventual acquisition of leadership over the Greeks. Nevertheless, he immediately undercuts this reference through his focus on Athens’ early imperial ambitions and ostensibly treacherous usurpation of Sparta’s hegemony (8.3.2). In stark contrast stands Thucydides’ Pausanias, whose hubris, lawlessness, treachery, and violence recall the many autocrats, including several Spartan kings, who inhabit Herodotus’ Histories.83 As Thucydides’ narrative progresses, Pausanias becomes a veritable caricature of tyranny – a bizarre development when one considers the Spartans’ inexperience of tyranny (1.13.1; Hdt. 5.92α2; cf. 5.92α1, 92η5) and reputation for deposing tyrants elsewhere in Hellas (1.18.1; cf. 1.122.3) in the archaic period. The regent closely follows the pattern of the would-be despot, as if he had studied Herodotus’ account of the foundation of the Median monarchy (1.96–100) and the Persian Otanes’ speech in the famous ‘Constitutional Debate’ (3.80.2–5).84 Pausanias degenerates both morally and physically into a barbarian despot, as he intrigues with Xerxes (1.128.3–129), develops delusions of grandeur (1.130.1), adopts Median fashion and a bodyguard (1.130.1), puts on Persian-style banquets (1.130.1), and develops a harsh temper (1.130.2). He also shuts himself off, like the Mede Deioces, from normal contact with other men (1.130.2; cf. Hdt. 1.99). Thucydides’ description of Pausanias’ correspondence with the Persian king, moreover, links the medizing regent with those Herodotean autocrats who employ the written word and demonstrate a similar concern with the secrecy of their written communications (cf. Hdt. 1.123.3–124.1; 5.35.2–3). The secret written instructions to kill his messenger that Pausanias appends to his last letter for the Persian king (1.132.5) particularly associate the regent with Herodotus’ Darius, who similarly communicates his demand for Oroetes’ murder (3.128.2–5).85 The hubristic couplet that Pausanias had inscribed on the Delphic tripod to celebrate his role in the Greeks’ victory over the Persians (1.132.2–3) even further bonds the Spartan would-be-tyrant to the Eastern autocrats he befriends and emulates.86 Through his lawlessness, his emulation of non-Greeks, and his deviations from established customs (καθεστώτων νομίμων) (1.132.2), Pausanias becomes the exemplar of Spartan foreignness, and of the Lacedaimonians’ inability to follow their own νόμιμα when away from Sparta (1.77.6), just as Archidamus earlier emerged as the exemplar of Lacedaemonian obsolescence. Thucydides, however, likewise locates the Spartan regent in the past by associating him with another would-be-tyrant, the Athenian Cylon. His excursus on Pausanias, in fact, closely follows his

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Thucydides’ alienation of Spartan kingship description of Cylon’s failure to seize power in Athens in the late seventh century (1.126). Like Cylon, Thucydides’ Pausanias attempts to gain power through a marital alliance (1.128.7; cf. 1.126.3), has a great reputation that lends itself to conceit (1.130.1; cf. 1.126.5), and ultimately takes refuge at a religious site, where he is besieged by his fellow citizens and deprived of sustenance (1.134.1–3; cf. 1.126.7–10). Cylon manages to escape, but Pausanias suffers the same fate as many of Cylon’s followers after he is taken out of the temple of the Goddess of the Brazen House (1.134.3; cf. 1.126.10–11). The salient difference between the two figures lies in the response of their respective poleis to their attempts at tyranny. According to Thucydides, the Athenians quickly responded to the news of Cylon’s seizure of the Acropolis, coming in from the country in full force to blockade Cylon’s party on the Acropolis (1.126.7). Their rapid reaction to the threat of tyranny in this account parallels their later hasty move against their greatest benefactor, Themistocles. The Athenian leader became entangled in Pausanias’ fall from grace and was condemned for medism in absentia at the mere imputation of his Spartan enemies (1.135.2–138). In contrast, Thucydides’ accounts of Pausanias’ aim at tyranny portray the Spartans’ reaction to the regent’s supposedly glaring medism as hesitant and cautious, at best (1.95, 128.3–135.1). In his brief account of the Pentecontaetia, Thucydides claims that the Spartan authorities recalled the regent to face a court of inquiry in connection with the reports of his activities and condemned him for acts of injustice against individuals. The Spartans, however, acquitted Pausanias on all of the main charges, including the serious and apparently well-documented charge of collaboration with the Persians (1.95.3–5). Such a turn of events would seem unexpected, given the arrival of aggrieved Hellenes, who accused Pausanias of behaving more like a tyrant than a strate¯gos (1.95.3). As Thucydides points out in a passage that may reveal more about Athenian hegemonic machinations than about Spartan misconduct, these reports of Pausanias’ tyrannical ambitions received a far more aggressive response from the Athenians, who quickly decided to check Pausanias and arrange matters to suit their own hegemonic interests (1.95.2).87 The later excursus on Pausanias and Themistocles provides an even more damning portrait of Spartan passivity in response to the regent’s reputed gross misconduct toward the other Hellenes. Thucydides opens this account with a depiction of Pausanias as a leader running amok in the Hellespontine region, despite what must have seemed to be glaring evidence of his medism and aspirations to tyranny (1.128.3–130). The Spartan authorities, after receiving reports concerning Pausanias’

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Ellen Millender correspondence with Xerxes and his assumption of tyrannical trappings, recalled, tried, and even relieved him of his command. They nevertheless acquitted him and seem to have arranged no oversight of their wayward regent. Apparently left to his own devices, Pausanias, on his own initiative, returned to the Hellespont in a ship from Hermione in order to intrigue with the Persian king in his bid for Hellenic rule (1.128.3, 131.1). We next hear of Pausanias establishing a base at Colonae in the Troad, where he was reported to be continuing his plotting with Persia and prolonging his stay abroad for no obvious reason (1.131.1). Although Pausanias came home in response to the ephors’ scytale, Thucydides claims that the regent felt confident that he could bribe his way out of punishment and somehow managed to have himself released from prison (1.131.2).88 In his account of Pausanias’ final reckoning, Thucydides emphasizes that the Spartan authorities knew about the regent’s inscription on the Delphic tripod, heard reports of his intrigues with the helots, and received information from some of the helots themselves. They also, apparently, were long aware of Pausanias’ adoption of foreign ways and inability to abide by accepted rules of behavior (1.132; cf. 1.131.1). Despite this heap of circumstantial evidence, Thucydides states that the Spartans needed more definite evidence to justify condemning a man who belonged to one of the royal families (1.132.1) and were loath to condemn rashly one of their own (1.132.5).89 When Pausanias’ messenger from Argilus turned informer and showed the ephors the last letter for the Persian king, the Spartans finally took action but only so far as to seek even firmer evidence by eavesdropping on a conversation between Pausanias and his traitorous favorite (1.132.5–133). Only then did the ephors decide to arrest the medizing regent but failed to do so when one of the five, out of friendship, gave Pausanias a secret sign to show him that he was in danger. The ephor thus enabled the renegade regent to escape to the temple of the Goddess of the Brazen House, where the Spartan authorities finally trapped Pausanias and starved him to death (I.134.1–3). The Lacedaemonians’ excessive reluctance to punish a royal Spartiate, despite Thucydides’ unusually strong claim at 1.95.5 that the charge of medism was ‘most clear’ (σαφέστατον), implicates them in the regent’s medism.90 In their dogged respect for their hereditary royal families, Thucydides’ Lacedaemonians further tighten the link between Sparta and the non-Greek world that their ostensibly medizing regent, Pausanias, forges in Thucydides’ account. Consequently, despite their own reputed inexperience of and opposition to tyranny, the Spartans in Book One appear to be far closer than Thucydides’ imperialistic Athenians to Hellas’ barbarian foes.

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Thucydides’ alienation of Spartan kingship III. Conclusion: Spartan kingship and Greek hegemony The History’s portraits of Archidamus II and the regent Pausanias, together with the Athenian envoys’ hints at Spartan foreignness and the many associations that Thucydides and his various speakers make between Lacedaemon and the early Greek world, effect a distance between Sparta and the rest of Hellas that is at once chronologically, spatially, and, most importantly, politically based. The Spartans emerge from Book One of the History as a people whose kingship simultaneously situates them in the past and associates them with the Greeks’ barbarian foes. And it is here that we seem to run into a problem, for the two royal figures who occupy so much of Thucydides’ attention in this book appear to provide contradictory visions of Spartan political ‘progress’. Archidamus, who fails to envision any kind of political change, ultimately calls for the Spartans to adhere to their traditional caution and hesitation in the face of Athenian aggression. Thucydides’ Pausanias, on the other hand, seems entirely capable of imagining monumental political changes (though not the kind of change advocated by the Corinthians at 1.73) both internally, in terms of his own quest for tyranny, and externally, in his collaboration with the Persians. Thucydides, however, provides a key link between these royal Spartans in his accounts of their attitudes toward and treatment of their fellow Hellenes. As his depiction of the debate at Sparta makes clear, this issue occupied center stage at the outbreak of the war in Athenian propaganda, which attempted to undermine the Spartans’ vaunted position as the liberators of the Hellenes.91 In Thucydides’ account of the debate in 432, the Athenian envoys explicitly claim that if the Spartans had persisted in their hegemony over the Greeks in the continuing struggle against Persia and had become as unpopular as the Athenians had, they would have been no less severe towards their allies and would have been forced to rule with a strong hand (1.76.1: ἄρχειν ἐγκρατῶς; cf. 1.77.6: ἄρξαιτε). Later in their speech, the Athenians show how easily the Spartans could follow Athens’ natural evolution into a πόλις τύραννος (1.77.6; cf. 1.122.3, 124.3; 2.63.2; 3.37.2): ‘If you should, then, become rulers after overthrowing us, you would quickly exchange the goodwill you gained because of others’ fear of us, if indeed now you are going to observe the same policies as those you exhibited before, when you briefly assumed the leadership against the Mede. For you have customs among yourselves that are incompatible with those of other people and, it may be added, each one of you when he goes abroad follows neither these nor those customs that the rest of Greece observes’.

The envoys at 1.77.6 also obliquely remind their Peloponnesian audience that the Spartans’ ‘unmixable’ nomima – particularly those political in form, I suggest – had already led to an attempt by the Agiad regent Pausanias to

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Ellen Millender transform their hegemony into the unpopular domination of their fellow Hellenes. As we have seen above, this attempt, during Sparta’s brief leadership of Hellas against the Persians, aroused the same hatred that Athens later experienced.92 Through their simultaneous jab at Sparta’s much-vaunted reputation for constancy, which they now associate with mistreatment of the Hellenes, the Athenians here imply that such ‘unmixed’ νόμιμα will inevitably lead to Spartan misrule in the future.93 As Paula Debnar has cogently argued, the Athenians’ harsh words for the Spartans in front of their allies may very well be sending the message that ‘freedom from the Athenians may not mean absolute freedom. The alternative to Athenian rule might well be Spartan rule’.94 Other passages in Book One similarly seem to question the Spartans’ vaunted image of themselves as brave liberators.95 Particularly striking in this regard is the Corinthians’ attack in the same debate on Sparta’s leadership against both the Persians and the Athenians. The Corinthians criticize the Spartans’ tardy response to the Persian invasion and deprive them of credit for their role in the victory over the barbarians (1.69.5). They even go so far as to blame the Spartans for not putting an end to Athens’ present aggression and thereby helping to enslave their own allies (1.69.1; cf. 1.69.5, 71.4–5). By calling attention to their continuous deprivation of the Hellenes’ freedom, from the Persian Wars (and perhaps even earlier) to the events surrounding the debate at Sparta in 432, the Corinthians – like the Athenian envoys at 1.77.6 – subvert Sparta’s reputation for constancy and even more firmly attach it to the notion of Spartan maltreatment of the Hellenes. Thucydides’ Archidamus provides further evidence of the Spartans’ problematic attitude toward other Greeks in two different ways. First, his opposition to an immediate declaration of war ultimately reveals that same caution, hesitation, and concern for security that, according to the Corinthians, earlier allowed the Persians to reach the Greeks’ very doorstep and later enabled the Athenians to deprive their fellow Greeks of their freedom (1.68–9). Perhaps more troubling is Archidamus’ suspiciously prognostic advice to seek new allies among both Greeks and barbarians – likely with the Persians in mind (1.82.1; cf. 2.7.1, 67; 4.50.1–2).96 Particularly important here is the language that Thucydides uses to record Archidamus’ defense of a possible rapprochement with the barbarians (1.82.1): ‘It should not be begrudged (ἀνεπίφθονον) those who, like ourselves, are plotted against by the Athenians, to see to their own safety by procuring the aid not only of Hellenes but also of barbaroi.’ 97 Thucydides’ use of the term ἀνεπίφθονον recalls the earlier speech delivered at the debate by the Athenian envoys, who use this and a related term in their defense of Athenian Realpolitik (1.75.1 and 5).98 In their opening statement the

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Thucydides’ alienation of Spartan kingship Athenians pose the rhetorical question of whether they deserved the immoderate resentment (ἐπιφθόνως) they had acquired on account of their present empire (ἀρχή: 1.75.1). It is their next use of the term, however, that is most relevant for our purposes (1.75.5): “It should not be begrudged (ἀνεπίφθονον) to anyone to make the most of his advantages in matters of gravest danger.” 99 As in these passages, almost all of the other φθόνος-compounds in the History explicitly treat φθόνος (ill-will) as the inevitable response to tyrannical ἀρχή, along with the aggressive activities that create and maintain it.100 Archidamus, of course, may use the term ἀνεπίφθονον at 1.82.1 simply because he is indirectly responding to the Athenians’ speech. By having Archidamus use this specific term, however, Thucydides may also be hinting at the hollowness of the Spartans’ claim to be the traditional liberators of Hellas.101 Thucydides’ word choice here thus may indicate his implicit support for the Athenian envoys’ assessment that the Spartans were no less immune than their Athenian rivals to considerations of Realpolitik and could just as easily traverse the course from hegemony to a more tyrannical form of rule (1.76.1, 77.6).102 Such negative commentary on Spartan hegemony recurs throughout the History, as episode after episode unmasks the Lacedaemonians’ self-serving approach to Hellenic liberty. The list is long, but one need only recall Thucydides’ account of the Spartans’ perfidious treatment of the Plataeans in 427. This episode, oddly enough, brings together the two royal Spartiates featured in Book One: the Eurypontid King Archidamus II and the Agiad regent Pausanias (2.71–8; 3.52–68; cf. 3.68.4).103 The irony of the situation could not be greater, as we see Archidamus violating the oath to guarantee Plataea’s autonomy sworn by Pausanias (cf. 2.71–4), who reputedly endangered his fellow Hellenes’ liberty in his own pursuit of power (cf. 1.95.1–3, 128.3).104 Thucydides’ verbatim accounts of three agreements concluded by the Spartans and the Persians, however, most clearly reveal the Spartans’ willingness to abandon their professed aim to liberate the Hellenes, as they yielded to the King sovereignty over extensive portions of Hellas (8.18, 37, 58).105 As Thucydides later shows in Book Eight, even the Spartan Lichas, who criticized these treaties for enslaving the Hellenes and thus belying the Spartans’ claims to be the liberators of Greece (8.43.3; cf. 8.52.4), eventually could countenance the slavery of the Greeks in the King’s territory until the war reached a satisfactory conclusion (8.84.5). Thucydides’ Athenians, it would seem, proved prescient in both their initial warnings about Spartan rule in the debate in 432 (1.76.1, 77.6) and their later remarks to the beleaguered Melians in Book Five of the History. In the latter account Thucydides has the Athenians claim that it is a general

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Ellen Millender and necessary law of nature for men to rule wherever they can (5.105.2). In their following commentary on Spartan hypocrisy, the Athenians warn the Melians neither to give credence to the Spartans’ claims to be the traditional liberators of Hellas nor to assume that the Spartans will deviate from this particular norm (5.105.4): ‘For in dealing with their own affairs and their local institutions (ἐπιχώρια the Lacedaemonians are the greatest practitioners of virtue. As for their dealings with others, one could say much about their conduct, but summarize it most clearly by the statement that of all the people we know they most conspicuously regard what is pleasant as honorable and what is expedient as just’.

νόμιμα)

If we follow Thucydides’ characterization of Sparta’s politeia and hegemony, it would appear that the Spartans, with their peculiar political nomima, offered two hegemonic models, neither of which would meet the needs of those Hellenes who turned to them for aid. The ‘Archidamian’ model, in its attachment to traditional Spartan virtues, values, and structures, as well as its concern with security, could promise little in the way of effective and speedy action against Athens’ encroachments on the Hellenes’ liberty. The ‘Pausanian’ model, a variation of which the Spartans eventually adopted under the leadership of Lysander, would turn out to be even more antithetical to Hellenic freedom. Given their ostensible political affinity to the barbarian enemies of Hellas, the Spartans, according to this reading, were necessarily more naturally disposed than their Athenian rivals to follow the path toward ἀρχή. And, as Thucydides makes clear at various points in his History, this path necessarily entailed offences against the established customs of Hellas (3.59.1: τὰ κοινὰ τῶν Ἑλλήνων νόμιμα), as the Plataeans and other Greeks after them were to learn to their dismay. Notes 1 See, e.g., Bloedow 1981, 129–43; Crane 1998, 196–221, 235–6. 2 For an overview of both the many problems in and previous scholarship on Thucydides’ digression on Pausanias, see Schieber 1980. In addition to the works listed there, see Balcer 1970; Evans 1988; Powell (this volume). 3 Cf. Barel 1987, 221–3, who clearly articulates Thucydides’ originality in showing the importance of political context as an element of historical explanation. See also Regenbogen 1933, 230–6; Orwin 1994, 10. 4 On Herodotus’ association of Spartan kingship with barbarian autocracy, see Millender 2002a. 5 See Price 2001, 76, who less cogently argues against Thucydides’ involvement in this ideological struggle (151, 163).

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Spawforth, in Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 123, argues that classical Sparta was architecturally less barren than Thucydides suggests. 7 This and all subsequent translations of the Greek are my own unless otherwise noted. 8 Thucydides here likely has in mind the period that modern historians refer to as ‘the age of tyrants’, which began with the accession of Cypselus of Corinth c. 650 BCE and ended with the expulsion of the sons of Peisistratus from Athens in 510 BCE. While many Greek city-states experienced such political upheaval, most of them in this period were Dorian states on the mainland. 9 See Allison 1989, 20–1. 10 Cf. Thuc. 1.69.1, along with Price 2001, 128–9. 11 For Thucydides’ praise of Spartan stability, see, e.g., Allison 1989, 20–1. 12 On the conflict between this statement at 1.18.1 and Thucydides’ usual treatment of the remote past, see Powell 2018, 12–13, 18–20 and this volume, who argues that Thucydides here may be reporting the Spartans’ ‘party line’ on their state’s stability. 13 For a detailed study of the Spartan dyarchy, see Millender 2018b. 14 See Tigerstedt 1965–1978, 1.140; Millender 1996, 305–8; 2018a, 43–4. 15 See, e.g., Edmunds 1975, 33; Hornblower 1991, 115–16. 16 For this translation, I have followed the suggestions of Hornblower 1991, 116. 17 Dodds 1973, 11; cf. Edmunds 1975, 24–36. On the Corinthians’ treatment of politics as a τέχνη, see Edmunds 1975, 33. 18 Millender 2018a, 44. I have argued elsewhere that the Corinthians’ demand for change here also likely embraces the issue of Sparta’s incapacity for military innovation. See Millender 2017, 82–3. 19 Millender 2018a, 48–9. 20 Badian 1993, 143 notes this unique description in the History. 21 On Archidamus’ speech, see Bloedow 1981; Pelling 1991, 120–30; Tompkins 1993; Crane 1998, 197–211, 217, 219–21, 229–36; Debnar 2001, 59–69; Millender 2018a, 45–6. 22 The Corinthians grudgingly acknowledge this aspect of Sparta in their criticism of Spartan inaction (1.68.1). On Thucydides’ characterization of Sparta as a stable society, see, esp., Allison 1989, 15–27; Wilson 1990. 23 North 1966, 99–115 examines Thucydides’ flexible use of σωφροσύνη and related terms. See also Tigerstedt 1965–1978, 1.128–40; Wilson 1990; Humble 2002, 86–7. 24 See also Moxon 1978; Foster 2010, 92–3. 25 Millender 2017, 83–4. 26 Millender 2017, 84. 27 Millender 2017, 84. 28 Tigerstedt 1965–1978, 1.138. For the view that Archidamus’ speech reflects both Thucydides’ and the Athenians’ visions of the two societies, see Wassermann 1953, 194–7; Tigerstedt 1965–1978, 1.140. 29 Even though he seems to dismiss the Corinthians’ antithesis of Athens and Sparta at one point in his speech (1.84.4), Archidamus contrasts the two states’ resources, attitudes toward education, and approaches to war. See, esp. Thuc. 1.80.3–4, 81.1–2, 84.3. 30 On Archidamus’ willingness to use the Corinthians’ terms (τὸ βραδὺ καὶ μέλλον) and to defend them, see Gomme, HCT 1.248. 31 Cf. Millender 2017, 84–5.

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See Westlake 1968, 124–5, who finds this formulation surprising. See, however, Kelly 1982, 28–31; Kallet-Marx 1993, 81–9. 33 Debnar 2001, 60 discusses Archidamus’ characteristically Spartan deference toward elders. 34 Francis 1991–1993, 207. 35 See Francis 1991–1993, 207. See also Crane 1998, 208–9. 36 On the central role that this preoccupation with security occupies in Thucydides’ characterization of Archidamus in the first two books of the History, see Luginbill 1999, 89–90. On the parallel between Archidamus’ concern with security and Thucydides’ description of the tyrants’ rule at 1.17, see Francis 1991–1993, 208. 37 Allison 1989, 46–9, at 46. 38 Cf. παρεσκευασμένην (2.11.6) and φυλακὴν περὶ παντὸς ποιούμενοι (2.11.9). See Allison 1989, 55–6. See also Francis 1991–1993, 207–9; Crane 1998, 200–1. Such an aggregation of terms is particularly striking in comparison with their relative absence from Pericles’ first speech to the Athenians and Pericles’ criticism of the Spartans’ obsession with preparation at 2.39.1. 39 See Millender 2018a, 45. 40 Tompkins 1993, 99–111, at 109–10. Cf. Francis 1991–1993, 206–7. 41 See Millender 2018a, 45. On Archidamus’ attack on Athenian speech and education, which receives an indirect rebuttal in Pericles’ later Funeral Oration (2.40.2–3), see also Allison 1989, 49. 42 On Sthenelaïdas’ speech, see Tompkins 1972; Bloedow 1981, 135–8; 1987; Allison 1984, 9–16; Francis 1991–1993, 204–5; Crane 1998, 198–9, 212–21, 235–6; Debnar 2001, 69–76; Millender 2018a, 46–8. 43 Cf., esp., Thuc. 1.81–82.1. See Millender 2017, 85. 44 I would like to thank Paula Debnar for her insight into Sthenelaïdas’ ‘outSpartaning’ of Archidamus. 45 See Bloedow 1981, 136; 1987, 64; Millender 2018a, 47. Contra Francis 1991–1993, 203. 46 Cf. Francis 1991–1993, 204. For the view that Sthenelaïdas parodies Archidamus, see Allison 1984, 13–14; Crane 1998, 213; contra Bloedow 1981, 137–8. 47 Cf. Francis 1991–1993, 204; Debnar 2001, 73. 48 See Stahl 1966, 56 and n. 38; Francis 1991–1993, 204; Millender 2018a, 47. Contra Humble 2002, 99 n. 9, who cautions against reading too much into Sthenelaïdas’ use of ἢν σωφρονῶμεν, which she views as ‘a widely used generic phrase’. 49 See Francis 1991–1993, 208. Lewis 1977, 47–8 also emphasizes Archidamus’ lack of influence. On Sthenelaïdas’ tactics at 1.87.2, see, esp., Allison 1984, 15; Debnar 2001, 76. 50 On Thucydides’ silence on this subject, see Bloedow 1981, 131, 142; Millender 2018a, 47–8. Contra Allison 1984, 14 and n.17, who argues that Thucydides offers just such an explanation at 1.79.2 in his claim that the majority of Spartans were inclining toward war before Archidamus’ speech. See also Edmunds 1975, 122. 51 The ephor’s effective rhetoric: Allison 1984, 9–16, esp. 14. See also Foster 2010, 94–6. For the contrary view of Sthenelaïdas as simplistic, see, esp., Bloedow 1981, 135–8; 1987. The irrational mood of the Spartan assembly: Bloedow 1981, 129–43, at 142–3; 1987, 64–6. See also Kagan 1969, 304–5; Lewis 1977, 41–2; Debnar 2001, 75.

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Luginbill 1999, 214 n. 121; cf. 203–5. For similar views of Archidamus’ intelligence, see, esp., Bloedow 1981; 1983; Debnar 2001, 75–6. 53 Price 2001, 52. See Thuc. 1.138.2–3 (Themistocles), 2.15.2 (Theseus), 6.54.5 (the Peisistratids), 6.72.2 (Hermocrates), and 8.68 (Antiphon, Phrynichus, and Theramenes). Thucydides never specifically describes Pericles as ‘intelligent’ (ξυνετός). Nevertheless, he not only refers to Pericles’ reputation for intelligence (2.34.6) but also praises Pericles’ correct estimation of Athenian power and foresight, qualities shared by Thucydides’ Themistocles (2.65.4–7). With such intellectual flexibility and agility, Pericles thus possesses what Thucydides at 3.82.4 describes as an ‘intelligence that comprehended the whole’ (τὸ πρὸς ἅπαν ξυνετόν). Here I follow Price’s (2001, 53) translation of Thuc. 3.82.4. 54 Price 2001, 53 n. 100. See also Westlake 1968, 6–7, 123, who offers a far lower estimation of the dyarch’s ξύνεσις, followed, albeit more moderately, by Lewis 1977, 47. 55 Archidamus’ reputation, perhaps, is just as deserved as his fellow Spartiates’ renown as the champions of Greek freedom (cf. 1.69.1 and 5). On the possible irony in Thucydides’ introduction, see Badian 1993, 143. On Thucydides’ qualification here, see Francis 1991–1993, 209; Price 2001, 53 n. 100. 56 Thucydides’ claim that some of Brasidas’ admirers had actually experienced his honor and intelligence at first hand suggests that the positive reports of these virtues had merit. Thucydides, however, ultimately reveals the limits of Brasidas’ ξύνεσις. See Price 2001, 250–1, 253–4, 263. 57 On Phrynichus’ intelligence, see Ostwald 1986, 348–50. See also Price 2001, 53 n. 100, who, however, elsewhere (245–8, 263, 306) argues that Thucydides’ portrait of Phrynichus in Book Eight demonstrates this Athenian’s lack of ‘true intelligence’. 58 See, supra, n. 53. On ξύνεσις as a quality both associated with and appropriated by the Athenians, see North 1966, 101–2. 59 Cf. Francis 1991–1993, 209. Millender 2001, 121, 149–51 examines the Athenianbased stereotype of Spartan ignorance. Contra Powell 1989, 174–7, who argues that the image of the ignorant Spartan was an element of Spartan external propaganda. 60 Elsewhere in their speech, the Corinthians castigate the Spartans’ general lack of awareness (1.69.3–70.1) and assume the same didactic tone (cf., esp., 1.71.2) that characterizes the Athenians’ speech (cf., esp., 1.73.1, 78). See Debnar 2001, 36, 68. 61 On the similarity between Archidamus’ and Cleon’s speeches, see, esp., North 1966, 104, 107–8, who focuses upon both figures’ association of σωφροσύνη and ἀμαθία. On the link between Spartan σωφροσύνη and ἀμαθία, see also Edmunds 1975, 91. 62 Consider also the ironic force of ἀμαθῶς at 1.140.1. Cf. Allison 1989, 147 n. 4. See also Foster 2010, 144–6. 63 See Millender 2018a, 36, 49–50. 64 See Price 2001, 52–3. See also Cogan 1981; Parry 1981, 150–85. 65 Cf. Francis 1991–1993, 209. 66 North 1966, 102–3 discusses the prevailing connotations of σωφροσύνη in the ideological contrast between Athens and Sparta in the History. 67 Spartan scorn for τέχνη, whether in the form of political innovations or advances in seamanship, recurs in Thucydides’ account. See, e.g., Sthenelaïdas’ critique of the Athenians at 1.86.3 and the Spartan generals’ comments on Athenian skill and experience at sea at 2.87. See Edmunds 1975, 96–9, 102–9; Millender 1996, 337, 339– 40; 2002b, 52–4; 2016, 307–10; 2017; 2018a, 47; Debnar 2001, 73–4.

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For the parallel between 1.79.2 and 1.86.3, see Allison 1984, 14. Although Thucydides generally represents Archidamus’ fellow Spartiates as similarly cautious and conservative, the History’s Archidamus goes far beyond his compatriots in his adherence to these traditional Spartan qualities. Cf. Schwartz 1919, 108; Cogan 1981, 32. 70 On Thucydides’ largely negative treatment of this expedition, see Westlake 1968, 126–30; Millender 2017, 86–7. See also Bloedow 1983, 29–31; Cartledge and Debnar 2006, 571. 71 See Taylor 2010, 61, 64. See also Millender 2017, 86. 72 This conclusion receives support from Thucydides’ comparative silence concerning the Eurypontid Archidamus’ colleague on the Agiad throne, Pleistoanax (cf. 1.107.2, 114.2; 2.21.1) in the first few books of the History. 73 For the many links between Archidamus’ speech and Pericles’ first oration, see Bloedow 1981, 131–5; Kallet-Marx 1993, 83 n. 36, 94–6. 74 Cf. Price 2001, 177, who rightly notes that Pericles in this speech ‘places the Peloponnesians at a distinctively primitive stage in an historical continuum’. On the link between Thucydides’ account of early Greek historical development in the Archaeology and Pericles’ first speech, see Edmunds 1975, 22–9, 33; Foster 2010, 8–43, 138–50. 75 On Thucydides’ general agreement with the Corinthians, see, e.g., Luginbill 1999, esp. 86–133. Contra Price 2001, 148–51, who notes the more neutral tone of Thucydides’ contrast of Sparta and Athens but argues less persuasively that Thucydides’ comments on such differences differ markedly in meaning from those of the Corinthians. 76 Price 2001, 148–9. Cf. Brunt 1993, 178–9. 77 Price 2001, 127–89 cogently argues that Thucydides reveals that both sides in the Peloponnesian War demonized and ‘conceptually alienated’ each other, but he focuses far more attention on the Corinthians’ attempt to isolate Athens from the rest of Greece (esp. 130–8, 146–7, 194) and Pericles’ separation of Athens from the rest of the Hellenes (171–89) than on Athenian distancing of Sparta from the other Hellenes. 78 On Thuc. 1.77.6, see Crane 1998, 276–8; Price 2001, 192–3. For more general discussions of the Athenians’ speech, see de Romilly 1963, 242–72; Stahl 1966, 43–54; Raubitschek 1973; Crane 1998, 264–85; Price 2001, 161–5. 79 Cf. Crane 1998, 277–8. 80 See, supra, n. 2. 81 Badian 1993, 131; cf. 121–2, 130–2. See also Fornara 1966, 262–3, 266. Contra Blamire 1970, 295. Cf. Gomme, HCT 1.438–9; Lang 1967, 81; Schieber 1980, 397. 82 On Thucydides’ polemical tone in his repeated verification of the charges against Pausanias, see Rhodes 1970, 388–9; Schieber 1980, 401–2. On the likelihood of alternate versions of Pausanias’ end, see Fornara 1966, 262–3. 83 On Herodotus’ treatment of Spartan kings, see Millender 2002a; 2009, 3–5; 2018b. 84 See Lang 1967, 80. 85 See Longo 1978, 528–9; Steiner 1994, 151–3; Millender 2001, 156. 86 On this inscription, see Steiner 1994, 78, 135; Millender 2001, 156. 87 Compare Hdt. 8.3, along with Badian 1993, 131–2. 88 On the Spartans’ reputation for susceptibility to bribery, see Millender 2002b, 36–9. 69

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Both Stewart 1966, 145–6 and Konishi 1970, 64–5 n. 32 believe that Thucydides here reveals impatience with the Spartans’ slow reaction to Pausanias’ medism. For the contrary view that Thucydides positively compares the Spartans’ moderate response to Pausanias with the Athenians’ hasty condemnation of Themistocles, see Tigerstedt 1965–1978, 1.135; Orwin 1994, 76 n. 14. 90 Rhodes 1970, 391 suggests that the ephors’ reluctance to act seems excessive even for the cautious Spartans. 91 See Millender 2018a, 50. 92 Thucydides’ description of Pausanias’ attempt at tyranny at 1.95, which focuses on the regent’s unpopularity (1.95.1: ἤχθοντο; 95.4: ἔχθει), calls to mind the Athenian envoys’ emphasis on the inevitable unpopularity of such tyrannical rule at 1.76.1 (ἀπήχθεσθε) and 1.77.6. On the link between the Athenian envoys’ portrayal of Sparta at 1.77.6 and Thucydides’ account of Pausanias’ high-handed treatment of his fellow Hellenes, see Orwin 1994, 53. 93 Debnar 2001, 56 notes the Athenians’ ironic manipulation of the Spartans’ reputed constancy. 94 Debnar 2001, 56; cf. 42–3. 95 See Crane 1998, 100. 96 On Archidamus’ prognostic advice, see Hornblower 1991, 127. For the probability that Archidamus has the Persians in mind here, see Lewis 1977, 63; Hornblower 1991, 127; Debnar 2001, 64. On Thucydides’ account of both sides’ preparations for war at 2.7.1, see Price 2001, 364–6. 97 I follow Price’s (2001, 364) translation of this passage. 98 See Price 2001, 247 n. 96, 364. 99 For this translation, again see Price 2001, 364. 100 In addition to 1.75.1 and 1.75.5, see 2.64.5 (Pericles on Athenian rule), 6.54.5 (on Hipparchus’ rule), 6.83.2 (Euphemus’ defense of Athens’ expedition to Sicily), and 7.77.3 (Nicias on the Sicilian expedition). The two uses of a φθόνος-compound that do not address issues of empire occur at 7.77.2 (Nicias on his own conduct) and 8.50.5 (Phrynichus’ betrayal of Alcibiades). 101 On Thucydides’ questioning of Sparta’s vaunted reputation as the liberator of Hellas, see Cloché 1943, 91–8; Lewis 1977, 65–9; Orwin 1994, 80–6; Crane 1998, 100; Price 2001, 369–71. 102 On the Spartans’ self-interest, see also Thuc. 1.19, 76.2, 144.2; 5.81.2, 82.1, 105.4. 103 Cf. the Spartan Alcidas’ massacre of the very Athenian subjects that the Spartans were supposed to be liberating (3.32.1–2). See also the Corinthians’ later claim that the Spartans sought to enslave the Peloponnesus by making peace and an alliance with Athens in 421 (5.27.2; cf. 4.20.4). 104 On Thucydides’ account of the Spartans’ treatment of the Plataeans, see, e.g., Macleod 1977; Debnar 2001, 96–101; Nichols 2015, 68–77. 105 On Thucydides’ use of these treaties to reveal the hollowness of Sparta’s professed interest in Hellenic freedom, see Connor 1984, 218–19; Price 2001, 369–71. On these treaties, see Lewis 1977, 90–107.

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Ellen Millender Bibliography Allison, J. W. 1984 ‘Sthenelaidas’ speech: Thucydides 1.86’, Hermes 112, 9–16. 1989 Power and Preparedness in Thucydides, Baltimore. Badian, E. 1993 From Plataea to Potidaea, Baltimore and London. Balcer, J. M. 1970 ‘The medizing of the regent Pausanias’, in Actes du Premier Congrès International des Études Balkaniques et Sud-Est Européennes, 105–14, Sofia. Barel, Y. 1987 La quête du sens: comment l’esprit vient à la cité, Paris. Blamire, A. 1970 ‘Pausanias and Persia’, GRBS 11, 295–305. Bloedow, E. 1981 ‘The speeches of Archidamus and Sthenelaïdas at Sparta’, Historia 30, 129–43. 1983 ‘Archidamus the “intelligent” Spartan’, Klio 65, 27–49. 1987 ‘Sthenelaidas the persuasive Spartan’, Hermes 115, 60–66. Brunt, P. A. 1993 ‘Introduction to Thucydides’, in Studies in Greek History and Thought, 137–80, Oxford. Cartledge, P. and Debnar, P. 2006 ‘Sparta and the Spartans in Thucydides’, in A. Rengakos and A. Tsakmakis (eds) Brill’s Companion to Thucydides, 559–87, Leiden. Cartledge, P., and Spawforth, A. 2002 Hellenistic and Roman Sparta: A tale of two cities, 2nd edn, London and New York. Cloché, P. 1943 ‘Thucydide et Lacédémone’, LEC 12, 81–113. Cogan, M. 1981 The Human Thing: The speeches and principles of Thucydides’ history, Chicago. Connor, W. R. 1984 Thucydides, Princeton. Crane, G. 1998 Thucydides and the Ancient Simplicity: The limits of political realism, Berkeley. Debnar, P. 2001 Speaking the Same Language: Speech and audience in Thucydides’ Spartan debates, Ann Arbor. Dodds, E. R. 1973 ‘The ancient concept of progress’, in The Ancient Concept of Progress and Other Essays on Greek Literature and Belief, 1–25, Oxford. Edmunds, L. 1975 Chance and Intelligence in Thucydides, Cambridge, Mass. Evans, J. A. S. 1988 ‘The medism of Pausanias: two versions’, Antichthon 22, 1–11. Fornara, C. W. 1966 ‘Some aspects of the career of Pausanias of Sparta’, Historia 15, 257–71.

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Thucydides’ alienation of Spartan kingship Foster, E. 2010 Thucydides, Pericles, and Periclean Imperialism, Cambridge. Francis, E. D. 1991–1993 ‘Brachylogia Laconica: Spartan speeches in Thucydides’, BICS 38, 198– 212. Gomme, A. W., Andrewes, A., and Dover, K. J. 1945–1981 A Historical Commentary on Thucydides, 5 vols., Oxford. Hornblower, S. 1991 A Commentary on Thucydides, Volume I: Books I–III, Oxford. Humble, N. 2002 ‘Sophrosyne revisited: was it ever a Spartan virtue?’, in A. Powell and S. Hodkinson (eds) Sparta: Beyond the mirage, 85–109, Swansea. Kagan, D. 1969 The Outbreak of the Peloponnesian War, Ithaca. Kallet-Marx, L. 1993 Money, Expense and Naval Power in Thucydides’ History 1–5.24, Berkeley. Kelly, T. 1982 ‘Thucydides and Spartan strategy in the Archidamian War’, AHR 87, 25–54. Konishi, H. 1970 ‘Thucydides’ method in the episodes of Pausanias and Themistocles’, AJP 91, 52–69. Lang, M. 1967 ‘Scapegoat Pausanias’, CJ 63, 79–85. Lewis, D. M. 1977 Sparta and Persia, Leiden. Longo, O. 1978 ‘Scrivere in Tucidide: communicazione e ideologia’, in E. Livrea and G. A. Privitera (eds) Studi in onore di Anthos Ardizzoni, 519–54, Rome. Luginbill, R. D. 1999 Thucydides on War and National Character, Boulder. Macleod, C. 1977 ‘Thucydides’ Plataean debate’, GRBS 18, 227–46 = Collected Essays (Oxford 1983), 103–22. Meiggs, R. 1972 The Athenian Empire, Oxford. Millender, E. G. 1996 “The Teacher of Hellas”: Athenian Democratic Ideology and the “Barbarization” of Sparta in Fifth-Century Greek Thought, diss., University of Pennsylvania. 2001 ‘Spartan literacy revisited’, ClAnt 20, 121–64. 2002a ‘Herodotus and Spartan despotism’, in A. Powell and S. Hodkinson (eds) Sparta: Beyond the mirage, 1–16, Swansea. 2002b ‘Νόμος Δεσπότης: Spartan obedience and Athenian lawfulness in fifthcentury thought’, in V. B. Gorman and E. W. Robinson (eds) Oikistes: Studies in constitutions, colonies, and military power in the ancient world offered in honor of A. J. Graham, 33–59, Leiden.

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‘The Spartan dyarchy: a comparative perspective’, in S. Hodkinson (ed.) Sparta: Comparative approaches and classical tradition, 1–67, Swansea. 2016 ‘The Spartans “at sea”’, in G. Cuniberti, G. Daverio, J. Roy, and A. Bartzoka (eds) Great is the Power of the Sea: The power of the sea and sea power in the Greek world of the archaic and classical periods. Historika. Studi di storia greca e romana, vol. V, 299–312, Turin. 2017 ‘Sparta and the crisis of the Peloponnesian League in Thucydides’ History’, in S. Forsdyke, E. Foster, and R. K. Balot (eds) The Oxford Handbook of Thucydides, 81–98, Oxford. 2018a ‘Athens, Sparta, and the techne¯ of deliberation’, in P. Cartledge and A. Powell (eds) The Greek Superpower: Sparta in the self-definitions of Athenians, Swansea, 33–60. 2018b ‘Kingship: The history, power, and prerogatives of Sparta’s “divine” dyarchy’ in Powell (ed.) 2018, 452–79. Moxon, I. 1978 ‘Thucydides’ account of Spartan strategy and foreign policy in the Archidamian War’, Rivista storica dell’antichità 8, 7–26. Nichols, M. P. 2015 Thucydides and the Pursuit of Freedom, Ithaca and London. North, H. 1966 Sophrosyne, Cornell Studies in Classical Philology 35, Ithaca. Orwin, C. 1994 The Humanity of Thucydides, Princeton. Ostwald, M. 1986 From Popular Sovereignty to the Sovereignty of Law: Law, society, and politics in fifthcentury Athens, Berkeley. Parry, A. 1981 Logos and Ergon in Thucydides, New York. Pelling, C. B. R. 1991 ‘Thucydides’ Archidamus and Herodotus’ Artabanus’, in M. A. Flower and M. Toher (eds) Georgica: Greek studies in honour of George Cawkwell, BICS 58, 120–42. Powell, A. 1989 ‘Mendacity and Sparta’s use of the visual’, in A. Powell (ed.) Classical Sparta: Techniques behind her success, 173–92, Norman, Okla. 2018 ‘Sparta: reconstructing history from secrecy, lies and myth’, in Powell (ed.) 2018, 3–28. Powell, A. (ed.) 2018 A Companion to Sparta, Hoboken, NJ. Price, J. J. 2001 Thucydides and Internal War, Cambridge. Raubitschek, A. E. 1973 ‘The speech of the Athenians at Sparta’, in P. A. Stadter (ed.) The Speeches in Thucydides, 32–48, Chapel Hill. Regenbogen, O. 1961 ‘Thukydides als politischer Denker’, in F. Dirlmeier (ed.) Kleine Schriften, 217–47, Munich.

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Thucydides’ alienation of Spartan kingship Rhodes, P. J. 1970 ‘Thucydides on Pausanias and Themistocles’, Historia 19, 387–400. Romilly, J. de. 1962 ‘Les intentions d’Archidamos et le livre II de Thucydide’, REA 64, 287–99. Schieber, A. S. 1980 ‘Thucydides and Pausanias’, Athenaeum 58, 396–405. Schwartz, E. 1919 Das Geschichtswerk des Thukydides, Bonn. Stahl, H.-P. 1966 Thukydides. Die Stellung des Menschen im geschichtlichen Prozeß, Zetemata 40, Munich. Steiner, D. 1994 The Tyrant’s Writ: Myths and images of writing in ancient Greece, Princeton. Stewart, D. J. 1966 ‘Thucydides, Pausanias, and Alcibiades’, CJ 61, 145–52. Taylor, M. 2010 Thucydides, Pericles, and the Idea of Athens in the Peloponnesian War, Cambridge. Tigerstedt, E. N. 1965–1978 The Legend of Sparta in Classical Antiquity, 3 vols., Stockholm. Tompkins, D. 1972 ‘Stylistic characterization in Thucydides: Nicias and Alcibiades’, YCS 22, 204–14. 1993 ‘Archidamus and the question of characterization in Thucydides’, in R. M. Rosen and J. Farrell (eds) Nomodeiktes: Greek studies in honor of Martin Ostwald, 99–111, Ann Arbor. Wasserman, F. 1953 ‘The speeches of King Archidamus in Thucydides’, CJ 48, 193–200. Westlake, H. D. 1968 Individuals in Thucydides, Cambridge. Wilson, J. R. 1990 ‘Sophrosyne in Thucydides’, AHB 4, 51–7.

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5 THUCYDIDES, ETHNIC SOLIDARITY, AND MESSENIAN ETHNOGENESIS Thomas J. Figueira To Rudy Bell, my friend, mentor, and midday messmate, in honor of his 52 years of distinguished humanism at Rutgers

Just as Herodotus is the ‘father’ of Western ethnology,1 Thucydides, subject of this collection, is particular enlightening on how ethnic identity affected military alignments and how politicization of ethnic identity operated. Ethnogenesis as social evolution is not limited to conceptual development (in systems to justify cultural phenomena). Ethnogenesis structured social praxis, actually affecting organization of behaviors. I shall here revisit the emergence of Messenian identity.2 Research on Greek ethnicity has intensified,3 although some tendencies should be resisted. As I shall discuss various aspects of classical ethnicity elsewhere,4 background material is limited to several propositions. 1) The dictates of the polis overwrite other processes by which ethnic identity is determined, since the polis was itself genetic, a community organized in descent units, arrayed upon a genealogical lattice. I note three facets with relevance to Thucydides. First, the colonial movement was mainly an initiative of poleis. Colonization created sungeneia, and this ‘replicative’ colonial ethnogenesis constituted a major form of ethnicity.5 Second, the most sophisticated structure integrating poleis was the fifth-century Athenian arkhe¯ which prioritized the polis as ‘default’ component.6 Third, despite commonsense signifiers (like common dialect), polis ethnicity was defined by political criteria. Attic slaves who were oikogeneis ‘originating in the household’ were by consensus not ethnically Athenian, nor were Helots Lakedaimonian, although such groups possess relevant ethnic markers.7 Thus polis tended to trump ethnos as organizing principle. 2) For understanding classical ethnic solidarity, a crucial formula is offered in Herodotus by the Athenians at Sparta in 479 (8.144.2). They describe ‘Greekness’ as being ‘of the same blood’ and ‘of the same language’ and having common religious establishments and ‘parallel customs’.8 Religious practices and folkways are subtended elements of an assemblage with shared blood and language.

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Thomas J. Figueira 3) That language/dialect is juxtaposed in Herodotus with biological connection is not exceptional. In Greek sociolinguistics, language/dialect and people/nation/ethnic group are equivalent.9 Similarity of pho¯ne¯ was the most effective factor in determining ethnicity, and thus, unsurprisingly, least easy to manipulate.10 Boundaries between dialects were significant cultural demarcations, as illustrated by numerous examples,11 by dialect’s role in establishing ethnic demarcations in Old Comedy,12 by the common terminology for dialect and political affiliation,13 and by equation of dialects with ethnic characteristics.14 Attic boundaries are notably ethnolinguistic in nature.15 4) The fundamental distinction for ethnic identity lay between Greek and non-Greek,16 well established by 600. This dichotomy contained early a tone of disparagement of non-Greeks. The current fashion to see Greek/barbaros differentiation as created by Xerxes’ repulse and fifthcentury Greek victories is erroneous.17 5) This ethnolinguistic demarcation was fraught with angst, as revealed by sensitivity over soloikismos (self-betrayal of non-Greek status through linguistic error).18 To an Athenian, for example, even loss of fluency in Attic Greek constituted a personal and communal disaster (Solon fr. 36.10W). The Thucydidean referential framework conforms to these principles. That acculturation involved linguistic adaptation is shown by Nikias’ allusion to metics’ pride in knowledge of the Attic dialect and assimilation of Athenian tropoi (7.63.3). Thucydides consistently represents ethnic identity by gauging linguistic status. The spread of the title ‘Hellenes’ can be viewed as gradual assimilation of a common language (1.3.4) occurring in a context typified by expulsions of populations engineered by allophyloi ‘different lineages’ (1.2.4).19 Elsewhere, Amphilokhian Argives ‘are Hellenized to their present pho¯ne¯ (‘speech’) by contact with the Ambrakiots (2.68.5). The Akte of the Khalkidike is inhabited by ‘mixed ethne¯ of bilingual barbarians’ (4.109.4; cf. Hdt. 7.22.2). Thucydides notes the pho¯ne¯ of Himera is mixed Khalkidian and Doric (6.5.1), but nomima Khalkidika prevailed, while Gela was founded with nomima Do¯rika (6.4.3). Perikles explains the Athenian advantages not only by noting their enemies’ lack of a single deliberative apparatus and need to achieve consensus, but by citing their diverse intentions based on not being homophuloi ‘same lineaged’ (1.141.6). The Messenians damage the Spartans greatly as homophones, a reference in which dialect-sharing also signifies possession of cultural understanding (Thuc. 4.4.3, 41.2: Figueira 1999, 213; Petrocelli 2001, 88–90). The Karneian festival is characteristic of the Dorians (Thuc. 5.54.2; cf. Paus. 3.13.3–4).

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis Classical ethnicity and power-politics In the array of poleis, overarching categories established the vectors of late archaic ethnogenesis: Athenians were Ionians and Spartans Dorians. In treating Kroisos’ plans for seeking allies c. 546, Herodotus highlighted the preeminence of Sparta and Athens (dunato¯tatous ‘most powerful’; proekhontes ‘prominent’) in terms of ethnicity over, respectively, the Dorian and the Ionian gene¯ (1.56.2). That Athens and Sparta proffer wider claims because of influence over a primary ethnolinguistic subdivision of Hellas depends in turn on panhellenism, i.e., understanding all Greeks as members of a single community.20 We have already seen how Herodotus’ Athenians elevated to Helle¯nikon to decisive standing. That such a conceptual consolidation must have occurred was recognized by Thucydides (1.3.2–3).21 He connected an absence of early common action to Hellas lacking a common name. In a rationalization of the myth of Deukalion, he envisions that the martial prowess of Hellen, his son, and his lineage in Thessalian Phthiotis, led to enlistment as allies and spread of their collective name. Notably, Thucydides describes this prehellenic state as living ‘in various ethne¯ and mainly the Pelasgian [ethnos]’ (cf. Hdt. 7.94). This is a rationalization of a myth already known in Hesiod (frs. 2–4, 6 M-W; cf. frs. 5, 7). Deukalion’s son, Hellen, fathered Doros, Xouthos, and Aiolos (fr. 9 M-W). That naturally establishes the aboriginal standing of Dorians and Aiolians.22 Common identity for the Dorians is incessantly asserted in classical sources. By virtue of assistance to the Herakleidai, whose followers they became, the Dorians achieved mastery over the Peloponnesus (e.g., Pin. Pyth. 1.62–6). A linkage also existed in Hesiod through Xouthos for Ion, his son, although a tight attachment of Ion to Attica may be later (fr. 10a.20–4 M-W: West 1985, 50–60). That connection, however, assumed momentous significance through the Ionian migration,23 since it becomes a leitmotif of fifth-century political symbolism.24 This ‘ascendant’ ethnicity is central to fifth-century history through a mode of self-representation only possible above a high threshold of population, output, military power, and ‘international’ influence. Ascendant ethnogenesis tried to exploit sungeneia to prevail over the strong tendency of individual poleis to prioritize their autonomy (Figueira 2006a, 261–2: sections C; c1.). Ascendant ethnicity culminated in those Hellenes conventionally called the Hellenic League, i.e., Greeks, recognizing Spartan hegemony, sworn to defend against Xerxes. The tendency to envision creation of the Delian League as a transfer or sharing of this hegemony is, therefore, notable. Thucydides illustrates this phenomenon of ethnic solidarity being coupled with claims of leadership. In accounting for the Spartan expedition

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Thomas J. Figueira (c. 458) to aid central Greek Dorians, his compressed reference to their status as Spartan me¯tropolis (1.107.2) probably encodes a claim both to general Dorian sungeneia, as Diodorus states outright (DS 11.79.5; Hornblower CT 1.168; Jones 1999, 29) and to the natural hegemony of Sparta over this ethnos. Throughout Thucydides, Dorian assertions both of hostility between themselves and Ionians and of Dorian superiority are common. Before the outbreak of war, the Corinthians attempted to incite Sparta by characterizing the Poteideians as Dorians besieged by Ionians (Thuc. 1.124.1).25 That was not only ethnicizing the context, but distorting Attic policy, which reacted to Corinthian agitation over Corcyra among the Peloponnesians. Athenian motives had no ethnic loading except insofar as residual Corinthian colonial rights at Poteidaia activated them. In 427, Sparta assumed that Ionians would automatically count as hostile when it barred them from settling at its colony Herakleia in Trakhis, while again motivated by pleas of the Dorians, their me¯tropolis.26 In 416, the Melians likewise hold (however unrealistically) that sungeneia increased the likelihood of Sparta intervening for them.27 Dorian disparagement of Ionian courage is a leitmotif of this mentalité,28 well documented in Thucydides: the Corinthians at Poteidaia,29 Brasidas at Amphipolis (422),30 and Gylippos at Syracuse (414).31 Aristotle’s examination of the topos suggests a learned effort to justify a commonplace.32 For Brasidas speaking to a composite force before Amphipolis, Ionian martial inferiority is so manifest it can be treated in praeteritio, and his prejudice so ingrained as to render his oration bizarre before an army with many Ionic speakers (especially the Khalkidians, his strongest allies).33 Thucydides’ most pointed reference shows that this prejudice was not limited to Athens’ enemies.34 In an example of the delicacy of his use of historiographical authority, he highlights the single example of Dorian allies acting under anti-Ionian prejudice: ‘and it eventuated in this battle that the Ionians on either side defeated the Dorians, since the Athenians were victorious against the Peloponnesians themselves and Milesians beat the Argives’ (8.25.5).35 An elaboration comes from Hermokrates of Dorian Syracuse at the conference at Kamarina (winter 415/4) amid comments denouncing Athenian crimes, and deploring heedlessness over lessons from the Greeks’ fate at Attic hands (Thuc. 6.76.3–4, 77.1).36 He rebuts specifically as ‘sophistries’ (6.77.1) Athenian contentions that their intervention was justified by aiding ‘kinsmen’ in Leontinoi (a Khalkidian colony): Athens had ‘enslaved’ the Khalkidians on Euboia (6.76.2).37 Hermokrates concedes that the Ionians derive from Athens – note this colonial or replicative ethnicity – having begun as willing allies for retribution against Persia,

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis but they were (once again) deceitfully enslaved – customary Peloponnesian exaggeration (Thuc. 6.76.3–4). Attic forces should be shown that they are not facing Ionians, ‘islanders’ – note again Peloponnesian sneering at Athenian allies – and Hellespontines, who are always enslaved to one master or another, but free Dorian inhabitants of Sicily from the autonomous Peloponnese (6.77.1)! Hermokrates describes possible Kamarinian assistance to Athens as helping ‘enemies by nature’ and destroying ‘kinsmen even more by nature’ (6.79.2). Peloponnesians who come to help will be people absolutely superior to Athenians (6.80.1). He closes by stating that failure of his mission would mean that, while the Syracusans are being plotted against by Ionians, inveterate enemies, as Dorians they are betrayed by Dorians (6.80.3). Naturally, Thucydides intended readers to heed the overwhelming fact of classical Sicilian history: Syracusan ambitions toward hegemony. Nor was ethnic solidarity so sincerely espoused by Hermokrates that its deployment was not largely calculated. Thucydides undermines Hermokrates’ argument at Kamarina by his earlier treatment of Hermokrates at Gela (424). There he had argued that Athens was not motivated by ethnic hatred; the Sicilian Khalkidians would not, that is, be safe because of sungeneia. Rather, the Athenians were motivated merely by greed (4.61.2–4; Will 1956, 66–7; cf. Hornblower CT 2.224–5). He presented the conventional idea of Sicilian Dorians and Khalkidians in conflict only to urge that Sikeliots consider themselves a community.38 The Athenians are ‘alien’ to all Sikeliots, inhabitants of a seagirt island. His comments are patently disingenuous, a self-serving rationale for keeping power dynamics in Sicily exclusively Sicilian, where Syracuse, the most potent player, would normally prevail. Thucydides deepens our insights regarding ethnicity by presenting a speech by the Athenian ambassador Euphemos who recasts fifth-century power relations in explicitly ethnic terms in a manner at variance with other Attic speakers in Thucydides, and with Thucydides himself.39 Euphemos attributes to Hermokrates ‘the greatest testimony’, namely that ‘the Ionians are always enemies to the Dorians’ (6.82.2). This phrasing does indeed open the query who hated whom first, and Euphemos answers. The policy of the Ionian Athenians, confronted with more numerous Dorian neighbors, was predicated on avoiding subjugation. Euphemos draws by implication on a deep well of myth concerning an early attack on Attica by Heraklids and Dorians.40 According to Atthidography, the boundary of Ionia was marked by a stele at the Megarian-Corinthian border, after the Ionians were expelled from the Peloponnesus.41 This monument was placed cooperatively by Ionians and Peloponnesians with the Corinthian face stating τάδ᾽ οὐχὶ Πελοπόννησος ἀλλ᾽ Ἰωνία and the Megarian face stating

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Thomas J. Figueira τάδ᾽ ἐστὶ Πελοπόννησος οὐκ Ἰωνία.

This demarcation was altered by the Dorians, who attacked Attica and, being defeated, destroyed the stele and Dorianized the Megarid. This myth grants a defensive tenor to Ionian ethnic solidarity; its origin makes best sense c. 510 when Megara stood at the outer edge of the Peloponnesian League (Figueira 1985, 298–300), and Sparta was intervening at Athens.42 A critical policy question was whether Athens accepted Spartan hegemony among the Peloponnesians. Anxiety over a Dorian invasion undoubtedly persisted in popular imagination. In 430 during the plague, an old text was recalled, predicting a ‘Dorian’ war, to be accompanied by a loimos ‘plague’ or limos ‘famine’ (Thuc. 2.54.1–3). Thucydides expressed his scorn for the popular belief that ‘plague’ was the correct version. That the Dorian invasion which Euphemos implies is otherwise absent in Thucydides bespeaks his skepticism. From this aspiration to deter Dorians, Euphemos thought that acquisition of thalassocracy, divergence from Spartan hegemony, and arkhe¯ followed (6.82.3). The charge that Athens subjected its kinsmen is unfair: it neglects the precipitating act, Ionian assistance to Persia against Athens, their me¯tropolis (6.82.3). An implicit contrast is thus marked with more prudent and faithful Ionian leaders in 478 who sought Attic hegemony. This adducing of sungeneia is inseparable from Athens’ claims as Ionian me¯tropolis (colonial ethnogenesis). Euphemos has opportunistically adopted the ethnic reasoning of Hermokrates in refutation, but his speech exemplifies Ionian discourse on ethnicity in its appeals to solidarity and to shared self-protection.43 That the Ionian character of Athens and its status as me¯tropolis loomed large in the background and formation of the Delian League (and remained as motivation for hegemonism) was a truism for contemporaries.44 For Thucydides, ethnicity customarily appears in claims to solidarity or enmity by parties in confrontation. As noted, Ionian assertions of solidarity wear defensive raiment. Euphemos, their only exponent in Thucydides, rebuts Hermokrates effectively, but his rationale for hegemony appears less persuasive, even less forthright, than the Athenians speaking at Sparta before the war. Dorian claims on behalf of ethnic solidarity and military superiority have a much higher profile. Prominent spokesmen like the Corinthian envoys, Brasidas, and Hermokrates seem undermined by contextual details, and Thucydides in his own authorial voice skewers the theory of innate Dorian superior courage at Miletos. In the Epitaphios, Thucydides offers a Perikles who steadfastly refrains from extolling Athenian culture as an ethnic construct. Ethnicity is only once adumbrated amid his silence: Perikles argues for the superiority of Athenian courage, citing the Spartan propensity for attacking Attica with many allies (2.39.1–4).

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis Thus, Perikles rebuts Dorian pretensions to martial superiority without dignifying them with direct allusion. The catalogue of allies and ethnicity in Thucydides Thucydides provides his most sustained treatment of ethnicity and affiliation in his catalogue before the climactic battle at Syracuse.45 This review parallels a similar list in Herodotus, inserted before Salamis (8.43–48). It is indicative of Thucydides’ understanding of international affairs that his earlier catalogue of allies was entirely free of higher ethnic coloring (2.9.1–6). This earlier passage, however, does share with the Syracusan catalogue the term ethne¯ at a lower level of organization. In 2.9.4 stands the striking expression ‘and the other cities being tributary in the following ethne¯ [peoples]’, which heads a list paralleling the tribute districts of the arkhe¯.46 The catalogue at Syracuse ends with ‘so many ethne¯ as this campaigned with the Athenians’.47 Every allied contingent is thus an ethnos.48 When a polis is not directly assigned to an ethnos, the polis itself can be an ethnos in Thucydides’ terms (cf. premise #1 above).49 That formulation appears a historiographical counterpart to administrative treatment of each summakhos as a polis (premise #1). One can find an extra-Thucydidean echo of the same principles in Diodorus’ description of the founding of Thourioi (12.11.3: probably from Timaeus). Each of 10 tribes was formed from an ethnos (pragmatically from Athenian/democratic partisans there: Figueira 1991, 162–5, 218). Intra-Peloponnesian tribes are unsurprisingly Arkas, Akhais, and Eleias. Extra-Peloponnesian ones, Boiotias, Doris, and the provocatively named Amphiktyonis (uniting settlers from various central Greek ethne¯ participating in governing Delphi) are called homoethne¯ ‘homogeneous peoples’.50 The Ionian cultural realm constitutes the four other gene¯ at Thourioi: Ias (Ionian), Athenais, Eubois, and Nesiotis (Insular). In this tribal structure, the Athenians mixed regional ethnicity and hegemonic administrative organization. Events had already sharpened ramifications of mixed ethnicity in Attic forces, for heterogeneity caused disaster during the nighttime assault on Epipolai.51 When a chance for success still existed, Doric-speaking allies (Argives and Corcyreans are named) sang the paean, engendering panic and acting as main cause in the defeat (7.44.5–8).52 The almost incalculably vast impact for Athens’ fate from the outcome to this action does contribute a vein of irony to the later catalogue. The negative psychological effect of the paean, whether sung by Dorian friends or enemies, depended wholly on rooted prejudice that a Doric-speaker equaled an enemy for Athenians.53 As proof against that bias stands the treatment of ethnicity not only in the catalogue but also in the entire work: ethnicity is not a touchstone of affiliation.

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Thomas J. Figueira At the start of the catalogue Thucydides surveys the motivations for participants in Syracusan campaign (7.57.1): ‘not standing particularly with each other for reasons of dike¯ [just cause] nor for sungeneia [kinship], but as for each it prevailed by happenstance or by reason of advantage or by ananke¯ [necessity]’. This dovetails with his admonition on Athenian motivation for the earlier Sicilian expedition (427) (3.86.4): ‘and the Athenians sent [ships] on the pretext of oikeiote¯s ‘affinity’, but intending both that grain not be conveyed thence to the Peloponnesus and implementing a preliminary test whether affairs in Sicily might be brought under control’. The influence of ethnicity is screened by oikeiote¯s ‘affinity’, which suggests an inhibition against pressing sungeneia (cf. Hornblower CT 1.493–4, 2.65), and in the second place is entirely pretextual. In the debates before the great expedition, sungeneia does not play a major role,54 although the Egestan envoys put ethnicity into play by raising the specter of massive Syracusan intervention in favor of fellow Dorians because of ‘kinship’.55 Alkibiades strikes an anti-ethnocentric pose, because he stresses Egestan status as allies, and reaffirms that Athens acquired its arkhe¯ through sympathy for such pleas (6.18.2), echoing Perikles (2.40.4). The rejected alternative is passivity and drawing ethnic distinctions between Greeks and barbarians (responding to Nikias’ characterizations [6.9.1, 11.7]). The verb (φυλοκρινοῖμεν ‘distinguish by affinity’) used here has a negative connotation.56 Hence, the resulting roster of allies point ups incongruities of affiliation repeatedly. Essential details on ethnicity are in bold. THUCYDIDES 7.57.1–59.1 1. [7.57.2] Ἀθηναῖοι μὲν αὐτοὶ Ἴωνες ἐπὶ Δωριᾶς Συρακοσίους ἑκόντες ἦλθον, 2. καὶ αὐτοῖς τῇ αὐτῇ φωνῇ καὶ νομίμοις ἔτι χρώμενοι Λήμνιοι καὶ Ἴμβριοι καὶ

Αἰγινῆται, οἳ τότε Αἴγιναν εἶχον, καὶ ἔτι Ἑστιαιῆς οἱ ἐν Εὐβοίᾳ Ἑστίαιαν οἰκοῦντες ἄποικοι ὄντες ξυνεστράτευσαν. [57.3] 3. τῶν δ᾽ ἄλλων οἱ μὲν ὑπήκοοι, οἱ δ᾽ ἀπὸ ξυμμαχίας αὐτόνομοι, εἰσὶ δὲ καὶ οἳ μισθοφόροι ξυνεστράτευον. [57.4] καὶ τῶν μὲν ὑπηκόων καὶ φόρου ὑποτελῶν Ἐρετριῆς καὶ Χαλκιδῆς καὶ Στυρῆς καὶ Καρύστιοι ἀπ᾽ Εὐβοίας ἦσαν, ἀπὸ δὲ νήσων Κεῖοι καὶ Ἄνδριοι καὶ Τήνιοι, ἐκ δ᾽ Ἰωνίας Μιλήσιοι καὶ Σάμιοι καὶ Χῖοι. τούτων Χῖοι οὐχ ὑποτελεῖς ὄντες φόρου, ναῦς δὲ παρέχοντες αὐτόνομοι ξυνέσποντο. καὶ τὸ πλεῖστον Ἴωνες ὄντες οὗτοι πάντες καὶ ἀπ᾽ Ἀθηναίων πλὴν Καρυστίων (οὗτοι δ᾽ εἰσὶ Δρύοπες), ὑπήκοοι δ᾽ ὄντες καὶ ἀνάγκῃ ὅμως Ἴωνές γε ἐπὶ Δωριᾶς ἠκολούθουν. [57.5] 4. πρὸς δ᾽ αὐτοῖς Αἰολῆς, Μηθυμναῖοι μὲν ναυσὶ καὶ οὐ φόρῳ ὑπήκοοι, Τενέδιοι δὲ καὶ Αἴνιοι ὑποτελεῖς. οὗτοι δὲ Αἰολῆς Αἰολεῦσι τοῖς κτίσασι Βοιωτοῖς μετὰ Συρακοσίων κατ᾽ ἀνάγκην ἐμάχοντο, 5. Πλαταιῆς δὲ καταντικρὺ [or Böhme: καὶ ἄντικρυς: Hornblower CT 3.663–4] Βοιωτοὶ Βοιωτοῖς μόνοι εἰκότως κατὰ τὸ ἔχθος.

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis 6. [57.6] Ῥόδιοι δὲ καὶ Κυθήριοι Δωριῆς ἀμφότεροι, οἱ μὲν Λακεδαιμονίων

ἄποικοι Κυθήριοι ἐπὶ Λακεδαιμονίους τοὺς ἅμα Γυλίππῳ μετ᾽ Ἀθηναίων ὅπλα ἔφερον, Ῥόδιοι δὲ Ἀργεῖοι γένος Συρακοσίοις μὲν Δωριεῦσι, Γελῴοις δὲ καὶ ἀποίκοις ἑαυτῶν οὖσι μετὰ Συρακοσίων στρατευομένοις ἠναγκάζοντο πολεμεῖν. [57.7] 7. τῶν τε περὶ Πελοπόννησον νησιωτῶν Κεφαλλῆνες μὲν καὶ Ζακύνθιοι αὐτόνομοι μέν, κατὰ δὲ τὸ νησιωτικὸν μᾶλλον κατειργόμενοι, ὅτι θαλάσσης ἐκράτουν οἱ Ἀθηναῖοι, ξυνείποντο· 8. Κερκυραῖοι δὲ οὐ μόνον Δωριῆς, ἀλλὰ καὶ Κορίνθιοι σαφῶς ἐπὶ Κορινθίους τε καὶ Συρακοσίους, τῶν μὲν ἄποικοι ὄντες, τῶν δὲ ξυγγενεῖς, ἀνάγκῃ μὲν ἐκ τοῦ εὐπρεποῦς, βουλήσει δὲ κατὰ ἔχθος τὸ Κορινθίων οὐχ ἧσσον εἵποντο. [57.8] 9. καὶ οἱ Μεσσήνιοι νῦν καλούμενοι ἐκ Ναυπάκτου καὶ ἐκ Πύλου τότε ὑπ᾽ Ἀθηναίων ἐχομένης ἐς τὸν πόλεμον παρελήφθησαν. 10. καὶ ἔτι Μεγαρέων φυγάδες οὐ πολλοὶ Μεγαρεῦσι Σελινουντίοις οὖσι κατὰ ξυμφορὰν ἐμάχοντο. [57.9] τῶν δὲ ἄλλων ἑκούσιος μᾶλλον ἡ στρατεία ἐγίγνετο ἤδη. 11. Ἀργεῖοι μὲν γὰρ οὐ τῆς ξυμμαχίας ἕνεκα μᾶλλον ἢ τῆς Λακεδαιμονίων τε ἔχθρας καὶ τῆς παραυτίκα ἕκαστοι ἰδίας ὠφελίας Δωριῆς ἐπὶ Δωριᾶς μετὰ Ἀθηναίων Ἰώνων ἠκολούθουν, 12. Μαντινῆς δὲ καὶ ἄλλοι Ἀρκάδων μισθοφόροι ἐπὶ τοὺς αἰεὶ πολεμίους σφίσιν ἀποδεικνυμένους ἰέναι εἰωθότες καὶ τότε τοὺς μετὰ Κορινθίων ἐλθόντας Ἀρκάδας οὐδὲν ἧσσον διὰ κέρδος ἡγούμενοι πολεμίους, 13. Κρῆτες δὲ καὶ Αἰτωλοὶ μισθῷ καὶ οὗτοι πεισθέντες· ξυνέβη δὲ τοῖς Κρησὶ τὴν Γέλαν Ῥοδίοις ξυγκτίσαντας μὴ ξὺν τοῖς ἀποίκοις, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ τοὺς ἀποίκους ἑκόντας μετὰ μισθοῦ ἐλθεῖν. [57.10] 14. καὶ Ἀκαρνάνων τινὲς ἅμα μὲν κέρδει, τὸ δὲ πλέον Δημοσθένους φιλίᾳ καὶ Ἀθηναίων εὐνοίᾳ ξύμμαχοι ὄντες ἐπεκούρησαν. [57.11] καὶ οἵδε μὲν τῷ Ἰονίῳ κόλπῳ ὁριζόμενοι· 15. Ἰταλιωτῶν δὲ Θούριοι καὶ Μεταπόντιοι ἐν τοιαύταις ἀνάγκαις τότε στασιωτικῶν καιρῶν κατειλημμένοι ξυνεστράτευον, 16. καὶ Σικελιωτῶν Νάξιοι καὶ Καταναῖοι, βαρβάρων δὲ Ἐγεσταῖοί τε, οἵπερ ἐπηγάγοντο, καὶ Σικελῶν τὸ πλέον, 17. καὶ τῶν ἔξω Σικελίας Τυρσηνῶν τέ τινες κατὰ διαφορὰν Συρακοσίων 18. καὶ Ἰάπυγες μισθοφόροι. τοσάδε μὲν μετὰ Ἀθηναίων ἔθνη ἐστράτευον. [7.58.1] I. [7.58.1] Συρακοσίοις δὲ ἀντεβοήθησαν Καμαριναῖοι μὲν ὅμοροι ὄντες καὶ Γελῷοι οἰκοῦντες μετ᾽ αὐτούς, ἔπειτα Ἀκραγαντίνων ἡσυχαζόντων ἐν τῷ ἐπ᾽ ἐκεῖνα ἱδρυμένοι Σελινούντιοι. [58.2] καὶ οἵδε μὲν τῆς Σικελίας τὸ πρὸς Λιβύην μέρος τετραμμένον νεμόμενοι, Ἱμεραῖοι δὲ ἀπὸ τοῦ πρὸς τὸν Τυρσηνικὸν πόντον μορίου, ἐν ᾧ καὶ μόνοι Ἕλληνες οἰκοῦσιν· οὗτοι δὲ καὶ ἐξ αὐτοῦ μόνοι ἐβοήθησαν. [58.3] καὶ Ἑλληνικὰ μὲν ἔθνη τῶν ἐν Σικελίᾳ τοσάδε, Δωριῆς τε καὶ [οἱ] αὐτόνομοι πάντες, ξυνεμάχουν, II. βαρβάρων δὲ Σικελοὶ μόνοι ὅσοι μὴ ἀφέστασαν πρὸς τοὺς Ἀθηναίους· III. τῶν δ᾽ ἔξω Σικελίας Ἑλλήνων Λακεδαιμόνιοι μὲν ἡγεμόνα Σπαρτιάτην παρεχόμενοι, νεοδαμώδεις δὲ τοὺς ἄλλους καὶ Εἵλωτας [δύναται δὲ τὸ νεοδαμῶδες ἐλεύθερον ἤδη εἶναι],

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Thomas J. Figueira IV. Κορίνθιοι δὲ καὶ ναυσὶ καὶ πεζῷ μόνοι παραγενόμενοι καὶ Λευκάδιοι καὶ Ἀμπρακιῶται κατὰ τὸ ξυγγενές,

V. ἐκ δὲ Ἀρκαδίας μισθοφόροι ὑπὸ Κορινθίων ἀποσταλέντες VI. καὶ Σικυώνιοι ἀναγκαστοὶ στρατεύοντες, VII. καὶ τῶν ἔξω Πελοποννήσου Βοιωτοί. VIII. [58.4] πρὸς δὲ τοὺς ἐπελθόντας τούτους οἱ Σικελιῶται αὐτοὶ πλῆθος

πλέον κατὰ πάντα παρέσχοντο ἅτε μεγάλας πόλεις οἰκοῦντες· καὶ γὰρ ὁπλῖται πολλοὶ καὶ νῆες καὶ ἵπποι καὶ ὁ ἄλλος ὅμιλος ἄφθονος ξυνελέγη. καὶ πρὸς ἅπαντας αὖθις ὡς εἰπεῖν τοὺς ἄλλους Συρακόσιοι αὐτοὶ πλείω ἐπορίσαντο διὰ μέγεθός τε πόλεως καὶ ὅτι ἐν μεγίστῳ κινδύνῳ ἦσαν. [7.59.1] καὶ αἱ μὲν ἑκατέρων ἐπικουρίαι τοσαίδε ξυνελέγησαν, καὶ τότε ἤδη πᾶσαι ἀμφοτέροις παρῆσαν καὶ οὐκέτι οὐδὲν οὐδετέροις ἐπῆλθεν.

A major theme is how sungeneia and ethnicity work at cross-purposes with allegiance. Only exceptionally do kinsmen and coethnics fight cooperatively, as Lemnians, Imbrians, and Attic colonists for Athens (#2), or, for Syracuse, the Dorian Sikeliots (#I) or, alongside the Corinthians, Leukadians and Ambrakiots (#IV). We are disabused of the idea that merely the Ionian or Dorian found himself perversely aligned. Other claims from sungeneia and oikeiote¯s between groups are similarly confounded. The bipolarity of international power politics during a ‘total’ war between two ‘great powers’ overrode other associative principles. ‘Ascending ethnogenesis’, where a powerful polis claims hegemony through championing large groups like Ionians, Dorians, or Sikeliots, acts preemptively toward other forms of affinity, but ultimately fails through the force of Realpolitik. Hegemonism is thus the primary dynamic force in the Thucydidean view of late fifthcentury inter-polis politics. However, sungeneia between mother-city and colony has a real presence here and may be marginally privileged.57 Colonies appear among Attic allies in #2. While the poleis in #3 are ‘for the most part Ionians and from the Athenians’, they are ‘subjects under compulsion’. But colonial ties are mostly raised to note their violation. Aiolic east Greeks (#4) are found fighting against Boiotian founders. Kythereans and Rhodians (#6) fight respectively against Spartan colonizers and Geloan colonists. Corcyreans, who are simply Korinthioi, fight against Corinthian colonizers (#8). The fidelity of Ambrakiots and Leukadians, Corinthian colonists, is characterized by sungeneia. Megarian exiles fight against Selinountines who are Megarians (#10), in deliberate simplification for emphasis. Sicilian Megara served as intervening me¯tropolis (Thuc. 6.4.2; cf 6.6.2). Cretans fight against colonists at Gela (#13). Geloans fight for Syracuse; their Akragantine colonizers remain neutral (#I). Various factors accounting for affiliation are adduced. One large category for Athens comprises willing participants, and, beyond Athenians

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis themselves, they were more numerous by contingents than by numbers: (##1–2; #5; #8; #9; #10; #11; #14, #16). Superficially willing were the Zakynthians and Kephallenians (#7), though Thucydides notes their lack of options. Thourioi and Metapontines (#15) were willing allies, but again conditioned by the deciding pressure exerted by internal stasis. For Syracuse, willing participants predominate: ##I–II; ##III–IV; #VII. The rationale of hatred does not create a discrete classification, but a sub-class among the willing. Here for Athens are #5; #8; #11; #17. A substantial role is played by mercenary service, another sub-category of willing activity: for Athens: #12; ##13–14; #18, although the Argives (#11) were not only driven by hatred of Sparta, but also by hope of gain; and for Syracuse, Arkadian mercenaries raised by Corinth (#V). The only other decisive motivation was compulsion: for Athens, hype¯kooi or hypoteleis, and others acting under ananke¯: #3; #4; #6. The Sikyonians (#VI) were compulsory combatants on the Peloponnesian side (cf. Thuc. 5.81.2). As we have seen, claims to loyalty through kinship or ethnic solidarity are frequently assigned to political agents by Thucydides. In most cases, they fail of their result or play a lesser role in motivation. Thucydides favors more opportunistic rationales for decision-making, especially in an environment where two powerful poleis were trying to use symbolic and expedient appeals or material incentives for constructing larger hierarchical aggregates of polities. Even Hermokrates, as doughty an ethnicizer of current affairs as any when it suited his purposes, explicitly excludes ethnic solidarity as motivation for Attic Sicilian policy. As argued elsewhere (2006a, 261–2), structural factors – subsistence pressures, economic integration, defensive concerns, even religious interaction and panhellenic influences – impelled poleis toward wider associative frameworks. However, their aggregate impact is significantly weaker than both an inward-regarding impetus toward autarchy and autarky and the polis’ fissiparous impulses toward fracturing into still smaller poleis (2008, 305). Fifth-century claims of sungeneia constitute a counter-balancing tool, repeatedly utilized to drive the balance of power relations in favor of larger blocs. Regardless of efficacy, historical actors were continually tempted to their use, since the factors militating against amassing poleis into greater constellations left them without other effective recourse.58 Thucydides does recognize that Athens as me¯tropolis was a potent factor in hegemonism, and not only as historical me¯tropolis of late archaic or fifth-century colonies but also as me¯tropolis in myth of a majority of Ionicspeaking allies. However, his Athens sits primarily in defensive stance, trying to preserve arkhe¯, ¯ethea, and democracy. Ethnicity plays no role in the

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Thomas J. Figueira Athenian speech at the prewar Peloponnesian congress (1.73.1–78.5), nor is it highlighted in Perikles’ speeches on diplomatic-military issues (1.141.2– 144.4, 2.60.1–64.6). In the Epitaphios (2.35.1–46), Perikles does not celebrate an ethnic vision of Athens. Athens is paideusis of Hellas, not of the Ionians (2.41.1–46.2). Here ethnicizing is adumbrated subtly for rebuttal. Perikles authoritatively dismisses Dorian prejudice regarding Ionian worldliness, luxury, and enervation with ‘...we love fine things with economy and we love wisdom without effeminacy...’ (2.40.1). The Spartans, however, according to the Corinthians and Hermokrates, ought to have been fighting for Dorians, threatened by Ionian polypragmosune¯. The major theme of their propaganda, however, was a more negative one, Greek autonomia.59 Even if this was wholeheartedly sincere – the Attic spokesmen in Thucydides have scored too many points against Spartan sincerity to render that reaction plausible – any ethnic motivations seem by comparison attenuated. The presence of appeals to ethnicity, however, tends to indicate that their other main positive rationale for enlisting support, protection of aristokratia, was scarcely less tenuous.60 The idiosyncratic sociopolitical order of Sparta presented no viable paradigm – nothing like Attic democracy – so that there was an impassable chasm between Spartan policy goals and social values and their oligarchic allies. Although his treatment of sungeneia has been criticized,61 Thucydides seemingly lent a leitmotif to modern analysis in its appreciation of how elites invoke common ethnicity as a tactic in self-promotion. This is not unfair but fails to credit fully his sociology of policy-making. While elite spokesmen regularly appeal to ethnicity, such appeals do not constitute the most dynamic arguments in their rhetoric. Where details of decisionmaking are presented in speeches, Thucydides nowhere explicitly states that any decision of a deliberative body was moved primarily by ethnic solidarity or alienation.62 The difference in outlook between Herodotus and Thucydides seems less the passage of a generation in conceptual evolution, but rather rests in different exposure to policy-making. For Thucydides, rationales for policy, however counter-productive or pathological, are predominantly shaped by Realpolitik and grounded in material advantage. Arguments about sungeneia belong to elaboration which is clad upon a skeleton of opportunistic behavior. However, let us not over-emphasize Thucydides’ elevation above an ordinary citizen’s appreciation. He was convinced that common men sitting in deliberation actually shared the sensibility of elite policy-makers. This often renders rhetoric of ethnicity conventional hypocrisy, spoken and received in collusion (albeit at times pious or patriotic collusion). Democritus fr. 107 D/K deserves mention, as it touches the core of

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis this late fifth-century appraisal of affinity: ‘not all (k)sungenees [kinsmen] are friends [or friendly], but those (k)sumpho¯neontes [speaking the same language] about the (k)sumpherontos [what is advantageous]’. In striking alliteration, Democritus subverts the main aspect of classical ethnicity, linguistic community. To him the real common language of contemporaries was the lingua franca of self-interest, a pho¯ne¯ finding ready comprehension. This de-ethnicized vision of political cooperation is not always pervaded by the cynicism of Democritus or of Thucydides’ catalog. In Thucydides’ Weltanschauung lay Perikles’ vision of the public-spirited citizen, shaped by a democratic polis, finding common ground with those of other cities by rendering aid (2.40.4). Euripides brilliantly dramatized such a transformation of outlook on sungeneia in Iolaos’ speech in the Heraclidae. The speaker, a Heraclid par excellence, begins by echoing conventional Dorian oligarchic rhetoric with an assertion not out of character for a Theognis: there is no fairer geras ‘gift of honor’ than derivation from a good father, inasmuch as eugeneia ‘good heredity’ weathers misfortune better than dusgeneia ‘bad heredity’. Then in a major change in ideological hue, Iolaos states that the Heraclids have found friends and kinsmen alone in Greece among the Athenians (297–306): ‘having fallen into the extremity of misfortunes, we have found these as friends and sungenneis ‘kinsmen’, who have become champions, alone out of a vast inhabited Greek land (cf. Heraclid. 329–32). He invokes the same principle for building affinity through benefaction that is extolled in the Epitaphios. Messenian ethnogenesis in the late Fifth Century Thucydides is a vital source for understanding Messenian ethnicity. Three testimonia stand out: 1) Spartan Helots all came to be called Messenians (1.101.2); 2) the Messenians were homophonoi with the Spartans (4.4.3, 41.2); 3) Messenians at Syracuse from Naupaktos and Pylos were ‘now so-called’ such (7.57.8). I postpone for a moment the broader question how Thucydides himself envisaged Messenian ethnogenesis. The inception of Messenian ethnogenesis was early enough to reflect the Thucydidean Weltanschauung of ‘ascendant’ ethnogenesis and the bipolarity of a two-power struggle for hegemony. Thus, the phenomena exposed by my earlier investigations on the creation of Messenian identity assume added layers of meaning (p. 148 n. 2). One key process is social bifurcation where the manifestations of ethnicity for the Messenians come to mirror Spartan cultural phenomena (the schismogenesis of anthropologists: Figueira 2006b; Figueira & Figueira 2009, 313). The overt struggle for Messenian identity began with the rebellion of 465, and somewhat favored its polis aspects over ethnic personification.

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Thomas J. Figueira The Spartan dismissal of the Athenians from Ithome (Thuc. 1.102.2–4) was an exaggerated reaction to Attic activism (to tolme¯ron ‘daring’; neo¯teropoiia ‘innovation’). Significant Athenians present were perhaps inclined to press for mediation with the rebels (surely a radical innovation in Spartan perception). Such stasis might well seem similar to violent upheavals embroiling elites and de¯mos elements elsewhere, which the Athenians often remedied by reconciliation and redintegration. In contrast, the Spartans injected ethnic hostility (distastefully for Thucydides): the Athenians at Ithome were allophulai ‘alien in ethnicity’. The ‘Old Oligarch’ mocked Athenian democrats for aligning with the Spartiates (hoi beltistoi) over the de¯mos (strikingly Messe¯nioi here), only to suffer Spartan attack subsequently ([Xen.] Ath. Pol. 3.11: Luraghi 2001b, 287). Paradoxically, such rebels could be both ethnos and de¯mos, sovereign in principle. Athens dealt pragmatically with the die-hard Messenians after their withdrawal from Lako¯nike¯, but not unequivocally as ethnos or polis in exile.63 Messenians resettled at Naupaktos were not an apoikia (Figueira 1999, 220). They were sojourners whose patris lay elsewhere, as noted during their later raids (Thuc. 4.41.2). Yet Athens does not appear to have made a treaty with them. Their status ambiguity embodied cautious diplomacy: recognizing fugitive Helots as de¯mos/ethnos (cf. Figueira 1999, 218–19), whether of all Lako¯nike¯ or only Messenia, legitimized a liberation struggle, which portended total war. Even after the Messenians had been unleashed on Lako¯nike¯, Athens studiously avoided clarifying their status in the Peace of Nikias (421). In fact Athens was ready to surrender Pylos and other points d’appui for Amphipolis (Thuc. 5.18.7). The spondai sought to re-establish the status quo ante, necessarily returning the Messenians to a state of indeterminacy. Subsequently, in their aftermath, Athens countenanced distinctions among groups derived from Helots: Μεσσηνίους γε καὶ τοὺς Εἵλωτας (Thuc. 5.35.6); Μεσσηνίους καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους Εἵλωτάς τε καὶ ὅσοι ηὐτομολήκεσαν ἐκ τῆς Λακωνικῆς (35.7);64 and τοὺς Μεσσηνίους καὶ Εἵλωτας (56.2; cf. 5.56.3: Εἵλωτας).65 These did not track ethnic varieties but served as convenient catch-alls. Contrastingly, the cohesive, earlier fugitives could not be denied their Messenian self-identification.66 Thucydides does not wholeheartedly espouse the equation of Helots with Messenians and never offers his own typology in its place. However, the Naupaktian Messenians styled themselves as a canonical polis, as seen in victory dedications as Messe¯nioi.67 At any event, as we have already seen, an ethnos representing itself as a polis would not be unusual in Athenian hegemonic protocols. The contention that these Messenians were exiles from a subjugated polis, elided Perioikic participation in the earlier rebellion. Another attestation is a long known, more recently

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis published, inscription with an agreement between Messenians and Lokrian Naupaktioi, c. 430–20 (Matthaiou & Mastrokostas 2000–3). Proverbs about the intensity of the slavery of Messenia likely derive from the Pentekontaeteia: ‘more enslaved than Messene’, a bold metaphor extending personal servitude to a people’s land.68 This aspiration to re-establish the polis Messene differs somewhat from the eventual Messenian state, a koinon on the pattern of the Boiotians and other contemporary ethne¯ (Luraghi 2008, 249–51). In light of Thucydides’ reticence, it is hardly surprising that even powerful Messenian self-promotion failed to shape Attic policy to its needs. Euripides, however, shows that a more sympathetic popular engagement with the Messenioi did exist. As a coherent people they appear in his Kresphontes (430–22), known from fragments.69 A first Kresphontes was allotted Messenia in the Heraclid division of the Peloponnese, initially an Argive scenario,70 within which Spartans and Messenians operated.71 Sparta not only adduced sundry later crimes against the Messenians (Paus. 4.3.4–6; 4.4.4–5.3), such as outrages against Spartan maidens and murder of King Teleklos, but also denied the partition’s legitimacy by charging Kresphontes with deceit (two diametrically opposite ploys are alleged).72 The Heraclid kings were also discredited as having adulterated Messenia’s Doric character,73 a touch characteristic of late fifth-century ethnic polemics, or were rendered beholden to Spartan intervention.74 Notably, even here the linguistic and cultural similiarity of Helots to Spartans excluded denying a Dorian identity to primeval Messenians. Euripides’ play, however, casts another ideological hue on early Messenia.75 Pausanias is helpful: his Kresphontes, founder of Messenia and father of the play’s hero, was accepted by pre-Dorians with whom Dorians shared the land (4.3.5–6). Settling in Stenyklaros, he was killed by the wealthy for democratic tendencies (4.3.6–8; cf. 8.5.6–7, 29.5). His son Aipytos bears an Arkadian royal name and founds the Aipytid dynasty, after being harbored in Arkadia and restored by the Arkadians and Dorian kings of Sparta and Argos. His Argive and Arkadian allies might preserve traditions of seventh- and sixth-century alignments, but also resonate for classical politics. In Euripides, the son is Kresphontes; he kills a usurper, his uncle Polyphontes. Since this Kresphontes is described as hidden with his maternal grandfather – under the name Aipytis in a tradition represented by Apollodorus – Euripides probably treated Kresphontes/ Aipytis as the same person.76 Perhaps this helped conflate policies of two homonymous kings named Kresphontes, in particular, a grant of isonomia by the Dorians to aboriginal Messenians (4.3.6; cf. Eur. fr. 448a.14). Therefore, early Messenian mythology contained dueling interpretations:

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Thomas J. Figueira Atticizers opted for populism and ethnic fusion; Laconizers for ethnic adulteration and Spartan rectification. Both approaches accommodated the critical datum: contemporary Messenians were observably Doric speakers. Hyginus later offered a variant where Kresphontes’ exile occurred in Aitolia (not Arkadia). If Euripidean,77 it established a precedent for harboring refugees from Lako¯nike¯ at Naupaktos. His return to Messenia in myth/drama presaged repatriation thence of Naupaktian Messenians. Kresphontes the elder and Aipytos were venerated at later Messene (Paus. 4.27.6); Kresphontes was incorporated into the visual program of the naos of goddess Messene (4.31.11) and served as tribal eponym (e.g., SEG 23.215, 217). An intertextual cluster yields further evidence. Euripides fr. 453.15–26 from Kresphontes contains a choral invocation of peace and the beginning of a denunciation of stasis and eris. Aristophanes in his lost Georgoi alluded to this passage in order to embody aspirations for an armistice (fr. 111 [PCG 3.2.81–2]). Stobaeus’ anthology headed its section ‘on peace’ with these passages (Flor. 4.14.1–2). Thus, their relationship was probably recognized in antiquity. Georgoi was performed no earlier than Dionysia 424 (Plutarch [Nic. 8.1–3] thought fr. 102 referred to Nikias’ giving-up of the Pylos command), and cannot follow Dionysia 422, for Kleon appears to be alive (fr. 103). Polybius presents a version of Euripides fr. 453.15–22 (12.25k.3–9), derived from Timaeus (FGH 566 F22), who attributed this allusion to Hermokrates at Gela, summer 424 (cf. Thuc. 4.59.1–64.5). Polybius inveighs against the banality of Timaeus’ rendition, believing it a free composition. Rather, one is impressed that the only contemporary work quoted by Timaeus’ Hermokrates happens to be a play obviously quite topical. Would Timaeus have appreciated this? Preservation of a citation from Hermokrates is no problem. Antiochos of Syracuse, a contemporary and likely source, ended his history in 424/3, possibly with the congress of Gela (FGH 555 T3). Kresphontes reflected events around Pylos in spring 425: the Messenian lodgement made their myth-history matter.78 Invocation of peace aptly follows the Spartan peace initiative of May 425 (Thuc. 4.17.1–21.4). Admonition against unrest would resonate against a backdrop of Kleon’s criticism of the generals. Kresphontes subordinates political subtexts to a narratival paradigm: familial usurpation – avenger survival – jeopardized avenger – vengeance with communal restoration. Despite genuine sympathy toward the Messenians, peace was the preoccupation.79 Beyond general enthusiasm for Euripides in Sicily (Plut. Nic. 29.2; Satyros VE fr. 39, col. XIX), pro-Peloponnesians like Hermokrates would be interested in Athenian peace yearnings and possible terms, while the Athenian tide

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis swelled and Sparta lay battered. Now Euripides’ audience could dream not only of honorable armistice but also of Messenian repatriation. Kleon had convinced them that Sparta must concede more than mere restoration of pre-war holdings (Thuc. 4.21.3). Messenian rehabilitation fits alongside demands for recovering allies surrendered in 446. However, when the Georgoi were performed, disappointment at Megara, disaster at Delion, and defections Thraceward dampened enthusiasm. The Messenians were lost from the Peace of Nikias. And notably any reminiscence of Euripides’ Kresphontes in Hermokrates’ actual speech at Gela failed to qualify as a necessity for Thucydidean Hermokrates. This understanding of Messenian ethnogenesis allows us to reread a controversial Thucydidean passage (1.101.2): ‘[the Spartans] were prevented [from aiding Thasos] by the earthquake that had occurred in which both the Helots and the Thouriatai and the Aithaies of the Perioikoi had rebelliously withdrawn to Ithome’, πλεῖστοι δὲ τῶν Εἱλώτων ἐγένοντο οἱ

τῶν παλαιῶν Μεσσηνίων τότε δουλωθέντων ἀπόγονοι· ᾗ καὶ Μεσσήνιοι ἐκλήθησαν οἱ πάντες ‘the majority of the Helots came to be the descendants of the

ancient Messenians once enslaved, wherefore all of them were called Messenians’ (Figueira 1999, 211–4). This seems straightforward: Thucydides thought the largest component of Helots comprised descendants of subjected Messenians. One might object that he lacked means of determining this (in present knowledge), and was perhaps misled by the majority of Spartiate kle¯roi lying in Messenia.80 Even so, he probably shared the opinions of contemporary Messenians, whose leaders he knew through his strate¯gia. The catalogue of allies at Syracuse describes them as οἱ Μεσσήνιοι νῦν καλούμενοι ἐκ Ναυπάκτου καὶ ἐκ Πύλου ‘the now so-called Messenians from Naupactus and from Pylos’ (7.57.8). The phrase νῦν καλούμενοι colors his earlier assertion that all Helots were called Messenians by emphasizing that Messenian identity was still fluid (as already noted). Thucydides’ next statement has occasioned dispute: πλεῖστοι δὲ τῶν Εἱλώτων ἐγένοντο οἱ τῶν παλαιῶν Μεσσηνίων τότε δουλωθέντων ἀπόγονοι. Its implication is that this understanding of Helot origins caused them all to be called Messenians.81 This has been a dominant interpretation.82 Luraghi objects because he thinks that this equation of Helots with Messenians would be unique to Thucydides.83 While noting in passing the good sense of the traditional interpretation in ethnogenetic and demographic terms, let me start with the syntax. Luraghi proposes that Thucydides was describing the majority of Helot rebels c. 465 and not the simple majority of all Helots (Luraghi 2002c). That is troubling first because the rebels included Perioikoi who would then have been entirely forgotten here by Thucydides.

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Thomas J. Figueira Luraghi also believes that the appearance of the aorist verbs ἐγένοντο and ἐκλήθησαν supports his understanding.84 Thucydides, however, does indeed use ἐγένοντο to mark a group’s past achievement of a status/condition that is relevant in the historian’s present so that my interpretation is acceptable syntactically.85 In this case, descent from the enslaved Messenians came to characterize the majority of the Helots. Moreover, if he had wanted to characterize just the rebels, Thucydides would never have said πλεῖστοι δὲ τῶν Εἱλώτων without somehow reiterating the idea of defection, probably as a participle agreeing with τῶν Εἱλώτων, especially since he ends the sentence with the emphatic οἱ πάντες. Even Luraghi elsewhere concedes: ‘from a Messenian perspective, fugitives from Laconia were Messenian by definition’ (Luraghi 2008, 190 n. 63). To object that this formula (all Helots = Messenians) did not prevail permanently is immaterial if one understands its contextual valence. It reflects the other vacillations between the insurgents as submerged class and as ethnos. As to who called Helots Messenians, they were presumably Athenians of the Pentekontaeteia and Peloponnesian War, Thucydides’ contemporaries.86 Herodotus, the ‘Old Oligarch’, and Aristophanes, speak in the same vein as Thucydides’ Athenians in that Helots in rebellion can simply be Messenians.87 After mentioning frequent Messenian revolts, Plato advises that slaves not share the same homeland or language (ἀσυμφώνους), as though the Helots were a single Messenian people (Plato Leges 777B–D). Pausanias (3.11.8) elaborates regarding the fated victories of seer Tisamenos:88 ἀπέστησαν δὲ οὐχ ἅπαντες οἱ εἵλωτες, ἀλλὰ τὸ Μεσσηνιακὸν ἀπὸ τῶν ἀρχαίων Εἱλώτων ἀποσχισθέντες ‘not all the Helots revolted, but the Messenian element, having split off from the ancient Helots’. This extrapolates from Thucydides, introducing the concept of deliberate ethnogenesis from an undifferentiated parent stock. Several elaborations probably derive from Atthidography. Plutarch Cimon 16.7 offers an involved sequence: Helots revolt, are thrown back from Sparta, withdraw to their poleis, persuade Perioikoi to rebel, and then Messenians join the attack. This is striking for its willingness to see the rebels multivalently as actors in a populist uprising (Helots + Perioikoi = de¯mos), in a rebellion of subject poleis (Helots = hype¯kooi), and in an insurrection of the Messenioi (= an ethnos).89 Facets of simultaneous ethnogenesis are presented successively. Some later accounts reflect emergence of the Messenian ethnos by improbably making rebellion their premeditated act avant la lettre.90 For Luraghi, later accounts reflect post-liberation formulations where Messene needed to differentiate its Messenians both from remaining Laconian Helots and from Messenian Perioikoi (Luraghi 2008, 195–7). For us fluidity or indeterminacy of

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis ‘Messenian’ identity in aftermath of the rebellion defied resolution into categories retroactively. The image of the pro–Athenian fugitive community flickered before Attic eyes, now as Messenians, now as de¯mos of Lako¯nike¯. My interpretation of Thuc. 1.101.2 may well also have the advantage of consistency with actual fifth-century Messenian behavior. The insurgents behaved as though all Helots and kle¯roi concerned them. Raiders did not limit depredations to Messenia, rightful territory of a Messenian state. Rather, they operated from Cape Malea, and perhaps Kythera, against Lakonia itself, and recruited defectors freely in Lako¯nike¯, just as some original (465) rebels included Lakonian Helots (DS 11.64.1; Plut. Cimon 16.7).91 Any Helot who fled and sided with Athens and the Naupaktos Messenians was Messenian without distinction paid to geographical origin.92 Moreover, the automoloi ‘deserters’ mentioned passingly in Thucydides probably included fugitives from the Perioikoi and Hypomeiones. The Messenian militancy, viewed from the outside, could appear as servile insurrection, populist uprising, or even class war. But from the inside all Helots were co-ethnics, struggling for their ethnos and polis. The nature of Helotage created Helot homogeneity (Figueira 1999, 212, 224; 2019, 580–1). Despite modern speculation, no contemporary ancient source ever distinguishes between Lakonian and Messenian Helots. State administration was primitive and limited to scrutiny of harvests and surveillance by the krypteia. Spartiates were absentee landowners who did not manage holdings until after 450, when Spartan women assumed some practical direction. The mnoionomoi, Helot ‘leaders’ mediated with ‘officialdom’ (Hesych. s.v. μνωιονόμοι, μ 1626). In the ascent of Spartiate numbers, natural expansion of Helots was decisive, a demographic wave lifting the complement of kle¯roi. In a passive mode of labor allocation, Helot youths were afforded early chances to form households. Among small groups of scattered dependent laborers, necessarily differing in procreative outcomes, maintenance of inherited distinctions among Helots – even assuming these advantageous to Sparta – was inconceivable. Helots were mobile, becoming a single population, who had a single ritual culture93 and common dialect.94 Reactions from classical Spartans to Helot insurgency reveal similar contradictions and dissonances.95 One response was simply to deny a polis or ethnic designation to Helot/Messenian insurgents. Spartans and Helots differed in status as befitted the distinction between free and slave, an embodiment of their natures, because Spartiates had demonstrated, historically in conquest and individually in their ago¯ge¯, superiority in arete¯ justifying Helotage. Hence, Isocrates has Arkhidamos III, responding to

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Thomas J. Figueira the loss of Messenia, explicitly deny that Thebes was restoring Messenia to original owners rather than bestowing it improperly on disobedient slaves.96 The homogenization allowing every Helot to become Messenian for Athenians meant for Spartans that no Helot was Messenian. This stance on the servile nature of the Helots was generally consistent. Sparta permitted the rebels at Ithome to withdraw from the Peloponnesus as suppliants of Zeus Ithometas (as Delphi described them) just like fugitive slaves who had fled to an asylon (Thuc. 1.102.1–2). If any were caught returning, he would become the slave of his captor. A treaty with Tegea stipulates that Messenian fugitives not be made khre¯stoi, ‘free men’ (most likely) (Plut. Mor. 292B, cf. 277B–C, Aris. fr. 609.1–2 Gigon). The designation could be early, from a first Tegean treaty (560–50); yet the treaty cited by Aristotle perhaps followed hostilities with Tegea-led Arkadians in the 460s (Hdt. 9.35.2; Paus. 3.11.7; 8.8.6; Isoc. Arch. [6] 99).97 That Sparta had to specify, however, that Messenians be treated as slaves was a striking concession to realism; otherwise its diplomatic goal of excluding former rebels from the Peloponnese could not be assured. Such a provision parallels stipulations in the Peace of Nikias and the Atheno-Spartan alliance, when Sparta requested that the Messenians be withdrawn from Pylos (Thuc. 5.35.6–7). These agreements tried to revive the earlier dual hegemonic international order. However, the Atheno-Spartan alliance also introduced traditional language requiring Athenian aid during a servile insurrection.98 Only during the early fourth century, when Sparta attempted to ingratiate itself with external audiences, did the Spartans have to stop being coy and to admit that Helot rebels were Messenians. Agesilaos, distancing himself from the decision to attack Mantineia (385), invoked Mantinean service under his father ‘in the wars against Messene’ (Xen. HG 5.3.3), necessarily including the Peloponnesian War. Ambassadors seeking Attic help in 376 recall earlier assistance when Sparta was besieged by the Messenians (HG 6.5.33). Moreover, one appreciates another mirror process, relative to Athenian visions of all Helots as Messenians, in Spartan policy about Helot emancipation. Emancipated Helots were not actual, only potential, members of the Lakedaimonian de¯mos, depending on enfranchisement by Spartan mandate. Helots presenting themselves for service in the Spartan cause (Brasideoi, Neodamodeis, or any of the categories in Myron FGH 106 F1: Ducat 1990, 155–68) are never distinguished as to their origin in Lako¯nike¯ or as to ethnicity. In 1999, I had imagined twins embarking on life pathways so contrary that one became Messenian leader at Naupaktos and the other a leader of the Neodamodeis settled at Lepreon, traveling along diametrically opposed vectors in schismogenesis where alternative personal pathways mirror each other symbolically.99 This is a stark

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis reminder of how the imperatives of the polis order can overwrite phenomena of ethnicity. Agents of Messenian ethnogenesis Helots and former Helots were the main engine of Messenian ethnogenesis, a process beginning before the earthquake/rebellion of the 460s and continuing through creation of independent Messenia – despite contributions by Athenians, Argives, Thebans, and Arkadians (Figueira 1999). For its earlier stages, this understanding accords with implications of the Thucydidean references outlined above. We shall examine several proposals to modify my picture of ethnogenesis. One modification involves the role of the Perioikoi living in Messenia, especially Thouriatai and Aithaies, in the revolt c. 465.100 My determination whether Athenians called all Helots or merely all rebels Messenians is relevant: Helots with Perioikic Thouriatai and Aithaies were rebels, but simply all Helots alone, and not Perioikic rebels, were called Messenians by Thucydides’ contemporaries. First, simple demography dictates that Messenian resistance and ethnogenesis were dominated by Helots. There were perhaps c. 38,500 male Helots aged 15-65, two-thirds living in Messenia, against 1000–1400 adult male Thouriatai and Aithaies (at the very outside).101 Unsurprisingly then rebel Perioikoi appear to make no impression on events. Moreover, many Perioikoi loyal to Sparta probably remained even at Thouria and Aithaia, since the towns were not depopulated (IG V.1 213.18–23 for Thouria). Despite the baffling variety of ways the rebels of 465 are named in our sources, one point is clear. No one ever explicitly names Sparta’s Perioikoi living in Messenia as ‘Messenians’.102 While one might protest that Thouria and Aithaia are located in Messenia, nothing confirms that the Thouriatai and Aithaies were originally Messenians. In fact, the only evidence for Thouria is a late inscription where Sparta is described as mother-city (IG V.1 1381). It is unlikely that Thouria rallied to the Messenian cause in 369; its accession was only in 338.103 That the Thouriatai (and by extension) Aithaies were planted in Messenia would parallel emplacement in Messenia of refugees from Argive Asine and Nauplia (Paus. 4.14.3, 35.2; cf. 2.36.4–5; 3.7.4; 4.24.4, 27.8), settlement of Aiginetan exiles in the Thyreatis (Thuc. 2.27.2, 4.56.2; DS 12.44.3; Paus. 2.29.5, 38.5–6), the Kythereans as Spartan ‘colonists’ (Thuc. 7.57.6), and Pharai as a colonia of Sparta (Nepos Conon 1.1). Even Perioikic Sellasia, close to Sparta, appears a de novo archaic foundation.104 Thouria and Aithaia as implanted Perioikoi satisfy common sense. How could one leave some Messenians in situ as Perioikoi and exploit their neighbors as Helots? Nothing links the Naupaktian Messenians with

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Thomas J. Figueira Thouria or Aithaia and the southern plain of Makaria. The Messeniaka (patriotic historiography reflected in Pausanias) focus on the northern plain of Stenyklaros and Mt. Ithome, where Messene/Ithome would later be established by Epaminondas (Ithome is mentioned forty-five times in Pausanias book 4), and nothing indicates that the site of Ithome was earlier a Perioikic community.105 Rather its status as focus of ‘Messenian’ preoccupation indicates a dense concentration of kle¯roi and Helots there. Fourth-century depopulation in Messenia resulted from an intertwining of the demographic fates of Spartiates and Helots (Figueira 2003, 226–7). Inclusiveness for the new Messenian state was necessarily liberal. Even still, concerning this state, underpopulated and dependent on allies, Luraghi has advanced the depopulation hypothesis further than I believe justified, creating discontinuity where embattled continuity is preferable.106 There is a critical mass of testimony supporting return,107 and repatriation was thought feasible previously by Messenians abroad (Paus. 4.26.3). Other material reveals supplementation.108 Both ideas are in the Messeniaka (via Pausanias), Ephorus (via Diodorus and Nepos), and Plutarch. Dissident Helots probably joined the foundation.109 Epaminondas employed an Athenian hegemonic ‘game-plan’ for refoundation by enlisting volunteers and local sympathizers while campaigning110 (cf. Lyc. Leoc. 62: Μεσσήνην ... ἐκ τῶν τυχόντων ἀνθρώπων συνοικισθεῖσαν).111 Such military colonization deliberately obscures settlers of servile derivation,112 in order to disarm rhetoric of class/moral denigration, as seen in Isocrates’ Archidamus. Seeking explicit trace of Helot colonists in historiography sympathetic to Messene and Epaminondas fails to read this code.113 Though the Messenians were chased from Naupaktos in 404, Epaminondas need not have faced a harder task at Messene than did Lysander, restoring after twenty-six years the Aiginetans (404) after grievous casualties. But a recognizably Aiginetan community was rebuilt.114 Several aspects of the foundation of Messene/Ithome, highlighted by Luraghi, in fact speak more for a primary role for the émigrés in formulating Messenian identity and the preponderance of their Helot component. He rightly stressed the guiding hand of the Argives,115 whose general Epiteles was proactive (Paus. 4.26.7–8), and hero Daiphontes became a tribal eponym.116 Within the Theban coalition the Argives were uniquely qualified since they alone had significant interaction with Messenian exiles through joint service alongside the Athenians. Epiteles received divine authorization for founding Messene with a brilliant evocation of the Andanian mysteries and legacy of Aristomenes. He had recognized, or had been told, what were arguably the most potent symbols of Messenian shared memory. Furthermore, using Heraclids as eponyms

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis for new Messenian tribes reveals a startling precondition: neither Naupaktian Messenians nor Helots in Lako¯nike¯ were organized in tribes. That betrays their grievously reduced social and ritual personalities. Otherwise the refugees from Ithome c. 455 would almost certainly have carried with them the Dorian three-tribe structure. Had the Perioikoi of Thouria, Aithaia, or a hypothetical Ithome directed the exiles and led Messenian ethnogenesis, their conventional Dorian tribal affiliations would naturally have prevailed at Naupaktos and in a new Messenia. Alcock pointed to heroic tomb cult as a factor giving Messenians a sense of community.117 This might help explain how ethnogenesis got underway before the rebellion. As churning of demographic components subsided in Lako¯nike¯ in the later sixth and early fifth century, with the countryside becoming more continuously settled by Helots (serving a Spartiate population reaching its apogee), various forms of socialization could surround rural cults, including barter, gifting, commensality and courtship/ marriage arrangements. This hypothesis becomes truly problematic prima facie only if one asserts that such cults preserved faithfully religiosity from pre-conquest Messenia, as archaeology indicates discontinuity. Our evidence for likely kle¯ros-land, however, fails to provide much supporting evidence for tomb cult.118 Tomb ritual as mechanism for ethnogenesis raises three challenges.119 One involves differential focalization since such rites, including tomb dedications, must exploit loci in Messenia for intense Helot communal interaction. What then of Lakonian Helots, who had their own record of resistance and seemingly lack such foci?120 If we imagine a tradition of storytelling about early Messenian figures like Kresphontes, Aipytis, or Aristomenes as substrate for ritual ethnogenesis, what is the analogue for Lakonian Helots, whose oral traditions were preempted by the Spartiates? If they venerated these heroes as Messenians, it was probably not in tomb cult. Second, does such religious interaction have to occur below a threshold for reception and suppression by the Spartans (especially through the krypteia)? A hero cult for Aristomenes, who was buried abroad (Paus. 4.24.3), could not safely have received overt devotion. Thirdly, does ethnogenetic tomb ritual entail schismogenesis, in which the Helots and the Spartans imbued the same cult activity with differential ideological loads? How did such bifurcation work in practical terms? How were its conventions disseminated down the generations?121 If ethnogenesis was evolving externally (at Naupaktos), such challenges might partially be met (as at Nichoria?), but this is mere hypothesis and does not uncover earlier stages of ethnogenesis in situ. There were ritual settings where disparate agendas operated, like asula where slaves sought relief; for example, sanctuaries of Poseidon, including

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Thomas J. Figueira Kalaureia, Geraistos, and Tainaron in Lakonia. To Tainaron fled Helots who became intangled in Pausanias’ plotting (Ducat 1990, 130–1); their suppliancy was accepted, but they were killed — an event supposedly triggering Poseidon’s vengeance in the earthquake (Thuc. 1.128.1; Paus. 4.24.5–6; ΣArist. Ach. 510a–c; Ael. VH 6.7). This interpretation arose from the Helots, which accounts in part for the intensity of their uprising, and was transmitted by the Naupaktian Messenians to Athenians like Thucydides. Strikingly, the atrocity has a Lakonian, not Messenian, context. Disparate motivations for Helots and Spartiates, however, are fully integrated ideologically here: the former seeking respite from mistreatment; the latter fine-tuning amelioration. But did asula feature behavioral control, not ethnogenesis? What I describe as ethnogenesis, Hall considers a process of Dorianization. Unfortunately, however, that requires an ad hoc stipulation: Messenian Helots once self-identified as Akhaian.122 Hall downplays linguistic homogenization.123 Yes, one may discount Pausanias’ claim, derived from the Messeniaka, that the purity of Messenian Doric was a remarkable act of cultural preservation in diaspora (4.27.11). That claim cleverly transformed a signal of the derivativeness of Messenian culture into a symbol of resistance (cf. Luraghi 2002, 46–7). One must dissent from Hall, however, who sees this as some hyper-conservative contrivance; comparative data from the Spartan Perioikoi are simply lacking.124 Their conservatism was exemplified by the third-century savant Sosibios (FGH 595). Unless stronger counterevidence is discovered, Thucydides 4.3.3 and 4.41.2 should be probative: Messenian Doric and Lakonian Doric were equivalent.125 Suggestive for actual Dark Age/early archaic ethnolinguistics is neighboring Triphylia, with its Arkadians, Eleioi, Epeioi, Kaukones, Minyans, and Paroreatai. If eighth-century Messenia was ethnically similar, a mosaic of Arkadian, Doric, Northwest Greek, and other, now unclassifiable, dialects, its vulnerability to Spartan intrusions might be comprehensible. Most ‘accounts’ – substantially theoretical – of the origins of Helotage do not interpret in ethnic terms.126 Such accounts are plainly speculative, so that Theopompus speaking in one fragment of the ethnos of Heilotai, and in another of Helots as Akhaians (FGH 115 F13, F122a), need not be trusted as traditional or held superior to other explanations. Pausanias allows that the first Helots might be pre-Dorians, but emphasizes the Messenians were Dorians (3.20.6). To assert that the Helots living in Messenia believed themselves Akhaian before the influence of diasporic Messenians quite exceeds our evidence (cf. Hall 2003, 157–62). The Messeniaka presented a schematization in which the Messenians were a fusion of Dorians with pre-Dorian groups, such as followers of

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis Lelex, presumably Leleges, and the people of Periares and Neleus, both arguably Aiolians, like the Minyans of Triphylia(?) (Paus. 4.1.1–2, 2.2–4, 3.3–6; cf. 3.1.1). The tradition of such ethnic complexity ought not to be misconstrued by narrowing our focus from the region to a hypothetical city Messene or by assuming that the name Messenioi had to emerge in the diaspora.127 Originally Messenia denoted a district containing one or more proto- or pre-poleis alongside inhabitants organized under other patterns (Luraghi 2002b, 48–50), whose divisions in the Geometric period may not coincide with those prevailing under Sparta or in liberated Messenia. Furthermore, even Spartan tradition attests accommodation of non-Dorians: Aigeidai, Boiotian Minyans,128 took Amyklai and later assimilated to Spartiates, and Amyklai itself was perhaps ethnically composite.129 Classical Spartans assigned a core identity to Helots as douloi, as noted above; they de-ethnicized them.130 Thus Spartan tradition charts for Lako¯nike¯ a movement from heterogeneity to nested identities within the hierarchy of a polis. Hence it was counter-intuitive to degrade Helots as ethnically diverse ‘others’ in mechanisms of acculturation like royal funeral ritual or the messes. Rather, Helot subordination flowed from their inability to demonstrate arete¯ on their own behalf.131 Nor was the social history of Lako¯nike¯ the wiping-out of an ethnicity, such as our intrusive paternalism toward Native Americans or coerced Kurdish assimilation in Turkey. Hence, against Hall, I stand on my original formulation: ‘In the socialization by which the Spartiates endeavored to inculcate into the Helots their inferior status, it is noteworthy that elaborated ethnic symbolism was not included’ (Figueira 1999, 221; also Luraghi 2004b, 295–6. Cf. Hall 2003, 160 n. 82). Vectors of ethnogenesis In conquered ‘Messenia’, cultural-linguistic homogenization and politicalethnic heterogenization were concurrent processes, exhibiting varying degrees of predominance in individual contexts. Amid archaic depopulation, erosion of higher-level political structures, and demographic fluidity, assimilation to the Spartans predominated. On evidence of the Messeniaka, only tatters of myth and folkways persisted. Helots and the later exiles were primary vectors of ethnogenesis. The first evolutionary stirrings probably started in Lako¯nike¯ before 465, thus contributing to the cohesion undergirding the remarkable ten-year resistance, fought unsupported against Greece’s premier soldiers (note Thein 2014, 289). This ethnogenesis manifested two now-discoverable pathways, Andanian mysteries and folklore about Aristomenes. Both illustrate counterimaging and counter-

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Thomas J. Figueira imagining. Helot interaction with their masters, particularly through the messes, was pervaded with inversion, but it rendered Helots good ‘understudies’ who found ways to mirror their masters in self- and communally-affirming behaviors. Consider the reported primordial link between Andanian and Eleusinian mysteries.132 Tradition stated that Kaukon, son of Kelainos, grandson of Phlyos (derived from Gaia), brought rites from Eleusis for Messene, the eponymous Messenian queen (Paus. 4.1.5–9). He was venerated at the refoundation by the Argive general Epiteles (4.27.6). Kaukon is eponym and arkhe¯gete¯s (Strabo 8.3.16 C345) of the ethnos of Kaukones, forming part of the Triphylians (Paus. 5.5.5), not surprisingly connected to the early Messenians. Traditionally, Andanian cult personnel repatriated to Athens after the first Spartan conquests (Paus. 1.14.1). This was not the only movement of elite refugees from the western Peloponnesus to Attica. According to Herodotus, Pylian Kaukones migrated, and later provided kings from the Kodridai, to Ionia (1.147.1; cf. 4.148.4). Hence the Ionian migration is integrated with Kaukon’s mission to Andania, while Athenian autochthony connects through his earthborn grandfather Phlyos. Andanian rites as Kaukonian are a buried linkage for Pausanias, for whom Messenians are essentially Dorian. Before Pausanias this connection rested on Hellenistic sources: an author of Messeniaka, Rhianos of Bene, connects another Attic hero, Lykos, son of Pandion (FGH 265 F55). For Pausanias, Lykos, coming in exile to Messenia, introduced rites of the Great Goddesses at Arene and revived them at Andania (on Kaukon’s model: Paus. 4.2.5). Lykos was heroic ancestor of the Attic genos Lykomidai, derived from Pylos, and tracing its lineage to Kaukon and Phlyos like the Neleidai, to whom belonged the Peisistratids (Hdt. 5.65.3). Later the Lykomid Methapos dedicated a statue with inscription, quoted by Pausanias, in a Lykomid cult place, which notes his purification of Andanian cult facilities, mentioning the earlier roles of Messene, Kaukon, and Lykos (4.1.7–9). The mysteries of the Lykomidai at Phlya claimed to be older than the Eleusinian mysteries (Hippolyt. Ref. Omn. Haeres. 5.20.5–6). A hymn to Demeter, attributed to Musaeus, was made for them (Paus. 4.1.6), which treated the birth of Phlyos from the earth. On the basis of Herodotus, Kaukon, Kaukones, and their connection with Messenia were probably featured too. This hymn was held authentic by Pausanias, who assigned the remaining Musaean hymns to Onomakritos, a Peisistratid protégé (1.22.7; cf. Hdt. 7.6.3). The hymn may be dated broadly c. 525–430.133 Before the great earthquake, the most prominent of the Lykomids was Themistokles, who refurbished their initiatory facility (Plut. Them. 1.4; cf. 15.2). In ostracism, Themistokles, based at Argos, was probably

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis involved in anti-Spartan agitation in the Peloponnesus (Thuc. 1.135.2–3). A cult document attributed to Musaeus, touching on the line of Phlyos and Kaukon, and making connections with Andania, looks appropriate for Themistoklean subversion. Regent Pausanias pondered ameliorating Helotage for anti-Athenian purposes (Thuc. 1.132.4–5). A supposed prophecy of Lykos fits Themistoklean agitation against Sparta: Messenia would only be restored if some secret totem were preserved (Paus. 4.20.4). Thus, restoration and mysteries were long connected before the Argive Epiteles supposedly ‘found’ gold plates bearing ritual instructions for Andanian hiereis at the Epaminondan (re)founding (4.26.6–8). Presumably these were previously prepared and may have been genuine heirlooms for Epiteles. Their costly rendering in gold did not befit practical instructional media. Rather the plates were an ‘exhibit’ in on-going motivational program of Athens’ Messenian protégés. Eventually, it did not hurt their eventual use that Epaminondas was an Eleusinian initiate so that he could dream of the Eleusinian Hierophant as an old man before (re)foundation (4.26.6). Thus the plates could cue the suggestability of the parties involved. That Themistokles could promote such links was probably because some Helots recognized similarities between Andanian rural fertility cult and Eleusinian cult. This need not be recondite knowledge – Helots would scarcely have a sophisticated grasp of Athenian mythology (Figueira 1999, 231) – but awareness gained from initiation. Between 510 and 476 a number of Spartan visitors had doubtless been initiated at Eleusis. As slaves were eligible, Helot attendants of individual Spartiates were probably initiated alongside their masters. Three points deserve emphasis. First, linkage of mystery cults in Attica and Messenia was elegant. It promoted common sentiment among groups knowing little of each other, one of whom, the Helots, inhabited a symbolically defoliated cultural realm. Second, efforts to consolidate affinity with Athenians through Kaukon and Eleusis integrated Ionian ethnicity, established by Kaukonian oecists, and Attic autochthony, the ultimate foundation of Kaukon’s mission. By revealing that Messenians had received the ritual apparatus for grain cultivation from Attica, congruences between two initiatory systems revealed a transcendent religio-cultural affinity that made the Helots/Messenians appear Athenian colonists. Third, a mystery cult deep in Messenia at Andania provided isolated religious space for ethnogenetic gestures. A fertility cult sharpened perceptions of Helot exploitation by kle¯ros-holders, alienated from the earth and its cycles. That illustrates schismogenesis. Andanian cult reveals strong affiliations with Spartan Karneian cult, survivals from Spartan subjugation.134 Robertson intuited that the Andanian mysteries occurred

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Thomas J. Figueira contemporaneously with the Karneian festival (1988, 249–50). That contemporaneity created a context protected from Spartan monitoring. Another manifestation of the Messenians as ‘understudies’ encompasses Aristomenes.135 Ogden’s research has unearthed buried systems of signification and detected embedded correspondences within a deep history of mythopoiesis, which comprised ritual gestures, motival associations, and invocations of other myths (Figueira 2010, 161).136 Therefore, Pausanias’ treatment is not merely patriotic, morale-building myth-historiography. It reveals a lamination and intricate texturing of traditions that accreted through countless retellings during intergenerational oral transmission. This process began in archaic Messenia, but probably affected Helots throughout Lako¯nike¯. Aristomenes was not only a valiant single fighter and hoplite by turns, but also a classic insurgent using stealth and guile (also revealing schmismogenetic representation).137 While those touched by his exploits may not consistently have resisted Helotage, the innumerable acts of guileful resistance in any servile system undoubtedly drew sustenance from his example. The lattice on which his exploits are mounted derived from Spartiate cultivation of victorious memory. Papyrus fragments, customarily assigned to Tyrtaeus, fr. 23W (PBerol. 11675 fr. C, cols. i–ii) mention a teikhos ‘wall’, kle¯ros ‘allotment’, Messenians, purgos ‘tower’, and a taphros ‘tomb’ or ‘trench’; fr. 23aW (POxy. 47.3316)138 describes a great battle with gumnomakhoi ‘lightarmed troops’, possibly Arkadians, almost certainly Argives and Spartiates, and a taphros ‘trench’.139 We may compare fr. 9W, which unites a comment of Aristotle (EN 1116a36–b3) on the moral evaluation of tactics like fighting before a trench with a commentator’s note that Tyrtaeus says the Messenians fought this way (Eustratius CAG 20.165). The battle of the Great Trench is the crisis of Messenian resistance in Pausanias (4.17.2– 10). Spartan martial elegy could not achieve its paraenetic, hortatory goals without fashioning a worthy adversary. The Helot unwillingness to perform forbidden poetry attests to their knowledge of it (Plut. Lyc. 28.5). The mirror relationship between Tyrtaeus and the Messeniaka suggests that elegy could be played backwards, in Helot reception: elegiac recollection eventuated in a dichotomous audience, one part reacting positively, another negatively. This conceptual pattern constitutes that bifurcating ethnogenesis that could lead to Messenian or Neodamodic end-identities. The Spartans could not relate their foundational triumphs without also necessarily telling stories of Helot resistance.

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis Conclusion Folkways undoubtedly create the glue that bonds members of agrarian societies, resorting to common cult places, gainfully interacting, sharing stories and oral wisdom, handling work activities or making products with unique variation. Mythology becomes our analytical surrogate for data routinely collected by modern anthropologists. Care is needed since we possess literary treatments based on popular storytelling rather than shared tales of common members of a collectivity (truer oral history). Yet, it emperils our understanding of ethnogenesis when mythopoiesis is routinely reduced to simple contrivance (often associated with elites) undertaken without regard to psychological authenticity. Messenian ethnogenesis is a testing ground for understanding fifth-century identity formation. Herodotus’ grid of affinity through language, cult, and mores does demarcate contexts for communal realization. Messenian ethnogenesis is important because its evolution among a submerged, exploited class and amid a diasporic community provides an extreme example of assertion of the conceptual or ideological over the structural. Messenians, at first citizens of a polis/ethnos whose only existence was mutual commitment to a mental construct, offer a salutary counterexample to a vision of the polis unduly focused on facilities and the presence of certain institutions or political processes. As noted in my reviews of the Copenhagen Polis Centre publications, we must never slight the ‘poleis of the mind,’ where communities of sentiment function as equivalent political agents to state structures actually institutionalized within a demarcated territory. Scholars accepted a deep past for some ethne¯ like the Arkadians or Boiotians (‘consolidating’ ethne¯ ). For others, the insurgent ethne¯, a tendency prevails to attribute artificiality or mere manipulation. The Messenians, who exhibit analogues with both groups, problematize such interpretations. Their struggle for personal liberation from servitude reminds that one must always reckon with individual searches for authentic identity, without temptation to reserve such impetus as luxury for modern western minds. Even the most overtly political claims of affinity had to pass a test of credibility, if not in the court of public opinion (which could not exist before modern mass media), at least as aspects of personal authentication within the media of an early literate society. This brings us to the paradox of Thucydides’ treatment of the Messenians. Our reconstruction depends on contextualizing his continuous stream of discrete references. Ethnogenesis was not his focus. Pho¯ne¯ and nomima were not guides to Messenians’ identity. They made claims about sungeneia resembling those usually misleading or fallacious in Thucydides.

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Thomas J. Figueira With benefit of hindsight denied Thucydides, the Messenians share some features with ‘consolidating’ ethne¯, but more with ‘insurgent’ ethne¯, of whom they are virtually the first. The consolidating ethne¯ are exemplified by the Arkadians, whose fourth-century history exhibits a shift in structure and commitment to an over-arching ethnic unit. The ‘insurgent’ ethne¯ arose through fissional ethnogenesis by separation (often from the Peloponnesian League or Elean state). The Lakonian dialect of the Messenians, however, deprived both Spartans and Helots of a potent tool of cultural differentiation. Sparta could not proclaim against them championship of the Dorian ethnos; Helots lacked the dialectal variations of an ‘insurgent’ ethnos. Isocrates later exploited this conundrum: the Athenians acted philanthropically in resettling Messenians with whom they shared no kinship, when attacked by fellow Dorians of Sparta (Panath. [12] 94), a claim echoed in the Messeniaka (Paus. 4.8.2). This contention bespeaks its fourth-century context. Thucydides’ history was influenced by the Ionian War and its aftermath. The Athenian cause was deeply defensive; Messenian contributions toward shattering strikes against Lako¯nike¯ were at an end. Defeat was particularly devastating to them, through the loss of Pylos and Naupaktos. Our scholarly discourse about the struggle for hegemony has flattened out the differences in international affairs between the fifth and fourth centuries. For Thucydides, the polis dominated attention; its fictive sungeneia often equalizing it with ethnos. Claims on behalf of sungeneia were abundant in diplomacy and policy and credible inversely to their frequency. Bipolarity marked inter-polis affairs as Athens and Sparta amassed large alliances as tools of hegemonism in which ascendant ethnogenesis played its role. Integration of states was a more powerful force than fission. The ethne¯ do appear, but as bit players and their federal structures are under-appreciated. Thucydides’ fitful interest in the Messenians prompts our recognition that Aigospotamoi, or better Syracuse and Aigospotamoi, were points of inflection of abiding significance for historiographical interest in the Greek ethne¯.

Notes 1 Figueira & Figueira 2011. 2 Explored in Figueira 1999, augmented in 2003; Figueira & Figueira 2009 (applying post-colonial theory). Written in reaction to Figueira 1999 were Luraghi 2002a, b, c; cf. Figueira & Figueira 2009, and below. 3 Hall 1997, 2002; Malkin 1998; Morgan 2003; collections: Malkin 2001; Harrison 2002; Zacharia 2008a; Funke & Luraghi 2009; overviews: Hall 2002, 9–29; Hall 2007, 49–58; Hornblower 2008.

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis 4

Figueira 2020a: methodology of ethnology; Figueira 2020b: Herodotus. Antonaccio 2001; also de Romilly 1990, 13–55 for Thucydides. Mythology: Malkin 1998, 120–55. 6 Schuller 1995; cf. Dreher 1995 for fourth-century (cf. DS 15.28.4), with some adjustment for ethnic koina (179–81; cf. Figueira 2006a, 286–7). 7 Hansen 2000, 17–18 (city-state vs. nation-state identity); Figueira 2006a, 255; 2007, 298 (distinguishing between citizen and inhabitant). 8 Hall 1989, 172–200; Zacharia 2008. Cf. Hall 2002, 189–94. See also Jones 1996, 315 (n. 4). 9 Consani 1991, 15–27. 10 Harrison 1998, 1–2. Distinction by language/dialect is underestimated in Hall’s influential work (1995; 1997, 44–7, 177–81; 2001, 170; 2002, 111–17, 175; 2007, 56; Hall et al. 1998, 268). 11 Figueira 2020b, 47–53. 12 Colvin 1999, 126–31, 297–308. 13 Figueira 2020b, 52–3. 14 E.g., Heraclides Criticus fr. 3.2 (GGM 1). See Hainsworth 1967, 64–8; Cassio 1984, 117–31; Morpurgo-Davies 2002 (1987), 161–3, with n. 17–18. Cf. Hall 1995, 88. 15 E.g., Androtion FGH 324 F61a–b; Philochorus FGH 328 F107; Agatharchides FGH 86 F8. 16 Strabo 8.6.6 C370, 14.2.28 C661–3, with attestations; Figueira 2020b, 53–9. 17 See Lévy 1984; Harrison 1998, 1–3; Petrocelli 2001, 69–72; Nippel 2002, 282–93; Mitchell 2007, 54–65. Cf., e.g., Hall 1989, 3–13, 54–55; Malkin 1998, 18, 27; Hall 2002, 173–89. 18 As noted by Strabo 14.2.28 C663; Hipp. fr. 27W; Anacr. fr. 423 (PMG). 19 Connection to autochthony: Thuc. 1.2.5–6; cf. 1.6.3, 12.4; 2.15.4. 20 Konstan 2001; Nippel 2002, 279–82. 21 See Gomme HCT 1.94–9; Hornblower CT 1.15–18. 22 Aiolian kinship could yield similar ‘ascendant’ ethnogenesis, but practically was marginalized except for Thebes: Thuc. 3.2.3; 7.57.5; 8.5.2; 8.100.3. 23 See Montanari 1981, 159–80; Robertson 1988, 230–9; Zacharia 2003, 44–55; Fragoulaki 2013, 220–8. 24 Sakellariou 1958, 39–243, esp. with summary table on 239–41; 254–302; Vanschoonwinkel 1991, 367–421. 25 They earlier described the Poteidaians as ‘friends’ and sungeneis (Thuc. 1.71.4). 26 Thuc. 3.92.2–5. That the ban affected Akhaioi and other ethne¯ reveals that cultural entities rather than political units are involved (not the Akhaian poleis from the northern Peloponnese; cf. Thuc. 2.9.2; Xen. HG 1.2.18). 27 Thuc. 5.104 (the converse: 5.110.2), which in 108 is expanded to τῆς δὲ γνώμης τῷ ξυγγενεῖ ‘by the affinity of attitude’. Note how the status of the Melians as colonists is cited (5.106), and the parallel of Attic expectations from colonists in 5.96 (cf. Hdt. 8.48; Xen. HG 2.2.3). The Athenians address the Melian colonial relationship in 5.89. 28 Athenians never concede its truth during pre-war debates. Cf. Alty 1982, 10–11. Peloponnesian confidence (cf. Thuc. 5.14.3; 6.11.5; 7.28.3; cf. 4.55.3–4) stemmed from overestimation of their advantage in hoplites (Thuc. 1.81.1) and attritional strategy (Perikles: 1.141.2–143.5; cf. 2.21.2–3; Arkhidamos: 1.80.3–81.6). Nor does Phormio yield this point; cf. Alty 1982, 9–10. The Spartan speech in 2.87.9 is naturally 5

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Thomas J. Figueira defensive in aftermath of defeat by an inferior force, focused on exhortations of courage, and without ethnic bragging (2.87.3, 87.4–5, 87.8–9). That Phormio was ready to attack an almost four times greater force shows confidence in his men’s bravery (cf. Alty 1982, 11 & n. 59); he specifies his men are not inferior in courage and notes the issue of morale (2.88.3; 89.2; 3; 5; 6; 7). My interpretation would be enhanced if his ships were exclusively manned by citizens (2.88.2). 29 Thuc. 1.124.1: the iniquity of Poteidaian Dorians besieged by Ionians is sharpened by incongruity: ‘the converse of which has previously prevailed’. 30 Thuc. 5.9.1: ὅτι Δωριῆς μέλλετε Ἴωσι μάχεσθαι, ὧν εἰώθατε κρείσσους εἶναι, ἀρκείτω βραχέως δεδηλωμένον. 31 Thuc. 7.5.4: the inferior groups are identified as Ionians, ne¯siotai, and ‘flotsam and jetsam people’. 32 Aris. Pol. 1327b18–29 offering a ‘scientific’ etiology (cf. Hipp. Aer. 12). 33 Cf. Hornblower CT 2.442–3. 34 Context is an attack on Miletos (412) by Athenians and allies, including 1500 Argives (Thuc. 8.25.1–2). Against a force of Milesians, Peloponnesians, mercenaries, and Persian cavalry, the Argives made a premature, disorderly assault on the Milesians – οἱ μὲν Ἀργεῖοι τῷ σφετέρῳ αὐτῶν κέρᾳ προεξᾴξαντες καὶ καταφρονήσαντες, ὡς ἐπ᾽ Ἴωνάς τε καὶ οὐ δεξομένους ἀτακτότερον χωροῦντες (8.25.3). 35

Cf. Alty 1982, 5, 9, also HCT 5.60–1; Hornblower CT 3.822–3. Hermokrates’ speeches and ethnicity: de Romilly 1990, 29–36; Fragoulaki 2013, 96–9. 37 Later Hermokrates notes that the Rhegines, themselves Khalkidians, are unwilling to aid Athens restore Leontinoi (6.79.1). Other wordplay on establishment and disestablishment: 6.76.2 above; 77.1; 79.1, answered by Athenian Euphemos in 6.86.4. 38 Thuc. 4.64.4. See HCT 3.520–3; Hornblower CT 2.67, 227; Antonaccio 2001, 114. Polybius’ paraphrase (12.25k.1–26.9) of Hermokrates’ speech in Timaeus (FGH 566 F22) contains no reference to ethnicity. 39 Parallels with the Athenian pre-war speech at Sparta are pronounced, especially the adoption of Realpolitik (cf. Thuc. 1.72–78) so that ethnicity as a new element is accentuated. Note HCT 4.353–4. 40 See Figueira 2020b, 49–50. 41 Androtion FGH 324 F61a–b; Philochorus FGH 328 F107; Strabo 3.5.5 C171; 9.1.6–7 C392–3. See Harding 1994, 189–91. Plut. Thes. 25.4 attributes the stele to Theseus. Also Andron FGH 10 F14; cf. Hellanicus FGH 4 F75, 78. 42 Two sixth-century references to ‘Ionian’ Athens stand as outliers: Solon’s ‘oldest land of Iaonie¯ ’ (fr. 2.4), and a Delphic oracle supporting Athenian ownership of Salamis (Plut. Solon 10.4). Otherwise, early wars with Dorian adversaries in Megara and Aigina were not truly ethnicized: Figueira 1985, 278–85, 291–2, 300–3; 1993, 39–40, 42–4, 87–9, 208 (n. 40). 43 Cf. Thuc. 3.86.1–2: a Leontinian appeal; 6.2.2; 6.44.3, 46.2: Athenians suggest Rhegion help Leontinoi because of sungeneia; 6.50.4: Katanaioi receive the same plea; 6.86.3: Rhegion is ally of Leontinoi κατὰ τὸ ξυγγενὲς. 44 Hdt. 5.97.2: Aristagoras; Hdt. 6.21.2: oikeia kaka, recalled by Phyrnichos’ Taking of Miletos; Hdt. 8.22.1, cf. Plut. Them. 9.1–2: Themistoklean appeals on behalf of kinship; Hdt. 9.106.3: resistance to Spartan plans to transplant Ionians (cf. DS 11.37.1–3); 36

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis foundation of the Delian League: Thuc. 1.95.1: κατὰ τὸ ξυγγενὲς (cf. Ath. Pol. 23.4; Isoc. 4.155). Cf. Thuc. 1.12.4 on Ionian colonization. 45 Dover, HCT 4.432–40; Figueira 1990, 67–8 ~ 1993, 260–2; Hornblower CT 3.654–70. 46 The people of the Doric Hexapolis are ‘Dorians neighboring Carians’. This admits ethnic notation, notably divergent from official terminology. 47 Hence Nikias is described earlier exhorting contingents kata ethne¯ (6.67.3). 48 For equation of polis and ethnos: Hansen 1998, 31, with Figueira 2007, 297. These ethne¯ are geographical, cultural, and possibly economically integrated units. The catalogue also includes Sikeliots and Italiots as if these cultural/geographical units were more meaningful entities. Cf. Hornblower CT 1.248. 49 Cf. Perikles’ last speech where Attic seapower is such no king or ethnos can hamper it (2.62.2). 50 Cf. Hdt. 1.91.5; Polyb. 1.67.3; 11.19.3; DS 11.88.6; Strabo 10.3.1 C463. 51 Cf. Connor 1984, 196. However, I doubt that Thucydides intended the confounding of sungeneia to connote dissolution of normal ties like that in the Corcyrean stasis (cf. Connor 1984, 196, citing Thuc. 3.81.5). 52 Messenians were not implicated; they had probably learnt from earlier service not to sing the paean preemptively among Athenian friends. 53 HCT 4.423–4; CT 3.629. Compare Thuc. 3.112.4–5: Demosthenes uses Doricspeaking Messenians against the Ambrakiots. See Petrocelli 2001, 85–8, 90–4. 54 Nikias corrects marginally: Naxos and Katane would cooperate because of kinship with Leontinoi (6.20.3). He also notes the challenge of operating among those hostile and allophyloi ‘alien’ (6.23.2). 55 Thuc. 6.6.2 predicates intervention on achievement of ‘complete domination’ of Sicily, adding colonial status to the Peloponnesians as another reason (Hornblower CT 3.308). 56 Kleisthenes excluded such scrutiny (τὸ μὴ φυλοκρινεῖν; cf. Ath. Pol. 21.2; also Pollux 8.110; Hescyh. φ 1002–3 Latte). The Suda (φυλοκρινεῖ, φ 830) implies overzealous scrutiny. Alkibiades’ audience was perhaps tempted to hear φιλοκριν-, a rare semantic element probably perceived negatively (cf. Rhet. Anon., Rhetores Graeci 3.574–5; Hippiactrica Cantabrigensia 10.2, Corpus Hippiactricorum Graecorum 2). 57 Hornblower CT 2.62–3. Curty 1994, 193–4: Thucydides privileged apoikic affinity by avoiding sungeneia terminology (citing 6.6.3; 7.57.7). 58 Cf. de Romilly 1990, 44–8, for the ‘classic’ view of Attic imperialism as a disruptive force in a realm more heavily influenced by sungeneia, colonial links, and ethnic affinity. 59 E.g., Thuc. 1.139.1, 3; 2.72.1; cf. 5.27.2. Note the Corinthians on the Peloponnesian predilection for freedom (Thuc. 1.21.2–4). See Figueira 1990, 64–7 ~ 1993, 257–60. 60 Thuc. 3.82.1, 8; Heniochus fr. 5 K/A, PCG 5.556. 61 Alty 1982, 3–7, though he does note Democritus fr. 107 D/K; Hornblower CT 2.61–80. 62 Closest might be the debate, occurring in the unrepresentative setting of the Melian council (protested by the Athenians: Thuc. 5.85) where resistance was based partly on a colonial connection to Sparta (n. 27 above). The dogged Melian pursuit of communal immolation could then reveal elite pathological ethnicization with fantasies of Dorian solidarity as a positive diplomatic force. Cf. Bosworth 1993.

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Thomas J. Figueira 63

Isocrates’ Arkhidamos later asserted that Athens never charged Sparta with unjust acquisition of Messenia (Arch. [6] 30), though Isocrates himself later flirted with grouping Helots with Perioikoi as the Spartan de¯mos (Panath. [12] 178). Plato Laws 692D, 698E, accepted Messene as suppressed polis, but a degenerate one, fighting a Sparta defending Greece. Cf. Luraghi 2008, 173–82. 64 Presumably automoloi ‘deserters’ could also derive from mercenaries, Perioikoi, and Hypomeiones (déclassé Spartiates). Cf. Xen. HG 3.3.6. 65 Thein 2014, 293 rightly corrected that only the Kephallenian ‘Helots’ actually returned to Pylos. This was perhaps more a tactical decision – the Naupaktian Messenians were too valuable for this duty – than a status determination. Exercising hindsight, Ephorus unsurprisingly calls them all Messenians (DS 12.42.5, 60.1–3, 63.5; cf. 12.44.3, 61.1; 13.48.6, 64.5–7; 14.34.3–6), except from Spartan perspectives (12.67.4–5 ~ Thuc. 4.80.2–81.1; 12.76.1). 66 Cf. Figueira 1999, 216 on fugitives on Kephallenia vis-à-vis Naupaktos. 67 Figueira 1999, 214–15, Luraghi 2008, 174–7, 191–4 for citations, bibliography. First such from Olympia and Apollo Korythos in Messenia: LSAG ##3–4. Hall 2003, 152–5 for doubts over attribution. The alternative, Methanioi from the Argolic Akte, has always strained credulity. 68 Macarius 3.35; Zenobius 3.39: δουλότερος Μεσσήνης. Cf. Luraghi 2008, 223 with n. 48. 69 Eur. fr. 448a (POxy #2458), 449–59: Harder 1985, 23–122; Luraghi 2001a, 51–6; Figueira & Figueira 2009, 313, 325 (n. 66). 70 It established Argive Temenids as senior Heraclid lineage, masters of the Argolid, with hegemony over Corinth and Epidauros (Malkin 1994, 34), and negated Spartan pretentions over Messenia. See Malkin 1994, 33–45; Bremmer 1997, 13–14; Luraghi 2001a, 37–51. 71 A Heraclid Messenia was justified by Herakles’ capture of Neleid Pylos and its assignment to Nestor: Isoc. Arch. 6.19; cf. Il. 11.690–3 (5.392–7); Hes. fr. 33–34; Apollod. 2.6.2, 7 (Luraghi 2001a, 42–3, 56; Patterson 2010, 80–1). 72 Luraghi 2001a, 43–9 notes that Kresphontes as ‘trickster’ was not necessarily negative. Did this motif then make him a suitable Helot hero, as the trickster is classically a figure of insurgency and asymmetrical warfare? 73 In Ephoran tradition, Messenian Dorians turned against their kings: FGH 70 F116; Nic. Dam. FGH 90 F31; cf. Nicolaus F34. 74 Cf. Isoc. 6.22–3, 31, with Sparta as sole benefactor of the Dorian kings of Messenia and establishing a right of reversion of Messenia to Sparta (primary variant: Luraghi 2001a, 52–3). Cf. Patterson 2010, 81–2. 75 Niese 1891, 9–11; Bremmer 1997, 15–16; Figueira 1999, 231, Luraghi 2001a, 51–6. 76 Apollod. Bib. 2.8.5; cf. Hyg. Fab.137, 184; AP 3.5; cf. Aris. EN 1111a11–12. For Euripides: fr. 448a.29–30. 77 Schwartz 1899, 448–50; Luraghi 2001a, 52–3. 78 Collard in Collard et al. 1995, 125. 79 Seeing Euripides as selective is preferable to believing that competing myths about Kresphontes reflect tensions within liberated Messene, as in Ephorus (cf. Hall 2002, 155–8). 80 Figueira 1984, 100–4; 1999, 212; 2003, 203–17.

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Figueira 1999, 212–13; see Hall 2002, 168 (n. 173). Hall 2003, 149–50 (noting 4.3.2, 5.35.6–7, 7.57.8 for which contrast above) achieves similar construal by hypthesizing three stages: first Messenians, then enslaved, and now all called Messenians erroneously. That yields too condensed a succession of implications. 82 See (e.g.) Asheri 1983, 34 (with n. 18). 83 Luraghi 2002c, 588–9. 84 Luraghi 2002c, 590–1, following Ducat 1990, 132. 85 Especially Thuc. 2.20.4; but also (e.g.) 1.15.2, 18.3, 99.3; 4.55.2; 5.25.2. 86 Xen. HG 5.2.3, 6.5.33. Diodorus/Ephorus emphasizes the Helots as coinsurgents as though the community in exile already existed (11.63.4, 64.1, 4 [Helot revolt πανδημεί], 84.8; cf. Plut. Lyc. 28.6).Cf. Ducat 1990, 131–5. 87 Herodotus notes Arimnestos/Aeimnestos’ death fighting ‘all the Messenians’ (9.64.2). [Xen.] Ath. Pol. 3.11: Athenians preferring Spartans to Messenians. Arist. Lys. 1141–2: Messene besetting Sparta (with Σ1138). The scholia contain Philochorus FGH 328 F117 on the transfer of hegemony from Sparta to Athens, but how much else Philochoros corroborates is uncertain. 88 Paus. 4.24.5–7 simplifies to a Messenian revolt (deriving from Thucydides, except the atrocity at Tainaron no longer involves Helots). 89 ΣLys. 1142b [Holwerda] – perhaps Philochoros?: Jacoby FGH 3b[Supp.] Text, 455 – reverses the order: Messenians start; Helots join. 90 DS 11.84.7–8 (Ephorus?) is unique and disconsonant with Thucydides: Athenians settle the epise¯moi ‘notable’ Messenians (not all besieged); Sparta defeats Helots and rebels (rather than stalemating); releases Messenians under truce (not all on Ithome); punishes ‘guilty’ Helots; enslaves the rest. Rebellious Perioikoi might be the epise¯moi and Helot loyalists massacred treacherously might be aitioi (cf. Thuc. 4.80.3–5), but only in a counterfactual realm. Note the impossible chronology. See Figueira 1999, 217–8. 91 Figueira 1999, 215–6. It is an entirely ad hoc hypothesis that anyone consciously distinguishes Lakonian from Messenian Helots by terming the former Helots and the latter Messenians (cf. Luraghi 2008, 182–3). 92 Thein 2014, 295, trying to correct my ‘overcorrection’, offers distinct endidentities for Lakonian Helots fleeing to Cape Malea or Kythera. No evidence, however, supports the existence of a fugitive community at all on Kythera or a non-‘Messenian’ one on Malea. 93 Figueira 1999, 223–4. Homogeneity is supported by Luraghi’s review of cults (Luraghi 2002b, 50–9) and Zunino’s exploration of a Messenian/Lakonian ritual koine¯ in independent Messenia (1997, 33–82). 94 Figueira 1999, 213. See now Vega 2007, 13–16 on LSAG #4 (p. 177) and LSAG #3 (pp. 203–4) where the form Μεθ(θ)άνιοι for Μεσ(σ)άνιοι reinforces Thucydides’ assertion (4.3.3) of the equivalence of the Laconian and Messenian dialects. 95 See Dipersia 1974; Figueira 1999, 216, 221–2; note Luraghi 2008, 199–200. 96 Isoc. Arch. 8.8: oiketai not to be left to possess Spartan ancestral territory; 28: Thebes colonizing Messenia with Helots and douloi; 87: establishment of Helots as settlers; 88: Thebans freeing and settling oiketai; 97: parrhe¯sia of douloi. 97 Note Braun 1994, 43–4; Nielsen 2002, 188–90; cf. Cawkwell 1993, 369–70; Hall 2003, 151–2. 98 Thuc. 5.23.3 with Figueira 1993, 107, 284. Cf. Luraghi 2008, 190 (n. 60).

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Thomas J. Figueira 99

Figueira 1999, 222. Luraghi 2001b 297–9, 301; 2002b, 60–5; also 2004b, 295–7; 2008, 201–8, which argue for the Perioikoi as a counter-elite providing a kernel of ethnogenesis. He also adduces the dedication at Apollo Korythos (LSAG 2 #3 [p. 206]), ostensibly near Thouria; suggestive, but hardly probative, because even exclusively servile rebels might choose to dedicate there. Cf. Figueira 1999, 213–15; Thein 2014, 288–9. 101 Locations and population estimates: Figueira 2003, 217–20, with Figueira 1984, 100–3 (with nn. 50–1). 102 The willingness of some Thouriatai and Aithaies to revolt need not be based on ethnic solidarity. Intermarriage between Helots and Perioikoi was inevitable, especially between Perioikic males and Helot women, because of the problems of small rural populations in matching marriage partners. Doubtless kle¯roi and nearby towns were economically interdependent. An inevitability of geography probably fostered chagrin among some Perioikoi over the dependency (and thereby exploitation) of what must have appeared to them as the rural de¯mos of their own kho¯ra. 103 See Shipley 2000, 385; cf. Luraghi 2008, 27–39, 229–30; Figueira 2010, 161. 104 Cavanagh et al. 1996, 321–3; Catling 2002, 168–9, 183. 105 McDonald and Rapp 1972, 314–5; Shipley 1997, 231–2; Boehringer 2001, 334. The latest archaeological study does not commit to a settlement, let alone Perioikic, although sanctuaries may have existed (Müth 2007, 14). Cf. Luraghi 2001b, 299–300; 2002b, 58–9; 2008, 120, 205. Placement of Perioikoi on this fertile territory seems inconsistent with calculations that distribute Messenian territory between Perioikoi and kle¯roi (Figueira 1984, 100–4; 2003, 203–7). Putting Aithaia at Ithome is not feasible (Thuc. 1.101.2). 106 See Luraghi 2001b, 291–2; 2009, 118–20; also Dipersia 1974, 58–61; Hall 2003, 157. Following Asheri 1983, Figueira 1999, 219–20 already presented the idea of a tension in our sources between kathodos and refoundation (also Figueira & Figueira 2009, 313, 324 [n. 63]). Yet, even the striking term ἀνάστατος ‘disestablished’ (DS 15.66.1) is less emphatic than κάθοδος for ‘return’ of the de¯mos, conventional for restoration of the Attic democrats in 403 (e.g., Lys. 25.21, 26.18, fr. 1.6; cf. 12.77, 13.63, 18.18; also Ath. Pol. 28.3). No one argues, however, that none of the de¯mos remained at Athens, let alone in Attica during the regime of the Thirty. 107 Kathodos: Paus. 4.20.4; 26.3bis, 26.5, 27.4bis; 27.8; 29.4, 34.5; 9.15.6; DS 15.66.1, 6; Plut. Pel. 24.5; Nepos Epam. 8.5; Pelop. 4.3. 108 Refoundation: Paus. 4.26.6, 27.4, 28.1; DS 15.66.1; Plut Ages. 34.1; Pel. 24.5 (cf. 24.1). In Epaminondas’ defence in 369: Plut. Mor. 194A–B, 540D–E, cf. 817F; Ael. VH 13.42; Nepos Epam. 8.1–5. 109 Xen. HG 7.2.2: defection of Perioikoi and all Helots, in a highly rhetorical passage; Ages. 2.24: slaves and many Perioikic poleis, in a passage praising Agesilaos (cf. Dio Chrys. 15.28). Plut. Mor. 346B: Perioikic revolt. This threat of defection prompted a stratagem of Agesilaos (Plut. Ages. 32.7; cf. Polyaen. Strat. 2.1.15). 110 Figueira 2008, 479, 482, 508–16. 111 Terminology based on συνοικι – also appears in Plut. Pelop. 24.5; it focalizes marshalling of demographic assets. 112 Asheri 1983, 37–9: restoration of the Attic de¯mos (403) and Theban loyalists (378) were retold as less convulsive by effacing incorporation of slaves. 113 Cf. Luraghi 2008, 221–5. The probability of low population for Messenia, 100

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis pre-secession and post-secession, is not probative, as was argued by Figueira 2003, 51. 114 Xen. HG 2.2.9; Plut. Lys. 14.3; Paus. 2.29.5; Strabo 8.6.16 C376 with Figueira 1993, 322–4. 115 Luraghi 2009, 117–18, 123–5. However, rather than referring to Messenia, an Argive exhortation to restore isomoiria to the Peloponnesos, made before Mantineia (418), is probably a call to recover Kynouria, as it is coupled with ‘their old hegemony’, i.e., the Temenid lot (Thuc. 5.69.1). They had already once proposed Kynouria for arbitration (5.41.2). 116 IG V.1 1433.1–6, 40–42, with Jones 1987, 146–8. Note Luraghi 2008, 230–2. 117 Alcock 1999, 336–7. Boehringer 2001, 326–8, 360–6 is strongly skeptical especially on tomb cult legitimizing possession of territory. Cf. Luraghi 2008, 206–7, 228–30, 239–45. 118 Boehringer 2001, 338–41. Figueira 1999, 240 (with n. 56) wondered whether the activities of Naupaktian Messenians had stimulated tomb cult at Nichoria in the last quarter of the fifth century (Boehringer 2001, 339–40). 119 Figueira & Figueira 2009, 313, 323 (n. 61). Luraghi 2002b, 50–9 reviews exhaustively activity at Messenian sanctuaries, none of which clearly indicates the differential folkways necessary for ethnogenesis. 120 See Figueira 1999, 224–5 for citations and bibliography. 121 Cf. Hall 2003, 160–1; Luraghi 2008, 244–5. 122 Hall 2003, 155. Cf. Figueira & Figueira 2009, 312–13, 323 (n. 60). This risks inadvertently recreating outdated essentialist analysis that saw early Peloponnesian history dominated by dissidence from pre-Dorian subject strata against Dorian aristocracies. See Will 1956, 35–6, 50–3. 123 Hall 2003, 155–62. 124 See Figueira and Figueira 2009, 313, 324–5 (n. 64). Cf. Bartoneˇk 1972, 91, 217. 125 Figueira 1999, 213. See also Petrocelli 2001, 70–1, 88–90. 126 Antiochus FGH 555 F14 (= Strabo 6.3.2 C278); Ephorus FGH 70 F117 = Strabo 8.5.4 C364–5; cf. Hellanicus FGH 4 F188 = 323a F 29. 127 Cf. Hall 2003, 146–8: onomastics should derive the ethnic ‘Messanios’ from the city Messene rather than region Messenia, like Korinthios from Korinthos rather than Aitolos from Aitolia. This argument is vitiated not only by Karioi and Lykioi from Karia and Lykia (and the like), but Triphylioi from next door Triphylia. And the ethnic Lakedaimonios could as well stem from Lakedaimon the region as from the town, perhaps more usually Sparte¯. Cf. Luraghi 2008, 27, 70. 128 Hdt. 4.149.1; Pin. Isthm. 7.12–15 (cf. the ethnic note with Δωρίδ᾽ ἀποικίαν); Arist. fr. 539 Gigon. 129 Ephorus FGH 70 F117 = Strabo 8.5.4 C364–5; cf. Konon FGH 26 F1 (36); Paus. 3.2.6. 130 Isoc. 8.28; cf. Lyc. Leoc. 62. Note Luraghi 2002b, 63–4. 131 Tyrtaeus’ invocation of the Heraclids and Dorians in frs. 2, 19 need not stand in implicit contrast to non-Dorian Messenians, as Hall 2003, 145, but merely exhorts the Spartans to demonstrate inherited mettle. 132 See Figueira 1999, 228–31; Ogden 2004b, 95–100; Zunino 1997, 301–4. Cf. Robertson 1988, 239–54; Luraghi 2008, 295–300.

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Figueira 1999, 230, with 240 n. 61. Ferretto 1979/80, 4–7 proposes a Peisistratid date for the hymn and link with Kaukon. 134 IG V.1 #1390 = LSCG #65.34, 56, 59–60, 63, 69, 96–7 (cf. 28–9). See Zunino 1997, 318–9; Figueira 1999, 229, 240 (n. 58). 135 Figueira 1999, 227–8; Figueira and Figueira 2009, 315–6; Figueira 2010. 136 E.g., Ogden 2004a; 2004b, 59–88: Aristomenes’ shield and katabasis. 137 Langerwerf 2009, 332–9 finds literary echoes of servile revolt in Pausanias’ narrative. 138 Figueira 1993, 28–32; 1999, 227; 2010, 161. 139 Ogden 2004b, 177–80.

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis Colvin, S. 1999 Dialect in Aristophanes and the Politics of Language in Ancient Greek Literature, Oxford. Connor, W. R. 1984 Thucydides, Princeton. Consani, C. 1991 ΔΙΑΛΕΚΤΟΣ. Contributo alla storia del concetto di ‘dialetto’, Pisa. Curty, O. 1994 ‘La notion de la parenté entre cités chez Thucydide’, MH 51, 193–7. Dipersia, G. 1974 ‘La nuova populazione di Messene al tempo di Epaminonda’, CISA 2, 54–61. Dreher, M. 1995 ‘Poleis und Nicht-Poleis im Zweiten Athenischen Seebund’, in Hansen (ed.) 1995, 171–200. Ducat, J. 1990 Les Hilotes, BCH Supp. 20, Paris. Ferretto, C. 1979/80 ‘Kaukon, Eleusi, e Flia’, AIIS 6, 1–7. Figueira, D. M. and Figueira, T. 2009 ‘The colonial “subject’’ and the ideology of subjection in Lako¯nike¯: tasting Laconian wine behind Lacanian labels’, in Hodkinson (ed.) 2009, 305–30. 2011 ‘Travels with Herodotus: at home and abroad’, in M. Maufort, and C. De Wegter (eds) Old Margins and New Centers: The legacy of European literatures in an age of globalization, New Comparative Poetics 9, Brussels, 215–28. Figueira, T. J. 1984 ‘Mess contributions and subsistence at Sparta’, TAPA 114, 87–109. 1985 ‘Historical survey of Archaic Megara’, in T. J. Figueira and G. Nagy (eds) Theognis of Megara: Poetry and the polis, Baltimore, 261–303. 1990 ‘AUTONOMOI KATA TAS SPONDAS (Thuc. 1.67.2)’, BICS 37, 63–88. 1991 Athens and Aigina in the Age of Imperial Colonization, Baltimore. 1993 Excursions in Epichoric History, Lanham, MD. 1999 ‘The evolution of the Messenian identity’ in S. Hodkinson and A. Powell (eds) Sparta: New perspectives, Swansea, 211–44. 2003 ‘Helot demography and class demarcation in Classical Sparta’, in Luraghi and Alcock (eds) 2003, 193–239. 2006a ‘The Copenhagen Polis Centre: a review-article of its publications, Parts 1– 2’, AWE 5, 252–303. 2006b Rev. M. Sahlins, Apologies to Thucydides: Understanding history as culture and vice versa, The Historian 68, 409–10. 2007 ‘The Copenhagen Polis Centre: a review-article of its publications, Part 3’, AWE 6, 294–321. 2008 ‘Classical Greek colonisation’, in G. R. Tsetskhladze (ed.) A History of Greek Colonisation and Settlement Overseas, Leiden, vol. 2, 427–524. 2009a ‘The Copenhagen Polis Centre: a review-article of its publications, Parts 5–6’ AWE 8, 262–78.

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Thomas J. Figueira 2009b ‘Recent studies on the structure and institutions of the Greek polis’, http://apaclassics.org/images/uploads/documents/Figueiraapa09.pdf. 2010 Rev., Luraghi 2008, CR 60, 160–3. 2015 ‘Modes of colonization and elite integration in Archaic Greece’, in N. K. E. Fisher and H. van Wees (eds) Aristocracy: Elites and social mobility in ancient societies, Swansea, 311–45. 2019 ‘Helotage and the Spartan economy’, in A. Powell (ed.) A Companion to Sparta, vol.2, Hoboken, NJ, 565–95. 2020a ‘Introduction’, in Figueira and Soares (eds) 2020, 1–12. 2020b ‘Language as a marker of ethnicity in Herodotus and contemporaries’, in Figueira and Soares (eds) 2020, 33–71. Figueira, T. J. and Soares, C. (eds) 2020 Ethnicity and Identity in Herodotus, Abingdon. Fragoulaki, M. 2013 Kinship in Thucydides: Intercommunal ties and historical narrative, Oxford. Funke, P. and Luraghi, N. (eds) 2009 The Politics of Ethnicity and the Crisis of the Peloponnesian League, Washington. Hainsworth, J. P. 1967 ‘Greek views of Greek dialectology’, TPS 65, 62–76. Hall, E. 1989 Inventing the Barbarian: Greek self-definition through tragedy, Oxford. Hall, J.M. 1995 ‘The role of language in Greek ethnicities’, PCPS 41, 83–100. 1997 Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge. 2001 ‘Contested ethnicities: perceptions of Macedonia within evolving definitions of Greek identity’, in Malkin (ed.) 2001, 159–86. 2002 Hellenicity: Between ethnicity and culture, Chicago. 2003 ‘The Dorianization of the Messenians,’ in N. Luraghi and S. Alcock (eds) 2003, 142–68. 2007 ‘Polis, community, and ethnic identity’, in H. A. Shapiro (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to Archaic Greece, Cambridge, 40–60. Hall, J., Morris, I., Jones, S., Morris, S. and Renfrew, C. 1998 ‘Review feature: Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity’, CAJ 8, 265–83. Hansen, M. H. 1998 Polis and City-State: An ancient concept and its modern equivalent: symposium, January 9, 1998, Copenhagen. 2000 ‘Introduction: the concepts of the city-state and city-culture’, in M. H. Hansen (ed.) A Comparative Study of Thirty City State Cultures: An investigation conducted by the Copenhagen Polis Centre, Copenhagen, 11–34. Hansen, M. H. (ed.) 1995 Sources for the Ancient Greek City-State. Symposium August, 24–27 1994, Copenhagen. Harder, A. 1985 Euripides’ Kresphontes and Archelaos, Leiden. Harding, P. 1994 Androtion and the Atthis: The fragments translated with introduction and commentary, Oxford.

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis Harrison, T. 1998 ‘Herodotus’ conception of foreign languages’, Histos 2, 1–45. Harrison, T. (ed.) 2002 Greeks and Barbarians, Edinburgh. Hodkinson, S. (ed.) 2009 Sparta: Comparative approaches, Swansea, 305–30. Hornblower, CT = S. Hornblower A Commentary on Thucydides, 3 vols., 1991–2008, Oxford. Hornblower, S. 2008 ‘Greek identity in the Archaic and Classical Periods’, in Zacharia (ed.) 2008a, 37–58. Jones, C. P. 1996 ‘ἔθνος and γένος in Herodotus’, CQ 46, 315–20. 1999 Kinship Diplomacy in the Ancient World, Cambridge. Jones, N. F. 1987 Public Organization in Greece: A documentary study, Philadelphia. Konstan, D. 2001 ‘To Hellenikon ethnos: ethnicity and the construction of ancient Greek identity’, in Malkin (ed.) 2001, 29–50. Langerwerf, L. 2009 ‘Aristomenes and Drimakos: the Messenian Revolt in Pausanias’ Periegesis in comparative perspective’, in Hodkinson (ed.) 2009, 331–59. Lévy, E, 1984 ‘Naissance du concept de barbare’, Ktèma 9, 5–14. Luraghi, N. 2001a ‘Die Dreiteilung der Peloponnes: Wandlungen eines Gründungsmythos’, in H. J. Gehrke (ed.) Geschichtsbilder und Gründungsmythen, Würzberg, 37–63. 2001b ‘Der Erdbebenaufstand und die Entstehung der Messenischen Identität’, in D. Papenfuss and V. M., Strocka (eds) Gab es das Griechische Wunder? Griechenland zwischen dem Ende des 6. und der Mitte des 5. Jahrhunderts v.Chr., Mainz, 282–301. 2002a ‘Helotic slavery reconsidered’, in A. Powell and S. Hodkinson (eds) Sparta: Beyond the mirage, Swansea and London, 227–48. 2002b ‘Becoming Messenian’, JHS 122, 45–69. 2002c ‘Helots called Messenians? A note on Thuc. 1.101.2’, CQ 52, 588–92. 2008 The Ancient Messenians. Constructions of ethnicity and memory, Cambridge. 2009 ‘Messenian Ethnicity and the Free Messenians’, in Funke and Luraghi (eds) 2009, 110–31. Luraghi, N. and Alcock, S. (eds) 2003 Helots and their Masters: The history and sociology of a system of exploitation, Cambridge MA. Malkin, I. 1994 Myth and Territory in the Spartan Mediterranean, Cambridge. 1998 The Returns of Odysseus: Colonization and ethnicity, Berkeley. Malkin, I. (ed.) 2001 Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity, Washington, D.C.

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Thomas J. Figueira Matthaiou, A. P. and Mastrokostas, E. 2000–3 ‘Συνθήκη Μεσσηνίων καὶ Ναυπακτίων’, ΗΟΡΟΣ 14–16, 433–54. McDonald, W. A., and Rapp, G. R. (eds) 1972 The Minnesota Messenia Expedition: Recontructing a Bronze Age environment, St. Paul. Mitchell, L. 2007 Panhellenism and the Barbarian in Archaic and Classical Greece, Swansea. Montanari, E. 1981 Il mito dell’ autoctonia. Linee di una dinamica mitico-politica ateniese 2, Rome. Morpurgo-Davies, A. 2002 ‘The Greek notion of dialect’, in Harrison (ed.) 2002, 153–71, reprinted from Verbum 10 (1987), 7–27. Müth, S. 2007 Eigene Wege. Topographie und Stadtplan von Messene in spätklassisch/hellenistischer Zeit, Rahden. Nielsen, T. H. 2002 Arkadia and its Poleis in the Archaic and Classical Periods, Göttingen. Niese, B. 1891 ‘Die ältere Geschichte Messeniens’, Hermes 29, 1–32. Nippel, W. 2002 ‘The construction of the “Other’’ ’, in Harrison (ed.) 2002, 278–310. Ogden, D. 2004a ‘Aristomenes of Messene and his talismanic shield’, in T. J. Figueira (ed.) Spartan Society, Swansea, 283–308. 2004b Aristomenes of Messene. Legends of Sparta’s Nemesis, Swansea. Patterson, L. E. 2010 Kinship Myth in Ancient Greece, Austin. Petrocelli, C. 2001 ‘Le parole e le armi: omofonia/omoglossia in guerra’, QS 27, 69–97. Robertson, N. 1988 ‘Melanthus, Neleus, Codrus, Caucon: ritual myth as Athenian history’, GRBS 29, 201–61. Romilly, J. de 1990 La construction de la verité chez Thucydide, Paris. Sakellariou, M. B. 1958 La migration grecque en Ionie, Athens. Schuller, W. 1995 ‘Poleis im Ersten Attischen Seebund’, in Hansen (ed.) 1995, 165–70. Schwartz, E. 1899 ‘Tyrtaeus’, Hermes 34, 428–68. Shipley, G. 1997 ‘ “The other Lacedaimonians”: the dependent Perioikic poleis of Laconia and Messenia’, in M. H. Hansen (ed.) The Polis as an Urban Centre and as a Political Community. Symposium August, 29–31 1996. Copenhagen, 189–281. 2000 ‘The extent of Spartan territory in the Late Classical and Hellenistic Periods,’ BSA 95, 367–90.

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Thucydides, ethnic solidarity, and Messenian ethnogenesis Thein, A. 2014 ‘Messenia, ethnic identity, and contingency’, in J. McInerney (ed.) A Companion to Ethnicity in the Ancient Mediterranean, Chichester, 285–95. Vanschoonwinkel, J. 1991 L’Égée et la Méditerranée orientale à la fin du IIe millénaire: temoignages archéologiques et sources écrites, Louvain-la-neuve. Vega, M. del Barrio 2007 ‘À propos de quelques formes du laconien et du messénien’, in I. Hajnal (ed.) Die Altgriechischen Dialekte. Akten des Kolloquiums Freie Universität Berlin: 19.–22 September 2001, Innsbruck, 1–17. West, M. L. 1985 The Hesiodic Catalogue of Women: Its nature, structure, and origins, Oxford. Will, E. 1956 Doriens et Ioniens. Essai sur la valeur du critere ethnique applique a l’étude de l’histoire et de la civilisation grecques, Paris. Zacharia, K. 2003 Converging Truths. Euripides’ Ion and the Athenian Quest for Self-definition, Leiden. 2008 ‘Herodotus’ four markers of Greek identity’, in Zacharia (ed.) 2008, 21–36. Zacharia, K. (ed.) 2008 Hellenisms. Culture, Identity, and Ethnicity from Antiquity to Modernity, Aldershot. Zunino, M. L. 1997 Hiera Messeniaka, Udine.

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6 XENIA AND PROXENIA IN THUCYDIDES’ SPARTA Polly Low 1. Introduction Thucydides’ views on the role of xenia and proxenia in the interstate relations of fifth-century Greece are notoriously elusive,1 and his coverage of those themes in contexts relating to Sparta (or Spartans) is even less expansive. The subject of this chapter might not, then, seem to be a particularly promising one, and it is probably worth saying at the outset that readers hoping to find here news of a hitherto unnoticed treasuretrove of information about fifth-century Spartan guest-friendship will have their hopes quickly crushed. Thucydides gives us only four cases of proxenia involving Sparta (one of which is no longer properly functional by the time it appears in his narrative).2 Adding in explicitly-labelled xenia connections gives us two more examples.3 It would, then, be a stretch to try to claim that Thucydides is the key to understanding the history of xenia or proxenia in the Greek world; and it would also, I suggest, be implausible to argue that this sort of interstate tie is the key to understanding Thucydides’ conception of inter-polis relations, still less his conception of Sparta. What is, possible, though – and what I will attempt to do in most of what follows – is to investigate those examples which Thucydides does give us in some detail, and to explore the ways in which they contribute both to his narrative of the war, and to his attempt to characterise the Spartans’ conduct in it. What I aim to demonstrate is that, while Thucydides does not write proxenia or xenia out of his history of the Peloponnesian War, he does have has a marked tendency to downplay both the practical and the ideological significance of these institutions, particularly when explaining – implicitly or explicitly – the causes of states’ decisions and actions. 2. Overview: establishing the context It is worth starting with some brief comments on the overall picture, if only to emphasise how generally unremarkable Thucydides’ depiction of Spartan proxenia and xenia relations is, both in Thucydidean terms (that is,

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Polly Low in comparison with other such relationships which Thucydides reports in his text), and in terms of what we know of Spartan proxenia and xenia from other sources. The first element of noteworthy normality relates to the scale and scope of Sparta’s xenia and proxenia ties. The Spartans are, of course, notorious for their lack of openness – or even outright hostility – to xenoi (in the word’s other, non-technical sense), a point which Thucydides makes his speakers raise more than once.4 It is worth observing, then, that this alleged insularity is not reflected in the extent of Sparta’s formal guest-friendship networks, as represented by Thucydides. Sparta’s four reported proxeny connections might seem like a fairly flimsy sort of a network, but start to seem more respectable once it is noted that Thucydides reports only ten such connections in the whole of his work.5 Nor is there any sense that Sparta’s ties are unusually narrow in scope. Links with Athens predominate (Athens is the city involved in both of the xenia relationships reported, and one of the proxeniai), but this is not unexpected, given Thucydides’ interests, and – insofar as any meaningful conclusions can be drawn from the sample size of three which makes up the remaining examples – these at least suggest that Sparta’s ties of friendship were not restricted to the Peloponnese, nor to traditionally pro-Spartan states: we have two cases of proxenia involving Argos, and one from Plataea. Thucydides certainly does not give us a complete record of active Spartan proxenia ties in the fifth century, but his silences are not so extensive as to arouse any immediate alarm. The total catalogue of Spartan proxeniai, which stretches from the sixth century BC to the Roman period, runs to 54 entries, of which 44 involve Spartan citizens holding proxenies in other poleis, and the rest involve Spartan grants of proxenia to outsiders.6 This evidence is, though, heavily weighted towards the Hellenistic period (and later), and it is not safe to assume that proxeniai attested at a later date would also have been active during the Classical period. For the sixth and fifth centuries we know of only, at most, seven proxeny connections not mentioned by Thucydides which could still have been active during the Peloponnesian War; of these, only one belongs to an individual who is mentioned by Thucydides but not described as a proxenos.7 For comparison, Xenophon’s Hellenica reports five proxenies which involve Spartans, to which other fourth-century sources allow us to add another three cases. In purely quantitative terms, then, Thucydides’ level of reporting (and nonreporting) of Spartan proxeny ties does not seem to be particularly remarkable. It is Thucydides’ qualitative assessment of proxenia – that is, his account of what these men actually do – which needs more discussion. Thucydides’

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Xenia and Proxenia in Thucydides’ Sparta depiction of the role (or roles) of individual Spartan proxenoi will be explored in more detail below, but in the very broadest terms we do not see them behaving in ways, or adopting roles, which are out of line with those which we see in other poleis (and in other sources). Explaining why this might be of more than passing interest requires a brief diversion into the world of Herodotus, and more particularly into a problem raised (or created?) by Herodotus’ description of Spartan proxenoi. Herodotus (unlike Thucydides) did notice something unusual about these men: he claims (at 6.57.2) that Spartan citizens who served as proxenoi of a foreign polis were appointed not (as would normally be the case) by the authorities of that polis, but by the kings of Sparta. This statement has caused much head-scratching among proxeny-watchers, because it seems to contradict not only the established practice of almost all other Greek states, but also Sparta’s own practice in later periods (as visible, for example, in IG II2 106, an Athenian decree of 368/7, which appoints the Spartan Coroibos as Athens’ proxenos). Solving the Herodotean problem is outside the scope of this discussion,8 but it is worth noting that Thucydides gives very little help to those who wish to do so: his accounts of Spartan proxenoi reveal nothing about the process by which they were appointed (although, as we shall see, they do suggest a connection between proxenia and other forms of inherited guest-friendship which would be in line with the practice of other poleis).9 If Thucydides knew or believed that Herodotus’ account of Spartan proxenia was wrong, then he did not (it seems) think this sufficiently important to need explicit correction.10 Thucydides’ approach to xenia has raised more questions. There are notably few (explicitly-labelled) xenia relationships in Thucydides’ account of the war: the two xeniai involving Spartans which he reports are, in fact, the only such ties between named individuals which appear in the whole text.11 It has been suggested that the scarcity of reference to xeniai reflects a conscious Thucydidean decision to under-emphasise the role of these relationships in interstate politics,12 although it should be noted that quantifying the scale of his omissions is difficult – our independent (and particularly epigraphic) evidence for xeniai is less full than it is for proxeniai 13 – and establishing the motivation for Thucydides’ silences even more so.14 For now, we can at least note that there is no reason to believe that these silences (however extensive they are) are directed at Sparta more than at any other polis: there is, to be sure, reason to think that Thucydides fails to tell us about some (potentially) relevant Spartan xeniai (Gylippus’ links with Thurii, for example),15 but there is equal reason to suspect that he does the same in his accounts of the diplomacy of other states (including Athens).16

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Polly Low 3. Case-studies: Spartan xeniai and proxeniai in action – or not With this background in mind, we can turn to the six Thucydidean examples of xeniai and proxeniai which involve Spartans (on either side of the relationship). (i) Pericles of Athens and Archidamus of Sparta The first example of a Spartan xenia relationship in the History is also one of the clearest illustrations of the potential problems which such relationships could cause – both for the individuals involved and for their poleis. Pericles, we are told at 2.13.1, was a xenos of Archidamus,17 and is concerned that this xenia will influence Archidamus’ strategy in the invasion of Attica: Pericles became concerned that Archidamus ... might perhaps pass by his fields without laying them waste, either because Archidamus himself wanted to do him a favour or as a result of an instruction from the Spartans for the purpose of discrediting Pericles.

Meanwhile, on the Spartan side, there is a (less explicit, but still fairly strong) suggestion that similar concerns were affecting Archidamus: Thucydides reports a perception among the Spartans that Archidamus’ delay in forcing a confrontation with the Athenians could be explained (at least in part) by the fact that he was their friend (ἐπιτήδειος: 2.18.3).18 The scenario which Thucydides describes here is wholly plausible. First, it is no surprise to find that a Spartan king could form this sort of relationship: elsewhere, we find such ties ascribed to (for example) Pausanias (Lys. 18.10), Agis (Xen. Hell. 3.2.27–9) and Agesilaus (e.g. Xen. Hell. 4.1.39–40, 5.2.8–10, 5.3.13).19 Indeed, Mitchell (1987, 57) notes that ‘the Spartan kings in particular were obvious points of contact for such connections’. The possibility for tension between the obligations of a xenia relationship and the interests (or perceived interests) of the polis is also regularly seen – including in cases which involve Spartan kings. One of fullest explorations of the problem, in fact, comes in Xenophon’s account of the encounter between Agesilaus and Pharnabazus (Hell. 4.1.30–41): the Spartans are accused by the Persian of not keeping faith with their friends; in his defence, Agesilaus (although ‘filled with shame’) appeals to the fact that ‘in the Greek states, also, men become guest-friends of one another. But these men, when their states come to war, fight with their fatherlands even against their former friends’ (4.1.34).20 Finally, there is good evidence for popular perception of that tension, and for popular mistrust of the effect it might have on the formulation or conduct of a state’s policy. Once more, Spartan history (particularly as narrated by Xenophon) provides

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Xenia and Proxenia in Thucydides’ Sparta good illustrations of this: we have, for example, reports of discontent in Sparta when it was thought that the city was getting dragged into conflict with Phlius ‘merely for the sake of a few individuals’ (Xen. Hell. 5.3.16) – that is, for the sake of Agesilaus’ Phliasian xenoi (Hell. 5.3.13). As the examples just mentioned suggest, Xenophon is often willing to place a significant amount of explanatory weight on the existence of xeniai: Spartan policy – or at least the policies of Spartan kings – can be distinctively shaped by these relationships. Is the same true for Thucydides? Herman (1987, 143–5) argues that it is: the fact that Pericles and Archidamus were xenoi is, he suggests, ‘a clue to the behaviour of the two leaders, a central motif which runs through the [first] two books’ (145) – the motif being the way in which both leaders ‘pursued a certain policy which tried desperately to reconcile their private involvement with their public responsibilities’ (144). Herman must be right to emphasise Thucydides’ – and Thucydides’ audience’s – awareness of the nature, and potential power, of these relationships; this awareness emerges particularly clearly in the views which Thucydides attributes to the mass of Athenians (who think – or whom Pericles thinks will think – that the xenia will earn him special treatment from the Spartans) and Spartans (who suspect that Archidamus is indeed being too soft not just on his xenos but on the city which his xenos leads). Thucydides is, then, willing to acknowledge a general perception that xeniai could influence policy; but it is much less clear that he thinks that this perception is correct. There is no authorial endorsement of these views;21 in fact, the distancing of these views from Thucydides’ own voice is quite marked (particularly on the Athenian side, where we hear of these concerns only at third hand: not in Thucydides’ voice, and not in the Athenians’, but in the report of Pericles’ fear of what the Athenians might come to believe). We are left with the impression that there might be a gap between the popular view of the significance of these relationships and Thucydides’ own assessment of their importance – and this is an impression which subsequent examples will reinforce. (ii) Lacon of Plataea Lacon, who appears in the narrative at 3.52, is one of the two Plataean speakers who attempt (unsuccessfully) to persuade the Spartans to spare the remaining inhabitants of the city, after Plataea’s surrender in 427. Thucydides tells us nothing but his name and his proxeny status, although we (and presumably also Thucydides’ original audience) can make some important inferences from this: the fact that this man is called ‘Mr Laconia’ strongly points to the existence of a longer-term relationship – perhaps

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Polly Low originally a xenia relationship – between his family and either a specific Spartan family or the Spartans in general.22 That a proxenos should be entrusted with the task of appealing to his external community fits perfectly well with patterns of behaviour which we see in other places (both elsewhere in Thucydides, and in other sources).23 But it is worth noting that the justification for that action – that the proxenos has a personal, quasi-affective, tie with his host city – is conspicuously absent from the speech which Lacon (jointly) delivers here. When Polydamus of Pharsalus, for example, arrived in Sparta in 375 to appeal for assistance, his speech (as recreated or created by Xenophon) opened with a deliberate invocation of the significance of his proxenia: ‘Spartans, I, like all my ancestors of whom we have record, act as your proxenos in my country and am honoured by you with the title of euergetes. It seems right, then, for me to come to you if I am in any difficulty, and to let you know if things begin to be dangerous for you in Thessaly.’ (Hell. 6.1.4).

This more emotive approach to proxenia is not a purely Xenophontic phenomenon.24 In fact, one of its most memorable manifestations is found in Thucydides’ account of the role of Athens’ Pharsalian proxenos – also called Thucydides – in helping to prevent an outbreak of factional fighting in Athens in 411. Thucydides (the proxenos) ‘worked tirelessly to confront every man and plead with him not to destroy his country (τὴν πατρίδα)’ (Th. 8.92.8) – the ‘country’ here being Athens, a place which, it seems, Thucydides the proxenos feels a powerful (and unforced) obligation to attempt to preserve.25 It is this sense of any individual – almost emotional – tie which is lacking in Lacon’s speech. Indeed, the fact that the speech is attributed not to Lacon alone but to a double-act of Plataeans (Lacon, and a certain Astymachus, son of Astypalaeus) makes it inevitable that the speech has a less personal tone – but since the decision to report the speech as a joint effort must surely itself be a Thucydidean invention (it seems impossible to believe that Lacon and Astymachus actually spoke in chorus), then it follows that the decision to exclude this personal element from the Plataeans’ appeal is also a deliberate Thucydidean choice. A harder question to answer, however, is why Thucydides made that decision. A general (although not, as we have seen, absolute) inclination to downplay the affective aspect of proxenia in favour of its more pragmatic function might form part of the explanation, and would be consistent with Thucydides’ failure to draw explicit attention to the interpersonal (xenia) relationship which almost certainly existed between Lacon and some Spartan.26 But it is worth noting that appeal to another variety of intercommunal relationship is extremely prominent in this speech – namely the

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Xenia and Proxenia in Thucydides’ Sparta Panhellenic tie which (according to the Plataeans, at least) should shape Spartan behaviour towards them.27 The existence of the interpersonal link between the two poleis might therefore have been of less importance in this context – or even something which risked diluting Thucydides’ focus on the manipulation, and ultimate betrayal (by Athens as much as by Sparta), of the broader claims to kinship-based reciprocity in which the Plataeans placed their collective hopes. (iii) Alciphron of Argos Thucydides’ portrayal of the Argive proxenos Alciphron is, in many ways, very similar to (and equally sparse as) the one he gives us of Lacon. Alciphron, again in partnership with another speaker (Thrasylus, one of the city’s five generals: 5.59.5), enters into negotiations with the Spartan king Agis in order to avert a full-scale battle between the two states’ armies; the negotiations are successful, although unpopular with both parties’ native cities. Nothing else is known about Alciphron, or about the origin of his proxenia with Sparta, but as in the previous example it is not at all unexpected to find a proxenos taking on this sort of role – for exactly the same reasons as those outlined above: a proxenos, by virtue of a pre-existing and privileged connection with his host state would reasonably expect to receive a sympathetic hearing from them (or, at least, be granted the right to speak to them).28 Here too, though, Thucydides does not dwell on any of these themes: the fact of Alciphron’s proxenia is stated, but its implications are left unexplored – and here too it is hard to know whether this silence should be taken to indicate that Thucydides expected his audience to be able to make this inference without his help, or rather intended deliberately to downplay the significance of proxenia to the conduct of this sort of diplomacy. Thucydides introduces Alciphron not just as proxenos but also as a ‘leading Argive’, and it is possible that it is his general status as much as his specific role which Thucydides thought relevant here. The aftermath of this episode, as narrated by Thucydides, seems to support that view. At 5.60.1 it becomes clear that Alciphron and Thrasylus have been operating without the collective agreement of the Argives; on the other side, Agis acts in a similar way, unilaterally deciding to come to terms with Argos. Agis (at least in the short term) meets no (active) opposition to his behaviour, but things do not work out so well for Thrasylus, who is accused of squandering a perfect opportunity to inflict a defeat on the Spartans; the Argive general narrowly escapes being stoned to death, but does suffer the confiscation of his property (5.60.6).

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Polly Low Commentators on this passage have noted the contrast between Spartan and Argive responses to individual direction (or misdirection) of the state’s foreign policy – disgruntled obedience in the former case (glossed by Thucydides as obedience to the law: οἱ δὲ Λακεδαιμόνιοι καὶ οἱ ξύμμαχοι εἵποντο μὲν ὡς ἡγεῖτο διὰ τὸν νόμον); immediate and violent disavowal in the latter.29 For my purposes, the possible implications of those differences are less important than the more straightforward point that we find here another illustration of the potential tension between individual agency and collective policy in the conduct of interstate relations. As we have already seen, such tensions are commonplace in accounts of Greek diplomacy, and are often particularly associated with the existence of xenia relationships (or other interpersonal ties). In this case, though, it is worth noting that Thucydides does not (or does not explicitly) make any link between those individual actions and the existence of any xenia or proxenia connections: we cannot rule out the possibility that Agis or Thrasylus had such ties,30 but there is no suggestion of their existence in what Thucydides tells us, nor any suggestion that Spartan or Argive mistrust of the power of xenia or proxenia influenced their negative response to their leaders’ actions. More than that: the proxenos Alciphron disappears from the narrative altogether after his brief appearance in 5.59 (Thucydides’ account of the Argives’ furious response to their negotiators’ perceived betrayal discusses only the fate of Thrasylus); it seems that either the Argives or Thucydides (or both) thought that the proxenos was less worthy of their attention than the general. There are two possible inferences which might be drawn from this. One is that this sort of (perceived) collusion with an external power was thought to be more expected of, and therefore more forgivable in, a proxenos than in a general: in other words, Alciphron is not mentioned because the Argives did not think his behaviour merited punishment. What we know of the fate of other proxenoi suspected of collaboration, though, makes this seem generally unlikely.31 What is more plausible is that Alciphron is not mentioned because Thucydides (or the Argives, or both) simply thought his role less significant than Thrasylus’. Alciphron’s status as proxenos might have given him the potential to exert particular influence in these negotiations, but he seems to have been – and to have been perceived to have been – comparatively unimportant in this particular episode. (iv) Lichas of Sparta Lichas, the only Spartan in the History who is identified by Thucydides as a proxenos,32 appears first at 5.22, in a piece of ‘internal analepsis’ referring to an earlier failed attempt to negotiate a settlement with Argos;33 at 5.76

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Xenia and Proxenia in Thucydides’ Sparta he re-enters the narrative when he is sent to Argos to secure a peace settlement, the terms of which are conspicuously favourable to Sparta (and inimical to the Argive democracy). It is only in this latter appearance that his status as proxenos is noted (although there is no reason to think that he did not already hold the status during the earlier negotiations). Lichas is a relatively prominent figure in Thucydides, and is also known from non-Thucydidean sources; he is, then, one of the few proxenoi in the text for whom we can construct a more three-dimensional picture of their affiliations and behaviour. Other writers (Xen. Mem. 1.2.61, Plu. Cim. 10.6) mention his wealth and his reputation for hospitality, and it also seems that his interstate ties were not limited to Argos: it is possible to reconstruct (with varying degrees of confidence) connections (either for Lichas or for his wider family) with Thasos, Cyrene, Samos, and perhaps also Athens.34 Little of this is visible in Thucydides, although hints of Lichas’ prominent status do appear, in the story of his (semi-covert) participation in the Olympic chariot race (5.50), and in the Spartan efforts to ensure for him a proper burial after his death in Miletus in (or after) 411 (8.84.5).35 Lichas seems, though, to have had a formal proxenia tie only with the Argives, and (as already noted) Thucydides acknowledges that connection on only one occasion: the negotiations between Sparta and Argos in 418. Unlike the proxenoi discussed so far, Lichas is (or seems to be) dispatched on a solo mission; in this case too, however, Thucydides suggests that the proxenos is just one element in a more complicated network of interstate actors. In fact, this episode gives an unusually clear insight into the density of that network. The Spartans (Thucydides reports) had prepared the ground for Lichas’ arrival by using their network of friends (ἐπιτήδειοι) in Argos to start persuading the Argives of the merits of making peace with Sparta (5.76.2); these same men continued to support Sparta’s interests after Lichas’ disappearance (from Thucydides’ narrative, even if not from Argos),36 and went on to persuade the Argives to make not just a peace but a full-blown offensive alliance with the Spartans (5.78). This tendency to underemphasise the role of the proxenos fits well with the pattern seen so far. What is added in this episode is what might be a more specifically Spartan twist – that is, the effective manipulation of Sparta’s other contacts in Argos, the shadowy, but clearly influential, Argive ἐπιτήδειοι.37 It is tempting to see here, too, an echo of Thucydides’ summing-up of the differences between Athenian and Spartan foreign policy (at 1.19): the Athenians exercise control by extracting tribute from their allies; the Spartans by ensuring that supportive (ἐπιτηδείως) constitutions are in place in allied cities.38 The Argive episode provides an insight into how that support could be established: ἐπιτήδειοι encourage cities to behave ἐπιτηδείως;

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Polly Low useful friends at the individual level cement co-operation at the interstate level. Proxenoi, even prominent proxenoi like Lichas, are part of that process, certainly, but not necessarily the most important element in it; it is the ἐπιτήδειοι – the ‘useful friends’ – who are the driving force in Sparta’s diplomatic manoeuvres.39 (v) Alcibiades of Athens (and Endius of Sparta) Unsurprisingly, the case of Alcibiades is by some distance the most complex of the examples which will be considered here. Alcibiades’ Spartan proxenia is, of course, only one aspect of Thucydides’ presentation of the Athenian’s convoluted (and ever-changing) set of interstate affiliations – but Alcibiades’ manipulation of his proxeny, in part because it is so extreme, does help to illuminate both the potential and the limitations of the institution, as Thucydides saw it. Alcibiades, like Lichas, is a man with many interstate ties: he has contacts in Miletus, Chios, Argos, and beyond.40 But his only attested proxeny relationship is with Sparta – a relationship which, notoriously, is far from straightforward. Thucydides provides the background at 5.43: the proxeny had been created (at least) two generations ago, but had been renounced by Alcibiades’ grandfather;41 Alcibiades believed that he had performed enough services for Sparta (in particular by looking after the Spartan prisoners from Sphacteria) to justify the re-activation of his proxenia, but the Spartans did not agree (they had used Nicias and Laches, rather than Alcibiades, to broker their peace agreement with Athens). Alcibiades (according to Thucydides) regarded this as a serious snub, and responded by ensnaring the Spartans in a complex web of deception. When Spartan ambassadors arrived in Athens in 420, attempting to forestall an Athenian alliance with Argos, Alcibiades instructed the Spartans to deny (falsely) that they had been sent with full powers to negotiate, although they had previously told the Athenian Council that this was the case; the Athenians, encouraged by Alcibiades’ enthusiastic denunciations of the Spartans, lost trust in the envoys and negotiations ended before an agreement could be made (5.45.3–4). Alcibiades’ machinations succeeded in embarrassing the Spartan envoys, and in making more likely an Athenian alliance with Argos (and therefore against Sparta).42 At first sight, this episode might seem to reveal that both Sparta and Alcibiades regard proxenia as nothing more than a convenient tool, to be used (or discarded) in whatever way best suits their self-interested ends. Both sides, on this reading, are guilty of subverting the proper function of the relationship. Sparta has failed to give its proxenos the prominence to which he was entitled (the action which Alcibiades invokes at 6.89.3 as

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Xenia and Proxenia in Thucydides’ Sparta justification for his deceptive behaviour in the negotiations of 418: ‘the harm done served you right for your treatment of me’). Alcibiades, while pretending still to be a friend to the Spartans, is equally (or more) treacherous in his behaviour towards them. But in fact, what we have seen of the use (and non-use) of proxenoi on other occasions suggests that the Spartans’ treatment of Alcibiades was not dramatically out of line with their use of these men in other diplomatic contexts: proxenoi (in Thucydides’ portrayal, at least) seem not to have had any sort of exclusive claim to privileged status in Spartan diplomatic negotiations. The proxenia was not, however, Alcibiades’ only Spartan tie. At 8.6.3, Thucydides reveals that Alcibiades was also the xenos of the Spartan Endius; this connection must have existed for some generations because (Thucydides reports) it was responsible for Alcibiades’ ‘Spartan’ name.43 Thucydides’ narrative at the start of Book 8 has Alcibiades and Endius working together in an effort to push Sparta’s strategy in a particular direction, not only because they believe it will inflict the most damage on Athens (though this motivation is not completely absent: see, e.g. 8.12.1), but also because of a desire to enhance their individual status: Alcibiades suggested to Endius that it would be a fine thing for him [i.e. Endius] to be the one to get the Ionians to revolt and to make the King an ally of the Spartans – so denying this prize to Agis (with whom Alcibiades himself was having his differences). (8.12.2)

Thucydides’ portrayal of this xenia relationship, and its effect on the conduct of Spartan policy, therefore offers an almost exact counterexample to the Pericles/Archidamus xenia which we (and Thucydides’ audience) encountered earlier: here is a clear example (the clearest in the History, in fact) of a private relationship, and the private ambitions of the parties in that relationship, driving state policy. In this episode, the plan which Alcibiades and Endius collude to advocate is not necessarily inimical to Spartan interests,44 but it is possible that the influence of this xenia relationship was more pervasive than Thucydides was willing to acknowledge. Endius was one of the Spartan ambassadors who was (apparently) fooled by Alcibiades’ machinations in 420; Thucydides does not mention the xenia on that occasion, but it has been suggested that its existence provides the key to understanding this (otherwise fairly baffling) sequence of events. Why were the Spartans so easily deceived by Alcibiades? Because (the argument goes) one of their number – Endius – knew what Alcibiades’ plan was, and was working alongside him to ensure its success.45 That is: the effect of the xenia in this episode is not (as in Book 8) to encourage the adoption of a policy which

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Polly Low will benefit Sparta, Alcibiades and Endius in equal measure, but rather to secure an outcome which will benefit Alcibiades and Endius, but which will be actively damaging to Sparta. Caution is needed here: it is far from certain that this explanation is correct, and it could be that the lesson to be drawn from the episode is not a general one about the potentially corrosive influence of xenia, but rather something more specific: that Alcibiades was happy to betray his xenoi as much as his proxenia in order to further his own interests.46 This reading of the episode might be encouraged by Alcibiades’ speech at Sparta a few years later, in which his distinctive – and ‘morally dubious’ 47 – interpretation of the code of ‘helping friends and harming enemies’ is a prominent theme.48 More important (and more frustrating), though, is the fact that, since we are not in a position to know exactly what role the xenia played (or did not play) in the events of 420, it is also very hard to come up with a definitive explanation for Thucydides’ failure to mention it at this point of his narrative. The omission might reflect a belief that the xenia was simply irrelevant to these events (because Alcibiades and Endius were not, on this occasion, working in tandem), or might be the result of a more calculated decision to focus only on Alcibiades’ complex relationship with Sparta as a whole rather than with one particular Spartan. It is, though, possible to say something more positive about Thucydides’ portrayal of the aftermath of Alcibiades’ machinations of 420, and in particular about Sparta’s and Endius’ response to his behaviour. It is notable that, in spite of Alcibiades’ double-dealing, the Spartans (as a collective) and Endius (as an individual) are willing to continue to cooperate with him. How is this willingness explained? In the case of Endius, as we have already seen, the motivation is based in self-interest: cooperation with Alcibiades (in 412) offers the possibility of improving his own status in Sparta. Sparta’s (collective) willingness to overlook Alcibiades’ previous unreliability seems to be based on a similar calculation: Alcibiades’ assistance will bring tangible, practical benefits to their fight against Athens (it is because of his ‘expert knowledge’, τοῦ σαφέστατα εἰδότος, that they are persuaded to accept his arguments: 6.93.1).49 For the Spartans – or for Thucydides’ Spartans – it seems that pragmatism can be allowed to outweigh the demands of reciprocity. 4. Conclusion It would be a mistake to try to seek a single explanation for Thucydides’ presentation of Sparta’s use of xenia and proxenia, or to try to fit the different episodes in which they appear (or, come to that, fail to appear) into a single rigid template. The xenoi and proxenoi of the History, while

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Xenia and Proxenia in Thucydides’ Sparta always operating within an established framework (and a framework which is familiar from other sources of the Classical period) are portrayed as using, or failing to use, their status in distinctive ways, according to the situation in which they find themselves, the people with (or against) whom they are working, and – something which is especially clear in the case of Alcibiades – their particular approach to the conduct of interstate (and domestic) politics. However, it is possible to point to a recurring theme in Thucydides’ presentation of these relationships, which is (generally – though not absolutely) to downplay their influence on the conduct of interstate politics, and even more so (with the conspicuous exception of Alcibiades and Endius) on the formulation of policy. Proxenoi and xenoi can, to be sure, play a part in Spartan diplomacy, but their status does not seem to give them any obvious primacy in these negotiations: these men can be useful, but (in Thucydides’ account) their relevance derives – precisely and solely – from their utility, not from any more generalised respect for their status as honoured or privileged individuals, nor as individuals with a particular emotional or affective tie to their ‘second fatherland’.50 As a consequence it is unsurprising to find that (again, with some exceptions) the theme of conflict between the requirements of the polis and the interpersonal obligations of proxenoi and xenoi is not at all strongly marked in Thucydides’ narrative (in contrast, for example, to Xenophon’s account of Spartan politics): if a proxenos or xenos does not serve the interests of the city, then he becomes irrelevant to its actions. Is this approach to proxenoi and xenoi distinctively Spartan? (Or perhaps more precisely: distinctive to the Thucydidean picture of Sparta?) The utilitarian view of these relationships is not, of course, revolutionary: the expectation that friendship (in its various manifestations) can – indeed should – bring tangible benefits is widespread. If, then, there is a difference in Sparta’s approach, it is one of emphasis rather than of radical reinvention. But we could note that this focus on utility over less self-interested considerations does form a part of other characterisations of Sparta in the work – most notably in the Athenian allegation (in the Melian Dialogue) that ‘of all the people we know, the Spartans make the most blatant equation of comfort with honour, and expediency with justice’ (τὰ μὲν ἡδέα καλὰ νομίζουσι, τὰ δὲ ξυμφέροντα δίκαια: 5.105.4). However, just as the Melian Dialogue tells us more about Athenian morality than Spartan, so too it might be worth wondering if Thucydides’ portrayal of xenia and (especially) proxenia in his work might have more to do with Athens than Sparta. Our other evidence (particularly our epigraphical evidence) reveals that one Greek city-state had radically

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Polly Low re-imagined the purpose of proxenia in this period. That state, however, was not Sparta, but Athens, for whom proxenoi became a key element of the machinery of empire.51 To judge from the extant evidence, Athens’ proxeny network in the fifth century must have dwarfed that of all other states (including Sparta); but this Athenian proxeny-boom – and the shift in the roles of Athenian proxenoi which accompanied it – is almost invisible in Thucydides’ text. Explaining that omission would be the subject for another paper (and for a different volume); here, I offer only the tentative suggestion that, if Thucydides’ Athenian readers could detect a distinct strand of pragmatic self-interest in the versions of Spartan guest-friendship described in the History, they might – possibly – have reflected that in this respect at least, Spartan practice was not so dramatically different from their own. Notes 1 The most detailed studies of interpersonal philia and xenia in Thucydides are Herman 1989 and 1990. On xenia and proxenia in Greek interstate politics, see especially Marek 1984; Herman 1987; Mitchell 1997; Mack 2015. 2 For details, see n. 4, below. 3 2.13.1: Pericles and Archidamus; 8.6.3: Alcibiades and Endius. 4 Pericles at 1.144.2 and 2.39.1 (with Sparta as the explicit reference in the first example, strongly implied in the second). The evidence for the actual practice of xenelasia at Sparta is discussed by Figueira 2003; see also Rebenich 1998. 5 In order of appearance in the text: Nymphodorus (of Abdera, proxenos of Athens): 2.29.1; Nicias (of Crete, proxenos of Athens): 2.85.5; Lacon (of Plataea, proxenos of Sparta): 3.52.5; Peithias (of Corcyra, etheloproxenos of Athens): 3.70; Strophacus (of Pharsalus, proxenos of the Chalcidians): 4.78.1; Alcibiades (of Athens, proxenos of Sparta): 5.43, 6.89; Alciphron (of Argos, proxenos of Sparta): 5.59; Lichas (of Sparta, proxenos of Argos): 5.76.3; Thucydides (of Pharsalus, proxenos of Athens): 8.92.8. In addition to these nine named connections, Thucydides refers to (but does not name) Mytilenean proxenoi of Athens: 3.2.3. 6 These figures are derived from the Proxeny Networks of the Ancient World catalogue (http://proxenies.csad.ox.ac.uk/, accessed 27/05/2019). 7 The un-marked proxenos: Clearchus of Sparta (Thuc. 8.8, 8.80; his proxenia is noted by Xen. Hell. 1.1.35). Other examples: Spartan citizens as proxenoi of other states: Gorgos (IvO Suppl. 49) and Ewanios (IvO Suppl. 50): both are honoured by the Eleans, both texts are dated to the sixth century; Cartledge (1982, 250–1) suggests that Archias (Hdt. 3.55) was likely to have been the proxenos of Samos, although Herodotus does not say as much. Non-Spartans acting as proxenoi of Sparta: Cimon of Athens (Plu. Cim. 14, Mosley 1971a; this is probably the man whom Andocides should have named at 3.3, where he claims that Miltiades was proxenos of Sparta); Xenophon mentions two proxeniai which were believed to have been established several generations earlier, and so could also reasonably be assumed to be active in this period: those of Callias (which was held also by his grandfather: Xen. Hell. 6.3.4) and Polydamas of Pharsalus (Hell. 6.1.4).

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Xenia and Proxenia in Thucydides’ Sparta 8

For attempts to solve the problem, see Monceaux 1886, 9–10; Huybrechts 1959; Mosley 1971b; Luppino Manes 1983–4; Porciani 1991; Zelnick-Abramovitz 2004, 103–4. 9 On the relationship between xenia and proxenia, see Herman 1987, 130–42 (though note also Mitchell’s (1997, 32–3) reservations about Herman’s suggestion that all (or almost all) proxeniai develop out of pre-existing xenia relationships). 10 Cf. Thucydides’ careful correction of Herodotus’ (alleged) misunderstanding of other aspects of Spartan history and institutions at 1.22.3 (correcting Hdt. 6.57.5, on Spartan Kings’ votes, and 9.53.2, on the Pitanate lochos). 11 That is: links which are explicitly labelled as xeniai. There is one other reference to xenoi: we are told that Alcibiades forms one half of the relationship, but his counterparts – xenoi in Argos – are left anonymous: Thuc. 6.61.3. 12 Herman 1989; Herman 1990, 89–90. 13 For a list of possible Spartan xenia connections in the Archaic and Classical periods (identified on the basis of names derived from non-Spartan ethnics), see Cartledge 1982, n. 37; Herman (1987, Appendix C) catalogues other possible connections from the period of the Peloponnesian War. For discussion of Spartan xenia relationships in action, see Mitchell 1997, 55–65. 14 Herman (1989, 12) suggests that Thucydides is motivated by anxiety that evidence of ‘upper-class solidarity’ would antagonise his (democratic) readership (cf. Mitchell 1997, 50–1); but he also concedes (1990, 90) the possibility that Thucydides’ audience would have been able to infer the existence of (at least some of) these connections without their being explicitly pointed out. 15 Thucydides notes (at 6.104.2) that Gylippus’ father held Thurian citizenship, but does not elaborate on the possible significance of this (although, as Westlake (1968, 277) notes, he seems generally to be not particularly interested in Gylippus as a character). Herman (1989, 92–3) suggests that Thucydides deliberately omitted the name of the Spartan commander at the siege of Plataea because naming him would have revealed a xenia relationship with the Plataeans: an interesting (if unprovable) speculation (cf. Hornblower 1992, 153–4). 16 Compare, for example, Plutarch Pericles 29.2–4 (on the Spartan connections of the Athenian commander Lacedaemonius, and their alleged influence on Periclean decision-making) with Thucydides’ much more minimalist account of the same episode (at 1.45.2). For a less clear-cut example, see Herman 1989, who argues for deliberate suppression of Nicias’ links with the Cretan proxenos (also named Nicias: Thuc. 2.85.2–4). 17 On the possible origins of the connection (established by Pericles’ father Xanthippus and Archidamus’ grandfather Leotychidas in 479?), see Hornblower 1991–2008, ad 2.13.1. 18 On ἐπιτήδειοι, see further below, pp. 171–2. 19 For discussion of these (and other) connections, see Mitchell 1997, 57–64. 20 The episode is analysed in detail by Mitchell 1997, 122–4. Compare also the anecdote in Xen. Ages. 8.3–5: Agesilaus refuses to enter into a xenia with the Persian King, on the grounds that there is too great a risk of the friendship conflicting with his loyalty to Sparta: Mitchell 1997, 124–6. 21 Emphasised by Hornblower 1991–2008, ad 2.13.1. 22 Herman (1989, 93) and Hornblower (1992, 153; 1991–2008, ad 3.52.2) suggest

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Polly Low that the connection might have been formed in the aftermath of the Battle of Plataea: Herman argues for a link with the Spartan Arimnestos (or Aeimnestos), killer of Mardonius (Hdt. 9.64.2), and Hornblower with the Plataean Aeimnestos (or Arimnestos) who is mentioned as being present at the death of a Spartan named Callicrates (Hdt. 9.72.2). Either connection would add an extra level of irony to the unsuccessful appeals to the legacy of the Battle of Plataea which are such a prominent part of the speech. On naming and xeniai, see Herman 1987, 19–22 (and below n. 34), and on the particular resonance of the names of the Plataean speakers here, Debnar 2001, 126, Bruzzone 2015, 293–5. 23 For another Thucydidean instance, see the case of Alciphron of Argos (pp. 169–70 below), and for other examples, Mack 2015, 70 n.158. Mack (2015, 117 n. 109) suggests that one reason that Lacon remained until the end of the siege was so that there would be someone appropriate on hand to conduct the final negotiations with the Spartans. 24 Compare, for example, the views of Plato’s Megillus (Spartan proxenos to Athens) on the affection (εὔνοια) which proxenoi will feel for their host city, as if to a ‘second fatherland’ (ὡς δευτέρᾳ οὔσῃ πατρίδι): Laws 642b–c. On proxenia as an affective connection, see Mack 2015, 130–8. 25 For this proxeny, see Walbank 1978, no. 74; for the episode, see Mack 2015, 133–4. Rood (1998, 195 n. 61) notes the distinctively emotive language used of Thucydides’ appeal: the verb ἐπιβοάω is used also to describe Nicias’ desperate appeal to the doomed Athenians, and recurs in the narrative of events at the end of the Sicilian Expedition (7.69.2, 70.7, 75.4); the same verb appears in this episode – but comes not in Thucydides’ narrative, but as part of the Plataean speakers’ own characterisation of their appeal to the gods (3.59.2, picked up by the Theban speakers at 3.67.2). 26 An omission emphasised by Herman 1989, 92–3. 27 Fragoulaki 2013, 127–31; on (collective) friendship and enmity as a theme of the speech, Debnar 2001, 126–32. 28 Contrast the ‘studied contempt’ (μάλα μεγαλοφρόνως) which Xenophon observes in Agesilaus’ refusal to acknowledge the Theban proxenos Pharax, who formed part of an embassy to Sparta in 390 (Hellenica 4.5.6). 29 Rood 1998, 104; Hornblower 1991–2008, ad 5.60.2. 30 This possibility is argued for by Herman 1987, 145–6. 31 In Thucydides, note especially the fate of Peithias in Corcyra (3.70); elsewhere, see, for example, the assassination of the Athenian proxenos in Ceos in the mid-fourth century (RO 39, lines 37–41). The regular inclusion in Athenian proxeny decrees of clauses protecting a proxenos from harm suggests that the position was generally perceived to be (at least potentially) vulnerable (Henry 1983, 163–90). 32 For an un-specified proxenos (Clearchus), see n. 7 above. 33 Hornblower 1991–2008 ad 5.22.2. 34 Thasos: a Thasian magistrate named Liches appears in a magistrate list for 397 BCE, providing possible evidence for a xenia connection between Lichas (the Spartan) and a Thasian family (SEG 33.702, with Cartledge 1984). Cyrene: the name of Lichas’ father – Arcesilas – might point to xenia ties with the Cyrenean royal house of (Lewis 1977, 33 n. 44; Hornblower 2002, 240–1). Athens and Samos: Hornblower (2002, 243–5) discusses two kalos-inscriptions on Athenian vases (‘Lichas, the beautiful,

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Xenia and Proxenia in Thucydides’ Sparta Samios’) and suggests that these might refer to a Spartan Lichas, nicknamed ‘the Samian’: that is someone well-known enough in Athens to appear in its inscriptions, but also with strong ties to Samos; an alternative possibility is that this Lichas is actually a Samian – although that in turn would suggest some sort of xenia tie between the families of the two Lichases. 35 It might be worth pointing out, however, that on both these occasions, Lichas’ status does not in the end lead the Spartans to secure better treatment for him: his beating at the hands of the Eleans goes unavenged (Thuc. 5.50.4), and the Milesians succeed in preventing the Spartans from burying him in their preferred location. 36 Hornblower (1991–2008, ad 5.78) suggests that it is possible that Lichas was still present for these negotiations – which is true; but it is also true that Thucydides gives no indication that he was there. 37 On ἐπιτήδειος (and its relationship to other terms for ‘friendship’) see Eernstman 1932, 52–75, 132; Konstan 1997, 63–4. 38 Hornblower 1991–2008, ad. 5.76.2. 39 The use of epitedeioi is not unique to Sparta in the History (we find, for example, Nicias attempting to call on Athens’ Syracusan epitedeioi at 7.73.3), but it does seem to be a recurring, and embedded, feature of their diplomatic practice: to the examples already noted, add the role of Spartan epitedeioi in Brasidas’ northern expedition (4.78), and in encouraging Spartan intervention in support of Tegea (5.64.1). 40 Miletus: Thuc. 8.17; Chios: Thuc. 8.17.2, with Mitchell 1997, 48; Argos: Thuc. 6.61.3, with Mitchell 1997, 101–2. Alcibiades’ Thracian links are analysed by Sears 2013, 90–9. For other possible connections, see Herman 1987, 180–1. 41 On the possible context of the original proxeny, see Wallace 1970, 196–7; Gomme et al. (1970, ad 5.43.2) suggest that it was renounced in the context of the Atheno-Spartan disputes of 462. Daux (1937) is right to emphasise, though, that we should not think of the rupture as a formal annulment of the proxenia, but rather as a change in behaviour: Alcibiades’ ancestor unilaterally withdrew his co-operation from the Spartans, just as Alcibiades attempts unilaterally to revive the link. 42 For attempts to explain this episode (particularly Thucydides’ version of it), see Hatzfeld 1940, 89–93; Brunt 1993, 23–5; Ellis 1989, 37–40; Rhodes 2011, 31–3. 43 On the significance of Thucydides’ commenting on this naming pattern, see Hornblower 2000, 135–6. 44 In practice (as Westlake 1938 emphasises) the Alcibiades/Endius strategy was not a success; nonetheless, Thucydides implies that the two men believed (genuinely, if mistakenly) that it could have worked. 45 For this interpretation of the events of 418, see especially Kebric 1976b (who suggests that Endius is motivated by a desire to undermine the Spartan King Agis); Herman 1987, 146–50; Herman 1990, 89, 97–9. For objections to Kebric’s and Herman’s arguments (respectively), see Ellis 1989, 39–40, Hornblower 1991–2008, ad 5.43.2. On Endius’ role as an ‘Athens specialist’ (a specialism which presumably has its origins in his connection with Alcibiades), Mitchell 1997, 76–7. 46 Gribble (1999, 25) detects a note of admiration in Thucydides’ account of Alcibiades’ trickery (comparable, he suggests, to his view of Themistoclean wiliness). 47 Hornblower 1991–2008, ad 6.93.2. 48 On this speech, and particularly the theme of friendship and enmity in it, see Debnar 2004, 205–13; Debnar emphasises that Alcibiades’ superficial endorsement of

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Polly Low the conventional morality of helping friends and harming enemies is undermined by the ‘extraordinary’ (205 n.13) egotism of his position, and by the extreme slipperiness of his definition of who he considers his true friends and enemies (212, on 6.92.3). 49 Debnar (2004, 216–17) suggests that Alcibiades’ speech (and the Spartans’ reaction to it) reveals a distinct turning-point in Sparta’s approach to the war: their concern is now not so much with moral justifications as with the necessity of victory. Spartan concern with the practical benefits which Alcibiades might bring to them is already foreshadowed in in the negotiations of 420, in which (according to Thuc. 5.45.2) Alcibiades’ overtures to the Spartans focussed on his ability to secure for them the return of Pylos (cf. the accounts in Plutarch Alcibiades 14 and Nicias 10, in which Alcibiades is portrayed as offering more general – albeit misleading – advice on how best to persuade the Athenian Assembly). 50 Cf. Plato’s Megillus: above, n.24. 51 Meiggs 1949; Walbank 1978, p.24, n.1.

Bibliography Brunt, P. A. 1993 ‘Thucydides and Alcibiades’, in Studies in Greek History and Thought, Oxford, 17–46. Bruzzone, R. 2015 ‘Killing the past in Thucydides’ Plataean Debate’, CPh 110, 289–300. Cartledge, P. A. 1982 ‘Sparta and Samos: a special relationship?’, CQ ns 32, 243–65. 1984 ‘A new lease of life for Lichas son of Arkesilas?’, LCM 9, 98–102. Daux, G. 1937 ‘Alcibiade, proxène de Lacédémone (Thucydide, V, 43, 2 et VI, 89, 2)’, in Mélanges offerts à A.-M. Desrousseaux: en l’honneur de sa cinquantième année d’enseignement supérieur (1887–1937), Paris, 117–22. Debnar, P. 2001 Speaking the Same Language: Speech and audience in Thucydides’ Spartan debates, Ann Arbor. Eernstman, J. P. A. 1932 Oikeios, hetairos, epite¯deios, philos: bijdrage tot de kennis van de terminologie der vriendschap bij de Grieken, Groningen. Ellis, W. M. 1989 Alcibiades, London. Figueira, T. J. 2003 ‘Xenelasia and social control in Classical Sparta’, CQ ns 53, 44–74. Fragoulaki, M. 2013 Kinship in Thucydides: Intercommunal ties and historical narrative, Oxford. Gomme, A. W., Andrewes, A. and Dover, K. J. 1970 A Historical Commentary on Thucydides, vol. 4, Oxford. Gribble, D. 1999 Alcibiades and Athens, A study in literary presentation, Oxford. Hatzfeld, J. 1940 Alcibiade. Etude sur l’histoire d’Athènes à la fin du Ve siècle, Paris.

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Xenia and Proxenia in Thucydides’ Sparta Henry, A. S. 1983 Honours and Privileges in Athenian Decrees: The principal formulae of Athenian honorary decrees, New York. Herman, G. 1987 Ritualised Friendship and the Greek City, Cambridge. 1989 ‘Nikias, Epimenides and the question of omissions in Thucydides’, CQ ns 39, 83–93. 1990 ‘Treaties and alliances in the world of Thucydides’, PCPS 36, 83–102. Hornblower, S. 1991–2008 A Commentary on Thucydides, 3 vols, Oxford. 1992 ‘Thucydides’ use of Herodotus’, in J. M. Sanders (ed.) Philolakon: Laconian studies in honour of Hector Catling, London, 141–54. 2000 ‘Personal names and the study of the ancient Greek historians’, in S. Hornblower and E. Matthews (eds) Greek Personal Names: Their value as evidence, Oxford, 129–43. 2002 ‘Lichas kalos Samios’, Chiron 32, 237–48. Huybrechts, F. 1959 ‘Over de proxenie in Lakonië’, RBP 37, 5–30. Kebric, R. B. 1976a ‘Implications of Alcibiades’ relationship with Endius’, Mnemosyne 29, 72–8. 1976b ‘Implications of Alcibiades’ relationship with the ephor Endius’, Historia 25, 249–52. Konstan, D. 1997 Friendship in the Classical World, Cambridge. Lewis, D. M. 1977 Sparta and Persia, Leiden. Luppino Manes, E. 1983–4 ‘I re di Sparta e i loro prosseni (Herod. VI, 52, 2)’, RSA 13/14, 237–52. Mack, W. 2015 Proxeny and Polis: Institutional networks in the ancient Greek world, Oxford. Marek, C. 1984 Die Proxenie, Frankfurt am Main. Mitchell, L. G. 1997 Greeks Bearing Gifts: The public use of private relationships in the Greek world, 435–323 BC, Cambridge. Meiggs, R. 1949 ‘A note on Athenian imperialism’, CR 63, 9–12. Monceaux, P. 1886 Les proxénies grecques, Paris. Mosley, D. J. 1971a ‘Cimon and the Spartan proxeny’, Athenaeum 49, 431–2. 1971b ‘Spartan kings and proxeny’, Athenaeum 49, 433–5. Porciani, L. 1991 ‘La prossenia Spartana: nota a Erodoto, 6.57.2’, ASNP 21, 125–36. Rebenich, S. 1998 ‘Fremdenfeindlichkeit in Sparta? Überlegungen zur Tradition der spartanischen Xenelasie’, Klio 80, 336–59.

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Polly Low Rhodes, P. J. 2011 Alcibiades, Barnsley. Rood, T. 1998 Thucydides: Narrative and explanation, Oxford. Sears, M. A. 2013 Athens, Thrace, and the Shaping of Athenian Leadership, New York. Walbank, M. B. 1978 Athenian Proxenies of the Fifth Century BC, Toronto. Wallace, M. B. 1970 ‘Early Greek “proxenoi”’, Phoenix 24, 189–208. Westlake, H. D. 1938 ‘Alcibiades, Agis and Spartan policy’, JHS 58, 31–40. 1968 Individuals in Thucydides, Cambridge. Zelnick-Abramovitz, R. 2004 ‘The proxenoi of Western Greece’, ZPE 147, 93–106.

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7 THE MYTHO-POLITICAL MAP OF SPARTAN COLONISATION IN THUCYDIDES: THE ‘SPARTAN COLONIAL TRIANGLE’ vs. THE ‘SPARTAN MEDITERRANEAN’ Maria Fragoulaki 1. Introduction In his masterly treatment of Greek colonisation of the archaic period, A. J. Graham notes: ‘Herodotus and Thucydides determine the picture of Greek colonization’, at the same time warning that ‘a great lost literature lies behind the meagre and skeletal information preserved for us in the extant historians and geographers’ (Graham 1982, 87 and 89). This chapter will show that, unlike the story told by other sources, including Herodotus, which is one of Spartan mobility and spatial expansion (the ‘Spartan Mediterranean’),1 Thucydides’ mytho-political map of Spartan settlements abroad appears to be geographically restricted to only three places in mainland Greece and the Aegean: Herakleia in Trachis, Kythera and Melos, which I call the ‘Spartan colonial triangle’ (see map). If Thucydides were our only fifth-century source, then our view of Spartan colonisation, mobility and power would have been a very different one indeed.

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Maria Fragoulaki Thucydides took a keen interest in Sparta, providing invaluable information and analysis on matters such as Spartan institutions, ethnic character, psychology and motivation, rhetoric and persuasion, diplomacy within and outside the Peloponnese, and the nature of Spartan power, often compared with those of Athens and other major players, such as Korinth or Chios.2 One topic of investigation which has not received adequate attention so far is Thucydides’ treatment of Spartan colonising activity and profile, on which this chapter will concentrate. Such an investigation promises to enhance our understanding of Thucydides’ presentation and evaluation of the nature of Spartan power on the one hand, and the role of intercommunal kinship in his analysis of the war on the other.3 In attempting to explain the contrast between the ‘Spartan Mediterranean’ and the ‘Spartan colonial triangle’, this chapter will also address Thucydides’ historiographical aims as well as methodological questions concerning the use and value of literary sources and the archaeological record in our study of Greek colonisation.4 Thucydides takes pains to show how the emotional and ethical framework of intercommunal kinship interacts with the practical parameters of interstate relations and power politics, especially in ethnic conflicts, such as the Peloponnesian War. A mother-city would expect loyalty from its apoikiai, and the latter would in turn expect support by the mother-city in moments of danger and security threat. When things go wrong, deep and bitter hostility mark the rhetoric, decision-making and action of kin parties in conflict.5 The amount and detail of information about colonial ties varies significantly across the History. For example, in the account of the Spartan general Brasidas’ campaign in the north of Greece (mainly 4.78–88, 102– 16, 4.120–5.11),6 there is a concentration of colonial information, varying from a simple mention of the mother-city (or mother-ethnos) to (more rarely) mini-narratives of the ethnic background of a city or group, as in the cases of Skione (an apoikia of the Achaian Pellenaians in the Peloponnese) and the ethnically mixed communities of Akte in Chalkidike.7 But as will be seen, Thucydides’ mode of operation in the case of the apoikiai of Dorian Sparta is either explicit and detailed, as in the cases of the ‘Spartan colonial triangle’ (Herakleia in Trachis (mainland apoikia in central Greece), Kythera and Melos (island apoikiai in the Aegean)), or highly implicit and barely traceable. The two major catalogic digressions in the narrative of the Sicilian expedition (Books 6 and 7), namely, the catalogue describing the colonisation of Sicily (6.2–5) and the list of the alliances on each side before the final sea battle at Syracuse (7.57–8) are important examples of

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides not only Thucydides’ keen interest in colonial ties and their role in war, but also of the manner in which Sparta’s colonial ties are represented in the work. There is a rapport between these two catalogic sections, because the intercommunal kinship ties mentioned in the first help us understand and evaluate the power relations described in the second: the chapters on the Greek colonisation of Sicily (6.3–5) provide the cognitive map in the light of which the alliances of the Sicilian catalogue in Book 7 are to be read. The military alliances of the Sicilian catalogue are at times aligned with intercommunal-kinship hierarchies (an apoikia normally fights on the side of its mother-city), and at times dissonant. These complexities are reflected in Thucydides’ opening statement of the Sicilian catalogue of allies, in which he describes the different motives behind these alliances: Such were the nations who fought on either side at Syracuse, against Sicily or on behalf of Sicily, ... choosing sides not so much on grounds of moral principle or kinship (οὐ κατὰ δίκην τι μᾶλλον οὐδὲ κατὰ ξυγγένειαν), but either as contingent factors (ξυντυχία), or interest (ξυμφέρον) or necessity (ἀνάγκη) determined it. (7.57.1)

The Kytherians, colonists of the Lakedaimonians, provide one example of reversal of kinship in the catalogue. The Kytherians had been brought into the Athenian Empire (4.57) and fought against Sparta, their own mothercity: ‘the Kytherians were colonists of the Lakedaimonians, but served in the Athenian army against the Lakedaimonians’ (Κυθήριοι Δωριῆς ... Λακεδαιμονίων ἄποικοι, 7.57.6). But there is a further striking feature in this in-spite-of kinship alliance: it is the only explicit reference to Spartan colonial activity in the narrative of the Sicilian expedition in books 6 and 7. It is indeed noteworthy that Sparta has such a meagre presence as a metropolis in this highly polished section of the History, where kinship (sungeneia) has an important role in the motivation and rhetoric of both sides. In the light of the whole of Thucydides’ account, it might be argued that the underplaying of the Spartans’ colonial profile in the Sicilian books is counterbalanced, as it were, by their overwhelming importance as metropolitan kinsmen of the Melians and warrantors of their freedom (5.104, 112) in the episode describing the Athenian imperialistic aggression against Melos in 416/15 BCE (5.84.2–116), as we will see below (pp. 194–6). This episode has rightly been viewed as a bridge to the Sicilian narrative, the pinnacle of Athenian imperialism. The historiographical problem of Sparta’s relative effacement as a colonial power in the Sicilian narrative and elsewhere in Thucydides is tackled in section 5 of this chapter, where some answers are suggested. This chapter draws the map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides, paying attention to both presences and absences, to both explicit and

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Maria Fragoulaki implicit references. Having charted intercommunal kinship in Thucydides (section 2), which encompasses the special case of Amphipolis as an ‘adopted’ Spartan apoikia too, and methodological questions (which should be borne in mind throughout this discussion), in section 3, I will turn to the explicit mentions of Spartan colonial ties (the ‘Spartan colonial triangle’): more precisely Herakleia in Trachis, Kythera and Melos, as the only three, and extensive, references to the Spartan apoikiai in the History (see map). In section 4, I will address the problem of absences and implicit mentions of Spartan colonial ties in the work, by looking at communities which appear unaccompanied by information about their Spartan colonial origins; such information can be found in sources outside Thucydides. In the final part of this chapter (section 5), I will try to explain the geographically limited map of Spartan colonial activity in the History or, in other words, the contrast between Thucydides’ ‘Spartan colonial triangle’ and what has been called ‘the Spartan Mediterranean’, as attested in external sources. 2. Charting intercommunal kinship Intercommunal kinship is an inclusive and holistic phenomenon, which extends beyond colonisation and narratives of common descent to encompass political and socio-cultural mechanisms (such as grant of citizenship, xenia (guest-friendship), proxenia, cultural transmission through cult, artistic production and so on). These institutions and practices have the power to connect communities with ties which might be at least equally binding as those based on colonisation or membership in the same ethnic group. For this type of intercommunal kinship, beyond the circle of colonial and tribal kin, the term ‘relatedness’ may be used, borrowed from anthropology and recent work on extended forms of kinship beyond biology, such as adoption.8 This broadened notion of kinship is highly operative in interstate relations. The significance and versatile use of extended kinship ties can be seen in the case of Amphipolis in Thrace, a telling case of adoption at the interstate level, since Amphipolis was an Athenian settlement which for a period of time became an ‘adopted’ Spartan apoikia. After a prolonged and difficult struggle for dominance in the area, the Athenians founded Amphipolis on the river Strymon in 437 BCE; the Athenian oikist in this successful colonial expedition to northern Greece was Hagnon. But in 422, in the course of the Spartan Brasidas’ successful campaign in the region, the people of Amphipolis decided to change allegiances and attached themselves to Sparta. In a series of symbolic gestures the Amphipolitans renounced their colonial tie with Athens and initiated a new life for their community as a Spartan foundation. Thucydides’ description is detailed,

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides also showing the close relationship between the religious and political aspects of intercommunal kinship as a total social phenomenon. At the same time it reminds us of the complexities of Greek colonial practices and our limited knowledge of them (5.11.1): After this Brasidas was given a state funeral in the city: the whole body of the allies formed a procession in full armour and buried him in front of what is now the agora. The Amphipolitans created a precinct round his tomb, and ever since then they make offerings to him as a hero, and have instituted games and annual sacrifices in his honour. They also adopted him as the founder of their colony (τὴν ἀποικίαν ὡς οἰκιστῇ προσέθεσαν), demolishing the buildings erected to honour Hagnon and obliterating any other potentially lasting memorials of his foundation. They regarded Brasidas as their saviour, and a further motive at the time for cultivating their Spartan alliance was fear of the Athenians: now that they were in a state of enmity with Athens they thought that paying founder’s honours to Hagnon would be less in their interest, and less to their [or: to Hagnon’s] taste. (trans. Hammond)

The puzzles of this valuable passage are many and the present state of the archaeological record along with the absence of inscriptional evidence cannot be of much help.9 Important for my discussion is the symbolic significance of the actions described. This is a ritual of collective ethnic conversion-transformation, in which the switch is much more radical than the simple change of a founder, which is not unique in the Greek world.10 In a map of Greek colonial ties, the Amphipolitans who replaced their Athenian-Ionian identity with a Spartan-Dorian one remind us that colonial (and ethnic) identities were not fixed, but negotiable and in close rapport with historico-political conditions. This significant episode inscribes Amphipolis into the orbit of Spartan colonial activity, a dimension often missed in discussions of Greek, and Spartan, colonisation of the classical period.11 Feelings and narratives of descent interact with ‘hard’ politics (e.g. war alliances, imperial ambitions etc.) in a subtle interplay between past and present, constantly (re-)shaping feelings and perceptions of ethnic origin. The longue durée of Greek colonial activity from the prehistorical period of migrations onwards, which unifies mythical and historical time into a historically meaningful continuum, should also be taken into account in any discussion of Greek colonisation.12 Mytho-historical time creates an extended temporal space which interacts with the geographical space of Spartan (and Greek) colonisation. The observation of this spatio-temporal relationship is very enlightening regarding Thucydides’ handling of Spartan colonisation. Archaeology shows that the Greek expansion overseas was a gradual process, already at least from the Mycenaean times, related to

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Maria Fragoulaki routes of trade, piracy, hunt for metal resources and so on.13 Multiple foundation dates in our literary sources are a further indication of the longterm nature of overseas settlements. Even when a single foundation date is attested, it does not represent a fixed event, but a long-term and complex process. Foundation dates are the historical and cultural mechanisms of collective memory around which ethnic consciousness and identity are scaffolded.14 This is important for our discussion, since, as will be seen, in his map of Spartan colonisation Thucydides provides the foundation dates of two Spartan apoikiai (one belonging to the classical, the other to the prehistorical period): 426 BCE for Herakleia in Trachis and 1116 BCE for Melos (see section 3 in this chapter). In the Melian Dialogue, the Melians themselves date their foundation seven hundred years before the historical present of 416 BCE (5.112.2). We have to assume therefore that by 1116 BCE the occupation of Sparta itself had taken place as a result of the so-called Dorian invasion into the Peloponnese. This passage is of wider significance, often read with an early and key passage in Thucydides for the study of Greek colonisation, where major events and movements of groups and individuals in the space of Hellas are recorded, including the Dorian invasion itself (‘eighty years after the fall of Troy’ 1.12.3), which resulted in a gradual reshaping of the map of the Greek world (1.12).15 In this well-known passage the fall of Homer’s Troy is used as a terminus post quem for dating foundations of communities resulting from the Greek heroes’ itineraries on their return from Troy after the Trojan War. Sometimes Trojan heroes too come into the frame, in joint wandering and oikist activity with the Greeks. These itineraries are recorded in the Nostoi (‘Returns’) creating maps, with which Thucydides’ own map of Greek – and Spartan – colonisation interacts.16 Thucydides draws on the epic material of the Nostoi when he records (or implies) foundation stories, which are significant for his account. One such case is for example the activity of the Argive hero and seer Amphilochos, son (or grandson) of Amphiaraos, an oikist in the region of Akarnania (western mainland Greece).17 According to Thucydides, after the Trojan War, Amphilochos returned to his native city of Argos in the Peloponnese, but was dissatisfied with the state of affairs there, and so ‘founded Amphilochian Argos and colonised the rest of Amphilochia in the Ambracian Gulf’, in Akarnania (2.68.3).18 Engaging subtly with the material of the Nostoi, Thucydides locates Amphilochos (together with his brother Alkmaion, who is also active in oikist capacity in Akarnania, 2.102.2–6) in mainland Greece and not in Cilicia and Pamphylia, in south Asia Minor, where he is located by a more dominant tradition, followed by Herodotus

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides and later sources.19 In the catalogue of forces joining Xerxes’ army in Herodotus (7.91), Amphilochos, paired with the better-known seer Kalchas, appears as the Greek progenitor of the mixo-Hellenic Pamphylians, who are armed in the Greek manner.20 Epigraphic and archaeological material provide important context for the mythical justification of the Pamphylians’ mixed culture. Inscriptions on stone and coins of the Hellenistic period from Side and Aspendos in Pamphylia (south coast of Asia Minor, close to mod. Antalya, Turkey) use both Greek and Anatolian languages, reflecting Hellenisation over a long period as well as the indigenous influence on the Greek colonists. There is similar evidence from Side’s Pamphylian neighbours, such as Perge (for which see n. 13 in this chapter). Side’s mountainous neighbour Selge (not mentioned in Thucydides) was thought to have been founded by Lakedaimonians, though the earliest sources in which this information is found are Roman and Byzantine (Strabo 12.7.3; Steph. Byz. 560.1).21 Pamphylia and Cilicia are mentioned in Thucydides only in the Pentekontaetia, in relation to Cimon’s victory at Eurymedon (1.100.1) and death at Cition in Cyprus a little later (1.112.4).22 As we saw, Thucydides’ preferred mythological variant, locating Amphilochos’ nostos in mainland Greece, departs significantly from the dominant version of this herofounder’s nostos. Thucydides’ interaction with myth is not the focus of this discussion. But Amphilochos’ case can illuminate our discussion of Spartan colonisation in two ways: first because it is a case of Thucydides’ purposeful, I suggest, interaction with Herodotus also in the handling of colonial information. And second, because it is only one representative example of Thucydides’ and Herodotus’ subtle interplay with a large, culturally active and politically meaningful mythological corpus, of which we have a fragmentary and distant view. The latter observation relates to the problem of our sources: a significant number of foundation traditions – pertinent to Sparta and other metropoleis of the archaic and classical periods – are known to us from later, especially late Hellenistic and Roman, sources, such as Lykophron, Strabo and Pausanias. These authors often communicate with earlier traditions and sources, which could have been not only within Thucydides’ reach but also under his critical examination as his panhellenic historical account was taking shape, and therefore deserve careful consideration, in the light of the material record. Sources outside Thucydides reveal a fairly extensive network of Sparta’s kinship ties based on colonisation across the Mediterranean. This network has aptly been called by Irad Malkin the ‘Spartan Mediterranean’ and comprises ‘not only the bilateral links between Sparta and each of its colonies, but also the direct interconnections between those colonies’.23

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Maria Fragoulaki In addition to settlements in mainland Greece (among them the metropolis of Sparta itself, Doris, in central Greece), this extended mythopolitical map of Spartan colonisation across the Mediterranean includes the Aegean and the south and southwestern coast of Asia Minor, and settlements stretching from Iberia in the West, Italy, Sicily and the Adriatic, to North Africa, Crete, Cyprus and south Asia Minor in the East.24 The map of Spartan settlements in Thucydides (the ‘Spartan colonial triangle’) is extremely restricted in itself, especially when compared with the ‘Spartan Mediterranean’. 3. Thucydides’ ‘Spartan colonial triangle’: Herakleia, Kythera, and Melos Only three localities are explicitly flagged as Spartan apoikiai in Thucydides: one mainland settlement in central Greece, Herakleia in Trachis, and two insular ones, Kythera and Melos in the Aegean. All are first-generation settlements or else ‘daughter cities’ of Sparta, whose foundation dates stretch from the early Dark Ages (Melos) to the eighth century (Kythera), down to the fifth century (Herakleia in Trachis). So Thucydides’ chronology of Spartan colonisation covers, in three movements, a significant span of time, collapsing myth and history into a meaningful historico-political narrative. In addition to his expansive myth-historical chronology, the richness, distinctiveness and distribution of material on Spartan apoikiai in Thucydides create an ‘expansive narratological space’, which demonstrates the validity of A. J. Graham’s view that Thucydides, together with Herodotus, determines the picture of Greek colonisation, in the strongest possible way (p. 183 above). I would like to suggest that it is precisely the expansive narratological and temporal space of these three Spartan apoikiai in Thucydides, combined with his close and sophisticated interaction with Herodotus, that obscures the geographically restricted space of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides. Let us look at these three settlements, starting from the most recent one chronologically and going backwards in time. The first explicit reference to a Spartan colony in the History crops up as late as in Book 3, in Thucydides’ recording of the foundation of Herakleia in Trachis by the Spartans in 426 BCE. In this colonial undertaking, Sparta’s own metropolis, Doris (Dorians) in central Greece (Δωριῆς, ἡ μητρόπολις τῶν Λακεδαιμονίων, 3.92.3) – which happens to be geographically close to Trachis – has a crucial role: The Spartans decided to send out the colony, partly in a desire to come to the aid of the Trachinians and Dorians, but they could also see that having the city established there would advantage them in the war with Athens. (3.92.4, trans. Hammond)

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides Thucydides makes it explicit that there was a combination of ethical, emotional and practical motives behind the Spartan initiative of Herakleia’s foundation. The choice of location was related partly to the location of Doris in the vicinity, the mother-city of the Spartans who called them in on grounds of kinship, as they were pressed by problems with a local ethnos, the Oitaeans (3.92.3); and partly to the strategic advantages of the new foundation with respect to the war against the Athenians. Herakleia would provide footing close at hand for naval operations against Euboia and a safe route to Thrace. Two years later, the Spartan general Brasidas would indeed use the city as a station in central Greece, on his way to the north for his successful campaign there (4.78.1). Herakleia in Trachis was not close to its mother-city geographically, but its closeness to the cradle of all Dorians, and Sparta’s own metropolis, made emotional, ethical and strategic sense and tightened the bond between metropolis and apoikia further. The lasting significance of Doris, this small area of central Greece, for all Greeks of Dorian ethnicity is evident in probably the most important inscription of kinship diplomacy, from the end of the third century BCE.25 This long and elaborate inscription was found in the Hellenised city of Xanthos in Lykia, in southwest Asia Minor, and records the petition of the small city of Kytinion in Doris to the Xanthians for financial help on account of kinship. Kytinion is also mentioned in Thucydides, as one of the cities of mainland Doris (together with Boion and Erineos), in the first appearance of ‘the metropolis of the Lakedaimonians’ in the work (ἐς Δωριᾶς τὴν Λακεδαιμονίων μητρόπολιν, 1.107.2).26 The petition of the Kytinians in the third-century inscription in discussion was satisfied (to an extent), and a remarkable aspect of this decree is the elaborate documentation adduced by the Xanthians to prove their kinship with the Kytinians, based on divine and heroic genealogies. Unsurprisingly, among the mythical figures mentioned in the decree are Dorus (the eponymous ancestor of the Dorians), Herakles (the Dorian, and Spartan, foundational figure (Arche¯gete¯s) par excellence) and his descendants. This Hellenistic inscription from Lykia is a brilliant example of the lasting persuasive power of myth in ancient Greek politics, and of the interrelation of mythical narratives, collective emotions and ethics in interstate politics. It is also a reminder of Sparta’s lasting profile as Dorian coloniser of the Mediterranean, on this occasion by means of one of its kin communities, its own mother-city Doris, where Kytinion belonged. There were a number of Dorian Herakleias across the Mediterranean, but only two appear in Thucydides, the most conspicuous of which is Herakleia in Trachis.27 Tradition and innovation are intertwined in Herakleia’s foundation in

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Maria Fragoulaki 426 BCE (3.92), with myth playing a central role in the name of the city itself and two of its three oikists, through the name of the Dorian protocolonial hero Herakles. The speaking and propitious name of one of the three oikists was ‘Alkidas’ (‘Mr Powerful’ and another name of Herakles himself ). Leon (‘Mr Lion’), was the name of the second oikist, evoking Herakles’ labours and related tokens; and ‘Damagon’, ‘Mr Leader of the People’, the third oikist, bore a technically appropriate name for a colonial operation. The significant nomenclature along with the oracular consultation (‘first they made enquiry of the god at Delphi’ 3.92.5) can be counted among the traditional aspects of the operation. A standard feature of colonial enterprises is also the exclusion of ‘incompatible’ ethnic groups from the body of settlers in order to secure the greatest possible cohesion and stability in the new settlement. The traditional ethnic divide between Dorians and Ionians can be seen in the foundation of Herakleia too, since the body of settlers was to comprise only Spartans and Perioikoi and any other Greeks who might wish to join (τὸν βουλόμενον), except for Ionians, Achaians and some other groups (3.92.5). On the other hand, the committee of three oikists, along with the strong possibility that the three men did not stay on to live in the city, as settlers of the archaic period did, are indications of evolution in Greek colonial practices. The theme of the Spartans’ proactive defence of their metropolis Doris is pronounced early on in the History. In the first occurrence of Doris as the metropolis of the Lakedaimonians (1.107.2), Thucydides reports that the Spartans helped their metropolis Doris in a period of hostility against the Phokians, known as the First Sacred War (460s). The settlement of Sparta by the Dorians features also in the early and significant passage of the Archaeology on the transformation of Greece as a result of migrations and movements, one of which was the occupation of the Peloponnese by the Herakleidai (descendants of Hyllos, son of Herakles) and the Dorians, the charter myth of Spartan identity: ‘in the eightieth year the Dorians occupied the Peloponnese with descendants of Herakles’ (1.12.3), discussed above in relation to the Nostoi (pp. 188–9).28 In ethical and emotional terms, Thucydides’ treatment of kinship more generally, and especially in relation to Dorian attitudes to kinship, suggests a hierarchical order between a metropolis and its apoikia, which corresponds to the hierarchy between the members of human family, especially parents and offspring. Intercommunal kinship hierarchy can be seen in paradigmatic detail (in both authorial and rhetorical passages) in the episode of the Kerkyraika, on the quarrel between Korinth, Kerkyra’s mother city, with its apoikia Kerkyra over a third kin city, Epidamnos: the senior member of this relationship (the metropolis Korinth) appears to have a vastly superior

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides and eternal claim to the political loyalty, cultural continuity, gratitude and attribution of honour of its colonial offspring (Kerkyra).29 It is within this hierarchical framework that we must see the foundation of Herakleia in Trachis by the Spartans, which created a new strategic connection based on colonial kinship in a vital part of mainland Greece for the Spartans, at the same time enhancing ties with Doris, Sparta’s mothercity-cluster. Kythera, which was geographically close to Sparta, is the second Spartan apoikia explicitly mentioned in the History, (4.53.2). It was an island apoikia just off the shore of Lakonike and a hub of potential troubles very close to its mother-city. The dangerous-island motif is attested in a memorable passage in Herodotus. Advising Xerxes to use Kythera as a base from which to cause fear and harm to the Spartans by establishing ‘a war close at home for them’ (παροίκου δὲ πολέμου σφι ἐόντος οἰκηίου, 7.235.3), the Spartan Demaratos reports what the Spartan sage Chilon said about the island: that the Spartans would be better off if Kythera sank in the bottom of the sea rather than sticking out of it.30 In this connection we may remember Thucydides’ reference to the Spartans’ wars ‘of their own’ or ‘close to home’ (πολέμοις οἰκείοις, 1.118.2), which he considers at least one reason for the famous quietness of the Spartans (ἡσύχαζον) and their reluctance to undertake military campaigns. Thucydides records the Athenian attack against Kythera in the summer of 424 BCE. This attack, along with the capture of Pylos and the Spartan disaster on Sphakteria, another ‘dangerous’ island, the previous year, were major setbacks for the Spartans in the Peloponnesian War (see 4.36.3; 55.1, 4). The Athenians used Kythera as a basis from which to make raids against other perioikic communities, such as Thyrea in Kynouria (4.57.1–3).31 In the text of the peace of Nikias (421 BCE), like Koryphasion (the Spartan name for Pylos, 4.3.2), Kythera was expected to be restored to Sparta (5.18.7), but apparently it was not, since in the catalogue of allies in Syracuse in 413 BCE the Kytherians are reported fighting against the Spartans, despite their colonial connection (7.57.6), as we saw earlier in this chapter. The settlement of Kythera was a short-distance colonial initiative. Thucydides notes that the settlers were Lakedaimonian perioikoi (‘dwellers round about’, that is, free Spartans of non-citizen status) (4.53.2). He does not provide a foundation date, but any Spartan initiative should be placed later than the first half of the eighth century, when Kythera might have been controlled by Argos.32 Thucydides reports that the Spartans took great care of the place, because of its commercial and military importance. They kept a hoplite garrison on the island and sent an official every year

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Maria Fragoulaki (κυθηροδίκης ἀρχή, 4.53.2). Such mechanisms of control of the mother-city over its apoikia were not unusual: a parallel for the Spartan kytherodikai seemed to have been the Korinthian epide¯miourgoi, that is the officials sent by (Dorian) Korinth to its apoikia in northern Greece, Poteidaia (1.56.2). Thucydides elaborates on the Spartan alarm caused by the capture of Kythera by the Athenians in 424 BCE. He says that the Spartans took protective measures of rather unusual scale and type, as the Athenian assault awoke fears of revolution (4.55.1). These fears were not new and were related to the helots, whose desertions and potential revolt are explictly mentioned as sources of Spartan anxiety in explicit terms in relation to the loss of Pylos (4.41.3; 5.14.3).33 It is worth noting that despite being Lakedaimonians and under the close watch of their mother-city, the Kytherians displayed an un-Spartan ethnic character in their handling of Athenian aggression: after a short resistance they surrendered themselves to the Athenians on condition that death penalty was not to be imposed on them. There was also a background of previous communication between them and the Athenian commander Nicias, Thucydides continues, which speeded up and improved the terms of the deal, in both the short- and the long-term (4.54.2–3). After removing a few Kytherians and depositing them in the islands, the Athenians allowed the community to continue to live in their land on payment of four talents as tribute (4.57.4), a substantial amount, which indicates wealth.34 It is obvious that the Kytherians were not prepared to sacrifice themselves in order to defend their city and its freedom (whatever degree of independence from Sparta can be postulated for this peroikic community; probably little).35 They did not resist in the way the Spartans who were killed on Sphakteria had done a year ago; nor did they demonstrate the loyalty and resilience of the Melians in 416 BCE, another insular society (and a robust economy, like Kythera, though the Melian wealth does not surface in Thucydides). Although at close distance to their mother-city, the Kytherians’ lack of loyalty to Sparta and their unDorian-Spartan ethics placed them far apart from their metropolis. Sparta’s heavy-handedness with this perioikic community along with Kythera’s mercantile economy must have been the main factors of the emotional and cultural distance between the two areas.36 In the framework of network theory it has been suggested that there is an inverse relationship between geographical distance and commonality and cohesiveness between two areas.37 It can be suggested that Kythera and Melos in Thucydides fit this pattern well; two wealthy insular societies with an inverse relationship with their metropolis in terms of their geographical and emotional-cultural distance from it. Melos is another insular Spartan apoikia to which Thucydides devotes

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides much attention. In contrast to Kythera, Melos lay at some distance from the metropolis, in the middle of southern Aegean, and in the course of the war it would demonstrate a very Spartan and Dorian ethnic character and remarkable loyalty to its metropolis. The description of the second Athenian attack against Melos in the spring of 416/15 BCE,38 which also includes the famous debate known as the Melian Dialogue, is, together with the Kerkyraika, the most detailed and compelling statement of colonial sungeneia in Thucydides. In the Melian Dialogue Thucydides stages a drama of political realism, on the one hand, and of psychological unreality, on the other. The dialogic form of the debate is Thucydides’ innovation, which evokes several genres, among them tragedy, philosophical dialogue and sympotic performance.39 The Melians are represented as the weak islanders, who are prepared to discuss academically about their own death or survival, retaining an irrational composure before Athenian power. In ethical and emotional terms, colonial kinship with the Spartans is the dominant argument of the Melian Dialogue, which fuels the Melians’ resistance to the Athenian aggression. The Melians proudly proclaim the antiquity of their tie with Sparta, by saying that they had been settled by Sparta seven hundred years earlier (1116 BCE), a date which, as we saw (p. 188 in this chapter), intertwines myth and history by making the Spartan-Herakleidan colonial activity compatible with the Trojan nostoi.40 The hopes of the Melians that they would receive help from their mother-city proved futile, as the Athenians had foreseen (5.105.3–4) (ἐλπίς ‘hope’ is a key word in the Dialogue). Thucydides is silent about any initiatives undertaken by the Spartans to help their kin community. Was kinship with Sparta of any avail to the Melians? The question is important, because the whole episode bears signs of an author hard at work, as regards not only the form of the Melian Dialogue itself and its interplay with other literary genres, but also the portrait of the Melians themselves. In postcolonial terms, there is a fair amount of ‘Orientalisation’ in the Melians’ representation as weak and isolated islanders – ‘Others’ in the middle of the Aegean, who remain loyal to their mother-city and steadfast to the traditional Dorian ideal of freedom at all costs, defying Athenian imperialism (5.112.2). In fact, Melos was a robust island society with good connectivity and resources, which have been downplayed by Thucydides.41 It was after many months of siege and only after treason by the pro-Athenian party that the island fell into Athenian hands, and became, as Thucydides presents it, an Athenian settlement (‘they settled the place themselves, sending out five hundred settlers of their own’, 5.116.4).

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Maria Fragoulaki We cannot exclude the possibility that the Spartans were aware of the prolonged siege of the Melians; nor can we exclude that pleas based on kinship were made to the Spartans by Melian embassies, or that Sparta might even have offered some form of help, which would have contributed to the robust resistance of the Melians. The contrast between Thucydides’ expansive description of interstate negotiations in the form of the Melian Dialogue and the elliptical description of the siege and fall of the island (5.114, 115.4, 116.2–4) has been noticed.42 Despite the hopes of the Melians that help would come from the mother-city, the Spartans do not show up to defend their apoikoi, at least in Thucydides’ presentation. In the Melian Dialogue, the Athenians themselves accuse the Spartans of some form of duplicity, namely that they equate comfort with honour and expediency with justice (5.104.4).43 This statement reflects of course the Spartan stereotype of duplicity and treacherousness which abounds in our sources (e.g. Eur. Andr. 445–52). At the same time, it reinforces the reading of the Melian Dialogue as the archetype of imperialistic ideology and rhetoric.44 But should this lead us to think that the Spartans did not value kinship and that the Melians’ hopes were unfounded? Or, that Thucydides himself would like us to think that kinship is marginal and unimportant in times of war, and perhaps more generally in Greek society? The answer to both questions is categorically No. Thucydides’ own evaluation of kinship as a factor in interstate-relations ethics is wellrepresented in the Sicilian catalogue of allies and the multiple motives behind the alliances (7.57.1), discussed previously (p. 185). In it the overturning of the ‘moral principle or kinship’ (dike¯, sungeneia) which characterises some of the alliances of the Sicilian catalogue is presented as an aberration and not expected practice. Also, Thucydides’ choice to treat at such length two of the factors that precipitated the outbreak of the war – the famous ‘apparent reasons’ (1.23.6) – the Kerkyraika and the Poteidaiatika, two ‘Dorian-Korinthian family affairs’ taking place in northwestern Greece, demonstrates the importance he attributed to the role of intercommunal kinship in conditions of ethnic conflict. The events in these remote theatres of the war, in which cities other than Sparta or Athens were directly involved, had implications for the causes of the Peloponnesian War.45 As for the Spartans, there is evidence in the History that they did have a regard for kinship. One such example is their prompt and consistent help to their mother-area Doris (pp.190–2 in this chapter); another is the episode of the Euesperides, a Greek city of Spartan stock in northern Africa (Kyrenaika), as we will see in the next section. It is also a further, although indirect, Thucydidean reminder of Sparta’s extended network of colonial relations across the Mediterranean.

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides 4. Sungeneia in the background: implicit references and significant absences The most impressive examples of indirect references to Spartan colonial activity in Thucydides relate to the West, notably Taras and Kyrene. Both cities’ kinship ties with their metropolis Sparta are not mentioned in Thucydides, although they are key representatives of Spartans away from home, and their mytho-political significance is well reflected in external sources and the material record. Taras in South Italy has been considered the only certain overseas settlement of the Spartans and its last securely-dated eighth-century colony in Italy (706 BCE, Eusebius’ date). The material record indicates a Lakonian origin for at least part of the settlers and a closer association between Sparta and Taras from the end of the seventh century onwards. Herodotus refers to the special friendship between the Tarentines and the Knidians in the East on account of common origin (ἀπὸ τούτων ἐόντων ... φίλων μάλιστα, 3.138). The structure ἀπό + genitive (ἀπὸ τούτων ἐόντων) denotes colonial descent.46 Herodotus’ passage is of immense significance, because, when cross-read with Hdt. 1.174.2 (the Knidians are Lakedaimonian apoikoi), it is a clear and early attestation of the common Spartan origin of Knidos and Taras.47 As we will see, Knidos in Karia (Asia Minor), member of the Doric hexapolis (later pentapolis), plays a key role in the Spartan, and Dorian, kinship network of the Aegean.48 Cultural indexes, namely nomima (customs), dialect and script, leave no doubt that Sparta was Taras’ mother-city.49 The mytho-political background about the Spartan foundation of Taras in our sources is a composite one, combining an imported Spartan oikist, Phalanthos, and an eponymous mythical founder, Taras, indigenous to the land, whose cult must have prevailed during the fifth and certainly in the fourth century BCE. The figure of Phalanthos is related to a typical storypattern of foundations away from home: an internal crisis (stasis), which is eventually resolved by the displacement of the ill-fitted group and their exiled leader abroad to found a new city; the story is known as the myth of the Partheniae.50 The context of the crisis is the first Messenian War (probably c.735–715 BCE), a defining moment of Spartan history and Greek colonial activity more generally (cf. Strabo 6.1.1 on Rhegion’s (Chalkidian) foundation in the context of this turbulent period). As usual, the resolution is provided by means of a Delphic oracle (reported in Antiochus’ version): ‘I have given you Satyrion and Taras, a rich country, to dwell in and be a plague to the Iapygians’ (πῆμα Ἰαπύγεσσι γενέσθαι).51 The oracle might be viewed as reflecting the prolonged state of hostility with the local element (cf. Th. 6.34.4, 44.2).52 πῆμα Ἰαπύγεσσι γενέσθαι evokes the Homeric

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Maria Fragoulaki πῆμα γενέσθαι Τρωσί (‘be a plague to the Trojans’, Hom. Il. 22.421–2), and the Homeric resonance of the oracular verse represents a purposeful legitimation of ancient territorial claims of the Tarentines in the area. The later tradition about Homeric Menelaos’ dedication of spoils paving the way in the area for the Spartans has the same effect. Menelaos has been viewed as a mythical prototype of the historical Spartan Dorieus who set out to colonise the West.53 Cult is another important criterion of kinship and it is worth mentioning here a remarkable instance of reverse cultural transmission from the apoikia to the Greek metropolis, namely from Taras to Sparta. This is suggested by a Lakonian cup (c.590–570 BCE), which was found in 1987 about four kilometers outside modern Sparta, bearing the inscription: [-]ε Μεσαπεῦ. Catling and Shipley have suggested that the object is related to the cult of Messapian Zeus in Lakonia. They think that the cult must have taken its name from the Messapians in South Italy, who perhaps acquired the cult of Zeus from the Tarentines, and was introduced in turn to Sparta, the mother-city of Taras.54 The rich tradition about Taras’ ethnic origin does not surface in Thucydides. The only indication of a potentially Dorian origin is the city’s presentation as steadily loyal and friendly to the Dorian Syracusans and the Peloponnesian forces, and hostile to the Athenians. The same applies to Epizephyrii Lokri in South Italy, which is frequently paired with Taras in Thucydides.55 The proximity of the two localities in Thucydides’ text is representative of the Epizephyrian Lokrians’ proximity to Taras’ metropolis, Sparta, as the Lokrians of Italy fashioned themselves as ‘the Sparta of the West’, although they were not of Spartan, or even of Dorian, origin.56 The Epizephyrian Lokrians constructed their special closeness to the Spartans by means of their political, economical and social organisation, and the use of the Spartan mytho-political apparatus of ethnicity. It is a case exemplifying the complexity and malleability of colonial myths. The tradition preserved by Polybius (12.6b.9) dates the foundation of Epizephyrii Lokri at the time of the first Messenian War, another pivotal event in the history of Greek colonisation, and might be dependent on earlier versions of Taras’ foundation myth, on account of its striking similarities with them.57 The Epizephyrians’ (self-)image as ‘the Sparta of the West’ reflects the magnitude and economic and cultural significance which their city acquired over time, and their effort to appropriate the role of metropolis of the whole Lokrian ethnos, which they must have felt deserved more than the small and rather dim Lokrians of mainland Greece. Another case of implicit statement of Spartan sungeneia in Thucydides is found in the context of the Athenian operations in the Aiolian (< Aiolos)

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides islands in the Tyrrhenian Sea in 428/7 BCE. Thucydides turns the focus to the only inhabited island of the complex, Lipara, and its people’s resistance against the Athenians (3.88; 3.115.1). The Liparaians lay off Rhegion and the Straits of Messina (IACP no. 34), and, as Thucydides mentions, they were colonists of the Knidians (3.88.2) and allies of the Syracusans.58 Though Knidos plays an important role in the events of 412/11, as base of the Peloponnesian forces (8.35, 41–4, 52, 109), nowhere does Thucydides mention Knidos’ colonial origin from Sparta.59 This we know from Herodotus (1.174.2).60 The only potential trace of the Knidian–Spartan connection in the History is the patronymic of the Lakedaimonian commander Xenares (who died fighting in defence of the fifthcentury Spartan apoikia, Herakleia in Trachinia in 419 BCE (5.51.2)). His father’s name was Knidis, which might suggest family links with Knidos.61 By contrast, Diodorus (5.9.2–5) provides rich mytho-political material on the Liparaians’ ethnic identity. According to their foundation myth, the Liparaians were founded by Pentathlos, a Heraklid from Knidos, who had come to Sicily in the 580s and lost his life trying to settle Lilybaion, on the western tip of the island. But three of his kinsmen sailed north and started a new community on Lipara. The Liparaians had won important victories over the Etruscans in the course of the sixth century, and they had often dedicated lavish spoils to Delphi.62 Pentathlos was a colonial predecessor of Dorieus, son of Anaxandrides and half-brother of the Spartan king Kleomenes. Dorieus came to Sicily seventy years later (c. 510 BCE) to colonise Eryx in Sicily (see below). The absence of the kinship tie between Knidos and Sparta from Thucydides’ narrative obscures the extended network of Sparta’s colonial settlements in the Mediterranean both eastwards and westwards. Without the help of external sources, not only do we lose sight of the Spartans’ colonial activity in the East and their foundation of a major centre of Dorianism in Asia Minor, but we also miss their role as grand-mother city of Lipara (a Knidian apoikia), on the western fringes of the Greek world. One might be tempted to think that the absence of the colonial tie between Knidos and Sparta might be a sign of the work’s incomplete status and/or lack of revision. Given Knidos’ central role in supporting Spartan-led forces in 412–11 (8.35, cf. n. 59 in this chapter), the information would normally have featured in Book 8, which, together with Book 5, has been the focus of separatist criticism regarding the question of composition. The absence of this piece of information from Book 8 might have been tagged ‘problematic’ from a separatist-friendly perspective (against the approach taken in this chapter). Today the majority of Thucydidean

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Maria Fragoulaki scholarship is unitarian, with W. R. Connor changing the field in the 1980s by consistently introducing narratological questions to the study of Thucydides.63 The incomplete status of the work cannot be denied of course, nor can every loose end be redeemed or attributed to Thucydides’ literary genius. But in line with this chapter’s argument, Thucydides’ silence about the colonial tie between Sparta and Knidos can be seen not as a loose end, but as part of his ‘Spartan-triangle policy’, which consistently presents Sparta’s colonial activity as being geographically restricted to the Greek mainland and the Aegean, underplaying its extended network of settlements across the Mediterranean. Like Lipara, Kyrene was a second-generation Spartan settlement in the West (north Africa, ancient Libya). Its metropolis was Thera (modern Santorini) in the Aegean, which was settled by the Spartans. This succession of settlements (Sparta – Kyrene – Thera) is known to us from external sources and the archaeological record, where it is richly attested,64 and not from Thucydides, who is silent about these colonial connections. In fact Kyrene and Thera get scant and only passing references in the History (1.110, 2.9, 7.50). The only vestige of these colonial connections in Thucydides is an episode involving the city of Euesperides in north Africa. The Euesperitans too were Spartan kinsmen in Libya (Kyrenaika), because they were an apoikia of Kyrene. This colonial tie does not surface in Thucydides’ text either, but it is only by knowing it that we are able to understand the interstate relations of the episode and kinship’s role in them. The episode (7.50) is perhaps the most characteristic example of Thucydides’ implicit statement of sungeneia, on this occasion concerning Spartan colonial ties.65 Let us have a closer look. At a critical moment of Syracuse’s siege by the Athenians in 413 BCE, Thucydides notes, Peloponnesian and Spartan-led forces destined to Sicily were driven off course to Libya, and were delayed there by being involved in a local war of the Euesperitans with the Libyans. We are casually told that the Kyrenaians gave two triremes and guides to the Spartans for their mission without any explanation for their decision. After helping the Euesperitans successfully, Thucydides continues, the Spartans sailed round to Neapolis, the Carthaginian emporion, and from there they crossed north to Selinous (7.50). Without being aware of the kinship tie between Sparta, Kyrene and Eusperides – and Sparta’s long-standing interest and operations in the West (see below on Dorieus’ and Pentathlos’ colonial expeditions, pp. 202–3) – we cannot grasp the interstate kinship politics behind this digressive military mission in north Africa, centring on Sparta’s ethnic family, at such a critical moment of the war in Sicily. It is also further evidence that the Spartans did have a regard for kinship after all, contrary

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides to the very bad press they tend to get as an apparently inactive metropolis of the Melians, as we saw. As we learn from sources outside Thucydides, Euesperides /Berenike/ Bengazi, together with Barke/Prolemais and Taucheira/Tocra, was among the cities on the Libyan cost founded by Kyrene in Libya. We have no literary date for the foundation of Euesperides, but we know that the city existed in 515 BCE (Hdt. 4.171, 198.3, 204). The very name of the city, points to the myth of the Golden Apples of the Hesperides, which, in later sources, is linked with the exploits of Herakles in Libya.66 In his Libyan logos Herodotus (4.178) also attests to an oracle, which stipulated a Spartan foundation on a small island named Phla in the area of Lake Tritonis.67 This is reinforced by an irredentist story, which Herodotus provides in the same context aiming to legitimise a vigorous Greek presence in the area. The story goes back again to the Argonauts and Jason, who had to offer a bronze tripod to the local watery god Triton (eponymous of the Lake) in order to be granted a safe and sound passage back to Greece. On receipt of the tripod, Triton predicted that the Greeks could expect to found a hundred Greek cities in the area, should they ever find and retrieve the tripod (Hdt. 4.179.3). As we hear from Timaios, in later times a tripod was publicly displayed in Euesperides, supposedly the ‘retrieved one’, as a symbol of legitimation of Kyrenaian, and consequently Spartan, colonial activity in the area.68 The Argonauts were also implicated in Kyrene’s own foundation by means of its oikist Battos from Thera, who claimed descent from the Argonauts.69 Battos and his clan the Aigeidai are also tightly associated with the Spartan Herakleidai, in the context of the well known fifth-century tradition of the Lakonian settlement of Kyrene in Libya.70 The transmission of the Spartan cult of Apollo Karneios to Thera and thence to Kyrene is an important cultural index of the close relationship between the three kin cities.71 In addition to the Greek (Minyan, Herakleidan and Lakonian) background, via Battos, there is a Trojan element too in Kyrene’s ethnic identity, related to the Trojan nostoi: a generation after the Argonauts (i.e. prior to the Lakonian occupation of Kyrene by Battos), the sons of the Trojan Antenor had established themselves in the area (in the ‘Hill of the Antenoridai’). According to Pindar (Pyth. 5.85–8), the Spartan Greeks who came later embraced the Trojan cults already in place, and this cultic and ethnic co-existence was reflected in the honours the Kyrenaians attributed to their local heroes.72 The multiple temporal layers and the Greco-Trojan activity of foundation traditions are central to the mytho-political background of the ‘Spartan Mediterranean’. Strabo (3.4.3), for example, presents the story of

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Maria Fragoulaki the Lakonian settlement of part of Cantabria, on the north coast of Spain (Bay of Biscay): the Greek founders comprised the Heraklids together with Messenians and Homeric heroes, such as the Achaian Odysseus and the Trojan Antenor. On this occasion, Strabo identifies as his source Asklepiades of Myrleia (FGrH 697), a grammarian of the second/first century BCE who worked in Spain.73 Asclepiades’ testimony seems to be either the late trace of an uninterrupted narrative of ethnic descent, whose earlier phases are lost to us, or, most probably, a late construction in intentional dialogue with an early and venerable epic past. Parts of this past are also the Homeric background of Antenor’s friendly association with the Spartan Menelaos and Odysseus (Il. 3.203–8) and the wider mythochronological compatibility of Trojan returns and Herakleidan mobility.74 It is particularly noteworthy that none of this mythological material pertinent to Sparta’s diffused colonial activity in the Greek world of the West, richly documented in sources roughly contemporary to Thucydides (such as Herodotus and Pindar) and certainly well-known to him, found its way into his own historical narrative. This is true in relation not only to the line Sparta – Thera – Kyrene – Euesperides, but also to the Spartan background and Doric ethnic make-up of the Elymian cities Egesta and Eryx in Sicily, a major theatre of the war recorded by Thucydides. The Spartan colonial activity in this part of the world relates to the Spartan Dorieus’ two-phase colonial activity at the end of the sixth century BCE, first in northern Africa, then in Sicily. In Thucydides Egesta plays a key role, as the city appears to be largely responsible for dragging the Athenians into the Sicilian expedition. But Egesta and Eryx are presented as straightforwardly ‘barbaric’ (6.2.6; 7.57.11), and not of mixed culture, in which the Spartan – Dorian element had an important role.75 It is from Herodotus, again, that we hear about Dorieus’ activities in the West at the end of the sixth century BCE: not being able to tolerate the rule of his step-brother, the Spartan king Kleomenes, whom he deemed less worthy than himself, Dorieus set off westward to colonise at first the site of Kinyps, in Libya (north Africa) (c.512 BCE).76 Quite oddly for a Spartan (Spartans were famously thought to place divine matters above all else, Hdt. 5.63.2 and 9.7.1), Dorieus, in a state of rage, neglected to consult the oracle and fulfil the expected practices. Because he met with local resistance, his expedition in northern Africa was doomed to fail and two years later Dorieus had to return home. Equally ill-fated was Dorieus’ second attempt to colonise the West, this time in the area around Mount Eryx in western Sicily (Hdt. 5.43–48). This mission had the religious backing of an oracle, which drew on the myth of the Spartans’ Heraklid descent and aimed at legitimising Spartan presence in Sicily, by presenting

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides it as a return to the ancestral rights of Herakles. The city, which Dorieus and his group were going to establish on the site of Eryx, was to be named ‘Herakleia’ (a distinctively Dorian name, cf. p. 191 in this chapter). But due to his own mishandlings and to local resistance (Hdt. 5.46), Dorieus and his group did not manage to fulfil their mission, and Dorieus lost his life in battle. The material record attests to the mixed culture of the two Elymian cities, Egesta and Eryx, which, as we saw, appear as outright ‘barbarian’ in Thucydides.77 Similar evidence exists in Herodotus (5.47) and concerns cult: Philip of Kroton, an Olympic victor and the most handsome man of his time, had joined Dorieus’ colonial expedition. After his death, the people of Egesta honoured him with a hero cult, which is thought of as a feature of Greek culture.78 Thucydides was well aware of the sources documenting the rich mythopolitical material of the Spartan Mediterranean, and on some occasions interacted subtly with it. At the same time he gave ample textual space to the Spartans’ colonising activities and their apoikiai in places within the restricted space of the Greek mainland and the Aegean, what we have called the ‘Spartan colonial triangle’. How can we explain Thucydides’ twogeared strategy in relation to Sparta’s colonial profile? Why is Spartan Mediterranean so invisible in his work in sharp contrast to the visibility of the Spartan colonial triangle? 5. Why is ‘the Spartan Mediterranean’ so invisible in Thucydides? One key aspect of the problem is Thucydides’ intense and sophisticated engagement with Herodotus’ text. Suffice it to say that Thucydides’ ‘gaps’ on the map of Spartan Mediterranean would have been perceived and interpreted very differently by his contemporary audiences, who were more familiar not only with Herodotus’ own text but also other significant prose and poetic intertexts; and so was Thucydides himself.79 At least some of these gaps would have been filled more readily by active and shared cultural contexts, such as literature, art, ritual and so on. The ‘filling in of the gaps’ and creation of meaning by modern audiences is surely a very different process, as their historical and cultural contexts are different too.80 This is of prime importance when considering ‘cognitive maps’ of ancient colonisation in Thucydides, and more generally.81 In other words, what is ‘visible’ or ‘invisible’ in the text depends on the reader/receiver. The cross-reading of colonial information in Thucydides and Herodotus reveals considerable complementarity in the amount, kind and distribution of colonial information in the two authors. Where Thucydides is terse or silent, Herodotus tends to be explicit and expansive, and vice-versa.82 We have already seen some representative examples, such as Kyrene

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Maria Fragoulaki and Thera, about which Herodotus provides rich colonial information, whereas Thucydides only passing mentions. Melos is also a case in point. In Herodotus the Melians appear in only two passing references, in the catalogue of the Greek forces before the battle of Salamis (Hdt. 8.46, 48), where they stand out for their Dorian Lakedaimonian ethics, because they were among the few Aegean islands who did not give earth and water to the Persians, and contributed two pentekonters. In Thucydides the Melians’ Dorian Lakedaimonian ethics shine through again, but by means of a very different narratological handling. Thucydides devotes much attention and literary artistry to the Melian episode by producing a generically unique digression (the Melian Dialogue), in which the Spartans’ role as colonial metropolis and warrantors of justice and freedom on account of kinship is weighed against considerations of political realism, against the backdrop of Athenian imperialism and perceptions of the threat to their national security. Another factor that influences the narrow space of colonial activity which Thucydides allocates to the Spartans is, I suggest, the shaping of the national characters of the two main enemy cities, the Spartans and the Athenians, which involves a considerable amount of stereotyping and antithetical presentation. The Dorian Spartans are presented as timid, overreligious, prone to inaction (ἡσυχία), and attached to their land and the problems about and around it, whilst the Ionian Athenians are presented as fast, daring, naval, mobile and constantly looking ahead and beyond what they already possess.83 The antithetical, and at the same time complementary, ethnic characterisation of the Spartans and the Athenians in Thucydides has an explanatory value not only of local but also of transcultural and transtemporal quality. It is one of the mechanisms through which Thucydides’ famous ambition to deliver his analysis of war and ethnic conflict to posterity as a possession for all time is fulfilled. The antithetical presentation of the two main enemies emerges at different parts of the History to explain thinking processes, feelings, action/inaction and military successes and failures: the Spartans were the ideal enemies for the Athenians, because their weaknesses were the Athenians’ strengths, and vice-versa (8.95.5). Spartan mobility, territorial expansion and colonial activity in the wider space of the Mediterranean have been underplayed, commensurately with the underplaying of the Spartans’ naval ability, since these inter-related strengths have been decisively allocated to the Athenians. In this light, it is not accidental that the three apoikiai of the Spartan colonial triangle in the History are all very, or reasonably, close to the metropolis, and within the space of mainland Greece and the southern Aegean. Kythera is literally a stepping stone to the

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides south of the Lakonike. Melos is closer than Kythera to the eastern shores of the Lakonike; although according to Thucydides the Spartans would not even cross this stretch of sea to come to the rescue of their apoikoi. Herakleia in Trachis is mid-distance but very close to Doris, the metropolis of the Spartans. If the extended network of Spartan colonial kinship across the Mediterranean, from Knidos in the east to Lipara and Euesperides in the west, were to come to the foreground, Thucydides’ antithetical presentation of the national characters of Athens and Sparta, and his explanatory strategy ‘for all time’ would have been blurred. That said, ethnic stereotyping in Thucydides has its limitations and his Peloponnesian War is far from a bipolar affair.84 On the contrary, it is a diffused war of many centres, multiple individual and collective motives, means of war, cultural interactions and ethnic middle grounds, local communities and local wars, chance events and so on. All these interact and produce a complex and nuanced picture of historical explanations and contingencies. Korinth, with its own colonies, is part of this multi-centred and complex historiographic universe, as a third major player in the war, and certainly the second major player among the Dorian Greeks after the Spartans. As far as colonial activity is concerned, it is Korinth rather than Sparta which is cast in the role of an active and geographically dispersed colonial power from early times. This, I suggest, is a further factor in Sparta’s presentation as a low-key colonial player in the broader canvas of the war’s intercommunal kinship dynamics. In the Archaeology, Korinth is presented as an early naval power, a trading centre (emporion, 1.13.5), and a ‘rich place’ since archaic times (‘by the ancient poets’, 1.13.5). By the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War in 431 BCE Korinth’s position in the matrix of Greek interstate relations was very much changed. In the Kerkyraika (1.24–55) (and the Poteidaiatika, 1.56–65) Korinth’s early wealth and naval power are explicitly related to its colonial activity in northwestern Greece. In these sections we watch the Korinthians’ conflict with their own past self-image, part of which appears to be their hurt pride as an archaic and dishonoured metropolis and its pursuit of retribution for what they felt was an insult from their apoikoi, the Kerkyraians. It is against this background that the Korinthians’ pursuit of the war and the relentless urging of their fellow-Dorians, the Spartans, towards this direction are set. As mentioned already (p. 192 in this chapter) the Kerkyraika and the Poteidaiatika have a paradigmatic value for the role of intercommunal kinship in the History and Korinth’s central role in colonial politics. Later on, Korinth’s loyal apoikia in Sicily, Syracuse, became another major and bloody theater of the Sicilian war, again bringing to the foreground

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Maria Fragoulaki kinship-related motivation and its inter-relation with imperialism and ‘hard’ politics, and presenting Korinth – not Sparta – as active coloniser of the West and Dorian metropolis par excellence. In this connection we may recall Thucydides’ statement in the Archaeology: ‘The Athenians colonised Ionia and most of the islands: the Peloponnesians [my emphasis] founded the majority of the colonies in Italy and Sicily, and some in other parts of Greece’ (1.12.4). In the comprehensive ethnic name ‘Peloponnesians’ Thucydides encompasses the Spartans without actually naming them as Dorian colonisers of the West, because it is the Korinthians, rather than the Spartans, who best fit the bill. This is another example of Thucydides’ ethnic broad-brushing, in order to create two antithetical, and complementary, conceptual maps of Greek colonisation.85 Last but not least, the restricted space of Spartan colonisation in the Archaeology and beyond relates to another distortion, on the axis of time: the shrinking of the longue durée of Spartan interest and involvement in Sicily. For example, there are several mentions of Thurii in Italy from Book 6 onwards (as, for example, Spartan Gylippos’ ‘reviving his father’s citizenship’ with the Thurians, 6.104.2), but we hear nothing about the foundation of the city in the late 440s, an enterprise in which both Peloponnesians (but no Spartans) and Athenians were involved, as we hear from Diodorus (12.10.3–7; cf. Strabo 6.1.13).86 Nor do we hear anything about Spartan colonial expeditions to Sicily in the sixth century (Pentathlos’ and Dorieus’ activities) – a silence which, as we saw, has serious implications for the representation of Sicilian communities, such as Egesta and Eryx, as ethnically non-Greeks (cf. pp. 202–3). The deconstruction of the longue durée of Spartan operations in the West is in line with an analogous strategy of effacement of Athenian diplomatic and military initiatives in the same part of the world since the 440s at least, as documented in external sources (including fifth-century inscriptions recording alliances) and hints in Thucydides’ own account.87 This strategy is part of a historical decontextualisation of the Athenian expedition to Sicily in 415–13 BCE, in order for the author to stage it as an act of Athenian collective madness to a far-off and largely unknown and alien land (6.1). The extent to which this land was really unknown or alien to the Athenians is the question of another discussion, in which Athens’ map of intercommunal kinship ties would also have to have a central role. 6. Conclusion The aim of this discussion was to deal with the contrast between what has been called the ‘Spartan Mediterranean’, an extensive network of Spartan foundations across the Mediterranean known from literary, epigraphic and

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides archaeological evidence outside Thucydides, and the restricted map of Spartan colonial settlements in Thucydides, which we named the ‘Spartan colonial triangle’. The latter consists of only three first-generation foundations in the mainland Greece and the Aegean, namely Herakleia in Trachis, Kythera and Melos. If Thucydides was our only source, this ‘triangle’ would have defined our mental map of Sparta’s colonial activity and ‘the Spartan Mediterranean’ would have been invisible to us. Surprisingly though, this misleadingly restricted map in Thucydides has escaped attention so far and its significance has not been assessed and explained. The purpose of this discussion has been to fill this gap. This chapter concentrated on the ‘visibility’ and ‘invisibility’ of Sparta’s colonial ties in Thucydides as concepts of relevant value, with a view to illuminating Thucydides’ historiographic strategies and widely legible and meaningful explanatory patterns. If the case of Amphipolis presents us with the model of an ‘adopted’ apoikia in mainland Greece, reminding us of the subtle workings of intercommunal kinship and ethnicity in the context of ethnic conflict, the ‘Spartan colonial triangle’ (Herakleia in Trachis, Kythera and Melos) is one example among many in the History that poses the question of Thucydides’ handling of historical ‘truth’. The aim of this discussion was to provide some new perspectives both of Thucydides’ heavy-handedness and of his subtlety in the process of shaping our mental maps of Greek colonisation. Thucydides’ ‘Spartan colonial triangle’ confined Spartan colonisation in the mainland and the Aegean, masking the Spartans’ considerable network of settlements across the Mediterranean and on the fringes of the Greek world, as emerging from external sources. This triangle is in line with the stereotypical image of the Spartans as generally occupied more with the management of local problems, within the Peloponnese and their own population, rather than with extrovert policies. Thucydides constructed an antithetical, and at the same time complementary, explanatory schema of the national characters of Sparta and Athens, which had a bearing on shaping Spartan colonial activity ‘close to home’ and ‘back in time’, in contrast with his much more mobile, expansive and opportunist Athenians. It was suggested that there is an inverse relationship between the restricted geographical space of the ‘Spartan colonial triangle’ on the map of the Greek world on the one hand, and on the other the expansive textual-narratological and temporal space allocated to this triangle in the History. This expansive textual-narratological and temporal space is created by means of the rich and distinct narrative material provided for each of these three Spartan apoikiai and the significant span of myth-historical time,

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Maria Fragoulaki chronologically well-defined by two foundation dates-events (426 BCE for the more recent (Herakleia) and 1116 BCE for the more ancient (Melos)) in the History. The effect of this inverse relationship is a sort of a narratological illusion, which makes it hard to perceive the degree of effacement of Spartan colonial expansion in Thucydides outside ‘the triangle’. Thucydides’ configuration of geographical and mental (i.e. textualnarratological and temporal) space is enriched – to varying degrees for different audiences – by mental hypertexts, as it were, created by the interaction of his ‘Spartan colonial triangle’ with significant and active prose and poetic intertexts. It was argued that there is a striking complementarity with Herodotus’ Histories in the distribution of Sparta-related colonial material, revealing a subtle and detailed use of Herodotus’ text with wider implications beyond the present discussion. A significant poetic intertext is Pindar, especially in the case of Sparta – Thera – Kyrene – Euesperides. Korinth’s role as the Dorian coloniser of the West par excellence, and the overarching presence of the ‘Korinthian colonial map’ in Thucydides, considerably more expansive than that of the Spartans, was put forward as another determining factor of Thucydides’ ‘Spartan triangle’.

Notes 1 Irad Malkin’s (1994) term. 2 Illuminating contributions on the topic: Powell 2001; Debnar 2001; Cartledge and Debnar 2006; Luraghi 2011. 3 Mainly (but not solely) pertaining to the relationship between mother-cities (metropoleis) and their foundations (apoikiai) or between groups with claims of ethnic homogeneity. The Greek term is sungeneia (xungeneia in Thucydides); Jones 1999; Hornblower in CT ii, 61–80; Fragoulaki 2013. 4 I am using the terms ‘colony’ and ‘colonisation’ as a functional convention, in the light of the specifics of Greek mobility and overseas settlements; for important discussions of the problem, see e.g. van Dommelen 1997, Osborne 1998. 5 It must be noted that in Herodotus the term sungeneia is used only for biological kinship between individuals and families. E.g. Hdt. 3.2.2, 4.147.3. In Thucydides, of the thirty-five occurrences of the terms ξυγγένεια and ξυγγενής only seven refer to kinship ties between individuals; the rest describe kinship between cities; cf. Fragoulaki 2013, 32–57. 6 Ridley 1981. 7 E.g. 4.103.3 (Argilos); 110.1 (Torone); 4.109.2–4 (Akte); 4.120.1 (Skione); 4.88.2 and 5.6.1 (Stagiros); 4.107.3 and 5.6.1 (Galepsos and Oisyme). 8 For the application of modern anthropological theories of relatedness and kinship to intercommunal kinship and the political sphere of ancient Greece, see Fragoulaki 2013, 3–25.

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides 9

Mari 2012, with further bibliography. From Thucydides we know of similar phenomena in the Sicilian cities of Katane and Kamarina, 6.3.3, 6.5.3. Cf. Epidamnos handing itself over to Korinth (its grandmother city) instead of Kerkyra, its original metropolis (1.25.2). These communities though belong to the Dorian ethnos and none of these attempted a change as radical as attaching themselves to a non-Dorian metropolis. 11 Debnar (2001, 198–9) correctly notes the reshaping of the Amphipolitans’ ethnic identity through Brasidas’ rhetoric and his becoming their oikist, but uses the more general ethnic designation ‘Dorian’ (p. 199), rather than ‘Spartan’, for post-Brasidas Amphipolis. For an Ionian example, see Hornblower in CT ii, 73 on ML 89 (the Neapolitans try to obliterate their colonial origin from the Thasians, attaching themselves to the Athenians). As Hornblower points out in the same context ‘Thucydides himself notes such inversions of the colonial norm’; and see above (p. 185) for the inversions of the catalogue of allies in Book 7. 12 Graham 1982, 83; Malkin 1994, 3–6. Thomas 2001, concentrating on Herodotus, but more generally valuable. 13 There is evidence of Mycenaean contacts with South Italy and Sicily, sporadic from C16 to C15, increased significantly in C14–C13. Mycenean presence is attested at e.g. Scoglio del Tonno (anc. Taras, Spartan apoikia) and Lipari (anc. Lipara, apoikia of Knidos (Thuc. 3.88.2)), IACP p. 253. Knidos was an apoikia of Sparta, but its colonial origin is not attested in Thucydides; Fragoulaki 2013, 183–5. For Perge in the east, a city of mixed culture in Pamphylia (south western Asian Minor) (IACP no. 1003), it has been suggested that it was founded in the Mycenean period from Argolid and Sparta. Statues of mythical founders from the Roman period found in the city point to the mythological background of the nostoi and hero-founders active after the fall of Troy, such as Mopsos, Kalchas and the Argive Amphilochos (for the latter see pp. 188–9). 14 Cf. IACP p. 252; Malkin 2002. 15 For Thucydides’ (and Herodotus’) dating of the fall of Troy at around 1250 BCE, see CT i, 38; CT iii, 250. On the historical date of Melos’ settlement by the Spartans (around C9–C8 BCE), see Cartledge 2002, 94. 16 E.g. 4.120.1, a nostos story about the foundation of Skione in northern Greece. Nostoi was an epic poem lost to us and known from prose summaries, e.g. Danek 2015, Hornblower and Biffis 2018. 17 Amphilochos belongs to a younger generation of Trojan heroes (like Neoptolemos, son of Achilles); he is not mentioned in the Iliad, but he does feature in the Odyssey (15.248) as a descendant of the seer Melampous (Scheer 1993, 162–3 and n. 70). 18 Alkmaion’s connection with Troy is less conspicuous in our sources than that of his brother Amphilochos, but he too is included among Helen’s suitors in an early source (Hesiod fr. 197.6–9; cf. Cingano 2005, 140–1), which connects him ‘by default’ with the Trojan undertaking, at least in some less well-trodden paths of the epic tradition. 19 Hdt. 3.91 (Amphilochos founds Posideion, on the Cilician and Syrian border); Posideion was the only Greek city in Syria until the time of Alexander, IACP no. 1022); Hdt. 7.91. Later sources: Strabo 14.5.16; Lyk. Alex. 439–46: together with Mopsos, another seer, Amphilochos is involved in the foundation of Mallos in Cilicia, where they are both buried; with Scheer 1993, 168–74; Hornblower 2015, 215–17. 10

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Maria Fragoulaki Soloi in Cilicia is an alternative place of Amphilochos’ death (Hes. fr. 279 M/W; with IACP no. 1011). 20 Cf. Sophocles fr. 180 Pearson; schol. Lyk. 427 and 980. In Xen An. 1.2.15–18, Cilicians and Pamphylians are considered barbaroi. 21 See Mitchell 1991; cf. Brixhe and Özsait 2013; for Selge see PECS (Nicola Bonacasa); IACP p. 1213. In Arrian (Anab. 1.28.1) the inhabitants of Selge are Pisidian barbaroi. Cf. n. 13, p. 209 in this chapter on Perge in Pamphylia. 22 Pamphylia’s presence in Th. 1.100.1 is rightly defended by Classen-Steup ad loc. 23 Malkin 1994, 10. Cf. Malkin 2011, for an interactive and network-oriented regionalism, against center and periphery and top-down approaches. 24 E.g. Adriatic: Black Kerkyra (‘Melaina Korkyra’) on the Adriatic coast (unlocated) is referred to as a colony of Knidos, itself a colony of Sparta, down to the Roman period (Ps. Scymnos 428; Strabo 7.5.5). There is an alternative, Korinthian, line of colonial descent (Korinth – Syracuse – Issa – Black Kerkyra) supported epigraphically (Syll.3 141; SEG 40.511; 43.348, 300–250 BCE) (IACP no. 83). South Asia Minor: see above pp. 188–9. 25 Curty 1995, no. 75 (206/5 BCE); Jones 1999, 61–2; Patterson 2010, 118–23. 26 Ps.-Scymnos 594 and Strabo 9.4.10 for Pindos as a fourth city of Doris (tetrapolis). 27 The other being Herakleia Pontike in the Black Sea area (4.75.2), a Megarian colony (Xen. Anab. 6.2.11). 28 On the close connection between the Dorians and the Herakleidai in the myth of the Peloponnesian Return, see e.g. Fowler 2013, 340: ‘Dorians and Herakleidai were joined at the hip’. Hdt. 8.31 (Doris, metropolis of the Dorians of the Peloponnese). This is one of the two passages in Herodotus, in which the word μητρόπολις is used for a Greek city (the other being 7.51.9, for Athens as the metropolis of Ionia). 29 Fragoulaki 2013, 58–99, with further bibliography. 30 It is plausible that the Demaratos/Chilon episode (Hdt. 7.235) was written in the Archidamian War, in the light of Spartan anxiety caused by the occupation of Kythera in 424, described by Thucydides (4.55) (Fornara 1971, 33–4; cf. Fornara 1981, 151). For ‘dangerous’ islands, see Constantakopoulou 2007, 115–19. 31 In the Pentekontaetia the Athenian general Tolmides had taken Kythera (456/5), but we hear about it from Pausanias (1.27.5; cf. Schol. Aisch. 2. 75) and not from Thucydides. The latter does record Tolmides’ periplous of the Peloponnese (1.108. 5), but not the attack against Kythera. 32 Hammond 1982, 326; pace Cartledge (2002, 106) who is reluctant to connect the meagre archaeological findings with Argive control of Kythera in C8 BCE; he notes that ‘Herodotus [1.82.2] is something of a puzzle’. 33 Cf. Thuc. 4.80.2–4 (helot extermination). The threat of helots did exist, but see Hodkinson 1997, 96, advising caution not to overstress its importance to avoid the pitfall of constructing a supposedly unique society. 34 Kallet-Marx (1993, 182), commenting on the unprecedentedness of levying such heavy tribute on a Lakedaimonian city, suggests that Kythera could have belonged to a novel category of Athenian imperial control, combining tribute-paying status with some form of autonomy, that is non-allied status (in the light of a relevant clause in the Peace of Nikias, 5.18.2). But in 413 the Kytherians fought at Syracuse as allies of the Athenians (7.57.6). So if they enjoyed some form of autonomy from 421 onwards, by 413 this status must have changed. 35 On perioikic communities, see Shipley 1997; Ducat 2018. It is true that Thucydides

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides does not have much to say about the problems the Lakedaimonians had with their perioikoi, as Luraghi (2008, 208 n.120) observes, but it is not fair to say that Thucydides ‘does not think it noteworthy that the perioikoi of Kythera became allies of the Athenians and even sent troops to Sicily (Thuc. 7.57.6)’. Thucydides’ sophisticated motivation and categorisation of allies in the Syracusan catalogue shows that he had a keen interest in recording and explaining in-spite-of-kinship cases. 36 Kythera was a centre of purple dye manufacture, Coldstream et al. 1972. 37 Malkin 2011. 38 For the first, unsuccessful, Athenian attack against Melos, see 3.91.2–3. 39 For a detailed reading of the sympotic themes of the Melian Dialogue, see Fragoulaki 2013, 162–79. 40 5.112.2; cf. 5.104; 5.84.2. Brillante 1983. Cf. Hdt. 2.145.4 (with CT ii, 130). Cf. IG V I. 1 (face B), ll. 1–7, 13–17 (ML 67 = OR 151) recording financial help supplied by the Melians to the Spartans (c.427–412 BCE). 41 Kallet 2001, 17; cf. Renfrew and Wagstaff 1982, 277–80; Horden and Purcell 2000, 48, ‘Melos, though an island, is far from isolated’; Said 1978, on Orientalism. 42 CT iii, 254–6. 43 Cf. Thuc. 5.45.3; with Luraghi 2011, 195–6. Hdt. 9.54.1, with Bradford 1994; Bayliss 2009; Powell 1989. 44 E.g. Stahl 2003. 45 Thucydides’ handling of the causes of the Peloponnesian War has caused much discussion; e.g. recently Robinson 2017 with further bibliography. For the crucial role of ethical and cultural factors and kinship’s role, see Fragoulaki 2013, 64–7 et passim. 46 On kinship terminology, Fragoulaki 2013, 32–57. 47 Against the view that all the literary evidence for Taras as Spartan is late (Hall 2008, 420). 48 Craig 1980, 5, 52 et passim. Knidos was a member of a Doric cultic association of six at first (hexapolis), later five (pentapolis) poleis centred on the Triopion sanctuary of Apollo: Hdt. 1.144.1, Th. 8.35; the sanctuary’s exact location is a puzzle, but the archaeological remains clearly point to an archaic foundation date (C7l – C6 BCE), IACP, p. 1124. 49 Nafissi 1999, 247–251; Malkin 1994, 128; Graham 1982, 112: ‘The earliest colonial material recovered at Taras is of the last quarter of the eight century’. Cf. Hornblower 2011, 46 (C4 military help of Sparta to Taras). 50 Hall 2008; Gray 2015, 350–4 for city foundations by exiles. 51 Antiochus’ version (FGrHist 555 F 14 = Str. 6.3.2). Strabo records Ephorus’ version too (FGrH 70 F 216 = Str. 6.3.3); Pl. Leg. 1. 637B; Arist. Pol. 5. 1306b 30–2; Diod. 8. 21. 3. Luraghi 2008, 160, for Strabo’s use of Antiochus’ version. 52 The thrust of Tarentine expansion in the area takes place after 473 BCE, when the Tarentines suffered a serious defeat by the local Iapygians (Diod. 11.52.3–4; cf. Hdt. 7.170.3–4). The Tarentine dedications at Delphi to commemorate their victories in the fifth century against the Iapygian Messapians and the Peuketians tell the same story (Syll.3 21 and 40; Paus. 10.10.6 (Messapians), 10.13.6 (Peuketians)). 53 Lyk. Alex. 852–5, with Hornblower 2015, 327–35; Braccesi 1999, 69–76 (Menelaos as a mythical prototype of the historical Dorieus, who was actually heading for the island of Elba, off the coast of Etruria); Malkin 1994, 58–9.

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Catling and Shipley 1989. SEG 39.376. For the cult of Messapios Zeus in Sparta: Pausanias 3.20.3; Theopompos (apud Steph. Byz. s.v. Μεσσαπέαι). On Taras’ apoikia Herakleia on the Siris (IACP no. 52), see Nafissi 1999, 247–51 (presence of ephors in Taras). Herakleia on the Siris was a joint foundation of Taras and Thurii (433/2) and the last Greek foundation in Italy (Antiochos FGrH 555 F 11). According to Antiochos ‘the city was judged to be Tarentine’ (τὴν ἀποικίαν κριθῆναι Ταραντίνων), cf. Strabo 6.1.14; 6.3.4. But see Hdt. 8.62.2, for Athenian claims over Siris as ‘Athenian of old’. 55 In three out of its nine mentions in Thucydides, Taras is paired with Epizephyrii Lokri: 6.44.2, 7.1.1, 8.91.2. 56 They were thought to have been founded by the Lokrians of mainland Greece. Ephorus FGrH 70 F 138 (fourth c BCE): Opous; Strabo 6.1.7 (C1 BCE–CE C1): Ozolians. 57 Pédech 1961, 77–8 for detailed comparison of the two foundation myths; Sourvinou-Inwood 1974, 189 ‘some kind of identification with Taras’. Cf. FisherHansen, Nielsen and Ampolo, in IACP, p. 274 on Paus. 3.3.1 (CE C2) perhaps ‘a reflection of (alleged) Tarentine participation’ in Epizephyrii Lokri’s foundation. Further aspects of the Lokrians’ Spartan mytho-political profile: Diod. Sic. 8.32 (Epizephyrii Lokri won a miraculous victory at the battle of Sagra in C6 BCE with the help of the Dioskouroi (also Tyndaridai), Sparta’s protective twin divinities, brothers of Helen of Troy); Strabo 6.1.10. Like the Spartans, the Epizephyrians too had an autochthonic myth: Pi. O. 9. 43–6 (produced from stones by Pyrrha and Deukalion), with Hornblower 2004, 313. Sparta: Apoll. 3.10.3 (Eurotas, son of Lelex, son of the soil). Diod. 14.44.6: when the Syracusan Dionysios the Elder used Lokri as his Italian base, he married a Lokrian woman with the significant name Doris; Redfield 2003: 283 ff.; Fragoulaki 2013, 200–8. 58 Eusebius’ foundation date of Lipara is 630 BCE. Cf. Bosworth 1992, for useful background and discussion of a papyrus fragment from a local history of Sicily, usually ascribed to Philistos. 59 In the eastern Aegean, where the war had been transferred after 413 (in addition to Dekeleia in Attika, another war theatre), Knidos was for the Peloponnesians what Ionian Samos was for the Athenians. Lewis (1977, 97) on Knidos’ ‘peculiar fitness’ in terms of its colonial tie with Sparta. 60 But see Strabo 14.2.6 for Megarian settlement of Knidos. Lipara does not feature in Herodotus. Earliest archaeological material in Lipara: 575–550 BCE; Osborne 2009, 85. For Knidos’ geographical location, see CT iii, 849, 873. 61 CT iii, 137. 62 Diod. Sic. 5.9.3–4; Ps.-Scymn. 262; Paus. 10.11.3, 16.7, with Domínguez 2006, 311–16. 63 For a lucid presentation of the problem (and a unitarian position), see CT iii, 1–4, 53–57, and 883–86. 64 Thera: Hdt. 4.147–9; Pind. Pyth. 4.251–9 and 5.72–6; Paus. 3.1.7–8, cf. IG XII.3 382 (C4). Kyrene: Pind. Pyth. 4.4–8, 59–63; Pind. Pyth 5.85–95; Hdt. 4.147–58; cf. Hdt. 5.42 (Dorieus takes Theran guides with him on his mission to colonise Libya); ML 5 (= Fornara 18) C4 (Kyrene’s foundation decree (purporting to contain an earlier foundation decree of the seventh century)); RO 96 (list of cities of mainland Greece receiving grain from Kyrene, including Thera, probably on grounds

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides of kinship, c.330–326 BC). Graham 1982, 134–8; Malkin 1994, 89–111; Mitchell 2000; Cawkwell 2011; Agócs 2020 on Pind. Pyth. 4. The archaeological record shows that permanent occupation of Kyrene seems to start in c.620 BCE, which is reasonably congruent with the literary foundation date. Osborne 2009, 15–16, on early importation of pottery and personal items from Sparta, perhaps indicating settlers from Lakonia from the start. Christesen 2010, on Spartan Chionis as an athlete-founder (Paus. 3.14.2–3), an Olympic victor (fl. 664, 660 and 656 BCE), who had also taken part in the colonial expedition of Battos and had helped him subdue local Libyan resistance. 65 CT iii 641; Fragoulaki 2013, 107–8, 187–8. 66 Diod. Sic. 4.26; Paus. 2.13.8, 5.18.4; Apollon. Rhod. Argon. 4. 1380–405; but see Apoll. Bibl. 2.5.11. Malkin 1994, 186–7. 67 On Herodotus’ Libyan logos, see Baragwanath 2020. 68 Timaios FGrH 566 F 85 = Diod. 4.56.6. The localisation of Lake Tritonis and the island of Phla (otherwise unknown) is elusive, typical of mythical locations. Herodotus places Lake Tritonis in the area of the lesser Siris, on the western side of the Kyrenaica, drawing a fairly extensive network of Kyrenaian colonial claims over the area (Corcella in Asheri et al. 2007, 701; Malkin 1994, 198–9; Austin in IACP, p. 1237). SEG 18.772 (C4); SEG 41.1693 (indicating direct transmission of the institutions of the ‘greatgrandmother city’, Sparta, to the third colonial generation, Kyrene, and thence to Euesperides); Hornblower 2004, 246. 69 Battos, descendant of the Minyan Ephemus (Hdt. 4.150), with Hdt. 4.145, the Minyans, descendants of the Argonauts. 70 Hdt. 4.145–9; Pind. Pyth. 5.72–103 (Pindar himself proudly claimed descent from the Aigeidai: Pind. Pyth. 5.75–6), with Hornblower 2004, 240–1. 71 Cult of Apollo Karneios: Pind. Pyth 5. 72–81; Kallim. 2.71–9, cf. Pettersson 1992. 72 Jones 2010, 11, using the scholiast’s interpretation of Pindar’s lines. Agócs 2020 on the role of the Antenoridai in the pre-settlement tradition of Kyrene. 73 On Strabo 3.4.3 and Asklepiades, see Woolf 2009, 212. 74 Thuc. 1.12.1–3 (cf. Melos, pp. 194–6 in this chapter); Ephorus FGrH 70 F 223, with Fowler 2013, 593–4. For intentional history, see Foxhall et al. 2010. 75 For the distortion of the Egestaians’ ethnic profile in Thucydides and a historiographic explanation, see Fragoulaki 2013, 298–316. 76 Hdt. 5.42.2–3; cf. 4.198.1–2, on the fertility of the land. 77 The third Elymian city being Entella, not appearing in Thucydides (cf. Lyk. Alex. 964). 78 Jones 2010, 23. ‘Segesta’ in OCD 4 (architecture; use of Greek characters in the Elymian language; cult of Herakles in Western Sicily under his Greek name already since the sixth century BCE). Egesta is an unfortunate omission from the list of poleis in IACP. 79 Rood 1999, on Thucydides’ intertextual relationship to Herodotus. For the audience of the ancient historians and interacting genres, e.g. Marincola 1997, 19–33 et passim; Pelling 2000, 1–17 et passim; Baragwanath 2008 (for an Herodotean angle); Grethlein 2010; Fragoulaki 2020. 80 Reader-response theory provides a helpful theoretical framework. E.g. on familiar social and historical contexts, horizons of expectation, reading process, see Iser 2008.

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Maria Fragoulaki The concept of ‘active cultural memory’ and literature’s role in it is also pertinent; Grabes 2017. 81 Cf. Malkin 2011, 50. 82 Fragoulaki 2013, ‘Appendix II’. 83 Two classic loci: 1.70–71; 8.96.5. Cf. Fragoulaki (forthcoming). 84 Cf. Cartledge and Debnar 2006, a subtle analysis of the Spartan/Athenian antithesis and its nuances in Thucydides. 85 For a perceptive analysis of Thucydides’ construction of Spartan non-expansiveness in the Archaeology and Book 5, see Luraghi 2011 (‘a power geared towards stability and unable to grow beyond a certain geographical boundary’, p. 196). 86 For Gylippos’ father, Kleandridas, and Thurii, see CT iii, 534–5. 87 E.g. alliance with the Egestaians, ML 37 = OR 166 (IG I3 11, ?418 BCE); renewal of old alliances with Rhegion, ML 63 = OR 149 (IG I3 53) and Leontinoi, ML 64 = OR 149 (IG I3 54), 433/2 BCE for both. For the latter, cf. Th. 3.86.3, old alliance, probably in the 440s; renewal of ‘old friendship’ with Artas, the archon of the Messapians of Italy, Th. 7.33.4. For an illuminating discussion, see CT iii, 5–12.

Abbreviations Classen-Steup J. Classen, Thukydides, vol. 1, rev. by J. Steup, Berlin, 1919. CT i–iii S. Hornblower, A Commentary on Thucydides, 3 vols, Oxford, 1991–2008. Fornara C. W. Fornara, Translated Documents: Archaic times to the end of the Peloponnesian War, 2nd edn., Cambridge, 1983. HCT A. W. Gomme, A. Andrewes, and K. J. Dover, A Historical Commentary on Thucydides, 5 vols., Oxford, 1945–81. IACP M. H. Hansen and T. H. Nielsen (eds), An Inventory of Archaic and Classical Poleis, Oxford, 2004. IG Inscriptiones Graecae, Berlin, 1873–. ML R. Meiggs and D. Lewis, A Selection of Greek Historical Inscriptions to the End of the Fifth Century BC, rev. edn., Oxford, 1988. M/W R. Merkelbach and M. L. West, Fragmenta Hesiodea, Oxford, 1967. Pearson Pearson, A. C., The Fragments of Sophocles, Cambridge, 1917. PECS R. Stillwell, W. L. MacDonald and M. H. McAllister, The Princeton Encyclopedia of Classical Sites, Princeton, New Jersey, 1976. OCD 4 S. Hornblower, A.J.S. Spawforth, and E. Eidinow (eds), The Oxford Classical Dictionary, 4th edn., Oxford, 2012. RO P. J. Rhodes and R. Osborne, Greek Historical Inscriptions, 404–323 BC, Oxford, 2003. OR R. Osborne and P. J. Rhodes, Greek Historical Inscriptions, 478–404 BC, Oxford, 2017. SEG Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum, Leiden, 1923–. Syll.3 W. Dittenberger, Sylloge inscriptionum Graecarum, 4 vols., 3rd edn., Leipzig, 1915–24.

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides Bibliography Agócs, P. 2020 ‘Pindar’s Pythian 4: Interpreting history in song’ in Constantakopoulou and Fragalaki (eds) 2020, 87–154. Asheri, D., Lloyd A. and Corcella, A. 2007 A Commentary on Herodotus’ Books I–IV, O. Murray and A. Moreno (eds) Oxford. Baragwanath, E. 2008 Motivation and Narrative in Herodotus, Oxford. 2020 ‘History, ethnography, and aetiology in Herodotus’ Libyan logos’ in Constantakopoulou and Fragoulaki (eds) 2020, 155–88. Bayliss, A. J. 2009 ‘Using few words wisely? “Laconic swearing” and Spartan duplicity’, in S. Hodkinson (ed.) Sparta: Comparative approaches, Swansea, 231–60. Bosworth, A. B. 1992 ‘Athens’ first intervention in Sicily: Thucydides and the Sicilian tradition’, CQ 42, 46–55. Braccesi, L. 1999 L’enigma Dorieo, Hesperìa 11, Rome. Bradford, A. S. 1994 ‘The duplicitous Spartan’ in A. Powell and S. Hodkinson (eds) The Shadow of Sparta, London, 59–85. Brillante, C. 1983 ‘Tucidide e la colonizzazione dorica di Melos’, QUCC 42, 69–84. Brixhe, C. and Özsait, M. 2013 ‘Cours moyen de l’Eurymédon: apparition du pisidien’ in H. Bru and G. Labarre (eds) L’Anatolie des peuples, des cités et des cultures: IIe millénaire av. J.-C.-Ve siècle ap. J.-C. : colloque international de Besançon, 26–27 novembre 2010, Besançon, 231–250. Cartledge, P. 2002 Sparta and Lakonia: A regional history 1300 to 362 BC, 2nd edn., London and New York. Cartledge, P. and Debnar, P. 2006 ‘Sparta and Spartans in Thucydides’ in A. Rengakos and A. Tsakmakis (eds) Brill’s Companion to Thucydides, Leiden and Boston, 559–87. Catling, R. W. V. and Shipley, D. G. J. (eds) 1989 ‘Messapian Zeus: an early sixth-century inscribed cup from Lakonia’, BSA 84, 187–200. Cawkwell, G. 2011 Cyrene to Chaeronea: Selected essays on ancient Greek history, Oxford. Christesen, P. 2010 ‘Kings playing politics: the heroization of Chionis of Sparta’, Historia 59, 26–73. Cingano, E. 2005 ‘A catalogue within a catalogue: Helen’s suitors in the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women (frr. 196–204)’, in R. Hunter (ed.) The Hesiodic Catalogue of Women: Constructions and reconstructions, Cambridge, 118–52.

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Maria Fragoulaki Coldstream, J. N., Huxley, G. L., et al. (eds) 1972 Kythera: Excavations and studies. Conducted by the University of Pennsylvania Museum and the British School at Athens, London. Constantakopoulou, C. 2007 The Dance of the Islands: Insularity, networks, the Athenian Empire and the Aegean world, Oxford. Constantakopoulou, C. and Fragoulaki, M. (eds) 2020 Shaping Memory in Ancient Greece: Poetry, historiography, and epigraphy. Histos suppl. 11, Newcastle upon Tyne. Curty, O. 1995 Les parentés légendaires entre cités grecques. Catalogue raisonné des inscriptions contenant le terme ΣΥΓΓΕΝΕΙΑ et analyse critique, Geneva. Danek, G. 2015 ‘Nostoi ’ in M. Fantuzzi and C. Tsagalis (eds) The Greek Epic Cycle and Its Ancient Reception, Cambridge, 355–79. Debnar, P. 2001 Speaking the Same Language: Speech and audience in Thucydides’ Spartan Debates, Ann Arbor. Domínguez, A. J. 2006 ‘Greeks in Sicily’, in G. R. Tsetskhladze (ed.) Greek Colonisation: An account of Greek colonies and other settlements overseas, vol. 1, Leiden, 253–357. Ducat, J. 2018 ‘The Perioikoi ’, in A. Powell (ed.) A Companion to Sparta. vol. 2, Chichester, 596–614. Fornara, C. W. 1971 ‘Evidence for the date of Herodotus’ publication’, JHS 91, 25–34. 1981 ‘Herodotus’ knowledge of the Archidamian War’, Hermes 109, 149–56. Foxhall, L., Gehrke, H.-J., and Luraghi, N. (eds) 2010 Intentional History: Spinning time in Ancient Greece, Stuttgart. Fowler, R. L. 2013 Early Greek Mythography, vol. 2, Oxford. Fragoulaki, M. 2013 Kinship in Thucydides: Intercommunal ties and historical narrative, Oxford. 2020 Thucydides Homericus and the episode of Mycalessus (Th. 7.29–30): myth and history, space and collective memory’ in Constantakopoulou and Fragoulaki (eds) 2020, 37–86. (forthcoming) ‘Ethnicity in Thucydides’ in P. Low (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to Thucydides, Cambridge. Grabes, H. 2017 ‘The value of literature for cultural memory’ in M. Irimia, D. Manea and A. Paris (eds) Literature and Cultural Memory, Leiden and Boston, 31–49. Graham, A. J. 1982 ‘The colonial expansion of Greece’ in J. Boardman and N. G. L. Hammond (eds) Cambridge Ancient History: The expansion of the Greek World, Eighth to Sixth Centuries, vol. 3.3, 2nd edn., Cambridge, 83–162. Gray, B. 2015 Stasis and Stability: Exile, the polis and political thought, c.404–146 BC, Oxford.

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides Grethlein, J. 2010 The Greeks and their Past: Poetry, oratory and history in the fifth century BCE, Cambridge. Hall, J. 2008 ‘Foundation stories’, in G. R. Tsetskhladze (ed.), Greek Colonisation: An account of Greek colonies and other settlements overseas, vol. 2, Leiden, 383–426. Hammond, N. G. L. 1982 ‘The Peloponnese’, in J. Boardman and N. G. L. Hammond (eds) Cambridge Ancient History: The expansion of the Greek world, eighth to sixth centuries, vol. 3.3, 2nd edn., Cambridge, 321–59. Hodkinson, S. 1997 ‘The development of Spartan society and institutions in the Archaic Period’, in L. Mitchell and P. J. Rhodes (eds) The Development of the Polis in Archaic Greece, London, 83–102. Horden, P. and Purcell, N. 2000 The Corrupting Sea: A study of Mediterranean history, Oxford. Hornblower, S. 2004 Thucydides and Pindar: Historical narrative and the world of epinikian poetry, Oxford. 2011 The Greek World, 479–323 BC, 4th edn., London. 2015 Lykophron: Alexandra: Greek text, translation, commentary and introduction, Oxford. Hornblower, S. and G. Biffis (eds) 2018 The Returning Hero: Nostoi and traditions of Mediterranean settlement, Oxford. Iser, W. 2008 ‘The reading process: a phenomenological approach’, in D. Lodge and N. Wood (eds) Modern Criticism and Theory: A reader. 3rd edn., London, 294–310. Jones, C. P. 1999 Kinship Diplomacy in the Ancient World, Cambridge, Mass. 2010 New Heroes in Antiquity: From Achilles to Antinoos, Cambridge, Mass. Kallet-Marx (Kallet), L. 1993 Money, Expense, and Naval Power in Thucydides’ History 1.–5.24, Berkeley. 2001 Money and the Corrosion of Power in Thucydides: The Sicilian Expedition and its aftermath, Berkeley. Lewis, D. M. 1977 Sparta and Persia: Lectures delivered at the University of Cincinnati, autumn 1976 in memory of Donald W. Bradeen, Leiden. Luraghi, N. 2008 The Ancient Messenians: Constructions of ethnicity and memory, Cambridge. 2011 ‘Thucydides and Spartan power in the Archaeology and beyond’ in G. Rechenauer and V. Pothou (eds) Thucydides, a Violent Teacher? History and its representations, Göttingen, 185–97. Malkin, I. 1994 Myth and Territory in the Spartan Mediterranean, Cambridge. 2002 ‘Exploring the validity of the concept of “foundation”: a visit to Megara Hyblaia’, in V. B. Gorman and E. W. Robinson (eds) Oikistes: Studies in

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2011 Mari, M. 2012 ‘Amphipolis between Athens and Sparta: a philological and historical commentary on Thuc. V.11.1’, Mediterraneo Antico, XV 1–2, 327–53. Marincola, J. 1997 Authority and Tradition in Ancient Historiography, Cambridge. Mitchell, B. 2000 ‘Cyrene: typical or atypical?’, in R. Brock and S. Hodkinson (eds) Alternatives to Athens. Varieties of political organization and community in ancient Greece, Oxford, 82–102. Mitchell, S. 1991 The hellenization of Pisidia, Mediterranean Archaeology (Sydney) 4, 119–45. Nafissi, M. 1999 ‘From Sparta to Taras: nomima, ktiseis, and relationships between colony and mother city’, in S. Hodkinson and A. Powell (eds) Sparta: New perspectives, London, 245–72. Osborne, R. 1998 ‘Early Greek colonisation? The nature of Greek settlement in the West’, in N. Fisher and H. van Wees (eds) Archaic Greece: New approaches and new evidence, London, 251–69. 2009 Greece in the Making. 1200–479 BC, 2nd edn., London. Patterson, L. E. 2010 Kinship Myth in Ancient Greece, Austin. Pédech, P. 1961 Polybe. Histoires. Livre XII. Texte établi, traduit et commenté, Paris. Pelling, C. 2000 Literary Texts and the Greek Historian, London. Pettersson, M. 1992 Cults of Apollo at Sparta: The Hyakinthia, the Gymnopaidiai and the Karneia, Stockholm. Powell, A. 1989 ‘Mendacity and Sparta’s use of the visual’ in Powell A. (ed.) Classical Sparta: Techniques behind her success, London, 173–92. 2001 Athens and Sparta: Constructing Greek political and social history from 478 BC, 2nd edn. (1st edn. 1988), London and New York. Redfield, J. M. 2003 The Lokrian Maidens: Love and death in Greek Italy, Princeton. Renfrew, C., and Wagstaff, M. 1982 An Island Polity: The archaeology of exploitation in Melos, Cambridge. Ridley, R.T. 1981 ‘Exegesis and audience in Thucydides’, Hermes 109, 25–46. Robinson, E.W. 2017 ‘Thucydides on the causes and outbreak of the Peloponnesian War’, in S. Forsdyke, E. Foster and R. K. Balot (eds) The Oxford Handbook of Thucydides, Oxford, 115–24.

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The mytho-political map of Spartan colonisation in Thucydides Rood, T. 1999 ‘Thucydides’ Persian Wars’ in C. Shuttleworth Kraus (ed.) The Limits of Historiography: Genre and narrative in ancient historical texts, Leiden, 141–68. Said, E. W. 1978 Orientalism, London. Scheer, T. 1993 Mythische Vorväter: zur Bedeutung griechischer Heroenmythen im Selbstverständnis kleinasiatischer Städte, Munich. Shipley, G. 1997 ‘The other Lakedaimonians: the dependent perioikic poleis of Laconia and Messenia’ in M. H. Hansen (ed.) The Polis as an Urban Centre and as a Political Community: Symposium August, 29–31 1996, Copenhagen, 226–36. Sourvinou-Inwood, C. 1974 ‘The votum of 477/6 BC and the foundation legend of Locri Epizephyrii’, CQ 24, 186–98. Stahl, H.-P. 2003 Thucydides: Man’s place in history, Swansea (1st German edn., 1966). Thomas, R. 2001 ‘Herodotus’ Histories and the floating gap’ in N. Luraghi (ed.) The Historian’s Craft in the Age of Herodotus, Oxford, 198–210. van Dommelen, P. 1997 ‘Colonial constructs: colonialism and archaeology in the Mediterranean’, World Archaeology 28, 305–23. Woolf, G. 2009 ‘Cruptorix and its kind: talking ethnicity on the middle ground’ in T. Derks and N. Roymans (eds) Ethnic Constructs in Antiquity: The role of power and tradition, Amsterdam, 207–17.

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8 INFORMATION FROM SPARTA: A TRAP FOR THUCYDIDES? Anton Powell ‘The absolute standard for judging the truth and reliability of historical research is consideration of the national interests of Russia’, Vladimir Medinski, Russian Minister of Culture (2011) (Quoted in Le Monde, 1 Feb. 2020: ‘La pensée des intérêts nationaux de la Russie constitue la norme absolue de la vérité et la fiabilité du travail historique’.) The author of ‘The Peloponnesian War’ was, for most of the war’s duration, in exile and away from Athenian territory. On his own showing, he found himself ‘mainly (οὐχ ἧσσον) among the affairs (πράγματα) of the Peloponnesians’ (5.26.5). Several considerations may have dissuaded historians in our own age from expecting to find many traces, in Thucydides’ text, of this long exposure to the thoughts of Athens’ enemies. There appears a complete absence of blatant bias in favour of the Peloponnesian side which for so long harboured him.1 Indeed Thucydides, in a passage composed near, if not after, the end of hostilities, could write with apparent disrespect of Sparta’s military methods in the war: the Spartans, through lack of boldness (8.96.4–5), had on many occasions acted as ‘the most convenient enemy in the world (πάντων δὴ ξυμφορώτατοι) that Athens could have had’. Eminent modern scholars have tended to suspect that, if the historian favoured one side, it was Athens.2 Thucydides was not, it may seem, ‘thinking Peloponnesian thoughts’ in the Greek sense of being ‘proPeloponnesian’. But whether his narrative and analysis were coloured by information and ideas learned from Peloponnesian sources is quite another question. If scholars have found few traces of Peloponnesian mentality in most of Thucydides’ history,3 that may be because the mentalities of most Peloponnesian states are not easy to characterise. And even Sparta’s modes of thought have not always been of primary interest to those studying Thucydides. The present chapter will suggest possible Spartan influences on the Athenian historian, by comparing some modern findings on Sparta itself with elements of his work which may seem anomalous or hard to explain.

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Anton Powell Of the historiographic principles which Thucydides announces early in the work, several appear not to fit well with information he gives about Sparta. Chronological exactitude, and associated agnosticism, are qualities of his work on which he insists. His predecessor Hellanikos of Lesbos had produced bad chronology, he states (1.97.2), whereas his own work was contemporary with the events described and structured by an abundance of chronological indicators: most strikingly by numbered years, by seasons, by the career of a named priestess of Argos (2.2.1; 4.133.3). Even the eclipses which he records, generally correctly,4 but with some omissions, may have been intended, at least in part, to fix the chronology of events more widely.5 In his first chapter (1.1.3), defining the scope of his work, the historian states that events earlier than the Peloponnesian War were not clearly knowable due to their remoteness in time from the historian. Gomme’s commentary ad loc. has the merit of confronting this statement, so unpalatable to modern researchers. He admits that Thucydides’ text, as we have it, ‘must mean, both in language and logic, “Greek history before the Peloponnesian war”, the whole of it...’, but he attempts to save matters by invoking the suggestion of J. Steup that a clause concerning 510–435 has dropped out. On principle, Thucydides insists (1.22.4), τὸ...μυθῶδες, the storytelling element, would not be found much (if at all) in his work; this surely would include accounts of situations largely inaccessible to the historian and yet furnished with so much detail as to form a narrative convincing in its fullness, suggestive of picturesque scenes and a satisfying moral. Then there is another acknowledged limitation to his history: the secrecy of the Spartan political system and military, which prevented his knowing certain important facts even from his own adult lifetime (5.68.2; cf. 74.3). In contrast to these generalities about procedure, Thucydides gives numerical detail, almost startling in its rarity and chronological precision, about what we would call the remote prehistory of Sparta and its constitution. The ‘storytelling’ element is notoriously so plain and extensive in Thucydides’ narrative of the downfall of Pausanias, Sparta’s regent and the victor of Plataia, that generations of modern scholars have reacted with surprise and doubt.6 Gomme (1945, 431) found the ‘excursus’ on the fates of Pausanias and Themistokles to be ‘the best example of Thucydides’ interest in biography and personality, which he elsewhere kept in check’. Less obviously, there occur in Thucydides’ narrative numerous general statements about the Spartans which, if unpacked, imply a remarkably wide knowledge of matters stretching into the distant past and which, on the face of it, challenge the idea of a Sparta successfully secretive about its own political arrangements. We shall here converge more with Thucydides’

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? sceptical, even agnostic, general principles than with certain of his own details which challenge those principles; the ‘editorial’ Thucydides may, in this area, prove more reliable than the ‘journalistic’. It may be necessary to consign to extreme doubt – but not to dismiss – much of his information on Sparta. Instead, however, we may hope to gain knowledge both of Sparta’s way with history and of the Athenian historian’s own reception of it. At times it may be found that the two correspond alarmingly. Many of Sparta’s untruths may live on like extinct insects in the cloudy amber of Thucydides’ prose. Yet, as when such insects are examined by today’s geneticists, the structure of Sparta’s storytelling may have much to tell us about the realities of a bygone world. Sparta’s prehistory ‘dated’ Thucydides writes, in explaining Sparta’s capacity to export its energies beyond its own frontiers, that it had, by the end of the Peloponnesian War, enjoyed the same good constitution for ‘slightly more than 400 years, approximately (μάλιστα)’ (1.18.1). No single lawgiver is named, or clearly alluded to, but the aorist tense, and passive form, of ηὐνομήθη (‘Lakedaimon...was brought to a state of obedience to law’) may perhaps imply brief, drastic – even external – action rather than a population evolving gradually by its own devices. The near-precision in Thucydides’ dating may itself suggest the idea of a drastic break rather than gradual change; again this would suit contemporary Greek thought about the decisive role of lawgivers. Our concern here is not with this dating for its own sake; suffice it here to note that learned speculation about the ‘Lykourgan’ changes has tended most recently to suggest that they may belong in the sixth, or even early fifth, century.7 It may even be that Thucydides’ chronology in this matter has been found embarrassingly bizarre.8 Let us here rather ask the question how he could have arrived at it. In his Archaiologia and in his references elsewhere to the remote past, Thucydides’ dating of the Spartan revolution stands out for what might be called ‘the precision of its imprecision’: ‘slightly more than 400 years approximately’. Here the firmness of his assertion, and the absence of specific argument for it, may imply that he thinks he has reliable information. Otherwise, for him to have claimed – even in the context of the frequently tentative Archaiologia – so nearly precise a dating, at such a vast distance in time, would be hard to understand, given his awareness of how fragile was the memory of distant events and of chronology in particular. If he believed that even events before the mid 430s were strictly not knowable, through lapse of time, it would be strange to approach – without special reasoning – near precision about matters of the late ninth century.

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Anton Powell There are, however, a few analogous datings in the Archaiologia. Writing of development in ship-building, Thucydides states that Ameinokles the naval architect went to Samos ‘about (μάλιστα) 300 years’ before the end of the Peloponnesian War, and ‘the oldest sea-battle which we know of ’ between Korinth and Kerkyra, occurred ‘about (μάλιστα) 260 years’ before the end of the same war (1.13.3–4). But at 1.12.1–3 comes a surprisingly precise set of dates, both much more remote and, this time, unqualified by μάλιστα or the like. The population of Boiotia migrated to its present home in the sixtieth year, and the Dorians and the Heraklids invaded the Peloponnese in the eightieth year, after the fall of Troy. Again, the historian shows no working here for any calculation on his own part. Again, his manner is compatible with a belief in reliable information from elsewhere. Significantly, when in the following sentence (1.12.4) Thucydides mentions the colonisation by Athens of the eastern Aegean and that of Magna Graecia by ‘Peloponnesians’ and others, he ventures no dates. He can be sweeping about the remote antiquity of Attike¯ in a way which recalls his dictum about the constitutional past of Sparta: Attike¯ was ‘for a very long time (ἐπὶ πλεῖστον) free from stasis’; ‘its inhabitants were consistently (αἰεί) the same people’ (1.2.5). But even here, concerning Athens, the vagueness of ‘for a very long time’ contrasts with the uninterrupted freedom from stasis which he attributes to Sparta in the ‘slightly more than 400 years approximately’ since its reform (1.18.1). As between the prehistory of Sparta and of Athens and other states, it appears to be – on balance – that of Sparta which Thucydides treats with the greatest assurance in the matter of the most remote chronology. An obvious possibility as to Thucydides’ source for the Dorian and Heraklid chronology is, of course, the Spartans. Gomme referred to the ‘80th year’ (and to the related ‘60th year’ concerning Boiotian prehistory) as follows: ‘precise dates, fixed to the satisfaction of Thucydides and others, after much calculation, by the early logographoi, probably by Hellanikos in his Τρωικά’ (Gomme 1945, 117). If this is realistic, we should have another case of apparent incoherence in Thucydides’ method, given his advertised criticism of Hellanikos precisely on the matter of chronology. Gomme also noted, however, ‘The date of the Dorian invasion (the Return of the Herakleidai) was calculated back by the figures of the Spartan kings’ (Gomme 1945, 117).9 Hornblower (1997 [1991], 39) believes that Thucydides here was working from the king-lists. For Thucydides who disrespected Hellanikos’ chronology, the authority of Spartan assertions about their past rulers is likely to have outweighed that of Hellanikos, and perhaps that of any other literary text. But what was Spartan authority worth? Cartledge’s study of Spartan king-lists10 though cautiously expressed,

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? may justify the view that Sparta’s king-lists of Agiad and Eurypontid dyarchs, as indicated to us most importantly by Herodotos (7.204; 8.131.2), are probably and in large measure wishful and corrupt. From c. 491 onwards, that is from approximately the beginning of the period when Spartan history became accessible through living memories to Herodotos and subsequent historians, 17 of 26 transmissions of Spartan kingship did not involve direct father-to-son succession. In contrast, in almost all of the (suspiciously parallel) 16 earlier generations in each of the two royal houses, as given by Herodotos, transmission could be understood as from father to son (Cartledge 2002, 295). To put matters bluntly, as Sparta’s past receded, not into history but from history, succession to the kingship became reassuringly uncomplicated and seemingly legitimate. (We might indeed, when working backwards in time, use the period at which the king-lists become so smooth-looking, that is the decades around 500, as a general indicator for historians of when the Spartan past becomes largely unknowable in detail, even if it may be – radically – reconstructible in outline.) A further point affects the integrity of the king-lists: since Spartans seem also to have boasted, in a form reported quite similarly by both Herodotos and Thucydides (below, pp. 251–8), that their state had been in the generations before the (Lykourgan) reforms afflicted by stasis, internal conflict, to a rare and grievous extent, the chance that royal successions would have passed through those turbulent times serenely undisturbed seems negligible. Indeed, two of the earliest royal names in Herodotos’ list of Eurypontids, ‘Prytanis’ (‘lord’, ‘president’) and ‘Eunomos’ (‘lawabiding’), have precisely the defensive air of constitutional legitimacy that we might expect from Spartan ideology of the classical period (see below, pp. 240–1, on Spartan claims about νόμος and εὐνομία). And yet, as Cartledge has written, ‘the Spartan king-lists transcended their local political significance to occupy a unique niche in the chronography of early Greek history’ (Cartledge 2002, 297). Now, what Cartledge describes as the ‘local political significance’ of these lists ideally would have put Greek writers of the classical period, and perhaps above all Thucydides, on their guard. For in that period (as down to the late third century BCE), political tensions involving the position of Spartan kings were recurrent and sometimes violent;11 the energy and ingenuity with which Sparta usually managed to repress such turbulence formed one of the city’s defining achievements. On the one hand, the Dorian invasion of the Peloponnese, under the leadership of the Heraklids (supposed ancestors of the dyarchs of classical times), and, on the other hand, the later revolution into austerity (imputed to Lykourgos) were remembered by Spartans as most important processes in the foundation of

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Anton Powell their exceptional state. And each of the two processes might be cherished in the classical period as underpinning, respectively, the status of the two uneasily balancing elements of that polis. The two elements in question are identified by Xenophon: the kings and ‘the city’ (as represented by the ephors) swore an oath every month to respect each other’s constitutional rights (Lak. Pol. 15.7). The story of the Heraklid foundation of Sparta legitimated the dyarchs; that is, the Heraklid kings. And the revolution attributed to Lykourgos established the rights – against the kings and a wealthy few – of the homoioi, full Spartan citizens. Thucydides himself was aware of how an insecure king in his own day, Pleistoanax on his (contested) restoration from exile (ca. 427–6), could appeal to supposedly remembered details of the religious forms, ‘the choruses and sacrifices’, which had accompanied the installation of the first Heraklid rulers of Sparta, at the city’s foundation (5.16). There were very good reasons in contemporary politics, involving (as we shall see) fear of revolution, for Spartans to assert officially their ‘knowledge’ of the two processes which Thucydides dates with such apparent confidence and in apparent exception to his normal methods. Spartan history: degrees of access Concerning the period of which Thucydides claims to be principally writing, 435–404, he gives much less space to Sparta than to Athens in the matter of reported speeches made within each city. For example, although set speeches about the principle of going to war are recorded from each of the two poleis on the eve of hostilities, from Athens alone is there reported in detail a string of later speeches and debates, such as Perikles’ funeral speech, the debate about how to punish re-conquered Mytilene, the Pylos and Melian debates, and the speeches of Alkibiades and Nikias on the principle and practice of invading Sicily. From Sparta no such debates are recorded. Thus even Alkibiades’ long and apparently persuasive speech at Sparta in 415/4, with its advice on how to defeat Athens (6.89–92), is not accompanied by any recorded speeches from the Spartan side. It may be, of course, that the Spartan ekklesia was prevented from expressing itself often once war had begun in 431. We might, however, have expected some debate to have occurred in that body during 414/3, a time which, on Thucydides’ showing (7.18), Spartans evidently considered to mark the opening of a set of hostilities distinct in religious terms from the war which formally ceased in 421. There is no reason to think that Thucydides lacked interest in Spartan rhetoric. To the Spartan Brasidas he assigns four speeches, three long and one short: 4.85–7 (at Akanthos), 4.126 (facing enemy Macedonians and Illyrians), 5.9 and 5.10.5 (at Amphipolis).

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? Thucydides of course had a special, personal, interest in Brasidas, to whose strategic acumen he owed his own exile. But there is also the fact of access, in two senses of that word. These four speeches all were made in, or near, areas of north-eastern Greece where Thucydides’ private interests as the exploiter of a gold-mine (4.105.1) may have given him well-placed informants. Less obvious, but perhaps even more important, is the way that the nature of Brasidas’ last campaigns reflected glory on the Spartan state. As will be argued below, Thucydides’ account of his rival’s exploits contains much to suggest Spartan sources of information; Brasidas is cried up by the historian very much according to his success on Sparta’s distinctive criteria. There is, then, no obvious imbalance in Thucydides’ reports of external Spartan as against Athenian discourse; there is likewise no gulf in the amount of narrative which concerns those military actions by each side outside the southern Peloponnese, actions to which countless Greeks not subject to intimate Spartan control might be witness. At work, however, may be difficulty of access for Thucydides to Sparta’s internal strategic counsels. He makes seminally important comments on such matters as jealousy within the Spartan authorities which restricted the help sent abroad to Brasidas (4.108.7), the demoralisation and despair after Sphakteria leading Spartans repeatedly to seek peace with Athens (4.41.3), the criticisms and restrictions directed against King Agis over his generalship in 418 (see below), and rivalry involving Agis and the ephor Endios over policy in the eastern Aegean (8.12.2, of 412). But they are dealt with briefly, even though they marked turning points in the war hardly less obviously than Athenian debates concerning Pylos and Sicily. Thucydides himself remarks on Sparta’s wish, after Sphakteria, to conceal from the Athenians severe difficulties under which the Laconian state was then labouring (4.41.3). But tales of Brasidas’ glory, especially when the man himself was dead and unable to generate much further jealousy among the citizens, the ‘similars’, of Sparta, were subject to no such restriction; here were things that Sparta might want enemies to reflect on. It is all the more striking, then, that a historian who had good reason to think himself seriously dependent, for information about contemporary Sparta, on Sparta’s own interest in hiding or propagating material, should utter a long and detailed account of the internal Spartan politics which led, some fifty years earlier than the vicissitudes of Brasidas and Agis, to the downfall of regent Pausanias. From which reliable source(s) did he think he derived that ?

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Anton Powell Thucydides’ narrative of the fall of regent Pausanias Before we look in a little detail at the Pausanias narrative, what degree of certainty does Thucydides signal concerning it? In introducing the account, he gives no special warning of any doubt; there is no phrase such as, for instance, ‘The Spartans say...’. But such phrases do occur, well into the narrative: at 1.134.1 the historian uses λέγεται (‘it is said’) to qualify the report that Pausanias ran for sanctuary because he had detected from the face of one approaching ephor that he was about to be seized, and was also being given a secret signal by another of the Five. Should this suggest doubt about the whole narrative? Not necessarily: Thucydides would surely realise that any secret signal, made by one ephor to defeat the collective purpose of his colleagues, was something which might have no reliable witnesses afterwards. The subversive ephor and the man he was trying to help would, for obvious reasons, hardly attest to it. The word λέγεται might thus be used (as also at 1.132.5) to isolate a particularly vulnerable point of the story, to save the credit both of the historian and of the rest of his narrative here. On the other hand, at 1.132.4 Thucydides gives special confirmation to one element of the condemnatory narrative about Pausanias: it was indeed true, he writes, that the regent had sought the help of helots in his plans to overthrow the Spartan constitution. (Hornblower ad loc. observes, ‘Note Thucydides’ striking confidence’.) Should this signal in the opposite direction, that the account in general was, in his view, reliable? Perhaps not. In the first place, it would be strange if he had postponed such importance guidance for readers until the narrative was well advanced. This positive assertion by the historian comes shortly before he emphasises the scrupulous care of the ephors in hesitating for so long over the disturbing information about their royal deviant (1.132.5). Thucydides’ positive signal may then be authorial guidance, that readers should not misinterpret the ephors’ slowness to act as a sign of weakness in the case against Pausanias. Thucydides’ account of Pausanias’ fall is, indeed, sown with extraordinarily graphic and precise detail, too notorious as well as too abundant to rehearse fully here. The image of ephors, lurking behind an improvised screen, listening while Pausanias uttered self-condemning words to a double-agent, would not quickly be forgotten (1.133–34.1). Sparta’s was a culture attuned to the use of visual imagery, in verbal or concrete form, to shape opinion, domestic as well as foreign.12 In this case, the image served to answer memorably the question whether the ephors could really have had enough evidence to kill their man. Even more remarkable, because less typically Spartan, are the written documents – correspondence between Pausanias, King Xerxes and the latter’s agent Artabazos –

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? obtained, it is variously implied or firmly stated, by the Spartans and from which Thucydides seemingly claims to quote verbatim (1.128.6–7; 129; 132.5–33). That the historian thought these messages authentic suggests that he had a source with a good claim to know; a Spartan source would be best placed to convince him. The narrative concerning Pausanias is followed immediately in Thucydides by a similar story concerning the fall of Themistokles, the regent’s former colleague in the Persian Wars of 480–79 and now himself guilty of medism – according to the Spartan authorities cited by Thucydides (1.135.2). Again, there is a remarkable level of detail, concerning events initially secret (notably the conversation between Themistokles and the king of the Molossians, whom he begs to save him from the pursuing Spartans and Athenians, 1.136.2–137.1). The Themistokles narrative itself includes a purportedly verbatim message from the exiled general to the Great King (1.137.4) and some slight detail of the latter’s reply (1.138.1); it too raises doubt as to how Thucydides could have been convinced of the genuineness of the words he reports. Given the unlikelihood that either of the suspect generals, or their surviving sympathisers, would have divulged material to the detriment of his reputation, what conceivable kind of ultimate source for these sets of correspondence could Thucydides have envisaged? Conceivably Persian officials, long after the events, might have told tales in the course of diplomacy with Greeks, if only to create division or demoralisation among the latter. But if Thucydides had suspected that the ultimate source was Persian, why should he have believed it? Gomme (1945, 441), observing one of Thucydides’ repeated caveats, at 1.138.1 (cf. 1.138.4, 6), remarks that the historian ‘is not certain of the Persian side of Themistokles’ story’. A more interesting possibility, perhaps, arises from the close relation between the two tales, which their author presents as a diptych. It was Sparta, according to Thucydides (1.135.2–3), which began the persecution of the ostracised Themistokles and persuaded the Athenians to join in. Spartans and Athenians together (the Spartans are named first: 1.137.1) pursued Themistokles towards Kerkyra, then to the king of the Molossians. Evidently Sparta, at the time of the events and quite possibly later too, sought to establish a parallelism between treasonable behaviour in the two great commanders, the Spartan and the Athenian, of the Greek resistance in 480–79. Sparta’s embarrassment might thereby be shared, and diluted. It would not be forgotten that a previous Spartan king, Damaratos, had actually joined Xerxes in the invasion of 480. Interestingly Herodotos’ brief narrative of the flight of Damaratos to Persia is structured similarly to Thucydides’ account of the flight of Themistokles. Both men initially fled

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Anton Powell north-west: Damaratos to Zakynthos and Themistokles first to Kerkyra then to the Molossians. Each is then captured or cornered by pursuing Spartans, only to be protected by the local power and sent successfully on his way eastward, to Persia (Hdt. 6.70.1–2). Leotychidas, who succeeded Damaratos as Eurypontid king, was himself exiled from Sparta on a charge of acting, bribed, in the Persian interest (Hdt. 6.72; below pp. 240, 254), at a time not far from the fall of Pausanias and Themistokles. If Leotychidas’ own downfall preceded that of Pausanias, Sparta’s anxiety for her reputation may have been acute. Given that the three great victors over Persia in 480–79 might be remembered as Themistokles (who overshadowed his Spartan chief Eurybiadas concerning Salamis, Hdt. 8.123–4), Pausanias (Plataia), and Leotychidas (Mykale), the subsequent discrediting of Pausanias and Leotychidas would have left with anti-Persian reputation intact only one of these great victors, Themistokles, an Athenian. And for Sparta to have lost three royal commanders to the Persian interest might suggest something worse than carelessness. (In these circumstances we may even identify an additional reason for Sparta to have burnished retrospectively the reputation of valiant King Leonidas, as a glorious exception within the royal houses.) There would be a certain economy in the assumption that Sparta generated the tales of secret messages to Persia, triumphantly revealed in intimate detail, from both Pausanias and Themistokles. As Hornblower persuasively notes (1997 [1991], 220), ‘But if ... the story of Pausanias’ medism was largely a fabrication, so too was that of Themistokles’ medism’. In the case of Pausanias, Thucydides explains the ephors’ slowness to act against him by reference to ‘the characteristic method to which they are accustomed’ (τῷ τρόπῳ ᾧπερ εἰώθασιν), which was not to punish Spartiates irreparably – that is, by death – without indisputable evidence (1.132.5). Now, to explain an event of c. 470 by reference to practice of the historian’s own day, some half-century or more later, implies knowledge of Spartan behaviour over a considerable period, and of constitutional consistency. The image of an unchanging Sparta finds its extreme expression in most of Xenophon’s Constitution of the Lakedaimonians and in Thucydides’ claim, discussed above, that Sparta had enjoyed good constitutional government since (in our terms) the late ninth century. However, in his main narrative of the Peloponnesian War Thucydides may seem to make a series of similarly sweeping general statements about Lakedaimonian history – of various periods – which hardly accord with his scepticism either about Sparta’s secrecy or about the obscurity of history before 435. In connection with Sparta’s dread of helot uprising, after Athens’ seizure of Pylos in 425, Thucydides reports that the Spartans

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? had no experience of guerrilla warfare of the relevant kind, a claim which suggests knowledge, on the historian’s part, of a period stretching back over most of the lifetime of even long-lived adults – in other words not less than some fifty years (4.41.3). Also arising from Sparta’s fear of helots was a massacre of some two thousand of the most impressive, to whom Sparta had publicly promised freedom, conducted with effective secrecy, so Thucydides reports (4.80.2–4): ‘No one knew how each of them was killed’. And yet Thucydides was sure that they had all died, as well as that ‘no one knew’ – i.e. that everyone remained ignorant of – how each of these helots was killed. Whether the group implied by ‘no one’ is to be understood as referring to the surviving helot community, or to the Spartiates themselves (who might have led off their victims in small batches, to be dealt with separately by Einsatzgruppen), the historian is claiming a remarkably comprehensive synopsis of an inherently furtive process. However, the most striking concentration of grand generalisations embracing remote Spartan history occurs in a part of Thucydides’ history which, for other reasons, are often thought to be derived from Spartan informant(s). Sparta’s crisis of 419–8: reports from the Spartan side? Scholars since Kirchhoff in the nineteenth century have noted that Thucydides’ narrative of warfare during 418 in the Peloponnese bears unusually clear traces of derivation from Spartan sources.13 Recent study of Sparta’s political culture may reinforce this view. The unusually intense crises experienced by the Laconian elite in 425–4 and then in 419–8 may have generated reactions from the Spartan authorities which were themselves far from typical. But rare crisis can also have the effect of revealing established, underlying, mentalities in an unusually clear light. In these years, much Spartan travail on the battlefield was visible to Athenian soldiers or their Peloponnesian allies. This conceivably elicited after the event unusually energetic ‘spin’ from Spartan sources, aimed at ensuring that enemies, who now knew of certain palpable weaknesses, should not expect them to recur, and thus to be exploitable. Of the emergency, and collapse in Spartan morale, which followed the defeat and surrender at Sphakteria (425), Thucydides wrote that the Spartans were anxious that Athens should not be informed of the grave danger in which they feared their city then stood (4.41.3). This coheres with his statement elsewhere about Sparta’s (general) secrecy. But what of possible mendacity, deployed to the same end?14 Has the historian allowed properly for that possibility? Thucydides’ treatment, of what he gleaned about this episode and its grave aftershocks in 419–8, may be revealing

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Anton Powell about his approach to Spartan history more generally. In what follows we explore the possible extent of the historian’s dependence on Spartan reports. The concern here is not only with focalisation, which might mean no more than Thucydides’ tending at times to report how Spartans, rather than their opponents, saw matters, whether realistically or not in his own view. Our question rather is, whether, when and how he accepted Spartan beliefs (or claims) as true. In 418, unprecedentedly so far as we know, a large Athenian hoplite force, with Argive and other Peloponnesian allies, ventured into the northcentral Peloponnese to challenge Sparta’s traditional domination of the region. Many of Sparta’s former allies in the Peloponnesian League had defected after the somewhat humiliating Peace of Nikias which Sparta, aiming – perhaps above all – to recover the numerous high-ranking prisoners taken at Sphakteria, had accepted in 421 (cf. 4.117.1). Of Sparta’s two hereditary military leaders, the kings, in the years immediately following the Peace neither was fully trusted. King Pleistoanax had been restored c.427–6 after nearly two decades of punitive exile. He had influential enemies within Sparta; he was repeatedly (‘always’, αἰεί) accused by them of having corruptly procured his return from exile by bribing the Delphic oracle, and of thereby having brought divinely-sent misfortune on his city (5.16). It would never be forgotten that he had been exiled in the first place for supposedly accepting a bribe not to exploit a military advantage against Athens (5.16 and 2.21.1). The military ventures which this king was allowed to lead after his restoration seem to have been of secondary importance (5.33; 75.1). Sparta’s other dyarch in 419 was Agis II, son of the late King Archidamos whose strategic advice – not to engage hastily in hostilities with Athens – had been rejected by the Spartan assembly on the eve of the Peloponnesian War. Archidamos had also been criticised by fellow-citizens for his conduct of campaigning early in that war (2.18.2–5), for being ‘soft’ (μαλακός), too well-disposed (ἐπιτήδειος) to the Athenians, and ‘above all’ (μάλιστα) for having through delay deprived Sparta of the opportunity to seize a mass of Athenian food and other possessions. His son Agis had taken over from him the leadership of invasions of Attike¯ (3.89.1; 4.2.1; 6.1). The details which Thucydides gives of the poisoned political atmosphere surrounding King Agis are remarkable, not least for their precision and journalistic tone. Sparta evidently remained deeply divided in this time of crisis, a fact which we should expect to have coloured information reaching Thucydides. In 419 Agis had led out a military force which seems to have been ineffective. Failing to get correct religious omens, it was unable to cross the frontier out of Laconia. Remarkably, its target was not divulged ‘to anyone,

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? not even to the [perioikic?] cities’ whose troops were taking part (5.54.1). Presumably, given his silence on the point, Thucydides himself did not know where it was directed, even with hindsight. Here is further warning, if any were needed, that we – like Thucydides himself – are dealing with a state unusual in its capacity for manipulating information. Leading a further expedition, in 418, Agis employed another stratagem typical of Sparta and intended to deceive: the night march, a device used by Brasidas (4.103) and Gylippos (7.4.2; 22.1), among others (cf. especially Xen. Ages. 6.6). Thus Agis now escaped from a dangerous situation when opposed by the army of Argos (5.58.2). This campaign against Argos resulted in further erosion of Agis’ standing, and elements of Thucydides’ account suggest that negativity against the king was embedded in his source material. We read that the king failed to exploit a good strategic position to crush the Argive army. Instead, he accepted an offer by some among the enemy to avoid a pitched battle. He reportedly took this decision after consulting only a single person among the other authorities present (5.60.1). This may have been considered a serious fault in itself; it also served to intensify the focus of responsibility on the king for the failure of the campaign. We are told that the army which Agis now led was ‘certainly the most beautiful’ of all Greek armies past and present (στρατόπεδον γὰρ δὴ τοῦτο κάλλιστον Ἑλληνικὸν τῶν μέχρι τοῦδε). Thucydides even identifies the point at which this army presented the finest spectacle: when assembled in Nemea (ὤφθη δὲ μάλιστα ἕως ἔτι ἦν ἁθρόον ἐν Νεμέᾳ, 5.60.3). Favourite Spartan themes can already be seen to cluster here. Enthusiasm over the fine appearance of a military force, while likely to have been shared by other Greeks in other contexts,15 was probably acute among Spartans. Well known are Xenophon’s repeated accounts of the trained and inspiring beauty of Agesilaos’ army at Ephesos (Hell. 3.4.16–19; Ages. 1.25–8; cf. 2.7). Klearchos, the doomed Spartan commander of hoplites in Prince Kyros’ mercenary army, took care (in the year 401) that enemy agents should not see his force until it had been arrayed at its most impressive (Hell. 2.3.3). Elsewhere, again in contexts infused with Spartan influence, Xenophon writes of the lightning-like glitter of a force clad in bronze and scarlet (Kyr. Paid. 6.4.1; Anab. 1.2.16). Such displays played to the Spartans’ traditional emphasis on the visual as a means of persuading others – or themselves. It also reflects Sparta’s particular concern to control what others thought or knew about their city and its potency: in this case, an army which seemed to consist only of scarlet and bronze might be one that suggested indivisibility, essential for the success of a phalanx. When Thucydides pinpointed the moment in 418 at which the army of Agis looked most impressive, namely at Nemea, was he implying that he

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Anton Powell knew of this particular moment because he had personally followed the army’s movements throughout? Or did he – more likely – expect his readers to assume that he was here following the authoritative report of someone else, very likely a Spartan, who had done so? Again, the sweeping claim that this was the finest-looking Greek army ever is of a piece with other chronologically vast claims, to Sparta’s advantage, of which we have already seen examples. And how would anyone, Spartan or otherwise, be able to make such a claim? It was as fragile in its way as an assertion about a very different extreme (on which see below), that pre-Lykourgan Sparta in its chaos had been (almost) uniquely bad among the Greek cities of its era. Such statements were part of Sparta’s culture of exceptionalism: if the polis could overcome faults of rare severity, that proved the divine wisdom of Lykourgos, and how enlightened his disciple community had become – but also how far it might fall if it deviated from the lawgiver’s rules. Along with the mentality of uniqueness went the tendency to point out and pillory individuals embodying failure. The tresantes, those who exhibited fear in battle, were near the extreme of the process, examples of negative exception. Even the eulogy of Agis’ troops contributed to the denigration of their leader to an exceptional extent (as we shall see). The finer had been his army, on a campaign which nevertheless failed, the clearer it was that his personal leadership was lamentable. Here was a king with an army of rare force, with an enemy at his mercy, who had committed the special sin of a commander: he had missed his opportunity, his kairos. Spartans would not forget that he had earlier reported omens which required him to abort a different campaign. Had he, on that earlier occasion, corruptly misrepresented the divine will (as his fellow king was accused of doing, in a different connection)? Or were the gods against him – a matter of acute Spartan sensitivity at this period (7.18.3)? The failure of one campaign might thus explain the failure of another. Give a dyarch a bad name... The Spartan soldiers’ reaction was, Thucydides reports, to assail King Agis while still obeying his orders, because on campaign obedience to the royal commander was the ruling custom (or ‘law’; διὰ τὸν νόμον, 5.60.2; cf. 8.5.3). They claimed that by missing a great opportunity the king had made it impossible for the troops in this magnificent expedition to do themselves justice. Once the army was back at Sparta, accusations flew. The citizenry claimed that Agis had missed an unprecedented (ὡς οὔπω πρότερον) chance to crush Argos. (A similar accusation had been levelled against another dyarch, Kleomenes, some three-quarters of a century earlier, Hdt. 6.82.1). To make things worse, it would – Spartans thought – be difficult to reconstitute a force of allies so large and of such quality (5.63.1). When further bad news arrived, concerning the capture of

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? Orchomenos, we are told that the Spartans, in proposing angrily, on the spur of the moment, a punishment against the king, were acting out of character for the city (παρὰ τὸν τρόπον): it was proposed to demolish his house (an eminently visual symbol of eviction from the state) and to fine him the huge sum of 100,000 drachmai (5.63.2). This proposed set of punishments recalls, as Hornblower, for example, observes (ad loc.), but as Thucydides does not, Herodotos’ report of the similar procedure actually carried out against King Leotychidas of Sparta when he had been forced out, some half a century earlier (Hdt. 6.72.2 and see below). Agis did manage to dissuade his fellow citizens from such drastic measures, by promising to do better on future campaigns. But Sparta’s other authorities imposed on him a control which was, according to Thucydides, itself unprecedented (νόμον...ὃς οὔπω πρότερον). They appointed ten Spartiates to ‘advise’ him; and without their agreement he would no longer have the right to lead a Spartan army beyond the state’s borders (ἐκ τῆς πόλεως, Th. 5.63.3–4).16 Such measures may seem a precisely-targeted response by the Spartans, in an eminently coherent narrative. The appointment of ten ‘advisers’ responded to the criticism that the king had not consulted widely enough on the recent campaign against Argos. And the new rule about crossing the border may seem to confirm that Agis’ failed attempt to cross the border on the earlier expedition had itself been held against him. One potent reason to fear that allies would not convene in full numbers in future was surely that they might anticipate a repeat of futile marches under Agis’ sole command. Again in this passage we see Sparta’s regard for the timing of attacks. A small and cherished citizen population was to be subjected to the lowest possible losses in action. (The more allied states were present in battle, the lower might be the casualties for each polis individually, and of course for Sparta in particular.) Also, we meet two further implicit claims about more remote Spartan history: the instant angry reaction against the king was for Sparta ‘out of character’, and the appointment of advisors to restrict the king was simply unprecedented. Once more, we should ask: How might Thucydides have felt able to assert such things about the past unless he believed them authenticated by Sparta? Very soon Agis had another campaign to lead. Evidently criticism of him went on, and Thucydides’ account continues with negative tones. Once again the king led Sparta’s main army against the forces of Argos. When battle was imminent, and – Thucydides records – the opposing armies were only a stone’s, or a spear’s, throw apart, a bitter remark was heard from within the Spartan phalanx. A Spartiate from the ranks called out, against the king. We are told that the critic was of mature years: that

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Anton Powell is, by implication, a person with the experience to allow him to criticise with some authority. And because his age is given, Thucydides apparently believed that his ultimate source here was intimately informed. Alluding to the fact that on this occasion Sparta’s field position was far from advantageous, while the enemy was very well placed, the man shouted: ‘So you’re trying to make good one mistake by making another’ (5.65.2; cf. Hdt. 3.53.4). The theme of military kairos is again in play. Agis is being accused of having first failed to appreciate his own strategic advantage (on the earlier campaign against Argos) and now of failing to understand the advantage possessed by the enemy.17 Challenged thus from within his own side, the king abruptly changed strategy, and rapidly withdrew his troops. Thucydides comments rather as follows (the text and exact translation are doubtful): either this was because of what the man had shouted at him, or because of some other, hasty, reasoning (5.65.3). (Was it perhaps not just the initial shouted remark which impressed Agis, but also an answering sound of support for it within the army?) Though the Greek is uncertain, given that we have the words δόξαν ἐξαίφνης (‘idea’ and ‘hasty’),18 it seems fairly clear that a negative criticism, concerning improvisation, is involved. We recall that when Xenophon, experienced in Sparta’s advertised militarism, contrasted the practised fluency of Laconian soldiering with that of other Greeks, he described the latter to their disadvantage as mere improvisers (αὐτοσχεδιασταί), whereas Spartans prepared in advance for every contingency (Lak. Pol. 13.5, 7). However, at the battle of Mantineia shortly afterwards the Spartan army did have to handle an unforeseen situation. Here the Spartans were startled to find themselves facing the army of Argos and allies, close up and ready for battle. Thucydides reports with emphasis (δή) that the Spartan soldiers were shaken out of their normal mentality to a degree unprecedented in their memory (μάλιστα δὴ Λακεδαιμόνιοι ἐς ὃ ἐμέμνηντο ἐν τούτῳ τῷ καιρῷ ἐξεπλάγησαν, 5.66.1–2). Andrewes (1970, ad loc.) suggested that the phrasing is that of a Spartan combatant. In any case it seems important to preserve the idea, clearly suggested by Thucydides’ syntax, that those whose memory is reported here are in some sense the same people as those who suffered the disarray: ‘the Lakedaimonians’. This time the historian does not comment explicitly on Agis’ responsibility for the disarray, though his narrative makes clear that the king had led the army to its alarming position. Rather, the historian emphasises the remarkable way in which the soldiers recovered from their confusion: ‘By reacting very quickly and with application (σπουδή), they immediately regained their usual good order (κόσμος), while Agis, the king, controlled everything in accordance with custom (νόμος); every manoeuvre started with him’. Thucydides proceeds,

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? in a well-known passage, to explain the Spartan system, with orders passing down a well-established chain of command, formed of officers and subofficers, the famous ἄρχοντες ἀρχόντων (5.66.2–4). Again, we might almost think ourselves in the world of Xenophon, who himself stressed the unique way in which Spartan soldiers were able to recover from confusion in the phalanx thanks to their training under the laws (νόμοι, again) of Lykourgos (Lak. Pol. 11.7). Just before the two armies clashed, King Agis issued a new order, at short notice (or ‘hastily considered’, ἐξ ὀλίγου, 5.72.1; cf. 71.1); more improvisation, it seems. Fearing to expose his flank, he ordered his left wing to move further left. His polemarchs, Hipponoïdas and Aristokles, were instructed to move with their troops to fill the resulting gap. But the polemarchs refused to budge (Thuc. 5.72.1), rather as Amompharetos reportedly had at Plataia in 479 (Hdt. 9.53–7). They perhaps could not bear to do anything which might be interpreted as flinching in the face of the enemy. Agis was then obliged to cancel his order; he recalled his left wing – but it was too late. The hoplites of Argos and Mantineia poured into the gap, causing the deaths of many on the Laconian side. Eventually Spartan discipline prevailed, and brought about a resounding victory. Indeed some of their opponents fled even before making contact (5.72). Thucydides states his opinion, remarkable both for its emphasis (μάλιστα δή, again) and for other reasons: the Lakedaimonians ‘after definitely having been inferior in experience, in every respect, to their opponents, subsequently proved their superiority through courage’ (...μάλιστα δὴ κατὰ πάντα τῇ ἐμπειρίᾳ Λακεδαιμόνιοι ἐλασσωθέντες τότε τῇ ἀνδρείᾳ ἔδειξαν οὐχ ἧσσον περιγενόμενοι, 5.72.2). As with the claim noticed above, about disaffected but still obedient soldiers, we have a report of Sparta as defective but ultimately successful. The first section of this quoted passage has caused unease among modern commentators: could the Spartans, portrayed in the Periklean funeral speech as exceptionally rigorous in their practice of military action, really have been described by Thucydides as ‘definitely...inferior in experience in every respect’ to Greek opponents? Hornblower (2008, ad loc.) implies doubt as to the truth of Thucydides’ claim, writing ‘ἐμπειρία should mean “experience”, and that was never in short supply on the Spartan side’, and takes κατὰ πάντα to apply to the whole phrase and thus especially to Sparta’s eventual superiority: ‘the Spartans showed in a decisive manner ...’. However, the place of the expression κατὰ πάντα in Thucydides’ sentence does seem to attach it to τῇ ἐμπειρίᾳ and thus to mean inferiority as regards experience in every respect. Gomme (1970, ad loc.) seems to have had similar doubts: ‘it is certainly remarkable to find the Spartans worsted in ἐμπειρία … in hoplite battle; nor indeed does

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Anton Powell Thucydides’ narrative prove that they were’. He confronted the problem candidly, but by way of solution could only hint at possible corruption in the Greek text: ‘It would have been easier if ... for κατὰ πάντα a phrase for “to some degree” had been substituted’. He suggests an unusual translation for κατὰ πάντα: ‘κατὰ πάντα is indeed striking: it means perhaps not “in every detail”, but “upon which everything turned”’. All this matters for the present general argument, and we shall return to the question in a moment. For, if one were to accept the translation which I initially proposed above, Thucydides may seem here to have uttered a claim about Spartan military inexperience most unlikely to have had a Spartan source, but rather to have been hostile in origin. In Thucydides’ view, this victory at Mantineia, won through sheer manly courage, was sufficient on its own to wipe out the bad reputation that Sparta had acquired among other Greeks, through the surrender on Sphakteria and also for indecision (ἀβουλία) and slowness to react (βραδυτής). From now on, the general Greek view was that all such failures were due to bad luck; Spartan mentalities had not changed after all (5.75.3). The charge of cowardice (μαλακία) made against them no longer applied. In concluding his account of the Mantineia campaign, Thucydides enthuses in a way which may, once more, bear a Laconian perfume (5.74.1). In Hornblower’s translation: ‘It was the greatest Greek battle to have taken place for a long time [lit. “for the longest time”], and it was fought between the most famous cities’. He notes correctly that Thucydides here ‘piles up the superlatives’. We may add that Thucydides also piles on the emphasis, twice and in quick succession using δή: ‘the greatest δή...battle’, ‘for the longest δή time’. This emphasis involves sweeping claims about remote Greek history which are to the glory of Sparta. These episodes of Peloponnesian history of 419–8 offer a rare insight for students both of Sparta and of Thucydides as its historian. We gain access, from an astute contemporary with experience of military command, to reports about Sparta’s internal relations of power and about its ways of making war. T. Rood has well observed, Thucydides ‘makes the battle [of Mantineia] a privileged locus for the evocation of their [sc. the Spartans’] institutions’ (1998, 104–5). But Thucydides may not afford a dependable viewpoint even for the institutions, the power-relations and the mentalities which he does touch upon. As we ourselves attempt to establish patterns of history by juggling together two subjects which are both elusive, Spartan history and the historical methods of Thucydides, we may need to appeal to a third category: those aspects of Spartan action which other Greeks, in numbers, could see or authoritatively detect. This third category may be crucial in deciding how much of Spartan history can be safely gleaned from

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? Thucydides. The need for such external control may be all the more evident if it appears that one of the Spartan norms suggested by Thucydides was a capacity to mislead even intelligent sources. These passages, and others in the same context, contain a remarkable concentration of themes dear to Spartan thought and propaganda. The criticism of Agis was, as we have seen, largely to do with the notion of military opportunity (καιρός) and of its opposite, that which is ἄκαιρον (cf. τὴν παροῦσαν ἄκαιρον ἀθυμίαν, 5.65.2). It is difficult to exaggerate the role of such thinking in Spartan warfare and high politics. We may think first of the idea attributed to the legendary sixth-century ephor Chilon on the importance of καιρός (Kritias, fr.7 [D-K], καιρῷ πάντα πρόσεστι καλὰ, ‘all fine things attend opportunity’). In their wars against Athens during the fifth century, the Spartans depended structurally on moments of weakness and distraction affecting their enemy. I have tried to list such moments elsewhere.19 In the Peloponnesian War, as in preceding decades, there is an extensive and almost exact correlation between times of exploitable Athenian weakness and Spartan attempts to (re)open hostilities or to invade new regions. At our particular period, involving warfare between Sparta and Argos after the end of the Archidamian War, the role of καιρός appears with pedagogic clarity. In 420 Sparta and Argos made a formal agreement to decide the ownership of their borderland at Kynouria by a pitched battle. Either city would have the right to challenge the other to battle at a moment of its choosing. Except, it was explicitly laid down, such challenge was not to be issued when either side was weakened by epidemic or by (another) war (μήτε νόσου οὔσης μήτε πολέμου, Th.5.41.2; contrast e.g. 7.18.2 on Sparta’s positive and conscious use of such distraction affecting Athens). The strategic exploitation of καιροί was at this period clearly understood as an important element of statecraft. Now, the idea of καιρός was important elsewhere in Greece, at various times.20 Terms were evolved for aggressively looking out for one’s opportunity: καιροτηρέω, καιροφυλακέω. In poetry and sculpture καιρός could be represented as a divine being.21 But perhaps – with one exception – no community can be seen to rival Sparta in the systematic importance it gave to this idea in its strategy. The exception may itself be highly significant: Sparta’s helots. Aristotle writes that they ‘sit in permanent ambush, as it were, waiting for (Sparta’s) misfortunes’ (Pol. 1269a). It may be that the principle had been learned by helots from their masters, through sheer proximity – perhaps rather as helots had learned, by 370, some of Sparta’s cherished songs, evidently against the Spartans’ wishes (Plut. Lyk. 28). Or it may be that Aristotle derived his generalisation not from direct observation of his own but from a Spartan claim about their domestic enemies, a claim itself made

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Anton Powell either from observation or from psychological projection of Sparta’s own mentality. For criticising, threatening or deposing a Spartan dyarch, failure to exploit military opportunity was among the most potent of all charges. Most royal commanders at Sparta known to have been expelled, threatened or criticised in the fifth and early fourth centuries were so accused.22 Kleomenes’ supposed failure of this kind, against Argos, we have already noted. His erstwhile rival, King Leotychidas, was deposed for having missed a splendid chance ‘to conquer all of Thessaly’ (Hdt. 6.72). Bribery was allegedly involved, as in the case of King Pleistoanax, exiled for not pursuing an advantage against Athens in 446. Archidamos, early in the Peloponnesian War, was criticised ‘above all’ for missing an opportunity to seize Athenian possessions (above, p. 232). Agesilaos during his Asiatic campaign was criticised by fellow-Spartans for allowing his enemy Tissaphernes time to build up forces (Xen. Ages. 1.13 and Powell 2020, 8–9). And, in 395, King Pausanias was condemned to death, and thus driven into exile, for having missed the right moment to join Lysandros on campaign, a failure deemed responsible for the latter’s death (Xen. Hell. 3.5.25).23 Thucydides’ references to a sustained set of criticisms directed against King Agis, for failings of this kind, are thus entirely consistent with what we hear, from various sources at different times, of Spartan political psychology.24 How and where these various reports originated is not, of course, entirely certain. But Sparta itself is the likeliest setting. The city might well prefer to keep much about itself hidden. But the exiling or death of a royal general could be detected by other Greeks; even the appearance of commissars around a suspect king might be noted by allies on campaign.25 Sparta would be required to issue a public explanation, one which blamed an individual, someone transient, rather than pointing to a systemic weakness, something longer-lasting; otherwise the latter might itself provide a kairos for outsiders or, in an English legal phrase, give ‘aid and comfort to an enemy’. To hide or misrepresent one’s own vulnerabilities was a predictable part of kairos-thinking, since systematic military opportunism was evidently a game which two could play. Even in this context of 418, with its numerous criticisms explicit and implicit, we have already seen elements of eulogy, or at least of defensiveness, concerning Sparta: her soldiers reacting to a crisis with keen application, and even King Agis giving orders in accordance with law-andcustom, κατὰ τόν νόμον. An almost identical expression occurs at 5.60.2, when the soldiers amid criticism of the king still follow his orders διὰ τὸν νόμον. Now, this idea of νόμος is one of the most advertised among ideals attributed to Sparta. Thucydides in his own voice wrote, as we have seen,

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? of Sparta’s centuries of εὐνομία. Perhaps the best-known statement about the force of Sparta’s law is the one attributed by Herodotos to the traitorking Damaratos who in 480 took part in the Persian invasion of Greece, and boldly informed Xerxes that Spartans feared the law much more even than the Great King’s subjects feared him (7.104.4–5; cf. Xen. Ages. 7.2–3). It seems highly unlikely that Damaratos’ words were reliably transmitted to loyalist Greeks across the lines in wartime, or afterwards once the disgraced ex-king had withdrawn to Asia. More probably they are of a piece with Herodotos’ eulogistic narrative of Sparta’s doomed men at Thermopylai: a memorable story was contrived at Sparta, in each case, to appease the memories of demonstrable disaster. Even Damaratos, for all his treason, demonstrated some key Spartan values, and Agis acted according to law. We have already noted points of convergence between Thucydides and Xenophon, in respect of praiseworthy aspects of Spartan military practice, even at moments of crisis. Thucydides describes highly disciplined ranks of Spartans marching slowly to battle at Mantineia, in time to the music of auloi. The purpose, he tells us, was to avoid losing collective rhythm, as large armies tended to do (5.70), thereby splitting the phalanx. These other large armies are, presumably, those of other states. The contrast, between Spartan professionalism at war and the performance of non-Spartans, we have already met in Xenophon. In his laudatory (and apologetic) Agesilaos (6.7), Xenophon described with enthusiastic emphasis how the soldiers of that king marched calmly to avoid all possibility of confusion or of panic. Here Xenophon’s word ‘calmly’ (ἡσύχως) recalls Thucydides’ ‘slowly’ (βραδέως), and Xenophon’s rare superlative term (ἀνεκπληκτότατον) closely resembles, indeed is linguistically cognate with, Thucydides’ claim that psychological disarray (ἐξεπλάγησαν) in the ranks was unique in the memory of Spartans. Thucydides draws a lengthy contrast between, on the one hand, the speeches made to encourage the troops by commanders of the forces of Mantineia, Argos and Athens, and, on the other, the procedure before battle on the Spartan side (5.69; compare the words of Brasidas at 5.9.10). For Spartans what counted was mutual encouragement in the ranks with their ‘warlike law-and-custom’, πολεμικοὶ ... νόμοι (5.69.2, unless the latter word is here to be translated as ‘songs’, as some scholars have suggested):26 ‘For they knew (εἰδότες) that long practice in advance gave far more protection than words of eloquent advice at the last minute (λόγων δι᾽ὀλίγου καλῶς ῥηθεῖσαν παραίνεσιν)’ (5.69.2). Here is a classic picture of Spartan contempt for wordiness (e.g. Hdt. 3.46; Thuc. 5.9.10). And Thucydides himself endorses it; by using the word εἰδότες, he seems to adopt Spartiate mentality. This may surprise. Andrewes noted drily (1970,

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Anton Powell ad loc.) of the historian’s phraseology: ‘It is interesting that this is, in form, Thucydides’ own comment’. Indeed, Thucydides was willing in this context to use several words and ideas (κόσμος, νόμος, action contrasted with mere words) suggestive of standard Spartan propaganda. A different system of reasoning points in the same direction: that is, to Thucydides’ repeated dependence here on Spartan sources. Statements about recent events of which only Spartans might know are combined with far-ranging claims about earlier Spartan history, such as we have already met. Who but Spartans would know Agis had communicated his strategic plan only to one man among the city’s military authorities (5.60.1)? Likewise, who would know that the anger among Spartans after the king’s failure against Argos was deeply untypical of their city (ὑπ’ ὀργῆς παρὰ τὸν τρόπον τὸν ἑαυτῶν, 5.63.2)? Or that the commissars assigned to control the king were a phenomenon unprecedented in Spartan history (νόμον...ὃς οὔπω πρότερον ἐγένετο αὐτοῖς; 5.63.4)? When, in this same period, news arrived that a strategically-placed Arcadian ally, Tegea, was on the point of revolting, Lakedaimonians and helots in full force (πανδημεί) marched out to deal with the situation ‘rapidly and against all precedent’ (βοήθεια...ὀξεῖα καὶ οἵα οὔπω πρότερον, 5.64.2); this once more implies a capacity for long retrospect which only Spartans might possess. (One textual critic, J. Classen, noted that this is the third occurrence in 18 lines of the phrase οὔπω πρότερον, ‘never previously’,27 and suggested that Thucydides had here failed to revise stylistically: Andrewes, 1970 ad loc. This may just be right but, if so, we should perhaps be grateful to have been left an obtrusive indication of the author’s Tendenz in matters of Spartan history.) At the battle of Mantineia, the left wing of the Lakedaimonian army was formed of the Skiritai (an elite band of northern Lacedaemonians), ‘the only ones who always held this position, on their own’ (αἰεὶ ταύτην τὴν τάξιν μόνοι Λακεδαιμονίων ἐπὶ σφῶν αὐτῶν ἔχοντες, 5.67.1). Here indeed is an extraordinary concentration of information about wide areas (‘always’, ‘never before’) of Sparta’s distant past which the historian could have understood to be reliable only if Laconians were the ultimate source of it. In the case of the psychological disarray among Spartans at Mantineia, this is all but certain; it was, we recall, ‘by far the worst that they [the Lakedaimonians] could remember’ (5.66.2). It is almost as if the historian is relishing a display of the rare access he possessed to ‘secretive’ Sparta and its history in the – according to him – dark age before the mid 430s. Unreliability of Thucydides’ informants about Sparta? Let us apply, briefly, one particular question to those Thucydidean statements about Sparta which seem at odds with his cautious remarks elsewhere

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? concerning general method. Do these anyway dubious claims seem to serve Sparta’s interest, and if so how? We shall proceed for the most part chronologically, but leave to last the historian’s grandest, overarching, assertions about the vast yet measurable antiquity of the Spartan constitution. For a community which apparently prided itself on its long, unbroken, political harmony, effectively to put to death the royal victor of Plataia was no small matter. The detail that Pausanias had taken sanctuary on holy ground evidently threatened profound stasis, as well as religious pollution which might itself serve as a potent argument for one faction in such conflict. Memories might not easily be appeased among the Agiads, the senior royal house to which Pausanias had belonged, as well as among the political clientèle which his career had no doubt generated. The elaborate story involving religious pollution, which Thucydides indeed uses to introduce the account of Pausanias’ fall, is likely to be an expression of resentment – or at least of fear of such resentment – within ruling circles at Sparta, concerning the way the former royal hero had been treated. (Pleistoanax, who became king some ten years after the regent’s death, was Pausanias’ son.) Thucydides records sustained irresolution among Spartans as to where to bury – or throw – Pausanias’ corpse, very likely reflecting movements of political opinion as to the dead man’s (de)merits. The provision by Sparta of two bronze statues in repayment to divinity for the living body, Pausanias’, which the authorities had removed from holy ground, was a gesture of internal pacification as well as of religious appeasement.28 The detail that Pausanias was alive, just, at the moment of his enforced removal might also raise a historian’s suspicion. It served, obviously, to counter fears that the shrine in question had been drastically polluted by killing, or at least by death, and that Sparta in general might suffer lastingly in consequence. The regent’s eventual grave, we are told, was in ground just outside (Gomme, ad loc.) the sacred temenos: ἐν τῷ προτεμενίσματι, and marked by inscribed stelai (plural, 1.134.4): Delphi, it was asserted, had instructed that Pausanias be buried where he died. Sparta thus went to unusual lengths to demonstrate visually, in perpetuity and with divine sanction, the limits to the pollution, ἄγος (1.134.4), that had been incurred.29 Not long afterwards, the Great Earthquake (as Thucydides calls it – a comparative phrase depending itself on local knowledge), with its devastating consequences, was seen by Spartans as divine punishment for their having killed helots removed from sanctuary (1.128.1). In contrast to the helots, with their lowly status, how much more might the fate of Pausanias be expected to concern the gods? He was a Heraklid, a descendant of Zeus in a line of kings, and blessed also with victory at Plataia.30

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Anton Powell Many partisans of Sparta might have an interest in making up the reassuring detail about the exact timing and place of Pausanias’ death, outside the sanctuary. But for Thucydides to believe it, he must have supposed that probably its ultimate source was direct observation by Spartans. Their interest in falsification was clear. The extraordinary degree of certainty implied by the evidence against the regent – the communications with the King of Persia, the autopsy of the lurking ephors – may also have been a function of intense official concern to head off lasting internal divisions. We recall a story about Lysandros, whose career in several ways forms a notable analogue to that of Pausanias. After his death in 395, Lysandros’ political rival, King Agesilaos, claimed to have discovered similarly dramatic documents in the deceased’s house, proving that he too had planned to subvert the Spartan constitution. The reported advice of a senior ephor on that occasion, that Agesilaos not pursue the matter so that Lysandros should not rise again, from the grave, may well be fictitious. But it reflects quite plausibly a sense of stasis to be avoided (Diod.Sic. 14.13, Plut. Lys. 24–26, 30; cf. Arist. Pol. 1301b, 1306b).31 Other dubious but graphic details about regent Pausanias, concerning the faces of the ephors who came to arrest him, helped to make a compelling and plausible story, to complete, to dramatise and thus help to preserve an official narrative for posterity. Such elaborate stories about eminent deaths at each extreme of virtue – for example, those of Leonidas or Pausanias, Sphodrias’ son (who enhanced the reputation of King Agesilaos’ son by fighting and dying nobly at Leuktra, Xen. Hell. 5.4.33) or Kinadon (tortured publicly and executed for supposedly plotting violent revolution, Xen. Hell. 3.3.11) – seem to have been something of a distinctively Spartan genre. Here, in didactic and contrasting modes, were the belle mort spartiate and its ugly opposite. These narratives stand out brightly, with their persuasive details, among the general darkness of Spartan history – as we have it. They acted as a polished instrument for the transmission of official morality.32 We have noted Thucydides’ claim that the Spartans in the aftermath of their defeat at Sphakteria (425), were previously without experience of brigandage (λῃστεία) and the kind of war that went with it (4.41.3) – meaning small-scale or guerrilla warfare rather than pitched battle between hoplite armies. He mentions this to explain Sparta’s alarm as former helots from the exiled Messenian community at Naupaktos saw their chance to exploit the new Athenian base at Sphakteria and Pylos to launch sea-borne plundering raids (ἐλῄζοντο) damaging to Laconia, which were provoking further defections of the helot population (4.41.2–3). It is here that the historian notes tellingly that the Spartans wished not to make clear to the Athenians the reasons for their alarm (4.41.3). Given the historian’s

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? acknowledgement of Sparta’s purposive secrecy, he might perhaps have doubted the associated claim – very likely from Spartan sources – that in the past such subversive brigandage on their own territory had been unknown. For, if it had been known – provoked by the helots’ degraded condition and perhaps even having given rise to institutionalised countermeasures in the form of the helot-killing, markedly unhoplitic, and (again) furtive institution of the Spartan krypteia (literally, ‘the hidden thing’) – to admit it to Athens would conceivably give that enemy aid and comfort. If the Athenians were to learn that brigandage conducted by helots was in fact a common problem for the Spartans, they would be presented with a kairos, through understanding that conditions were chronically favourable for the kind of insurgency which possession of Pylos and Sphakteria now allowed them to promote. And Thucydides’ own earlier narrative suggests a reason for suspecting that Sparta’s experience of guerrilla raids against their territory was indeed not new (4.9.1). When, before their victory at Sphakteria, the Athenians first made an improvised descent on the nearby headland of Pylos, they met two Messenian boats, on a mission of brigandage (λῃστρική). These boats, states Thucydides, ‘happened to be present’, in other words not by prior arrangement with the Athenians – something about which he might very well have had good information from colleagues in the Athenian high command. Interestingly, he further states that these Messenians came equipped with a useful quantity of hopla, hoplite equipment, which allowed forty of them to be enrolled as hoplites in the Athenian force. Evidently these Messenians had come prepared to withstand even a Spartan patrol in full armour. Who were they? Thucydides does not indicate that they were from Naupaktos. If they were from Sparta’s own territories, the historian might have had reason to suspect not only that small-scale domestic warfare, or brigandage, was indeed previously known to the Spartans, but even that it could take a menacingly well-developed form. In that case, Sparta might have very good reason to lie about it. Darker, in more than one sense, is the reported episode of the two thousand helots, promised freedom by Sparta for their distinguished service in war and then massacred as potentially the most capable leaders of some future uprising (4.80.3–4). Its very reality has been questioned by some scholars. If they are right, Thucydides was here deceived on a grand scale while trusting in the veracity of Spartans, who for him would probably be the only conceivable ultimate source for such an account.33 (Against the idea of a helotic source is the historian’s conviction that all the two thousand died; any information from helot sources is likely to have been fragmentary and thus harder to trust, whereas Thucydides’ account, as

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Anton Powell already noted, appears confidently synoptic: ‘no one knew ... each of them died’.) Those scholars who have disbelieved in the episode point,34 understandably, to the rare iniquity of the behaviour described and to the destructive effect of such a process on any residual trust between helots and masters – whereas Thucydides suggests in this connection that (shortly afterwards?) other helots were willing to enrol for military service away from home and under Spartan command (4.80.5). Such considerations seem far from decisive, however, in the light of the lucidly callous raison d’État recorded of Sparta in other connections. To Aristotle is attributed the report that every year the Spartan ephors ritually declared war on the helots in general, to legitimate any killing of them (ap. Plut. Lyk. 28). And (see below, p. 259), even Spartan citizens of influential family could be degraded en masse purely as a precaution. The principle of precaution, which Thucydides ascribes now to Sparta in respect of the helots, might be felt with particular acuteness given the governmental demoralisation and panic which the historian records following the shaming, startling – indeed ‘unprecedented’ (οἵα οὔπω ἐγεγένητο; cf. Sparta’s ‘unaccustomed’, παρὰ τὸ εἰωθός, creation now of a force of cavalry and archers, 4.55.2) – defeat and surrender of Spartans at Sphakteria (4.55; 79.3–80.4; 5.14.3), the context in which he places the episode of the two thousand murdered helots. For Thucydides, perhaps of even greater interest than the last moments of Pausanias (ἔμπνους, still breathing, when carried away from holy ground) was the death of his own former opponent in war, Brasidas, the general whose capture of Amphipolis had led to the historian’s exile. The detail that Brasidas too was ἔμπνους, when carried off the battlefield fatally wounded (422), played to Spartans’ moral sensibilities in a different way. In Brasidas’ case it was important for Sparta’s idea of his belle mort that, however fleetingly, he understood the result of the battle. In fact his crowning achievement was to have defeated his Athenian enemies, killing ‘about six hundred’ of them (5.11.2) including their commander (Kleon, vehemently hated, and very likely by Spartans as well as by Thucydides).35 Brasidas ‘understood that his men had won, and died shortly afterwards’ (5.10.11). The historian’s narrative showed Brasidas’ Spartan virtue in several ways. He had achieved something crucial in Spartan strategic thinking by identifying the best moment for attack (his kairos, Thucydides’ word here, 5.10.5, echoing Brasidas’ own words on this occasion: ‘what suits the present situation’, ἐκ τοῦ πρὸς τὸ παρόν ξυμφέροντος, 5.9.4). In good Spartan fashion, he had identified his moment by experienced interpretation of visual clues. Compare Gylippos at 7.3.3 (visual assessment) and 7.6.1 (kairos). Another closely-observed Spartan commander of the age,

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? Cheirisophos, leader of the ‘10,000’ in Asia, is recorded in Xenophon’s Anabasis as arguing explicitly from what could be seen, as a guide to action in the field, on four occasions, 3.4.39; 4.1.20; 4.6.7; 4.7.4; cf. 4.8.26 (Drakontios) and Hell. 3.2.18 (Derkylidas). Thucydides portrays, indeed claims to quote, Brasidas as inferring – evidently correctly – from the body language of his enemies at some distance that they would not stand and fight effectively (5.10.5). Again, this echoes other words attributed to Brasidas on the occasion: ‘spotting well such blunders made by the enemy’, τάς τοιαύτας ἁμαρτίας τῶν ἐναντίων κάλλιστα ἰδών, 5.9.4. Thucydides appears to be ramming home, by repetition, cherished Laconian principles of generalship. Hardly less important than the fact of victory itself was, for Spartans, the minimisation of casualties on the general’s own side. This Brasidas had achieved triumphantly, losing only a handful on his own side (seven men, reports Thucydides, 5.11.2). Brasidas’ final – almost tearless – victory, might be particularly appreciated coming so soon after Sparta’s heavy losses of citizens, dead or captured, at Sphakteria.36 Thucydides does not say so but, given that the vast majority of Brasidas’ men on this occasion were allies rather than citizens of Sparta, it is possible that he himself was the only Spartiate to fall. This narrative of multiple Laconian virtues, containing precise physical details only available to close eye-witnesses (the exact number of dead on Sparta’s side, and the state of the wounded general’s psychology at the end), points again to a source (direct or indirect) which Thucydides would have probably believed to be Spartan. Only Spartans were likely to have the combination of such access and the wish to present the story in quite such a way. Hornblower, in a long and illuminating study of how Thucydides presents Brasidas’ last campaigns, identifies a different set of noteworthy qualities in the narrative. He writes: After [4.101] Brasidas is never really off-stage [our italics]; indeed ... he is dominant for the next 45 chapters until his death at 5.10, with the exception of a couple of chapters ... There is nothing like this successful centrality of one individual anywhere else in Thucydides. (2004 [1996], 42–3)

On Thucydides’ detailing of Brasidas’ funeral rites, Hornblower here observes, It is unusual for Thucydides to dwell on the burial and funerary rites of any of his individual characters ... The closest parallel ... is the material about Pausanias at 1.134.4; but there is also Themistokles at 1.138.4, and Lichas at 8.84.5. Contrast the fullness of Xenophon on Agesipolis (Hell. 5.3.19) or Ephorus on Agesilaos (Diod. 15.93.6).

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Anton Powell He stresses the unusual amount of direct speech attributed to Brasidas in this context by Thucydides, but also the ‘powerful and unique religious treatment’ of Brasidas not only after his death but also in his lifetime, notably by people of Skione: ‘Such extravagant welcomes, by which living individuals were given star treatment for a brief moment, had a religious tinge. No other person in Thucydides is described with this sort of detail’ (2004 [1996], 49–50). Hornblower compares the focus in the Iliad on a series of heroes, each in his episode of majesty, his aristeia; in particular he suggests the Homeric Achilles as a model (2004 [1996], 43). He adds cautiously, ‘If I am right ... part of Thucydides’ aim is to present Brasidas as a man apart, a romantic loner’ (2004 [1996], 53–4). The possibility of Iliadic influence in the Brasidas episode as described by Hornblower may be complemented if we also see here the shadow of Spartan thinking. Classical Sparta itself was invested in Homer’s picture of a glorious past: Menelaos had been king of Sparta and, like his artfully dominant wife Helen, featured prominently in both Homeric epics. Validation by noble death was, as we have seen, a feature of Sparta’s political storytelling. It was distinctive of Sparta, in the classical period as in the late archaic, to view an exceptional and charismatic individual as θεῖος (σεῖος, in Laconian), touched by divinity (Plat. Meno 99d; Laws 626c – the Spartan character Megillos speaking; cf. Arist. NE 1145a). Laconian vase-painters of the sixth century showed winged daimones in attendance on noteworthy human beings (e.g. Pipili 1987, 54, 64; Powell 1998, 123– 8). Funeral honours more suitable for heroes than men were accorded to Spartan kings (Hdt. 6.58; Xen. Lak. Pol. 15.9; Hell. 3.3.1; Cartledge 1987, ch.16). The acclaim given to the living Brasidas, as Skionaians poured out of their city to escort him, recalls Herodotos’ report of the honorific despatch given to Themistokles when he was still in Sparta’s good graces: he was given the finest chariot in Sparta, then the pick of Sparta’s young men, the hippeis, escorted him as far as the state’s northern border. Herodotos wrote, ‘He was, so far as we know, the only man ever (μοῦνον δή) to receive such a send-off from the Spartans’ (8.124.2–3). Here too was star treatment. However, topical Spartan concerns of the late 420s may show through also. The memory of Sparta’s military humiliation, mass surrender, at Sphakteria called for exorcism. As we have seen, from Sphakteria in 425 until the victory at Mantineia seven years later, Greeks generally suspected that Spartan hoplites had ‘gone soft’. The exemplary military skill and courage of Brasidas, when suitably enshrined in story, might be designed to take the edge off such damaging thoughts. The similarly-adorned picture of Leonidas and his Spartiate soldiers, calmly combing their hair in the face

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? of death, bristling with arms, and immortalized by epigram, had itself very likely been contrived at Sparta some 60 years earlier to palliate raw memories among Greeks of what had in reality been military annihilation at Thermopylai. The story might be remembered at Sparta as a narrative which had succeeded mightily in retrieving Sparta’s authority in the nervous months before the battle of Plataia. Indeed, the tale of Thermopylai might be all the more often recalled at Sparta from 425, because it was its very efficacity in establishing the idea of Spartan hoplites who would never surrender which had been undermined by events on Sphakteria. Perhaps now was exactly the time for a a counter-narrative of death, one that looked – at first sight – as an inspiration more étatique than deaths of flawed, isolated protagonists in Athenian tragedy. Brasidas’ final triumph at Amphipolis, as told by Thucydides, addressed memories of Sphakteria in a further way. A strategic architect of Athens’ victory on that island had been Kleon, whereas Brasidas’ brave performance there had ended in diminuendo, in his fainting from wounds (4.12.1). But now Brasidas could be hailed, albeit posthumously, as finally triumphant. The ignominy of Kleon’s death, a hoplite running away and killed by a mere peltast, pointed a satisfying moral, and again not just for his (in all probability) personal enemy Thucydides. (Interestingly, we are not told anything here about who killed Brasidas, or how.) The historian’s account of the morally-contrasting deaths of Brasidas and Kleon fitted the Spartan formula of the symbolically good and bad death of, respectively, the good and bad warrior. In a sense which corresponded with but went beyond symbolism, the contrasting manner of the two men’s deaths partially reversed the result of Sphakteria, and contributed – with later events – to re-establishing the mystique of Thermopylai. There was, however, on Spartan values, a possible flaw in the manner of Brasidas’ death. Its very economy, one casualty among so few on his side, might suggest – to those at a distance – that the commander had exposed himself, and thus Sparta’s interest, to unnecessary danger. For such a suspicion there would be support, and not just in the sense that some influential Spartans were anyway jealous of him, and thus open to negative prejudice in the matter. At Pylos in 425 Brasidas’ collapsing from ‘many’ wounds was the result of his spectacular boldness in attempting to lead an opposed landing, ordering that boats including his own be smashed on the rocks in the process (4.11.4–12.1). In this episode, though not overall commander (cf. 4.11.2), he made himself ‘the most conspicuous of all’, πάντων φανερώτατος. In short, he had in two separate military actions apparently made himself a target. Now, Sparta had views about selfsacrificing glory-seekers. Aristodamos, who had boldly attracted enemy

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Anton Powell missiles at Plataia in 479, though eulogised by Herodotos and described as having restored his lost reputation, was denied any of the special posthumous honours accorded by the Spartans to their valiant dead, on the grounds that he had actually ‘wanted to die’ (9.71.4). A century later, the Spartan commander Phoibidas died fighting, alongside only ‘two or three’ others (Xen. Hell. 5.4.45); shortly before, Xenophon had noted censoriously that this Phoibidas was ‘far more in love with the idea of doing something outstanding than of staying alive; but he was no calculator, and didn’t even seem to be particularly bright’ (Hell. 5.2.28). Xenophon, himself a commander of a force operating in Sparta’s interest, criticised those of his troops who advanced further than was suitable in the circumstances (καὶ προσωτέρω τοῦ καιροῦ προϊόντες), and uses a special term for such recklessness: ‘playing the man’ (ἀνδρίζεσθαι, Anab. 4.3.34). Elsewhere he has his mythical Persian ruler Kyros, a figure largely calqued on Sparta, insist: a soldier should embrace toil (ἐθελόπονος) and danger (ἐθελοκίνδυνος) but with εὐταξία. He should stay in correct position, Kyr. Paid. 2.1.22. At Amphipolis, had Brasidas perhaps failed to do so? Thucydides’ account of Brasidas’ last battle effectively de-mines this potential problem. Beginning his last long speech, before battle, Brasidas shows himself properly conscious of the fact that Peloponnesians do not normally need long speeches in such a situation; he defends himself by stating that there are special circumstances to explain (5.9.1–2). At the end of his speech, he effectively apologises again for any wordiness on his part: ‘You must fight without μαλακία [a noteworthy term in the years after Sphakteria] ... and I will show that I’m not just good for giving advice to the next man but am at least as able to advance into real action (ἔργον, 5.9.10). His peroration, then, asserts a famous Spartan ideal, the preference for deeds over words. He has put himself under pressure to make a personal display of courage, and he has done so in the Spartan interest. Thucydides’ reporting here is readily compatible with a narrative of Spartan origin, which might have aimed to head off possible criticism of Brasidas from within Sparta itself; he died not as a glory-seeker but as a martyr to the cause of Spartan formulae of life: brachylogy and action. As noted above, Hornblower tellingly describes Brasidas as seldom ‘offstage’ in a long narrative of Thucydides. Tragic drama at Athens in its early years sometimes concerned itself with contemporary warfare, as witness Aischylos’ Persians and Phrynichos’ ill-received play about the Capture of Miletos. Although in the Athenian tragedy of the later fifth century (as we have it) references to contemporary war and politics tended to be implicit, they were at times unmistakably present even if only as ambivalent echoes (e.g. Hall 2018). Classical Sparta might have no such written or staged

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? drama, and might shun the Athenians’ taste, clear from their tragic art, for moral ambiguity and questioning. Subtlety of that kind might divide a small society, permanently beleaguered from within both by resentful underclasses and by an aristocracy pregnant with faction. But in its storytelling about moral extremes and suitable deaths, Sparta seems to have had a welldeveloped genre of its own, and one which repeatedly influenced Thucydides. We should note that of the five historical figures whom Hornblower identifies as, in different degrees, analogous to Brasidas in the way their burials or funerary rites are mentioned by various Greek historical writers, four are Spartans: Pausanias, Lichas, Agesipolis and Agesilaos. And the only exception, the case of Themistokles, is itself mentioned by Thucydides as part of a tale generated by the bad end of a Spartan life, that of Pausanias. Athenian writings and Spartan oral literature may have had more in common than is usually realised. And, as is the way with contact between cultures, the one may have at times taken on colours of the other. Thucydides may very well have meant to show his Brasidas as a man apart, an untypical Spartan (as he says explicitly in respect of his rhetorical skill, 4.84.2). But we may suspect that in the original form of the Spartan tale which the historian seems to have been employing, Brasidas was conceived not so much as a romantic loner as a soldier embodying to a high degree qualities which his collective of fellow citizens was supposed to share. A story of this kind might indeed possess something of the therapeutic quality of Athenian tragedy. Classic tragedy, as Aristotle observed (Poetics xiii), should not deal with completely villainous protagonists getting their just deserts. The satisfaction of observing the staged downfall of morallymixed great personages might flow rather from the perceived needs of the democratic community; the characteristic hybris of grandees was, in its contemporary forms, seen as an especially dangerous solvent of a community aspiring to equality of manners – as witness the fierceness of Athenian law against it (e.g. Ar. Wasps 1417–20). In the case of Spartan story, the engaging combination of pity and satisfaction might arise from a different, but corresponding, tension: it was not a flaw but virtue itself which had engendered a great soldier’s death. However, the compensation for this painful thought was once more the gain made by society, in having advertised, not least to itself, that the military courage needed for Sparta’s survival still lived. Finally on the defensive nature of our set of dubious claims from Spartans about their own past, there is the statement by the historian that Sparta’s stasis-free constitution was ‘slightly more than four hundred years old, approximately’. Even if the famous revolution into austerity took place as late as the end of the Archaic period, it is conceivable that few if any of

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Anton Powell Thucydides’ Spartan contemporaries, his best potential sources, believed this. We recall the reported words of King Archidamos on the eve of the Peloponnesian War, that Spartans are not so educated as to be able to criticise their own constitution (1.84.3). Uncritical temperament was, as often in modern political history, very likely fostered by simple suppression of information about the past.37 It has been well observed, by Vincent Azoulay, that in his Constitution of the Lakedaimonians Xenophon ‘was methodically trying to do away with chronology’ (2018, 272). And yet, for Xenophon’s argument there, evidence of the antiquity, and thus stability, of ‘Lykourgan’ arrangements would have been at a premium – had such evidence been available.38 Thucydides, as we have seen, knew that the Spartan authorities at moments in his own lifetime were fearful of revolution. He records that when, in 421, Athens released the (exactly) 120 Spartiate prisoners taken at Sphakteria, those men on their return were deprived (albeit temporarily) of some of their civic rights, because the Spartan authorities feared that they would anticipate loss of status and in consequence seek to foment revolutionary change (5.34.2). Thucydides might also reckon that, on similar logic, this formal degradation would itself produce even greater, enduring, political resentment in the former prisoners, many of whom belonged to some of Sparta’s most influential families. Indeed, Sparta’s authorities themselves must surely have been aware of the possibility that in formally degrading these well-connected warriors they were, constitutionally speaking, sowing dragons’ teeth. If that reasonable fear was set aside, we may understand how forceful must have been the parallel fear which actually prevailed, of revolutionary sentiment in the ex-PoWs. In short, in this matter, too, the historian might well see the interest Sparta had in portraying, through grand exaggeration, its political traditions as unshakable in their antiquity. The supposed plots of Kinadon and Lysandros, already noticed,39 may have been ‘discovered’ shortly after the historian’s death. But that their existence was even alleged, and thus expected to be plausible, by King Agesilaos is evidence again of Sparta’s possible interest in asserting the high antiquity of its constitution. Spartan (hi)story-telling: Thucydides compared with other authors Can similar patterns of presenting the Spartan past be found in other Greek authors? Xenophon, as we have seen, in his Constitution of the Lakedaimonians achieves an impression of Sparta unchanging from remote antiquity until his own time, by shying away from numerical dates. In his Hellenika he reports a claim about Spartan history which may now appear familiar in a rather different way. Concerning the acquittal of Sphodrias by a Spartan court on the charge of having attempted to seize Peiraieus (in 378) contrary

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? to sworn treaty, Xenophon writes: ‘Many thought that this was definitely the most unjust decision ever given by a Spartan court’ (5.4.24). He presumably meant ‘many’ to refer to Spartans above all, if not exclusively. Who else would think themselves exhaustively informed about the history of justice in secretive Sparta? And this dubiously reliable Spartan opinion, as reported, resembles in its probable motivation numerous claims about Spartan history which we have seen in Thucydides. The raid on Peiraieus, and the subsequent acquittal of its leader, were a diplomatic disaster for Sparta, triggering – or consolidating – Athens’ anti-Spartan alliance with Thebes and the founding of the Athenian Second League.40 One hopedfor effect of Xenophon’s report might be, as with Thucydides’ accounts of unprecedented Spartan failures, to persuade other Greek states, as follows: ‘Don’t think that this unfortunate event is typical of Sparta; history shows that it is unlikely to recur’. Similarly recognisable now is a statement in Plutarch’s (c. 100 CE) Agesilaos. A number of Spartans were put to death in 370/69 on the orders of that king. They had evidently tried to exploit the kairos created by the Theban-led invasion of Laconia to procure drastic change to Sparta’s constitution – very likely involving the overthrow of the notoriously antiTheban Agesilaos. Plutarch writes here, ‘Previously no Spartiate had ever been condemned to death without a regular trial’ (Ages. 32, with Cartledge 1987, 164). This recalls the similarly sweeping claim made by Thucydides in his Pausanias narrative, about the meticulous care taken by Spartan judges over cases involving capital punishment. It is possible, of course, that Plutarch himself has misremembered, or misapplied, Thucydides’ words; the biographer’s enthusiasm for the ‘Lykourgan’ system, and for the (self-)restraint, πρᾳότης, which it allegedly involved in matters of killing, is clear in his Life of the lawgiver (Lyk. 28). But it is also eminently possible that this claim about 370/69 was of Laconian origin, one more example of a formulaic approach existing in Spartan society towards presenting moments of unconcealable crisis. However, a more telling set of analogies with Thucydides’ approach may be offered by Herodotos. He, like Thucydides, had spent time with Peloponnesians. Indeed, unlike Thucydides he reports having visited Sparta itself and having learned there about its history. He claims to have spoken with one well-connected Spartiate, Archias, grandson of the Archias who had died heroically at the siege of Samos in 525 (Hdt. 3.55). Herodotos’ statement that he had heard the names of every one of the 300 Spartiates at Thermopylai (7.224.1) suggests that he was exposed to Laconian moralising about la belle mort. At the corresponding extreme, he reports detail of what ‘the Spartans say’ and what ‘the Spartans think’ about

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Anton Powell the decline, lunacy and ugly death of King Kleomenes. Describing the latter’s abuse of neat alcohol allegedly through Skythian influence, he even claims to report Spartan verbal idiom on the subject: Ἐπισκύθισον, ‘Pour it in like a Skyth’ (6.84; 74–5).41 Herodotos’ account of the corruption and fall of King Leotychidas involves graphic scene-setting which might help to convince sceptics, as in the tale about Pausanias’ end. Leotychidas, who failed to exploit his opportunity to overthrow the medising aristocrats of Thessaly, was caught sitting on a Persian-style sleeve stuffed with silver (6.72). Much of Herodotos’ work is structured around extremes and exceptions, concerning various cultures. Examples are almost innumerable: for example, no one, ‘so far as we know’, lives beyond the land of the Androphagoi (4.18); the grass of Skythia is the worst for cattle, ‘of all the grass we know’ (4.58); the Athenians claim to be the only Greeks who are autochthonous (7.161); Kallias was the only Athenian willing to buy the property of the exiled Peisistratos (6.121.2). It is hardly misleading to say that one main purpose of Herodotos was to produce a ‘Halicarnassian Book of Records’. But Sparta’s sense of history seems to have suited this purpose exceptionally well. Herodotos was evidently tempted by claims about the Spartan past which involved the concept of ‘(almost) never’ and its corollary ‘(almost) always’. Revealing may be a study of Herodotos’ uses, of words from the root μον- (μουν- in his Ionic), ‘only’, in identifying events or phenomena which were supposedly unique. He employs such words widely, of various cultures and periods. But they cluster significantly on three subjects. One is the history of his own area of origin, eastern Greece, unsurprisingly; to say that such-and-such was (almost) unique is helped by a degree of confidence in one’s own local knowledge. And Herodotos, like his contemporary Thucydides, had a lively sense of his own cognitive limits; he used the phrase (τῶν) ἡμεῖς ἴδμεν, ‘(as far) as we know’, some 37 times.42 A second area in which Herodotos boldly and repeatedly writes of unique phenomena is Egypt. The third area is Sparta which, for Herodotos, shared certain rare qualities with Egypt (2.80.1; cf. 2.167.2). Concerning each of these two cultures he advertises that he has spoken with native sources, Egyptian and Spartan respectively (on Egypt, 2.19.3; on Sparta: 3.55.2). How, concerning Sparta, does he deploy forms of the word μουν-? Writing of the reign of the dyarchs Leon and Agasikles (early-to-mid sixth century), Herodotos states that Sparta then won all its wars except only for that against the Tegeates (μούνους, 1.65.1). Of the Spartiates who accompanied Dorieus to the West as would-be oikists, only (μοῦνος) Euryleon survived defeat in battle against Phoenicians and Egestaians (5.46.1). After the defeat of Xerxes’ invasion Themistokles, as we recall,

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? was escorted by Sparta’s 300 elite hippeis; ‘He was, so far as we know, the only man ever (μοῦνον δή) to receive such a send-off from the Spartans’ (8.124.3). Sparta’s ‘kings have sole (μούνους) jurisdiction only (μοῦνα) in the following kinds of case’ (6.57.4). ‘Out of absolutely all (πάντων δή) of Sparta’s kings only (μοῦνος)’ Damaratos won the four-horse chariot race at Olympia (6.70.3). The seer Teisamenos of Elis, and his brother, ‘were of all men absolutely the only ones (μοῦνοι ... δὴ πάντων ἀνθρώπων) ever to be granted Spartan citizenship’ (9.35.1). At the battle of Plataia, the bravely disobedient Spartan Amompharetos was the only one (μοῦνον) of the Spartans and Tegeans to be left isolated (9.54.1). Other expressions in Herodotos of extremes, of uniqueness, or of sweeping generalisation concerning Sparta are the following: the Minyans (figures of Spartan prehistory), after being admitted to Spartan citizenship (4.145.5),43 gave offence and so were to be put to death – at night, because ‘the Lakedaimonians put the condemned to death by night; no one is executed during the day’ (4.146.2). Sparta’s naval expedition against Polykrates of Samos was the first which the Dorian Lakedaimonians ever sent against Asia (3.56.2).44 Herodotos also records but rejects the story, learned ‘from Peloponnesians’, that the non-Greek wise man Anacharsis had reported of his investigative journey in Greece that all Greeks were neglectful of wisdom apart from Spartans; they alone could utter and accept sensible conversation (4.77). On the eve of the battle of Plataia came the death, through a Persian arrow, of the Spartan Kallikrates who was, of the men who joined this campaign, the finest(-looking) not only of the Spartans but of all the Greeks (9.72). He died a painful death, but expressed a noble sentiment (to a Plataian, whose name is given): he was only sorry that he had left behind him no martial deed worthy of his own enthusiasm. Even in this brief and necessarily preliminary45 review of Herodotean reports about Sparta, there is much to recall Thucydides. Herodotos’ sweeping claims to knowledge extend into the remote past: the Minyans; (no) naval expeditions to Asia; only one failed war during the kingship of Leon and Agasikles; no royal victories for 4-horse chariot at Olympia except that of Damaratos. Herodotos’ assertions involve details of internal affairs, some of which might well have been learned over the years by outsiders but which probably none but Spartans would seem able to know exhaustively: no outsiders admitted to citizenship, ever, except Teisamenos and his brother; executions only at night; the double (μούνους...μοῦνα) claim to exhaustive precision about legal cases handled by Sparta’s kings. As by Thucydides, the emphatic δή is used repeatedly by Herodotos to assert the reliability of ambitious claims to knowledge, which might perhaps

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Anton Powell otherwise be doubted. Moralising tales about death represent the dying words of Spartan individuals (Kallikrates;46 the edifying details about Leonidas and his men at Thermopylai form a case which, however promising, is too large to be examined here). As with Thucydides, a good proportion of Herodotos’ fragile-looking assertions about Spartan history seem to correspond with, and seek to palliate, possible vulnerabilities of Sparta. Thus the assertion about citizenship addressed the delicate question of how ‘similar’ – literally ‘same-ish’ – really were the so-called ὁμοῖοι. This evidently idealising title, applied to all Spartan citizen men in good standing, is itself evidence of Spartan sensibility on the subject. And the supposed exclusivity of Spartan citizenship was challenged, by Herodotos himself (on the Minyans, above) as well as by others (Arist. Pol. 1270a). The claim about no lost wars – except one, against Tegea – in the time of Leon and Agasikles seeks to distract, if only from the suspicion that there may have been others. The humiliating circumstances in which the Spartans had lost to Tegea, their own men bound in the fetters which they themselves had brought to drag off their expected Tegean captives (1.66.3–4), might well have called for some special apologia. (‘Don’t think we normally lose this badly’.) Even the seemingly unique honour accorded by Sparta to Themistokles may conceivably have been emphasised as a means of apologising for Sparta’s misplaced trust in his loyalty, and of justifying the eventual persecution of him: (again, in modern terms) ‘Look how we honoured him, and look how he repaid our trust! He deserved all he got’. As for the report of Kallikrates’ unique beauty: on the eve of a hugely menacing battle was anyone really minded to review systematically the finest-looking soldiers in every allied contingent before arriving at the conclusion that the Spartan soldier looked best? Rather, what we have in Herodotos seems a clear case of proud Spartan exceptionalism, converted – in the Lykourgan manner47– from aristocratic hedonism into moral uplift by being presented as a variation on the theme of the beautiful death.48 However, perhaps the most striking convergence of all, between the respective suspect claims of Thucydides and Herodotos about Sparta’s past, concerns the claim about the arrival at Sparta of constitutional stability, εὐνομία. Thucydides supplies a fairly precise indication of time, as we have seen (‘slightly more than 400 years, approximately’); Herodotos does not, even though in juxtaposing his own report with information on late archaic Sparta he may have implied that the change came not long before the reigns of Leon and Agasikles (1.65.1–2). However, the two historians use very similar and extreme terms about Sparta’s preceding period of instability. From Thucydides we read,

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? ἡ γὰρ Λακεδαίμων μετὰ τὴν κτίσιν τῶν νῦν ἐνοικούντων αὐτὴν Δωριῶν ἐπὶ πλεῖστον ὧν ἴσμεν χρόνον στασιάσασα ὅμως ἐκ παλαιτάτου καὶ ηὐνομήθη καὶ αἰεὶ ἀτυράννευτος ἦν· ἔτη γάρ ἐστι μάλιστα τετρακόσια καὶ ὀλίγῳ πλείω ...

(1.18.1). For Lakedaimon, after its settlement by the Dorians who now inhabit it, and having been afflicted by stasis for the longest period we know of, was nevertheless at a very early date made law-abiding, and never had a tyrant. For it is slightly more than 400 years approximately....

And from Herodotos,

τὸ δὲ ἔτι πρότερον τούτων καί κακονομώτατοι ἦσαν σχεδὸν πάντων Ἑλλήνων κατά τε σφέας αὐτοὺς καὶ ξείνοισι ἀπρόσμικτοι· μετέβαλον δὲ ὧδε ἐς εὐνομίην. Λυκούργου ... (1.65.2)

And even before this they were the most lawless of almost all the Greeks, both towards each other and in their rejection of foreigners. And they changed to law-abidingness as follows: When Lykourgos ...

Thucydides’ reference to extreme stasis represents this internal turbulence as unsurpassed in its duration by any other city, so far as he knows – until the arrival of εὐνομία. For Herodotos, Spartan lawlessness was, rather than unsurpassed in duration, unsurpassed in some unspecified respect (in duration, openness, deadliness or some other way?) by almost any other Greek community. These are, at most, fine distinctions. They may even be ‘distinctions without a difference’, in that Thucydides may have used his superlative while understanding that some other turbulent state(s) equalled but did not surpass Sparta in the duration of their stasis, while Herodotos may have written his ‘almost all’ because he understood that a few other states equalled but did not surpass Sparta in the degree of their stasis, while (as just noted) the form of degree he had in mind may have concerned – as in Thucydides – duration. What these two near-parallel notices have in common is far more significant. They are both, ultimately, to the glory of Sparta. Both indicated that the Spartan constitution, as it existed in the last decades of the fifth century, was of great antiquity – and thus could be expected to endure also into a distant future. We have already seen that this was something which influential Spartans themselves did not take for granted – and so might be happy to hear asserted. Thucydides was aware (witness his phrase, ‘as far as we know’), as very likely was Herodotos whose characteristic phrase that was, of the shakiness, or sheer impossibility, of knowing every case of stasis in the Greek world as implied in their comparison with the stasis of Sparta. The scope of Thucydides’ comparison strictly would need to go back much further even than his c. 400+ years, since for him Sparta’s own

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Anton Powell protracted lawlessness had ended around that ‘date’. Rather, we seem to have in the two near-parallel records a claim recalling that about the beauty of Kallikrates: it arose almost certainly from Spartan patriotism and was expected to be taken seriously, rather than found ridiculous, because of Sparta’s general reputation. Behind le mirage spartiate lay what might be called la mystique spartiate. It may perhaps seem that a grand claim about extreme stasis in the early days of their own state would be a strange one for Spartans to make, especially if, as we have argued, they were in fact worried that stasis might soon recur. But this might be to misunderstand the mechanisms of political control in Laconia. Evidently Spartan thought dealt in extremes. Stories of death emphasised the extremes of virtue – and of wickedness. Competitions in virtue, as for appointment to the body of hippeis, involved publication of the criteria on which individuals had been selected – and rejected (Xen. Lak. Pol. 4.3). It was similar with the opposite case of those who had failed in war, the tresantes. It might accordingly make very good sense to keep before the minds of any Spartans who might be tempted by revolution the fear that their state might thereby be transformed from the best to the worst. Publicising failure – in some circumstances – was a characteristic of Sparta. Spartans, in the late third century BC if not earlier, had a shrine to Fear, Phobos, an entity honoured – so Plutarch explains (Kleom. 9.1–2, cf. 8.3) – for its preeminent (μάλιστα) role in preserving the city’s constitution. A tendency to exaggerate, for wholly positive purposes, the possibility of ignominious failure may explain a puzzling claim which we identified above in Thucydides’ account of 418. He writes, we recall, of Sparta’s army having proved far less experienced than that of the coalition which it faced; only their courage enabled the Spartans to win. Scholars have been tempted to explain this unexpected statement as intended to refer to the performance of the commander, King Agis, rather than to that of his men. But not only does this involve an awkward translation of Thucydides’ Greek; it is also the case that elsewhere in this general context the king’s alleged incompetence, rather than that of his men, is not left implicit but is the subject of clear and narrow focus. We may, then, have here a case of deliberate exaggeration from a Spartan source, made – not unintelligently – to eradicate complacency in the hoplite body by instilling a degree of fear. Even the tresantes, those who had been crippled by fear in battle, might be reformed by their experience. We should note that this Greek term, a distinctively Spartan institution, is in the aorist, not the present, tense. The common modern translation, ‘tremblers’, may therefore mislead; the condition was not seen as necessarily permanent. The unfortunate

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? ‘Aristodemos (ὁ τρέσας), humiliated for having avoided death at Thermopylai, ‘expunged all the opprobrium heaped on him’ (Hdt. 7.231) by his defiance of death a year later. He was, at the Battle of Plataia, not only allowed to rejoin the Spartan phalanx but quite likely, given his recorded action, its front ranks (9.71.2–3). Sparta knew how to deploy moral fear (of being treated as τρέσας, or as being accused – even collectively – of being more inexperienced than the enemy?) as a discipline to overcome physical fear. If we suspect that Spartans tended, at chosen moments, to exaggerate their own defects for purposes of loyal manipulation, it may be possible to understand better the striking chapter (14) near the end of Xenophon’s Constitution of the Lakedaimonians. In that chapter the author has usually been thought in modern times to go violently into reverse. Having eulogised in all previous chapters the achievements and the durability of the ‘Lykourgan’ system, he now announces (14.1, 7), ‘If anyone were to ask me if I still think that Lykourgos’ laws survive intact today, by Zeus I could no longer confidently claim so.... It is clear that [the Spartans] no longer obey god or the laws of Lykourgos’. And he launches into a severely critical list of contemporary Spartan failings, which has seemed to undermine inexplicably his earlier chapters. However, if Xenophon knew that it was acceptable among Spartans, at dark moments, to issue fierce and exaggerated criticism against the community’s own cherished citizens, he may have understood that such negativity was entirely compatible with, sometimes indeed required by, loyalty to Sparta’s interests.49 Thucydides’ personal position as a historian of Spartan affairs The subject of Sparta engaged two noteworthy and general aspects of Thucydides’ personality. He was exercised by correcting false ideas of his contemporaries, and not least about Sparta: of his three chosen specimens of error in popular historical belief (1.20), two concern Sparta (the Pitanate lochos, which he asserts never existed, ὃς οὐδ᾽ ἐγένετο πώποτε, another implicit claim to deep historical knowledge of Sparta, and the voting rights of Spartan kings) and one concerns Athens (the status of Hipparchos, assassinated brother of the tyrant Hippias). More importantly, he states that his chief aim in writing involved helping his readers to know about the future: ‘it will be enough if they [his writings] are judged useful by whoever will want to see the truth both (τε) about the past and (καί) about future events which will be similar, or fairly similar, in accordance with human nature’ (1.22.4). Again, certain things ‘have happened and always will happen, so long as human nature remains the same, though in varying degrees of severity and in various forms’ (3.82.2). Formally, it should be noted, Thucydides’ words

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Anton Powell quoted in the last two sentences are predictions, lacking in detail but sweeping in extent. Gomme (ad 1.22.4) may well be right to stress that Thucydides’ words on seeing the truth about future events may apply to events which would happen after Thucydides’ chosen period, but which people later might themselves view retrospectively. But it seems pedantic to interpret Thucydides’ words here so as to exclude straightforward prediction, something which the historian’s view of stable human nature encouraged, and which was – given the level of physical insecurity in the Greek world – likely to be at least as preoccupying in his day as it is in our own. When Thucydides makes his unique eulogy of the intellect of an individual, Themistokles, he emphasises – by repetition – especially the latter’s ability to predict (1.138.3). One may compare that genre of historical reporting and analysis on which modern societies confer most resources and interest: journalism in news media. Critics of the genre often point to its very limited horizons of the past, commonly restricted to the previous few days.50 Less often noticed is how far this supremely privileged history-writing of our own day is intended, and valued, as prediction. A special language of futurity has evolved, tailored to modern media headlines: ‘President to act’; ‘Prime Minister faces row...’; ‘Hurricane looms’; ‘Virus: new fears’. The importance for Thucydides of the predictive purpose in his work, and of the secular method to be used for prediction, may be indirectly demonstrated by his attitude towards religious diviners (and their followers) of his day, who sought to instruct the public about the future of war and politics. He is arguably even more exercised by the inadequacies of these prophets than he is contemptuous of ‘the many’ (οἱ πολλοί) who accept uncritically what they are told about history (1.23.4). He suggests on occasion that diviners could have decisive political importance, most notably at 8.1.1, referring to prophets ‘who had made them (the Athenians) hope to capture Sicily’ and at 7.50.4, on religious interpretation of a lunar eclipse, which fatally persuaded the Athenian force to remain in Sicily – thereby arguably determining the outcome of the Peloponnesian War.51 But he treats such religious prophets with negative passion, to the point of self-contradiction in his emphatic claim that they only ever got one thing right for certain (μόνον δή, 5.26.3, with 2.17.2 and Powell 1979b). He refuses all extensive treatment of their identity and activities. This censorious and somewhat tormented attitude in the historian (on which see further Hornblower 1992) may be explained by an exasperated sense that these religious prophets were, in a cherished aspect of his activity, competitors of his. As a pioneer of strictly secular guidance on prediction Thucydides had good reason to feel insecure about the reception of his work. Even his

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? contemporary Herodotos frequently adopted a religious interpretation of events, and at one point seems to have given an explicit defence of oracular divination (Hdt. 8.77). These two overlapping interests of Thucydides, to correct popular errors in general and to promote a secular method of prediction, are likely to have been engaged to an unusual degree by the subject of Sparta. The Spartans and their power had been crucially important in Greek affairs since the late sixth century. But Laconia was for most Greeks not easy of access. Sparta remained a subject of mystery, as witness its contemporary reputation for falsification and secrecy, attested by Herodotos (e.g. 9.54.1) and by Thucydides as well as by Athenian public opinion (e.g. ‘Perikles’ at Thuc. 2.39.1 and Ar. Peace 1067f.; cf. Bradford 1994). That mystery became, at the end of the fifth century, all the more important to penetrate as Sparta emerged, or rather ‘re-emerged’, as the sole superpower of Hellas. Understanding, in the hope of predicting, Sparta became for Athenians in Thucydides’ lifetime a matter of life and death for their community, as the conqueror Lysandros bluntly reminded an Athenian assembly after the city’s surrender (ὑμῖν ἔσται ... περὶ σωτηρίας, Lysias 12.71–4). Comparable is the growth, in the 20th century West, of interest in the Soviet Union, itself a self-isolating state. Tellingly, the most famous phrase on the subject concerns prediction, and was itself made at a frightening moment: Churchill’s words were, ‘I cannot forecast to you the action of Russia. It is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma’ (BBC, 1 Oct. 1939 – two weeks after Russia’s invasion of eastern Poland). Information helpful for predicting Sparta was similarly, for Thucydides’ intended first audience, at a premium. Thucydides in his Second Preface (5.26.5) asserts his credentials, that is his unusual suitability, for writing a history of the (his) Peloponnesian War, as one who had been present with both sides. But his statement here about spending most of the war with the Peloponnesians should not be assimilated to a modern scholarly claim to detachment or objectivity. Thucydides is here asserting his special access to contemporary affairs; he here twice uses a word meaning his personal perception (αἰσθανόμενος, αἰσθέσθαι). His long exile, he writes, gave him rather more (τι αὐτῶν μᾶλλον) opportunity to learn about ‘them’. But what, or who, is referred to by ‘them’ (αὐτῶν)? Earlier in his sentence comes his reference to time spent ‘among the affairs of both sides’ (παρ’ ἀμφοτέροις τοῖς πράγμασι). But the clause containing the word αὐτῶν follows immediately the reference to his exile among the Peloponnesians, and the genitive plural form of αὐτῶν finds its nearest echo in the genitive plural form, used here, of Πελοποννησίων (‘Peloponnesians’) seven words earlier.52 It may well be, then, that the

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Anton Powell author, while making his claim to knowledge of both sides, was emphasising slightly more his access to information about the Peloponnesians. If this was the case, we might have the same nuance, privileging information about Sparta, here in the Second Preface as we have seen in the First, where two of the three specimen errors of popular history concerned Sparta rather than Athens. In his own day, a claim by Thucydides to special knowledge of Sparta would have had great force; sustained personal access to the enemy Peloponnesian powers was presumably rare for an Athenian closely connected with his city’s ruling, and most literate, class. What were the chances that Thucydides, as a former general of Athens, would be given sensitive information in good faith from the Spartan side? The question may be clarified slightly by the case of another Athenian commander, who, in exile at the period, went to ‘the Peloponnesians’. Alkibiades went to Sparta in 415/4, ‘on the Spartans’ own invitation’ (6.88.9–10), and was valued there for a while, because of inside information he brought about Athenian points of weakness. Spartans were, according to Thucydides, following his advice when they – to great effect, as soon became apparent – sent Gylippos to shore up Syracusan resistance to Athens, and installed a permanent garrison at Dekeleia to distress Attike¯ (6.89–93, esp. 93.1–2). Spartans, Thucydides makes clear, already by 415/4 understood what an opportunity could be presented by inside information ‘from one who really knew’ (παρὰ τοῦ σαφέστατα εἰδότος) about the enemy; within two years that sense was fortified as most of Athens’ navy and a large part of her land forces were annihilated in Sicily – in accordance with Alkibiades’ earlier advice. Now, from 412/1 Spartans distrusted Alkibiades, erstwhile source of strategically precious information, and had ordered his death (8.45.1, with Hornblower ad loc. on the chronology). He escaped, initially to the Persians, but was reinstated as an Athenian general in 411 (8.81–2). Chagrined, though perhaps not surprised (given Sparta’s own fairly recent recall and reinstatement of King Pleistoanax), Spartans would surely now reckon that Alkibiades was applying inside knowledge about themselves to the benefit of their city’s arch-enemy, Athens.53 Sparta’s treatment of Alkibiades may help any speculation as to how and why the Spartans received into the territory of their alliance, and for long kept safe, that other experienced ex-strategist from the enemy side, Thucydides. His likeliest period of grace might lie in the years before Alkibiades was discredited and returned to the Athenian sphere: that is, from 414 to 412. And this would tally with our own finding that Thucydides seems to have received much sensitive information from Spartans about the period shortly preceding (425–18). If Thucydides remained with the Spartans or their allies after Alkibiades’ discredit at

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? Sparta,54 he might well have been more distrusted than before, as one who also might decamp. His eventual defection indeed might seem all the more likely, once it was learned that Alkibiades had been accepted back by fellow Athenians, his death-sentence (6.61.7) set aside. Thucydides, like Alkibiades, possessed, for negotiating a return to wartime Athens, an asset which down the ages has persuaded states to pardon men who previously inflicted on them great damage: information (in his case about ‘the Peloponnesians’) which might prove crucial in future.55 If Spartans, especially after the departure of Alkibiades, agreed to give information about their state to Thucydides, they might take care that such information, if it was eventually fed back to Athens, would help rather than subvert the Laconian cause. Thucydides, as we have tried to show, may have been told many things calculated to protect Sparta’s reputation, and to hide that city’s weaknesses. But he also learned much directly about those weaknesses, concerning Spartan demoralisation after Sphakteria and (especially) about dissension surrounding military leadership in 418. Thucydides evidently trusted much, on sensitive topics, that the Spartans told; so it is justifiable to wonder whether he thought that the Spartans had special reasons to trust him personally with the truth, if indeed he got information directly from Spartans. What might he have done, what pledges of good faith in the form of intelligence about Athens might he have given to Sparta, to allow him to spend much of the war safely among the Peloponnesians? The Spartans are unlikely to have left him untested or, given their sense of kairos, unexploited. An obvious possibility is that, with Sparta’s need of funds for the war (especially in its expensive naval aspect), Thucydides might give, or promise, product from his gold-mining interest in Thrace (4.105.1). To suggest that he, like Alkibiades, gave intimate advice to Spartans on how to defeat his native city cannot be much more than speculation. But to assume that he did not would be baseless. Was he preserved by the Spartans as an intelligence asset, to guide his hosts as they faced the alien world of democratic politics? To similar motives, we have argued elsewhere (Powell 2020), the Athenian Xenophon – who had actually fought alongside Spartans – owed his long and privileged harbouring by the Spartan authorities: Xenophon’s knowledge of soldiering in the Persian empire might one day be valuable for Sparta’s dealing with alien attitudes and territory. Or was it enough, as many years of Thucydides’ middle life went by without his being able to return to his home state, that the Spartans could see him frustrated56 by the lack of a decisive Spartan victory, which might at last make such return possible? They might hear, or suspect, that he was unenthusiastic, even critical, about Spartan ways, but might still understand that he and they shared something

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Anton Powell reassuringly practical: a convergence of interests. For Spartans to show Thucydides a degree of trust it might almost be enough if he showed a belief, as he did when writing his history, that Sparta’s polity evidenced eunomia and a rare sophrosyne (8.24.4).57 In having Thucydides, a once and perhaps future enemy, kept close, Spartans might be reassured that if he showed signs of disaffection, they could deal with him as Spartan authorities are recorded as planning in the cases of those other distinguished Athenian exiles, Alkibiades and Xenophon: by simply putting him to death.58 Finally, we return to the question why Thucydides, in breach of his more enlightened principles of source-criticism, seems to have accepted so much information from and about Spartans, much of it suspiciously self-serving on their part. One possible reason is already evident: his likeliest contemporary readership, above all in Athens, badly needed information about the old enemy to help them forecast. To give them such information, even when it was less securely based than he could have wished, might be a potent temptation for an author. Thucydides, as one who hoped his work would become ‘a possession for ever’ (1.22.4), might well calculate that to survive ‘for ever’ it needed first to establish itself among contemporaries, which would mean – to an important degree – meeting their interests. Then there is the likelihood that, even if he had several well-placed Spartans as informants, his sources for Laconian matters were far fewer than he had possessed for Athenian matters. He writes, in introducing his work, that the contradictions between information even from eye-witnesses ‘caused [him] hard work’ (ἐπιπόνως ... ηὑρίσκετο, 1.22.3). The need for hard work at source-criticism was perhaps less obvious where there were few informants, and they were citizens of a state for whom homogeneity was an ideal built into their self-definition as homoioi, ‘similars’. The same point may well have applied to another non-Spartan enquirer into history, Herodotos, who – as we have seen – likewise shows a special degree of credulity when the history is that of Sparta. Both Thucydides and Herodotos may have resembled otherwise politically-astute Western intellectuals who were misled as to the internal situation of the USSR, mid-twentieth-century China and North Korea, even though in some cases the latter had themselves visited the states in question.59 Those educated in relatively open and outspoken societies may be disarmed in the face of organised – rather than casual – disregard for truth. Ancient enquirers into Sparta might be unfamiliar with the principle that, for authoritarian states, history can be a positive enemy, which – like Spartan law, indeed (cf. Plut. Lyk. 13) – had better not be fixed, as in writing. Compare the epigraph to this paper, on the subordination of historical research in modern Russia.60

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? A reliable history of Sparta might yield information to enemies about, for example, the times at which Sparta was unlikely to attack, as when there was – in spite of public anger against a foreign state – no perceived military kairos, or when a king had recently disgraced himself by not exploiting such an opportunity. In general, the more thoroughly the Spartans conceived of themselves as homogeneous, the more important it might seem not to let enemies know of aspects of that homogeneity which involved vulnerability. To be understood is commonly to be predicted, not something which a belligerent state always wishes to allow. And the more formulaic was Spartan policy, the more dangerous it would be for those formulae to be divulged. Although Sparta’s governing her warlike initiatives by the perceived presence or absence of kairos may now, with hindsight, appear blatant, through the combination of her actions in context with numerous reported opinions about particular opportunities, nowhere apparently is that policy in general identified by an ancient source. The nearest approach to such may be Xenophon’s who, in a work directed to a Spartan or Lakonophile audience (Powell 2020, 6–13), wrote that his deceased patron Agesilaos ‘wherever he could, contrived things while remaining at home, but where kairos existed, did not shrink from pursuing it’ (Ages. 2.25; cf. 8.3, Hell. 5.1.18). We have seen much evidence of political divisions within Sparta; but Thucydides is more likely at Sparta than at Athens to have been given a ‘party line’, the ‘party’ in question being the permanently-embattled Spartan state. When the historian sought information from fellow Athenians, it was very likely he who was more on his guard, looking for contradictions (and also for familiar story-patterns and prejudices). Yet with any Spartan informants, it would rather be they who were on their guard as to what they should tell him. In the First Preface, about historical method, comes an implicit but important distinction concerning local as compared with nonlocal detail: even (καί) detail about the past of one’s own community is likely to be accepted uncritically, Thucydides writes – leaving implicit but clear the point that information about other communities is even more likely to be taken carelessly on trust (1.20.1). And, on Spartan matters as compared with Athenian, he was probably less familiar with, less able to guard against, local cliché. Did Thucydides, when hearing historical claims from Spartans, often fall into a trap which he had himself identified? Most important of all, perhaps, for explaining Spartans’ persuasiveness was the special authority their state enjoyed among Athenians (and others). After Sparta’s ultimately triumphant leadership of Greek resistance to Persia in 480–79, evidence for that authority is clear in our sources, and far too abundant even to summarise here.61 Kimon, Athens’ leading politician

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Anton Powell in the 470s and 460, indelibly named his son ‘Lakedaimonios’ (1.45.2 etc.), and is reported to have frequently lectured the Athenians on their failure to live up to Sparta’s high standards (Plut. Kim. 16, citing Stesimbrotos). Kimon’s erstwhile rival and successor in leadership, Perikles, is shown by Thucydides proudly defining his city as one which did indeed live up to, or rather surpassed, standards set by Sparta.62 After Athens’ surrender in 404, Kritias and his pro-Spartan regime of the Thirty claimed to be refounding Athens as a version of Sparta.63 And among literary men, not only did Plato model his two fantasy-poleis quite largely on Sparta,64 but also Aristotle – even after Sparta’s defeat and loss of empire in 371 – found it necessary to protest vigorously against the tendency to treat Sparta as a constitutional ideal (esp. Pol. 1269a–1271b, 1333b). The ability of Spartans to withhold truth about their own recent history was widely believed in at Athens, and well recognised by Thucydides. But the evidence for Sparta’s general high competence in matters of politics and war was overwhelming, and never more so than at the period when Thucydides gave final shape to his work, shortly after the Spartan conquest of the Athenian empire. Recognition of that unique competence created a cognitive vacuum for outsiders, who needed to explain it (on which see especially Xen. Lak. Pol. 1.1). It also very likely to a degree neutralised the critical sense of even the most intelligent enquirers, who might not quite be able to accept that a community which showed such practical mastery of its environment could be so inaccurate in representing its own history. That, perhaps, was part of the reason why Sparta’s wishful king-lists came to be accepted widely among critical writers as foundational evidence for Greek pre-history. There may be no paradox in claiming that a historian who has very likely succeeded in creating a ‘possession for ever’ wrote as a man of his time. Thucydides’ last years of writing happened to be Sparta’s zenith. Moreover, without our advantage of hindsight, the historian and his contemporaries had no reason to assume that Sparta might not rise even higher. As it happens, in less than a decade after conquering Athens Sparta had mounted two elaborate challenges to the Persian king’s control of Western Asia, the first of them involving – eventually – an Athenian commander, Xenophon (Powell 2020). Thucydides and his first audience had reason to strain after understanding of, forecasts about, the one Great Power of their region.

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? Notes 1 E.g. Cloché 1943, 87–8, 112. Besides the Peloponnese, he will have surely spent exile time in the land of his (maternal) forefathers (4.105.1, cited below). 2 E.g. Badian 1993; Hornblower 1997 [1991], 65, 83–4; 2004 [1996], 176–7. 3 For an apparent exception, concerning the year 418, see below. 4 Powell 2016, 142. 5 Hornblower points out (ad 3.8.1) that Olympiads ‘caught on’ as a means of dating only around 300 BC. 6 For introduction to modern bibliography see, for example, Lang 1967/8, 79– 85; Rhodes 1970, 387–400; de Ste. Croix 1972, 173, and Hornblower (1997 [1991], 219), in which he describes one section of Thucydides’ account here as ‘this whole very fishy story’. 7 E.g. Van Wees 2018. 8 In discussions in modern scholarship Thucydides’ dating has not formed a chronological anchor. Hornblower 1997 [1991], 53 refers to ‘the modern consensus which makes light of Hdt. and Th.’ on the timing of the ‘Lykourgan’ reforms. Thus, for example, Starr (1965, 262, 269) in a paper valuable for its scepticism describes the dating of the reforms to the ninth or eighth century as ‘preposterous’, the result of Thucydides’ not being ‘seriously interested’ in such early times. (Modern pedagogic concern, to promote Thucydides as an inspirational model for the young, may have had an influence. Compare, in a very different sphere, the recent and counterintuitive academic tendency to assert that the poetry of Virgil had little to do with the intentional promotion of Augustus. Contrast Powell 2012. The taste among student audiences for unqualified correctness and unshadowed morality respectively, may be reflected in these cases.) 9 With a reference to F. Jacoby F. Gr. Hist. 244, F.61–65. 10 Cartledge 2002, Appendix 3, 293–8; with Henige 1974, 207–13. 11 Powell 2010. On such tensions, and all other matters affecting the status of the kingship and the two royal Spartan houses, see Carlier 1984, 240–315. 12 Powell 1989. 13 Kirchhoff 1895, 121, cited at Hornblower 2008, ad 5.66.2. 14 Powell 1989; 2020, 8, 12–13 etc. on Xenophon’s enthusiastic endorsement of military trickery by the Spartan king Agesilaos and others. 15 Thucydides’ picture of the first Athenian expedition against Sicily, as it set out from Peiraieus, 6.30–31. 16 Hornblower (ad loc.) accepts and comments on the emendation proposed by Haase, ἐκ τῆs πολεμίας. He further observes (ad loc. and ad 5.66.2) that Agis retained sole command in the field. 17 The pro-Spartan Xenophon, writing of a battle involving Sparta more than half a century later, after Leuktra, reports a similar episode (Hell. 7.4.25). Again a cry from the ranks to desist from fighting – very likely from the Spartan ranks, who were getting the worst of things – is recorded as influential, and as coming from a seasoned warrior (τις τῶν πρεσβυτέρων – a phrase virtually identical with Thucydides’ τῶν πρεσβυτέρων τις); the latter detail may, in Xenophon as in Thucydides, have served to protect Sparta from a charge of anarchy on the battlefield, and indeed of reluctance to fight in disadvantageous circumstances.

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Anton Powell δόξαν, a neuter partciple. Hornblower ad loc.: ‘or because he had another sudden thought’. 19 Most fully argued at Powell 1980; and more briefly at 2016, 124–5, 151, and 2018a, 305, 308. 20 See especially Trédé, 1992. 21 Trédé 1992, 76–81, with photographs. 22 Powell 2010, esp.126. 23 Powell 2009, 78. 24 Powell 2009, 73–7. Criticism of a Spartan navarch for missing successive opportunities presented by an enemy’s relative weakness is recorded by Thucydides, concerning Astyochos (8.78). In this case the critics were ‘troops in the Peloponnesian fleet at Miletos’, which of course leaves open the possibility that Thucydides’ source(s) here, and indeed prominent complainants on the spot, were Spartans. 25 Ed. note: Even though the king had sole command outside Spartan territory, he was likely accompanied by the newly appointed (and visible) advisors beyond the borders. 26 References at Hornblower ad loc. 27 The other case is at 5.63.1, concerning Agis’ ‘unprecedented’ chance, noted above, to crush Argos. 28 The analysis of this story by Ogden (2002, 111–16) would support the suggestion that Thucydides’ version of it has been shaped to exclude evidence of lingering resentment and division among Spartans over Pausanias’ fate. 29 In the Roman era, Pausanias the Periegete (3.17.7) records seeing the two statues, close to the altar of Athena Chalkioikos. 30 Compare the implication of Herodotos, in or after 431, that a similar breach of sanctuary in civil strife at Aigina had contributed – after generations – to the ruin of the whole community (6.91). 31 Powell 2009, 59–64; Cartledge 1987, 94–6; Bommelaer 1981, 223–5. 32 Cartledge 1987, 165, writing of the story, in Xenophon, of Kinadon’s ‘conspiracy’, uses a similar image with a slightly different purpose: for him the episode illuminates Spartan social struggles ‘as if by a whole battery of arc-lamps’. 33 Ed. note: Paul Cartledge (verbal communication) suggests the possibility that the ultimate source might have been laconizing non-Spartans, the kind of men who were invited by their xenoi to attend the annual Gymnopaidiai festival; and that possibility could include Athenians. Thucydides, being Thucydides (1.22), likely would have cross-checked the report of such a shocking alleged event against the testimony of other witnesses or alleged witnesses. 34 See especially Paradiso 2004. 35 Thucydides records elsewhere the especially intense enmity of Spartans towards Demosthenes for what he had inflicted on them in 425 on Sphakteria and at Pylos, an area in which the leadership of Kleon had been similarly influential (7.86.2–3). 36 Contrast Xenophon’s defensiveness about the crucial victory of Agesilaos at Koroneia in 394, achieved at unnecessarily high cost in casualties (Hell. 4.3.19; Ages. 2.12). 18

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? 37

The teaching of sociology in British secondary schools has often been opposed by politicians as likely to be inflammatory among the young. 38 The nomoi are labelled by Xenophon (Lak. Pol. 8.5) puthokhrestoi (i.e., sanctioned if not imposed by Apollo of Delphi), thus implying their aboriginal antiquity. See also n. 60. 39 For a sceptical treatment of these two affairs, Powell 2010, 117–25. 40 Powell 2020, 15–17. 41 Interestingly, the verbal form which he quotes is the positive command. 42 Thucydides uses his Attic version of this expression, ὧν ἴσμεν, far less (10 times), as when making his ambitious but slightly guarded claim about the antiquity of Sparta’s constitution at 1.18.1, or referring to ‘the oldest sea-battle which we know of’, between Korinth and Kerkyra at 1.13.4. Significantly, perhaps, this expression at 1.18.1 concerning the limits of Thucydides’ own knowledge does not apply to the dating of Sparta’s reforms but to a question involving the history of other states: whether any such outdid Sparta in the duration of its stasis. 43 Note the contradiction with the case of Teisamenos. 44 The qualification ‘Dorian’ is intended no doubt to exclude the Trojan War in which the Spartan, but non-Dorian, Menelaos took a leading role. Samos of course was not actually in ‘Asia’. 45 Ed. note: The author hoped to treat this subject more fully in the forthcoming Herodotus and Sparta, a companion volume to this one. 46 The naming of his Plataian companion at the end suggests that there was once a much fuller Spartan narrative on the subject, now lost. 47 Powell 1998, 134–5. 48 The theme would later acquire a feminine analogue. Theopompos is cited (at Athenaeus 609b) for a nowadays somewhat neglected episode of political killing in fourth-century Sparta. Two mature women, sisters, were reportedly put to death in King Agesilaos’ interest, probably in the early 370s in the aftermath of Sparta’s seizure and loss of Thebes (Powell 2020, 20–1). Of these two women, whose gender made them most unusual as political victims, Xenopeitheia is described as having been in her youth ‘more beautiful than all the other women of the Peloponnese’. This story, very likely a product of opposition within Sparta to the king, again involves surpassing beauty, in the context of death, ascribed – probably with patriotic carelessness – to a member of Sparta’s elite. [Ed. note: As the author pointed out in conversation, la belle morte.] 49 If, as seems likely, there is some truth behind the caricature of modern drill sergeants informing raw recruits that they are a ‘useless shower of s...’ vel sim., we may in Sparta’s case be dealing with a commonplace of military psychology. The function of the drill sergeant is not to demoralise young soldiers permanently, but the reverse. Since for many modern readers military competition involving the fear of one’s country being conquered and ruined is happily rather less pressing than in earlier times, it may help, for a moment, to compare the psychology of team sport. The familiar phenomenon of ‘giant-killing’ in football, whereby an obscure team of amateurs inflicts defeat on far more practised and sophisticated professionals, almost certainly owes something to complacency in the latter and lack of fear in

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Anton Powell the former. Even experienced coaches struggle to eradicate such. Another, darker, modern analogue suggests itself. After the defeat at Stalingrad in 1943, the German minister of propaganda, Dr Josef Goebbels, a person unfortunately adept at manipulating popular psychology, decided not to play down but to emphasise to the German population the scale of disaster of what was, at the time, presented by German authorities [explicitly by Hermann Goering] as their country’s Thermopylai. He evidently calculated that fear was useful for instilling discipline and effort. 50 The phrase ‘back in’, as in ‘That was back in 2018’, is commonly used to alert the audience of news media that an abnormally remote past is being invoked. 51 Powell 1979a. 52 There is variation here in the MSS. But even if, as some MSS have it, Thucydides wrote the dative form, Πελοποννησίοις, that word would still be the nearest relevant plural noun to αὐτῶν. 53 He had, according to Thucydides (8.45.1), already done his best to damage ‘the Peloponnesians’ by giving information about them to the Persians. 54 Thucydides writes of his ‘20-year’ exile (from 424/3 onwards, 5.26.5), and of having in consequence spent more time with the Peloponnesians than with the Athenians. But since he only spent only some seven years of the war, 431–424/3, on the Athenian side, strictly his ‘more time with the Peloponnesians’ need not amount to much more than that. Not everyone agreed with Thucydides that there was only the ‘one’ war between 431 and 404. 55 One might call this the ‘Von Braun principle’, reflecting the way that both the USA and the USSR sought from 1945 to employ, or at least to deny to competitors, the services of former – and very recent – enemies, like Wernher von Braun and his technological colleagues, who had pioneered military rocketry in the Nazi cause. Von Braun became a leading member of NASA. The distinguished American songwriter Tom Lehrer would write ironically, Some have harsh words for this man of renown, But others think our attitude should be one of gratitude – Like the widows and cripples of old London town, Who owe their large pensions to Wernher von Braun. 56

Cf. his description of Sparta as ‘in many ways the most convenient enemy in the world that Athens could have had’ (8.96.5.), written late in the war, if not after it. 57 This is not to suggest that Thucydides allowed the Spartans to know, during their war, that he was writing a history of it. The very idea, let alone the spectacle, of a former enemy general in their territory and taking notes (cf. 1.1.1) might predictably have been fatal. 58 For Xenophon, Powell 2020, 5, 29–30. 59 Notable examples from the United Kingdom were George Bernard Shaw, Sidney and Beatrice Webb, and Joan Robinson. Uncomfortably closer still to ourselves is the case of a distinguished North American historian of Ancient Greece who reportedly in 1939 organised a public protest against the idea that the Soviet Union planned to co-operate with Nazi Germany in the dismemberment of Poland. The protest in question was overtaken by events.

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? 60

Official rewriting of history notoriously allows the past to be used flexibly, to suit current political needs. We read of a joke which circulated in the Soviet Union: ‘The future here is all too certain. It’s the past which is so hard to predict’. This paper has not been able often to address the possibility that official Spartan history contradicted itself over the years, in accordance with changing policies of the moment. But the apparent instability in a central myth concerning Sparta, as to whether Lykourgos derived his reforms ultimately from Crete or Delphi, may be such a case; see esp. Hdt. 1 65.4 and Nafissi 2018. See also above, n. 38. 61 See the essays in Cartledge and Powell 2018. 62 Debnar 2018; Ducat, this volume. 63 Krentz 1982; Whitehead 1982/3; Powell 2018b. 64 For aspects of the Laws see Powell 1994, and of the Republic Herrmann 2018. A thorough political study of both works is much needed.

Bibliography Andrewes, A. 1970 See ‘Gomme, Andrewes, Dover, 1970’. Badian, E. 1993 From Plataea to Potidaea: Studies in the history and historiography of the Pentecontaetia, Baltimore. Bommelaer, J.-F. 1981 Lysandre de Sparte, Paris. Bradford, A. S. 1994 ‘The duplicitous Spartan’, in A. Powell and S. Hodkinson (eds) The Shadow of Sparta, London and Swansea, 59–85. Carlier, P. 1984 La royauté en Grèce avant Alexandre, Strasbourg. Cartledge, P. A. 2002 Sparta and Lakonia: A regional history 1300–362 BC, 2nd edn., London. 1987 Agesilaos and the crisis of Sparta, London. Cartledge, P. A. and Powell, A. (eds) 2018 The Greek Superpower: Sparta in the self-definitions of Athenians, Swansea. Cloché, P. 1943 ‘Thucydide et Lacédémone’, LEC 12, 81–113. De Ste. Croix, G. E. M. 1972 The Origins of the Peloponnesian War, London. Debnar, P. 2018 ‘Sparta in Pericles’ Funeral Oration’ in Cartledge and Powell (eds) 2018, 1–32. Gomme, A. W. 1945 A Historical Commentary on Thucydides, vol. 1, Oxford. Gomme, A. W., Andrewes, A., Dover, K. J. 1970 A Historical Commentary on Thucydides, vol. 4, Oxford.

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‘Euripides, Sparta and the self-definition of Athens’ in Cartledge and Powell (eds) 2018, 115–38. Henige, D. P. 1974 The Chronology of Oral Tradition: Quest for a chimera, Oxford. Hermann, F.-G. 2018 ‘Spartan echoes in Plato’s Republic’ in Cartledge and Powell (eds) 2018, 185–214. Hornblower, S. 1997 [1991] A Commentary on Thucydides, vol. 1, Oxford. 1992 ‘The religious dimension to the Peloponnesian War, or, What Thucydides does not tell us’, HSCP 94 169–97. 2004 [1996] A Commentary on Thucydides, vol. 2, Oxford. 2008 A Commentary on Thucydides, vol. 3, Oxford. Kirchhoff, F, A. 1895 Thukydides und sein Urkundenmaterial, Berlin. Krentz, P. 1982 The Thirty at Athens, Ithaca. Lang, M. L. 1967 ‘Scapegoat Pausanias’, CJ 63, 79–85. Nafissi, M. 2018 ‘Lykourgos the Spartan “lawgiver”: ancient beliefs and modern scholarship’ in Powell (ed.) 2018, 93–123. Ogden, D. 2002 ‘Three evocations of the dead with Pausanias’ in A. Powell and S. Hodkinson (eds) Sparta beyond the Mirage, London and Swansea, 111–35. Paradiso, A. 2004 ‘The logic of terror: Thucydides, Spartan duplicity and an improbable massacre’ in T. J. Figueira (ed.) Spartan Society, Swansea, 179–98. Pipili, M. 1987 Laconian Iconography of the Sixth Century BC, Oxford. Powell, A. 1979a ‘Religion and the Sicilian expedition’, Historia 28, 15–31. 1979b ‘Thucydides and divination’, BICS 26, 45–50. 1980 ‘Athens’ difficulty, Sparta’s opportunity’, AC 49, 87–114. 1989 ‘Mendacity and Sparta’s use of the visual’ in A. Powell (ed.) Classical Sparta: Techniques behind her success, London, 173–92. 1994 ‘Plato and Sparta: modes of rule and of non-rational persuasion in the Laws’ in A. Powell and S. Hodkinson (eds) The Shadow of Sparta, London and Swansea, 273–321. 1998 ‘Sixth-century Lakonian vase-painting: continuities and discontinuities with the “Lykourgan” ethos’ in N. Fisher and H. van Wees (eds) Archaic Greece: New evidence and new approaches, London and Swansea, 119–46. 2010 ‘Divination, royalty and insecurity in Classical Sparta’, in A. Powell and S. Hodkinson (eds) Sparta: The body politic, Swansea, 85–135.

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Information from Sparta: A trap for Thucydides? 2012 Virgil the Partisan: A study in the re-integration of classics, Swansea. 2016 Athens and Sparta, 3rd edn., Abingdon. 2018a ‘Sparta’s foreign – and internal – history, 478–403’ in Powell (ed.) 2018, 291–319. 2018b ‘Athens as New Sparta? Lakonism and the Athenian revolution of 404–3 BC’ in Cartledge and Powell (eds) 2018, 61–85. 2020 ‘One little skytale: Xenophon, truth-telling in his major works, and Spartan imperialism’, in A. Powell and N. Richer (eds) Xenophon and Sparta, Swansea, 1–63. Powell, A. (ed.) 2018 A Companion to Sparta, vol. 1, Hoboken, NJ. Rhodes, P. J. 1970 ‘Thucydides on Pausanias and Themistokles’, Historia 19, 387–400. Rood, T. 1998 Thucydides: Narrative and explanation, Oxford. Starr, C. G. 1965 ‘The credibility of early Spartan history’, Historia 14, 257–72. Trédé, M. 1992 Kairos. L’à-propos et l’occasion, Paris. Van Wees, H. 2018 ‘Luxury, austerity and equality in Sparta’ and ‘The common messes’ in Powell (ed.) 2018, 202–35 and 236–68. Westlake, H. D. 1977 ‘Thucydides on Pausanias and Themistokles – a written source?’, CQ 27, 95–110. Whitehead, D. 1982/3 ‘Sparta and the Thirty Tyrants’, AncSoc 13/14, 105–30. Woodhouse, W. J. 1933 King Agis of Sparta and his Campaign in Arkadia in 418 BC, Oxford.

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INDEX Except for a few common forms (Aeschylus, Piraeus, Thucydides) and titles of works, transliterated Greek spellings (with ‘ch’ for chi) are used in all entries. Adcock, F. E. 32 Aeschylus Eumenides 63 Persai 250 Agasikles 254–6 Agesilaos 138, 166–7, 233 Agesilaus (Plutarch) 253 Agesilaus (Xenophon) 241 criticism of 240 and Lysandros’ plot 244, 252 Agesipolis 247, 251 Agiad dynasty, see Agesipolis; Kleomenes; Leon; Leonidas; Pausanias Agis II and Alkiphron 169–70 and the Argives 9–10, 36 attack on Athens 40 at battle of Mantinea 35, 236–8 criticism of 10, 13, 227, 232–42, 258 funding for war 31 ago¯ge¯, see education and training ( paideia) Aigina 26 Alcock, S. E. 141 Alkibiades 35, 226 and proxenia with Sparta 172–5 in Sparta 262–3 xene¯lasia (expulsion of foreigners) in speech by 70 Alkidas 30–4 Alkiphron of Argos 169–70 allies, see also Spartan allies of the Athenians 7, 37, 94, 122–3, 171 and ethnicity 125–31, 184–5; see also ethnicity / ethnic identity Kroisos’ search for 121 of the Messenians 133, 140 in Sicily, catalog of 125–31, 135, 185, 193, 196, 199 allophuloi 3, 132 amateurism of Athenian military 73–5

Amompharetos 237, 255 Amphilochos 188–9 Amphipolis 132 Brasidas in 34, 122, 187, 249 kinship ties of 186–7, 207 Anacharsis 255 Andanian mystery cult 143–6 Andrewes, A. A. 236, 241–2 apate¯, see deceit (apate¯ ) and secrecy arche¯, see empire (arche¯ ) Archias 253 Archidamian War 24, 35 Archidamos II 85–102, 105–7, 240 criticism of 232, 240 speech by 14–15, 16, 25–6, 65–6, 71, 252 xenia with Perikles 166–7 Archidamos III 137–8 Argos / Argives Amphilochos 188 attack, Agis’ plan to 36 Kleomenes’ failure against 140 Kythera, control of by 193 at battle of Mantineia 233–42 Messenians, interaction with 240 priestess of 222 proxenia with Sparta 164, 169–72 Themistocles in 144 Aristodamos 249–50, 259 Aristomenes 140–1, 143–4, 146; see also tresantes Aristophanes 70–1, 134, 136 Aristotle on ethnic inferiority, topos of 122 on helots 239–40, 246 on treaty mentioning Messenians 138 on moral evaluation of (Messenian) tactics 146 on Spartan government 266

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Index on Spartan women 73 on tragedy 251 Artabazos 228 Asklepiades of Myrleia 202 Astyochos 36, 38–9 Athens / Athenian(s), see also Funeral Oration of Perikles allies 7, 37, 94, 122–3, 171 attack on Kythera by 193–4 colonisation by 206, 224 democracy 56–66 dismissal of from Ithome 132 empire (arche¯ ) 75–6, 126 law(s) in 58, 62–3, 68, 96, 108, 251 as a model 55–8 naval superiority of 15–6 propaganda of 70, 105 proxenoi of 176 and siege of Syracuse 200 tragedy in 249–51; see also Aeschylus; Euripides Attaginos 102 austerity, Spartan 68, 225, 251 Azoulay, V. 252 ‘beautiful death’ (la belle mort) Athenian 76–80 Spartan 76–80, 244, 246, 253–4 ‘best men’, choice of for offices 58–60 Boiotians 36, 128, 133, 143, 147, 224 boldness 65–6, 74, 221 brachylogy (‘laconism’) 10, 65, 241, 250 Brasidas 23, 33, 96, 191 in Amphipolis 34, 186–7, 246–51 in Chalkidike 34–5, 184 death of and funeral rites for 187, 246–51 at Kerkyra 33–4 military opportunity, use of by 246–7 night march, use of by 233 and perceptions of Sparta 7–9 Piraeus, attempt on by 27–8 at Pylos 249 religious treatment of 248; see also (above) death of and funeral rites for speeches by 9, 65, 122, 124, 226–7, 241, 248, 250

bravery, see courage brevity, see brachylogy calculation about the future 66, 74 Cartledge, P. A. 224–5 Catling, V. 198 Chalkidike 26, 184, 197 Brasidas in 34–5, 184 chronology 222–6, 230 in Xenophon 252 Churchill, Sir Winston 261 citizenship, see constitution; see also homoioi (‘similars’) Classen, J. 242 Cloché, P. 1 colonies / colonisation 35–6, 119, 122, 124, 128–9, 139–40, 145, Ch. 7 passim complementary differentiation, see schismogenesis Connor, W. R. 200 constitution (politeia), see also Lykourgos; tropoi Athenian 56–64, 99–100 Spartan 56–64, 85, 87–9, 230, 266 history of 88, 223–6, 251–2, 256–9 and Lysandros 244 as obsolete 87–8 and Pausanias 228, 244 of Spartan allies 171 Constitutional Debate 102 courage, see also ‘beautiful death’ Athenian 74, 77, 124 Dorian vs. Ionian 122, 124 Spartan 6, 8, 65, 68, 74, 77, 90, 93, 106, 237–8, 248–51, 258 cowardice 25, 67–8, 234, 238; see also tresantes Crawley, R. 24 cult Andanian mysteries 143–6 Apollo Karneios 201 Eleusinian mysteries 144–5 hero 141, 203; see also Brasidas: death of and funeral rites for and kinship 198 culture and identity, see ethnicity / ethnic identity

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Index customs (nomima / tropoi) 61 Athenian 61, 68, 120 and ethnicity 119, 197 instability of 10–13 Spartan 10–13, 67, 100–2, 105, 108 Damaratos 63, 77, 193, 229–30, 241, 255 Dareios 39–40, 102 death (in war), see ‘beautiful death’ debates 5 Constitutional 102 Melian Dialogue 5, 175, 188, 195–6, 204, 226 Mytilenaian Debate 96 Plataian debate 5, 25–6 at Sparta 85, 88–90, 94–100, 105–7 deceit (apate¯ ) and secrecy 70, 73–4, 123, 133, Ch. 8 esp. 242–66 Dekeleia 35, 41, 262 Delian League 121, 124 democracy 56–66; see also constitution: Athenian Demokritos 130–1 Deukalion myth 121 Diniadas 32 Diodoros, on sungeneia 122, 125 disarray, Spartan 236, 241, 242 diviners 260–1; see also oracles Dorian(s) 120–33 and anti-Ionian prejudice 122–4, 131 catchwords 92 and colonisation Ch. 7 passim invasion 224–5 Messenians 120, 133, 141–4, 148 and power politics 121–25, 130 Rhodes 39 in Sicily 123, 125–9 superiority / anti-Ionian prejudice of 122–4, 131 Dorieus 39, 199, 202–3 Doris 190–3, 196, 205 drama, see Aeschylus; Aristophanes; Aristotle; Euripides; Hermippos; tragedy dyarch(s), see Agiad dynasty; Eurypontid dynasty; Sparta / Spartan: kings dyarchy 86, 88

earthquake, the ‘great’ 135, 139, 142, 144, 243 eclipses 222, 260 Edmunds, L. 12 education and training (paideia) 6, 8–9, 15, 70–1, 73–4, 90, 96 Egypt 254 Eleusinian mysteries 144–5 empire (arche¯ ) 75–6, 126 Endios 173–5 Epaminondas 140 Ephoros 140 Epidauros 35, 38 Epiteles 140, 144, 145 equality 58–60; see also homoioi (‘similars’) ethnicity / ethnic identity Ch. 5 passim; see also Dorian(s) and allies 125–31, 184–5 ‘ascendant’ 121, 128, 131, 148 and culture 2–3, 6, 12, 16 fluidity of 9 and Taras 198 Euesperides 196, 200–2, 208 eunomia 86, 223–4, 251–2, 257, 264 Euphemos 123–4 Euripides Cresphontes 133–5 Heraclidae 131 Supplices 61 Eurybiadas 230 Eurypontid dynasty 87, 89, 107, 225; see also Agasikles; Agesilaos; Agis II; Archidamos II; Archidamos III; Damaratos; Leotychidas Falkner, C. L. 28–9 fear, see also Phobos and governance 62–3 in Sparta 3, 11, 63, 93, 187, 194, 226, 231, 234, 241, 252, 258–9 festivals 35, 68–9 Karneian 120, 146 Olympic 25, 29, 32 financial concerns, Spartan 23–4, 31–2, 37, 69, 263 foreigners, expulsion of 70, 73–4, 192

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Index foundation dates 188, 190, 193, 198, 201, 206, 208 Francis, E. D. 92 freedom Athenian 66–8 Spartan 63, 73 Funeral Oration of Perikles 55–80 Athens as a model 55–58 ‘beautiful death’ 76–80 on choosing the best men in Athens 58–60 competitive theatre 69 courage, Athenian 65, 74, 124; see also ‘beautiful death’: Athenian customs (nomima / tropoi ), Athenian 61, 68, 120 education and training 71, 73–4 empire (arche¯ ) 75–6, 126 equality 58–60, 64 ethnicity, silence on 124–5, 131 fear and governance 62–3 freedom and surveillance 66–8 ‘good life’ 68–9 government 56–64 hegemony, see empire (arche¯ ) law(s) 56, 58, 62–3 meros and selection for office 58–60 military practice 73–5, 124 open/closed societies 70 political participation 63–5 rich and poor, roles of 60–2 social life in Athens 66–9 Sparta Ch. 3 passim, 261 war and its values 73–80 women 71–3 words and deeds 65–6 xene¯lasia 70, 73–4 Gela 120, 123, 128, 134–5 gno¯me¯ and techne¯ 12 Gomme, A. W. 24, 25, 28, 55, 60, 65, 222, 224, 229, 237–8, 260 ‘the good life’ 68–9 government, see also constitution (politeia) Athenian 56–64, 100 Spartan 56–64, 85, 87–9, 230, 266

Graham, A. J. 183, 190 Great Trench, battle of the 146 ‘Greekness’ 119–20 guerrilla warfare 231, 244–5 guest-friendship (xenia) 163–76 Gylippos 23, 32, 36, 122, 165, 206, 233, 246, 262 Hall, J. M. 3, 142, 143 hegemony / hegemonism 2, 94, 99–5, 128, 131, 138, 140, 148; see also empire (arche¯ ) Athenian 75–6, 101–3, 105, 121–2, 124–5, 129, 132 Spartan 75–6, 85–6, 102, 105–8, 121, 124 Syracusan 123 Hellanikos of Lesbos 222, 224 Hellenic League 121 helots 31–2, 35, 104, 119, 131–3, 135–48, 228, 230, 239, 242, 245–6 murder of 70, 142, 231, 243, 245–6 revolt / resistance of 3, 146, 194, 230, 239, 244 Herakleia (in Trachis) 122, 183–93, 199, 205–8 Herakles 192 Heraklids 123, 202, 224–6, 243 Herman, G. 167 Hermippos, Phormophoroi 69 Hermokrates 96, 122–3 Herodotos allies, list of at Salamis 125 Amompharetos in 237 Aristodamos in 249–50, 258–9 on ‘beautiful death’ 76–7, 253–4 colonisation in 183, 188–90, 197, 199, 201–4, 208 on Damaratos 193, 229–30, 241 on Dorieus 202–3 ethnicity / ethnology 119–21, 130, 147 on freedom 63, 68 on ‘Greekness’ 119–20 ‘Halicarnassian Book of Records’ 254–5 on helots as Messenians 136

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Index Kallikrates in 255–6, 258 Kaukones in 144 Kyrene in 201 Leotychidas in 235, 254 list of allies in 125, 189 Melos in 204 Pausanias in 101–2 religious interpretations by 261 on Sparta / Lakedaimon, growth of 86 on Spartan(s) Archias 253 brachylogy 65 constitution 256–8 king-lists 225 kingship 85, 87–8 law(s) 56, 63 military training 74 proxenoi 165 religious scruples 29, 35 secrecy 261 and strangers 100 stasis 257 and the ‘three hundred’ at Thermopylae 253 Themistokles 248 Thucydides compared with 253–9 tyranny 88 Hesiod, Deukalion myth 121 Homer 197–8, 202, 248 homoioi (‘similars’) 60, 62, 226, 264; see also equality homophonoi 131 Hornblower, Simon 1, 28, 32, 65, 224, 228, 230, 235, 237–8, 247–8, 250–1 hybris 102, 251; see also lawlessness identity, see also colonies / colonisation; ethnicity / ethnic identity and culture / education 6 perceptions of 17 indecision 66 information warfare 3–4 instability, see stasis Ion of Chios 65 Ionian War 24, 31–3, 36–40, 148 Ionian(s) 32, 121–5, 128, 130, 144–5, 173, 187, 192, 204

Isokrates 137–8 Archidamus 140 Panathenaicus 69, 148 isonomia 133 Ithome and Mt. Ithome 3, 131–2, 135–46; see also helots: revolt / resistance of journalism 260 Kagan, D. 40 kairos (military opportunity) 10, 11, 27, 169, 232–54 passim, 263, 265 Kalchas 189 Kallet (Kallet-Marx), L. 14, 26, 36 Kallias 254 Kallikrates 255–6, 258 Karneia cult / festival 120, 145–6, 201 Kaukon / Kaukones 144–5 Kelly, T. 26 Kerkyra / Kerkyraians 26, 33–4, 122, 192–3, 195–6, 224, 229–30 Kerkyraika 192, 195–6, 205 Kimon 136–7, 189, 265–6 Kinadon 244, 252 king-lists 224–5, 266 kings, see Agasikles; Agesilaos; Agesipolis; Agis II; Archidamos II; Archidamos III; Damaratos; Kleomenes; Leon; Leonidas; Leotychidas; Pausanias; see also Dareios; Xerxes kinship (sungeneia / (k)sungeneia) 119–31, 147–8, Ch. 7 passim; see also colonies / colonisation Kleomenes 88, 202, 240, 254 Kleon 35, 96, 249 Knemos 27–8 Knidos 199–200 Korinth / Korinthians 3–4, 10, 26, 36, 86, 123–4, 128–9, 184, 205–6, 224 Athens and Sparta contrasted in speech by 8, 13, 88–9, 98 and Dorians 122, 124, 130, 206, 208 in the Ionian War 36–7 and Kerkyra 33–4, 122, 192–4, 196, 205, 224

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Index as mother city (metropolis) 192–4, 195–6, 208 and Poteidaia 122, 194, 196, 205 and Sparta, criticism of 23–5, 66, 88–9, 91–2, 94, 95–9, 106 and Syracuse 36, 205 Koroibos 165 Kresphontes 133–5 Kritias 68, 239, 266 Kroisos 121 ksungeneia, see sungeneia / (k)sungeneia Kylon 102–3 Kyrene 171, 200–2 Kyros, Prince 233, 250 Kythera 11, 32, 185, 193–4, 204–5, 207 Kytinion inscription 191

Lysandros 240, 244, 252, 261

laconism / laconic speech, see brachylogy Lakon of Plataia 167–9 Lakonia / Lakonian 29, 32, 35–6, 70, 136–7, 141–2, 148, 197–8, 201–2 Lakonian cup 198 Lakonike 193, 205 lakonophile / lakonist / laconizer 1, 134, 265 language, see also ethnicity / ethnic identity and identity 119–20, 131 Messenian 133, 136, 142 law(s), see also customs (nomima / tropoi); eunomia; Sparta / Spartan(s): law(s) and Athens 56, 58, 62–3, 96, 251 of nature 108 lawlessness 93, 102, 257–8; see also hybris; stasis Leon 254–6 Leonidas 230, 248–9, 256 Leotychidas 230, 235, 240, 254 Lesbos revolt of 29–33 Lévy, E. 60 Lewis, D. M. 39 Lichas of Sparta 107, 170–2, 251 Lipara 199, 205 lottery 59 Luraghi, N. 135–6, 140 Lykomidai mysteries 144 Lykos 144–5 Lykourgos 56, 60, 61, 225, 226, 259

Malkin, I. 189 Mantineia / Mantineians 8–9, 12, 35, 236–42 martial elegy 9 murder, of helots 231, 243, 245–6 Medinski, V. 221 Meleas 29 Melian Dialogue 5, 175, 188, 195–6, 204, 226 Melos / Melians 35–6, 38, 107–8, 185, 188, 194–5, 204–5, 207 mendacity, Spartan 231–3; see also deceit (apate¯ ) and secrecy mercenaries 31, 35 meros and selection for office 58–60 Messene eponymous queen 144 heroic ancestor 144 metonymous for the territory of Messenia polis 133–4, 136, 140, 143 Messenia / Messenians 133, 138 ethnogenesis of 119, 131–48 language 120, 133, 136, 142 metics 30, 120 military, see also deceit (apate¯ ) and secrecy Athenian and Spartan practices contrasted 73–5 opportunity (kairos) 10, 11, 27, 169, 232–54 passim, 263, 265 Mindaros 39, 41 Minyans 142–3, 255–6 mirage, Spartan (‘mirage spartiate’) 1, 17, 76, 258 Mitchell, L. G. 166 models, Athens and Sparta as Ch. 5 passim; see also constitution (politeia); education and training (paideia) mourning, displays of 72–3 Mt. Ithome, see Ithome and Mt. Ithome Mytilene / Mytilenaians and the revolt of Lesbos 29–33 speech by to Spartans 4–5, 26 Mytilenaian Debate 96

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Index Naupaktos 131–2, 134, 137–8, 140–1, 148, 244–55 naval financing Ch. 2 passim, 90–1 naval forces / power 87, 89, 91, 98–9 Athenian 14–16, 26–7, 30, 98–100 Korinthian 36, 205 Persian (Phoenician) 39 Rhodian 39 Spartan 11, 14–16, 26, 31–3, 90–1, 204 and Lesbos 31 and Melos 35–6 naval operations and battles Ch. 2 passim, 191, 224 naval skill 16, 37–8, 96, 99, 204 Nikias 120, 126, 134, 226 nomos, see customs (nomima / tropoi); law(s) Ogden, D. 146 oikeiote¯s 126, 128 oikogeneis 119 Old Comedy 120 Old Oligarch on food and drink 69 on helots 136 on the Messenians 132 ‘old-fashioned’, Sparta as 86–8, 94–5, 99–100 Ollier, F. 1 open/closed societies, in Funeral Oration of Perikles 70 opportunity, military, see kairos oracles 197, 201–2, 232; see also diviners Otanes 102 otherness and helots 143 Spartan 57, 76, 100–5 paideia, see education and training (paideia) paideusis 130; see also education and training (paideia) Partheniai myth 197 participation, political 60–5 Pausanias (king) 166, 240 Pausanias (periegete) on the helots 136, 142 Kresphontes 133–4

Messene 143, 146 Messeniaka 140, 142–44, 146, 148 Pausanias (regent) 85, 100–8, 142, 145, 222, 251 fall of 227–31, 243–4 Peace of Nikias 35, 132, 138, 193, 232 Peisistratos 254 Peloponnesian League 23–5, 124 Pentathlos 199, 206 Pentekontaetia 101, 103, 189 perceptions; see also mirage, Spartan fallibility of 1–2 and identity 17 of Sparta 3–15, 24 Perdikkas 26, 34 Perikles, see also Funeral Oration of Perikles on Athenian naval superiority 15–16, 98–9 on ethnicity 130 on slowness of the Spartans 23–4 on Spartan finances 23 xenia relationship with Archidamos 166–7 Perikles the Younger 63 perioikic communities 31–2, 132, 135, 137, 139, 142, 192, 193 Persians 102, 107 and Agesilaos 166 invasions of Greece 8, 16, 241 involvement in the war 25–6, 37–41 and the Melians 204 and Pausanias 101–7 as sources for Thucydides 229–30 Phalanthos 197 Pharnabazus 38, 166 Phobos 258; see also Sparta / Spartan: fear Phoibidas 250 Phrynichos 96, 250 Pindar 201, 208 Piraeus, Spartan attempt on 27–9, 36, 38, 40–1 Pitanate lochos 259 plague 124 Plataia / Plataians 4, 25, 101 battle of 107, 167, 222, 255, 259 and proxenia 164–5, 167–9 Plataian debate 5, 25–6

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Index Plato 70, 266 Laws 136 Pleistoanax 226, 232, 240, 243, 262 Plutarch Agesilaus 253 Cimon 136–7 politeia, see constitution pollution, religious 243 Polydamos of Pharsalus 168 poor in Athenian democracy 60–2 Poteidaia / Poteidaians 25, 27 Poteidaiatika 196, 205 preparedness for war 25–7, 70, 92–3 Price, J. 2, 86, 95, 100 procreation 64–5, 73 progress, political 87, 99, 105 propaganda Athenian 70, 105 Spartan 1, 29, 239, 242 proxenia 163–76 Pylos / Sphakteria (Koryphasion) Attic genos Lykomidai derived from 144 as base for brigandage 244–5 Brasidas at 249 and Cresphontes (Euripides) 134 effects of on Spartans 11–12, 194, 227, 244–6, 248 loss of triremes at 36 in peace negotiations 138, 193 prisoners from 6, 172, 232, 252 and Sparta’s image 5–6 wealth and resources of 32 rashness 66 religious pollution 243 reputation 5 Return of the Herakleidai 224–5 rhetoric 3, 9, 130, 184, 226 Archidamos’ 89, 93, 96–8 Brasidas’ 7, 251 and Funeral Oration of Perikles 56, 75 Melian Dialogue 196 Sthenelaidas’ 95 Rhianos of Bene 144 Rhodes 36–40

rich and poor, in Athenian democracy 60–2 Robertson, N. 145–6 Roisman, J. 29, 31, 33 Romilly, J. de 56, 59, 65 Rood, T. 238 Russia / USSR 221, 261, 264 Sahlins, M. 2–3 Salaithos 30 Salamis, fort 27 schismogenesis (complementary differentiation) 2–3, 131, 138, 141, 145–6 secrecy, see deceit (apate¯ ) and secrecy Shipley, G. 198 ships, see naval forces / power Sicily 26, 87, 123, 126, 202–3, 205–6 colonisation of 184–5, 190, 199, 202, 206 slaves 3; see also helots; Messenia / Messenians and ethnicity 119 Plato on 136 Sophokles, Ajax, on fear 63 Sosibios 142 Soviet Union 261 Sparta / Spartan, see also Spartan allies austerity 68, 225, 251 as homoioi (‘similars’) 60, 62, 226, 264; see also equality at Kerkyra 33–4 brachylogy 10, 65, 241, 250 bravery, see courage Brasidas in Chalkidike 34–6 constitution, see constitution ( politeia): Spartan education and training (paideia), see Funeral Oration of Perikles: education and training (paideia) fear 3, 11, 63, 93, 187, 194, 226, 231, 234, 241, 252, 258–9 financial concerns of 23–4, 31–2, 37, 69, 263 first invasion of Attica by 24–7, 97–8 in Ionian War 36 instability of 225, 251, 256–8

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Index king-lists for 224–5, 266 kings, see Agasikles; Agesilaos; Agesipolis; Agis II; Archidamos II; Archidamos III; Damaratos; Kleomenes; Leon; Leonidas; Leotychidas; Pausanias kings, voting rights of 259 law(s) Archidamos’ speech in Sparta 89–90, 96 Damaratos on 63, 77, 241 in Funeral Oration of Perikles 56, 62–3 Lykourgos and 223, 234, 237, 259 and military training and obedience 170, 234, 237, 240 Xenophon on 62–5, 259 lawlessness 93, 102, 257–8; see also hybris and Melos 35–6 mirage (‘mirage spartiate’) 1, 17, 76, 258 Piraeus, attack on by 27–9, 40–1 political stagnation of 85–100 and revolt of Lesbos 29–33 on Rhodes 36–40 secrecy 26, 70, 222, 230, 231, 245, 261 sameness, ideology of 6; see also homoioi (‘similars’) slowness Ch. 2 passim, 66, 97 social life, in the Funeral Oration of Perikles 66–73 stasis (or threat of ) in 132, 225, 243, 257–8 Sthenelaidas’ speech 94 ‘Sparta effect’ 6; see also mirage, Spartan Spartan allies Archidamos and Sthenelaidas on 122 Athenians’ warning to 106 Brasidas’ appeal to as Dorians 122 relationship with 24–5, 29, 36–7, 94–5 reluctance of 23, 30, 31, 35 Rhodes 39 Sicilian 26

speeches 226–7 by Alkibiades 226 by Archidamos 14–15, 16, 25–6, 66, 71 by Brasidas 226–7 by Korinthians 8, 13, 88, 99 by Perikles 15–6, 23–4, 29, 36–7, 89, 96, 98–9, 120, 130, 166; see also Funeral Oration of Perikles by Sthenelaidas 94–5 Sphakteria, see Pylos / Sphakteria Sphodrias 244, 252 stability, see eunomia stasis denunciation of in Cresphontes (Euripides) 134 in Sparta 225, 243–4, 257–8 in Taras 197 in Thouroi and Metapontos 129 threat of 132, 243–4 Steup, J. 222 Sthenelaidas 65, 93–8 ‘storytelling’ 222 Strabo 201–2 sungeneia / (k)sungeneia, see kinship; see also colonisation; ethnicity / ethnic identity; identity Syracuse 100, 122–3, 125, 128–9, 131, 135, 148, 184–5, 200 Taras 197–8 techne¯ 16, 89, 98, 99 Tegea 242, 254–6, 256 treaty 138 Teisamenos of Elis 255 Teleutias, raid on Piraeus 28–9 theatre, see also Aeschylus; Aristophanes; Euripides; Hermippos; tragedy Aristotle on 251 competitive 69 Thebes alliance with Athens 253 invasion of Plataia 25–6 and Messenia 138, 139–40 Themistokles 96, 101, 103, 144–5, 222, 229–30, 248, 251 Theognis 131

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Index Thera 200–1, 204, 208 Thermopylai 76, 78, 241, 249, 253, 259 Thirty Years Peace 35–6 Thrasylos 169–70 Thucydides access to sources 226–7 compared with other authors 252–9 on the fall of Pausanias 228–31 on future events 259–60 personal position / credentials 259–66 portrayal of Brasidas 251 as potential source of funds for Sparta 263 on Spartan crisis (of 419–8 BCE) 231–52 studies of 1 style 221–3 Thucydides, quoted passages on Agis, criticism of 10 (5.60.2–3), 13 (5.63.2) on Alkibiades’ advice to Endius 173 (8.12.2) on Alkidas and the Spartan fleet 31 (3.29.1) allies in Sicily, list of 126–8 (7.57.1) on Archidamos 89 (1.79.2) Archidamos’ speech to Spartans 90 (1.84.3) to troops 92–3 (2.11.3–5) on Athenian dress 14 (1.6.3) on Athenians’ motive for naval display 30 (3.16.1) Athenians’ speech on otherness of Spartan customs 105 (1.77.6) warning Melians about Sparta 108 (5.105.4) on Brasidas 7 (4.81.2–3), 34 (4.104.2–3) on Brasidas’ funeral 187 (5.11.1) Brasidas’ battle speech 250 (5.9.10) catalogue of allies and ethnicity in Sicily 126–8 (7.57.1–59.1), 185 (7.57.1) on constitutional progress 87 (1.13.1) on Greeks in Thraceward area 8 (4.108.6)

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on Herakleia, motive for the founding of 190 (3.92.4) on helots’ being called ‘Messenians’ 135 (1.101.2) on the History and future events 259 (1.22.4) Korinthians, speech by in Sparta 13 (1.70.2), 23 (1.70.2), 88 (1.71.2–3) on Messenians, see helots Perikles on deficiencies of Spartans 13–14 (1.141.6), 16 (1.142.6–7), 23–4 (1.141.6), 166 Funeral Oration 56–80, passim (2.35–46) on Perikles’ concerns as xenos of Archidamos 166 (2.13.1) on Piraeus, Spartan attempt on 27 (2.93.1) on Sicily, allies in 185 (7.57.1) on first Sicilian expedition 126 (3.86.4) on Sparta and early stasis in 257 (1.18.1) material remains and power of 86 (1.10.2) on Spartan dress 14 (1.6.4) Spartan prisoner from Sphakteria 6 (4.40.2) Spartans as convenient enemies 99 (8.96.5) after the helot revolt 3 (1.102.3) on morale of after Pylos 6–7 (4.55.4) on slowness of and failure to act of 23–4 (1.141.6), 99 (8.96.5) on troops of at Mantineia 8 (5.69.2), 237 (5.72.2) Spartans’ speech in Athens 10 (4.17.2) on Sphakteria, Spartans’ defeat at 6 (4.55.4) on stasis in the future 259 (3.82.2) Sthenelaidas’ speech in Sparta 94–5 (1.86) on Thraceward Greeks’ enthusiasm for Sparta 8 (4.108.6) on tyrants / tyranny in Greece 87–8

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Index (1.13.1; 1.18.1), 92 (1.17) on xenia relationships 166 (2.13.1), 173 (8.12.2) Thucydides (Thessalian proxenos) 168 Tigerstedt, E. N. 91 Timaios 201 Tisamenos 136 Tissaphernes 38–40, 240 Tompkins, D. 93 Trachis 122, 183–4, 186, 188, 190–1, 193, 205, 207 tragedy 249–51; see also Aeschylus; Euripides tresantes 234, 258–9; see also fear tripod, bronze at Delphi 102, 104 and the Eusperides 201 tropoi as traits of character 57, 75; see also customs (nomima / tropoi) tyrants / tyranny 87–8, 92 Tyrtaios 79, 146 USSR / Russia 221, 261, 264 warfare, see also military brigandage / guerrilla warfare 231, 244–5 of information 3–4 naval, see naval operations in winter seas 38 war songs 9 women Athenian, in the Funeral Oration of Perikles 71–3 Spartan in the Funeral Oration of Perikles 72–3 post 450 BCE 137

xene¯lasia 70, 73–4, 192 xenia 163–76 Xenophon 263 Agesilaus 241 Anabasis 247 Hellenica military opportunity 247 Phoibidas in 150 proxenies 164 Spartan justice 252–3 Teleutias’ raid on Piraeus 28–9 women 73 xenia 166–7, 168 Lakedaimonion Politeia ‘beautiful death’ 76 chronology in 252 confusion at Mantineia 237 competition for office 59 constitution 230 cowards 67–8 criticism of Sparta 258 hegemony 76 king-lists 226 laws 62–3 models 57 political participation 64 the poor in political life 60, 61–2 procreation 64–5 Memorabilia 63 Xerxes 120, 241, 254 Damaratos’ speech to 63, 77 and Pausanias 102, 104, 228–9

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