Bakewell, 'Humanity of Thucydides', Bryn Mawr Classical Review 9511
URL = http://hegel.lib.ncsu.edu/stacks/serials/bmcr/bmcr-9511-bakewell-humanity
@@@@95.11.13, Orwin, The Humanity of Thucydides
Clifford Orwin, The Humanity of Thucydides. Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1994. Pp. x + 235. $35. ISBN
0-691-03449-4.
Reviewed by Geoff Bakewell, Classics and Modern Languages
-- Creighton University
gbakewe@creighton.edu
Clifford Orwin, professor of political science at the
University of Toronto, has given us an important, provocative,
and ultimately unsettling new book on Thucydides. Twelve years
in the making, The Humanity of Thucydides draws upon and
goes beyond the author's previous articles on the subject. As
the title intimates, O. puts forward a comprehensive
interpretation of the historian and his aims. He is primarily
concerned to determine T.'s views on the complex relations
between justice, piety, necessity (i.e., actions that are morally
obligatory), and human nature. O. finds T.'s work characterized
by a deep humanity, which he defines as a sympathy for the
victims of power and fortune (which is to say, all of us).
Before outlining O.'s argument, it will be useful to highlight
his most important methodological assumptions. First, O. treats
T. as primarily a political thinker. Although well-grounded in
the relevant philological and historical scholarship,[[1]] O.
consistently locates the text within an intellectual framework
anchored by Plato, Aristotle, Machiavelli, Hobbes, and Nietzsche.
Second, he takes I.22.1-3 to mean that the speeches are
reasonably accurate facsimiles of what was said upon particular
occasions. Third, he adopts a unitarian view on the
Thukydidesfrage, treating the text as a coherent work with
a central meaning. Finally, O. sees T.'s work as a reservoir of
deep paradoxes. These "perplexities" and "inconsistencies" are
intentional, hint at T.'s deepest concerns, and represent "the
articulation of different perspectives on these problems." (6)
The text is thus an heuristic vehicle for the proper education of
T.'s readers.[[2]]
Like his Thucydides, O. proceeds indirectly. He does not
state his own views at the outset, but rather lets them emerge
through an extended sequence of question and answer,
contradiction and redefinition. The reader in search of a
straightforward exposition is best advised to begin with Chapter
9, the last in the book. Given the importance O. attaches to
reflection and rereading, a linear summary of his argument runs
the risk of obviating the educational process he intends.
Nevertheless, it will be useful to sketch his central thesis, and
then treat the individual chapters in detail.
For O., T.'s work is about regimes. Sparta and Athens
represent incompatible Weltanschauungen, opposed poles
within the domain of "Greekness". Sparta is a conservative state
committed to moderation. It practices old-fashioned virtue,
conducting its foreign affairs according to traditional notions
of piety and justice. It strictly observes oaths and treaties,
and is committed to the autonomy of other Greek cities. By
contrast Athens is an innovative state devoted to daring. It
glories in imperial expansion, consistently pursuing its own
interest at the expense of others. In this regard it propounds a
particular thesis: all cities rightly prefer their own safety,
honor, and advantage to the demands of justice and piety. For
the Athenians, the latter are avowedly second-order concerns,
obligatory only when they do not conflict with the former. T.'s
narrative attests to the truth of this "Athenian thesis"; no
city is deterred by traditional morality from ruling where it
can. Upon close inspection, even Sparta's moderation stems not
from a superior regard for justice and piety, but from an
inability to expand safely. (The helot population constituted a
danger which outweighed the potential gains in honor and profit.)
T. uses the figures of Diodotus and Hermocrates to refine the
Athenian thesis. Given human nature, states will tend to: 1)
pursue their own good; 2) confuse that which is truly necessary
(safety) with the lesser goals of honor and profit; 3) overreach
themselves; 4) overrate the justice of their own actions; 5)
expect the gods to honor "justice" and shield them from
adversity; and 6) meet with disaster. O. is sympathetic to the
Athenian thesis, and draws several conclusions. Inasmuch as it
deters states from overreaching, fear is the most salutary
emotion, and its embodiment in society via law our greatest hope.
Furthermore, the best regime trains its citizens to a studied
mediocrity, limiting rather than exciting their aims. Finally,
human inability to accept the poverty of justice makes hypocrisy
a necessary virtue in dealings between and within cities. The
text testifies to T.'s earlier bout with the "noble political
fever" (205) of Athenianism, and seeks to help readers through
its later recrudescences.
Ch. 1 examines the Funeral Oration's presentation of the
Athenian empire. According to O., Pericles offers a solution to
the problem posed by the divergent interests of the individual
and society. He redefines these interests so that they coincide:
citizen deaths become voluntary offerings, repaid in the coin of
imperial glory. P.'s redefinition devalues the body, the family,
and the gods, and establishes the polis as the proper object of
eros. Acquisition and maintenance of empire comprise the highest
human good. Yet P.'s rhetoric masks a basic contradiction.
Viewed as a lives-for-glory bargain, the empire appears at once
more calculated and less noble. The Funeral Oration thus prompts
a reexamination of the motives of empire. Ch. 2 revisits the
ancient question of responsibility for the war. O. takes up the
aitia/prophasis controversy, examines the Corcyra/Corinth
debate before the Athenian assembly, and analyzes the speech of
the Athenian envoys at Sparta. T. is deliberately ambiguous
about the question of blame; T.'s intention is to demonstrate
that the Spartans and Athenians hold differing beliefs about the
necessity of justice. By Spartan lights, nothing justifies the
contravention of justice and piety; according to the Athenians,
justice and piety are subordinate to safety, honor, and
advantage. This gives rise to a paradox. Given the terms of the
Thirty Years' Peace and Athenian willingness to submit to
arbitration, the Spartan understanding of justice exonerates the
Athenians. Seen from the Athenian vantage point, Spartan fears
for the coherence of the Peloponnesian League are related to
Sparta's safety, hence a legitimate casus belli. Book 1
thus examines the nature of justice, and the extent to which it
is obligatory. Ch. 3 offers inductive evidence supporting the
Athenian thesis. During both the Mytilenian revolt and the
debate surrounding the destruction of Plataea, the parties
involved speak of the justice of their claims; in fact all act
based on their respective self-interest. Even Sparta, the
"liberator" of the Greek cities, clothes its own good in the garb
of justice. Established as arbiter at Plataea, it dispenses
justice by asking the captives what they have done for Sparta in
the current war. The Athenians are thus unique not in in their
preference of self-interest to justice, but in their candor. Ch.
4 turns to the issue of piety. The battle of Delium demonstrates
that the Athenians have an equally novel understanding of when to
observe the demands of piety. Retreating, they encamp in and
desecrate a sanctuary of Apollo. At a parley with the Thebans,
they deny "that the gods can reasonably expect [them] to put the
sacred first, ahead of the compulsions to which [they] are
subject as human beings." (96) Although the Athenians refuse to
evacuate, citing necessity, they nonetheless press the Thebans to
return the corpses of their fallen comrades. This conduct is in
some measure self-contradictory, and indicates a residue of piety
among the Athenians. Ch. 5 presents a full treatment of Athens'
"political theology of imperialism." (96) The Melian Dialogue
represents a confrontation between the "Athenian thesis" and a
Melian form of its Spartan counterpart. The islanders refuse to
surrender, relying on the justice of their own cause, the
Spartans, and the gods. The Athenians urge them to look instead
to their survival. The subseqent reduction of Melos shows that
the Athenians have not fully embraced their own thesis. In
killing/enslaving the prisoners, the Athenians do not
dispassionately consider their own advantage; they angrily avenge
an earlier injustice. Ch. 6 examines the juxtaposition of the
events at Melos with those in Sicily. According to one
widespread view, the two episodes are linked: Athenian hybris is
immediately followed by divine vengeance. This is not the case.
The debacle stemmed rather from poor leadership. Under the
command of Alcibiades Athens would have subdued the island, or at
the very least avoided disaster. Yet the son of Clinias made one
major mistake: he candidly extended the "Athenian thesis" to
domestic affairs. According to A., all citizens are not equal;
imperial glory does not constitute a shared good; each citizen
pursues his own advantage. In asking the Athenians to accept his
superiority for their own good, A. paralleled the actions of the
envoys to Melos. Athens reacted just as Melos did, rejecting his
terms and entrusting the command to a man devoted to piety and
justice. "Athens fails in Sicily ... because Nicias and the rank
and file doom it by their Melianism." (123) Athens' failure
stems from an insufficient commitment to its own thesis. Ch. 7
uses the speeches of Diodotus (III.42-8) and Hermocrates
(IV.59-64) to reformulate the Athenian thesis. In urging
clemency for the Mytilenians, Diodotus notes a general human
proclivity to err. People are unable to distinguish among the
demands of safety, honor and profit; "the poor strive for
necessities, the rich for superfluities: the latter extenuate no
less than the former." (156) Transgression is the fundamental
fact of human life. Hermocrates claims that human beings
routinely underestimate the power of fortune, overestimating both
their own justice and the gods' regard for the same. The
revamped Athenian thesis holds that false beliefs about justice
and piety, combined with sheer miscalculation, transform cities'
pursuit of their own interest into calamitous daring.
Consequently "fear, insofar as it lessens our hopes, is itself a
beacon of hope." (169) Ch. 8 explores the domestic ramifications
of the Athenian thesis. Society succeeds by institutionalizing
fear, seeing to the bodily needs of its citizens, and shielding
them from extreme necessity. The best regime averts anarchy by
enjoining a labored conformity; only a limited space remains for
the cultivation of human excellence. Both plague and stasis
demonstrate how fragile to kalon is, and how quickly the
human moral horizon contracts. Hypocritical Sparta is preferable
to candid Athens; each city needs an external threat (e.g.,
helots) to ensure the dour practice of virtue. Ch. 9
recapitulates O.'s main points, closing with the suggestion that
the text constitutes a Thucydidean palinode. The historian had
once subscribed to the Periclean vision of Athens, a city
candidly committed to the daring pursuit of its own advantage and
individual excellence. Now recovered, T. seeks to prevent his
readers from making a similar mistake. Three short appendices
conclude the work.
The Humanity of Thucydides is a valuable piece of
scholarship. It asks important questions, marshaling an
impressive breadth and depth of learning. Its somber description
of the "permanent contours of politics" (3) is eminently
persuasive. At the stylistic level, O. has a fine eye for
nuance. One example will suffice: when commenting on T.'s
descriptions of plague and stasis, he notes that "the
articulation of the best regime [T.] leaves to his characters
(Pericles, Archidamus, Athenagoras); the description of the
political nadir he jealously reserves for himself." (173) O.'s
prose is clear, concise, and pithy in places.
For all its intelligence and persuasiveness, The Humanity
of Thucydides should be read cautiously. Certain
difficulties stem from O.'s methodological choices. It is not
clear that T.'s primary interest was political philosophy; his
concern was to record how the combatants fought with each
other, not what they thought as they did so. (I.1) At bottom his
work is a chronological record of events, with summer following
winter and campaign following campaign. Moreover, O.'s
reconstruction of Spartan and Athenian "theses" involves highly
abstract generalizations. In arguing for the existence of
characteristic national thought patterns, O. maximizes
differences between cities and minimizes those between citizens.
Sparta and Athens were in many respects similar, nor did all
Athenians think alike. Even O. concedes that "most Athenians
[were] never ... as 'Athenian' as their envoys to Melos." (122)
O.'s arguments about national theses accordingly rely heavily on
the speeches at the expense of the narrative. Yet even O.'s
approach to the speeches is problematic. In principle he
espouses the moderate claim that each one is "a joint endeavor of
Thucydides and the original author--and so contrived that it is
possible to distinguish only partly their respective
contributions." (210) Yet in practice O. treats the speeches as
internally consistent philosophical tracts; T.'s
historiographical concerns and sources receive scant attention.
Particularly troubling in this regard is O.'s insinuation that T.
knowingly engaged in false attribution at VI.82-7: "we must
consider whether the name [Euphemus] does not fit the speech a
little too perfectly to be credible as the name of the actual
speaker." (131 n.26) Finally, I.22 makes it clear T. hoped his
work would have a lasting impact. But did he really construct
his ktema es aei as an heuristic device reliant on paradox
and reader response for its effect?
The Humanity of Thucydides is finally troublesome in
its implications. O. is sensitive to paradox in T.'s text, and
sympathetic to Diodotus' views on the weakness of human reason
and the desirability of hypocrisy. If deception is an essential
component of free speech (160), what are we to make of this book?
O. has shown us how to read T.--but how are we to read O.? O.'s
reticence about his own agenda is disturbing. What, for example,
is the reader to make of the following teaser:
"I approached T. with my own questions, without which it would
not have made sense to approach him at all. At first these
questions reflected my youthful experience of the sixties and
behind that my unresolved preoccupation with the horrors of the
decade preceding ... I was fortunate enough to learn that the
first answer to which a reader must remain alert is that he or
she did not yet know to ask the right questions." (12)
Here O. tantalizes the reader, highlighting his own personal
stake in the inquiry but never specifying 1) his initial
questions; 2) the "horrors" of the fifties; 3) the "right"
questions to ask when reading T. What, then, is O.'s deception?
Similarly, if public discourse is an inappropriate venue for
discovering truth, why does O. offer his book to the academic
general public? In one sense O.'s book offers us an example of
the familiar interpretive problem: "all Cretans are liars ... I
am a Cretan."
NOTES
[[1] Given his detailed philological argumentation, O.'s
reference to the "optative voice" (107) remains puzzling.
[[2]] O. acknowledges a profound debt to Leo Strauss' The City
and Man (Chicago, 1964).