When all social relations are poisoned...

 

It is strikingly obvious that Greek life fell into decay during the Peloponnesian War. What led up to it was the mood prevailing among the Greeks; since the Persian Wars they had been conscious of their own tremendous strength (in the individual polis or party, this bore little relation to whether they had fought in the wars, or even sided with the Persians) and in this consciousness they tended to live recklessly. It was then that the power struggle began, something formerly characteristic only of Sparta. The impulse for it came from democracy, which was now almost universal.

Peoples who had conquered, or persuaded themselves that they had, were now consolidating their own states, but the unsettled condition of home affairs of course expressed itself externally too in violent acts. By the new criterion, which applied to everything, no-one felt they had enough power, just because they had felt so powerful in the Persian War. Ambition and vanity were no longer satisfied by the proclamations and applause for agonal victors; there was a need to direct self-assertion outwards, against other poleis, other groups who were very easily provoked, and in extreme cases might have to be destroyed if they were to be rendered harmless and incapable of revenge. In this situation, since all that had once been venerated was now worthless - myth, shrines, agonal fame in the cities - the power politicians had the last word. In Greece and in Sicily the whole of the fifth century from then on was nothing but the preparation for and prelude to the Peloponnesian War, that is to the grouping under two banners of the poleis who wielded power and those who submitted to it, and to establishing which were the stronger. While the poleis had hitherto been intent on independence, they were now forced to join alliances and hegemonies.
Individually, but momentarily united, they had defeated Xerxes and Mar donius; now they were the victims o f a general restlessness both within and without. But the war within the nation, to which this unrest was irresistibly tending, meant that the Persians, if they had any policy at all, could be sure of dominating Greece.

The terrible martial law that dated from mythical times was not simply still alive: it was only now methodically and hideously put into practice. Extermination, selling prisoners into slavery, laying crops to waste, scorched earth and ravaging were commonplace. Ambition was not hindered by the weakening of energies: the proof of it is the Athenians’ Sicilian venture while they were hourly under threat of war breaking out again. Athens well deserved total ruin as the reward of its cruelty and destructiveness.

Thucydides is our authority for the effect all this had on the national character. In a famous section of Book Three he links the description of pervasive rottenness with the horrors committed on Corcyra, because the revolution there was among the first, and so made a particularly terrible impression. Later ‘the whole Hellenic nation was in turmoil’, with the democrats all pro-Athenian and the oligarchs all pro-Spartan. It was now they learned how much more easily revolutions could be made in wartime than in peace, since during a war foreign help could be called in by those who wanted to overturn the constitution. In peacetime, the state as well as individuals had been inclined to mild behaviour as they were not suffering privation; war robs people of their earnings and their pleasures, and they turn vicious under this violent teacher (biaios didaskalos). But where the party split came later, it was all the more aggressive, hate-filled and retaliat ory, as past atrocities were discovered and avenged. Thucydides speaks too of the changes in the meanings of words, and gives the whole political jargon as it developed, especially in the hetaireia, or cliques [cf. p. 204 above]. Here, incidentally, we get an insight into the ruinous effect of political cabals like these, not only on the state and morality, but on all social life. Apart from the dimming of the intellect caused by belonging to dubs, they make any intellectual exchange on a decently objective level impossible, and not only for one particular evening; all social relations are poisoned. Each is condemned to spending his whole existence in the worst company in the world, and bound to it by complicity.

Thucydides goes further in explaining the mutual reliance of partners in crime. Men swore to stick together, but kept their word only when it was unavoidable and expedient; the diabolical development was that people found it not only safer, but more fun, to take revenge on their defenceless opponents by misusing their confidence (that is by having previously pretended to be their friends). Getting the upper hand by deceit demonstrated their cleverness; they preferred to be known as bad and cunning rather than as good and gullible, and in spite of their fine names the two factions would use any and every means in their contest (Thucydides does not betray his own allegiance by a single word). Having won power by an illegal vote or by force, they satisfied the current discontents by acting against their enemies. Special hatred was felt for citizens of moderate views: they were persecuted either because they would not take sides or out of envy of their honesty. Vicious ideas flourished, and the simplicity that is so much the mark of a noble nature was derided and despised. Enmity and bad faith abounded; no sacred word was safe, no sacred oath respected: self-interest was the sole preoccupation; the worst people of all, who had risen to the top, launched into action at once for fear they might be outwitted in argument or intrigue, and destroyed their more reasonable opponents while these were off their guard.

These imperishable chapters in Thucydides show us the fearful immorality common to all parties, both the horror of the conflict and the cold, inhuman calculation that informed it. Prudence was forgotten, for nothing could have been more favourable to the Persians, and Alcibiades encouraged them to let the two sides rage on; it was the simplest policy for the Persians to follow. During the precarious peace of Nicias (in 421), when everything was in ferment, primitive minority peoples began to make opportunistic raids (a development which was to become a terrible threat a century and a half later in the shape of the Aetolian League): Dolopians, Aenians and Malians attacked Heraclea Trachinia, won a battle, besieged the city and were driven off only by a unit of Theban auxiliaries. Both sides remained determined to fight to the last, and if we felt inclined to moderate what Thucydides says, his words are confirmed by the echoes we hear from Euripides’ Eteocles in Phoenician Women and his Creusa in Ion [pp. 244 and 256 above]. Here too we learn what risks power seekers would run to retain the mastery.

The poets shed light on many things. For instance, though predatory communism first appeared in the time of Polybius, its very own arguments, pressing for universal equality of property, must already have been heard during the Peloponnesian War. We gather this from a tirade in Euripides, proclaiming that life would become impossible if there were only poor people, and that general wellbeing needs a mixture of rich and poor, since they depend on one. another. It is also characteristic of the time that the simple patriotism that still speaks so convincingly in Aeschylus’ Seven against Thebes now sometimes rings false in Euripides. This is so in the long tirade of Erechtheus, when he is threatened by Eumolpus and the Thracians, and in his misguided noblemindedness proposes to sacrifice his daughter for his country. In another fragment the same poet tells how people now began to perceive that custom was better than law, because no orator could distort it; law could be abused and damaged by oratory.

For a guardian of morals, Aristophanes’ tone perhaps seems strange; but in all literature there is no text to compare with the dialogue, in Clouds, (961 ff.) of the just Word and the unjust. Both speeches, to be understood, must have been recognized by a large number of Athenians as images of the older and the younger Athens; the audience must also have been in silent agreement on things the poet necessarily speaks aloud. In Frogs (1014 f.) Aristophanes makes Aeschylus say that the present generation are shirkers when it comes to civic duties, mean, dishonest, and shabby (remember that this is just before the battle of Aegospotami); from Eurip ides they have learned the love of talk that is emptying the palaiestrai and causing mutiny among the sailors of the ship of state; the city swarms with forgers and frivolous pretenders, but they take so little exercise that none has the strength to carry the torches at the procession. Here and there the authorities are accused of corruption; or there is talk of the wickedness of men in general, backed up with mention of theft from public funds, desertion from the army or even kidnapping (Thesmophoriazusae 811 ff.) - though in this play it is the wretchedness and vice of women that are most harshly shown. Their infidelity, passing off their bastard children and so forth, are brought in as frequent occurrences, and there is talk of the increasing suspiciousness o f husbands (perhaps not much exaggerated) with Euripides blamed as the cause of it.214 In Plutus the good fortune of the wicked appears at the very beginning as a matter beyond doubt; Carion and his master Chremylus are each as bad as the other in their cold-blooded talk of dishonesty as the only way to get on in the world.

Old comedy itself is in reality part of the crisis of Greek life, and, as has been said [p. 230 above], is the proof that Athens was permanently charged with an electric force of scandal which was bound to break out like a thunderstorm, not only at the Dionysia, but throughout the year.215 As a source for cultural history comedy is indispensable, and the digressions (parabases), where the poet speaks directly, are of particular documentary importance; Aristophanes may be totally slanderous where he is dealing with certain individuals, but, where he depicts general conduct, can only have said what everyone knew and felt to be recognizable.

Jacob-Burckhardt The Greeks

(Oswyn-Murray-Sheila-Stern)