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  discussing how to treat those who revolt: “in all circumstances, it is

  human nature to despise conciliation and admire firmness” (Th. 3.39.5,

  adapted). Whatever one thinks of the validity of the sentiment, it occurs in the larger context of advocating the harsh treatment of Mytilene, an allied city‐state that has revolted against Athenian rule.

  The Athenian Diodotus responds to Cleon with an extended appeal to

  human nature:

  It is natural for all men, both individually and collectively, to make mistakes, and there is no law that will prevent this seeing that people have truly used up all penalties in succession on the chance of lessening their injuries at the hands of criminals … And in every case [both for the boldness of the poor and the ambition of the wealthy], hope and desire – the one leading while the other follows, the one thinking up a scheme while the other holds out the full assistance of fortune – do the greatest

  damage, and although invisible, they have power over perils that can be seen. (Th. 3.45)

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  Diodotus’ reasoning follows from a fairly specific and elaborated view of human nature that appeals to common sense regarding hope and desire

  (in Greek, elpis and ero ̄ s). These emotional impulses are linked to typical reactions of the poor and the wealthy; thus Diodotus is arguing broadly that harsh punishments never stop similar behavior in the future.

  Punishment would, Diodotus argues, not only be unjust, but also foment

  further insurrections there and among other allies, a solution that serves both expediency and justice (Debnar 2000).

  Both speakers in the Mytilenean debate, then, use human nature to

  support opposing views on how to treat unruly subjects. Both also show

  greater concern with what is expedient and useful, not what is humane,

  merciful, or just – foreshadowing the pragmatic focus of the Athenians at Melos. Points and rebuttals are based on very different readings of human nature, and specifically emotions: Cleon warns the Athenians about

  “giving in to the three failings most incompatible with empire: pity,

  enjoyment of speeches and evenhandedness” (Th. 3.39.3); Diodotus

  counters: “I consider the greatest obstacles to good counsel to be haste and anger [ orge ̄], the latter usually involving folly, the other ignorance and deficiency of reasoning” (Th. 3.42.1). Throughout the debate,

  readers of the historian are called upon to follow and assess which side more accurately judges the emotional response of potential rebellious

  states, at present and in future, of the Athenian assembly, and of each speaker. Diodotus’ resolution not to execute all male Mytilenean

  citizens and enslave the women and children prevails, but just narrowly (Th. 3.49.1). Then, by a motion of Cleon, those who plotted the revolt

  are executed; the towns ruled by Mytilene become subjects of Athens

  (Th. 3.50). The Mytilenean episode and debate are afforded an extensive presentation (Th. 3.1–19 and 26–50) over a quarter of the length of

  Book 3. The section seems important as a barometer of Athenian imperial character rather than as a turning point in the course of the war itself. The presentation at one level reinforces the rational, evaluative process of the Athenians, to come to the most effective solution regarding the likely human responses (Dewald 2005: 95–6). Yet it also points out the fine

  margin by which the decision was reached, in effect reinforcing that

  the views of both speakers had equal support among the citizens. The

  Mytilenean outcome contrasts with the less rational responses of

  the Athenians to later events, including their ambition following success at Pylus (Th. 4.1–41, esp. 4.21.2 and 41.4, where the Athenians “grasped at more” and “were intent on greater gains”), their abandonment

  of nuanced considerations of justice in punishment of the Melians

  (Th. 5.84–114), and their stark desire ( ero ̄ s) to mount the Sicilian expedition (Th. 6.24–6; esp. 24.3).

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  A final example of the interplay of reason and emotion in Thucydides

  is the historian’s own famous characterization of human nature in the

  narrative of Civil War in Corcyra, which one commentator has called “the most substantial expression of direct personal opinion in all Thucydides”

  (Hornblower 1991: 478):

  With this savagery, the civil war progressed, and it seemed all the more savage because it was the first, while later the rest of Hellas, almost without exception, was also in turmoil, with rival efforts everywhere by the popular leaders to bring in the Athenians and the oligarchs, the Lacedaemonians …

  And during the civil war the cities suffered many cruelties that occur and will always occur, so long as the nature of humans is the same, sometimes more terribly and sometimes less, varying in their forms as each change of fortune dictates. For, in peace and good circumstances, both states and individuals make better decisions [or “have better resolve”: gno ̄ mas]

  through not falling into involuntary necessities; but war, stripping away the daily access to daily needs, is a violent teacher and brings most men’s emotions into line with the present situations. (Th. 3.82.1–2, adapted)

  The civil strife is called “savage” or “raw,” as if a bestial phenomenon in opposition to normal civic interaction. Greece is said to be “in turmoil”

  ( ekine ̄ the ̄), words taken by many as an echo of the beginning of the History, when the whole war was said to be a “convulsion” (“movement”: kine ̄ sis, Th. 1.1.2) for the Greeks. The “cruelties” of civil strife, a gloss on

  “savagery” earlier, occur with varying degrees of severity “so long as

  human nature is the same,” another way of saying “in accordance with

  human nature.” It is noteworthy that the historian seeks to find constants of motivation behind the variations of intense phenomena, in accordance with “the clear truth” behind phenomena, promised to readers in the

  methodology statement (Th. 1.23.4). In line with this nuanced observa-

  tion, the last sentence of this passage goes further in distinguishing patterns of behavior common to states and individuals, in which peacetime

  allows “[ethically] better judgments” and war is a “violent teacher” that levels emotions to the immediately present conditions. The implied

  mechanics of human nature in this last statement are carefully modulated, by stating that in peace men are given to better decisions, more clearly reasoned, while in war decisions are led astray by emotions and immediate concerns. The analysis of stasis (“rebellion,” “civil war”) is not, of course, to be read as a rigid doctrine of “determinism,” whereby humans can

  never improve their behavior, but rather as a statement along the lines of our sociological or psychological generalizations, which aim to see what is typical in which situations. And yet such debased behavior is not

  unavoidable with the proper effort, resolve, and leadership. The passage

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  implies an endorsement of clear reason and dedication to the common

  good by prizing better ethical behavior when possible and by disapprov-

  ing of violence (Edmunds 1975b; Allison 1997b: 163–87). The phrase

  calling war a “violent teacher” ( biaios didaskalos) can also be translated

  “teacher of violence,” both senses being valid. War instructs participants in violent behavior and uses violence as a means of instruction. In this case, war fosters civil violence and creates a civil chaos analogous to the lawlessness during the Plague (Th. 2.53).

  The description of Civil War in Corcyra next continues with a celebrated description of the general turmoil, specifically the degeneration of words and values among the sides strugg
ling in civil strife: “And in self‐ justification men inverted the usual evaluation of names for actions. Irrational reckless-ness was now considered courageous commitment” (Th. 3.82.3–4,

  adapted). “Evaluation” ( axio ̄ sis) is a charged and crucial term, earlier glossed as a person’s “estimation” of how best to voice public views. This term more usually denotes “moral worthiness,” for example, of persons

  like Pericles (Th. 1.138.2; 2.34.6; 2.37.1; 2.61.4; 2.65.8; 6.54.3; Loraux 2009: 270–1). Hence individual dignity is transferred to words, ones that are chosen to assess the worth of individuals. Behind axio ̄ sis as used here, one scholar has even detected a Thucydidean analysis of how humans formulate word choice in speaking (Allison 1997b: 163–86). There is, it

  seems, an initial evaluation of sense perceptions ( doke ̄ sis), followed by an evaluation of the subject ( dikaio ̄ sis), then finally an assessment of how best to formulate a public expression ( axio ̄ sis). This analysis reflects more broadly some crucial Thucydidean concepts by which knowledge is achieved or

  correct opinions and strategies are best formulated. The “assessment” stage is based on social norms and expectations, and of course will crucially involve a speaker’s or writer’s view of how to tell it as he sees it (i.e., his

  “truth”) or how to skew the presentation to his advantage. Of course, at another level, Thucydides the historian himself makes an “evaluation,” his central duty to ensure that words accurately reflect deeds.

  Alongside the interplay of emotion, reason, and human nature, the

  passage on civil strife implies certain ethical values guiding the historian’s assessment. In essence, the account of stasis reveals his support for traditional values, notably at the beginning of chapter 83: “In this way, every form of viciousness was established in the Hellenic world on account of the civil wars, and the simplicity that is especially found in noble natures disappeared because it became ridiculous” (Th. 3.83.1). The historian

  laments the loss of a simple good nature, a lack of guile that forms a

  counterpoint, according to some, at the ethical heart of the History: the earlier tradition of simplicity is in perpetual tension with a more recent

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  pragmatic realism (Crane 1998; Hornblower 1987: 186–7 n100;

  Edmunds 1975b). The historian’s aim may be to reconcile the older elite ideals of self‐sacrificing valor ( arete ̄) and devotion to the common good with new understandings of the workings of human nature.

  In the opening of the stasis passage, material well‐being is a factor motivating individuals and stimulating infighting, a factor that also in part defines the power of states in chapters 1–23 of Book 1 (which are

  sometimes called “Thucydides’ archaeology”; see Kallet‐Marx 1993;

  Kallet 2001). Material conditions usually determine human motivation

  and actions. Only in exceptional situations of valor or desperation is

  wealth removed from the equation, for better or worse: see Pericles’

  praise of both poor and wealthy soldiers facing death (Th. 2.42.4) and

  the historian’s account of lawless behavior by both the poor and the

  wealthy during the Great Plague in Athens (Th. 2.53.1).

  There emerges from several passages a notable motif of Thucydidean

  thoughts on human nature, namely that there is one facet of it that he calls

  “character” ( tropoi, literally “turnings, inclinations”) that can be linked to the culture of one’s city‐state; the same word in the singular ( tropos) means

  “way of acting” on a specific issue (Price 2001: 149 n47; Luginbill 1999, passim). This character is an aspect of “nature” that emerges from patterns of similar behavior and habits of a state’s culture and traditions. It seems that being aware of one’s character can lead to corrective changes in it to avoid its weaknesses, since the Corinthians seem to think they can persuade the Spartans to act out of character (Th. 1.70). The Corinthians

  contrast the ambitious and enterprising character of Athens with the slow-ness of Sparta, and later the author comments that the Athenians and

  Syracusans are “similar in character” in their political management, size and strategy (Th. 7.55; Price 2001: 147–51). Thucydides seems to agree

  with the Corinthians’ assessment of the character of the two opponents: later in 411 bc, when Sparta missed the opportunity for possible victory over the whole “Athenian empire” ( arche ̄), he says:

  But not on this occasion alone, yet on many others as well, the

  Lacedaemonians proved the most convenient of all people for the Athenians to be at war with. For as the farthest from them in character – the one people being quick, the other slow; the one enterprising, the other timid –

  they were obliging in general and particularly in the case of naval power.

  (Th. 8.96, Price 2001: 148)

  Pericles three times attributes the empire’s greatness to Athenian character (Th. 2.36, 39, 41). Nicias notes that the allied sailors admire and imitate

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  the character of the Athenians (Th. 7.63). In advising against the ambitious Sicilian expedition, Nicias realizes that he is advising “against [Athenian]

  character” (Th. 6.9). After the enterprise has begun, Nicias again seems to try to change the Athenians’ character when he criticizes their “natures”

  ( phuseis) in rejecting bad news (Th. 7.14). Character, then, is a collective aspect of human nature that shares aspects with individual behavior, but it is noteworthy in allowing the author to classify roughly generalized

  inclinations that historical agents take into their thinking.

  “Human nature” in Thucydides is, in short, frequently associated with

  more appetitive, impulsive aspects of humans, desiring, fearing, and

  resorting to violence to dominate or servile behavior to submit. This is the severe image that emerges from most speakers and from the historian observing the relative rarity of more moral, just, or “noble” behavior, exemplified by the nearly extinct “noble simplicity” at 3.83. There is also the collective dimension of the character of certain city‐states that to an extent reflects individual human behavior and becomes an important

  consideration in the assessment of decisions and actions by other persons and by the historian. But alongside the typical individual and group

  thinking are found important counterpoints of exceptional (if not perfect) virtue: intelligence, restraint and selfless generosity, manly courage

  ( arete ̄), and even a “power of nature” exemplified in different aspects by Pericles, Archidamus, Themistocles, Nicias, and others.

  Themes and Significant Passages

  The survey of the historian’s background and of the major themes above

  aims to serve as a guide for reading and formulating one’s own views of this complex author. The best way to come to understand his thought is

  not, however, to isolate themes, but to read the work closely and sequentially, from beginning to end, and thereby to experience the horrible

  event from the author’s perspective. It is a conflict that surpasses even the wars of Homer or Herodotus in scale, but also in suffering, as human

  behavior deteriorates (Th. 1.1, 23; Rawlings 1981; Connor 1984).

  Book 1: The “Archaeology”

  The first twenty‐one chapters of Thucydides’ work, the so‐called “archeology,” present clearly and programmatically a worldview based on a

  materialism similar to, if not directly inspired by, that of Democritus. The

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  famous passage is overtly an attempt to evidence how the present war was the greatest in history: “This was certainly the greatest disturbance to affect the Hellenes and a considerable number of barbarians – one might even say
the majority of mankind” (Th. 1.1); “And this war … will clearly nevertheless stand out as greater than others for anyone who examines it from the facts themselves” (Th. 1.21). The whole section, indeed much

  of Book 1, is replete with ring composition, an archaic style found often in Homer and also in Herodotus whereby the stories that digress from

  the main narrative “circle back” to it in the end, in a sequence of thesis–

  proof–thesis, and within the concentric sections themselves there are

  frequently themes balanced with and echoing one another, for instance

  preparation (Th. 1.1. and 1.19), difficulty of judging from evidence (Th.

  1.2 and 1.20), and islanders (Th. 1.4 and 1.8) (Hammond 1952; Connor

  1984: 251–61).

  Among the striking aspects of this section is “an anatomy of power

  based on a view of man’s nature” (Connor 1984: 26). Within the theme

  of the material basis of power we see states move toward territorial security, accumulation of capital, and military undertakings, particularly naval prowess toward the building of power. Another theme is the highlighting of human motives, notably fear and self‐interest, in the interactions of states. Third, this section is a showpiece of method – how to do history in a fundamental way, reasoning from likelihood and analogy about

  known phenomena where oral traditions or visible remains are unreliable or where evidence is altogether missing. Thucydides cites evidence and

  signs ( tekme ̄ ria or se ̄ meia). The substantive concerns and the kinds of evidence persist throughout the work, though the findings appear more

  secure since the evidence is more abundant and contemporary. But,

  throughout, the historian alludes to the dual motivation of humans, fear and greed (“love of profit”; Th. 1.8) in the period when Minos’ navy was in power. Agamemnon did not build allegiance by an oath to Tyndareus,

  but by surpassing others in power (Th. 1.9.1). Pelops acquired power in Southern Greece through the wealth he brought from Asia (Th. 1.9.2).

  He famously cautions against judging the power of a place from its size: Mycenae may seem small now, but,