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Thucydides In the same winter the
Athenians, following their annual custom, gave a public funeral for those
who had been the first to die in the war. These funerals are held in the
following way: two days before the ceremony the bones of the fallen are
brought and put in a tent which has been erected, and people make whatever
offerings they wish to their own dead. Then there is a funeral procession
in which coffins of cypress wood are carried on wagons. There is one
coffin for each tribe, which contains the bones of members of that tribe.
One empty bier is decorated and carried in the procession: this is for the
missing, whose bodies could not be recovered. Everyone who wishes to, both
citizens and foreigners, can join in the procession, and the women who are
related to the dead are there to make their laments at the tomb. The bones
are laid in the public burial-place, which is in the most beautiful
quarter outside the city walls. Here the Athenians always bury those who
have fallen in war. The only exception is those who died at Marathon, who,
because their achievement was considered absolutely outstanding, were
buried on the battlefield itself. When
the bones have been laid in the earth, a man chosen by the city for his
intellectual gifts and for his general reputation makes an appropriate
speech in praise of the dead, and after the speech all depart. This is the
procedure at these burials, and all through the war, when the time came to
do so, the Athenians followed this ancient custom. Now, at the burial of
those who were the first to fall in the war Pericles, the son of
Xanthippus, was chosen to make the speech. When the moment arrived, he
came forward from the tomb and, standing on a high platform, so that he
might be heard by as many people as possible in the crowd, he spoke as
follows:— ‘Many
of those who have spoken here in the past have praised the institution of
this speech at the close of our ceremony. It seemed to them a mark of
honour to our soldiers who have fallen in war that a speech should be made
over them. I do not agree. These men have shown themselves valiant in
action, and it would be enough, I think, for their glories to be
proclaimed in action, as you have just seen it done at this funeral
organized by the state. Our belief in the courage and manliness of so many
should not be hazarded on the goodness or badness of one man’s speech.
Then it is not easy to speak with a proper sense of balance, when a
man’s listeners find it difficult to believe in the truth of what one is
saying. The man who knows the facts and loves the dead may well think that
an oration tells less than what he knows and what he would like to hear:
others who do not know so much may feel envy for the dead, and think the
orator over-praises them, when he speaks of exploits that are beyond their
own capacities. Praise of other people is tolerable only up to a certain
point, the point where one still believes that one could do oneself some
of the things one is hearing about. Once you get beyond this point, you
will find people becoming jealous and incredulous. However, the fact is
that this institution was set up and approved by our forefathers, and it
is my duty to follow the tradition and do my best to meet the wishes and
the expectations of every one of you. ‘I
shall begin by speaking about our ancestors, since it is only right and
proper on such an occasion to pay them the honour of recalling what they
did. In this land of ours there have always been the same people living
from generation to generation up till now and they, by their courage and
their virtues, have handed it on to us, a free country. They certainly
deserve our praise. Even more so do our fathers deserve it. For to the
inheritance they had received they added all the empire we have now, and
it was not without blood and toil that they handed it down to us of the
present generation. And then we ourselves. assembled here today, who are
mostly in the prime of life, have, in most directions, added to the power
of our empire and have organized our State in such a way that it is
perfectly well able to look after itself both in peace and in war. ‘I
have no wish to make a long speech on subjects familiar to you all: so I
shall say nothing about the warlike deeds by which we acquired our power
or the battles in which we or our fathers gallantly resisted our enemies,
Greek or foreign. What I want to do is, in the first place, to discuss the
spirit in which we faced our trials and also our constitution and the way
of life which has made us great. After that I shall speak in praise of the
dead, believing that this kind of speech is not inappropriate to the
present occasion, and that this whole assembly, of citizens and
foreigners, may listen to it with advantage. ‘Let
me say that our system of government does not copy the institutions of our
neighbours. It is more the case of our being a model to others, than of
our imitating anyone else. Our constitution is called a democracy because
power is in the hands not of a minority but of the whole people. When it
is a question of settling private disputes, everyone is equal before the
law; when it is a question of putting one person before another in
positions of public responsibility, what counts is not membership of a
particular class, but the actual ability which the man possesses. No one,
so long as he has it in him to be of service to the state, is kept in
political obscurity because of poverty. And, just as our political life is
free and open, so is our day-to-day life in our relations with each other.
We do not get into a state with our next-door neighbour if he enjoys
himself in his own way, nor do we give him the kind of black looks which,
though they do no real harm, still do hurt people’s feelings. We are
free and tolerant in our private lives; but in public affairs we keep to
the law. This is because it commands our deep respect. ‘We
give our obedience to those whom we put in positions of authority, and we
obey the laws themselves, especially those which are for the protection of
the oppressed, and those unwritten laws which it is an acknowledged shame
to break. ‘And
here is another point. When our work is over, we are in a position to
enjoy all kinds of recreation for our spirits. There are various kinds of
contests and sacrifice regularly throughout the year; in our own home we
find a beauty and a good taste which delight us every day and which drive
away our cares. Then the greatness of our city brings it about that all
the good things from all over the world flow in to us, so that to us it
seems just as natural to enjoy foreign goods as our own local products. ‘Then
there is a great difference between us and our opponents, in our attitude
towards military security. Here are some examples: Our city is open to the
world, and we have no periodical deportations in order to prevent people
observing or finding out secrets which might be of military advantage to
the enemy. This is because we rely, not on secret weapons, but on our own
real courage and loyalty. There is a difference, too, in our educational
systems. The Spartans, from their earliest boyhood, are submitted to the
most laborious training in courage; we pass our lives without all these
restrictions, and yet are just as ready to face the same dangers as they
are. Here is a proof of this: When the Spartans invade our land, they do
not come by themselves, but bring all their allies with them; whereas we,
when we launch an attack abroad, do the job by ourselves, and, though
fighting on foreign soil, do not often fail to defeat opponents who are
fighting for their own hearths and homes. As a matter of fact none of our
enemies has ever yet been confronted with our total strength, because we
have to divide our attention between our navy and the many missions on
which our troops are sent on land. Yet, if our enemies engage a detachment
of our forces and defeat it, they give themselves credit for having thrown
back our entire army; or, if they lose, they claim that they were beaten
by us in full strength. There are certain advantages, I think, in our way
of meeting danger voluntarily, with an easy mind, instead of with a
laborious training, with natural rather than with state-induced courage.
We do not have to spend our time practicing to meet sufferings which are
still in the future; and when they are actually upon us we show ourselves
just as brave as these others who are always in strict training. This is
one point in which, I think, our city deserves to be admired. There are
also others: ‘Our
love of what is beautiful does not lead to extravagance; our love of the
things of the mind does not make us soft. We regard wealth as something to
be properly used, rather than as something to boast about. As for poverty,
no one need be ashamed to admit it: the real shame is in not taking
practical measures to escape from it. Here each individual is interested
not only in his own affairs but in the affairs of the state as well: even
those who are mostly occupied with their own business are extremely
well-informed on general politics—this is a peculiarity of ours: we do
not say that a man who takes no interest in politics is a man who minds
his own business; we say that he has no business here at all. We
Athenians, in our own persons, take our decisions on politics or submit
them to proper discussions: for we do not think that there is an
incompatibility between words and deeds; the worst thing is to rush into
action before the consequences have been properly debated. And this is
another point where we differ from other people. We are capable at the
same time of taking risks and of estimating them beforehand. Others are
brave out of ignorance; and, when they stop to think, they begin to fear.
But the man who can most truly be accounted brave is he who best knows the
meaning of what is sweet in life and of what is terrible, and then goes
out undeterred to meet what is to come. ‘Again,
in questions of general good feeling there is a great contrast between us
and most other people. We make friends by doing good to others, not by
receiving good from them. This makes our friendship all the more reliable,
since we want to keep alive the gratitude of those who are in our debt by
showing continued goodwill to them: whereas the feelings of one who owes
us something lacks the same enthusiasm, since he knows that, when he
repays our kindness, it will be more like paying back a debt than giving
something spontaneously. We are unique in this. When we do kindnesses to
others, we do not do them out of any calculations of profit or loss: we do
them without afterthought, relying on our free liberality. Taking
everything together then, I declare that our city is an education to
Greece, and I declare that in my opinion each single one of our citizens,
in all the manifold aspects of life, is able to show himself the rightful
lord and owner of his own person, and do this, moreover, with exceptional
grace and exceptional versatility. And to show that this is no empty
boasting for the present occasion, but real tangible fact, you have only
to consider the power which our city possesses and which has been won by
those very qualities which I have mentioned. Athens, alone of the states
we know, comes to her testing time in a greatness that surpasses what was
imagined of her. In her case, and in her case alone, no invading enemy is
ashamed at being defeated, and no subject can complain of being governed
by people unfit for their responsibilities. Mighty indeed are the marks
and monuments of our empire which we have left. Future ages will wonder at
us, as the present age wonders at us now. We do not need the praises of a
Homer, or of anyone else whose words may delight us for the moment, but
whose estimation of facts will fall short of what is really true. For our
adventurous spirit has forced an entry into every sea and into every land;
and everywhere we have left behind us everlasting memorials of good done
to our friends or suffering inflicted on our enemies. ‘This,
then, is the kind of city for which these men, who could not bear the
thought of losing her, nobly fought and nobly died. It is only natural
that every one of us who survive them should be willing to undergo
hardships in her service. And it was for this reason that I have spoken at
such length about our city, because I wanted to make it clear that for us
there is more at stake than there is for others who lack our advantages;
also I wanted my words of praise for the dead to be set in the bright
light of evidence. And now the most important of these words has been
spoken. I have sung the praises of our city; but it was the courage and
gallantry of these men, and of people like them, which made her splendid.
Nor would you find it true in the case of many of the Greeks, as it is
true of them, that no words can do more than justice to their deeds. ‘To
me it seems that the consummation which has overtaken these men shows us
the meaning of manliness in its first revelation and in its final proof.
Some of them, no doubt, had their faults; but what we ought to remember
first is their gallant conduct against the enemy in defense of their
native land. They have blotted out evil with good, and done more service
to the commonwealth than they ever did harm in their private lives. No one
of these men weakened because he wanted to go on enjoying his wealth: no
one put off the awful day in the hope that he might live to escape his
poverty and grow rich. More to be desired than such things, they chose to
check the enemy’s pride. This, to them, was a risk most glorious, and
they accepted it, willing to strike down the enemy and relinquish
everything else. As for success or failure, they left that in the doubtful
hands of Hope, and when the reality of battle was before their faces, they
put their trust in their own selves. In the fighting, they thought it more
honorable to stand their ground and suffer death than to give in and save
their lives. So they fled from the reproaches of men, abiding with life
and limb the brunt of battle; and, in a small moment of time, the climax
of their lives, a culmination of glory, not of fear, were swept away from
us. ‘So
and such they were, these men worthy of their city. We who remain behind
may hope to be spared their fate, but must resolve to keep the same daring
spirit against the foe. It is not simply a question of estimating the
advantages in theory. I could tell you a long story (and you know it as
well as I do) about what is to be gained by beating the enemy back. What I
would prefer is that you should fix your eyes every day on the greatness
of Athens as she really is, and should fall in love with her. When you
realize her greatness, then reflect that what made her great was men with
a spirit of adventure, men who knew their duty, men who were ashamed to
fall below a certain standard. If they ever failed in an enterprise, they
made up their minds that at any rate the city should not find their
courage lacking to her, and they gave to her the best contribution that
they could. They gave her their lives, to her and to all of us, and for
their own selves they won praises that never grow old, the most splendid
of sepulchers not the sepulcher in which their bodies are laid, but where
their glory remains eternal in men’s minds, always there on the right
occasion to stir others to speech or to action. For famous men have the
whole earth as their memorial: it is not only the inscriptions on their
graves in their own country that mark them out; no, in foreign lands also,
not in any visible form but in people’s hearts, their memory abides and
grows. It is for you to try to be like them. Make up your minds that
happiness depends on being free, and freedom depends on being courageous.
Let there be no relaxation in face of the perils of the war. The people
who have most excuse for despising death are not the wretched and
unfortunate, who have no hope of doing well for themselves, but those who
run the risk of a complete reversal in their lives, and who would feel the
difference most intensely, if things went wrong for them. Any intelligent
man would find a humiliation caused by his own slackness more painful to
bear than death, when death comes to him unperceived, in battle, and in
the confidence of his patriotism. ‘For
these reasons I shall not commiserate with those parents of the dead, who
are present here. Instead I shall try to comfort them. They are well aware
that they have grown up in a world where there are many changes and
chances. But this is good fortune for men to end their lives with honour,
as these have done, and for you honourably to lament them: their life was
set to a measure where death and happiness went hand in hand. I know that
it is difficult to convince you of this. When you see other people happy
you will often be reminded of what used to make you happy too. One does
not feel sad at not having some good thing which is outside one’s
experience: real grief is felt at the loss of something which one is used
to. All the same, those of you who are of the right age must bear up and
take comfort in the thought of having more children. In your own homes
these new children will prevent you from brooding over those who are no
more, and they will be a help to the city, too, both in filling the empty
places, and in assuring her security. For it is impossible for a man to
put forward fair and honest views about our affairs if he has not, like
everyone else, children whose lives may be at stake. As for those of you
who are now too old to have children, I would ask you to count as gain the
greater part of your life, in which you have been happy, and remember that
what remains is not long, and let your hearts be lifted up at the thought
of the fair fame of the dead. One’s sense of honour is the only thing
that does not grow old, and the last pleasure, when one is worn out with
age, is not, as the poet said, making money, but having the respect of
one’s fellow men. ‘As
for those of you here who are sons or brothers of the dead, I can see a
hard struggle in front of you. Everyone always speaks well of the dead,
and, even if you rise to the greatest heights of heroism, it will be a
hard thing for you to get the reputation of having come near, let alone
equaled, their standard. When one is alive, one is always liable to the
jealousy of one’s competitors, but when one is out of the way, the
honour one receives is sincere and unchallenged. ‘Perhaps
I should say a word or two on the duties of women to those among you who
are now widowed. I can say all I have to say in a short word of advice.
Your great glory is not to be inferior to what God has made you, and the
greatest glory of a woman is to be least talked about by men, whether they
are praising you or criticizing you. I have now, as the law demanded, said
what I had to say. For the time being our offerings to the dead have been
made, and for the future their children will be supported at the public
expense by the city, until they come of age. This is the crown and prize
which she offers, both to the dead and to their children, for the ordeals
which they have faced. Where the rewards of valour are the greatest, there
you will find also the best and bravest spirits among the people. And now,
when you have mourned for your dear ones, you must depart.’ In
this way the public funeral was conducted in the winter that came at the
end of the first year of the war. At the beginning of the following summer
the Peloponnaians and their allies, with two-thirds of their total forces
as before, invaded Attica, again under the command of the Spartan King
Archidamus, the son of Zeuxidamus. Taking up their positions, they set
about the devastation of the country. They
had not been many days in Attica before the plague first broke out among
the Athenians. Previously attacks of the plague had been reported from
many other places in the neighbourhood of Lemnos and elsewhere, but there
was no record of the disease being so virulent anywhere else or causing so
many deaths as it did in Athens. At the beginning the doctors were quite
incapable of treating the disease because of their ignorance of the right
methods. In fact mortality among the doctors was the highest of all, since
they came more frequency in contact with the sick. Nor was any other human
art or science of any help at all. Equally useless were prayers made in
the temples, consultation of oracles, and so forth; indeed, in the end
people were so overcome by their sufferings that they paid no further
attention to such things. The
plague originated, so they say, in Ethiopia in upper Egypt, and spread
from there into Egypt itself and Libya and much of the territory of the
King of Persia. In the city of Athens it appeared suddenly, and the first
cases were among the population of Piraeus, where there were no wells at
that time, so that it was supposed by them that the Peloponnesians had
poisoned the reservoirs. Later, however, it appeared also in the upper
city, and by this time the deaths were greatly increasing in number. As to
the question of how it could first have come about or what causes can be
found adequate to explain its powerful effect on nature, I must leave that
to be considered by other writers, with or without medical experience. I
myself shall merely describe what it was like, and set down the symptoms,
knowledge of which will enable it to be recognized, if it should ever
break out again. I had the disease myself and saw others suffering from
it. That
year, as is generally admitted, was particularly free from all other kinds
of illness, though those who did have any illness previously all caught
the plague in the end. In other cases, however, there seemed to be no
reason for the attacks. People in perfect health suddenly began to have
burning feelings in the head; their eyes became red and inflamed; inside
their mouths there was bleeding from the throat and tongue, and the breath
became unnatural and unpleasant. The next symptoms were sneezing and
hoarseness of voice, and before long the pain settled on the chest and was
accompanied by coughing. Next the stomach was affected with stomach-aches
and with vomiting of every kind of bile that has been given a name by the
medical profession, all this being accompanied by great pain and
difficulty. In most cases there were attacks of ineffectual retching,
producing violent spasms; this sometimes ended with this stage of the
disease, but sometimes continued long afterwards. Externally the body was
not very hot to the touch, nor was there any pallor: the skin was rather
reddish and livid, breaking out into small pustules and ulcers. But inside
there was a feeling of burning, so that people could not bear the touch
even of the lightest linen clothing, but wanted to be completely naked,
and indeed most of all would have liked to plunge into cold water. Many of
the sick who were uncared for actually did so, plunging into the
water-tanks in an effort to relieve a thirst which was unquenchable; for
it was just the same with them whether they drank much or little. Then all
the time they were filled with insomnia and the desperate feeling of not
being able to keep still. In
the period when the disease was at its height, the body, so far from
wasting away, showed surprising powers of resistance to all the agony, so
that there was still some strength left on the seventh or eighth day,
which was the time when, in most cases, death came from the internal
fever. But if people survived this critical period, then the disease
descended to the bowels, producing violent ulceration and uncontrollable
diarrhea, so that most of them died later as a result of the weakness
caused by this. For the disease, first settling in the head, went on to
affect every part of the body in turn, and even when people escaped its
worst effects, it still left its traces on them by fastening upon the
extremities of the body. It affected the genitals, the fingers, and the
toes, and many of those who recovered lost the use of these members; some,
too, went blind. There were some also who, when they first began to get
better, suffered from a total loss of memory, not knowing who they were
themselves and being unable to recognize their friends. Words
indeed fail one when one tries to give a general picture of this disease;
and as for the sufferings of individuals, they seemed almost beyond the
capacity of human nature to endure. Here in particular is a point where
this plague showed itself to be something quite different from ordinary
diseases: though there were many dead bodies lying about unburied, the
birds and animals that eat human flesh either did not come near them or,
if they did taste the flesh, died of it afterwards. Evidence for this may
be found in the fact that there was a complete disappearance of all birds
of prey: they were not to be seen either round the bodies or anywhere
else. But dogs, being domestic animals, provided the best opportunity of
observing this effect of the plague. These,
then, were the general features of the disease though I have omitted all
kinds of peculiarities which occurred in various actual cases. Meanwhile,
during all this time there was no serious outbreak of any of the usual
kinds of illness; if any such did occur, they ended in the plague. Some
died in neglect, some in spite of every possible care being taken of them.
As for a recognized method of treatment, it would be true to say that no
such thing existed: what did good in some cases did harm in others. Those
with naturally strong constitutions were no better able than the weak to
resist the disease, which carried away all alike, even those who were
treated and dieted with the greatest care. The most terrible thing of all
was the despair into which people fell when they realized that they had
caught the plague; for they would immediately adopt an attitude of utter
hopelessness, and, by giving in this way, would lose their powers of
resistance. Terrible, too, was the sight of people dying like sheep
through having caught the disease as a result of nursing others. This
indeed caused more deaths than anything else. For when people were afraid
to visit the sick, then they died with no one to look after them; indeed,
there were many houses in which all the inhabitants perished through lack
of any attention. When, on the other hand, they did visit the sick, they
lost their own lives, and this was particularly true of those who made it
a point of honour to act properly. Such people felt ashamed to think of
their own safety and went into their friends’ houses at times when even
the members of the household were so overwhelmed by the weight of their
calamities that they had actually given up the usual practice of making
laments for the dead. Yet still the ones who felt most pity for the sick
and the dying were those who had had the plague themselves and had
recovered from it. They knew what it was like and at the same time felt
themselves to be safe, for no one caught the disease twice, or, if he did,
the second attack was never fatal. Such people were congratulated on all
sides, and they themselves were so elated at the time of their recovery
that they fondly imagined that they could never die of any other disease
in the future. A
factor which made matters much worse than they were already was the
removal of people from the country into the city, and this particularly
affected the incomers. There were no houses for them, and, living as they
did during the hot season in badly ventilated huts, they died like flies.
The bodies of the dying were heaped one on top of the other, and half-dead
creatures could be seen staggering about in the streets or flocking around
the fountains in their desire for water. The temples in which they took up
their quarters were full of the dead bodies of people who had died inside
them. For the catastrophe was so overwhelming that men, not knowing what
would happen next to them, became indifferent to every rule of religion or
of law. All the funeral ceremonies which used to be observed were now
disorganized, and they buried the dead as best they could. Many people,
lacking the necessary means of burial because so many deaths had already
occurred in their households, adopted the most shameless methods. They
would arrive first at a funeral pyre that had been made by others, put
their own dead upon it and set it alight; or, finding another pyre
burning, they would throw the corpse that they were carrying on top of the
other one and go away. In
other respects also Athens owed to the plague the beginnings of a state of
unprecedented lawlessness. Seeing how quick and abrupt were the changes of
fortune which came to the rich who suddenly died and to those who had
previously been penniless but now inherited their wealth, people now began
openly to venture on acts of self-indulgence which before then they used
to keep dark. Thus they resolved to spend their money quickly and to spend
it on pleasure, since money and life alike seemed equally ephemeral. As
for what is called honour, no one showed himself willing to abide by its
laws, so doubtful was it whether one would survive to enjoy the name for
it. It was generally agreed that what was both honourable and valuable was
the pleasure of the moment and everything that might conceivably
contribute to that pleasure. No fear of god or law of man had a
restraining influence. As for the gods, it seemed to be the same thing
whether one worshipped them or not, when one saw the good and the bad
dying indiscriminately. As for offenses against human law, no one expected
to live long enough to be brought to trial and punished: instead everyone
felt that already a far heavier sentence had been passed on him and was
hanging over him, and that before the time for its execution arrived it
was only natural to get some pleasure out of life. This,
then, was the calamity which fell upon Athens, and the times were hard
indeed, with men dying inside the city and the land outside being laid
waste. At this time of distress people naturally recalled old oracles, and
among them was a verse which the old men claimed had been delivered in the
past and which said: War
with the Dorians comes and a death will come at the same time. There
had been a controversy as to whether the word in this ancient verse was
‘dearth’ rather than ‘death’; but in the present state of affairs
the view that the word was ‘death’ naturally prevailed; it was a case
of people adapting their memories to suit their sufferings. Certainly I
think that if there is ever another war with the Dorians after this one,
and if a dearth results from it, then in all probability people will quote
the other version. Then
also the oracle that was given to the Spartans was remembered by those who
knew of it: that when they inquired from the god whether they should go to
war, they received the reply that, if they fought with all their might
victory would be theirs and that the god himself would be on their side.
What was actually happening seemed to fit in well with the words of this
oracle; certainly the plague broke out directly after the Peloponnesian
invasion, and never affected the Peloponnese at all, or not seriously; its
full force was felt at Athens, and, after Athens, in the most densely
populated of the other towns. Such
were the events connected with the plague. Meanwhile the Pelloponnesians,
after laying waste the Attic plain, moved on into the Paralian district as
far as Laurium, where the Athenian silver-mines are. First they laid waste
the side that looks towards the Peloponnese, and then the other side
facing Euboea and Andros. |
