“And to remember nothing” — Thucydidean Megara and the political power of social memory (4.70–74)

These are some preliminary thoughts related to my dissertation that support my argument about Thucydides’ very particular use of social memory in the Chalcidice shortly after in 4.80–5.11. The methodology and typology of social memory explored here form the basis of my analysis of the passages there.

I will be analysing the well-delineated section 4.70–74 that describes Megara’s internal stasis and the involvement of Brasidas, the Boiotians, and Athenians. It is a particularly rich passage for social memory. Scholars like Hornblower (1996: 73) have noted that Book 4 in general displays unusually dense occurrences of kinship language and social memory; more broadly, that Thucydides often associates instances of social memory with Boiotia. But can we do more here? By mining the passage for further instances of social memory and, more importantly, interpreting them as a progression, I argue that Thucydides depicts the different stages of how the “imaginary” conventions of social memory can catalyse real political negotiations and give cities a unique degree of agency.

From Barrington’s Atlas, 58

Why specifically here? Why so compactly — not over a broader distribution of Megara’s history? Arguably, because these five paragraphs are at the pivotal point in Megara’s stasis, determining its political future and indeed survival as a city. Thucydides may want to dramatise this episode — this is the moment when Megara’s democratic faction is effectively exiled or wiped out. Supporting this is the tendency to consider Book 4 as a “work of art” in its completeness and as one of Thucydides’ most carefully-crafted books, containing well-defined sections suited for recitation and exemplifying themes.

Before we start, what is “social” memory? Succinctly, it is the selection of certain historical or mythical events by members of a group in order to craft a “collective” identity. It is collective self-definition — which foregrounds the people’s agency in crafting their past. This approach is valuable because it gives a different perspective beyond the typical “big men” history, as a pioneer of this approach Maurice Halbwachs set down in 1950. Second, these people are crafting their memory, rather than its history. Memories are not obliged to coincide perfectly with the “real, objective” historical version. They can distort history but still be “believed” and accepted as an authoritative version. This is where it becomes exciting. In this light, history, beyond its conventional sense of recording “facts”, can be treated on a much more inclusive spectrum with various degrees of truths, as Gehrke (2010: 15) has noted. Literary or mythic aspects of history, moving beyond “invented history”, can be seen as contributing to a productive “creative construction” of civic identities. Third, given the importance of kinship in Greek diplomacy, the flexibility of social memory allows groups to select or create versions of their past for more concrete ends. By choosing to appear more or less related to another group, they engage in a discourse that advances their political negotiations. Finally, and most interestingly, is a refinement we must make from scholars like Halbwachs (1950) and Fentress & Wickham (1992: 25) — just how “collective” are these memories? We must remember that groups are composed of different constituents who are not always in agreement, or have the same political agendas — a phenomenon scholars like Alcock (2002: 15) have stressed. What makes social memory so interesting, beyond the fact that it can be manipulated, is that it can be contested in the imaginary and political sphere. It becomes a productive tool in political reconciling — but also disagreements.

This political use of social memory becomes very pronounced in the Hellenistic world in sources ranging from inscriptions to polis histories, the latter most recently studied by Thomas 2019. Less work, however, has focused on tracing this process back to the fifth century. Moreover, although increasing work has been done on the archaeology and materiality of memories as pioneered by Alcock (2002) and Schama (1995: 16), much less has focused on the “incorporated”, ritualistic elements. Although the reason partly lies in the fact that these are much more invisible but dynamic forms of “mnemotechnic” evidence, they were nonetheless equally influential, as Sommerstein and Fletcher have recently stressed in their monograph on oaths (Horkos, 2012: 20). These two points open an opportunity. Much scholarship regarding Thucydides, citing his staunch historical realism, has often denied the relevance of literature and myth for history and for cities’ political actions. Yet Thucydides does recognise and explicitly generalise that history can be distorted for present situations. In 2.54, when discussing people’s explanations for the Plague, Thucydides gnomically notes “οἱ γὰρ ἄνθρωποι πρὸς ἃ ἔπασχον τὴν μνήμην ἐποιοῦντο”: people change their memory based on what they have suffered (but ἔπασχον can also be taken more generally as “experienced”). This suggests that Thucydides did recognise that people can distort history with more ahistorical aspects, since this passage is discussed in relation to a Pythian oracle. On a broader narrative level, the Plataian Debate exemplifies an attempt to use social memory in order to advance present politics — and one that fails (cf. Bruzzone 2015: 291). Likewise, scholarship like Bosworth 2000: 4 and Hesk 2003: 52 has long mined Pericles’ Funeral Oration for its complex node of distortions of the past (e.g. ancestors, esp. 2.36) for the present. Many have noted such distortions, but few have explored their exhortative function as speech-acts that encourage, translate to, and enact real actions on the ground. Therefore, there may be some validity in approaching certain passages and bringing out the agency of people in crafting their pasts for political purposes — who are often forgotten in the obsession with the big men of the Peloponnesian War. What stands out about Megara over Plataia, as will be seen below, is that social memory is used in a positive and successful way by a people to enact certain diplomatic decisions.

In short, my argument here is that there are both more examples involving Megara’s social memory and more productive uses of it in 4.70–74 than scholars like Hornblower 1996 and Fragoulaki 2013 admit. Moreover, they form an ideological progression, or typology, that programmatically prepares us for the abundant exploration of social memory in the Chalcidice in the following sections (which my dissertation studies). Most importantly, they contribute productively in the very real arena of diplomatic interactions. The use of social memory here reveals four patterns linked to securing political advantage. First, before selecting one version, the Megarians keep both contested versions open and in limbo, in order to remain neutral and choose a winner suitable to them. However, by choosing one version of their past over another when the time suits them, Megara successfully negotiates peace with the foreign invader Brasidas and the different factions of Megara and open the gates, symbolically and politically, to them. However, in a more negative light, beyond simply choosing one version of their social memory when reconciling past quarrels — on the other side of the coin, the Megarians destroy the memories of the opposing side. Finally, in its most extreme usage, the whole tradition and conventions of social memory are held up and then discarded as a political weapon to kill off enemies and ensure supreme power, as the Megarian oligarchs do when executing the people. Although older scholarship has touched upon this, and especially Jacqueline de Romilly in her 1966 article on “Thucydides and the Cities of the Athenian Empire”, it has not been explored fully. She argues, extending Quinn’s claim, that the Megarians “try to make the best of their situation” — yet does not note the mechanisms of social memory operating behind this. Indeed, contrary to her argument that they impose a lasting oligarchy “as if it had sprung from the most sincere opinion”, I argue it is rather the opposite: they achieve it by manipulating their flexible past via the conventions of social memory.

This reveals the extent to which social memory can be used both as a historical tool by contemporary players and as an analytical tool by us historians to interpret them. This approach, therefore, valorises the role of the people and the cities’ of the Athenian empire, and gives them an agency in their diplomatic negotiations with leading men that is often noted in the Hellenistic world, exemplified by John Ma’s (2003) model of “peer-polity interaction”.

It’s the flexibility of social memory, and its ability to enact real political decisions, that makes it such a rich resource to analyse. What makes it so interesting is its duality — both used back then as a historical, real-life tool and by us today to analyse history. It can shed new light on old problems through a helpful framework.

To set the background. The democratic and oligarchic factions of Megara are in civil conflict. Athens has been invading its land twice a year (4.66; an interesting side of Athenian military aggression often overlooked in lieu of Athens’ own ravishment by the Spartans once a year — was Athens really free from guilt?). On the other hand, Megara’s oligarchic party was planning to bring back some Megarian exiles, who had oligarchic tendencies, after the democrats had expelled them. Moreover, Athenian troops were placed just outside the city in Megara’s Long Walls — after the democrats had asked the Athenians, Hippocrates and Demosthenes, to help them prevent the exiles returning. The Athenians eventually come to terms with and expel the Peloponnesian garrison at Nisaia (4.69), and were ready to take the city and support the democratic faction. This is the status quo before 4.70–74.

Then Brasidas arrives.

How does Megara’s stasis fit into the broader context of political staseis? Can this help us reinterpret the scene, or bring out particular elements? Megara’s stasis comes after Thucydides’ similar infamous account of the stasis on the island of Corcyra (modern-day Corfu) at 3.69–85, where he famously gives the chilling account of the “appealing atrocities” and every form of depravity to the Greek world. He highlights it is the first case of civil conflict engulfing a city (3.84; albeit debatable, see Cylon and the Alcmaeonids in Book 1, and especially Herodotus’ version, which may have been in dialogue or reacting to Thucydides’ account). Interestingly, the Corcyrean account is interwoven with subtle instances of social memory. Corcyra is fertile ground for the manipulations of social memory since its contested past(s) can be mapped onto contested ownership. On one hand, it is a Corinthian colony. On the other hand, it is an Athenian-paying tribute. But anteceding both these, it considered itself the descendant of Homer’s Phaeacians and indeed the island of Scheria in Odyssey 6–13. Corinth naturally wants to stress its ties with and ownership over Corcyra. Corcyra, however, no longer wants them after Corinth treated her badly (1.33f). In his account, Thucydides inserts little mentions such as the Corcyrean’s sanctuary of Alkinous (3.70.4), the Odyssean king of the Phaeacians, and later the name “Phaiax” of a Corcyrean (5.4) to highlight the Corcyreans’ very deliberate choice to value their past memories relating to the Phaeacians over the Corinthians, ideologically in conflict with the Corinthian official version. The choice of the Phaeacians is also very effective in reclaiming Corcyra’s naval power, which the Corinthians would have attributed to their own long history of naval supremacy — the Phaeacians, sons of Poseidon, were the best sailors in the Odyssey (7.108–9). By choosing a much older Homeric version of their foundation myth, the Corcyreans deny their links with Corinth and foreground their own independence, especially their native political and ideological naval power. The imaginary distortions of social memory are a fruitful vehicle in driving real political events on the ground.

How does this association of staseis and social memory play out at Megara?

There are five different stages in the progression of effects of social memory in the account of Megara, in my typology.

1. The introduction of contested accounts and versions from the invader’s perspective — Brasidas lies about his loyalties, rooted in conflicting public and private motivations to further his political aims (4.70).
2. Contested accounts from the domestic perspective, between Megara’s democratic and oligarchic factions (4.71). Use 1 of social memory — ability to keep two alternative versions of social memory in limbo in order to remain neutral and preserve autonomy, while making the external forces fight as proxies. By giving up their individual kinship ties and agency, they gain a degree of choice and power without being harmed. This can be read in relation to its multiple alternative accounts of kinship (Step 3).
3. Veiled reference to Megara’s contested foundation by Athens or Boiotia (4.72).
4. Reconciliation with external invader — oligarchs reconcile with Brasidas. The technique it is telling — entering city, has connotations of a returning hero or founder. Use 2 — select and prioritise one version of social memory in order to choose a winner (4.73).
5. Reconciliation between domestic factions, democrats and oligarchs. Use 3 of social memory: to “forget” evil deeds and catalyse the process for peace (through speech-act). But finally, can also use social memory in an opposite negative light — disrespecting the entire tradition and conventions of social memory by lying and manipulating expectations about its operation. The slaughter of the people by the oligarchs and their treachery can be viewed as a manipulation of the very tool of social memory as a way to kill rivals and win sole power (4.74).

I will go through each in order. This will depict the four political effects achieved through the discourse of social memory. Limitations to this structure concern the frequency of this pattern elsewhere in the History without references to social memory, making the link to social memory spurious. But what supports the connection with social memory here is its coherent presence of and similarities with other sections exhibiting social memory.

Stage 1 — contested accounts by the external invader as an introduction to contested social memory

The first stage does not necessarily relate directly to social memory, but holds the beginnings of its operations in the element of contested accounts: Brasidas offers different public and private opinions behind his motivations to the Megarians. Thucydides tells us that Brasidas, persuading the Megarians,

βουλόμενος μὲν τῷ λόγῳ καὶ ἅμα, εἰ δύναιτο, ἔργῳ τῆς Νισαίας πειρᾶσαι, τὸ δὲ μέγιστον, τὴν τῶν Μεγαρέων πόλιν ἐσελθὼν βεβαιώσασθαι.

Was wishing (publicly) both in word and at the same time, if possible, in deed to make an attempt against Nisaia; but the main reason (privately), was that he wanted to enter the city of Megara and secure it for himself.

Thucydides stresses Brasidas’ double motives. On the one hand, he highlights Brasidas’ excellence and proactivity opposed to all other Spartan generals. While the Spartans are characterised by their hesitation and delay in actions accompanying their promises (famously iterated by the Corinthians in their first speech to the Spartans at 1.68f), Brasidas tries to confirm his words in his deeds, with the simultaneity between them brought out by the adverb καὶ ἅμα. This intersection of words and action is a quality that Thucydides praises throughout his work, perhaps best exemplified in Pericles’ consistency in his advice to the Athenians (1.139: “a man of the greatest ability in both words and actions”; 2.56, etc).

On the other hand, Thucydides’ differentiation between Brasidas’ ostensible and real, personal motives modifies this positive view of Brasidas and brings out the theme of contested accounts that permeates the rest of this passage. On the one hand, Brasidas’ action of wishing (βουλόμενος) grammatically and semantically applies to both cases (both infinitives πειρᾶσαι and βεβαιώσασθαι depend on it). The first clause at first has no indication as to the focalisation or any further explanation as to whom he is delivering it or meaning. He simply wishes both in deed and action to capture Nisaia, where the Athenians were stationed. This would appeal to the people of Megara. The subordinate clause “if he was able” (εἰ δύναιτο) highlights Brasidas’ efforts to match his words with deeds more than informing us of any audience.

However, the second clause is punctuated and started off by the statement: τὸ δὲ μέγιστον. Literally, it means “most of all”. Whom does this superlative substantivised adverbial clause apply to? As Hammond translates it, it seems to refer back to the real reason behind Brasidas’ actions, what he “most wants”. Therefore, Thucydides gives us Brasidas’ personal motives. What he wants here, instead of helping the Megarians gaining Nisaia and expel the Athenians, was to invade the actual city (ἐσελθὼν), with the Megarians inside, and “secure it for himself”. The middle form of βεβαιόω, βεβαιώσασθαι, reflects its reflexive sense (i.e. “for himself”) and brings out the selfish reasons for Brasidas’ actions. Thucydides focalises this passage through Brasidas’ own personal view and shows his aim to capture the city, without necessarily helping the Megarians as he alleges in the first clause. He lies in order to achieve this. The scholia pick up on the ambiguity and lack of veracity in his τῷ λόγῳ, defining it with the synonym τῇ φήμῃ, which holds the connotation of subjective views as in “report”, or falsehood in “rumour” (Hude 1973: 265). Hornblower and Gomme say little to nothing on this.

This distinction is also negotiated through the use of the μὲν in the first clause and δὲ here. What we have here, therefore, from the perspective of the foreign Spartan invader, is an introduction to contested, competing accounts. One is prioritised — Brasidas’ own personal motive. Although not related explicitly to the past or Megara’s memory, they set the tone for the conflicting loyalties and versions that are later rooted in past memories. What is foregrounded here, in Assmann’s terms (1997: 9), are the initial mechanics of falsehood and lying by the elite party to catalyse real political change rooted in social memory.

One final element here is important for the later passages: Brasidas’ final emphasis on hope, in his indirect speech to the Megarians, has further implications. λέγων ἐν ἐλπίδι εἶναι ἀναλαβεῖν Νίσαιαν. The emphasis on his hope highlights his enthusiasm and commitment, contrasting directly to Sparta’s reputation of delay and hesitation. On the other hand, Thucydides is usually very sceptical of the use of hope — perhaps most famously portrayed in the Athenians’ evaluation of the Melians’ hope in the Melian Dialogue (5.103f), or beforehand in the Mytilenian Debate (3.39, 45). More importantly to our purposes, this focus on hope is moreover important in the next paragraph, where the Megarians adopt this hope that was once Brasidas’.

Stage 2 — contested accounts by domestic people and the use of social memory to remain neutral

The Megarians’ response (4.71), both that of the democrats and oligarchs, transfers this theme of contested accounts seen in Brasidas to the perspective of the locals. Paralleling the grammatical participle formation to describe Brasidas, Thucydides demonstrates both cities’ fears through the single introductory zeugmatic participle φοβούμεναι. On the one hand, the democrats fear that Brasidas will bring the exiles to Megara and in turn exile themselves. The oligarchs, however, have two purposes — they both fear that the people or democrats would attack the oligarchs due to the reintroduction of the exiles and subsequently the entire destruction of Megara (ἀπόληται). Gomme notes that the oligarchs are more conscientious due to the presence of the second more impartial aspect of their fear, namely for the destruction of the city of both the democrats and oligarchs. But it is what the Megarians decide to do that highlights the power of their contested accounts.

The Megarians decide not to let Brasidas into Megara (οὐκ ἐδέξαντο). Instead, they set aside their political differences and align their political agendas together, in order to preventBrasidas (ἀμφοτέροις ἐδόκει). This technique and the subsequent consequences highlight the degree of political agency that cities can gain in the face of external “big men” conquerors. The Megarians decide to stay quiet (ἡσυχάσασι) and let the two big powers, Athens and Brasidas with the Boiotians, fight against each other. This setting aside of their political differences and coming together essentially allows them to ally with the side that won. However, it has a further guarantee — the side that supported the victor would have the power to remove the other through the “big man”. This neutrality therefore allows the cities to galvanise the success of their own internal affairs in a double sense, long-term and short. The technique, for now, is neutrality — they look out for future actions (τὸ μέλλον περιιδεῖν). On the one hand, this inactivity can be seen as a lack of agency — they do nothing positive to secure their independence, waiting entirely for the unexpected future. On the other hand, the very fact that they have the chance to decide their future and pit the major generals against each other, almost as proxies, for their own advantage is significant. That this last reading and the focus on the benefits of the Megarians is foregrounded is seen in the definition of the successful general by his “well-minded” intentions towards them (τις εἴη εὔνους), placed temporally only after he has won (κρατήσασι, aorist). Moreover, that the latter word for winning is placed in the plural highlights it could be equally open for both men — by banding together and forgetting their past rivalries for the present moment and indeed remaining neutral, the Megarians wrest a choice and an agency in determining their future without suffering immediate harm. In the broader picture, social memory is catalysed at times of crisis, and uses “disturbing memories”, as we shall see below, to respond to these times of trauma and the threat of dispossession, as Alcock (2002) and Thomas (2019: 20) argue.

This transfer in power might be hinted at subtly (but certainly not conclusively) by the deliberate substitution of the same word to describe Brasidas’ action, namely hoping, (λέγων ἐν ἐλπίδι εἶναι) to the Megarians’ actions (ἤλπιζον γὰρ καὶ…). Perhaps, the element of feigned deceit that Brasidas employed against the Megarians has turned the tables and now the Megarians exploit it. But a clear counterargument to this, however, is that it highlights the negative aspect of hope that the Megarians’ adopt — that of excessive hoping, as opposed to Brasidas’ calculated use of it as a pretence. Moreover, as we’ve discussed above, hoping is almost always portrayed as negative, self-destructive in its seductiveness, in Thucydides (e.g. in the Melian Dialogue, 5.103 or the Mytilenian Debate, 3.45, cf. Stahl 1973: 66 discussing that both use past memories in the narrative to complement these speeches).

Although Thucydides does not make it explicit here, a potential backdrop to this decision and agency of Megara might be rooted in Megara’s unique social memory. Given the occurrence of this passage right before the allusion to the Boiotians’ colonisation of Megara in the next paragraph, Thucydides might be hinting (by silence) at Megara’s ability to hold in limbo both its contested foundation of Megara by the Athenians or Boiotians (discussed below). In this light, the political act of the two factions allying together, together in opposition to the major powers Athens and Boiotia/Brasidas, might be mirrored or rooted in its flexible social memory. First, as we have seen with Corcyra to an extent, the different factions might have promoted their differing social memories. Here, however, they keep their two political pasts in limbo to improve their chances in the current political milieu. Second, the fact that the two sides that claim to have colonised Megara are fighting for it is significant. Therefore, the Megarians can use and adopt their multiple social memories and foundations, and postpone their decision to choose one until a more stable political status settles, in order to improve their diplomatic capital. As de Romilly argues (1966: 9), it is this silent and calcitrant, underhand form of power is what allows Megara to gain significant political leverage.

Stage 3 — Contested pasts, alternative futures, all present: Subtle references to Megara’s contested social memory

Perhaps the most important passage relating to social memory, and to which the stages 1, 2 and 4 are underpinned by, comes as a characteristically veiled allusion by Thucydides. Are we even supposed to read this much into it? Given the surrounding abundance and nexus of social memory, I would argue it contributes to a very deliberate node here.

Starting 4.72, Thucydides turns in a small aside back to the Boiotians and their motivations for coming. He states that even though Brasidas had called them, they had intended to come anyway because “they saw that a threat to Megara was not irrelevant to them” (ὡς οὐκ ἀλλοτρίου ὄντος τοῦ κινδύνου). The crux for this unpacking this statement and bringing out the interpretation of social memory lies in “οὐκ ἀλλοτρίου”. Hammond translates this as “not irrelevant”, which keeps the motive or nature rather open-ended. David Lewis 1992 and Gomme 1981 opt for a militaristic interpretation, stressing the practical importance of Megara for communications between Boiotia and the Peloponnese. Hornblower 1996, however, rightly recognises that the term οὐκ ἀλλοτρίου relates to the terminology of kinship and its diplomacy, literally meaning “not alien”, extending oppositely to not far away from the interests at home, or domestic affairs. He equates it with the Herodotean expression “οικήια κακά” in Athens’ fears for Miletos (6.21), meaning “troubles close to home”. In this mode, the term implies that Megara had some kinship relations to Boiotia.

Searching further reveals that indeed there were contemporary accounts circulating of Megara’s foundation by the Boiotians. A fragment from Hellanicus (FGrHist 4 F 78) ascribes Megareus, the eponymous founder of Megara, the epithet “from Onchestos” (Μεγαρέα τὸν Ὀγχήστιον). Onchestos is in Boiotia. This much Hornblower notes. Therefore, a motivation for the Boiotians coming out to fight against Megara is subtly framed in terms of maintaining its positive kinship relations with Megara. Social memory plays a major role in political motivation. Fragoulaki (2013: 48), reacting against Curty’s omission of this concept (1994: 196), has extended this further and introduced the idea of emotionality and the Boiotians feeling a deeper personally-held heartfelt connection to Megara as a potential explanation for helping Megara. But just because this reference is brief and veiled does not necessarily mean that Thucydides does not intend (if we can ever assert that) for us to notice it, or that we are reading too much into the text. Simply because it is veiled and hidden does not mean that Thucydides did not want us to mine the text for it — indeed he is notorious for making the reader search hard with intratextual connections for other accounts, famously in the Delian Digression (3.104).

What is interesting, however, is that there were also contemporary accounts for Megara’s foundation by the Boiotians’ current enemy — Athens. Indeed Hellanicus, earlier in the passage, records that Nisaia was founded ἀπὸ Νίσου τοῦ Πανδίονος, that is, by Nisus, the son of Pandion. Pandion was a king of Athens. Further, Philokhoros F107 at FGrHist329 F 2 and Sophocles’ TrGF F 24 corroborate this mythological strand, stating that when Pandion divided his kingdom into four parts, Nisus got the Megarid and founded Nisaia. Kearns (1989): 188 has argued this reflects a calculated retrospection by Athens, attempting to link the likely originally-Megarian hero Nisus to itself in order to advance Athens’ claim to Megara.

Most tellingly, however, in the passage of Hellanicus above, Hellanicus makes both Nisus son of Pandion and Megareus from Onchestos the founders simultaneously: Καὶ ἐν δευτέρῳ· «Καὶ Νισαίαν εἷλε, καὶ Νίσον τὸν Πανδίονος, καὶ Μεγαρέα τὸν Ὀγχήστιον.» In the first book (Ἑλλάνικος ἐν Ἱερειῶν πρώτῳ), indeed, Stephanus Byzantium notes that Hellanicus mentions solely that Nisus founded it. Hornblower does not note the pairing or simultaneity of these two names. Instead, he cites the more obscure mention of the temple of Nisus at Athens in the text of the 423 truce, at 4.118. This Hellanicus passage, therefore, highlights the contested nature of Megara’s foundation and therefore its alliance with both Athens and Boiotia.

The question is how much these “counter-memories” simply co-exist or are actively subversive — in other words, how effective are they on political negotiations? Thucydides has just mentioned that this is the main motivation that the Boiotians have come to help them. Extending Herodotus’ parallel of Athens foregrounding its Ionian link, the Boiotians are actively moving a large force to help its own Miletus. Moreover, immediately after Thucydides subtly inserts the fact that they were coming from Plataia (καὶ ἤδη ὄντες πανστρατιᾷ Πλαταιᾶσιν). While this might be an innocent standard record for historical accuracy, it becomes highly impregnated when it is placed in the broader narrative of Book 3: this action is fresh from the Thebans’ complete annihilation of the Plataians’ pleas of their past memories. Rather than being a simple collective focus on one people, as Halbwachs notes, Thucydides alludes to the various multiplicities of contested social memories that have very real effects on the political landscape. The “invented” architectonics of social memory have a unique power, one that is exploited here by both conquerors but also later by locals.

Therefore, this (ab)use of the imaginary capital of social memory is not just a useful political tool for the invader’s historical reality. As we have seen above, the Boiotian cities themselves keep both options of their foundation and kinship ties open, in order to prevent them being destroyed by an external force from within. It works both ways. What’s interesting here is that this kinship tie lasts: after the Peace of Nicias in 421, Thucydides twice pairs the Boiotians and Megarians together, acting together as one whole. At 5.31.6, Βοιωτοὶ δὲ καὶ Μεγαρῆς τὸ αὐτὸ λέγοντες ἡσύχαζον — the Boiotians and Megarians say the same thing and remain quiet, looking out for the Spartans’ negotiations with Argos. This is similar to what the then united Megarian factions did back in 4.71 when Brasidas entered — waiting to see what the others would do (περιορώμενοι ὑπὸ τῶν Λακεδαιμονίων). Likewise, at 5.38.1, οὕτως ἤδη τοὺς Βοιωτοὺς καὶ Μεγαρέας (τὸ γὰρ αὐτὸ ἐποίουν) πρὸς τοὺς Ἀργείους σπένδεσθαι — the Boiotians and Megarians (for they did the same action) ratified peace treaties with the Argives. This common link, mediated through the repeated phrase τὸ αὐτὸ, highlights the continual power that such imagined kinships could hold upon the political actions of states over time. These consolidations originate from heated contested accounts as here.

Likewise, it is telling also that Strabo records the reciprocal situation: Athens was renowned to have founded the city Astakos in Bithynian Thrace together with Megara (Μεγαρέων κτίσμα καὶ Ἀθηναίων, 12.4.2). However, the local Bithynian Doedalsus eventually refounds it (καὶ μετὰ ταῦτα Δοιδαλσοῦ; much like Brasidas at Amphipolis, 5.11). In this reciprocal process, daughter cities turn into mother cities, supervised by their own latter. Therefore, these situations highlight the important and complex impact contested social memory can have on political events. They contain both positive and negative versions — behind lie the usefulness of such contested accounts to specific contexts: while Megara revolts from Athens during the Pentekontaetia (1.114.1) and Athens subsequently invades Megarian territory twice a year (2.31.1, 4.66.1), the Megarians earlier revolt from the Peloponnesians to the Athenians (1.103.4). As in the latter case, the Athenians often pin this oscillating cooperation down to the undefined nature of the borders between Athens and Megara: during another conflict, the Megarians extend their agriculture beyond the holy land (literally) “unmarked by boundary stones” (ἐπεργασίαν Μεγαρεῦσι τῆς γῆς τῆς ἱερᾶς καὶ τῆς ἀορίστου, 1.139.2). The abstract idea of social memory ties in with the very real concerns of space and religion to play a pivotal role in the practical negotiations of the present circumstances.

Finally, the focalisation of the passage tells us valuable information about the operations of social memory and how Thucydides engages with it. Thucydides uses a ὡς and participle causal clause (ὄντος), thereby attributing it to the Boiotians as an alleged cause. Reporting the fact without asserting its truth, Thucydides deliberately steers clear from asserting anything himself. From one viewpoint, Thucydides arguably captures the “objective” historical reality — namely the importance of “imaginary” kinship ties. From the perspective on the ground, this openness highlights how the mechanics of social memory, their limitations and the ability to break them, were an active measure used by multiple players in the war.

Stage 4: Reconciliation with a past? 4.73 introducing the motif of accepting a foreign conqueror (modelled on a Homeric hero)

Eventually, a war of intimidation ensues between the Brasidas and the Athenians, without physical contact. The Athenians are the first to return to their original position at Nisaia, a crucial mistake that signals that they have left the intended battle. Brasidas capitalises on this to claim victory. Having seen this, the Megarians fulfil their intentions from 4.70: Megarians friendly to the exiles “assuming Brasidas the victor…opened the gates to receive Brasidas himself and the commanders from the other cities, and began discussions with them, ignoring the now shattered pro-Athenian faction” (4.74, my Italics). What is interesting to note is that Thucydides now distinguishes once again the different actions of each faction, while before he talked of the Megarians uniting and acting together as a group. In this light, he opens the passage with the Megarian faction “friendly to the exiles” (οἱ τῶν φευγόντων φίλοι Μεγαρῆς) and closes it with the “now shattered pro-Athenian faction” (καταπεπληγμένων ἤδη τῶν πρὸς τοὺς Ἀθηναίους πραξάντων). One faction wins and therefore chooses its own winner and side (κρατήσασι, 4.70). Does this translate to the sphere of social memory as well, through the prioritisation of one version?

On the one hand, perhaps not. Thucydides does not deliberately go out of his way — he is very general. He refers to the Boiotians, who have been an important player in the contested foundation stories of Megara, obliquely and as another of the commanders “from the other cities” (καὶ τοῖς ἀπὸ τῶν πόλεων ἄρχουσιν). They do not get a special mention, not singled out for their unique foundational ties.

However, this distinction in the factions might have some implications or reflections relating to social memory through the motif in how the Megarians invite him in. Thucydides describes:

θαρσοῦντες μᾶλλον ἀνοίγουσί τε τὰς πύλας καὶ δεξάμενοι

And rejoicing much they opened the gates and received them.

First, there is a degree of emotionality in θαρσοῦντες which Thucydides has not before brought out in the passage. This fits Fragoulaki’s emphasis on the importance of the heart-felt deep rootedness of kinship ties, and their importance in solidifying newly forged ones. Perhaps Brasidas and the Boiotians’ entrance meant something more than politics. In this view, Thucydides’ very mention of the “commanders from the other cities” is important. Throughout the second half of Book 4, where he constantly follows Brasidas’ actions centre-stage, he could easily have only mentioned Brasidas. We could even be incredibly optimistic and stretch it further into the realms of the semantics (even I admit this is highly unlikely) — Thucydides choice of the word for ruler here, ἄρχουσιν, could be a very deliberate choice from ἄρχω, which in its double meaning can also signify “to begin”, therefore referring to the city’s foundation. This is not unprecedented — such a verb also appears with a similar meaning in a very similar passage of introducing Brasidas into the city of Scione at 4.121.1 in the Chalcidice (προσήρχοντο probably from προσαρχομαι; see below). Kinship might just be interlaced at deep levels.

The similarity between the scenes at Scione, with its explicit worshipping of Brasidas in the motif of a victorious hero, to Megara further solidifies the role of social memory in these negotiations. This view becomes more pronounced in the second point of how the Megarians receive Brasidas. The motif of opening gates and receiving them is often associated with the motif of the joyful introduction of an athlete, as expressed even further at Scione, and further the foundation and introduction of a new cult or ruler cult. As Hornblower 1996: 380f notes, it has very specific religious overtones, whereby private accounts and modes take the public stage and form an official, uncontested version. At Scione in 4.121, Thucydides compares a very similar situation to the receiving of an athlete by crowning him with a golden crown as “liberator of all Greece”, while private individuals crown him with festoons as an “athletic victor” (the diction implying the crowdedness and emulation poignantly roots the heartfelt affection of a new identity). These actions, I argue, are symbolic capital and achievements that have been distorted and were fundamentally linked to a city’s civic identity and social memory. More generally, the symbol of a conqueror being invited into the city has connotations of a new chapter in a polis’ history. More could be said, but there is not enough room here.

This becomes significant when we realise that Thucydides chooses to refer to the oligarchic faction of the Megarians as “friends of the exiles” (οἱ τῶν φευγόντων φίλοι Μεγαρῆς). This might seem to be an unusual and circumlocutory way to refer to them: they have been referred to before simply in the neutral οἱ μὲν…οἱ δὲ construction (4.70). The choice to forgo this and rather expand on the theme on exile has strong ties of restoring a severed kinship, and specifically with the theme of a native returning back. This could mirror Brasidas’ and the Boiotians’ own “return” to Megara. The theme of exiles further create a ring composition from the beginning of this discrete passage; more importantly, this is the first time that Thucydides directly refers to the oligarchic Megarian faction (in these five paragraphs) through their alliance with the exiles; he later repeats it at 4.74. Moreover, the scholia pick up on this rhetoric of previous kin now seen as enemies by glossing those Megarians “who acted on behalf of the Athenians” specifically as “traitors”: ηγουν τῶν προδοτῶν (Hude 1973: 267). Ties of kinship are severed for the present expediency. In this context of kinship, Thucydides choice to refer to these Megarians through the theme of kinship throughout this paragraph imbues Brasidas’ entry with a tone akin to reintroducing a second foundation.

In this light, this passage foreshadows very similar and indeed more emotional introductions of Brasidas into cities in the Chalcidice, where I am arguing that social memory plays an especially pronounced role in the surprising but often unnoticed political leverage the Chalcidian cities gain. This is especially true of Scione, who go one step further and enthusiastically run out from of their city walls to greet Brasidas as a victorious general or athlete. Perhaps most pertinently, the battle of Megara and the first Athenian conquest of it at 4.68 has remarkable and exclusive similarities with the battle of Amphipolis at 4.103–4: surprised local Megareans flee into the Long Walls, attacks are made by night and the inhabitants only realise in the morning, divisions in the populace who betray the city. Most importantly, I argue this battle narrative is extensively rooted in kinship “imaginary” language at Amphipolis as well to signal and facilitate the transition of real political power for the Amphipolitans. Therefore, if we want to view this section of Thucydides at Megara as deliberately complete through the common character development of Brasidas, we have the first brewings. Moreover, this complements in a ring composition Brasidas’ initial aim at 4.70 to enter the city through lying, and exemplifies the malleability of social memory in the face of political circumstances and different groupings. Before, all Megarians were afraid to admit Brasidas; now, they eagerly admit him. The reversal is poignant and dynamic.

How does this reconciliation, rooted in social memory, between the Megarian oligarchic faction and Brasidas play out internally with the other faction — the democrats?

Stage 5: Reconciliation or destruction? The domestic perspective and using social memory as a tool of destroying a past and people (4.74)

οἱ δὲ ἄλλοι κοινολογησάμενοι τοῖς τῶν φευγόντων φίλοις κατάγουσι τοὺς ἐκ Πηγῶν, ὁρκώσαντες πίστεσι μεγάλαις μηδὲν μνησικακήσειν, βουλεύσειν δὲ τῇ πόλει τὰ ἄριστα.

But the others, after they came to a shared agreement with the friends of the exiles, brought them back from Pegai, and made them swear great oaths to remember no evil deeds, and to consider the best interests of the city.

This last passage of the Megarian stasis in 4.70–74 contains perhaps the most interesting case and abuse of social memory. At first, the focus of social memory here is to reconcile, specifically to mend the fractured political ties between the oligarchs and rest of the citizens. The language is framed in terms of social memory. Thucydides stresses the simultaneity and jointness of their discussions through the compound verb κοινολογησάμενοι over simply λογησάμενοι; he again focalises on the importance of exile in referring to the oligarchs as “those friends of those who had fled (τῶν φευγόντων) from Pegai”. Like Brasidas and the Boiotians, they are “brought down” from Pegai into the city.

Most importantly, they “swear solemn oaths not to remember anything”. First, the emphasis on “to swear solemn oaths” stresses the importance of coalescing a common, official version and securing social memory as a tool for reconciliation. As Sommerstein 2012 has argued, what makes agreements sealed by oaths much stronger than the agreement on its own is that the oaths ratify its immutability in a very ritualistic sense. Complementing Halbwachs’ and Alcock’s focus on the localisation of memory in archaeological materiality, this form of memory in oaths exemplifies that more performative aspects like oaths can equally constitute “memorial heritage”, in Nora’s terminology (1996: 6). These conceptual lieux de memoires are rooted in the concept of shared bonds, which allows them to transcend time and real blood-ties, fitting instead more institutional kinship centring around “relatedness” that focuses on the political field, using Fragoulaki’s terminology. Politics, performance, and memories clash. There is usually a religious aspect behind swearing oaths and sense of shared communities, which we have seen before in the motif of the acceptance into the city. While oaths are meant to bind the citizens and their accounts together, this very feature highlights their vulnerability in being broken and subverted. Such swearing of oaths is also taken by Brasidas after his speech at Akanthus (4.88) — a notable similarity where social memory plays a big role (which I discuss in my dissertation). In both cases, they are used as a negotiating mechanism by cities to reconcile different groups. The importance of such swearing of oaths is not unprecedented — the Thebans in the Plataian debate, a similar situation imposing Plataia’s past onto the present, tell the Plataians not to appeal to the “oaths set at that time” that guarantee their freedom (3.62.5). It therefore adds a certain legitimacy to the operations behind what they actually swear — “to remember nothing evil”.

The second part is quite unusual. They swear, literally, “to remember no bad” (μηδὲν μνησικακήσειν, the latter coming from μνήσις, remembrance, and κακoς). Translators have often flipped the sense to the positive: Hammond says “to forget past quarrels”. Yet apart from diverging from the Greek, the fact that Thucydides decides to keep the object general (i.e. he does not use a Greek word for “quarrels”) with the general or indefinite μηδὲν construction might be significant. This is supported by the general semantic meaning of “wrong” behind κακoς. Why should we restrict it specifically to a militaristic or political sense, in any case physical, of “quarrels”? We have seen throughout these passages undertones of, and explicit suggestions in 4.72 relating to the Boiotians, the emphasis on Megara’s contested foundation. Sticking to the grammar and the indefinite nature as “nothing evil” allows the possibility to encompass both the quarrels in the present conflict and past memory. Moreover, keeping it open highlights a fundamental component in the operations of social memory: the interaction of past and present. Yes, the present conflicts are important, but the Megarians negotiate their advantage in them by manipulating its past history. Although these translations rightly bring out the aspect of the “past”, they capture less well the emphasis on remembering their contested, potentially “bad”, foundational history as well. Thucydides here, therefore, stresses the productive links between the past and present in quarrels and contested links. Such a technique is perhaps best seen in the Plataian debate, where the very name of the father’s final speaker highlights the importance of not forgetting their past links and common battle for the present: Aieimnestus (“Always to be remembered”, 3.52.2). While there the entire Plataian past is being destroyed by the poignantly unnamed Spartans and Thebans, as Bruzzone argues, here one is being selected, albeit destroyed, over another.

Back to the text, the phrasing “to remember nothing” occurrences only in one other place in Thucydides, at 8.73.6 in the alliance between the Samian factions. This rarity points towards a deliberate usage. Hornblower takes a more general viewpoint and argues that this reflects a common feature of amnesties, citing the famous Athenian amnesty in 403. Nevertheless, the fact that Thucydides’ explicit usage of the term is rare and that he chooses to use it specifically here might point to an underlying purpose beyond the fact that he rarely cites such negotiations. Given the word’s meaning, loaded with the ideas of manipulating social memory, in a passage filled with the aspects of social memory, it might be more relevant to the progression of social memory in this passage. The previous examples of engaging with Megara’s social memory have all been constructive and positive — something new was born or kept stable. What we have here, however, is the opposite. Whether or not it is a standard political term, the litotic emphasis on forgetting ultimately singles out the euphemistic destruction of memory. One of the previous attested accounts (the democrats and Athenians), is demolished, perhaps even whitewashed. The other, (presumably) the oligarchs’ and Boiotians’, is both uncontested and legitimised as the official version. All this is implicated in the politics of reconciliation through the symbolic rituals of oaths. But it could also be brought out in the very word choice. Although the phrase μηδὲν μνησικακήσειν might simply be formulaic and the force of μνήσις be sacrificed for the periphrastic meaning, the fact that Thucydides chooses μνήσις, with its unique meaning of “admonition” and warning (Beekes 2010: 953), over other words such as μνῆστις (with implications of posthumous fame, eg. Οd. 13.280, Herodotus 7.158.3) or μνημονικός (with implications of positive and long-lasting memories, eg. Aristophanes, Clouds 483) or more neutral ones, adds a further force and implicit threat of violence behind this reconciliatory oath. Beyond foreshadowing the upcoming atrocious slaughter of the people, such a speech-act could reinforce the opposite idea of emotionality and the fragility behind such a reconciled version. This is especially well brought out in a Tegean inscription that aims to reconcile exiled Tegeans and current inhabitants from 324/4 following Alexander’s Exiles Decree (RO 101). The formulation (l.59–60) is very careful to make explicit every concern with the people’s sentiments in order to prevent it: “and not to remember any evil/bear any grudges for those who may have plotted things from this day on which I swear this oath”. The spelling out of the plotting may hint at the freshness of these memories, while the ambiguity of “things” might attempt the encompass the many different memories. In this way, the phrasing perhaps strives to eradicate these ambiguous evils through the very precise focus on the very day and eternal aspect of the oath’s durability. Depending how much weight we put on the ambiguity, but given the fact that it spells it out for example more than Thuc. 4.74, this could highlight the productivity of using the terminology of forgetting alongside the process for extracting cooperation. But it also shows the potential hatred lying beneath it — the discourse rests on a lot of trust in the speech-acts. The contested account might still lie just below the surface of mutual agreement — in a context framed by oaths and social memory. This therefore shows such versions can always be reversed — and sets a ground for the final usage of social memory.

More broadly, Book 8 has been seen as having circumstances that enable the cities to express their true “opinions” — namely their hatred against Athens, which they had harboured up but could not express due to their weakness and external compulsion (de Romilly 1966: 10; Quinn 1964: 260). This potentiality, deriving from Athens’ weakened power and self-perception after Sicily, is rooted in the discourse of social memory, as exemplified with Samos. The parallel with Samos (discussed above) at 8.73.6 also highlights the importance of destroying every conceivable account of social memory, whether existent or not: τοῖς δ᾽ ἄλλοις οὐ μνησικακοῦντες δημοκρατούμενοι τὸ λοιπὸν ξυνεπολίτευον. The Athenians use this “not remembering anything evil” in order to form an alliance (ξυνεπολίτευον) and incorporate a segregated minority (τὸ λοιπὸν). Moreover, Thucydides’ description of the Athenians as “freeborn” rings of asserting their collective civic identity and perhaps of autochthony. Manipulating social memory therefore facilitates tangible politics. Just before this, in 8.73.4, the Samians want the Athenians to get rid of oligarchy even in its “imaginary” state: “even if it was not existing” (αἰεὶ δήποτε ὀλιγαρχίᾳ καὶ μὴ παρούσῃ ἐπικειμένους). Hammond brings this out nicely by translating it as “attack oligarchy anywhere, real or imaginary”. The realm of imagination and intangible oligarchic self-identity is equally important and dangerous.

Focusing on the meaning of μηδὲν μνησικακήσειν, what we have here is the final use of social memory perhaps the most interesting, extreme, and violent abuse of social memory, built from the other accounts but simultaneously destroying them. First, on the other side of the coin of the selection of one variation of social memory, we have the deliberate erasing of the other. Memory can be destroyed — aptly displayed in the Thebans’ treatment of the Plataian’s arguments of justice in the Plataian debate in Book 3 (see Bruzzone’s 2015 article “Killing the Past in Thucydides’ Plataian Debate”). This failure might be predicted by the notable absence of any “entrenchment clause”, religious or human, that would prevent such actions being infringed, as Sommerstein and Fletcher argue occurs at times in Classical epigraphy (2006: 21). This implicates the removal of one parties’ memory by another, to create an official, uncontested version — and points to tension. Beyond Alcock’s focus on the “inscribed” materiality of memory, this manipulation of memory is rooted as an “incorporated” ritualistic sense. Forgetting, therefore, is one of the most fleshed out and extreme stages in the (ab)uses of social memory and its alternative accounts. Rooted in the physical interaction between communities, as Schama (1995: 16) focuses on, it is mediated through a more intangible but equally binding performance of the past.

But it can extend one final step — on a more existential level of the entire operation of social memory. Such destructions in the imaginary sphere can be used to and justify actual physical destructions of peoples. The oligarchs exploit the expectations and mechanisms of social memory in order to establish an extreme oligarchy (ἐς ὀλιγαρχίαν τὰ μάλιστα): following tradition, they make the people swear oaths, suggesting a peaceful and reconciled single memory. But they then exploit this expectancy of safety, evicted through the mechanisms of oaths and social memory, to advance their political aims: bringing the people together in a military review later in 4.74, they pick out a hundred of their enemies and those that conspired with the Athenians they picked out (ἐξελέξαντο), and slaughtered them. In other words, they exploit and manipulate the democrats’ expectations of the legitimacy of the operations of social memory (i.e. the act of forgetting to draw them into an alliance through an oath), in order to kill them. In this light, the very tradition or concept of manipulating social memory is used and destroyed, expired. Perhaps the use of social memory has its limitations in 5th-century politics and for safeguarding the people. In a poignant hit of irony, the oligarchs force τὸν δῆμον (“the people”, perhaps still with connotations of those who were tied to the democrats) to pass judgement and condemn them. Perhaps even more ironically, compared to the scene in Scione later on when the Scionians run out from their city to greet Brasidas in the trope of a victorious athlete in some athletic games, it is the excuse of games here, ripe with their performative celebrations of one’s past memory, that undoes it.

de Romilly (1966: 8) argues this phrasing demonstrates that poleis can come back together as peaceful, united entities. But as we can see here and at Samos, behind both lie great political violence and suffering. It’s a cruel reversal of the power of the people.

But it is an integral part of how it operates. Thucydides ends the passage by highlighting the extent of this situation: “So revolution was followed by counter-revolution: and there was never a change of government effected by so few which lasted for so long a time” (Hammond, my italics). Even in this summary, contested, opposing versions, mediated by the superlatives (πλεῖστον δὴ χρόνον; ὑπ’ ἐλαχίστων) and the juxtaposition between people and time, stand out in the spotlight here. The mechanics of social memory play a formative part in these extreme circumstances — which we arguably see later in the Chalcidice (enter my dissertation). Even though their demise is final, this enables a portion of the people of the cities, not just the big men, to step in the spotlight and establish long-lasting political rule. As de Romilly argues, “[Brasidas’ welcoming by the Megarians] confirms that opportunity prevails not in the opinion of the leaders, but in their strength and influence, that is to say in the attitude of the state”.

And this is why this passage is so rich. It builds up, consecutively, the different uses of social memory, demonstrating well how they are all linked up, their interdependence, and their causality. Most importantly than just theorising, it shows how they can be used for the political present — both as a remarkably powerful political tool and as a tool that has a great variety of options. In this final passage alone of the erasing of memory, we have hints of each of the four different types and uses of social memory.

What we see therefore, is that social memory gives the people a great role and a unique variety and spectrum of options to enhance their political power — whether it be for good purposes (to reconcile through erasing social memory) or bad (manipulating the expectations surrounding these conventions to kill their own fellow citizens), it is a powerful political tool that uses the potentiality of using past memories to secure political advantage in the present.

Instead of being a case of Thucydides inventing tales and departing from “objective history”, this use of social memory is a fundamental political tool that parties used as “creative mechanisms”. Perhaps not as fully here as elsewhere, I argue Thucydides did recognise this. It is something that needs to be taken more seriously and mined. This is what I am doing in my dissertation on the Chalcidice. What I argue that Thucydides is doing here, therefore, is setting us up with the mindset of appreciating social memory for his more explicit and abundant use of it in the “Imagined North”, the Chalcidice.

This passage is filled with many more examples of social memory — another being Thucydides’ short but deliberate digression on the epithets of Orchomenos (4.76.3), contested between “Boiotian” (and therefore relating to the current political aims to subdue it) or “also called Minyean” (a Homeric name as found in the Catalogue of Ships, Iliad 2.511, therefore extending much earlier than and freeing itself from Boiotian influence). Indeed, Minyean may even be older than Homer’s time — it is also used to describe the Argonauts. Homer may be using Minyean here to stress Orchomenos’ ancient ancestry already by his time. Fragoulaki takes this further to argue that it shows Athenian political intervention in Orchomenos’ ideology and a potential alliance between the two in opposition to the Boiotians, as done here at Megara (Stage 3).

Reading beyond this 4.70–74, therefore, helps to extract even more relating to social memory. Perhaps most interestingly, Megara is also associated with the opposite but mirror process of exiles (re)turning to a city — synoikism. Plutarch tells us (Greek Questions 17) that the city of Megara was founded by synoikism — one such city being Tripodiskos, where Brasidas meets the Boiotians in this passage (4.70). Is this significant in Thucydides? These negotiations between urban relocation and population displacement, following how people reconstruct their civic identities in these new (or newly constructed from old roots) topoi is something that I want to look further in my Masters dissertation, because it is another productive discourse of social memory and can shed new perspectives on the agency and power of the people and cities in Classical and Hellenistic Greece and beyond.

Reapproaching this passage through the lens of social memory, which has not been fully appreciated, brings out valuable new information and emphasis that we might have otherwise missed.

What I have aimed to show here briefly, therefore, is the potentiality of social memory as a tool to analyse history. Past memories can be moulded for very real expediency of the present in speech-acts. We can apply it to different situations and contexts to determine different perspective and elements, and most importantly dig out new ideas — in Thucydides’ case, a rare valorisation of the power of the cities and people of Megara (albeit perhaps more the oligarchic), in the face of the big men who are so often duelled over.

Do you have a suggestion for a future topic? Do you have an idea to share with your friends? Send us a message and follow the Durham University Classics Society on Twitter (@DUClassSoc) and Facebook (@DUClassics Society) to keep up with this blog and our other adventures!