statements about the utility of a work are taken further here than is
evidenced in his predecessors.
Polybius (3.6) distinguishes the beginnings ( archas) of the Second Punic War – the siege of Saguntum and the crossing of the river Ebro –
from its causes ( aitias) or from other pretexts ( prophaseo ̄ s); thus he echoes Thucydides (1.23) on the “truest cause.” He then criticizes the alternative theory presented by the Roman historian Fabius Pictor, namely that the
reason for the war had been Hasdrubal’s acquisitiveness and love of rule ( pleonexian kai philarchian), which Hannibal later shared. Fabius held that the war was undertaken by those leaders without approval from the
Carthaginian Senate – which is improbable, reasons Polybius, given that this body could have denied the motion to go to war instead of tolerating it for seventeen years. Using a more refined psycho‐political analysis, Polybius posits the following causes: (1) Hamilcar Barca harbored resentment over the outcome of the earlier war in Sicily; (2) he was further
angered at the reparations imposed; and (3) Hasdrubal and Hannibal
were encouraged by success in Spain (Plb. 3.8–10). The historian adds
the most dramatic explanation, in line with the above, that Hannibal as a youth had sworn an oath before his father that he would never be a friend to the Romans (Plb. 3.11). Following Hannibal’s siege of Saguntum and
the Roman consideration of war against him, there is a legalistic digression into the treaties between Rome and Carthage, followed by a defensive section on the need to go into detail for the sake of a comprehensive and truthful history (Plb. 3.31). Statesmen benefit from knowledge of the
past: they gain supporters, rouse others to action, ensure success, and discern who shares their sentiments. History in the absence of “cause, principle, and motive, and of the adaptation of the means to the end” leaves only “a mere panorama without being instructive,” without “abiding
value.” Polybius’ defense of the lengthy and complex structure of his own work (“hard to obtain and difficult to read”) continues with a justification: his is superior to episodic compositions that do not show the interconnectedness of causes. The Third Macedonian War (171–167 bc)
against the Seleucid king Antiochus III arose from the First (214–205 bc) and the Second Macedonian War (200 bc), carried out against Philip V,
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which in turn resulted from the Hannibalic War (218–202 bc) (Plb. 1.32).
Polybius rightly insists on the interconnectedness of these conflicts, all of which come about from Roman imperial expansion – though it is not
here explicitly cited as a cause. The digression on authorial aims also serves effectively, as a dramatic pause, when we return to a dramatic scene with Roman ambassadors at the Senate in Carthage. The Roman spokes-man says that in the folds of his toga he carried both war and peace and that “he would bring out and leave them whichever they bade him”; they
replied, whichever he would choose, and he said: “it should be war” –
which they immediately accepted (Plb. 1.33). From there the readers are transported directly back to Hannibal in Spain, with an enumeration of
his forces and a description of his boldly crossing of the River Ebro. This is the textual border marking the start of the Hannibalic War. Hannibal’s forces cross the Pyrenees and then the Rhone, successfully fending off
opposing Celts (Plb. 3.35–45). Remarkable is the description of the
conveyance of the elephants across the Rhone, which has resonances with Xerxes’ (more spectacular) bridging and crossing of the Hellespont (Plb.
3.46, cf. Hdt. 7.30–7, 54–9; see McGing 2010: 51–94). Another sizeable authorial pause before the crossing of the Alps shows us Polybius attack-ing other historians who question Hannibal’s judgment in attempting
the mountains and posit some divine or heroic guidance; clearly the
Carthaginian was capably informed and the route was passable, as Celts
had shown (Plb. 3.47–8). Polybius takes on his rivals with logic as his warrior subjects do with arms on the field. The mountain crossing took
fifteen days, and the impressiveness of this achievement again serves as a narrative marker – after which Hannibal’s journey is literally and figuratively downhill for a time (Plb. 3.50–6).
As at last Hannibal faces Scipio, there is a pair of pre‐battle exhortations of standard content (the invaders resolve to win or die; the defenders see a foe of reduced ranks). These frame the psyche of the opponents at the outset of the war (Plb. 3.63–4). Hannibal is characterized as acting
“prudently and effectively” ( emphrono ̄ s … kai pragmatiko ̄ s, Plb. 3.81.1) both in his lenient treatment of prisoners, to win them over, and in his shrewd sizing up of Flaminius, who overrated himself and was not suited to the realities of warfare. This gives Polybius occasion to list the worst and best qualities of the general: disgraceful indulgence in drink or sex or, conversely, the ability to “read” an enemy commander’s weaknesses.
Thus Hannibal induced Flaminius unwisely to join battle, which results
in the Roman disaster at Thrasymene Lake, with 15,000 Romans killed
and another 15,000 captured, by this account. The people of Rome
were stunned, while the Senate considered the next move (Plb. 3.85).
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The general Fabius suffers another disgrace when from a commanding
position he allows Hannibal to escape by means of a nighttime diversion caused by oxen with torches tied to their horns (Plb. 3.93–4). Fabius later redeems himself when he saves his co‐dictator Minucius from defeat at
Hannibal’s hands: Polybius portrays it, in the minds of Romans, as a case of a man of “military foresight and stable, sensible reckoning,” clearly differing from a man of “rashness and bravado” (Plb. 3.105).
The major event of this book, given due weight by the historian, is the traumatic defeat of the Romans at Cannae, which remains for long a
symbol of agonizing shame and only later inspires courage to save the
state. In his harangue before battle, Aemilius Paulus, in charge of eight legions and 40,000 men – 80,000, to count the allies – puts it pointedly: this is a matter of salvation of the state, the fighters’ women, their children, and themselves; the whole confidence and power ( dunamin) of the state rests on its soldiers (Plb. 3.109). An impetuous Roman attack on the Celts in battle and the superiority of the Carthaginians under Hasdrubal led to the Roman defeat, not before Paulus died in a vain and valorous
charge into the ranks (Plb. 3.115–16). Polybius, however, does not dwell on this, but turns his readers to the long‐range outcome. Despite being worsted in battle and having surrendered their excellence in arms [ arete ̄], by the uniqueness of their constitution and by their prudent counsels, they not only retained governance of Italy, but thereafter have defeated the Carthaginians and after a few years became empowered of the whole world.
(Plb. 3.118)
The language of inevitable Roman imperial power is never left far from
the readers’ attention.
The narratives in Books 4 and 5 in part serve to develop the character-
ization of the Greeks in ways that point out their internal factionalism, implicitly promote an image of Roman superiority, and issue a challenge to Greeks to greater unity. The great attention to Hellenic matters recalls not only the Greek perspective of the author, but the interests of his
mainly Greek readership. Among the revelations is the civilizing value of music, the absence of which explains the marked cruelty of the Cynaethans of Arcadia (Plb. 4.20–1). The geography of Byzantium is a prelude to the narrative of the war between Rhodes and Byzantium (Plb. 4.47–51) over
tariffs imposed by the latter on those who bring goods from the Pontus.
Achaean League in the Peloponnese (Plb. 4.7–14); the Social War of
Philip V of Macedon against the Aetolians is a venture encouraged by his
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view of Hannibal’s success (Plb. 4.26–37 and 4.57–5.24, and esp. 5.101).
Perhaps most indicative of Polybius’ views of the need for Greek unity is the little speech of Agelaus of Naupactus (5.104), essentially arguing for the need for peace and unity among Greeks in view of the potential domination of either Carthage or Rome. The result was the Peace of Naupactus in 217 bc, though behind Philip was the motivation to try to extend
hegemony to Rome itself.
The famous Book 6 is an exceptionally long digression, traditionally of interest for its defense of the Roman “constitution,” and it crucially but ambiguously epitomizes the character of that state. Ambiguously, in that it is in part fragmentary and poses as many questions as it answers
(Walbank 1972: 130–56). It begins with the nature of constitutions, then leads to an account of mixed constitutions and further “mixes” into it
how Romans differ from others in their warfare and religious customs.
The account starts by presenting the three simple forms of constitution –
kingship, aristocracy, and democracy (Plb. 6.3.5) – and adds to it the
mixed constitution, exemplified by that of Lycurgus of Sparta (Plb.
6.3.6–8). The constitutions have three corrupt forms, respectively mon-
archy/tyranny, oligarchy, and mob rule (ochlocracy) (Plb. 6.3.9–4.6).
Polybius outlines a political cycle ( anakuklo ̄ sis) in which the three good forms degenerate into their corrupt forms in a natural succession ( kata phusin). Primitive monarchy begins the cycle, which also ends in monarchy: the anakuklo ̄ sis is monarchy, kingship, tyranny, aristocracy, oligarchy, democracy, ochlocracy, then monarchy again, and the cycle is
repeated over again in time. The mixed constitution, a hybrid that incorporates elements of the three types, came about in Sparta through legislation, traditionally that of the shadowy lawgiver “Lycurgus,” and in
Rome through a natural evolution (Plb. 6.10). There is then a gap in
which Polybius would have described the political origins and development of Rome from Romulus to the decemvirs (450s bc), followed by an extant
section on the system of checks and balances in the mixed system (Plb.
6.11–18). Throughout this discussion the concept of power is of course
central in its various formulations; for example the monarch – “the man who has the greatest power” ( dunamin) – becomes a just king when he apportions awards and penalties according to merit ( axian). The people then obey him not out of fear or force but in approval of his judgment ( gno ̄ mē; Plb. 6.4.2), and they preserve his rule ( archē n) and battle those who conspire against his exercise of power ( dunasteia; Plb. 6.6.10).
There is varying emotional and rational response to those empowered.
Fairness and morality thus complement the acquisition and maintenance
of power; and we should also note the nexus between power, emotion,
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and reason. The concept may be obvious, but it is not explicitly enunciated by Herodotus or Thucydides, though Xenophon seems sympathetic to
the idea. Again, later, a constitution based solely on one form of power ( dunamin) is unstable and quickly slips into a corrupt form (Plb. 6.10.2).
The Senate, the consuls, and the people have their own power ( dunamis), so that each is kept in balance by the others, and the collective power is supreme when an external threat is evident (Plb. 6.18.1–2). One scholar has suggested another point of this book, complementary to the lesson to Romans about balanced rule, namely to present to the Greeks and other
readers a sober portrait of Rome “almost pathologically obsessed with
detail, driven solely by the needs of the state, as willing to terrorize its own citizens as its enemies, and at heart alien”; the portrait is meant to convince non‐Romans that “revolt against the Romans was madness”
(Erskine 2013: 244–5).
Later sections of Book 6 describe in pragmatic detail the Roman army,
its structure and practices, in order to enlighten the Greeks in the Eastern Mediterranean and impress them with the different form of high order
in their system (Plb. 6.19–42). Punishments and rewards for soldiers
come emphatically near the end of this section, which includes the crimes for which one should be beaten to death, decimation due to desertion,
and a crown of gold for the first to scale a wall in a siege (Plb. 6.37–9).
The enforcement of discipline is a key aspect of Roman success, this
seems to say.
After this comes an extended comparison of the Roman republic with
other states, and here Polybius draws heavily on notions of national
character and ethnic identity among Greeks (Plb. 6.43–58). We learn that Athens’ reversal of fortune from its imperial heights is due to its “nature”
( phusis); Athens acts like a ship without a commander, only obeying out of “fear of the seas” in a storm but remaining otherwise contemptuous of superiors and quarrelsome; Athenians and Thebans are acting “with
headstrong impulse and malice” ( oxute ̄ ti kai pikriai) at one time and are schooled in violence and ferocity at another (Plb. 6.44). To illustrate how the Cretan constitution differs from the Spartan, which is sometimes
claimed to be similar, Polybius rails against the Cretans for their very un-Spartan attachment to possessions: “To such a degree is their character
[ tropos] habitual with regard to sordid greed and arrogance that, of all humans, only among the Cretans is no gain considered disgraceful”
(Plb. 6.46.3). Cretan behavior violates the common Greek dictum
“nothing in excess”; but it also underlines the virtually synonymous vices of “sordid greed and arrogant acquisitiveness” ( aischrokerdeia and pleonexia). This leads to a more general consideration of “the two
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fundamental things in each state on account of which its powers and
constitutions are to be recommended or avoided: these are their customs and laws [ ethe ̄ kai nomoi]” (Plb. 6.47.1).
Thus Polybius extends the importance of constitutional structure and
of the bodies in which the powers are vested to the less controllable
habits of a people, which are determined by the unique collective nature and culture of that state. Conversely, the “Lycurgan” constitution
of Sparta, through provisions for land and a common diet and
through training in hardship, fostered courage and temperance ( andreia and so ̄ phrosunē) (6.48). Yet in external affairs, Polybius says, Sparta had a
“desire for domination” ( philarchia) over other Greeks that forced it to become dependent on Persia for resources (Plb. 6.49). This was a
constitutional flaw that, he implies, the Romans avoided by remaining
self‐sufficient in their external ambitions. In these passages human nature and individual character, in typical Greek polarity, waver between reason and emotion. In historical writing, the common Greek dualism was most
pointedly made by Thucydides, whom Polybius follows partly here, with
extensive elaboration in schema (on which see further below) and in the use of digression.
Polybius rounds off the digression with an explicit exposition on the
biological schema and relates it to the two superpowers of his narrative.
Any body, state, or action ( so ̄ ma, politeia, or praxis) has by nature ( kata phusin) first an increase, then a highpoint, an
d finally decline ( auxē sis, akme ̄ , phthisis). With regard to constitutions, Rome is at its height, the Senate being prominent, while Carthage is in decline, as democracy prevails (Plb. 6.51.4–5). The story of Horatius at the Tiber bridge in Rome stands as a supreme example of Roman self‐sacrifice for the state; Horatius shows “endurance and boldness” ( hupostasin kai tolma), which is also typical of young Romans in whom an “enthusiasm and love of honor”
( horme ̄ kai philotimia) is instilled (Plb. 6.55). The end echoes the beginning of the description of the cycle: “All things are subject to decay and change” ( phthora kai metabole ̄) (Plb. 6.57). When a state achieves supremacy under the influence of long‐established prosperity ( eudai-monia), “life becomes extravagant and men become highly contentious for public office and in other matters.” When people do not get what they think they deserve, out of anger and resentment they will challenge the power of others and try to have everything or by far the most for themselves. “And when that comes to pass the constitution will receive a new name, which sounds better than any other in the world, liberty or democracy; but in fact it will become that worst of all governments, mob rule”
[ ochlokratia]” (Plb. 6.57.9).
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Polybius thus posits a complex “anthropology” in which the anakuklo ̄ sis of constitutions is further refined into the growth–acme–decline schema of each part of the cycle. The schema of decline of collective customs is not itself original, but has roots going back to Hesiod’s races of man and is articulated in political terms, as a classification of constitutions, by Plato (Book 8 of the Republic depicts the decay of a polity, Book 3 of the Laws, a growth cycle) and by Aristotle ( EN 8.10.1–3; see Trompf 1979). Yet the Greek historian’s uniqueness in this particular respect is a highly schematized formulation of human nature, emotion, and reason in collective
social movements taken to cross‐cultural comparisons. It is also note-
worthy in that, for all the author’s high esteem for the Roman polity both in its admirable, mixed constitution and in the stalwart and courageous character of its citizens, the picture of idealized Romans in Book 6 is not matched by ideal behavior in the text. Horatius at the bridge is touted in Book 6, but we have more problematic events, such as the commander
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