Regulus’ defeat in Africa (Plb. 1.32–4), the Roman defeat at Cannae
(Plb. 3.109–18), and the dictator Quintus Fabius’ being outmaneuvered
by Hannibal (Plb. 3.93–4). Rome recovers each time, but there is an
implicit warning that it could falter if it did not live up to its ancestral character.
We might pause to ask why this broad‐ranging discussion is inserted at
this point into the narrative. Why not put it closer to the start of the work, since it presents programmatic questions? The immediately prior
books, 4 and 5, dealt with details of inter‐Greek strife, and, when we last saw the Romans at any length, this culminated in their most disastrous
defeat at Cannae. Perhaps it is just at this unlikely point – namely the nadir of Roman success in the Second Punic War and the extreme disunity among the Greeks capped by Philip V’s self‐aggrandizing oppor-
tunism – that the digression fits best. In the ensuing narrative of how Rome redeemed itself and how the Greeks collectively did not, the reader is to keep freshly in mind the discussions of Book 6 on which the later success is premised.
Book 7 takes up affairs in Sicily and the (unsuccessful) scheming of
the young Hieronymus, king of Syracuse, to obtain rule over Sicily by
siding with Carthage against Rome. Polybius takes the occasion to praise Hieronymus’ grandfather, Hiero, who obtained the rule ( arche ̄) of Syracuse through his own merit, not by fortune, and then governed in
peace (Plb. 7.8). He was not allowed by his people to relinquish his sovereignty ( dunasteia), and he lived a temperate life into old age. Back in Greece, the decline of Philip V into tyranny and aggression toward
Messene are outlined next (Plb. 6.10–14), followed by the account of
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Antiochus’ taking of Sardis (Plb. 6.15–18). The fragmentary Book 8
describes the frustrated attempts of the Roman fleet to besiege Syracuse, which are outwitted by the military technology of Archimedes (Plb. 8.3–
7). Philip’s assault on Messene gives an occasion for Polybius’ harsh criticism of his predecessor Theopompus for his unseemly and unfair
description of Philip II’s immoral palace life (Plb. 8.9–11). Next, in a tale of intrigue, Achaeus, the Asian governor occupying the citadel of
Sardis, is tricked and ambushed by Cretans, then handed over to
Antiochus III the Great, who executes him (Plb. 8.15–21). Polybius
gives the explicit lessons that one should trust no one too easily and
should not boast in times of success, but, being human, be prepared for anything (Plb. 8.21.11).
At length we return to Hannibal, who executes the siege of Tarentum
in 212 bc, in a compelling narrative of intrigue among the Tarentines
against the Roman occupiers. The episode is reminiscent in some respects of the legendary siege of Troy, undertaken while the city was, as Virgil figuratively put it, “buried in wine and sleep” after festivities (Plb. 8.24–
34; cf. Vg . A. 2.265). If there is a parallel, Hannibal is, one might argue, the new Odysseus, who devised the stratagem of the Trojan horse.
Emphasis is on the resourceful and cunning plan of Hannibal, but there
is implicit criticism of the Roman commander’s not being more cautious.
Rome ultimately redeems itself in the recovery of Tarentum (Plb. 10.1).
The Roman failure to besiege the pro‐Hannibal stronghold of Capua
after a standoff between the consuls and Hannibal (Plb. 9.2–10) is fol-
lowed by a section (by Polybius, but seemingly displaced here from his
work Tactics) discussing the need for a good general to have experience and knowledge from many sources (Plb. 9.12–16). Most notable in this
section is the sketch of the character of Hannibal as it informs our view of the author’s reading of power and human nature (see Plb. 9.22–6; compare 10.19), discussed earlier in relation to Polybius’ thematic interest in character.
A parallel assessment of Scipio Africanus, with whose family Polybius
had close personal ties, comes not long after: like the Spartan Lycurgus, Scipio had a “cultural assimilationist strategy” (Champion 2004: 149–
50); he shrewdly encouraged his men through the intimation of divine
aid; he was beneficent, magnanimous, acute, sober‐minded, and focused
in his intentions on the task before him (Plb. 10.2–3). We learn later that in Spain Scipio exercised sexual restraint (Plb. 10.18–19) and that he
refused the kingship title despite superhuman achievements (Plb. 10.40).
The long narrative of Scipio’s and Laelius’ successful siege of New
Carthage (Carthago Nova) is highlighted by Scipio’s ingenuity, including
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promises of gold crowns to the first scaling the walls and the report of a vision of Neptune as the Romans’ supporter (Plb. 10.7–15). Scipio’s
generous treatment of the Spaniards versus the Carthaginians’ cruelty
to them causes Polybius to muse on the proper relation of conquerors to those conquered:
And yet it is obvious enough … that one gains power by beneficent actions, and by holding out hopes of advantage to those with whom they are
dealing; and that as soon as they have got what they wanted, and begin to act wickedly and rule despotically, it is but natural that, as their rulers have changed, the feelings of the subjects should change too. (Plb. 10.36.6–7) The implicit general message is that the Rome of the historian’s day
should also take care to follow the example of Scipio and not that of
Carthage in the treatment of subjects. Imperial power is based on a fair (if not equal) reciprocal dynamic between rulers and ruled. And the disposition of the state usually follows from that of the leader(s), in a parallel process in which state and individual act similarly, not by different
dynamics. Finally, he observes that contradictory actions in rulers often emerge from circumstances that turn the essentially virtuous person into one forced to act more harshly than he otherwise would.
Book 12 gives insight into Polybius’ own criteria for historical writing, in the context of an extended criticism of Timaeus (c. 345–250 bc) (Plb.
12.3–4, 11–15, 25, and 27). This colleague is called to task particularly on account of falsehood arising from deliberate distortion, not from
ignorance. Polybius supports the accusation by dismissing ad hominem attacks and showing the positive qualities of Demochares (an Athenian
statesman, nephew of Demosthenes), of Agathocles, king of Syracuse
(who had exiled Timaeus), and of other historians. Timaeus is, he claims, not only “a carping, false, and impudent writer,” but also an “unphilosophical and, in short, unlearned historical writer” ( aphilosophos …
anago ̄ gos sungrapheos, Plb. 12.25.6). Much of this criticism relates to Timaeus’ use of inappropriate comments in narrative or inept rhetoric in set speeches (Plb. 12.25a), and even to the fact that he lacks authority, since his history has such a narrow subject, limited to Italy and Sicily (Plb. 12.23.7). What, we may ask, is at stake here that prompts Polybius to afford such extended vituperation and vilification? Put positively, this could be simply a way to make readers aware of the distortions of a text that leaves off on the relations of Carthage with Sicily and Italy, where Polybius takes it up. Of course the rivalry also benefits the reputation of Polybius. Since Timaeus’ works are not extant and we cannot ascertain
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the validity of many of the criticisms, we can only safely say that the comparison points up for us two authors with different styles, subjects, and ways of treating history (and biases): Polybius, with broader topics and reserved, self
‐conscious “objectivity”; and, Timaeus, with his more focused subjects and wider scope for the inclusion of myth, religion, marvels, and a tragic vision alongside the usual politics and warfare. Polybius’
rhetorical style here is an established one of polemic, meant to provoke antipathy, and he deployed it more briefly on other historians: Phylarchus in Book 2, Chaereas and Sosylus in Book 3, Theopompus in Book 8, and
Postumius Albinus in Book 39 (see Marincola 1997: 221–2; 229–32).
The angry critique risks descending to the level of the one accused, but Polybius is circumspect about justifying each remark and requiring
his own criticism to be useful and fair. The practice also indicates the earnestness and sharply competitive atmosphere among the throng of
historians of this era (on intertextuality between Polybius and earlier historians generally, e.g. Ephrous, Timaeus, Phylarchus, Callisthenes, see Schepens and Bollansée 2005).
The end of the Second Punic War focuses on the brilliant generalship
of Scipio, notably in his burning of the camps of the Numidians and
Carthaginians near Utica, followed by his siege of Utica (Plb. 14.1–9).
The Numidian leader Syphax is particularly susceptible to manipulation, and Hasdrubal is also taken by surprise when peace negotiations are a
pretense for the Roman attack. Carthage later ambushes Roman envoys
by ship, a grave offense that causes hostilities to resume. Yet Scipio
restrains his anger and treats Carthaginian ambassadors courteously,
upholding “the noble traditions of our fathers” by “surpassing their folly with his noble behavior [ kalokagathia]” (Plb. 15.1–4). The set speeches of Hannibal and Scipio neatly sketch the opposing mentalities before the final battle at Zama: the Carthaginian seeks a treaty with Rome in which the latter retains all its possessions outside North Africa; the Roman
rejects it on the grounds of the enemy’s aggression, perfidy, and failure to seek terms before this point of desperation (Plb. 15.6–8). Exhortations before battle on both sides and a sprinkling of Homeric quotes give the narrative an epic quality of gravity and mutual valor in the struggle (Plb.
15.12–16).
A palace revolution in Alexandria dramatically portrays the inept
intrigue of Agathocles, regent of the boy‐king Ptolemy Epiphanes, and the plotter’s eventual demise at the hands of a mob (Plb. 15.26–33). Scenes include the mysterious escape of a man who then inspires the guards to
revolt, the flight of the drunken Agathocles from the mob, and the
dismemberment of the regent and his family in the stadium. Oddly, the
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section ends with Polybius denouncing sensationalist reports of others, who emphasize the role of chance in these events. Polybius’ point is that the dissolute character of the regent, not fortune, better explains the outcome: “striking reversals of fortune” provide a representation worth
listening to once; but, given the goals of profit or pleasure in the story, repeatability is crucial, especially in the historical genre (Plb. 15.36.1–4).
The value of Polybius’ narrative rests not in the entertaining twists, but in its pointing up the vice, virtue, emotion, and justice embodied in action.
Philip V of Macedon is consistently presented as a Greek leader who
exhibits traits of arrogance, self‐serving, and violent resistance to the Romans, while also antagonizing fellow Greeks. Book 18 serves as a telling example of his behavior, beginning with a conference between the
Macedonian, other Greeks, and Flamininus, the Roman commander,
when Philip refuses to disembark at Nicaea out of fear of the crowd.
Flamininus demands his withdrawal from Greece and the return of power
to other Greek states (Plb. 18.1). Philip is denounced by the other Greeks at Nicaea, notably Alexander of Issus, an Aetolian, who says that Philip is neither sincere in his offer of peace nor courageous in war, practicing a burn‐and‐plunder strategy at odds with the practices of his ancestor,
Alexander the Great (Plb. 18.3). When Philip later replies to Flamininus that he is alone and needs to consider carefully the terms of peace from allies, the Roman wryly replies: “Of course you are alone by this time, Philip: you have killed off all the friends who could give you the best advice” (Plb.18.7). The peace terms are put to the Senate and argued by Greek representatives who oppose Philip, appealing to the Senate “not to cheat the Greeks out of their hopes of liberty, nor to deprive themselves
[the Romans] of the noblest claims of renown [as liberators of Greece]”
(Plb. 18.11). Philip’s men are not even allowed to speak, and the Senate votes to continue the war against Philip with Flamininus as commander in Greece. Philip suffers a major defeat and retreats at Cynoscephalae (Plb.
18.25–7), which prompts the comparison of Roman orderly formations in
battle against the Macedonian phalanx. This continues the author’s
thematic critique of Greek versus Roman culture (Plb. 18.28–32).
Eventually a treaty is decreed by the Senate: Philip is to hand over to the Romans all Greeks subject to his rule prior to the Isthmian Games
(June 196 bc); also he is to hand over all towns he occupied with gar-
risons, all his ships, and all Roman prisoners of war, and to pay reparations to the value of 1,000 talents. The strategically key Greek towns of Chalcis, Corinth, Demetrias, Eretria, and Oreum, the so‐called “fetters of Greece” held by Philip, were to be handed over to Rome, which
prompted the view among Hellenes that “the Greeks were being given
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not their freedom, but a change of masters” (Plb. 18.44–5). When
freedom is officially proclaimed at the Isthmian Games, the Greeks
speculate which cities will be set free (the famous ones?) and which will be kept by Rome (the less glamorous but serviceable ones?). Then, at
the time of the games, heralds proclaim freedom for Corinth, Phocis,
Locri, Euboea, Phthiotic Achaea, Magnesia, Thessaly, and Perrhaebia.
A deafening shout arises, and in the crush of joy Flamininus is almost
killed. The really important thing, Polybius comments, is that the
Roman people and its general incurred expense and danger to ensure
the freedom of Greece, using military forces to uphold it, and without
fortune intervening: “by a single proclamation all the Greeks inhabit-
ing both Asia and Europe became free … enjoying their own laws”
(Plb. 18.46). This section seems to instruct the Greek audience that
freedom was a real gift from Rome, for which the Greeks should be
grateful. The suspicion of a “change of masters” seems answered by the
absence of tribute or garrisons and by legal self‐governance. From our
perspective we may question the veracity of this view and accept rather the notion of a “change of masters.” But the fact that the historian singles out this act of Rome as one of gracious beneficence reveals the aim of his narrative. “Freedom” can be held by a subordinate power, even
if in qualified terms.
The comparison between Philopoemen and Aristaenus of Achaea, two
prominent Greeks who sided with Rome in the conflicts against Philip and Antiochus, illustrates two divergent responses of Greek leaders to Roman rule (Plb. 24.11–13). We know that Polybius admired Philopoemen
greatly, not least from the fact that he wrote a monograph on him;
Philopoemen was a family friend whose ashes the young Polybius carried
in the funeral. But each leader is praised in his own way for protecting the rights of the Achaeans against the Romans at this time. Aristaenus felt that it was impossible “to hold out at once both the sword and the
olive branch to the Romans”; there is a need to maintain friendship with Romans.
Every policy has two aims, honor and interest; but without the necessary strength people must take refuge in securing their interest. Philopoemen’s political strategy also reflects on honor, interest, and strength, holding that it is natural for the stronger to press the weaker, but the Greeks must put up some obstacle to avoid the harshest rule. Achaeans will at least soften the harshness of Roman rule to a certain extent. The lesson that can be derived from the episodes with Philopoemen and Aristaenus is that
“states with limited power have limited options; only if politicians understand this will they be able to choose courses of action realistically, and so bring benefit to his community” (Eckstein 1995: 162). This passage gives
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a crucial insight into Polybius’ perspective on power, namely by
acknowledging the Thucydidean dictates of power politics but illustrating a more subtle principle of survival and manipulation of one’s position as the subordinate. The two Greek leaders present two approaches, each
viable, one aimed at working on friendly terms, the other at “pushing
back” to a degree, so that the subordinate may not to become overly servile. Other approaches to the dominant power are of course also possible, notably the ones of Philip or Antiochus: to use the sword, to become an overt antagonist. Polybius does not endorse these approaches but holds up the others as models for his contemporary Greeks. The historian “was greatly interested in what made for ‘pragmatic’ success in the world, but also … how to reconcile pragmatic success with honourable conduct”
(Marincola 2001: 141, summarizing Eckstein 1995).
Polybius himself enters as a historical agent in these later books – first in Book 31, when he aids the escape of a would‐be regent of Syria, against Senate orders (Plb. 31.11–15). Scipio Aemilianus, as a friend of Polybius, allows the Greek to remain in Rome when other Achaeans are sent to
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