Polybius: The Histories. Robin Waterfield translation.
Having completed his first pentad of books on the beginning of the Roman Empire, Polybius interrupts his narrative to describe Rome’s regime. “I am sure that some people will wonder why” (VI.2). Such readers have forgotten what he wrote at the beginning of his history: “I said that the most admirable and educational part of my project was that it would let my readers know and understand how, and thanks to what kind of regime, an unprecedented event occurred—the conquest of almost all the known world in somewhat under fifty-three years, and its submission to just one ruler, Rome” (VI.2).
But why insert the promised regime analysis at this point in the narrative? Polybius invokes ordinary experience. “In everyday life, if people intend to reach a true assessment of someone, to decide whether he is bad or good, they do not base the investigation on those periods of his life when he was untroubled by external circumstances; they look at how he behaved when he was afflicted by misfortune or blessed by success, because they think that the only way to tell whether a man is fully qualified is to see whether or not he is capable of enduring total changes of fortune with courage and without compromising his principles” (VI.2). So, too, with a regime: “and so, since I could find no change in recent history more rapid or extreme than the one the Romans experienced at that time, I postponed the account of the Roman constitution until I had reached this point of my narrative,” when Rome found itself assailed and nearly ruined by the greatest general it ever faced (VI.2). What is more—and here Polybius shows that he is preeminently a political historian—whatever the circumstances might be, “the chief cause of either success or the opposite is, I would claim, the nature of a state’s regime”—not ‘race, class, and/or gender’ or any other subpolitical cause, or any concatenation of such causes (VI.2).
The Roman regime isn’t easy to describe, being what classical writer call a ‘mixed regime’ or ‘polity.’ Aristotle calls the mixed regime the hardest of all regimes to identify because, depending on which element seems to predominate at a given time, it might appear to be a democracy to one observer, an oligarchy to another. Aristotle famously classifies regimes into six main types: kingship and tyranny, aristocracy and oligarchy, mixed regime and democracy. That is, the rule of one, few, or many can be good or bad, and their goodness or badness derives from the kinds of rule Aristotle already noted in the household, namely, the rule of parents over children, whereby parents command their children for the good of the children, the rule of masters over slaves, whereby masters command their slaves for the good of the masters, and the mutual rule of husband and wife, a reciprocal rule, a relation of both ruling and being rule that Aristotle describes as ‘political’ rule. Good monarchs, kings, rule their subjects as parents rule children; good aristocrats rule their subjects that way, too. Bad monarchs, oligarchs, and democrats rule their subjects for the good of themselves, not the good of their subjects. The mixed regime, a mixture of two bad regimes, oligarchy and democracy, is nonetheless good because it alone features reciprocal rule; neither the oligarchs nor the democrats can rule the other class without its consent. If no law can be passed without approval of both classes, then only such laws as serve the interests of both are likely to be enacted. As an additional precaution, Aristotle recommends that founders of mixed regimes take measures to foster the growth of a third class, a ‘middling’ class, neither rich nor poor, which can act as an arbiter, a sort of balance wheel, between the few who are rich and the many who are poor. The word Aristotle uses for ‘polity’—politeia—is also the word he uses for the element of any regime that consists of offices, ruling institutions. This emphasizes the fact that the mixed regime best exhibits the reciprocity, the ‘ruling and being ruled’ seen in the reciprocal rule of husbands and wives in the household, the strictly ‘political’ form of rule.
Specifically, Aristotle recommends institutions that borrow practices and ruling institutions characteristic of oligarchy and of democracy, insuring that each class can defend itself from the other and act freely. So, for example, fine the rich if they don’t serve on juries and pay the poor for serving. Have a minimum property qualification for those who vote on laws, as oligarchies and even some democracies do, but set it at a level lower than that of oligarchies, higher than that of democracies. When filling ruling offices, choose some officers by lot—which is the truly democratic method—others by election and/or property assessment.
Although Polybius shares Aristotle’s esteem for the ‘polity’ or mixed regime, he defines it more broadly and offers a somewhat different way of classifying regimes generally. He concurs with Aristotle in identifying two forms of monarchy, one good and one bad. “We reserve the name ‘kingship’ for monarchy which has the subjects’ consent and which governs by rational principles rather than by fear and coercion,” which are the techniques of tyrants (VI.iv). Like Aristotle, he finds gradations within each regime. For example, “what we call democracy is a system where the majority decision prevails, but which retains the traditional principles of piety towards the gods, care of parents, respect for elders, and obedience to the laws,” whereas the worst democracy is really “ochlocracy” or mob rule (VI.iv). All of this follows Aristotle.
He begins to venture beyond Aristotelian analysis—actually introducing a motif resembling Socrates’ account of regime change in the Republic—with his famous account of the natural cycle of regimes. Modern readers accustomed to such ‘historicist’ philosophies as propounded by Hegel and Marx, often confuse this with historicism. In the thought of modern historicists, ‘history’ consists of the course of events whereby human beings systematically and progressively master nature rather than embodying it. But Polybius conceives of no ‘Absolute Spirit’ unfolding dialectically over time or any other super-natural law governing the overall course of events. For him, ‘Fortune’ is random. What is not random is nature, whose laws govern the conception, growth, and decline of individual entities, including human bodies and human regimes. Natural law accounts for the regime cycle. The course of events—what we, following Hegel and his epigoni call ‘history’—is actually “the natural, spontaneous course of events” (VI.iv), fundamentally similar to the orbiting of planets. Like other natural phenomena, the course of events is governed by a law that works through individual entities—in this case, political communities. It doesn’t govern the world as a whole; Rome rises to rule the “known world” by virtue of its regime, and eventually it will lose its rule over the world primarily because the laws of nature will cause it to decline, not because the world itself will ‘evolve.’ In fact, the main worldwide natural phenomenon is catastrophe, not progress, as Polybius will soon argue.
The archē or beginning of human life is unclear, but “legend has it that in the past the human race has been annihilated by catastrophes such as flood, famine, and crop-failure, and there is every reason to think that the same will happen in the future too, over and over again” (VI.v). Such telluric disasters “also entail the simultaneous loss of all the arts and crafts” (VI.v). Being human—that is, social and political—the survivors “naturally enough…form bands,” “compensat[ing] for their natural weakness by herding together with others of their own kind” (VI.v). “Under these circumstances, it is inevitable that anyone with exceptional physical strength and mental daring will take command and set himself up as ruler over the rest,” just as we see in other animal herds, also ruled by an ‘alpha male,’ “the strongest and most aggressive man among them”; “it is a truly natural function” (VI.v). Polybius calls this regime neither kingship nor tyranny but monarchy, simply.
Kingship arises when (again, naturally) “there gradually arise within these groups feelings of kinship and intimacy, and then for the first time people acquire the concepts of good and bad, and right and wrong” (VI.v). This occurs because “the urge to mate is a universal, natural instinct” resulting in the birth of children; when “some of these children, after being reared and reaching maturity, fail to defend or otherwise show gratitude towards those who brought them up,” even “speaking ill of them and doing them harm,” this displeases and offends not only their parents but those who witnessed “the care lavished on them by their parents and the trouble they took” to feed and otherwise ensure their survival (VI.vi). Why? Because “human beings differ from other animals in that they alone have rational intelligence” and thus will not “overlook this abnormal behavior, as other animals do” (VI.vi). Not only do they disapprove of such ingratitude, they think “that in the future each of them too might find himself at the receiving end of such treatment” (VI.vi). That is, with the capacity to reason, human beings can generalize from particulars and to some degree foresee that a given action or set of actions might be harmful not only to others but to themselves. “As a result of these situations, a certain conception gradually arises within each individual of the importance of duty, and he begins to reflect upon it. This is the be-all and end-all of the sense of right and wrong.” (VI.vi).
Therefore, “if someone takes it upon himself to be the chief defender of everyone in times of danger, by resisting and retaliating against the most aggressive animals, it is likely that the general populace will signify their gratitude and respect for him while condemning and disapproving of anyone who conducts himself in the opposite way” (VI.vi). They will begin to differentiate between good and bad alpha males. If “the man of the greatest strength consistently supports what the general populace has come to think of as good and bad” they will “stop being frightened of his power, and accept his rule more because they approve of his policies,” going so far as to “work together to preserve his rule” and to “wholeheartedly defend him against the assaults and schemes of those who would put an end to his dominion” (VI.vi). “In this way, monarchy imperceptibly slides into kingship, when reason replaces forcefulness and strength at the helm” (VI.vi). Having gained “first-hand experience” of the difference between “excellence and intelligence” on the one hand, and “physical strength and all forcefulness” on the other, they establish criteria of what philosophers later call natural right by which they judge their rulers (VI.vii).
In so judging, they usually consent to hereditary kingship because “men born from kings and brought up under their influence will share their principles” (VI.vii). The problems arise from the ensuing prosperity. As kingly authority passed “from generation to generation within the same family,” and the necessities of life have been not only acquired but secured, “there was so much of everything” that kings were “tempted…to begin to indulge their appetites” (VI.vii). They began to put on airs, dressing differently from their subjects and eating foods “prepared in distinctive and elaborate ways,” demanding “total sexual freedom, even to the extent of sleeping with inappropriate partners” (VI.vii). But the people now had criteria of justice. They resented such behavior, find it disgusting; this “in turn kindled hatred and hostile anger in the kings, and so kingship gave way to tyranny” (VI.vii). Conspiracies began to form against the new tyrants, “not in the lowest strata of society, but among the most noble, high-minded, and courageous men, because they are the ones who find it hardest to bear insolence from those set over them” (VI.vii).
Crucially, the “common people” allied with these aristocrats-by-nature, the people’s “new champions” (VI.viii). “Kingship and tyranny were wholly obliterated, and a new era of aristocracy began” (VI.viii). But again, as nature would have it, the aristocrats’ sons, having “no conception of hardship and just as little of political equality or the right of any citizen to speak his mind, because all their lives they had been surrounded by their fathers’ powers and privileges… either dedicated themselves to rapaciousness and unscrupulous money-making, or to drinking and the non-stop partying that goes with it, or to seducing women and preying on boys, and in the process, they changed aristocracy into oligarchy” (VI.viii). As before, “feelings of resentment and disgust” arose among the people and the oligarchs “met with just as catastrophic an end as the tyrants” (VI.viii). That is, just as nature moves in natural cycles on earth, with birth, growth, decay followed by telluric disaster, so too are political regimes founded, strengthened, weakened, ruined, and replaced.
In the case of oligarchy, “sooner or later, someone noticed how his fellow citizens resented and hated the ruling oligarchs, and when he summoned up the courage to speak or act against them, he found that the general populace was ready to back him all the way” (VI.ix). But not all the way back to kingship. “Fear of past monarchic injustice deterred them from setting up a king, and the recent villainy of the oligarchs dissuaded them from entrusting the government to just a few men”; being rational, the people therefore consented to “the only remaining untried alternative,” that is, “to rely on themselves” (VI.viii). Such autarchia or self-rule, self-sufficiency, “changed the regime from oligarchy to democracy” (VI.ix). Decline began in the third generation of democratic rulers, when “the principles of equal and free speech were too familiar to seem particularly important, and some people began to want to get ahead of everyone else”; such wealthy men “squandered their fortunes on bribing and corrupting the general populace in all sorts of ways” (VI.ix). The “inane hunger for glory” of the rich “made the common people greedy for such largesse and willing to accept it” (VI.ix). “For once people had grown accustomed to eating off others’ tables and expected their daily needs to be met, then, when they found someone to champion their cause—a man of vision and daring, who had been excluded from political office by his poverty—they instituted government by force; they banded together and set about murdering, banishing, and redistributing land, until they were reduced to a bestial state and once more gained a monarchic master” (VI.ix). This is “the natural way in which regimes develop, metamorphose, and start all over again” (VI.ix).
Rome itself will experience this. “The Roman regime is a superb example of a system whose formation and growth have always been natural, and whose decline will therefore also conform to natural laws” (VI.ix). Hence the mixed regime, whereby the founder seeks to arrest the natural cycle seen in the succession of the other regimes by blending their elements. Lycurgus understood this. In Sparta, he “bundled all the merits and distinctive characteristics of the best systems of government in order to prevent any of them from growing beyond the point where it would degenerate into its congenital vice. He wanted the potency of each system to be counteracted by the others,” establishing “a high degree of balance and equilibrium,” thanks to “the principle of reciprocity”—that is, the political principle strictly speaking (VI.x). It is noteworthy that Polybius does not follow Aristotle in his account of the mixed regime, inasmuch as the kind of mixture he favors consists not of elements from two bad regimes but of good elements of the good regimes. He also does not follow Aristotle in his judgment of Lycurgus’ mixed regime. Aristotle finds almost nothing good in it. [1] It is an open question whether Polybius intends his readers to compare his account to Aristotle’s and to draw certain conclusions about Rome thereby.
Be this as it may, Polybius assures us that in Sparta’s mixed regime “kings were prevented from becoming overbearing by fear of the citizen body, who were assigned a fair share in government; the common citizens, in their turn, were deterred from disrespecting the kings by fear of the elders, all of whom were bound to cleave constantly to justice, because the criterion for selection for the Council of Elders was virtue” (VI.x). As a result, “the regime so framed by Lycurgus preserved independence in Sparta longer than anywhere else in recorded history” (VI.ix). Rome has been similarly on track, although in their case they did not found their regime by reasoning, as Lycurgus did, but by “many struggles and trials” (VI.x). Although the Roman polis had a legendary founder, Romulus, its characteristic regime had no one founder or set of founders. The Romans came to it over a long period of time. “On every occasion, they drew on the knowledge they had gained from their setbacks to make the best choices, and this enabled them to achieve the same result as Lycurgus, and to make theirs the best regime in the world today” (VI.x).
“There were three fundamental building blocks of the Roman regime” (VI.xi): the monarchic consulship, the aristocratic senate, and the democratic assembly. The consulship isn’t literally monarchic but dual. When in Rome, before taking armies into the field, they are “responsible for all matters of public concern,” as they present envoys to the Senate, set the Senate’s agenda, carry out Senatorial decrees, convene, present bills to, and preside over the popular assembly, and enjoy “almost unlimited” powers over war preparations and wartime measures (VI.xii). The Senate controls the treasury—the collection of all revenues and the management of their disbursement, except for monies withdrawn by consuls in wartime. For example, other officials must request its permission to spend money on the construction and repair of public buildings (“by far the state’s greatest expense” [VI.xiii]). The Senate also deals with all crimes “that require public investigation,” such as treason, conspiracy, mass poisoning, and gang murder (VI.xiii). The Senate conducts foreign policy, commissioning embassies and declaring war. “None of these matters is the responsibility of the people, and so…a visitor to Rome who arrived when the consuls were away would think the regime was thoroughly aristocratic” (VI.xiii). But “the people do have a part to play, and a very important one at that, because they control rewards and punishments” in matters concerning ordinary criminal law (VI.xiv). Without “these functions,” “human life itself has no coherence, let alone governments and regimes” (VI.xiv). For example, they adjudicate death penalty cases. And although the Senate declares war, it is the popular assembly which decides “whether or not to go to war” and whether or not to “ratify or abrogate alliances, truces, and treaties” (VI.xiv).
How do these three ruling bodies check and balance one another? Even in the field, the consuls still need both the people and the Senate. The Senate appropriates supplies for the army, chooses whether to limit his term to one year or to extend it, and chooses whether to honor a returning victorious consul with a triumph or to minimize the honors. The popular assembly not only controls the peace settlement after the war but audits the consul’s conduct after his term has expired.
The Senate “has to pay particular attention to the masses in the political sphere and to defer to the people” (VI.xvi) because any punishment of political crimes adjudicated by the senators must be approved by the assembly. The people can also cut senatorial salaries, “deprive the Senate of some of its traditional authority, or abolish senatorial privileges such as the right to the best seats in the theatres”—the last a formidable power, indeed. “Most importantly, if one of the tribunes of the people uses his veto, not only can the Senate not complete its deliberations, but it is not allowed even to meet or assemble at all” (VI.xvi). But although the Senate therefore fears the people, the people “depend on the Senate and are obliged to defer to it” both in their public and their private lives (VI.xvii). Contracts for the construction of building projects are controlled by the Senate, and so can “do those who manage state-owned property a great deal of harm or a great deal of good, since it has the final say on all these matters” (VI.xvii). And while the assembly adjudicates public crimes, the Senate adjudicates most major commercial lawsuits, “private or public” (VI.xvii).
Thus, “each of the three components of the Roman regime can harm or help the other two” (VI.xviii). They are very much inclined to help one another whenever some foreign threat looms, as it did most spectacularly in the Second Punic War. In such a circumstance, “the state gains extraordinary abilities, “as everyone competes to devise ways to combat the emergency, and everyone cooperates in their public and private capacities to complete the task at hand”; moreover, “decisions are made and acted on extremely promptly” (VI.xviii). “This gives the Roman state its characteristic feature: it is irresistible, and achieves every goal it sets itself” (VI.xviii).
It can also resist the complacency and decadence that begins to undermine the other regimes within a couple of generations. When at peace, enjoying prosperity, if idleness induces one class “to arrogance and presumption,” the other classes become its rivals and prevent it from overbalancing the regime (VI.xviii).
In addition to this institutional regime element, Rome’s military way of life has been crucial to its endurance, so far. Rome is a mixed regime, a ‘polity’ or ‘republic,’ but it is a military, not a commercial, republic. (Montesquieu’s On the Grandeur of the Romans and Their Decadence in effect reverses Polybius’ argument, charging that a military republic must decay, it it ever achieves its purpose, the conquest of the known world.) Accordingly, Polybius devoted twenty-four chapters to describing its military organization.
Military tribunes are elected after the annual consuls have been installed. There are twenty-four tribunes, fourteen with five years’ previous military service, ten with ten years. There are six tribunes per legion; each legion has 4,200 men, except in emergencies, when the number is increased to 5,000. Each legion is divided into three groups, based on age (men are eligible to serve up to the age of forty-six). Foot soldiers must serve sixteen years, cavalrymen ten. Since army men supply their own arms, the poor go into the navy, where no armor is necessary. “No one is eligible for any political post until he has completed ten years of military service” (VI.xx). Each man must swear “that he will obey his officers and carry out their orders to the best of his ability” (VI.xxi)—the moral foundation of Roman discipline. Consuls supplement the Roman troops by notifying “the ruling bodies of allied cities in Italy” concerning how many men they will be required to send; the same process of selection and oath-taking occurs in each (VI.xxi).
After the troops have assembled, the tribunes select “ten men of suitable calibre” as company commanders or ‘centurions’; they serve on a military council; another ten men are selected as company commanders who will not serve on the council (VI.xxiv). Each centurion selects an adjutant; the centurions command units or ‘maniples,’ two centurions and two adjutants per maniple. Each maniple consists of men culled from one of the three age groups, with a fourth group, the youngest, sprinkled evenly among all. “It makes sense for there to be two centurions for each unit, because it is never clear how any given centurion is going to behave or what may happen to him. War allows no excuses, and [the Romans] never want the maniple to be without a centurion to lead it.” (VI.xxiv). “The ideal centurion, from the Romans’ point of view, is a natural leader, with a stable and resourceful cast of mind, rather than being a daring risk-taker. They would prefer to see him stand his ground under pressure and in the face of defeat, and die at his post, than launch attacks and initiate battles.” (VI.xxiv). The cavalry and the foreign troops are also carefully organized and led by Roman officers.
“When everything is ready, the tribunes take over command of both the Roman and allied contingents and make camp” (VI.xxvi). Unlike the Greeks, who adapt the configuration of their camps to the available terrain, the Romans use one one configuration, adapting the terrain to it. Although this means more work initially, it makes for far less confusion when the troops muster for battle, as every soldier knows exactly where he is and where he needs to go to break camp. The camp is a square (it “resemble[s] a town,” Polybius remarks) and it allows adequate space between the tents for getting the troops in and out of the camp in an orderly way (VI.xxxi). After the camp has been established, not only the soldiers but the accompanying slaves take another oath, not to steal from the camp “and to bring even things they find to the tribunes” (VI.xxxiii). Each company receives its assignments and the nightly watchwords are announced. Any violation of regulations will be adjudicated at a court martial consisting of the tribunes. The guilty must run the gauntlet, which few survive. Survivors may never return to their homeland; “to suffer this catastrophe once is to be completely ruined” (VI.xxxvii). Polybius drily observes that “the punishment for transgression is severe and brutal enough to ensure the faultless conduct of night watches in the Roman army” (VI.xxxvii). Fear of punishment accounts for discipline not only within the camp but in battle, keeping “men in a support force at their posts in the face of certain death against vastly superior numbers” (VI.xxxvii).
Discipline isn’t only a matter of fear, however. “They also have an excellent system of incentives to motivate the men to face danger” (VI.xxxix). The soldier who commits an act of bravery receives a speech in his honor in front of an army assembly from the consul himself. Those who risk their lives to protect others receive medals or crowns, and the man whose life is saved by a comrade “looks up to his savior as a father, and is obliged to treat him in all respects exactly as if he were the one who had given him life” (VI.xxxix). Nor are these honors known only to the soldiers; upon returning home, the honored men may wear their decorations in public and participate in parades and processions. In all, “the meticulous care taken by the Romans over rewards and punishments in the army helps to explain their outstanding success in warfare” (VI.xxxix).
The spirit of such a regime in the army thus pervades the general population. Habits of mind and heart including discipline, steady courage, love of honor and fear of disgrace, fostered in universal military service as a prerequisite to full citizenship, honored through the years, make the Roman regime far less likely to fall into the complacency and self-indulgence that bedevils other mixed-regime republics. This leads Polybius to an exercise in what our contemporary political scientists call ‘comparative regimes.’
He selects Sparta, Crete, and Carthage—regimes which “have long enjoyed a reputation for excellence” (VI.xliii). By contrast, the regimes of Athens and Thebes deserve less attention; although Fortune has allowed them “to flare briefly into brilliance” they quickly “experienced a complete reversal” (VI.xliii). “The Thebans’ reputation or excellence” derived from the accomplishments of “just one or two outstanding individuals,” not to the regime itself (VI.xliii). “For Thebes’s growth, prime, and collapse exactly coincided with the lives of Epaminondas and Pelopidas, and so we should regard the cause of Theban ascendancy at the time to be these men, not the regime” (VI.xliii). Similarly, the glory that was Athens really derived from the efforts of Themistocles; at most times, Athenian democracy resembled “a ship without a captain,” on which the sailors ignored those who attempted to command them, fell into factional fighting and ruin (VI.xliv). Significantly, Polybius never mentions Pericles, the most notable celebrant of Athenian democracy. Both Thebes and Athens disintegrated into ochlocracy, rule “by the whim of mobs” (VI.xlv).
Although many political writers, including Plato and Xenophon, praise the Cretan regime, comparing it to the regime of Sparta, Polybius disagrees. The distinctive characteristics of Sparta are equality of land ownership, equality of income based on contempt for money-making, and lifetime tenure of both the king and the Council of Elders. “None of this bears the slightest resemblance to the Cretan regime,” under which Cretans litigate endlessly about landed property and money-making is considered “the most honorable occupation a man can take up” (VI.xlvi). “In general avarice and greed are so deeply entrenched in Crete that it is the only place in the world where no gain of any kind is considered sordid” (VI.xlvi). Further, all offices have one-year term limits, so the regime is far more democratic than that of Sparta. The Cretan regime should “neither be praised nor emulated” (VI.xlvi). Whatever its ruling institutions may be, any regime needs “good customs and traditions,” owing to a good way of life, to sustain it (VI.xlvii). “When we come across a state where individuals are rapacious and public policies are unjust,” the rest of the regime must be bad (VI.xlvii). So it is with Crete.
Polybius next considers an unannounced regime, the one Socrates and his dialogic partners build ‘in speech’ in Plato’s Republic (the Greek word is in fact Politeia or Regime). “It would be unfair to admit it into the discussion” for, just as “we do not let craftsmen or athletes take part in competitions unless they have been certified or trained,” it “would be just as inappropriate to let Plato’s regime compete for first prize, unless or until it proves that it can act in the real world”; otherwise, “discussing and comparing it with the Spartan, Roman, and Carthaginian regimes would be no different from bringing forward a statue for comparison with real, live human beings” (VI.xlvii). Although Plato’s dialogue itself suggests that Socrates’ regime in speech fully partakes of Socrates’ proverbial irony, Polybius needs no careful interpretation to rule it out of consideration as what Aristotle calls the best practicable regime. He need only say to those who miss Plato’s irony, put up or shut up.
He returns, then, to the Spartan regime as founded by Lycurgus, and his praise remains unstinted: “The laws Lycurgus drew up and the provisions he took to ensure concord within the citizen body, to keep Laconia safe, and to preserve Spartan autarchia strike me as so admirable that I can only regard his intelligence as superhuman” (VI.xlviii). Equal land distribution and “the simple, communal way of life” of Sparta have resulted in an ethos of self-rule, toughness, and courage within a political society free of faction (VI.xlviii). The achievements of great statesmen seldom last much beyond their lifetimes; the achievements of great founders—if you will, the greatest statesmen—last for generations.
For the first time, however, Polybius offers a criticism. Lycurgus “failed to put in place some provision or requirement, binding on his fellow citizens, that would have made the overall character of the city self-sufficient and self-restrained”; Sparta is politically and militarily aggressive, seizing its neighbors’ territory and seeking political hegemony over those farther afield (VI.xlviii). “He did nothing to stop them acting towards their fellow Greeks with extreme aggression, out of self-seeking ambition and the lust for power” (VI.xlviii). Their military prowess was instrumental in vindicating Greek liberty against the invasion of the Persian empire, but they soon turned their own imperial ambitions against the poleis they had liberated.
Empire ruined them. “They had outstripped their regime. As long as their aim had been to rule over their immediate neighbors, or even just their fellow Peloponnesians, they made do with the resources and supplies of Laconia alone, where it was easy for them to gather what they needed…. But once they began to send out fleets and land forces to campaign outside the Peloponnese, clearly Lycurgan legislation…was no longer adequate” (VI.xlix). For starters, they need “a commonly accepted currency,” not the heavy iron money they used at home; they also needed to supplement their own troop with mercenaries (VI.xlix). Not only did this require imposing taxes on the Peloponnesians and tribute from all Greeks but they chose to look to the Persians, of all peoples for newly-needed resources.
What has any of this to do with the Romans? For self-government, “there has never been a better regime than that of the Spartans. But if one has greater ambitions than that—if one thinks that it is a finer and nobler thing to be a world-class leader, with an extensive dominion and empire, the center and focal point of everyone’s world—then one must admit that the Spartan regime is deficient, and that the Roman regime is superior and more dynamic” (VI.l). Whereas Sparta’s imperialism “brought them to the very brink of losing their own self-government,” Roman imperialism survived the Carthaginian onslaught and soon came “to subjugate the entire known world” (VI.l).
As to the Carthaginian regime, Polybius judges its “original design” to have been “good, at any rate where its main features were concerned” (VI.li). Like Sparta and Rome, it was a mixed regime, with kings, a Council of Elders consisting of aristocrats, and offices held by the people, as well. However, “by the time they embarked on the Hannibalic War…the Carthaginian regime had become worse than that of Rome” (VI.li). By then, the people “had become the dominant political force,” whereas “in Rome this was still the Senate. Since policy was decided in Carthage by the masses and in Rome by the best men, Roman policies would prevail”; “thanks to sound decision-making, they defeated the Carthaginians in the war” (VI.li).
Specifically, the Roman regime fostered superior warcraft. Although the Carthaginians remained preeminent at sea, the Roman army was better than anything the Carthaginians could field. “The reason for this is that the Carthaginians use foreign mercenaries, whereas the Roman army consists only of domestic troops and Roman citizens,” supplemented by men culled from the Italian city-states they dominate (VI.lii). Mercenaries are loyal only to their salaries, and even those won’t motivate them to risk their lives, much. By contrast, “the Romans depend on their own valor and on the support of their allies” and they fight to death, as “their country and their children are always directly at stake for them” (VI.lii). As seen in their customs of honoring those who display battlefield courage, “the glory of those who benefited their homeland becomes common knowledge and is passed down from generation to generation,” as “young men are inspired to heroic feats of endurance, in order to gain the fame that accrues to the brave” (VI.liv).
Reliance on mercenaries mirrors the Carthaginian regime’s commercial republicanism. “In Carthage, nothing that leads to profit is considered disgraceful, whereas in Rome nothing is more disgraceful than accepting a bribe or seeking to profit by disreputable means” (VI.lv). Likely associated with Romans’ superior morality is its “markedly superior” dispensation respecting the gods (VI.lvi). Here Polybius offers a critique of the modern Enlightenment centuries avant la lettre. “It seems to me that superstition, which we criticize in other people, is precisely what gives the Roman state its cohesion. In Rome, nothing plays a more elaborate or extensive role in people’s private lives and in the political sphere than superstition. Many of my readers might find this strange, gut it seems to me that it has been done for the sake of the common people. In a state of enlightened citizens, there would presumably be no need for such a course. But since the common people everywhere are fickle—since they are driven by lawless impulses, blind anger, and violent passion—the only option is to use mysterious terrors and all this elaborate drama to restrain them.” (VI.lvi). Indeed, “those nowadays who want to abolish religion are acting far more thoughtlessly and foolishly” than “the men who in ancient times introduced the masses to the ideas of the gods and the concept of Hades” (VI.lvi). “A Greek statesman cannot be trusted with even just a talent; that is enough to corrupt him, along with ten accountants and their seals, and twice as many witnesses,” whereas Roman statesmen are safely entrusted with “enormous sums of money in the course of their official activities” because “they feel bound by the oath they have pledged,” an oath sworn with the gods as its witnesses (VI.lvi).
Despite the character of its regime, Rome will decline. “Every existing thing is subject to decay and decline; the inescapable facts of nature are convincing in themselves” (VI.lvii). “I think there can be no doubt what lies in the future of Rome” (VI.lvii). Having achieved the prosperity of world empire, it too will begin to see increasingly luxurious ways of life and factionalism. “The causes of the deterioration will be lust for power combined with contempt for political obscurity, and personal ostentation and extravagance. It will be called a democratic revolution, however, because the time will come when the people will feel abused by some politicians’ self-seeking ambition, and will have been flattered into vain hopes by others’ lust for power.” (VI.lvii). Ochlocracy will ensue. In the event, Rome did see Caesarism, although ochlocracy came in the form of foreign invasion by barbarians, not so much the plebeians, whom the Caesars co-opted and tyrannized.
Polybius ends his account of the Roman regime with a story of Rome after Hannibal had defeated its army at Cannae. He held 8,000 Roman prisoners. The men selected ten senior officers to return to Rome and ask the Senate to ransom them. The officers swore that they would return to Hannibal’s camp after making the request. One clever fellow pretended to have forgotten something he needed for the journey, returned to the camp, then went on to Rome, thinking that by returning he’d filled the condition of the oath and so could remain in Rome. The officers came before the Senate and asked for the ransom.
“The Romans had suffered terrible defeats. At that point they had hardly any allies left, and they expected at any moment to be fighting for Rome itself. Nevertheless, after listening to hat the officers had to say, they did not let the crisis push them into responsible action, but debated the issues rationally.” (VI.lviii). They saw that Hannibal’s intention in allowing the mission was to raise money and undermine the resolution of Roman troops “by letting them know that they could hope for safety even after defeat” (VI.lviii). Not only did they refuse to grant the ransom but they sent the clever one back to Hannibal in chains. “Hannibal’s delight at having defeated them in battle was crushed by awe of the principled stand the Romans had taken in their deliberations” (VI.lviii). Given the character of its regime, Rome would not be defeated.
Notes
- See Aristotle: Politics II.ix. The Spartans haven’t found a good way to govern their helots; they neglect the moral education of their women; they have misgoverned property by allowing too great disparities in wealth; the office of overseers, which has “authority over the greatest matters,” is filled “entirely from the people”—who, given their poverty, are easily bribed; nor are the overseers’ actions restrained by law; the supposedly aristocrat senate in reality consists of oligarchs, also bribable; kingship is hereditary, not based on virtue; the famous common messes in fact exclude the poor because they are funded by donations from individuals and the poor cannot afford to attend. Finally, and most significantly, “the entire organization of the laws is with a view to a part of virtue—warlike virtue; for this is useful with a view to domination. Yet while they preserved themselves as long as they were at war, they came to ruin when they were ruling an empire through not knowing how to be at leisure, and because there is no training among them that has more authority than the training for war. This error is no light one.” (1271b 34-36). This latter defect portends poorly for Rome, insofar as it is a military republic.
Recent Comments