had firsthand political and military experience of the Greek world; but he adds to this a friendship with the Roman elite of his day, an ambiguous perspective on Roman imperialism, at once overtly sympathetic and indirectly critical, and skill at narrative clarity together with a Thucydidean attention to causality – though he lacks his predecessor’s analytical depth.
The demise of the city‐state, the broadening experiences of the Hellenistic era, and the establishment of Roman rule in the East are all phenomena
that contributed to Polybius’ view. His work is shaped by attention to its dual audiences, Roman master and Greek subordinate, wherein the narrative and descriptions of political and ethnic interest groups use subtle ambiguity to satisfy both camps (Champion 2004; Dillery 2009: 78–90).
The balance in the Roman constitution argues for Roman superior
political evolution, but the intervention of fortune in success undercuts the natural right to rule. Like Xenophon, Thucydides, and Herodotus in
some respects, Polybius uses his text to both praise and criticize the dominant ruling states, the forces of succession to power being determined in part by human nature, in part by fortune, and in part by extraordinary
leadership. Yet the Polybian cycle of constitutions in Book 6 is ultimately left open to the possibility of Rome’s slipping into mob rule with
uncontested state supremacy, unchecked greed of the leadership, and
Greek Historiography, First Edition. Thomas F. Scanlon.
© 2015 Thomas F. Scanlon. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
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dissatisfaction of the people. That book, with its many explanations of Roman customs, seems mainly addressed to a Greek readership that will
have known constitutional decline from a long and harsh experience
(Walbank 1972: 4–5 n19).
Life and Times
Polybius’ life (c. 200–118 bc) spanned the crucial period of Rome’s rise in the Mediterranean (Eckstein 1995: ch. 1; Marincola 2001: 113–14).
His father, Lycortas of Megalopolis, was one of the architects of the
Achaean Confederacy in the 180s bc. The historian himself was an envoy
to Alexandria in 180 bc, and in 170/69 bc he was hipparch (cavalry
commander) of the Confederation. After Rome defeated Perseus of
Macedon at Pydna in the Third Macedonian War, Polybius was denounced
and was one of a thousand prominent Achaeans sent to Rome (Pausanias
7.10.7–12). There he met Aemilius Paulus, general of the Third
Macedonian War, and became a friend and mentor to Aemilius’ son,
P. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus.
Polybius’ narrative of his early friendship with Scipio is related in a vivid account that also reveals some of his core values (Plb. 31.23–6).
The young Scipio expresses to Polybius anxieties about his own “quiet
and indolent” character and his lacking Roman “decisiveness and
action”; the Greek says that Scipio’s reticence shows a noble nature and that he will help him to “speak and act in a way worthy of his ancestors.” The episode not only sketches a tender scene, it resonates with
the preface to Book 1, discussed below, in which history is acknowledged as a form of education, paideia, for all but the lazy and disengaged and as a means to foster activity and thought. Polybius then highlights
Scipio’s remarkable self‐discipline in front of the influx of Greek habits of intemperance, such as extravagant indulgence in prostitution or
exotic foods. Scipio’s reputation for selfless generosity began with his giving his mother much of an inheritance, an act that illustrated Roman piety toward the family. Scipio’s case allows the historian to illustrate core issues in the Histories – for instance teaching as a pragmatic aid for those entering public life, or the sharp contrast between Greek vice,
Roman virtue, and the risks of moral decline as a result of cultural contamination. One wonders how this would have been received by Greek
readers. Polybius does not maintain that all Greeks are intemperate, but that certain corruptive aspects of Greek culture (e.g., the symposium)
could be adopted by less strong‐willed Romans.
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Scipio Aemilianus became the victor and hero of the Third Punic War
and led the destruction of Carthage in 146 bc. Polybius accompanied
Scipio to Spain (151 bc) and to Africa, meeting Masinissa and returning to Italy over the Alps, in Hannibal’s footsteps. The historian witnessed the destruction of Carthage together with Scipio, when the Roman poi-gnantly shed a tear for fear lest Rome suffer the same fate (Plb. 39.5).
After Mummius sacked Corinth in 146 bc, the Romans settled in Greece
and Polybius visited Alexandria and Sardis. We do not know whether he
was with Scipio in Numantia in the 130s bc, when he was in his seventies.
He may have died at the age of eighty‐two, supposedly after falling from a horse, living into the age of the Gracchi (Luc. Macr. 23; Ziegler 1979: 983–91).
In Megalopolis, Pausanias describes a monument to Polybius that
bears a verse inscription saying: “He roamed over every land and sea, and became an ally of the Romans and stayed their anger against the Greek
nation” – to which Pausanias adds:
whenever the Romans obeyed the advice of Polybius things went well with them; but with matters on which they did not take his instruction, they say there were mistakes. All the Greek cities that were members of the Achaean league got permission from the Romans that Polybius should draw up constitutions for them and frame laws. (Paus. 8.30.8–9)
This dedicatory inscription and similar ones at Olympia and Cleitor point to the positive reputation (perhaps not unanimously held) that the author enjoyed among many fellow Greeks; Pausanias’ anecdote about advice
given to the Romans themselves suggests the historian’s role as an active advisor to influential Romans. To “roam over every land and sea” instantly evokes the proem to the Odyssey and puts the historian in the role of a clever hero, thirsty for knowledge and deeply wise as a result of accumulated experience. Polybius indeed quotes the Homeric proem after asserting: “Personal inquiry, on the contrary, requires severe labor and great expense, but is exceedingly valuable and is the most important part of
history” (Plb. 12.27.6).
We know from Polybius himself about his cavalry command in 169 bc –
the second highest office in the Confederation (Plb. 28.6.9). And the
historian discusses an episode in which he himself has Scipio ask Cato to support the return of Greek exiles to Achaea (Plb. 35.6). When this
request is granted and Polybius asks for a second favor – namely that the exiles also retain the same honors in Achaea – Cato says with a smile that Polybius, like a second Odysseus, wanted to go back into the Cyclops’
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cave, for his cap and belt left there. The anecdote well illustrates the give‐and‐take status of Polybius among Romans and his self‐styled
“Odyssean” character (Walbank 1972: 51–2; Marincola 2001: 138).
Readership, Structure, and Character of the Work
Polybius’ objectivity has reasonably been questioned (Green 1990; Mellor 1997). Did he attempt to vilify the Achaean politician Callicrates because the latter was responsible for his own and his father’s exile? Did his loyalty to Scipio lead him to portray Scipio’s opponents unfairly? Documented
observations of political bias remind us that pure objectivity is impossible and that the social and personal context of the author is always a factor in the choice of topics and in their treatment. The tensions and balances that Polybius had to observe are magnified by his social position in Ro
man
culture. He occupied a place of social ambiguity: he was in part the conquered Roman foe sent from his homeland, in part the ascending and
ambitious Hellene who had risen to the role of entrusted friend of the
elite. He was a peripheral figure, brought to the center by dint of his intellectual merit. He could be critical of his own people and was a steadfast defender of the power of the Romans as their might spread across the Mediterranean. His perspective arguably had to be more finely balanced
than that of any Greek historian before or after. Undoubtedly Polybius
had strong critics among some fellow Greeks. There is no evidence that
he was broadly considered persona non grata in his homeland, although there was reason for Greeks to see him as such. We do not know whether
Romans read his work with circumspection – could he be earnest in his
praise of Rome, given his native ties to the East? It is a signal achievement on Polybius’ part that his biases, as they may well have been, exist mostly without diatribe or bluntness in a veil of plausible deniability (or “indirect historiography,” as Champion 2004: 232–3 calls it), and others’ biases
against him are muted or nonexisting in the preserved tradition. Bias is, of course, a slippery term, which implies praise or blame motivated by
personal interest and not justified by the objective facts (Marincola 2001: 136). When Polybius’ comments seem charged with partiality, he gives
full justification and evidence. He is harshest, we will see, in criticism of his fellow, near‐contemporary historians. This thematic refrain not only projects a kind of defensive self‐pride onto his professional identity, but promotes his definition of historical “truth” and lack of bias, founded on a fair assessment of the virtues and vices of historical agents. He also shows consistent disdain for fellow Greeks of Achaia and Aetolia. But he
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is deeply committed to a bigger narrative – one in which there is no room for personal sniping, which takes in the full Mediterranean context, and whose anchoring project is the tracing of the sudden and impressive
growth of Roman power.
In the event, Polybius produced an immense and finely balanced work
on the theme of the rise of Rome, tipped heavily to give credit and honor to the new megapower, yet tempered with praise and blame for both
Rome and its foes, as was due. The work was reasonably well grounded in the prevailing currents of opinion of the era. We note that Polybius himself had an administrative hand in the reorganization of Macedonia in
148–6 bc (Badian 1968: 21). It is also noteworthy that, since the work
was written in Greek, the largest available audience consisted of the people from the Eastern Mediterranean; well‐educated Romans were perhaps
fewer but, to the author, they were the more important readers (Walbank 1972: 3–6; McGing 2010: 67; Luce 1997: 126–7). When discussing
Aemilius Paulus’ remarkable lack of avarice, Polybius states:
If what I have said shall seem incredible to some, one must understand that fact, since this author clearly knows that the Romans especially will take up these books on account of the work containing their many very famous
deeds. It is not possible that they will be unaware of these events and unlikely that they will pardon a person who misrepresents them. (Plb. 31.22.8)
This does not necessarily predict that most readers will be Romans but
that, of all readers, Romans will have a special interest. Obviously the caution here is for non‐Romans, who are then further warned to keep in
mind that falsehoods about the Romans are not present here, since the
Romans would not accept them. Elsewhere Polybius continues to be
defensive about aspects of his work that Greeks would criticize – for instance about not hiding faults of the Greeks, as a good Greek should do (Plb. 38.4). He is almost obsessively conscious of his Greek readership, but he is ultimately translating culture in both directions, since he himself has experience in the administration of power among both people.
Given this readership, the work must be seen as a mixture of apology
and propaganda for the Roman “imperial” machine (imperial in terms of
the expansionist republic, see Harris 1979; but perhaps more accurately a
“hegemonic” machine, see Kallet‐Marx 1996). The Greeks had been mil-
itarily under Roman hegemony, and Polybius was the obvious one to
explain Roman rule as an almost natural or fated phenomenon.
Understanding Rome’s hegemony over the likes of Carthage may make
its rule of Greece more sufferable. Polybius praises Roman supremacy
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consistently but, one scholar importantly adds, he does so with critical insight and with implicit advice to subordinate states on how to maintain a degree of dignity and independence without resorting to armed
resistance (Baronowski 2011).
Our comprehension of the final structure of Polybius’ work is impeded
by the fragmentary state of most of the forty books. The entire narrative seems generally to proceed chronologically, by quadrennial Olympiads,
with geographic progression from east to west within the time frame.
The exceptions to this method are Books 1 and 2, which are effectively
a monograph on Rome before the second Punic War (Books 1 and 2 are
on the First Punic War, 264–241 bc and other events to 220 bc; Book 3
is on the Second Punic War, from 218–16 bc, and features Hannibal to
the battle of Cannae; Books 35–9 cover the Third Punic War, 149–146
bc, and P. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus). There are greater and lesser
digressions and set comparisons of states and individuals throughout,
most significantly the excursus on the constitution and culture of Rome occupying Book 6. Polybius once even underscores the stylistic and
cognitive value of variation, to keep readers’ attentions with a varied selection, as of music or food (Plb. 38.5). Finally, modern commentators have observed a telling shift of authorial perspective in the final Books 35–9, which extend the narrative beyond the original plan of ending in
168 bc (battle of Pydna and end of the Third Macedonian War) and go
to 146 bc (destruction of Carthage by Scipio; see Walbank 1997;
Marincola 1997: 189). Polybius had earlier followed the Thucydidean
habit of mentioning himself in the third person when he was a partici-
pant in events, and in the first person for authorial comment. But at
36.12.1–5 and thereafter he deliberately uses the first person for his
involvement in affairs, primarily because the narrative genre changes
from history proper to memoir, when the author is more involved and
better informed in the Roman circle of power.
Polybius’ work is typically and accurately characterized by several features. First it is didactic, a quality discussed below. Second, it is pragmatic, since Polybius is famous for treating “political” actions in the sense of all aspects of the polis, social, religious, military, and political in our sense.
This recalls but expands on Thucydides’ hope that his work will be
“useful” (Plb. 1.22.4), Polybius admitting both utility and pleasure as desirable aims (Plb. 1.4.11 and passim; Walbank 1972: 6).
Third, Polybius’ work is imbued with the spirit of Thucydides, who
seeks the causation of events. Causation is sought for events in their
beginnings ( archai) and in their causes ( aitiai) (3.6.1–7; Walbank 2002: 249). This perspective Polybius shared broadly with Thucydides generally,
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though the earlier writer used prophasis for his deepest explanation (Th. 1.23), while the later one used that term in its ordinary sense of
“pretext.” Polybius notably digresses on causation at 3.6–8, where he
seeks to distinguish between the cause and the beginning of the war with Hannibal by noting the analogy with the deeper origins of Alexander’s
war against Persia, with roots in the expeditions of Xenophon and of
Agesilaus, and indeed with analogies to the physician’s diagnosis of
human illness – symptoms are not causes. Citing the Roman annalist
Fabius Pictor, Polybius says that Hannibal’s motives were inherited from Hasdrubal, who sought revenge for the outrage on the Saguntines, and
who pursued his own “ambition and love of power” ( pleonexian kai
philarchian, Plb. 3.8.1); but then he adds his own more nuanced causation (Plb. 3.10): the indignation of Hamilcar Barca, Hannibal’s father, following his defeat in Sicily, and his anger at his paying reparations to the Romans. In sum, Polybius throughout seeks human motives as the real
causes, and in this he is in harmony with Thucydides, though he avoids
the general “laws” of human nature of his predecessor. He also resembles Thucydides in the portrayal of specific national character as a crucial factor in events. Deviating from his predecessor, Polybius schematizes the roles of constitutions and cultural values, perhaps overly so, in his “cycle of constitutions” in Book 6.
Fourth, Polybius also magnifies Thucydides’ ascription of tuche ̄
(“chance” or “fortune”) as a governor of events. For the earlier writer, tuche ̄ was a curiously coincidental force (e.g., at Sphacteria), introduced almost to tease suggestively that a cosmic guidance may be at work,
beyond our reason; for Polybius, it varies from incidental causalities to the divine power of the Hellenic goddess Tyche (Walbank 2002: 248–57).
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