Greek Historiography

by Thomas F Scanlon

  “archaeology” on culture and customs, which prefaces the Sicilian War

  narrative (Th. 6.1–5). The biblical books from Genesis to Esther are a

  source for the earliest periods. Books 1–10 treat everything from Creation to the Persian rule and exile (587 bc), and also rely on Jewish texts,

  including rabbinic homilies in texts from the Aggadah. Books 8–10 deal

  with the death of Ahab, the captivity of the Ten Tribes of Israel, and the conquest of Babylon and Assyria by the Persian king Cyrus. Books 11–20

  treat the period from Alexander the Great to the outbreak of the Judean War, using both Jewish and non‐Jewish sources such as Polybius, Nicolaus of Damascus, and Strabo. Book 11 and half of Book 12 extend from the

  return from exile in 538 bc to the early second century bc and the death of Judas Maccabaeus. Then the rest of Book 12 to Book 20 closely follows the first book and a half of the Jewish War. The primary audience for the Jewish Antiquities may have been Josephus’ fellow Jews, and the work was to bolster his reputation against criticisms of his handling of Jotapata and his considerable gifts from the imperial regime. But the work is also, credibly, an attempt to inform non‐Jews, especially in Rome, of the history of Josephus’ people, along with giving positive lessons regarding their egalitarian culture against the increasingly tyrannical regime of Domitian

  (Edmondson et al. 2005: 5–6).

  The work begins with a discussion of the flaws of prior historians,

  namely their desire to win fame, flatter those in power, express partisan bias or speak without a sense of the utility of history (J. AJ 1.1–4). His own experience and expertise led him to undertake this grand history of Jewish culture, spurred on by a supporter and model scholar, Epaphroditus, whose exact identity is uncertain. The espoused main lesson of Jewish Antiquities is that “people who conform to the will of God and are not emboldened to transgress well‐established laws do prosper in all things beyond belief and receive happiness as a reward from God”; those who fail to do this meet disaster (J. AJ 1.14–15). God is, then, the center of this narrative and the reader is encouraged to act in a way that “befits His power.” From the beginning of the Jewish line, leadership of the people was called he ̄ gemonia, a term that is used elsewhere for the “empire” of Rome but essentially means “authority,” “rule,” or “political supremacy,”

  all exercised at times by the Jews themselves. For example, God tells

  Abraham that Isaac is destined to bequeath his he ̄ gemonia to good and lawful offspring (J. AJ 1.234). Jacob is also informed by God that

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  “his descendants will have a long period of he ̄ gemonia and good repute”

  (J. AJ 2.175). An oracle is reported to the Egyptian king that one born to the Israelites, Moses, will lessen the he ̄ gemonia of the Egyptians and increase the lot of the Jews (J. AJ 2.205, cf. 235). When the Red Sea parted for Moses and then destroyed the Egyptian forces, Josephus recalls the parallel of God favoring Alexander’s destruction of the Persian empire by parting the Pamphylian Sea (J. AJ 2.347–8), which suggests an interesting comparison of the two very different leaders. Samuel later reminds Saul explicitly that “while he [Saul] had dominion [ he ̄ gemonia] over the peoples, God had it over him and over all matters” (J. AJ 6.131).

  He ̄ gemonia is in turn attributed to David, Solomon, and successive leaders.

  When the narration turns to the Julio‐Claudians, Josephus has a clear

  interest in Roman transitions of power. Tiberius is shown in an extended story to select a successor by divination, choosing the first grandson

  who came to him one day, namely Gaius (Caligula), and in the process

  evidencing a greater divine power at work (J. AJ 18.211–23). After Caligula’s assassination comes a character sketch that explains how, despite his education, he was corrupted by his unbridled authority (J. AJ 19.210).

  At the appointment of Claudius, Roman soldiers urged the Senate to choose a monarch ( autokratora) and not to ruin the empire ( he ̄ gemonia) through a government shared by many ( poluarchia) (J. AJ 19.249). Claudius later protects the rights of the Jews in Alexandria and Syria in an edict, and in another edict he upholds the Jews’ rights in the rest of the empire to keep their ancestral laws and customs (J. AJ 19.280–91). Agrippa I works closely with Claudius in Palestine, being more friendly to local Greeks than Jews, but exhibiting a mild nature generally (J. AJ 19.292–359). Agrippa II, a friend of Josephus, was a more reliable supporter of Jewish interests. The account ends in the twelfth year of Nero’s reign and summarizes the history as “all that befell us in Egypt, in Syria, and in Palestine … all that we endured at the hands of the Assyrians, Babylonians, harsh treatments from the

  Persians and Macedonians, and after them the Romans” (J. AJ 20.259–60).

  It is, then, not the story of a people building a great political empire, but of noteworthy Jewish people and their virtues, endurance, and leadership

  while the great powers around them imposed oppressive hegemony.

  Appian

  Appian lived from c. ad 90/5 to c. ad 120 in Alexandria, where he wit-

  nessed the Jewish uprising of ad 116/7, then, as an adult, in Rome until about ad 165, under Hadrian and Antoninus Pius (ad 117–61). In Rome

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  Appian befriended Fronto, tutor to Antoninus’ son, the future emperor

  Marcus Aurelius, and he also held the rank of procurator (Gowing 1992:

  274–7). He flourished, then, in the “golden age” of the Antonines and

  probably wrote mainly from ad 145 to 165, a positive view of the

  principate being detectable in his text. Appian’s position, like that of many historians discussed here, is that of an “outsider” who settled

  in Rome among the elite, but his “provincial” Alexandrian heritage

  (of which he is proud) and his experience as a legal advocate are what

  characterizes his narrative: he conveys the views of other outsiders in relation to Rome and presents his case in a logical and credible manner

  (Gowing 1992: 283–7). His work is especially important as a source on

  civil strife in the late republic, given the detail provided and the crucial value of the period. He contributed his own selection, organization, and condensation of material and offered his own succinct versions of

  speeches. He is also a convinced monarchist who tries to explain Roman

  institutions to his Greek audience. He has a special interest in finance, economy, and social issues. He touts Roman values of good counsel,

  endurance, patience, moderation, and general virtue.

  Appian’s Roman History ( Historia Romana in the Latin title; the Greek title is Rho ̄ maïka, Things Roman) is organized ethnographically in twenty‐four books going to ad 117, a useful and original organization,

  but without a strong thematic focus or particularly deep insight (Mehl

  2011: 162–5). Extant parts include the preface, Books 6–9 and 11–17,

  and assorted fragments. Completely lost are Books 10 and 18–24. Book

  1 is about early Rome and the kings, after which the work is arranged by individual peoples, in the order in which Rome came to terms with them.

  Books 2–5 are, each, on Italians, Samnites, Celts, and Sicilians; Books 6–9 on Iberians, Hannibal, Carthaginians, and Macedonians and Illyrians.

  Book 10 is on Greeks and Ionians, then Books 11–12 on Syrians,

  Parthians, and Mithridates. Books 13–17, commonly known as Civil

  Wars ( Bella civilia) 1–5 (including in the Penguin and Loeb translations), are inserted here with a preface of their own. Books 18–21 are on the

  wars in Egypt; Book 22 covers the century up to Trajan; Book 23 recounts Trajan’s campaigns against Dacians, Jews, and Pontic people; and Book

  24 discusses the Arab
ians.

  The narrative of the first twelve books is the familiar discourse on the growth of global Roman hegemony; it includes the Punic Wars in extant

  Books 6–8, as Appian asserts: “Through prudence and good fortune

  Roman affairs have excelled in both size and duration, and in the acquisition of these things they have excelled all men in bravery [sc. excellence, arete ̄], patience, and hard work” (App. Praef. 11). Supreme virtues justify

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  Roman rule (Bucher 2000: 430). Appian starts the preface with a simple

  but impressive “camera pan” over the sweep of the empire, from Britain

  to North Africa, to Egypt, to the Near East, to the Black Sea, to the

  Balkans, to Greece, and to Gaul, then to the major mountains, rivers, and islands (App. Praef. 1–5). Geography and ethnography are the deliberately impressive objects of imperial achievement; Rome is unparalleled by earlier empires in the catalogue (App. Praef. 8–10).

  Here we focus on the dissonant period covered in Civil Wars ( Bellum civile) 1–5. Appian clearly saw the Civil Wars as the crucial final struggle of the Romans: one against themselves, and one that offered them a prime

  justification for maintaining the imperial structure that Appian supported.

  If we count Civil Wars and Books 18–21 (on the aftermath in Egypt), nine of the twenty‐four books cover the period of intense civil animosity from 133 to 30 bc. A close Greek account of this Roman period would

  show the peoples of the Eastern empire that the imperial structure is a solid one, born out of trial and error two centuries before. Appian aims to show “the Romans’ relations to each people, to understand the weakness

  or endurance of the conquered, the bravery and good fortune of the cap-

  tors” (App. Praef. 12). Another lesson is the great cost of civil strife: “For all these gains were wasted under their successors since they waged civil war against one another, in which way alone great empires [ archai] are dissolved” (App. Praef. 10). For the Civil War books, Appian designates each one by the names of the chief factional leaders – Marius versus Sulla (Book 1), Pompey versus Caesar (Book 2), Antony and Octavian against

  the assassins (Book 3), then against one another (Books 4–5) – and characterizes their content as events “that were of particularly greater anxiety to them [than were the external wars]” ( phoberōtera … malista, App.

  Praef. 14). Speeches are more sparingly used than in some historians –

  there are only twenty‐two in the five books of the Civil Wars; yet fourteen of these occur between the assassination of Caesar and the battle of

  Philippi, enlivening that dramatic period (Carter 1996: xxviii–xxix).

  Book 1 of Civil Wars begins with the tribunates of the two Gracchi (133–122 bc; App. BC 7–27); then comes an account of Saturninus (104–

  100 bc; App. BC 1.28–33) before the core narrative of Sulla and Marius and its aftermath (88–33 bc; App. BC 1.55–115). Book 2 covering the period 63–44 bc reports the conspiracy of Catiline (App. BC 2.1–7), the First Triumvirate (App. BC 2.7–31), and the war of Caesar with Pompey (App. BC 2.32–87) through the African and Spanish Wars (App. BC 2.88–

  105). Caesar pardons the suppliant Athenians, allies of Pompey, after his defeat at Pharsalus, with a splendid put‐down: “How often will the fame of your ancestors save you from your self‐destruction?” (App. BC 2.88)

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  The remark recalls both the histories of the fifth and fourth centuries and how civil strife laid low that great state. Book 2 ends with the murder of Caesar (App. BC 2.106–48) and a comparison of him with Alexander as a man of “fortune and power” ( tuche ̄ n kai dunamin; 2.149–54). In this odd digression we see the spirit, if not the inspiration, of the same comparison made by Appian’s contemporary Plutarch. The passage also recalls the

  connection of Appian’s city, Alexandria, with Egypt at the closure of the Civil Wars and with its being an empire second only to Rome (App. BC

  1.6; Bucher 2000: 439–40). Book 3 shows the complex lead‐up to the

  Second Triumvirate, which joined Antony, Octavian, and Lepidus and is

  the central story of Book 4 – a book replete with the horrors of “proscriptions” (land confiscations and executions) of citizens (see especially chapters 5–51) and climaxing in the “showdown” of Brutus and Cassius against Octavian and Antony at Philippi (App. BC 4.86–106). The closing chapters sum up the tragic virtues of Brutus and Cassius and note certain divine signs that foreshadowed and endorsed their downfall (App. BC 4.132–

  34). The driving narrative of Book 5 is that of Octavian facing off with Antony, a siege at Perusia (App. BC 5.30–49; 40 bc), the reconciliation of the foes at Brundisium (App. BC 5.50–66) and Octavian’s proclamation of an end to the civil war (App. BC 5.127–35).

  Appian’s project recalls that of Polybius, being intended to chronicle

  the growth of swiftly nascent Roman rule. It also evokes the universal

  scope of Diodorus Siculus and of Nicolaus of Damascus. But it is Appian’s second‐century ad perspective that sets his narrative apart. His use of sources is disputed, since not many are mentioned, but Sallust was definitely used for Catiline’s conspiracy and probably the writings of Asinius Pollio, Caesar, and Augustus elsewhere – possibly the memoirs of Sulla, too. Among Greek authors, he surely read Herodotus, Thucydides,

  Xenophon, Polybius, and Hieronymus of Cardia (who wrote on events of

  323–272 bc). But Appian’s mixture of selections yields a hybrid narrative that is reasonably reliable, matter of fact, and clearly reflective of his individual views.

  Appian was not as apologetic as others had been in the late republic in defending Rome as a worthy empire, since now it was firmly established

  as one. Nor was he as critical of emperors as the Latin historian Tacitus (c. ad 56–117): “Appian takes Tacitus’ program and inverts it, discredit-ing the republic by presenting evidence of its inability to maintain public order and indeed even to provide for its own continuing operation”

  (Bucher 2000: 450). Appian presents the ambiguities of the empire

  alongside those of the more democratic republican constitution, and in

  the end accepts the present structure as a viable, natural evolution to

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  “concord and monarchical power” ( BC 1.6; Bucher 2000: 431). The Roman republic’s historical problem was, the sub‐preface to the Civil Wars suggests, the struggle for personal power ( dunasteia) evidenced in Sulla, Pompey, Caesar, and the triumvirs and arising out of the prior

  anarchy (App. BC 1.1–5). Before Sulla, “a chaotic wanton violence

  [ hubris akosmos] continued constantly, as did a disdain for laws and justice” (App. BC 1.2); the resonance with Thucydides on stasis is unmis-takable (App. BC 3.82–3). Octavian forged a foundation for the empire, but even his description is nuanced:

  the first to be regarded as “august” … no longer needing election or any form of authorization or pretense. As his rule [ arche ̄] was long‐lasting and firmly empowered, and he was fortunate in all things and feared, he left a lineage and succession that managed power similarly to him. (App. BC 1.5) In contrast, “democracy” (as the shared power of the republic is glossed) may seem noble but is inferior: the staunch loyalty of Brutus’ and Cassius’

  followers after Philippi was “not for personal reasons, but for democracy, a specious name, and something always unproductive” (App. BC 4.133; Carter 1996: xxx–xxxi). Scholars have regarded Appian’s balanced picture of individuals in the Civil Wars as evidence of objectivity, or else of “distance from events and his interest in the broader, teleological movement of history [that] gives him no reason to create heroes or monsters”

  (Bucher 2000: 442).

  The ethnographic, comparative boo
ks (mostly lost) reminded Greek

  readers around the Mediterranean of their place in history; but Greeks are now paraded not as rivals for greatness, but as current members in the

  unified enterprise of the Roman empire. Appian prizes the Roman virtues of excellence and hard work, but also puts a premium on good counsel as a crucial skill, well known to this former lawyer. He does not showcase romantic tales of adventure or sparkling descriptions of places or people, but his account itself exemplifies level‐headed analysis. Appian also

  emphasizes the role of some cosmic “fate,” which is similar to that force in Polybius that guides Roman destiny. But here it often directs individual decisions, being reminiscent of the role of fate in Greek tragedy and in Herodotus. Omens are cited before the death of Caesar (App. BC 2.116); a spirit ( daimonion) warns Brutus of his demise just before Philippi (App.

  BC 4.134); fate sweeps Pompey and his army “foolishly” to their defeat at Pharsalus, since “the god organized these matters at the beginning of the present empire [ he ̄ gemonia], which embraces everything” (App. BC

  2.71–2); and the triumviral proscriptions are boldly interpreted as a tool

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  of divine direction: “the divinity shook the most powerful hegemony of

  all peoples on land and sea, intending at length for it to arrive at its present good order” (App. BC 4.16.61; see Bucher 2000: 431–33; Carter 1996: xxii–xxiv). Appian does not imply that the ills of civil strife are a means to an end justifiable to the human participants, but, by invoking some almost Herodotean cosmic causation, he reinscribes human failings

  as part of a benevolent divine plan.

  Arrian

  Five hundred years after Alexander’s conquests and his coeval historians, we find a pronounced revival of interest in that great commander

  evidenced by the work of the wealthy Greek philosopher and pro‐Roman