cade can be adequately explained in terms of that recognition without invoking
specific provisions in the Peace of 387/6.
60 Xenophon 5.1.36.
61 Robin Seager, “The King’s Peace and the Balance of Power in Greece, 386–362
B.C.,” Athenaeum 52 (1974): 36–63, esp. 38–39:
The royal prescript did not assign to Sparta or to any other city the rôle of
prostates of the peace [n. 9, Xenophon Hellenica 5.1.31]. The King himself ap-
peared as the sole guarantor of the peace and as the self-appointed leader of
those who would fight to bring it into being [n. 10, the emphasis is clearly on
the period before the peace was actually made; see Hampl, Staatsverträge, 11].
Yet Persia showed herself ready and willing to let Sparta assume the prostasia of
the treaty, for those implications of the peace that came at once to occupy the
foreground and needed a prostates to enforce them were of vital importance
to Sparta but of no direct concern to the King, who thus had no reason to be-
come involved [see S. Accame, La lega ateniese del secolo IV a.C. , 6]. [. . . ] Sparta
had then succeeded in exploiting the terms of the peace to considerable effect
before the peace was actually concluded. The uses to which she had put it had
been entirely retrospective. Her aim had been to put an end to the revival of
Athenian imperialism, Theban control of Boeotia and Argive dominion over
Corinth—all of which she had been unable to do anything about in the course
of the Corinthian War itself. In this sense it was certainly true, as Xenophon
says, that although Sparta drew the war, she won the peace [n. 16, Xenophon
Hellenica 5.1.36].
62 Ryder, Koine Eirene: General Peace and Local Independence in Ancient Greece (Oxford:
Oxford University Press for the University of Hull, 1965).
63 The most glaring exception found in the King’s Peace is in regard to the issue
of autonomy. See J.A.O. Larsen’s review of Koine Eirene ( Gnomon 38 [1966]: 256–60):
“Though R[yder] has referred to the fate of the Greek cities in Asia, as well as Lemnos,
Imbros, and Scyros, he, nevertheless, states that ‘for the first time the autonomy of all
cities . . . had been recognized in a treaty ratified by the leading states and by the King’
(41). It was rather all cities except those which some great power wished to keep in subjection”
Why Fortifications Endure 89
(my italics). Later Larsen writes, “Yet it should be a warning to anyone tending to ide-
alize the movement, that the treaties sometimes included a clause which limited the
application of the freedom proclaimed in the treaty. This is clearest in the King’s Peace,
where, apparently, the exceptions were listed before the autonomy of the other poleis
was proclaimed (Xen. Hell. 5, 1, 31).”
64 See the criticism of Ryder in W. G. Forrest’s review of Koine Eirene, CR 19/83
(1969): 211–12:
More important, there is a failure to ram home (not to state, for who could fail
to state it) that the Peace of 387 was an arrangement by which Sparta took con-
trol of Greece. Agesilaus said it: pros ton eiponta tous Lakedaimonious medizein . . .
apekrinato mallon tous Medous lakonizein, and against the background of Spartan
behaviour in the years that followed, “autonomy” and words like it must be
treated as empty slogans—so too must koine eirene.
65 The principal works devoted to the Second Athenian League are F. W. Marshall,
The Second Athenian Confederacy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1905); S. Ac-
came, La lege atheniese del secolo IV a.C. (Rome: Signorelli, 1940); and Jack Cargill, The
Second Athenian League: Empire or Free Alliance? (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of
California Press, 1981). The relative chronology of the foundation of the Second Athe-
nian League and the raid of Sphodrias is highly controversial. The communis opinion —
and the one adopted in this work—is that Athens responded to the raid of Sphodrias
with the formation of the Second Athenian League. This view is held by Ryder, Koine
Eirene, 53–55; D. G. Rice, “Xenophon, Diodorus and the Year 379–378 B.C.,” YCS 24 (1975):
112–27; Robert K. Sinclair, “The King’s Peace and the Employment of Military and Na-
val Forces 387–378,” Chiron 8 (1978): 52–54; John Buckler, The Theban Hegemony, 371–362
b.c. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1980), 17; Charles D. Hamilton, Agesi-
laus and the Failure of Spartan Hegemony (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1991),
167–74, esp. 173; Ernst Badian, “The Ghost of Empire,” 89–90, nn. 33–34. Contra: G. L.
Cawkwell, “The Foundation of the Second Athenian Confederacy,” CQ 23 (1973): 47–60;
Raphael Sealey, A History of the Greek City-States, ca. 700–338 b.c. (Berkeley and Los Ange-
les: University of California Press, 1976), 410–412; Cargill, Second Athenian Empire; Rob-
ert Morstein Kalet-Marx, “Athens, Thebes, and the Foundation of the Second Athenian
League,” CA 4 (1985): 127–51; Robin Seager, CAH 2 6.166f.
66 Diodorus 15.28.2; see Plutarch Pelopidas 14.1. See IG II2 43 (Tod 123, 59–70; Hard-
ing 35, 48–52; SV 2.257, 207–211), which reiterated the reason for the formation of the
League (ll. 7–12): “Aristoteles made the motion: To the good fortune of the A|thenians
and of the allies of the Athenia|ns, in order that (the) Laced[aemo]nians may allow the
Helle||nes, free and autonomous, to live | in peace, holding in security the [land] (that
is) the| ir [own].”
67 Callistratus of Aphidna proposed substituting the term “contributions” ( syntaxei s)
for “tribute” ( phoroi); see Harpokration, Lexicon, s.v. “syntaxis” (Theopompus, FGrHist 115F98).
68 For Thebes, this entailed enrollment in an alliance whose strategic interests were
vastly different from its own. Buckler maintains that the necessity to strengthen itself
in relation to Sparta overrode all other Theban concerns. It was sufficient for Athens
90 Berkey
and Thebes to share a common enemy. He writes ( The Theban Hegemony, 371–362 b.c.
[Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1980], 17–18): “Yet the military support of
Athens was so vital to Thebes that submerging itself in the confederacy was a small
price to pay for that support. . . . Once either state had attained a degree of security, the
disparate goals and concerns of the two powers would drive them apart.”
69 For detailed discussions of Attica’s border fortifications, see the major studies
of J. R. McCredie, Fortified Military Camps in Attica, Hesperia, Suppl. 11 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1966), Josiah Ober, Fortress Attica: Defense of the Athenian
Land Frontier, 404–322 b.c. (Leiden: Brill, 1982), and Mark H. Munn, The Defense of Attica:
The Dema Wall and the Boiotian War of 378–375 b.c. (Berkeley and Los Angeles: Univer-
sity of California Press, 1993). The Athenians’ investment in fortifications likely went
beyond mere economic calculations. Victor Hanson, in a forthcoming review of Jur-
gen Brauer and Hubert Van Tuyll , Castles, Battles, and Bombs: How Economics Explains
Military History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008), writes (email to author
in advance of publication):
Did the Athenians invest in Attic border forts in the fourth century BC because
>
it was the most economical way to protect Athenian territory, and made more
economic sense than hoplite armies, cavalry, light-armed skirmishers, or na-
vies? Or, as losers in a twenty-seven-year-long Peloponnesian War, were they
so traumatized from land invasion that fortifications seemed to be the most
reassuring tactics of keeping out any more armies advancing from Boiotia and
the Peloponnese?
70 For the problems of dating walls in general, see, e.g., the detailed work of Robert
Lorentz Scranton, Greek Walls (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1941).
71 Munn’s attempt at a precise dating of the Dema Wall to the spring of 378 B.C. by
the Athenian general Chabrias is an exception. See the review of Munn by Josiah Ober
in AJA 98 (1994): 374–75 and by Victor Davis Hanson in AHR 99 (1994): 1662–63.
72 Josiah Ober, Fortress Attica: Defense of the Athenian Land Frontier, 404–322 b.c. (Leiden:
Brill, 1982), 64–65: “Rejection of the Periclean city defense strategy, fear of invasion, de-
termination to protect Attica, and reluctance to send citizen armies to distant theaters
of war are the major components of the defensive mentality which grew up in fourth-
century Athens. It was this mentality that chiefly determined the course of Athens’
defense policy in the period between the Peloponnesian and Lamian Wars.” See also
his fourth chapter, “The Theory of Defense,” 69–86. See the review article of Ober by
P. Harding, “Athenian Defensive Strategy in the Fourth Century,” Phoenix 42 (1988): 61–
71; Ober’s response, Phoenix 43 (1989): 294–301; and Harding’s response to Ober, Phoenix
44 (1990): 377–80. Munn also takes issue with Ober (see esp. 18–25), arguing (25), “Given
the inherent implausibility of the hypothetical system together with the silence of the
orators, the silence of Xenophon, the silence of Plato, and of all other sources, we
must conclude that Ober and his predecessors have created e silentio a fabulous struc-
ture. Ober’s ‘preclusive defense system’ never existed except as a modern figment.” See
also his review of Fortress Attica in AJA 90 (1986): 363–65. Victor Davis Hanson, “The
Status of Ancient Military History: Traditional Work, Recent Research, and On-going
Controversies,” The Journal of Military History 63 (1999), writes (25):
Why Fortifications Endure 91
J. Ober’s Fortress Attica is a superb catalogue of the system of forts and towers
built on the borders of Attica in the fourth century as part of a more flexible
policy of response that replaced hoplite exclusivity. M. Munn, The Defense of At-
tica, has questioned some of Ober’s interpretations of these forts, but his helpful
ancillary volume is really more complementary than revisionist, and likewise
emphasizes the Greeks’ emphasis on border defense during the fourth century
B.C., often in preference to open hoplite battles.
73 See Y. Garlan ( CAH 2 6.678–92), who points to an increase in the use of mercenary
soldiers and also the professionalism of military operations (679):
For even though the final outcome was still frequently determined by pitched
battles in open country, henceforth they constituted only one element in a strat-
egy which was more complex than it had been in the past, being both differenti-
ated and progressive, aimed at establishing control not only over useful territory
but also over walled cities and increasingly well-fortified frontier zones. Hence
more sophisticated and varied tactics were evolved, requiring the combined use
of specialized forces (integrated on the model of the human body) and based on
a professional concept of military leadership and prowess.
74 Aristotle, Politics, 1330b–1331, trans. and ed. Ernest Barker, in The Politics of Aristotle (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1946).
75 David Whitehead, Aineias the Tactician: How to Survive Under Siege. A Historical
Commentary, with Translation and Introduction, 2nd ed. (London: Bristol Classical Press,
2001). See his remarks in the Introduction, 25–33.
76 E. W. Marsden, Greek and Roman Artillery: Historical Development (Oxford: Claren-
don Press, 1969); A. W. McNicoll, Hellenistic Fortifications from the Aegean to the Euphrates
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997).
77 Edward Wong and David S. Cloud, “U.S. Erects Baghdad Wall to Keep Sects
Apart,” New York Times, April 21, 2007.
78 Alissa J. Rubin, Stephen Farrell, and Erica Goode, “As Fears Ease, Baghdad Sees
Walls Tumble,” New York Times, October 9, 2008.
79 Note that in the first Gulf War, Saddam Hussein protected his troops in the field
by enormous sand bunkers, and in the second Iraq War (2003) used canals of burning
petroleum to cover Baghdad with protective smoke. In the 1973 Yom Kippur War, in-
vading Egyptian commandos employed water cannons to knock down towering sand
fortifications that the Israelis had constructed to block attack from the Suez Canal. The
recent Russian invasion and occupation of Georgia was followed almost immediately
by the erection of walls surrounding annexed territories in Ossetia.
92 Berkey
4. Epaminondas the Theban and the
Doctrine of Preemptive War
Victor Davis Hanson
The sixteenth-century French Renaissance essayist Michel de
Montaigne once compared what he thought were the three great
captains of antiquity. He strangely concluded that the now rather ob-
scure Epaminondas the Theban (d. 362 BC), not Alexander the Great or
Julius Caesar, was the most preeminent because of his character, the
ethical nature of his military career, and the lasting consequences of
his victories.
Montaigne, a keen student of classical antiquity, was hardly eccen-
tric in judging an obscure liberator of serfs in the southwestern Pelo-
ponnese superior to two imperialists who had respectively conquered
much of the Persian Empire and Western Europe. Instead, he simply
reflected the general sentiment of the Greeks and Romans themselves,
who put a high premium on military brilliance in service to political
idealism. For example, the Roman statesman Cicero, archfoe of Julius
Caesar and Marc Antony, three centuries after the Theban general’s
death saw a kindred defender of republican liberty in Epaminondas,
and similarly dubbed him princeps Graecia—“first man of Greece.”
The lost fourth-century BC historian Ephorus, a contemporary of the
Theban hegemony, who wrote in the shadow of the autocrat Philip
II, in hagiographic fashion considered Epaminondas the greatest of all
Greeks, a military genius who fought for a cause other than personal
aggrandizement.1
But while the ancients saw the Theban destruction of Spartan power
and liberation of the Messenian helots as one of the landmark moral
events in their collective memory, we know little today about the ca-
reer of the Theban general and statesman Epaminondas, and even less
about his accomplishments, strategic thinking, and controversial doc-
trines of preemption and democratization. His present-day obscurity is
partly a result of the fragmentary nature of the extant sources, but it
is also a reflection of the ancient and modern emphasis on Athens and
Sparta and
the general reputation of the Thebans for backwardness.2
Yet in little more than two years (371–369 BC), Epaminondas humili-
ated the Spartan military state, something neither the Persians nor the
Athenians had ever accomplished in protracted wars. He freed many
of the hundred thousand Messenian helots, fostered democracy for
tens of thousands of Greeks, helped to found new fortified and au-
tonomous cities, and waged a brilliant preemptory military campaign
against the Spartan Empire—events eerily relevant nearly 2,400 years
later to what followed from the terrorist attack on the United States on
September 11, 2001.
Fourth-Century Boeotia
We usually associate ancient Greek democracy with the fifth- century
Athens of Pericles—its enormous fleet, energized landless poor, mari-
time empire, and the brilliant cultural achievements of Pericles’ con-
temporaries, such as Aristophanes, Euripides, Pheidias, Socrates,
Sophocles, and Thucydides. In contrast, the later emergence of fourth-
century Theban democratic hegemony is often ignored and less well
understood, despite its unusual nature and political weight. Boeotian
democratic culture certainly did not produce either a Thucydides or
a Euripides. And it did not, as most elsewhere in the case of ancient
democracies, reflect the influence of the landless naval crowd, pejo-
ratively called the ochlos, or seek to redistribute income or enforce a
radical egalitarianism on its citizenry that transcended mere political
equality. Rather, the Boeotian democratic movement was likely more
limited to expanding political participation and championed by con-
servative hoplite farmers. Similarly, in terms of empire, Theban re-
formist democrats seemed to have questioned the entire existing polis
order of hundreds of autonomous city-states rather than creating, in
94 Hanson
characteristic imperial fashion, an exploitive empire of subservient sub-
ject cities abroad.3
If the defeat of Persia in 479 proved the catalyst for the rise of the
Athenian imperium, the Greek allied victory over Athens in 404 in
turn helped usher in the gradual ascension of Thebes. After the con-
clusion of the Peloponnesian War (431–404 BC), the former victorious
Makers of Ancient Strategy: From the Persian Wars to the Fall of Rome Page 15
