Hellenistic Historiography and the Sciences Practices and Concepts in Polybius’ Histories

HELLENISTIC HISTORIOGRAPHY AND THE SCIENCES PRACTICES AND CONCEPTS IN POLYBIUS’ HISTORIES

by Lucas Herchenroeder

A Dissertation Presented to the FACULTY OF THE USC GRADUATE SCHOOL UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY (CLASSICS)

December 2010

Copyright 2010

Lucas Herchenroeder

DEDICATION

For Sigrid, Stephen, Adam, Jessica, Nathan, Emily, Timothy, Karl and Daniel

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication

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Abstract

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Chapter 1: Making sense of the past: Historical writing and the sciences

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Chapter 2: Setting limits: PragµatikØ flstor€a and the order of political history

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Chapter 3: “Nearly the whole inhabited world”: Revelations of unity and the universal historian

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Chapter 4: On the origins of war: Causal explanation and the order of the world

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References

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ABSTRACT

This dissertation examines the relationship between Polybius’ Histories and the culture of the sciences in Hellenistic Greece. The period often is identified with noteworthy advances in scientific thought, not only in the extension of rational culture to broader and more diverse areas of inquiry, but also in the formalization of practices within and among fields of research. These include developments in medicine, physics, ethics, mathematics and many other fields of speculative thought as well. Historical writing may also be situated in this context, especially in light of comparable efforts to define and formalize study of the past as a more serious intellectual pursuit. With the great proliferation of historical texts at this time and especially the growth of concern for standards of historical method, the Hellenistic era is characterized by an increasingly stronger sense of history’s status as a formal discipline. Polybius’ role in this set of developments is substantial; his writing is distinguished throughout by special concerns for methodology, expressed in a variety of ways ranging from criticism of other writers to more substantive observations regarding the principles of historical knowledge. In particular, it is the framework constituted by other forms of science, understood as a set of concrete models of description and analysis, which forms the basis for his approach. In this dissertation, I explain the practical and conceptual framework of contemporary science as a source of structure for this attempt to innovate in the historical field. My approach is based on three considerations, of which the first concerns factors internal to the historical field itself. Given the basic problems with knowledge of the past and especially the lack of clear standards for historical method, the historical field is typically characterized by dispute and rivalry among writers. As Polybius’ own interest in methodology is based on this largely routine set of concerns, his relationship with the sciences is to be understood primarily

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from the perspective of competition with existing sources of historical authority, such as popular accounts of the past appearing in myth and poetry, and especially the work of other prose writers. Consideration of the Histories in relation to contemporary historical production thus reveals an effort to specialize study of the past on the basis of more stringent principles of historical reconstruction. Polybius’ approach is not arbitrary, but is based on formal approaches to inquiry employed elsewhere in the sciences, which, I argue, provide the basis for innovation in the historical field mainly due to the special cultural authority of such practices. Given the progress of Hellenistic science, technical adjustments in Polybius’ writing are to be understood in relation to current trends in the development of rational culture—the second main concern here. This detail not only clarifies the basis of Polybius’ critical engagement with the historical tradition, but also qualifies the relationship between history and the sciences in ancient Greece, a subject of controversy at least since Aristotle. The final part of my argument examines the consequences of this relationship for the production and organization of historical knowledge. Even as affiliations with the sciences provide the basis for a more serious approach to history (e.g., as opposed to accounts of the past appearing in myth or in aristocratic genealogies), the same affiliations introduce constraints for historical representation as well. Thus the practices and concepts relating history to the sciences are not merely formal, but constitute a productive influence on constructions of historical perception. Overall, this project aims to provide a framework, formed on the model of Polybius’ Histories, for clarifying the relationship between the pragmatics of disciplinary development in the historical field and the organization of historical understanding more generally. The dissertation is divided into four chapters. In the first chapter, I provide an overview of ancient science by considering specific conditions governing the development of Classical and Hellenistic intellectual culture. Following modern theoretical approaches to the sociology of

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scientific knowledge, I examine the formation of certain research programs in this context as the expression of specific forms of social authority in intellectual culture. Ongoing regularization in the methods and categories of scientific thought may be identified with the emergence of a cultural regime, with implications for regulating intellectual production in a range of fields of inquiry, including history. I end the chapter by suggesting how efforts to implement rational models of description and analysis in the context of history are to be understood in terms of the influence of different kinds of cultural authority emergent in the context of scientific progress. In Chapters 2 and 3, I consider Polybius’ approach to history in relation to specific developments in contemporary rational culture. Chapter 2 examines Polybius’ concern for history as a source of technical instruction for the statesman. This aspect of his writing, denoted by the controversial expression pragmatikê historia, reveals an effort to subject study of the past to concepts of knowledge and explanation employed in the practical sciences, which thus provide the model for a more useful account of political and military affairs. I argue that this approach, while ostensibly providing a useful practical resource, ultimately encourages a narrower conception of the proper domain of history, and thus limited views of historical change in the long term. In Chapter 3, I extend a similar approach to Polybius’ concept of universal history. Polybius is well known for his attempt to provide an extensive account of Roman conquest, including coverage of affairs in many theaters of activity across the Mediterranean. This approach is based on systems of analysis employed in the natural sciences, which provide the model for organizing historical description of such a broad field. Ultimately the use of this framework introduces noteworthy constraints for understanding the effects of Roman conquest and corresponding convergence of world affairs. It is not necessarily observations about the concrete effects of Roman conquest that matter here, but rather how the formal components of Polybius’ approach provide the foundations for limited conceptions of historical change at the metahistorical level. Notably, the

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concept of universal history may be linked to the emergence of the notion of cultural integration as a dominant idiom of historical thought, an influential development not only in antiquity, but also in the formation of historical perceptions in many subsequent periods of Mediterranean history. In the final chapter, I examine Polybius’ approach to the study of historical causes, most notably in his accounts of the various wars described in the Histories. This aspect of his writing is based on deliberate attempts to adapt methods of explanation in the natural sciences. In particular, I consider how use of that model extends the discourse on the origins of wars beyond conventional frames of concern in practical political contexts. In seeking to elucidate war as a subject of rational explanation, Polybius alters conventional modes of understanding. Thinking about the origins of wars in terms of natural causal schemes, for example, involves disregard for the practical conventions of diplomatic discourse, which requires consideration of moral and legal criteria as a means of regulating interstate relations. While this adjustment renders explanations for war more attractive in contemporary scientific discourse, it alters how the origins of wars are to be understood in contemporary politics, and ultimately provides conditions for new conceptions of international political order. From this set of examinations, the project aims ultimately to clarify the link between Hellenistic rationalism and the construction of familiar features of the Mediterranean political and historiographical traditions.

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CHAPTER 1: MAKING SENSE OF THE PAST HISTORICAL WRITING AND THE SCIENCES

Polybius at the Black Sea: ancient science and the unseen In his account of the preliminaries of Rhodian-Byzantine War of 220, Polybius provides a brief digression on the geography of the Black Sea, taking time to describe the strategic position of Byzantium and other noteworthy topographical features.1 In particular, he focuses his attention on the current in the Bosporus strait, which appears to have formed a subject of some interest due to its unusual strength. Apart from merchants and other travelers familiar with the region, the problem attracted the attention of writers in the natural sciences too, whose descriptions doubtless formed an important source of knowledge about the Black Sea, as with all other peculiarities situated at the remote parts of the world. Aristotle and Strato of Lampascus both produced explanations for the current, for example, and Polybius’ accounts here is apparently meant to form a contribution to that tradition of research.2 In particular, he says that the current is caused by the constant silting of the Lake Maeotis (the outermost basin of the Black Sea system), and that as the area of the Maeotis is limited and the inflow of river silt constant, water is displaced at a continuous rate (iv.39.7-10). These are “the true causes” of the problem, he says, pointing out that this explanation is actually demonstrable from observation of large deposits already forming in the

iv.38.1-45.8; on the date of the war, see Walbank Comm. i, 486. Unless otherwise specified, all dates are B.C.E. 2 Arist. Mete. i.14 351a19, ii.1 353a12-b15.: the current is explained in terms of a combination of the rapid inflow of rivers leading into the Black Sea and the incline, created by gradually increasing depth in the basins of the Maeotis, the Pontus, the Mediterranean and finally the Atlantic, with the whole flow of water passing along as though down a series of steps. Strato’s theory, which is examined by in Strabo (i.4), appears to follow Aristotle in many essentials (e.g., the role attributed to inflow from the rivers, the system of increasingly deeper basins between the Maeotis and the Atlantic), though it includes the observation that the Black Sea was once self-contained and that a passage to the Aegean only appeared when the water build-up burst through the land mass later to become the Bosporus. Other possible sources for Polybius’ account include Diophantus or Demetrius of Callatis, who wrote on the Black Sea in the third century; see Walbank 1951, 474 n. 26. 1

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sea. It is in fact this “proof”, he says, “established from reflection on the principles of nature” (p€stiw... §k t∞w katå fÊsin yevr€aw: 39.11) that separates the explanation from popular accounts of the region, such as in myth and song, and the “sensational stories of seafarers”, as he puts it.3 He thus insists that the naturalist explanation can be established more or less unequivocally in the face of all these (presumably) conflicting accounts. Finally, the passage ends with Polybius offering some projections regarding the future of the region, namely that soon the Maeotis will be completely silted, and that if conditions continue unchanged, the same will even go for the Black Sea itself (40.4-42.6). The passage provides a useful illustration of basic issues in ancient science regarding what must have been extreme difficulties of observation. The Black Sea of course lay well beyond the ordinary range of experience for Peloponnesian Greeks, and detailed knowledge of the place will thus have been difficult to attain, not only because of the problems associated with long-distance travel, but especially due to the many challenges of geographic research, including difficulties gathering and synthesizing data, obtaining measurements, etc. A reliable account of the Black Seas will thus have represented an extraordinary feat—even for writers already familiar with the region. It is therefore noteworthy that Polybius goes for such detail in his own account, especially since he does not seem to have been to the region himself.4 Now, while this perhaps suggests important deficiencies in his approach, that issue is to some extent beside the point, for what is interesting is that he actually proceeds even in spite of these limitations. It does not a deterrent, in other words, that Polybius lacks a stronger basis for his claims; indeed, he appears to regard his explanation as essentially unproblematic, both in its conclusions and methods of demonstration.

iv.42.7; all translations of Polybius’ Histories are from the Loeb edition of W.R. Paton 1922-27, except for modifications as noted. 4 For this view, see Walbank Comm. i, 487, who points out that had Polybius visited the site, he surely would have mentioned it (e.g., at 38.11-13, 40.1-3). 3

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Viewed from this perspective, then, the issue is not necessarily the limitations of the approach, but rather on what basis it does rely. As for that issue, it is apparently a certain theoretical conception of the problem that makes the greatest difference, notably, a certain theory regarding the effects of silting, maintained by the Peripatetics, which though hardly justifiable from an empirical perspective (and essentially erroneous, as it turns out), nonetheless forms the basis for the account in all its essentials.5 Now, while it is not surprising that Polybius follows the authority of a prior tradition here—even less so perhaps that he follows the Peripatetics—what is remarkable is that it is this theoretical view, not any consideration of the problem itself, that most informs his treatment of this problem. Indeed, Polybius offers a number of more concrete observations (e.g., that silt deposits flow down from the rivers, that large deposits are already discernible, that the different basins of the system have limited capacities: 39.1-10), but it is only in relation to the theory of silting that these data form a coherent explanation. In fact the nature of Polybius’ claims is remarkable from just about any perspective, for when we consider the nature of the problem at hand—i.e. sea change, occurring over immense intervals of time and space—knowledge of such a thing is virtually unthinkable under strict empirical terms, even under the most ideal conditions of observation. In all, then, the passage illustrates the special influence exerted by certain traditions of research in the sciences, namely that of the Peripatetics, whose approach provides a useful resource to Polybius when more direct means are lacking. Consequently, however, the problem of the Bosporus current now becomes more intelligible in terms of the special authority of Peripatetic science than any other set of criteria. Indeed, Polybius insists on a strict distinction

Polybius’ view is perhaps better described as ‘incomplete’, than wholly erroneous. Like others in antiquity, he was in fact correct to attribute the current to the surrounding rivers, as well as to effects produced by river silting, which are in fact (indirectly) responsible for changes in current related to submerged channels in the sea, moving at greater velocity, but the upper current in the Bosporus cannot actually under by these terms alone. For discussion of the current of the Black Sea and evaluation of ancient views of the Bosporus current, see Thomson 1948, 155-56; see cf. King 2004, 12-14, 220-21. 5

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between his own and other accounts of the problem. Admittedly, it is only the many ‘sea-tales’ in circulation on the subject that he rejects, but even if that move appears to be automatic to a certain extent, it is important to observe that strictly speaking no account of the problem will have been genuinely verifiable.6 The difference between theories of silting and the doubtless equally imaginative accounts of poets and traders will have been arbitrary to an extent, and one’s sense of which to credit will have relied largely on external criteria—such as the prestige maintained by the Peripatetics. Now, the precise reasons for the influence of Peripatetic science surely form a subject unto themselves, but what I wish to call attention to in particular is that it is principally from engagement with that tradition that Polybius forms his account. Indeed, there seems to be no other basis, as I mentioned. Yet more importantly, what we see is that the influence of Peripatetic science extends not only to the point of providing special resources for the issue, but rather forms the condition for knowledge itself, in these sense that it is primarily from recognition of the authority of the Peripatetics that Polybius is able to make the distinctions he does. Indeed, to extend this point just a bit, given the intrinsic limitations on empirical observation, it is apparently due to the Peripatetic reputation that any knowledge of this kind is possible, for in the absence of institutions of this kind it is not clear how one might distinguish between a legitimate source and the spurious reports of poets and traders. Thus the passage illustrates the relative The charge of producing ‘sea tales’ is conventional in ancient geography, deriving from the fact that so much knowledge of the world at large depended on the accounts of traders and the like, and especially the nearly proverbial reputation of sources of this kind for sensationalism and mendacity. It thus provides a convenient epithet for the fanciful accounts of the world produced by geographic writers; see Romm 1992, 172-214, esp. 183-96. Admittedly, there is no way of telling in which sense the remark is meant by Polybius, i.e. whether it is directed at geographers or really does refer to the poets and traders, as he says. The distinction is irrelevant of course, but the ambiguity serves as a useful reminder of problems of credibility in ancient geography, not necessarily because of the difficulties of research, but rather because of the sheer overflow of information, and the lack of clear standards of validation. The notion of the sea tale, then, does not differ fundamentally from other categorizations appearing alongside the formalization of intellectual activity, such as appears in the myth-history divide, or that between sophistry and philosophy, or magic and medicine. This tendency towards adversative framing in the development of formal intellectual practices forms a major theme in this chapter, as will become clearer in what follows, though more generally, useful discussions of this issue appear in Detienne 1981; Lloyd 1979, 15-29; Nightingale 1995, esp. 13-60; Fowler 1996; Bravo and Wecowski 2004; Kurke 2006. 6

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importance of special disciplinary formations in ancient science, which go a long way to rank and organize the available information on the problems of ancient geography. Moreover, to the extent that the influence of the Peripatetics (or other groups) may be identified with more general effects on perception of the Black Sea, the passage suggests how geographic knowledge is even thoroughly determined by the influence of this kind. Efforts to explain the Bosporus current reflect a typical situation in ancient science, in which interpretation of the natural world is often formed under the influence of particular programs of study, many times in the face of insurmountable problems of observation. In the Ionian tradition, for example, we find detailed views of the form and composition of world, including not only regional conceptions of space, but even descriptions of continental divisions of the whole world. Similarly in Hippocratic medicine, we find special theories of the nature of disease, or in the Atomist tradition, special conceptions of the material elements underlying all reality. In cases of this kind, the development of explanatory theories for the inscrutable parts of the natural world does not generally depend on observation and analysis at the empirical level, but rather denotes the emergence of systems of thought associated with a special cultural setting, the function of which is essentially to provides the conditions, understood as set special techniques and concepts, for extending knowledge beyond the limits of direct empirical observation. Now, while this perhaps raises interesting questions regarding the relationship between empirical and theoretical forms of knowledge, the important point is that we thus see a close relationship between expressions of scientific knowledge and the external developments taking place in the culture of science itself, i.e. as a set of individual thinkers joined by a common set of practices and beliefs.7 This reflects a departure from traditional views of scientific knowledge of course, which is

On empirical knowledge in ancient science, see Lloyd 1979, 126-225; the problem of the relationship between theoretical and empirical forms of knowledge also underlies the discussion in id. 1987, esp. 109171, 285-336, which addresses the issue in relation to a range of different fields of inquiry. 7

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typically understood in more ideal terms, e.g., as the product of rigorous procedures of deduction and inference, or even as a form unmediated access to the external world. Yet an approach of that kind does little to explain many of the problems of science, such as how certain researchers persist in their efforts despite extreme limitations, or embrace views that turn out to be so patently wrong. Issues of this kind involve consideration of a broader set of factors, such as the cultural and setting of research, and especially the experiences of scientific thinkers themselves, whose own views and beliefs are often more indicative of the foundations of knowledge than any other considerations—especially in the case of problems like that posed by the Bosporus current, or by Black Sea geography in general, which lay beyond the scope of many empirical forms of investigation. Indeed on a certain view, the sciences are little more than this: a special institutional setting in which the limits of conventional forms of knowledge may be disregarded. In this case, science itself then denotes little more than the set of practices and conceptual standpoints for making sense of the unobservable, or bringing the unseen into view. This goes not only for geography and other areas of research in the natural sciences, but for a multitude of other fields of inquiry as well, including history. In this chapter, I examine the relationship between history and other forms of science in the Hellenistic era. Like other areas of speculative thought, historical writing too is based on an effort to comprehend situations laying beyond the limits of direct empirical consideration, and means produced by historians for addressing this task are to be understood in terms of similar developments in the cultural structure of the sciences. Thus while it would be incorrect to suggest that ancient historians reflect anything like a uniform sense of disciplinary identity, it is nonetheless clear that common ground is emergent, and that from efforts to establish standards of historical method, it is possible to speak of an institutional setting of at least some formality, even if the details vary from writer to writer. What is interesting is the role of other approaches to

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science in this process. In many cases, the development of formal standards of historical research is distinguished by direct influence of other traditions of research, notably in the field of rhetoric and in the natural sciences, which provide the model, expressed in the form of special techniques of description and analysis, for making sense of the past as a more serious subject of inquiry. The work of Herodotus and Thucydides reflects strong affiliations with contemporary science, for example, especially with specific trends in the development late fifth-century rationalist culture. Now though this fact is useful for situating the origins of the historical traditional more securely from a historical perspective, what is remarkable is the relationship of this set of developments with other cultural trends in the sciences, from which we observe not only the appearance of a more legitimate or more distinguished approach to study of the past, but especially the influence of particular, essentially normative conceptions of intellectual activity. Efforts to establish a more serious approach to history at this time are thus to be understood principally in terms of the emergent regime of intellectual culture in ancient Greece. Ultimately this point is of use for clarifying the basic dependency between history and other areas of intellectual life in antiquity. Yet in extending the implications of this observation here, I hope to explain the significance of this relationship in particular for the formation of historical perceptions, which are themselves, given the difficulty of the objectives of historical writing, subject to influence from the institutional formations making up the historical field. In what follows here I outline an approach for understanding ancient historiography in relation to the other structures forming the culture of the sciences. What follows here provides the foundations for examining Polybius’ own approach to history in subsequent chapters of this dissertation. Polybius’ engagement with contemporary science is of course apparent throughout his writing, which demonstrates familiarity with many subjects of scientific interest, including not

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only geography, but also medicine, epistemology, chronology, psychology and political theory.8 Yet though this set of interests forms an important backdrop to many parts of the Histories, the link with the sciences is in fact vital to understanding Polybius’ approach of history, which like that of Herodotus and Thucydides, is also based on an effort to integrate the methods and principles of contemporary science into description and explanation of the past. This chapter is divided into five sections. In Section I, I outline modern theoretical approaches to science, which situate scientific thought and the production of scientific knowledge in relation to the cultural and social dimensions of intellectual life. An important contribution to this area of study is Thomas Kuhn’s influential work on scientific revolutions, which continues to serve as a point of reference in many modern discussions of the sociology of scientific knowledge. Here I combine an outline some of the main features of Kuhn’s work with description of some of the theories of science developed since. The notion that intellectual production may be situated in relation to cultural and social factors is not Kuhn’s own of course, but his accounts of the development of scientific thought has useful implications for understanding the special cultural environment forming around the sciences, which include not only the basic contingency of all forms of scientific knowledge, but also the influence of social authority in shaping and regulating knowledge production. In Section II, I examine the function of scientific language. Generally speaking, the associations from which scientific communities are constituted depend on linguistic interaction, and in this respect the production of knowledge itself is to be understood in terms of fundamental links with language practices employed by scientific thinkers. In view of this Geography is the most prominent area of science to be addressed in the Histories, on which see Walbank 1948; 1972, 125-27; Pédech 1964, 515-97; and especially Clarke 1999, 77-128. Polybius’ interests in the sciences range broadly, however, and appear in his writing in variety of ways, ranging from passing reference to token ideas and concepts to the use of special formal terminology, to more thorough efforts to implement the formal practices of certain areas of research. A concise survey of Polybius’ affiliations with certain of the fields named here appears in Pédech 1974. On political theory in the Histories, see, e.g., Hahm 1995; Schubert 1995; Walbank 1998; on military science, Sacks 1981, 126-32. A good overview of Polybius’ relationship with scientific discourse is Meissner 1986; cf. Vegetti 1983, 163-65. For Polybius’ misuse of mathematics, see Netz 2002, 210-13. 8

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necessity, I consider the function of formal language in the sciences, drawing in particular on the work of Bruno Latour, whose efforts to theorize the productive role of scientific instruments has useful implications for how the use of linguistic tools centers and regulates scientific thought. In part, attention to formal language practice clarifies many aspects of the process of social formation. Yet given the dependency on linguistic interaction, this subject is especially important for assessing the extent to which perception of the external world is ordered through language in the sciences. The first two sections of this chapter thus provide a generic model for the interpretation of scientific cultures. In Section III, I combine historical and thematic survey to explain Hellenistic intellectual culture in terms of the influence of dominant practices governing the organization of the sciences. Regular features of Hellenistic science, I argue, are to be understood in mainly terms of normative tendencies emerging in the context of late fifth century rationalism. With continued advancement, this area of intellectual culture is to be associated with important developments in both the framing perspectives of scientific thought and in the disciplinary structure of intellectual life. In this context, I examine the impact of these developments upon intellectual activity in a range of fields, including history. In examining this process in closer detail in Section IV, I focus upon scientific notions of causality, which form a major aspect of scientific thought for the duration of antiquity. The final section of this chapter deals with historical writing more specifically, in which I trace historians’ use of certain techniques, such as causal analysis, modeled on other forms of science. I focus the argument here on Herodotus and Thucydides, whose similar approaches to study of the past form an important case for understanding the prospect of a more ‘scientific’ form of history, so to speak, in more pragmatic terms. While the developments exemplified by Herodotus’ and Thucydides’ writing may be attributed in some sense to simply elective decisions about historical method, given general tendencies in the development of intellectual culture at this

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time, their efforts to assimilate other scientific discourses are in some sense wholly necessary for the special claims distinguishing in their writing. Thus it is possible to situate the Greek historical tradition more clearly in relation to the current regime of the sciences. The notion of more scientific form of history is not a new idea incidentally, with efforts to address the problem going back at least to Aristotle, though these usually avoid questions concerning the positive aspects of the relationship. Here I hope to provide a context for reframing this problem in terms of the productive effects of the relation between history and the sciences.

Science as regime: the sociology of scientific knowledge We begin with modern approaches to the sciences based on the relationship between human knowledge and social and practical contexts of its production. This approach, typically known in the social sciences as constructivism, is based on the view that human knowledge represents the product of a range of factors related to the experiences of scientific thinkers themselves, especially the particular conditions constituting the social and cultural setting of inquiry, which form a decisive influence on the practices and beliefs of those involved, e.g., coordinating them in relation to one another, in relation to the external world, and so on. In the context of science, this means that all aspects of knowledge production, including not only the concrete practices of research and analysis, but also the standards of validity employed in implementing these practices, assume meaning largely in the context of different kinds of collective recognition. Certainly, in order to demonstrate validity scientific practices must achieve some success in providing solutions to the problems at hand, but the element of recognition is itself indispensable. Thus, while many of the activities of science involve consideration of naked facts, as it were (e.g., collection and interpretation of data, enlisting of findings in explanation or in critical assessment), it is important

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to recognize that the significance of these ‘facts’ is always established under description by individuals.9 Even on a thoroughly positivist view, the production of knowledge still depends upon the intercession of human agents in some way, whose role in this process (e.g., in forming interpretations, criticizing existing views, etc.) must still be described in terms the various relationships joining them together. Scientific knowledge is thus not only the product of a characteristically constructive process; it is fundamentally social as well. Even the mere act of scientific interpretation, for instance, generally presupposes a community of recipients. Whether one is engaged in acts of disclosure or in private contemplation, social engagement frames every stage of this process, including scrutiny of existing views, forming a defensible position, anticipation of objections, etc. Furthermore, at an even more basic level, it is clear that many forms of science also depend on language, and in particular, specific language practices that have been developed and endorsed by the scientific community (hereafter, often simply ‘community’). Description and analysis of explananda, dissemination of findings, transmission over time—all of these activities rely on linguistic representation. In an extreme view, the very existence of the sciences presupposes an important role for language, in the sense that it is only from linguistic interaction that participants acquire the ability to recognize and take part in scientific discourse. Thus, science is not only distinctively social, but from a purely pragmatic perspective, implies a dominant role for language as a means of mediating social engagement. The basis for this approach derives in part from the work of Thomas Kuhn, whose study of the subject of scientific revolutions has provided the important motivation for the formations of modern studies of social construction in the sciences, and it will thus be useful to outline here some of the primary features of Kuhn’s work, which will be of use not only in the present chapter, but also in later sections of this dissertation dealing with constructivism in the context of historical

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See, e.g., Bazerman 1988, 3-17.

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writing.10 It should be acknowledged, however, that Kuhn’s interests are primarily historiographical, and that in general he does not concern himself with the task of providing a comprehensive theory of scientific knowledge. His point of departure, for example, is simply the observation that conventional perspectives, according to which the history of science (mainly in Europe and North America) denote an incremental, essentially progressive set of developments, stand in need of correction. Much better is the notion of ‘revolution’, for developments typically taken to denote the progress of scientific knowledge in fact reveal far less continuity than is assumed of them, but rather indicate abrupt transformations, which, initiated by momentous discovery or radical reassessment of existing data, bring about dramatic change in the ways of doing science of a given scientific community. (The so-called Copernican revolution is the signature example of this process.) In any event, though Kuhn’s work does not focus explicitly on the nature of scientific understanding, his efforts to explain the mechanisms underlying the process of scientific revolution provide important insights into the pragmatics of scientific communities. The most prominent feature of Kuhn’s work is his concept of the ‘paradigm’, which performs a variety of functions in his writing, but refers essentially to the common ground shared by the members of a given intellectual community with respect to a particular way of doing science. For Kuhn the paradigm explains how it is that the views maintained by individuals in situations of this kind may be said to constitute knowledge in the sense that they are held to be true more or less unproblematically. There are two ways in particular in which the notion of paradigm functions. First, it refers to the entire practical and intuitive system within which scientific thinkers form their views of the world. As such, the expression denotes the set of

Kuhn 19702. Important discussion of Kuhn in relation to the sociology of scientific knowledge appear in Barnes 1974, passim; 1982; cf. Bloor 19912, 55-62; cf. id. 1973, 142. See also the useful summaries in Barnes, Bloor and Henry 1996, 101-05; Golinski 1998, 13-27. 10

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common assumptions and beliefs that join a group of scientific thinkers together, and in this respect, it is in fact the formation of community itself that explains knowledge, which is thus to be understood as a common state maintained by all members of the group. Ptolemaic astronomy is perhaps the ideal example of this sense of the paradigm concept, which denotes a tradition held in place by continuous expression of commitment to the same basic ‘truth’ about the solar system. As for the second usage of the term, paradigm also refers to a single, concrete practice, incorporated as part of the paradigm-as-system described above, which, once recognized for its usefulness in solving particular problems, then serves as a model for extension to other sets of problems.11 While there are significant differences between these two senses of the term paradigm, what they share in common is the notion of community. Each implies the consolidation of scientific thinkers around a specific way of doing science, and thus also a specific way of perceiving the world. The notion of the paradigm is thus useful for clarifying how specific practices might be said to function as a source of knowledge just by virtue of their collective endorsement.12 Now, the latter issue is not actually worked out in detail by Kuhn, for he is more concerned with the (essentially historical) question of how certain practices earn recognition over

Kuhn describes the two, respectively, as the “sociological” and “philosophical” meanings of the term: “On the one hand, [the paradigm] stands for the entire constellation of beliefs, values, techniques, and so on shared by the members of a given scientific community. On the other, it denotes one sort of element in that constellation, the concrete puzzle-solutions, which employed as models or examples, can replace explicit rules as a basis for the solution of the remaining puzzles of normal science” (19702, 175; cf. 182-91). 12 As has been observed, there is intrinsic circularity to the concept of the paradigm, which presupposes that the authority of the paradigm, i.e. in the second or ‘philosophical’ sense of the term (see n. 11 above), is determined by its adoption within a given scientific community, while at the same time the scientific community is defined as the group of individuals adopting the paradigm. The problem of circularity seems to depend on (incorrect) view that only unidirectional causal relations may underlie the formation of the scientific community, i.e. through its adoption of the paradigm. The insight of Kuhn’s work, however, seems to be the dynamic relationship he perceives between social interaction and the authority of practices embraced by the social group, which cannot in fact be explained in strictly empirical terms. For discussion, see Kuhn 19702, 176-81; cf. Barnes 1982, 35-39; Bloor 1983, 143. 11

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time.13 Yet the notion of the paradigm is still suggestive as to the foundations of scientific knowledge. Knowledge is formed and sustained in the context of group associations. In this respect, it is partly cognitive—Kuhn uses the term “psychological”—in the sense that it incorporates (and relies upon) the individual’s faculties of mental perception. Yet is it is also fundamentally social as well, in the sense that the cognitive resources of the individual are coordinated through group interaction. Now for Kuhn the relationship between knowledge and community structure plays an important role in accounting for specific historical situations in views about the world have persisted despite their patent limitations in retrospect (e.g., Ptolemaic astronomy). Yet here the notion of the paradigm is important for opening up the possibility of considering expressions of knowledge independently of concerns for veracity in the strict sense. Given the relationship to social configurations, knowledge in the sciences may now be understood in terms of largely local conditions, limited to specific historical or cultural situations, for example. In other words, what one knows, and the conditions for attaining knowledge are now to be understood as a matter of achieving consistency with the prevailing expectations of a particular group, or as a matter of doing justice to a specific set of beliefs, rather than meeting some objective standard of accuracy. In a local or practical epistemology of this kind, knowledge does not denote the product of logical deduction from unambiguous foundations, but rather simply a state of consensus. The mechanism of consensus may be clarified further in at least three ways in particular. First, the function of the paradigm may be described in more pragmatic terms. In the latter of the

Admittedly, though this approach helps to clarify how expressions of knowledge are formed in the sciences, it does not in fact explain how extension of the paradigm is itself constitutive of knowledge, for example. In other words, Kuhn does not address the more complicated issue of why collective practices might be said to cause knowledge, in the sense of actually inducing a cognitive state. See Bloor 19912, cited and discussed by Golinski 1998, 23-24. Kuhn’s view of knowledge is concerned with more pragmatics aspects of thought and cognition, such modeling and meeting standards involved in use of the paradigm; e.g., 19702, 43-46, 191-98, making reference (p. 44 n. 1) to the notion of “tacit knowledge” formulated by Polyani 1958, esp. 69-202. 13

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two definitions mentioned above, the term refers quite literally to a model, which though initially formulated for addressing a specific set of problems, acquires authority from extension to other contexts and recognition of its value in addressing new problems. The epistemic function of the paradigm is in fact activated by the process of extension itself.14 Though Kuhn is not himself explicitly concerned with epistemology, it is not difficult to see how extension of the model solution contributes to the epistemic process. Its very use implies a certain investment of belief. Yet as the model solution is replicated in the context of addressing new objects of concern, that investment becomes more broadly generalized. Thus the epistemic function of the paradigm is essentially a matter of progressive coordination in the beliefs of all members of the scientific community. Furthermore, this process may be clarified at the level of the individual as well, the second point mentioned above. At the level of the individual, knowledge is essentially a cognitive state, but in as such, has particular features of its own in the sense that, once attained, it is not worked out further in any great detail. In other words, as the attainment of knowledge derives from meeting certain minimum requirements established locally, it therefore represents a characteristically underdetermined process from the point of view of logic. Knowledge denotes a state at which it possible to move on, so to speak, giving up further active scrutiny. In this respect, scientific knowledge is to be understood largely in negative terms, in the sense that it does not necessarily denote a state formed from active application of cognitive faculties, but rather a form of perception determined by received limits.15 Thus the notion of consensus represents a state of collective disregard for other possibilities. The role of social grouping is of course vital to this view of scientific knowledge, but in particular, we observe that model may be clarified further with

Kuhn 19702 1, 187-91; cf. Barnes, Bloor and Henry 1996, 101-05. For Kuhn, knowledge is based upon attaining a particular kind of vision, formed from analogical imaging with other entities already regarded as known or understood; e.g., 19702, 200: “the ability to group objects and situations into similarity sets which are primitive in the sense that grouping is done without an answer to the question ‘Similar with respect to what?’”. A useful example of this concept of knowledge appears in a Kuhn’s account of 19th-century perspectives of the solar system (pp. 116-17). 14 15

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respect to the interdependency between social context and subject, in which case scientific knowledge is not just a matter of consensus, but rather denotes a state (at the level of the individual) of low resistance to convention. The metaphors of power and resistance are not accidental of course, for social authority plays a crucial role in Kuhn’s conception of the paradigm. The extension of the paradigm does not occur haphazardly, but is determined by relations of authority already in place among members of the community. In part, this is a matter of the formal institutional structure to be found in certain scientific communities, which entails controls for intellectual activity just by virtue of the various membership requirements associated with the universities, professional associations, and other institutions making up this environment. Here, standards of conduct are enforced in a variety of settings (e.g., classrooms, laboratories, professional journals, etc.) and by more or less formally recognized authorities (e.g., teachers, university admissions committees, mentors, peer-review boards, etc.). At this level, power is exercised in explicit forms, with conditions for participation established fairly concretely. Yet though the formal institutions of science play a substantial role in organizing intellectual activity, their influence is limited in comparison with that produced by the social network itself. Relations of authority are in fact intrinsic to the formation of the scientific community, which even without the formal institutional framework of many modern scientific disciplines, implies its own system of regulation in the form of emergent hierarchical structures. The task of advancing a given interpretation, for example, implies itself submission to some preexistent discursive framework; otherwise it would be less meaningful for its intended recipients. Even addressing specific problems of scientific interest implies recognition of some prior notion (maintained by a specific set of forebears) of where problems persist. In this case, consensus is perhaps not the most precise

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term for how the community functions, incidentally; the notion of the paradigm in fact implies a deeply normative conception of conduct.16 This brings us finally to Kuhn’ concept of ‘normal science’, which is useful for understanding the extent to which patterns of regulation in the sciences do affect thought and conduct. The expression refers in particular to the practices and beliefs taken for granted by the members of a given community. In terms of the paradigm, normal science may be understood as the most mature stage of the process of extension, at which point, certain activities have become routine for the community, and are thus now indispensable to its particular conceptions of knowledge and truth. At this stage, replication of the paradigm no longer represents a potential solution, in other words, but is simply taken for granted, in which case it is absorbed among all the other practices and conceptual standpoints intuitively understood as part of valid view of the world (or of a particular set of problems). In this case, the concept of normal science presupposes influence on thought and action at even the most basic levels of perception. The formation of the scientific community thus implies restrictive conceptions of knowledge not only in the respect of the practical means of inquiry, but also in respect of the concrete views of the world underlying their usage. Perhaps no instance of normal science illustrates this better than Ptolemaic astronomy: the long tenure of this system was apparently due to its regular success in predicting planetary and astral positions, but what is interesting is that with the accumulation of contradictory data, astronomers chose to revise their calculations rather than question their approach. Thus in seeking to resolve inconsistencies between the terracentric model and the new data through more complex mathematical support, they took on actions that were increasingly The notion of social discipline is not fully theorized in Kuhn’s system view, though it is implied throughout to play an important role (e.g., 19702, 80, 136-43). Like other aspects of his thought (e.g., epistemology), the role of social authority is conceived by him in predominately pragmatic terms, e.g., in the influence of pedagogy and other institutional features of scientific culture; see 176-81; cf. Barnes 1985, 8990. Here I rely primarily on Golinski 1998, 47-78, which synthesizes approaches to social authority in the science since Kuhn. Other important discussions of the subject are Polanyi 1958, 53-54, and especially Foucault 1971. 16

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more cumbersome and awkward. Of course, the problems with the Ptolemaic system would eventually lead to its rejection in the 16th century, but this revolutionary step was only taken after centuries of growing insecurity, and not to mention, increasingly greater labor as well.17 Two points in particular are worth noting: forms of regulation are not restricted to thought and cognition, but are extended to conduct as well. The two domains are inextricable of course, but on this view, it is possible the track the influence of normal science even to the level of embodied experience. Second, the example of Ptolemaic astronomy provides an important clarification: it is not that the normal research program determines thought and conduct; it is simply a framework for assigning value, and as such constitutes only a system of rewards and penalties. Thus it is worth emphasizing that the extension the paradigm and the formation of the normal research setting occur largely from voluntary commitments expressed from person to person. This of course provides for a more realistic view of the intellectual life as a whole, which is in any case characterized by greater diversity than is perhaps suggested by this view of the sciences as a system of regulation. Yet the implication of this point are worth pursuing further, for though diversity may be taken for granted, the appearance of the normal program ultimately entails strict hierarchical conceptions of intellectual activity. As a source of regulation for intellectual life the notion of normal science presupposes strict forms of differentiation between legitimate and spurious forms of sciences. By Kuhn’s view, the normal program inevitably separates practices into normal and anomalous categories. Boundaries created among scientific thinkers become more rigid with the continued success of a given paradigm and the corresponding growth in commitment to its use. In fact by definition, the notion of normal science implies the existence of an out-group. Such groups are not necessarily obscure; they are simply marginal. Despite the success of the Ptolemaic system, for example, that

17

Kuhn 19702, 68-69; cf. id. 1957, 135-43.

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tradition was always countered by active interest in heliocentrism. A similar case concerns the early days of electrical research, in which it is possible to observe inquiries drawing upon a range of different theoretical conceptions of electricity—was it a fluid? was it mechanical? What is remarkable, Kuhn observes, is that even when Benjamin Franklin had established what would soon become the paradigmatic view, few of the alternative traditions were discontinued (13-18). The anecdote illustrates that the primacy of a given way of conducting inquiry is not to be taken for granted, but simply indicates that certain values have won out over time. It is therefore important to observe that in any historical situation, the normal research program may be flanked a number of alternative forms of interpretation. In particular it is their status as ‘alternative’ or ‘spurious’ that demands our attention, for the implication of Kuhn’s view of normal science is that the establishment of scientific culture necessarily relies on ongoing practices of exclusion. Such are the stakes in fact in the use of terms like ‘science’, “knowledge’, ‘truth’ and so on. The notion of the sciences as a source of regulation is perhaps most poignantly described in the work of Michel Foucault, who discusses the appearance of scientific traditions from the perspective of the principle of exclusion implied by all claims to knowledge. In particular, Foucault says that the advance of scientific disciplines may be attributed to the authority of special discursive resources, which not only distinguish and validate certain ways of seeing the world, but at the same time establish limits for the kinds of things that may be said or thought.18 The appearance of the scientific disciplines thus effectively constitutes a system of discursive control. As in other areas of Foucault’s thought, the mechanism of control is based upon relations of power emerging routinely in the context of social interaction, and thus his view of the sciences is useful for understanding patterns of regulation even prior to emergence of more formal disciplinary structures. Foucault’ observations about ‘the order of discourse’ thus coincides neatly with Kuhn’s

18

Foucault 1971; for a summary, see McNay 1995, 86-88.

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view of the paradigm-community, which is also defined in terms the emergent structures of regulations coinciding with the appearance of scientific disciplines.19 Yet Foucault places greater emphasis on the exclusionary effects of disciplinary control, conceived of at levels of thought and language, which will be useful to examine briefly here.20 For Foucault, what is ultimately at stake is the ability to be generate meaning itself, in the sense that, as conditions for conduct are determined by mechanisms of authority intrinsic to the disciplinary setting, there emerge necessary constraints upon how meaning is constructed in this setting. This interpretation doubtless raises complex questions regarding the nature of language and its relation to expressions of social authority, but the aspect of this I would like to focus upon is the extreme intensity of this kind of exclusion. For Foucault, disciplinary control does not merely entail the invalidation of certain statements or modes of thought, or of certain concrete views of scientific interpretation (e.g., a terracentric theory of the solar system, or a mechanical model of electricity). That would imply a certain degree of intelligibility, and thus inevitably consistency with the order of discourse. On the contrary, what is entailed is exclusion of the very possibility of certain forms of thought and expression, which are not so much false or invalid, as wholly unthinkable on the terms provided by the discourse community.21 Foucault’s principle of exclusion thus implies the suppression of an entire range of discursive possibilities. Now, while this See Kuhn 1970, 182: “What do [the members of the community of specialists] share that accounts for the relative fullness of its their professional communication and the relative unanimity of their professional judgments?... I suggest ‘disciplinary matrix’: ‘disciplinary’ because it refers to the common possession of the practitioners of a particular discipline; ‘matrix’ because it is composed of ordered elements of various sorts, each requiring further specification.” 20 For Kuhn, the issue of exclusion is not central, but does appear occasionally; e.g., 1970, 19, emphasis mine: “But there are always some men who cling to the one or other of the older views, and they are simply read out of the profession, which thereafter ignores their work… Those unwilling or unable to accommodate their work to [new definitions of a field] must proceed in isolation or attach themselves to some other group.” 21 See Golinski 1998, 69-70. The issue is thus not a matter of truth and falsehood—the latter is in fact recognized within (and thus accommodated by) the order of discourse. The kind of exclusion Foucault has in mind is that of the purely anomalous: “Within its own limits, every discipline recognizes true and false propositions, but it repulses a whole teratology of learning. The exterior of science is both more, and less, populated than one might think” (1971, 16). 19

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standpoint is perhaps excessive in the way it idealizes the distinction between what can and cannot be said in the sciences, especially for cases in which a discipline is only partially formed (or not formed at all), his notion of the principle of exclusion is itself useful for clarifying the basic dependency of intellectual production on a socially-grounded framework, no matter what the institutional formality of the disciplinary setting. Given this view of discourse, it follows that all statements and modes of thought are the results of positive acts of construction. The point is not difficult to grasp for many concrete views produced in the sciences, such as theories of the solar system, which clearly derive from complex discursive operations. Yet Foucault’s notion of discourse goes even for those tendencies of perception that are most familiar or which seem most natural, that is to say, even the most routine features of certain belief systems in the sciences, such as ordinary views regarding the regularity of physical motion, the necessity of causation, or the strict disjuncture between truth and falsity. From this perspective, Foucault’s interpretation suggests the importance of regarding scientific thought as the product of discursive controls at even the most mundane levels of perception. To take all parts of the foregoing discussion together, it is thus possible to view scientific knowledge as the product of various factors involving tendencies mediated by social interaction, the influence of institutional structures, the nature of collective perception, the semantic function of language, etc. This interpretation is useful for addressing the particular dilemma with which this chapter began, the problem of knowledge of the Black Sea, which now, we see, is to be understood in terms of local conditions governing the structure of Hellenistic science, i.e. as a community of thinkers defined by a more or less common practical and intuitive standpoint. Knowledge of the Bosporus current, like that of any other issue in the natural sciences, is thus to be understood in terms of a range of conditions largely independent of tasks of observation and analysis themselves; indeed it should be clear that procedures of that kind are never

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straightforward, but are performed only in relation to a host of external mediating factors. In any event, of larger importance here is how this interpretation put forward here calls attention to new possibilities for understanding science as the product of a cultural system, which combines human behavior and environmental conditions within a common set of relationships. It should be clear that significant linkages exist among all components in the interpretation given above—e.g., between tendencies toward group formation and expressions of social authority, between subjective and collective forms of perception, etc. Yet the underlying theme is the regularity of these linkages, and especially the regularity with which they are expressed in the conduct of individuals. The notion of scientific knowledge itself presupposes a significant level of regularity on its own; otherwise it would be difficult to account for the remarkable fact that even the most erroneous views about the world have nonetheless succeeded in unifying large parts of intellectual culture. Yet the notion of regularity is also to be understood in terms of its manifestation in the normative tendencies holding intellectual culture together: it is built in to the very structure of the scientific community as a social formation, which is only constituted and maintained by regular expectations on the part of its individual members. The notion of the system is thus useful for grasping the complementary tendencies sustaining dynamic arrangements of this kind in which collective behavior is at once both the product and determining condition. There are some problems, however. As the scientific community is characterized by behavior that is only “more or less” regular, the notion of the system described here perhaps implies a higher degree of regularity than occurs in reality. Indeed the foregoing interpretation is not completely helpful for understanding the irregular or anomalous behavior appearing alongside all formal research programs, which would in principle also have to be accommodated by the system. For the same reason, the notion is unhelpful for understanding change over time in scientific communities, which necessarily presupposes that constraints governing behavior are

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occasionally relaxed or thrown off as discovery and innovation lead to new forms of intellectual life. In short, the problems described here may be condensed to the generic problem of all overly rigid models of social experience. Space is lacking to address each of the issues raised here individually, but a common solution lies in the way we understand the notion of system as a set of governing conditions. Instead of seeing behavior as thoroughly determined by social and institutional factors, a more appropriate view be to regard the influence of the latter as merely providing conditions for intellectual activity—strong conditions to be sure, given the intensity of conviction behind many claims to scientific knowledge, but nevertheless not unalterable under the right circumstances. Polybius’ explanation of the Bosporus current is not fixed, for example, neither for himself nor others, but at the same time, we must recognize that there are few other options for what he might have said without drawing strong resistance. The influence of the Peripatetic tradition, then, is thus largely reducible to a set of provisions for addressing the problem more meaningfully in relation to the expectations of a given audience. Peripatetic science does not determine knowledge of the problem, in other words—in fact it is clear that alternative views of the problem were in circulation—but rather simply provides conditions for a particular understanding of it. Viewed from this perspective, it is necessary to find a more versatile concept than is usually implied by the term system. Fulfilling this need surely represents a large problem, but for present purposes, the notion of ‘regimes’ is particularly helpful. This concept, employed with varying levels of explicitness in the social sciences, provides a useful framework for understanding conditions of regularity in social experience, while at the same time allowing for versatility in the way regularity is manifested over time.22 There is no need to go on at length here regarding the notion of regimes, but in particular, the it is the political overtones of the concept that are useful for clarifying how fluency is possible within a scheme defined by constraint and On the notion of ‘regimes’, see Spier 1996, 1-14, who provides a brief but informative account of how the concept may be used as an alternative to the more rigid notion of the system. 22

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order, for forms of regulations in science are primarily a system of rewards and punishments, as mentioned above, and do not necessarily eliminate all variation. From this perspective, while the notion of regime does not necessarily explain on its own how tendencies toward regularity and change may be harmonized in something as complex as social systems, it is at least useful for illustrating some of the nuances in assimilating the sciences to other cultural systems. Here the concept forms the basis for understanding how Greek historical sensibilities are shaped and ordered through developments in intellectual culture linking historical writers with other scientific thinkers. The notion that late-Classical and Hellenistic intellectual culture may be understood as an epistemic regime of this kind is particularly helpful for understanding developments in the notion of a more serious form to history, as exemplified by the work of Herodotus and Thucydides in particular, which denote tendencies toward both assimilation (of current conceptions of scientific activity) and rupture (with existing conceptions of historical writing). Before moving on to that set of issues, however, I would like to examine the function of language in the sciences, which is useful for understanding how the regime is administered at lower levels of analysis.

Language and other tools of scientific thought Formal language practices are emblematic of the kind of regularization implied by this view of science. So long as participation in the community is mediated through linguistic interaction, expressions of knowledge formed in this context depend significantly on linguistic representation. It is thus necessary to take closer inventory of special features of scientific language as the basis for this kind of intercourse. It goes without saying that the relation of language to the development of formal institutions of knowledge represents an immense subject and is well beyond the scope of

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this brief section, but in what follows I hope to outline some of the noteworthy features of scientific language relating it to the foregoing theoretical discussion.23 For Ludwik Fleck, language plays a crucial role in the way propositions formed in the course of inquiry are transformed into the accepted ‘facts’ of scientific knowledge. Expression in language adds certainty to propositions by creating distance from the particular conditions under which the referents are initially apprehended. Fleck is speaking in particular about the dissemination of findings to lay audiences (both popular audiences and experts operating in separate fields), in which the need for more accessible language situates propositions in less problematic relation to reality they are meant to signify. Language thus renders propositions “more dramatic”, so to speak.24 Now while this observation might be theorized in greater detail, the insight that language plays a unique role is an important one itself. In particular, the notion of dramatization clarifies how the complexities of reality, which are in fact never genuinely (or completely) served by attempts at symbolic representation, become less urgent in the course of linguistic interaction. The point is not necessarily that language obscures, or even that scientific facts possess only representational status—though these are themselves significant consequences of Bibliography on the epistemological significance of language in the sciences is immense. Generally speaking, treatments of the subject may be grouped under two categories: those that do attribute an epistemic function to language, and those that deny this function, maintaining that language only serves rhetorical (i.e. persuasive) purposes. Even this categorization is limited however, for aside from the most extreme expressions of the latter view, there are a range of ways of thinking about the productive significance of language that combine the epistemic and rhetorical aspects; a useful introduction to this set of problems, with numerous references, is Gross 2006, 1-19; cf. Golinski 1998, 103-32; Sarukhai 2002. As will become clear, though the view adopted here perhaps shares the most in common with the former of categories mentioned, the antithesis between, say, knowledge and rhetoric is only an incidental part of a problem, which may be understood better in terms of the fundamental relationship between linguistic expression and other aspects of the social structure of science. As scientific thinkers interact through the manufacture and exchange of discursive representations, in other words, language plays a crucial role in knowledge production. Moreover, to the extent that special forms of linguistic interaction actually contribute to the institutional framework of science, they surely are constitutive of knowledge. Indeed, on a strong view of the relationship between language and disciplinary identity, formal language practices in fact provide a necessary condition for knowledge; see pp. 32-33 below. The following discussion thus draws primarily on theoretical approaches focusing on the epistemic function of language in terms of the institutionalization of specific language practices; e.g., Fleck 1979; Shapin 1984; 1994; Foucault 1971; Latour 1987, 21-62; Bazerman 1988; Montgomery 1996. 24 1979, 113-15; further discussion in Collins 1985, 144-45; Golinski 1998, 34-35. 23

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the dependency upon language (see p. 32-33 below)—but rather that language plays a necessary role in smoothing over the complexities that inhibit the transmission of knowledge to a broader set of individuals. In this respect, language actually makes science possible to an extent. A similar approach is adopted by Bruno Latour, who also sees the function of language primarily as a matter of reducing complexity, though for him, the issue is not linguistic representation itself, but rather the entire set of discursive practices through which knowledge is disseminated to the community. In particular, Latour observes how in scientific literature, authors frame their interpretations by reference to consenting authorities, which enhance credibility by distributing responsibility for the claims across a broader section of the community. In the case, the establishment of a given interpretation is essentially a matter of reducing resistance by appealing to the general tendency to recognize a majority viewpoint, or “by raising the cost of dissent”, to put it another way.25 Now, while this approach notably accords with views of social construction outlined above, the important point concerns the extent of comprehension at the level of individual implied by this view of knowledge. In particular, as trust is placed in the authority of experts, there is a decreasing need for comprehensiveness in any given subject’s understanding of the problem. It is true that more thorough knowledge is to be expected in certain cases (e.g., on the part of the original exponent), but at a certain point, for an interpretation to acquire broad acceptance, comprehension from person to person will be largely imperfect. Thus the process of dissemination actually presupposes—even depends upon— representational practices that are only partial and selective. The point is comparable to Fleck’s notion of dramatization in the way it associates the validation of scientific ideas with a corresponding decrease in complexity.

Latour 1987, 42: “a fact is what is collectively stabilised from the midst of controversies when the activity of later papers does not consist only of criticism or deformation but also of confirmation”; cited by Golinski 1998, 38. 25

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Fleck’s and Latour’s views provide a good starting point for addressing the epistemic function of scientific language, though they must remain largely preliminary here, as they are restricted to literary activity. Yet the observation that imperfection plays a role in means by which knowledge is extended within a group is useful for grasping the function of scientific language more generally. In particular, this observation indicates the need for a more nuanced understanding of how knowledge is formed in group situations, in which levels of comprehension inevitably vary from person to person. There is a noteworthy problem, for instance, in attributing such an important role to discursive practices, when they are ultimately only partial in representational detail. The issue is resolved in part by the theory of social construction itself, which in fact presupposes that knowledge at the individual level is underdetermined from a logical point of view, but that solution remains incomplete (see p. 14 above), for it leaves out other mediating factors, in addition to social reinforcement, that appear to be required by the production of collective knowledge. In other words, it does not actually explain how theories of hydrological change or electricity catch on simply to adduce the influence of social authority. The channels through which that authority is expressed must play some role of their own. In this case, a separate function must be attributed to other external factors, such as the concrete language practices of the community, which in fact often form the most immediate focus for scientific thinkers. Moreover, as disclosure and dissemination of knowledge are based primarily on linguistic interaction, language is perhaps among the most significant external factors of this kind. The epistemic function of language thus goes beyond the notion of dramatization mentioned above, but is rather to be understood in terms of how specific linguistic and conceptual resources are developed for addressing the problems of the community. This perspective also draws upon the work of Latour, who sees an essential dependency between scientific knowledge and various material instruments upon which modern science depends (e.g., for measuring, imaging, etc.). To

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an extent, language practices are not fundamentally different from other tools employed by scientific thinkers, as all perform critical roles in the task of transferring knowledge, in representational form, from its point of origin in experiments and the like to a wider community. It is thus possible to speak of language and other scientific instruments as sharing a comparable productive role in the construction of knowledge.26 To begin, it is important to observe that this view actually derives from a standpoint conceived partly in opposition to social constructivism, which, for Latour at least, relies on too narrow a view of the foundations of knowledge by incorporating only interpersonal relationships. A more comprehensive theory would involve the various non-human agents enlisted in the course of routine practice, such as special devices for imaging and obtaining measurements. For Latour, scientific instruments form part of the heterogeneous network within which scientific thinkers operate in forming their views. Now, while the notion of agency for non-human entities has received much criticism,27 the impulse to enlarge the bases of knowledge-production contains an important insight, namely, that the production of knowledge is in fact shaped by conditions that precede the involvement of human participants. Many of the tasks of observation and disclosure in the laboratory setting (e.g., preparing experiments, recording data, forming interpretations) rely upon the use of special instruments, and are often even wholly unthinkable without the aid of the latter. In this respect, it is possible to speak of certain components of knowledge production as being outsourced, so to speak, as external devices are enlisted to perform operations human investigators do not. Here, the point is not so much that instruments perform tasks that elude human agents, but rather that the contribution of such instruments is taken for granted. Their constructive function goes largely unnoticed under routine conditions.28 It is thus possible to see Also on “literary technology” in the sciences, in regards to Robert Boyle’s reports on experiments with the air pump more specifically, see Shapin 1984. 27 For a brief summary of Latour’s critics see Golinski 1998, 40-43; cf. in particular Amsterdamska 1990. 28 Latour 1987, 30-44, 64-70; cf. Latour and Woolgar 19862. 26

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how scientific thinkers might be said to attain knowledge of phenomena for which they have no direct empirical acquaintance. While scientific inquiry proceeds at a certain remove from external reality, the observational distance may be closed by the use of special tools; in fact, it is only by the use of such tools that certain kinds of knowledge are attainable in the first place. Latour’s approach is relevant here for several reasons. First it reflects a view of knowledge as the product of distinctively social processes. Though the theory of heterogeneous association is intended to transcend a simple constructivist approach, it relies upon an implicitly social form of explanation. For an instrument to support knowledge about a given phenomenon, for example, there must first be some consensus over its value. The use of scientific instruments is thus not fundamentally different from other practical commitments characterizing the community. Moreover, the mechanism of consensus here depends on the same understanding of cognitive function assumed elsewhere by the social model—a crucial point, for the productive function of scientific instruments apparently depends on the fact that their purpose and function are taken for granted. Investigators deal only with the images produced by the electron microscope, for example; they do not continue to question the validity of such images, at least not beyond certain expectations. Finally, Latour’s approach is useful for clarifying other aspects of the constructivist model more definitively, such as the epistemological problem, noted above, regarding the limitations of a purely social perspective of knowledge production. By situating knowledge in relation to the material constituents of the research setting, Latour identifies key factors for knowledge beyond the context of social interaction. This insight supports an analytically more extensive view of the foundations for knowledge. Moreover, by the same token, Latour’s approach also clarifies an additional dimension of social interaction in the scientific community, which, we see, is now based also on coordination in the use of certain instruments, in addition to strict social

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associations. Indeed, on a strong reading of Latour, it appears that scientific communities are to some extent constituted even by consensus over the importance of certain instruments. Latour’s model is useful for understanding language in the sciences in terms of how certain practices provide special tools for tasks of description and explanation for which ordinary linguistic resources have proven inadequate or inconvenient. Special techniques of expression form a common feature of many fields of science, which, earmarked for their usefulness and routinely employed, not only contribute to the clarity and fluency of scientific discourse, but also provide the basis for the construction of disciplinary identity. The most obvious example of this phenomenon is of course the formal technical language that appears in many mature scientific fields, though considerations must be made also for the many figures of speech and metaphorical constructions that occur in informal situations as well. The latter are in fact especially noteworthy in this respect, as they illustrate the significance of scientific language in contexts of even relatively low institutional formality, such as in ancient science. In any case, language practices of this kind are vital to many forms of scientific activity, in which complex ideas and the difficulties of transmission and dissemination generally reveal ordinary language practices to be inadequate. Now, what is interesting is that with regular use such practices are institutionalized within practical repertory of a given field of inquiry and are thus absorbed among the other distinguishing practices of that community. As such, the semantic function of technical expressions is eventually taken for granted by their users. As usage becomes more regular, complexity and novelty are eroded, and in this respect, even extremely inventive figures of expression become routine in time. Now, this is not to say that they are emptied of meaning. On the contrary, conventional formal expressions in scientific language are full of meaning. Most language of this kind in fact functions by condensing the complexity of ideas and concepts that are otherwise unmanageable. Yet what is interesting is that in the process of regularization, i.e. as

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technical language and special metaphors become routine, their usage implies change in the intuitive commitments of individual users, whose engagement with them now no longer requires active consideration of their significance. In this respect, it is thus possible to speak of a certain autonomy for language practices in the sciences. As technical and figurative language is absorbed into regular profile of a discourse community, the tendency of subsequent users is that of increasing accommodation. In this case, the significance of formal language is actually epistemological. As the effects of this process include not only practical changes, but also proficiency with a certain ideas, premises or concrete views, the use of formal language implies a significant accumulation in the personal knowledge of the individual language user.29 It is superfluous to question the basis of certain metaphors and figurative expressions, for example, for their semantic value eventually becomes unproblematic. From this perspective, acclimation to the special language of a given community performs an important educative function. To clarify, as more or less formal institutions of practice, the distinctive language practices of a given scientific community perform a function in description and explanation that is not generally replicated by scientific thinkers themselves, whose agency in this set of activities is generally limited to those concerns that remain open to question. Viewed in this light, the function of linguistic institutionalization is essentially one of adding certainty to techniques of expression that for previous thinkers were merely tentative. The process may be likened to Latour’s concept of ‘modalities’, which refers to how knowledge is established in group settings as participants collectively advance towards higher-order (or merely different) concerns; as older problems are resolved, the solutions proposed for them are modulated or made more certain as they then form the foundations for further inquiries (1987, 22-29). The concept is especially useful for clarifying the epistemological significance of formal scientific language, which

29

On personal or ‘tacit’ knowledge, see Polanyi 1958, esp. 203-7.

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is to be associated with similar effects in the way certain ideas and beliefs are rendered more certain through regular usage. The relationship between language and other instruments in the sciences, then, is based largely upon the common function they share in directing and ordering intellectual activity. In purely practical terms, as the use of certain resources (linguistic or material) becomes more regular, the specific problems for which they have been developed become less urgent. Thus, as greater trust is placed in the use of these tools, the focus of inquiry becomes restricted to other domains of interest. The use of formal tools is thus to be understood in terms of its essentially deterrent effects on scientific thought. On the other hand, however, practical changes of this kind have epistemological implications as well, in the sense that as tools of this kind are employed more routinely, the foundations of knowledge are themselves changed. Now, from a certain perspective, the process outlined here is perhaps not greatly different that understood by ordinary conceptions of scientific progress, in which older problems are solved and exchanged out for new ones (with solutions to the former providing the starting point for addressing latter). Yet the point here is that in linking this process to the use of concrete tools, it is possible to analyze the constituents of knowledge-production in greater detail. The point goes back to the problem described at the outset of this section, i.e. regarding the need for a broader understanding of the foundations of knowledge beyond mechanisms of social authority alone. By including formal language practices within this equation, it is possible to clarify the productive nature of language more definitively. Of course, there remains controversy over the epistemological significance of scientific language (see n. 23 above), and though it is not the intent here to provide a comprehensive solution to that problem, it ought to be clear nonetheless that certain forms of knowledge are indeed indissociable from their construction in specially designated language practices. The point becomes more urgent as language becomes more formal, for as usage of certain language implies

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greater specialization, the conditions for knowledge are linked more stringently to discursive formations. In certain cases, knowledge has almost no other foundations, such as with the use of special metaphors, certain localized forms of discourse, and especially the technical language of many modern scientific disciplines. In cases of this kind, it is difficult to exclude the language itself, as medium for exchange, from the bases of knowledge production. That is an extreme example in respect of all kinds of scientific activity of course, but it is nonetheless useful establishing the dependency of knowledge on linguistic expression in at least a minimal range of cases. Thus scientific language does not always perform a merely communicative role, i.e. supporting exchange in observations and propositions already formed in the context of other procedures, but in certain cases, it is thoroughly responsible for expressions of knowledge, in the sense that in lieu of which, there is no other mode of construction. In short, we see that in certain settings in which language holds a prominent position among the other resources for producing claims to knowledge, special language practices are indispensable. Among the various ways propositions acquire status as knowledge, for example, certain practices play a special role in the dissemination, whereby their disclosure and extension within the scientific community perform a vital function in the process by reducing complexity. More importantly, however, in the context of that function, language also acquires a relatively autonomous role, in the sense that it forms a necessary condition for knowledge-production and thus an especially important factor in for the formation of scientific culture as well. In other words, as certain language practices are designated in this way, not only do they facilitate the kinds of interaction appearing in mature scientific communities, but they also contribute, through this function, to the formation disciplinary setting. In all, then, the subject of scientific language provides a useful illustration of many features of the constructivist model described above. Yet above all, this brief outline will be useful for considering knowledge-production in the sciences in

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antiquity, in which special language occupies a much larger role proportionally in relation to the other resources available to scientific thinkers.

Setting limits: form, regularity and the culture of learning in ancient Greece The foregoing portrait of intellectual regimes is extensible to understanding sciences in ancient Greece too, as in that context, we also find a more or less regular set of practices held in place by group commitments, governed by emergent mechanisms of cultural authority, etc. While it is important to observe that ancient science differs substantially from its modern counterpart in terms of the level of institutional formality appearing in the latter, it is nonetheless clear that systems of thought in antiquity follow similar mechanisms in the way individuals are coordinated in relation to the pursuit of knowledge. Thus ancient science is still characterized by high levels of regularity. Causal explanation is widely embraced, for example, not only in medicine and natural philosophy, but in many other fields as well, such as geometry, grammar and logic. Similarly, techniques of analysis and classification are also common, often in fields that might not immediately strike us as open to that approach. In addition, underlying these practices there are host of common assumptions directing inquiry, including widespread beliefs in an immanent order, or that order is characterized by complementary tendencies toward change and stability; moreover, it is also generally assumed that natural hierarchies persist through processes of change. Together these common practices and assumptions form a general framework for inquiry.30 It is thus possible, on the social constructivist view, to speak of the production of knowledge in terms of group commitments to this framework. This is not to say that the pursuit of

For general introductions to sciences in Classical and Hellenistic Greece, see Wasserstein 1962; Wartofksky 1968, 63-98; Lloyd 1970; 1973; Irby-Massie 2002, 1-17; Rihill 2002. Zhmud 2006 is also very useful; much more comprehensive and detailed is Neugebauer 1969. 30

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knowledge always proceeds unproblematically along clearly defined, well-coordinated lines of development; on the contrary, fierce dispute and controversy are typical. Yet important continuities are apparent over time. It is to this aspect of the sciences I turn here, discussing the formation of Classical and Hellenistic intellectual culture in terms of specific historical developments fostering regularization. In conjunction with themes introduced in the theoretical discussion above, I suggest that from extension of specific ways of doing science and the corresponding growth in commitment to their use, this setting too may be understood as an intellectual and cultural regime, involving the appearing discrete systems of regulation for intellectual production. Ultimately, this view forms the basis for the study of developments in the historical field, to which I turn in Section V. We begin with the rational interest in t°xnai (“arts”, “crafts”) over the course of the fifth century, which may be associated with the emergence of regular research programs exerting influence on intellectual activity well through the Hellenistic period. As for technê itself, the term is usually taken to refer to “arts” or “crafts”, and thus designates a variety of skilled occupations, such as agriculture, medicine or music, characterized by the production of specific goods or by the direction of specific practices.31 On its own, then, it must be noted that technê refers only to a concrete activity, and does not connote any special conceptualization of its functional properties. Technai are simply the occupations themselves, such as agriculture or medicine. With the advent of rational interest in the latter half of the fifth century, however, different forms of technê are subject to increasingly greater analysis and explanation. So the aim turns to understanding why given skills produce the results they do—e.g., why certain forms of treatment succeed or fail in producing states of health, or, in music, why given techniques produce specific tonal phenomena, Literature on technai represents a immense subject; for concise remarks on its translation, see Guthrie 1971, 115 n. 3; more detailed discussions of its usage in pre-Platonic sources and contexts, are Heinimann 1961; Isnardi Parente 1966; Roochnik 1996, 17-88; Balansard 2001, 13-45; Zhmud 2006, 45-81; Cuomo 2007, 1-40. 31

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such as harmony. From a methodological standpoint, this means clarifying the causal bases of phenomena and establishing general rules for their occurrence. The pursuit of ‘technical knowledge’, as it were, is in fact characterized specifically by concern for rules of this kind. In certain formulations, it is only through articulation of causal regularities that one might be said to attain genuine knowledge—it does not count as knowledge, in other words, when regular relationships cannot be adduced securely for a class of phenomena. The latter point relates to the principle goals of the rationalist program, incidentally, in which we find a high premium placed upon asserting control over the occupations that constitute technai.32 Moreover, accuracy and regularity are also crucial to the goal of transmission, and indeed we see in the sciences a strong concern also for the establishment and maintenance of instructional traditions. In any event, the important point is that from efforts to rationalize technai this way, we observe a transformation in the usage of the term, which now denotes an abstract concept, distinct from the practices that it ordinarily describes, and it is thus possible to speak of a distinction between loose and strong definitions of the term, where the latter denotes a special form of knowledge applied in the execution of a given set of tasks, rather than the tasks themselves.33

Indeed it is common theme in discourse on technê, that the influence of irrational factors, such as tÊxh (“chance”) may be eliminated or minimized, and that it is thus possible to fully systematize knowledge of practical occupations—even to the point of supporting predictive functions. Now the extent to which the influence of tychê or other ‘irrational’ factors might be eliminated by articulation of rational causes varies by context—it is not always imagined that the same degree of accuracy might be obtained in medicine as in the study of harmonics, for instance, and for the most part, investigators recognize distinctions between exact and non-exact forms of technical knowledge. Yet the limitations suggested by this distinction are not crucial here, as the merits of technical knowledge are not generally considered to be diminished by the occasional anomaly. In the main, a technê is directed mainly at minimizing the influence chance, and rarely presupposes that all variation may be eliminated. For sources and discussion, see Isnardi Parente 1967, 16777 (on Aristotle); Lloyd 1987, 114-31; Hutchinson 1988 (both on the Hippocratics); Cambiano 1991, 22829 (on Plato); Cuomo 2007, 18-22 (in general). 33 This kind of distinction is expressed in the persistent effort in the philosophical tradition to differentiate between genuine systems of practical knowledge and the more happenstance, less formally theorized skills of popular practitioners of technai or bãnausoi (“vulgar artisans”); e.g., Arist. Pol. 1258b2635, 1337b8-18. For views of the banausos, see Cuomo 2007, 9-10, with n. 13 for sources. 32

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From just this overview, it is clear how growth in scientific interest has a significant impact upon the organization of intellectual culture itself, for rationalization of technai provides the basis for new definitions of knowledge. From one perspective, technê-as-knowledge is little more than a cognitive state, and as such merely denotes a more conscious grasp of what is in many cases already understood tacitly in practice. It does not represent a considerable advance in knowledge of music, for instance, for one to be able to explain harmony in terms of numerical ratios; such knowledge is already regularly expressed in the context of performance. The same may be said of the navigational art, medicine and rhetoric. Yet the issue here is not essentially an epistemological one. What matters is how and by whom formal concepts of knowledge are deployed in intellectual production. As rationalization provides conditions for expert claims to knowledge, it fosters differentiation between rational models of technê and the applied knowledge produced in routine contexts, e.g., by farmers, carpenters, musicians and the like. In this case, the issue is one of legitimacy more than anything else. This point may be understood from a historical perspective in the way disciplinary formations provide the conditions for new forms of prestige. So much is exemplified by the sophistic movement in the fifth century, for example, and especially the development of Hippocratic medicine. In each case, we observe otherwise ordinary practical skills subject to closer rational scrutiny in the ways outlined here (i.e. through generalization of causal relationships, avoidance of explanations from chance, emphasis on teachability, etc.). Yet more importantly, with the production of rationalist models of technai in these traditions, we also observe a tendency toward strong distinctions based on intellectual merit. Both the sophists and Hippocratics go to great lengths to claim the status of technê, for example.34 Whatever the merits of

The question of rhetoric as a technê is well known from the familiar disputes of the late fifth and early fourth centuries; e.g., Isoc. 13, 15.197-214, Plt. Gorg. 447a-66a. Useful discussion of the history of views on the status of rhetoric as a technê is Roochnik 1996, 63-88, 179-232; Balansard 2001, 95-118. The status of medicine as a technê is addressed in the Hippocratic treatises On the Art (i.e. Per‹ t°xnhw) and On the Ancient Medicine in particular; cf. Joints and Fractures, On Breaths, Law, Diseases I and Regimen I. For technê in 34

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their claims—sophistic rhetoric is of course strongly repudiated by Plato—it is at least clear that the elaboration of technai at higher levels of rational detail ultimately translates to noteworthy changes in the disciplinary structure of science.35 Roughly the same tendency appears in a number of other areas of practical knowledge over the fifth and fourth centuries.36 Though space is lacking for a proper historical survey here, it is worth stressing the implication that growth of rational interest in technai is to some extent to be associated with the emergence of the scientific culture itself. In addition to efforts to subject existing traditions of practice to rational explanation, it is significant that scientific thinkers also try to extend the category of technê to domains of inquiry not ordinarily suggested by the term, such as mathematics and ethics.37 The tendency illustrates the high status interest in technê had achieved in time. Rationalization thus not only fosters deeper explanation of existing professional occupations; it actually provides a generalizable model for the pursuit of knowledge in other areas. In this respect, the significance of proliferation of rational interest in technai goes well beyond the emergence of specific research programs in the late fifth and fourth centuries. Rather, advances in Hippocratic writings, see also Vegetti 1963-4; Miller 1955; Jouanna 1992, 344-59; Schiefsky 2005, 5-24, 325-27; Cuomo 2007, 14-34. 35 Plato’s dispute with the sophists is best demonstrated in the Gorgias (see n. 34 above). Resolution of this issue is itself beside the point here of course. Clearly the characterization of rhetoric as a technê was a popular, even if controversial one; some version of this view surely underlies virtually all attempts to systematize rhetoric from the fifth century onwards; survey of important sources in Roochnik 1996, 63-88, On professionalization and proliferation of technical literature on rhetoric, see Lloyd 1979, 80-81; Furhman 1960, 122ff; Cole 1991, 71-114; ancient sources collected in Radermacher 1951. The point here concerns the persistence of a need to characterize rhetoric this way, which irrespective of opposition from critics like Plato, nonetheless attests to the important status of technê in ordering intellectual production. 36 On this trend, see (briefly) Zhmud 2006, 46-47 with nn. Apart from medicine and rhetoric, the notion of technê forms the basis for developments in many other fields of practical knowledge from the fifth century onward (e.g., mathematics, astronomy, architecture, harmonics, logic, politics), which form an important topic of discussion in the emerging intellectual tradition; e.g., Plt. Hipp Min. 368a-d; Xen. Mem. i.1.7; iv.2.811; Archyt. B 1-3 Diels. The Platonic program is itself the product of tension accompanying these developments, with scrutiny directed at so many generals, rhapsodes, and especially statesman and orators professing expertise; e.g., Men. 99d; Gorg. 462b-d; Ion; Lach.; Apol. 21c, 22b; cf. Woodruff 1990, 63-77. In the fourth century, the notion of technê appears to have formed the model for new research programs in many emerging fields of study, such as mechanics, statics and optics; for references, see Zhmud 2006, 47 with nn. 37 For mathematics as a form of practical knowledge, in particular in respect of Archytas, see Zhmud 2006, 60-76. Technê in the context of ethics: e.g., Zeno SVF i.323, FF 392-97 Hülser; Arist. NE 1139b; cf. Zhmud 2006, 287.

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technical knowledge at this time assure its continuation as a principal goal of speculative thought for subsequent generations as well. In the Hellenistic era, tendencies with regard to technê are little changed in fact, with inquiry still driven primarily by the ideal notion that practical occupations can be systematized in terms of causal regularities, and characterized by persistent intellectualism in creating distance from traditional or vulgar sources of authority. If anything, rational interest in technai only becomes further institutionalized, the result of combined tendencies, expressed variously, towards theoretical formalization, such as we find in Aristotle and Peripatetic tradition, and popularization, such as we see in the proliferation of technical works in the period after Aristotle.38 Equally important are developments in the theoretical sciences, such as geometry, natural philosophy, logic and the like, which reveal similar tendencies toward formalization in the conditions of knowledge, and consequent developments in disciplinary structure.39 In particular, we see important developments in the latter half of the fourth century, in which there are significant efforts to clarify the logical structure of scientific knowledge and to establish formal systems of proof and demonstration. Particularly important in this respect are Aristotle and his near-contemporary, Euclid, who though working under separate conditions, both developed theories of pure knowledge based upon axiomatic principles. Whatever the relationship between the two, it is clear that between them at least, much clarification is obtained in the conditions for

Technê in Aristotle: e.g., Met. 981a5-b7; NE 1139b14-40. On technical writing after Aristotle, see Fuhrman 1960; Kennedy 1963, 264-46. 39 By the distinction between the theoretical and practical sciences here and previously in this chapter, I refer to the divisions introduced by Aristotle, who separates all forms of knowledge (§pist∞µai) into three (sometimes two) branches: (i) the practical (praktikÆ), (ii) the productive (poihtikÆ) and (iii) the theoretical (yevrhtikÆ). Examples of which include: (i) non-productive fields of activity, such as ethics and politics; (ii) productive arts (or technai), such as sculpture, carpentry, poetry and the like; and lastly (iii) mathematics, natural philosophy (i.e. physics) and metaphysics (Met. 1025b-26a, 1063b36-64b6; cf. Top. 145a14-18, 157a10; EN 1094a1-7, 1178b20-21). This scheme is not consistently expressed in Aristotle’s writing; sometimes the distinction between the praktikê and poiêtikê epistêmai is collapsed to denote a single branch of poiêtikai epistêmai as opposed to the theorêtikai (Met. 982a1, b9-12, 1075a1-3; EE 1216b10-19, 1221b5-7). On Aristotle’s division of the sciences, see McKirahan 1978; Owens 1981; Zhmud 2006, 122-24. 38

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incontrovertible knowledge, ideally free of the contingencies of knowledge the non-theoretical branches.40 In geometry, for example, it is form this time possible to form expressions of knowledge established necessarily from indemonstrable first principles. Euclid’s work in the Elements goes a long way in establishing the bases for knowledge of this kind, providing a detailed treatment of many aspects of the axiomatic-deductive system.41 Aristotle too devotes serious attention to this subject, notably in the Posterior Analytics, which considers the implications of knowledge for the theoretical sciences in general, not just geometry. Admittedly, geometry is crucial to Aristotle’s efforts to conceptualize scientific knowledge, though in fact it principally serves as a model for thinking about possibilities in a range of scientific contexts. Especially important in this respect is the notion of §pistƵh, a term used regularly from the fifth century, like technê, to denote formally reasoned knowledge (e.g., as distinct from mere sensory perception or belief).42 Epistêmê in fact corresponds closely with technê in this respect, and usage of the two is frequently undifferentiated.43 They both refer to knowledge based on the apprehension of underlying reasons, expressed explicitly as general rules. In Aristotle, however, while the two are indeed often interchangeable, the former also refers to theoretical knowledge more specifically (e.g., in geometry, harmonics, etc.); it is this (the strict) sense of epistêmê, that embodies Aristotle’s view of incontrovertible knowledge.44 Admittedly, in practice, knowledge of

It is possible that Euclid was influenced by Aristotle’s work, though it remains uncertain. Amidst extensive discussion of the relationship between the two, useful introductions appear in Lee 1935 and Hintikka 1981; cf. Leszl 1981, for more detailed treatment of the technical issues. 41 While probably not the first work of its kind, Euclid’s Elements is the earliest and most coherent such treatise to have survived. On issues concerning interpretation of the Elements, such as its relationship to the mathematical tradition, the reliability of Proclus’ commentary on Euclid (5th cen. C.E.), and especially its many technical details, see Heath 19562; Fraser 1972 i, 388-96; Lloyd 1973, 34-40; Caveing 1990, 114-48. The antecedents of the Elements have formed a subject of much debate. For a comprehensive discussion, see Knorr 1975. 42 For a concise discussion of the concept, including a useful survey of sources, see Parry 2008; on epistêmê in Aristotle more specifically, see sources cited n. 44 below. 43 See Zhmud 2006, 47 n. 9, with sources; cf. Cambiano 1980. 44 On the concept of epistêmê in Aristotle: APo 71b10-25, 73a21ff, 74b5ff; EN 1139b19-40b6. The distinction between technê and epistêmê is not systematized until later (e.g., EN 1139b14-41b8; cf. Met. 981a26-b2), and 40

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this kind is not equally possible in all the theoretical branches,45 but the concept does provide a template for surer expressions of knowledge in principle. Under ideal conditions, one is able to know what constitutes successful treatment of a certain kind of illness no differently than what makes a given isosceles triangle an isosceles triangle, for example. Like technê, incidentally, epistêmê is concerned principally with rules that hold in general for a class of phenomena; I will return to the significance of this commonality shortly.46 Yet for the time being, what matters is that unlike technê, which involves practical application, epistêmê is purely cognitive. (Comprehension of harmonic proportion may be achieved through thought alone, for example, and does not depend upon producing tones on an instrument.) The distinction is not always a rigid one, as I mentioned, but where it does appear, it generally forms a source of hierarchical distinctions, such as in Aristotle’s division of the sciences, in which the different branches of knowledge are ordered chiefly in relation to this principle.47 This impulse to organize intellectual activities in terms of their relation to theoretical knowledge is in fact deeply expressed in intellectual culture.

Aristotle often uses the terms interchangeably (e.g., Met. 981b23; APo 46a-22); see Zhmud 2006, 125 with n. 27; cf. Parry 2008. For sources and discussion of epistêmê in Aristotle, see Burnyeat 1981; cf. Lloyd 1968, 122-23; Barnes 1975 [1969]; Taylor 1990; Frede 1996. 45 Aristotle makes a distinction, for example, between the kinds of knowledge attainable in the natural sciences, such as medicine and biology, and in other theoretical sciences, like geometry. While this difference might be understood in terms of the difference between natural and logical necessity, the distinction is best illustrated by the Aristotelian notion of “always or for the most part”, which expresses the provision that an epistêmê is possible, in the context of natural phenomena, for example, even despite the occasional anomaly or variation. Source and discussion in Mignucci 1981; Judson 1991; cf. Barnes 1975 [1969], 74-77; Lloyd 1987, 142-44; De Ste. Croix 1992. 46 Because of their logical structure, technê and epistêmê are by definition concerned with universals, in the sense that one cannot form deductions of particulars considered in isolation; e.g., APo 100a6-9; Met. 981a16; Rhet. 1356b29; EN 1138b2. 47 Apart from the issue of incontrovertibility, which affords an obvious qualitative distinction between epistêmê and technê, the former term is also used to denote the cognitive aspect of applied practical skills. In this respect, while epistêmê and technê are often interchangeable in reference to practical arts, the former actually refers to the governing component more specifically; see Zhmud 2006, 124-25. In Aristotle’s division of the sciences (see n. 39 above), forms of knowledge traditionally understood by the term technê form a class of epistêmai, the “productive sciences” (poihtika‹ §pist∞µai) in particular. It is thus possible, incidentally, to see the distinction between loose and strict senses of Aristotle’s use of the term epistêmê, which refers both to fields of intellectual activity as well as to a specific form of knowledge attainable in only one field appearing in that group.

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As with rationalization of technai, interest in the principles of theoretical knowledge forms the basis for new definitions of legitimacy. In particular, we see not only the maturation of the specific disciplines, such as geometry (in which the axiomatic approach originates), but also significant developments elsewhere in the sciences, where value of this model is recognized and endorsed fervently. From a historical perspective, we see broad coordination in efforts to adopt axiomatic models in a multitude of fields from the late-fourth century, especially in astronomy, statics, mechanics, harmonics, optics and geography. In each case, models of knowledge derived from the Aristotelian and Euclidean traditions provide conditions for new claims of expertise, and thus consequently the development of formal research programs as well. At the same time however, while developments of this kind foster positive gains in the scope and reliability of certain practices, they denote conflict too, and the erection of more rigid distinctions between competing discourses.48 Thus appearance of formal theories of knowledge is to be associated with new forms of disciplinary regulation as well, such that the extension of the axiomatic model implies a corresponding tendency toward exclusion of its alternatives. The field of astronomy perhaps provides the best indication of this principle, for there we observe that geometrization acquires such a high status that it induces disregard much empirical data.49 The case is similar in

For disputes related to the introduction of theoretical models in harmonics, optics, statics, and astronomy, see Lloyd 1987, 293-306. 49 There are two issues underlying this aspect of ancient astronomy: first, we often find investigators willing to disregard data that does not fit the theoretical assumptions framing their research (e.g., data inconsistent with terracentrism); second, it is apparent also that certain thinkers view astronomy as simply an instrument for the more important project of the study of mathematics, in which case anomalies posed by empirical data are insignificant; on Aristarchus in this regard, see Lloyd 1979, 121 with bibliography n. 328. Associated with both trends is the familiar expression “saving the phenomena”, which refers to the practice of applying only a minimum standard of comprehensiveness in integrating difficult empirical data: i.e. in describing the movement of heavenly bodies one need only produce a model minimally consistent with observable phenomena; incompatible data may be disregarded. This practice has caused considerable dispute among modern scholars over whether astronomers actually regarded their explanations as reflections of reality or simply held them to be concrete models for thinking about otherwise abstract mathematical formulae. Though it is impossible to address this issue in any detail here, a useful approach is Smith 1981, which examines validity of both the so-called ‘realist’ and ‘instrumentalist’ interpretations from the perspective of different conceptions of knowledge governing research in separate localized contexts. For discussion and bibliography on “saving the phenomena” and the instrumentalist-realist debate, in addition 48

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optics, statics and harmonics, in which development of axiomatic models also reveals trends toward regularization.50 The significance of this fact is perhaps a bit obscure, incidentally, as axiomatic models of knowledge have remained dominant in many traditions of science.51 Yet it is important to recognize that in antiquity, practices more geometrico existed alongside vigorous alternative traditions in many fields of inquiry. In harmonics, for example, such techniques continued to be rejected by certain thinkers, even despite the success of numerical conceptions of tone and harmony.52 A similar case is geography, which remained a task of ‘mere’ inventory and description well after the advent of mathematization with thinkers like Eratosthenes.53 What is more, theories of demonstration are in fact wholly rejected in certain philosophical traditions, in which axiomatic approach and the notion of pure knowledge itself are subject to serious scrutiny.54 Thus, it should not be regarded as inevitable, and therefore beyond explanation, that certain approaches became routine. They did do so only on a limited basis, and this fact is useful for clarifying the sources of authority governing Hellenistic intellectual culture. To an extent, it is a much larger question than there is space to examine here, but it is apparently due to developments in the parameters of theoretical knowledge that we are able to speak of a special category of intellectual activity at this time. The difficulty lies in grasping the contingency of this fact.

to Smith, see Lloyd 1973, 57-61 and especially 1991a [1978], which argues against the instrumentalist views of Duhem 1908 and Wasserstein 1962. 50 Brief but detailed coverage of these issues appears in Lloyd 1979, 120-22; cf. id. 1987, 146-47; 1990, 9092. On the geometry of Archimedes’ statics more specifically, see Cambiano 1984; for geometrization in the field of optics, see Smith 1981. 51 On the influence of the geometric method in Roman thought, see Moatti 1999, 233-4, with sources cited 388-89 nn. 32-33. 52 For sources and discussion, See Gibson 2005, 17-20; cf. Barker 1989 ii, 124-25. 53 On Eratosthenes’ geography, see Pfeiffer 1968, 163-4; Fraser 1970 and 1972, i, 456-7. 54 The challenge to systems of proof and deduction is made most forcefully by the Epicureans and Sceptics, whose objections are generally characterized as an empiricist counter-point to the traditional of rational philosophy represented by Plato, Aristotle, and later, the Stoics; useful discussions include Barnes 1980 and Mueller 1982.

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In all, then, we see that intellectual practices are characterized by complementary tendencies towards formalization in the conditions for knowledge, on the one hand, and disciplinary formation, on the other. To recapitulate, inquiry into technai, initiated in specific areas of interest over the course of the fifth century, provides opportunities for systematizing practical knowledge on a general basis, and thus a valuable model for extension to other areas of thought as well. Rational interest in technai thus not only shapes the development of specific research traditions, but constitutes a noteworthy influence on the organization of intellectual life as a whole. Furthermore, in a related set of developments, efforts to establish theories of pure knowledge also provide the basis for new claims to intellectual authority, and extend and intensify this process of disciplinary transformation. Notably, it is from the articulation of conditions for knowledge by specially authoritative groups that change is realized over time. The developments described here thus neatly exemplify the principle of exclusion appearing in Foucault’s notion of the order of discourse (see pp. 19-21 above). For example, as regards the issue of technê, from tracing change in the use of the term over the fourth century, first from the intercession of sophistic thinkers, then by Plato and Aristotle, we observe progressive restriction in its field of signification, and thus a fundamental redistribution of power in cultural discourse. The case is the same with regards to Aristotelian and Euclidean conceptions of exact knowledge, which similarly provide the basis for new notions of legitimacy. In this case, incidentally, it is perhaps not necessarily the appearance of certain research programs that requires explanation after all, but rather the persistence of various traditions of thought outside the domain of this regime, such as non-Hippocratic approaches to medicine and ethnography, the monist tradition in natural philosophy, or Epicurean and Stoic theories of knowledge. Each denotes the entrenchment of views deeply out of sync with prevailing practice. In any event, it should be from the foregoing that specific developments in somewhat limited areas of research form the basis for a system of

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regulation for a much broader field of intellectual production in the sciences as a whole. Ultimately, this view will be useful for understanding the development of rational conceptions of history, which is itself to be understood in terms of a similar process of regulation. Before moving on to history, however, I would like to examine the function of the discourse on causes in driving developments described here.

The discourse on causes and the structure of ancient science The principle component of the changes described above is the study of causes. I have already referred in passing to the function of causal analysis in formal conceptions of practical and theoretical knowledge. In these contexts, the notion of cause, commonly denoted by the term afit€a (and its cognates), forms the basis of efforts to distinguish special claims to knowledge. In

part this perspective simply reflects the commonsensical view that a fuller understanding of phenomena like illness, tonal harmony, or the motion of celestial bodies relies upon knowledge of causal foundations, but as a focus of research, this perspective is subject to conceptual elaboration in increasingly greater detail over time. The concepts of technê and epistêmê are in fact partly to be explained in terms of this process, incidentally. In any event, the relationship of the discourse on causes to broader developments in the sciences may be qualified in terms of at least two issues in particular. First, we observe the priority of causes themselves, in the sense that rational inquiry is driven primarily by the view that natural (as well as metaphysical) phenomena are determined by underlying factors more or less intelligible to the careful observer. Secondly, claims to knowledge are expressed in the form of generalizations, which is to say, as holding for a class of phenomena, rather than only for particular instances. The latter aspect, incidentally, is significant not only for extending the scope of knowledge, but also for providing the logical structure for truth-claims,

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which proceed on the basis of complementary deductive and induction operations between the general and the particular. In this case, though the specificity with which these issues are ascertained varies by context, causation is itself an indispensable feature of scientific discourse. Here, drawing upon theoretical perspectives discussed above, I suggest that the discourse of causes may be understood as part of the instrumental framework of science, providing scientific thinkers with vital conceptual tools for understanding the external world. In this respect, the discourse on causes performs the complex function of both framing problems and creating solutions, and fostering the development of a generalizable mode of inquiry. In particular, I consider this issue in terms of the constructive function of special language practices in the sciences, calling attention to the notorious flexibility of Greek concepts of cause, which provide the basis for conceptualizing natural (and metaphysical) phenomena in a range of different areas of thought. Thus it is in particular the prolific nature of the notion of cause that most facilitates the developments described in the foregoing section.55 Beginning with the issue of flexibility, it is clear that Greek concepts of cause embrace a much wider range relationships than is typically denoted by the English term “cause”, which in fact typically only refers only to what might be called the active or efficient cause, i.e. denoting a cause-effect relationship in which an entity (e.g., an event, or a state) is said to be produced by an

Modern discussion of ancient notions of cause is immense, and here I only address select aspects of the subject, notably those issues related to the establishment of formal models of causal explanation. In particular I examine the notion of causal explanation from the perspective of the constructive function of special language practices in the sciences, as already outlined in Section II above. As will become clear in what follows, my approach is based on the view that developments in ways of speaking about causes over time are to be linked with specific disciplinary developments, and thus also with special conditions for new claims to knowledge. In general, I have relied upon the surveys of Frede 1980; Vegetti 1999; and especially Hankinson 1998, who provides the most comprehensive survey of the subject to my knowledge; cf. Sorabji 1980a and Duhot 1988, on Stoic views of causality more specifically; and Annas 1982 and Fine 1987, for specific issues related to Plato and Aristotle. Detailed treatment of ancient views of causality appears in Sorabji 1980b. For a useful summary of developments in the philosophical tradition after Aristotle, including the legacy of Humean notions of cause in modern science and philosophy, see Kurki 2008, 30-59. 55

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antecedent condition through some kind of active agency.56 In contrast, ancient conceptions of cause allow for a broader set of factors taken to be responsible for an entity. These include not only what we mean by the efficient cause, but also an array of conditions that do not easily fit within the category of efficiency. Aristotle’s theory of cause is a fitting example, in which causal factors are analyzed into material, efficient, formal and final causes.57 The cause of a person’s death might thus be identified just as easily with his or her mortal status (the final cause), for example, as with a lethal disease (the efficient cause). Each may equally be said to be the aitia of the state of death. The same may be said of bronze in respect of the statue, or wood in the respect of the house (material causes). Even formal qualities count as causes too, such as the plan of the statue conceived by the sculptor, or that maintained by the carpenter with respect to the house; similarly, in the context of geometry, the ‘three-sidedness’ of the triangle may be said to constitute the final cause of that entity. Ancient conceptions of cause are thus analytically extensive. Now, this is not to say that explanations always exhibit the complexity of the Aristotelian model, for surely the complexity of that scheme is partly due to the fact that many did not regard causation under the same terms. On the other hand, however, it is significant that Aristotle was able to conceive of causation in such broad terms, for the point here is simply that in the task of explanation, one is free to pick out a wide array of causal factors. This flexibility is crucial to understanding the extension of uniform models of explanation across disciplines. Before moving on to this matter, there is a second aspect of the ancient concepts of cause worth noting, namely, the notion of explanation. Generally speaking, knowledge in the sciences,

See Frede 1980 on the later philosophical tradition and the preoccupation with efficient, moving or active causes. 57 E.g., Phys. 194b23-35; cf. Metaph. 5.1.1013a24-14a25: causes include (i) the substance out of (§j o) which something comes to be, (ii) its form or plan (tÚ e‰dow ka‹ tÚ parãdeigµa), (iii) the origin (≤ érxÆ) of change (or its cessation), and (iv) the end (t°low) towards which it moves, i.e., “that for the sake of which” (o ßneka). For discussions of the Aristotelian theory of causality, its presentation and the philosophical issues raised by it, see Ross 19495, 62-83; Wieland 1975 [1962]; Annas 1982; Hankinson 1998, 125-59. 56

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ancient and modern, is expressed in terms of causal structure, and in this respect, true understanding is a matter of articulating general rules governing the occurrence of given phenomena, which not only denote deeper comprehension of a subject, but also provide the basis for directing present and future activities through diagnosis and prediction. Ancient conceptions of cause, however, do not generally employ the same notion of necessity that appears in modern views of explanation. That is to say, in most contexts in antiquity, it is not critically important that causal relationships hold necessarily, in the sense that where they do not, knowledge is somehow deficient or incomplete. In the Aristotelian tradition, for example, even sure knowledge of how things work is understood to hold only “always or for the most part”, which is to say that it is not a fundamental problem that at times certain occurrences remain unexplained or that expected outcomes fail of realization.58 In fact anomalous or ‘non-causal’ sources of change (e.g., fortune, chance) are incorporated by Aristotle’s concept of explanation.59 In any event, ancient notions of cause do not imply necessity in the way modern approaches often do. Generally speaking, necessity represents a separate variable and is not implied by every inference of a causal relationship.60 This aspect also indicates the general flexibility of the concept. Historically it is perhaps the flexibility of the Greek conception of cause that most explains the formation of a general scientific discourse. On a closer view, interest in causes in the natural sciences is actually an extension of traditional moral discourse, which provides the conceptual and terminological resources for rational explanation through concepts of blame and

See n. 45 above. Aristotle distinguishes between “fortune” (tÊxh) and “chance” (tÚ aÈtÒµaton) in identifying determining factors apart from causes properly understood. These categories are incorporated by the notion of causal explanation, incidentally, for though they denote factors held to be external to the explanatory causes, i.e. which operate on principles of regularity, they are formally included by Aristotle’s system of knowledge just by virtue of the fact that concessions are made for variation. For Aristotle’s presentation of these ideas, see Phys. ii.4-6; cf. n. 45 above. 60 Developments in the notion of cause to include necessity are discussed, in regards to the Stoics, in Sorabji 1980a; cf. id. 1980b, 143-74, for discussion of necessity in the Aristotelian system, see Balme 1987; Hankinson 1998, 39, discussing Met. 1027a29-b14. 58 59

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culpability. Take developments in use of the term aitia for example, which becomes more common in the natural sciences over the course of the late fifth and fourth centuries. From initial associations with the moral dimensions of human action, aitia and its cognates bear the primary meanings of “accusation” or “grievance” (in an active sense), and “blame” or “responsibility” (in a passive sense).61 As may be expected, the expression is used frequently with this sense in forensic oratory,62 as well as in poetry and other religious contexts, where issues of moral culpability are at stake.63 With the growth of research in the natural sciences, however, we find the expression aitia co-opted by naturalist and medical writers to describe regularities in the natural domain. In the Hippocratic and Aristotelian traditions, for example, aitia appears in the context of describing cause-effect relationships that hold regularly for a given class of phenomena, such as the conditions for health or illness, for example, or the factors determining particular ethnic group characteristics.64 In this case, aitia ceases to concern blame in the traditional sense, but rather signifies underlying mechanisms of change (or continuity) in the natural world. This represents a significant shift in usage. There are several points worth mentioning here. First, it is perhaps clearer how ancient notions of cause are capable of such breadth. Given the extension of the concept beyond its It is only later that it acquires a meaning sufficient for being rendered with the English “cause”; see, e.g., Pearson 1952, 205. It is worth noting also that aitia may mean “motive” as well, in which case it functions, in its passive sense, as a volitional cause, i.e. “the motive responsible”. 62 Well-known examples are the anecdote depicting Pericles’ debate with Protagoras over “those responsible” (a‡tioi) for the death of a boy struck by a misthrown javelin (Plut. Per. 36; the same issue appears in a slightly different form in Antiphon’s Second Tetralogy); or the famous inquiry opening Herodotus’ Histories regarding those “responsible” (a‡tioi) for Greek-Persian conflict, an account framed mainly by the question of “wrong-doing” (édikƵata, édik€a: i.1, 4). Other examples of the use of aitia and its cognates in moral and juridical contexts collected in Lloyd 1966, 230-31; Vegetti 1999, 275-77; cf. Hankinson 1998, 69-76. 63 E.g., Hom. Il. xix.86; Od. xxii.44, 153; cf. Pin. O. i.35; Soph. OT 109. 64 Though it is important not to overstate the level of uniformity, Hippocratic medicine is often based on the view that health and disease are comprehensible in terms of regular causal mechanisms. The best brief discussion is Lloyd 1979, 52-55; here I also follow Vegetti 1999, 279-86, in particular on the historical development of the use of aitia. More generally on Hippocratic notions of cause, see Rawlings 1975; Longrigg 1989; Jouanna 1992; Hankinson 1998, 51-83. For the Aristotelian system, see sources cited n. 57 above. 61

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primitive function in denoting blame, aitia apparently signifies dependencies understood at a certain minimum level of specificity. In particular, we observe the coexistence of (at least) two distinct ways of speaking about cause: in the first case, one that is attributive in function, in the sense that it involves affixing blame; and in the second, one that is functionally explanatory, in the sense that it signifies mechanistic relationships of cause and effect, which presuppose the regularity of that relationship in some form or other. The difference is essentially an ontological one, incidentally, as explanation entails assumptions about the existence of the causal relationship independent of the explanatory act, while attribution does not (necessarily), but rather relies upon external criteria of valuation (e.g., principles of morality or law).65 At any rate, from this perspective it is perhaps less problematic that the notion of explanation is able to accommodate so many functions beyond the notion of active-efficiency, as mentioned above. In all, the aitia of something represents little more than an answer to the question “What is responsible?” Given the range of possibilities possible in answering this radically open question, explanation would conceivably include just about any condition, which, if removed, would then entail the suspension or non-occurrence of the phenomenon. Thus, it is not problematic to say that the statue or triangle is caused by conditions of bronzeness or three-sidedness, as the case may be, for with their removal and all other conditions remained the same, those entities would then cease to be—or would at least cease to be in the same way. Moreover, it is presumably this analytical breadth that accounts for the establishment of causal explanation as a more or less formal component in so many different areas of science, including geography, biology, mathematics, ontology, ethics, and of course, history, to which I turn in the next section. The extension of the concept to these fields relies to some extent on the fact that its application in producing description and explanation of

65

On the distinction between explanatory and attributive forms of explanation, see Honoré 2008.

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target phenomena is essentially unproblematic. This brings me to a final set of points for this section. Above all, it is important to bear in mind that it is the explanatory function (not the attributive) that is associated with these particular developments. In this case, the former is not actually intrinsic to the concept, but represents the product of specific historical developments. From this perspective, the notion of cause is to be understood as a specialized usage in any of its different explanatory functions (efficient, material, etc.). In the Hippocratic tradition, for example, as the notion of cause is clarified as part of the practice of diagnosis, it becomes associated increasingly with the formal practices that distinguish that tradition.66 Similar developments appear in Plato, Aristotle, and later, the Stoics, all of whom elaborate more fully on the principle of explanation, but in doing so associate the notion of cause more firmly with the specific concerns of natural philosophy and metaphysics.67 From this perspective, the discourse on causes represents a manifestation of more or less formal concerns characterizing specific disciplines of study. The point is noteworthy because it illustrates how something as apparently mundane as speaking about cause-effect relationships may be understood as the product of disciplinary development. Indeed, the view that the articulations of cause-effect relationships is somehow epistemically significant is to be attributed specifically to developments of this kind. Ordinary ways of speaking about causality (if in fact they may be called that) do not actually accommodate the notions of mechanism and regularity, in other words, but merely provide the basis for attributing blame. Now, this observation is surely helpful for making sense of developments such as those described

On a broader definition of cause, in other words, diagnosis cannot be expressed with the same degree of assurance; e.g., in addressing the inferiority of analytically vague notions of the cause, one Hippocratic writer underscores the importance of viewing the aitia of the illness as “those things the presence of which of necessity produces a complaint of a specific kind, which ceases when they change into another combination” (VM 19.3; trans. Jones, italics mine). Other sources appear in Vegetti 1999, 282-84. 67 See Plt. Phd. 96a9-10, c7-8, and explicit links with the Hippocratic VM 20.2-3 cited by Vegetti 1999, 288 n. 20. For Stoic sources, see Sorabji 1980a; 1980b, 64-68; Duhot 1988. Other summaries of this set of issues appear in Frede 1980, and Vegetti 1999, 284-86. 66

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above, in which causal explanation forms the basis for emerging research traditions in so many different areas of study: the specific advances appearing in the fields of medicine and natural philosophy provide the model for emerging traditions in need of special resources for speaking of ‘responsibility’ as a form of regular mechanism. More importantly, however, this set of observations about the semantics of causal explanation is of use for addressing its application in other discourse where it may appear frivolous, such as history. To clarify the latter point, it is worth recognizing that as an essentially metaphorical form of reasoning,68 the notion of causal explanation generally relies on a specialized understanding of the relevant terminology, such as aitia, which does not of itself denote the kind of relationship (i.e. regularity) required of rational explanation. Thus even efforts to form explanations in areas it appears unproblematic (e.g., in the natural sciences, in logic), are to be regarded as part of a special discursive program. To name the aitia of something with the intent that now the relationship between the predicate and explanandum denotes a regular occurrence for the entire class of the explanandum implies a usage maintained only in the context of special discourses, such as medicine. Now, the issue here is not that use of aitia in this way is uncommon or irregular; on the contrary, over time causal explanation becomes wholly routine. What is noteworthy, however, is that routineness of this kind signifies an important pair of transitions. On the one hand, there is change from a practical standpoint, as now investigators in a broader field of activity make use of, and even thoroughly rely upon, the metaphor of causation. (This is perhaps the more transparent of the two shifts.) On the other hand, this set of developments also signals

Frede 1980, 226, puts it best: “When the use of ‘aition’ was extended such that we could ask of anything ‘What is the aition?’ this extension of the use of ‘aition’ must have taken place on the assumption that for everything to be explained there is something which plays reference to what has gone wrong; i.e. the extension of the use of ‘aition’ across the board is only intelligible on the assumption that with reference to everything there is something which by doing something or other is responsible for it.” 68

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change in the forms of comprehension governing use of this tool.69 In this respect, at the conjunction of these changes, ongoing development in causal explanation is to be associated with change in the governing principles of intellectual life, as now it is possible to perceive the articulation of regularities in the external world (e.g., in nature, in metaphysics) as constitutive of a higher order of knowledge. In terms of the theoretical discussion given above, changes in the use of causal explanation imply a noteworthy redistribution in the sources of intellectual authority. The point is perhaps obscure due to our own tendency to take for granted the relationship between causal mechanisms (i.e. where they imply regularity and explicit explanatory functional) and scientific discourse, but it should be clear that given its historical contingency, use of this approach will always imply some degree of inventiveness. This is not to say that attempts at causal explanation in ancient science denote only a discursive construction (i.e. with little genuine merit in describing external reality); rather the issue is that as a construct, the notion of causal explanation is to be understood in terms of the particular conditions assembling to justify such inventive use of traditional language of moral responsibility. From this perspective, incidentally, it is less problematic to find efforts to implement causal explanation in contexts outside the natural sciences and metaphysics, such as in history, for its usage in former in fact already reflects a significant degree of constructedness. The relationship of causal analysis to historical writing is of course a crucial one here, due to the fact the notion of causal explanation, derived in particular from medical writers, has provided such a useful resource for Greek historians, both in developing more detailed forms of analysis and ways of speaking about historical processes, but also for the purpose of validating study of the past as a more serious institution of knowledge. The historian’s use of causal explanation, which I turn to in some part in the next section and in greater detail The extension of formal models of explanation is not simply an issue of practice, in other words, but rather presupposes transformation in the intuitive standpoints underwriting the use of that practice. At the level of the individual subject, changes of this kind denotes a shift in tacit knowledge, to a borrow Polyani’s expression; see n. 13 above. 69

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with respect to Polybius in Chapter 4, therefore forms a useful model, or test case, for understanding the relation between history and other forms of science in Classical and Hellenistic intellectual culture. The fate of causal analysis is one of continued extension in the sciences, with recognition of its value in resolving the concerns of new and existing research traditions creating an increasingly larger base of approval among scientific thinkers. In particular, we observe how disciplinary developments described in the previous section may be understood, at a lower level of analysis, in terms of the mechanisms governing individuals’ participation in this process, and it is thus possible to form a more concrete picture of the sciences in antiquity in accordance with the theoretical principles outlined above. The discourse on causes reveals many aspects of the constructivist viewpoint: the importance of social consensus, the relatively underdetermined nature of knowledge from the perspective of logic, the role of specially designated resources, etc. Described thus, it is possible to see not only the basic contingency of interest in causality in the sciences, but also, more importantly, the nature of this orientation as an expression of the prevailing discursive authority. Above all, then, there is thus a stronger basis for understanding the regular features of ancient science that perhaps appear too familiar or above explanation. This approach has intrinsic value of course, as far there is need to clarify the relationship between knowledge in the sciences and the practical and social contexts of its production, but more importantly, it provides the basis for clarifying the relationship between the sciences and historical writing, where causal analysis also plays an important role, particularly in underwriting efforts to define study of the past as a more serious institution of knowledge. It is that subject that I now turn.

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Scientific history To an extent the question of the relationship between history and the sciences is fitting one simply due to the common ground maintained even in antiquity between study of the past and other forms of speculative thought. This includes certain practical considerations, such as the common focus upon explanation as a goal of discourse, the use of causal structure for this task, and importance of standards of proof and demonstration, but also those of a more sociological kind as well, such as ongoing competition with traditional sources of authority, a clear rhetoric of expertise, and cultivation of affiliations across disciplinary boundaries. Above all, however, it is helpful to recognize that like other forms of science, history represents an institution developed for the purpose of extending knowledge beyond the boundaries of direct empirical observation, and that in the context of the historical field, there will have been neither abundant resources for this task nor a perfectly clear understanding of how to proceed in spite of this set of limitations. From this perspective, it is possible to make meaningful observations about the relationship between history and the other sciences just on the basis of this critical deficiency. In this section, I consider how historians developed their approach to the problem of the past on the model of other forms of scientific practice. In particular, I examine the methodological adjustments made by specific writers, Herodotus and Thucydides in particular, which reflect the influence of developments taking place in contemporary intellectual culture, as discussed above. Now, their efforts in this respect may be identified with advancement in the notion of a more scientific or more rational form of history, as is often observed, and from this perspective, Herodotus and Thucydides often form the focus of questions regarding the proper significance of history’s relationship with the sciences and the validity of the notion ‘scientific history’, as it were, itself.70 Here I wish to provide

Discussion of Herodotus’ and Thucydides’ relationship with the sciences and with formal developments more generally is extensive in modern scholarship. Among vast bibliography, see Cochrane 1929; Hunter 1982; Hornblower 1987, 110; Lateiner 1989; Thomas 2000. 70

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a more productive approach to this set of issues by considering history’s relationship with the sciences in terms of wholly practical contingencies, first as regards the basic limitations upon empirical knowledge of the past, but also as concerns influences formed in the context of science as a set of cultural formations. By this approach, I hope to provide more realistic model for history’s relationship with science in terms of the technical foundations of study of the past. First of all, the relationship between history and the sciences is in fact already suggested by ancient writers themselves. As is often observed, the word regularly used to refer to the historian’s task, flstor€a (“inquiry”, “investigation”, “research”), is not by definition associated with this usage, but is more often used in reference to other forms of science, particularly the natural sciences. From the end of the fifth century, historia appears regularly in the expression per‹ fÊsevw flstor€a (“inquiry into nature”), which like the rough equivalent fusiolog€a (“account of

nature”) designates study of natural phenomena of all kinds, such as the conditions for growth and decay in humans and the other animals, the nature of the cosmos, or meteorological phenomena, as well as geography, ethnography and survey of the various natural wonders throughout the world.71 Here the concept of historia originates in the tradition of Ionian rationalism, represented by naturalist thinkers such as Xenophanes or Anaximander, but also the historian Herodotus, who devotes considerable space in his Histories to what might be more properly considered issues of natural scientific interest. It is the proem to that work that we find the first occurrence of the For the expressions peri physeôs historia and physiologia in the sixth and fifth centuries, see Thomas 2000, 161-7 with nn. The term historia is itself the subject of many important studies, which for the most part may be grouped under two categories: those addressing the term’s function in the Ionian naturalist tradition (e.g., sources cited nn. 72, 74 below, in addition to Thomas cited here), and those examining the older etymology of the term in the archaic ·stvr (“judge”, “arbiter”): e.g., Darbo-Peschanski 2007a; 2007b; cf. also the concise survey in Press 1982, 23-34. For the latter, the etymology of historia suggests a slightly different reading of the term than is suggested by its usage the expression “inquiry into nature”, in which case it related to the critical faculty employed in the context of judicial arbitration. Though there is surely an overlap between the two areas, this distinction between what may be called the juridical and scientific senses of the term historia illuminates an important tension regarding the kind of discourse historical knowledge is supposed to be; that is to say, whether it articulates a moral or juridical order among the subjects described (e.g., in the context of interstate relations), or is simply meant to explain why things turned out as they have. I examine one aspect of this tension in Chapter 4 below. 71

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term historia in Greek writing—“This is a demonstration of the flstor€h of Herodotus of Halicarnassus”—a passage that doubtless refers to the broad intellectual scope of the work, rather than the comparatively narrower issue of past events.72 In any event, in this context, historia is associated with an incipient rationalist tradition, distinguished by special emphasis on critical judgment and careful use of evidence, but also an essential intellectual positivism.73 The same conception of historia appears in the Aristotelian tradition, where it is developed and rendered more definitive, not simply for the natural sciences, however, but rather as part of a generalized scientific research program.74 Historians’ own usage of the term historia, then, puts them in direct relation with the other sciences. However, though many works of history are referred to by the title ÑIstor€a or ÑIstor€ai (including that of Polybius), the etymological link is only so revealing on its own. In turning our attention to actual practice, we observe more direct attempts to assimilate the scientific tradition. The point is made easily of Herodotus, whose Histories have just described in the context of Ionian rationalism. In terms of the content, the work incorporates a huge field of natural scientific subjects, including geography, botany and zoology, as well as ethnographic studies of the customs and group characteristics of foreign peoples, and even discussions of medicine.75 With this set of

i.1; on Herodotus’ use of the word historiê, bibliography is extensive; see, e.g., Jacoby 1913; Immerwahr 1966, 315; Lateiner 1989, 84; Thomas 2000, 161-67. 73 E.g., Gould 1989, 11 (“a tradition of positivist thinking and rational analysis of available data”); Lloyd 1975, 215-16 (“a scientific enquiry with a clear awareness of problems of evidence and determination, where possible, to solve them”); both cited by Thomas 2000, 165 n. 99. Useful discussion in Luce 1997, 7-8. 74 A good short account is Zhmud 2006, 136-37, who discusses Aristotle’ distinction between the empirical and theoretical components of a field; historia refers both to the preliminary collection of all the data in a given domain, and to the analytical component, whereby the data are systematized and employed in constructing explanations. This distinction appears in the separation between empirical research involved by creating the many political Constitutions written by Aristotle and the Politics, a theoretical treatise, apparently formed in part from those investigations. Aristotle’s gripe against scientific or “philosophical” forms of history (see p. 62 below) is based mainly on the problems with systematizing knowledge of past events on the model of other theoretical sciences—though he does not deny that historical data may be used for other sciences, such as politics. On Aristotle’s approach to history, see Robert 1955; von Fritz 1958; Huxley 1972; Weil 1960, 87-178; 1970. 75 The best introduction to these issues is Thomas 2000. 72

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concerns, the Histories is not only affiliated with Ionian natural philosophy, as I mentioned above, but is linked to concerns in the Hippocratic traditions as well. What is interesting, however, is that these traditions provide a model for study of the past as well. In his treatment of the political history of Greece and Asia, Herodotus draws upon an array of methods and concepts employed by naturalist thinkers, especially techniques of demonstration and more explicit approaches to epistemological problems.76 It is this aspect of the Histories that most illustrates the implications of the title, for to Herodotus, there is apparently no substantial difference between explanation of natural phenomena and events in the social world, such as the conflict with the Persians. A similar perspective is developed in Thucydides’ writing. With Thucydides the link with formal research traditions in the sciences is made both more substantial and more explicit. First there is the claim that his writing is free of tÚ µuy«dew (i.e. the story-like appeal one finds in other narrative histories) and thus provides a lasting resource for the future. While this sentiment demonstrates the intention to formalize study of the past, more importantly, it reveals significant assumptions regarding the nature of historical understanding itself. For Thucydides, historical study renders basic regularities in human affairs more accessible, and proper historical knowledge thus has a predictive, or at least cautionary function. His writing, he says, is intended especially for those “who seek a clear picture of the things that have happened and those which, the human condition being what it is, will occur again in the same way or very nearly so sometime in the future”.77 The model for this view comes in part from formal conceptions of knowledge discussed above (see pp. 35-39), especially those in the Hippocratic tradition, which appear to have furnished Thucydides with the conceptual and

On Herodotean methods broadly, see Lateiner 1989; cf. Marincola 2001, 31-39. Important studies of his links with the medical writers are Lateiner 1986, and especially Thomas 2000, which provides a useful account of Herodotus’ relationships within the intellectual milieu of the late-fifth century. These studies of course follow observations made long ago by Jacoby 1909, 40, who emphasizes the importance of Herodotus’ innovations in turning historical description into an analytical practice; cf. Fornara 1983, 30. 77 i.22.4; on the translation here, Hornblower 1991, 61; Moles 2001, 199. 76

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terminological resources for thinking about human affairs as a system, governed by basic regularities that in principle even support future predictions.78 Thucydides’ own interests in medicine are clear from his account of the plague in Book 2, in which he makes considerable use of Hippocratic concepts and terminology.79 Yet that he understood history in essentially the same terms is clear from his well-known interest in causation.80 Whatever the ambiguities in Thucydides’ terminology for causes (e.g., the key term prÒfasiw at i.23.6), it is sufficiently clear that he connects causal analysis to the practical function of historical knowledge. In this regard, following Hippocratic conceptions of cause, his interest in the origins of the war is oriented more toward explanation properly speaking than toward culpability.81 This aspect of his approach, also typical of Polybius’ interest in causality, as we shall see, is perhaps sufficient on its own to demonstrate the influence of scientific thought. Yet the emphasis upon didactic function also demonstrates this set of intellectual goals. From this perspective, Thucydides’ approach to historia may be linked to the technical tradition in the sciences, as I have described above, in which the emphasis on causal relations forms part of a effort to systematize knowledge of human affairs. On the examples of Herodotus and Thucydides, then, it is possible to observe substantial links between history and the other sciences—much more so than are implied by the merely On Thucydides and the Hippocratics in general, Ste. Croix 1972, 29-32; Rawlings 1975; Hornblower 1991, 61, 320-21; Swain 1994. 79 E.g., Page 1953; Parry 1969. Interestingly Thucydides passes over the causes of the plague, which he says he leaves to others, though with the implication that they are essentially inscrutable (ii.48.4). Introductory remarks on the plague reveal an important relationship with approaches to diagnosis in the medical field: “I will describe the course [of the plague] and how one might recognize it, if there should ever be another outbreak”; cf. i.22.3, cited above. 80 The most detailed study of this link is Rawlings 1975; cf. Moles 2001, 210 n. 57. 81 Thucydides clearly approaches the subject from an interest in joining contemporary political debates on the subject, which were doubtless focused on the moral-juridical discussions of the conflicts origins; see Richardson 1990. Yet with the famous programmatic remarks at i.22, it is clear that he also regarded the subject as a matter of explanation as well, in the sense of it is comprehensible in terms of more or less regular mechanisms of cause and effect; for differences between explanatory and attributive notions of cause, see pp. 49-51 above. On Thucydides’ statements regarding the cause of the Peloponnesian War, I follow the interpretation of Hornblower 1991, 64-65, namely that for the phrase tØn µ¢n går élhyestãthn prÒfasin, éfanestãthn d¢ lÒgƒ (i.23.6) must refer to “the truest but unavowed cause”, rather that precipitating sign or symptom (e.g., Rawlings 1975, 76-81). 78

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nominal associations of the term historia (or historiê). These take the form of special techniques of description and explanation, derived from specific areas of research, which then provide the basis for innovation in developing a more serious approach of history. Now, the degree of originality in Herodotus’ and Thucydides’ approach to study of the past must to some extent remain an open question, as the loss of so much evidence for contemporary historical writing prevents a thorough comparison, but at the same time, it is clear that under the conditions, Herodotus and Thucydides are working within a context of growing interest for new approaches to history. From their own writing, we can observe anxiety over the inadequacy of existing approaches to study of the past, and from this perspective at least, the use of certain techniques in their writing surely signifies an effort to define (or redefine) the notion of historical inquiry. Thucydides, for example, draws an explicit distinction between his own work and the many popular forms of history appearing in his contemporary context, such as the display pieces of rhetorical competition (ég≈nisµa §w tÚ paraxr∞µa). While the famous remark that his account of the Peloponnesian conflict provides a kt∞µa §w afie€ (“a resource for all time”) is to some extent rhetorical, it is thus also meant to signal a new understanding of history, characterized by the potential for surer and more technically proficient knowledge of human affairs. The same goes for his rejections of certain poetic accounts for the early history of Greece, which fail a certain minimum standard of credibility in Thucydides’ view.82 The same kind of approach to other historical sources appears in Herodotus as well, who makes it his first order of business to discredit traditional accounts for the origins of the Persian conflict.83 In all of these cases, we find conditions outlined for a new

i.1.3, 21.1; see further n. 88 below. i.5.3, trans. Rawlinson: “Whether this latter account be true, or whether the matter happened otherwise, I shall not discuss further. I shall proceed at once to point out the person who first within my own knowledge inflicted injury on the Greeks, after which I shall go forward with my historia.” On Herodotus’ disputes with prior sources of historical knowledge, see Lateiner 1989, 91-103, with the useful “Inventory” enumerating all Herodotus’ disputes with his sources pp. 104-8; cf. the qualifying remarks of Walbank 1962, 2-3, and West 1991. 82 83

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vision of history. Surely there are key differences between Herodotus and Thucydides,84 but the tendencies revealed by their overall approach to history are roughly the same: in each case, we observe the effort to made use of special techniques of description and explanation, which distinguished for their usefulness and broad endorsement in the sciences, then form the basis for a new approach to historical reconstruction. It is in this sense essentially that we may speak of a proper relationship between history and the sciences. Indeed, from a certain perspective, to the extent that we equate Herodotus and Thucydides with the emergence of the historical discipline in ancient Greece, it is to relationships with contemporary science that we must look to find the basis for a formal historiographical tradition of any kind. With the latter observation, incidentally, we have the one of the central parts of the argument in this section, which is essentially that on a view of the sciences as part of broader cultural regime, there would then be a limited, even if more or less clearly defined, number of ways in which historical writing might develop as a serious intellectual pursuit, and that thus, from this perspective, adjustment made by Herodotus and Thucydides (and later by Polybius) are in some sense to be expected from a historical perspective, especially in light of how conditions for knowledge are formed in relation to such specific trends in the cultural regime. Yet this fact this does not alleviate the need to explain how adjustments of this kind productively shape perception of the past. Even if inevitable, in other words, the influence of scientific rationalism is yet to be understood for its own set of limits for historical understanding. This goes not only for the most ostensibly arbitrary aspects of historical interpretation (e.g., the Persian was caused by the Greeks), but also for the features of past knowledge that appear most familiar or are most taken

On significant difference concerns Herodotus’ focus on the epistemological issues related to study of past, while Thucydides, though concerned with that problem too, directs his approach at the instructional benefit of history in the context of political affairs. 84

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for granted (e.g., the causes of war are sufficiently distinguishable). Before getting on to that matter, however, I would like to address some of the problems involved in this view of history. The suggestion, such as we find in ancient authors, that history may be likened to other ‘hard’ scientific fields like medicine or biology raises a number of significant questions. There are clear evidentiary limitations for history, for example, as well as significant differences between causal explanation in the natural and social realms. Moreover, there is a fundamental problem with the notion that knowledge of something as transitory as human affairs might actually be systematized fairly or comprehensively. In all, these objections are difficult to reconcile with the notion of ‘scientific history’, as it is often attributed to, say, Thucydides, and it thus appears best to disregard it as a flawed concept. This position is adopted even in antiquity in fact, by Aristotle in particular, who openly questioned the status of history as a science. For him history deals only with “particular facts” (tå kay' ßkaston), “such as what Alcibiades did or suffered”, and thus by definition does not provide a source of genuine knowledge. Such a thing would in fact depend, as we have seen, upon clarification of rules that hold generally for a class of entities (tå kayÒlou). This is the sense presumably of the well-known remark that poetry is “more philosophical and more serious” (filosof≈teron ka‹ spoudaiÒteron) than history; whatever the significance of that observation for Aristotle’s conception of tragedy, it is clear at least that it places significant limits upon history.85 Admittedly, Aristotle does make some concessions. He acknowledges that knowledge of the past is useful for informing certain tasks political administration, and thus apparently shares some affinity with Thucydides’ (and Polybius’) conception of historical

Poet. 1451b5-7. Given the explicit reference to Alcibiades here, these remarks are often taken to refer to Thucydides; for a good introduction to this passage, see Walbank 1960; de Ste. Croix 1992. Accordingly historia here refers to the practice of political history rather than the collection of empirical data for subsequent theoretical analyses (see n. 74 above), as is observed by Zhmud 2006, 137. 85

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knowledge, but in all, historia is never attributed the status of a technê or epistêmê by him.86 This is an important distinction, for while Aristotle perhaps recognizes that knowledge of the past might support predictive functions in a loose sense, he does not allow it the same degree of formal systematization as other branches of knowledge, practical or theoretical. In fact, Aristotle rejects the possibility that regularities exhibited by historical events possess any genuine scientific significance. Affairs in the social world are simply not joined by essential or necessary relationships, and appearances to the contrary are in fact purely coincidental.87 As a rule, then, human affairs simply lack the intrinsic order that is necessary for systematic knowledge. Aristotle’s critique is surely reasonable, for it is difficult to accept that there is no significant difference between scientific knowledge as he defines it (i.e. epistêmê) and historical knowledge based on its model. Indeed, one might say that it is difficult to take seriously the suggestion that causal explanations of the past have any scientific value at all, or that predictive knowledge is possible in even a loose sense (see pp. 214-15 below). However, objections of this kind are beside the point here. First of all, it is clear that ancient historians did consider a more scientific or more rational form of history a realistic possibility. If the practices of Herodotus, Thucydides and, later, Polybius are no indication, Aristotle’s critique is itself a clear reminder that contemporary historians were in fact disposed to see history on the model of the other sciences. This is crucial, for it is clear that historians adopted and endorsed certain approaches to study of

E.g., Rhet. 1360a9-21, trans. Freese: “With reference to [matters of war and peace] he must also have examined the results, not only of the wars carried on by his own State, but also of those carried on by others; for similar results naturally arise from similar causes.” Cf. 1394a11-12, trans. Freese, slightly modified: “as a general rule (i.e., for the most part [§p‹ tÚ polÊ]) the future resembles the past.” Also relevant is 1360a36-37, which emphasizes the importance of “historical accounts of political affairs” (afl t«n per‹ tåw prãjeiw grafÒntvn flstor€ai) in deliberative oratory, though here historia appears to refer to the empirical component of science, i.e. data collection (see n. 74 above). 87 See Poet. 1459a17-29, where Aristotle observes that apparent coincidences among past events are only circumstantial (…w ¶tuxen) and do not denote the kind of relationships that enable systematic knowledge of them. In other words, the perception of links among past events is due to the subjective position of the observer, rather to anything intrinsic about the events themselves. On this passage, see Fornara 1983, 9394, esp. n. 93 on an important emendation; an alternate reading is discussed by Weil 1960, 1963-73. 86

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the past and not others. In terms of the theoretical discussion above, this fact alone suggests the need to consider the function of these practices and concepts as a source of knowledge. In this case, incidentally, the question is perhaps not so much whether an affiliation with the sciences is appropriate or justifiable at all, but rather, on what other conditions historical writers might have established study of the past as a formal discipline. Given the direction of developments in lateClassical and Hellenistic intellectual culture, it is difficult to see how historians might have actually avoided the use of given methods. Aristotle’s critique, then, is to some extent to be set aside here because it represents such a minority view of what counts as history, to put it bluntly. We must still account for the fact, for example, that historians from Herodotus to Polybius continued to regard the past as a source of knowledge about human affairs of more or less universal applications, no matter at what level of theoretical detail they had worked this notion out. However, even accepting the reality of certain practices—i.e. that ancient historians make no fast distinction between history and other forms of science—there remains uncertainty over the nature and status of knowledge produced under these conditions. It is difficult to say, in other words, that fashioning historical inquiry on the model of other sciences may be identified with any real gains in knowledge of the past. This objection too, however, is largely irrelevant here—and even unfounded in certain respects. As for the question regarding whether the sciences actually aided more truthful representation of the past, of course they did not. Yet leaving that issue aside, it is helpful to recognize that as a set of activities for providing access to an essentially irretrievable past, formal study of history is necessarily constrained by the need to accomplish this task as a matter of discursive reconstruction. As I have discussed in the Introduction, prose histories are thus not fundamentally different from the various other discursive activities through which the Greeks made sense of their historical traditions, such as in myth or song, or in other public and sacred contexts. In this case, the significance of affiliations with the sciences is essentially a matter

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of distinguishing prose history from these various other sources of historical knowledge. At the same time, however, the techniques and conceptual points employed in enforcing this distinction will have disposed representation of the past in specific ways. Thus, though there is little reason to regard the methodological adjustments in Herodotus’ or Thucydides’ work as components in a more objectively valid approach to the past, it is important to recognize that they will have created noteworthy formal provisions for the reconstruction of past evens. For example, whatever we might think of Thucydides’ use of logical proof and arguments from probability in his account of early Greece, it is clear that the availability of such resources, and especially their great currency in the context of fifth-century Athenian intellectual culture, will entailed new conditions for the interpretation of traditional material.88 Similar observations may be made of use of generational reckoning to configure the chronology of the remote past, or rational methods of calibrating genealogical data to resolve inconsistencies in the Greeks’ diverse (and confusing) mythic traditions. All of these cases exemplify how representation of the shaped and ordered through the intercession of specific technical innovations. In so far as this framework is associated with general developments in scientific rationalism, practical affiliations with the sciences are epistemologically significant themselves, as knowledge of the past comes to be defined in relation to the technical or discursive resources generated in the context of scientific culture as a whole. Viewed from this perspective, the relevant question then concerns not whether the sciences aid

Thucydides’ account of the early history of Greece, often referred to as the ‘archaeologia’, is based largely on the notion that “demonstrative proofs” (tekµÆria) and “indications” (shµe€a) may be adduced to endow representations of the past with greater authority, i.e. than accounts appearing in sources like poetry, for example (i.3.1, 3, 6.2, 9.4, 10.1, 20.1, 21.1; cf. ii.1.2, 15.4); also used this way in the archaeologia is µartÊrion (“testimony”, “proof”) (i.8.1). None of these terms denotes proof in the rigorous sense, incidentally, but rather refer to the indications on which a reasonable account of the past may be based. The language is drawn directly from forensic discourse, but more importantly, what we see is that engagement with this set of techniques provides a more concrete basis for distinguishing the account from traditional perspectives of early Greece, which do not meet the same standard of reliability. On Thucydides’ use of tekmêria and formal demonstrative features in the archaeologia, see Gomme 1945, 13536; Connor 1987, 27-28; Nicolai 2001; and especially Ginzburg 1999, 38-53, esp. 44-47, who discusses the impact of forensic concepts in constructions of historical knowledge. 88

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historians in this pursuit or whether the latter are thus afforded a better understanding of things as they actually were, so to speak, but rather what image of the past is reinforced by investments in the principles of scientific rationalism. It would not disqualify historical writing as a source of knowledge about the past, in other words, simply because it did not meet certain standards of legitimacy (whether Aristotle’s or our own). In more pragmatic terms, the distinctions enforced by certain prose writers with traditional sources of historical knowledge will in certain cases have had significant effects upon perception of the past. What I wish to suggest then is that developments in the concept of a more scientific form of history are to be associated with the appearance of special conditions for historical knowledge. There are two parts to this proposal. On the one hand, rationalism imposes special constraints upon representation of the past, which are enforced through accommodation of its core principles on the part of historical thinkers themselves. Henceforth, the authority of literary reconstructions of the past comes to be defined increasingly in terms of discursive tendencies already recognized in the scientific tradition, such as through the adoption of causal structure, for example, or maintaining goals technical instruction for present and future endeavors. On the other hand, new conditions for knowledge are also expressed in terms of adversative framing with other forms of engagement with the past. The development of history as a discipline necessarily entails the invalidation of alternate sources of historical knowledge, such as in poetry, ritual, etc., which are not so much less truthful in relation to the new disciplinary context, as they are simply less legitimate. The fringe status attributed to these discourses signifies important shifts in the sources of authority for historical knowledge, but their exclusion in this way also reflects an important part of how legitimacy in constructed in the historical field, in which status must be maintained through ongoing strategies of differentiation.

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In all, the notion ‘scientific history’ apparently requires redefinition, as it must be possible to accept practical affiliations between history and the sciences in accordance with a fairer understanding of what it means to be scientific. As is hopefully clear by now, since there is little use in enforcing a view of science as a set of institutions providing unmediated access to the reality of the external world, it is equally unnecessary to enforce the same view upon the historical discipline in respect of knowledge of the past. Like other forms of scientific inquiry, it too is to be understood primarily as an institutional context for producing knowledge under characteristically local conditions. It is perhaps in this respect the category of science most applies to formal study of the past. What I wish to suggest is that we may understand history in relation to the sciences without exaggerating the function of historical writing as a source of knowledge about the past, while at the same time avoiding emptying the category of science of relevant meaning. It is from this perspective I examine Polybius’ writing, which is itself, as I mentioned, characterized by concern for what might be called a more scientific form of historical reporting. While this aspect of Polybius’ writing might signify many things, such as matters of intellectual taste or the rhetorical nature of ancient literary practices in general, what I hope is clear by this point, the effort to assimilate current approaches to science is also to be understood in more substantial relation to the foundations of historical understanding.89 To an extent, this is no more

See, e.g., Vercruysse 1990, 34-35, who describes features of Polybius’ writing largely as an effort to obtain prestige in the eyes of a particular readership. This assessment of Polybius’ writing of course links it to broader issues regarding the relation between history and rhetoric. Now whatever the resolution for that set of problems, it should be clear that even if affiliations with the sciences do play a largely (merely?) rhetorical function in historical writing, it is still possible to see that adjustments to historical representation made only for rhetorical purposes still entail change in the way the past is perceived. On this view of the productive function of rhetoric in the sciences, see n. 23 above. Needless to say, the relationship between rhetoric and history in antiquity forms a large subject. Critiques of ancient historiography’s rhetorical dimensions usually follow Woodman 1988, though more recent work, following Momigliano 1981, focuses on the productive aspects of this relationship, including the epistemic function of rhetoric, and especially the openness of ancient historians in general to the use of rhetorical techniques; cf. Ginsburg 1999, 38-53; Fox and Livingston 2010; for a useful summary of these issues, see Marincola 2000, 3-8. 89

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than a matter of how affiliations with the sciences form the basis for more general efforts to distinguish historical writing as a special source of knowledge about the past, such as are exemplified in Herodotus’ and Thucydides’ writing. Yet in Polybius, affiliations of this kind are expressed much more formally, and in this respect, the use of certain models of scientific description and explanation in the context of history forms a source of even more rigid separation from other sources of historical knowledge. Yet this means more stringent limitations for how historical events are understood well. In the discussion ahead, I address this subject in the terms of how Polybius constructs his approach on the basis of fairly explicit links with contemporary science, which provide the framework, understood as a set of distinctive practical and conceptual models, for aligning history more closely with the ideals and expectations of Hellenistic intellectual culture. Of course this aspect of the Histories may be understood in relation to ordinary concerns for intellectual authority in the historical field, and in this respect, the work reflects basic concerns for methodological issues that appear throughout the development ancient historical writing, but this set of concerns is itself to be understood in relation to the influence of certain cultural factors governing the formation of Hellenistic intellectual life. On this view, the Histories thus provides a important example of how historical thinking is shaped by regulating influences expressed more broadly in the context of Hellenistic rationalism. Ultimately, in their extended implications, affiliations with the science are especially important for understanding the role of rationalist thought in shaping the certain dominant views of the Hellenistic and Mediterranean historiographical traditions.

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CHAPTER 2: SETTING LIMITS PragµatikØ flstor€a AND THE ORDER OF POLITICAL HISTORY

In the previous chapter I considered the relationship between historical writing and other forms of science in Classical period, pointing out that despite problems associated with the notion of scientific history, links with the sciences form an important part of the development of the historical field in Greek culture. In particular, we observe the influence of specific trends in the emergence of scientific rationalism, notably in the natural sciences, in which specific practices and concepts provide the basis for a more serious approach to history. The work of Herodotus and Thucydides reveals efforts to incorporate more stringent standards of proof and demonstration, for example, or rational models of causal explanation, which thus allows for a more concrete distinction from traditional sources of historical knowledge, such as myth, poetry and similar discourses. More specifically, this set of developments is to be understood in relation to social and cultural factors governing the formation of intellectual culture, which denote a more or less steady process of regularization in the practical and conceptual framework of science. Progress in the notion of a more serious form of history is thus to be understood largely as an expression of the authority of that particular cultural regime. Consequently, while on one view affiliations with the sciences reflect the elective use of certain tools of description and analysis (e.g., for the purposes of acquiring prestige for study of the past), it is necessary to recognize that there exists a more basic dependency between history and contemporary science, in the sense that is in principle only from the authority of the rational tradition that innovation in the historical field at this time acquires the meaning and importance for the subsequent historiographical tradition that it does. In this chapter and the next, I examine Polybius’ own relationship with the sciences, considering how the methods and principles employed in his own approach to history are be

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linked with conceptions of knowledge in other areas of rational inquiry. Here I begin with the concept of pragµatikØ flstor€a, which denotes a formal approach to study of the past based on current methods in the practical sciences. In particular, this aspect of the Histories is directed at elucidating the workings of the political and military sphere, and involves the use special techniques and standards of interpretation, derived from the practical sciences, for providing a useful resource for the statesman and general. Chapter 3 examines the notion of universal history, which also forms part of Polybius’ concern for practical knowledge, though more specifically, the concept involve the historian’s attempt to organize a comprehensive description of the events leading up Roman domination of the Mediterranean in the middle of the second century. As is well known, the Histories extends coverage to an immense field of developments, which despite being limited to the central theme of Roman expansion, nonetheless incorporates description of events over “nearly the whole inhabited world”, as it is put in the main Preface to the work (i.1.5). The basis for this scheme is also derived from other areas of scientific discourse, notably certain models of rational analysis employed in the natural sciences. Taken together, the concepts of pragmatikê historia and universal history form the basis for a special technical approach to study of the past, which is not only conducive to making formal distinctions from other prose histories, but also denotes a view of history, both in underlying methods and conceptual orientation, that is more consistent with prevailing conceptions of the nature and scope of speculative thought. Adjustments signaled by this pair of concepts thus provide the foundations for enlarging the status of the historical field in a number of significant ways. Yet at the same, though pragmatikê historia and universal history are ostensibly associated with progress, each entails noteworthy constraints for the perception of past events. Efforts to assimilate other scientific discourse introduce special formal requirements for interpretation of the past events, for example, and in this case, though rational models of description and analysis render history more consistent with the sciences, they

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inevitably entail new provisions for what it means to know past, for example, or what kinds of historical understanding are worthwhile. Thus in what is surely an interesting paradox in Polybius’ approach, adjustments meant to enlarge the explanatory capacities of historical writing, actually entail a narrower conception of historical understanding, and ultimately place significant restrictions on the field as a institution of knowledge. As for pragmatikê historia more specifically, the concepts denotes restrictions in content primarily. While a precise meaning for the expression has been a subject of debate, it is clear that it refers on a literal level at least to the content of the Histories, “a history of prãgµata”, as it were, or a history of “issues”, “affairs”, or “facts” on the most literal meaning of pragmata.90 While this rendering is not illuminating on its own, by extension, we arrive at something like “a history of political affairs”, and hence, the popular translation “political and military history”.91 In this respect, pragmatikê historia denotes an effort to distinguish the Histories from the other accounts not expressly devoted to that sphere of activity, such surveys of genealogical material or accounts of colonial activity, both of which represent popular forms of history in the Hellenistic era. Yet in practice, the concept also involves special standards of historical interpretation, which are oriented, as I mentioned, around the objective of providing practical instruction for the statesman. Limits on content denoted by the expression thus also imply a more or less formal understanding of kinds of coverage appropriate to making sense of the political and military sphere, and especially the appropriate means of interpretation. This of course represents a

The expression is unusual for the second century, perhaps Polybius’ own coinage; see Gelzer 1982 [1955], 280; cf. Pédech 1964, 23; Walbank 2002, 6. Literally, the adjective pragµatikÒw must denote the content of flstor€a, where -ik suffix of the modifier limits in the sense of “pertaining to” or “having to with”. For the interpretation of pragmatikê historia as referring to the contents of the work, see Walbank inter alia 1945, 15-17; Pédech 1964, 25-26, Mohm 1977, 22; the view goes back originally to Scheighäuser 1792 v, 127, who discusses the adjective pragµatikÒw in other contexts where it refers to subject matter, and later, Strachan-Davidson 1888, 1-5. Except where indicated otherwise, all translations of Polybius in this chapter are those of Paton’s Loeb edition (1922-27); all other translations are indicated as appropriate. 91 For “political and military history”, also a long-standing view, see, e.g., Walbank 1945, 16; Comm. i, 8 n. 6, 42; 1972, 56 n. 148; 2002, 7; Pédech 1964, 26; Petzold 1969, 2-3; Sacks 1981, 180; Weil 1982, a1. 90

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significant restriction on the subjects of interest appearing in conventional histories, which typically cover a multitude of concerns, such as ethnography, geography and many other matters not directly related to the domain of politics. Viewed from this perspective, Polybius’ emphasis on the importance of pragmatikê historia implies at best a selective understanding of the historical field. Yet at worst it indicates an inherently normative view of historical knowledge, which is to be associated ultimately with significant limits for history’s function as an institution of learning.92 The difficulty with this point perhaps lies in the fact that the unique importance of political historiography is often taken for granted, both in ancient and modern perspectives, but on an absolute view of what study of the past might entail, it is necessary to recognize that pragmatikê historia involves an especially restrictive view of the means and form of understanding the past, especially in relation to other conventions in the historical field, which seem to have regarded the prospect of knowledge of the past from the perspective of a much more inclusive understanding of the social world. Thus, even if it appears conventional by some standards, the notion of political history is in a sense already invested, so to speak, in a given way of ordering historical experience. Here I examine how Polybius validates this view of history in relation to similar hierarchies in the sciences. This task involves four sets of considerations. In Section I of this chapter, I consider the notion of pragmatikê historia in relation the general patterns of intellectual rivalry in the historical field, suggesting that the effort to distinguish political history is grounded in largely routine concerns for enhancing prestige and intellectual

In short, despite efforts to see a dominant role for the influence of Thucydides upon subsequent generations (e.g., Strasburger 1966, 57-58), the Athenian historian was something of an eccentric figure in a Hellenistic tradition characterized by broad interests in ethnography, geography, mythography, et al.; see Murray 1972; cf. 1968. Important qualifications to this view appear in Hornblower 1995, with useful bibliography; cf. sources cited by Marincola 2001, 103 n. 194. On a related note, links between Polybius and Thucydides are therefore not a strong indication of mainstream interests in historical practices; if anything the forcefulness of Polybius’ insistence on the importance of political history (e.g., ix.1-2; discussed further below) is itself an indication that such closely focused work of this kind was not the common practice. On Polybius’ links with Thucydides, see Walbank 1972, 40-43; Sacks 1981, 186 n. 35; Hornblower 1994b, 60-61. 92

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authority. This set of factors underlies more or less the entire approach in the Histories, and I shall be referring back to it frequently in subsequent parts of this dissertation. In regard to the notion of pragmatikê historia, Polybius’ contentiousness is directed primarily at traditional sources of historical authority, such as genealogical writing and colonial histories, which are both known to have occupied an important place in the Hellenistic historical tradition, both in public and private contexts. In Section II, I consider Polybius’ efforts to discredit and supplant these competing discourses from specifying more stringent standards of historical method, notably based on models of knowledge and explanation employed in the practical sciences. As mentioned, this involves articulation of special frames for analysis denote the restrictions in content that characterize pragmatikê historia, as well as the special interpretive procedures for making sense of this subject matter. In particular, this set of specifications relies on provisions for knowledge formulated in contemporary epistemological debates, which from application in the context of history, provide narrower conditions for legitimacy for the different ways of describing the past. The point is especially noteworthy in view of how the historical knowledge, and especially the knowability of the remote past, are already significantly problematized by ancient writers. Thus though pragmatikê historia may be aligned neatly with traditional distinctions between, say, history and myth—i.e. in the way the concept is opposed to the genealogical and colonial traditions, which are among the most prominent exponents of myth in the Hellenistic tradition—given its relationship to the specialized interests of contemporary science, the concept implies an even more stringent view of the proper domain of history. In all, pragmatikê historia denotes an attempt to specialize history in relation to the special interests of cultural elites, for whom greater political involvement and greater access to the resources made available by the current intellectual regime imply special expectations for history as well. In Section III, I extend this interpretation by considering the means of validation for

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Polybius’ approach. Though pragmatikê historia involves an unconventionally narrow view of the historical domain, support comes in the way Polybius situates his approach in relation to the special claims to expertise characterizing contemporary elite culture. By formulating a special methodology based on skills acquired the context of political leadership, Polybius establishes a new definition of history that not only validates normative views regarding the unique importance of political history—along with the positive exclusion other forms of historical understanding incidentally—but provides the basis for extending and reinforcing elite claims to knowledge of the past. The significance of pragmatikê historia thus far exceeds the mere distinction in content, but denotes an effort to substantiate proprietary concerns for the past that generally characterize elite culture in ancient Greece. In Section IV, I consider the ramifications of this approach for the production and organization of historical knowledge. As restrictions implied by pragmatikê historia exceed merely arbitrary limits in content, and involve normative views of the nature and scope of historical understanding, the concept of pragmatikê historia is ultimately to be associated with significant constraints for perception of the past. That study of the past might be based on such a narrow view of the domain of inquiry implies obvious limitations on its own of course. Yet in the specific terms in which Polybius formulates his approach, we observe the basis for even more stringent limitations on perception of the past. In particular, it is the use of certain fixed analytical categories, which though useful for understanding the particular events of history, form an impediment to understanding of the political domain in a genuinely historical framework. In this respect, the notion of pragmatikê historia ultimately fosters essentializing views of Mediterranean political culture, an issue that is useful for understanding not only particular conditions for the formation of Hellenistic political ideology, but also, in a generic sense, the relationship between the institutions of Hellenistic intellectual culture and the construction of conditions for political

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community in the Mediterranean world. The nature of this relationship in fact represents a major theme of this dissertation, and here I lay the groundwork for the subsequent discussions of the link between intellectual production and political subjectivity in the remaining two chapters. Before going on it is necessary to address an important terminological issue. While the expression pragmatikê historia has been the subject of considerable discussion in modern accounts, establishing a precise definition has been difficult.93 Polybius himself nowhere attempts to provide such a thing, and references in the Histories are generally circumstantial or occur in fragmentary passages. Each of the various modern translations one finds (e.g., “serious history”, “systematic history”, “contemporary history”) surely conveys part of Polybius’ intended meaning, but is also ultimately incomplete. The most convenient (and perhaps most common) translation, ‘pragmatic history’ (cf. histoire pragmatique, pragmatische Geschichte) is especially problematic, as it focused too narrowly on the didactic function of history, without incorporating the specifications in content and method also implied by the expression.94 It is true that Polybius’ standpoint as a historian might be described as ‘pragmatic’, but it is clear that ancient historians typically viewed their work as a source of lessons, and in this case, it is not clear what additional qualification the adjective

Here I do not attempt to treat the range of scholarship on the subject. Useful surveys appear in Pédech 1964, 1-32 (major interpretations from Casaubon 1609 to Gelzer 1982 [1955]) and Walbank 2002, 6-7; for a consolidated bibliography see Beister 1995, 329 n. 1. 94 The translation “pragmatic history” appears frequently, both in the works devoted to Polybius exclusively (e.g., Ziegler 1952, coll. 1519-21; Gelzer 1982 [1955]; Petzold 1969; Pédech 1964; Meister 1975; Sacks 1981; Meissner 1986; Beister 1995), and in studies devoted to history and historiography more generally (e.g., Fornara 1983, 112 n. 31; Meister 1990, 160-1; Luce 1997, 128; Marincola 2001, 122-6; AlonsoNúñez 2002, 80). Even Walbank, who avoids its usage (see n. 3 above), has adopted the translation in at least one recent publication (2002, 6-7), a bibliographical essay, which is perhaps an important indication of its currency. (Incidentally, the phrase appears in the glossary of the volume in which that essay appears as well.) The view that pragmatikê historia literally denotes a history aimed at practical instruction (e.g., i.35.9; ix.2.4) goes back at least to Isaac Casaubon’s 1609 edition the Histories and has been followed in some form or other by many (e.g., Reiske 1763; de Vries 1843; Gelzer 1982 [1955]; Petzold 1969; Beister 1995), each differing in his understanding of the didactic element implied by the expression. References to the usefulness of history are ubiquitous in Polybius’ writing: e.g., i.1.2; ii.35.5-10; iii.21.9-10, 118.12; vii.2.2; cf. ii.56.10, v.75.1-6, xii.25g; xv.21.3-8; xviii.15.15-7, xxxix.8.7; cf. Walbank Comm. i, 7; Sacks 1981, 122-43. A comprehensive treatment of the didactic element of Polybius’ historical writing is Meissner 1986. 93

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pragmatikos might add.95 I have therefore deliberately left pragmatikê historia in the Greek in order to the avoid difficulties posed by any of its individual English translations. It is best to take pragmatikê historia on its literal meaning, as a set of restrictions in content, though this meaning is ultimately to be qualified in respect of Polybius’ view of history as a source of technical instruction.

Knowledge or entertainment: historical writing and the contest over knowledge of the past The clearest description of pragmatikê historia in the Histories comes in a fragment from the preface to Book 9, in which Polybius identifies the work as an account of “the affairs of peoples, cities and monarchs” (tåw prãjeiw t«n §yn«n ka‹ pÒlevn ka‹ dunast«n).96 Now the latter expression is significant in its own right, as it denotes important assumptions regarding the political topography of the Mediterranean, and I will come back to that subject in Section IV.97 Yet of more immediate concern is how this definition supports generic distinctions introduced in association with pragmatikê historia. The fragment in question in fact comes from a discussion in the Histories concerning the objectives of historical research and writing, which Polybius defines in terms of the interests of different kinds of readership (ix.1-2). His own writing, he says, will be of limited interest to the general audience, for its subject matter is highly selective, and the work in fact excludes much of the material to be found in other kinds of history, such as stories of heroes, epic journeys, and city foundations, and all the other things that typically appear in popular accounts

As Walbank 1945, 15-17, has pointed out, though the Histories is patently didactic in purpose, didacticism is not actually fundamental to Polybius’ conception of pragmatikê historia; cf. id. 1972, 56 n. 148. It is to be taken for granted, for example, that ancient authors and audiences viewed their literature, and history in particular, as a source of lessons. Interpretations of pragmatikê historia concentrating upon a didactic element do not really explain why Polybius would have considered the category so distinctive. See Pédech 1964, 301, who discusses didacticism in historical writing in authors from Thucydides to Theophylactus in the seventh century C.E. 96 ix.1.4; more specifically, this content area constitutes the pragµatikÚw trÒpow or ‘pragmatic’ branch of historical writing (2.4). On the position of this fragment from Book 9, see Walbank Comm. ii, 8, 261. 97 On the phrase ¶ynh ka‹ pÒleiw ka‹ dunãstai in official contexts, see further discussion pp. 47-50 below. 95

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of the past. In making this point, Polybius formulates a three-way distinction, separating the historical field into: (i) “the genealogical branch” (ı genealogikÚw trÒpow) focused on the study of heroic and aristocratic lineages; (ii) “the branch concerning colonies, city foundations and ties of kinship” (ı [trÒpow] per‹ tåw époik€aw ka‹ kt€seiw ka‹ suggene€aw), which examines colonial activity going back as far as the Trojan-War era (henceforth simply ‘colonial history’ or ktiseis, to use the customary ancient term): and lastly, (iii) the historian’s own area of historical research, pragmatikê historia, which concerns political and military affairs. Each genre, he says, attracts a different kind of reader (ix.1.3-5). For genealogies, it is only the “casual reader” (filÆkoow) or the reader seeking simple entertainment that seeks out this kind of writing.98 Yet on the other hand, accounts of colonization attract a reader of more serious intellectual concern, ı poluprãgµvn ka‹ perittÒw, as Polybius says, which appears to denote something like the antiquarian scholar.99

Finally, pragmatikê historia appeals to the politikÒw, which refers to the “statesman” essentially, though this apparently includes the lay student of politics as well.100 Whichever the case, by this

ix.2.1; for the translation “casual reader”, see Walbank Comm. ii, 116, citing LSJ s.v. (“fond of hearing”), and Paton rendering “fond of a story”. In Polybius, the philêkoos is distinguishable primarily for deriving pleasure (≤dÊ) from historical writing; e.g., vii.7.8, with Walbank Comm. ii, 41; cf. xi.19a.2 (toÁw ékoÊontaw). For the association of genealogical writing with pleasure and entertainment, see Plat. Hp. Ma. 285d, discussed p. 22 below. 99 While the expression does not lend itself to a single, convenient translation, it must refer, by hendiadys, to a reader characterized by a more studiousness and concern for obscure facts about the past, “the curious lover of recondite lore” (Paton) or the antiquarian scholar, in the modern sense of the expression, where it is opposed to the historian proper. On the translation of poluprãgµvn ka‹ perittÒw, see Walbank Comm. ii, 117 (“the man with antiquarian interests”) and especially Beister 1995, 340-1 with nn. (“Forscher und Gelehrter”, i.e. “researcher and scholar”). On the distinctions between the antiquarian and the historian proper, ancient and modern, see Momigliano 1950. 100 For politikos as student of history in addition to the statesman proper, see Ziegler 1952, col. 1519; Beister 1995, 341-42; contra Walbank 1972, 56 n. 146. The distinction is minor here; Polybius saw his work as contributing to body of practical knowledge for use in political and military applications, which I discuss pp. 27-28 below. Often linked to the politikos as part of the readership of pragmatikê historia is the filoµay≈n, the lay student of history essentially, who is also distinguishable for a more serious interest in historical knowledge, in particular for its practical applications (e.g., i.13.9, 65.9; xi.19a.2; vii.7.8). Terminology Polybius uses for the readership of pragmatikê historia is often varied: e.g., politeuÒµenoi, praktiko€, pragµatiko€, as well as serious students (filoµayoËntew), interested in the practical uses of history (e.g., iii.21.9-10, 118.12; with Walbank Comm. i, 337). On Polybius’ understanding of readership of pragmatikê 98

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scheme the typical reader of pragmatikê historia is defined in terms of a specitic set of activities: direction and administration of the state. These distinctions are not merely descriptive, but in fact indicate a thoroughly hierarchical view of historical research. Genealogies and colonial histories, for instance, are distinguishable in terms of the intellectual seriousness of their respective readers. While the former are described primarily as a source of entertainment, the latter are associated with more serious objectives of historical learning. Elsewhere Polybius praises writers of ktiseis for their erudition, for example, and says that these works often show great precision and rigor in reconstruction of past events.101 The colonial genre is thus defined by a higher order of concern than may be attributed to genealogies. Yet the meticulousness of such works had its limits, and Polybius in fact observes a fine line between concern for detail and mere pedantry.102 The expression polypragmôn kai perittos thus functions primarily in a pejorative sense, suggesting the tediousness and immoderate concern for detail that accompanies accounts of this kind, rather than genuine concern for historical understanding.103 As for pragmatikê historia, the operative distinction does not reflect these considerations, but rather the application of knowledge of the past in specific practical functions, notably in the context of directing political and military affairs. For Polybius this branch of history is “the most useful of all” (pãntvn »feliµ≈taton: ix.2.5) and is on its own the only source of any genuine practical

historia and of the various kinds of readers of history more generally, see Walbank, Comm. i, 6-8; Petzold 1969, 4-5; Mohm 1977, 161-67; and especially the illuminating discussion of Beister 1995, 339-43. 101 x.21.3, referring the technique of épÒdeijiw (“deductive proof”), employed in establishing incontrovertibility in a formal logical sense. A useful discussion of the apodeixis in the scientific-philosophical tradition and its function in the Histories, including the expression épodeiktikØ flstor€a (“apodeictic history”), is Pédech 1964, 43-53, with important qualifications in Sacks 1981, 171-76. 102 In other passages, ktiseis are associated with excessive displays of learning. While authors of ktiseis were admirable for their use of formal techniques, such as in apodeixis (see n. 13 above on x.21.3), Polybius says they go overboard at times, as in the case of Timaeus of Tauromenium (see pp. 33-43 below), whose writing, he says, is often overzealous and misconceived in the use of special concepts (xii.26d.1-3); see further Beister 1995, 341. 103 LSJ s.v. poluprãgµvn 2; it is in this sense that ktiseis might be regarded more along the lines of antiquarianism in the modern sense of the term; see n. 11 above.

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benefit (»f°leia); the other two provide only enjoyment (t°rciw).104 Ultimately this characterization expresses an attempt to situate pragmatikê historia among certain technical interests in the sciences, and I will return to this issue more specifically below. Yet what matters for the moment, is that whereas pragmatikê historia is distinguished by practical function, Polybius seems to take for granted that genealogies and colonial histories have none—or at least none comparable. In this case, we see that observations concerning the different appeal of genealogies, ktiseis and pragmatikê historia are not exactly parallel, for while the first two are related to intellectual merit (or lack thereof rather), the last concerns applied use. Consequently, the scheme separates genealogies and ktiseis as a single category, which produces a dichotomous order, rather than one that is more broadly hierarchical.105 Yet more to point, the tripartite division does not simply provide justification for the content for the Histories, but rather involves a claim concerning the historical discipline itself, namely, that its essential function is to provide practical knowledge for political and military leadership. There are surely a number of problems with the scheme as a whole. There is the obvious tautology in Polybius’ notion of ‘practical benefit’, for example, as this value is apparently already defined in relation to the concerns of political administration. Moreover, it is not clear why accounts of colonization and the like are excluded from the domain of political affairs. Nor is it clear why genealogies and colonial histories are reduced so categorically to the status of mere entertainment. Now the last consideration is perhaps less problematic, as heroic journeys and the foundation of cities indeed form common themes in popular performance contexts.106 Yet this characterization need not apply to all accounts of this kind, for in fact, as we shall see below, ix.2.6. Polybius appears to be expressing himself elliptically here, as he has now lumped colonial histories along with genealogies as merely a form of entertainment, but the point is clear enough: pragmatikê historia has unique practical applications. 105 Beister 1995, 344-45, goes as far as to call pragmatikê historia an ideal (“Idealtyp”) against which all other forms may be considered deviations. 106 This is presumably what Polybius has in mind in referring to genealogies and ktiseis as simply µÊyoi (“stories”) in this passage; ix.2.1. 104

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genealogies and ktiseis form a subject of serious study in their own right. If anything, the level of insistence in Polybius’ remarks here suggests that genealogies and ktiseis are not in fact such marginal pursuits. In this case, the tripartite division of the genres denotes what is essentially a rhetorical construction, and as such apparently corresponds with existing social hierarchies, in which the superiority of political affairs is defined principally in relation to the special interests of a particular group of stakeholders, namely, the political leadership of Greek cities. What is interesting is how Polybius validates this view by situating pragmatikê historia in relation to other, more authoritative practices in the sciences, and in this respect, the main concern is not really the validity of this characterization itself, but rather the means by which Polybius formulates this set of relationships. As already suggested, legitimacy in the sciences is frequently a matter of establishing a niche rhetorically, particularly separating one’s work from competing sources of authority. Pragmatikê historia is essentially an institution of this kind. The same maneuver appears in Thucydides, who famously distinguished his writing from the ég≈nisµa or entertaining displays of rhetorical competitions.107 As I discussed in Chapter 1, distinctions of this kind are not restricted to history, but may be observed broadly among scientific thinkers in antiquity.108 They are not for this reason to be taken for granted as essential features of intellectual institutions. On the contrary, the boundaries separating different areas of intellectual activity are often the result of deliberate efforts to demarcate and establish order. With that in mind, let us consider Polybius’ engagement with the genealogical and colonial branches of history in greater detail, concentrating in particular on the way representation of this pair of activities effectively conceals their common function in conventional representations of the past.

i.22.4; the Athenian historian’s insistence that he had produced “a possession for all time” (kt∞µa §w afie€) is thus analogous to Polybius’ own emphasis on “practical usefulness” (»f°leia: e.g., ix.2.6). Polybius actually introduces the same distinction with agônisma iii.31.12-13, a passage taken by Walbank Comm. i, 359, to refer directly to Thucydides. 108 See sources cited n. 6 above. 107

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By the phrase genealogikos tropos Polybius refers to the many studies of heroic lineages popular in the historical tradition more or less since the advent of historical prose. For writers of genealogiai (to use the common ancient term) study of the past is directed at understanding the nexus of family relations linking the figures of song and legend, especially those appearing in the Homeric epics.109 In some cases, the genealogical tradition is distinguished by concerns for rationalizing the stories appearing in this set of traditions, in particular by explaining or eliminating their many fantastic and incredible features.110 Yet this view reflects a narrow understanding of the notion of rationalism governing this area of study, for from what can be told from surviving parts of ancient genealogies, the main concern of writers in this field was with problems of inconsistency, notably stemming from the project of integrating data obtained from diverse and highly localized mythic traditions. Such is the case with the genealogist Hecataeus of Miletus, whose signature observation that “the stories of the Greeks are many and ridiculous (pollo€ te ka‹ gelo›oi)” provides the perfect illustration of this issue. The operative word is pollo€, in the sense of ‘inconsistent’, or by hendiadys with gelo›oi, “ridiculously inconsistent”.111

The same perspective shows up in the first-century writer Diodorus of Siculus, who regards the In addition to the Genealogiai of Hecataeus of Miletus (FGH 1), we know of at least two others those of Acusilaus of Argos (FGH 2) and Simonides of Ceos (FGH 8). Other comparable titles are known: e.g., Genealogy of the Greeks and Barbarians who Fought at Troy (Polus, FGH 7 T1), perhaps confused with Damastes’ On the ancestors of those who fought at Troy (FGH 5 T1, with Komm., 476); Herologia (Anaximander FGH 9 F1). On the historical development of genealogical writing, see Jacoby 1912; 1947; Pearson 1939, 96-106; Bickerman 1952; Fornara 1983, 4-12; Thomas 1989, 155-95; Hartog 1990; Hall 1997, 40-65; Bertelli 2001. The present discussion owes much to these accounts. 110 It is an older view of that the genealogist Hecataeus’ was characteristically rationalist in the sense that it was aimed at eradicating the miraculous elements from myth; e.g., Bury 1909, 13-8; Jacoby 1912, 2667ff; Momigliano 1931b. The position is not widely accepted now; see further below. So Jacoby saw genealogy, along with mythography, as the initial stage in the development of a historiographical tradition. The pair constituted the first ‘sub-genre’ of historical writing and fragments from genealogical writers therefore occupy the first section of his Fragmente der griechischen Historiker. For Jacoby’s conception of the generic development of Greek historiography, see especially his 1909 article. Recent discussion of Jacoby, along with important criticisms are Fornara 1983, 1-4; Murray 1996; Schepens 1997; Clarke 1999a, 59-65; Luraghi 2001a; Marincola 2001, 1-3. 111 FGH 1, F1a; on the meaning of pollo€ see Nenci 1954, xxv; cf. Fornara 1983, 5 n. 10. For this interpretation of Hecataeus, see Pearson 1939, 96-106; cf. Fornara 1983, 5-6; Fowler 1996, 71-2, and especially Bertelli 2001, 76-89, with nn. 24-5 for bibliographical references going back to Meyer 1892 i, 153-88. 109

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problem of genealogy similarly as one of consistency—he does not mention fantastic or incredible events at all.112 This is important because of the tendency to link genealogical writing to myth, in the sense that the former consists mainly of fantastic stories about the past, which are then not difficult to dismiss as a spurious form of history. In fact, the fantastic components of Greek myths do not seem to have bothered genealogical writers, who continued to include them, even as they sought to situate the stories within a more rational context.113 It was only later writers, like Polybius, who describe genealogies as mythoi in a pejorative sense.114 Surely genealogists did not regard themselves as writers of myth. In fact, they presumably considered their writing to be a legitimate source of knowledge about the past, especially by comparison with the raw data they derived from the poetic tradition. By integrating separate traditions and removing inconsistencies, genealogists were able to produce a historical framework of considerably greater rational merit.115 Genealogiai thus presumably indicated substantial progress beyond representations of the past in

iv.1.1, trans. Oldfather: “the variety and multitude of the heroes, demi-gods, and men in general whose genealogies must be set down make their recital a difficult thing to achieve”. 113 Fowler 1999, 71-2. 114 For Asclepiades of Myrleia (2nd /1st cen.) genealogy is no more than false (ceudÆw) or mythical (µuyikÆ) history (S.E., M. 1.252-3). With him mythos takes on the sense of concerning the impossible more formally, in the sense of contrary to nature, a more typical meaning for Hellenistic writers and certainly closer to modern usages of the term ‘myth’: Blank 1998, 269; cf. Walbank 1960, 226: mythic aspects in the looser sense of the world might be considered genuinely historical so long as they were physically possible. Most important here, this represents a marked change from the classical period—e.g., Thucydides’ tÚ µuy«dew (i.22.4), which refers to sensationalism and patriotic bias (Flory 1990, 193-94; Hornblower 1991 i, 61)—as we are able to see the role of formal specifications in establishing a new concept of mythos (i.e. in the modern sense). I discuss the discursive bases of the category of mythos pp. 21-22 below. 115 The rationalism of Hecataeus and his relationship the Ionian tradition, has been much discussed (e.g., Bury 1909, 13-8; Jacoby 1912, 267-67; Momigliano 1931b), though see especially sources cited n. 111 above, which emphasis the historian’ engagement with the material as a means of constructing sounder accounts of the past, where ‘sounder’ does not imply simply the elimination of the fantastic elements of myths and oral tradition, but rather the articulation of systemic accounts of the past, free of incongruities, capable of plotting chronology, etc.; see, e.g., the depiction of Hecataeus appearing in Herodotus (ii.143=F300). The use of this material for constructing more rigorous chronologies represents a major part of the genealogical tradition; see Mazzarino 1966, ii, 412-61. Though many scholars focus on the problems with this technique of chronology (e.g., Pearson 1942, 9-12; Prakken 1943; de Boer 1954; Miller 1955; Henige 1974), it is clear that this practice represents a major development in terms what can be done with the abundance of data available to ancient historical thinkers; cf. Mosshammer 1979, 101-11 who emphasizes the importance of not imposing modern standards of accuracy in interpreting this set of practices. 112

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the traditional venues of poetry and song. In any event, the relevant point is that while this area of history enjoyed considerable popularity as a form of entertainment, it is difficult to see it as merely that. As is well known, genealogical accounts played an important role in supporting aristocratic claims of legitimacy, and thus provided an important source of social order for Greek communities at the local and regional levels alike.116 Through this function, then, heroic and divine lineages apparently played a crucial role in shaping historical sensibilities, especially in certain public contexts, where on occasion they surely provided the only source of knowledge about the past. As writers improved technical control and gained awareness of the social and cultural applications of their field, this meant the possibility of stronger differentiation from myth and song, and for Greek aristocracies, access to more effective tools for asserting control over knowledge of the past.117 Accounts of ktiseis may be considered from a similar perspective. The second branch of history identified by Polybius is that concerning “colonies, the foundations of cities and kin relations”, which refers to the body of writing focusing on the Greeks’ long history of colonial settlement, located mainly in the eighth through sixth centuries, but continuing in later periods as well, such as in the late third century, after the extensive conquests of Alexander. Prior to the accounts in prose histories, colonization was a regular theme in epic and lyric poetry, which formed an important source of knowledge of the past from

The tradition of heroic genealogies goes back at least to boasts of the Homeric Glaucus, Diomedes and Aeneas (Il. vi.152-211; xiv.113-27; xx.213-41); The Hesiodic Catalogue of Women is an important example of the function of genealogy in organizing regional identities within a scheme of broader Hellenic identity; see West 1985; Bertelli 2001, 73-6. In the context of colonialism and increased contact with foreign populations, genealogy, like colonial historiography (see pp. 15-17 below), became an ever more vital instrument for supporting notions of collectivity or ‘imagined community’, to use Benedict Anderson’s influential expression (1983). 117 Thomas 1989, 158-60, 181-95 discusses the breadth and thoroughness, as well as the greater tendency towards distortion that distinguished literary genealogies from their oral predecessors. She argues that ‘full genealogies’, connecting an individual to a heroic or divine ancestor in an unbroken lineage, only appeared with the advent of literacy; evidence for this view is not extensive, but it is precise. On the social effects of literacy see Henige 1974 and Goody 1977, both cited by Thomas. 116

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performance at festivals and in other public contexts.118 Ktiseis, as such stories they were called, describe the migrations and settlements imagined to have taken place in the distant past, particularly in the period following the Trojan War, though they deal with other legendary traditions well (e.g., stories associated with Heracles or Jason). The function of such stories was generally etiological, and they thus filled an important demand in providing explanation for the many curiosities associated with colonial exploits, such as the names of places, the origins of rituals, the reasons for certain ethnic and civic affiliations, etc. The appearance of ktiseis in prose histories does not appear to have involved any great departure from these conventions, though it surely entailed some shift in the way such accounts were authorized. Monograph ktiseis are well attested, often with titles corresponding directly with Polybius’ own terminology (e.g., Apoikiai, Ktiseis, Syngeneiai).119 Yet they also appear in broader works, such as the histories of Herodotus, Thucydides and Theopompus,120 as well as those of Ephorus and Timaeus, to which Polybius refers directly.121 In works of this kind, the importance of the colonial tradition is attested by persistent interest in the subject even alongside the cultivation of other, more dominant intellectual concerns, such as political history.

Examples of verse ktiseis: Semonides’ “archaiologia of the Samians” (TT1-3 West), Mimnermus on Smyrna (T1 West), Xenophanes on Colophon and Elea (F21 A1 D-K; cf. doubts from Kirk et al. 19832, 166), Panyassis on Ionia (T1 Davies), and Pindar on Cyrene (Pyth. 9). The genre remained popular well through the Hellenistic era (e.g., Apollodorus’ ktisis of Lesbos [=Parthenius 21 Lightfoot]); see Dougherty 1993; Fowler 1996, 65; Marincola 2001, 11-12. 119 Attested titles: a Kt€seiw by Hellanicus of Lesbos (FGH 4 F66); a Sugg°neiai or Suggenikã by Andron of Halicarnassus (10 FF 1, 3; F4 has ÑIstor€ai); a Kt€seiw §yn«n ka‹ pÒlevn by Charon of Lampascus (262); an ÉAigut€vn époik€ai (?) by Ister 334 FF 43-46); an ÉAyha€vn époik€a (?) by Ariston of Chios, 337 T1); a X€ou kt€siw, perhaps a poem, by Ion of Chios (392 F3); a Kt€siw ÉItal€hw by Hippys (554 T1). As is prudent with the use of fragments, caution must be exercised in attributing titles; I have indicated uncertainties in Jacoby’s editions with a question (?). In general on writers referred to here, see Pearson 1939, 139-234; 1942, passim; Fowler 1996, 62-9. 120 Herodotus: colonization of Lycia (i.173) and of Cyrene (iv.155-65). Thucydides: early histories of Greece broadly and of Athens and Sicily in particular (i.1-22; ii.12-17; vi.1-5); cf. ii.99; iii.92.5; iv.120.1; see Pearson 1942, 32-4. Theopompus: on the founding of Cilla (FGH 115 F350). 121 Ephorus: FGH 70, FF 11, 18b, 21, 24, 31b, 39, 40, 44, 56, 78, 89, 115, 126-27, 136-37, 146, 164, 216. Timaeus: FGH 566 F 11a, 12, 45, 80; cf. Plb. ix. 1.4; xii.26d2-3, 5.1-10.7; xxxiv.1.3-4. 118

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As with genealogical accounts, continued interest in ktiseis implies a substance and function far in excess of what Polybius allows. As is well known, the migrations and settlements thought to taken place in the distant past always held great political significance. Above all, accounts of ktiseis played an important role in grounding expressions of cultural identity, and provided a meaningful context for justifying claims of kinship and civic identity in a range of contexts.122 A case in point is the foundation of Rome, which formed the subject of ktisis-accounts going back to at least the fifth century. By Polybius’ time, interest in the city’s origins and especially the prospect of links with Greece were far more pronounced, and continued well through the first century, for obvious reasons perhaps, when Dionysius of Halicarnassus saw the need to catalogue the many versions in circulation.123 Moreover, as the evidence of a multitude of inscriptions suggests, reference to ktiseis in official diplomatic contexts suggests an importance considerably greater than the subject of mere antiquarianism.124 Colonial history remained a serious concern for Greek writers, more so than genealogiai, and had a practical extensibility and significance that relented very little with the advent of self-styled more serious forms of history. Polybius himself clearly understood the political importance of colonial historiography, and despite the explicit provision that such matters fell outside the frames of pragmatikê historia, he even took up colonial themes in his own writing on occasion.125 An immense subject, but see especially Bickerman 1952; cf. Dougherty 1993; Malkin 1998, 5-9; Gruen 1993, 6-51. On colonial historiography in the first century C.E., in Strabo’s Geography in particular, see Clarke 1999, 264-74. 123 Greek accounts of Rome’s origins: e.g., Hellanicus (FGH 4 FF 31, 84); Damastes (5 T1); Callias (564 F5a); Alcimus (560 F4); D.H. AR i.47-49, 72; cf. Pearson 1939, 188-92; Bickerman 1952; Momigliano 1984.On early Greek traditions about nostoi in the West and Homeric oikists of Rome, see Malkin 1998, 178-205. 124 Relevant inscriptions collected in Curty 1995. 125 Polybius devotes attention to the controversy surrounding the origins of the Locri in southern Italy. By a certain tradition, endorsed by Aristotle but rejected by Timaeus, the community was settled by slaves from Locris (xii.5.1-10.7). Aristotle’s account is now lost, but presumably appeared in his collection of politeiai; apart from the Polybian passage (=FGH 566 F12), it is also mentioned by Athenaeus (vi.624c-d= F11a). See Walbank Comm. ii, 330-31, and especially now id. 2005. Apart from this example, Polybius considers colonial foundations elsewhere at x.21.8 and xvi.12.3. 122

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On the whole then, despite the negative characterization that we find in Polybius, it is clear that genealogies and ktiseis held considerable importance in the way the Greeks made sense of the past. From application in a range of official and semi-official contexts, these discourses provided a source of engagement with the past that in many cases had no alternative in Greek culture, often even providing the only access to certain historical situations. The appearance of genealogies and ktiseis in prose histories signaled a form of expression for these discourses— presumably with new claims of expertise as well—but we ought not to expect any radical change in social function. Thus the critique that we find in Polybius is to be understood mainly as an effort to discredit and supplant established sources of historical authority. This is important for three reasons in particular. First, as I already suggested, boundaries taking shaping around intellectual institutions are to be understood primarily as a matter of intellectual rivalry. Given the great competition among different forms of historical thought and representation, the need to distinguish one’s work represents a crucial motivation for innovation—hence the stringent restrictions in scope involved by Polybius’ concept of pragmatikê historia. Second—on a closely related point—we see just how radical this set of restrictions is, for given the range of resources available for making sense of the past, a comprehensive understanding of history apparently goes well beyond the domain of political and military affairs alone, but would in fact incorporate a much more inclusive view of the social world. I shall return to this point in particular in the final section of this chapter. Finally, the polemical nature of Polybius’ approach here calls attention to the need to identify the sources of justification for this view of history—a third point. Of course the critique of the genealogical and colonial traditions is arbitrary to an extent, and as such relies on a somewhat schematic understanding of the difference between genuine institutions of learning and mere entertainment. The distinction is not inconsequential however. As we shall see in the next section, the concept pragmatikê historia is to be understood in relation to more conventional

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concerns for the proper scope of historical knowledge. It foundations thus exceed the typical polemics found in ancient historiography, which are only of nominal significance on their own. In fact, the critique of genealogies and ktiseis is itself to be aligned with established perceptions of the historical domain. It cannot be, in other words, that boundaries between history and entertainment are merely rhetorical; the notion that pragmatikê historia represents a more serious pursuit must correspond with views regarding the nature and scope of historical research that are to some extent already taken for granted. In what follows here I turn to the standard epistemological debate in the historical field and especially the familiar distinction between history and myth. I suggest that given the prominent position of genealogies and ktiseis in the historical tradition, the (essentially) idiosyncratic view implied by pragmatikê historia is to be understood in terms of Polybius’ manipulation of familiar oppositions in making sense of the past.

Defining the historical domain: political history and the technical tradition in the sciences At a superficial level, a special epistemological distinction is conveyed by the expression pragmatikê historia itself, which, while denoting political and military history, implies also, through the modifier pragmatikos, a history limited in content to subjects meeting a certain standard of knowability. The key lies in the term prãgµata (sing., prçgµa) which translates literally to “deeds”, “actions”, or “events”; yet it also conveys the sense of a concrete actions or events, and by further extension, actual actions (or events), as opposed, for example, to those of some other status (e.g., imaginary, fictive, hypothetical, etc.)126 The last of these senses appears regularly in certain technical contexts, in rhetoric and philosophy in particular, where pragma and related terms are used in making various theoretical distinctions regarding matters of factuality, materiality and the

126

On the translation of prçgµa, see LSJ s.v. II2.

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like.127 The noun pragma is frequently employed in this way by Polybius, who uses it in statements concerning the veracity of certain historical claims, as in “as is confirmed by the pragmata themselves” or “as the pragmata themselves attest”.128 In this sense, the expression pragmatikos would indicate concern for a more truthful historical account, “a history of actual events”, as it were, where conveyed alongside is apparently the notion that historia might in fact be otherwise, i.e. based on coverage of events that is not factual or not entirely seriousness.129 This is surely close to Polybius’ intended meaning, and in this case, pragmatikos evidently implies a distinction with the mythical content of genealogies and colonial accounts. Polybius certainly makes this association on at least one occasion (ix.2.1), and on this view, the adjective pragmatikos would call to mind the familiar antitheses between myth and history or myth and truth. Other writers use the term with this meaning,130 as does Polybius on at least one occasion.131 On the other hand, however, that

Cf. Arist. Top. 146a3, SE 175a8, where the term is opposed with lÒgow and ˆnoµa. For pragmatikos in the sense of “factual” see Epic. Nat. xxviii, F 4 (p. 5 V); Ael. Theon Prog. 2 Spengel ii, 66-67; Demetr. Lac. Herc. 1014.62; Syrian. in Hermog i, p. 57 Rabe (cf. also p. 162). Dubuisson 1999, 96 stresses the post-classical origin of the word pragµatikÒw, equivalent to the classical praktikÒw (“relatif aux faits”). In the rhetorical schools, whence Polybius presumably adopted the term (see Pédech 1964, 32), pragmatikos functions in various ways to separate the subject-matter of a speech or the set of substantive issues it addresses from other concerns in speech-preparation, e.g., style and demonstration; e.g., Phld. Rhet. i, p. 155 Longo Auricchio (with Blank 2003, 71-2); Aristonicus of Rhodes, De affect. p. 574; Aps. Ars rhet. 12, [=i, 384 Spengel]); D.L. Comp. 1; Hermog. Stat.; cf. Inv. 1.1. 128 For Polybius: iii.12.2: …w ka‹ di' aÈt«n fanerÚn §g°neto t«n pragµãtvn; ix.33.6: …w aÈta tå prãgµata µeµartÊrhke; cf. ii.42.2, 53.3; iii.9.5, 31.8, 117.2; vi.50.1, 50.5; vii.13.2; xi.4.1; xvi.8.7; xxx.13.11. See also others collected by Mauersberger 1956-66, ii.b, s.v. prçgµa B4.2a. 129 Many translators have followed this path, offering “serious history”, “factual history” and the like: e.g., Paton 1922-27 i, 99; ii, 113; iv, 5; vi, 383, 441; Scott-Kilvert 1979, 43, 80, 220 and 387; as well as Walbank (cited n. 3 above). 130 A near contemporary of Polybius, Agatharcides of Cnidus, uses the term to refer to a particular kind of painting (pragµatikØ §nãrgeia), in which figures portrayed in mythoi (e.g., the gods, as they are depicted by Homer or Hesiod) are inappropriate (De mari Eryth. i.8 [GGM i, 117], cited by Pédech 1964, 28); on Agatharcides, see Fraser 1972 i, 539-50; Verdin 1990a. Similar, though much later, is a passage in Aelius Theon (1st/2nd cen. C.E.), in which pragmatikos designates a specific mode of narration, distinguishable for its treatment of factual, as opposed to mythical, content (e.g., the distinction between µÊyoi and afl pragµatika‹ dihgÆseiw: Prog. 2 Spengel ii, 66-67). While from a later source, distinctions of this kind probably belong to systems of classification developed in the rhetorical discipline going back at least to the Hellenistic period. See n. 45 below. 131 In xxxviii.6.1, Polybius criticizes writers “digress on myths and stories” (µuyika›w ka‹ dihghµatika›w kexrƵenoi parekbãsesi), rather than on “matters of fact” (pragµatika›w). It is thought that Polybius is 127

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pragmatikos operates a distinction between myth and history is not itself a terribly meaningful observation, partly for the reason that Polybius does not himself exclude what might be called mythical elements from his writing.132 More importantly, however, the distinction between myth and history is never entirely fixed in antiquity, and in fact seldom denotes a same rigid view of veracity that we are might expect (or demand) as moderns. For the ancient historian, the mythhistory divide is the result of a more nuanced set of considerations, and it will therefore be useful to consider this aspect of historical thought briefly before continuing. As a technical term, pragmatikos conveys an essentially relational notion of factuality, and its use, in Polybius or elsewhere, thus depends upon factors largely external to its literal meaning. The term does not signify factuality unconditionally, in other words, but rather only in relation to given alternatives. In this respect, the notion of truthfulness in the context of history is to be understood largely in terms of comparison with alternative ways of perceiving the past—such as stories that are patently false for example. The same is the case with the category commonly referred to as ‘myth’; that area of discourse is ever fully comprehensible on its own terms, but rather represents a domain that is defined largely in terms of oppositional constructions. The term mythos does not denote untruth of itself, in other words, in the sense that it always denotes events and subject matter that are patently fictive.133 In fact, many Greeks viewed their mythoi as a legitimate source of knowledge about the past.134 If the events and characters portrayed in mythoi were held consciously to be untrue or fictive, that would be depend upon the intervention of some special standard of truthfulness, in accordance with which their veracity was now disallowed. To

referring to the writer Theopompus in this passage, whose writing does in fact contain many mythical digressions; e.g., FGH 115 FF 74, 296; cf. Wardman 1960, 406-7; Walbank Comm. iii, 692. 132 He seems to have regarded Odysseus as a historical figure and went to great effort to defend the historicity of Homer’s depiction of the hero’s journey (xxxiv.2-4); cf. ii.41.4, 56.10; iv.39.6, 43.6, 59.5, cf. Walbank 1993, 15-6. 133 For ancient discussions and collected bibliography, see Walbank 1960, 225-28; cf. Reinhardt and Winterbottom 2006, 78-79. 134 E.g., Bickerman 1952; Veyne 1988, 67-78; Gabba 1981; Saïd 2007.

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put it another way, any formal conception of myth in the modern sense of the term, in which the contents are consciously regarded as untrue, relies upon the establishment of a complementary set of conditions regarding the parameters of historical knowledge, and is in some sense not intelligible otherwise. The appearance of such conditions is owed largely to the efforts of historical writers, like Polybius and many others before him, to formalize the distinction between historical writing properly understood and the range of spurious or non-historical ways of thinking about the past. It is primarily in the context of distinctions of this kind that pragmatikê historia is to be understood, and indeed the concept may be said to relate loosely to the myth-history divide. Yet we may clarify its function in this respect more precisely, in particular by specifying Polybius’ relationship to other efforts to clarify the historical domain. The unfavorable treatment of genealogies and ktiseis that we find in Polybius in fact forms part of longer tradition of rational critique going back to at least the fifth century. For Plato, for example, genealogies and ktiseis belong to the category of historical description known simply as érxaiolog€a (“accounts of ancient times”), which he uses to dismiss the two genres as simply

forms of entertainment—just as we find in Polybius incidentally (see pp. 76-79 above)—and in his respect, the notion of archaiologia apparently functions to create the boundary between the genealogical and colonial traditions and other, ideally more serious forms of historical research.135 Now the term does not quite possess this significance explicitly in Plato, but it is used this way later, in the first century, by the historian Diodorus of Sicily, who discusses archaiologia, including genealogies in particular, as an area of historical study impeded by serious evidentiary problems (iv.1-4; discussed further below). The term archaiologia thus reflects an epistemological problem essentially, denoting the influence of rational concerns upon popular ways of making sense of the

Hp. Ma. 285d, trans. Fowler, slightly modified: “[The Spartans] are very fond of hearing about the genealogies of heroes and men… and the foundations of cities in ancient times and, in short, archaiologia in general…” 135

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events known from mythoi. Among other historical writers, this problem is addressed as early as Herodotus, who refers on several occasions to the limits of historical knowledge by pointing out boundaries in the past beyond which secure knowledge is no longer possible.136 His understanding of this set of limits is often interpreted as denoting awareness of a special boundary between ‘historical time’ and a preceding period that is not reliably knowable.137 There are certain problems with this perspective as a distinctively temporal conception, but the basic point is clear: rational skepticism leads to a more concrete notion of the proper domain of history. Boundaries for this category are never fixed, but always change by context.138 For Diodorus of Sicily, mentioned above, the notion of historical time depends upon much more formal criteria. He considers attempts to describe the remote past as little more than “collections of ancient stories” (palaiåw µuyolog€aw: iv.1.1), an expression which even on its own conveys a sense of the operative factors in excluding historical material: remoteness in time and association with popular story-traditions.139 Diodorus does go on to clarify his concerns, however: writing about the distant past is made difficult by its basic “unknowability” (érxaiÒthw duseÊretow E.g., i.5.3 (trans. Rawlinson; emphasis mine), on the origins of the Persian-Phoenician conflict: “Whether this latter account be true, or whether the matter happened otherwise, I shall not discuss further. I shall proceed at once to point out the person who first within my own knowledge (o‰da aÈtÚw) inflicted injury on the Greeks, after which I shall go forward with my history.” Herodotus speaks of the Samian tyrant Polycrates in similar terms, whom he called “first of whom we have knowledge” (pr«tow t«n ≤µe›w ‡dµen), to establish control over the sea, or at least “the first of so-called human generation”, as he says (t∞w d¢ ényrvph€hw legoµ°nhw gene∞w... pr«tow), drawing a distinction with the legendary figure, Minos of Cnossus, who was held to have achieved a broad maritime empire as well (iii.122.2); cf. vii.21.2, on the unparalleled size of Xerxes’ army, “among those armies, for which he have knowledge (stÒlvn... t«n ≤µe›w ‡dµen). In the case of Polycrates in particular, moreover, we observe a tendency to conflate the latter category with that of myth; for discussion of this issue, see Williams 2002, 155-61; see Feeney 2007, 72-76, for recent discussion and bibliography. 137 E.g., Shimron 1973; Fornara 1981, 7-8; cf. sources cited by Feeney 2007, 242 n. 15. 138 Ephorus chose the return of the Heraclidae as the boundary between the knowable and unknowable, a point just a few generations after the Trojan War (FGH 70 T8=D.S. iv.1.3), though before him Thucydides saw precise knowledge no further back than just before the Peloponnesian War (i.1.3; cf. i.22.1). On variation in chronological boundaries, see n. 54 below. 139 iv.1-4; the same is conveyed by his numerous other references to accounts of the remote past: érxa›a µuyolog€a and érxaiÒtatai prãjeiw te ka‹ µuyolog€ai, in addition to érxaiolog€a. As with Herodotus’ concern for the remote past (see n. 48 above), there is a similar tendency to conflate the mythical and ancient within the same category. 136

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oÔsa), he says, as well as by the instability of dates and by the breadth and confusion of literary

sources (ibid.). These remarks are noteworthy because they reflect specific conditions for historical knowledge: datability and consistency in documentary sources. While Diodorus is surely expressing himself informally, the technical nature of these specifications is clear enough: he is referring, on the issue of dating at least, to formal chronological techniques such as Olympiadic dating systems, which he made use of himself.140 The emergence of scientific chronography represents a huge subject of course, and I do not intend to treat it here.141 I just wish to point out its impact for historical awareness. The institution permits clearer recognition of a genuine historical period by providing a technical basis—here, an explicit numerical system of chronological reckoning—for perceiving concrete relations among events as a system. The same is the case with the remote past, which is actually rendered intelligible by the same process—though it represents a purely negative phenomenon, i.e. the domain that cannot be accounted for by the system. At any rate, the point here is not necessarily the individual significance of Diodorus’ or Herodotus’ views of the remote past; nor is it the special impact of innovative chronological techniques for that matter. What matters is the basic mechanism of change. Changes in method entail change also in the categories giving meaning to historical speculation. In respect of chronology in particular, the emergence of formal notions of historical time will have meant significant change in the practical epistemology of historical knowledge, and ultimately new frames of understanding as well. Such changes do not necessarily signal

In addition to the Olympiadic system, Diodorus also made extensive use of local king lists; on the chronological features of Diodorus’ writing, see Clarke 2008, 122-139. On the development of the Olympiadic dating system, see Bickerman 1968, 75-6, and especially on the role of the third-century writer Timaeus, Jacoby FGH i, p. 382, 566, with Komm., 538; Jacoby 1949, 58; Brown 1958, 10; Walbank Comm. ii, 347-8; Asheri 1991/2; Feeney 2007 53, 84-5. Further on the emergence of scientific chronography, see n. 53 below. 141 Bibliography on the development of scientific chronography is immense. For a good introduction, see Pfeiffer 1968, 163-4, 255-57; Wachholder 1968; Fraser 1970; 1972 i, 456-67; Mosshammer 1979; Moatti 1997, 76-8; Shaw 2003, 19-46; Feeney 2007, 68-107. On pre-Hellenistic chronography, see Millar 1955 and 1965; Mitchel 1956; Möller 2001; 2004; Hedrick 2002. 140

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progressive development incidentally. There is in fact no assurance that chronological innovation, for example, actually brought historians closer to more accurate knowledge of the past. If anything, formal chronological organization placed new constraints upon historical speculation, providing form and structure where there had been none, or where they had been otherwise. Any number of factors will have been responsible for authorizing new interpretive techniques (e.g., perceived rigor and technical sophistication, consistency with other forms of rational conduct, and approval by an authoritative group). Arguments from probability too might considered technical advancements, for example, and were perhaps equally effective in extending the reach of historical understanding, but such techniques hardly brought historians closer to something like the objective truth about the past.142 At any rate, technical adjustments would simply represent reorientation in the possibilities of historical understanding, rather than progress in the strict sense.143 Pragmatikê historia represents an intervention of this kind. I will return below to the notion of progress. For the moment let us consider the function of this concept as a source of formal parameters for historical understanding. In principle, limits implied by pragmatikê historia correspond roughly with other efforts to rationalize the historical domain: the adjective pragmatikos bears connotations with a special ideal of truthfulness; it suggests a formal opposition with myth. Viewed from this perspective, pragmatikê historia is often taken to involve a special distinction in time; it is assumed that the expression refers

If anything, the advent of formal methods fostered greater dispute, as chronographers and historians hardly achieved consensus on their use; on error and variation on the use of dating systems, see Plut. Sol. 27.1. Even with the use more sophisticated technical frameworks, practical questions always remained; e.g., where historical time might be said to commence (the Trojan War? the first Olympiad? the founding of Rome?), what it actually demarcated (an unknowable past? a different mode of knowing the past?) and what cultural and social contingencies gave it meaning. On these matters, and especially the fundamental problem of whether categories of ‘mythical’ and ‘historical’ time actually reflected ancient perceptions, see Wachholder 1968; Mosshammer 1979, 84-100; Moatti 1997, 76-8; Feeney 2007, 68-107. 143 They might denote the latter, but this point is of little concern here, in which we are considering the significance in context of given forms of technical innovation, and in which there might be little discernible difference between spurious and genuine progress in the acquisition of knowledge. 142

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to strictly contemporary history, for instance, as opposed to accounts of the remote past.144 Certainly Polybius lays great emphasis on the novelty of his subject matter,145 and the chronological frames chosen for the Histories do in fact suggest a clear concern for boundaries. The main narrative commences with 220/19, the first year of the 140th Olympiad, extending only five decades back from the time Polybius began composition ca. 167.146 Moreover, this terminus is based explicitly on evidentiary concerns—the 140th Olympiad represents the earliest point for which eyewitness accounts were available (iv.2.3)—and in this case, Polybius does show concern for issues of historical epistemology. In addition, he justifies his starting point with the view that he work continues the accounts of his predecessor, Aratus, whose Memoirs covered Greek affairs down to 220.147 On the other hand, however, this hardly amounts a set of formal epistemological concerns; nor are these boundaries even consistently observed in the Histories.148 Moreover, the chronological frames for the work are actually based on the historical subject itself, integration of the oikoumenê under Roman conquest, which already suggested to Polybius the importance of the Pédech 1964, 27-32: e.g., “l’histoire moderne par opposition aux généalogies fabuleuses et à l’histoire des kt€seiw”; cf. Petzold 1969, 4-6 (e.g., “Zeitgeschichte”); Walbank 1972, 56 (e.g., “contemporary history”); cf. Mohm 1977, 17-22; Gelzer 1982 [1955], 277-80. In an extreme version of the view, it has been argued that pragmatikê historia denotes a specific historical period, say, spanning from the end of the sixth century, when intensive Greek colonization came to an end, to Polybius’ present time; see Meister 1990, 153-60; cf. 1975, 45 n. 173; cf. Mohm 1977, 22; refuted by Beister 1995. 145 ix.2.4: “I decided on writing pragmatikê historia… because there is always some novelty [in its content] which demands novel treatment (diå tÚ kainopoie›syai sunex«w ka‹ kain∞w §jhgÆsevw de›syai)”; cf. the similar sentiment expressed at iv.2.4, referring to the era covered by the Histories, though not related to specifically to pragmatikê historia: it was as if Fortune had made the entire world anew (kekainopoihk°nai). 146 i.3.2; iv.2.1; for the 53-year period: i.1.5-6 and other passages cited by Walbank Comm. i, 40. The 53year period of course only reflects the main narrative in the initial plan of the Histories (Books 3-29 essentially). It does not include the two-book introductory background to the work, the prokataskeÊh, which provides coverage of events going back to as early fourth century, when the Romans concluded a settlement with the Gauls (i.6.1-3). Also, Polybius later extended the Histories by 10 books to bring coverage down to 145 (iii.4.1-6). It is not certain that Polybius started writing only after 168, but the overall plan, excepting the ten-book extension, seems to been conceived about this time. For a summary of the issues, see Walbank 1972, 13-19; cf. id. 1977a, for the circumstances governing the extension of the Histories. 147 i.3.2; iv.2.1. This does explain, however, why the main narrative begins 220/19 for events outside Greece, and we therefore assume that chronological frames are based on a more schematic understanding of the historical subject. 148 The principle concerning the importance of eyewitness accounts is hardly observed consistently in the Histories, not even for the 53-year period of the narrative proper, for which Polybius doubtless lacked eyewitness accounts for some coverage. 144

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53-year scheme.149 It is thus difficult to see the plan of the work as based exclusively on epistemological concerns. In fact, such considerations play no substantial role in Polybius’ critique of genealogies and ktiseis—the latter he actually credits for accuracy, as I observed above.150 Thus, while the term pragmatikos denotes important limits for historical inquiry, it does not appear to rely on the standard concerns that preoccupy other historical writers.151 It is therefore necessary to construe its significance in some other way. I have already mentioned the superficial connotations of the term pragmatikos. While there is little reason to associate pragmatikê historia with the standard concerns for historical epistemology, the concept does involve formal concerns of another kind. As a resource for the politikos, pragmatikê historia is understood primarily as a source of practical instruction in the direction of political and military affairs. This means that in coverage of all affairs described in the Histories, the principle aim is with providing models that are of use for guiding similar activities in the present, such as for delivering political speeches or determining a strategy for battle. On the assumption that human affairs are essentially regular in their occurrence, and that regularities are more or less rationally discernible, the statesman is thus aided greatly by considering the reasons for success or failure for

i.3.3-4. For the theme of the Histories, see i.1.5; iii.1.4-9; vi.2.3; viii.2.3; xxxix.8.7. The convergence of the oikoumenê is frequently understood by Polybius in terms of the figurative suµplokÆ (“weaving together”), which denotes a process apparently taking place over the course of the 140th Olympiad as a whole, but reaching a climactic point in 217 in particular (iv.28.5). The significance of the latter date is tied to the conference of Naupactus, at which point Polybius says that the affairs of the oikoumenê were “first interwoven” (sun°pleje pr«ton: v.105.4), the affairs of Greece, Italy and Africa at least—he says that the inhabitants of Asia became involved “soon after” (tax°vw: 105.6), though it is unclear what this means. On these issues, see Pédech 1964, 506-7; Walbank 1972, 68-7; 1975; Sacks 1981, 116-21. 150 The closest comes to such a thing is his remark about the use of evidence from eyewitnesses, but, as mentioned, such evidence as used inconsistently in the Histories, and as I show below, in fact represents only part of what Polybius’ considered appropriate for pragmatikê historia. For the accuracy of ktiseis, see x.21.3-5, cited n. 69 below. 151 As we shall see, some kind of distinction in time seems to have been least incidentally related, and I will return to this in the final section of this chapter, but as a formal concept pragmatikê historia is not based upon chronology. The best discussion of this issue is Beister 1995, which fairly rejects the idea that Polybius formulated his conception of pragmatikê historia on the basis of conscious chronological divisions; cf. Walbank 1989/90, 45-7; 1993, 18-9; 2002, 7. 149

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similar situations in the past.152 The conceptual model for this perspective derives from the notion of t°xnh (“art”, “craft”) incidentally, which refers to formal systems of knowledge in the sciences aimed improving and regulating specific practical occupations.153 This rubric embraces a range of activities (e.g., medicine, carpentry, rhetoric), all framed by the view that essential regularities determine any given sphere of practical skills, and that these may thus be systematized to provide the guidelines for improving efficacy and achieving specific results (e.g., health, buildings, persuasion). From assimilation of this conceptual framework, knowledge of the past thus, at least in principle, provided the foundations for predictive assessments of urgent political situations. Now, I leave the details of this viewpoint until Chapter 4.154 What matters for the moment is how this technical approach creates special provisions for the scope of historical inquiry. Polybius’ notion of the usefulness of pragmatikê historia is not arbitrary; it aligns the Histories with the discourse on technê in the sciences. Indeed for Polybius, the benefit of history is associated specifically with knowledge of causal relationships, and it is described this way explicitly on several occasions.155 So when Polybius mentions the “extreme usefulness” (tÚ »fel≈taton: ix.2.5; cited p. 10 above) of pragmatikê historia, we are to understand a view of history formed mainly on the model of current conceptions of formal practical knowledge. This is not to say that pragmatikê historia denotes literally an interest in causation or didactic instruction; we ought to continue to understand the expression as a “history of pragmata”. Yet it is perhaps possible to grasp the special significance of the modifier pragmatikos beyond its literal meaning. I have mentioned the term’s affiliations with special practices distinguished by technical sophistication, analytical rigor, etc. In application, then, pragmatikos must parallel and reinforce claims concerning the Histories’ status as a E.g., vi.3.1-2, 4.11-13, ix.10-13, 57.1-13; ix.12.6-12; xii.25b.1-3, 25i.8; See pp. 204-5 below. A good discussion of this is Meissner 1986, 325-32, with citations; cf. Sacks 1981, 124-26, who discusses the technical aspect of Polybius’ writing more closely in association with military leadership. See also pp. 27-29 above. 154 See pp. 203-15 below. 155 iii.7.5-7, cited p. 204 below; cf. iii.31.1-2, xi.19a.1-3, xii.25b.2, xxxviii.4.5-8. 152 153

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source of practical knowledge, in which case the adjective denotes restrictions in content determined by the model of other technai, such as medicine.156 Boundaries denoted by the term pragmatikos thus correspond with conditions imposed on other domains of technical knowledge, that the contents are intelligible in terms of causes, possess some practical application, are teachable as such, etc.). In this case, while pragmatikê historia may indeed be distinguishable from genealogies and ktiseis on the basis of the knowability of its contents, more importantly, we see that limits are set by a specific set of requisites for the kind of contents included, i.e. that they relate to a specific practical occupations of political and military leadership. In fact, by this view, the genealogical

and colonial traditions are not necessarily

defective; they are

simply

inconsequential.157 It is this distinction that underlies the view of them as simply entertainment (e.g., ix.2.6). Of course, none of these associations are denoted literally by pragmata; the term refers simply to “affairs” or “events”. Yet it is difficult to see how Polybius regarded pragmata as a special category without taking into consideration the special interpretive framework governing his approach. Content and form are thus fundamentally inseparable in Polybius’ conception of pragmatikê historia. Surely this approach to history has many problems associated with it, especially the suggestion that something as unstable as human affairs may be understood in terms of causal

Polybius compares historical knowledge specifically to the medical technê at iii.7.5-7: “What use (ˆfelow) to the sick is a physician who is ignorant of the causes of certain conditions of the body? And of what use is a statesman who cannot reckon how, why, and whence each event has originated? The former will scarcely be likely to recommend proper treatment for the body and it will be impossible for the latter without such knowledge to deal properly with circumstances. Nothing, therefore, should be more carefully guarded against and more diligently sought out than the first causes of each event, since matters of the greatest moment often originate from trifles, and it is the initial impulses and conceptions in every matter which are most easily remedied.” 157 x.21.3-5: “It is indeed a strange thing that authors should narrate circumstantially the foundations of cities, telling us when, how, and by whom they were founded, and detailing the precise conditions and difficulties of the undertaking, while they pass over in silence the previous training and the objects of the men who directed the whole matter, and those for which there is eminent need to know. For inasmuch as it is more possible to emulate and to imitate living men than lifeless buildings, so much more important for the improvement of a reader is it to learn about the former.” 156

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regularities. Yet it is the principle itself that matters most here: by assimilating history to systems of practical knowledge Polybius is able to formulate more stringent provisions regarding the kinds of things that may be known about the past, and the ways in which they may be known. In this respect, the Histories may be aligned more closely with higher order practices in the sciences. This point is significant in part for the reasons I have been mentioning above, i.e. that Polybius differentiates his writing on the basis of a more formal or more concrete set of distinctions. Yet it is important to see also that the distinction itself is thoroughly hierarchical, in the sense that now the Histories may be associated more firmly with the dominant regime of practice in the sciences. This point is made explicitly in one passage already cited, in which Polybius describes “the extreme usefulness” (tÚ Ùfeliµ≈taton) of his writing in terms of contemporary practices in the arts and sciences (tåw §µpeir€aw ka‹ t°xnaw), which have advanced rapidly, he says, “that those who study history are, we may almost say, provided with a method (…w ín efi µeyodik«w) for dealing with any contingency that may arise” (ix.2.5). The same point is repeated in another passage, which also links practical benefit (again, tÚ Ùfeliµ≈taton) to current practices in the science, i.e. “theoretical techniques” (tå yevrƵata), as Polybius puts it, which have advanced to the point that they “are effectively reduced to a system” (µeyodikåw e‰nai tåw §pistƵaw: x.47.12, slightly modified). Together the passages refer to the contents of Books 9-10, which appear to have formed a unity devoted specifically to matters of military science.158 As such they employ an array of technical language (e.g., t°xnh, §pistƵh, µeyodikÒw et al.) aimed at establishing the kinds of affiliation I have been describing here,159 but the relevant point concerns the hierarchy suggested by this conception of intellectual activity. Pragmatikê historia is distinguished by associations with On the position of ix.2 and x.47 in the Histories, see Walbank Comm. ii, 8, 116, 261; on the contents of Books 9-10, see Sacks 1981, 125-32. 159 I discuss the theoretical affiliations in Polybius’ view of historical explanation as a source of technical knowledge in Chapter 4; in addition to pp. 27-29 above, see pp. 203-15 below. 158

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dominant practices in the sciences. The invocation of technical, or here “systematic” (µeyodikÒw), models of knowledge is meant to align the Histories with prevailing conceptions of the nature and scope of rational inquiry in Hellenistic Greece. On this view, pragmatikê historia would represent a form of expert inquiry, where ‘expert’ functions in its connotations with proprietary claims to knowledge, rather than its acquisition on objective grounds. Consequently, while the category pragmata may bear nominal associations with formal practices in the sciences, its main significance in Polybius really concerns their use and endorsement by a given, more authoritative stratum of intellectual culture. It is not the precise literal meaning of pragmatikos that matters, in other words, but rather its function in conferring legitimacy. A history of pragmata, then, is to be understood as a special resource shaped by the interests of a clear group of experts, those at the institutional center of the sciences, so to speak.160 Factuality or veracity matters little, moreover, and imply only the distinctions that matter in a given context in fact; what does matter is the set of cultural affiliations evoked by the category pragmata: “facts” as the special concern for higher order intellectual practices.161 To return to the issue from which we started, pragmatikê historia is thus a

While pragmatikos literally means no more than “concerning the facts”, by extension it must also bear associations of expertise, in the sense of “knowledgeable/experienced in political and military affairs” (when used of individuals) or “done from an expert point of view” (as an adverb, e.g, pragµatik«w). Apart from its use in the expression pragmatikê historia, the term frequently has this meaning in Polybius (e.g., iii.116.7, 118.12; xii.28.3; xxxii.2.7). Additional evidence comes from the Latin tradition, in which pragmatikos refers to juridical expertise, similar to peritus (“knowledgeable/experienced”) (Cic. de Or. i.198, 253; Quint. Inst. iii.6.59; xii .3.4); see Dubuisson 1999. 161 In reference to “facts”, the significance of pragmata must resemble certain technical usages in English, such as ‘hypothesis’ in formal academic discourse, which denotes more than a statement of potential veracity, but must indicate a special kind of proposition, reference to which invokes the activities of a certain expert group; or ‘deposition’ in formal legal contexts, which goes beyond the mere disclosure of information, but implies consideration by a special group. The same may be said of the many references to the subject matter of history of the Histories as prãjeiw (“actions”), which as a technical term also denotes higher order intellectual practices. In forensic and philosophical contexts, the terms related to the verb prãttein (“to do/act”) form the basis of attempts to achieve more objective description of conduct by analyzing actions independently of other external, largely subjective conditions, such as intent by the agent, or moral value (e.g., Pl. Euth. 38e6-8; Antiphon Tetr. 2.3; Arist. Rhet. i.9-10 1373b38-74a17; cf. Belfiore 1984, 121; Sorabji 2006, 279). The noun prçjiw possesses great significance of this kind in the philosophical system of Aristotle: e.g., NE 1094a5, 1114b30-15a3, 1132a9; Pol. 1269a12, 1325a32; Poet. passim. On the relationship between “writing praxeis” and the forensic and philosophical traditions, see Fornara 1983, 93-8; Mortley 1996, 38-42. 160

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history of subjects of limited interest—where ‘limited’ refers to the contents’ exclusive nature, rather than limitations more narrowly understood. In a broad view, pragmatikê historia in fact reflects a nuanced attempt to reconceive speculative interest in the past. I have mentioned the role of intellectual rivalry in motivating proprietary claims to knowledge, but it is clear that disciplinary boundaries are conceived here on the basis of more positive considerations as well. Whatever the ultimate merits of these considerations, it is important to see that in taking historia on the model of technê, Polybius is able to justify distinctions between pragmatikê historia and other forms of history more tangibly, partly from formal features imposed on the Histories, but also from an appeal to preferential views regarding the nature and scope of speculative practices more generally. Ultimately it is less important that this approach to history does not actually improve the merit of Polybius’ writing in a strict sense. As an issue of legitimacy properly speaking, pragmatikê historia simply locates new sources of authority for historical writing. However, even if the concept does not objectively aid historical understanding, it does have important implications for how the past is understood on this model. I come back to this point in the final section of this chapter. More to the point here, however, we see that boundaries implied by pragmatikê historia thus operate on an even more stringent principle of exclusion than appears in prior attempts to define the historical domain. In making more of the association with the sciences, in other words, Polybius actually makes less of many standards concerns for historical writers, and thus reconfigures the discipline on narrower terms. In the next section, I elaborate on this interpretation by examining Polybius’ observations on method, which appear in his well-known critique of the Sicilian writer, Timaeus of Tauromenium, in Book 12.162

162

On the structure and organization of the fragments of Book 12, see Pédech 1961; Schepens 1990.

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Knowledge and expertise in political history Polybius devotes a great deal of space to criticizing Timaeus, whose voluminous history of the western Mediterranean, also called the Histories,163 seems to have acquired great authority by the second century, especially at Rome where interest in Greek sources of knowledge was growing at this time. Roman literary preferences were surely a source of concern for Polybius, and his polemics against the Sicilian writer, well known for their extensiveness and ferocity, are surely motivated by intellectual rivalry over knowledge of the western Mediterranean, on which he presumably wished to regard himself as the authority.164 Even so, Polybius has more substantial reasons in addition. He criticizes Timaeus’ Histories for a range of problems, including factual error, rhetorical indulgence, excessive hostility toward other writers, and even deliberate deception, and in this sense, does seem to have been operating from a concern for method, even if this is not always made explicitly clear.165 In particular, he faults Timaeus for a lack of practical experience (§µpeir€a), a crucial prerequisite for writing political history. It is the notion of empeiria on which I would like to focus momentarily. Embracing not only political expertise, but also military experience and even geographical exploration, the concept empeiria is central to Polybius’ thinking about the

Histories is a regularly attested title (FF 1a, 5, 11a, 16, 17, 23, 26b, 28a, 32, 33, 153), though there are others (cf. T1; FF 43a, 83, 42a); cf. Jacoby FGH iiib, suppl. 1, 539; Brown 1958, 112 n. 55. 164 On Polybius’ criticism of Timaeus, see Walbank 1962; 1972, 48-55; Schepens 1974. Especially important is Momigliano 1977a [1956], who discusses Timaeus’ recognition of the importance of Rome and in turn the Romans’ reliance upon him for affairs of the West. Apart from Timaeus’ literary reputation at Rome, we should not leave out his political sympathies, and in particular his tendencies to aggrandize Timoleon and Syracusan politics (e.g., xii.25.5-9, 26b.1-c.4). 165 Most of Polybius’ remarks on methodology occur piecemeal in the forms of polemics against Timaeus and others. On polemical passages as a source for understanding Polybius’ methodological views, see Sacks 1981, 26 n. 10; Schepens 1990, 50 n. 39; Walbank 2002, 10; cf. Lehmann 1974; Meister 1975. On polemic in general in Polybius, in addition to sources cited in n. 77 above, see Sacks 1981, 66-78; Boncquet 1982-3; Verdin 1990a; Marincola 1997, 222-34. 163

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prerequisites for historical writing.166 It is therefore a serious shortcoming that Timaeus had such little experience in these areas himself. On the contrary, he seems to have based his writing for the most part on the study of documents—nearly 50 years in the libraries of Athens!—and he appears to have been well known for his talents in this area besides.167 Now in considering this, we should recognize that Polybius does not exclude written sources as a vital part of historical research, even in spite of what he says elsewhere about the unique value of living testimony (iv.2.3; see p. 26 above.). The collection and interpretation of written documents, or polupragµosÊnh (“industriousness” in the care of documents essentially) is included specifically among the three essential “parts” (µ°rh) of pragmatikê historia—the other two being political experience and geographical survey (xii.25e.1). Admittedly, polypragmosynê represents the least important component of this scheme—it is least constituted by direct experiences—but it is nonetheless recognized for its importance.168 Polybius even expresses admiration for Timaeus’ talents with written sources himself on certain occasions.169 However, while he does not disqualify library and archival research as a legitimate area of research, such materials were inadequate on their own. Polybius illustrates the point with an analogy with medicine: Timaeus’ methods are like those of the physician who relies only on theory and documentary research, when empirically-based

E.g., xii.28.6, a criticism of Timaeus: he “denied himself any active part in war and politics, or personal experience from travel and observation (tØn §nerghtikØn tØn per‹ tåw poleµikåw ka‹ politikåw prãjeiw ka‹ tØn §k t∞w plãnhw ka‹ y°aw aÈtopãyeian)”. 167 xii.25d.1; cf. 25h.1, perhaps a fragment from Timaeus’ Histories (=FGH 566 F34); see Walbank Comm. ii, 395. 168 See 25h.1-25i.2. On the distinction between polypragmosynê and empeiria, see Schepens 1975, 269-72. 169 Polybius even expresses admiration for Timaeus’ polypragmosynê on certain occasions: e.g., xii.7.1 (treatment of migrations and colonial foundations), 10.4, 11.1-2 (meticulousness in chronological research), 27a.3-4, 28a.3-4, the last with important manuscript readings discussed by Walbank Comm. ii, 411-12. The expression polypragmosynê also refers to examination of eye-witnesses, and Polybius criticizes Timaeus on this point as well, both for the reason that he traveled so little and was therefore often unable to question witnesses (27.1-7), and for the reason that a lack of practical experience hindered his ability to make sense of testimony he received (28a.8-10); cf. 25h.1-i.2, 27a.1-4, 28a.1-7. 166

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treatments are available.170 Whatever the merits of the analogy, the point about historical writing is clear: though polypragmosynê has some role, a lack of empeiria was irremediable.171 Polybius goes on to formulate this view as a general principle (25g.1-4): It is neither possible for a man with no experience (µhdeµ€an §µpeir€an) of warlike operations to write well about what happens in war, nor for one unversed in the practice and circumstances of politics to write well on that subject. So that as nothing written by mere students of books is written with experience (§µpe€rvw) or vividness, their works are of no practical utility to readers… and when they attempt to write in detail about cities and places the result must be very similar, many things worthy of mention being omitted and many things not worth speaking of being treated at great length. It should be clear from that Polybius considers the ideal historian to be the statesman, who, like himself, obtained practical knowledge from direct political participation, military leadership and extensive travel (cf. xii.28.1-6). The critique of Timaeus reveals a special notion of the conditions for historical knowledge. The validity of historical representation depends upon authorization by a specific group, the political leadership of Greek cities. Such claims here are not really empirically demonstrable, but depend rather upon the commonsensical, and essentially tautological, notion that the political expert is better suited to write history, where ‘history’ is already essentialized as a narrative of political affairs. The plainness of this viewpoint is perhaps its most important part, for it attests to deeper assumptions concerning the political domain as a primary source of historical

xii.25d.1-e.7, esp. 25e.4-7, slightly modified: “just like the theoretical doctors (ofl logiko€), after spending a long time in libraries and becoming deeply learned in memoirs and records, [writers like Timaeus] persuade themselves that they are adequately qualified for the task, seeming indeed to outsiders to contribute sufficient for historical inquiry, but, in my own opinion, contributing only a part… And to believe, as Timaeus did, that relying upon the mastery of material alone one can write well the history of subsequent events is absolutely foolish”. See Walbank Comm. ii, 388-89, for context and problems. 171 ÉEµpeir€a is the central term in the critique, but it is combined elsewhere with the rough equivalents aÈtourg€a and aÈtopãyeia: e.g., 25h.5-6 (pepol€teutai ka‹ peirçn) 27a.2-4 (tØn §µpeirikØn per‹ ßkasta dÊnaµin [contra Pédech 1964, 21; Walbank Comm. ii, 408]); 27.7-28.6 (implied, with autopatheia), 28a (autourgia). On empeiria, see Schepens 1970, 173-75; Sacks 1981, 50-59; in reference to Timaeus, it has a narrower significance than elsewhere in the Histories (e.g., ix.2.5: §µpeir€ai ka‹ t°xnai), on which see Meissner 1986, 317-24; and especially Beister 1995, 336-37 with nn. 170

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meaning. I will come back to the ramifications of this point in the next section. As for the basis of this view, we have already seen that Polybius’ situates generic distinctions in the historical discipline within a hierarchical order privileging the political domain. His understanding of the importance of political experience as an interpretive foundation for writing history coincides with the same valuative orientation. However, the point here is not simply that Polybius reconciles his views with prevailing beliefs regarding the importance of politics, but rather that he conceives of historical interpretation as the concern of an exclusive group. In other words, by specifying the vital role of empeiria, Polybius does more than state the obvious, i.e. that first-hand experience leaves the historian better able to produce a truthful historical account; he takes empeiria as preparation for a specific way of thinking about historical content. This would represent an even narrower view of the sources of authority for historical knowledge, a point which is perhaps clearer in respect of the concept of énãkrisiw (“examination”, “inquiry”), which Polybius introduces in connection with empeiria as a critical faculty for treating historical data. In general, anakrisis refers to both the task of collecting eyewitness accounts and the faculty of critical judgment in assessing them. It is linked closely with empeiria in the sense that only practical experience in political affairs affords the necessary preparation for selecting, conducting and interpreting interviews.172 Technically speaking, however, anakrisis also falls under the broader category of polypragmosynê, as it concerns the collection and interpretation of narrative accounts. In this respect, anakrisis forms a kind of bridge between the somewhat rigidly separated categories of practical experience and textual interpretation, and it allows Polybius to address the inevitable problem posed by a strict view of the importance of empeiria, namely how one might

xii.4c.3-5, 28a.7-10 (expressed with énakr€nein, cited n. 87 below); cf. 24.6, 27.3-6; for interpretation of anakrisis, see Pédech 1961, 68-69; Walbank Comm. ii, 329; Schepens 1975, 268-72; and especially the observations of Sacks 1981, 63-66, 203-9; cf. Mauersberger 1956-66, s.v. 172

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write reliably, when it was impossible to be present at every event covered.173 As the historian must inevitably rely upon the testimony of others, Polybius is explicit on the importance of anakrisis as a skill for expanding the (geographical) scope of historical writing by incorporating oral testimony from eyewitnesses.174 Notwithstanding these admissions of reliance upon the accounts of others, it is ultimately insufficient to simply transmit accounts received; they must be tailored by the historian’s own refined sense of what was appropriate. Polybius goes as far as to say that even one’s own direct involvement is insufficient; one must possess the appropriate skills for making sense of what one saw. Otherwise his observations have no merit: “even if present, he is in a sense not present”.175 Empeiria thus represents a kind of expert knowledge, rather than experience simply understood (i.e. as simple attendance at events). This too is a matter of legitimacy. In specifying the functions of empeiria and anakrisis, Polybius gives special conditions for historical understanding. It is interesting, as a matter of fact, that the function of anakrisis is portrayed as expanding the capacities of historical writing, i.e. by resolving evidentiary problems that derive from the natural limitations of personal experience. Yet what we see is a narrower definition of The ideal is of course to have first-hand knowledge of all affairs one seeks to treat, as Ephorus (FGH 70 F11), who is cited by Polybius on this matter (xii.27.7); cf. similar remarks by Ctesias (FGH 688 F 45, 51). Jacoby FGH iic, 64, takes the notion back to Thucydides (e.g., i.22.2); see Walbank Comm. ii, 409. 174 E.g., xii.4c.2-5: “… it is evident that the account [Timaeus] gives of Africa, of Sardinia, and especially of Italy, is inaccurate, and we see that generally the task of investigation (tÚ per‹ tåw énakr€seiw µ°row) has been entirely neglected by him, and this is the most important part of history. For since many events occur at the same time in different places, and one man cannot be in several places at one time, nor is it possible for a single man to have seen with his own eyes every place in the world and all the peculiar features of different places, the only thing left for an historian is to inquire from as many people as possible, to believe those worthy of belief and to be an adequate critic of the reports that reach him.” 175 xii.28a.7-10, slightly modified, with recommendations of Walbank Comm. ii, 412: “… even in the task [of interpreting eyewitness accounts, i.e. énakr€nai] men of no experience (êpeirow) are sure to be frequently deceived. For how is it possible to examine a person properly about a battle, a siege, or a naval battle, or to understand the details of his narrative, if one has no clear ideas about these matters? For the inquirer contributes to the narrative as much as his informant, since prompting of concomitant details guides the narrator to each incident, and these are matters in which a man of no experience (êpeirow) is neither competent to question (énakr€nai) those who were present at an action, nor when present himself to understand what is going on, but even if present he is in a sense not present.” The same idea appears at 24.6: “it is evident… that owing to a lack of experience (épeir€an) and a defect in critical judgment (kakokris€an) many men are at times as it were absent when present and blind with their eyes open”. Polybius goes on elsewhere to say that Timaeus’ lack of such knowledge in fact weakened accounts he offered of affairs and places for which he even had first-hand experience, in Sicily, for example (xii.4d.1-3). 173

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legitimacy. Historical knowledge is linked to the practice of statesmanship as the product of special technical skills. Polybius does not clarify here their function in practical terms, such as how the faculty of anakrisis might actually affect historical writing; it presumably concerns reconstructing historical scenarios in ways that facilitate technical instruction (e.g., through clarifying causal relationships). In any event, what matters is that historical knowledge is connected so essentially to the practice of statesmanship. Political experience becomes the determining factor for the validity of claims to knowledge, not simply in the sense of involvement in events—Polybius acknowledges this is impossible—but in the sense that it is a source of interpretive authority. Genuine historical understanding thus becomes the proprietary concern of a restricted and empowered group. As for limitations implied by this characterization, take the final fragment in the critique of Timaeus, for instance. In suggesting that “inexperienced” (êpeiroi) writers do not adequately interpret first-hand accounts, Polybius makes the peculiar point that “the inquirer contributes to the narrative as much as his informant, since his prompting on the concomitant details guides [the witness] to each incident”.176 Remarkably it is not the testimony of the eyewitness that actually matters, but rather how it is interpreted by the historian. The unaltered account represents no more than a random collection of details. It only acquires real meaning through interpretation by the expert. Perception of past itself thus represents a specialized activity. In this case, it is not simply that historia is the proprietary concern of an expert group, but that these concerns themselves entail a specific order for historical reconstruction. The context of the passage is criticism of Timaeus’ battle descriptions, in which Polybius offers his baseline complaint that research based upon written materials is inadequate for meaningful historical representation. By

176

xii.28a.9, slightly modified; for interpretation of this passage, see Walbank Comm. ii, 412.

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this we are presumably meant to understand an account shaped by concern for causes.177 This provision itself, while perhaps not a problem for truthfulness or accuracy per se, involves clear restriction on what counts as a legitimate form of representation. Polybius does not go on at length here—or if he did, it has been lost—but the point is clear enough: specializing historical interpretation constrains perception of the historical field. Remarkably, it is the very resources intended to improve history that most restrict its descriptive and explanatory capacities. More broadly, views on method underlying the critique of Timaeus sit in a complementary relation with Polybius’ other characterizations of pragmatikê historia. While the latter model political history on more explicitly theorized practices in the sciences, they also support claims regarding political experience as a source of interpretive authority. In turn, formal conceptions of empeiria and anakrisis reinforce efforts to distinguish pragmatikê historia as a technical field. In all, the common function of Polybius’ several specifications here—e.g., concerning scope, inter-disciplinary affiliations and the appropriate faculties for historical interpretation—is to confer legitimacy. As a discursive construct, pragmatikê historia is separated from other forms of engagement with the past through the manipulation of essential categories. Formal notions of empeiria and anakrisis (along with their counterparts apeiria and kakokrisia) are therefore coordinated with variable categories like myth, entertainment, and antiquarianism as a system, redefining historia in ideal relation to the interests of the Greek statesman. Concerns for intellectual distinction are all expressed in terms of this basic disposition. The common factor is truthfulness of course, and it surely provides foundations for all of Polybius’ thinking here, e.g., about the appropriate subject matter of historical speculation, the status and function of mythoi, the nature of requisite critical faculties, etc. Yet, as I already suggested, we should not see truthfulness as an absolute, sitting apart and providing support for attempts to redefine historia from the outside, as it

177

E.g., ix.12.6-12; x.17.4, 12.6; xv.15.8; but cf. i.57; Sacks 1981, 126-32; further discussion in Chapter 4.

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were. Instead truthfulness would represent a variable realized through the process of redefinition. This interpretation of pragmatikê historia suggests the need for reconsideration of progressive views of the historical field. With its emphasis upon improvements in method and reconsideration of conventional historical interests, pragmatikê historia is perhaps to be regarded as an extension of rationalist tendencies. By a common view, the emergence of self-reflexively ‘historical’ practices is often identified with greater scrutiny of narrative traditions for the past, and the development of the historical discipline has itself often been linked with efforts to improve record of the past by resolving inconsistencies, by eradicating fantastic elements, and especially by developing an appropriate methodology for this task.178 Such is a common view of historical time, as discussed above, and a similar interpretation might be suggested for pragmatikê historia, which, as I have shown, is aimed at restricting the domain of history on the basis of rational principles, partly in opposition with sources of myth. This view permits a neat, progressive scheme, but has certain problems. In particular, it expresses a narrow understanding of rationalism. As I already suggested with regards to Hecataeus, a sense of historicity does not necessarily imply skepticism of the fantastic or incredible. Authors attempting to situate the contents of mythoi historically had an array of interests besides rationalization—or better yet, had interests in rationalization that exceeded concerns for the veracity in the strict sense, such as the integration of disparate narrative traditions. Colonial writers too, as Polybius himself admits, were ‘rational’, but this only means they employed credited techniques of demonstration. A fitting example is the archaiologia to open Thucydides’ Histories, which does not exclude mythoi as the source of genuine historical content.179 In all, a strict dichotomy between myth and history is inadequate for understanding the influence On the rationalism of early Greek historians, rarely a straightforward matter, bibliography is immense. In addition to sources cited in n. 23 above, see e.g., Corcella 1984; Hornblower 1987, 18-23; Hunter 1982; Lateiner 1989; Flory 1990; Fowler 1996; Bertelli 2001; Thomas 2001, 200-11; and especially Keyser 2006 with useful bibliography. 179 i.2-4, 8-11, using material from stories as sources in reconstructing the conditions of early Greece. 178

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of rationalism, even when expressed by ancient authors themselves. More importantly however, defaulting to rational skepticism as the primary source of disciplinary change overlooks the social context of knowledge production, which I have been trying to illustrate here—as if, say, notions of the difference between myth and history could be conceived independently of their applications in context. A progressive model is in fact incompatible with a social epistemology of historical knowledge. It is difficult to see, for example, how changing conditions for legitimacy would necessarily signal progress in the strict sense, that is, by bringing investigators closer, in successive stages, to truer or more complete understanding of the past. It is hard to say, moreover, by what independent standard we might assess ancient historical works, i.e. to be more assured of their grasp of how things actually were, so to speak. In this case, as I have already suggested, progress must merely represent reorientation in the practical framework of history. Misapprehension of this kind is not inconsequential, however. As I hope is clear by now, revelations of progress will have played a crucial role in the way disciplinary change was justified by ancient thinkers. Preferential perspectives of political history do not work, for example, unless the limitations of other forms of history may be taken for granted. ‘Taken for granted’ is of course the operative phrase here; deficiencies are themselves symptomatic of deeper changes in the discursive framework of the historical field. Pragmatikê historia would thus represent merely reorientation in historical practice, rather than progress in a strict sense. If anything, the tendency is one of increasing restriction in the conditions for knowledge. By reconsidering history as a special technical resource, Polybius enforces a narrower understanding of the sources of historical authority, perhaps narrower than prior attempts to define a proper domain of historical inquiry. Historical knowledge is conceived only in relation to the affairs of state—the praxeis of cities, nations and dynasts (ix.1.5; see further

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below)—and only in relation to the experiences and interests of clearly defined in-group. Whatever its consistency with our preferences, it is thus difficult to see a view of history that is actually more constrained in its ability to provide reconstructions of the past. In the final section of this chapter, I turn to some of the ramifications of this conception of history.

Political history and the order of historical knowledge In what remains, I suggest ways Polybius’ conception of pragmatikê historia may be understood as a distinctive way of perceiving the past, and particular, that it ultimately fosters normative views of Mediterranean political culture. This forms an immense issue, and there is not space here to address it fully, but it is nonetheless possible to see a basic correlation between specialization of the historical field and the emergence of certain essentializing perspectives. Let me begin with pragmatikê historia as a medium for understanding historical traditions. In particular, we see that generic distinctions implied by pragmatikê historia, along the hierarchical conceptions that this framework supports, foster a simple view of historical change in the long term. This is to say that in principle pragmatikê historia actually implies a limited view the extent to which different parts of the past might be understood as historical. Take once more remarks Polybius offers on excluding genealogies and colonial histories (ix.2.1-2, slightly modified): Since genealogies and myths, on the one hand, and the planting of colonies, the foundations of cities and their ties of kinship, on the other, have been recounted by many writers and in many different styles, an author who undertakes at the present day to deal with these matters must either represent the work of others as being his own, a most disgraceful proceeding, or if he refuses to do this, must manifestly toil to no purpose, being constrained to avow that the matters on which he writes and to which he devotes his attention have been made sufficiently clear (flkan«w dedÆlvtai), and handed down to posterity by previous authors. So these things have been left out for the above and various other reasons, and I decided on writing pragmatikê historia…

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Notably, while the passage forms part of the critique of genealogies and ktiseis, the are actually portrayed in positive terms: coverage of these subjects “is sufficiently clear” (flkan«w dedÆlvtai), he says, and any reexamination is to no end, as in principle, it is impossible to make any significant improvement.180 Current works of genealogy or colonial history thus represent legitimate historical sources.181 The observation should not surprise; Polybius’ objection to these works is never based upon epistemological concerns; they are excluded in the basis of practical function. There is a problem, however, with views expressed elsewhere concerning the accessibility of the past from an evidentiary perspective. Polybius is explicit that the limits of his coverage go back only as far as living memory allowed, i.e. not beyond the recollection of the preceding generation. He says that this represents the earliest point within which he could provide a “secure” (ésfale›w) account.182 There is thus an apparent inconsistency with the suggestion that genealogies and ktiseis provided an unproblematic (cf. flkan«w) source of historical knowledge. Polybius is surely expressing himself loosely on the present occasion, but even so, the suggestion that genealogies and ktiseis contribute to historical knowledge, when yet more secure forms of knowledge are possible has an important significance.

A similar point is reinforced in a criticism of Timaeus; xii.28.12: “But Timaeus, in order not to seem to be copying Ephorus, besides making a false statement about him has at the same time condemned all other historians. For dealing with matters, treated by others correctly, at inordinate length, in a confused manner, and in every respect worse, he thinks that not a living soul will notice this.” 181 The proposition does not contradict the view expressed elsewhere that such writing lacks merit. Polybius’ efforts to distinguish pragmatikê historia do not involve wholly rejecting genealogies and ktiseis as legitimate parts of the historical record—they are simply less useful. Now, the basis for this position is complex, as I have been suggesting over the course of this chapter. It reflects considerations related to the practical function and social prestige of historical writing and its evidentiary bases, but also deriving from efforts to distinguish pragmatikê historia among completing claims to knowledge. Truthfulness is in fact never an explicit concern with genealogies and ktiseis, in the sense that they make no contribution to the historical record. It is in fact the historical significance of genealogies and ktiseis, despite Polybius’ efforts to undercut them, that is of greatest importance here. 182 iv.2.2-3; the proposition is not to be taken strictly, both for the reason that Polybius makes many allowances for the use of other forms of evidence (see pp. 37-38 above), and for the reason, that this principle does not actually govern the frames of the Histories, which are based more upon a schematic understanding of the events he chose to cover (see pp. 25-26 above). 180

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In part, Polybius’ views here reflect standard practice for ancient historians, who frequently saw themselves as continuing the work of their predecessors.183 Polybius is no different in fact. He coordinates his starting point explicitly with the ends of two well-known works: Timaeus’ Histories (for western affairs) and Aratus’ Memoirs (for Greece).184 Yet neglect for genealogies and ktiseis goes beyond literary convention. The view that the historical record is adequate for given areas of interest suggests important limitations for historical analysis in terms of how it is perceived as form of access to the past. By implication, certain areas of consideration become less significant for continuing attempts at historical reconstruction. Polybius takes it for granted that reconsideration of events treated by previous writers would confer no further benefit for historical understanding. A broader retrospective is thus simply superfluous. While this perspective is apparently based upon evidentiary concerns in principle (i.e. that living testimony was lacking for scrutiny of older historical accounts), it ultimately reflects a narrow understanding of what might count as evidence. Polybius seems to assume that prior literary accounts are not themselves actually sources of evidence, in the sense that they might form the basis for further analysis. Of course, Polybius acknowledge the importance of written sources, as I mentioned.185 Yet on that occasion he is addressing the problem posed by the limits of the historian’s physical presence—one must rely on written sources occasionally. This is precisely the point. Written sources are useful when one lacks a more authoritative form of access to the events described in them. In such cases, moreover, they are in principle irreproachable. For treatment of more

The practice, embodied in the famous expression historia continua (Cic. ad Fam. v.12.2.6) goes back at least to Thucydides’ continuators, among whom Xenophon is perhaps the best known (Hell. i.1.1); see Canfora 1971; Marincola 1997, 237-41 with App. VI. 184 i.3.2, 5.1; iv.2.2; xxxix.8.4; discussed pp. 25-26 above. 185 See pp. 37-38 above; cf. xii.25e.5-6: “it is true that looking through old memoirs is of service for knowledge of the views of the ancients and the notions people formerly had about conditions, places, nations, states, and events, and also for understanding the circumstances and chances which beset each nation in former times. For past events make us pay particular attention to the future, that is to say if we really make thorough inquiry in each case into the past.” 183

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remote matters—say, beyond the range of the previous generation’s memory—the need for written sources is all the more pronounced. Yet they do not count as evidence in the sense they might support serious re-examination of events they cover; they merely create a continuous historical record. The limitations of Polybius’ view of empeiria should be clear by now: such formal emphasis on political experience invalidates other means of accessing the past, such as close textual reading. In Polybius’ view of the historical tradition, there is no sense that existing record of the past might be significantly improved. Surely Polybius corrects his predecessors, but he focuses on factual details and does not seem to have considered different frames of understanding; in fact he does not even seem to have recognized the possibility that prior accounts might be revised by different frames of historical understanding. In addressing the Persian invasions of the fifth century, for example, Polybius ascribes to the traditional portrait of a heroic, united Hellenic stand against foreign encroachment.186 Despite the fact that known accounts provided the basis for reconsidering this scenario—what of Herodotus’ Thebans?—there is no interest in departing from the standard view.187 It does not appear to have been conceivable, in other words, that closer consideration of the details might permit a different view of Greek unity at this time. In the context of political and military history more specifically, this perspective would imply a lack of concern for interpretations of political affairs based upon broader historical perspective. While one might observe concrete changes (e.g., military victories, or even shifts in international power configurations, the structuring principles of political and social organization would appear to ii.35.7-9: “For indeed I consider that the writers who chronicled and handed down to us the story of the Persian invasion of Greece… have made no small contribution to the struggle of the Hellenes for their common liberty. For there is no one whom hosts of men or abundance of arms or vast resources could frighten into abandoning his last hope, that is to fight to the end for his native land, if he kept before his eyes what part the unexpected played in those events, and bore in mind how many myriads of men, what determined courage and what armaments were brought to nothing by the resolve and power of those who faced the danger with intelligence and coolness.” 187 Walbank Comm. i, 213, takes the “writers” here as Herodotus and Ephorus. Polybius was surely familiar with the latter (e.g., v.33.2; ix.1.4; xxxiv.1.3). On his knowledge of Herodotus, see Lehmann 1989/90. 186

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remain the same over time. Despite the possibility of correcting details, in other words, from a historicist perspective, the platform of events remained essentially the same.188 It does not seem to have occurred to Polybius that a given record of the past could be both factually accurate and yet still able to support new interpretations, such as elucidation of deep processes not discernible to their contemporary observers. The concept of pragmatikê historia is thus based in part on the simple assumption that a broader retrospective in fact added nothing to historical analysis. We thus see that significance of the concept itself goes well beyond Polybius’ main provisions. Pragmatikê historia actually implies deeper assumptions regarding the possibilities of historical understanding over all. The ramifications of this for writing political history are actually quite urgent. To understand this, let us consider more closely the view of political culture in the Histories. As mentioned, Polybius describes pragmatikê historia as an account of the “actions of nations, cities and monarchs” (prãjeiw t«n ¶ynvn ka‹ pÒlevn ka‹ dunast«n), and in using this expression, he aligns his writing closely with conventional ways of conceiving of the political topography in the oikoumenê.189 The expression ethnê kai poleis kai dynastai is itself a common idiom in Hellenistic political rhetoric, where refers to the range of state forms composing a broader Mediterranean political culture.190 In this scheme, the polis is perhaps self-explanatory. The term dunãstai (sing., dunãsthw), refers to the kingdoms of Macedon, Syria and Egypt in particular,

but presumably includes monarchic regimes elsewhere in the oikoumenê as well, such as in North Africa or in more remote parts of Asia. The last component, ethnê (sing. ¶ynow), is less

Here I follow the suggestions of Beister 1995, 346-49, who discusses Polybius’ writing in the wider tradition of historia continua (see n. 95 above), observing the fundamental contrast between ancient outlooks and the historicist perspectives developed in the modern discipline. 189 One may compare other passages in the Histories; e.g., Polybius’ transcription of the treaty between Hannibal and Phillip, which has basile›w ka‹ ¶ynh ka‹ pÒleiw (vii.9.9, 16); cf. Walbank, Comm. ii, 42, who takes the language to be close to Polybius’ original source, likely a Greek translation of the Carthaginian copy. The same combination appears at v.90.5; xxi.42.24 (ethnê kai poleis). 190 Rostovtzeff 1941, 502-3, 1347, 1439-40; examples collected by him: D.S. xix.57.3; OGIS 229, l. 11 (Smyrnean decree c. 244); SIG3 590, ll. 12-14 (asylia of Didyma c. 196); OGIS 441, l. 130 (the time of Sulla); SIG3 760 (the time of Caesar); cf. Larsen 1955, 22-3; Walbank Comm. ii, 117; 1972, 56 n. 145. 188

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straightforward, for it embraces an array of political institutions existing alongside poleis and kings, but it refers essentially to the various federal and tribal associations formed by individual states, such as the Aetolian and Achaean leagues.191 Now, while combination ethnê, poleis and dynastai is not in actuality an exhaustive typology of political forms, it is nonetheless meant in its usage to reflect a comprehensive view of Mediterranean political culture in application.192 In this respect, it is primarily a phrase of convenience, reflecting a need to expand political consciousness beyond the polis. Above all, the expression is not innocently descriptive, but reflects certain ideological commitments regarding the nature of the political domain. In fact, on closer examination, the expression is not comprehensive at all, but reveals a tendency to simplify political culture on the model of the polis. The combination ethnê, poleis and dynastai derives from transition in Hellenistic political culture, in which continuation of monarchic rule in Macedon, Syria and Egypt after the death of Alexander prompted reconsideration of the Greeks’ wider political community.193 In this case, the expression reflects a simple principle of accumulation, based on the pairing ethnê kai poleis, already current in the Classical period as idealized reference to Mediterranean political culture as a

Federated bodies are frequently known also by the term koinÒn, though this term is generally not applied to ethnê as well. Moreover, as koinon refers most directly to the source of political authority within a state (e.g., an assembly), it also used may be used metonymically of any state, including poleis. It makes sense then that the plural koina is never used to refer to states as set; it only appears in the singular in reference to the central authority of a given multi-state association. See Giovannini 1971, 14-24, 93-95; Walbank 1976/77, 29-30; Rzepka 2002, 226-32. The level of institutional or legal formality implied in use of ethnos and koinon is another matter, however. Commonly accepted is Larsen 1968, who does attribute legal status of some kind to the terms (as well as the related sympoliteia); cf. Walbank 1976/77; Beck 1997; contra Giovannini 1971; A good summary of these issues is Rzepka 2002. Still another issue is the level of theoretical formality implied in ancient perceptions of federations; on this issue, including Polybius’ own understanding of federalism, see Lehmann 2001. 192 Related terms are koinÒn (see n. 103 above), x«ra (“territory” in the sense of state, often combined with pÒliw, as in the expression pÒleiw ka‹ x«rai), êstu (“city” used parallel with pÒliw) and k≈µh (“village”, often used of collective communities, e.g., settled katå k≈µaw); see Hansen 1997. 193 The earliest testimony comes from 314, describing an alliance concluding by Antigonus I in the Third War of the Diodochi (D.S. xix.57.3; with Rostovtzeff 1941, 1439 n. 277). 191

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whole, e.g., “the whole political world” or something similar.194 On another view, we must be cautious, however, as the adjustment in conventional formulary does not really connote change in how political community was understood by the Greeks. The expression ethnê kai poleis kai dynastai is essentially a diplomatic formula and is in this case determined primarily by the practical circumstances of diplomacy (i.e. to accommodate recognition of the expanding role of monarchies), rather than by serious analytical reflection. The institution of monarchy is thus in a certain sense conceived on analogy with the polis as an autonomous agent in the context of interstate politics.195 The case will have been similar, we imagine, with the pair poleis kai ethnê, the usage of which became more current through the fourth century, when the proliferation of interstate leagues necessitated a diplomatic formulary that extended beyond the polis. Formed in this way, the scheme ethnê kai poleis kai dynastai extends the horizons of political thought only nominally, and in fact incorporates ethnê and dynastai only on the basis of parallel associations with the polis as diplomatic agent.196 The expression is thus inherently limited in its conception of the political diversity. Apart from the expression itself, the narrowness of this conceptual orientation is reflected in other ways as well, incidentally, especially the great flexibility of the term polis itself, which served as a generic form of reference for state formations of all kinds, including federations and even immense imperial systems like Macedonia and Persia.197

The expression ethnê kai poleis is formulaic: Thuc ii.9.4; Pl. R. 348d5; Hellanicus FGH 4 F70; Damastes FGH 5 T1; Xen. Anab. iii.1.2; Cyrop. i.1.3; viii.1.11, 8.2; Mem. i.4.16; Symp. iv.47.4; Isoc. 4.70, 6; Dem. 3.21.7; 18.271.4; Din. in Dem. 76.10; Arist. NE 1094b10; For the rendering of ethnê kai poleis here, see Walbank 1976/77, 30; for more extensive treatment of the expression poleis kai ethnê, se Weil 1960, 376-404. 195 Lists of signatores in diplomatic agreements on inscriptions attest to this in part; see Hansen 1997, 10 for kings listed among poleis; see also documents cited n. 108 below. 196 The context of diplomacy is in fact quite important, for it demonstrates the essentially practical nature of distinctions made between ethnê and poleis and later with dynastai as well, which is to say, in fact, that they were distinguished on very little else, e.g., their juridical status in relation to interstate legal agreements; ethnê and basileis are listed indiscriminately alongside poleis in diplomatic agreements, with no reference to constitutional form; see the inscriptions collected by Schmitt 1969 iii, nos. 257, 403 side B, 446 ll. 13, 64, 76, 95, cited and discussed by Rzepka 2002, 234-35 n. 29. 197 CID ii 32.45; Xen. An. iii.1.2; cited by Hansen 1997 10, 12; cf. Tanck 1997. Later, the Roman empire itself, with Greek states as parts, is able to be termed a polis (Dio lii.19.6), on which see Ando 1999. 194

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Turning to Polybius, the expression ethnê kai poleis kai dynastai reflects a similar set of ideological commitments regarding the composition of Mediterranean political culture. On closer examination, Polybius’ views of political community frequently reveal a conceptual standpoint centered on the polis. The best example of this is surely his account of the Achaean league (ÉAxai«n ¶ynow), which he describes as a single polis.198 This characterization denotes more than a current metaphor of Achaean political ideology; Polybius says the Achaeans possess the same laws, the same magistrates, assembly and courts, and made use of a single currency and system of weights and measures; so like a single city were the Achaeans, Polybius says at the end of the passage, that they lacked only enclosure within a single wall (ii.37.9-11).199 On his view, the institutional character of the ethnos is based fundamentally on analogy with the polis, and in fact, he does not appear to have regarded a more detailed representation necessary.200 A similar case is his examination of the Roman constitution in Book 6. The very assumption that Roman accomplishments could be explained from analysis of her polite€a (e.g, i.1.5; iii.118.10) presupposes a meaningful relation with the Greek polis.201 Yet the interpretation is suggested also

ii.37.7; also used by Polybius are suµpolite€a ÉAxai«n (iii.5.5; cf. ii.44.5: §ynikØ suµpolite€a) and simply polite€a ÉAxai«n (ii.44.4). 199 For the historicity of Polybius’ view of the Achaean league (especially its exaggerations), see Walbank Comm. i, 218-20; cf. O’Neil 1984-86. The comparison is all the more interesting in light of the possibility that Polybius positioned himself directly in opposition with Aristotle, who denied tribal associations any greater institutional structure than a that of a symmachia (military alliance) (Pol. ii.2 1261a22-29); Polybius curious remark about a wall around the Peloponnese is perhaps a direct reference to Aristotle’s own observation (Pol. iii.3 1276a) that a wall does not make a city, as one could conceivably build one around the Peloponnese and not actually produce a polis; see Lehman 2001, 58-61. 200 Lehman 2001 49-53 suggests the Histories contained a study of the Achaean constitution, now lost, in Book 24 (anticipated at iii.3.7), in which Polybius provided a more explicit theoretical account of federalism. 201 See Ando 1999, 13-14 with n. 43, who observes the lack of any Latin equivalent for politeia and thus the fundamental Hellenic nature of analysis into this set of institutions; cf. Millar 1984, 93-94; on analysis of politeiai in Greek political thought, see especially the concise summary of Champion 2004, 80-81 with references. As usual, analysis of politeia goes beyond political institutions, but examines the ¶yh ka‹ nÒµoi (“customs and laws”: vi.47.1-2), and moreover, goes beyond mere description, but considers the entire political and cultural framework as a nexus causes for explaining individual and collective behavior; see Pédech 1964, 303-330; Nicolet 1974, 212, 216-17; Martínez-Lacy 1991. For Polybius’ understanding of politeia and its importance in understanding behavior: i.13.12, 64.2-6; ii.39.6; v.106.1; vi.2.3, 53.1-54.4; 198

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by formal characteristics of his analysis, which is consists largely of comparisons with other Greek poleis, e.g., Sparta (iv.10, 49-50). As has frequently been observed, Polybius saw little need (or was unable) to go beyond conventional theoretical frameworks based upon the polis.202 In fact, the notion Rome represented no more than a ‘mixed’ constitution is itself a sure indication of the limitations of Greek political theory in this respect.203 In any event, the point is not the appropriateness of Polybius’ theoretical perspective, but rather its constructive effect. Polybius’ analysis of Rome is a form of representation. Like the Achaean league, Rome was essentially intelligible to Polybius as a polis.204 The tendency to default to the polis in considering political

viii.2.3-11; xxxix.8.7-8; cf. Ziegler 1952, cols. 1513-15; Champion 2004, 81-84. On causal analysis in Polybius, see further discussion in Chapter 4. 202 Mainly on the failure to see essential differences in notions of citizenship and popular sovereignty; on this point see Ando 1999, 13-14. That Polybius did not accurately understand Roman politics has been observed, though the question remains open; compare, e.g., Momigliano 1975, 37-46 (Polybius misunderstood Roman politics, esp. the political relations and function held by the Italian allies) with Millar 1987 (Polybius was correct to ignore the function of Italian alliances as these did not support genuine comparison with Greek federalism, as well as to emphasize the function of democratic power as well); cf. Yakobsen 1999; Walbank 2002, 16. Also related is extensive discussion of inconsistency and error in Book 6 and the circumstances of its composition; among immense bibliography, see Ziegler 1952, col. 1489; Brink and Walbank 1954; Cole 1964; 1967, 80-130; Pédech 1964, 308-29; Walbank Comm. i, 635-746 (cf. 1972, 130-56); Weil and Nicolet 1977, 9-12, 57-64; Nicolet 1983; Lintott 1997. 203 The description of the Roman politeia as a composite of democracy, aristocracy and monarchy (vi.11.1118.8) attests itself to the limitations in Polybius’ conceptual apparatus—whether this means he relied upon the convention of the mixed constitution itself, discussed already by Plato (Mx. 238c-d; Leg. 712d-e) and Aristotle (Pol. vi.9 1265b26-66a30, 94a30-b15) and made more popular later (e.g., Dicaearchus [FF1, 67-72 Wehrli]); or that he was constrained by the tripartite constitutional typology as a basis for assessment in the first place. In either case, he applies a theoretical framework to the subject of analysis, which even he himself observes was not entirely adequate for understanding political practice at Rome (vi.12.9, 14.12, with Ando 1999, 17). That Cato used such a framework in describing Carthage does not suggest a Latin derivation (Serv. ad Aen. iv.682, with Nicolet 1974, 250). It is disputed, however, that Polybius did in fact misunderstand Rome and that he in fact saw her constitution as mixed at all; see Lintott 1997, 78-81, and Nicolet 1983, though see the response of Walbank 1998, 281-3, on the latter. Bibliography for the so-called mixed constitution in Polybius and elsewhere before him is immense; see, generally, von Fritz 1954; Walbank Comm. i, 638-41, 43-47; 1972, 135-37; Cole 1964; Aalders 1968; Lintott 1999, 214-19. 204 Key support for his comes from Petzold 1969, 34-128, who points out that an essential parallelism underlies Polybius’ representation of Achaea and Rome; in particular, Petzold suggests that Polybius provided the former as an instructive model, especially for the Romans, whom he observed a similar pattern of political decline following the Third Macedonian War. I leave aside the larger question, raised initially by Gelzer 1940, that the early history of Achaea in Book 2 is a later insertion; arguments against in Walbank Comm. i, 215-16, and summary in id. 1972, 13-14 with nn. 67-68; 1985, 296.; cf. Champion 1996, 325-26.

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organization is not merely a theoretical standpoint, but implies deep assumptions about the political composition in the oikoumenê.205 Polybius’ understanding of monarchy represents something of a different case, if only for the reason that the Histories reveal no genuine attempt to theorize the institution on its own. The closest thing to something of this kind appears in the theory of the constitutional growth and decline (the so-called énakÊklvsiw) in Book 6. In it monarchy is but a stage in a cycle of political transformation based teleologically upon the polis.206 This is surely very little, and in fact it does not reflect a genuine attempt to theorize kingship as an institution—it is part of a schematic understanding of how poleis develop over time (vi.7.2-4). In fact it is the absence of any special attempt to theorize kingship itself that is most revealing. In a work dominated by concern for constitutional organization and its causal significance, the absence of theoretical interest in monarchy suggests a failure to recognize its institutional complexity. The reasons for this are perhaps numerous, but especially important among them must be constraints implied by the political theoretical tradition, which was oriented so firmly towards the polis in its attention to political institutions.207 This is not to say that Polybius gave no serious thought to kingship. On the contrary, the conduct of kings forms a subject of great interest in the Histories, and is virtually always accompanied by assessments of its moral and practical dimensions.208 Yet concern for its institutional structures plays no part. This was in fact nothing out of the ordinary, to digress briefly, for serious reflection on kingship in the Hellenistic period was typically limited to didactic purposes, e.g., on effective rule, or on the moral dimensions of kingly authority and the exercise of

The best indications of universalizing tendencies in Polybius’ outlook is his analyses of politeiai in Book 6 (e.g., of Sparta, Crete, Rome, Carthage) and especially the so-called theory of énakÊklvsiw, which provides a generic model of understanding the growth and decline of states (vi.3.1-9.14). 206 vi.3.1-9.14; see Walbank Comm. i, 643-59. 207 On Polybius’ avoidance of addressing the monarchies, see the concise remarks of Millar 1987, 97-100. 208 Representation of kings is in fact a subject unto itself for the interpretation of Polybian political thought; see Welwei 1963; Walbank 1995a, 205-10; Eckstein 1995, passim; cf. source cited n. 121 below. 205

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absolute power.209 In all, there is simply not comparable theoretical interest, on Polybius’ part or on the part of his predecessors and contemporaries, in the institutional character of the monarchies.210 The manner in which concern is expressed in the intellectual tradition, is meaningful in itself, on the other hand, for what actually matters is monarchic authority in the context of Greek polis-culture. In its focus upon ideal characteristics of the monarch—e.g., restraint, moderation, etc.—moralizing literature on kingship reveals more concern for the welfare of Greek states in particular, rather than for monarchic administration for its own sake. This is the general tenor of Polybius’ treatment of kings.211 He never expresses concern for their institutional form. This is ultimately a question of legitimacy. Monarchy does not represent a source of political order on the same terms as other institutional settings.212 In what is perhaps a great irony for Hellenistic political thought, kingship is only of marginal importance, and this in Polybius himself, who works so industriously to understand the causal relation of constitutional forms to the political success and failure. Examples include the spurious letters To Alexander, which appears as an introduction in the Rhetoric to Alexander attributed to Anaximenes (1420a1-21b6), that To Philocrates (cf. Pelletier 1962), and Philodemus’ On the Good King According to Homer, all of which present moralizing advice on the exercise of kingly authority and administration of monarchic regimes. Such writing was part of the philosophical and rhetorical tradition (e.g., Pl. Polit. 291e; Arist. Pol. iii.14 1285a24-29; titles of lost works attested frequently in D.L.), but constitutes a central strain in Greek literature going back to representations of good and bad kings in Homer. Useful discussion of texts cited above and other Hellenistic treatments of kingship appear in Sinclair 1971, 248-53; Aalders 1975, 5-16; Fraser 1972 i, 485, 696-703; Walbank 1984, 65, 76-77; Murray 1965 and 1987; Gigante 1995, 63-78; Hahm 2000, 458-64. On the dating and authorship of the Rhetoric to Alexander, see the summary of Chiron 2007, 101-4. 210 Discussions of Hellenistic literature on kingship often miss the point, mistaking moralizing and often highly rhetorical treatises for legitimate for an extension of theoretical frameworks employed previously in analyses of politeiai; e.g., Hahm 2000; Balot 2006, 269-276. Yet such works do not constitute theories of monarchy and monarchic administrative institutions; they are generally concerned with providing a model of kingly conduct based upon philosophical ideals. 211 Among numerous examples, e.g., the treatment of Philip V: iv.77.4; v.9.1-12.8; vii.11-14; viii.8.1-4, 12.1-8; ix.23.9; x.26.7-10; xv.20; with Walbank 1970, 302-04; cf. Pédech 1964, 108-09. Polybius coverage of Antiochus IV is exemplary in this respect; see e.g., Pédech 1964, 148-53. 212 A telling example is the treatment of monarchic revival in Macedonia in 146, in which the support for the mysterious come-lately king Andriscus led to insurgency against Rome. For Polybius, this turn of events was incomprehensible; that the Macedonians would return to the rule of kings after productive decades of Roman administration was conceivable only as a breakdown of political order, an instance of “heaven-sent infatuation” (daiµonoblabe€an), as he says, as if return to monarchic authority could not itself be considered a return to order; xxxvi.17.12-15. 209

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More to the point, expansion in notions of political culture does not entail a better appreciation of political diversity. In Polybius in particular, use of the expression ethnê kai poleis kai dynastai is not supported by a more elaborate understanding of institutional structures beyond the polis. This is not just a rhetorical issue; the use of this terminology reflects important assumptions about the nature of political community in the oikoumenê. It is the polis exclusively, along with the specific concerns of polis-culture (e.g., as opposed to monarchic authority), which frames theoretical interest in political society. This fact is surely significant, as I have been trying to show, for consideration of Rome and the kingdoms of the east, with which the Greeks had some familiarity. Yet it also has serious implications for the perception of the political world in general. The extension of an interpretive framework developed around the intrinsically limited features of the polis played an important role in the emergence of a formal notion of political culture itself. In a conceptual framework dominated by the polis as the exclusive form of political association, it is not clear, for instance, how forms of political community unrecognizable in terms of its defining features might be considered constituents of a political culture at all, on a strong definition of ‘culture’. The lack of concern for monarchy as a legitimate area of constitutional analysis surely manifests normative views of this kind. The ramifications of this orientation for the perception of other polity forms even less recognizable by analogy with the polis, represent an important area for further research, but go somewhat beyond the frames of the present discussion. More important for the present discussion, however, is the function of the expression ethnê kai poleis kai dynastai itself as a symptom of essentializing viewpoints. As ‘political history’, then, pragmatikê historia would represent a historical study of political culture, where ‘culture’ represents an exclusive category determined in relation to the polis.

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The claim is not an arresting one of itself. The polis played an important role in the theoretical orientations of post-classical political thought.213 In a specifically historiographical context, however, an essentializing view obscures the possibilities for understanding political culture as part of larger historical developments. On a long-term view, in other words, pragmatikê historia provides no basis for discerning change in the institutional framework of political society. The genre implies significant limitations for the extensiveness of historical reconstruction in its orientation towards contemporary and recent events and exclusion of prior accounts in the historical records. Constraints of this kind obviate the possibility of seeing political society as a historical phenomenon itself, as if the composition of the political world was not itself a possible subject of explanation, for instance. Moreover, as the construct poleis-ethnê-dynastai stands out as an enduring frame for political sensibilities, the polis becomes all the more entrenched as a standard of political culture. That is to say, in view of limitations in the explanatory capacities of political history as Polybius conceives it, existing notions of culture conceived predominantly in relation to the polis are then to be taken for granted. In other words, we find in pragmatikê historia no possibility of historicizing political conditions in the Hellenistic world themselves. Consequently, the possibilities of understanding a broader political culture beyond the polis are more dramatically curtailed. In part, the problem is to be attributed to history’s orientation toward explanation (in terms of cause and effect) as its principle mode of engagement with the past. In this analytical framework, treatment of data proceeds through necessary, but ultimately arbitrary choices that constrain the final results of explanation. For causal explanations more specifically, it is necessary that a given level of analysis first be established, and this ultimately requires a prior investment in a notion of where change might be said to be observable in the first place. In order for a given It is certainly characteristic of Aristotle’s thinking; on which bibliography is extensive: e.g., Taylor 1955; Barker 1959, 281-92; Finley 1977; Lloyd 1968, 264-70; Bradley 1991; contra: Finley 1977, 90-93. 213

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form of change to intelligible as such, in other words, other features must be taken as unchanging, as ‘to be expected’, so to speak. This problem is surely more pronounced in pragmatikê historia, where causal explanation performs such a crucial function (see pp. 27-28 above). The expectation that certain forms of change occurring within the political domain are in fact more worthy of explanation therefore brings with it the complementary assumption that that domain is itself fixed and not itself deserving of further explanation. More concretely, Polybius is concerned with changes occurring between and among states, military achievements, for example, or achievements in the practice of diplomacy, but the institutional framework of this environment is never itself of analytical interest. What I am suggesting here is that this interpretive disposition derives in large part from the goal of formalizing historical writing on the model with special technical practices. Limitations in pragmatikê historia as a source of knowledge about the past are thus necessarily and institutionally enjoined in Polybius’ conception of history. In closing, we must recognize that pragmatikê historia occupies an influential position for the ensuing historiographical tradition. We see in the concept the formation of critical features still taken for granted regarding what it means to be produce history, i.e. that historical narrative deals with the state as the primary unit of analysis, for example, or that interactions among states constitute a dominant source of historical change. In this respect, Polybius’ writing goes a long way in orientating later historical perspectives, focused comparably upon the dominant importance of the nation-state. By a certain view it is the state and its function as a source of juridical and moral meaning that make historical change discernible in the first place.214 This metahistorical disposition appears immediately to extend principles in Polybius’ conception of pragmatikê historia. Surely the fundamental arbitrariness of political narrative in historical thought is

On the relationship between the state (and the moral universe supported by it) and historical consciousness, see White 1987. See also Darbo-Peschanski 2007, who discusses historia from the perspective of its juridical orientation. 214

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part of a revelation made possible by more recent attempts to clarify the various assumptions framing history in the western tradition, but it is still useful to ask the question ‘why political history?’ of ancient historiography as well. In fact, modern perspectives beginning with, say, the discovery of geological time in the early 20th century, and now more recent concerns for ecological history and so-called “Big History”, are helpful for grasping just what is at stake in Polybius’ very specific vision of historical understanding.215 In recognizing the possibility of historical narratives at levels of consideration above or beyond human institutions, it is possible to assess better the extent to which historical knowledge is actually ordered by deeper forces in the social and practical contexts of the historical field. In this respect, we might attribute certain features of Western historical outlook to dominant, but essentially arbitrary features of these contexts that I have been observing, such as concerns for intellectual rivalry, the attractiveness of establishing links with practices elsewhere in the sciences, etc. It is perhaps best to leave observations of this kind in a more suggestive form at this stage; it is not the intention here to situate pragmatikê historia so concretely in causal relation to subsequent tendencies in the western historiographical tradition. The more immediate concern has been to clarify how political historiography provides a source of order for historical reconstruction. In this respect, having demonstrated the basic contingency in viewing the political domain as the principle site of historical meaning, we now go on to the substantive features of political history itself. In pursuing this theme in Chapters 3 and 4, I examine various aspects of Polybius’ attempts to make sense of political change and upheaval in the late-third and early-second centuries.

Among very large bibliography, see especially Bloch 1953; Braudel 1972; Dirlik 1999 and 2003; Horden and Purcell 2000; Spier 1996; Smail 2007 and 2008); also relevant are recent studies examining critical assumptions in the Mediterranean historiographical tradition: e.g., Shavit 1988; Pocock 2002; Morris 2003; Purcell 2005. 215

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CHAPTER 3: “NEARLY THE WHOLE INHABITED WORLD” REVELATIONS OF UNITY AND THE UNIVERSAL HISTORIAN

A history which aspires to traverse long periods of time, or to be universal, must indeed forego the attempt to give individual representations of the past as it actually existed. It must foreshorten its pictures by abstractions; and this includes not merely the omission of events and deeds, but whatever is involved in the fact that Thought is, after all, the most trenchant epitomist. (G. W. F. Hegel, The Philosophy of History ii, 1.7, trans. J. Sibree) In the previous chapter I discussed Polybius’ historical approach in relations to broader developments in Hellenistic intellectual culture, noting in particular how the notion of pragmatikê historia is linked to current conceptions of inquiry in the practical sciences. As a source of practical instruction for the statesman, in other words, Polybius bases his historical approach on the model of the other branches of practical knowledge or technê in the sciences, and is thus defined throughout his writing by the typical concerns that characterize this area of inquiry, such as special considerations of content, special standards of veracity and above all a primary concern for practical utility in directing specific activities. This set of affiliations provides the basis for distinguishing the Histories from other, more conventional approaches to study of the past, and as I have discussed, Polybius frames his approach in particular in terms of polemical treatment of other kinds of historical writing. Yet more importantly, I suggested the concept of pragmatikê historia is also to be understood as a source of significant constraints for historical understanding, which now is shaped not only by selective concerns for content but also by a special conception of historical method, a special rhetoric of expertise, etc. Even as this concept provides the basis for a more serious form of history in other words, it also places noteworthy restrictions on how past events are understood and described. Ultimately this approach forms a source of hierarchical conceptions of historical understanding and normative views of Hellenistic political culture.

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In this chapter, I extend a similar approach to the notion of universal history, which forms another important aspect of Polybius’ efforts to distinguish the Histories from conventional accounts, and is thus accompanied by similar considerations for clarifying and redefining historical method and the principles of historical understanding. The scope of the work alone suggests a certain level of innovation. The plan of events extends to virtually every part of the Mediterranean world, ranging from Spain to the Middle East, and including large sections of Italy, Sicily, North Africa, central Europe, and Asia Minor, and from this perspective alone, the work seems to have gone well beyond of the limits of many conventional histories. Apart from the great breadth of the work, the notion of universal history is also distinguished by important methodological concerns, which, understood as the combination of special techniques and concepts for making sense of this broad scheme of events, differentiate the Histories more concretely from other accounts. Indeed, though Polybius often emphasizes the immense breadth of his writing, his notion of universal history is based in particular on the view that extension of coverage permits a new range of interpretive procedures, which in the case of other forms of history are simply unthinkable because of their narrower frames of coverage. These include more detailed comparative assessments, analysis of long-term causal sequences and especially an effort to analyze the whole plan of events, at least in ideal terms, as an comprehensive and integrated system. The concept of universal history is thus based in principle upon the notion that through procedures of this kind it is possible to establish a much more detailed and more sophisticated form of historical understanding. This approach is of course consistent with more general trends in the development of the historical field, in which the enlargement of scope is often associated with new claims to knowledge. In the fourth century, for example, the appearance of Hellenika and Sikelika (comprehensive accounts of “Greek affairs” and “Sicilian affairs”) appears to be associated at least

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in part with efforts to produce a more objective form of historical coverage, unconstrained by the bias and parochialism to be found in many traditional accounts, such as based on the history of a single polis, for instance, or coverage of a single war.216 Now whatever the merit of that distinction in an absolute sense, it is clear that suppositions about the limitations of narrower histories could be put to use in polemics at least, and from this perspective, it is possible to see how the issue of scope will have formed a important part the debate and rivalry governing the development of Greek historical writing. From a purely practical point of view, extension of coverage in fact provided the basis for repudiating other writers in much more concrete terms. It is in this sense, I wish to examine Polybius’ writing, whose own effort to extend coverage to thoroughly ‘universal’ limits denotes roughly the same set of concerns, and not only in a quantitative sense once more, but as a way of improving the detail and benefit of historical knowledge qualitatively as well.217 This approach will perhaps appear unexpected in view of conventional explanations for universal historiography, which is often linked to what might be considered more external factors,

Such histories are apoleis, to follow a point made by Lucian (Hist. conscr. 41), which is to say, not linked to the historical traditions of a single polis. Fornara 1983, 50-52, makes a similar point, observing historians’ concerns for superseding local histories written by biased statesmen and generals. A similar trend links movement away from local history to the growth of Hellenistic monarchies from the late fourth century onward; see Meissner 1992, 362-478. For a good discussion of issues related to local historiography, its relation with the mainstream tradition of political history, and especially the resulting status distinctions, see Clarke 2007, 175-93. On impartiality and truthfulness in the historical field, see Marincola 1997, 158-65. On Hellenika and Sikelika, see Fornara 1983, 32-42; Tuplin 2007; cf. Vattuone 2001, 263-68. There remains uncertainty over whether Sikelika are parallel to Hellenika or are to be grouped among ethnographic surveys based on a single ¶ynow, e.g., Persika, Aigyptiaka, Indika (on which see Marincola 2001, 105-9). Jacoby produced different views on this questions himself over the course of his career; see, e.g., 1909, 39-44; FGH iii B, 480-1, the latter suggesting writers produced Sikelika to complement to tradition of political history focused on mainland Greece. It would seem that this problem relies on too rigid a distinction between ethnography and historical writing in the Greek tradition, but more importantly, concentration of strict generic definitions perhaps conceals noteworthy problems stemming from how writers distinguished between the prospect of accounts of the western Greeks and the ethnê of the East, where the one offered the possibility of genuine political history, and the other, simply collection of ethnographic data. The nature of the distinction and its effects for the organization of Hellenistic culture are subjects I hope to pursue in a future project. 217 For the ‘quantitative’ and ‘qualitative’ aspects of Polybius’ concept of universal history, see Sacks 1981, 105-120. The theme of universality is as much a conception of change in the external world as it is the set of organizational and narrative principles necessary to account for that change in writing; cf. Pédech 1964, 497; Walbank 1972, 68. 216

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such as the political and cultural developments that historians saw themselves as describing. Indeed Polybius himself links universal history directly to the events of the late third century, notably the extension of Roman political authority and the ensuing integration of affairs over roughly the whole world; these developments, he says, created the need for a new form of history, roughly coextensive with the limits of the world itself.218 This view has proven highly influential in fact, for modern scholars have continued to explain universal history as a response to wars of conquest and the like. To be fair, a broader set of factors is often adduced, such as developments in intellectual culture, which spurred interest in broader conceptions of unity in the Mediterranean world (e.g., the ongoing growth of geographic knowledge, increased interest in the history and culture of the non-Greeks, and the emergence of more formal views of human unity). Yet for the most part, these factors are linked to political conflict in some way or another. It is the great wars for world conquest waged by Macedonians, for example, first by Philip and then by his son, Alexander, that are thought to have created the conditions for broader geographic surveys, more extensive contact with the barbarian, etc.219 Thus, though explanation is diversified, modern accounts of universal history generally do not depart considerably from that provided by Polybius, for this type of historical writing is understood as a response of some kind to changes in Mediterranean political culture. While not necessarily wrong, this view poses certain problems in the way it construes universal history as the product of such conspicuous developments in the historical field. In many modern accounts, for example, universal history is understood as the achievement of specific writers, who by extending coverage beyond conventional limits are thought to have succeeded at last in producing accounts providing comprehensive coverage of human affairs, and in extreme E.g., i.4.1-11, discussed below; the dimensions of Roman conquest are described, on comparison with empires of the past, just ahead of this passage at 2.1-8. 219 For the relationship between enlargement of scope and hegemonic conflict, see Alonso-Núñez 1990; 2002, passim; Marincola 2007a; cf. Clarke 1999a, 71-72; 1999b. For the influence of panhellenism, beliefs in human unity, and the growth of the geographic field, see n. 222 below. 218

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versions of this view, universal is thought to represent a separate genre of writing.220 Now, while it is true that works included by category universal history are often distinguishable from other forms of writing by special formal features, the tendency to draw such rigid distinctions introduces certain problems of interpretation. In part these are reducible to the standard problems associated with applying modern conceptions of literary genre, which must inevitably rely upon categories of analysis that are anachronistic or otherwise inappropriate for the interpretation of ancient literature. The problem is especially pronounced for universal history, incidentally, for given the importance of current conceptions of geographic space and especially the radical variation of this category across different cultural and historical contexts, it is virtually impossible to produce any useful generic definition for universal history. More importantly, however, the generic approach is problematic in the way it relies upon such a fixed view of the cultural developments thought to have spurred interest in broader forms of history. By defining the enlargement of scope so strictly in terms of a response to external historical change, in other words, this approach limits our understanding of how perceptions of these changes are themselves positively formed through the acts of historical reconstruction involved in the production of universal histories. In other words, revelations of the impact of Macedonian or Roman conquest might be useful for understanding why historians enlarged the frames of their writing, or even why they sought to extend coverage to the limits of the world itself, but ultimately postulating such a unidirectional relationship between the external events of history and the practices of historical writers excludes the possibility of Generic views of universal history appear in, e.g., Schmitthenner 1979, 90; Alonso-Núñez 1990, 2002, 2002, 11-12, esp. 96; 2003; Mortley 1996, 1-27; Clarke 1999a, 250 and passim, 1999b; Marincola 2007a, 171; cf. Pédech 1964, 497; Walbank 1972, 68. Sacks 1981, 96-121, offers roughly the same view, though he calls attention to the inconsistencies in ancient views. More balanced is Momigliano 1987 [1982], who describes universal history as a manifestation of certain evolutionary schemes in the areas of myth and philosophy, though he also appears to view universal history as a particular kind of writing. Others views are Fornara 1983, 42-6, Marincola 2001, 121-35, and Schepens 2004, which address the issue in terms of the evolution of historical outlooks, rather than establishment of a formal literary genre. The generic view owes much to Jacoby (e.g., 1909) of course, who included universal history within his general evolutionary scheme of the historiographical tradition. For discussion of Jacoby’s views, see Pearson 1939, 1942; Jacoby 1949; Fornara 1983, 1-23; Toye 1995; Murray 1996; Clarke 1999a, 56-65. 220

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understanding how those revelations may be situated in relations to the representational practices on which historical writes rely in making sense of the past. While it is doubtless useful to be aware of the constructed status of all forms of historical understanding, this issue is especially important in respect of the broad-based histories appearing in the Hellenistic era, which appear to have performed such a unique function in organizing knowledge of human affairs spread across such great intervals of space. In what follows here, I hope to broaden discussion of universal history from the perspective of the relationship between enlargement of scope and internal concerns related to the development of the historical field itself. First this involves reconsideration of category of universal history itself, which when understood in strictly generic terms obstructs our view of how the issue of scope relations to historians’ efforts to claim greater authority for their writing. Polybius’ own approach is not based solely on the theme of Roman conquest, for instance, but rather forms part of an effort to link breadth of coverage with qualitative adjustments in the way past events are described and explained. What is interesting is how in pursuit of this end, Polybius forms his approach on the model of current techniques of organization and analysis employed in other areas of sciences, notably in medicine and other branches of the natural sciences, which provide the conceptual framework for describing historical change on such a massive scale. As in Chapter 2, then, the approach here is aimed primarily at situating the Histories in relation to contemporary scientific discourse, and indeed, as we shall see, the notion of universal history in Polybius is formed almost entirely from efforts to assimilate current practices in the sciences. Now, while this set of affiliations provides the basis for aligning the Histories with more serious conceptions of nature and scope of speculative thought in intellectual culture, adjustments in Polybius’ approach to history are to be understood also as a source of noteworthy limitation for the interpretation of

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past events, and above all, the aim of this chapter is to suggest some of the ramifications of this conception of history for the production and organization of historical knowledge This chapter is divided into four sections. In the first of these I consider current approaches to universal history based on the issue of generic development and its relation to political change in the fourth and third centuries. I argue that approaches of this kind, while useful for historicizing the development of historical writing, ultimately restrict our understanding of universalism as a productive component in the organization of historical knowledge. From an intellectual historical perspective, there is a need to consider universal history as a set of perceptions historical writers maintained towards their subject matter, rather than from a preordained view of what does or does not count as a particular kind of writing. In the second section, I consider this point in relation to specific historians, notably the writers Theopompus and Timaeus, who both produced works of immense scope in this period, and thus offer a useful illustration of how universality is established through the conceptions of unity in the historical matter itself, rather than an external notion of comprehensiveness. More importantly, however, their writing demonstrates how extension of coverage also imposes limits for historical understanding. In what is surely a noteworthy paradox in the development of Greek historiography, even as the appearance of broader accounts implies a shift to greater inclusivity in the historical record, it implies noteworthy constrains as well, at times even in exceedingly stringent formal configurations, as we find in the case of Polybius’ Histories. In the third section, I focus my arguments on Polybius, considering how he bases his concept of universal history on models of organization and analysis employed in the natural sciences. In particular, Polybius makes use of procedures based on articulation of different kinds of formal dependency among events (e.g. parallels, causal sequences, part-whole relationships), which thus, from their function in the context of other areas of scientific discourse, distinguish the

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broader scope of the Histories as an issue of technical importance. At the same time, however, this approach also implies constraints for historical interpretation, which now, given the reliance on this specific set of procedures, entails special formal arrangements for representation of past events. This issue I examine in the final section of the chapter, where I argue that Polybius’ approach to universal history may be linked to the appearance of dominant trends in the Mediterranean historiographical tradition, such as the view that historical change is teleological, for instance or that over time history reveals a process of integration. Both are important aspects of Polybius’ representation of events in the Histories of course, and indeed, given the continued extension of Roman authority, both have often played an important role in subsequent efforts to describe the impact of Roman expansion on Mediterranean history. Here I suggest that the lasting influence of these perspectives may be explained in part, on the example of Polybius’ Histories, in terms of intervention of ideals of scientific rationalism in the context of historical interpretation.

A new approach to universal history While a truly universal history would entail comprehensiveness in respect of both time and space, modern discussion of the subject typically begins with the latter alone. As I have already suggested, efforts to enlarge historical scope are often associated with geographic concerns in particular, and for this reason, even if in time writers also sought to extend coverage deeper into the past, it is clear that all works falling under the category of universal history are alike in the concern for spatial breadth at least.221 It therefore makes sense that explanations of universal Admittedly, the extension of chronological limits is also a frequent concern of historians—both Ephorus and Diodorus sought to provide coverage of the remote past as far as was possible under current conditions, for example—but a more thorough history from a spatial perspective seems to be the standard; Marincola 2007a, 171. On Ephorus and Diodorus, and the chronological limits of their writing, see pp. 90-92 above. 221

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history begin with the conditions thought to have directed writers’ interests to the histories of other places. These include the general growth of the geographic knowledge in the late fourth century, when the conquests of Alexander created new opportunities for knowledge of the cultures east of the Greek world, but also important developments in the third century, when we find a surge of interest in the history of the communities of the western Mediterranean. Moreover, to these more or less concrete developments in describing the world, may be added specific intellectual trends taking place from the late fifth century, such as the spread of Panhellenic feeling and idealized conceptions of the barbarian, or the emergence of general beliefs in human unity.222 As I mentioned, however, these developments are often combined with observations about the impact of specific wars on the sensibilities of Greek writers, especially the hegemonic struggles of the fourth through first centuries, which are thought to formed a major influence on interests in the history of communities outside the Greek world. As I mentioned, the upheaval connected with wars of Macedonian and Roman conquest are often generally accepted as the principal conditions for the emergence of universal history, not only because of their breadth, but also because they are taken to influenced the intellectual historical developments just mentioned. Universal history is thus understood primarily as an intellectual response to specific historical

On the impact of Alexander’ conquests upon geographic knowledge and imagination, see, e.g., Aalders 1983, 293-301; Geus 2003. On the growth of interest in the western Mediterranean, see Alonso-Núñez 1990, 182-3; 2002, 60. On panhellenism, see pp. 137-40 below. On the concept of human unity, thought to have been influenced especially by Alexander’s conquests, see Muir 1928; Baldry 1962, 1965; cf. observations by Murray 1966; Ando 1999, 24. For the omission of the historical works from discussion of this subject, see Peremans 1962; Murray 1966; Vattuone 1998. The old view, i.e. that Alexander was motivated by a concept of universal brotherhood, appears in Tarn 1948 ii, 399-449; rejected by Baldry 1958; Badian 1958. Also significant in this context is the theory of translatio imperii, as it is known from Latin sources, according to which historical change is conceived of as a sequence of imperial power transitions (e.g., from the Assyrians to the Persians, and then late to the Macedonians), in which see Swain 1940. Its relation to universal historiography is questionable however; see Mendels 1981; contra Alonso-Núñez 1983; 1984a; 1984b. For the significance of the Book of Daniel on this issue, see Momigliano 1987 [1982], 46-52; and Tadmor 1998, with large bibliography. A fifth concern, which is closest to the position argued in this chapter, is that of Fornara 1983, 42-43, who observes a relationship between universal historiography and the ever-increasing supply of historical texts after the Classical period, which from providing coverage of an increasingly wider range of past events along both spatial and temporal axes, supported a more concrete understanding of the need for broader forms of historical coverage. 222

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developments, and thus a natural or inevitable outcome of political changes beginning with the fourth century. Such is the evolutionary or generic approach to universal history. Yet for all its merits in identifying important conditions for interest in a broader view of history, there are several problems that I would like to address here. These are of three kinds essentially: first, an intrinsic problem with the notion of genre, which, when defined in terms of spatial comprehensiveness, is too rigid to accommodate the ongoing change in Hellenistic geographic knowledge; second, interpretive problems related to the specific ways these historical conditions are adduced in modern accounts of universal history; and lastly, problems with the degree of distinctiveness that is often assumed of works described by the label ‘universal’. Above all, the generic approach encourages a teleological view. In accepting the view that universal history is the product of specific historical conditions, one must decide upon some notion of its defining features, on the basis of which, it is then distinguishable from other forms of writing. The most obvious distinguishing feature of course is comprehensiveness, but one is left to one’s own as to how that variable might be defined. However it is defined though, it inevitably encourages a schematic view, according to which any broad historical work represents a stage in the process of generic development—a process that was in fact never fulfilled in antiquity on certain views of what comprehensiveness would entail, incidentally (see below). In any event, this problem is especially apparent when we consider how the notion of genre is related to geographic scope. Given the importance of comprehensiveness as a generic principle, it is necessary that one sees a formal difference between writers meeting and not meeting this standard, such as is the case in modern studies following Polybius, who identifies the first writer of universal history as Ephorus of Cyme.223 In this case, it then becomes necessary to view other writers of broad works in relation

v.33.2; cf. ix.1.4; xxxiv.1.3. In this view, Polybius is followed not only by his immediate successors, such as Strabo (ix.3.11, x.3.5), but by modern writers as well; see esp. Alonso-Núñez 1990; cf. Fornara 1983, 4243; Marincola 2001, 110, 2007a, 171-74; Pownall 2004, 114; Clarke 2007, 96. 223

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to this standard, such as Herodotus, Timaeus of Tauromenium and Theopompus of Chios, all of whom produced works of immense scope, but are not recognized as having attained a comprehensive account of history.224 This represents an arbitrary, even if anciently attested, conception of universal history. Polybius’ notion of universal history doubtless relies upon an historically specific notion of what is meant by ‘the world’, and ought not, for this reason, be binding upon our understanding of works appearing under different conditions. Given the continuous change and variation in knowledge of the oikoumenê, it is in fact exceedingly difficult to say that a definitive universal outlook was achieved at any single given point. To do so would inevitably limit our understanding of other broad historical works, such Herodotus’ Histories, which seem to have come pretty near close to achieving a comprehensive world history, at least on current conceptions of the dimensions of the world. There is thus an intrinsic problem with a generic approach, for it relies upon criteria of generic definition that are themselves incapable of being established beyond variation. Apart from these intrinsic problems with the generic view, there are noteworthy issues with some of the arguments scholars employ in linking universal history to external historical developments. For example, universal history is often linked with the political upheaval prompted by Macedonian and Roman political expansion. Yet on the assumption that universal history represents a conspicuous achievement in historical writing, it is not clear how both sets of conditions can be responsible for universal history, for either a comprehensive form of history must be attributed to the Philippic and Alexandrian eras, in which case, further interests in a broader form of history in the Roman era are negligible, or it is in fact Roman conquest that created the conditions for establishing a new genre of writing, in which case, fourth-century Polybius apparently knew the work of both writers well, though he does not regard them as universal historians; Timaeus is even criticizing for falsely assuming this distinction (see pp. 147-48 below). Modern writers generally follow Polybius on this point; e.g., Burde 1974, 6; Alonso-Núñez 1990, 173. Timaeus and Theopompus are discussed further pp. 144-51 below. 224

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histories would be appear limited in comparison. Of course, one might adduce a gradual process of development, as indeed is the implication in most modern accounts, but this approach is not only incompatible with the principle of generic distinctiveness, but is actually irreconcilable with the basic fact that knowledge of the oikoumenê continued well after the initial stages of Roman expansion in the second and first centuries.225 One might view this problem from the perspective of modern ideals. Surely any conception of universal history in antiquity is limited by comparison with the world histories appearing from the early modern period. Indeed, from a certain perspective, universal historiography cannot be said to have appeared before European involvement in the Americas. Yet it would be absurd to suggest for this reason that an otherwise comprehensive account of ecumenical affairs appeared less than universal in antiquity. This represents an extreme example of course, but it is a telling one, for it underscores the basic contingency of notions of historical universalism, which would apparently be based on intellectual resources that are inherently limited, i.e. by history, by localization, etc. In this respect, efforts to reduce the question of universal history to a matter of genre turn out to be largely inadequate, for they require a rigid distinction between universal history properly understood and other forms of broad-based historical writing that, as antiquity is concerned, is incompatible with the fact that the ongoing enlargement of geographic knowledge will have always held out the possibility of yet broader historical outlooks. I raise these concerns not to deny the relevance of current approaches to universal historiography. Indeed, they have improved our understanding of conditions affecting the Greeks’ historical vision, and it would not do to ignore the compelling coincidence in the simultaneous growth of imperial power and the appearance of immense accounts of the oikoumenê. Yet The point may be extended repeatedly in respect of the relationship between Roman conquest and knowledge of the world: continued Roman expansion up to the time of Pompey and later, of Augustus highlights the paradox between the rhetoric of universal conquest and the increasingly fleeting possibility of a truly universal account of the world; cf. Clarke 1997, 105-7. 225

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associating universal history so closely with a given set of historical circumstances limits our appreciation of how historians entertained notions of universality individually. I address this problem in greater detail in what follows, focusing upon specific attempts to explain universal history in relation to imperial conquest, particularly in the era of Philip II. From consideration of this subject, I hope to reformulate some of observations made here in more substantive terms, but also to suggest an interpretation of universality as an emergent feature in historical writing, formed in relation to conceptions of unity in the historical matter itself, rather than from external notions of comprehensiveness. Scholarly interest in universal history often begins with the Philippic era (359-336), and especially with Ephorus and Theopompus, who are both the authors of works of immense scope appearing at this time: Ephorus, a work in 30 books, covering more than seven centuries of Greek and barbarian history, and including treatments of the Indians, the Aethiopians, the Celts and the Scythians; and Theopompus, a work in 58 books, the Philippika, which, though focused mainly upon the Macedonian king, combines historical and ethnographic description of a substantial portion of the Mediterranean world, including affairs in Italy, Sicily, and Asia Minor, in addition to Macedon and Greece.226 As for the events of the Philippic era themselves, the conquests and ambitions of the Macedonian king (along with ensuing diplomatic crisis) are generally taken to have prompted deeper reflection upon political and cultural collectivities beyond the traditional frames of the polis. Of particular interest in this context is the subject of Panhellenic ideology, which, in addition its relevance for expressions of cultural unity in the Greek world, is also thought to have prompted more serious interest in the culture and history of non-Greeks as well. Notably it is the reflection on the continuous threat of Persian domination or vengeance for the Fragments of Ephorus’ writing appear in FGH 70; cf. Schwartz 1907; Lacquer 1911; Barber 1935; Momigliano 1935a; Schepens 1977; Vattuone 1998; Breglia Pulci Doria 2001. Fragments of Theopompus collected in FGH 115; cf. Lacquer 1934; von Fritz 1941; Momigliano 1931a; 1935a; Shrimpton 1991; Flower 1994; Vattuone 1998. 226

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invasions of the previous century that are supposed to have spurred interest in a more comprehensive history of “Greeks and barbarians”, as it is put in reference to the works of both Ephorus and Theopompus.227 Receiving special emphasis in this connection is the fourth-century orator Isocrates, whose commitment to the Panhellenism228 is thought to have formed a major influence on the two, who are traditionally counted among the orator’s students.229 In particular, the breadth of their writing, its explicit focus on Greek and barbarian affairs, and, in the case of Theopompus in particular, emphasis on the figure of Philip are thought to demonstrate a strong relationships with the Isocratean political agenda. This interpretation is largely unwarranted, however, for it overstates the significance of both fourth-century Panhellenism and the impact of Macedonian expansion. The claim regarding Isocrates’ influence upon Ephorus and Theopompus may be rejected outright. As Michael Flower (1994, 42-62) has shown, this view originates in long held beliefs in the existence of an Isocratean ‘school’ of historical writing that are essentially untenable, as they are based only on stylistic links and an erroneous assumptions about political views held in common by the historians and Isocrates. Ephorus and Theopompus are thought to have developed a literary style on Isocrates’ model, concerning themselves more with moral instruction through rhetorical paradigms than with truth and accuracy. In this respect, incidentally, their writing has even been taken to show a decline in methods and principles of the historical

FGH 70 T10, 115 F25 (echoing Hdt. i.1.1); see further nn. 143 below. Isocrates’ appeals to the Greeks to end internal problems and join a common effort against the barbarians appear famously in the speeches Panegyricus and To Philip. He saw Philip as a crucial part of this plan, regarding Macedonian authority and military strength as a rallying point for unifying against Persia. On Isocrates, Greekness, and paideia, see Hartog 2001, 96-7; Saïd 2001, 275-86; cf. Hall 2001 on the Macedonian image in this context. For extended study of the historical development of Hellenic identity, see Hall 1989; Hall 1997; 2002; Konstan 2001. 229 Versions of this view appears in Momigliano 1931a (cf. id. 1933) and Alonso-Núñez 1990 and 2002, 3741, the latter more explicitly in connection with the emergence of universal historiography; it is adopted in some form or other by many others; e.g., Bury 1909; von Fritz 1941; Sacks 1990, 36; Clarke 1999a, 100 n. 52. 227 228

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discipline.230 In extreme versions of this position, Isocratean political views are even thought to have directly shaped the content of the two authors’ writing: so Theopompus’ Philippika, for instance, is taken to represent no more than a derivative expression of the orator’ hopes for a united Greece under Philip.231 All of this is tenuous, however, for as Flower (ibid.) has shown, it cannot even be established that the two historians actually received any instruction from Isocrates, or that the latter maintained any interest in historiography at all for that matter.232 Furthermore there is no indication that Ephorus or Theopompus actually shared the political views, i.e. regarding the importance of Philip as Panhellenic unifier, that Isocrates is so well known for.233 The emergence of universal historiography cannot therefore be connected in any substantial way with the influence of Isocrates. Nor can general Panhellenic feeling (i.e. apart from the influence of Isocrates) be attributed a distinctive role. As many have observed, Momigliano in particular, concern for Hellenic unity in response to foreign threats represents an important historiographical theme pretty much from the inception of the historical discipline, at least from the inception of serious interests in political historiography. Herodotus’ Histories is of course the best indication of this, for It is often taken for granted that Isocratean rhetoric formed the basis for a form of history aimed at providing moral instruction through paradigms, though its influence on specific authors, such as Ephorus, is described in a range of ways; e.g., Laquer 1911 and 1943; Momigliano 1931a; Fornara 1983, 108-12 (exempting Ephorus from the pattern); Connor 1985; Lane Fox 1986; Sacks 1990, 25-8; Schepens 1977; Pédech 1989. For discussion, see Flower 1994, 42-4; cf. Drews 1994. 231 The view goes back to Momigliano 1931a, 1933; cf. Alonso-Núñez 1990, 179, who also suggests that Theopompus supported Philip; interestingly, in that account, the negative portrayals of Philip to be found in Theopompus are actually evidence of the writer’s objectivity as a historian, and do not bring into question basic assumption regarding his support for the Macedonian king. 232 This view derives only from the ancient biographical tradition focused on Isocrates and the two historians, and is not supported by evidence from the surviving text of either writer. Its persistence in modern scholarship is remarkable in fact, since Flower’s observations are not new, but were made long ago by Schwartz 1907 and Jacoby FGH ii C, 22-23. 233 Theopompus is actually critical of Philip on many occasions; sources and discussion: Connor 1967; Shrimpton 1977; Flower 1994, 83-90, 98-115. As for Ephorus, there is no evidence that the he admired the king, though admittedly his Histories does not cover the relevant period for discussing Philip; the work was left unfinished after reaching only to 340. Ephorus may have intended to go beyond this point, however, for according to Diodorus (xvi.14.3=FGH 70 T9a) his son Demophilus subsequently made additions. This fact is often taken to suggest that the original plan of the work was larger, perhaps intended to cover events as late as the time of Alexander; cf. FGH ii C, 24-5; Barber 1935, 1-16. 230

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to the extent that that work signals a beginning of some kind, it is apparently due to concern for the Persian threat that there is any formal historiographical tradition.234 This observation is surely an overstatement, but it nonetheless illustrates how concerns for Hellenic solidarity and relations with non-Greeks formed an important focus in Greek historical thought well in advance of the age of Philip.235 In all, then, it is difficult to attribute any special influence to the more aggressive Panhellenism of the Philippic era, and it is ultimately necessary to reconsider conventional accounts of the relationship between universal history and intellectual trends in the Philippic era exclusively. In fact, far from revealing a new approach to history, fourth-century historical writing shows a great deal of continuity with the preceding generations. Ephorus’ and Theopompus’ histories are not categorically different from, say, Herodotus Histories. Certainly they were massive, many times the length of the latter work, but from a thematic perspective they were conventional. Like Herodotus, each of these writers is concerned with describing Greek and barbarian affairs in a more comprehensive view of things.236 This approach may be traced to before Herodotus in fact, who is himself to be understood in relation to existing scientific prose traditions, which were themselves already engaged in similar projects of extensive geographic and

Momigliano 1966b; cf. Walbank 1972, 2; Clarke 1999a, 99-100. Momigliano surely overstates the point, but it is true that concern for the Greek-Persian question is characteristic of much historical writing since Herodotus. Thus panhellenic views attributed to Ephorus need not be due to direct influence from Isocrates. 235 In addition to Herodotus, there is evidence for interest in the Greek-Persian question in deliberative rhetoric from the early fourth century. Isocrates himself says the theme has been addressed by others before him (Pan. 3); e.g., Lys. Ol., who discusses the prospect of Hellenic unity in the context of both the Persian threat and that of Dionysius I of Sicily. Gorgias too, perhaps as early as the late fifth century, appears to have expressed interest in panhellenism against Persia though the authenticity of this fragment is open to question (Philostr., VS i.9); see Cawkwell 1982, 324-6, cited by Flower 1994, 58 n. 54; further discussion in Walbank Comm. i, 308. By the time of Isocrates, the notion of a joint Greek effort against Persia appears to have become widespread; e.g., Jason of Pherae (Isoc. Phil. 119; Xen. Hell. vi.1.12); Delius of Ephesus (Plut. Mor. 1126d). 236 So Diodorus on Ephorus, whom he describes along with Herodotus as author of a general history (afl koina‹ prãjeiw) (xvi.76.5, v.1.4=FGH 70 TT 10, 11; cf. D.S. xi.37.6). For Theopompus, see pp. 144-46 below. 234

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ethnographic survey.237 Hippocratic writers, such as the author of Airs, Waters, Places, and the Ionian author, Hecataeus of Miletus, for example, all appears to exhibit concerns for a more inclusive account non-Greek culture, and in this respect, even if they do not formally incorporate study of past, they provide a useful indication of concerns for more comprehensive studies of culture taking shape as early as the middle of the fifth century. The enlargement of scope in historical works properly speaking thus reflects a conventional, rather than an innovative development, and the broad histories of the Philippic era are thus not categorically separable from other, preexisting prose works in history and ethnography. Continuity between the broad works of the fourth century and the rest of the historiographical tradition, then, suggests the need for an approach that goes beyond the conventional generic view. Though there is clearly some correlation between the developments discussed here and the extension of historical coverage, taking the former as the basis for a separate genre of writing involves an implicit teleology—so much is signaled by the consistent focus on “origins”, “beginnings” or “emergence” that often appears in modern accounts of the subject.238 Consequently we are left with a neat progressive scheme, according to which the work of some specific writer (usually Polybius) represent a culmination in efforts to produce a truly comprehensive work, while others, such as Herodotus for instance, signify merely an antecedent to this achievement.239 Such a view is of course excludes consideration of views maintained by historical writers themselves (or their audiences) with regard to the comprehensiveness of their work. It means little to say that Herodotus’ Histories represents a work defined by limitation, for

The best discussion of Herodotus’ relationship with the Ionian and Hippocratic traditions is Thomas 2000, esp. 75-101; cf. Lateiner 1989. 238 E.g. Momigliano 1987 [1982]; Alonso-Núñez 1990; 2002; 2003; Desideri 2001; Vanicelli 2001; Schepens and Bollansée 2004 239 Moreover, subsequent writers, such as Augustan historians for example, are then understood as representing a mature stage of this kind of writing. Herodotus as ‘proto-universal’ writer: Burde 1974, 9-17; Vattuone 1998; Vannicelli 2001. For Diodorus of Sicily and Nicolaus of Damascus, see Alonso-Núñez 1990, 191-2; Clarke 1999b. 237

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instance. Apart from being immensely broad, the plan of the work appears to have been roughly coextensive with current views of the world in the sciences.240 Just this fact alone suggests the need to view the work from some perspective other than its limitations.241 Yet more importantly, the breadth of the work is significant for how we understand its influence in actually shaping perceptions of space. Whether we consider this point in terms of the difference between the Histories and other (doubtless narrower) sources of historical knowledge in the late fifth-century, or its consistency with depictions of the world in contemporary science, one achievement of the work was doubtless to provide conditions for thinking about world history as a unity. This aspect of the Histories is well understood in modern scholarship, and I will not go into it at length, but generally speaking its breadth of ethnographic survey and its overall organization around key themes of historical description (e.g., intercultural conflict, cyclical retribution, etc.) form the basis for a more or less unified view of human history.242

The Histories incorporates broad geographic and ethnographic description, including accounts of the Lycians, Persians, Egyptians, and Scythians, in addition to Greek states. In this respect, the plan of work corresponds with current conceptions of the oikoumenê in the Ionian rationalist tradition, and thus shows commitment to a particular view of the dimensions and order of the known world. More importantly, however, this plan is crucial to treatment of the Histories’ central theme, the conflict between the Persians and the Greeks, which Herodotus approaches from the perspective of essential cultural differences and general patterns governing human affairs. See Hartog 1988; cf. Lateiner 1989, 145-62; and Clarke 1999, 66-72, who describes the Histories as an “all-encompassing… histoire humaine” (quotation p. 72). On the oikoumenê in Herodotus and his relationship to Ionian tradition; see Nesselrath 1995; Thomas 2000, 75-101; Alonso-Núñez 2003. 241 Admittedly, denying this status to Herodotus’ work is often based upon his lack of absolute chronological system, such was likely employed by Timaeus and Polybius. Yet this too would restrict the issue to later conceptions of universal history, one reflecting the technical developments of Hellenistic chronography—to whatever extent these were actually applied consistently by historical writers, and there is doubt that they were—or even early modern views concerning history’s potential to implement absolute chronological, as well as geographic, schemes. On Timaeus’ chronological plan, see n. 256 below; for that of Polybius, see Ziegler 1952, col. 1565; Pédech 1964, 432-73; cf. id. 1955; with important qualifications in Errington 1967; Walbank 1972, 101-8. 242 This is the view of Herodotus given by Diodorus at least (xi.37.6), though as for Herodotus conception of his own writing, his view of the comprehensiveness of the Histories is best understood as a set of ambitions or as intellectual perspectives governing the assembly of a work combining coverage of so many cultures spread across the world. On the conception of geographic totality underlying the Histories, see Clarke 1999a, 66-71, with discussion of important bibliography. The conception of history suggested by use of the phrase “Greeks and barbarians” and the like is discussed in detail by Vattuone 1998; cf. Alonso Nunez 1990, 177; 2002, 17-19, 37-41. 240

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A generic view of universal history can restrict our understanding of the contribution of such a work in positively shaping perception of the world. In part, this point may be understood from the perspective of the discursive nature of geographic knowledge in antiquity, in which case, in purely pragmatic terms, it is not clear on what basis an audience of the Histories will have had any strong sense of its limitations. On these terms, it is not difficult to see how the work will have formed an important influence on perspectives of space, especially when others source of input were lacking. Yet the influence of a work of this kind does not depend on the lack of more credible alternatives, but is rather to be understood in more positive terms as well, such as in the ways the specific portrait of the world provided by the Histories is established through the construction of narrative authority, e.g., authorial self-presentation, rhetorical presentation, consistency with prevailing viewpoints, etc. The claim that the Histories provided an account of the “the deeds of the Greeks and barbarians”, for example, aligns the work with current views, however idealized, of what constituted an exhaustive account of human history.243 In this case, the point is not necessarily that notions of comprehensiveness are contingent, but rather that they are positively constructed in writing. There are better and worse ways to depict geographic space in writing of course, but the task of depiction itself depends upon textual reconstruction, and its relationship

to

other

sources

of

geographic

knowledge

in

circulation.

Notions

of

comprehensiveness in historical writing are not fundamentally different. It is thus perhaps clearer why the notion of universal history must be understood from the perspective of more internal concerns, for given how enlargement of scope is viewed at least in part as an issue of credibility, the task of forming a more universal approach will have always proceed in conjunction with special claims to authority by the historian. Thus if it is in fact necessary to identify a generic trait for universal history, it would have to reflect this fact, namely,

243

See n. 242 above.

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that the comprehensiveness of a given piece of writing depends on the way it is validation in the text. I examine Polybius’ concept of universal history form this perspective in Section III below, but before moving on to that subject, I would like to illustrate this point from consideration of the work of Theopompus and Timaeus.

Unity and universalism in historical writing Much in the vein of Herodotus, both Theopompus and Timaeus produced works of surpassingly broad coverage, combing geographic and ethnographic survey with historical description organized around unifying themes. The two thus provide a noteworthy illustration of how enlargement of scope is to be understood for its own implications of comprehensiveness, but more importantly, I wish to show how this tendency also entails noteworthy limitations for the production of historical knowledge. To be fair, interpretation of the work of Theopompus and Timaeus must remain highly speculative, as only very little survives of their writing—just fragments of works that doubled the size of Herodotus’ Histories many times over—and for this reason, the following is not intended as a definitive account. Yet at the same time, it is possible from even this brief survey, to appreciate the stakes involved in the production of large historical works of this kind. The historian Theopompus is credited with a work in 58 books called the Philippika, based on the career of the Macedonian conqueror. The remarkable anecdote is that the work was begun initially as only an account of Hellenika (“Greek affairs”), but that as the significance of Philip’s achievements became apparent, Theopompus enlarged it to include coverage of affairs all

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over the world.244 Little can be said with certainty of course due to the fragmentary condition of the work, it is clear that the Philippika was surpassingly broad, incorporating coverage of events in much of the Mediterranean world outside Greece and central Europe, including Spain, Italy and Sicily, as well as significant parts of Asia Minor and the Persian empire.245 The work is thus often compared to Herodotus’ Histories.246 Theopompus himself seems to have described the Philippika as an account of “the affairs of the Greeks and barbarians”,247 thus adopting the familiar formula from Herodotus’s proem and other ideally comprehensive accounts of world history.248 What is interesting is how the broad scope of the Philippika is conceived by Theopompus in relation to the unifying theme of Macedonian conquest. Surely given the grandeur of Philip’s plans, it is easy to understand why Theopompus took interest in places outside the Greek world, and in this respect the broad plan of the Philippika is doubtless due in some sense to views of the

See FGH 115 F27; on Theopompus and his writing, see n. 144-46 above. For the plan of the Philippika, see Fornara 1983, 34; Flower 1994, 149. 245 Persia (Books 12-19, FGH 115 FF103-24); Asia Minor (Books 35-8, FF179-81); Sicily, Spain, Italy (Books 39-3, FF183-205); cf. Flower 1994, 163-4. 246 Theopompus’ relationship to Herodotean (and Hecataean) tradition of historical ethnography has long been observed; e.g., Willamowitz 1908, 10; Jacoby FGH ii B, 358-9; Bruce 1970, 98-101; Shrimpton 1991, 90-4; Flower 1994, 160-4. Though nominally based on the figure of Philip, the Philippika does not focus on the king’s career in all of its content. Perhaps only 16 of its 58 books (or the equivalent thereof) dealt directly with Philip, for according to Photius, an abridged version of the work, focusing only on the king, was ordered by Philip V, leaving only 16 books of content with the superfluous material removed (FGH 115 T31). Flower 1994, 29, suggests that at least half its 58 books were devoted to ethnographic, mythological and other kinds of description, while roughly 12 books covered Greek affairs not directly related to Philip. 247 FGH 115 F25. This remark actually refers to all of Theopompus’ writing taken as a whole (i.e. an Epitome of Herodotus and a more narrowly-focused Hellenika, in addition to the Philippika). Yet it is nonetheless significant for what it suggests of his view of the Philippika; Jacoby takes the fragment to indicate that Theopompus regarded the sum total of his work as a kind of universal history (FGH ii B, 354, also citing T51=Evagrius HE v.24). Tuplin 2007, 169, claims that the fragment refers simply to chronological continuity in the historical record, but this cannot be, for the boast would make no sense unless it referred to spatial comprehensiveness as well. 248 Hdt. i.1. So Diodorus describes Ephorus’ work as an account of “the deeds of the Greeks and barbarians” (xvi.76.5=FGH 70 T10). A similar view is implied by Polybius (e.g., “all the affairs of Hellas and abroad”: v.33.5). Bruce 1970, 90-7, suggests that Theopompus actually set out to write a universal history (i.e. a general history of Greek and barbarian affairs), but in seeing that he could not rewrite Thucydides decided upon separate works, later to became the Epitome of Herodotus and the Hellenika commencing with the year 411 (the end-point of Thucydides’ History); for criticism of this view, see Flower 1994, 154-6. 244

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world formed in relation to Macedonian expansion.249 Yet this not to say, as I have discussed above, that events of the fourth century encouraged a new form of historical writing. I am making the separate point that arrangement of historical description around the theme of Philip’s plans and accomplishments imposes a special unity on the historical matter. It is not that the events of the Philippic era prompted greater interest in world history, in other words, but rather that through them its historical traditions were rendered more comprehensible as a coherent whole— that is to say, in relation to the prospect of imperial conquests reaching the limits of the world itself.250 It is thus not vital that Theopompus regarded saw his writing as comprehensive in an absolute sense, for as far as can be told from the fragments, he did not, but what does matter is how this theme provides a unifying thread for description of the world. To an extent universal history is no more than this: a composite view of the whole made intelligible through clarification of specific limits. On this view, the notion of totality represents a feature of historical representation, rather than a set of external conditions. The case is similar with Timaeus’ Histories, which also treats events of relatively regional significance in a work of much broader ecumenical vision. Although written from the perspective of Sicily, Timaeus’ 38-book Histories also extends to coverage of events in much of the surrounding world, including North Africa, Italy and mainland Greece.251 It is therefore difficult to place this work strictly within the tradition of Sikelika (i.e.

The plan of the work seems to be based in part on Theopompus’ understanding of Philip’s ultimate goals, i.e. not merely his successes in the regional sphere of Greece; cf. FF 183, 219 with Shrimpton 1991, 90-95; cf. Bearzot 1986; Vattuone 1998, 81. 250 For this notion in relation to the Macedonian kingdom, see Walbank 1993a. 251 Bibliography is extensive for Timaeus and his writing; see Lacquer 1936; De Sanctis 1957, 43-69; Brown 1958; Jacoby FGH 566 (testimonia and fragments), iii B, suppl., 526-46; Momigliano 1977 [1959] with bibliography; Pearson 1987, 37-52; Meister 1989/90; Walbank 1967, 1989/90; Asheri 1991/2; Vattuone 1991, 2002a. Especially unique is Timaeus’ treatment of the early history of Rome, covering events from the remote past to 264. It remains unclear whether all of this material appeared in the Histories, for Timaeus also produced a more focused work on Pyrrhus’ campaign in southern Italy and Sicily, which would have covered much Roman history contemporary with these wars (FGH 566 T9a, b); cf. Pearson 1987, 49-50, 255-60. It is probably the case that much of the earlier history appeared in the massive Histories (say, down 249

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Sicilian regional histories), and even in antiquity, writers appear to have regarded it as something separate from this category.252 Dionysius of Halicarnassus describes the work as koina‹ flstor€ai (“a general history”), for example (AR i.6.1=FGH 566 T9b). Polybius too seems to indicate something of this kind, though his remarks are more noteworthy for the way they deny this distinction to the Sicilian historian. In one of his many critiques of the writer, Polybius charges Timaeus with inflating the significance of his Histories by placing it on the level of “works dealing with the whole world and universal history”, though it deals “only with Italy and Sicily”.253 The charge concerns Timaeus’ characterization of the Sicilian general Timoleon more specifically, and especially his representation of a series of conflicts in Sicily, in which the latter became involved in the latter half of the fourth. According to Polybius, Timaeus exaggerated the significance of this conflict to claim importance for his writing and to aggrandize Sicilian achievements.254 As the original account in Timaeus is mostly lost, interpretation of Polybius’ remarks must remain tentative, but it is compelling to consider the possibility that in describing this scenario, Timaeus sought to situate Sicilian affairs in a more ecumenical view of history as a whole. In this case, Timaeus’ writing would bear a much closer resemblance to the Philippika.255 This interpretation need not be based upon the sparse remains of Timaeus’ treatment of Timoleon, however, but is in fact suggested by his treatment of third-century affairs, which to 289/8) and that more recent events were treated in the work on Pyrrhus, independently of their treatment in the former work, if not exclusively; cf. Meister 1989/90, 57-8. 252 On Timaeus’ Histories’ relationship to Sikelika see Vattuone 2001, 260-70; for modern discussion of Sikelika see n. 216 above. 253 xii.23.7=FGH 566 F119a: “Timaeus was sure that if Timoleon, who had sought fame in a mere tea-cup, as it were, Sicily, could be shown to be worthy of comparison with the most illustrious heroes, he himself, who treated only of Italy and Sicily, could claim comparison with writers whose works dealt with the whole world and with universal history.” Polybius is of course guilty of exaggeration himself here, as Timaeus’ Histories involved much beyond the narrow frames of Italy and Sicily. For other criticisms of Timaeus in Polybius, see pp. 100-06 above. 254 From Polybius’ remarks it appears that Timaeus exaggerated Timoleon’s achievements by overstating the significance of the crisis for the world outside Sicily and southern Italy. Pearson 1987, 209-25, attempts to reconstruct the lost account from the surviving fragments. 255 Interestingly, remarks attributed to Timoleon in a battle exhortation reveal a more ecumenical vision of Sicilian affairs—“The earth lying under the universe being divided into three parts named Asia, Africa, and Europe” (FGH 566 F31a=Plb. xii.25.7)—though their precise significance and context are irrecoverable.

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focused on the power struggle in the western part of the Mediterranean involving Pyrrhus, Rome and Carthage. Momigliano once argued that it was Timaeus who first saw the importance of Rome in the Greek world, at a time before it had become clear to other Greek writers. He says that in Rome’s victory over Pyrrhus and the subsequent deterioration of relations with Carthage Timaeus saw the approach of a conflict of unparalleled scale in the western Mediterranean (i.e. the First Punic War).256 The view is based ultimately upon Timaeus’ famous synchronism linking the founding of the two cities in the same year, which would in fact represent a remarkable insight for the time of the composition of the Histories.257 Whatever the merit of Momigliano’s claim, however, the appearance of the synchronism in this work is itself significant for grasping how conceptions of unity are constructed in Timaeus’ writing. His work seems to have been based on a system of synchronisms of this kind, which allowed readers to calibrate accounts of events occurring in separate parts of the world.258 In fact, Timaeus’ talent with chronology seems to have been well known, as Polybius reminds us (xii.11.1-2). In any event, a system of chronological 1977 [1959]; cf. Jacoby FGH iii B, suppl., 536; Hanell 1956; Walbank 1989/90, 175-6; Vattuone 2002a, 226-32; Feeney 2007, 47-8. Discussion of Timaeus’ sources and unique of his views in relation to other accounts of the cities’ foundations appears in Asheri 1991/2, 62-73. On the one hand, it is the early date given by Timaeus that is remarkable—38 years before the first Olympiad (i.e. Julian year 814/13)— although others have given comparably early dates for the foundation of Rome. On the other hand, the observation is exceptional considering that it must have been made some time before the First Punic War. It is thus likely related to reflections on the war with Pyrrhus and especially Timaeus’ understanding of the consequences of a Roman victory. Pearson 1987, 84-90, however, doubts that Timaeus was capable of so precise an observation, claiming instead that the historian was only drawn to Rome because of his general interest in Italy. 257 FGH 566 F60=D.H. i.74.1. It remains unclear whether the synchronism appeared in the Histories or in the monograph on Pyrrhus (see n. 251 above), for Timaeus dealt with Rome in both. In either case, it attests to the fact that Timaeus saw a common fate of some kind for the two cities: in the case of the former, it will have signified partnership, as Carthage and Rome sought each other’s aid in response to the threat posed by Pyrrhus—Rome in fact had a treaty with Carthage at this time, i.e. from ca. 279 (Plb. iii.25.1-5; cf. Walbank Comm. i, 349)—and in that of the latter, impending hostility, as relations between the cities deteriorated with the elimination of Pyrrhus. The issue of the synchronism’s provenance is thus critical for understanding its precise significance, though it is not actually vital to the point here, which simply concerns Timaeus’ view that the two cities had any shared fate at all, friendly or hostile; for further discussion see Momigliano 1977 [1959] 53-55; cf. Walbank 1989/90, 49-53. 258 Asheri 1991/92 provides a detailed discussion of eight synchronisms, including that for the founding of Rome and Carthage; cf. Bury 1909, 169. 256

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relationships of this kind provides the basis for establishing unity in the historical matter more concretely. The synchronism joining Rome and Carthage, for example, illustrates a perspective on history formed above many of the conventional, essentially regional views of Sicilian history.259 In this respect, his work thus appears to have situated regional politics within a much more ecumenical context, as separate parts of the world are enveloped by the conflict between Pyrrhus, Carthage and Rome. In all, Timaeus seems to have viewed the events of the third century in terms of an all-embracing, ‘kinetic’ development, as Riccardo Vattuone puts it, borrowing the famous Thucydidean expression.260 As with Theopompus’ Philippika, Timaeus’ writing expresses a way of seeing the world through the lense of a unifying political drama. The examples of Theopompus and Timaeus thus illustrate how the enlargement of scope is to be associated with basic tendencies towards unity in historical representation. Admittedly, a survey this brief is not useful for precise observations, but in broad strokes, we see can how the effort to extend historical coverage implies its own set of constraints for history understanding. In each case, it is the orientation around a focal theme, such as the prospect of world domination or an expansive regional conflict, that provides the basis for unifying description of events spread across broad intervals of space. There are at least two ways in particular to understand this observation. The first concerns the status of history as a form of narrative, in which case, the act of narration is itself to be understood as a source of order for historical description. In this respect, observations about thematic unity in Theopompus or Timaeus would entail effects for historical understanding expressed in fairly concrete form, such as through the production and reception historical text themselves. Though this issue is surely relevant, it must be left aside here, partly for reasons of space, but in particular due to the problems with reconstructing the immediate On Sikelika, see sources cited n. 216 above. 1991, 87-97; Vattuone describes Timaeus’ historical outlook in terms of the Thucydidean notion of kinêsis (i.1.2-3), which signifies a volatile conflict, with the potential for expanding to envelope otherwise unrelated communities; for kinêsis in Thucydides, see Hornblower 1991, 6. 259 260

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reception of historical works in antiquity. On the other hand, the issue of unity is also be understood in relation to more basic suppositions underlying the perception of past events, in which case, it is not necessarily the concrete activities of textual production and reception that matter, but rather the intuitive standpoints that frame and underwrite these activities. While it is impossible to elaborate this point fully here, what we find in general in Theopompus and Timaeus (and in Herodotus) is that thematic unity represents an important ideal of historical practice just with the interest in producing a broader account. With the enlargement of scope, in other words, authors are apparently already disposed to seeking unity of some kind. This tendency in fact forms the subject of criticism by Aristotle, for example, who says that historians often find superfluous connections among events because they direct their focus on a given period in time (rather than upon events that share a genuine connections with one another), and are thus disposed to observe greater levels of continuity among historical events than is appropriate.261 This is of course precisely the thing that appears in Timaeus’ synchronisms. Now, from a certain view, this practice may appear unproblematic, as any task of producing a historical account necessarily involves imposing unity upon events spread apart in time and space, but with the production of works of much larger scope, it becomes more important to observe that history does not need to be organized this way. There is no in intrinsic reason, in other words, that Mediterranean history be understood in terms of unifying political drama; that it is so reflects an essentially elective view of how events are to be arranged. Indeed, it is precisely Aristotle’s point that past events reveal less continuity than is often assumed. At any

1459a17-29: “[A play] should have for its subject a single action, whole and complete, with a beginning, a middle, and an end. It will thus resemble a living organism in all its unity, and produce the pleasure proper to it. It will differ in structure from historical compositions, which of necessity present not a single action, but a single period, and all that happened within that period to one person or to many, little connected together as the events may be. For as the sea-fight at Salamis and the battle with the Carthaginians in Sicily took place at the same time, but did not tend to any one result, so in the sequence of events, one thing sometimes follows another, and yet no single result is thereby produced.” For discussion of this passage, see p. 62-63 with n. 86 above. 261

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rate, to whatever extent unity does in fact form an important convention for Greek historians, it is clear enough that it possesses importance for establishing the authority for larger historical works, such as Polybius’ Histories, for example, whose concept of universal history, we shall see in the next section, is based on an effort to establish explicit procedures for discerning the unity among historical events. As enlargement of scope entails limits for historical representation, then, production of broad works of history entails constraints for historical understanding just in the way content is selected, interpreted and integrated. Principles of universalism would therefore be restrictive, rather than inclusive, of the things to appear in historical accounts, and not simply in the banal sense that a work of history can only include a finite range of contents, but rather in the sense that any form of thematic organization would involve the exclusion of a number of viable possibilities of interpretation. We may thus extend Hegel’s notion of history “the most trenchant epitomist” to the notion of universal history especially, which neatly exemplifies this principle. I consider these issues in greater detail in the next section, in which I turn to Polybius.

“Nearly the whole inhabited world”: The order of universal history in Polybius’ Histories As is well known, Polybius describes his writing as a unique achievement of historical coverage, combining breadth and detail in a way that had yet been achieved by previous writers. The exceptional quality of the work he attributes largely to his subject, the growth and establishment of Roman power, which he says had extended to “nearly the whole inhabited world” in the course of his lifetime.262 More specifically, this remark refers to the series of events stretching from the late third century to roughly the year 168, when the last sources of opposition were finally made to submit to Roman authority once and for all, first with Rome’s victory over Perseus at

262

E.g., i.1.5; the point is developed in greater detail in the subsequent passage, 2.1-8.

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Pydna, and then with the capitulation of Antiochus IV’s at Eleusis in Egypt. In combination with the defeat over Carthage in 201, these events marked the establishment of Roman authority over virtually every part of the Mediterranean world.263 Now, there is surely exaggeration here, even by Polybius’ own definition of “the whole inhabited world”, which, as for other Hellenistic Greeks, included western Spain, northern Europe, the extreme parts of the Asia and India, and many other places the Romans had not yet reached at this time. Yet the extent of Roman domination in the 160s was unparalleled by the empires of the past in Polybius’ eyes (e.g., i.2.1-8), and the events leading up to this point signaled for him a monumental transition in history. As he says in one well-known passage, for example, it was at this time that all the affairs of the world became “interwoven” and begin to lead “toward a common end”.264 His view of universal history is thus based in particular on the need to understand this dramatic turn of events, which now given the new state of unity in the world, necessitated a new form of history as well, roughly extensive with the limits of the world itself.265 That the Histories really represents so unique an achievement is difficult to accept of course, even on Polybius’ own terms. He actually names the fourth-century writer, Ephorus, as a universal historian as well, who was active well before the era of Roman conquest, and even apart from Ephorus, he appears to recognize other predecessors as well.266 It is therefore difficult to know, on the one hand, what he found to be so distinctive about Ephorus’ writing, but, on the other hand, given how closely he links universal history to the events of his own day, it is hard to Of course the idea that victories over Antiochus and Perseus marked the end of the extension of Roman authority reflects a view formed at the time when Polybius produced the first draft of the Histories, sometimes shortly after 167. Roman conquest continued after this point, and later Polybius enlarged the work to include coverage of events after the 160s, including discussion of several other wars, notably the Fourth Macedonian war, the Third Punic war and the Achaean revolt, occurring in the late 150s and 140s, whereby Roman control was rendered yet more complete. On the composition of the Histories, see sources cited n. 146 above. 264 i.3.3-4, discussed further pp. 177-80 below. 265 i.4.1-5. 266 v.33.2; xii.36.8 and xxix.2.2-5 suggest that Polybius’ recognized other writers of universal histories besides Ephorus, though the language is ambiguous; cf. Sacks 1981, 106 n. 27. 263

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see how he might have attributed this distinction to any other writer in fact.267 Thus, even leaving aside the intrinsic problems of genre described above, the concept of universal history has a number of internal problems just in the way it is formulated by Polybius. Furthermore, not only is there the additional problem that the scope of Polybius’ writing does not in fact match conventional views of the limits of the oikoumenê, as mentioned above, but beyond that, with a plan of coverage based so narrowly on the theme of Roman conquest, it is difficult to see how the Histories may be said to reflect anything at all like a genuine attempt at comprehensiveness. In fact, as it turns out, the Histories is characterized more by restrictions in coverage than anything else. In fact the plan of the work is based largely on the event connected with very specific set of wars taking places in the late third and early second centuries—a highly selective view of history to say the least—and it is thus difficult to take Polybius’ claims of universality with any seriousness. These problems are not terribly significant however, when we consider the relationship between enlargement of scope and claims to intellectual authority in the historical field. As already suggested, extension of coverage forms part of an ordinary effort to claim authority for historical writing, signifying not only greater comprehensiveness, but also greater objectivity as well (see pp. 126-27 above), and Polybius’ approach is not fundamentally different in this respect. It is in fact based explicitly on criticism of other writers, notably those of narrower works, like local histories and accounts of a single war. These approaches are never able to provide adequate accounts of the past, Polybius says, for they are constrained by arbitrary limitations of scope and are unable to situate events within their broader historical contexts. They are simply katå µ°row or “partial”, as he puts in his frequent criticism of them. Even the larger regional or ethnos-based histories are included in this category—he names Hellenika and Persika specifically—which, though doubtless broader than the conventional war monograph or local history, are still fundamentally

267

Walbank 1990b, 198; for more extensive discussion, see Sacks 1981, 96-121.

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limited in comparison with his own writing.268 The notion of universal history is thus primarily an instrument of polemic in the Histories, and may thus be likened to the other aspects of his approach (e.g., the concept of pragmatikê historia) aimed at differentiating the work from conventional forms of historical coverage.269 More importantly, however, it is thus not terribly important that the concept is marked by limitations or internal inconsistencies, for as will become clear, it is its use in forming relative distinctions of this kind that matters most. What is interesting is how Polybius bases his approach on the model of other forms of science, which provide the framework, understood as a set of special techniques of organization and analysis, for providing coverage of such a broad scheme of events. More specifically, this means the use of formal configurations employed in certain branches of the natural sciences, which provide a formula for making sense of human affairs as a system. Thus, while the underlying approach in the Histories takes shape from routine polemical concerns, it is also to be understood in terms of the special authority of certain practices in contemporary science. The theme of universalism thus represents more than extension of coverage, but rather signifies an effort to render historical writing more consistent with the dominant practices of Hellenistic intellectual culture. Here I examine the implications of this point from the perspective of how affiliations with the sciences determine the use of the theme of universalism as a tool of historical reconstruction. To begin, Polybius’ conception of universal history is based largely upon the notion that extending coverage provides conditions for a surer and more detailed accounts of the past overall. To an extent this standpoint reflects merely the (essentially commonsensical) view that broader coverage is superior because it is more complete. Yet though this view certainly frames many of Criticism of histories kata meros: ii.37.4; iii.32; viii.2; xii.23.7; xxix.12.1-12; see also xvi.14-19, which contains Polybius’ criticism of the local historians of Rhodes, Zeno and Antisthenes, though the expression kata meros is not used explicitly. See Bollansée 2005; cf. Sacks 1981, 98-103. 269 See pp. 76-87 above. 268

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Polybius’ observations, it is important to recognize that he offers more substantive reasons as well, such as appear in a passage in Book 8, which addresses the merits of universal history in respect of the theme of Roman conquest (viii.2.2-10, slightly modified): It is impossible to get from writers of histories kata meros a general view of the whole process of history (sunyeasãsyai tØn t«n ˜lvn ofikonoµ€an). [3] For how by the bare reading of events in Sicily or in Spain can we hope to learn and understand either the magnitude of the occurrences or the thing of greatest moment what means and what form of government Fortune has employed to accomplish the most surprising feat she has performed in our times, [4] i.e. to bring all the known parts (pãnta tå gnvrizÒµena µ°rh) of the world under one rule and dominion, a thing absolutely without precedent? [5] For how the Romans took Syracuse and how they occupied Spain may possibly be learnt from the perusal of such particular histories; [6] but how they attained to universal empire and what particular circumstances obstructed their grand design, or again how and at what time circumstances contributed to its execution is difficult to discern without a history of events taken as a whole (kayÒlou t«n prãjevn). [7] Nor for the same reason is it easy otherwise to perceive the greatness of their achievements and the value of their system of polity. [8] It would not be surprising in itself that the Romans had designs on Spain and Sicily and made military and naval expeditions to these two countries; [9] but when we realize how at the same time that these projects and countless others were being carried out by the government of a single state, this same people who had all this on their hands were exposed in their own country to wars and other perils, [10] then only will the events appear in their just light and really call forth admiration, and only thus are they likely to obtain the attention they deserve.

The passage links universal history directly to the theme of Roman conquest, which is typical in the Histories, as mentioned above, but leaving that issue aside for the time being, the importance of the universal scope is also described in more concrete terms related to the matter of historical interpretation. In particular, Polybius observes the importance of regarding history as system, or an ofikonoµ€a (2.2) as he puts it here, in which all particular events are understood as the constituents of a single, integrated process of change.270 The expression oikonomia derives from technical contexts in the sciences, incidentally, where it refers to the practices and principles, understood as a system of knowledge (or t°xnh), for asserting control over specific practical

270

Cf. i.4.2-9 (cited p. 168-69 below); iii.32.8-9 (cited n. 273 below); ix.44.2.

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occupations, such as the domestic management (its original meaning), though by extension the term refers to other systems of knowledge as well, such as politics, financial management, sacred observances, and even cooking; by further extension, moreover, it also refers to more theoretical systems as well, such as systems of nature or cosmologies.271 In Polybius, oikonomia is used to designate the domain of human affairs as a system of this kind, which as it is defined by more or less regular principles of occurrence, is thus open to detailed rational analysis. This view of course forms the core of Polybius’ historical approach, which, as expressed in his concept of pragmatikê historia, is directed mainly at providing a source of practical instruction to the statesman.272 In the context of universal history, then, oikonomia refers to the field of human affairs overall as a single, continuous domain of technical analysis. Viewed from this perspective, the broad plan then becomes a necessity in relation to other forms of history, for it would strain the view of human affairs as a system to omit any portion of it. This provision is expressed explicitly here in the characterization of historical knowledge as a matter of combining coverage of all particular episodes in the past (tåw katå µ°row flstor€aw) in a single, all-embracing view of the whole (sunyeasãsyai... t«n ˜lvn: 2.2).

The example, once more, is Roman conquest, which he says cannot be adequately understood from consideration of its particular components considered in isolation. This process is established from events occurring “in every part” (pãnta tå... µ°rh: 2.4) of the world. Moreover, though it is not explicitly expressed, the passage implies the converse as well, namely, that from broader coverage one is able to situate the particular episodes of history within the context of the broader schemes as well. A comprehensive history is thus not only more complete, in other words, but actually provides the basis for fairer assessment of all individual events as well. The example given On oikonomia in Hellenistic science and philosophy and its relation to the discourse on technê, see Natali 1995. On technai in the sciences more generally, see pp. 35-39 above. 272 For the relationship between Polybius’ concept of pragmatikê historia and other systems of technê, see pp. 9597 above. 271

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concerns Roman achievements in Sicily and Spain during the Second Punic War. However detailed separate accounts of these campaigns might be, they are inevitably limited at best, for they are unable to situate those scenarios in the larger context of Roman conquest, or even that of the war alone for that matter.273 Thus, though Polybius’ approach reflects general tendencies to enlarge historical coverage, he does introduce more concrete justifications as well, which generally speaking, are of two kinds. First (in reverse order to the above) there are the specific procedures, understood in the form of concrete techniques of analysis, for making sense of historical developments in terms of part-whole relationships; and second, the underlying conceptual standpoint, expressed in the form of a general theory of historical change, under which these practices bear meaning. Polybius’ notion of universal history is based more or less entirely on this set of considerations. There are two clarifications to be made before proceeding. First it is worth pointing out that the distinction expressed here, i.e. between the practical and theoretical aspects of Polybius’ approach, is essentially a heuristic one, and is not meant to suggest that the historian maintained a view of this kind himself. On the contrary, as will become clear, what I have distinguished as these separate features of Polybius’ approach bear a close relationship in practice and are not in fact as readily separable as is indicated here. In the other words, the notion that all past events constitute a more or less continuous system of occurrences and belief in the usefulness of the concrete practices for their interpretation are essentially expressions of the same basic standpoint with regard to the problem of historical knowledge. Moreover, on this view, what I have described as the theoretical

Roughly the same point is made of Rome’s wars with Philip and Perseus; iii.32.8-9: “[comprehensive knowledge] can be recognized and understood from general histories (t«n grafÒntvn kayÒlou), but not at all from the historians of the wars themselves, such as the war with Perseus or that with Philip, unless indeed anyone reading their descriptions of the battles alone conceives that he has acquired an adequate knowledge of the management and nature (ofikonoµ€an ka‹ diãyesin) of the whole war.” 273

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component in Polybius’ approach perhaps strains the meaning of that label somewhat. This marks the second observation mentioned above. That Polybius’ approach is characterized by theoretical viewpoint is not to suggest that he had maintained anything like a formal theory of history. Nothing of this kind appears in what survives of the Histories. Instead, the suggestion that we find a theoretical conception of history in the work is simply to say that views maintained with regards to interpretation of the past exceed the limits of strictly empirical forms of observation. Now, while in a certain sense, under this definition it may be necessary to describe all historical writing as ‘theoretical’, that problem is beside the point here. What I mean to call attention to is how practices distinguishing Polybius’ approach rely upon a set of views that go beyond any strictly empirical considerations. The notion that human affairs form a system of regular occurrences, for example, implies an essentially theoretical view of things in the way it presupposes formal arrangements that are essentially unverifiable from an empirical perspective. The point is not that assumptions of this kind are wrong—though they surely might be in certain cases—but rather that they are not always warranted, at least not in the sense intended. The basis for this view of course comes from theoretical views of the sciences, as discussed in Chapter 1 above, in which case the articulation of rational systems of this kind would reflect the influence of social and cultural developments in regulating intellectual activity.274 Their appearance here in the context of history, then, denotes a commitment not only to a particular kind of approach, but rather to a particular way of seeing things, i.e. from an epistemological point of view. I will come back to this aspect of Polybius’ approach in greater detail in what follows. For the moment, the relevant point is simply that this approach is based upon a particular, essentially intuitive, conception of how past events are ordered in a meaningful interpretation of things. In part, the point is important for the purpose of

274

For the notion cultural regimes, see pp. 21-24 above.

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clarification, i.e. that in speaking of the ‘theoretical’ part of Polybius’ approach, the aim is not necessarily to indicate a formal theory of history, but rather an intuitive standpoint framing the use of certain practices. Above all, this observation is significant for understanding the relationship between Polybius’ approach and the sciences, which is itself to be understood as a common form of perception or epistemological response.275 The significance of these observations is clearer from consideration of Polybius’ criticism of other writers, which is based upon a similar combination of practical and theoretical conceptions of historical understanding. In particular, Polybius calls attention to the tendency, exhibited frequently by writers of histories kata meros, to inflate the significance of the events they describe. This practice, known in the context of rhetoric by the term aÎjhsiw (“amplification”), is often employed by historical writers for placing emphasis upon chosen themes, especially as a means of claiming intellectual authority or reinforcing certain lessons.276 Polybius’ criticism of Timaeus, for example, which I already mentioned above, turns upon the observation that the latter conceives of Sicilian history as though it stood on par with works of much more extensive historical coverage.277 In particular, he attributes this view of Timaeus to the narrow frames of his writing, which, he says, encourage an erroneous view of the significance of the essentially parochial concerns. Now, I have already described the breadth of Timaeus’ writing, and Polybius is surely exaggerating, as always in his criticisms of the Sicilian writer, but the point is still useful for illustrating the notion of universal history in ideal terms: a broad view of history forms an important check on tendencies to exaggerate.

Here I refer to Kuhn’s notion of the intuitive component of science; see n. 15Çabove; for a similar view with respect to Greek historiography, see Lateiner 1989. 276 For this practice in general in Greek historical writing, see Marincola 1997, 34-43. 277 In particular, Polybius says that Timaeus described certain events connected with the career of Timoleon as though they stood on par with others of much broader impact in the history of the oikoumenê (xii.23.7=FGH 566 F119a, cited n. 253 above). 275

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Polybius discusses similar problems with the misuse of auxêsis in accounts of the careers of certain political figures, which writers often sensationalize as a way of reinforcing moral lessons. He says that certain historians of the Ptolemaic regent Agathocles of Samos, for example, use the tragic circumstances surrounding the ruler’s downfall to deliver moralizing tales about the mutability of fortune. Though not a particularly noteworthy episode in his eyes, Polybius observes how these writers focus upon “sensational details and rhetorical ploys” (terate€aw ka‹ diaskeuãw) and go “beyond the bounds of what is essential” (ple€v... toË sun°xontow tå prãgµata ka‹ kur€ou: xv.34.1). A similar point is made of accounts of the Syracusan tyrant, Hieronymus, whose

cruelty and impiety form the centerpiece for lessons about the abuse of political authority. These writers too, Polybius says, focus largely upon sensational details (pollØn tina terate€an: vii.7.1) and even going as far as making the claim (unmerited in Polybius’ eyes) that Hieronymus surpassed all others in cruelty. Now, in critiquing these practices, Polybius certainly places great emphasis on the problem of sensationalism, and in this respect, his critique is consistent with other remarks in the Histories regarding the importance of truthfulness, as well as general trends in Hellenistic historiography on the problem of sensational writing.278 Yet it is important to recognize that Polybius’ main concern is not the issue of truthfulness per se, but rather the lack of perspective. For him the issue of exaggeration derives from limits on historical scope: “The fact seems to me,” he says in one passage on the Hieronymus writers, “is that those who write narratives of particular events, when they have to deal with a subject which is circumscribed and narrow, are compelled for lack of facts to make small things great and to devote much space to

For the specific concern for truthfulness characterizing Polybius’ approach, see pp. 87-95 above. The issue of sensationalism has formed a general problem in the interpretation of Hellenistic historiography, notably due to the view that ancient writers made deliberate efforts, at the expense of historical truth, to solicit emotional response for their readers. The idea of a so-called ‘tragic school’ of historical writing is now largely ignored, on which see Walbank 1965; cf. Meister 1975, 109-26. It is worthy noting, as Verdin 1990b, 452-53, has observed, though Polybius criticizes Agathocles historians, he does not say that their coverage is untrue; the problem is simply a matter of improper emphasis; cited by Bolansée 2005, 248. 278

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matters really not worthy of record” (vii.7.6).279 In this respect, universal coverage is essentially a means of achieving balance in representation of the past, situating each thing in its proper place. The same view underlies the observation, mentioned above, regarding the importance of situating Roman achievements in Spain and Sicily in a comprehensive view of Roman conquest as a whole, which is similarly described as a matter of finding “the right fit” in interpretation of events (t∞w èrµozoÊshw §pistãsevw: viii.2.10; complete passage cited p. 155 above). The criticism of auxêsis thus illustrates the same basic orientation towards the appropriate practices of historical interpretation that we find elsewhere in Polybius’ writing, but in particular, observations here also indicate a specifically theoretical view of how past events are to be reconstructed. Polybius appears to take for granted, for example, that past events are characterized by intrinsic principles of balance and proportion. More specifically, this set of assumptions is governed by the view that the past is comprehensible in terms of more or less uncomplicated principle of organization, tÚ sun°xon, “the main point”, as it were, or “that which holds together”. The term has resonances in Stoic philosophy, where it refers to the underlying principle of all material reality, or pne˵a (“breath”, “spirit”), which is infused within all things and from which they may be said to exist.280 Here, though apparently used colloquially, the expression demonstrates a similar concern for the order of historical events. In the criticism of the Agathocles histories, to synechon refers to “what is essential”—or what is essential to the issue at hand (toË sun°xontow tå prãgµata ka‹ kur€ou) to be more precise—which is to say, it denotes the view that past events are comprehensible in terms of intrinsic formal arrangements, which determine how they sit in relation to one another. The importance of an affair like the Agathocles episode may be established essentially, in other words, in the sense that it may be situated in vii.7.6; the point is apparently that these writers would not have maintained such excessive views had they been more familiar with tyrants beyond the parochial setting of Sicilian politics. A similar criticism appears at xxix.12.1-12; for discussion, see Pédech 1964, 408-10; cf. Bollansée 2005. 280 SVF ii.439, 448; cf. D.L. ii.439; cf. Lloyd 1973, 27-29. 279

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absolute relation to all other events. Now, this perspective is perhaps more noteworthy for the way it prescribes such fixed limits for something as complex as human social situations, and this point will be significant later, when we examine the ramifications of Polybius approach, but here I just wish to call attention to the more basic point concerning the way this approach involves essentializing human affairs as parts of formal schemes defined by measure and proportion. Several observations are in order here. First, we see how thoroughly embedded are conceptions of order underlying Polybius’ approach. While on the one hand, formal perspectives are expressed nominally through the use of concepts like oikonomia or to synechon, here we see that they form part of the practical foundations for universal history, in the sense that they denote not so much a set of conceptual provisions for historical understanding, but rather a set of concrete interpretive procedures (e.g., analysis into part-whole relationships, avoidance of rhetorical augmentation), through which differences from other forms of history may be established more securely. It is thus perhaps clearer, incidentally, the point made above regarding the correspondence between the practical and theoretical components of Polybius’ approach, but more importantly, it is possible to see the pivotal function of the theoretical component itself—a second observation here. Even in purely pragmatic terms, Polybius’ approach relies upon a characteristically theoretical view of history. Just enlargement of historical scope on its own appears to presuppose that past events are essentially continuous. We have already observed perspectives of this kind in regards in the histories of Theopompus and Timaeus, who each appear to have organized their writing around unifying themes. In Polybius, the notion of unity is expressed in more formal terms, i.e. as part of the practical foundations of historical understanding. On this view, the notion of universal history is in fact wholly dependent upon theoretical assumptions, in the sense that in lieu of which, enlargement of coverage would be superfluous, but above all, we find that knowledge of the past is now limited to the specific formal

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configurations constituting the basis for this approach. Ultimately an approach of this kind thus provides the conditions for more thoroughly idealized view of history. Now, the latter point is significant for understanding the effects of Polybius’ approach in shaping the production and organization of historical knowledge, a subject to which I come to in the final section of this chapter, but for the moment, the issue is the status of this particular conception of history. This view of history is, after all, only a polemical device, and in this respect, it remains to examine on what basis it is validated in his writing. Support for this conception of history comes in the form of formal affiliations with other scientific practices, which provide the model for organizing description of human affairs as a system. In certain cases, the relationship is expressed in explicit terms, such as with Polybius’ emphasis on causal analysis, for example, which forms the basis for all his efforts to assimilate history to the practical sciences, such as medicine. Notably Polybius links the study of historical causes to the practice of diagnosis, which as a technique for assessing conditions of health or illness forms the model for thinking about the ways the statesman too may benefit from recognizing regular mechanisms of cause and effect in the political domain and from employing knowledge of regularities in directing affairs in the present.281 It is the notion of regularity that matters most here, which, as is typical in the case of causal analysis, represents an ideal established from observation of accumulated instances. A broader historical plan thus makes more sense as a way of discerning the patterns overlaying the occurrence of particular events of a given kind of event. This point is developed in another passage in Book 3, in which causal analysis is linked specifically to the practice of forming comparisons of events across space (32.5): Readers cannot gather anything with certainty from [histories kata meros]… [5] because they do not perform parallel assessments of events (tåw katallÆlouw t«n prãjevn), iii.7.5-6; cf. iii.31.11-13. I discuss Polybius’ treatment of historical causes in detail in Chapter 4; see pp. 203-17 especially. 281

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which

when joined together in a controlled comparison (§k paray°sevw sunyevrouµ°nvn ka‹ sugkrinoµ°nvn), are more illuminating than when considered in isolation (t∞w katå µ°row dialÆcevw)… Though the notion of comparison appears informally in other critiques of histories kata meros, here it denotes a special interpretative procedure. More specifically, knowledge of causes is formed from parallel assessment of events or sÊgkrisiw (e.g., sugkrinoµ°nvn : 5), a formal technique for illuminating the essential properties of things from different kinds of controlled comparison.282 For the study of the causes, the point seems to be that comparison of similar sets events (§k paray°sevw sunyevrouµ°nvn ka‹ sugkrinoµ°nvn) can reveal the salient feature, expressed in

the form of a causal agent, responsible for a particular outcome, e.g., the reason (or set of reasons) a particular political speech obtained the result it did, or those determining the outcome of a particular military strategy.283 From here the cause of success (or failure) may then be generalized for understanding all events of similar kind, expressed in the form of a general rule. Now, however appropriate this may be for something as complex as political and military affairs, the key point is that it is thus in principle only by enlarging the field of analysis (e.g., taking into account a greater number of diplomatic speeches or a greater number of battles) that one can legitimately

Synkrisis denotes a rhetorical technique primarily, employed in epideictic speeches in particular, in which comparison of themes is often used to distinguish and emphasize the praiseworthy (or blameworthy) attributes of a subject; e.g., Anaximen. Rhet. 1425b37-26b7; Arist. Top. i.5.102b15, iii.4.119a1-11; Rhet. i.9.38 1368a; ii.23.4-5; evidence for synkrisis is much better in the Imperial period (e.g., Hermog. Prog., p. 14 Spengel; Men.Rh. ii.372.20-26; Apthon. Prog., p. 42 Spengel; Theon Prog., p. 108, 112 Spengel; Quint. Inst. ii.4.1-21, viii.4.9-14; cf. Cic. Par. 55); cf. Anderson 2000, 110-11. As such, however, synkrisis evidently forms part of broader use of comparison as a tool of knowledge construction, and here, though the notion of synkrisis is not employed in its technical rhetorical sense, it is nonetheless clear how the notion of comparison is itself employed that way here. On synkrisis in Polybius, see Pédech 1964, 408-10. The importance of formal techniques of comparison in the sciences may be linked in part to similar use of division (diar°siw) in Plato, and especially, the Aristotelian critique of this system of this set of practices; see Lloyd 1966, 86-172. 283 See ix.12.6-12; xii.25b.1-3; xii.25i.8. These passages are discussed in greater detail pp. 204-5 below. 282

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generalize an explanation.284 In this respect, Polybius establishes the importance of a broader field of analysis much more concretely. Though the theme of universalism is connected with the sciences in fairly explicit terms through the notion of causal explanation, this relationship is expressed at a more basic level in the language Polybius uses to speak of universal history. Ongoing reference to the universal and particular dimensions of past events, for example, evokes an immediate link with current techniques of rational analysis, in which the expressions tÚ koinÒn, kayÒlou, katå µ°row and the like form part of a regular terminology for speaking about the essential divisions and categories of all forms of reality.285 This includes not only sensuous, material things, but also the products of intellection as well, such as geometric figures, in short, all “the things that are” or tå ˆnta, to put it in terms of another common expression in this discourse.286 Now, though there are a range of

The particular event considered in isolation (t∞w katå µ°row dialÆcevw) simply has no function in establishing knowledge of this kind. Admittedly, this view does not necessarily disqualify histories kata meros as a source of knowledge, as in principle one might discern regularities in field of even limited scope. Yet as the notion of explanation hinges upon the possibility of a fully generalizable form of knowledge, the broader plan is more useful in an ideal sense at least. It is this view that appears to underlie Polybius’ approach to historical causes. To be fair, in practice, this view goes beyond any what appears in Polybius’ own observations of historical causes, and indeed the use of causal analysis in the Histories is extremely limited in its consistency and level of intellectual rigor (see pp. 212-14 below), but apart from these problems, it is possible to see how a conception of knowledge based on extensive comparison provides the groundwork for justifying a broader plan at least in principle. 285 Though the concepts of the universal and particular are known to us mostly through the work of Aristotle, interest in this set of categories in antiquity owes much to the influence of the Platonic theory of forms (e.g., Phd. 73a-80e; Resp. 402a-403d), which Aristotle saw himself directly engaged in correcting (e.g., Int. 17a38-b1; Meta. 987b1-90b17; cf. 1079a5-14). For other sources and discussion, see Loux 2009. At the same time, however, though Aristotle is perhaps the most influential or at least well known writer to contribute on this subject, it is clear (particularly because of the polemical stance of his writing, whether against Plato or others) that his work forms part of a broader discourse; e.g., for Stoic interest in universals, see sources collected in Long and Sedley 1987 ii, 181-85. For the continuation of this discourse after Plato, see Sorabji 2006. 286 The phrase is a regular one in the rationalist tradition, employed in making a range of different distinctions based on the notion that a thing exists, i.e. as opposed to that which has or will exist in the past or future (Anaximen. A7.1 D-K; Anaxag. B12 D-K), what is (merely) said (Pl. Euthd. 284a-b), what does not exist (Pl. Tht. 187a-89b), what is untrue or incorrect (Hdt. i.97.1; Thuc. vii.8.2). (e.g., Cat. 1b25; Phys. 225b5; Meta. 1068a8). Often the category does not necessary imply technical distinctions of this kind, but rather denotes a domain of inquiry that, on the assumption that the referents do exist, is then open to further analytical description; e.g., Thales F85 KRS (=Arist. Meta. 983b6-15); Pl. Parm. 127e-28d; Arist. Cat. 1b25; Phys. 225b5; Meta. 1068a8. See Kahn 1960, 174-75, 180-83, for a brief list sources and concise discussion. 284

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applications for techniques of this kind, use of this terminology is often directed at explanations for things, in the sense that articulation of the universal and particular dimensions of an entity or the constitution of its parts to form a whole is aimed not only at describing the composition of the world, but also at enlarging understanding by establishing the reasons why it is the case. So, for example, one might identify the characteristics of the isosceles triangle as a set of properties that are exhibited “universally” (kayÒlou) by all particular instances (kay' ßkaston) of that class (i.e. the qualities of being a triangle and have at least two equal sides), the same procedure is also taken go explain the figure as well, in the sense that the general properties (or koinã) of the isosceles, understood as a paradigm or formula for that figure, are also taken to constitute the cause of all concrete manifestations of it (i.e. the formal cause).287 The case is similar with part-whole relationships, for as analysis of an entity into its constituent parts (tå µ°rh) provides the basis for merely descriptive procedures, it is also taken to explain it as well, both the reasons for the whole (tÚ ˜la, ˜lon), adduced from the causal significance of each of its parts, and the reasons for the parts as well, which are explained, in terms of cause and effect, from reference to their function in relation to the whole (i.e., the final cause). So, to put it in more concrete terms, one might explain the lines and angles of the triangle in terms of their end in forming the final product, whose existence (whether concretely or abstractly), is understood to form a cause for their arrangement in that specific configuration; or in the natural sciences one might describe the animal’s limbs in terms of the end of motion, or the teeth of the saw, that of cutting. Procedures of this kind, incidentally, surely incorporate an arbitrary view of the determining conditions (e.g., What There is an important epistemological function as well incidentally, for as identification of the koina implies at least a tacit understanding of formal logical operations—here, induction from particular cases— they are then able to be expressed in explicit form, such as in syllogistic formulae (e.g., All men are mortals; Socrates is a man; Socrates is mortal). The categories universal and particular thus often appear in (or are implied by) the formal statements of demonstration that distinguish scientific discourse, such as denoted by the concept epistêmê. In this respect, the use of this set of tools goes well beyond merely descriptive functions, but rather is integral to the hierarchical conceptions of intellectual activity upon which the sciences depend. For the syllogism in Aristotle, see Lloyd 1970, 99-102; cf. id. 1979, 62-65, 102-15. On the concept of epistêmê and hierarchical conceptions of intellectual activity, see pp. 42-43 above. 287

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constitutes the whole? What its purpose?), but at the same time, the practice also proceeds from principles that are already readily apparent or commonly understood (e.g., the triangle does exist, the leopard moves, or the saw is employed for the purpose of cutting). The latter point is especially important, moreover, for it is worth recognizing that from a certain perspective this set of categories is directed at formulating distinctions that are more or less already apprehended informally, and thus do not necessarily denote a high degree of specialization in how the referents are understood. Yet from routine application in the more formal procedures of description and explanation in the sciences, reference to the universal and particular and the like acquires technical formality over time, and is thus ultimately associated with special conditions for knowledge just in the way this set of techniques is earmarked for covering the needs of emerging research traditions. I will return to this point momentarily. In any event, as articulation of relationships between the universal and particular and the part and whole is possible at virtually any level of analysis, this set of techniques is limitlessly extensible, and thus consequently provides the foundations for broad systems of organization in scientific discourse. For example, as articulation of the koina of the isosceles provides the basis for differentiating it from all other triangles, which are then necessarily either included or excluded by the isosceles category, from repetition at other levels of analysis, this procedure permits construction of generic categories too (e.g., for all triangles, for all geometric figures, and so on). The discourse on universals thus forms the basis for the taxonomic systems that we observe in many fields of ancient science.288 The case is the same with the categories of part and whole, which from extension across multiple levels of analysis form the basis for organizing broad fields of entities. Apart from taxonomic systems, which are themselves often understood in terms of

Systems of this kind are generally postulated in explicit terms, even if not fully elaborated, e.g., Aristotle’s divisions of animal life and other similar projects in the Peripatetic tradition, e.g., in botany, grammar, etc. See Lloyd 1973, 13-15; 1986, 86-93; and especially id. 1983, 7-57; cf. Balme 1975 [1961] 288

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part-whole relationships (e.g., divisions of species and genera respectively), this approach appears in the context of articulating formal systems of many other kinds well, such as in Aristotelian physics and metaphysics, and especially in Stoic cosmologies.289 It is presumably this aspect of the discourse on universals that attracts Polybius. On the one hand, a view of this kind is already expressed informally in the frequent criticisms of histories kata meros, which rely on the implication that it is inadequate to omit any part of the field of analysis. Such is the basis for the remarks on histories of Roman activity in Spain and Sicily, for example, which provide only a partial account of Roman achievements across the board. There the issue is a matter of explanation as well incidentally, in the sense that it is only from a comprehensive account of all the particular aspects of this process that one is able to comprehend why it transpired as it did.290 Now though the notion of the system underlies observations of this kind in a loose sense, the same view is actually the subject of more explicit provisions appearing in the main Preface to the Histories (i.4.3-11, slightly modified): While several current writers deal with particular (katå µ°row) wars and certain matters connected with them, no one, as far as I am aware, has even attempted to inquire critically into the general and collective scheme of all events (tØn kayÒlou ka‹ sullÆbdhn ofikonoµ€an t«n gegenÒtvn), both when and whence (pÒyen …rµÆyh) it originated, and how it led to its fulfillment (p«w ¶sxe tØn sunt°leian)… [6] We can no more hope to perceive (sunide›n) this from writers of histories katå µ°row than to get at once a notion of the form of the whole world, its layout disposition (tÚ t∞w ˜lhw ofikouµ°nhw sx∞µa ka‹ tØn sʵpasan aÈt∞w y°sin ka‹ tãjin), by visiting, each in turn (kata µ€an •kãsthn), the most famous cities, or indeed by looking at the plans of each in isolation from one another (xvr‹w éllÆlvn)—a result by no means likely. [7] He indeed who believes that by studying a partial account (t∞w katå µ°row flstor€aw) he can acquire a fairly just view of For Aristotle’s discussion of part-whole configurations, see, e.g., Met. 1034b20-37b6. Stoic interest in part-whole relationships is extensive: e.g., fragments of Chrysippus in S.E. M. ix.352, xi.23, 25; cf. Ar.Did. F41h; Zeno S.E. M. ix.104-10; Cic. ND ii.22; Plut. Comm. not. 1092. Other sources and discussion in Cambronne 1998; Gass 2000; White 2002; cited by Ramelli and Konstan 2009, 104-5 n. 14. Prior to Aristotle and the Stoics, of course, the investigation into part-whole composition, formed a regular focus for Plato as well (e.g., Parm. 129c-d; Phileb 14c-18b; Soph. 261d-262e); see Harte 2002. 290 viii.2.6, slightly modified: “How [the Romans] attained to universal empire and what events in particular (t«n katå µ°row) hindered their plans, or which and when they facilitated their fulfillment is difficult to understand without a general history.” 289

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history as a whole (sunÒcesyai tå ˜la), is, as it seems to me, much in the case of one, who, after having looked at the dissevered limbs of an animal once alive and beautiful, fancies he has been as good as an eye-witness of the creature itself in all its action and grace. [8] For could anyone put the creature together on the spot, restoring its form and the comeliness of life, and then show it to the same man, I think he would quickly avow that he was as far away from the truth and more like one in a dream. [9] For we get some idea (¶nnoian) of the whole (t«n ˜lvn) from a part (épÚ µ°rouw), but never genuine knowledge (§pistƵhn) or exact opinion (gn≈µhn). [10] A history of particular events (tØn katå µ°row flstor€an) therefore contributes very little to verifiable knowledge of the whole (prÚw tØn t«n ˜lvn §µpeir€an ka‹ p€stin). [11] Indeed it is only by study of the interwovenness and parallel positioning of things (t∞w épãntvn prÚw êllhla suµplok∞w ka‹ paray°sevw), their resemblances and differences, that one is able to arrive at close examination, and thus derive both benefit and pleasure from history. Here, once again, the familiar set of observations that historical interpretation requires a comprehensive view of all things, and that genuine knowledge of the past depends on clarifying formal relationships among events (t∞w épãntvn... paray°sevw: 11). Yet above all, it is the notion of history as a system that concerns us here, which Polybius attempts to validate through assimilation to other systems of knowledge in the natural sciences, notably in geography and biology. In these areas proper knowledge is understood as matter of discerning relationships between part and whole: e.g., of incorporating all cities in the world under a single, synoptic view; or in biology, of examining all the parts of an animal at once, as it existed in life.291 The case is the

Much discussed in reference to this passage is the apparent allusion to Aristotelian dramaturgy: the massive animal of Polybius’ simile, whose true form cannot be discerned from the appearance of its dissevered limbs, evokes the fantastic creature described in the Poetics, introduced there to emphasize the importance of unity in tragic plots (1450b21-51a15). Yet the appearance of the ‘somatic’ metaphor in the Poetics is itself to be understood as part of broader tradition of such figures in the rhetorical field (e.g., Plt. Phdr. 264c), including its usage here in Polybius, and in other historiographical contexts (D.H. ad Pomp. 3; D.S. xx.i.5; Cic. ad fam. v.12.4; Luc. Hist conscr.). Strabo’ reference to his Geography as a kolossourg€a (“a colossus of a work”) perhaps follows the model of Polybius directly for example (i.i.23; cf. ii.1.30), on which see Pothecary 2005. Now, in view of direct link with theories of narrative composition, Polybius’ use of the metaphor is often understand primarily as a matter of literary technique (e.g., Sacks 1981, 115-121; Walbank 1975, 198-99), especially given the frequent attention to the readability of the Histories; e.g., iii.1.6.11, 32.1-4; xv.25.19; xxxii.11.2; cf. esp. xiv.12.5, where the key expression sômatoeidê appears again; cf. Walbank 1972, 97-104. Yet as is perhaps clear from the foregoing discussion here, conceptions of unity in the historical matter clearly precede the issue of comprehension, but rather concern the more basic issue of the conjunction of human affairs as a system, as is expressed in the notion of oikonomia, for example. The theme of organic unity reflects (essentially theoretical) views of the composition of the external world itself, in other words, and does not (merely) denote concern for readability. For sources on sômatoeidês, see 291

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same with knowledge of the past, which is idealized here as a matter of considering all events as the parts of an integrated system. This too represents a form of causal explanation incidentally, though the notion of cause employed in it is admittedly only subtly expressed, and differs significantly from that appearing in the medical analogy above, which is based primarily on the notion of the efficient cause. Historical change is described as having specific conditions of origin and a specific end-stage, which together provide the foundations for a more detailed understanding of why things have turned out the way they have: e.g., “the source from which [these events] have come (pÒyen …rµÆyh) and how led to their fulfillment (p«w ¶sxe tØn sunt°leian)”. Historical change is understood in terms of the material and final causes, in other

words, to put it in terms of the Aristotelian system.292 At any rate, the analogy with the natural sciences thus reinforces the view that historical affairs are governed by an underlying structure. As with systems of knowledge in the natural sciences, the articulation of part-whole relationships is essentially a matter of providing explanation of historical change, in the sense that broader coverage is not simply the source of more comprehensive view of things, but rather allows clarification of why things have occurred as they have. Presumably this detail holds for both forms of explanation based on articulation of part-whole relationships, i.e. for explaining both the

Walbank Comm. i, 43-44; cf. 1972, 67-68. See also Clarke 1999a, 124-25, 315, who emphasizes the affiliation with other theoretical systems in the sciences (i.e. over narrative concerns alone). 292 These are the material and final causes, to put it in the terms of the Aristotelian system, on which see n. 57 above. This is not to say that Polybius makes formal theoretical distinctions of this kind himself, but at the same time, as I show in Chapter 4, his attempt to implement the causal explanatory framework opens up the possibility of analytically more extensive explanations of historical events, i.e. in which the explanandum becomes comprehensible in terms not of multiple determining conditions, but rather of multiple kinds of causal determination. So, for example, historical explanation is not limited to merely the active or efficient cause, but can include other factors that may be said “to cause” in the sense of sine qua non. On the different modalities of ancient notions of cause, see pp. 45-48 above. In any event, the verb éforµãv and (more commonly) the noun éforµÆ are often employed in denoting causes of this kind, which signify the means or bases, understood as pre-existing conditions, from which the explanandum is understood to have been produced; for sources and discussion of this term in Polybius, see Pédech 1964, 91-92.

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occurrence of individual events in relation to the whole of history, and the emergence of broader developments from accumulation of isolated occurrences. Now it is perhaps already possible to make out some of the ramifications anticipated at the end of the preceding section (see. pp. 149-51 above), especially regarding the way application of this particular conception of knowledge limits historical description to particular conformations of events (that they form an integrated process, for example, with a clear beginning and end, or that that process is teleological). Yet leaving that set of issues aside for the time being, the relevant point is that this approach allows Polybius to validate the notion of history as a system much more concretely. As a formula for making sense of the past, the notion of an all-embracing system of relationships provides a convenient model for justifying the use of a broader plan. Yet aside from this fact, on this particular model, a broader outlook is even wholly necessary, for on the view that events in the past are continuous with one another beyond any arbitrary limits, there simply is no genuine understanding apart from consideration of the entire field of events. In that case, the analogy with the natural sciences provides validation on the basis of even the most absolute views of rational understanding. In part this is a matter of the recurring emphasis on explanation in the Histories, and in this respect, the notion that analysis into part-whole relationships bears a legitimate function in enlarging historical understanding is expressed in concrete form. Yet more importantly, the notion that historical description may be profitably arranged this way denotes a set of suppositions expressed at a much more profound or intuitive level. The need for this observation is perhaps difficult to grasp due to the fact that this view of history is largely consistent with what might be expected of modern views of this set of issues, namely that human affairs reveal continuity across even great intervals of time and space, and that knowledge of any particular scenario might thus always be improved from enlargement of the field of analysis. Indeed, for the most part Polybius’ observations here are wholly reasonable,

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and from this perspective, there is perhaps nothing remarkable in his concept of universal history. At the same time, however, it is necessary to recognize that the basis for this approach relies largely on developments in intellectual culture that are historically specific, and that thus even if it appears familiar from a certain perspective, it need not be taken for granted. In particular, this point may be understood from the perspective of how knowledge is organized in the sciences in accordance with the development of special language practices. As I discussed in Chapter 1, as certain language practices are slotted for the needs of emerging research traditions, they acquire technical importance over time, and from extension to new usages in this way, certain forms of expressions employed in informal situations are often enlarged in respect of their semantic function. Developments of this kind thus often signify noteworthy epistemological change as well, for as formal language becomes more thoroughly associated with the special claims characterizing a given discourse community, we observe adjustments in the intuitive resources underlying its usage as well, thus providing a new epistemic framework for structuring engagement with the referents. Techniques for discussing universals and the like are thus to be understood in roughly the same terms as I have suggested for the discourse on causes, which in addition to forming the source of special linguistic and conceptual tools, also denote new conditions for knowledge as well. That the analysis of thing into part and whole has explanatory significance, for example, is not provided for by the relevant language literally; that change is due to the cultural influence of particular ways of speaking about these categories.293 Viewed from this perspective, incidentally, this area of discourse does not resemble its modern equivalents at all in fact, for the latter do not generally include an explanatory function. Yet the point here is not necessarily the eccentricity of Polybius’ views; it is rather the fact that they are contingent. Given how knowledge is ordered in the sciences through the influence of

293

The interpretation of scientific language described here is discussed in greater detail pp. 28-34 above.

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specially designated language practices, use of this terminology in the context of history is to be understood largely as a reflection of the authority of those practices, and thus denotes a way of perceiving past events that is essentially contingent on current practical standards in the sciences. The observation makes a great deal of sense in fact, for though the specific concerns that characterize this set of techniques are familiar, it is necessary to recognize that they entail forms of description that are more or less elective in nature—and this goes not only for history, but even for interpretation of entities in the physical world as well. It may not necessarily be the case, for example, that the function of cutting explains the saw, for example, or that that of running, explains the legs of the leopard. That either does, on the other hand, denotes how discourse is ordered in relation to prominent social formations, and of course, on this condition, there are a fixed range of possibilities for historical interpretation as well. The notion of universal history thus denotes the realization of these essentially local standards of practice. This is not to say that the interpretive framework is wrong, incidentally, or that it is inappropriate; rather, the point is simply that it is linked to specific developments in scientific culture. As always in this context, affiliations with eminent forms of intellectual activity are as much a source of constraint, as they are support, and that issue will be useful for examining the ramifications of Polybius’ concept of universal history, as I discuss in the next section, but first, let us briefly recapitulate the argument thus far. As universal history is conceived of as an issue of scope, it denotes a response to the perceived limitations of narrower forms of coverage, which, whatever their problems overall, are in Polybius’ view constrained by an arbitrary view of the field of analysis. As is repeatedly emphasized, conventional histories provide only a partial account of past evens, and what is worse, are even prone to misrepresentation, such as through inflation, misassessing relative importance, etc. From this perspective, the comprehensive approach is aimed at superseding

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conventional histories by setting the frames of inquiry less arbitrarily. Frames adopted by Polybius are arbitrary of course, both because of the specific notion of geographic space reflected in the Histories, and especially because of the work’s explicit link with the theme of Roman conquest, but this problem is not greatly significant, for the issue of arbitrariness is resolved to an extent in the way the work is aligned with current models of knowledge elsewhere in the sciences, which provide the basis for justifying not only the various observations on method, but also the specific theoretical assumptions underlying the method. In all, then, though the notion of universal history is conceived on the basis of mainly polemical concerns, it reflects more constructive considerations regarding the nature of historical understanding as well. Considered from this vantage, the Histories is to be understood as an expression of normative views of conduct in Hellenistic intellectual culture, which provide the foundations for all the distinctions framing Polybius’ approach. The view that human affairs are continuous across time and space, or that regular mechanisms of change govern all occurrences reflects the influence of a more or less regular regime of practice in the sciences—but it is through them that Polybius is able to insist on the importance of his work among all other sources of historical knowledge. In this case, the issue is not so much the merit of Polybius’ own observations, i.e. as an individual historical author, but rather how the governing principles of the Histories correspond with and confirm beliefs maintained more generally in intellectual culture. The latter point is useful for understanding the constructive effects of this approach in generating particular modes of perception on past events, which brings me to the final section of this chapter.

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Revelations of unity: rational culture and the structure of Hellenistic history Though the notion of universal history forms the basis for strong distinctions from conventional forms of history, at the same time, the concept inevitably places restrictions on historical understanding, which now requires that perception of past events adhere to specific formal arrangements, and is not, in principle, attainable otherwise. To an extent, this observation reflects only the standard view that historical narration is itself a source of limits for understanding, and from this perspective, the suggestion that Polybius’ approach to universal history introduces constraints for interpretation of the specific events of the third and second centuries is not especially noteworthy. Yet since the interpretive approach in the Histories reflects such a specifically normative view of rational understanding, limits are prescribed all the more formally. In particular, it is the notion that human affairs may be regarded a system, and correspondingly, that interdependency is discernible across even broad intervals of time and space, that forms of the source of constraints in this way. The point is useful of course for considering the importance of notions of continuity to Polybius’ views of the integration of the world in the third and second centuries, which forms the basis of his understanding of the effects of Roman political expansion. Yet what I wish to suggest here is that though this theme is formulated in relatively concrete terms in relation to specific events in the past, it also relies upon an essentially idealized view of historical change, which is to be understood more in relation to the governing principles of Hellenistic science, that it is any kind of objective description. To put this another way, the notion of integration denotes a specific view of how past events should be interpreted, and need not thus be taken to reflect intrinsic qualities of the events in question. In this case, it is possible to see the contingency of an integral feature of Polybius’ account of this period, but more importantly, given the importance of notions of integration and unity to the issue of Roman conquest more generally, i.e. not only for Polybius’ Histories, but also for perspectives formed through much of the

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later tradition, it is possible to observe the contingency of even some of the most familiar features of Hellenistic historical thought. It is with the notion of oikonomia that this set of observations begins. As a reference to systems of knowledge in the practical sciences, the term designates the field of past events as a single domain of analysis for the science of political and military affairs. More specifically, it refers to scheme constituted by a specific set of events taking place at the end of third century, notably those connected with three wars (i.e. the Hannibalic War in the west, the Social War in Greece, and the Fourth War for Coele-Syria in Asia Minor and upper Egypt), which, taking place more or less simultaneously in separate parts of the oikoumenê, are taken by Polybius to have involved roughly the whole inhabited world. The notion of oikonomia thus clearly bears an important spatial component, but more specifically, it is meant to describe this set of events as a single area of analysis. In other words, all events taking place in the oikoumenê are thus idealized as a single system of practical knowledge.294 There are limits to this comprehensiveness of course, as already mentioned (see pp. 152-53), but in principle at least, oikonomia thus designates the range of ecumenical affairs as a single domain of technê. Indeed the term appears in particular in the context of describing the influence of Fortune (TÊxh), which Polybius likens to an artisan, producing a work of unparalleled achievement.295 Now, both the image of the divine craftsman and the personification of Tychê are familiar constructions of Hellenistic thought, but the metaphor is particularly significant here for the way it relates historical affairs to other systems in

For Polybius’ view of human affairs as a regular system, see pp. 207-9 below. i.4.1, 5, slightly modified; the metaphor relies in particular on the language of manufacture and technical production: “in the present age… since Fortune has guided almost all the affairs of the world in one direction and has forced them to incline towards one and the same goal, it is thus necessary in a work of history to bring under a one synoptic view the procedures (tÚn xeirisµÒn) by which she has led all events to this common fulfillment… [5] I therefore thought it quite necessary not to leave unnoticed or allow to pass into oblivion this the finest and most beneficent of the performances of Fortune (§pitÆdeuµa t∞w tÊxhw). For though she is ever producing something new and ever playing a part in the lives of men, she has not in a single instance ever accomplished such a work (efirgãsat' ¶rgon), ever achieved such a triumph (±gvn€sat' ég≈nisµa), as in our own times.” 294 295

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the practical sciences: like any other area of technê, they too are defined by an essential unity. This is of course the intended meaning in all Polybius’ observations about continuity, parallelism, organic composition and so on. Yet even as this view forms the basis for Polybius’ justification for the universal plan, it also implies constraints for how events are understood over time. As mentioned, the term oikonomia denotes systems of regular occurrences in the practical sciences, for which the phenomena in question are situated in relationships conceived of as essentially closed with respect to the potential for change; the notion of technê is based entirely on a principle of this sort. Now, even from this observation it is possible to observe a noteworthy discrepancy with other conceptions of historical change in Polybius, such as his view of the impact of Roman conquest, which through the theme of integration denotes a linear or progressive conception of change, and is thus not, strictly speaking, entirely consistent with the notion of oikonomia, which is based on principles on regularity and repetition. Indeed, this tension is already illustrated in the personification of Tychê, mentioned above, in which the events of history are conceptualized simultaneously as both the products of a technê (i.e. crafted by a personified Tychê) and as components in a progressive scheme (i.4.1-6; see n. 295 above). Now, the issue here is not necessarily the consistency of this metaphor; it is simply a convention and does not constitute a formal part of the notion of universal history.296 Yet at the same time, this tension highlights noteworthy limitations in oikonomia as an instrument of historical reconstruction, which is at best an awkward tool for describing linear forms of change. As the theme of universalism is distinguished in particular by suppositions of unity—i.e. in the sense that all events are regarded as more or less continuous with one another—in converting this scheme to a more genuinely historical framework, in which events are plotted in time as well as in place, the notion of unity is plotted diachronically as well. In terms of historical Nor is there any deep inconsistency, for regularities and patterns in conceptions of history might just as easily be subsumed within a progressive scheme as well. 296

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representation, continuity among events is thus emergent, rather than preexistent. At the macrolevel, at which the notion of oikonomia is envisioned as coextensive with the limits of the whole itself, a scheme of integration is expressed all the more thoroughly. Indeed this is the view of history described in the Histories, notably for the specific events of the late third century, as a consequence of which, Polybius says, all parts of the oikoumenê became joined together along with the three wars mentioned above: “Previously the affairs of the world had been dispersed…” as he says in a well known passage in the main Preface, “but ever since this time history has been an organic whole, and the affairs of Italy and Libya have been interwoven (suµpl°kesyai) with those of Greece and Asia, all leading up to one end” (i.4.3-4). More specifically, these remarks refer to the events of the 140th Olympiad (220/19-17/16), which form the basis for Polybius’ view of the impact of Roman conquest. At this time, he says, the Greeks grew concerned with western affairs as they awaited the result of Second Punic War unfolding currently in Italy. Concern for what direction the ambitions of the victor might take, they thus began to send embassies to Rome and Carthage. In a word, this turn of events represented to Polybius a suµplokÆ (“interweaving”, “entanglement”) in world affairs, as the surge in diplomatic activity brought on new states of connectivity among the eastern and western parts of the Mediterranean. Now, though the notion of the symplokê is linked to concrete events, which apart from a few problems of historical accuracy (see below), do indeed suggest a transition towards unity from the perspective of diplomacy at least, it is important to recognize that the scheme also reflects the formal features of Polybius’ interpretive approach, in the sense that the notion of integration also forms part of the view of history as a system, as discussed above. Indeed given how the theme of unity forms such an intrinsic part of Polybius’ approach, it is difficult to see under what other arrangement the events of the 140th Olympiad might be described. In this case, the notion of worldwide integration at this

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time is largely an expression of the particular approach adopted in the Histories. To clarify this point, let us consider Polybius’ account of140th Olympiad more closely. The notion of the symplokê is based in particular on events surrounding a certain peace conference, held at Naupactus in Greece in 217, at which Philip V of Macedon and the Aetolians brought to an end the current war between them and their allies (the so-called Social War). Hearing of the progress of the Second Punic War, which now seemed close to decision with the Romans’ recent defeat at Trasimene, Polybius says that Philip and the Greeks became concerned for the victor’s aspirations. Bringing the Social War to an end, then, they now began to solicit Carthage and Rome, and henceforward “the eyes of all were turned to the issues in Italy”.297 Moreover, the Romans also began to seek allies, notably in Greece, for having greatly weakened from Trasimene, they now became concerned about Philip’s future plans (v.105.8). Such were the affairs in Greece after Naupactus. In the east, we find a similar set of developments, with the Greeks of the Aegean and Asia also beginning to seek allies in the west. The reasons for this change are not clearly stated, but they appear to relate to the end of the Fourth Syrian War, which left both the Seleucid and Lagid monarchies greatly weakened.298 Consequently, Greeks cities in the East appear to have ceased looking to them for aid, but instead now turned their attention to Rome and Carthage.299 On this account, then, the 140th Olympiad signifies a

v.105.5. More specifically, the events of 217 include an account of Philip’s participation at the Nemean festival, where he receives word of the Romans’ defeat at Trasimene and is advised by Demetrius of Pharos to end the Social war and turn his attention to invading Italy, “the first step towards conquest of the whole”, as Polybius says (v.101.1-10; quotation at 101.10). Later, at Naupactus, Demetrius’ advice is repeated, though less directly, in the speech of Agelaus, who advises Philip that once peace returns to Greece, there will be an opportunity for further conquest in the West (“the proper moment to compete for sovereignty of the world”) (v.104.1-11; quotation at 104.7). The authenticity of the speech and its relation to Polybius’ schematic views of this occasion are much discussed; see Mørkholm 1969; Walbank 1972, 69 n. 11; Deininger 1973; Champion 1997. 298 Interestingly, the war was also brought to end in 217, perhaps even on the same day as Trasimene, with the victory of Ptolemy IV over Antiochus III at Raphia. Polybius gives the synchronism at v.105.3, an approximation; for dating Trasimene and Raphia, see Errington 1970, 55; cf. Walbank 1974b, 70. 299 v.105.6-7: “And soon after (tax°vw) the same thing happened to the islanders and the inhabitants of Asia Minor. For those who had grievances against Philip and some of the adversaries of Attalus no longer 297

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monumental step in the convergence of world affairs, as this surge in diplomatic activity now brought on a new state of connectivity between east and west, for the first time “leading toward a single end” as Polybius puts it (prÚw ©n g€nesyai t°low: i.3.4; cf. 4.1-6 cited above).300 Now, though the notion of integration is tied to concrete events here, it is important to recognize that this scheme is not necessarily intrinsic to their interpretation, but is essentially imposed on them. In part this issue may be understood from the perspective of basic needs associated with the task of historical reconstruction. The particular interpretation of the events of the 140th Olympiad here is not something that can be established in empirical terms, in other words, but rather depends on a certain degree of figurative reconstruction. One might possess direct knowledge of any of the individual events, for example, such as the impact of Naupactus on the Greek world, the subsequent surge in diplomatic activity, regional power transitions in Asia, etc. Yet seeing in these developments a unified process would depend upon regarding them at a level of considerable abstraction. There are many reasons for this of course, such as the matter of turned to the south and east, to Antiochus and Ptolemy, but henceforth looked to the west, some sending embassies to Carthage and others to Rome.” On the aftermath of Raphia, see Walbank 1975, 200-3. The timing of this turn of events is needless to say only vaguely expressed, denoted simply by the nondescript tax°vw, and is apparently meant only as an approximation, i.e. like the synchronism at v.105.3 (see n. 298 above). In comparison with other data, however, the suggestion that diplomatic contacts commenced between Rome and the Aegean and Asian Greeks “soon after” 217 is problematic, for there is no evidence of such a thing for nearly 20 years subsequent; see Pédech 1964, 506; Walbank 1975, 202. For modern criticism of Polybius based on the overly schematic nature of this set of views, see n. 304 below. 300 The extent to which the events of the 140th Olympiad really do signify the kind of transition described by Polybius is in doubt of course, not the least for the reason that it is difficult to accept that the Naupactus conference had such a substantial effect on Greek policy initiatives; for Walbank 1972, 68, it is “an event of mainly local significance”, but he does not offer evidence for this view. Moreover, as for affairs in the East, there is apparently an immense lag between the conference and the development of diplomacy with Rome and Carthage (see n. 299 above). Accordingly, the account of the symplokê is often regarded as a typical example of Polybius’ fondness for schematic representation of events. In an effort to resolve these issues, Pédech 1964, 506-7, observes that for Polybius, the mental perspectives of historical agents are just as important to understanding historical change as are concrete events—he cites the definition of causation Polybius offers in Book 3 (6.7; see pp. 209-10 below), and especially his frequent emphasis elsewhere on the decisions of historical actors (pp. 510-12). From this perspective, Naupactus would indeed represent an important transition, for as now “the eyes of all were turned to the issues in Italy”, as Polybius says (v.105.5), there was a noteworthy change at this time. In all the historicity of Polybius’ account of these events is beside the point here, for the present discussion is primarily cofncerned with the issue of historical representation. In this case, schematism is not necessarily a problem, but rather a symptom of the kind of formal influence on historical thought under discussion here.

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attributing purpose (e.g., t°low) to the events themselves, rather than their agents, or identifying the world as a whole with only select parts of it. Yet above all the supposition that conditions of unity may be established for a set of events that are doubtless much more complex and amorphous implies a particularly generous understanding of what is meant by ‘unity’. This is not to say that this portrait of the 140th Olympiad is unhistorical, or even that it is incomplete; rather, the point is that it is contingent. As a description of this kind exceeds the limits of direct empirical knowledge, it therefore depends upon some other, external principle of organization. It is here that the relationship with the sciences becomes significant. The notion that history is already comprehensible in the form of rational system provides an important source of order for this account, which will have inevitably been open to a wider range of interpretive possibilities. For example, though the affairs of post-Naupactus Greece are understood as parts of a general process of convergence at this time, they might just as easily be situated in a scheme of dissolution, for with the end of the Social War came also an end to all the joint efforts required to sustain it, and thus also corresponding attenuation in regional ties. The same is true of events at the end of Fourth Syrian War, which though they apparently reflect developments in the direction of greater connectivity, also imply a breakdown in regional power configurations (i.e. centered on Lagid and Seleucid authority). Again, the point here is not the historicity of Polybius’ views—indeed, his chronology for the initiation of diplomatic contact between Rome and the Aegean and Asian Greeks seems to well be off the mark—nor whether one of these schemes is more valid than the other. Rather, what is noteworthy is the need for some model of organization, through which the intrinsic complexity of these situations may be reduced and limited. The notion of the rational system thus represents a necessary source of order here. This is the significance of the idea of the symplokê, incidentally. The concept that derives from Atomist physics in fact, where along with related terms (e.g., peripl°kein, sunt€yenai and their respective

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cognates) it refers to the conjunction of elements constituting the natural world.301 As a metaphorical tool, the notion of symplokê permits reduction of complex literal description (to the extent that the latter was possible) to something invariably more familiar, where the operative principle is not so much the idea of “interwovenness” itself, but rather the possibility of greater descriptive simplicity. The imposition of this formula in the context of history functions in a similar way, rendering description of past events more accessible largely as a matter of convenience. Now, this is not to suggest that Polybius’ account of the 140th Olympiad is based on an especially detailed interrogation of the events in question, i.e. that his interpretation based on the theme of convergence (among other possibilities) represents the product of more stringent critical procedures, for example. On the contrary, the account presumably reflects the view that was least problematic at the time of composition, sometime after Pydna, when the extended effects of the 140th Olympiad became apparent. At the same time however, we must recognize that due to the specific model of interpretation employed, there will have been a limited range of possibilities for configuring these events. On the supposition that historical events are comprehensible as a system, in other words—which signals an idealized view essentially, formed in relation to a specific conception of the nature of rational understanding, as I mentioned—the theme of integration will have simply made more sense. A version of these events signifying dispersal or fragmentation will have been less meaningful, in other words—though the possibility was always there, as I mentioned. Thus though Polybius’ account of the 140th Olympiad doubtless reflects the view that seemed most straightforward in hindsight, its formation, we must recognize, will have reflected external conditions as well, such as the framing principles of the rational interpretive

Arist. GC 325a23; Cael. 303a5; D.L. ix.31; Aet. ii.7.2; Simpl. Cael. 242.21, 295.9-11 (=Arist. On Democritus); fragments and discussion in Kirk, Raven and Schofield 19832, 406-427, FF 545, 563-64, 578-79, 583-84. For additional references, see Pédech 1964, 507 n. 66. 301

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model. Viewed from this perspective, then, the relevant issue is not really the significance of Polybius’ own views regarding of these events, i.e. as an individual historical writer, but rather how they correspond with and confirm current assumptions about what an account of this kind ought to entail. If the 140th Olympiad signaled to Polybius a process of integration, in other words, this was surely not because it represented an especially radical view of those events, but rather because it was to some extent least incompatible with dominant views of rational explanation. Indeed, at the risk of being overly speculative, we imagine that even if more detailed information about these events were available to Polybius, the account would not depart significantly from what we find currently in the Histories. There is no way of knowing such a thing of course, but the point is nonetheless suggestive, for while a more exhaustive examination of the events of 140th Olympiad might have yielded other views of the significance of the scenario, the theme of integration will have done greater justice to the ideals of Hellenistic rationalism. In all, then, we see in Polybius’ concept of universal history the emergence of the theme of integration as a metahistorical principle. The way Polybius forms his approach is based largely on practical considerations of course, such as we have seen in the various technical distinctions made with conventional forms of historical writing. Yet though adjustments of this kind involve concerns for historical interpretation expressed primarily in concrete form, they rely on a distinctively theoretical conception of historical understanding as well. In this respect, formal provisions underlying Polybius’ concept of universal history denote a way of thinking about the past that is best understood in terms of the notion of metahistory, which I employ here in the way typically understood in modern scholarship, namely that historical representation incorporates levels of meaning set more deeply than is obvious at the level of concrete description. In particular cases the notion of metahistory is useful for understanding the framing principles and assumptions underlying the production of historical texts, and it is thus helpful for elucidating formal

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tendencies governing given particular acts of historical reconstruction, often in cases determined at the even the most unconscious levels of historical understanding.302 It is perhaps already possible to grasp the value of this concept for enlarging our understanding of Polybius’ concept of universal history, which is based so thoroughly on the influence of deep structures of interpretation, and in many respects, the Histories perhaps forms an exemplary case for how representation of the past is shaped by formal principles underlying production of a given text. Yet here the issue is not necessarily that the notion of metahistory is useful for analyzing the particular representations of the past in the Histories, but rather that it sheds light on the broader implications of efforts to introduce new procedures of historical interpretation. When we consider the position of Polybius’ writing in relation to contemporary science, in which case the notion of universal history represents not only a specific set of techniques and standards of practice, but also more basic provisions regarding the intuitive foundations of intellectual production, the work exemplifies how influence from the particular concerns of Hellenistic rational culture evinces profound formal tendencies in historical perceptions too, where the result includes not only effects upon specific, concrete views of historical description, but rather the construction of frames governing representation of past in a generic sense. The intrusion of rationalist concerns here produces determining conditions that precede the concrete acts of interpretation, in other words, but rather constitutes the field against

In particular, it is the notion of metahistory brought to notoriety by the work of Hayden White (1973, esp. 1-42) that introduce here, and especially the view that consideration of historical representation at the level of its formal verbal structure can elucidate the modalities of historical thinking that characterize a given historically and culturally specific environment. Also relevant here is White’s later work on the relationship between narrative (and narrativization) and historical knowledge (e.g., 1978a, esp. 91-94; 1987), which in conjunction with the theory of history expounded in Metahistory provides the framework analyzing the formal features of historical thought at the more basic level of their expression in concrete acts of historical narration and interpretation; see also id., 1999. As will become clear, the notion of metahistory is useful for clarifying the link between Polybius’ concept of universal history and current practices in Hellenistic intellectual culture, but also for assessing the productive effects of efforts to these practices in the context of history. Useful summaries and elaboration of White’s ideas are Kramer 1989; Ankersmit 1994, 6-11; 2001. 302

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which those acts acquire meaning—hence the metahistorical perspective here. Considered from this angle, incidentally, it perhaps easier to account for some of the ‘errors’ typically associated with Polybius’ views, such as appear in his description of the symplokê, which is often dismissed as overly schematic in the way it squeezes events into such a neat, doubtless much narrower set of chronological frames.303 It should be clear, however, that a tendency toward schematism, whether in the representation of this or other sets of events, is not necessarily contradictory to principles of historical understanding, for on the contrary, from what can be told here, formal schemes are in fact wholly necessary for the kinds of description attempted by Polybius, in the sense that it would be unthinkable to form a coherent account in lieu of which—at least as far as is allowed by notions of coherency determined in relation to the concerns of the Hellenistic rational tradition.304 Again, the point here is not the issue of veracity, but rather the reasons disposing Polybius to produce—and his audiences to accept—a description of this kind. In other words, even if Polybius’ account of the symplokê is essentially wrong, it nonetheless indicates the kind of view that will have predominated in Hellenistic historical perceptions. In this case, the significance of the Histories is not merely limited to the representation of past events in particular cases, but rather the way the work presupposes and exemplifies much more general standards of historical awareness. Ultimately, I wish to suggest that the profile for historical reconstruction denoted by the concept of universal history is useful for clarifying continued developments in the Mediterranean

On the historical problems with Polybius’ account of the 140th Olympiad, see nn. 297-300 above. Yet apart from these problems, there remains the problem that in his emphasis on the events of the symplokê, Polybius denies the significance of similar developments in the integration of eastern and western affairs; see n. 304 below. 304 In general, on the schematic features of the Histories, see Morgan 1990; Walbank 1994. For the specific issue of the symplokê, however, it is worth pointing out that as Polybius’ account of these events is based on the idea of a sudden transition to convergence among all parts of the oikoumenê, it is necessary to minimize emphasis on other events, prior to the 140th Olympiad, which also signal a transition to greater connectivity between eastern and western halves of the oikoumenê, such as Rome’s invasion of Illyria in 229 and subsequent contacts with Corcyra, Epidamnus and other Greek states (ii.8.1-12.7), or Carthage’s recruitment of Greek mercenaries during the First Punic War (i.32.1-9). Polybius’ account of the symplokê is thus problematic even in the terms he himself provides. 303

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historical tradition, especially in light of how the theme of integration forms the basis for so much of the historiography of the Roman era, which Polybius is often taken to inaugurate in some way or another, and even forms as dominant influence upon historical production in many subsequent stages of Mediterranean history. Needless to say, it is beyond the scope of the present study to define the impact of Polybius’ writing for such a broad range of developments, and for this reason, my observations here will have to remain preliminary. Yet at the same time, it is worth observing links between the Histories and these trends in broad strokes. As is well known of course, modern accounts place great emphasis on the unifying effects of Roman conquest, which is often linked in one way or another to observations about political and cultural integration in the Mediterranean. Much in the way of Polybius, modern accounts describe the Roman era in terms of progressive developments towards unity, driven by solidification of relationships across increasingly broader intervals of space and ongoing extension of political authority. This view of things is not a modern trend, moreover, but rather follows almost immediately after Polybius in the work of other writers examining the impact of Rome, including not only the self-professed continuators of the historian, Posidonius and Strabo, but also in writers of other immense works contemporary with the heyday of Roman expansion, such as Diodorus of Sicily.305 Moreover, apart from the particular issue of Roman conquest, similar views appear in other (modern) approaches to the ancient Mediterranean, such as the models of economic and cultural integration that have inspired recent interests in the notion of Mediterraneanism,306 for example, and especially long-standing interests

The historical works of both Posidonius and Strabo are both described as tå µetå PolÊbion (“the things after Polybius”); respectively, FGH 87 TT1, 12b, FGH 91 F1. On perspectives of Rome and Roman political power in these writers, see Sacks 1990, 160-203; Clarke 1999b; Alonso Núñez 1990, 191-92; 2002, 83-92. Engels 2010. In-depth discussion of Strabo’s geography from this perspective appears in Clarke 1999a, 129-336; cf. ead. 1997. On concerns for continuity in works of local history in the Hellenistic era, specifically in conjunction with the influence of Roman political power, see Clarke 2008, 354-63. 306 Serious interest in intra-Mediterranean connectivity in modern studies owes much to Braudel 1972, but more recently basic questions pertaining to the subject have been redefined and reframed by Hordern and Purcell 2000, which has prompted a surge of response regarding the appropriate means of addressing issues of continuity (and discontinuity); see for example the essays collected in Harris 2005 and Malkin 2005. Also 305

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in Romanization in modern scholarship.307 In all, then, though it is important not to overstate the point, it is clear that notions of continuity form a more or less consistent goal of historical description in many approaches to Mediterranean history—even in cases (e.g., the fierce critiques of accounts of Romanization appearing in the last several decades) in which they form a subject of controversy.308 Thus though a detailed treatment of all these strains of Mediterranean historiography is beyond the scope of the present discussion, it is worth considering the

important is the body of scholarship examining the evolution of perceptions of the Mediterranean, both in antiquity and beyond, which has done much to historicize constructions of the Mediterranean world and of Mediterranean unity: e.g., Dihle 1985; Yavit 1988; Hartog 1992; Ferrary 1994; 1998; Chartier 2001; as well as the various essays collected in Foresti et al. 1998. Admittedly, in these studies the concern is often with correcting some of the false suppositions underlying histories of integration in the Mediterranean studies. Yet it is precisely for this reason that they indicate the trends over the last century regarding what counts as a meaningful account of Mediterranean history. Particularly noteworthy in this respect is Morris 2003, which seeks to contextualize late-twentieth-century interests in an integrated Mediterranean in relation to the current debate on globalization. 307 Here of course I refer to the tradition of modern studies of the Roman empire, beginning roughly in the mid-19th century and based primarily on the interpretation of archaeological and epigraphic data, which has sought to explain the effects of Roman rule in the provinces as more or less general process of acculturation, with local identities giving way gradually to the advancement of (implicitly superior) cultural forms associated with Roman authority. Needless to say the scholarship constituting this tradition is extensive, and here it is possible to refer only to a few prominent aspects of it. Important early contributions are Mommsen 1886 and Haverfield 1912, for example, with discussion in Freeman 1997. Useful summaries, with references and critical assessment, may be found in Millett 1990; Alcock 1997; Barrett 1997; Woolf 1997; 1998, 1-24; Mattingly 2002; Hingley 2005, 14-29. 308 As is plain from many of the sources cited n. 307 above, the notion of Romanization has been subject to serious scrutiny in the last half century or so, and for the most part it is now possible to disregard much of this area of scholarship as either (at best) a set of overly schematic and reductive views of culture and cultural change, or (at worst) a remnant of 19th-century nationalist and Eurocentric ideology; see Desiderati 1991 and especially Hingley 2000. What is interesting, however, is that even amidst the immense critical response of the last several decades, many of the basic suppositions on which this trend relies go unquestioned. In other words, it often not the notion of cultural unity or the theme of acculturation that is called into doubt, but rather simply the particular ways they are applied in historical accounts. So for example, though it has become unacceptable to think about the Roman empire in terms of simple models of change based on direct intervention from Roman authorities, it remains a primary objective of historical reconstruction to account for the absorption of Roman cultural forms. Thus while scholars have turned to more nuanced models of acculturation, such as by assigning a more substantial role to intermediary agents like local elites, for example (e.g., Millett 1990; Torelli 1995; Macmullen 2000), the basic suppositions of the Romanization model are largely unchanged. To put this another way, it is reasonably clear that the notion of a coherent Roman cultural identity (which generally serves as the primary justification for accounts of acculturation of any kind in this context incidentally) is not itself adequately verifiable, but in fact represents a construct of modern scholarship—and essentially just a convenient tool for organizing large sets of data more coherently; see Burnett 1997, 52-58. For summary and references regarding these issues, see Hingley 2005, 30-48.

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construction of this dominant idiom of historical thought in relation to similar influences governing the view of the past expressed in Polybius’ writing. The relationship between Polybius and his immediate successors (e.g., Posidonius, Strabo and Diodorus, who are known to have relied on the Histories as a source), is largely understood, and I pass over it here, but in particular, it is the influence of more general narrative structures for Mediterranean history that is worth examining. In accounts of Romanization, for example, description of the past is organized primarily around the theme of cultural integration, which provides a focus for organizing historical description around the dominant theme of unification, and in this respect, that tradition is perhaps the most direct embodiment of Polybian ideals. More specifically, interest in Romanization is characterized by combined concerns for cultural exchange and progressive development, which together provide the framework for producing a more or less coherent account of the effects of Roman rule. So for example, Mediterranean society may be understood in terms of a general embrace of Roman cultural forms, or in terms of parallel scenarios taking place across the Mediterranean involving the participation of local elites. Now the details of accounts of Romanization always vary, but in every case, we find historical description subjected to the aim of explaining (and illustrating) the unification of separate affairs across the Mediterranean. This concern for unity is in fact so ingrained that even under heavy criticism accounts of the influence of Roman rule often only modify the way that influence is described, rather than seriously question the validity of the narrative of integration. So as it becomes untenable to think of acculturation in terms of the direct influence of Roman authority, a greater role is attributed to local elites, who mediate the transfer of Roman cultural forms. Rarely is it considered that the historical narrative and observable changes in material setting of provincial spaces (e.g., constituted by commercial goods, architectural forms, etc.) signify something other than a process of acculturation. Thus the effects of Roman rule may be

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articulated in any number of different ways, e.g., in terms of the integration of separate cultures, or in terms of resistance to pressures to integrate, but in every case, it is the principle of integration that grounds acts of interpretation. Now the idea of Romanization itself is the source of many problems, and these are for the most part well understood, but what is interesting here is the fact that the process of integration is regarded as such a worthy object of explanation. Thus it is not so much the concrete problems related to history of Roman expansion that are worth reconsideration, but rather the fact that the theme of unity stands foremost among other possible objects of historical consideration. Now, needless to say, the reasons for the success of accounts of Romanization form a complex issue—though it is reasonably clear that one factor involves the influence of nationalist and Eurocentric ideology in the 19th century, when strong interest in the subject began. Yet it is worth observing that this tradition has depended considerably on the influence of ancient historians writers, who have provided the metanarratives, expressed in the form of rational interest in Roman conquest and the prospect of cultural unity associated with Roman achievements, for constructing such a uniform view of historical change. In this case, a noteworthy role is to be attributed to the intellectual institutions, like Polybius’ concept of universal history, which have surely encouraged the idea of the past a process of integration. Yet though it may be useful to postulate a genealogical relationship here, in the sense that the modern approach forms a direct legacy of ancient thought, from a more pragmatic perspective, we must recognize the fact that modern views of this kind rely on their own set of local conditions, and in that sense, accounts of Romanization apparently involve a similar principle of interpretation, namely that of simplification, which in facilitating the arrangement of so broad a field of details performs the necessary role of reducing complexity.309 Now I say ‘necessary’ here to some extent

309

On this issue in studies of Romanization, see especially Freeman 1997.

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simply due to the convenience of being able integrate the data sets for study of the Roman provinces, but there are a more substantial reason as well. The necessity of this interpretive principle is to some extent due to its complementary relationship with deeper suppositions regarding the interpretation of history. In this case it is the metahistorical imperatives of convergence and acculturation—presumably derived in part from ancient authors (like Polybius) working close to the sources of Roman power and in part from the collective cultural imaginary of 19th-century Europe—that determine historical perceptions in this way. Thus while to some extent notions of continuity denote simply the remainder left by exclusion of other, more complex possibilities of interpretation, it is also in considerable part the dream of order, fostered by reflection on the prospect of specific political transitions, that elevate continuity to this level of expression. Incidentally, it is thus not necessary to attribute a great role specifically to Polybius’ writing specifically, for as I have already suggested the Histories forms part of a intellectual regime, the domain of which, we see here, extends even to modern examinations of the ancient world. The role of this study of the Histories, then, is mainly to illustrate the implications of rationalization in the context of those intellectual institutions directed at understanding Roman conquest. The importance of this set of observations thus goes well beyond the relationship between principles of unity and the theme of Romanization, incidentally, but as I have already suggested, roughly the same model of historical reconstruction forms the basis for other dominant views in the history of the West, which have exerted the same or even greater influence as the notion of Romanization has—and have formed the basis of similar tensions in modern debate for that matter, such as

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recent interests in Mediterraneanization and other controversial models of large-scale, systemic change.310 The prevailing concern here is of course the relationship between metahistory and the extension of political authority itself, and in this respect, Polybius’ writing forms a useful example of how political change in the external world is supported and accommodated by the intellectual institutions formed for its interpretation.311 More specifically, universal history determines historical perception in ways largely complementary to the creation of political subjectivities. In broad strokes we observe how elective organization of historical description creates limits not only for interpretation of the past, but also for the perception of conditions in the present, which are now conveniently assimilable to a historical scheme already defined by the potential for unification. In this respect, as revelations of unity foster the notion of collectivities beyond conventional frames of experience, this mode of historical thought provides an important part of the moral justification for political centralization. To put it another way, as the Histories entails an essentialized view of the late third century as an all-embracing process of integration, unification at the level of lived political experience represents only the realization of past-present relationships more or less already taken for granted. The case is roughly the same with 19th-century accounts of Roman rule, in which historical narrative forms the complement to claims of European cultural and moral superiority just in the way history is idealized as a process of unification. There are

On Mediterraneanization, see Morris 2003. In that essay is to be found a useful discussion and bibliography on the late 20th-century debate on globalization, which may itself, I suggest here, form the subject of similar examinations regarding the overdependence on themes of continuity in the interpretation of history and culture. Among the many concerns raised in discussion of that subject, on that has not received great emphasis, is that regarding the metahistorical or metanarratological structures implied in the premise that unification forms a worthy object of investigation. One remarkable example of this issue is furnished by the area of globalization studies focused on the pre-modern period, in which the tendency is to perceive analogies for globalization increasingly further into the past, sometimes even with deliberate efforts to the ancient tradition represented by Polybius; e.g., Inglis and Robertson 2005; cf. Stearns 2010. 311 For a useful summary of this issue in the context of the Roman empire, see König and Whitmarsh 2007, along with the various essays appearing in that volume, none of which, incidentally, focus on historical writing from this standpoint. 310

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serious differences between the two of course, but what is noteworthy in joining them here is how the description of events in each provides justification for the onset of the political dominance. On the whole, then, Polybius’ notion of universal history is essentially a means of legitimating the imperial authority it sets out to describe. Again, this is not an issue to be understood at the level of concrete description in the Histories, but rather in how the formal aspects of their assembly prescribe standards for social experience. It is to some extent well understood, in other words, that histories of empire play an important role in validating imperial power structures, but here we see that that effect is achieved outside the domain of narrative properly speaking, but rather in the formal principles implied by the construction of the narrative this way. In the next chapter, I extend this interpretation to Polybius’ study of historical causes, from which I hope to clarify this particular aspect of the Histories more definitively.

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CHAPTER 4: ON THE ORIGINS OF WAR CAUSAL EXPLANATION AND THE ORDER OF THE WORLD

In the spring or summer of 169 delegates from various Greek states paid a visit to the Seleucid king, Antiochus IV Epiphanes while on campaign in Egypt, seeking to discuss peace terms for the recent conflict over Coele Syria. Antiochus had just defeated the army of the Lagid king, Ptolemy VI Philometor, in a battle near Mt. Casius and Pelusium, and thus gained control over a substantial part of the region. With Alexandria now in his direct line of advance, the envoys came to seek a resolution at Philometor’s behest. So ended (for the moment at least) the so-called Sixth War for Coele Syria, the latest clash in more than a century and a half of conflict over the region.312 In a fragment from Polybius, we find that in their meeting with Antiochus, the Greek delegates pled Philometor’s case, who was still a boy at this time, by placing blame on his advisor, Eulaeus, and other royal ministers. It was they, the envoys claimed, who made preparations for the war, and they had done so on their own in fact, without the approval of the young king. Responsibility for the conflict therefore lay with them, not Philometor.313 At this point Polybius says Antiochus then went on to justify his own actions in the conflict, pointing out that CoeleSyria had been a rightful possession of the Seleucids since the initial grant of the region after the death of Alexander, more than a century before, and that even more recently Coele Syria had been occupied by his father, Antiochus the Great, who took control of the region as part of the

For sources on the dispute over Coele Syria, see Walbank Comm. i, 592-93; more extensive discussion of this subject and Seleucid claims on territory (and the past) in Ma 1999, 26-52, esp. 30-21 on the present incident. 313 Eulaeus, a eunuch, became tutor to Ptolemy when the king’s mother, Cleopatra died in 176, along with Lenaeus, a former slave; both apparently played a crucial role in preparing Egypt for war (D.S. xxx.15-6; cf. Liv. xlii.29.5-7); cf. Mørkholm 1961 for discussion and additional sources. If their involvement was discussed by Polybius, the relevant passages are now lost. 312

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settlement to the previous (i.e. the Fifth) war over Coele Syria.314 Now, despite these arguments, peace terms were still not concluded immediately, for Antiochus told the delegates that he would refrain from a settlement until having heard back from envoys he had sent himself to Ptolemy, and with that, continued in his advance toward Alexandria, inviting the Greeks to accompany him (xxviii.19-20). The excerpt breaks off here, but it is known that shortly later an agreement was in fact reached and that Coele Syria (as well as much of Egypt) passed to Antiochus’ official control. Moreover, he was also made protector to the young Ptolemy, and Lagid-Seleucid relationships entered a new era of at least nominal partnership.315 The episode provides an important illustration of the relationships between knowledge of the past and constructions of political order in the Hellenistic world, in which the issue of responsibility for transgressions plays an important role in ordering interstate relations.316 In particular, we observe how description of the past allows resolution to be reached through clarification of the origins of the conflict from a moral and legal standpoint. The Greek envoys transfer blame for the war to a third party, Eulaeus and his ministers, whose involvement in its preparations thus provides the basis for exonerating the young king. This gesture is essentially an act of legitimation of course, as Ptolemy’s competency is reaffirmed and his standing in international domain restored.317 Antiochus provides justification too, also in the form of historical description, citing treaty agreements and the most recent resolution to conflict over the region (20.5, 8). This too is essentially an act of legitimation, which even despite Antiochus’ clear military Polybius also says that Antiochus justified the Seleucid claim by denying an agreement alleged by the Ptolemies to have transferred control of Coele Syria to Philometor’s father, Ptolemy V, upon marrying Cleopatra I, sister to the present Antiochus and mother of the young king (xxviii.20.9). As for the claim regarding the initial grant of Coele Syria to Seleucus, this view apparently formed part of official Seleucid rhetoric on the issue; it appears in Polybius’ account of proceedings prior to the Fourth War for Coele Syria as well, in arguments adduced by Antiochus III; v.67.3-8. 315 Sources and discussion for the war and related events: Swain 1944, 80-94; Pédech 1964, 147-52; Mørkholm 1966, 67-84; Fraser 1972 ii, 210-12; Walbank Comm. iii, 321-24. 316 On this aspect of political discourse, see sources cited by Ma 1999, 31 n. 16. 317 Involvement of Ptolemy’s ministers apparently formed part of the official Lagid explanations for the war; see discussions cited by Walbank Comm. iii, 356. 314

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advantage, appears to have its own role to play in validating Seleucid claims to the region. In all, then, interest in the causes of the conflict plays the important role of restoring order to LagidSeleucid relations, and thus provides the basis for a new form of partnership and continuation of a peaceful coexistence. As is well known, interest in the causes of wars forms an important part of the Greek intellectual tradition. The situation portrayed here is well represented in scenes from Classical and Hellenistic political culture, not only in the context of diplomacy, but especially in the deliberations taking place in the domestic political assemblies. In some cases, we have the evidence of actual speeches, which reveal roughly the same set of concerns for determining moral and legal criteria, establishing historical context, and so on.318 Yet apart from the speeches themselves, concern for the origins of war forms a noteworthy subject in the extensive tradition of technical literature (for political oratory, for compiling foreign laws, for dispute resolution), on which these speakers no doubt relied heavily in preparing for these activities. Evidence for this material is sparser than for the speeches themselves, but it is clear that the Classical and Hellenistic periods saw a surge in the production of works of this kind, and Greek statesmen thus surely had access to a range of resources dealing with how to address the origins of war in official political contexts. Indeed, the subject appears to have become a formal part of political education as early as the fourth century.319 Finally, in addition to oratory and technical writing, we have the

E.g., Isoc. 8.77-80 (the theme of the blame for the Peloponnesian war); Dem. 5.15-19; 11.1-2; 18.158. Also to be included is Gorgias’ Encomium of Helen, which makes use of this set of conventions in addressing responsibility for the Trojan war, as well as the portraits of political negotiation appearing in other historical texts, which like Polybius’ account of proceedings near the end of the Sixth War for Coele Syria provide indirect evidence of the pragmatics of political discussion of the causes of war and other forms of dispute; e.g., Hdt. i.1-5, 155-56; iii.63.3, vi.84.1; Thuc. i.126.1; Xen. Hell. iii.2.21-22; for discussion see Sealey 1957; cf. Richardson 1990 on contemporary debate surrounding the causes of the Peloponnesian war. 319 The rhetorical manuals produced by Aristotle and (probably) Anaximenes of Lampascus indicate the position of this subject in formal instructional settings at this time, including observations regarding how to manipulate ethical and juridical concerns in gaining political leverage (e.g., for producing credible pretexts for war, for assessing the justness of the positions of other states (Rhet. ad Alex. 1425a10-27, 1425a28-b16). These works doubtless formed part of a wider tradition of technical literature in rhetoric and international 318

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historians, whose own concerns for the causes of wars are well known. In their efforts to enlarge understanding of particular wars, Greek historians show similar concerns for questions of moral and legal responsibility, political legitimacy and especially reconstruction of past events. Their work thus forms an important part of this area of political discourse, and in particular, as the examples of Herodotus and Thucydides show at least, they seem to have seen history as a vital part of debate on the subject, especially when problems posed by the origins of particular wars continued to exercised a hold on popular attention well after the fact.320 Polybius too shows great interest in the origins of wars, devoting space not only to explaining why particular wars have occurred, but also to developing a conceptual framework for understanding the outbreak of war in general. In particular, he approaches the subject from the perspective that knowledge of wars may be systematized and that the subject is thus comprehensible more or less in general terms, which are then of use to the statesman in identifying and responding to various contingencies arising in his own time. This view of course forms part of Polybius’ general approach to the Histories, whereby study of the past is primarily a source of practical instruction, and thus a useful resource for directing political and military affairs in the present. Apart from these considerations, however, concern for the origins of wars is also linked to Polybius’ concept of universal history, which denotes the view that all events in the past are connected as the components of a single, long-term process, which, based on causal dependencies formed across even great intervals of time and space, is thus capable of accounting affairs from the fourth century, though much of it survives only in fragments, such as the Dikai≈µata (“Treaties”) attributed to Theophrastus, a mere title, which perhaps contained a catalogue of treaties combined with discussion of techniques for managing interstate relations (see Szegedy-Maszak 1981, 79-80 w. n. 182), or the Strathgikã of Demetrius of Phalerum, which appears to have examined techniques of justification and other issues related to war and generalship (D.L. v.80= Wehrili iv.70-71; cf. Pédech 1964 1988 n. 495). For technical writing in the Classical and Hellenistic eras, see Fuhrman 1960; Radermacher 1951; Cole 1991, 71-114. On the dating and authorship of the Rhetoric to Alexander, see Chiron 2007, 101-4. 320 Take the survey of explanations for the Greek-Persian conflict appearing at the opening of Herodotus’ Histories, for example (i.1-5); as is often observed, the account forms a parodic take on popular treatments of the subject, especially in epic; see Lateiner 1989, 38-41, 240 n. 74. Thucydides’ relationship with contemporary debate on the causes of the Peloponnesian conflict (i.24-66) is discussed by Richardson 1990.

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for the whole of history. In particular, Polybius regards this process as being constituted by the series of wars leading with Rome’s first two conflicts with Carthage (i.e. the First and Second Punic Wars) to successive wars with Philip V of Macedon (also called the Second Macedonian War) and Antiochus III the Great (also called the Syrian War). Thus, with each war forming the cause of the one following, it is possible to construe the whole process of history as an uninterrupted sequence leading from Rome’s first foreign expedition (i.e. in the dispute over Sicily) to the final establishment of control of the Mediterranean with the elimination of the last remaining sources of opposition to her authority, i.e. the Macedonian and Seleucid kingdoms; all other events, Polybius says, are linked to this process in one way or another.321 Viewed from this perspective, the subject of the origins of wars goes well beyond the need to determine the causes of any particular conflict, but rather is employed in constructing a general scheme of historical development. This too is essentially a matter of practical instruction, incidentally, and in fact the entire plan of the Histories is to be understood as an explanation for the Roman political dominance in the second century.322 At a glance this approach reveals noteworthy differences from that followed conventionally, in the context of diplomacy, where concern centers upon issues of moral and legal responsibility. This is not to say that Polybius takes no interest in issues of this kind; he does in fact (see n. 379 below). Yet at the same time, the notion that explanation of war bears the kind of instructive value implied here, i.e. where war denotes more or less regular mechanisms of cause and effect or forms an important part of long-term process of historical change, implies an effort to situate study of the subject in a different intellectual context. That knowledge of the causes of wars is useful for providing political instruction entails the view that the phenomenon is sufficiently generalizable, for example, such that it may be accounted for in terms of regular 321 322

For discussion, see p. 208 below. i.1.5; iii.1.4-9; vi.2.3; viii.2.3; xxxix.8.7

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principles of occurrence: e.g., what conditions propel the state towards war, what circumstances mitigate the likelihood of an outbreak, to what extent can conflict be forecast, etc. Whatever the validity of this approach, it clearly comes a long way from forensic concerns for explaining war, in which the notion of cause has a more particular significance—i.e. directed at establishing the reasons for a specific conflict and especially for bringing resolution by identifying wrongdoing’— and does not in principle require reflection on issues of mechanism or generality. This represents a noteworthy difference in methods of interpretation. In this chapter, I examine Polybius’ treatment of the origins of war from the perspective of this discrepancy with contemporary political practices. His approach to this subject is based primarily on methods of interpretation employed in other areas of speculative thought in Hellenistic science, which, as I already discussed in Chapter 1, provide the framework not only for new conception scientific explanation, for example, but also underwrite the development of various formal traditions of research taking shape at this time. In this sense, efforts to innovate in how war is understood in this way denote a concern for rendering study of the past too more consistent with current conceptions of the nature and scope of rational inquiry. This observation is of course generally applicable to the Histories, and in the preceding chapters of this dissertation, I have examined the links with contemporary science underlying many of Polybius’ views of historical method. Here I extend this approach, at a lower level of analysis, to his treatment of the concrete events and actions constituting the historical subject in the Histories, notably the various wars taking place from the late third century, which brought on the momentous transformations Polybius observes in connection with the extension of Roman political authority. In particular, I examine Polybius’ approach to the subject of war from the perspective of its ramifications for perceptions of Hellenistic political culture. Given the importance of this area of discourse to the formation of diplomatic relationships, Polybius’ approach signals a noteworthy

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shift in how explanations for war are employed in constructions of international political order. In part this is simply a matter of the adjustments in interpretations themselves, which now from assimilation of explanatory models employed in other areas of science entail important limitations also upon the kinds of explanation possible. There are two in particular: on the one hand, a form of explanation based on consideration of moral and legal criteria, which is directed primarily at affixing responsibility for transgressive acts; and on the other, one that is more genuinely explanatory, in the sense that it is aimed at accounting for why things have occurred, and does not, for this reason, incorporate issues of blame as well. Ultimately, I argue here, efforts to assimilate the latter, more genuinely explanatory model of explanation entail noteworthy restrictions for how war is understood as an intellectual problem. Yet change in how war is understood in this way involves more than a mere shift in intellectual perspective, but has important ramifications for political practice as well, a second important issue here. Apart from transition between different forms of explanation, changes signaled by Polybius’ approach involve adjustments also in the practical function to which knowledge of this kind is put, which now with the transition to a more genuinely explanatory framework, ceases to bear a function in determining moral and legal criteria, and thus ceases also in the same function in framing and structuring interstate relations. Ultimately I offer suggestions for how this aspect of the Polybius’ writing can be used to elucidate the influence of rationalist tendencies upon Hellenistic political thought. In addition to clarifying Polybius’ relation to contemporary politics, this point is especially noteworthy in light of the particular historical conditions of second-century Greece, at which time increasing Roman involvement in Greek affairs makes the effects of this set of transformations all the more acute. Considered from this perspective, adjustments in Polybius’ approach provide a useful illustration of the role of Greek intellectual institutions in fostering tendencies towards political subordination at this time.

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The discourse on causes and the structure of Hellenistic intellectual culture Before proceeding, some preliminary remarks are in order concerning the Greek notion of cause and the function of causal analysis in the sciences in general.323 This set of issues typically begins with the term afit€a, often translated as “cause” or more literally, “a thing responsible,”, whose great flexibility in this respect renders it extensible to a wide variety of discursive functions in intellectual culture. The term originates in the context of discussing issues or moral relevance, where it has the meaning (in an active sense) of “accusation” or “grievance”, or (in a passive sense) of “blame” or “responsibility”. It is in fact only by extension that aitia comes to mean something like the English “cause”, which involves a significant enlargement in meaning as the term is conventionally understood, as it now includes other kinds of dependency beyond the sphere of human agency, though it is important to recognize that this change in usage implies a narrowing down of its meaning as well, in the sense that it no longer signifies a moral distinction.324 Furthermore, it is in fact only from specific historical developments that the notion of cause is employed in the sense of explanation, where it refers to a form of dependency that is not only more properly causal (i.e. as opposed to concerned with blame alone), but also implies a certain degree of regularity as well. In this case, expressions of knowledge based on the supposition that, say, x causes y does not refer only to a particular case of x or y, but rather forms the basis for propositions with general force, in which case ceteribus paribus the relationship may be said to hold x in more or less all cases. In all, then, it is possible to speak of at least two separate strains of the Fuller treatment of the discourse on causes, of which the present section forms a concise summary, appears in Chapter 1 above; see pp. 45-54. 324 E.g., Pearson 1952, 205; useful discussions of the historical developments in use of the term are Lloyd 1979, 49-56; Frede 1980; Sorabji 1980a; 1990b; Vegetti 1999. 323

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discourse on causes: first, a way of speaking about causality that is essentially attributive in function, the more primitive of the two, which relies upon the notion blame; and second, one that is more properly explanatory, in the sense that it involves identification of conditions understood to hold more or less regularly for the explanandum. The difference is primarily an ontological one, incidentally, as explanation entails assumptions about the existence of the cause largely independent of the explanatory act, whereas attribution does not (necessarily), but relies upon external criteria of valuation, such as principles of morality or law. Furthermore, the flexibility of the term aitia is made more complicated by the fact that these changes in usage are associated specifically with the development of certain disciplinary traditions in the sciences, notably in the natural sciences, in which the notion of causal explanation appears to have first been established as a component in formal expressions of knowledge, in particular from transference, i.e. in a metaphorical sense, of traditional language for moral responsibility. I have discussed this issue in greater detail in Chapter 1, but here I would like emphasize the important function of these disciplinary developments, such as we observe in the context of Hippocratic medicine, for instance, or of Aristotelian and Stoic physics, from which the notion of cause acquires a more thoroughly explanatory function. In other words, though we might take causal explanation for granted as a feature of rational discourse, it is important to recognize that that usage represents only a particular application of the relevant terminology, and is made possible only as a result of specific historical developments at that. In part, then, this set of developments is significant for illustrating the basic contingencies underlying techniques of scientific practice that are perhaps often taken for granted, for as the notion of causal explanation depends on the specialization of ordinary linguistic resources, it is possible to see how practices even as familiar as observing the regularities making up the natural domain rely upon principles of social construction. As an essentially metaphorical form of reasoning, in other words, the

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notion of causal explanation in fact emerges only in the context of the specific cultural developments providing support for that use of metaphor. More importantly, however, this set of developments also illustrates the special intellectual authority of certain concepts of cause. With the articulation of more enriched theories of causality and clarification of the function of causal inferences in structuring new claims to knowledge, techniques of causal explanation not only form the basis of the specific traditions of study in which they originated, but become extensible to other areas of inquiry as well, including not only a range of fields in the natural sciences, but also many others in which the value of causal analysis is perhaps not so apparent, such as grammar, ethics, and even history. It is therefore unsurprising that Polybius incorporates this set of techniques in his treatment of political and military affairs, for from a practical standpoint, their usage is consistent with the ideals of contemporary rational culture. In terms of the theoretical discussion in Chapter1, this aspect of Polybius’ writing is to be understood in terms of the influence of normative conceptions of intellectual activity in Hellenistic science, which denote not only views concerning the importance of certain practices, but even more basic ideals governing the principles of knowledge itself. In this respect, incidentally, the distinction between attributive and explanatory forms of causal inference is not merely casual one, but in fact implies a thoroughly hierarchical conception of knowledge, as forms of understanding based on articulation of causal regularities are in time associated with the special claims to authority of rationalist culture. Concern for causes in the context of history, then, is essentially an expression of the authority of this regime.

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Causes and historical explanation in the Histories Above all, study of the origins of wars forms part of the general study of causes in the Histories, and the general aim of the work in providing technical instruction for the statesman. On the assumption that situations in the sphere of politics and military affairs follow more or less regular patterns of occurrence, it is conceivable that observation of regularities over time provides guidelines for directing the many tasks of political leadership, such as evaluating policy, delivering political speeches, determining military strategy, etc. The model for this approach comes from the concept of t°xnh (“art”, “craft”), which refers to formal systems of knowledge in the practical sciences, expressed in the form of rules or regular principles that govern occurrences in a specific domain of activity, such as carpentry, medicine, or rhetoric.325 While the precise terms vary, the notion of technê is defined by a more or less common set of criteria, namely that it refers to a specific occupation and is aimed at obtaining specific, intended results, which moreover are not only intelligible in terms of causal regularities, but also thus essentially teachable as such. Though the notion of technê is not developed by Polybius with this degree of explicitness, his approach nonetheless conforms closely with these criteria. The point is illustrated in a well-known passage comparing the historian’s (or the statesman’s) study of causes with that of the practice of medicine: In speaking at such length on [how to identify the true causes of wars], my object has been… to set things straight for students of history (t∞w t«n filoµayoÊntvn §panory≈sevw). What use (t€ ˆfelow) to the sick is a physician who is ignorant of the causes (tåw afit€aw) of certain conditions of the body? And of what use is a statesman (éndrÚw pragµatikoË) who cannot reckon how, why, and whence each event has originated? The former will scarcely be likely to institute proper treatment for the body and it will be impossible for the latter without such knowledge to deal properly with circumstances. There is nothing, therefore, we should be more vigilant of or more diligently sought after than the causes (tåw afit€aw) of each event, since matters of the

This forms a pervasive theme in the Histories, and crucial to Polybius’ understanding of pragmatikê historia, as discussed in Chapter 2 above. The best discussion of this issue is Meissner 1986, 318-32. On technê in Greek intellectual culture, see pp. 35-39 above. 325

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greatest moment often grow out of trifles, and it is always our initial impulses and decisions that are easiest to remedy.326 The analogy with medicine of course puts with the link with the practical sciences in explicit terms, and we observe typical features of the notion of technê as well, such as a concern for practical benefit and teachability, and especially the view that more detailed knowledge may be attained through articulation of causal relationships (tåw afit€aw). In particular, Polybius notes how knowledge of historical causes is of use for identifying problems and catastrophes as they arise in the realm of international politics, which, in the manner of the physician treating an illness, may be countered with a timely and well-planned response. The specific context of the passage is Rome’s second war with Carthage, incidentally, which is associated with the sequence of developments culminating in the establishment of Roman control over the Mediterranean, and from this perspective, the medical analogy apparently suggests that knowledge of causes can forewarn of even the most remote consequences of political change. In any event, while the subject of learning from the past is probably about as basic a theme as there is in ancient historiography,327 the relevant point here concerns how the didactic function may be refined to support even more effective responses to the contingencies of political life. In the general Introduction to the Histories, for example, knowledge of the past is described as a diÒryvsiw (“a making straight”, “a correction”), which neatly illustrates the function Polybius attributes to knowledge of historical causes; this form of understanding is essentially a source of structure and regulation for political conduct.328 In this respect, the study of history is essentially a means of establishing a system of technical knowledge for political and military affairs.

iii.7.4-7, slightly modified; for the translation, see Walbank Comm. i, 309. See Pédech 1964, 30-1; cf. nn. 94-95 above. 328 i.1.1-2: “Had previous chroniclers neglected to speak in praise of history in general, it might perhaps have been necessary for me to recommend everyone to choose for study and welcome such treatises as this, since men have no more ready corrective of conduct (diÒryvsin) than knowledge of the past. But all 326 327

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In some cases, the technical function is described in explicit terms, such as in reference to certain concrete tasks of political leadership. Accounts of political speeches, for example, may be examined for the reasons contributing to success or failure. The idea is that from a comprehensive account of all conditions (e.g., the situation at hand, the words spoken, the attitudes and disposition of the audience), it is possible to pick out the salient feature affecting the speech’s outcome (xii.25i.8; cited n. 330 below). Similarly with the account of a battle: if sufficiently detailed, description of a battle allows one to identify the causes, understood as an ensemble of determining factors, contributing to a given result.329 Knowledge of this kind may then be employed as a model, from which one may better diagnose contingencies arising in the present, and so better form the right response: For the mere statement of a fact may interest us, but is of no benefit to us: but when we add the cause (t∞w afit€aw), the study of history becomes fruitful. For it is the mental transference of similar circumstances to our own times that gives us the means of forming presentiments (prolÆceiw efiw tÚ proid°syai tÚ µ°llon) of what is to come, and enables us at certain times to take precautions and at others by modeling our approach on former conditions to face with more confidence the issue at hand.330 historians… have impressed on us that the soundest education and training for a life of active politics is the study of history, and that surest and indeed the only method of learning how to bear bravely the vicissitudes of fortune, is to recall the calamities of others.” 329 ix.12.6-12: “It is by no means proper to describe as actions, things in war which occur undesignedly, but such events should be rather styled accidents or coincidences. As therefore they fall under no systematic or fixed rules, I may neglect them, and deal only, as I will now proceed to do, with such things as are accomplished by design. Since every such action requires a fixed time for its commencement, and a fixed period, and an appointed place, and also requires secrecy, definite signals, proper persons through whom and with whom to act and the proper means, it is evident that the commander who is happy in his choice of each and all of these will not meet with failure, but the neglect of anyone of them will ruin the whole design; so true is it that nature makes a single trivial error sufficient to cause failure in a design, but correctness in every detail barely enough for success.” This passage and others in Books 9-10 are discussed by Sacks 1981, 126-32, who suggests that those books originally formed a unit on military science, perhaps taken in part from another work written exclusively on the subject (tå per‹ tåw tãjeiw ÍpoµnƵasin, ix.20.4; for sources, see Walbank 1972, 15 n. 75). Reference to the aitiai of events on the battlefield: x.12.6, 17.4; xv.15.8; cf. i.57. 330 xii.25b.1-3, slightly modified; cf. xii.25i.8: “If writers, after indicating to us the situation and the motives and inclinations of the people who are discussing it report in the next place what was actually said and then make clear to us the reasons (tåw afit€aw) why the speakers either succeeded or failed, we shall arrive at some true notion of the actual facts, and we shall be able, both by distinguishing which was successful from which was not and by transferring our impression to similar circumstances, to treat any situation that faces us with hope of success.” References to the aitiai of political decisions: i.11.1; iv.84.9; v.35.12; xxviii.7.4;

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Articulation of causal relationships is thus a way of constructing scenarios for the way political and military affairs work in a general sense. Apart from the concrete tasks of political leadership, Polybius emphasizes the importance of causal explanation at higher levels of analysis as well. These include processes taking place at the international level (e.g., imperial expansion), as well as those occurring at the level of the state (e.g., the lifecycle of political constitutions). Though they incorporate a broader and doubtless more complex set of factors, in principle processes of this kind too are to be understood in terms of regular relationships of cause and effect. The subject of political expansion is of course pivotal to the Histories, which is expressly devoted to understanding how the extension of Roman political authority.331 Though on a smaller scale than the achievement of Rome, Polybius examines the growth of the Achaean League from a similar perspective. The growth of each state, in Polybius’ view, is to be explained from the perspective of its constitution, which forms the principle condition for all its achievements.332 More specifically, this form of explanation is based on the

xxix.19.10. This suggests that Sacks 1981, 91-95, misunderstands the reasons Polybius included speeches in the Histories when he claims they are not intended as models for instruction. His reading seems to rely on the (erroneous) view that historical descriptions of oratory only serve as a model for style. For a comprehensive discussion of causation in relation to political speeches, see Pédech 1964, 254-330. Further on the speeches in Polybius, see Walbank 1972, 43-46; Wooten 1974; Mohm 1977, 52-68. 331 E.g., i.1.5; cf. pp. 151-52 above. 332 For Polybius, the influence of Roman politeia, e.g., in framing and underwriting the decisions of Roman agents and in general providing the conditions for the achievements of the state forms the principle focus in Polybius’ explanation of Roman conquest (e.g., i.1.5, 63.9; iii.2.6, 118.8-9; viii.2.3; vi.10.13-4, 50.3-6). The case is similar with the subject of the growth of the Achaean League in the third century, covered in a lengthy digression in Book 2 (37.1-70.8) and described by Polybius specifically as result of the virtues of the Achaean constitution (38.5-9). According to Petzold 1969, the Achaean digression is meant to form an instructive parallel with Rome, whose early history and politeia are described in Book 6; see, e.g., verbal resonances to the “expansion and structure/advance” of the two as an object of analysis (aÎjhsiw ka‹ kataskeuÆ/prokopÆ: ii.2.2, 45.1). With the increasing involvement of Rome in Achaean affairs in the second century (see pp. 231-36 below) and corresponding tendency towards political decline (as Polybius saw it), the comparison is meant to illustrate the features of a resilient constitution in a generic sense; cf. Champion 2004, 137-143. Techniques of comparison are of course vital to the instructional function of the Histories; see Pédech 1964, 405-31; Petzold 1969, 34-90; brief discussion pp. 163-65 above. Here I leave aside the question regarding the date of composition of the Achaean digression, on which see sources cited pp. 204 above.

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causal significance of political constitutions, which, understood as the combination of all the laws and customs of the state (i.e., ¶yh ka‹ nÒµiµa), are thought to affect the outcome of history through their influence on the decisions of historical actors. The constitution forms the point of origin, or “fountainhead” (phgÆ), as Polybius puts it, from which all actions emerge. 333 This view leads him in Book 6, at a lower level of analysis, to examine the constitutional lives of states. The metaphor is not accidental. For him, the frequent transformations between constitutional forms (e.g., between aristocracy and democracy, between democracy and oligarchy) are analogous to the biological lifecycle based on growth and decline.334 Understanding the causes of constitutional change in a generic sense, then, is useful for tracking the development of states in the present. Indeed for Polybius, the lifecycle of states represents a process that is essentially invariable and even capable of supporting future predictions with great accuracy.335 The study of causes in the Histories is thus directed at establishing a more or less comprehensive model of political practice. Conceived at a range of different levels of analysis, articulation of causal relationships is meant to situate the activities of the statesman and general within a system of broadly regulated occurrences, knowledge of which is meant to provide guidelines for decisions in virtually any set of circumstances, from weighing the appropriate forms

So he describes the central place of politeiai in his scheme of causes: “What chiefly attracts and chiefly benefits students of history is just this—the study of causes and the consequent power of choosing what is best in each case. Now the chief cause of success or the reverse in all matters is the form of a state's constitution; for springing from this, as from a fountainhead (§k phg∞w), all designs and plans of action not only originate, but reach their consummation” (vi.2.8-10; cf. vi.47.1-4, 50.1-6). On the notion of politeia as an aspect of political and historical explanation, in Polybius and before, see sources cited n. 201 above. 334 The so-called theory of énakÊklvsiw embodies a generic model for understanding the growth and decline of states (vi.3.1-9.14); for the relationship between this theory and similar ideas in Plato, Aristotle and others, see Walbank Comm. i, 643-45. 335 Cf. vi.3.1-2: “In the case of those Greek states which have often risen to greatness and have often experienced a complete change of fortune (t∞w efiw ténant€a µetabol∞w), it is an easy matter both to describe their past and to pronounce as to their future. For there is no difficulty in reporting the known facts, and it is not hard to foretell the future by inference from the past.” It is the term µetabolÆ that establishes the parallel with biological science and implies the possibility of prognosis; see Walbank Comm. i, 638. Similar ideas about natural process and forecasting constitutional change: vi.4.11-13, ix.10-13, 57.113. 333

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of address or military strategy, to assessing the stability of state constitutions and making longterm predictions about state growth. Indeed, for Polybius the whole of history as comprehensible in these terms, a point made explicit in one his methodological digressions on the study of causes, where he describes all events in the period covered by his writing as joined by a single set of causal relationships (iii.32.7): Thus I regard the war with Antiochus as deriving its origin (tåw éforµãw) from that with Philip, the latter as resulting from that with Hannibal, and the Hannibalic war as a consequence of that about Sicily, the intermediate events, however many and various their character, all tending to the same purpose. The sequence leading from Rome’s first war with Carthage to the war with Antiochus III (the Syrian War) joins all events together in a single series of causal relationships, with each war described as having its “origins” (tåw éforµãw) in the one preceding.336 Elsewhere the war with Perseus (also called the Third Macedonian War) is joined to the scheme as well, as its causes are thought to lay also in the war with Philip, and in this case, the sequence forms a explanatory scheme for the whole process of Roman conquest, extending from the first foreign expedition in the war over Sicily to the separate victories over Hannibal, Antiochus and Perseus, marking the end of any serious oppositions to her Roman power.337 Now, this view of history is patently teleological in the way it defines the process of history in terms of the single end-stage of Roman political domination, but the relevant point concerns how this sequence of wars forms the basis for a more holistic understanding of historical causes. In ideal terms, the scheme provides the basis The term éforµãw only appears once, but the passage is based on a three-part syntactical parallel. Polybius establishes the starting-point for this scheme at i.5.1-5, where he extends the chain of events back to the First Punic war; the connection serves the function mainly of providing background to the narrative proper beginning in Book 3, particularly as concerns Roman affairs (see i.65.8). Moreover, the notion that Roman conquest was complete with the victories over Antiochus and Perseus represents a view unique to the time of composition of the first draft of the Histories of course. Sometime after 167, Polybius extended the work to include further developments in the growth and consolidation of Roman power, including the subsequent wars (and victories) over other sources of resistance, notably the Fourth Macedonian war, the Third Punic war and the Achaean revolt, in the 150s and 140s. On the composition of the Histories, see pp. 146 above. 336 337

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for understanding history in a multi-dimensional view of causal relationships—i.e. formed not only within the state, as expressed in the actions of individuals (e.g., in the assembly, on the battlefield), but also above the level of the state, in the various war mediated interactions among states—hence the scheme of events known as the ofikonoµ€a, which I have discussed more fully in Chapter 3.338 Of course, as I mentioned, there is a noteworthy contradiction in this view of history as both a system of practical knowledge and a process of linear development. I will come back to this and other problems with Polybius’ approach momentarily, but for the moment, let us focus on how the subject of war is incorporated within this framework. As already mentioned, the analogy with medicine appears in the context of treatment of the Second Punic War (also called the Hannibalic War) in the Histories, the occasion for which leads Polybius’ to compare the political art to that of the physician. This perspective of course follows a metaphorical conception of war already adopted by other historians, such as Thucydides, whose discussion of the origins of the war between Athens and Sparta makes use of Hippocratic concepts and terminology.339 Yet more importantly, this approach links study of the causes of wars to other areas of technical knowledge for political and military affairs. In particular, Polybius observes the importance of recognizing a formal distinction between the beginning of a war (≤ érxÆ) and its causes (afl a‡tiai). The latter, he says, are often overlooked by writers, who tend to find the causes simply in the opening of hostilities. The problem with explanations of this kind is that they exclude other conditions, which though they may not immediately precipitate war, are nonetheless an important part of the build-up; it is the latter that are the bona fide causes. In particular, Polybius defines the notion of cause in terms of the perspectives of historical

E.g., i.4.4; viii.2.2. The term derives from the practical sciences, designating the entire domain of political affairs the source of a body of technê; see pp. 155-56 above. 339 For Thucydides’ language in description of the plague, see Connor 1984, 58-59, esp. n. 19; with important qualifications in Parry 1969. For Thucydides’ relationship with the Hippocratics, see sources cited n. 78 above. 338

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agents themselves, who are always compelled to act by the specific points of view or plans that maintain: “by the causes (tåw afit€aw) [I mean] the things that influence in advance our judgments and decisions, that is to say our notions of things, our state of mind, our reasoning about these, and the all things for which we form decisions and plans”.340 These, Polybius says, are always distinguishable from the beginning of a war, for the latter is merely an event, which would have to be planned or intended by some agent prior to it.341 From a strictly chronological perspective, it would not do to say that a thing is caused by conditions subsequent to other significant factors. Now whatever the merit of this distinction in an absolute sense, what is interesting is how it is employed in constructing a general scheme for understanding the outbreak of war. Notably Polybius calls attention to how the causes of the Hannibalic War may be understood in comparison with those of two other wars, Alexander’s Persian expedition in the late fourth century, and the Syrian War fought between Rome and Antiochus III (192-88), each of which apparently follows a similar pattern. So, for example, Polybius says that though the Hannibalic War is frequently thought to have emerged out acts of aggression committed by the Carthaginian general (i.e. the siege of the town of Saguntum in Spain, a Roman ally, and the crossing of the river Ebro, forbidden by agreement made between Hasdrubal and the Romans roughly a decade earlier), its real causes actually lay in a prior set of conditions. There are three causes in particular: the anger of Hamilcar Barca, Hannibal’s father, with the settlement of the First Punic War, general resentment at Carthage over a subsequent dispute over Sardinia, and finally the accumulation of resources and support from Hannibal’s Spanish campaigns, which Polybius says ultimately gave the Carthaginians greater confident in the face of the coming conflict with iii.6.7; for the translation, see Walbank Comm. i, 306. Especially noteworthy here is the relationship between cause and human agency, the latter of which Polybius views in terms of both internal and external determinants, e.g., in both a person’s intellectual disposition and environmental influences, such as political setting. For discussion of the Polybius’ treatment of human decisions, see Pédech 1964, 204-53. 341 iii.6.7: “By the beginning ( érxãw) of something I mean the first attempt to execute and put in action plans which have already been decided…” 340

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Rome.342 The causes of this war, Polybius says, may be likened to Alexander’s war in Asia, which was not caused by the king’s first crossing into Asia, but rather by prior conditions propelling Macedon towards war, such as beliefs in the Persians’ vulnerability to invasion, and especially the preparations taken by Philip II, Alexander’s father, which provided the resources to be used subsequently in his son’s campaign. A similar situation is described in relation to the Syrian War, moreover, which Polybius says was not caused, as others say, by the arrival of Antiochus in Greece, but rather by the anger of the Aetolians, who having become resentful of Roman interference in Greece after the Second Macedonian war, eventually summoned the king to their aid (iii.6.1-7). Now, discussion of these wars is aimed primarily at correcting current explanations for the Hannibalic War, and thus it is to some extent a reflection of the polemics that typically characterize Polybius’ writing. At the same time, however, the passage reveals a clear concern for regarding war as a general phenomenon. Just the attempt to generalize the relationship between causes and beginnings demonstrates the view that general patterns of development are in fact discernible. Apart from that, we have the appearance of generic forms of cause among these wars taken as a set: e.g., accumulation in resources, feelings of resentment born from perceived injustices. Thus, though it is not made explicit in the passage, it is implied that war is sufficiently generalizable as an article of explanation. Indeed, this is significance of the analogy with medicine mentioned above: “There is nothing we should be more vigilant of… than the causes (tåw afit€aw) of each event, since matters of the greatest moment often grow (fÊetai) out of trifles.” 343 The use of the verb fÊv (“to grow”) clarifies all: outbreaks of political conflict are comprehensible essentially in the same terms as natural phenomena, which is to say, they are subject to regular principles of change, are rationally discernible, and are above all, capable of being imparted to iii.9.6-10.6. Polybius’ account of the origins of the Hannibalic war is discussed in greater detail pp. 219225 below. 343 iii.7.7, slightly modified. The analogy with natural phenomena appears frequently in Polybius’ description of political conflict: ii.26.3; iii.6.8, 7.7; v.106.5; xxi.14.7, 22.8; xxii.18.6. 342

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others. Polybius in fact makes this point explicitly near the end of his discussion of the origins of the Hannibalic War, where he reiterates the primary purpose of knowledge of the past, and of the causes of wars in particular, as a source of practical lessons.344 The view that the past is comprehensible in these terms poses numerous problems of course, and is the focus of much criticism in modern accounts, many of which have inevitably dismissed Polybius’ writing as an awkward attempt to make history more scientific: it is simply too difficult or just downright inappropriate to describe something as complex as human action in terms of this kind, or it is out of the question to expect that regularities in political or military affairs, even if apprehended in great detail, might yet support useful predictions about the future.345 Surely these complaints are warranted in certain respects. Polybius’ conception of causality is by no means as theoretically sophisticated as others in the scientific tradition.346 It is

iii.31.12-13: “If we take from history the discussion of why, how, and wherefore each thing was done, and whether the result was what we should have reasonably expected, what is left is a clever essay (ég≈nisµa) but not a lesson, and while pleasing for the moment of no possible benefit for the future”; cf. xii.25b.2, xi.19a.1-3, xxxviii.4.5-8, where similar sentiments are expressed. The same idea appears in Thucydides, for example, who distinguishes his writing from the competitive exercises meant merely for entertainment purposes (cf. ég≈nisµa §w tÚ paraxr∞µa); he too emphasizes practical usefulness in making this distinction, calling his writing “a possession for all time” (kt∞µã §w afie‹) (i.22.4). On the link between Polybius and Thucydides here, see Walbank, Comm. i, 359. 345 E.g., Mohm 1977, 183-98, Momigliano 1960, 20-21; North 1967, 155; Walbank 1972; Derow 1994, 8490, Luce 1997, 94-98. Not all scholars criticize Polybius explanations; e.g., Harris 1979, 113-15. Moreover, criticism of Polybius in this respect may be placed within the context of broader concerns for discussions of historical causes in this context, both ancient and modern; see e.g., Cohen 1987; Shipley 1987, 8-13. For an effort to resolve problems connected with causal understanding in modern international relations see Kirki 2008. 346 Discussion of causes in the Histories rarely reflects the detail that appears in other theories of causality in the sciences (e.g., Aristotle’s quadripartite scheme of material, formal, efficient and final causes). The distinction between §j ∏w [afit€aw] and di' ∂n [afit€an] (“out of what” and “because of what”) that we find in one passage (xxxvi.17.4) may reflect something of this kind (e.g., between material and efficient causes, for example, but does not constitute evidence of a formal theory, as is suggested by Pédech 1964, 97-8. Nor for that matter do Polybius’ explanations reflect any of the concerns to be found in more sophisticated attempts to theorize the relationship between cause, necessity, free will, etc. in the intellectual tradition; Sorabji 1908a; 1980b; Hankinson 1998, passim, esp. 144-46, 153-58, 223-32, 250-62. On the other hand, though Polybius does not provide a formal theory of causation, it is clear that his treatment of the subject reflects the influence of such theories, not only from the analytical distinctions between kinds of cause just mentioned, but especially—and this represents one of the primary arguments of this chapter—from the latent view, appearing more or less throughout the Histories, that this form of analysis is constitutive of 344

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much less analytically extensive than that formulated by Aristotle, for example, and nor does it demonstrate reflection upon any of the typical problems in more serious discussions of causality, e.g., the status of human agency, the role of fortune, or the notion of necessity. Nor for that matter does Polybius reflect any level of rigor in observing and demonstrating causal relationships; he simply adduces causes as appears fit, apparently relying on an arbitrary view of how one distinguished, says, between causal from the non-causal conditions.347 There are glaring inconsistencies too: Polybius mentions causes for a variety of events appearing in the Histories, but not for all of them, and certainly not for all that he took to be historically significant: e.g., political constitutions are sometimes significant, wars are analyzed at varying levels of detail and formality, and so on.348 Accounts of the origins of wars are also clearly biased.349 Finally, there is crucial problem in the way Polybius’ applies the notion of technê across the board, as for certain cases (e.g., universal Roman conquest), there is no parallel, a distinct prerequisite for the construction of technai. Thus the effort to examine Roman conquest under this rubric is fundamentally flawed, for

special forms of knowledge. That Polybius does not formulate an explicit theory of causality, in other words, does not mean that use of these resources does not have an important influence on his writing. 347 In his examination of the Bosporus current, for example, Polybius’ simply names the conditions he takes to be causes (iv.40-42). Though he says this explanation is supported by a “formal demonstration” (épodeiktikª tª dihgÆsei: 40.1), he puts it, this refers only to logical procedures employed in demonstrating propositions already taken for granted; see pp. 1-4 above. The lack of any rigorous attempt to demonstrate causal dependencies of course represents a general problem in the Histories, in which explanations may (or may not) be accompanied by formal demonstration, but rarely match the more strenuous applications of this practice elsewhere in the sciences, such as in geometry. On ‘apodeictic’ techniques in Polybius, see n. 101 above. 348 Though the evidence for treatment of wars in the Histories is fragmentary (see pp. 218-19 below), it is clear from the accounts that do survive that the level of detail varied considerably from case to case. For example, nothing like the level of description appearing in the account of the Hannibalic War (iii.6-30) is matched by that of the Social War (iv.3-30) or Fourth War for Coele Syria (v.34-87). 349 Though Walbank 1972, 160, criticizes Polybius’ explanations as being determined by prior assumptions of moral responsibility, that problem is doubtless applicable to any causal explanation of war, i.e. so long as human agents are involved. See Cohen 1987 and Shipley 1987, 8-13, who emphasize the importance of regarding political conflict as the result of process of gradual build-up between parties in dispute; given the role of human agency, it is presumably the case that explanation for can never be established without moral bias of some kind, even if only implicitly expressed. As will become clear in what follows here, however, it is not the validity of Polybius’ approach that matters—nor for that matter the validity of any particular explanation for war adduced by him—but rather how his approach involves a transition in the kind of knowledge explanation of war bears forth.

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not only is there no basis for discerning the mechanisms that have influenced this outcome, but it is difficult to see how there might be any real benefit in understanding something so unique.350 In part objections to Polybius’ approach are due to a misunderstanding of ancient views of causal explanation, which generally do not employ the same notion of what it means “to cause” as appears in modern contexts. For ancient scientific thinkers, inferring a causal relationship does not entail that the condition identified necessarily brings about the entity that it is said to be the cause of. Generally speaking, a cause is thought to produce the effect in question only “always or for the most”.351 There is thus always room for interruptions, even in accounts defined by a high degree of regularity. Once again, the notion of cause is initially an attributive concept in antiquity, and in fact only acquires the explanatory function in the context of specific discourses. Even when it does, it does not entail necessitation in the way implied by many modern views of causality. In fact the notion of necessity is reserved only for specific functions in scientific discussions of cause, such as in the context of logic, and even in this case, it is actually understood to represent a separate predicate, in the sense that a given logical formula may be said to produce its result, both because the latter is caused (i.e. by a given principle of logic) and because it is necessary (i.e. as a matter of logical reasoning). In any event, given the relative laxity in ancient conceptions of cause, it is not necessarily a problem to adduce causal systems for phenomena for which it is inappropriate under modern conceptions of cause, such as for political affairs and other occurrences in the social world. Though I have not observed it thus far, Polybius actually makes allowances for the kinds of interruptions that are typically postulated in ancient causal schemes, such as occurrences that appear to stem from fortune or chance. In other words, even though he As mentioned, given the importance of regularity in the notion of technê, it is difficult to see how the subject of Roman conquest can have had any genuine instructional value on this model, i.e. because it is regarded as such a unique turn of events (e.g., i.1.5). It is clear enough what Polybius means, of course (i.e. that Roman achievements are worth special theoretical consideration), though in principle, we must acknowledge that his particular conception of Rome’s achievements resists analysis in the particular framework of the practical sciences. 351 On this phrase, a regular expression in Aristotle, see n. 45 above. 350

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commits strongly to the view that political affairs are sufficiently generalizable, he does admit a certain degree of randomness as well.352 Causal rules are thus to be understood merely as a set of guidelines, and do not denote hard and fast laws for the way things work. This point is expressed most clearly in the passage cited above concerning political speeches, in which Polybius says that modeling one’s approach on successful piece of oratory, allows one to face the task “with greater confidence” (yarrale≈teron : xii.25b.3). The key is in the comparative form of the adjective: explanation is not necessarily binding; it is only a benchmark. More importantly, however, use of this set of techniques in the Histories is to be understood in terms of broader developments taking place in culture of sciences. As I have mentioned, the notion of causal explanation forms part of important disciplinary development in the sciences, in which clarification of the principles of rational explanation is not only associated with new methods of practice and new models of knowledge, but also forms the basis for new traditions of research. Developments of this kind are particularly apparent in the natural sciences, as I have mentioned, in which the notion of cause is enriched theoretically and established more definitively as a tool of explanation. In this context, while techniques of causal explanation appear alongside the emergence of new fields of research, what is interesting is that it is only with these For Polybius, the influence of tychê (“fortune”, “chance”) can disrupt even the most well-formed plans; e.g., ii.4.3-5, 70.2; viii.20.10; xv.35.7; xxix.12: dusfÊlakton, parãlogon, paradÒjon , parå tÚn logisµÒn. (However, see discussion of emendations for ii.70.2 in Walbank Comm. i, 289.) Disruptions of this kind do not form a major problem, since systems of practical knowledge do not require for their establishment the elimination of all variability. At the same time, however, there are a number of problems with the concept of tychê in Polybius, which is never uniformly applied. For example, it refers to both the disruptions of the kind just mentioned and the force in history that is ideally controllable by systematic knowledge (e.g., i.1.2: “But all historians… have impressed on us… that surest and indeed the only method of learning how to bear bravely the vicissitudes of tychê, is to recall the calamities of others.”). Needless to say, the relationship between causation and tychê is not fully theorized in Polybius (nor employed as though it were). Moreover, the notion of tychê also poses problems for Polybius’ conception of historical change at the macro-level. Much in the way his view of Roman expansion resists definition in accordance with the principles of technê (see n. 350 above), a similar contradiction underlies the view that history is comprehensible both an object of rational contemplation and the product of a providential tychê, “making the world anew”, as he puts it (i.4.5; cf. iv.2.4; see discussion pp. 175-76 above). For Polybius’ view of tychê, see Walbank Comm. i, 17-19; 1972, 60-65, which improves upon earlier interpretations in Warde Fowler 1903 and Shorey 1921; cf. Pédech 1964, 331-54; Walbank 1994. 352

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developments, i.e. as a set of structural changes in the culture of the sciences, that the explanatory function of cause is fully realized. In other words, though we now may observe the contingent nature of ancient conceptions of causal explanation, above all, we see that as a result of these developments, this set of practices is established more securely as a necessary feature of scientific discourse. For intellectual culture as a whole, this means the possibility of more concrete distinctions between legitimate and spurious forms of science. In the Hippocratic tradition, distinctions of this kind are made explicitly, though we find that similar views are at least implied in other fields as well. Moreover, with the extension of techniques of causal explanation across the broad, it is possible to speak of the emergence of even more stringent frames of cultural organization, such as we see in the dominant influence of the many traditions of learning based on the concepts of epistêmê and technê.353 It is therefore unsurprising that Polybius bases his own approach on this model. His understanding of the importance of causal relationships in fact corresponds with common hierarchies governing intellectual culture, and in this respect, it is worth pointing out that in this context, there will have been a limited number of ways to develop a more serious approach to study of the past. Viewed from this perspective, the issue is perhaps not necessarily the appropriateness of causal explanation for study of the past, but rather on what other grounds Polybius might have based his approach. If we recall the important role of polemics in the Histories and how generally speaking, Polybius’ approach is formed from an effort to enhance or supersede conventional forms of history, it is not difficult to see the great appeal of adjustments adopted by him. A history based on articulation of causal relationships—and especially clarification of the particular mechanisms governing political and military affairs—is simply more consistent with current views of the proper nature of rational inquiry. Nor is this point merely a formal one,

353

On developments in the notions of epistêmê and technê, see pp. 35-45 above.

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moreover. In view of the relationship between certain concepts of causal explanation and emerging definitions of scientific culture, the use of this framework in the context of history signals an effort to accommodate even the most basic standards of the conditions for knowledge. Considered from this perspective, it makes much more sense that Polybius follows this approach, even in the case of explanation of political and military affairs, for though the latter do not fall conveniently within the same categories of analysis as, say, natural phenomena, no other mode of inquiry will have rendered study of the past meaningful in the same way. Thus, even if particular explanations of events in the Histories are unsatisfying, it is worth recognizing that the approach itself is to some extent inevitable in view of Polybius’ relationship with his current milieu. Ultimately it is the approach itself that matters most, for though there will always be problems of execution in efforts to provide causal explanation in the context of history, what is noteworthy is how the particular aims and expectations that distinguish this kind of approach lend shape and structure to the representation of past events. We may consider this issue more closely in respect of Polybius’ description of specific wars in the Histories, which provide a useful illustration of the influence of formal conceptions of knowledge on the interpretation of political conflict in specific cases. I turn to this subject now in the next section.

Explanation and the origins of political conflict As perhaps the issue of primary importance in Greek historical writing, the origins of wars naturally occupy a central place in the Histories. As mentioned, the plan of the work is based on a scheme constituted by the causal links between different wars, which, taken in a series, form part of the explanation for Roman political domination, which Polybius promises in the main Preface

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to the work.354 The origins of these wars thus punctuate and organize Polybius’ understanding of historical change in the long-term. Moreover, as part of the general treatment of causes in the Histories, the subject also forms part of the notion of history as a source of practical knowledge, and treatment of the causes of wars in the Histories is thus directed at the specific aim of providing tools for recognizing and responding to political crises. As I suggested in the introduction above, this approach constitutes a significant departure from how the subject is understood in the practical contexts of contemporary politics, in which the focus is on moral and legal concerns. In this section, I would like to clarify that point through examination of Polybius’ treatment of particular wars in the Histories, which demonstrate the influence of efforts to innovate in this way in applied instances. Before proceeding it is important to observe that generalization about the treatment of war in the Histories is impeded by the fact that not all the relevant passages have survived. In fact, only nine accounts of wars are fully intact (those covered in Books 1-5), which is not many, when one considers that at least 27 major wars were described in the work. Those appearing subsequent to Book 5 survive only in excerpts preserved by subsequent writers, such as Livy and Diodorus Siculus, who are both known to have relied heavily on Polybius.355 Evidence for this subject, then, is quite limited, and it is therefore difficult to know just how uniformly Polybius formed his approach, or even whether he expressed formal interest in causes in the same way in every case. Even where evidence is complete, for example, there is in fact much variation in the scope and

i.1.5; see pp. 151-52 above. At least three accounts are lost entirely or virtually lost: the war between Prusias of Bithynia and Eumenes of Pergamum (186-83), likely to have appeared in Book 22 (xxiii.1.4, 3.1-3 describe an envoy from Eumenes to the Roman senate); the civil war fought by Ptolemy IV after the Fourth War for Coele-Syria (207/8-186) (references are sparse: iii.2.8; v.107.3; xiv.12.4); and lastly, the Carthaginian-Numidian (winter 151/0), with brief description surviving of contributing conditions roughly a decade prior (xxxi.21; cf. Walbank Comm. i, 299, 303-4; ii, 439). 354 355

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detail of coverage.356 This means that for the fragmentary accounts, there is no way of knowing the extent of completeness of the passage, and thus the level of detail pursued in account appearing in the original text.357 In all, then, attempts to generalize about Polybius’ use of causal explanation in respect wars must proceed with some care. Here, for reasons of space, I provide analysis of only two wars, the Hannibalic War and the Third Macedonian War, which reveal a number of features in common with the conceptual framework introduced in Book 3, discussed just above.358 I begin with Polybius’ account of the Hannibalic War, which forms the most extensive treatment of its kind what survives. The causes of the Hannibalic War (218-201) form a good starting point here particularly for how the conceptual distinction Polybius introduces, i.e. between causes and beginnings, is linked to efforts to innovate upon conventional explanations for the war. Notably, the causes of the war appear to have remained controversial even at the time the Histories was written some 50 years later, forming the subject of debate not only in popular and official contexts, but also in works of history as well.359 As a contribution to this long tradition of debate, then, Polybius’

In some cases, he names specific actions or circumstances as aitiai and identifies certain events as archai (e.g., the Hannibalic war [iii.6.3, 9.6-10.6], the Third Macedonian war [xxii.18]); in others, aitiai refers to circumstances understood more broadly (e.g., the Social war [iv.3.1, 13.6], the Rhodian-Byzantine war [iv.37.8, 49.5]); and still on other occasions, Polybius merely narrates the origins of wars, with no effort to distinguish specific events or actions as causes (e.g., the Fourth War for Coele-Syria [v.34-87]). 357 So for example, in the executive summary of the Histories appearing in the second Preface to the work, Polybius announces that he means to discusses “the causes” (plural) of Rome’s war with Antiochus (iii.3.4), though in the methodological digression following later (discussed pp. 209-12 above), he names only the anger of the Aetolians as “a cause” (singular) (iii.7.1). Yet the account of these events originally appearing in Book 18 is mostly lost (cf. xviii.38-9, 45), and there is no telling what other factors (i.e. in addition of the anger of the Aetolians) might have been included. The case is similar for the Third Macedonian War, which Polybius says was caused by preparations made by Philip V long before (xxii.18; cf. 13-14), but other factors determining the war do not appear in surviving fragments; on these passages see Derow 1979, 1113. 358 See pp. 209-12 above. In a future project, I hope to enlarge this chapter to provide a more comprehensive study of Polybius’ treatment of this subject, which despite the many evidentiary problems, may still be examined in a systematic manner, especially in view of the clear indications, discussed above, that Polybius developed generic conceptions of the origins of war himself. 359 i.65.9; cf. iii.29.1: Roman justifications for the war, which, Polybius says, were never described formally at the time because of an unwillingness to negotiate over Saguntum; since that time, however, he says, they were givens “on many occasions and by many different people at Rome”. Since Mommsen 1859, 322-3, 356

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account is to be seen largely as an effort to improve upon what he saw as the limitations of conventional interpretations. He frames the account this way from the beginning (iii.6.1-3): Some of those authors who have dealt with Hannibal and his times, wishing to indicate the causes (tåw afit€aw) that led to the… war between Rome and Carthage, allege as its first cause the siege of Saguntum by the Carthaginians and as its second their crossing, contrary to treaty, the river whose native name is the Iber. I should agree in stating that these were the beginnings (érxãw) of the war, but I can by no means allow that they were its causes (afit€aw)… Thus Polybius’ explanation begins with an attempt to discredit conventional views, which make the error, already mentioned above, of confusing beginnings and causes.360 More importantly, however, it is the kind of interpretation that Polybius rejects that matters most. Notably, he focuses on how certain accounts reduce explanation to the transgressions immediately preceding the war: the destruction of Saguntum and crossing the Ebro river. In Roman accounts at least, Hannibal’s actions here are held to have violated specific treaty agreements governing Carthaginian activity in Spain, notably, the treaty of Catulus, concluded at the end of the First Punic War in 241, which stipulated inter alia that the allies of each state were to be secure from attack,361 and the so-called Ebro agreement, made in 226 or 225 with Hasdrubal, which restricted Carthaginian movement in Spain to south of the river named.362 Whatever the Roman

many have regarded these discussions as those taking place in Rome in 152-50 before the final confrontation with Carthage (e.g., Walbank Comm. i, 336-7, 356), though Ferrary 1988, 17 n. 39, denies compelling evidence for this view; cf. Rich 1996, 4 n. 11. 360 Polybius does not name the writers he criticizes, but they are likely Roman; see Walbank Comm. i, 305; Meister 1975, 150-5; contra: Musti 1974, 116-9. In any event, Saguntum and the Ebro crossing do in fact represent the sole issues mentioned in Polybius’ account of Roman justification at iii.29.1-10. 361 iii.20.2, 21.4-5. For the treaty, ratified in 241 by the consul C. Lutatius Catulus, see i.62.8; iii.27.1-6. The precise nature of Roman relations with Saguntum during this time is a source of some confusion, though it clear that Polybius saw some bond as existing prior to Hannibal’s attack on the town (e.g., iii.30.12). For discussion: Walbank Comm. i, 170-1; Badian 1958a, 47-51; Sumner 1966 and 1968; Errington 1970, 41-45; Eckstein 1984, 53-7; along with the convenient summary in Rich 1996, 24-26. 362 The Ebro treaty of 226 or 225 (concluded by Hasdrubal, but never recognized by the Carthaginian senate) restricted Carthaginian military activity to south of the Ebro river in Spain; see ii.13.7, with Walbank Comm. i, 168-72; for the dating, see Rich 1996, 23. The treaty has been the source of much confusion, owing not least to the fact that Polybius says it was brought up by the Roman envoys in warning

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perspective on these matters, Polybius considers them ultimately irrelevant, for he considers the actual cause of the war to have been a certain dispute over Sardinia in 237, which following just on the heels of the First Punic War, caused the spread of strong anti-Roman feeling among the Carthaginians.363 This incident he calls the primary cause (µeg€sthn afit€an) of the war.364 Interestingly, the account thus locates conditions for the war much further back into the past than is recognized in conventional discussions of the topic. Nor is Sardinia the only cause, moreover. Two others are named as well: Hamilcar’s anger with Rome for the settlement to the First Punic War, and the subsequent Carthaginian military successes in Spain, which with the accumulation of resources provided there gave them greater confidence for the second war (iii.9.6-10.6). As with the Sardinia affair, each of these factors too moves the explanation to an earlier set of conditions than was conventional. For example, if we take the fall of Saguntum and the Ebro crossing, occurring in the winter of 219/18 and in 218 respectively, as the causes of the war conventionally understood, then Polybius’ account extends the explanation some 23 years into the past. This represents a considerable enlargement upon existing accounts, which focus only on the most

Hannibal of the consequences of an attack on Saguntum, even though the town lay some 150 km south of the river (iii.29.9-10, 30.1-2; cf. 21.1). While resolving this issue has brought scholars to a range of explanations from questioning Polybius’ honesty to his geographical knowledge, the most likely reason is that in discussing Roman justifications for the Second Punic War at this point so much later in the section, he misinterpreted the treaty as applying to the events regarding Saguntum, when in fact it was only later that it was violated, by Hannibal’s advance toward Italy after Saguntum—a fact recognized by Polybius himself elsewhere in the account (iii.34.6-35.2); for discussion of these problems, see Rich 1996, 10-12. 362 iii.16.7-17.9; see Rich 1996, 29 n. 112. 363 In this affair, described by Polybius at i.88.8-12, appeals for aid from Sardinian mercenaries driven out prompted a Roman expedition to the island, but when Carthage tried to assert control of the island, Rome considered this action to have been taken against herself and declared war. Unable to fight because of exhaustion from the recent mercenary revolt in Libya, Carthage was forced to accept harsh terms: surrender of Sardinia and a heavy indemnity. For dating and sources, see Carey 1996, 205-6, esp. nn. 1516; cf. Walbank Comm. i, 149-50 364 For the historical circumstances of this event, and especially an effort to situate Roman actions in the context of contemporary Roman law, see Carey 1995.

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immediate factors (at least as far as Polybius allows), and then only on conditions intelligible as transgressions at that.365 They do not actually explain the build-up of the war in other words. The basis for this distinction is to be understood in relation to Polybius’ intellectual approach. His divergence from conventional views is not necessarily that he had superior insight or that he greater access to the relevant sources. (He may have of course, though that is beside the point here.) Differences in his account depend upon the view that the war may be explained as the outcome of more or less generalizable conditions. As part of a system of practical knowledge, in other words, Polybius’ approach is determined by the concern for a more genuinely explanatory account of the war, i.e. in the sense that the causes adduced are taken to denote conditions for the occurrence of war in general, as a regular, rather than merely a particular phenomenon. This stance alone denotes the need to enlarge the field of analysis beyond conventional criteria of consideration, such as treaty violations and the like, which in this case, allow for an account formed only in relation to the particular concerns of third-century RomanoCarthaginian diplomatic relations.366 Now, while in effect the enlargement of scope is expressed primarily in chronological terms—i.e. the field of events is expanded to an interval of 23 years, rather than just the ca. one year governing conventional accounts—it is important to recognize that this feature of the account is also based on interest in a specific kind of explanation, namely that based upon regular mechanisms of cause and effect. This point is not made explicit in the passage, but it is implied in the medical analogy, mentioned above, by which the accounts is introduced, and especially the observations regarding the Hannibalic War as an example of the No ancient account is known to have linked the war this way to the immediate aftermath of the First Punic war; see Pédech 1964, 180, Rich 1996, 6. A causal link between the First and Second Punic wars is made explicit at i.65.8 and iii.32.7. Admittedly, according to Polybius, Fabius Pictor named Hannibal’s “ambition and love of power” (pleonej€an ka‹ filarx€an, iii.8.1) as serious cause, in addition to Saguntum, but this does not extend the debate beyond conditions conventionally discussed. In any event, as is to be expected of a Roman source, Fabius appears to have been most concerned with the injustice of the latter affair issue as a deciding issue (e.g., t“ katå Zakanya€ouw édikƵati, iii.8.1). 366 Admittedly, this situation too might have relevance for discussion the pragmatics of statesmanship; see n. 379 below. 365

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common pattern, exhibited by Alexander’s Persian campaign and the Syrian War (see pp. 21011). For example, the Alexandrian War is also described as having been caused by conditions well in advance of the actual commencement of hostilities, such as the preparations by Philip, and, before that, a pair of expeditions in the east, namely the famous march of the ten-thousand and the campaign of Agesilaus of Sparta, which revealed the Persians’ openness to attack.367 The case is similar with the Syrian War, which Polybius says was caused by conditions going back much earlier than is typically thought, notably the anger of the Aetolians, who brought Antiochus to Greece when they had lost patience with Roman involvement (iii.7.1-2). Now, these parallels do not link the three wars in precise terms, but the implication is that they reveals components of a common pattern: war is caused by accumulation of resources, for example, or by the build-up of popular resentment.368 Moreover, differences exhibited by Polybius’ account are also to be explained in terms of the inherent flexibility of ancient notions of cause. Now, as I mentioned, to defend this interpretation, Polybius introduces the simple provision that a set of circumstances cannot be said to have caused something when there is a clear antecedent (iii.6.5), and in this respect, the explanation offered is apparently based on what might be considered an obvious or

iii.6.9-14. Polybius does not refer explicitly to other accounts, but this is irrelevant. Alexander’s Asian campaign was familiar topic in political and historiographical discussion, hence, its appropriateness as an illustration here. In fact, little formal discussion of the war’s causes and motives has survived. Vengeance for Xerxes’ invasion, mentioned here by Polybius (iii.6.13), was a regular pretext and derived from official propaganda, such we find in Diodorus’ account of speech by Philip at a conference in Corinth in 338/7 (D.S. xvi.89.2). For sources and discussion, see Austin 2003, 118-20; cf. Walbank Comm. i, 308. 368 It is not entirely certain what chronological scheme Polybius has in mind here, but Philip was perhaps already entertaining the notion by 346 and had become assured of the project by 336 (D.S. xvi.60, 91-2); cf. Austin 2003, 119. In any event, he adduces causes far more remote than this event even, i.e. Xenophon’s retreat with the Ten-thousand and expedition of Agesilaus, both of which took place in the first decade of the fourth century (iii.6.10-11). If we take Polybius’ reference to “Alexander’s crossing into Asia” (iii.6.4, i.e. the archê of the war) to mean the monarch’s crossing of the Hellespont in 334, that would indicate a process nearly seven decades in length. How much this squares with other accounts of the war’s causes is uncertain, however. We rely only on implications made by Polybius himself (e.g., his remark that others regard the crossing as a cause, iii.6.4-6) to get an idea of how much his account departs from convention. 367

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commonsensical point of view.369 Yet it is important to recognize that the enlarged perspective corresponds closely with other scientific approaches to explanation, in which a more inclusive frame of analysis is actually the norm. In the terms of the Aristotelian system, for instance, the notion that antecedent preparations for war (e.g., those made by Philip, though put to use only later by his son) might be described as a cause fulfill the conditions for what is typically referred to as the material cause, in the sense that they provided a determining, material condition for the subsequent event.370 Of course this relies on a looser understanding of the material cause than is applied in the natural sciences, but a strict correspondence with the concept of the material cause here is not really the point. What matters is that models of causal explanation in the natural sciences are analytically extensive, in which case, even if it appears odd to say that Philip’s preparations caused the invasion of Persia—e.g., since that event was actually put into effect only later by another person, a common criticism of Polybius’ explanation for wars371—the account is actually corresponds closely with current view of causal explanation. Indeed this is essentially Polybius’ point when he says that explanations based on Alexander’s first crossing to Asia as the cause for the campaign are “not reasonable or true” (oÎt' efikÚw oÎt' élhy°w: iii.6.4), for they overlook an important set of factors, in lieu of which the war will not have taken place—at least The passage as a whole is set up to encourage assent on the basis of self-evidence: iii.6.5-7.1: “For who could consider these to be causes of wars, plans and preparations for which, in the case of the Persian war, had been made earlier, many by Alexander and even some by Philip during his life, and in the case of the war against Rome by the Aetolians long before Antiochus arrived?... [8] The nature of the distinction between causes and beginnings] is evident (d∞lon) from the instances adduced above; [9] it is easy (eȵar°w) for anyone to see…. [7.1] Similarly it is evident (d∞lon) that the cause of the war between Antiochus and the Romans…” 370 On this view, Philip’s preparations may be understood on analogy with the material cause, to put it in terms of the Aristotelian system, in the sense that they determine the subsequent events by providing material conditions for them. For the Aristotelian system, see n. 57 above. As I already mentioned (see n. 346), the comparison with Aristotle is not mean to suggest that Polybius’ account incorporates anything like that level of theoretical detail. The more important point is that a resemblance of this kind indicates Polybius’ orientation towards a more thoroughly explanatory view of cause, as discussed above, presumably because of its greater extensibility to including causal factors beyond the domain of mere forensic concerns. 371 A general criticism of Polybius’ causal explanations; e.g., Walbank Comm. i, 305-6. Similar criticism is directed at explanation for the Third Macedonian war, which is also described as having been caused by preparations made by a forebear (Philip V) and then carried later by another agent (Perseus); see n. 376 below. 369

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not in the same way that it did. The best explanation, then, would have to produce a more exhaustive account of the contributing conditions. Thus, there are essentially two ways to explain differences between Polybius’ and conventional interpretations of the Hannibalic War. First, there is the particular approach employed, according to which the study of causes is aimed at establishing a model for understanding war as a regular phenomenon. In this case, causes for the Hannibalic War must signify conditions that are sufficiently generalizable, in the sense that they involve not only the conditions for that particular set of events, but are extensible to explaining similar scenarios in military affairs, whether in the past or present.372 Moreover, on this model, the field of explanatory factors is enlarged to include a broader range of possibilities, including situations not only outside the domain of moral and legal concerns, but also outside the typical chronological frames in which the origins of war are understood. Overall, this approach allows Polybius to transcend conventional explanations to the causes of wars, while at the same time, producing a more sophisticated account in relation to current practices in the sciences. Ultimately, however, this approach entails important restrictions for how the war is understood as an intellectual problem, for the more strictly explanatory approach requires exclusion of the issues that matter most in contemporary discussion of the wars, such as injury, responsibility, legal criteria, etc. I will return to this issue in the final section of the chapter, but first, let us consider as second example of this problem, Polybius’ account of Rome’s war with Perseus. The origins of the Third Macedonian War (171-68) are discussed in a fragment from Book 22, which is worth quoting at length (xxii.18.2-11): I am not indeed unaware that some of the authors who have written about the war of the Romans with Perseus, wishing to indicate the causes of the quarrel, attribute it first to the For Polybius’ understanding of the prospect of general knowledge of this kind and its attainment through formal comparison (sÊgkrisiw) among historical events, see pp. 163-64 above. 372

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expulsion of Abrupolis from his principality on the pretext that he had overrun the mines on Mount Pangaeus after the death of Philip, [3] upon which Perseus, coming to protect them and having utterly routed him, expelled him, as I said, from his principality. [4] The next cause they give is the invasion of Dolopia by Perseus and his coming to Delphi, and further the plot formed at Delphi against King Eumenes, and the killing of the envoys from Boeotia, these latter events being asserted by some to have been the causes of the war. [6] Now I maintain that it is most essential both for writers and for students to know the causes from which all events spring and grow. But most writers are guilty of confusion in this matter, owing to their not observing the difference between a pretext and a cause, and between the beginning of a war and pretext for it. [7] I am therefore, as the circumstances themselves recall to my mind what I said on a previous occasion, compelled to repeat myself. [8] For of the events I just mentioned the first are pretexts, but the last—the plot against Eumenes and the murder of the envoys and other similar things that took place at the same time—constitute indeed evidently the actual beginning of the war between the Romans and Perseus and the consequent fall of the Macedonian power, [9] but not a single one of them was its cause. This will be evident (d∞lon d¢ toËt' ¶stai) from what I am about to say. [10] For just as I said that Philip, son of Amyntas, conceived and meant to carry out the war against Persia, but that it was Alexander who put his decision into execution; so now I maintain that Philip, son of Demetrius, first conceived the notion of entering on the last war against Rome, and made every preparation ready for the purpose, but on his decease Perseus was the executor of the design. [11] Now if one of these things is true, the other error also is evident. It is surely impossible that the causes of a war can be subsequent to the death of the man who decided on it and purposed to make it; and this is what other writers maintain; for all the things they mention are subsequent to the death of Philip. Here again the typical contentiousness that appears in discussion of the causes of war through the Histories, combined with an effort to enlarge explanation by introducing new frames of analysis. The account even reveals the same premise that appears in explanation for the Alexandrian War, which is mentioned explicitly (18.10-11): i.e. the war with Perseus was actually the plan of the king’s father, Philip V, who made preparations, but died before being able to carry them out. The parallel is uncanny of course, and surely demonstrates Polybius’ characteristic fondness for symmetry.373 Yet it also plays an important role in distinguishing Polybius’ account from other traditions about the war. In particular, as with other parallels of this kind, the link with Alexander denotes the view that the events precipitating a war may be understood as parts of a regular

For schematic parallels in the Histories, especially in discussion of the Macedonian monarchy, see Walbank 1995. 373

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pattern. Notably, it is the accumulation of resources in the state that is named as a cause, the same explanation that appears in Polybius’ account of the Hannibalic War (iii.10.5-6). The parallel thus forms part of a standard approach based on the notion of political technê. Yet in more pragmatic terms, the Perseus-Alexander analogy also distinguishes the account from other explanations for the war, which on the basis of this passage at least, appear to have focused mainly on a set of transgressions committed by the king at the time of his accession in 179 (18.2-4, underlined). Now though Polybius does not identify his sources specifically—he apparently means historical writers (cf. tin¢w t«n suggrafÒntvn, 18.2)—the explanations he describes are essentially those that will have dominated official discussions of the war around the time of its occurrence, notably in the various proceedings in the Roman senate leading up to the declaration of war in 171.374 In any event, none of these can be called a cause for the war, Polybius says; they are simply the pretexts alleged those involved, or, as with the plot against Eumenes and the murder of the Theban envoys, its beginnings (18.8).375 The real cause would have to be Philip’s planning and preparations (18.10), which not only came prior to these events, but also, on the concept of causal employed here, will have provided an important condition for the war, e.g., as the material or formal cause. Thus though this suggestion has been ridiculed from various perspectives,376 it is not

There is no knowing to whom Polybius refers here. Walbank Comm. iii, 205, suggests Strato (FGH 168) and Poseidonius (FGH 189), though he guesses that Roman historians are meant as well. The latter are more likely given the emphasis on Perseus’ transgressions as pretexts for the war (18.8). The events denied by Polybius as causes are essentially those brought to attention by Perseus’ primary detractor, Eumenes of Pergamum, who discussed Perseus’ misconduct in a series of charges delivered before the senate in 172: e.g., the expulsion of Abrupolis, the invasion of Dolopia, the march to Delphi, the murder of the Theban envoys; cf. Livy xlii.11-13 (cf. 40.5, 41.10); cf. D.S. xxxi.8.2; App. Mac. xi.1-2; Paus. vii.10.6. Roughly the same list of charges is described by the Roman annalistic tradition; see Livy xlii.30.10-11. 375 Polybius thus disregards a significant portion of debate over the reasons for war; for a similar view of Philip’s actions, see Livy xxxix.23.5-29.3. Polybius seems to have been right to a certain extent, incidentally, for the conditions he denies as causes (i.e. the offenses committed by Perseus) do not seem to have been a cause of complaint at the time of their occurrence, but appear to have become significant only later as Perseus’ enemies, e.g., Eumenes of Pergamum, wished to denounce him (see n. 374 above). For sources and bibliography, see Gruen 1984, 403-09, esp. 409 with n. 64 for the arguments regarding Perseus’ breach of treaty with the Romans; contra Harris 1979, 227-28. 376 Walbank Comm. iii, 208, describes the interpretation as “logical fallacy”: Perseus is not obliged to undertake a war prepared by his father; cf. Harris 1979, 115, 227; Derow 1994, 88. Yet this view overlooks 374

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entirely absurd. After all, Philip does seem to have succeeded in rebuilding and extending Macedonian power after the Second Macedonian war, and Polybius apparently wishes to call attention to that factor.377 He does portray the monarch as increasingly resentful of Roman authority at this time, incidentally, though it does remain uncertain whether Philip began preparations for a third war.378 At any rate, the historicity of Polybius’ claims is beside the point. What matters is the mode of explanation grounding the account. As in treatment of the Hannibalic and Alexandrian Wars, the concern for a more distinctively explanatory model provides the basis for enlarging traditional frames of debate for the Third Macedonian War. More importantly, however, the same adjustment also implies that conventional concerns are positively excluded, for moral and legal qualifications apparently become inadequate for understanding the war’s occurrence from a practical point of view. This represents a considerable shift in the way the foundations for understanding the event.

the inherent flexibility of ancient conceptions of cause, which rarely denote necessity, but are in fact able to a range of dependencies apart from necessitation; see pp. 46-46, 214-15 above. Moreover, Walbank apparently bases this criticism on only the part of the passage that says Philip’ decision for war constitutes the cause—i.e. he “decided on [war] and purposed to make it (toË kr€nantow ka‹ proyeµ°nou poleµe›n)” (18.11)—when in fact the same idea is described earlier: Philip “conceived the notion of entering on the war… and made every preparation ready (tåw paraskeuåw) for the purpose” (18.10). Polybius is surely expressing himself elliptically in the former instance, but more importantly, the fuller description of the cause at 18.11 alleviates the problem posed by the (apparently less reasonable) claim that the decision of one person functions as the cause of that of another; instead we have a concrete set conditions in the form of war preparations acting as a cause, for which there is no problem. 377 Walbank 19672, 235-54; Gruen 1974, 221-25; 1984, 399-402. This does not mean, however, that Philip was preparing for war with Rome; see n. 378 below. 378 Cf. esp. the Polybian passage in Livy (P) xxxix.23.5, based on xxii.18. Other accounts of Philips’ difficulties with Rome: xxii.13-14; cf. Livy (P) xxxix.24-29, 34-35; cf. Derow 1979, 12-13. On the other hand, this portrait of an aggressive Philip may be explained in terms of Polybius’ alleged pro-Roman sympathies developed after the war; sources and discussion in Bickerman 1953, 485-86; Gruen 1975, 62-63; cf. Errington 1973, 207-8, who suggests Polybius actually derived the story from Eumenes visit to the senate. And since it does seem unlikely that Philip was planning another war with Rome in the last decade of his rule (Gruen 1974; 1984, 400-02), there is good reason to doubt Polybius’ account, especially in the way it omits consideration of any active Roman role; see Harris 1979, 227-31; cf. 115 with n. 3, for the suggestion (based on parallels with the Hannibalic war) that Polybius even included Roman aggression as part of the original explanation. In any event, the issue here is not necessarily the veracity of the account, but rather, the way it is directed at offering explanations properly understood, rather than attributing blame.

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This discussion might be extended to include discussion of other wars in the Histories, but even from this brief survey, it is possible to offer some general observations. In part, Polybius’ interest in the subject may be described in terms of a simple preference for long-term explanation. Each account is formed by enlarging explanation to incorporate conditions situated more remotely in the past, and in this respect, the general approach corresponds with much else in the Histories, in which description of the past is so often aimed at discrediting and superseding traditional authorities. At the same time, the approach is not entirely polemical. Polybius’ methods are directed at more positive objectives as well, such for informing practical applications of politics and military strategy. Indeed the explanations he provides are better suited for a number of tasks of political leadership, e.g., such as assessing the capacity of foreign states for war, the significance of popular sentiment, etc., and in this respect, Polybius’ approach converts the subject of the origins of war to an object of more direct rational consideration. Now, this is not to say that adjustments of this kind necessarily improve understanding of the wars in question. Indeed there are many limitations. Even apart from the most obvious of them, for example, i.e. that none of the explanations offered denotes any real critical rigor, there remains the issue that though each account operates on a broad field of analysis, incorporating a wider range of causal factors, emphasis is actually directed away from the most direct of them, such as the decisions of human agents themselves, whose influence on the events described is undeniable. Indeed, a we have seen, Polybius deliberately excludes considerations of this kind (e.g., Hannibal’s decision to attack Saguntum, Perseus’ various transgressions), for details of such particular significance as the actions of a single person will have been of limited value for forming an explanation of general force. This inevitably means exclusion of the relevant moral and legal considerations as well, incidentally, since these criteria too possess little genuine explanatory significance.379 With the

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It must be acknowledge that Polybius does not entirely sideline matters of blame and responsibility. His

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latter observations, we come to the final section of this chapter, which concerns some of the ramifications of Polybius’ approach for the practical context of Greek politics.

Explanation and the construction of the political world As with other aspects of Polybius’ writing, the effort to understand the occurrence of political conflict on the model of other forms of scientific explanation introduces noteworthy constraints. In part these are limited to the typical problems associated with historical representation. Thinking of history as a process of sequential, causally-related wars ultimately enforces a progressive conception of historical change, not only at the micro-level, where the events adduced as causes become intelligible only in terms of their culmination in subsequent events; but especially at the macro-level, in description of long-term developments, which form support for more thoroughly extensive conceptions of directed change. The latter point is neatly illustrated by the scheme of events joining Rome’s engagement with Carthage in the First Punic War, to successive victories over Carthage, Macedon and Antiochus III (see pp. 208 above). Apart from the issue of historical representation, however, which is actually beside the point here, constraints

account of the Hannibalic war, for example, contains an assessment of the arguments adduced by each side, and a survey of the relevant treaty arrangements (iii.20.1-30.4). Yet Polybius does not openly establish blame here. His interest in the issue of responsibility extends mainly to identifying flaws of thought and argument on the part of the agents involved; e.g., the Carthaginians’ response to the diplomatic crisis, oversights putting them at a disadvantage in dealing with Rome (e.g., iii.15.5-13). As in every other case in the Histories, the issue of responsibility thus forms part of the aim to provide practical instruction statesman—as with the general approach to political speeches in the work (see n. 205-6 above). See further n. 380 below. The same concern, for instance, appears in Polybius treatment of profãseiw (i.e. the “pretexts” or reasons alleged, true or otherwise, for involvement in war and other forms of transgression), which is always directed at illustrating the validity of a given way of representing state actions in diplomatic discussion; e.g., reference of prophaseis is regularly accompanied by assessments of justifiability or appropriateness: ii.17.1-3, 46.1-3, 52.1-4 (prÒfasiw eÎlogow); iii.7, 15 (élÒgouw profãseiw, discussed below), 28.1 (oÎte prÒfasin oÎt' afit€an... eÎlogon), 30.4 (eÈlÒgvw pepoleµhk°nai, discussed below) 78.5; iv.3-5 (…w oÈdeµ€an êllhn ¶xvn eÎlogon prÒfasin), 49.4; v.28.9-29-4, 41.5, 108.1; xiii.8.7 (prÒfasin eÎlogon); xx.7.3; xxii.14.12, 18.2-9; xxxii.16.1-5; xxxvi.2; xxxviii.12.1-8. My definition of prophasis in Polybius follows Walbank 1972, 158, generally accepted; cf. Pédech 1964, 91; Petzold 1969, 139.

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introduced by Polybius’ approach also include more basic limitations related to the function of knowledge causes in international politics. In particular, efforts to assimilate the study of war to other areas of science indicate a shift in the practical function of this form of knowledge, which in routine situations, provides an important standard for determining interstate relations from articulation of the moral and legal dimensions of conflict. Indeed, techniques employed by Polybius positively exclude consideration of this set of criteria.380 Thus though Polybius’ approach provides the basis for enlarging explanation in a number of ways (e.g., through extending the scope of analysis, emphasis on prognosis and practical benefit, etc.), it inevitably places restrictions on the practical function of knowledge of this kind. In what remains of this chapter, I would like to suggest some of the implications of this shift for Hellenistic political ideology. Now, the suggestion that change in political practice may be traced to something as limited as a single work of history surely goes beyond the scope of this discussion. Yet at the same, it is possible to indicate the kinds of developments to be expected from efforts of this kind to subject the study of war to greater rational control, and from this perspective, the Histories provides an example of the fuller implications of rationalizing tendencies in the construction of Hellenistic political culture. First, we may consider this proposition from the perspective of the external conditions of Hellenistic Greece. While Roman control of the Mediterranean was far from complete when Polybius wrote the Histories—at least, in comparison with the limits later achieved—it is taken for granted that it had become so. Rome’s victories around the beginning of the second century, first over Hannibal in the West, and then over Philip V and Antiochus III in East, dramatically Moral and legal criteria are not irrelevant for Polybius. As I have already mentioned, they form part of his approach to history as a source of practical instruction; see n. 379 above. Yet moral and legal concerns do not figure in the explanations Polybius offers for individual wars, in which the emphasis is placed on the mechanisms of cause of effect; attributive explanations are largely irrelevant for this form of understanding. There are thus two aspects of Polybius’ approach worth laying emphasis: first there is the implementation of more genuinely explanatory notions of cause, which provide the basis for innovating upon the way particular wars are understood; and second, on this conception of explanation, there is the transition, under discussion in the present section, to understanding war as an article of more specifically practical (as opposed to juridical) knowledge. 380

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enlarged the sphere of Roman political authority. Roman dominance in the Mediterranean was reaffirmed in the early 160s, when the defeat of Perseus at Pydna in Greece and the subsequent capitulation and withdrawal of Antiochus IV in Egypt truly meant the end, for Polybius at least, of any viable opposition to Roman rule: it was now “universally accepted,” he says “that all had to submit to the Romans and obey their orders”.381 The observation is only correct to an extent of course, especially in respect of what is meant by “all”, but what is interesting are the specific terms governing this view of conquest. For him, the extension of Roman control is comprehensible largely in terms of the response at the local level, within the various states with which the Romans came into contact at this time, through which their requests and demands were integrated within domestic policy and plans of political action. Thus, the principle of political authority rests not any kind of direct expression of power, such as through in the use of military force or administrative oversight, but rather in the way local governing bodies accommodate Roman interests through largely voluntary actions. Indeed though Polybius places lays great emphasis on the various wars by which Rome increased her sphere of control in the Mediterranean, it is largely on forms of so-called soft power of this kind that Polybius bases his view. This is in fact the portrait of Roman rule emerging from Polybius’ account of the events following the Hannibalic War. As far as can be told from the surviving fragments of the Histories,

iii.4.3; the remark forms part of the summary of the events of the 160s appearing in second Preface, in which the subject of Roman conquest and the plan of the Histories itself are both linked directly to a process, taking place in stages, leading up to the removal of all noteworthy political contenders in Mediterranean; iii.3.7-8; cf. 1.9-10; other observations about the universal reach of Roman authority: e.g., i.1.5, vi.2.3. This view of Roman hegemony relies on the observations of Derow 1979, 4-8, who stresses that in Polybius’ understanding of Roman political authority, hegemony is conceived of primarily in terms of having orders and ‘requests’ obeyed (i.e. in the context of diplomatic negotiation) and not in terms of direct rule—and certainly not in the form direct administrative control. Polybius’ coverage of the events following Pydna and Antiochus’ capitulation in Egypt (often called the ‘Day at Eleusis’) does not survive, with the exception of the fragments xxix.21, 27; sources and bibliography for Pydna in Gruen 1984 ii, 423-29, with important observations for overstatements of extent of Roman involvement after the battle; for the scene at Eleusis, Morgan 1990, 1 n. 2. Moreover, though Polybius is explicit in certain places about the significance of Pydna and Eleusis, his observations about the ultimately establishment of Roman authority are largely inconsistent in the Histories; see Gruen 1984, 345. 381

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Roman political control takes shape primarily through a recurring scenario of compliance with the orders and ‘requests’ of Roman agents, often obtained under threat of drastic penalties, such as war, expressed in terms of greater or lesser explicitness.382 This scenario emerges regularly in the description of Achaean affairs, for example, with which Polybius was himself personally involved over the 180s and 170s. At this time, he says, “Roman supremacy had wholly asserted itself” into Greek affairs, and the will of Rome now formed a more or less unavoidable consideration in discussions of Achaean policy—to such an extent in fact that Polybius even devotes space to discussing some of the different strategies adopted for dealing with senatorial requests.383 This trend reached a pitch in 180, Polybius tells us, when Achaea’s response to a request regarding the return of certain Spartan exiles resulted in even closer Roman involvement, and not only in Achaean affairs, but in cities throughout the Greek world as well. It was at this time, Polybius says, that the senate began to pursue a more active role in Greek politics, in particular by providing support for its partisans in the political assemblies, and thus creating new incentives for policy directly beneficial to Rome.384 Now, as many have observed, this account exaggerates the extent to which there may be observed a direct change in Roman policy at this The “orders/obedience syndrome” in Polybius, is discussed by Derow 1979, 5-7, esp. 5 n. 16 for the extensive list of passages in the Histories; cf. Pédech 1964, 500-1. 383 xxiv.11-13; the passage describes the views of Philopoemen and Aristaenus in particular, which Polybius apparently includes here as a model for reflecting on different kinds of approach (e.g., a·resiw) to the problem of dealing with larger, more powerful states like Rome. The context of the passage is not entirely certain, but it is clear that it is linked to the period beginning with “the wars with Philip and Antiochus”, as Polybius says (11.3), which is to say from ca. 200 onward. On the placement of this passage, see Lehman 1967, 240-1, 249-50; cf. Walbank Comm. iii, 264-65; a different view in Pédech 1964, 246, 480. As a model for instruction, the passage exemplifies the technique of synkrisis, on which in particular see Pédech 1964, 417-19. On Polybius’ treatment of the issue of small-large state power relations more generally, see Eckstein 1985; 1995, 194-236; cf. Walbank 1972, 166-70. 384 The episode in question in the embassy of Callicrates, which Polybius saw as a catalyst for change in the Roman policy with respect to the Greeks, for having been informed that its passive stance on Greek politics was actually fostering dissent in Greek cities, the senate now pursued more direct forms of involvement, in particular by propping up its supporters in the assemblies. This then led to general disregard for just and honorably courses of action, as Polybius says, for political success was now equated with defending Roman interests, even when contrary to law. For the embassy and related events, see xxiii.5.18, 9.1, 16.1-18.5; xxiv.1-2, 8-11; cf. Liv. xi.20.2; Paus. iv.29.11-12. Important discussion of content and chronology in Derow 1970, 14-16; cf. Walbank Comm. iii, 261; Errington 1969, 263-64; Gruen 1984, 496-97. For the problems with Polybius’ account of the embassy, see n. 385 below. 382

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time.385 Yet even leaving that set of questions aside, it is possible to observe the system of pressure taking shape around Greek political culture, and whether the extension of Roman influence is tied to specific instances of abrupt change or viewed as part of a more gradual development, it is nonetheless clear that Greek affairs are subsumed at this time within a configuration of power organized increasingly around Roman influence. With the removal of Macedon and the Seleucid monarchy, Greek states are compelled not only to obey Roman wishes, but are even inclined to take Roman interests into consideration in their every move. On this view, while it is important to recognize the role of military force in the defeat of such major powers in the Mediterranean, Roman conquest is understood primarily in terms of developments in local politics, in the assemblies, where efforts to accommodate Roman interests denote an ongoing affirmation of political subordination. The extension of Roman authority is thus identified specifically with a corresponding reduction in the autonomy of Greek political assemblies. This trade-off constitutes a major theme in Polybius’ coverage of the period following the Hannibalic War, but in particular, I would like to focus on the relationship of this set of changes with Polybius’ conception of political practical knowledge. Even at just a glance, we observe that this set of changes presumably entailed the end of a truly meaningful diplomatic tradition, as the intrusion of Roman interests within Greek affairs now meant the loss of many political freedoms in the widest sense of the term. Moreover, this portrait is one of continuing decline, as Polybius extends coverage of this process beyond the immediate aftermath of Pydna. Polybius’ account of these events is problematic from at least two perspectives: first it apparently misrepresents the embassy of Callicrates and related events, likely due to personal resentment against the statesman; and second, it appears to exaggerate the degree of Roman involvement in Greek affairs, and Greek compliance, in the immediate aftermath of these events. On the former, see Gruen 1976a, 32-33; other accounts of the Callicrates episode in Badian 1958a, 89-91; Errington 1969, 195-205; cf. Eckstein 1995, 204-6. As for the latter, see Larsen 1968, 459, and especially Gruen 1984, 498-502, who points out that there is no evidence for a change in the senate’s policy with respect to the Greeks. However, as Derow 1970, 20, points out, there is in fact no evidence at all for the first 4-5 years after the embassy, the earliest appearing in Livy xli.22.8-42 (cf. xlii6.1-2), and generally speaking, whatever the specifics of Roman-Greek relations at this time, it is clear enough that the Rome remained a consistent source of pressure for Greek politics pretty much from the early second century on; see n. 382 above; cf. Derow 2003, 66-67. 385

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With the destruction of Corinth in 146 and the transition to even more direct Roman involvement in Greece, statesmen were now absolved of all virtually political responsibility in Polybius’ eyes. In one particularly noteworthy passage, the situation is described as providing a surplus of time for the statesman, who now had the opportunity for other pursuits, such as travel and geographic research: But in our own times since, owing to Alexander's empire in Asia and that of the Romans in other parts of the world, nearly all regions have become approachable by sea or land, since our men of action in Greece are relieved from the ambitions of a military or political career (t∞w per‹ tåw poleµikåw ka‹ politikåw prãjeiw filotiµ€aw) and have therefore ample means for inquiry and study, we ought to be able to arrive at a better knowledge… about lands that were formerly little known.386 The passage forms part of Polybius’ description of Hannibal’s passage over the Alps, and thus bears a noteworthy autobiographical note in the allusion to geographic study, for which Polybius gained many opportunities himself as a result his relationship with the Scipios. After Pydna, Polybius was detained by the Romans along with nearly a thousand other Achaeans who had been denounced for affiliations with Perseus. As a political prisoner, Polybius eventually formed attachments with the Scipios that made possible projects of geographic research in the western Mediterranean, including not only survey of the Alps, but also many parts of Africa, Spain, and Gaul, as well as the Atlantic coast.387 In any event, the detention of the Achaeans is not merely a detail. Their removal in fact formed part of the settlement brokered by the pro-Roman party in Achaea, and the removal of so many former supporters of the Macedonian king surely effected noteworthy changes in the distribution of power in Greek assemblies.388 Achaean politics were thus well on their way to almost total Roman oversight, for not only were dissenting voices iii.59.3-4, modified slightly, emphasis mine; on the date of composition, see Walbank Comm. i, 393, who calls the passage a later insertion, i.e. dating to after 146. 387 iii.59.7-8; for Polybius’ travel and geographic surveys, see Walbank Comm. i, 393-94. 388 Polybius’ account of the events surrounding the deportation is lost, though references to them appear at xxx.7.5-8, 13.1-11; xxxi.23-5-6; xxxii.5-6; cf. Liv. xlv.31.5-11, 34.9, 35.1; Paus. vii.10.7-11; Zon. ix.31.1. 386

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eliminated in large number, but those left in power became de facto agents of the Roman senate, at least in Polybius’ eyes. The detainees would eventually return to Greece, but with the disbanding of Achaean League after the revolt of 146, Achaean politics were irrevocably changed. It this therefore difficult to see how Greek political institutions continued to bear full relevance in this picture of decline, as the conditions for a genuine political process were now largely eroded, and efforts to secure diplomatic influence, only a pretense. Considered from this perspective, Polybius’ approach to the study of wars takes on a slightly different meaning. It is difficult to see, for example, how conventional explanations for war will have continued to bear the same meaning when political influence was now significantly restricted. In other words, in explaining the various wars that led up to this state of affairs, it might be appropriate to clarify moral and legal criteria such as treaty violations or other kinds of transgression, but knowledge of this kind will have had limited value in diplomatic and deliberative settings, in which the structure of interstate relations was now already clearly determined by other factors. The issue of war guilt was thus obsolete from a certain perspective. Polybius appears to take this for granted. With respect to the Hannibalic and Third Macedonian Wars, for instance, he might have placed greater emphasis on events signifying moral and legal transgressions (e.g., the attack on Saguntum or Perseus’ actions in Greece and Thessaly), and perhaps even with good reason, in the sense that this will have met a certain requirement of explaining—in the sense of identifying the reasons for—the subsequent hostilities. Yet in an environment of increasing political centralization, an interpretation of this kind will have left much to be explained. Viewed from this perspective, moreover, it is also easier to see why a more genuinely explanatory approach might be so appealing. Given the loss of political privileges, explanatory knowledge of political upheavals of this kind will have had a special practical benefit, not only for recognizing the approach of similar problems in the present, but also for identifying

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the particular conditions for recent disasters, such as the Fourth Macedonian War and the Achaean revolt, which had contributed to such a remarkable downturn in Greek politics in Polybius’ eyes. The kinds of explanation we find in the Histories, then, apparently denote current assumptions regarding the distribution of political power. In this respect, moreover, we may extend observations made above regarding the influence of contemporary science, for while that set of affiliations is surely crucial for understanding the concept of explanation as applied by Polybius, it is also clear that conventional approaches to the subject of war will have left many things to be desired in the context of late Hellenistic Greece. Polybius’ approach is thus essentially a reflection of the current lapse in authority of Greek diplomatic institutions, and a response to new configurations of political power. More importantly, however, while this picture of political change illustrates important reasons for Polybius’ approach, it also implies a noteworthy shift in how war is understood as an intellectual problem. In particular, the pursuit of a more genuinely historical approach to the subject entails a corresponding reduction in the political significance of explanation. As study of the origins of wars ceases to serve as an instrument of adjudication, in other words, it ceases to form a productive component of political negotiation. Viewed from this perspective, the adjustments advocated by Polybius are not only symptomatic of political decline, but are even to be linked to the advancement of this process itself, especially in view of the importance of this area of discourse of negotiating international relationships. This requires some explanation. As already suggested above in the brief anecdote from the end of the Coele-Syria War, in a setting defined by no fixed institutional structure, practices for identifying transgression and blame in the context of diplomacy perform a vital role in constructions of international political order. In some cases, these take explicit form, as with the treaty arrangements invoked by Antiochus in the dispute over

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Coele Syria, or those between Rome and Carthage governing commercial and military activity.389 Yet order is expressed in more subtle forms as well, such as in the way issues of culpability are themselves constitutive of normative conceptions of state conduct.390 Moreover, as is also illustrated by the Coele Syria affair, the resolution of interstate dispute denote a more or less collaborative set of procedures, in which competing interests are weighed, or at least considered nominally, and generally speaking, consensus is at least a partial goal. In this case, juridical forms of explanation are defined in part by a capacity to incorporate reflection on multiple perspective or frames of reference. Now, this is not to say that ancient diplomacy implies anything like a democratic form of interaction—far from it, for violence and other forms of coercion will have always formed a significant source of influence. Yet as a means of creating dialogue among state authorities, diplomatic practices are generally aimed at the formation of reciprocal relationships of some kind. The resolutions binding the cities and kings of the Greek-speaking world, for example, generally reflect clear concerns for consensus and partnership, even when negotiations are framed by a persistent threat of war. Even when relations of power are grossly imbalanced, diplomatic practices are still framed by a rhetoric of consensus, and from this perspective, it is possible to see ancient diplomatic discourse as based on at least a minimally expressed dialectic of power.391 For agreements concerning the possession of Coele Syria, see above p. 194 with n. 315. On the so-called Ebro agreement between Rome and Carthage, see n. 363 above; similar agreements concerning territorial restrictions are discussed by Polybius at iii.22-24, 26-27. 390 See n. 391 below. 391 The foundations of international political order in the Hellenistic world doubtless form an immense topic, though in lieu of a more extensive discussion and bibliography, it is worth directing attention to the formation of interstate structures from at least two forms of constituency; these include the pragmatic and ideological components of diplomatic relationships. For example, while treaty arrangements and other formal institutions, such as ritualized friendship or arbitration procedures, provide structure for state relationships in fairly concrete form, their very appearance denotes the influence of an underlying moral order and ideology, which are not only reflected in the pragmatics of diplomatic activity (e.g., in drawing up treaties, rendering decisions in arbitration, etc.) but are in many ways wholly constituted by them as well. A good introduction to the pragmatic and ideological foundations of interstate relations in ancient Greece is Low 2007, though this work deals with the Classical era in particular; for the pragmatics of interstate relations, see Mosley 1973, and especially Ager 1996. Also useful on the moral and legal foundations of the 389

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As part of this framework, juridical explanations for war too represent an essentially dialectical form of knowledge, in the sense that when we consider this area of discourse from the perspective of its practical applications in the context of political negotiation, it is necessary to observe at least a minimal level of exchange between different points of view. This point may be understood in terms of the basic difference between attributive and explanatory concepts of cause. While the latter imply a fixed understanding of causality from an ontological perspective, i.e. in the sense that they entail assumptions about the existence of the causal agent in an absolute sense, the attributive notion of cause is not similarly constrained. In fact explanations based on the principle of attribution do not generally imply suppositions about ontological status—and certainly do not require them for that matter. On the contrary, the attributive explanation only requires that the notion of cause is comprehensible in relation to other, externally formed criteria. These would be the specific moral and legal institutions by reference to which it is possible to say that an action is responsible for the outcome in question. It is here that juridical explanations denote a dialectical form of knowledge, for it is primarily from reference to the principles of social partnership that it is possible to construct the moral and legal criteria framing this area of discourse, whether these be the underlying justifications for laws, norms of conduct and the like, objectives for concrete interpretations of such institutions, etc. Viewed from this perspective, the juridical notion of cause implies at least minimal consideration of the conditions of social partnership. That is why attributive forms of explanation possess the function they do in the context of diplomacy. Determining blame is able to encode social relations in a way that is still fundamentally inclusive or empowering to their constituents, even when imposed in crude ways

international domain is Bederman 2001. More detailed treatment of Hellenistic political ideology appears in Ma 1999, esp. 106-242, which studies diplomatic exchanges between Greek cities and Antiochus III. This work forms the basis of my interpretation here of how power relations are mediated through ongoing affirmations of reciprocal relationships. A slightly different account, stressing the militarism and persistent violence determining Mediterranean power configurations appears in Eckstein 2006, esp. 12-36, 79-117.

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(such as through accompanying threats of violence), for it is only from reference to moral and legal determinations that interested parties may be incorporated as part of a cohesive order. So, for example, to return once more to the Coele Syria dispute, Antiochus’ recognition of the role played by Ptolemy’s ministers provides a way out for the young king, but more importantly, this gesture performs the more positive function of constructing new conditions that preserve Lagid political authority. The way juridical knowledge constructs political relationships in this way clearly forms a larger and more complex subject than is suggested by this solitary example, but in particular, I wish point out some of the possibilities of attributive forms of explanation that do not necessarily translate to explanatory forms of knowledge properly understood. Procedures for determining blame are in fact capable of organizing relationships in ways that explanation cannot, particularly through the notion of closure. Surely other forms of explanation form the source of closure too, i.e. in the way it denotes conditions of greater ontological fixity, but in the pragmatic context of political negotiation, ontologically based forms of explanation will have been less versatile. Viewed from this perspective, though Polybius links political centralization to the decline of Greek political institutions, it is worth recognizing that his departure from conventional approaches to the study of war may itself be associated with this process just in way exclusion of moral and legal concerns yields interpretive viewpoints of decreasing political significance. This represents the primary issue here. Though Polybius enlarges the conceptual framework for understanding war in a generic sense—and indeed is able to employ this model in a way that incorporates a broader range of explanatory possibilities—his approach ultimately implies noteworthy restrictions for this area of discourse. These fall into two categories in particular. First, limitations are implied simply for the reason that Polybius excludes moral and legal considerations, which play such a vital role in the practical applications in this area of discourse,

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as I mentioned. In this case, inquiry into the causes of political struggle is reduced largely to a matter of rational speculation, as it is divested of its primary political function. Now, this is not to say that explanations of this kind bear no political significance. Of course they do. For example, explanations for Rome’s wars fought with Carthage and Perseus are politically meaningful precisely because they exclude moral and legal concerns. In denying the factors that make moral/legal responsibility an issue in explanation, Polybius’ account of these wars effectively essentializes the origins of those conflicts, and thus essentializes relations of power based on historical comprehension of their origins. To put it simply, explanation provides the basis for forms of political legitimacy grounded outside the moral (or legal) domain conventionally understood. This brings me to the second point just mentioned. As explanation implies the exclusion of moral and legal criteria, it involves constraints for the practical applications of this kind of knowledge, which is to say, for the kinds of things that may be achieved from political discussion of war. We must recognize, for instance, that as scientific notions of cause involve specifically ontological assumptions about explanations, they signify a form of intellectual production that is essentially closed to kinds of dialectical operations framing juridical discourse. There is thus a noteworthy paradox in Polybius’ approach to the causes of wars, for by seeking to enlarge the frames of discussion of the subject, Polybius effectively empties it out of its primary political function. Considered from this perspective, Polybius’ approach to the study of war is ultimately to be associated with new distributions of power in political discourse. Given how relations of power are attached to (and often even wholly formed from) the interpretive activities making up this area of discourse, adjustments to them imply change also for how relations are formed in this context. As the introduction of rational scientific models of explanation renders discussion of moral and legal criteria obsolete, this shift provides new conditions for political subordination just in the way

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political experience is mediated by the influence of intellectual institutions of this kind. This surely represents a broad observation and it is not possible to develop it in detail here, not only due to the basic problem of attaching so much significance to a single work like Polybius’ Histories, but also because of complexity of the observation itself, i.e. that concrete changes in political life may be attributed to intellectual historical developments.392 Yet at the same time, it is possible to pick out some of the general implications of this set of developments. As inquiry into the origins of wars ceases to serve as an instrument of debate, and thus ceases to be a source of genuine political influence, the result is a reduction in at least one form of empowerment available to the Greek statesman. In this case, as Polybius associates political downturn in the second century with new conditions of dependency in fairly concrete forms—such as appear not only in the chain of decisive Roman victories at this time, but also in the ongoing interference of Roman interests in the Greek political affairs—neglect for juridical explanations of war implies a complementary shift at the level of intellectual practice, which is to say, at the level of the means of description and explanation for understanding Roman conquest as an intellectual problem. In other words, when continued Roman success came to represent an insoluble problem from conventional juridical perspectives, all that remained was to explain the events historically—a form of intellectual resignation, to put it in the most extreme terms. This point is especially noteworthy when we consider the function of the Histories as a source of practical knowledge, incidentally, for as a source of lessons and exempla for directing political leadership, the work ultimately encourages a narrower view of the statesman’s sphere of influence. As a model for political conduct, the work is essentially closed to the prospect of supporting certain more active forms of political agency.

Comprehensive treatment of this point would require consideration of a much broader set of factors, including much more detailed assessment of the pragmatics of Hellenistic diplomacy and related institutions for examining than appears here. In a future study I plan to examine the Histories in relation to other pieces of technical writing making up the intellectual constituting study of interstate relations in the Hellenistic era. 392

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In all, then, Polybius’ writing illustrates important consequences to be associated with the progress of rationalist concerns in the context of political practice. In particular, we observe a transition between ways of thinking about political culture above the level of the state. As conventional means for understanding international sphere are exchanged out for what might be described as more thoroughly rational forms of interpretation, the consequences include not only change in historical description at the concrete level, but also the emergence of new conditions for political order. Now, on the one hand, there is nothing remarkable in the fact that description of past events forms the basis for justifying cultural and political formations in the present. As I discussed in Chapter 1, in respect of the genealogical and colonial historiographical traditions, history is often enlisted in the service of elite claims to authority, often in cases in which it is wholly deliberate. Yet here constructions of political order are largely incidental to historical description, as demonstrations of legitimacy are not so much the product of concrete observations about the past (e.g., that wars fought by the Romans are morally or legally justifiable), but rather gain expression most in the suppression of such details.393 In this case, explanation for the origins of wars fulfills an important function in mediating understanding of relationships above the state level, but above all, we see that it achieves this by displacing or superseding conventional means of formulating this order. Indeed, the significance of rational explanatory models for war appears to rest to some extent in its affiliation with conventional practices. Yet at the same time, the relationship with other forms of rational explanation in the sciences calls attention to the limitations of the strictly juridical approach. In this case, rational models of interpretation are In other words, disregard for questions of moral/legal legitimacy can itself serve as a means of legitimation just from the exclusion of criteria of this kind, for as conditions for the emergence of war become comprehensible in terms beyond ordinary juridical frames of debate, explanations produced in this way are rendered ideally prior to and therefore superior to juridical forms of regulation. The situation is analogous to the way arguments from nature may be resorted to in resolving certain dilemmas, in which conventional juridical categories prove inadequate; the argument from nature permits moral and legal criteria to be superseded or dispensed with more resolutely. Even when the latter are wholly convenient, such as appears to have been the case with regards to the war with Perseus, ‘naturalizing’ explanations of this kind still possess this function. 393

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even capable of wholly displacing conventional forms of interpretation, in the sense that as the value of more purely explanatory approaches to war becomes apparent, the juridical forms of knowledge become inadequate. The tension described here, then, is essentially that characterizing many scenarios in the history of rationalism, in which intellectualization of given practices brings on more stringent definitions of legitimacy. The advance of rationalist concerns in the context of understanding war is thus to be associated with new conditions for making sense of Mediterranean political interaction, in which regional concerns (e.g., of the Achaeans, of the remnants of Carthaginian and Macedonian authority) are subsumed by a more or less fixed account of political transition, in which moral and legal concerns are now largely incidental. In short, we observe the invention of a political world in which the conditions for defeat are rendered more acceptable from an intellectual standpoint. The study of causes in the Histories is thus to be likened to Polybius’ concept of universal history, which, as we have seen, provides a useful framework for organizing the description of events in the Histories, but also effectively alleviates the problem of political subordination by defining the present as part of an inexorable process of integration. The treatment of the causes of wars in the Histories performs a similar function by redefining the conceptual parameters for a familiar political problem. Indeed, it is in part from the approach to explanation endorsed by Polybius that conditions of political dependency are created, for though change in international power configurations must occur at the level of concrete events in the external world, the full realization of this process requires mediation also in the form of the intellectual practices through which conditions of dependency are rendered intelligible—and thus more acceptable too—to the subjected. From this perspective, the Histories provides an important illustration of how efforts to make sense of Roman dominance generate conditions for the advance of that process itself. This is not necessarily an observation about the direct influence of Polybius’ writing, incidentally, but

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rather how the Histories may be situated in relation to other, complementary forms of intellectual production mediating Greek subjects’ response to conditions of political subordination. Recent scholarship has contributed much to our understanding of the relations between Greek intellectual traditions and the influence of Roman political authority.394 In this context, Polybius’ writing exemplifies how conditions for political subjectivity are created from the study of political history, which, here, from limitations on the moral significance of certain events in the political sphere, provides accommodation for the onset of external political controls. Thus the Histories illustrates how imperial power is processed and administered through the intellectual activities devoted to its comprehension. Moreover, if there is a side note here, it is that the rationalist regime is itself to be linked to this process, in the sense that it is from the concrete developments constituting this cultural system that the resources are made available for this view of history. In this respect, we find the conditions for political subjectivity inscribed into one of the most basic institutions for understanding international political power, and thus the Histories is to be taken as an important illustration of the correspondence between developments of political authority in the external world and the progress of intellectual life.

E.g., see the brief account, with bibliography in König and Whitmarsh 2007, along with the essays collected in that volume. 394

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