Currently ploughing my way through one of Livy's histories of Rome. It's an interesting experience, a book fascinating and tedious in equal measure Reading more than ten pages at once puts me to sleep, but I always feel regret as I slump into unconsciousness. Both reactions are probably because Livy, born around 60BC, pretty much cast the mould for the classic historian. He wasn't interested in gender relations or economic structures or the plight of the working man. His one comment on social conditions was a hint that, in 180BC, Rome was still a bit of a dump. He was a fan of Big Men & Battles. Every siege of every scrubby little fortified town in Greece and Asia Minor is faithfully recorded. And his analysis of the characters of the Big Men is restricted to what speeches they made at key moments, renditions which go on for pages and pages.
I'm not sure how Livy knows these speeches so well. One, for example, was delivered as a general was preparing to flush out some barbarians from a mountain chain in the middle of Turkey. It's unlikely that a clerk was faithfully jotting down every word. I suspected that Livy invented most of them. But then a blitheness about the veracity of accounts is also a feature of traditional history. This has some advantages. Livy was exploring what was then relatively uncharted territory. When modern historians do the same (looking at the 7th and 8th centuries, for example), they spend most of their time moaning about the paucity of evidence. Livy just gets on with it. His only comments on methodology is to occasionally observe that one historian claims 40,000 enemy soldiers were slaughtered in a battle, another that ten men were slightly wounded and two more contracted nasty head colds. It's worth noting that nobody complains about the lack of sources for Roman times. After all, we have Livy. Who based his statements on… what, exactly?
Like all historians from history, Livy comes with a Handle With Care notice. He was writing as the Imperial structures were first solidifying under Augustus. Like many men at the time, he saw this as degenerating the Roman spirit. Accordingly, he sometimes over-exaggerates the dignity and grandeur of the Republic as he analysis its rise. No modern historians carry such a warning, incidentally, even though their works are increasingly subjective. We just have to remember that all interpretations are filtered through Western, capitalist, democratic minds. But Livy's approach is definitely indicative of his culture. His belief in his, often unsubstantiated, statements mirrors the confidence of the Romans. Yet this self-assurance rarely, under the Republic at least, transformed into vanity and certainly not into a dubious concept like destiny. The Romans believed they would become greater and greater, but also believed in planning for this. So they painstakingly laid out a baffling network of structures across the Empire. This meticulousness is copied in the dense mat of facts which Livy rolls out.
All histories carry parallels and warnings about modern times. Rome under the Republic was an oligarchy not a democracy. It was also a rigidly stratified society which accepted slavery as a natural condition. But the extent to which they limited the potential power of any one individual was remarkable. The highest office, that of Consul, could only be held for a single year, was hemmed in by other institutions and was always shared with another Consul of equal rank. Compare that with the Emperors who came later, enjoying untrammelled authority and turning themselves into living gods; or even with our own presidents and prime ministers. One result was a dearth of hero-worship which puts our set-'em-up-and-knock-'em-down ethos to shame. Scipio Africanus, greatest general of the Republic, who defeated Hannibal and all his elephants to save Rome – even Scipio spent his last years pursued by an embezzlement charge. He just got off through the force of his reputation, and by dying rather opportunely, but it was a close thing. Livy seems both disapproving of this treatment and also rather awestruck that it was ever possible. We can link this restriction of the individual with the lack of personal vanity in politics, the faith in institutions rather than destiny. And also conclude that the approach was the right one. After all, the Emperors didn't build most of the Roman Empire. The legions of prosaic Consuls did that. Those flashy demi-gods we love so much just inherited it. And then let it, piece by piece, fall apart.
One of the central events in this volume of Livy is the Second Macedonian War. Threatened by the ambitious Philip of Macedon, the Greek states – nominally independent but clients of Rome – appealed for help. The fascinating part of the war isn't Livy's interminable accounts of the numerous battles but the aftermath of Rome's victory. It promptly withdrew all its legions and garrisons and gave the Greek towns their independence back. Livy is as entranced by this benevolence as the grateful Greeks. The propagandist in him coming to the fore, he doesn't mention the economic interests which Rome was protecting, nor their concerns that if Philip conquered Greece he would turn to Italy next. Nonetheless, you can only be so cynical about the event. Rome had performed an action atypical of any era. Starting a war to preserve another country's autonomy and not welching on the bargain afterwards.
I'm not sure how Livy knows these speeches so well. One, for example, was delivered as a general was preparing to flush out some barbarians from a mountain chain in the middle of Turkey. It's unlikely that a clerk was faithfully jotting down every word. I suspected that Livy invented most of them. But then a blitheness about the veracity of accounts is also a feature of traditional history. This has some advantages. Livy was exploring what was then relatively uncharted territory. When modern historians do the same (looking at the 7th and 8th centuries, for example), they spend most of their time moaning about the paucity of evidence. Livy just gets on with it. His only comments on methodology is to occasionally observe that one historian claims 40,000 enemy soldiers were slaughtered in a battle, another that ten men were slightly wounded and two more contracted nasty head colds. It's worth noting that nobody complains about the lack of sources for Roman times. After all, we have Livy. Who based his statements on… what, exactly?
Like all historians from history, Livy comes with a Handle With Care notice. He was writing as the Imperial structures were first solidifying under Augustus. Like many men at the time, he saw this as degenerating the Roman spirit. Accordingly, he sometimes over-exaggerates the dignity and grandeur of the Republic as he analysis its rise. No modern historians carry such a warning, incidentally, even though their works are increasingly subjective. We just have to remember that all interpretations are filtered through Western, capitalist, democratic minds. But Livy's approach is definitely indicative of his culture. His belief in his, often unsubstantiated, statements mirrors the confidence of the Romans. Yet this self-assurance rarely, under the Republic at least, transformed into vanity and certainly not into a dubious concept like destiny. The Romans believed they would become greater and greater, but also believed in planning for this. So they painstakingly laid out a baffling network of structures across the Empire. This meticulousness is copied in the dense mat of facts which Livy rolls out.
All histories carry parallels and warnings about modern times. Rome under the Republic was an oligarchy not a democracy. It was also a rigidly stratified society which accepted slavery as a natural condition. But the extent to which they limited the potential power of any one individual was remarkable. The highest office, that of Consul, could only be held for a single year, was hemmed in by other institutions and was always shared with another Consul of equal rank. Compare that with the Emperors who came later, enjoying untrammelled authority and turning themselves into living gods; or even with our own presidents and prime ministers. One result was a dearth of hero-worship which puts our set-'em-up-and-knock-'em-down ethos to shame. Scipio Africanus, greatest general of the Republic, who defeated Hannibal and all his elephants to save Rome – even Scipio spent his last years pursued by an embezzlement charge. He just got off through the force of his reputation, and by dying rather opportunely, but it was a close thing. Livy seems both disapproving of this treatment and also rather awestruck that it was ever possible. We can link this restriction of the individual with the lack of personal vanity in politics, the faith in institutions rather than destiny. And also conclude that the approach was the right one. After all, the Emperors didn't build most of the Roman Empire. The legions of prosaic Consuls did that. Those flashy demi-gods we love so much just inherited it. And then let it, piece by piece, fall apart.
One of the central events in this volume of Livy is the Second Macedonian War. Threatened by the ambitious Philip of Macedon, the Greek states – nominally independent but clients of Rome – appealed for help. The fascinating part of the war isn't Livy's interminable accounts of the numerous battles but the aftermath of Rome's victory. It promptly withdrew all its legions and garrisons and gave the Greek towns their independence back. Livy is as entranced by this benevolence as the grateful Greeks. The propagandist in him coming to the fore, he doesn't mention the economic interests which Rome was protecting, nor their concerns that if Philip conquered Greece he would turn to Italy next. Nonetheless, you can only be so cynical about the event. Rome had performed an action atypical of any era. Starting a war to preserve another country's autonomy and not welching on the bargain afterwards.
It reminded me of America in World War II. They never really had to enter that conflict. Pearl Harbour could just as easily have frightened them into doing a deal with Hitler. They came to Britain's aid, though, and they liberated Western Europe and then they left again. Well, sort of. I wonder what would have happened if they had withdrawn as thoroughly as the Romans pulled out of Greece, if the Soviet Union had done likewise after emancipating Eastern Europe. It would probably still just have been a matter of time. After all, Rome's hold on its Greek clients grew firmer and firmer until they were just vassals in an empire. But maybe right now we wouldn't be where we are. With America convinced it has the right to do whatever it wants anywhere in the world, with all reason subordinate to the ideology of its greatness. Led by an enfeebled Senate and an Emperor of with the common sense of Caliglua and, on occasion, the sanity of Nero.
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