The Splendors and Miseries of Ruling Alone: Encounters with Monarchy from Archaic Greece to the Hellenistic Mediterranean [Illustrated] 3515102590, 9783515102599

Table of contents :
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CONTENTS
1 RULING ALONE: MONARCHY IN GREEK POLITICS AND THOUGHT
2 THE VICTORIOUS TYRANT: HIERON OF SYRACUSE IN THE EPINICIA OF PINDARAND BACCHYLIDES
3 TO DIE LIKE A TYRANT
4 THE VICTORIOUS KING: REFLECTIONS ON THE HELLENISTIC MONARCHY
5 AGATHOCLES AND HIERO II: TWO SOLE RULERS IN THE HELLENISTIC AGE AND THE QUESTION OF SUCCESSION
6 BECOMING KINGS: SPARTAN BASILEIA IN THE HELLENISTIC PERIOD
7 WRITING DOWN THE KING: THE COMMUNICATIVE FUNCTION OF TREATISES ON KINGSHIP IN THE HELLENISTIC PERIOD
8 THE CASTRATED KING, OR: THE EVERYDAY MONSTROSITY OF LATE HELLENISTIC KINGSHIP
9 BETWEEN HELLENISTIC MONARCHY AND JEWISH THEOCRACY: THE CONTESTED LEGITIMACY OF HASMONEAN RULE
NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS
INDEX NOMINUM
INDEX LOCORUM

Citation preview

Studies in Ancient Monarchies

The Splendors and Miseries of Ruling Alone Encounters with Monarchy from Archaic Greece to the Hellenistic Mediterranean Edited by Nino Luraghi

Ancient History Franz Steiner Verlag

The Splendors and Miseries of Ruling Alone Edited by Nino Luraghi

studies in ancient monarchies Edited by Ulrich Gotter (Konstanz), Nino Luraghi (Princeton) and Kai Trampedach (Heidelberg).

volume 1

The Splendors and Miseries of Ruling Alone Encounters with Monarchy from Archaic Greece to the Hellenistic Mediterranean Edited by Nino Luraghi

Franz Steiner Verlag

Umschlagabbildungen: Links: King Tiglath-pileser III of Assyria. Stone panel, ca. 728 BCE. From the Central Palace in Nimrud, now in the British Museum. © akg / Bible Land Pictures Mitte: Emperor Justinian. Mosaic, ca. 540 CE. Church of San Vitale, Ravenna. © akg / Bildarchiv Steffens Rechts: Alexander the Great at the Battle of Issos. Mosaic, ca. 100 BCE. From the Casa del Fauno, Pompeii, now in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli. © akg / Nimatallah Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek: Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über abrufbar. Dieses Werk einschließlich aller seiner Teile ist urheberrechtlich geschützt. Jede Verwertung außerhalb der engen Grenzen des Urheberrechtsgesetzes ist unzulässig und strafbar. © Franz Steiner Verlag, Stuttgart 2013 Druck: AZ Druck und Datentechnik GmbH, Kempten Gedruckt auf säurefreiem, alterungsbeständigem Papier. Printed in Germany. ISBN 978-3-515-10259-9

FOREWORD OF THE EDITORS Monarchy, that is, a political order characterized by a single ruler, was a common phenomenon in the ancient world. The way it was embedded in different cultures, however, varied greatly. Whereas in the Ancient Near East and in the Germanic kingdoms of Late Antiquity monarchy was the normal and accepted way of organizing political power, among the Greeks and Romans monarchic regimes were essentially precarious. They developed as secondary formations within political orders that were radically different and incompatible with monarchy in structural and normative terms, such as the Greek polis and the Roman respublica. These conditions, in turn, produced fundamental differences in the way monarchy was understood and represented in different cultural contexts and in different periods. Such differences can best be observed by way of historical comparison, which is the purpose of the series “Studies in Ancient Monarchies.” The series intends to include works that facilitate comparison by explicit recourse to methods from the social and literary sciences, discussing various different cases or focusing on one particular monarchy, in order to contribute to a broader debate on monarchy as a speciÀc phenomenon of ancient politics and culture. Ulrich Gotter Universität Konstanz

Nino Luraghi Princeton University

Kai Trampedach Ruprecht-Karls-Universität Heidelberg

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This book is the product of long-standing scholarly bonds. It was planned on the shores of the Bodensee, in the inspiring environment of Konstanz University and in cooperation with Ulrich Gotter, whose unfailing friendship and support over so many years made it possible for me to visit Konstanz many times and for longer periods, enjoying the collegiality and support of the History Department. The roots of the project however lie even deeper, in the time when most of the contributors were working in the Seminar für Alte Geschichte of Freiburg University. The inspirational mentorship of Hans-Joachim Gehrke provided a framework and a methodological model, and whatever homogeneity the book can claim patently derives from it. May this book be but a small acknowledgment of our intellectual and human debt to him. Four of the contributions have appeared before in other languages and in different forms: Chapter 3 is a revised translation of my ‘Il carnevale macabro, ovvero, morire da tiranno’, Annali di archeologia e storia antica 4 (1997), 53-68; Chapter 4 is a translation, with updates, of H.-J. Gehrke, ‘Der siegreiche König. Überlegungen zur Hellenistischen Monarchie’, Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 64 (1982), 247– 277; Chapter 5 is a revised translation of M. Haake, ‘Agathokles und Hieron II. Zwei basileis in hellenistischer Zeit und die Frage ihrer Nachfolge’, in V. Alonso Troncoso (ed.), ƋƐƈƋƖƝƖƙ ƚƎƙ ƉƈƙƐƒƌƐƈƙ. La Àgura del sucesor en la realeza helenística (= Gerión-Anejos 9), Madrid 2005, 153–175; Chapter 7 is an abridged and revised version of M. Haake, ‘Warum und zu welchem Ende schreibt man peri basileias? Überlegungen zum historischen Kontext einer literarischen Gattung im Hellenismus’, in K. Piepenbrink (ed.), Philosophie und Lebenswelt in der Antike, Darmstadt 2003, 83–138. Six chapters have been translated from the German: chapter 3 by Helen Imhoff (Dublin), chapters 4 and 8 by Stepehn Lake (Sidney) and myself, chapters 5 and 9 by Thomas Miller (Princeton) and chapter 7 by myself. Editorial work has been performed by Jessica Wright and Scarlett Kingsley (Princeton) and by Parsin KasheÀ-Matin (Konstanz). The index is the work of Emilio Capettini (Princeton). Funds for translations and editing have been provided by the Department of Classics of Princeton University and by the Exzellenzcluster 16 “Kulturelle Grundlagen von Integration” of Konstanz University: both institutions, as well as the translators and the editorial assistants, are thankfully acknowledged. Matthias Haake, Kai Trampedach, Ulrich Gotter and myself carried out research for this project while at the Kulturwissenschaftliches Kolleg Konstanz, which provided invaluable peace, intellectual stimulation, and collegiality; the colleagues that overlapped with us and especially the staff of the Kolleg deserve our deepest gratitude.

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Acknowledgments

Finally, Katharina Stüdemann of Steiner Verlag supported this project from the very beginning with unfailing enthusiasm and patience, without both of which this enterprise would have not been possible. Nino Luraghi Princeton, September 2012

CONTENTS 1. Ruling alone: Monarchy in Greek Politics and Thought .................................................. Nino Luraghi

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2. The Victorious Tyrant: Hieron of Syracuse in the Epinicia of Pindar and Bacchylides.................. Christian Mann

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3. To Die like a Tyrant ................................................................................... Nino Luraghi

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4. The Victorious King: Reflections on the Hellenistic Monarchy ................................................... Hans-Joachim Gehrke

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5. Agathocles and Hiero II: Two Sole Rulers in the Hellenistic Age and the Question of Succession .. Matthias Haake

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6. Becoming Kings: Spartan Basileia in the Hellenistic Period .................................................. 129 D. Alexander Walthall 7. Writing down the King: The Communicative Function of Treatises On Kingship in the Hellenistic Period ................................................................................. 165 Matthias Haake 8. The Castrated King, or: The Everyday Monstrosity of Late Hellenistic Kingship ..................... 207 Ulrich Gotter 9. Between Hellenistic Monarchy and Jewish Theocracy: The Contested Legitimacy of Hasmonean Rule......................................... 231 Kai Trampedach Index nominum ............................................................................................... 263 Index locorum ................................................................................................. 273

1 RULING ALONE: MONARCHY IN GREEK POLITICS AND THOUGHT Nino Luraghi Archaic Greek tyrants, Spartan basileis and Hellenistic kings are not often dealt with in the same book – except for general handbooks of Greek history, that is. Division of labor among scholars certainly plays a role, but more decisive is the widespread idea that these political regimes have so little in common, that no comparative discussion can be really fruitful – an idea that derives essentially from views expressed in the works of ancient (mostly Greek) authors. The present book is meant to challenge this notion. Common to all the contributions is an approach to the evidence that derives its categories and concepts from modern social and political science rather than from ancient literature. The various political regimes that are investigated in the contributions that comprise this book are all seen as particular species of one and the same kind of political order. Such order could be called monarchy if the word could be counted upon to convey only its etymological meaning. But the use of the word ‘monarchy’ in modern history, in its various transliterations from the Greek monarchia, has made it semantically inseparable from the Àeld of ‘king’ and ‘kingship,’ with all sorts of connotations that would be anachronistic and/or misleading when applied to ancient Greece. Accordingly, we have made recourse to periphrases such as ‘sole rulership’ or ‘ruling alone’ in order to convey the meaning of what in German would be called Alleinherrschaft. Conceptual clarity is not the only consideration that recommends such an approach. To be sure, the danger of inadvertently mixing or hybridizing ancient and modern political concepts and categories is a constant threat to any study of Greek political thought and practice, one of which all the authors in this book are well aware. However, one result that we hope will emerge clearly from the contributions here assembled is that a comparative approach to various forms of sole rulership, as practiced, suffered, or imagined by the Greeks, brings to light an essentially unitary notion, that pervades the whole trajectory of Greek culture, surely not without changes and dynamism, but with a surprising degree of consistency over time. Fundamental to such notion was the inherent lack of legitimacy of sole rulership in Greek eyes. Of course, the Greeks did not fail to notice that sole rulers were a widespread phenomenon, especially in the Eastern Mediterranean and beyond, and they realized that such rulers, apart from exceptions caused by speciÀc circumstances, were seen as legitimate by their subjects. This situation however was for them a by-product of the more general difference between themselves and all the others, the people they called barbaroi. Accepting to be subject to a sole ruler was one of

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the most important aspects of the otherness of the barbaroi. On the contrary, ruling alone over a political community of Greeks could be construed as desirable for the ruler – most of the time it was indeed construed in such terms1 – but not as acceptable for the subjects. Archesthai, to be ruled over, was tolerable only insofar as it constituted a preparation for archein, ruling over others. In the whole of Greek literature until the end of the Hellenistic period one would be very hard pressed to Ànd a single statement to the effect that it is a good thing for a community of politai to be ruled over by an individual – as opposed, of course, to the idea, more frequent among oligarchs, that it was good for an army to be lead by one single commander, which is obviously a different thing. To put this in general terms, we could say that the very notion of an individual ruler clashed with non-negotiable portions of the system of values and norms that characterize Greek political culture. The polis constituted itself by acknowledging, or creating, a sphere of shared interest on which shared operative decisions were made in public – by bringing decisional power es to meson, as the Greeks said.2 Individual decisions binding for the whole political community and subtracted to the public eye were therefore doubly inacceptable. Furthermore, the polis was an environment of relatively Áat hierarchies with a strong underlying current of egalitarianism that undermined the sharp and steep hierarchical boundary that separates the sole ruler from his subjects.3 The idea of a supremely virtuous and superhumanly perfect sole ruler could be formulated only paradoxically as a political utopia, and the very thinkers who formulated it make it as clear as it can possibly be that they did not consider it desirable, let alone practicable. However, this theoretical notion chimes with and points to a central aspect of the historical experience of the Greeks with sole rulers. If individual power could not be construed as traditional or rational, it is clear that the only possible window of legitimacy for this kind of political order in the framework of Greek political culture has to be looked for in the general area of what Weber called charismatic rule. In other words, the logic of the system would lead us to expect that individual rulers, real or imaginary, could be seen as legitimate, if at all, only based on speciÀc characteristics inherent to the single individual. Historical evidence, such as it is for the several periods, appears fully to conÀrm this prediction, and actually makes it possible to Áesh it out with details, sharpening in various ways the category, which has a dangerous built-in tendency to evolve into a catch-all,4 and making it possible to sketch a history of sole rulership in the political practice and imagination of the Greeks. The purpose of this introduction is to offer the reader a way of appreciating the several contributions that comprise this book as chapters of a coherent story – coherent in both historical and sociological terms.

1 2 3 4

See Connor 1977, 98–99. For a memorable discussion of the political meaning of this spatial metaphor, see Vernant 1962. See e. g. Aristot. Pol. 5.10.1313a3–10 with the comments of Carlier 1984, 513. As remarked by Gotter 2008.

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1. THE SHADOW OF THE BASILEUS AND THE MASK OF THE TURANNOS Many modern reconstructions of the political world of early Greece, between the end of the Dark Ages and the eighth century BCE, follow a story-pattern that speaks of the progressive loss of power of royal dynasties that had hitherto ruled over the several poleis and of their replacement by political regimes of an oligarchic type – which modern scholars tend to call aristocracies.5 This pattern derives directly from Greek historiography. It may have originated in the late Àfth century and was certainly widely accepted by the middle of the fourth. The rulers who were replaced by the new-style regimes are called basileis. Whatever this consensus was based upon, it cannot have been supported by what we would call reliable historical evidence. During the Àfth century, when Greek intellectuals Àrst sat down to write in prose about the past, all they could rely upon as far as the early archaic period was concerned was oral tradition – rich, meaningful, aesthetically pleasing, but utterly unreliable beyond a span of about a century.6 Archaic lyric poetry, that started being exploited as historical evidence during the fourth century, did not reach back in time beyond the middle of the seventh, quite apart from offering very fragmentary and occasionally misleading information.7 Inscriptions, too, proved helpful only for the more recent portion of the archaic period.8 Indeed, the difference in quantity and quality between what Herodotus can tell about the period from Croesus onwards and about earlier times is too evident to require elaboration. The fact that, during the fourth century, such a difference tended to diminish, without actually ever disappearing completely, should if anything caution the modern reader against the all-too-often accepted assumption that later authors did nothing but report what they had read in the works of earlier colleagues.9 The plausibility, for ancient and modern audiences, of this story-pattern, which was replicated in a rather similar way in the case of the transition from monarchy to 5

6 7

8 9

For an authoritative formulation of this view, which can be found in countless narratives of early archaic history, even though it appears to be less popular in recent decades, see Busolt 1920, 340–344. It is laid out in the most detailed fashion in Carlier 1984. The modern concept of aristocracy, when applied to archaic Greece, corresponds roughly to the self-perception of the Greek ruling elites as articulated in archaic and early-classical poetry (and laid out magisterially by Fraenkel 1969); as such, it refers to a system of values and ideals and a life-style, not to an identiÀable subsection of the citizen body. For the sake of clarity, it is best avoided. ‘Oligarchy’ is more descriptive and accordingly less ambiguous. On the expression of social differentiation in archaic Greek society, see now Duplouy 2006. On this, the standard works of reference remain Murray 1987 and Thomas 1989. Finley 1965, rather more skeptical, is still well worth reading. The use of archaic lyric poetry as historical evidence by Greek historians awaits a systematic investigation; prominent cases should include Solon and Tyrtaeus. For the pitfalls involved in using this kind of evidence, see the comments of Strabo on Tyrtaeus in Strab. 8.4.10. On the use of inscriptions by Greek historians, see various contributions in Biraschi et al. 2003. Exemplary on this point the observations of Murray 1992, 50–51 on the development of the legend of Phalaris in the fourth century.

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republic in Rome, is somewhat surprising. The replacement of monarchy by an oligarchy, without external intervention, is not exactly a very common occurrence in the annals of world history. Weak monarchs who are in effect controlled by groups of nobles of course are, but this is a rather different matter. One would be tempted to say that lack of direct experience with monarchy is almost a necessary precondition for this story to have been seen as plausible by the Greeks – but this conclusion would side-step the issue. Rather, it is necessary Àrst to address an obvious historical question: if the commonly agreed-upon reconstruction of the early basileis was not based on historical evidence, what was it based upon? And here, a tentative answer can be formulated. Two main factors may have plaid a role. First, and in some ways less momentous, was the idea, fairly widespread among the Greeks from the second half of the Àfth century onwards, that the barbaroi represented, especially in political terms, a less developed stage in a general scheme of evolution that potentially applied to the whole of the human race. In this framework, it was easy to think that the present of the barbaroi, characterized by the omnipresence of monarchy, corresponded to the past of the Greeks. But much more important must have been the reading of epic poetry, and especially of the Iliad and the Odyssey, as historical evidence, which was commonplace for the Greeks. The political world of the Iliad and the Odyssey was dominated by rulers, who most of the time act in the poems in their quality of military leaders, called basileis or more rarely anaktes. Ever since Moses Finley argued that the social conÀguration depicted in the poems was sociologically plausible and reÁected the situation of Dark Age Greece, scholars have been debating the role of the basileis, occasionally bringing in parallels from social anthropology.10 By far the most detailed and most persuasive scrutiny of the evidence, done by Pierre Carlier, has pointed to a series of incontrovertible facts: wherever we can tell, the power of the basileis was hereditary; it is often referred to by metonymy with the word geras, indicating a privileged share or portion of land or revenues that the subjects grant to the basileus; when it comes to making operative decisions, there is a strong expectation that the king will conspicuously seek the advice of the most authoritative members of the community and the approval of the people, but he is ultimately in charge and can go against both if he so wishes.11 In reference to this last aspect, Egon Flaig speaks appropriately of a consensus-based system.12 Carlier insists that the right name for Homeric basileis is ‘king’, and he is certainly right as long as this translation is applied to the single basileus who holds the scepter in his community.13 The problem is, however, that the world depicted in epic poetry is inhabited also by another sort of basileus, who appears in the plural, forming a council of sorts that advises the basileus in the singular. The basileis in 10 11 12 13

Finley 1954. For possible parallels to the basileis taken from social anthropology, see especially Qviller 1981, Ulf 1990, 95–125, and the criticism of Carlier 1996, 5-11. See Carlier 1984, 151–177. See Flaig 1994 and Raaflaub 1997, 15–16. Notice however that Carlier’s position has become more nuanced with time; in Carlier 1996, 19 ‘roi’ is the ‘moins mauvaise’ translation of basileus.

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the plural can also be called gerontes, the elders.14 The presence of the basileis surrounding the basileus is much more than a problem of terminology, for what monarchy can exist that does not have different names for the king and his nobles? Tellingly, other scholars, most prominently Kurt RaaÁaub, have been inclined to regard the parallel presence of the basileus in the singular and of the basileis in the plural as an anachronism, interpreting the former as a reÁection of the political situation of the end of the Dark Ages and the latter as the prototype of the oligarchies of the early archaic period.15 RaaÁaub’s understanding of the basileis is supported by the appearance of the word, in the plural, as indicating a ruling elite in Hesiod’s poems, commonly dated somewhere between the end of the eighth and the Àrst half of the seventh century BCE.16 However, it cannot be denied that this solution silently gives up Finley’s axiom of the coherence of Homeric society and thereby undermines the whole conceptual ediÀce. And yet, this is obviously the way to go. In order to support the notion of the historicity of the Homeric society, it is necessary to leave out of the picture the actual nature of the poems as we understand it – poetic texts, in the Àrst place, and the product of a long process of creative and transformative transmission, whose roots are usually and with good reason thought to go back to the Bronze Age. It is surely correct to expect that the poems would make sense to their Greek audiences in terms of the values they promoted and the patterns of behavior they displayed – for that matter, they never really ceased to do so. But there is no methodology that makes it possible to distil a history of political institutions out of them. Considering that monarchy appears to have been the political focus of Late Bronze Age Greece, it seems hard to escape the conclusion that Homer’s individual basileis are to be regarded as a pale and garbled reminiscence of Mycenaean anakes, as they appear to have been called: in other words, monarchy featured in the imaginary world the poets sung, not in the real one the poets inhabited.17 This conclusion, however, is relevant only for a modern history of Greek political institutions, because it is crystal clear that, from as early as we can tell, Greek historians and philosophers took Homeric monarchy seriously and tried to make sense of it by establishing a relation with what they were familiar with, i. e. the prevalence of oligarchies in archaic Greece. The main question they needed to answer was, where had the Homeric basileus gone, and the replacement of monarchy by oligarchy was their answer, an elegantly economic one, facilitated by the fact 14 15 16 17

The evidence is collected and discussed by Carlier 1984, 145–150. Raaflaub 1991, 235–236. See again Raaflaub 1991, 230–233. Hesiod’s basileis get short shrift in Carlier 1984, 411– 412. On this, I cannot but subscribe to Kurt RaaÁaub’s conclusion: “… by the time of Homer and Hesiod the option of establishing a real monarchy, if it ever existed, was long gone. Accordingly, in archaic Greece there never was a ‘monarchy’ properly speaking; ‘kings’ did not disappear, they never existed, and thus the traditional terminology (‘kings’, ‘kingship’, ‘monarchy’) should be eliminated from our books.” (Raaflaub 1993, 79). On the nature of Mycenaean monarchy and the political structure of the Mycenaean world, see Shelmerdine 2008, esp. 292–293 with further references.

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that Homeric monarchy itself did not look like a particularly strong regime, given all the limits posed by the elite to the power of the king. In the end, a strict analysis of the political prerogatives of the heroic basileus brought Aristotle to the conclusion that his was no real monarchy, but little more that a life-long generalship.18 In the meantime however, the social and political model depicted in the epic poems had impacted Greek political culture in more ways than one. Apart from suggesting a trajectory for the development of political institutions, it offered a possibility to construe monarchic power as traditional, and thereby as in some sense legitimate.19 It is telling that such offer was not taken advantage of except by the tyrants.20 It may however be worth entertaining the possibility that the emergence of Spartan double-basileia, a rather puzzling political construct, may be seen as a case of activating the potential of the Iliad and Odyssey as repositories of political tradition.21 Modern explanations usually tend to presuppose that the double-basileia was made inevitable by some special circumstance, such as the merging of two originally independent political entities into early Lakedaimon, but this notion, apart from explaining obscurum per obscurius, sits uncomfortably with the insistent presence of the symbolism of the twins in association to the Spartan basileis.22 It may be worth exploring the idea that the main and obvious consequence of having two basileis at the same time, i. e. the fact that neither one of them would be able to rule, was also the reason why the double-basileia was introduced in the Àrst place: a pseudo-conservative measure, very much in keeping with Spartan constitutional thought as we know it.23 The pervasive analogies between the privileges of the Spartan basileis and those of the Homeric kings, as well as the relationship between basileis and gerontes both in Homer and at Sparta, support this line of thought. It would not be the only case of invention of tradition in Spartan constitutional history.24 Ultimately, the emergence of double-basileia, like most things to do with the Spartan constitution, can only be the object of speculation. All that can be said is 18 19

20 21 22 23 24

See especially the conclusion of the comparative considerations in Pol. 3.1285b33–1286a9: only pambasileia is really a politeia. Not a very strong one, however, because epic poetry is extremely poor when it comes to articulating an ideology of monarchic power. Sure enough, Homeric basileis received their scepter from Zeus, but this put them only a little above any highborn Greek, considering how widespread divine or heroic descent was, and in any case, divine support had a negligible role in the political imagination of the Greeks. The few passages from the Iliad that point to the rightfulness and desirability of the leadership of the basileus actually refer to leadership in war. In the end, together with problems of genre and tradition, it is probably the ambiguity of the relation between basileus and basileis that undermined the possibility for epic poetry to convey an ideology of sole rulership. See esp. Catenacci 1996, 132. Carlier 1984, 240–324 offers by far the most detailed discussion – almost a small monograph. Among the more recent contributions, see Cartledge 2001. See Carlier 1984, 299–301 and 309–310. As a parallel, consider the origin of the ‘Great rhetra’ as reconstructed by Nafissi 2010. On the role of double-basileia in limiting the power of the ruler, see Carlier 1984, 309. For a comprehensive discussion of this phenomenon, see Flower 2002.

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that before the Hellenistic period the Spartan basileis resembled rulers only when they were on campaign, and not at all when at home in Sparta. We reach a Àrmer ground as we move to what was, according to the reconstruction presented here, the real Àrst appearance of sole rulership in archaic Greece. With the seventh century, in the cultural climate dominated by contact with the Eastern Mediterranean and the Near East, a new kind of ruler emerged in the Greek world. His name, turannos, most likely derived from an Anatolian language – once again, not really a Greek word.25 Later authors depict him as an autocratic ruler who seized power by ruse and/or force, opposed by the whole of the citizen body and supported almost exclusively by outsiders, preferably foreign mercenaries. Unrestrained violence, that could be thought of as performed or suffered by the turannos, points to a perceptions of this regime as involving a radical abolition of social order, a veritable return from culture to nature for the political community.26 By the time of the Persian Wars, almost all of the most prominent among the Greek poleis had been for some period of time ruled by a turannos, and in many cases by a short dynasty – usually no more than three generations. From the middle of the Àfth century onwards, turannoi became extremely rare, especially in mainland Greece, and only in the third century they experienced a real comeback. During the Àfth and fourth centuries, coming to terms, usually in retrospect, with this form of rule gave the Greeks’ ideas about sole rulership their most characteristic features. From the very beginning, however, the position of the turannos is seen in an ambiguous light, as something worth aspiring to, but at the same time highly objectionable.27 Our earliest authorities, Greek lyric poets who were at the same time members of the political elite, are so busy conveying all sorts of connotations associated with the turannos, that they fail to explain in any way what was the source of his power. Becoming a turannos brings great wealth, but also great danger (Solon fr. 33 West2). Only a political community that is out of its collective mind can accept to live under one (Alcaeus fr. 348 Voigt). His rule is inseparably associated with hubris (Solon fr. 32 West2). With a remarkable consistency, the Greek political imagination outlined a standard portrait of the turannos, a particular type of man characterized by a typical selection of vices: cunning, cruel, greedy, but also sexually incontinent, annoyed by Áattery but incapable of tolerating free speech. In many ways, this portrait can be said to be psychological rather than political. In order to illustrate it, examples could be picked from Sophocles, Herodotus, Aristotle or almost any other Greek author.28 The Greek discourse of tyranny hides more than it reveals, but of course, its very silences are themselves revealing. Its most obvious blindspot covers almost completely the question of how and why a signiÀcant part of the citizen body decided to support such an obviously despicable ruler, a question urged on the modern 25 26 27 28

See Pintore 1983, so far mostly ignored by ancient historians, and now Uchitel 2007. On the political background, see also Pintore 1979. As I try to show in my contribution to the present volume. In relation to a later period, such ambiguity is explored in Trampedach 2006. Luraghi 2013.

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observer by the very frequency of turannoi in Greek history. The insistence on the matchless cunning of the turannos, which may at Àrst sight seem like a loophole in his all-round negative image, was clearly a way of addressing this question. Few chances are left for the modern enquirer to go beyond the tight web of the discourse of tyranny as transmitted by Greek authors. However, in the only case where this is possible in a sustained way what we see is what we would expect: Christian Mann’s scrutiny of praise poetry commissioned by turannoi shows them projecting an image of legitimacy with a modicum of pseudo-traditional elements linked to the image of the Homeric basileus and a much heavier dose of charisma, derived from the central symbols of Greek social ideology, such as personal excellence and justice.29

2. THE CLOVEN RULER: IMAGINING THE GOOD BASILEUS One key aspect of the Greek discourse of tyranny is its irresistible cultural plausibility. Epic poetry, with its remarkable social authority, could only support an ideology of social excellence – which is precisely what it did. It could not however offer an alternative way of thinking and talking about sole rulership: on this, the discourse of tyranny had no alternatives. It provided metaphors that could be applied to all sorts of relationships characterized by ruthless domination, from interstate politics to imbalance among the elements that compose the human body.30 The dominance of the discourse of tyranny underpins the golden age of Greek political thought, from the Peloponnesian War to the age of Alexander the Great and surfaces in paradoxical ways – most strikingly, in the way Greek political theorists tried to come to terms with the problem of the good monarch. In the course of the fourth century, the systematic needs of an accepted typology of political orders, together with historical circumstances that could not be ignored, increasingly drew the attention to this conceptual problem.31 Already the three-fold typology inherited from the Àfth century – democracy, oligarchy, tyranny – carried the implicit problem of distinguishing good from bad forms. If there was a good and a bad democracy, there had to be some sort of good counterpart to tyranny. The Àrst formulation of the concept of the good monarch, who took the expected name of basileus, may go back to Socrates.32 After his death, it appears that the men who aspired to be recognized as the most prominent representatives of his school were competing 29 30

For the connection between charisma and central symbolic complexes, see Shils 1965. On the tyrant-polis and in general on tyranny as a metaphor for imperial domination, see Tuplin 1985 and Raaflaub 1979. Monarchia is used as a metaphor for disease, seen as the lack of equilibrium between elements in the human body (called isonomia), in Alcmaeon fr. B 4 DK; see Triebel-Schubert 1980, 40–44 with further references; for a more comprehensive approach to the use of metaphors derived from the political space to describe the universe, see Vernant 1962, 119–130. 31 On the interest in monarchy of early-fourth century thinkers and its roots, see Bertelli 2002, 17–20. 32 At any rate, a version of it is attributed to Socrates by Xenophon, Mem. 4.6.12; see Luccioni 1953, 145–146.

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with each other to deal with this topic in as many different ways as possible – Xenophon wrote treatises that dealt in various ways with tyranny, Persian monarchy, and Spartan basileia.33 The urgency of the problem is visible also in Isocrates’ speeches dealing with the kings of Salamis on Cyprus, Evagoras and his son Nicocles.34 Even now, however, the only angle from which the problem of the good ruler could be approached was the discourse of tyranny. This is proved by the fact, pointed out by Matthias Haake, that the image of the good basileus was created by simply turning as many of the vices of the turannos as one could think of into their opposites. This can be seen already in its very Àrst formulation. The good king possibly envisioned by Socrates, or else by Xenophon, was literally a mirror image of the tyrant: the one ruled according to the laws and in the interest of his subjects, the other against the laws and in his own interest.35 Again, the logic of monarchy as a political order failed to become a topic, and within the Greek world the good basileus remained an imaginary creature whose features were not based on the empirical observation of political practice. He could take the paradoxical features of Plato’s philosopher king, the only being wise enough to sustain the enormous pressure of sole rulership without being corrupted by it, or those of Aristotle’s pambasileus, a self-confessed political utopia. The problem was that no historical example of a single ruler who had ever ruled over a polis could be exculpated from the latent accusation of tyranny, with all that went with it. The Greeks, even the most learned among them, could think of very many turannoi but of no single case of a good basileus. No revision of the image of the turannos was really undertaken. Rather, such image was enriched of vivid and striking touches that only reinforced its semantics – and one thinks of the werewolf imagery that Plato applied to the turannos in his Republic (8.565d). The new positive image of sole rulership was so utterly divorced from any obvious practical application, at least as far as the political world of the poleis was concerned, that one is left wondering what was the real root of the interest it awoke among Athenian philosophers, and the meaning of such interest. If we do not think that the good basileus was a projection of political symmetry, which on the face of it does not sound like a very satisfactory explanation, we are left considering what was the actual thrust of meditating about the qualities that made a good ruler. Surely we need to recognize that different authors approached the problem for different reasons and with different purposes, and the character of thought experiments of many of the works we are dealing with may discourage the attempt at looking for 33 34 35

Gray 2010 provides a comprehensive analysis of Xenophon’s ideas on leadership as articulated in his various writings. On Isocrates’ Cypriot speeches, see Eucken 1983, 213–269; on Isocrates’ ideas on monarchy, Bertelli 2002, 20–27. Interestingly, the fact that the image of the good king in Greek thought derived from that of the tyrant was perfectly clear for a scholar familiar with Near Eastern traditions of kingship: see Pintore 1983, 319–321 (see esp. the summation at 321: “ci pare scontato che una simile immagine di basileus non può essere stata suggerita né dalla realtà né dall’ideologia di nessuna monarchia, antica o coeva, occidentale o orientale che fosse.”).

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their roots in the real world. It can be said, however, that common to most of these reÁections on the good autocrat was an underlying notion that power should rest in the hands of those who know how to wield it,36 a notion that underpinned Athenian oligarchic thought from the generation of Critias and Socrates onwards. After all Plato, who in the ideal world imagined the rule of the philosopher-king, in the real world was an oligarch: the relative ranking of Spartan and Athenian constitutions in Book VIII of the Republic leaves no doubt at to his sympathies.

3. THE RISE AND FALL OF THE VICTORIOUS KING In the last decades of the fourth century reality caught up with imagination. Philip of Macedon had already done a great deal to compel the Greeks to think about monarchy in more concrete terms, and his son reinforced the trend. At his death, Alexander left behind no viable heir to his throne, but within twenty years the Eastern Mediterranean was full of basileis of Macedonian non-royal stock. The alienizing strategy employed by the Argeads to protect the boundary between royal blood and the Macedonian nobility created a gaping vacuum of legitimacy once the last drop of royal blood had been spilled with the murder of Alexander’s infant son.37 The new rulers who divided among themselves Alexander’s empire, had no traditional claim to legitimacy, and accordingly produced one based on the only available foundation, charisma – as brilliantly shown by Hans-Joachim Gehrke in his pathbreaking essay re-published in the present book. Theirs were reigns that had no existence independent of the monarch – tellingly, the word that in the speech of the time comes closest to the meaning of ‘kingdom’ is ta pragmata. Restless activity, especially of the military kind, was imperative. Only personal achievement proved that the basileus was indeed a basileus. Taming these new-fangled rulers with the instruments of Greek political discourse, without giving up any of its key values, was a challenge. Fourth-century reÁection on monarchy had generated discursive offers that could be put to a good use under different circumstances. In his Hiero, an imaginary dialogue between the tyrant Hiero of Syracuse and the poet Simonides, Xenophon had imagined the poet, acting as a wise adviser, telling the unhappy turannos that he could transform himself into a beloved, and thereby happy ruler by exploiting his absolute supremacy in terms of power and wealth in order to become the greatest benefactor of his fellowcitizens.38 It is more than doubtful that such a scheme could ever have been successful in a polis, considering the social pressure generated by unreciprocated ben-

36 37

38

A theme worked out in detail in Plato’s Statesman. Ever since the Àfth century, the royal dynasty of Macedon had set itself apart from the nobility by promoting a genealogy that made it originate from the Heraclidae of Argos; see already Hdt. 5.22. On the transmission of the throne inside the Argead royal clan, see now Anson 2009, esp. 278–281. On the options of positive rulership outlined in Xenophon’s Hiero, see Gray 1986 and Leppin 2010.

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efactions in what was notionally a community of peers. If the ruler was external to the political community, however, the scheme could have some advantages: extraordinary benefaction offered a protocol for the polis to communicate with the basileus. The general phenomenon whereby the language used by the poleis to communicate with the new-style basileis was essentially the one formulated by fourthcentury political writers, foremost among them Isocrates, has been noticed by scholars long ago.39 In essence, this same language was also inÁected in a new literary genre that had the primary function of domesticating monarchy in the framework of Greek political culture, the treatises peri basileias analyzed by Matthias Haake. Again, the focus of these treatises was the idealized image of the good king, outlined according to a very traditionally Greek social morality and constantly accompanied by its evil twin the turannos, while the institutional aspects of monarchy remained in the shadow.40 In the symbolic communication of which the treatises were part, the basileus, by accepting the frank advise provided by the philosopher, proved himself to be a basileus and not a turannos.41 In light of this, it comes as no surprise that, at least in the third century, the political language of the Greek polis appears to have treated basileus as an epithet, not as descriptive term. Enemy kings could be denied the royal title in the same breath as friendly basileis were praised for their good character, reÁected in beneÀcial actions.42 The empirical existence of Greek-speaking, quasi-Greek basileis who, while not ruling in a polis, dominated many poleis, had a surprising effect on Greek political practice. The new form of monarchy attracted like an ideological magnet older systems of power, offering a template for transformation. The history of tyranny in Syracuse, from Agathocles to Hiero II, investigated by Matthias Haake, provides a fascinating case-study of turannoi morphing into basileis, adopting the ideological trappings of Hellenistic monarchy, including the foundational role attributed to success on the battleÀeld and the organization of a legitimate succession. In Sparta, where pairs of basileis had existed for centuries, from the end of the fourth century we increasingly encounter cases in which one of them assumed a dominant position, acting for all intents and purposes as the sole basileus of Sparta. Under the leadership of the likes of Areus I, Cleomenes III, and Nabis, traditional Spartan double-basileia assumed the features of charismatic monarchy, as shown by Alex Walthall. Later in the Hellenistic period, the model of the victorious king came to be hybridized with indigenizing strategies, as showed by Ulrich Gotter in

39 40 41

42

See Heuss 1954, 75–76, Walbank 1984, 75–76. See the very instructive thematic breakdown of the Letter of Aristeas, a text from Ptolemaic Egypt, in Bertelli 2002, 34–42. See Murray 1998, 263. Needless to say, this way of demonstrating royalty was located in a different Àeld from that of military victory, and addressed a different implied audience (although, interestingly, often the same real audience). See e. g. the famous decree for Callias of Sphettos, SEG 28.60, where Ptolemy Soter and Ptolemy Philadelphos are both called basileus, while Demetrius Poliorcetes appears without any epithet.

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the cases of Antiochus of Commagene and Mithradates, and exported with mixed success, as in the case of the Hasmonaeans investigated by Kai Trampedach. The most fundamental feature of charismatic rule is its instability. Dynasties of archaic turannoi almost never went beyond the third generation. Hellenistic dynasties survived much longer, and in order to do so, they were partly transformed into traditional systems of rule, with rules of succession and inherited legitimacy. The transformation however was never complete, and personal qualities and especially military success remained a vital source of legitimacy, especially in times of crisis, which could not but create a strong pressure on the rulers once the Romans started exerting their stabilizing inÁuence in the Hellenistic world of the Eastern Mediterranean. The frantic search for alternative sources of charisma by late Hellenistic rulers laid out by Ulrich Gotter and culminating in the ethnic cleansing of the Province of Asia provides an impressive conclusion to the trajectory of monarchy in the Greek world – a consistent trajectory, characterized by the absence of the fundamental notions that underpin monarchic orders of a more stable nature. BIBLIOGRAPHY Anson, E. 2009: Philip II, Amyntas Perdicca, and Macedonian Royal Succession, Historia 58, 276–286. Bertelli, L. 2002: Peri basileias: I trattati sulla regalità dal IV secolo a. C. agli apocriÀ pitagorici, in P. Bettiolo and G. Filoramo (eds.), Il dio mortale. Teologie politiche tra antico e contemporaneo, Brescia, 17–61. Biraschi, A. et al. 2003: (eds.) L’uso dei documenti nella storiograÀa antica. Atti del convegno di Gubbio, 22–24 maggio 2001, Napoli. Busolt, G. 1920: Griechische Staatskunde, third edition, volume 1, Munich. Carlier, P. 1984: La Royauté en Grèce avant Alexandre, Strasbourg 1996: Les basileis homériques sont-ils des rois? Ktema 21, 5–22. Cartledge, P. C. 2001: The Spartan Kingship: Doubly Odd? in Id., Spartan ReÁections, London, 55–67. Catenacci, C. 1996: Il tiranno e l’eroe. Per un’archeologia del potere nella Grecia antica, Milan. Connor, W. R. 1977: Tyrannis Polis, in J. H. D’Arms and J. W. Eadie (eds.), Ancient and modern: Essays in Honor of Gerald F. Else, Ann Arbor, 95–109. Duplouy, A. 2006: Le Prestige des élites: recherches sur les modes de reconnaissance sociale en Grèce entre les Xe et Ve siècles avant J.-C., Paris. Eucken, C. 1983: Isocrates. Seine Positionen in der Auseinandersetzung mit den zeitgenößischen Philosophen, Berlin and New York. Finley, M. 1954: The World of Odysseus, New York (second, revised edition: 1977). 1965: Myth, Memory and History, History & Theory 4, 281–302 (reprinted in Id., The Uses and Abuses of History, London 1977).

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Flaig, E. 1994: Das Konsensprinzip im homerischen Olymp. Überlegungen zum Entscheidungsprozeß in Ilias 4. 1–72, Hermes 122, 13–31. Flower, M. 2002: The Invention of Tradition in Classical and Hellenistic Sparta, in A. Powell and S. Hodkinson (eds.), Sparta: Beyond the Mirage, Swansea, 193–219. Fraenkel, H. 1969: Dichtung und Philosophie des frühen Griechentums. Eine Geschichte der griechischen Epik, Lyrik und Prosa bis zur Mitte des fünften Jahrhunderts, third revised edition, Munich. Gotter, U. 2008: Die Nemesis des Allgemein-Gültigen. Max Webers Charisma-Konzept und die antiken Monarchien, in P. Rychterová, S. Seit, and R. Veit (eds.), Das Charisma. Funktionen und symbolische Repräsentationen, Berlin, 173–186. Gray, V. 1986: Xenophon’s Hiero and the meeting of the wise man and tyrant in Greek literature, CQ 36, 115–123. 2010: Xenophon’s Mirror of Princes: Reading the ReÁections, Oxford. Heuss, A. 1946: Die archaische Zeit Griechenlands als geschichtliche Epoche, A&A 2, 26–62. 1954: Alexander der Grosse und die politische Ideologie des Altertums, A&A 4, 65–104. Leppin, H. 2010: Xenophons Hieron: Überlegungen zur Geschichte des monarchischen Denkens im klassischen Athen, in B. Linke, M. Meier, M. Strothmann (eds.), Zwischen Monarchie und Republik. Gesellschaftliche Stabilisierungsleistungen und politische Transformationspotentiale in den antiken Staaten (Historia Einzelschrift 217), 77–89. Luccioni, J. 1953: Xénophon et le Socratisme, Paris. Luraghi, N. 2013: Anatomy of the monster: the discourse of tyranny in ancient Greece, in H. Börm (ed.), Antimonarchic Discourses in Antiquity, SAM 2, Stuttgart. Murray, O. 1987: Herodotus and oral history, in H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg and A. Kuhrt (eds.), Achaemenid History, II, The Greek Sources, 93–115. Leiden, reprinted with additions in N. Luraghi (ed.), The Historian’s Craft in the Age of Herodotus, Oxford 2001, 16–44. 1992: Falaride tra mito e storia, in L. Braccesi and E. De Miro (eds.), Agrigento e la Sicilia greca (Atti della Settimana di studio, Agrigento maggio 1988), Rome, 47–60. 1998: Modello biograÀco e modello di regalità, in S. Settis (ed.), I Greci. Storia, arte, cultura, società, 2.III, Trasformazioni, Torino, 249–269. Nafissi, M. 2010: The Great rhetra (Plut. Lyc. 6): a retrospective and intentional construct?, in L. Foxhall, H.-J. Gehrke, and N. Luraghi (eds.), Intentional History: Spinning Time, Stuttgart, 89–119. Pintore, F. 1979: Tarwanis, in O. Carruba (ed.), Studia mediterranea Piero Meriggi dicata, Pavia, 473– 494. 1983: Seren, tarwanis, tyrannos, in O. Carruba, M. Liverani and C. Zaccagnini (eds.), Studi orientalistici in ricordo di Franco Pintore, Pavia, 285–322. Qviller, B. 1981: The Dynamics of the Homeric Society, SO 56, 109–155. Raaflaub, K. A. 1979: Polis Tyrannos: Zur Entstehung einer politischen Metapher, in G. W. Bowersock, W. Burkert and M. C. J. Putnam (eds.), Arktouros: Hellenic studies presented to Bernard M. W. Knox on the occasion of his 65th birthday, Berlin and New York, 237–252.

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1991: Homer und die Geschichte des 8. Jh.s v. Chr., in J. Latacz (ed.), Zweihundert Jahre Homer-Forschung: Rückblick und Ausblick, Stuttgart, 205–256. 1993: Homer to Solon: The rise of the polis. The written sources, in M. H. Hansen (ed.), The Ancient Greek City-State, Copenhagen, 41–105. 1997: Politics and interstate relations in the world of early Greek poleis: Homer and beyond. Antichthon, 31, 1–27. Shelmerdine, C. W. 2008: Economy and administration, in C. W. Shelmerdine (ed.), The Cambridge companion to the Aegean Bronze Age, Cambridge, 289–309. Shils, E. 1965: Charisma, Order, and Status, American Sociological Review 30, 199–213. Thomas, R. 1989: Oral tradition and written record in classical Athens, Cambridge. Trampedach, K. 2006: Die Tyrannis als Wunsch- und Schreckbild. Zur Grammatik der Rede über Gewaltherrschaft im Griechenland des 5. Jahrhunderts v. Chr., in B. Seidensticker and M. Vöhler (eds.), Gewalt und Ästhetik. Zur Gewalt und ihrer Darstellung in der griechischen Klassik, Berlin, 3–27. Triebel-Schubert, C. 1984: Der Begriff der Isonomie bei Alkmaion, Klio 66, 40–50. Tuplin, C. J. 1985: Imperial tyranny: Some reÁections on a classical Greek political metaphor, in P. A. Cartledge and F. D. Harvey (eds.), Crux: Essays presented to G. E. M. de Ste. Croix on his 75th birthday, Exeter, 348–375. Uchitel, A. 2007: The earliest tyrants: from Luwian tarwanis to Greek ƲхƯƠƬƬƮư, in G. Herman and I. Shatzman (eds.), Greeks between East and West: Essays in Greek Literature and History in Memory of Daid Asheri, Jerusalem, 13–30. Ulf, C. 1990: Die homerische Gesellschaft. Materialien zur analytischen Beschreibung und historischen Lokalisierung, Munich. Vernant, J.-P. 1962: Les Origines de la pensée grecque, Paris. Walbank, F. W. 1984: Monarchies and monarchic ideas, in F. W. Walbank, A. E. Astin, M. W. Frederiksen, and R. M. Ogilvie (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History, VII.1, The Hellenistic World, second edition, Cambridge, 62–100.

2 THE VICTORIOUS TYRANT: HIERON OF SYRACUSE IN THE EPINICIA OF PINDAR AND BACCHYLIDES* Christian Mann

1. INTRODUCTION Hieron I’s rule over Syracuse and large parts of Sicily represents the apex of the archaic tyranny in the Greek west. This statement is true not just with regard to criteria such as military success and the geographical expansion of power but also true for the prestigious hippic contests. Other tyrants and their relatives had also sent horses and chariots to the great panhellenic contests and had been victorious,1 but Hieron exceeded their succeses by far: in 476 and 472 he won Olympic victories in horse racing and in 468 in the chariot race; in Delphi his horse won in 482 and 478 and his chariot won in 470. None of his contemporaries could display a similarly successful track record in the prestigious hippic disciplines. But Hieron did not invest his resources exclusively in excellent horses and the services of good charioteers, he also took great care about the presentation of his successes: he had monuments erected to commemorate his Olympic victories,2 but above all he is prominent as the patron of epinicia: a total of seven victory songs by Pindar and Bacchylides are addressed to him, more than to anyone else.3 Four of these epinicia contain references to the event in question: Pindar Pythian 1 and Bacchylides 4 were commissioned to commemorate the victory at the Delphic chariot race in 470, Bacchylides 3 was commissioned for the victory at Olympia in 468, and Pindar Olympian 1 for an Olympic victory in horse-racing, probably that in 476. With the other songs one must rely on the information provided by the scholiasts in order to assign them to a particular event and this information is often unclear or contradictory. In addition, it is often uncertain whether * 1

2 3

I would like to thank very much Dr. Helen Imhoff (Dublin) for her excellent work in translating my article into English. For example, Pantares of Gela (Ebert 1972, No. 5), Theron of Acragas (Pind. Ol. 2; Ol. 3), Anaxilaus of Rhegium (Simon. F 10/515 Page = Aristot. Rhet. 1405b 23; Heraclid. Lemb. 55 Dilts) and Hieron’s brother and predecessor, Gelon (Paus. 6.9.4 f.); on the Sicilian tyrants’ hippotrophia see Hönle 1968, 106 ff.; Catenacci 1992, 14 ff.; Luraghi 1994, 126 f.; 219 ff., and passim; Mann 2001, 236 ff. Paus. 6.12.1; the monument was completed posthumously. Pind. Ol. 1; Pyth. 1–3; Bacchylides 3–5.

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the scholiasts themselves had reliable sources at their disposal or whether they were merely making assumptions on the basis of what is said in the epinicia. The uncertain state of research reÁects this: controversial discussions focus not only on the date and occasion of the songs but also on the question of genre. In particular, doubt has been cast on classifying Pindar’s Third Pythian Ode as an epinicion, although more recently support for this view has been increasing once again.4The subject of this essay is the picture which the epinicia paint of Hieron and his rule. As outlined in the introduction to this book, no general justiÀcation of monarchic rule had been developed in Greek thought. However, while the kings of Cyrene could point to the fact that their ancestors had ruled since the founding of the city, the tyrants of Ancient Greece had no such legitimising traditions nor could a tyrant’s rule base itself on a constitution. Thus, his rule was extremely precarious, especially given the fact that there was a strong anti-tyrannical discourse in Greece. In these circumstances, it was essential for the Ancient Greek tyrants to develop legitimising strategies and these, by necessity, could only take the tyrant himself as a starting point. His personality, his outstanding characteristics and abilities could not lend legitimacy to this form of rule as such, but they could justify his sovereignty. The ruler’s qualities were no substitute for lack of legality and tradition of his tyranny, but they could at least partially make good these deÀciencies. Epinicia were an appropriate medium with which to paint and disseminate the picture of a tyrant which had the potential of providing him with greater acceptance. This is because they focused on agonistic success, which was considered an example of the tyrant’s victorious nature. Epinicia were performed in honour of the victor at a public festival, but they exerted their inÁuence beyond the primary context of their performance by being repeatedly performed at smaller gatherings. In addition, they spread throughout the entire Greek world, a fact to which the poets themselves refer, and so their inÁuence was felt on a panhellenic level.5 In asking the question of how Hieron used epinicia in order to stabilise his rule, one assumes that he, the patron, was able to exert a strong inÁuence on the contents of the epinicia. In this respect, some preliminary remarks are necessary, given the many hermeneutic approaches in the study of epinicia. In earlier German philological studies, a ‘historic’ interpretation of the epinicia involved looking for allusions to concrete events in the texts. Allegories, metaphors and myths were understood as references to the politics of the day or to biographical details of the patron or poet. An example of this is the postulated enmity between Pindar and Bacchylides. The most consistent application of this historico-biograph4

5

On the dating of the victories and the epinicia, see Moretti 1957, No. 221. 234. 246; Farnell 1961, 3 f.; Ebert 1972, 71 f.; Young 1983; Cingano 1991; Schade 2006. Pind. Pyth. 3 was classiÀed as a ‘poetic epistle’ by Wilamowitz (Wilamowitz 1922, 280; similarly, Lefkowitz 1976, 142); in contrast, see Carey 1981, 23; Schade 2006, 375 f. Carey 2007 has a careful evaluation of the reports on the performances. On the different levels of the reception of epinicia, see Morrison 2007, who includes further references. The conclusion, however, that Pindar deliberately kept local references to a minimum in his odes because he was concerned with their panhellenic reception (130) is due to the fact that Morrison focuses on the Sicilian odes (on this, see below, p. 37 ff.).

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ical method is found in the work of Wilamowitz.6 His book as a whole is conceived of as a biography of the poet, which seems absurd, given that we have hardly any certain information about Pindar’s life. Much more problematic, however, is the fact that in many cases, individual passages have been taken entirely out of their textual context as well as the context of the performance of the entire ode. Elroy Bundy, who argued forcefully against the entirety of Pindar scholarship, from the ancient scholiasts to his own contemporaries, set a new trend in the 60s. He departed decidedly from interpreting the epinicia as a patchwork of philosophical, political and autobiographical reÁexions of the poet. Instead, Bundy argued for a structuralist approach by focusing his attention on the individual ‘building blocks’ of the epinicia, for example the myths, gnomic statements and metaphors, and attempted to determine their valence in the context of the poem. His research on the conventions of the epinicia resulted in the radical statement that “… there is no passage in Pindar and Bakkhulides that is not in its primary intent enkomiastic – that is, designed to enhance the glory of a particular patron”.7 Every line, or every ‘building block’, which did not directly serve the praise of the patron, was to be understood either as serving the creation of a suitable background or as a gradual slow build-up prior to the praise which followed. Bundy was right in clarifying that one can only do justice to an ode of Pindar if its functional context as praise poetry is sufÀciently considered. However, for Bundy, ‘praise’ was abstract, invariable and independent of any historical context. Bundy treated Pindar’s odes as if they had been composed in a historical vacuum. In complete contrast to Bundy’s rigorous de-historicization of the epinicia, attempts have more recently been made once again to understand Pindar’s poetry against its political background, but this has been done by using new methods rather than by drawing exact parallels between the contents of the epinicia and historical events. The most important contribution in this regard is “The TrafÀc in Praise” by Leslie Kurke.8 Kurke applies sociological concepts, in particular those of Pierre Bourdieu, in an attempt to understand the epinicia as part of a system of exchange of symbolic capital. She demonstrates this exchange using three types of relationship: Àrstly, in the relationship between the victor and his oikos; secondly, between the victor and aristocratic, gift-exchanging society; and thirdly between the victor and his polis. In her textual analyses Kurke argues that Pindar is not to be understood as a representative of an antiquated aristocratic system of ethics nor that he composed in an aesthetic language that was untouched by societal developments. Instead, his odes 6

7 8

Wilamowitz 1922; see Young’s review (Young 1970) for information on the earlier tradition of Pindar scholarship, which had a much wider range of approaches than can be presented here. This traditional way of interpreting Pindar has still found adherents in more recent times, but their work, in the main, exempliÀes the problems associated with it. Pfeijffer, for example, uses circular arguments in his interpretation of the Aeginetan odes: he establishes the dating of the Fifth Nemean Ode on the basis of the Aegina’s foreign policy to which he believes there are references in this ode; this dating, in turn, is the basis for interpreting individual passages as concrete references to historical events (Pfeijffer 1999, 19. 59 ff. 81 ff. and passim). Bundy 1962, 3. Kurke 1991; see also Kurke 1993.

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reÁect the new situation, in which individuals found themselves through the sociopolitical changes that ensued from the development of the polis. Kurke’s methodological approach is exemplary in many regards. However, further differentiation that takes into account the great differences between the poleis is necessary on the basis of her studies: epinicia do not only illuminate the symbolic exchange of goods in the 5th-century Greek world, but they also reveal it to us with regard to a particular polis with its particular political and social background. As a consequence, the differences between the epinicia, as opposed to what they have in common, and the differences between the patrons, as opposed to the differences between Pindar and Bacchylides, are the starting point of this essay. This is because the victor and his relationship with the community of the polis can be portrayed quite differently in the epinicia. A comparison of the odes for Hieron with those for Theron of Acragas and for Aeginetan athletes shows these differences. The picture which Pindar and Bacchylides paint of Hieron cannot, therefore, be due to general genre-speciÀc rules of the epinicion. This realisation forms the basis for considering what speciÀc characteristics and problems of Hieron of Syracuse’s rule are reÁected in the epinicia.

2. PRAISE FOR THE VICTOR AND PRAISE FOR THE RULER IN THE EPINICIA FOR HIERON Both Pindar and Bacchylides praise Hieron highly in their odes. Given the genre, the starting point is provided by the victories themselves, but in contrast with many odes for other patrons, praise is not restricted to Hieron’s agonistic success. Rather, the poets praise his power and wealth, in which he is said to exceed all other Greeks; the vocabulary used, as well as other rhetorical techniques, transfer him to the sphere of gods and heroes and thus elevate him above common mortals. This will be demonstrated Àrst by examining passages of explicit praise. Following this, the function of mythological narratives for the representation of the ruler will be analysed. In all four epinicia for Hieron, Pindar praises him and touches on precisely those points that are also typical of the praise of heroes in Homer. Hieron’s wealth (Ol. 1.10; Pyth. 1.50; Pyth. 2.56 ff.), together with his tima and his kleos (Ol. 1.23; Pyth. 1.48; Pyth. 2.59) are praised. In another case, Hieron’s superiority is expressed by Pindar praising all his aretai in their entirety (Ol. 1.13). The point of comparison for Hieron’s qualities is not only his polis or Sicily, but the entire Greek world, as Pindar explicitly states on several occasions (Ol. 1.104; Pyth. 1.49; Pyth. 2.59 ff.). The use of much bold vocabulary also shows that Pindar, in his odes to Hieron, intended his subject to be praised particularly effectively. For example, Pindar employs the term makar to describe Hieron’s house and hearth (ƫнƩƠƨƯƠƬ ѼоƯƷƬƮư јƱƲрƠƬ – Ol. 1.11), but this is a word which always refers to gods in Homer’s works and which is more usually used in this way by Pindar too.9 By applying the word to 9

The adjective ƫнƩƠƯ occurs 17 times in total in Pindar’s epinicia; in nine cases it refers to gods or heroes, in two cases it is used to praise cities or landscapes, and in six instances it describes

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Hieron, the boundary to the divine sphere is broken.10 The word Ѵ››ƮƵнƯƫƠƬ (Ol. 1.23) takes up the Homeric term Ѵ››ƮƵнƯƫƦư, which is used once in both the Iliad and the Odyssey respectively to denote chariot Àghters.11 In this way, Hieron’s agonistic successes in the hippic disciplines are moved close to the warlike deeds of Homeric heroes.12 A further example is Homer’s preferred attribute for Poseidon, їƬƮƱрƵƧƷƬ = “shaking the earth”. In Pyth. 2.4 Pindar uses the synonym їƪƤƪрƵƧƷƬ in order to describe Hieron’s successful team of horses. To my knowledge, this term is not found in the context of human activity in any other texts, and Pindar himself uses it in only one other instance where he does in fact apply it to Poseidon himself (Pyth. 6.50). Pindar is here referring to Hieron with a term which is really reserved for gods. However, in addition to this more general praise, Hieron’s political position in Syracuse and Aetna is also the subject of the poet’s reÁections. Hieron is only called tyrannos once (Pyth. 3.85); moreover, Pindar uses the qualiÀer lagetas, which he otherwise applies to heroes such as Aiolos (Pyth. 4.107) or Perseus (Pyth. 10.31), in order to moderate the term tyrannos. Hieron is described as basileus of Syracuse several times (Ol. 1.23; Pyth. 2.14; Pyth. 3.70) and in this way his rule is is given the appearance of a hereditary monarchy in the style of Cyrene.13 Pindar’s portrayal of Hieron with a sceptre (Ol. 1.12: ƧƤƫƨƱƲƤԃƮƬ ƱƩӮ›ƲƮƬ) strongly emphasises his claim to power, given that Pindar otherwise only refers to sceptres in connection with gods or myths.14 Pindar’s use of the qualifying adjective themisteion highlights the special valence of themis in odes for Hieron, especially when compared to the Aeginetan odes, in which legal certainty also plays an important role. In the epinicia for athletes from Aegina, themis appears as a collective characteristic of the citizenship of Aegina;15 here, on the other hand, themis appears as a value which is guaranteed by the tyrant himself. However, Hieron does not only function as a guarantee for internal order and security, but also as a protector from external threats. Pindar ascribes the repelling of external enemies, such as the Etruscans and Carthaginians, to Hieron as his own personal achievement (Pyth. 1.69 ff.). This role of Hieron as a guardian of the peace is not limited to Syracuse, but also includes other poleis in his sphere of control, for example Epizephyrian Locri (Pyth. 2.18 ff.). Finally, a characteristic line of Pythian 3 must be mentioned here, which otherwise deviates in the direct praise of Hieron compared to the other three odes: according to Pindar, Hieron is “gentle to townsmen, not begrudging to good men, and

10 11 12 13 14 15

the victor or his genos, that is King Arcesilaus of Cyrene (Pyth. 4.59; Pyth. 5.11; 20; 46), Melissus of Thebes (Isth. 3/4.35b), and Hieron. Gerber 1982, 31. Hom. Il. 24.257; Od. 11.259. Visa-Ondarçuhu 1999, 116 f. Luraghi 1994, 356 ff. Pyth. 1.6; Pyth. 4.152; Nem. 11.4; on the sceptre, see Harrell 2002, 441 f. Mann 2001, 196 f.

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to guests a wondrous father” (Pyth. 3.71).16 In referring to the citizens, to the aristocracy of Syracuse and to guests, Pindar addresses the three most important groups with which Hieron engaged in social exchange. Pindar leaves no doubt as to who dominated in this form of ‘trafÀc’, to use Kurke’s terminology; his vocabulary describes an asymmetric relationship and not one of equality. The use of the word pater expresses Hieron’s care for his xenoi, but also his dominance, in quite a vivid way. Pindar only uses the word praus to describe social relations in this one instance; it otherwise illustrates divine or magical alleviation of hardship.17 The negation of phthonos, used to describe Pindar’s relationship with the aristocracy, does not simply indicate the absence of envy, but means a concrete or symbolic generosity, with which the poet describes himself,18 the gods19 and – in two cases only – the patron of his composition, that is, apart from Hieron, Theron, the second tyrant of Sicily praised by him.20 References to concrete events and Hieron’s personal successes constitute another category of Pindar’s praise for the tyrant. The subject here, however, is not further agonistic successes of Hieron, but rather his political and military achievements. In Pythian 1, the poet refers to the defeat of the Carthaginians at Himera and of the Etruscans at Cumae (Pyth. 1.71 ff.). In Pythian 2 he mentions Hieron’s intervention on behalf of Epizephyrian Locri (Pyth. 2.18 ff.). In both cases Pindar manages to achieve a personalisation of the events, and thus concentrates on Hieron himself, by means of a few rhetorical devices. According to Pindar’s representation, it was not the Syracusans who defeated the Etruscans and Carthiginians, but the archos of Syracuse (Pyth. 1.73). Similarly, Locri’s safety is secured through Hieron’s personal power (Pyth. 2.20). But it is not only with regard to the citizens that Hieron’s achievement is enhanced; the same occurs in relation to his brother Gelon. Thus, Gelon is not mentioned by name at all in connection with the battle at Himera, although the historical record clearly tells us that he had sole supreme command of the entire campaign;21 instead, Pindar speaks more generally of “Deinomenes’ sons” (Pyth. 1.79). He mentions Hieron’s victory at Cumae before referring to Himera and by ordering the events in the text in such a way as to describe the victory at Cumae as a defeat of both the Etruscans and the Carthaginians, he suggests that the success at Himera, too, was primarily Hieron’s achievement. Bacchylides, too, has much and varied individual praise for the tyrant of Syracuse. On the one hand, he is exalted according to generally accepted values of the Greek aristocracy: Bacchylides attributes wealth and generosity to Hieron (3.13),22 he mentions his successes in hippotrophia and in war (3.69), he calls him euthydikos (5.6) and eumoiros (5.1). The standard of comparison for these categories are

16 ›ƯƠԋư чƱƲƮԃư, Ʈҏ ƴƧƮƬоƷƬ чƢƠƧƮԃư, ƭƤрƬƮƨư ƣҭ ƧƠƳƫƠƱƲҳư ›ƠƲпƯ. 17 See Ol. 6.42; Ol. 13.85; Pyth. 4.136. 18 Ol. 8.55; Ol. 11.7; Nem. 3.9; Isth. 5.24. 19 Ol. 13.25; Pyth. 8.72; Pyth. 10.20; Isth. 7.39. 20 Ol. 2.94. On phthonos in Pindar’s work, see Bulman 1992; Most 2003, 133 ff. 21 Diod. 11.20 ff. 22 On this motif, see Bundy 1962, 85 ff., and Kurke 1991, 163 ff.

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not the inhabitants of his polis or of Sicily, but all of mankind (4.15), or rather, of all Greeks (3.63). An interesting aspect is the exaltation of Hieron’s artistic expertise (5.3–5), especially because this same motif occurs in Pindar’s First Olympian Ode, composed for the same occasion. Perhaps it is possible to conclude from this, that the tyrant’s artistic qualities played a special role in his self-portrayal at this time in particular. On the other hand, it is not clear what “holding a share of the gifts of the violet-tressed Muses” (71) in the Third Epinicion means. Either Bacchylides is referring to the tyrant’s own skill as a poet or singer or he is expressing the fact that Hieron is a popular subject for poetry. Both Pindar and Bacchylides stress that, politically, Hieron is not just any citizen, but the ruler. Bacchylides describes Hieron as pleistarchos (3.12) and according to Maehler this is the only instance in Greek literature in which this word is used to refer adjectivally to a person.23 As in Pindar, Hieron’s attribute is the sceptre (3.70). Bacchylides also focuses on Hieron’s role as a upholder of the law in the area over which he rules and the tyrant himself is described as astythemis (4.3). All these elements correspond exactly to the way in which Pindar depicts Hieron’s rule, but in one important point the two poets differ: Bacchylides does not call Hieron basileus, but introduces the term strategos (5.2) as his title. Of course, Hieron’s power is based neither on the ofÀce of strategos nor on any ofÀcial royal authority, and the two poets are similar to one another in obscuring the actual system of rule. Nevertheless, it is conspicuous that Bacchylides does not use the title basileus and thus foregoes the strongest way of suggesting a hereditary monarchy. In addition to this, Hieron is presented as the favourite of the gods by both poets. Pindar refers to a theos as a guarantor of past and future successes in his First Olympian (106 ff.), without being any more speciÀc.24 In Pythian 2 (7 ff.) he lists the three gods Artemis, Hermes and Poseidon and attributes the success in part to their involvement. Carey comments on this last passage in the following way: “The gods take not only a personal interest but also a physical part in Hieron’s racing.”25 Bacchylides claims that Hieron’s rule was given to him as a gift from Zeus (3.11), his honour as a gift from Apollo (4.3); Nike and Ares generally support the sons of Deinomenes (5.33–35). Hieron is presented as a friend of the gods (4.18 f.), a god is the reason for his consistent good fortune (5.50–53). His sceptre, too, is the sceptre of Zeus (3.70). In this way, on the one hand, Hieron’s rule over men is compared to that of Zeus over the gods, and on the other hand, the divine legitimation of Hieron’s position of power is stressed. A further facet in the praise of Hieron is the special way in which the relationship between the successful horses and their owner is presented. The description of the successful race in Pindar’s First Olympian is a particularly remarkable passage:

23 24 25

Maehler 1997, 44, who also includes epigraphical and literary evidence for Pleistarchos as a personal name. According to Gerber 1982, 160 f., this passage refers to Zeus, Hieron’s personal tutelary god. Carey 1981, 26.

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Pherenikos was one of antiquity’s most successful racehorses (and one of the few whose names have come down to us), having gained victories at the Pythian Games in 482 and 478 and at the Olympic games in 476. The horse’s achievement is skillfully connected to Hieron’s in the passage above. At Àrst, the poet’s attention is focused on Hieron and the tension with which he watches his horse run; then Pindar moves on to the race itself. Here, the phrase ƣоƫƠư … ›ƠƯоƵƷƬ implies that Pherenikos exerted and exhausted himself for Hieron. The horse’s achievement appears as if it were the animal’s self-sacriÀce for its master, and a voluntary self-sacriÀce at that as the term чƩоƬƲƤƲƮƬ illustrates.27 But only gods and heroes are the recipients of sacriÀces, and it is their sphere into which Hieron is elevated by this passage. Bacchylides describes the horses which pulled the chariot to victory at the Delphi chariot races as okypodoi (4.6); in doing so, he is using a term which is reminscent of Homeric attributes for the horses of heroes. Moreover, inclusion of Pherenikos creates a conspicuous passage. Several adjectives are used to describe the stallion (5.37: xanthotrichos; 5.40: chrysopachys) and his very swift running is compared to Boreas (5.46). In addition, his relationship with humans is also addressed: Pherenikos submits to the charioteer (5.47) and the horse itself is presented as the bearer of the Delphic laurels to Hieron (5.18 f.). Bacchylides may not achieve the great suggestive power of Pindar’s First Olympian Ode, however he, too, implies that the horse’s speed goes beyond earthly measures, but that it uses this physical ability only in order to serve its lord.

3. THE FUNCTION OF THE MYTHOLOGICAL NARRATIVES In examining the mythological narratives, the focus will be on the Third Epinicion of Bacchylides and on Pindar’s First Olympian Ode, as the most important patterns can be illustrated most clearly using these odes. Following this, the other odes will be examined summarily. Hieron’s generosity is the starting point for the central mythological narrative in Bacchylides’s Third Epinicion. The positive consequences of this generosity for 26

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Ol. 1.17–23: чƪƪҫ ƋƷƯрƠƬ ч›ҳ ƴфƯƫƨƢƢƠ ›ƠƱƱнƪƮƳ | ƪнƫơƠƬ’, Ƥѷ Ʋр ƲƮƨ ƗрƱƠư ƲƤ ƩƠұ ƜƤƯƤƬрƩƮƳ ƵнƯƨư | ƬфƮƬ Ґ›ҳ ƢƪƳƩƳƲнƲƠƨư ћƧƦƩƤ ƴƯƮƬƲрƱƨƬ, | ҈ƲƤ ›ƠƯ’ яƪƴƤԚ ƱхƲƮ ƣоƫƠư | чƩоƬƲƦƲƮƬ їƬ ƣƯфƫƮƨƱƨ ›ƠƯоƵƷƬ, | ƩƯнƲƤƨ ƣҭ ›ƯƮƱоƫƤƨƭƤ ƣƤƱ›фƲƠƬ, | ƙƳƯƠƩфƱƨƮƬ Ѵ››ƮƵнƯƫƠƬ ơƠƱƨƪӸƠ (translation Race). Schol. Pind. Ol. 1.33a refers to Hom. Il. 23.387: whereas Diomedes’s horses only ran because they were urged on with a whip, Hieron’s Pherenikos needed no such goading.

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humans and gods are described at the beginning of the second triad: the city enjoys magniÀcent celebrations and Delphic Apollo has been given golden tripods. This last detail is a reference to a concrete historical event: Hieron had had a golden tripod on a bronze column erected as an elaborate offering in the sanctuary of Apollo in Delphi.28 Hieron obviously attached particular importance to the amount of gold used, as the inscription noting the weight of the tripod indicates. Gold is mentioned for the Àrst time at this point in the text, and repeated references to it become something of a leitmotif in the course of the ode.29 As, in all probability, a battle won by Hieron was the occasion for the dedication, Hieron’s military successes come into play once again. The mythological narrative connects with and carries on from the dedication of the tripod: Bacchylides uses the Lydian King Croesus to provide an exemplary illustration of the general call to place the gloriÀcation of the gods before all other things. The fact that Croesus had actually lived, and was, according to modern understanding, a historical rather than a mythological Àgure is irrelevant to the interpretation of this passage and its meaning within the context, because Bacchylides tells his story like a myth.30 He describes Croesus’s desperation when the Persian army attacks Sardis, as well as his decision to be burned alive (47 ff.). But the gratitude of the gods, the absence of which Croesus had lamented in line 38, saves his life: Zeus extinguishes the Áames by letting it rain and Apollo carries Croesus and his daughters away to the Hyperboreans. This passage is characteristic of the function of the mythological narratives in the epinicia for Hieron. First of all, it must be noted that a few lines before and after the story of Croesus, Hieron’s rule is presented as having been bestowed by Zeus (11; 70). The gods’ support for Hieron forms the story’s starting point and conclusion and the passage leading on to the story about Croesus concerns the generous veneration of the gods, a characteristic of both Hieron and Croesus. At the end of the mythological narrative the common denominator of both is made explicit: of all 28

The bases for the dedicatory tripods of Hieron and Gelon were discovered in 1894 during the French excavations at Delphi (BCH 18, 1894, 179 f.). The inscription of base A (Syll.3 34) includes Gelon’s name and this makes the identiÀcation of this base with the dedicatory offering following the Battle of Himera which is mentioned in the written sources certain. The inscription on base B (Syll.3 35C), however, is so badly damaged that one can only make out the dedicatory formula, the end of a patronym and a few letters of the declaration of weight. Both bases stand on the same foundation and both have the same bell shape. They are found in the immediate vicinity of the temple of Apollo and this accords with Bacchylides’s text. It is not possible to tell from the context of the Àndings at Delphi or from the written sources whether the tripod which Hieron erected after the Battle of Himera was put up at the same time as his brother Gelon’s or whether Hieron’s anathema was dedicated later, after the defeat of the Etruscans at Cumae in 474 BC. On the historical context of the anathemata, see Krumeich 1991; Luraghi 1994, 314 ff.; Harrell 2002, 452 ff. 29 On the signiÀcance of gold and wealth in this ode, see Brannan 1973; Carson 1984; Burnett 1985, 61 ff.; Arnson Svarlien 1995, 39 ff. 30 There is no indication at all in the text that the story of Croesus and the ‘real’ mythological tales were perceived to be of different validity. Burnett’s hypothesis (1985, 79) that Bacchylides was introducing a new element here thus loses its basis.

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mankind, Croesus was the one to give most liberally to Apollo; of the Greeks, Hieron is the one who is the most generous to Apollo. We are not dealing with the construction of a contrast between Greeks and Barbarians but with the creation of a parallel between Hieron and Croesus.31 The central theme of the story of Croesus is that one can rely on the gods in extreme, life-threatening situations as long as one has proven one’s eusebeia (61) through generous gifts in happier times. Bacchylides’s composition does not include Croesus’s negative characterics which appear in the much more widely known version of Herodotus,32 composed several decades later. This allows the encomiastic function of Bacchylides’s story to have the fullest effect. Bacchylides’s Croesus does not set the downfall of his kingdom in motion because of his delusion with regard to the will of the gods; instead, he is an example of eusebeia. Croesus is not bound and dragged to the funeral pyre, but he mounts it willingly, and it is not Cyrus’s sudden mercy that saves his life, but his removal by the gods. While Herodotus uses the example of Croesus to demonstrate the unpredictable changeability of fate, Bacchylides demonstrates that a friend of the gods may hope for salvation in times of misfortune too. The epinician poet’s rhetorical technique can be seen particularly well in this passage: only their generosity towards Apollo in Delphi is explicitly referred to as a characteristic common to both Hieron and Croesus. In addition to this, however, the listener is given the impression that Hieron shares other qualities with the Lydian king, especially as certain characteristics have already been mentioned: like Croesus, Hieron is a powerful ruler; like Croesus, he is immeasurably rich; like Croesus, Hieron is close to the gods; and he could be as sure of the gods’ support in critical situations as Croesus could be. Consequently, Croesus represents a mythological paradigm for the patron and an illustration of the latter’s qualities, namely ploutos, eusebeia and arche. However, the fates of Croesus and Hieron were similar in another way too. Croesus was staring death in the face when he mounted the funeral pyre. Hieron is likely to have been critically ill when Bacchylides composed the ode discussed here; this is, at any rate, suggested by the fact that he died within the year.33 As Pindar’s three Pythian Odes which were composed in the years before this refer to Hieron’s illness, his inÀrmity seems to have been of some duration. We do not know whether the tyrant was suffering from bladder or kidney problems, as the scholia to Pindar’s epinicia tell us,34 or whether he had a different illness. It is irrelevant in our context here; what is important is the fact that Bacchylides pairs his moribund pa31 32

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On this point, see Maehler 1997, 52. Hdt. 1.84 ff.; on the Àgure of Croesus, the discussion in Burkert 1985, which also incorporates the oriental sources, is the most fundamental. Segal 1971 offers a comparison between Bacchylides’ story about Croesus and that of Herodotus; in addition, see also Reichel 2000. Diod. 11.66.4. The terms that appear are dysouria [Aristot. F 587 Rose = F 604 Gigon (= schol. Pind. Pyth. 1.89a)] as well as lithouria (schol. Pind. Pyth. 1.91; schol. Pind. Pyth. 3, inscr.a); the meaning of these terms from a medical point of view is not entirely clear, but they deÀnitely refer to some afÁiction of the kidneys and/or bladder; see also schol. Pind. Pyth. 1.87.

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tron with Croesus, a man who saw his own death approaching but who was taken away to the Hyperboreans by the gods. As Croesus represents the mythological mirror image of Hieron in this passage, Bacchylides suggests that Hieron can expect a similar experience: he, too, will be led to a happy afterworld by the gods, to whom he proved himself to be, like Croesus, a eusebes. Bacchylides is not concerned with a detailed formulation of ideas concerning the afterlife, but rather with emphasising the tyrant’s divine protection. Hieron overcomes the boundaries between the human and the heroic spheres and Bacchylides’s text is a literary heroisation. A second, much shorter mythological digression, consisting of a speech by Apollo to Admetus, begins in line 75. Here, too, we are dealing with a threat of imminent death; here, too, that danger is averted by divine help. This latter point is not detailed in the text, but the poem’s Greek listeners knew the end of the story. The motif from the story of Croesus is taken up once again. In Pindar’s First Olympian, the story of Pelops is framed by passages of explicit praise for Hieron. Kleos is used in order to render the transition from Hieron to Pelops and back. This term appears at both intersecting points (23; 93) at about the same distance from the beginning and from the end of the ode respectively. Its position at the end of the line and within the sentence structure is also similar and this emphasises the relationship of both passages to one another. We are dealing with a ring composition; kleos functions as a link between the levels of reality and mythology and is, in this way, a shared characteristic of patron and hero. This is remarkable for two reasons. First, it is noteworthy that the transition to the myth and back is made via the victor and not, as in odes for other patrons, via the polis (see below, p. 40). Secondly, the use of kleos as a link to the mythological narrative means that Hieron’s and Pelops’s fame are presented as essentially comparable. This dissolves, at least partially, the boundaries between the levels of reality and mythology. Hieron and Pelops continue to be presented as parallel in many ways in the mythological narrative itself. First of all, there are some obvious shared features between the two characters: Pelops has achieved an Olympic victory as has Hieron. Pelops asks for Poseidon’s help for the impending chariot race against Oenomaus (75 ff.), and Pindar expresses his hope that Hieron will receive divine help so that he may be able to gain a victory in the chariot race, as well (108 ff.). A linguistic analysis, such as that undertaken by Gerber, illustrates the fact that Pelops serves as a mythological paradigm for Hieron.35 There are many words that are used only once in the Pelops story and in the praise of Hieron respectively and that appear in comparable contexts in each of those sections: ƩƯнƲƤƨ (78 and 22), ƩƠƪԙƬ (84 and 104), ыƤƧƪƮư (84) or чоƧƪƷƬ (99), Ҕ›ƠƲƮƬ (42 and 100), їƬ ƣƯфƫƮƨư(ƨ) (94 and 21). In addition to this, the poet frees the story of Pelops of negative aspects. Myrtilus, the charioteer who has been bribed, is not mentioned, and, thus, Pelops wins the race and the bride not through treachery but through Poseidon’s help.36 When it comes to the disappearance of the young Pelops, Pindar explicitly deviates 35 36

Gerber 1982, 117; 134; 152; see also Lefkowitz 1976, 92 f. It is true that Pindar does not attest to Myrtilus’s treachery, but is it not possible to conclude from this, as Scherling 1933, 1151 f. notes, that it did not feature in the original version of the

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from a different version of the myth by postulating that Poseidon kidnapped the boy and by presenting the story of the cannibalistic meal of the gods as a neighbour’s malicious lie. Because of the manifold links between the story of Pelops and the praise of Hieron, one can assume that Pindar is reÁecting Hieron’s situation at this point too. Pelops’s envious neighbours are depicted as slanderers acting surreptiously, just in the same way as those envious of the victors themselves are described elsewhere. Pindar achieves two things in creating these parallels between Pelops and Hieron: Àrstly, he can indirectly reÁect Hieron’s personal situation by using the mythological level, for example, with reference to the envy of Hieron’s contemporaries. On the other hand, a literary heroisation of Hieron also takes place: “The heroic description of Pelops becomes in essence Pindar’s description of Hieron, and it is no doubt implied that after his death Hieron too will receive similar worship as a hero…”.37 Very similar principles to the ones outlined here apply also to the mythological narratives in the other epinicia for Hieron. In Pythian 1 Philoctetes forms the mythological parallel to Hieron (Pyth. 1.50 ff.): both are said to have gone to war whilst suffering from an illness and both, nevertheless, carried out great deeds. In this context, the myth serves to enhance and to emphasise Hieron’s achievement in enduring pain by comparing him to the hero of the Trojan Wars. Again, Pindar reworks the myth in some aspects so that it Àts his purpose: the suggestion in line 55 that Philoctetes was still suffering from his inÀrmity outside the walls of Troy creates a parallel with Hieron, who is himself afÁicted. It represents a divergence from the more commonly found version, in which Philoctetes is healed before his arrival in the Greeks’ camp at Troy.38 In Pythian 3, the following lines form the transition from the story of Asclepius to the praise of Hieron: Yet if wise Chiron were still living in his cave, and if my honey-sounding hymns could put a charm in his heart, I would surely have persuaded him to provide a healer now as well to cure the feverish illness of good men, someone called a son of Apollo or of Zeus. And I would have come, cleaving the Ionian sea in a ship, to the fountain of Arethusa and to my Aitnaian host, who rules as king over Syracuse,…39.

myth. Pindar deviates from the version of the myths that he knew in a number of cases in order to enhance the encomiastic effect of the myth. 37 Gerber 1982, XV. 38 Gentili et al. 1995, 16; Pfeijffer 2005, 24 ff. 39 Pyth. 3.63–70: Ƥѳ ƣҭ ƱцƴƯƷƬ ыƬƲƯƮƬ ћƬƠƨϝ ћƲƨ ƝƤрƯƷƬ, ƩƠр Ʋр ƮѴ | ƴрƪƲƯƮƬ їƬ ƧƳƫԚ ƫƤƪƨƢнƯƳƤư ҔƫƬƮƨ | шƫоƲƤƯƮƨ ƲрƧƤƬ· ѳƠƲӸƯн ƲƮр ƩоƬ ƬƨƬ ›рƧƮƬ | ƩƠр ƬƳƬ їƱƪƮԃƱƨ ›ƠƯƠƱƵƤԃƬ чƬƣƯнƱƨƬ ƧƤƯƫӮƬ ƬфƱƷƬ | ѧ ƲƨƬƠ ƒƠƲƮкƣƠ ƩƤƩƪƦƫоƬƮƬ ѥ ›ƠƲоƯƮư.| ƩƠр ƩƤƬ їƬ ƬƠƳƱұƬ ƫфƪƮƬ ѻƮƬрƠƬ ƲнƫƬƷƬ ƧнƪƠƱƱƠƬ | яƯоƧƮƨƱƠƬ ї›ұ ƩƯнƬƠƬ ›ƠƯϝ ƈѳƲƬƠԃƮƬ ƭоƬƮƬ,| ҆ư ƙƳƯƠƩфƱƱƠƨƱƨ ƬоƫƤƨ ơƠƱƨƪƤҵư | ›ƯƠԋư чƱƲƮԃư, Ʈҏ ƴƧƮƬоƷƬ чƢƠƧƮԃư, ƭƤрƬƮƨư ƣҭ ƧƠƳƫƠƱƲҳư ›ƠƲпƯ….

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In these lines, Pindar creates a Àctitious connection between Chiron, himself and Hieron. He expresses his belief that with the poet’s mediation, Chiron might have sent the tyrant a doctor, who could cure him from his illness. Although Pindar does not create the impression that this scenario is real and although he emphasises its Àctious nature through the use of the subjunctive, it is remarkable that he even imagines a direct connection between Chiron’s healing skills and Hieron’s suffering. In doing so, Pindar allows the Syracusan ruler’s reality to merge with the mythological sphere. In this way he removes Hieron – and himself – from the actual human narrative level and places him within the framework of the myth. Here, too, we Ànd the association with the miraculous healings in the Greek world of legends, for example that of Philoctetes by Machaon, to which Pindar already makes explicit reference in Pythian 1. The myths of Pythian 3 all refer to Hieron’s illness and they emphasise the poet’s message that Hieron must and can suffer illness and death because his eternal remembrance, and, therefore, immortality, is ensured by his glorious deeds. The long and detailed story about Asclepius focuses on the possibilities of medicine but also presents its limits: the desire to overcome death with the help of the healing arts is hubris and will lead to misfortune (56 ff.). After a long passage of direct praise for Hieron, Pindar once again turns to myths: the story of Peleus and Cadmus (86 ff.) illustrates the rule established shortly before that for every blessing that humans receive, the gods will inÁict twice as much suffering on them. It is even possible to develop an exact system according to which Hieron, Peleus and Cadmus correspond to this scheme of the doubling of misfortune: Peleus’s two-fold hardship is his exile after killing his brother Phocus and the death of his son Achilles, with his happy wedding to Thetis occurring in the time between these two events; Cadmus endured eight years of servitude, which were his punishment for killing the dragon of Ares, and the misfortune of his daughters; these two sufferings are only offset by Semele’s connection with Zeus. Hieron’s two misfortunes are said to consist, on the one hand, of his illness and on the other hand of the defeat in the chariot race at the Pythian Games of 474, but on the positive side he can expect glory in posterity.40 Leaving aside the question of whether one needs to take the analogy between heroes and Hieron this far, it is clear that here, as in the other odes for Hieron, myths are used in order to reÁect and exalt Hieron’s speciÀc situation. This is also the case with Nestor and Sarpedon (11): in the Iliad, both embody the preference of a glorious death rather than a life without glory.41

4. THE VICTOR AND THE POLIS As we have seen, in the epinicia for Hieron, the victor is at the centre of both the passages of direct praise and the mythological tales. However, there is one thing which does not appear at all or only marginally but which is also signiÀcant, and 40 41

Robbins 1990; Gentili 1995, 105 ff. Gentili et al. 1995, 78 ff.

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that is praise for the polis of Syracuse. In the First Olympian Ode and in Pythian 3 Syracuse is only mentioned in a single instance, and then only as the object of Hieron’s basileia: ƙƳƯƠƩфƱƨƮƬ … ơƠƱƨƪӸƠ (Ol. 1.23); ҈ư ƙƳƯƠƩфƱƱƠƨƱƨ ƬоƫƤƨ ơƠƱƨƪƤхư (Pyth. 3.70). Of the odes for Hieron, it is only in Pythian 2 that the polis receives praise independently of Hieron. Here, a victory address is directed at Syracuse and at least one of its outstanding qualities is mentioned when the term ƲоƫƤƬƮư ѓƯƤƮư (Pyth. 2.2) is used to refer to Syracuse’s military renown. But this, too, reÁects Hieron’s personal arete. When referring to the ‘liberation’ of Locri in the same triad, only Hieron and not Syracuse is mentioned. It is unambiguously clear who is responsible for the fact that Syracuse enjoys the reputation of a city skilled in warfare. Bacchylides also includes Syracuse in his praise by describing it as ƩƪƳƲҫƬ ›фƪƨƬ (5.12) and as Ƥҏ›хƯƢƮƳư ƙƳƯƠƩфƱƱƠư (5.184), by attesting equestrian skill to the Syracusans (5.2) and by assuring them of Apollo’s love (4.1). However, the collective plays a subordinate role compared to the praise directed at the individual. Thus, Syracuse is not mentioned at all in the Third Epinicion. The common epinician motif that agonistic success represents an individual’s achievement for his polis,42 does not play any role in the odes for Hieron. This is not particularly surprising after all that has been said above, because it would assume a subordination or at least a subsumption of the tyrant into the community of the polis. However, Hieron’s relationship to Aetna in Pindar’s Pythian 1 represents an exception (Pyth. 1.31 ff.): there, Hieron’s victory is described as kydos for Aetna. This is exactly the term to which Kurke has assigned a key role in the context of the victor’s reintegration into his polis.43 This integrative aspect is reinforced by Pindar describing the victory as a good omen for further glorious deeds of the newlyfounded city and thus connecting individual achievement with collective expectations of honour. In addition to this, Hieron appears to associate himself particularly with Aetna, since he appears as Aitnaios in the heading for Pythian 1 in the manuscripts, and not as Syrakousios. It is entirely likely, if impossible to prove, that Hieron had himself proclaimed as an Aetnean at the Pythian Games, too. However, in this case integration into the community of the polis has a speciÀc signiÀcance. The relationship between Hieron and Aetna is not that of a citizen and his polis, but of a founder and his own creation. In the course of large-scale transplantations of populations, which were characteristic of the tyrants of Syracuse, the inhabitants of Catania at the foot of Mount Etna were relocated and Hieron refounded the city in 476/5, giving it the name Aetna, after the nearby volcano. He instated his son Deinomenes as administrator of the city and developed the polis by substantially extending its territory.44 In addition, he also established a special attachment to the cult of Zeus Aitnaios, the most important deity of Aetna. After 42 43 44

Saïd/Trédé-Boulmer 1984, with examples. Kurke 1993; see also Kurke 1991, 204 ff. and passim. Diod. 11.49.1; 76.3; Strab. 6.2.3. Pindar composed a choral song on the occasion of the foundation of Aetna (F 105 Snell – Maehler). On Hieron’s propaganda in connection with this foundation, see Boehringer 1968, 67 ff.; Dougherty 1993, 83 ff.

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Hieron’s death he was worshipped as heros ktistes of the city at his grave in Aetna.45 Against this background, Hieron’s relationship with Aetna is not that of a citizen to his polis. Hieron was simultaneously the creator and the most important priest in the city. In addition, he let the city share in the splendour of his agonistic success. In this way, he did more than just provide for the physical existence of the polis; he also endowed it with a start-up capital of renown. The epinicion derives the hope of a prosperous development for this young city from this success. In this way, the motif of the individual’s victory as glory for the community does not in this case represent subsumption but rather the victor is placed above the polis. The polis merely participates in the victory and its glory, but the victory is not transferred to the polis. Hieron is the ƩƪƤƨƬҳư ƮѳƩƨƱƲпƯ (Pyth. 1.31) of the new foundation and by comparing the foundation of Aetna with that of Sparta by the Heraclids, the tyrant’s role as founder of the city is again inÁated through a mythological parallel. In epinicia for other patrons, both Pindar and Bacchylides present the relationship between victor and polis completely differently. The Aeginetan odes represent a particularly striking contrast.46 These represent a fairly uniform group due to numerous common features,47 but they are very different from the epinicia for Hieron. The polis receives substantial praise in the Aeginetan Odes. In the small number of surviving lines of Bacchylides’s Twelfth Epinicion, the terms olbia nasos (4–6) and theodmatos polis (7) appear, and they remain in use in the next poem: Aegina is called polis hypsiagyia (71) and pherekydes (182); eukleia (184) and eunomia (186) are personiÀed and assigned to the polis; its areta (176) and its eirene (189) are praised. The island’s glory, or rather, its victory is compared to a torch (82) and great time, said to have been conferred by Zeus himself (78), is attributed to the island and to the polis Aegina, or rather, to the eponymous nymph. Pindar also uses a great number of panegyrical terms, including those which refer to distinctive traits of Aegina: he alludes to the island’s sea-faring role by using the adjectives ƣƮƪƨƵпƯƤƲƫƮư (“long-oared”; Ol. 8.20) and ƬƠƳƱƨƩƪƳƲнƬ (“famous for ships”; Nem. 5.9; Isth. 9.1), both taken from Homeric vocabulary48 and both, in all of Pindar’s work, used only to refer to Aegina. Praise for the polis is very polished in the Aeginetan epinicia, but the subject of the praise, on the other hand, remains palid. In this regard, it makes no difference whether the victor who is the subject of the ode is a boy or an adult. In most cases Pindar and Bacchylides restrict their praise of the addressee to a list of his agonistic successes and they use panegyrical epithets relatively sparingly when referring to Aeginetan athletes. When their praise does go beyond the simple listing of the victories, the phrases employed are general and non-speciÀc.49

45 46 47 48 49

Pind. Ol. 6.96, with scholia; Diod. 11.66.4; Strab. 6.2.3. Pind. Ol. 8; Pyth. 8; Nem. 3–8; Isth. 5; 6; 8; 9; Bacchylides 12; 13. For detailed discussion of this, see Mann 2001, 192 ff. Od. 4.499, 19.339, 23.176 or Od. 7.39, 15.415, 16.227. Pind. Ol. 8.19; Nem. 3.19.

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The central mythological narrative in the Aeginetan epinicia, with the exception of Pindar’s Eighth Pythian Ode, deals with members of the Aeacids and, thus, with the heroic dynasty which the Aeginetans claimed for themselves.50 The poets thus use mythological material that has local signiÀcance, a point which they make explicit, for example Pind. Nem. 3.26–28.: “My spirit, towards what foreign headland are you turning my voyage? I bid you to summon the Muse in honor of Aeacus and his race.”51 The transitions to the mythological narratives do not create parallels between patron and hero, but between polis and hero; in this way, the mythological narratives do not serve as the illustration of an individual victor’s qualities but instead reÁect collective Aeginetan qualities. The mythological paradigms do not apply to the victor himself, but to the polis. The epinicia for Hieron have more in common with those for another Sicilian tyrant, namely Theron of Acragas.52 Pindar praises his wealth (Ol. 2.53) and areta (Ol. 2.53) and uses very bold terms such as a ƴоƢƢƮư = ‘light’53 (Ol. 2.56) to describe him. At the end of the Third Olympian Ode (43 f.) the poet declares that Theron touches the pillars of Heracles. It is obvious what this metaphor is supposed to mean: Theron has up to now achieved everything a human being can achieve. Two important differences to the odes for Hieron can, however, be discerned. The Àrst concerns the role of his family, the Emmenids: according to Pindar, the kydos gained through the agonistic success also reÁects on the Emmenids (Ol. 3.38 ff.; the name of the family is given here), his brother Xenocrates’s victories are also enumerated and he is even called ҄ƫфƩƪƠƯƮư, which suggests at least that both brothers are depicted as equals (Ol. 2.48 ff.). The encomiastic passage at the beginning of the Second Olympian Ode refers to Theron’s ancestors and, thus, to the entire dynasty, whose thymos, ploutos, charis and aretai are praised and which is described as Sicily’s ophthalmos.54 Theron’s dynasty also plays a role prospectively, looking to the future: in the Second Olympian Ode, the prayer to Zeus for continued good fortune is not for Theron himself but for his descendants (12 ff.). Another difference concerns Theron’s political position as the tyrant of Acragas. In contrast to the odes for Hieron, Pindar does not mention this position at all. Theron’s achievements for the polis of Acragas are praised very highly and he is described as “bulwark of Akragas” (ћƯƤƨƱƫƠ – Ol. 2.6), “upholder of his city” (҃ƯƧф›ƮƪƨƬ – Ol. 2.7) and as the greatest euergetes Acragas has seen since its foun50

On the signiÀcance of Aeacus and the Aeacids for Aegina, see Hdt. 5.80 f.; 8.64; Plut. Them. 15; Paus. 2.29 f. On this topic, see Zunker 1988. 51 Nem. 3.26–28: ƧƳƫо, ƲрƬƠ ›Ưҳư чƪƪƮƣƠ›нƬ | ыƩƯƠƬ їƫҳƬ ›ƪфƮƬ ›ƠƯƠƫƤрơƤƠƨ; | ƈѳƠƩԚ ƱƤ ƴƠƫұ ƢоƬƤƨ ƲƤ ƓƮԃƱƠƬ ƴоƯƤƨƬ. See also Pfeijffer 1999, 306 ff. 52 Pind. Ol. 2 and 3. Both were composed on the occasion of Theron’s victory at the Olympic chariot race in 476 BC; On the context of their performance and especially on the question of the authenticity of the term Ƥѳư ƧƤƮƭƤƬрƠƬ, recorded in the manuscripts, see Fraenkel 1961, 394 ff.; Krummen 1990, 219 ff.; Willcock 1995, 135. 53 On this term, see Nisetich 1988, 6. 54 According to Farnell 1961, 170 f. (with further secondary references), in the comparable context of Pyth. 5.18, this term means ‘light, splendour’ rather than ‘eye’ in the sense of a body part.

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dation a century previously55 (Ol. 2.93). However, in contrast to Hieron, he is not described as basileus. Nor are there any other turns of phrase that express the relationship between Theron and the Acragantians as that of a ruler and his people.56 Because of this, the praise for Theron loses any speciÀc touch and could, in principle, be applied to other aristocrats as well. This discovery of a lack of speciÀcity is reinforced by the observation that Pindar does not refer to Theron’s personal fate. No glorious deeds of the Acragantine tyrant are mentioned apart from those at the panhellenic contests, and there is no reference to the battle of Himera, although one might have expected it four years after this signiÀcant military success at Gelon’s side. Comparing these odes for different patrons is illuminating when it comes to interpreting the genre as a whole. The great differences between the epinicia, especially between the Aeginetan odes and those for Hieron, cast a great deal of doubt on the idea that the representation of victor and polis was dictated by rules of the genre. Nor was this depiction due to the poets’ personal imagination and ideas. This is clear from the fact that when one orders Pindar’s and Bacchylides’s odes according to patrons, one Ànds that the depiction of the relationship between victor and polis agrees in many ways. Epinicia do not, therefore, carry a message from the poet to the patron, but a message from the patron to the audience. It is irrelevant from a historical perspective whether the patron gave the poet detailed instructions or whether the poet – as a politically well informed and professional praise poet – knew for himself what was expected of him from each patron. The poet’s own scope was restricted to lending to the speciÀed parameters an aesthetic form in which the ideas to be imparted were to be conveyed in part directly and in part by means of association. The stylistic differences between Pindar and Bacchylides57 are due to the fact that the poet’s personal touch played a role in the artistic realisation of the parameters. Given this background, one must ask to what extent Hieron’s representation in Pindar’s and in Bacchylides’s epincia for him was conditioned by the speciÀc political situation of the tyrant of Syracuse.

55 56

57

According to Thuc. 6.5.4, the foundation of Acragas by the Geloans and the Rhodians took place in 581, so almost exactly one hundred years before the composition of the ode. On this, see Luraghi 1994, 253 with footnote 105. Woodbury 1966, 607, hypothesised that the reference to equal days and nights (Ol. 2.62 f.) was a reÁection of the concept of isonomia, which was supposed to have a particular signiÀcance as part of Theron’s tyranny as he believed that Theron wanted to create a uniÀed class of subjects; however, the historical basis for such an interpretation of the text and the interpretation of the text itself is very doubtful. These have been clearly identiÀed in the scholarship on the topic; in these comparisons between the two poets, Pindar’s momentous poetic style which is characterised by abrupt breaks in the train of thought has frequently found much higher favour with scholars than Bacchylides’s more lively narrative Áow. See, for example, Wilamowitz 1898, Fraenkel 1993, 484 f. and passim.

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5. HIERON AS A “CHARISMATIC LEADER” IN MAX WEBER’S SENSE Hippocrates of Gela is the key Àgure for the Sicilian tyranny. His rule in the Àrst decade of the Àfth century develops the characteristic traits which were to shape the political situation in Sicily in the period that followed:58 Hippocrates enlisted mercenaries for his expansionist foreign policy which far surpassed the traditional aims of a polis such as Gela. The booty from wars as well as the income from the captured cities, which were usually administered by a deputy tyrant, gave Hippocrates the resources which were needed for the continued maintenance of the army of mercenaries. Another measure which set an example for those who came after him was his self-projection as the founder of a city, in this case Camarina.59 Hippocrates’s model of rule, which far surpassed the tyrannies of the motherland in its dynamic nature and effectiveness, was not a variant of aristocratic rule but a distinctive break with it: traditional boundaries were crossed in internal and foreign politics and the administration and control of the realm did not normally lie in the hands of the aristocracy of Gela or of the conquered city but in the hands of outsiders. Hippocrates’s successors in Gela or in Syracuse respectively, as well as Anaxilaus of Rhegium, closely followed his example of how to rule. Theron’s leadership, on the other hand, was more traditional, although he was in active contact with Syracuse through his successful co-operation with Gelon at Himera and through several marriage alliances with the Deinomenids.60 His foreign policy followed the old Acragantian aims but, as Theron did not make use of mercenaries, his methods in achieving those aims did not correspond to those of his ‘colleagues’ in Eastern Sicily. By contrast with Hippocrates, Gelon, Hieron and Anaxilaus, Theron did not present himself as heros ktistes of a city, although he would have had the chance to do this when Himera was restructured. His pan-hellenic propaganda following the battle at Himera is also very restrained when compared to that of Gelon. In my opinion the distinctive characteristics of the epinicia for the two tyrants correspond exactly to the actual system of rule, as these characteristics focus on points central to the stability of the tyranny. The differences between Syracuse and Acragas are also reÁected in the poems. A tyrant’s grasp on power was always precarious as it lacked permanent pillars of support. It was not safeguarded by bureaucracy nor was support from the élites certain. There was no legal basis for the tyrant’s power and no consolidated tradition which could have served to stabilise the tyrant’s rule in an emergency. In this situation, mercenaries provided the only ‘tangible’ backbone to many tyrants’ positions of power, but this military factor would hardly have been sufÀcient to ensure the continued existence of the tyranny over several decades unless those who lived under its rule believed that it had a certain degree of legitimacy.

58 59 60

Luraghi 1994, 119 ff. Malkin 1987, 190 ff.; Luraghi 1994, 164 f. Luraghi 1994, 231 ff.; 379.

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In Max Weber’s sociology of leadership the basis of legitimacy of charismatic leadership is based “on devotion to the exceptional sanctity, heroism or exemplary character of an individual person, and of the normative patterns or order revealed or ordained by him.”61 This applies completely to tyranny, because, as history shows, the system did not, as a rule, survive failures of the tyrant and the resulting loss of trust in the ruler’s ‘heroism’. The tyrants of Sicily, especially the rulers of Gela or Syracuse, from Hippocrates to Hieron, had many opportunities to prove their ‘heroism’ and they repeatedly proved themselves with splendid successes. This applies in particular to the military sphere with the battles of Himera and Cumae, but also to the great agones, at which the western tyrants dominated the Àeld for a long time, at least with regard to the hippic disciplines. But successes alone were not sufÀcient in order to sustain the tyrant’s position. An appropriate form of propaganda had to be employed in order to make use of these successes in such a way as to bring about a strengthened belief in the heroism of the ruler on the part of those over whom he held sway. The Sicilian tyrants did not shy away from a great degree of self-promotion: one example of this are the rich dedicatory gifts which were placed in the panhellenic sanctuaries of Delphi and Olympia, which document both military and agonistic victories. Anaxilaus also made use of his access to the coinage of the cities which he controlled in order to make his Olympic victories the symbol of those cities and thus to constantly remind the population of his personal victoriousness.62 Victory celebrations, too, including the performance of epinicia, had a propagandistic function, serving the splendid presentation to the audience of the triumphs which had been achieved. These different media were used in order to lend the tyrant an aura of success and to make victoriousness one of his attributes. On the primary level of the reception of this propaganda, one has to distinguish between a panhellenic audience, at whom the dedicatory gifts in the festival locations were directed, and the population who lived in the area over which the tyrant ruled. With regard to dissemination, however, both levels overlap. For example, the Deinomenids’s tripod dedications in Delphi are mentioned in Bacchylides’s Third Epinicion in order to stress Hieron’s wealth; the epinicia themselves, on the other hand, spread far beyond the citizenship of the polis in which the victory celebrations had taken place and they became known in the entire Greek world. When considering the agonistic successes of the Sicilian tyrants, one should on no account contrast the panhellenically oriented representation with that which was directed at those over whom the tyrant ruled and postulate a self-projection of the tyrant as a person in the Àrst case and as a ruler of cities in the second.63 As the epinicia for Hieron have shown, the latter emphasised his position of power also vis-à-vis the citizens of the poleis which he ruled. 61 62 63

Weber 1976, 124 (translation from Weber 1978, 215); see 140 ff. for a more detailed description of the characteristics of charismatic leadership. See Caccamo Caltabiano 1993, 34 on the iconography. A contrast which is found in Nicosia 1990, 60.

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In their odes, Pindar and Bacchylides focus their direct praise on the tyrant, they extol his individual achievements and they use mythological narratives in order to give a clearer proÀle to the deeds, the splendour and the individual lot of the ruler. In this way, they place the tyrant himself as a person at the centre of their poems. His achievements are assigned a place within world history, as the comparison of the battles of Himera and Cumae with Salamis and Plataea64 shows. This personalisation, this sharp focus on the ruler as an individual is underlined by the fact that Hieron’s illness is also mentioned, given that his kidney stones have nothing at all to do with the polis. Rather, this concentration on Hieron himself serves to present the tyrant as larger than life. The polis is not completely ignored but remains in the background: the fact that the military successes are never depicted as achievements of the citizens but of the tyrant corresponds to the political system. The personal qualities of the tyrant and the belief in his ‘heroism’ were decisive factors for the continuation of the existing order. In addition to this, the epinicia also refer to other aspects of a tyrant’s rule: in the context of the new foundation and refoundation of cities, which took place quite frequently because of the transplantation of large population groups, different tyrants attempted to portray themselves as heros ktistes: Hippocrates in Camarina, Gelon in Syracuse, Hieron in Aetna, Anaxilaus in Messene/Zancle. It is difÀcult to perceive this heroisation in our sources, but Diodorus for one mentions that a number of a tyrants were in fact worshipped in a ritual way after their death. 65 The poets of the epinicia tried very hard to elevate their patrons to the heroic sphere in their compositions for the tyrants. They achieved this in a number of ways: by using terms which triggered associations with gods and myths (skapton, elelichthon, okypodoi); by comparisons with characters such as Pelops or Croesus; by the suggestion that the gods would support the patron in a similar way to that in which the gods had supported the Homeric heroes; and by further manifold interconnected associations. This literary heroisation is easy to understand against the background of charismatic leadership as transcending the earthly sphere and providing direct access to the divine is one factor which contributes strongly to the development of a belief in the tyrant’s heroism. In his sociology of leadership, Weber also argues that every charismatic leadership strives to extend the legitimising basis of its ever precarious charisma by other factors in its attempts to make itself permanent. As part of this process, charisma is routinised and adopts elements of traditional leadership and rational leadership.66 Attempts to make the position of power achieved by charisma hereditary should be seen in this context. In the dedications of the Deinomenids in Delphi and Olympia there are no allusions to a hereditary monarchy, but they are found in the odes for Hieron. Pindar uses terminology that is applied to kings (basileus) and, like Bacchylides, he gives Hieron royal attributes (skapton). His comparisons of the system of rule with the Spartan kosmos also is redolent of a hereditary monarchy. As Luraghi has emphasised, Arcesilaus of Cyrene represents 64 65 66

Pind. Pyth. 1.71 ff. Diod. 11.38.5 (Gelon); 11.53.2 (Theron); 11.66.4; Strab. 6.2.3 (Hieron). Weber 1976, 142 ff., in particular 147.

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the only parallel to this amongst Pindar’s other patrons, and he actually was a representative of a hereditary monarchy which had lasted for many generations.67 It is not known whether the Deinomenids made further attempts to project their position as a hereditary monarchy apart from the examples from the epinicia. However, it is noteworthy that Herodotus has the envoys of the Greek motherland address Gelon as “King of the Syracusans”68 and that Diodorus consistently refers to the tyrants of Syracuse as basileis, sometimes even in explicit contrast with tyrants.69 Thus, we see that in the longer term at least the Deinomenidian self-projection was successful; perhaps purely the simple fact that the transition from one ruler to the next amongst the Deinomenids had taken place without any problems several times led to their tyranny being remembered as basileia. Hieron’s portrayal in the epinicia is not determined by the literary intent of the poets, but by the tyrant’s political situation. For Hieron, epinicia had the function of proclaiming his ideology of leadership both to the inhabitants of the cities he ruled, as the primary addressees of the songs, and to the secondary, panhellenic audience. The epinicia contributed to creating a charismatic basis for Hieron’s rule by emphasising his agonistic and military victoriousness, by using the term basileus and by presenting him as a favourite of the gods and as a hero. It is not possible to determine the effectiveness of the epinicia, that is their contribution to the fact that Hieron’s rule remained undisputed up until his death. What is certain, however, is that Hieron did not manage to place the tyranny on a permanent footing that lasted beyond his own lifetime: soon after his death, the tyranny in Syracuse and in the other cities of Sicily collapsed. The Emmenids’ understanding of rule explains the fact that the tone of the epinicia appears a little more muted. Theron’s tyranny does not show the same dynamism as that of Gelon or Hieron and in particular after the battle at Himera and the conclusion of the treaty with the Carthaginians by Gelon, it became clear that Theron was more of a junior partner to the Syracusan ruler. This weaker position is reÁected in the fact that the epinicia forego any major self-projection on his part: Theron’s rule is not presented as basileia in Pindar’s poetry; his praise is abundant but it remains on a more general, aristocratic level.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Arnson Svarlien, D. 1995: Reversal of Imagery and Values in Bacchylides 3 and 5, QUCC 50, 35–45. Boehringer, C. 1968: Hieron’s Aitna und das Hieroneion, JNG 18, 67–98. Brannan, P. T. 1973: Bacchylides’ Third Ode, CF 27, 187–229. 67 68 69

Luraghi 1994, 356. Hdt. 7.161.1. Diod. 11.66.1. In Xenophon’s dialogue Hieron, however, the Syracusan ruler is presented as a typical tyrant and he is the example which is used to go through the problems of tyrants.

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Bulman, P. 1992: Phthonos in Pindar, Berkeley et al. Bundy, E. L. 1962: Studia Pindarica I+II, University of California Publications in Classical Philology 18, Berkeley. Burkert, W. 1985: Das Ende des Kroisos: Vorstufen einer herodoteischen Geschichtserzählung, in Chr. Schäublin (ed.), Catalepton (FS B. Wyss), Basel, 4–15. Burnett, A. P. 1985: The Art of Bacchylides, Cambridge (Mass.) 1985. Caccamo Caltabiano, M. 1993: La monetazione di Messana: con le emissioni di Rhegion dell’età della tirannide, Berlin. Carey, C. 1981: A Commentary on Five Odes of Pindar. Pythian 2, Pythian 9, Nemean 1, Nemean 7, Isthmian 8, Salem. 2007: Pindar, Place, and Performance, in S. Hornblower and C. Morgan (eds.), Pindar’s Poetry, Patrons, and Festivals. From Archaic Greece to the Roman Empire, Oxford, 199–210. Carson, A. 1984: The Burners: A Reading of Bacchylides’ Third Epinician Ode, Phoenix 38, 111–19. Catenacci, C. 1992: Il tiranno alle colonne d’Eracle. L’agonistica e le tirannidi arcaiche, Nikephoros 5, 11– 36. Cingano, E. 1991: L’epinicio 4 di Bacchilide e la data della Pitica 3 di Pindaro, QUCC 68, 97–104. Dougherty, C. 1993: The Poetics of Colonization. From City to Text in Archaic Greece, New York and Oxford. Ebert, J. 1972: Griechische Epigramme auf Sieger in gymnischen und hippischen Agonen, Berlin. Farnell, L. R. 1961: Critical Commentary to the Works of Pindar, Amsterdam. Fraenkel, H. 1961: Schrullen in den Scholien zu Pindars Nemeen 7 und Olympien 3, Hermes 89, 385–397. 1993: Dichtung und Philosophie des frühen Griechentums, fourth edition, Munich. Gentili, B. et al. 1995: (eds.) Pindaro: le Pitiche, Milan. Gentili, B. 1995: Poesia e pubblico nella Grecia antica. Da Omero al V secolo, Rome et al. Gerber, D. E. 1982: Pindar’s Olympian One: A Commentary, Toronto. Harrell, S. E. 2002: King or Private Citizen: Fifth-Century Sicilian Tyrants at Olympia and Delphi, Mnemosyne 55, 439–464. Hönle, A. 1968: Olympia in der Politik der griechischen Staatenwelt, Tübingen. Krumeich, R. 1991: Zu den goldenen Dreifüßen der Deinomeniden in Delphi, JDAI 106, 37–62. Krummen, E. 1990: Pyrsos Hymnon. Festliche Gegenwart und mythisch-rituelle Tradition als Voraussetzung einer Pindarinterpretation (Isthmie 4, Pythie 5, Olympie 1 und 3), Berlin and New York. Kurke, L. 1991: The TrafÀc in Praise. Pindar and the Poetics of Social Economy, Ithaca and London.

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1993: The Economy of kudos, in C. Dougherty and L. Kurke (eds.), Cultural Poetics in Archaic Greece. Cult, Performance, Politics, Cambridge (UK), 131–163. Lefkowitz, M. 1976: The Victory Ode: An Introduction, Park Ridge/NJ. Luraghi, N. 1994: Tirannidi arcaiche in Sicilia e Magna Grecia. Da Panezio di Leontini alla caduta dei Dinomenidi, Florence. Maehler, H. 1997: Die Lieder des Bakchylides, Bd.1. Die Siegeslieder, Edition, Übersetzung und Kommentar von H. Maehler, Leiden. Malkin, I. 1987: Religion and Colonization in Ancient Greece, Leiden. Mann, C. 2001: Athlet und Polis im archaischen und frühklassischen Griechenland, Göttingen. Moretti, L. 1957: Olympionikai. I vincitori negli antichi agoni olimpici, Rome. Morrison, A. D. 2007: Performances and Audiences in Pindar’s Sicilian Victory Odes, London. Most, G. 2003: Epinician Envies, in D. Konstan and N. K. Rutter (eds.), Envy, Spite and Jealousy, Edinburgh, 123–142. Nicosia, S. 1990: Tiranni e cavalli, in S. Nicosia (ed.), Lo stile severo in Sicilia. Dall’apogeo della tirannide alla prima democrazia, Palermo, 55–62. Nisetich, F. J. 1988: Immortality in Acragas. Poetry and Religion in Pindar’s Second Olympian Ode, CPh 83, 1–19. Pfeijffer, I. L. 1999: Three Aeginetan Odes of Pindar: a Commentary on Nemean V, Nemean III, & Pythian VIII, Leiden. 2005: Propaganda in Pindar’s First Pythian Ode, in K. A. E. Enenkel and I. L. Pfeijffer (eds.), The Manipulative Mode. Political Propaganda in Antiquity: a Collection of Case Studies, Leiden and Boston, 13–42. Reichel, M. 2000: Zum literarischen und historischen Hintergrund von Bakchylides 3, in A. Bagordo and B. Zimmermann (eds.), Bakchylides. 100 Jahre nach seiner Wiederentdeckung (Zetemata 106), Munich, 147–160. Robbins, E. 1990: The Gifts of the Gods: Pindar’s Third Pythian, CQ 40, 307–318. Saïd, S./Trédé-Boulmer, M. 1984: L’éloge de la cité du vainqueur dans les épinices de Pindare, Ktema 9, 161–166. Schade, G. 2006: Die Oden von Pindar und Bakchylides auf Hieron, Hermes 134, 373–378. Scherling, K. 1933: RE XVI.1 s. v. Myrtilus (1), 1151–1164. Segal, C. 1971: Croesus on the Pyre: Herodotus and Bacchylides, WS 84, 39–51. Visa-Ondarçuhu, V. 1999: L’image de l’athlète d’Homère à la Àn du Ve siècle avant J.-C., Paris. Weber, M. 1976: Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Grundriß der verstehenden Soziologie, Àfth edition, Tübingen.

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1978: Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology, ed. by G. Roth and C. Wittich, transl. by E. Fischoff et al., Berkeley 1978. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, U. 1898: Bakchylides, Berlin. 1922: Pindaros, Berlin. Willcock, M. M. 1995: Pindar: Victory Odes: Olympians 2, 7, and 11, Nemean 4, Isthmians 3, 4, and 7, Cambridge (UK). Woodbury, L. 1966: Equinox at Acragas: Pindar, Ol. 2,61–62, TAPhA 97, 597–616. Young, D. C. 1970: Pindaric Criticism, in W. M. Calder and J. Stern (eds.), Pindaros und Bakchylides, Darmstadt, 1–95. 1983: Pindar Pythians 2 and 3: Inscriptional ›ƮƲо and the ‘Poetic Epistle’, HSPh 87, 31–48. Zunker, A. 1988: Untersuchungen zur Aiakidensage auf Aigina, St. Ottilien.

3 TO DIE LIKE A TYRANT Nino Luraghi

In human life, death is a natural event, the most natural event together with birth. However, in every human community it also takes on a cultural dimension, expressed in some form of ritualization, usually in connection with the treatment of the corpse, most often in ways that fall under the general category of the rites of passage.1 Beyond that, death is a social event also in the sense that it should ideally be appropriate for its protagonist and consistent with her or his social identity.2 In the Greek world, a familiar example is provided by the honor code of the Homeric warriors, in which the ‘belle mort’ in battle was actually the ultimate realization of the hero’s social role.3 In a similar vein, the fact that across history the death penalty meted out to slaves or free, or to persons of different social statuses, typically did not involve the same sort of execution is related to the perception of death as a component of social identity. We are therefore entitled to expect that the social role of any person contributes in deÀning the kinds of death that were considered socially appropriate for that person, and the other way around, that the kinds of death most typically associated with a certain social role may tell us something about the deÀnition of that social role in the relevant historical context. The present essay investigates the ways in which ancient sources describe the killing of Greek tyrants of the archaic, classical, and Hellenistic age, in order to gain from them elements for a deÀnition of tyranny and for the set of representations it was associated to. The deaths of tyrants will be taken as an angle from which to investigate the role of tyranny in Greek social ideology.4 The discussion will focus on the narratives found in the ancient sources, without attempting to reconstruct the real events that they may be referring to. In other words, the goal of the present investigation is not to understand how any particular tyrant was killed, but rather, how the 1

2 3 4

“The diversity of cultural reactions is a measure of the universal impact of death” (Metcalf and Huntington 1991, 24, an excellent introduction to the anthropology of death; on death and rites of passage, see 108–130). On the social organization of death and its cultural speciÀcity, see e. g. Bourdieu 1977, 166. Humphreys 2004, 148–168 provides a comparative discussion of the social aspects of Greek death. For a particularly striking example, see the description of William the Marshal’s death in Duby 1984, 7–34. On the concept of social role, see brieÁy Burke 1992, 47–50. See Vernant 1982a and 1982b. The concept of ideology is not used here in the orthodox Marxist sense, but rather as deÀned and employed by B. Althusser; see Duby 1974. On the relation of ideology and mentality, see Burke 1992, 91–96.

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sources depict his death, and why they depict it in a speciÀc way and not otherwise. The sources will not be discussed in their chronological order, but divided according to motifs. This approach involves a potential pitfall. One might legitimately wonder if sources ranging from the seventh century BCE to the second CE can be taken as representative of a historically coherent set of representations. On the other hand, while it may be possible to speculate about the emergence and development in time of the single motifs, the fact that by and large they do not tend to occur in separate chronological clusters seems to authorize a synchronic approach. The present investigation is similar to the one devoted by John Scheid to the deaths of a group of ‘bad’ Roman emperors, Caligula, Nero, Vitellius, and Galerius. In many ways, the peculiar aspects that Scheid recognizes in the narratives of the deaths of these emperors resonate with what we shall see in the case of Greek tyrants. Prominent aspects include a degree of artiÀciality and of publicity. Often, bad emperors are not the victim of one speciÀc individual, but seem to be collectively killed by the people. Their deaths are ritualized, in ways that remind of rituals of expulsion and turn the them into marginals. Finally, in their death these emperors are dehumanized and turned into beasts, in the way they defend themselves and in the way they are killed. The fundamental uniformity underlying the variety of the stories points to a ritual drama rather than to an exemplary punishment. As Scheid points out, the shadow of the Greek tyrants clearly lurks behind the portrayals of these emperors.5 A good starting point for the present investigation is offered by Alcaeus’ famous couplet toasting the death of the tyrant Myrsilus (fr. 332 Voigt): ƬԏƬ ƵƯӸ ƫƤƧҶƱƧƦƬ ƩƠр ƲƨƬƠ ›ҭƯ ơрƠƬ ›цƬƦƬ, ї›Ƥұ ƣү ƩнƲƧƠƬƤ ƓҶƯƱƨƪƮư, … Now it is time to get drunk, and let everyone drink violently, for Myrsilus died, …6

We do not know how Myrsilus died, but Alcaeus’ verses, above and beyond the poet’s ferocious joy, tell us something on the social aspect of the tyrant’s death. The invitation that the poet addresses to his fellow-symposiasts entails more than just irreverent scorn. Beside the social articulation of psychological distress, ritual behavior associated with funerary rituals and with the treatment of the dead in general is interpreted by students of Greek religion as meant to ensure for the deceased an orderly transition to his or her new status and to make sure that she or he did not turn into a thretening presence for the living.7 Feasting and drunkenness had no place in such rites. In this perspective, Alcaeus’ verses show a motif that we will meet again and again: when the death of a tyrant is at stake, the community does not hesitate to break its own civil and religious rules; not even fear of committing sac5 6 7

Scheid 1984, 177–190. On the sociology of Alcaeus’ stasiotic poetry, see esp. Rösler 1980 and Kurke 1994. Humphreys 2004, 150–161. The double role of Greek funerary rituals, intended to honor the dead and also to prevent them from turning against the living, is well brought out in Johnston 1999, 36–81. On fear of the dead as a motivator for death ritual see also Meuli 1975, 303–331, Metcalf and Huntington 1991, 85–96.

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rilege is enough to restrain the behavior of citizens in such circumstances. The meaning of this phenomenon requires attention. In order to approach it in a correct way, the Àrst thing to do is to take a closer look at its precise details. Before doing so, one key point needs to be made explicit. On the fact that, in principle, killing a tyrant was legitimate, ancient sources show no doubt. It is well known that the tyrant-slayers Harmodios and Aristogeiton, in spite of the slight practical utility of their gesture, became some sort of founding heroes of the Athenian democracy.8 That killing a tyrant could be seen in some sense as a foundational act for the political community is shown also by an honorary decree from Halicarnassus, of Hellenistic or early imperial date, in which Areus son of Neon is praised for descending from the founders of the city and from tyrant-slayers (SEG 44.871). Overall, our sources make it clear that killing a tyrant was a rightful act in ethical, political, legal, and religious terms. An archaic Athenian law, probably from the time before Solon, quoted in the Constitution of the Athenians, threatened atimia for the aspiring tyrant and his descendants.9 The author of the Constitution of the Athenians anachronistically interprets atimia as the loss of political rights, and accordingly Ànds the law particularly mild, but among modern scholars there is a consensus that here atimia means outlawry, in the sense that the offender and his offspring could be killed by anybody without the murderer committing himself a crime or being ritually polluted by the blood.10 The principle that a tyrant or aspiring tyrant could be killed without incurring in ritual pollution, let alone legal liability, is omnipresent in Greek legislation against political subversion.11 In the Demophantus decree of 410 BCE it is said explicitly that killing a tyrant is the duty of every good citizen, and whoever kills a tyrant or any of his associates will be pure in front of the gods. The same principle is reiterated in the Eucrates decree of 337/6.12 From the same period, possibly a few years earlier, the law of Eretria against tyranny and oligarchy includes similar provisions.13 Even an ambiguously pro-tyrannical work like Xenophon’s Hiero says that the cities, instead of punishing and excluding from access to their sanctuaries and sacred rites the man who kills a See e. g. Friedel 1937, 27–39; Fehr 1984; Taylor 19912; Lavelle 1993, 42–58. [Aristot.] Ath. Pol. 16.10 Chambers: ѩƱƠƬ ƣҭ ƩƠұ ƲƮԃư яƧƦƬƠрƮƨư ƮѴ ›ƤƯұ ƲԙƬ ƲƳƯнƬƬƷƬ ƬфƫƮƨ ›ƯӯƮƨ ƩƠƲ’ їƩƤрƬƮƳư ƲƮҵư ƩƠƨƯƮхư, ƮѸ Ʋ’ ыƪƪƮƨ ƩƠұ ƣү ƩƠұ ҄ ƫнƪƨƱƲƠ ƩƠƧпƩƷƬ ›Ưҳư ƲүƬ ƲӸư ƲƳƯƠƬƬрƣƮư . ƔфƫƮư ƢҫƯ ƠҏƲƮԃư ѩƬ ҈ƣƤ. ‘ƧоƱƫƨƠ ƲнƣƤ яƧƦƬƠрƷƬ ƩƠұ ›нƲƯƨƠ· їнƬ ƲƨƬƤư ї›ƠƬƨƱƲԙƬƲƠƨ ї›ұ ƲƳƯƠƬƬрƣƨ ѥ ƱƳƢƩƠƧƨƱƲӹ ƲүƬ ƲƳƯƠƬƬрƣƠ, ыƲƨƫƮƬ ƤѹƬƠƨ ƩƠұ ƠҏƲҳƬ ƩƠұ ƢоƬƮư. For the interpretation of this passage, see below. 10 See, among others, Ostwald 1955, 106–107 and 114; Hansen 1976, 75–82; Piccirilli 1976; Rhodes 1981, 221–222; Gagarin 1981, 76; Chambers 1990, 211. Cf. however Friedel 1937, 24 and Carawan 1993. On the development of atimia and its interpretation in modern scholarship, see also Knoepfler 2001, 222–223. 11 See Youni 2001, 121–132 with further references and the remarks of Versnel 1998, 56–57. 12 See Ostwald 1955, and more recently Bertelli 1994. Note now the weighty arguments against the authenticity of the decree of Demophantus, as transmitted in Andocides 1.96–98, brought by Canevaro and Harris 2012, 119–125; their argument however does not undermine the historicity of the clauses referring to the killing of tyrants or aspiring tyrants. 13 SEG 51.1105 A lines 4 ff.; see Knoepfler 2001, 208–209. 8 9

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tyrant, reward him with high honors and put his statues in the sanctuaries.14 The high honors granted to tyrant-slayers are mentioned by Aristotle in Politics as an obvious fact that requires no further commentary.15 When Timoleon killed his brother Timophanes, tyrant of Corinth, his fellow-citizens could not decide whether he should be condemned for fratricide or honored for killing a tyrant.16 After all, it was taken for granted that a tyrant could not expect to resign his power and retire; Thucydides’ Pericles compares the empire of the Athenians to a tyranny in order to make clear to them that there was no way that they could just give it up and hope to be left alone.17 In other words, it is perfectly clear what the appropriate course of action was for a good citizen confronted with a tyrant: he should kill him. The principle is expressed in two couplets, both possibly by Theognis and therefore tentatively datable between the late seventh century and the middle of the sixth: ƑхƯƬƤ, ƧƤƮҵư ƠѳƣƮԏ ƩƠұ ƣоƣƨƧƨ· ƲƮԏƲƮ ƢҫƯ ыƬƣƯƠ ƤѷƯƢƤƨ ƫпƧ’ ќƯƣƤƨƬ ƫпƲƤ ƪоƢƤƨƬ чƱƤơӸ. ƣƦƫƮƴнƢƮƬ ƣҭ ƲхƯƠƬƬƮƬ ҈›Ʒư їƧоƪƤƨư ƩƠƲƠƩƪԃƬƠƨ Ʈҏ ƬоƫƤƱƨư ›Ưҳư ƧƤԙƬ ƢрƬƤƲƠƨ ƮҏƣƤƫрƠ. Oh Kyrnos, respect and fear the gods, for this Prevents man from doing or saying impious things. But as for the people-devouring tyrant, knock him dead the way you please, For there is no retaliation from the side of the gods for this.18

It is not totally certain that the four lines belong all to the same elegy, and this renders the date of the second couplet even more uncertain. In any case, what is interesting from our perspective is the meaning of the second couplet, which afÀrms the principle of the religious purity of whoever kills a tyrant, and as for the way, the poet says with contempt that any way is good, what matters is to kill the man. But the matter is actually more complex that this. If we look at the sources, it soon turns out that tyrants were supposed to be killed in speciÀc ways, according to a meaningful typology. Such typology can be broken down in a series of motifs, which will be discussed in the following.

14 15 16 17

18

Xen. Hier. 4; cf. Isocr. de pace 143. Aristot. Pol. 1267a14–15. Plut. Timol. 5.1–2; Diod. 16.65.5. On the differences between the two, see Westlake 1952, 59–61. Thuc. 2.63.2; see Raaflaub 2003, 81. The same basic concept, but from the point of view of the tyrant, is expressed by Dionysius the Elder’s famous saying that tyranny is a Àne burial shroud (Isocr. Archid 44–5; Diod. 14.8.5; 20.78.2; Plut. Cat. 24.11; Ael. VH 44.8). Theog. 1.1179–82 (author’s translation). The verb that indicates what should be done to the tyrant, ƩƠƲƠƩƪҲƬƷ, ‘to lay down,’ is probably a sarcastic synonim for ‘to kill.’ At any rate, other occurrences of the verb show that, when used in a Àgurative sense, it refers to a concrete action, not to a metaphorical one (as would be the case if we understood its meaning here as ‘to overthrow’ vel sim.). On this, see Van Groningen 1966, 430. For a different, to my mind less convincing interpretation, see West 1974, 164. See also von der Lahr 1992, 110–122.

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1. SACRILEGE Sacrilege in connection with the death of an aspiring tyrant comes up in a famous episode from the last quarter of the seventh century BCE. The Athenian olympionikes Cylon, trusting an oracle he turned out to have misinterpreted, tried to occupy the acropolis of Athens, but his coup failed and he and his supporters had to seek refuge. Ancient sources disagree as to what exactly happened next. According to Herodotus (5.71), the conspirators and Cylon sat as suppliants by the statue of Athena. Athenian magistrates convinced them to abandon the protection of the goddess and face trial, promising to spare their lives, but then the Alcmeonids killed them. Thucydides (1.126) has a similar but vastly more detailed version of this story. He adds that Cylon had married the daughter of the tyrant of Megara Theagenes, and misunderstood an oracle that urged him to seize the acropolis on the day of the festival of Zeus, which Cylon referred to the Olympics and not to the Athenian Diasia, the festival of Zeus Meilichios. After the conspirators had occupied the acropolis, the Athenians attacked and blockaded them, trying to starve them to death. Later however they relaxed the blockade, so that Cylon and his brother were able to Áee. At that point, the supporters of Cylon, by now dying of hunger, sat by the altar on the acropolis as suppliants. In order to prevent them from dying in the sanctuary, thereby polluting it, the Athenians took them out promising not to harm them, but then killed them all, even though some of them had sought refuge on the altar of the Erinyes. Plutarch (Sol. 12) adds further details: the conspirators walked away from the statue of Athena after tying a braided thread to it, but the thread tore when they were close to the sanctuary of the Erinyes.19 At that point, Megacles and the other archons fell upon them, maintaining that the goddesses had refused them her protection. Some of the conspirators were stoned to death, others slaughtered by the altar. Only the ones who approached as suppliants the wives of the archons were spared their lives. Although in different ways each of the sources, with the possible exception of Herodotus, appears to play down the responsibility of the Alcmeonids, it is clear that they were considered guilty of sacrilege for this bloodbath, and were for this reason on two occasions exiled from Athens.20 One other tyrant who was killed at the price of a sacrilege is the Spartiate Euryleon, who accompanied Dorieus in his Sicilian adventure and for a short while ruled over the Selinuntians. The latter rose against him and killed him although he had sought refuge by the altar of Zeus Agoraios.21 We hear nothing about the consequences of this sacrilege for the Selinuntians. In another episode, not many years earlier, the consequences of the sacrilege are spelled out extensively in the sources.

19

20 21

The stratagem consisting in tying a thread or a rope to a sanctuary in order to include whatever is tied at the other end into the sacred space was allegedly used also by the Ephesians (Hdt. 1.26.2), or by their tyrant Pindar (Ael. VH 3.26; Polyaen. 6.50), when their city was besieged by Croesus. On these stories, see Thomas 1989, 272–280. For a discussion from a legal point of view, see De Bruyn 1995, 21–24. Hdt. 5.46.2. See Luraghi 1994, 54 and n. 14.

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In Sybaris, the supporters of the tyrant Telys were slaughtered by the altar of the temple of Hera, the main deity of the Achaean colony. The statue of the goddess turned her head away from the massacre and an inexhaustible spring of blood started Áowing out from the Áoor of the temple. The Sybarites were compelled to seal the sanctuary with bronze slates in order to prevent the blood from streaming through the city. According to Heraclides Ponticus, who narrated the story in his treatise On justice, the massacre was the cause, or one of the causes, of the destruction of Sybaris.22 As we know from other sources, the sacrilege of the Sybarites was cleansed by the Crotoniates, who razed the city to the ground and then diverted the course of the river Krathis so that it ran over its ruins. Heraclides’ story is all the more interesting, because its historicity is highly doubtful. Ancient sources make it abundantly clear that the destruction of Sybaris was a shocking event, and it prompted various stories that tried to explain it as a result of some sort of offence to the gods committed by the Sybarites.23 It is noteworthy that in the search of causes for the destruction of the city the murder of followers of a tyrant inside a sanctuary seems to have been ready at hand. Another famous victim of a murder that involved sacrilege was the tyrant Clearchus of Heracleia Pontica, killed around the middle of the fourth century BCE.24 His case is different from the others seen so far, though, because it does not involve a violation of the right of asylum. According to Diodorus, Clearchus was killed while he was going to watch a religious ceremony, but the local historian Memnon of Heracleia, who lived probably between the Àrst century BCE and the Àrst CE, says that Clearchus was killed by the altar as he was about to perform a sacriÀce in the framework of a public religious festival.25 Interestingly, in Memnon’s narrative, preserved in a reasonably ample excerpt by Photius, there is no mention of the gods’ anger or of the fact that the murder involved a sacrilege. The killers do get punished cruelly, not by the gods however, but by Satyrus, who succeeded Clearchus as tutor of his infant children. The last case brings us even further in time, in the last epoch of Greek tyranny. Aristotimus, tyrant of Elis thanks to the help of Antigonus Gonatas, was killed in spite of his attempt at putting himself under divine protection by seeking refuge at the altar of Zeus Soter, according to Pausanias, or inside the temple itself, according to Plutarch.26 In this case, too, the sources do not seem to consider the murder a sacrilege and have no record of the anger of the gods. Before we move away from the sanctuaries, it is necessary to consider one aspect of these stories. In all likelihood, sacred asylum was not an unlimited right

22 23 24 25 26

Heracl. Pont. Fr. 49 Wehrli ap. Athen 12.521 F. See Del Corno 1993. On Telys and the destruction of Sybaris, see also Luraghi 1994, 59–65. On Clearchus, see Berve 1967, 315–318. Bittner 1991, 91–96 is unfortunately rather superÀcial. Diod. 16.36.6 and Memnon, FgrHist 434 F 1.1.4 (Phot. Bib. cod. 224, 222b); on the sacrilege associated with his killing see Riess 2006, 72–73. Paus. 5.5.1; Plut. de mul. virt. 15.253b. For a discussion of the evidence, see Stadter 1965, 84–89. See also Bearzot 1992, 143–144.

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among the Greeks. There are good reasons to believe that a murderer, or at any rate somebody who had committed a particularly serious crime, could be dragged away from the altars and out of the sanctuary and executed, once his guilt was ascertained.27 This may have been the case with the leaders of the oligarchy at Ephesus at the time of Alexander, who were dragged out of the temple in which they had sought refuge and stoned to death.28 In the case of tyrants, however, the slaughter seems often to involve a clear sacrilege, occurring as it does immediately by the altars or even inside temples. Furthermore, in the cases of the Alcmeonids and of the Sybarites the sources are explicit in saying that the killing provoked an agos, i. e. ritual pollution. In other words, what these stories mean is not that tyrants are excluded from the protection afforded by the gods to their suppliants, but rather, that in order to kill a tyrant one is ready to commit sacrilege and attract on oneself the wrath of the gods. In other words, the tyrants are not really an exception to the right of asylum. From the point of view of the political community and of its social norms, it is an important difference. Of course, from the point of view of the tyrants the lesson implied in these stories was a scary one: nothing, not even fear of the gods, could prevent their fellow-citizens from killing them. Finally, it should not go unnoticed that it is in the two latest episodes that the sources do not seem to think that the murder of the tyrant constitutes a sacrilege and do not refer to an agos resulting from it. We will return to this later.

2. THE UPROOTING OF THE FAMILY The second motif could be called the massacre of the offspring, or the uprooting of the family. We meet it in a rather ancient testimony, possibly the most important for the present investigation. It is a fragment of Solon (fr. 33 West2), in which the lawgiver-poet gives voice to an imaginary character who mocks Solon’s own behavior, attributing to sheer stupidity the fact that Solon had not reached for tyranny when he could have. The most interesting lines are the following: ѧƧƤƪƮƬ ƢнƯ ƩƤƬ ƩƯƠƲпƱƠư, ›ƪƮԏƲƮƬ ыƴƧƮƬƮƬ ƪƠơҷƬ ƩƠұ ƲƳƯƠƬƬƤхƱƠư яƧƦƬоƷƬ ƫƮԏƬƮƬ ѤƫоƯƦƬ ƫрƠƬ, чƱƩҳư ҔƱƲƤƯƮƬ ƣƤƣнƯƧƠƨ Ʃч›ƨƲƤƲƯрƴƧƠƨ ƢоƬƮư. If I had gained power, obtained vast wealth, And become tyrant of Athens for only a single day, I’d be willing to be Áayed into a wineskin afterwards and to have my line wiped out.29

We could take the last line as a vague adynaton, as if the imaginary character meant that he would be ready to do anything to become a tyrant, even for one single day.

27 28 29

On the right of asylum, see Sinn 1993, esp. 88–95; Naiden 2006 provides detailed discussions of all aspects of supplication; on the legal aspects, see 171–218. Arr. 1.17.9–19; on stoning, see below. Sol. Fr. 33.5–8 West2 (translation Campbell); see now the detailed commentary of Noussia Fantuzzi 2010, 431–443.

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However, such an interpretation would be inadequate. On the contrary, we must recognize that the last sentence undermines the coherence of the imaginary speaker and ends up justifying Solon’s own choice. In other words, the last line describes what Solon, possibly with some exaggeration, regards as the expected end of those who aspire to tyranny. This conclusion is reinforced by a passage from the Aristotelian Constitution of Athens, discussed above, where the author mentions an archaic Athenian law against tyranny, which he ascribes to the time before Pisistratus, according to which whoever tried to install a tyranny or helped another do so would be punished with atimia extended to his offspring.30 If we read Solon’s lines in parallel with the text of this law, the conclusion is reinforced: in both texts not only the tyrant, but also his children are threatened with death.31 We do not need to see in Solon an allusion to the law, as shown by the way in which the imaginary interlocutor envisions his death. But we can conÀdently assert that the parallelism between the two texts shows that the way in which Solon imagines the fate of the tyrant and of his offspring corresponds fundamentally to representations that were widespread in archaic Athens, and that the law may well date to the time before Pisistratus, as the author of the Constitution of the Athenians thought. The notion that a tyrant exposed to massacre all his family and friends is itself quite widespread in the evidence. The tyrant Aristodemus of Cumae was captured by a band of conspirators who had penetrated into his palace at night, and killed together with his children and his whole family, according to Dionysius of Halicarnassus, probably based on Timaeus of Tauromenium.32 Phalaris, tyrant of Agrigentum in the Àrst half of the seventh century and famous for his cruelty, drew an horrendous fate over those who were close to him: his mother and his friends ended up roasted in the brazen bull that the tyrant had had made by Perilaus of Argos in order to roast alive his enemies. The witness is the Hellenistic epitome of constitutions that goes under the name of Heraclides Lembus.33 The same motif appears in the story of the tyrant Ortyges of Erythrae, narrated in a passage of the historian Hippias of Erythrae reported by Athenaeus. After killing King Cnopus of Erythrae, Ortyges ruled the city for a while, maltreating and offending the citizens in all sorts of ways. Finally, he was overthrown by a coup lead by Cnopus’ brother. Ortyges himself was stabbed, his followers and their wives and children massacred.34 Even more striking was the case of Hicetas, the tyrant of Leontini. After he and his son, captured alive by Timoleon, were executed, the Syracusans tried all the women of his family and condemned them to death.35 The daughters of Aristotimus of Elis were allowed to hang themselves only thanks to the intercession of the women of Elis, who held back their men and prevented them from massacring the maidens.36 The daughters of Dionysius the

30 AP 16.10 (text above, n. 9); on the meaning of atimia in this context, see above. 31 On the meaning of genos in the text of the law, see Bourriot 1976, 309–317. 32 Dion. Hal. AR 7.11.3–4. On his sources, see e. g. Luraghi 1994, 80–82. 33 Her. Lem. Exc. polit. 69 Dilts. 34 Hippias FgrHist 412 F 1 ap. Athen. 6.258 f–259 f. See Berve 1967, 96–97 and 576. 35 Plut. Timol. 32.1–2; 33.1. 36 Plut. de mul. virt. 253c–e.

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Younger were less lucky: captured by the Locrians, they paid with a horrible death for the harsh domination of the tyrant over the South Italian city.37 It is not easy to tell exactly was lies behind the horror stories that especially late sources tell us. One could be tempted to conclude that, in the case of tyranny, the legal principle of personal responsibility did not apply, but such an explanation, while partly correct, would not get to the heart of the matter. Rather more appropriately, it should be pointed out that the potential price for tyranny was the elimination of one’s progeny, a possibility that was particularly feared by Greeks. We might also venture that the extermination of people connected to the tyrant may have something to do with the fact that tyranny seems to be conceived of as also a sort of agos, a ritually polluting action that provoked the wrath of the gods and contaminated all those who were closest to the offender. It will be possible to assess this suggestion in a more informed way in the light of the next motif.

3. PURIFICATION This motif could also be called ‘the scapegoat’, but this would be more an interpretation than a description. We shall instead approach the evidence in an empirical way, bringing in interpretative models in a second step. Very often, the killing of the tyrant is depicted in the ancient sources as an act to which the whole political community participates. The most explicit case is the one of Phalaris. Diodorus tells how one day the tyrant saw a Áock of doves pursued by a hawk, and pointed out to the people around him the paradox of that little group escaping from one single individual. If the doves had dared face the hawk all together, the tyrant said, they would have easily gained the upper hand. One may doubt the ornithological competence of this observation, but clearly the people of Agrigentum found it convincing: the Byzantine excerpt that preserves the story ends rather abruptly saying that as a consequence of this speech Phalaris lost his power, but the explanation of this ambiguous sentence is probably found in a passage where Cicero says that Phalaris was not killed by an ambush or by a conspiracy, but by an attack of the whole crowd of the Agrigentines.38 It is possible that, whenever the sources say simply that a tyrant was killed by his fellow-citizens, they actually mean something along these lines. At any rate, there are two cases where the evidence is more explicit in describing how this collective murder actually happened. In both cases, the instrument is the typical instrument of collective killing: stoning.39 As seen above, death by stoning was the fate of Cylon’s supporters in Plutarch’s version of the story. According to Herodotus, after Aristagoras, tyrant of Miletus turned liberator of Ionia, delivered the tyrant 37 38 39

Strab. 6.1.8. Diod. 9.30; Cic. off. 2.7.26. Note that, as far as early Sicilian history is concerned, Cicero read the same authors used by Diodorus. On stoning in Greek culture, see Gras 1984; Cantarella 1984. Interesting observations also in Steiner 1995.

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Coes to the Mytileneans, the latter took him out of the city and stoned him.40 Furthermore, it is possible that Alcaeus called Pittacus, whom he considered a tyrant, worthy of being stoned.41 It is worth pausing for a moment on these episodes. Even though we might be inclined to think the opposite, the Greeks did not conceive of stoning as a kind of lynch justice, as the essentially emotional reaction of an angry crowd. Stoning, a procedure in which notionally all citizens took part, was the most radical way for the political community to expel one of its members. The person who was object of the throws was not supposed to patiently wait to get killed: Áight or asylum at an altar were possible ways of escape, but they did not cancel the expulsion, which remained Ànal. It has been observed that, in being a way to sanction the expulsion of an individual from the community, stoning in some ways resembles atimia, in its archaic form discussed above. However, besides being an act performed by the political community, stoning also had strong religious undertones. The very possibility for the victim to escape makes stoning into a form of aphosiosis, or divine judgment.42 Unsurprisingly, stoning was a typical punishment for offences that involved agos or ritual contamination. That killing a tyrant could be equated to ritual puriÀcation is even less surprising, in light of what we have been observing so far: the fact that it was possible to kill the tyrant and his children without incurring into ritual pollution demonstrates by itself that the tyrant was as such perceived as an asebes, an offender against the gods, and therefore religiously contaminated and a source of miasma, of further contamination for the whole polis.43 To depict his killing as an act of puriÀcation must have been obvious. The ritual undertones may go even beyond this general level. Stoning was typically employed in the ritual of the pharmakos, the Greek counterpart of the Near Eastern scapegoat rituals. In some Greek cities, every year a man, as marginal as possible from the point of view of the political community, i. e. an old man, a beggar, or somebody physically deformed, was ritually expelled, and often stoned, in order to purify the city. This ritual is attested, more or less clearly, in particular in Ionian cities such as Massalia, Abdera, Ephesus, and Athens itself, where it took place during the Thargelia.44 We might speculate that the killing of tyrants by stoning could be seen as a puriÀcation by analogy with the pharmakos. Something of the sort is clearly implied in the case of Phalaris: here, the depiction of the tyrant as a pharmakos and of his story as a sequence miasma-puriÀcation are fairly clear in the sources.45 The 40 41 42 43

44 45

Hdt. 5.38.1. Alc. fr. 298.1–3 Voigt as interpreted by Ogden 1993. As noted by Gernet 1968, 326. The ritual purity of whoever kills an asebes (unless the killing itself involves a sacrilege, as in the cases discussed above) is a normal element of Greek religious law. See e. g. the law IG IV 1607, from the Argolis, dating to the Àrst half of the sixth century, now in Körner 1993, 93–95, number 32. On ritual contamination in Greek religion, see Parker 1983; on the lack of pollution for socially justiÀable killings (such as those of a tyrant or an adulterer), see esp. 124–125. See especially Versnel 1977; Burkert 1979, 59–77; Bremmer 1983. See Schepens 1978; Bianchetti 1986. The casting of Phalaris’ story into this pattern clearly derives from the work of Timaeus of Tauromenium (early third century BCE), but it is unclear

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association of tyrant and pharmakos could derive plausibly from the fact that the tyrant was as such perceived as an asebes, whose crime polluted and endangered the whole community,46 and from the tendency, clearly visible in the sources, even late, to depict the tyrant as a marginal, excluded from the social fabric of the polis. Paradoxically, this way of patterning the death of the tyrant can also point us towards a rather different, indeed opposite explanation. The very ritual of the pharmakos involves an element of ambiguity. In some cases, it appears that the individual chosen as the victim was lavishly fed by the community prior to the expulsion. Some scholars have seen in the ritual feasting of the pharmakos the traces of a ritual associated to a particular aspect of sacred kingship, that is, to the notion of a magical connection between the king and the well-being of the community, such that the ritualized sacriÀce of the king could become a means of reconciling the gods and thereby re-establishing the natural order. There is here a clear functional and formal analogy with scapegoat rituals. This complex of notions was active in Greek mentality, and comes to the fore e. g. in the story of King Codrus of Athens and in that of Oedipus, according to Jean-Pierre Vernant’s famous interpretation of Sophocles’ Oedipus Tyrannus. It would be a typical case of the ambivalence of marginality: on the one hand, the stigma attached to individuals that are considered radically inferior, on the other the marginality of the single individual isolated at the top of the social hierarchy, that is, the marginality of the king.47 This would cast a shadow of ambiguity on the association of tyrant and pharmakos. The marginality of the tyrant, a representation that underpins the stories of collective murder we have been discussing, but also many other aspects of the tyrant’s portrait, could be interpreted as a paradoxical aspect of the tyrant’s attempt at conjuring up an ideology of kingship rooted in a chronologically deep layer of Greek culture.48 Much as this conclusion sounds extremely plausible at Àrst, further reÁection may suggest some caution. First of all, the homology of king and pharmakos, which at any rate seems to appear only in the cases of Codrus and Oedipus, is not enough to postulate the existence within archaic Greek culture of a speciÀc conception of monarchy, of which after all the sacriÀce of the king is but one aspect among many.49 In other words, the elements we observed are not marked, explicit, and articulated enough to warrant the conclusion that the assimilation of tyrant and pharwhether the pattern goes back to earlier sources or was created by Timaeus himself; it certainly reÁects his religious and political ideas (see Vattuone 1991). 46 The idea that the whole community can be hit by divine retaliation for the crimes of one of its members is omnipresent in Greek culture, starting with Hesiod, Op. 240. 47 See esp. Girard 1972, 27–28 and 150–158. 48 For this conclusion, see Ogden 1993, developing observations of Vernant 1982c, Versnel 1977 and Burkert 1992, 98–99. Note however that Ogden’s thesis has a weakness of philological nature, since it proves impossible to demonstrate the equivalence of leuster and pharmakos, which is the cornerstone of his reasoning. For a broader formulation of the thesis, see Ogden 1997, esp. 148–151. 49 See Rose 1959, whose claim that there are absolutely no traces of divine kingship in Greek culture seems however exaggerated. The volume offers an excellent starting point for an understanding of divine kingship and of its presence in other cultural contexts. On sacred kingship in

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makos really implies a connection, established by the tyrants themselves or by the discourse of tyranny more in general, to positive models of autocracy in the framework of an ideology of monarchy in which the marginality would have put the tyrant at the very center of the self-representation of the political community. This said, the occasional stoning of tyrants is not the only element that points to a depiction of the fall of tyranny as a puriÀcation for the city. Nicolaus of Damascus, probably drawing upon Ephorus, mentions that, after the fall of Psammetichus, the last of the Cypselids of Corinth, the graves of the family were violated and their bones tossed outside the borders of the polis.50 This was the treatment meted out to criminals who had committed asebeia, the same that, according to Thucydides and Plutarch, the Alcmeonids underwent. Incidentally, the notion that not even in the grave is a tyrant Ànally safe underpins the anecdote about the death of Periander of Corinth found in Diogenes Laertius. The tyrant allegedly gave order to two men to go at night on a certain road and kill and bury the man they would meet. Then he ordered four more men to go on the same road and kill and bury the two. Finally, a larger group of men was ordered to do the same with the four.51 Periander, counted among the seven wise men, acted with extreme caution. Better to kill six people too many than even remotely to run the risk that his grave might be located. There is yet another case where the death of a tyrant may be depicted as an act of puriÀcation. According to Polybius and Plutarch, the tyrant Aristomachus of Argos was killed in a way typically associated with puriÀcation, the katapontismos.52 This was the punishment Philip of Macedon inÁicted on thirty thousand Phocian prisoners after the battle of the Gulf of Pagasae, in order to punish them for plundering the sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi.53 In Aristomachus’ case, however, the katapontismos was only the Ànal act of a much more gruesome death, in which another motif played the leading role, a motif we are going to turn to now.

4. TORTURE We have reached the last stop, arguably the most sinister in our itinerary. The last motif we will be considering is torture. In order to overcome a natural reaction of repulsion, the discussion will start with the most cynical among our sources. Talking about Aristomachus’ death, Polybius mentions the sinister account given by Phylarchus, according to which the ill-fated tyrant, before being Ànally drowned, had been tortured to death, and his cries had been heard a long distance away.54 Polybius is quoting his predecessor only to criticize and mock him, his attitude be-

50 51 52 53 54

the Iliad see Mondi 1980, who Ànds in the poem only very faint traces of this phenomenon, not recognized as such by the actors. Nic. Dam. FgrHist 90 F 60. Diog. Laer. 1.96. Polyb. 2.59–60; Plut. Ar. 44.6. Diod. 16.35.6. On katapontismos, see Versnel 1977, 39–40 and Schepens 1978, 145–146. Polyb. 2.59, including Phylarchus FgrHist 81 F 54.

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ing dictated in particular by the fact that responsible for Aristomachus’ death had been Aratus of Sikyon, Polybius’ hero. According to Polybius, Aristomachus had committed such crimes and cruelties that he would have amply deserved the end described by Phylarchus. On top of that, Phylarchus’ narrative was not accurate, for the tyrant, in spite of all his crimes, had just been drowned.55 Aristomachus has ample company. There is a host of tyrants and/or friends, relatives, and accomplices of tyrants who met a similar end. Some cases we have already seen: Phalaris’ mother and friends were roasted alive in the bronze bull, Aristodemus and his children and relatives were tortured to death in the most gruesome ways, and the same happened to the wife and children of Ortyges of Erythrae, to his followers, and to their wives and children. Polycrates, tyrant of Samos, whose splendor, according to Herodotus, was comparable only to the Deinomenids of Syracuse, was captured by the satrap of Sardis Oroetes and killed in a way that Herodotus calls unworthy of being described, and then his corpse was impaled.56 A similar fate befell the tyrant Histiaeus of Miletus, alleged mastermind of the Ionian revolt, beheaded and impaled by Artaphernes and Harpagus.57 Much later, the tyrants Aristonicus and Stesilaus of Methymna, delivered by Alexander the Great in the hands of their fellow-citizens in 331 BCE, were also tortured to death.58 However, the most striking case is that of the tyrant Hippon of Messana. After Timoleon captured him and delivered him to his fellow-citizens, the latter congregated in the theater, taking with themselves their children as if to a spectacle, and there tortured the tyrant to death.59 The motif of torture, together with that of the uprooting of the family, is the one that is most often and most closely associated with the deaths of tyrants. Particularly striking is the frequency of cases in which, together with the tyrant, friends or relatives are also tortured to death. The two motifs are already associated in the lines of Solon cited above: the expected consequences faced by a tyrant are to be Áayed and to see his offspring wiped out. The Theognidean line is possibly also related to this idea, pointing to the fact that for the tyrant, the usual, civilized ways of killing a regular criminal did not apply;60 on his body, the cruelty and sadism of the citizens could rage without limits.

55

Polybius’ cynicism has good company: Walbank 1933, 103, speaks of ‘a well-deserved execution.’ 56 Hdt. 3.125.2–3. In this case, the killer is a barbarian, not a Greek, which means that the episode is at the same time an example of the cruelty of the barbarians. Although Herodotus does not say so, modern scholars generally concluded that Polycrates was Áayed (see e. g. Boffo 1979, 87 n. 13), according to a typically Near Eastern custom documented in Hdt. 5.25, Ctesias Pers. 5.59 and Darius’ inscription at Bisitun, DB 32 Kent. On Polycrates’ supplice, see also Stesimbrotus FGrHist 107 F 29; Cic. De Àn. 5.92; Val. Max. 6.9. ext.5; Galenus, Protrepticus 4. 57 Hdt. 6.30.1. 58 Curt. Ruf. 4.8.11. 59 Plut. Timol. 34.4; see Westlake 1952, 50–51. 60 For a typology of death penalty in Athens, as usual the best documented case, see Karabélias 1991, 98–101.

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What does this actually mean? Again, on a very simple level, this is a powerful warning for any would-be tyrant. However, this simple observation covers a much more complex reality. For the Greeks, torture was not just an expression of generalized cruelty. Torture had clear connotations and was practiced in speciÀc cases. Ideally, torturers were supposed to be the barbarians and the tyrants themselves, and torturing people to death was seen as a quintessentially barbaric thing. On the other hand, in the Greek world torture was used in judiciary practice, but reserved for slaves, whose testimony was typically valid only if obtained by this means.61 Only very exceptionally the proposal was formulated to apply torture to free individuals. For instance, according to Andocides’ de mysteriis, in the climate of collective hysteria generated by the profanation of the Eleusinian mysteries and the mutilation of the herms, the proposal was presented to the Athenian assembly to abolish the law that prohibited the interrogation of free citizens under torture. The mere proposal was enough for two of the accused to seek refuge at the altar in the Pnyx. They convinced the Athenians to accept other people as hostages in their stead and Áed from Athens.62 The extent to which torture was dreaded is shown also by an episode narrated by Diodorus. At Argos in 370, a group of citizens who had been caught plotting the overthrow of democracy committed suicide, with only one exception, out of fear of being interrogated under torture.63 We could conclude that the tyrant received a treatment normally reserved to slaves, and this would not be completely wrong, but we should also keep in mind that, although there may not have been much of a difference in practice, judiciary torture among the Greeks is normally differentiated, also in terms of vocabulary, from torture whose only goal was to render death more painful. In other words, it seems more accurate to interpret the evidence in the sense that the tyrant could be treated in ways that were otherwise stigmatized as barbaric or – ironically – tyrannical.

5. SOME POSSIBLE INTERPRETATIONS After this journey through the macabre world of tyrant killing, it is time to sum up and try and formulate an overall interpretation for all the phenomena observed so far. Preliminarily, it will be necessary to consider two possible kinds of explanation, both of which are partially accurate, but ultimately unsatisfactory. They could be called respectively the judiciary and the literary interpretation. According to the literary interpretation, the deaths of the tyrants should be seen essentially as a product of the necessity felt by the narrators to let justice triumph, punishing the guilty, rewarding – often retrospectively – the just and showing the operation of divine justice in history. Applying what has been called poetic justice, 61 62 63

See Gagarin 1996, with general bibliography on torture. For an interesting perspective, that however overlaps only very marginally with our concerns, see DuBois 1991. Andoc. de myst. 43–4. Diod. 15.58.1–2; see Gehrke 1985, 32 and 251.

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ancient writers supposedly narrated the death of tyrants according to a lex talionis of sorts, turning against them the same acts of violence and cruelty that they had perpetrated against their fellow-citizens.64 In applying this kind of retrospective justice, the authors scrupled little to provide a reliable version of the events they narrated. On the contrary, their narrative priorities easily seduced them into rewriting history, inventing facts out of thin air. As pointed out at the beginning, the factual truthfulness of the sources is not a central concern of the present investigation, and accordingly, it is not very important whether or not the details reported by the ancient sources are factually accurate. After all, the goal of this investigation is not to Ànd out how this or that tyrant was killed, but rather how the Greeks represented the death of tyrants. However, the notion that the logic of such representations can be explained simply by the application, in purely literary terms, of some sort of poetic retaliation makes sense of the evidence only very partially. For in the sources it is abundantly clear that the necessary and sufÀcient condition for a certain character to be killed in one of the ways described is for that person to be a tyrant or the relative, friend, or supporter of a tyrant. This is the crime that brings about all the punishments we have discussed so far, and there is no need for the victim to have previously committed cruelties. Sure enough, there are cases where one may feel that the literary interpretation is the most adequate. For instance, we may think of the tyrant Satyrus of Heracleia Pontica, who rotted alive. According to Memnon, who tells the story, this horrible death was a punishment for his inhuman cruelty.65 However, in general it is clear that it was tyranny itself, and not any speciÀc act of cruelty, which exposed the tyrant and his friends and relatives to the consequences we have been discussing. In other words, the punishment of the tyrant is not just a case of poetic justice dictated by the rhetorical needs of an edifying narrative. In a good number of cases, it is a sanction against the tyrant as such, regardless of whether he had proven himself especially cruel or not.66 However, such a sanction is not depicted in the sources as operating according to the logic of speciÀc legal procedures, as a judiciary interpretation might suggest. It is true that, both at Athens and elsewhere, law addressed tyranny as a crime, comparable to what we would call high treason.67 However, the sources clearly tend to depict the killings of tyrants as episodes of spontaneous justice, as explosions of uncontrolled violence that take place in a sphere that is essentially foreign to that of civic law. Death by torture and the extermination of the family do not typically belong to the kinds of punishment that a Greek city can mandate by law, and actually,

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For an example of this interpretation, see Friedrich 1973. Memnon FgrHist 434 F 1.2.4–5 (= Phot. Bib. cod. 224, 223 a–b). This is the most important difference between the deaths of Greek tyrants and of the tyrantemperors investigated by John Scheid (Scheid 1984). In those cases, the killing was not the expression of critique of the emperor as an institution. On the contrary, the emperor had to have committed some speciÀc lawless act in order to qualify for a tyrant’s death. 67 On legal procedure against tyrants, as documented in late-classical and early Hellenistic inscriptions, see esp. Koch 1996 and Koch 2001 (and add now Knoepfler 2001 and 2002).

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the sources offer only very rare cases of tyrants who underwent a regular trial. Interestingly, those few cases conÀrm the conclusions formulated so far. We know of two cases of Greeks who were tried for tyranny. One is Miltiades of Athens, tyrant of the Chersonesus, who was acquitted, and the other is Thrasydaeus of Agrigentum, the son of Theron, who Áed to Megara when his city was conquered by Hieron of Syracuse, and was there condemned to death and executed.68 At least in the second case, it is clear that Thrasydaeus was not tried in the city he had ruled, by the citizens he had dominated. The case of Miltiades is less clearcut, but even if we suppose that he was tried because among his subjects there were the descendants of some Athenian colonists who had settled in the Chersonesus,69 we have to recognize that, de facto, he, too, was tried for having been tyrant of a political community that was different from the one which tried him – and we may doubt what was, from the point of view of the Athenians, the exact status of the descendants of those fellow-citizens of theirs who had moved to Chersonesus at the time of Miltiades the Elder. Some more, unclear cases of trials of tyrants appear in the story of Timoleon, and even here, the legal framework is doubtful to say the least. The tyrant Mamercus, actually an Italic soldier of fortune, surrendered to Timoleon in Messana, on condition of facing a public trial and not having Timoleon as his accuser. Taken to Syracuse, in front of the citizen assembly he had to give up his defense speech because of the uproar, and tried to commit suicide by running head-on against a marble step. However, he survived and the Syracusans seized him and killed him in the way reserved for pirates. As for Hicetas, Plutarch says that he and his son, once captured, were killed as tyrants, but it is difÀcult to tell if this laconic statement alludes to a formal trial. On the contrary, it is clear that Hicetas’ wife and daughters were indeed tried, and sentenced to death.70 We should not fail to notice that neither Hicetas (himself a Syracusan) nor Mamercus had been tyrants of Syracuse. In conclusion, all these episodes, far from proving that the execution of tyrants followed clearly deÀned legal procedures, offer further proof of the fact that, in the case of tyrants, normal judicial procedures were easily left aside or applied in highly peculiar ways. When the tyrant fell in the hands of his fellow citizens, these did not reach for the law code, but for weapons, stones, or instruments of torture. In other words, we should not exaggerate the contrast between the way in which the sources describe the killing of tyrants and the existence of laws against tyranny. A severe legal dissuasion should not be misconstrued, as if it were paradoxically a legal guarantee for those suspected of aiming at tyranny: the case of Mamercus shows that it was nothing of the sort. For the Greeks, tyranny was an offence that provoked essentially summary justice.

68 69 70

Hdt. 6.104 and Diod. 11.53.5 respectively. As suggested by Berve 1967, 84. See Plut. Timol. 34.6–7; Polyaen. 5.12.2 (Mamercus); Plut. Timol. 32.2.; 33 (Hicetas and family). See Westlake 1952, 43–44 and 49–50, and Talbert 1974, 113–114.

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6. CONCLUSION We are now in a position to tackle the question of what the more or less sinister stories we have been looking at can tell us about the way Greeks conceived of tyranny. In order to do so, it will be necessary to recapitulate some observations formulated above. First of all, the death of the tyrant is a reason for celebration not for mourning. What is at stake is not a psychological reaction, but rather the reversal of speciÀc ritual prescriptions on how to deal with death and the dead body. But then again, in dealing with the tyrant acts that are even more blatantly sacrilegous than Alcaeus’ toast become possible: the citizens are ready to defy divine anger and to face the consequences. The tyrant has the entire citizen body against him, and he and his followers are liable to be exterminated together with wives and children. The extermination of the tyrant and his connections sometimes resembles an act of puriÀcation, involving the expulsion of polluted individuals from the community, and the expulsion is carried out by the citizens with the wild ferocity that they consider typical of the barbarians, that is, of the Other, against whose image they deÀne themselves. A simple principle underpins all these notions, a principle that is enounciated with artiÀcial precision in one of Quintilian’s declamationes (274.5): the tyrant puts his own absolute power above the law, and accordingly he is himself not protected by the laws; all is allowed to him, all is allowed against him. Formulated in such a simple way, this principle may seem obvious, but that is not so. For every criminal acts outside the law, and yet the punishment for his actions is established by the law. It is as though the tyrant committed a transgression that went in quality beyond any possible crime, to the point that, in order to punish him, the political community feels prepared temporarily to disavow its own rules, which amount to an important component of its very identity. The punishment of the tyrant is depicted as a macarbe, bloody carnival, during which the laws and rules of social life are suspended. Needless to say, the purpose of this suspension is precisely the reinforcement of those very laws and rules: tellingly, after the explosion of violence that accompanies the elimination of the tyrant the sources insist, often with emphasis, on the reestablishment of the legal and constitutional order, often underscored by the establishment of a new religious cult. In other words, the demise of the tyrant is not conceived of as a normal if important event in the life of a political community: on the contrary, it temporarily calls into question the very essence of the community, the norms and rituals of social life. In killing a tyrant, a political community can for a moment turn into a wild and lawless horde, and only after his death it becomes again what it is supposed to be, coinciding with its own image of itself. The meaning of this is clear: it is necessary fort he tyrant to be killed in order that the community can regain its own identity. The distribution of the evidence over time has interesting implications as to the development of these notions. Beside the essential point that it is legitimate to kill a tyrant, the motifs that are documented already in the archaic period are torture and the extermination of the offspring. Sacrilege associated with the killing of tyrants does not show up in sources earlier than Herodotus, but we have reasons to surmise that it was actually older. Firstly, the story of the sacrilege of the Alcmeonids is in

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any case older than Herodotus, if indeed the Spartans used it at the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War in order to pressure the Athenians into exiling Pericles (Thuc. 1.126.2, 127.1), and especially if we can trust Herodotus that already king Cleomenes had used it in order to have Clisthenes exiled from Athens (Hdt. 5.70.2), a story that is rather unlikely to be invented, since it was associated with an act that must have left visible traces, namely the desecration of the family graves of the Alcmeonids. In other words, the story of the sacrilege of the Alcmeonids almost certainly goes back to the late sixth century at the latest. Second, as pointed out above, stories that include sacrilege in the killing of late-classical or Hellenistic tyrants, some narrated by the very same authors who talk about the sacrilege of the Alcmeonids, show no preoccupation that the sacrilege committed in order to kill the tyrant may provoke divine retaliation or at any rate ritual pollution. In other words, in its complete form the motif is not attested beyond the Àfth century, and the fact that even later sources associate it only to episodes from the archaic age reinforces the likelihood that it may indeed be archaic. The development of the motif of collective killing and of the scapegoat tyrant is more complex. Comparing a tyrant to a pharmakos in order to slander him, as Alcaeus does with Pittacus, has to do with the recurrent motif of the marginality of the tyrant and the refusal by the rest of the aristocratic elite to recognize him as one of them, but also with the perception of the tyrant as a miasma, a source of religious pollution that needs to be eliminated in order to purify the community – ideally, eliminated by the community itself, acting collectively. Elements of these notions appear already, more or less clearly, in archaic culture, but it is unclear to what extent they were already integrated into a coherent whole. The few sources that go back to the archaic period seem more interested in exploring what the single aristocratic individual who becomes a tyrant can do or suffer, or what the single aristocratic individual can, is supposed to, or would like to do to the tyrant: the viewpoint seems to be that of individuals competing for power, and not so much that of a political community. It is difÀcult to tell for sure to what extent this bundle of notions should be connected to a concept of sacred kingship. It is uncertain, to put it mildly, that Greece knew legitimate monarchic power between the fall of the Mycenaean kingdoms and the age of the tyrants (see above chapter 1). Accordingly, if the motif of the scapegoat-king does indeed have something to do with the archaic concept of the tyrant, it is more likely to have originated from cross-cultural inÁuences, which are visible in the emergence of the concept of the tyrant, than to be an element of continuity with the political ideology of the Bronze Age. In conclusion, two observations come to mind. The most striking result of a study of the motifs associated to the death of tyrants from the archaic age onwards is their vitality: we can easily follow their successive incarnations in the Roman, Byzantine,71 and Western Medieval cultures, all the way to the Ecerinis, the epic poem of the humanist Albertino Mussato on the Paduan tyrant Ezzelino da Romano 71

In Byzantine political ideology the image of the tyrant is employed in a new political context, and the word itself comes to refer to the usurper of the imperial throne; see Cresci 1990.

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or to Fuente Ovejuna of Lope de Vega and beyond. One reason for this vitality resides in the fact that the motifs we have been observing have only rather weak links with a speciÀc form of political order. In other words, archaic and later Greek culture consistently refuses to acknowledge tyranny as a kind of political order, and the discourse of tyranny is strictly conÀned to a Àeld that we could call anthropological or psychological: the tyrant is essentially a human type, that can easily be universalized. Finally, it is important to stress that the inhuman cruelty that ancient authors ruitinely attribute to the tyrant and the savage fury of the citizens who attack the tyrant are two faces of the same coin. If we had to choose, it is extremely hard to tell which one came Àrst, the image of the bloodthirsty tyrant or that of the citizens who torture him to death and murder his wife and children; it is difÀcult to tell which one of these two complexes of representations generated the other, even though almost all those who, in ancient or modern times, have thought about Greek tyranny have responded unanimously to the former. But on reÁection one is tempted to conclude that these are two sets of images that are complementary and symbiotic, and illustrate in the most vivid way the core of the representation of tyranny in archaic and classical Greek culture, its being anomia, suspension of the laws and norms of social life, reversion from culture to nature for the whole political community.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Bearzot, C. 1992: Storia e storiograÀa ellenistica in Pausania il Periegeta, Venice. Bertelli, L. 1994: Legislazione antisovversiva ad Atene tra V e IV sec. a. C., in E. Corsini and G. Squarotti (eds.), Voce di molte acque. Miscellanea di studi offerti a Eugenio Corsini, Turin, 3–28. Berve, H. 1967: Die Tyrannis bei den Griechen, Munich. Bianchetti, S. 1986: Falaride pharmakon degli Agrigentini, Sileno 12, 101–109. Bittner, A. 1991: Tyrannenmord in Herakleia am Pontos, Altertum 37, 91–96. Boffo, L. 1979: Il logos di Orete in Erodoto, RAL 34, 85–104. Bourdieu, P. 1977: Outline of a theory of practice, Cambridge. Bourriot, F. 1976: Recherches sur la nature du génos. Étude d’histoire sociale athénienne – périodes archaïque et classique, Lille. Bremmer, J. 1983: Scapegoat rituals in ancient Greece, HSPh 87, 299–320. Burke, P. 1992: History and Social Theory, Cambridge. Burkert, W. 1979: Structure and history in Greek mythology and ritual, Berkeley. 1992: Origini selvagge. SacriÀcio e mito nella Grecia arcaica, Rome and Bari.

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Canevaro, M. and Harris, E. M. 2012: The documents in Andocides’ On the Mysteries, CQ 82, 98–129. Cantarella, E. 1984: Per una preistoria del castigo, in Du châtiment dans la cité. Supplices corporels et peine de mort dans le monde antique. Table ronde organisée par l’École française de Rome avec le concours du Centre national de la recherche scientiÀque (Rome 9–11 novembre 1982), Paris, 37–73. Carawan, E. M. 1993: Tyranny and outlawry: Athenaion Politeia 16.10, in R. M. Rosen and J. Farrell (eds.), Nomodeiktes: Studies in honor of M. Ostwald, Ann Arbor, 305–319. Chambers, M. 1990: Aristoteles. Staat der Athener, Darmstadt. Cresci, L. R. 1990: Appunti per una tipologia del ƲхƯƠƬƬƮư, Byzantion 60, 90–129. De Bruyn, O. 1995: La compétence de l’Aréopage en matière de procès public, des origines de la Polis athénienne à la conquête romaine de la Grèce, Stuttgart. Del Corno, D. 1993: L’immagine di Sibari nella tradizione classica, in A. Stazio and S. Ceccoli (eds.), Sibari e la Sibaritide. Atti del trentaduesimo Convegno di studi sulla Magna Grecia, Taranto-Sibari, 7–12 Ottobre 1992, Taranto, 9–18. DuBois, P. 1991: Torture and truth, London. Duby, G. 1974: Histoire sociale et idéologie des sociétés, in J. Le Goff and P. Nora (eds.), Faire de l’histoire, I, Paris, 147–168. 1984: Guillaume le Maréchal ou le meilleur chevalier du monde, Paris. Fehr, B. 1984: Die Tyrannentöter. Oder: Kann man der Demokratie ein Denkmal setzen? Frankfurt a. M. Friedrich, W. H. 1973: Der Tod des Tyrannen. Die poetische Gerechtigkeit der alten Geschichtsschreiber und Herodot, A&A 18, 97–129. Friedel, H. 1937: Untersuchungen zum Tyrannenmord in Gesetzgebung und Volksmeinung der Griechen, Stuttgart. Gagarin, M. 1981: The thesmothetai and the earliest Athenian tyranny law, TAPhA 111, 71–77. 1996: The torture of slaves in Athenian law, CPh 91, 1–18. Gehrke, H.-J. 1985: Stasis. Untersuchungen zu den inneren Kriegen in den griechischen Staaten des 5. und 4. Jhs. v. Chr., Munich. Gernet, L. 1968: Anthropologie de la Grèce antique, Paris. Girard, R. 1972: La violence et le sacré, Paris. Gras, M. 1984: Cité grecque et lapidation, in Du châtiment dans la cité. Supplices corporels et peine de mort dans le monde antique. Table ronde organisée par l’École française de Rome avec le concours du Centre national de la recherche scientiÀque (Rome 9–11 novembre 1982), Paris, 75–89. Hansen, M. H. 1976: Apagoge, endeixis and ephegesis against kakourgoi, atimoi and pheugontes, Odense. Humphreys, S. C. 2004: The family, women and death: comparative studies, second edition, Ann Arbor.

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Johnston, S. I. 1999: Restless dead: encounters between the living and the dead in ancient Greece, Berkeley. Karabélias, E. 1991: La peine dans Athènes classique, in La Peine-Punishment. Recueils de la société Jean Bodin pour l’histoire comparative des institutions, 55.1, Antiquité, Brussels. Knoepfler, D. 2001: Loi d’Éretrie contre la tyrannie et l’oligarchie, I, BCH 125, 195–238. 2002: Loi d’Éretrie contre la tyrannie et l’oligarchie, II, BCH 126, 149–204. Koch, C. 1996: Die Wiederherstellung der Demokratie in Ilion. Zum Wandel der Gesetzgebung gegen die Tyrannis in der griechisch-makedonischen Welt, ZRG 113, 32–63. 2001: Prozesse gegen die Tyrannis. Die Vorgänge in Eresos in der 2. Hälfte des 4. Jh. v. Chr., Dike 4, 169–217. Körner, R. 1993: Inschriftliche Gesetzestexte der frühen griechischen Polis. Akten der Gesellschaft für Griechische und Hellenistische Rechtsgeschichte, 9, Vienna. Kurke, L. 1994: Crisis and decorum in sixth-century Lesbos, QUCC 47, 67–92. Lavelle, B. 1993: The Sorrow and the Pity: A Prolegomenon to a History of Athens under the Peisistratids, c. 560–510 B. C., Stuttgart. Luraghi, N. 1994: Tirannidi arcaiche in Sicilia e Magna Grecia: da Panezio di Leontini alla caduta dei Dinomenidi, Florence. Metcalf, P. and Huntington, R. 1991: Celebrations of Death: The Anthropology of Mortuary Ritual, second edition, Cambridge. Meuli, K. 1975: Gesammelte Schriften, ed. By M. Geltzer, 2 vols., Basel. Mondi, R. 1980: ƙƩƤ›ƲƯƮԏƵƮƨ ơƠƱƨƪƤԃư: an argument for divine kingship in early Greece, Arethusa 13, 203–216. Naiden, F. S. 2006: Ancient supplication, Oxford. Noussia Fantuzzi, M. 2010: Solon the Athenian, the poetic fragments, Leiden and Boston. Ogden, D. 1993: Cleisthenes of Sikyon, ƪƤƳƱƲпƯ, CQ 43, 353–363. 1997: The crooked kings of archaic Greece, London. Ostwald, M. 1955: The Athenian legislation against tyranny and subversion, TAPhA 86, 103–128. Parker, R. 1983: Miasma: pollution and puriÀcation in early Greek religion, Oxford. Piccirilli, L. 1976: Aristotele e l’atimia. Athen. Pol. 8,5, ASNP 6, 739–761. Raaflaub, K. A. 2003: Stick and glue: The Function of Tyranny in Fifth-Century Athenian Democracy, in K. A. Morgan (ed.), Popular Tyranny: Sovereignty and its Discontents in Ancient Greece, Austin, 59–93. Rhodes, P. J. 1981: A commentary on the Aristotelian Athenaion Politeia, New York. Riess, W. 2006: How Tyrants and Dynasts die: The Semantics of Political Assassination in Fourth-Cen-

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tury Greece, in G. Urso (ed.), Terror et pavor: violenza, intimidazione e clandestinità nel mondo antico, Pisa, 65–88. Rösler, W. 1980: Dichter und Gruppe. Eine Untersuchung zu den Bedingungen und zur historischen Funktion früher griechischer Lyrik am Beispiel Alkaios, Munich. Rose, H. J. 1959: The evidence for divine kings in Greece, in The sacral kingship. Contributions to the central theme of the VIIIth International Congress for the History of Religions (Rome, April 1955), Leiden, 371–379. Scheid, J. 1984: La mort du tyran. Chronique de quelques morts programmées, in Du châtiment dans la cité. Supplices corporels et peine de mort dans le monde antique. Table ronde organisée par l’École française de Rome avec le concours du Centre national de la recherche scientiÀque (Rome 9–11 novembre 1982), Paris, 177–193. Schepens, G. 1978: Polybius on Timaeus’ account of Phalaris’ bull, a case of ƣƤƨƱƨƣƠƨƫƮƬрƠ, AncSoc 9, 117–148. Sinn, U. 1993: Greek sanctuaries as places of asylum, in N. Marinatos and R. Hägg (eds.), Greek sanctuaries: new approaches, London and New York, 88–109. Stadter, P. A. 1965: Plutarch’s historical methods: an analysis of the mulierum virtutes, Cambridge, Mass. Steiner, D. T. 1995: Stoning and sight: a structural equivalence in Greek mythology, ClAnt 14, 193–211. Talbert, R. J. A. 1974: Timoleon and the revival of Greek Sicily, 344–317 B. C., Cambridge. Taylor, M. W. 1991: The Tyrant-Slayers: The Heroic Image in Fifth-Century Athenian Art and Politics, second edition, New York. Thomas, R. 1989: Oral tradition and written record in classical Athens, Cambridge. Van Groningen, B. A. 1966: Theognis. Le premier livre, édité avec un commentaire, Amsterdam. Vattuone, R. 1991: Sapienza d’Occidente. Il pensiero storico di Timeo di Tauromenio, Bologna. Vernant, J.-P. 1982a: Introduction, in G. Gnoli and J.-P. Vernant (eds.), La Mort, les morts dans les sociétes anciennes, Cambridge and Paris, 5–15. 1982b: La belle mort et le cadavre outragé, in G. Gnoli and J.-P. Vernant (eds.), La Mort, les morts dans les sociétes anciennes, Cambridge and Paris, 45–76. 1982c: Ambiguïté et renversement. Sur la structure énigmatique d’Oedipe-Roi, in J.-P. Vernant and P. Vidal-Naquet (eds.), Mythe et tragédie en Grèce ancienne, Paris, 14–29. Versnel, H. 1977: Polycrates and his ring: two neglected aspects, SSR 1, 17–46. 1998: Inconsistencies in Greek and Roman Religion, I, Ter Unus: Isis, Dionysos, Hermes, Three Studies in Henoteism, Leiden et al. von der Lahr, S. 1992: Dichter und Tyrannen im archaischen Griechenland. Das Corpus Theognidaeum als zeitgenössische Quelle politischer Wertvorstellungen archaisch-griechischer Aristokraten, Munich. Walbank, F. W. 1933: Aratos of Sikyon, Cambridge.

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West, M. L. 1974: Studies in Greek Elegy and Iambus, Berlin and New York. Westlake, H. D. 1952: Timoleon and his relations with tyrants, Manchester. Youni, M. 2001: The different categories of unpunished killing and the term ыƲƨƫƮư in ancient Greek law, in E. Cantarella and G. Thür (eds.), Symposion 1997, Cologne et al., 117–137.

4 THE VICTORIOUS KING: REFLECTIONS ON THE HELLENISTIC MONARCHY Hans-Joachim Gehrke I Research on the Hellenistic world, insofar as it has concerned itself with politics and the State, has long concentrated on the Hellenistic rulers, and that for good reason: the king was not merely head and centre of the State, but also precisely its constituent. The very principle of statehood subsisted in the person of the king.1 Moreover, the fact that kings and monarchies were now dominant appeared to distinguish this period fundamentally from the earlier periods of Greek history in which city-states, the poleis, had prevailed. The main focus of research on this area is reÁected in the title of a paper by Horst Braunert who spoke at the yearly meeting of German historians in Freiburg in 1967 on “Theory of the State and Constitutional Law in Hellenism.”2 Research on Hellenism has been dominated largely by these subjects; indeed, one might almost say that it suffers under them. The theory of the State and constitutional law undeniably represent two important subjects, yet to concentrate almost exclusively on these areas is to produce an incomplete picture. Even though no less a scholar than Julius Kaerst ascribes considerable importance3 to the monarchical idea of philosophical origins in his conception of the Hellenistic State, discussion of theories of the State is, given the nature of the sources, initially a subject for the history of philosophy. We are comparatively wellinformed about the attitudes of Greek intellectuals towards autocratic rule, how it is reÁected in their thought, and what expectations intellectuals had of such government.4 Here, however, we remain in the rather rareÀed realm of ideas. We understand more or less the ideal of a good ruler, but we know nothing about whether or not similar views circulated outside of the philosophy and rhetoric schools, or whether such ideals were actually accepted and seen as such (and thus as guidelines of political conduct). It comes as no surprise that the attempt by Wilhelm Schu1

2 3 4

On this Braunert 1968, 48 with references; see esp. the references in n. 12 on personal monarchy, and now also E. Will, in Will et al. 1975, 431 and Kyrieleis 1980, 10 (with reference to Bikerman 1938, 3 ff.). Even in the rather peculiar theory of Zancan 1934, the “unione personale” is key (146 ff.). Braunert 1968, 47 ff. Kaerst 1968, 296 f., see also Kaerst 1898. See e. g. Goodenough 1928, 52 ff., and further Will et al. 1975, 441 n. 2.

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bart5 to Ànd evidence of the philosophical ideal of monarchy or of some popularized form thereof in documents and archival materials, i. e. in inscriptions and papyri, should be regarded as unsuccessful, as useful as his collection of source materials certainly is.6 That material illustrates precisely the fact that in concrete political reality, the idea of the ruler is already and systematically accentuated differently. The philosophically-formulated theory of State will remain of little value in helping us to understand the characteristics of the real Hellenistic monarchy as long as the question of its relationship to reality is not Àrst clariÀed. During the time of Walter Otto at the latest, a treatment of ‘Hellenistic constitutional law’ became (and remains, for some) a major desideratum of research. As understandable as this preoccupation with the legal form of the Hellenistic monarchy was at a time when scholars were still tangibly inÁuenced by the work of Mommsen on Roman constitutional law, today such a concern seems questionable when new works on Roman history (to mention only those of Jochen Bleicken, Hartmut Galsterer, and Christian Meier) have transcended Mommsen’s (and others’) reduction of the subject to its purely legal dimension.7 It is certainly not to be disputed that scholars such as Elias Bikerman, Victor Ehrenberg, and Alfred Heuss have achieved signiÀcant results with respect to the legal, political, and social elements of the Hellenistic State.8 I intend merely to approach Hellenistic monarchy from the point of view of its political and social reality, and then to examine the nature of the form of political organization we call the ‘Hellenistic State’, while avoiding the problems generated by the above-mentioned limitations in the focus of previous research. At the same time, aspects of the importance of theory and law may also become evident in the following discussion. If we wish to avoid becoming immediately lost in details, we must concentrate our gaze on the decisive point, that is, the question of the speciÀc character of the social and political relationships between the king and his subjects, between the ruler and the ruled. This means that we must consider not legality but legitimacy. We must ask to what extent and on what basis, under which conditions – whether these lay in the person of the ruler or had objective foundation – the ruler’s position was regarded by his subjects as legitimate, and therefore accepted in practice. It is not difÀcult to recognize that we are moving here in the area of the categories and terminology of the sociology of rule.9 I regard this not merely as necessary, in view 5 6 7

8 9

Schubart 1937, 1 ff. This results from Farber 1979, 498 ff. Particularly clear for Hellenistic history in Schachermeyr 1925, 435 ff.; also Granier 1931, on the assembly of the Macedonian army (see now Errington 1978, 77 f.), and more recently in Ritter 1964, passim (esp. strikingly 92–94; 102 f.; 106 f.; 111 f.: what the author cannot admit, cannot have happened); see on the other hand the warning of Aymard 1967, 238. Bikerman 1965; Ehrenberg 1965; Heuss 1937. On this, Max Weber is still fundamental (see below, n. 10): see Weber 1972, 16 ff.; 122 ff.; 541 ff. The importance of this insight is also underlined in Habermas 1976, 39 and 45 f.; see also Gladigow 1977, 4. On the importance of the concept of јƩфƬƲƷƬ ыƯƵƤƨƬ for the distinction between kingship and tyranny, i. e. illegitimate rule, see esp. Aristotle Politics 3.14.1285a27 ff. and 5.10.1313a51 f., and Welwei 1963, 123 f.

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of the nature of our question, but also useful, given fundamental sociological propositions about government. Of the three types of legitimate government with which Max Weber operated,10 namely the traditional, the rational, and the charismatic, the last appears prima facie to be the most appropriate and illuminating for the characterization of the form of Hellenistic monarchy. I will here attempt, with reference to observations especially by Claire Préaux11 and Elias Bikerman,12 to test the application of the concept proved itself in historical reality by using it as a working hypothesis. This allows us to show how the concept itself could gain in historical substance.13 Finally, it is possible to illustrate how such an understanding of the monarchy can offer new approaches to aspects and controversies of Greek history. The same limitations of method apply mutatis mutandis for the present enquiry as for the above-mentioned categories of government generally: these are ideal

10

On Weber’s concept of legitimacy see esp. Winckelmann 1952; Brunner 1968, 71; and in general Graf Kielmannsegg 1971, 367 ff. On the fundamental importance of Max Weber for the sociology of rule and especially for questions of legitimacy see the observations of Brunner op. cit., 65 ff.; 70; 78 and Hennis 1976, 12 ff., esp. 15, and 20, both going beyond Weber’s own work. Brunner attempts to factor in the historical context in which Weber operated and points to the relatively modest reception of the concept of legitimacy. It has to be admitted clearly that the historical applicability of these concepts cannot be taken for granted; on the contrary, it is necessary Àrst to show that they do indeed help shed light on historical phenomena, as Brunner rightly maintains (Brunner op. cit., 70: “Anders ist die Lage für den Historiker. Er kann der Frage nicht ausweichen, wieweit diese Begiffe über den Bereich, dem sie entstammen, hinaus anwendbar sind,” see also 74). For this very reason it is necessary to ‘try out’ the concept. The radical criticism of Hennis op. cit., esp. 15, on the contrary, is for the historian of secondary importance, because his goals are entirely different: he is interested in a qualitative and normative distinction between legitimacy and illegitimacy (Habermas calls this concept of legitimacy ‘normativistisch’, in Habermas 1976, 39, and for his critique, 55 ff.). On the other hand, it should go without saying that the concept of legitimacy of Max Weber and his followers, ‘empiricist’ (Habermas op. cit., 39) or ‘universal, analytic and social-scientiÀc’ (Hennis op. cit., 20), is at least in principle adequate for historical, and thereby empirical objects (for the Àeld of sociology itself, this is admitted by Habermas op. cit., 55, and we have to accept his reproach against the ‘lack of standards of sheer historical understanding’, op. cit., 59). This way of understanding the concept, which includes the ‘factual recognition’ in history and regards legitimacy from the point of view of the people involved in the power relation, takes care also of the critical observations of Bleicken 1972, 90 ff. with n. 25, regarding the applicability of the concept of legitimacy. 11 Préaux 1978, 183 ff. On the whole, however, she bases herself on the categories deÀned by Georges Dumezil. 12 Bikerman 1938, see also Will et al. 1975, 430 and cf. the concept of individualistic rule (which is part and parcel of the notion that the Hellenistic period was an age of individualism) especially in Kaerst 1926, 298 ff.; 326 ff. (on the same lines also de Francisci 1948, 436 f.) and ‘personal monarchy’, which Aymard 1967, 73 ff.; 126 ff. (and, building on the same foundations, Goukowsky 1978, 12 ff.) distinguishes from ‘national monarchy’ in an excessively artiÀcial way (see also Ehrenberg 1965, 194; Will et al. 1975, 425 f.). On the role of the ‘spear-won land’ in this context see below n. 69. 13 See Bleicken’s criticism on this point (Bleicken 1972, 92 f. n. 25); on the ‘routinization of charisma’, see below.

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types which are abstracted from the social and political reality, in which they do not appear in pure form. Rather, the elements that characterize each type are combined with one another in the most diverse ways and proportions. It is therefore only possible to gain an understanding of the typical character of the Hellenistic monarchy by theoretically isolating its central factors, without implying, however, that during this period every single state was organized exactly in this or a very similar way, or that there were no other essential components of government and its legitimization beyond the dominant elements. The empirical usefulness of this approach lies precisely in this application of the concepts, that make it possible to avoid both shoehorning cases into the categories of a formalized catalogue and giving up analysis in favor of a mere list of different single cases.14 Precisely the application of the typological methodology allows us not to suppress special cases and non-speciÀc components as such.

II According to Max Weber, two elements are characteristic of the legitimization of the charismatic type of ruler:15 Àrst, the emergence of a government which is legitimated in this way is associated with exceptional situations and emergencies. The relationship between ruler and ruled is constituted by the ruler’s conveyance, through his achievements or merits in the spheres of magic, religion, psychology, politics, or war, of the enduring impression that he is supported by the gods or favored by fortune. The prosperity of the people under his rule results in their conÀdence in him, the perception of his rule as legitimate, and also the imposition of signiÀcant commitments upon the people. At the same time, however, the conditions which give rise to this form of rule mean that it is fundamentally unstable: ultimately it is a success, such as a victory in the military-political sphere, or an exceptional individual achievement, which determines its creation and survival. To cite Weber himself: “It is recognition on the part of those subject to authority which is decisive for the validity of charisma. This recognition is freely given and secured by the leader’s proving himself, at the beginning always with a miracle. It is based on surrendering to revelation, hero worship, or to absolute trust in the leader.”16 On the other hand: “If proof and success elude the leader for long, if he appears deserted by his god or his magical or heroic powers, above all, if his leadership fails to beneÀt his followers, it is likely that his charismatic authority will disappear.” The historian of Hellenism can most readily begin with this dependence of charismatic rule on success. According to one of the lemmata ơƠƱƨƪƤрƠ in the Suda (B 147 A), one becomes a king not by nature (ƴхƱƨư, which in this context means “descent, birth”) or by justice (ƣрƩƠƨƮƬ), but rather by the ability to lead an army 14 15 16

On the ‘ideal type’ see esp. Heuss 1968, 64 ff. On the provenance of the concept, see Brunner 1968, 72 f; on its interpretation see also the perceptive observations of de Francisci 1947, 54 ff. Weber 1972, 140; trans. G. Roth and C. Wittich, in Weber 1968, 242, with changes.

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and sensibly administer political affairs (ѤƢƤԃƱƧƠƨ ƱƲƯƠƲƮ›оƣƮƳ ƩƠұ ƵƤƨƯрƥƤƨƬ Ʋҫ ›ƯнƢƫƠƲƠ ƬƮƳƬƤƵԙư). The example of the fate of Arrhidaios is then given: his birth (physis) as the natural son of Philip II did not help him against the Diadochoi, who ruled the entire world because of these very skills. This note, which can certainly be dated to the Hellenistic period,17 is a particularly important indication that at this time, military and political ability was regarded as a constitutive element for the establishment of a ơƠƱƨƪƤрƠ, that is, legitimate rule according to the notions of antiquity. One can Ànd many examples which suggest that in this passage we have not merely the view of an otherwise unknown ancient Machiavelli, but a glimpse of historical reality and the reÁection of a real situation. In such examples, the charismatic elements of the Hellenistic ơƠƱƨƪƤрƠ become still more visible than in the deÀnition given by the Suda. Above all, this happens in the kind of situation in which the postulated abilities appears in concentrated form, that is, in a military victory or in great military achievements. The Àrst ‘real’ Hellenistic kings after Alexander, that is, the Àrst to call themselves kings after the elimination of the Argead dynasty, were Antigonos the Oneeyed and his son Demetrios Poliorketes, who took this step after the glorious victory that Demetrios achieved in 306 at Salamis on Cyprus against their powerful opponent, Ptolemy of Egypt.18 Sixty years later, Attalos of Pergamon likewise claimed the crown, or rather the diadem, after he defeated the Galatians at the springs of the Kaïkos River.19 Victory thus offered a good opportunity to dignify and legitimate one’s leadership, through the support of subjects and especially of the army, with the aura of kingship. The activities against the Celts in Macedonia following the death of Ptolemy Keraunos in 280 illustrate this most eloquently. Two rulers, crowned because of their descent from previous kings (i. e. on grounds of birth), were deposed due to their obvious incompetence, while a commander who was militarily successful did not become king only because he declined the honor when it was offered to him.20 For Antigonos Gonatas, shortly thereafter, nothing was more advantageous for the secure establishment of his rule in Macedonia than his success against the Celts and the consequent liberation of the land and its people from a long-term scourge. The legitimating effect of victory is not only reÁected in the establishment of kingdoms, but also in the cases of pre-existent monarchs.21 The impressive expedition of the Seleucid Antiochos III in eastern Iran, a campaign which immediately recalls Alexander the Great, ensured that “he appeared worthy of kingship not only 17 18

See the reÁections of Müller 1973, 110 f. The most precise description of the episode is in Plutarch Demetrios 17.2 ff.; on its value as evidence and on parallel passages see Ritter 1964, 79 ff. 19 OGIS 269 ff.; Polybios 18.41.7. Diodoros 20.54.1 on Agathokles of Syracuse is also instructive. 20 Porphyry FGH 260 F 3.10; Eusebius Chronicle I 236 Sch.; Justin 24.5, 12 ff. 21 Cf. the immediate support gained by the victor; see esp. Plutarch Demetrios 49.4. The connection between royal dignity and success is particularly clear in Polybios’ observations on Scipio Africanus (10.40.1 ff.).

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to the people of Asia but also to those of Europe.”22 Polybius’ words illustrate clearly the importance of reputation and recognition, prestige and victory, for Hellenistic kingship. It should be observed, however, that the acquisition of prestige did not merely have an immediate effect on political inÁuence.23 Rather, it was because of his military achievement that the king deserved to be a king: it was in this that the very essence of royal dignity consisted.24 Insofar as ơƠƱƨƪƤрƠ, according to general Greek notions, was the only legitimate form of autocratic rule (in contrast, for instance, to tyranny) we can seek the principle of legitimization primarily in such military achievement.25 It is evident from the above-quoted deÀnition from the Suda that it is not merely the achievement (the ћƯƢƮƬ ї›ƨƴƠƬҭư ƩƠұ ƩƠƲƦƭƨƷƫоƬƮƬ, as Polybius calls it at 5.83.4), resolute action,26 or clever reaction27 that has value in this context; rather, it is predominantly possession of the necessary ability, which proves itself in action and which justiÀes the conÀdence of the people. The ƤғƬƮƨƠ of a king’s friends, his troops, and his people, is their response to his чƯƤƲп, his courage.28 It is also essential that the king himself29 demonstrate his courage in the front line, that he participate in battle30 and give proof of his bravery, always in particularly splendid armor and accoutrement, thereby making his heroism outwardly visible. It would require too much space to describe the serious wounds that kings received in the course of battle, and the count of kings who fell in battle is relatively high.31 It is impressive to see how naturally kings always assumed the most difÀcult tasks. The ideal case is the duel, in which only another king, not a rebel, is the suitable opponent (Polybius 5.45.6). King Pyrrhos of Epirus, who is in many respects a particularly characteristic example of a Hellenistic king, practiced this habit in truly Homeric style (Plutarch Pyrrhos 7.7 ff.; 22.6 ff.; 30.6 ff.). But there is also an element of the duel in group-engagements. Before the Battle of Raphia in 22 23 24 25 26 27

28 29

30 31

Polybios 11.34.15. See Schmitt 1964, 92 ff. On the later transformation of Antiochos see Polybios 15.37. On Ptolemy IV after the Battle of Raphia, see OGIS 89. Further evidence in Will 1982, 38 ff. Like the murder of Seleucus Nikator, see Memnon FGH 434 F 8.2 ff. on Ptolemy Keraunos. Such as that of Achaeos after the murder of Seleukos III, which almost placed kingship straight into his hands: яƵƠƨҳư ƣҭ ƩƠƲҫ ƲүƬ чƬƠƢƩƠƨфƲƦƲƠ ƲҳƬ ƴфƬƮƬ ƠҏƲƮԏ ƫƤƲӸƪƧƤ ›ƠƯƠƵƯӸƫƠ, ƲƮҵư ›ƤƯұ ƲҳƬ ƔƨƩнƬƮƯƠ ƩƠұ ƲҳƬ я›ƠƲƮхƯƨƮƬ ч›ƮƩƲƤрƬƠư, ƲԙƬ ƲƤ ƣƳƬнƫƤƷƬ ƩƠұ ƲԙƬ ҈ƪƷƬ ›ƯƠƢƫнƲƷƬ ƴƯƮƬрƫƷư ƩƠұ ƫƤƢƠƪƮƶхƵƷư ›ƯƮоƱƲƦ. ƲԙƬ ƢҫƯ ƩƠƨƯԙƬ ›ƠƯфƬƲƷƬ ƠҏƲԚ, ƩƠұ ƲӸư ƲԙƬ ҇ƵƪƷƬ ҄ƯƫӸư ƱƳƬƤƯƢƮхƱƦư Ƥѳư Ʋҳ ƣƨнƣƦƫƠ ›ƤƯƨƧоƱƧƠƨ, ƲƮԏƲƮ ƫҭƬ Ʈҏ ›ƯƮƤрƪƤƲƮ ›ƮƨӸƱƠƨ, ƲƦƯԙƬ ƣҭ ƲүƬ ơƠƱƨƪƤрƠƬ яƬƲƨфƵԗ ƲԚ ƬƤƷƲоƯԗ ƲԙƬ ƳѴԙƬ, їƬƤƯƢԙư ї›ƨ›ƮƯƤƳфƫƤƬƮư чƬƤƩƲӮƲƮ ƲүƬ ї›ұ ƲнƣƤ ƲƮԏ ƚƠхƯƮƳ ›ӮƱƠƬ (Polybios 4.48.9 f.). See OGIS 219 = IvIlion 32.13 ff.; FGH 160.4 on Ptolemy III; further evidence in Schubart 1937, 8 f.; 16 f.; 20 f. Plutarch Pyrrhos 7.7 ff.; 16.11; 22.6 ff.; 24.5; 30.6 ff.; 31.3; Plutarch Demetrios 41.4; see also especially Antiochos III in Baktria (Polybios 10.49.13 f.), Antigonos Doson and Kleomenes of Sparta in Sellasia (Polybios 2.66); Ptolemy IV and Antiochos III at Raphia (Polybios 5.82.8), and Bikerman 1938, 13. See e. g. Plutarch Pyrrhos 16.11; Demetrios 21.5 f.; 41.6. On all these aspects see Préaux 1978, 196 ff.

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217, one of the most remarkable confrontations with the most far-reaching consequences in Hellenistic history, the two young kings, Ptolemy IV of Egypt and Antiochos III of Asia, took up position naturally and unquestionably opposite one another with their respective elite units. The course of the engagement then illustrated how important their participation was for the morale and determination of the soldiers, and therefore also for the outcome of the battle. Only the sudden appearance of Ptolemy in the midst of his troops, a veritable epiphany in a moment when everybody thought the battle was lost, brought about a decisive turn in favor of the Egyptians.32 It is therefore scarcely surprising that defeats, military incompetence, and the weakness of a ruler could have an immediate negative effect on the stability of government. Antiochos III, still in possession of a huge empire and heir to a monarchy almost one century old, lost the conÀdence of his troops and his subjects, and abandoned the war, even though he was not decisively defeated at Raphia, because he was threatened by a pretender to the throne (Polybius 5.87.2). We have already mentioned the fate of two ephemeral kings of Macedonia who failed in face of the Celtic terror, while the history of the Seleucids, especially after the death of Antiochos IV, offers a series of examples of the way in which a once-powerful monarchy could be undermined by pretenders, assassinations, and fratricidal war, as Elias Bikerman has clearly demonstrated.33 The structural weakness of this type of monarchy, inherent in its primarily charismatic bond to the heroic king, also emerges when a child comes to the throne as legitimate successor. An exemplary instance is that of the young Ptolemy V, who ascended the throne in the summer of 204, following the death of his father and the murder of his mother, and who consequently became the instrument of courtiers, the Alexandrian mob, and the Macedonian-Greek soldiery (Polybius 15.25 ff.). Rational and traditional elements of government, which might have regulated a regency, for example, coming automatically into operation according to established practice, were at the time insufÀciently developed.34 There was a bureaucracy of sorts, a staff of leading ofÀcials, but these felt themselves obligated not to the principle of succession but rather to a speciÀc individual with exceptional qualities. In this way, the danger arose that the monarchy, or at least the dynasty, could also die out along with an individual king. The available evidence is not entirely consistent, but there is some suggestion that the Seleucid Antiochos IV, strictly speaking a usurper, and guardian of his young nephew Ptolemy VI of Egypt, may have risked having himself enthroned as pharaoh and king of Egypt in place of his ward (and if so, then probably in 168 rather than 169).35 The Egyptian monarchy was only

32 33 34 35

Polybios 5.85.8; on its impact see also Polybios 5.41.7 f. Bikerman 1938, 12 f. See Aymard 1967, 135. On this see Will 1982, 319; cf. however the important objections of Mooren 1979, 78 ff.

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saved by the will of a power still greater than Antiochos – the nascent world power in the West.36 If the success achieved, strengthened and constantly proved through requisite personal qualities, combined with the resulting prestige, represents the condicio sine qua non of Hellenistic monarchy, then it is easy to understand why it was precisely this aspect of rulership that was constantly paraded before the subjects. For instance, in an inscription that could still be seen and copied in the 6th century A. D. in remote Adulis, a harbor town in Eritrea, it is said of Ptolemy III following the Third Syrian War (246–241): “Great King Ptolemy, son of the King Ptolemy and the Queen Arsinoë, the brother gods, the children of the King Ptolemy and the Queen Berenice, the savior gods, descendant of Heracles, son of Zeus, on the paternal side, and of Dionysus, son of Zeus, on the maternal side, after he had succeeded his father as ruler of Egypt, Libya, Syria, Phoenicia, Cyprus, Lycia, Caria, and the Cycladic Islands, advanced into Asia with infantry and cavalry, with a Áeet and elephants both Troglodyte and Ethiopic, which he and his father had been the Àrst in these countries to hunt and had trained for military purposes after bringing them to Egypt. After he had subjected all of the lands on this side of the Euphrates, including Cilicia, Pamphylia, Ionia, the Hellespont and Thrace, and the armies of these countries, and Indian elephants, and after he had brought all of the rulers of these lands under his sway, he crossed the Euphrates and after he had subjected Mesopotamia, Babylon, Susiana, Persia, Media and the remaining regions as far as Bactria, and had located the holy things which the Persians had taken from Egypt, and had brought these and other treasures from these lands to Egypt, he sent an army through the channels…” (here, the text copied by Cosmas Indicopleustes breaks off).37 There is exaggeration and the use of topoi here; such a text is concerned not with historical exactitude, but with the demonstrative effect of military victory. There are a fair number of similar inscriptions, and the kings also began to use coinage for this purpose, as the coin issues commemorating the Seleucid victories illustrate.38 36

37 38

Consider in this connection the acclamations of Ptolemy III (246) and Ptolemy VI (145) in Antiocheia; in 129 Demetrios II received a request for help from Kleopatra III Kokke (against her husband Ptolemy VIII Physkon) against the promise of the crown of Egypt. OGIS 54. On victory issues in general see Bellinger – Berlincourt 1962, 21 ff., where the presence of Nike on Alexander’s gold staters is appropriately underlined: “The type, as it appears on Alexander’s coins, embodies a new and abstract idea, for now she has become one of his attributes or possessions and belongs to him, presented not in commemoration of a particular victory, but to signify the career of conquest that he set out for himself.” Among later issues, particularly eloquent are those of Antiogonos Monophthalmos from the mint of Antigoneia on the Orontes after the naval victory at Salamis (tetradrachm, v. Zeus seated with Nike on his hand, Bellinger – Berlincourt op. cit., 25, pl. VI 8, same motif later on issues of Seleukos I, Bellinger – Berlincourt op. cit., 26), similar issues of Lysimachos (v. Athena seated with Nike, who crowns the name of the ruler, ibid., 30 and pl. VII 3.4), and Seleukos I (r. portrait, v. Nike crowning the trophy, Bellinger – Berlincourt op. cit., 27 and pl. VII 1, see now also Houghton 1980, 5 ff.), Demetrios Poliorketes (r. Nike on the prow of a ship, v. Poseidon with trident, a symbol of sea-power, even after Ipsos, Bellinger – Berlincourt op. cit., 29 with

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In addition to the king’s personal achievements and qualities, his material basis was also constantly on public display. The representation of royal power through wealth and exaggerated self-depiction verges on megalomania.39 Of the entire area of the largest city in the world – Alexandria probably had a population of one million – almost a third was occupied by the royal palace complex.40 On occasions of religious festivals and celebrations of the royal family,41 the king repeatedly presented and celebrated his power in unprecedented and ever more spectacular processions and parades, of which several, such as the Ptolemaia of 271,42 became legendary. The spectacle that the Seleucid Antiochus IV held over the period of one month at Daphne near Antioch in 166 can almost be interpreted as compensatory.43 Two years earlier, on the ‘Day of Eleusis’ in 168, the king had suffered a devastating diplomatic defeat in the circle that Popilius Laenas had traced in the sand. By means of the spectacle in 166, he could at least demonstrate the unshaken potential of himself and his empire: 50, 000 soldiers paraded, and the echo was heard as far aÀeld as Rome;44 at the same time, both in antiquity and among scholars of more recent times, the spectacle has been taken as a sign of the king’s pathological delusions of grandeur. Needless to say, kings were also more than generous hosts.45 That which critics, particularly later critics inÁuenced by Roman values, regarded as opulence and gluttony, as ƲƯƳƴп and luxuria,46 was an integral element of royal self-representation. The king readily made rich gifts to his friends, and often even of entire regions and small provinces; Agathocles of Syracuse, by no means the wealthiest or most powerful of Hellenistic kings, gave to his daughter Lanassa the island of Corfu as a dowry for her marriage to Pyrrhos of Epirus.47 The rivalry between kings when Rhodes, a centre of trade friendly with all, was devastated by an earthquake, probably in 227, illustrates just how demonstrative such generosity could be: kings competed with one another to provide the greatest possible assistance, so that Rhodes pl. VII 2), Agathokles (v. Nike nails a helm to the trophy, Bellinger – Berlincourt op. cit., 24, pl. VI 6), Antigonos Gonatas (bronze coins, v. Pan erecting the trophy, with reference to the victory over the Gauls, Bellinger – Berlincourt op. cit., 34), Pyrrhos (Nike issues closely imitating Alexander’s, ibid., 32). On later Nike issues of the Seleucids, see Bellinger – Berlincourt op. cit., 32 ff., and the still fundamental Newell 1941. In general, on the meaning of the portrait of the ruler, see Kyrieleis 1980. 39 On this and what follows see Theokritos 17.75 ff, and on the wealth of the Ptolemies also Adcock 1953, 170 f. 40 Strabo 17.1.8; see Fraser 1972, 14 f. 41 E. g. the marriage of Antiochos III (Polybios 5.43.1 ff.) or the mock-burial of Demetrios Poliorketes (Plutarch Demetrios 53.1 ff.). 42 See the detailed description in Athenaeus 5.196 ff. (Kallixeinos of Rhodes). 43 Polybios 30.25 f.; Athenaeus 5.194cff. 10.439bff.; Diodoros 31.16. 44 See Will 1982, 346. 45 See e. g. Plutarch Demetrios 32.2 f. 46 On this see esp. Heinen 1978, 188 ff., with reference also to the embassy of the younger Scipio to Ptolemy VIII Euergetes II Physkon (Poseidonios FGH 87 F 6 = Athenaeus 12.459d–e; Justin 38.8.8 ff.; Diodoros 33.28alf.; [Plutarch] Apophthegmata regum et imperatorum 200Ef. 47 Plutarch Pyrrhos 9.2.

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was soon better off than it had been before the catastrophe (Polybius lists the assistance given in detail at 5.88 ff.).48 We need only recall in passing that the patronage of art, literature and science also assumed an important role. New technical projects, such as the construction of large siege machines and ships under Demetrios Poliorketes, could also be regarded as opportunities for royal display, and as such provoke admiration among the rivals.49 Hellenistic ruler cult was also dominated by the dependence of the king’s position on his own achievements – not coincidentally Fritz Taeger discusses it under the heading of ‘charisma’.50 Inasmuch as this cult was not merely a continuation of the Oriental-Egyptian practice of honoring of the ruler, but had roots in Greek culture, it forms one of the speciÀc characteristics of Hellenism. Regarding the relevant research, in particular that of Christian Habicht, we do not need to discuss details here. Merely a few remarks: the ways in which the cult was expressed could be diverse. Games of a religious nature were held in honor of the ruler; like a god, the king was accorded an altar and a sacred precinct, sacriÀces were made to him regularly, etc. Irrespective of how far the tendency to divinization was taken and which ritual forms it assumed, the precondition was always the same. Even Aristotle, who did not know the developed form of the cult, emphasized in a passage in his Rhetorica (1.5.1361a28 ff.),51 where he speaks of the granting of such honors, that those who are so honored are all benefactors, either actual (ƤҏƤƯƢƤƲƦƩфƲƤư), or potential (ƣƳƬнƫƤƬƮư ƤҏƤƯƢƤƲƤԃƬ). In this context, the benefaction denotes “either rescue and [the provision of] everything necessary to existence, or wealth, or some other good, the achievement of which was not easy.” Here, we see clearly that the justiÀcation for the granting of divine honors is the provision of a service or an ability to provide such a service, and the evidence substantiates this view.52 It should therefore not surprise us to read that in 307, the Athenians, liberated from the oppressive regime of Demetrios of Phaleron by Demetrios Poliorketes, addressed their liberator Demetrios and his father Antigonos the One-Eyed as kings, even before they themselves had assumed the title, and at the same time raised them to the rank of savior deities (ƧƤƮұ ƱƷƲӸƯƤư), appointed priests for their cult, and created new tribes bearing their names, along with other honors (Plutarch Demetrios 10.3 f.). Here the direct relationship between a glorious action, the attainment of kingship, and divinization becomes tangible.53 Charismatic achievement was the basis of the Hellenistic ruler cult, and thereby reinforced the king’s authority and 48 49 50 51 52

53

On this part, see Holleaux 1938, 445 ff. Plutarch Demetrios 20.2 ff.; 21.3. In spite of some lack of conceptual clarity, see Habicht 1970, 264 n. 3. This passage has received special attention by Habicht 1970, 164 and Préaux 1978, 242 f. Habicht 1970, 162 ff., see esp. 162: “In allen Fällen, in denen direkte oder indirekte Zeugnisse vorliegen, handelt es sich um eine einmalige Leistung des Geehrten zum Wohl der Gemeinde in einem bestimmten Augenblick.” (“In every case in which we have direct or indirect evidence, it refers to a single action of the honoree in favor of the community in one speciÀc moment.”) Also the ithyphallic hymn for Demetrios Poliorketes of 291 or 290 (Duris FGH 76 F 13) refers to an immediate connection between the divine quality of Demetrios and the performance that

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legitimacy.54 Magical powers might be ascribed to the king on the basis of such achievement (Plutarch Pyrrhos 3.8; 17.5), and it could be claimed that he collaborated with the daimonion (IvIlion 32.10 f.); he was veiled, in short, with an aura that made him exceptional.55 This discussion might give the impression that Hellenistic monarchy was martial par excellence, and that naked militarism triumphed. Yet such an impression would not be entirely accurate. There were observable limits and barriers to military activity, which were particularly effective because they were not opposed to the principle of charismatic achievement but rather an essential part of it. When Demetrios Poliorketes was still young, he suffered a serious defeat at Gaza at the hands of the experienced satrap Ptolemy (312); the latter showed himself generous by returning to Demetrios all of the goods and money he had captured, with the explanation that they should not dispute over everything, but merely over fame and rulership (ƣфƭƠ and чƯƵп). The appropriate response of Demetrios was to pray to the gods that they would grant him an opportunity to repay this generosity as soon as possible (Plutarch Demetrios 5.3 ff.). The explicit fairness and chivalry that we observe here was not exceptional,56 but in fact characteristic of the conduct of Hellenistic rulers towards one another, enemies as well as friends (see especially Antigonos-Eumenes, Seleukos-Demetrios). It is not merely a question of the mentality of the kings themselves. With the term ƣфƭƠ, we arrive at an interface where charismatic conduct is transformed directly into a legitimating effect, because it is precisely in prestige that the achievement of the ruler and its glory is united with the admiration and approval of the people. Thus, the standards, ideas, wishes and expectations of the people, which needed to be convincingly fulÀlled in order to achieve a charismatic legitimating effect, are shown to stand in delicate balance. Certainly, the subjects are to be distinguished in their ethnic, functional, and social diversity (Macedonian, mercenary, Greek city population, indigenous, upper and lower classes), each group having speciÀc values and mentalities. Accordingly, and quite apart from the fact that all wars are different, it is clear that conduct that appears positive to one group of subjects might have the opposite effect on others.57 Here again lies a dilemma for a ruler, and new fac-

54

55

56 57

is expected of him (defense of Athens against the Aetolians). In general see also Tarn – Griffith 1952, 53; Stertz 1974, 15 f. In this connection, we may also mention the epithet “the Great”: Spranger 1958, 27 ff. has shown that this epithet is an aspect of the divinization of the ruler. Symptomatically, however, the rulers for whom the epithet ‘the Great’ is documented (before, in fact, being attributed to Alexander himself), Demetrios Poliorketes and Antiochos III, receive this heroizing-sacralizing epithet in the context of their victories. See in general also Will et al. 1975, 434. On the worship of rulers in the dynastic cult, itself a new phenomenon, although different to the one referred to here, which originated in the Greek cities, see below p. 87 f. This is made clear also by Plutarch Demetrios 17.1; 22.5; 50.1f. ƲԙƬ ƢҫƯ ƫнƵƦƬ ƬƨƩцƬƲƷƬ ƩƠұ Ʋҳ ыƯƵƤƨƬ їƱƲр – in this laconic fashion the principle had been already enunciated by the Spartan Klearchos before the Battle of Cunaxa (Xenophon Anabasis

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ets of the ruler’s charisma emerge, in addition to those which aim at military success and therefore satisfy the court and the Greco-Macedonian troops – that is, those elements central to royal power, and at the same time corresponding most closely to the mentality of the ruler himself. We may consider one example of these new facets. The honors shown to Antigonos and Demetrios by the Athenians show where, for the Greeks of the polis (or at least, the powerful among them), the essence of ƣфƭƠ lies. ‘Liberation’ (Plutarch Demetrios 10.2 f.) brings with it the greatest prestige – and in Greece there was always someone to be liberated.58 Moreover, we are well-informed about the ways in which Antigonos and Demetrios not only programmatically cultivated this relationship between glory and the freedom of the Greeks, and sought to realize it in practice, at least within the lifetime of Antigonos, but also that the majority of Greeks obviously took them seriously.59 A signiÀcant number of inscriptions demonstrate the extent to which this notion was pervasive. To take one example among many, we may consider a decree of the League of Islanders in honor of Ptolemy II (Syll.3 390, esp. 10 ff), which gives an easily comprehensible explanation for the honoring of the king, that his father (Ptolemy I) had already proven himself to be the source of many beneÀts (›ƮƪƪԙƬ ƩƠұ ƫƤƢнƪƷƬ чƢƠƧԙƬ) for the Islanders in particular and more generally for the Greeks, by the liberation of cities, the re-establishment of domestic order and the constitution, and the lowering of tributes. It was no different with King Ziaëlas of Bithynia, who willingly undertook to protect the traders and ships of Kos at the people’s request, because, as he said himself: “we care for all Greeks who come to us, as we are persuaded that such actions contribute in no small measure to fame” (›Ưòư ƣфƭƠƬ).60 It is immediately apparent in this emphasis on protection and assistance – ‘liberation politics’ – that there is an element that modiÀes the military characteristic of kingship in the direction of so-called euergetism. This attenuation of militarism was all the more striking insofar as military success was an integral part of royal charisma, and when it was lacking, legitimization could easily be lost or not even achieved – with inevitable consequences for the stability of the government. Such failure became more devastating the more ambitious the king himself was for prestige. Incidentally, this was also where the theoretical principles of monarchy that

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2.1.4), cf. the old Macedonian attitude in Plutarch Demetrios 44.7 (below. n. 77). See Habicht 1970, 165: the actions that prompt the cult are always in the interest of civic freedom (“immer Leistungen im Interesse der städtischen Freiheit”). The connection of ƤҏƣƮƭрƠ, Ʋƨƫп and the liberation of the Greeks is particularly clear in Plutarch Demetrios 8.1 f.; on this see esp. Heuss 1938, 133 ff. Welles 1934, no. 25.11 ff. In Polybios 5.11.6 ƤҏƤƯƢƤƱрƠ and ƴƨƪƠƬƧƯƷ›рƠ appear as the very foundation of acceptance by the subjects, that is, for the јƩфƬƲƷƬ ѤƢƤԃƱƧƠƨ ƩƠұ ›ƯƮƱƲƠƲƤԃƬ. According to a common notion among the Greeks, this is precisely what distinguished the king from the illegitimate ruler or tyrant (see above n. 9), who is characterized by ƲԚ ƴфơԗ ƣƤƱ›фƥƤƨƬ чƩƮƳƱрƷƬ, ƫƨƱƮхƫƤƬƮƬ ƩƠұ ƫƨƱƮԏƬƲƠ. For further evidence on the role of ƤҏƤƯƢƤƱрƠ and ƴƨƪƠƬƧƯƷ›рƠ in this connection see Schubart 1937, 10 f.; 13 ff.

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were formulated and popularized in the course of the fourth century had to be satisÀed.61 All the speciÀc phenomena which characterize the nature of Hellenistic monarchy thus convey the impression that the essence of this political institution reside in its charismatic character. This concept has thus far proven to be perfectly in keeping with historical reality. As is evident from the remarks on the typological method made at the beginning of this paper, charisma may be found as an element of any monarchy, and to this extent it cannot by its mere presence be seen as a deÀning characteristic of Hellenistic monarchy. It is rather the measure and the character of the respective elements, as well as the fact that in this case the government could not be separated from the person of the ruler, which lend the charismatic a particularly high degree of importance in Hellenistic monarchy and gives it expression in a primary form. Royal legitimacy, therefore, is founded to an especially high degree, albeit not exclusively, on the individual ruler’s conduct and ability, on the power that is objectively and subjectively available to him, and on the exercise of that power in achievements that enhanced the ruler’s reputation in the eyes of the ruled. Notably, it is precisely such qualities that rulers often adopted as part of their nomenclature, designating themselves Savior (Soter), Benefactor (Euergetes), or simply Victor (Kallinikos, Nikator, Nikephoros).

III Yet an objection to this understanding of the Hellenistic monarchy presents itself. Is the charismatic element not conÀned merely to the period in which the mosaic of Hellenistic states Àrst emerged? Is this form of legitimization not simply a speciÀc constituent in the efforts of the Diadochoi to transform their usurpation of the rulership into an established system of monarchy?62 And in this case, have we not simply mentioned something trivial which, for example, is to be found even in the legal theory of the State, that “it is not formal legality but the power of success which sets the tone at the beginning of the State and in revolutionary transformations […]”?63 We must indeed concede that by deÀnition, charisma is fundamentally bound up with the individual and exceptional, with unique situations. At the same time, however, our examples have shown that every traits of Hellenistic monarchy considered here are to be found not only in the period of its emergence but also considerably later, and often in situations which cast light on the essential character of a 61 62 63

On this factor in the shared consciousness of the Greek, see Heuss 1955, 208 ff., esp. 211 f. So Müller 1973, 108 ff. Zippelius 1971, 239. a view that shows up also in the jurisdiction of the imperial court: “Der durch die Umwälzung geschaffenen neuen Staatsgewalt kann die staatsrechtliche Anerkennung nicht versagt werden. Die Rechtswidrigkeit ihrer Begründung steht dem nicht entgegen, weil die Rechtmäßigkeit der Begründung kein wesentliches Merkmal der Staatsgewalt ist. Der Staat kann ohne Staatsgewalt nicht bestehen. Mit der Beseitigung der alten Gewalt tritt die sich durchsetzende neue Gewalt an deren Stelle” (RGZ 100.27, quoted from Zippelius op. cit., 240).

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monarchy, namely the way that the succession is regulated, particularly when this occurs under difÀcult circumstances.64 What we are observing must therefore be a structural element. It appears that the charismatic elements of Hellenistic monarchy had become permanent. Can this contradiction be explained? In my view it can be, and I wish to demonstrate this at a particularly eloquent point, precisely where another form, at Àrst sight in fact a superior form of legitimization, competed with charisma – that is, legitimization by birth: elevation to kingship not by virtue of individual achievement and personal success, but rather on the grounds of nature (ƩƠƲҫ ƴхƱƨƬ) – which in our sources is repeatedly emphasized and which recent research has underscored (particularly by Bikerman, in relation to principles of inheritance, but also, for example, with reference to the accentuation of dynastic continuity in portraits of rulers).65 We often encounter a conÁict between these two principles of legitimization. We will consider an example taken, intentionally, from the later Hellenistic period: Achaios, the Seleucid governor of Asia Minor, who was distantly related to the ruling king, Antiochos III. Following the murder of Antiochos’ brother and predecessor, Seleukos III (223), Achaios could have claimed the royal diadem on the basis of his resolute response to that event, and the army at least might have supported him. Instead, he remained loyal and renounced such a claim (Polybius 4.48.9 f., see above). Nonetheless, internal pressure (perhaps the very logic of charisma) proved too great; in any event, three years later, he could no longer hold himself back. While Antiochos was occupied with rebellion in the eastern part of the empire, Achaios assumed the title of king and acted as such, without resistance from the army or the subjects. Only when he marched against the king was there mutiny among the soldiers, who realized that they were Àghting their ƩƠƲҫ ƴхƱƨƬ ơƠƱƨƪƤхư (Polybius 5.57.6). At this point, Achaios submitted, undertook merely a few plundering raids, and won back the trust and loyalty of the troops (ƤғƬƮƳư…ƩƠұ ›Ƥ›ƨƱƲƤƳƩфƲƠư ћƵƷƬ, Polybius 5.57.8). In the case of a conÁict between a purely charismatic monarchy, and a king ƩƠƲҫ ƴхƱƨƬ, the latter proved at least in this case to be superior. But this could not always be expected to hold: even in this case, the charismatic element was still so deeply entrenched that, in the eyes of the troops at least, a co-existence seemed possible, with the conceivable consequence of a secession.66 Initially, the troops did not stand by their ‘natural’ ruler, and it is precisely this fact that illustrates the permanent strength of the charismatic element and its negative implications for the stability of the realm.67 Descent is thus never the only or a sufÀcient principle of legitimization, and it was not certain that it could always be asserted. In any case, a ruler by birth was on probation until he had been tested in battle (see above). 64 65 66 67

The fact that succession is a sticking point in monarchy is made clear with reference to a different case (the ‘revolutionary’ character of the Roman emperor) by Heuss 1974, 77 ff., esp. 80 f. Kyrieleis 1975, 153 ff. See Ritter 1964, 132. Another striking case is the conÁict within the Seleukid kingdom c. 140 BCE, between Demetrios II, Tryphon, Antiochos VI and Antiochos VII.

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This interplay of factors becomes still clearer when we ask what exactly is implied by legitimization ƩƠƲҫ ƴхƱƨƬ. In order to clarify this question, we return to the Battle of Raphia. After Ptolemy IV and Antiochus III had each assembled their troops in battle formation, they rode along their respective front lines and addressed the various units. As both had only recently come into power, neither could appeal to any respected and recognized achievement of their own (ѷƣƨƮƬ ћƯƢƮƬ ї›ƨƴƠƬҭư ƩƠұ ƩƠƲƦƭƨƷƫоƬƮƬ; see Polybius 5.83.4 f.). Instead, they each drew attention to the prestige and achievements of their forefathers (›ƯƮƢфƬƷƬ ƣфƭƠ and Ʋҫ їƩƤрƬƮƨư ›Ƥ›ƯƠƢƫоƬƠ). It is here that we have the heart of the matter: the legitimating power of descent subsists not primarily in a natural (or supernatural-magical) quality of blood (despite the ƴхƱƨư), but rather in an inherited charisma, which consecrates, as it were, a ruler’s descendents and is particularly important with regards to battle morale. The hereditary nature of charisma, as it appears here, and the general signiÀcance of the charismatic element, justiÀes an interpretation, again with Max Weber, of the ‘natural’ form of legitimization precisely as ‘hereditary’ or ‘lineage charisma’; indeed, this is the terminology that Weber employed when he spoke of the ‘routinization’ – that is, the perpetuation – of charisma.68 Thus the Hellenistic monarchy is characterized by charisma, inasmuch as a ruler was legitimated through his charismatic ancestors, although he still had to prove himself according to the same standard. HonoriÀc inscriptions demonstrate how pervasive this notion was: in the formulaic motivation clause, before the list of the honoree’s own achievements, such inscriptions detail those of his antecedents. It is inevitable that in the process of ‘routinization’, various latent elements of legitimization should acquire greater importance; for example, the adoption of rational-legal or traditional-patrimonial features, which helped to ensure stability, and therefore were emphasized as much as possible, by associating the new ruler with pre-existent traditions of kingship. Even then, however, the essence of power was constituted by personal and inherited charisma.69 The Ptolemaic and Seleucid dynastic cults appear as a lively expression of the importance of inherited charisma 68

For another perspective, see Aymard 1967, 135: “En même temps, comme l’individu tend toujours à se prolonger dans sa lignée, la monarchie personelle tendait à se transformer en monarchie héréditaire. Or, si elle réalisait de sérieux progrès en ce sens, elle n’édiÀait pas un droit dynastique ferme, puisque la minorité de l’héritier légitime créait un état de choses suscepible de solutions varies.” (“At the same time, since the individual always strives to persist in his descendants, personal monarchy tends to transform into hereditary monarchy. And yet, although it [the monarchy] did make serious advances in this direction, it did not establish a Àrm dynastic right, because the juvenile status of the heir created a situation with various possible resolutions.”) On the relationship between individual performance and dynastic principle see the observations of Kaerst 1926, 331 f., which point in the same direction; see Ehrenberg 1965, 200. It is well known that a connection to the Argeads was particularly attractive, especially for the Antigonids in Macedonia. 69 On the legal side, it is known that the principle of ƵцƯƠ ƣƮƯрƩƲƦƲƮư had an important value as the foundation of claims to legitimacy; see esp. Kaerst 1926, 326 ff.; Bikerman 1938, 14 ff.; Ehrenberg 1965, 192; Will et al. 1975, 430; and Heinen 1978, 185. Interestingly, however, this principle is basically a right of conquest, that is, the right of the stronger party, and is charismatic in nature.

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(OGIS 224 = Welles 36; OGIS 233.1 ff.):70 these cults had neither exclusively indigenous nor exclusively Greek roots,71 and celebrated not the individual ruler but the entire dynasty.72 Moreover, they could easily be combined with a means of legitimization which had been of considerable importance for both individuals and city-states within Greece since the Archaic period73 – that is, temporal continuity with a distant past, the dim world of myth, in which the legitimating power of antiquity was combined with divine foundation and descent.74 An observation relating to the competition of lineage also attests to the hereditary aspect of charisma. We have clear evidence that succession was not unambiguously regulated by tradition or law; in other words, nature (physis) was not so clearly differentiated that there was an established, binding and reliable order of succession among legally-recognized descendants according to order of birth. Primogeniture was aspired to in principle, but resisted permanent establishment, due also to the Áuid nature of Macedonian marriage customs, which often made questions of legitimacy unclear.75 Those who were equal kata physin, that is, who possessed the same measure of inherited charisma, evidently did not consider themselves bound by any formal constraints, and so were always potentially serious rivals for the throne, with the more (or apparently more) successful candidate becoming king.76 After ascending the throne in 221, Ptolemy IV only felt safe (free of ƮѳƩƤԃƮƨ ƴфơƮƨ) after having his natural brother murdered (Polybius 5.34.1 f.); and he was no paranoid exception: his grandfather, Ptolemy Philadelphos, although enjoying a better historical reputation, had not acted differently (Pausanias 1.7.1); indeed, the necessity of this kind of action was considered particularly ‘royal’ (Plutarch Demetrios 3.5), while harmonious behavior, such as the solidarity of the sons of Attalos I of Pergamon, appeared as a positive exception. A glance at the genealogy of the Lagids and the Seleucids up to the mid-second century BCE, shows a ‘typical’ picture: around each king appears a group of relatives who were either murdered or became pretenders to the throne. The Hellenistic monarchy was thus characterized by charisma until its decline, and this is scarcely remarkable. How else might we expect a monarchy to appear, given such roots and the upheaval from which it emerged? Even the far older and

70

71 72

73 74 75 76

On these cults see Préaux 1978, 255 ff.; on the Egyptian reception, see Winter 1978, 147 ff. In an Egyptian context, this is conÀned to two aspects: the inheritance of kingship by a living successor and the cult of the deceased ruler. So Winter 1978, 158, who underlines that here it is essentially the tradition of power that is at stake. In general, see also Ehrenberg 1965, 212: “Der Staatskult des Herrscherhauses war ein wesentliches Mittel neben anderen, in der Bevölkerung eine Art von dynastischem Gefühl zu erwecken.” (“The state cult of the royal family was one fundamental instrument among others that were used to awaken a sort of dynastic sensibility within the population.”) On this see Finley 1982, 18. See esp. OGIS 54.1 ff.; Theokritos l7.13 ff.; on possible numismatic allusions to this, see Salzmann 1980, 33 ff. See Lévy 1978, 220. Consider also the elevation of Antiochos I to ›ƯƤƱơхƲƠƲƮư ƳѴфư in OGIS 213.2; 26.

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anything but strong Macedonian monarchy had a clearly charismatic element,77 often expressed by scholars as the role of the ‘assembly of the army’,78 with strong emphasis on the legal-constitutional dimension.79 Above all, however, was Alexander, the epic warrior who measured himself competitively against the ƣфƭƠ of Homeric heroes,80 who had conquered the world in a campaign that deÀed imagination. It was, moreover, Alexander’s ofÀcers and friends, scarcely less inÁuenced by traditional heroic-agonistic ideals and with Alexander as their new model,81 who had divided the Hellenistic world amongst themselves by means of unprecedented strife. Thus were the standards set and traditions established, their credo an epic motto of heroic bravery ƠѳҭƬ чƯƨƱƲƤхƤƨƬ ƩƠұ Ґ›ƤрƯƮƵƮƬ ћƫƫƤƬƠƨ ыƪƪƷƬ (Iliad 6.208). How could the mentality of a Hellenistic ruler have been other than that which was necessary for the constitution and maintenance of a legitimate government rebus sic stantibus? It is not my claim that the king necessarily perceived these connections and conducted his activities accordingly.82 Rather, as a result of both prevailing traditions of kingship and the individual ruler’s particular conception of what it meant to be king, he acted (subjectively) so that (objectively) his rule might be legitimated; while, for their part, successes and experiences strengthened these forms and traditions of royal conduct and among both rulers and the ruled. This process was consistent with the ideal conception of a ruler, which, since it had its roots in reality, was less abstract than a philosophical-theoretical mirror for Hellenistic princes. As Polybius observed (4.77.2 f.), it would not be easy to Ànd a king who was better endowed with natural gifts for the exercise of ofÀce than Philip V of Macedonia: “He possessed presence of mind (чƢƵрƬƮƨƠ), memory (ƫƬпƫƦ), and charm (ƵнƯƨư), a majestic appearance (ї›рƴƠƱƨư) and ability (ƣхƬƠƫƨư), and, most important of all (Ʋҳ ƣҭ ƫоƢƨƱƲƮƬ), military competence and courage (›Ưнƭƨư ƩƠұ ƲфƪƫƠ ›ƮƪƤƫƨƩп).”83 77 78

79 80 81

82

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Particularly clear is Plutarch Demetrios 44.7, referring to the Macedonian soldiers: ћƩ ƲƤ ƲƮԏ ›ƠƪƠƨƮƲнƲƮƳ ƩƠұ ơƠƱƨƪƨƩцƲƠƲƮƬ ƤѳƧƨƱƫоƬƮƨ ƬƮƫрƥƤƨƬ ƲҳƬ їƬ ƲƮԃư ҈›ƪƮƨư ƩƯнƲƨƱƲƮƬ. Particularly emphasized by Errington 1978 (with reference to Curtius Rufus 6.8.25), 86 ff., 103 ff., and 132: “In the military crisis, however, which played a regular part in Macedonian history, the prestige and inÁuence of the king among ‘the people’ or the soldiers, which Curtius, using early imperial terminology, described as auctoritas, was a critical factor in conditioning their willingness to do what they were told.” See also de Francisci 1948, 359 ff.; 487 f. Granier 1931; Aymard 1967; Briant 1980; Goukowsky 1978, 10 f.; on this in general, see the critical review of Lévy 1978, 201 ff. and Errington 1978, 77 ff. See esp. Dio Chrysostom 2.1 ff.; in scholarship, this is particularly emphasized by Lane Fox 1973; see also Heuss 1977, 40 f. On Alexander as the benchmark see e. g. Plutarch Demetrios 25.4 f., 41.4 f.; Pyrrhos 8.1 ff., 11.3 ff; Philip V tried to showcase his kinship with Philip II and Alexander (Polybios 5.10.10), see in general Heuss 1954, 66 ff. and the fundamental work of Goukowsky 1978, 103 ff.; on Alexander as a charismatic leader see e. g. de Francisci 1948, 414 f. The very question of legitimacy of rule was not an abiding concern within ancient political theory, in contrast to contemporary discussions; see e. g. Finley 1982, 12 f.; Graf Kielmannsegg 1976, 8; Hennis 1976, 22. See also Polybios’ judgment on the Diadochoi, esp. 8.10.10 (ь›ƠƬƲƤư ƣ’, Ҝư ћ›Ʈư Ƥѳ›ƤԃƬ, ơƠƱƨƪƨƩƮұ ƩƠұ ƲƠԃư ƫƤƢƠƪƮƶƳƵрƠƨư ƩƠұ ƲƠԃư ƱƷƴƯƮƱхƬƠƨư ƩƠұ ƲƠԃư ƲфƪƫƠƨư ч›оơƦƱƠƬ),

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IV I have attempted here a conceptual deÀnition of the Hellenistic monarchy within its social context, and it is to be hoped that this, even as an experiment for its own sake, will prove useful to some, or perhaps even successful. Others, however, might ask what such an experiment achieves for the historian. In concluding, therefore, I will draw attention to three problematic and controversial areas of research on the Hellenistic epoch that might be advanced by an investigation of the character of the monarchy. The Àrst is the relationship between the autonomy of Greek cities and the pretensions of Hellenistic rulers, a question that provoked heated discussion in the late 1930s,84 but which, more recently, has been reduced to a conÁict between power and ideology.85 The argument been presented here opens up new perspectives, insofar as it suggests that royal conduct consistent with legal procedures or traditions, or which responds to the subjects’ needs and expectations, is not simply propaganda and window-dressing, but rather should be taken seriously as an inÁuential element in power politics. Secondly, the interpretation presented here encourages us to regard the Hellenistic monarchy as a unitary phenomenon,86 to classify its various manifestations, and to distinguish it more clearly from other forms of kingship. The tertium comparationis of every Hellenistic monarchy, from that of Agathokles in Sicily87 to Diodotos in distant Bactria, resided in this speciÀcally Hellenistic quality. Even the Oriental and other indigenous elements of Hellenistic monarchy, although they cannot be considered here in more detail, might also be viewed from this perspective – above all with regards to its religious components.88 A glance, for example, at the Greek translation of traditional Egyptian royal titles in the Raphia decree or on the Rosetta stone illustrates this clearly,89 as do the chronicles of Oriental rulers, which

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and 18.41, esp. 5–6, on Attalos I, where ƫƤƢƠƪƮƶƳƵрƠ (a keyword for the ‘royal man’) in particular, but also ƤҏƤƯƢƤƱрƠ and ƵнƯƨư for his friends, and ћƯƢƠ ƩƠƲҫ ›фƪƤƫƮƬ, are the essential attributes of a royal character. Heuss 1937; Bikerman 1939, 335 ff., and Orth 1977, 6 ff. Orth 1977. See Will’s articulation of the problem in Will et al. 1975, 424 f. Albeit different from the others in various respects (Berve 1953, 62 f.), it is similar with regards to its charismatic character (see Diodoros 20.54.1 and Berve op. cit., 63 f.). Furthermore, so-called ‘divine grace’ is a charismatic, more precisely an hereditary-charismatic, element; on the role of the royal blood among e. g. the Achaemenids see DB I 1 ff. Kent; on the charisma of the Pharaoh and the transformation of the Àrst Ptolemies into Pharaohs see Levêque 1980, 86 ff.; see also Winter 1978, 153. We ought not, however, to overlook the distinction between personal and institutional charisma (on this, see de Francisci, 1948, 416), or speciÀcally religious from ‘secular’ charisma. Thissen 1966, 27 ff.; id. 1976, 137 ff. (esp. 153: “In den nach dem Schema griechischer Ehrenbeschlüsse aufgebauten Dekreten von Kanopus und Memphis ist das Bestreben erkennbar, für die Einstellung der Griechen und der Ägypter zum Königtum einen gemeinsamen Nenner zu Ànden, um eine für beide Bevölkerungsteile akzeptable, verbindende Herrscherideologie zu schaffen.”)

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read like catalogues of military achievements, as much in the case of Nabonidus as in that of the Seleucids.90 On the other hand, this approach also makes more obvious the differences between Hellenistic and Oriental monarchy – a fact, incidentally, that should prevent us from regarding the Hellenistic monarchy merely as an extension of the Oriental – in particular, the comparatively minor importance of a magical-religious basis for royal legitimacy, wherein a ruler’s military success was understood as an expression of divine will, granting power to the king, so that he might (re-)establish justice and cosmic order.91 And last but not least: Will the charismatic-agonistic interpretation of Hellenistic monarchy liberate us from the tempting, over-used and, prima facie, obvious, yet nonetheless false, concept of absolutism, with all of its associations?92 The third question that might be addressed on a new level as a result of this investigation is that of the reasons and motivation for Lagid expansion, a central issue in discussions about Hellenistic warfare93 – not on the basis of modern, rationalizing economic and power-political categories, but in terms of the mentality of monarchs and the inherited mechanisms of royal legitimacy. In short, instead of asking only why a given war began, we should enquire also why rulers chose, in certain situations, not to go to war. It is clear that the so-called balance of the Hellenistic state system was, after 281, exceptionally labile, and that any pretensions to power beyond one’s own borders could always be – and as far as the political relations of the day allowed – often were in fact asserted.94 The pregnant Greek term for this behavior ›ƪƤƮƬƤƭрƠ, ‘desire for more’, appears frequently in close associa90 91 92 93

94

Smith 1924; on the role of personal bravery for the Achaemenid king see e. g. DNb 31 ff. Kent, with Briant 1980, 53 ff., and on the connection with divine support ibid., 58 ff. The decline of this traditional element in Near Eastern royal ideology is demonstrated by the indigenous resistance and grief that it provoked. See Eddy 1961, 324 ff. For a particularly striking example see Geyer 1925, 393 ff., and already Meyer 1924, 265ff. That is, not in either of the contrasting ways most importantly taken by U. Wilcken and M. Rostovtzeff; for a brilliant summary of the status quaestionis and of the arguments, see Will 1982, 153 ff. On whether we should attribute to the Hellenistic rulers themselves a conscious pursuit of equilibrium, Will 1982 observes (154, n. 1): “Tout indique …, que chacun des protagonistes eût s’il l’eût pu, sapé les positions des autres.” (“There is every indication that each of the protagonists would, if he had been able, have undermined the positions of the others.”) In general, see also above, n. 36. For the debate about the motives of Ptolemy III in the Laodikean War (OGIS 54; FGH 160; Porphyry FGH 260 F 43; Justin 27.1; Appian Syrian Wars 345 f.; Polyainos 8.50; Catullus 66.12; 35 f; P. Haun. 6. fr. 1.14 ff. with Huss 1978, 151 ff.) see Will op. cit., 251 ff.); considering the scale and the course of the expedition it seems probably that it was meant as more than simply a mission of assistance or revenge. We must, of course, bear in mind the famous treaty between Antiochos III and Philip V about the division of the Ptolemaic kingdom, although the details of its true signiÀcance remain vague (see Will op. cit.,114 ff.; still fundamental is Schmitt 1964, 237 ff.). On the dreams of Philip and the claims of Antiochos, both of which went well beyond the legacies they had inherited, and which tended ultimately to the old imperial unity (i. e. to Antigonos Monophthalmos and the origins of the Hellenistic political world), see Polybios 5.101.7 ff.; 102.1 ff.; 108.4 f. (on Philip V) and 5.67.6, as well as Schmitt op. cit., 86, with further sources detailing Seleukid claims (regarding Antiochos III). On Antiochos IV’s aspirations with regards to Egypt see above, p. 79 and n. 35.

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tion with the activities of kings, and it was precisely the charismatic character of Hellenistic kingship, in combination with the mentality of individual kings that must have inspired such ambitions. Without constant conÀrmation of the king’s ability to achieve victory, and the concomitant reinforcement of his power, the throne stood in constant danger, adding real pressure to the king’s internal drive to accomplish military success.95 Regarded in terms of the whole, however, this entails a real dilemma, and gives rise to an element of irony, which Ànds expression in the ambivalence of Hellenistic monarchy: beside the practical problems that inevitably beset imperial government, the king is, as it were, condemned to victory, and must offend the feelings, expectations, desires and interests of some of his subjects, in order to satisfy those of the others (see e. g. Plutarch Demetrios 42.4 ff.). A latent structural weakness corresponds to the opulence and other manifestations of royal power, an historical paradox of which there is no clearer example than the catastrophe of Antiochus III: although he began as master of an empire reminiscent of Alexander’s, he was quickly and easily defeated by a power of a different nature – a power whose external strength derived from its inner stability, rather than from the charisma and abilities of a king.

ADDENDUM 2011 This contribution originated from my inaugural lecture in Göttingen in 1982: it is almost 30 years old. It was meant less as a systematic analysis, than as a starting point for further discussions, and developed the thoughts and observations of, especially, Claire Préaux and Elias Bikermans, by bringing them into conversation with Max Weber’s sociology of rule. In this – its original – form, it did have a certain impact and inÁuence on the debate about Hellenistic monarchy, and beyond, and it is for this reason that I have not made substantial changes to the text. Supplements include additional source references, partly the product of later reading, which reinforce or illustrate some aspects of my theses. They are listed with reference to the relevant footnotes. After these, the reader will Ànd a select bibliography that charts the development of research after the article’s appearance.

Additional evidence: – – –

95

n. 21: Justin 36.4.7 on Andronikos as legitimate king. n. 56: Ennius fr. 194–201 V. = 183–190 Sk. (Cicero de OfÀciis 1.12.38): the fairness of Pyrrhos. n. 60: on the connection between euergetism and recognition, particularly important is the early-Hellenistic hierá anagraphé of Euhemeros of Messene On the perpetuation of war (in connection with criticism from the perspective of the philosophical – or popular-philosophical – ideal of the ‘good ruler’), see Plutarch Pyrrhos 7.3, 9.5 f.; 12.2 ff.; 14.4 ff.; Demetrios 41.1 ff.; 42.6 ff.

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(FGH 63) with the deeds of Uranos, Kronos and Zeus, who are presented as rulers exactly in the sense discussed in this article, characterized by the typical elements of Hellenistic monarchy: they surpassed their contemporaries in strength (ischys) and intelligence (synesis) and were not only recognized as kings, but also transformed into gods, because they used their power to act as benefactors (euergetai) and saviors (soteres). The splendor that was displayed and its impact are depicted by Livy 41.20, on Perseus of Macedonia. n. 91: on the role of law in, and the Egyptian roots of the instructions in P. Tebt. 703, see esp. Huss 1980, 67 ff. n. 95: on the display of power in general, very striking are Diodoros 31.40.1 and Plutarch Aristides 6.2. Additional bibliography:

For a general overview, see Gehrke 2008, 170–187. Especially relevant are the comprehensive treatments of the topic in Bilde et al. 1996; Virgilio 1999 and Ma 2003, 177 ff. For a particularly instructive example see Lehmann 1998, 81 ff. Particularly important on different aspects: –

–

–

Cities of royal residence, courts and palaces: Weber 1993; Nielsen 1994; Hoepfner – Brands 1996; Weber 1997, 27 ff.; Mittag 2000, 409 ff.; Nielsen 2001; Seilheimer 2006, 295 ff.; Weber 2007, 99 ff. Entourage, army: Mooren 1998, 122 ff.; Savalli-Lestrade 1998; Alonso Troncoso 2001, 81 ff.; Hatzopoulos 2001; Halfmann 2001, 6 ff.; Gehrke 2005, 103 ff. Kings and poleis, benefactions: Ma 1999; Bringmann 2000; Schmidt-Dounas 2000; Kotsidou 2000. BIBLIOGRAPHY

Adcock, F. E. 1953: Greek and Macedonian Kingship, PBA 39, 163–180. Alonso Troncoso, V. 2001: Paideia und philia in der Hofgesellschaft der hellenistischen Zeit, in M. Peachin (ed.), Aspects of Friendship in the Graeco-Roman World, Portsmouth RI, 81–88. Aymard, A. 1967: Études d’histoire ancienne, Paris. Bellinger, A. R. and Berlincourt, M. A. 1962: Victory as a Coin type, NNM 149, New York. Berve, H. 1953: Die Herrschaft des Agathokles, Munich. Bikerman, E. 1938: Institutions des Séleucides, Paris. 1939: La cité grecque dans les monarchies hellénistiques, RPh 65, 335–349.

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Bilde, P. et al. 1996: (eds.) Aspects of Hellenistic Kingship, Aarhus. Bleicken, J. 1972: Staatliche Ordnung und Freiheit in der römischen Republik, Frankfurter Althist. Stud. 6, Kallmünz. Braunert, W. 1968: Staatstheorie und Staatsrecht im Hellenismus, Saeculum 19, 47–66. Briant, P. 1980: Conquête territoriale et stratégie idéologique: Alexandre le Grand et l’idéologie monarchique achéménide, in Actes du Colloque International sur l’idéologie monarchique dans l’Antiquité. Cracovie-Mogilany, du 23 au 26 Octobre 1977, Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagielloĸskiego DXXXVI, Prace Historyczne 63, Warsaw and Krakow, 37–84. Bringmann, K. 2000: (ed.) Geben und Nehmen, Monarchische Wohltätigkeit und Selbstdarstellung im Zeitalter des Hellenismus. Mit einem numismatischen Beitrag von H.-Ch. Noeske (Schenkungen hellenistischer Herrscher an griechische Städte und Heiligtümer. Teil II 1: Historische Auswertung), Berlin. Brunner, O 1968: Bemerkungen zu den Begriffen “Herrschaft” und “Legitimität”, in id. Neue Wege der Verfassungs- und Sozialgeschichte, second edition, Göttingen. Eddy, S. K. 1961: The King is Dead. Studies in the Near Eastern Resistance to Hellenism, 334–331 B. C. Lincoln. Ehrenberg, V. 1965: Der Staat der Griechen, second edition, Zurich. Errington, R. M. 1978: The nature of the Macedonian state under the monarchy, Chiron 8, 77–133. Farber, J. J. 1979: The Cyropaedia and Hellenistic Kingship, AJPh 100, 497–514. Finley, M. I. 1982: Authority and Legitimacy in the Classical City-State, Copenhagen. de Francisci, P. 1947: Arcana Imperii, I, Milan. 1948: Arcana Imperii, II, Milan. Fraser, P. M. 1972: Ptolemaic Alexandria, I, Oxford. Gehrke, H.-J. 2005: Prinzen und Prinzessinnen bei den späten Ptolemäern, in V. Alonso Troncoso (ed.), ƋIAƋOƝOƙ THƙ BAƙIƒEIAƙ. La Àgura del sucesor en la realeza helenística, Madrid, 103– 117. 2008: Geschichte des Hellenismus, fourth revised edition, Munich. Geyer, F. 1925: Der hellenistische Staat, ein Vorläufer des modernen absoluten Staates, HZ 132, 382– 412. Gladigow, B. 1977: Macht und Religion, in E. Olshausen (ed.), Spielarten der Macht, Humanistische Bildung 1, Stuttgart, 1–31. Goodenough, E. B. 1928: The Political Philosophy of Hellenistic Kingship, YCS 1, 55–102. Goukowsky, P. 1978: Essai sur les origines du mythe d’Alexandre (336–270 av. J. C.), I, Nancy.

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Graf Kielmannsegg, P. 1971: Legitimität als analytische Kategorie, in PVS 12, 367–401. 1976: (ed.) Legitimationsprobleme politischer Systeme, PVS Sonderheft 7, Opladen. Granier, F. 1931: Die makedonische Heeresversammlung, Munich. Habermas, J. 1976: Legitimationsprobleme im modernen Staat, in Graf Kielmansegg 1976, 39–61. Habicht, C. 1970: Gottmenschentum und griechische Städte, Zetemata 14, second edition, Munich. Halfmann, H. 2001: Städtebau und Bauherren im römischen Kleinasien. Ein Vergleich zwischen Pergamon und Ephesos, Tübingen. Hatzopoulos, M. B. 2001: L’organisation de l’armée macédonienne sous les Antigonides. Problèmes anciens et documents nouveaux, Athens and Paris. Heinen, H. 1978: Aspects et problèmes de la monarchie ptolémaïque, Ktema 3, 177–199. Hennis, W. 1976: Legitimität. Zu einer Kategorie der bürgerlichen Gesellschaft, in Graf Kielmansegg 1976, 9–38. Heuss, A. 1937: Stadt und Herrscher des Hellenismus in ihren staats- und völkerrechtlichen Beziehungen, Klio Suppl. 39. 1954: Alexander der Grosse und die politische Ideologie des Altertums, A&A 4, 65–104 (now 1995 I 147–186). 1955: Ursprung und Idee, in A. Heuß and A. Aymard (eds.), La monarchie hellénistique, I, in Relazioni del X Congresso Internazionale di Scienze Storiche, II. Storia dell’Antichità, Florence, 208–213 (now 1995 I 223–235). 1968: Zur Theorie der Weltgeschichte, Berlin. 1974: Theodor Mommsen und die revolutionäre Struktur des römischen Kaisertums, ANRW II 1, 77–90 (now 1995 III 1703–1743). 1977: Alexander der Grosse und das Problem der historischen Urteilsbildung, HZ 225, 29–64 (now 1995 I 187–222). 1995: Gesammelte Kleine Schriften in drei Bänden, Stuttgart. Hoepfner, W. and Brands, G. 1996: (eds.) Basileia. Die Paläste der hellenistischen Könige, Mainz. Holleaux, M. 1938: Études d’épigraphie et d’histoire grecques, I, Paris. Houghton, A. 1980: Notes on early Seleucid victory coinage of “Persepolis”, SNR 59, 5–14. Huss, W. 1978: Eine Revolte der Aegypter in der Zeit des 3. Syrischen Krieges, Aegyptus 58, 151–156. 1980: Staat und Ethos nach den Vorstellungen eines ptolemäischen Dioiketes des 3. Jh. Bemerkungen zu P. Teb. III 1,703, Archiv für Papyrusforschung 27, 67–77. Kaerst, J. 1898: Studien zur Entwickelung und theoretischen Begründung der Monarchie im Altertum, Munich. 1968: Geschichte des Hellenismus, II, second edition, Darmstadt. Kotsidou, H. 2000: TIME KAI DOXA. Ehrungen für hellenistische Herrscher im griechischen Mutterland und Kleinasien unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der archäologischen Denkmäler, Berlin.

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Kyrieleis, H. 1975: Bildnisse der Ptolemäer, Archäol. Forsch. 2, Berlin. 1980: Ein Bildnis des Königs Antiochos IV. von Syrien, Berlin. Lane Fox, R. 1973: Alexander the Great, London. Lehmann, G. A. 1998: Expansionspolitik im Zeitalter des Hochhellenismus: Die Anfangsphase des “LaodikeKrieges” 246/5 v. Chr., in T. Hantos and G. A. Lehmann (eds.), Althistorisches Kolloquium aus Anlass des 70. Geburtstages von Jochen Bleicken, Stuttgart, 81–101. Levêque, P. 1980: Idéologie et pouvoir sous les deux premiers Lagides, in Actes du Colloque International sur l’idéologie monarchique dans l’Antiquité. Cracovie-Mogilany, du 23 au 26 Octobre 1977, Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagielloĸskiego DXXXVI, Prace Historyczne 63, Warsaw and Krakow, 83–103. Lévy, E. 1978: La monarchie macédonienne et le mythe d’une royauté démocratique, Ktema 3, 201– 225. Ma, J. 1999: Antiochos III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor, Oxford. 2003: Kings, in A. Erskine (ed.), A Companion to the Hellenistic World, Oxford, 177–195. Maehler, H. and Strocka, V. M. 1978: (eds.) Das ptolemäische Ägypten, Mainz. Meyer, E. 1924: Kleine Schriften I, second edition, Halle. Mittag, P. F. 2000: Die Rolle der hauptstädtischen Bevölkerung bei den Ptolemäern und Seleukiden im 3. Jahrhundert, Klio 82, 409–425. Mooren, L. 1979: Antiochos IV. Epiphanes und das ptolemäische Königtum, in J. Bingen and G. Nachtergael (eds.), Actes XVe Congrès International Papyrologie, 4e Partie (Papyrologica Bruxellensia 19), Brussels, 78–86. 1998: Kings and Courtiers. Political Decision-Making in the Hellenistic States, in W. Schuller (ed.), Politische Theorie und Praxis im Altertum, Darmstadt, 122–133. Müller, O. 1973: Antigonos Monophthalmos und “Das Jahr der Könige”, Saarbrücker Beitrage zur Altertumskunde 11, Bonn. Newell, E. T. 1938: The Coinage of the Eastern Seleucid Mints, New York. 1941: The Coinage of the Western Seleucid Mints, New York. Nielsen, I. 1994: Hellenistic Palaces. Tradition and Renewal, Aarhus. 2001: (ed.) The Royal Palace Institution in the First Millennium BC. Regional Development and Cultural Interchange between East and West, Aarhus. Onasch, C. 1976: Zur Königsideologie der Ptolemäer in den Dekreten von Kanopus und Memphis (Rosettana), APF 24/25, 137–155. Orth, W. 1977: Königlicher Machtanspruch und städtische Freiheit, Münchener Beiträge zur Papyrusforschung und antiken Rechtsgeschichte 71, Munich. Préaux, C. 1978: Le monde hellénistique. La Grèce et l’Orient de la mort d’Alexandre à la conquête romaine de la Grèce (323–146 avant J. C.), Paris.

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Ritter, H.-W. 1964: Diadem und Königsherrschaft, Munich and Berlin. Salzmann, D. 1980: Ueberlegungen zum Schild auf den Münzen des Ptolemaios Philadelphos und verwandten Denkmälern, GNS 30, 33–39. Savalli-Lestrade I. 1998: Les philoi royaux dans l’Asie hellénistique, Geneva. Schachermeyr, F. 1925: Zu Geschichte und Staatsrecht der frühen Diadochenzeit, Klio 19, 435–461. Schmidt-Dounas, B. 2000: (ed.) Geschenke erhalten die Freundschaft. Politik und Selbstdarstellung im Spiegel der Monumente, Schenkungen hellenistischer Herrscher an griechische Städte und Heiligtümer, II 2: Archäologische Auswertung, Berlin. Schmitt, H. H. 1964: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Antiochos’ des Großen und seiner Zeit, Historia Einzelschriften 6, Wiesbaden. Schubart, W. 1937: Das hellenistische Koenigsideal nach Inschriften und Papyri, APF 12, 1–26. Seilheimer, H. 2006: Die Palastareale von Seuthopolis und Demetrias. Zur Organisationsstruktur befestigter hellenistischer Residenzen, in S. Conrad et al. (eds.), Pontos Euxeinos. Beiträge zur Archäologie und Geschichte des antiken Schwarzmeer- und Balkanraumes, Langenweißbach, 295–316. Smith, S. 1924: Babylonian Historical Texts, London. Spranger, P. P. 1958: Der Grosse. Untersuchungen zur Entstehung des historischen Beinamens in der Antike, Saeculum 9, 22–58. Stertz, S. A 1974: ƏƤԃƠ ơƠƱрƪƤƨƠ. Hellenistic theory and the foundations of legitimacies A. D. 270–395, Ann Arbor. Tarn, W. W. and Griffith, G. T. 1952: Hellenistic Civilisation, third edition, London. Thissen, H.-J. 1966: Studien zum Raphiadekret, Beiträge zur Klassischen Philologie 23, Meisenheim. Virgilio, B. 1999: Lancia, diadema e porpora. Il re e la regalità ellenistica, Pisa. Weber, G. 1993: Dichtung und höÀsche Gesellschaft. Die Rezeption von Zeitgeschichte am Hof der ersten drei Ptolemäer, Stuttgart. 1997: Interaktion, Repräsentation und Herrschaft. Der Königshof im Hellenismus, in A. Winterling (ed.), Zwischen “Haus” und “Staat”. Antike Höfe im Vergleich, Munich, 27–71. 2007: Die neuen Zentralen. Hauptstädte, Residenzen, Paläste und Höfe, in id. (ed.), Kulturgeschichte des Hellenismus. Von Alexander bis Kleopatra, Stuttgart, 99–117. Weber, M. 1968: Economy and Society, ed. by G. Roth and C. Wittich, University of California. 1972: Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft5, ed. by J. Winckelmann, Stuttgart. Welles, H. B. 1934: Royal Correspondence in the Hellenistic Period, New Haven. Welwei, K.-W. 1963: Könige und Königtum im Urteil des Polybios, Cologne. Will, E. 1982: Histoire politique du monde hellénistique, II, second edition, Nancy.

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Will, E. et al. 1975: (eds.) Le monde grec et l’Orient, II, Paris, Winckelmann, J. 1952: Legalität und Legitimität in Max Webers Herrschaftssoziologie, Tübingen. Winter, E. 1978: Der Herrscherkult in den ägyptischen Ptolemäertempeln, in Maehler – Strocka 1978, 147–160. Zancan, P. 1934: Il monarcato ellenistico nei suoi elementi federativi, Padua. Zippelius, R. 1971: Allgemeine Staatslehre, third edition, Munich.

5 AGATHOCLES AND HIERO II: TWO SOLE RULERS IN THE HELLENISTIC AGE AND THE QUESTION OF SUCCESSION* Matthias Haake I “Le roi est mort! Vive le roi!” – Since the death of King Louis XII in 1515, this ritual acclamation was, in its standardized form, an integral part of the burial ceremony of the French kings in Saint-Denis.1 Its de-individualized character clearly indicates an established and durably institutionalized monarchy, where continuity after the ruler’s death is assured and the order of succession is not in question: kingship is independent of any individual king. At the same time, the acclamation alludes to an established system of succession based on the dynastic principle of primogeniture, a practice that is often closely associated with the institution of monarchy and is in many ways one of its deÀning features.2 As is the case for most rulers who held power in a monocratic system without established rules of succession, for the two sole rulers considered in the present contribution, a well-regulated succession was as desirable as it turned out to be difÀcult to achieve. Within a short period of time between 307/6 and 303/2 several protagonists in the decades-long struggle after the death of Alexander the Great took the title of basileus.3 By taking this title, Antigonus Monophthalmus and Demetrius Pol*

1

2 3

The following contribution is a partially revised version of Haake 2005. Over the last few years a considerable number of important publications regarding Agathocles and Hiero II have appeared; among them, Consolo Langher 2004a; Consolo Langher 2004b; Lehmler 2005; Dimartino 2006; Lewis 2006; Zambon 2006; Serrati 2008; Simonetti Agostinetti 2008; Zambon 2008; Prag 2010, 64–67 and Zambon 2010 should be highlighted. However, none of these publications, which are mostly not concerned with the central topic of the current article, undermines the arguments presented in 2005. I would like to express my gratitude to Daniela Bonanno (Palermo), Ann-Cathrin Harders (Bielefeld) and Caroline Veit (Munich) for their valuable comments on the manuscript. I am especially grateful to Thomas Miller (Princeton) for translating this article and to Nino Luraghi (Princeton) for his editorial work on the text. On the cry “Le roi est mort! – Vive le roi!”, see Gisey 1960, 141–144; Schramm 1960, 259– 263; Jackson 1984, 145; Giesey 1987, 119–143; see also Bloch 1961, 218 and Kantorowicz 1997, 409–419. See Gilissen 1970, 84–91; see in general the explanations of forms of succession in Goody 1966. See Müller 1972, 78–107 and Gruen 1985; see also Gehrke 2008, 39 and 167–168 and Haake 2012, 299–302.

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iorcetes as well as Cassander, Lysimachus, Ptolemy, and Seleucus assumed the personal dignity of a king and staked out their claims to be the successors of Alexander and the founders of their own kingdoms and dynasties.4 But not to all of them was it granted to establish a kingdom or a dynasty which continued beyond their own death – as the examples of Lysimachus and Cassander show.5 And even for those who did succeed in founding a dynasty, the question of succession was a sensitive one – recall the case of Ptolemy I.6 Yet, to speak in general terms, quarrels over succession were not limited to the early Hellenistic period:7 the particular structure of Hellenistic kingship made the death of a ruler and the question of succession inherently a moment of instability.8 The following analysis will not deal with any of the “classical” Hellenistic monarchies. Rather, we will turn to Sicily and consider two rulers from Syracuse, both of whom took the title of basileus: Agathocles and Hiero II. The focus will be on one speciÀc aspect, namely the question of their succession. From a heuristic point of view, examining critical moments in a political system is particularly revealing of the nature of that system. Accordingly, analyzing the way that these two rulers tried to organize their respective successions will provide the basis for some more general considerations on their regimes. The central issues of if and how the two sole rulers attempted to establish successors for their basileia will Àrst be approached by examining the two cases separately. The results will then be explained structurally in relation to general characteristics of Hellenistic monarchy and Greek tyranny and to speciÀc features of the rulership under Agathocles and Hiero II respectively. II Agathocles died an agonizing death in 289 at the age of seventy-two, having been in power for a total of twenty-eight years.9 Three different accounts of the end of his life are preserved in Diodorus’ Historical Library, in Justin’s Epitome of the Philip4 5

6 7 8 9

See esp. Gehrke 2008, 39 and 167–168; Cohen 1974 and Gruen 1985. On Lysimachus and the end of his empire following his death in the battle at Kouroupedion in 281, see Landucci Gattinoni 1992, 209–221; Lund 1992, 184–206; Franco 1993, 173– 182; Dmitriev 2007 and Müller 2009, 32–57. On Cassander, whose kingdom likewise disappeared shortly after his death in 297, see Carney 1999 and Landucci Gattinoni 2009; see also Oikonomides 1989. On Lysimachus and Cassander, Ogden 1999, 53–65 is also of basic importance. On this point, see Huss 2001, 249–250 as well as Buraselis 2005, 92–94 and Müller 2009, 21–32. See Alonso 2000, 22–23 with further examples. See Gehrke 1982, 267–271 and Gotter 2008, 178. Diod. 21.16.5 (= 21 frg. 29.5 Goukowsky). Besides Timaeus of Tauromenium (FGrH 566 F 123a = BNJ 566 F 123a) Diodorus refers to the following sources for the dates of Agathocles’ life: Kallias of Syracuse (FGrH 564 T 2 = BNJ 564 T 2 = BNJ 564 F 6) and Antander, the brother of Agathocles (FGrHist 565 T 5 = BNJ 565 T 5). The description of Agathocles’ agonizing death is at least partially shaped in a topical manner following the established literary rules for a tyrant’s death. On “how to die like a tyrant” see Luraghi in this volume; cf. Africa 1982, 1–3 and 5 on Agathocles speciÀcally.

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pic History of Pompeius Trogus, and in the Prologues to the Philippic History of Pompeius Trogus.10 According to Diodorus, directly before the death of Agathocles the set of conditions relevant to the problem of succession was the following:11 from his Àrst marriage with an extremely rich widow of unknown name, Agathocles had two sons,12 Archagathos and Herakleides.13 Both died a violent death in 307, murdered by the troops of their father after he had crossed over to Sicily to escape the catastrophe on the African battleÀeld.14 From the same widow Agathocles had probably yet a third son, Agatharchos, who is heard of only as commander against the Bruttians after 300; since he is not mentioned at all in the context of Agathocles’ death, he presumably died before 289.15 The Archagathos murdered in 307 had a 10

Diod. 21.16.4–5 (= 21 frg. 29.4–5 Goukowsky); Just. Epit. 23.2.3–12; Trog. Prol. 23. On the differences between the accounts found in Diodorus and Justin, see Consolo Langher 1998, 33–37. The question of the sources used by Diodorus and Justin, i. e. by Trogus, has been comprehensively discussed in the scholarship, and no consensus has emerged so far. Pearson 1987, 225–259 argued that Timaeus was the source both for Diodorus as well as for Justin and accordingly for his model Trogus, but recent scholars mostly agree that two different authors should be considered as Diodorus’ possible sources – Timaeus and Duris. It is disputed, however, which author served which historian as a model: while Meister 1967, 164 argues for Timaeus as the source for Diodorus’ account of Agathocles’ death (see also Meister 1991, 189), Consolo Langher 1991 holds that Duris is Diodorus’ source. Duris is, on the other hand, considered to be the model for Justin, and accordingly also for Trogus, by Kebric 1977, 71–72 and Richter 1987, 103–104. Consolo Langher 1990a, 158–162 and 181 argues for Timaeus as the source for Justin and Trogus. For Diodorus, Landucci Gattinoni 1997, 142 gives a concise summary of the different positions; on the relationship of Diodorus to Duris, see Landucci Gattinoni 1997, 141–148. On Polybius and the contemporaneous historians of Agathocles, see Consolo Langher 2005. However, this discussion needs not be taken up here, since the question of sources plays no decisive role for the present investigation. On Agathocles’ death and the events surrounding it, see now also Zambon 2008, 17–33. 11 Unlike in the case of Dionysius I (see, e. g., Bruno Sunseri 2010, 134–139 and Péré-Noguès 2010, 119–122), there is no analysis of the strategies underpinning Agathocles’ three marriages along the lines of the classical article of Gernet 1953; see Seibert 1967, 104–107 and Lehmler 2005, 192–193, both rather general. 12 This marriage is mentioned at Diod. 19.3.2 and Just. Epit. 22.1.12–13. It occurred probably between 335 and 330; see Beloch 1927, 254. Agathocles’ wife was Àrst married to the wealthy and distinguished Syracusan Damas (see Niese 1901), who was elected strategos by the Syracusans in their war against Acragas; he also allegedly had a sexual relationship with Agathocles who was his protégé. After Damas’ death Agathocles married his widow and became one of the richest men in Syracuse (Diod. 19.3.1–2); according to Just. Epit. 22.1.12–14, Agathocles had already a sexual relation with his later wife during her Àrst husband’s lifetime. On all these aspects, see Consolo Langher 2000, 21–25. 13 On Archagathos, see Niese 1895a; on Herakleides, see Lenschau 1912b. The latter was the younger of the two; see Diod. 20.68.3. 14 Diod. 20.69.3. On Agathocles’ African campaign (310–307), see Consolo Langher 1992 and Consolo Langher 2000, 131–158, where she goes into great detail about the simultaneous events in Syracuse related to Agathocles’ campaign. 15 The name Agatharchos appears in Diod. 21.3.2 (= 21 frg. 11 Goukowsky); by contrast, Diod. 21.3.1 (= 21 frg. 10 Goukowsky) gives Archagathos. See the discussion of Goukowsky 2006, 187. It seems however rather unlikely that this son was named Archagathos, since we would thus have to assume that Agathocles had two sons of the same name – one killed in Africa in

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son of the same name, who shortly before the death of Agathocles was in command of his grandfather’s troops, encamped near the settlement of Aetna.16 From his second marriage with Alkia17 Agathocles had two children – a daughter named Lanassa18 and a son named Agathocles.19 Shortly before his death Agathocles decided to make his homonymous son his successor as king and presented him in Syracuse announcing his intention to hand over power to him. The basileus then sent his son with a letter to his grandson Archagathos, requesting him to hand over the command of the land forces and of the Áeet to the younger Agathocles. Upon hearing this, Archagathos decided to get rid of his grandfather and his ‘uncle’, recognizing that the younger Agathocles, and not himself, was to be the successor. So he murdered the heir20 and arranged for Agathocles himself to be poisoned.21 The dying Agathocles summoned the population of Syracuse to an ekklesia, accused his grandson Archagathos of asebeia, called on the crowd to avenge him, and announced that he restored demokratia to the demos.22 While still alive, Agathocles

16

17

18 19

20 21

22

307 and one active from 299 to 297 in southern Italy. It is also unlikely that the text is corrupt and we should amend ƲҳƬ ƳѴҳƬ яƯƵҬƢƠƧƮƬ to ƲҳƬ ƳѴƷƬҳƬ яƯƵҬƢƠƧƮƬ. We should rather assume that Agathocles had three sons from his Àrst marriage: Archagathos, Herakleides, and also Agatharchos. For this, see especially Beloch 1927, 254–255 and Berve 1953, 76 with note 71. Consolo Langher 2000, 299 with note 39, assumes unconvincingly that Agatharchos was a son from Agathocles’ second marriage with Alkia (on this marriage, see below n. 17). Consolo Langher 1980, 317 writes that Archagathos led Agathocles’ troops in southern Italy; see also Consolo Langher 1995, 98. But see Consolo Langher 2000, 305 where she names Agatharchos as the commander of Agathocles’ troops Àghting against the Bruttians. On Archagathos, son of Archagathos, cf. Niese 1895b. Though still young, he is described as notably manly and courageous for his age (Diod. 21.16.3 [= 21 frg. 29.3 Goukowsky]; see also Diod. 21.16.7 [= 21 frg. 29.3bis Goukowsky] – here the text wrongly gives Agatharchos for Archagathos). Alkia is mentioned at Diod. 20.33.5 and 68.3; nothing is known about her origin and social background. She was alleged to have had a relationship with Archagathos, Agathocles’ son from him Àrst marriage; in Diod. 20.33.3–8 the charge of this relationship between Alkia and Archagathos leads to the ‘episode of Lykiskos’. On this, see Consolo Langher 2000, 153– 156; see Beloch 1927, 255 on Alkia as mother of Lanassa and Agathocles the Younger. On Lanassa, see Stähelin 1924; Sandberger 1970, 132–136 [no. 45: Lanassa] and Le Bohec 1993, 231. On Agathocles the Younger, see Niese 1893. On the third marriage of Agathocles with Theoxena – not mentioned in Diodorus’ extant work, but attested to by Justin (Just. Epit. 23.2.6) – and the offspring from this liaison, two children, still small at the time of their father’s death, see below p. 103. Diod. 21.16.3 (= 21 frg. 29.3 Goukowsky). In managing the assassination he was helped by a certain Menon from Segesta, who after the destruction of his patris in 307 became a slave of the basileus because of his beauty. He moved among Agathocles’ friends and favorites, but secretly had his heart set on revenge (Diod. 21.16.2 [= 21 frg. 29.2 Goukowsky]); on the poisoning itself, see Diod. 21.16.4 (= 21 frg. 29.4 Goukowsky). On Menon, see Kroll 1931. Diod. 21.16.4 (= 21 frg. 29.4 Goukowsky). On Agathocles’ alleged restoration of democracy to the Syracusans, see below p. 104 with n. 36.

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was thrown to the Áames by an emissary of Demetrius Poliorcetes.23 After his death the Syracusans conÀscated his assets and destroyed the statues that he had set up. Only a little later Archagathos himself was murdered by the man whom he had incited to murder his grandfather.24 The account of Agathocles’ death and the conÁict over his succession found in Justin’s Epitome of the Philippic History of Pompeius Trogus is different in several respects.25 While on a campaign against the Bruttians, Agathocles – according to Justin – fell gravely ill and was thus forced to return home. Between his son and grandson – the names are not mentioned – a Àght over the kingdom ensued, as if the ailing ruler was already dead; this conÁict ended with the murder of Agathocles’ son by his grandson.26 Fearing for the life of his third wife Theoxena, most likely a stepdaughter or daughter of Ptolemy I,27 who is mentioned in the literary tradition only here,28 and their two children, Agathocles sent her with his money, slaves, and goods on a ship to Egypt.29 Although Justin portrays the tearful departure scene in much detail, the death of Agathocles is recounted with great brevitas: the children had barely left when the king died.30 23

24

25 26 27 28

29

30

Diod. 21.16.5 (= 21 frg. 29.5 Goukowsky); see Diod. 20.101.1–3. The emissary was Oxythemis, who had come to Syracuse from the court of Demetrius together with the younger Agathocles to deal with diplomatic matters; see below p. 105. On Oxythemis, one of the closest philoi of Demetrius, see Robert 1946, 29–30 with note 6 and Bielman 1994, 53–56 no. 15 with further references to sources and bibliography, as well as Paschidis 2008, 111 with n. 5. Diod. 21.16.6 (= 21 frg. 29.6 Goukowsky). After Archagathos’ death, the excerpt from Diodorus continues with a polemic against Timaeus (Diod. 21.17.1–3 [= 21 frg. 30 Goukowsky] = FGrH 566 F 124d = BNJ 566 F 124d, on which see Meister 1973–1974, 456–459) and criticism of Kallias of Syracuse (Diod. 21.17.4 [= 21 frg. 31 Goukowsky] = FGrH 564 T 3 = BNJ 564 T 3). Then, Diodorus (Diod. 21.18.1 [= 21 frg. 32 Goukowsky]) continues with the description of events in Syracuse after the murder of Agathocles, in which Menon, the slayer of Agathocles and the younger Archagathos, plays an important role; see Berve 1967, 458. On the events after Agathocles’ death, see Mafodda 1979, 197–198 and Berger 1992, 51–52. Just. Epit. 23.2.3–12. Just. Epit. 23.2.5. On Theoxena, see Geyer 1934; Seibert 1967, 73–74; Manni 1984 and Huss 2001, 203. In Timaeus’ account of Agathocles’ death, handed down in the fragments of Polybius’ book XII, an unnamed wife, presumably Theoxena, is present; see Polyb. 12.15.3 = FGrH 566 F 124b(3) = BNJ 566 F 124b(3). On this passage see Walbank 1967, 361 ad loc. Just. Epit. 23.2.6. Justin’s text does not make clear whether the two small children (duos parvulos) of Agathocles and Theoxena are two boys or a boy and a girl; see Bagnall 1976, 197, who suggests to identify the Archagathos, son of Agathocles and epistates of Libya, who is known from an Alexandrian dedicatory inscription (I.Alex.Ptol. 5; see Fraser 1956 = SEG 18.636), as the son of Agathocles and Theoxena. He views the Theoxena known from P.Oxy. 2821 as the sister of Archagathos; she is there said to be the daughter of an Agathocles. From P.Oxy. 2821 it further seems that the younger Theoxena had two children – a son named Agathocles and another child whose gender and name are unknown. See also Bennett 2003, 67 and Müller 2009, 23. Just. Epit. 23.2.12. About the fate of Agathocles’ wife and children after this point Justin’s Epitoma tells us nothing. In Just. Epit. 23.2.13 we read about Carthaginian expansionist ambitions on Sicilian territory during the chaotic succession period; in the following paragraph (Just. Epit. 23.3.1) the Sicilian expedition of Pyrrhus begins.

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Finaly, the Prologue to the twenty-third book of the Philippic History of Pompeius Trogus says that Agathocles, after having put down the Bruttians, was surprised by the revolt of his disinherited son and his grandson – neither one’s name is mentioned – and lost his life.31 The Prologues of the Philippic History of Pompeius Trogus and Justin’s Epitome present divergent information. While for Justin the beginning of Agathocles’ illness is causally prior to the conÁict between his son and grandson over the royal succession, in the Prologues Agathocles, after subjugating all his enemies, is surprised by a revolt of his disinherited son and grandson, but no further explanation of the circumstances is given.32 The divergence is surprising, given that both are based on a common source – Pompeius Trogus.33 The differences can be explained by the different working methods of the two authors of the Prologues and the Epitome.34 The account of Agathocles’ death preserved by Diodorus departs fundamentally from the versions based on that of Pompeius Trogus, preserved by Justin and the author of the Prologues. For Diodorus, Agathocles’ decision to make his son of the same name his successor, instead of his grandson Archagathos, causes the murder of father and son by the younger Archagathos. One Àgure involved in the story is not mentioned at all in the versions that derive from Trogus: Agathocles’ murderer, who has a personal motive for revenge. Agathocles’ campaign in southern Italy, which in Justin’s work and in the Prologues provides the occasion for son and grandson to turn against the king, is not mentioned by Diodorus – a fact that cannot be explained satisfactorily by the problematic transmission of the twenty-Àrst book of his work.35 Finally, Agathocles’ declaration of freedom for Syracuse, which is an important part of how Diodorus presents the events surrounding the old ruler’s death, is not found in the tradition preserved in Justin and in the Prologues. Not only for this reason, and against the communis opinio, the historicity of Agathocles’ restoration of democracy to the Syracusans should be put into question.36 31

Trog. Prol. 23. This Prologue tells us nothing about the fate of the various pretenders who struggled for Agathocles’ position. Mentioned are the conÁict that broke out between the foreign soldiers of Agathocles and the Siculians, the appearance of Pyrrhus in Sicily, his confrontation with the Carthaginians and the Mamertines as well as his return to Italy, his defeat there at the hands of the Romans, and his resulting return home to Epirus. No mention is made in the Prologue of Hiero, a major Àgure in Just. Epit. 23.4.1–15. On the Prologues of the Philippic History of Pompeius Trogus in general, see Seel 1972, 1–3 and Lucidi 1975. 32 See Ferrero 1957, 91–93. 33 See Ferrero 1957, 15–17 and Iliescu 1969, 162; on the relationship between the Prologues of the Philippic History of Trogus on the one hand and Justin’s Epitome of the Philippic History of Trogus on the other hand, see Yardley 2010, 474–475. 34 The theories about the relationship between Justin’s Epitome, the Prologues, and the model used by Trogus found in Consolo Langher 1990a, 158–159 and Consolo Langher 1998, 228 are not completely convincing. 35 On this, see Casevitz 2002, 455–456 and Goukowsky 2006, 3–11. 36 Considering how Greek communities dealt with ‘failing tyrants’ (see Luraghi in this volume) it seems not very plausible that after the failure of Agathocles’ plans of succession a more or less well-ordered handover of power took place in Syracuse in 289. In fact, it is hard to imagine that Agathocles abdicated his power and died in the self-imposed Áames without being mal-

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It is clear that the partially inconsistent traditions about the death of Agathocles and the quarrel over his succession do not allow for the formation of a coherent picture that integrates all aspects known from Diodorus, Justin and the Prologues. The reason for this is not merely that individual statements are sometimes incompatible and that the various versions are preserved only in incomplete form due to multiple disturbances in the literary transmission. For it is also the case that we have no criteria permitting us to evaluate the reliability of Timaeus and Duris, who are responsible for creating biased literary images of Agathocles as well as manipulating accounts of his Ànal days and upon whose testimony the later authors depend to a great extent. Since we have neither further literary witnesses nor epigraphic or numismatic evidence concerning Agathocles and his succession, it seems more appropriate to concentrate on the question of the structural elements that form the background of the literary portrayals than to focus on a renewed discussion of the available historical accounts in terms of credibility. Of the four sons born to Agathocles from his Àrst two wives, only the youngest, Agathocles, lived to the end of his father’s life; a Àfth son, from the father’s third marriage, was still too young to play a role in the question of succession under the given circumstances. Thus the position of the younger Agathocles as his father’s successor would have been clear, had it not been for Agathocles’ already grown-up grandson, named after his father Archagathos, who had been murdered in Africa in 307. This constellation, consisting of father, son, and grandson, is basic to all extant texts and forms the framework of the conÁict over Agathocles’ succession, and it must be the starting point for all further considerations.37 In the period just before Agathocles’ death, both his homonymous son and his grandson were integrated into the Agathoclean ruling system and played a decisive role in it. This seems plausible on the basis of what Diodorus reports, and there is indeed no reason to doubt it: Archagathos was in command of the troops and thus possessed a central position of power;38 for the younger Agathocles it is attested that he was sent by his father on an important diplomatic mission to Demetrius Poliorcetes to arrange for the conclusion of a treaty of philia and symmachia between the two rulers.39 Even if there is no evidence that Agathocles had already

37 38 39

treated by his former subjects who acted after his death as it should be expected: they destroyed his statues and conÀscated his belongings. One wonders whether Diodorus’ story of Agathocles’ abdication should not be read as a literary invention, showing an Agathocles who admits his total failure at the end of his life. For the communis opinio, see Berve 1953, 73–76; Consolo Langher 2000, 321–322 and Zambon 2008, 25–26. Ross Holloway 1979, 91–93 has argued that Agathocles’ decision to restore democracy to the Syracusans was not “a deathbed decision”, but an act of ofÀcial policy which is reÁected in an issue of the Syracusan bronze coinage; see also Rutter 1997, 175 and Lewis 2006, 57. This interpretation seems far-fetched. See now also Zambon 2008, 17–33. Diod. 21.16.3 (= 21 frg. 29.3 Goukowsky). Diod. 21.15.1 (= 21 frg. 28.1 Goukowsky). See Olshausen 1974, 299 no. 198; see also Wehrli 1968, 176–179 and Consolo Langher 2000, 319–321. This embassy was of great importance, since Lanassa, Agathocles’ daughter from his second marriage and full sister of the younger Agathocles, had married Demetrius Poliorcetes. In doing so she acted on her own

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before 289 proclaimed his son or grandson as his successors – either in a formal sense or by merely making any clear statement about his diadochos –, the younger Archagathos, in all probability a little older than the younger Agathocles, as commander of the troops could have seen himself reasonably as the top candidate for the succession; after all, he had in his control the basileia’s central instrument of power.40 However, in the absence of primogeniture or any other established rule governing Agathocles’ succession, the question of the king’s heir must have been formally an open one until 289, though Archagathos’ post as military commander put him deÀnitely in a ‘pole’ position.41 We cannot tell with absolute certainty what form Agathocles’ attempt to organize his succession took. Whereas the historiographical tradition based on Pompeius Trogus gives no explicit hints about how Agathocles’ succession was intended to be managed and reÁects only the conÁict concerning it which Áared up between the younger Agathocles and the younger Archagathos in the old ruler’s lifetime,42 Diodorus is more detailed. According to him, Agathocles did not arrange his succession earlier than 289.43 It was only in the last year of his life that he decided to make his initiative since this marriage took place after Lanassa had left arbitrarily her Àrst husband, the Epirotic King Pyrrhus. Through this marriage Demetrius had obtained control over Corcyra, once Lanassa’s dowry in her marriage with Pyrrhus; thus, Demetrius’ sphere of interest in the Adriatic came into contact with that of Agathocles. On Lanassa’s marriage with Demetrius, see Plut. Pyrrh. 10.7; see Manni 1951, 55; Lévèque 1957, 139–142; Wehrli 1968, 176; Seibert 1967, 30 and 107–108 as well as Consolo Langher 1993, 365–367 and Ogden 1999, 175– 176. There seems no reason to call into doubt the historicity of this marriage, as Berve 1953, 67 with note 61 does, following Beloch 1927, 207 with note 1. On Lanassa’s marriage with Pyrrhus, see Plut. Pyrrh. 9.1 and 10.7 as well as Diod. 21.4 (= 21 frg. 12.1 Goukowsky); see Lévèque 1957, 124–125; 134 and 139–142, Seibert 1967, 100–101; Berve 1953, 66–67; Bearzot 1994 and Consolo Langher 2000, 304–305. On Agathocles’ Adriatic policy, see Manni 1966, 158–161; Marasco 1984 and Landucci Gattinoni 1999; on Demetrius’ Adriatic policy, see Wehrli 1968, 176–179; Marasco 1983–1985, 67–77 and Consolo Langher 1993, 367–372; for a general overview, see also Consolo Langher 1999b. For basic general information on Hellenistic queens, their sphere of action, and their social role in Hellenistic monarchies, see Savalli-Letrade 2003 and Carney 2011. 40 This point of view would not only be plausible from Agatharchos’ subjective standpoint, but also has an inner logic. This idea is conÀrmed by the fact that the Àrst thing that the younger Agathocles was to do after his presentation as the royal heir was to take over the military command; see p. 102. 41 This position would have to be seen as even more important if it is true that Archagathos was commanding the troops of Agathocles in Aetna at the time when his grandfather – shortly before his death – was leading a campaign against the Bruttians in southern Italy (Just. Epit. 23.1.17–2.3). On this campaign and Justin’s presentation of it, see Marasco 1984, 101 and Vattuone 1987–1988, 68–72. 42 Just. Epit. 23.2.3–12 and Trog. Prol. 23. The Prologues in fact entail a further problem in that it speaks of the otherwise unknown disinheritance of an unnamed son – this can only be the younger Agathocles. The conÁict over the succession that one can infer from Justin and the Prologues indicates that, if Agathocles did make an attempt to organize his succession, this was not accepted by his son and grandson. On this structural level the Trogian tradition is consistent with the tradition present in Diodorus; on the Diodoran tradition, see the following remarks. 43 Diod. 21.16.3 (= 21 frg. 29.3 Goukowsky).

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son his successor and presented him in Syracuse. If one accepts this as credible, and there is no clear reason not to, there would have been a public act through which Agathocles tried to settle his diadoche. What shape such public act took is difÀcult to tell, but a presentation of the chosen successor in the Syracusan assembly seems to be most plausible.44 Yet, it seems implausible that there were speciÀc rules that could have played a role in managing the succession, because this would presuppose that Agathocles’ own position was also deÀned within a constitutional framework, an impossible assumption, since such kind of constitutional structure would be contrary to the general character of Agathocles’ position of power.45 Agathocles’ public presentation of his son to the Syracusans as his successor is therefore not to be understood as having had any legal signiÀcance, but as an attempt at creating legitimacy for the intended heir’s position. Agathocles does not seem to have made any consistent, long-term effort to designate one of his descendants as his successor in the basileia until shortly before his death; at the very least there is no trace of this in the literary, epigraphic, and numismatic sources. In this respect Agathocles is essentially different from two other Syracusan rulers, namely his ‘predecessor’ Dionysius I and his later ‘successor’ Hiero II.46 Even if Agathocles did not arrange his succession in the long run, it is certain, however, that he involved and integrated not only all his sons but also his daughter and grandson into his regime.47 Yet, Agathocles proved no more capable of controlling his succession than many of the Hellenistic basileis in the former territory of Alexander’s empire, since due to the main characteristics of Hellenistic kingship there were no fundamentally accepted rules of royal inheritance independent of the individuals involved, and the institution of an unchallenged successor was not estab-

44

See Consolo Langher 2000, 268–269. This suggestion is based on analogy with two other cases: Dionysius II summoned the assembly of the people after the death of his father in order to have the power he inherited from his father conÀrmed (Diod. 16.74.5); after Hiero II’s death his will was read and his grandson and heir Hieronymus presented in the people’s assembly (Liv. 24.4.6–7). See De Sensi Sestito 1995, 46 with n. 111. Lewis 2006, 51 wrongly combines POxy. 2399 (misprinted there as 2933) with the “presentation of Agathocles junior as heir”; on POxy. 2399, see Huss 1980; Berger 1988; Meister 1991, 195; Consolo Langher 2000, 143–144 and Lehmler 2005, 47. 45 Approaches that take the titles of Agathocles as the basis for an argument in terms of ‘constitutional law’ should be considered obsolete after Errington 1974 and Gehrke in this volume. On Agathocles’ position in Syracuse, see Berve 1953, 62–77, discussing whether, at the end of his life, such position was in any sense still deÀned by the ofÀce of strategos autokrator taken over in 316. It is hard to tell whether Agathocles’ position differed within the polis Syracuse and in the rest of the area that he ruled. At any rate, applying the concepts of ‘personal’ vs. ‘national’ kingship, as Consolo Langher 1999a, 341–343 and 2000, 269–271 does, seems inappropriate in this context. 46 For Dionysius I and aspects of his ‘dynastic’ succession, see Lucca 1994; Muccioli 1999, 91–124 and Vanotti 2003, 50; on Hiero II, see below pp. 110–116. 47 This is true not only for his two elder sons, Archagathos and Herakleides, who both died in North Africa at a time when Agathocles was not yet basileus, but also for his third son Agatharchos, who in the early 290s was militarily active in southern Italy, and also his fourth son, the younger Agathocles, and his grandson, the younger Archagathos.

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lished. Thus, the choice of one son as royal successor at an early stage generally provoked conÁicts already in the father’s lifetime, if there were further male descendants. Designating one son as royal successor rather late could provoke the same effect. Abstaining from indicating a successor ended inevitably in violent conÁicts of succession after the ruler’s death at the latest, if there was more than one son.48 Agathocles’ kingship was clearly quite different in terms of the kingdom’s territorial extent and its inner structure from the monarchies established by Antigonus Monophthalmus, Demetrius Poliorcetes, Cassander, Lysimachus, Ptolemy, and Seleucus after 307/6 in Alexander’s former empire – above all because of its center of power, the polis of Syracuse. Among those who became basileis over the ‘long “year of the kings”’49 Agathocles can be best compared with Dionysius of Heraclea Pontica.50 Yet there were also shared features with the diadochs.51 As in their case, Agathocles’ main basis of power was the army,52 and he himself should be considered to some extent as a “charismatic ruler” in the Weberian sense, too.53 A major distinction, however, can be seen in his path to kingship compared with that of the diadochs. Agathocles’ origin54 and base of operations in the polis of Syracuse and his road to kingship through the institutions of the polis, bending them to his own purposes to be sure,55 make him extremely different from them. Certainly Agath-

48

49 50 51 52 53

54

55

In this context, Agathocles’ three marriages were an important, but not the decisive factor in the conÁicts about who would succeed him. Polygamy, which was often a virulent problem with respect to the question of succession for early Hellenistic monarchs as well as for the Macedonian kings before them, is not to be assumed in the case of Agathocles. The term “year of the kings” goes back to Droysen 1878, 139 and 142 (“Jahr der Könige”). See Haake 2012, 301–302. On Dionysius of Heraclea Pontica, see Berve 1967, 320–322; Burstein 1976, 72–80; Bittner 1998, 40–44 and Muccioli 2011, 128–132. On this, see Consolo Langher 1990b and Consolo Langher 2006, 332–335, not always convincing. See Beston 2000 on the meaning of “military leadership” in the Hellenistic period; in this context, see also Virgilio 2003, 69–75 and Chaniotis 2005, 57–77. Essential on this is Gehrke’s 1982 contribution, reprinted in this volume; see also Austin 1986. On Max Weber’s category of “charismatic rule”, see Weber 1972, 140–148 and see Haake 2003, 127–128 with n. 133 on heuristic limits of this concept for the conceptualization of the Hellenistic monarchy; Gotter 2008 is now fundamental for enhancements and a pragmatic application of Weber’s theory on sole rulership in antiquity. Gehrke in this volume is the pathbreaking approach to understand and conceptualize Hellenistic monarchy. Ma 2003 offers a concise overview of the Hellenistic king. On Agathocles’ social background, see the concise remarks by Meister 1984, 385. On the literary elaboration of Agathocles’ origin and youth, which recalls topoi about tyrants well-established since the archaic period (on which see, among others, Catenacci 1996, 115–141), refer to Vattuone 1983 and Consolo Langher 2000, 13–20. A massive social discrediting of a Hellenistic king’s origin through accusations of a sexual nature, as Timaeus preserves for Agathocles, is elsewhere attested in this degree only for the Attalids, who did not take jokes of this sort very well – think only of the cruciÀxion of Daphidas; on the latter issue, see Weber 1998–1999, 165–167. On Agathocles’ path to the basileia, which led him – not always in a straight line – from the ofÀce of chiliarchos through a coup d’état to strategos autokrator, see the concise account of Meister 1984, 385–390 as well as the more exhaustive treatment of Consolo Langher 2000, 20–64.

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ocles imitated them in many respects after 305/4,56 when he also took the title basileus, but he refused to wear a diadem as symbol of his kingship.57 Typologically, he remained in many respects more a ‘classical’ Sicilian tyrant who happened to bear the title of basileus for a time.58 The diadochs, on the other hand, were rulers of a new type who used the title basileus and who could be imagined as tyrants (in the sense of bad rulers) by those of their contemporaries who were hostile to them. Typologically speaking Agathocles must be seen as having a double nature.59

III For the purpose of the present contribution, it is not necessary to outline the course of Sicilian history between Agathocles’ death in 289 and Hiero II’s accession to power in Syracuse in 275, with its numerous wars and conÁicts.60 It will sufÀce to recall brieÁy the involvement of the Epirotic King Pyrrhus with the incidents on the island.61 Even if Pyrrhus was by no means Agathocles’ intended or actual successor, his involvement in Sicilian affairs was at least partially based on his relations to Agathocles. In 278, when Pyrrhus was in Southern Italy, operating in the footsteps of one of his predecessors in the thirties of the fourth century, Alexander the Molossian,62 the Syracusans called on him to help in their war against Carthage – certainly in part because of his former wife Lanassa, daughter of Agathocles, from whom he had a son named Alexander.63 Even though Pyrrhus in 278 had already been ‘divorced’ from Lanassa for a long time, a plausible claim based on the dynastic link could

56 57

See especially Lehmler 2005, 62–83 and 106–120. See Haake 2012, 301; see also Berve 1953, 61–62; Consolo Langher 2000, 203; Consolo Langher 2004b, 345 and Lehmler 2005, 43. 58 See also Muccioli 2011, 113. 59 See the careful, but not always convincing considerations of Lewis 2006 and of Zambon 2006, 77–84; see also the concise and lucid remarks by Finley 1968, 105–106 and furthermore the general remarks by Oost 1976. 60 On the history of Sicily between 289 and 275, see De Sensi Sestito 1980, 345–349; Santagati Ruggeri 1997, 11–16 and 33–88; Zambon 2004 and Zambon 2008, 17–175. 61 Besides Pyrrhus, there was another potentate in Sicily who at that time referred to himself as basileus on his coins (see Giesecke 1923, 98 with tables 22, 3–4; Rutter 1997, 175–176 with Àg. 201): the tyrant Phintias of Acragas. On Phintias, see Berve 1967, 459–460; La Bua 1968; Zambon 2004, 461–469 and Zambon 2008, 56–63. 62 On Alexander the Molossian’s campaign in Southern Italy, see Werner 1987; De Sensi Sestito 2004; Frisone 2004 and Mele 2004. 63 Diod. 22.8.2 (= 22 frg. 17b2 Goukowsky). On this, see Zambon 2008, 75. On Pyrrhus in Sicily between 278 and 276, see Lévèque 1957, 451–507; Kienast 1963, 145–153; Lévèque 1968– 1969, 147–150; La Bua 1980; Franke 1989, 477–482; Santagati Ruggeri 1997, 33–88; Bruno Sunseri 2003 as well as Zambon 2008, 76–86 and 97–175. On the historiographical tradition, see Marino 2001 and Marino 2004.

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likely still have been made.64 At a time that is hard to pin down Pyrrhus became basileus over Sicily65 and designated his son Alexander as heir of his grandfather Agathocles.66 However, in 276 Pyrrhus abandoned his Sicilian adventure: he left Sicily in failure and returned to southern Italy.67

IV Hiero II died in 215 at or over ninety years old, having been in power for a total of sixty years.68 His successor was his grandson Hieronymus.69 Just a year earlier, it would have come as a surprise that Hiero’s grandson would be next in the line of succession, given that since 240 it has been clearly settled that Gelo, Hiero’s son, would succeed his father as king. From his marriage with the Syracusan aristocrat Philistis70 Hiero had two daughters whose names are preserved – Damarete and Herakleia.71 In the male line only Gelo – born in the early 260s – is known by name.72 Before turning to Gelo we must brieÁy go into Hiero’s policy for naming his children. He himself bore a ‘great’ name from Sicilian history, that of the power64

App. Sam. 11.1. To what degree this argument concerns temporary statements or a later (re-) construction cannot be decided with certainty; but nothing speaks against the supposition that the ‘genealogical’ argument was actually employed at the time. 65 The basileia of Pyrrhus on Sicily and its character are controversial; see Berve 1954; Lévèque 1957, 459–464; Borba Florenzano 1992, 221–223; Santagati Ruggeri 1997, 46–50 and Zambon 2008, 118–121. 66 Just. Epit. 23.3.2. In Just. Epit. 23.3.3 Pyrrhus’ sons Alexander and Helenos have been confused; see Lévèque 1957, 463. On Just. Epit. 23.3.1–10 see Marino 1981. 67 On this, see the overview of Kienast 1963, 152–154 and Zambon 2008, 167–175. 68 Although the date of Hieron’s death can be reconstructed based on Livy (24.4.1), his date of birth in uncertain, because the ancient authors differ as to his age at death: for Polybius (7.8.7) Hiero was over ninety years old, but just ninety according to Livy (24.4.4); see Stauffenberg 1933, 90–91 and Berve 1959, 7. 69 Liv. 24.4.1; on this, see below p. 114. 70 Philistis was the daughter of Leptines (Polyb. 1.9.2–3), who for his part was apparently a descendant of the homonymous brother of Dionysius I. The name Philistis is surely to be understood as an allusion to the general and historian Philistus, who in turn was the son-in-law of the ‘elder’ Leptines; on the ‘elder’ Leptines, see Sabbatini 1989; on Philistus, see Bearzot 2002 and on his marriage Bruno Sunseri 2002, 369–370. It cannot be safely concluded that Philistis’ father Leptines is to be identiÀed with the ofÀcer of Agathocles of the same name (Diod. 20.56.2–3). In this context, see Berve 1959, 11–12, De Sensi Sestito 1977, 28–29 and Zambon 2008, 186. On Philistis’ coins, see Caccamo Caltabiano and Tromba 1990. 71 Damarete is mentioned by name in Livy (24.22.8; 24.25.11); on Damarete, see Hultsch 1901 and below p. 111. Herakleia is also attested by Livy (24.26.1); concerning her, see Lenschau 1912a and below p. 115. 72 Polybius indicates (7.8.9) that Gelo lived for over Àfty years. From the date of his death – 216, according to Livy (23.30.11–12) – we can calculate an approximate date of birth; see De Sensi Sestito 1977, 115 with n. 17. Hiero and Philistis had other sons (Liv. 23.30.11; Paus. 6.12.4; 6.15.6), but their names and number are not recorded and nothing is known about their lives. The view of Berve 1959, 61, that it is “nur natürlich …, daß zur Zeit von Hieros Königsherrschaft allein der älteste seiner Söhne hervortritt”, cannot be taken for granted.

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ful tyrant Hiero from the Deinomenid family. Although it cannot be proven whether the Deinomenid ancestry that Justin offers for Hiero is historically accurate,73 it is nonetheless clear that Hiero was guided by programmatic considerations in choosing for one of his sons and one of his daughters names that alluded to the Deinomenids. His eldest son received the name Gelo after the brother of Hiero I, the most famous Deinomenid, and one of his daughters he named Damarete, after the wife of the Geloan-Syracusan tyrant Gelo and daughter of Thero, the tyrant of Acragas.74 The ancient tradition says nothing about the Àrst two decades of Gelo’s life. Epigraphic, numismatic and literary evidence record that Gelo became basileus during his father’s lifetime and that they acted jointly as rulers.75 It is, however, difÀcult to tell precisely when Gelo took the title of basileus along with his father, and lack of evidence makes it impossible to tell whether and how Gelo’s acquiring of his new status was staged. The most likely date is 240, and 241 is a plausible terminus post quem: that was the year in which the so-called Treaty of Lutatius between the Carthaginians and the Romans was concluded.76 In the text of the treaty, quoted verbatim by Polybius, only Hiero is mentioned, and not Gelo.77 Appian likewise calls Hiero and not Gelo philos and symmachos of the Romans,78 while Livy speaks of a Roman embassy to Hiero’s grandson Hieronymus, whose goal was to renew the societas that had existed between Rome and his grandfather.79 From all this it has been concluded that Gelo became basileus only after the conclusion of the treaty.80 It is above all epigraphic evidence that provides clear attestation for the joint kingship of Hiero and Gelo: a fragmentary ‘royal letter’ from Hiero to the Syracusans in which he speaks of basileis referring to himself and his son,81 a dedication of the Syracusans82 and a series of ‘royal’ inscriptions from the theatre of Syracuse.83 Besides the inscriptions, some numismatic evidence bears testimony to Gelo’s royal status, too: His portrait with diadem – an unam73 74

75 76 77 78 79 80

81

82 83

Just. 23.4.4. On Hiero’s descent, see Berve 1959, 7 and De Sensi Sestito 1977, 17–18. See on this Berve 1959, 61 as well as De Sensi Sestito 1977, 183. On the Deinomenids in general, see Luraghi 1994, 273–373; see Bonanno 2010 on Hiero I; on Thero of Acragas, see Luraghi 1994, 239–255. The evidence is listed in Berve 1959, 57 with n. 33; see also below pp. 111–112. StV III 493; see also Scardigli 1991, 205–231. Polyb. 1.62.8; see, however, with a different interpretation Walbank 1957, 127 ad loc. App. Sic. 2.2. Liv. 24.6.4. See, however, Polyb. 7.3.1 and 7.5.1, on which see Walbank 1967, 33 ad loc. See De Sensi Sestito 1977, 125–135 and Marino 1988, 35–39. This conclusion is based on two premises: Àrst, that the sources reÁect accurately the power structure of Hiero’s kingship; secondly, that the Romans could not have carried on diplomatic business with Hiero alone, without involving also Gelo, if the latter was already basileus alongside his father. IG XIV 7, l. 2. On this inscription, see Wilhelm 1900; Berve 1959, 48–49; Manganaro 1965; on its date, historical context, and interpretation see De Sensi Sestito 1977, 126–129 and 1995, 45–47; see also now Manganaro 2005 (with many new supplements, see SEG 55.1019); Dimartino 2006, 707–708 no. 2.1 and Zambon 2008, 217–219. Syll.³ 428; see De Sensi Sestito 1977, 129 and Dimartino 2006, 705 no. 1.5. IG XIV 3 = Syll.³ 429; see Lehmler 2005, 125–126 and Dimartino 2006, 704–705 no. 1.3. On the series of ‘royal’ inscriptions, containing the names of Hiero II and his wife Philistis as well

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biguous sign of royal status – is found on the obverse of silver coins issued since 218.84 The reverse of the coins carries the puzzling legend ƙƛƘƈƑƖƙƐƖƐ ƊƌƒŸƔƖƙ85 and the letters Ɖƈ, which should probably be interpreted as the abbreviation for ƉƈƙƐƒƌŸƙ.86 Finally, in Archimedes’ Arenarius the author refers twice to Gelo as basileus.87 For most of the period of his joint kingship with his father Hiero, there is very little evidence for Gelo engaging in political action, and there is no mention at all of him having a direct role in important business within Hiero’s regime.88 Best known is the donation made by Hiero and Gelo together in 227 to the polis of Rhodes after the famous earthquake that sparked a true euergetic contest in favor of the Rhodians.89 In Olympia 90 as well as in Delphi91 statues were dedicated by Gelo and his wife Nereis, daughter of the Epirotic king Pyrrhus II, whom he married in the late 230s.92 The statues in both sanctuaries were of Àgures afÀliated with the dynasty of

84

85 86

87 88

89 90

91

92

as of Gelo (supplemented) and his wife Nereis (on her, see below p. 113), see also the considerations of Bell, III, 1999, 263–264 and 270–272. The fundamental work on the date of the emission is Caccamo Caltabiano and Oteri 1993, 103–106, which also includes a discussion of the older scholarship; see also Caccamo Caltabiano, Carroccio and Oteri 1997, 77–92 and 189–205. On the emissions in general, see also Lehmler 2005, 89–93. On the meaning of ƙƛƘƈƑƖƙƐƖƐ ƊƌƒŸƔƖƙ, see, e. g., Caccamo Caltabiano and Oteri 1993, 106–108 and Lehmler 2005, 91–93. See Giesecke 1923, 135–136; see also Caccamo Caltabiano and Oteri 1993, 102–103. However, according to Franke 1958, 75–76 it is a mint mark, while for Ross Holloway 1962, 44 Ɖƈ stands for Ɖ(ƠƱƨƪƨƩҳƬ) я(ƯƢҶƯƨƮƬ). Archim. Aren.1.1 and 4.14. Neither Gelo nor Hiero was author of a royal letter found on Kos (Herzog-Klaffenbach 1952, 8–11 no. 3 = IG XII 4,1, 213), which scholars long regarded as a document from one or the other of the Syracusan basileis; see among others Rizzo 1973, 15–20 no. 3. This grant of asylia was not from one of the Syracusan kings but rather from a non-Greek ruler; see Rigsby 1996, 121–122 no. 12. See Polyb. 5.88.5–8 and Diod. 26.8.1 (= 26 frg. 10 Goukowsky). On this donation, see Bringmann and Steuben 1995, 245–246 no. 215; see also Kobes 1993 and Wiemer 2001, 33–39. IvO 310 = Syll.3 453; see Bringmann and Steuben 1995, 104–106 no. 61 as well as Dimartino 2006, 706–707 no. 1.6 and see also Lehmler 2005, 193–194. Pausanias (6.12.2–4) mentions two statues of Hiero II, both made by the Syracusan sculptor Mikon (see Habicht 1998, 150), son of Nikeratos, which were dedicated by his sons in Olympia: one on horseback and one on foot; in 6.15.6 Pausanias mentions two statues of Hiero II which were dedicated by the Syracusans and a third one that was dedicated by his sons; see Lehmler 2005, 196–197. A statue of Hiero II dedicated by the polis of Tauromenium and made by the Syracusan sculpture Mikion, son of Nikeratos is attested by a very fragmentary inscription, ISE I 58, see now Dimartino 2006, 703–704 no. 1.2 = SEG 57.402. On this dedication, see also Levi 1970; De Sensi Sestito 1977, 114 and 135; Lehmler 2005, 197–200 and Tzifopoulos 1991, 330–335 no. 72. On Hiero’s presence in the sanctuary of Olympia, see Freitag 2011, 85. FD 4.235 = Syll.3 453; see Bringmann and Steuben 1995, 163–164 no. 100 and Dimartino 2006, 705–706 no. 1.5 and see also Lehmler 2005, 194–195. On Hiero’s presence in the sanctuaries of Delphi and Olympia in general, see Lehmler 2005, 193–200. On the marriage of Gelo with Nereis, see Just. Epit. 28.3.5; see De Sensi Sestito 1975–1976, 200–202 and Cabanes 1976, 98–99. Despite the confusion of the ancient authors about Nereis’

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the Aeacids93 and should serve Gelo and Nereis, the last of that family, as part of their monarchical self-representation in front of a Panhellenic public.94 Their marriage produced at least three sons – only the name of the oldest, Hieronymus, is known – and a daughter named programmatically Harmonia.95 Around the year 240, at the age of circa sixty-Àve, Hiero II settled his succession, since after this point his son Gelo, then in his early twenties, bore the title basileus. Only a posteriori does it appear that Hiero handled his succession early; in the Àrst half of his sixties, he could hardly have assumed that he had still more than two decades to live. Anyway, it is possible to assert that Hiero made clear arrangements about his diadochos at a time when he was admittedly advanced in years, but from all that is known still in full possession of his mental powers and physical strength. The sources give at least the impression that Gelo, after becoming co-basileus and heir apparent to the throne, in the late 230s and in the 220s was more present in public life than before, even if it was still unequivocally Hiero who made decisions and guided the affairs of the realm. This development is also reÁected by coin types, where Gelo’s portrait with diadem starts appearing from 218. Contrary to Hiero’s plans, Gelo did not come to rule as sole basileus after his father’s death in 215, because at that point he had already been dead for about a year. Instead, the new basileus was Hiero’s Àfteen year-old grandson Hieronymus, son of Gelo and his wife Nereis.96 How this development came about is unexpectedly difÀcult to tell. Polybius and Livy agree that Gelo died when he was over Àfty, in 216, the year before the death of his father Hiero, thereby creating the need for a new solution to the problem of succession, regulated to all intents and purposes since decades.97 Due to the fragmentary state of Polybius’ seventh book, all we have is his general characterization of Gelo, a eulogistic passage that can be considered as an epitaph of sorts: Gelo valued nothing, not even wealth or royal power, more than pistis and eunoia towards his parents and did the Ànest thing in life, namely show obedience to his father. In Livy, however, the reader gets a very different picture. According to him, after the Battle of Cannae Gelo broke off his fadescent from Pyrrhus I or Pyrrhus II (Polyb. 7.4.5; Liv. 24.6.8; Just. Epit. 28.3.4; Paus. 6.12.3; see also Paus. 4.35.3), it is plausible to assume the latter as the father of Gelo’s wife; see Berve 1959, 62; Seibert 1967, 110 and De Sensi Sestito 1977, 176. For the contrary view, see Lévèque 1957, 680–682. A concise overview of the scholarship is found in Cabanes 1976, 63–64; Caccamo Caltabiano and Oteri 1993, 94 with n. 14 and Bernard 2007, 260 with n. 45. 93 See on this topic Funke 2000, 216. 94 See Lehmler 2005, 195. Bringmann 2000, 87–88 thinks that the message of the two statue groups is more concrete and that the dedication should express Gelo’s and Nereis’ claim to the Aeacid throne. See also Franke 1961, 281–282 whose considerations regarding Gelo’s coinage, however, are undermined by its new dating by Caccamo Caltabiano and Oteri 1993, 103–106. 95 On Gelo’s sons, see Polyb. 7.2.2; his daughter Harmonia is attested in Liv. 24.24.6. See Berve 1959, 62. 96 Liv. 24.4.7; on Hieronymus see Lenschau 1913. 97 See Polyb. 7.8.9 and Liv. 23.30.11–12; cf. also Diod. 26.15.1 (= 26 frg. 21 Goukosky). On the date of Gelo’s death, see, e. g., Ross Holloway 1969, 1.

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ther’s policy of friendship with Rome, allied himself with Carthage, and would have caused unrest in Sicily if he had not died at the right time – so right that his father Hiero even came under suspicion of having murdered his own son.98 To prove the reliability of one version or the other is a difÀcult enterprise, as the various approaches and results in the modern scholarship clearly illustrate.99 Even though there is good reason to think that Livy’s account is historically accurate and that the Polybian version is a literary invention, the more important point for our purpose is that the plans of Hiero II to control his succession failed. After Gelo’s death a new approach to the problem of succession was thus necessary – even urgent, given Hiero’s advanced age. It is interesting that in this context, as elsewhere, the other sons of Hiero are not mentioned.100 This is quite surprising, since they would have surely been excellent candidates to succeed their father after the death of their brother Gelo – not least given the young age of Hieronymus. The circumstances can only be explained persuasively by assuming that by the time of their brother’s death Hiero’s other sons were already dead themselves.101 Hiero acted as the circumstances demanded and designated his young grandson as his successor. Out of concern about his grandson’s seriousness and doubt that his moral character was suited for kingship, but doubtless also especially in order to secure his young heir in the position of power, Hiero appointed Àfteen guardians for his grandson.102 After Hiero’s death these guardians opened his will and presented Hieronymus in the popular assembly.103 Beyond the fact that the burial of Hiero was carried out,104 no further details about the transition of power from the dead grandfather to the young grandson are known.105

98 On Gelo’s political activities in 216, see De Sensi Sestito 1977, 133–135 and 179. 99 Berve 1959, 62–63 and De Sensi Sestito 1977, 133 consider Polybius completely untrustworthy and think that Livy’s account is reliable; the contrary position is argued by Niese 1910. See also Deininger 1983, 126–127 and Zahrnt 2000, 494–495. 100 On Hiero’s other sons, see above p. 110 and n. 70. 101 This idea is supported by Livy’s description of Hiero’s concern to make his grandson his successor (Liv. 24.4.2–5); see also Lehmler 2005, 51 n. 120. Livy’s statement that Hiero played with the thought of giving back freedom to the Syracusans should probably be seen as an attempt to construct a parallel with Diodorus’ tradition of Agathocles’ reestablishing Syracusan democracy from his deathbed (Diod. 21.16.4 [= 21 frg. 29.4 Goukowsky]; see above on pp. 102 and 104 with n. 46). Livy’s report on Hiero’s worries about his grandson’s capacity to rule sheds a positive light on the old king, consistent with Livy’s general characterization of Hiero. 102 Liv. 24.4.2–5. 103 Liv. 24.4.6. 104 Liv. 24.4.9 105 The fact, recorded as reliable by Polybius, that it was insinuated to Hieronymus that, as the son of Nereis, the daughter of Pyrrhus – Pyrrhus I is meant, inaccurately (on this see above, p. 112 with n. 92) –, and as the grandson of Hiero, he deserved more than anyone else to rule over all of Sicily, shows what kind of dynastic arguments could have developed in the brief span of Hieronymus’ rule; see on this also Seibert 1967, 110 as well as Massner 1973, 46–47, who is able to identify in the iconography of Hieronymus’ portraits on coins a deliberate similarity with portraits of Pyrrhus.

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Hieronymus’ rule would not last long – only thirteen months. During this short time he apparently became such a ‘true tyrant’ that he was murdered.106 However, at the age of Àfteen he was structurally too young to become a successful ruler.107 According to Livy, after the violent death of Hieronymus, Damarete, one of Hiero’s daughters, and Harmonia, a daughter of Gelo, were also murdered;108 Herakleia, another daughter of Hiero, was publicly lynched, as were her two daughters.109 In spite of Hiero’s planning ahead for his succession and grooming his son Gelo as his successor over a long period of time, his efforts with regard to his diadochos failed. The failure may have depended Àrst and foremost on a contingent cause that faces all monarchical regimes, and does not derive from the structural features of Hellenistic monarchy in general or of Hiero’s basileia speciÀcally: his exceptionally long life, because of which his son and successor in pectore, despite having himself a reasonably long life for ancient standards, died before him. It would have been interesting to see how the conÁict between the philo-Roman Hiero and his philo-Carthaginian son Gelo with his partisans at the Syracusan royal court would have played out without Gelo’s well-timed death. Like the rule of Agathocles, Hiero’s kingship also differs in various aspects from contemporary Hellenistic monarchies, and mostly for the same reasons. Among the features they shared with Hellenistic monarchies there is also some overlap:110 Hiero, who was the Àrst ‘Sicilian’ king who wore a diadem,111 as basileus can be viewed in his beginnings as a ‘charismatic ruler’, too.112 As to his origin and rise to power,113 signiÀcant parallels with Agathocles and thus also Dionysius I can be seen that are not shared with other Hellenistic rulers. After Àrst obtaining, in a tyrant-like manner, an extra-constitutional ofÀce within the polis like Agathocles and Dionysius I, he then managed to become basileus.114 After less than a decade as basileus, however, Hiero acted entirely differently from either Agathocles or the contemporary Hellenistic kings in his complete abandonment of independent military activity after 263, when he concluded immediately after the outbreak of the First Punic War in 264 a treaty with Rome after his recent, one-year war, aided by 106 Liv. 24.7.1–9; see the collection of sources on the death of Hieronymus in Marino 1988, 121–122. On Hieronymus’ rule, see Holloway 1969, 1–5 as well as Zahrnt 2000, 495–506. The most important sources are Polyb. 7.2–7 and Liv. 24.4.7. 107 On this, see the general remarks of Gotter 2008, 178. 108 Liv. 24.25.11. 109 Liv. 24.26.12–15. See also Diod. 26.16 Dindorf = Diod. 26.15.2 Walton (= 26 frg. 22 Goukowsky) and Val. Max. 3.2. ext. 9. On the marriages of Hiero’s daughters with members of the Syracusan elite and the motivation behind these marriages, see Seibert, 1967, 99–100. 110 On a ruler-cult for Hiero in Syracuse, see Habicht 1970, 250–262; Serrati 2008 and Muccioli 2011, 113–114 n. 80. For general characterizations of Hiero’s kingship, see Berve 1959, 39–59; Prestianni Giallombardo 1995; Lehmler 2005, 152 and Zambon 2006, 88–90. 111 See e. g. Lehmler 2005, 86–87 and 191–192. 112 In 269 Hiero was acclaimed basileus after his victory against the Mamertines in the battle of the Longanos (Polyb. 1.9.8); see Berve 1959, 16–19 and De Sensi Sestito 1977, 60–62 and 223–232. Hoyos 1985, however, argues for a date of the battle about 265. 113 For details, see Berve 1959, 7–19 as well as De Sensi Sestito 1977, 22–62. 114 See De Sensi Sestito 1971; Rizzo 1971 and Zambon 2008, 179–200.

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the Carthaginian, against the Mamertines who were supported by the Romans.115 The reason for this turn in Hiero’s foreign policy was not a sudden appreciation for peace, but the fact that a foreign power came on the scene which Hiero thought too powerful to triÁe with: Rome. The Romans deprived Hiero of the possibility of acting like a king in foreign affairs, but supported his rule in return for his loyalty.116 Even if nobody could anticipate future developments in the Hellenistic monarchy at that time, the ‘Hieronic’ model from the sixties of the third century would be the way of the future. In a certain respect Hiero is the prototype for a transformation that appears as a common phenomenon in the second century, namely the transformation of the Hellenistic ‘victorious king’ into the ‘friendly king’117 or, more precisely, the ‘castrated king’, who did not act in a warlike manner, but administered foreign affairs in line with the Romans and tried to substitute the loss of military activity with exceptionally generous euergetic acts on behalf of Greek cities and sanctuaries as well as by magniÀcent forms of self-presentation.118

V Agathocles and Hiero II both failed in their project of establishing a successor for their rulership and founding a dynasty. Although the two basileis had a common center of power, Syracuse, the causes and reasons for the failure of their plans were dissimilar. Differences can already be recognized in how both rulers approached the problem of determining their successor. While Agathocles Àrst made the attempt to manage his succession shortly before his death and only then publicly indicated who should become basileus after he passed away, Hiero had already within his lifetime made his son Gelo basileus. He thus provided the pre-conditions for what was intended to be a seamless transition of power after his own death and at the same time made an apparently early effort to assure clarity in the succession. Whereas the conÁict that broke out in relation to the death of Agathocles originated in an inner-familial strife over the future rulership, the confrontations after the death of Hiero were caused by ‘traditional’ antityrannical policies of some of the Syracusans. Yet, the consequence in both cases was stasis in Syracuse and the involvement of foreign powers in the internal strug-

115 StV III 479. See Cimma 1976, 37–41; De Sensi Sestito 1977, 101–112; Gruen 1984, 67–68; Lehmler 2005, 53–54 and Zambon 2008, 211–221. 116 Eckstein 1980 investigates the relations between Rome and Hiero in detail; see also Eckstein 2006, 166–167 as well as Soraci 2011, 7–11. 117 For the phenomenon of the ‘friendly king’, see Braund 1984 and now also Facella 2007; see furthermore CoŨkun 2005. 118 On the ‘castrated king’, see the contribution of Gotter in this volume. On Hiero’s euergetic acts, see Ferruti 2004; Portale 2004 and Lehmler 2005, 201–205. On Hiero’s self-representation, see Campagna 2004 and above all Lehmler 2005, 120–153. In this context it seems worth to mention also Hiero’s most pretentious ship, the Syrakosia, on which see Lehmler 2005, 210–232.

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gle – in the Àrst case Carthage, in the second Carthage and Rome.119 In these conÁicts both Agathocles’ and Hiero’s ‘successors’ promptly met their ends, preventing the establishment of a lasting dynasty. The fact that the center of power for the ruler was the polis Syracuse was in both cases of no small importance. Even if Syracuse had seen more than once the rule of a ‘classical’ tyrant in the course of its history, it is essential to bear in mind that none of these regimes enjoyed uncontested popularity and extended unproblematically over several generations. Thus, just as the polis Syracuse had been a difÀcult biotope for establishing long-standing tyrannies, in the same way, due to its ‘typical’ traditions and political self-awareness, it was a fundamentally unsuitable option for the permanent residence and base of power of a Hellenistic king.120 Against this background there are clear lines of continuity between both Agathocles and Hiero and the Syracusan tyrants of the previous centuries. If succession arrangements in Hellenistic monarchies were always difÀcult, this was only more the case for Agathocles and Hiero in Syracuse. In different ways, both rulers attempted to assure the continuity of their basileia beyond their lifetime. Yet neither succeeded in planting a dynasty in Syracuse, although with different strategies in different historical contexts both made precisely this their aim.

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Lund, H. S. 1992: Lysimachus. A Study in Early Hellenistic Kingship, London and New York. Luraghi, N. 1994: Tirannidi arcaiche in Sicilia e Magna Grecia. Da Panezio di Leontini alla caduta dei Dinomenidi, Florence. Ma, J. 2003: Kings, in A. Erskine (ed.), A Companion to the Hellenistic World, Malden/MA and Oxford, 177–195. Mafodda, G. 1979: Aspetti e problemi di storia siceliota dalla morte di Agatocle all’insediamento mamertino in Messana, Kokalos 25, 197–204. Manganaro, G. 1965: Una epistola di Gerone II ai Siracusani (IG, XIV, 7), Athenaeum 83, 312–320. 2005: La stele in pietra scura (IG XIV 7) con l’epistola di Gerone II ai Siracusani, ZPE 152, 141–151. Manni, E. 1951: Demetrio Poliorcete, Rome. 1966: Agatocle e la politica estera di Siracusa, Kokalos 12, 144–162. 1984: Teossena. Una principessa fra Alessandria e Siracusa, in N. Bonacasa and A. di Vita (eds.), Alessandria e il mondo ellenistico-romano. Studi in onore di Achille Adriani, Rome, 480–483. Marasco, G. 1983–1985: Studi sulla politica di Demetrio Poliorcete, AMArc 8, 61–134. 1984: Agatocle e la politica siracusana agli inizi del III. sec. a. C., Prometheus 10, 97–113. Marino, R. 1981: Intorno a Giustino XXXIII 3,1–10, in L. Gasperini (ed.), Scritti sul mondo antico in memoria di Fulvio Grosso, Rome, 313–327. 1988: La Sicilia dal 241 al 210 a. C., Rome. 2001: Tradizione timaica sull’avventura siciliana di Pirro. Tra dimensione locale e prospettiva mediterranea, in StoriograÀa locale e storiograÀa universale. Forme di acquisizione del sapere storica nella cultura antica (Bologna, 16–18 dicembre 1999), Como, 423–434. 2004: Tradizione storiograÀca sulla spedizione di Pirro in Sicilia, in M. Caccacamo Caltabiano, L. Campagna and A. Pinzone (eds.), Nuove prospettive della ricerca sulla Sicilia del III sec. a. C.: archeologia, numismatica, storia. Atti dell’Incontro di Studio (Messina, 4–5 luglio 2002), Messina, 91–97. Massner, A. 1973: Zur Interpretation der Münzbildnisse des Hieronymos von Syrakus, GNS 23, 41–47. Meister, K. 1967: Die sizilische Geschichte bei Diodor von den Anfängen bis zum Tod des Agathokles. Quellenuntersuchungen zu Buch IV–XXI, Augsburg. 1973–1974: Absurde Polemik bei Diodor, Helikon 13–14, 454–459. 1984: Agathokles, in CAH² VII, 1, Cambridge, 384–411. 1991: Agatocle in Diodoro: interpretazione e valutazione nella storiograÀa moderna, in E. Galvagno and C. Molè Ventura (eds.), Mito – Storia – Tradizione. Diodoro Siculo e la storiograÀa classica, Catania, 187–199. Mele, A. 2004: Alessandro il Molosso e le città greche d’Italia, in Alessandro il Molosso e i »Condottieri« in Magna Grecia. Atti del Quarantatresimo Convegno di Studi sulla Magna Grecia. Taranto – Cosenza, 26–30 settembre 2003, Taranto, 283–320. Mittag, P. F. 2003: Unruhen im hellenistischen Alexandreia, Historia 52, 161–208.

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Muccioli F. 1999: Dionisio II. Storia e tradizione letteraria, Bologna. 2011: Il culto del sovrano di epoca ellenistica e i suoi prodromi. Tre casi paradigmatici: Ierone I, Lisandro, la tirannide di Eraclea Pontica, in G. A. Cecconi and C. Gabrielli (eds.), Politiche religiose nel mondo antico. Poteri e indirizzi, forme del controllo, idée e prassi di tolleranza. Atti del Convegno internazionale di studi (Firenze, 24–26 settembre 2009), Bari, 97–132. Müller, O. 1972: Antigonos Monophthalmos und »Das Jahr der Könige«. Untersuchungen zur Begründung der hellenistischen Monarchien 306–304 v. Chr., Freiburg. Müller, S. 2009: Das hellenistische Königspaar in der medialen Repräsentation. Ptolemaios II. und Arsinoe II., Berlin and New York. Niese, B. 1893: Agathocles (16), RE I,1, Stuttgart, 757. 1895a: Archagathos (1), RE II,1, Stuttgart, 432. 1895b: Archagathos (2), RE II,1, Stuttgart, 432. 1901: Damas (4), RE IV,2, Stuttgart, 2034. 1910: Gelon (4), RE VII,1, Stuttgart, 1013. Ogden, D. 1999: Polygamy, Prostitutes and Death. The Hellenistic Dynasties, London. Oikonomides, A. N. 1989: Philip IV of Macedonia: A King for Four Months (296 B. C.), AncW 19, 109–112. Olshausen, E. 1974: Prosopographie der hellenistischen Königsgesandten. Teil I: Von Triparadeisos bis Pydna, Leuven. Oost, S. I. 1976: The Tyrant Kings of Syracuse, CPH 71, 224–236. Paschidis, P. Between City and King. Prosopographical Studies on the Intermediaries between the Cities of the Greek Mainland and the Aegean and the Royal Courts in the Hellenistic Period (322–190 BC), Athens and Paris. Pearson, L. 1987: The Greek Historians of the West. Timaeus and His Predecessors, Atlanta. Péré-Noguès, S. 2010: «La Maison du dynaste»: réÁexions autour du cercle politique et familial de Denys l’Ancien, in D. Bonanno et al. (eds.), Alleanze e parentele. Le “afÀnità elettive” nella storiograÀa sulla Sicilia antica. Convegno internazionale, Palermo 14–15 aprile 2010, Caltanisetta and Rome, 113–124. Portale, E. C. 2004: Euergetikotatos … kai philodoxotatos eis tous Hellenas. RiÁessioni sui rapporti fra Ierone II e il mondo greco, in M. Caccacamo Caltabiano, L. Campagna and A. Pinzone (eds.), Nuove prospettive della ricerca sulla Sicilia del III sec. a. C.: archeologia, numismatica, storia. Atti dell’Incontro di Studio (Messina, 4–5 luglio 2002), Messina, 229–264. Prag, J. 2010: Tyrannizing Sicily: The Despots Who Cried ‘Carthage!’, in A. J. Turner, J. H. K. O. Chong-Gossard and F. J. Vervaet (eds.), Private and Public Lies. The Discourse of Despotism and Deceit in the Graeco-Roman World, Leiden and Boston, 51–71. Prestianni Giallombardo, A. M. 1995: Aspetti istitutionali e segni di regalità della basileia di Ierone II, in M. Caccamo Caltabiano (ed.), La Sicilia tra l’Egitto e Roma: La monetazione siracusana dell’età di Ierone II. Atti del Seminario di Studi, Messina 2–4 Dicembre 1993, Messina 1995, 495–509.

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Richter, H.-D. 1987: Untersuchungen zur hellenistischen Historiographie. Die Vorlagen des Pompeius für die Darstellung der nachalexandrischen hellenistischen Geschichte (Iust. 13–40), Frankfurt/M. et al. Rigsby, K. J. 1996: Asylia. Territorial Inviolability in the Hellenistic World, Berkeley et al. Rizzo, F. P. 1971: L’ascesa al trono di Gerone II, Kokalos 17, 97–104. 1973: La Sicilia e le potenze ellenistiche al tempo delle guerre puniche (indagine storico-prosopograÀca). I: Rapporti con Cos, l’Egitto e l’Etolia, Rome. Robert, L. 1946: Adeimantos et la ligue de Corinthe. Sur une inscription de Delphes, Hellenica II, 15–33. Rutter, N. K. 1997. The Greek Coinages of Southern Italy and Sicily, London. Sabbatini, C. 1989: Leptine di Siracusa. Potere e consenso all’epoca di Dionisio I, RSA 19, 7–65. Sandberger, F. 1970: Prosopographie zur Geschichte des Pyrrhos, Stuttgart. Santagati Ruggeri, E. 1997: Un re tra Cartagine e i Mamertini: Pirro e la Sicilia, Rome. Savalli-Lestrade, I. 2003: La place des reines à la cour et dans le royaume à l’époque hellénistique, in R. FreiStolba, A. Bielman and O. Bianchi (eds.), Les femmes antiques entre sphère privée et sphère publique. Actes du Diplôme d’Etudes Avancées, Universités de Lausanne et Neuchâtel, 2000– 2002, Berne, 59–76. Scardigli, B. 1991: I trattati romano-cartaginesi. Introduzione, edizione critica, traduzione, comment e indici, Pisa. Schramm, P. E. 1960: Der König von Frankreich. Das Wesen der Monarchie vom 9. zum 16. Jahrhundert. Ein Kapitel aus der Geschichte des abendländischen Staates, 2 vols., Darmstadt. Seel, O. 1972: Eine römische Weltgeschichte. Studien zum Text der Epitome des Iustinus und zur Historik des Pompeius Trogus, Nürnberg. Seibert, J. 1967: Historische Beiträge zu den dynastischen Verbindungen in hellenistischer Zeit, Wiesbaden. Serrati, J. 2008: A Syracusan Private Altar and the Development of Ruler-Cult in Hellenistic Sicily, Historia 57, 80–91. Simonetti Agostinetti, A. 2008: Agatocle di Siracusa: un tiranno operaio, Aristonothos 2, 153–160. Soraci, C. 2011: Sicilia frumentaria. Il grano siciliano e l’annona di Roma, Rome. Stähelin, F. 1924: Lanassa (2), in RE XII,1, Stuttgart, 617–618. Stauffenberg, A. Schenk Graf v. 1933: König Hieron der Zweite von Syrakus, Stuttgart. Tzifopoulos, I. Z. 1991: Pausanias as a ƱƲƦƪƮƱƩф›Ơư. An Epigraphical Commentary of Pausanias’ “ƎƪƨƠƩԙƬ” ƈ and Ɖ (DPhil The Ohio State University), Columbus/OH.

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Vanotti, G. 2003: Denominare il tiranno: usi e abusi epigraÀci dalla Sicilia antica, in M. G. Angeli Bertinelli and A. Donati (eds.), Usi e abusi epigraÀci. Atti del Colloquio Internazionale di EpigraÀa Latina (Genova 20–22 settembre 2001), Rome, 43–52. Vattuone, R. 1983: Ricerche su Timeo: la «pueritia» di Agatocle, Florence. 1987–1988: Linee della politica di Agatocle in Magna Grecia, RSA 17–18, 55–72. Virgilio, B. 2003: Lancia, diadema e porpora. Il re e la regalità ellenistica, second edition, Pisa and Rome. Walbank, F. W. 1957: A Historical Commentary on Polybius. Volume I: Commentary on Books I–VI, Oxford. 1967: A Historical Commentary on Polybius. Volume II: Commentary on Books VII–XVIII, Oxford. Weber, G. 1998–1999: The Hellenistic Rulers and Their Poets. Silencing Dangerous Critics?, AncSoc 29, 147–174. Weber, M. 1972: Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Grundriss der verstehenden Soziologie, Àfth edition, Tübingen. Wehrli, C. 1968: Antigone et Demetrios, Geneva. Werner, R. 1987: Alexander der Molosser in Italien, in W. Will (ed.), Zu Alexander d. Gr. Festschrift G. Wirth zum 60. Geburtstag am 9. 12. 86, Amsterdam, 335–390. Wiemer, H.-U. 2001: Rhodische Traditionen in der hellenistischen Historiographie, Frankfurt/M. Wilhelm, A. 1900: Inschrift aus Syrakus, JÖAI 3, 162–171. Yardley, J. C. 2010: What is Justin Doing with Trogus, in M. Horster and C. Reitz (eds.), Condensing Texts – Condensed Texts, Stuttgart, 469–490. Zahrnt, M. 2000: Die Gesellschaft des hellenistischen Syrakus nach dem Ende der Monarchie, in L. Mooren (ed.), Politics, Administration and Society in the Hellenistic and Roman World. Proceedings of the International Colloquium, Bertrinoro 19–24 July 1997, Leuven, 489–514. Zambon, E. 2004: ‘ƩƠƲҫ ƣҭ ƙƨƩƤƪҲƠƬ ѩƱƠƬ ƲҶƯƠƬƬƮƨ’: Notes on Tyrannies in Sicily between the Death of Agathocles and the Coming of Pyrrhus (289–279 B. C.), in K. Lomas (ed.), Greek Identities in the Western Mediterranean. Papers in Honour of Brian Shefton, Leiden and Boston, 457–474. 2006: From Agathocles to Hieron II: The Birth and Development of basileia in Hellenistic Sicily, in S. Lewis (ed.), Ancient Tyranny, Edinburgh, 77–92. 2008: Tradition and Innovation. Sicily between Hellenism and Rome, Stuttgart. 2010: Authenticity and Idealism in Sicilian Politics from Timoleon to Pyrrhus, in D. Engels, L. Geis and M. Kleu (eds.), Zwischen Ideal und Wirklichkeit. Herrschaft auf Sizilien von der Antike bis zum Spätmittelalter, Stuttgart, 91–119.

6 BECOMING KINGS: SPARTAN BASILEIA IN THE HELLENISTIC PERIOD* D. Alexander Walthall

Ѥ ƢҫƯ їƬ Ʋӹ ƒƠƩƷƬƨƩӹ ›ƮƪƨƲƤрӬ ƣƮƩƤԃ ƫҭƬ ƤѹƬƠƨ ơƠƱƨƪƤрƠ ƫнƪƨƱƲƠ ƲԙƬ ƩƠƲҫ ƬфƫƮƬ, ƮҏƩ ћƱƲƨ ƣҭ ƩƳƯрƠ ›нƬƲƷƬ, чƪƪϝ ҈ƲƠƬ їƭоƪƧӶ ƲүƬ ƵцƯƠƬ ѤƢƤƫцƬ їƱƲƨ ƲԙƬ ›Ưҳư ƲҳƬ ›фƪƤƫƮƬ· ћƲƨ ƣҭ Ʋҫ ›Ưҳư ƲƮҵư ƧƤƮҵư ч›ƮƣоƣƮƲƠƨ ƲƮԃư ơƠƱƨƪƤԏƱƨƬ. ƠҔƲƦ ƫҭƬ ƮҕƬ Ѥ ơƠƱƨƪƤрƠ ƮѺƮƬ ƱƲƯƠƲƦƢрƠ Ʋƨư ƠҏƲƮƩƯƠƲфƯƷƬ ƩƠұ чрƣƨфư їƱƲƨƬ. For the kingship in the Spartan constitution, which is held to be a typical royalty of the kind guided by law, does not carry sovereignty in all matters, though when a king goes on a foreign expedition he is the leader in all matters relating to the war; and also matters relating to religion have been assigned to the kings. This kingship therefore is a sort of military command vested in generals with absolute powers and held for life. (Aristotle, Politics 3.1285a 3–8, transl. Rackham adapted)

Scholars have long recognized that the institution of Spartan kingship experienced a dramatic transformation from institutional dyarchy to de facto monarchy during the Early Hellenistic period. Whereas Aristotle, writing in the 330’s BCE, had found the deÀning quality of Spartan kingship to be its constitutional structure, famously comparing it to a “generalship for life” (ƱƲƯƠƲƦƢрƠ ƣƨҫ ơрƮƳ), by 200 BCE a Spartan ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư resembled more a Hellenistic monarch than one of his Classical antecedents.1 The dismantling of the constitutional bonds that once deÀned Spartan kingship and the increased tendency of Spartan kings to behave like their Macedonian counterparts characterized this phenomenon, which has been recently described as the “autocratization” of the Spartan dyarchy.2 At the heart of the matter are changing views on the legitimacy of autocratic rule. In the decades following the death of Alexander, new concepts of kingship emerged to accommodate the claims of legitimate rule being made by Alexander’s generals-turned-kings. The Suda entry for ơƠƱƨƪƤҲƠ offers a glimpse at contemporary attitudes towards kingship. * 1 2

The Ànal version of the text beneÀtted greatly from the insights, comments, and criticisms shared by Michael Flower and Nino Luraghi. On the constitutional nature of the Spartan kingship in the fourth century, see also Xen. Const. Lac. 15.1–9. Millender 2009, 31–35.

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D. Alexander Walthall ƉƠƱƨƪƤҲƠ. ƮғƲƤ ƴҶƱƨư ƮғƲƤ Ʋҳ ƣҲƩƠƨƮƬ ч›ƮƣƨƣƮԏƱƨ ƲƮԃư чƬƧƯҸ›Ʈƨư Ʋҫư ơƠƱƨƪƤҲƠư, чƪƪҫ ƲƮԃư ƣƳƬƠƫҮƬƮƨư ѤƢƤԃƱƧƠƨ ƱƲƯƠƲƮ›ҮƣƮƳ ƩƠұ ƵƤƨƯҲƥƤƨƬ ›ƯҬƢƫƠƲƠ ƬƮƳƬƤƵԙư· ƮѺƮư ѩƬ ƜҲƪƨ››Ʈư ƩƠұ ƮѴ ƣƨҬƣƮƵƮƨ яƪƤƭҬƬƣƯƮƳ. ƲҳƬ ƢҫƯ ƳѴҳƬ ƩƠƲҫ ƴҶƱƨƬ ƮҏƣҭƬ қƴҮƪƦƱƤƬ Ѥ ƱƳƢƢҮƬƤƨƠ ƣƨҫ ƲүƬ ƲӸư ƶƳƵӸư чƣƳƬƠƫҲƠƬ. ƲƮҵư ƣҭ ƫƦƣҭƬ ›ƯƮƱҰƩƮƬƲƠư ơƠƱƨƪƤԃư ƢƤƬҮƱƧƠƨ ƱƵƤƣҳƬ ш›ҬƱƦư ƲӸư ƮѳƩƮƳƫҮƬƦư (B 147A). Kingship. It is neither descent nor law that gives monarchies to men, but the ability to command an army and to handle affairs competently. Such was the case with Philip and the Successors of Alexander. For Alexander’s natural son was in no way helped by his kinship with him, because of his weakness of spirit, while those who had no connection with Alexander became kings of almost the whole inhabited world.3

Here, as Gehrke (this volume) notes, legitimate rule is not a function of birth (ƴҶƱƨư) or law (Ʋҳ ƣҲƩƠƨƮƬ), but is closely bound with one’s performance in political and military affairs. This posed something of a crisis of identity for the Spartans, whose kings had for centuries claimed legitimacy of rule on the basis of lineal connection to one of the two royal houses (ƴҶƱƨư) and the legal framework of the Spartan constitution (Ʋҳ ƣҲƩƠƨƮƬ). Faced with something of an existential dilemma, Spartans kings responded in a fashion which reveals a great deal about the nature and deÀnition of kingship in the Early Hellenistic period. Rather than entrench themselves within their own fossilized form of ơƠƱƨƪƤҲƠ, Spartan kings embraced the new deÀnition of kingship, even going so far as to adopt the very same legitimacy-building behavior practices employed by nascent Hellenistic monarchs. The conversion was, of course, never wholly complete. The Hellenistic kings of Sparta would never Ànd themselves fully divorced from the social and political institutions that had made them kings in the Àrst place. The result being that many Spartan kings found themselves engaged in a dualistic framework, wherein they operated inside the constitutional bounds of the dyarchy, according to the old deÀnitions of ƴҶƱƨư and Ʋҳ ƣҲƩƠƨƮƬ, while at the same time looking beyond Spartan tradition to embrace the new ideals of Hellenistic monarchy. This paper traces the transformation of Spartan ơƠƱƨƪƤрƠ from constitutionally bound ofÀce to autocratic rule, focusing on the reception of this new concept of ơƠƱƨƪƤҲƠ by three Spartan kings of the Hellenistic period, Areus I (r. 309–265 BCE), Cleomenes III (r. 235–222 BCE), and Nabis (r. 207–192 BCE). The efforts made by these individual kings to assimilate themselves within the Hellenistic paradigm of monarchy shed light on the impact and reach of these new concepts of kingship and legitimate rule.

AREUS I (R. 309–265 BCE) In the year 309 BCE, Areus, son of Acrotatus, the adolescent grandson of the recently deceased Agiad king, Cleomenes II, was backed by the Spartan gerousia in his claim to the Agiad throne. Though still a child, Areus was chosen in favor of his 3

Suda, s. v. ơƠƱƨƪƤҲƠ; Austin 2006, no. 45; Shipley 2000, 65; The deÀnition is believed to derive from a source of the Early Hellenistic period.

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uncle, Cleonymus, who had himself claimed the throne as the only surviving son of Cleomenes II.4 As history would have it, Areus I, whose regnal years span 309–265 BCE, became the Àrst Spartan king to come to power following the death of Alexander III in 323 BCE. While in 309 BCE Areus could claim membership to an exclusive group of living kings, within three years he would witness the unprecedented acclamation of no less than six new kings, an event that would radically alter the political landscape of the eastern Mediterranean. Surviving literary and material evidence offers a means to trace the transformation of Spartan kingship during the lifetime of Areus, as nascent ideas of Hellenistic ơƠƱƨƪƤҲƠ began to impact the ways in which Spartan ơƠƱƨƪƤҲƠ, as manifested in the person of Areus, was perceived both within Sparta and abroad. Areus is generally considered the Àrst Spartan king to exhibit the behavior of a Hellenistic monarch. This sentiment began not long after his death. Fragments attributed to the third-century historian Phylarchus paint a rather negative picture of the king, suggesting that he and his father, Acrotatus, had introduced of all manner of luxury (ƲƯƳƴп) into the Spartan syssitia in imitation of foreign royal courts.5 That Areus qualiÀed for such criticism suggests that–even if he did not, in fact, surround himself with such luxuries–the perception of his position as monarch, vis-àvis his Seleucid and Ptolemaic counterparts, was strong enough to warrant the expectation that he would share in the same debased pleasures. To what degree this statement should be taken at face value is open to question, given that the adoption of foreign customs was a literary trope commonly applied to Hellenistic kings. Plutarch’s criticisms of Leonidas II, father of Cleomenes III, are markedly similar in their characterization of the king, ƩƠр›ƤƯ ƢҫƯ їƢƩƤƩƪƨƩфƲƷƬ ѧƣƦ Ʋӹ ƣƨƠƴƧƮƯӯ ƲƮԏ ›ƮƪƨƲƤхƫƠƲƮư ҄ƫƠƪԙư ш›нƬƲƷƬ, ѩƬ Ʋƨư їƬ ƲԚ ƒƤƷƬрƣӬ ƲԙƬ ›ƠƲƯԘƷƬ ї›ƨƴƠƬүư їƩƣƨƠрƲƦƱƨư, ьƲƤ ƣү ƵƯфƬƮƬ ѣƪƨƬƣƦƫоƬԗ ›ƮƪҵƬ їƬ ƠҏƪƠԃư ƱƠƲƯƠ›ƨƩƠԃư ƩƠұ ƲƤƧƤƯƠ›ƤƳƩфƲƨ ƙоƪƤƳƩƮƬ, ƤѹƲƠ ƲҳƬ їƩƤԃƧƤƬ ҇ƢƩƮƬ Ƥѳư ўƪƪƦƬƨƩҫ ›ƯнƢƫƠƲƠ ƩƠұ ƬфƫƨƫƮƬ чƯƵүƬ ƮҏƩ їƫƫƤƪԙư ƫƤƲƠƴоƯƮƬƲƨ.

4

5

Paus. 1.13.5; 3.6.2. Plut. Pyrr. 26. Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 238 n.5 put Areus’ birth at ca. 320 BCE; this is in line with Oliva 1972, 206. For the succession of Areus, see Carlier 1984, 245–248; Bonner and Smith 1942, 127–129. Marasco 1980, 31–38 argues that Cleonymus was established as the ofÀcial regent of Areus at this point. If this was, in fact, the situation, Cleonymus’ departure for Tarentum by 303 BCE (Diodorus 20.104–105) may have abrogated any ofÀcial position he held. David 1981, 120 ff. argues that Cleonymus held no ofÀcial role in Spartan government after 309 BCE and grants him only ofÀcial sanction, without any military or monetary support for his departure to Tarentum, suggesting that perhaps the Spartans were trying to get rid of him. Athen. 4.142.B (Phylarchus, FrGHist, 81F 44): …Ƥѳư ƣҭ ƲүƬ ›ƯƮƤƨƯƦƫоƬƦƬ ƲƯƳƴүƬ ѩƪƧƮƬ ›ƮƲƦƯрƷƬ Ʋϝ їƩƧоƱƤƨư ›ƮƪƪԙƬ ƩƠұ ơƯƷƫнƲƷƬ ›ƠƬƲƮƣƠ›ԙư ›Ƥ›ƮƨƦƫоƬƷƬ ›ƠƯƠƧоƱƤƨư, ћƲƨ ƣҭ ƫхƯƷƬ їƭƦƪƪƠƢƫоƬƷƬ, Ҝư ƣϝ ƠҔƲƷư ƮѷƬƷƬ ƩƠұ ƲƯƠƢƦƫнƲƷƬ. ƩƠұ ƲƮхƲƷƬ ѩƯƭƠƬ ƮѴ ƫƨƩƯҳƬ ›Ưҳ ƑƪƤƮƫоƬƮƳư ơƠƱƨƪƤхƱƠƬƲƤư ѓƯƤƳư ƩƠұ яƩƯфƲƠƲƮư ƠҏƪƨƩүƬ їƭƮƳƱрƠƬ ƥƦƪцƱƠƬƲƤư. Areus reappears in Plutarch’s Life of Pyrrhus, where he behaves much like a Hellenistic monarch, hiring mercenaries and commanding an army alongside Antigonus against Pyrrhus (27.1; 30.2; 32.2).

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D. Alexander Walthall For although the destruction of the constitution had already led to a general decline in manners, there was in Leonidas a very marked departure from the traditions of his country, since for a long time he had frequented oriental courts and had been a servile follower of Seleucus, and now sought to transfer the pretentiousness which prevailed abroad into Hellenic relations and a constitutional government, where they were out of place (Agis 3.6; Trans. Perrin 1921, adapted).

Yet, there were practical purposes behind creating an atmosphere akin to the royal courts of Macedon and the East. In doing so, Spartan kings could present themselves as peers to their Hellenistic counterparts when hosting royal emissaries, or even other kings themselves. For instance, Plutarch (Pyrr. 27.2) mentions the preparations that were made at Cleonymus’ house during Pyrrhus’ invasion of Laconia. According to Plutarch, Cleonymus’ friends and helots adorned and furnished the house with the expectation that the Epirote king would dine with Cleonymus once he had captured the city. Ancient authors commonly presented Areus as if he were the sole ruler of Sparta. It seems that he was able to beneÀt from the weakness of his Eurypontid counterpart, such that he was able to rule Sparta as a de facto monarch. No Eurypontid king makes an appearance in the extant literary sources following the defeat of Archidamus IV at Mantinea in 294 BCE. 6 Not even during Pyrrhus’ invasion of Laconia in 272 BCE, which Plutarch narrates in some detail, does a Eurypontid king appear to take part in the defense of Sparta.7 This certainly inÁuenced how he was perceived outside of Sparta, though it is difÀcult to measure the extent to which his preeminence affected his position within Sparta. And while contemporary inscriptions conÀrm the existence of a co-king, they nevertheless promote the Àction that Areus was not just a Spartan king but was, in fact, the King of the Spartans. While Areus may have lacked, or even suppressed, a strong Eurypontid counterpart, he nevertheless retained much of the traditional institutional framework of the Spartan constitution intended to provide checks on the power of the Spartan kings. Both literary and epigraphic evidence attest to the continued operation of Sparta’s traditional political organs–such as the gerousia and ephorate–throughout the lifetime of the king.8 Areus may have found no beneÀt in abandoning the very institutions that had backed his claim to the Agiad throne. The preservation of the

6

7 8

Plut. Demet. 35.1–2; Bradford 1977, 75 posits that Archidamus may have been among the roughly six hundred Spartans killed in the two engagements with Demetrius. For more on the Eurypontid house during the reign of Areus, see David 1981, 132 and McQueen 1990. For Pyrrhus’ invasion of Laconia, see Paus. 1.13.5–8; Plut. Pyrr. 26.8–29. At least one reference is made to the operation of Sparta’s Classical political institutions by Plutarch (Pyrr. 27.2), wherein a meeting of the gerousia is called to deliberate on actions to be taken in response to Pyrrhus’ invasion of Laconia. The reference to Spartan “kings, ephors, and gerontes” in lines 91–92 of the Chremonides Decree (Syll.3 434/5; ca. 268 BCE) demonstrates the continued existence of all three institutional bodies at Sparta down to the last years of Areus’ life. David 1981, 132–133 takes the position that even as Areus adopted aspects of Hellenistic monarchy, he nevertheless continued to operate within the framework of the classical Spartan constitution, receiving no opposition to his activities.

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dyarchy and traditional constitution at home may be indicative of a two-fold policy. While Areus maintained a rather conservative position with respect to Spartan political institutions, he simultaneously portrayed himself outside of Sparta as a monarch and colleague of the Diadochoi. Here, surviving numismatic and epigraphic evidence sheds light both on Areus’ posturing and his reception by a non-Spartan audience. During the reign of Areus, Sparta’s long aversion to minting coinage was Ànally overcome. Grunauer von Hoerschelmann has identiÀed two series of silver tetradrachms and several obol pieces, which she assigns to Areus I.9 This was a true departure from Spartan tradition and one that situated both king and city within the mainstream of contemporary Hellenistic practice. By far the most fascinating aspect of this is the fact that the Àrst coins struck by Areus were silver tetradrachms that bear his name, as was the fashion among Hellenistic monarchs of the day. The choice of iconography for his tetradrachms was clearly intended to proclaim his royal status in a manner comparable to the Diadochoi. Areus could have just as likely minted tetradrachms with the iconography of Herakles and the Dioscuri, like that of his obol pieces. Instead, he chose a style much closer to the contemporary issues of Alexander’s successors, clearly signaling a sense of belonging among his Hellenistic counterparts. These coins, struck on the Attic standard, were clearly intended for wide consumption and likely served as payment for mercenary soldiers.10 The silver tetradrachms minted in the name of Areus (Fig. 1) show on the obverse a head of Herakles to the right, wearing lion’s skin, and on the reverse Zeus seated on throne to the left, holding an eagle with closed wings in his right hand and a long scepter in his left, Áanked by the legend ƉƈƙƐƒƌƖƙ ƈƘƌƖƙ.

Fig. 1 AR Tetradrachm of Areus I

9 10

Grunauer von Hoerschelmann 1978, Group I, 1–2. Alongside these tetradrachms, she attributes silver obol pieces to Areus (Group II). Plut. Pyrr. 27.1; 29.6; 32.2; Christien 2002, 171–172.

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These coins are nearly indistinguishable at a glance from those minted by Alexander during his lifetime and by many of his Successors.11 This conscious appropriation of Alexander’s name and coin types by his successors had the dual purpose, as Graham Shipley has concisely put it, “to endow oneself with legitimacy by asserting an inherited right to rule, but at the same time, it was a certiÀcation of metallic purity and trustworthiness of the coins.”12 This was almost certainly a motivating factor for Areus, who did more than simply copy the coin-type and legend. He used the issue to proclaim his own kingship, striking the reverse Àeld with the legend ƉƈƙƐƒƌƖƙ ƈƘƌƖƙ. Lacking examples from secure archaeological contexts, scholars have relied on stylistic qualities and historical events when attempting to date the issue. This has, not surprisingly, lead to several suggestions, practically spanning the lifetime of the king.13 If the minting habits of other Hellenistic kings may serve as a model, Areus likely issued his tetradrachms in the wake of a major military success. Areus emerged a victor in 272 BCE, having joined forces with Antigonus II to defeat Pyrrhus at Argos. Antigonos himself struck tetradrachms using the very same types, shortly after the victory in 272 BCE (Fig. 2).14 These may have very well served as the model upon which the Spartan king based his own coins.

11

12 13

14

Grunauer von Hoerschelmann 1978, 1–4, Group I, pl. 1. Bellinger 1963, 88–90. Christien 2002, 171 describes the issue rather disparagingly as ‘simple, reused coins in the style of Alexander’. Compare with silver tetradrachms minted by Cassander (Price 129) and Antigonus II (infra Àg. 2). Shipley 2000, 22; see Hadley 1974, 52–54. These coins are generally assigned to one of three periods: (1) Bellinger 1963, 88–90 preferred a date between 306–304 BCE on stylistic grounds, and on account of the fact that it is at this exact period when many of the Diadochoi begin to take the title of ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư, minting coins to that effect; cf. Plutarch, Demetrius, 18. In Bellinger’s view, Areus would have been simply asserting his preexisting status as king in response to the recent declarations of the Diodochoi. (2) Beloch 1925, IV. I, 587 dated the issue some thirty years later, to the years following 272 BCE, after Pyrrhus’ defeat at Argos to which Areus and his two thousand Cretan mercenaries contributed. In support of his claim, one might consider that coins of the same type were struck by Antigonus II Gonatas at this very same point in time, perhaps also in commemoration of the part he and his troops played in the victory over Pyrrhus; see Mathiesen 1981. (3) Grunauer von Hoerschelmann 1978, 1–2, citing parallels with contemporary Alexander-type coins minted at Corinth, has argued that the issues should be associated with the payment of mercenaries during the Chremonidean War. This would mean that the coins could only have been struck in the Ànal years of Areus’ life, between 267 and 265 BCE, but in all probability closer to 265 BCE. Her arguments for locating the minting of these coins at Corinth need not be abandoned should one accept Beloch’s chronology, since at the time of Pyrrhus’ defeat, Antigonus II Gonatas was in control of Corinth and was presumably on good terms with Areus and Sparta. Mathiesen 1981, pl. 21; 29 considers these to be commemorative tetradrachms struck following the victory over Pyrrhus. Lysimachus too struck a very similar coin bearing the legend ƉƈƙƐƒƌƟƙ ƒƛƙƐƓƈƝƖƛ following his victory at Ipsus in 301 BCE, at the moment when he sought to solidify his own position in Asia Minor; Hadley 1974, 55.

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Fig. 2. AR Tetradrachm of Antigonos II Gonatas. 272 BCE, Pella mint. Triton IX, Lot no. 830.

For Areus, the striking of Alexander-style tetradrachms with the legend ƉƈƙƐƒƌƖƙ ƈƘƌƖƙ was a boastful act of self-proclamation. They were a means by which he could portray himself – both within the Peloponnese and the greater HelOHQLVWLFZRUOG²DVDơƠƱƨƪƤҶưRQSDUZLWK$OH[DQGHU·V6XFFHVVRUV15 Having seen how Areus presented himself to his contemporaries, it will be illuminating to consider how his contemporaries received and represented the image RIWKH6SDUWDQNLQJLQWKHLURZQSXEOLFPRQXPHQWV2QHRIWKHPRVWLPSRUWDQWWRROV RID+HOOHQLVWLFNLQJZDVWKHSURPRWLRQRIKLVLPDJHRQWKH¶LQWHUQDWLRQDO·OHYHO which he accomplished by concluding treaties, forming alliances, and receiving SXEOLFKRQRUV6XUYLYLQJHSLJUDSKLFHYLGHQFHVXJJHVWVWKDWLQWKH\HDUVIROORZLQJ his victory over Pyrrhus at Argos, Areus embarked on an ambitious campaign of self-promotion, which is not documented in our extant literary sources. The socalled Chremonides Decree is perhaps the best-known example of such presentation as relates to Areus. The inscription which survives today records a decree proposed before the Athenian ekklesia by Chremonides, son of Eteocles, probably in 268 BCE.16 The decree stipulated the terms of an anti-Macedonian alliance, which ZDV FRPSULVHG RI$WKHQV 3WROHP\ ,, RI (J\SW$UHXV 6SDUWD DQG D QXPEHU RI smaller city-states. It is evident from the language of the decree that Areus was al15

16

2Q WKLV SRLQW CARTLEDGE and SPAWFORTH 2002, 35 suggest Areus struck these tetradrachms LQRUGHUWRJHWWKHDWWHQWLRQRI3WROHP\,,ZKRZRXOGEHFRPHDSDWURQRIWKH6SDUWDQNLQJLQ WKHPLGGOHRIWKH·VGXULQJWKHOHDGXSWRWKHVRFDOOHG&KUHPRQLGHDQ:DU7KHUHLVDOVRQR UHDVRQWRWKLQNWKDWWKHPHVVDJHZDVQRWGLUHFWHGWRZDUGVDORFDO6SDUWDQDXGLHQFHDVZHOO 7KHUHZHUHFHUWDLQO\HOHPHQWVRI6SDUWDQVRFLHW\ZKRRSHQO\DFFHSWHGWKHQHZSDUDGLJPVDQG attendant luxuries, of the Hellenistic world; see, for instance, Athen. 4.142.B (Phylarchus, FrGHist, 81F). For the date of the decree, see HABICHT 1997, 142–149. For the text of the decree, Syll.3 434/5; AUSTIN 2006, no. 61.

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lied with the Peloponnesian and Cretan states prior to the anti-Macedonian alliance proposed by Chremonides. The language of the decree is striking in its presentation of Areus, who is named on Àve separate occasions in the text and is consistently presented as if he was a separate political entity, associated with but independent of the Spartan state.17 This is emphasized not only by the repetition of the formula “the Lacedaemonians and Areus,” but more so by the declaration (ll. 49–51) that Areus himself would carry on deliberations regarding the affairs of war with ambassadors from Athens and the allied cities. Unfortunately, the text here does not make explicit whether Areus would be the de facto representative of Spartan interests at these meetings or whether Sparta, as one of the allied cities, would send ambassadors to represent the civic body in a fashion separate from Areus. While the text does mention the “kings” of Sparta on two separate occasions (ll. 37, 90–91), Areus’ Eurypontid counterpart, Eudamidas II, remains conspicuously absent from decree, warranting not even a single mention.18 The decree includes instructions for its publication on stelae in sanctuaries of all the members in the alliance, including states as nearby as Elis and Mantinea and as far away as Crete.19 As such, it served as a very public monument that highlighted Areus’ status and prominence by situating him almost on par with Ptolemy II and at the forefront of an international alliance.20 The Chremonides Decree thus goes far in constructing Areus in the mold of a Hellenistic monarch. The overall tone of the document suggests that–at least outside of Sparta–Areus, on account of his status as ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư, was perceived as being akin to a Hellenistic monarch, like Ptolemy II. In addition to the Chremonides Decree, several other surviving monuments attest to Areus’ reception outside of Sparta. On the whole, these are inscribed bases of honorary portrait statues, which through word and image portrayed Areus in the manner of a Hellenistic ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư. The dissemination of portrait busts and statues was an image building strategy favored by Alexander and the Successor kings.21 In 17 18

Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 36–37. At ll. 90–91, the reference to “kings, ephors and gerontes” may simply be a transcription of an oath formula. See also McQueen 1990, 167 who writes regarding Eudamidas II, “[He] for the Athenians is a nameless and powerless nonentity, mentioned only out of regard for constitutional propriety.” 19 The decree does not elaborate on the number or identity of allied Cretan poleis. The language of the decree (ƩƠұ ƑƯƦƲ[ƠƤԏƱƨ]|Ƭ ҈ƱƮƨ їƬ ƲƤԃ ƱƳƫƫƠƵҲƠƨ ƤѳƱұƬ ƲƤԃ ƒƠƩƤƣƠƨƫƮƬҲƷƬ ƩƠ[ұ яƯҮƷư]) makes it clear that these poleis were already allied with Areus at the time of the antiMacedonian alliance. Marasco 1980, 139–140 counts Gortyn, Polyrrhenia and Phalasarna among the Cretan poleis most likely allied with Areus, while he considers the afÀliation of Knossos, Itanos, and Olous to be more questionable. 20 Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 35–37. 21 For portraits of Alexander, see Stewart 1995; and for royal portraits of the Hellenistic kings more generally, Smith 1988. Palagia 2006, 210–212, following Rumpf 1963, 176–199 identiÀes a portrait bust in the Sparta Museum as that of Ptolemy III, which she argues had likely reached Sparta during the period of Ptolemy’s Ànancial support for Cleomenes III. Smith 1988, 175, no. 108 anticipating Palagia, but responding to Rumpf, dismisses the identiÀcation.

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quantity alone, the number of attested portrait statues dedicated to Areus surpasses that known for any other Spartan king. Moreover, he appears to be the Àrst Spartan king to receive such honors while still alive.22 The Panhellenic sanctuary at Olympia appears to have been a site of particular focus for honoring Areus. Pausanias mentions seeing three bronze statues of the king at Olympia.23 Archaeologists have discovered the base of quite possibly a fourth statue of the Spartan king, which was dedicated by Ptolemy II. Its inscribed base makes explicit the relationship between Areus and Ptolemy II that remained largely implicit in the text of the Chremonides Decree. [ơƠƱƨƪƤҵư] Ɨ Dž ƲƮƪƤƫƠԃƮư ơƠƱƨƪҮƷ[ư ƗƲƮƪƤƫƠҲƮƳ] [яƯҮƠ яƩƯƮ]ƲҬƲƮƳ ƒƠƩƤƣƠƨƫƮƬҲ[ƷƬ ơƠƱƨƪҮƠ], [ƤҏƬƮҲƠư ќ]ƬƤƩƤƬ ƲӸư Ƥѳư ƠҐƲҳƬ [ƩƠұ Ƥѳư ƲƮҵư] [ƭҶƫ›ƠƬƲƠư Ѣƪ]ƪƦƬƠư, Ƌƨұ [҉]ƪDž Ƴƫ[›]ҲƷƨ [чƬҮƧƦƩƤƬ].24 King Ptolemy (II Philadelphus), son of King Ptolemy (I Soter) (Dedicated this statue of) Areus son of Acrotatus, King of the Lacedaemonians to Olympian Zeus, on account of his (Areus) benevolence toward him (Ptolemy) and all the Greeks.

As the text is restored, Ptolemy recognizes Areus as “King of the Spartans” and commends him for his goodwill towards “all the Greeks,” language which is reminiscent of the Chremonides Decree.25 This monument can be dated with some conÀdence to the period of the Chremonidean War when relations between the two kings were at their height. As such, it has been understood as a measure on the part of Ptolemy to secure the allegiance of Areus in the face of growing anti-Macedonian sentiments throughout Greece.26 We might tentatively associate this base with one of the three statues seen by Pausanias on his tour of the sanctuary. Perhaps the statue which stood on this base was that seen by Pausanias near portrait statues of 22

Pausanias (6.4.9) saw a portrait statue of Archidamus III (r. 360–338 BCE) at Olympia, which he believed to be the Àrst portrait statue of a Spartan king to have been dedicated by the Spartans. The statue of Archidamus was certainly posthumous. Pausanias believed it was erected on account of the fact that the king perished while campaigning in Italy and was not brought back to be buried in Sparta. He refers to possibly a different statue of Archidamus III at 6.15.7. Pausanias (3.11.10) also mentions a statue of an Agiad king of the seventh century BCE, Polydorus, son of Alkamenes, which stood in the agora of Sparta. 23 Paus. 6.12.5 and 6.15.9 24 Syll.3 433 (= IvO 308) 25 Areus’ patronym “son of Acrotatus” is used here, correctly since his father Acrotatus died before he could claim the Agiad throne. A similar formula is used for two additional dedicatory inscriptions (from Orchomenos and Polyrhennia, see infra) and in each instance Areus’ father is named without the royal title. On the basis of this and other extant evidence, it seems prudent to assign the Delphic proxeny decree (Syll.3 430) to Areus II (ca. 262–254 BCE); see Marasco 1980, 63–73; Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 36–37, n. 22. But see, in favor of Areus I, David 1981, 133–134. 26 Ptolemy himself appears to have been reluctant to commit his military forces in Greece, preferring rather to act indirectly by forming alliances and sponsoring the actions of others, as he did with Areus. Ptolemy III pursued a similar policy in the 220’s BCE with Cleomenes III; Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 54 n. 32.

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Ptolemy I and several other Successor kings. If so, the statue’s location would have made a clear argument about Areus’ status in relationship to leading Àgures of the Hellenistic world. Of the two remaining statues dedicated to Areus at Olympia, at least one was a bronze equestrian monument. Hellenistic kings had cause to favor equestrian statues on account of the explicit message of military prowess they conveyed. The sheer scale of the monument projected the king aloft, where he towered above the viewer and surrounding sculptures. From the vantage point of the viewer, the king would have been a fearsome sight, reinforcing the intimate relationship between military victory and legitimacy.27 Pausanias (6.12.5) mentions a third portrait statue that had been dedicated by the citizens of Elis. The Eleans were among the allies included in the Chremonides Decree. This has lead most scholars to assign this monument to the period surrounding the war, presumably after a pro-Spartan faction had taken control of the city in 266 BCE.28 Areus’ triple appearance in statuary form at Olympia Àts neatly into the mold of Hellenistic royal propaganda. Honors for Areus were not restricted to Olympia. The citizens of Arcadian Orchomenos erected a life-size bronze portrait statue the king in the sanctuary of Artemis Mesopolita.29 The surviving base carries an inscription that reads: ѝƯ[ƵƮƫ]ƤƬ[ҲƷ]Ƭ ш [›Ҵƪƨư] ơƠ[Ʊ]ƨƪҮƠ яƯҮƠ я[ƩƯƮƲҬƲƷ] ƒƠƩƤƣƠƨƫҴƬƨ[ƮƬ ƤҏƤƯƢƤ]ƱҲ[Ơ]ư [Ʋ]Ӯ[ư ѳƬ ƠҐƲҫƬ ƩƠұ] ơƠƱƨ[ƪҮ]Ơ [ƗƲƮ]ƪƤ[ƫƠԃƮƬ]. 30 The polis of the Orchomenioi (dedicated this statue of) King Areus, son of Acrotatus, the Spartan on account of his goodwill towards them and King Ptolemy (II Philadelphus)

The explicit reference to Ptolemy II suggests the dedication belongs to the period surrounding the Chremonidean War.31 As with Elis, Orchomenos is explicitly named in the Chremonides Decree (ll. 24, 39) as a member of the anti-Macedonian alliance. In this case, the decision to honor Areus may have been motivated by the king’s growing authority in the Peloponnese. Further aÀeld, the inscribed base of another honoriÀc statue was discovered on Crete in the agora of ancient Polyrrhenia. The inscription reads: ш ›Ҵƪƨư ш ƗƮƪƳƯƦƬҲƷƬ чƬҮƧƦƩƤ , я¢Ư¢Ү¢Ơ¢ яƩƯƮƲҬƲ[Ʒ] ƒ¢Ơ¢Ʃ¢ƤƣƠƨƫƮƬҲƷƬ [ơƠƱƨƪҮƠ].32 27 28 29 30 31 32

Gehrke this volume; Habicht 1995. David 1981, 137. Plassart and Blum 1914, 447–449. ISE I.34; one wonders whether the Elean base carried a similar inscription. Plassart and Blum 1914, 449 date the decree to the early years of the Chremonidean War. IC II Polyrrhenia.12. A rasura was made over the original third-century inscription when the monument was rededicated to Augustus.

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The city of the Polyrhennians dedicated (this statue of) Areus, son of Acrotatus, King of the Lacedaemonians

This dedication may also date to the period of the Chremonidean War. While Polyrhennia is not speciÀcally named in the Chremonides Decree, there is good reason to believe that the city was counted among the anti-Macedonian allies.33 Areus’ contacts with Crete certainly predated the anti-Macedonian alliance, leaving open the possibility that the honoriÀc statue belongs to an earlier phase of Areus’ reign, perhaps in the 270’s BCE.34 The widespread distribution of honoriÀc statues that were dedicated within a narrow window of time attests to the markedly international activities of Areus and should be considered part of a vigorous campaign of self-promotion.35 With Areus, we see the Àrst attempts made by a Spartan king to deal with the nascent concepts of Hellenistic ơƠƱƨƪƤрƠ, which had developed over the course of his reign. Areus created something of a dualistic framework, wherein he operated both as a Spartan king and Hellenistic monarch. Based on the surviving literary and material evidence, the most signiÀcant transformations were directed outwards, towards raising the proÀle of Spartan kingship abroad. The Delphian proxeny decree of 255/4 BCE honoring his adolescent grandson, Areus II, offers a poignant case in point. Though no older than ten years of age at the time, the child king was granted honors and addressed in a fashion beÀtting the leading monarchs of the day:36 ƧƤƮҲƸ ƋƤƪƴƮұ ћƣƷƩƠƬ яƯƤԃ ơƠƱƨƪƤԃ ơƠƱ[ƨ]ƪҮƷư яƩƯƮƲҬƲƮƳ ƩƠұ ƝƨƪƷƬҲƣDžƮ[ư] [ơ]ƠƱƨƪҲƱƱƠư, ƠҏƲԙƨ ƩƠұ їƩƢҴƬƮƨ[ư], ›ƯƮƭƤƬҲƠƬ, ›ƯƮƫƠƬƲƤҲƠƬ, ›ƯƮ[Ƥ]ƣƯҲƠƬ, ›ƯƮƣƨƩҲƠƬ, чƱƳƪҲƠƬ, Ƥ[ҏ][Ƥ]ƯƢƤƱҲƠƬƸ ыƯƵƮƬƲƮư ѝƫƫƤƬҲƣƠ, ơƮƳƪƤƳҴƬƲƷƬ. vac. (Syll.3 430)

33 34

35

36

See above, n. 19. Plut. Pyrr. 27.2 places Areus in Crete during the early stages of Pyrrhus’ invasion of Laconia in 272 BCE. The Spartan king returned to Laconia with 2,000 Cretan mercenaries (Pyrr. 29.6), who then fought alongside Areus and the Spartans against Pyrrhus at Argos (Pyrr. 32.2). Palagia 2006, 208, puts the statues in the 260’s BCE, but notes that Areus was anticipated by Lysander in the dedication of portrait statues at panhellenic sanctuaries. However, in the case of the so-called ‘nauarch monument’ it was Lysander himself who dedicated the groups at Delphi (Plut. Lys. 18.1; Mor. 395B) and Amyclae (Paus. 3.18.8), while the statues of Areus, so far as our sources relate, were dedicated in his honor by others, the Eleans and Ptolemy II, which in a sense Àts more closely within the mainstream of Hellenistic royal behavior. Of particular note is the presentation of Areus II’s parents as both King and Queen, ơƠƱ[ƨ]ƪҮƷư яƩƯƮƲҬƲƮƳ ƩƠұ ƝƨƪƷƬҲƣDžƮ[ư] [ơ]ƠƱƨƪҲƱƱƠư. The inclusion of the queen is, as Mossé 1991, 146 has noted, a characteristic of the Ptolemaic approach toward dynastic lineage. See also Millender 2009, 35–40, for an excellent discussion of Ptolemaic inÁuence on the Spartan royal house, particularly with regard to the prominent role held by the female members of the royal house.

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D. Alexander Walthall Gods. The Delphians gave to King Areus (II), son of King Acrotatus and Queen Chilonis, To him and to his descendents (the honors of) proxenia, promanteia, proedria, prodikeia, asylia, and euergesia. Emmenidas was archon, members of the council were…

For better or worse, Areus’ reception of Hellenistic monarchy and its ideological underpinnings brought lasting consequences to Sparta. In the decades following Areus’ death, Sparta’s kings seem to have been content to follow his example of leaving the traditional political institutions untouched, while continuing to pursue a model of kingship typiÀed by the Ptolemies and Seleucids.37 This situation gradually became untenable, as tensions grew between the kingship and the institutions intended to check its power. The reign of Cleomenes III marks the next clear chapter in the transformation of Spartan ơƠƱƨƪƤҲƠ.

CLEOMENES III (R. 235–222 BCE) Cleomenes III came to the Agiad throne after the death of his father Leonidas II (r. 254–235 BCE). While best known for his program of social reform, Cleomenes’ reign marked an important moment in the process by which Spartan kingship became disentangled from its constitutional foundations. Surviving archaeological and literary evidence goes far to support this position. Moreover, with Cleomenes we get the clearest account of the signiÀcant alterations made to Sparta’s political institutions by an individual king, as a means of augmenting his personal power on the model of a Hellenistic monarch. During his brief reign, Cleomenes accomplished far more than his predecessors to extricate Spartan kingship from its institutional constraints. The groundwork had been laid by Leonidas II, who had notoriously cooperated with the ephors to bring about the condemnation and execution of Agis IV.38 Leonidas had further consolidated his power over the Eurypontid line by marrying the young Cleomenes to Agis’ widow, Agiatis, and thus gaining some measure of control over Agis’ young son and heir.39 The result of Leonidas’ machinations was that Cleomenes, upon taking the throne in 235 BCE, found himself without a capable Eurypontid counterpart. The Eurypontid line of succession had been interrupted by the unexpected death of Agis’ young son.40 Agis’ brother, Archidamus, who became the legitimate heir to the throne upon the death of Agis’ son, made no immediate attempt to return from exile in Messene and claim the throne. In the absence of a co-king, Cleomenes enjoyed the beneÀts of a virtual monarchy, including sole leadership over Sparta’s military forces.

37 38 39 40

See, for instance, Plut. Cleom. 2.1 regarding Leonidas II. Plutarch Agis, 19–20. Oliva 1972, 230 considers Leonidas’ reign to mark the effective end of the Spartan dyarchy and the beginning of an “Agiad monarchy.” Pausanias (2.9.1) holds Cleomenes responsible for the death of Agis’ son, Eurydamidas.

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It is evident that from the beginning of his reign Cleomenes relied on military leadership as a means to furthering his political aims. He capitalized on his royal prerogative as military commander-in-chief to gain the upper hand against his political opponents within Sparta.41 Cleomenes found himself campaigning annually for the larger part of his thirteen-year reign. The so-called “Cleomenic War” lasted for nearly seven years from 229/8 BCE until his defeat at Sellasia in 222 BCE.42 An immediate problem he faced upon taking the throne was a declining population of Spartan citizens eligible for the military service. As was common practice among Hellenistic monarchs, Cleomenes augmented his diminished citizen-soldier base with mercenaries. Tarentine and Cretan mercenaries reportedly fought alongside Spartan citizens during the campaigns of 227 BCE and may have been among the 5,000 troops who faced-down a numerically superior Achaean army at Pallantium in 228 BCE.43 Cleomenes recognized that he would need to do more than simply increase the number of troops in order to make his army competitive. The Spartan military was still using the short spears and hoplite shields of a foregone era. Cleomenes abandoned these vestiges of Sparta’s Classical past and instead outÀtted his troops in Macedonian fashion, training them to Àght with the sarissa and light shield of a Macedonian phalangist.44 These military reforms clearly paid off as Cleomenes proceeded to wage a series of aggressive and successful campaigns, aimed at reasserting Spartan military control throughout the Peloponnese. By 228/7 BCE, Cleomenes was in command of an anti-Achaean alliance, which included Elis and the Arcadian cities of Mantineia, Tegea, Orchomenos, and Kaphyai.45 There can be little doubt that Cleomenes also sought personal aggrandizement through his near continuous military activity, inÁuenced no doubt by the Hellenistic convention equating legitimate kingship and military success. The growing military authority of the king must have worried the ephors, who took measures to check his power. In 229 and again in 227 BCE, they recalled the king to Sparta while he was out on campaign.46 Frustrated by the constraints placed on his political and military authority, and undoubtedly aware of the potential danger posed by an ephorate determined to remove a king from ofÀce, Cleomenes, so we are told, began plotting to improve his situation.47 Cleomenes seized the opportunity to carry out his political reforms following his stunning vic41 42 43 44 45 46 47

Oliva 1972, 233. For the various viewpoints on the date of the outbreak of the war, see Oliva 1972, 234 n. 2. Pallantium: Plut. Cleom. 4.4–5; Arat. 36–37. Plut. Cleom. 11.2: ƩƠұ ƣƨƣнƭƠư ƠҏƲƮҵư чƬƲұ ƣфƯƠƲƮư ƵƯӸƱƧƠƨ ƱƠƯрƱӶ ƣƨϝ чƫƴƮƲоƯƷƬ ƩƠұ ƲүƬ чƱ›рƣƠ ƴƮƯƤԃƬ ƣƨϝ ҃ƵнƬƦư, ƫү ƣƨҫ ›фƯ›ƠƩƮư; see Cleom. 23.1. Oliva 1972, 234. It was apparently only through bribery of the ephors that Cleomenes was allowed to continue his campaigns against the Achaean League in 228; Plut. Cleom. 6.1. According to Plutarch (Cleom. 7.1), Cleomenes had military supremacy for both himself and Sparta in mind when plotting his reforms: їƩ ƲƮхƲƮƳ ƑƪƤƮƫоƬƦư ƫоƢƠ ƴƯƮƬԙƬ ѧƣƦ, ƩƠұ ›Ƥ›ƤƨƱƫоƬƮư щƬ Ҝư ơƮхƪƤƲƠƨ ƲƮԃư ›ƯнƢƫƠƱƨ ƵƯцƫƤƬƮư ›ƮƪƤƫӹ ›Ưҳư ƲƮҵư яƵƠƨƮхư, ԎӬƣрƷư ї›ƨƩƯƠƲпƱƤƨƬ…ƲүƬ ƙ›нƯƲƦƬ ѷƱƦƬ ƢƤƬƮƫоƬƦƬ їƢƤрƯƤƨƬ ƩƠұ ›ƯƮнƢƤƨƬ ї›ұ ƲүƬ ƲӸư ўƪƪнƣƮư ѤƢƤƫƮƬрƠƬ.

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tory over Aratus and the Achaeans at Ladoceia, outside the walls of Megalopolis.48 According to Plutarch, he left his Spartan troops in Arcadia, under the pretense of garrisoning his recent gains, and returned to Sparta with only a select group of mercenaries.49 His Àrst target was the ephorate, which stood as the greatest constitutional restraint on his power and greatest threat to his safety. Cleomenes thus arranged for their assassination.50 Upon reaching the city, he and his mercenaries ambushed the ephors while they were dining at their syssitia, murdering four of the Àve ephors and ten of their companions. The ostentatious removal of all but one of the ephors’ marble chairs – the remaining of which he sat in while conducting public affairs – was a symbolic, if unsubtle, display of the new power dynamics within Sparta.51 Cleomenes famously presented his new political order in terms of restoring Sparta’s ancestral constitution based on the original intent of its author, Lycurgus.52 The ephorate, he argued, was not part of the Lycurgan constitution. Moreover, he claimed, that while the ephors had initially served as aids to the kings (›ƯԙƲƮƬ Ґ›ƦƯоƲƠư ƲԙƬ ơƠƱƨƪоƷƬ ҇ƬƲƠư), they had become a divisive force within Sparta, even going so far as to execute kings (e. g. Agis IV) without a trial.53 In place of the ephorate, Cleomenes instituted the patronomoi, a group of six men who took over many of the powers and responsibilities that once rested with the ephors.54 The patronomoi, it seems, were annually elected by the king and thus designed to do no more than offer the semblance of a legitimate constitutional check to the power of Cleomenes. The king also took steps to diminish the power of the gerousia, but unlike the ephorate, he could not justify abolishing the institution on the grounds of “original intent.” Rather he sought to reduce its political potency by transferring much of its juridical authority to the newly instituted patronomoi, leaving the oligarchic body with only a fraction of its former power.55

48 49 50 51

Paus. 2.51; Plut. Cleom. 6.2–7.1. Plut. Cleom. 7.3–4. Plut. Cleom. 7.4–8.4. Tod and Wace 1906, no. 145 identify an inscribed marble chair in the Sparta Museum (= IG V 1, 458) as that which Cleomenes retained to sit in while conducting public business. The connection was Àrst made by Foucart (in Le Bas 1870, 88, no. 167a), who restored the inscription, [ƑƪƤƮƫҮƬƦư ƩƠұ ƌҏƩƪƤҲ]- | [ƣƠư] їƢ ƫƨDž[Ӯ]ưDž ƫƠ[Ʋ]ƯDž[Ҵư] | [Ʋ]Ƥ ƩƠұ јƬҳư ›ƠƲƯҴư. As Tod and Wace 1906, 29 note, Foucart believed the inscription to have been cut into the chair following Euclidas’ elevation to the position of co-king. 52 Flower 2002, 199–203; Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 51–53; see Marasco 2004, 193– 196. 53 Plut Cleom. 10.1–3: 54 Regarding the patronomoi, see Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 51–52; 201–202; see Shimron 1965. 55 Paus. 2.9.1; see also, Oliva 1972, 245, n. 5; Ollier 1943, 113. Cleomenes may have dealt a further blow to the gerousia by transforming membership from a lifelong post to an annually elected ofÀce; Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 52; Ehrenberg 1929, 1432. The king also targeted individual Spartans who were deemed hostile to his policies, exiling at least eighty of Sparta’s “leading citizens”; Plut. Cleom., 10.1

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In one fell swoop, Cleomenes had established himself as de facto monarch, for already in 228 BCE the surviving heir to the Eurypontid throne, Archidamus V, had been murdered upon returning to Sparta from exile.56 Plutarch (Cleom. 5.2–3), working from the narrative of Phylarchus, presents Cleomenes as an advocate for Archidamus’ return, expecting that his restoration would shift the balance of power in favor of the kingship. While Phylarchus considered Cleomenes blameless in the matter, Polybius (5.37.1–5) held a far darker view of the Agiad king’s role in the murder. Scholars have been divided on which tradition to follow.57 While it is impossible to determine with any certainty whether or not the king had any part in the assassination of Archidamus, it stands to reason that Cleomenes’ authority would have only been diminished upon the arrival of his Eurypontid counterpart. Contrary to the views expressed by Piper, Cleomenes stood to gain little from a strong coking, particularly if he sought to model his own kingship on Hellenistic monarchy.58 So far as we can tell, at no point did Cleomenes indicate a willingness to share real power with a Eurypontid king. Rather, he further solidiÀed his own position by installing his brother, Euclidas, on the Eurypontid throne.59 Though the dyarchy was ostensibly preserved, as Plutarch observes, it was merely in form.60 Even his most ardent supporters in Sparta would have realized that all meaningful power rested with Cleomenes alone. Cleomenes had systematically removed all political barriers to his own power and established himself as a de facto monarch. He next carried out the cancellation of debts and redistribution of land with the immediate result that Sparta’s citizen population was increased from a few hundred to nearly four thousand. Despite the constitutional rhetoric surrounding these reforms, they were clearly intended to revitalize Sparta’s waning military power.61 With political power Àrmly in his control, Cleomenes was free to renew his military command at the head of a revitalized Spartan army. In quick succession Cleomenes laid waste to the Megalopolitan countryside, expelled Achaean garrisons from both Mantineia and Tegea, and succeeded in routing a numerically superior Achaean army at Hecatombaeum in Arcadia.62 By 225 BCE Cleomenes was in control of many former Achaean allies 56

The decision to recall the Eurypontid king may have been instigated by Aratus’ unexpected capture of Mantineia, a Spartan ally, in 228 BCE. According to Plutarch Cleom. 5.2, the event left the Spartans opposed to the idea of further military expeditions lead by Cleomenes. 57 See Oliva 1972, 235–242 for a summary of positions on this issue. 58 Piper 1986, 51–52 Ànds “no reason for Cleomenes to want Archidamus dead, and every reason to keep him alive.” 59 Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 52; Marasco 2004, 197–198 posits that in appointing his brother as co-king, Cleomenes may have drawn inspiration from the practices of Hellenistic monarchs, who regularly adopted sons or brothers as co-rulers. Among others, Marasco cites the case of Antigonus I Monophthalmus and Demetrius Poliorcetes (Diod. 20.53.2; Plut. Demetr. 18.1–2) and that of Seleucus I and Antiochus I (Plut. Demetr. 38.8; App. Syr. 61.324–27). 60 Plut. Cleom. 11.3: ҈ƫƷư ƣҭ Ʋҳ ƲӸư ƫƮƬƠƯƵрƠư ҇ƬƮƫƠ ›ƠƯƠƫƳƧƮхƫƤƬƮư ч›оƣƤƨƭƤ ƫƤƧϝ јƠƳƲƮԏ ơƠƱƨƪоƠ ƲҳƬ чƣƤƪƴҳƬ ƌҏƩƪƤрƣƠƬ. ƩƠұ ƲфƲƤ ƫфƬƮƬ ƙ›ƠƯƲƨнƲƠƨư їƩ ƫƨӮư ƮѳƩрƠư ƱƳƬоơƦ ƣхƮ ƱƵƤԃƬ ơƠƱƨƪоƠư; see Bernini 1978. 61 Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 52–54. 62 Plut. Cleom. 14.2, Arat. 39.1; Polyb. 2.51.3.

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throughout the Peloponnese, including Argos and Corinth.63 His success on the battleÀeld seems to have drawn the attention of Ptolemy III, who transferred his support, and subsidies, from the Achaean League to Cleomenes. Ptolemy, it seems, was counting on the Spartan king to act as a counter-balance to the growing power of Antigonus III Doson, who had recently reestablished Macedonian control over Acrocorinth.64 Minting of bronze and silver coinage at Sparta resumed under Cleomenes after a gap of some forty years. As with Areus, the decision to strike coins seems to have been largely tied to an individual king. There is strong circumstantial evidence to attribute the large numbers of bronze coins discovered on Laconian soil which bear the abbreviated ethnic of the Lacedaemonian state, but also employ unquestionably Ptolemaic imagery, to the period of Cleomenes.65 These coins have been plausibly associated with the Ànancial contributions made by Ptolemy III to the king between 226/5 and 223/2 BCE.66 Of potentially wider audience were the silver tetradrachms (Fig. 3) struck by Cleomenes between 227 and 222 BCE, in the period of his most intense military campaigning.67 These show on the obverse a diademed head looking to the right and on the reverse the cult statue of Artemis Orthia with a bow in her left hand and an arrow in her raised right hand, with a stag at her left side. The statue is Áanek by the letters ƒ–ƈ.68

63

64 65

66 67

68

Polyb. 2.52.1–4; Plut. Cleom. 17.4–19.3. That Cleomenes had his sights set on broader military control is evident in the terms he offered to representatives of the Achaean League following his victory at Hecatombaeum. In exchange for peace with the Achaeans, he was to be given hegemony over the League’s military forces; Plut. Cleom. 15.1; cf. Plut. Arat. 38.5. As Will 1966, 344 has noted, there is no indication in the text of Plutarch that Cleomenes’ request for command of the Achaean League’s forces was conceived of as being subject to a term-limit, making the position sought by Cleomenes akin to that granted to Ptolemy III by the Achaean League in 243 BCE; Plut. Arat. 24.4. Polyb. 2.51.2. For the coin types, see Grunauer von Hoerschelmann 1978, Groups IV–V. The obverse types of these coins may be compared with the image of the eagle clutching thunderbolt found on the reverse of bronzes struck by Ptolemy III; see, for instance, Svoronos 964, 974; SNG Copenhagen 171, 224. Hackens 1968 was the Àrst to connect these bronze coins with Ptolemaic subsidies; see Walbank 2006, 464, n.44. Though an anonymous portrait coin, most scholars have been content attributing the coins to Cleomenes III based on stylistic similarities with the portrait coins of Antiochus II; Seltman 1955, 256; Grunauer von Hoerschelmann 1978, 8; Palagia 2006, 209–210, citing also the presence of a tetradrachm of Antiochos II within a hoard discovered at Sparta (IGCH 181). Grunauer von Hoerschelmann 1978, 7–16, group III; Mørkholm 1991, 149, no. 505. Grunauer von Hoerschelmann divides the issues into two series, the latter identiÀable by the addition of a laurel wreath to the reverse die. At least four obverse and ten reverse dies have been identiÀed from the several known specimens of this coin, which may suggest that large numbers of these coins were struck.

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Fig. 3 AR Tetradrachm attributed to Cleomenes III Münzkabinett, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, 18200217

Cleomenes did not follow Areus’ example in appropriating the coin types of Alexander, but rather adopted the model set by his contemporaries, striking coins with his own royal portrait. The portrait employs several visual qualities that had become associated with the ideology of Hellenistic monarchy and the concept of legitimate autocratic rule. These include the youthful and idealizing physiognomy of the king and, of course, the royal diadem, which had not been worn by Spartan kings of the Classical period.69 On a well-preserved specimen in Berlin (Fig. 3), one can clearly make out the tuffs of hair rising up above the diadem at his forehead, no doubt imitating the ‘royal’ hairstyles found on portrait coins of many contemporary monarchs.70 The king’s name and title are conspicuously absent. In its place appears the abbreviated ethnic of the Lacedaemonian state. This juxtaposition of royal portrait and ethnic has received no convincing explanation. While it could reÁect hesitation to fully embrace the ideology of Hellenistic monarchy, it may just as well have been another attempt to dissimilate his political agenda from its monarchical overtones. Whatever the case, the juxtaposition embodies the two-sided nature of Cleomenes’ kingship – equal parts Hellenistic monarch and Spartan king. The surviving material record suggests that non-Spartans came to construe Cleomenes’ image in the manner of a Hellenistic ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư, as had occurred for Areus. An extant base of a bronze portrait statue dedicated to the Spartan king by Ptolemy III at Olympia is a perfect case in point. The base is inscribed: ơƠƱƨƪƤҵư Ɨ[ƲƮƪƤƫƠԃƮ]ư | ơƠƱƨƪҮƠ [ƑƪƤƮƫҮƬƤ]Ơ | ƒƠƩƤƣƠƨƫƮƬҲƷƬ [Ƌƨұ ҉ƪƳƫ›Ҳ]Ʒƨ.71 King Ptolemy (III) (dedicated this statue of) Cleomenes, King of the Lacedaemonians, to Olympian Zeus.

Though it is the only extant monument to speciÀcally mention Cleomenes, it is signiÀcant that he alone is identiÀed as King of the Lacedaemonians, without mention of any Eurypontid counterpart. The dedication likely dates from the period of Cleomenes’ greatest military success, following his campaigns of 226/5 BCE, when 69 70 71

For diadems and the royal image, see Smith 1988, 34–38. On the importance of hair and the royal image, see Smith 1988, 47–48. IvO 309.

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he could be honored as a victorious general and king. It is unlikely that this monument was dedicated after 222 BCE, following his defeat at Sellasia and exile in Egypt.72 Despite his rather brief reign, Cleomenes’ actions escalated the transformation of Spartan kingship from constitutionally bound ofÀce to full-Áedged monarchy. His reforms fundamentally reshaped the Spartan political landscape, shifting the balance of power Àrmly in the favor of the kingship. The ephorate was reduced to such a state of weakness that it would never regain the same level of authority as it had once enjoyed. And while the political power of the kingship was enhanced, the dyarchy suffered. Cleomenes used his position and authority to exploit the weakness of the Eurypontid clan, establishing his brother Euclidas on the Eurypontid throne. In doing so, he exposed a new and fundamental truth about Spartan kingship in the Hellenistic period – kings could exist without the traditional Agiad-Eurypontid dyarchy. The precedent set by Areus, for a Spartan king to operate as a Hellenistic-style monarch, was again manifested in Cleomenes, who revealed a desire to transform Sparta into a seat of power from which he could compete with the principal military powers of his day. Yet for his efforts Cleomenes came to be branded by many ancient authors as a tyrant.73 The tumultuous years that followed his death were characterized, so far as we can tell, by the domination of individual kings, such as Lycurgus and Machanidas, who were at once aware of the possibilities attached to the title of ơƠƱƨƪƤхư and willing to resort to violence in order to augment their own authority.

NABIS (R. 207–192 BCE) History has not looked favorably upon the last king of Sparta, Nabis, son of Demaratus (r. 207–192 BCE). Branded as a tyrant by his contemporaries and successive generations alike, it has only been in recent decades that historians have begun to reassess the nature of his rule in the terms of Hellenistic monarchy.74 Though the circumstances of his rise to power are only vaguely recorded in our extant historical sources, it is clear that Nabis laid claim to the Eurypontid throne shortly after the death of Machanidas, who fell in battle at Mantinea in 207 BCE.75 By the time Nabis came to power in the late third century, the role of kings within Spartan society and the nature of Spartan ơƠƱƨƪƤҲƠ itself was drastically different 72

73 74 75

The victory of Sellasia was signiÀcant enough for Antigonus Doson to commemorate with a monument at Delos. However, the fact it was Cleomenes, King of the Lacedaemonians, whom he defeated there did not warrant mention in the text of the inscription (IG XI 4, 1097 = Syll.3 518: ơƠƱƨƪƤҵư яƬƲҲƢƮ[ƬƮư ơƠƱƨƪҮƷư] | ƋƦƫƦƲƯҲƮƳ ƩƠ[ұ ƓƠƩƤƣҴƬƤư] | ƩƠұ ƮѴ ƱҶƫƫƠƵƮƨ [ч›ҳ ƲӸư ›ƤƯұ] | ƙƤƪƪƠƱҲƠƬ ƫҬ[ƵƦư я›ҴƪƪƷƬƨ]). Polyb. 2.47.3; 4.81.14; 9.23.3; 23.11.4; Plut. Cleom. 7.1; Paus. 2.9.1; Liv. 34.26.14. For Nabis as Hellenistic ruler, see Birgalias 2005; see Mossé 1964, 320; Texier 1975, 24 and passim. Nabis as tyrant, Polyb. 4.81.12,13.6.1–5. For Battle of Mantineia and death of Machanidas, see Polyb. 11.11–18; Plut. Philop.10.1–8; Paus. 8.50.2.

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from the situation less than a century before, under Areus I. Successive generations of ambitious kings had already worn down the traditional constitutional and social barriers to autocratic rule. The ephorate and gerousia had been reduced to only a fraction of their former selves. Even in a brief moment of resurgence following the death of Cleomenes III, neither institution managed to check the autocratic of inclinations of Lycurgus (r. ca. 219–210 BCE).76 Unapologetic attacks on the dyarchy, which had begun with the installment of Eucleidas by Cleomenes III, continued under Lycurgus, culminating in 217 BCE with the expulsion of the Agiad king Agesipolis.77 Upon seizing the Spartan throne, Nabis found himself in a position of largely unchecked power, restrained by neither an Agiad colleague nor a strong ephorate. Despite the clear attitude taken by most ancient authors that Nabis’ claim to the Spartan throne was illegitimate, modern scholars have tended to favor a hypothesis which traces lineal descent from the early Àfth-century Eurypontid king Demaratus I, who was deposed by his rival Cleomenes I in 491 BCE and ended up in charge of various cities in the Kaikos Valley under the protection of Xerxes.78 Little is known about Nabis’ activities prior to his attack on Messene in 201 BCE.79 He seems to have spent the Àrst several years of his reign establishing himself as an autocratic ruler within Sparta, much in the same manner as his predecessors, Lycurgus and Machanidas. According to an unsympathetic Polybius, murder and exile continued unabated: ҄ ƣҭ ƲԙƬ ƒƠƩƤƣƠƨƫƮƬрƷƬ ƲхƯƠƬƬƮư Ɣнơƨư, ћƲƮư ѧƣƦ ƲƯрƲƮƬ ћƵƷƬ ƲүƬ чƯƵпƬ, ҄ƪƮƱƵƤƯҭư ƫҭƬ ƮҏƣҭƬ ї›ƤơнƪƪƤƲƮ ›ƯнƲƲƤƨƬ Ʈҏƣҭ ƲƮƪƫӮƬ ƣƨҫ Ʋҳ ›ƯфƱƴƠƲƮƬ ƤѹƬƠƨ ƲүƬ Ґ›ҳ ƲԙƬ яƵƠƨԙƬ ѪƲƲƠƬ ƲƮԏ ƓƠƵƠƬрƣƮƳ, ƩƠƲƠơƮƪүƬ ƣϝ ї›ƮƨƤԃƲƮ ƩƠұ ƧƤƫоƪƨƮƬ Ґ›ƤơнƪƪƤƲƮ ›ƮƪƳƵƯƮƬрƮƳ ƩƠұ ơƠƯƤрƠư ƲƳƯƠƬƬрƣƮư. ƣƨоƴƧƤƨƯƤ ƢҫƯ ƲƮҵư ƪƮƨ›Ʈҵư ыƯƣƦƬ їƩ ƲӸư ƙ›нƯƲƦư, їƴƳƢнƣƤƳƱƤ ƣҭ ƲƮҵư ƩƠƲҫ ›ƪоƮƬ ›ƪƮхƲԗ ƣƨƠƴоƯƮƬƲƠư ѥ ƣфƭӶ ›ƯƮƢƮƬƨƩӹ, Ʋҫư ƣҭ ƲƮхƲƷƬ ƮҏƱрƠư ƩƠұ ƢƳƬƠԃƩƠư ƣƨƤƣрƣƮƳ ƲԙƬ ыƪƪƷƬ ƲƮԃư ї›ƨƴƠƬƤƱƲнƲƮƨư ƩƠұ ƲƮԃư ƫƨƱƧƮƴфƯƮƨư. ƮҖƲƮƨ ƣϝ ѩƱƠƬ чƬƣƯƮƴфƬƮƨ ƩƠұ ›ƠƯƠƱƵрƱƲƠƨ, ƪƷ›ƮƣхƲƠƨ, ƲƮƨƵƷƯхƵƮƨ. ƩƠƧфƪƮƳ ƢҫƯ ƲƮԏƲƮ Ʋҳ ƢоƬƮư ѤƧƯƮрƥƤƲƮ ›Ưҳư ƠҏƲҳƬ ї›ƨƫƤƪԙư їƩ ƲӸư ƮѳƩƮƳƫоƬƦư, ƮѺư ыơƠƲƮư ѩƬ Ѥ ƧƯоƶƠƱƠ ƣƨϝ чƱоơƤƨƠƬ ƩƠұ ›ƠƯƠƬƮƫрƠƬ. ҢƬ ›ƯƮƱƲнƲƦƬ [ƩƠұ ơƠƱƨƪоƠ] ƠҐƲҳƬ чƬƠƣƤрƭƠư, ƩƠұ ƵƯцƫƤƬƮư ƣƮƯƳƴфƯƮƨư ƩƠұ ƱƷƫƠƲƮƴхƪƠƭƨ ƲƮхƲƮƨư, ƣӸƪƮƬ ћƫƤƪƪƤ ›ƮƪƳƵƯфƬƨƮƬ ћƵƤƨƬ ƲүƬ ї›ϝ чƱƤơƤрӬ ƴпƫƦƬ ƩƠұ ƣƳƬƠƱƲƤрƠƬ.80 76

77

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79 80

The ephorate, which had been abolished by Cleomenes III, was likely restored by Antigonus Doson after his invasion of Laconia in 222 BCE; Polyb. 2.70.1; see Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 57–58. Liv. 34.26.11–14 alludes to the exile of Agesipolis, who was then still a child, by Lycurgus and to the former’s participation in the Roman campaigns against Nabis lead by T. Q. Flamininus in 195 BCE; see Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 75, n.25. The connection between Nabis and Demaratus’ family has been most thoroughly developed by Homolle 1896, who Ànds a genealogical connection between the two men in a third-century proxeny decree from Delos (IG XI 4, 542), honoring the Spartan Demaratus, son of Gorgion, a known member of Lysimachus’ court. Descendants of Demaratus called Eurysthenes and Procles were ruling cities in the Kaikos Valley in 399 BCE (Xen. Hell. 3.1.6); see Lewis 1977, 53–56. Polyb. 16.13–17. Polyb. 13.6.1–5. Diodorus 27.1–2, who clearly based his account on that of Polybius, names Pelops, son of the late Eurypontid king Lycurgus (d. ca. 212/11 BCE), as one among Nabis’ victims from the two royal houses; cf. Liv. 34.32.1.

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While in Sparta, Nabis seems to have behaved very much like a Hellenistic monarch, taking up residence in the palace on the acropolis, maintaining a court of ‘friends’, and surrounding himself with a bodyguard of chosen men.81 Nabis’ selfpresentation as a Hellenistic monarch extended to building programs at Sparta. Stamped roof tiles bearing his title and name have been discovered at Sparta. The stamps themselves are known from two types: (1) Round stamps with ƉƠѴƪƤԃ Ɣнơƨ. (2) Rectangular stamps with ƉƠѴƪоƮư ƔнơƨƮư.82 The discovery of these stamped tiles in the vicinity of a stretch of wall located between the Eurotas River and the acropolis has been taken as conÀrmation of Pausanias’ account (7.8.5) that Nabis played a role in the repair and strengthening of the city’s walls around 195 BCE.83 Though the famously unwalled city had been fortiÀed at least twice before with a series of earthen dikes and palisades, it was not until the reign of Nabis that the city’s fortiÀcations took on a monumental and permanent form.84 Nabis advertised his patronage of the project by co-opting a formula 81

For his palace, see Liv. 35.36.1, Plut. Philop. 15.6. For Nabis’ “friends”, see infra n. 88. Nabis’ personal bodyguard: Liv. 32.40, 34.27, 34.30, and at his assassination, 35.36.1. Polybius 13.6.5 describes Nabis as organizing men loyal to him as ƣƮƯƳƴфƯƮƨ and ƱƷƫƠƲƮƴхƪƠƩƤư, terms which are commonly used for the bodyguard of a Hellenistic monarch. On the maintenance of royal stables, see Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 68–69. 82 Sparta Museum, Inv. No. Ɠƙ 2286. For the spelling of ơƠƱƨƪоƷư, as it appears on both the stamped tiles and his tetradrachms, see infra. 83 Cf. Liv. 34.27.3, who also mentions the fortiÀcations in his description of Flamininus’ invasion of 195 BCE. Wace 1906, 349–350 publishes the circular tile with dative inscription, noting that Wolters 1898, 139 had already proposed that the stamped tile with genitive inscription be associated with Nabis’ repair of the city wall, though no provenance was known for the tile itself. Based on the result of his excavations, Wace 1906, 284–286; 1907, 5–16 determined the city’s circuit wall was built largely of mudbricks set on a limestone socle. Terracotta tiles were a requisite feature of walls built of unbaked mudbrick. Waywell 1999, 6 Ànds parallels for this type of wall construction used in Hellenistic fortiÀcations at Athens, Mantinea, and Megalopolis. 84 Archaeological evidence suggests that Nabis may have inherited the fortiÀcation project. Wace 1907, 42 proposed that construction of an earlier mudbrick circuit wall had begun around the middle of the third century, based on the discovery of tiles stamped with names of Spartan komai; see Kourinou 2000, who also concludes that construction of the circuit wall began earlier

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normally reserved for civic magistrates at Sparta. In doing so, he was also modeling his behavior on an image-building practice employed by Hellenistic kings, who occasionally found opportunity to advertise their patronage of building programs through tile stamps.85 Nabis may have also sponsored the construction of aqueducts concurrent with the monumentalization of the city’s circuit walls. The aqueducts (for which only epigraphic testimony survives) would have presumably carried fresh water into the communities enclosed by the fortiÀcation wall.86 It has not escaped notice that both projects were clearly intended to improve Sparta’s ability to withstand a siege, an increasingly common experience for the inhabitants of the city during the Hellenistic period. When it comes to documenting the operation of political institutions at Sparta during Nabis’ reign, ancient testimonia are unfortunately vague and the epigraphic record sparse.87 What little evidence survives of decision-making within Sparta portrays Nabis consulting with “friends,” as would have been normal in any other Hellenistic court.88 While there is no reason to believe that traditional political institutions, such as the ephorate and gerousia, fell into complete abeyance, they certainly played no part in checking the authority of Nabis. Attacks against these institutions and their members, which began under Cleomenes III, continued with undiminished brutality under Nabis.89 While such behavior only served to reinforce the in the third-century, perhaps under Cleomenes III. The modiÀcations assigned to the reign of Nabis appear to have included widening the wall to nearly three meters at its limestone socle; Wace 1906, 284–286. 85 Phillip V, for instance, is likely the individual responsible for the tiles stamped ƜƐƒƐƗƗƖƛ that have turned up from fortiÀcations around the acropolis and port of Oiniadai in Acarnania; see Powell 1904, 170–171; Polyb. 4.65.11. Guarducci 1967, 492–501 offers many more parallels for the appearance of royal names on tiles stamps. 86 A collection of inscriptions referring to the construction of aqueducts have recently been studied by Kourinou 2000, 221–227, who dates the activity to ca. 200 BCE based on the association with the construction of the circuit wall. (1) SEG 50.406; Sparta Museum, Ɠƙ 6747; from the area of ancient Pitane. (2) SEG 40.348; Sparta Museum, no inv. no. given (3) LeRoy 1974, 229–238; Sparta Museum, Ɠƙ 5343. 87 One notable exception is the ҐƣƯƠƢҴư, a civic magistrate responsible for maintaining the city’s water supply; SEG 50.406; cf. Kourinou 2000, 221–227. 88 For the role of “friends” in the negotiations surrounding the terms of Nabis’ surrender to T. Q. Flamininus in 195 BCE, see Liv. 34.33.4: aliud si quid postularent, scriptum ut ederent petiit, ut deliberare cum amicis posset; and 34.36.4: has condiciones quamquam ipse in secreto volutaverat cum amicis. Nabis’ brother-in-law, Pythagoras, was one such advisor, who also served as the commander of Nabis’ Lacedaemonian garrison at Argos; Liv. 34.25.4; see Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 69; Bradford 1977, s. v. Apia. 89 Liv. 34.27.4–7 suggests that Nabis, on account of his tyrannical behavior, was not well received by certain segments of the Spartan population and was thus compelled to resort to intimidation and violence in order to keep the city’s population in check. For instance, during Flamininus’ invasion of Laconia in 195 BCE, Nabis surrounded an assembly of Spartan citizens with his mercenaries and, having disarmed the men, demanded eighty hostages. Though he promised their safe return once the threat of Flamininus’ invasion passed, he ordered the execution of these eighty men shortly thereafter (34.27.8). The number eighty recurs in Plutarch’s account

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image of Nabis as a tyrannos, there is ample evidence to suggest his intentions were directed at transforming his image from that of Spartan king to one of Hellenistic monarch.90 With his position secure at Sparta, Nabis turned his attention towards promoting his image as a Hellenistic king and victorious general to a wider Greek audience. From about 204 BCE, Nabis pursued an aggressive military policy in the Peloponnese aimed at reasserting Sparta’s military presence in the region. Like his predecessors, Nabis relied on mercenaries to supplement Sparta’s dwindling citizen-soldier population.91 Nabis is frequently credited with encouraging his mercenaries to settle by granting them rights to own property in Sparta and recognizing the offspring born of unions with Spartan females as Spartan citizens.92 The discovery of inscribed funerary stelae erected for foreign mercenaries who had settled in Sparta sheds valuable light on the efÀcacy of Nabis’ settlement policies.93 Nabis also sought to enlarge Sparta’s citizen body by freeing segments of the enslaved population and redistributing land to the newly enfranchised citizens. The identity

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of Cleomenes’ suppression of hostile elements within Sparta (Cleom. 10.1), although Cleomenes is said to have only exiled his eighty victims. Isolating a potentially hostile portion of the population by deceiving them into congregating unarmed is a classic trick of the Greek tyrant, see for instance the description of Peisistratos’ third attempt to establish himself as tyrant in the Ath. Pol. 15.4–5. Mossé 1969, 187; see Birgalias 2005, 150 who notes that while Nabis’s constitutional reforms were couched in the language of the traditional Spartan constitution, the reality of his efforts materialized in a monarchic regime that drew largely on contemporary Macedonian models. That this transformation occurred for Nabis as a result of his acclamation as king is suggested by Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 68, who draw parallels with the career of Antigonus Doson. Some 4,000 Spartans and allies fell alongside Machanidas at Mantinea in 207 BCE, adding to the string of crippling loses experienced by the Spartans in the preceding generation. Nearly 6,000 Spartans reportedly fell at Sellasia in 222 BCE; Plut. Cleom. 28, Polyb. 2.69. Philip V’s invasion of Laconia in 218 BCE was devastating by Polybius’ account (5.18–24). Crete continued to supply large numbers of mercenaries; Liv. 32.40.4–5, 34.27.2; Polyb. 16.37.3. Kraofotias 1998, 109 argues that Nabis’ inÁuence was restricted to cities on the western side of the island, given historical and epigraphic evidence for alliances and honors between some Cretan cities and the Achaeans in the 190’s BCE. Settlement of mercenary populations was a frequent concern for Hellenistic kings; see, for instance, Oetjen 2010. Regarding Nabis and the settlement of mercenaries, see Kennell 2003, 91; see Shimron 1972, 141–42. (1) IG V 724: ƚфƬƣƤ ›ƮƲҭ ƙ›нƯƲƠ ƉфƲƯƨƵƮƬ, ƭоƬƤ, ›ƮƪƪҳƬ ыƯƨƱƲƮƬ | чƬƣƯԙƬ ƠѳƵƫƠƲƠŰƬ ћƲƯƤƴƤƬ шƢƤƫфƬƠ, | ƩƳƣƠҲƬƮƬƲ’ чƯƤƲҫƬ ƒƠƩƤƣƠрƫƮƬƮư, ьƬ ›ƮƲ’ їƲрƫƠ | чƪƩƠԃư ўƪƪнƬƷƬ ћƭƮƵƠ ԎƳҴƫƤƬƮư. | ƬԏƬ ƣҮ ƬƨƬ яƯƩƠƣҲƠư ч›ҳ ›ƠƲƯҲƣƮư ҢƣƤ ƧƠƬфƬƲƠ | ƩƮƳƯƨƣрƠ ƚƨƫҷ ƲҶƫơƷƨ ћƩƯƳƶƤ ыƪƮƵƮư; cf. Moretti 1967, 127–128, no. 50 who interprets this as the funerary stele of an Arcadian mercenary commander at Sparta. (2) SEG 42.329: ƖғƲƤ ›ҬƲƯƠ ƏƯƨƬƩƠҲƠ ƲҳƬ ћƭƮƵƮƬ, ƮғƧ’ ҄ ƒƠƩҸƬƷ[Ƭ] | ƗƪҬƲƮƯƠ, ƧƤƱƫƮƧҮƲƠư ƫҮƫƶƤƲƠƨ ƤѳƬϝ яԂƣƮư, | чƫƴƮƲҮƯƠƨư ›ƮƪҮƤƱƱƨƬ ї›Ƥұ ›ƪҮƮƬ ѥ ›ҬƯƮư ƤѹƵƮƬ | ƩԏƣƮư їƬ ҐƱƫҲƬƠƨư ҜƢƠƧҳư чƢҬƢƤƲƮ. | ҍƪơƨƤ ›Ơԃ ƙƠƩҴƪƠ, ƲҲƬ ƣϝ †ыƪƤƵƤ ƩƮƨƬҴư † яƯƨƱƲƮ- | ƬҲƩƠ ї›ұ ƧƯƷтƱƫԚ ƣƤԃƫƠ ›ҴƬƦƱƤ ƲҴƣƤ, | ҇ƴƯƠ ƩƠұ їƭ яƵҮƯƮƬƲƮư чƯƤҲƪƳƲƠ ƢԏƠ ƣƨҰƬƠư | [ƫ]ƨƩƯҳƬ ч›ҳ ƱҸƠư ƤғƬƨƣƮư ѩƲƮƯ ћƵƮƨư. Steinhauer 1992, 239–245 identiÀes the deceased, a certain Plator, as an Illyrian mercenary who fought for Nabis then married a well-off Spartan woman and settled in Sparta; cf. Polyb. 4.55.

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of the groups he liberated, whether helots or chattel slaves, has been a topic of some debate.94 Nigel Kennell has recently challenged the tradition that Nabis freed large numbers of helots, offering a convincing argument in favor of identifying the target population as chattel slaves.95 Though Livy has Nabis himself defend his actions by characterizing them in terms of restoring Sparta’s ancestral constitution, it was undoubtedly the need to augment his military forces that motivated Nabis’ decision to enfranchise thousands of slaves.96 In addition to augmenting his army, Nabis also directed his attentions towards building a sizable navy.97 Following the precedent set by Areus and Cleomenes III, Nabis sought to strengthen his image and standing outside of Sparta through diplomatic efforts aimed at gaining the attention and support of other monarchs. Yet unlike his predecessors, Nabis seems to have found no allies among the Ptolemies or Seleucids. His dealings with Philip V were short-lived and seemingly based on deception and mutual distrust. Nevertheless, the Spartan king must have gained some degree of international recognition from Philip’s proposal to turn Argos over to him. Perhaps more signiÀcant, with regard to Nabis’ standing within the community of Hellenistic monarchs, was Philip’s attendant offer to join their families and dynastic lines by marrying his daughters to Nabis’ sons.98 Nabis found the greatest opportunity to advance his standing within the Hellenistic world through engagement with the Romans. His involvement with Rome may date as early as 205 BCE, when Livy names the Spartan king among the adscripti on the side of the Romans in their treaty with Philip V which concluded the First Macedonian War.99 Nabis seems to have had little interaction with the Romans in the subsequent years and even refrained from offering them any military support against Philip at the outbreak of the Second Macedonian War. His tepid behavior may have been inÁuenced by Philip’s willingness to turn over control of Argos. Yet, despite accepting Philip’s offer and taking control of Argos, Nabis eventually declared his allegiances with Rome at Mycenae in 197 BCE in the moments leading up to the Battle of Cynoscephalae.100 The terms of alliance dictated by Flamininus 94 For a summary of the available evidence, see Cartledge and Spawforth 2002, 69–70, n. 18 who review the various scholarly positions on the identity of the groups freed by Nabis, concluding themselves that the weight of the evidence falls in favor of helots rather than chattel slaves. However, see Kennell infra. 95 Kennell 2003, 90–99. 96 Liv. 34.31.14–18. 97 On the relative strength of Nabis’ navy: Liv. 34.27.1. Gytheion’s fortiÀcations were also likely strengthened contemporaneously with the expansion of the Áeet. Nabis’ efforts were cut short by the terms of Flamininus’ treaty in 195 BCE, which called for the forfeiture of his Áeet, excepting two light vessels; Liv. 34.35.3–11, 34.43.1–2, 34.49.2. However, Nabis’ Áeet seems to have rebounded by 193 BCE, such that his forces were able to defeat the navy of the Achaean League off the coast of Gytheion. 98 Liv. 32.38.2 99 Liv. 29.12.14 100 According to Liv. 32.39.1 Nabis sent envoys to both Flamininus and Eumenes II in order to announce that he was in possession of Argos and willing to negotiate with Flamininus, if the Roman commander would come to meet him at Argos.

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required Nabis to supply military support to the Romans, which he did in the form of 600 Cretans.101 In return, Nabis received what amounted to a formal recognition of his control over Argos. Scholars have speculated as to whether the Romans also recognized Nabis as a ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư at this time, a tradition which is preserved in Livy (34.31.13). It is certainly around the time of Cynoscephalae that Nabis begain striking coinage with the legend “of King Nabis.” The timing strongly suggests that Nabis was trading on the idea that the legitimacy of a monarch was bound to military victory and was thus capitalizing on, and perhaps exaggerating, his role in the defeat of Philip V. 102 Archaeological evidence can supplement this narrative, enriching and complicating the literary portrayal of Nabis. As with Areus and Cleomenes, coinage provided Nabis with a vehicle for constructing his image as a monarch. He issued at least two silver tetradrachm series, both of which bear his name in the legend. The earlier of the two series was struck between 207 and 196 BCE. It shows on the obverse the head of Athena in Corinthian helmet and on the reverse Herakles seated on a rock and leaning on his club, with the legend ƒ–ƈ, ƔƈƉƐƖƙ. These coins share both obverse and reverse types with several anonymous tetradrachms that are generally assigned to the reign of either Lycurgus or Machanidas and carry only the legend ƒ–ƈ.103 Nabis may have issued these coins, which were struck on the Attic standard, to hire mercenaries in the years immediately following the Lacedaemonian defeat at Mantinea, where some 4,000 Spartans and allies reportedly lost their lives.104 On this Àrst series, Nabis’ name appears on the reverse but without the title of king. The absence of the royal title may be best explained in one of two ways. It may have been the case that his status as a ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư was understood and thus omitted, as was common on many lifetime and posthumous issues struck in the names of Philip II and Alexander III.105 Alternatively, ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư may be absent because Nabis had not yet taken the title of king (in the Hellenistic sense) at the time when 101 Liv. 32.39.10; 32.40.4–5. 102 Homolle 1896, 515–518, for instance, suggests Rome was behind the Delians’ decision to honor Nabis, since at the time (197 BCE) the Spartan was allied with Flamininus against Philip V. 103 Anonymous issues: Grunauer von Hoerschelmann 1978, group IX, nos. 1–15, pl. 6; who incorrectly assigns them to the reign of Nabis. More than a dozen of these anonymous coins were discovered at Sparta in 1908 within a hoard containing 86 tetradrachms (IGCH 181); Wace 1907–1908, 149–160. Mørkholm 1991, 150 suggests a terminus for the hoard may be Philopoemen’s invasion of Laconia following his victory at Mantinea in 207 BCE. That they do not belong to the reign of Nabis is further suggested by stylistic differences in the representations of the Herakles on the reverse types of the anonymous issues and the ‘named’ issues; Mørkholm 1991, 150; Furtwängler 1985, 639. 104 Plut. Philop.10. For Nabis and mercenaries, see above n. 89. 105 Philip II: Lifetime tetradrachm from Amphipolis mint: Le Rider 1977, no. 2. Posthumous AU stater struck at Kolophon by Phillip III Arrhidaeus: Le Rider 1977, pl. 93, 26; SNG ANS 309/316; Thompson 1982, 57–63. Alexander III: Lifetime tetradrachm issues from Amphipolis: (1) Price 1991, no. 5; SNG München 234; SNG Cop. 659; (2) Price 1991, no. 78; SNG München 257; SNG Cop. 676. Posthumous tetradrachms struck by Ptolemy I: Price 1991, no. 3971; SNG Cop. 7–8.

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these coins were struck.106 The latter explanation is preferable, in light of the addition of the title on the second series. This raises questions about Nabis’ standing within Sparta and of his ambitions towards monarchy. The very act of minting coins with the legend “of Nabis” marked a signiÀcant break with the practice of his immediate predecessors, who struck coins bearing only the legend ƒ–ƈ.107 Nabis makes an even stronger claim to kingship in his second issue (Àg. 4), minting a portrait tetradrachm in full Hellenistic style.108

Fig. 4 British Museum,1896,0601.49, AN150484

Nabis appears on the obverse wearing a royal diadem entwined with a laurel wreath. His clenched jaw and rough facial features are rendered in a veristic fashion that betrays little Àdelity to the tradition of idealized portraits adopted by the Àrst generation of successor kings. The reverse type employs the same image of a seated Herakles as appeared on his earlier coins. 109 However, the ƒ–ƈ has dropped out completely and has been replaced by the legend ƉƈƐƒƌƖƙ NƈƉƐƖƙ, with the Laconian spelling of ơƠƱƨƪƤхư in which the intervocalic sigma was omitted.110 106 Tetradrachms struck by Philetairos at Pergamum ca. 270–265 BCE offer a parallel for this scenario; BMC 28, Kraay and Hirmer 1966, 736, SNG Lockett 2718. Philetairos, who was never to take the title of ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư, added his name without the title to the reverse of this series. The obverse bears a portrait bust of Seleucus I wearing the royal diadem. 107 This also applies to the portrait coins assigned to Cleomenes III, which are ‘anonymous’ in so far as they bear only the legend ƒ–ƈ. 108 Grunauer von Hoerschelmann 1978, 26–30, Group IX. 109 Many scholars have considered the use of Heraklean imagery as a reference to the mythological founder of the Eurypontid house and, moreover, as a symbol of Spartan monarchy; for instance, see Palagia 2006, 15 with particular reference to Cleomenes III. The reverse type of a seated Herakles, which appears on the two earlier tetradrachm issues from Sparta, imitates the reverse of coins struck by the Seleucid monarchs Antiochus I and Antiochus II. The use of this reverse type by the Seleucid kings is discussed in detail by MacDonald 1907, 145–159. In addition to the Laconian examples, the reverse type was also copied by the Bactrian king Euthydemus I (ca. 222–187 BCE). 110 Perdrizet 1898, 1.

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Here the king has gone farther than his predecessors by striking coins bearing both his portrait and royal title, much in the current style of portrait coins struck by other Hellenistic monarchs. The adoption of the diadem represents an unequivocal nod towards the Hellenistic-type monarchy Nabis now styled himself after. A Àrm date for the second series has yet to be established, but the communis opinio favors a date around or after 196 BCE.111 For practical reasons this would make sense, given that Nabis was engaged in almost constant military operations from about 198 until his death in 192 BCE. The range might be further reÀned by placing the terminus ante quem at 195, following his capitulation to Flamininus for which he was burdened with a heavy indemnity. In terms of kingship theory, the most plausible moment would be around 197/6 BCE, following his conference at Mycenae with Flamininus and Eumenes II. There, Nabis accomplished nothing less than a political miracle, somehow managing to leave the meeting an ally of Rome and Eumenes, while still in control of Argos. Though Nabis was not present at Cynoscephalae himself, he may have used his alliance with the victors to his advantage taking the opportunity to strike coins that announced his entrance onto the main stage of the Hellenistic world. On this point, two features of Nabis’ portrait coins deserve further consideration. The Àrst is the addition of the laurel wreath entwined around his diadem.112 With few exceptions, Hellenistic kings did not depict themselves wearing laurel crowns on their coins. 113 The choice to depict himself wearing a laurel wreath in addition to the traditional symbol of monarchy suggests a desire to amplify his claims of legitimacy by making an explicit (though largely unfounded) claim to military victory.114 The close-cropped beard he wears further emphasizes this military aspect.115 The beard

111 Mørkholm 1991, 150. 112 Grunauer von Hoerschelmann 1978, 28–29, pl. 6.17; Kraay and Hirmer 1966, no. 522. 113 For wreaths worn by Hellenistic rulers in general, see Smith 1988, 43. Attalus I minted silver tetradrachms between 241 and 197 BCE, depicting a posthumous portrait of Philetairos, founder of the Attalid dynasty, crowned with laurel wreath and laureate diadem; Kraay and Hirmer 1966, nos. 737–739; Westermark 1961. Philetairos, of course, never took the title of ơƠƱƨƪƤхư. Hieron II of Syracuse (r. 269–215 BCE) and Ptolemy III are perhaps the only two Hellenistic kings, aside from Nabis, who minted laureate portrait coins during their lifetime, and even then, only in bronze denominations. For Hieron II: Caccamo Caltabiano et al. 1997; Carroccio 2000. For Ptolemy III: Svoronos 1904, nos. 997–1000; Kyrieleis 1975, 27 pl. 17.5. 114 For the association between laurel wreaths and military victory, see Smith 1988. While Hellenistic kings seem to have rarely worn laurel wreaths on their portrait coins, the laurel wreath itself makes frequent appearances as a border for the reverse image or as borne by an advancing Nike in the posture of crowning. The association with the image of the king on the other side of the coin was explicit. Alexander III: Price 1991, no. 1497. Antiochus VIII: SNG Spaer 2554. Demetrius I Soter: Houghton and Lorber II 2008, 164 no. 1622.2 (laurel wreath framing portrait). This iconography also found monumental form, as in the sculptural group dedicated by the Eleans to Demetrius II and Philip V at Olympia, which depicted a personiÀcation of Hellas crowning both kings; Pausanias 6.16.3. 115 For the association of beards and the image of a campaigning general, see Queyrel 1990, 104, no. 27; see Lorber and Iossif 2009.

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was an attribute that had largely fallen out of fashion following the death of Alexander, whose youthful image became the model for the portraits of the successor-kings, regardless of age.116 In co-opting the portrait of the eternally young Alexander, Hellenistic kings employed a powerful visual convention designed to express their own legitimacy and authority. The portrait coins of Cleomenes III, for instance, adhere perfectly to the standard of presentation common among kings of the mid-third century. In deviating from this standard, however, Nabis was not alone. In fact, he follows a precedent set by Philip V (r. 221–179 BCE), who wears a close-cropped beard in his earliest silver tetradrachm series, struck shortly after ascending to the Macedonian throne in 220 BCE.117 Several other Hellenistic kings of the late-third and earlysecond century also wear short beards on their coins.118 This trend marks a signiÀcant break from earlier convention and may reÁect changing notions of self-presentation among the new generation of Hellenistic king, such as Philip V. Nevertheless, the fundamental qualities of legitimate kingship had not changed, only the visual tools used to communicate those values. The youthful mask of Alexander was exchanged for the rough and unshorn face of the campaigning general. Accordingly, Nabis’ choice to depict himself on coins with the close-cropped beard of a campaigning general suggests an attentiveness to current notions of kingship and a choice to style himself in the manner of powerful military leaders of his time.119 It is clear that Nabis conducted himself in the mode of a Hellenistic ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư. He promoted this image by various means, including the minting of portrait coins, pursuing aggressive military campaigns, and sponsoring major building programs at Sparta and perhaps in some of the perioikic communities.120 On this point, Nabis’ speech before Flamininus–as reported by Livy–is of some value, if only in reafÀrming the Àckle nature of Hellenistic monarchy.121 Flamininus’ response (34.32) articulates what was undoubtedly a widely-held opinion among those present at the conference, arguing that Nabis was a usurper to the throne and that the rightful and legitimate king of Sparta was then in exile. 116 Smith 1988, 46–47. 117 Mørkholm 1991, 135, no. 438. See Boehringer 1972, 104–107 and Hammond 1988, 460– 468 for the chronology of Philip V’s coinage. Smith 1988, 46 n. 2, who Ànds the portrait coins depicting bearded kings “puzzling” and suggests that Philip V modeled his portrait after that of his namesake Philip II. 118 Kings who appear bearded on their portrait coins of the later third and early-second centuries include, Prusias I (c. 230–182 BCE; Mørkholm 1991, 130 no. 417), who Livy (29.12.14) lists among Philip V’s allies following the First Macedonian War, and Achaeus (220–214 BCE; Houghton and Lorber I 2002, no. 953), who was an usurper to the Seleucid throne. 119 The association, of course, need not be restricted to other monarchs. In particular, one may compare Nabis’ portrait coin with the gold staters struck in the name of T. Q. Flamininus following the Roman general’s victory at Cynoscephalae in 197 BCE; Smith 1988, 126 and Alföldi 1984, 21–25. The notable absence of a mustache in Nabis’ portrait may suggest an intentional reference to the Spartan tradition which forbade males from wearing moustaches; cf. Plutarch Cleom. 9.2. For more on Spartan moustaches and the problematic nature of the literary sources, see Millis 1997. 120 For walls of Gytheion, see sopra n. 97. 121 Liv. 34.31.1–19; see Gruen 1986, 448–458.

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Given the high value placed on the perception of a king’s legitimacy, it is worthwhile to consider whether his message was well received by others and how others represented Nabis in their own public monuments. Historians of the Late Hellenistic and Roman periods almost universally characterize Nabis as a ƲхƯƠƬƬƮư, inÁuenced in no small part by Polybius’ exceedingly negative presentation of the king.122 The epigraphic record, however, offers evidence for a more complex view of Nabis’ rule among his contemporaries. Of the surviving monuments, the proxeny decree from Delos (Syll.3 584) stands out as the only non-Spartan monument to acknowledge Nabis’ claim to the title of ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư.123 ћƣƮƭƤƬ ƲӸƨ ơƮƳƪӸƨ ƩƠұ Ʋԙƨ ƣҰƫƷƨƸ ƝƠƯҲƪƠư яƯƨƱƲƮƧҬƪƮƳ Ƥѹ›ƤƬƸ ї›Ƥƨƣү ơƠƱƨƪƤҵư ƔҬơƨư ƋƠƫƠƯҬƲƮƳ ƒƠƩƤƣƠƨƫҴƬƨƮư чƬүƯ чƢƠƧҳư ҝƬ ƣƨƠƲƤƪƤԃ ›ƤƯҲ ƲƤ Ʋҳ ѴƤƯҳƬ ƩƠұ ƲҳƬ ƣӸƫƮƬ ƲҳƬ ƋƦƪҲƷƬ ƩƠұ ƵƯƤҲƠư ›ƠƯҮƵƤƲƠƨ ƩƠұ ƩƮƨƬӸƨ ƲӸƨ ›ҴƪƤƨ ƩƠұ ѳƣҲƠƨ ƲƮԃư їƬƲƳƢƵҬƬƮƳƱƨƬ ƠҏƲԙƨ ƲԙƬ ›ƮƪƨƲԙƬ Ƥѳư ъ ыƬ Ʋƨư ƠҏƲҳƬ ›ƠƯƠƩƠƪƤԃƸ ƣƤƣҴƵƧƠƨ ƲӸƨ ơƮƳƪӸƨ ƩƠұ Ʋԙƨ ƣҰƫƷƨƸ ƤѹƬƠƨ ơƠƱƨƪӸ ƔҬơƨƬ ƋƦƫƠƯҬƲƮƳ ƒƠƩƤƣƠƨƫҴƬƨƮƬ ›ƯҴƭƤƬƮƬ ƩƠұ ƤҏƤƯƢҮƲƦƬ ƲƮԏ ƲƤ ѴƤƯƮԏ ƩƠұ ƋƦƪҲƷƬ ƩƠұ ƠҏƲҳƬ ƩƠұ їƩƢҴƬƮƳư ƩƠұ ƤѹƬƠƨ ƠҏƲƮԃư їƬ ƋҰƪƷƨ ƢӸư ƩƠұ ƮѳƩҲƠư ћƬƩƲƦƱƨƬ ƩƠұ ›ƯҴƱƮƣƮƬ ›Ưҳư ƲүƬ ơƮƳƪүƬ ƩƠұ ƲҳƬ ƣӸƫƮƬ ›ƯҸƲƮƨư ƫƤƲҫ Ʋҫ ѴƤƯҬƸ Ґ›ҬƯƵƤƨƬ ƣҭ ƠҏƲԙƨ ƩƠұ Ʋҫ ыƪƪƠ ҈ƱƠ ƣҮƣƮƲƠƨ ƩƠұ ƲƮԃư ыƪƪƮƨư ›ƯƮƭҮƬƮƨư ƩƠұ ƤҏƤƯƢҮƲƠƨư ƲƮԏ ƲƤ ѴƤƯƮԏ ƩƠұ ƋƦƪҲƷƬƸ чƬƠƢƯҬƶƠƨ ƣҭ ƲҴƣƤ Ʋҳ ƶҰƴƨƱƫƠ ƲүƬ ƫҭƬ ơƮƳƪүƬ Ƥѳư Ʋҳ ơƮƳƪƤƳƲҰƯƨƮƬ, ƲƮҵư [ƣҭ ѴƤƯƮ›ƮƨƮҵ]ư¢ Ƥѳ¢ ư¢ ¢ Ʋҳ ѴƤƯҴƬƸ яƬƲƨƩƯҬƲƦư ƚƦƪƤ[ƫƬҰƱƲƮƳ ї›ƤƶҰƴƨƱƤƬ]. in corƮna laurea ҄ ƣӸƫƮư ҄ ƋƦƪҲƷƬ.

Nabis is referred to twice as “King of the Lacedaemonians” and is also designated as a euergetes of the Delians. This was undoubtedly a signiÀcant moment of recognition for Nabis, particularly given the exposure offered by the island’s premiere position within the international network of the Hellenistic Aegean. The immediate motivations behind the decree are unclear, but as Homolle suggested long ago it may have had much to do with the formalization of relations between Rome and Nabis in 197 BCE.124 Nowhere else in the surviving epigraphic record does Nabis receive the title of ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư. This appears not to be an issue of chronology, as was the case with the legends struck on his coins, since all other epigraphic attestations post-date the Delian proxeny decree of 197/6 BCE. Rather, the failure to name Nabis as ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư may be a calculated measure to deny the Spartan the royal title and authority that he 122 Supra n. 80. 123 Homolle 1896, 505–512. 124 Homolle 1896, 514–517.

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so desired. The refusal of this title is in part explained by the nature of the texts, which universally establish Nabis as an enemy. This is certainly true for the Mycenaean decree honoring Protimos of Gortyn for his help in freeing a group of Mycenaean ephebes captured by Nabis.125 Nabis is here referred to without the royal title and appears primarily as a foil for the heroic deeds of Protimos. The Mycenaeans, who likely suffered further injustices from Nabis’ recent assumption of control over Argos, may have wished to deny his claims to legitimacy.126 This point is further reinforced by a group of four inscriptions honoring the Pergamene king Eumenes II for his role in the Roman-led campaign against Nabis in 195/4 and 193/2 BCE. A) [ơƠƱƨƪƤҵư ƌҏƫҮƬƦư ч›ҳ] Ʋԙ[Ƭ ƢƤƬƮƫҮƬƷƬ їƩ Ʋ]Ӹư ƱƲƯƠƲƤҲƠư ƪƠƴҶƯƷƬ, [ѦƬ їƱƲƯƠƲƤҶƱƠƲƮ ƫƤƲҫ ԕƷƫƠҲ]ƷƬ Ʃ[Ơұ Ʋԙ]Ƭ ыƪDž [ƪƷƬ] Ʊ[Ƴ]ƫƫҬƵƷƬ ї›ұ ƔҬơƨƬ ƲҳƬ ƒҬƩƷƬƠ, [ƩƠƲƠƱƲƯƤƶҬƫƤƬƮƬ ƲƮҵư яƯƢƤ]ҲƮƳ[ư ƩƠұ] ƓƤ[Ʊ]Ʊ[Ʀ]ƬҲƮDžƳDžư, ч›DžƠƯƵүƬ яƧƦƬӮƨ ƔƨƩƦƴҴƯƷƨ. Syll.3 595A (=IvP I 61) B) [ơƠƱƨƪҮƠ ƌҏ]ƫDž ҮƬƦ чƯƤƲӸư ќƬƤƩDž[ƤƬ] | [ƮѴ ƫƤƲ’ Ơҏ]ƲƮԏ ›ƪƤҶƱƠƬƲƤ[ư] | [Ƥѳư ƲүƬ ў]ƪƪҬ Dž ƣƠ ƱƲƯƠƲƨԙƲƠDž[ƨ] | [їƭƨҴƬƲƮư] ї›ұ ƲҳƬ ›Ưҳư ƔҬơƨƬDž | [ƲҳƬ ƒҬƩƷ] ƬƠ ›ҴƪƤƫƮƬDž. Syll.3 595B (=IvP I 61) C) ƖѴ ƫƤƲҫ ơƠƱƨƪоƷư ƌҏƫоƬ[ƮƳ ›]ƪƤхƱƠƬƲƤư Ʋҳ ƣƤҶƲƤƯƮƬ Ƥƨ]ư ƲүƬ ўƪƪн[ƣƠ] ƱƲƯƠƲƨԙƲƠƨ їƩ ƲƮԏ ›ƮƪоƫƮƳ ƲƮԏ ›Ưҳư Ɣнơ[ƨƬ Ʃ]Ơұ яƬƲҲƮƵƮƬ ї›ƨƱƲƯƠƲƤҶƱƠƬƲƠư ƲƮ[ԃ]ư ѢƪƪƦƱƨƬ чƩƯƮƧҲƬƮƬ яƧƦƬӮƨ ƔƨƩƮƴфƯƷƨ. Syll.3 605A (=IvP I 62a) D) [ơ]ƠƱ[ƨƪƤҵư ƌҏƫҮƬƦư] | Ƌƨұ Ʃ[Ơұ яƧƦƬӮƨ Ɣƨ]Ʃ[ƦƴҴƯƷƨ] | ч›[ҳ ƲӸư ƫƤƲҫ ԕ] ƷƫƠ[Ҳ]Ʒ Dž ƬDž | [ƩƠұ яƵƠƨԙƬ ›Ưҳư ƔҬ]ơƨƬ ƲҳƬ | [ƒҬƩƷƬƠ ƣƤƳƲҮƯƠư ƱƲƯƠƲƤҲƠư]. IvP I 63 (=IGR 4.285) 125 Syll.3 594. The events referred to in the inscription must belong to the siege of Gytheion, which was conducted in 195 BCE by a coalition of forces that included a naval squadron commanded by Protimos. The decree itself may belong to the period immediately following the peace treaty of 195 BCE, which required that Nabis relinquish control of Argos and withdraw from Argive territory. 126 Perhaps the citizens of Gytheion were likewise motivated in refraining from naming Nabis on the base that held a statue of T. Q. Flamininus, set up to honor the Roman general for liberating the city from Nabis; Syll.3 592; cf. Liv. 34.29. Similarly, the Achaean monument honoring Telemnastos of Gortyn (IG IV2 244, ISE 49) for his help in the Achaean League’s campaign against Nabis in 192 BCE fails to mention the Spartan king; cf. Liv. 35.28.8, 35.29.1; Polyb. 33.16.1–6. Demetrius Poliorcetes suffers a similar fate in the epigraphic record of the Athenians, following his death in 283 BCE. The former king and “savior” of the Athenians is given no such honor in a decree of 283/2 BCE honoring the comic poet Philippides; IG II2 657, Syll.3 374. Rather, it is Lysimachus who receives the royal title in contrast to Demetrius and his father Antigonus. Just over a decade later, it is Ptolemy II who is referred to as ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư, in contrast to Demetrius and Antigonus, in a decree honoring Kallias of Sphettos (ca. 270/69 BCE); Shear Jr.1978.

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The dedications have several sponsors, including Eumenes himself, but are consistent in their presentation of Nabis, referring to him only by name or as ƲҳƬ ƒҬƩƷƬƠ. Never once do they use the title of ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư to describe Nabis, in direct contrast to Eumenes II himself, who is always presented as a ơƠƱƨƪƤҶư.127 This again raises the issue of whether or not Nabis’ contemporaries perceived his authority as legitimate. Was the omission of the royal title tantamount to denying his legitimacy, and even to labeling him a ƲхƯƠƬƬƮư? The Mycenaeans, as was discussed above, had little cause to recognize Nabis’ status. The situation was different for Eumenes, who personally took part in the campaigns against Nabis and thus surely stood to gain from advertising his role in defeating a rival king and, moreover, one who threatened the freedom of the Greeks.128 The omission of Nabis’ royal title on the Pergamene inscriptions may suggest that Eumenes, like the Mycenaeans, did not recognize Nabis’ authority as legitimate. Alternatively, Nabis’ defeat at Gytheion in 195 BCE may have undermined the legitimacy of his claims to kingship in the eyes of his enemies. If winning was a characteristic of a Hellenistic king then defeat could be sufÀcient grounds for the loss of one’s status as “king.” After all, the deÀnition of ơƠƱƨƪƤҲƠ found in the Suida identiÀes kingship as something “given to men,” so it would only follow that it too could be taken away.129 The latest inscription to make reference to Nabis, in an implicit way to be sure, survives on a statue base erected at Olympia in honor of the Achaean general Kallikrates, son of Theoxenos. ƒƠƩƤƣƠƨƫƮƬҲƷƬ ƮѴ ƴƳƢDžҴƬƲƤư Ґ›ҳ ƲԙƬ ƲƳƯҬƬƬ[ƷƬ] | ƑƠƪƪƨƩƯҬƲƦ ƏƤƮƭҮƬƮƳ ƒƤƮƬƲҰƱƨƮƬ, ƩƠƲƠƢƠƢҴƬƲƠ | Ƥѳư ƲҫƬ ›ƠƲƯҲƣƠ ƩƠұ ƣƨƠƪҶƱƠƬƲƠ ›ƮƲұ ƲƮҵư ›ƮƪҲƲƠư | ƩƠұ Ƥѳư ƲҫƬ їƭ чƯƵӮư ї[ƮԏƱƠƬ] ƴƨƪ[ҲƠƬ ч›Ʈ]ƩƠDžƲƠƱƲDžҬƱƠƬƲƠ.130 Those Lacedaemonians exiled by the tyrants (honor) Kallikrates, son of Theoxenos, of Leontion who restored them to their fatherland, reconciled them with their fellow citizens and reestablished them in the friendship that existed originally.

127 Antiochus III is also named without his royal title in Syll.3 605. The decision to commemorate Eumenes’ rather limited role in the campaigns against Nabis, in fact his Àrst military engagement after inheriting the Pergamene throne from his father Attalus I, may have been inÁuenced by the desire to establish himself as a credibly military power. 128 Cf. ISE 37a: ƚƮұ яƯƢƤԃƮ[ƨ - -] | ƧƤƮԃư ч›ҳ ơ[ƠƱƨƪоƷư] | ƗхƯƯƮ[Ƴ]; inscription on a bronze shield dedicated by the Argives in a sanctuary at Mycenae that identiÀes the dedication as spoils taken from the Epirote King Pyrrhus, who was killed in battle at Argos in 272 BCE. Eumenes’ treatment of Nabis is anticipated by a Pergamene dedication commemorating Attalus I’s victories over the Galatians and Antiochus Hierax, who though of royal blood was considered a challenger to the Seleucid throne, held by his brother Seleucus II. IvP 29 = OGIS 280: ơƠƱƨƪоƠ ѓƲƲƠƪƮƬ | ѝ›ƨƢҮƬƦư ƩƠұ ƮѴ ѤƢƤƫфƬƤư ƩƠұ ƱƲƯƠƲ[ƨԙ]ƲƠƨ | ƮѴ ƱƳƬƠƢƷƬƨƱнƫƤƬƮƨ Ʋҫư ›Ưҳư ƲƮҵư Ɗ[Ơƪ]нƲƠư | ƩƠұ яƬƲҲƮƵƮƬ ƫнƵƠư, ƵƠƯƨƱ[Ʋ]пƯƨƠ | Ƌƨұ, яƧƦƬӮƨ. It is noteworthy that Attalus took the royal title only following his military success over Antiochus and the Galatians. 129 Gehrke, this volume. See Habicht 1995, 57–62 who Ànds ample evidence for the relationship, whether real or perceived, between military defeat and the loss of legitimacy. 130 Syll.3 634 (= IvO 300); trans. Burstein 1985, 99 no. 74, adapted.

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It is of particular interest as the statue was dedicated by a group of Spartans who were living in exile prior to the death of Nabis. Kallikrates was honored for helping these exiles reintegrate themselves within Spartan society. While Nabis is not named in the inscription, there can be little question that he is one among the nameless ƲхƯƠƬƬƮƨ responsible for the expulsion of these citizens.131 The inscription documents the Ànal stage in the reception of Nabis’ claims to legitimacy. Not much more than a decade after his death, those who had suffered under Nabis or one of his predecessors would have the Ànal word, casting in stone the epithet that has come to deÀne his rule. This document at the same time epitomizes the trajectory of Hellenistic monarchic style in Sparta, and points back to the deeply rooted incompatibility between the monarchic order and the political world of the Greek polis.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Africa, T. W. 1968: Cleomenes III and the Helots, California Studies in Classical Antiquity 1, 1–11. Alföldi, M. R. 1984: Der Stater des T. Quinctius Flamininus, Numismatische Zeitschrift 98, 19–26. Austin, M. M. 1981: The Hellenistic World from Alexander to the Roman Conquest, Cambridge. Bellinger, A. R. 1963: Essays on the Coinage of Alexander the Great, New York. Beloch, K. J. 1925: Griechische Geschichte, Berlin. Bernini, U. 1978: Studi su Sparta ellenistica. Da Leonida II a Cleomene III, Quaderni Urbinati di Cultura Classica 27, 29–59. Birgalias, N. 2005: Nabis: un prince hellénistique?, in V. A. Troncoso and G. Anejos (eds.), ƋƐƈƋƖƝƖƙ ƚƎƙ ƉƈƙƐƒƌƐƈƙ: La Àgura del secesor en la realeza helenística, IX, Madrid, 139–151. Boehringer, C. 1972: Zur Chronologie mittelhellenistischer Münzserien 220–160 v. Chr. Deutsches Archäologisches Institut. Antike Münzen und Geschnittene Steine Bd. V., Berlin. Bonner, R. J. and Smith, G. 1942: Administration of Justice in Sparta, Classical Philology 37, 113–129. Bradford A. S. 1977: A Prosopography of Lacedaemonians from the death of Alexander the Great, 323 BCE, to the sack of Sparta by Alaric, AD 396, Munich. Burnstein, S. 1985: The Hellenistic Age from the Battle of Ipsos to the Death of Kleopatra VII, Cambridge. Caccamo Caltabiano, M., Carroccio, B. and Oteri, E. 1995: Il sistema monetale ieroniano: cronologia e problem, in M. Caccamo Caltabiano (ed.), La Sicilia tra l’Egitto e Roma. La monetazione siracusana dell’età di Ierone II, Messina, 195–280.

131 Burstein 1985, 99 suggests that the ƲхƯƠƬƬƮƨ referred to may have included Cleomenes III, Lycurgus, Machanidas, and Nabis. It was certainly the case that the heir to the Agiad throne, Agesipolis, who had been exiled as a child by Lycurgus, remained in exile throughout Nabis’ reign; Liv. 34.26.11–14.

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Habicht, C. 1995: War in the Hellenistic World: A Social and Cultural History, Oxford. 1997: Athens from Alexander to Antony. Translated by Deborah Lucas Schneider, Cambridge. Homolle, T. 1896: Le roi Nabis, BCEH 20, 502–522. Houghton, A., Lorber, C. and Hoover, O. 2002–2008: Seleucid Coins: A Comprehensive Catalogue, 2 vols., New York. Karafotias, A. 1998: Crete in search of a new protector: Nabis of Sparta and his relations with the island, in W. G. Cavanagh et al. (eds.), Post-Minoan Crete: Proceedings of the First Colloquium on PostMinoan Crete held by the British School at Athens and the Institute of Archaeology, University College London, 10–11 November 1995, London, 105–111. Kennell, N. M. 2003: Agreste genus: Helots in Hellenistic Laconia, in N. Luraghi and S. E. Alcock (eds.), Helots and Their Masters in Laconia and Messenia: Histories, Ideologies, Structures, Cambridge, 81–105. Knoepfler, D. 1995: Les relations des cites eubéennes avec Antigone Gonatas et la chronologie delphique au début de l’époque étolienne, BCEH 119, 137–159. Kourinou, E. 2000: ƙ›нƯƲƦ: ƱƳƫơƮƪү ƱƲү ƫƬƦƫƤƨƠƩү ƲƮ›ƮƢƯƠƴрƠ ƲƦư, Athens. Kraay, C. and Hirmer, M. 1966: Greek Coins, New York. Kyrieleis, H. 1975: Bildnisse der Ptolemäer, Berlin. Le Bas, Ph. et al. 1870–1878: Voyage archéologique en Grèce et en Asie Mineure, Inscriptions grecques et latines, II. Mégaride et Péloponnèse, Paris. Lefebvre, F. 1995: La chronologie du IIIe siècle à Delphes d’après les actes amphictioniques, BCEH 119, 161–208. 2002: Documents amphictioniques, CID IV, Athens and Paris. Le Rider, G. 1977: Le monnayage d’argent et d’or de Philippe II frappé en Macédoine de 359 à 294, Paris. Le Roy, C. 1974: Inscriptions de Laconie inédites ou revues, in Mélanges hellénistiques offerts à Georges Daux, Paris, 219–238. Lewis, D. M. 1977: Sparta and Persia, Leiden. Lorber, C. C. and Iossif, P. P. 2009: Seleucid Campaign Beards, L’Antiquité Classique 78, 87–115. MacDonald, G. 1907: Early Seleucid Portraits, JHS 27, 145–159. Marasco, G. 1979: Cleomene III, i mercenari e gli iloti, Prometheus V.1, 45–62. 1980: Sparta agli inizi dell’età ellenistica : il regno di Areo I, 309/8–265/4 a. C. Florence. 2004: Cleomene III fra rivoluzione e reazione, in C. Bearzot and F. Landucci Gattinoni (eds.), Contro le ‚leggi immutabili‘. Gli Spartani fra tradizione e innovazione, Contributi di Storia Antica 2, Milan, 191–207. Martinez-Lacy, R. 1997: The Application of the Concept of Revolution to the Reforms of Agis, Cleomenes and Nabis at Sparta, Quaderni di storia 46, 95–105.

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Mathiesen, R. W. 1981: Antigonos Gonatas and the Silver Coinages of Macedonia circa 280–270, ANSMN 26, 79–124. McQueen, E. I. 1990: The Eurypontid House in Hellenistic Sparta, Historia 39, 163–181. Millender, E. 2009: The Spartan Dyarchy: A Comparative Approach, in S. Hodkinson (ed.), Sparta: Comparative Approaches, Swansea, 1–67. Millis, B. W. 1997: Antiphanes fr. 46 K-A and the Problem of Spartan Moustaches, CQ 47.2, 574–578. Mossé, C. 1964: Un tyran grec a l’epoque hellenistique: Nabis ‘roi’ de Sparte, CH 9, 313–23. 1991: Women in the Spartan revolutions of the third century B. C., in S. Pomeroy (ed.), Women’s History and Ancient History, Chapel Hill and London, 138–153. Mørkholm, O. 1991: Early Hellenistic Coinages: From the Accession of Alexander to the Peace of Apamea (336–188 B. C.), Cambridge. Myres, J. L. 1896: Inscriptions from Crete, JHS 16, 178–187. Oetjen, R. 2010: Antigonid Cleruchs in Thessaly and Greece: Philip V and Larisa, in G. Reger, F. X. Ryan and T. F. Winters (eds.), Studies in Greek Epigraphy and History in Honor of Stephen V. Tracy, Paris, 237–154. Oliva, P. 1972: Sparta and her Social Problems, Amsterdam. Ollier, F. 1943: Le mirage spartiate: Étude sur l’idéalisation de Sparte dans l’antiquitè grecque du début de l’école cynique jusqu’à la Àn de la cité, Paris. O’Neil, J. L. 2008: A Re-examination of the Chremonidean War, in P. McKechnie and P. Guillaume (eds.), Ptolemy II Philadelphus and His World, Leiden, 65–90 Palagia, O. 2006: Art and Royalty in Sparta of the 3rd century BCE., Hesperia 75, 205–217. Pendlebury J. D. S. 1934: The Archaeology of Crete, London. Perdrizet, P. 1898: Sur un Tetradrachme de Nabis, NC 18, 1–7. Plassart A. and Blum, G. 1914: Orchomène d’Arcadie. Fouilles des 1913. Inscriptions, BCEH 38, 447–478. Price, M. J. 1991: The Coinage in the Name of Alexander the Great and Phillip Arrhidaeus: A British Museum Catalogue, Zurich. Powell, B. 1904: Oeniadae: I. History and Topography, AJA 8.2, 137–173. Queyrel, Fr. 1990: Portraits princiers hellenistiques: chronique bibliographique, RA, 97–172. Rumpf, A. 1963: Ein Kopf im Museum zu Sparta, AM 78, 176–199. Schmitt, H. H. 1969: Die Staatsverträge des Alterums, Munich. Seltman, C. 1955: Greek Coins, second edition, London.

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Shear Jr., T. L. 1978: Kallias of Sphettos and the revolt of Athens in 286 B. C, Princeton. Shimron, B. 1965: The original task of the Spartan patronomoi. A suggestion, Eranos 63, 153–158. 1966: Nabis of Sparta and the Helots, Classical Philology 61, 1–7. Shipley, G. 2000: The Greek world after Alexander, 323–30 B. C., London. 2000a: The Extent of Spartan Territory in the Late Classical and Hellenistic Periods, ABSA 95, 367–390. 2009: Early Hellenistic Sparta: Changing Modes of Interaction with the Wider World?, in N. E. Kaltsas (ed.), Athens-Sparta: contributions to the research on the history and archaeology of the two city-states : proceedings of the international conference in conjunction with the exhibition “Athens-Sparta” organized in collaboration with the Hellenic Ministry of Culture and the National Archaeological Museum, Athens, Saturday, April 21, 2007, Onassis Cultural Center, New York, 55–60. Smith, R. R. R. 1988: Hellenistic Royal Portraits, Oxford. Stewart, A. 1993: Faces of Power: Alexander’s Image and Hellenistic Politics, Cambridge. Steinhauer, G. 1992: An Illyrian mercenary in Sparta under Nabis, in H. W. Catling and J. M. Sanders (eds.), PhilolakĿn: Lakonian studies in honour of Hector Catling, London, 239–245. Svoronos, J. N. 1904. ƚƠ ƔƮƫрƱƫƠƲƠ ƲƮƳ ƑƯнƲƮƳư ƲƷƬ ƗƲƮƪƤƫƠрƷƬ, Athens. Texier, J.-G. 1975: Nabis, Paris. Thompson, M. 1982: Posthumous Philip II staters of Asia Minor, in S. Scheers (ed.), Studia Paulo Naster oblata I, Louvain, 57–63. Tod, M. N. and Wace, A. J. B. 1906: Catalogue of the Sparta Museum, Oxford. Virgilio, B. 2003: Lancia, diadema e porpora. Il re e la regalità ellenistica. Seconda edizione rinnovata e ampliata con una Appendice documentaria, Studi Ellenistici 14, Pisa. Wace, A. J. B. 1906: Stamped Tiles: Excavations at Sparta, 1906, ABSA 12, 344–350. 1907: Stamped Tiles: Excavations at Sparta, 1907, ABSA 13, 17–44. 1908: Excavations at Sparta, 1908. A Hoard of Hellenistic Coins, ABSA 14, 149–160. Walbank, F. W. 2006: Macedonia and the Greek Leagues, CAH2 7.1, 446–481. Waywell, G. 1999: Sparta and its Topography, BICS 43.1, 1–26. Westermark, U. 1961: Das Bildnis des Philetairos von Pergamon: Corpus der Münzprägung, Stockholm. Will, E. 1966: Histoire politique du monde hellénistique (323–30 av. J.-C.) I., Nancy. Wolters, P. 1898: König Nabis, AM 22, 139–147.

7 WRITING DOWN THE KING: THE COMMUNICATIVE FUNCTION OF TREATISES ON KINGSHIP IN THE HELLENISTIC PERIOD* Matthias Haake I The statesman and philosopher Demetrius of Phalerum is supposed to have recommended to a King Ptolemy to acquire treatises On Kingship and to read and study them carefully: “For the things their friends (philoi) do not dare to offer to kings as advice, are written in these books.”1 In the whole of ancient literature, this passage, preserved in Sayings of Kings and Commanders, a text transmitted in the corpus of Plutarch’s Moralia and dedicated to the emperor Trajan, is more or less the only explicit statement on the purpose of treatises On Kingship.2 This statement, however, is quite unlikely really to go back to Demetrius, and much less can it be taken at face value as a reliable guide for an understanding of treatises On Kingship.3 Rather, it should be seen as a highly complex literary product, shaped by the unknown author’s intention implicitly to portray the king, most probably Ptolemy II,

*

1 2

3

The present article is a modiÀed version of Haake 2003. Since the completion of the manuscript of Haake 2003, a number of important publications regarding treatises On Kingship in general and in the Hellenistic period in particular have appeared. Among these, see especially Bertelli 2002, Sidebottom 2006 and Murray 2007, and also Haake 2012. For a critical reading and valuable suggestions, I am grateful to Ann-Cathrin Harders (Bielefeld). That this contribution appears in its present form is owned to the selÁess commitment of Nino Luraghi (Princeton). Unless otherwise indicated, all dates are BCE. Demetr. Phal. frg. 38 Stork, van Ophuijsen and Dorandi = frg. 63 Wehrli = FGrH 228 T 6b ap. Plut. mor. 189D. On the disputed question of Plutarch’s authorship of Sayings of Kings and Commanders, denied by Jones 1971, 30–31 and Hahn 1989, 185–186, see most recently Beck 2002 and Pelling 2002, 84–85. The apophthegm is also quoted in various Late Antique and Byzantine collections of sayings; references in Haake 2003, 103–104 n. 5. The passage of the so-called Letter of Aristeas (283) often invoked as a parallel to our apophthegm (see Bickermann 1930, 283; Zuntz 1959, 26 n. 1; Mendels 1979, 132–133 and Squilloni 1991, 15 n. 36) really refers to ofÀcial records of tours of inspection compiled for kings for the improvement of men, not to treatises On Kingship; see Murray 1967, 357 n. 3. On the Letter of Aristeas in general, see below p. 177 with n. 88. See, however, Aalders 1975, 19; Scholz 1998, 158 n. 119; Virgilio 2003, 50 and Sidebottom 2006, 145.

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with tyrannical traits: this is the topical meaning of the alleged unwillingness of the philoi openly to offer advice.4 In spite of its problematic nature, the passage brings to the fore in a striking way some points that are central for the present investigation. If we take it litterally, three inferences can be drawn from it: Àrstly, that treatises On Kingship were written by philoi of the kings, who appear in the story as an established institution; secondly, that such treatises were addressed directly, and ultimately exclusively, to kings; and Ànally, that they consisted of advice that even a philos would not have dared to give a king in person – in spite of the especially close and affective relationship between a king and his philoi.5 Furthermore, the apophthegm gives the impression that the advice voiced in treatises On Kingship had little if anything to do with the principles and structures of Hellenistic kingship or with constitutional theory, but rather was tied to speciÀc situations and included concrete instructions on how to act. The purpose of the present contribution is to Áesh out from a historical point of view what the author of the apophthegm formulated in literary terms: the social meaning and communicative function of Hellenistic treatises On Kingship.6 The aim is not a new interpretation of single texts, but an explanation of general structures.7 The Hellenistic treatises On Kingship are hardly a neglected topic. On the contrary, many studies have been devoted to their meaning and function, with different methods and various emphases.8 The present contribution explores a new approach. In the Àrst place, it avoids applying to Hellenistic treatises On Kingship the medieval term speculum principis,9 and its various renderings such as Fürsten4

5

6

7 8

9

Two points are key for the understanding of the apophthegm: Àrst, Aristotle’s famous statement that the tyrant, unlike the king, does not trust his friends (Pol. 1313b29–31; see below p. 184), and secondly, Demetrius of Phalerum’s involvement in the succession of Ptolemy I, which ended in his imprisonment by Ptolemy II (see Haake 2007, 66–67 with n. 235 with further references). I Ànd the interpretation of the apophthegm by Adam 1970, 15 unconvincing. On the philoi of Hellenistic kings, Habicht 1958 is still fundamental; see, among the huge bibliography, the more general treatments by Herman 1980–81; Herman 1997; Weber 1997; Mooren 1998 and Meissner 2000. For a portrayal of the philoi as advisors of the ruler, see Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 334–354. Strootman 2007 is the most comprehensive general study of the Hellenistic royal courts. Treatises On Kingship were written also during the Roman Imperial and Late Antique times. However, the power structure of Roman monarchy and the social conditions in the Roman Empire created a radically different context that would require a special investigation. In general, on the treatises On Kingship dating to the Roman Imperial and Late Antique Periods see Haake 2003, 100–102; Sidebottom 2006, 129–132 and 135–154 and Haake 2012. The basic concept of this approach has been adopted from Skinner 1978, ix–xv. Because of its methods and objectives, the detailed study of Kaerst 1898 is interesting only from the point of view of the history of scholarship. Goodenough 1928, in spite of its widespread and somewhat uncritical reception (e. g. Blumenfeld 2001, 191–274; Schulte 2001, 135–158; Edelmann 2007, 155–172 and Harrison 2011, 279–287), is in many ways outdated; see e. g. van Nuffelen 2011, 23–24 with n. 66 and 115–116. Walbank 1984, 75–81; Hahm 2000, 458–464 and Eckstein 2009, 247–255 provide concise overviews of important elements of Hellenistic theory of monarchy. The combination of speculum and rex apperas for the Àrst time in the title of Goffredo da Viterbo’s Speculum regum, dedicated to the emperor Henry VI, dated to the year 1183 CE; see

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spiegel, mirror of/for princes and miroir aux princes. Far too often, these Medieval and Early Modern terms have been used by scholars in a generalizing way for texts belonging to completely different literary genres and dating from the Bronze Age to the early twentieth century, provided that the texts engaged in any way with the issue of (good) kingship.10 Yet, such a broad approach blurs differences between texts which are different in terms of genre, date, authors and authorship, historical contexts, social conditions and communicative situations and whose only unquestionable common ground is their topic – the good ruler.11 Accordingly, in the following Hellenistic treatises On Kingship will be regarded as instances of a speciÀc genre.12 The genre will be analyized according to Àve constitutive elements: Àrst, the author, seen not as an actual person but rather as a member of a speciÀc social group with a characteristic social role, and secondly, the addressee, regarded in the same way. Taken together, author and addressee constitute the explicit frame of the communication situation.13 Thirdly, we will consider the form of the treatises On Kingship, and fourthly, their actual content. Fifthly, it is essential to discuss the problem of the implied audience of such works, applying the same categories used for the author and the addressee. Such a methodological demarche will be the line of approach to the function and purpose of treatises On Kingship.14

Dorninger 1997, 60–65. For an overview of medieval mirrors for princes see Anton 1989. See also the instructive observations of Genet 1977, ix–xix and Jónsson 2006. On the concept of mirrors for princes see Grassnick 2004, 39–44. On the German terminology see Haake 2003, 104–105 n. 9 with further references. 10 This position is represented most inÁuentially by Hadot 1972, see e. g. 556: “die literarische Gattung der Ratschläge für Fürsten vom frühesten Altertum an (…) unter sehr verschiedenen Formen u. Bezeichnungen auftritt: Elogium oder Verwünschung, unverbundene Sentenzenfolge oder didaktische u. systematische Abhandlungen, Biographie oder Utopie.” See also Born 1933, esp. 583–584. For the inclusion of Hellenistic treatises in the category, see e. g. Hadot 1972, 580–582; Aalders 1975, esp. 18; Bertelli 2002, 54 and Strootman 2007, 228. For a detailed criticism of this approach, see Haake 2003, 106–107 n. 12; see also Eder 1995, 159; for a different point of view, see Adam 1970, 18. It is essential to keep in mind that in the Middle Ages speculum was a very common element of titles, well beyond the ‘mirros for princes’; see Lehmann 1953, 27–45 and Bradley 1954 as well as Grabes 1973 and Jónsson 1995, 157–212. 11 This does not amount to a rejection of a comparative approach to the theme of the good ruler; for a good example, see Murray 1990. 12 Raible 1980, esp. 342–345 offers a most valuable methodology. The explanations by Boeckh 1886, 140–168 on the ‘generic interpretation’ in the context of his ‘theory of hermeneutics’ are still worth reading. Already Praechter 1908, 162 called forcibly, but without appreciable effect, for taking carefully into account the aspect of literary genre when analyzing texts like Agapetus Diaconus’ Advice to the Emperor, a text often considered a mirror for princes in modern scholarship; see e. g. Demandt 2002. On genres in Greek literature see esp. Rossi 1971 as well as Rosenmeyer 1985 and Segal 1992. My approach has been inspired by ‘historical textual pragmatics’, on which see Gumbrecht 1977. Stammen 1990 offers a persuasive thematic parallel in terms of approach, if not necessarily in terms of implementation. 13 See the methodological considerations by Jakobson 1990, esp. 72–75. 14 From a comparative point of view, the remarks of Burke 1995, 33 regarding Castiglione’s Libro del Cortegiano are highly instructive.

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II Treatises which bear the title ƗƤƯұ ơƠƱƨƪƤрƠư did not appear before the Hellenistic period.15 Their emergence reÁects the main and most obvious feature of the political history of that period: for treatises On Kingship to emerge, a necessary condition was not only the actual existence of monarchs, but also their direct inÁuence on and partial control of the world of the poleis to an unprecedented extent.16 The Àrst who authored a work entitled On Kingship was in all likelihood Aristotle, who adressed his treatise to his former pupil Alexander the Great.17 Composing a work addressed to a sole ruler which dealt with the question of how to act as a ruler did not go radically beyond already established literary and communicative practices in the Greek world of the fourth century.18 What was unprecedented was the dominant position of the addressee, the social persona of the author, a philosopher, and Ànally the title, On Kingship. Thus, Aristotle should be considered in a way as the protos heuretes of the treatises On Kingship, even though he may hardly have had the intention to invent a new literary genre. On the other hand, given the structurally competitive nature of the relation between Greek philosophers,19 it is not surprising that Aristotle immediately found followers, starting with the head of the Academy Xenocrates20 and the Democritean philosopher Anaxarchus from

15

See also Murray 2007, 17. Antisthenes’ treatises Cyrus or On Kingship and Archelaus or On Kingship, both in Diogenes Laertius’ list of Antisthenes’ works (6.16 and 18; see Höistad 1948, 73–77; Rankin 1986, esp. 143–144 and Engels in FGrH IVA 1, 102–104 and 107–108) are no exception, since in both cases the subtitle On Kingship is a later addition, as in the case of Plato’s Statesman, for which again Diogenes Laertius gives the subtitle On Kingship (3.58). More details in Haake 2003, 109–111 n. 20. 16 See Walbank 1984, 62–64 and esp. Bertelli 2002, 28 as well as Erskine 2011, 177. Sidebottom 2006, 121 blurs the issue, merging fourth-century discussions of political leadership with the treatises On Kingship (see his statement, ibid. 120: “[i]t seems to have been Isocrates who, in about 372 BC, attempted the Àrst On Kingship, although it did not carry that title…”). 17 On the relationship of teacher and pupil between Aristotle and Alexander see below p. 172. The testimonies for and fragments of Aristotle’s treatise On Kingship are Arist. test. 16.4 [p. 76.23– 26] Gigon = peri basileias test. 3 [p. 61–62] Ross = peri basileias test. 1 [p. 408] Rose³ ap. Philop. [Ps.-Ammon.] in Cat. praef. 7r.10–12 [= CIAG XIII.1, p. 3.22–24 Busse]; Arist. test. 5 [p. 35.17–19] Gigon = peri basileias frg. 1 [p. 62] Ross = frg. 646 Rose³ ap. Vit. Graeca Vulgata 22 Düring; Arist. test. 3 [p. 30.8–10] Gigon = peri basileias frg. 1 [p. 62] Ross = frg. 646 Rose³ ap. Vit. Marciana 21 Düring and probably, even though not entirely uncontroversial, Arist. frg. 982 Gigon = peri basileias frg. 2 [p. 62] Ross = frg. 647 Rose³ ap. Them. or. 8.107c– d. Regarding the content of this Aristotelian writing, see Chroust 1968 and Flashar 2006, 224–226; see, however, Plezia 1980. Pace Scholz 1998, 370 and contrary to what Johannes Philoponus says ([Ps.-Ammon.] in Cat. praef. 7r.10–12), Aristotle’s treatise was not commissioned by Alexander; for this conclusion, as well as for the ancient origin of the idea, see Haake 2003, 111–112 n. 22. 18 See below, p. 170–172. 19 See Gehrke 2004, 478–479 and, more generally, Collins 2002, 80–109. 20 Xenocr. frg. 2 Isnardi Parente ap. Diog. Laert. 4.14; fragments of this work, on which see Isnardi Parente 1982, 280, have not survived. Like Aristotle, Xenocrates, too, was said in antiquity to have been commissioned by Alexander a work containing advise (frg. 33 Isnardi

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Abdera,21 who both wrote treatises On Kingship addressed to Alexander, too. Thus, the cornerstone for the genre of the treatises On Kingship was laid.22 After Alexander’s death, however, no such text was addressed to any of the powerful participants in in the competition over his heritage until the ‘year of the kings’: it was only after 307/6, when the successors of Alexander were no longer just usurping their power, but started claiming kingship, that treatises entitled On Kingship reappeared, the earliest being the one addressed by the Peripatetic Theophrastus of Eresus to Cassander.23 As we will see, Theophrastus’ example was followed by many philosophers during the third century, which gives him an important role for the establishment of the genre.24 As far as its contents are concerned, naturally treatises On Kingship did not develop ex nihilo. At the beginning of the Hellenistic age, the discussion of the different types of constitutions and the debate on which was the best one had already a long tradition in the Greek world.25 In this context, the problem of monarchy had also been extensively debated and the proÀle of the ideal ruler had been sketched in an unambiguous way. Thereby, a series of notions regarding kingship had arisen, and the authors of treatises On Kingship drew upon this repertoire. Pre-Hellenistic texts containing reÁections on sole rulership can be divided in two main groups. On the one hand, since the Archaic period, there are texts of various generic afÀlation such as epic poetry, lyric poetry, historiography, tragedy and philosophy, which included more or less elaborate thoughts on rulers and rulership. On the other hand, Parente ap. Plut. mor. 1126D; accepted by Westman 1955, 277–278; Isnardi Parente 1981, 156–157 and Scholz 1998, 195). Contra see Trampedach 1994, 141 and Haake 2003, 112– 113 n. 23. The considerations of Maddoli 1967, 315–318 do not seem to me to be convincing in all respects. 21 Two fragments of Anaxarchus’ treatise On Kingship are extant: Anaxarch. frg. 65A Dorandi = 72 B 1 DK ap. Clem. Al. Strom. 1.6.36 [see Anaxarch. frg. 65B–E Dorandi for further quotations of the original text] and frg. 66 Dorandi = 72 B 2 DK ap. Ael. VH 4.14; see Gigante and Dorandi 1980, 479–484; Brunschwig 1993, 67–70 and Dorandi 1994a, 11–15. On Anaxarchus and his position in Alexander’s entourage, see Borza 1981 and Rubinsohn 1993. 22 Even though this is the most reasonable sequence for the three works, evidence is too scanty to exclude a different one. This however would make no difference for the explanation of the origins of the genre. 23 Theophr. frg. 589 no. 12 Fortenbaugh, Huby, Sharples and Gutas ap. Diog. Laert. 5.47 and Theophr. frg. 603 Fortenbaugh, Huby, Sharples and Gutas ap. Athen. 144e. The authenticity of this work was not unanimously accepted in antiquity. Athenaeus, who seems to be inclined to accept it, mentions Sosibius of Sparta (FGrH 595 T 3) as a possible alternative author. According to the catalogue raisonné of Diogenes Laertius, Theophrastus wrote two further works entitled On Kingship: Theophr. frg. 589 no. 10 Fortenbaugh, Huby, Sharples and Gutas ap. Diog. Laert. 5.49 and Theophr. frg. 589 no.11 Fortenbaugh, Huby, Sharples and Gutas, ap. Diog. Laert. 5.42, with lists of the respective fragments. On these fragments, see Podlecki 1985, 241. 24 On this see also Bertelli 2002, 28–31 and Murray 2007, 17. Theophrastus’ treatises On Kingship are generally overlooked in discussions of how Alexander’s successors were seen by contemporaries in their new role as kings. 25 On the the beginnings of the literary discussion on monarchy, see Stroheker 1954 and, for the wider context, Bleicken 1979.

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since the beginning of the fourth century, there are writings in form of letters and speeches addressed to powerful rulers at the periphery of the Greek world.26 One of the earliest and best-known discussions of monarchy as a constitution appears in the Constitutional Debate in Herodotus,27 and it displays an aspect that is common to pre-Hellenistic theoretical discussions of monarchy, in that the discussion of constitutional matters and the outline of an ‘ideal society’ are projected into a chronologically and geographically different context.28 Examples of this strategy can be found not only in the Àfth century, but also in the fourth.29 Xenophon’s corpus offers several.30 His Cyropaedia, composed in the sixties of the fourth century, is difÀcult to classify in terms of form and of purpose.31 The protagonist, Cyrus, is a Near Eastern ruler from the past, one who appears to have been usually seen in a positive light by the Greeks. However, many features on his portrayal are consciously unhistorical and clearly Greek.32 He is depicted as an ideal ruler, with all the virtues that belong to such a ruler.33 The importance of the personal virtue of the monarch explains the decadence of the empire founded by Cyrus once it fell in the hands of less virtuous kings.34 In Xenophon’s dialogue Hiero, the poet Simonides discusses with the tyrant of Syracuse how the latter could acquire popularity – and thereby become happy;35 the ‘good monarch’ outlined here is no tyrant, because he lacks fundamental traits of the tyrant as typically present in the imaginaire of the Greeks. In this case, too, the discussion is transposed into the past. Finally, Xenophon’s encomium on the Spartan king Agesilaus does deal with a contemporary character, but even he was already dead at the time of composition – quite apart from the fact that a Spartan king stood for an accepted special form of

26

27

28

29 30 31

32 33 34 35

For a most valuable survey of pre-Hellenistic reÁections on monarchy, see Bertelli 2002, 17–28; see also in respect of the fourth century, Frolov 1974; Squilloni 1990; Eder 1995; Schütrumpf 1995 and Cartledge 2009, 96–103. Hdt. 3.80–82 – on this passage, see Plut. mor. 826D. On Herodotus’ Constitutional Debate, see Lanza 1977, 225–232; Hartog 1980, 322–327; Gammie 1986, 172–175 and Asheri, Lloyd and Corcella 2007, 471–476. It can be taken for granted, with Bleicken 1979, 152–153, that the debate never happened. An early example of this trope is the description of the island of the Phaeacians in the Odyssey (7.43–137); see Finley 1975, 182 and Bichler 1995, 33–39. See Müller 1991 and Seidensticker 1995; see also Haake 2003, 116 n. 50. See in general Plácido 1989; Irmscher 1991 and Gray 2011, 24–44; see also Azoulay 2004. On the Cyropaedia, see Due 1989; Tatum 1989; Zimmermann 1989; Gera 1993; Nadon 2000 and Gray 2011, 246–290. On Xenophon’s idea of kingship, see Carlier 1978. The importance of Xenophon’s Cyropaedia for ideas of Hellenistic kingship has been underlined by Farber 1979; see also Due 1993. See partially Cizek 1975 and Mitchell 2005, 302–305. For Cyrus’ image in the works of ancient authors, see the overview of Weissbach 1924, 1162–1164. See already Cic. QF 1.1.23; see Higgins 1977, 44–59. Xen. Cyr. 8.2–27; see Gera 1993, 299–300 and Mueller-Goldingen 1995, 262–271. On this work of Xenophon, see Hatzfeld 1946–47; Strauss 1948; Aalders 1953; Sordi 1980; Gray 1986; Squilloni 1990a; Sevieri 2004; Leppin 2010; Schorn 2010 and Gray 2011, 34–35.

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Greek constitution.36 A comparison of Xenophon’s Agesilaus with his Hellenica makes immediately clear that in the former Xenophon was not pursuing a precise description of the historical life of his hero, but rather the literary construction of the ‘good king’, which is projected on the Spartan king.37 Surely Plato is the most prominent fourth-century thinker to have articulated reÁections on monarchy in his works, especially in the Republic, with its famous philosopher-king.38 Even if Plato does not locate his discussion of constitutions in the past, he sets it in an ideal polis, with the speaking name of Kallipolis, the ‘beautiful’ or ‘good city’.39 Apart from the fact that the discussion takes place in the world of theory, it is important that Plato wrote dialogues, in which he could pursue and think through different approaches and aspects.40 Next to Plato’s dialogues there are more than a dozen letters transmitted under his name, whose authorship is, however, controversial.41 What warrants them a mention in this context is on the one hand the fact that they are mostly addressed to powerful rulers like the Syracusans Dionysius II and Dion, the Macedonian king Perdiccas III and the tyrant Hermias of Atarneus, and on the other hand their content: predominantly, the letters deal with questions of good government for sole rulers and give advice to the respective addressees in a Platonic manner, but partly, they contain also rather personal elements of Plato’s life.42 Even though the Platonic Letters should be considered as forgeries, their fabrication and transmission show that it was plausible to envisage Plato as writing such letters. This is hardly surprising, if we think, among others, of Isocrates, a contemporary and rival of the founder of the Academy. Isocrates addressed his writings explicitly to several rulers,43 including Dionysius I of Syracuse, the children of the tyrant Jason of Pherae, the Spartan king Archidamus III and Timotheus of Heraclea Pontica.44 He wrote the ‘Cyprian’

36

See Xenophon’s instructive characterization of his work, Ages. 10.3. On this work, see Pontier 2010 and Gray 2011, 30–32. 37 On the Hellenica, see Gray 1989. On Xenophon’s depiction of Agesilaus, see Luppino 1991; Dillery 1995, 114–119 and Schepens 2003. 38 Plat. Rep. 473c–e; see also 501e and Plat. epist. 7.326b. On Plato’s philosopher-king, see e. g. Cambiano 1988; Reeve 1988, esp. 191–195 and Flaig 1994, 37–43; on the concept of the philosopher-king in the late Platonic dialogues, see Schofield 1998. 39 Plat. Rep. 527c2; see Clay 1988, 24–29. The use of the myth of Atlantis in Timaeus and Critias points in the same direction; see Gill 1977 and Morgan 1998. The same is true of the Laws, were the discussion is set in the Cretan polis of Magnesia, a creation of Plato; see especially Clay 1993 and the magisterial work by Piérart 2008. 40 See Frede 1992. 41 On the question of the authenticity of the Platonic Letters, see the comprehensive overview of Erler 2007, 308–322. 42 Plat. epist. 1–3 (to Dionysius II), 4 (to Dion), 5 (to Perdiccas III), 6 (to Hermias and also to two Platonic pupils, Erastus and Coriscus) and 13 (to Dionysius II). Plat. epist. 11, addressed to an otherwise unknown Laodamas, should be mentioned in this context, too. 43 They can be subsumed under the heading ‘open letters,’ see Essig 2000, 11–21. Isocrates himself classiÀed all his writings, except the judicial speeches, as logoi politikoi; see or. 12.1–2 and 15.45–46 and see Wilcox 1943 and Too 1995, 10–35. 44 Isoc. epist. 1, 6, 7 and 9.

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speeches To Nicocles, Nicocles or the Cyprians, and Euagoras45 and a group of works which can be called the ‘Macedonian writings’ since they are addressed to Philip II, to the young Alexander and to Antipater.46 Because of their subject matter, the letters to young Alexander and to Antipater are of no great interest for the current purposes.47 The other works just mentioned revolve around two topics: a Panhellenic initiative and the relations of the addressees to the world of the poleis on the one hand,48 and good rule in the respective tyrannical-monarchical ruling systems on the other.49 Finally, it is necessary to consider Aristotle, the probable inventor of the treatises On Kingship, both because of his works and because he taught the young Alexander. The teacher-pupil relation between arguably one of the greatest philosophers and one of the greatest conquerors of antiquity respectively has brought forth many fanciful and pathetic depictions of the consequences of their encounter. In fact the whole matter turns out to be rather less exciting, but so much more typical. To expose his son to the world of paideia – nothing unexpected for a Macedonian king – Philip II choose Aristotle who was at that time a respectable philosopher, but hardly one of the most prominent, had kinship relations with the Macedonian court and was familiar with court life due to his previous stay at the court of Hermias of Atarneus.50 Among Aristotle’s works, of particular interest are his Politics with its discussions of sole rulership in general and of kingship in particular,51 the Protrepticus, addressed to an otherwise unknown and possibly invented Cypriot king by the name of Themison,52 and the treatise On Kingship addressed to Alexander, together with some other writings for the same addressee.53 45

46 47 48 49 50

51 52

53

Isoc. or. 2, 3 and 9; see Eucken 1983, 213–269 and see Berti 1996 who underlines the rivalry between Isocrates and the philosophers in Athens as one of the incentives for addressing writings to Cypriot rulers. Isoc. epist. 2, 3, 4 and 5. On the Àrst letter to Philip (epist. 2), see Perlman 1969; the authenticity of the second letter to Philip (epist.3) has been doubted – see Marzi 1994. On Isocrates’ letter to Alexander (epist. 5), see Merlan 1954, 60–65. On Isocrates and the idea of Panhellenism, see Bringmann 1965, 19–27 and Usher 1994; on the background, see Flower 2000. On Isocrates’ ideas about monarchy, see Bringmann 1965, 103–108 and Kehl 1962. On Aristotle’s family background, see e. g. Trampedach 1994, 49–52; as to the teacher-pupilrelation between Aristotle and Alexander, see Düring 1957, 284–288 with a list of the most relevant sources and see Brocker 1966 and Lane Fox 1973, 53–60. See. Arist. Pol. 1279a22–b10 and esp. 1284b35–1288b6. On Aristotle’s concept of kingship in the Politics, see Vander Waerdt 1985; Newell 1991; Carlier 1993 and Nagle 2000. The text of the Protrepticus is lost and can be reconstructed only through the works of other ancient authors, most importantly Iamblichus’ Protrepticus. See Düring 1961, esp. 43–170 on the text; for a new reconstruction of the text, see Schneeweiss 2005 (with commentary and German translation). On Themision, addressee according to Arist. Protr. A 1 Düring = Protr. frg. 1 Ross = frg. 50 Rose³ = frg. 54.34–42 Gigon ap. Teles, p. 46.4–9 Hense² = frg. IVB [p. 426.12–17] Fuentes Gonzáles ap. Stob. 4.32.21 [V, p. 786.1–4] Hense, see Düring 1961, 173–175. First and foremost, Alexander or On Colonies, attested in Diog. Laert. 5.22 and mentioned by Johannes Philoponus (Arist. test. 16.4 [p. 76.23–26] Gigon = peri basileias test. 3 [p. 61–62] Ross = peri basileias test. 1 [p. 408] Rose³ ap. Philop. [Ps.-Ammon.] in Cat. praef. 7r.10–12 [=

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All these writings can be divided into two groups: the ones that include reÁections on monarchy in the framework of constitutional discussions and the ones that present directly a concept of the good ruler, like Xenophon’s Agesilaus and Cyropaedia or Isocrates’ writings. The former, with the exception of Aristotle’s, are presented formally as discussions between various interlocutors. They can be structured as dialogues throughout, as for example in the case of Plato and Xenophon’s Hiero, or use the dialogical form only for the constitutional discussion, as in the case of Herodotus’ Constitutional Debate. The dialogic form makes it possible to avoid a stable conclusion and at the same time to depict certain positions as stronger or weaker in their articulation; furthermore, it is difÀcult to associate securely the author with any position.54 At this point, it is worth emphasizing that there are different types of writings addressed directly to rulers: besides the treatises On Kingship, the topic of the current investigation, there exist other forms of writings which were addressed directly to rulers, were meant for implementation, and referred or reacted to current events and circumstances.55 Beside these political advisory letters, there are letters which also include advise to rulers, but play on a level that cannot be called strictu sensu political in terms of their primary concern.56 Finally, the sources refer on various occasions to private correspondence between rulers and protagonists of the Greek intellectual life, a very important exchange in performative terms, whose contents are, however, mostly unknown.57 In spite of the differences between these writings addressed directly to rulers and the treatises On Kingship, as will become evident in the subsequent considerations they, too, are part of the broader communication between protagonists of the Greek intellectual life and rulers in front of the Greek public.

CIAG XIII.1, p. 3.22–24 Busse]). Whether two passages of Plutarch (mor. 329B) and Strabo (1.4.9) go back to this Aristotelian work is as controversial as their interpretation; see Badian 1958 and Sordi 1984. Other writings of Aristotle, especially letters, are addressed to Alexander: most notably, the so-called ‘Arabian Letter’, whose authenticity is doubtful. For an edition and translation, see Bielawski and Plezia 1970; see also Stern 1968; Plezia 1969–70; Carlier 1980; Weil 1985 and Prandi 1998. 54 See Bakhtin 1981. 55 Such as Isocrates’ letters to Philip II (epist. 2 and 3). 56 An example could be the famous Letter to Philip of Speusippus, which contains ostensibly Àrst and foremost a recommendation for an otherwise unknown historian Antipater of Magnesia. On this letter, whose authenticity is hotly disputed, see the fundamental work of Bickermann and Sykutris 1928; see also Bertelli 1976; Bertelli 1977; Trampedach 1994, 138–140; Panzram and Pina Polo 2001 and Natoli 2004. 57 In spite of being a forgery, the correspondence between Zeno of Citium and Antigonus Gonatas transmitted by Diogenes Laertius and originating from Apollonius of Tyre’s work On Zeno, is an instructive example; see the convincing remarks by Lapini 1996, but see also, with a different view, Grilli 1963 and Sonnabend 1996, 254–255.

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III The best way of starting a discussion of the Hellenistic treatises On Kingship is to consider their authors. They belong to a clearly deÀned group: they are all and exclusively philosophers.58 This cannot be accidental. The question then becomes, what was it that predestined philosophers to writing treatises On Kingship. It is immediately clear that a list of authors amounts to a ‘who’s who’ of Hellenistic philosophy. Besides the already mentioned Aristotle, Xenocrates, Anaxarchus and Theophrastus, the Stoics Persaeus of Citium,59 Cleanthes of Assos60 and Sphaerus of Borysthenes61 as well as the Peripatetic Strato of Lampsacus62 and the Megarian Euphantus of Olynthus63 authored treatises On Kingship, too. To be sure, all that is extant of these treatises is the title and the number of books that comprised them, quoted in Diogenes Laertius’ authors catalogues. Even Epicurus is on record as the author of a treatise On Kingship.64 This list shows immediately that composing treatises of this kind was not the prerogative of one or more speciÀc philosophical school(s) and accordingly it had no connection with any speciÀc philosophical persuasion:65 it was a general phenomenon in the late fourth and in the third centu58

For overviews of Hellenistic philosophers who wrote treatises On Kingship, see Virgilio 2003, 46–52 (who wrongly attributes one also to Heracleides Ponticus), Murray 2007, 17–21 and Strootman 2007, 228–230. Leuteritz 1997, 23–37 is highly problematic. 59 SVF I Pers. Stoic. frg. 435 ap. Diog. Laert. 7.36. 60 SVF I Cleanth. Stoic. frg. 481 ap. Diog. Laert. 7.175. 61 SVF I Sphaer. Stoic. frg. 620 ap. Diog. Laert. 7.178. 62 Strato Perip. frg. 141 Wehrli ap. Diog. Laert. 5.59. 63 Euphant. Megar. frg. 68 Döring = FGrH 74 T 1 = TrGF I frg. 118 Snell ap. D.L. 2.110. On Euphantus, who wrote also tragedies and a work on contemporary history, see Jacoby in FGrH II C, 113–115; Hornblower 1981, 252–254 and Muller 2000. 64 Epicur., p. 94, IX frg. 5 Usener = [9] ²Arrighetti ap. Plut. mor. 1095C; see also Diog. Laert. 10.28, where Epicurus’ treatise On Kingship is mentioned in Diogenes Laertius’ catalogue raisonné of the works of Epicurus. The interpretation of Plut. mor. 1095C is controversial; see Gigante and Dorandi 1980, 487–496; Fowler 1989, 129–133; Murray 1996, 20–21; Scholz 1998, 276–278 and in general Adam 1974, 44–45. For my point of view, see Haake 2003, 119–121 n. 80. McConnell 2010 offers a general outline of ‘Epicureans on Kingship’ that is, however, not entirely convincing. 65 I leave out four texts that are often considered as Hellenistic treatises On Kingship par excellence, but are in fact later and reÁect a different historical context, namely the pseudo-Pythagorean treatises On Kingship that go under the names of Pseudo-Ecphantus, Pseudo-Diotogenes and Pseudo-Sthenidas and Philodemus of Gadara’s On the Good King According to Homer. For the texts of the pseudo-Pythagorean treatises, see Ps.-Ecphantus, pp. 25.1–37.4 Delatte = pp. 79.1–84.8 Thesleff ap. Stob. 4.6.64–66 [IV, pp. 271.13–279.20] Hense; Ps.-Diotogenes, pp. 37.5–45.11 Delatte = pp. 71.15–75.16 Thesleff ap. Stob. 4.7.61–62 [IV, pp. 263.14–270.11] Hense and Ps.-Sthenidas, pp. 45.12–46.12 Delatte = pp. 187.8–188.13 Thesleff ap. Stob. 4.7.63 [IV, pp. 270.12–271.12] Hense. These treatises have been assigned dates ranging from the third century BCE to the third century CE, but their concept of rulership Àts better a Roman Imperial context, see Haake 2003, 121–122 n. 88 and also Mazza 1974, 35–42. For discussions of their chronology, see Goodenough 1928, 59–78; Delatte 1942, 59–163; Thesleff 1961, 30–41; Burkert 1972, 48–55; Thesleff 1972; Squilloni 1991, 35–60; Bertelli 2002, 43–54; Centrone 2005, 571–575; Murray 2007, 17 with 28 n. 14 and Andorlini and Lu-

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ry.66 Accordingly, the idea often voiced in modern scholarship that certain philosophers composed their treatises On Kingship based on preferences for speciÀc kings or dynasties appears to be unfounded. The same can be said for the notion that the various schools had a precise orientation in regard to the various Hellenistic monarchies,67 a notion that is itself based on a postulate that cannot be proved, namely that each school had a fundamental and essentially consistent political orientation.68 The second step consists in identifying the addressees of the treatises On Kingship. As in the case of the author, the category of the addressees is clearly identiÀed: these treatises are always addressed to a king,69 but they are neither gifts of the philosophers70 nor commissioned by the kings.71 This is often made clear in the titles of the various works, in which the name of a king is mentioned, as in the case of Cassander, who shows up explicitly as the addressee of Theophrastus’ On Kingship in its very title.72 In various cases, the addressees are known even though their names are not attested in the titles; a clear example is that of the Megaric philosopher Euphantus of Olynthus, whose treatise was addressed to Antigonus Gonatas.73 Considering the list of the kings who were addressees of treatises On King-

66

67 68 69 70 71 72 73

iselli 2011, 159–160. The treatise On Kingship by Pseudo-Diotogenes should probably be dated around the beginning of the Common Era; see Andorlini and Luiselli 2001, esp. 160– 161 (based on P.Bingen 3 = P.Med. inv.71.86 f.; see Daris 2000), which would suggest a similar date also for Pseudo-Ecphantus and Pseudo-Sthenidas, in which case all these texts should be seen as reactions of Greek writers to the establishment of Augustus’ autocracy after the battle of Actium in 27. Philodemus’ On the Good King According to Homer, preserved in a papyrus from Herculaneum (P.Herc. 1507) and dedicated by Philodemus to his patron L. Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus (cos. 58), belongs in a Roman republican, not in a Hellenistic context. For the text (with commentary and Italian translation), see Dorandi 1982; see also Fish 2002. The meaning and intention of this text as well as its date are controversial; see Murray 1965; Gigante 1984; Murray 1984; Asmis 1991; Benferhat 2005, 219–229; De Sanctis 2008 and Gangloff 2011, 106–111; see also Haake 2003, 134–135 n. 184. The only known treatise On Kingship whose author may not have been a philosopher and whose date may not fall within the late fourth and third century is a treatise by an otherwise unknown Theopompus registered in a Rhodian library catalogue dating to about 100; see Maiuri, Nuova Silloge 11, col. I.28–29 as well as Segre 1935, 215 and Haake 2003, 123 n. 99 with further references. In the catalogue, Theopompus is qualiÀed as allos, presumably to distinguish him from the homonymous historian of Chios, some of whose rhetorical works are listed immediately before the treatise On Kingship. See Jacoby in FGrH II C, p. 354 and Flower 1994, 26–27. A small papyrus fragment, P.Schub. 35 (see Frösén and Westman 1997, 8–15), dating to the Àrst century, has been interpreted as part of a treatise On Kingship (Fraser 1972, 702 n. 58 and see also Sidebottom 2006, 129 n. 12), but not enough of the text is preserved to tell for sure. See e. g. Adam 1970, 12–14. See Haake 2003, 121 n. 83. In this sense, see also Murray 1998, 263. See, however, Strootman 2007, 228. Pace Scholz 1998, 370–371. See above, p. 169 with n. 23 and 24. See Euphant. Megar. frg. 68 Döring = FGrH 74 T 1 = TrGF I frg. 118 Snell ap. Diog. Laert. 2.110.

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ship it can be noticed that there is no clear concentration in the case of any single dynasty.74 In other words, belonging to a speciÀc dynasty did not make a king more or less likely to be the addressee of a treatise On Kingship, just as belonging to a speciÀc school did not make a philosopher more or less likely to write one. Even though the state of preservation of the Hellenistic treatises On Kingship is extremely bad, a few aspects of their form and content are reasonably clear. Formally, it seems that all these texts were self-contained, with features that remind of epistolography and of oratory. Their content appears to have remained highly stable for centuries on end: treatises On Kingship were fundamentally characterized by the presence of topoi.75 With minor deviations, different authors coming from different philosophical schools all seem to have treated the topic of kingship in a rather homogeneous manner in the treatises On Kingship.76 The treatises focus on the qualities, the aretai, which a good king must be possessed of, including righteousness (dikaiosyne) and generosity (euergesia) towards the poleis of the Greek world, and more generally philanthropy (philanthropia).77 These qualities are a mirror image of the typical traits of the tyrant in the imaginaire of the Greeks. After all, in Xenophon’s Hiero the Àgure of the poet Simonides advises his interlocutor, if he wants for his power to be accepted, to always do the opposite of what the Greeks actually expected of a tyrant. This observation points to a fundamental fact: the image of the good monarch is no independent construct, on the contrary, it is created by reversing the traditional negative image of the tyrant.78 Against this backround, two aspects are fundamental for any understanding of treatises On Kingship. Firstly, they do not deal primarily with or present a more or less elaborated theory of monarchy.79 In the fragments that are preserved there is nothing to suggest the presence of innovative theoretical concepts in these works. This of course does not mean that the notions formulated in them had no theoretical foundation, but such foundation was not articulated in the treatises themselves, but rather in philosophical works devoted to constitutional questions. Secondly, the treatises do not include an analysis, and actually not even a description of the practice of Hellenistic royalty.80 Central aspects of royal action are not mentioned at all, as for instance the relations between different kings or the interaction between kings and koina.81 Nor do treatises On Kingship include suggestions on how to act in speciÀc circumstances; in this respect, they have no particular hortatory purpose. 74 75 76 77 78

79 80 81

See, however, Adam 1970, 14–16. See the outline of ‘a typical treatise On Kingship’ in Murray 2007, 21–26. On the term ‘topos’ and its meaning, see the instructive remarks by Loprieno 1988, 10–11. See already Heuss 1955, 211 and, more recently, Schofield 1999, 743. See e. g. Walbank 1984, 82–83 and Billows 1995, 57–58. See also Haake 2003, 122 n. 93. In Greek theories of constitutional typology as present especially in Aristotle’s Politics and Nicomachean Ethics tyranny is the opposite or perversion of kingship; see Pol. 1279b6–7 and above all Eth. Nic. 1160a36–1160b1. Contrary to what suggested e. g. by Virgilio 2003, 47. In this sense, however, see Barceló 1993, 279. In this context, it is worth mentioning that neither of these aspects appears to have received any attention whatsoever by Greek philosophers.

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In fact, they simply present the ideal Àgure of the good king as a factual reality, but, tellingly, do not refer to historical examples. Furthermore, because of the addressees, there is no trace of an explicit and argumentative defense of monarchy as the best constitutional form:82 in treatises On Kingship monarchy is simply taken for granted. If the king’s counterpart, the tyrant, is present in these works, the examples are symptomatically not taken from Greek history, which would have offered a great deal of suitable illustrative material, but generally from the world of Greek myth, that was also populated by numerous striking examples.83 At this point, it is necessary to consider the question of the implied reader of these treatises, that is, of the audience the author imagines for his work, besides its explicit addressee. Although philosophers dedicated treatises On Kingship to kings, they were destined to circulation and thus to a wider readership. A fragment of a library catalogue from Rhodes, dating from around 100 BCE and including a treatise On Kingship by an otherwise unknown Theopompus,84 and fragments of papyri,85 can be taken as indicators of the general public availability and circulation of these works. Literary evidence also indicates occasionally that these writings circulated widely and had many readers.86 One aspect that often does not receive adequate attention is the spread of ideas from the treatises On Kingship to other literary genres. As examples one might refer to Polybius’ obituary for Attalus I87 and to the so-called Letter of Aristeas.88 Instead of merging all these texts and passages and subsuming them under the designation ‘mirror of princes’, a consistent use of the concept of genre makes it possible to consider their homogeneity as regards their content as a phenomenon of reception of ideas communicated foremost by treatises On Kingship, which revert themselves to long established topoi of the ‘good king’. Accordingly, it is possible to gain a sense of the sedimentation of notions of monarchy as articulated in treatises On Kingship, which reinforces the impression that these notions enjoyed a wide circulation. The abundant presence of topical elements of the image of the good king in inscriptions and papyri is a further indicator of this situation.89 For a particularly striking example, we may refer to the 82 83

See also Schofield 1999, 743. See e. g. Theophr. frg. 600 Fortenbaugh, Huby, Sharples and Gutas = P.Oxy. XIII, 1611 frg. 1, col. II.38–col. III.54. 84 See above, n. 66. 85 Less than one would expect, to be sure. See e. g. the fragment of one of Theophrastus’ treatises On Kingship in an Oxyrhynchus papyrus (above n. 83). Even though this papyrus dates to the third century CE, its very existence presupposes an earlier circulation of this text. 86 See e. g. Diogenes Laertius on Euphantus’ treatise On Kingship: Euphant. Megar. frg. 68 Döring = FGrH 74 T 1 = TrGF I frg. 118 Snell ap. Diog. Laert. 2.110. 87 Polyb. 18.41. On this passage, see Welwei 1963, 99–104; Walbank 1967, 603–604 and Sonnabend 1992. 88 On the so-called Letter of Aristeas, written in the late second century, but pretending to be written during the reign of Ptolemy II, see Momigliano 1932; Murray 1967; Murray 1975; Murray 1987; Schmidt 1986, esp. 111–143; Bertelli 2002, 33–43 and Hunter 2011. 89 For a most valuable collection of sources, see still Schubart 1937 and Schubart 1937a, whose interpretations, however, presuppose a straightforward relation between the sources and historical reality; see the criticism of Gehrke in this volume.

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famous decree of the Iasians for the Seleucid queen Laodice III, where the following is said of her husband Antiochus III: he, “maintaining his ancestral disposition towards all the Greeks, and bringing peace to some, helping individually and in common many others who have met with troubles, making some men free instead of slaves, and believing that the whole of the exercise of kingship [– – –] towards the benefaction of men, earlier rescued our city out of slavery and made it free (…).”90 All these observations converge towards the conclusion that the implied readership of the Hellenistic treatises On Kingship was the Panhellenic public of the poleis.

IV Considering author, addressee and implied audience of the treatises On Kingship and keeping in mind that, in terms of contents, these works were neither expected by the audience nor intended by the authors to include a theory of monarchy or practical advice for speciÀc situations,91 one wonders what was in fact their actual purpose and meaning. In view of what has just been said, there is one line of approach to this question that appears particularly promising, i. e. to consider treatises On Kingship from the point of view of communication, that is, speciÀcally, of the communication between philosopher and king in front of the speciÀc audience represented by the world of the Greek cities. From this angle, author and addressee are to be viewed not as individuals, but rather as social roles embedded in a speciÀc context and with their respective cultural semantics.92 As for the implied audience, it has to be assessed based on its embeddedness in the ideology of the polis. Therefore, it is best to start with considering the polis.93 For the discursive selfperception of every polis, the ideologemes of eleutheria and autonomia were fundamental: they represented the kernel of the self-deÀnition of a polis throughout the history of ancient Greece.94 This applies to the Hellenistic period as well,95 even 90

For the Greek text, see I.Iasos 4.41–47; see also Bringmann and Steuben 1995, 366–371 no. 297, esp. 366–367 col. I.41–47 and Ma 2002, 329–335 no. 26, esp. 331–332 B (Col. I) 9 (41)–5 (47) and 333–334 (translation). On this inscription, see also Nafissi 2001. 91 Even though treatises On Kinghip form a very speciÀc type of philosophical literary production, it is important to keep in mind that in general one of the main characteristics of philosophical theories in the Greek world is the fact that they were not meant to be implemented; see, as to the Hellenistic period, Gehrke 1998 and, more programmatically, Gotter 2003, 175. 92 It is essential for an understanding of the discourse that underpins the communication situation here outlined that the philosopher, the king and the tyrant operate as ‘cultural models’; on this concept see Quinn and Holland, 1987. 93 For a comprehensive overview on the polis see Hansen 2000. 94 See e. g. Ehrenberg 1965, 107–125, esp. 119 and Billows 1995, 71. On the ideal image of the Hellenistic polis see Herrmann 1984 and Davies 1984, 304–315. On the ‘Greek slogan of freedom’, see now also Dmitriev 2011, esp. 112–144. 95 On the polis in the Hellenistic period in general, see Gauthier 1984; Will 1988; Gauthier 1993; Giovannini 1993, 268–274; Gruen 1993a; Rhodes with Lewis 1997, 542–549; Ma 2002, 150–178 and Gehrke 2003.

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though the scope for foreign power politics for the poleis was partially different from earlier periods and despite the social transformations within the poleis with their political and constitutional consequences.96 Indeed, it is possible to observe that the discursive projection of the polis was Áorishing in the Hellenistic period and even later under the Roman empire.97 Against the background of the ideology of the polis, the image of a powerful sole ruler always represented radical otherness. One particular species of this image, the tyrant, was seen and depicted as especially virulent and could be actualized at any time.98 The discourse of tyranny was crystallized in a cluster of topoi, the most fundamental of which was the notion that the unlimited power of the one implied slavery for all the other citizens.99 It is important that precisely this topos could also be activated in the case of Hellenistic kings. Already Philip II had been depicted and presented to the public opinion of the Greeks as a tyrant by Demosthenes in his Philippics and in part also by Theopompus of Chios in his History of Philip.100 The Funereal Orations of Demosthenes and Hyperides for the soldiers who fell at Chaeronea and in the Lamian War respectively are explicit on this.101 As an example from a later time in the Hellenistic period, one can consider the situation before the outbreak of the Second Macedonian War in the year 200, when the Athenians powerfully deployed the topos of the tyrant against the Antigonid king Philip V and implemented various symbolic actions connected with it.102 As for the kings, when they were not subsumed under the topos of the tyrant, they were deÀned in terms of power, a ubiquitous category in Greek mentality, and judged based on how they used power and especially on how they dealt with it dis-

96 On the Àrst aspect, see Gauthier 1987–1989 and Ma 2000; see also Haake 2003, 125 n. 115. Regarding the second point, see Quass 1993, esp. 81–149; 196–210; 229–252; 270–303 and 366–373; Gauthier 1990; Habicht 1995; Hamon 2010 and Mann and Scholz 2012. 97 An eloquent example comes from local historiography, see Schepens 2001, esp. 14. The same is true of local historiography in epigraphic form, see Boffo 1988, 9 and Chaniotis 1988, 134–137 and 368–369. 98 On the image of the tyrant in the imaginaire of the Greeks, see Lanza 1977, 33–222 and Schmitt-Pantel 1979. 99 See McGlew 1993, 214. 100 Theopompus FGrH 115 F 224 ap. Athen. 4.166 f–167c, F 225a ap. Polyb. 8.11.5–13 (F 225b ap. Athen. 6.260d–261a) and F 236 ap. Athen. 10.435b–c. On Demosthenes and Philip, see Ryder 2000; on Theopompus’ History of Philip, see Connor 1967; Shrimpton 1991, 58–126 and Flower 1994, 98–115. On the depiction of Philip in ancient literature in general, see Goukowsky 1996. 101 See Dem. or. 60.23–24 and Hyp. Epit. 3, 5, 16, 20, 24, 33 and esp. 39. On Demosthenes’ Funeral Speech, see e. g. Prinz 1997, 252–271; on the Funeral Speech of Hyperides, see e. g. Prinz 1997, 272–289. 102 According to Livy (31.44.2–9 and 41.23.1; see Briscoe 1973, 150–152) the Athenians decided, inter alia, to erase the names of the Antigonids from all inscriptions, to abolish all cults, festivals, and priesthoods instituted in honor of Philip V and his ancestors, just as the tribes Antigonis and Demetrias, instituted a century earlier, and to demolish all monuments erected in their honor. On the outbreak of the Second Macedonian War and the symbolic acts performed by the Athenians in this context, see Habicht 2006, 215–225 and Byrne 2010.

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cursively.103 The categorization of Hellenistic monarchy as a form of charismatic rule in Max Weber’s sense makes it possible to explain the central aspects of the Àgure of the Hellenistic king.104 The charisma of the king, whose ultimate power base was the army and whose most important supporters were his philoi,105 manifested itself nowhere as clearly as in his military victoriousness.106 However, the king did not need to legitimize his position only in war and vis-à-vis the army.107 Next to the inhomogenous, often non-Greek groups of subjects, which constituted a central element in the Hellenistic kingdoms and which required diverse strategies of legitimization,108 an important political instance the Hellenistic king needed to deal with were the Greek cities, and given the ideology of the polis as outlined above, this was by no means an easy undertaking.109 Even though the poleis could recognize the power of the kings, and even though a victorious ruler enjoyed a signiÀcant degree of prestige from their point of view, too, a certain ambivalence was inevitable, especially when the victories had been obtained at the expense of the ‘wrong’ foe, that is, generally speaking, of other Greek cities. In other words, one of the central problems of the Hellenistic era was the fact that the poleis needed to come to terms with a kind of power which they were preconditioned to regard as the enemy par excellence: the monarch.110 The mediation took place not only in the Àeld of practical politics, but also in the framework of a highly elaborate form of communication, which consisted largely of symbolic practices. From the point of view of the ruler, the main elements were acts of euergetism for the poleis111 and in part also the so-called ‘royal 103 On the Greek concept of power, see Gotter 2008, 183–199. On the Hellenistic king, see Préaux 1976; Préaux 1978, 181–294; Gehrke in this volume; Gruen 1996; Ma 2003 and also Müller 2011; further references in Haake 2003, 127 n. 130. 104 On Weber’s typology of legitimate rule, see Weber 1972, 122–176, esp. 140–148 for the concept of charismatic rule. Essential for the conceptualization of Hellenistic monarchy as charismatic rule is Gehrke in this volume; see also Gotter 2008a, 176–178 and Austin 1986. 105 See e. g. Austin 1986, 462, with evidence showing the importance of the triad king-friendsarmy. As an example, see I.Priene 15.6–7 = OGIS 12.6–7 = RC 6.6–7 (about 286/5). On the Hellenistic king and his army, see Chaniotis 2005, 62–68; on the king’s philoi, see above p. 166 n. 5. 106 See Gehrke’s contribution in this volume. 107 See Caniotis 2005, 62; see also the remarks by Haake 2003, 127–128 n. 133. 108 See Seibert 1991, esp. 90 and Herz 1996 as well as in particular Ma 2003, 179–183 and Gotter 2008a, 185. 109 On the interaction between the Hellenistic kings and the poleis, see Billows 1995, 70–80; Chaniotis 2005, 68–71; Gehrke 2008, 50–51 and 176–179 and most recently Strootman 2011. Eric Gruen brings it concisely to the point: “Two basic problems confronted the Greek kings: the fact that they were Greek and the fact that they were kings.” (Gruen 1993, 4). 110 On monarchy in Greek history in general and the antinomy of polis and king, see Gauthier 1986 with a focus on the Greek history since the fourth century. For a general account of monarchy in the ideology of the polis of the Àfth century, see Tourraix 1991 and see particularly on Àfth-century Athens and monarchy Braund 2000; see also Trampedach 2006. 111 On royal euergetism in the Hellenistic world, see Ameling 1987; Bringmann and Steuben 1995; Habicht 1997; Bringmann 2000; Schmidt-Dounas 2000 and Ma 2002, 182–194 on the ‘language of euergetism’.

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correspondence’.112 The royal letters to the poleis were a gesture often meant to situate the communication on a speciÀc plane, that of an exchange among equals. On the level of content, the kings could employ notions that were articulated in the treatises On Kingship.113 The publication of the letters in epigraphic form by the poleis monumentalized and preserved them, showing that the poleis attributed some importance to them: display and preservation in a public context, often in central places of the city, were gestures as meaningful as the text itself, and formed part of the communication between king and polis but also between the polis and other political entities.114 Furthermore, the publication of royal letters also contributed to the self-representation as well as to the self-perception of the polis. The tenor and speciÀc contents of these letters varied according to the political situation, and it could be stated, simplifying radically, that the stronger the king, the less he needed to pay attention to the discourse of good kingship.115 The poleis on their part repaid the kings by repeatedly conferring upon them various types of honors,116 often cultic ones, which enabled the poleis to integrate the honored kings in the respective poliad ‘world-system’ by accepting and making acceptable their superior position of power without incorporating them in the political community.117 It is precisely in this context of acts of communication between Greek citites and Hellenistic kings, ultimately always precarious, that the treatises On Kingship belong, too.118 From this angle, what proÀt could a king derive from demonstrative communication with a philosopher? First of all, it is necessary to remember that this communication was performed in front of a Panhellenic audience which was inclined to see in every king a tyrant. Contrasting this anathemization must have been an essential priority in the actions of the king towards the poleis, and here the Àgure of the philosopher had a decisive function. As a social conÀguration, the philosopher was connected especially closely to the polis.119 This kind of political environment was the habitat in which the philosopher had originally emerged and existed ever since. To outline the process of origin and development of this human type would require a comprehensive overview of the pre-Hellenistic ages, which is not feasible 112 For collection of royal letters, outdated but still authoritative, see C. B. Welles’ RC; see also Wilhelm 1943. On the function, the functioning and the semantics of the royal correspondance, see Bertrand 1990; Ma 2002, 179–182; Ceccarelli 2005, 361–366; Mari 2009; Virgilio 2009 and Virgilio 2011, 22–75. 113 See Heuss 1954, 75–77. 114 On this, see Bencivenni 2010 [2011]. 115 See Schubart 1920, 327 and Ma 2002, 235–242. 116 See Kotsidu 2000 for a comprehensive collection of evidence for honors awarded to Hellenistic kings by Greek cities. On early Hellenistic Athens and her interaction with kings, see Kralli 2000, 114–120. It is important to underline that citizen rights were never awarded by poleis to any Hellenistic king from one of the major dynasties; see Gauthier 1985, 208–209. 117 On religious honors awarded to Hellenistic kings by poleis, see the seminal work by Habicht 1970, esp. 129–242; see also Price 1984, 23–40; Walbank 1987; Ma 2002, 219–226 and Chaniotis 2003. 118 One important if hitherto rather overlooked aspect is the visit of a king in a polis; see PerrinSaminadayar 2009, 67–80. 119 See also Haake 2007, 283.

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here.120 Yet, it is important to point out that by the beginning of the Hellenistic age the role of the philosopher was well-established and accompanied by speciÀc social expectations.121 In modern terms, Greek philosophers were ‘intellectuals’, and in the construction of their social role the opposition of intellect and power was essential.122 Just as the polis was perceived as the archetypical Greek form of political organization,123 the philosopher, too, because of the very fact that his roots were in the world of the polis,124 was seen as an icon of Greekness and of Greek culture.125 Thus, on a conceptual level, the philosopher, as the personiÀcation of Hellenicity par excellence, was the adversary of the king, who stood for plain otherness.126 Of central importance for the production and the semantics of treatises On Kingship is a virtue that was attributed especially to the philosopher, the parrhesia or freedom of speech.127 The notion originated from the political context,128 and it was seen as a fundamental right, or privilege, of the free citizen.129 In the course of a process determined by historical factors, parrhesia was transformed from a po120 See e. g. Cambiano 1983, 3–4. 121 See Decleva Caizzi 1993, 35–307 and Kurhonen 1997, 33–36 and 73–74. 122 For a detailed analysis, see Haake 2003, 97–100; regarding the ancient world, see La Penna 1990; Desideri 1991, esp. 135 and Gabba 1998. See also Dorandi 2005. In order to conceptualize the Àgure of the intellectual as a Weberian ideal type (Weber 1972, 3; 4 and 10), two aspects are of crucial importance. First, in the words of Merton 1968, 263: “It should be noted that ‘the intellectual’ refers to a social role and not to a total person. Although this role overlaps in various occupational roles, it needs not coincide with these.” Secondly, in the words of Bourdieu 1992, 186–187: “L’intellectuel se constitue comme tel en intervenant dans le champ politique au nom de l’autonomie et des valeurs spéciÀques d’un champ de production culturelle parvenue à un haut degré d’indépendance à l’égard des pouvoirs (et non, comme l’homme politique à fort capital culturel, sur la base d’une autorité proprement politique, acquise au prix d’un renoncement à la carrière et aux valeurs intellectuelles).” See also the instructive remarks on the intellectual by Oevermann 2003. 123 See e. g. Murray 2000, esp. 238–239. 124 This has also been pointed out by Préaux 1978, 227. 125 Rather surprisingly, this central aspect of the cultural semantics of the image for the Greek philosopher has not been investigated in depth; in this sense, see also Decleva Caizzi 1993, 305. Relevant on this topic is the bon mot attributed to the scholarch of the Academy Lacydes of Cyrene, who supposedly replied to an invitation by King Attalus I saying that a statue is best looked at from a distance (T 1a Mette ap. Diog. Laert. 4.60). 126 The juxtaposition translated itself into iconography: Smith 1993 has convincingly shown that statues of philosophers, in spite of undeniable differences, belonged together with statues of citizens in terms of iconography and constituted an antipole to the Hellenistic rulers’ statues; see also Zanker 1995, 131–133. 127 See e. g. Plat. Gorg. 461e and Suid., s. v. ›ƠƯƯƦƱрƠ; for a conceptual connection between eleutheria and parrhesia, see also Democr. 68 B 226 DK ap. Stob. 3.13.47 [III, p. 463.8–10] Hense. On parrhesia, see Peterson 1929; Scarpat 1964, 11–69 and Momigliano 1971, 517–520 and now also Murray 2007, 21 and 26. At the very end of his life, Michael Foucault exhaustively dealt with parrhesia, ‘franc-parler’, in various lecture series, which are full of important insights; see Foucault 2001; Foucault 2008 and Foucault 2009. 128 See Raaflaub 2004, esp. 223–225. 129 As shown clearly in a fragment attributed to Sophocles (TrGF IV S. inc. fab. **927a Radt = TGrF V Adespota 554 Nauck² ap. Stob. 3.13.16 [III, p. 456.10–11] Hense) and in the On Exile

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litical prerogative to a personal virtue130 – a transformation that cannot be followed in detail due to the scarcity of evidence.131 Parrhesia played an important role for Aristotle132 and occupied a central position in Hellenistic philosophy,133 becoming a speciÀc and almost essential trait of the philosopher,134 which could characterize him but could also be held against him as a standard against which he needed to measure.135 An extremely telling example of the relationship of philosophers and parrhesia appears in an Athenian decree from the year 226/5 for the Peripatetic philosopher Prytanis of Carystus, who, in a historical situation that was precarious for Athens, represented Athenian interests with parrhesia during an embassy to the Macedonian king Antigonus Doson.136 Now, an aspect of the standard image of the tyrant was the fact that he could not tolerate any free speech; he was supposed to react to it by losing control of his nerves and having the philosopher tortured and executed, thus providing him the occasion to show his bravery in front of his tormentors.137 The symbolic impact of the treatises On Kingship hits precisely this neuralgic point: by accepting the writ-

130 131

132

133 134

135 136 137

of the Cynic Teles (p. 23.4–7 Hense² = frg. 3 [p. 276.1–3] Fuentes Gonzáles ap. Stob. 3.40.8 [III, p. 739.18–740.3] Hense). See Momigliano 1973, 260. Decisive steps in the process are represented by Isocrates, who established a stronger connection with moral aspects and linked closely parrhesia with philia (or. 2.3), and Demosthenes, who connected parrhesia with aletheia (23.204.2); on Demosthenes and parrhesia see Carmignato 1998. Aristotle uses parrhesia with a descriptive meaning and a positive connotation, as the free speech in front of the tyrant (Ath. Pol. 16.6), which can be repressed out of fear of the tyrant (Pol. 1313b11–16), in connection with his concept of philia (Eth. Nic. 1165a29–30) and Ànally as the openness of the opponent (Rhet. 1382b18–20). See Peterson 1929, 286–287. See the programmatic statement in Philodemus’ On Frankness in Speech (Lib. dic. frg. 1.5–7 Olivieri): * ƩƠƧф-|6 ƪƮƳDž Ʋ’ ї›ƨ›ƠƯƯƦƱƨнƥƤƲƠƨ | ƱƮƴҳư ƩƠұ ƴƨƪфƱƮƴƮư чƬпƯ, … – “And, in general, a wise man and philosopher speaks frankly …” (transl. by D. Konstan, D. Clay, C. E. Glad, J. C. Thom and J. Ware). As Momigliano 1971, 519 put it: “Parrhesia diventò una virtù di ÀlosoÀ.” On Philodemus’ On Frankness in Speech, see Gigante 1972; Gigante 1983 and Glad 1996. On this aspect in Roman Imperial and Late Antique times respectively, see Diefenbach 2000, 104–106 and Brown 1992, 61–70. Agora XVI 224 = ISE 28, ll. 20–21. For a detailed analysis, see Haake 2007, 89–99. On this topic, ubiquitous in ancient literature, and its meaning in general, Alföldi 1958 is still worth reading; more recently, Diefenbach 2000, 101–106 and Rajak 2007, 110–113. The best-known examples of philosophers cruelly tortured by tyrants are Zeno of Elea and Anaxarchus of Abdera – especially striking is the depiction in Valerius Maximus (3.3, ext. 2–4), based on Hellenistic sources. On motifs and details see Dorandi 1994; Bernard 1984; Priest 1978, 66–67 and Gronewald 1978. Timotheus of Pergamum, on whose personality and date not much is known (see Radicke in FGrH IVA 7, 466–467), wrote a whole work entitled On the Bravery of Philosophers, whose topic was their manly behavior confronting cruel tyrants (FGrH 1117 F 1 ap. Clem. Al. Strom. 4.56.2). Ammianus Marcellinus still used the motif of torturing philosophers in order to brand Roman emperors as tyrants, see Rota 1996 and Diefenbach 2000, 103–104. Like the death of the tyrant (on which see Luraghi in this volume), the death of the philosopher was also a motif with a clear meaning; see Jerphagon 1981.

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ing of a character who, in the eyes of the audience, is predestined by his social role to provide advice, the monarch shows himself as the opposite of the tyrant. The relationship between ruler and philosopher embodies the symbiosis of intellect and power: if Plato in his Republic was voicing the radical demand that the philosopher should become ruler or the ruler philosopher,138 Aristotle diverged from him signiÀcantly on this point, proposing that the rulers should gather philosophers as their advisers.139 This view was probably voiced in Aristotle’s treatise On Kingship and was destined to have a very successful career in the Hellenistic age.140 Even if treatises On Kingship did not contain speciÀc advice for rulers, but only a general depiction of the good king, they belonged precisely in the conceptual context Aristotle thought of. The combination of the philosopher giving advice and the king listening determined their cultural semantics. Such a conÀguration had positive implications for the king for one further reason. A typical trait of the Greek tyrant was his boundless suspiciousness towards everybody, and especially towards his friends.141 Hellenistic rulers were surrounded by a circle of philoi who served as advisers, projecting a decidedly different image, reinforced by the presence of philosophers among them,142 in spite of the fact that in theory life at court was seen by Greek philosophers as incompatible with the practice of philosophy.143 The notion that a ruler should take advice also from intellectuals was commonplace in the Hellenistic age.144 Finally, it is important to mention one aspect that does not tend to receive much attention. Writing a treatise On Kingship and addressing it to a king was also a way for a philosopher to promote himself, acquiring prestige vis-à-vis the audience of the Greek poleis and within the highly competitive and contentious community of the philosophers.

138 Plat. Rep. 473c–e; see above on p. 171. 139 Contra Rawson 1989, 233, who sees no clear difference between the two positions. 140 See Aalders 1975, 75–77. Aristotle’s treatise remained inÁuential well beyond the Hellenistic period: Themistius quoted it in his speech delivered on the occasion of the quinquennial celebrations of the emperors Valentinian I and Valens, in a military camp at Marcianopolis in Moesia Inferior in 368 CE, Them. or. 8.107c–d (= Arist. frg. 982 Gigon = peri basileias frg. 2 [p. 62] Ross = frg. 647 Rose³). On the context of Themistius’ speech see Chastagnol 1987 and Vanderspoel 1995, 168. 141 Arist. Pol. 1313b29–31; on this aspect, see Schütrumpf and Gehrke 1996, 587. 142 Examples include the Stoic Persaeus of Citium (see below p. 179), the Epicureans Philonides of Laodicea (see Haake 2007, 148–159) and Diogenes of Seleucia (see Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 75–76 no. 75), the Academics Diodorus of Adramyttium (see Ferrary 1988, 483 and Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 174–175 no. 6) and Metrodorus of Scepsis (see Ferrary 1988, 228– 229 and 483–484 and Savalli-Lestrade 1998, 181–182 no. 10). On the Hellenistic king’s philoi in general, see above p. 166. 143 See e. g. Philod. Hist. Stoic. col. 13.4–7 Dorandi with Scholz 1998, 323 n. 23 and Bollansée 2000, esp. 24. 144 On this aspect, see Gabba 1984.

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V Treatises On Kingship occupied a clearly deÀned social space in the constantly volatile structure of the communication between kings and Greek cities in the Hellenistic world. Even though these treatises had no direct and immediate consequences on the level of political practice, their discursive effectiveness can hardly be overestimated, in so far as this allowed a Hellenistic ruler to project an image that satisÀed such discursive standards.145 This point can be illustrated with a striking example. Probably no other Hellenistic king was capable in the long run to play this part better than Antigonus Gonatas. Not only in antiquity he enjoyed a Áawless reputation after his death and was seen as a ‘philosopher-king’; even in modern research his image is predominantly positive, in agreement with the later ancient tradition.146 Antigonus’ connections of different character to many philosophers, such as the Citian Stoics Zeno and Persaeus and Menedemus of Eretria, to mention but a few, are attested by ancient authors, and by and large their evidence can be accepted as reliable, even though in detail not every single element is trustworthy.147 Whether such connections had any impact on Gonatas’ politics is a topic that cannot be discussed here in detail, but a cursory examination fails to produce any political action that could be explained or even only described as philosophically inspired. Key to Antigonus’ image as ‘philosopher-king’ is the description of monarchy as a ‘noble servitude’ which is attributed to him.148 Even though the attribution of this statement to Gonatas may be unfounded, it has still to be admitted that, at the time when it was attributed to the Macedonian king and thereafter, it was seen as plausible for him to have pronounced such a statement. Sure enough, it is possible to point to various sources contemporary to Antigonus and also to some later pieces of evidence which suggest a not very positive image of this king.149 Although such evidence has received due attention by modern research, it has had no real impact on the overall

145 Similar considerations, with differences in nuances and in reference to the Roman empire, in Diefenbach 2000, 105. 146 Striking examples include the chapter entitled “Die makedonischen Herrscher und der ‘Philosophenkönig’ Antigonos Gonatas” in Leuteritz 1997, 50–61 and Green 1990, 143 calling Gonatas” the Àrst Stoic king”. On Antigonus in the early historiographical sources, see Tarn 1913, 410–414. 147 On Zeno, see Erskine 2011a, 79–84 and Paschidis 2008, 172 n. 2; on Persaeus, see Bollansée 2000 and Erskine 2011, on Menedemus, see Paschidis 2008, 452–456. On Antigonus’ connections to philosophers in general, see e. g. Tarn 1913, 223–256 (partly outdated) and Lane Fox 2011, 508–509 who, in spite of Haake 2004 and Haake 2007, 118–129, is convinced that the text of an Athenian honorary decree for Zeno of Citum transmitted by Diogenes Laertius (7.10–12) represents an authentic Athenian document “proposed at Antigonos’ instigation”. 148 Ael. VH 2.20; on this expression, see Volkmann 1967 and Virgilio 2003, 67–68. 149 In this respect, two extremely telling examples are the Chremonides decree (Syll.³ 434/435 = IG II² 686 + 687) and the decree for Glauco (Étienne and Piérart 1975, 51–53); see most recently Haake 2011, 119 with further references.

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image of this king.150 This is surprising at Àrst, considering that Gonatas, in the pursuit of his power politics and in the strategies that were meant to secure his inÁuence, made ample recourse to actions that in the eyes of the Greeks could not but be seen as tyrannical: one thinks of his treatment of Athens after the Chremonidean War, of the Macedonian garrison on the Acrocorinth, of the control on the Gulf of Euboea through the fortress of Chalcis and of Demetrias in Thessaly, ‘the fetters of Greece’,151 or Ànally of his way of securing control over various poleis in the Peloponnese by imposing tyrants loyal to him.152 All this would have been amply sufÀcient to permanently brand a Hellenistic ruler in the collective memory of the Greeks – one only has to think of Gonatas’ father Demetrius Poliorcetes.153 Even the opinion, long cherished by modern research, that because of his philosophical attitude Gonatas refused divine honors154 has been endly dispelled by an inscription found in the sanctuary of Nemesis at Rhamnous.155 Beyond doubt, the most important element in the legitimization of Antigonus’ power had nothig philosophical about it: it was his victory over the Celts at Lysimachia in 279 – the proof of his victoriousness:156 this was the foundation of his rule over Macedonia and of his attempt at propagating the notion of his charisma throughout the Greek world,157 although in later times this episode moved rather to the background.158 In spite of various aspects of his politics which should have undermined his image, Antigonus Gonatas succeeded in constructing a positive image of his person by referring discoursively to elements of the reasoning in treatises On Kingship.

VI In terms of contents, the treatises On Kingship employed the vocabulary of political communication between Hellenistic kings and Greek cities. They were programmatic in discursive terms, but did not offer instructions, let alone recommendations 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157

158

As a representative example, see Gabbert 1997. For the expression ‘fetters of Greece’, see Polyb. 18.11.5 with Walbank 1967, 563 ad loc. See Fellmann 1930, 47–51 and 57–63. On the image of Demetrius Poliorcetes, see Elkeles 1941, 84–87; Mastrocinque 1979 and Durán Mañas 2005, 48–52. See e. g. Edson 1958, 63 n. 16; Green 1990, 143 and Koukouli-Chrysanthaki 1998, 406; but see Habicht 1970, 64–73; 79–81 and 256–257. Petrakos, ƋӸƫƮư ƲƮԏ ƘƠƫƬƮԏƬƲƮư II 7. On this inscription, see Habicht 1996 and Haake 2011. On this victory, see Nachtergael 1977, 167–169 and 177–181 and Lane Fox 2011, 500. See Strobel 1994, 72; Chaniotis 2005, 221 and Strootman 2005, 103 and 112–113. Next to the decree in honor of Antigonus’ victory moved by Menedemus of Eretria (Diog. Laert. 2.142; see in detail Haake forthcoming, 123–130) and the dedication of the Athenian ofÀcer Heraclitus of Athmonon praising Antigonus’ deeds ‘against the barbarians for the safety of the Greeks’ (IG II² 677; see Haake 2011, 119 with further references) one might refer to an epigram on the base of a statue of Pan from Beroea, which has been reasonably connected with the battle of Lysimachia (I.Beroia 37; see in detail Pazaras and Hatzopoulos 1997 and Lane Fox 2011, 500). On the image of Gonatas in ancient literary sources, see Cioccolo 1990.

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for speciÀc circumstances, much less ‘the political philosophy of Hellenistic kingship.’159 Their role in the political communication was determined by a series of factors, structural and contingent. They would not have come into being without the emergence of Hellenistic monarchy. If the power relation between poleis and kings that existed for much of the fourth century had not changed, communication in the form of speeches and letters adressed by ‘man of the word’ to ‘men of power’ could have continued undisturbed. The fact that under Alexander a philospher, regardless whether the Àrst was Aristotle, Xenocrates or Anaxarchus, decided to address to the king a treatise entitled On Kingship may also be regarded as contingent, whereas the act of writing about monarchy and addressing a ruler followed an established practice of literary and political communication. The fact that the example was quickly followed by two other philosophers, which was decisive for the emergence of the genre, was determined by structural factors, namely by the competitive character of Greek philosophy, further reinforced by competition for gaining prestigious positions close to the king. After a pause caused by Alexander’s death, a new beginning was set by the ‘year of the kings’, and Theophrastus was the initiator of the new wave of treatises On Kingship that spanned the third century BCE. Needless to say, the semantic that this genre acquired cannot be imputed to authorial intention in its very Àrst phases. Rather, it was a result of the reception and perception of the early examples of the genre. Such semantic could emerge because the three fundamental elements that constitute the communicative context, namely the philosopher as author, the king as addressee, and the political community of the polis as intended audience, were cultural models that in the cultural world of the Greeks of the early Hellenistic period were long since associated with well-deÀned speciÀc roles. This explains for instance why the authors of these treatises were without exception philosophers: only they qualiÀed, thanks to their social role as intellectuals, to address the king with the necessary authority.160 It is extremely difÀcult to tell whether treatises On Kingship were conÀned to the third century or whether we should postulate their survival into the second and Àrst, in spite of the absence of evidence.161 It is true that from the end of the third century onwards, evidence on Hellenistic philosophy overall becomes particularly scarce.162 Whether this circumstance provides a sufÀcient explanation seems doubtful, though, especially considering that, beyond general continuity, Hellenistic monarchy went through a series of tranformations163 which had an impact also on the communicative interface between kings and Greek cities.164 What is clear is that a whole series of works written by philosophers and entitled On Kingship kept ap159 As in the title of Goodenough 1928. 160 See Bourdieu 1992a, 123. 161 See Sidebottom 2006, 129, who is of the opinion “that the genre continued” in the second or Àrst centuries, and on the other hand Murray 2007, 17, who pointed out that “there was little evidence for the continued production of such works in the middle and later Hellenistic period.” 162 See the overview by Mansfeld 1999. 163 See Gotter in this volume. 164 On this, see Haake 2012.

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pearing during the imperial period and all the way to late antiquity.165 The latest specimen dates to the early fourteenth century CE, when Thomas Magister, who had taken the name of Theodulos upon entering the monastic life, addressed an oration On Kingship to a Byzantine emperor of the Palaeologian dynasty.166

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Shrimpton, G. S. 1991: Theopompus the Historian, Montreal et al. Sidebottom, H. 2006: Dio Chrysostom and the Development of On Kingship Literature, in D. Spencer and E. Theodorakopoulos (eds.), Advice and Its Rhetoric in Greece and Rome, Bari, 116–157. Skinner, Q. 1978: The Foundations of Modern Political Thought. Volume I: The Renaissance, Cambridge. Smith, R. R. R. 1993: Kings and Philosophers, in A. Bulloch et al. (eds.), Images and Ideologies. Self-deÀnition in the Hellenistic World, Berkeley et al., 202–211. Sonnabend, H. 1992: Polybios, die Attaliden und die Griechen. Überlegungen zum Nachruf auf Attalos I. (18,41), Tyche 7, 207–216. 1996: Die Freundschaften der Gelehrten und die zwischenstaatliche Politik im klassischen und hellenistischen Griechenland, Hildesheim et al. Sordi, M. 1980: Lo Ierone di Senofonte, Dionigi I e Filisto, Athenaeum 58, 3–13. 1984: La Lettera di Aristotele ad Alessandro e i rapporti tra Greci e barbari, Aevum 58, 3–12. Squilloni, A. 1990: Il proÀlo del capo politico nel pensiero del IV secolo: lo speculum principis, PPol 23, 201–218. 1990a: Lo ‚Ierone’ di Senofonte e il tiranno felice, AATC 55, 105–125. 1991: Il concetto di ‘regno’ nel pensiero dello Ps. Ecfanto. Le fonti e i trattati ›ƤƯұ ơƠƱƨƪƤрƠư, Florence. Stammen, T. 1990: Fürstenspiegel als literarische Gattung politischer Theorie im zeitgenössischen Kontext – ein Versuch, in H.-O. Mühleisen and T. Stammen (eds.), Politische Tugendlehre und Regierungskunst. Studien zum Fürstenspiegel der Frühen Neuzeit, Tübingen, 255–285. Stern, S. M. 1968: Aristotle on the World-State, London and Colchester. Strauss, L. 1948: On Tyranny. An Interpretation of Xenophon’s Hiero, New York. Stroheker, K. F. 1954: Zu den Anfängen der monarchischen Theorie in der Sophistik, Historia 2, 381–412. Strobel, K. 1994: Keltensieg und Galatersieger. Die Funktionalisierung eines historischen Phänomens als politischer Mythos der hellenistischen Welt, in E. Schwertheim (ed.), Forschungen in Galatien, Bonn, 67–96. Strootman, R. 2005: Kings against Celts. Deliverance from Barbarians as a Theme in Hellenistic Royal Propaganda, in K. A. E. Enenkel and I. L Pfeijffer (eds.), The Manipulative Mode. Political Propaganda in Antiquity – a Collection of Case Studies, Leiden and Boston, 101–141. 2007: The Hellenistic Royal Court. Court Culture, Ceremonial and Ideology in Greece, Egypt and the Near East, 336–30 BCE (diss. phil.) Utrecht. 2011: Kings and Cities in the Hellenistic Age, in R. Alston, O. van Nijf and C. Williamson (eds.), Political Culture in the Greek City after the Classical Age. Leuven, 141–153. Tarn, W. W. 1913: Antigonos Gonatas, Oxford. Tatum, J. 1989: Xenophon’s Imperial Fiction. On The Education of Cyrus, Princeton. Thesleff, H. 1961: An Introduction to the Pythagorean Writings of the Hellenistic Period, Turku.

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1972: On the Problem of the Doric Pseudo-Pythagorica. An Alternative Theory of Date and Purpose, in Pseudepigrapha I. Pseudopythagorica – Lettres de Platon – Littérature pseudépigraphique juive, Geneva, 59–72. Too, Y. L. 1995: The Rhetoric of Identity in Isocrates. Text, Power, Pedagogy, Cambridge. Tourraix, A. 1991: Le paradoxe de la monarchie dans l’idéologie poliade au Vème siècle, in L’idéologie du pouvoir monarchique dans l’Antiquité. Actes du colloque de la Société des Professeurs d’Histoire Ancienne de l’Université tenu à Lyon et Vienne les 26–28 juin 1989, Paris, 9–21. Trampedach, K. 1994: Platon, die Akademie und die zeitgenössische Politik, Stuttgart. 2006: Die Tyrannis als Wunsch- und Schreckbild. Zur Grammatik der Rede über Gewaltherrschaft im Griechenland des 5. Jahrhunderts v. Chr., in B. Seidensticker and M. Vöhler (eds.), Gewalt und Ästhetik. Zur Gewalt und ihrer Darstellung in der griechischen Klassik, Berlin and New York, 3–27. Usher, S. 1994: Isocrates: Paideia, Kingship and the Barbarians, in H. A. Khan (ed.), The Birth of the European Identity: The Europe-Asia-Contrast in Greek Thought 490–322 B. C., Nottingham, 132–145. Vanderspoel, J. 1995: Themistius and the Imperial Court. Oratory, Civic Duty, and Paideia from Constantius to Theodosius, Ann Arbor. Vander Waerdt, P. A. 1985: Kingship and Philosophy in Aristotle’s Best Regime, Phronesis 30, 249–273. Van Nuffelen, P. 2011: Rethinking the Gods. Philosophical Readings of Religion in the Post-Hellenitic Period, Cambridge. Virgilio, B. 2003: Lancia, diadema e porpora. Il re e la regalità ellenistica, second edition, Pisa and Rome. 2009: Aspetti e prospettive della corrispondenza reale ellenistica, in P. Negri Scafa and B. Virgilio (eds.), Dallo Stirone al Tigri, dal Tevere all’Eufrate. Studi in onore di Claudio Saporetti, Rome, 391–408. 2011: Le roi écrit. Le correspondance du souverain hellénistique, suivie de deux lettres d’Antiochos III à partir de Louis Robert et d’Adolf Wilhelm, Pisa and Rome. Volkmann, H. 1967: Die Basileia als ћƬƣƮƭƮư ƣƮƳƪƤрƠ. Ein Beitrag zur Wortgeschichte der Duleia, Historia 16, 155–161. Volpe Cacciatore, P. 1996: L’orazione De Regno di Toma Magistro, in F. Conca (ed.), Byzantina Mediolanensia. V Congresso Nazionale di Studi Bizantini, Milano, 19–22 ottobre 1994, Milan, 411–419. Walbank, F. W. 1967: A Historical Commentary on Polybius II. Commentary on Books VII–XVIII, Oxford. 1984: Monarchies and Monarchic Ideas, in CAH² VII, 1, Cambridge, 62–100. 1987: Könige als Götter. Überlegungen zum Herrscherkult von Alexander bis Augustus, Chiron 17, 365–382. Weber, G. 1997: Interaktion, Repräsentation und Herrschaft. Der Königshof im Hellenismus, in A. Winterling (ed.), Zwischen “Haus” und “Staat”. Antike Höfe im Vergleich, Munich, 27–71. Weber, M. 1972: Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Grundriß der verstehenden Soziologie, Àfth edition, Tübingen.

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8 THE CASTRATED KING, OR: THE EVERYDAY MONSTROSITY OF LATE HELLENISTIC KINGSHIP Ulrich Gotter In 168 BCE, in the Egyptian town of Eleusis, a few kilometers from the gates of Alexandria, an episode occurred that marked the end of an age. After a thoroughly successful military intervention in a succession dispute of the Ptolemaic dynasty, the Seleucid king Antiochus IV prepared to capture the capital. Pelusion, the frontier garrison of the Nile delta, had already been taken, and the entrance of the Syrian king into Alexandria was merely a matter of time.1 At that point, C. Popilius Laenas, special envoy of the Roman senate, showed up in the king’s camp. He entered the scene with ominously symbolic gestures. The king wanted to greet him with enthusiasm, but Laenas did not greet him back and silently handed him a writing tablet, upon which the decision of the senate was written, and he asked him formally whether he would comply with the will of Rome. Antiochus had scarcely expected such a message and was utterly perplexed; he replied that he must Àrst consult with his friends. Laenas then drew a circle on the ground around the king and said: “Before you step out of this circle, tell me what I should report to the senate.” Antiochus considered only brieÁy before replying that he would do everything that Rome required of him. Shortly thereafter, his troops began their withdrawal to Palestine. The decision of the senate had consisted of the demand that he should immediately withdraw from Egypt.2 Much more than Augustus’ victory over Cleopatra, the day of Eleusis marked the end of Hellenistic monarchy as it had existed from the time of Alexander the Great. The Syrian king safely retained his position even after Eleusis. His campaign in Egypt had been enormously successful, and the booty had been immeasurable. And yet, as a media event, the encounter with Laenas was a disaster. The historian Polybius, a contemporary, remarks on the unbelievable public humiliation that it represented for Antiochus, and the gnashing of teeth with which he obeyed the Roman challenge. The fact that he did obey – out of necessity, as Polybius claims3

1

2 3

For Antiochus’ campaign see Mittag 2006, 165–181; 209–213; Gruen 1984, 652–658. Epiphanes was in Eleusis probably already Pharao, as Mittag 2006, 171–173, argued; for the discussion of the sources see Blasius 2007. Polyb. 29.27.1–9; for the other sources see Gruen 1984, 659 n. 226. Polyb. 29.27.8.

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– was to the highest degree unbecoming of a king, and undermined not merely the foundation of his power but that of the monarchy as a whole. This assessment of the day of Eleusis might at Àrst sight surprise. To be sure, Antiochus was not the Àrst ruler who was compelled to endure a painful, personal defeat. If we take into account the characteristics of the Hellenistic monarchy, however, then the dimensions of the problem will become more apparent. It is with good reason that Hans-Joachim Gehrke described the monarchies that emerged from the fragmentation of Alexander’s empire as almost pure embodiments of what Max Weber deÀned as charismatic kingdoms. All Hellenistic monarchies – not only those of the Ptolemies in Egypt, the Seleucids in Asia and the Antigonids in Macedonia – found their coherence almost exclusively in the person of the ruler. Under these circumstances, the charisma ascribed to him determined not merely the strength of the state, but its very existence. Traditional elements of legitimacy were, on the other hand, structurally under-developed and appear even later only to a very limited extent. The principal source of legitimacy for the Hellenistic king was thus simple success, or more speciÀcally, his victory in war. Just as Alexander had carved out his enormous empire through military success, so his successors, too, needed to be victorious in order to justify their claim to power. This did not necessarily imply a permanent state of war, but a king was expected to prove himself convincingly enough for his charisma to be recognized as permanent. This was the foundation of his relations with rivals, subordinates, and the (Greek) public.4 The degree to which the unconquerable character of Hellenistic kings was crucial to their position is illustrated by the awkward problem of the integration of the Greek city-states into the Hellenistic monarchies. An absolute monarchy was in principle precarious for the poleis, because it collided with the ideology of freedom, which was non-negotiable for the self-perception of the city-states: from their perspective, a king ruling over Greek poleis was essentially a tyrant.5 His charismatic invincibility, though, opened up a possibility for the polis to come to terms with him without totally giving up its system of values. Victories, as proofs of supra-human power, facilitated the divinization of the king, and with the cultic honoring of his person he stepped out of the normative discourse of the polis. As a friendly god,6 he was no longer a tyrant. This construction, however, had plausibility only as long as the power of the ruler was constantly renewed and belief in his victoriousness persisted. Under these circumstances, a king without the opportunity to triumph was inconceivable – something that neither should nor could be: a monstrum. And yet, this monstrum existed. From the Àrst decade of the second century BCE not being victorious was no longer an individual and speciÀc problem, but rather a structural and unavoidable condition. On the eastern Mediterranean political stage a power had appeared which functioned on entirely different principles; a power that won war after war and which, given its resources in men and material, 4 5 6

Gehrke 1982, 252–263; see also the English version of his paper in this volume; for the personal risks of the rulers within this framework see now Schäfer, forthcoming (2012). Price 1984, 25–26; Haake 2003, 91–93; see also the English version of his paper in this volume. Habicht 1956, 230–242; Price 1984, 29–32.

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could simply not be overwcome: the Roman Republic.7 It was not easy for Greeks to come to terms with this – it took time. It was the day of Eleusis which Ànally tore the veil from their eyes. The most powerful king of his day had obeyed an unarmed Roman envoy and – without a Àght – surrendered his claim to victoriousness. Antiochus’ avoidance of a trial of strength arguably had greater consequences for the idea of the Hellenistic monarchy than a defeat in battle would have had. Antiochus would certainly have lost a war with Rome, but his withdrawal from Eleusis transformed the very idea of Hellenistic monarchy.8 While the nature of Hellenistic monarchy in its pure form has attracted considerable scholarly attention for some time, the existential circumstances of late Hellenistic kings have been curiously neglected. This phenomenon, however, can lay claim to a certain relevance, if only in view of how long it lasted. The Hellenistic victorious king prevailed from 306 BCE to 168 at the latest; the castrated king however, that is, in my crude terminology, the king without victories, prevailed until 72 CE, when Vespasian incorporated the kingdom of Commagene as a Roman province.9 Against this background the question arises in all its sharpness, how Hellenistic kings could still rule when they could no longer achieve victories and when the traditional communicative basis of their power had thereby been removed. In what follows, I will attempt to outline on the one hand the speciÀc problems of the political conÀguration of the period, and on the other to illuminate the strategic options for compensating for this deÀciency. I will base my discussion on two striking examples: the Late Pergamenes and Antiochus I of Commagene. Concluding, we will see, as a control test of sorts, an atypical and radically different solution to the problem: Mithradates VI Eupator of Pontus.

THE LAST KINGS OF PERGAMUM The dynasty of the Attalids of Pergamum also experienced their day of Eleusis, only a few years after Antiochus IV. For decades they had been the closest of Rome’s allies in the Greek East, and in the shadow of their powerful patronus they had proÀted immeasurably from the Roman victories. 7

8

9

From the perspective of resources it seems very clear that Rome was not to be defeated any more after the Second Punic War (see Brunt 1971, 61–90; 416–434). When the Roman élite did actually recognize their military invincibility is the key question for explaining their policy in the East, though, and is harder to answer. Peter Mittag comes to a very different evaluation of the situation, stating that being at conÁict with Rome could also enhance the prestige of a king towards the Greek world (Mittag 2006, 223). This might be true in terms of sympathy, but if one had to decide about whom to side with or whom to mobilize for one’s aims it was the pure question of power that mattered. And here Laenas made his point. The kingdom of Pontus was annexed in 64 CE (Olshausen 1980, 911–912), and Antiochus IV of Commagene was deposed in 72 (Speidel 2005); for the change of the Anatolian political landscape in the Àrst century CE see Rémy 1986, 15–47.

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Following the war against the Seleucid Empire which ended with the peace of Apameia in 189 BCE, they were granted the largest part of western Asia Minor as a reward for their support. From an ambitious regional monarchy, a Hellenistic great power had emerged. In the following twenty years, King Eumenes II succeeded in defending his territory vigorously against greedy neighbors, and with considerable political and military skill even extended his possessions into inner Anatolia. His greatest triumph was the defeat of the Galatians, Celts who had settled in the region of Ankara, and the annexation of their territory in 183 BCE.10 His heaviest defeat is, however, also associated with Galatia. In 168/7, as Eumenes fought against the Macedonian king Perseus in Greece on the side of Rome, the Galatians took advantage of the absence of the king and the army to revolt. Only with great effort and two hard campaigns did Eumenes succeed in defeating and subjecting them again.11 A political disaster, however, followed hard upon the heels of this military victory: the Roman senate decreed without further discussion that Galatia should be independent of the Pergamene Empire.12 This episode had a meaning that went beyond the concrete circumstances: the Pergamenes had expanded, but the king could no longer protect his interests by traditional kingly means. The extent to which the structural consequences of this situation were recognized in Pergamum is revealed in a remarkable document – the letter which Attalus II, the brother and successor of Eumenes, addressed to Attis, the priest of the most important Galatian temple in Pessinus, with whom he had obviously made arrangements for an intervention by Pergamum. The king informs the priest about a meeting of his royal council: [King Attalus to priest Attis, greeting. If you were well, it would be] as I wish; I myself also was in good health. When we came to Pergamum and I assembled not only Athenaeus and Sosander and Menogenes but many others also of my “relatives”, and when I laid before them what we discussed in Apamea and told them our discussion, there was a very long discussion, and at Àrst all inclined to the same opinion with us, but Chlorus vehemently held forth the Roman power and counseled us in no way to do anything without them. In this at Àrst few concurred, but afterwards, as day after day we kept considering, it appealed more and more, and to launch an undertaking without their participation began to seem fraught with great danger; if we were successful the attempt promised to bring us envy and detraction and baneful suspicion – that which they felt also toward my brother – while if we failed we should meet certain destruction. For they would not, it seemed to us, regard our disaster with sympathy but would rather be delighted to see it, because we had undertaken such projects without them. As things are now, however, if – which God forbid – we were worsted in any matters, having acted entirely with their approval we would receive help and might recover our losses, if the gods favored. I decided, therefore, to send to Rome on every occasion men to make constant report of cases where we are in doubt, while [we] ourselves make [thorough] preparation [so that if it is necessary] we may protect ourselves…13

10 11 12 13

Hopp 1977, 51. MacShane 1964, 183–184; Hansen 1971, 120–124; Hopp 1977, 52; Allen 1983, 142. Polyb. 30.28; 30.30.6; Hopp 1977, 52. Welles 1966, no. 61: [ƉƠƱƨƪƤҵư ϤƈƲƲƠƪƮư ϤƈƲƲƨƣƨ ѴƤƯƤԃ ƵƠҲƯ]Ƥ[ƨ]ƬƸ [Ƥѳ ћƯƯƷƱƠƨ, ћƵƮƨ] ыv Ҝư їƢҷ ơƮҶƪƮƫƠƨƸ ҐƢҲƠƨƬƮƬ ƣҭ ƩƠұ ƠҏƲҴư. їƪƧҴƬƲƷƬ ѤƫԙƬ Ƥѳư ƗҮƯƢƠƫƮƬ ƩƠұ ƱƳƬƠƢƠƢҴƬƲƮư ƫƮƳ Ʈҏ ƫҴƬƮƬ ϝƈƧҰƬƠƨƮƬ ƩƠұ ƙҸƱƠƬƣƯƮƬ ƩƠұ ƓƦƬƮƢҮƬƦƬ, чƪƪҫ ƩƠұ

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This letter is in effect an unadorned confession of political impotence. The inability to expand and thereby to demonstrate military prowess is accepted with resignation. And yet, this did not mark the end of the Pergamene monarchy, and not even the end of a successful foreign politics. On the contrary, in the following years the Attalids were able to preserve their alliance network in Asia Minor and even to consolidate it, especially in Cappadocia, and repeatedly to inÁuence the succession on the Seleucid throne.14 But theirs were essentially low-proÀle actions, which could not serve to enhance the charisma of the Pergamene king. So the question arises, which visible demonstrations did the Attalids use to replace victory, which was now forbidden to them? Eumenes gives us clues to the program himself. Immediately after the rapid deterioration of his relations with Rome, he emphasized in an open letter to the most important alliance of city states in western Asia Minor, the Ionian Koinon, how he wished himself and the Pergamene dynasty to be seen by its subjects and by the Greek public: King Eumenes [to the League of the Ionians, greeting.] Of your envoys, Menecles did not appear before me, but Irenias and Archelaus meeting me in Delos delivered a Àne and generous decree in which you began by saying that I had from the start chosen the Ànest actions and had shown myself a common benefactor of the Greeks; consequently I had undertaken my great struggles against the barbarians, exercising all zeal and forethought that the inhabitants of the Greek cities might always dwell in peace and the utmost prosperity. By being indifferent to the coming danger and determining to be zealous and ambitious in what concerned the League, consistent with my father’s policy, I had made clear on many occasions my attitude on these points. Publicly and privately I had had cordial relations with each of your cities and joined in producing for each much glory and honor.15 јƲҮƯƮƳư ›ƪƤҲƮƬƠư ƲԙƬ чƬƠƢƩƠҲƷƬ, ƩƠұ ›ƯƮƲƨƧҮƬƲƮư ›ƤƯұ ҢƬ їƬ ϝƈ›ƠƫƤҲƠƨ їơƮƳƪƤƳҴƫƤƧƠ, ƪҮƢƮƬƲ[Ҵ]ư ƲƤ ›ƤƯұ ҢƬ ћƣƮƭƤƬ ѤƫԃƬ, ›ƮƪƪƮұ ƫҭƬ Ґ›ƤƯƠƢҴƬƲƷư їƢҲƬƮƬƲƮ ƪҴƢƮƨ, ƩƠұ Ʋҳ ›ƯԙƲƮƬ ›ҬƬƲƤư ƩƠƲҮƯƯƤ›ƮƬ ї›ұ ƲүƬ ƠҏƲүƬ ѤƫԃƬ ƢƬҸƫƦƬ, Ɲƪԙ›Ʈư ƣϝ ƤҏƲƮƬҸƲƠƲƮư ѩƬ Ʋҫ ƼƘƷƫƠтƩҫ ›ƯƮƲƤҲƬƷƬ ƩƠұ ƮҏƧƤƬұ ƲƯҴ›Ʒƨ ƱƳƫơƮƳƪƤҶƷƬ ƮҏƧҭƬ ыƬƤƳ ϝƩƤҲƬƷƬ ›ƯҬƱƱƤƨƬ. Ңƨ Ʋҳ ƫҭƬ ›ƯԙƲƮƬ ҃ƪҲ‹Ƣ›Ʈƨ ƫƤƲƤԃƵƮƬ, ƫƤƲҫ ƣҭ ƲƠԏƲƠ їƬ ыƪƪƠƨư ƩƠұ ыƪƪƠƨư ѤƫҮƯƠƨư чƤұ ƣƨƠƱƩƮƫƮԏƱƨƬ Ѩ›ƲƤƲƮ ƫӮƪƪƮƬ ѤƫԙƬ, ƩƠұ Ʋҳ ›ƯƮ›ƤƱƤԃƬ ыƬƤƳ ϝƩƤҲƬƷƬ ƫҮƢƠƬ їƣҴƩƤƨ ƩҲƬƣƳƬƮƬ ћƵƤƨƬƸ ƩƠұ ƢҫƯ ї›ƨƲƳƵƮԏƱƨƬ ƴƧҴƬƮƬ ƩƠұ чƴƠҲƯƤƱƨƬ ƩƠұ ҐƴƮƶҲƠƬ ƫƮƵƧƦƯҬƬ, ѦƬ ƩƠұ ›ƤƯұ ƲƮԏ чƣƤƪƴƮԏ ћƱƵƮƱƠƬ, ƩƠұ ч›ƮƲƳƵƮԏƱƨƬ ыƯƱƨƬ ›ƯҴƣƦƪƮƬ. Ʈҏ ƢҬƯ ї›ƨƱƲƯƠƴҰƱƤƱƧϝ їƩƤҲƬƮƳư, чƪƪϝ ѤƣҮƷư ҇ƶƤƱƧƠƨ, ҈Ʋƨ ыƬƤƳ јƠƳƲԙƬ ƲƦƪƨƩƠԏƲϝ їƩƨƬƮҶƫƤƧƠ. ƬԏƬ ƣҮ, щƬ ƩƠұ – ҈ ƫү ƢҲƬƮƨƲϝ– їƪƠƱƱƷƧԙƫƤƬ ћƬ ƲƨƱƨƬ, ƫƤƲҫ ƲӸư їƩƤҲƬƷƬ ƢƬҸƫƦư ќƩƠƱƲƠ ›Ƥ›ƯƠƵҴƲƠư ơƮƦƧƤҲƠư ƲƤҶƭƤƱƧƠƨ ƩƠұ чƬƠƫƠƵƤԃƱƧƠƨ ƫƤƲҫ ƲӸư ƲԙƬ ƧƤԙƬ ƤҏƬƮҲƠư. ћƩƯƨƬƮƬ ƮҕƬ Ƥѳư ƫҭƬ Ʋ[ү]Ƭ ƼƘҸƫƦƬ чƤұ ›Үƫ›ƤƨƬ ƲƮҵư ƱƳƬƤƵԙư чƬƠƢƢƤƪƮԏƬ[ƲƠư] Ʋ[ҫ ƣƨƱ]Ʋ[Ơ] ƥҴƫƤƬƠ, ƠҏƲƮҵư ƣҭ ›ƠƯƠƱƩƤƳҬƥƤƱƧƠ[ƨ] [ѤƫӮư ї›ƨƫƤƪԙư, Ҝư Ƥѳ ƣҮƮƨ ơƮƦƧҰƱ]ƮƬƲƠư јƠƳƲƮ[ԃư…]. For translation and commentary see Welles 1966, 245–246; 250–251. 14 Hopp 1977, 59–74; 79–92. 15 Welles 1966, no. 52: ƉƠƱƨƪƤҵư ƌҏ[ƫҮƬƦư ϝƐҸƬƷƬ Ʋԙƨ ƩƮƨƬԙƨ ƵƠҲƯƤƬ] ƲԙƬ ›ƠƯϝ ҐƫԙƬ ›ƯƤƱơƤƳƲԙƬ ƓƤƬƤƩƪӸư [ƫҭ]Ƭ Ʈҏ ƱƳƬҮƫƤƨƭҮ ƫƮƨ, ƌѳƯƦƬҲƠư ƣҭ ƩƠұ ϝƈƯƵҮƪƠƮư ч›ƠƬƲҰƱƠƬƲƤư їƬ ƋҰƪƷƨ ч›ҮƣƷƩƠƬ ƶҰƴƨƱƫƠ ƩƠƪҳƬ ƩƠұ ƴƨƪҬƬƧƯƷ›ƮƬ, їƬ Ңƨ ƩƠƲƠƯƭҬƫƤƬƮƨ ƣƨҴƲƨ Ʋҫư ƩƠƪƪҲƱƲƠư ч›ҳ ƲӸư чƯƵӸư јƪҴƫƤƬƮư ›ƯҬƭƤƨư ƩƠұ ƩƮƨƬҳƬ чƬƠƣƤҲƭƠư їƫƠƳƲҳƬ ƤҏƤƯƢҮƲƦƬ ƲԙƬ ƼƌƪƪҰƬƷƬ ›ƮƪƪƮҵư ƫ|ҭƬ ƩƠұ ƫƤƢҬƪƮƳư чƢԙƬƠư Ґ›ҮƱƲƦƬ ›Ưҳư ƲƮҵ[ư] ơƠƯơҬƯƮƳư, ь›ƠƱƠƬ Ʊ›ƮƳƣүƬ ƩƠұ ›ƯҴƬƮƨƠƬ ›ƮƨƮҶ[ƫƤ]ƬƮư ҈›Ʒư ƮѴ Ʋҫư ƼƌƪƪƦƬҲƣƠư ƩƠƲƮƨƩƮԏƬƲƤư ›ҴƪƤ[ƨư] ƣƨҫ ›ƠƬƲҳư їƬ ƤѳƯҰƬƦƨ ƩƠұ ƲӸƨ ơƤƪƲҲƱƲƦƨ ƩƠƲƠƱƲҬƱ[Ƥƨ] Ґ›ҬƯƵƷƱƨƬ, чƬƲƨƩƠƲƠƪƪƠƱ‹Ʊ›ҴƫƤƬƮư [ƣҭ ›Ưҳư] Ʋҳ[Ƭ] ї›[Ơ]Ʃ[ƮƪƮƳƧ]ƮԏƬƲƠ ƩҲƬƣƳƬƮƬ ƩƠұ [їƩƲƤƬүư ƩƠұ

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This letter addresses very precisely the two key instruments of Attalid self-representation after the Galatian disaster: donations to the Greek cities and the memory of victories over the barbarians. The kings of Pergamum were undoubtedly the most powerful patrons in the Greek world of the second century BCE. No other ruler could equal them in their endowments and honors, let alone exceed them. Endowments – euergesiai – were already a traditional strategy of Pergamum’s foreign policy, but under Eumenes II and his brother Attalus II, they were substantially increased. When we assemble all of the evidence, we can detect a twofold strategy in this policy. Some of the recipients were cities in the immediate vicinity of the Pergamene Empire. The Attalids made donations to Aizanoi, Magnesia, Apamea, Ephesos, Miletos, and Ilion. On the other hand – and for the last Attalids certainly most important – they also invested in the prominent trans-regional centers of the Greek world: in Delphi and Kalaureia, on Delos, Cos and Rhodes.16 Athens represented a particular case of Pergamum’s beneÀcence: its public places were lined with large buildings donated by the last Attalids.17 The communicative value of these donations must have been enormous: the kings were present as patrons and as recipients of honors at most of the important meeting points of the Greek world. According to contemporary notions, this degree of generosity required reciprocity, and that could consist of concrete undertakings such as political alliances or practical support. Moreover the elaborate commemoration in the cities accumulated considerable symbolic capital for the Hellenistic king. The fact that he could be generous beyond measure was generally considered to be a most important attribute of royal power.18 With comparable emphasis, the Àght against the barbarians was turned into a speciÀcally Pergamene theme. The victory over the Gauls, who used to terrorize the Greek cities of Asia Minor with ruthless plunder campaigns at regular intervals, had been the foundation of the claim to the royal title for the Pergamene dynasts. Shortly after coming to power, in 241 BCE, Attalus I had refused to pay protection money to the Gaulish tribes any longer. When the Tolistoagi mounted a punitive expedition against him, he defeated them decisively in the vicinity of Pergamum itself, at the springs of the Kaikos River, as we learn from his triumphal inscription.19 The measure of the threat posed to the peoples of Asia Minor by the Gauls is shown by the fact that Attalus dared to take the diadem after this victory.20 Thus, the victory over ƴƨƪҴƣƮ-] [ƭƮư ƤѹƬƠƨ ›ƯƮƤ]ƪҴƫƤƬ[Ʈư їƬ Ʋ]Ʈԃư [›Ưҳư Ʋҳ Ʃ]ƮƨƬҳƬ чƩƮƪƮҶƧƷư Ʋӹ ƲƮԏ ›ƠƲƯҳư ›ƯƮ[Ơ]ƨƯҮƱƤƨ їƬ ›ƮƪƪƮԃư ƴƠƬƤƯҫư ›Ƥ›ƮҲƦƫƠƨ Ʋҫư Ґ›ҭƯ ƲƮҶƲƷƬ ч›ƮƣƤҲƭƤƨư ƩƮƨƬӹ ƲƤ ƩƠұ ƩƠƲϝ ѳƣҲƠƬ ›Ưҳư јƩҬƱƲƦƬ ƲԙƬ ›ҴƪƤƷƬ ƤҏƬƮтƩԙư ƣƨƠƩƤҲƫƤƬƮư ƩƠұ ›Ʈƪƪҫ ƲԙƬ ›Ưҳư ї›ƨƴҬƬƤƨƠƬ ƩƠұ ƣҴƭƠƬ чƬƦƩҴƬƲƷƬ ƱƳƬƩƠƲƠƱƩƤƳҬƥƷƬ јƩҬƱƲӶ; for the translation and the commentary see Welles 1966, 212–219. 16 See the list by Bringmann/Steuben 1995, 552. 17 Bringmann/Steuben 1995, no. 26, 26a, 28, 29, 30, 31. 18 As is shown very clearly by Polybius’ epitaphios on Eumenes II: Polyb. 32.8. 19 IvP 20: ƉƠƱƨƪƤҵư ϤƈƲƲƠƪƮư, ƬƨƩҰƱƠư ƫҬ]ƵƦƨ ƚƮƪƨƱƲ[ƮƠƢҲƮƳư ƊƠƪҬƲƠ]ư ›[ƤƯұ ›ƦƢҫư] ƑƠԂƩ[ƮƳ ›ƮƲƠƫƮԏ, ƵƠ]Ưƨ[ƱƲ]Ұ[ƯƨƮƬ ϝƈƧ]Ʀ[ƬӮƨ. 20 Polyb. 18.41.7–8; Strab. 13.4.2; see Hansen 1971, 31–33; Allen 1983, 30–34.

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the Gauls became the source of royal legitimacy for the Pergamene micro-state even vis-à-vis the vastly more powerful Seleucid Empire. Accordingly, it comes as no surprise that from then on the victory over the Gauls runs like a leitmotiv in the self-representation of the Attalids.21 In my opinion, this victory is also responsible for the peculiar style of Pergamene art, which I would describe as the pathos of victory resulting from the spirit of defeat. In order to clarify what I mean, I will discuss brieÁy three manifestations of what we consider Attalid monumental art: the Great Altar (in Pergamum), the so-called Great Attalid Dedication and the Attalid dedication on the Acropolis of Athens. Since all of them are key monuments of Hellenistic art, there is hardly anything about them that is not hotly controversial, starting from their date, continuing with how we should reconstruct them, the context in which they were displayed, and of course their meaning. Since I intend to explain the message conveyed by these monuments, I will start with the probably latest but most explicit of them, the so-called lesser Attalid dedication, or “Little Barbarians”. Pausanias says that king Attalus dedicated a monument by the southern wall of the Acropolis which brought together four scenes from history and mythology: the battle of the Olympian gods against the Giants, the victory of the Athenian local hero Theseus against the Amazons, the Persian defeat at Marathon, and the destruction of the Galatians by the Àrst king of Pergamum at the spring of the Kaikos.22 For a number of reasons, this monument is most probably not a dedication of Attalus I, although this date has recently and strongly been advocated again by Andrew Stewart.23 In all likelihood, the monument can be attributed to Attalus II, and maybe to Attalus III. This would also explain in the easiest way the two colossal statues on the sides of the battle scenes, which should be interpreted as the statues of Eumenes II and of his brother Attalus, who ruled together the Pergamene kingdom during the last years of Eumenes’ reign.24 21 22

Marszal 2000, 204–206. Paus. 1.25.2: ›Ưҳư ƣҭ ƲԚ ƲƤрƵƤƨ ƲԚ ƔƮƲрԗ ƢƨƢнƬƲƷƬ, ƮѶ ›ƤƯұ ƏƯӭƩƦƬ ›ƮƲҭ ƩƠұ ƲҳƬ ѳƱƧƫҳƬ ƲӸư ƗƠƪƪпƬƦư ӝƩƦƱƠƬ, ƲƮхƲƷƬ ƲҳƬ ƪƤƢфƫƤƬƮƬ ›фƪƤƫƮƬ ƩƠұ ƫнƵƦƬ ›Ưҳư яƫƠƥфƬƠư яƧƦƬƠрƷƬ ƩƠұ Ʋҳ ƓƠƯƠƧԙƬƨ ›Ưҳư ƓпƣƮƳư ћƯƢƮƬ ƩƠұ ƊƠƪƠƲԙƬ ƲүƬ їƬ ƓƳƱрӬ ƴƧƮƯҫƬ чƬоƧƦƩƤƬ ѓƲƲƠƪƮư, ҈ƱƮƬ ƲƤ ƣхƮ ›ƦƵԙƬ ќƩƠƱƲƮƬ. The enormous size of the monument is reconstructed by Manolis Korres and Andrew Stewart as consisting of four bathra of at least 26m length each and 132 Àgures altogether (Stewart 2004, 181–198). 23 Stewart 2004, esp. 218–226; for an overview over the research of the last 200 years see Stewart 2004, 1–80. 24 Plutarch (Ant. 60.2–3) records that immediately before the battle of Actium a storm toppled the colossi of Eumenes and Attalus “reinscribed as Mark Antony”, probably down the southern wall of the Acropolis. Cassius Dio (50.15.2) states that a lightning hurled the images of Antony and Cleopatra into the theater (of Dionysos). Combining these two sources it seems to be obvious that the Athenians had re-dedicated the colossal statues of Eumenes and Attalus, situated in the southeast corner of the Acropolis, as Antony and Cleopatra. From my point of view it is hard to separate these statues from the dedication by their side, as Stewart tries to do. And it is by no means unclear which Attalus is meant (pace Stewart 2004, 198), as Plutarch displays the sequence “Eumenes and Attalus”, clearly indicating that he has Eumenes II’s brother in mind. So the dedication and the monument should have been erected either in the times of Attalus II or, if

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Also, the paradigmatic character of the monument displays its whole meaning only against the backdrop of the middle of the second century. In retrospect, the foundational victory of the Attalids is transferred in a comprehensive and quite revolutionary way into a framework of cultural longue durée. The choice of the conÁicts represented on the monument makes it possible to elevate recent history to the level of myth in various degrees. The primordial struggle of order against chaos, i. e. gods against giants, Ànds a Àrst parallel in the battle between Theseus and the Amazons, a purely mythic counterpart which however in Athens has a speciÀc local relevance. Building on the foundations laid by Athenian propaganda, the representation of Marathon confers mythic status to a page from the historical past and thereby provides the intended interpretive model for Attalus’ victory at the Kaikos, a much less known example of the struggle against the barbarians. Thereby Attalid politics is sheltered from the threat of contingency and anchored to the stable values of memory. The series of victories over the existential threat of the barbarians became a topos of Pergamene self-representation. Even if, after the works of Manolis Korres on the Acropolis,25 it is necessary to reconsider the question of the presence of statues of the victors on the monument, it is clearly not accidental that we can ascribe to this monument only images of the defeated, wounded and dying.26 The artists found such creative and extreme formulae to depict their plight that the ancient copyists concentrated their attention on the moribund among the statues that composed the monument. The repeated depiction of death in highly pathetic form connects together two messages: the dramatic and hard nature of the struggle and the inevitability of the defeat of the barbarians Àghting against a divine order which is now represented by the Attalids. Let us now jump back in time by many decades to the Great Attalid dedication in the sanctuary of Athena on the Acropolis of Pergamum. The monument has usu-

25 26

Stewart is right in stating that no hellenistic king put up a statue for himself, in the times of Attalus III. Most of the other arguments for a speciÀc date of the monument (see Stewart 2004, 219–220) are more or less disputable. I do not intend to tackle the question of style, discussing the relative chronology of the heroon for Ptolemy II and Arsinoe in Limyra, the Great Attalid dedication in Pergamum, the Great Altar and the Athenian dedication on the Acropolis; the best archaeologists have presented divergent opinions, while all of them concede that linearity of stylistic development is not a prominent feature of hellenistic art. I want to direct the attention to the possible contexts of the erection of the monument, though. Stewart states that “Attalus I’s visit to Athens at the height of the Second Macedonian War offers a far stronger historical context than the reign of Attalus II”. I would dispute this assessment for the following reasons: Firstly, the last years of Attalus I’s reign are a period of hasty activity, at least since the beginning of the war with Philip V (see Hansen 1971, 52–69). Within these years the Pergamene king fought to survive – the planning, Ànancing and erecting of a monument of the described size seems to be fairly impossible. Secondly, the size of the monument Àts genetically much better with the dedications of Eumenes and Attalus in the Greek world and especially in Athens. Thirdly, the comprehensive seriality of the mythical images of the monument seems to be rather the latest stage of semantic evolution, aiming strongly at a neo classical canonization. Korres in Stewart 2004, 242–285. For the corpus of the extant statues deriving from the monument see Stewart 2004, 1–63.

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ally been seen as a Àxed point in the chronology of Hellenistic sculpture and dated to 223 or shortly thereafter.27 In questioning this date, I am less interested in its stylistic implications than in what changes for the interpretation of the monument – and here, the historical context has a decisive importance. The monument consisted of a basis of more than 19 meters in length and approximately one meter in breadth, which carried dedications to Athena celebrating the victories of Attalus I. The majority of scholars now agreed that the original of the Dying Gaul from the Capitoline Museum and of the Ludovisi Gaul stood on this base.28 The short side of the monument carried, as a headline, the general caption for the dedication.29 The long side of the basis seems to be articulated in eight parts, each of which celebrated a victory.30 With one exception these victories had been won by Attalus I against the Seleucids starting from the mid-thirties of the third century. Taking advantage of the Fraternal War that was raging in those years, Attalus was able to achieve remarkable territorial conquests. This is shown very clearly by the places where the victories were won: the Phrygian Hellespont, lake Koloe, and Caria. Attalus’ main opponent was Antiochus Hierax, whom Attalus in the end expelled from Asia Minor, and then Seleucus III, who tried to reconquer the territory lost by the Seleucids in Asia Minor. His generals were defeated by Attalus, too, and he himself was murdered in 223 as he was getting ready to intervene personally in the war.31 This background explains the date of 223, and precisely here lies the logical error. At Àrst sight, it seems reasonable to date a victory monument not too far in time from the victory it celebrates, unless the monument itself provides solid reasons for thinking otherwise. Curiously, there are reasons to think otherwise, but they have not received attention in scholarship so far. The monument commemorated also a battle that does not belong to the wars against Antiochus Hierax and Seleucus III: the battle at the spring of the river Kaikos.32 This battle, which was celebrated also by another monument,33 had been fought against the Gauls alone, or more precisely, against the Tolistoagi, while in all the 27

Wenning 1978, 39; Schalles 1985, 100–103; Schmidt 1995, 88–89; Cain 2006, 10; Cain 2006a, 82; Winkler-Horaÿek 2011, 140; Hansen 1971, 260: 226–223 BCE; Stewart 2004, 207: late 220s BCE. 28 See Özgan 1981; Schalles 1985, 76–100; Cain 2006. Against this view Marszal, 2000, 208–209 (followed by Stewart 2004, 89–92, with reference to Schober 1936, 111–117), argued that the above mentioned statues would not Àt on the basis. This is not true as Schalles 1985, 97, has already shown. The alternative reconstruction of Marszal 2000, 207–209, Àg. 76, depicting a “regular” Àghting scene over the whole length of the bathron (reprinted by Stewart 2004, Àg. 224) is pure speculation. 29 IvP 21. 30 For the dimensions of the bathron see Wenning 1978, 39–41 and pl. 19; a reconstruction is given by Künzl 1971, Àg. 6 and pl. 22.1 without the victory inscriptions on the sides of the bathron, though; Marszal 2000, Àg. 76 gives at least a graphical placement of them. 31 OGIS 274; 275; 277; 278; 279; Hansen 1971, 33–38; Allen 1983, 28–39. 32 IvP 23. That a second battle should have been fought at exactly the same place against exactly the same foe is not very probable (pace IvP, 27). 33 IvP 20; Allen 1983, 31–32.

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other battles mentioned above the Gauls had fought alongside the Seleucids. Observing more closely the inscriptions from the sanctuary of Athena, one notes immediately that in all likelihood all the other victories celebrated on the long basis had each its own separate dedication as well.34 What this observation suggests is that, while these separate dedications must have been erected close in time to the victories they celebrated, in a traditional fashion,35 the long basis must have been a retrospective cumulative celebration, which accordingly reinterpreted the whole complex of events from the vantage point of a later time. What can be a plausible date for such a monument? For the retrospective cumulative celebration to be possible, at least the war must have come to an end, which was not the case in 223: after the death of Seleucus III, a young and energetic relative, Achaeus, took over the leadership in the war against Pergamum so successfully that within one year Attalus was reduced to his original territory. By 222, the great Pergamene victories of the last decade had become history.36 Thereafter, Achaeus revolted against Antiochus III, and Pergamum took Antiochus’ side against the usurper and participated in his defeat.37 Finally, in 213 BCE the war ended for good,38 and this is in my opinion the terminus post for the conception of the monument. Its character however was rather unlike that of a normal victory dedication. The victories celebrated by the monument had not become any more real: even after Achaeus’ death, they were only memory, and lasting territorial gains were very modest.39 Worse still, the end of the dynastic strife among the Seleucids posed an existential threat to the kings of Pergamum, who had appropriated a choice portion of Seleucid land and, by taking the royal title, were structurally compelled to aspire to more.40 In this situation, the big victory dedication is an extraordinary example 34

35

36 37 38 39 40

IvP 33; 34; 35; 36; 37. Thus it seems clear that all eight inscriptions on the different sections of the bathron can be traced, six from the pieces of the monument itself and the other two from the separate dedications in the precinct of Athena. If their chronological alignment by Künzl 1971 is plausible, has to be reconsidered in the light of the insight that the Great Attalid dedication is retrospective. There is also a monument (again by Epigonos) commemorating victories in the war against the Galatians and Antiochus Hierax, which seems to be contemporary to the events (IvP 36; Allen 1983, 35). Hansen 1971, 38–40; Allen 1983, 36. Hansen 1971, 40–43; Allen 1983, 37–38. Hansen 1971, 43; for the Seleucid side of the war against Achaeus see Ma 1999, 54–63. See Allen 1983, 60–65, showing that Attalus I commanded 213 BCE hardly any more territories than 218. For the precarious situation of the Pergamene monarchy in the last years of the third century BCE and the offensive of Antiochus III in Western Asia Minor after 204 BCE see Ma 1999, 63–73. It is especially telling for the relationship between the Pergamene kings and the Seleucids around 200 that Eumenes II refused a marriage connection with the Seleucid house (Polyb. 22.20.8–9; 195–193 BCE: Hansen 1971, 76–77; Allen 1983, 78 n. 11), clearly discerning the imminent danger of a deadly embrace. A slightly different picture draws Chrubasik 2012, who holds that the rather cooperative relationship between Attalus I and Eumenes II on the one hand and Antiochus III on the other did not change signiÀcantly before 193 BCE. His argument has the obvious advantage of sticking to the explicit attitudes of the protagonists. From this point of view it was indeed the rejection of Antiochus’ marriage offer which signals the changes in

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of coming to terms with the facts on the ground and of compensating for lack of gains by way of rewriting history from a normative perspective. By including the battle at the springs of the Kaikos in the later struggles and by depicting the Gauls in the later victories as a stand-alone enemy rather than as mercenaries of Antiochus Hierax, it became possible to hide the smoldering conÁict with the Seleucids under the pretended war against the barbarians. The Seleucids themselves are implicitly discredited as the ones who allied themselves with the barbarians. Here, too, the cruelty of the struggle is translated esthetically by focusing on the defeated, who are in turn represented making use of peculiar expressions of pathos. Based on the Àgures that are available for a reconstruction of the monument on the long basis, the victors seem not to have been represented on the basis. The statues constituted autonomous scenes, which did not necessarily require the presence of any visible victor, but rather isolated the defeated in the inevitability of their defeat at the hands of the Pergamene ruler.41 The third monument that is usually associated with the victory over the Gauls is the Great Altar, today in the Berlin Pergamon Museum. The connection between the Gigantomachy depicted on the frieze that surrounds the base of the altar and a victory over the Gauls can be inferred based on the general association of victory over the barbarians and cosmic order and on the axial connection between the altar and the sanctuary of Athena Nikephoros.42 Accordingly, it seems obvious to see the altar of Pergamum as a victory monument.43 Scholars however have long disagreed on its date. In this case, again, a few years would mean a signiÀcant difference in the semantics of the monument. One possible terminus post for the beginning of the construction is 183 BCE, after the Attalids succeeded with a long series of hard conÁicts not only to gain control of the territory granted to them by the Romans, but also to subjugate Galatia.44 In recent years, a later date, after 166 BCE, has become increasingly popular.45 In order to settle the matter, a few years ago a comprehensive investigation of the foundations of the altar was undertaken. The result of the soundings is not completely clear-cut, but, as some pieces of the pottery found are most probably from

relationship. I would still argue that Antiochus’ III outspoken agenda of re-assembling his ancestor’s realm constituted a structural and obvious threat against the ruler of Pergamum, who, for opportunistic reasons, did not prematurely express his ill feelings about the growth of the Seleucid power. 41 See Schalles 1985, 79–80; Cain 2006a, 82. 42 Kähler 1948, 126–127; Radt 1988, 374. 43 This is by and large still the communis opinio. A different solution (with hardly any arguments, though; see below n. 46) offer De Luca/Radt 1999, 124–125, who interpret the altar tentatively as a commemoration of Eumenes II’s survival of an assassination attempt near Delphi in 172 BCE. 44 Hopp 1977, 40–48; 51–52; Hansen 1971, 97–102; for this date of the altar see Kähler 1948, 143–147; Hoepfner 1989, 633–634; Hoepfner 1996. 45 Callaghan 1981; Kunze 1990, 123–139; Schmidt 1990, 141–146; Kunze 1996, 73.

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the 170s, the early date seems now increasingly unlikely.46 To me, too, a later date seems more likely, although rather for reasons connected with the context. The images of victory, which elevate the successes of the Attalid dynasty to an almost cosmic status, make it possible to negotiate effectively the actual failure of Pergamene politics in Galatia. In the decoration of the altar, it is not only the template of the struggle against the barbarian that secures the connection to the mythic narrative, but also a twofold genealogical link. The central place occupied by Heracles on the east side of the great frieze is motivated by the relief in the courtyard of the altar, which depicts the story of Telephus, who was himself the product of the sexual assault by the Greek model-hero on the princess Auge of Tegea and ended up as king of Mysia. Thereby the Attalids tied themselves through a local and genealogical link to the prehistory of the struggle against the barbarian. And again, for this Àght, too, new standards are set to the representation of pathos. A very good example is of course the Athena-Alkyoneus-group showing the goddess slowly separating the opposing giant from his lifeguarding mother Gaia. The focus of the scene is clearly the pain-struck face of Alkyoneus. In my opinion and against the view expressed by Tonio Hölscher, such pathos brought to an extreme was not intended to inspire compassion for the defeated.47 It was rather the product of stylistic conventions that could not be circumvented. Since the ethical superiority of the winner, especially when the winner is a god, ruled out any emotional incertitude as to the result of the struggle, the cruelty of the Àght could be expressed only by the depiction of the faces and the bodies of the defeated. Even more impressive and telling for the semantics of the frieze is the group of Aphrodite: the goddess is not just stepping in the face of the killed giant beneath her – as special act of cruelty –, but using his face as a counterbalance to tear out her spear off the dead corpse.48 It is this complete nonchalance that highlights the agony and the suffering of the other side in a most marked way. In the historical context of 166 BCE, the pathetic elevation of current politics to a cosmic level makes perfect sense. The Gauls, the collective bogeyman of Asia, offered Hellenistic kings ideal material for a display of their deeds, and the Attalids made extensive and virtuoso use of this possibility. When they were no longer permitted to pursue this collective nightmare in corpore, the memory of earlier victories was cultivated and aesthetically inÁated.

46

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De Luca/Radt 1999, 124, formulating the argumentative dilemma as follows: “Stellt man einerseits die für manche Vasengattungen wenig scharf umrissene Chronologie, andererseits den bei Funden immer einzubeziehenden Zufall in Rechnung, ist die Möglichkeit der Spätdatierung nicht direkt von der Hand zu weisen. Doch geht man von der datierten Keramik im Befund aus, erscheint, soweit man das übersehen kann, ein Arbeitsbeginn am Großen Altar in den Späten siebziger Jahren am besten vertretbar. Ein Anfang in den späten siebziger Jahren würde wohl auch einem von der Architektur her – bzw. ihren ‚späten‘ Elementen – suggerierten Ablauf nicht widersprechen.” Considering the evidence, I still cannot understand, though, why one should turn, as De Luca/Radt do, a clear terminus post quem into a terminus ad quem. See Schalles 1985, 80–87 against Hölscher 1980, 356 n. 25, and Hölscher 1985, 131–133. See Kähler 1948, 101; Heilmeyer 1997, 86.

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In the belief that their political-military decline could not be reversed, the last kings of Pergamum projected their pretensions through the non-violent media of prestige investment. Both the donations to poleis and temples and the aesthetic restyling of their earlier foreign policy as a war against barbarians had the purpose of presenting the Pergamene court as the champion of Greek identity. After all, the city of Athens had set an example of how investing in culture, even without commanding real power, could ensure a durable positive image.

2. THE GOD-KING ON THE EUPHRATES Almost exactly one hundred years after the construction of the Great Altar, and around one thousand kilometers further east, King Antiochus I of Commagene inaugurated a building program which remained unparalleled in the history of Hellenism. He established a series of sites throughout his territory on the Euphrates to serve the cultic worship of his own person. Three larger (hierothesia) and eleven smaller (temene) such sites are known.49 The culmination of this program is represented by the sanctuary over two thousand meters above sea level at Nemrut Daù×, which was converted into a holy mountain. Around its top, where the burial chamber of the king was placed, three cult terraces were constructed, on which a step altar, a large cultic inscription, dozens of reliefs and countless colossal statues were erected.50 In the Hellenistic world, honoring kings as divinities was nothing exceptional – on the contrary. Even though the majority of the cults were established by their subjects,51 there were still cults elsewhere which the respective rulers had initiated themselves.52 In its dimensions and its conceptual consistency, however, the project of the king of Commagene assumed a new quality. I will leave aside here the problem of the exact chronology of the monuments,53 and concentrate on the aspects which I consider speciÀc to Antiochus’ cult reform. The central characteristic of his new order is the total presence of the Commagene king in the religious sphere. This presence was achieved by installing the cult of the king in every important sanctuary of the kingdom. By this means, the worship of the king was embedded within the ritual worship of the local pantheon. The heaven of the gods was centralized, standardized, and oriented around the king. In the cult inscriptions and the visual representations, groups of older deities were synthesized into new super-gods, while the Oriental and Greek conceptions and

49 50

Waldmann 1973, 5–141; Wagner 2000, 14; Facella 2006, 251–261. Jacobs 2000; for the comprehensive publication of the earlier research at Nemrut Daù× see Waldmann 1973; Dörner 1987; Wagner 1983; Sanders 1996; Facella 2006, 17–49. 51 Habicht 1956; Price 1984, 36–40; Walbank 1987; Ma 1999, 219–226; Chaniotis 2003; Pfeiffer 2008, esp. 31–64. 52 Van Nuffelen 1998/1999; van Nuffelen 2004; Pfeiffer 2008, 64–76; for the Antigonids: Mari 2008. 53 See now Wagner 2000, 11–25.

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names of the gods were systematically integrated. Thus, in Commagene, the highest god appears as Zeus-Oromasdes (the Persian Ahuramazda), the Àgure of Apollo absorbed Mithras, Helios, and Hermes, and the divinization of war is combined in Heracles-Artagnes-Ares.54 The privileged proximity of these super-gods to the ruler of Commagene is expressed on Nemrut Daù× by placing his colossal statue at the center of their statues, while the motif of the friendly handshake between the king and the new gods is ubiquitous in Antiochus’ artistic self-representation (the so-called Dexiosis reliefs).55 This far-reaching religious self-aggrandizement found its explicit justiÀcation in a cosmic constellation: the passage of the planets Mercury, Mars, and Jupiter past the king’s star, Regulus, within a few hours probably on 7th July 62 BCE was publicly interpreted by Antiochus as the gods paying homage to his kingship.56 Antiochus’ genealogical positioning, which assumed a quasi-religious character, was of comparable importance. He claimed for his person the most exclusive lines that East and West had to offer. On his father’s side he traced his descent from the Achaemenid king Darius, and on his mother’s side, from Alexander the Great.57 This genealogical claim was obviously so important for his self-representation that he invented a form which had never existed previously, either in the Greek or in the Oriental world. For a ruler’s genealogy à la gecque, only the immediate male predecessors and the founder of the dynasty or the mythical reference point were necessary. On Nemrut Daù×, however, Antiochus depicted every single ancestor on both the male and female sides on the reliefs, and thereby produced a singular and exceptionally comprehensive genealogy.58 For the creation of his titles and the symbolic endowment of his person, the full apparatus of motifs available from eastern and western ruler ideology was also deployed. His title ‘Great King’ (megas basileus) suggests not only his descent from Alexander but also emphatically the Achaemenid context, while the endless columns of Greek monumental inscriptions are a counterpart to ruler insignia of decidedly eastern provenance.59 The third element of Antiochus’ royal self-representation was the insistent connection between his kingship and a speciÀc territory. Such a formulation of king-

54 Jacobs 2000a, 45–48. 55 For the dexiosis-formula Waldmann 1973, 197–202; Petzl 2003; Mittag 2004, 21–22. 56 A relief plate of the so-called ‘Lion’s horoscope’ has been found at the Nemrut Daùi: Dörrie 1964, 201–207; Mannzmann 1978, 584–591; for the discussion of the exact date: Mittag 2004, 7–9. 57 Messerschmidt 2000, 37–43. I would dispute, though, that the idea behind Antiochus miseen-scene of his genealogy is the concept of ancestors’ cult (“Ahnenkult”), as Dörrie 1964, 208–209 proposed. 58 See Messerschmidt 2000; Jacobs 2000b. What Antiochus did is quite unique: the Greek genealogy in general does not employ a complete Àliation from the ktistes of the genos to its latest son, and the Eastern genealogies of monarchs name normally even fewer generations. Of course, it can be no argument against Antiochus’ clear idea of presenting a full genealogy that his mother’s line counts more names than his father’s (Messerschmidt 2000, 41–43). 59 For the megas basileus-title see Wagner 1983, 203–209; Wagner 2000, 19–20, for the Eastern insignia Waldmann 1973, 165–172; Metzler 2000.

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ship is, as far as I know, unique in the Hellenistic period. The title basileus Lykias is documented epigraphically for the Lycian dynast Perikles during the fourth century BCE60, but Alexander’s heirs never represented their royalty in regional terms, even when it had only a rather stable territorial extension. To be sure, not even the basileus megas Antiochus called himself explicitly ‘king of Commagene’, but the presence of the goddess Commagene on one of the Àve divine thrones61 gives the strong impression that this is what he meant. Thereby Antiochus’ kingship acquires a defensive undertone even in conceptual terms. The expansion of his realm or the spreading of his authority over Asia Minor was clearly not his aim.62 Thus, Antiochus’ self-representation projects an extremely coherent image. His building program was a large-scale, comprehensive attempt to sacralize his person and to depict his rule as being protected by the gods and without alternative. In order to strengthen the religious argument vis-à-vis the diverse ethnic groups within the kingdom, he combined all of the principal cult traditions in his self-representation. The sacral potential that the newly created cult centers afforded for this purpose was continuously actualized. Antiochus provided that celebrations were held twice each month throughout the land in his honor and required that the entire population should assemble for these celebrations at the nearest sanctuary.63 Yet to what end were such efforts made, which must have absorbed such a large portion of the income of the kingdom? If we do not simply accept the conclusion that Antiochus was a megalomaniac and paranoid – and everything else that we know about his politics speaks against this64 – it is illuminating to return to the time of the cosmic constellation which he used to justify his cult reform. In the 60s of the Àrst century BCE, Commagene was anything but an example of stability and strength. Until 68, it was at least informally a vassal of the Armenian king Tigranes. The latter’s defeat at the hands of the Romans gave Commagene its independence, which was formally conÀrmed three years later.65 Yet these events and their context illustrated the utter fragility of monarchy even in the remote Anatolian highlands: from the mid-60s the entire Near East experienced the transformation of Roman politics from spur-of-the-moment intervention to imperial dictate. The protagonist of this paradigm shift was Cn. Pompeius. He construed his supreme command against the kingdom of Pontus as the authority to reorganize the political topography of the East as he pleased, without reference to the senate. Supported by the invincibility of his legions, he travelled around Asia Minor, Syria, and Palestine, creating provinces, founding cities, deposing and elevating kings and dynasties and giving one land that he had conÀscated from another.66 This entire procedure must

60 61 62 63 64 65 66

See Wörrle 1991, 203–217. Mannzmann 1978, 584–585; Jacobs 2000, 27. For the ensuing isolation of Commagene within the Roman world see Fraser 1978, esp. 371– 374. Waldmann 1973, 203–204; Jacobs 2000a, 47. See Sullivan 1990, 193–198 for an overview over his politics. Mannzmann 1978, 566–567; Wagner 1983, 200–201; Facella 2006, 215–230. See Gelzer 1959, 95–108.

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have been profoundly shocking to the rulers of the region. They saw themselves compelled to wait upon the strong man of the Republic, and learned how little it took to be disposed of.67 Pompeius’ East became another place not only in the rearrangement of its borders but also in the perception of contemporaries. Who held power – even on the Euphrates – could no longer remain a secret. I consider it extremely plausible to see the occasion for the energetic construction of the ruler cult in Commagene in this structural delegitimization of regional kingdoms.68 So Antiochus and the last of the Pergamene kings represent two options for addressing the problems which confronted late Hellenistic monarchy. Even though their respective strategies point in different directions with respect both to their media and their content, the communicative constellations which underlie each of them are very similar. It is important to bear in mind that the addressee of the legitimizing efforts was obviously not the power which impelled the ruler to act. Antiochus’ religious policy was aimed primarily at his own people, whereas the self-representation of the last rulers of Pergamum was directed towards the Greek city states within and outside their own empire. The purpose of these investments becomes easier to appreciate when we recognize in what exactly the Roman threat consisted. It is evident that Roman intervention in the East usually followed upon conÁicts. The circumstances of the Hellenistic world ensured that regional conÁicts and controversies were handled with ever-growing frequency by the Roman senate. The problem for the more powerful regional rulers lay precisely in this fact. In the Àrst half of the second century BCE, for example, the ambassadors who complained in Rome against the young empire of Pergamum provided Rome with a ready excuse to intervene. Investigating commissions, mistrust and sanctions might follow.69 For inner-Anatolian monarchies such as Commagene, the city embassies were of course not the principal threat – there were no cities there – but rather the Putsches and succession crises in which regional neighbors could interfere, and Ànally, the Republic, against whose vote there was no appeal.70 Antiochus and the last of the Pergamene rulers sought to resist these centrifugal tendencies creatively: the one by rendering himself immune against rival pretenders, while stressing his already established relationship with Rome,71 the others by attempting to win support in their

67

Mannzmann 1978, 590–591. Paradigmatic was the conference in Amisos (65/4 BCE), where Pompey judged the qualities of the Eastern dynasts form the Roman (or maybe his personal) perspective. 68 See already Mannzmann 1978, 586–592. 69 For the Roman involvement in inter-polis arbitration after 148 BCE see Kallet-Marx 1995, 161–183. 70 As we can see in then Cappadocian, Paphlagonian and Phrygian affairs of the 90s BCE: Kallet-Marx 1995, 245–250. Of course it was obvious from the start, what the senate would do. As Robert Kallet-Marx and Erich S. Gruen pointed out there was always a possibility or even a probability that a negative response to the Roman decision would not lead to a major intervention (Kallet-Marx 1995, 242–243; Gruen 1984, 111–129). But it always might be different – and nobody in the East had a clue about the outcome of the individual confrontation. 71 Facella 2010, 182–191; for the epithets Philorhomaios kai Philhellen, which were adopted by Antiochus I, see Facella 2005.

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immediate environment and throughout the Greek world, in order to avoid the consequences of regional conÁict. Both of these options are nonetheless consistent with the image of the king without victory: they are defensive strategies which realistically reÁect the limited room for maneuver available to these rulers. They were the heroes of retreat.

3. THE EPHESIAN VESPERS Early in 88 BCE Mithradates VI Eupator, king of Pontus, ordered the cities in Asia Minor to murder all Roman citizens and Italians in their territory, irrespective of gender, age or status. This command was executed with the greatest precision. On one single day, between 80,000 and 150,000 people, depending on the source, were allegedly massacred.72 Volunteers to implement this decentralized bloodbath were apparently not hard to Ànd. Even if the number of victims should be exaggerated it is not disputed that in 88 BCE the liquidation of an entire group was carried out. The logic of this exceptional event requires a satisfactory explanation. The starting point cannot be the question why so many Greeks in Asia Minor hated Romans and Italians to such an extent that they willingly took part in the massacre. Forty years of Roman provincial government created more than enough resentment.73 The real question is, why Mithradates carefully prepared and coolly ordered the mass murder. The historical context is quickly outlined. The Roman provincial ofÀcial Manius Aquillius had provoked a war between Bithynia and the kingdom of Pontus which Mithradates had not merely expected, but for his part even planned and wanted. The outcome was a dead Governor, a defeated Roman army and the complete occupation of the Roman province of Asia by Pontic troops.74 With this, the affair had become rather more than an insigniÀcant provincial war. Nonetheless, the state of war obtaining between Mithradates and Rome still does not explain the Ephesian Vespers. It is possible, but scarcely probable, that the Italians represented a potential danger to the power of Mithradates in Asia Minor;75 and it is certainly true that murdering them added much to the treasury of the king. But why must women, children and the old then also be killed? In economic terms, this was a highly counterproductive action, considering that the sale into slavery of the prisoners could have brought good money while at the same time signaling an additional humiliation for the Romans. Robert Kallet-Marx’s interpretation is that Mithradates had ordered the slaughter in order to bind the cities in complicity with

72 73

74 75

For the sources see Naco del Hoyo et al. 2011, 291 n. 3; for the numbers of killed see the discussion by McGing 1986, 113 and n. 118. Badian 1972, 82–118; McGing 1986, 113–118, giving a careful analysis of the relation between social structure and political engagement in favour of Mithradates; see Ferrary 2001, 100–106; Niebergall 2011, 68–69; Niebergall 2011a. McGing 1986, 79–88; 108–113. Pace McGing 1986, 113.

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him.76 Certainly, as the history of the 20th century shows well, partnership in crime binds the participants together.77 Yet this reasoning is only convincing on the assumption that the anticipated conÁict was viewed not merely as unavoidable but insoluble – such a conception of conÁict, though, was alien to the Greeks. This does not mean that military engagements in Hellenism were typically bloodless or harmless or even humane, but they were limited wars in the sense that one could conduct them without one of the belligerent parties having to be eliminated at the end. The prestige of a ruler could also be enhanced without the absolute extermination of his enemy.78 It is obvious, however, that Mithradates had envisaged the war with Rome as something entirely different from the usual Àght over land or prestige. It was already well known that the Republic would regard the murder of a few of its citizens as sufÀcient grounds to declare war.79 Under these circumstances, the Ephesian Vespers must have represented a declaration of total war – a war which would only end with the complete annihilation of one side or the other. Mithradates’ intentions become clearer against this backdrop. As the king of Pontus, he had attempted programmatically to strengthen and expand his realm by reorganizing it and concentrating its resources. In the north, in the area of the Black Sea, he was successful.80 As he began to expand in Asia Minor at the cost of his neighbors, however, the Romans intervened. Under threat of military intervention, in 95/4 BCE they forced him to surrender the occupied states of Paphlagonia and Cappadocia.81 From this time, it must have been apparent to him that there would be neither a great power of Pontus nor a real king Mithradates as long as Rome was powerful in the East.82 If he did not wish to accept this situation, then a battle of systems was the inescapable alternative.83 The Ephesian Vespers was then the expression of his will to be king at a time when there had long been no more kings in the emphatic sense. Consequently Mithradates went to war with Rome as a reincarnation of Alexander.84 It is an irony of history that the king of Pontus – contrary to all expectation – failed to achieve heroic status. The Àrst round of bloody civil war in Rome ensured that L. Cornelius Sulla, the Roman commander against Mithradates, insisted upon 76 77 78 79 80 81

82

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Kallet-Marx 1995, 156–158. See Kühne 2010; for a critical assessment of Kühne’s view see Bajohr 2012. See Gehrke 1982, 262–266. Sall. Iug. 26–27; see the discussion by Morstein-Marx 2000. See Olshausen 1972, 809–810; McGing 1986, 43–65; Molev 2009; for the repercussions of Mithradates northern success in his relationship with Rome see Heinen 2005. Glew 1977, 388–390; Kallett-Marx 1995, 247–250; Strobel 1996, 72–75; Mastrocinque 1999, 32–37; Olbrycht 2009, 172–175. Possibly the Roman intervention freeing Phrygia belongs to the same context, as Kallet-Marx 1995, 241–242 argued. The king could not have any doubts that the Roman governor of Cilicia, L. Cornelius Sulla, being as ambitious as he was self-conÀdent, would lead the war as decidedly as possible, if he was given any pretext. Brian McGing consequently argues in favour of an aggressive impetus of Mithridates even since the last decade of the second century (McGing 2009, esp. 208–213); contra Strobel 1996, 87; Madsen 2009, 199–200. Naco del Hoyo et al. 2011, esp. 304, speak of the ‘ultimate frontier’ of politics in the East. See McGing 2009, 210–213.

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a provisional settlement after the Àrst victories, instead of Àghting on to the bitter end, in order that he could then speedily return to Rome.85 Thereafter, the conÁict smoldered on irresolutely86 until in 65 BCE Pompeius achieved a quick and irrevocable end of the Mithradates affair. The king Áed to the Crimea:87 he had lost not merely his kingdom but also – in the course of more than twenty years of maneuvers – the will to die a hero’s death. Following his departure, the castrated king Ànally and without rivals dominated the political stage in the East.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Allen, R. E 1983: The Attalid kingdom. A Constitutional History, Oxford. Badian, E. 1972: Publicans and sinners. Private enterprise in the service of the Roman Republic, Ithaca. Bajohr, F. 2012: Mass murder and community building. A review to Th. Kühne, Belonging and Genocide: Hitler’s Community, 1918–1945, German History 30, 120–126. Blasius, A. 2007: Antiochos IV. Epiphanes. Basileus und Pharao Ägyptens? Porphyrios und die polybianische Überlieferung, in S. Pfeiffer (ed.), Ägypten unter fremden Herrschern zwischen persischer Satrapie und römischer Provinz, Frankfurt am Main, 75–107. Bringmann, K. and Steuben, H. von 1995: (eds.) Schenkungen hellenistischer Herrscher an griechische Städte und Heiligtümer, Berlin. Brunt, P. 1971: Italian Manpower. 225 B. C. – A. D. 14, Oxford. Cain, H.-U. 2006: Kelten-Bilder in Rom – Inszenierte Demütigung und erlebte Siegermoral, Münchner Jahrbuch der bildenden Kunst 57, 9–30. 2006a: Das Bild der Kelten und Gallier in der archäologischen Forschung, in S. Rieckhoff (ed.), Celtes et Gaulois dans l’histoire, l’historiographie et l’idéologie moderne: actes de la table ronde de Leipzig, 16–17 juin 2005. Celtes et Gaulois l’archéologie face à l’histoire, GluxenGlenne et al., 75–96. Callaghan, P. J. 1981: On the Date of the Great Altar of Zeus at Pergamon, Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies of the University of London 28/1, 115–121. Chaniotis, A. 2003: The Divinity of Hellenistic Rulers, in A. Erskine (ed.), A Companion to the Hellenistic World, Oxford, 431–445. Chrubasik, B. 2012: The Attalids and the Seleukid Kings, 281–175 BCE, in P. Thonemann (ed.), Attalid Asia Minor: Money, International Relations, and the State, Oxford (in press). De Luca, G. and Radt, W. 1999: Sondagen im Fundament des Großen Altars, Berlin.

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See Meier 1980, 235. See McGing 1986, 133–167; Strobel 1996, 88–94; Mastrocinque 1999, 91–110. See McGing 1986, 164–166.

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Dörner, F. K. 1987: Der Thron der Götter auf dem Nemrud Dag. Kommagene – das große archäologische Abenteuer in der östlichen Türkei, 3 vols., Bergisch Gladbach. Dörrie, H. 1964: Der Königskult des Antiochos von Kommagene im Lichte neuer Inschriften-Funde, Göttingen. Facella, M. 2005: ƜƨƪoƯƷƫƠƨoư ƩƠƨ ƴƨƪƤƪƪƦƬ. Roman perception of Commagenian royalty, in O. Hekster and R. Fowler (eds.), Imaginary Kings. Royal images in the ancient Near East, Greece and Rome, Stuttgart, 87–103. 2006: La dinastia degli Orontidi nella Commagene ellenistico-romana, Pisa. 2010: Advantages and Disadvantages of an Allied Kingdom: The Case of Commagene, in T. Kaizer and M. Facella (eds.), Kingdoms and Principalities in the Roman Near East, Stuttgart, 181–197. Ferrary, L. 2001: Rome et les cités grecques d’Asie Mineure au IIe siècle, in A. Bresson and R. Descat (eds.), Les cités d’Asie Mineure occidentale au IIe siècle, Bordeaux 2001, 93–106. Fraser, P. M. 1978: The Kings of Commagene and the Greek World, in S. ûahin, E. Schwertheim and J. Wagner (eds.), Studien zur Religion und Kultur Kleinasiens. Festschrift Karl Dörner zum 65. Geburtstag am 28. Februar, Leiden, 359–374. Gehrke, H.-J. 1982: Der siegreiche König. Überlegungen zur hellenistischen Monarchie, Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 84, 247–277. Gelzer, M. 1959: Pompeius, Munich. Glew, D. G. 1977: Mithridates Eupator and Rome: A study of the background of the First Mithridatic War, Athenaeum 55, 380–405. Gruen, E. S. 1984: The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome, 2 vols., Berkeley et al. Haake, M. 2003: Warum und zu welchem Ende schreibt man peri basileias? Überlegungen zum historischen Kontext einer literarischen Gattung im Hellenismus, in K. Piepenbrink (ed.), Philosophie und Lebenswelt in der Antike, Darmstadt, 83–138. Habicht, C. 1956: Gottmenschentum und griechische Städte, Munich. Hansen, E. V. 1971: The Attalids of Pergamon, Ithaca. Heilmeyer, W.-D. 1997: (ed.) Der Pergamonaltar. Die neue Präsentation nach der Restaurierung des Telefosfrieses, Tübingen et al. Heinen, H. 2005: Mithradates VI. Eupator, Chersonesos und die Skythenkönige. Kontroversen um Appian, Mithr. 12 f. und Memnon 22,3 f., in A. Coskun (ed.), Roms auswärtige Freunde, Göttingen, 75–90. Hoepfner, W. 1989: Zu den grossen Altären von Magnesia und Pergamon, Archäologischer Anzeiger 4, 601– 634 1996: Der vollendete Pergamonaltar, Archäologischer Anzeiger 1, 115–134. Hölscher, T. 1980: Römische Siegesdenkmäler der späten Republik, in H. A. Cahn, E. Simon (eds.),

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Tainia. Roland Hampe zum 70. Geburtstag am 2. Dezember 1978, 351–371. 1985: Die Geschlagenen und Ausgelieferten in der Kunst des Hellenismus, Antike Kunst 28, 120–136. Hopp, J. 1977: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der letzten Attaliden, Munich. Jacobs, B. 2000: Das Heiligtum auf dem Nemrud Daùi. Zur Baupolitik des Antiochos I. von Kommagene und seines Sohnes Mithradates II., in J. Wagner (ed.), Gottkönige am Euphrat. Neue Ausgrabungen und Forschungen in Kommagene, Mainz, 27–36. 2000a: Die Religionspolitik des Antiochos I. von Kommagene, in J. Wagner (ed.), Gottkönige am Euphrat. Neue Ausgrabungen und Forschungen in Kommagene, Mainz, 45–49. 2000b: Die Reliefs der Vorfahren des Antiochos I. von Kommagene auf dem Nemrud Daùi – Versuch einer Neubenennung der Frauendarstellungen in den mütterlichen Ahnenreihen, Istanbuler Mitteilungen 50, 297–306. Kallet-Marx, R. M. 1995: Hegemony to Empire: The Development of the Roman Imperium in the East, Berkeley. Kähler, H. 1948: Der grosse Fries von Pergamon. Untersuchungen zur Kunstgeschichte und Geschichte Pergamons, Berlin. Kühne, Th. 2010: Belonging and genocide: Hitler’s community, 1918–1945, New Haven et al. Kunze, M. 1990: Neue Beobachtungen zum Pergamonaltar, in B. Andreae (ed.), Phyromachos-Probleme. Mit einem Anhang zur Datierung des grossen Altares von Pergamon, Mainz, 123–139. Kunze, M. 1996: Parthenon und Pergamonaltar. Das Bildprogramm am Pergamonaltar als Rückgriff auf den Parthenon?, Thetis 3, 71–80. Künzl, E. 1971: Die Kelten des Epigonos von Pergamon, Würzburg. Ma, J. 1999: Antiochos III and the cities of Western Asia Minor, Oxford. MacShane, R. B. 1964: The Foreign policy of the Attalids of Pergamum, Urbana. Madsen, J. M. 2009: The ambitions of Mithridates VI: Hellenistic kingship and modern interpretations, in J. M. Hojte (ed.), Mithridates VI and the Pontic Kingdom, Aarhus, 191–201. Mannzmann, A. 1978: Herrschaft unter dem Aspekt königlicher Machtpolitik. Zu den Inschriften Antiochos‘ I. von Kommagene, in S. ûahin, E. Schwertheim, J. Wagner (eds.), Studien zur Religion und Kultur Kleinasiens. Festschrift Karl Dörner zum 65. Geburtstag am 28. Februar, Leiden, 565– 594. Mari, M. 2008: The Ruler Cult in Macedonia, Studi ellenistici 20, 219–268. Marszal, J. 2000: Ubiquitous Barbarians, in B. S. Ridgway and N. Thomsen de Grummond (eds.), From Pergamon to Sperlonga. Sculpture and Context, Berkeley, 191–234. Mastrocinque, A. 1999: Studi sulle guerre Mithridatiche, Stuttgart. McGing, B. C. 1986: The foreign policy of Mithridates VI Eupator, King of Pontus, Leiden. 2009: Mithridates Eupator: Victim or aggressor, in J. M. Hojte (ed.), Mithridates VI and the Pontic Kingdom, Aarhus, 204–216.

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Rémy, B. 1986: L’évolution administrative de l’Anatolie aux trois premiers siècles de notre ère, Lyon. Sanders, D. H. 1996: (ed.) Nemrud Daùi. The hierothesion of Antiochus I of Commagene. Results of the American excavations dir. by Theresa B. Goell, Winona Lake, Indiana. Schalles, H.-J. 1985: Untersuchungen zur Kulturpolitik der pergamenischen Herrscher im dritten Jahrhundert vor Christus, Tübingen. Schäfer, Chr. 2012: Mut zum Risiko? – Überlegungen zur Herrschaftslegitimation in den Diadochenreichen, in R. Rollinger et al. (eds.), Altertum und Gegenwart. 125 Jahre Alte Geschichte in Innsbruck, Innsbruck. Schmidt, I. 1995: Hellenistische Statuenbasen, Frankfurt am Main et al. Schmidt, T.-M. 1990: Der späte Beginn und der vorzeitige Abbruch der Arbeiten am Pergamonaltar. Archäologische Indizien – ikonographische SpeziÀka – historische, dynastische und theologische Dimensionen, in B. Andreae (ed.), Phyromachos-Probleme. Mit einem Anhang zur Datierung des grossen Altares von Pergamon, Mainz, 141–162. Schober, A. 1936: Das Gallierdenkmal Attalos I. in Pergamon, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts (R) 51, 104–124. Speidel, M. A. 2005: Early Roman Rule in Commagene, Scripta Classica Israelica 24, 85–100. Stewart, A. 2004: Attalos, Athens, and the Akropolis. The Pergamene “Little Barbarians” and their Roman and Renaissance Legacy. With an Essay on the Pedestals and the Akropolis South Wall by Manolis Korres, Cambridge. Strobel, K. 1996: Mithradates VI. Eupator von Pontos. Politisches Denken in hellenistischer Tradition versus römische Macht, Ktèma 21, 55–94. Sullivan, R. D. 1990: Near Eastern royalty and Rome. 100–30 BC, Toronto. Van Nuffelen, P. 1998/1999: Le culte des souverains hellénistiques, le gui de la religion grecque, Ancient Society 29, 175–189. 2004: Le culte royal de l’empire des Séleucides: une réinterprétation, Historia 53, 278–301. Wagner, J. 1983: Dynastie und Herrscherkult in Kommagene. Forschungsgeschichte und neuere Funde, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts (I) 33, 177–224. 2000: Die Könige von Kommagene und ihr Herrscherkult, in J. Wagner (ed.), Gottkönige am Euphrat. Neue Ausgrabungen und Forschungen in Kommagene, Mainz, 11–25. Walbank, F. W. 1987: Könige als Götter. Überlegungen zum Herrscherkult von Alexander bis Augustus, Chiron 17, 365–382. Waldmann, H. 1973: Die kommagenischen Kultreformen unter König Mithradates I. Kallinikos und seinem Sohne Antiochos I., Leiden. Welles, C. B. 1966: Royal correspondence in the Hellenistic period. A study in Greek epigraphy, Rom. Wenning, R. 1978: Die Galateranatheme Attalos I. Eine Untersuchung zum Bestand und zur Nachwirkung pergamenischer Skulptur, Berlin.

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9 BETWEEN HELLENISTIC MONARCHY AND JEWISH THEOCRACY: THE CONTESTED LEGITIMACY OF HASMONEAN RULE* Kai Trampedach The Hasmoneans were not castrated kings.1 In the period of ninety years from Judas Maccabaeus to Alexander Jannaeus (167–76 BCE), they were able to achieve, consolidate, and expand a remarkable position through military victories. At a time when Hellenistic monarchies were becoming ever weaker and were attempting to compensate for their military weakness through accomplishments of other kinds, the Hasmoneans distinguished themselves as kings who were also conquerors. Their empire would ultimately include Judea, Samaria, Galilee, and Idumea, as well as territory east of the Jordan (Gaulanitis, Perea, Moabitis) and the coastline from Rhinocorura south of Gaza up to Mount Carmel north of Dora (though with the exception of Askalon). In all this the Hasmoneans admittedly took advantage of the fact that the southern Syrian region, especially during their accelerated expansion between 112 and 76 BCE, was not of great interest to the Romans. The Hasmoneans’ tenacious ascent was followed by a sudden fall, when Pompey the Great appeared on the scene in 63 BCE and took advantage of the struggle between the brothers Hyrcanus II und Aristobulus II to absorb the Hasmonean empire into his newly created province of Syria. All the main Àgures of the dynasty proved themselves personally in war. In the Àrst generation, Eleazar and Judas Maccabaeus, in addition to the many other heroic acts reported of them, both fell in combat. Alexander Jannaeus died while besieging a fortress, probably from over-exertion, as even a serious illness did not lead him to abandon his military pursuits. The others also led repeated campaigns and personally took part in the Àghting. Not only in their military accomplishments, but also in their role as benefactors, symposiasts, and monumental builders, the Hasmoneans appear to represent typical elements of Hellenistic monarchy.2 Can they thus be placed in the category described in this volume by Hans-Joachim Gehrke, that of “charismatic rulers”? *

1 2

Some ideas and material in this paper have already appeared, in different contexts, in my previous work, especially Trampedach 2007; see Trampedach 2011, Trampedach forthcoming. I thank Thomas Miller (Princeton) for the translation and the Konstanz Cluster of Excellence “Cultural Foundation of Integration” and its Institute for Advanced Study for the fellowship which allowed me inter alia to rework this article. See the contribution by Ulrich Gotter to this volume. On the Hasmonean building program see Netzer 1999, 5–31; Fine 2010, 61–65.

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This would not do justice to the Janus-like character of the legitimation of the Hasmonean regime. The Hasmoneans certainly did legitimize their rule through charisma, in Max Weber’s sense of the term. But in order to win recognition from their primary subjects they had to resort to quite different techniques than other Hellenistic monarchs.3 The Hasmoneans had to justify their continuous wars and their wealth before the Jewish public. The special way in which they represented their military campaigns was a reaction to a cultural milieu in which victory, conquest, and acts of megalopsychía had no intrinsic value, in which rulers instead had to prove themselves through their loyalty to the revealed law of God. The Hasmoneans accordingly took their models not from the Iliad, but rather from the Hebrew Bible, especially the books dealing with the conquest of Canaan, the period of the judges, and the early kingdom. This difference in sources of legitimacy had more than cosmetic consequences. We will see how, far from being merely a question of representation, it also mattered on the level of action. At the same time, the legitimacy of Hasmonean rule was never uncontroversial; precisely the outwardly Hellenistic characteristics of the regime described above provoked opposition from the beginning of the regime down to its end – opposition ranging from critical discourses to open revolt. Our main source for the Hasmoneans’ self-perception is 1 Maccabees. This Greek translation of a Hebrew original presents itself as a record of events in the dynasty’s Àrst generation (167–135), but was written on ofÀcial (or at least semiofÀcial) commission in the period of the second generation (135–104) or even the third (104–67). It is thus not only and not primarily a source for the deeds of the brothers Judas, Jonathan and Simon, but rather illustrates how the Hasmoneans of the second and third generation wanted the accomplishments of their ancestors to be understood in the Jewish public sphere. In these circumstances it is hardly surprising for the text to reÁect the fact that its composition coincided with a period of intensiÀed imperial expansion and for the maxims for action that it attributes to the successful Àrst generation also to be claimed by the writer’s employers or backers from the second and third.4 It thus appears methodologically justiÀed to examine the actual Hasmonean expansion under John Hyrcanus, Aristobulus, and Alexander

3

4

The Weberian category of “charisma” is, as Gotter 2008 has shown, too broad to capture basic differences between ancient monarchies. If the Hellenistic monarchies, the Roman principate, and–as I would argue–the Hasmonean regime in Judea can all be classiÀed as charismatic in Weber’s sense, then the term has a rather limited value for the comparative study of ancient monarchies. Gotter 2008, 186 proposes “die Differenzen … über die verschiedene normative Ausrichtung der Untertanenverbände zu beschreiben, nicht über das Formenspektrum der Herrscher und ihren unterschiedlichen Reinheitsgrad in puncto Charisma.” An examination of the modalities of subjects’ obedience in the case of Judea makes clear the very different conditions that a charismatic ruler would have to confront there. On the intention and context of 1 Maccabees, see Grimm 1853, XV–XXVI; Bickermann 1937, 27–32; 145–146; Goldstein 1976, 4–26; Schunk 1980, 291–292; Kaiser 2000, 17–20; von Dobbeler 1997, 37–46; Mittmann-Richert 2000, 20–24. Scholarly proposals for its date range from 130 to 90: see exempli gratia Bar-Kochva 1989, 151–168 (early dating) and Goldstein 1976, 62–89 (late dating).

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Jannaeus (112–76 BCE) that is reported on by Josephus in the light of 1 Maccabees. In other words, it seems to me that the legitimation of Hasmonean rule, including its dynastic aspects, can be better understood when one interprets the record of events given by Josephus with the help of the implicit principles developed in the narrative of 1 Maccabees. In studying the (mainly non-historiographical) Jewish literature of the period, one again and again encounters arguments that, while certainly grounded in biblical texts, are incompatible with the Hasmonean position. Given the anonymous character of this literature, today categorized as Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha, or Qumran texts, and its predominantly metaphorical and indirect mode of expression, the reconstruction of precise contexts seems impossible or arbitrary. Thus here we can and should only delineate various different discourses into which contemporary opposition to the Hasmoneans can be classiÀed, in order to compare them with Hasmonean strategies for legitimation.5 It will be clear that the precarious status (or, as Gotter would have it, the monstrous character)6 of the Hasmonean monarchy was not due to forced impotence (because of Rome), but, on the contrary, to the extraordinary power of the opposition.

1. THE FOUNDATION Charismatic traits can already be discerned in how the dynasty entered history. In autumn of 168 BCE King Antiochus IV issued an edict forbidding his Jewish subjects from practicing their religion.7 Circumcision and observation of the Sabbath were forbidden; books of the law that fell into the hands of the authorities would be destroyed; the main holy site of the Jews, the Temple in Jerusalem, would be desecrated by pagan cults. Envoys of the king went into the rural towns of Judea and ordered the inhabitants to offer pagan sacriÀces. When in the course of these socalled religious persecutions Seleucid ofÀcials came to Modein and demanded the sacriÀces ordered by Antiochus IV, a certain Mattathias from the family of the Hasmoneans refused to obey the order of the king and thus abandon the ancestral law. Another Jewish man came forward in his place to make the offering in accordance with the king’s command. 1 Maccabees recounts what followed: When Mattathias saw it, he burned with zeal and his heart was stirred. He gave vent to righteous anger; he ran and killed him on the altar. At the same time he killed the king’s ofÀcer, who was forcing them to sacriÀce, and he tore down the altar. Thus he burned with zeal for the law, just as Phinehas did against Zimri son of Salu (2:24–26).8 5

6 7 8

Here I will therefore avoid assigning speciÀc positions to speciÀc groups or sects that are known by name from literary sources but whose actual characteristics in the relevant period are sketchy (Hasideans, Essenes, Pharisees, Sadducees). It is moreover not at all clear whether the above-mentioned groups had uniÀed political positions, especially over a longer period of time. Even a cursory glance at the scholarly literature shows the futility of such speculations focused on parties and sects in the Hasmonean period. See the contribution of Ulrich Gotter to this volume. See Bickermann 1937, 120–126; Bringmann 1983, 97–99; on the dating see ibid. 28. Biblical quotations in English are drawn from the New Revised Standard Version.

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The action of Mattathias ignited the rebellion of the Maccabees. In retrospect it marks the charismatic entry of the dynasty into history. And yet 1 Maccabees interprets this foundational act in light not of the ideology of Hellenistic kingship but of biblical models of quite another kind. Here the author evokes a passage from the Book of Numbers (25:6–15), in which Phinehas becomes especially well-pleasing to God by not hesitating to run his spear through Zimri and his Moabite wife Kosbi because of their participation in the Moabite sacriÀcial rites. With this allusion to a biblical model, the author of 1 Maccabees clearly positions the Hasmoneans as the saviors of Israel and as high priests: Mattathias has also acted as a representative of God and through his zeal absolved the people from the wrongdoing of the apostates and heathens. Just as Phinehas’ deed turned away the threat from Israel, so Mattathias’ deed leads to Israel’s salvation. The author leaves no doubt that without the intervention of Mattathias and his sons there would have been no more law in Israel. It is furthermore to be understood that Mattathias in his zeal – corresponding to the model of Phinehas – established for himself and his descendants a claim to the high priesthood.9 After Mattathias’ son Jonathan received the ofÀce of high priest (in addition to other positions and honors) from the hands of the Seleucid king Alexander Balas in 152 (1 Macc. 10:21), this formed the legal basis for the rule of the Hasmoneans over the Jews. This foundational act was a reaction against Hellenistic reforms (the attempt to turn Jerusalem into a Greek polis) and the so-called religious persecution. These circumstances put the Hasmoneans onto an anti-Hellenistic course, and this sentiment is reÁected in 1 Maccabees. The book begins with Alexander the Great, whose success, it says, went to his head: “he was exalted, and his heart was lifted up” (1:3). The author describes Alexander’s successors and in particular Antiochus IV in a still more negative way: They all put on crowns after his death, and so did their descendants after them for many years; and they caused many evils on earth. From them came forth a sinful root, Antiochus Epiphanes, a son of King Antiochus… (1:9–10).

Yet the Hasmoneans achieved their success in the context of the Hellenistic international community – sometimes as the allies of Hellenistic kings – using contemporary tactics. 1 Maccabees attempts to reduce this tension through a biblicizing interpretation of the Hasmoneans’ accomplishments. The portrayal of Mattathias’ action, as solitary as it is ultimately successful, is typical of this strategy of legitimation: what is charismatic here is not the striving for fame and honor, but the zeal for God’s law. A glance at other sources shows that the meaning of this foundational act could be evaluated otherwise than as in 1 Maccabees. 2 Maccabees characteristically mentions neither Mattathias nor his founding act, but rather begins its account of the revolt of the Maccabees with the rise of Judas.10 In his Jewish War Josephus has 9 10

Arenhoevel 1967, 45; von Dobbeler 1997, 60–62. The reasons for this omission have to do with a different audience and theological viewpoint; see below and note 33.

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the revolt begin with Mattathias, but makes his slaying of the Seleucid ofÀcial appear as not an isolated action but part of a wider resistance movement.11 The “king’s ofÀcer” of 1 Maccabees (1 Macc. 2:25) receives a title (phroúrarchos) and a name (Bacchides), and his behavior is moreover characterized as especially cruel and wicked. The killing thus seems more justiÀed by circumstances and loses the appearance of a purely principled act. Mattathias, Josephus further relates, withdrew into the mountains after the killing, but after receiving many reinforcements went on the offensive and drove the generals of Antiochus out of Judea. All in all Josephus portrays the patriarch of the Hasmoneans in a positive light, but gives little emphasis to his initial action: “He came to power [eis dynasteian] because of his success [apó tes eupragías], and after ruling over the others of their own consent, because he freed them from the foreigners, he died and left the rule to Judas, the eldest of his sons” (BJ 1.37). In his Jewish Antiquities, by contrast, Josephus largely follows the narrative of 1 Maccabees (AJ 12.268–271).12 And yet here too – doubtless mainly due to the non-Jewish audience of his work – Josephus refrains from adding a biblicizing frame; his account makes no reference to Phinehas or other biblical models.

2. THE HOLY WAR 1 Maccabees is predominantly a narrative of military history. The war, which began as a revolt against religious persecution and soon spread to ever-wider circles, was presented by the Hasmoneans as a struggle against idolatry. For a learned historical writer many biblical analogies suggested themselves, and indeed the author’s presentation and choice of words brings the glorious epoch of the conquest, the judges, and the early kingdom back to life. God gives assistance and grants victory against peoples that threaten Israel just as before, in the age of the judges. It is as participants in a struggle for God, his law, and his people that the Hasmoneans Mattathias, Judas, Jonathan, and Simon liberate Judea, conquer the Palestinian land, and Àght against the “surrounding peoples,” just as the judges, Saul, and David once did. It is characteristic of the author to conceive of the region of Judea using anachronistic concepts from the earlier period; he speaks of “the land of the Philistines” or of “Canaan” or of “the sons of Esau and Ammon.”13 The extreme and irreconcilable enmity seen in 1 Maccabees with the non-Jewish peoples in the area of Palestine and Syria also corresponds, down to individual details, to the Deuteronomistic model.14 11

12 13

14

Jos. BJ 1.35–36: the phrourarch Bacchides drove the elite (tous axiológous) of Jerusalem to revolt through his excessive atrocities; he was then killed by dagger blows in the village of Modein by Mattathias and his sons. In AJ 12.270 the Seleucid ofÀcial is called strategós tou basiléos and given the name Apelles. 1 Macc. 3:24 (the Philistine), 5:3, 5:65 (the sons of Esau), 5:6 (the sons of Ammon), 9:37 (Canaan). The “sons of Baean” (5:4) and the “sons of Phasiron” (9:66) cannot be securely identiÀed. The author also repeatedly uses the name “Jacob” for Israel (1:28, 3:7, 3:45, 5:2). See von Rad 1958, 68–69; Hengel 1976, 277–279; Schwartz (Seth) 1991, 16–38, esp. 23– 24.

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The description cited above of the founding act in 1 Maccabees already contains important elements of a “holy war,” that is, a war allegedly commanded by God and waged for the sake of religious goals. Among these elements are the killing of apostates and heathens, the destruction of pagan cultic sites, and the grounding, interpretation, and justiÀcation of actions through references to scripture. Mattathias’ zeal proves exemplary: the revolutionaries, 1 Maccabees tells us: …struck down sinners in their anger and renegades in their wrath; the survivors Áed to the Gentiles for safety. And Mattathias and his friends went around and tore down the altars; they forcibly circumcised all the uncircumcised boys that they found within the borders of Israel. They hunted down the arrogant, and the work prospered in their hands (2:44–47).

Before Mattathias exits from the earthly stage, he receives from the historian the opportunity – following a very common trope in the biblical tradition15 – to remind his sons of their common mission and to bless them in a longer speech (2:49–70). The exhortations of the patriarch very clearly point to the future.16 Recalling a series of well-known biblical heroes (Abraham, Joseph, Phinehas, Joshua, Caleb, David, Elijah, Daniel), Mattathias gives his sons a vivid illustration of how God does not let loyalty to his commands go unrewarded. The speech ends with a challenge that could be taken as the motto of the Hasmoneans: “Pay back the Gentiles in full, and obey the commands of the law” (2:68). With the holy war, Mattathias’ offspring fulÀlled both orders simultaneously. If we can believe 1 Maccabees, the Hasmoneans actually adhered, at least in part, to the rules of war found in Deuteronomy (20:10–18). Judas Maccabeus in particular often “utterly destroys” enemy cities (herem). The case of Bozrah shows what this entailed: “He took the town, and killed every male by the edge of the sword; then he seized all its spoils and burned it with Àre” (5:28).17 Judas’ procedure for dealing with heathen cultic sites also corresponds precisely to the instructions found in Deuteronomy.18 Even his special exceptions to military service that reduce the size of his force (3:56) follow the directives of the law (Dt. 20:5–9). The shout and blast of trumpets, which the author mentions again and again before important battles,19 15 16 17

See Collins 1984, 325–326. See Goldstein 1976, 6–12. “Complete destruction” of enemies is also explicitly mentioned in 5:5: ƩƠұ чƬƤƧƤƫнƲƨƱƤƬ ƠҏƲƮҵư ƩƠұ їƬƤ›хƯƨƱƤ ƲƮҵư ›хƯƢƮƳư ƠҏƲӸư їƬ ›ƳƯұ ƱҵƬ ›ӮƱƨƬ ƲƮԃư їƬƮԏƱƨƬ. Further masskillings of non-combatants: 5:35–36, 46–51. On herem in war in the writings of Second Temple Judaism see Batsch 2005, 417–429. 18 Ex. 23:24, 34:13; Num. 33:52; Dt. 7:5, 25, 12:2–3; Judg. 2:2; 2 Kings 10:24–27. See 1 Macc. 5:68: “But Judas turned aside to Azotus in the land of the Philistines; he tore down their altars, and the carved images of their gods he burned with Àre; he plundered the towns and returned to the land of Judah.” Destruction of altars: 2:45 (Mattathias); burning of sanctuaries with refugees: 5:43–44 (Judas) and 10:83–85 (Jonathan). See Fine 2010, 69–73, esp. 72: “The intrinsic political instability of the early Hasmonean era – with the Ptolemies and Seleucids distant and Rome just on the horizon – allowed the Hasmoneans a free hand to (re)construct a greater Judaea free of ‘idols’ and ‘idolatry’. The result was heightened awareness of ‘idols’ and active antagonism against idolatry.” 19 See 1 Macc 3:54, 4:13, 4:40, 5:33, 7:45, 9:12, 16:8.

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are likewise signs of a holy war; the sound of the trumpets evokes, according to Numbers 10:9, God’s covenantal assistance.20 This ritual apparatus for the waging of war is admittedly not unique to the Jews or to the Hasmoneans; it is also found in other cultures, in a notably elaborate form in Rome. The reference to normative texts from holy scripture, by contrast, must deÀnitely be taken as something peculiar. This by itself does not yet make the Hasmoneans’ wars “holy wars”; what makes the campaigns “holy” is the alleged goal of the conÁict, the rooting out of idolatry from the Promised Land.21 The religious justiÀcation of the war involves other, not always mutually compatible factors. The “holy” character of the war must be recognizable in practice, in order to make credible the legitimation needed to mobilize the Jewish public. At the same time, dynastic interests must be promoted rather than hindered. It can be shown that these parameters remained stable, although the Hasmoneans altered the concrete implementation of their “holy war” to Àt different circumstances. The instruments of such a war, as the Hasmoneans understood them, also included, besides the killing of the hostile population and the destruction of cities and sanctuaries, less extreme tactics: the practice of “bringing home” Jews into the heartland, the evacuation of heathens, the puriÀcation of sites and their resettlement with Jews, as well as the later forced circumcisions.22 Most of the Hasmonean methods for dealing with the conquered do not depart fundamentally from the standards of the day: the destruction of conquered cities, 20

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22

Num. 10:9: “When you go to war in your land against the adversary who oppresses you, you shall sound an alarm with the trumpets, so that you may be remembered before the Lord your God and be saved from your enemies.” Further passages from the Deuteronomistic history: Josh. 6:4–20; Judg. 3:27, 6:34, 7:18–22; 1 Sam. 13:3; 2 Sam. 15:10, 18:16, 20:1, 22; 2 Kings 9:13, 11:14; see also, for instance, Jer. 4:5. See Schwally 1901, 25–28; von Rad 1958, 6–7; Batsch 2005, 210–215. In the War Scroll from Qumran, dating from the Herodian period, war alarms and trumpet blasts are also very important: 1QM 7.9–10.8 (10:6–8 cites Num. 10:9). Pace Rübke 1993, 448–460 and Batsch 2005, 23–33. I consider the concept of “holy war” to be helpful for better understanding and systematizing certain historical phenomena. Obviously I do not use “holy war” as a model that can be divorced from any particular time and place; the concept refers to a heuristic category that allows one to distinguish wars allegedly waged in a “holy” way for a “holy” objective from wars that do not make these claims. This presupposes that such a distinction proves meaningful in various historical contexts, but not that all “holy wars” follow the same or a very similar pattern. Flaig 2007 pursues the exciting “Suche nach einer Typologie”: on the concept see 265 n. 1 und 276 n. 23, on “Israels Heilige Kriege”, 276– 283. Bringing home: 5:23, 45; resettlement and puriÀcation: 11:65–66, 13:11, 47–48, 50, 14:7, 33– 37, 15:33–34; Forced circumcisions: 2:46; Josephus AJ 13.257–258, 318–319, 397. These are interpreted as instruments of “holy war” in Trampedach 2011, 72–74. Weitzman 1999, esp. 58–59 argues persuasively that the reports found in the sources of forced circumcisions, which accordingly to an inÁuential scholarly view (see e. g. Schwartz 1991, 19–21) are antiHasmonean propaganda, reÁect on the contrary the Hasmonean perspective. For Weitzman, the fact of the integration of large non-Jewish populations into the Hasmonean state was to have been compensated for by the anti-pagan zeal of the circumcisions and thus rendered acceptable to the Jewish public, effectively “disguising the absorption of local non-Jews as a continuation of the Maccabean drive to retake the land for Judaism.”

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the devastation of countryside, and the expulsion or enslavement of vanquished peoples were all familiar occurrences in Hellenistic wars.23 On the other hand, forced circumcisions and targeted destruction of cultic sites were speciÀcally Jewish tactics; mass killings, as Judas Maccabeus and Jonathan in particular practiced in their campaigns against neighboring peoples, were also basically rare in the Hellenistic period. The most important differences, however, between HasmoneanJewish and Hellenistic warfare had to do not with execution, but rather with objectives, justiÀcations, and consequences. The Hasmoneans made an unparalleled effort to create an ethnically and religiously homogenous realm.24 According to their own manner of self-presentation before the Jewish public, the Hasmoneans waged their wars not for fame or honor, not for the sake of dynastic claims or any material proÀt, but rather with the goal of Judaizing the Promised Land.25 It would be an understatement to say that not everyone found this strategy of justiÀcation convincing. In the Jewish literature of the period, the Hasmoneans are constantly accused of impurity, unrestrained greed for wealth, and acts of violence. The worldly activities of the Hasmoneans, especially in the military and diplomatic domains, contradicted a widely held ideal of the priesthood and the associated requirements relating to way of life and cultic purity. In the commentary on Habakkuk from Qumran the following is said about the “wicked priest”: … who was called by the name of truth when he Àrst arose. But when he ruled over Israel his heart became proud, and he forsook God and betrayed the precepts for the sake of riches. He robbed and amassed the riches of the men of violence who rebelled against God, and he took the wealth of the peoples, heaping sinful iniquity upon himself. And he lived in the ways of abominations amidst every unclean deÀlement (8.8–13).26

About which “wicked priest” the author is actually talking here and in the rest of the commentary is still disputed in the scholarship. There is however a consensus that the term “wicked priest” must refer to a Hasmonean high priest in Jerusalem.27 The wars against heathen peoples, which the Hasmoneans justiÀed with biblical models, are considered by the author of the Habakkuk commentary to be not holy works

23 24

25 26

27

See Chaniotis 2005, esp. 121–137. Traces of the policy are apparent in the archaeological evidence from various sites in Galilee, Samaria and Idumea: recent excavations and surveys, especially in Iotapata but also in other areas of Galilee, point to an abrupt change from pagan to Jewish settlement at the end of the second century BCE. See Adan-Bayewitz/Aviam 1997, 160–161; 164–165; Finkielsztejn 1998, 38–41; 52–54; Weitzman 1999, 49; Fryne 2001, 202–205; Aviam 2004, 41–58, esp. 48–49; 54–56; Berlin 2005. See Efron 1987, 50: “Uprooting idolatry from hallowed land, according to biblical precepts (…) involves also the removal of pagan Gentiles or their conversion to Judaism.” The text is generally dated to the middle or end or the 1st century BCE: see Maier 1995, 157; Bernstein 2000, 647. Translations from the Qumran scrolls here and in what follows are drawn from Vermes 2004. See Lim 2000, 973–976. Van der Woude 1982 develops the strange hypothesis that the Habakkuk commentary lists and describes not one but six high priests as “wicked priests”. But most probably, the “wicked priest” is to be identiÀed with Jonathan, the Àrst Hasmonean high priest: Eshel 2008, 29–61.

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pleasing to God, but banal plundering expeditions undertaken for base motivations. Thus he claims that the “wicked priest” by acquiring foreign wealth “heaped sinful iniquity upon himself.” In another passage the author of the commentary characterizes the Hasmoneans as “the last Priests of Jerusalem, who shall amass money and wealth by plundering the peoples” (9.4–5) and rob and destroy the poor and simple people of Judah (12.2–6). He adds: And as for that which he said, Because of the blood of the city and the violence done to the land: interpreted, the city is Jerusalem where the Wicked Priest committed abominable deeds and deÀled the Temple of God. The violence done to the land: these are the cities of Judah where he robbed the poor of their possessions (12.6–10).

Characteristically, social and moral accusations here culminate in the accusation of impurity. What the Hasmoneans’ ritual offenses in a more speciÀc sense actually were remains as unclear in the Habakkuk commentary from Qumran as in the numerous other texts that make similar charges.28 Besides their self-enrichment, their sexual transgressions are also usually mentioned, in connection with the impurity of Jerusalem, the Temple, and the high priests. One also wonders whether the military activities as such of the Hasmonean high priests did not already incite the charge of impurity from pious quarters. After all, according to the Law of Holiness all contact with a corpse makes a person unclean. Priests were therefore forbidden from approaching the dead or taking part in burial ceremonies; for high priests this prohibition was absolute, applying even in the case of the death of near relatives.29 Against this background the regular waging of war hardly seems like an appropriate highpriestly activity. Although unavoidable deÀlement in war could of course be removed through ritual puriÀcation, blood could also “stick.” For instance, the author of Chronicles tells us that God denied David permission to build the Temple, since he had been excessively contaminated by many wars and much spilt blood.30 Biblical history thus raised doubts about the compatibility of military and ritual leadership. There were also groups in Judea that fundamentally rejected the idea of a “holy war.” We can recognize from 1 Maccabees itself that for many Jews who were loyal to the law a violent revolt against the religious edicts of Antiochus IV was not the obvious course of action. At the beginning of the persecution “many who were seeking righteousness and justice”, as 1 Maccabees puts it, Áed with their families

28

29 30

Other Qumran texts ascribe violence and pollution to the “son of Belial” or the “lion of wrath” – names which are used to designate John Hyrcanus and Alexander Jannaeus, respectively: Eshel 2008, 63–89; 117–131; 188–190. According to some texts the pollution of the sanctuary is clearly related to the cultic calendar then in use at the Temple in Jerusalem, which the Qumran community considered to be contrary to the directives of holy scripture; see van der Woude 1998, 264. Since it was precisely through rigid regulations regarding purity that Jewish sects like that of Qumran deÀned themselves, the polemic against the “impure” marks a boundary and naturally promotes the social cohesion of the group. Lev. 21; Num. 31:19; see Schürer 1986, 240–244, esp. 242. 1 Chr. 22:8. 28:3; see Eupolemos F 2.5 (Walter); Josephus AJ 7.92. A characteristically different perspective is found in 1 Kings 5:17.

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and cattle into the wilderness and there let themselves be slaughtered by Seleucid troops without resistance, rather than profane the Sabbath (2:29–38). While the Maccabees after this decided to Àght on the Sabbath in self-defense (2:39–41), some extremely strict groups continued to follow the letter of the law at any price.31 In 2 Maccabees it is the prayers and martyrdom of the pious, not the violent zeal of the Maccabees, that appease the wrath of God and bring about the salvation of Israel.32 Readiness to die as a martyr is also described in the Testament of Moses as an ideal reaction to religious persecution; there a certain Taxo from the tribe of Levi says to his seven sons: We shall fast for a three-day period, and on the fourth we shall go into a cave, which is in the open country. There let us die, rather than transgress the commandments of the Lord of Lords, the God of our Fathers. For if we do this, and do die, our blood will be avenged before the Lord (9.6–7).33

Quietistic positions are also expressed in the Book of Daniel, which was put into its Ànal form during the religious persecutions (168–165 BCE).34 The Aramaic part of the book (Dan. 2–7) is a few decades older, but with its extremely vivid stories of the three men in the furnace (Dan. 3) and of Daniel in the lions’ den (Dan. 6) it communicates the message that hostile foreign powers must be opposed through loyalty to ancestral tradition and that even martyrdom is not to be dreaded. Violent resistance, by contrast, is never recommended; the writer instead awaits the inexorable assertion of the kingly rule of God, which will “crush all these kingdoms and bring them to an end” (Dan. 2:44). The author of the Hebrew section, inÁuenced by the

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2 Macc. 6:11 and Jub. 50:12–13 (dating from the middle of the second century BCE) categorically forbid martial activity on the sabbath. In the latter Moses says: “whoever strikes and kills anything, … or whoever fasts or wages war on the sabbath, … shall die, so that the children of Israel shall observe the sabbath according to the commandments regarding the sabbaths of the land, as is written in the heavenly tablets, which he placed in my hands”; see ibid. 2:17–32. Regulations about the sabbath were also handled with extraordinary strictness in Qumran and among the Essenes: CD 10.4–11.18; Josephus BJ 2.147; on this see Schiffman 2000, Agatharchides of Knidos, a Peripatetic geographer and historian from the second century BCE, reports that Ptolemy I conquered Jerusalem because the inhabitants made no military resistance on the sabbath: see Josephus Ap. 1.205–212, AJ 12.3–7. 2 Maccabees also show-cases the deeds of Judas Maccabeus, but differs fundamentally from 1 Maccabees as to what causes his success and how it is explained: “As soon as Maccabeus got his army organized, the Gentiles could not withstand him, for the wrath of God had turned to mercy” (2 Macc. 8:5). But God is reconciled to his people by the martyrs (2 Macc. 6:18–7.42, esp. 7:37–38); contrast 1 Macc. 3:8. Likewise Mattathias and his foundational act are absent from 2 Macc. (see above and n. 10). The short text, also known as the Assumption of Moses, goes back in its current form to around the beginning of the Christian era, but is based on earlier material: see Schürer 1986, 281– 283. In a certain way Taxo and his sons (Ass. Mos. 9) are the inverted counterparts of Mattathias and his sons in 1 Maccabees. Translations from the Pseudepigrapha here and in what follows are drawn from Charlesworth 1983. Here the translation is by J. Priest. My understanding of the problem of Daniel and the apocalyptic theology of resistance is based on Albertz 1992, 659–672 and Albertz 2001, esp. 193–202. SigniÀcantly, the book of Daniel was very popular at Qumran: Eshel 2008, 17–27.

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religious persecutions, supplements these utopian hopes with his nightmarish apocalyptic vision (Dan 8–12). In one passage, he proclaims, with direct reference to the present, that: The wise among the people shall give understanding to many; for some days, however, they shall fall by sword and Áame, and suffer captivity and plunder. When they fall victim, they shall receive a little help, and many shall join them insincerely. Some of the wise shall fall, so that they may be reÀned, puriÀed, and cleansed, until the time of the end, for there is still an interval until the time appointed (11:33–35).

As far as I know, the near-universal scholarly consensus since Porphyrius (FGrH 260 F 52) has been that the Maccabees are the ones derisively characterized in this passage as “a little help,” who allegedly join “the wise” only “insincerely.” The struggle of the Maccabees here looks less important than the teaching of the wise, who give understanding to the people. Salvation, however, is expected to come not so much from individual political action as from God’s miraculous intervention; God alone can, at the appointed time, bring about the end of the oppression. At the same time the author of the passage suggests that there were “wise” people who accepted the “little help” from the Maccabees and participated actively in the Àght against Antiochus IV and the Hellenizers. This faction of the militant pious, who the author of Daniel thinks are on the wrong track and “will fall,” are perhaps responsible for the apocalyptic animal allegory in the Ethiopian Book of Enoch (1 Enoch 85–90), which also dates to the period of the persecutions. This apocalypse describes with martial imagery the Maccabean war of liberation, which leads seamlessly into the great battle at the end of time, in which Israel, at the side of its God, will destroy all of its enemies or slay them as they Áee (1 Enoch 90:6– 19).35 1 Maccabees also mentions militant scholars, called Hasideans, but characterizes their relationship to the Maccabees in precisely the opposite way as Daniel. Here the Hasideans help the Maccabees: “they joined them and reinforced them” (2:43). Whoever ignited the resistance, there were thus also, besides important quietist groups, “pious” men who actively supported the Maccabean cause. Yet this marriage of convenience did not survive beyond the end of the persecutions. After the Seleucid authorities repealed the offensive edict of Antiochus IV in 163/2 and installed a new high priest “of the line of Aaron,” the Hasideans sought a rapid peace accord (7:12–14). This tactic shows that even the religious scholars who were ready to resist were, in the absence of the expected Ànal judgment, mainly interested in peace and quiet and pursued no political goal beyond the restoration of the status quo ante.36 35

36

Albertz 1992, 664–665 assumes “daß es unter dem Druck der Ereignisse zu einer Aufspaltung der frommen Schriftgelehrten kam, wobei sich ein Teil (Träger der ‘Tier-Apokalypse’) den Makkabäern anschloß (1 Makk 2,42), während ein anderer Teil (Träger des hebräischen Danielbuches) sich hinter solche radikal-religiösen Oppositionsgruppen stellte, von denen 1 Makk 2,29–38 erzählt, daß sie in die Wüste Áohen und sich am Sabbat in frommer Selbsthingabe abschlachten ließen”. See von Dobbeler 1997, 25–26. For Albertz 1992, 603–604 the partially autonomous Temple area was, in the eyes of the pious, “angesichts der massiv herrschaftskritischen Traditionen

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For Judas, Jonathan and Simon, however, the continuation of the Àght had become a question of survival. In launching the holy war the Hasmoneans set themselves an agenda that went beyond the insurgency.37 After consolidating their position, they went on the offensive, bringing about a continuous expansion of the Jewish state. Under Alexander Jannaeus at the latest the Jewish empire reached an extent that largely corresponded to that which it possessed at its ancient highpoint under Kings David and Solomon. But the pretense of Àghting a “holy war” proved harder to keep up the more that the Hasmoneans – beginning with John Hyrcanus and increasingly under Alexander Jannaeus and Alexandra Salome – engaged foreign mercenaries and turned these against their own people.38

3. ELECTION BY GOD AND BY THE PEOPLE In contrast to 2 Maccabees, 1 Maccabees deals only relatively brieÁy with events prior to the Maccabean Revolt. The author takes only one chapter for the presentation of Jewish apostates’ efforts at Hellenization, the desecration of the sanctuary in Jerusalem by Antiochus IV, and the religious persecutions that followed. The remaining Àfteen chapters focus on the deeds of Mattathias and his sons Judas, Jonathan, and Simon, who not only recover the Temple and put an end to the persecutions, but also, after much back-and-forth Àghting, bring about the liberation of Judea from foreign rule. In comparison with the central role of the Hasmoneans, God’s participation is very much in the background. Unlike in 2 Maccabees, God never makes a direct or miraculous intervention. On the level of actual events, everything proceeds naturally. Nevertheless, even without explicit statements from the author, the reader is never in doubt that the events described take place in accordance with the will of God. In fact it is constantly being shown how God, in guiding history, remembers “his covenant with our ancestors” (4.10). The numerous, improbable victories of the Jewish francs-tireurs against the superior forces of professional foreign soldiers, the terrible deaths of the persecutors, the unexpected eradication of the Jewish apostates, the sudden rescue of the Jews from a hopeless situation through the appearance of a Seleucid usurper – all this testiÀes, among other things, to the inconspicuous yet inexorable plan of God.39 How the Hasmoneans Àt into this plan is an important, perhaps the most important, theme of 1 Maccabees. The Àrst chapter of 1 Maccabees ends with the sentence: “Very great wrath [of God] came upon Israel” (1:64). The turning point comes in Chapter 2, which begins with the portrayal of Mattathias and his sons from Modein (2:1–5), thus introducing the

der eigenen Religion die angemessene Sozialform, um der jüdischen Glaubens- und Lebenspraxis den nötigen Freiraum zu geben”. 37 See Bringmann 1983, 60–65. He sees the phase of religious wars as “endgültig beendet” in the summer of 163 (p. 65); the author of 1 Maccabees, at any rate, saw things differently (see above). 38 Josephus BJ 1.61, AJ 13.249 (John Hyrcanus); BJ 1.88, AJ 13.374 (Alexander Jannaeus); BJ 1.112, AJ 13.409 (Alexandra Salome). 39 Arenhoevel 1967, 35; 39–40.

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men who will succeed, as is later explicitly stated, in turning God’s wrath away from Israel.40 The author of 1 Maccabees repeatedly puts into the mouths of his Hasmonean heroes prayers or speeches to their soldiers, especially before major battles. All these speeches recall the glorious miracles of the past (such as the parting of the Red Sea, the heroic deeds of David and Jonathan, or the plague in the camp of the Assyrian king Sanherib during the siege of Jerusalem) and are based on the theocratic ideal, to which they pay homage in various ways.41 Judas Maccabeus once says, when confronted with the superior forces of an enemy: “…in the sight of Heaven there is no difference between saving by many or by few. It is not on the size of the army that victory in battle depends, but strength comes from Heaven” (3:18–19). In this context, victory and success are signs of God’s election.42 Perhaps even more impressively, the author uses a contrasting case to demonstrate that God’s covenantal assistance of Israel is linked to Hasmonean leadership. Two leaders of the Jewish army, Joseph and Azarias, waged war on their own initiative, against the explicit orders of Judas Maccabeus, and were ignominiously killed. This defeat appears unavoidable since, as the author remarks, the two leaders “did not belong to the family of those men through whom deliverance was given to Israel.”43 This remark indicates clearly that the Hasmoneans function as an instrument for the salvation of Israel. The passive formulation is merely a circumlocution for the name of God: God elected the Hasmoneans to rescue his people from the jaws of the heathens. As tools of God they belong in the same category as Gideon, Samson, and David, through whose hands God brought salvation to his people at an earlier time. The writer makes it furthermore very clear that only the Hasmoneans are chosen; only under their leadership can the Jews be victorious. It also emerges from this passage that not only Mattathias, Judas, Jonathan and Simon are called, but the whole family of the Hasmoneans, who thus always appear as a unity.44 This message must have been particularly opportune for the descendants of Simon at the time of the composition of 1 Maccabees. The author of 1 Maccabees tries to use biblical parallels to justify not only war, but also the internal consolidation of Hasmonean rule. The period before the Has-

40

1 Macc. 3:8: “He [sc. Judas Maccabeus] went through the cities of Judah; he destroyed the ungodly out of the land; thus he turned away [God’s] wrath from Israel.” 41 1 Macc. 3:18–22, 58–60; 4:8–11, 30–33; 7:40–42; 9:44–46. 42 The prominence of this argument is conÀrmed e contrario and ex eventu by the Qumran fragment 4Q471a – according to the convincing interpretation of Eshel 2008, 135: “The author of this passage attacks those who argue that the accomplishments of the Hasmonean state were proof that God had delivered Israel. The Hasmonean supporters breached the covenant of God, which is why they were eventually defeated, even though they were mighty in battle. … The author of this passage taunts those who prior to the Roman conquest argued that their safety and independence were signs of God’s power and support.” 43 1 Macc. 5:61–62 on the disobedient ofÀcers: ƩƠұ їƢƤƬпƧƦ ƲƯƮ›ү ƫƤƢнƪƦ їƬ ƲԚ ƪƠԚ, ҈Ʋƨ ƮҏƩ ѧƩƮƳƱƠƬ ƐƮƳƣƮƳ ƩƠұ ƲԙƬ чƣƤƪƴԙƬ ƠҏƲƮԏ ƮѳфƫƤƬƮƨ чƬƣƯƠƢƠƧӸƱƠƨ· ƠҏƲƮұ ƣҭ ƮҏƩ ѩƱƠƬ їƩ ƲƮԏ Ʊ›оƯƫƠƲƮư ƲԙƬ чƬƣƯԙƬ їƩƤрƬƷƬ, ƮѺư їƣфƧƦ ƱƷƲƦƯрƠ ƐƱƯƠƦƪ ƣƨҫ ƵƤƨƯҳư ƠҏƲԙƬ. 44 Arenhoevel 1967, 40–43.

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moneans took on the ofÀce of high priest, while the country was still a Seleucid protectorate, must have seemed especially awkward, since the Hasmoneans at this point still stood outside of any recognized order and could have been viewed as simply leaders of bandits. The author of 1 Maccabees handles this by placing Jonathan (as he already implicitly does for Mattathias and Judas) in the role of an Old Testament judge: “Thus the sword ceased from Israel. Jonathan settled in Michmash and began to judge the people; and he destroyed the godless out of Israel” (9:73). This schema Àts very well with the warlike and charismatic presentation of the Hasmoneans, but was not compatible with a dynastic claim. In the biblical tradition, non-heritability was precisely what characterized the ofÀce of judge, in contrast to the kingship. Heritability, however, is a very important theme for an author who wishes to emphasize the divine election of an entire dynasty under the second or third generation of rulers (i. e. under John Hyrcanus or his sons).45 The ofÀce of high priest that Jonathan received from the Seleucid king could be passed on to his descendants. But after Simon released himself from Seleucid vassalage and proclaimed the independence of Judea in autumn of 143 BCE, the investiture had to be renewed. Three years later, there was a “great assembly of the priests and people and the rulers of the nation and the elders of the country” in order to ratify new constitutional arrangements (1 Macc. 14:28). The results of this assembly were recorded in a decree, copies of which were displayed on bronze tablets in a conspicuous place in the sanctuary precinct and deposited in the treasury. In this document, the Jews and their priests agreed that Simon should be their leader and high priest “forever, until a trustworthy prophet should arise”. He was also to be their general and to have responsibility for the sanctuary; he was empowered to appoint those responsible for the tasks of the Temple, for the country, for the army, and for the strongholds. Although the title of king is avoided, the authority granted to Simon seems as Àtting for a monarch as the purple garment and gold buckle which the decree further makes it his exclusive right to wear. His commands were to have absolute authority, and no one else had the authority to summon an assembly in the country without his consent.46 The biblical formula eis ton aióna moreover makes it clear that Simon also had the right to pass on his position as ruler and high priest to his heir.47 Scholars agree that although 1 Maccabees does not offer a verbatim text of this document, it comes quite close to the original. Formally it is similar to comparable Hellenistic resolutions. Even the mere fact of an honorary decree inscribed on bronze tablets and publicly displayed indicates the borrowing of a Greek practice. The preamble too, providing information about the date, and the closing formula, which speciÀes how the decree is to be published, follow the model found in Greek inscriptions. The schema of honoring a benefactor out of gratefulness for his deeds 45 46 47

Arenhoevel 1967, 47–50. 1 Macc. 14:25–49; See Rajak 1994, 285. See Arenhoevel 1967, 92–93; SigniÀcantly, the composer of 1 Maccabees makes explicit reference to “Simon and his sons” both at the beginning and at the end of his report of the decree (14:25, 49), as already noticed by Grimm 1853, 216 ad loc.

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is also only too well known. Nonetheless, the content of the decree honoring Simon can only be understood in the context of the Jewish tradition.48 The resolution is Àrst motivated by the accomplishments of Simon and his brothers for the sanctuary, the law, and the people. Simon’s actions are then enumerated individually. He protected the sanctuary and the people from the enemies, armed and paid Jewish soldiers with his own money, conquered the cities of Joppa and Gezer and settled them with Jews, removed the heathens and apostates from the country and from the city of Jerusalem, fortiÀed the country and the city, and raised the walls of Jerusalem. Finally, he was conÀrmed in his position as high priest by King Demetrius and heaped with honors; even the Romans extended to him their friendship (14:29–40). The setting in a great assembly, the authorities issuing the decree, and Simon’s action aiming at the “puriÀcation” of city and country as well as the “purity” of the sanctuary all recall traditional sources of legitimacy.49 The transfer of authority is moreover reminiscent of the installation of David as king over the whole people in Hebron, as described in the Àfth chapter of 2 Samuel.50 And the fact that in 140 Simon would be made high priest for a second time has a notable parallel in Solomon’s second anointment as king.51 As the Hasmoneans were not actually descended from David, the analogy could have helped to make up for the genealogical deÀcit.52 Possibly Simon already wanted to suggest such associations with David and Solomon and helped to spread them. Yet the fact of the matter is that he was ultimately unable to realize this alignment with David; despite his monarchical au48

See Gruen 1998, 35, who however ignores the decree’s Jewish antecedents. Van Henten 2000, 133 views the decree as “the outcome of a lively interplay between Jewish and nonJewish Hellenistic views and conventions about political power and rulership”. The evaluation of Rajak 1994, 285 is also worth citing: “The form of rule set up by the decree for Simon drew on traditional Jewish conceptions. None the less, the people of Hasmonean Jerusalem were sufÀciently inÁuenced by the style of the day in public affairs to have their declaration inscribed in bronze, just as a Greek city might do, and to display it in no less a place than the Temple precinct and also in its treasury. The new Jewish state was thus visibly Hellenistic in its public forms.” 49 The setting: їƬ ƠƱƠƯƠƫƤƪ (14:27) probably means “in the forecourt of the people of God,” that is, in the Temple enclosure in Jerusalem, and refers back to the assemblies in which, according to the Pentateuch and the Book of Joshua, resolutions were passed by the whole people assembled before the tabernacle; see Schenker 2000, 164; van Henten 2000, 120; Krentz 2000, 148 is skeptical. On the authorities, see Schenker 2000, 165–166. 50 See Mettmann-Richert 2000, 33: “So stellt sich theologisch die Erwählung der hasmonäischen Dynastie als ein die Wahl Davids wiederholender göttlicher, dem Heil Israels dienender Gnadenakt dar, der die davidische Verheißung nicht zunichte macht, sondern sie in geistigem Sinne wiederbelebt. Wie im Hinblick auf das Priestertum des Pinhas gilt auch hier, daß die Hasmonäer dem Geist nach die wahren Erben des davidischen Herrschertums sind.” 51 Schenker 2000, 159–161 gives further tropes that could connect Simon’s rule with Solomon’s. Other parallels in the portrayal of 1 Macc. that evoke the glorious age of David and Solomon are listed by von Dobbeler 1997, 44–46. 52 See Krentz 2000, 151: “By casting, somewhat incompletely, the elevation of Simon into the language of enkomiastic decrees honoring Hellenistic rulers, the author of 1 Maccabees positioned Simon’s heirs well and thus served the Hasmonean dynasty’s ongoing claim to regal status.”

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thority, he had to resign himself to not having the royal title. The constitutional decree uses the titles “high priest,” “leader” (hegoumenos), “commander,” and “ethnarch,” but avoids “king”.53 The decree does not leave the reader in the dark about why this is: in contrast to David, God has not yet sent a prophet to Simon. Military successes and magniÀcent assemblies are no substitute for this. Thus the elevation of Simon and his descendants is subject to an explicit proviso in the case of a traditional installation by God: “forever, until a trustworthy prophet should arise,” says the decree.54 This “prophet-clause” and the absence of the title “king” show that references back to David and claims to be his spiritual successor did not constitute a viable strategy for Simon and his descendants. In contemporary Judaism, any expectation of a restoration of the kingdom was always linked to the house of David, with whom God made an eternal pact (2 Sam. 7), and thus implied an anti-Hasmonean outlook.55 Besides, such a restoration was also almost always connected to Messianic notions, which the Hasmoneans, wishing to stabilize the situation rather than shake it up, neither could nor wanted to use. The prophet-proviso in the decree makes clear the limits of biblical legitimation for Hasmonean rule, even at the high-point of their fame56 – precisely what the author of 1 Maccabees attempts to conceal with his creative typologies. As far as the decree goes, there is no suggestion that Simon and his family were called by God to rule over Israel. The independence of the country meant that the centuries-old privilege of the foreign ruler to nominate the high priest of Jerusalem became obsolete. In this context Simon succeeded in staging the appearance of a broad public consensus for a new beginning and getting the “people” to give the reins of power in the Jewish regime to himself and his descendants. At the same time, an investiture ceremony as unusual as it was spectacular suggests that Simon was not as secure in the saddle as 1 Maccabees would have us believe. The very powers that it enumerates – such as the right to choose men responsible for the Temple, the country, and the strongholds, or the prohibition of unapproved assemblies – are only comprehensible against the background of, at the least, a latent threat.57 Despite the formal resemblance to Hellenistic honorary decrees and the long list of the accomplishments of Simon and his brothers, the decree avoids, at least in 53 54

See Sievers 1990, 127; Schwartz (Daniel) 1992, 45. 1 Macc. 14:41: Ƥѳư ƲҳƬ ƠѳԙƬƠ ќƷư ƲƮԏ чƬƠƱƲӸƬƠƨ ›ƯƮƴпƲƦƬ ›ƨƱƲфƬ. Arenhoevel 1967, 68 characterizes the situation well: “Solange die Bestätigung durch den Boten Gottes ausbleibt, solange bleibt die Stellung der Hasmonäer vorläuÀg und widerrufbar.” 55 See Ps.-Sol. 17:4; Test. Jud. 22–24, and – on the rich Ànds in Qumran – Flint 2000, 180; see Kippenberg 1987, 130–136. 56 The claim that in John Hyrcanus a Hasmonean ruler was himself blessed with the gift of prophecy (Josephus BJ 1.67–68, AJ 13.282, 299–300, 322) was perhaps to have helped in overcoming this limitation. The sons of the ruler/priest/prophet in any case no longer hesitated to take on the title of king. 57 See Sievers 1990, 124: “If we ask why Simon wanted these powers ofÀcially granted him, and the grants publicly recorded, the evidence suggests this display of support was intended to counter some opposition.”

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the text given in 1 Maccabees, all talk of euergetism. Terms like euergétes or euergesía appear neither here nor elsewhere in 1 Maccabees.58 Their absence is especially notable in the song of praise for Simon offered by the author of 1 Maccabees, in a lyrical tone and replete with biblical formulas (14:4–15), before his account of the renewal of alliances with Rome and Sparta and of the great assembly in Jerusalem. Happiness, peace, prosperity, territorial expansion, the return of prisoners, the provisioning and defense of the cities, economic security, the protection of the weak, the punishment of sinners, and the glorious decoration of the sanctuary are all tropes that characterize Simon’s rule as a golden age. Nevertheless, in several other passages the author allows the wealth of Jonathan and Simon to be noticed,59 and his report of the murder of Simon and his sons Mattathias and Judas during a drinking bout shines a harsh light on the Hasmonean way of life.60 Josephus, who admires John Hyrcanus, still makes the lapidary assertion that the fraternal wars among the Seleucids after the death of Antiochus VII Sidetes “provided him peace for exploiting Judea without fear, so that he gathered together an almost boundless amount of money.”61 So one must assume that social conditions were such that a great portion of the population became alienated from the authorities. The repeated criticism of the lifestyle and personal expenditures of the Hasmoneans and the constant complaints about their excessive wealth and oppression of the poor have their roots in this situation. The Hasmoneans did not restore the social teachings as they had other aspects of the Jewish law, but rather exploited their subjects no less intensively, where possible, than their Seleucid predecessors.62 What had made the foreign rulers merely unpopular now destroyed the very ideological foundations of the Hasmonean regime. An increasing lack of acceptance revealed itself in a series of revolts that began already under John Hyrcanus – the Àrst king who saw it necessary to engage mercenaries for his protection. The foreign soldiers remained a constant source of irritation until the end of Hasmonean rule. The break between the ruling dynasty and the beneÀciaries of their regime, on the one hand, and the scholarly elites and a great portion of the population, on the other, proved to be irreparable. Not long after the loss of independence the author of the Psalms of Solomon offered a crushing judgment with regard to the Hasmoneans:

58 59 60

See Krentz 2000, 150. 1 Macc. 10:60, 11:24, 14:24 (see 15:18), 15:32, 36, 16:11–12; see 2 Macc. 10:20. 1 Macc. 16:15–16: Simon and his sons were drunk (їƫƤƧхƱƧƦ) when their murderer put them to the sword. 61 Josephus AJ 13.273: ҄ ƢҫƯ ›Ưҳư чƪƪпƪƮƳư ƠҏƲƮԃư ›фƪƤƫƮư ƱƵƮƪүƬ җƯƩƠƬԚ ƩƠƯ›ƮԏƱƧƠƨ ƲүƬ ѻƮƳƣƠрƠƬ ї›’ чƣƤрƠư ›ƠƯƤԃƵƤƬ, Ҝư ы›ƤƨƯфƬ Ʋƨ ƵƯƦƫнƲƷƬ ›ƪӸƧƮư ƱƳƬƠƢƠƢƤԃƬ. According to Josephus (BJ 1.61, see AJ 13.249), during the siege of Jerusalem by Antiochus VII, John Hyrcanus had the grave of David opened “and extracted more than three thousand talents, and with three hundred of them persuaded Antiochus to raise the siege. He used the rest to maintain mercenaries, being the Àrst of the Jews to do so.” 62 See Tscherikover 1959, 257–259; Hengel 1988, 411–415; Mittmann-Richert 2000, 27– 29.

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Kai Trampedach But (because of) our sins, sinners rose up against us, they set upon us and drove us out. Those to whom you did not (make the) promise, they took away (from us) by force; and they did not glorify your honorable name. With pomp they set up a monarchy because of their arrogance; they despoiled the throne of David with arrogant shouting.63

4. THE HIGH PRIESTHOOD The legal basis for Hasmonean rule in Judea was the ofÀce of high priest. Jonathan, the brother and successor of Judas Maccabeus, was able to take over the ofÀce for the Hasmoneans in 152 BCE not only because of his priestly ancestry but also because of his military might. For many of the pious, these qualiÀcations were not sufÀcient; on the contrary, many, as already mentioned, considered the holiness of the ofÀce to be compromised by military activity. In their eyes, moreover, the Hasmoneans did not have the right ancestry to take over the ofÀce of high priest. Although they were of priestly origin, they did not belong to the line of Zadok, which had held the highest ofÀce for centuries. It was presumably the consecration of Jonathan, as the Dead Sea Scrolls suggest, that provoked an especially strict group, loyal to the law and to the priestly ideal, to break off relations with the Temple in Jerusalem and its “wicked priests” and to found their own community; the archaeological evidence shows that the settlement at Qumran originated around 100 BCE. The leader of the secessionists, referred to the Qumran writings as the “teacher of righteousness,” was himself certainly a Zadokite.64 Another secession, which in fact preceded the Qumranic one, had a similar genealogical basis. Either Onias III, the high priest with whose dismissal the Hellenistic reforms in Jerusalem had begun, or his son Onias IV, who was passed over for the ofÀce of high priest after the end of the religious persecutions under Antiochus V, received from King Ptolemy VI Philometor the privilege of founding a Jewish temple in Leontopolis in the nome of Heliopolis. He invoked the words of the prophet Isaiah, who predicted the building of a temple in Egypt (Isa. 19:19). Like the Qumran community, the temple in Leontopolis also understood itself as a new and better sanctuary. The Zadokite Onias aspired to achieve not only similarity in architecture and ornamentation with the Temple in Jerusalem, but also acquired for his enterprise priests and Levites, who provided for the care of the temple in

63

64

Ps.-Sol. 17:5–6 (translation by R. B. Wright in Charlesworth 1983); see also 1:4–8, 2:1–13, 8:7–14, 22. Psalms 2, 8 and 17 doubtless refer to Pompey’s conquering of Jerusalem in 63 BCE. Ps.-Sol. 2:25–29 moreover celebrates the killing of the Roman general, referred to as the “dragon” (Ps. 2) or “the lawless one” (Ps. 17), in Egypt (48 BCE). This suggests that we should date the whole collection to the period shortly after this: see Schürer 1986, 192–197. Atkinson 2004, 220, concludes “that the Psalms of Solomon are the theological reÁections of a Jewish sectarian community on events in Jerusalem from approximately 67 BCE to 63 BCE.” For Ps. 17 see esp. id. 134–44. See Hengel 1988, 407–414; 457; Eshel 2008, 55. See also Broshi 2000; Dimant 2000; Hempel 2000; Knibb 2000; Lim 2000; Davies 2000.

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conformity with the law.65 Julius Wellhausen thus concludes that “sich an illegitimer Stätte das legitime Hohepriestertum fortpÁanzte, während an der legitimen Stätte von Jerusalem die späteren Hohepriester samt und sonders illegitim waren.”66 Wellhausen’s appraisal takes the perspective of the Zadokites, who could support their exclusive claims more on customary than on biblical foundations. Thus the Hasmonean attempts to counter genealogical objections by asserting themselves as spiritual successors were not from the outset hopeless. In opposition to the ancestry-based groups in Leontopolis and Qumran and their supporters throughout the country, the author of 1 Maccabees characterizes the Hasmoneans, in the apt formulation of Ulrike Mittmann-Richert, as the “wahren Nachkommen des ersten Gesetzeseiferers Pinhas […], dem vor jedem zadokidischen Anspruch das ewige Priestertum verheißen war. Die hochpriesterliche Legitimation der Hasmonäer zu bezweifeln hieße demnach, die Tora selbst in Frage zu stellen.”67 Here we have an example of the charismatic reinterpretation of a traditional ofÀce: it was not primarily their ancestry or their meticulous fulÀllment of cultic rules, but rather their spiritual genealogy and dynamic emulation of biblical examples that qualiÀed the Hasmoneans for the high priesthood.

5. THE KINGSHIP The constitutional decree discussed above shows that the priests and people invested Simon with kingly functions, prerogatives, and even insignia, but not the royal title. This symbolic restraint, which we have seen to have been grounded in respect for the biblical tradition, was abandoned by Simon’s grandson Aristobulus (104–103). When he took power, he placed the diadem on his head and took on the kingly title as well as probably the surname “Philhellen.” The elevation was to be legitimated, in accord with the Hellenistic model,68 by the victories that he had won as his father’s general in Idumea and Samaria. His brother and successor Alexander Jannaeus (103–73) no longer hesitated to advertise his basileía on bronze coins in Greek (and Hebrew).69 The Hasmoneans thus became the people referred to in the 17th Psalm of Solomon: those to whom God did not make the promise, that is, who neither had Davidic ancestry nor had been anointed by prophets, who “despoiled the throne of David with arrogant shouting”. Sources of different genre and provenance also indicate that leading groups in the Jewish public sphere were hostile to 65

66 67 68 69

Discussions of the contradictory indications found in Josephus (BJ 1.33, 7.420–436; AJ 12.387–388, 13.62–73, 13.285, 20.236–237) are found in Delcor 1968, 188–203; Hayward 1982, 429–443; Parente 1994, 69–98. Wellhausen 1914, 237. Mittmann-Richert 2000, 32. See Gehrke’s contribution to this volume. Josephus AJ 13.318; See Ostermann 2005; Rajak 1994, 298–299. The Winter Palace in Jericho, begun by John Hyrcanus and expanded by Alexander Jannaeus and Alexandra Salome also shows the desire of the later Hasmoneans to be represented in royal style: See Netzer 1999, 5–31.

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the idea of a native kingship in the Hellenistic style. The intended audience for the Hasmoneans’ Hellenistic self-presentation must thus be sought elsewhere, Àrst of all in the mercenaries, who besides being regularly paid ostensibly valued being able to identify with a Hellenistic monarchy, especially in the latently hostile environment. Second, there were the non-Jewish subjects, whose number was constantly increasing due to territorial expansion; naturally the time was long past when they could be driven out or fully Judaized. Third, there was the international community, from which the Hasmoneans wanted the recognition that their “accomplishments” deserved. Just how different a vision of an ideal Jewish kingship was possible at the time is shown by the so-called “Law of the King” from the Temple Scroll found in Cave 11 in Qumran (11Q19 col. 56.12–59.21). This text lays out an alternative to the Hasmonean regime, while at the same time distinguishing itself from the apocalyptic and eschatological genres of resistance literature. The Hasmoneans’ lack of a divine stamp of approval and their alleged moral failings do not interest the author, who offers a utopian (though not apocalyptic) conception of an ideal Israel, which positions itself against the actually existing structures not only of the Temple and its cult but also of the political system. Scholars are divided about the dating of the Ànal redaction; hypotheses range from the early to the late Hasmonean period. But the great majority of specialists assumes that the Law of the King was Àrst composed in response to the restoration of the monarchy and was then inserted into the corpus of texts making up the Temple Scroll. Even if it originated in the pre-Hasmonean period and thus should reÁect the late Biblical kingdom, it would, as its intensive reception in Qumran shows, represent a norm that every reader would have contrasted with the actual practices of Hasmonean rule. More probable, however, is that Hasmonean rule Àrst provided the impetus to reÁect on biblical law about kingship and adapt it to the altered political circumstances. Even though it avoids direct and explicit polemic, the Law of the King in the Temple Scroll still suggests clear political conclusions. It presents itself as a review, extension, and interpretation of Deuteronomy 17:14–20. In contrast to the earlier text, in which Moses communicates God’s directives in the third person, in the Temple Scroll God himself speaks, so that the text appears as a direct divine revelation and thus claims an insuperable authority.70 According to the passage in Deuteronomy mentioned above, the king must be chosen by God, must not be a foreigner, and must not possess too many horses, women, or riches. He shall also carry with him a copy of this law (i. e. the Torah), read and observe it, not exalt himself over others in the community, and not turn aside from the commandment, either to the right or the left. As Max Weber help70

See – also for what follows – Yadin 1983; Schiffman 1987, 237–259; Schiffman 1988, 299–311; Maier 1997. Maier, who argues for an early dating not only of the Law of the King but of the Temple Scroll as a whole, offers, in addition to a translation, an overview of the state of research: cf. esp. 43–51; 236–239. Advocates of a later dating in the time of Alexander Jannaeus (103–76 BCE) include Hengel/Charlesworth/Mendels 1986, 18–38. See also García Martínez 2000; Pomykala 2000.

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fully explains, the program is intended to oppose innovations that the Deuteronomistic author felt that the kingdom had introduced in the political realm: “des Militarismus mit seinen Rossen und Wagen, dem Kronschatz, des Harems der fremden Prinzessinnen und ihrer Kulte und der königlichen Günstlinge als Beamter, der Bau- und Ackerfronden der Untertanen. Der König soll, verlangt das Deuteronomium, die hochmütigen Sultansallüren der Großkönige abtun und wieder ein charismatischer primus inter pares werden, ohne viele Rosse und Wagen, – also ein auf dem Esel reitender weiser Richter und Schirmer der einfachen Leute.”71 If one considers the wealth of the Hasmoneans and how their self-understanding was based on military success, then the mere citation of the Deuteronomistic law on royalty would seem to have a subversive effect. This is even more apparent in the case of the additions made in the Temple Scroll, of which I here list only the most important: (a) The king should keep a guard of 12,000 god-fearing men able to bear weapons, a thousand from each tribe: “They shall be with him always, day and night. They shall guard him from anything sinful, and from any foreign nation in order not to be captured by them” (57.9–11). The native guard thus serves not only to protect the king, but also to control him. The requirement reÁects both how the Hasmoneans preferred to be protected by foreign soldiers and that their doing so was a grave disappointment to the expectations of scholars and the pious. (b) A crown council composed of twelve princes of the people, twelve priests, and twelve Levites shall sit with the king and share responsibility for issuing judgments and laws, “so that his heart shall not be lifted above them, and he shall do nothing without them concerning any affair” (57.14–16). In this arrangement the council guarantees the king’s obedience to the law. Bribery, perversion of justice, and coveting the possessions of his subjects are mentioned in what follows as infractions subject to prosecution. The law also makes it clear that in domestic affairs the king may not act without consulting the council. Since two-thirds of the council is composed of priests and Levites, ultimately the king’s domestic authority is controlled by the religious leaders of the people. This is once again diametrically opposed to the privileges granted to Simon by the popular assembly in 140. In that decree we Ànd no talk of political prerogatives for priests, or indeed any restriction of the ruler’s power at all. (c) In military affairs, the Law of the King in the Temple Scroll distinguishes between defensive (necessary) wars and offensive (voluntary) wars. In a defensive war the king must observe certain rules concerning mobilization and division of booty, but otherwise he has basically a free hand; in an offensive war he is subject to extensive limitations. He may only wage such a war with the approval of the high priest, who in turn must seek a decision from the oracle of the Urim and the Thummim. “It is at his word [the high priest’s] that he [the king] shall go and at his word that he shall come, he and all the children of Israel who are with him” (58.19–20). This injunction Àrst of all checks the monarch’s military activity in a way that is

71

Weber 1976, 125.

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quite alien to how the Hasmoneans actually conducted wars. It furthermore obviously presupposes that the king and the high priest were two different people, while during Hasmonean rule these two positions were of course united in one person. In the Temple Scroll, the Jewish monarchy is thus subordinated to a set of legal limits even more rigid than those found in Deuteronomy, with particular emphasis on the political prerogatives of the priests. This is the precise opposite of the “enabling act” by which Simon was appointed high priest, leader, and commander by the people of Israel assembled, and which was inscribed on bronze tablets and set up in a conspicuous place in the sanctuary. Thus the Law of the King from the Temple Scroll demonstrates once again that the regime’s predominantly military struggles for people and homeland ultimately did not sufÀce for convincing the religiously observant elite of the legitimacy of Hasmonean rule. The connection of the ofÀce of high priest with other, political functions was clearly a perennial source of frustration not only for the pious in Qumran, but also for the scholars of other sects.72 Against this the Hasmoneans could again point to the early period of Israel’s history, throughout which, according to the Bible, a warrior-priesthood was common. In this tradition as well as a reference back to Phinehas looks especially signiÀcant, as the designated chief priest he led the people into the holy war against Midian (Num. 31:6).73 They could also appeal to the fact that David and Solomon occasionally exercised priestly functions alongside the royal ofÀce.74 This is the model for how 1 Maccabees connects the cultic and military functions of the high priesthood, as for instance in how Jonathan takes ofÀce: “So Jonathan put on the sacred vestments in the seventh month of the one hundred sixtieth year [= May 152 BCE], at the festival of booths, and he recruited troops and equipped them with arms in abundance” (10:21). By contrast, the author never shows one of his heroes performing a characteristically priestly action. We can thus tell from 1 Maccabees that the Hasmoneans considered the priestly ofÀce a political one and did not place much emphasis on their priestly tasks.75 Biblical parallels of the sort under discussion were nevertheless ultimately no match for a literal interpretation of scripture that emphasized purity in ritual practice. When Alexander Jannaeus once wished to stand by the altar and sacriÀce at the

72

See Josephus AJ 13.288–296, 372–373 (on this, see below); Ps.-Sol. 8:9–15. 17:5–6; Philo De virtute 54. D. Schwartz 1992, 44–56 identiÀes pharisaical groups, on the basis of early rabbinic writings, as the source of the criticism of the connection between the priesthood and the monarchy. But to my mind Schwartz attributes too much importance to the fact that the Hasmoneans took on the title of king. Their de facto status as monarchs and the manner of their rule were already offensive to the pious. 73 See Mittmann-Richert 2000, 32. Arenhoevel 1967, 46–47 points out that a portrayal of priests as warriors is also found in other writings from the Hasmonean period (like the Testament of Levi and the Book of Jubilees) – surely as a reÁection of historical events. According to Schwartz 1992, 47–48 the Hasmoneans also appealed to the precedent of the priest-king Melchizedek (Gen. 14:18), probably Àrst after taking on the title of king (i. e. after the composition of 1 Maccabees). 74 See von Dobbeler 1997, 45. 75 See Arenhoevel 1967, 45–46.

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festival of booths, people spontaneously pelted him with lemons, which they had in their hands for cultic reasons; they also reviled him and shouted that he was unworthy, as the descendant of a prisoner of war, to be high priest and offer the sacriÀces. Pharisaical groups had already made the same charge against his father John Hyrcanus, speciÀcally that John’s mother had been a prisoner of war during the religious persecutions under Antiochus IV. Thus, they said, he should give up the ofÀce of high priest and content himself with ruling the people. Josephus characterizes the charge that John and his sons were disqualiÀed for the ofÀce of high priest according to Leviticus 21:14 as slander. How seriously John and Alexander took the charge, however, is shown by their touchy reaction, which in turn contributed to weakening public acceptance of their regime. While John was persuaded to break with the inÁuential Pharisees, Alexander killed some six thousand of his enemies and erected wooden barriers around the altar and the Temple, in order to keep the people away from the sacriÀcial rites.76 The Hasmoneans could not meet the demands of the Pharisees without committing political suicide or acquiescing in the development of a long-term source of conÁict: under the conditions of theocracy, the highest authority resided in the high priest, who furthermore controlled the state’s Ànances. There was naturally no question of the Hasmoneans supplying a rival with such resources.77 Attempts were made, however, to share power within the family. When he died, John Hyrcanus left the ofÀce of high priest to his son, but rule over other matters to his wife. This arrangement never came into force, since Aristobulus immediately threw his mother into prison, where he apparently let her starve, and took the throne for himself. Alexander Jannaeus tried again, with more success than his father. Upon his death his eldest son Hyrcanus II became high priest and his wife Alexandra Salome the ruling queen. This division of power can only be understood as a concession to pious groups, who were fundamentally and continuously unhappy with the union of kingly and high priestly functions. Even before her death, Alexandra’s second son, Aristobulus II, tried to force his mother out of power. Once he did inherit the throne, he found himself engaged in a multi-year, back-and-forth civil war with his brother the high priest. A division of power within the family along the lines of priestly and political-military functions thus proved ultimately unworkable. This fraternal quarrel in the fourth generation led to the swift loss of everything that the prior three had built up through tough Àghting and adroit diplomacy. When the Roman general Pompey held court in Damascus early in 63 BCE, three different Jewish factions presented themselves to him and asked for his support for their respective causes. While the brothers Aristobulus II and Hyrcanus II were both Àght76 77

Josephus AJ 13.288–296, 372–373. See Will/Orrieux 1986, 206–210; Rajak 1994, 305–307. See Tscherikover 1959, 260: “For what proÀt would there be in the royal power, if the head of the nation could not appear in the Temple, garbed in the brilliant traditional splendor of the High Priest, as the authoritative and lawful intermediary between the nation and the Divinity? And how could ‘the King of the Jews’ wage his wars if all the Temple revenues were to be controlled by someone else, or to be more precise, by the Pharisees?”

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ing for the throne, the third group that appeared before Pompey consisted, according to Diodorus, of more than two hundred prominent men (ƮѴ ї›ƨƴƠƬоƱƲƠƲƮƨ) who, according to Josephus, represented the ethnos. This group asked Pompey to free the Jews from all kingly rule and to restore in its stead the old rights of the high priests and the (priestly) aristocracy. Diodorus and Josephus say that this group backed up their request with both a general and a speciÀc argument. First, monarchy went against the traditions of their people; what was normal for them was to obey the priests of their God. Second, the current kings had paid no attention to the ancestral laws and had unfairly enslaved the citizens; they had acquired the throne through their great number of soldiers, crimes, and numerous outrageous murders.78 Pompey, who was actually after the Nabataeans and wanted to reach the Red Sea, accepted the invitation to intervene in Jewish affairs and overthrew the Hasmonean monarchy.79 The events in Damascus show that the Hasmoneans had long since ceased to be popular with the Jewish population – quite independent of the Romans.

CONCLUSION It remains one of Max Weber’s enduring insights that the nature of a regime is best deÀned from the perspective of those ruled. If one accepts the reports from Diodorus and Josephus about the “third party” in Damascus, the Hasmonean regime had lost most of its legitimacy. On the one hand, the delegation from Jerusalem joined to their rejection of monarchy in principle the request to return to the traditional hierocracy; on the other hand, they measured the actions of the Hasmonean kings against the standard of the Torah and condemned them as arrogant crimes, without assigning any value to the political and military accomplishments of the dynasty that had, in all fairness, achieved independence and a formidable expansion for the Jewish realm. Whether the delegation really represented the ethnos, as Josephus asserts, or merely a particular social group (probably the rich priestly class of Jerusalem) must remain an open question. What certainly is representative – as shown by a comparison with contemporary Jewish literature of any genre – is their method of arguing on the basis of biblical principles, which they employ even with Pompey, if in a more toned-down and implicit manner. 78 79

Diod. 40.2; Josephus AJ 14.41. After he had broken the last resistance through his capture of the Temple in Jerusalem, he dissolved the empire won by the Hasmoneans, abolished the monarchy, made Judea pay tribute to Rome, and established Hyrcanus as high priest and ethnarch of the Jews (Josephus BJ 1.153– 158, AJ 14.73 ff.). He thus in effect basically fulÀlled the request of the “third party” in Damascus. The Roman reorganization yielded political arrangements that largely corresponded to those found in the time of Persian and Macedonian rule before the Maccabean revolt. Foreign rule once again meant a large measure of internal autonomy for Jerusalem as a political unit centered on the Temple. On Pompey’s political calculation see Trampedach 2009, 402–404; 412–414.

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From the perspective of the sociology of regimes, Jewish biblicism can be characterized as a theocratic discourse. What is meant here by the concept “theocracy” goes back to the Àrst appearance of the term, in the work of Josephus. Despite a parallel etymological formation, theocracy is not a technical constitutional concept like democracy, aristocracy, or monarchy, but rather refers to a transcendent source of political authority.80 In his Contra Apionem Josephus explains to his non-Jewish readership that the conventional concepts of constitutional law could not capture what was distinctive about the Jewish social order founded by Moses. It would instead be better to speak of “theocracy,” since the lawgiver orients this order entirely towards God and assigns God power and rule (2.164 ff.). Democracy, oligarchy, or monarchy are from this perspective “accidental” concepts, which, as Christine Gerber has shown, can be subsumed under theocracy: “In der Verfassung des Judentums geht es nicht um die Herrschaft eines Menschen oder einer Menschengruppe oder eines Staates über andere, sondern um die Herrschaft Gottes.”81 Concrete constitutional forms satisfy the demands of theocracy only when they guarantee that the life of the community proceeds according to the will of God. Whether a concrete political constellation met this condition was naturally extremely controversial. Thus whether the Hasmoneans were the rightful executors of God’s kingly rule or were in fact “wicked priests” and usurpers remained an open question up until the intervention of Pompey and even beyond. The Hasmoneans were nevertheless long able to maneuver successfully between being a Hellenistic monarchy and a Jewish theocracy. Through military competence and political skill they rose to the level of a regional power and conquered an empire that rivaled in extent that of David and Solomon at the height of the Kingdom of Israel. On the one hand they Àt the proÀle of Hellenistic kings, while on the other they presented themselves as champions of the Torah and the Eretz Israel by destroying pagan cultic sites and Judaizing the conquered areas through ethnic cleansing and forced integration. Admittedly only the second aspect of their program could promote their legitimacy at home. The Hasmoneans’ attempt to legitimate their rule through theocratically interpreted charismatic accomplishments did indeed resonate with the Jewish population – their military success would be otherwise hard to explain, not to mention the tough resistance to Roman rule after Pompey, which continued up to the fall of Jerusalem in 37 BCE and was led by Hasmonean pretenders – but also provoked opposition and hostility from the very beginning. In particular, the connection of the traditional ofÀce of high priest with that of a charismatic political ruler proved to be a source of discontent that only grew with time. The engagement of foreign soldiers, the adoption of the royal title, and the increasing use of Hellenistic forms of representation also eventually alienated the scholarly elites. This, together with fraternal conÁict, led to an ignominious end for the Hasmonean regime and cost the Jewish state its independence. 80

81

See Wallace, 1987, 427: “… it [sc. Theocracy] does not name a governmental system or structure, parallel to monarchy or democracy, but designates a certain kind of placement of the ultimate source of state authority, regardless of the form of government.” Gerber 1997, 343; see ibid. 338–359 for a convincing discussion of the scholarship.

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NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS Hans-Joachim Gehrke is Professor Emeritus of Ancient History at Freiburg University and Director of Outreach at University College Freiburg. He is co-editor of Klio and Gnomon and of the Handbuch der Altertumswissenschaften and the series Hypomnemata. He is the author of Phokion. Studien zur Erfassung seiner historischen Gestalt (1976), Stasis. Untersuchungen zur den inneren Kriegen in den griechischen Staaten des 5. und 4. Jahrhunderts (1985), Jenseits von Athen und Sparta. Das Dritte Griechenland und seine Staatenwelt (1986), Geschichte des Hellenismus (1990; [translated into Greek]), Alexander der Grosse (1996; [translated into Spanish, Italian, Czech, Chinese]), Kleine Geschichte der Antike (1999; [translated into Italian and Chinese]), Demokratie in Athen (2002), and co-editor of Intentional History. Spinning Time in Ancient Greece (2010), Geschichte, Archäologie und Öffentlichkeit: Für einen neuen Dialog zwischen Wissenschaft und Medien (2010), and Mythos Olympia – Kult und Spiele (2012). Ulrich Gotter is Professor of Ancient History at Konstanz University. His main research topics are the political culture of the Roman Republic and the Early Roman Empire as well as religious conÁicts in Late Antiquity. He has published on cultural transfers in Italy and Asia Minor and is the author of Der Diktator ist tot! Politik im Rom zwischen den Iden des März und der Begründung des Zweiten Triumvirats (Stuttgart 1996) and the co-editor of From temple to church: destruction and renewal of local cultic topography in late antiquity (Leiden and Boston 2008). He is currently preparing a book on the Hellenization of the Roman Aristocracy from the 3rd to the 1st century BCE. Matthias Haake studied Ancient History, Classical Archaeology and Philosophy at the Universities of Freiburg and Perugia. He is currently akademischer Rat in Ancient History at the Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität Münster from where he obtained also his PhD. Next to his interest in the social and cultural conditions as well as in the public perception of philosophy and philosophers in the Hellenistic and Roman Imperial periods, his research is mainly focussed on the phenomenon of monarchy in the Ancient world and centred especially on Hellenistic monarchy and Roman emperorship in the ‘long third century’. He is author of Der Philosoph in der Stadt. Untersuchungen zur öffentlichen Rede über Philosophen und Philosophie in den hellenistischen Poleis (Munich 2007) and co-editor of Kult – Politik – Ethnos. Überregionale Heiligtümer im Spannungsfeld von Kult und Politik (Stuttgart 2006), Rollenbilder in der athenischen Demokratie. Medien, Gruppen, Räume im politischen und sozialen System (Wiesbaden 2009), Griechische Heiligtümer als Erinnerungsorte. Von der Archaik bis in den Hellenismus (Stuttgart 2011) and Friedrich Münzer. Kleine Schriften (Stuttgart 2012).

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Nino Luraghi is the D. Magie Professor of Classics at Princeton University. He has published articles on ancient Greek history and historiography and is the author of The Ancient Messenians (Cambridge 2008) and Tirannidi arcaiche in Sicilia e Magna Grecia (Florence 1994), the editor of The Historian’s Craft in the Age of Herodotus (Oxford 2001), and the co-editor of Helots and their Masters in Laconia and Messenia (Cambridge, Ma. 2003), The Politics of Ethnicity and the Crisis oft he Peloponnesian League (Cambridge, MA. 2009) and Intentional History: Spinning Time in Ancient Greece (Stuttgart 2010). Christian Mann is Professor of Ancient History at the University of Mannheim, Germany. He has authored Athlet und Polis im archaischen und frühklassischen Griechenland (2001), Die Demagogen und das Volk. Zur politischen Kommunikation im Athen des 5. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. (2007), and “Um keinen Kranz, um das Leben kämpfen wir!” Gladiatoren im Osten des Römischen Reiches und die Frage der Romanisierung (2011). He is co-editor of Rollenbilder in der athenischen Demokratie (2009), Demokratie im Hellenismus? (2012), and the author of several scholarly articles on Athenian democracy and on sport and spectacle in antiquity. Kai Trampedach is Professor of Ancient History at the Ruprecht-Karls-University Heidelberg. His main research topics are the relationship of philosophy or religion/ theology and politics, political anthropology in the Ancient World, Hellenistic and Roman Judaism, and political rituals and hagiography in Late Antiquity. Recently, he edited (and contributed to) Die Bibel als politisches Argument. Voraussetzungen und Folgen biblizistischer Herrschaftslegitimation in der Vormoderne (Oldenbourg 2007), Practitioners of the Divine. Greek Priests and Religious OfÀcials from Homer to Heliodorus (Harvard University Press 2008), and Theokratie und theokratischer Diskurs. Die Rede von der Gottesherrschaft und ihre politisch-sozialen Auswirkungen im interkulturellen Vergleich (Mohr Siebeck 2013). Currently, he is Ànishing a book on The Politics of Divination in Ancient Greece. D. Alexander Walthall is a doctoral candidate in the Department of Art & Archaeology at Princeton University. His research, to date, has focused primarily on agricultural taxation and the economy of Hellenistic and Roman Sicily. He has been a member of the American Excavations at Morgantina since 2003 and is currently serving as the project’s Senior Field Supervisor.

INDEX NOMINUM Aaron 241 Abdera 58 Abraham 236 Academy 168, 171, 182 n. 125 Achaean League, Achaeans 141 n. 46, 142, 143 (adj.), 144, 150 n. 91, 151 n. 97, 157 n. 126 Achaemenids 90 n. 88, 220 Achaeus (the Younger) 78 n. 27, 86, 155 n. 118, 216 Achilles 37 Acragas, Acragantines 40, 41, 42, 57, 101 n. 12 Acrocorinth 144, 186 Acrotatus 130, 131, 137, 138, 139, 140 Actium 175 n. 65, 213 Admetus 35 Adriatic 106 n. 39 Adulis (harbor in Eritrea) 80 Aeacids 40, 113 Aeacus 40 Aegina, Aeginetans 27, 28, 29, 39, 40, 41 Aeolus 29 Aetna 29, 38, 39, 44, 102, 106 n. 41 Aetolians 83 n. 53, 148 Agapetus Diaconus 167 n. 12 (Advice to the Emperor) Agatharchides of Cnidus 240 n. 31 Agatharcus (son of Agathocles) 101, 102 n. 15, 107 n. 47 Agathocles of Syracuse 21, 77 n. 19, 81, 90, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 114 n. 101, 115, 116, 117, (Àrst marriage) 101, 102 n. 15, 108 n. 48, (second marriage) 102, 108 n. 48, (third marriage) 102 n. 19, 108 n. 48 Agathocles (son of Agathocles) 102, 104, 105, 106, 107 Agesilaus 170 Agesipolis 147, 159 n. 131 Agiads, Agiad dynasty 130, 132, 137 n. 22, 140, 143, 146, 147, 159 n. 131 Agiatis 140 Agis IV 140, 142 agos see pollution Agrigentum see Acragas

Aizanoi 212 Albertino Mussato 66 Alcaeus 50, 65, 66 Alcia 102 Alcmeonids 53, 55, 65, 66 Alcyoneus 218 aletheia 183 n. 131 Alexander the Great 18, 20, 55, 61, 77, 80 n. 38, 81 n. 38, 83 n. 54, 89, 92, 99, 100, 107, 129, 130, 131, 133, 134, 135, 136, 152, 154 n. 114, 155, 168, 169, 172, 187, 207, 208, 220, 221, 224, 234 Alexander Molossus 109 Alexander II of Epirus 109, 110 Alexander IV 20 Alexander Balas 234 Alexander Jannaeus 231, 232-233, 242, 249, 250 n. 70, 252 Alexandra Salome 242, 249 n. 69, 253 Alexandria 81, 117 n. 119, 207 Amazons 213, 214 Amisus 222 n. 67 Ammianus Marcellinus 183 n. 137 Ammon 235 Amphipolis 152 n. 105 Amyclae 139 n. 35 Anatolia 210, 221, 222 Anaxarchus of Abdera 174, 183 n. 137, 187 Anaxilaus of Rhegium 25 n. 1, 42, 43, 44 Andronicus 92 Ankara 210 Antigoneia (on the Orontes) 80 n. 38 Antigonids 87 n. 68, 179 n. 102, 208, 219 n. 52 Antigonis (Athenian tribe) 179 n. 102 Antigonus I Monophtalmus 77, 80 n. 38, 82, 83, 84, 91 n. 94, 99, 108, 143 n. 59, 157 n. 126 Antigonus II Gonatas 54, 77, 81 n. 38, 131 n. 5, 134, 173 n. 57, 175, 185, 186 Antigonus III Doson 78 n. 29, 144, 146 n. 72, 147 n. 76, 150 n. 90, 183 Antiocheia 80 n. 36 Antiochus I of Commagene 22, 209, 219, 220, 221, 222 Antiochus IV of Commagene 209 n. 9

264

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Antiochus I 88 n. 76, 143 n. 59, 153 n. 109 Antiochus II 144 n. 67, 153 n. 109 Antiochus III 77, 78 n. 24, 78 n. 29, 79, 81 n. 41, 83 n. 54, 86, 87, 91 n. 94, 92, 158 n. 127, 178, 216, 217 n. 40 Antiochus IV 79, 80, 81, 91 n. 94, 207, 208, 209, 233, 234, 235, 239, 241, 242, 253 Antiochus V 248 Antiochus VI 86 n. 67 Antiochus VII 86 n. 67, 247 Antiochus VIII 154 n. 114 Antiochus Hierax 158 n. 128, 215, 216 n. 35, 217 Antipater 172 Antipater of Magnesia 173 n. 56 Antisthenes 168 n. 15 (Cyrus and Archelaus) Antony (Mark Antony) 213 n. 24 Apamea 210, 212 Apelles (Seleucid ofÀcial) 235 Aphrodite 218 Apollo 31, 33, 34, 35, 36, 38, 60 (sanctuary of), 220 Apollonius of Tyre 173 n. 57 (On Zeno) Aquilius, Manius 223 Aratus of Sikyon 61, 142, 143 n. 56 Arcadia 142 Arcesilaus of Cyrene 29 n. 9, 44 Archagathus (son of Agathocles) 101, 102 n. 15, 103 n. 29, 105, 107 n. 47 Archagathus (grandson of Agathocles) 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107 n. 47 Archidamus III 137 n. 22, 171 Archidamus IV 132 Archidamus V 140, 143 Ares 31, 37, 220 arete 28, 38, 39, 40, 78, 176 Arethusa 36 Areus I 21, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 144, 145, 146, 147, 151 Areus II 139 Areus (son of Neon) 51 Argeads, Argead dynasty 20, 77, 87 n. 68 Argus 62, 134, 135, 139 n. 34, 144, 149 n. 88, 151, 152, 154, 157, 158 n. 127 Aristagoras of Miletus 57 Aristeas (Letter of) 21, 177 Aristobulus 232, 249, 253 Aristobulus II 253 aristocracy, aristocratic 13, 27, 30, 42, 45, 66, 254, 255 Aristodemus of Cumae 56, 61 (his children and relatives)

Aristogeiton 51 Aristomachus of Argus 60, 61 Aristonicus of Methymna 61 Aristotimus of Elis 54, 56 (his daughters) Aristotle 17, 19, 172, 172 n. 53 (Alexander or On Colonies), 173, 173 n. 53 (‘Arabian Letter’), 174, 187 army 12, 33, 42, 74 n. 7, 76, 77, 80, 86, 89 (assembly of), 108, 130, 131 n. 5, 141, 143, 151, 180, 210, 223, 240 n. 32, 243, 244 Arsinoe I 80, 214 n. 24 Arsinoe III 79 Artagnes 220 Artaphernes 61 Artemis 31, 138 (Mesopolita), 144 (Orthia) Asclepius 36, 37 Asia 78, 80, 208, 218, (province of) 22, 223 Asia Minor 86, 134 n. 14, 210, 211, 212, 215, 216 n. 40, 221, 223, 224 asebeia, asebes 58, 59, 60, 102 assembly of the army 89 asylia 112 n. 88, 140 asylum 54, 55, 58 Athena 80 n. 38 (seated with Nike), 214 (sanctuary of), 215, 216 (sanctuary of), 217 (Nikephoros), 218 Athens, Athenians 51, 53, 56, 58, 61 n. 60, 62, 63, 64, 66, 82, 83 n. 53, 84, 135, 136, 148 n. 83, 157 n. 126, 172 n. 45, 179, 180 n. 110, 181, 183, 185, 186, 212, 214, 219 Athenian Acropolis 213, 214 atimia 51, 56, 58 Attalid Dedication, Great 213, 214, 216 n. 34 Attalid Dedication, Lesser 213, 214 n. 24 Attalids, Attalid dynasty 108 n. 54, 154 n. 113, 209, 211, 212, 213, 214, 217, 218 Attalus I 77, 88, 90 n. 83, 158 n. 127, 158 n. 128, 177, 212, 213, 214 n. 24, 215, 216 Attalus II 210, 212, 213, 214 n. 24 Attalus III 213, 214 n. 24 Attis (priest of Pessinus) 210 Auge 218 Augustus 138 n. 32, 175 n. 65, 207 autonomia 90, 178 Azarias 243 Azotus 236 n. 18 Babylon 80 Bacchides 235 Bacchylides 25-45 passim Bactria 78 n. 29, 80, 90

Index nominum Baean 235 n. 13 barbaroi 11, 14, 34, 61 n. 56, 62, 65, 186 n. 157, 212, 214, 217, 218, 219 barbarians see barbaroi basileia 38, 45, 76, 77, 100, 106, 107, 115, 117, (joint) 111, 112, (Spartan) 16, 19, 21, 129, 130, 131, 139, 140, 146, 153 n. 109 basileus 13, 14, 21, 41, 44, 45, 110, 112, 135, 136, 152, 182, 183, 187, (benefactor) 85, (castrated) 116, 209, 225, 231, (friendly) 21, 106, (god) 208, 219, (good) 18, 19, 20, 21, 73, 92 n. 95, 167, 170, 171, 173, 176, 177, 184, (Hellenistic) 11, 149, 150, 151, 154, 155, 179, 180, 181, 185, 186, (Homeric) 14, 15, 16, 18, (philosopher) 19, 20, 171, 185, (megas) 220, 221, (savior) 85, (Spartan) 11, 16, 17, 19, 21, 129-157 passim, (title of) 86, 99, 100, 109, 111, 113, 134 n. 13, 146, 153 n. 106, 154 n. 113, 156, 158, 244, 249, 252 n. 72, 255, (victorious) 20, 21, 85, 116 benefaction, benefactor see euergetism Berenice 80 birth see physis Bithynia 223 Black Sea 224 bodyguard 148 Boreas 32 Bruttians 101, 102 n. 15, 103, 106 n. 41 Cadmus 37 Caleb 236 Caligula 50 Callias of Sphettos 21 n. 42, 157 n. 126 Callicrates son of Theoxenus 158 Callixenus of Rhodes 81 n. 42 L. Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus 175 n. 65 Camarina 42, 44 Canaan 232, 235 Cannae (Battle of) 113 Canopus (Decree of) 90 n. 89 Cappadocia 211, 222 n. 70, 224 Caria 80, 215 Carthage, Carthaginians 29, 30, 45, 103 n. 30, 104 n. 31, 109, 111, 114, 115, 116, 117 Cassander 99, 100, 108, 134 n. 11, 169, 175 Castiglione, Baldassarre 167 n. 14 (Libro del Cortigiano) Catania 38 Celts 77, 79, 186, 210 Chaeronea 179 Chalcis 186

265

charis 40, 90 n. 83 charisma, charismatic 18, 20, 21, 22, 42, 43, 44, 45, 75, 76, 77, 79, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90 n. 83, 90 n. 88, 92, 108, 115, 180, 208, 211, 231, 232, 244, 249, 255 Chersonesus 64 Chilonis 140 Chiron 36, 37 Chremonidean War 134 n. 13, 137, 138, 139, 186 Chremonides (son of Eteocles) 135, 136 Chremonides Decree 137, 139, 185 n. 149 Cilicia 80, 224 n. 81 Clearchus (Spartan leader) 83 n. 57 Clearchus (tyrant of Heraclea Pontica) 54 Cleomenes I 66, 147 Cleomenes II 130, 131 Cleomenes III 21, 78 n. 29, 130, 131, 136 n. 21, 137 n. 26, 140, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 146, 147, 149, 150 n. 89, 153 n. 107, 155, 159 n. 131 Cleomenic War 141 Cleonymus 130, 131 n. 4, 132 Cleopatra III Kokke 80 n. 36 Cleopatra VII 207, 213 n. 24 Clisthenes 66 Cnopus of Erythrae 56 Cnossus 136 n. 19 Codrus 59 Coes (of Mytilene) 58 coinage, coins 43, 80 n. 38, 81 n. 38, 105 n. 36, 109 n. 61, 110 n. 70, 112, 114 n. 105, 133, 134, 144, 145, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 249 Colophon 152 n. 105 Commagene 209, 220, 221, 222 constitutional debate 170, 173 Corinth 52, 60, 134 n. 13, 144 Corcyra/Corfu 81, 106 n. 39 Coriscus (Platonic pupil) 171 n. 42 Corupedium 100 n. 5 Cos 84, 112 n. 88, 212 Cosmas Indicopleustes 80 Crete 136, 138, 150 n. 91 Crimea 225 Critias 20 Croesus 13, 33, 34, 35, 44, 53 n. 19 Crotoniates 54 Cumae 30, 33 n. 28, 43, 44 Cunaxa (Battle of) 83 n. 57 Cycladic Islands 80

266

Index nominum

Cylon 53, 57 Cynoscephalae (Battle of) 151, 152, 154, 155 n. 119 Cyprus 80 Cypselids 60 Cyrene 26, 29 Cyrus 34, 170 Damarete (wife of Gelo) 111 Damarete 110, 111, 115 Damas (Syracusan strategos) 101 n. 12 Damascus 253 Daniel 236 Daphidas 108 n. 54 Daphne (near Antioch) 81 Darius 61 n. 56, 220 David 235, 236, 239, 242, 243, 245, 246, 247 n. 61, 248, 249, 252, 255 day of Eleusis 81, 207, 208, 209 Dead Sea Scrolls 248 Deinomenes 30, 31, 38 Deinomenids 42, 43, 44, 45, 61, 111 Delos, Delians 146 n. 72, 17 n. 78, 152 n. 102, 156, 212 Delphi 25, 32, 33, 34, 43, 44, 60, 112, 139 n. 35, 212, 217 n. 43 Demaratus I 147 Demaratus (son of Gorgion) 147 n. 78 Demaratus (father of Nabis) 146 Demetrias (Athenian tribe) 179 n. 102 Demetrias (in Thessaly) 186 Demetrius I Poliorcetes 21 n. 42, 77, 80 n. 38, 81 n. 41, 82, 83, 84, 99, 103, 105, 106 n. 39, 108, 132, 143 n. 59, 157 n. 126, 186 Demetrius II Aetolicus 154 n. 114 Demetrius I Soter 154 n. 114 Demetrius II Nicator 80 n. 36, 86 n. 67, 245 Demetrius of Phalerum 82, 165, 166 n. 4 democracy 18, 51 (Athenian), 62, 255, (restoration of) 102, 104, 105 n. 36, 114 n. 101 Demophantus decree 51 dexiosis reliefs 220 diadem 77, 86, 109, 111, 113, 115, 145, 153, 154, 212, 249 diadoche, diadochos see succession Diadochoi 77, 85, 89 n. 83, 108, 109, 130, 133, 134, 135, 136, 138, 153, 155, 169 n. 24 Diasia 53 dikaion 76, 130 dikaiosyne 176

Diodorus of Adramyttium 184 n. 142 Diodorus Siculus 100, 104 Diodotus 90 Diogenes Laertius 173 n. 57 Diogenes of Seleucia 184 n. 142 Diomedes 32 n. 27 Dion 171 Dionysius the Elder 52 n. 17, 101 n. 11, 107, 110 n. 70, 115, 171 Dionysius the Younger 56 (his daughters), 107 n. 44, 171 Dionysius of Heraclea Pontica 108 Dionysus 80 Dioscuri 133 Pseudo-Diotogenes 175 n. 65 Dorieus 53 doxa 83, 84, 87, 89 Duris of Samus 101 n. 10, 105 dyarchy 129, 130, 133, 140 n. 39, 143, 146, 147 dynasty, dynastic principle 13, 17, 22, 79, 86, 87 n. 68, 88, 99, 100, 107 n. 46, 109, 114 n. 105, 116, 117, 139 n. 36, 151, 175, 176, 181, 216, 220, 233, 238, 244 Pseudo-Ecphantus 175 n. 65 Egypt, Egyptians 21 n. 40, 79, 80, 88 n. 70, 90, 91 n. 94, 93, 103, 146, 207, 208, 248 eirene 39 ekklesia 102, 107, 114, 135 Eleazar 231 Eleusis (in Egypt) 207 eleutheria see freedom Elijah 236 Elis, Eleans 54, 136, 138, 139 n. 35, 141, 155 n. 114 Emmenids 40, 45 Epigonus 216 n. 35 Ephesian Vespers 223, 224 Ephesus, Ephesians 53 n. 19, 55, 58, 212 ephorate 132, 141, 142, 146, 147, 149 Ephorus 60 Erastus (Platonic pupil) 171 n. 42 Erinyes 53 Esau 235 Essenes 233 n. 5, 240 n. 31 Etruscans 29, 30, 33 n. 38 Euboea 186 Euclidas 143, 146, 147 Eucrates decree 51 Eudamidas II 136 eudoxia 84 n. 58

Index nominum euergetism 21, 40, 82, 84 n. 60, 84, 90 n. 83, 92, 116, 156, 176, 178, 180, 212, 231, 244, 247 Euhemerus of Messene 92 eukleia 39 Eumenes 83 Eumenes II 151 n. 100, 154, 157, 158, 209, 211, 212, 213, 214 n. 24, 216 n. 40, 217 n. 43 eunoia 78, 113 eunomia 39 Euphrates 80, 219, 222 Eurotas 148 Eurydamas (son of Agis IV) 140 Euryleon 53 Eurypontids, Eurypontid dynasty 132, 136, 140, 143, 145, 146, 153 n. 109 Eurysthenes 147 n. 78 eusebeia, eusebes 34, 35 Euthydemus I 154 n. 109 Evagoras 19 Ezzelino da Romano 66 (Ecerinis) Finley, Moses 14, 15 Flamininus (Titus Quinctius) 147 n. 77, 148 n. 83, 149 n. 88-89, 151, 152 n. 102, 154, 155, 157 n. 126 Foucault, Michael 182 n. 127 founder see ktistes Fraternal War 215 freedom 84, 104, 114 n. 101, 158, 178, 182 n. 127, 208 Gaia 218 Galatia 217, 218 Galatians 77, 158 n. 128, 210, 212, 213, 216 n. 35 Galerius 50 Galilee 231, 238 n. 24 Gaulantis 231 Gauls 81 n. 38, 212, 215, 216, 217, 218, ‘Dying Gaul’ 215, ‘Ludovisi Gaul’ 215 Gaza 83 Gela 42, 43 Gelo (brother of Hiero I) 25 n. 1, 30, 33 n. 38, 41, 42, 44, 45, 111 Gelo (son of Hiero II) 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116 Geloans 41 gerontes 15, 16 gerousia 130, 132, 142, 147, 149

267

Gezer 245 giants 213, 214 Gideon 243 Gigantomachy 217 Glaucon (decree for) 185 n. 149 Goffredo da Viterbo 166 n. 9 (Speculum regum) Gortyn 136 n. 19 ‘Great Rhetra’ 16 n. 23 Great Altar (of Pergamum) 213, 214 n. 24, 217, 218, 219 Gytheion 151 n. 97, 155 n. 120, 157 n. 125, 157 n. 126, 158 Halicarnassus 51 Harmodius 51 Harmonia (daughter of Gelo) 113, 115 Harpagus 61 Hasideans 233 n. 5, 241 Hasmoneans, Hasmonean dynasty 22, 231, 232, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239, 242, 243, 244, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 254, 255 Hebrew Bible 232, 232 (1 Macc.), 234 (2 Macc.), 239 (1 Macc.), 242 (2 Macc.), 245 n. 49 (Pentateuch), 245 n. 49 (Book of Joshua), 249 (1 Macc.), 252 (Deuteronomy), 252 n. 73 (Testament of Levi), 252 n. 73 (Book of Jubilees) Hebron 245 Hecatombaeum (in Arcadia) 143, 144 n. 63 Helenos (son of Pyrrhus) 110 n. 66 Heliopolis 248 Helios 220 Hellespont 80, 215 (Phrygian) Helots 132, 151 Henry IV 166 n. 9 Hera 54 Heraclea (daughter of Hiero II) 110, 115 (and her daughters) Heraclea Pontica 54 Heracles 40, 80, 133, 152, 153, 218, 220 Heraclidae 20 n. 37, 39 Heraclides (son of Agathocles) 101, 102 n. 15, 107 n. 47 Heraclides Ponticus 174 n. 58 Heraclitus of Athmonon 186 n. 157 Herculaneum 175 n. 65 herem 236 Hermes 31, 220 Hermias of Atarneus 171, 172 Herodotus 13, 17, 65, 66, 173

268

Index nominum

Hesiod 15 Hicetas of Leontini 56, 64 (he and his son, his wife and daughters) Hiero I 20, 25, 26, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 64, 111, 170 Hiero II 21, 99, 100, 104 n. 31, 107, 109, 110, 111 n. 83, 112, 113, 114, 116, 154 n. 113 Hieronymus 107 n. 44, 110, 111, 113, 114, 115 Himera 30, 33 n. 38, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45 Hippocrates of Gela 42, 43, 44 Hippon of Messana 61 hippotrophia 25 n. 1, 30 Histiaeus of Miletus 61 Holy War 235, 237, 239, 242, 252 Homer 15, 16, 28, 29, 49, 78, 89 Iliad 14, 16, 29, 37, 60 n. 49, 232 Odyssey 14, 16, 29 hybris 17 Hyrcanus II 253 Iamblichus 172 n. 52 (Protrepticus) Iasians 178 Idumea 231, 238 n. 24, 249 Ilium 212 Ionia 57, 80 Ionian Koinon 211 Iopata 238 n. 24 Ipsus 80 n. 38, 134 Iran 77 Isocrates 19, 21, 168 n. 16, Epistles 171 n. 44, 172 n. 46, 173 n. 55, To Nicocles 172, Nicocles 172, Euagoras 172 isonomia 18, 41 n. 56 Israel 234, 235, 236, 240, 242, 243, 244, 250, 251, 255 Italians 223 Itanos 136 n. 19 Jacob 235 n. 13 Jason of Pherae 171 Jericho 249 n. 69 Jerusalem 234, 235 n. 11, 238, 239, 240 n. 31, 242, 243, 245, 246, 248, 254 John Hyrcanus 232, 242, 244, 246 n. 56, 247, 249 n. 69, 253 Jonathan 232, 234, 235, 236 n. 18, 238, 242, 243, 244, 247, 248, 252 Joppa 245 Joseph 236 Joseph (leader of the Jewish army) 243 Josephus 233, 234

Joshua 236 Judas Maccabaeus 231, 232, 234, 235, 236, 238, 240 n. 32, 242, 243, 244, 247, 248 Judea 231, 233, 235, 236 n. 18, 239, 242, 244, 247, 248, 254 n. 79 Justin 100, 105 Kaikos (river) 77, 147, 212, 213, 214, 215, 217 Kalaureia 212 Kaphyai 141 kingship see monarchy and basileia kleos 28, 35 Koloe (lake) 215 Kosbi (wife of Zimri) 234 Krathis (river) 54 Kronos 93 ktistes 39, 42, 44, 220 kydos 40 Laconia 132, 139 n. 34, 147 n. 76, 148 n. 89, 150 n. 91, 152 n. 103 Ladoceia (near Megalopolis) 142 Lagids, Lagid dynasty 88, 91 Lakedaimon see Sparta Lamian War 179 Lanassa 81, 102, 105 n. 39, 106 n. 39, 107, 109 Laodamas (addressee of Plat. epist. 11) 171 n. 42 Laodice III 178 Laodicean War 91 n. 94 League of the Islanders 84 legitimacy, legitimization 11, 26, 42, 74, 75, 76, 78, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87 n. 69, 88, 91, 130, 134, 138, 152, 154, 155, 156, 158, 159, 180, 186, 213, 222, 232, 245, 252, 254, 255 Leonidas II 131, 140 Leontopolis 247, 249 Leptines (brother of Dionysius I) 110 n. 70 Leptines (father of Philistis) 110 n. 70 Levites 248, 251 Libya 80 Limyra 214 n. 24 Locri (Epizephyrian) 29, 30, 38, 57 Longanos (Battle of the) 115 n. 112 Lope de Vega Fuente Ovejuna 67 Louis XII 99 C. Lutatius Catulus (Treaty of) 111 Lycia 80 Lycurgus (Spartan lawgiver) 142

Index nominum Lycurgus 146, 147, 152, 159 n. 131 lyric poetry 13, 17 Lysander 139 n. 35 Lysimachia 186 Lysimachus 80 n. 38, 99, 100, 108, 134 n. 14, 147 n. 78, 157 n. 126 Maccabees 234, 239, 241 Macedonia, Macedonians 20, 74 n. 7, 77, 79, 84, 87 n. 68, 88, 89, 132, 135, 136, 138, 139, 141, 144, 150 n. 90, 172, 186, 208, 254 n. 79 Macedonian War, First 151, 155 n. 118 Macedonian War, Second 151, 179, 214 n. 24 Machanidas 146, 147, 148, 150 n. 91, 152, 159 n. 131 Machaon 37 Mamercus 64 Mamertines 104 n. 31, 115, 116 Mantinea 132, 136, 141, 143, 146, 148 n. 83, 150 n. 91, 152 Marathon 213, 214 Massalia 58 Mattathias 233, 234, 235, 236, 240, 242, 243, 244, 247 Media 80 Megacles 53 Megalopolis 142, 143, 148 n. 83 megalopsychia 90 n. 83, 232 Megara 53, 64 Melchizedek 252 n. 73 Melissus of Thebes 29 n. 9 Memnon of Heraclea 54 Memphis (Decree of) 90 n. 89 Menedemus of Eretria 185, 186 n. 157 Menon (from Segesta) 102 n. 21, 103 n. 24 mercenaries 17, 42, 83, 131 n. 5, 134 n. 13, 139 n. 34, 141, 142, 148, 149 n. 89, 150, 152, 217, 242, 247, 250, 255 Mesopotamia 80 Messene 140, 147 Messene/Zancle 44, 64 Metrodorus of Scepsis 184 n. 142 miasma 58, 66 Micmash 244 Micon/Micion (Syracusan sculptor) 112 n. 90 Midian 252 Miletus 212 Miltiades the Elder 64 Miltiades (tyrant of Chersonesus) 64 mirror for princes see Speculum principis Mithras 220

269

Mithradates VI of Pontus 22, 209, 223, 224, 225 Moabitis 231 Modein 233, 235 n. 11, 242 monarchy (Hellenistic) 21, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 80, 85, 86, 87, 88, 90, 91, 92, 93, 100, 107, 108 n. 53, 115, 117, 139, 143, 145, 146, 148, 166, 178, 187, 208, 231, 234, 250, (hereditary) 14, 29, 31, 44, 45, (Jewish) 250, (Oriental) 91, (Persian) 19, (Roman) 166 n. 6 Moses 250, 255 Mycenae, Myceneans 151, 154, 157, 158 Myrsilus 50 Myrtilus 35 Nabataeans 254 Nabis 21, 130, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151 (and his sons), 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159 Nabonidus 91 Nemesis (at Rhamnous) 186 Nemrut Daùi 219, 220 Nereis 112, 113, 114 n. 105 Nero 50 Nestor 37 Nicocles 19 Nike 31, 80 n. 38, 81 n. 38, 154 n. 114 Oedipus 59 Oenomaus 35 Oiniadai (in Acarnania) 149 n. 85 oligarchy, oligarchic 12, 13, 15, 18, 51, 55, 255 Olous 136 n. 19 Olympia, Olympic Games 25, 32, 43, 44, 53, 112, 137, 138, 145, 154 n. 114, 158 Olympian gods 213, 214 On Kingship (treatises) 21, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187 Onias III 248 Onias IV 248 Orchomenus 137 n. 25, 138, 141 Oroetes (satrap of Sardis) 61 Oromasdes 220 Ortyges of Erythrae 56, 61 (his wife and children) Oxythemis 103 n. 23 Pagasae (Gulf of) 60 paideia 172 Palaeologians 188

270

Index nominum

Palestine 207, 221, 235 Pallantium 141 pambasileia 16, 19 Pamphylia 80 Panhellenism, panhellenic 25, 26, 41, 43, 45, 113, 137, 139 n. 35, 172, 172 n. 48, 178, 181 Pantares of Gela 25 n. 1 Paphlagonia 222 n. 70, 224 parrhesia 182, 183 patronomoi 142 Peleus 37 Peloponnesian War 66 Pelops (mythical Àgure) 35, 36, 44 Pelops (son of Lycurgus) 147 n. 80 Pelusion 207 Perdiccas III 171 perea 231 Pergamene Acropolis 214 Pergamum 153 n. 106, 209, 210, 212, 213, 216, 217, 219, 222 Periander of Corinth 60 Peri basileias see On Kingship Pericles 52, 66 Pericles (Lycian dynast) 221 Perilaus of Argus 56 Persaeus of Citium 184 n. 142, 185 Perseus (mythical Àgure) 29 Perseus of Macedonia 93, 210 Persia 80 Pessinus 210 Phaeacians 170 n. 28 Phalaris 13 n. 9, 56, 57, 58, 61 (his mother and friends) Phalasarna 136 n. 19 Pharisees 233 n. 5 pharmakos 57, 58, 59, 60, 66 Pherenikos 32 philanthropia 84 n. 60, 176 Philetaerus 153 n. 106 Philhellen 222 n. 71, 249 philia 183 n. 131 philia and symmachia 105, 111 Philip II 20, 60, 77, 89 n. 81, 130, 152, 155 n. 117, 172, 173 n. 55, 179 Philip III Arrhidaeus 77, 152 n. 105 Philip V 89, 91 n. 94, 149 n. 85, 150 n. 91, 151 (and his daughters), 152, 154 n. 114, 155, 179, 214 n. 24 Philippides 157 n. 126 Philistines 235, 236 n. 18 Philistis 110, 111 n. 83

Philistus 110 n. 70 Philoctetes 36, 37 Philodemus of Gadara 174 n. 65 (On the Good King According to Homer), 175 n. 65 Philonides of Laodicea 184 n. 142 philoi, royal friends 148, 149, 165, 166, 180, 184 Philopoemen 152 n. 103 Philorhomaios 222 n. 71 philosopher (as advisor of the basileus) 21, 174, 178, 181, 182, 183, 184, 187 Phinehas 233, 234, 235, 236, 252 Phintias of Acragas 109 n. 61 Phocus 37 Phoenicia 80 Phrygia 222 n. 70, 224 n. 81 Phylarchus 61, 143 physis 76, 86, 87, 88, 130 Pindar 25-45 passim Pindar (tyrant of Ephesus) 53 n. 19 Pisistratus 56, 150 n. 89 pistis 113 Pittacus 58, 66 Plataea 44 Plato 19, 20, 173 Letters 171 Republic 20 Statesman 20 n. 36, 168 n. 15 Plator 150 n. 93 pleonexia 91 ploutos 34, 40 Plutarch 57, 165 (Sayings of Kings and Commanders) polis, community of politai, Greek city 12, 17, 18 n. 30, 20, 21, 27, 28, 29, 35, 38, 39, 40, 41, 43, 44, 58, 59, 60, 63, 65, 66, 67, 84, 90, 107 n. 45, 108, 112, 115, 117, 159, 168, 171, 172, 176, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 184, 186, 187, 208, 212, 219, 222, 234 pollution 51, 55, 57, 58, 66 Polybius 60, 61, 101 n. 10, 114 Polycrates of Samus 61 Polydorus (son of Alcamenes) 137 n. 22 polygamy 108 n. 48 Polyrrhenia 136 n. 19, 137 n. 25, 138 Pompeius Trogus 103, 105 (Prologues) Pompey (Cn. Pompeius Magnus) 221, 222, 225, 248 n. 63, 253, 254 Pontus 221, 224 C. Popilius Laenas 81, 207, 209 n. 8 Poseidon 29, 31, 35, 36, 80 n. 38

Index nominum primogeniture 99, 106 Procles 147 n. 78 Protimus of Gortyn 157 Prusia I 155 n. 118 Prytanis of Carystus 183 Psammetichus 60 Ptolemaia 81 Ptolemies, Ptolemaic dynasty 81 n. 39, 87, 90 n. 88, 91 n. 94, 117 n. 119 (Ptolemaic Empire), 131, 139 n. 136, 140, 144, 151, 207, 208, 236 n. 18 Ptolemy I Soter 21 n. 42, 77, 80, 83, 84, 99, 100, 103, 108, 137, 152 n. 105, 166 n. 4, 240 n. 31 Ptolemy II Philadelphus 21 n. 42, 80, 84, 88, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139 n. 35, 157 n. 126, 165, 166 n. 4, 177 n. 88, 214 n. 24 Ptolemy III Euergetes 78 n. 28, 80, 91 n. 94, 136 n. 21, 137 n. 26, 144, 145, 154 n. 113 Ptolemy IV 78 n. 25, 78 n. 29, 79, 87, 88 Ptolemy V 79 Ptolemy VI 79, 80 n. 36, 248 Ptolemy VIII Physkon 80 n. 36, 81 n. 46 Ptolemy Keraunos 77, 78 n. 26 Punic War, First 115 Punic War, Second 209 n. 7 puriÀcation 57, 58, 60, 65 Pyrrhus 78, 81, 92 103 n. 30, 106 n. 39, 109, 110, 113 n. 92, 114 n. 105, 131 n. 5, 132, 134, 135, 139 n. 34, 158 n. 128 Pyrrhus II 112, 113 n. 92 Pythagoras (Nabis’ borther-in-law) 149 n. 88 Pythian Games 32, 37, 38 queens 106 n. 39, 139 n. 36 Qumran 233, 246 n. 55, 248 (Teacher of Righteousness), 249, 252 (Temple Scroll and Law of the King) Raphia (Battle of) 78, 79, 87 (Decree of) 90 Rhodes, Rhodians 41, 81, 112, 177, 212 Rome, Romans 14, 81, 104 n. 31, 111, 114, 115, 116, 151, 154, 156, 207, 208, 209, 211, 217, 221, 222, 223 (Roman citizens), 224, 225, 231, 233, 236 n. 18, 237, 245, 247, 254 Rosetta stone 90 royal correspondence 111, 112 n. 88, 180-181, 212, 213 ruler cult 82, 83 n. 55, 84 n. 58, 87, 88, 115 n. 110, 179 n. 102, 181, 208, 219, 220 n. 57, 221, 222

271

sacred kingship 59 sacrilege 53, 54, 55, 65, 66 Sadducees 233 n. 5 Salamis 44 Salamis (on Cyprus) 19, 77, 80 n. 38 Samaria 231, 238 n. 24, 249 Samson 243 Sanherib (Assyrian king) 242 Sardis 33 Sarpedon 37 Satyrus of Heraclea Pontica 54, 63 Saul 235 scapegoat see Pharmakos scepter 16 n. 19, 29, 31, 44 (skapton), 133 Scheid, John 50, 63 n. 66 Scipio Aemilianus 81 n. 46 Scipio Africanus 77 n. 21 Second Temple 236 n. 17 Seleucids, Seleucid dynasty 79, 80, 81 n. 38, 87, 88, 91, 131, 140, 151, 153 n. 109, 155 n. 118, 158 n. 128, 208, 210 (Seleucid Empire), 211, 213, 215, 216, 217, 236 n. 18, 244, 247 Seleucus I Nicator 78 n. 26, 80 n. 38, 83, 99, 108, 131, 143 n. 59, 153 n. 106 Seleucus II 158 n. 128 Seleucus III 78 n. 27, 86, 215, 216 Selinuntians 53 Sellasia 78 n. 29, 141, 146, 150 n. 91 Semele 37 Senate (Roman) 207, 210, 221, 222 Sicily 25, 28, 30, 31, 40, 42, 45, 90, 100, 101, 103 n. 30, 104 n. 31, 109, 110, 114 Simon 232, 235, 242, 243, 244, 245, 246, 247, 249, 252 Simonides 20, 170, 176 Socrates 18, 19, 20 sole rulership 11, 17, 18, 19, 140 (leadership) Solomon 242, 245, 252, 255 Solon 13 n. 7, 51, 55, 56, 61 Sophocles 17 Oedipus Tyrannus 59 Sparta, Spartans 16, 17, 20, 21, 39, 44, 66, 129-157 passim, 247 speculum principis 89, 166, 167 n. 10, 167 n. 12, 177 Speusippus 173 n. 55 (Letter to Philip) stasis 116 Stesilaus of Methymna 61 Pseudo-Sthenidas 175 n. 65 stoning (killing by) 57, 58, 60

272

Index nominum

succession 86, 88, 99, 100, 101, 105, 106, 107, 108, 110, 113, 116, 117, 206, 2111, 222 Suda 78 Sulla, L. Cornelius 224 Susiana 80 Sybaris, Sybarites 54, 55 Syracosia 116 n. 118 Syracuse, Syracusans 20, 21, 25, 28, 29, 30, 31, 36, 38, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 56, 64, 100, 101 n. 12, 102, 104, 107, 108, 109, 111, 114 n. 101, 115 n. 110, 116, 117, 170 Syria 80, 221, 235 Syrian War, Third 80 syssitia 131, 142 Tarentum 131 n. 4 Tauromenium 112 n. 90 Taxo 240 Tegea 141, 143 Telemnastus of Gortyn 157 n. 126 Telephus 218 Telys 54 Temple (in Jerusalem) 233, 239, 241 n. 36, 242, 244, 245 n. 48, 246, 247, 248, 250, 254 n. 79 Thargelia 58 Theagenes 53 themis 29 Themison (Cypriot king) 172 Theocracy 253, 255 Theognis 52, 61 (adj.) Theophrastus 174, 175 (On Kingship), 187 Theopompus 175 n. 66, 177 Theoxena (wife of Agathocles) 102 n. 19, 103 Theoxena (daughter of Agathocles?) 103 n. 29 Thero of Acragas 25 n. 1, 28, 30, 40, 41, 44 n. 65, 45, 64, 111 Theris 37 Theseus 213, 214 Thrace 80 Thrasydaeus of Agrigentum 64 Timaeus of Tauromenium 56, 58 n. 45, 101 n. 10, 105, 108 n. 54 time 28, 39 Tigranes 221 Timoleon 52, 61, 64 Timophanes 52 Timotheus of Heraclea Pontica 171 Tolistoagi 212, 215

torture 60, 61, 62, 63, 65 Trajan 165 Troy 36 truphe 81, 131 turannos see tyrant tyranny (Greek discourse of/deÀnition of) 17, 18, 19, 49, 60, 67, 179, (laws against) 51, 56, 63, 64, (opposed to basileia) 74 n. 9, 78, 172 n. 78 tyrant 11, 13, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 25, 26, 29, 30, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 44, 45, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66 (Hellenistic), 67, 84, 100 n. 9, 108 n. 54, 109, 111, 115, 117, 146, 150, 156, 165 n. 4, 170, 176, 177, 179, 181, 183, 184, 208 Tyrtaeus 13 n. 7, Uranos 93 Vespasian 209 victory, victoriousness 76, 77, 78, 80, 92, 138, 152, 154, 180, 186, 208, 209, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 223, 232 Vitellius 50 Weber, Max 42, 43, 44, 74 n. 9, 75, 76, 87, 92, 108 n. 53, 180, 182 n. 122, 208, 232, 250, 254 Xenocrates (Hiero’s brother) 40 Xenocrates 174, 187 Xenophon 19, Agesilaus 173, Cyropaedia 173, Hellenica 171, Hiero 20, 45, 51, 170, 173, 176 Xerxes 147 Year of the Kings 108, 187 Zadok 248 Zadokites 249 Zeno of Citium 173 n. 57, 185 Zeno of Elea 183 n. 137 Zeus 16 n. 19, 31, 33, 36, 37, 38 (Aitnaios), 40, 53 (Meilichios), 53 (Agoraios), 54 (Soter), 80, 80 n. 38 (seated with Nike), 93, 133, 137, 145, 220 Ziaëlas of Bythinia 84 Zimri (son of Salu) 233, 234

INDEX LOCORUM I. GREEK AND LATIN TEXTS Aelian VH 2.20 185 n. 148 3.26 53 n. 19 4.14 169 n. 21 44.8 52 n. 17 Alcaeus fr. 298.1-3 Voigt 58 n. 41 fr. 332 Voigt 50 fr. 348 Voigt 17 Alcmeon fr. B 4 DK 18 n. 30 Anaxarchus fr. 65A Dorandi = 72 B 1 DK 169 n. 21 fr. 65B-E Dorandi 169 n. 21 fr. 66 Dorandi = 72 B 2 DK 169 n. 21 Andocides de myst. 43-44 62 n. 62 96-98 51 n. 12 Antander FGrH 565 T 5 100 n. 9 Appian Sam. 11.1 110 n. 64 Sic. 2.2 111 n. 78 Syr. 61.324-27 143 n. 59 345f. 91 n. 94 Archimedes Aren. 1.1 112 n. 87 4.14 112 n. 87 Aristeas Letter of Aristeas 283 165 n. 2

Aristotle Ath. Pol. 15.4-5 150 n. 89 16.6 183 n. 132 16.10 51 n. 9, 56 Eth. Nic. 1160a36-b1 176 n. 78 1165a29-30 183 n. 132 Pol. 1267a14-15 52 n. 15 1279a22-b10 172 n. 51 1279b6-7 176 n. 78 1284b35-1288b6 172 n. 51 1285a3-8 129 1285a27ff. 74 n. 9 1285b33-1286a9 16 n. 18 1313a51f. 74 n. 9 1313a3-10 12 n. 3 1313b11-16 183 n. 132 1313b29-31 165 n. 4, 184 n. 141 Rhet. 1361a38ff. 82 1382b18-20 183 n. 132 1405b23 25 n. 1 test. 3 Gigon 168 n. 17 test. 5 Gigon 168 n. 17 test. 16.4 Gigon 168 n. 17, 172 n. 53 fr. 54.34-42 Gigon 172 n. 52 fr. 604 Gigon 34 n. 34 fr. 982 Gigon 168 n. 17, 184 n. 140 Vit. Graeca Vulgata 22 Düring 168 n. 17 Vit. Marciana 21 Düring 168 n. 17 Arrian 1.17.9-19 55 n. 28 Athenaeus 4.142b 131 n. 5, 135 n. 15 4.166f-167c 179 n. 100 5.194cff. 81 n. 43 5.196ff. 81 n. 42 6.258f-259f 56 n. 34 6.260d-261a 179 n. 100 10.435b-c 179 n. 100 12.251f 54 n. 22 12.459d-e 81 n. 46

274 Bacchylides 3 25 n. 3 3.11 31, 33 3.12 31 3.13 30 3.38 33 3.47ff. 33 3.61 34 3.63 31 3.69 30 3.70 31, 33 3.71 31 3.75 35 4 25 n. 3 4.1 38 4.3 31 4.6 32 4.15 31 5 25 n. 3 5.1 30 5.2 31 5.3-5 31 5.6 30 5.2 38 5.12 38 5.18f. 32 5.37 32 5.40 32 5.46 32 5.47 32 5.50-53 31 5.184 38 12 39 n. 46 12.4-6 39 12.7 39 12.71 39 12.78 39 12.82 39 12.176 39 12.182 39 12.184 39 12.186 39 12.189 39 13 39 n. 46 Callias of Syracuse FGrH 564 T 2 100 n. 9 FGrH 564 T 3 103 n. 24 Catullus 66.12 91 n. 94

Index locorum Cicero De Àn. 5.92 61 n. 56 Off. 1.12.38 92 2.7.26 57 n. 38 QF 1.1.23 170 n. 33 Cleanthes of Assus SVF I Cleanth. Stoic. Fr. 481 174 n. 60 Clemens Alexandrinus Strom. 1.6.36 169 n. 21 4.56.2 183 n. 137 Ctesias Pers. 5.59 61 n. 56 Curtius Rufus 4.8.11 61 n. 58 6.8.25 89 n. 78 Demetrius of Phalerum fr. 38 Stork, van Ophuijsen and Dorandi 165 Democritus 68 B 226 DK 182 n. 127 Demosthenes Or. 23.204.2 183 n. 131 60.23-24 179 n. 101 Cassius Dio 50.15.2 213 n. 24 Dio Chrysostom 2.1ff. 89 n. 80 Diodorus Siculus 9.30 57 n. 38 11.20ff. 30 n. 21 11.38.5 44 n. 65 11.49.1 38 n. 44 11.53.2 44 n.65 11.53.5 64 n. 68 11.66.4 34 n. 33, 39 n. 45 11.76.3 38 n. 44 14.8.5 52 n. 17 15.58.1-2 62 n. 63 16.35.6 60 n. 53 16.36.6 54 n. 25

Index locorum 16.74.5 107 n. 44 19.3.1-2 101 n. 12 19.3.2 101 n. 12 20.33.3-8 102 n. 17 20.33.5 102 n. 17 20.53.2 143 n. 59 20.54.1 77 n. 19, 90 n. 87 20.56.2-3 110 n. 70 20.68.3 101 n. 13, 102 n. 17 20.69.3 101 n. 14 20.78.2 52 n. 17 20.101.1-3 103 n. 23 20.104-105 131 n. 4 21.3.1 101 n. 15 21.3.2 101 n. 15 21.4 106 n. 39 21.15.1 105 n. 39 21.16.2 102 n. 21 21.16.3 102 n. 16, 102 n. 20, 105 n. 38, 106 n. 43 21.16.4 102 n. 21, 102 n. 22, 104 n. 101 21.16.4-5 101 n. 10 21.16-5 103 n. 23 21.16.6 103 n. 24 21.16.7 102 n. 16 21.17.1-3 103 n. 24 21.17-4 103 n. 24 21.18.1 103 n. 24 22.8.2 109 n. 63 26.8.1 112 n. 89 26.15.1 113 n. 97 26.16 Dindorf = 26.15.2 Walton 115 n. 109 27.1-2 147 n. 80 31.16 81 n. 43 31.40.1 93 33.28a1f. 81 n. 46 40.2 254 n. 78

7.36 174 n. 59 7.175 174 n. 60 7.178 174 n. 61 10.28 174 n. 64

Diogenes Laertius 1.96 60 n. 51 2.110 174 n. 63, 175 n. 65, 177 n. 83 2.142 186 n. 157 3.58 168 n. 15 4.14 169 n. 20 4.60 182 n. 125 5.22 172 n. 53 5.42 169 n. 23 5.49 169 n. 23 5.59 174 n. 62 6.16 168 n. 15 6.18 168 n. 15 7.10-12 185 n. 147

Heraclides Ponticus fr. 49 Wehrli 54 n. 22

275

Dionysius of Halicarnassus AR 7.11.3-4 56 n. 32 Ps.-Diotogenes pp. 37.5-45.11 174 n. 65 Duris FGrH 76 F 13 Ps.-Ecphantus pp. 25.1-37.4 Delatte 174 n. 65 Ennius fr. 194-201 V. = 183-190 Sk. 92 Epicurus p. 94, IX fr. 5 Usener 174 n. 64 Euphantus of Olyntus FGrH 74 T 1 174 n. 63, 175 n. 66, 177 n. 86 Eupolemus fr. 2.5 Walter 239 n. 30 Eusebius Chron. I 236 Sch. 77 n. 20 Galen Protrept. 4 61 n. 56 Heraclides Lembus Exc. polit. 55 Dilts 25 n. 1 69 Dilts 56 n. 33

Herodotus 1.26.2 53 n. 19 1.84ff. 34 n. 32 3.80-82 170 n. 27 3.152.2-3 60 n. 56 5.22 20 n. 37 5.25 60 n. 56 5.38.1 58 n. 40 5.46.2 53 n. 21 5.70.2 66 5.71 53

276 5.80f. 40 n. 50 6.30.1 61 n. 57 6.104 64 n. 68 8.64 40 n. 50 Hesiod Op. 240 59 n. 46 Hippias of Erythrae FGrH 412 F 1 56 n. 34 Homer Il. 6.208 89 23.387 32 n. 27 24.257 29 n. 11 Od. 4.499 39 n. 48 7.39 39 n. 48 7.43-137 170 n. 28 11.259 29 n. 11 15.415 39 n. 48 16.227 39 n. 48 19.339 39 n. 48 23.176 39 n. 48 Hyperides Epit. 3, 5, 16, 20, 24, 33, 39 179 n. 101 Isocrates Ad Nic. 3 183 n. 131 Antid. 45-46 171 n. 43 Archid. 44-5 52 n. 17 Panath. 12.1-2 171 n. 43 Josephus AJ 7.92 239 n. 30 12.3-7 240 n. 31 12.268-271 235 12.270 235 n. 12 12.387-388 249 n. 65 13.62-63 249 n. 65 13.249 242 n. 38, 247 n. 61 13.257-258 237 n. 22 13.273 247 n. 61 13.285 249 n. 65 13.288-296 252 n. 72, 253 n. 76

Index locorum 13.318 249 n. 69 13.318-319 237 n. 22 13.372-373 252 n. 72, 253 n. 76 13.374 242 n. 38 13.397 237 n. 22 13.409 242 n. 38 14.41 254 n. 78 14.73ff. 254 n. 79 20.236-237 249 n. 65 Ap. 1.205-212 240 n. 31 2.164ff. 255 BJ 1.33 249 n. 65 1.35-36 235 n. 11 1.37 235 1.61 242 n. 38, 247 n. 61 1.88 242 n. 38 1.112 242 n. 38 1.153-158 254 n. 79 2.147 240 n. 31 7.420-436 249 n. 65 Justin 22.1.12-13 101 n. 12 22.1.12-14 101 n. 12 23.1.17-2.13 106 n. 41 23.2.3-12 101 n. 10, 103 n. 25, 106 n. 42 23.2.5 103 n. 26 23.2.6 102 n. 19, 103 n. 29 23.2.12 103 n. 30 23.2.13 103 n. 30 23.3.1 103 n. 30 23.3.1-10 110 n. 66 23.3.2 110 n. 66 23.3.3 110 n. 66 23.4.1-15 104 n. 31 23.4.4 111 n. 73 24.5 77 n. 20 24.12ff. 77 n. 20 27.1 91 n. 94 28.3.4 113 n. 92 28.3.5 112 n. 92 36.4.7 92 38.8.8ff. 81 n. 46 Lacydes of Cyrene T 1a Mette 182 n. 125 Livy 23.30.11 110 n. 72 23.30.11-12 110 n. 72, 113 n. 97 24.4.1 110 n. 68, 110 n. 69

Index locorum 24.4.2-5 114 n. 102 24.4.4 110 n. 68 24.4.6 114 n. 103 24.4.6-7 107 n. 44 24.4.7 113 n. 96, 115 n. 106 24.4.9 114 n. 104 24.6.4 111 n. 79 24.6.8 113 n. 92 24.7.1-9 115 n. 106 24.22.8 110 n. 71 24.24.6 113 n. 95 24.25.11 110 n. 71, 115 n. 108 24.26.1 110 n. 71 24.26.12-15 115 n. 109 29.12.14 151 n. 99, 155 n. 118 31.44.2-9 179 n. 102 32.38.2 151 n. 98 32.39.1 151 n. 100 32.40 148 n. 81 32.40.4-5 150 n. 91 34.25.4 149 n. 88 34.26.11-14 147 n. 77, 159 n. 131 34.26.14 146 n. 73 34.27 148 n. 81 34.27.1 151 n. 97 34.27.2 150 n. 91 34.27.3 148 n. 83 34.27.4-7 149 n. 89 34.27.8 149 n. 89 34.29 157 n. 126 34.30 148 n. 81 34.31.1-19 155 n. 21 34.31.14-18 151 n. 96 34.32 155 34.32.1 147 n. 80 34.33.4 149 n. 88 34.35.3 151 n. 97 34.43.1-2 151 n. 97 34.49.2 151 n. 97 35.28.8 157 n. 126 35.29.1 157 n. 126 35.36.1 148 n. 81 41.20 93 41.23.1 179 n. 112

277

Pausanias 1.7.1 88 1.13.5 131 n. 4 1.13.5-8 132 n. 7 1.25.2 213 n. 22 2.9.1 140 n. 40, 142 n. 55, 146 n. 73 2.29f. 40 n. 50 2.51 142 n. 48 3.6.2 131 n. 4 3.11.10 147 n. 22 3.18.8 139 n. 35 4.35.3 113 n. 92 5.51 54 n. 26 6.9.4f. 25 n. 1 6.4.9 137 n. 22 6.12.1 25 n. 2 6.12.2-4 112 n. 90 6.12.3 113 n. 92 6.12.4 110 n. 72 6.12.5 137 n. 23, 138 6.15.6 110 n. 72 6.15.9 137 n. 23 6.16.3 154 n. 114 7.8.5 148 8.50.2 146 n. 75 Persaeus of Citium SVF I Pers. Stoic. fr. 435 174 n. 59 Philo of Alexandria de virt. 54 252 n. 72 Philodemus Hist. Stoic. col. 13.4-7 Dorandi 184 n. 143 Lib. dic. fr. 1.5-7 183 n. 134 Johannes Philoponus [Ps.-Ammon.] in Cat. praef. 7r.10-12 168 n. 17, 172 n. 53 Photius Bib. Cod. 224, 222b 54 n. 25 Cod. 224, 223a-b 63 n. 65

Memnon of Heraclea FGrH 434 F 1.1.4 54 n. 25 FGrH 434 F 1.2.4-5 63 n. 65 FGrH 434 F 8.2 ff. 78 n. 26

Phylarchus FGrH 81 F 44 131 n. 5, 135 n. 15 FGrH 81 F 54 60 n. 54

Nicolaus of Damascus FGrH 90 F 60 60 n. 50

Pindar Isth. 3/4.35b 29 n. 9 5 39 n. 46

278 5.24 30 n. 18 6 39 n. 46 7.39 30 n. 19 8 39 n. 46 9 39 n. 46 9.1 39 Nem. 3 39 n. 46 3.9 30 n. 18 3.19 39 n. 48 3.26-28 40 4 39 n. 46 5 39 n. 46 5.9 39 6 39 n. 46 7 39 n. 46 8 39 n. 46 11.4 29 n. 14 Ol. 1 25 n. 3 1.10 28 1.11 28 1.12 29 1.13 28 1.17-23 32 1.21 35 1.22 35 1.23 28, 29, 38 1.42 35 1.75ff. 35 1.78 35 1.84 35 1.94 35 1.99 35 1.100 35 1.104 28, 35 1.106ff. 31 1.108ff. 35 2 25 n. 1, 40 n. 52 2.6 40 2.7 40 2.12ff. 40 2.48ff. 40 2.53 40 2.56 40 2.62f. 41 n. 56 2.93 41 2.94 30 n. 20 3 25 n. 1, 40 n. 52 3.38ff. 40 3.43f. 40 6.42 30 n. 17

Index locorum 6.96 39 n. 45 8 39 n. 46 8.19 39 n. 49 8.20 39 8.55 30 n. 18 11.7 30 n. 18 13.25 30 n. 19 13.85 30 n. 17 Pyth. 1 25 n. 3 1.6 29 n. 14 1.31 39 1.31ff. 38 1.49 28 1.50 28 1.50ff. 36 1.55 36 1.69ff. 29 1.71 30 1.71ff. 44 n. 64 1.73 30 1.79 30 2 25 n. 3 2.2 38 2.4 29 2.7ff. 31 2.14 29 2.18ff. 29, 30 2.20 30 2.56ff. 28 2.59ff. 28 3 25 n. 3 3.11 37 3.56ff. 37 3.63-70 36 3.70 29, 38 3.71 30 3.85 29 3.86ff. 87 4.59 29 n. 9 4.107 29 4.136 30 n. 17 4.152 29 n. 14 5.11 29 n. 9 5.18 40 n. 54 5.20 29 n. 9 5.46 29 n. 9 6.50 29 8 39 n. 46 8.72 30 n. 19 10.20 30 n. 19 10.31 29

Index locorum fr. 105 Snell-Maehler 38 n. 44 Schol. Pind. Pyth.1.87 34 n. 34 Schol. Pind. Pyth. 1.89a 34 n. 34 Schol. Pind. Pyth. 1.91 34 n. 34 Schol. Pind. Pyth. 3, inscr. a 34 n. 34 Schol. Pind. Ol. 1.33a 32 n. 27 Plato Gorg. 461e 182 n. 126 Rep. 473c-e 171 n. 38, 184 n. 138 8.565d 19 Plutarch Agis 3.6 131-132 19-20 140 n. 38 Ant. 60.2-3 213 n. 24 Arat. 24.4 144 36-37 141 n. 43 38.5 144 n. 63 39.1 143 n. 62 44.6 60 n. 52 Arist. 6.2 93 Cat. 24.11 52 n. 17 Cleom. 2.1 140 n. 37 5.2 143 n. 56 6.1 141 n. 46 6.2-7.1 142 n. 48 7.1 141 n. 47, 146 n. 73 7.3-4 142 n. 49 7.4-8.4 142 n. 50 9.2 155 n. 119 10.1 142 n. 55, 150 n. 89 10.1-3 142 n. 53 11.2 141 n. 44 11.3 143 n. 60 14.2 143 n. 62 15.1 144 n. 63 17.4-19.3 144 n. 63 23.1 141 n. 44 28 150 n. 91 Dem. 3.5 88 5.3ff. 83 8.1f. 84 n. 59

10.2f. 84 10.3f. 82 17.1 83 n. 56 17.2ff. 77 n. 18 18 134 n. 13 18.1-2 143 n. 59 20.2ff. 82 21.3 82 21.5f. 78 n. 30 22.5 83 n. 56 25.4f. 89 n. 81 32.2f. 81 n. 45 35.1-2 132 n. 6 38.8 143 n. 59 41.1ff. 92 n. 95 41.4 78 n. 29 41.4f. 89 n. 81 41.6 78 n. 30 42.4ff. 92 42.6ff. 92 n. 95 44.7 84 n. 57, 89 n. 77 49.4 77 n. 21 50.1f. 83 n.56 53.1ff. 81 n. 41 Lys. 18.1 139 n. 35 Philop. 10.1-8 146 n. 75 15.6 148 n. 81 Pyrrh. 3.8 83 7.3 92 n. 95 7.7.ff. 78, 78 n. 29 8.1ff. 89 n. 81 9.1 106 n. 39 9.2 81 n. 47 9.5f. 92 n. 95 10.7 106 n. 39 11.3ff. 89 n. 81 12.2f. 92 n. 95 14.4ff. 92 n. 95 16.11 78 n. 29, 78 n. 30 17.5 83 22.6ff. 78, 78 n. 29 24.5 78 n. 29 26 131 n. 4 26.8-29 132 n. 7 27.1 131 n. 5, 133 n. 10 27.2 132, 132 n. 8, 139 n. 34 29.6 133 n. 10, 139 n. 34 30.2 131 n. 5 30.6ff. 78, 78 n. 29

279

280 32.2 131 n. 5, 133 n. 10, 139 n. 34 Sol. 12 53 Them. 15 40 n. 50 Timol. 32.1-2 56 n. 35 32.2 64 n. 70 33 64 n. 70 33.1 56 n. 35 34.4 61 n. 59 34.6-7 64 n. 70 Mor. 189D 165 n. 1 200Ef. 81 n. 46 253B 54 n. 26 253C-E 56 n. 36 329B 173 n. 53 395B 139 n. 35 826D 170 n. 27 1095C 174 n. 64 1126D 169 n. 20 Polyaenus 5.12.2 64 n. 70 6.50 53 n. 19 8.50 91 n. 94 Polybius 1.9.2-3 110 n. 70 1.9.8 115 n. 112 1.62.8 111 n. 77 2.47.3 142 n. 73 2.51.2 144 n. 64 2.51.3 143 n. 62 2.52.1-4 144 n. 63 2.59 60 n. 54 2.59-60 60 n. 52 2.66 78 n. 29 2.69 150 n. 91 2.70.1 147 n. 76 4.48.9f. 78 n. 27, 86 4.55 150 n. 93 4.65.11 149 n. 85 4.77.2f. 89 4.81.12 146 n. 74 4.81.14 142 n. 73 5.10.10 89 n. 81 5.11.6 84 n. 60 5.18-24 150 n. 91 5.34.1f. 88 5.41.7f. 79 n. 32 5.43.1ff. 81 n. 41

Index locorum 5.57.6 86 5.67.6 91 n. 94 5.78.2 79 5.82.8 78 n. 29 5.83.4 78 5.83.4f. 87 5.85.8 79 n. 32 5.88ff. 82 5.88.5-8 112 n. 90 5.101.7ff. 91 n. 94 5.102.1ff. 91 n. 94 5.108.4f. 91 n. 94 7.2-7 115 n. 106 7.2.2 113 n. 95 7.3.1 111 n. 79 7.4.5 113 n. 92 7.5.1 111 n. 79 7.8.7 110 n. 68 7.8.9 110 n. 72, 113 n. 97 8.10.10 89 n. 83 8.11.5-13 179 n. 100 9.23.3 146 n. 73 10.40.1ff. 77 n. 21 10.49.13f 78 n. 29 11.11-18 146 n. 75 11.34.15 77-78 12.15.3 103 n. 28 13.6.1-5 146 n. 74, 147 n. 80, 156 (n. 122) 13.6.5 148 n. 81 15.25ff. 79 15.37 78 n. 24 16.13-17 147 n. 79 16.37.3 150 n. 91 18.11.5 186 n. 151 18.41 90 n. 83, 177 n. 87 18.41.7 77 n. 19 18.41.7-8 212 n. 20 22.20.8-9 216 n. 40 23.11.4 146 n. 73 29.27.1-9 207 n. 2 29.27.8 207 n. 3 30.25f. 81 n. 43 32.8 212 n. 18 33.16.1-6 157 n. 126 Pompeius Trogus Prol. 23 101 n. 10, 104 n. 31, 106 n. 42 Porphyrius FGrH 260 F 3.10 77 n. 20 FGrH 260 F 43 91 n. 94 FGrH 260 F 52 241

Index locorum Posidonius FGrH 87 F 6 81 p. 46 Quintilian Decl. 274.5 65 Sallust Iug. 26-27 224 n. 79 Simonides fr. 10/515 Page 25 n. 1 Solon fr. 32 West2 17 fr. 33 West2 17 fr. 33.5-8 West2 55 n. 29 Sosibius of Sparta FGrH 595 T 3 169 n. 23 Sphaereus of Borysthenes SVF I Sphaer. Stoic. Fr. 620 174 n. 61 Ps.-Sthenidas pp. 45.12-46.12 174 n. 65 Stobaeus 3.13.16 182 n. 129 3.13.47 182 n. 127 3.40.8 183 n. 129 4.6.64-66 174 n. 65 4.7.61-62 174 n. 65 4.7.63 174 n. 65 4.32.21 172 n. 52 Strabo 1.4.9 173 n. 53 6.1.8 57 n. 37 6.2.3 38 n. 44, 39 n. 45, 44 n. 65 8.4.10 13 n. 7 13.4.2 212 n. 20 17.1.8 81 n. 40 Strato of Lampsacus fr. 141 Wehrli 174 n. 62 Suda B147 A 76, 129-130, 158 P636 A 182 n. 127 Teles p. 23.4-7 Hense2 183 n. 129 p. 46.4-9 Hense2 172 n. 52

281

Themistius Or. 8.107c-d 168 n. 17, 184 n. 140 Theocritus 17.13ff. 88 n. 74 17.75ff. 81 n. 39 Theognis 1.1179-82 52 Theophrastus fr. 589 no. 10 Fortenbaugh et al. 169 n. 23 fr. 589 no. 11 Fortenbaugh et al. 169 n. 23 fr. 589 no. 12 Fortenbaugh et al. 169 n. 23 fr. 600 Fortenbaugh et al. 177 n. 83 fr. 603 Fortenbaugh et al. 169 n. 23 Theopompus FGrH 115 F 224 179 n. 100 FGrH 115 F 225a 179 n. 100 FGrH 115 F 225b 179 n. 100 FGrH 115 F 236 179 n. 100 Thomas Magister Or. 7 Volpe Cacciatore 188 n. 166 Thucydides 1.126 53 1.126.2 66 1.127.1 66 2.63.2 52 n. 17 6.5.4 41 n. 55 Timaeus of Tauromenium FGrH 566 F 123a 100 n. 9 FGrH 566 F 124b(3) 103 n. 28 FGrH 566 F 124d 103 n. 24 Timotheus of Pergamum FGrH 1117 F 1 183 n. 137 Valerius Maximus 3.3 ext. 2-4 183 n. 137 6.9. ext. 5 61 n. 56 Xenocrates fr. 2 Isnardi Parente 168 n. 20 fr. 33 Isnarsi Parente 169 n. 20 Xenophon Ages. 10.3 171 n. 36 An. 2.1.4 83-84 n. 57 Const. Lac.

282

Index locorum

15.1-9 129 n. 1 Cyr. 8.2-27 170 n. 34 Hell. 3.1.6 147 n. 78 Mem. 4.6.12 18 n. 32

II. BIBLE AND RELATED TEXTS Gen. 14:18 252 n. 73 Ex. 23:24 236 n. 18 34:13 236 n. 18 Lev. 21 239 n. 29 21:14 253 Num. 3:16 252 7:5 236 n. 18 7:25 236 n. 18 10:9 237, 237 n. 20 12:2-3 236 n. 18 25:6-15 234 31:19 239 n. 29 Dt. 17.14-20 250 20:5-9 236 20:10-18 236 Jos. 6:4-20 237 n. 20 Jud. 2:2 236 n. 18 3:27 237 n. 20 6:34 237 n. 20 7:18-22 237 n. 20 I Sam. 13:3 237 n. 20 II Sam. 5 245 7 246 15:10 237 n. 20 18:16 237 n. 20 20:1 237 n. 20 20:22 237 n. 20 I Reg. 5:17 239 n. 30 II Reg. 9:13 237 n. 20 10:24-27 236 n. 18

11:14 237 n. 20 I Paralip. 22:8 239 n. 30 28:3 239 n. 30 Jer. 4:5 237 n. 20 Isa. 19:19 248 Dan. 2-7 240 2:44 240 8-12 241 11:33-35 241 I Macc. 1:9-10 234 1:28 235 n. 13 1:64 242 2:1-5 242 2:24-26 233 2:25 235 2:29-38 240, 241 n. 35 2:39-41 240 2:42 241 n. 35 2:43 241 2:44-47 236 2:45 236 n. 18 2:46 237 n. 22 2:49-70 236 2:68 236 3:7 235 n. 13 3:8 240 n. 32, 243 n. 40 3:18-19 243 3:18-22 243 n. 41 3:24 235 n. 13 3:45 235 n. 13 3:54 236 n. 19 3:56 236 3:58-60 243 n. 41 4:8-11 243 n. 41 4:10 242 4:13 236 n. 19 4:30-33 243 n. 41 5:2 235 n. 13 5:3 235 n. 13 5:4 235 n. 13 5:5 236 n. 17 5:6 235 n. 13 5:23 237 n. 22 5:28 236 5:33 236 n. 19 5:35-36 236 n. 17 5:43-44 236 n. 18

Index locorum 5:45 237 n. 22 5:46-51 236 n. 17 5:61-62 243 n. 43 5:65 235 n. 13 5:68 236 n. 18 7:12-14 241 7:40-42 243 n. 41 7:45 236 n. 19 9:12 236 n. 19 9:37 235 n. 13 9:44-46 243 n. 41 9:66 235 n. 13 9:73 244 10:21 252 10:60 247 n. 59 10:83-85 236 n. 18 11:24 247 n. 59 11:65-66 237 n. 22 13:11 237 n. 22 13:47-48 237 n. 22 13:50 237 n. 22 14:4-5 247 14:7 237 n. 22 14:24 247 n. 59 14:25-49 244 n. 46 14:27 1245 n. 49 14:28 244 14:29-40 245 14:33-37 237 n. 22 14:41 246 n. 54 15:18 247 n. 59 15:32 247 n. 59 15:33-34 237 n. 22 15:36 247 n. 59 16:8 236 n. 19 16:11-12 247 n. 59 II Macc. 6:11 240 n. 31 6:18-7:42 240 n. 32 8:5 240 n. 32 10:20 247 n. 59 Apocripha and Pseudepigrapha Ass. Mos. 9 240 n. 33 9.6-7 240 I En. 85-90 241 90:6-19 241 Jub. 2:17-32 240 n. 31 50:12-13 240 n. 31

283

Ps. Sol. 1:4-8 248 n. 63 2 248 n. 63 2:1-13 248 n. 63 2:25-29 248 n. 63 8 248 n. 63 8:7-14 248 n. 63 8:9-15 252 n. 72 8:22 248 n. 63 17 248 n. 63 17:4 246 n. 55 17:5-6 248, 249, 252 n. 72 Test. Jud. 22-24 246 n. 55 Qumran Texts CD (Damascus Document) 10.4-11.18 240 n. 31 1QM (War Scroll) 7.9-10.8 237 n. 20 1QpHab (Commentary on Habakkuk) 8.8-13 238 9.4-5 239 12.2-6 239 12.6-10 239 4Q471a 243 n. 42 11Q19 (Temple Scroll) col. 56.12-59.21 (Law of the King) 250 col. 57.9-11 251 col. 57.14-16 251 col. 58.19-20 251

III. INSCRIPTIONS AND PAPYRI Inscriptions DB 1.1ff. Kent 90 n. 88 DB 32 Kent 61 n. 56 DNb 31ff. 91 n. 90 I.Beroia 37 186 n. 157 IC II Polyrrhenia.12 138 IG II2 657 157 n. 126 IG II2 677 186 n. 157 IG IV2 244 157 n. 126 IG IV 1607 58 n. 43 IG V 1.458 142 n. 51 IG V 724 150 n. 93 IG XI 4.542 147 n. 78 IG XI 4.1097 146 n. 72 IG XII 4.1.123 112 n. 88 IG XIV 3 111 n. 83 IG XIV 7.1.2 111 n. 81

284

Index locorum

Inschriften von Iasos 4.41-47 178 Inschriften von Ilion 31.13ff. 78 n. 28 Inschriften von Ilion 32.10f. 83 Inschriften von Olympia 309 145 n. 71 Inschriften von Pergamon 20 215 n. 33 Inschriften von Pergamon 21 215 n. 29 Inschriften von Pergamon 23 215 n. 32 Inschriften von Pergamon 33-37 216 n. 34 Inschriften von Pergamon 63 157 ISE 28.20-21 183 n. 136 ISE 37a 158 n. 128 ISE 49 157 n. 126 ISE 34 138 ISE 58 112 n. 90 OGIS 12.6-7 180 n. 105 OGIS 54 80, 91 n. 94 OGIS 54.1ff. 88 n. 74 OGIS 89 78 n. 25 OGIS 213.2 88 n. 76 OGIS 213.26 88 n. 76 OGIS 219 78 n. 28 OGIS 224 88 OGIS 233.1ff. 88 OGIS 269ff. 77 n. 19 OGIS 274 215 n. 31 OGIS 275 215 n. 31 OGIS 277 215 n. 31 OGIS 278 215 n. 31 OGIS 279 215 n. 31 OGIS 280 158 n. 128 OGIS 315 C VI 210 OGIS 763 211 SEG 18.636 103 n. 29 SEG 40.348 149 n. 86 SEG 41.75 186 n. 155 SEG 42.329 150 n. 93 SEG 44.871 51 SEG 47.364. Ɠƙ 6747 149 n. 86 SEG 50.406 149 n. 86, 149 n. 87 SEG 51.1105.4ff. 51 n. 13 Syll.3 34 33 n. 28 Syll.3 35C 33 n. 28 Syll.3 374 157 n. 126 Syll.3 390.10ff. 84 Syll.3 393 (cf. Syll.3 453) 112 n. 90 Syll.3 428 111 n. 82 Syll.3 430 137 n. 25, 139 Syll.3 433 137 Syll.3 434/5 135 n. 16, 185 n. 149 Syll.3 434/5.24 138 Syll.3 434/5.37 136 Syll.3 434/5.39 138

Syll.3 434/5.49-51 136 Syll.3 434/5.90-91 136, 136 n. 18 Syll.3 434/5.91-92 132 n. 8 Syll.3 453 112 n. 91 Syll.3 584 156 Syll.3 592 157 n. 126 Syll.3 594 157 n. 125 Syll.3 595A 157 Syll.3 595B 157 Syll.3 605 158 n. 127 Syll.3 605A 157 Syll.3 634 158 Papyri FGrH 160 91 n. 94 P.Bingen3=P.Med. inv. 71.86f. 175 n. 65 P.Haun. 6 fr. 1.14ff. 91 n. 94 P.Herc. 1507 175 n. 65 P.Oxy. 1611 fr. 1 col. II.38-col. III 54177 n. 83 P.Oxy. 2399 107 n. 44 P.Oxy. 2821 103 n. 29 P.Schub. 35 175 n. 66 P.Tebt. 703 93

Monarchy, that is, a political order characterized by a single ruler, is an understudied aspect of Greek politics and culture. The contributors to this book provide a unified scholarly framework in which to interpret the sociological as well as the ideological side of monarchic regimes from archaic Greek tyranny to Hellenistic monarchy in Greece and the Eastern Mediterranean. Taking their cue from HansJoachim Gehrke’s essay on the victorious king, published here in an updated English translation, the contributors bring to the surface common trends and features that make it possible to sketch an

integrated history of monarchic rule in ancient Greece from the Archaic to the Hellenistic age. Topics of contributions include the image of the archaic tyrant as legitimate and illegitimate ruler, the rhetoric of Hellenistic monarchy outlined in philosophical treatises on monarchy, the impact of the rise of Hellenistic monarchy on pre-existing political orders such as tyranny in Sicily and dual monarchy in Sparta, and the influence of this ideological model on political traditions in Anatolia and Palestine in the Late Hellenistic period.

www.steiner-verlag.de Franz Steiner Verlag

ISBN 978-3-515-10259-9