Philip V of Macedon in Polybius'

Histories: Politics, History, and Fiction

Emma Nicholson
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Philip V of Macedon in Polybius’ Histories
Philip V of Macedon
in Polybius’ Histories
Politics, History, and Fiction

EMMA NICHOLSON
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 Acknowledgements

This volume began as my doctoral thesis, written and completed at Newcastle

University between 2012 and 2015. It has had a long period of gestation and
expansion since those early days and there are, therefore, many people and
institutions to thank for its final shape and publication.
I was originally directed to Philip V and Polybius many years ago by Lene
Rubinstein, whose lectures and dissertation supervision during my BA and MA at
Royal Holloway fuelled my interest in the ancient world and particularly ancient
Macedonia and the Hellenistic period. It was, however, under the enthusiastic,
patient, and wise guidance of my doctoral supervisor, Federico Santangelo, that
the project first developed and came together, and to whom I offer the most
profound thanks for guiding my academic development. Our supervision meet-
ings were always a rewarding experience, and I came away from them buoyed up
with self-belief and an eager readiness to take on the next challenge. The late
Professor John Moles, my second supervisor, was equally fundamental for my
knowledge of historiographical matters and Greek language. Gratitude must also
go to the School of History, Classics and Archaeology at Newcastle University for
their award of an Arts and Humanities Research Council Ph.D. Studentship,
without which this project would have been immensely more difficult. The Ph.D.
community at Newcastle between 2012 and 2016 was a fertile place for burgeoning
academic aspirations and friendships (and still is), and the experience would not
have been so rewarding without the companionship of Ali Chapman, Fiona
Marsh, Chris Mowat, David Lowther, Lizzie Cooper, Fiona Noble, Frances
Roberts-Wood, and Vicky Manolopoulou. The Institute of Classical Studies in
London was a frequent home for many of my undergraduate and postgraduate
years, and I continue to be eternally grateful for this vast repository of ancient
knowledge and the wisdom of its staff. Many thanks also go to the Deutscher
Akademischer Austauschdienst (DAAD) and Boris Dreyer at Friedrich-
Alexander-Universität Erlangen-Nürnberg for the chance to travel to and study
in Germany in the final months of the thesis’s write-up, to Felix Maier in Freiburg
for our conversations about Polybius, and to Sabina, Johannes, and Christina for
their warm welcome, continuous friendship, and adventures while in Bavaria
(Franconia!). I also thank my external examiners, Andrew Erskine and Brian
McGing, not only for making my viva in December 2015 a rewarding and
constructive experience, but also for offering invaluable advice about turning the
thesis into the present volume.
vi 

Bruce Gibson, Lisa Hau, Nikos Miltsios, and Nicolas Wiater were inspirations
to a freshly completed and exhausted Ph.D. at the ‘Polybius and his Legacy’
conference at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki in May 2016. Our discus-
sions about Polybius have helped in the adaptation and expansion of the thesis
into the volume it is today. The University of Edinburgh shaped the next year in
both research and teaching matters (2016‒17): the thesis took its first tentative
steps toward bookhood, and my colleagues, Kim Czajkowski, Benedikt Eckhardt,
Andreas Gavrielatos, Christian Djurslev (and Taylor), and Emanuele Intagliata
made the first years of an academic career immensely more rewarding. The
University of Exeter generously allowed me to continue my academic journey in
2017, and I (and this book) have greatly benefited from the brilliance, passion, and
strength of my colleagues in the department of Classics and Ancient History, as
well as the rigour and richness of its research environment. I am thankful to my
colleagues Lynette Mitchell, Neville Morley, and Daniel Ogden for their support of
my Hellenistic and Antigonid ambitions, to Elena Isayev for her wise and ener-
getic advice, to Rebecca Langlands for her kindness and ever ready support, and to
Nicolo D’Alconzo, Maria Gerolomenou, Richard Flower, Consuelo Manetta, Irene
Salvo, and Charlotte Tupman for their friendship. Also, to my Ph.D. students,
Julius Guthrie, Charlotte Spence, and Sorcha Ross, for their joy of research and
our long conversations. You will no doubt go on to great things.
In the last few years, and during the pandemic, it has been the Antigonid
Network that has helped to shape this book and my thoughts on one of the last
kings of Macedonia. Our online seminars made the work less thankless in the
unending days at home. Thanks are due especially to my co-director Annelies
Cazemier for her assistance in setting up and developing the Network, but also to
Monica D’Agostini, Michael Kleu, Sheila Ager, Pat Wheatley, John Thornton, and
Robin Waterfield, for urging me to completion and fuelling the thought-process.
I thank the anonymous reviewers for their insightful comments and sugges-
tions which turned this book into a much better work. Thank you also to Michael
Athanson for his beautiful maps, to Charlotte Loveridge for agreeing to publish
this book and for making the process a fair and fruitful one, and to Jamie
Mortimer, Vaishnavi Subramanyam, and Saranya Ravi for pulling it all together
at the end.
Finally, to Korra, who sat at my feet in the manuscript’s last stages and kept me
sane during lockdown and comforted while ill. To my Mum and Dad for their
constant encouragement and patience, for cheering me on at every battle and
celebrating every victory. To my brother and sister for their never-ending love,
support, and willingness to listen. And to my husband, Ollie, who has stood by me
through it all, read far too many versions of this book, and kept me healthy with
his spectacular food and adventures. This would not have been possible without
your unwavering belief, trust, and love.
 Contents

Maps
Greece, Macedonia, and Asia Minor, c.221‒179  x
Eastern Mainland Greece xii
Central Peloponnese xiii
List of Abbreviations xv
Introduction 1
Philip V and the Antigonid Dynasty 2
Polybius of Megalopolis 4
Further Historiographical, Literary, and Documentary Evidence
for Philip V 7
The State of the Field: Philip V 12
The State of the Field: Polybius 13
Polybius’ Purpose, Methodology, and Audience 18
Tyche: The ‘Director’ of the Symploke and the Fate of Macedon 23
The Structure and Aim of This Volume 25

1. Constructing Macedon and the World Through an Achaean

Perspective 27
Part 1: Polybius’ Achaean Perspective 27
Part 2: The Relationship Between Aratus, Achaea, and
Antigonus Doson 48
Conclusion 57
2. The Darling of the Greeks Turns into a Tyrant 59
Part 1: The Attack on Thermum, 218  61
Part 2: The Attempt on Messene, 215  81
Conclusion 99
3. Philip V and His Greek Allies 101
The Sources and the Question of ‘the Greeks’ 102
Part 1: Philip’s Treatment of His Allies Before Messene
(220‒215 ) 107
Part 2: Philip’s Treatment of His Allies After Messene
(215‒196 ) 118
Part 3: The Loyalty and Defection of Philip’s Greek Allies 151
Conclusion 162
4. Philip and the Romans 164
Part 1: Polybius and the Macedonian–Roman Question in
the Second Century  165
Part 2: Hellenic Rome, Barbaric Macedon 182
viii 

Part 3: The War against the Barbarian: The Second Macedonian

War (200‒196 ) 205
Conclusion: Reversals of Conduct 223
5. A Tragic King 228
Part 1: Polybius’ Account of Philip’s Final Years (183‒179 ) 229
Part 2: The Tragic Mode of Philip’s Last Years 249
Conclusion 265
6. Woven History, Woven Lives 267
Part 1: Polybius on Biographical Material in History 270
Part 2: One Man Among Many 281
Part 3: A Comparison of Philip’s Portrait with Other Kings
(and Hannibal) 285
Conclusion 324
Conclusion 328

Bibliography 337
Index Locorum 365
General Index 377
OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 17/1/2023, SPi

Map 1. Greece, Macedonia, and Asia Minor, c.221‒179 

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 17/1/2023, SPi
Map 2. Eastern Mainland Greece
© Emma Nicholson
Map 3. Central Peloponnese
© Emma Nicholson
 List of Abbreviations

Anth. Pal. Palatine Anthology.

BCH Bulletin de correspondance hellénique.
BE Bulletin épigraphique, published in Revue des études grecques.
BNP H. Schneider, M. Landfester, & H. Cancik (2002) Brill’s New Pauly.
Encyclopaedia of the Ancient World, 20 vols., Leiden.
CAH Cambridge Ancient History.
EAH Encyclopedia of Ancient History.
FGrHist F. Jacoby (1923‒) Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, Berlin/Leiden.
FRH H. Beck & U. Walter (2001-) Die Frühen Römischen Historiker,
Darmstadt.
G-A. W. R. Paton (ed.) The Greek Anthology, 5 vol., London/New York, 1927–28
HCP F. W. Walbank (1957‒79) A Historical Commentary on Polybius, 3 vols.,
Oxford.
IG Inscriptiones graecae, 2nd edn., Berlin, 1913–.
ISE L. Moretti (1967) Iscrizioni Storiche Ellenistiche, Florence.
I. Stratonikeia M. Ç. Sahin (1981‒1990) Die Inschriften von Stratonikeia (IK 21‒2).
LGPN The Lexicon of Greek Personal Names, Oxford.
OCD Oxford Classical Dictionary
OGIS Orientis Graeci Inscriptiones Selectae
RE A. Pauly, G. Wissowa, & W. Kroll (1894‒1980) Paulys Real-Encyclopädie
der classischen Altertumswissenschaft, Stuttgart.
SEG Supplementum epigraphicum graecum, Leiden, 1923‒.
SIG/Syll³ Dittenberger, W. (1915‒24) Sylloge Inscriptionum Graecarum, 3rd edn.,
Leipzig.

Abbreviations for ancient authors follow Liddel and Scott’s Lexicon for Greek authors and
the Oxford Latin Dictionary for Latin authors, with the following exceptions:

Aesch. Aeschylus
Dem. Demosthenes
Diod. Diodorus
Eur. Euripides
Plut. Plutarch
Soph. Sophocles
Thuc. Thucydides
Xen. Xenophon
 Introduction

According to Polybius, Philip V of Macedon was the best and worst of kings. He
was a brilliant and benevolent monarch in his early years, the ‘darling of the
Greeks’ and their protector against the Roman barbarians in the west. In his mid-
twenties, however, he took a sudden turn for the worse and transformed into a
vicious, irrational, and fickle tyrant, pushing his successes too far and turning his
allies and subjects against him. He was subsequently punished by Fortune for his
crimes against men and gods, suffering defeat at the hands of the Romans and
ultimately bringing about the downfall of the Macedonian royal house. He tragically
fell into madness in his last years as his domestic policies ripped the Macedonian
state apart and his sons plotted against each other, resulting in the execution of the
younger. Polybius’ Philip is the ultimate tyrant, the destroyer of the Macedonian
empire, the loser against Rome, and a warning against irrationality and passion.
The ancient and modern historical tradition surrounding this Macedonian king
is heavily dependent on, and indebted to, this ultimately negative and tragic
picture of Philip V. Yet, even within his narrative Polybius acknowledges that
others viewed and wrote about Philip in a more neutral and even positive light
(Plb. 8.8). These opposing accounts do not survive though, and Polybius stands
almost alone in the extant historical record of the middle Hellenistic period; we
are left, therefore, to rely on his portrait of the king. While Polybius has long held a
reputation for being one of the most reliable of the ancient Greek historians, his
impression of the king is one-sided and contrived and an investigation of this
portrait would not only redefine and advance our knowledge of Philip V, but also
further the study of Polybius and his Histories. Through the analysis of the king’s
portrait, we will be in a better position to understand the way that Polybius wrote,
conceived, and constructed his Histories, and to appreciate the political, historio-
graphical, literary, and ideological influences and agenda that informed this vast
work. We might ‘read’ it, or parts of it, in a variety of ways beyond the historical: as
apologia, diplomacy, and biography.
It should be noted that while this volume intends to question our historical
understanding of Philip V, it is not a historical biography. Frank Walbank’s 1940
(revised in 1960) treatise, Philip V of Macedon, remains the sole comprehensive
historical investigation of Philip’s life and career from birth to death, although it is
now outdated in a number of respects. There have been reconsiderations of
various problems in subsequent years, as well as new work on the epigraphic,
numismatic, and archaeological evidence relevant to him. This monograph,

Philip V of Macedon in Polybius’ Histories: Politics, History, and Fiction. Emma Nicholson, Oxford University Press.
© Emma Nicholson 2023. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192866769.003.0001
2   

however, aims to contribute to the advancement of the study of Philip V from a

historiographical and literary perspective.

Philip V and the Antigonid Dynasty

Philip V (238–179 ), son of Demetrius II and Phthia, and successor to his uncle
Antigonus III Doson, ruled Macedon from 221 to 179 .¹ He was the penultimate
king of the Antigonid empire and the first Hellenistic king to come into conflict
with Rome in its gradual penetration into the eastern Mediterranean at the end of
the third and early second centuries . That clash had epoch-making implica-
tions. Philip is primarily remembered for his ill-fated confrontation with the
Italian power and for causing (if indirectly) his kingdom’s defeat and destruction
by Roman hands in the reign of his son, Perseus. He was the defeated power in the
fight for supremacy in the Mediterranean and this fact has often left him an
understudied and underrated individual, especially by those more interested in
Rome’s success and development into a world power. Yet, despite the conse-
quences of his reign, Philip can be credited as one of the most successful of his
predecessors after Alexander the Great. He ruled for forty-two years, the longest
ruling period of a Macedonian since Philip II, and, before Roman intervention,
was also effective in re-establishing control over Greece and expanding Macedon
beyond her traditional borders into Illyria, Thrace, and the Aegean. While the
greater length and success of his reign may partly be due to stabilizing conditions
in the Hellenistic world, as well as the dwindling number of suitable usurpers,
both are remarkable feats considering the violent and volatile conditions of
Hellenistic kingship. It would therefore be hard to believe that Philip could have
been so long-lasting without possessing qualities that rendered him effective.
Philip V was the sixth king of the Antigonid dynasty and the fourth to rule over
the territory of ancient Macedonia. After the chaos of the Successor Wars,
Antigonus II Gonatas (319–239 ; reigned 277–239 ) had finally gained
control of the region in 276/5 .² He then defeated Pyrrhus at Argos (272 ),
installed pro-Macedonian tyrants in Peloponnesian cities, gaining a valuable
foothold in Greece, and successfully crushed resistance from Athens and Sparta
in the Chremonidean War (263 ). In 243 , however, Aratus of Sicyon, a
leading figure of the Achaean League, compromised the growing Macedonian

¹ For historical biographies of Philip V, see Walbank (1940) and D’Agostini (2019) for a
re-evaluation of his early years until 212 . For Philip’s mother, see Tarn (1924) 17–23; Hammond
& Walbank (1988) 338; Ogden (1999) 179–82; Carney (2000) 190–1; and D’Agostini (2019) 13–16. For
Philip’s wife, see D’Agostini (2022) 45–64.
² For Antigonus II Gonatas (319–239 ) see Plb. 2.43–5, 9.29, 34, Plut. Life of Demetrius 39–40, 51,
53, Just. 17.2, 24.1, 25.1–3, 26.1–3. For scholarship on Gonatas, see Walbank (1984a) 221–55, (2002)
258–76; Hammond & Walbank (1988) 259–316; and Gabbert (1997) for a biography, and Waterfield
(2021) for a fresh take on his life and context.
  3

presence in the Peloponnese by (re-)capturing the Acrocorinthus, a strategically

important fortification controlling the Isthmus and access to the Peloponnese,
and removing its Macedonian garrison. While this encouraged a number of
Peloponnesian cities to defect and join the League, Macedon still retained influ-
ence throughout much of Greece. In 239 , after thirty-eight years on the throne
and at the admirable age of 80, Antigonus Gonatas died leaving the kingdom to his
son, Demetrius II Aetolicus (275–229 ; reigned 239–229 ). Demetrius only
ruled for ten years, yet he was also successful in expanding Macedonian influence
throughout Boeotia, Euboea, Magnesia, and Thessaly, despite the combined
efforts of an Achaean–Aetolian alliance against him.³ He was killed in 229 
fighting the Dardanians and left his 9-year-old son, Philip, and the rule of
Macedonia under the guardianship of his cousin Antigonus III Doson. In the
eight years that Doson (263–221 ; reigned 229–221 ) held the throne, he
defeated the Dardanians, put down a rebellion in Thessaly, ended the conflict
between Epirus and the Achaean League, and formed an agreement with the latter
in 224 . In return for his military support against the Spartan king, Cleomenes,
the Achaeans allowed him to reinstate a Macedonian presence in the Peloponnese
by the repossession of the Acrocorinthus and by the establishment of the
Symmachy (or Hellenic Alliance). Doson’s diplomatic and military skill proved
vital in stabilizing Macedon’s strength, and it was into this period of growing
security that Philip V came to power.
Philip was only 17 when he succeeded his uncle,⁴ younger even than Alexander
had been when he succeeded his father. Yet, despite his youth, Philip soon proved
himself to be a competent and successful military commander, as well as a reliable
partner and benefactor to his Greek allies. His early policies revolved around
securing his position and influence in Macedonia and mainland Greece, and the
Social War fought in aid of his Greek allies against the Aetolians (Plb. 4.26–37,
4.57–5.105; Just. 29.1). At the end of this war in 217 , having secured Greece to
the South (Plb. 5.104–5; Just. 29.2–3), Philip was able to pursue his own ambitions
of conquest. It was when his gaze turned west that he became embroiled in conflict
with Rome; conflict which would eventually lead to the First and Second
Macedonian Wars (211–205 and 200–196  respectively).⁵ After his defeat at

³ For Demetrius II Aetolicus, see Just 25.4, 26.2–3, 28.1–3; and also Treves (1932) 168–205, Walbank
(1984b) 446–67, and Hammond & Walbank (1988) 317–36. For Antigonus III Doson, see Just. 28.3–4,
29.1; and Treves (1935) 381–411, Piraino (1952–3) 301–75, Welwei (1967) 306–14, Walbank (1984b)
446–67, Hammond & Walbank (1988) 337–64, and notably Le Bohec (1993) for a detailed biographical
account.
⁴ Plb. 4.2.5, 4.5.3–4, Just. 28.4.16, 29.1.1. Justin’s claim that he was only 14 upon his accession is
incorrect, as Philip was born in 238  and came to the throne in 221  (Plb. 4.2.5). See Fine (1934)
100 and Walbank HCP I 290, 450. For Philip’s family, ascent to power, and relationship with Doson,
see D’Agostini (2019) 13–29, 39–41.
⁵ For the First Macedonian War, 211–205 : Plb. 9.18–11.7; Livy 26.24–29.10; App. Mac. 1–3. The
Second Macedonian War, 200–196 : Plb. 16.27–18.48; Livy 31.1–33.35; App. Mac. 4–9.4, Just.
30.3–4.
4   

the battle of Cynoscephalae in 197, Philip’s relationship with Rome became more
cooperative for a time as he aimed for the recovery of Macedonian strength and
resources, even aiding the victors in their war against the Syrian king Antiochus
III (Plb. 21.3; Livy 36.4–38.40; App. Mac. 9.5–6). In his later years, however, this
friendship broke down as Philip aimed yet again for expansion, this time in
Thrace and Dardania, and Rome tried to curtail his ambitions and movements.
Relations finally worsened in 184 to such an extent that the king is said to have
thought war inevitable and actively began preparations for the conflict (Plb.
22.13–14; Livy 39.35; App. Mac. 10). The king died, however, before war erupted
and his son Perseus continued his father’s policies to recover the strength of
Macedon and prepare for war against Rome (Plb. 22.18.10, 25.3.1, 25.6; Livy 40.57,
42.11, 42.48; cf. App. Mac. 11.1, 8, Just. 32.3–4). While the Macedonian–Roman
relationship was stable at the beginning of Perseus’ reign, however, several years
later it also turned hostile as the new king acquired widespread support through-
out Greece and began to expand into territory belonging to Roman allies. The
Third Macedonian War between Perseus and Rome, and the king’s defeat at
Pydna in 168 (Plb. 29.17–18; Livy 44.42; Plut. Aem. 19; Just. 33), would mark
the end of the Macedonian monarchy and the beginning of Roman control over
the region.

Polybius of Megalopolis

Much of our knowledge of Philip and this period comes from literary sources, the
most important of these being Polybius of Megalopolis’ Histories. It is through
Polybius’ narrative that we are presented with our fullest picture of the king and
our own interpretations of him have been, and still are, greatly influenced by this
reliance. While later authors reveal a few alternative perspectives and attitudes
towards Philip V, those that survive also remain greatly indebted to Polybius’
largely negative account of him (see below for further details). Any consideration
of the Macedonian king must therefore engage with this limitation.
Polybius’ main objective in writing his Histories was to record how and by what
means, in the space of fifty-three years, Rome reached a dominant position in the
Mediterranean (Plb. 1.1.1; 3.1.4). It was a vast enterprise which took up forty
books, covering the whole Mediterranean and, with the inclusion of his introduc-
tion to the period, extending over a hundred years. It is a work of great detail and
careful deliberation. Its potentially unwieldy topic is handled with intelligence,
producing a narrative with discernible unity and coherence. His original thirty-
book plan intended to narrate events from 221, continuing from his predecessor
Aratus’ narrative (4.2.1) and beginning with the succession of several new leaders
to the world powers, up to the defeat of Macedon in 168  (3.1.9, 3.3.8–9). This
event, in his mind, marked the end of Rome’s rise to power: she had destroyed the
  5

Carthaginian and Macedonian empires, the Seleucids were subdued, and Egypt
was still relatively weak (3.2–3). However, Polybius decided to extend his narrative
down to the destruction of Carthage and Corinth in 146 , adding another ten
books to his already vast work (3.4). This continuation allowed him not only to
cover events at which he himself was present (3.4.13; 4.2.2), but also to include a
discussion about the consequences of this new hegemonic power and the correct
ways to govern and rule an empire.⁶ It was composed almost contemporaneously
with Philip (238–179 ) from about 150  onwards, and Polybius himself was
an eyewitness to the defeat of Philip’s son Perseus in the Third Macedonian War
in 168  (3.4.13). Polybius’ personal participation in events no doubt played a
crucial role in shaping his treatment of the period and its extension, as well as
influencing his understanding and interpretation of affairs and characters.
Born, according to the most reliable estimate,⁷ in 208 or 200 , Polybius was a
citizen of the prominent Arcadian city Megalopolis, located in the north-central
Peloponnese and a member of the Achaean League from the third century 
onwards.⁸ This confederation of Peloponnesian states Polybius describes in glow-
ing terms in the introduction to his narrative (see Chapter 1) and claims was
primarily concerned with maintaining independence and freedom from
Macedonian and Roman control in the third and second centuries  (Plb.
2.37.9–11). The historian came from a wealthy, politically active family and he
himself records how his father Lycortas served as strategos, the highest office of the
Achaean League, and was involved in the League’s dealings with Rome from 187
 onwards.⁹ From his youth, Polybius was equally enmeshed in Achaean politics
and in 170/69 , at around the age of 30, was elected to the second-highest office
of the League, hipparchos (28.6.9).
It was during this term of office, however, that Perseus was defeated by the
Romans and the Macedonian kingdom was broken up and placed under Roman
control. This defeat affected Polybius personally, alongside a thousand other pro-
Macedonian or neutral Achaeans, as he was deported to Rome as a hostage
to ensure the compliance of the Achaean League.¹⁰ Polybius’ political career was
cut short. Yet he did not allow this turn of fate to force him into a life of inactivity.

⁶ For a discussion of the nature, purpose, and date of composition of the continuation of Polybius’
original plan and its relation to wider ancient historiography, see Walbank (1985c) 325–43 and Mehl
(2013) 25–48.
⁷ The evidence for Polybius’ birth is unfortunately indecisive. See ‘Polybius’ by Thornton (2012) in
the EAH. Some scholars believe he was born as early as 208–207 : Pédech (1961) 145–56 puts his birth
as early as 208 , Musti (1965) 381–2 in 205, Dubuisson (1980) 72–82 in 208; Ferrary (1988) 283 n. 69
in 207. Others place it closer to 200: Cuntz (1902) 20–1, 75–6; Ziegler (1952) 1445–6; Walbank HCP
I 1–6 (1959) 1 n. 1 and (1972) 6–7; and Eckstein (1992) 387–406.
⁸ For an overview of Polybius’ life, works, and legacy, see Dreyer (2011) and Nicholson (2022); for
more detailed exploration of his background, education, and political activities, see Thornton (2020b).
⁹ Cf. Plb. 2.40; 22.3, 12–16; 23.12, 16–17; 24.6, 10; 28.3–6; 29.23–25; 36.13; 37.5.
¹⁰ Cf. Plb. 30.13.6–11, 32.1–12; 31.2, 11–15; 32.3.14–17; 33.1.3–8, 3, 14; Livy 45.31.9; Paus.
7.10.11–12. For an overview of his detainment, see Erskine (2012) 17–32.
6   

He was fortunate enough to remain within the city and soon made lifelong
connections with a number of prominent Romans, most notably the victor at
Pydna, Publius Scipio Aemilianus, son of Lucius Aemilianus Paullus, and his
circle (Plb. 31.23–4, 29.8).¹¹ It was probably during his internment that Polybius
began his vast historical enterprise. Having gained the trust of the current
generation of Roman political leaders, Polybius held a prestigious position
which not only afforded him access to Greek and Roman sources for his
Histories, but also enabled him to collect information from eyewitness accounts
and public records, and explore the geographical features of prominent sites and
locations by extensive travel.¹² He was a mentor and companion of Scipio
Aemilianus in his travels to North Africa, Spain, and Gaul (Plb. 3.59.7), crossing
the Alps (Plb. 3.48.12), and even standing by the Roman’s side at the destruction
of Carthage in 146 (Plb. 38.21–2).¹³ He may also have sailed alone beyond the
Pillars of Gibraltar into the Atlantic, perhaps visiting Britain (Plb. 34.15.7; Pliny
Nat. Hist. 5.9, for Britain see Plb. 34.10.7), and to Alexandria and Sardis, although
the dates of these two latter trips are uncertain (Alexandria 34.14.6; Sardis
21.38.7). Following the destruction of Corinth, Polybius personally facilitated
the political settlement of Greece under Rome and received multiple civic honours
from his native city and a number of others in the Peloponnese (Plb. 39.5.4; Paus.
8.9.1f.; 8.37.1f.; 8.30.8; 8.44.5; 8.48.8).¹⁴ Work on his Histories continued until the
end of his life. He died around 118  after falling from a horse at the age of 82
(Ps.-Lucian, Macrobioi, 23; cf. Plb. 3.39.8 with a reference to the Via Domitia laid
down in 118 ).¹⁵
While Polybius remains our most important source for the period, one of the
primary issues with his account is that the majority of it is fragmentary. Of the
original forty books, only Books 1–5 survive in their entirety, Books 17 and 40 are

¹¹ The existence of the Scipionic Circle, an intellectual philhellenic group which contributed
substantially towards the spread of Greek culture in Rome, has long been a controversial issue. For
those who have accepted its existence as real, see Gruen (1968) 17, Christ (1984) 92–102, Ferrary (1988)
589–602, and Dreyer (2006) 81–3. The tide is running, however, with those who see the Circle as a
literary device providing a historical framework for the dialogue between Greece and Rome: see
Strasburger (1966) 60–72, Astin (1967) 294–306, Zetzel (1972) 176–7, and Forsythe (1991) 363 and
Sommer (2013) 307–18.
¹² See Walbank (1972) 74–7 for Polybius’ role in this community. For the freedom accorded to
Polybius to research and travel, see Mioni (1949) 13, Walbank HCP I 4–9 and (1972) 76, Pédech (1964)
524–5, Champion (2004) 17 and McGing (2010) 140, who claim that he was allowed to move around
Italy and to the west with Scipio before his detention had ended. For views asserting he was more
restricted in his movements before his release in 150, see Cuntz (1902) 55–6 and Erskine (2012) 28–30.
¹³ Walbank HCP II 382.
¹⁴ Honorific portraits and statues were erected at Cleitor, the shrine of Despoina at Lycosoura,
Mantinea, Megalopolis, at Olympia by the Eleans, Pallantium, and Tegea. Cf. Henderson (2001) 29–49;
Ma (2013) 279–84.
¹⁵ Cf. n. 7 above for the issue of Polybius’ birth. Dubuisson (1980) objects to the use of both Ps.-
Lucian and Plb. 3.39.8, referring to the Via Domitia, as evidence for the chronology of Polybius’ life.
Eckstein (1992) 387–406 convincingly refutes Dubuisson’s arguments and stands by 118  for
Polybius’ death.
  7

completely lost, and the remaining thirty-three are fragmentary to varying

degrees.¹⁶ This poses considerable problems when we wish to speak about the
content of the latter books and the historian’s development of narrative, charac-
ters, and themes. In our case, we are fortunate to have a complete account of Philip
V’s early years up to 216  in Books 4 and 5; yet, while we have a reasonable
amount of narrative material until his death in Book 25, the accounts of many
important events of his life (for instance his pact with Antiochus III in 203 and the
details of his last years) are entirely lost and must be inferred from other passages
in the Histories or supplemented by the work of others. Nonetheless, as will be
discussed in the next chapter, Book 2 and the description of the Achaean League
contained within it prove useful in understanding Polybius’ attitude towards and
depiction of Macedon and Philip.

Further Historiographical, Literary, and Documentary

Evidence for Philip V

Certain areas of Polybius’ Histories can be supplemented by other ancient

works. The most notable and helpful of these is Livy’s Ab Urbe Condita. Livy
(64/59 – 17) recorded the history of Rome from its earliest beginnings to the
historian’s own time in 142 books, yet only a quarter of this vast work remains to
us today. We are, however, fortunate that Livy’s account between 211 and 167 
(Books 26–41), the second half of Philip’s reign and that of his son, is part of what
survives, and he used Polybius’ Histories extensively as a source for these events.
Despite certain Greek and Macedonian affairs being greatly compressed and
temporally displaced when Rome has little involvement in them (for example,
Philip’s Aegean campaign in the years 205–201), Livy’s history helps us to check
Polybius’ account when they do overlap (for instance, in the recording of the battle
of Cynoscephalae) and fills in important fragmentary or missing episodes, and at
times almost quotes Polybius verbatim (for instance, the defection of the Achaean
League to Rome in 198  and the dispute between Perseus and Demetrius).¹⁷ Livy
will prove to be a useful supplement to Polybius’ account in the following
investigation, therefore, particularly in Chapters 3 and 6 in reconstructing the
historical events leading up to and during the Second Macedonian War and the
end of Philip’s life.

¹⁶ For the manuscript tradition of Polybius, see Moore (1965) and Sacks (1981) 11–20.
¹⁷ For Livy’s use of Polybius’ narrative for Greek events in Books 31–45 and his careful adaptation
and rearrangement of it for his own literary purposes see especially Tränkle (1977) and (2009) 476–95,
and Briscoe (2013) 117–24. This view is in opposition to the older tradition that Livy was ‘careless and
casual in his scrutiny of his sources’, advocated e.g. by Walsh (1958) 355–75. See also Eckstein (2015)
407–22 for his preference for Polybius over Roman annalists.
8   

The work of the first/second-century  biographer Plutarch will also be

helpful for our investigation of Polybius’ portrayal of the Achaean League, its
leaders, and their early relationship with the Macedonian king. Plutarch’s Aratus
is our only other surviving literary source besides Polybius’ Histories to describe
(and celebrate) the career of the Achaean politician, Aratus of Sicyon, who
oversaw the re-admittance of Macedonian influence into the Peloponnese in 224
 and who later became an important figure at Philip V’s court.¹⁸ While we must
be cautious when using Plutarch’s Lives for historical purposes and recognize that
his aim was to illustrate character rather than preserve historical accuracy, his
account provides a counterbalance to Polybius’ biased and selective account of
Aratus and reveals, as we will explore, a great deal about the Megalopolitan
historian’s workings and the extent to which politics affects the portraits of
individuals in his Histories.¹⁹ Plutarch’s Aratus and Aemilius Paullus also supply
some brief information on Philip and Macedon and are excellent examples of how
different interpretations of one character can be produced by the same author in
two different contexts. Plutarch’s picture of Philip V in his Aratus is highly
negative and rests on the more disreputable parts of Polybius’ account of the
king (Plut. Arat. 46–54: his attempt on Messene, his change into a lascivious man
and pernicious tyrant, and his poisoning of Aratus), but the Philip that is sketched
in the Aemilius Paulus is far more positive and almost entirely free of negativity
(7–8: Plutarch relates the high hopes Philip inspired in Greece and Macedonia, his
humble posture after his defeat by Rome, and his cleverness in preparing for war
against Rome in his later years). The different perspectives and literary require-
ments of these two Lives are what changes the picture of Philip in them: in the
Aratus, the eponymous hero is killed by Philip and so the ultimate image of the
king needs to be that of a villain; in the Aemilius Paulus Philip is mentioned in a
more positive way to heighten the incompetence of his son, Perseus, who has
recently been defeated by Aemilius Paulus. While Polybius’ depiction of Philip is
far more complex than Plutarch’s and focused more on historical accuracy and
completeness, we will see through the course of this volume that he too shapes the
king’s character in similar ways to support his own wider political leanings,
rhetorical arguments, and interpretation of historical events.
Other authors such as Alcaeus of Messene, Diodorus of Sicily, Appian of
Alexandria, Justin, and Joannes Zonaras also supply literary material relating to

¹⁸ Koster (1937), Porter (1937), and Manfredini, Orsi, & Antelami (1987) offer historical commen-
taries for this Life. See also Pelling (2002) 288–91 and Stadter (2015) 161–75 for historiographical
discussions.
¹⁹ Some scholars still consider Plutarch a historian, however, as his work is generally closer to
historiography than encomia or biographical novels; cf. Wardman (1974) 1–18 and Pelling (2002)
147–52. For Plutarch’s adaptation of source material, see Pelling (2002) 91–106, 143–70, as well as
Russell (1971/2001) 100–16 and Wardman (1974) 1–37, 153–89 for his attitude towards truth, fiction,
and his manipulation of his narrative. For Plutarch’s construction of character, see Wardman (1974)
105–44.
  9

Philip V and Macedon, although with the exception of Alcaeus (who was a
contemporary of Philip) their works were composed much later than the events
recorded, and Polybius’ influence is often quite plain. Alcaeus (late third to early
second centuries ) is our earliest literary source for the king with five of his
twenty-two surviving epigrams directly addressing Philip.²⁰ While the poetic
genre and hostile nature of these poems make historical use of them problematic,
they do on occasion offer additional details that have not survived in Polybius’ or
Livy’s works (for instance, Philip’s attack on the Thracians) and are helpful in
elucidating contemporary Greek attitudes towards Philip V, his pursuit of expan-
sion (see Anth. Pal. 9.518), and his conflict with Rome (see Anth. Pal. 5). The
Macedonian king also features in the immense universal history of Diodorus,
although the portion of the work that pertains to the third and second centuries 
and Philip is greatly fragmented (for Philip see 25.18; 28.1–12, 15; 29.16, 25–30;
30.5; 31.8) and the few surviving excerpts pertaining to the king are brief and
clearly derivative of Polybius.²¹ The same is true of Appian’s portrait of Philip in
his Macedonian Wars (recording the events between 215 and 167 ), which again
survives in a pitiful state.²² For the Punic, Macedonian, and Syrian wars, Polybius’
Histories was a key source (cf. the reference to the Hellenistic historian at Pun.
132.628–31), although Appian also had access to other sources (cf. the Sibylline
books at Mac. 2) and tempered Polybius’ hostile view of Philip with a more neutral
one.²³ Justin’s epitome of Pompeius Trogus’ voluminous first-century  history
of the Macedonian monarchy (Historiae Philippicae et totius mundi origines et
terrae situs) remains a valuable text for its continuous if brief description of the
complicated period after Alexander’s death. Polybius was also a source for Trogus/
Justin in recording the third and second century,²⁴ yet his depiction of Philip
differs markedly in that the king is presented in a far more favourable and active

²⁰ These five epigrams were written between 219 and 196 and include Anth. Pal. 7.247, 9.518, 9.519,
11.12, 16.5 and 16.6. For discussion of his epigrams on Philip V, their tone and meaning, see De Sanctis
(1923) 1, 9; Walbank (1942) 134–45 and (1943) 1–13; Momigliano (1942) 53–64 = (1984) 431–46;
Edson (1948) 116–21; Gutzwiller (2007) 117; and Jones (2014) 136–51.
²¹ See Eckstein (1987b) 332–4 and (1995b) 225–9, 232, 268 n. 117, Sacks (1990) 33–54, and
Baronowski (2011) 108–13 for Diodorus’ use and adaptation of Polybius’ work. For a comparison of
their working methodologies in writing universal history, see Sheridan (2010) 41–55, Sulimani (2011)
ch. 1, and Hau (2016) 73–123.
²² For an investigation of Appian’s account of Philip V, see D’Agostini (2011) 99–121; for his
account of the Macedonian wars, see Meloni (1955); for Appian’s use and adaptation of Polybius in his
Syriake see Rich (2015) 65–124; and for his account of the Third Punic War and relationship with
Polybius, see McGing (2018) 341–56.
²³ FRH 46.
²⁴ Just. 29.1.1–8 closely parallels Polybius’ statement at 3.2.4–11 that all the kingdoms of the world
underwent change at this time, 29.3.1 corresponds to Polybius’ ‘clouds in the west’ speech at 5.104, and
30.4.12 preserves Polybius’ observations about Philip’s youth, although places it much later in the
mouth of Flamininus at Cynoscephalae (Plb. 4.2, 3, 5, 22, 24, 77).
10   

light.²⁵ Justin’s epitome preserves, therefore, the vestiges of a lost tradition from
the first century  that was far more positive towards Philip V.²⁶ This only
reinforces how much Philip’s ancient and modern legacy is beholden to the
negative and politically loaded image of the king produced by Polybius, and
why reassessment of this portrait is so necessary. Yet, like Diodorus and
Appian, Justin’s contribution to the historical reconstruction of Philip V is limited
(28.3–4, 29.1–31.1, 32.2–4): his epitome is extremely condensed, lacks detail and
omits, for example, the distinction between the First and Second Macedonian
Wars, Philip’s campaign in the Aegean, and his cooperation with Rome in their
war against Antiochus III. The final literary source to contain information about
Philip V is Zonaras’ twelfth-century  Epitome of Histories. Much of his account
of the history of the Roman Republic is derived from the lost Roman History of
Cassius Dio, which seems to have contained a reasonably detailed account of the
period. Yet again, while Philip V’s interactions with Rome are preserved in Books
8 and 9 of Zonaras, there is little to add to the earlier accounts of Polybius and
Livy. Because of their reliance on Polybius and limited contribution to the history
of Philip, the works of these later authors will take only a cursory role in the
following investigation.
In addition to the literary sources, over the last fifty years there has also been an
increasing amount of epigraphic and numismatic evidence relating to Philip
V coming to light. In terms of the study of the epigraphic material, the survival
of a number of Philip’s letters and diagrammata allows us an invaluable glimpse
into the king’s self-presentation as a beneficent and pious monarch, his medi-
ations with and between cities and Macedonian agents, as well as his military,
economic, and religious policies, and family.²⁷ The second volume of

²⁵ It is Philip, for instance, who urges the Greeks to follow him on a Panhellenic venture against
Rome at Naupactus, not Agelaus (29.2.8–3.5); the Romans are said to be wary of Philip because they
recognize the ancient valour of the Macedonians and the new king’s energy and ambition (29.3); the
responsibility for starting the war falls onto the Romans who, it is said, keep trying to find a pretence to
attack Philip (30.3.1, 6); and the Macedonian and Roman armies appear far more evenly matched in the
battle of Cynoscephalae in 197  (30.4) See D’Agostini (2015) 121–44 for further discussion of Philip
V in Justin.
²⁶ See also Polybius’ own acknowledgement of a more positive view of Philip V at Plb. 8.8.3–6.
²⁷ The letters include: Philip’s mediation between the city of Mylasa and his agent Olympichus
(I. Labraunda 4, 5, and 7; Hatzopoulos (2014) 107–10; and D’Agostini (2019) 152–4); his confirmation
to the citizens of Aenus in Amphipolis of his support for Aenian exiles (Hatzopoulos (1996) II 30–1, no.
9); his intervention in citizenship reforms in Larissa (Syll.³ 543 = IG IX 2, 517; cf. Lolling (1882) 61–76;
Robert & Mommsen (1882) 467–83; Hannick (1968) 97–104; Bertrand (1985) 469–81; Habicht (2006)
67–75, Oetjen (2010) 237–54; Hatzopoulos (2014) 99–120; Mari & Thornton (2016) 139–95; and
D’Agostini (2019) 147–51); his economic and political concessions to the Abaeans, Nisyriens, and
Amphipolitans (Syll.³ 552, Syll.³ 572, and SEG 46 (1996) 716 respectively); his religious observances
in his correspondence with the Athenians at Hephaistia on Lemnus (SEG 12 399. Robert BE (1944)
no. 150; (1953) no. 162; Fraser & McDonald (1952) 81–3; cf. Gastaldi & Mari (2019) 193–224), and with
the Panamarians (I. Stratonikeia 3) and the Chalcidians (I. Magnesia 47); his letter to Dium endorsing
the asylia of Cyzicus (SEG 48 785; Hatzopoulos (1996) II no. 32, who dates it to 180 , contra Rigsby
(1996) 342 who dates the asylia of Cyzicus to c.200 ); and his fulfilment of the demands of his
Macedonian citizen-soldiers at Eviestes (Hatzopoulos (1996) II 41–2, no. 17) and Rhodes (Meadows
  11

Hatzopoulos’ Macedonian Institutions under the Kings (1996) remains a reliable

collection of known inscriptions for the Macedonian kings, including those for
Philip V, and Le Bohec (1996) helpfully supplies a survey of the inscriptions
specifically pertaining to Philip.²⁸ These studies have also been supplemented in
recent years by a series of articles by Hatzopoulos on military regulations,
decision-making vocabulary, the ephebic law at Amphipolis, Manuela Mari on
local and national cults in Macedonian royal letters and diagrammata, city
institutions of pre-Roman Macedonia, and Antigonid chancery activity, and
D’Agostini on Philip’s military code.²⁹ Such analyses have proven fruitful in
outlining the intricacies of the Hellenistic Macedonian monarchic system, the
relationships between the king and associated cities and people, and have ultim-
ately shown Philip to be a zealous and organized administrator looking to secure a
stable and prosperous future for his kingdom.³⁰
Accompanying this growing collection of epigraphic material on Philip V is a
sizeable hoard of silver and bronze coinage, showing a preferred connection with
Athena Alcidemus, Zeus, and Perseus among other deities, heroes, and images,
and associated scholarship. The most comprehensive studies of Philip’s coinage
remain those by Mamroth in the 1930s, although Burrer’s 2009 study offers a
more detailed analysis and die study of Philip’s silver tetradrachms. Kleu has also
more recently reassessed the imagery and significance of the coin hoard found at
Selci in 1880 for Philip’s activities in Lissus and Scodra, D’Agostini has discussed
Philip’s celebration of his victory at Thermum in 218  with bronze coinage, and
Kremydi has investigated the minting of non-regal, ‘autonomous’ coinage by the
Macedonians, Botteatai, and Amphaxians in the reigns of Philip V and Perseus.³¹

(1996) 251–65). The surviving diagrammata reveal concern for military regulations (Hatzopoulos
(2001) 151–3, nos. 1.1 and 1.2; (1996) II 153–65, nos. 2.1, 2.2, 3; and (2016a) 203–16; and
D’Agostini (2019) 48–55), for the registration of athletes in competitions at gymnasia (Hatzopoulos
(1996) II 40–1, no. 16.), for the proper treatment of religious property at Thessalonica (Hatzopoulos
(1996) II 39–40, no. 15), and for the preservation of tradition in requiring the Hunters of Heracles
Cynagidas to wear traditional attire (SEG 56 625). For the identification of Polycratia as Philip’s queen,
see I. Stratonikeia 3; Cousin, BCH 28 (1904) 345–6, no. 1; Holleaux, BCH 28 (1904) 354–6, no. 1; BE
(1906) 48; BE (1952) 3; and D’Agostini (2022) 45–64 for discussion. Note also a new assessment of
Philip’s dedication at Lindos following a successful attack on the Dardanians (and perhaps Maedians)
recorded in the Lindian Chronicle (Blinkenberg (1941) no. 42, ll. 127–131; Higbie (2003) no. 42, ll.
127–131) by Iliev (2021) 74–82.
²⁸ Argyro Tataki’s Macedonians Abroad (1998) also offers a valuable contribution to the limited
prosopographical work on Macedonia.
²⁹ See Hatzopoulos (2000) 825–40; (2001); (2009) 47–55; (2013) 61–70; (2014) 99–120; (2015–16)
145–71; (2016a) 203–13; (2016b); Mari (1999) 627–49; (2006) 209–25; (2008) 219–66; (2017) 345–64,
and (2018) 283–311, and D’Agostini (2019) 147–56.
³⁰ Bertrand (1985) 469–82, O’Neil (2000) 424–31, and Ma (2002) 115–22 and (2003) 177–95 have,
for instance, used epigraphic evidence concerning diplomatic affairs to explore the relationship
between the Hellenistic kings and the Greek cities, and offered a greater understanding of the processes
involved in these interactions and their negotiatory nature.
³¹ Mamroth (1930) 277–303 and (1935) 219–51; Burrer (2009) 1–10; Kleu (2015) 63–8; Kremydi
(2018); and D’Agostini (2019) 87–91, and figs. 3–5. For earlier discussions of the Selci coin hoard, see
Evans (1880) 269–80; May (1946) 54 n. 36; Hammond (1968) 18, (1988b) 399, 409; and Eckstein (2008)
12   

For a preliminary investigation of the differing picture of Philip in both the

literary and epigraphic records, Hatzopoulos’ 2014 article offers an excellent
beginning and highlights a striking disparity of presentation in the two types of
sources. D’Agostini’s 2019 analysis of Philip’s early years also offers the first
synthesis of the documentary evidence into a coherent narrative while contesting
historiographical claims.

The State of the Field: Philip V

For over half a century, Walbank’s monograph Philip V of Macedon (1940 and
revised in 1960) has been the most comprehensive and influential historical study
of the Macedonian king. For decades after this ground-breaking treatise, Philip
V received only cursory attention within broader historical works focused on the
rise of Rome and Roman imperialism, or more narrowly in articles dealing with
specific questions of chronology and foreign and domestic policy.³² This limited
attention was in part due to the fact that the Antigonid monarchs have consist-
ently been overshadowed by the study of their predecessors (Philip II and
Alexander the Great) and the other Hellenistic kingdoms (the Ptolemies,
Seleucids, and Attalids), a consequence of the scarcity of surviving source material
pertaining to them and a prevailing perception of their insignificance. While the
Antigonids were key players in the eastern Mediterranean from the fourth to
second centuries  and considered one of the key imperial structures of the
Hellenistic age by ancient sources at the time (e.g. Plb. 1.2; although condemned
and ignored by the Romans), they have often been considered little different in
their ruling style and imperial strategies from the Argeads by modern scholars,
and therefore, of limited interest, particularly in the face of the more obviously
different forms of kingship seen in the Ptolemaic and Seleucid monarchic systems.
This attitude, however, obscures the impact and complexity of this dynasty in the
context of the ancient Mediterranean and assumes a static nature to Macedonian
rulership; it denies these rulers agency, intelligence, and innovation; it ignores the
kingdom’s crucial role in shaping the post-Alexander world.

87 n. 38. For the celebration of Philip’s victory at Thermum in coinage, see also Mamroth (1935) no. 4;
Head (1911) 232–4; and Walbank (1940) 42. See also Panagopoulou (2021) for a new study of the
coinage of the early Antigonids; Merker (1960) 39–52 for the coinage of Antigonus Gonatas and
Antigonus Doson; Dahmen (2010) 41–62 and Kremydi (2011) 159-78 for surveys of coinage in ancient
Macedonia; and Prokopov (2012) for the silver coinage of the Macedonians by region. See also a new
project begun in 2020, The Antigonid Coins Online (<http://numismatics.org/agco/>).
³² For chronology see Berthold (1975) 150–63. For foreign policy see e.g. Gruen (1973) 123–36
discussing the alleged alliance between Philip and Rome; Fine (1936) 99–104 and Oost (1959) 158–64
for his policies in Illyria; Errington (1971) 336–54, Thompson (1971) 615–20, Walbank (1993) 1721–30
= (2002) 127–36, Meadows (1996) 251–65 and Eckstein (2005) 228–42 for his policies in the Aegean
and Caria. For his domestic policies, see Gruen (1974) 221–46, Piejko (1983) 225–6, and Oetjen (2010)
237–54.
  13

This perception is in the process of being revised, however, and the Antigonid
monarchs are being recognized as more deserving of focused treatment in their
own right. Since the evidence for Philip V is more plentiful and coherent than for
other Antigonid rulers, he has been the starting point for this reassessment.³³
Alongside work by Hatzopoulos and Mari on the epigraphical material (see
previous section), two new volumes devoted to Philip have recently been pub-
lished. In 2015, Kleu published the first comprehensive study of Philip V’s sea
policy and explored in detail the development of his naval strategies, the size and
composition of his fleet, his use of small Illyrian vessels called lemboi as a standard
unit in a fleet for both transport and war (which would inspire Antiochus III and
Rome to do the same and begin the gradual shift away from larger warships
internationally), and its financing until his defeat by Rome.³⁴ D’Agostini’s 2019
treatment of Philip V’s accession and leadership in the early years of his reign
(221–211 ) also offers an important re-evaluation of this king and Antigonid
rule. Combining literary and documentary evidence, she reveals a significant
shift in the relationship between king, council, and army in the first decade of
Philip’s reign, a transition to charismatic leadership, less reliance on the landed
nobility, and an increased personal focus on military, economic, and religious
administration.

The State of the Field: Polybius

Since Polybius’ Histories is the primary literary source for Philip V, recent
developments in Polybian scholarship also mean that there are now new avenues
of investigation on the king from a historiographical and literary perspective.
Since the middle of the last century, scholars have become increasingly aware of
the complex political, didactic, and historiographical factors that shape the seem-
ingly smooth and uncontroversial narrative of the Histories and have grown more
cautious about taking Polybius’ work and impression of the world too much at
face-value. While Polybius is still generally deemed to be one of the more reliable
ancient Greek historians, the influence of his political leanings and biases towards
certain individuals and peoples has long been observed to have a significant
impact on the shaping of his work: Karen Haegemans and Elizabeth
Kosmetatou have demonstrated, for instance, how patriotism colours Polybius’
depiction of his homeland, the Achaean League, and its leaders; Walbank and

³³ Demetrius Poliorcetes has also seen a surge of interest and new study; see e.g. Rose (2018) 258–87
and (2019) 169–90; Kuzmin (2019) 59–84; and the monograph Wheatley & Dunn (2020). Antigonus II
Gonatas has received fresh attention in a new volume by Waterfield (2021).
³⁴ See also Kleu (2016) 559–68 for Philip V and gift-giving and friendship; Hatzopoulos (2016a)
203–16, Kleu (2017) 112–19, (2019a) 217–35, and (2019b) 107–21 for his military strategy; Iliev (2022)
125–35 for Philip’s relations with the Thracians.
14   

Craige Champion have shown how his assessment of various states and individ-
uals in the Histories is closely connected with their relationship with the League;
and John Thornton has recently highlighted how his Achaean and Megalopolitan
perspective, and not a Romano-centric one, impacts his view of Peloponnesian
matters and the Antigonid kings.³⁵ This politically influenced interpretation of
events and people has significant consequences for the portrait of both Macedon
and Philip V, as we will see in the course of this volume, who begin as allies and
benefactors of the Achaean League in the Histories but end as enemies.³⁶
Champion’s Cultural Politics in Polybius’s Histories added a new dimension to
Polybian studies in 2004 by exploring how Polybius uses cultural politics and the
notions of Hellenism and barbarism to assimilate and alienate the Romans and
other Mediterranean peoples to/from the Greek community in the course of his
narrative.³⁷ Álvaro Moreno Leoni expanded on this topic in 2017 by showing how
the complexity of Polybius’ conception of the barbarian and the ambiguity of the
Roman position relates specifically to his didactic intentions, his construction of
Greek memory and identity, and his own self-representation.³⁸ My own earlier
work in this area, as well as this volume, continue the discussion by exploring
Polybius’ portrayal of the Macedonians kings in cultural-political terms and his
creation of an ideological explanation for the changing hegemonic powers in the
Greek world.³⁹
The importance of recognizing the political and rhetorical context of the
Histories has also been persuasively argued by John Thornton. In 2013,
Thornton observed that Polybius used his work to create a dialogue between the
Greeks and the Romans, between subordinates and hegemon, producing a ‘public
transcript’ of historical events which adheres to the dominant power’s narrative,
while also speaking to power in highlighting the problems of the Graeco-Roman
relationship following Rome’s conquest of the eastern Mediterranean.⁴⁰ This line
of enquiry was expanded in 2020 with an important monograph, Polibio: il politico

³⁵ Haegemans & Kosmetatou (2005) 123–39. For Polybius’ assessment of others based on their
relationship with the Achaean League, see e.g. Walbank (2002) 91–5 (on the Macedonian kings) and
Champion (2004) 100–69 (on Rome). See Thornton (2020a) 299–309 for Polybius’ Greek, and
specifically Achaean and at times even Megalopolitan, perspective.
³⁶ Such bias even extends to Polybius’ choice and interpretation of sources: Meadows (2013) 91–116,
Lenfant (2005) 183–204, Wiemer (2013) 279–306, and Dreyer (2013a) 201–12 have demonstrated how
Polybius’ use of his source material depended not only on their availability and his assessment of their
reliability and truthfulness, but also on his political preferences and how well they fitted with and
supported his overall interpretation and historiographical scheme.
³⁷ For the Romans as barbarians or semi-barbarians in Polybius, see also Erskine (2000b) 165–82
and (2013a) 115–29, and Champion (2000) 425–44 and (2018) 35–42.
³⁸ Moreno Leoni (2017), see also (2020) 4–39 on Greek and Roman perceptions of philanthropia.
³⁹ Nicholson (2020) 38–73.
⁴⁰ Thornton (2013) 213–29. Note also Wiater (2018) 131–65 on Polybius’ participation in contem-
porary politics through his discussion of the causes of the Second Punic War in Book 3, and Nicholson
(2021) 152–56 for Polybius’ role as a political agent and use of his Histories for political discussion and
education.
  15

e lo storico, which returns Polybius more fully to his political context. This volume
explores Polybius’ biography, education, and attachment to the Achaean League,
and investigates how political objectives and oratorical strategies are intrinsically
and consistently interwoven into his historical composition. Polybius’ Histories
are shown to be imbued with a judicial quality, more than an objectively truthful
or moral one, and the work becomes a space in which Polybius is able to create his
own official version of Achaean political history and to defend and ameliorate the
League’s wavering relationship with Rome. This political and oratorical dimen-
sion reframes earlier unresolved debates about Polybius’ relationship with Rome,
and any inconsistencies in his moral approach and polemical digressions. The
present volume contributes to this political direction in Polybian studies and
observes that much of Philip V’s portrait in the Histories is dependent on and
influenced by Polybius’ political attachments and rhetorical strategies.
This political dimension, while important, should also not obscure the place of
moral didacticism in the Histories. Polybius’ moral stance was disputed in the
twentieth century by André Aymard, Paul Pédech, and Walbank;⁴¹ however,
Arthur Eckstein’s 1995 volume, Moral Vision in the Histories of Polybius, and
Lisa Hau’s chapter on Polybius in her 2016 volume Moral History from Herodotus
to Diodorus Siculus have demonstrated that Polybius attached a strong practical
importance to moral behaviour in politics and war, and both practical and moral
concerns are a key part of his educational programme.⁴² While the political
dimension of the Histories at times throws up inconsistencies in arguments
pertaining to moral behaviour, not taking the moral considerations of the
Histories seriously would be a mistake.⁴³ Polybius adhered to and promoted
Greek aristocratic values, and these were in his opinion still the benchmark of
decent Hellenic behaviour. In 2020, Daniel Walker Moore added to this reassess-
ment of Polybius’ didactic views and approach by exploring the relationship
between experience and history in the Histories and the historian’s conception
of their value and how they contribute to the education of the reader.⁴⁴ The
present volume continues this debate by examining not only how Polybius uses
Philip in his moral and practical educational programme, but also how the
historian’s didactic intentions shape the portrait of a key figure in the Histories.
Polybius’ use of teleology and contingency has equally received substantial
discussion from the twentieth century onwards. It has been widely accepted that
the Histories is affected by a teleological framework, and this is an underlying

⁴¹ They believed that Polybius was not so much concerned with a moral agenda, but rather with
expounding rational, practical, and Machiavellian principles of political conduct. Cf. Aymard (1940)
9–19; Pédech (1964); Walbank (1965) 8–11 and (1972) 173, 178–81 and (1974) 9–13, 23, 27–8. See also
Sacks (1981) 136; McGing (2010); and Maier (2012b).
⁴² Cf. Gibson (2018) 75–102 for analysis of Polybius’ use of praise in the Histories and Nicholson
(2018c) 434–53 for this moral agenda in Polybius’ discussion of the laws of war in his account of
Philip’s actions at Thermum and Messene.
⁴³ Cf. Thornton (2020b) 200–1. ⁴⁴ Cf. Moore (2020).
16   

element in any discussion involving Polybius’ ‘universal history’ and the attribu-
tion of Rome’s rise to the work of tyche.⁴⁵ Yet, this literary feature has only
recently received concentrated treatment with Jonas Grethlein’s exploration of
the narratological intricacies and difficulties that arise from the use of such a
methodology.⁴⁶ Of particular note is the development of strong discrepancies
between the historian’s account and the past as it would have been experienced
by the characters; the work’s experiential quality is compromised by Polybius’
urge to explain the causes of each event in accordance with his didactic aims
which can lead to serious misconceptions in the reader.⁴⁷ Yet, while this teleo-
logical understanding of Polybius’ work still remains strong in scholarship, Felix
Maier in his 2012 volume Überall mit dem Unerwarteten rechnen: Die Kontingenz
historischer Prozesse bei Polybius introduced an equally important but alternative
perspective. He argues that Polybius did not in fact see the past as teleological, but
rather as contingent, and that his Histories are constructed around this perspec-
tive.⁴⁸ While, Maier claims, Polybius frequently used patterns and cycles as
didactic tools to explain to his readers how events came about—which would
support a teleological or deterministic view of the past—Polybius counters this
feature by emphasizing the unpredictability and contingency of the past through-
out his work.⁴⁹ These two different approaches, Maier argues, work in tandem to
promote Polybius’ educational aim of teaching leaders of men how to achieve
their goals through planning and consideration of what happened in the past,
while also preparing for and adapting to unexpected events and changes of
fortune. Although somewhat controversial, Maier’s work has rightly brought out
the importance of the contingent and unexpected in Polybius, and any study of
the Histories must take note of its peculiar combination of determinism and
contingency.⁵⁰
An important literary turn in Polybian scholarship has also emerged over the
past three decades. It began with James Davidson and his 1991 article ‘The Gaze of
Polybius’ Histories’ which drew on the narratological models developed by Gérard
Genette and Mieke Bal to highlight the significance of perception in the Histories,
both of the readers in terms of establishing their expectations and of the historical
agents whose actions are dictated by their understanding of events.⁵¹ A decade
later, Nikos Miltsios demonstrated, through a close reading of Polybius’ account

⁴⁵ See e.g. Alonso-Núñez (1990) 187, Walbank (1994) 28–42 = (2002) 245–57, Dreyer (2011) 91–2,
Maier (2012a) 144–68, Hau (2013) 73–4, and Pelling (2013) 9–11. See also Walbank (1972) 68–9;
Eckstein (2008) 132–8 for the specific structuring of events to produce a teleological perspective.
⁴⁶ See Grethlein (2013) 224–67. ⁴⁷ Grethlein (2013) 233–42.
⁴⁸ Maier (2012a) 144–68 and (2012b).
⁴⁹ Cf. Maier (2013) 149–70 for counterfactual thinking.
⁵⁰ See also Maier (2018) 55–74 for the use of the analogies of entropy and emergence to consider
Polybius’ world-view and understanding of historical causation.
⁵¹ Davidson (1991) 10–24. Cf. Genette (1972) and Bal (1997). Much of this debate has also been
influenced by Tony Woodman’s work on classical rhetoric (2003), even though it only engages with
Polybius tangentially. For this narratological approach to Herodotus and Thucydides, see e.g.
  17

of Achaeus’ capture by Antiochus III (8.15–21), how Polybius was greatly con-
cerned that the structure and narrative of his Histories create interest, suspense,
surprise, uncertainty, and illusory expectation in the reader.⁵² In 2010, Brian
McGing also recognized the underappreciated strength of the author’s literary
and stylistic skill, noting in particular Polybius’ interweaving accounts of Philip V,
Ptolemy IV, and Antiochus III (Books 4 and 5), his thematic use of youthfulness to
create expectation and suspense, and varying focalizations to lead the historical
agents and readers alike to underestimate the young kings.⁵³ The literary exam-
ination of Polybius’ Histories was expanded by Miltsios in 2013 with a volume
exploring his thematic choices and repetition, as well as the historian’s use of
temporal strategies such as synchronicity, analepses (flashbacks) and prolepses
(foreshadowing), varied focalizations, and narratorial voice and presence.⁵⁴ The
latest edited volume, Polybius and His Legacy (2018), equally recognizes this
important literary direction, with chapters suggesting that Polybius drew on a
number of literary styles and forms, including encomium and biography, to
enhance his historical design and that there is more to be explored in this area.⁵⁵
This renewed examination of Polybius and his historiographical and literary
method has not, as yet, resulted in a substantial re-evaluation of Philip. In his 1964
work on Polybius’ methodology Pédech discussed several aspects of Philip’s
depiction, including his psychology, motivations, and irrationality, and Golan in
1995 provided a discussion of the sudden change for the worse that Philip’s
character allegedly took in 215.⁵⁶ However, it is only recently that scholarship
has been directed more specifically towards Polybius’ literary construction of the
king, and even then, only in a limited sense. Champion (1997) explored to great
effect Polybius’ construction of motivation and ambition in the Macedonian king
regarding expansion and war against Rome, and McGing has identified youthful-
ness as a prominent thematic device for the creation of expectation and suspense
in the early years of Philip’s reign. My own earlier explorations of Polybius’
description of the king as the eromenos of the Greeks and his criticism of his
actions at Thermum and alleged contravention of the laws of war have similarly
focused on his early years.⁵⁷ Boris Dreyer’s ‘Frank Walbank’s Philippos
Tragoidoumenos: Polybius’ Account of Philip’s Last Years’ (2013) and his
‘Polybius und die hellenistischen Monarchien’ (2013) have reassessed Polybius’
account of Philip’s last years (186–179 ), arguing not only for an anti-Philip/

Baragwanath (2008) and Rood (1998) respectively. See also Hau (2018) 103–13 for discussion of
perception in Polybius. See Chapter 5 for discussion of the blurred line between the genres of history
and tragedy.
⁵² Miltsios (2009) 481–506. This lesson is discussed even further by Hau (2016) 48–56.
⁵³ See McGing (2010) 97–117, and a similar argument expressed in McGing (2013) 181–99.
⁵⁴ Miltsios (2013) 181–99. Cf. Nicholson (2018a) 187–207 for Polybius’ use of patterns and
recurring themes to persuade his audience of the truthfulness of this account.
⁵⁵ Cf. Alexiou (2018) 241–55 and Tsakmakis (2018) 257–77 respectively.
⁵⁶ Golan (1995) 7–54. ⁵⁷ Nicholson (2018b) 241–55 and (2018c) 434–53.
18   

Perseus court source for the period, but also for Polybius’ ascription of the trait of
indecision to Philip (and his son Perseus) when faced with crucial moments (see
Chapter 5 for discussion).⁵⁸
On the whole, therefore, substantial investigation of the king has not tended to
carry past Books 4 and 5 of the Histories or the king’s final years in Book 23, and
there have been few recent attempts to draw Polybius’ accounts of Philip’s early
and later years together or to offer a more comprehensive investigation of
Polybius’ Philip V.⁵⁹ The primary reason for this omission is the fragmentary
nature of Polybius’ account after Book 5, which makes detailed analysis of his
work from a purely narratological perspective impossible. However, a combin-
ation of literary, historiographical, and historical analysis will enable the produc-
tion of new insights into Polybius’ approach to Philip and his methodology in
narrating the king’s life. This study, therefore, aims to present a new contribution
to the analysis of Polybius’ Histories and his whole portrait of Philip V along these
lines, arguing that the value of the historian’s evidence for the king may be
appreciated more fully through an engagement with his political, historiograph-
ical, and literary strategies.

Polybius’ Purpose, Methodology, and Audience

A few remarks on Polybius’ overarching historiographical aims and methodology,

as well as intended audience, will offer some context for Philip’s portrait, position,
and function in the Histories and the discussion hereafter.
Polybius explicitly describes his work, in Book 6, as ‘pragmatic history’
(πραγματικὴ ἱστορία; Plb. 6.5.2), which he expands in Book 9 to mean history
concerned with ‘the deeds of peoples, cities and rulers’ (περὶ τὰς πράξεις τῶν ἐθνῶν
καὶ πόλεων καὶ δυναστῶν; Plb. 9.1.4).⁶⁰ It is a historical category which would, he
states, primarily interest those involved in political life (ὁ πολιτικòς),⁶¹ and is
explicitly contrasted with the ‘genealogical kind’ (ὁ γενεαλογικὸς τρόπος), which
attracts those who are fond of stories or the casual reader (ὁ φιλήκοος), and the
kind which deals with the ‘accounts of colonies, city foundations and kinship ties’

⁵⁸ Cf. Thornton (2020a) 302–3, who finds both Walbank’s and Dreyer’s arguments about Polybius’
sources unsatisfactory.
⁵⁹ Cf. Welwei (1963) 39–53 and Pédech (1964) esp. 237–8 discuss the overall depiction of Philip in
the Histories in their larger works on kingship and methodology in Polybius.
⁶⁰ Gelzer (1962–4) 160 and Pédech (1964) 32 argue that while the term does not appear in the
surviving evidence before Polybius, it must have been in circulation before him. The definition of
πραγματικὴ ἱστορία has been the cause of much debate over the past half-century, particularly in terms
of whether it has wider practical and didactic implications (see e.g. Petzold (1969) 3–24 and Meissner
(1986) 313–51) or time-period restrictions (see Musti (1974) 136, Mohm (1977) 12–18, and Meister
(1990) 160). It is now generally agreed to mean more simply an account of political and military affairs:
see Walbank (1972) 56–58; (2002) 6; Sacks (1981) 178–86; and Beister (1995) 329 n. 1.
⁶¹ Walbank (2002) 6.
  19

(περὶ τὰς ἀποικίας καὶ κτίσεις καὶ συγγενείας), which attracts those curious and
eager for all types of knowledge (ὁ πολυπράγμων).⁶² This intended audience of
persons involved in political life included, it seems, Greeks (and probably more
specifically Achaeans) and Romans since Polybius acknowledges both in the
course of his work (cf. a Greek audience at 1.3.7–8, and a Roman one at
6.11.3–9). The overall content, explanations, and lessons in leadership and politics
in the Histories was therefore targeted at this dual-facing audience, although
Polybius did not intend to impart identical messages to each side. The differing
statuses and positions of these two groups, as well as their different cultural
backgrounds, meant that his work had to face two directions, towards the Greek
and the subordinate or subjected, and towards the Romans and the dominant
and hegemonic, and it would, therefore, at various points speak different truths
and impart different lessons.⁶³ The figure of Philip in the Histories is a key
example of this since he was important to both the Greeks and the Romans,
although in very different ways, and offered different answers and lessons to
each group.
Polybius decided to write a pragmatic history for two reasons (Plb. 9.2). The
first is that recent and contemporary political and military developments allowed
him to write about events mostly untouched, and thereby to place his own
distinctive mark on the historical tradition; the second was that it was more
practically useful to his audience (of elite, present and future statesmen and
commanders) than the other branches of history and would enable them to
learn how to deal with any contingency that might arise in their own political
careers (Plb. 9.2.5–6).
The didactic quality of the Histories was fundamental to its conception, struc-
ture, content, and style. In the very first line of his work, Polybius notes that there
is no more ready corrective of mankind than the study of past events ( . . . διὰ τὸ
μηδεμίαν ἑτοιμοτέραν εἶναι τοῖς ἀνθρώποις διόρθωσιν τῆς τῶν προγεγενημένων
πράξεων ἐπιστήμης. Plb. 1.1.1), and a few lines later, proclaims that ‘the
soundest education and training for political life is the study of history, and
the clearest and indeed the only method of learning how to bear bravely the
changes of fortune is to recall the reversals of others’ (Plb. 1.1.2).⁶⁴ While he
acknowledges that history’s beneficial nature has been noted by others before him,
Polybius is perhaps more vehement in proclaiming this view, and more conscious

⁶² The translation of φιλήκοος as ‘casual reader’ is posited by Walbank in the revised Loeb edition of
Polybius’ Histories. See Walbank HCP II 116–17 for a discussion of these terms and categories of
history.
⁶³ Cf. Champion (2004) 232–3, Thornton (2013) 213–29, and Nicholson (2021) 152–6 for discus-
sion of the different strategies Polybius used when addressing Greeks and Romans.
⁶⁴ Plb. 1.1.2: . . . φάσκοντες ἀληθινωτάτην μὲν εἶναι παιδείαν καὶ γυμνασίαν πρὸς τὰς πολιτικὰς πράξεις
τὴν ἐκ τῆς ἱστορίας μάθησιν, ἐναργεστάτην δὲ καὶ μόνην διδάσκαλον τοῦ δύνασθαι τὰς τῆς τύχης
μεταβολὰς γενναίως ὑποφέρειν τὴν τῶν ἀλλοτρίων περιπετειῶν ὑπόμνησιν . . . A similar statement is
also made at 1.35.
20   

and concerned about tailoring his narrative with explanatory and discursive
digressions, than those before him. As we will observe in the course of this volume,
Philip’s portrait is significantly and consistently impacted by this political and
educational programme.
To create a history of educational value, Polybius insisted on presenting as clear
and truthful an account of the past as possible and even admitted to being less
concerned with the stylistic quality of his writing than other historians (Plb.
2.56.7–10, 3.48.8–9, 12.15).⁶⁵ History was not a fictional or panegyric piece
where a sensational style would be permissible, so it was important in Polybius’
mind for a ‘good’ historian to refrain from using emotional and dramatic language
and to present an account unadorned by literary embellishment. Yet, this pro-
grammatic statement should not lead us to underestimate the literary and rhet-
orical complexity of Polybius’ work, nor persuade us to typecast him as a historian
who is immune from bias, partial analysis, and sensationalism.⁶⁶ He is, in fact,
fully aware of and connected with a wider complex intellectual tradition which
permitted and accepted to varying degrees the integration of all these features. As
we will see in Chapter 1, Polybius permits the presence of patriotism in works of
history provided it is applied with sufficient care and consideration in preserving
the truth. Furthermore, in Chapter 6 we will discuss the presence of sensational
and tragic language in the depiction of Philip in his last years, deliberately and
unapologetically used by Polybius to bring out the importance of the moment for
Macedonian and Mediterranean history.
Polybius’ proclaimed preference for simplicity and his earnest statements about
the veracity of his own account create an impression of frankness and lead the
reader into thinking that the Histories are straightforward and unproblematic. Yet,
this is, as Walbank noted, ‘the apparent candour one sometimes finds in a man
who has persuaded himself of the truth about matters in which he has a strong
personal commitment and is not prepared even to envisage the possibility that
there may be another point of view’.⁶⁷ This conviction, when combined with a
penchant for frequent authorial intervention, produces a decidedly one-sided
perspective. As Polybius places digressions which explain, analyse, and commend
or criticize narrated events throughout the narrative, he allows almost nothing to
pass without drawing his own conclusion, lesson, or moral from it.⁶⁸ He is alert to
the possibility that his readers might take the wrong impression from what he has
written, and is at pains to steer their understanding and education in a more
targeted direction. This one-sidedness and manipulation of perspective is a feature
that has considerable bearing on all areas of Polybius’ work and will be explored in
greater detail with particular reference to Philip in the following chapters.

⁶⁵ Plb. 29.12.9–10; 16.17.10. His lack of concern for stylistic quality and its repercussions have been
acknowledged by Meister (1975) 177–8; Miltsios (2009) 481–2; and McGing (2010) 4–6.
⁶⁶ Walbank (1972) 2. ⁶⁷ Walbank (1972) 6–8. ⁶⁸ Marincola (1997) 11.
  21

Polybius’ structural approach is determined in part by his subject matter and in

part by his desire to provide a piece of educational benefit and clarity. His subject
matter, the rise of Rome and its subjugation of the whole known world in the
space of fifty-three years (Plb. 1.1.5), involved, as he saw it, a complex process of
unification, which he termed the symploke (συμπλοκή): the ‘interweaving’ of the
Mediterranean into a unified whole (σωματοειδῆ) as the affairs of Italy and Libya
became connected with those of Greece and Asia producing one specific
outcome—the supremacy of Rome (1.3.3–4).⁶⁹ This ‘interweaving’ of events
throughout the inhabited world, he claims, had never happened before (Plb.
1.3.3.),⁷⁰ since affairs were previously scattered and unconnected; it is this process
that makes this period in history, and his recording of it, so important. Polybius
saw the symploke starting in 217 , specifically at the conference of Naupactus
which ended the Social War (220–17) between Philip V and his allies and the
Aetolians (Plb. 5.105.4). After this point he claims that the affairs of the world
became linked. Attributing this event with real historical importance is problem-
atic, however, as it is hard to find any credible association between this conference
and the people of Asia, as Walbank has previously noted.⁷¹ Yet, what is important
here is the key role given to Philip in this interweaving, unifying process. After
being made aware of Rome’s defeat at Lake Trasimene by Demetrius of Pharus in
217 and entertaining plans of invading Italy following the end of the war in
Greece, Philip instigates the conference at Naupactus to obtain peace. In
Polybius’ narrative, therefore, it is the Macedonian king who sets off the symploke.
As a result, from the very beginning of the Histories the figure of Philip is assigned
huge significance—he is the initiator of the unique interweaving process which
connects all regions of the known world together and then focuses and structures
Polybius’ work. This importance continues to the end of the original thirty-book
plan of the Histories as it is only by Macedon’s defeat in 168/7  that Rome is able
to dominate the eastern Mediterranean.
To help his readers understand the events of this convoluted period, Polybius
decided to structure his work as a ‘history of general affairs’ or what is otherwise

⁶⁹ For the terms συμπλοκή and σωματοειδῆ: Walbank (5), esp. 198–9 = (1985) 313–15. See also
Vollmer (1990).
⁷⁰ For the restoration of this fragmentary passage see Moore (1965) 245–7.
⁷¹ Cf. Walbank (1972) 68–9; (1974) 201–3 = (1985b) 316–17. Polybius asserts that the islanders and
Greeks in Asia, aggrieved by Philip and Attalus at this time, now looked towards the west and sent
embassies to Carthage and Rome for help instead of turning to Antiochus III and Ptolemy IV (Plb.
5.105.6–7). However, there is no evidence for any appeal by these peoples to Rome for many years after
217, and none to Carthage. It is only during the First Macedonian War (211–206) that neutral
embassies were sent from Egypt, Rhodes, Chios, Mytilene, and Byzantium to try and persuade
Rome, Aetolia, and Macedon to conclude peace, and these did not venture to Rome nor visit Roman
forces. While Siegfried (1928) 46 and Pédech (1964) 507 have suggested that what mattered to Polybius
was the direction of men’s thoughts and attention, which he claimed all started to look westwards to
Italy, rather than the military and diplomatic contacts, this does not acquit Polybius of falsely stating
that embassies began to go back and forth between Asia Minor, Rome, and Carthage.
22   

termed a ‘universal’ history (ἡ τῶν καθόλου πραγμάτων σύνταξις; 1.4.2; elsewhere

described as τὰ καθόλου γράφειν; Plb. 5.33.2).⁷² This, Polybius believed, would
bring the greatest benefit to his readers since he thought that specialist histories or
monographs (ἡ κατὰ μέρος ἱστορία) not only distorted events and men by making
them appear more important than they really are, but also obscured the connec-
tions between them and the reality of historical change and causation (1.4.6–11;
7.7.6). It is only by reading ‘a history of general affairs’, Polybius claims, that it is
possible to gain a proper understanding of cause and effect and the correct
position and agency of men, and consequently to understand the workings of
the world from a broader perspective (Plb. 1.4.2, 2.37.4).⁷³ This pragmatic,
didactic, interwoven, ‘universal’ history needed careful structuring, particularly
as its vast scope and ambitious historiographical aims could easily make it
unwieldy. To facilitate understanding, clarity, and unity, therefore, Polybius
used a number of structuring devices including his chronological framework
based on the four-year Olympiads, and his geographic cycling which moved the
narrative around the Mediterranean from Rome to Sicily, Spain, Africa, Greece,
Macedonia, Asia, and Egypt.⁷⁴ The combination of these two frameworks allowed
Polybius to focus on each region in a ‘monographic’ manner for a certain period
(usually, but not always, the four-year Olympiad period), while also placing each
regional account next to the others to allow and encourage the awareness of
connections between the different sets of events.⁷⁵ As will be explored in
Chapter 6, while Philip is at once made to stand out in the narrative for his role
in starting the symploke, this universal, interweaving, and cycling approach to
history corrects and tempers this distortion and the reader is encouraged to see
Philip V and his actions (as well as the other leaders and peoples involved) in the
larger context of the Mediterranean.

⁷² The meaning of ἡ τῶν καθόλου πραγμάτων σύνταξις, and the associated τὰ καθόλου γράφειν, have
also been the cause of debate. It has been commonplace for scholars to translate this term as ‘universal
history’ and label Polybius a universal historian: see e.g. Walbank (1972) 67–8; Sacks (1981) 96–121;
Scafuro (1983) 116–56; Marincola (2007c) 171; Liddel (2010) 15; Hartog (2010) 30–40; Dreyer (2011)
91–2; and Kloft (2013) 13–24. However, the difficulty of equating our modern conception of ‘universal
history’ with Polybius’ understanding of τὰ καθόλου γράφειν has received increasing attention: see e.g.
Walbank (1972) 67, (2002) 8 n. 51, Sacks (1981) 96–121; Scafuro (1983) 116–56; Clarke (1999a)
114–28; Marincola (2007c) 155–63; Clarke (2008) 97; Hartog (2010) 30–40, and Sheridan (2010) 41,
46–8. Tully (2014) 171–90 has suggested that we move away from trying to understand Polybius as a
writer of ‘universal history’, as he would not have known such a concept and was not so much
interested in chronological or geographical coverage, but with balance and perspective; Weaire
(2021) 26–44 revisits the relevant Polybian passages and rejects Tully’s argument, taking Polybius’
claim to universal geographical (not diachronic) scope to be a defining feature of his work.
⁷³ Walbank HCP I 9–11.
⁷⁴ For Polybius’ chronological and geographical structuring, see Walbank (1974) 203–12 = (1985b)
317–24.
⁷⁵ While Polybius’ methodology prompted criticism from other authors who claimed this arrange-
ment made his narrative seem incomplete and disconnected (see App. Hist. praef. 12), it has been
countered that, despite this difficulty, this arrangement was in fact the most appropriate method for
displaying the interconnection of political events throughout the Mediterranean; a point which may
simply have been ignored by others. Walbank (1974) 204–8 = (1985) 318–21.
  23

Tyche: The ‘Director’ of the Symploke and the Fate of Macedon

Polybius also uses tyche, fortune, as a structural and explanatory device through-
out the Histories. While the exact meaning and nature of tyche in Polybius’
Histories continues to be a problematic issue,⁷⁶ there is little doubt that it was
used to bring unity to a work which could otherwise prove incoherent and at
places inexplicable. In the preface, tyche is said to be responsible for steering
all the affairs of the world into one direction and one end (Plb. 1.4.1: καθάπερ ἡ
τύχη σχεδὸν ἅπαντα τὰ τῆς οἰκουμένης πράγματα πρὸς ἓν ἔκλινε μέρος καὶ πάντα
νεύειν ἠνάγκασε πρὸς ἕνα καὶ τὸν αὐτὸν σκοπόν). While such a role introduces a
degree of determinism to the Histories that might otherwise contradict Polybius’
view of the importance of human agency, neither tyche nor human action
functions as an overall causal explanation. Tyche’s influence acts in an overarching
way, ensuring the final result, while the details of how this end comes about is
determined by human decisions and actions, the more prominent causal factor in
Polybius’ work.⁷⁷ Tyche therefore provides an additional layer of explanation for
events which are not so easily explained by human and logical means alone. The
complex sequence of events that brought about the rise of Rome would come
under this category.
Tyche plays an equally important part in Philip’s narrative as the rise of Rome
required the destruction of the Antigonid kingdom. The idea that tyche swayed the
fate of political powers in the Mediterranean, and even Macedon, was, however,
not an innovation on Polybius’ part.⁷⁸ In Book 29 of the Histories, having narrated
the defeat of Perseus in 168, Polybius notes that these events reminded him of the
words of the fourth-century Athenian orator Demetrius of Phalerum. While
discussing Alexander’s conquest of Persia, Demetrius had noted the cruelty and
fickleness of tyche and how in a mere fifty years the Persians, once masters of the
world, had been defeated and overtaken by the Macedonians, once scarcely known
(Plb. 29.21).⁷⁹ Tyche, he asserted, had shown by her elevation of the Macedonians
to the same prosperity the Persians had once enjoyed that she was only lending the
Macedonians these advantages until she saw fit. The implication being that the

⁷⁶ For discussions of the various interpretations of the role and use of tyche in Polybius’ text, see e.g.
Fowler (1903) 445–9; Shorey (1921) 280–3; Walbank HCP I 16–26, (1972) 58–65, and (2007) 349–55;
Pédech (1964) 331–54 and (1966) 35–68; Roveri (1982) 297–326; Eckstein (1995b) 238–71; Brouwer
(2011) 111–32; Dreyer (2011) 83–6; Hau (2011) 183–207; and Deininger (2013) 71–111.
⁷⁷ See Walbank (1994) 32 = (2002) 248–9; Deininger (2013) 71–111, Pelling (2013) 8–11, and Maier
(2013) 149–70.
⁷⁸ Wiesehöfer (2013) 59–70.
⁷⁹ For Demetrius of Phalerum (c.350–c.280 ), an Athenian orator, Macedonian supporter, and
Peripatetic philosopher, see Diogenes Laertes, Life of Demetrius. The treatise On Style was long
attributed to him, although it is now believed to be the work of another Peripatetic. Cf. O’Sullivan
(2005) 119–23 and (2009), and Fortenbaugh & Schütrumpf (1999, 2000) for a commentary on
Demetrius’ work.
24   

Macedonian empire would one day be replaced by another.⁸⁰ Polybius believed

that he himself had seen the fulfilment of Demetrius’ prophetic statement in the
Romans’ defeat of Perseus in 168/7  since this brought about the end of the
Macedonian empire (Plb. 29.21.8). That Rome’s rise and Macedon’s downfall also
took roughly fifty years undoubtedly compounded the notion. In the Histories,
therefore, tyche was a key causal factor in Macedon’s downfall.
Yet, Polybius did not take up Demetrius’ notion of tyche without adjustment: a
retributive component is added which relies on and highlights the importance of
human action.⁸¹ This is evident in his account of Philip V as the king is said to
have been punished by tyche for his monstrous crimes against men and gods (Plb.
15.5–8; for his crimes at Thermum, 5.9–12, Messene, 7.10–14, and his pact with
Antiochus III against Ptolemy V, 15.20.1–4). To avenge this behaviour, tyche
sends furies to torment and inspire Philip to initiate a doomed war of revenge
against Rome and manufactures events so that he will be forced to assassinate one
of his own sons (Plb. 23.10; Livy 40.24; see Chapter 5 for discussion). Tyche’s
incitement of Philip to war then sets up the Third Macedonian War in his son’s
reign, which results in the destruction of the kingdom in 167 (cf. Plb. 22.18.10).
Through the introduction of a retributive tyche, Polybius was therefore able to
include and emphasize human responsibility for the fall of the Antigonid kingdom
alongside a deterministic component influenced by Demetrius of Phalerum and a
cycle of empires. Macedon’s downfall was, therefore, not primarily due to divine
intervention, chance, or misfortune, but the fault of its leaders.⁸² This additional
layer in causation allowed Polybius first to point out to his audience that all things,
even great empires and kings, are subject and vulnerable to the ravages of change
and fortune, and secondly that the actions of men are what lead to a state’s success
or failure. That crimes against men and gods, for instance, will bring about serious
practical consequences for the individuals and states who exhibit such immoral
behaviour. These lessons were no doubt at least partly targeted at his Roman
audience, whom Polybius saw declining in leadership following the destruction of
Macedon in 168.⁸³ In speaking to his Greek audience (particularly post-Pydna and
post-Achaean War), such a structure indicates that Rome’s imperial success came
as a result largely because of human and explicable factors (its exceptional politeia,
character, and leadership) although tyche may have played a part, that Rome’s rise
and Macedon’s fall was rational and justified, and that Roman power was not, at
least at this point in time, something to resist easily or rashly.

⁸⁰ See Walbank (1994) 34–6 = (2002) 251–2 and (2007) 350 for Polybius’ use and adaptation of
Demetrius of Phalerum.
⁸¹ Walbank (1994) 35–6 = (2002) 251–2.
⁸² This rejection of chance and luck by Polybius is also seen in his account of Hannibal’s crossing of
the Alps (3.47.6–9) and his comments on the life and career of Scipio Africanus (10.2.5–13).
⁸³ Polybius’ treatise, like many of those dealing with hegemonic relationships, not only aimed to
show how the current situation came about, but also actively encouraged those in power to think more
carefully about the way they ruled over their conquered peoples. See Thornton (2013) 213–29.
  25

Whenever making any pronouncements about Polybius’ description of Philip,

therefore, it must be acknowledged that the king’s character is formed in a wider,
artificial interpretation of both the period and the causal links between events.
This does not mean that we should mistrust all information recorded in the
Histories concerning Philip’s life. Polybius would not have been able to alter
known facts without raising suspicion and criticism, and had he done so would
have compromised his own openly prized methods of rigorous investigation and
truthful narration. It does mean, however, that we must be wary of Polybius’
structuring and presentation of material and how this shapes the figure of the
king. A sound historical analysis of Polybius’ oeuvre is not possible if one works
purely from the principle of in dubio pro reo. No historian, while in the process of
recording events and giving them unity and meaning, is free from presenting the
past in some form of interpretative, artificial framework based upon their own
background, influences, aims, and resources. Therefore, in order to understand
the shadows that this framework casts, particularly over the Macedonian king, a
thorough analysis of this historical text’s distortions is necessary.

The Structure and Aim of This Volume

This volume progresses in a broadly chronological fashion. Its investigation begins

prior to Philip’s entrance onto the scene in Polybius’ narrative and moves through
his early, middling, and last years, before taking a synoptical view of his life and
role in Polybius’ universal history. It also has two aims. First, to question the
historicity of Polybius’ account of Philip, unravel some of his literary workings,
and expose a more balanced picture of the king; and secondly, to reveal through
this investigation of Philip’s portrait more about Polybius’ methodology, con-
struction of narrative, and the influences and conditions that affected the creation
and shape of his work.
Chapter 1 begins by establishing the political and literary context in which
Philip V enters Polybius’ narrative. It explores how Polybius’ Achaean perspective
affects his whole creation and demonstrates how strongly it taints the portrayal of
Philip and Macedon from the very beginning. Working from the conclusions
of Chapter 1, Chapter 2 then explores the historicity and narrative construction of
Philip’s turn for the worse in 215 , changing, according to Polybius, from the
‘darling of the Greeks’ to a wicked tyrant. The literary construction of this motif of
decline is exposed and the reasons behind Polybius’ decision to paint Philip in
such a way investigated. Chapter 3 continues this line of questioning by problem-
atizing Polybius’ construction of Philip as a wicked tyrant in his relationship with
his Greek allies in his early and middling years. It aims to revise our understanding
of this relationship by demonstrating that, despite the historian’s claims of
treachery and deceit, Philip was, in fact, a dedicated and energetic ally who
supported and aided his Greek allies consistently until his defeat by Rome.
26   

Chapter 4 then explores Polybius’ portrait of Philip in relation to the Romans,

the main protagonists of his work. In this investigation, attention is shifted to
Polybius’ historiographical method and construction of narrative in a more
concentrated manner by focusing the discussion on the ideological aspects of
Philip’s and the Romans’ portraits using the lens of cultural politics and
Hellenism. The chapter posits that the historian attempted to offer an answer to
the historical question of whether the Greeks should have sided with Macedon or
Rome by exchanging their ideological and cultural positions in the Greek world.
Chapter 5 then explores the use of a tragic mode in Polybius’ description of
Philip’s last years and the implications such a framework has for his account
and our understanding of Polybius’ methodology and conception of the genre of
history. Chapter 6 concludes the volume by addressing the discrepancies revealed
between the image of Philip V in Polybius’ narrative and the image of the king in
his digressional passages in the course of Chapters 3 and 5. It argues that these
conflicting portraits are the result of Polybius’ use of a biographical means of
presenting key individuals in the context of a historical account and the different
levels of unity in character that these two genres require. It then places Philip V in
the wider context of the Histories so that we can appreciate the king in the
framework of a universal history, as Polybius intended. It ends with a comparative
study of Polybius’ portrait of the Macedonian king with that of other key indi-
viduals in his work (his predecessors: Philip II and Alexander, Antigonus Doson;
contemporaries: Ptolemy IV, Antiochus, and Hannibal; and successors: Perseus
and Eumenes).
 1
Constructing Macedon and the World
Through an Achaean Perspective

To understand Polybius’ portrait of Philip V we first need to explore the histor-

ian’s attachment to the Achaean League and admiration for its leaders, and
particularly for Aratus of Sicyon. Aratus was, controversially, the Achaean leader
who successfully removed Macedonian interference from the Peloponnese and
Achaean League by reclaiming control of the Acrocorinthus in 243 , but then, in
a complete about-face, instigated an alliance with Antigonus Doson in 224  and
advised Philip V for many years in the early part of his reign (221–212 ). The
actions and political reputation of the Achaean League, Aratus, and Philip were all
intimately connected, therefore, and cannot be fully understood without the other,
nor easily separated. Polybius documents their interactions in detail yet intensifies
this connection and emphasizes the fluctuations in their relationship to serve his
historiographical objectives. An initial investigation of Polybius’ Achaean per-
spective and the way that he dealt with the Achaean League and Aratus in his work
will prove useful, therefore, not only in setting out aspects of his overall method-
ology, political agenda, and construction of narrative, but also in demonstrating
the methods Polybius used to protect the reputation of the Achaean League and
Aratus, and how this agenda had a significant impact on the image of Macedon
and Philip V in the Histories.

Part 1: Polybius’ Achaean Perspective

Polybius was determined to create something that was, in his view, more
honest and educationally beneficial to the reader than the historical works written
by many of his predecessors and contemporaries. He considered much of their
work insufficiently truthful (of Philinus and Fabius: 1.14.1–2; of Timaeus:
12.12.7–15.12), and criticized them for arousing the wrong kind of pity and
sympathy (of Phylarchus: 2.56.7), for thrilling their readers with sensation like
tragic poets (again of Phylarchus: 2.56.10–11), for deliberately using the fabulous
and mythical to fill out areas of uncertainty or ignorance (of those writing about
Hannibal: 3.48.8–9), and for neglecting to include both praise and criticism

Philip V of Macedon in Polybius’ Histories: Politics, History, and Fiction. Emma Nicholson, Oxford University Press.
© Emma Nicholson 2023. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192866769.003.0002
Another random document with
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 Mschitta, Fassade.

Es war dies die bei weitem authentischste Nachricht, die ich von
Nedjd erhalten konnte, und ich habe auch Grund anzunehmen, daß
sie im wesentlichen richtig war[2]. Ich habe viele Araber hinsichtlich
Ibn er Raschīds Charakter gefragt: die Antwort war fast immer
dieselbe. »Schatīr djiddan,« d. h. »er ist sehr klug«, einen
Augenblick später aber pflegten sie hinzuzufügen: »madjnun« (aber
verrückt). Ich halte ihn für einen rücksichtslosen, leidenschaftlichen
Menschen von rastlosem Geist und wenig Urteilskraft, der nicht
energisch, vielleicht auch nicht grausam genug ist, seine Autorität
den aufsässigen Stämmen gegenüber geltend zu machen, die sein
Onkel Mohammed mit der Eisenfaust Furcht niederhielt (der Krieg
war nichts als eine lange Reihe von Verrätereien seitens seiner
eignen Verbündeten), vielleicht auch zu stolz, sich den Bedingungen
des gegenwärtigen Friedens zu unterwerfen. Er ist überzeugt, daß
die englische Regierung Ibn Sa'oud gegen ihn bewaffnet hat, und
stützt sich bei dieser Annahme auf die Tatsache, daß der Scheich
von Kweit, der für unseren Verbündeten gilt, in der Hoffnung, den
Einfluß des Sultans an den Grenzen von Kweit abzuschwächen,
jenen heimatlosen Verbannten mit den Mitteln ausgerüstet hat, in
dem Lande, wo seine Väter geherrscht, wieder festen Fuß zu
fassen. Der Beginn des ganzen Unheils lag vielmehr in der
Freundschaft, die sich der Welt dadurch kundtat, daß
Schammārische Pferde in Konstantinopel, und zirkassische
Mädchen in Haīl erschienen, was aber das Ende anbetrifft, so hat
der Krieg kein Ende in der Wüste, und jeder Unfriede kommt wieder
dem Ungestüm irgend eines jungen Scheichs zu statten.
[2] Seit den oben erwähnten Ereignissen ist Ibn Sa'oud, nach
einem vergeblichen Appell an einen mächtigen Bundesgenossen,
glaube ich, zu einem Einvernehmen mit dem Sultan gekommen,
und Ibn er Raschīd soll bemüht sein, die türkische Besatzung
auszutreiben, die eigentlich zu seiner Hilfe gekommen war. Ganz
kürzlich hat sich das Gerücht vom Tode Ibn er Raschīds
verbreitet.

Mschitta, die inneren Hallen.

Obgleich wir Ebenen durchritten, die ganz wüste und für den
oberflächlichen Beschauer fast ganz ohne charakteristische Züge
waren, reisten wir doch selten länger als eine Meile, ohne eine Stelle
zu erreichen, die einen Namen trug. Der Araber verfügt in seiner
Rede über ein erstaunliches Ortsregister. Frage ihn, wo der oder
jener Scheich sein Lager aufgeschlagen hat, und er wird dich sofort
aufs genauste berichten. Du findest auf der Karte einen leeren Fleck
und auch die Gegend, wo das Lager sich befindet, zeigt solche
Leere. Dem Auge des Nomaden genügen eben die
unbedeutendsten Kennzeichen, eine Bodenerhebung, ein großer
Stein, die Spur einer Ruine, ja jede Vertiefung, die zur Winter- oder
Sommerzeit voll Wasser steht.

Belkaaraber.

Reite mit einem Araber, wenn du wissen willst, warum die

vormohammedanische Poesie so reich an Ortsnamen ist, du wirst
auch sehen, wie nutzlos es bei den meisten Orten sein würde, sie an
einer bestimmten Stelle zu suchen, denn derselbe Name kehrt wohl
hundertmal wieder. Wir gelangten jetzt an einen kleinen Hügel, den
Gablān Theleleth el Hirschah nannte, und später an einen etwas
kleineren, Theleleh. Hier hielt Gablān an, deutete auf ein paar
rauchgeschwärzte Steine am Boden und sagte:
»Hier stand mein Herd. Hier hatte ich vor fünf Jahren mein Lager.
Mein Vater hatte sein Zelt dort drüben aufgeschlagen, mein Onkel
das seinige unter der Böschung.«
Ich hätte mit Imr ul Kais oder mit irgend einem anderen großen
Sänger aus dem Zeitalter der Naturdichtung reisen können, wo der
Ode hoher Flug sich demselben Thema zuwandte, dem ewig
gleichen Thema vom Wechsel des Lebens in der Wüste.
Die Wolken lösten sich in Regen auf, als wir Theleleh den
Rücken kehrten und ostwärts schritten — kommt doch der reisende
Araber selten schneller vorwärts als im Schritt. Namrūd schlug
seiner Gewohnheit nach die Zeit tot, indem er Geschichten erzählte.
»Meine Dame,« sagte er, »ich werde Ihnen eine Geschichte
erzählen, die unter den Arabern sehr bekannt ist; Gablān kennt sie
gewiß. Es war einmal ein Mann — er ist jetzt tot, aber seine Söhne
leben noch, — der lag in Blutfehde, und in der Nacht überfiel ihn sein
Feind mit vielen Reitern; sie trieben seine Herden, seine Kamele und
Pferde weg und nahmen ihm die Zelte und alles, was er hatte. So
sah sich der Mann, der erst reich und geachtet war, in der größten
Not. Da zog er aus und kam an das Zelt eines Stammes, der mit
seinem eignen weder in Freundschaft noch in Fehde war. Er legte
seine Hand auf die Stange des Zeltes, das dem Scheich gehörte,
und sagte: »O Scheich, ich bin dein Gast.« (‚Ana dachīlak’, sagt
einer, der Gastfreundschaft und Schutz erheischt.) Der Scheich
erhob sich, führte ihn hinein, setzte ihn an den Herd und war gütig
gegen ihn. Er gab ihm auch Schafe und etliche Kamele und Zeug zu
einem Zelt. Darauf ging der Mann hinweg, und es glückte ihm so,
daß er nach zwei Jahren wieder so reich war, wie zuvor. Nach
abermals zehn Jahren begab es sich, daß der Scheich, sein
Gastfreund, Unglück hatte und seinerseits alles verlor, was er besaß.
Und er sprach: »Ich werde nach den Zelten von dem und dem
gehen, der ist jetzt reich und wird mir tun, wie ich ihm getan habe.«
Als er an die Zelte kam, war der Mann nicht da, aber sein Sohn war
darin. Und der Scheich legte seine Hand auf die Stange und sprach:
»'Ana dachīlak«. Der Sohn antwortete: »Ich kenne dich nicht, aber
da du unsre Hilfe anrufst, so komme herein, meine Mutter wird dir
Kaffee kochen«. Da trat der Scheich ein, und die Frau hieß ihn sich
an den Herd setzen und kochte ihm Kaffee. Es gilt aber für eine
Beschimpfung bei den Arabern, wenn die Frau den Kaffee kocht.
Und während er noch beim Kaffee saß, kehrte der Herr des Zeltes
zurück. Da ging sein Sohn hinaus und erzählte ihm, daß der Scheich
da wäre. Und sein Vater sprach: »Wir wollen ihn die Nacht
dabehalten, da er unser Gast ist, aber beim Dämmern schicken wir
ihn fort, damit uns seine Feinde nicht über den Hals kommen.« Und
sie ließen den Scheich sich in eine Ecke des Zeltes legen und gaben
ihm nur Brot und Kaffee, und am nächsten Tage hießen sie ihn
gehen. Und sie gaben ihm als Bedeckung zwei Reiter mit auf eine
Tagesreise, denn das pflegen die Araber zu tun mit einem, der ihren
Schutz begehrt hat und in Gefahr seines Lebens ist, aber dann
überließen sie es ihm zu verhungern oder in die Hände seiner
Feinde zu fallen. Aber solche Undankbarkeit kommt selten vor —
gelobt sei Gott! Und daher wird diese Geschichte auch nicht
vergessen werden!«

Fellāh ul 'Isa ad Da'dja.

Wir näherten uns jetzt einigen Abhängen, die beinahe mit dem
Namen Hügel beehrt werden konnten. Sie bildeten einen großen,
südwärts sich erstreckenden Halbkreis, in dessen innerer Seite
Fellāh ul 'Isa seine Zelte aufgeschlagen hatte. Zur Zeit meines
Besuchs dort hielten die Da'dja die ganze Ebene besetzt, sowohl
den Fuß des stufenförmig aufsteigenden Djebel el 'Alya, wie auch
den nordwestlichen Landstrich zwischen den Hügeln und dem Fluß
Zerka. Mudjemir, der junge Scheich, wohnte nordwärts; seine beiden
Onkel, Fellāh ul 'Isa und Hamūd, der Vater Gablāns, gemeinsam in
der nach Süden gelegenen Ebene. Ich traf Hamūd nicht an, da er
gerade fortgeritten war, um einige seiner Herden zu inspizieren.
Gablān sprengte voraus, um uns anzumelden, und als wir selbst uns
dem Zelte des großen Scheich näherten, trat ein weißhaariger Mann
heraus, uns zu bewillkommnen. Das war mein Wirt, Fellāh ul 'Isa, ein
in ganz Belka wegen seiner Weisheit berühmter Scheich mit weit
größerem Ansehen, als sonst ein alter Mann aus einem
Herrscherhause über seinen Stamm besitzt.
Vor einem halben Jahre war er als hochgeachteter Gast bei den
Drusen gewesen, die eigentlich mit arabischen Scheichs nicht auf
freundschaftlichem Fuße stehen, und das war der Grund, warum
Namrūd gerade ihn als den besten Ratgeber in meinen
Reiseangelegenheiten erachtet hatte. Wir mußten in seinem Zelte
sitzen, bis der Kaffee bereitet war, welche Zeremonie eine
geschlagene Stunde in Anspruch nahm und unter feierlichem
Schweigen vor sich ging. Nichts war hörbar als das Geräusch der
die Bohnen zermalmenden Mörserkeule, Töne, die, von kundiger
Hand geleitet, dem Wüstenwanderer wie liebliche Musik dünken. Als
der Genuß vorüber — die Sonne war inzwischen durchgebrochen—,
ritt ich mit Gablān und Namrūd die Hügel nordwärts vom Lager
hinan, um einige Ruinen zu besichtigen, von denen die Araber
berichtet hatten.
 Kapitäl Muwaggar.

Djebel el 'Alya erwies sich als ein welliges Hochland, das sich in
einer Ausdehnung von vielen Meilen nach Norden und Nordosten
hin sanft abdachte. Die Hauptrichtung der unvermittelt aus der
Ebene aufsteigenden Bergkette ist von West nach Südost; ihr Kamm
ist mit einer Reihe Ruinen gekrönt, deren ich zwei sah. Es mögen
wohl Forts zum Schutze einer Grenze gewesen sein, vermutlich der
Ghassanidischen. Inschriften sind nicht vorhanden. Das erste der
verfallenen Gebäude lag direkt über Fellāh ul 'Isas Lager — meiner
Ansicht nach ist es der auf der Karte von Palästina nahe an der
Haddjbahn eingezeichnete Kasr el Ahla. Der Name ist den Da'dja
unbekannt. Sollte es an dem sein, so liegt die Ruine vier oder fünf
Meilen weiter nach Osten, als von den Kartographen eingezeichnet,
und der Name sollte Kasr el 'Alya heißen. Es war ein mäßiger
Komplex, ringsum von Mauerwerk umgeben, das eine unentwirrbare
Menge Ruinen umschloß. Nachdem wir drei oder vier Meilen weiter
ostwärts geritten waren, fanden wir auf der Nordseite des Djebel el
'Alya, am Eingange eines Tales, eine große Zisterne, die, ungefähr
40 zu 50 Meter groß, sorgsam aus behauenen Steinen erbaut und
halb voll Erde war. Weiter oben, der Spitze des Hügels zu, war eine
Gruppe Ruinen, von den Arabern El Muwaggar benannt[3]. Hier hat
sich vermutlich eine militärische Station befunden, denn die wenigen
Überreste kleinerer Wohnstätten legen den Gedanken an eine Stadt
nahe. Nach Osten zu aber lag ein Gebäude, das die Araber für einen
einstigen Stall erklären. Es war gleich einer Kirche in drei parallele
Schiffe geteilt. Bogengänge trennten das Mittelschiff von den
Seitenflügeln; die sechs auf jeder Seite befindlichen runden Bogen
ruhen auf gemauerten Säulen, auf deren Innenseite Löcher zum
Durchleiten der Spannseile angebracht sind. Wahrscheinlich wurden
vorzeiten Pferde zwischen die Bogen eingestellt. Eine
faßbogenförmige Decke wölbt sich über den drei Abteilungen,
Gemäuer sowohl als Wölbung bestehen aus kleinen, durch spröden,
zerbröckelnden Mörtel verbundenen Steinen. Einige hundert Meter
nach Nordwesten fanden wir eine große, unbedeckte, leere Zisterne
mit ausgemauerten Wänden und einer Treppe in der einen Ecke. Die
größte Ruine lag noch weiter westwärts, fast auf der Spitze des
Hügels. Bei den Arabern heißt sie Kasr; vermutlich war es eine
Festung oder Baracken. Der Haupteingang fand sich nach Osten zu,
und da sich der Boden hier senkte, wurde die Front durch einen
Unterbau von acht Gewölben getragen, über denen Spuren von drei
oder vier Toren sichtbar waren, die nur vermittels Treppen zugängig
gewesen sein können. Zu beiden Seiten des Einganges hatten
kannelierte Säulen gestanden — einige waren noch vorhanden —,
und die Fassade war mit Säulen und mit einer Nische geschmückt
gewesen. Fragmente bedeckten noch den Boden; daneben lagen
verschiedene Kapitäle, alle im korinthischen Stil, obgleich manche
von ihrem Urbild beträchtlich abwichen. Etliche Kannelierungen
zeigten sehr einfache Motive, wie ein Kleeblatt an jedem
Außenbogen eines gewundenen Stengels; andre wiederum waren
torusförmig und mit dem Palmstammmuster überdeckt. Die Fassade
maß 40 Schritt; hinter ihr lag ein Vorraum, der durch eine
Kreuzmauer von einem quadratischen Hof getrennt war. Ob dieser
Hof früher von Gemächern umgeben gewesen, konnte ich nicht
feststellen, da er von Trümmern überdeckt und mit Rasen
bewachsen war. Zu beiden Seiten der parallel laufenden Gewölbe
befand sich noch je ein anderer gewölbter Raum, also zehn im
ganzen, aber die beiden angefügten Gewölbe schienen keinerlei
Oberbau getragen zu haben, da die massiven Seitenwände des
Vorraums auf den Außenmauern der acht innern Gewölbe ruhten.
Das Gewölbe bestand aus viereckigen Steinen und Geröll, durch
Mörtel verbunden.
[3] El Muwakker geschrieben, aber die Beduinen ändern das
harte k in ein hartes g. Beschreibung des Ortes in »Die Provincia
Arabia«, 11. Band.

Kapitäl Muwaggar.

Wir ritten nun direkt den Hügel hinab und über die sich
anschließende Ebene, wobei wir auf ein anderes, Nedjēreh
genanntes, verfallenes Bauwerk stießen. Dergleichen Aufhäufungen
behauener Steine tragen bei den Arabern den Namen »rudjm«; es
wäre interessant zu wissen, wie weit nach Osten hin sie zu finden
sind, wie weit die Steppe von einer seßhaften Bevölkerung bewohnt
gewesen ist. Eine Tagereise von 'Alya — sagte Gablān — liegt ein
zweites Fort, Charāneh, und ein drittes, Um er Resās, nicht weit
davon. Und noch mehr gibt es, einige mit Bildwerken; zur Winterzeit,
wo die westlichen Weideplätze fast leer sind, kann man sie wohl
besuchen[4]. Während wir dahinritten, lehrte mich Gablān, die Wüste
zu lesen, auf die aus großen Steinen gelegten viereckigen
Lagerstätten der arabischen Diener zu achten, und auf die
halbkreisförmigen Erdlöcher, die die Kamelmütter für ihre Jungen
aushöhlen. Dann lehrte er mich auch die Pflanzen am Boden
kennen, und ich fand, daß die Flora in der Wüste wohl spärlich
vertreten, aber doch sehr verschiedenartig ist, und daß fast jede
Gattung von den Arabern nutzbar gemacht wird. So würzen sie mit
dem Blatt des Utrufān ihre Butter, bereiten einen trefflichen Salat aus
dem stacheligen Kursa'aneh, füttern ihre Kamele mit den dürren
Stengeln des Billān, die Schafe mit denen des Schīh, und die Asche
des Gāli wird beim Seifesieden benützt. Gablān gefiel sich in seiner
Lehrerrolle sehr wohl, und wenn wir von einem graublauen,
stacheligen Fleck an einen anderen, ganz ähnlichen kamen, pflegte
er zu sagen: »Nun, meine Dame, was ist das?« Und er lächelte
befriedigt, wenn die Antwort richtig kam.
[4] Mehrere dieser Ruinen wurden von M u s i l aufgesucht, aber
sein Werk ist noch nicht veröffentlicht.

Kapitäl Muwaggar.

Ich sollte diesen Abend in Fellāh ul 'Isas Zelt speisen und wurde
von Gablān abgeholt, als das letzte Abendrot den westlichen Himmel
säumte. Das kleine Zeltlager hallte bereits von dem Konzert der
Töne wider, die der Wüste zur Nachtzeit eigen sind: die Kamele
grunzten und ächzten, Schafe und Ziegen blökten, und unaufhörlich
bellten die Hunde. Das Zelt des Scheichs war nur durch den Schein
des Herdfeuers erhellt, und mein mir gegenübersitzender Wirt
verschwand bald in einer Wolke beißenden Rauchs, bald erstrahlte
er im Lichte einer glänzenden Flamme. So oft sich ein angesehener
Gast einstellt, muß ein Schaf ihm zu Ehren geschlachtet werden,
und so geschah es, daß wir mit unseren Fingern ein üppiges Mahl
aus Hammelfleisch, Quark und riesigen Stücken Brot verzehrten.
Aber der Araber ißt selbst bei festlichen Gelegenheiten erstaunlich
wenig, ja viel weniger, als eine mit gutem Appetit gesegnete
Europäerin, und hat man keinen Gast, so begnügt man sich mit Brot
und einer Schale Kamelmilch. Freilich pflegen diese Leute auch den
größten Teil des Tages zu verplaudern oder zu verschlafen, aber ich
habe die 'Agēl bei keiner besseren Kost auch einen Marsch von vier
Monaten machen sehen. Meiner Meinung nach müßte der Beduine,
obgleich er mit so wenig auskommt, immer hungrig sein; er ist so
auffallend spärlich und hager, und wenn der Stamm von Krankheit
aufgesucht wird, erheischt sie gewöhnlich viele Opfer. Auch meine
Dienerschaft tat sich gütlich, und da Mohammed, oder vielmehr jetzt
Tarif, der Christ, zum Schutz unsrer Zelte hatte zurückbleiben
müssen, wurde ein Holznapf mit Essen gefüllt und »für den Gast, der
zurückbleiben mußte«, hinaus geschickt.
Beim Kaffee entspann sich zwischen Fellāh ul 'Isa und Namrūd
ein lebhaftes Gespräch, das die Lage der Belkastämme scharf
beleuchtete. Sie werden von der heranrückenden Zivilisation hart
bedrängt. Syrische Bauern setzen sich mehr und mehr in ihren
Sommerquartieren fest, und was noch schlimmer ist, ihre Tränken
werden jetzt von zirkassischen Kolonisten benützt, die vom Sultan
Ostsyrien als Wohnsitz angewiesen bekamen, nachdem die Russen
sie von Haus und Hof im Kaukasus vertrieben hatten. Keine
angenehme Leute, diese Zirkassier! Mürrisch und zänkisch sind sie,
aber allerdings auch fleißig und unternehmend; aus ihren steten
Streitigkeiten mit den Arabern gehen sie regelmäßig als Sieger
hervor. Haben sie doch neuerdings das Entnehmen von Wasser aus
dem Zerka, auf den die Beduinen den ganzen Sommer über
angewiesen sind, zum casus belli erhoben, und es wird nahezu
unmöglich, nach 'Ammān, dem zirkassischen Hauptquartier,
hinabzugehen, um die wenigen Bedürfnisse eines arabischen
Lebens, wie Kaffee, Zucker und Tabak, einzuhandeln. Nach
Namrūds Ansicht müßten die Belkastämme die Regierung angehen,
einen Kāimakām zum Schutze ihrer Interessen über ihren Distrikt zu
setzen, aber Fellāh ul 'Isa zauderte, den Storchenkönig
hereinzurufen, denn er fürchtete die Besatzung, die dieser schicken
würde, auch das zwangsweise Registrieren des Viehs und andre
schlimme Streiche. Ja, die Tage der Belkaaraber sind gezählt. Die
Ruinen deuten auf dieselbe Möglichkeit hin, die schon in
vergangenen Jahrhunderten bestand: es kann sich eine seßhafte
Bevölkerung über ihr ganzes Gebiet ausbreiten, und ihnen selbst
bleibt die Wahl, entweder Dörfer zu gründen und den Boden zu
bebauen, oder nach Osten zurückzuweichen, wo Wasser im
Sommer fast nicht zu haben, und die Hitze unerträglich ist.
Namrūd wendete sich von diesem unliebsamen Thema ab und
begann, die Herrschaft der Engländer in Ägypten zu preisen. Freilich
war er nie dort gewesen, aber einer seiner Vettern, ein Schreiber in
Alexandrien, hatte ihm erzählt, daß die Bauern dort reich würden,
und daß es in der Wüste ebenso friedlich herging, wie in den
Städten.
»Blutfehde gibt's nicht mehr,« sagte er, »auch keinen Raub.
Wenn jemand einem anderen seine Kamele stiehlt, wißt ihr, was da
geschieht? Der Herr der Kamele geht zu dem nächsten Konak
(Richter) und beschwert sich; dann reitet ein Zaptieh (Polizeisoldat)
ganz allein durch die Wüste, bis er das Zelt des Räubers erreicht. Da
entbietet er seinen Gruß und tritt ein. Und der Herr des Zeltes? Der
macht Kaffee und versucht, den Zaptieh als einen Gast zu
behandeln. Aber jetzt hat der Soldat seinen Kaffee getrunken, er legt
Geld auf den Herd und sagt: ‚Nimm diesen Piaster.’ So bezahlt er für
alles, was er ißt und trinkt und nimmt nichts an. Am Morgen geht er
wieder, nachdem er noch Bescheid hinterlassen hat, daß nach
soundsoviel Tagen die Kamele wieder beim Richter sein müssen. Da
fürchtet sich der Räuber, holt die Kamele zusammen und schickt sie
hin. Vielleicht fehlt eins an der Zahl. Da sagt der Richter zu dem
Herrn der Kamele: ‚Sind alle Tiere hier?’ und er erwidert: ‚Eins fehlt.’
So sagt er: ‚Was ist es wert?’ und er antwortet: ‚Acht lira.’ Wāllah! er
bezahlt.«

Melken der Schafe.

Fellāh ul 'Isa äußerte keine direkte Billigung dieses Systems,

aber er lauschte mit Interesse, als ich, soweit ich sie selbst verstand,
die Grundsätze der Fellahīn-Bank erläuterte, und erkundigte sich
endlich, ob Lord Cromer nicht geneigt sein würde, seine Herrschaft
bis Syrien auszudehnen — eine Einladung, die, in seinem Namen
anzunehmen, ich mich nicht erkühnen mochte. Es war vor fünf
Jahren, im Haurāngebirge, wo mir eine ähnliche Frage vorgelegt
wurde, und ihre Beantwortung war eine harte Nuß für meine
Diplomatie gewesen. Da hatten sich die drusischen Scheichs von
Kanawāt im Schutze der Nacht in meinem Zelte eingefunden, und
nach manch vorsichtigem Umschweifen und vielen Versicherungen
meinerseits, daß kein Lauscher nahe, hatten sie mich gefragt, ob die
Drusen, falls die Türken abermals ihren Vertrag brechen sollten,
wohl bei Lord Cromer in Ägypten Schutz suchen dürften. Und ob ich
ihm vielleicht eine Botschaft überbringen würde? Ich gab mir den
Anschein, den Vorschlag nach allen Seiten hin zu erwägen und
erwiderte dann, die Drusen wären doch Bergbewohner und eine
Ebene, wie Ägypten, würde ihnen daher schwerlich zusagen. Da sah
der Scheich el Balad den Scheich ed Dīn an, und ein Land ohne
Berge, in die man flüchten, ohne Bergpfade, die man leicht
verteidigen kann, muß ihnen wohl wie ein furchtbares Gespenst
erschienen sein, denn sie erwiderten, die Sache wolle allerdings
wohl überlegt sein, und ich hörte nichts wieder davon. Trotzdem liegt
die Moral offen da. Sobald ein Mann in ganz Syrien, ja selbst in der
Wüste unter der Ungerechtigkeit andrer oder seiner eignen
Unfähigkeit zu leiden hat, wünscht er von jener Hand regiert zu
werden, die Ägyptens Wohlstand begründet hat, und die Besetzung
dieses Landes durch die Engländer, die uns anfangs die Sympathie
der Mohammedaner zu rauben drohte, ist schließlich doch die
wirksamste Reklame für das englische Regierungssystem
geworden[5].
[5] Die jetzigen Unruhen in Ägypten mögen die obigen
Behauptungen zweifelhaft erscheinen lassen, aber ich glaube, mit
Unrecht. Während die Ägypter das Elend vergessen haben, aus
dem unsere Verwaltung sie befreite, schmachten die Syrier wie
die Bewohner der Wüste noch darunter; in ihren Augen
verbringen ihre Nachbarn die Tage in ungetrübtem,
beneidenswertem Wohlleben. Aber sobald der Wolf von der Tür
verjagt ist, pflegen die Beschränkungen, die der unbeugsame Arm
des Gesetzes auferlegt, eine unruhige, unstete Bevölkerung zur
Auflehnung zu reizen. Sie sehnen die vielen unverdienten Vorteile
zurück, die ihnen früher aus der schlechten, wankelmütigen
Regierung erwuchsen. Justiz ist ein treffliches Ding, wenn sie
deine berechtigten Ansprüche wahrt, aber abscheulich, wenn man
in die Rechte anderer gern einen Griff tun möchte. Fellāh ul 'Isa
und seine Genossen würden ihre Schattenseiten bald genug
kennen lernen.
Als ich dem Gespräch lauschte und in die sternenhelle Nacht
hinaussah, da nahm mein Geist den Faden wieder auf, den er vorher
gesponnen, jenes Thema, das Gablān eröffnet hatte, als er
stillstehend auf die Spuren seines früheren Lagers gewiesen, und
ich sagte:
»In dem Zeitalter vor dem großen Propheten redeten eure Väter
wie ihr jetzt, auch in derselben Sprache; uns aber, die wir eure
Bräuche nicht kennen, ist die Bedeutung ihrer Worte entschwunden.
Sagt mir doch, was bedeutet dieses Wort?«
Die Männer am Herd neigten sich vorwärts, und eine
emporzüngelnde Flamme beleuchtete ihre dunklen, gespannten
Gesichter.
»Bei Gott,« sagten sie, »sprach man so vor des Propheten Zeit?«
»Mascha'llah! wir gebrauchen das Wort noch. Es ist das Zeichen
auf dem Boden, wo das Zelt errichtet wurde.«
So ermutigt, zitierte ich die Strophe Imr el Kais', die Gablāns
Bemerkung in mir wachgerufen:
»Wandrer, steh still! Laß uns beweinen die Geliebte an ihrem
Ruheplatz im rinnenden Sand zwischen ēd Dudjēl und Haumal.«
Da erhob Gablān an der Zeltstange sein Haupt und rief aus:
»Mascha'llah! das ist 'Antara!«
Denn der unbelesene Araber schreibt jedwede Dichtung 'Antara
zu, er kennt keinen anderen Namen in der Literatur.
Ich aber entgegnete: »Nein; 'Antara sprach anders. Er sagte:
Haben die Sänger der Vorzeit mir etwas Neues zu singen gelassen?
oder kommt dir ihr Haus zurück, wenn du seine Stätte betrachtest?
Lebīd aber sprach am weisesten, als er sagte: Was ist der Mensch,
als ein Zelt und sein Bewohner? Der Tag kommt, wo sie gehen, und
die Stätte ist verlassen.«
Gablān machte eine zustimmende Bewegung und bemerkte:
»Bei Gott! Die Ebene ist mit Stätten bedeckt, an denen ich
rastete!«
 Gablān ibn Hamud ad Da'dja.

Damit hatte er den Ton angeschlagen. Ich schaute hinaus in die

Nacht und schaute die Wüste mit seinen Augen; sie war nicht mehr
öde, sondern dichter mit Erinnerungen an menschliche Wesen
besetzt, als irgendwelche Stadt. Jeder Streifen gewann Bedeutung,
jeder einzelne Stein ließ das Bild eines Herdes auferstehen, an dem
das warmpulsierende arabische Leben kaum erkaltet war, mochte
auch das Feuer selbst vor Jahrhunderten erloschen sein. In
schattenhaften Umrissen erstand eine Stadt; ihre Linien schoben
sich ineinander, sie wogten und wechselten; aus Elementen, die alt
sind, wie die Zeit selbst, entstand Neues, nicht war das Neue vom
Alten, nicht das Alte vom Neuen zu unterscheiden.
Die Araber sprechen nicht von einer Wüste oder Wildnis, wie wir.
Warum auch? Ihnen ist es eben keine Wüste, keine Wildnis,
vielmehr ein Land, das sie bis ins kleinste kennen, ein Mutterland,
dessen geringste Produkte ihnen von Nutzen sind. Sie verstehen es,
an den unendlichen Flächen Freude zu haben, sie ehren das
Rauschen des Sturmes, — verstanden es wenigstens in jenen
Tagen, als sie ihre Gedanken zu unvergessenen Versen gestalteten.
Sie besangen in mancher Strophe die Lieblichkeit der bewässerten
Stellen, sangen von der Fliege, die dort brummt, wie von einem
Mann, der in Weinlaune Lieder summt, seinem eignen Ohr zum
Genuß, von den Regentümpeln, die gleich Silber glitzern oder, wenn
der Wind sie kräuselt, wie der Panzer eines Kriegers schimmern.
Wenn sie die trocknen Wasserläufe kreuzten, merkten sie auf die
geheimnisvollen Wunder der Nacht, wo die Sterne an das
Himmelsgewölbe geschmiedet schienen, als wollte die Dämmerung
für immer säumen. Imr ul Kais hatte die Plejaden gleich Juwelen in
dem Netzwerk eines Gürtels hängen sehen, hatte mit dem Wolf, der
im Finstern heulte, Kameradschaft geschlossen: »Du und ich, wir
sind verwandt; sieh, die Furche, die du ziehst, wird mit der meinen
die gleiche Ernte geben.« Tag oder Nacht, sie kannten kein
Entsetzen, das sie lähmte, keine leere Furcht, keinen Feind, der
unbesiegbar war. Jene Sänger riefen weder Mensch noch Gott um
Hilfe an; drohte Gefahr, so dachten sie an ihr Schwert, ihr Roß, an
die großen Taten ihres Stammes, und ihre Rechte allein genügte zu
ihrer Rettung. Dann frohlockten sie als Menschen, deren Blut heiß in
den Adern rollt, und dankten keinem, der es nicht wert war.
 Die Haddjstraße.

Die Gesänge aus dieser Periode der Naturdichtung gehören zu

den schönsten, die je aus menschlichem Munde kamen. Sie
berühren jede Seite des arabischen Lebens, sie atmen die innigsten
Gefühle. Gibt es doch kaum schönere Verse als die, in denen Lebīd
den Wert des Lebens preist; jede einzelne der 14 Strophen atmet
einen über alles Lob erhabenen Ernst. Er schaut der Sorge, dem
Alter, dem Tod ins Auge und schließt, an die enggezogenen Grenzen
des menschlichen Wissens erinnernd: »O du, dessen Auge dem
Fluge der Vögel folgt und dem Wege des Kiesels, der deiner Hand
entflohen, wie kannst du wissen, was Gott vorhat?« Und die
warnende Stimme ist nie die Stimme des Zornes, und so oft sie sich
auch von neuem erheben muß, der kühne Mut des Sängers erlahmt
nicht. »Der Tod wählt nicht!« singt Tārafa, »er schlingt sein Seil um
den flüchtigen Fuß des Geizhalses wie um den des
Verschwenders.« Aber er fügt hinzu: »Was fürchtest du dich? Das
Heute ist dein.« Und der furchtlose Zuhair kleidet seine
Lebensweisheit in die Worte: »Das Heute, das Gestern und die
verronnenen Tage kenne ich, aber in die Zukunft blickt mein Auge
nicht. Denn ich habe gesehen, wie das Verhängnis, einem blinden
Kamel gleich, im Finstern schlich; wen es traf, der fiel, wen es
verschonte, dem blühte langes Leben.« Der Hauch der Begeisterung
kam über alle, über alt und jung, Männer und Frauen, und zu dem
Schönsten, was uns die Wüste geschenkt hat, zählt der Grabgesang
einer Schwester für ihren toten Bruder. Er ist als historisches
Dokument ebenso wertvoll, wie als Zeugnis der herzlichsten
Gefühle. Dem Gedicht liegt folgende Tatsache zugrunde. Nach der
Schlacht von Bedr wurde ein gewisser Nadr Ibn el Hārith von
Mohammed in Uthail gefangen genommen und zum Tode verurteilt.
Aus Kutailas Versen ersieht man den Sturm der Gefühle, den des
Propheten Verfügung bei seinen Zeitgenossen hervorrief, die sich ihr
nicht unterwerfen wollten, und doch drücken sie gleichzeitig die
einem Mann gebührende Achtung aus, dessen Stamm dem ihren an
Rang gleichkam.
Und in noch stärkerer Sprache erhebt sich der freie Geist der
Wüste bei jenem Manne, der in Mekka gefangen lag. Der Ausdruck
seiner Todesangst, der visionäre Besuch seiner Geliebten in der
Zelle des Gefängnisses, dann die herrliche Beteurung, daß kein
Elend seinen Mut brechen könne, und das furchtlose Erinnern des
starken Mannes an die Leidenschaft, die wohl sein Leben verwirkt,
die Seele aber freigelassen hatte, den Tod zu überwinden — welch
Fülle edler Gefühle! Auf der Steppe geboren und ausgewachsen,
haben die Sänger aus der Zeit der Wüstendichtung ein Gedenkblatt
hinterlassen, in dem reichere und gebildetere Nationen sie
schwerlich übertreffen können.
 Viertes Kapitel.
Ein arabisches Sprichwort sagt: »Hayyeh rubda wa la daif
mudha« — weder aschgraue Schlange noch Mittagsgast. Wir
hüteten uns, durch zu langes Bleiben gegen die gute Sitte zu
verstoßen, es wurde noch vor Tagesanbruch in unserm Lager
lebendig. Es ist als befände man sich inmitten eines Opals, wenn
man zur Zeit der Morgendämmerung in der Wüste erwacht. Durch
die aus den Bodensenkungen emporsteigenden Nebel und den Tau,
der in gespenstigen Formen von den schwarzen Zelten
niederrieselte, schoß der erste schwache Schimmer des östlichen
Himmels, dem bald die tiefgelben Strahlen der aufgehenden Sonne
folgten. Ich schickte Fellāh ul 'Isa ein purpurfarbenes,
silbergesticktes Tuch »für den kleinen Sohn«, der so ernsthaft am
Herde gespielt hatte, verabschiedete mich dankend von Namrūd,
trank eine Tasse Kaffee, und während der alte Scheich mir den
Bügel hielt, stieg ich auf und ritt mit Gablān davon. Wir erklommen
den Djebel el 'Alya und kreuzten den Kamm des Gebirgszugs. Die
Landschaft ähnelte der unsrer englischen Grenzlande, aber sie war
großartiger, die Windungen größer, die Entfernungen weiter. Die
klare, kalte Luft regte die Sinne an und ließ das Blut rascher
pulsieren. Bei mir würde das alte Wort vom Golf von Neapel anders
lauten: »Die Wüste an einem schönen Morgen sehen — und sterben
— wenn du es vermagst.« Selbst die blöden Maultiere spürten einen
Hauch davon und eilten über den schwammigen Boden (»Verrückt,
ihr Verwünschten!«), bis ihre Körbe sich überschlugen und sie zu
Fall brachten. Zweimal mußten wir halten, um sie auf die Beine zu
bringen und wieder zu beladen. Das »Kleine Herz«, der höchste
Gipfel des Djebel Druz (Drusengebirges), sah heiter auf uns nieder;
sein Schneegewand leuchtete weit in den Norden hinauf.