Part 16 (1/2)

_”The Spectator,” July 19, 1913_

In spite of the obvious danger of establis.h.i.+ng doubtful a.n.a.logies and of making insufficient allowance for differences, the history of Imperial Rome can never cease to be of more than academic interest to the statesmen and politicians of Imperial England. Rome bequeathed to us much that is of inestimable value, both in the way of precept and example. She also bequeathed to us a word of ill omen--the word ”Imperialism.” The attempt to embody the broad outlines of a policy in a single word or phrase has at times exercised great influence in deciding the fate of nations. M. Vandal[98] says with truth, ”Nul ne comprendra la Revolution s'il ne tient compte de l'extraordinaire empire exerce a cette epoque par les mots et les formules.” Imperialism, though infinitely preferable to its quasi-synonym Caesarism, is, in fact, a term which, although not absolutely incorrect, is at the same time, by reason of its historical a.s.sociations, misleading when applied to the mild and beneficent hegemony exercised by the rulers and people of England over their scattered transmarine dominions. It affords a convenient peg on which hostile critics, such as Mr. Mallik, whose work was reviewed last week in these columns,[99] as also those ultra-cosmopolitan Englishmen who are the friends of every country but their own, may hang partisan homilies dwelling on the brutality of conquest and on all the harsh features of alien rule, whilst they leave sedulously in the background that aspect of the case which Polybius, parodying a famous saying of Themistocles, embodied in a phrase which he attributes to the Greeks after they had been absorbed into the Roman Empire, ”If we had not been quickly ruined, we should not have been saved.” This pessimistic aspect of Imperialism has certainly to some extent an historical basis. It is founded on the procedure generally believed to have been adopted in the process by which Rome acquired the dominion of the world. The careful attention given of late years to the study of inscriptions, and generally the results obtained by the co-operation established between historians and those who have more especially studied other branches of science, such as archaeology, epigraphy, and numismatics, have, however, now enabled us to approach the question of Roman expansion with far greater advantages than those possessed by writers even so late as the days of Mommsen. We are able to reply with a greater degree of confidence than at any previous period to the question of how far Roman policy was really a.s.sociated with those principles and practices which many are accustomed to designate as Imperial. The valuable and erudite work which Mr. Reid has now given to the world comes opportunely to remind us of a very obvious and commonplace consideration. It is that although Roman expansion not only began, but was far advanced during the days of the Republic, Roman Imperialism did not exist before the creation of Roman Emperors, and did not in any considerable degree develop the vices generally, and sometimes rightly, attributed to the system until some while after Republican had given way to Imperial sway. ”The residuary impression of the ancient world,” Mr. Reid says in his preface, ”left by a cla.s.sical education comprises commonly the idea that the Romans ran, so to speak, a sort of political steam-roller over the ancient world. This has a semblance of truth for the period of decline, but none for the earlier days.”

The fundamental idea which ran through the whole of Roman policy during the earliest, which was also the wisest and most statesmanlike stage of expansion, was not any desire to ensure the detailed and direct government of a number of outlying districts from one all-powerful centre, but rather to adopt every possible means calculated to maintain local autonomy, and to minimise the interference of the central authority. Herself originally a city-state, Rome aspired to become the predominant partner in a federation of munic.i.p.alities, to which autonomy was granted even to the extent of waiving that prerogative which has generally been considered the distinctive mark of sovereignty, viz. the right of coinage. Broadly speaking, the only conditions imposed were very similar to those now forming the basis of the relations between the British Government and the Native States of India. These were (1) that the various commonwealths should keep the peace between each other; and (2) that their foreign policy should be dictated by Rome. It is often tacitly a.s.sumed, Mr. Reid says, that ”in dealing with conquered peoples, the Romans were animated from the first by a pa.s.sion for immediate domination and for grinding uniformity.” This idea is not merely false; it is the very reverse of the truth. The most distinctive feature of Roman rule during the early period of expansion was its marvellous elasticity and pliability. Everywhere local customs were scrupulously respected. Everywhere the maintenance of whatever autonomous inst.i.tutions existed at the time of conquest was secured. Everywhere the allies were treated with what the Greeks termed ?p???e?a, which may be rendered into English by the word ”consideration.” Nowhere was the fatal mistake made of endeavouring to stamp out by force a local language or dialect, whilst until the Romans were brought into contact with the stubborn monotheism of the Jews, the easy-going pantheistic ideas current in the ancient world readily obviated the occurrence of any serious difficulties based on religious belief or ritual.

That this system produced results which were, from a political point of view, eminently satisfactory cannot for a moment be doubted. Mr. Reid says--and it were well that those who are interested in the cause of British Imperial Federation should note the remark--”In history the lightest bonds have often proved to be the strongest.” The loosely compacted alliance of the Italic states withstood all the efforts of Hannibal to rend it asunder. The Roman system, in fact, created a double patriotism, that which attached itself to the locality, and that which broadened out into devotion to the metropolis. Neither was the one allegiance destructive of the other. When Ennius made his famous boast he did not mean that he spurned Rudiae and that he would for the future look exclusively to Rome as his mother-country, but rather that both the smaller and the larger patriotism would continue to exist side by side.

”English local life,” it has been truly said, ”was the source and safeguard of English liberty.”[100] It may be said with equal truth that the notion of const.i.tuting self-governing town communities as the basis of Empire, which, Mr. Reid tells us, ”was deeply ingrained in the Roman consciousness,” stood Rome in good stead during some of the most stormy periods of her history. The process of voluntary Romanisation was so speedy that the natives of any province which, to use the Roman expression, had been but recently ”pacated,” became in a very short time loyal and zealous Roman subjects, and rarely if ever took advantage of distress elsewhere to vindicate their independence by seeking to cast off the light shackles which had been imposed on them.

”So long as munic.i.p.al liberty maintained its vigour, the empire flourished.” This is the fundamental fact to be borne in mind in dealing with the history of Roman expansion. Mr. Reid then takes us, step by step and province by province, through the pitiful history of subsequent deterioration and decay. After the Hannibalic war, Roman hegemony in Italy began to pa.s.s into domination. A policy of unwise exclusion applied to the federated states and cities, coupled with the a.s.sertion of irritating privileges on behalf of Roman citizens, led to the cataclysm of the Great Social War, at the close of which burgess rights were reluctantly conceded to all Italic communities who had not joined the rebels. Then followed the era of the great Julius, who probably--though of this we cannot be quite certain--wished to create a ”world-state” with Rome as its head; Augustus, to whose genius and administrative ability tardy justice is now being done, and who, albeit he continued the policy of his uncle, possibly leant rather more to the idea, realised eighteen centuries later by Cavour, of a united Italy; Adrian, who aimed above all things at the consolidation of the Empire; and many others. Consolidation in whatsoever form almost necessarily connoted the insistence on some degree of uniformity, and ”when the Emperors pressed uniformity upon the imperial system, it rapidly went to pieces.” Finally, we get to the stage of Imperial penury and extravagance, accompanied by centralisation _in extremis_, when ”hordes of official locusts, military and civil,” were let loose on the land, and the tax-gatherers destroyed the main sources of the public revenues, with the result that the tax-payers were utterly ruined. The munic.i.p.al system possessed wonderful vitality, and displayed remarkable apt.i.tude for offering a pa.s.sive resistance to the attacks directed against it. It survived longer than might have been expected. But when it became clear that the only function which the _curiales_ were expected to perform was to emulate the Danaides by pouring gold into the bottomless cask of the Imperial Treasury,[101] they naturally rejected the dubious honours conferred on them, and fled either to be the companions of the monks in the desert or elsewhere so as to be safe from the crus.h.i.+ng load of Imperial distinction. Mr. Hodgkin and others have pointed out that the diversion of local funds to the Imperial Exchequer was one of the proximate causes which led to the downfall of the empire. Whilst the munic.i.p.al system lasted, it produced admirable results. Dealing with Northern Africa, whose progress was eventually arrested by the withering hand of Islam, Mr. Reid speaks of ”the contrast between the Roman civilisation and the culture which exists in the same regions to-day; flouris.h.i.+ng cities, villages, and farms abounded in districts which are now sterile and deserted.”

Apart from the special causes to which Mr. Reid and other historians have alluded, and apart, moreover, from the intentions--often the very wise intentions--of individual Emperors, the munic.i.p.al system, and with it the principle that local affairs should be dealt with locally, was almost bound to founder directly the force of circ.u.mstances strengthened the hands of the central authority at Rome. The battle between centralisation and decentralisation still continues. Every one who has been engaged in it knows that, whatever be the system adopted, the spirit in which it is carried out counts for even more than the system itself. Once place a firm, self-confident man with the centralising spirit strong within him at the head of affairs, and he will often, without any apparent change, go far to shatter any system, however carefully it may have been devised, to encourage decentralisation. Such a man was Napoleon. Every conceivable subject bearing on the government of his fellow-men was, as M. Taine says, ”cla.s.sified and docketed” in his ultra-methodical brain. It is useless to ask a man of this sort to decentralise. He cannot do so, not always by reason of a deliberate wish to grasp at absolute power, but because he sees so clearly what he thinks should be done that he cannot tolerate the local inept.i.tude, as he considers it, that leads to the rejection of his views. Thus, whilst Napoleon said to Count Chaptal, ”Ce n'est pas des Tuileries qu'on peut diriger une armee,” at the same time, as a matter of fact, he never ceased to interfere with the action of his generals employed at a distance, with results which, especially in Spain, were generally disastrous to French arms. Another general cause which militates against decentralisation is the inevitable tendency of any disputant who is dissatisfied with a decision given locally to seek redress at the hands of the central authority. St. Paul appealed to Caesar. A discontented Rajah will appeal to the Secretary of State for India. It is certain that in these cases, unless the appellate authority acts with the greatest circ.u.mspection, a risk will be incurred of giving a severe blow to the fundamental principles of decentralisation. It is no very hazardous conjecture to a.s.sume that many of the Roman Emperors were, like Napoleon, const.i.tutionally disposed to centralise, and that the greater their ability the more likely was this disposition to dominate their minds. Thus Tacitus, speaking of Tiberius, says, ”He never relaxed from the cares of government, but derived relief from his occupations.”[102] A man of this temperament is a born centraliser.

However much his reason or his statesmans.h.i.+p may hold him in check, he will probably sooner or later yield to the temptation of stretching his own authority to such an extent as materially to weaken that of his distant and subordinate agents.

Considerations of s.p.a.ce preclude the possibility of dwelling any further on the many points of interest suggested by Mr. Reid's instructive work.

This much, however, may be said, that whilst British Imperialism is not exposed to many of the dangers which proved fatal to Imperial Rome, there is one principle adopted by the early founders of the Roman Empire which is fraught with enduring political wisdom, and which may be applied as well now as it was nineteen centuries ago. That principle is the preference shown to diversity over uniformity of system. Sir Alfred Lyall, whose receptive intellect was impregnated with modern applications of ancient precedents, said, ”We ought to acknowledge that we cannot impose a uniform type of civilisation.” Let us beware that we do not violate this very sound principle by too eager a disposition to transport inst.i.tutions, whose natural habitat is Westminster, to Calcutta or Cairo.

[Footnote 97: _The Munic.i.p.alities of the Roman Empire_. By J.E. Reid.

Cambridge: At the University Press. 10s. 6d.]

[Footnote 98: _L'Avenement de Bonaparte_, i. 217.]

[Footnote 99: _Vide ante_, pp. 317-326.]

[Footnote 100: _England Under the Stuarts_, p. 107. G. Trevelyan.]

[Footnote 101: Hor. _Od._ iii. 11. 25.]

[Footnote 102: _Ann._ iv. 13.]

XXII

A ROYAL PHILOSOPHER[103]

_”The Spectator,” August 2, 1913_

Those who are inclined to take a gloomy view of the future on the subject of the survival of the humanities in this country may derive some consolation from two considerations. One is that there is not the smallest sign either of relaxation in the quant.i.ty or deterioration in the quality of the humanistic literature turned out from our seats of learning. Year by year, indeed, both the interest in cla.s.sical studies and the standard of scholars.h.i.+p appear to rise to a higher level. The other is that the mere fact that humanistic works are supplied shows that there must be a demand for them, and that there exists amongst the general public a number of readers outside the ranks of scholars, properly so called, who are anxious and willing to acquaint themselves with whatever new lights a.s.siduous research can throw on the sayings and doings of the ancient world. Archaeology, epigraphy, and numismatics are year by year opening out new fields for inquiry, and affording fresh material for the reconstruction of history. More especially much light has of late been thrown on that chaotic period which lies between the death of the Macedonian conqueror and the final a.s.sertion of Roman domination. Professor Mahaffy has dealt with the Ptolemies, and Mr.

Bevan with the Seleucids. A welcome complement to these instructive works is now furnished by Mr. Tarn's comprehensive treatment of an important chapter in the history of the Antigonids. It is surely the irony of posthumous fame that whereas every schoolboy knows something about Pyrrhus--how he fought the Romans with elephants, and eventually met a somewhat ign.o.ble death from the hand of an old Argive woman who dropped a tile on his head--but few outside the ranks of historical students probably know anything of his great rival and relative, Antigonus Gonatas, the son of Demetrius the Besieger. Yet there can in reality be no manner of doubt as to which of these two careers should more excite the interest of posterity. Pyrrhus made a great stir in the world whilst he lived. ”He thought it,” Plutarch says--we quote from Dryden's translation--”a nauseous course of life not to be doing mischief to others or receiving some from them.” But he was in reality an unlettered soldier of fortune, probably very much of the same type as some of Napoleon's rougher marshals, such as Augereau or Ma.s.sena. His manners were those of the camp, and his statesmans.h.i.+p that of the barrack-room. He blundered in everything he undertook except in the actual management of troops on the field of battle. ”Not a common soldier in his army,” Mr. Tarn says, ”could have managed things as badly as the brilliant Pyrrhus.” Antigonus was a man of a very different type.

”He was the one monarch before Marcus Aurelius whom philosophy could definitely claim as her own.” But in forming an estimate of his character it is necessary to bear constantly in mind the many different constructions which in the course of ages have been placed on the term ”philosophy.” Antigonus, albeit a disciple of Zeno, the most unpractical idealist of his age, was himself eminently practical. He indulged in no such hallucinations as those which cost the Egyptian Akhnaton his Syrian kingdom. As a thinker he moved on a distinctly lower plane than Marcus Aurelius. Perhaps of all the characters of antiquity he most resembles Julian, whose career as a man of action wrung from the Christian Prudentius the fine epitaph, ”Perfidus ille Deo, quamvis non perfidus...o...b...” These early Greek philosophers were, in fact, a strange set of men. They were not always engaged in the study of philosophy. They occasionally, whilst pursuing knowledge and wisdom, indulged in practices of singular unwisdom or of very dubious morality. Thus the eminent historian Hieronymus endeavoured to establish what we should now call a ”corner” in the bitumen which floated on the surface of the Dead Sea, and which was largely used for purposes of embalming in Egypt; but his efforts were completely frustrated by the Arabs who were interested in the local trade. The philosopher Lycon, besides displaying an excessive love for the pleasures of the table, was a noted wrestler, boxer, and tennis-player. Antigonus himself, in spite of his love of learning, vied with his great predecessors, Philip and Alexander, in his addiction to the wine-cup. When, by a somewhat unworthy stratagem, he had tricked the widowed queen Nikaia out of the possession of the Acrocorinthian citadel, which was, politically speaking, the apple of his eye, he celebrated the occasion by getting exceedingly drunk, and went ”reeling through Corinth at the head of a drunken rout, a garland on his head and a wine-cup in his hand.” Antigonus was, in fact, not so much what we should call a philosopher as a man of action with literary tastes, standing thus in marked contrast to Pyrrhus, who ”cared as little for knowledge or culture as did any baron of the Dark Ages.” When he was engaged in a difficult negotiation with Ptolemy Philadelphus he allowed himself to be mollified by a quotation from Homer, who, as Plato said, was ”the educator of h.e.l.las.” Although not himself an original thinker, he encouraged thought in others. He surrounded himself with men of learning, and even received at his court the yellow-robed envoys of Asoka, the far-distant ruler and religious reformer of India. Moreover, in spite of his wholly practical turn of mind, Antigonus learnt something from his philosophic friends; notably, he imbibed somewhat of the Stoic sense of duty. ”Do you not understand,” he said to his son, who had misused some of his subjects, ”that _our_ kings.h.i.+p is a n.o.ble servitude?” Nevertheless, throughout his career, the sentiments of the man of action strongly predominated over those of the man of thought. He treated all shams with a truly Carlylean hatred and contempt. Moreover, one trait in his character strongly indicates the pride of the masterful man of action who scorns all advent.i.tious advantages and claims to stand or fall by his own merits. Napoleon, whilst the members of his family were putting forth ign.o.ble claims to n.o.ble birth, said that his patent of n.o.bility dated from the battle of Montenotte. Antigonus, albeit he came of a royal stock, laid aside all ancestral claims to the throne of Macedonia. He aspired to be king because of his kingly qualities. He wished his people to apply to him the words which Tiberius used of a distinguished Roman of humble birth: ”Curtius Rufinus videtur mihi ex se natus” (_Ann._ xi. 21). He succeeded in his attempt. He won the hearts of his people, and although he failed in his endeavour to govern the whole of Greece through the agency of subservient ”tyrants,” he accomplished the main object which through good and evil fortune he pursued with dogged tenacity throughout the whole of his chequered career. He lived and died King of Macedonia.

The world-politics of this period are almost as confused as the relations.h.i.+ps which were the outcome of the matrimonial alliances contracted by the princ.i.p.al actors on the world's stage. How bewildering these alliances were may be judged from what Mr. Tarn says of Stratonice, the daughter of Antiochus I., who married Demetrius, the son of Antigonus: ”Stratonice was her husband's first cousin and also his aunt, her mother-in-law's half-sister and also her niece, her father-in-law's niece, her own mother's granddaughter-in-law, and perhaps other things which the curious may work out.” Mr. Tarn has unravelled the tangled political web with singular lucidity. Here it must be sufficient to say that, after the death of Pyrrhus, a conflict between Macedonia and Egypt, which stood at the head of an anti-Macedonian coalition of which Athens, Epirus, and Sparta were the princ.i.p.al members, became inevitable. The rivalry between the two States led to the Chremonidean war--so called because in 266 the Athenian Chremonides moved the declaration of war against Antigonus. The result of the war was that on land Antigonus remained the complete master of the situation. With true political instinct, however, he recognised the truth of that maxim which history teaches from the days of Aegospotami to those of Trafalgar, viz. that the execution of an imperial policy is impossible without the command of the sea. This command had been secured by his predecessors, but had fallen to Egypt after the fine fleet created by Demetrius the Besieger had been shattered in 280 by Ptolemy Keraunos with the help of the navy which had been created by Lysimachus.

Antigonus decided to regain the power which had been lost. His efforts were at first frustrated by the wily and wealthy Egyptian monarch, who knew the power of gold. ”Egypt neither moved a man nor launched a s.h.i.+p, but Antigonus found himself brought up short, his friends gone, his fleet paralysed.” Then death came unexpectedly to his aid and removed his princ.i.p.al enemies. His great opponent, the masterful Arsinoe, who had engineered the Chremonidean war, was already dead, and, in Mr.

Tarn's words, ”comfortably deified.” Other important deaths now followed in rapid succession. Alexander of Corinth, Antiochus, and Ptolemy all pa.s.sed away. ”The imposing edifice reared by Ptolemy's diplomacy suddenly collapsed like the card-house of a little child.” Antigonus was not the man to neglect the opportunity thus afforded to him. Though now advanced in years, he reorganised his navy and made an alliance with Rhodes, with the result that ”the sea power of Egypt went down, never to rise again.” Then he triumphantly dedicated his flags.h.i.+p to the Delian Apollo. The possession of Delos had always been one of the main objects of his ambition. It did more than symbolise the rule of the seas. It definitely brought within the sphere of Macedonian influence one of the greatest centres of Greek religious thought.

The rest of the story may be read in Mr. Tarn's graphic pages. He relates how Antigonus incurred the undying enmity of Aratus of Sicyon, one of those Greek democrats who held ”that the very worst democracy was infinitely better than the very best 'tyranny'--a conventional view which neglects the uncomfortable fact that the tyranny of a democracy can be the worst in the world.” He lost Corinth, which he never endeavoured to regain. His system of governing the Peloponnesus through the agency of subservient ”tyrants” utterly collapsed. ”It is,” Mr. Tarn says, ”a strange case of historical justice. As regards Macedonia, Antigonus had followed throughout a sound and just idea of government, and all that he did for Macedonia prospered. But in the Peloponnese, though he found himself there from necessity rather than from choice, he had employed an unjustifiable system; he lived long enough to see it collapse.”