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The Fall of Jerusalem (Part 1)

by December 4, 2015

By Ben Potter
It is known as primum populi Romani bellum in Iudaeos to the Romans, ha-Mered Ha-Gadol to the Jews, and The Great Revolt to the romantically inclined. However, this brutal and bloody conflict is best and most easily known to most as the First Jewish-Roman War (66-73AD), and is yet another war on an ever-expanding list that proved Rome was no flash in the pan, boom and bust, Alexander the Great style of empire, but one that was here to conquer, to rule, to dominate and to endure.
Sack of JeruselemDepiction of the Roman Triumph celebrating the Sack of Jerusalem
However, there was something different about this conflict—something that made Rome, for a while at least, look like she may have bitten off more than she could chew; this was no ordinary war, this was a holy war… well, for some at least.
Of course, Rome had come up against plenty of dedicated and devout people during her inexorable conquest of the known world, but these had all been broadly pagan, polytheistic or invested in the veneration of a living mortal. Militant monotheists with a mandate from the Almighty to protect a land that was not merely their home, but a sacrosanct and sanctified space, were a new kettle of fish – and history bludgeoningly tells us, again and again, that people who are willing to fight for a cause greater than themselves are not those that one would wish to meet on the battlefield.
However, like a mohel at a baby-shower, we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
Yes, THAT King Herod
The complicated origins of this titanic tussle for the Jewish (and burgeoningly Christian) holy land date back a couple of generations prior to the outbreak of hostilities in 66AD. Indeed, the source of this tension can be traced back to a controversial figure who, at the time, was perhaps the most important man in the history of Judea, one whose acts and deeds have often been crassly misinterpreted or blurred into a peculiar religious mythology. We are, of course, talking about the King of the Jews himself… Herod the Great.
Herod
Herod The Great
We remember Herod (ruled Judea 37-04 BC) from Sunday school as the infanticidal antagonist of the Nativity story. While there is no reliable evidence for this cull of the innocents, it does fit in rather neatly with what we know about the character of this mega-lo-maniacal client-king of the Romans.
To consolidate his own power, Herod ruthlessly murdered rival claimants to the throne (including family members); a smart idea to keep oneself in power, but not so shrewd when it comes to the long-term stability of a dynasty. This
“…and history bludgeoningly tells us, again and again, that people who are willing to fight for a cause greater than themselves are not those that one would wish to meet on the battlefield.”
bloodthirstiness, as well as his toleration and support for non-Jews, his perceived bias for the Jewish diaspora, high taxes, and the fact that he was a convert, not a born Jew, meant that the Jewish population of Judea began to strongly resent Herod and, at the time of his death, needed little encouragement to turn their discontent into open rebellion.
This manifested itself in the form of an uprising led by the (capital ‘z’) Zealot, Judas of Galilee, in 6AD. This was in direct response to another bible class staple, the Census of Quirinius – itself a result of the fact that Rome had assimilated Judea into its empire in the same year, ending the small amount of autonomy it had as a vassal.
As the decades progressed, it became clear that the fragility of the empire’s newfound multiculturalism was in danger of being exposed. This was true across the Eastern Mediterranean as several provinces, particularly Egypt, struggled with the conflicting realities of being under Roman law, enjoying Greek culture and juggling elements of the pagan and Jewish faiths as well as the quasi-divine worship of the emperor.
That religious sensitivities could easily boil over into open violence was recognised even by the mad, bad, and dangerous Emperor Caligula (ruled 37-41AD) who, unhappy he wasn’t receiving due veneration from his Hebrew subjects, wanted to erect a huge statue of himself inside the Temple of Jerusalem, but was finally convinced to shelve this particular piece of blasphemous and incendiary narcissism.
Various small riots and scuffles marked the decades preceding the conflict, to find out what finally set the tinder-box ablaze, we have to turn to the pages of Josephus.
The Spark For War…
Josephus, a Jewish solider turned scribe, is one of our best sources for goings on in the region
XXXJosephus
in the first century AD and, as such, is a key figure in corroborating the life and crucifixion of Jesus (as well as the stoning of Jesus’ brother, James). Much like Polybius centuries before, Josephus, though taken prisoner by the Romans, quickly showed the worth of his intellect and connections and was soon granted his freedom and used by the Romans as a tactical ally and go-between during the war.
That he was taken prisoner at all is either a stroke of fate or a mark of the scholar’s cunning as, being trapped in a cave with forty of his comrades, they opted to assist each other in suicide rather than surrender to the Romans. They did this by stabbing every third man in a circle – some scholars suggest that Josephus may have made a swift and brilliant mental calculation in order to avoid his own death.
Now, back to the aforementioned spark. Josephus tells us that it started when some Greeks deliberately antagonized Jews by making sacrifices outside a synagogue, thus shrouding it in ritual pollution. The historian states that, although there were Jewish factions baying for blood,
the citizens of Jerusalem, although they took this matter very ill, yet did they restrain their passion; but Florus (the Roman procurator of Judea)… blew up the war into a flame and sent some to take seventeen talents (from the Temple’s treasury)
 
The unrest escalated with the Jews feeling increasingly unhappy about their tax burden as well as their duty to make prayers and sacrifices to the Emperor. Therefore it couldn’t have come as a surprise that some Roman citizens were assaulted and Florus was openly disrespected. Though some reaction would have been expected, the procurator’s drastic response was a shock to many:
Florus ventured to do what no one had done before, that is, to have men of the equestrian order whipped and nailed to the cross before his tribunal; who, although they were by birth Jews, yet were they of Roman dignity
 
However, this extremist barbarity only galvanised the Jews, who had, until then, been deeply divided as to how to deal with the Romans. First Jerusalem, then wider Judea as a whole, broke out in open revolt against their occupiers and oppressors.
The war had begun.

The Humbling of Hannibal

by October 20, 2015

By Ben Potter
It is one of the most enduring and dramatic images from antiquity, one that widens the eyes, dilates the pupils, quickens the pulse and ignites the imagination – especially when we hear about it in childhood.
Once heard, the moment is forever emblazoned on the mind’s eye: the African general, Hannibal, perilously crosses the craggy and frozen Alps, leads a daring raid on the Northern Italian plains, and takes the fight to the most organised and efficient war machine the world has ever seen… and all of this done astride the back of an elephant!
HannibalBattle of Zama, by Giulio Romano
Glossing over, for one second, that large dollop of artistic license that would have made even Livy blush, what else can we say about the self-proclaimed third greatest general who ever lived (behind Alexander the Great and Pyrrhos of Epeiros, if you’re interested)?
Well if, unlike mine, your mind wasn’t stuck on repeat going ‘elephants…elephants…elephants’ when you first heard the story, you might remember Hannibal’s and Carthage’s demise at the battle of Zama in 202BC; a battle that gave rise to one of Republican Rome’s greatest ever heroes, Scipio Africanus.
N.B. Scipio’s is obviously still held in pretty high regard, as he is evoked in the third line of the Italian national anthem.
So, what happened to change the fortunes of the man who humiliated the Romans at the Battle of Cannae in 216BC (at which as many as 70000 Roman soldiers are reported to have died), then pushed his army on to the gates of The Eternal City itself in 211BC?
In short, the question we’re asking is… (elephants…elephants…stop it!)… why was Hannibal defeated?
Many believe the root of the entire Hannibal versus Rome conflict was a family affair; the unfinished business of his father, Hamilcar Barca.
Hamilcar was an outstanding general who led guerrilla raids against the Romans between 247 and 242BC – tactics that he thought would bring about the eventual demise of the empire. Thus, in an ancient parallel of the epiphany Hitler received in his hospital bed at the end of WWI, when Carthage surrendered to Rome in 241BC, the betrayal led to a wrath which led to an obsession – Hamilcar wanted to see Rome on her knees.
This bloodlust intensified when Rome took advantage of Carthage’s dispute with her unpaid mercenaries, broke the terms of the peace treaty, and annexed Sardinia and Corsica.
N.B. The particular irony here is that the Roman stereotype of a Carthaginian was one who was both devious and cunning.
Despite the red mist, Hamilcar was still an astute tactician, he knew an all out attack on
The African general, Hannibal, perilously crosses the craggy and frozen Alps, leads a daring raid on the Northern Italian plains, and takes the fight to the most organised and efficient war machine the world has ever seen… and all of this done astride the back of an elephant!
Rome, with her citizen militia, would be doomed to failure; a more circuitous and patient approach was needed.
Luckily, as the Carthaginian relationship between the government and the military was much looser than in Rome, Hamilcar didn’t need to wait for permission to go about his business; he fled to Spain and began carving out his own fiefdom.
Whilst, officially, this was part of the Carthaginian Empire, Hamilcar was very much autonomous and acted accordingly; he married his sons to Iberian women, made the indigenous people swear loyalty to him personally (rather than to Carthage), and even issued his own currency.
This strong command, personal loyalty and not inconsiderable wealth was the bedrock upon which Hannibal could begin to amass a force to even consider an assault on Rome.
Hand in hand with this is the myth of the sacred oath that Hamilcar Barca made Hannibal swear en route to Spain in 237BC: ‘never to show goodwill to the Romans’. This is often interpreted as a lifelong, inherited and unbreakable vendetta.
So, Hannibal spent his upbringing by his father’s side learning the arts of politics and warfare, and, just as importantly, learning how to hate the Romans. Indeed, perhaps our best source on the Hannibalic Wars, Polybius, believed that Hamilcar’s wrath was the driving force for Hannibal’s Roman expedition.
Just as Philip II of Macedon laid the foundations for his, more famous, son, Alexander the Great, so Hamilcar Barca’s drive, ability and success
Hamilcar BarcaHamilcar Barca, father of Hannibal
were what allowed Hannibal to be in the position to make such a name for himself in a manner that eclipsed his father’s considerable achievements.
However, Hannibal’s single-mindedness may have been what brought about his downfall.
Had Hannibal returned to Spain after his historic victory at Cannae then he may have been able to wage war against the Romans on ‘home’ turf (and perhaps even destroy Scipio to-be-Africanus).
Indeed, though it was his most famous moment, that moment of irrepressible glamour, the very fact that he crossed the Alps in the late autumn of 218BC is considered, by some, to be tactical blunder in itself as many of his precious war elephants and troops died in the process.
That Hannibal had learnt to loathe the Romans was, in a way, a millstone around his neck. Had he merely wanted to obliterate Rome, then his task may have been simpler, but he wanted to humiliate her, to see her reduced to a humble and insignificant city-state and force a war-indemnity upon her.
Such a grand mandate required a grand ego, an ego that Hannibal, the self-proclaimed third greatest general, may not quite have possessed. Without the unequalled arrogance of an Alexander figure, Hannibal never quite convinced anyone that he was the man to rent Rome asunder. Indeed, even though he parked his troops outside the gates of Rome in order to draw Roman troops away from the besieged rebel town of Capua, the act was barely met with a raise-eyebrow of Roman acknowledgment.
The siege of Capua proved too much for the city to withstand. The Romans, swift and merciless to the traitors, completely obliterated it. To rub salt into the wound, and demonstrate a fantastic ‘keep calm and carry on’ attitude, the land on which Hannibal was camping was sold at auction for its full price.
This was a bitter blow as Capua was supposed to be one of the success stories of the invasion, although, generally, Hannibal had little success in recruiting Italian towns to his cause. Although many were dissatisfied with rule from Rome, there was a strong case of ‘better the devil you know’ for many settlements. Not only was Hannibal a foreign barbarian, but he used Gaulish mercenaries. It is difficult to fully communicate the disdain the Italian towns felt for their neighbours from Gaul – they were the Roman bogeyman, even the bravest amongst whom were considered as nothing more than a ‘noble savage’.
XXXThe General Hannibal
When it came to confidant leadership, Hannibal had nothing on the Roman Senate. They never allowed themselves to contemplate that Carthage was anything other than an inconvenience to be dealt with in due course.
In stark contrast to the Carthaginians, who crucified their unsuccessful generals, if a Roman consul suffered a military defeat… what of it? He’d be replaced in a couple of years and the next would-be hero would have his chance at immortality. Money? No problem. That was pouring in from the east. Men? There was always more arrow fodder that could be drafted into the ranks (Rome itself had two legions stationed within her walls).
If it were only this, Roman arrogance, a frenzied father’s bitter bile, and obstinate Italian towns which Hannibal had to contend with, to rail against, or to shatter at source, then he may have had a chance. Unfortunately for him, this was only the tip of the iceberg.
Different political systems and degrees of political competency in Rome and Carthage were hugely important to the eventual defeat of Hannibal in the Second Punic War (218-201BC).
Not once during the conflict did the Romans entertain the idea that defeat was an impending possibility, not even after suffering the worst military reverse in their history at the Battle of Cannae (216BC).
This stiff-upper-lip attitude was even more impressive when we consider that Cannae was preceded by the disaster at Lake Trasimene (217BC), where fog conspired with a Carthaginian trap to allow them to successfully decimate some 30,000 Roman soldiers, and the Battle of the Trebia (218BC), where Hannibal tricked the slow-witted Romans, under the command of Tiberius Sempronius Longus, into wading into the freezing December waters before ambushing them to the tune of another 30,000 casualties.
But these were all blunders of tactics and warfare on the ground. Such poor leadership was sharply contrasted with sound, sensible and resolute decision-making in the Senate. Indeed, the very moment Hannibal set foot in Northern Italy the Senate dispatched a force (led by Publius Cornelius Scipio – father of Africanus) to the Spanish mainland to attempt to cut supply lines there, a policy they mirrored in the Aegean where Philip V of Macedon threatened to offer aid to Carthage.
Also, at home, the Senate showed a merciless, efficient approach. They urged Latin towns to scorch their earth rather than allow Hannibal’s troops to live on it and dealt severely with any town in Italy which showed sympathy towards the Carthaginian cause; the pitiless annihilation of Capua being the best example.
In contrast, Carthage kept politics and the military rather more separate. There did not seem to have been any clear, centralised military plan – certainly not one where the head of the army and the centre of government were singing in harmony from the same hymn sheet. Additionally, Carthage sent only 5% of its possible reinforcements to Hannibal throughout the war. What is more, unlike the Romans, Carthage treated her African colonies with contempt, cruelty and disdain; they didn’t even bother to leave them with adequate fortifications. Thus, when Rome finally swept into the continent, they were greeted with little military or civic resistance.
ScipioScipio Africanus
But it was affairs in Hispania, not Italy or Carthage, which determined the course of the war. Spain proved an excellent stomping ground for the Romans, not only in regard to restricting supplies to Hannibal, but also as an arena in which the talents of the young Scipio Africanus could blossom.
The decision of the Senate to appoint Scipio to Spain with proconsular powers in 211BC was for a very simple reason… he was the only viable candidate. Following a number of high-profile Roman deaths at the hands of Carthage, Scipio, despite his tender years, was the natural choice for the position.
Doubts amongst some factions of the Senate to entrust someone so young with such an important task may have been quelled by Scipio’s legendary arrogance (he compared himself to Jupiter) and infectious personality. Indeed, according to renowned historian G.P. Baker, the Senate ‘liked his youth, his courage, his family… and admired his impudence;’ but even still, ‘never before in all the history of Rome had an authority so great been vested in a man so young and inexperienced’.
HasdrubalA coin with an image of Hasdrubal Barca
The Senate’s faith paid off – Scipio set about conquering Spain in an almost Hannibalic manner. After brilliantly taking New Carthage and securing their prized silver mines, Scipio, on the order of the Senate, went to prevent Hasdrubal Barca from crossing into Italy and meeting up with his brother. However, Hasdrubal showed himself worthy of the family name – he sent a decoy force to engage Scipio and slipped over the Alps in with little fuss (having learnt from the mistakes of his brother no doubt).
Despite some resistance in the Senate, Scipio was allowed to go to Africa to end the war once and for all. Just before the decisive battle of Zama, he and Hannibal met face to face and are were said to have been impressed with each other; a factor that may explain why Scipio was reluctant for Rome to pursue the defeated general after Carthage fell. Hannibal
Indeed, at Zama (202BC), Scipio paid Hannibal the ultimate, if rather backhanded, compliment of using Hannibal’s own tactics from the battle of Cannae against him.
Although Zama is universally viewed as the effective end of Carthaginian resistance, by that time the war was already lost and victory for Rome merely a matter of time.
Interestingly, the single most important battle that led to the defeat of Hannibal was one at which he was not even present. The battle of Metaurus (207 BC) not only prevented Hannibal from gaining reinforcements, one of which was his brilliant brother Hasdrubal, it was also the battle that changed public opinion in Rome. Before, defeat had been unimaginable, but victory also looked a long way off. For the first time since the conflict began, the Romans believed that victory was not only obtainable, but likely; they believed that they could not expel Hannibal from Italy, but also push on and conquer Carthage itself.
ZamaThe Battle of Zama
Though the Second Punic War is often boiled down to Hannibal versus Scipio, there were two unsung, and still relatively unknown, generals who turned the table for Rome at Metaurus.
The peculiar and cantankerous Livius and the fearless and obdurate Nero were the men who confronted Hasdrubal on the plateau of St. Angelo (in central Italy), forcing him into a long and stamina-sapping battle, made all the more difficult for Hasdrubal by the roaringly drunk status of his Gaulish mercenaries.
Hasdrubal, a gallant solider to the last, saw his troops were faltering and made one last, forlorn effort by charging directly into the Roman ranks where he was promptly slain.
In one gruelling moment Hannibal had lost his brother, his greatest general, 60,000 troops and the initiative in the war. Cannae had been avenged. The Senate, recognising the importance of the moment, voted three days of thanksgiving for the magnificent triumph.
Hannibal came face to face with the reality of his situation when Nero tossed Hasdrubal’s head into the Carthaginian ranks at Canusium; a triumphant and mocking gesture from an army who had been on the back foot for so long.
Hannibal, like so many others, had failed to bring Rome to her knees. Though it’s interesting to note the myriad of factors that may have counted against him—the blind anti-Roman wrath he inherited from his father, the poor planning of, and lack of reinforcements from, the Carthaginian government, the resolution of Rome and the skill of Africanus—the truth is that he never really stood a chance. Rome’s supplies of troops were inexhaustible when compared to Hannibal’s. Even at Canane there were 5,700 Carthaginian casualties, and considering that he only entered Italy with 26,000, even his great victories were bringing about his eventual demise.
As a personal footnote to the end of the war, Hannibal actually continued to be a thorn in Rome’s side for nearly twenty years after Zama. As a man on the run he became Rome’s public enemy no.1 – some historians have compared Rome’s obsession with catching and killing him to America’s pursuit of Osama Bin Laden post 9/11 – and found himself being entertained at the courts of some of the most exalted leaders in the Mediterranean world. Indeed, Rome’s foreign policy in the post-war period was heavily dictated by other states’ willingness to help them in their pursuit of Hannibal.
Eventually, as the Roman juggernaut continued its inexorable expansion, Hannibal’s friends became fewer and fewer. One of military history’s most colourful characters finally met his end when he poisoned himself in 183BC rather than fall into Roman hands. He (supposedly) left behind these wonderful words, which may well have just, one final time, ruffled a few Roman feathers and, of course, made his father proud:
“Let us relieve the Romans from the anxiety they have so long experienced, since they think it tries their patience too much to wait for an old man’s death”.

A New Jerusalem: Part One

by August 31, 2015

By Ben Potter
“And did those feet, in ancient time,
Walk upon England’s mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England’s pleasant pastures seen.” – William Blake
HenryA desire to divorce his wife led King Henry VIII of England to declare the Church of England independent from the Catholic Church
As a great crusading nation, as a centre of monasticism, as the frontline resistance against the pagan Viking hordes, England had long been a stronghold of Christianity before the day that Henry VIII broke with an obdurate Vatican, ransacked the monasteries and established a church separate from that of Rome – one based on his own unique family values; a church of purity, goodness, trust and devotion.
Before that day and since, England and Christianity have gone together like tea and crumpets; even today, when only 6-12% of Britons regularly attend a Christian service, Queen Elizabeth II is still not only the UK head of state, but also the head of the Anglican Church.
But where did it all begin? What were the humble origins of Christianity’s stronghold in ‘this other Eden’ and, more specifically, what role did the Romans have to play?
Well, obviously the Romans were involved in British affairs long before the advent of Christianity, while Jesus was still only a twinkle in God’s eye.
Though we have evidence of wine amphorae dating back to 120BC – proof that Rome was happy to trade the luxury item with the bibulous Celts – Rome’s first real foray into Albion was under the campaign of Julius Caesar in 55-54BC. Thus, Britain was already firmly under the Latin yoke before the BC/AD changeover.
wineVessels called amphorae were used to transport wine and olive oil.
And, it’s worth noting that, even before Chi-Rhos, Alphas, and Omegas were being daubed all over public monuments, Roman religion was strongly influential on those who lived on that drizzly rock at the edge of the world.
The spiritual malleability of the native population shouldn’t be as surprising as perhaps it is. Not only did Britain have its own pantheon of gods that could be loosely equated to, or assimilated with, Roman gods, but it lacked a unified dogma about those gods’ characters. In other words, whilst Nodens or Andrasta may have been worshipped all over the country, their physical features, powers and even particulars of worship may have differed from tribe to tribe.
The Romans, as was their wont, stepped into this spiritual power vacuum, but were smart enough not to enforce worship of Jupiter, Mars, Venus et al, but instead allow assimilation to occur naturally, or indeed, not at all.
celticThat said, the pagan British gods did not survive totally unmolested. It was common to see native gods given a more Romanesque appearance in their dress and features. Also, many of the incumbent deities were equated with their Roman counterparts and even merged into them, as the following inscription proves: “To the god Mars Nodens, Flavius Blandinus, drill-master, willingly and deservedly fulfilled his vow”.
Such hybrid worship does not seem to have been taken as a slight, but a reasonable and natural compromise. Indeed, rectangular Romano-Celtic temples came into being that were deemed acceptable to both sets of worshippers.
Intriguingly, as the situation developed, Roman soldiers stationed in Britain often took to worshipping the local deities in favour of their Latin counterparts. Thus, the situation was more one of symbiosis than of suppression:
“Roman soldiers made dedications to Celtic gods and rural dwellers erected temples to Roman gods” (D. Watts).
The major caveat to this great, first amendment love-in concerns druidism; a practice outlawed on account of its penchant for human sacrifice. However, by and large, Britain can be said to have been something of a melting pot, a religious hub on the fringes of civilisation.
And thus we come to a different god, one who offered his followers a chance of life after death, who purified with blood, who was born on 25th December of a virgin mother, had twelve followers, who died and was resurrected, whose followers bore the mark of the cross and who was known as the light of the world. Yes, we are, of course, talking about Mithras.
mithrasMithraism, despite being an eastern religion, was popular throughout the empire, particularly with the army and, much like with the pagan Celtic/Roman assimilation, its presence in Britain may have eased the way for its usurper, Christianity.
Britain certainly played some sort of role in Christianity’s origins as it was at York that Constantius I, the Augustus of the west, died, leaving his son Constantine as the leader of the army in the western empire – an army who considered him the natural heir to his father’s title. This is the same man who would become Constantine the Great and would one day unify the divided empire under one flag, one emperor and, crucially, one, capital ‘g’ God.
It has been claimed, and is certainly possible, that Constantine either picked up, or learned about Christianity while in Britain – though it could just have equally been anywhere he’d travelled in the empire. However, some very fanciful British folklore, chronicled by Henry of Huntingdon and Geoffrey of Monmouth, would later claim that Constantine’s mother, St Helena, was actually the daughter of the British King Cole of Colchester (who many suspect was the ‘jolly old soul’ from the nursery rhyme). The figures of King Arthur and even the Tudors themselves are often transplanted into this ridiculous and murky myth; meaning that Henry VIII, the man who rent asunder England and the church of Rome would have, ironically, been a descendent of Constantine himself. Such nonsense, though pleasing, is not worth dwelling on!
Constantine
Constantine sees a vision of the cross
What is more poignant regarding Christianity’s relative popularity in Britain is that, once it became the state religion of the Roman Empire, the ruling classes and the urbanised populations converted swiftly to the new faith. As already mentioned, back in the first and second centuries AD the upper echelons of British Celtic society often willingly and openly embraced Roman ideas and practices (including religious ones). Even still, it was common that, in more rural areas, pagan practices clung on a lot stronger than they did in the towns. Although Britain had fourteen identified churches in the south and only one in the north (Lincoln), the strong and constant military presence in the north of England meant that soldiers, many of whom may have graduated to Christianity from Mithraism, gave the new faith a stronger presence than it may have otherwise had.
Christianity likewise became popular with middle-class opportunists who may have used any pagan persecutions to make a claim for temple lands. It was also extremely well-liked among women, as they were finally able to exert some autonomy. This was because, upon becoming Christian, they no longer had to blindly follow the whims and caprices of their fathers or husbands, but could claim overriding and supreme loyalty to the One True God.

The Emperor, The Usurper, and The Stuck Eagle

by February 25, 2015


By Francesca Leaf, Contributor from Noet, a Classical Wisdom Weekly Partner

If we were to visit Rome in late January of 41 CE we would find it in a liminal phase. Caligula, after proving himself a strong candidate for worst-emperor-ever, had been assassinated by the Praetorian Guard. Rome was now in a unique situation—after nearly a century of Caesars, the Senate could make a bid for power. At first it appeared that this would be the case. Here is Suetonius’ take on the situation:
“The senators were so unanimous in their resolution to assert the liberty of their country, that the consuls assembled them at first not in the usual place of meeting, because it was named after Julius Caesar, but in the Capitol.”
Seems like the Senate wasn’t too fond of the Caesars. So they gathered together and began to debate. Some argued in favor of a monarchy, others a democracy. One thing was clear: none could agree on a suitable candidate for the currently vacant position of leader of Rome. As the arguing continued, the future ruler, Claudius, remained behind the curtains (seriously—he was hiding behind a curtain).
According to the best-known tradition, during the assassination of Caligula, Claudius wisely retired to an apartment. As he was Caligula’s uncle, he feared for his life and thus hid behind the hangings of a door. Despite being a well-educated man, he wasn’t too good at hiding—his feet poked out from the curtain. According to Suetonius, a soldier spotted his protruding feet (if you favor Cassius Dio’s take, it was several soldiers) and yanked him out of hiding. Realizing that it was Claudius, he (or they) hailed him as emperor. Claudius was hesitant to claim the title, but the guards, desiring to protect their very nice jobs, insisted. Claudius eventually relented—after what happened to Caligula, he was probably reluctant to anger them.
The Reluctant Emperor
Needless to say, the Senate was displeased with the Praetorian Guard’s actions. One thing the senators could agree upon was that Claudius just wasn’t the man for the job (as Suetonius wrote, Claudius’ own mother often referred to him as “an abortion of a man, that had been only begun, but never finished, by nature”). But the soldiers were quite insistent that Claudius be named emperor. And soon enough the Senate realized that they were outnumbered and, seeing that their own soldiers had deserted them, decided that their best option was acquiescence. And this is how the Praetorian Guard appointed the next emperor of Rome.
Claudius painting
Claudius, wiser than most gave him credit for, understood that his claim to power was rather shaky. A man of fifty, he had lived long enough to be aware of the Praetorian Guard’s power. He was also intuitive enough to know that, despite appearances, he didn’t have the Senate’s support. They had conspired to kill one emperor. Why not two? Claudius’ first course of action was to curry favor with both parties. In regards to the Senate, he granted amnesty to those who were suspected to be complicate in the assassination of Caligula. He returned confiscated property, released prisoners, and recalled exiles. Next, he bought the loyalty of the Guard with a large donative. Claudius went the extra mile in making this relationship “official”—he minted coins displaying himself clasping hands with a soldier holding a military standard.
One could argue that Claudius’ rise to power exposed the reality of politics in post-Augustan Rome. An individual’s claim to power rested on the whims of his soldiers. Claudius’ ascension marked the first time this became painfully visible, and throughout his reign he went to great lengths to maintain the loyalty of the Praetorian Guard.
Paranoia Ensues
In spite of his attempts to conciliate the Senate and buy the loyalty of the Guard, Claudius’ worldview was dominated by fear and distrust. And so he made a preemptive strike: he ordered the death of men who were qualified to replace him (or, if we’re going with Cassius Dio’s account, Claudius’ wife, Messalina, was behind this).
ClaudiusRome’s elite became nervous. Among the anxious was Annius Vinicianus. Vinicianus had been a key coordinator in Caligula’s assassination and had been opposed to Claudius taking the throne. Naturally, he was concerned that he was next on Claudius’ (or Messalina’s) list. Although he was well-connected, he lacked military power. But he knew someone who had it—the governor of Dalmatia, Lucius Arruntius Camillus Scribonianus.
Scribonianus had the makings of a leader: an impressive family tree and political connections. Tradition has it that his father had once been held in high-esteem by Tiberius (also a candidate for worst-emperor-ever). Plus, he was in command of not one but two legions and auxiliary forces—that’s around 20,000 heavily armed soldiers. Scribonianus, dissatisfied with Claudius, believed that it was time to restore the Republic. He announced his plan. It proved popular—senators and equestrians flocked to his cause.
Scribonianus, endowed with political and military support, probably felt that he couldn’t fail. Believing that Claudius was a coward, he sent him a letter and instructed his troops to prepare to march. Scribonianus’ letter wasn’t too polite. Suetonius describes it as being “a scurrilous, petulant, and threatening letter, desiring him to resign the government, and betake himself to a life of privacy.”
When Claudius received the letter, he was indeed intimidated. However, Scribonianus had underestimated Claudius (or at least an ensconced emperor). Claudius did not “betake himself to a life of privacy.” So, the letter was a failure. But, he still had his legions and auxiliary forces, right? Well, things just didn’t work out for Scribonianus. Here’s what Suetonius has to say:
“Furius Camillus Scribonianus, his lieutenant in Dalmatia, broke into rebellion, but was reduced in the space of five days; the legions which he had seduced from their oath of fidelity relinquishing their purpose, upon an alarm occasioned by ill omens. For when orders were given them to march, to meet their new emperor, the eagles could not be decorated, nor the standards pulled out of the ground, whether it was by accident, or a divine interposition.”
Historically, Roman soldiers viewed their military standards (a pike topped with an eagle) as being imbued with sacred power. While camped, they were even kept in shrines. At the beginning of a campaign, the soldiers would pull the eagles from the ground and carry them with them as they marched. Unfortunately for Scribonianus, the soldiers were unable to unearth the eagles. To the soldiers, this was a bad omen and could only mean one thing—the gods wanted them to remain in Dalmatia. Perhaps the eagle was stuck due to sabotage or tough luck or by the will of Jupiter. Or maybe the soldiers just wanted to avoid the strife of war (Dalmatia was a pretty great place to be stationed). Regardless, the legions turned on Scribonianus. Clearly, he had failed to earn or maintain their loyalty.
And here is how our story ends: Scribonianus, the would-be-usurper, fled to the island of Issa where a) he committed suicide or b) was killed (depending on if you prefer Cassius Dio or Pliny the Younger’s take). Claudius ruled until 54 CE when he was murdered by poison (popular belief is that his final wife, Agrippina, was behind this), allowing Nero to take the throne resulting in a third, but not final, candidate for worst-emperor-ever.

The Battle of Carrhae

by February 23, 2015

The year was 53 BC. It was the first of the battles between the Roman and Persian empires, and one of the most crushing defeats in Roman history.
Bust of Marcus CrassusLeading the Romans was Marcus Licinius Crassus, who was a member of the First Triumvirate and the wealthiest man in Rome (in fact one of the richest men of all time). He, like many before him, had been enticed by the prospect of riches and military glory and so decided to invade Parthia, or modern day north-eastern Iran, despite being sixty years old and hearing impaired.
Additionally, Crassus did not feel obliged to have the official consent of the Senate … and so took his army and marched directly through the deserts of Mesopotamia. It was Carrhae, a small town in modern-day Turkey, where his army clashed with the Parthian opposition, led by Surena. This would be where the famous battle of Carrhae would take place.
Read below to learn about the dramatic and tragic moment in history…
We also have an Aesop’s fable on foolish asses, as well as the next chapter in the Jason and the Argonauts’ myth. He finally retrieves the golden fleece, but how and what agreements does he dangerously make in order for it to happen? Find out below…
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The Battle of Carrhae
By Cam Rea
What made matters worse during the march was that Crassus was not wearing the purple robe that Roman generals normally wear. Instead, he wore a black robe, as if he was leading a funeral procession. He quickly changed after he realized the mishap, however, black may have been more appropriate. As Crassus pressed on, pushing his men harder, the cavalry scouts that were sent ahead came back in fewer numbers. Surena, the Parthian general, had set up an ambush killing many of these scouts. This was Surena’s calling card – the land the Romans were advancing would be the preferred battleground.
But this action tells us something else… Surena was able to spread disinformation via Ariamnes, governor of the province Cappadocia. It was Ariamnes who previously told the Roman general Crassus that it was best to avoid Seleucia, a city on the west bank of the Tigris River, but instead head straight into Parthia. The Parthians have not fully mobilized, Ariamnes said, take advantage quickly because only an advanced guard waits and has been placed solely to check your movements under the command of Surena.
However, that was not the case. As the Roman scouts ventured further ahead of the main body, they soon found themselves in a trap. Those who made it back reported that the enemy was great in number and full of confidence.
Ariamnes’ lie seemed to have gone unnoticed by Crassus, who was excited, impatient, and was making inconsistent decisions. Crassus was obviously overwhelmed by the situation until Cassius, a Roman senator and coincidentally a leading instigator of the plot to kill Julius Caesar, gave him some advice. Cassius suggested that they should form the men into one, shallow long line and that the cavalry should be divided between the two wings. Cassius’ plan seemed like the right strategy to choose.
Roman Battle Formations
However, Crassus disagreed. He decided that it would be best to form the men into one huge hollow square with 12 cohorts on each side and a cavalry detachment next to each cohort. By choosing the hollow square strategy, Crassus felt that it would ensure equal balance along with equal protection. Cassius would take command of one of the wings and Publius, Crassus’ son, would command the other wing. Crassus, himself, would command from the middle of the square. They moved forward in this formation until they came to the Balissus stream.
The men were hot, hungry, thirsty, weak and weary and looked upon the stream as a blessing. The officers advised Crassus it was best to stay next to the stream, set up camp, and allow the men to rest, while a new scouting party could be formed and sent out to gather intelligence on the Parthian order of battle.
Unfortunately for the men, Crassus could not make a sound decision. He agreed that the men should eat and drink, but standing up and staying in formation. Then Crassus changed his mind – yes, the men can eat and drink, so long as they march. However, that was about to change as Crassus, yet again, gave a new order – moveout.
Many of the men likely ate and drank on the move, but equally many could not, because Crassus forced them at a quick pace to keep up with the cavalry.
As Crassus pushed on, the enemy slowly came into sight. Crassus commanded his army to halt and to their surprised eyes the enemy were, “neither so numerous nor so splendidly armed as they had expected.”
Bust of SurenaHowever, looks can be deceiving. What Crassus and his army saw was the front rank of just 1,000 cavalry who were covered in skins and coats. Surena’s main (read: real) force was hidden behind the front ranks.
While the Romans watched in curiosity, Surena gave the order and a thundering sound proceeded forth from the Parthian cavalry. Many unseen drums covered in stretched animal hide with brass bells roared across the field, vibrating Roman armor as well as their hearts. The use of sound as a psychological weapon before battle manipulated human behavior in both the Romans and Parthians, affecting all senses. In other words, the home team is pumped up while the away team is losing confidence quickly.
Plutarch mentions that, “before the Romans had recovered from their consternation at this din, the enemy suddenly dropped the coverings of their armour.” Essentially once the drums roared no more, the Roman army, already physically weak and now discombobulated by the intense sound, were in for another surprise. The Parthian heavy cavalry, otherwise known as a cataphract, were charging towards them, with Surena leading the way.
And as the cataphract thundered across the plain, their coverings dropped from their armor revealing, “helmets and breastplates blazing like fire, their Margianian steel glittering keen and bright, their horses armored with plates of bronze and steel.”
Map of MargianaInterestingly, the Margianian steel came from a Parthian province known as Margiana, located in what is today the country of Turkmenistan, northern Afghanistan and southern Uzbekistan. It was in Margiana, rich in metal resources, where the iron ore was mined, and possibly refined, for metal goods, like weapons and armor. Additionally, the Parthian heavy cavalry was armored in bronze plates, most likely refined from the local Margianian tin and copper.
As the awe-inspiring cataphract closed in, the legionaries locked shields to create a continuous wall. Surena quickly noticed that the Roman line was steady and firm… they were not going to budge. Surena promptly broke off the charge, giving the impression that they lacked confidence in engaging the Romans in a full frontal assault.
However, this was just another ruse.
Margianian steelUnseen to the Romans was the 10,000 Parthian horse archers, behind the ‘retreating’ cataphract charge. These archers immediately enveloped the Romans, firing on them from all sides. Crassus was most likely stunned, but he quickly assessed the situation. His forces were bogged down by unarmored petty horse archers, who were vulnerable to missile attack. Crassus ordered his light infantry to engage them.
But as the light infantry left the safety of the hollow square to engage the enemy, they were quickly showered with arrows. Meanwhile the Parthian horse archers galloped away, causing the light infantry to quickly pull back and crash into the Roman lines seeking safety. The sight, speed, and agility of the Parthian horse archers spooked the Romans, but what really terrified the Romans was the Parthians’ primary weapon, the composite bow…
Stay ‘tuned for the continuation of the Battle of Carrhae next week…
[You can now read part two here:  https://classicalwisdom.com/archive/7-3-2013/ ]

The Assyrian War

by October 3, 2014

By Cam Rea
Northern Iraq, northeast Syria and southeastern Turkey, this was a region once known as Assyria. A nation that established its dominance by unleashing its Iron Army, Assyria commanded the Near East from the 10th century BCE to the 7th century BCE at the tip of the sword. At its apex, Assyria stretched from the borders of Iran to Upper Egypt; the largest and most powerful empire the world had yet seen.
Assyrian Empire
The Assyrians were the first to engulf the region (and then some) under one imperial power… but this empire, like all those before and after, was not to last…

But let’s begin with their rise, before recounting their fall.

The Assyrians were originally Semites who migrated to the upper reaches of the Tigris in northern Mesopotamia. It was there, seemingly undiluted by heterogeneous ethnic elements that they carved out their “warrior nation.”

Though they didn’t start that way. The earliest leaders are recorded as, ‘kings who lived in tents’, and may have been independent Akkadian semi-nomadic pastoralist rulers. However, at some point these kings became fully urbanized and founded the city state of Ashur.
By the 21st century BCE, the role of the Assyrian king had changed. Through ritual purification by both divine and human attendants, the king was considered a mediator between the gods and his subjects. Unlike the pharaoh of Egypt, he was not exactly divine but despotic… and prone to battle.

The only consequence of a war mongering king was…well, war.

Assur God
The Assyrians used military force to punish the enemies of Assur, the city’s Patron God. Battle chariots, cavalry, infantry, archers, and siege engines fought together as an iron juggernaut, guided by the king and utilized as the divine tool of Assur’s wrath.
“States make war, but war also makes states,” writes Bruce D. Porter, a political scientist at Brigham Young University.
Assyria was no exception to this rule and, moreover, the Assyrians benefited greatly at other people’s expense… once they burst forth from their borders.

But, in reality, Assyria’s rise to power was a gradual one.

Assur
Assyria was not unlike its city-state counterparts that dotted Mesopotamia, with its capital Assur located on the Tigris River. Additionally, Assyria straddled important trade routes that connected them with the Egyptians, the Hittites, and the Mittani, where traders spread the use of writing in the form of the Mesopotamian cuneiform script. It was those trade routes, however, that the powers just listed sought to control.
While Assyria benefited from these marketable channels, Assyria’s economic base was still insufficient. The people depended on agriculture, which in turn relied on the fortunes of the Tigris River. But subduing the Tigris was anything but easy. The Tigris River, unlike the Nile, was not a gentle river; violent floods threatened Assyria’s way of life, requiring the need for major irrigation projects.

This was problematic, for Assyria lacked manpower to build or maintain such projects.

Thus, war, conquest, and the enslavement of peoples, alleviated the problem. With fresh new slaves and resources being brought in to help maintain the Assyrian way of life, the Assyrians were able to focus on other needs… such as iron.

Iron weapons
Assyria possessed few easily available iron deposits for the manufacture of weapons. It also lacked stone for its building projects, as well as wood (with the one exception of the weakly thin palm wood). Assyria was, for the most part, economically stagnant.
With Assyria lacking resources, the need to expand its borders was a necessity. But they had one problem; they were checked by their more powerful neighbor, Mitanni, to which they were vassals until 1360 BCE.
Then Mitanni fell into civil war, dividing them and allowing neighboring powers, such as the Assyrians and the Hittites, to take advantage of the situation. The Mitanni Kingdom was dismantled in 1360 BCE. The remaining traces of the once intimidating Mitannis, the mini state of Hanigalbat, was then finally annihilated in 1345 BCE by Assyria.
Zagros Mountains
With the Mitanni power removed, Assyria focused on their troublesome eastern neighbors, barbarians living in the Zagros Mountains. King Tukulti-Ninurta I (1244-1208) BCE subdued them, taking thousands of prisoners, before turning his attentions to the Kassite king of Babylon, who was defeated in 1235 BCE. He then ruled over Babylon as king for seven years, taking on the old title “King of Sumer and Akkad”, first used by Sargon of Akkad.
With a large domain under their control, Assyria’s economic power centered on the three major cities of Nimrud, Nineveh, and Ashur, located on the Tigris River in northwestern Iraq.

However all good things must end; Tukulti-Ninurta was murdered by his son. With his death, Assyria’s borders rapidly receded.

With little goods and resources to utilize, the Assyrians remained mostly dormant during the “Late Bronze Age collapse,” which caused a domino effect throughout the Near East. With the collapse or partial collapse of the major civilizations, the vital trade routes were also affected, causing further economic regression in Assyria.

But from that low moment, Assyria began its slow three-hundred-year rise to power. It really only had one way to go! Under the direction of a line of capable successive kings, Assyria came onto the world stage, establishing an empire in the ninth century BCE.
Assryian War
However, a lack of resources and manpower stubbornly persisted, causing economic stagnation… and Assyria sought to fill this void by engulfing its neighbors via violently political means. Assyria was already firmly familiar with the art of war, and as time progressed (even when the borders fluctuated) Assyria only grew smarter and stronger militarily due to centuries of constant hostilities.
With each warrior generation, learning from the last, it was just a matter of time until Assyria felt comfortable enough to unleash its military machine onto the Near East.

That time came in 745 BCE, when Tiglath-Pileser III seized the Assyrian throne during a civil war and murdered the royal family.

Tiglath-Pilser II
While some Assyrian kings in the past had no issue with subjugating large tracts of land, they were never able to hold onto their newly found possessions for long… this was not the case with Tiglath-Pilser II.
Once king, he reformed the military, and turned it into a weapon of mass destruction, one of which would not been seen again until the time of Rome. The Assyrian army was professional and efficient in conquering. They confiscated both slave power and resources like never before, bringing both fear and torture to keep the spirits of the subjugated low. Any nation not within the sphere of Assyria’s influence had to think twice about confronting the amassing empire.
However, like all empires, there is a time when it must end.

What once was thought unstoppable in its unquenched quest to consume people and material fell in 605 BCE.

This was partially due to over-expansion, and its consequence, the inability to safeguard its borders. Their permeable boundaries opened Assyria to external invasions, which were able to penetrate, raid, and then leave unnoticed and without punishment.

While Assyria was struggling with external threats, internal troubles also boiled to a point. Those who pondered rebellion took action, politically shocking the empire to the core, and eventually causing its ultimate collapse.
In the end, the Assyrian state existed for approximately nineteen centuries (c. 2500 BC to 605 BC), spanning the Early Bronze Age through to the late Iron Age. But its duration and power didn’t manage to stop the tides of history… for no empire can last forever…