university of copenhagen
Josephus' Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman Historiography
Friis, Martin
Publication date:
2015
Citation for published version (APA):
Friis, M. (2015). Josephus' Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman Historiography. København: Det Teologiske
Fakultet. (Publikationer fra Det Teologiske Fakultet, Vol. 58).
Download date: 16. Jun. 2017
MARTIN FRIIS
ISBN 978-87-91838-93-4
MARTIN FRIIS
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman Historiography
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman Historiography
Publikationer fra Det Teologiske Fakultet
58
MARTIN FRIIS
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and
Greco-Roman Historiography
MARTIN FRIIS
ISBN 978-87-91838-93-4
MARTIN FRIIS
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman Historiography
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman Historiography
Publikationer fra Det Teologiske Fakultet
58
MARTIN FRIIS
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and
Greco-Roman Historiography
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11
and Greco-Roman Historiography
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11
and Greco-Roman Historiography
Martin Friis
To my parents
PhD Dissertation
Department of Biblical Studies
Faculty of Theology, University of Copenhagen
Supervisors: Troels Engberg-Pedersen and Jesper Høgenhaven
2015
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman Historiography
Publikationer fra Det Teologiske Fakultet 58
Licensed under CreativeCommons
Martin Friis
ISBN: 978-87-91838-93-4 (print)
ISBN: 978-87-91838-97-2 (pdf)
Published by:
Faculty of Theology
University of Copenhagen
Købmagergade 44-46
1150 Copenhagen K
www.teol.ku.dk
Printing and binding by:
Grafisk – Københavns Universitet
Københavns Universitet 2015
The public defense will be held on April 24, 2015 from 13:15 at the Faculty
of Theology, University of Copenhagen, Købmagergade 44-46, 1150
Copenhagen K.
CONTENTS
Acknowledgements ...................................................................................VII
Abbreviations .......................................................................................... VIII
CHAPTER 1
Introduction: The Antiquities and Ancient Historiography
1.1. Introductory
11
1.2. A Jewish History for a Non-Jewish Audience
11
1.2.1. Flavius Josephus and his works ................................................... 11
1.2.2. The Antiquities and ancient historiography ................................. 13
1.2.3. Josephus’ aim with and intended audience for the Antiquities .... 16
1.2.4. Aim and outline of this dissertation ............................................. 19
1.3. A Handful of Histories? The diversity of ancient histories
21
1.3.1. Differences in nomenclature ........................................................ 21
1.3.2. Differences in scope and subject matter ...................................... 23
1.3.3. Different types of historians ......................................................... 26
1.4. Modern scholarship on ancient historiography
27
1.4.1. Brief survey of seminal contributions .......................................... 27
1.4.2. Ancient histories, modern discussions ......................................... 30
1.5. Concluding remarks
41
CHAPTER 2
Setting the Stage for History: Ways of Introduction
2.1. Introductory
43
2.2. ‘Allow me to introduce myself…’: Ways of self-introduction
43
2.2.1. Manners of self-presentation in ancient histories ........................ 43
2.2.2. Josephus’ manner of self-introduction in his histories ................ 45
2.3. ‘… and my work’: The historian and his chosen subject matter
47
2.3.1. The importance of choosing a proper subject matter ................... 47
2.3.2. The ancient historians on the subject matter of their works ........ 49
2.4. Concluding remarks
60
CHAPTER 3
A Matter of Persuasion: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
3.1. Introductory
61
3.2. Ancient literary critics on the nature of ancient histories
61
3.2.1 History 101: Historiography and related ancient genres .............. 61
3.2.2. The importance of proper research .............................................. 64
3.3. The historian and his personal experience
69
3.3.1. Claims to personal experience amongst the ancient historians .... 69
3.3.2. Josephus’ claims to personal experience ..................................... 74
3.4. The historian and the oral tradition
78
3.4.1. References to oral sources in ancient historiography .................. 78
3.4.2. Josephus on oral sources and hearsay .......................................... 81
3.5. The historian and his written sources
82
3.5.1. Introduction: Josephus on the issue of written sources ................ 82
3.5.2. The ancient historians on epigraphic material ............................. 90
3.5.3. The ancient historians on documentary material ......................... 94
3.5.4. Josephus’ references to the Scriptures ....................................... 101
3.6. Concluding remarks
112
CHAPTER 4
The Historian and His Predecessors: Josephus and his Colleagues
4.1. Introductory
115
4.2. Ancient literary critics on the works of specific historians
115
4.2.1. The stylistic impact of certain historians ................................... 115
4.2.2. Various reasons for censure ....................................................... 117
4.3. The ancient historian and his predecessors
122
4.3.1. Herodotus and Thucydides on Homer ....................................... 122
4.3.2. The ancient historians on the works of their colleagues ............ 127
4.3.3. Josephus on his Greco-Roman predecessors ............................. 142
4.4. Concluding remarks
151
CHAPTER 5
A Story for the Ages: Josephus’ Authorial Presence
5.1. Introductory
153
5.2. Everything in order: Ways of arrangement
153
5.2.1. Ancient literary critics on the importance of arrangement ........ 153
5.2.2. Arrangement and chronology in ancient histories ..................... 154
5.2.3. Once more, from the top: Beginnings and myths ...................... 163
5.2.4. Making sense of history: Reasoning and (divine) causation ..... 174
5.3. Josephus’ use of authorial intrusions
182
5.3.1. “As I have written…”: Use of cross-references ......................... 182
5.3.2. “Allow me to explain…”: Explanatory intrusions ..................... 186
5.3.3. Lessons from history: Josephus on the human condition .......... 190
5.4. Concluding remarks
192
Conclusions
194
Summary
199
Dansk sammenfatning
201
Bibliography
203
Primary sources .................................................................................... 203
Secondary literature ............................................................................. 205
VII
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Numerous individuals have contributed greatly to the development of this
dissertation. I am particularly beholden to my supervisors Jesper
Høgenhaven and Troels Engberg-Pedersen for their helpful guidance
throughout all phases of my research. The many talks I had with Jesper
were essential for the initial conception of the project as a whole. Similarly,
I am greatly indebted to Troels for his willingness to step in as my
supervisor during the third and final year of the project. The many
stimulating talks I had with him were of much benefit to me during the
writing stage of this dissertation. I am very grateful for Jesper’s and Troels’
continued keen interest in the project and for their many insightful and
stimulating comments along the way.
I am also greatly indebted to a number of scholars whom I had the
pleasure of meeting during my stay at Oriel College, University of Oxford,
in the autumn of 2012. Chief among them is John Barton who kindly
agreed to become my supervisor during my stay there. Similarly, I am also
deeply greatful for the assistance provided to me by Martin Goodman and
Christopher Pelling. The numerous conversations I had with these three
scholars were of crucial importance to me at a critical stage in the
development of this dissertation. I should also like to thank a number of
other Oxford-based scholars, including Katherine Clarke, Simon
Hornblower, Fergus Millar and Tessa Rajak, for their willingness to
converse with me on a variety of issues pertaining to this dissertation.
Whatever shortcomings there may be in the following analysis are, of
course, in no way attributable to any of these individuals.
Finally, I should also like to thank my Danish colleagues, friends and
family for their expressed interest in the project. The composition and
eventual completion of this dissertation would not have been possible
without their backing and encouragements.
The dissertation is dedicated to my parents as but a small token of my
gratitude to them in recognition of all their continued love and support.
Martin Friis
Copenhagen, January 5, 2015
VIII
ABBREVIATIONS
Josephus’ works are abbreviated as follows: J.W. for The Jewish War (la.
Bellum judaicum), Ant. for the Jewish Antiquities (la. Antiquitates
judaicae), Life for The Life (la. Vita) and Ag. Ap. for Against Apion (la.
Contra Apionem) (cf. The SBL Handbook of Style, second edition, 2014,
§8.3.7, 79).
The titles of the ancient works are all abbreviated according to the
guidelines set forth in the The SBL Handbook of Style, second edition,
2014, 141-68. The abbreviation of titles and authors not mentioned therein
follow the recommendations set forth in The Oxford Classical Dictionary.
Fourth edition (2012).
AJPhil
ANRW
BBR
CA
CQ
CUP
EUP
FGrHist
HRR
HSCP
HUCA
HUP
JAOS
JBL
JJS
JHS
JHUP
JQR
JRS
JSJ
JSP
JTS
LCL
LSJ
American Journal of Philology (Baltimore, 1880-)
Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt (Berlin & New
York, 1972-)
Bulletin for Biblical Research (Eisenbrauns, 1991-)
Classical Antiquity (California, 1968-)
The Classical Quarterly (Cambridge, 1907-)
Cambridge University Press
Edinburgh University Press
F. Jacoby et al., Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker
(Berlin, 1923-58; Leiden 1994-)
H. Peter, Historiocorum Romanorum Reliquiae (Leipzig:
Teubner, 1870 and 1906)
Harvard Studies in Classical Philology (Harvard, 1890-)
Hebrew Union College Annual (Hebrew Union College, 1924-)
Harvard University Press
Journal of the American Oriental Society (Michigan, 1843-)
Journal of Biblical Literature (SBL, 1890-)
Journal of Jewish Studies (Oxford Centre for Hebrew and
Jewish Studies, 1976-)
The Journal of Hellenic Studies (Cambridge, 1880-)
The Johns Hopkins University Press
Jewish Quarterly Review (Pensylvania, 1889-)
Journal of Roman Studies (Cambridge, 1911-)
Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and
Roman Period (Leiden, 1970-)
Journal for the Study of Pseudepigrapha (Sheffield, 1987-)
Journal of Theological Studies (Oxford, 1899-)
Loeb Classical Library
H. G. Liddell, R. Scott and H. S. Jones, A Greek-English
Lexicon, 9th ed. with revised supplement (Oxford, 1982)
IX
LXX
NTS
OCD
OUP
PCPS
PUP
RRJ
SAP
UEP
UNCP
WSUP
A. Rahlfs and R. Hanhart, eds., Septuaginta. Editio Altera.
(Stuttgart, 2006)
New Testament Studies (Cambridge, 1954-)
Hornblower, S., A, Spawforth and E. Eidinow, eds., The Oxford
Classical Dictionary. Fourth edition (Oxford, OUP 2012)
Oxford University Press
Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society
(Cambridge, 1882-)
Princeton University Press
Review of Rabbinic Judaism (Leiden, 1998-)
Sheffield Academic Press
University of Exeter Press
University of North Carolina Press
Wayne State University Press
X
CHAPTER 1
INTRODUCTION
THE ANTIQUITIES AND ANCIENT HISTORIOGRAPHY
1.1 . INTRODUCTORY
This dissertation demonstrates that Josephus’ literary strategy in the first
eleven books of the Antiquities is closely comparable to those of several
ancient Greco-Roman historians. The present chapter provides an overview
of recent scholarship on the Antiquities as well as recent developments
within studies on ancient Greco-Roman historiography. The next section
has three subsections. Following on a brief introduction to Josephus and his
works (1.2.1), the next subsections outline recent scholarship on the
Antiquities with particular emphasis on the relationship between this work
and other ancient histories (1.2.2) and Josephus’ aim and intended audience
of the Antiquities (1.2.3). The final subsection then specifies the overall
scope and aim of the dissertation as well as the specific content of
subsequent chapters (1.2.4).
The immediately following section opens with an outline of the sheer
diversity of ancient Greco-Roman histories (1.3). This will illustrate how
there is ample room for a work such as Josephus’ Antiquities within the
field of ancient historiography. The next section provides an analysis of
developments in the twentieth century within the study on ancient GrecoRoman historiography (1.4.1) and an overview of recent discussions on the
generic classification of ancient histories (1.4.2).
1.2. A JEWISH HISTORY FOR A NON-JEWISH AUDIENCE
1.2.1. Flavius Josephus and his works
Flavius Josephus (c. 37–100 CE) ranks among the most important and
prolific Jewish1 authors of the first century CE. In chronological order, his
bibliography consists of the following four works: his monograph on the
Jewish War (The Jewish War) in seven books published around 73/74 CE,
a lengthy account of the previous history of the Jewish people (The Jewish
Antiquities)2 in twenty books written over a period of approximately twenty
years and published in c. 93 CE3, as well as a short autobiography (The
On this and related terms (including Josephus’ terminology), see Cohen 1994 and
1999, 69-106; Goodman 2005; 2007b, and 2007c; Mason 2004, xiii, n. 1 and 2007;
Miller 2010 and 2012; Schwartz 2005 and 2007a, and Williams 1997, 252-3. Of
particular relevance for the present study is Spilsbury 1998, 36-42.
2
The title of this work varies. Brill’s Josephus project, for instance, adheres to the
alternative title The Judean Antiquities (cf. Mason 2004, xiii, n. 1). In order to avoid
confusion (and for the sake of brevity), in what follows, the work will be simply
referred as the Antiquities.
3
On the dating of the Antiquities, see Bilde 1988, 103-4 and Mason 2004, xvii, n. 3.
1
12
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
Life) and an apologetic essay in two books (Against Apion), both of which
were published after the Antiquities around the turn of the century.4
Josephus’ works were all published in Greek.5 By his own account,
however, his monograph on the Jewish War was originally written in his
native tongue, Aramaic, and later translated by the help of assistants (cf.
J.W. 1.3).6 No such linguistic assistance is mentioned in any of the
subsequent works (cf. Rajak 1983, 63, n. 49 and ibid., 233). H. St. J.
Thackeray posits that Josephus might have made use of translators in the
Antiquities as well.7 This supposition has, however, been heavily criticized
by several subsequent scholars.8 In general, we have sufficient reason to
assume that during his stay in Rome Josephus could have attained at least
some proficiency in Greek (e.g. Ant. 20.263 and Ap. 1.50, cf. Rajak 1983,
46-8). Whatever familiarity he might have had with Latin and Latin
literature is, however, open to conjecture, since he himself does not
comment on this issue (compare Ant. rom. 1.6.2).9
Josephus’ works have proven highly useful for our understanding of the
history of the Jewish people and the socio-political developments in
Palestine in the Hellenistic period. His historical works from Ant. 12 and
through to J.W. 7 constitute one of the principal extant sources for our
knowledge of the period from the death of Philip II of Macedon in 336
BCE to the end of the Jewish war in 73 CE. Similarly, his autobiography
and his essay are immensely valuable as evidence for the self-perception of
Jews and their relationship to their Western neighbours in the first century
CE.10 Finally (and for our present concerns, most importantly), in the first
4
On the dating of the individual works, see Bilde 1988, 79 (on The Jewish War); 103-4
(on The Antiquities); 104-6 (on Life), and 113 (Against Apion).
5
On Greek as the lingua franca during the Hellenistic age, see Kaimio 1979, Rajak
1983, 46-64, and Swain 1996, 17-42.
6
On the Aramaic version, see Attridge 1984, 193, n. 16 and Sterling 1992, 234, n. 43.
7
Cf. Thackeray 1967a, 100-24 and 1967b, xiv-xvii, similarly Schutt 1961, 59-78.
8
E.g. Attridge 1976, 39; Bilde 1983, 34-6 and 1988, 132-3; Feldman 1998a, 178, n. 23,
and Rajak 1983, 233-8.
9
Cf. Foakes Jackson 1930, 249 and Thackeray 1967a, 118-20, see, however, Mason
2004, xix; Siegert 2005; Sievers 2013, and Ward 2007, compare also Brüne 1981, 175-7
and Millar 2006. In the latter half of the Antiquities, Josephus does, however, refer to
Latin authors such as Livy and Strabo (e.g. Ant. 14.68). More on this below (4.3.3).
10
On Jewish-Roman relations in this period, see Feldman 1998a, 46-50; Baldson 1979
passim; Goodman 1998b; 2007a; 2007d and 2007e; de Lange 1978; Lightstone 2011;
Rabello 1980; Rajak 2001a passim; Schwartz 2001 and 2010; Whittaker 1984, 1-130,
and Williams 1998a and 1998b. As for Josephus’ own social standing in Rome, some
scholars argue that he was treated as a foreigner and as one who was far remove from
all circles of power (e.g. Cotton-Eck 2005 and Price 2005b). Others, however, maintain
that he might have enjoyed closer ties with important figures in Roman high society
(e.g. Curran 2011 and Mason 2010d). For more on this topic, see Bowersock 2005 and
Goodman 1994.
Chapter 1: The Antiquities and ancient historiography
13
eleven books of Antiquities, Josephus provides a detailed account of the
content of the historical books of the Hebrew Bible. For this reason, this
part of the work has been frequently associated with the term ‘Rewritten
Bible’/’Rewritten Scripture’.11 It is therefore unsurprising that recent
scholarship on this part of the work has focused almost exclusively on
Josephus’ rewriting tendencies.12
In general, however, S. Mason has recently argued that previous
scholarship on Josephus (and the Antiquities in particular) lacked an
interest in his capacities as an historian and author. For they did not deal
‘systematically with Josephus’ literary program in its context’ (Mason
2004, xvi). By contrast, more recent scholarship ‘tries to interpret Josephus
in the standard sense of that verb: to read each part of his narratives in
relation to the whole’ (ibid.). Yet, even ‘here there is considerable
variation, from purely literary studies to those that concern themselves with
Josephus’ first audience, in the vein of the “new historicism”’ (ibid.).
Mason here highlights the contributions of H. Attridge (1976), L. H.
Feldman (various), P. Bilde (1988) and G. E. Sterling (1992), and
concludes that ‘(a)ll of this activity highlights the fact that we are now
beginning, after nearly two millennia of acquaintance with Josephus, to ask
about the shape, coherence, and significance of the Antiquities as a
composition’ (ibid., xvi, also 2010b, 103-4).
1.2.2. The Antiquities and ancient historiography
Josephus is typically categorised as an ancient historian. Yet, surprisingly,
only rarely has the first part of the Antiquities been analysed as a genuinely
historical work. Studies of Josephus’ works have mainly focused on his
description of the events in Palestine in the Hellenistic period from the rise
11
Cf. Vermes 1973, 75-95, also Spilsbury 1998, 15-6, and Sterling 1992, 257-8. Recent
studies of the term (and the works commonly associated with it) include Crawford
2008, Laato-van Ruiten 2008 and Zsengellér 2014.
12
E.g. Bilde 1988; Feldman 1998a; 1998b and 2004, and Spilsbury 1998 and 2005. For
comprehensive outlines of the history of scholarship on Josephus in general, see Bilde
1988, 123-71 and Mason 2004, xiii-xvi. By way of comparison, classicists typically
only display a limited interest in his works (see, however, Luce 2011 and Marincola
2004 passim). When they do, they often place him on the fringe of the established
historiographical tradition. Jacoby, for instance, counted him alongside such other
ethnographers as Justus of Tiberias and Arrian in his Parthica (e.g. Jacoby 1956b, 47).
Similarly, in anthologies, Josephus is often grouped together with other Jewish
historians (e.g. Bolin 1999; Hornblower 1994b, 51-2, and Sterling 2007). In general,
Chapman laments the fact that ‘many classicists have not read his (sc. Josephus’) texts’
(Chapman 2009, 327, also Beard 2003, 543-8). Similarly, as she points out, ‘modern
classics doctoral programs have inspired very few dissertations relating to Josephus, in
contrast with the many treating the historiography of Herodotus, Thucydides, Livy, and
Tacitus’ (ibid.).
14
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
of the Ptolemaic kingdom and through to the aftermath of the Jewish War,
which corresponds to the content of the twelfth book of the Antiquities and
through to the seventh book of The Jewish War. The detailed manner in
which he describes this period lends itself well to analyses of his capacity
as a critically competent historian.13 As we shall see, however, this is also
true for his portrayal of the preceding period in the first half of the
Antiquities, which Josephus himself seems to have considered an intrinsic
part of his overall historical chronicle.14 For, as is the case with his
monograph on the Jewish War and the second half of the Antiquities, the
first half of the latter work is just as firmly rooted within the literary
tradition of ancient Greco-Roman historiography.
A few scholars have previously touched upon the historiographical
aspects of Ant. 1-11, if only to a limited extent. For instance, Feldman, who
argues in his 1982 article on Josephus’ portrait of Saul that ‘no systematic
study has yet been made of Josephus’ historiographical methods as seen in
this portion of the Antiquities’ (Feldman 1982, 45), might well have
intended to rectify this deficiency in that article. His analysis, however, is
very brief and narrowly focused on the differences between the Isocratean
and Aristotelian schools of thought (cf. ibid., 46-52).15 Similarly, in his
1986 monograph (a revision of his 1981 doctoral dissertation), P. V.
Varneda seeks to outline and analyse Josephus’ overall historiographical
method. The monograph covers both works concomitantly with particular
emphasis on Josephus’ accounts of causes as well as his narrative style, and
with only a passing interest in his many different methods of selfpresentation as an historian.
In general, most scholars argue that Josephus’ literary endeavour in the
Antiquities is most comparable to that of other Near-Eastern historians like
Artapanus, Demetrius, Eupolemus, Pseudo-Eupolemus, Pseudo-Philo and
Nicolaus of Damascus.16 Bilde points out that there are many stylistic
similarities between Josephus’ works and those of Thucydides and
Polybius and he argues that ‘(f)rom the point of view of language, style and
E.g. Bilde 1983 (consider, however, N. Hyldahl’s response in Hyldahl 1985 and
Bilde’s subsequent reply in Bilde 1985); Lindner 1972; Mader 2000; Schutt 1961, and
Schwartz 1990.
14
On the structure of the Antiquities as a whole, see Bilde 1988, 89-92; Mason 2004,
xx-xxii; Thackeray 1967a, 58, and Sterling 1992, 248-9. To judge from his statements
in Ag. Ap. 1.1-2, it would appear, however, that he had not succeeded in convincing his
readers that the Jewish people had a rich history worthy of being read and studied in its
own right. More on this topic, see Haaland 2011, Barclay 2005 and 2013, xxii-xxiii.
15
For a recent study of Isocrates’ influence and ancient historiography, see Marincola
2014.
16
E.g. Feldman 1996 and 1998a, 20-3; Foakes Jackson 1930, 255-6; Schutt 1961, 7992; Sterling 1992, 263-82, and Wacholder 1974, 52-7. For more on the works of
Eupolemus and Nicolaus, see Wacholder 1974 and 1962, respectively.
13
Chapter 1: The Antiquities and ancient historiography
15
form, Josephus belongs to Greek and Hellenistic literature, and as a writer
he belongs to Greco-Roman historiography’ (Bilde 1988, 202). Yet, in light
of his implied intentions with the work, ‘he is to be related closer to Old
Testament and Jewish tradition than to Hellenistic literature and
historiography’ (ibid., 205). This attitude echoes that of Rajak who argues
that the similarity between Josephus’ Antiquities and the works of the
Greco-Roman historians ‘is a superifical (sic) one’ (2001b, 245). For, ‘(i)n
a variety of respects, Josephus is performing a task different from the
Greek and Roman writers’ (ibid.). Sterling voices similar sentiments in his
analysis of Josephus’ works and argues that he exhibits closer ties with
Near-Eastern non-Jewish historians, such as Hecataeus, Berossus and
Manetho, and the aforementioned Jewish historians than with Western
historians such as Thucydides, Polybius and Dionysius (cf. Sterling 1992,
238, 244-5 and 258-90, similarly 2007).17
To be sure, scholars have pointed to the similarities between Josephus’
work and those of his Western colleagues. For instance, Thackeray has
argued that Ant. 17-9 ‘betray the idiosyncrasies and pedantic tricks of a
hack, an imitator of Thucydides’ (Thackeray 1967a, 108, also 1967b, xv).
Significantly, however, none of these ‘tricks’ are (in Thackeray’s opinion)
attributable to Josephus himself but rather to his aforementioned
anonymous assistant, who may also have been at work elsewhere in the
work, such as in the account (in Ant. 4.54-6) of how the rebellious Korah
and his followers were consumed by a mighty fire (cf. Thackeray 1967a,
113-4, compare Brüne 1981, 161-4).18 Similarly, several scholars have
compared Josephus’ work with Dionysius’ Roman Antiquities.19 In most
cases, however, they only point out the most obvious parallels between
these works, such as their matching titles and comparable lengths of twenty
17
Sterling himself distinguishes between an Occidental and Oriental literary tradition
(e.g. Sterling 1992, 244-5), and argues that in contrast to The Jewish War, the
Antiquities ‘stands in a Near Eastern tradition of historiography which emphasizes
native traditions’ (ibid., 245).
18
On at least one occasion in his LCL edition, R. Marcus also points to the similarities
between this work and Herodotus’ Histories (cf. Marcus 1966, 329, n. b, see also Brüne
1981, 164-8). Likewise, Brüne notes that on various occasions Josephus’ choice of
phrasing is reminiscent of that of other ancient Greek authors including Xenophon and
Polybius (cf. Brüne 1981, 168-75). Similarly, other scholars have provided comparisons
between Josephus and Polybius. Yet, they primarily focus on the similarities between
Polybius’ work and Josephus’ attitude towards Rome as expressed in The Jewish War
and the latter half of the Antiquities (cf. Cohen 1982, Gruen 2011 and Walbank 2006d).
19
E.g. Attridge 1976, 53-7, 159-64 and 170-6; 1984, 217; Cohen 2002, 25-6; Feldman
1982, 51-2; 1998a, 7-8; Foakes Jackson 1930, 247-7; Momigliano 1978, 16 and 19;
Sterling 1992, 284-90; Thackeray 1967a, 56-7 and 1967b, ix-x, and van Unnik 1978,
37-8. Shutt, for instance, argued that Josephus’ literary style in the Antiquities was
highly influenced by that of Dionysius (Shutt 1961, 97-101), compare, however,
Ladouceur 1983.
16
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
books each.20 Sterling, for instance, argues that Josephus deliberately
exploited him ‘or the school that he represents formally – just as the
Hellenistic Jewish historians had utilized different Hellenistic traditions –
but maintained his distance when he was forced to declare his own
allegiances’ (ibid., 290).
In general, whatever similarities there may be between Josephus’
work(s) and those of the Greco-Roman historians, scholars typically regard
as inconsequential. This dissertation will, however, argue that Josephus’
manner of self-presentation as an historian in Ant. 1-11 is entirely
consistent with those of his Western colleagues and therefore worthy of
being studied in its own right. It places him directly among the great
historians of the Greco-Roman canon.
1.2.3. Josephus’ aim with and intended audience for the Antiquities
The identity of Josephus’ intended audience remains one of the most
frequently debated topics in recent scholarship on the Antiquities.21
A small minority of scholars have argued that the work was primarily
aimed at diaspora Jews.22 Yet, in light of the fact that Josephus frequently
comments on the most basic aspects of Jewish culture and religious beliefs,
it would appear that the work was aimed at an audience that was not
already well versed in these matters. For, as Mason writes, ‘(t)hroughout
the entire book, he seems reflexively aware of the needs of gentile readers,
and he does not assume any significant knowledge of Judean laws,
calendar, or customs’ (Mason 2004, xix, also 1998, 79-80, similarly
Sterling 1992, 298). To be sure, Josephus might well have included a
Jewish audience amongst the potential readers of the work (e.g. Ant. 4.1967 and 10.210). Yet, as Bilde concludes, ‘it is completely senseless to
imagine that they were the primary target of the work’ (Bilde 1988, 102).
Therefore, most scholars assume – rightly, to my mind – that the
Antiquities was primarily aimed at a non-Jewish audience.
Some argue that the work was primarily intended for Greeks living in
Greek cities of the Diaspora. Rajak, for instance, notes that there was a
general ‘wilful ignorance about the Jews’ (Rajak 2001b, 253), and that it
‘was this cast of mind which Josephus had set himself to shake when he
presented the historical portions of the Bible in Greek dress, as an
20
Of the aforementioned studies, the most substantial comparative analyses of the
parallels between these works are to be found in Attridge 1976, Feldman 1998a and
Thackeray 1967a.
21
On the intended readers of The Jewish War, see Bilde 1988, 75-8; Laqueur 1920,
126-8; Mason 1998b, 72-9; Momigliano 1990c, 26; Rajak 1983, 195-222, and
Thackeray 1967a, 27-9 and 1989, x-xv.
22
E.g. Laqueuer 1970, 158-61; Migliario 1981, 92; 96, and 136, and Nodet 2007, 104.
Chapter 1: The Antiquities and ancient historiography
17
‘archaeology’, to the attention of Greek readers’ (ibid., also 1983, 226 and
228; 2005, 80-1, and Thackeray 1967b, viii).
Other scholars, however, have suggested that the work was aimed
(almost) exclusively at a Roman audience. As early as 1925, S. J. Case
argued that the Antiquities was aimed at the ruling elite in Rome in
anticipation of the animosity levelled against Jews under Domitian (cf.
Case 1925). This assumption was, however, heavily criticised by
subsequent scholars (e.g. Sterling 1992, 304). Bilde, for instance, maintains
that the Antiquities (unlike The Jewish War) ‘is hardly primarily addressed
to the government and ruling class in Rome, although this audience also
plays a role for Josephus in Ant.’ (Bilde 1988, 102, also 103). In recent
years, however, the notion that Josephus may have had a more or less
specific set of Roman readers in mind has been restated by certain scholars,
most prominently by Mason.23
Finally, it has been suggested that the Antiquities was aimed at an allinclusive non-Jewish audience consisting of both Greeks and Romans.
Thus, Bilde proposes that the work was ‘addressed to two wide circles of
readers in the Greco-Roman world’ (Bilde 1988, 102), one of which was
comprised of ‘the vast non-Jewish public which was neutral towards the
Jews and Judaism’ (ibid., 102-3), whereas the other consisted of ‘the
numerous and influential circles which were favourably disposed towards
and interested in Judaism’ (ibid., 103). In this way, the work was designed
to serve two complimentary functions as both an apology aimed at the
former group and a missionary statement aimed at the latter (cf. ibid.).24
Rajak, Bilde and Sterling all seem to argue that there is a discernible rift
between Josephus’ literary style in the Antiquities and his authorial
intentions with the work. As Thackeray notes, ‘the recent war had
doubtless created a demand for such a work. Sculptures on the arch of Titus
would serve to arouse curiosity in Rome concerning the history of this
ubiquitous race, whose religious influence was already making itself felt in
every household’ (Thackeray 1967a, 55-6, referencing Ag. Ap. 2.284).
Scholars, however, frequently point out that in the first century CE the
Jewish people had become the object not only of curiosity, but also of
animosity or even outright hostility (e.g. Schäfer 1998 and Goodman
2007g, 452-4 and 462-8). They therefore typically argue that Josephus had
intended that his Antiquities should serve a distinctly apologetic purpose as
23
E.g. Mason 1994; 1998, 95-101; 2003; 2004, xx, and 2010c, 89-92, also Cotton and
Eck 2005.
24
Similar proposals have been put forward by several other scholars, e.g. Spilsbury
1998, 16-22 and 114; Sterling 1992, 19 and 298-302, and Schwartz 1990, 177, n. 24,
198-200 and 209.
18
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
a defence of the customs, history and overall value of his native people.25
As Sterling writes,
Rather than living in comparative isolation from the Greco-Roman world, Josephos
(sic) presents a Judaism that interacts with that world. For Josephos the issue is not
Judaism or Hellenism, but Judaism in Hellenism. He recasts Jewish history in these
terms hoping to reconcile both Greeks to Jews and Jews to Greeks (Sterling 1992,
308, referencing Migliario 1981, 136; Bartlett 1985, 75, and Bilde 1988, 122;
compare Spilsbury 1998, 11).
These scholars all argue for a strong correlation between Josephus’
(hidden) agenda in the Antiquities and the expressed aim of his subsequent,
highly apologetic essay Against Apion, in which he intends ‘to convict
(ἐλέγξαι) our detractors of malignity and deliberate falsehood (τὴν
δυσμένειαν καὶ τὴν ἑκούσιον (...) ψευδολογίαν), to correct the ignorance (τὴν
ἄγνοιαν) of others, and to instruct (διδάξαι) all who desire to know the truth
(τἀληθὲς εἰδέναι) concerning the antiquity of our race (περὶ τῆς ἡμετέρας
ἀρχαιότητος)’ (Ag. Ap. 1.3) (e.g. Feldman 1998a, 660). Recently, however,
it has been argued by some scholars, most prominently by Mason, that the
perceived apologetic features of the Antiquities may not be entirely
indicative of Josephus’ own authorial intentions. For, as Mason succinctly
puts it,
The proposed motive of removing post-war animosity no doubt connects us with
Roman realities in the late first century. But as an explanation of the Antiquities it
defies the first principle of rhetoric: one’s argument must suit one’s audience (Mason
1998b, 70, similarly 2004, xix-xx and xxiv and Ribary 2014, 263).
Rather than assuming that Josephus had ulterior motives for his literary
endeavour, Mason seems to argue for a stronger correspondence between
an author’s medium and his message.
In the preface to the first book, Josephus himself merely notes that he
has decided to undertake the present endeavour in the expectation that ‘the
whole Greek-speaking world (ἅπασι (...) τοῖς Ἕλλησιν) will find it worthy
of attention (ἀξίαν σπουδῆς)’ (Ant. 1.5). As Mason points out in his
comments on Josephus’ intended audience, ‘(t)he simplest solution is that
Josephus expects gentile readers who are deeply interested in Judean
culture’ (Mason 2004, xix). According to the principle commonly known
as Occam’s razor, the hypothesis which contains the least assumptions is
often preferable to more complex ones. This dissertation builds upon this
principle and Masons’ ‘simple solution’ and posits that the Antiquities was
25
E.g. Thackeray 1967a, 59; Bilde 1998, 101; Feldman 1998a, 132-62 and 660-1, and
most prominently Sterling 1992, 297-308, see also Spilsbury 1998, 16.
Chapter 1: The Antiquities and ancient historiography
19
intended to serve as a history of the Jewish people addressed to a
predominantly non-Jewish audience that Josephus took to be keenly
interested in this particular subject matter.26
1.2.4. Aim and outline of this dissertation
This dissertation argues that Josephus’ methods of self-presentation in the
first eleven books of the Antiquities are closely similar to those of a number
of prominent Greco-Roman historians. In order to demonstrate this, the
present and following chapters provide a systematic and comprehensive
analysis of Josephus’ strategies of self-presentation as an historian in that
part of the work. The aim is to show how greatly he is indebted to the
literary traditions of ancient Greco-Roman historiography as a whole. Thus,
this dissertation will illustrate that Josephus was well aware of the literary
conventions commonly associated with this particular field and that he
consistently brings them to bear on his account in Ant. 1-11 of the earliest
history of the Jewish people.
With such an agenda, this dissertation is intended to fill in the gap
pointed out by Feldman, Chapman and (at least, in part) by Mason. This is
not to belittle the value of previous studies on this part of the Antiquities.
The contributions of such scholars as Bilde, Feldman and Sterling have all
proven highly beneficial for our understanding of Josephus’ qualities as an
author as well as his literary indebtedness to other Jewish authors.
Similarly, studies that focus primarily on Josephus’ rewriting tendencies
have successfully illustrated his literary ingenuity and general reverence for
the Scriptures.27 Yet, any assessment of the first half of the Antiquities runs
the risk of becoming decontextualized if one does not also take into the
account the many points of contact between this part of the work and those
of the Greco-Roman historians.
Any assessment of Josephus’ capacities as a critical and competent noncontemporary historian presupposes a review of the currently prevailing
scholarly attitude towards the field of ancient historiography. As we shall
see, this particular field of study has undergone significant changes during
the latter half of the twentieth century with varying shifts in perspective
and approaches. The next section of this chapter therefore opens with a
brief outline of the intrinsic variety of ancient historiography (1.3). This is
26
The readers may even have possessed some knowledge (and even an appreciation) of
certain aspects of Judaism, such as the existence of the Jewish scriptures and certain
prominent historical figures (e.g. Moses and Herod). To judge from his pervasive
explicatory tendencies, however, Josephus seems to presuppose that they were not well
acquainted with all details of the societal and cultural practices of his native people.
More on Josephus’ explicatory tendencies below (5.3.2).
27
E.g. Begg 2005a; Begg-Spilsbury 2005b; Feldman 1998a; 1998b; 2004; Franxman
1979, and Spilsbury 1998.
20
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
followed by a section (1.4) that sketches the major developments in the
field during the previous century focusing on key points of contention
between the earlier (traditional) view of the field (as epitomized by the
German classicist F. Jacoby) and the currently established scholarly
consensus represented by a collection of influential contemporary
classicists and historians.
The subsequent four chapters provide analyses of several key aspects of
Josephus’ literary discourse throughout Ant. 1-11 in comparison with that
of a number of ancient historians, including Herodotus, Thucydides,
Polybius, Diodorus, Dionysius and Livy.28 For first-hand insights into the
attitude in antiquity towards history writing and for explicit discussions of
how such compositions ought (not) to be written, one may refer to a
handful of essays and a number of passages in the works of Polybius,
Cicero, Dionysius, Plutarch, Pliny the Younger and Lucian. As a
structuring principle, each of the following chapters is therefore introduced
by a brief analysis of the predominant opinions as voiced by these critics.
Here it must be emphasized that many of their works were composed with
specific aims, just as some of them were addressed to named recipients
(such as the letters of Cicero, Dionysius and Pliny). Many of their
sentiments are therefore situational, polemical and often highly subjective.
Therefore, they are not necessarily entirely characteristic of the critical
attitudes in antiquity towards ancient historiography as a literary genre.
Much of what is available to us are scattered remarks on, and occasional indepth treatments of, a single aspect of a given historian’s work, including
his credibility, choice of subject matter, applied methodology, and narrative
style. Yet, by systematizing the opinions voiced by these literary critics, we
may arrive at an approximation to the general attitude in antiquity towards
history writing and the authors commonly associated with that particular
literary tradition.
In order to illustrate how closely Josephus’ manner of self-introduction
in Ant. 1-11 resembles that of the ancient Greco-Roman historians, the
second chapter opens with an analysis of the ways in which the ancient
historians typically introduce both themselves and their topic (2.2).
Following on a brief overview of the prevailing attitude (as voiced by the
ancient literary critics) towards the proper subject matter of histories, the
next section examines the manner in which the ancient historians presented
the content of their respective works to their readers (2.3).
The third chapter aims to demonstrate that in Ant. 1-11 Josephus
consistently portrays himself as a critically capable and competent
28
Since these chapters focus on the similarities between the Antiquities and the works
of Josephus’ Greco-Roman predecessors, there are no extant quotations from the works
of later historians such as Tacitus, Arrian or Ammianus Marcellinus.
Chapter 1: The Antiquities and ancient historiography
21
historian. The chapter opens with an analysis of the ancient literary critics’
professed attitude towards the historiographical genre as a whole and of the
importance placed by them on the notion of a sound methodology (3.2).
This is followed by studies of the ancient historians’ frequent claims to
personal experience (3.3) and acquaintance with oral and written sources
(3.4 and 3.5, respectively). Of particular interest here is Josephus’
professed attitude towards the Scriptures, including their function as
written sources.
The fourth chapter shows how Josephus’ treatment of his predecessors in
Ant. 1-11 is highly reminiscent of that of other ancient historians, most
prominently Diodorus, Dionysius and Livy. The chapter opens with an
outline of the various reasons for praise and blame as put forth by the
ancient literary critics (4.2). The next section analyses the ancient
historians’ attitudes towards the works of their predecessors, beginning
with Herodotus’ and Thucydides’ views on Homer and the Homeric poems
(4.3.1). This is then followed by an outline of the shifting attitudes amongst
the Hellenistic historians towards the works of other historians (4.3.2) and
an analysis of Josephus’ references to his predecessors (4.3.3).
The fifth and final chapter argues that Josephus’ manner of arrangement
and narrative discourse bear striking similarities to those of several ancient
historians, particularly those of Polybius, Diodorus, Dionysius and Livy.
The chapter opens with a brief inquiry into the emphasis placed by the
ancient critics on the issue of structure (5.2.1). This is followed by studies
of the various ways in which the ancient historians arranges their respective
accounts and their use of outlines (5.2.2). The next subsections focus on
their various choices of starting point and the historians’ attitudes towards
myths and legends (5.2.3) and (divine) causality (5.2.4). The final section
of this chapter provides an extensive outline of Josephus’ use of authorial
intrusions in comparison with those of several of his Greco-Roman
colleagues, including his use of cross-references (5.3.1), explanations
(5.3.2) as well as his moralizing and generalizing tendencies (5.3.3).
Unless otherwise stated, all citations from (and translations of) GrecoRoman sources, including the Antiquities itself, follow the respective Loeb
editions. All biblical quotations follow the NRSV.
1.3. A HANDFUL OF HISTORIES? THE DIVERSITY OF ANCIENT HISTORIES
1.3.1. Differences in nomenclature
The topic for all works commonly associated with the field of ancient
Greco-Roman historiography was, of course, history; and specifically, the
literary treatment by ancient authors of (non-)contemporary events in
primarily prosaic discourse composed in either Greek or Latin. Despite this
apparent uniformity, the actual textual corpus usually associated with this
22
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
literary genre is marked by a large degree of heterogeneity concerning their
scope, aims and approaches.
This is first of all reflected in an evident inconsistency amongst these
ancient authors with regard to nomenclature. The Greek ἱστορία (the
equivalent to our term ‘history’) is used by these authors throughout their
works, such as in the opening remarks in Herodotus’ Histories: ‘What
Herodotus the Halicarnassian has learnt by inquiry is here set forth
(ἱστορίης ἀπόδεξις ἥδε)’ (Hist. 1.1). This ‘proof of inquiry’ was, however,
not to become a formal genre designation.29 Parallel terms were indeed
applied by subsequent authors such as Thucydides’ use of the verb
συγγράφω in his statement in the preface to his work on the Peloponnesian
War that he has ‘written the history (ξυνέγραψε) of the war waged by the
Peloponnesians and the Athenians against one another’ (Thuc. 1.1.1).30
Josephus himself uses the noun ἀρχαιολογία in his introductory
characterization of the content of his Antiquities.31 It is often suggested that
his use of this term may be derived from Dionysius’ use of a similar noun
in Ant. Rom. 1.4.2.32 He may also have drawn of the works of authors,
including Plato’ use of a similar term in Hippias Major 258D.33
Instead, it was merely intended to denote ‘a form of research’ (Darbo-Peschanski
2007, 32), as is also the case with the use of said term in Heraclitus (VS 22 B 129) and
later in Plato (Phaedo 98b5-e1.99b3-4) with ἱστορία being intrinsically linked to the
attainment of knowledge (cf. Darbo-Peschanski 2007, 31-2 and 35-6). See however the
use of the noun by Dionysius in Ant. Rom. 1.1.2.
30
This particular verb – which in itself merely signifies the process of writing
something down – became a fixed designation for the action of collecting and writing
down historical facts by subsequent historians such as Xenophon in Anab. 7.2.1 and
Dionysius of Halicarnassus in his critical essay on Thucydides in Thuc. 5.
31
Cf. Ant. 1.5, also 20.259. 267; Life 430; and Ag. Ap. 1.1. 54. 127, and 2.136 and 287,
compare also Ant. 1.94 (on Hieronymus the Egyptian) and 107 (on various Greek and
Near-Eastern historian).
32
Cf. Attridge 1976, 43-70; Schutt 1961, 97-8, and Thackeray 1967a, 56. Feldman and
Rajak, however, both argue that there is only a superficial correspondence in
nomenclature between these works (cf. Feldman 2004, 3, n. 3 and Rajak 2001b).
33
However, according to Momigliano in his assessment of this particular passage, Plato
does not seem to be transmitting a notion current amongst the Sophists in fifth and
fourth century BCE Greece of ‘a science called archæology dealing with subjects which
today we would call of antiquarian interest’ (Momigliano 1969b, 3). Likewise, in
Hellenistic Greek, this term ‘did not preserve the wide meaning it had in Plato’ since it
‘came to mean simply either history from the origins or archaic history’ (ibid., 4,
explicitly referencing Josephus’ and Dionysius’ works). Momigliano therefore
concludes that there ‘was no collective name which covered all the systematic treatises
on the past’ (ibid.). Just as there is ample reasons for a call for caution with any attempt
at making the form and character of ancient historiography conform to its modern
namesake, so one should also be wary of equating Josephus’ antiquarian endeavour with
29
Chapter 1: The Antiquities and ancient historiography
23
1.3.2. Differences in scope and subject matter
A similar heterogeneity is also evident in the marked difference in the
scope and subject matter of ancient histories. The beginning of literary
treatments of historical events in Greek prose has for long been attributed
to the Ionian author, Hecataeus of Miletus, whose work entitled
Genealogies contained an account of the legendary genealogies of famous
families. His immediate successors differentiated themselves from their
famous predecessor by opting for an entirely different subject matter for
their works, namely the great events of recent wars. Herodotus, for
instance, produces a vivid depiction of the conquests of the Persians
through to their eventual defeat by the Greeks city-states in the battle of
Mycale in 479 BCE in his Histories (henceforth, ‘Hist.’), whereas
Thucydides gave a detailed account of the first war between the Athenian
Empire and the Peloponnesian League in 431-13 BCE in his History of the
Peloponnesian War (henceforth, ‘Thuc.’). Such portrayals of grand
conflicts and thorough analyses of their various socio-political causes
would later come to be grouped together under as a distinct literary
subgenre, now commonly referred to as war monographs.34 Later examples
of this genre include L. Coelius Antipater’s history of the Second Punic
War, Sallust’s Jugurthine War (Bellum Iugurthinum) as well as Josephus’
Jewish War. According to Mehl, histories such as these highly resemble a
drama:
Eine Gattung ließ ihre Gestaltung als Drama jedoch zu: die historische
Monographie. Ein klar umrissener Handlungsgegenstand und eine eng begrenzte
Zahl von (Haupt-) Personen, deren Erfolg oder Mißerfolg sich am
Handlungsgegenstand erweist, machen die Komposition des ganzen wie ein
Drama möglich (Mehl 2001, 24).
Another trend was launched by Xenophon, who famously introduced his
Hellenika, which covers the period from 411 to 362 BCE, with the phrase
Μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα (Hell. 1.1.1., repeated almost verbatim at the end of the
work in 7.5.27’s τὰ δε μετὰ ταῦτα ἴσως ἄλλῳ μελήσει). Xenophon here
signifies that he is picking up his narrative at the point in time where his
predecessor Thucydides breaks off. This has prompted scholars to view this
particular work (and subsequent works resembling it, such as Theopompus’
similarly titled Hellenica) as examples of another subset of histories,
commonly designated as historia continua/perpetua.
the type of antiquarian research that emerged in eighteenth century Europe. On ancient
antiquarian historiography in general, see Bravo 2011.
34
The term ‘monograph’ has been – and remains – a mainstay within contemporary
scholarship on ancient historiography. Yet, it has been argued in recent years that our
use of it is ‘itself (…) modern and misleading’ (Rood 2011, 148).
24
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
The Hellenistic period saw further differentiations with regard to both the
style of narration and subject matter. Some authors would write histories of
specific geographical locations or regions such as the depictions of Athens
and its inhabitants by the so-called ‘atthidographers’, for instance
represented by Hellanicus of Mytilene in the latter half of the fifth century
BCE.35 Others, however, would go on to produce comprehensive chronicles
in which they fused together individual narratives into a unified whole.36
Traditionally speaking, the first author to be reckoned a universal historian
was Ephorus with his History (Ἱστορίαι) in thirty books (cf. Polyb. 5.33.2).
Other important universal historians include Theopompus of Chios, who –
in addition to a short epitome of Herodotus in two books and a continuation
of Thucydides in the form of his Hellenica in twelve books – wrote a
universal history, Philippica, in fifty-eight books; Polybius whose local
historical accounts in the first six books of his Histories were followed by a
distinct universal history beginning in the seventh book; Diodorus Siculus
with his universal historical account in forty books entitled Βιβλιοθήκη
ἱστορική, as well as the Roman author Gnaeus Pompeius Trogus with his
Historiae Philippicae in forty-four books.37
Aside from their respective choices of subject matter, the fundamental
difference between the strategies of the local and universal historians
pertains to their way of structuring their narratives. The former group
typically arrange their accounts diachronically and go through the history
of a given region or polis from its earliest (often, mythical) past and
through to more recent times. By contrast, the latter groups of historians
typically opt for a more thematically oriented approach and produce a
35
For more on the local historians, see Jacoby 1949, Clarke 2011 and Rhodes 1990. On
the related topic of ethnography, see Dench 2011.
36
For more on the universal historians, see Alonso-Núñez 1990; Clarke 1999;
Marincola 2011f; Momigliano 1987b, and Yarrow 2006, 124-32.
37
L. M. Yarrow distinguishes between ‘two general types of universalism, which are
not mutually exclusive’ (Yarrow 2006, 125) designating them ‘quantitative’ and
‘qualitative universalism’ (ibid.); the point being that ‘a text might be universal either
because of its scale and diversity of subject matter, or because of the use of a unifying
theme to draw distant times or places together’ (ibid.). It is, however, worth
emphasizing that such universalism is not endemic to ancient historiography since
geographical works like Strabo’s Geographica share many of the same characteristics:
among which was a predilection for the mythical and legendary. Likewise, according to
K. Clarke, such universality in historiography ‘involves both continuous and discrete
conceptions of time and space’ (Clarke 1999, 275), the ‘harmonious combination’ of
which she designates as ‘the task of both the universal historian and the universal
geographer’ (ibid.). She further emphasizes that the skill of these authors ‘lies not just in
the mechanics of controlling such a wealth of material, but also in the creation of an
underlying coherence, which will make the result of the narrative-weaving more than
simply a sum of the individual threads’ (ibid.).
Chapter 1: The Antiquities and ancient historiography
25
largely thematic account. Of the two groups, the Antiquities is (with regard
to its scope and structure) most resembles the works of the local historians.
Yet, as we shall see, Josephus’ manner of self-presentation is highly
comparable to those of such universal historians as Polybius and Diodorus.
The arrival of the Romans on the global political scene with their victory
over the Carthaginians in the Second Punic War, which resulted in Roman
domination of the Western Mediterranean, naturally called for literary
treatments by Greeks and Romans alike of this emerging republican state
and its history. Thus, for instance, Q. Fabius Pictor, widely recognized as
one of the first Roman historians, if not the first one, wrote a history ab
urbe condita in Greek prose (cf. Ant. rom. 1.6.2).38 While many subsequent
historians who wrote on Rome, such as Polybius and Dionysius of
Halicarnassus, would continue to compose works in Greek, literary
treatments in Latin prose of the history of Rome would eventually emerge.
The first author to do so was M. Porcius Cato (the Elder, or ‘Censorius’)
whose work, the Origines, contained an account in seven books of the
history of the Roman people from the age of monarchy and through to the
Punic wars (cf. Cat. 3). Cato’s biographer, Cornelius Nepos, notes how
Cato ‘related the events (res) (sc. of the wars) without mentioning names’
(4), just as the content of his work according to Nepos was ‘told in a
summary fashion (capitulatim)’ (ibid.).39 It is for this lack of embellishment
that Cicero in 55 BCE (as part of his dialogue set in 91 BCE between M.
Antonius and Q. Catulus in De Or. 2.51-64) makes Antonius single Cato
out as a member of the trio of annalists alongside Fabius, and the later
Lucius Calpurnius Piso (consul in 133 BCE) declaring that they ‘do not
understand the adornment of composition (quibus rebus ornetur oratio) –
since it is only of late that decoration of that sort has been brought into this
country – and, so long as their narrative is understood, regard conciseness
as the historian’s single merit (unam dicenti laudem putant esse
brevitatem)’ (De Or. 2.53).40 However, as with Fabius, so too is there a
noticeable lack of evidence for the designation of Cato as an annalist.
Nepos, for instance, does not specifically state that Cato had structured his
account according to a diachronic year-by-year framework (cf. Cornell
2012, 95). Furthermore, Piso with his Annales in seven books is the only
38
He is often referred to by later authors (with little or no evidence to support the
matter) as an ‘annalist’ (e.g. De Or. 2.51-3 and Div. 1.43). However, he did not write a
straightforward year-by-year account of the entire history of the Roman state. On the
contrary, and in a manner akin to his much later successor Livy, he appears to have
attempted to trace the contemporary societal norms, institutions, and rules to an earlier
period (cf. Beck 2011, 260).
39
For more on the issue of the lack of explicit mentioning of names in Cato’s work, see
Gotter 2009.
40
Cato is likewise designated as an annalist by Pliny the Elder in Nat. 8.11.
26
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
member of the supposed trio who may with some certainty be designated
‘an annalist’; and even here, his choice of literary technique might be seen
as being in line with a specific moral agenda on his part (cf. Beck 2011,
263). In general, there has been a tendency within modern scholarship
(presumably inspired by the above mentioned derogatory passage in
Cicero) to assume that only careless and less capable historians chose to
write annalistically. In the opinion of Cornell, this modern habit, however,
‘has no basis in the ancient evidence, and should be avoided as unhelpful
and misleading’ (Cornell 2012, 95). Beck likewise characterizes the
modern use of the terms “annalists” and “annals” as ‘conventional’ (Beck
2011, 263), stating that the choice shared by certain Roman historians of
structuring their works chronologically is not synonymous with uniformity
in the historiographical genre as such.
1.3.3. Different types of historians
Besides these variations in style, structure and choice of language, the
historiographical tradition saw a further differentiation with regard to the
historian himself.
In the third century and the early part of the second century BCE, the
very writing of history had been the prerogative of (retired) senators and
statesmen such as Fabius, Cato and Piso. In the words of T. P. Wiseman:
Political history and res gestae were an appropriate subject for a man in public life –
serious, patriotic, and with an ethical and exemplary function that appealed to the
Roman mind (Wiseman 1987c, 248).
Roman historiography, however, underwent significant changes with the
emergence of historians such as L. Cassius Hemina, Cn. Gellius, and
Antipater, who as members of a lower social class would never have been
in a position to exert any kind of political influence. For this reason, their
way of narration was marked by a larger degree of detachment than had
been the case with their senatorial colleagues, who as the leading men in
the Roman society would have had a hand in the very events that were
depicted in their accounts. These new historians were all men of letters who
in imitation of Greek models aimed to imbue their native historiographical
discipline with an increased sense of professionalization. In this regard,
they came to distinguish themselves from their senatorial predecessors by
their very manner of research: Hemina and Gellius would for instance
focus more on etymologies and aetiologies than had previously been the
case, while Coelius would revert to the monographical style of Herodotus
and Thucydides and composed the first proper war-monograph in Latin
prose in the form of an account of the Second Punic War (cf. Beck 2011,
Chapter 1: The Antiquities and ancient historiography
27
263-4).41 This formal distinction between histories written by leading men
or by men of letters would continue to exert itself in the first century BCE.
Senatorial historians such as L. Cornelius, C. Sallustius (Sallust) Crispus,
Asinius Pollio, and the much later Tacitus would all focus primarily on
recent or near-contemporary events, while previously unknown men such
as Claudius Quadrigarius, Valerius Antias, and T. Livius (Livy) Patavinus
would produce historical accounts ab urbe condita, as did also Diodorus
and Dionysius before them. According to Wiseman, Roman historiography
of the first century BCE may be divided into these two main types,
alongside the category which he terms ‘world history’, exemplified by the
Chronica by Nepos, the Antiquitates humanae and De gente populi Romani
by M. Terentius Varro, On the Origin and Site of Italian Cities by C. Iulius
Hyginus, and the aforementioned Historiae Philippicae by Pompeius
Trogus (cf. Wiseman 1987c, 246-8).42 In this regard, the Antiquities is
easily comparable to the works of Diodorus, Dionysius and Livy.
1.4. MODERN SCHOLARSHIP ON ANCIENT HISTORIOGRAPHY
1.4.1. Brief survey of seminal contributions
Studies of ancient Greco-Roman historiography have for long suffered
greatly from a scarcity of extant manuscripts, as only a handful of the
above-mentioned works (such as those of Herodotus and Xenophon) have
been handed down to us in their entirety. Missing are for instance the last
ten books of Dionysius’ Roman Antiquities and the majority of Diodorus
Siculus’ universal history in forty books entitled Βιβλιοθήκη ἱστορική.
Similarly, some scholars consider the eighth and final book of Thucydides
as only semi-finished.43 For this reason, scholars often have to make do
with the occasional fragments typically in the form of citations by later
authors. In this regard, the meticulous collections by the German scholars
F. Jacoby in his Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker (FGrHist, a
revision of an earlier collection Fragmenta Historicum Graecorum (FHG),
41
For more on the early Latin annalists, see Rawson 1976.
The Roman historians of the first century BCE and onwards could also be classified
chronologically as either Republican or Imperial, the point of intersection of course
being Octavian’s victory over Marc Anthony at the Battle of Actium (31 BCE) and his
subsequent donning of the titles of Princeps and Augustus from January 16, 27 BCE and
onwards. The experience of this fundamental shift among the imperial historians (i.e.
from being citizens under a Roman senate composed of many members with diverse
interests to instead being subjects of an autocratic emperor) would have a profound
impact on their approaches towards their historiographical endeavours with regard to
their choice of topics and the important question of bias (cf. Luce 2011).
43
E.g. Gomme et al. 1981, 361-83 and Marincola 2001, 66-7, compare, however,
Greenwood 2006, 83-108 and Rood 2009a, 251-84.
42
28
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
published 1841-70, by C. and Th. Müller)44 and H. Peter in his
Historiocorum Romanorum Reliquiae (HRR) in two volumes (1870 and
1906, respectively; both of which have later been revised and reprinted)
have greatly facilitated the access for modern scholars to a wealth of
information and a rich treasure of sources. These collections are both
invaluable for the studies of ancient histories and have therefore (and the
FGrHist in particular) had an immense impact on the modern study on the
field of ancient historiography as a whole, and not least with regard to the
issues of the identification and classification of the respective works
commonly associated with this particular genre.
The study of ancient historiography (as well as its modern namesake)
underwent significant changes during the latter half of the twentieth
century. This was among other things due to the decisive impact on the
humanities made by the so-called ‘linguistic turn’ (as ushered in by Ludwig
Wittgenstein) and the works of French poststructuralists such as M.
Foucault, R. Barthes and J. Derrida. Among the first to apply the theories
of these philosophers and literary critics to the field of historiography, was
the American philosopher of history H. White, who in his highly influential
and decidedly divisive book Metahistory. The Historical Imagination in
Nineteenth Century Europe (1973) treats ‘the historical work as what it
most manifestly is: a verbal structure in the form of a narrative prose
discourse’ (White 1985e, praef. ix).
White’s examination of the metahistorical layers of (predominantly)
modern historical discourses and the attention that he pays to the linguistic
and poetic aspects contained in them has had a polarizing effect on
contemporary research on both ancient and modern historiography. A.
Momigliano, for instance, expresses a concern for the implications of this
approach for the study of ancient histories. For, as he notes in his review of
White’s collection of essays titled Tropical Discourse: Essays in Cultural
Criticism (1978), ‘he (sc. White) has eliminated the research for truth as the
main task of the historian. He treats historians, like any other narrators, as
rhetoricians to be characterized by their modes of speech’ (Momigliano
1984, 49).45
White’s works have, however, had an immense impact on a number of
prominent British and American scholars including Wiseman, A. J.
Woodman and J. Marincola, who all apply his metahistorical theories on
44
The publication was intended to consist of five (originally, ten, cf. Jacoby 1956b, 64)
parts with the first three (I-III) comprising thirteen volumes published from 1923 and up
until Jacoby’s death in 1959, with an additional part III volume written and published
by C. W. Fornara in 1994 and part IV volumes being produced and published by Brill
from 1998 and onwards.
45
For explicit acknowledgements of the White’s influence on the field of ancient
historiography see also Feldherr 2009b, 6-7 and Pelling 1999, 337.
Chapter 1: The Antiquities and ancient historiography
29
their analyses of the ancient histories. What follows is a brief outline of the
seminal works of Wiseman and Woodman and a summary of Marincola’s
explicit criticism of Jacoby’s developmental model.
In the first part of his book Clio’s Cosmetics. Three Studies in GrecoRoman Literature (1979), Wiseman seeks ‘to bring out the full
consequences of two features of the ancient world (…) not sufficiently
allowed for in their effects on historiography’ (Wiseman 1979, praef. ix),
namely the ancient historians’ use of rhetoric and the degree to which they
tended to embellish and flesh out their narratives by the use of inventive
techniques, Wiseman’s point being that ‘the historians were trained in
rhetoric, and applied their training to the art of history’ (ibid., 26).46 He
would later follow up on these issues in articles, anthologies and
monographs such as Roman Studies (1987), Historiography and
Imagination (1994), and Remus. A Roman Myth (1995). Also worth
considering is his article ‘Lying Historians: Seven Types of Mendacity’
(1993).
Wiseman was later joined in his interest in the effects of rhetoric on
ancient historiography by Woodman in his monograph, Rhetoric in
Classical Historiography (1988), which is divided into four chapters
focusing on Thucydides, Cicero, Sallust and Livy, and Tacitus,
respectively. Like Wiseman, Woodman has throughout his authorship
emphasized the pervasive use by ancient historians of innovatio, one of the
cardinal techniques acquired by students of rhetoric in classical Greece and
Rome.47
In addition to Wiseman and Woodman, one of the most important
contributors to the modern study of ancient historiography is Marincola
whose monograph Authority and Tradition in Ancient Historiography
(1997) serves as an integral part of the analysis of ancient historians’ ways
of self-presentation in the following chapters. Also to be mentioned are his
general introduction to the field of ancient Greek historiography simply
titled Greek Historians (2001) and his editorial work in the anthologies A
Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography (2007) and Greek and
Roman Historiography (2011). The last of these volumes contains a
selection of the (in Marincola’s opinion) most influential essays and
articles by a number of scholars. Together, these articles represent the
developments within the field of Greco-Roman historiography during the
46
On the relationship between rhetoric and historiography, see also Fox 2007b. On
rhetoric in Roman historiography, see Laird 2009.
47
That Wiseman and Woodman both contributed greatly to the study on ancient
historiography is evident from the frequent references to their works amongst
subsequent scholars, e.g. Marincola 1999, 289, n. 30; 2001, 5; 2009, 13-5 and 18, and
2011e, 4, n. 8, also Davies 2009, 167, n. 8 and Feldherr 2009b, 7-8. See, however,
Lendon 2009.
30
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
last thirty years. Other important articles by Marincola include ‘Genre,
Convention, and Innovation in Greco-Roman Historiography’ (1999) and
‘Ancient audiences and expectations’ (2009).48
1.4.2. Ancient histories, modern discussions
The monumental task of collecting and publishing the multitude of Greek
fragments, often accompanied with meticulous explanatory comments by
Jacoby himself, was an immensely laborious task that naturally required a
solid structural framework. In his seminal 1909-article ‘Über die
Entwicklung der griechischen Historiographie und den Plan einer neuen
Sammlung der griechischen Historikerfragmente’, Jacoby, as the title
implies, presents a plan of the – at that time yet to be finished – FGrHist.
Having posed the fundamental question ‘wie wird man einmal die Fülle der
Namen, die oft wirklich nur Namen sind, übersichtlich und
wissenschaftlich gruppieren können?’ (Jacoby 1956b, 17), he lists four
possible approaches towards such a structuring, viz. an alphabetical,
chronological, local-geographical and finally a developmental one. An
ordering of the fragments alphabetically, while ‘unzweifelhaft das
bequemste für den Sammler’, would also be ‘das roheste, am wenigsten
wissenschaftliche’ (ibid., 17), and he adds that the ease provided by an
alphabetical ordering might just as well be accomplished ‘durch einen
ordentlichen Autorenindex’ (ibid., 18). Even though a chronological
approach, as chosen by Müller for the HRR, might facilitate a division of
the fragments into various (literary) epochs, it would nonetheless have two
significant drawbacks: firstly, it would rent asunder any coherence of genre
and content; and secondly, it would simply be impossible to carry out due
to our lack of sufficient knowledge regarding the time of composition of
the majority of the fragments (cf. ibid.). An ordering according to localgeographical criteria would likewise be counterproductive, as one would
have to begin at the macro-level with works dealing with the whole known
world, and then move on to the later universal historians, thus skipping
over many of their influential predecessors in the process, such as Ephorus
who did not focus on the world in its entirety, but only on the ‘κοιναὶ
πράξεις Ἑλλήνων καὶ βαρβάρων’ (ibid., 19).
48
Other significant contributions to contemporary scholarship on Greco-Roman
historiography include S. Hornblower’s extensive commentaries on Thucydides
(Hornblower 1996a, 1997 and 2008); F. Walbank’s on Polybius (Walbank 1957, 1967
and 1979); S. P. Oakley’s on Livy (Oakley 1997, 1998 and 2005), and R. Syme’s on
Tacitus (Syme 1997). Recent important antologies include Bakker et al. 2002; ChaplinKraus 2009; Dewald-Marincola 2011; Feldherr 2009a; Hornblower 1994a; de Jong et
al. 2004a; de Jong-Nünlist 2007a; Munson 2014, and Rusten 2009a. Seminal
monographs include Clarke 2011; Fornara 1988; Hornblower 2000; Kraus-Woodman
1997; Lateiner 1989; Mehl 2001; Rood 2009a; Sacks 1981 and 1990, and Yarrow 2006.
Chapter 1: The Antiquities and ancient historiography
31
Having disregarded these three possible approaches, Jacoby instead opts
for a developmental principle (entwicklungsgeschichtliche Prinzip) which
he considers the only scientifically founded and not overly burdensome
approach, useful for the purposes of historians and literary historians alike
(cf. ibid.). Jacoby’s preference for this specific approach was conditioned
by his view of the fragments as fitting into five inherently distinct (sub-)
genres (γένη) ‘nach Zahl, Art und Entstehung (…), nach ihren
charakteristischen Eigenheiten und doch auch wieder nach den Fäden, die
sie untereinander verbinden’ (ibid., 19), viz. genealogy (or, mythography),
ethnography, contemporary history (Zeitgeschichte), chronography, and
horography (local history).49 This interplay between the distinctiveness of
each subgenre on the one hand and their shared similarities on the other is
an essential aspect of Jacoby’s account of the development of Greek
historiography from Hecataeus onwards. Amongst the characteristics is his
vehement insistence on an ‘innerliche Zusammenhang’ (ibid., 39) between
the works of Hecataeus, Herodotus, and Thucydides; his formal distinction
between ‘deskriptive Ethnographie’ and ‘echte Historie’ (ibid., 42), and
most significantly his assertion that this development is not one of sheer
progress. This last point emerges quite clearly from his comments on the
monographic works of Herodotus and Thucydides:
Mag diese erste Monographie (sc. Herodotus’) in ihrer unförmlichen Disposition
noch so sehr die Eierschalen ihres Ursprungs an sich tragen, es war jetzt nur noch ein
Schritt – und kein sehr grosser mehr – zu der zeitgeschichtlichen Monographie über
den peloponnesischen Krieg. In dieser ist das Ziel erreicht: es herrscht der
historische Gedanke und das erzählende Element in vollster Strenge; selbst die
Beschreibungen und Reflexionen sind durch das Mittel der Rede zur Erzählung
geworden (ibid., 41 – emphasis mine).
This expressed predilection for Thucydides (and his methodology) is also
stressed elsewhere by Jacoby in a later article on Greek historiography
simply entitled ‘Griechische Geschichtschreibung (sic)’ where he calls
Thucydides the man, ‘der den Höhepunkt der antiken und vielleicht der
Geschichtschreibung (sic) überhaupt bedeutet’ (Jacoby 1956a, 87).
Although a show of appreciation for this particular historian is a recurring
feature in earlier as well as recent commentaries on Greco-Roman
historiography, this singling out by Jacoby of Thucydides as the
quintessential zenith of ancient historiography as such is nonetheless quite
significant.50
49
The translation of Zeitgeschichte in this chapter follows Marincola 1999, 284. For
more on this issue (i.e. of translating it as either ’history’ or ’contemporary history’), see
Fornara 1988, 1-46 and Marincola 1999, 284, n. 11.
50
Even though the analysis above of the various scopes, subjects, and structures of
ancient historical works might be perceived to be in congruence with Jacoby’s choice of
32
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
Jacoby’s manner of has been heavily critized in recent years, and most
priominently by Marincola. Although he displays a reverence for Jacoby’
scholarly efforts in the FGrHist (e.g. Marincola 1999, 283-4 and 321 and
2011d, 7), Marincola nonetheless points to five ‘serious problems’ (ibid.,
290) with Jacoby’s approach towards the study of ancient historiography:
The first problem pertains to Jacoby’s developmental (or ‘teleological’)
model that makes him single out of Thucydides as the very epitome of the
literary genre and conversely express his depreciation for late Hellenistic
historiography (cf. Jacoby 1956b, 41, cited above). According to
Marincola, this attitude ‘shows quite clearly his unwillingness or inability
to see history-writing as dynamic and responding always to the larger
world around it’ (Marincola 1999, 291, also 2011d, 6). It is Jacoby’s sense
of perfection – that is, the singling out of one author at the expense of his
predecessors and successors – that hinders him (and his like-minded
colleagues) in identifying and appreciating the innovative elements in any
ancient historical work (cf. ibid.).
The second difficulty with Jacoby’s model lies in his notion of
‘individualization’ (ibid., also 2011d, 7) as exemplified in his view (and
treatment) of the early historians as embodiments of the various
progressive stages in the development of ancient historiography with
Hecataeus constituting the first (historical) stage; followed by Herodotus as
representing a second (more rational) stage; then Hellanicus as a third
(chronologically and local-historically oriented) stage, and finally
Thucydides as the fourth stage where all these otherwise disparate elements
are united. According to Marincola, the inherent shortcomings of this view
consist in an explicit depreciation of the fact that the literary engagement
with the past were not the prerogative of historians alone, but that this
interest in the past was shared by the (epic) poets and elegists (cf. ibid.,
292, also 2001, 2). In other words, the historians did not write in a literary
and intellectual vacuum.
The third problematic aspect of Jacoby’s approach concerns the rigidity
intrinsic to his categorizing of the various fragments. In his analysis of
Jacoby’s choice of specific subgenres and depiction of their internal
relationships, Marincola stresses how such a way of classification in many
instances is at odds with the terminology, content and overall purport as
grouping together his fragments into these specific subgenres, it is worth emphasizing
that the intention of the outline in 1.3.1-3 has simply been to highlight the fundamental
heterogeneity of Greco-Roman historiography. This is thus in no way in keeping with
Jacoby’s developmental principle with his disproportionately high estimation of
Thucydides at the expense of the subsequent Hellenistic historians, which is for instance
exemplified by his unambiguous statement that in the first century BCE ‘erlischt nicht
nur die Produktivität der antiken Wissenschaft, sondern auch die der
Geschichtsschreibung’ (Jacoby 1956b, 46).
Chapter 1: The Antiquities and ancient historiography
33
expressed and evidenced in the works of the ancient historians themselves
(cf. ibid., 293-8, also 2011d, 7). Instead of being a tool for the proper
elucidation of the relationship between the fragments, Jacoby’s choice of
indexing the FGrHist is thus a hindrance for a satisfactory understanding of
it in so far as he imposes anachronistic (and essentially etic) categories and
artificial generic restraints on the texts.
Marincola ends his critical outline of the difficulties inherent in the
classificatory system of the FGrHist by highlighting both a fourth problem
consisting in Jacoby’s ‘generally static notion of genre’ (ibid., 299) and a
fifth one represented by his tendency towards pigeonholing the various
fragments in a manner that results in certain works being ‘stigmatized as
‘problematic’ or ‘violations’ of the genre’ (ibid., 300). It is to this latter
notion of genre that we now turn.
Based solely on an analysis of what is commonly perceived to have been
the greatest and most influential historical works in antiquity, one might get
the impression that the ancient historians shared a predilection for a certain
topic, namely the accounts of (near-)contemporary military and political
events such as great wars, conquest, and various instances of strife and
sedition. This, at least is what one finds in the classical period in
Herodotus’ Histories and Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian Wars
which are followed in the Hellenistic period by Xenophon’s Anabasis and
Hellenica and Polybius’ The Histories and later by Latin historians such as
Sallust in his De conjuratione Catilinae and Bellum Jugurthinum, Livy in
his Ab Urbe Condita Libri, Josephus in his Jewish War, and finally Tacitus
in his Annals and Histories. In assessing the influence of this cluster of
historians, one is in need of external evidence of the reputation of these
historians and of the popularity of their works. To this effect, scholars have
often turned to the works of ancient literary critics such as Polybius in the
twelfth book of his universal history; Cicero in the second book of his
dialogue De Oratore, in the introductory part of his De Legibus as well as
his Orator and Letter to Lucceius (Fam. 22); Dionysius of Halicarnassus in
his On Imitation (available in fragmented form in lengthy citations in his
Letter to Gnaius Pompeius 3-6); in his critical essay On Thucydides, and in
his Second letter to Ammaeus; Quintilian in the tenth book of his Institutio
Oratoria, Dio Chrysostom in his eighteenth oration De dicendi
exercitatione (trans. Training for Public Speaking), Plutarch in his On the
Malice of Herodotus, Pliny the Younger in his Epistolae, and lastly Lucian
in his How to write history. Since the majority of these works will be dealt
with in greater detail in the following chapters, let it be noted summarily
here that they do indeed contain amble references to most of the above
34
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
mentioned historians and to Herodotus and Thucydides in particular.51 This
fact has led some scholars to submit that there existed in antiquity a notion
of a canon comprised of a particular set of works by a select group of
illustrious historians who were recognized as such in antiquity. In the
opening paragraph to his paper entitled ‘Tradition and the Classical
Historian’ (1972), Momigliano even ventures so far as to state that ‘our
judgment on the ancient historians of Greece and Rome is in substantial
agreement with the ancient canons of judgment’ (Momigliano 1977c, 161).
Similarly, he is fond of designating the above mentioned authors as
‘“great” historians’ (e.g. ibid., 161 and 1978, 5).
Comparable appellations recur in the works of other classicists
throughout the preceding three decades such as in C. W. Fornara’s The
Nature of History in Ancient Greece and Rome (1983), a monograph that –
aside from one very crucial deficiency to be touched upon below – contains
a highly useful analysis of essential topics pertaining to the study of ancient
historical works. What has led to some criticism, however, is the Fornara’s
choice of introducing his work in a manner much akin to Jacoby’s 1909article when he sketches out of the various subgenres that are considered by
him to be ‘distinct genres, each with its own rules, often unstated
conventions, and particular focus’ (Fornara 1988, 1). Even though there is
nothing inherently wrong in following Jacoby’s initial outline, Fornara’s
fault (according to Marincola) lies in his rephrasing of the third sub-genre,
Zeitgeschichte, as simply ‘history’ (ibid.) and in his repeating Jacoby’s
terms for the other subgenres (genealogy/mythography, ethnography,
horography/local history, and chronography, respectively). Fornara seems
well aware of the fact that his rephrasing is at odds with the customary way
of translating the German noun into English, and he is ready to provide an
explanation of his practice. He first states that the ancients conceived of
‘history’ as accounts of deeds (cf. ibid., 1-2, citing Rhet. 1.1360A35
(1.1360A13 in LCL 193) and Inst. 2.4.2). He then provides a rather lengthy
treatment of Jacoby’s initial generic division. Fornara states in the opening
paragraph that ‘he [sc. Jacoby] substituted in place of “history” the term
Zeitgeschichte, “contemporary history”’ (ibid., 2), and that consequently
‘all five genres became forms of “historical writing”, but no one of them
was “history” itself’ (ibid.). Jacoby has suggested that a science
comparable to our modern term ‘history’ did not exist in antiquity (cf.
Jacoby 1956b, 20). This however – in the opinion of Fornara – is not ‘a
valid reason to deprive them [sc. ancient historians] of the genre they
named history and regarded as the quintessential historical form’ (ibid.).
Fornara therefore subscribes to the notion of a textual corpus comprised of
51
Cf. De Or. 55-8, Pomp. 3-5, Thuc. 5-6.23-4 and 52; Inst. 10.1.73-5.101-4; Dic.
exercit. 9-10.13-9 and Hist. conscr. 15.18-9. 39. 42. 54.
Chapter 1: The Antiquities and ancient historiography
35
a set of ancient histories that – when taken together – constitute a distinct
and outstanding subgenre. As such, they are to be considered historical par
excellence (apparently as opposed to the writings associated with the
somehow less historical subgenres of local and ethnographically oriented
histories). Even though Fornara shares Jacoby’s predilection for this third
subgenre, he nonetheless takes issue with the – in his opinion – imprecision
of the German term Zeitgeschichte as a catch-all for the diverse group of
ancient historians associated herewith. The authors who are commonly
associated with this subgenre did not all share an interest in contemporary
events. Instead, what defines them, according to Fornara, is ‘their common
subject, purpose, and methodology’ (ibid., 3) with the ‘defining quality’ of
these authorships consisting in ‘their direct concern with the description of
res gestae’ (ibid.). Or, as Fornara argues elsewhere, the uniqueness of the
works associated with this third subgenre rests on the fact that unlike the
geographers, ethnographers and local historians, the authors of monographs
such as Herodotus and Thucydides, the various histories of Greece, Sicily,
and Rome by the likes of Xenophon, Antiochus of Syracuse, and Fabius
Pictor, and universal histories such as those of Ephorus and Diodorus not
only concerned themselves with reporting that an event happened, but also
with depicting how it transpired. As such ‘only history is mimetic’ (ibid.,
29).52
Fornara’s choice of designating the third subgenre as ‘history’ has been
severely criticized by Marincola. He traces the main fault of his reasoning
back to the fact that he attributes the mimetic aspects of historical
compositions to only one of the Jacobean subgenres thereby not
recognizing chronography and ethnography as forms of historical writing
proper.53 This predilection on Jacoby’s and Fornara’s part for the works of
Fornara’s use of the term mimesis is evidently influenced by Aristotle’s similar use of
it in his Poetics in his discussion of ancient poetry. Here, he comments on the various
ways of constructing a plot and lists the key components and terms associated with this
literary genre and begins by stating that all kinds of poetry have a shared mimetic (i.e.
representational) quality, and that they ‘differ from one another in three respects:
namely, by producing mimesis in different media, of different objects, or in different
modes’ (Poet. 1447a16-7). The work is discussed at some length by Fornara in the
introduction to his third chapter entitled ‘The Theoretical Foundations of Greco-Roman
Historiography and their Application’ under the heading History’s Definition (cf.
Fornara 1988, 91-8 referencing such passages as Poet. 1451B5-7; 1459A15-28 as well
as Rhet. 1356B11 and 1360A13).
53
Cf. Marincola 1999, 284, n. 11, also 1997, 2, n. 3; 2001, 3, and 2009, 23. Marincola
ends his footnote on Fornara in Marincola 1999 with the following declamation: ‘In this
particular case, Jacoby’s arrangement and nomenclature, whatever their shortcomings,
are more consistent than Fornara’s’ (Marincola 1999, 284, n. 11). Wiseman likewise
agrees with Marincola in censuring Fornara for his separation of genealogy,
ethnography, horography, and chronography from history proper (cf. Wiseman 1985,
110).
52
36
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
a select group of historians has prompted Marincola to voice a concern that
it is ‘not surprising that certain authors (or certain of Jacoby’s subgenres of
history) would be privileged over others’ (Marincola 2001, 3, compare
Wiseman 1985, 110) and to reject the notion that those ancient authors who
differ in strategy and/or content from the “main” body of historians ought
to be reckoned as ‘outliers, interesting only in so far as they shed light on
proper historians’ (ibid., with a note referring to Fornara). Marincola
thereby seems to suggest that works such as Josephus’ Antiquities, which
are otherwise often relegated to the fringe of Greco-Roman historiography,
are worthy of being studied in their own right and that they are no less
important than the works of such prominent authors as Herodotus,
Thucydides and Polybius.
We thus return to Momigliano’s distinction between “great” and lesser
historians, the hypothesis of a distinct canon of historical works and the
problems inherent in such an approach towards the study of ancient
historiography. In particular, Marincola stresses that our current knowledge
and understanding of this field is completely determined by what has been
handed down to us through the ages. What little there is, is only ‘a tiny
sample’ (Marincola 2011b, 13) of the collected body of historical writings
in antiquity. Therefore, we must not fixate on those remains to the degree
of forming elaborate theories and all-encompassing schemes on the basis of
such relatively fickle evidence.54 Despite the fact that the likes of
Herodotus and Thucydides have been singled out by ancient critics as
amongst the greatest of historians in antiquity (e.g. Inst. 10.1.73 and Hist.
conscr. 54), we must recognize, as Jacoby already did in his 1909-article,
that there is a fundamental difference between the ancient and our modern
perceptions of what constitutes “history” and “a historical account”. In
antiquity, historiography was understood as a scientific discipline that was
part of the academic field called “humanities” (cf. Jacoby 1956b, 20).
Aside from debate on the proper classification of the individual works
associated with the literary genre of ancient historiography, the notion of
‘genre’ (and its applicability in classical works) has itself become an
increasingly contested issue during the last thirty years. This is evidenced
by such influential publications as the article ‘Ancient Literary Genre: A
Mirage?’ (1985) by the German-American classist T. G. Rosenmeyer and
the monograph Generi e lettori: Lucrezio, L’elegia d’amore,
L’enciclopedia (1991, English tr. 1994) by the Italian classist G. B.
54
Cf. Marincola 2011b, 13, also 2001, 3. Hence the importance of the Greek and Latin
fragments recorded in the FGrHist and the HRR, respectively, for contemporary study
of the field.
Chapter 1: The Antiquities and ancient historiography
37
Conte.55 Although these scholars primarily deal with poetic literature, their
insights into the question of ‘genre’ have also proven highly useful within
the study of such prosaic classical literature as ancient historical works.56
The question of genre and generic classifications will now be dealt in some
detail, as it is of great importance for the analysis in the subsequent
chapters of the various authorial claims and comments by Josephus himself
throughout the Antiquities.
In the introductory part of his article, Rosenmeyer states quite
emphatically that he is only interested in ancient classifications of works,
and thus not in modern genre theory. He justifies this by stating ‘that our
modern usage [sc. of generic classifications], as applied to the Greek and
Roman texts, is hollow unless it is warranted by the ancient’ (Rosenmeyer
2006, 422). Any modern use of generic labels would thus have to
correspond to certain potential ways of classification in antiquity. As
Rosenmeyer states,
Only if the ancient reflections about poetry can be interpreted as attempts to discover
and understand the relationships among different kinds of poetry can we truly say
that the class terms cover genre concepts (ibid., compare Marincola 1999, 281-2).
Commenting on the traditional generic labelling of poetic literature into
either epic, lyric or drama, Rosenmeyer states that the assumption that such
a division should be perceived as ancient classifications ‘has very little
truth to it’ (Rosenmeyer 2006, 423). He demonstrates this by tracing this
supposed triad and the interest in generic labelling as conveyed in the
works of ancient literary critics such as Plato, Aristotle and their successors
– his expressed aim being to show how the ancient authors’ classifications
by no means correspond to our modern understanding (and use) of generic
labels.
Rosenmeyer’s analysis however runs deeper than this and has wider
consequences for our present study. According to his developmental model,
Jacoby insisted that the different fragments fitted into each their own
subgenre and that any transition from one subgenre to another is
characterized as a sharp break from the established tradition. Rosenmeyer
instead opts for a paternal model, stating that instead ‘of genre criticism,
the ancients practised model criticism. Their allegiances and affiliations
connect, not with a mode or a kind, but with a father, a personal guide’
(ibid., 435). According to this view, the earlier established tradition
55
See also the anthology Matrices of Genre. Authors, Canons, and Society (2000)
edited by M. Deprew and D. Obbrink, especially the contribution by D. Boedecker
entitled ‘Herodotus’s Genre(s)’.
56
Cf. Marincola 1999, 298; Pelling 1999, 330, and Boedecker 2000, 98 referring to
Conte 1994, 114-5.
38
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
functions as the ‘parent’. Similarly, any subsequent literary work which
deliberately emulates one or more of the formal characteristics of the parent
(such as its topic, scope or structure) might be designated as its ‘offspring’
or ‘child’. In opposition to a developmental (or, ‘biological’) model,
Rosenmeyer concludes that there ‘is no need for an appeal to a biological
model of growth and decline as long as the model of the family quarrel, or
rather the playful engagement with the parent, is available’ (ibid., 437).57
This notion of playfulness can among other things be seen in the historians’
shared tendency towards emulation. It is said that ‘imitation is the sincerest
form of flattery’, and if that is the case, then ancient historical works were
certainly among the more flattering types of literature. In his criticism of
Jacoby’s static notion of genre, Marincola comments directly on this issue:
Response, reaction, innovation, and the competition with predecessors are some of
the most important elements of ancient literary creation, whether in historiography or
in any other genre. (…) Imitation was an accepted form of homage, but it was not to
be simply a slavish copying of the model but the infusion of a new spirit into a
traditional treatment. (…) It is the openness to this aspect of historiography that
seems to me most lacking in Jacoby’s schema (Marincola 1999, 300).
In a manner much akin to Rosenmeyer, Conte argues that generic labelling
is only useful and sensible in so far as it facilitates an elucidation of the
relationship between the content of a given work of literature and its
overall form. And he states that just as a ‘category of genre based
exclusively upon formal features is clearly unacceptable’ (Conte 1994,
107), so too would classifications by content alone be insufficient. Instead,
Conte focuses on the relations between otherwise disparate elements and
regards the term ‘literary genres’ as ‘systems of signs’ (ibid., 109) or types
of (communicative) ‘strategies’ (ibid., 112), and characterizes this
communicative aspect as ‘fairly universal and recurrent’ (ibid., 114) in all
types literature of all ages. In his opinion, the very notion of genre is thus
perennial and neither just a thing of the past or a purely modern invention.
He further admonishes us not to conceive of genres ‘as simple, immobile
abstractions or as lifeless specimens to be collected in sterile vials’ (ibid.,
127) but rather to acknowledge the genre’s intrinsic ties to individual
works. What we observe are specific works belonging to particular genres,
not the ideational genres as such.
Even though there are some similarities in style and argument in the
works of Rosenmeyer and Conte, they do not see eye to eye on one crucial
aspect: Conte generally agrees with Rosenmeyer’s replacing of ‘genre
criticism’ with ‘model criticism’ (cf. Rosenmeyer 2006, 81, quoted above)
For more on the topic of later historians’ criticism of their predecessors, see below
(4.3).
57
Chapter 1: The Antiquities and ancient historiography
39
and his focus on the imitative aspects of ancient literature. Nevertheless, he
asserts that ‘it must not be forgotten that the imitation, if it succeeds,
necessarily implies a degree of generalization’ (Conte 1994, 174, n. 1). In
this regard, the model functions as ‘a “generic” matrix capable of
generating new texts’ (ibid.). In the opinion of the British classist C.
Pelling, it remains a disputed question, whether ancient authors saw
themselves as imitating and generalizing on the basis of a paternal model
(Rosenmeyer) or whether they followed wider genres imbued with some
predetermined sense of generalization (Conte). Indeed in the field of
ancient historiography, this is a question that we, according to Pelling,
‘need not answer (…) in the same way for all authors and all periods’
(Pelling 1999, 330). These debates concerning the applicability of generic
terms and the notion of authorial imitation have raised some fundamental
questions that in many instances have helped to elucidate the fundamental
dissimilarity between ancient historians and their modern namesakes with
regard to their respective perceptions of (and approaches towards) their
historiographical endeavours. One example hereof might be Herodotus’
relations to Homer and epic poetry.58 A more fundamental and theoretical
question arising from this debate is how one ought to characterize the
relationship between the mass of established trends, traditions, and
commonplaces within the field of ancient historiography and the sense of
creativity and individuality, which they often express in their works.59
These discussions of the usefulness of generic classifications have within
contemporary scholarship on ancient historiography resulted in some
prominent scholars’ sounding a note of caution concerning the use of too
clear-cut and all-embracing taxonomies. Thus, we would seem to have
reached an impasse: either we must simply refrain from any attempt at
labelling the various ancient works and instead consider them as wholly
autonomous objects (that is: as separate entities in no way constituting a
mass (or, body) of literature characterized by shared traits or a sense of
unity); or else we must seek some alternative way of dealing with, and
distinguishing between, these works without resorting to generic
categorizations. To this effect, the latter half of Marincola’s 1999-article
consists of an attempt on his part to formulate such a new and more
dynamic view of ancient historical works. He here lists five ‘criteria’
(Marincola 1999, 301) or ‘factors’ (ibid., 309) to be considered in any
analysis of such works:
The first criterion involves a distinction between narrative and nonnarrative ways of presentation where the ancient historian chooses to
58
Cf. Woodman 1988, 1-5; Boedecker 2000, and Pelling 2006b. For more on the
general attitude towards poetry and the poets in the works of the ancient historians, see
below (4.3.1).
59
More on this issue below (e.g. 3.3-5 and 4.3).
40
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
provide his readers with either a sequential and descriptive (diachronic) or
a focused and “historical” (synchronic) narrative, or a combination of the
two; hence the fundamental dissimilarity between chronicles and more
structured accounts that have a clear beginning, middle, and end (cf. ibid.,
302-3, also 2011e, 3). This criteria also applies to the categorization of the
first eleven books of the Antiquities in so far as this part of the work might
be characterized as a narrative account with a structure comprised of a clear
beginning (the creation account, Ant. 1.27), middle (the capture of the ark
by the Philistines, the death of Eli and the wife of Phinehas, 5.353-60), and
end (the return from exile, 11.1ff). As such, this part of the work seems to
follow a diachronic structure.
The second criterion concerns the manner of focalization as applied by
the historian in his work (cf. ibid., 303-4). The choice of orientation and
point(s) of view usually ranges from an individual (e.g. Alexander or
Augustus) over a collective entity (e.g. a city state or region) and through to
all-embracing categories (e.g. the Empire or the known world in its
entirety). Here lies the reason for a distinction between local and universal
historical accounts. This criteria also applies to the Antiquities in which
Josephus provides an account of the history of his native people in their
native region of Palestine.
The third criterion pertains to the chronological limits imposed by the
historian in his attempts to structure and emplot his narrative. This typically
entails a choice of where to begin and where to end (cf. ibid., 304-5).60
Thus, one may differentiate on the one hand between monographs such as
those of Thucydides and Sallust and the historia continua/perpetua such as
Xenophon’s and the various other Hellenica – and on the other hand
between (near-)contemporary and non-contemporary history. Considering
how the first half of the Antiquities focuses exclusively on the very distant
past of the Jewish people, this part of the work deals strictly with noncontemporary events in contrast to the latter half of the work and Josephus’
monograph on the Jewish War.
The fourth criterion focuses on the author’s manner of chronological
arrangement as he may arrange his account temporally (i.e. by years, an
epoch system such as the Olympiads, or certain important historical events
such as the Trojan War) or geographically (i.e. by regions) or thematically
(i.e. by categories) (cf. ibid., 305-6).61 Here again we find support for a
division between local and universal histories and between monographs
and larger continuous accounts. By comparison, in Ant. 1-11, Josephus
makes use of a wide variety of methods of dating and calendric systems
It is worth noting that Marincola here refers directly to White’s Metahistory and his
talk of emplotment (e.g. White 1985e, 7-11)
61
More on this topic below (5.2).
60
Chapter 1: The Antiquities and ancient historiography
41
and different types of fixed points such as the deluge or the exodus (cf.
1.80-2 and 2.311, also 8.61-2).62
The fifth and final criterion concerns the topics of the respective histories
whose authors may choose to write on military, socio-political, cultural, or
religious matters or a combination of these. Marincola follows an argument
previously presented by G. Schepens in his 1997 article ‘Jacoby’s FGrHist:
Problems, Methods, Prospects’ and highlights the importance of
recognizing that the attention paid within contemporary scholarship to warmonographs and others works focusing on political issues may be out of
proportion to their actual prevalence in antiquity. As already mentioned,
many works are only available to us in a fragmented state (cf. Marincola
1999, 306-7, also 2011e, 12-3). For this reason we – in the opinion of
Marincola – should not merely settle for the apparent (and potentially,
accidental) character and outlook of the collected textual corpus as it is
available to us, but instead recognize that the ancient historians might also
have been interested in other topics than depictions of great wars and
squabbles in the senate. Similarly, one should not regard such interests in
socio-political, military, cultural and religious matters as having been
mutually exclusive in antiquity (cf. ibid., 307). In the first half of the
Antiquities, Josephus too touches upon several of the topics outlined in this
criteria, including matters of warfare, socio-political developments and
religion.63
1.5. CONCLUDING REMARKS
Any assessment of Josephus’ capacities as an author and rewriter of the
Scriptures in the first half of the Antiquities must take into consideration
the intrinsically historiographical nature of the work as a whole. However,
in this chapter it has been noted how previous scholarship on Josephus has
shown only a limited interest in this topic. Some scholars have even
claimed that whatever similarities there may be between the Antiquities and
the works of the Greco-Roman historians are all merely conventional and
therefore essentially insignificant. Against this supposition, it has been
claimed in this chapter that the connections between Josephus’ work and
those of his Western colleagues are indeed worth studying in their own
right, not least since the Antiquities seems to have been primarily intended
as a history of the Jews people aimed at non-Jewish readers who were
interested in this particular subject matter.
This chapter has also demonstrated that the field of ancient GrecoRoman historiography is more diverse and generally broader than is often
recognized. It has been noted that there are numerous points of intersection
62
63
More on this topic below (5.2.1-2).
More on these topics below (5.2.2-3.3).
42
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
between the Antiquities and those of a number of prominent historians such
as Polybius, Diodorus, Dionysius and Livy.
Finally, this chapter has demonstrated that the study of ancient GrecoRoman historiography underwent significant (and in many ways,
fundamental) changes in the latter half of the twentieth century. It has
emerged that the contemporary scholarly understanding of this ancient
literary discipline (as represented by such prominent scholars as Wiseman,
Woodman and Marincola) shows increased interest in the rhetorical
dimension of ancient histories as well as a move toward a general
relaxation of previously rather fixed generic categories.
The analysis given in this chapter therefore shows that there is ample
room for a work such as Josephus’ Antiquities within the field of ancient
Greco-Roman historiography. The various points of contact between this
work and those of the Greco-Roman historians will be explored further in
the following chapters.
CHAPTER 2
SETTING THE STAGE FOR HISTORY
WAYS OF INTRODUCTION
2.1. INTRODUCTORY
This chapter will demonstrate that the ancient historians had various means
at their disposal to introduce themselves and the content of their works to
their readers. The immediately following section (2.2) focuses on various
types of self-introduction. As we shall see, the ways in which Josephus
presents himself in both of his histories are highly reminiscent of those of a
number of prominent Greco-Roman historians.
The following section opens with a brief survey of the attitude expressed
by the ancient literary critics towards the issue of the proper subject matter
for ancient histories (2.3.1). The next subsections (2.3.2-3) demonstrate
that Josephus’ presentation of the particular subject matter of the
Antiquities is also closely comparable to that of such prominent historians
as Thucydides, Polybius, Dionysius and Livy. As we shall see, most
prominent ancient historians typically emphasize the overall relevance of
their respective works and the greatness of their chosen subject matter, as
does Josephus in his histories.
2.2. ‘ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF…’
WAYS OF SELF-INTRODUCTION
2.2.1. Manners of self-presentation in ancient histories
Any historian who wished to address his audience could do so either
directly or indirectly in his narrative. Of the two, the former is by far the
easiest to discern by a modern critic. By contrast, the latter is less easily
detectable since it is fully embedded within the narrative itself. For this
reason, it is more open to interpretation and divergent assessments.
As for the authors’ direct means of addressing their readers, a majority of
the ancient historians would frame their accounts in certain ways by
affixing them with certain introductory remarks. Concerning the tone and
size of such prefaces, Lucian complains that they are often of a
disproportionate nature when compared to the body of the respective work.
Instead, he would prefer there to be ‘a general uniformity (ὅμοια τὰ πάντα),
a unity of colour (ὁμόχροα)’ so that the body might be ‘in proportion with
the head (συνᾷδον τῇ κεφαλῇ τὸ ἄλλο σῶμα)’ (Hist. conscr. 23). Otherwise,
one would be like the authors who ‘put the head of the Colossus of Rhodes
on the body of a dwarf’ (ibid.).
On the other hand, one cannot do entirely without some form of
introduction. Lucian distinguishes between the ‘virtual (δυνάμει)’ and
proper preface (cf. Hist. conscr. 23 and 52.). The former can be applied
‘when the subject matter requires no preliminary exposition’ (ibid. 52),
44
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
such as is the case in Xenophon’s Anabasis (cf. ibid. 23), while the latter
functions as the historian’s way of reassuring his audience of the
importance and usefulness of his narrative. Here he will set forth ‘the
causes (τὰς αἰτίας)’ (53) and outline ‘the main events (τὰ κεφάλαια τῶν
γεγενημένων)’ (ibid.) contained in the body of his history, and thus making
his narrative ‘easy to understand (εὐμαθῆ) and quite clear (σαφῆ)’ (ibid.).
As representative examples of such prefaces Lucian singles out those of
Herodotus and Thucydides (cf. 54).
Such prefaces typically served as the historian’s primary means of
formally introducing himself and his work to his readers.64 Some authors
would merely introduce themselves by name and place of origin. This is for
instance the case in Herodotus in Hist. 1.1, Hecataeus FGrHist 1 F 1a,
Thucydides in Thuc. 1.1.1, Dionysius in Ant. rom. 1.8.4 as well as Josephus
himself in J.W. 1.3.65 Others, however, would either refrain from referring
to themselves at all (as in Xenophon and Diodorus) or only do so to a
limited extent (as in Polybius). By assuming such an aura of anonymity, the
latter two historians may devote their prefaces entirely to their subject
matter and its perceived relevance (cf. Marincola 2004, 273).
The prefaces would typically be kept in a formal tone in either the first
person singular (as for instance in Thucydides, Polybius, and Dionysius) or
plural (as in Diodorus). Only very rarely would the historian divulge any
personal information about himself and his life story. And in such cases, it
would often serve a specific point in his overall argument. Sallust is one
example: He was elected tribune in 52 BCE, served under Caesar in his
North African campaign of 46, was chosen by the general as the first
governor of the new province of Africa Nova, and on his return to Rome
was charged with malpractice and subsequently chose to withdraw from
public life. In the preface to his Bellum Catalinae, he provides us with a
deeply personal depiction of his political career as a period in which
despite his best efforts he was held ‘captive by ambition (ambitione
corrupta tenebatur)’ (Bell. Cat. 3.3, compare Bell. Jug. 4.3-4).66 He
proceeds to state that since he has retired from public life he does not
intend to waste his ‘precious leisure in indolence and sloth (socordida
atque desidia)’ (Bell. Cat. 4.1). For since he is no longer in the public
64
As for the issue of the relations between the preface and the subsequent main part of
the work with regard to their respective date of composition, there is hardly any
conclusive evidence provided by the ancient sources themselves. Any theorization on
this matter would amount to an argument from silence. However, we have at least a
single instance of an author commenting directly on this issue, namely Diodorus who
makes it very clear that he first composed his preface after having finished the main
body of work (cf. Diod. 1.6.1).
65
More on this topic below (2.2.2).
66
On Sallust’s career, see Syme 2002, 29-42.
Chapter 2: Ways of introduction
45
spotlight and therefore free from that ‘ill-starred ambition’ (4.2), he is now
at leisure to concern himself with an equally (if not, more) important
matter, namely the ‘cherished purpose’ of composing an account of those
res gestae populi Romani that he deemed ‘worthy of record (memoria
digna)’ (ibid.).67
2.2.2. Josephus’ manner of self-introduction in his histories
Josephus too introduces The Jewish War and The Antiquities by way of
lengthy prefaces, both of which are replete with self-presentational phrases.
In his preface to The Jewish War, he introduces himself by name as
‘Josephus, son of Matthias’ (J.W. 1.3) and his place of origin as ‘a native of
Jerusalem’ (ibid.). As we have seen, this manner of introduction is similar
to that of Herodotus, Thucydides and Dionysius. Aside from such
conventional remarks, he explicitly mentions his genealogical descent as ‘a
Hebrew by race (<γένει Ἓβραῖος, om. in P and Eus.>)’ (ibid.) as well as his
occupation as ‘a priest’ (ibid., compare Life 1-2 and Ag. Ap. 1.54).68
Although such personal remarks were not common place in the prefaces to
ancient histories, they do bear some resemblance to Sallust’s depiction of
his own profession as a politician. Similarly, his genealogical remark
signals a deviation from the established self-presentational norms of
ancient historiography – provided of course that it was extant in the
original manuscript. By introducing himself in this manner, Josephus has
67
This fairly recent series of the events had already previously been singled out by
Cicero as a suitable topic for a historical monograph (see below, 2.3.1). Sallust’s
personal experience in these matters may however have been somewhat limited. At the
height of the conspiracy in the early 60’s, he was in his early twenties and not yet
directly involved in matters of politics. When he chose to commit to writing an account
of this period some twenty years later, many of his key eyewitnesses had already
perished: Catalina himself had been slain in 62; Crassus had been defeated by the
Parthians at the Battle of Carrhae in 53 BCE, and Caesar of course had been
assassinated by Brutus and his followers on the Ides of March of 44. Cicero still
remained (only to die a year prior to the publication of the work), as did Messalla
Rufus, L. Calpurnius Bestia, and C. Antonius (cf. Syme 2002, 71). Although he does at
one point claim to have heard Crassus talk of the accusations rendered against his
person by Lucius Tarquinius (apparently on behalf of Cicero), it is uncertain to what
extent he had direct correspondence with any of the remaining witnesses (cf. Bell. Cat.
48.9, cf. Marincola 2004, 81, n. 86 and Syme 2002, 71). The general issue of the
historian depicting himself as being in possession of special knowledge will be dealt
with in extenso below (3.3). In general, the account in the Bellum Catalinae would
appear to be based on documentary evidence, and most significantly on Cicero’s own
accounts hereof in his writings (Syme 2002, 73). More on this topic below (3.5).
68
The fact that Josephus on numerous occasions throughout his authorship refers to his
own priestly profession is of immense importance for the assessment of his literary
endeavour throughout the Antiquities and Against Apion (cf. Tuval 2011). For more on
this topic, see below (3.5.1).
46
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
effectively accentuated his own unmistakeable foreignness in the eyes of
his non-Jewish readers.
This is especially significant when one compares it with the selfpresentational practices of other prolific provincial historians such as
Polybius, Diodorus and Dionysius, who did not consider their own
genealogy of relevance for their own self-presentation. Josephus even
attempts to turn his foreignness to his own advantage. For he qualifies his
particular choice of subject matter with a reference to his own experience
of the war as first an active participant in it and then as ‘an onlooker
(παρατυχὼν)’ (1.3). Unlike Sallust who deemed any direct involvement in
current affairs detrimental for the proper writing of histories, Josephus thus
emphasizes the many gains to be had by an historian’s own participation in
and personal knowledge of contemporary events. Indeed, this form of selfintroduction is highly reminiscent of the manner in which Thucydides and
Polybius had portrayed themselves as having been present at, or
participating in, the events depicted in their works in Thuc. 1.22; 4.104-7
and Polyb. 4.2.2, respectively, as has already been argued by Price (cf.
Price 2005b, 110).
In the preface to the Antiquities, Josephus also comments on his applied
methodology. Yet, in light of his chosen subject matter, he was of course
barred from referring to his personal involvement in the events covered in
the work. This, however, did not prevent him from reflecting on his manner
of research. For, he points out that his account will be entirely in keeping
with the Scriptures, and he promises to have neither added nor omitted
anything from them (cf. 1.17, compare 1.5 and 1.26).69
The preface to The Jewish War is replete with profoundly personal
remarks. Thus, for instance, Josephus subsequently depicts himself as
inherently incapable of concealing his own thoughts (τῇ <ἰδίᾳ, add.
Holwerda> διεθέσει) or refusing ‘to give my personal sympathies (τοῖς
ἐμαυτοῦ πάθεσι) scope to bewail my country’s misfortunes’ (J.W. 1.9). He
even admits that his personal sentiments may at some points throughout his
narrative run ‘contrary to the law of histories (παρὰ τὸν τῆς ἱστορίας νόμον)’
(1.11, translation mine as confirmed by Thackeray 1989, 8, n. a).
Furthermore, he admonishes any critic to ‘credit the history with the facts,
the historian with the lamentations’ (1.12). Price is undoubtedly correct in
stating that the author ‘(t)hus (…) self-confessedly writes a history which
invites a response violating the conventions of that very genre, as
represented above all by Josephus’ two prime historiographical models,
Thucydides and Polybius’ (Price 2005b, 111). This, however, does not
imply that Josephus’ manner of introducing his war monograph is
irreconcilably at odds with the established literary conventions of ancient
69
More on these passages below (3.5).
Chapter 2: Ways of introduction
47
historiography. On the contrary and as has been suggested by Price himself,
Josephus might here be seen as attempting to resolve the tension between
on the one hand the expectations of his Jewish and non-Jewish recipients,
respectively, and on the other hand his adopted roles as both a Greek
historian and a Jewish apologist, polemicist and prophet (cf. ibid.).70
In his preface to the Antiquities, Josephus applies a slightly different
self-referential style. He, for instance, never introduces himself by name or
makes note of his place of origin and descent. He does, however, frequently
refer to himself in the first person. Some of these references serve as
callbacks to his previous literary endeavour (e.g. Ant. 1.4 and 6-7). Yet, in
most cases, they pertain directly to the content of the Antiquities.71 Thus,
for instance, he reveals that he had previously contemplated writing an
account of the ancient history of his people, but had ultimately decided to
put it off due to the complexity of such an endeavour (1.6).72
2.3. ‘… AND MY WORK’:
THE HISTORIAN AND HIS CHOSEN SUBJECT MATTER
2.3.1. The importance of choosing a proper subject matter
Ancient literary critics such as Cicero, Pliny the Younger and Lucian all
provide several instructions on how one ought (not) to write proper history.
Their recommendations range from choices of subject matter (and
methodological considerations related to this) over choices of suitable
structure and arrangement and right down to specific ways of narration.
The aspiring historian first has to decide what subject matter and/or timeperiod to treat in his narrative. That a formal distinction was made in
antiquity between literary treatments of contemporary and noncontemporary events emerges quite clearly from scattered remarks in
Cicero, Plutarch, Tacitus, and Sextus Empiricus.73 Of these authors, Cicero
and Plutarch are undoubtedly the most explicit.
In Leg. 1.8, the three interlocutors discuss the period to be treated by
Cicero, were he to venture into the historiographical field. Quintus would
have him compose an account of the ‘earliest (sc. period) (ab ultimis)’
(ibid.), since previous treatments of this period are so lacking in quality that
‘they are never read at all (ut ne legantur quidem)’. One is, of course, to
infer from this that in the opinion of Quintus (as well as that of his own)
Cicero would be capable of producing an account of non-contemporary
70
For more on the preface to The Jewish War and the prevailing tendencies exhibited
throughout the preface to the Antiquities, see below in this subsection and in the
following chapter.
71
Cf. Ant. 1.5. 9-10. 12. 15. 17-18. 24 and 26.
72
More on this passage below (2.3.2).
73
Cf. Leg. 1.8; Peric. 13.12; Ann. 4.33, and Math. 1.252-3, also Ant. 1.5. For more on
this topic, see Luce 2011, 293 and 308-9 and Gabba 2011, 345, n. 15.
48
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
events worthy of being read and enjoyed. However, and again according to
Quintus, Cicero himself would be more inclined to focus on contemporary
events ‘in which he himself has taken part (quibus ipse interfuit)’ (ibid.).
And in this, he is met with approval by Atticus who lists a number of
reasons why an account of contemporary history would be preferable to a
depiction of earlier times. The first reason lies in the greatness of the events
they themselves have experienced in their own generation. Furthermore, it
would present him with an opportunity both to praise the glorious deeds
(laudes) of his friend, Pompeius Magnus, and to give an account of his own
‘glorious (divinum74) and memorable (memorabilem) year (sc. of
consulship)’ (ibid.).
Cicero also comments upon the issue of the proper subject matter for
historical accounts in his aforementioned request to Lucceius (cf. Fam.
22.4). Cicero’s experiences in the period from 63 to 57 BCE would, so
Cicero notes, provide ‘plenty of variety (multam (…) varietatem)’ (ibid.) to
Lucceius’ account, as nothing ‘tends more to the reader’s enjoyment (ad
delectationem lectoris) than varieties of circumstances (temporum
varietates) and vicissitudes of fortune (fortunaeque vicissitudines)’ (ibid.).
One recognizes here the dramatic motif of peripeteia (e.g. Poet. 1452a), as
well as the focus on life and deeds.
The issue of subject matter is also touched upon by subsequent authors.
It figures, for instance, as one of the deciding factors in Dionysius’
evaluation Herodotus and Thucydides in Thuc. 5-7 as well as in his outline
of the qualitative difference between them in Pomp. 3. Similarly, Plutarch’s
distinction between treatments of contemporary and non-contemporary
events is just as significant as Cicero’s. Having mentioned a number of
charges levelled against Pericles and his chief architect Phidias, he
concludes:
To such degree, it seems, is truth hedged about with difficulty and hard to capture by
research (ἱστορίᾳ), since those who come after the events in question (οἱ (...) ὕστερον
γεγονότες) find that lapse of time is an obstacle (ἐπιπροσθοῦντα) to their proper
perception of them (τῇ γνώσει τῶν πραγμάτων); while the research of their
contemporaries (ἡλικιῶτις ἱστορία) into men’s deeds and lives, partly through envious
hatred (τὰ μὲν φθόνοις καὶ δυσμενείαις) and partly through fawning flattery (τὰ δὲ
χαριζομένη καὶ κολακεύουσα), defiles and distorts the truth (Peric. 13.12).
While Plutarch’s use here of the term ἱστορία must not necessarily be taken
as a reference to ancient historiography, much of what he has to say would
be applicable within this literary genre; and in that case, his description
provides numerous significant points of relevance. One notices his
emphasis (as in his deprecatory essay on Herodotus) on the importance of
74
Text uncertain (cf. Keyes 1988, 304).
Chapter 2: Ways of introduction
49
truthfulness and the notion that any composition would require some sort of
inquiry (ἱστορία). Secondly, he seems quite aware that researchers (be they
contemporary or non-contemporary) may easily run the risk of producing
mendacious accounts either from a distance in time or a tendency towards
malice and/or flattery. And finally, he designates the subject matter of such
an inquiry as one that pertains to ‘deeds and lives (τῶν πράξεων καὶ τῶν
βίων (...) ἱστορία)’ (ibid., also e.g. Ep. 5.8.9 and 7.33.10).
Finally, Pliny also comments on the proper subject matter for historical
accounts in two of his letters. The first of comments is in his answer to
Capito’s request that he should write a history. He is not wholly dismissive
of the idea, but asks him to choose a subject for him, be it ‘ancient history
(vetera)’ (Ep. 5.8.12), which has already had its share of authors and the
research into which is a highly laborious task, or the history of ‘recent
times (nova)’ (ibid.), which has yet to be handled by an historian and the
composition of which might easily give cause for much censure and
accusations of malice (culpa). Pliny reassures him, however, that none of
these reasons would deter him from engaging in such literary endeavours.
Pliny’s second comment on the topic of the subject matter for histories is in
his aforementioned letter to Tacitus. The letter contains his account of the
Massa-Senecio-incident which he provides in the hopes that Tacitus will
find it worthy of being incorporated into one of his works which would
make it ‘more known (notiora)’ (7.33.10) and increase ‘its fame and
importance (clariora maiora)’ (ibid.). As we saw in Cicero and Plutarch, so
too Pliny thinks that the subject matter of histories should be deeds. Tacitus
is highly competent in such depictions, as Pliny indicates in the
introductory lines of the letter:
We are usually careful to see that none but the best artists (ab optimo quoque
artifice) shall portray our features (facies nostra), so why should we not want our
deeds (operibus nostris similis) to be blessed by a writer like you to celebrate them
(tui scriptor praedicatorque contingat)? (7.33.2).
2.3.2. The ancient historians on the subject matter of their works
Aside from serving as a means for self-presentation, the prefaces to works
of the ancient historians would also function as a declaration of their
reasons for undertaking such a literary endeavour. In the preface to his
monograph, for instance, Josephus indicates how his accurate account of
war might prove instructive for those ‘Greeks and such Romans as were
not engaged in the conflict’ (J.W. 1.6). Other historians who wrote on
similar subjects would also typically emphasize the relevance of their
respective works, as is evident in Herodotus’ famous characterization of his
work as a ‘display of the inquiry (ἱστορίης ἀπόδεξις) of Herodotus of
Halicarnassus, in order that the things brought about by humankind may
50
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
not become faded in time (τὰ γενόμενα ἐξ ἀνθρώπων τῷ χρόνῳ ἐξίτηλα
γένηται)’ (Hist. 1.1, trans. Marincola 2001, 25).75 By way of comparison,
Thucydides is even more specific in his outlining of the benefits to be
gained by a reading of his account of the Peloponnesian War. For he will
only be content should his work be deemed beneficial by the reader who
would ‘wish to have a clear view both of the events which have happened
and of those which will some day, in all human probability (κατὰ τὸ
ἀνθρώπινον), happen again in the same or a similar way’ (Thuc. 1.22.4).76
Such is the highly rhetorically laden manner in which the author seeks to
appeal to his audience: His is not merely the account of an arbitrary (albeit,
great) conflict between two opposing parties. And not only is it of use for
those readers with a narrow interest in this particular war between the
Athenians and the Spartans; but the conflict is emblematic of human
conflicts in general and therefore relevant for a much wider audience as
well.77 Or, to quote Percival,
It (sc. the above cited passage) is a little pompous; it is intensely serious; it makes no
concessions. It declares a high sense of responsibility in the writer, and demands a
similar responsibility from the reader. It does not offer pleasure, and promises no
comfortable solutions. Its hope is a long-term hope, and its contribution is to a
programme which others will have to complete. It does not suggest a book that one
would read on holiday: it is not, remotely, escapist (Percival 1971, 201, also Syme
1963, 43).
It is interesting, however, to note how Thucydides was heavily condemned
by Dionysius for his choice of subject matter. For as the critic argues, in
choosing to begin his narrative with an enumeration (in Thuc. 1.23.1-3) of
the many disasters that befell the Greeks during the Peloponnesian War,
Thucydides ‘makes it clear himself that he has chosen a bad subject’
(Pomp. 3). For this reason, ‘readers of his Introduction (τὸ προοίμιον) feel
repugnance (ἠλλοτριῶσθαι) towards the subject, for it is about the affairs of
Greece that we are about to hear’ (ibid.). By contrast, Dionysius has found
Herodotus’ choice of subject matter (and his presentation and treatment
hereof) far more suitable for a historical account. For, as he points out,
75
For more on the term ἱστορία, see above (1.3.1).
Cf. Darbo-Peschanski 2007, 37-8; Dover 2009, 53-4; Greenwood 2006, 20;
Marincola 2004, 21; Morrison 2006, 160-4; Percival 1971; Walsh 1989, 23 (referencing
Hippocrates and the need for prognosis), and Woodman 1988, 23-8.
77
Cf. Rood 2011, 157-8 (referencing MacLeod 2005): ’Thucydides saw himself as a
universal historian. And a universal historian of conflict in general: the claim of
recurrence made for the account of the Peloponnesian War recurs in his generalizing
analysis of civil war (stasis) that build on his account of the Corcyrean civil war (3.82),
and that analysis is itself a prism for understanding the outbreak and development of
conflict between states as well as within states’
76
Chapter 2: Ways of introduction
51
The superiority of Herodotus’ judgment (τοσούτῳ φρονιμώτερος) to that of
Thucydides in his choice of subject (κατὰ τὴν ἐκλογὴν τῆς ὑποθέσεως) is as great as
the superiority of the story of the wonderful deeds (ἡ τὰ θαυμαστὰ ἔργα) of Greeks
and barbarians to that of the sad and terrible disasters (τὰ οἰκτρὰ καὶ δεινὰ πάθη) of
the Greeks (ibid.).
Historians who wrote on non-contemporary events would likewise point to
the relevance of their respective works – as is, for instance, the case in
Josephus’ broad statement that he has chosen to undertake ‘this present
work in the belief that the whole Greek-speaking world (τοῖς Ἕλλησιν) will
find it worthy of attention (ἀξίαν σπουδῆς)’ (Ant. 1.5).78 Other noncontemporary historians, however, would outline the significance of their
work in greater detail. In the preface to Polybius’ universal historical
account, he emphasizes that there are great benefits to be gained by readers
of his systematic history. One such example may be drawn from his
emphatic statement in the preface that it is the prerogative of the historian
to present to his readers ‘under one synoptical (ὑπὸ μίαν σύνοψιν) view’
(Polyb. 1.4.2, compare 1.2.8 and 1.3.3-6) the feats accomplished by
Fortune (τύχη). Polybius further argues that nowhere in history has Fortune
made such splendid accomplishments ‘as in our own time’ (1.4.5).79 In this
way, so Walbank argues, are ‘Tyche and Polybius (…) shown as being in a
sense complementary to each other: each is a creative artist in the relevant
field, the one producing the unified oecumene, the other its counterpart in
the unified work of history – σωματοειδῆ (sc. 1.3.4)’ (Walbank 1990, 68).
Furthermore, Polybius emphasizes the general utility of his pragmatic
approach towards the study of history by stating that such accomplishments
cannot be observed by the study of disconnected events or locations.
Rather, only ‘by studying the interconnexion (συμπλοκῆς) of all the
particulars, their resemblances and differences (δ’ ὁμοιότητος καὶ διαφορᾶς)’
may we ‘at last (…) make a general survey, and thus derive both benefit
and pleasure (τὸ χρήσιμον καὶ τὸ τερπνὸν) from history’ (Polyb. 1.4.9-11).
That a given historical work may be of much value for the intended
readers is unsurprisingly also an issue of much importance to Diodorus in
the preface of his Βιβλιοθήκη, the first half of which is devoted to a
development of the general usefulness of the study of history. For, ‘it is an
excellent thing (καλὸν) to be able to use the ignorant mistakes of others as
warning examples (παραδείμασι) for the correction of error (πρὸς
διόρθωσιν), and, when we confront the varied vicissitudes of life, instead of
having to investigate what is being done now, to be able to imitate
(μίμησιν) the successes which have been achieved in the past’ (Diod. 1.1.4).
78
79
For more on this passage, see above (1.2.2).
More on this passage below (5.2.4).
52
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
Elsewhere, he points to the many moral lessons to be learnt from a close
scrutiny of historical events and notes that we must consider history ‘the
guardian (φύλακα) of the high achievements of illustrious men (τῆς τῶν
ἀξιολόγων ἀρετῆς), the witness (μάρτυρα) which testifies to the evil deeds of
the wicked (τῆς τῶν φαύλων κακίας), and the benefactor (εὐεργέτιν) of the
entire human race (τοῦ κοινοῦ γένους τῶν ἀνθρώπων)’ (1.2.2).
He subsequently points to the specific gains to be had from an encounter
with a universal historical account such as his own. For the historian who
should decide to produce a history ‘from the most ancient times (ἀπὸ τῶν
ἀρχαιοτάτων χρόνων)’ (1.3.6) and down to his own time would produce ‘a
treatise of utmost value (εὐχρηστοτάτην) to those who are studiously
inclined (τοῖς φιλαναγνωστοῦσιν)’ (ibid.). Such a history would prove
highly rewarding for the reader, as ‘every man (ἕκαστον) will be able
readily to take what is of use (τὸ χρήσιμον) for his special purpose (πρὸς τὴν
ἰδίαν ὑπόστασιν), drawing as it were from a great fountain (ἐκ μεγάλης (...)
πηγῆς)’ (1.3.7). Indeed, according to Diodorus, there are a number of
important lessons to be learned from a universal history such as his (cf.
Clarke 1999, 276-8). Whereas the sheer multitude and diversity of the
available histories render the aforementioned studiously inclined reader
incapable of attaining full knowledge (ἀνάληψις) of past events, a ‘treatise
which keeps within the limits of a single narrative (ἡ (...) ἐν μιᾶς συντάξεως
περιγραφῇ πραγματεία) and contains a connected account of events (τὸ τῶν
πράξεων εἰρόμενον) facilitates the reading and contains such recovery of the
past in a form that is perfectly easy to follow (παντελῶς
εὐπαρακολούθητον)’ (Diod. 1.3.8, also 1.3.4).
Dionysius too stresses the many gains to be had from a reading of a
universal historical account such as his. Despite professing a reluctance in
having ‘to indulge (ἥκιστα βουλόμενος) in the explanatory statements
usually given in the prefaces to histories’ (Ant. rom. 1.1.1), he has
nonetheless felt ‘obliged (ἀναγκάζομαι) to prefix to this work some remarks
concerning myself (περὶ ἐμαυτοῦ)’ (ibid.) which include his ‘reasons (τοὺς
ἐμαυτοῦ λογισμοὺς)’ for undertaking the present work as well as ‘the
sources (περὶ τῶν ἀφορμῶν ἀποδιδούς) from which I gained the knowledge
(τὴν ἐμπερίαν) of the things I am going to relate’ (ibid.). As is the case in a
number of his predecessors, so too Dionysius stipulates that those who
should choose to write histories would do well to make a ‘choice of noble
and lofty subjects (ὑποθέσεις (...) καλὰς καὶ μεγαλοπρεπεῖς) and such as will
be of great utility (πολλὴν ὠφέλειαν) to their readers’ (1.1.2, also 1.2.1).
For, ‘to this day almost all the Greeks are ignorant of the earliest history of
Rome (ἡ παλαιὰ τῆς Ῥωμαίων πόλεως ἱστορία)’ (1.4.2, compare J.W. 1.6).
This has even led some to believe that the Romans have gained a position
Chapter 2: Ways of introduction
53
of world domination not through their own merits but ‘through some
chance and the injustice of Fortune (δι’ αὐτοματισμόν τινα καὶ τύχην
ἄδικον), which inconsiderately showers her greatest favours upon the most
undeserving (τοῖς ἀνεπιτηδειοτάτοις)’ (ibid.).80 Dionysius has therefore set
out to demonstrate that the city has not reached this prominent position of
power unjustly. For, it has ‘from the very beginning (ἐξ ἀρχῆς),
immediately after its founding (εὐθὺς (…) μετὰ τὸν οἰκισμόν), produced
infinite examples of virtue in men (μυρίας (...) ἀνδρῶν ἀρετὰς) whose
superiors, whether for piety or for justice or for life-long self-control
(σωφροσύνῃ πλείονι παρὰ πάντα τὸν βίον) or for warlike valour (τὰ πολέμια
κρείττους ἀγωνιστὰς), no city, either Greek or barbarian, has ever produced’
(1.5.3). Accordingly, Dionysius’ treatment of this period will contain a
depiction of the res gestae of ‘the brave men who have fulfilled their
destiny’ (ibid.) and who will thereby gain ‘immortal glory’ (ibid.). Such a
portrayal will hopefully prove a shining example for ‘the present and future
descendants of those godlike men’ (1.6.4) who ‘ought to set a high value on
themselves and indulge in no pursuit unworthy of their ancestors’ (ibid.).
As for the specific content of the work, Dionysius notes how he will
touch upon a variety of issues with the expectation that the work as whole
‘may afford satisfaction (ἀποχρώντως) both to those who occupy
themselves with political debates (τοῖς περὶ τοὺς πολιτικοὺς διατρίβουσι
λόγους) and to those who are devoted to philosophical speculations (τοῖς
περὶ τὴν φιλόσοφον ἐσπουδακόσι θεωρίαν), as well as to any who may desire
mere undisturbed entertainment (ἀοχλήτου (...) διαγωγῆς) in their reading of
history’ (1.8.3).81
The Greek historians were not alone in emphasizing the many benefits to
be had from a careful study of past events. For, Sallust too stresses the
general importance of his chosen subject matter. Yet, unlike other
historians such as Herodotus, Thucydides and Josephus, he nowhere asserts
that the events which are to be covered by him were of a hitherto unseen
magnitude (cf. Marincola 2004, 40). What concerns him are not the
practicalities of the events in question but rather their underlying
emblematic characteristics. In fact, he is more interested in matters of
morality than in socio-political issues (e.g. Bell. Cat. 5.9).82
For more on Dionysius’ means of combatting such anti-Roman sentiments, see Gabba
1991, 195-200. On the topic of the role of Fate in the works of the ancient historians,
see below (5.2.4).
81
Perhaps, rather unsurprisingly, Josephus introduces the content of the Antiquities in a
similar manner in Ant. 1.5, as we will see below in this subsection.
82
For more on Sallust’s aims and intensions, see Syme 2002, 121-37. On the political
aspects of Sallust’s works, see Earl 1961. As will emerge from the following chapter,
many of Sallust’s colleagues would refer to their acquaintance with socio-political
80
54
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
Livy also emphasizes the moral aspects of the events depicted in his work.
In this respect, the final part of his preface contains a set of instructions
intended for any potential reader of his work. The reader should first of all
consider ‘what life and morals (quae vita, qui mores fuerint) were like;
through what men and by what policies (artibus), in peace and in war,
empire was established and enlarged (partum et auctum imperium sit)’
(AUC Praef. 9). Subsequently, he should note how a ‘gradual relaxation of
discipline (paulatim disciplina)’ brought about a moral decline with the
morals first giving way (desidentis (…) mores), then sinking ‘lower and
lower (magis magisque)’ until finally beginning ‘the downward plunge
(praecipites) which has brought us to the present time, where we can
endure neither our vices (nec vitia) nor their cure (nec remedia)’ (ibid.). As
he continues, a study of previous events may provide a contemporary
student of history with a plethora of relevant examples for imitation and
deterrence. For, as he concludes,
What chiefly makes the study of history wholesome and profitable (salubre ac
frugiferum) is this, that you behold the lessons of every kind of experience set forth
as on a conspicuous monument; from these you may choose for yourself and for your
own state what to imitate (quod imitere capias), from these mark for avoidance
(quod vites) what is shameful in the conception and shameful in the result (10).
By introducing his subject in this manner, Livy undoubtedly ‘seeks to
depict the desperate condition to which the Romans have come, and to
demonstrate by reference to the past his ideas of how their pre-eminence
must be retained’ (Walsh 1989, 18). It is for this very reason that the
careful study of history (and his in particular) may prove instructive to a
contemporary audience. Yet, nowhere in his work does Livy express a
possibility of achieving this goal. In the opinion of Walsh, in spite of the
author’s strong moral convictions about the current state of affairs in Rome
and an expressed belief in ‘the need for a spiritual and moral awakening’,
there is ‘also clearly discernible a scepticism about the feasibility of
immediate reform’ (ibid.).
Josephus also notes that many may benefit greatly from a reading of his
work.83 For, he points out how there is one main (moral) lesson (μάλιστα
τις (...) μάθοι) to be learnt from a perusal of his history, namely ‘that men
matters in order to emphasize their own capabilities as competent historians. Sallust by
contrast does not consider the writing of histories to be the logical culmination of a life
in politics (cf. Bell. Cat. 4.1-4 and Bell. Jug. 5.1-2). In fact, since he is primarily
‘interested in morality, not the practicality, of actions, (…) the importance of political
experience recedes into the background’ (Marincola 2004, 140), this being an opinion
that is also shared by Livy.
83
More on the moral aspects of the Antiquities below (5.3.3).
Chapter 2: Ways of introduction
55
who conform (τοῖς (...) κατακολουθοῦσι) to the will of God (θεοῦ γνήμῳ)’
(Ant. 1.14) and do not transgress his laws will ‘prosper (παραβαίνειν) in all
things beyond belief (πέρα πίστεως)’, whereas for those who disregard the
divine will ‘things (else) practicable (τὰ πόριμα) become impracticable
(ἄπορα), and whatever imaginary good thing (τι ποτ’ ἂν ὡς ἀγαθόν) they
strive to do ends in irretrievable disasters (εἰς συμφορὰς ἀνηκέστους)’
(ibid.).84
Aside from an outline of the general benefits to be gained by readers of
historical works, the prefaces would typically contain an assurance by the
historian himself of the overall significance and relevance of his work. He
would typically do so by assuring his readers of the perceived greatness of
the topic depicted in it. This is for instance the case in the introductory part
of Herodotus’ preface where the historian characterizes his chosen subject
matter as ‘the great and marvellous deeds, some displayed by Greeks, some
by non-Greeks’ (Hist. 1.1, trans. Marincola 2001, 25) in order that these
‘might not be without their renown (μήτε ἔργα μεγάλα τε καὶ θωμαστά
ἀκλεᾶ γένηται), both in respect to other things and especially on account of
what cause/charge (καὶ δι’ ἥν αἰτίην) they fought with each other’ (ibid.).
A similar phrasing is to be found in the introductory lines of the preface
to Thucydides’ history. Having first presented himself in a formal manner
by stating his name and place of origin, he informs his readers that he
began to compose his account of the war at its very outset. For he
anticipated that it would be ‘great (μέγαν) and noteworthy above all the
wars that had gone before it (ἀξιολογώτατον τῶν προγεγενημένων)’ (Thuc.
1.1.1). Indeed, in comparison with all conflicts that came before it, it may
be deemed ‘the greatest movement that had ever stirred the Hellenes
(κίνησις αὕτη δὴ μεγίστη τοῖς Ἕλλησιν ἐγένετο), extending also to some of
the barbarians, one might say even to a very large part of mankind (ἐπὶ
πλεῖστον ἀνθρώπων)’ (1.1.2, also 1.21.2; 1.22.4, and 1.23.1-585).
For our present study, however, the most interesting example of such
emphasis is of course to be found in Josephus’ preface to his account of the
war, which he in a Thucydidean manner introduces as ‘the greatest not only
of the wars of our own time (μέγιστον οὐ μόνον τῶν καθ’ ἡμᾶς), but so far as
accounts have reached us, well nigh (σχεδὸν) of all that ever broke out
between cities or nations (J.W. 1.1, compare Thuc 1.1 and Hist. 1.2.1).86
Although Josephus is not the first historian to concern himself with such
84
More on the religious aspects of the Antiquities below (5.2.4).
More on the latter passage below (4.3.2, 5.2.3 and 5.3.2).
86
For more on the similarities between J.W. 1.1 and Thuc. 1.1, see Cohen 2002, 91;
Eckstein 1990, 178; Mader 2000, 6, n. 13; Marincola 2004, 38, and Thackeray 1989,
xvi. For a comprehensive analysis of the preface to The Jewish War, see Price 2005a.
85
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
matters (ibid., compare Diod. 1.3.1-4; Ant. rom. 1.5.4, and AUC Praef. 2),
none of the other historians who have previously written on this particular
war has managed to produce an account of the facts (τὸ ἀκριβὲς τῆς
ἱστορίας) (cf. 1.2). Josephus’ expressed intention is therefore to provide
those Greeks and Romans who themselves did not participate in the war
with a truthful account in order that they may not remain ‘in ignorance
(ἀγνοεῖν) of these matters, with flattering or fictitious narratives (ἢ
κολακείαις ἢ πλάμασι) as their only guide’ (1.6, also 1.30 – compare this to
Ant. rom. 1.4.2, cited above).87
Those historians such as Josephus in the Antiquities, however, who
chose to write on other matters than a single recent conflict, had various
other ways of emphasizing the greatness of their respective works. Thus,
for instance, in the preface to his Histories, Polybius not only emphasizes
the distinctiveness of his chosen subject matter, but also its unexpected (or
literally, paradoxical) nature. For, ‘the very element of unexpectedness in
the events (παράδοξον τῶν πράξεων) I have chosen as my theme will be
sufficient to challenge and incite everyone, young and old alike, to peruse
my systematic history (πρὸς τὴν ἔντευξιν τῆς πραγματείας)’ (Polyb. 1.1.4,
also 1.2.8).88 In the next part of the preface, he indicates how one may
properly grasp the significance of the period in question when one
compares Rome’s current position of power with that of ‘the most famous
empires of the past (ἐλλογιμωτάτας τῶν προγεγενημένων δυναστειῶν), those
which have formed the chief theme (τοὺς πλείστους (...) λόγους) of
historians’ (1.2.1). In the subsequent paragraphs, there follows an explicit
assessment of the Persian, Spartan and Macedonian empires.89 But even
though these all held dominance in certain parts of the world for a certain
amount of time, none of them succeeded in maintaining world dominance
(cf. 1.2.2-6, also Ant. Rom. 1.2.2-3.6, referred to below). By way of
comparison, ‘the Romans have subjected to their rule not portions, but
nearly the whole of the world (σχεδὸν (...) πᾶσαν) [and possess an empire
which is not only immeasurably greater than any which preceded it, but
need not fear rivalry in the future]90’ (1.2.7, also 1.1.5). This vivid assertion
of the vast superiority of the Romans over against all past empires serves
not only as an formal introduction to the subject matter of the Histories, but
also as a means for Polybius to implicitly magnify ‘the importance of his
own work’ (Walbank 1957, 40).
For more on the polemical aspects of Josephus’ prefaces, see below (4.3.3).
On the related notion of τύχη and its importance for Polybius, see below (5.2.4).
89
This passage might be construed as an indirect criticism of Polybius’ predecessors.
More on this topic below (4.3.2).
90
This part of the manuscript (A) is defective (cf. Paton 1979, 6, n. 1 and Walbank
1957, 41-2).
87
88
Chapter 2: Ways of introduction
57
Elsewhere, Polybius highlights the greatness of the events depicted by him
throughout his work. Thus, in a lengthy digression in the fifth book, he
admonishes certain unnamed predecessors who would attempt to pass off
their epitomes on the Punic War as universal histories (cf. 5.33.3). For, he
argues that
no one is so ignorant (ἀδαὴς) as not to know that many actions of the highest
importance (πλεὶσται (...) καὶ μέγισται) were accomplished then in Spain, Africa,
Italy, and Sicily, that the war with Hannibal was the most celebrated (ἐπιφανέστατος)
and longest (πολυχρονιώτατος) of wars if we except that for Sicily, and that we in
Greece were all obliged to fix our eyes on it, dreading the results that would follow
(5.33.4).
The subsequent historians would also emphasize the overall greatness of
the topics of their respective works. Thus, for instance, in the preface to his
account of the Catilinarian conspiracy Sallust states that he has chosen to
‘write a history of the Roman people (res gestae populi Romani), selecting
such portions as seemed to me worthy of record (ut quaeque memoria
digna videbantur)’ (Bell. Cat. 4.2). One such topic is the aforementioned
conspiracy which Sallust considers ‘worthy of special notice (memorabile)
because of the extraordinary nature of the crime and of the danger arising
from it’ (4.4). Similarly, in the preface to his monograph on the Jugurthine
War he provides his readers with a number of reasons why this particular
conflict ought to be considered worthy of special attention. For not only
was it lengthy, brutal (magnum et atrox) and of ‘varying fortune (variaque
victoria)’ (Bell. Jug. 5.1). It may even be deemed the very first time that
‘resistance (obviam itum) was offered to the insolence of the nobles’ and as
‘the beginning of a struggle (contentio) which threw everything, human and
divine, into confusion (divina et humana cuncta permiscuit), and rose to
such a pitch of frenzy (eoque vecordiae processit) that civil discord ended
in war and the devastation of Italy’ (5.1-2).
By way of comparison, for authors such as Dionysius and Livy ‘the
‘greatness’ of their history is its expansiveness and comprehensiveness,
perhaps as Ephorus had once argued’ (Marincola 2004, 40). Dionysius, for
instance, assures his readers that he has chosen a subject that is ‘noble,
lofty and useful to many (καλὴν (...) καὶ μεγαλοπρεπῆ καὶ πολλοῖς
ὠφέλιμον)’ (Ant. rom. 1.2.1, compare 1.1.2, cited above). Similar to
Polybius, he then proceeds to exemplify the overall greatness of his topic
by comparing Rome’s current supremacy with that of past empires
including the Assyrians, the Medes, the Persians, the Macedonians and the
Diadochoi (cf. 1.2.2-4.3, compare Polyb. 1.2.2-8). Unlike the short-lived
supremacy of other superpowers as those of the Athenians who only ‘ruled
(…) the sea coast, during the space of sixty-eight years’ (1.3.2) or the
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Spartans whose supremacy only lasted thirty years (cf. ibid.), Rome’s
current dominance is vast and ‘more lasting (ὅσος οὐδεμιᾷ τῶν ἄλλων) than
that of any other commonwealth or kingdom’ (1.3.3, compare Polyb. 1.1.5
and 1.2.7 and Diod. 37.2.1, the latter of which is suggested by Marincola in
Marincola 2004, 41, also Gowing 2010, 389-90).
Similar to Sallust, Livy’s main interest lies in the res gestae of the
Roman people and in his case ‘from the foundation of the city (a primordio
Urbis)’ (AUC Praef. 1). According to the author, this is a well-established
topic – one that is ‘not only old but hackneyed (veterem tum volgatam
esse)’ (2). For it has already been the object of much attention by a
‘constant succession of new historians (novi semper scriptores)’ who
believe themselves capable of either producing ‘more authentic information
(certius aliquid)’ (ibid.) or of surpassing their predecessors in terms of style
(scribendi arte). Even though his account thus runs the risk of being
surpassed by other subsequent histories on the same subject, Livy takes
comfort in the fact that he has managed to the best of his abilities ‘to
commemorate the deeds of the foremost people of the world (gestarum
memoriae principis terrarium populi pro virili parte)’ (4). Although he
(and his work) is inevitably to be measured against a host of other authors,
in the opinion of Moles, Livy nevertheless presents himself as someone
who is ‘outside and above the general run of historians: his motivation is
loftier and he will give his readers something different and something
better. This is the implication beneath the surface modesty and diffidence’
(Moles 2009, 57).
Livy does, however, elsewhere stress the overall greatness of the
individual events depicted by him in the work. Thus, for instance, at the
outset of the twenty-first book, which marks the beginning of his account
of the Second Punic War, he is quick to note how this preface affords him
with an opportunity to ‘properly assert what many an historian (plerique
(…) scriptores) has declared (professi) at the outset of his entire work, to
wit, that the war which I am going to describe was the most memorable
(maxime (…) memorabile) of all wars ever waged (omnium (…) quae
unquam)’ (AUC 21.1.1, also 31.1.6-7, i.e. on the greatness of the
subsequent Macedonian War).
As with so many of his predecessors, so too Josephus introduces the
topic of his Antiquities in lavish terms, namely as an account of ‘our entire
ancient history (τὴν παρ’ ἡμῖν ἀρχαιολογίαν)91 and political constitution
91
That Josephus uses this particular term as a catchall title for his own work emerges
from his subsequent (and oft repeated) use hereof in Ant. 20.259. 267; Life 430, and Ag.
Ap. 1.1. 2. 54. 127. 2.136 and 287. Similar terms occur in Ant. 1.94 in a reference to an
ancient history of Phoenicia by an otherwise unknown author, Hieronymus the Egyptian
and 1.107 as a catchall term for a number of works by a slew of ancient historians,
Chapter 2: Ways of introduction
59
([τὴν, om. O] διάταξιν τοῦ πολιτεύματος)’ (Ant. 1.5, compare Ant. rom.
1.8.3, cited above). Indeed, already during his composition of his previous
monograph he had ‘contemplated describing the origin of the Jews (ἐξ
ἀρχῆς Ἰουδαῖοι), the fortunes (τίσι (...) τύχαις) that befell them, the great
lawgiver under whom they were trained in piety (τὰ πρὸς εὐσέβειαν) and
the exercise of the other virtues (τὴν ἄλλην ἄσκησιν ἀρετῆς), and all those
wars waged by them through long ages before this last in which they were
involuntarily engaged against the Romans’ (1.6). Yet, as previously
mentioned, the actual composition of such an extensive work had however
proven to be a rather daunting task. And had it not been for the repeated
urgings of his patron Epaphroditus, who is characterized as ‘a man devoted
to every form of learning’ (1.8), Josephus would most likely not have
engaged in this extensive endeavour. By introducing his work in such a
splendid manner, he undoubtedly seeks to emphasize the magnitude (and
sheer variety) of the topics to be treated by him in it. The passage is
certainly not without its share of superlatives. Yet, interestingly, Josephus
does not characterise his history as the greatest of all.
By way of comparison, it is worth noting how Josephus’ depiction of his
own internal deliberations is remarkably different from his previously
professed attitude towards such an endeavour. For in the preface to The
Jewish War, he refers to the ‘many Jews (Ἰουδαίων πολλοί)’ (J.W. 1.17)
who have already provided accurate accounts of ‘the history of our
ancestors’ and since ‘these records have been translated (μεταβαλόντες) by
certain Greeks (sc. τινες Ἑλλήνων) into their native tongue without serious
errors’ (ibid.).92 For this reason, he considers the very writing on such
ancient as ‘not only out of place (νῦν (…) ἄκαιρον), but superfluous (ἄλλως
περιττόν)’ (ibid.). Indeed, only accounts of previously unrelated
contemporary topics may be considered worthy of praise and
acknowledgment (cf. 1.15). For, as he adds, ‘(t)he industrious writer is not
one who merely remodels (μεταποιῶν) the scheme and arrangement of
another’s work, but one who uses fresh materials (μετὰ τοῦ καινὰ λέγειν)
and makes the framework of the history his own (τὸ σῶμα τῆς ἱστορίας
κατασκευάζων ἴδιον)’ (ibid). Of himself, Josephus therefore seeks to present
himself as one who has abided by these rules and how he as a foreigner
(ἀλλόφυλος) ‘at a vast expenditure of money (ἀναλώμασι) and pains
(πόνοις)’ (1.16) has presented ‘to Greeks and Romans this memorial of
great achievements (τὴν μνήμην τῶν κατορθωμάτων)’ (ibid.). Upon the
publication of his monograph, however, it would appear that Josephus
including Manetho and Berorus (compare Ag. Ap. 1.4). For more on these particular
authors, see below (3.5.4).
92
More on this passage below (3.5).
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
changed his mind and came to regard the literary treatment of noncontemporary matters as a suitable topic in its own right.93
2.4. CONCLUDING REMARKS
This chapter has demonstrated that Josephus’ manner of self-presentation is
highly comparable to those of a number of prominent Greco-Roman
historians.
As has emerged, the ancient historians made use of a variety of selfpresentational techniques. The various means that they had at their disposal
functioned as ways of arguing for the overall greatness and relevance of
their respective works. Common to all these historians was a steadfast
assertion that such accounts (in whatever shape or form) would prove
highly beneficial for the studious reader.
As we have seen, those who wrote on contemporary events would
typically present themselves in a formal manner and refer to themselves by
name and place of origin, as Josephus did in his Jewish War. By contrast,
those who chose to write on remote (or, ancient) events typically opted for
a more personal and engaging tone, as Josephus did in the preface to the
Antiquities.
Some non-contemporary historians would point to the sheer diversity of
the topics treated in their works (e.g. Polybius and Diodorus), whereas
others would refer to the (moral) lessons to be learnt from their accounts
(e.g. Dionysius, Sallust and Livy – and Josephus in the Antiquities).
Writers of monographs would typically greatly emphasize the magnitude
and importance of their subject matter and present it as the greatest conflict
of all time (e.g. Herodotus, Thucydides – and Josephus in his Jewish War).
By comparison, non-contemporary historians would also comment on the
greatness and magnitude of the events covered in their works (e.g.
Polybius, Sallust, Livy – and Josephus in the Antiquities). Yet, they would
typically avoid an overreliance on superlatives, as Josephus also does in the
preface to the Antiquities.
93
Cf. Attridge 1976, 45, n. 3; Bilde 1988, 80, and Schwartz 2007b, 205.
CHAPTER 3
A MATTER OF PERSUASION
THE IMPORTANCE OF A SOUND METHODOLOGY
3.1. INTRODUCTORY
The previous chapter has given numerous examples of the extent to which
Josephus’ manner of self-presentation conforms to the established literary
conventions of ancient historiography. This chapter will demonstrate that
Josephus also describes his own applied methodology in the first half of the
Antiquities in terms that are highly reminiscent of those of his Western
colleagues.
To this end, the chapter opens with a survey of the prevailing attitude
among the ancient literary critics to what constitutes a proper work of
history. Particular emphasis will be placed on what they perceived to be the
distinguishing characteristics of ancient historiography over against those
of other literary genres such as poetry, panegyric and oratory (3.2.1).
Furthermore, this section points to the general importance placed by these
critics on the notion of proper research (3.2.2). The next sections
demonstrate that many prominent ancient historians would refer to their
personal experience and autopsy (3.3), to their use of (and access to)
various oral sources and an expressed avoidance of hearsay (3.4) and
finally to various types of written sources, including inscriptions and
documents (3.5).
This chapter therefore demonstrates that Josephus’ professed
methodological approach towards his own literary endeavour in the first
half of the Antiquities is closely comparable to that of his Greco-Roman
predecessors.
3.2. ANCIENT LITERARY CRITICS ON THE NATURE OF ANCIENT HISTORIES
3.2.1 History 101: Historiography and related ancient genres
What constitutes a historical account? To answer this question, the ancient
critics would often juxtapose it with what it is not, namely poetry,
panegyric and oratory. In the introduction to his De Legibus, Cicero lets the
poet Quintus emphasize that there are ‘different principles (leges
observandas)’ (Leg. 1.5) to be followed in history and poetry. Cicero
himself agrees and submits that ‘in history the standard by which
everything is judged is the truth (ad veritatem), while in poetry it is
generally the pleasure (ad delectationem) one gives’ (ibid.), and he adds
that ‘innumerable fabulous tales (fabulae)’ (ibid.) are nevertheless found in
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the works of both Herodotus, ‘the father of history (patrem historiae)’
(ibid.), and Theopompus.94
A similar sentiment is voiced by Lucian in his highly instructive work on
How to write history. The first vice to be identified as a recurrent one
among mediocre historians is their laudatory tendencies and their failure to
realize ‘that the dividing line and frontier between history and panegyric
(ἐγκώμιον) is not a narrow isthmus but rather a mighty wall (τι μέγα
τεῖχος)’ (Hist. conscr. 7). Since the encomiast’s sole concern is praising and
pleasing his subject, he will not hesitate to have to resort to lying, if such
would be required. History, on the contrary, ‘cannot admit a lie, even a tiny
one, any more than the windpipe, as sons of doctors say, can tolerate
anything entering it in swallowing’ (ibid.). Thus, in the opinion of Lucian,
it ought to go against the very essence of historical accounts to circumvent
the truth for the sake of eulogy. This he subsequently highlights by
stressing the fundamental dichotomy (already expressed by Cicero)
between history and poetry: History must avoid the forms of flattery often
voiced in poetry such as in the Homeric depiction of Agamemnon with
eyes and a head like Zeus’, a belt like Ares’, and a breast like Poseidon’s
(cf. ibid., referencing Il. 2.478-9). For should history adapt such praise,
‘what else’, Lucian asks, ‘does it become but a sort of prose-poetry, lacking
indeed the high style of poetry, but showing the rest of poetry’s sorcery
(τερατείαν) without metre, and for that reason in a more conspicuous way?’
(Hist. conscr. 8).
In his letter to Titinius Capito, Pliny the Younger voices a similar
distinction as that between poetry and history by discriminating between
the nature of oratory and that of history. He is quite fond of the idea,
previously suggested by Capito and others, of composing an historical
account, because ‘the saving of those who deserve immortality (quibus
aeternitas debeatur) from sinking into oblivion, and spreading the fame of
others along with one’s own, seem to me a particularly splendid
achievement (mihi pulchrum in primis videtur)’ (Ep. 5.8.1). He even refers
to a ‘family precedent (domesticum (…) exemplum)’ (5.8.4) in the form of
his illustrious and prolific uncle and father by adoption, Pliny (the Elder).
He is, however, somewhat hesitant to undertake this endeavour. He does
intend to ‘revise (retractare)’ (5.8.6) a number of speeches presented in
‘important and complicated cases’ (ibid.) in order that the work he has put
in them ‘will not perish (intercidat)’ (ibid.) alongside himself. Yet, he
would not also be able to write a history at the same time – both of them
being ‘such great undertakings (utrumque tam magnum est) that it will be
more than enough to carry out one’ (5.8.7). He then goes on to highlight
On Cicero’s views on history and antiquarian matters in general, see Brunt 2011 and
Rawson 1972.
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63
three fundamental differences between oratory and history: firstly, while
the narrative aspect is essential to both of them, ‘oratory deals largely with
the humble and trivial incidents of everyday life, history is concerned with
profound truths (omnia recondita) and the glory of great deeds (splendida
excelsa)’ (5.8.9, also Hist. conscr. 50); secondly, the success of oratory
depends on its ‘vigour and severity of attacks’ (5.8.10), that of history ‘by
the ease and grace (tractu et suavitate) with which it develops its theme’
(ibid.), and thirdly and finally, with regard to ‘vocabulary, rhythm and
period-structure’ (ibid.).95 Despite Lucian’s and Pliny’s sharp divisions
between history and other literary forms, in the opinion of these critics, the
very notion of praise is not wholly barred from historical accounts. Pliny,
for instance, in his reflection on what period of history to make the object
of his account has the following to say about the consequences it would
have for him, were he (like his contemporary, Tacitus) to compose a work
on contemporary history:
I shall receive small thanks and give serious offence, for beside the fact that there is
much more to censure (culpanda) than to praise (laudanda) in the serious vices of
the present day, such praise as one gives, however generous, is considered grudging,
and however restrained one’s blame it is said to be excessive (Ep. 5.8.13).
Lucian too affords some place for praise within his system, but emphasizes
that ‘it must be given at the proper time (ἐν καιρῷ τῷ προσήκοντι) and kept
within reasonable limits (μέτρον ἐπακτέον τῷ πράγματι) to avoid
displeasing future readers’ (Hist. conscr. 9). He then warns historians not to
award pleasure a place of comparable importance alongside the need for
veracity, stating that ‘it is certainly better if it (sc. what gives pleasure) is
there incidentally – like good looks in an athlete’ (ibid.). Just as the
accomplishments of an athlete do not depend on his looks, so the success of
a historian does not depend on his capacity to provide his readers with
pleasurable accounts. Lucian concludes: ‘as long as she (sc. history) keeps
only what is hers alone in all its fullness – I mean the publication of the
truth (τὴν τῆς ἀληθίας δήλωσιν) – she will give little thought to beauty’
(ibid.), and he admonishes historians to be aware of the informed and
critical part of their audience to whom ‘complete fiction (μυθῶδες) and
praise that is heavily biased on one side (τὸ τῶν ἐπαίνων μάλιστα πρόσαντες
παρ’ ἑκάτερον)’ (10) does not even give any pleasure.
As previously mentioned, Cicero was quite conscious of the fact that
pleasure is usually considered of secondary importance in historical
Pliny here refers directly to Thucydides’ famous distinction between ‘a possession for
all time (κτῆμα (...) ἐς αἰεὶ)’ (Thuc. 1.22.4) and ‘a prize-essay (ἀγώνισμα ἐς τὸ
παραχρῆμα)’ (ibid.). More on this phrase below (3.3.1 and 3.5.2).
95
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accounts. In his Letter to Lucceius, he nonetheless seems willing to bend
this rule slightly when he urges his dear friend and historian Lucceius, who
according to Cicero himself in Fam. 22.2 at that time had nearly finished a
history of the Social (or ‘Italian’) War and the Civil Wars (90-88 and 88-81
BCE, respectively), to compose an account of his life from his consulship
of 63 BCE (presumably including a detailed depiction of his involvement
in the second Catalinarian Conspiracy) down to his return from exile in 57
BCE (cf. Fam. 22.4). Cicero stresses the urgency of such an account, which
he prefers to have published within his own lifetime (cf. 22.1 and 9). This
he attributes to his own ‘impatience (festinationis)’ (22.9) asserting that ‘I
cannot wait to see the world learning about me in my lifetime from your
books and to enjoy my modicum of glory myself before I die (nosmet
gloriola nostra ipsi vivi perfruamur)’ (ibid.). By all accounts, his request
was not accommodated. As for the ways in which Lucceius ought to
portray Cicero, the latter asks him to write about him ‘eulogistically
(ornanda)’ (3), more enthusiastically than he might perhaps feel inclined to
do. Cicero therefore urges him to waive ‘the laws of history for this once
(in eo leges historiae)’ (ibid.), ‘not to scorn personal bias (gratiamque illam
(…) ne aspernere)’ (ibid.) and to ‘concede to the affection (amorique (…)
largiare)’ (ibid.) between them ‘just a little more even than truth will
license (etiam quam concedet veritas)’ (ibid.). This implicit connection
between truthfulness and a lack of personal bias is of immense importance
for understanding the various claims to competence as presented by the
ancient historians throughout their works.96 At present, suffice it to say that
Cicero seems well aware that his current request is at odds with the very
laws of history.
3.2.2. The importance of proper research
In general, the ancient critics all argue that historians ought to ‘stick to the
facts’. It is, for instance, emphasized by Cicero in his De Oratore-dialogue,
when he states that the rules of historical writing ‘lie open to the view’ (De
Or. 2.62), namely that the ‘first law (primam (…) legem)’ (ibid.) is that ‘an
author must not dare to tell anything but the truth (ne quid falsi dicere
audeat)’ (ibid., also Leg. 1.5, cf. Walsh 1989, 32), while the second rule is
that ‘he must make bold to tell the whole truth (ne quid veri non audeat)’
(De Or. 2.62). He then goes on to emphasize that there must be no
suspicion of either ‘partiality (gratiae)’ (ibid.) or ‘malice (simultatis)’
(ibid.) anywhere in the writings of the historian.97 Cicero’s awareness of
96
More on this topic below (2.3 and 3.3-5).
It is worth noting, however, that Cicero does not outline in what manner the
preliminary research ought to be undertaken in order for a given account to be
considered truthful. For, as Brunt points out, ‘(h)e is concerned with history as a literary
97
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
65
the danger of historians being accused of malice is also, as previously
mentioned, evident in his Letter to Lucceius when he asks him to make an
exception to his otherwise stark observance of the rules of history by not
scorning ‘personal bias (gratiamque illam (…) ne aspernere)’ (Fam. 22.3)
in his hopefully eulogistic depiction of Cicero in the proposed work.
Pliny strikes a similar note in his letters to Tacitus, a personal friend of
his. Having given an account of an episode which occurred in 93 CE while
he was instructed by the Senate to act as counsel alongside his coprosecutor Herennius Senecio in a case against one Baebius Massa, the
former governor of the province Baetica in Spain, Pliny stresses that
although he would enjoy seeing the incident included in one of Tacitus’
histories thereby increasing ‘its fame and importance (clariora maiora)’
(Ep. 7.33.10), he is not asking him to exceed ‘what is due to the facts
(actae rei modum)’ (ibid.) for, as he adds, ‘History (historia) should always
confine itself to the truth (nec (…) debet egredi veritatem), which in its
turn is enough for honest deeds (honeste factis)’ (ibid.).98 That Lucian, too,
shares this sentiment clearly emerges from his comments in Hist. conscr. 9
on the place of praise in historical accounts. Much along the same lines is
his subsequent reassurance to those who might be so inclined, that there are
ways of combining ‘pleasure with truth’ (13) without having to resort to
flattery, just as in the latter half of his essay he on numerous occasions
stresses the importance of veracity ardently proclaiming that ‘(t)he
historian’s sole task is to tell the tale as it happened’ (38) and ‘only to Truth
must sacrifice be made. When a man is going to write history, everything
else he must ignore’ (40).
The aspiring historian had various rhetocial means at his disposal in his
attempts at assuring his readers of the overall accuracy of his account.
Those who wrote on near-contemporary events would typically base it on
his own observations and experiences (autopsy), which might then be
corroborated further by testimonies from other witnesses, be they people,
monuments, or writings (cf. Marincola 2004, 63-86 and Pitcher 2009, 4957 and 63-4). In the opinion of Polybius, interviews of still-living witnesses
were a necessity, as ‘many events occur at the same time in different
places, and one man cannot be in several places at one time, nor is it
possible for a single man to have seen with his own eyes (οὐδ’ αὐτόπτην
γενέσθαι) every place in the world and all the peculiar features of different
places’ (Polyb. 12.4c.4). The quintessential importance of autopsy is
likewise stressed by Polybius in his repeated criticism of Timaeus for his
genre, and therefore with the way in which it should be written, not with the work
prelimnary to writing’ (Brunt 2011, 211-2).
98
Such a proposed depiction of Pliny does not occur in Tacitus’ works. Massa was,
however, to be referred to in one of the closing paragraphs of the historian’s biography
on his father-in-law (cf. Agr. 45).
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mishandling (or even, total lack) of it (cf. 12.4d.2-8). Having spent ‘nearly
fifty years in Athens with access to the works of previous writers’
(12.25d.1), Timaeus mistakenly thought that he was ‘peculiarly qualified
(ὑπέλαβε τὰς μεγίστας ἀφορμάς)’ (ibid.) for writing history. In the opinion
of Polybius, however, like the science of medicine, ‘systematic [or,
pragmatic] history’ (12.25e.1) is comprised of three parts: firstly, ‘the
industrious study (πολυπραγμοσύνην) of memoirs and other documents and
a comparison of their contents’ (ibid.); secondly, ‘the survey (θέαν) of
cities, places, rivers, lakes, and in general all the peculiar features of land
and sea and the distances of one place from another’ (ibid.), and thirdly ‘the
review of [or, ‘experience in’, cf. Marincola 2004, 72] political events (περὶ
τὰς πράξεις τὰς πολιτικάς)’ (ibid.). Thus, inquiry into written evidence is
only one part of the research to be undertaken by the (pragmatic) historian.
And for Timaeus to reckon himself a capable historian based solely upon
his being well versed in written material is ‘absolutely foolish (τελέως
εὔηθες)’ (12.25e.7). It is as ‘if a man who had seen the works of ancient
painters fancied himself to be a capable painter and a master of that art’
(ibid.). Polybius strikes a similar note elsewhere as well in his criticism of
Timaeus’ bookishness: Nature has endowed man with two means (literally
ὄργανα, ‘organs’ or ‘instruments’) of attaining knowledge and performing
inquiries, namely either by hearing (autophony) or by sight (autopsy) (cf.
12.27.1). And of these, the latter is ‘much more veracious (ἀληθινωτέρας)’
(ibid.) in the opinion of Polybius who quotes a dictum to this effect by
Heraclitus. Whereas knowledge from books may be attained without much
difficulty or danger ‘provided only that one takes care to have access to a
town rich in documents or to have a library near at hand’ (12.27.4, also
12.28a.7), ‘(p)ersonal inquiry (πολυπραγμοσύνη) (sc. by way of autopsy)
(…) requires severe labour (πολλῆς (...) ταλαιπωρίας) and great expense
(δαπάνης), but is exceedingly valuable (μέγα (...) τι συμβάλλεται) and is the
most important part of history (μέγιστόν ἐστι μέρος τῆς ἱστορίας)’
(12.27.6).99 Timaeus has settled for the easier, more comfortable aspects of
historical research, thereby wholly neglecting to venture out into the field
in order to obtain first-hand knowledge.100 It is this general lack of personal
experience within such fields as politics and war that constitutes the most
glaring among Timaeus’ shortcomings as an historian (cf. Polyb. 12.25g.4;
26e.1-4 and 28.1-7, cf. Marincola 2004, 71). Such knowledge is a
prerequisite for any competent historian who passes judgment on the deeds,
99
On the issue of autopsy in Polybius and his censure of Timaeus for his lack of it, see
Schepens 2011a, 51-4.
100
Lucian directs a similar criticism at an unnamed historian who professed to be
writing what he himself had seen despite never having left his hometown of Kechries
near Corinth (cf. Hist. conscr. 29).
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
67
just as proper experience is required for any historian who wishes to
produce a vivid and compelling depiction of the events (cf. 12.18a.10).
Such vividness is conspicuously absent from Timaeus’ account due to his
bookishness (cf. 12.25h.4).101
The notion of the historian as an eyewitness is also stressed by other
critics: In De Legibus Quintus is made to assume that Cicero would include
in his accounts ‘those events in which he himself has taken part (quibus
ipse interfuit)’ (Leg. 1.8). Similarly, Dionysius in his appraisal of
Theopompus paints him as one who ‘was an eye-witness (αὐτόπτης) of
many events’ (Pomp. 6). Elsewhere he points to the fact that Thucydides
was not present at the Melian Dialogue (cf. Thuc. 5.84.3-113). This leads
him to conclude that the speeches contained in this part of the work do not
fit the participants (cf. Thuc. 41). Finally, Lucian also emphasizes that the
historian should preferably depict events for which he himself has been an
eyewitness; and if not, his research (as had already been dictated by
Polybius in Polyb. 12.4c.4-5, referred to above) should consist of
interviews with the most impartial of witnesses – ‘those whom one would
suppose least likely to subtract (ἀφαιρήσειν) from the facts or add
(προσθήσειν) to them out of favour (πρὸς χάριν) or malice (ἀπέχθειαν)’
(Hist. conscr. 47). Lucian seems here (perhaps, even literally) to have
borrowed a page from Dionysius’ appraisal of the accuracy of Thucydides.
At least, the phrasing in the last sentence is highly reminiscent of Thuc.
8.102
Not all ancient historians would however go on to compose monographs
on (near-)contemporary events, as many would instead choose a wholly
different topic and time-period for their work. Some would focus on the
history of a fixed geographical location, most often a single city-state (local
history), or the customs of a specific people (ethnography); while others,
including Diodorus, Dionysius, Livy and Josephus in the Antiquities, would
expand the scope of their work so as also to include ancient deeds and
events. In this latter type of history, the authors would apply a
predominantly diachronic form of narration beginning at the earliest period
101
The criticism for bookishness was however not levelled at ancient authors by all
critics. This is evident in Pliny’s Letter to Baebius Macer (Ep. 3.5) which contains a
bibliography of works of his uncle who is elsewhere characterized by his nephew as an
‘historian of scrupulous accuracy (historias et quidem religiosissime scripsit)’ (5.8.5).
In the letter, Pliny praises the industriousness of his uncle who on a typical day would
find frequent occasion to have books read out aloud to him while he would either take
notes or have others do so on his behalf (cf. 3.5.10-11.14.18). Pliny also states quite
emphatically that he himself is no match for his uncle when it comes to studiousness
(cf. 3.5.19).
102
More on this passage below (3.5.4). For Josephus’ use of a similar phrasing in Ant.
1.17 et alii, see below (3.5).
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
possible (usually referencing foundational myths as in the case of
Dionysius or creation accounts as in the case of Diodorus and Josephus)
and then proceeding up to a certain later point in time. Thus, their works
would either be comprised of a mixture of (near-)contemporary and noncontemporary events or have a narrower focus on the latter (as is the case
in the Antiquities). Even though the above-mentioned critics were chiefly
interested in delineating the manner of research required for literary
treatments of (near-)contemporary events, they were not wholly indifferent
towards accounts of past events. Polybius’ reproach of Timaeus’
bookishness might, for instance, be construed as an indirect criticism of
non-contemporary historiography as a genre, since authors of such histories
could not present claims to autopsy or interrogations of living
eyewitnesses, the most essential tool for any critical historian.103 Yet, just
as we should avoid regarding the disparate assertions by Polybius and
likeminded authors as representative of the collected attitude towards the
writing of histories in antiquity (cf. Schepens 1997, 146 and Marincola
2004, 306-7), so we should likewise be careful not to misconstrue these
critics as if they were rejecting entirely the notion of non-contemporary
historiography. Polybius, for instance, is well aware that his work will only
appeal to a select audience (cf. Polyb. 9.1.2 and 5), just as historiography as
such in his opinion is comprised of numerous different branches of which
his universal historical account of the rise of Rome constitutes but a single
branch (cf. 9.1.3 and 6, see Bravo 2007, 519-20). He himself has chosen to
write solely on ‘deeds (κατὰ τὰς πράξεις)’ (9.1.6), whereas other histories
might be centred on entirely different topics such as ‘genealogies, myths,
the planting of colonies, the foundations of cities and their ties of kinship’
(9.2.1). Previous historians have, however, already dealt extensively with
the latter subject matter. Therefore any aspiring author following along
those lines must either pass off the works of others as his own, ‘a most
disgraceful proceeding (πάντων (...) αἴσχιστον)’ (9.2.2), or else he ‘must
manifestly toil to no purpose (προδήλως ματαιοπονεῖν)’ (ibid.), since he is
forced to admit that his preferred topic has already been ‘adequately
(ἱκανῶς) narrated and handed down to posterity (τοῖς ἐπιγινομένοις) by
previous authors (διὰ τῶν προγενεστέρων)’ (ibid.). Polybius has chosen
instead to write ‘a history of actual events (ὁ (...) πραγματικὸς τροπος)’
(9.2.3) as this presents him with an opportunity to write on a previously
untouched subject matter (cf. 9.2.4). The ‘pragmatic’ aspect (or, function)
of his Histories is frequently emphasized by him when he applies the term
‘pragmatic (alternatively, ‘systematic’ or ‘serious’ in Paton’s LCL
translation) history (πραγματικὴ ἱστορία)’ (e.g. 1.2.8) to the main body of
103
Cf. Polyb. 12.4d.2-8 and 12.27.1, also Hist. conscr. 47 (cf. Sacks 1981, 62-4 and
Marincola 2004, 98-9).
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
69
his work, corresponding to books 2-39 (cf. Sacks 1981, 176, also Gelzer
1964b and Gowing 2010, 390). Although Polybius displays a predilection
for contemporary events, his critical stance towards Timaeus’ bookishness
does not entail a complete dismissal of documents as possible sources for
historical studies in addition to autopsy and interviews with living
witnesses. According to K. Sacks, it ‘seems likely from this last kind of
information (sc. documentary evidence) that a pragmatike historia could be
at least partially based upon past actions’ (Sacks 1981, 179). Sacks finds
further justification for this view at a particular point in the two
introductory books (designated by Polybius as the προκατασκευή, e.g.
1.3.9-10; 1.13.7, and 2.71.7) in the work. In his account of the First Punic
War, Polybius states that it is less painful, and therefore better, to learn
from the mistakes of others than one’s own, and that reflecting on this ‘we
should regard as the best discipline for actual life the experience that
accrues from serious history (ἐκ τῆς πραγματικῆς ἱστορίας)’ (1.35.9).
Although he generally reserves the term for treatments of contemporary
events, it would seem that some lessons might also be learnt from noncontemporary events (cf. Sacks 1981, 180).
3.3. THE HISTORIAN AND HIS PERSONAL EXPERIENCE
3.3.1. Claims to personal experience amongst the ancient historians
The positive review of any given work of history has as its sine qua non the
perceived competence of its author. In order for his work to be properly
received, assessed and ultimately enjoyed by his intended audience, the
historian would be expected to display his literary proficiencies and critical
accomplishments. To this effect he had, as we shall see, various means at
his disposal. Principal among these was his assurances of his overall
reliability and abilities as a critically capable historian.
As we saw in the previous subsection, the ancient critics deemed the
prime objective of any aspiring historian that of providing his reader with
an accurate (and only secondarily, a pleasurable) account of past events.104
For this reason, it is not surprising that some of the foremost ancient
historians would stress the truthfulness and reliability of their works. By
way of introduction let us briefly return to the Bellum Catalinae, where
Sallust clearly states that his mind is now free from ‘hope, and fear, and
partisanship (spe, metu, partibus)’ (Bell. Cat. 3.2). He therefore aims at
providing a brief account of the conspiracy ‘as truthfully as possible (quam
verissume potero)’ (4.3). Such claims to accuracy were very much a stable
of the literary tradition of ancient historiography, as we find such assertions
as early as in the works of Hecataeus and Herodotus. The former intends to
104
For more on these issues above (3.2).
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
write on what seems to him ‘to be true (ὥς (…) δοκεῖ ἀληθέα); for the
stories of the Greeks are varied, and as is manifest to me, ludicrous
(γελοῖοι)’ (FGrHist 1 F 1a, trans. Marincola 2004, 5). Similarly, after
having listed a number of varying accounts of the origins of the conflict
between the Greeks and the Persians the latter states that he will begin by
naming ‘him (sc. Croesus) whom I myself know (οἶδα) to have done
unprovoked wrong to the Greeks’ (Hist. 1.5). However, the degree to which
the ancient historians were willing to comment directly on their own
methodology varies significantly from author to author. Sallust certainly
does not feel a need to dwell on such matters. He does on occasion cite
letters, such as a letter by Catalina addressed to Quintus Catulus in which
the former seeks to provide an apology for his actions (cf. Bell. Cat. 35.1-6,
see also 33 and 44). However, one searches in vain for explicit allusions to
the written and/or oral sources for the bulk of his narrative as well as any
authorial comments on his own applied methodology. He may very well
have made good use of Cicero’s writings. But if so, this is certainly not
something that he has been willing to divulge to his intended audience.105
By contrast, some of Sallust’s most influential predecessors had dwelled
extensively on such matters. An illustrative example from Herodotus is in
his statement halfway through the second book of his Histories that up until
now his (Egyptian) account ‘is the outcome of my own sight (ὄψις) and
judgment (γνήμη) and inquiry (ἱστορίη)’ (Hist. 2.99).106 To this might be
added another example from the initial part of the first book where
Herodotus makes Candaules, the king of Lydia, brag about the beauty of
his wife to Gyges, his bodyguard and eventual successor to the throne.
Suspecting that the latter may not believe him, the king announces that he
intends to make him observe the queen with his own eyes stating that ‘men
trust their ears less than their eyes’ (1.8, compare Polyb. 12.27.1, cited and
treated below). Several scholars regard this assertion as an indication that
Herodotus considered autopsy superior to autophony.107 Such authorial
intrusions (or, footnotes) abound throughout Herodotus’ work. Taken
together, they constitute ‘the core of modern reconstructions of Herodotus’
historical method’ (Luraghi 2011, 77) – what N. Luraghi has termed the
‘meta-historiē’ (ibid.).
By analysing the ways in which this historian intrudes upon his own
narrative and assures his readers of the general accuracy of his account, we
For more on Sallust’s methodology, see Syme 2002, 71-81.
Whether or not the claims in this passage pertain to the accuracy of his Egyptian
account or to the preceding works in its entirety remains a matter of some debate among
scholars (cf. Marincola 2001, 36). More on this passage below (3.5.3).
107
Cf. Lateiner 1989, 190, Marincola 2004, 67 and Momigliano 1969d, 129 and 1977c,
162.
105
106
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
71
may be able to get a glimpse into his methodological mind-set. Herodotus
seems more concerned with the subjective means of historical writing than
with the objective material at hand (cf. Schepens 2011a, 44 and 2011, 106).
That is, he appears to be more concerned with his own (subjective) means
of knowledge acquirement than with the (objective) reliability of the
information attained in that way. Thucydides displays similar sentiments in
the epilogue to his Archaeology in Thuc. 1.20.1-22.4. He here provides an
outline of the methodology applied in the preceding part of the work and of
the one that he will bring to bear on the subsequent account of the
Peloponnesian war. The historian opens by stating that such was ‘the nature
of ancient history (τὰ μὲν οὐν παλαιὰ τοιαῦτα)’ (1.20.1, trans. Woodman
1988, 8) and proceeds to criticise those who accede to ‘hearsay reports of
former events, neglecting to test (ἀβασανίστως) them just the same’ (ibid.,
trans. LCL, also 1.20.3).108 By contrast, in his own expressed opinion, his
Archaeology is the result of a comprehensive inquiry into these ancient
matters. He has not settled for the accounts ‘which the poets have put into
song, adorning and amplifying (ἐπὶ τὸ μεῖζον κοσμοῦντες) their theme’
(1.21.1, compare 1.10.3) or those of ‘the chroniclers (λογογράφοι)’
(ibid.)109 who seem to be more concerned with providing pleasure than
‘truth (ἀληθέστερον)’ (ibid.). At a later point in his preface, he briefly
returns to the issue of the general dichotomy between pleasurable and
truthful historical accounts. In his own opinion, his monograph will most
likely ‘seem less pleasing to the ear (sc. as those of the chroniclers)’
(1.22.4) as it does not concerns itself with fabulous (lit. mythical, μυθῶδες)
events.110 To this effect, he ends this part of the digression with the famous
dictum that his work is not to be perceived as a mere ‘prize-essay to be
heard for the moment, but as a possession for all time’ (ibid.).111
In the subsequent part of the methodological digression, he reassures his
audience of his own capacities as a competent historian. For just as the
Archaeology is presented by the author as an accurate portrayal of the
period leading up to the Peloponnesian war, so too is the subsequent part of
his work also be perceived as a faithful account of the war. Thucydides
begins by sketching the difficulties of providing an accurate version of the
speeches given by various people during the war, which is the reason why
he chose to produce approximations of them by adhering ‘as closely as
108
For more on the term ἀβασανίστως and the issue of putting history to the test, see
below (3.4.1).
109
More on this phrase below (4.3.2 and 5.2.3).
110
As it has already been most persuasively argued by numerous scholars (e.g.
Woodman 1988 and Rood 2009a), this does not imply that Thucydides was entirely
unaware of the entertainment needs of his audience.
111
More on this issue above (3.2.2) and below (3.5.2).
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
possible (ἐγγύτατα) to the general sense of what was actually said (τῶν
ἀληθῶς λεχθέντων)’ (1.22.1). From the speeches reproduced throughout the
work Thucydides then moves to his depiction of the historical events. Here
again it is emphasized that the readers may expect to obtain an accurate
account, since the historian has scrutinized (ἐπεξελθών) every detail he has
learnt about by way of autopsy and autophony. Here he has certainly not
settled for mere approximations. This has indeed been a ‘laborious task
(ἐπιπόνως)’ (1.22.3), especially due to the conflicting accounts of ‘those
who were eye-witnesses of the several events (οἱ παρόντες τοῖς ἔργοις)’
(ibid.). It is important to recognize that Thucydides, unlike Herodotus
before him and Polybius after him, does not make a clear distinction
between autopsy and autophony as means of acquitting information (cf.
Marincola 2004, 67-9).
In general, Thucydides aims at portraying himself as a critical historian
who has gone to great lengths in his scrutiny of the events. In a digression
(traditionally referred to as the ‘second preface’) at the beginning of the
fifth book he comments directly on this issue by referring to his own
experiences of the Peloponnesian war and stating that ‘I lived through the
whole war, being of an age to form judgments, and followed it with close
attention (προσέχων τὴν γνώμην), so as to acquire accurate information
(ἀκριβές)’ (Thuc. 5.26.5). Following Schepens, we might conclude that
such a statement is ‘characteristic of the seriousness with which he (sc.
Thucydides) conducted his research’ (Schepens 2011a, 48). Or perhaps
rather, of the general sense of seriousness that he aimed at displaying to his
audience.
Polybius too places much emphasis on the importance of autopsy and
personal experience, as we have already seen in the previous section
(3.2.2). He does this to such an extent that he has been considered by some
scholars a veritable champion of direct inquiry (cf. Schepens 2011a, 51).
Regarding autopsy, his quote from Heraclitus in Polyb. 12.27.1 would
seem to suggest that ‘in the search for historical truth the use of the eyes
gives a much greater guarantee than the testimony of the ears’ (Schepens
2011b, 108, also Sacks 1981, 63 and Walsh 1989, 130). As the historian
himself states, the leisurely acquisition of information by way of autophony
does not require any real effort and strain on the part of the historian (cf.
Polyb. 12.27.4-5). According to Polybius, this may help explain Timaeus’
unwillingness to consult living eyewitnesses (cf. 12.27.4). For ‘(p)ersonal
inquiry (πολυπραγμοσύνη)’ (12.27.6) requires ‘severe labour and great
expense’, which is the reason why ‘the most important (μέγιστόν) part of
history’ (ibid., compare Ant. rom. 1.1.2). This is precisely what is absent
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
73
from Timaeus’ account.112 It is this lack of personal inquiry combined with
his pervasive inexperience in all matters of politics and warfare that have
given rise to the many inaccuracies and inconsistencies throughout his
work. As Marincola argues, it is by pointing to these shortcomings ‘that
Polybius gives the clearest indications of his beliefs about the importance
of experience and participation for the practitioner of inquiry and autopsy’
(Marincola 2004, 72).
Another example from Polybius of the necessity of basing one’s history
on autopsy and personal experience may be found in the preface to the
fourth book. Here he introduced what follows as ‘an account of the
contemporary events (πράξεις τὰς κατὰ τοὺς αὐτοὺς καιροὺς) in Greece from
the 140th Olympiad onwards’ (Polyb. 4.1.3, also 1.3.1). And he further
informs us about his choice of this particular starting point for his main
history: On the one hand, this was where the memoirs of Aratus of Sicyon
left off (cf. 4.2.1, also 1.3.2).113 On the other hand (and more important for
our present concerns), the period (as the author himself argues) ‘coincides
with my own and the preceding generation, so that I have been present at
some of the events (τοῖς μὲν αὐτοὺς ἡμᾶς παραγεγονέναι) and have the
testimony of eyewitnesses for others (τὰ δὲ παρὰ τῶν ἑωρακότων
ἀκηκοέναι)’ (4.2.2). Here one notices many similarities with Thucydides’
prefaces (cf. Walbank 1990, 42). His illustrious predecessor would
undoubtedly have assented to Polybius’ statement elsewhere in his
criticism of Timaeus that ‘(i)t is neither possible for a man with no
experience of warlike operations (περὶ τῶν κατὰ πόλεμον συμβαινόντων
δυνατόν) to write well (καλῶς) about what happens in war, nor for one
unversed (τὸν μὴ πεπειραμένον) in the practice and circumstances of
politics to write well on that subject’ (Polyb. 12.25g.1).
The lapse of time proved a natural obstacle for the historian who chose
to write an account of non-contemporary events, since he was prevented
from interrogating living eyewitnesses. This made inquiries into
monuments and writings all the more necessary, as these might prove the
main sources of knowledge for any research on past events. However,
according to Marincola, it ‘is difficult to establish whether or not a
methodology for non-contemporary history existed, or, if it existed, was
112
Polybius was of course far from the only ancient historian to emphasize this notion
of effort, as we already saw above in Thucydides’ reference to his own ‘laborious task’
(Thuc. 1.22.3) in his scrutiny of his eyewitness accounts. And indeed, as Marincola has
argued, such explicit references to the efforts made the historians were later to become
something of a mainstay in the ancient historiographical tradition (cf. Marincola 2004,
148-58 and Walbank 1990, 73-4).
113
Polybius has already in a previous book referred to the work of this statesman and
characterized it as ‘a truthful and clearly written memoir (λίαν ἀληθινοὺς καὶ σαφεῖς (...)
ὑπομνηματισμούς) of his own career’ (2.40.4).
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
consistently applied’ (Marincola 2004, 96). From the standpoint of selfpresentation, any historian who aspired to win future renown and glory
would, then as well as now, usually be expected to make a display of his
capabilities as a competent researcher. For the non-contemporary historian,
this would typically entail his emphasizing his critical use of oral and
written sources as well as a careful assessment of the information contained
in them. That many of the most prominent historians (including Herodotus,
Diodorus and Josephus) did in fact proceed in this manner will emerge
from the treatment of them in the following chapter (3.4-5).
Some non-contemporary historians would, however, occasionally refer
to their own autopsy. Diodorus, for instance, claims to have that his
historiographical endeavour is based upon sound methodology. For, as he
states in the preface, he quickly came to realize that his immense
undertaking ‘while most useful, would yet require much labour and time’
(Diod. 1.4.1). He therefore devoted no less than thirty years to the task.
Furthermore, he has ‘with much hardship (μετὰ (...) πολλῆς κακοπαθείας)
and many dangers (κινδύνων) (…) visited a large portion of both Asia and
Europe’ in order that he might see with his ‘own eyes (αὐτόπται) all the
most important regions and as many others as possible’ (ibid.). For, as he
continues, ‘many errors have been committed through ignorance of the
sites, not only by the common run of historians, but even by some of the
highest reputation’ (ibid.). In an attempt to boost his own credibility as a
critically capable historian, he also refers to his personal knowledge of
certain events in his criticism of the efforts of his predecessors.114 For, as
Sacks notes, ‘(a)s a historian relying generally on second-hand information,
when given the chance to use personal knowledge, he does so, assuming an
authoritative manner’ (Sacks 1990, 115-6).
Thus, in the opinion of the Greco-Roman historians, what is required for
the proper writing of histories is a personal commitment to the truth on the
part of the historian himself; just as a sound methodology based upon
autopsy and personal experience is of the utmost importance for anyone
who should choose to engage in such a literary endeavour. Or, in the words
of Yarrow, ‘(a)uthorial experience and textual narrative are inextricably
intertwined within the historical genre’ (Yarrow 2006, 81).
3.3.2. Josephus’ claims to personal experience
This issue of the pervasive accuracy and the resulting sense of believability
of a given historical work is also of immense importance to Josephus. As
we shall see, he refers on a number of occasions to his own applied
methodology by giving ample allusions to his personal experiences and his
familiarity with, and use of, a variety of oral and written sources. We
114
More on this topic below (4.3.2).
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
75
therefore now turn to his oft-repeated claims to first-hand knowledge of
certain events, actions, and phenomena.115
In the preface to The Jewish War, Josephus refers to his own
involvement in the war on at least four separate occasions (cf. J.W. 1.3. 912. 18 and 22). With but one exception, they all seem to serve as attempts
on Josephus’ part of stressing his acquaintance with the particular subject
matter to be treated in the work.116 In this way, he seeks to establish in his
readers an impression of both his general competence as a knowledgeable
and experienced historian and the veracity and plausibility of his war
monograph.117 Some twenty years later he would return to this topic at the
outset of the Antiquities. Here he alludes to his own participation in the war
and states that his own experience of it was what prompted his detailed
account in his monograph; and this in response to ‘those who in their
writings were doing outrage (λυμαινομένους) to the truth (ἀλήθειαν)’ (Ant.
1.4, also J.W. 1.1-2 and Life 336-9, cf. Feldman 2004, 3, n. 1).
A similar criticism is voiced in the introductory remarks in The Jewish
War when Josephus censures those who due to a lack of any personal
involvement in the war have collected random and contradictory accounts
and have edited them together ‘in a rhetorical style (σοφιστικῶς)’ (J.W. 1.1)
and who – despite having been eyewitnesses to the events – persist in
producing historically inaccurate accounts out of ‘flattery (κολακείᾳ) of the
Romans’ (ibid., compare 1.7) or ‘hatred (μίσει) of the Jews’ (ibid.). By
contrast, Josephus’ own motives, so he assures us, have been entirely
honourable. His historiographical endeavour is equivalent to that of other
historians who have felt compelled to write comprehensive accounts of
events ‘in which they themselves took part (πραττομένοις)’ (Ant. 1.3) in
order to do proper justice to them – and also to those who have chosen to
combat a pervasive contemporary ‘ignorance of important affairs’ by
providing an account of them ‘for the public benefit (εἰς κοινὴν ὠφέλειαν)’
(ibid., also J.W. 1.16). For, as he argues elsewhere, he has ‘thought it
monstrous (ἄτοπον) (…) to allow the truth (τὴν ἀλήθειαν) in affairs of such
moment (ἐπὶ τηλικούτοις πράγμασι) (sc. of the war) to go astray
(πλαζομένην)’ (J.W. 1.6).
As is the case with some of his most illustrious predecessors, so too
Josephus betrays a concern for the importance of basing one’s historical
account upon a sound methodology. As we saw in the analysis above,
historians who dealt with predominately (near-)contemporary events were
Josephus’attitude towards the various kinds of sources (and his references hereto)
will be dealt with in the subsection below (3.5).
116
The exception being J.W. 1.9-12, an altogether interesting passage highly resembling
a prototypical Ciceronian captatio benevolentiae (cf. Inv. Rhet. 1.22).
117
Cf. Marincola 2004, 145; Momigliano 1977c, 163 and 1978, 5, and Rappaport 2007.
115
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
expected to present such claims to personal involvement in and knowledge
of the events in question. In the case of Josephus’ account of the war, he
persistently presents himself as a competent and capable historian who sans
ulterior motives and through meticulous research and interviews with
eyewitnesses has managed to produce an accurate account of it.118 Such
pervasive references to his autopsy and personal experience are therefore in
keeping with the Greek historiographical tradition and the recurrent selfpresentational tendencies of the abovementioned historians, as outlined
above (cf. Marincola 2004, 145).
Indeed, when Josephus came to compose his war monograph he could do
so as one who by his own account in The Jewish War, Life and Against
Apion had been an active participant. While serving as a commander in
Galilea he experienced at first hand the might of the Roman army and the
vigour of its commander, Vespasian. Later during his stay as a prisoner, he
became personally acquainted with the general and his son, who both (at
least in his own opinion) ‘required my constant attendance upon them’ (Ag.
Ap. 1.48).119 He further tells us that during his entire stay with the Romans
‘no incident escaped my knowledge. I kept a careful record of all that went
on under my eyes in the Roman camp, and was alone in a position to
understand the information brought by deserters’ (1.49).120 Whether or not
Josephus’ depictions of his own involvement in the war and his close
relations to the Roman generals correspond exactly with what actually
happened is of course a matter of much scholarly debate (see for instance
Bilde 1983). What one can say, however, is that this is the general
impression that he seeks to give his audience, namely as one who had been
‘an actor (αὐτουργὸς) in many, and an eyewitness (αὐτόπτης) of most, of the
events’ (Ag. Ap. 1.55).
However, when he later came to write his account of the antiquity of the
Jewish people in the Antiquities he could hardly present similar claims to
having personally witnessed and been an active participant in those ancient
events. Yet, throughout this work he also on occasion refers to what that he
himself has observed and/or witnessed. Thus, as is done in Gen. 18-19, so
too in his rendition of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah Josephus
depicts how when Lot’s wife turned around she was turned into ‘a pillar of
This is naturally also stressed in Josephus’ account of the war proper (e.g. J.W.
4.622-9).
119
Such references to Josephus’ intimate relationship with these Romans (as well as
with other members of their household and Agrippa II) abound throughout his collected
works (e.g. J.W. 4.622-9; Ant. 8.46-8; Life 416-26; 428-9, and Ag. Ap. 1.50-2).
120
It is worth noticing how Josephus here combines the notions of personal experience,
autopsy and interviews with other eyewitnesses. Compare this to Polybius’ censure of
Timaeus’ lack of knowledge of military and political issues in Polyb. 12.25g, cited
above.
118
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
77
salt (εἰς στήλην ἁλῶν)’ (Ant. 1.203, compare στήλη ἁλὸς in Gen.
19:26LXX).121 He continues by stating that ‘I have seen (ἱστόρησα) this pillar
which remains to this day (καὶ νῦν διαμένει)’ (ibid.). Josephus is of course
not alone in claiming to have inspected monuments as part his research. As
Marincola states, it is quite natural for ancient historians to refer to such
physical remnants, as does for instance Herodotus, who in the second book
of the Histories ‘used the inspection of monuments to validate and expand
the account of the Egyptian priests’ (Marincola 2004, 101).122
Another reference to monuments occurs near the end of the tenth book of
the Antiquities in Josephus’ vivid depiction of the fortress that Daniel
allegedly built for himself at Ectabana in Media. This construction is
depicted by the author as ‘a very beautiful work and wonderfully made, and
remains and is preserved to this day (μέχρι δεῦρο)’ (Ant. 10.264, compare
Josephus’ vivid depiction of Hyrcanus’ fortress in Transjordan in 12.2304). This particular building is nowhere mentioned in the Scriptures.
Josephus himself does not disclose this to his readers, nor does he indicate
that his knowledge stems from another oral or written source. As in the
case of the pillar of salt and many of the events of the war, it is impossible
to ascertain if Josephus had indeed seen this particular monument with his
own eyes. But this again is the general impression that he seeks to give to
his readers.
A final (and somewhat different) example from Ant. 1-11 of Josephus’
claims to autopsy and personal experience is to be found at the beginning
of the eighth book where – after his praise (paralleling 1 Kings 4:2934MT/5:9-14LXX) of the wisdom, understanding, and many proverbs of King
Solomon – he commends the king for his ‘knowledge’ granted to him by
God ‘of the art used against demons (τὴν κατὰ τῶν δαιμόνων τέχνην) for the
benefit and healing (εἰς ὠφέλειαν καὶ θεραπείαν) of men’ (Ant. 8.45).
Josephus then inserts an anecdote concerning one of his countrymen, ‘a
certain Eleazar’ (8.46), who in the presence of Vespasian and other
influential Romans had conducted a successful exorcism by applying the
precepts as stipulated by the great and wise king of old (cf. 8.46-8). In this
way, Josephus concludes, were ‘the understanding and wisdom of Solomon
(…) clearly revealed (σαφής [ἡ Σολομῶος] καθίστατο [σύνεσις καὶ σοφία])’
(8.49). Here something that Josephus has himself seen serves to vindicate a
claim about ancient times.
121
For more on this issue, see below (5.2.3-4).
Marincola argues that Polybius too makes good use of monumental evidence
(Marincola 2004, 101-2). But since the monument in question is a stele (or, tablet,
γραφή, cf. Polyb. 3.33.18), and thus essentially documentary in nature, it will included
amongst the other written sources treated below (3.5.2).
122
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
3.4. THE HISTORIAN AND THE ORAL TRADITION
3.4.1. References to oral sources in ancient historiography
A historian who concerns himself primarily with near-contemporary events
like a war can very well argue for the general veracity of his account by
referring to what he himself has either seen and heard or what he has been
able to acquire from living witnesses. However, those historians who are
dealing with past events (as Josephus does in the Antiquities) must resort to
other means in order provide their narratives with an aura of authenticity
and accuracy. Marincola is undoubtedly correct in arguing that it is
‘difficult to establish whether or not a methodology for non-contemporary
history existed or, if it existed, was consistently applied’ (Marincola 2004,
96). But as he himself also states (and as has already been noted above),
authors of such works seem to have had ways of asserting their own
competence and critical capabilities, namely by references ‘to oral tradition
or the writings of predecessors’ (ibid., 99). We therefore now turn to an
analysis of the former before proceeding in the following section to
examine their expressed attitude towards written sources (including the
works of the historian’s predecessors).
Just as Sallust in Bell. Cat. 48.9 had referred to what he had himself
heard from Crassus, so many of his colleagues claimed to be in possession
of certain privileged oral information. Thus, for instance, in his account of
the rise of King Croesus Herodotus includes an anecdote concerning his
father, Alyattes, who fell ill after having accidentally burned down the
temple of Athene at Assesos. The king therefore sent messengers to Delphi
inquiring the oracle concerning the reason behind his sickness. To no avail,
however, since the Pythian priestess declined to comply with the king’s
messengers until the temple had been rebuilt (cf. Hist. 1.19). Herodotus
adds ‘(t)hus far I know the truth, for the Delphians told me’ (1.20). Here
the historian apparently felt a need to affix to his narrative an authorial
remark that was to serve as validation of his own particular version of the
account he had given and of his own capabilities as a critical historian. This
of course is but a single example of the pervasive tendency of this historian
to refer to what he had himself heard from others during his travels.123 In
fact, Marincola bemoans the fact that apart from this particular work we
‘unfortunately (…) do not have a single history surviving which is a noncontemporary history fashioned from oral tradition, and we cannot thus be
certain how early events were validated’ (Marincola 2004, 101, compare
Hornblower 2002, Lateiner 1989, 40 and Verdin 1971).
A large part of Herodotus’ narrative is based upon what he has heard
from others. But as with his famous predecessor, Hecataeus, who famously
123
Cf. Momigliano 1990b, 39; Marincola 2001, 32 and 2004, 99-100. For more on
Herdotus and the oral tradition, see Evans 2014, Flower 2014 and Luraghi 2014.
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
79
remained highly critical of the many λόγοι of the Greeks (cf. FGrHist 1 F
1), so too Herodotus questions the believability of oral testimonies and
voices a general distrust in hearsay. For as he states in his account of
Argos’ reaction to Xerxes’ invasion of Greece, ‘For myself, though it be
my business to set down that which is told me (λέγειν τὰ λεγόμενα), to
believe it (πείθεσθαί) is none at all of my business; let that saying hold good
for the whole of my history (ἐς πάντα λόγον)’ (Hist. 7.152). This statement
is undoubtedly highly significant; and as Luraghi (who considers it an
intrinsic part of the meta-historical layer in the Histories) argues: ‘the
narrator’s insistence on this disclaimer as well as on its general
applicability has to be taken seriously’ (Luraghi 2011, 79).
Herodotus was of course far from alone in voicing such concerns about
the general reliability of oral testimonies. This issue is for instance also
raised most famously by Thucydides in own assessment of the accuracy of
his Archaeology beginning with his comment on how difficult it is ‘to
credit (πιστεῦσαι) any and every piece of testimony (παντὶ ἐξῆς τεκμηρίῳ)’
(Thuc. 1.20.1) concerning past events and with his criticism of those who
‘accept from one another hearsay reports (τὰς ἀκοὰς) of former events,
neglecting to test (ἀβασανίστως) them just the same, even though these
events belong to the history of their own country’ (ibid.). Having provided
a number of examples of this tendency to base one’s knowledge of the past
on hearsay and half-truths, he concludes that ‘(s)o averse to taking pains
(ἀλαταίπωρος) are most men in the search for the truth (ἡ ζήτησις τῆς
ἀληθείας), and so prone are they to turn to what lies ready at hand (ἐπὶ τὰ
ἑτοῖμα μᾶλλον)’ (1.20.3).124 Thucydides’ vigorous rejection of hearsay
should not be construed as a refutation of the overall usefulness of the
faculty of hearing (ἀκοή) in attaining truthful information on historical
events. For, as he himself states in 1.22.3 (cited above), a majority (if not
all) of his knowledge of the war was based upon oral reports from
eyewitnesses (also 6.55.1, cf. Hornblower 2000, 77-8). This, however, does
not imply that he is merely repeating what he has heard from others.
Indeed, what is required from any aspiring historian is a resolute
commitment to truth and a rigorous scrutiny of all one’s sources (including
oral traditions). To quote Momigliano,
(…) the criteria that he adopted for the study of the oral tradition were more rigorous
than those of Herodotus. The historian had to be present at the scene of the action or
to have used the reports of those who were present. Even the speeches had to be
constructed with precise criteria of verisimilitude. The temptation to collect traditions
124
This issue of the pervasive difficulties of attaining the proper knowledge of non- and
near-contemporary events is a recurring feature in Thucydides’ preface, as we have
already seen in the above analysis of Thuc. 1.21-2.
80
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
that had not been thoroughly checked was strictly repressed (Momigliano 1969c,
214, also 1978, 5 and 1990b, 42).
A similar example from Thucydides of the inherent unreliability of having
to rely exclusively on oral traditions occurs halfway through the first book
in a speech delivered by the Athenian embassy in Sparta in 432 BCE in an
attempt to dissuade the Spartans from going to war against their neighbours
and former allies (cf. Thuc. 1.72-8). To this effect, the Athenians provide a
vivid retelling of their own efforts in the Persian wars with particular
emphasis on their courage, zeal, and military prowess. The speech opens
with a captatio benevolentiae in the form of a statement by the speakers
that they have certainly not been sent to Sparta in order ‘to enter into a
dispute (ἐς ἀντιλογίαν) with your (sc. Sparta’s) allies’ (Thuc. 1.73.1), but
rather on official business on behalf of Athens. However, while being
there, they have witnessed many Spartan outcries against their city. For this
reason, they have now decided to speak up – not in an attempt to answer
‘the charges of the cities (…) but in order that you (sc. the Spartans) may
not, yielding to the persuasion of your allies, lightly (ῥᾳδίως) make the
wrong decision about matters of great importance (περὶ μεγάλων
πραγμάτων)’ (ibid). The Athenian representatives then move on by
formally introducing the subject of their speech (i.e. the Persian wars) and
ask: ‘what need is there to speak about matters quite remote (τὰ (...) πάνυ
παλαιὰ), whose only witnesses (μάρτυρες) are the stories men hear (ἀκοαὶ
(...) λόγων) rather than the eyes (ὄψις) of those who will hear them told?’
(1.73.2). The speakers thus seem to draw a formal (and for us, highly
significant) distinction between accounts of remote and more recent events;
the point being that the former would seem to lack the necessary degree of
accuracy and reliability that can only be achieved through the use of
autopsy and empeiria. Thus, it could be argued that the Athenians ‘share
Thucydides’ own methodological qualms about the reliability of ancient
history (1.73.3, cf. 1.1.3, 20.1, 21.2)’ (Rood 2009b, 152, also Schepens
2011b, 105-6, compare Nicolai 2007).
As we have already seen, Polybius also emphasizes the importance of
autopsy and personal experience while also expressing a keen aversion to
hearsay. This emerges quite clearly from the abovementioned preface to the
fourth book. Here the historian asserts that if his narrative had comprised
events earlier than the 140th Olympiad, he would only be ‘repeating mere
hearsay evidence (ἀκοὴν ἐξ ἀκοῆς)’ (ibid. 4.2.3) – with the inevitable result
that ‘I should be safe (ἀσφαλεῖς) neither in my estimates (τὰς διαλήψεις) nor
in my assertions (τὰς ἀποφάνεις)’ (ibid, cf. Sacks 1981, 64). This passage
suggests that accounts of past events (at least in the opinion of this
historian) are by their very nature fraught with a degree of uncertainty. The
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
81
further removed the subject matter of a given history is from the historian’s
own time, the more difficult it is for the author to convey through his work
a sense of overall accuracy and believability. Thus, as Thucydides had
done, so too Polybius proclaims an awareness of the inherent difficulty of
attaining proper knowledge of past events.
Similarly, Dionysius also informs his readers that during his research
phase he received much information ‘orally (διδαχῇ) from men of the
greatest learning (παρὰ τῶν λογιωτάτων ἀνδρῶν), with whom I associated’
(Ant. rom. 1.7.3). The majority of his material, however, seems to stem
from written sources.125
3.4.2. Josephus on oral sources and hearsay
Josephus also expresses an apprehension of having to rely exclusively on
oral traditions and hearsay for instance in the first book of Against Apion.
The argument in the initial part of the work is intended to serve as a
defence of the antiquity of his native people. He does this by first
professing a profound astonishment of the fact that the Greeks of all people
are deemed the most trustworthy in matters pertaining to ‘the study of
primeval history (περὶ τῶν παλαιοτάτνω ἔργων)’ (Ag. Ap. 1.6). In order to
refute this point, Josephus then conducts an elaborate analysis of the
cultural differences between the Greeks and the Jews concerning the issue
of public record keeping and the pervasive veneration of the national
literature by the general populace of both nations (cf. 1.7-46).126 Josephus
points to the fact that other accounts (presumably in Greek) of the Jewish
War have been published by anonymous authors ‘who never visited
(παραβαλόντες) the sites nor were anywhere near (πλησίον) the action
described’ (1.46). They have nonetheless ‘put together a few hearsay
reports (ἐκ παρακουσμάτων ὀλίγα)’ and have, ‘with the gross impudence of
drunken revellers (λίαν ἀναιδῶς ἐνεπαροίνησαν), miscalled their productions
by the name of history (τῷ τῆς ἱστορίας ὀνόματι)’ (ibid.).127
Josephus then proceeds to contrast the haphazard methodology of his
competitors with the high standards to which he has himself aspired in his
war monograph (cf. Ag. Ap. 1.47-56). This he does by referring to his own
personal involvement in (and intimate knowledge of) the events of the war.
Thus compared to those historians who have merely based their accounts
on the occasional hearsay, Josephus consistently refers to what he has
himself seen and observed – with such claims to autopsy being ‘the key
125
More on the latter issue below (3.5.3).
More on this argument below (3.5).
127
Compare Josephus’ previous censure in J.W. 1.1 of those historians who ‘have
collected from hearsay (ἀκοῇ) casual and contradictory stories (εἰκαῖα καὶ ἀσύμφωνα
διηγήματα) which they have then edited in a rhetorical style’.
126
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
theme in Josephus’ self-defense’ (Barclay 2013, 34, n. 193).128 This, of
course, does not imply that he is entirely dismissive of the faculty of
hearing as a proper means of gaining supplementary and useful information
on past and present events.In the first half of the Antiquities, Josephus does
incorporate much material that might ultimately stem from an oral tradition
(cf. Momigliano 1994d, 27; Feldman 1998a, 65-73, and 2004 passim).129
To judge from the passages cited above, however, he does not (in his own
professed opinion) regard oral traditions and hearsay as viable alternatives
to autopsy and personal experience; and to these there shall now be added a
third (and for Josephus, highly important) use of the historians’ eyesight,
namely in the form of the reading and consultation of written sources.
3.5. THE HISTORIAN AND HIS WRITTEN SOURCES
3.5.1. Introduction: Josephus on the issue of written sources
As we have seen, some of Josephus’ most illustrious predecessors such as
Herodotus, Thucydides, and Polybius would go to great length to ensure
their readers of their own proficiencies as critically capable historians. And
judging from their frequent references to what they have learnt by way of
autopsy, autophony, and the eyesight of others it may be argued that they
considered such methods the primary means of acquiring proper and
accurate knowledge of the past or the present.130 Since such references to
autopsy also permeate much of Josephus’ authorship (and The Jewish War
and Against Apion in particular) along with a stark disapproval of the
historian who merely bases his account on the occasional hearsay, it may
be argued that, at least in this regard, he has much in common with his
Greek predecessors.
As long as Josephus was writing on near-contemporary events (including
the events of the Jewish War), he could base his account on what he has
seen or heard from others. However, when he eventually moved on to write
on more distant events he could hardly make use of such a methodology.
With a focus on the ancient past of the Jewish people, in the Antiquities he
is wholly immerged within the field of non-contemporary history. Here he
128
To be sure, Josephus does refer in Ag. Ap. 1.49-50 to information that he has gained
(i.e. heard) via interviews with other witnesses. Yet, this hardly amounts to hearsay.
129
In this respect, Feldman’s research has been particularly instrumental in pinpointing
the many similarities between Josephus’ rewritten account of the earliest past of the
Jewish people and the various depictions in the works of later Jewish authors (and
especially in the rabbinic literature), e.g. Feldman, 1998a, 1998b and 2004, compare
Nodet 2007, 113-20 and Rappaport 1930, xviii-xix. For more on the oral tradition in
rabbinic literature and on the general notion of an Oral Torah, see Gerhardsson 1964;
Neusner 1971, 1973, 1980 and 1995; Safrai 1987, and Stemberger 1982, 35-49.
130
This is at least the case according to the methodological considerations of Polybius
in the twelfth book of his work (cf. Polyb. 12.25g, cited above).
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
83
cannot rely on what he has himself seen or heard, and is thereby deprived
of one of the more effective and sure ways of assuring his readers of his
own competence as a critical historian. The few instances of such claims
that may be found throughout Ant. 1-11 are primarily intended as
supplements to and further proof of the accuracy of his account and the
reliability of his written sources. Thus, for instance, in the case of the pillar
of salt, the fact that Josephus has seen it with his own eyes proves the
validity of Gen. 19:26.131
By choosing, as Josephus does in the Antiquities, to produce a work on
non-contemporary events he is left with only two means of assuring his
audience of the overall relevance and accuracy of his account, namely by
basing his account on either oral or written sources. Of these two, he has an
explicit preference for the latter. As Barclay rightly states, ‘For Josephus
everything hinges on the reliability of written tradition’ (Barclay 2013, 14,
n. 35). Indeed, even though parts of Josephus’ narrative might stem from
oral sources (as noted above), he is adamant in his depiction of the work as
having been based exclusively upon accurate written sources. For he
emphasizes their authenticity and accuracy on several occasions throughout
Against Apion and Ant. 1-11, as we shall see below.132
Since (in the opinion of Josephus) excellent documentary evidence was
readily available for those wishing to write on the history of the Jewish
people, he is unsurprisingly not as dismissive as Thucydides and Polybius
of the possibilities of attaining and conveying proper knowledge of the
past. He touches upon this very issue as early as in the preface to The
Jewish War, where he indicates that he does not consider the ancient
history of the Jewish people an entirely unsuitable subject matter for an
aspiring historian. In fact, rather the opposite. For since many Jews before
him ‘have accurately (μετ’ ἀκριβείας) recorded the history of our ancestors,
and (…) these records have been translated (μεταβαλόντες) by certain
Greeks (τινες Ἑλλήνων) into their native tongue without serious error (οὐ
πολὺ τῆς ἀληθείας διήμαρτον)’ (J.W. 1.17)133, he has instead decided to
focus on more recent events during which he himself lived and which he
Similarly, his depiction of Daniel’s fortress and the Eleazar’s exorcism serve as
additional ways of praising the industriousness and virtues of his Jewish protagonists.
For more on Josephus’ praise of the virtues of the protagonists throughout Ant. 1-11, see
Feldman 1998a, 74-131.
132
On the biblical text used by Josephus in Ant. 1-11, see Attridge 1984, 211; Bilde
1988, 80-1; Feldman 1998a, 23-36; Nodet 2007, 110-3 and 2011; Rappaport 1930, xvii,
and Sterling 1992, 256, n. 132.
133
As noted by Thackeray and Barclay, a similar phrase seems to recur at the end of
Josephus’ references in Ag. Ap. 1.218 to a number of Greek historians who have all in
some ways made ‘a passing allusion to us (sc. the Jews)’ (Ag. Ap. 1.215) (cf. Thackeray
2004, 10, n. b and Barclay 2013, 124, n. 748). More on this passage below.
131
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
now promises to describe ‘with all the detail (διεξοδικώτερον) and
elaboration (μεθ’ ὅσης (...) ἐξεργασίας) at my command’ (1.18). When he
subsequently came to write his account of the ancient history of his people,
he expressed an entirely different opinion of the efforts of the previous
Jewish historians, as we shall see below.
Josephus later picks up this issue of the general availability and
abundance of accurate Jewish records in the first book of Against Apion.
According to what he himself tells us in the preface, his assertion of the
antiquity of his people in the Antiquities ancient history of the Jewish
people had been met with a fair amount of criticism by ‘a considerable
amount of people’ (Ag. Ap. 1.2) who had taken the silence on the part of
the Greek historians on the ancient history of the Jewish people ‘as proof
(τεκμήριόν) of the comparative modernity (νεώτερον) of our race’.134 He
therefore now seeks to provide a response to these unnamed critics by an
elaborate argument that is divided into several stages. He begins by calling
into question the reliability of the Greeks themselves and points to the
relative modernity of their native literature (cf. 1.6-14). He then turns to the
apparent neglect so prevalent amongst them in keeping proper historical
records, which in his opinion accounts for many of the inconsistencies
prevalent in the writings of the Greek historians (cf. 1.15-27).135
After this negative depiction of the many faults of the Greeks there
follows a positive appraisal in Ag. Ap. 1.28-43 of the long-standing
tradition amongst the Jews of precise record keeping in the form of the
twenty-two books of Scriptures and the veneration of them amongst the
Jewish populace. For as he argues, compared to the often faulty Greek
historians, the Egyptians, the Babylonians, the Phoenicians, and (in
To judge from Josephus’ choice of phrasing, it would appear as if these critics had
primarily argued against the very notion that the Jewish people should have existed at
all in antiquity. And yet, it may be argued (as does Barclay) that such foreign readers of
the Antiquities would more likely have taken issue with Josephus’ depiction of the
overall importance and distinction of the Jewish people in antiquity than with his
depiction of their ancient origins as such (cf. Barclay 2013, 7, n. 18). Josephus,
however, foregoes this important issue and the (for his critics, crucial) question as to
why the Jews were not deemed ‘worthy (ἠξιῶσθαι) of mention by the best known (τοῖς
ἐπιφανέσι) Greek historians’ (Ag. Ap. 1.2), and chooses instead to shift ‘the battle to the
easier ground of mere historical existence’ (Barclay 2013, 8, n. 18, emphasis his),
thereby making his anonymous critics out to be straw-men to be easily disproved in the
arguments that follow.
135
Barclay finds that Josephus’ issue at heart is not so much that of the sheer existence
of such ancient Greeks documents and official records. Rather, what concerns him it is
the distinct lack of care hereof amongst the Greeks (and the historians in particular, cf.
Ag. Ap. 1.7); and thus ‘the question is whether Greek historians can be depended upon
to relate what was important about other nations in antiquity (cf. 1.27)’ (Barclay 2013,
20, n. 88, emphasis his).
134
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
85
particular) the Jews have all taken great care to preserve such documentary
evidence, and this – at least in the case of the latter – ‘with scrupulous
accuracy (μετὰ πολλὴς ἀκριβείας)’ (1.29). This pervasive accuracy of the
Jewish records is then further emphasized by Josephus in 1.30-6 through an
account of the many strict requirements thrust upon the members of the
Jewish priesthood as keepers of these ancient documents, the ‘most
convincing proof (τεκμήριον (...) μέγιστον) of our accuracy (τῆς ἀκριβείας)
in this matter (sc. record keeping)’ (1.36) being the fact that ‘our records
contain the names of our high priests, with the succession from father to
son for the last two thousand years’ (ibid.).136
After this depiction of the merits of the priests as custodians of the (for
the Jews, sacrosanct) documents there follows yet another animated
assertion of the general accuracy of these records and the general
competence of their authors (cf. Ag. Ap. 1.37-41). For as Josephus argues,
the Jewish records consist of a textual corpus comprised of twenty-two
immaculate and concurrent books which have all been written by ‘the
prophets’ (1.37). These individuals, whom Josephus has already mentioned
above (cf. 1.29) alongside the chief priests (ἀρχιρεῦσι), have obtained ‘their
knowledge of the most remote and ancient history (τὰ ἀνωτάτω καὶ
παλαιότατα (…) μαθόντων) through the inspiration which they owed to God
(κατὰ τὴν ἐπίπνοιαν τὴν ἀπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ)’ (ibid.), and have committed ‘to
writing a clear account of the events of their own time just as they occurred
(ὡς ἐγένετο σαφῶς συγγραφόντων)’ (ibid.).137
Having thus emphasized the inherent unity and accuracy of the
Scriptures, Josephus notes how the Jewish people held their native records
in the highest regard, to the extent that ‘no one has ventured to add
(προσθεῖναί), or to remove (ἀφελεῖν), or to alter (μεταθεῖναι) a syllable’ (Ag.
Ap. 1.42, compare Ant. 1.17 and 12.109, more on these passages below).
This, so the authors tells us, is ‘an instinct (σύμφυτόν) with every Jew, from
the day of his birth, to regard them (sc. the Scriptures) as the decrees of
God (θεοῦ δόγματα), to abide by them, and, if need be, cheerfully to die for
them’ (ibid.). The degree of veneration that the Jews share for their
Scriptures is then further exemplified by way of an anecdote concerning
some of his unfortunate countrymen who, being held prisoner after the war,
would rather endure ‘tortures and death in every form in the theatres’
136
As we shall see, Josephus also reproduces many of such high-priestly genealogies
throughout Ant. 1-11 (5.2.2).
137
That historical records could be produced through divine inspiration is a notion that
is ‘utterly strange to the Greek tradition of historiography’ (Barclay 2013, 29, n. 153).
Yet, it plays a significant role in Josephus’ argument for the pervasive accuracy of his
Scriptural sources. Similarly, it is of crucial importance for his manner of argumentation
throughout the initial half of the Antiquities, as we shall see below (3.5.4).
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
(1.43)138 than ‘utter a single word against the laws (τοὺς νόμους) and the
allied documents (τὰς μετὰ τούτων ἀναγραφάς)’ (ibid., also 2.219 and
2.233).139 He then proceeds to fire yet another broadside aimed at the
Greeks by juxtaposing the Jewish reverence for their native records with
the disregard so prevalent amongst the Greeks for own native records (cf.
Ag. Ap. 1.44-6, also 1.19-22). For ‘to the Greeks they (sc. their own
records) are mere stories (λόγους) improvised (ἐσχεδιασμένους) according to
the fancy of their authors (κατὰ τὴν τῶν γραψάντων βούλησιν)’ (1.44).
The notion of the pervasive accuracy of the Scriptures is also touched
upon by Josephus in the subsequent part of the work (cf. Ag. Ap. 1.57-218),
which is comprised of a series of quotations from various Egyptian,
Phoenician, Chaldeans, and Greek authors such as Manetho, Menander,
Berossus, Herodotus, Hecataeus, and Agatharchides.140 Josephus ends this
138
The setting for these references to the torture and death of these Jewish prisoners
strongly resembles the way in which similar prisoners were treated by the Romans at
the end of the war as depicted by Josephus himself in the latter books of his war
monograph, e.g. J.W. 6.148; 7.23-4, and 7.373-4, and in Ag. Ap. 2.232-3 where he
praises the heroism of his countrymen during the same tribulations (cf. Barclay 2013,
32, n. 177). Barclay, however, deems this ’an artificial scenario’ (ibid., n. 178). For, the
prisoners were made to suffer not for their allegiance to the Law and the Scriptures, but
rather due to their involvement in the war. In this respect, ‘they were hardly able to say
or do anything by which they could escape their fate’ (ibid.). In this context, Josephus’
constructed scenario in Ag. Ap. 1.43 is highly reminiscent of the depiction in the books
of the Maccabees of the issue of disregarding, or even downright forsaking, one’s
ancestral laws and rituals for the sake of pleasing a foreign ruler (in this case, Antiochus
IV Epiphanes), e.g. the inglorious conduct of certain Jews and the stark opposition of
others as exemplified by the noble and virtuous conduct of Eleazar and the seven
brothers and their mother in 1 Macc 1:11-5 (compare Ant. 12.240-1); 1 Macc 1:44-61
(compare Ant. 12.253-6); 2 Macc 6-7, and 4 Macc (cf. Barclay 2013, 32, n. 178). He
however does not refer to the examples from 1 Macc 1 and the comparable passages in
Ant. 12.
139
Barclay considers this latter phrase to be ‘rather awkwardly tacked on here (and
absent from the parallel statements in 2.219, 233) since the context requires a claim of
faithfulness to all the Judean scriptures, not just the law’ (Barclay 2013, 32, n. 179).
And he further argues that Josephus was in need ‘this addendum to create the following
artificial contrast with the attitude of the Greeks to their historiography (1.44-45)’
(Barclay 2013, 32, n. 179). For as Josephus continues, he cannot think of a single
instance where a Greek would willingly submit himself to a similar treatment ‘for the
same cause’ (Ap 1.44). This to him is clear proof of the neglect and disregard prevalent
amongst the Greeks in seeing out relevant information otherwise provided for them in
their own native records (cf. 1.45-6).
140
Cf. Ag. Ap. 1.73-105; 116-27; 128-53; 168-71; 183-204; 205-12, respectively. For
the issue of the accuracy of Josephus’ citations, see Barclay 2013 passim. For present
purposes, let it just be summarily stated here that Josephus calls upon his foreign
predecessors as witnesses (μαρτυροί, Ag. Ap. 1.70-1) to be consulted in his argument for
the antiquity of the Jewish nation. Indeed, such a use of external documentary evidence
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
87
long list by juxtaposing the interest in Jewish matters exhibited by
Hecataeus who ‘devoted a whole book to us (βιβλίον ἔγραψε περὶ ἡμῶν)’
(Ag. Ap. 1.214) with the conspicuous silence on all such issues in the work
of his contemporary, Hieronymus of Cardia, and this despite the fact that
the latter ‘had lived almost within our borders’ (ibid.). He then proceeds to
provide a summary of his findings and states that ‘our antiquity is
sufficiently (ἀρκοῦσι) established by the Egyptian, Chaldean, and
Phoenician records (ἀναγραφαὶ), not to mention the numerous Greek
historians (συγγραφεῖς)141’ (1.215). To this group of witnesses, he adds five
ancient authors who all made ‘passing allusions to us’ (1.216) albeit with
some misrepresentation of ‘the facts of our primitive history (τῆς ἀληθείας
τῶν ἐξ ἀρχῆς πραγμάτων)’ (1.217) since ‘they have not read our sacred
books (ταῖς ἱεραῖς ἡμῶν βίβλοις)’.142 Once again, as in Ag. Ap. 1.37-9 where
Josephus stresses the divine inspiration received by the prophets, one
notices his assertion of the general veracity of the Scriptures, the inference
being that the very sanctity of the Scriptures is proof of their accuracy and
usefulness as written sources.143 As Josephus has already stated in the
earlier passage, the Scriptures ‘contain the record of all time (παντὸς ἔχοντα
χρόνου τὴν ἀναγραφήν)’ (1.38) and are ‘justly accredited (δικαίως
πεπιστευμένα)’ (ibid.) as such. Thus, he seems to suggest in Ag. Ap. 1.217
in the form of the works of other historians proves to be an important part of the
author’s historiographical strategy throughout Ant. 1-11, as we shall see below.
141
The LCL translation of this noun as “historians” is somewhat imprecise, especially
considering that Josephus in the preceding part has referred to a number of Greek
authors (such as Pythagoras as cited in the work of Hemippus of Smyrna, Theophrastus,
the poet Choerilus, and the philosopher Clearchus citing Aristotle, cf. Ag. Ap. 1.162-5;
166-7; 172-4, and 176-82, respectively) who are not to be designated with such a label.
Barclay’s translation of this noun as simply “writers” is therefore preferable (cf. Barclay
2013, 95, n. 529 and ibid. 122, n. 730).
142
As Barclay has pointed out, the works of some of the authors mentioned (including
Mnaseas and Aristophanes (of Byzantium?)) might have contained deluge-narratives
(cf. Barclay 2013, 123, n. 734). And indeed, the former of these is explicitly mentioned
by Josephus in Ant. 1.94 in his enumeration of external witnesses to the flood in Ant.
1.93-95, which also contains a direct quotation from Nicolaus (cf. 1.95). It has been
suggested that Nicolaus too referred to other external witnesses, and that Josephus
therefore may ultimately have derived his knowledge of these Greek authors from the
works of Nicolaus (or alternatively from Alexander Polyhistor) (cf. Thackeray 2004,
250, n. a and Barclay 2013, 122-3, n. 732-4).
143
To argue, as Josephus does, that the Greek historians were unacquainted with the
Jewish Scriptures is ‘a crucial and very revealing claim’ (Barclay 2013, 124, n. 743).
For whereas his critics will only assent to the antiquity of the Jewish people as attested
in the Scriptures so as it is corroborated by the Greek historians, ‘Josephus will always
assume that those scriptures speak the truth, and other sources can be accepted only to
the extent that they agree (or can be made to agree) with them’ (ibid.). In this regard,
they seem to ‘operate with mutually exclusive canons of authority’ (ibid.).
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that were the Greek historians to scrutinize the Jewish records (as he
himself had done in the Antiquities), they would find ample material
evidence for proper and accurate representations of all such Jewish matters.
However, since they have failed to do so their histories are now susceptible
to criticism by a colleague such as Josephus who was indeed very well
acquainted with the Scriptures (cf. 1.54).144 In his opinion, this lack of
familiarity with the Jewish records is evident in the works of three other
Greek authors, namely ‘Demetrius Phaelereus, the elder Philo, and
Eupolemus’ (1.218).145 Although they are praised for not having strayed far
from the truth (οὐ πολὺ τῆς ἀληθείας διήμαρτον, compare J.W. 1.17, cited
above)146, their works contain some inaccuracies stemming from ‘their
inability to follow (παρακολουθεῖν) quite accurately (μετὰ πάσης ἀκριβείας)
the meaning of our records (τοῖς ἡμετέροις γράμμασι)’ (ibid.). In this regard,
Josephus’ allusions to these authors may well be found to be somewhat
‘puzzling, since it is not clear either why Josephus added them or who he
thought they were’ (Barclay 2013, 124, n. 748, also Rajak 2001b, 251).
Josephus’ use of the terms παρακολουθέω and γράμματα would seem to
suggest that he considered the faults of these authors to have arisen due to
linguistic deficiencies; as if they were unable to properly come to terms
with the Jewish records since they had been written in a (for Greek nonJewish readers largely unintelligible) Semitic language (cf. Barclay 2013,
125, n. 749, referencing Schwartz 2014). It is worth noting that in this
particular passage Josephus does not mention the fact the Jewish records
were translated into Greek, as he does elsewhere (e.g. Ant. 1.10-2 and
12.101-9). For Josephus’ argument to be understood along such (linguistic)
lines would imply that he considered those authors incapable of reading
and understanding the Scriptural records. All the more remarkable is it that
the latter two authors were by common scholarly consent both of Jewish
descent (cf. Thackeray 2004, 251, n. c and Barclay 2013, n. 732 and
748).147 Yet, throughout the entire passage Josephus displays no knowledge
144
More on this passage below.
As with the authors mentioned in Ag. Ap. 1.216, Josephus may have derived his
knowledge of the latter three authors from the work of another author (most likely
Alexander Polyhistor) (cf. Thackeray 2004, 250, n. a and Barclay 2013, 124, n. 745-8).
146
Thackeray considers the reference in J.W. 1.17 to those otherwise unnamed Greeks
as ‘(a)n allusion to the works’ of these authors (cf. Thackeray 1989, 10, n. b). Compare
this to Barclay who also makes the (linguistic) connection without voicing a similar
conclusion (cf. Barclay 2013, 124, n. 748).
147
The Demetrius mentioned may also have been of Jewish origin; provided that the
theory as put forward by Barclay and others is true that Josephus has mistaken the wellknown Alexandrian Attic orator of the same name who indeed bore the surname
“Phalereus”, and who was mentioned by Alexander Polyhistor, with another otherwise
unknown Demetrius also mentioned by the same historian (cf. Barclay 2013, 124, n.
745).
145
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
89
of this fact. This would seem to imply that he was less well acquainted with
these authors than he himself professed to be. Had he known that they were
indeed his kinsmen, he might not have been as dismissive of their
knowledge of ‘our records’ (1.218), especially considering that an author
such as Eupolemus (at least to judge from the fragments of his work that
are preserved in quotations by Alexander Polyhistor) does exhibit a keen
awareness of the content of the Scriptures.148
Provided, however, that one does not consider the terms παρακολουθέω
and γράμματα to be linguistically laden, an alternative reading of Ag. Ap.
1.218 presents itself: Throughout the entire passage of Ag. Ap. 1.57-218,
Josephus provides a host of quotations from a large variety of ancient
authors. Yet, he is not an indifferent collector of such material. On the
contrary, his explicit assessments of the veracity of the citations serve as a
testament to their perceived usefulness as external evidence for the
antiquity of the Jewish people.149 In this way, he provides further proof of a
point already presented and argued by him throughout the Antiquities. And
more importantly for our present concerns, by citing from such a wealth of
relevant sources he demonstrates his own capabilities as a critically minded
and resourceful historian. To this end, even though he at times does praise
the works of some of his predecessors for the overall veracity of their
accounts, he is nonetheless prone to point out the many shortcomings of
their works. Had he known that the authors mentioned in Ag. Ap. 1.218
were of Jewish descent and therefore to some extent his competitors, the
criticism levelled against them might have served as a way of emphasizing
his own superiority as a critically competent historian and as one who was
indeed well versed in the Jewish records (cf. Barclay 2013, 125, n. 749 and
Schwartz 2007b).
Despite his admittedly perplexing choice of phrasing in Ag. Ap. 1.218 it
seems clear that not only in this paragraph or in the larger passage of Ag.
Ap. 1.57-218, but throughout his entire literary endeavour Josephus is keen
on displaying his own acquaintance with the Scriptures. This is for instance
the case in Ag. Ap. 1.54 where he asserts that since he is of priestly lineage,
he was ‘well versed (μετεσχηκώς) in the philosophy (φιλοσοφίας) of those
writings (τῆς ἐν ἐκείνοις τοῖς γράμμασι)’. He has already stressed the close
connection between the Jewish priesthood and the Jewish records
previously in Ag. Ap. 1.29-36. Thus, by repeatedly referring to his priestly
ancestry (as he also does elsewhere, e.g. Life 1-6 and J.W. 1.3), he
establishes his own privileged access to, and subsequent comprehension of,
148
Cf. apud Eusebius, Praep. ev. 9.17 et al. See also Barclay 2013, 124, n. 747.
See, for instance, Ag. Ap. 1.84 (on Manetho); 91-2 (on id.); 103-5 (on id.); 115 (on
Dius); 127 (on Menander); 145 (on Berossus); 154 (on id.); 159-60 (preliminary
summary); 171 (on Herodotus); 174 (on Choerilus), and 185 (on Hecataeus).
149
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
the Scriptures. Josephus also touches upon this subject at the beginning of
his autobiography with his assertion in Life 7-9 that at the mere age of
fourteen (as Wunderkind of sorts) he excelled in education and was
renowned for his ‘love of letters (διὰ τὸ φιλογράμματον)’ (Life 9) by ‘the
chief priests and the leading men of the city’ (ibid.) who always (ἀεὶ)
consulted him ‘for precise information on some particular (ἀκριβέστερόν τι)
in our ordinances (περὶ τῶν νομίμων)’ (ibid.).150 Based on the available
evidence, it may thus be concluded that such claims to intimate
acquaintance with the Scriptures feature prominently throughout The Life
and Against Apion. In general, they serve as a way for Josephus to assert
his overall capabilities as both a man of wisdom and a critically minded
and highly competent historian.
3.5.2. The ancient historians on epigraphic material
Josephus was certainly not alone in referring to information derived from
written sources. Yet, his frequent use of such explicit source citations (and
his references to the Scriptures in particular) differs much from the practice
of many of his predecessors. While some historians (including Josephus, as
we shall see) would make ample reference to documentary and archival
evidence throughout their works, such systematic use of external sources is
not to be understood as a regular practice in the works of a majority of the
most prominent ancient historians including Herodotus, Thucydides, and
Polybius (cf. Marincola 2004, 103). In general, as Marincola argues,
documents and other written material were not treated as (and considered to
be) ‘sources of information at once immediate and dispassionate’ (ibid.,
105) and so the use of such material was mainly situational and embedded
within a larger argument on the part of the ancient historian. It is often
difficult or nearly impossible to ascertain if (and if so, to what degree) they
based their accounts upon written sources other than the works of their
predecessors. This does not mean of course that references to such external,
non-narrative material were entirely absent in such works. Indeed even the
early Greek historians would on occasion refer to certain information
obtained through inscriptions or other written sources. And as Rhodes
argues, ‘from Herodotus onwards it is possible to trace a growing
awareness among Greek historians of how documentary evidence can be
exploited’ (Rhodes 2011, 57).
The manipulative nature of such references emerges clearly from
Herodotus’ use of inscriptions throughout The Histories. Even though he
150
Mason has convincingly suggested that the use of τὰ νόμιμα (as is also the case with
other similar terms) should here be taken in its broadest possible sense as a reference to
the ‘body of ancient, written law codified by Moses and its interpretation’ (Mason
2003c, 14, n. 64).
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
91
often refers to such material, it is never in order to extract historical
information from them. Rather ‘(t)hey serve as commemorative illustration
of what he has just narrated’ (Thomas 1989, 90) or, alternatively, to what
he is about the narrate. He refers, for instance, to a funeral inscription on
the tomb of the Babylonian queen, Nitocris, which stated that any
subsequent king of Babylon in need of money was permitted to open the
tomb and take from it as much as he desired. ‘This tomb’, so the historian
tells us, ‘remained untouched till the kingship fell to Darius’ (Hist. 1.187)
who decided to open the tomb only to find a corpse and the inscription
‘Wert thou not insatiate of wealth (ἄπληστός) and basely desirous of gain
(χρημάτων (…) αἰσχροκερδής), thou hadst not opened the coffins of the
dead’ (ibid.). By including this seemingly anecdotal reference in his work
Herodotus provides not only an example of the wisdom of the late queen
but also of the avarice of the later king.151
Elsewhere he refers to certain writings in the Egyptian language that he
had himself seen inscribed on the Great Pyramid of Giza and which
(according to his translator and interpreter) provide the figure of no less
than 1600 talents of silver as the amount ‘spent on purges and onions and
garlic for the workmen’ (2.125). By citing this inscription to the effect that
a large amount was spent on such seemingly trivial items, Herodotus aims
at painting a bigger picture of the overall magnitude of the monument that
he had himself observed. For as he adds, ‘how much must needs have been
expended on the iron with which they worked, and the workmen’s food and
clothing?’.152
Even though Herodotus often professes to have personally seen such
inscriptions, numerous scholars have raised doubts about the veracity of
those claims (cf. Rhodes 2011, 57 and Hornblower 2002). In fact, much of
his knowledge may have ultimately been based upon descriptions by
informants who may also have supplied the accompanying story or
anecdote. But, as Rhodes suggests, ‘if he had been more critical he might
have realized that in fact the inscription does not always support the story’
(Rhodes 2011, 57-8).
By way of comparison, other ancient historians such as Thucydides,
Polybius, and Josephus are far more reticent in their use of such epigraphic
evidence. In general and even though they are not entirely dismissive of
such material, direct quotations from inscriptions (or other documentary
evidence that may be labelled as such) are rare. Whether or not Thucydides
151
This latter topic is further touched upon more fully by Herodotus in his enumeration
in the third book of all the tributes paid to him by his satrapies (cf. Hist. 3.89-98). In
fact, as the author states, it was his tribute taxations that amongst other ordinances
resulted in his being nicknamed ‘the huckster (κάπηλος)’ (3.89).
152
For more on Herodotus’ use of inscriptions see Momigliano 1990b, 38; Rhodes
2011, 57-8; Thomas 1989 passim, and West 1985.
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
had reasons for doing so is exceedingly difficult to determine with any kind
of certainty on the basis of the limited available evidence. It could be
argued that such material was not held in high regard by him due to is
general lack of availability and applicability; but to do so would admittedly
amount to an argument from silence, since the author himself nowhere
comments upon his use of such evidence. Indeed, as Hornblower has
pointed out, the sheer amount of evidence available to Thucydides most
likely rendered his use of inscriptions ‘less fruitful than personal inquiry
about the circumstances in which a decision was taken’ (Hornblower 2000,
88). To be sure, he does at times refer to such material, such as to an
inscription by Pausanias on the Serpent Column (erected in Delphi in
commemoration of the Hellenic victors at the Battle of Plataea in 479 BCE)
which was soon chiselled off by the Lacedaemonians (cf. Thuc. 1.132-3).153
Moreover, another type of epigraphic evidence at one point does receive
significant attention by Thucydides, namely the peace treaty of 421 BCE
which is quoted in full in 5.23-4 (cf. Hornblower 2000, 89 and Marincola
2004, 104).154 Thus, although he does not rely on inscriptions to the same
degree as his predecessor, Thucydides was certainly not oblivious to the
value and usefulness of such physical remains.155
Treaties and other inscriptions also feature occasionally in Polybius’
universal history, e.g. when he quotes in Polyb. 3.22.1-25.9 of the first
treaty between Rome and Carthage, which was ‘preserved on bronze tablets
beside the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus in the treasury of the Quaestors’
(3.26.1). A few chapters later in the same book, Polybius provides an
account of Hannibal’s mustering of his troops in Spain with ‘an accuracy
which even the actual organizer of the details would have some difficulty
in attaining’ (3.33.17, also 3.56.1-4, cf. Walbank 1990, 82). Yet, in his own
opinion, Polybius need not be discounted as ‘those authors who try to make
their misstatements plausible’ (ibid.). For as he assures his readers, ‘(t)he
153
Thucydides cites the inscription in full although he could not possibly have seen it
himself. According to Rhodes, his knowledge of it may in fact be derived from the
testimonies of others, and as such ‘it will have come to him with the hostile story about
Pausanias which was told in Sparta when Pausanias was dead and unable to respond’
(Rhodes 2011, 59). For other examples of Thucydides’ use of inscriptions, see
Hornblower 2000, 88-91 and Rhodes 2011, 59-60.
154
As for his reasons for incorporating the document into his account, Hornblower
argues for the importance of such material ‘not just because a written treaty was the
culmination of numerous small acts of diplomacy, but because the text of a treaty or
agreement was itself an important and influential fact’ (Hornblower 2000, 89).
155
In fact, some scholars have even argued that by characterizing his history as ‘a
possession for all time’ (Thuc. 1.22.4) the historian is deliberately invoking a
terminology well known from the standard formulas used in Athenian inscriptions (cf.
Moles 1999). This view was later to be repeated with an explicit reference to Moles in
Greenwood 2006, 9-10 et passim (ibid., 133, n. 43 in particular).
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
93
fact is that I found on the Lacinian promontory a bronze tablet (τὴν γραφὴν
ταύτην ἐν χαλκώματι) on which Hannibal himself had made out these lists
during the time he was in Italy, and thinking this an absolutely first-rate
authority (πάντως (...) αὐτὴν περί γε τῶν τοιύτων ἀξιόπιστον), decided to
follow the document (εἱλόμεθα τῇ γραφῇ ταύτῃ)’ (Polyb. 3.33.17-8,
compare Ant. rom. 1.32.1-2, cf. Marincola 2004, 101-2).156 Polybius thus
asserts his own superiority as a historian by referring to the overall quality
of his material (cf. Sacks 1981, 13). However, he also states elsewhere, in
order for an historian to come across as capable and convincing he had to
do more than merely rely on epigraphic evidence (whatever its inherent
quality). In this regard, he criticizes Timaeus for postulating that he
personally visited the Locrians in Greece proper where he (by his own
account) was shown a treaty between them and the inhabitants of the
colony of Locri in the southern part of Italy. Polybius has already
previously denied any existence of such a treaty (cf. Polyb. 12.6.1), which
is also the reason why he is entirely dismissive of Timaeus’ alleged use of
this material. He finds it ‘most surprising (θαυμάζειν)’ (12.10.5) that
Timaeus has neglected to inform his readers of the exact name of the city in
question, of ‘the exact spot (<τὸν> τόπον) in which it (sc. the treaty) is
inscribed (ἀναγεγράφθαι)’ (ibid.), or the magistrates with whom he
interacted – and this in order that ‘no cause of perplexity (διαπορεῖν) would
be left’ (ibid.). He finds it puzzling that Timaeus, ‘who discovered the
inscriptions at the back of buildings and lists of proxeni on the jambs of
temples’ (12.11.2)157, should have chosen to withhold such significant
information from his audience. In fact, he takes it as ‘a clear proof (δῆλός)
that he (sc. Timaeus) knew he was deliberately lying (αὑτῷ κατὰ πρόθεσιν
ἐψευσμένῳ)’ (12.10.6).
Just as with Polybius and Thucydides before him, so too Josephus is
restrained in his references to epigraphic evidence no less than in his
allusions to monuments. And even though he occasionally does mention
certain inscriptions, only rarely do they serve as a substantial and intricate
part of his overall narrative. Just as Polybius had done, so too Josephus
often alludes to (and cite) various decrees and treaties, some of which were
inscribed upon brazen tablets that had been deposited in the Capitol. This is
for instance the case with his reference to an edict which had been
‘engraved on brazen tablets to be deposited in the Capitol’ (J.W. 2.216),
which detailed the territories bestowed upon Agrippa I by Claudius on his
For other examples of Polybius’ use of inscriptions, see Rhodes 2011, 65.
Walbank takes this as a suggestion that ‘he (sc. Polybius) did not rate this kind of
research very high’ (Walbank 1990, 82).
156
157
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
accession as emperor in January of 41 CE.158 Another example may be
drawn from the twelfth book of the Antiquities where Josephus refers to
the alliance between the Maccabees and the Roman senate as being
attested by a decree, the original of which was ‘engraved on bronze tablets’
(Ant. 12.416). Even though these tablets were already mentioned in
Josephus’ Vorlage, he has nonetheless performed a slight (but important)
modification in that the tablets were ‘deposited in the Capitol’ (ibid.) and
not in Jerusalem, as was stated in 1 Macc 8:22.159
3.5.3. The ancient historians on documentary material
From the ancient historians’ infrequent references to inscriptions, we now
turn to their use of documents. As with the former category, so too must
one preface the analysis hereof by emphasizing that the ancient historians’
references to such material are not nearly as prevalent as in modern
works.160 And since the main method of gathering information for many
prominent ancient historians was through various forms of personal
inquiry, for such historians as Herodotus, Thucydides and Polybius who
dealt primarily with contemporary events an extensive use of written
sources other than the works of their predecessors was considered only a
distant second option (cf. Schepens 2011b, 114).161
As we have seen, Herodotus’ primary source of knowledge concerning
the events depicted in his work was derived from autopsy, autophony, and
the oral testimonies of others. This includes the occasional information he
would (or, could) have acquired by various written sources such as
Hecataeus, local accounts, Greek poets, and various Oriental records such
as the ‘Egyptian chronicles (Αἰγυπτίους (...) λόγους)’ mentioned in Hist.
158
Other references to edicts inscribed on (brazen) tablets occur in J.W. 7.110 (detailing
the privileges bestowed upon the Jews by the Romans which the inhabitants of Antioch
in their appeal to Titus wished to have removed); Ant. 14.191 (Caesar’s decree
concerning Hyrcanus II). 219 and 221 (the decree by the Senate confirming the
privileges bestowed upon the Jews by Caesar). 266 (as part of Josephus’ conclusion on
the citations rendered by him in 14.190-264 regarding the friendship between the Jews
and the Romans for which he has provided ‘clear and visible proofs’ by his use of
‘those decrees engraved on bronze pillars and tablets which remain to this day and will
continue to remain in the Capitol’), and 16.48 (as part of Nicolaus’ address to Marcus
Agrippa with his assurances of the loyalty of the Jews towards the Romans as evident in
the ‘many decrees of the Senate and tablets deposited in the Capitol’). More on
Josephus’ use of Nicolaus below.
159
That fact that Josephus’ choice of phasing is strikingly similar to that of Polybius
may be perceived as a testament to his general familiarity with this historian. More on
this topic below (4.3.3).
160
To quote Marincola, ‘(d)ocuments were not, so far as we can tell, the disembodied
witnesses that they sometimes seem to be for moderns’ (Marincola 2004, 104).
161
For more on the intertextual and polemical aspects of ancient historiography, see
below (4.3).
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
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2.99.162 However, Herodotus would only have had a very limited access to,
and understanding of, such foreign records (cf. Lateiner 1989, 92).
Similarly, nowhere in his History does he inform us that he has himself
engaged in such writings or whether he had indeed made the effort of
learning a foreign language. For instance, as Lateiner asserts, ‘(h)e could
not consult Persian or other written sources because he did not know the
languages’ (Lateiner 1989, 101), a quite telling deficiency for an historian
who sought to produce a history of the Persian Empire and the GrecoPersian wars! In general, therefore, Herodotus’ references to external
sources might suggest that at least some of his knowledge may stem from
documentary evidence. However, as Rhodes argues, ‘we should not credit
Herodotus with a more serious use of documents where he does not
mention them than where he does’ (Rhodes 2011, 58), since ‘(t)here was
not yet any sense that documents provide an important basis for reliable
history’ (ibid., also Lateiner 1989, 101). In fact, Fehling (as did Plutarch
before him in Her. mal.) has even gone so far as to consider a majority of
the historian’s source references and citations essentially fictitious in nature
(cf. Fehling 1989).163 However, other scholars have called for a more
lenient view of the merits of this historian. As Luraghi elegantly put it: ‘I
should add that the tendentiousness which is as obvious in Fehling as it is
in Plutarch renders them doomed losers against the charm of the father of
history’ (Luraghi 2003c, 139). Along similar lines, Schepens has argued
that Herodotus’ use of references to external sources – such as monuments
or written records – should be taken at face value as an essential aspect of
the historian’s ways of presenting himself to his audience (cf. Schepens
2011a, 45).
162
Cf. Lateiner 1989, 92; Marincola 2001, 31-5, and Schepens 2011a, 44-5. Whether or
not Herodotus would at all have been able to substantiate the information gathered from
oral testimonies with local annals remains a matter of scholarly debate. Jacoby has
argued that at the time when the historian collected the material for his narrative ‘(e)s
gab (…) prosaische Genealogien, Perioidoi und Ethnographien; es gab keine
literarischen Lokalchroniken, so wenig wie es Hellenika oder Biographien gab’ (Jacoby
1956b, 52). However, in the opinion of Marincola it would be a ‘dangerous argument
from silence’ (Marincola 2001, 33) to postulate that such local written sources did not
exist simply because we do not find any references to them in Herodotus’ history.
Marincola points to a conspicuous correspondence between a reference in Hist. 2.156.2
to an Egyptian saying concerning the island of Chemmis and a fragment in Hecataeus
(cf. FGrHist 1 F 301) that also mentions this location. He argues that were we not in
possession of this particular fragment, it could be argued that Herodotus did not make
use of the work of his predecessor ‘because he does not mention him’ (Marincola 2001,
33). Nonetheless, it would appear that Herodotus here ‘attributes to the Egyptians
something that was known from Hecataeus’ (ibid., emphasis his).
163
For more, see Fowler 2014, 72-83, Hornblower 2002, 378-9 and Marincola 2001,
33-4.
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That an historian (as part of his self-presentation) would be expected to
display an acquaintance with various written records also emerges quite
clearly from the works of some of Herodotus’ successors such as Diodorus,
Dionysius and Josephus himself, as we shall see below. First, however, it
must be noted that not all ancient historians were as assertive as these in
their references to this kind of documentary material. Thucydides, for
instance, only rarely indicates that his account is based upon written
sources (e.g. Thuc. 1.8.4; 1.13.5164, and 1.128.7) since (like Herodotus
before him and Polybius after him) he was largely dependent upon autopsy
and autophony.165 As in Herodotus, so Thucydides primarily makes use of
such sources in order to drive home a particular point (cf. Momigliano
1990b, 43). As for the historian who focused on non-contemporary events,
we have no reason to believe that he was ‘expected to re-inquire into earlier
matters in any way other than reading his predecessors’ (Marincola 2004,
105). Rather than basing his knowledge of past events on disparate
documents, the non-contemporary historian would therefore instead almost
exclusively draw upon previously written accounts and ‘what already
existed in the tradition’ (ibid., 106).166
As we have seen in the previous chapter, in his censure of Timaeus’
bookishness, Polybius displays an immense disapproval of the historian
who relies solely on written sources. Unlike many of Timaeus’
predecessors and contemporaries, he had preferred the comfort and ease of
studying in the libraries to active field research in the form of personal
inquiries; the latter requires ‘severe labour (ταλαιπωρίας) and great expense
(δαπάνης)’ (Polyb. 12.27.6) and is for this reason much more commendable
(cf. Schepens 2011a, 52).167 In the same vein, Polybius subsequently states
that he is somewhat baffled that Timaeus has managed to become
renowned as ‘a leading author (τὴν τοῦ συγγραφέως προστασίαν)’ (Polyb.
12.28.6) despite the fact that he has ‘spent all his life in exile in one single
place’ (ibid.) and has deliberately (κατὰ πρόθεσιν) denied himself any
active part (τὴν ἐνεργητικήν) in war or politics or any personal experience
(τὴν (...) αὐτοπάθειαν) gained by travel and observation’ (ibid., cf. Schepens
For more on Thucydides’ use of source citations in the Archaology, see Momigliano
1990b, 43-4.
165
Cf. Momigliano 1966b, 214; 1990b, 42, and Rhodes 2011, 60. On Xenophon’s use
of documents, see Bearzot 2014.
166
For more on the notion of tradition in ancient historiography, see the following
chapter (4.3 in particular).
167
In fact, Polybius argues elsewhere in the twelfth book that compared to a reliance on
autopsy and personal experience ‘everyone would now agree that that industry in the
study of documents is only a third part of history (τρίτον εἶναι μέρος τῆς ἱστορίας) and
only stands in third place (τρίτην ἔχειν τάξιν)’ (Polyb. 12.25i.2, also Schepens 2011b,
112).
164
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2011b, 116-7). Indeed, as Polybius states elsewhere, ‘to believe, as
Timaeus did, that relying upon the mastery of material alone (ἀπ’ αὐτῆς
δυνάμεως ὁρμηθέντα πεπεῖσθαι) one can write well the history of subsequent
events is absolutely foolish (τελέως εὔηθες)’ (12.25e.7, also 12.25g.4). As
Sacks has argued, for Polybius the mere accumulation of such ‘raw data in
any form is not as important as the ability to examine critically its worth
and to get at the heart of the matter’ (Sacks 1981, 65). What seems to be
required is a keen ability to scrutinize the evidence. And this is precisely
what Timaeus lacks. Indeed, the very fact that he chose to rely exclusively
on documentary evidence may be considered something of a paradigm shift
in the attitude towards this material as prevalent amongst the ancient
historians (cf. Schepens 2011a, 52). In fact according to Schepens, ‘the
argument that a historian was better off with plenty of books at his disposal
than with being an eyewitness was something new’ (ibid.).
Polybius’ vivid criticism of Timaeus’ overreliance on written sources
should by no means be construed as a dismissal of the very usefulness of
such material as evidence for historical accounts. As Walbank asserts,
despite his extensive criticism of Timaeus’ bookishness, Polybius himself
‘could hardly avoid widespread use of written sources, even for the part of
his Histories’ (Walbank 1990, 77). Unfortunately for us, however, thus
Walbank continues, these sources are ‘usually unidentifiable, since he
weaves his material into a close and homogenous fabric’ (ibid.). Polybius
does at times refer to (and quote from) documents, as in Polyb. 16.15.8
with his reference to a certain dispatch ’still preserved in the prytaneum at
Rhodes’. In general, however, Polybius’ use of such material (including
inscriptions) has according to Walbank ‘probably been exaggerated’
(Walbank 1990, 82).168 And in fact, some scholars regard it as
inconceivable that Polybius – being but a curious foreigner – might have
been able to gain access to many of the Greek archives, perhaps even
including the one in Rhodes (cf. Gelzer 1964c, 168, n. 61 and Walbank
1990, 82-3). The only archives that would have been wholly accessible to
him would have been those in Archaea and Rome, but even there Walbank
considers it ‘more probable that Polybius used reports provided by Greek
friends’ (ibid., 83). Still, as in the case of his illustrious predecessors, so in
Polybius an acquaintance with such documentary evidence figures
prominently amongst the self-presentational tendencies of this historian.
In the same way, Diodorus and Dionysius also claimed to have access to
various written sources and archives. The former professes to have had
numerous important sources readily at hand (cf. Sacks 1990, 165 and 189,
n. 134). This is for instance evident in his references to ‘the abundant
For more on this particular passage and on Polybius’ general use of (and access to)
archives, see Walbank 1990, 82-4 and Rhodes 2011, 64-5.
168
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supply (τῇ (...) χορηγίᾳ) which Rome affords of the materials pertaining to
the proposed study. For the supremacy of this city, a supremacy so
powerful that it extends to the bounds of the inhabited world, has provided
us in the course of our long residence there with copious resources
(πλείστας (...) ἀφορμας) in the most accessible form (ἑτοιμοτάτας)’ (Diod.
1.4.3).169 As Schepens argues, ‘(t)he broad notion ἀφορμαί – means for
undertaking the writing of history – covers both terms that refer to evidence
proper and a variety of data that relate to the ἦθος {character} and external
living conditions, such as, in casu, residence in a city offering good
facilities’ (Schepens 2011b, 110).
Dionysius also exhibits an evident interest in chronology and dates the
foundation of Rome to the first year of the sixty-eighth Olympiad (507
BCE) by way of an elaborate calculation based upon certain information
obtained from the family archives of the Roman censors (cf. Ant. rom.
1.74.6).170
The issue of the availability of documentary evidence in Rome (and the
distinct lack hereof in earlier times) is also a matter of some importance for
Livy to judge from his statement in the preface to the sixth book of the
work: Here he indicates how in the preceding pentad he has depicted events
that are ‘obscure (obscuras)’ both ‘by reason of their great antiquity (cum
vetustate nimia)’ (AUC 6.1.2) and especially because this previous period
saw a ‘but slight and scanty use of writing (parvae et rarae (...) litterae)’
(ibid.)’, which he deems ‘the sole trustworthy guardian of the memory of
past events (una custodia fidelis memoriae rerum gestarum)’ (ibid.). And
as he continues, ‘even such records as existed in the commentaries of the
pontiffs and in other public and private documents, nearly all perished in
the conflagration of the City (sc. by the Celts sometime around 390 BCE)’
(ibid.). With regard to the subsequent history of Rome and its inhabitants, it
would appear that he has better and more reliable sources at his disposal
(cf. Kraus 1994, 85). For this reason, he is now able to provide his audience
with ‘a clearer and more definite account ((c)lariora (…) certioraque)’
(6.1.3) of the events in question (cf. Marincola 2004, 103).171 As is the case
with Josephus in Against Apion, so Livy seems to suggest that the
reliability of a given historical account depends on the accuracy of the
For more on this passage and Diodorus’ use of sources, see Sacks 1994, also Drews
1962 and Pearson 1984.
170
For more, see Gabba 1991, 86-7 and 198. For more on chronology in Dionysius, see
5.2.2.
171
There is a certain playfulness to Livy’s terminology throughout this passage such as
in his use of light imagery combined with the fact that he, as Kraus argues, ‘allusively
deploys the prefatory ‘autopsy’ topos, referring not to his own eye-witness but to the
metaphorical autopsy afforded by literary memory’ (Kraus 1994, 87, also Oakley 1997,
383-5).
169
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99
available written sources. And indeed as Marincola has argued, ‘such an
equation of ‘“written = reliable” may go back to Ephorus’ (Marincola
2004, 103).172
As one who was writing on the ancient history of Rome, Livy would (so
one might well assume) have been inclined to make good use of the various
Latin records such as the older pontifical annalistic tradition and the
annales maximi. The latter would at least have been readily available for
any ancient historians of the first century BCE in the form of Publius
Scaevola’s collection of them presumably published sometime in the 130’s
and later destroyed in the burning of the Regia in 36 BCE. But as with so
many of his predecessors (including Diodorus and Dionysius) who mainly
relied on the works of their predecessors, so too would it appear that Livy
did not use the annales maximi directly, opting instead ‘to reproduce the
content at second hand from the late annalists’ (Walsh 1989, 111) and from
Antias and Quadrigarius in particular.173 Other possible written sources that
were available to Livy for consultation include the libri lintei with their
lists of magistrates, the senatus consulta containing various laws and
treaties such as the above-mentioned one between Carthage and Rome,
which is referred to by Polybius in Polyb. 3.22.1-25.9, and finally various
private archives such as the one mentioned by Dionysius in Ant. rom. 1.74.
172
Marincola here refers to Diod. 1.9.5 and FGrHist 70 F 105 (the latter of which
contains three separate fragments from Dionysius Thrax and Clement of Alexandria) as
an indication that Ephorus should have designated the Egyptians as the first to make
observations of the sky and to record ‘many noteworthy deeds of great men’ (Diod.
1.9.6). Provided that this statement of Diodorus’ may in fact be considered a direct
quotation from Ephorus, ‘it will be Ephorus who first gave a methodological defence
for the use of written records and their reliability’ (Marincola 2004, 103).
173
To be sure, other earlier Roman historians including Fabius Pictor may very well
have relied on such sources (cf. Rich 2009, 135-6). But even for such later historians
(or, “annalists”, see however Cornell 2012, cited in 1.3.2 above) as Piso, Gellius,
Antias, Quadrigarius, Macer and eventually Livy – who would all come to mirror the
year-by-year arrangement of the annals – the pontifical tabulae ‘formed only a part of
the source material (…), and they certainly did not serve as genuine models in matters
of form’ (Beck 2011, 262). Instead, as Beck continues, the tradition of annual
arrangement hearkens back to the epic poet Quintus Ennius whose work was envisioned
as a commentary on the tabulae and was later to gain ‘an extratextual authority’ (ibid.)
as a template for the abovementioned historians who were to follow its example. Other
historians, however, were more reluctant to follow along similar lines. Cato the Elder,
for instance, had nothing but scorn for this material stating that ‘(i)t is disagreeable to
write what stands on the tablet at the house of the Pontifex Maximus – how often grain
was costly, how often darkness or something else blocked the light of the moon or of
the sun’ (Or. fr. 77 HHR, trans. Mellor 1999, 13). The same can also be said for such
later authors as the antiquarian Varro and the later Roman historians such as Antipater,
Fannius, Asellio, Sisenna, and (perhaps most prominently) Sallust, Dionysius, and
Diodorus (cf. Rawson 1985, 239 and Rich 2009, 140-2). More on annalistic
arrangement in ancient histories below (5.2.2).
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But as Walsh argues, Livy did not in fact consult any of these external
sources, and chose instead to rely exclusively on the information provided
by the works of his predecessors, including those of Polybius and the late
annalists (cf. Walsh 1989, 110-4).174
By way of comparison, Josephus is adamant in stressing that his account
of the ancient history of the Jewish people in the Antiquities is derived from
– and thus wholly dependent upon – written sources. In this regard (and
similar to Polybius, Dionysius and Diodorus), he does occasionally allude
to information that he has obtained from foreign records. Thus, for
instance, in his rendition of 1 Kings 5 (and 2 Chron 2:3-16), he includes the
dialogue between the Tyrian king Hiram and Solomon; and like Eupolemus
before him (cf. FGrHist 723 F 2b apud Euseb Praep. ev. 9.33) he depicts
this as a letter exchange, the copies of which were allegedly preserved in
the Tyrian archives (cf. Ant. 8.55, also Ag. Ap. 1.111).175 Josephus in fact
encourages his audience to consult those records; for those that do so will
‘find that their (sc. the Tyrians’) records are in agreement with what we
have said’ (Ant. 8.55, also Ag. Ap. 1.106-11). Having made this assertion,
Josephus proceeds to clarify his intension behind including such material in
his narrative by assuring his readers that he has kept to the truth and has not
‘attempted to evade critical inquiry (τὴν (...) ἐξέτασιν φεύγειν)’ (Ant. 8.56).
In a statement highly reminiscent of Thuc. 1.21, he claims that he has not
inserted into his history ‘various plausible and seductive passages (πιθανοῖς
τισι (...) ἐπαγωγοῖς) meant to deceive and entertain (πρὸς ἀπάτην καὶ
τέρψιν), (…) asking to be instantly believed’ (cf. Feldman 1998a, 614).
Quite on the contrary, his history may only be considered worthy of
attention in so far as he as an author is capable of establishing ‘the truth
with demonstration and convincing evidence (μετὰ ἀποδείξεως καὶ
τεκμηρίων)’ (ibid.). In the opinion of this historian, any appreciation of a
given historical work is therefore contingent on the ability of its author to
present a compelling and cogent case. In this regard, what seems to be
required is an assurance by the historian himself that he has utilized
properly the available means at his disposal; as Josephus himself professes
to have done when he cites from the available evidence from the Tyrian
archives.176
For more on Livy’s sources and his treatment thereof, see Briscoe 2009; Oakley
2009; Tränkle 2009, and Walsh 1989, 110-37. On the sources for the first decade, see
Luce 1977, 177 and Oakley 2009 (for books 6-10). On the sources for the third decade,
see Luce 1977, 178-81 and Walsh 1989, 124-36.
175
For more on such letters as quoted by Eupolemus, see Rajak 2001c, 28-30.
176
Josephus’ actual access to (and potential use of) these archives is of course another
matter entirely. Josephus’ may have derived his knowledge of the letter exchange
between Hiram and Solomon from Eupolemus. It is, however, worth noting that he
provides further evidence for the close relationship between these regents in the form of
174
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
101
3.5.4. Josephus’ references to the Scriptures
Josephus’ occasional use of such foreign records pales in comparison with
his recurrent references to the one major written source at his disposal,
namely the Jewish Scriptures. Thus for instance, at the very outset of his
account in the first book he indicates how he intends to recall ‘what Moses
has said concerning the creation of the world’ (Ant. 1.26) as he has found it
‘recorded (ἀναγεγραμμένα) in the sacred books (ἐν ταῖς ἱεραῖς βίβλοις)’
(ibid., also 2.347; 3.81; 9.208. 214; 10.210. 218. 281, and 20.261).177 As is
the case in his use of foreign documents, so here too he is keen on
displaying his own acquaintance with these native records – for after all,
such references to the Scriptures and to Moses’ authorship abound
throughout the first eleven books of the Antiquities.178 Certain
methodological considerations may have prompted him to refer so
extensively to his biblical sources. Unlike in previous work where he – like
so many of his predecessors – could base his account on what he had
himself experienced or heard from others, in the Antiquities Josephus had
to rely on a careful reading and subsequent accurate rendition of the
Scriptures as the sole means of assuring his audience of the general
reliability of his account. Interestingly, he seems to have more in common
with authors such as Timaeus and Diodorus with respect to their
dependence on written sources than with other historians such as Polybius
who – as we have just seen – was highly censorious of an overreliance on
such documentary evidence.
references to the writings of Menander and Dius in 8.144-9, compare Ag. Ap. 1.112-27.
This same Menander is also mentioned to in the subsequent book and this (interestingly
enough) in connection with the Tyrian archives. At the end of the ninth book Josephus
refers to these archives as external evidence for the Assysians’ invasion of Syria and
Phoenicia, since they allegedly record the name of the Assyrian king Shalmaneser. This
is followed by a lengthy citation from Menander in Ant. 9.283-8. This might lead one to
suspect that Josephus’ knowledge of the Tyrian archives was derived from his reading
of Menander’s work. But his knowledge of this author would most likely have been
extremely limited. As Barclay has argued, ‘It appears that Josephus had access to Dios
and Menander only through some other source (possibly Alexander Polyhistor), and
knew almost nothing about these authors or their sources of information’ (Barclay 2013,
68).
177
Other designations for this particular textual corpus include ‘the Hebrew records
(τῶν Ἑβραϊκῶν (...) γραμμάτων)’ (Ant. 1.5), ‘the Sacred writings (τοῖς ἱεροῖς γράμμασιν)’
(10.210) or simply the ‘Scriptures (γραμματών)’ (5.61).
178
Other instances (aside from the ones already mentioned) include Ant. 2.347; 3.38.
73-4. 105. 137; 4.196. 302. 326; 8.129. 159, and 9.28. 46. An alternative to such explicit
references comes in the form of more veiled allusions in phrases such as ‘as we are told’
(5.155) and ‘the account we have received (τὰ (...) παρειλήφαμεν)’ (8.287), see also
8.349 and 9.47. 213. For Josephus’ use of similar phrases in Against Apion, see later in
this subsection.
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As we have seen, Josephus’ general comprehension of the Scriptures plays
an important part in his manner of self-presentation in The Life and Against
Apion. And as we shall see, his claims of having an intimate knowledge of
his native sources feature prominently amongst his self-presentational
techniques. A shining example occurs in his initial introduction to the
Antiquities as an account of ‘our entire ancient history and the political
constitution, translated (μεθηρμηνευμένην) from the Hebrew records (ἐκ
τῶν Ἑβραϊκῶν (...) γραμμάτων)’ (Ant. 1.5, emphasis mine, also 10.218,
with μεθερμηνεύω being exchanged for the synonymous verb μεταφράζω,
and Ag. Ap. 1.54).179 This particular choice of words serves not only as an
outline of the subject matter of the work in question but also as a means for
the author of indicating the manner in which this account has come about.
By asserting that the work in its entirety is to be considered a mere
translation of the Scriptures, he may be seen as providing his audience with
a general indication of the intended methodology to be applied throughout
the work.180
Similarly, on several occasions throughout the initial part of the work
Josephus professes his intention to provide an accurate rendition of the
Scriptures without ‘adding (προσθείς) nor omitting (παραλιπών) anything’
(Ant. 1.17, also 4.196, 10.218, and 14.1, compare Ag. Ap. 1.42). As
Feldman notes, the wording is highly reminiscent of Moses’ famous
injunctions to the people not to ‘add (προσθήσετε) anything to what I
command you nor take away (ἀφελεῖτε) anything from it, but keep the
commandments of the LORD your God with which I am charging you
(Deut. 4:2LXX, also 13:1) as well as in the equally well-known curse in the
Letter of Aristeas put upon the finished Septuagint by the translators: ‘on
anyone who should alter (διασκευάσει) the version by any addition
(προστιθεὶς) or change (μεταφερών) to any part of the written text, or any
deletion either’ (Aris. 311, trans. Schutt, Greek inserts mine, cf. Feldman
1998a, 42 and id. 2004, 7, n. 22). That Josephus was well aware of this last
passage emerges clearly from his lengthy rendition of the letter in the
twelfth book of the Antiquities where the curse is paraphrased as ‘if anyone
179
A similar expression (albeit sans the translation motif) also occurs in the preface to
Against Apion where Josephus mentions the fact that his account in the Antiquities
‘embraces a period of five thousand years, and was written (συνεγραψάμην, cf. Thuc.
1.1, see above (1.2.1)) by me in Greek on the basis of our sacred books (ἐκ τῶν παρ’
ἡμῖν ἱερῶν βίβλων)’ (Ag. Ap. 1.1).
180
In this regard, Josephus somewhat curiously omits any mention of the fact that the
Scriptures only serve as the Vorlage for the initial half of the work up until his rendition
of the post-exilic Ezra and Nehemiah narratives in the eleventh book, which is why the
subsequent accounts of the high-priesthoods of Johanan and Bagoses and Alexander’s
visit to Jerusalem effectually mark the definite departure from the biblical sources (cf.
Feldman 2004, 5, n. 5).
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
103
saw any further addition (περισσόν) made to the text of the Law or anything
omitted (λεῖπον) from it, he should examine it and make it known and
correct it’ (Ant. 12.109). To these examples may be added a third one from
1 Maccabees, namely an occurrence of the phrase at the end of the treaty
between the Romans and the Jewish people where it is stated that ‘(i)f after
these terms are in effect both parties shall determine to add or delete
(προσθεῖναι ἤ ἄφελεῖν) anything, they shall do so at their discretion, and any
addition or deletion (προσθῶσιν ἤ ἀφέλωσιν) that they make shall be valid’
(1 Macc 8:30). That Josephus was equally well acquainted with this
particular passage emerges clearly from the following paraphrase of it
given in the twelfth book of the Antiquities, ‘if the Jewish nation wishes
either to add (προσθεῖναι) anything to, or remove (ἀφελεῖν) anything from,
this treaty of alliance, this shall be done with the concurrence of the Roman
people, and whatever may be added (προστεθῇ) shall be valid’ (Ant.
12.418).
Josephus may however also have had another source of inspiration for
the expression in Ant. 1.17 since this idiom also occurs twice in Dionysius’
essay on Thucydides (later to be repeated by Lucian in his How to Write
History).181 As argued in the second chapter, it is generally recognized that
Josephus was well acquainted with Dionysius’ works; it is therefore not
inconceivable that he (like Lucian after him) would have drawn inspiration
– and literally borrowed a phrase – from his prolific predecessor. Yet, in
this regard it is important to note that the phrase ‘to not add or omit
anything’ would appear to have two widely different connotations in Thuc.
5 and 8, respectively.
In the former passage, it occurs in connection with the critic’s highly
derogatory review of Thucydides’ predecessors (including such local
historians as Hecataeus and Hellanicus) who all shared the same aim,
namely ‘to make generally known the traditions of the past (εἰς τὴν κοινὴν
ἁπάντων γνῶσιν) as they found them preserved in local monuments and
religious and secular records (ἐν ἱεροῖς εἴ τ’ ἐν βεβήλοις (...) γραφαί) in the
various tribal and urban centres, without adding to (προστιθέντες) or
subtracting from (ἀφαιροῦντες) them’ (Thuc. 5). Dionysius’ censure of
these authors thus seems to stem from the fact that they (in his opinion)
merely reproduced what they had found in their sources. And indeed as he
continues, their accounts came to contain a variety of ‘stories (μῦθοί)’
(ibid.) and ‘dramatic tales of changing fortunes (θεατρικαί τινες περιπέτειαι)
181
Cf. Thuc. 5 and 8 and Hist. conscr. 47 (the latter is cited above in 3.2.2). See also
Feldman 1998a, 41 and 2004, 8, n. 22.
104
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
which men of today would think quite silly (πολὺ τὸ ἠλίθιον)’ (ibid., also
7).182
By way of comparison, Dionysius’ later use of the same phrase in Thuc.
8 would seem to serve an entirely different purpose, namely as an appraisal
of Thucydides’ capabilities as a critical historian with his assertion that he
‘concerned himself above all with recording the truth, neither adding to
(προστιθεὶς) nor subtracting (ἀφαιρῶν) from the facts unjustifiably (μὴ
δίκαιον), but blamelessly and single-mindedly (ἀνέγκλητον δὲ καὶ καθαρὰν)
maintaining the principle of avoiding all malice and flattery (ἀπὸ παντὸς
φθόνου καὶ πάσης κολακείας), especially when passing judgment on great
men’. Thus, whereas Dionysius by his choice of phrasing in Thuc. 5 is
criticizing the local historians for their explicit lack of deviations from their
sources, his use of the same aphorism in Thuc. 8 seems to be of a more
laudatory nature (i.e. that Thucydides has not even in the slightest deviated
from the truth). As has been argued by Barclay, of the two occurrences of
the phrase Josephus’ use in the Antiquities and in Against Apion would in
fact seem to be more analogous to the former than the latter. For as Barclay
states, ‘What Josephus is claiming (whatever his actual practice), and what
Dionysius records with obvious disapproval (as an uncritical procedure,
Thuc. 5), is the relating of ancient traditions or narratives unaltered’
(Barclay 2013, 31, n. 171, emphasis his).183
Numerous contemporary scholars have taken issue with Josephus’
aforementioned promises. For by characterizing his own work as a “mere”
translation of the Hebrew Scriptures combined with his subsequent promise
in Ant. 1.17 to not add or omit anything, Josephus could reasonably be
expected to adhere closely to his biblical Vorlage in terms of style and
substance. Yet, as has already been exemplified by several scholars and
most notably by Feldman, Josephus exhibits a large degree of creativity in
his actual rendition of the Scriptures in the first eleven books of the
Antiquities.184
This has prompted some scholars to posit that the initial promises in Ant.
1.5 and 1.17 ought not to be taken at face value. They have therefore
provided a variety of explanations for this apparent inconsistency. To this
182
For more on this particular passage, see Attridge 1976, 59; Pritchett 1975, 54-5, n.
20-2; Rajak 2001b, 248, and Momigliano 1977c, 170-1.
183
Even though Josephus’ use of this phrase in the Antiquities is reserved for his
(professedly accurate) treatment of his Scriptural sources, elsewhere he does make use
of an aphorism in the other more positive sense as stipulated by Dionysius in Thuc. 8,
namely as part of his introduction to the contents of the fifth book in the preface to the
Jewish War and his assertion that ‘(n)othing shall be concealed (ἀποκρυπτόμενος),
nothing added (προστιθεὶς) to facts which have been brought to light’ (J.W. 1.26).
184
Cf. Attridge 1976 passim; Feldman 1998a passim and 1998b passim; Spilsbury 1998
and 2005, and Sterling 1992, 253.
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
105
effect, Feldman (and Bilde) has collected and commented upon a number
of such ‘suggestions to resolve the apparent failure of Josephus to live up to
his promise not to modify the import of the biblical text’ (Feldman 1998a,
39, compare Bilde 1988, 92-7). These possible explanations range from
theories concerning the extent of his Vorlage (i.e. that it not only consisted
of written sources but also of oral traditions (as later exemplified in the
midrashim185) and the very nature of his reading and understanding of it
(i.e. that he considered his actual treatment of the Scriptures to be in
keeping with his novel reading of the Scriptures186); over an assumption
that he is deliberately lying or being careless or relying on the ignorance of
his audience187, and through to the claim that his promises ought to be
understood as pertaining only to his treatment of halakhic material188 or to
the very content of the Scriptures (and thus not its wording)189; or as
incorporating the notions of paraphrase and amplification190, or finally of
stock phrases.191
Feldman himself does not express a preference for any particular one of
these solutions. Furthermore, by pointing to the sheer scope of available
suggestions he has managed to demonstrate that the apparent inconsistency
between Josephus’ promises in the preface and his actual ways of narrating
may not be attributable to any one cause (cf. Feldman 1998a, 64).
However, at least when assessed from the point of view of ancient
historiography some of the above explanations do appear to be more
pertinent than others. And while some of the suggestions may prove to be
well founded, others amount to little more than mere conjectures due to the
limited available evidence. This is for instance the case with the
assumption that Josephus would have considered his actual rendition of the
Scriptures to be in keeping with his particular reading and understanding of
them. This theory has been put forward by Basser. He argues that
Josephus’ promise in the preface may been influenced by his particular
185
Cf. Feldman 1984, 789-90; 1998a, 42-3; 1998b, 542, and 2004, 8, n. 22. In this
context, Feldman refers to similarities between Josephus’ treatment of the Scriptures
and the free interpretations of Homer by the later Greek authors and the Greek
tragedians’ expressed attitude towards the traditional Greek myths and legends (cf.
Feldman 2004, 8, n. 22). In 1998a, 43-4 this occurs as a separate (eighth) suggestion.
186
Cf. Feldman 1998a, 39-40 and 2004, 7, n. 22 (following Basser 1987, 21-30).
187
Cf. Bilde 1988, 95; Feldman 1998a, 40-1 and 2004, 7, n. 22 – both of whom refer to
the works of Guttman 1928; Hoffmann 1920, and Peter 1897 (Feldman also includes a
reference to Kingdon 1972/3).
188
Cf. Feldman 1984, 790; 1998a, 42; 1998b, 541-2, and 2004, 8, n. 22.
189
This theory has been suggested by Albrektson 1968, but is wholly rejected by
Feldman (cf. Feldman 1998a, 42).
190
Cf. Feldman 1998a, 44; 1998b, 542-3, and 2004, 8, n. 22
191
Cf. Bilde 1988, 95-6; Feldman 1998a, 41-2; 1998b, 540-1, and 2004, 7-8, n. 22, both
referencing Attridge 1976, 58; Cohen 2002, 27-9, and van Unnik 1978, 26-40.
106
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
perception of Moses’ role as an author and furthermore that the fact that
Scriptures had come about by way of a human intermediary would have
allowed Josephus some leeway with regard to his actual rendition of them
(cf. Basser 1987, 25-6).192 Yet, nowhere does Josephus indicate that his
rendition of the Scriptures has come about as a result of his own novel
reading of them. Similarly, his perception of Moses’ authorial presence
does not appear to be of any importance with regard to his approach
towards his own literary endeavour in Ant. 1-11. Indeed, as Feldman has
convincingly argued, the author’s promise in Ant. 1.17 is to be considered
an ‘absolute statement’, one that ‘is not presented as dependent upon who
wrote the Scriptures’ (Feldman 1998a, 40).
To be sure – and as mentioned above – Josephus does refer to Moses as
the author of the Pentateuch on several occasions in the initial half of the
work as well as in Against Apion.193 Similarly, a large portion of the
preface to the Antiquities is dedicated to an appraisal of Moses’ insights
and competence as Lawgiver as well as his function as an author (cf. Ant.
1.18-25). Nowhere does Josephus call into question the quality itself of
Moses’ works. On the contrary, he seems to have held them in high regard,
so much so that he, as Spilsbury argues, ‘wanted some of the dignity and
venerability of the Bible to rub off on his own work’ (Spilsbury 1998, 15).
For instance, after his account of how he followed the instructions on the
proper system of arbitration as given to him by Jethro (alt. Raguel) in Ant.
3.66-73 (cf. Ex. 18:13-24) Josephus emphasizes that Moses did not himself
take credit for the invention of this system, but instead attributed it entirely
to his father-in-law, ‘deeming it meet to bear faithful witness to merit,
whatever glory might be won by taking credit for the inventions of others’
(Ant. 3.74). From this, one may – as Josephus adds – well observe ‘the
integrity of Moses (τὴν Μωυσέος ἀρετήν)’ (ibid.) as an author. Indeed, the
only instance in the Antiquities of an authorial comment by Josephus
himself that may be perceived as a mild censure of Moses’ ways of
narrating is in the fourth book as part of his introduction to the subsequent
summary of the Law. By way of a preamble, he opens by repeating the
phrase from Ant. 1.17 and by assuring his readers that all that is to follow
‘is here written as he (sc. Moses) left it (ὡς ἐκεῖνος κατέλιπεν): nothing have
we added (ἡμῶν (...) προσθέντων) for the sake of embellishment
(καλλωπισμῷ), nothing which has not been bequeathed by Moses
(καταλέλοιπε Μωυσῆς)’ (Ant. 4.196). He then proceeds to provide a slight
amendment to this promise by stating that his only innovation consists in
his manner of classifying the various subjects; ‘for’, as he states, ‘he (sc.
Feldman finds further support for this hypothesis in Josephus’ use of the adverb
σχέδον in Ant. 1.18 (cf. Feldman 1998a, 39 and 1998b, 541-2).
193
Cf. Ant. 1.26; 3.73-4. 137; 4.196-7. 302. 326; 10.58; Ag. Ap. 1.39-40, and 1.130.
192
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
107
Moses) left what he wrote in a scattered condition (σποράδην), just as he
received each several instruction from God’ (4.197). It is important here to
note that Josephus’ comments only pertain to the manner of Moses’
arrangement of the laws, and not to the laws themselves or to the
lawgiver’s wording of them. In light of his oft-repeated praise of Moses’
qualities as lawgiver and author, to assert with Basser that Josephus would
have considered his highly interpretative rendition of the Scriptures (and
the Pentateuch in particular) to have been warranted by the overall
fallibility of the original author thus amounts to an argument from silence.
Similarly, Feldman is undoubtedly correct in pointing to the many
thematic and content-related similarities between Josephus’ rendition of the
Scriptures throughout the first eleven books of the Antiquities and the later
Midrashim (cf. Feldman 1998a, 65-73, also Rajak 2001b, 250). However,
his suggestion that Josephus’ use of the noun ἀναγράφαι in Ant. 1.17
indicates that his actual Vorlage not only comprised ‘the written Bible but
also Jewish tradition generally, including the oral tradition as later
embodied in the midrashim’ (Feldman 1998a, 42) is founded upon nothing
more than mere conjecture. Following Cohen, we may even regard it
wholly inconsistent with Josephus’ aforementioned stress in Against Apion
on the unity of the historical records of Jews with his depiction of the way
they consisted of twenty-two ‘justly accredited (δικαίως πεπιστευμένα)’
(ibid.) and mutually reconcilable books (βιβλία) that together contain ‘the
record of all time (τοῦ παντὸς (…) χρόνου τὴν ἀναγραφήν)’ (Ag. Ap. 1.38,
cf. Cohen 2002, 24).194 Josephus frequently uses this latter noun (in
particular in the first book of Against Apion) which always seems to carry
the meaning of ‘official written records’.195
To be sure, in Josephus’ opinion the total sum of all available written
Jewish records was not only limited to the aforementioned twenty-two
books, as it also encompassed certain post-biblical records. This emerges
clearly from his assertion that ‘the complete history (ἕκαστα)’ (1.41) from
Artaxerxes and through to Josephus’ own time has indeed been written, but
194
This last phrase is presumably intended as an assurance of the comprehensiveness of
the Jewish records and not as a delineation of their actual content (cf. Barclay 2013, 29,
n. 157). For as Josephus subsequently states, the period from Artaxerxes and through to
his own time has also been covered in writing, but this ‘has not been deemed worthy of
equal credit because of the failure of the exact succession of the prophets’ (Ag. Ap. 1.41,
also Ant. 1.12-3 – more on this below). For more on the role of the prophets as authors,
see above in this section.
195
Cf. Ag. Ap. 1. 7. 9. 20. 21. 28. 29. 36. 43. 69. 71. 130. 155. 161. 215. 226. 228. 280.
287, and 2.218 (x2). See also Barclay 2013, 13-4, n. 35. A prominent example is his
aforementioned comparison in Ag. Ap. 1.28-9 on the part of the general effort of the
Egyptians, the Babylonians, and the Phoenicians to keep the records (περὶ τὰς
ἀναγραφὰς ἐπιμέλειαν) with the same care for such matters exhibited by the Jews.
108
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
has by reason ‘of the failure of the exact succession of the prophets’ been
considered of lesser quality than the preceding works.196 Yet, nowhere in
either Against Apion or the Antiquities does Josephus confirm the existence
of alternative oral and/or written sources (or traditions) for the biblical
period. Add to this that Josephus throughout the Antiquities applies a
variety of terms for his biblical Vorlage, including ‘the Hebrew records
(γραμμάτων)’ (Ant. 1.5), the ‘sacred books (βίβλοις)’ (1.26 et alii), the
‘sacred writings (τοῖς ἱεροῖς γράμμασιν)’ (10.210), or simply ‘the Scriptures
(γραμματών)’ (5.61).197 Therefore, to suppose that his use of the term
ἀναγραφαί in Ant. 1.17 was in any way intended as a deliberate hint at the
existence of an alternative (or even, competing) oral tradition is an
unfounded speculation.
The majority of Josephus’ changes to his Vorlage are found in his
rendition of the haggadic portions of it, as has been argued convincingly by
Feldman.198 However, this does not entail that the claims for accuracy in
Ant. 1.17 only pertain to the halakhic portions of the Vorlage, as Feldman
also suggested albeit ‘with some diffidence’ (Feldman 1998a, 42). If one
argues along such lines one considers Josephus’ promise essentially
qualifying (i.e. restrictive) in nature, and thus not ‘an absolute statement’
(Feldman 1998a, 40). This also holds for the suggestion that the promise in
Ant. 1.17 only applies to the content of the Scriptures, and not their actual
wording. In both cases, the argument may be seen to rest on a kind of postfactum reasoning, where in the spirit of harmonization one attempts to
reconcile Josephus’ authorial intentions as voiced in the preface and
elsewhere with his actual manner of narrating.
A similar tendency may be seen in Feldman’s suggestion that the verb
μεθερμηνεύω in Ant. 1.5 and similar terms (such as μεταφράζω, ἑρμηνεύω
and μεταβάλλω) ‘are all ambiguous and seem to include paraphrasing and
amplifying’ (Feldman 1998a, 44 and 2004, 4, n. 4).199 Similarly, Bilde
considers it ‘obvious that he (sc. Josephus) used the word ‘translation’ in a
For more on this last phrase and the general issue of Josephus’ theory of the
cessation of prophecy, see Feldman 1990 and Barton 2007.
197
Consider also the use of the similar phrase τὰς τῶν παλαιῶν προφητῶν ἀναγραφὰς in
J.W. 6.109 in Josephus’ own reported speech directed at the Jewish rebels (and John of
Gischala in particular).
198
Cf. Feldman 1984, 790; 1998a, 42; 1998b, 542, and 2004, 8, n. 22.
199
Cf. Feldman 1998a, 44-6 (repeated almost verbatim in 2004, 4-5, n. 4). The passages
cited by Feldman are: Ant. 1.5. 52; 8.142; 12.20. 48; J.W. 4.11; 5.151, and Ag. Ap. 1.54.
167 for μεθερμηνεύω; Ant. 10.218 for μεταφράζω; J.W. 5.182. 393; 7.455; Ant. 1.29;
6.156. 230; 12.39. 49. 108, and Ag. Ap. 1.72 for ἑρμηνεύω and its derivatives (aside
from the passages mentioned by Feldman, this verb is also used by Josephus in Ant.
12.11. 114. 264, and Ag. Ap. 2.46) and its derivatives, and Ant. 1.10; 12.14. 15 and 107
for μεταβάλλω.
196
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
109
way which differs from how it is understood by readers today’ (Bilde 1988,
96). Against these suggestions one may argue that even though Josephus
may very well have considered his actual rendition of the Scriptures to be
more akin to a paraphrase or an interpretative rewriting of the text. Yet, it
does not follow that he deliberately intended the abovementioned verbs to
carry such secondary meanings. To this might be added that Feldman’s
comments on the various verbs are marked by some degree of oversight. In
his analysis of the verb μεθερμηνεύω, he asserts that ‘of the nine
occurrences of this verb in Josephus’ (Feldman 1998a, 45, also 2004, 4, n.
4) it is only in J.W. 4.11 that ‘the meaning is unambiguously “to translate”’
(ibid.). Here he has failed to take into account that the verb also appears as
part of Josephus’ description of Manetho in Against Apion as one ‘who
(…) promised to translate (μεθερμηνεύειν ὑπεσχημένος) the history of Egypt
from the sacred books’ (Ag. Ap. 1.228). Similarly, the second verb,
μεταφράζω, is also used by Josephus in three other passages not mentioned
by Feldman, e.g. when Josephus describes Menander as having translated
(μεταφράσας) the Tyrian archives from Phoenician into the Greek language
(cf. Ant. 8.144 and 9.283) and refers to Manetho’s history as ‘a translation
(μεταφράσας), as he says himself, from the sacred books (ἐκ δέλτων ἱερῶν)’
(Ag. Ap. 1.73). The verbs μεθερμηνεύω and μεταφράζω are admittedly not
entirely synonymous (cf. Sterling 1992, 252, n. 113). Yet, Josephus’ use of
such vocabulary does appear to be more consistent than Feldman and Bilde
would seem to suggest. For, as Sterling notes, ‘in every instance where
Josephos speaks of translating a document, it is always a native document
which is being rendered into Greek’ (ibid.).
Josephus’ references to these foreign predecessors brings us to the last of
Feldman’s suggestions, namely that the phrase in Ant. 1.17 ‘is a stock and
essentially meaningless formula for affirming one’s accuracy’ (Feldman
1998a, 41, also 2004, 7-8, n. 22). In his analysis of this suggestion,
Feldman refers to similar passages in Dionysius (cf. Thuc. 5 and 8) and
Lucian (cf. Hist. Conscr. 47) and points to a number of ancient authors
such as Berossus and Manetho as further examples of the fact that ‘(i)t was
customary for the writer to insist that his account was merely a translation
from sacred texts’ (Feldman 1998a, 41, with a reference to Cohen 2002,
27).200 As we have seen, Josephus refers to both authors in exactly this
capacity in Ag. Ap. 1.73. 129 and 228.201 These passages might prove
200
It is, however, worth noticing that Cohen only refers to these authors in relation to
Josephus’ choice of phrasing in Ant. 1.5, and not to his promise in 1.17.
201
Direct references to any of these passages are however conspicuously absent from
this part of Feldman’s analysis, as in the case of his analysis of Josephus’ use of the
verbs μεθερμηνεύω and μεταφράζω. To be sure, Feldman was by no means unaware that
Josephus introduced these authors as translators of their native records, as is evident in
110
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
highly instructive for our understanding of Josephus’ depiction of his
literary endeavour in Ant. 1.5 and 1.17.202 For, in these passages, he seems
to suggest that he too has consulted his native records and that his
translation of them is to be considered entirely accurate.203 Furthermore and
as already mentioned above, he does refer to his own privileged access to
(and thereby an in-depth acquaintance with) the Scriptures in Ag. Ap.
1.54.204
his extensive review of a number of ancient authors, including both of these historians,
who might be regarded as possible sources of inspiration and imitation for Josephus in
the Antiquities (cf. Feldman 1998a, 14-23). Yet, even though he identifies a number of
similarities between these three authors, Feldman apparently rejects the idea that
Josephus might have regarded either Berossus or Manetho as a suitable model for
imitation (compare Sterling 1992, 262-3). As for the former, Josephus introduces him in
Ag. Ap. 1.129 as an author who primarily wrote on astronomical and philosophical
matters. Feldman takes this as an indication ‘that he (sc. Josephus) did not regard
Berossus as excelling in this area’ (Feldman 1998a, 19). For this reason, so Feldman
argues, Josephus would have considered him an unsuitable model for emulation. As for
the latter, Feldman regards Josephus’ explicit criticism of Manetho’s account of the
Exodus in Ag. Ap. 1.254-87 as sufficient proof that he too is to be considered an
unlikely model for Josephus in the Antiquities (cf. ibid., 20). Feldman’s manner of
argumentation will be the subject of further scrutiny below. But for now, suffice it state
that his extensive analysis – and ultimate rejection – of Josephus’ dependence on
Berossus and Manetho is proof that Feldman was indeed well aware that Josephus
displayed a keen familiarity with these particular authors throughout Against Apion.
This raises the question why Feldman did not find it appropriate to refer directly to
these passages in this part of his analysis of Ant. 1.17. Furthermore, I find it curious that
he in his analysis of Josephus’ expressed attitude towards Manetho (cf. Feldman 1998a,
19) fails to mention that Josephus did include him amongst his external witnesses in
Ant. 1.107.
202
To be sure, other scholars than Feldman do refer to both authors in their analyses of
Ant. 1.17 (cf. Bilde 1988, 95-6; Cohen 2002, 27; Sterling 1992, 254, and Rajak 2001b,
249-50). Rajak, for instance, considers it significant that our knowledge of the works of
Menander and the Phoenician historian Dios stems from Josephus’ use of them in his
works. For, as she argues, ‘(c)learly, this was a branch of Greek literature which was
very much alive to him, however remote is (sic) seemed to real Greeks’ (Rajak 2001b,
250).
203
Cf. Rajak 2001b, 249-50, who alongside the aforementioned authors also includes
Diodorus’ reference to Hecataeus as one who had consulted ancient Egyptian sources
(cf. Diod. 1.69.7, FGrHist IIIA 264) and Berossus’ similar manner of self-introduction
(cf. III C 680). See also Attridge 1976, 58; Barclay 2013, 31, n. 171; Cohen 2002, 2533, and Spilsbury 1998, 15.
204
Sterling draws a similar connection between Josephus’ manner of self-presentation
in this passage and his claims in Ant. 1.5 and 1.17 and regards as ‘his way of marking
his history out as the history of the Jews for Greeks’ (Sterling 1992, 255). For, as he
continues, ‘(i)n nuce, what we have is a definitive translation of scripture, not replacing
the Hebrew scriptures themselves but on equal footing with the LXX and actually
displacing it’ (ibid.).
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
111
Josephus’ use of the verbs μεθερμηνεύω, μεταφράζω and ἑρμενεύω carries a
variety of connotations. Yet, it does not follow that he intended his
declarations in Ant. 1.5 and 1.17 to come across as anything other than
programmatic statements. Indeed, these statements may all be considered
conventional and largely rhetorical in nature (e.g. Attridge 1976, 58; Cohen
2002, 28-32, and van Unnik 1978, 39-40). However, unlike Feldman, none
of these scholars regard such phrases as an ‘essentially meaningless
formula’ (Feldman 1998a, 41).205 Attridge (to whom Feldman explicitly
refers in ibid, 41, n. 48), for instance, merely notes that
he (sc. Josephus) follows the literary conventions of ancient historiography in
general. In insistence on the importance of faithfully reproducing written sources
reflects a particular concern of scholarly, antiquarian historiography (Attridge 1976,
58, followed in ibid., 59 by explicit references to Dionysius, cf. Ant. rom. 1.6-7;
8.56.1, and Thuc 5).
Similarly, van Unnik argues that Josephus by the use of such phrasing
promises his readers that they will ‘die Tatsachen genauen Bescheid
erhalten’ (van Unnik 1978, 39). This, of course, did not prevent him from
bringing his own impressions and interpretations to bear on his narrative. It
only means ‘daß er mit der Wiedergabe seiner Quellen Anspruch auf
Korrektheit und Richtigkeit erhebt. Er hat seiner eigenem Meinung nach
die Geschichte seines Volkes wahrheitsgemäß dargestellt, und seine Leser
konnten sich auf ihn verlassen’ (ibid., 39-40).
Indeed, the programmatic statements in Ant. 1.5 and 17 are to be
considered neither irrelevant nor entirely devoid of meaning. On the
contrary, they provided the aspiring historian with a highly useful means of
illustrating the extent of his research and of assuring his readers of the
general accuracy of his account. One might even argue that in the case of
the Antiquities such statements are comparable in terms of their function
with the various claims to autopsy and the occasional scrutiny of the
available oral and/or written testimonies that one finds in the monographs
of Thucydides, Xenophon, Polybius and Josephus himself in The Jewish
War.
One final aspect remains to be considered, namely the oft-repeated
assertion that Josephus’ actual literary treatment of his biblical Vorlage
does not bear any comparison with his professed intentions as stated in the
205
Cf. Feldman 1998a, 41 and 2004, 7, n. 22. A similar phrasing also occurs in Bilde
1988, 95-6. Interestingly, Feldman makes no mention of what he considers the
meaninglessness of such statements in his comments on them in his Studies in
Josephus’ Rewritten Bible: ‘Apparently, this kind of programmatic statement, as we see
in other historians of the era (e.g. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Thucydides 5 and 8), is
intended merely to assure the reader that the historian has done his research honestly’
(Feldman 1998b, 549).
112
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preface. Thus, for instance, in his 1998 anthologies, Feldman has
successfully demonstrated that the historian’s rendering of the Scriptures is
marked by a large degree of creativity. Therefore, such exegeticallyminded readers as Feldman and Bilde unsurprisingly regard the statement
in Ant. 1.17 as a broken promise.206 Those ancient (and modern) readers
who were somehow acquainted with the scriptural account may well have
considered it as such. Such readers might very well point to the many
glaring discrepancies between Josephus’ biblical Vorlage and his rendering
of it in the first part of the Antiquities, which is clearly not to be understood
as a verbatim translation of the Hebrew Scriptures.
Yet, readers who were largely unaware of the actual content of the
Jewish Scriptures might not necessarily reach the same conclusion. We
have already established that in the Antiquities Josephus was addressing a
Greco-Roman audience whose knowledge of the Scriptures would have
been severely limited and who would have been largely unaware of his
often highly creative adaptation of his biblical sources.207 There is therefore
no decisive reason why his readers would have perceived the initial
programmatic statements as essentially incongruous with the subsequent
account.
3.6. CONCLUDING REMARKS
The ancient Greco-Roman historians would often go to great length to
present themselves in the best possible light. To achieve this, they
employed a number of rhetorical strategies in order to emphasize their own
capacities as critically competent historians.
According to the ancient literary critics, historians in general
distinguished themselves from poets and orators by the pervasive accuracy
and veracity of their accounts. Rather than seeking to provide pleasure, the
aspiring historian ought to adhere closely to the truth by avoiding any form
of personal bias. Similarly, he was expected to make a display of his
qualifications as a capable researcher.
Many ancient historians would do so by referring to what they
themselves had seen. This is particularly evident for historians, such as
Herodotus, Thucydides, Polybius – and Josephus in The Jewish War, who
wrote on (near-)contemporary events in which they themselves had
participated. However, even authors such as Diodorus, Dionysius – and
Feldman, for instance, talks of Josephus’ ‘apparent failure (…) to live up to his
promise’ (Feldman 1998a, 39) or of his ‘violation’ (1998b, 539) of the same promise.
The idea that the promise in Ant. 1.17 is not to be taken at face value also occurs in
Bilde 1988, 92-7 as well as in Thackeray 1967a, 80-1.
207
For more on Josephus’ intended audience, see above (1.2.3).
206
Chapter 3: The Importance of a Sound Methodology
113
Josephus in the Antiquities, who all focused on more remote events at times
do refer to what they had themselves witnessed.
Furthermore, ancient historians may have derived their knowledge from
interrogations of still-living eye-witnesses. In light of the subject matter of
the Antiquities, Josephus could hardly claim to have made such inquiries.
Yet, some portions of his rendition of the Scriptures may have been
inspired by oral traditions. As is the case with many of his predecessors, he
too expresses a strong aversion to hearsay.
The third manner in which the historian might gain knowledge of past
events was through various types of documentary and epigraphic evidence,
such as monuments and (for the present study, most importantly) written
sources. As we have seen, in the Antiquities Josephus repeatedly claims to
have consulted such material and to have treated it with the utmost
accuracy and respect.
Thus, this chapter has highlighted a long list of similarities between
Josephus’ presentational strategies and those of a number of renowned
Greco-Roman historians, including Thucydides, Polybius and Dionysius. In
addition, it has been demonstrated that in certain respects Josephus also has
much in common with less well-known historians such as Timaeus and
Diodorus.
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CHAPTER 4
THE HISTORIAN AND HIS PREDECESSORS
JOSEPHUS AND HIS COLLEAGUES
4.1. INTRODUCTORY
This chapter will examine Josephus’ expressed attitude in Ant. 1-11
towards the works of his predecessors by comparing his use of such
references to similar practices amongst his Western colleagues. As we shall
see, in this respect, he has much in common with such prominent historians
as Diodorus, Dionysius and Livy.
The chapter opens with a survey of the various reasons for praise and
blame discussed by ancient literary critics (4.2). The next section first
explores Herodotus’ and Thucydides’ use of (and references to) Homer and
the Homeric tradition (4.3.1). This is followed by a comparative study of
the various ways in which the most influential ancient Greco-Roman
historians displayed a familiarity with the works of their predecessors
(4.3.2). The final part of this section (4.3.3) details Josephus’ explicit
assessments of the works of his predecessors. Does he also mention any of
his colleagues by name, and if so in what context? And what, if anything,
does this tell us about his understanding of his own literary endeavour?
4.2. ANCIENT LITERARY CRITICS
ON THE WORKS OF SPECIFIC HISTORIANS
4.2.1. The stylistic impact of certain historians
The ancient critics would often single out and refer to a nucleus of works
(not least those of Herodotus and Thucydides) as the very embodiment of
an admirable style of narration and as paradigmatic models for imitation by
subsequent historians. Thus, Cicero commends Herodotus for his
eloquence and Thucydides for his exactness and clarity of expression.208 In
general, the works of these historians were held in high regard in antiquity.
It is therefore not surprising that ancient critics often attempted to trace in
the works of later historians their im- and explicit adherence to (and
divergence from) the style of their illustrious predecessors. For instance,
Cicero considers Philistus ‘an imitator (imitatus) of Thucydides’ (De Or.
2.57, also Quint. fratr. 2.13.4, cited above, and Pomp. 4).
In his essay on Thucydides, Dionysius often points to those aspects of
his work that he deems worthy of imitation, such as the treatment of his
subject matter (e.g. Thuc. 8 and 27). Concerning the style of this historian,
Dionysius, however, criticizes those ‘quite reputable critics (τινες οὐκ
ἄδοξοι, an indirect reference to Cicero?, cf. de Jonge 2008, 214-5)’ (Thuc.
208
Cf. De Or. 2.55-56, also Or. Brut. 39; Pomp. 3; Thuc. 5 and 8, and Inst. 10.1.73-4. In
his Letter to Tacitus, Pliny also repeatedly sings his praises as an exemplary historian
(cf. Ep. 7.33.1-2).
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
50) who would seem to suggest that the ‘recondite (τὴν γλωττηματικήν),
archaic (ἀπηρχαιωμένην), figurative (τροπικήν) language’ (ibid., also 52) of
this historian is suitable for the composers of histories, ‘which requires an
impressive (μεγαλοπρεπείας), dignified (σεμνολογίας) and striking
(καταπλήξεως) style’ (ibid.). In general, Thucydides’ style is only
recommended as long as it is kept in check ‘with controlled moderation’
(51). When this is the case, ‘he (sc. Thucydides) is superb (θαυμαστός) and
in a class of his own (οὐδενὶ συγκριτὸς οὐδ’ ἑτέρῳ)’ (ibid.); whereas he
‘deserves censure (μεμπτός)’ whenever he deviates from the straight-andnarrow and ‘uses it (sc. his style) excessively (κατακόρως) and in breach of
good taste (ἀπειροκάλως)’ (ibid.). Thus, according to de Jonge ‘(i)t is
precisely the ‘unusual’ that makes his style unfit for imitation (μίμησις)’ (de
Jonge 2008, 238).
Similarly, Lucian also measures the impact of the early monographic
historians on their successors. Thus he states that given ‘the present war
against the barbarians, the disaster in Armenia209 and the run of victories’
(Hist. conscr. 2), the historians of his own time ‘are all Thucydideses
(Θουκυδίδαι), Herodotuses (Ἡρόδοτοι) and Xenophons (Ξενοφῶντες) to us’
(ibid., also 15, 18-9 and 26); and he complains that ‘this is quite a fashion
(ἐπεικῶς πολύ) just now, to suppose that you’re following Thucydides’
style (Θουκυδίδου ἐοικότα) if you reproduce, with some small alterations,
his own expressions’ (15).
The stylistic impact of Thucydides’ literary discourse would eventually
be felt within the field of oratory as well. Yet, the critics often argued that
the style of this historian was generally unsuitable for the writing of public
speeches (e.g. Hist. conscr. 50). As previously mentioned, although he
praises the fine and dignified nature of Thucydides’ narrative, Cicero
claimed that ‘nothing in him can be applied to the court or to public life’
(Or. Brut. 30, also Brut. 287-8, cf. de Jonge 2008, 214) since his ‘famous
speeches contain so many dark and obscure sentences (multas (…)
obscuras abditasque sententias) as to be scarcely intelligible (vix ut
intellegantur), which is a prime fault (vitium vel maximum) in a public
oration’ (ibid., compare this to his censure in Leg. 1.7 of the many
absurdities (multas ineptias) contained in the speeches by the contemporary
annalist Licinius Macer). Cicero also criticises the orator who, while he
does not succeed ‘in imitating his (sc. Thucydides’) dignity of thought and
diction (verborum neque sententiarum gravitatem imitatur)’ (Or. Brut. 32),
nevertheless – having ‘spoken a few choppy disconnected phrases’ (ibid.) –
209
Armenia became a province under Trajan in 114 CE, was excluded from the Empire
under Hadrian in 118 which resulted in a prolonged dispute with the Parthians for
control over the region.
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
117
considers himself ‘a regular Thucydides (germanos (…) Thucydidas)’
(ibid.).
Likewise, Dionysius does not consider Thucydides’ style suitable ‘for
political debates or private conversations’ (Thuc. 50), as ‘will be admitted
by all men (ἅπαντες ὁμολογήσουσιν) whose judgment is unimpaired (μὴ
διεσφθαρμένοι) and who have their natural powers of perception (ἐν τῷ
κατὰ φύσιν τὰς αἰσθήσεις ἔχοντες)’ (ibid.). The final pages of Dionysius’
essay on Thucydides is devoted to an analysis of Demosthenes’
indebtedness to this particular historian (cf. 53-5, also Dem. 9-12). By way
of introduction, he states that the orator ‘added to his political speeches
(τοῖς πολιτικοῖς λόγοις, likely a reference to both deliberative and forensic
oratory) many virtues that he derived from Thucydides’ (Thuc. 53), namely
‘rapid movement (τὰ τάχη), conciseness (τὰς συστροφάς), intensity (τοὺς
τόνους), pungency (τὸ πικρὸν), concentration (τὸ στριφνόν) and the
rhetorical power that arouses emotion (τὴν ἐξεγείρουσαν τὰ πάθη
δεινότητα)’ (ibid.) while passing over ‘his (sc. Thucydides’) use of bizarre
(τὸ (...) κατάγλωσσον), strange (ξένον) and artificial language (ποιητικὸν)’
(ibid.). Having given lengthy quotes from Demosthenes’ deliberative and
forensic speeches (cf. 54), he recommends that those interested in political
oratory ‘should take Demosthenes as their guide’ (55), as Dionysius is
persuaded ‘that he was the finest of orators’ (ibid.). He then first highlights
the importance of recognizing that not all parts of Thucydides’ work
display the same degree of clarity and then proceeds to stress that the
narrative portions ‘except for very few passages, deserve to be admired
(πάνυ θαυμαστῶς) and used (εὔθετον) for every sort of purpose’ (ibid.),
while those of his speeches that are suitable for imitation (εἰς μίμησιν
ἐπιτήδειον) ‘contain a good portion of passages which all men can easily
understand (ἅπασιν ἀνθρώποις εὔπορον)’ (ibid.).
4.2.2. Various reasons for censure
In their censure of those whom they perceived to be poor or erroneous
historians, the ancient critics would point to a number of inherent
weaknesses in the works of these authors ranging from methodological
inadequacy over the choice of delimiting and structuring their works and
right down to their way of narration. Among the most severe charges to be
raised against any historian in antiquity (as well as now) is that of general
inaccuracy (or even falsity) in the depiction of historical events. Such an
accusation of course rested on an epistemological distinction between truth
and falsehood, as one cannot criticize an historian of being in the wrong
without having some preconceived notion of what constitutes a truthful
account. Such a distinction has been voiced by nearly all of the critics
mentioned above. The first of these is Polybius who devoted a whole book
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
in his work to a scathing criticism of Timaeus. In his critique, Polybius
highlights numerous specific cases of falsity both with regard to Timaeus’
depictions of Africa, Corsica, and Locri (a town in the southern part of
Italy), all of which testify to his lack of knowledge of these geographical
localities and with respect to a variety of other false statements and
displays of general inaccuracy.210 For instance, he criticizes Timaeus’ way
of composing speeches and asks: ‘Can anyone who reads these help
noticing that Timaeus has untruthfully (παρ’ ἀλήθειαν) reported them in his
work, and has done so of set purpose (κατὰ πρόθεσιν)?’ (Polyb. 12.25a.4).
His fault lies in not reporting ‘what was actually spoken (ἐξήγησιν τῶν κατ’
ἀλήθειαν)’ (12.25a.5) by instead putting forward ‘what ought to have been
said (ὡς δεῖ ῥηθῆναι)’ (ibid.) and recounting the speeches ‘as a man in a
school of rhetoric (τις ἐν διατριβῇ) attempting to speak on a given subject’
(ibid.) in order to show ‘his oratorical power (ἀπόδειξιν τῆς ἑαυτοῦ
δυνάμεως)’ (ibid.). Timaeus has sacrificed accuracy and truth for the sake
of rhetorical embellishment, and in doing so he is guilty of destroying the
‘peculiar virtue of history (τὸ τῆς ἱστορίας ἴδιον)’ (12.25b.4) which is the
discovery of ‘the words actually spoken (αὐτοὺς τοὺς κατ’ ἀλήθειαν
εἰρημένους)’ (12.25b.1) and ‘the reason (τὴν αἰτίαν) why what was done or
spoken led to failure or success’ (ibid.). As noted by Walsh, Polybius
censures Timaeus for the exact same strategy that Thucydides seeks to
apply in his work, for instance in Thuc. 1.22 (cf. Walsh 1989, 23).
In general, the ancient historians easily ran the risk of being accused of
malicious intent. Such allegations were so pervasive that not even the
grandfathers of history, Herodotus and Thucydides, could avoid them.
Dionysius had composed a work in three books on imitation (simply
entitled On Imitation and sadly only available to us in a highly fragmented
state), the second of which among other things contained an analysis of
which particular historians to be deemed as worthy of imitation. Judging by
one of his quotes from that work in his Letter to Pompeius, he criticizes
Thucydides for his ways of delineating his chosen subject matter. While
censuring him for having made ‘his beginning at the point where Greek
affairs started to decline’ (Pomp. 3), Dionysius states that ‘such is his
malice (φθονερῶς), that he actually attributes the overt causes of the war to
his own city, though he could have attributed them to many other sources’
(ibid.).211 Just as the critic is keen on showing his disapproval of
Thucydides in this particular matter, so he is likewise fervent in his
attempts at saving Theopompus from a similar charge (cf. Wiater 2011,
210
Cf. Polyb. 12.3.1-4.14 and 5-16 and 12.4a.1-4d.8. 23-5b. 25f-g and 26e-27,
respectively.
211
Fore more on Dionysius’ censure of Thucydides in Pomp. 3, see Wiater 2011, 13049.
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
119
149-54). Among his many accomplishments, the ‘final and most
characteristic (τελευταῖον (...) καὶ χαρακτηρικώτατον)’ (6) one is his
tendency of not only to deal with what is in plain sight but also with what is
hidden, whether it be reasons, motives or inner sentiments. For this reason,
he would often be reckoned as malicious (βάσκανος) when he added
unnecessary details to his depictions of the famous men (κατὰ τῶν ἐνδόξων
προσώπων) he felt compelled to criticize, while ‘in fact he was acting like
surgeons (τοῖς ἰατροῖς) who cut and cauterise the morbid parts of the body’
(ibid.). Dionysius’ portrayal of Thucydides is by no means wholly negative,
as is evident from his highly detailed treatment of the work of this historian
in the form of a critique of his choice of subject matter and pervading
literary characteristics (positive as well as negative).
After an introduction in Thuc. 1-4 containing an elaborate argument as to
why the critic is justified in passing judgment on so great an historian, he
turns to a treatment of Thucydides’ relations to his predecessor and
contemporaries in order to show how he differentiated himself from them
with regard to ‘intent (προαίρεσις)’ and ’capability (δύναμις)’ (Thuc. 5 –
translation mine). The local historians (here Dionysius includes a rather
lengthy enumeration which includes Hecataeus and Hellanicus) would
focus on the history of a single geographical location (either of Greece or
of foreign lands) intending their works to serve as a means of making
publicly known the ancient traditions as they were found on monuments
and in documents, and this ‘without adding to (προστιθέντες) or subtracting
from (ἀφαιφοῦντες) them’ (ibid., also 8 and Hist. conscr. 47)’.212
Thucydides, however, showed disdain for such history regarding it as ‘a
paltry (εὐτελοῦς) and unambitious (ταπεινῆς) subject’ (6) and as something
not capable of being of much use for the readers. Likewise he, again
according to Dionysius, considered Herodotus’ vast subject matter to be
‘too large (μείζονος) a subject for the human mind to study in the closest
detail (κατὰ τὸν ἀκριβέστατον τῶν τρόπων)’ (ibid.). In composing an
account of the Peloponnesian War, he instead ‘chose a single episode in
which he himself personally participated’ (7) and found no reason for
mixing in ‘entertaining fantasies (τὰς θεατρικὰς γοητείας)’ (ibid.) in his
narrative or arranging it in a confusing manner, ‘as his predecessors’
compositions would naturally do’ (ibid.). Above all, he concerned himself
only with the truth, ‘neither adding to (προστιθείς) nor subtracting from
(ἀφαιρῶν) the facts unjustifiably, not allowing himself any literary licence,
but blamelessly (ἀνέγκλητον) and single-mindedly (καθαράν) maintaining
the principle of avoiding all malice (ἀπὸ παντὸς φθόνου) and flattery (πάσης
212
For more on Josephus’ use of a similar phrasing, see below (3.5).
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
κολακείας)’ (8).213 In proof of this, Dionysius refers to the historian’s
sensible treatment of various great generals and politicians, where he
‘makes clear all that was due to each of them’ (ibid.), and he summarily
states:
These are the aspects of subject-matter in which Thucydides may be said to be
successful (καθορθοῖ). They are admirable and worthy of imitation (καλὰ καὶ
μιμήσεως ἄξια). [The most important thing of all is never to lie willingly (ἑκουσίως
ψεύδεσθαι) or to defile one’s own conscience (μιαίνειν τὴν αὑτοῦ συνείδησιν)]
(ibid.).214
Herodotus, too, would become subjected to much criticism by one author in
particular, namely Plutarch in his On the malice of Herodotus. As the title
suggests, he censures Herodotus for having maliciously misrepresented the
inhabitants of Boethia (Plutarch’s region of birth) and Corinth. Hitherto the
historian has managed to deceive many with his style, ‘which is apparently
so simple (ἀφελής) and effortless (δίχα πόνου), slipping easily from one
subject to another’ (Her. mal. 854E – also 855A), as well as ‘with regard to
his moral character (πρὸς τὸ ἦθος αὐτοῦ)’ (ibid.). Plutarch, however, now
seeks – in defence of his ancestors and the truth – to critically go through
the passages in Herodotus’ work that pertain to the above mentioned
inhabitants, since a description of all the ‘other lies (ψεύσματα) and
fabrications (πλάσματα)’ (854F) of this author would encompass many
books. The critic begins by listing ‘in general terms (κοινῇ)’ (855A-B) no
less than eight types of malice (κακοήθεια) as exhibited throughout the
works of the ancient historians, his intention being to identify these
characteristics (γνωρίσματα) in his subsequent analysis of Herodotus. The
malicious intent of historians is first of all evident in their choice of
phrasing where some authors opt for the most severe terms when gentler
ones would suffice (cf. 855B); secondly, in including superfluous
digressions in their narratives in which they harangued certain negative
characteristics of their protagonists (cf. 855C-D); thirdly, in choosing
‘prompted by malice’ (ibid.) to omit references to various positive
character traits (cf. 855D-E); fourthly, in deliberately favouring, in cases of
two or more accounts of the same event, the less creditable (τῷ χείρονι) one
(cf. 855E-F)215; fifthly, when it comes to causes, in likewise preferring the
213
Notice the repetition of the phrasing from Thuc. 5.
The last sentence is omitted in L. Sadée’s collection of variant readings of Thuc. in
De Dionysii Halicarnassensis scriptis rhetoricis quaestiones criticae (1878).
215
Plutarch admits some leeway for sophists, but states that the historian ‘if he is to be
fair (δίκαιος), declares the truth (ἀληθῆ λέγων) as he knows it to be the case, and, when
214
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
121
less creditable one (cf. 856A-B); sixthly, in disparaging various otherwise
successful deeds by belittling their ‘greatness and virtue (τὸ μέγεθος καὶ τὸ
κάλλος)’ (856C); seventhly, in applying various forms of indirect criticism
(cf. ibid.); and finally, in their inclusion of instances of praise only in order
to make their accusations seem all the more credible (cf. 856D). In sum,
such instances of malice has, in the opinion of Plutarch, not only a
profound impact on the methodology of the historian, but also on his very
way of narration with his biased assessment of the subject matter (be it
people, locations or events) preventing him from telling the truth.216
Besides the general issue of untruthful (or, biased) representations of
their subject matter, several other aspects of the literary capabilities of the
aforementioned historians were subjected to severe criticism by such ardent
faultfinders as Cicero and Dionysius. The former is for instance quite
vehement in his censure of the quality of the historiography of his native
country – even to the point of referring to an expressed absence of proper
Roman histories, as in De Or. 2.51-4 with his (in)famous derision of
annalistic historiography. Here, Cicero concerns himself primarily with the
lack of adornment in the works of the early Roman historians in
comparison with their Greek namesakes, who, in the opinion of the
interlocutor Antonius, far surpass them in this regard. The only author to
rise above the rest is Antipater, who ‘imparted to history (historiae) a richer
tone (maiorem sonum)’ (2.54), although he was lacking in style and
rhetorical abilities.217
The comparison between Greek and Roman historiography is also an
essential element in a passage in the introduction to his De Legibus. Here
Atticus, one of Cicero’s personal friends and an interlocutor in the
dialogue, presents him with a request to write a history and refers to the
public opinion that the Romans would no longer be bested by the Greeks in
this particular genre, if he was to engage in such a literary endeavour (cf.
Leg. 1.5). In doing so, the country that he himself had saved would be
‘glorified (sit ornata)’ (ibid.), and he would be able to redress the striking
absence of history (historia) among the literature of the Romans. What has
hitherto been designated as such (such as the pontifical annals and the
works of Pictor or Cato) is – due to their dryness in the opinion of Atticus
(and Cicero) – not worthy to be called that. For ‘what could be more
lifeless than the whole group?’ (1.6). In fact, the only author (besides those
whose works have yet to be published) to be reckoned a somewhat
the facts are not clear, says that the more creditable (τὰ βελτίονα δοκεῖν) appears to the
true account (ἀληθῶς) rather than the less creditable (τὰ χείρονα)’ (Her. mal. 855F).
216
More on this issue below (3.3 and 4.3).
217
For more on this passage (with particular emphasis on its rhetorical dimensions), see
Fox 2007a, 134-41.
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
competent historian is Sisenna, and even he does not come close to the
oratorical standards of Cicero (cf. 1.7).218
Another cause for censure is voiced by Dionysius in his criticism of
Thucydides’ choice of arranging his narrative chronologically by summers
and winters, the result being that he is ‘obscure and hard to follow’ (Pomp.
3) since such a way of framing the account would often result in arbitrary
divisions of the historical events.219 Dionysius, as has already been briefly
touched upon above, is also somewhat critical of Thucydides’ choice of
subject matter and manner of delimitation and narration. Herodotus chose
to write on a great subject (i.e. the glorious deeds of Greeks and barbarians
alike) and provided his narrative with a proper beginning as well as much
variety, the result being that ‘if we take up his book we remain enthralled
(ἀγάμεθα) up to the last syllable and always look for more’ (ibid.). By
contrast, Thucydides is quite inferior to his predecessor due to his much
less pleasing his subject matter, chronological divisions and his lack of
pauses.220
4.3. THE ANCIENT HISTORIAN AND HIS PREDECESSORS
4.3.1. Herodotus and Thucydides on Homer
No work of literature is written in a total vacuum. Many authors would
prefer to emphasize their own independence and ingenuity. Yet, most of
them depend strongly upon the works of their predecessors. This is for
instance the case for such prominent ancient historians as Herodotus and
Thucydides who both owed an immense debt to previous prose and poetic
authors, and most prominently to Homer and the Homeric poems. In
general, they seem exceptionally well acquainted with the Homeric epic; so
much so that Herodotus mentions the poet by name eleven times
throughout his history, while Thucydides explicitly refers to him on five
separate occasions.221 Although such references may differ slightly from
218
The works of Asinius Pollio and Sallust (and possibly those of Valerius Antias as
well) were first published in 42-1 BCE and thus after Cicero’s death on 7 December 43
BCE, which of course explains their absence from Cicero’s list here. See also Wiseman
1987c, 245-7.
219
Dionysius would later repeat this part of his criticism in his essay on Thucydides,
where this issue of chronological division is singled out as the first among the many less
desirable traits of this historian (cf. Thuc. 9). For Josephus’ use of chronology in Ant. 111, see below (5.2.2).
220
A slightly different assessment by Dionysius of these historians and Thucydides’
choice of delimitation emerges however in Thuc. 5-6 and 10-2, respectively. More on
Dionysius’ criticism of Thucydides’ manner of arrangement below (5.2.2).
221
See for instance Funke 2011, 420-4; Marincola 2011d, 10-2, and Rutherford 2012.
For more on Herodotus’ attitude to Homer and the Homeric epic, see Griffin 2011,
Marincola 2011c and Pelling 2006b. For an extensive list of the various poets
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
123
one another in terms of tone and stance, they all serve a similar purpose in
both authors. For, whenever either of these historians resorts to such
allusions, they do so on in order to furnish their own account with further
explanations of (mostly) minor issues.
Some references pertain to names and designations. Thus, for instance,
in his depiction of the Nile in the initial part of the second book of his
History, Herodotus briefly touches upon the issue of the Greek name for
that river. Here he states that he knows ‘of no river of Ocean’, and he
supposes ‘that Homer or some older poet invented (τὸ οὔνομα εὑρόντα) this
name and brought it into his poetry (εἰς ποίησιν ἐσενείκασθαι)’ (Hist. 2.23).
Similarly, in his Archaeology, Thucydides argues that before and at the
time of the Trojan War the Greeks were not designated as “Hellenes”. He
finds that ‘(t)he best evidence of this is given by Homer (τεκμηηριοῖ δὲ
μάλιστα Ὅμηρος); for, though his time was much later even than the Trojan
War, he nowhere uses this name of all’ (Thuc. 1.3.2). Furthermore, even
such prominent figures as Achilles and his followers, ‘who were in fact the
first Hellenes’ (ibid.), were designated by Homer ‘in his poems (ἐν τοῖς
ἔπεσι) as Danaans and Argives and Achaeans’ (ibid.). Similarly, so
Thucydides adds, the term “Barbarian” is not to found in the Homeric
authorship, since ‘as it seems to me (ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεί), that the Hellenes on
their part had not yet been separated off so as to acquire one common name
by way of contrast’ (ibid.). In this regard, there are many similarities
between these references and Josephus’ allusions to the works of his
predecessors, as we shall see below (4.3.3).
Another cluster of references to the Homeric poems in Herodotus and
Thucydides concerns locations, their inhabitants and their local customs.
Thus, for instance, on two near-adjacent occasions, Herodotus mentions the
works which were then commonly associated with Homer. As part of his
depiction of Scythia, he gives us an assessment of the extensive length of
its winter season. This, so he adds, may even account for the inability of the
Scythian oxen to grow horns. This he substantiates through ‘a verse in
Homer in the Odyssey’ (i.e. Od. 4.85) which, as he argues, ‘witnesses to
my judgment (μαρτυρέει (…) μοι τῇ γνώμῃ)’ (Hist. 4.29). The verse is then
quoted in full, after which the historian concludes that in it ‘it is rightly
signified (ὀρθῶς εἰρημένον), that in hot countries the horns grow quickly,
whereas in very cold countries beasts grow horns hardly, or not at all’
(ibid.). After some further comments on the cold climate north of Scythia,
Herodotus briefly shifts his focus to the icy region of Hyperborea. As for
the inhabitants of this legendary location, he has not been able to gather
mentioned by Herodotus, see Marincola 2011c, 26, n. 5. On Thucydides’ relations to the
same tradition, see Rood 1998 and Williams 1993.
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
any information from either the Scythians or their Eastern neighbours, the
Issidones. Yet, the Hyperboreans are mentioned by others, such as the 7th
century poet, Aristeas (according to Herodotus himself in 4.11), as well as
by Hesiod and (for our present concern most interestingly) by Homer ‘in
his poem The Heroes’ Sons, if that be truly the work of Homer (εἰ δὲ τῷ
ἐόντι γε Ὅμηρος ταῦτα τὰ ἔπεα ἐποίησε)’ (4.32).222 The best available
information on the Hyperboreans, Herodotus continues, stems from the
inhabitants of Delos, who ‘tell much more concerning them than do any
others’ (4.33).
The Delians themselves later became the object of some attention by
Thucydides at the end of his third book where he relates the Athenians’
purification of the island in 426 BCE. This particular passage takes the
form a rather lengthy digression, which Hornblower fittingly characterizes
as ‘remarkable’ not only due to its length, but also because it contains
‘what is easily Th.’s longest set of quotations from Homer, or indeed of
direct quotation from any literary source’ (Hornblower 1997, 523). As we
shall see, this digression marks a clear departure from Thucydides’
otherwise reserved attitude towards the Homeric tradition. For, as
Hornblower continues, ‘he (sc. Thucydides) treats ‘Homer’s’ evidence in
the present passage with none of the caution which characterizes the
Archaeology’ (ibid.). In the passage in question, Thucydides informs us
that the Athenians ‘after the purification, (…) first celebrated their
penteteric festival in Delos’ (Thuc. 3.104.3). In proof of the existence of
such a festival, the historian cites two passages from a hymn to Apollo
which in his opinion was written by Homer himself.223 This association was
undoubtedly of some importance to Thucydides especially since he touches
upon this topic on no less than three separate occasions throughout this
passage: The first instance occurs just prior to his first quotation, where
Thucydides argues that ‘Homer best revealed (δηλοῖ δὲ μάλιστα Ὅμηρος)’
(3.104.4, translation mine) the nature of this festival. Similarly, prior to his
second quotation, the historian notes how Homer included a self-referential
line in the hymn in the form of the phrase ‘The blind man who swells in
rugged Chios’ (3.104.5, cf. Hornblower 1997, 523 and 530). Finally, in the
concluding part of the digression the initial phrase reads as follows, ‘Such
is Homer’s testimony (Τοσαῦτα μὲν Ὅμηρος ἐτεκμηρίωσεν), showing that in
ancient times also there was a great concourse and festival in Delos’
(3.104.6).
Aside from the issues of names, locations and local customs, Herodotus
and Thucydides both refer to Homer and the Homeric tradition throughout
Herodotus’ hesitance to ascribe this poem to Homer is undoubtedly significant, as
we shall see shortly.
223
For more on this hymn, see Hornblower 1997, 529-30.
222
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125
their accounts of specific historical events and the actions of named
individuals. Thus, for instance, in the second book of his history, Herodotus
provides an extensive portrayal of the ancient Egyptian kings while
drawing upon what evidence he has gathered from his Egyptian informants
(cf. Hist. 2.99-146). In his description of the reign of King Proteus, he
reproduces an account of the Trojan War, which differs immensely from
the Homeric narrative (cf. 2.112-20). From the Egyptians priests he has
heard an alternative version of Paris’ abduction of Helen in which the
couple never reached Troy. Instead, they were carried by strong winds to
Egypt where Alexandrus (that is, Paris) was summoned before the king
who then proceeded to deride him for his unlawful abduction of the Spartan
queen (2.115). The king then takes charge of Helen and her possessions
and bids Alexandrus to return to Troy empty-handed. Herodotus elsewhere
voices his own belief in the validity of this account (cf. 2.120), just as he is
convinced that Homer ‘too knew this story (τὸν λόγον τοῦτον πυθέσθαι)’
(2.116). Yet, he apparently considered it inappropriate (οὐ (…) εὐπρεπὴς
ἦν) for an epic poem, and so he ‘rejected it of set purpose (ἑκὼν μετῆκε
αὐτόν), showing withal that he knew it (δηλώσας ὡς καὶ τοῦτον ἐπίσταιτο
τὸν λόγον)’ (ibid.). As evidence hereof, Herodotus cites three passages from
the Iliad and the Odyssey (cf. Il. 6.289-92, Od. 4.227-30 and 351-2,
respectively).224
Thucydides too refers to Homer and the Homeric tradition in his account
of the Trojan War in the Archaeology (cf. Thuc. 1.9-11). He also seeks to
provide a more historically accurate account of the war than the (so we may
assume, familiar) one in the Homeric epic. Thus, for instance, his
rationalizing account of the prelude to the war includes an in-depth
assessment of the wealth and combat readiness of Agamemnon, whose
naval power, so Thucydides argues, was beyond comparison. For, as he
states, ‘it is clear that he himself brought the greatest number of ships, and
that he had others with which to supply the Arcadians’ (1.9.3). According
to the historian, Homer has testified (δεδήλωκεν) to this fact, provided that
‘he is sufficient witness for anyone (εἴ τῳ ἱκανὸς τεκμηριῶσαι)’ (ibid.). This
stipulation is then followed in the subsequent verse by a direct quotation
from the Iliad concerning Agamemnon’s sceptre that he received from
Thyestes, ‘that so he might be lord of many isles and of all Argos’ (Il.
2.108). Based on this passage, Thucydides concludes that had the king not
been in possession of such a large fleet, he could hardly ‘have been lord of
any islands except those on the coast, and these would not be “many.”’
(Thuc. 1.9.4). Thus, on a basic level, Thucydides appears to recognize the
validity of the epic account of the war. Yet, as we have already seen, he
224
61.
For more on Herodotus’ reference to Homer in Hist. 2.112-20, see Hunter 1982, 52-
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
expresses some doubts concerning Homer’s usefulness as a witness to the
events in question. Or, as Funke argues in his analysis of this passage, ‘it is
evident that for Thucydides the significance of poetry is of a completely
different quality from that of scientific historiography as he understands it’
(Funke 2011, 421). This phenomenon also recurs in the subsequent
assessment of the Archaeology where Thucydides takes issue with the
presumed greatness of the war. One might well assume, so he argues, this
particular ‘expedition to have been greater than any that preceded it, though
falling below those of the present time, if here again one may put any trust
in the poetry of Homer (τῇ Ὁμήρου αὖ ποιήσει εἴ τι χρὴ κἀνταῦθα
πιστεύειν); for though it is natural to suppose that he as a poet adorned and
magnified (κοσμῆσαι) the expedition, still even on his showing it was
evidently comparatively small’ (Thuc. 1.10.3). Here too there are several
parallels between Herodotus’ and Thucydides’ treatment of Homer and
Josephus’ references to his predecessors throughout the first half of the
Antiquities, as we shall see below (4.3.3).
Aside from their direct references to (and quotations from) Homer and
the Homeric epic, Herodotus and Thucydides both make several veiled
allusions to them – and often through indirect quotations integrated into
their respective narratives. Thus, for instance, in Herodotus’ rendition of
the Athenian envoys’ speech to Gelo, the tyrant of Syracuse, they argue
how they as Athenians ‘can show of all the longest lineage, and who alone
among the Greeks have never changed our dwelling’ (Hist. 7.161). They
then proceed by quoting from Homer’s depiction of Menestheus, the
legendary king of Athens, ‘of whom the poet Homer says (sc. in Il. 2.552),
that of all who came to Ilion he was the best man in ordering and
marshalling armies’ (Hist. 7.161). The Athenians’ claim to power and
influence also feature prominently throughout Thucydides’ history.
Nowhere is this more apparent than in Pericles’ Funeral Oration (cf. Thuc.
2.35-46). At one point during his lengthy speech, the eloquent general
asserts that the Athenians have given sufficient proof ‘of our power and
assuredly it does not lack witnesses’ (2.41.4). He even stipulates that the
Athenians ‘shall be the wonder not only of the men of to-day but of after
times’ (ibid.), just as they are in no need of the idle ‘praises of Homer or of
any other panegyrist (ἐπαινέτου) whose poetry may please for the moment’
(ibid., trans. Hornblower 1997, 309), but who will eventually ‘be
discredited by the truth (ἡ ἀλήθεια βλάψει)’ (ibid., trans. LCL).
What may be gathered from these examples is that Herodotus and
Thucydides were both exceedingly well acquainted with the Homeric
poems. Judging by their repeated use of direct quotations, it would also
appear that Homer and the works commonly attributed to him were
generally well known and easily recognized by a contemporary audience.
This might help to explain why both historians thought it relevant to refer
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
127
so extensively to this poet. In general, it would appear that he was
recognized by both historians and their intended readers as a figure of some
prominence and authority.225 Yet, as we have seen, Herodotus’ and
Thucydides’ general attitude towards the Homeric authorship is also
marked by a certain degree of assumed detachment. As we have already
seen above, a similar sentiment also manifests itself in their explicit
references to (and assessments of) the works of other historians.
4.3.2. The ancient historians on the works of their colleagues
Many forms of ancient discourse made use of derogatory and laudatory
language. Nowhere was this more apparent than in epideictic oratory with
its frequent use of invectives and panegyrics. As is the case with their
modern counterparts, so many ancient orators also sought to argue their
case by deriding the ideas and beliefs held by their predecessors.226
According to Arena, ‘(i)nvective, as its etymology shows, was originally a
cavalry charge, and therefore in its metaphorical meaning, “the launching
of an attack” against an opponent’ (Arena 2007, 150, citing Powell 2006).
From a formal point of view, only those speeches may be characterized as
invective in which the orator addresses (and attacks) his opponent(s)
directly. Yet, as Arena argues, ‘if we are prepared to broaden our
definition, speeches whose first aim was not to attack the opponent directly,
but to discredit him or her in order to achieve a specific persuasive goal,
might also be considered invective’ (ibid.). Or differently put, we might
argue (with Marincola) that since ‘an orator pleading his case does so
against some opponent real or imagined, the orator is always set up against
someone else’ (Marincola 2004, 220).
Herodotus’ acknowledgment of this may be further exemplified by a passage in the
initial part of his second book. Here he argues that many of the religious beliefs and
practices of the Greeks were in fact adopted from the Egyptians (cf. Hist. 2.37-76, for
more on this topic, see Harrison 2005 and Scullion 2006. On Herodotus’ general
attitude towards religious issues, see below (5.2.4)). At one point during this lengthy
argument, he even ventures so far as to assert that the Greeks did not possess a
sufficient knowledge of the origin and appearance of their own gods prior to the time of
Hesiod and Homer. For as he states, ‘these are they who taught the Greeks of the
descent of the gods (ποιήσαντες θεογονίην), and gave to all their several names (τὰς
ἐπινυμίας δόντες), and honours (τιμάς), and arts (τέχνας), and declared their outward
forms (εἴδεα σημήναντες)’ (2.53).
226
Examples of such speech abound throughout the classical Greco-Roman literature,
such as in Pseudo-Sallust’s Invective against Cicero and Demosthenes’ On the Crown.
The fundamentals of such speech are also the subject of much discussion by Cicero in
his De Inventione 2.177-8 as well as in his Rhetorica ad Herennium 3.10-5. For a
comprehensive analysis of the attitude towards invective in ancient authorships, see
Koster 1980 passim.
225
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
As we have seen in the preceding subsection, the issue of authority was of
the utmost importance for the ancient historians. Yet, as is the case with the
epideictic orators, so the historians also displayed a polemical attitude
towards their predecessors.227 In general, as Veyne notes, ‘(t)hey do not
rebuild; they correct. Or they may demolish him (sc. their predecessor). For
the finding of errors can be a judgment founded on presumed intentions. In
other words, one does not criticize an interpretation of the whole or a detail,
but one can undertake to destroy a reputation, to sap an unmerited
authority’ (Veyne 1988, 9). In doing so, they undoubtedly sought to
establish their independence and to argue for their own capabilities over
and against those of other previous and contemporary historians (cf.
Marincola 2004, 221). Thus, in order to argue for the relevance and
consistency of their respective works, they would typically subject the
accounts of their predecessors to rigorous criticism and censure by pointing
out and correcting the many apparent mistakes contained therein. Yet, in
order to do so, to begin with they of course had to acknowledge that their
own accounts had been preceded by those of other authors.
Herodotus is a good example of this. Just as he seems to have been well
acquainted with the Homeric poems and those of other epic poets
(including Hesiod), so throughout his Histories he also displays an
awareness of the works of other historians. Moreover, it has even been
argued in recent years that he also possessed an extensive knowledge of the
works of various local historians.228 One of the most prominent and prolific
227
Admittedly, ancient historiography would also seem to have much in common with
forensic oratory. Thus, for instance, according to Aristotle, the forensic speaker is
concerned only with past events (ὁ γενόμενος), whereas epideictic speech has as its focus
‘most appropriately the present (ὁ παρών), for it is the existing condition (κατὰ (...) τὰ
ὑπάρχοντα) of things that all those who praise or blame have in view’ (ibid.). Yet,
epideictic speakers can, thus Aristotle admits, on occasion also avail themselves of the
other two tempi.
228
This opinion was not shared by Jacoby who, in accordance with his developmental
principle, maintained that, unlike his famous successor, Herodotus was entirely
unacquainted with the works of such historians. For, as he argues, ‘(d)iese Literatur
beginnt zu erwachsen in dem letzten Drittel saec. V; sie wird umfangreich erst im saec.
IV. Herodot hat keine einzige dieser Stadtgeschichten benutzt; er kennt keine Literatur
über das spatium historicum’ (Jacoby 1956b, 56, italics his). To be sure, the lack of
direct references in Herodotus to the works of the local historians prevents us from
drawing any conclusions on his potential use of such near-contemporary authors as
Hellanicus and Charon. Yet, as Fowler correctly argues, ‘it is very easy to forget just
how many historians were active during Herodotus’ lifetime’ (Fowler 2014, 55). The
dating of these historians remains a contested issue in ancient and modern scholarship.
In his critical essay on Thucydides, Dionysius asserts that Charon wrote his works prior
to the Peloponnesian War, while he mentions Hellanicus as the first of those ‘who were
born not long before the Peloponnesian War and survived into Thucydides’ own
lifetime’ (Thuc. 5). Jacoby subscribes to this dating of Hellanicus’ life (cf. Jacoby
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
129
historians of Herodotus’ own time, and with whom he was undoubtedly
well acquainted, was the Ionian logographer, Hecataeus, who had written
extensively on geographical and mythico-genealogical matters. Differently
from his use (and criticism) of the local historians, Herodotus does not
always shy away from mentioning his famous predecessor by name.
Furthermore, some of his references to Ionian assumptions and sayings
(such as in Hist. 1.56-8 and 146) may also be considered indirect references
to the works of that particular author. Lateiner has identified no less than
nineteen such veiled and explicit (and often highly polemical) references to
Hecataeus throughout the first six books of the Histories (cf. Lateiner 1989,
104). Of these, two passages in particular will prove instructive for our
present study. In both cases, Herodotus appears to exhibit a reserved
admiration for his prolific predecessor.
For instance, in the sixth book, he produces two mutually conflicting
accounts of the Pelasgians’ exile from Attica, one of which he has learnt
from Hecataeus, while the other is attributed to the Athenians themselves.
According to Herodotus, the point of contention between these sources is
whether or not the Pelasgians were exiled ‘justly or unjustly (δικαίως εἴτε
ἀδίκως), - as to that I can say nothing (οὐκ ἔχω φράσαι), beyond what is
recorded (πλὴν τὰ λεγόμενα), namely that Hecataeus the son of
Hegesandrus declares in his history (ἔφησε ἐν τοῖσι λόγοισι) that the act was
unjust’ (Hist. 6.137). Herodotus then proceeds to give the account of his
famous predecessor who said that the Athenians drove the Pelasgians out of
Attica out of sheer jealousy. By contrast, however, the Athenians
themselves tell a very different story in which the Pelasgians were the
aggressors and even made plans to attack Athens itself. Thus, according to
the Athenians themselves (according to Herodotus), the Pelasgians were
driven out in sheer self-defence and because of Athenian envy or spite. Of
the two accounts, however, it would appear that Herodotus put significantly
more faith in the former than in the latter.229
Another example of Herodotus’ use of (and explicit reference to) his
famous predecessor occurs in a passage in the second book of his History
which is intended to demonstrate the magnitude of Hecataeus’ foolishness
(cf. Lateiner 1989, 94). In this passage, which is situated towards the end of
his Egyptian account, Herodotus reproduces an extensive chronological
1956a, 56-7). Dionysius, however, contradicts himself, as evidenced in his Letter to
Pompey where he asserts (in a quotation from his former, now lost, work) that
Herodotus was preceded by both aforementioned historians (cf. Pomp. 3). A similar
testimony is also provided by other ancient authors (e.g. Noct. att. 15.23, quoting the
Greek historian Pamphile). For more on this alternative dating, see Fowler 2014, 52-6.
For an extensive list of relevant passages in the Histories, see Lateiner 1989, 104-8. For
more on Herodotus’ use of oral and written sources, see Evans 2014 and Luraghi 2014.
229
For more on this passage, see Fowler 2011, 35-6.
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
table covering a period of over eleven thousand years, which he himself has
received from the Egyptian priests (cf. Hist. 2.142).230 Significantly, he
then proceeds to equate his own endeavour with that of Hecataeus by
stating that he too shared his predecessor’s interest in genealogies. For
while he was in Thebes, he had a genealogy made ‘which connected him
by lineage with a god in the sixteenth generation’ (2.143); this tracing was,
however, met with some reservation by the local priests who produced a
similar table ‘through three hundred and forty-five figures (κολοσσούς), not
connecting it with any ancestral god (ἐς θεόν) or hero (ἐς ἥρωα)’ (ibid.).231
Hecataeus and Herodotus would thus seem to have ‘shared many
interests’ (Lateiner 1989, 94). Yet, as Lateiner continues, the latter presents
‘his work as something new and superior’ (ibid.) by explicitly criticizing
his famous predecessor and by charging him ‘with inaccuracy and
‘sensationalism’ in his (and others’) reports of moving islands, one-eyed
griffins and such’ (ibid).232 Similarly, as was the case with Hecataeus’
criticism of the many λόγοι of the Greeks (cf. FGrHist 1 F 1), so Herodotus
too expresses a scepticism of the hear-say and pervasive erroneousness of
other intellectuals (e.g. Hist. 2.19-34). He thereby undoubtedly seeks to
For more on this table and its significance for our understanding of Josephus’
attitude towards genealogies, see below (5.2.2).
231
Aside from Herodotus’ explicit references to Hecataeus, this particular author is also
featured as an historical figure in two separate events, both of which are included in the
fifth book of the Histories. In the introductory part of his extensive account of the
Ionian revolt, Herodotus describes how a majority of the Ionians were in favour of
rebelling against the Persians, ‘save only Hecataeus the historian (ὁ λογοποιὸς); he
advised them that they would be best guided not to make war on the king of Persia,
recounting to them the tale of the nations subject to Darius, and all his power’ (Hist.
5.36). Later on, Herodotus returns to the figure of Hecataeus at the end of the fifth book
where he depicts him as one who objected to Aristagoras’ assertion that the Ionian
rebels ought to set out from Miletus towards the settlements in either Sardis or
Myrcinus (cf. 5.124-5).
232
Lateiner here refers to two specific passages, namely Hist. 2.156 and 3.116. The
former contains a criticism on Herodotus’ part of an Egyptian saying. Yet, as has been
pointed out by Lateiner, there are some linguistic similarities between this saying and a
Hecataean fragment in the FGrHist, specifically F 305 from Stephanus of Byzantium’s
geographical dictionary from the sixth century CE (cf. Lateiner 1989, 94). It is therefore
likely that Herodotus’ emphatic criticism of the Egyptian saying is also to be considered
a veiled criticism of a particular passage in the work of his predecessor. The latter
passage, however, if correctly identified (Lateiner gives no specific citations), is slightly
confusing: Herodotus refer to griffins and one-eyedness on three separate occasions
throughout the work. Yet, nowhere does he mention ‘one-eyed griffins’. Rather, in the
passage in question (as well as in 4.13 and 27), he includes a reference to the race of
legendary one-eyed men (ἄνδρας μουνοφθάλμους) from Scythia, called the Arimaspi,
who allegedly stole gold from griffins (compare Nat. 7.2.10).
230
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
131
provide one more proof of the pervasive accuracy and authority of his own
account (cf. Marincola 2004, 225-6 and Schepens 1990, 39, n. 2).
Like Herodotus, Thucydides also displays a keen awareness of the works
of previous historians. Unfortunately for us, however, only rarely does he
mention any of them by name.233 Indeed, aside from the occasional
reference to the epic poets, Hellanicus is the only other author whom he
explicitly mentions. Fortunately, Thucydides’ choice of phrasing proves
highly instructive for our understanding of his general assessment of both
his own and Hellanicus’ work. After his account of the formation of the
Delian League in Thuc. 1.96, Thucydides notes how he has found it
necessary to produce an account of the fifty year period from the end of the
Persian War at the battle of Salamis in 479 BCE to the beginning of the
Peloponnesian War in 433 BCE (the so-called Pentakontaetia) since ‘this
period has been omitted (ἐκλιπὲς) by all my predecessors (τοῖς πρὸ ἐμοῦ
ἅπασιν)’ (Thuc. 1.97.2). They have all focused on events either prior to or
directly related to the war, the only exception being Hellanicus, ‘the only
one of these who has ever touched upon this period’ (ibid.) in his Atthis.
Yet, he only did so ‘briefly (βραχέως), and with inaccuracy (οὐκ ἀκριβῶς)
as regards his chronology (τοῖς χρόνοις)’ (ibid.). Thucydides here presents
himself as one who has assessed Hellanicus’ history according to a set of
predetermined criteria and has found it to be altogether insufficient. In his
own opinion, at least, he therefore has valid reasons for criticising the
efforts of his colleague in trade. Additionally, by emphasizing the many
inadequacies of Hellanicus’ account, he indirectly presents his own account
as a necessary corrective to that of his predecessor (cf. Smart 1986, 29-30).
For unlike the previous work, Thucydides’ own comprehensive and
accurate depiction of this period will maintain the high standards of proper
historical writing.234 Thucydides then drives his point home by asserting
that a proper historical account of the period will serve ‘to explain
(ἀπόδειξιν ἔχει) how the empire of Athens was established’ (ibid.).
Thucydides deprecatory attitude towards Hellanicus is easily discernible
since he explicitly mentions him by name. His acknowledgment of (and
opinions on) other historians, however, is far more difficult to ascertain.
For as was the case with Herodotus’ veiled criticism of Hecataeus, so
Thucydides’ censure of his colleagues and competitors is also concealed
According to Lateiner, the reason for this silence might be that ‘earlier writers could
not expect, and did not desire, their audience to have detailed knowledge of their
predecessors’ works’ (Lateiner 1989, 93, referencing Parke 1946, 82-4). Yet, as we
shall see, Thucydides clearly seems to presuppose that his readers were exceedingly
well acquainted with Herodotus’ Histories.
234
Indeed some scholars have suggested that ‘Thucydides’ arrangement of the war
proper, by campaigning seasons, was specifically directed against Hellanicus’
(Hornblower 2000, 84 referencing (in ibid., n. 45) Smart 1986).
233
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
within the narrative itself. The most famous examples are to be found in
Thucydides’ criticism of the ‘chroniclers (λογογράφοι)’ who are more
interested in ‘pleasing the ear (ἐπὶ τὸ προσαγωγότερον τῇ ἀκροάσει) than of
telling the truth (ἢ ἀληθέστερον)’ (Thuc. 1.21.1) and whose accounts
‘cannot be tested and most of them have from lapse of time won their into
the fabulous so as to be incredible’ (ibid.). Unsurprisingly, many scholars
consider this to be an indirect criticism of Herodotus.235 Furthermore, in a
nearby section Thucydides produces a scathing denigration of Herodotus’
chosen subject matter by juxtaposing the events of that war with those of
the Peloponnesian War in depicting how the ‘greatest achievement
(μέγιστον ἐπράχθη) of former times was the Persian war, and yet this was
quickly (ταχεῖαν) decided in two sea-fights and two land-battles’
(1.23.1).236 Thucydides hereby seeks to emphasize the greatness of the
events depicted throughout his work.237 Yet, as Hornblower points out, ‘(i)t
would have been a far more telling objection to Herodotus (who is the real
target here)’ (Hornblower 2000, 108) had Thucydides ‘argued that his (sc.
Herodotus’) numbers for the Persian land and sea forces were wildly
exaggerated, as modern scholars believe they are’ (ibid., 108-9, citing a
unpublished remark by David Lewis, see also ibid., 202; 1996b, 128, and
1997, 62, compare Momigliano 1969d, 130 and Priestly 2014, 201-2). In
order to do so, however, Thucydides would have been required to engage
in a comprehensive criticism of the work of his predecessor – and judging
by his brief censure of Hellanicus in Thuc. 1.97.2, this was clearly
something that he had no particular interest in (cf. Marincola 2004, 226-7).
In general, it was not customary for the ancient historians of the fifth
century BCE to subject the works of their predecessors to a rigorous critical
235
Cf. Hornblower 1997, 58-9; 2011b, 308; 2011f; Marincola 2004, 21, n. 100, 35 and
226, and Schepens 2011a, 47, compare Syme 1963, 41.
236
Aside from these passages, Hornblower has argued that certain specific phrases,
themes and names throughout Thucydides’ account are best understood as indirect
references to Herodotus’ history. According to Hornblower, there is for instance a
strong resemblance between the Athenians’ remark that it was it was their general,
Themistokles, ‘who more than any other was responsible for our fighting the battle in
the strait (ἐν τῷ στενῷ)’ (Thuc. 1.74.1) and the occurrence of the similar phrase ‘in
narrow seas (ἐν στεινῷ)’ in Hist. 8.60; just as the subsequent description of how the
Spartans honoured Themistokles above all other strangers seems to be directly inspired
by a similar statement in 8.124 (cf. Hornblower 1996b, 128). In general, Hornblower’s
findings ‘suggest that Thucydides expected his readers to be thoroughly au fait with
Herodotus’ (ibid., 129). Indeed, some of the passages and phrases are simply ‘not
intelligible without reference to Herodotus’ (ibid.) even though we of course cannot rule
out entirely ‘the likelihood that a given item would have been familiar from general oral
knowledge’ (ibid.). For more on the notion of intertextuality in Thucydides, see
Hornblower 1994b, 58-9 and Rood 1998.
237
For more on this topic, see above (2.3.2).
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
133
analysis. However, this gradually changed as the fourth and third century
historians came to exhibit an increasingly derogatory attitude towards the
works of their named colleagues. This is for instance the case in Timaeus’
repeated censures of a host of other authors, including Philistus,
Callisthenes, Ephorus and even such as figures of authority as Plato,
Aristotle and Homer (cf. FGrHist 566 passim). Even though our
knowledge of Timaeus’ authorship must necessarily be derived from the
occasional fragmentary citation by other ancient authors, it is probable, as
Marincola argues, ‘that his criticisms of other historians were an important
way of expressing his own ideas on the writing of history (as Polybius was
to do)’ (Marincola 2004, 229).
The fierceness of Timaeus’ scorn for the efforts of past authors
eventually earned him the nickname ‘Ἐπιτιμαῖος (slanderer)’ (Diod. 5.1.3
and FGrHist 556 T 16 = Ister in FGrHist 334 T 1, 11, 16, cf. Parke 1946,
82 and Schepens 1990, 40, n. 3). During the Hellenistic period, the polemic
had become much more intense and personal (cf. Schepens 1990, 40, n. 3
and Marincola 2004, 221, n. 24). Rather than merely pointing to the
inaccuracies of a particular account, the critically minded historian would
now also consider the shortcomings of the man responsible for the given
historical account. Polybius gives an illustrative example hereof in his
extensive censure of Timaeus throughout the twelfth book of his history in
what Marincola has characterised as ‘the most distinctive piece of
historiographical polemic to have survived from antiquity’ (Marincola
2004, 231).
In light of the increasing interest in the rules for proper historical writing
during the fourth and third centuries BCE, it was only to be expected that
Polybius would have indulged in such criticisms of other historians (cf.
Schepens 1990, 40-1 and Walbank 1985). Furthermore, as Schepens adds,
it is unsurprising that he chose Timaeus as ‘his special target’ (ibid., 41)
given his notorious status as a critic combined with the fact that Polybius
implicitly considered him ‘his immediate predecessor by beginning his
introductory books where Timaeus left off’ (ibid.). Yet, Polybius ‘broke
new ground (sc. as a critic) in two ways’ (ibid.) by not merely criticising
the efforts of his closest colleague but also those of more remote historians
(such as Theopompus, Ephorus and Callisthenes) whose works had little
bearing on his own account and by devoting an entire volume of his work
to an analysis of Timaeus’ many shortcomings.
Rather than providing subsequent generations of authors with a checklist
for the proper writing of histories, Polybius may himself have a more
immediate goal in mind with his lengthy denigration of his (in)famous
predecessor. For as Schepens asks, ‘(w)as it not his main purpose from the
very beginning, and a fortiori towards the end, to destroy the widespread
reputation which Timaeus enjoyed?’ (Schepens 1990, 51, also ibid., 59). In
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any event, Polybius’ censure of Timaeus in book 12 remains a useful tool
for our understanding of the self-perception of this historian. Similarly, his
censure has proven highly instructive for our understanding of the
methodological standards of this historian and the importance he placed on
the issues of accuracy and impartiality, as we saw in the previous chapter.
For, as Marincola notes, as the historian’s ‘portrait of Timaeus receives
more and more brush strokes, a self-portrait of the artist himself emerges’
(Marincola 2004, 231).
Throughout his universal history, Polybius is at times openly
contemptuous of the works of other historians as well. One such instance
occurs in his open criticism of the works of Philinus of Agrigentum and
Pictor in Polyb. 1.14-5. In the introductory part of the first book, Polybius
lists the various reasons for his decision to begin his history with an
account of the First Punic War. As he explains, he first and foremost
considered it important to provide an extensive description of it due to the
longevity and overall magnitude of that particular confrontation. For as he
argues, ‘it is not easy to name any war which lasted longer
(πολυχρονιώτερον), nor one which exhibited on both sides more extensive
preparations (παρασκευὰς ὁλοσχερεστέρας), more unintermittent activity
(συνεχεστέρας πράξεις), more battles (πλείους ἀγῶνας), and greater changes
of fortune (περιπετείας μείζους)’ (1.13.11). To this claim Polybius adds that
previous accounts of this war by the pro-Carthaginian Philinus and by his
pro-Roman counterpart, Pictor, have been altogether inaccurate. For as he
notes, ‘(t)he truth (τὴν ἀλήθειαν) has not been adequately (δεόντως) stated
by those historians who are reputed (δοκοῦντας) to be the best authorities
(τοὺς ἐμπειρότατα) on it, Philinus and Fabius’ (1.14.1).
Polybius’ censure of these two historians, which according to Schepens
is typical of his general methods as a critic, is conducted in three separate
stages, the first of which contains ‘his statement of error’ (Schepens 1990,
56). Rather than accusing these historians of ‘intentional falsehood (ἑκόντας
(...) ἐψεῦσθαι), in view of their character and principles (ἐκ τοῦ βίου καὶ τῆς
αἱρέσεως αὐτῶν)’ (Polyb. 1.14.2), Polybius argues that they both come
across as being exceedingly patriotic. For this reason, their respective
accounts of the events of the war are prone to bias and misrepresentation.
Thus, Philinus by reason of his ‘convictions (τὴν αἵρεσιν) and constant
partiality (τὴν ὅλην εὔνοιαν)’ (1.14.3) typically sided with the Carthaginians
by considering them to have acted ‘wisely, well, and bravely’ (ibid.) and
deprecating the actions of the Romans, whereas Pictor went in the opposite
direction.
Polybius then proceeds to the second stage of his criticism of these two
historians where he points to ‘the fundamental rule of history that is as
stake’ (Schepens 1990, 56) – i.e. the one that both historians are guilty of
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
135
having broken. Here Polybius admits that it is entirely suitable for ‘a good
man (τὸν ἀγαθὸν ἄνδρα)’ to ‘love his friends and his country (φιλόφιλον
εἶναι (…) καὶ φιλόπατριν)’ (Polyb. 1.14.4) and to share in the feelings of his
friends concerning hatred and love. Yet, as he continues, ‘he who assumes
(ἀναλαμβάνῃ) the character of a historian (τὸ τῆς ἱστορίας ἦθος) must ignore
(ἐπιλαθέσθαι χρὴ) everything of the sort (πάντων τῶν τοιούτων)’ (1.14.5).
Indeed, he may even be required to ‘speak good (εὐλογεῖν) of his enemies
and honour (κοσμεῖν) them with the highest praises (τοῖς μεγίστοις
ἐπαίνοις)’ and to criticise (ἐλεγχεῖν) and even reproach (ψέγειν) his closest
friends, ‘should the errors of their conduct impose this duty on him’ (ibid.).
In other words, the aspiring historian ought to remain an impartial observer
(cf. Walbank 1957, 66).238
At the third and final stage of his censure of Philinus and Fabius,
Polybius seeks to provide additional evidence for his initial assessment of
these historians by listing the various shortcomings of the former in Polyb.
1.15.1-12 and by promising to subject the latter to a similar treatment on a
later occasion (as he in fact did in a digression at the beginning of the third
book, cf. 3.8.1-9). According to Walbank, the absence of any direct
criticism of Fabius here would seem to ‘suggest that it was the desire to
indulge in polemic against Philinus on a specific issue that prompted the
present digression’ (Walbank 1957, 67). The digression in Polyb. 1.14-5
thus serves as an illustrative example of Polybius’ readiness to intrude upon
his narrative in order to polemicize against (and thereby to distance himself
from) the accounts of his predecessors.239
Aside from his vehement criticism of these named predecessors,
Polybius frequently emphasizes the relevance of his own account against
those of other historians. As we have already seen, in the preface to his
history, he contrasts the power and greatness of the Romans with the far
238
Polybius returns to this issue of impartiality in his criticism of Timaeus in book 12.
For more hereon, see above (3.2.2 and 4.2.2).
239
In addition to his references to Philinus, Pictor and Timaeus, Polybius also subjects a
host of other authors to a similar criticism, including Phylarchus for his account of
Cleomenean War (cf. Polyb. 2.56-63); Chaereas and Sosylus who ‘rank in authority
(…), not with history, but with the common gossip of a barber’s shop (κουρεακῆς καὶ
πανδήμου λαλιᾶς)’ (3.20.5); Theopompus for his portrayal of Philip II (cf. 8.9-10);
Callisthenes for his depiction of the Battle of Issus (cf. 12.17-23); Zeno and Antisthenes
for their accounts of various events in Greece and Asia Minor (cf. 16.14-20); A.
Postumius Albinus, whom Polybius characterizes as a vain man who ‘had adopted the
worst vices of the Greeks (τὰ χείριστα τῶν Ἑλληνικῶν)’ (39.1.10, namely a predilection
for pleasure and an aversion of toil (cf. 39), as well as various unnamed authors for their
monographs on the Second Punic War (cf. 3.6. 32. 47-8) and of the res gestae of Philip
II (cf. 8.8). For more on Polybius’ polemical attitude towards these authors, see
Walbank 1985 and 1990, 46-55.
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more limited dominance of previous superpowers (Polyb. 1.2.2-6, compare
Ant. Rom. 1.2.2-4.6, also referred to above in 2.3.2). This distinction is
indicative of Polybius’ opinion of his universal history. For, in the words of
Walbank, in ‘displaying the superiority of the Roman empire, P. implicitly
magnifies the importance of his own work’ (Walbank 1957, 40). At the
same time, however, Polybius’ derision of the achievements of the
Persians, Lacedaemonians and Macedonians could also be construed as a
criticism of those of his predecessors (including Herodotus, Thucydides
and Xenophon) who had written extensively on those former empires. In
this particular instance, Polybius’ disapproval of the works of the previous
historians is indirect and veiled.240
Elsewhere in the preface, however, Polybius is much more vocal in his
condemnation of the literary endeavours of his predecessors. For, as he
argues, other historians have merely concerned themselves ‘with particular
wars (τοὺς (...) κατὰ μέρος πολέμους) and certain matters associated with
them’ (Polyb. 1.4.3). Yet, no one has hitherto performed a critical inquiry
into ‘when and whence the general and comprehensive scheme of events
(τὴν δὲ καθόλου καὶ συλλήβδην οἰκονομίαν τῶν γεγονότων) originated and
how it led up to the end’ (ibid., also 2.37.4, cf. Sacks 1981, 105-8). Only
through a universal historical account can one fully comprehend the
importance of Polybius’ own time, which he describes as ‘the finest (τὸ
κάλλιστον) and most beneficent (κὠφελιμώτατον) of the performances of
Fortune (ἐπιτήδευμα τῆς τύχης)’ (1.4.4).241
Such an enumeration of the intrinsic benefits of a universal historical
account was later to be repeated almost verbatim by Diodorus in the
preface to his Bibliotheke. For as much as he might have approved
(ἐπιστήσαντες) of the intent of previous historians, Diodorus had
nevertheless come to doubt ‘that their treatises had been composed so as to
contribute to human welfare (πρὸς τὸ συμφέρον) as much as might have
been the case (κατὰ τὸ δυνατόν)’ (Diod. 1.3.1). For, as he notes, the true
‘profit (ὠφελείας) which history affords its readers lies in its embracing a
vast number (πλείστας) and variety of circumstances (ποικιλωτάτας
περιστάσεις)’ (1.3.2, compare Polyb. 1.4.11 and 3.32.1-10). Most of the
preceding historians have, however, ‘recorded (ἀνέγραψαν) no more than
isolated wars (αὐτοτελεῖς πολέμους) waged by a single nation (ἑνὸς ἔθνους)
or a single state (μιᾶς πόλεως)’ (Diod. 1.3.2, compare Polyb. 1.4.2-3, cited
above); whereas only a few historians have undertaken ‘to record the
events connected with all peoples (τὰς κοινὰς πράξεις)’ from ‘the earliest
On Polybius’ familiarity with Herodotus’ and Thucydides’ works, see McGing 2012
and Rood 2012, respectively.
241
More on Polybius’ use of fatalistic terminology below (5.2.4).
240
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
137
times (ἀπὸ τῶν ἀρχαίων χρόνων) and coming down to their own day (τῶν
καθ’ αὑτοὺς καιρῶν)’ (ibid.). Yet, unsurprisingly, Diodorus is not satisfied
with the efforts of the unnamed universal historians either. For instance, he
accuses some of them of not having ‘attached to the several events their
own proper dates (τῶν καθ΄αὑτοὺς καιρῶν)’ (1.3.2); of having ‘passed over
(ὑπερέβησαν) the deeds of barbarian peoples’ (ibid.); of having ‘rejected
(ἀπεδοκίμασαν) the ancient legends (τὰς παλαιὰς μυθολογίας) because of the
difficulties (διὰ τὴν δυσχέρειαν) involved in their treatment’ (ibid.)242 and of
having neglected to report on events subsequent to the Macedonian period
(cf. 1.3.3). Or, as he notes, ‘no historian has essayed to treat of them within
the compass of a single narrative (μιᾶς συντάξεως), because of the
magnitude of the undertaking (διὰ τὸ μέγεθος τῆς ὑποθέσεως)’ (ibid.).243
Aside from such criticism of his unnamed predecessors, Diodorus has no
reservations about mentioning his predecessors by name throughout the
main body of his work. For instance, he seems to have regarded such
historians as Herodotus, Thucydides, Ephorus and Timaeus as literary
authorities.244 At times, however, he is also highly censorious in his
assessment of the efforts of these highly profiled historians. Thus, for
instance, Herodotus is criticised for having invented explanations and
stories (cf. 1.38.8-12, 1.69.7 and 2.15.2), whereas Theopompus,
Callisthenes and Ephorus are all censured for their lack of interest in myths
(cf. 4.1.3). The latter is subjected to further scrutiny by Diodorus on at least
More on the ancient historians’ attitudes towards myths and legends below (5.2.3).
Aside from such criticism of former historians, Diodorus’ preface also includes a
reference (otherwise rare in ancient histories) to future historians as well. For as he
himself asserts (in a passage which highly resembles a captatio benevolentiae), he had
hoped that ‘what we have done well may not be the object of envy, and that the matters
wherein our knowledge is defective may receive correction at the hands of more able
historians (Diod. 1.5.2).
244
As for the former type of reference, Diodorus includes several references to the
classical historians, including Hecataeus (cf. Diod. 1.46.8 and 2.47.1); Herodotus (cf.
2.32.2-3 (w/ citation and repeated in 9.20.4) and 11.37.6) and Thucydides (cf. 1.37.4;
12.37.2; 13.42.5 and 14.84.7) and to Hellenistic historians such as Xenophon (cf.
13.42.5; 15.76.4 (w/ citation) and 15.89.3); Ephorus (cf. 5.1.4; 5.64.4 (w/ citation);
12.41.1; 13.41.3 (w/ citation); 13.54.5 (w/citation); 13.60.5 (w/ citation); 13.80.5 (w/
citation); 14.11.1-3 (w/ citation); 14.22.2; 14.54.5 (w/ citation); 15.60.5 (w/ citation);
16.76.5-6 and 16.14.3), Theopompus (cf. 13.42.5; 14.84.7; 16.3.8; 16.71.3) and finally
Timaeus (cf. 4.22.6 (w/ citation); 4.56.3 (w/ citation); 5.6.1; 13.54.5 (w/ citation);
13.60.5 (w/ citation); 13.80.5.4 (w/ citation); 13.82.6 (w/ citation); 13.83.2 (w/ citation);
13.85.3 (w/ citation); 13.108.4 (w/ citation); 13.109.2 (w/ citation); 14.54.6 (w/
citation); 19.8.4 (although only implicitly); 20.89.5 (w/ citation) and 21.16.5 (w/
citation)). Aside from these references to these historians, some of them also play a role
as historical figures within Diodorus’ narrative itself – e.g. 10.25.4 (Hecataeus, compare
this to Herodotus’ treatment of this figure Hist. 5.36 as noted above); 14.37.2-3
(Xenophon); 16.7.1 (Timaeus) and 31.26.5 and 32.24.1 (Polybius).
242
243
138
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
two other occasions (cf. 1.39.9-13 and 1.9.5).245 Finally, Diodorus would
appear to have reserved his fiercest criticism for Timaeus. For instance, he
notes how due to ‘his untimely and lengthy censures (τὰς ἀκαίρους καὶ
μακρὰς ἐπιτιμήσεις)’ (ibid. 5.1.3) he eventually ‘with good reason
(εὐλόγως)’ (ibid.) earned the nickname ‘Epitimaeus or Censurerer’ (ibid.).
Elsewhere, Diodorus censures him for having denied the existence of the
so-called bull of Phalaris (cf. 13.90.5). In a subsequent passus, Diodorus
elaborates upon Timaeus’ shortcomings and proceeds to present his own
view on the importance of accuracy and reliability in the field of ancient
historiography: In spite of his vehement censure of others, Timaeus had
himself been ‘caught improvising (εὑρίσκεται σχεδιάζων) in the very
province where he most proclaims his own accuracy (ἑαυτὸν ἀποπέφαγκεν
ἀκριβολογούμενον)’ (13.90.6). As Diodorus notes, historians are allowed
the occasional unintended error stemming from ignorance – after all, they
are but ‘human beings (ἀνθρώπους ὄντας) and the truth of ages past (τῆς ἐν
τοῖς παροιχομένοις χρόνοις ἀληθείας) is hard to discover (δυσευρέτου)’
(13.90.7). Yet, those historians (Timaeus included, presumably) who
‘deliberately (κατὰ προαίρεσιν) do not give the exact facts (οὐ τυγχάνοντας
τοῦ ἀκριβοῦς) should properly (προσηκόντως) be open to censure
(κατηγορίας), whenever in flattering one man or another or in attacking
others from hatred too bitterly, they stray from the truth (ἀποσφάλλωνται
τῆς ἀληθείας)’ (ibid.). Furthermore, Timaeus is also heavily criticised by
Diodorus in 21.17.1-3 for his use of invention and propagandistic
tendencies throughout his derogatory account of the reign of Agathocles of
Syracuse.
In his censure of Timaeus, Diodorus might well have been heavily
inspired by Polybius’ polemical digression in book 12 (cf. Rawson 1985,
224 and Sacks 1990, 115). However, unlike Polybius, Diodorus does not
censure Timaeus for his bookishness or lack of political experience – and
with good reason. For, as Marincola notes, ‘the criticism of Timaeus of
getting most of his history from books (whether or not it was true) would
have been uncongenial to the author of an ‘historical library’’ (Marincola
2004, 234). In general, Diodorus takes great care when highlighting the
many deficiencies of his famous predecessors to assert his own intellectual
Other instances of criticism in Diodorus’ work include his criticism of Hecataeus (cf.
1.37.3, criticised alongside Hellanicus and Cadmus for an overreliance upon myths); of
Herodotus (cf. 1.37.4-6 (as having been ‘found to have followed contradictory
guesses’); 1.37.11 (for having provided no proof), and 10.24.1 (for his ‘tales of wonder’
which ‘are wont to prevail over tales of truth’)); of Thucydides and Xenophon (cf.
1.37.4 (for not having written on Egypt)); of Ephorus (cf. 1.37.4 (criticised alongside
Theopompus for having written untruthfully on Egyptian matters) and 14.11.1-3 (for not
having provided an account of ‘the Sacred War’)).
245
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
139
independence. Again according to Marincola, ‘(d)espite his sometimes
haphazard use of polemic, Diodorus has still used it to highlight those
matters that he wishes the readers to see as his own contribution to the
writing of history’ (ibid.).
Dionysius also wrote extensively on the efforts of some of his most
illustrious predecessors. Nowhere is this more apparent than in his lengthy
essay on the style of Thucydides as well as in his On Imitation (as
evidenced in his Letter to Pompeius).246 As in the case with Polybius and
Diodorus, Dionysius too devotes much space in the preface to his Roman
Antiquities to the deficiencies in the accounts of previous historians. As
part of his presentation of his chosen subject matter, he notes that ‘no
accurate history (οὐδεμία (...) ἁκριβής (...) ἱστορία) of the Romans written in
the Greek language has hitherto appeared, but only very brief and summary
epitomes (κεφαλαιώδεις ἐπιτομαὶ πάνυ βραχεῖαι)’ (Ant. rom. 1.5.4).
Dionysius then proceeds to list a number of previous Greek historians, such
as Hieronymus, Timaeus, Antigonus, Polybius and Silenus, who have all
written on the earliest history of Rome, yet ‘without accurate investigation
(οὐδὲ ἀκριβῶς) on his own part but from reports which chance had brought
to his ears’ (1.6.1, also 1.7.1). The Latin historians Pictor and Lucius
Cincius (Alimentus) did not fare much better. Although they have written
accurately on the events in which they themselves participated, they
‘touched only in a summary way (κεφαλαιωδῶς) upon the early events that
followed the founding of the city’ (1.6.2). Subsequently, Dionysius
juxtaposes the lack of interest in the earliest history of Rome, which
apparently was prevalent amongst his Greco-Roman colleagues, with his
own professed interest in such matters (cf. 1.6.3). Having thus presented his
readers with a justification for his choice of subject matter and approach,
Dionysius distances himself further from his colleagues by noting how in
his opinion they are all guilty of having ‘slurred over their work
(ἐπισεσυρκότων τὴν γραφήν)’ (1.7.1). Since he does not wish to be seen as
having been negligent in his own research, he has thought it best (βέλτιον)
to ‘state in advance what narratives (λόγων) and records (ὑπομνηματισμῶν)’
(ibid.) he has used as sources. This is followed by a short description of his
arrival in Italy and subsequent familiarization with the Latin language and
acquaintance with Latin literature in general. Dionysius then proceeds to
mention how in his research he has relied on several oral and written
sources, including the works of Cato the Elder, Antias and Macer (cf. 1.7.3
also 1.89.1).247
246
247
More on this work above (4.2.2).
For more on Dionyius’ use of (and reference to) sources, see Schultze 2000, 21-2.
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
Like Diodorus and Polybius before him, so throughout his work Dionysius
often refers to his predecessors by name.248 In a few instances, he too can
be highly critical of their respective efforts. Thus, for instance, he indirectly
criticises Timaeus for his detailed account of the sacred objects in the
sanctuary at Lavinium by stating how ‘that in the case of those things
which it is not lawful for all to see I ought neither to hear about them from
those who do see them nor to describe them; and I am indignant (νεμεσῶ)
with every one else, too, who presumes to inquire (ζητεῖν) into or to know
(γινώσκειν) more than what is permitted by law (τῶν συγχωρουμένων ὑπὸ
νόμου)’ (1.67.4). Similarly, Dionysius censures Polybius on two separate
occasions in the first book. After an extensive account of the earliest
(Greek) inhabitants of the area where the city of Rome was later to be built,
Dionysius explains how the Palatine Hill originally served as the location
of a village, called ‘Pallantium’, which was founded by as a Greek colony
led by Evander (cf. 1.31.1-4). Some sources, including Polybius, note that
the village was named after Pallas, the grandson of Evander through his
daughter Lavinia (cf. 1.32.1). Yet, Dionysius has found no evidence for
this. For he has ‘never seen any tomb of Pallas Rome’ (1.32.2) or ‘heard of
any drink-offerings being made in his honour not been able to discover
anything else of that nature’ (ibid.). And although he has observed
offerings being made to Pallas’ father Evander and to his divine
grandmother, Carmenta (the goddess of childbirth and prophecy),
Dionysius knows ‘of nothing of this kind that is done in honour of Pallas’
(ibid.). Elsewhere, Dionysius voices a similarly scepticism towards
Polybius’ account by calling into question his dating of the founding of the
city to ‘the second year of the seventh Olympiad’ (1.74.3 – no such dating,
however, occurs in the extant portions of Polybius’ history).
As in the case of Diodorus, so Dionysius too was wholly dependent upon
the accounts of previous historians. As Marincola rightly argues, ‘he cannot
indulge in active polemic with them as a group or with their histories in
their entirety’ (Marincola 2004, 234). Therefore, were he to engage in a
direct rigorous criticism of his predecessors or even outright ridicule, as
Polybius did in his assessment of Timaeus, he would effectively
248
Among the many authors mentioned by Dionysius are the following prominent
Greek historians: Herodotus (cf. 1.27.3 (w/ citation) and 1.29.3 (w/ citation));
Thucydides (cf. 1.22.5 (w/ citation) and 1.25.3; (w/ citation, praised for having given ‘a
clear account’); Theopompus (cf. 1.1.1, mentioned alongside Anaximenes as one who
used his preface to censure other historians); Timaeus (cf. 1.6.1 (mentioned alongside
Polybius and others); 1.7.1 (mentioned alongside those of Hieronymus and Polybius);
1.67.4 (w/ citation) and 1.74.1 (w/ citation)) and Polybius (cf. 1.6.1 (mentioned
alongside Timaeus and others); 1.7.1 (mentioned alongside Hieronymus and Timaeus)
and 1.32.1 (w/ citation). For an extensive list of the various ancient authors cited by
Dionysius, see Schultze 2000, 22-3.
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
141
‘undermine his own claim to be writing an accurate history based on
epichoric records’ (ibid.).249 It should therefore come as no surprise that
Dionysius, like Diodorus before him, is much more approving of the efforts
of his predecessors than is the case with some of his more censorious
predecessors. According to Schultze, ‘Dionysius’ approach to his sources is
on the whole positive and candid. He is looking for the acceptable elements
in what they have to offer, rather than seeking to criticise or condemn’
(Schultze 2000, 42).250
Some Latin historians such as Cato the Elder and Sempronius Asellio
were highly contemptuous of other works on Roman history. Other
prominent proponents of Roman historiography, including Sallust, Livy
and Tacitus, were much more constrained in their criticism of previous
histories and historians (cf. Marincola 2004, 236). As Marincola notes,
these authors’ use of polemic was ‘limited in the main to specific points of
contrast, and a correspondingly greater concern with linking their works to
illustrious predecessors, as a way of portraying themselves as heir to the
tradition of Roman historiography’ (ibid.).
Sallust, for instance, expresses an admiration of Cato the Elder, whom he
characterized as ‘(t)he most eloquent Roman of all (Romani generis
disertissimus)’ (Hist. 1.3 = Victorinus 203.34, compare however Hist. 1.5,
cf. Marincola 2004, 247, n. 155 and McGushin 1992, 217-8), just as he
attributes to Fannius ‘the quality of truth (vero veritatem)’ (ibid.).251
Likewise, he also voices an appreciation of the efforts of his immediate
predecessor, L. Cornelius Sisenna, whose account of Sulla he characterizes
as ‘altogether the best and most careful (optume et diligentissume)’ (Jug.
95.2, also Hist. 1.4, cf. McGushin 1992, 70-1) although Sallust has found
him to be lacking (parum) in ‘sufficient frankness (libero ore)’ (ibid.).
Livy also refers to the works of several different authors throughout his
Ab Urbe Condita. A particularly telling example is his use of (and
references to) Polybius, whose universal history provided the basis for
much of Livy’s account of Eastern affairs in the third decade, i.e. the books
This also holds true of Dionysius’ repeated use of (and reference to) the Roman
annalists. As Gabba notes, ‘Dionysius had no reason to doubt the credibility of the
tradition he had before him. Even where such doubts may have arisen he was still
subject to the principle elaborated by Herodotus: how could he not report what he found
in the Roman sources? (Gabba 1991, 96). For more on Dionysius’ treatment of his
sources, see Schepens 2011b, 109, Gabba 1991, 1-22 and Schultze 2000.
250
At certain points throughout his work (and in the first book in particular), Dionysius
was forced to choose between his available sources and did so according to a certain set
of criteria such as the availability of supporting evidence, the use of reasoned argument
and assessments of the general credibility of the given sources. For more on this topic,
see Schultze 2000, 42-5 and Marincola 2004, 235-6.
251
On the identity of Fannius, see Cornell 2013b, 244-9.
249
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
31-45.252 Some Latin authors such as Cicero, Cornelius Nepos, Pliny the
Elder and Aulus Gellius did refer to Polybius.253 Yet, as Briscoe and Rich
argue, ‘it is unlikely that any of the earlier Roman historians had used him
as a source’ (Briscoe and Rich 2013, 85).254 The fact that Livy was the first
to do so (and that he came to rely so heavily upon it) has been characterised
as both ‘epoch-making’ (Luce 1977, 181) and ‘a major innovation in the
Roman historiographical tradition’ (ibid.). By his own account, Livy
considered Polybius ‘an authority (auctor) by no means to be despised’
(AUC 30.45.5) and ‘an authority (auctorem) worthy of credence (non
incertum) on all matters of Roman history and especially on occurrences in
Greece’ (ibid. 33.10.10, also 36.19.11 and perhaps also in his references to
the Graeci autores in 29.27.13 and 32.6.8). He also provides indirect
quotations from Polybius’ work on at least two occasions (cf. 34.50.6,
compare Polyb. 19.2, and 45.44.19, compare 30.18) and, as Dionysius had
done before him, calls into question Polybius’ method of dating (cf. 39.52.1
– on the date of the death of Scipio Africanus).
Livy is typically more appreciative of the works of the older and more
established historians (including Polybius), whereas he often criticizes
those of his more immediate predecessors such as Antias and Macer (e.g.
AUC 2.8.5 and 7.9.3-5). Thus, Livy’s literary endeavour is characterised by
both ‘continuity (with that earlier reliable tradition) and contrast (with his
immediate predecessors)’ (Marincola 2004, 249). And just as his
predecessors had done before him, he too presents his work as ‘the
culmination of that tradition because he subsumes and replaces the very
historians on whom he based his own work’ (ibid.).
4.3.3. Josephus on his Greco-Roman predecessors
Turning now to Josephus, we may conclude that his manner of selfpresentation throughout Ant. 1-11 to a large degree conforms to the
established literary traditions of ancient Greco-Roman historiography. This
also applies to his treatment of his immediate and more remote
252
Cf. Briscoe 1993; Luce 1977, 181, n. 99; Mellor 1999, 67-8, and Walsh 1989, 12436. According to Walsh, Livy may even have consulted Polybius’ work ‘as early as
Book XXI (sc. AUC 21.15.3), where Livy records an alternative version of the
chronology of the siege of Saguntum coinciding with the Greek historian’s account (sc.
AUC 21.15.3)’ (Walsh 1989, 124 and n. 2 in particular).
253
Cf. Rep. 2.27; Off. 3.113; Att. 13.30; Han. 13; Nat. 3.33 and Noct. att. 6.14.
254
Other Greek historians referred to by the Latin authors include Herodotus (Verr.
2.2.128; Div. 1.121; Fin. 2.87; Off. 2.41; Nat. 5.19, and Inst. 10.1); Thucydides (Or.
Brut. 9 and 12; Att. 7.1; Quint. fratr. 2.13; De Or. 2.55; Alc. 11; Paus. 2; Them. 1; Nat.
7.83; Ep. 5.8, and Inst. 8.3); Ephorus (De Or. 2.57; Or. Brut. 57; Nat. 4.24; Inst. 9.4;
10.1, and Noct. att. 3.11); Theopompus (Att. 13.7; De Or. 2.57; Or. Brut. 17; Alc. 11;
Iph. 3; Nat. 2.105; Inst. 10.1, and Noct. att. 22.9) and Timaeus (Ad Fam. 5.22; De or.
2.58; Leg. 5.22; Rep. 3.43; Nat. deo. 2.69; Or. Brut. 16; Alch. 11, and Noct. att. 11.1).
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
143
predecessors, as we shall now see.255 As is the case with the authors we
have discussed above, Josephus too often criticises the works of other (un)named historians throughout the first half of the Antiquities. For instance,
in the very first section of the first book, he intends to qualify his own
historiographical method by describing how other historians either consider
the writing of histories an opportunity to display their own literary prowess
(λόγων δεινότητα), and this in order ‘to win the fame therefrom expected
(τὴν ἀπ’ αὐτῆς (...) δόξαν)’ (Ant. 1.2, compare Thuc. 1.22.4), or as a
medium through which they might unduly ‘gratify (χάριν (...) φέροντες) the
people to whom the record (τὴν ἀναγραφήν) happens to relate’ (ibid.,
compare J.W. 1.7). Similarly, in the preface to the Jewish War, he notes
how previous accounts of the events of the war are characterized by a lack
of respect for the duration and overall magnitude of the war as well as the
achievements of the Jewish generals (cf. J.W. 1.8). In a subsequent passage,
Josephus even ventures to state that ‘in the matter of history (πρὸς (...) τὴν
ἱστορίαν), where veracity (τἀληθῆ λέγειν) and laborious (μετὰ πολλοῦ
πόνου) collection of the facts (τὰ πράγματα συλλέγειν) are essential (χρὴ)’
(1.16, compare e.g. Thuc. 1.20.3, Diod. 1.3.6 and Ant. rom. 1.1.2) the
Greek authors leave ‘to inferior (τοῖς ἀσθενεστέροις) and ill-informed (μηδὲ
γινώσκουσι) writers the task of describing the exploits of their rulers (τὰς
πράξεις τῶν ἡγεμόνων)’ (ibid.). As we have already seen, Josephus would
go on to voice of similar criticism of the Greek historians by describing
how some of them have stitched together ‘a few hearsay reports (ἐκ
παρακουσμάτων)’ (1.46). In doing so, they only end up producing wholly
inaccurate accounts which they then falsely label ‘by the name of history
(τῷ τῆς ἱστορίας ὀνόματι)’ (ibid., compare with Josephus’ emphatic censure
of Justus of Tiberias in Life 336-67).
In the introductory part of Against Apion, Josephus would go on to voice
a similar criticism of the efforts of the Greek ancient historians as part of
his argument for the general veracity of his own historical account in the
Antiquities. After having provided ample proof of the relative modernity of
Greek literature in general in Ag. Ap. 1.6-14, he notes how the works of the
Greek historians ‘have no basis of sure knowledge (βεβαίως)’ (Ag. Ap.
1.15) and how the facts (τῶν πραγμάτων) are merely being presented ‘as
conjectured (εἴκαζον) by individual authors’ (ibid.). In the same vein, he
also points to the fact that many of their works are littered with
discrepancies and how frequently they resort to outright censure of one
another. For instance, he indicates how Hellanicus and Acusilaus disagreed
on genealogical matters; how the latter was often criticised by Hesiod; how
For a comprehensive analysis of Josephus’ treatment of Greek sources, see Bowley
1994.
255
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
‘the mendacity (ψευδόμενον) of Hellanicus in most of his statements is
exposed by Ephorus’ (1.16); how Ephorus himself was critically panned by
Timaeus who in turn was censured ‘by later writers (οἱ μετ’ ἐκεῖνον
γεγονότες)’ (ibid., perhaps an indirect reference to Polybius, Diodorus and
Dionysius, cf. Barclay 2013, 18-9, n. 74), and how Herodotus was
polemicized against ‘by everybody (πάντες)’ (ibid.). To this Josephus adds
that even the mighty Thucydides, who otherwise carried a reputation of
having written ‘the most accurate history (ἀκριβέστατα (...) ἱστορίαν) of his
time’ (1.18), had at one point himself been ‘accused of error (ὡς ψευδόμενος
(...) κατηγορεῖται) by some critics (ὑπό τινων, yet another veiled allusion to
Dionysius?)’ (ibid.).256 Through these examples, Josephus undoubtedly
seeks to display his own intricate knowledge of this aspect of ancient
historiography.257
In the two subsequent passages of the essay, Josephus proceeds to reflect
further upon this topic: With regard to the reasons for the apparent
magnitude of the supposed inconsistencies amongst the Greek historians,
he first points to the fact that the Greeks in general often lacked an interest
in keeping ‘official records of current events (περὶ τῶν ἑκάστοτε
πραττομένων ἀναγραφάς)’ (1.20), a fact that might account ‘for the errors
(τὴν πλάνην) of later historians who aspired to write on antiquity (περὶ τῶν
παλαιῶν) and for the licence (ἐξουσίαν) granted to their mendacity (τοῦ
ψεύδεσθαι)’ (ibid., see also 3.5.1). As a secondary (and yet, related) reason,
Josephus subsequently notes how most Greek historians are more
concerned with displaying their own literary capacities than with
discovering ‘the truth (περὶ τὴν ἀλήθειαν)’ (1.24, compare Ant. 1.2).
Moreover, their choice of subject matter has often been based solely on the
potential ‘which it offered them of outshining (παρευδοκιμήσειν) their rivals
(τοὺς ἄλλους)’ (1.25). Some would ‘turn to mythologies (ἐπὶ τὸ
μυθολογεῖν)’ (ibid., compare Hecataeus FGrHist 1 F 1); others would write
Barclay has characterised this phrase as ‘vague and unsubstantiated’ (Barclay 2013,
20, n. 84). Yet, as we saw in the previous chapter, Thucydides’ work was subjected to
critical assessments by subsequent authors such as Cicero in his De Oratore and Orator;
Lucian in his Hist. Conscr., and Dionysius in his Letter to Pompeius and most famously
in his extensive essay on the style of this historian (cf. 4.2.2 and 5.2.2). Although
Josephus does not mention Dionysius by name, the many similarities in style and
substance between these two authors would seem to suggest that Josephus was indeed
well acquainted with Dionysius (cf. Feldman 1998a, 7-8 and Sterling 1992, 284-9). We
have therefore good reason to assume that the otherwise unidentified τίνων in Ag. Ap.
1.18 may be read as a veiled reference to the aforementioned critics (and to Dionysius in
particular), as already mentioned above.
257
Indeed, Marincola and Schepens both seem to regard this passage as a (if not, the)
prime example of the general awareness of the prevalent use of polemics in ancient
historiography (cf. Marincola 2004, 218 and Schepens 1990, 39, n. 1).
256
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
145
encomia of ‘cities and monarchs’ (ibid., compare Ant. 1.2), while others
again sought to win renown through criticism of ‘the facts (τῶν πράξεων) or
the historians (τῶν γεγραφότων)’ (ibid.). Josephus considers such a method
so deplorable that he outright characterises it as ‘the very reverse of
historical (τὸ πάντων ἐναντιώτατον ἱστορίᾳ)’ (1.26). According to him, what
is required of the historians is a strict adherence to the truth. The Greek
historians, however, in their constant attempt at outshining their opponents
have produced mutually conflicting accounts of the same event(s), the
result being that the truth of the matter has been altogether lost (cf. 1.26,
see also Barclay 2013, 23, n. 108). For, as Josephus subsequently argues,
‘the proof of historical veracity (τῆς (...) ἀλητοῦς ἐστι τεκμήριον ἱστορίας,
alt. ‘evidence of true history’, cf. Barclay 2013, 22) is universal agreement
(ἅπαντες) in the description, oral or written, of the same events (περὶ τῶν
αὐτῶν (...) ταὐτά)’ (ibid.).258 Thus, according to him, there is no room in
proper historical writing for ulterior motifs and an unseemly use of
polemics.
This, however, does not mean that Josephus himself refrained entirely
from engaging in critical assessments of the efforts of his predecessors
whenever it suited him. Indeed, throughout the first half of the Antiquities,
he refers to the works of a number of prominent and less influential
historians. He may have had several different reasons for doing so: firstly
(and, perhaps, most obviously), by referring to a host of other historians, he
seeks to present himself as one who is generally well read and (more
specifically) as one who has attained a sufficient acquaintance with the
works of his immediate and more remote predecessors. Such references are
(at least, to some extent) comparable to his often repeated references to the
Scriptures and other written sources; the difference is that, unlike
Dionysius in Ant. rom. 1.7.3, he does not openly admit having relied
extensively upon those works and having used them as a primary source of
information.259 Furthermore, by displaying his own intimate knowledge of
the works of other historians, he seeks to depict them as his colleagues so
that he himself might in turn be considered their equal.
Josephus quite often refers to the works of his predecessors during the
first half of the Antiquities.260 However, in contrast to the more
258
For more on this puzzling passage, see Barclay 2013, 22-3, n. 107.
On the issue of Josephus’ ‘hidden’ sources (including, most notably, his possible
reliance upon Nicolaus), see above (3.5.1).
260
Aside from such references to the works of the various historians, some of them also
appear as historical figures in the latter half of the Antiquities, including Theopompus
(cf. Ant. 12.112, compare Arist. 314) and Nicolaus (Ant. 12.126-7; 16.29-58 (w/
speech). 299. 333-9. 342. 370-2 (w/ speech); 17.54 (also J.W. 1.574). 99 (also J.W.
1.629). 106-27 (w/ speech, compare J.W. 1.637-8). 219 (also J.W. 2.14). 225 (also J.W.
259
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
antagonistically minded historians such as Timaeus and Polybius, he did
not intend these references to carry a sense of criticism. For in a manner
similar to Diodorus, Dionysius and Livy, he primarily includes such
allusions in order to provide his audience with further substantiation of
certain points raised by his own account. Thus, he appears to have held the
accounts of his famous Greek and Near-Eastern colleagues in high regard
and particularly so to the extent that they have proven quite useful as
external sources of information and as providing further corroboration of
his own narrative.
One example of this occurs in Josephus’ extensive retelling of the
account of the flood. For instance, he here notes how the ‘the flood and the
ark are mentioned by all (πάντες) who have written histories of the
barbarians (τὰς βαρβαρικὰς ἱστορίας)’ (Ant. 1.93). Josephus then proceeds
by naming a number of near-Eastern historians who have supposedly
written on such matters, including Berossus, Hieronymus (not to be
confused with the author of the same name mentioned in Ag. Ap. 1.213-4),
the Lycian author, Mnaseas, alongside ‘many others (καὶ ἄλλοι πλείους)’
(1.94). In this context, it is worth noting that Josephus has apparently felt
compelled to produce a direct quotation of a specific passage from
Berossus to the effect that pieces of the ark still survived upon a mountain
in Armenia (cf. 1.93).261 Similarly, Josephus also produces a lengthy quote
from Nicolaus who allegedly wrote of ‘a great mountain called Baris’
(1.95) on which certain refugees took refuge ‘at the time of flood’ (ibid.)
and on which the man who travelled on the ark ran ashore. This man, so
Nicolaus noted, ‘might well be the same (…) of whom Moses, the Jewish
legislator, wrote’ (ibid.).262
Another example of Josephus’ references to other historians occurs a few
paragraphs later in a passage which is just as revealing and relevant to our
2.21). 240-8 (w/ reported speech, also J.W. 2.34-7) and 315-6 (w/ reported speech, also
J.W. 2.92).
261
Berossus’ own work is now lost and is only available to us in a few extant fragments
which include this and two other passages in Josephus (cf. Ant. 10.219-28 and Ag. Ap.
1.129-53) alongside a lengthy quotation by Alexander Polyhistor (repeated by Eusebius
in his Chronica, cf. FGrHist 680 F 1, 3-5, 7c, 9b and 10). Yet, I do not consider this a
valid reason for assuming that Josephus was not personally acquainted with Berossus’
account. At any rate, in inserting what (for all intents and purposes) appears to be a
verbatim quotation from the work of this other historian, Josephus himself seems
interested in giving his readers that impression. Other allegedly direct quotations from
Berossus in the Antiquities include a passage on Abraham (cf. Ant. 1.158); on King
Sennacherib (cf. 10.20 – NB: lacuna in the manuscript, see Marcus 1966, 167, n. e and
Begg-Spilsbury 2005b, 211, n. 82) and on King Nebuchadnezzar (cf. 10.220-6, later
repeated in Ag. Ap. 1.134-41).
262
On Josephus’ possible dependence upon the works of Nicolaus, see above (3.5.1)
and below.
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
147
present analysis. Following his account of the flood, Josephus notes how
Noah happily (εὐδαιμόνως) passed away in the ripe old age of 950 years (cf.
Ant. 1.105, compare Gen 9:28-9). Perhaps anticipating that some of his
non-Jewish readers might find this to be quite unbelievable, he then inserts
a lengthy digression in which he provides no less than three explanations
for the longevity of Noah’s life and other primordial men. Ancient people
(παλαιοί)263, so Josephus argues, simply lived longer both because they
‘were beloved of God (θεοφιλεῖς) and the creatures of God Himself (ὑπ’
αὐτοῦ τοῦ θεοῦ γενόμενοι)’ (ibid.)264 and by reason of their diet(!) and (what
is perhaps even more puzzling) due to their skills within the fields of
astronomy and geometry. For, as Josephus continues, had God not provided
them with a 600 year long life, ‘they could have predicted (προειπεῖν)
nothing with certainty (ἀσφαλῶς)’ (1.106).265
Subsequently, Josephus substantiates this by stating how ‘all (πάντες)
historians of antiquity (συγγραψάμενοι τὰς ἀρχαιολογίας)’ (1.107)
apparently attest (μαρτυροῦσι) to his words. He then proceeds by referring
to the authorships of no less than eleven different historians, all of whom
he explicitly mentions by name. The accounts of the five Near-Eastern
historians Manetho, Berossus, Mochos, Hestiaeus and Hieronymius are
cited as witnesses to Josephus’ own account. For, as he notes, they all
‘concur (συμφωνοῦσι) in my statements (τοῖς ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ λεγομένοις)’ (ibid.).
Similarly, the Greek authors Hesiod, Hecataeus, Hellanicus, Acusilaus,
Ephorus and Nicolaus apparently all ‘report (ἱστοροῦσι) that the ancients
(τοὺς ἀρχαίους) lived for thousand years’ (1.108, cf. Feldman 1998a, 168).
Unlike in other passages, in this context Josephus does not produce direct
citations from any of these works.
Interestingly, Nicolaus figures as the last author to be mentioned in both
passages. This has led some prominent scholars to posit that Josephus
might have ‘borrowed’ this list from a secondary source, namely from his
intimate acquaintance with Nicolaus’ now lost work.266 As Wacholder
argues, ‘(i)t is perhaps reasonable to assume that Nicolaus here (sc. Ant.
1.108), as in fragment 72 (sc. Ant. 1.93-4), himself quoted the long list of
the authorities cited by Josephus’ (Wacholder 1962, 56). Indeed, on the
basis of the four extant citations and references to Nicolaus in the
Interestingly, and judging by Josephus’ subsequent argumentation (cf. Ant. 1.108 in
particular), this term does not apply exclusively to the Jewish patriarchs, but rather to
ancient people in general.
264
More on the theological significance of this phrase below (5.2.4).
265
On the importance of the issue of astronomy and science in general in the
Antiquities, see for instance Feldman 1998a, 103 and 233 and Spilsbury 1998, 56-7.
266
Cf. Büchler 1897, 328-37; Thackeray 1967a, 59 and 1967b, 46-7, n. b., and
Wacholder 1962, 56, also ibid., 115, n. 16.
263
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
Antiquities (cf. Ant. 1.94-5; 1.108; 1.159-60 and 7.101-3), Wacholder even
posits that Josephus may have relied extensively on the work(s) of his
predecessor not only for the latter half of his work but also for his initial
account of the ancient history of the Jewish people (cf. Wacholder 1962,
56-64, compare 1989, 151-2). However, as Feldman rightfully objects, ‘it
seems highly questionable to erect such a theory on the basis of so few and
such short fragments’ (Feldman 1998a, 234, n. 28, also 2004, 34, n. 235).
Aside from these two central passages, Josephus also alludes other Greek
historians on several occasions during the first half of the Antiquities. Thus,
he mentions how Hecataeus of Abdera apparently devoted an entire book to
a portrayal of Abraham (cf. Ant. 1.159, repeated in Ag. Ap. 1.183-204, also
1.214).267 Similarly, he notes how Herodotus neglected (with good reason)
to cite the name of the various pharaohs (cf. Ant. 8.157-8); how his account
of the Egyptian king Sesostris’ march throughout ‘the mainland (διὰ τῆς
ἠπείρου)’ (Hist. 2.102) is actually a reference to King Shishak’s (or Ἴσωκος)
capture of Jerusalem (cf. Ant. 8.260-2 (compare 2 Chron 12:1-9), which
includes a loose paraphrase of Hist. 2.104)268, and how he, alongside
Berossus, wrote of Sennacherib’s invasion of Egypt ‘in the second book of
his History (sc. Hist. 2.141)’ (Ant. 10.18-20).269 Finally, Josephus also
refers to Polybius on a number of occasions throughout the twelfth book,
such as in Ant. 12.135-7 (on the conquests of Antiochus III, w/ two direct
quotations not otherwise attested) and 12.358-9 (on the death of Antiochus
IV Epiphanes).270
Aside from these high-profile authors, Josephus also mentions a host of
other historians in the first half of the Antiquities.271 In a manner similar to
267
According to modern scholarly consensus, this work was not published by Hecataeus
himself but rather falsely attributed to him (cf. Thackeray 1967b, 79, n. b and Feldman
2004, 59, n. 510). On Josephus’ quotation from Hecataeus in Ag. Ap. 1.189, see
Capponi 2011.
268
Compare this to the almost verbatim quotation in Ag. Ap. 1.168-71. For more on the
general accuracy of Josephus’ citation, see Barclay 2013, 99, n. 557.
269
The ‘”seven houses” of the Persians appointed by Darius’ mentioned in Ant. 11.31
may also be considered a veiled reference to Hist. 3.71 (cf. Marcus 1966, 329, n. b).
270
Worth considering is also Ag. Ap. 2.84 where Polybius is mentioned alongside other
‘sober historians (digni conscriptores)’ (ibid.) such as Nicolaus and Strabo as having
written on Antiochus’ plunder of the Temple. On the issue of Josephus’ knowledge (and
potential appreciation) of Polybius’ work, see Cohen 1982 and Eckstein 1990.
271
Aside from the passages in Ant. 1-11 mentioned below, Josephus also alludes to the
prominent Greek historians in other parts of his work. Hecataeus is, for instance,
referred to as having written on the privileges given to the Jewish people by Alexander
(cf. Ag. Ap. 2.43, compare Ant. 12.7-9, cf. Barclay 2013, 192, n. 143). Herodotus is
mentioned as having been criticised ‘by everybody (πάντες)’ (Ag. Ap. 2.43); as not
having mentioned the city of Rome alongside Thucydides (1.66); as having been
criticised by Manetho (cf. 1.73), and as having written on the Egyptian circumcision
practices (cf. 2.142). Thucydides is also mentioned on two occasions in Apion (cf. Ag.
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
149
Herodotus’ and Thucydides’ treatment of the Homeric poems, he inserts
such references in order to provide his readers with the names and actions
of certain individuals and locations mentioned in the work. Thus, for
instance, he points out how, according to Alexander Polyhistor, Africa was
named after one of the sons of Abraham (cf. Ant. 1.240-1). Josephus here
provides an extensive quotation from Polyhistor’s work in which he in turn
alludes to the work of one ‘Cleodemus the prophet’ (1.240).272
Similarly, Josephus also provides lengthy quotations from a number of
Near-Eastern historians who have written on the various foreign kings
depicted in his work. Thus, Menander is quoted as having written in his
translation of the Tyrian records on the reign of king Hiram (cf. Ant. 8.1446, w/ direct quotation, repeated in Ag. Ap. 1.116-26), as did Dios (cf. Ant.
8.147-9, w/ quotation, repeated in Ag. Ap. 1.112-5). The former also wrote
on the drought in king Ithōbalos of Tyre’s reign, which according to
Josephus coincided with that of king Achab (cf. ibid. 8.324, w/ direct
Ap. 1.18 and 66), yet nowhere in the remainder of Josephus’ work. This, however, does
not mean that Thucydides did not have a strong stylistic influence on Josephus, as has
already been suggested by scholars such as Thackeary and Brüne (more on this above
1.2.2). Likewise, Josephus also includes several references to several prominent later
Hellenistic historians such as Hellanicus and Acusilaus (cf. Ant. 1.107-8 and Ag. Ap.
1.13-6, both passages cited above) as well as Timaeus (cf. Ag. Ap. 1.16-7 and 221),
Ephorus (cf. 1.16 and 67) and Theopompus (cf. 1.221). Aside from such references to
the Greek historians, Josephus mentions the Greek poets on several occasions in his
work. Thus, for instance, in Ag. Ap. 1.12, he points out that the Homeric poems are all
of a relatively young age. Similarly, in 2.13, he notes how Apion did not mention
Homer’s birthplace as he had done with Moses’. On another occasion, he stresses that
the term ‘law’ is entirely absent from the Homeric poems (cf. 2.155). Finally, he alludes
to the fact that Homer was heavily criticised by Plato (cf. 2.256). For more on these
passage, see Feldman 1998a, 171-2. Furthermore, according to some manuscripts,
Josephus makes a direct reference to Homer in Ant. 7.67 (thus also Feldman 1998a,
171). Marcus, however, suggests that this might be considered a gloss (cf. ThackerayMarcus 1958, 394-5, n. a, also Begg 2005a, 222, n. 243). By way of comparison,
Josephus also refers to the works of another Epic poet, Hesiod, on two separate
occasions in his works (cf. Ant. 1.107-8 and Ag. Ap. 1.16, see Feldman 1998a, 172).
272
There seems to be some scholarly confusion concerning the actual length of this
quote. The 1888 Naber edition only considered Ant. 1.240 a direct excerpt from
Polyhistor’s work, for which reason, the following paragraph (according to this reading)
must be regarded as an indirect quotation. However, the earlier 1887 Niese edition
regarded Ant. 1.240-1 as one continuous excerpt from Polyhistor, as did Thackeray in
the LCL edition and Jacoby in FGrHist 273 F 102 (cf. Thackeray 1967b, 118 and
Jacoby 1940, 120-1, respectively). It is therefore somewhat surprising to see how
Feldman in his recent commentary on Ant. 1-4 apparently follows the Naber tradition
(cf. Feldman 2004, 96). Nowhere does he note the possibility that Ant. 1.241 too might
be considered a direct quotation – and this in spite of his previous statement to the
contrary (cf. Feldman 1998a, 237, also 107 and 583) and the fact that Mason in his
editorial introduction to the volume explicitly states that the ‘translation renders,
essentially, Benedictus Niese’s edition major’ (Mason 2004, xi).
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quotation) as well as on the king (Selampsas) responsible for the Assyrian
invasion (cf. 9.283-7, w/ direct quotation). Similarly, Berossus, as
mentioned above, is referred to as having written on Sennecherib (10.20)
alongside Herodotus; on Baladas, the king of Babylon (cf. 10.34), as well
as on Nebuchadnezzar (cf. 10.219-28, w/ quotation, repeated in Ag. Ap.
1.131-41, consider also 1.142-53) alongside with other historians such as
Megasthenes, Diocles and Philostratos (cf. Ant. 10.227-8, repeated in Ag.
Ap. 1.144). Finally, Josephus also frequently cites Nicolaus as a witness to
his account of the deeds of the foreign kings. Thus, he points out that ‘in
the fourth book of his History (τῶν ἱστοριῶν)’ (7.101) Nicolaus wrote on
the war waged by Adados, the king of Damascus, against ‘David, the king
of Judaea’ (ibid.) as well as on his immediate successors (cf. 7.102-3).
Similarly, in the later books, he is referred to as having written on
Antiochus Sidetes (cf. 13.250, w/ quotation), on Ptolemy Lathyrus’
treatment of the Jews alongside that of Strabo (cf. 12.347), as well as on
Pompey and Gabinius and here again alongside Strabo (cf. 14.104).273
Finally, we may also note how in Ant. 1.118-9 Josephus verifies the
existence (and location) of the Tower of Babel by means of excerpts from
Hestiaeus and the Sibylline Oracles (cf. 3.97-104), just as he in a
subsequent passage alludes to the fact that other historians, such as
Berossus, Hecataeus and Nicolaus, all attest to the existence of Abraham
(cf. 1.158-60).
As was the case with many of the Greek historians mentioned above, so
Josephus too seems to have appreciated the literary authority of the various
authors to which he refers in Ant. 1-11. In contrast to his extensive censure
of the Greek historians in Apion, Josephus’ expressed attitude towards
these same authors is significantly more positive in the Antiquities. This,
however, does not mean that he was entirely dismissive of the inherent
usefulness of polemics. Yet, only very rarely is he here outrightly critical of
the efforts of his colleagues. One good example of this is his open
denigration of Herodotus in three passages of the eighth and tenth books. In
Ant. 8.253-5, he criticises his famous predecessor for having attributed the
actions of the Egyptian king Isokos to Sosostris (cf. Hist. 2.102-3).
Subsequently, he provides a corrective to Herodotus’ statement in Hist.
2.104 that the Phoenicians and Syrians in Palestine learned the custom of
circumcision from the Egyptians. For, as Josephus points out, ‘it is clear
that no others of the Syrians in Palestine practise circumcision beside
ourselves’ (Ant. 8.262, compare Ag. Ap. 1.168-71 which reads as an almost
273
Furthermore, he is also depicted as having written on Antipater (cf. Ant. 14.9); on the
comportment of the Jewish priests during Pompey’s capture of Jerusalem (cf. ibid.
14.68, here alongside Strabo and Livy) as well as on David’s tomb (cf. ibid. 16.183-7).
He is also included as part of an extensive list of external witnesses to the despicable
actions of Antiochus IV Epiphanes (cf. Ag. Ap. 2.84).
Chapter 4: The Historian and his Predecessors
151
verbatim quotation from Hist. 2.104 unlike the free paraphrase here in the
Antiquities)274. Likewise, at the beginning of the tenth book, Josephus
notices a small error in Herodotus’ account of the Assyrians’ invasion of
Egypt led by King Sennacherib, whom he at one point (sc. in Hist. 2.141)
mistakenly calls King of the Arabs and not of the Assyrians (cf. Ant. 10.18,
see however Marcus 1966, 167, n. c).
4.4. CONCLUDING REMARKS
The field of ancient historiography was highly competitive. Any aspiring
historian naturally wished his work to be favourably received by a
contemporary readership. To this effect, he had various rhetorical means at
his disposal when vying for the attention of his intended audience. As we
have already seen in the preceding chapters, he would often allude to his
own capabilities and to the overall relevance of his work and the general
reliability of his applied methodology. He thereby undoubtedly sought to
present his own account as being at least on a par with (if not, superior to)
those of his colleagues. Yet, in order to do so, he would of course first have
to display an intimate acquaintance with the works of the other historians.
As we have seen in this chapter, the ancient literary critics were typically
very vocal in their opinions of the perceived qualities (or lack thereof) of a
number of named ancient historians. They seem to have treated some
authors, including Herodotus and Thucydides, as figures of authority whose
style ought to be emulated by any aspiring historian. Similarly, the ancient
Greco-Roman historians typically went out of their way to show their
acquaintance with the works of their colleagues. This was typically done
through the use of explicit references and quotations. As an early example
of this, we saw how Herodotus and Thucydides refer to Homer at various
points in their respective histories. In general, they both seem to have held
their epic predecessor in high regard and considered him a source to be
cited in their attempts at substantiating their own accounts.
The ancient critics also seem eager to highlight the many faults and
shortcomings in the works of several prominent historians, including those
of Herodotus, Thucydides, Timaeus and the early Roman historians.
Certain Greek historians, including Timaeus and Polybius, are also very
vocal in condemning the works of their predecessors in order to emphasize
their own superiority; whereas others, including Diodorus, Dionysius and
Livy, were more lenient and far less prone to resort to fervent criticism of
other named historians. In this respect, Josephus’ expressed attitude in Ant.
1-11 towards his colleagues is more similar to that of the latter group of
authors. He generally seems to have regarded his predecessors as figures of
274
On the general accuracy of Josephus’ citation, see Barclay 2013, 99, n. 557.
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
authority whose works might be cited as viable external sources of
information.
Thus, this chapter has demonstrated that in his expressed attitude to the
works of his predecessors Josephus has much in common with several
prominent Greco-Roman historians. What remains to be seen in the final
chapter of this dissertation is the extent to which his literary presentation of
his source material throughout the first half of the Antiquities also conforms
to the stylistic tendencies apparent in the works of his Western colleagues.
CHAPTER 5
A STORY FOR THE AGES
JOSEPHUS’ AUTHORIAL PRESENCE
5.1. INTRODUCTORY
In the preceding chapters, we saw how Josephus’ manner of selfpresentation to a large extent corresponds to that of other ancient historians.
Yet, as we shall see in this chapter, his manner of arrangement and
narration in the first half of the Antiquities also bear a strong stylistic
resemblance to the works of some of his most illustrious Greco-Roman
predecessors. This chapter thus provides a final example of Josephus’
indebtedness to the literary conventions of ancient Greco-Roman
historiography.
The initial section focuses on the ways in which Josephus arranges his
narrative with particular emphasis on his use of outlines in comparison with
similar tendencies amongst his Greco-Roman predecessors (5.2.1-2). In
order to shed further light on the earliest part of Josephus’ narrative, this
section also provides an overview of the ancient historians’ general
attitudes towards myths and legends (5.2.3) and their manifest interests in
matters of causality, the power of fate and divine interventions (5.2.4). The
final section of this chapter focuses on Josephus’ frequent authorial
intrusions, including his use of signposting (5.3.1), as well as his
explanatory (5.3.2) and moralizing tendencies (5.3.3).
5.2. EVERYTHING IN ORDER:
WAYS OF ARRANGEMENT
5.2.1. Ancient literary critics on the importance of arrangement
Having completed the required amount of research, the historian ought to
proceed by arranging his discoveries in an orderly and structured fashion.
In the opinion of Lucian, he should first organize his findings into ‘a series
of notes (ὑπόμνημά τι), a body of material (σῶμα) yet with no beauty
(ἀκαλλὲς) or continuity (ἀδιάρθρωτον)’ before arranging them ‘into order
(τὴν τάξιν)’ and finally adorning and enhancing it ‘with the charms of
expression, figure, and rhythm’ (Hist. conscr. 48). As for the structure of
his account, the historian should aim at ensuring a gentle and easy
transition from the preface to the body of the work. Since the latter ‘is
simply a long narrative (διήγησις μακρά)’ (55), the author should adorn it
‘with the virtues proper to narrative’ (ibid.). He should likewise aim at a
smooth progression ‘free from humps and hollows’ (ibid.) and divide his
narrative into a number of topics, the interweaving of which are of the
utmost importance in achieving clarity of narration.
In the opinion of Cicero, it is important that the historian properly
structure his work by providing it with a ‘chronological arrangement
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(ordinem temporum)’ (De Or. 2.63). Yet, an unadorned annalistic type of
arrangement is not a desirable solution for any historian, as the ‘actual
chronological record of events exercises no very powerful fascination upon
us; it is like the recital of an almanac’ (Fam. 22.5). Instead of giving a
outline of events, the narrative should display a sense of dramatic diversity,
preferably ‘varieties of circumstances and vicissitudes of fortune’ (ibid.
22.4) in order to provide enjoyment to the readers. Thus understood, the
form of a given narrative has, at least according to Cicero, an immense
bearing upon its potential impact. As we shall see below (5.2.3), Dionysius
too has much to say on the matter of temporal arrangement.
5.2.2. Arrangement and chronology in ancient histories
According to the ancient literary critics quoted above (5.2.1), the aspiring
historian ought to organise his account in a suitable structural manner by
stringing together the individual (if not, separate) events into a coherent
narrative in order for it to be regarded as comprehensive, accurate and easy
to follow. Against such expectations, most ancient historians would strive
to arrange their works according to a predetermined chronological system,
be it according to seasons as in Thucydides or annalistically (i.e. according
to Olympiads and archon/consular years, or a combination of these) as in
Polybius, Diodorus, Dionysius and Livy (cf. Marincola 1999, 305-6).275
The historians’ choice of temporal arrangement is highly significant for our
understanding of their respective literary endeavours. For, as Yarrow points
out in her analysis of the organizational principles of the Roman historians,
The importance of identifying these organizational systems lies in the realization that
the historian controls not only his selection of subject matter, but also his narrative
structure, and both decisions can reflect the objectives of his composition and serve
to further direct the thought processes of the audience (Yarrow 2006, 130).
Thucydides seems well aware that his particular (and to some perhaps,
peculiar) choice of arrangement would require some authorial elucidation.
In connection with his account of the Peace of Nicias (signed in March 421
BCE), he argues that one must calculate (σκοπείτω) ‘the actual periods of
For detailed analyses of Thucydides’ manner of arrangement, see Dewald 2005;
Hornblower 1994b, 24-6 and Rood 2009a, 109-30; on Polybius’ manner, see Rood
2007d, 172-81; on Diodorus’ manner, see Clarke 1999, 260-1 and Yarrow 2006, 152-6;
on Dionysius’, see Schultze 1995; and, finally, on that of Livy, see Feeney 2009, 145-50
(alongside Tacitus); McDonald 2011, 223-32; Oakley 1997, 111-4, 122-5 and 128; Rich
2011; Stadter 2009, and Walsh 1989, 173-5. On Herodotus’ manner of arrangement, see
Bakker 2011; Immerwahr 1966, 46-147; de Jong 2002, and Rösler 2002. On chronology
in the first Roman historians, see Feeney 2009, 143-5. On calendars and methods of
dating in general, see Clarke 2011, 47-89; Feeney 2007 and 2010, and Momigliano
1977b.
275
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155
time (κατὰ τοὺς χρόνους)’ (Thuc. 5.20.2, trans. Hornblower 1996a, 492)
instead (μᾶλλον) of relying (πιστεύσας) on ‘lists of archons or other
officials whose names may be used in different cities to mark the dates of
past events (ἐς τὰ προγεγενημένα σημαινόντων)’ (ibid., trans. LCL). For,
‘such methods of calculation are inaccurate (οὐ γὰρ ἀκριβές ἐστιν)’ (ibid.),
since it leaves unclear precisely when a given event may have occurred; as
it may have ‘occurred in the beginning, or middle, or at some other point,
of a magistrate’s term of office’ (ibid.). Furthermore, so he claims, the war
(and Thucydides’ account of it) lends itself well to a calculation by seasons.
For, ‘by reckoning by summers and winters (κατὰ θέρη δὲ καὶ κειμῶνας
ἀριθμῶν), as has been done in this history (ὥσπερ γέγραπται) – inasmuch as
each of these divisions is to reckoned as half a year (ἐξ ἡμισείας) – it will be
found that there have been ten summers and as many winters in this first
war’ (5.20.3). As Hornblower points out, Thucydides’ ‘methodology here
sounds polemical’ (Hornblower 1996a, 492), the obvious target being
Hellanicus and possibly Herodotus as well (cf. ibid., 493). In turn,
Thucydides’ choice of arrangement was heavily criticised by later
historians – and, most prominently, by Dionysius in his Letter to Gnaeus
Pompeius. He argues that due to his manner of arrangement Thucydides ‘is
obscure (ἀσαφὴς) and hard to follow (δυσπαρακολούθητος)’ (Pomp. 3) since
many events occur simultaneously at different locations during the same
winter and summer. Therefore, so Dionysius continues, ‘(n)aturally (εἰκός)
we are bemused (πλανώμεθα), and feel annoyance (δυσκόλως) as we try to
follow the events he is describing because our minds are confused
(ταραττομένης τῆς διανοίας)’ (ibid.). By contrast, Herodotus’ manner of
arrangement is more suitable and easier to follow. For whereas
‘Thucydides has taken a single subject and divided the whole body into
many parts (πολλὰ (...) μέρη τὸ ἔν σῶμα), Herodotus has chosen a number
of subjects which are in no way alike and has made them into one
harmonious whole (σύμφωνον ἓν σῶμα)’ (ibid.).276 Dionysius voices a
similar criticism of Thucydides’ choice of temporal arrangement in his
critical essay on him (cf. Thuc. 9). Here, as in the letter, Dionysius argues
that ‘the seasonal division of time (ἡ διαίρεσις τῶν χρόνων (...) κατὰ τὰς
ὥρας) led not to greater clarity (οὐ (...) σαφέστερα) but to greater obscurity
(ἀλλὰ δυσπαρακολουθητοτέρα)’ (ibid.). Based on a brief overview of
Thucydides’ use of such divisions in various passages of the third book of
his work, the critic argues that ‘the continuity of the narrative (τὸ διηνεκὲς
τῆς ἀπαγγελίας) is destroyed (ἀπολώλεκε)’ (ibid.). We as readers are left to
‘wander (πλανώμεθα) here and there, and have difficulty (δυσκόλως) in
On the chronological aspects of Herodotus’ Histories, see Cobet 2002 and Rood
2007a.
276
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following (παρακολουθοῦμεν) the sequence of the events described, because
our mind is confused (ταραττομένης (...) τῆς διανοίας) by their separation
and cannot easily nor accurately (οὐ ῥᾳδίως οὐδ’ ἀκριβῶς) recall the halfcompleted references which it has heard’ (ibid.).277 By contrast, ‘history
should be presented as an uninterrupted (ἀπερίσπαστον) sequence of events,
particularly when it is concerned with a large number of them which are
difficult to comprehend’ (ibid.). Furthermore, so Dionysius adds, it is clear
that ‘Thucydides’ principle is wrong (οὐκ ὀρθός) and ill-suited to history
(οὐδ’ οἰκεῖος ἱστορίᾳ)’ (ibid.), since ‘no subsequent historian (οὐδεὶς (...) τῶν
μεταγενεστέρων συγγραφέων)’ (ibid.)278 have applied a similar type of
division.
Dionysius’ last statement was true. The majority of Thucydides’
successors chose to revert to an annalistic manner of arrangement. Some of
them, including Polybius, Livy and Dionysius himself, were very vocal in
their choice of narrative structure – so much so that they were willing to
provide their readers with detailed chronological outlines of the events
covered in their respective accounts.
Polybius comments upon the content of his work at several points in his
preface to the first book. Thus, in the passage immediately following his
detailed account (in Polyb. 1.2.1-8) of the greatness of his chosen subject
matter, he informs us that he has chosen the 140 th Olympiad (220-16 BCE)
as his date of departure (cf. 1.3.1, also ibid. 4.1.3). He then proceeds to give
a brief overview of the central events which took place during that period,
namely the Social War in Greece, the war for Coele-Syria in Asia as well
as the Hannibalic War in Italy and Libya (cf. 1.3.1, also 1.13.1-5). At the
outset of the subsequent books, Polybius typically provides his readers with
similar types of introduction, some of which even include extensive
summaries of the events that have been described in the preceding books
(e.g. 2.1.1-3; 3.1.1-5.9 and 4.1.1.1).279
Subsequent Greek historians also prefixed their respective accounts with
extensive outlines of the events to be described in their works. In the
preface to his first book, Diodorus, for instance, mentions how he has
wished to briefly outline (βραχέα προδιορίσαι) ‘the work as whole (περὶ
ὅλης τῆς πραγματείας)’ (Diod. 1.4.6). He then proceeds to give an overview
of the entire period covered by the work from the events prior to the Trojan
War and through to the beginning of the Gallic War, the first events of
277
Judging from the reoccurrence of the specific terms πλανώμεθα, δυσκόλως and
ταραττομένης (...) τῆς διανοίας, it is evident that this passage echoes Pomp. 3.
278
Yet, as noted by Usher in the LCL edition, Thucydides’ immediate successor,
Xenophon, did apply a seasonal arrangement for a large part of his Hellenica (cf. Usher
1974, 485, n. 8).
279
For more on Polybius’ use of outlines, see Rood 2004a, 152.
Chapter 5: A Story for the Ages
157
which ‘occurred in the first year of the One Hundred and Eightieth
Olympiad, when Herodes was archon in Athens’ (1.4.7). After a detailed
account of the chronology to be applied in what follows (cf. 1.5.1),
Diodorus points out how such a detailed outline is intended to inform (εἰς
ἔννοιαν ἀγαγεῖν) his readers ‘about the project as a whole (τῆς ὅλης
προθέσεως)’ (1.5.2), just as it might serve a means of deterring
(διασκευάζειν) compilers ‘from mutilating (λυμαίνεσθαι) works of which
they are not the authors’ (ibid.).
In the preface to the fifth book, Diodorus also acknowledges the need for
proper arrangement. Here he argues that it ‘should be the special care
(προνοητέον) of historians (τοῖς ἀναγραφαῖς), when they compose their
works, to give attention to everything which may be of utility (πάντων (...)
χρησίμων), and especially (μάλιστα) to the arrangement of the varied
material (τῆς κατὰ μέρος οἰκονομίας) they present’ (Diod. 5.1.1). Just as
oikonomia is essential for the management of a household, so too it offers
‘not a few advantages (οὐκ ὀλίγα (...) προτερήματα)’ to those who ‘come to
writing history (κατὰ τὰς ἱστορίας (...) τοῖς συγγραφεῦσιν)’ (ibid.).
Diodorus then proceeds by noting (in general terms) how some
historians, who have otherwise been praised for both their narrative style
(κατὰ τὴν λέξιν) and their keen understanding (κατὰ πολυπειρίαν) of the
events depicted in their works, ‘have nevertheless fallen short (διήμαρτον)
in respect of the way in which they have handled the matter of arrangement
(ἐν τῷ κατὰ τὴν οἰκονομίαν χειρισμῷ)’ (5.1.2). As an example of this,
Diodorus proceeds to contrast Timaeus’ censorious nature with the success
which Ephorus ‘has achieved (ἐπιτέτευχε) (…), not alone in the style of his
composition (κατὰ τὴν λέξιν), but also as regard the arrangement of his
work (κατὰ τὴν οἰκονομίαν)’ (5.1.4), since the events of each book ‘fall
under a single topic (κατὰ γένος)’ (ibid.).280 For this reason, ‘we also have
given our preference (προκρίναντες) to this method of handling our material
(τοῦτο τὸ γένος τοῦ χειρισμοῦ), and, in so far as it is possible (κατὰ τὸ
δυνατὸν), are adhering to this general principle (ταύτης τῆς προαιρέσεως)’
(ibid.). In a manner similar to Polybius, Diodorus also often comments
directly on his choice of arrangement in the subsequent extant books. For
many of them are introduced by way of a brief summary of the
(immediately) preceding books as well as a brief outline of the content of
the present one.281
On Diodorus’ criticism of Timaeus in Diod. 5.1.3, see above (4.3.2). For more on
Ephorus’ ways of arrangement, see Drews 1963.
281
Cf. Diod. 2.1.1-3; 3.1.1-3; 4.1.5; 5.2.1; 11.1.1; 12.2.2-3; 13.1.2-3; 14.1.3 and .2.3-4;
15.1.6; 16.1.3 and 6; 17.1.1-2; 18.1.6; 19.1.9-10 and 20.1.3 and .2.3.
280
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In view of the attention paid to such matters in his critical essay on
Thucydides, it is no wonder that Dionysius too frequently comments upon
his own manner of arrangement. For instance, as we saw above (2.3.2), he
at one point in the preface to the first book notes how he has intended to
combat the prevailing ignorance amongst the Greeks (and the
accompanying slander) of the earliest history of the Roman people (cf. Ant.
rom. 1.4.2-3). To this effect, he will demonstrate in the first book ‘who the
founders (περὶ (...) τῶν οἰκισάντων) of the city were, at what periods (κατὰ
τίνας (...) καιροὺς) the various groups came together, and through what
turns of fortune (τίσι τύχαις) they left their native countries’ (1.5.1).
Similarly, in the next books, Dionysius will ‘tell of the deeds (περὶ (...) τῶν
πράξεων) they performed immediately after their founding of the city’
(1.5.2) as well as their ways of living (περὶ τῶν ἐπιτηδευμάτων) ‘by virtue
of which their descendants (οἰ μετ’ αὐτούς) advanced to so great dominion
(εἰς τοσαύτην ἡγεμονίαν)’ (ibid.).
In a subsequent part of the same preface, Dionysius provides his readers
with an extensive overview (or perhaps even, a table of contents) of the
work as a whole. By his own design, he begins his history ‘with the most
ancient legends (ἀπὸ τῶν παλαιοτάτων μύθων)’ (1.8.1) and brings his
‘narrative down to the beginning of the Punic War, which fell in the third
year of the one hundred and twenty-eighth Olympiad’ (1.8.2). Throughout
the work, he will touch upon all foreign wars and domestic disturbances
and always with an eye to their individual causes ‘and by what methods (δι’
οἵων τρόπων) and by what arguments (λόγων) they were brought to an end’
(ibid.). Furthermore, the work will contain a description of how Rome’s
government evolved from monarchy to republicanism as well as its various
customs and laws. ‘In short’, so Dionysius concludes, ‘I show
(ἀποδείκνυμι) the whole life of the ancient Romans (ὅλον (...) τὸν ἀρχαῖον
βίον τῆς πόλεως)’ (ibid.).
Unlike his predecessors, Polybius and Diodorus, Dionysius does not give
any formulaic introductions to the individual books. This is most likely due
to his annalistic manner narration. The ninth book, for instance, is simply
introduced by way of the phrase ‘(t)he following year,…’ (9.1.1). In
general, the beginning of each book contains information on the consuls of
a particular year (typically the first in an Olympiad), their res gestae as
well as the socio-political climate of that particular period.282 The only
major exception is in the eleventh book, in which Dionysius provides an
account of the overthrow of the decemviri in the first year of the eightythird Olympiad (i.e. 447 BCE). He begins this particular book by stating
that he will ‘endeavour to relate (διελθεῖν) from the beginning in what
282
Cf. Ant. rom. 5.1.2; 6.1.1; 7.1.1; 8.1.1; 9.1.1, and 10.1.1-2.
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manner (ὅν (...) τρόπον) they (sc. the Romans) attempted to do away with
this domination which was already deeply rooted, who the leaders (τίνων
ἀνδρῶν ἡγησαμένων) were in the cause of liberty, and what their motives
and pretexts (ποίας αἰτίας καὶ προφάσεις) were’ (11.1.1).
Livy too organized his history according to an annalistic principle. Since
late antiquity, he was believed to have structured it around separate units of
ten (decades). Yet, as Luce claims, ‘(t)he notion that the decade is Livy’s
chief unit of composition has at times wrongly obscured the picture’ (Luce
1977, 5). For nowhere throughout the work does he himself explicitly
indicate that such a structure was designed by him. Rather, he, ‘refers only
to libri (6.1.1: quinque libris, partes (21.1.1., 31.1.2), and volumina’ (ibid.,
6, italics his); similarly, this notion ‘takes no account of major divisions in
the middle of the decade: Books 6, 16, 36, and 45’ (ibid., italics his).
Instead, so Luce continues, ‘Livy’s basic structural unit was the pentad (sc.
units of five)’ (ibid., also Walsh 1989, 5-8). As has been demonstrated by
several scholars, Livy put much care into his organization of these smaller
narrative units (cf. Walsh 1989, 173-4). The annalistic framework did
prove an obstacle on occasion; but even in such cases, Livy found ample
room for displaying his literary capabilities. As Stadter argues, ‘(f)or him
the book was an extremely flexible unit, and we may expect that he could
also manage larger units as well’ (Stadter 2009, 93, also Kraus-Woodman
1997, 58-9; Oakley 1997, 113-4 (for books 6-10), and Walsh 1989, 174).
Unlike Polybius, Diodorus and Dionysius before him, Livy only rarely
comments directly on his particular choice of structure and the content of
the individual books. For instance, he does not furnish his general preface
with even a brief outline of the content of the immediately following
book(s). For, as Stadter points out, this preface ‘is really an introduction to
the whole work, and does not contain a statement of the subdivisions into
which the work will be divided’ (Stadter 2009, 93-4).
The introductory chapters of the remaining extant books are generally
characterized by a similar lack of any outlines. There are, however, two
notable exceptions to this rule: At the outset of the sixth book, he provides
his readers with a brief summary of the content of the preceding five books.
He has dealt ‘with matters which are obscure (obscuras)’ (AUC 6.1.1) both
‘by reason of their great antiquity (vetusate nimia) – like far-off objects
(quae magno ex intervallo loci) which can hardly be descried (vix
cernuntur)’283 and due to the general scarcity of extant written sources.284
However, ‘(f)rom this point onwards (deinceps)’ (ibid. 6.1.3), Livy
promises to deliver ‘a clearer and more definite account (clariora (…)
Livy’s choice of phrasing here is highly reminiscent of Thuc. 1.1.2 (cf. WeissenbornMüller 1968, 1; Kraus 1994, 84-5 and Oakley 1997, 384).
284
For more on the latter reason, see above (3.5.3).
283
160
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certioraque) (…)’ (ibid.) of Rome’s civil and military history (gesta domi
militaeque). It is thus clear that this preface was intended to serve as the
beginning of new structural unit, the end of which is however ‘made
uncertain by the loss of Books 11-20’ (Stadter 2009, 94).285
A similar summarizing tendency as in the preface to the sixth book is
also evident in Livy’s introduction to the thirty-first book, which describes
the end of one war (the Second Punic War) and the beginning of another
(the Second Macedonian War). In his preface to this book, Livy expresses a
relief in finally having finished his account of the Hannibalic War, and
points out how the sixty-three years between the First and the Second Punic
Wars have ‘filled up as many books (aeque multa volumina)’ (AUC 31.1.3)
as was needed for his account of the preceding four hundred and eightyseven years. Livy then continues by noting (in highly poetically laden
terms) that he now stands at the precipice of an equally daunting
endeavour. For, already (iam) he foresees in his ‘mind’s eye (animo)’ how
he is being dragged, ‘like men who, attracted by the shallow water near the
shore, wade out into the sea (…), into depths more vast (in vastiorem (…)
altitudinem) and, as it were, into the abyss (profundum)’ (31.1.5) and how
the task (opus) lying before him ‘almost waxes greater (crescere) which, as
I finished each of the earlier portions, seemed to be growing smaller’
(ibid.).
Unlike many of his Greco-Roman predecessors, Josephus has not
structured his histories according to an annalistic framework. This is of
course not to say that he has no interest in matters of chronology. At
various points in his account of the war, he makes use of several different
types of temporal indications, including ‘at the time (καθ’ ὅν καιρὸν)’ (J.W.
1.31), ‘at this time (κατὰ τοῦτον τὸν καιρὸν)’ (1.218) and ‘about this time
(κατ’ αὐτὸ)’ (1.195) – to name just a few examples from the first book.286
The sheer amount of such phrases has led Varneda to conclude that
Josephus ‘belongs to that group of historians who forget neither the hour,
nor the day, nor the month, nor the year, nor the Olympiad, nor the reign,
nor the consulship in terms of which events are measured in time or with
which they have a simple temporal relationship’ (Varneda 1986, 118). This
is particularly apparent in the War and the latter half of the Antiquities. Yet,
it is to a limited extent also evident in the first half of the latter work. For
he often dates key events described in this part of the work by the
combined use of several different calendar systems – in particular, those of
the Hebrews and the Macedonians (e.g. Ant. 1.80-1 and 3.201) and on
285
On the missing books and the so-called Periochae, see Henderson 1998, 313; Mellor
1999, 53-6; Rich 2011, 130, n. 33 (with further references); Stadter 2009 passim and
Walsh 1989, 7-8.
286
For an extensive list, see Varneda 1986, 118-9.
Chapter 5: A Story for the Ages
161
occasion in combination with that of the Egyptians (e.g. Ant. 2.311, cf. van
Henten and Huitink 2007, 215). For instance, he provides his readers with
the dates of the Flood (cf. ibid. 1.80-2); the Passover (2.311); the Exodus
(2.318, compare Ag. Ap. 2.16); the consecration of the Tabernacle (3.201),
the building of the Temple (8.61-2); the Assyrian captivity (9.280), the
burning of the Temple (10.147-8), the Babylonian captivity (10.185) as
well as the rebuilding of the Temple (11.106). Josephus may have derived
some of his calculations from his Scriptural sources. Thus, he for instance
points out how ‘(i)t was, so he (sc. Moses) tells us, on the seven and
twentieth day of the said month that the deluge began’ (ibid. 1.81, compare
Gen 7:11LXX). On other occasions, however, his calculations deviate greatly
from those in his biblical Vorlage. One such example is in his dating of the
construction of the Jerusalem wall, which by his reckoning took two years
and four months and was completed ‘in the twenty-eighth year of the reign
of Xerxes, in the ninth month’ (Ant. 11.179). According to the Scriptural
tradition, however, it was completed in a mere 52 days ‘on the twenty-fifth
day of the month Elul (sc. the sixth month)’ (Neh 6:15). 287 Finally, several
of his chronological remarks are inserted where no such calculations appear
in the Scriptures, such as the year of the death of Joshua (5.115), the
duration of the reign of Saul (6.378) as well as the year of the fulfilment of
the prophecy against Nineveh (9.242).288
On several occasions throughout the first half of the Antiquities (such as
in Ant. 1.17), Josephus portrays himself as honour bound not to deviate
even the slightest from his biblical Vorlage. As both Feldman and Bilde
have correctly suggested, such programmatic statements must not
necessarily be taken at face value (cf. Feldman 1998a, 1998b and 2000,
passim and Bilde 1988, 92-7). Yet, Josephus does keep a close eye on the
chain of events as set forth in his Scriptural sources, so much so that
several of the individual books of the work coincide (more or less) with the
initial chapters in the biblical books (e.g. Book 1 ~ Gen 1; Book 5 ~ Jos
1:10; Book 7 ~ 2 Sam 1 and Book 11 ~ 1 Esdras 1/1 Ezra 1).
Like Dionysius and Livy before him, so Josephus too does not typically
provide his readers with formal introductions and outlines in the
This led Marcus to posit that Josephus may have ’had before him a text of
Nehemiah, whether Hebrew or Greek, rather different from ours’ (Marcus 1966, 401, n.
c, see, however, Feldman 1998a, 35).
288
Josephus also shows a keen interest in genealogies and lines of succession (e.g. Ant.
1.83-8 (on the genealogy of the patriarchs) and 5.361-2 (on the succession of the highpriests from Eli and through to Eleazar), compare Hist. 2.142-3, cited above). On
genealogies in Roman context, see Hekster 2006 and Wiseman 1987b. For more on
chronology in the Antiquities, see Gera 2011.
287
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
introductory part of the individual books.289 The second book opens with an
account of Esau’s departure from his brother (~ Gen 36) followed by a
flash-back to his selling of his birth right (~ Gen 25:29-34), which serves as
an etymological explanation for the name of the land of Edom. 290 Similarly,
the third and fourth books both begin with accounts of the distress of the
Hebrews in the desert (~ Ex 15:22 and ~ Num 14:40, respectively). By way
of comparison, the beginning of the sixth and ninth books both include
variations on the phrase ‘as we have said before’ in the form of either ὡς
προειρήκαμεν μικρὸν ἔμπροσθεν (Ant. 6.1) or ὡς προειρήκαμεν (ibid. 9.1).
Such phrases also occur elsewhere in this part of the work.291 The only true
exception is at the beginning of the eighth book (~ 1 Kings 2:12) where
Josephus provides a brief summary of what he has written (δεδηλώκαμεν)
‘in the preceding book (ἐν τῇ πρὸ ταύτης βίβλῳ)’ (Ant. 8.1) on the reign of
King David. Josephus’ interest in matters of presentation and arrangement
is likewise reflected in the manner in which he ends his account in any
given book.292 Thus, for instance, the first book closes with the deaths of
Isaac and Rebecca (~ Gen 35:29); the fourth with that of Moses (~ Deut
34); the sixth with that of Saul (~ 1 Sam 31); the seventh with that of David
(~ 1 Kings 2:10-11) and the eighth with that of Ahab (~ 1 Kings 22:3640).293 In a few instances, Josephus concludes his account in the individual
books by way of a digression, such as at the end of the second book (cf.
Ant. 2.347-8, on Alexander’s passage through the Pamphylian Sea – in
parallel with the passage across the Red Sea); the third book (3.317-22, on
Moses’ authority); the fifth book (5.361-2, on the succession of highpriests); the seventh book (7.392-4, on David’s tomb); the ninth book
(9.288-91, on the Samaritans), and finally the tenth book (10.276-81, on the
fulfilment of Daniel’s prophecies).
Several of Josephus’ Greek predecessors also conclude individual books
of their respective works in a similar fashion. Thus, for instance, at the end
of the his first book, Polybius merely states that ‘(s)uch (οὕτως) then was
the nature of these events (ταῦτα μὲν (…) ἐπράχθη)’ (Polyb. 1.88.12). By
289
By way of comparison, the preface to The Jewish War contains a highly extensive
outline of the content of the individual books (cf. J.W. 1.18-26).
290
For more on this passage, see van Henten-Hutink 2007, 223 and Franxman 1979,
176-7.
291
Cf. Ant. 2.199; 3.62; 5.343; 7.230. 244. 311. 334. 365; 8.130. 142. 190. 246; 9.95.
112, and 10.36. 81 and 230.
292
Of all the first eleven books, only the endings to the fourth, sixth and eighth books
correspond exactly to those of Josephus’ biblical Vorlage (cf. Deut 34; 1 Sam 31, and 1
Kings 22, respectively).
293
Three of these death accounts are also accompanied by eulogies given by the author
himself (i.e. on Isaac, Moses and David in Ant. 1.346, 2.327-31 and 7.390-1,
respectively).
Chapter 5: A Story for the Ages
163
way of comparison, his way of concluding the second book is far more
comprehensive inasmuch as it includes both a summary of the content of
his ‘Introduction (τὴν ἐπίστασιν) or preliminary part (προκατασκευὴν) of
my History (τῆς ὅλης ἱστορίας)’ (2.71.7, compare 3.118.10 and 39.8,
similarly Ant. rom. 1.89-90) as well as a brief outline of the topic of the
subsequent books, i.e. the Social War in Greece, the Second Punic War in
Italy and the war for Coele-Syria in Asia (cf. 2.71.9-10, compare 3.118.112 and 4.87.9-13).294
5.2.3. Once more, from the top: Beginnings and myths295
Every story must have a beginning and a suitable end. This is as true for
ancient histories as it is for all other kinds of literature. Unlike Homer and
the other epic poets, whose narratives would often begin in medias res, the
historians typically sought to sketch out the preceding historical causes for
the main events treated in the body of their respective works.
It is evident that Herodotus struggled immensely to find a proper
starting-point for his narrative. This is understandable, since he, as Lateiner
points out, ‘had no predecessor for a full-scale history’ (Lateiner 1989, 37),
a fact that made his search for a proper starting-point all the more difficult.
For, ‘(p)ainfully aware of the connectedness of events, he yet had to sever
the web in order to make a beginning for his history’ (ibid.). As already
noted above (3.3.1, albeit in a different context) this historian chose to
begin his account by naming him, ‘whom I myself (αὐτὸς) know (οἶδα) to
have done unprovoked (ἀδίκων) wrong to the Greeks, and so go forward
(προβήσομαι) with my history (ἐς τὸ πρόσω τοῦ λόγου), and speak of
(ἐπεξίων) small and great cities alike’ (Hist. 1.5). In doing so, he
undoubtedly sought to outline the true origin of the conflict between the
Persians and the Greeks, thereby doing away with the conventional (and
highly mythologically laden) explanations provided by the Persians and the
Phoenicians (cf. Luce 1997, 41).296 Yet, the immediately following part of
Herodotus’ narrative is comprised not of a description of the reign of King
Croesus but rather of a lengthy description of the reigns of the Lydian kings
from Candaules through to Croesus’ father, Alyattes (cf. Hist. 1.6-25).
294
For a similar type of conclusion in Diodorus, see Diod. 1.98.10; 15.95.4; 16.95.5;
17.118.4; 18.75.3, and 19.110.5. For more on Polybius’ and Diodorus’ use of endings
(and the similarities between them), see Rood 2004a, 152.
295
I have previously commented on the relationship between myth and history in
ancient historiography in a paper at the SRB conference Where are you, Adam? A New
Understanding of Adam in Jewish-Christian-Muslim Context in Turku/Åbo, Finland in
August 2014. That particular paper will be published (in a modified form) in an
upcoming volume in the SRB series (expected 2015).
296
On Herodotus’ general attitude towards myths and legends, see below in this
subsection.
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
Similarly, following his account of Croesus’ defeat by Cyrus the Great in
1.85-95, Herodotus professes to investigate ‘who this Cyrus was who
brought down the power of Croesus, and how the Persians came to be
rulers of Asia’ (1.95). However, here again, the subsequent part of the
account takes the form of a flashback depicting the rise of the Median
Empire under Deioces up until the beginning of the reign of Cyrus’
grandfather, Astyages (cf. 1.96-107).
Similarly, Thucydides prefaces his account of the Peloponnesian War
with an entire book devoted to the immediate and more remote events
leading up to it – in order that his readers might come to appreciate its
magnificence and to know the true reason for its outbreak (cf. Thuc. 1.23.16). Dionysius was, however, highly critical of Thucydides’ choice of
starting-point, inasmuch as he began his narrative at a late point in time
‘where Greek affairs started to decline’ (ibid.). Likewise, he fails to round
off his account with a proper ending. For, despite having been an
eyewitness to the end of the war in 403 BCE (cf. Thuc. 5.26.5), and having
‘promised to describe everything that occurred’ (Pomp. 3), he ends his
narrative with the Battle of Cynossema (411 BCE). Instead, it ‘would have
been better (κρεῖττον)’, had he ended ‘his history with a climax, and one
that was most remarkable (τὴν θαυμασιωτάτην) and especially gratifying
(μάλιστα (...) κεχαρισμένην) to his audience, the return of the exiles from
Phyle (sc. at the behest of Pausanias following the Battle of Piraeus in 403
BCE)’, which, so Dionysius points out, ‘marked the beginning of the city’s
recovery of freedom (ibid.).297 Here again, the critic is more kindly
disposed towards Herodotus’ choice of narrative frame. For, as he notes,
this historian began at the earliest possible point in time with an account of
the reasons ‘why the barbarians injured the Greeks in the first place’ (ibid.)
and he concluded at the point where ‘the punishment and the retribution
which befell them’ (ibid.) had been sufficiently described.
Herodotus’ and Thucydides’ interest in the preceding causes later came
to be shared by Polybius. For instance, in the preface to the first book, he
notes that ‘neither the former power (ἡ προγεγενημένη δύναμις) nor the
earlier history (αἱ πράξεις αὐτῶν) of Rome and Carthage is familiar
(πρόχειρός ἐστι) to most of us Greeks’ (Polyb. 1.3.8). For this reason, he has
thought it necessary (ἀναγκαῖον) to preface his history proper of the events
of the 140th Olympiad and onwards (cf. 220BCE) with two books detailing
the Romans’ rise to power and supremacy, ‘in order that no one after
becoming engrossed in the narrative proper may find himself at a loss
297
This depiction stands in sharp contrast with Dionysius later commendation of
Xenophon’s choice of arrangement. He has ‘begun at the most appropriate place (ταῖς
πρεπωδεστάταις), and he has concluded each episode at the most suitable point (τὰς
ἐπιτηδειοτάτας)’ (Pomp. 4).
Chapter 5: A Story for the Ages
165
(διαπορῇ)’ (1.3.9). These books thus serve an intrinsically pedagogical
function. For, as Polybius concludes,
from these Books and the preliminary sketch in them (τῆς ἐν ταύταις
προκατασκευῆς), it may be clear (δῆλον) to readers that they (sc. the Romans) had
quite adequate grounds for conceiving the ambition (πρὸς (...) τὴν ἐπίνοιαν) of a
world-empire (τῆς τῶν ὅλων ἀρχῆς) and adequate means for achieving their
purpose (πρὸς τὴν συντέλειαν) (1.3.10).
The choice of starting-point for any given historical account cannot be
made arbitrarily. Indeed, the question of when and where to begin often
proved difficult for the ancient historians. Without a proper beginning, the
structure of the narratives (and its internal logic) ran the risk of
deteriorating in an infinite regress with events being described as rooted in
other events ad nauseam (cf. Leander 2008, 26). Polybius, for instance,
seems to have been keenly aware of this problem. For, as he notes in
connection with his choice of starting-point for the first book, ‘if I were to
seek the cause of the cause (αἰτίας αἰτίαν ἐπιζητούσης) and so on, my whole
work would have no clear (ἀνυπόστατος) starting-point and principle (ἀρχὴ
καὶ θεωρία)’ (Polyb. 1.5.3). Therefore, as he continues, (t)he starting-point
(ἀρχὴν) must be an era generally agreed upon (ὁμολογουμένην) and
recognized (γνωριζομένην), and one self-apparent (θεωρεῖσθαι) from the
events, even if this involves my going back a little in point of date and
giving a summary of intervening occurrences’ (1.5.4).
By his own account, Polybius has chosen to begin his narrative in the
first book with an account of the first overseas Roman expedition to Sicily
in the 129th Olympiad (i.e. 264-1 BCE), which marked the beginning of the
First Punic War and which ‘follows immediately on the close of Timaeus’
History (ἀφ’ ὧν Τίμαιος ἀπέλιπε)’ (1.5.1) and on the events related by
Aratus in his work (cf. 1.3.2).298 However, he also felt it necessary (by his
own admission) to preface this account with a concise overview (in 1.6-12)
of the preceding Roman conquest of Italy leading up to the Sicilian
expedition (cf. 1.5.3). Polybius’ particular choice of starting-point therefore
‘required its own elucidation’ (Lateiner 1989, 73). During the course of a
small number of passages, Polybius has retrospectively moved his narrative
first fifty years and then a century back in time to 387/6 BCE – from the
298
Judging by his own statements in Polyb. 1.3, the first two introductory books might
well have been intended as one long analepsis to the beginning of his actual narrative in
the third book (Rood 2007d, 173). Yet, as Rood points out, the historian’s choice of
phrasing in Polyb. 1.12.5-6 is rather puzzling (cf. Rood 2007d, 173). For here the
historian notes how he has taken the crossing of the Romans from Italy ‘to be the most
natural (οἰκειοτάτην) starting-point for this whole work (τῆς ὅλης προθέσεως)’ (Polyb.
1.12.6).
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
140th Olympiad through the 129th and finally down to the 89th. Polybius’
dilemma in choosing a proper starting-point for his narrative is thus
apparent, as is the gravity with which he depicts it in Polyb. 1.5.3-4. For, as
Lateiner notes, ‘even when the procedures of historiography have been
clarified by generations of historians, every rupture of the seamless fabric
of events presents a problem’ (Lateiner 1989, 37).
By way of comparison, Josephus’ choice of starting-point apparently did
not prove difficult for him in either of his histories. In the preface to The
Jewish War, he for instance points out how previous historians have
already written plenty (and sufficiently) on the ancient history of the Jews
(cf. J.W. 1.17, see above 2.3.2 and 3.5.1). Josephus has therefore decided to
focus on more recent events, which is why he begins his account ‘at the
point where the historians (συγγραφεῖς) of these (sc. previous) events and
our prophets conclude’ (J.W. 1.18, compare Ag. Ap. 1.37).299 In this case,
his choice of starting-point is very similar to that of Polybius (cf. Polyb.
1.3.2; 1.5.1, and 4.2.1).
Given his promise to not add or omit anything from his rendition of his
Scriptural sources, it is no wonder that Josephus chose to begin his account
in the Antiquities by ‘mentioning (μνησθεὶς) what Moses has said (εἶπε)
concerning the creation of the world (περὶ τῆς τοῦ κόσμου κατασκευῆς)’
(Ant. 1.26). This decision, however, posed its own set of problems. The
majority of the ancient historians seem to have focused primarily on nearcontemporary events. As Marincola points out, they ‘treated their own
times more fully than earlier times and the recent past more fully than the
distant past, though a minority seem to have done the opposite’ (Marincola
1999, 305).300 Yet, by his decision to focus exclusively on past events in
On Josephus’ general attitude towards the prophets and prophecy, see Feldman
1998a, 56-61 and 1990. As noted above (3.5.1), Thackeray has suggested that Josephus
might have had in mind the works of Demetrius, Philo the Elder and Eupolemus, whom
he singles out elsewhere as having been ‘exceptional in their approximation to the truth’
(Ag. Ap. 1.218) (cf. Thackeray 1989, 10, n. b, see however Feldman 1998a, 20-2).
300
Such descriptions of past events often took the form of flashbacks (cf. GrethleinKrebs 2012b, 2-3 and Jong 2007b, 3-8, compare Genette 1983, 40 and 48-67).
Whenever the historians made use of such analepses, they typically did so in order to
prove a point or to provide their readers with additional details. Or, as Grethlein and
Krebs note, ‘(t)he plupast can be exemplary, but it can also be invoked to race traditions
or merely outline developments prior the main action the narrative’ (Grethlein-Krebs
2012b, 3). As Genette points out, such use of retrospection is (from a narrative
standpoint) in itself highly anachronistic, since it distorts the temporal field of a given
narrative (cf. Genette 1983, 48). More on the anachronistic aspects of Josephus’ account
below in this subsection. Genette classifies such analepses as either external, internal or
mixed in so far as they lie either outside or within of a given temporal field (cf. ibid.,
49, also Jong 5). Since the external analepses are situated entirely outside of the
temporal scope of a given narrative, they have little to no actual bearing on its internal
299
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167
the entirety of the Antiquities, Josephus has placed himself squarely among
the latter category of authors – and again, this is all the more notable in
light of his previous statement to the effect that he considered such a focus
‘not only out of place (νῦν (…) ἄκαιρον), but superfluous (ἄλλως περιττόν)’
(J.W. 1.17, see above 2.3.2 and 3.5.1) for a history. Furthermore,
throughout Ant. 1-11, Josephus seems to acknowledge that there was
indeed a great span between the events depicted in this part of the work and
those of his own time. He evidently attempted to remedy this by
mentioning how several ancient objects still existed in his own lifetime (cf.
Ant. 1.71, on the pillar of brick; 1.92, on the relics of the ark, and 5.125, on
the bones of the giants of Hebron).301 At various opportune points
throughout the narrative, he even outright claims to have seen some of
these remains with his own eyes (cf. 1.203-4 (on the pillar of salt at
Sodom) and 10.264-5 (on Daniel’s fortress at Ecbatana)).302 This also holds
true for many of the customs described throughout the work.303 Similarly,
he also frequently comments on the etymology of a given location and
notes how the name of a given city, country or people might (or might not)
have changed over time.304
Josephus chose to begin his account at the earliest possible moment in
time (creation) – and in what others might have characterized as the
mythical (or, legendary) past. Many of his predecessors would undoubtedly
have considered this an entirely inappropriate starting-point. As Dionysius
points out in his essay on Thucydides, several tribal and local histories
contain stories of monsters and weird creatures as well as well as ‘other
structure. For as Genette notes, ‘their only function is to fill out the first narrative by
enlightening the reader on one or another “antecedent.”’ (ibid., 50). By comparison,
internal analepses pose a bigger problem to the cohesion of a given account precisely
because they share in the temporal field of the first narrative (cf. ibid., 51-61). On the
use of analepses in the ancient historians, see the various articles by Rood in de JongNünlist 2007a; e.g. Rood 2007a, 122-30 (on Herodotus, consider de Jong 2014); 2007b,
139-46 (on Thucydides – consider also 2009a, 109-30 and Grethlein 2012c), and 2007d,
177-9 (on Polybius). On Diodorus’ and Dionysius’ attitudes towards past events in
general, see Clarke 1999, 255-61 and Schultze 2012, respectively.
301
For a similar tendency in Herodotus, see de Jong 2004b, 101-2 and 2014, 257. For
the same in Xenophon, see Gray 2004, 134.
302
For more on Josephus’ claims to autopsy, see above (3.3.2).
303
Cf. Ant. 1.334 (on the prohibition against eating sinew); 2.313 (on the Passover
sacrifice, also 3.248); 2.317 (on the feast of unleavened bread); 3.129 and 247 (on the
Tabernacle); 6.367 (on the law of equal shares post-combat); 9.290 (on the rites as
practised by the Samaritans), and 11.292 (on the festival of Purim, also 11.295).
304
Cf. Ant. 1.212 (on the well of the oath); 1.125-6 (on the descendants of Japheth); 2.6;
(on Idumaea); 3.299 (on the place for the gift of quails); 4.82 (on Petra); 4.161 (on the
city of Rekem); 5.300 (on the name of the spot associated with Samson’s jawbone, also
5.303); 6.374 (on the city of Bethsan); 8.154 (on the city of Thadamora); 8.163 (on
Ophir/Sopheir), and 9.288 (on the Samaritans).
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stories which seem incredible (ἀπίστους) and largely ridiculous (πολὺ τὸ
ἀνόητον) to us these days (τῷ καθ’ ἡμᾶς βίῳ)’ (Thuc. 6). The historians’ use
of this is entirely understandable, since their native records did contain
legendary material (ἀκουσμάτων), which had been handed down through
generations, and which the aspiring historians were ‘expected (…) to write
down in the form (εἰς τὸ κοινὸν) in which they had received them from
antiquity (παρὰ τῶν ἀρχαίων)’ (7).305 In short, such authors simply had no
other evidence at their disposal than legends and other unbelievable
stories.306 Yet, as Dionysius continues, this all changed with the advent of a
new breed of historians represented by Thucydides, for whom it was
entirely ‘inappropriate (οὐχ ἥρμοττεν) (…) to adulterate (ἐγκαταμίσγειν) his
narrative with entertaining fantasies (τὰς θεατρικὰς γοητείας) or to arrange
(ἁρμόττεσθαι) it in a way which would confuse (πρὸς τὴν ἀπάτην) his
readers, as his predecessors’ compositions would naturally do’ (ibid.,
followed by a quotation from Thuc. 1.22-4).307
Thucydides himself claims that ‘it was impossible (ἀδύνατον) to get clear
information (σαφῶς (...) εὑρεῖν)’ (Thuc. 1.1.2) on the events immediately
preceding those which he purported to describe in his work as well as
‘those of a still earlier date’ (τὰ ἔτι παλαίτερα) by reason of the lapse of
time (δία χρόνου πλῆθος)’. The historian returns to this latter notion in his
criticism of the poets and chroniclers (λογογράφοι) in Thuc. 1.21. For, as he
argues, the latter group of authors have composed their accounts ‘with a
view rather of pleasing the ear (ἐπὶ τὸ προσαγωγότερον τῇ ἀκροάσει) than of
telling the truth (ἢ ἀληθέστερον), since their stories cannot be tested and
most of them have from lapse of time (ὑπὸ χρόνου) won their way into the
region of the fabulous (ἐπὶ τὸ μυθῶδες) so as to be incredible (ἀπίστως)’
(1.21.1). Thucydides would thus seem to distinguish between those events
that are readily discernible (and thereby open to further scrutiny) and those
of more remote periods that are altogether veiled in obscurity. 308
A similar distinction between the distant past and more recent events
with a similar emphasis on the issue of knowledge is also evident in
Herodotus’ so-called “second preface” at the beginning of the seventh
305
On the use of myths amongst the local historians, see Clarke 2011, 195-204 and
Momigliano 1977c, 170.
306
On the social of the use of myths amongst the early ancient Greek historians, see
Gehrke 2003, Kirk 1970, Vernant 1983 and Veyne 1988.
307
On Dionysius’ own use of myths and legends throughout his history, see below in
this subsection.
308
For more on Thucydides’ expressed attitude towards myths and legend, see Saïd
2011, 83-4; Marincola 2004, 117-9, and Wardman 1960, 403-5.
Chapter 5: A Story for the Ages
169
book.309 Here at the outset of the Persian invasion, he maintains that ‘(o)f
all armaments whereof we have knowledge (ἡμεῖς ἴδμεν) this was by much
the greatest (πολλῷ (...) μέγιστος), insomuch that none were aught in
comparison of it…’ (Hist. 7.20). As Feeney argues (with reference to Iliad
2.485-6), Herodotus may here be deliberately invoking and playing off ‘a
Homeric conception of the deep past as a time inaccessible to normal
human knowledge’ (Feeney 2007, 74, also Woodman 1988, 2-4). This
apparent dichotomy between a remote (or, legendary) past and more recent
periods has led some scholars to posit that there was a formalized
distinction between mythic and real history (i.e. spatium mythicum vs.
spatium historicum) in the ancient historiographical tradition. Fornara, for
instance, asserts that ‘Herodotus’ insistence on the separation of the age of
myth from the age of history is well known’ (Fornara 1988, 7). This
assumption has, however, been heavily criticized by several subsequent
scholars.310
Many Hellenistic historians also give voice to a similar apprehensiveness
in their approach towards past events. Whereas Herodotus and Thucydides
both chose to provide accounts of near-recent events, Ephorus, ‘both took
historiography further into the world of myths and heroes, and did so not
only in sporadic digressions, but as the starting point of a continuous
account, thus redefining the boundary between spatium mythicum and
spatium historicum’ (Clarke 2011, 99). Yet, according to Diodorus, he too
apparently attached certain fixed temporal limits to his narrative by
beginning his account with the mythic return of the Heraclidae, also known
as the “Dorian Invasion”, thereby passing ‘over the tales of old mythology
(τὰς (...) παλαιὰς μυθολογίας ὑπερέβη)’ (Diod. 4.1.3, also 16.76.5, see
Wardman 1960, 408-9).
On Herodotus’ general attitude towards myths and legends, see de Bakker 2012
Baragwanath 2012c; Boedecker 2012; Bowie 2012; Chiasson 2012; Munson 2012; Saïd
2011, 82-3, and Wardman 1960, 403-6.
310
Hunter, for instance, argues that it is ‘clear that one cannot discover in the works of
Herodotus and Thucydides a distinction between historical and mythical time, and
hence an opposition of human history and mythology, for both consider the
mythological period a temps des hommes, a time of real historical personages’ (Hunter
1982, 103). Similarly, Pelling characterizes Fornara’s assessment (alongside those of
two other scholars) as outright ‘misleading’ (Pelling 1999, 333, n. 30). Feeney has even
gone so far as to argue that ‘more and more scholars nowadays are inclined to deny that
there is much value in the language of “mythical time” and “historical time,” holding
that these distinctions are not current in the ancient world’ (Feeney 2007, 69). See also
Baragwanath 2012b, 35, n. 4; Baragwanath-Bakker 2012 passim (Dewald 2012 and
Saïd 2012 in particular); Beck 2011, 260; Boedecker 2002, 110; Cobet 2002, 405-11,
and Vandiver 1991, 1-10. The terminology itself, however, does retain some usefulness
for certain scholars (e.g. Clarke 2011, 98-109).
309
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
Many ancient authors (including the Greco-Roman historians) would thus
seem to express some degree of unease when it comes to myths and
legendary tales. Nevertheless, in the words of Gehrke, ‘(n)ever (…) are
myth and history strictly separated; never is the historical realm distinctly
delimited from the mythical realm’ (Gehrke 2011, 52). Contemporary
readers (and exegetes in particular) might well fell inclined to make a sharp
distinction between the mythical and the historical. Yet, this sentiment
might not necessarily have been shared by the ancient historians. For in
general, the Greeks seem to have considered their own mythical past as just
as historical as any subsequent period (cf. ibid., 50-2). Or, as Gehrke argues
elsewhere,
Even where myth or the myths, i.e. whatever people said, were subjected to the
criticism of the thinking mind and the investigatory search for truth (as for the
first time in the Ionic ἱστορίη of Hecataeus and Herodotus), mythical occurrences
were not regarded as ahistorical or ignored as such, but rather only in so far as
they were resistant to rational comprehension or eluded the inquiries of research
(Gehrke 2011, 55, compare Veyne 1988 passim and Pelling 2011).
The Hellenistic period saw a further differentiation amongst the ancient
historians in their approach and attitude towards the legendary past. In
Theopompus’ works, for instance, the myths retained an aura of the
miraculous (cf. Saïd 2011, 84-5). Other local and universal historians, such
as Timaeus, whom Polybius accuses of having filled his narrative with
‘dreams, prodigies, and incredible tales (μύθων ἀπιθάνων), and to put it
shortly, craven superstition and womanish love of the marvelous (τερατείας
γυναικώδους)’ (Polyb. 12.24.5), display a similar interest in myths and
legends. Yet, as Veyne argues, for such authors, the myth had to ‘pass for
history, and this mystification then takes on the deceptive appearance of a
rationalization’ (Veyne 1988, 46). In short, this latter group of authors
would typically attempt to bridge the apparent gap between myth and
reality by presenting the legendary past in rational terms.311
Diodorus displays a similarly positive attitude towards the usefulness of
myths (cf. Marincola 2004, 119-21 and Rawson 1985, 224). He points out
that he has not attempted ‘to fix with any strictness (οὐ διοριζόμεθα
βεβαίως) the limits of those (sc. periods) before the Trojan War, because no
trustworthy (περὶ τούτων πιστευόμενον) chronological table covering them
311
It must of course be noted that certain previous historians have already done to a
limited extent, including Thucydides and the local historians (e.g. Thuc 2.29.3 and
102.5, cf. Saïd 2011, 83-4).
Chapter 5: A Story for the Ages
171
has come into our hands’ (Diod. 1.5.1, see Sacks 1990, 65).312 Similarly, in
the preface to the fourth book, he notes how ‘compilers of ancient
mythologies (τοῖς τὰς παλαιὰς μυθολογίας συνταττομένοις)’ (4.1.1) usually
suffer ‘many disadvantages (ἐν πολλοῖς ἐλαττοῦσθαι) in their composition’
(ibid.). According to Diodorus, there are several reasons for this apparent
difficulty: First of all, the antiquity of events makes them difficult
(δυσεύρετος) to accurately record. Secondly, the dating of such events does
‘not admit of the strictest kind of proof or disproof (τὸν ἀκριβέστατον
ἔλεγχον)’ (ibid.), for which reason ‘a feeling of contempt (καταφρονεῖν) for
the narration is aroused in the mind of those who read it’ (ibid.). Thirdly,
the variety and sheer amount (ἡ ποικιλία καὶ τὸ πλῆθος) of genealogies
contained in an account ‘make their recital a difficult thing to achieve
(δυσέφικτον)’ (ibid.).313 Finally, the most glaring difficulty lies in the fact
that previous recorders (τοῦς ἀναγεγραφότας) of ‘the deeds and myths of
the earliest times (τὰς ἀρχαιοτάτας πράξεις τε καὶ μυθολογίας) are in
disagreement among themselves (ἀσυμφώνους (…) πρὸς ἀλλήλους)’ (ibid.).
Yet, Diodorus does not consider a lack of access to accurate records of the
past a valid excuse for not engaging in a study of remote events (cf. 4.1.4,
similarly 4.77.9). Unlike several of his predecessors, such as Ephorus,
Callisthenes and Theopompus, Diodorus has, at least in his own professed
opinion, ‘shouldered the labour (πόνον ὑποστάντες) which such a record
involves and (…) expended all the care within our power (τὴν πᾶσαν
ἐπιμέλειαν) upon the ancient legends (τῆς ἀρχαιολογίας)’ (ibid., cf. Gabba
1991, 126-7).314
As we have already seen, Dionysius too remains somewhat sceptical of
the essentially legendary nature of many early Greek records (cf. Thuc. 6,
also Ant. rom. 2.20.2).315 To judge from such passages, he seems to suggest
that the aspiring historian ought not to rely too heavily on myths and
legends. Or, as Wardman argues, ‘it is clear that he thought his subject nonmythical in the sense that there was a chronology with which to work’
(Wardman 1960, 409, also Marincola 2004, 122). This, however, does not
This and similar passages have led Feeney to conclude that ‘(f)or the historians there
is no chronology of myth, no set of interlocking synchronistic data that make a system;
there is no “canon”, as they put it’ (Feeney 2007, 79).
313
On the issue of legendary genealogies in general, see Hekster 2006 and Wiseman
1987b. More on this above in this subsection.
314
Sacks provides an extensive overview of Diodorus’ attitude towards (and use of)
myths and legends throughout the early books of the work (cf. Sacks 1990, 55-82). For
more on this topic, see Clarke 2011, 121-139; Gabba 1991, 126-7; Saïd 2011, 85-7;
Veyne 1988, 46-8, and Wardman 1960, 407 and 409.
315
For a similar tendency in Livy’s work, see Forsythe 1999, 40-51 and Marincola
2004, 124.
312
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
mean that he himself did not include ample references to such material in
his own history. One example is at the beginning of the second book where
he makes briefly known his general attitude towards the myths and their
usefulness. As part of his depiction (in Ant. rom. 2.18-9) of the various
temples and other sacred paraphernalia, including religious festivals, which
Romulus established and instituted, he notes how the founder rejected ‘all
the traditional myths (τοὺς (...) παραδεδομένους (…) μύθους) concerning the
gods’ (2.18.3) and ‘accustomed people both to think and to speak the best
of the gods and to attribute to them no conduct unworthy (ἀνάξιον) of their
blessed nature (τῆς μακαρίας φύσεως)’ (ibid., compare Ant. 1.15 and 24).
Dionysius subsequently reassures his readers that he himself considers
some (τινες) of the Greek myths ‘useful to mankind (ἀνθρώποις χρήσιμοι)’
(2.20.1) in so far as some of them explain ‘the works of Nature by
allegories (δι’ ἀλληγορίας)’, whereas others alleviate ‘the mind of its
agitations and terrors (ταραχὰς (...) ψυχῆς καὶ δείματα)’ and remove
‘unsound (οὐχ ὑγιεῖς) opinions’ or serve ‘some other useful purpose (ἄλλης
τινὸς (...) ὠφελείας)’. Yet, in general, he has found the myths of the Romans
to be far superior to those of the Greeks in so far as they were generally
more profitable to mankind (cf. ibid., see Gabba 1991, 121-2).
Josephus too did not feel it necessary to voice an apprehensiveness
concerning the validity (and perhaps more importantly, historicity) of the
earliest part of his narrative. In general, he does not make a formal
distinction between the mythical and the historical. Rather, he often
stresses how his account of the earliest history of his people is just as
historically accurate as the subsequent part of the work. The foremost
reason for this expressed confidence lies in his high regard for his biblical
Vorlage. He seems to suggest that no disparity between the mythical and
the historical existed in these Jewish records. This is, at least in part, due to
his reverence for Moses’ literary capacities as well as the general accuracy
of the Scriptures (cf. Ant. 1.14-25 and Ag. Ap. 1.37-40). Significantly, in
the latter half of the preface to the Antiquities, Josephus praises Moses for
his piety and perception of God and invites his readers to test ‘whether our
lawgiver has had a worthy conception of His nature and has always
assigned to Him such actions as befit His power, keeping his words
concerning Him pure of that unseemly mythology current amongst others
(τῆς παρ’ ἄλλοις ἀσχήμονος μυθολογίας)’ (Ant. 1.15).316
In a subsequent part of the preface, he even argues that ‘everything
(πάντα), indeed, is here (sc. in the Scriptures) set forth in keeping with the
nature of the universe (τῇ τῶν ὅλων φύσει συμφωνον)’ (ibid. 1.24). Moses
For an extensive analysis of Josephus’ use of mythic terminology (i.e. μῦθος,
μυθολογεῖν etc.), see Bloch 2011, 89-103.
316
Chapter 5: A Story for the Ages
173
may, so Josephus admits, have ‘shrewdly (δεξιῶς)’ veiled ‘some things (…)
in enigmas (αἰνιττομένου)’ while setting other things out ‘in solemn
allegory (ἀλληγοροῦντος μετὰ σεμνότητος)’. Yet, as he concludes,
‘wherever straightforward speech was expedient (ἐξ εὐθείας λέγεσθαι
συνέφερε), there he makes his meaning absolutely plain (ῥητῶς
ἐμφανίζοντος)’ (ibid.). Yet, the Mosaic account might not have been as
straightforward as Josephus would seem to suggest. At least, judging by his
literary approach towards the Pentateuch, it would appear that he regarded
some parts of it as immensely problematic.
Thus, at several points during his narrative, he concludes his account of
particularly incredible (or, miraculous) passages by way of the
characteristically formulaic phrase, ‘But on these matters let everyone
decide according to his fancy’ (Ant. 1.108, on the longevity of the
patriarchs).317 Josephus was not the only ancient historian to be faced with
such challenging passages. Diodorus, for instance, seems to have relished
the sheer diversity of available stories and sources (cf. Saïd 2011, 86,
referencing Diod. 3.66.5 and 6.1.3). Many Hellenistic historians, including
Diodorus and Dionysius, saw no problem in reporting two (or more) highly
divergent accounts of the same event. For, as Saïd continues, ‘(n)ot only do
they put various versions side by side, they also explicitly refuse to choose,
and give the choice to the reader’ (ibid.). In this regard, Saïd points to the
use of the above-mentioned formula in Diod. 4.26.3 and in Ant. rom.
1.48.1.318 This particular formula also features prominently in many other
ancient works and most prominently in that of Dionysius.
Through his repeated use of a similar phrasing, Josephus therefore
displays his acquaintance with this particular ancient historiographical
trend. Or, as Thackeray argues, ‘Josephus is here conforming to
contemporary convention, but I have little doubt that Dionysius is again his
immediate model’ (Thackeray 1967a, 58 – see, however, Feldman 1998a,
7-8, n. 10; id. 2004, 39, n. 271, and Sterling 1992, 285, n. 44). Josephus’
use of the above-mentioned phrase is a key feature in his continued attempt
at bringing a sense of believability (and historicity) to what might
otherwise be deemed a preposterous and, by extension, unhistorical
account. At various other points throughout the first half of the Antiquities,
Josephus displays a similar interest in matters of rationality, as in his
317
Josephus also makes use of this phrase at the conclusion of account of Alexander
crossing the Pamphylian Sea (2.348); on the thunderclouds at Sinai (3.81); on Josephus’
refutation of the rumours levelled against Moses of leprosy (3.268); on his proof of
Moses’ authority by way of two anecdotes (3.322); on Balaam’s prophecies (4.158), and
on circumcision as practiced only by the Hebrews (8.262).
318
E.g. Hist. 2.123; 5.45; Thuc. 6.2.1; Ant. rom. 1.48.4; 2.40.3, 74.5, and 3.36.5; Luc.
10, and Pliny Hist. nat. 9.18.
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
repeated reassurances of his readers that he has merely recounted what he
has found in the sacred records (e.g. Ant. 2.347; 4.196, and 8.55-6).319
5.2.4. Making sense of history: Reasoning and (divine) causation320
Any historical work would naturally be expected to contain an account of a
given sequence of events. Yet, beside the mere narration of such, most
historians would aim to convey a sense of the underlying reasons behind
any given sequence – or, differently put, of the relations between causes
and effects.321
The importance of causality is, for instance, stressed by Polybius in a
lengthy digression in the third book, which is intended as a defence against
those who would accuse his work of being too comprehensive and
therefore inaccessible.322 The historian argues that ‘both writers (τοῖς
γράφουσιν) and readers of history (τοῖς ἀναγινώσκουσι τὰς ἱστορίας)’ (Polyb.
3.21.11) ought to pay less ‘attention (φροντιστέον) to the actual narrative of
events (τῶν πράξεων ἐξηγήσεως)’ and more to matters of causality and how
the events relate to one another. For, as he continues, if the discussion over
causality is removed (ἀφέλῃ) from history, ‘what is left is a clever essay
(ἀγώνισμα) but not a lesson (μάθημα), and while pleasing for the moment
of no possible benefit for the future (ὠφελεῖ τὸ παράπαν)’ (Polyb. 3.31.123).323 Or, as he notes in the subsequent passage, ‘far the most essential part
of history (ἀναγκαιότατα μέρη τῆς ἱστορίας) is the consideration of the
remote (τά τ’ ἐπιγινόμενα) or immediate consequences (τὰ παρεπόμενα) of
events (alt. “concomitant circumstances”, cf. Walbank 1957, 360) and
especially that of causes (μάλιστα τὰ περὶ τὰς αἰτίας)’ (3.32.6). Therefore,
he maintains that the intricacies (and interrelatedness) of the Fourth Syrian
War and the Second Punic War can only be recognized (ἐπιγνῶναι) and
readily understood (μαθεῖν) ‘from a general history (δὶα (...) τῶν γραφόντων
καθόλου), but not at all (ἀδύνατον) from the historians of the wars
themselves’ (3.32.8).
More on these passages above (3.5.4) and below (5.3.2). For more on Josephus’
rationalizing tendencies, see Feldman 1998a, 132-5. On the treatment of miraculous
events (and the issue of historicity) in the works of other ancient historians, see Hunter
1982, 107-15 (on Herodotus and Thucydides); Forsythe 1999, 52-73 (for Livy), and
Marincola 2004, 82-3 (for various Greek examples).
320
The analysis in this subsection of the religious aspects of certain ancient histories
(and the Antiquities in particular) was previously presented as part of an unpublished
paper in a session on Hellenistic Judaism at the SBL International Meeting 2013.
321
On the issue of causality among the early Greek historians, see Derow 1994; Dewald
2007, and Immerwahr 2014.
322
On causality in Polybius in general, see Derow 1994.
323
It is interesting to note here how reminiscent the historian’s choice of phrasing is of
that of Thuc. 1.22.4 (cf. Walbank 1957, 359; 1990a, 41, and Rood 2011, 152).
319
Chapter 5: A Story for the Ages
175
In general, however, as Pelling points out, we should be careful not to
overemphasize the importance of causal explanations as exhibited
throughout the works of the ancient historians. Such explanations may well
figure prominently among the works of modern western historians. Yet,
they were not necessarily ‘always so primary in the ancient world’ (Pelling
1999, 348). Causal explanations may be considered as one of several means
which the aspiring historian has at his disposal in his attempt at imposing
his narrative with a sense of order and meaning to his account of past
events (cf. ibid., 349-50, compare White 1985b, 91-2 and 1990, 60).
Some ancient historians would treat the causal relations between the
events contained in their narratives without resorting to a manifest
theological reasoning. Thucydides, for instances, is mainly interested in
depicting the political and/or psychological motivation behind the events.
He therefore puts very little (if any) emphasis on the power and influence
of the divine (cf. Hornblower 2011d).324 The same, however, cannot be said
for such historians as Herodotus, Polybius and Livy – and Josephus, of
course.
In his analysis of various instances of an apparent reticence in
Herodotus’ narrative, Lateiner argues that the historian ‘generally omits the
gods from his own explanations of historical events’ and that instead he
‘stresses human autonomy, and (…) presents human and political causes
for the events he believes historical’ (Lateiner 1989, 67). By contrast,
Harrison notes how the historian generally describes the divine as being
keenly interested in human life – even to the point that ‘human customs and
natural order are, in Herodotus’ outlook, sanctioned by the divine’
(Harrison 2003, 242, also Gould 1989, 78-81 and 1994, 92-4). Thus, again
according to Harrison, whereas Thucydides’ attitude towards causation is
to be classified as essentially secular, Herodotus’ carries numerous
religious overtones. For, as he argues,
Herodotus’ principles of selection, his organisation of his narrative, his presentation
of causation, and finally (what we might term) the ‘aims and objectives’: all these
can be seen to be underpinned by theological assumptions (Harrison 2003, 240 and
242, also Marincola 2001, 55).325
Hornblower does not consider Thucydides’ work to be wholly a-religious, as, in fact,
there ‘is plenty about religion in Thucydides’ (Hornblower 2011e, 25). Yet, as he
continues, ‘the expression of it is often oblique, and it needs to be looked for with care’
(ibid.). Or, as he argues elsewhere, ‘whatever Thucydides’ own religious attitude, he
fluctuates in the degree to which he is willing to allow in religious motivation as a
factor controlling the decisions and outlook of the agents in his history’ (Hornblower
2011c, 14, also 2000, 182-4, compare Marinatos 1981).
325
Of course, it does not follow that the author himself was a firm believer in this
principle. Thus, here (as well as elsewhere) one must distinguish between the author and
his message (cf. Feeney 2008, 138).
324
176
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
Herodotus’ history is replete with religious terms and imagery. Yet, like
most subsequent historians, so he too displays some reticence in depicting
the gods as intervening directly in human affairs (cf. Mickalson 2002, 198
and 2003, 138-9). Instead, they often assert themselves and make their
influence upon human life known through indirect means – and primarily
through the workings of fate (τύχη).326 This aspect of Herodotus’ narrative
has been summed up by Scullion as follows,
Herodotus’ divinity is real and active but remote, intelligible primarily as a set of
principles governing the universe. The positive propositions he clearly accepts are
that it tends to balance extremes and check excess, and that like Heraclitus’ lord of
Delphi, it ‘gives signs’ of what is to come’ (Scullion 2006, 203, also 208, n. 43
(citing specific examples) and Harrison 2005, 182-207).
Unlike Herodotus, who is not hesitant in associating the power of fate with
that of the gods, Polybius is more restrained in this regard.327 For this and
other reasons, he is often included amongst those historians who (alongside
Thucydides) exhibit a lesser interest in religious matters (cf. Usher 1970,
119). He too, however, occasionally refers to acts of fate. Marincola
considers Polybius’ use of such imagery ‘difficult to explain, since the
causes cannot be found among men; rather, it is as if some cosmic process
is at work, on which one can rely to make consistent appearances, even if
one can never exactly predict where and when she will strike’ (Marincola
2001, 144). Yet, strike she does. Walbank, for example, characterizes it as
‘fluid tychē’ (Walbank 2011, 354), one that often comes ‘nearer to our idea
of pure chance’ (ibid., 351), as it is of a somewhat arbitrary, sensational
and unexpected nature (cf. ibid., 351-3). It is a fate that is not just as
personal as Herodotus’, and yet not always entirely impersonal; to quote
Walbank, ‘rather as if at different times and in different contexts that force
was to be seen in a sharper or vaguer focus’ (ibid., 354). For, it is there – as
a force manifest in Polybius’ work (e.g. Polyb. 1.4.1-5 and 11, also 3.32.110 and 4.2.4, compare Ant. rom. 1.4.2 and 1.5.2).328
This is also the case in Livy with his frequent use of the equivalent Latin
terms fatum, fors and fortuna. In general, the religious aspects of the Ab
Urbe Condita have been the subject of much debate amongst scholars in
recent years. Some see in the historian’s use of these terms a distinct Stoic
flavouring (thus Walsh 1989, 49-60), whereas others would entirely deny
such conclusions (e.g. Kajanto 1957 and Liebeschuetz 2009, 368-73, also
326
Cf. Fornara 1988, 78; Romm 2006, 182-6, and Scullion 2006, 192-8.
Cf. Harrison 2003, 242-7; 2005, 102-21, and Marincola 2001, 54-6.
328
On Polybius’ use of fatalistic imagery in general, see Attridge 1976, 159; Davies
2004 and 2009; Hau 2011; Walbank 2006c and 2011, and Walsh 1989, 129-30. For
Diodorus’ references to fate and fortune, see Rawson 1985, 223-4.
327
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177
Forsythe 1999, 93). Others again would prefer Livy’s allusions to fate and
fortune to be read in situ, i.e. within its literary context and in light of the
overall aims of this historian (cf. Feeney 2011, 140). For instance,
according to Levene, Livy’s use of fatum seems always to carry ‘the
implication of some sort of divine control’ (Levene 1993, 33 and 2011,
283; compare Vell. Pat. 2.60.1 and Bell. Cat. 8.1 and 51.25, cf. Syme 2002,
246-8); whereas Davies sees it as something that is ‘beyond even the reach
of the gods’ (Davies 2009, 173, also 2004, 108), as a form of explanation to
be applied when all other options have been exhausted.329 Whereas fatum is
often predictable (although mostly from hindsight), this is not the case for
fors, which comes closer to what we would characterize as an entirely
random happenstance – or, pure chance.
Levene would prefer to see Livy walking a fine line between scepticism
and belief. In the opinion of Davies, however, the historian’s references to
fate do not testify to an ingrained scepticism with regard to the involvement
of the gods in human affairs.330 This is evident in his recurring use of the
term fortuna (or, fortune) which is unequivocally linked to the divine, as it,
according to Davies, ‘represents the experience at human level of the gods’
will’ (Davies 2004, 121). As with fatum, so fortuna is always associated
with the human perspective. In a manner akin to Polybius’ τύχη, it
encapsulates ‘all the knowledge and uncertainties of the complex workings
of the gods’ (ibid., 122, also Levene 1993, 33), and serves as a rather neat
catch-all, as a means of acknowledging the influence of the gods in human
affairs without having to identify any of them by name, which was the
prerogative of poets and priests (cf. Davies 2009, 172).
A related issue is that of the divine acting through human agents. For
nearly all the historians, there is a sense of contingency in their dealing
with human history and actions. A sense that something may, or may not,
happen – depending on the choices made by the protagonists when they are
exerting their “free” will. But, of course, their will is only free up to a
certain point. If the divine does have a hand in human affairs, as is the case
in Herodotus, it is often difficult to say ‘where human history ends and
divine history begins’ (Harrison 2003, 251, also 2005, 223-42).
This dichotomy between determinism and free will is a fixed theme in
Stoic thought, and is also reflected in Livy’s work (cf. Levene 1993, 33). In
some ways, he can be seen as trying to have his cake and eat it too, as in
the opinion of Levene,
Thus according to Davies, Livy’s fatum functions as something of a showstopper,
since Fate in some sense is ‘the antithesis of historical explanation: it is the end of
speculation, “what-ifs,” and potential alternatives’ (Davies 2009, 173).
330
Cf. Davies 2004, 27-61; 2009, 170; Feeney 2008, 139; Liebeschuetz 1979, 58-60,
and Linderski 1993, 53, see, however, Levene who argues for a dichotomy between
scepticism and belief in Livy’s work (cf. Levene 1993, 33 and 245-6).
329
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
Rome is bound to succeed, and Livy wishes to show this; but he also wishes to show
that her success is due to the behaviour of her citizens. Consequently scope has to be
left for individuals to exhibit their virtues, and for the rise of Rome to be presented as
the result of those virtues (ibid., also Walsh 1989, 49 and Mehl 2001, 28).331
Thus, in the works of some of Josephus’ colleagues the manifestations of
divine power serve as means of elucidating the fundamental conditions of
human life and the mutability of fate. Despite their varying choices of
subject matter, they seem to have had an expressed interest in depicting the
manners in which the divine (be it the gods or the (more or less)
personified fate) would exert its influence in human affairs – and in this
regard, Josephus is certainly no exception. For, as Momigliano argues,
Unlike Polybius, Flavius Josephus justifies himself in front of the God of the Fathers.
He thus not only writes a contemporary history like Polybius, but also an account of
the past of his people and a defense of their religious traditions (Momigliano 1994b,
69).
In the preface to his work, Josephus equates his way of arranging his
narrative with that of Moses, and he praises the legislator (νομοθέτης) for
his ability to set forth by either enigmas, allegories or plain speech
everything ‘in keeping with the universe’ (Ant. 1.24, compare Opif. 3).
Josephus continues by stating that anyone with an interest in considering
‘the reasons for every article in our creed’ (1.25) would find such ‘inquiry
profound and highly philosophical’ (ibid.). Furthermore, he adds that this is
a subject that he himself intends (time permitting) to write on after having
completed the present work. This proposed work, commonly designated
‘Customs and Causes’, was to contain a review spanning four books of the
opinions of the Jewish people of ‘God and His essence’ (ibid. 20.268) as
well as a description of the Law, specifically pertaining to the question of
how it came about that the Jews were permitted to do one thing while
forbidden to do others (cf. Ant. 1.25. 198 et al.). This proposed literary
endeavour most likely did not come to fruition, unless one takes it as a
reference to the much shorter essay Against Apion which apart from other
topics does contain references to the Jewish reverence of God and the Law
(cf. Feldman 2004, 10, n. 34). It is this choice on Josephus’ part of
assigning an entire subsequent work to theological issues that has prompted
Feldman to make the following claim:
331
Of interest here is also the related notion of predestination, as identified, for instance,
by Harrison in Herodotus (cf. Harrison 2003, 253). On morality in Livy’s work, see
Liebeschuetz 1979, 91 and Walsh 1989, 82-109. On the social aspects of Roman
religion, see Ando 2003 and 2008; Bendlin 1997; de Blois et al. 2006; Momigliano
1987c and 1987d, and Rüpke 2011 passim.
Chapter 5: A Story for the Ages
179
Josephus actually prefers to approach the Bible as history rather than as theology, as
he shows by his references (…) to his intention to discuss theological matters in a
separate work. In the Antiquities his aim is to present an apologetic for the Bible, for
the Biblical heroes, and for G-d’s deeds; yet he does so not as a theologian but as a
historian, noting the consequences of the actions of his Biblical characters (Feldman
1988, 204-5, also 1998a, 205).
Feldman is entirely correct in stipulating that the Antiquities is a historical
account and not a theological essay. This, however, does not mean that
Josephus’ narrative ought to be considered entirely devoid of theological
reasoning as is evident from his attitude towards such standard biblical
notions as divine intervention, presence and providence.
Those non-Jewish historians who in their accounts of causation would
evoke divine influence would often (if not, always) do so by showing how
the divine asserts itself in indirect and impersonal ways. Josephus, by
contrast, has no problem with referring directly to God’s intervention in
human affairs and mentioning him by name as either God (ὁ θεός) or the
Deity (τό θεῖον).332
For instance, in his account of the destruction of Sodom (in the parallel
to Gen 19), he describes how God (ὁ θεός) sent down (ἐνσκήπτω) ‘his bolt
(βέλος) upon the city’ (Ant. 1.203) and thus burned (κατεπίμπρα) it and its
inhabitants to the ground. Likewise, in his portrayal of Korah’s rebellion
(parallel to Numb. 16-7), he vividly depicts how the earth opens up and
swallows Datham’s company with the conclusion that ‘Thus they perished,
furnishing an exhibition of God’s mighty power (ἐπίδειξις τοῦ θεοῦ τῆς
ἰσχύος)’ (Ant. 4.52). Korah himself is subsequently consumed by fire
alongside his party of 250 men. Josephus also states that ‘Aaron alone
survived, in no wise injured by the fire, because it was God (τὸν θεὸν) who
had sent it to burn up those whose burning was requisite’ (ibid. 4.56). Such
mentioning of supernatural disasters (such as lightning, earthquakes, floods
and fires) is common in the works of the ancient historians (e.g Hist. 8.123, see Harrison 2005, 92-101; also Polyb. 5.88, Thuc. 3.88, and AUC 7.6);
332
These terms appear to be interchangeable. They are for instance both used in relation
to angels, i.e. ἄγγελος θεῖος (e.g. Ant. 1.189, compare Gen 16.7LXX; also Ant. 1.219. 332,
and 4.108) and ἄγγελος τοῦ θεοῦ (ibid. 1.333, also 1.73. 198; 5.277. 280 as well as J.W.
2.401 and 5.388). More on the angelic motive in the Antiquities below. Another
frequently occurring name for God comes in the form of the Most High God (cf. Ant.
9.211 (compare Jon 1.9’s ‫ֹלהי ֱ ַה ָּׁש ַמיִם‬
ֱ ‫א‬
ֱ /τὸν κύριον θεὸν τοῦ οὐρανου), also 10.68 and
11.3). Similarly, elsewhere Josephus notes how King Darius praised ’the God whom
Daniel worshipped and saying that He alone was the true and Almighty God (τὸ πάντων
κράτος ἔχοντα)’ (10.263, compare Dan 6.26-7). For an extensive analysis of the divine
terminology in Josephus’ works, see Schlatter 1970.
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
wherefore we can assume that Josephus’ portrayals of this would have
resonated well with his predominately gentile audience.333
In general, Josephus goes to great lengths to make his account seem as
appealing and intelligible as possible to his intended readers. This, of
course, also has an immense impact on his portrayal of religious matters.
There are, however, a number of passages in his Vorlage that would seem
to create some difficulty for him in this regard, such as the descriptions of
the divine manifestations in the Tabernacle and in Solomon’s Temple (cf.
Ex. 40:34-5 and 1 King 8:10-1). As in the Vorlage, so in Josephus’ account
darkness descends over the Tabernacle. This is then enveloped by a cloud,
wherefrom ‘a delicious dew was distilled (…), revealing (δηλοῦσα) God’s
presence (θεοῦ (...) παρουσίαν) to those who both desired (βολουμένοις) it
and believed (πιστευκόσι) in it’ (Ant. 3.203). Likewise, in the inauguration
of the temple ‘a thick cloud’ suddenly appears producing ‘in the minds
(ταῖς διανοίαις) of all of them an impression and belief (φαντασίαν καὶ
δόξαν) that God had descended (κατεληλυθότος) into the temple and had
gladly (ἡδέως) made His abode (κατεσκηνωκότος) there’ (8.106, also 8.102).
Such a rehearsal of people’s beliefs should be seen in light of Josephus’
general tendency towards rationalizing the more incredible passages in his
difficult Vorlage (cf. Feldman 2004, 286, n. 537).334 Josephus is, however,
by no means a sceptic at heart, and he certainly did not intend for his work
to strike a note of disbelief concerning the power, presence and influence of
God, as is evident in his very vocal condemnation of Saul’s murdering the
priests in Nob (cf. Ant 6.262-9, compare 1 Sam 22). Indeed, he describes
this despicable act on the part of the king as typical of a person who has
risen from the ranks and has stripped off those qualities that belong to
lowly individuals – those who revere God/the Deity. Unlike the king, these
individuals ‘are persuaded that He is present (πάρεστι) in all that happens in
life and that He not only sees the acts that are done, but clearly knows even
the thoughts whence those acts are to come’ (6.263).335
Josephus does at times show some hesitance in describing God’s direct
involvement in human life – resorting instead to making him act through
divine and human agents (such as angels or prophets). This hesitance is in
333
Other depictions of divine intervention throughout Ant. 1-11 include 2.210-23.
2.241; 9.76. 199; 10.21. 40, and 11.229. 247. 268. One example of this has already been
touched above (4.3.3), namely that the ancients received a prolonged life span due in
part to their piety (cf. Ant. 1.104-8).
334
Consider also Josephus’ rendition of 1 Kings 19 (Elijah in the wilderness and the
manifestation there of God’s presence) in Ant. 8.347-52. His account of this passage is
significantly less vivid, as Elijah here merely hears ‘the earth rumble’, sees ‘a brilliant
fiery light’ and finally hears ‘a divine voice (φωνὴ θεία)’ (8.352).
335
Other passages in this part of the work pertaining to the issue of divine presence
include Ant. 3.179-87; 3.202-3; 8.102. 106-8. 114. 118-9. 347-54, and 9.3. 55. 60.
Chapter 5: A Story for the Ages
181
line with Josephus’ overall avoidance of depicting God in anthropomorphic
terms – a tendency that he shares with the Philonic and rabbinic literature
(cf. Feldman 1998a, 165-6 and 169).336 There are, however, some very
notable exceptions to this otherwise established rule – as in his rendition of
Gen 22 where (in his version) God talks directly to Abraham and not
through an angelic intermediary (cf. Ant. 1.233) as in the biblical
Vorlage.337 Furthermore, he often goes out of his way to explain how a
particular event has unfolded according to (predetermined) divine designs.
This is particularly evident in various passages in the eighth to eleventh
books in his repeated authorial explanations, which are all marked by his
use of the verb οἶμαι. Thus, for instance, in connection with his account of
Rehoboam’s rejection of the counsel of his father’s friends, Josephus
speculates that ‘it was God (τοῦ θεοῦ), I believe (οἶμαι), who caused him
(ποιήσαντος) to condemn what should have been of benefit to him’ (8.216,
compare 1 Kings 12.6-8).338
Aside from the references to divine presence and intervention, Josephus
habitually makes use of one other significant theological term (somewhat
similarly to the pagan historians’ allusions to fate), namely divine
providence (πρόνοια) (cf. Attridge 1976, 71-107 and 1984, 218-9).339 As
with the others terms, so Josephus frequently makes use of this term in
order to provide further examples of God’s vested interest in and
continuing (providential) care for human affairs. For instance, at the end of
the tenth book, Josephus asserts that Daniel’s prophecies did come true. He
takes this as an opportunity to censure the Epicureans who ‘exclude
Providence (τὴν (...) πρόνοιαν) from human life and refuse to believe that
God governs (ἐπιτροπεύειν) its affairs or that the universe is directed by a
blessed and immortal Being (ὑπὸ τῆς μακαρίας καὶ ἀφθάρτου (…) οὐσίας) to
the end that the whole of it may endure’ (Ant. 10.278, also Nat. d. 2.73-97
and 154-68). In fact, Josephus is of the opinion that in light of this
fulfilment of Daniel’s prophecies, those who would ‘declare that God takes
On Josephus’ attitude towards (and use of) angels, see Feldman 1998a, 212-3.
A recurring topic within Judeo-Christian literature is that of the dichotomy between
God’s omnipresence and his fixed presence in a specific sanctuary (e.g. Ez 8-11; Spec.
Laws 1.66-7 and Mos. 2.88, as well as Acts 7 and 17:22-31). A similar train of thought
is also evident in the first half of the Antiquities. In Josephus’ retelling of Solomon’s
prayer (1 Kings 8), he, for instance, refers to God’s spiritual presence in the temple with
the King asking God to ‘send some portion of Thy spirit (μοῖράν τινα τοῦ σοῦ
πνεύματος) to dwell (ἀποικίσαι) in the temple, that Thou mayest seem (δοκῇς) to us to be
on earth as well (sc. as in heaven)’ (Ant. 8.114, compare 1 Cor 3:16).
338
Other such passages include Ant. 8.241. 409; 9.199; 10.76. 215. 262, and 11.139.
237, compare ibid 1.230; 2.145; 5.337; 6.102, and 9.55. 60. 104.
339
On the comparable use of this term in Diodorus and Dionysius, see Attridge 1976,
159-65.
336
337
182
Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
no thought to human affairs’ (10.280) are indeed very much in the
wrong.340 Similarly, at various points throughout his narrative, Josephus
also refers to the workings of fate.341
As with the works of some of his illustrious predecessors so, too,
Josephus’ Antiquities is not therefore entirely devoid of theological
reasoning. But whereas Herodotus, Polybius and Livy would often allude
to the impersonal (and indirect) influence of the gods upon human affairs,
in the Antiquities, Josephus frequently refers to God’s personal and direct
involvement, as is clearly indicated by his repeated references to the many
manifestations of the divine will, power, presence and providence. His
narrative not only concerns itself with great men and their actions (res
gestae), but also with The Great God and his actions. To be sure, the
Antiquities is a work of history – but certainly not secular history. It is the
history of both the Jewish people and the Jewish God – human and divine
history combined.
5.3. JOSEPHUS’ USE OF AUTHORIAL INTRUSIONS
5.3.1. “As I have written…”: Use of cross-references
The use of a narrator was one of the primary ways in which the ancient
historian could make his presence known to his audience.342 Some narrators
take active part in their own narratives. For this reason, they are classified
as either ‘homodiegetic’ (Genette 1980, 245) or ‘internal’ (de Jong 1987,
33 and 2004c, 1) narrators. In the case of ancient historians, this would
apply to such narrators as ‘Thucydides’, ‘Xenophon’, ‘Polybius’ – and
‘Josephus’ in The Jewish War. Other narrators, by contrast, who are
removed entirely from the reported events, are called either ‘heterodiegetic’
(Genette 1980, 245) or ‘external’ (de Jong 1987, 33 and 2004c, 1). Again,
among the ancient historians this applies to such narrators as ‘Herodotus’,
‘Diodorus’, ‘Dionysius’ – and ‘Josephus’ in the Antiquities.
Other passages in Josephus’ works that contain references to divine providence
include J.W. 1.82-84; Ant. 2.236. 286. 302. 330. 336. 349; 3.19; 4.47. 114. 117. 128.
157. 185; 5.107. 277. 312; 7.65. 95. 338-40, and 10.260.
341
E.g. Ant. 4.113; 5.312; 8.307. 409. 412. 419-20, and 10.76.
342
As has been pointed out by several literary theorists, the figure of the narrator must
not be equated with that of the author; rather, the latter remains the creation of the
former (cf. Genette 1980, 213-4, see de Jong 2004c, 1, n. 2 for further references). In
what follows, the use of quotations marks around selected pronouns is intended to
denote this difference. On the relationship between the intended audience (or, implied
reader) and the narratee(s), see below (5.3.2). This section focuses exclusively on the
ancient historians’ use of primary narrators. It ought, however, be mentioned that an
author might also make use of a range of secondary narrators. For more on this topic,
see de Jong 2004b, 107-10 (on Herodotus); Rood 2004b, 123-7 (on Thucydides); Gray
2004, 143-6 (on Xenophon), and Rood 2004a, 160-4 (on Polybius).
340
Chapter 5: A Story for the Ages
183
Aside from his principal narrative function, the narrator might also take on
other extra-narrative functions. For instance, he might serve as an internal
organizer of his narrative (cf. Barthes 1967, 66 and Genette 1983, 255).
Here the author provides his readers with various types of stage directions.
Another function pertains to the manner in which the author as a narrator
maintains a communicative relationship (or simply, a dialogue) with the
narratee(s) (cf. ibid., 256). A third function, which Genette typifies as
‘testimonial’ (ibid.), concerns the narrator’s involvement in his narrative,
i.e. the manner in which he may intrude upon his narrative by providing his
addressees with assurances.343 A fourth and final additional function that
the narrator might assume is didactic in nature and judgment-based.
Genette therefore categorises it as ‘ideological’ or ‘interpretative’ (cf. ibid.
and 1988, 131, n. 1 (following a suggestion by Susan Suleiman),
respectively). While the ancient historians vary in their willingness to
intrude upon their narratives, they all exhibit at least a passing interest in
these extra-narrative functions. The present subsection provides a few
examples of this, beginning with the historians’ use of signposting. The
next two subsections (5.3.2-3) are centred on the various didactic functions
that Josephus and his predecessors gave to their respective narratives.
Most ancient historians include a wide range of cross-references in their
respective works. For instance, ‘Herodotus’ regularly intrudes upon his
narrative through the use of signposting presented in the first person, as in
such phrases as ‘I will now tell…’ (e.g. 1.15), ‘as I have said earlier…’
(e.g. 1.18), ‘I will tell later’ (e.g. 1.75), ‘This is all I shall say of…’ (e.g.
1.92) or ‘I return now to my former story (ἐπὶ τὸν πρότερον λόγον)’ (e.g.
1.140).344 In general, de Jong concludes, ‘Herodotus’ is far more overt and
self-referential than his epic predecessor, ‘Homer’ (cf. de Jong 2004b, 1023 and Marincola 2004, 7). As we shall see, several of the subsequent Greek
historians came to share this tendency.
Polybius’ presence as a narrator is easily felt throughout the extant books
(cf. Rood 2004a, 149). In the greater part of the work (i.e. Polyb. 1-30), he
figures as an external narrator, who frequently intrudes upon his narrative
343
The preceding chapters have already provided a wealth of examples of the ancient
historians’ use of this technique. That the testimonial function has particularly close ties
to the historiographical literary tradition is stressed by Genette himself in his Narrative
Discourse Revisited. For, as he notes, ‘(…) perhaps we should also see the testimonial
function operating in the types of fiction (sc. such as in The Brothers Karamazov or in
the initial part of Jean Giono’s Un Roi sans divertissement (1947)) in which the narrator
claims to be chronicler or historian – that is, a retrospective witness’ (Genette 1988,
131).
344
For extensive lists of such passages, see de Jong 2004b, 103, n. 7-10 and 2014, 2669. On the narrative aspects of Herodotus’ history, see for instance Dewald 2002, Gould
1989, 42-62 and Griffiths 2011.
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
by providing his readers with reading directions and plot explanations.345
Like ‘Herodotus’ before him, so Polybius too, for instance, frequently
refers to what he has already written (e.g. Polyb. 1.15.1; 1.26.16; 1.28.13;
1.31.1) as well as to what he intends to write (e.g. 1.15.2 and 2.24.17).
Similarly, as Rood points out, ‘the ends of digressions, for instance, are
clearly marked as the story returns to the point ‘from which we digressed’
(parexebēmen, e.g. 2.36.1; 4.9.2 (sic, 4.9.1 in the LCL))’ (Rood 2004a,
151).346
Diodorus’ narrator is just as intrusive as Herodotus’ and Polybius’, just
as he too makes frequent use of cross-references. Several scholars have
claimed that Diodorus must have copied them slavishly (and rather
sloppily) from his sources. 347 However, as Sacks points out, ‘(t)his, of
course, assumes the worst of Diodorus – that he stupidly preserved material
not pertinent to his own narrative’ (Sacks 1990, 83). Yet, as he continues,
‘in every case where this is suspected, it can be shown that Diodorus was
involved in the composition of these references and that he understood well
their relationship to his narrative’ (ibid., 83-4, also 1994).348 As for the
specific types of cross-references, Rubincam has identified no less than
fifty-three pointing forward and forty-two pointing backward (cf.
Rubincam 1989, 40-1).349 Diodorus’ use of cross-references at times comes
across as ambiguous (cf. Rubincam 1998 and Sacks 1990, 87-8). Yet,
Sacks maintains that the historian’s general accuracy is impressive (cf.
Sacks 1990, 89). Similarly, when compared to several of his Roman
colleagues, Diodorus appears to have been ’especially conscientious in
cross-referencing his material’ (ibid.), just as ‘his methods of doing so
varied predictably with the types of subject matter – mythology or narrative
– with which he was currently dealing’ (Sacks 1990, 89-90).
The aforementioned historians’ level of intrusiveness, however, pales in
comparison with that of ‘Dionysius’. The first two books alone are, for
instance, replete with all manner of cross-references, including (by my own
count) twenty-six pointing forward (e.g. Ant. rom. 1.5.1-2)350 and twenty
pointing backward (e.g. 1.34.3).351 Like ‘Herodotus’ and ‘Polybius’ before
345
More on the latter aspect below (5.3.2).
Other examples hereof include Polyb. 1.15.13 and 1.35.1.
347
For a list of references, see Rubincam 1998, 67, n. 1.
348
Similarly, Rubincam 1989 and 1998, and Yarrow 2006, 116-8. For specific
examples, see Sacks 1990, 84-6. On Diodorus’ highly creative approach to his sources,
see Sacks 1994.
349
For an extensive list of these references (with comparisons to the works of other
Roman authors), see Rubincam 1989, 40-61 and id. 1998.
350
Cf. Ant. 1.14.1. 23.5. 30.4. 33.3. 38.4. 40.5. 49.3. 50.2. 56.5. 62.1. 69.4. 70.4 .73.1.
85.5. 90.2; 2.7.1-2. 21.1. 23.6. 24.1-2. 26.6. 63.1. 67.5, and 2.72.5.
351
Cf. Ant. 1.35.3. 49.4. 62.2. 63.3. 70.3. 73.4. 74.2. 75.3. 87.1. 87.4; 2.4.1. 8.3. 23.1.
29.2. 47.3. 57.1. 62.1. 64.1, and 2.64.3.
346
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185
him, so too ‘Dionysius’ often conclude his digressions by authorial
comments such as ‘But I have said enough (ἅλις) on this subject (περὶ (...)
τούτων)’ (2.59.4, also 4.6.1).
By way of comparison, ‘Thucydides’ is far more reticent in his use of
intrusions in the first-person.352 Only rarely does he provide his narratees
with cross-references detailing what he has previously written or what he is
about to narrate (e.g. 5.1.1 and 2.48.3, respectively).353 Most famous are of
course the authorial intrusions in which he comments directly on his
applied methodology (cf. 1.22.1-2; 2.48.3 and 5.26.5). As Rood argues,
these passages ‘are particularly interesting because they show how
‘Thucydides’ separates his role as an agent (where third-person forms are
used) from his role as enquirer’ (Rood 2004b, 117). On occasion,
‘Thucydides’ even comes across as a cautious narrator (cf. Rood 2004b,
119-21). Yet, the lack of direct intrusions does not mean that he is entirely
absent from his narrative. Rather, as Marincola argues, ‘(t)he narrator is
just as present in Thucydides; but he is not as intrusive as in Herodotus’
(Marincola 2004, 9, compare Rood 2004b, 121).
Similarly, Xenophon’s narrator is not as overt as those of many of his
colleagues. Rather, by deciding not to introduce his works by means of
explicit prefaces, he actively seeks to suppress his own authorial presence
(cf. Gray 2004, 129). ‘Xenophon’, the narrator, is however highly present
in both the Anabasis and the Hellenica. To be sure, there are fewer firstperson comments in the former than in the latter (cf. Gray 2004, 132); yet,
there are a few notable exceptions to this rule, such as in the narrator’s
eulogy of Cyrus the Younger at the end of the first book (An. 1.9 (1.9.22-30
in particular), cf. Gray 2004, 132). ‘Xenophon’ does at times intrude upon
his narrative in order to comment on the chronological aspects of his
narrative (cf. ibid., 133). Like ‘Thucydides’ before him, he is however
quite sparing in his use of cross-references (note, however, Hell. 4.8.1, cf.
Gray 2004, 133-4).
As already mentioned, in the Antiquities ‘Josephus’ figures as an
exclusively external narrator. Like ‘Polybius’, ‘Diodorus’ and ‘Dionysius’
before him, so he too can be characterized as a highly dedicated narrator.
As both omnipresent and omniscient, he frequently intrudes upon his
narrative in his attempts to clarify the chronological order of his narrative.
His account is replete with more than fifty cross-references (primarily
presented in either first-person singular or plural) to things he has already
As Marincola notes, ‘it is therefore not surprising that scholars have approached
many of them, particularly the extended analyses of 2.65 (on Athenian leadership after
Pericles) and 8.24.4-5 (on the Chian polity and policy) as clues to Thucydides’ real
opinions’ (Marincola 2001, 74). On narrative aspects in Thucydides’ history, see
Hornblower 2011d and Rood 2009a.
353
For the complete list, see Rood 2004b, 117.
352
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
mentioned.354 The majority of these retrospective references allude to
passages within the same book or within the immediately preceding one
(e.g. Ant. 3.147 and 4.74). Yet, in a few cases, they go much further back
(e.g. 7.333, referring back to 1.222-6). On a single occasion, ‘Josephus’
even refers to a specific passage in his previous monograph (cf. 1.203,
referring to J.W. 4.483-5). In some instances, he also notes that what he has
written is wholly in accordance with his scriptural sources (e.g. 2.347 and
9.214).355 In a manner similar to that of Polybius, several of these crossreferences also serve as conclusions to digressions or other equally lengthy
passages (e.g. 1.147 and 3.187).356
Josephus’ narrative also includes more than fifty cross-references to
topics that he intends to return to later on.357 As is the case with the other
type of references, so here too the narrator stresses that what is to follow
will be in accordance with his sources (e.g. 4.196-8; 9.46; 10.35 and
10.210). A particular subset of these references concerns things that
‘Josephus’ does not intend to cover in his narrative (e.g. 1.68; 7.369; 9.242;
11.68, and 11.152, compare Hist. 2.171-2, cf. de Jong 2004b, 104). In the
same way, as early as in his rendition of the creation account, he notes how
Moses’ choice of terminology will be covered in full in his proposed
treatise On Customs and Causes (cf. 1.29, compare Ant. rom. 1.74.2 and
1.75.3).358
5.3.2. “Allow me to explain…”: Explanatory intrusions
The act of communication is essential to all manner of storytelling, and for
every narrator there is a corresponding narratee (cf. de Jong 2004c, 4). He
too can be both in- and external and either primary or secondary (cf. de
Jong 2004c, 5 and Genette 1980, 259-62).
354
Cf. Ant. 1.88. 135. 344; 2.347; 3.62. 147. 158. 171.176. 188. 206. 209. 215. 247.
248. 288; 4.74. 159. 311; 5.89. 122. 235. 343; 6.1. 105; 7.230. 330. 333. 364; 8.1. 11.
130. 141. 175. 190. 246. 309; 9.1. 28. 29. 79. 95. 112. 117. 214. 280; 10.18. 36. 81. 148.
150. 230 and 10.281.
355
Other explicit references to the Scriptures and the sayings of Moses in Ant. 1-11
include Ant. 1.5; 3.38. 73-4. 105. 137; 4.196. 302. 326; 5.61. 155; 6.66; 8.125-9. 159.
287. 349; 9.28. 46-47. 213-214. 242; 10.35. 78-9. 106. 210. 218. 267-9; 271-2. 276-7,
and 11.5.
356
Other such occurrences include Ant. 3.257; 7.38; 8.139. 178. 245. 354; 9.158. 183.
235. 242. 276 and 11.206.
357
Cf. Ant. 1.133. 142. 148. 170. 174. 192; 2.8. 293; 3.74. 94. 173-4. 213. 218; 4.68.
156. 196-8; 5.31. 231. 337. 341; 6.343. 350-1; 7.69. 89. 103. 105. 244. 307. 344; 8.26.
43. 132. 211. 224. 229. 265. 298. 315. 393; 9.46. 208. 266. 291; 10.30. 35. 80. 107. 151.
210. 266 and 11.185.
358
Other references in Ant. 1-11 to this work include 1.214; 3.94. 143. 204. 223. 230.
259; 4.198 and 4.302-3.
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Furthermore, it is important to differentiate between the identity of the
narratee(s) and the (implied) reader(s) no less than between the author and
the narrator (cf. de Jong 2004c, 5 and Genette 1980, 259). Yet, as de Jong
argues, the ‘narratees, both primary and secondary, are a powerful
instrument for influencing the reception of a text, in that they provide the
readers with figures to identify with or distance themselves from’ (ibid., 6).
After a brief overview of the use of narratees among some of the ancient
Greek historians, we shall see that Josephus is keenly aware of the
communicative (and didactic) aspects of his narrative in a manner that is
highly reminiscent of Polybius. For the sake of brevity, we shall focus
exclusively on his explicatory and generalizing tendencies.
Herodotus’ narratees are less overt than his narrator. As for their identity,
de Jong points out that they are on occasion identified ‘as Greeks (e.g.
3.80.1 or 103), but there are no further indications as to what kind of
audience the narrator envisages for himself’ (de Jong 2004b, 110.
Thucydides’ narratees are just as anonymous. As Rood points out, ‘(t)here
are no second-person addressees’ (Rood 2004b, 121) in his narrative –
outside of the dialogue that it contains, of course. A similar reticence is
evident in the works of several subsequent historians, including Xenophon,
Polybius and Josephus (see, however, Ages. 1.26 and Polyb. 4.44.2, cf.
Rood 2004a, 158).
Herodotus’ narrator often addresses his narratees in the second person or
through the use of indefinite pronouns (e.g. Hist. 1.139 and 5.54.1, cf. de
Jong 2004b, 110).359 Furthermore, some scholars have argued that
Herodotus’ frequent use of digressions and rhetorical questions might yield
a way of reaching a better understanding of these anonymous addressees
(cf. Lateiner 1989, 30-3 and de Jong 2004b, 110-3). ‘Thucydides’ too poses
some rhetorical questions (e.g. Thuc. 7.44.1 and 8.96.2, cf. Rood 2004b,
121-2), as does ‘Xenophon’ in Hell. 4.4.12 (cf. Gray 2004, 137, citing
further examples), and ‘Polybius’ as early as Polyb. 1.1.5-6. In fact, as
Rood points out, there are hundreds of such questions scattered all through
Polybius’ work; and as he notes, ‘the frequency of such questions gives
Polybius’ work a very different texture’ (Rood 2004a, 157) from the works
of his predecessors. He further posits that whereas Thucydides seems to
have actively ‘avoided elements that seemed too ‘oral’, rhetorical questions
had come by Polybius’ time to be an acceptable part of the professional
style – an amiable way of introducing a new paragraph’ (ibid.).
As we have already seen in the preceding chapters, the ancient historians
would often intrude upon their narratives in order to assure their readers of
the general usefulness of their respective works. Thus, Thucydides stresses
See de Jong 2004b, 110 for further examples. For examples in Xenophon’s
Hellenica, see Gray 2004, 137.
359
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
the pervasive utility of his account (e.g. 1.23.5 and 2.84.3, cf. Rood 2004b,
122). Yet, unlike many of his successors, he does not specify the particular
advantages one might gain from his work (cf. ibid., 123). Instead, as Rood
continues, he ‘leaves it to readers to make of his history what they will’
(ibid.). Similarly, Polybius often emphasizes the many benefits to be had
from an encounter with his work (e.g. Polyb. 1.4.2).360
Polybius, however, does not share Thucydides’ faith in the rational
capacities of his narratees. For, like Herodotus before him, he too
anticipates that certain aspects of his narrative might prove difficult to
understand for his intended audience, so much so that he is willing to
intrude upon his narrative in order to furnish it with further explanations
(cf. de Jong 2004b, 110, for the former, and Rood 2004a, 150, for the
latter).361 In general, he is highly dedicated to his didactic function as an
ever-present commentator on his own narrative. He is, for instance, often
quick to provide his narratees with practical advice derived directly from
his narrative (e.g. 5.98; 9.15.5-9, and 10.43-7, cf. Rood 2004a, 159).362
Marincola characterizes this aspect of Polybius’ discourse in the following
manner,
The Polybian narrator combines a largely unobtrusive narrative of the deeds with a
highly intrusive explicator of that narrative. Many major (and not a few minor)
episodes are explained, analysed, commended, or reproved by the historian in his
own person, in digressions placed without fail throughout the entire work (Marincola
2004, 10-1, also 2001, 125-6).
Like Polybius, Josephus often furnishes his account with explanatory
intrusions. His clarifying tendencies may be divided into three overall
categories. The first pertains to etymological matters. Thus, he for instance
explains his readers how the invading Assyrian forces, who eventually took
Lot captive, ‘encamped in the valley called “Bitumen pits (φρέατα
ἀσφάλτου).” For at that time there were pits in that district (φρέατα ἦν ἐν τῷ
πότῳ)’ (Ant. 1.174). A few paragraphs later, he notes how Abraham was
well received by Melchisedek, the king of Solyma, whose ‘name means
(σημαίνει) “righteous king (βασιλεὺς δίκαιος)”’ (1.180). Similarly, he
360
For further examples, see above (2.3.2) as well as Rood 2004a, 159.
For the explanatory tendencies in (predominantly) modern historiography, see White
1985c and 1985d.
362
In general, and unlike Thucydides, Polybius has a keen interest in practical matters.
In the opinion of Rood, this makes ‘it easier for us to grasp the audience for which he
was writing primarily – an audience of active politicians and generals’ (Rood 2004a,
159). Furthermore, Polybius’ manner of narration proves that the work was primarily
aimed at Greeks (e.g. 2.15.9; 3.58.8, and 2.35.7, cf. Rood 2004a, 159-60). Yet, he is
aware that some Romans might also show an interest in his account (e.g. 6.11.3, see
Rood 2004a, 160).
361
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describes how Moses’ name is derived from the Egyptian words for ‘water’
and ‘having been saved’ (cf. 2.228, compare Ex 2:10); just as he much later
explains that Samson’s name ‘means (ἀποσημαίνει) “strong (ἰσχυρὸν)”’
(5.285) and Samuel’s may be translated as ‘”asked by God”’ (5.345).363 A
particular subset of such explanations consists of those instances where
Josephus explicitly refers to his native tongue. He, for instance, explains
that Esau’s surname ‘Adom’ is derived from ‘the Hebrews’ word (‘Εβραῖοι
(…) καλοῦσι) for “red (τὸ ἐρυθρὸν)”’ (2.3).364 Elsewhere, he notes that the
high-priestly breast-plate ‘is called essên, a word signifying (σημαίνει) in
Greek speech (κατὰ τὴν Ἑλλήνων γλῶτταν) logion’ (3.163, also 3.217).365
Phrases such as these lend further support to the assumption that in the
Antiquities Josephus is addressing an audience with little to no prior
knowledge of the Jewish culture and language.366
Josephus’ narrative is also replete with geographical clarifications.367
Thus, he describes how the Ethiopians ‘are neighbours (πρόσοικοι) of the
Egyptians’ (Ant. 2.239) and how Mount Sinai ‘is the highest of the
mountains in those regions’ (3.76, also 2.264-5). He also adds distances
where none appears in his scriptural sources. He for instance notes that
prior to the siege of Jericho Joshua pitched his camp ten stades from the
city (cf. 5.20), and that Saul marched ten schoenoi at night prior to his
victory against the Ammanites (cf. 6.79). At one point in the first book, he
even manages to combine his interest in geographical and etymological
matters in his description of how the city of Tarsus ultimately derived its
name from Tarshish, a descendant of Noah, ‘with the substitution of the tau
(τὸ ταῦ) in the name (πρὸς τὴν κλῆσιν) in place of the theta (ἀντὶ τοῦ θῆτα)’
(1.127, trans. Feldman 2004, 46, emphasis his, compare Ant. rom. 1.20.23).
Aside from his use of such etymological and geographical explanations,
Josephus also frequently intrudes upon his narrative in order to comment
directly on various socio-cultural and plot-related matters. In his account of
Abraham, he, for instance, describes how the patriarch taught the Egyptians
the sciences of arithmetic and astronomy, and that they in turn passed their
knowledge of these sciences on to the Greeks (cf. Ant. 1.166-8). Elsewhere,
at the outset of his account of the Exodus, he describes the Egyptians as ‘a
363
Other etymological explanations in Ant. 1-11 include Ant. 1.37-9. 52. 205. 212-3.
258. 262. 304. 308; 2.91-2. 313; 3.2. 151-3. 383; 5.360; 6.156; 8.79.
364
See also Ant. 1.36. 117. 204; 3.134. 137. 159. 172. 291; 2.278; 3.32. 352. 382; 4.327;
5.121. 200-1. 323. 336; 6.302; 7.67; 9.290, and 11.286
365
See also Ant. 1.284. 305; 4.73; 7.10; 8.312; 10.248, and 11.184.
366
More on Josephus’ intended audience above (1.2.3).
367
On Josephus’ geographical descriptions in general, see Shahar 2004, 190-267. For
Herodotus’ and Polybius’ interest in such matters, see Gould 1989, 86-109 and Rood
2004a, 158-9, respectively. For a similar tendency in Livy, see Walsh 1989, 189.
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
voluptuous people and slack to labour’ (2.201) and as being highly envious
of the Hebrews. On another occasion, he notes how the quail is ‘a species
of bird abundant, above all others, in the Arabian gulf’ (ibid. 3.25). His
description of the tabernacle also contains a wealth of authorial
explanations (e.g. 3.123 and 3.180-7).368 Similarly, and as hinted at in the
preface (cf. 1.5), Josephus also frequently comments on matters of politics
and government. Thus, he explains how Abimelech ‘transformed the
government into a tyranny’ (ibid. 5.234, also 5.339); how under Saul the
Jewish government was transformed from an aristocracy into a monarchy
(cf. 6.83-4, also 6.36), and how finally during the reign of King Darius, the
people ‘dwelt in Jerusalem under a form of government that was
aristocratic and at the same time oligarchic’ (11.111), since the high-priest
came to assume the role as ‘the head of affairs (τῶν πραγμάτων ἄχρις)’
(ibid.) until the advent of the Hasmoneans. Josephus’ interest in politics
and social institutions is of course shared by many of his predecessors (e.g.
Polyb. 6 and Ant. rom. 2.1-29).369
5.3.3. Lessons from history: Josephus on the human condition
Several of the Greco-Roman historians exhibit a keen interest in matters of
morality.370 For instance, Polybius inserts a number of digressions in which
he comments directly on the character traits of certain prominent
individuals, such as Aratus (Polyb. 4.8) and Hannibal (9.22-6). On the
former, the historian notes that he exhibited much bravery in matters of
politics (cf. 4.8.2-3). Yet, on the battlefield, he was ‘slow (νωθρὸς) in
conception, timid (ἄτολμος) in performance and devoid (οὐ μένων) of
personal courage’ (4.8.5). Based on this characterization, Polybius then
concludes that ‘there is something multiform (τι πολυειδές) in the nature
(φύσεις) not only of men’s bodies (τοῖς σώμασιν), but of their minds
(ψυχαῖς)’ (4.8.7, cf. Eckstein 1995, 239).371 Similarly, in his digression on
Hannibal, Polybius notes how ‘it is no easy thing to state the truth about his
or in general about men who are engaged in public affairs’ (9.22.8). Some
argue that the true natures of men are revealed by their encounters with
For more on Josephus’ description of the Tabernacle, see Friis 2013.
On Herodotus’ interest in this, see Forsdyke 2006 and Pohlenz 1961, 164-75; on
Thucydides, see Hornblower 2000, 159-66; on Polybius, see Walbank 2006b and
2006d; on Diodorus, see Yarrow 2006, 171-2; 178-9; 192, and 197-230, and, finally, on
Dionysius, see Fornara 1988, 83; Gabba 1991, 152-89, and Schultze 2012, 126-31.
370
For Herodotus’ use of generalizations in matters of morality, see Fisher 2002 and
Marincola 2001, 29-30. On Thucydides’ interests in this topic (which are intertwined
with his views on politics), see Hornblower 2000, 166-76 and 184-90. On Livy’s
moralizing tendencies, see Oakley 1997, 114-7 and Walsh 1989, 82-109.
371
As noted by Walbank, this generalization reappears much later in Polyb. 16.28.1-6
(cf. Walbank 1957, 457).
368
369
Chapter 5: A Story for the Ages
191
misfortunes (e.g. Eth. nic. 1130a 1, cf. Walbank 1957, 151). Polybius,
however, does not accept this view. For, as he argues, ‘in most cases (τὰ
(...) πλεῖστα) men are compelled (ἀναγκάζεσθαι) to act and speak contrary
to their real principles (παρὰ τὴν αὑτῶν προαίρεσιν) by the complexity of
facts (διὰ τὰς τῶν πραγμάτων ποικιλίας) and by the suggestion of their
friends (διὰ τὰς τῶν φίλων παραθέσεις)’ (9.22.10, compare Diog. Laert. 7.89
and Galen, On the Doctrines of Hippocrates and Plato 5.14, cf. Walbank
1957, 151). Polybius then proceeds to clarify this through a wealth of
examples (cf. 9.23.1-9).372
Josephus too inserts several generalizing statements in the first eleven
books of the Antiquities. As was the case with his intrusions mentioned
above, so here too his generalizations serve a didactic (and in this case,
moralizing) function in his narrative.373
Of the many lessons to be learned from his history, some focus on the
less desirable aspects of human nature. For instance, in Moses’ speech to
the Israelites at the appointment of Aaron as high-priest, Josephus lets him
note how ‘all people (πάντας) love themselves (εἶναι φιλαύτους) by nature
(τὸ φύσει)’ (Ant. 3.190, trans. Feldman 2004, 282, also 5.215). Similarly,
on a number of occasions, he points to the dangers of unbridled ambition
and jealousy. For instance, Jacob’s love for Joseph gave rise to much envy
and hatred amongst the remaining sons, for, as Josephus notes, ‘so jealous
are men of the successes even of their nearest relatives’ (2.10, similarly
4.16-8; 6.59; 7.37-8, and 10.250). Elsewhere, he describes how easily men
might succumb to sinfulness and deception. Thus, in his eulogy of Samson,
Josephus ascribes ‘to human nature (τῇ φύσει τῶν ἀνθρώπων) which
succumbs to sins (ἁμαρτημάτων)’ (5.317) the fact that he let himself be
snared by a woman.374 At various points in his narrative, Josephus warns
his readers (either directly or indirectly) that those who continue in their
wicked ways will ultimately come to suffer severe (divine) punishment
(e.g. 2.291; 8.20, and 11.268).
Another category of moral statements consists of more value-neutral
aspects of human nature such as hopes and fears.375 Josephus also
comments upon the manner in which people typically react to tragedies
(e.g. 5.358 and 7.177). Similarly, he often comments on what he perceives
to be the ideal manners of government and the use of authority and power.
372
On Polyb. 9.22-3, see also Eckstein 1995, 239-40 and Longley 2013, 198-9.
Cf. Attridge 1984, 224-5; Feldman 1998a, 197-204, Mason 2003, 569-73 and 2004,
xxxii-iv.
374
For other examples of wicked and deceitful behavior (clearly identified as such by
Josephus), see Ant. 7.34; 10.166. 262, and 11.273-6.
375
For examples of the former, see Ant. 2.69; 7.29, and 10.28; on the latter, see 5.139;
6.259; 7.323; 9.210, and 10.245.
373
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Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman historiography
For instance, in his farewell address to the people, Moses urges them to
submit to the guidance of Joshua, Eleazar and the council of elders. For, as
he points out, ‘all who know well how to obey will know also how to rule’
(4.186, compare 7.143 and 147). Elsewhere, he concludes that Saul’s cruel
treatment of Abimelech and his kin is symptomatic of one who has risen
from a humble station to a position of power. For those who do this, lay
‘aside their habits and ways (τὰ ἤθη καὶ τοὺς τρόπους) as if they were stage
masks (ὥσπερ ἐπὶ σκηνῆς προσωπεῖα)’ (6.264) and assume ‘in their place
audacity (τόλμαν), recklessness (ἀπόνοιαν), contempt for things human and
divine (καταφρόνησιν ἀνθρωπίνων τε καὶ θείων)’ (6.265, with further
characteristics cited in 2.266-7, compare 8.251-3). Josephus also has much
to say on matters of group mentality, including that of young people (e.g.
1.291; 8.214. 23, and 217).376
The final category of moralizing generalizations consists of Josephus’
injunctions concerning what one ought to do. Many of these are embedded
within the narrative (and in the speeches in particular). None of those
referred to below, however, appear in Josephus’ scriptural sources. For this
reason, they are all to be attributed to his literary inventiveness. At several
points in his narrative, various speakers emphasize that rulers and private
people ought to be benevolent and generous towards their fellow man.377
Josephus even says so himself on at least one occasion, namely in his
eulogy of the witch at Endor whom he praises for the kindness and
hospitality she had shown to Saul (cf. 6.341-2). Similarly, it is often
stressed that children ought to show respect for their parents, as should
husbands for their wives and brothers for one another (e.g. 2.151; 4.258;
7.373, and 8.8). Finally, the virtue of modesty also figures prominently in
Josephus’ narrative (e.g. 2.40-59 and 6.63), as is also the case with justice
and piety (e.g. 8.121. 182 and 280).
5.4. CONCLUDING REMARKS
In their attempts to ensure ease of comprehension, the ancient historians
often arranged their accounts in a pre-specified manner, just as they often
displayed an interest in matters of chronology. Josephus’ works do not
conform to a fixed chronological system. Yet, as we have seen, he does
show a keen interest in the temporal aspects of his narrative in the first half
of the Antiquities.
The ancient historians all appear to have been highly conscious in their
choice of starting-points for their respective works. Unlike Josephus, some
authors, including Herodotus and Polybius, seem to have met with some
difficulties in this regard. Similarly, some historians, such as Thucydides
376
377
See also Ant. 2.62; 4.11; 6.16 and 8.215-6.
E.g. Ant. 2.143. 146. 153; 4.232. 237; 6.285-6; 8.121, and 8.278.
Chapter 5: A Story for the Ages
193
and Polybius, had focused (almost exclusively) on near-contemporary
events and shown little interest in the mythical past. Yet, this is obviously
not the case for some of the most prominent Hellenistic historians,
including Diodorus, Dionysius, Livy – and Josephus in the Antiquities.
Several of the aforementioned authors, including Herodotus, Polybius,
Livy and Josephus, display at least some interest in the notion of divine
causation. As we have seen, Josephus’ descriptions of divine intervention
are comparable to the manner in which some of his Hellenistic
predecessors portray the power of fate.
This chapter has also given a number of examples of the ways in which
the ancient historians maintained an authorial presence throughout their
narratives. They may vary in the degree to which they are willing to intrude
directly upon the narrative. Yet in general, they remain highly invested in
it. As we have seen, they typically provide their readers with several types
of cross-references. Many of them, including Polybius and Josephus, also
furnish their respective narratives with a wealth of explanatory and
moralizing intrusions. In all these respects, Josephus’ account in Ant. 1-11
conforms entirely to the literary conventions of ancient Greco-Roman
historiography.
194
Conclusions
This dissertation has demonstrated that in the first eleven books of the
Antiquities, Josephus deliberately portrays himself as one who embodies
the qualities commonly associated with an ancient historian. In this part of
the work, he consistently presents himself in a manner that is highly
reminiscent of (and easily comparable to) that of a number of prominent
Greco-Roman historians.
The first chapter showed that previous scholars have only displayed a
limited interest in studying the first half of the Antiquities from the point of
view of ancient historiography, and those who have done so have typically
only compared Josephus’ literary endeavour with those of other Jewish and
Near-Eastern historians. Some have even claimed that whatever similarities
there may be between the Antiquities and the works of the Greco-Roman
historians are entirely superficial and therefore of limited importance for
the ascertaining of the character of the work. In response to this, the
dissertation has demonstrated that there are a large number of points of
contact between Josephus’ work and those of his Western colleagues,
which serve to situate Josephus’ work even in Antiquities 1-11 squarely
within the literary tradition of Greco-Roman historiography. Furthermore,
it has been argued that these similarities all contribute greatly to our
understanding of Josephus’ manner of self-presentation in the first part of
this Antiquities.
The first chapter also illustrated how current scholarship on Josephus is
divided on the issue of the intended audience of the Antiquities. A minority
of scholars have argued that in the work Josephus is addressing an
exclusively Jewish readership. The vast majority, however, argue that the
work carries distinctly apologetic overtones and is aimed at a non-Jewish
audience consisting of either Greeks or Romans or a combination of both.
In accordance with the latter position, combined with certain amendments
suggested by Mason, the stance maintained in the present dissertation is
that the Antiquities was intended to serve as a history of the Jewish people
addressed to non-Jewish readers who all shared an interest in this particular
subject matter.
The first chapter also showed that the field of ancient historiography was
vast and highly diversified. Ancient historians differed greatly from one
another in terms of the scope and subject matter of their works as well as
with regard to their regional and cultural outlook. Some chose to write on a
specific topic or set of events, such as accounts of great wars, as Josephus
did in The Jewish War. Others, however, devoted themselves to the recent
or more distant events of a particular geographical location and produced
accounts of the history of its inhabitants, as Josephus did in the Antiquities.
In this respect, his account of the long and rich past of his native people in
195
the first half of the Antiquities has much in common with the works of such
Greco-Roman historians as Diodorus, Dionysius and Livy.
In line with the overall heterogeneity of the field of ancient GrecoRoman historiography, the first chapter also demonstrated how previous
scholarship on ancient Greco-Roman historiography has typically been
based upon one-sided and out-dated assumptions. Several prominent
scholars of the twentieth century have maintained that only authors who
concerned themselves with grand events, such as great wars, wrote proper
histories. Consequently, those who devoted themselves to other subject
matters were considered less important, almost to the point of being
second-rate historians. In response to this, recent scholars have pointed out
that the question of how to properly classify the ancient histories is a
trickier issue than is often assumed. In general, they advocate an attitude of
inclusiveness which takes into account the entire range of works commonly
associated with that particular literary tradition including those of the local
and universal historians and those who exhibit an interest in antiquarian
matters, as does Josephus in the Antiquities.
The ancient historians typically went to great length to present
themselves in the best possible light. In order to do so, they would avail
themselves of a variety of literary and rhetorical techniques, the exact
nature of which has been set forth by a number of ancient Greco-Roman
authors, including Polybius, Cicero, Dionysius, Pliny and Lucian.
Together, these critics list a number of commonplace features with which
the historians were expected to have at least some familiarity and to have
taken into account in their writing process. For instance, they argue that
ancient historians ought to distinguish themselves from their literary
colleagues such as poets and orators by the accuracy and the overall
reliability of their works. The critics therefore charge the aspiring historian
to observe the fundamental rule of history of only reporting what is true
and to avoid any instance of unnecessary praise, bias and malice. Similarly,
their dictate a number of guidelines to be observed by those who wish to
write a proper historical account, including what subject matter to write on,
the proper manner of research, and the correct ways of arranging and
structuring such a work.
Taken together, the homogeneity of these recommendations suggest that
in antiquity there was something akin to an ideal of what constitutes a
proper historical account. One might well imagine that an aspiring historian
would adhere to these principles if he wished his work to be properly
received by ancient readers. It is therefore unsurprising that the manner in
which Josephus presents both himself and his work(s) is in keeping with
the im- and explicit guidelines for good historical writing set forth by these
critics. With regard to his manner of self-presentation in the first half of the
Antiquities, it has become apparent that he consistently goes to great length
196
to convince his intended audience of his capacities as a professional and
critically capable ancient historian.
The second chapter has demonstrated that Josephus introduces himself in
a manner that is similar to that of many prominent historians. There are
minor differences in Josephus’ ways of self-presentation in The Jewish War
and in the Antiquities. Yet, in the prefaces to both works, he makes use of a
highly self-referential manner of introduction.
The ancient readers were generally prepared to encounter a work of
some magnitude and pertinence. It has been shown in this chapter that
Josephus generally seeks to accommodate these expectations by
emphasizing the pervasive relevance of his works. As is the case with
several of his Western counterparts, in the preface to the Antiquities he
even notes that there is a manifest moral lesson to be learnt from his work.
Those historians who wrote on near-contemporary events would typically
emphasize their overall greatness, as does Josephus in The Jewish War. By
comparison, however, those who focused on more distant events would
point to the sheer range and overall comprehensiveness of their chosen
subject matter, as does Josephus in the Antiquities. In this respect too, he
has much in common with such prominent Greco-Roman historians as
Diodorus, Dionysius and Livy.
The ancient historians were all expected to adhere to the truth and avoid
any instance of bias in their account of the historical events. Likewise, the
historian was expected to select for his narrative a suitable subject matter,
the general significance and relevance of which he would be expected to
underscore throughout the work and particularly in the preface. The third
chapter has revealed how in the first eleven books of the Antiquities
Josephus displays a keen awareness of these facts. In their attempts at
assuring their readers of the soundness of their methodology, the ancient
historians would typically refer to what they themselves had either seen or
to information they had acquired from oral and/or written sources.
Although he can hardly claim to have been present at the events portrayed
in this part of the work, Josephus does on occasion refer to things he has
witnessed with his own eyes. As is the case with several Greco-Roman
historians, so he also voices a pronounced aversion to hearsay. Finally and
perhaps, most importantly, since his account in first half of the Antiquities
is derived (almost exclusively) from the Scriptures, he is eager to assure his
audience of the pervasive accuracy of his rendition. In this respect, it has
been argued that his methodological comments in Ant. 1.5 and 1.17, both of
which have been the subject of much debate in recent scholarship, ought
(from a historiographical point of view, at least) to be regarded as
programmatic statements. They may well be considered stock phrases. Yet,
they are by no means either meaningless or entirely inconsequential. For,
197
they both serve a crucial function as part of Josephus’ overall strategy of
self-presentation.
The ancient historians were all well aware that their works were not
written in a literary vacuum. As has emerged from the fourth chapter, the
literary critics saw plenty of reasons to either compliment or censure named
historians. Similar tendencies recur in the works of the ancient GrecoRoman historians themselves – and in Josephus’ Antiquities. In his
professed attitude towards his colleagues, he has much in common with
such authors as Herodotus and Thucydides and later historians such as
Diodorus, Dionysius and Livy. In general, he seems to have regarded his
predecessors as figures of authority to be referred to and cited on occasions
where they might serve to corroborate and testify to the accuracy of his
own account. As is the case with Josephus’ methodology, so his treatment
of other historians is therefore also important for our understanding of his
strategies of self-presentation as an historian.
In order to demonstrate their mastery of their subject matter and to make
comprehension easy, the ancient historians arranged their accounts in a
particular manner and according to a (more or less) fixed calendric system.
As has emerged from the fifth and final chapter, this is also the case for
Josephus in the Antiquities, in which he pays much attention to matters of
chronology.
The ancient historians also took great pains to select a suitable starting
point for their narratives. As we have seen, in choosing to begin his account
at the time of creation, Josephus had inevitably entered the realm of myths
and legends, which some historians, most prominently Thucydides and
Polybius, considered an entirely unsuitable topic for historical accounts.
Other historians, however, displayed a far more lenient attitude towards
such a subject matter. Here too, Josephus seems to have much in common
with such Greek historians as Diodorus and Dionysius.
Most ancient historians would argue for a causal relationship between
the individual events described in their works. In this regard, Thucydides
appears to have left no room for the gods in his account of historical events.
Others, however, were less prone to rejecting the influence of the gods and
fate in the history of human affairs. Unsurprisingly, Josephus’ account in
the Antiquities is replete with such assumptions. In this respect too, he has
something in common with such historians as Polybius, Dionysius and
Livy. Finally, the fifth chapter has also demonstrated that Josephus
maintains an authorial presence throughout his narrative. In a manner
similar to such Greek historians as Herodotus, Polybius, Diodorus and
(most prominently) Dionysius, Josephus is a highly intrusive and everpresent author. As we have seen, he frequently intrudes upon his narrative
in order to provide further explanations of certain plot points, as does
198
Polybius. Also in line with Polybius, Josephus displays a great interest in
moralizing generalizations.
This dissertation has shown how in the first half of the Antiquities
Josephus adheres closely to the literary conventions of ancient GrecoRoman historiography. His use of the presentational techniques that have
been investigated may well be conventional. Yet, the sheer amount of
similarities between his work and those of his Western colleagues proves
that his use of such language is nothing if not remarkable and significant.
For, there is sufficient evidence to assume that he deliberately sought to
present himself in a manner closely resembling that of his famous GrecoRoman predecessors. He appears to have framed his narrative in this
particular manner in order for his work to be well received by his nonJewish readers. Whether or not he succeeded in doing so is of course
another matter.
The dissertation has provided numerous examples of the sheer
comprehensiveness of Josephus’ strategies of self-presentation, which are
all crucial for an understanding (and appreciation) of his literary capacities.
This shows that Josephus is worthy of being studied as an author in his own
right and as an one among the larger group of writers commonly associated
with the field of ancient Greco-Roman historiography.
199
Summary
The dissertation Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and Greco-Roman
historiography provides an extensive study in five chapters of the various
ways in which Josephus presents himself as an historian in the first eleven
books of the Antiquities. From this analysis, it emerges that his manner of
self-portrayal is closely comparable with that of a number of Greco-Roman
historians.
The first chapter serves as a general introduction to the Antiquities and
the field of ancient Greco-Roman historiography in general. It
demonstrates how previous scholarship on Josephus has only displayed a
limited interest in the literary relationship between him and the GrecoRoman historians. Some scholars even maintain that the parallels between
Josephus’ work and those of his Western colleagues are either superficial
or even entirely irrelevant. In response to this, the chapter argues that the
similarities between these authors are worthy of being studied in their own
right. Furthermore, the chapter illustrates how the literary tradition of
Greco-Roman historiography is both broader and more diversified than is
often assumed. Similarly, it argues that previous scholarship has not paid
sufficient attention to the inherent heterogeneity of the works commonly
associated with this field. Taken together, these observations show that
there is ample room for a work such as Josephus’ Antiquities within the
field of ancient Greco-Roman historiography as a whole.
In order to arrive at a proper appreciation of the sheer
comprehensiveness of Josephus’ strategies of self-presentation in the first
eleven books of the Antiquities, the subsequent four chapters provide indepth analyses of the many rhetorical techniques used by him in this part of
the work. By comparing these tendencies with similar ones in the works of
other Greco-Roman historians, these chapters demonstrate that Josephus
has in fact much in common with such prominent authors as Herodotus,
Thucydides, Polybius, Diodorus, Dionysius and Livy.
The second chapter focuses on the manners in which the ancient
historians initially introduce both themselves and their works to their
intended readers. Whereas some (including Herodotus and Thucydides)
would stress the greatness and pertinence of the events covered in their
works, others (including Polybius, Diodorus, Dionysius and Livy) would
emphasize the scope and overall diversity of their subject matter. In this
respect, Josephus’ ways of presentation in the Antiquities are closely
similar to those of the latter group of authors.
The third chapter explores the various methodological statements
presented by a number of Greco-Roman historians. In general, they claim
to have produced a reliable account of the historical events in question.
Some (including Thucydides and Polybius) put particular emphasis on their
capacities as eyewitnesses, whereas others (such as Diodorus, Dionysius
200
and Livy) employ other means of assuring their readers of the overall
accuracy of their accounts, most prominently and typically by the use of
references to oral and/or written sources. Here too, Josephus’ expressed
methodology is highly reminiscent of that of the latter group of authors.
The fourth chapter demonstrates how in his references to his
predecessors Josephus also has much in common with Greco-Roman
historians such as Diodorus, Dionysius and Livy. Unlike other historians,
most prominently Timaeus and Polybius, who are highly critical of the
literary accomplishments of their colleagues, they all display a more lenient
attitude towards the works of other historians.
The fifth and final chapter shows that Josephus maintains a strong
authorial presence in all parts of his narrative. As is the case with most
Greco-Roman historians, he displays a keen interest in matters of
arrangement and chronology. Like Diodorus and Dionysius, he displays a
lenient attitude towards myths and legends. Similarly, as with Polybius and
Livy, so he is secure in his belief in the influence of divine will and/or the
power of fate over human history. This chapter also illustrates that as a
narrator Josephus maintains a high degree of intrusiveness in his account,
which manifests itself in his use of cross-references and pervasive
explanatory and generalizing tendencies.
Finally, the conclusion argues that Josephus’ manner of self-presentation
is in keeping with the rules for proper historical writing set forth by several
influential ancient literary critics and as displayed in the works of a number
of prominent Greco-Roman historians.
Taken together, the observations made throughout the dissertation
demonstrate that Josephus is an author worthy of being studied both in his
own right and as one among the others of the group of authors commonly
associated with the field of ancient Greco-Roman historiography.
201
Dansk sammenfatning
Afhandlingen, der bærer titlen Josephus’ Antiquities 1-11 and GrecoRoman Historiography, indeholder et indgående studium, fordelt over fem
kapitler, af de forskellige måder, hvorpå Josefus fremstiller sig selv som
historiker i de første elleve bøger af værket Antiquitates Judaicae (da. De
Jødiske Antikviteter). Af denne analyse fremgår det, at hans
selvportrættering er klart sammenlignelig med tendenser, som på
tilsvarende vis findes hos en række græsk-romerske historikere.
Det første kapitel tjener som generel introduktion til det pågældende
værk og til antik græsk-romersk historieskrivning som samlet felt. Kapitlet
påviser, hvordan den tidligere Josefus-forskning kun har udvist en
begrænset interesse for de litterære forbindelseslinjer mellem ham og de
græsk-romerske historikere. Nogle forskere mener sågar, at de paralleller,
der end måtte være mellem Josefus’ Antiquitates og hans vestlige kollegers
værker, er at regne for overfladiske og i værste fald ganske irrelevante.
Som modsvar hertil argumenterer dette kapitel for, at lighederne mellem
disse forfatterskaber fortjener at blive undersøgt nærmere i deres egen ret.
Yderligere påviser kapitlet, at den litterære tradition, der knytter sig til
græsk-romersk historieskrivning, er både bredere og mere varieret end det
ofte antages. Ligeledes argumenteres der for, at den tidligere forskning
inden for dette felt har udvist en manglende forståelse for den
gennemgående heterogenitet, der knytter sig hertil. Samlet set viser disse
iagttagelser, at der er rigeligt plads til et værk som Josefus’ Antiquitates
inden for det samlede græsk-romerske historiografiske felt.
Denne afhandling har til hensigt at bidrage til en større forståelse og
anerkendelse af omfanget af Josefus’ selvpræsentationsstrategier i de første
elleve bøger af Antiquitates. De efterfølgende fire kapitler indeholder
derfor dybdegående analyser af de retoriske midler, som han bringer til
anvendelse i denne del af værket. Ved at sammenligne hans retoriske
midler med lignende tendenser hos andre græsk-romerske historikere
påviser disse kapitler, at Josefus har meget tilfælles med så fremtrædende
forfattere som Herodot, Thukydid, Polyb, Diodorus Siculus, Dionysius af
Halicarnassus og Livius.
Det andet kapitel har fokus på de måder, hvorpå de antikke historikere
introducerer både sig selv og deres værker for deres læsere. Nogle,
herunder Herodot og Thukydid, lægger særlig vægt på størrelsen og
betydningen af de begivenheder, der skildres, mens andre, herunder Polyb,
Diodorus, Dionysius og Livius, understreger bredden og diversiteten i deres
valgte stofområder. I den forbindelse, minder Josefus’ tilgang påfaldende
meget om den sidstnævnte gruppe forfattere.
Det tredje kapitel undersøger de forskellige metodologiske udtalelser,
der fremsættes af en række græsk-romerske historikere. De hævder generelt
set at have produceret en pålidelig fremstilling af de historiske
202
begivenheder, der skildres i deres værker. Nogle, herunder Thukydid og
Polyb, sætter særlig vægt på deres kompetencer som øjenvidner, mens
andre, herunder Diodorus, Dionysius og Livius, gør brug af andre midler i
forsøget på at overbevise deres læsere om nøjagtigheden i deres
fremstillinger, især ved brug af referencer til mundtlige og/eller skriftlige
kilder. Også her er Josefus’ udtalte metodologi i Ant. 1-11 klart
sammenlignelig med den sidstnævnte gruppe.
Det fjerde kapitel påviser, hvordan Josefus i sin tilgang i Ant. 1-11 til
sine forgængere har meget tilfælles med græsk-romerske historikere såsom
Diodorus, Dionysius og Livius. Nogle historikere, herunder Timaeus og
Polyb, er begge særdeles kritiske over for deres kollegers litterære
bedrifter. I modsætning hertil udviser de førnævnte tre forfattere samt
Josefus en mere moderat holdning til andre historikeres værker.
Det femte og sidste kapitel viser, at Josefus konsekvent fremstiller sig
selv som særdeles nærværende i alle dele af sin fremstilling. Som det er
tilfældet med de fleste andre græsk-romerske historikere, har også han en
stor interesse for de arrangementsmæssige og kronologiske aspekter ved sin
fortælling. Ligesom Diodorus og Dionysius udviser han en inkluderende
holdning til myter og legender, og i lighed med Polyb og Livius er han vis
på den guddommelige viljes og skæbnens indflydelse på menneskers liv.
Dette kapitel påviser også, at Josefus som fortæller udviser en stor
tilbøjelighed til at bryde aktivt ind i sin fortælling. Dette kommer især til
udtryk ved hans gentagne brug af regibemærkninger i form af
krydshenvisninger samt ved hans gennemgående forklarende og
moraliserende tilbøjeligheder.
Slutteligt argumenteres der i konklusionen for, at Josefus’ måde at
præsentere sig selv på i Ant. 1-11 er i fuld overensstemmelse med de
retningslinjer for god historieskrivning, der fremsættes af en række
indflydelsesrige antikke litterære kritikere, og som manifesterer sig i et
stort antal fremtrædende græsk-romerske historikeres forfatterskaber.
Samlet set påviser iagttagelserne i denne afhandling, at Josefus er værdig
til at blive læst og undersøgt både som en forfatter i sin egen ret og som en
blandt mange andre forfattere, der typisk associeres med græsk-romersk
historieskrivning.
203
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