Epilogue

Is war an art? The past, present, and future of Greek, Roman, and Byzantine military literature

Immacolata Eramo

I. In the beginning, there was Homer

‘Homer was the first to write on the tactical theory in war’ ~ Ὅτι Ὅμηρος πρῶτος περὶ τῆς ἐν τοῖς πολέμοις τακτικῆς θεωρίας ἔγραψεν. This is the fourth time in this volume that this passage of Aelian appears; Homer is therefore a thread that binds how to think about military texts.1 Presenting his Tactics, Aelian briefly mentions his predecessors, with whom he compares himself favourably, underlining proudly his own experience in the field of mathemata. Just as Aelian’s predecessors were his own point of reference, Aelian himself wishes to be the same for his successors, who will prefer his writing to those who preceded him.2 Among these predecessors, Aelian puts Homer in first place: Homer discovered tactical theory and had great appreciation for experts in tactics, such as Menestheus.3 Furthermore, tactical theory was born in Homer’s time. Finally, the authors of tactics ‘wrote about tactics following from Homer’.4 Moreover, it is not surprising that Aelian began the list of his predecessors with Homer. Aelian was perfectly integrated in a cultural tradition that identified Homer as the ‘first inventor’ (πρῶτος εὑρετής) of each literary framework.5 Just as Strabo considered Homer to be the first geographer, according to Aelian (but also Arrian and before them their common source), Homer was the first military author in western literature.6

As Conor Whately observes in his chapter, Homer’s authority in the literature and history of military thought lasted centuries; and as noted more than once in this volume, the examples of Alexander and Philopoemen described by Plutarch in his Parallel Lives clearly show this. Alexander kept a copy of the Iliad, ‘a guidebook of the virtue in war’, under his pillow. The great Macedonian general ‘once said that the Iliad and the Odyssey accompanied him on his campaigns and acted as a relief from strain or as a companion during moments of pleasant idleness’.7 Philopoemen, who was Achaean strategos on eight occasions, often resorted to the reading of passages taken from Homeric poems in order to excite and stimulate his soldiers’ bravery and imagination.8 Even though Homer’s primacy for the paideia and behaviour of the Greeks had been questioned by the teaching of the Sophists and finally desacralised by Plato, Homeric poems were also considered an essential point of reference for subsequent ages.9 Supplying a general although synthetised picture of Homer’s Fortleben in western military literature and thought is a challenging task and is not our aim here. It will be enough to cite a few examples. Homer is the only author explicitly mentioned by Onasander in his The General, which is even more noteworthy if we consider that Onasander never cites his sources.10 The same thing occurs in manuals on tactics, generally without literary references. The only exception is Homer himself. Indeed, both Aelian and Arrian explicitly cite Homeric passages in underling the need for order and silence in the army, so that soldiers can pay attention to their general’s orders.11 Two verses taken from the Iliad are reported in Maurice’s Strategicon among the maxims, as if they were merely a decorative tribute, not useful to explain the precept that these verses accompany.12

Nicholas Sekunda demonstrates how authors after the Homer engaged with his poems – possibly even after the first actual military manuals entered circulation. The influence of Homer is also evident – thanks to Aelian’s mention – among the pages of modern military essays, where his absence is at times as telling as his presence. This can be seen in the ‘Companion of military knowledge’ (Syntagma de studio militari) by Gabriel Naudé (1600–1653) and in the edition of all Greek and Latin military authors that Friedrich Haase (1808–1867) intended to publish. Gabriele Naudé (1600–1653), Cardinal Mazarin’s librarian, who was a great admirer of Machiavelli and the author of the first treaty on the coup d’état, was also the first writer to collect a well-reasoned repertoire of military writings, manuscripts, and printed books, and to include it in his Syntagma de studio militari, dedicated to Count Ludovico Guidi di Bagno and published in Rome in 1637.13

According to Naudé, Homer, like Vegetius, is a supreme example of a military author without experience of war.14 In the introduction, the author claims he should not be accused of incompetence, openly admitting that he does not have experience in the military field.15 Naudé is well aware that he is taking on a work of an unfair and unusual weight, so much so that he might even appear ridiculous, like Phormio who dared to talk of military matters in the presence of Hannibal.16 Therefore, even though his Muses are lovers of peace, and his habits are far from the turmoil of war, the author states that he is able to carry out his work and deal with military matters using texts by ancient authors. These include firstly works of history, from which he can draw the hidden thoughts and secrets of command, closed within as if they were in a secret hiding place; secondly, the biographies of important generals; and finally, the authors of military texts (auctores de re militari): Greeks, Romans, and 271 ‘more recent authors’ (recentiores), classified into seven categories.17 In short, many and almost countless writers have tried to illustrate military matters, even though in a crude and disordered way. Homer is one of these. It is a fact that Homer’s mention indicates a precise choice, directly connected, as Naudé himself admits, to the list of Aelian’s military predecessors.18

In the editorial project devised but never carried out by Haase, Homer’s fate was different. In an 1835 article published in the Neue Jahrbücher für Philologie und Pädagogik, Haase complained that there are not enough Greek sources writing before the Peloponnesian war, and above all before the numerous wars of Alexander’s successors, in order to reconstruct a theory of the Kriegsthaten.19 Regarding times before these events, Haase admitted that it is necessary to resort to other sources, to Homer for the older ages, and to the historians for the more recent ones. Therefore, Haase too believed that the history of Greek military thought cannot be separated from either Homer or from the historians; even though these authors are not ‘military’ in the broadest sense, they filled a gap in a specialised literary form. However, just a few years later, he changed his mind. Indeed, when Haase came up with the ambitious project of publishing all the Greek and Latin military authors, the author he omitted was Homer himself. We do not know the reasons for this choice; it was not to concentrate exclusively on military treaties, since he kept the military sections from historical works in the project. He probably preferred to focus on unknown or lesser-known authors rather than select – as he did with the historians – the Homeric sections dealing with war. In this case, his choice would have been anything but selective and would have involved considerable effort, making the project even more ambitious than it already was.

II. Military history and military literature

The story of Haase’s project, or rather of his failed editorial enterprise, deserves to be briefly told, since it offers food for thought regarding military history and its relationship with ancient military ideas. In 1833, Haase published his edition of Xenophon’s On the Constitution of the Spartans.20 According to Carl Rudolf Fickert, Haase’s biographer as well as his disciple and friend, this edition was a noteworthy work, not only from a philological point of view – Haase was of course a student of the well-known philologist Karl Lachmann – but also because of the great attention paid to military questions. The more difficult they were to understand, the more application they required. However, Haase was not a man to leave his work incomplete. Therefore, driven by the desire to focus more deeply upon these subjects, Haase began to study ancient military authors, to draw tactical manoeuvres, and to consult the experts in this field.21

This research was the beginning of the thirty years of work which Haase devoted to military authors, resulting in his extensive library and his idea to publish a companion. The scholar persevered with this project until his death but was not able to carry it out, since he never found an editor willing to publish the collection. Indeed, he succeeded only in publishing – more than ten years later and at his own expense – a brochure, the ‘On the edition of all Greek and Roman military writers in progress’ (De militarium scriptorum Graecorum et Latinorum omnium editione instituenda), where he exposed the structure, contents, and characteristics of his work.22 Firmly convinced that philology was a single discipline, and that no text was of greater worth than another, Haase believed he was carrying out a precious and useful work by publishing an edition of military writers, for which he requested also the collaboration of other scholars in searching for manuscripts or published books and in editing the texts, clearly hoping above all for some financial help.23

As we have already seen, this ambitious work never saw the light of day. Haase’s book illustrates the different phases of his work, some of which had already been carried out. These phases included the collection of all Greek and Latin military writings up to the fifteenth century, the search for manuscripts and emendation of texts, the drafting of the edition with critical apparatus, commentary, introduction, indices, military technical lexicon, and Latin translation of Greek writings.

The collection should have comprised nine volumes, organised in a logical and chronological structure: 1. ancient authors and those not included in other volumes (among these: Xenophon, Cavalry Commander and On Horsemanship, Aineias the Tactician, Onasander), but also texts from Thucydides and Xenophon’s historical works, ‘and others on Greek military art’ and from Polybius, both his work on the Roman army and other military fragments; 2. Writers of tactics; 3–4. Authors of mechanics; 5. Collection of stratagems; 6–7. Byzantine military treaties; 8. Undefined fragments, Latin authors (Frontinus, Vegetius, the so-called Modestus, the De rebus bellicis); and 9. Various writings (book 10 of Vitruvius’ De architectura, Ps.-Hyginus, Medieval authors).

III. Military thought and literature

A quick look at the content of Haase’s plan suggests that he used an extensive criterion for collection, including not only military treaties stricto sensu, but also passages taken from different sources, in primis the histories, providing they dealt with ‘the military art of the Greeks’ (de Graecorum arte militari).24 Ultimately, Haase made a choice regarding which texts to include. He could do little else, if we consider that war is directly or indirectly present in most Greek, Roman, and Byzantine literature, being an essential part of life for the ancients. Two passages from ancient Greek authors – Heraclitus and Plato – that the introduction cites are important here: according to Heraclitus of Hephesus, ‘war is father of all (beings) and king of all, and so he renders some gods, others men, he makes some slaves, others free’.25 Plato believed that the word ‘peace’ was actually an empty name, because a state of undeclared and nonstop war existed between all the poleis.26 The situation is not so different if we shift focus to Rome, which was able to build an empire thanks to the force of arms, and to New Rome, which defended its borders with arms for more than a thousand years.27

These circumstances were crucial conditions for the birth and evolution of a military praxis and theory, which developed above all thanks to the comparison with ‘the other’: hoplite tactics evolved into the Macedonian phalanx, which in turn had an influence on the Roman legion; Pyrrhus taught the Romans how to set up a camp; Scipio Aemilianus conquered Carthage with the art of stratagems learnt from Hannibal (and the skills he acquired from reading – and re-reading – Xenophon’s Education of Cyrus). James T. Chlup’s chapter serves as a reminder that Hannibal never lurks far from discussion of military strategy and history.28 Therefore, the history of the ancient world is also the history of war; and the best writers of military history are military experts:

Hans Michael Schellenberg would appear to agree based upon his caveat in his chapter.

Thucydides was a strategos in Thrace in 424–423 BC and therefore not only described the Peloponnesian war, ‘great and worthier of recording than any previous conflict (μέγαν τε ἔσεσθαι καὶ ἀξιολογώτατον τῶν προγεγενημένων)’, but also how Athenians and Spartans fought (ὡς ἐπολέμησαν πρὸς ἀλλήλους).30 Xenophon was a mercenary soldier led by Cyrus the Younger but was above all ‘an able tactician, as is clear from his writings’ (τακτικός, ὡς ἐκ τῶν συγγραμμάτων δῆλον).31 It is most probable that Diogenes Laërtius here refers not only to Cavalry Commander and On Horsemanship, but also to the Education of Cyrus, which contains a long digression on military precepts, considered also in the early modern period as a point of reference for anyone wishing to learn the art of command, as Conor Whately introduces and Jeffrey Rop explores in this volume; the shadow of this text, almost as large as Homer’s, unequivocally confirms its importance in the study of the military text. Indeed, in Spring 1444, Alfonso V of Aragon asked Giovanni Aurispa to translate the collection of military writers sold to him by Aurispa himself. In the summer of the same year, Aurispa replied that it would be more useful to translate the Education of Cyrus, of which he was already in possession.32 Among the military historians who were expert in war, a pivotal place is occupied by Polybius, firstly a hipparchus of the Achaean League, before going on to follow Scipio Aemilianus in the campaign in Numantia in 134 BCE.33

The problem of the relationship between military history and war experience became crucial in historiographic thought and its methods. In the aftermath of Lucius Verus’ victory against the Parthians (166 CE), the increasingly great number of ‘amateur’ historians led Lucian of Samosata to write a polemical pamphlet, How to Write History. Lucian states that most people believe it is perfectly simple to write about history and that anyone can do it if only he is able to express what he thinks. On the contrary, it is not so easy, because the best writer on history should have political understanding and power of expression, but also military ability. He therefore should have a knowledge of generalship, he should be one who has at some time been in a camp and seen soldiers training or marching and knows arms and machines, what ‘in column’ and ‘in line’ mean, how the infantry and cavalry units are manoeuvred, what ‘lead-out’ means, ‘in short, not a stay-at-home [the historian] who only believes what people tell him’. According to Lucian, direct experience of war allows the writer of history to tell the truth, which is the main aim of a historical work: ‘it was Thucydides himself to lay down this law’ (ὁ δ’ οὖν Θουκυδίδης εὖ μάλα τοῦτ’ ἐνομοθέτησεν).34

The extremely close relationship between wars and the histories that describe them ensures that histories themselves are the best source not only to reconstruct events, but also to try to outline the history of ancient military thought. This is something very different to the aims of military manuals. As we will see, these manuals are subject to different rules to histories, having their own rules entirely. Considering military treaties to be military histories has caused confusion and misunderstanding, which is also responsible for confining these works to the rank of ‘secondary’ or ‘minor’ literature, being accused of ‘antiquarianism’, ‘pedantry’, or ‘abstractness’.35 Aelian’s list allows us to clarify this misconception. Along with Homer, Aelian cites authors who he considers to be his predecessors for the tactical genre. Indeed, Homer himself is not considered to be the first military author, but the first author writing on tactics. Unfortunately, the state of the textual tradition of these works provides us with only few clues. Among the cited authors, some are little more than names (Stratokles, Hermias, Cineas the Thessalian, Alexander Pyrrhus’ son, Clearchus, Evangelus, Eupolemus, Bryon).36 Others are known but not because they are writers of military works; these include Pyrrhus, Pausanias, Iphicrates, Poseidonius.37 And still others wrote de re militari works, but not on tactics or generalship, or better, their writings on these subjects have not been handed down: Frontinus is the author of the Strategemata, along with a treaty on aqueducts, but probably he wrote a larger military work, as we will see. Aineias the Tactician wrote not only the Poliorketika, but also a military compendium, divided into several sections, to whom the author himself refers.38

Polybius seems to be an exception to Aelian’s criterion, since he was a military historian and not a writer of tactics.39 In actual fact, Polybius himself cites his own treaty of tactics, the περὶ τὰς τάξεις ὑπομνήματα (Tactics), which according to some scholars could be the source of the treaties by Asclepiodotus, Aelian, and Arrian, through Posidonius.40

Following this line of reasoning, Polybius takes on a pivotal role. We can infer from his Histories that Polybius was an expert both in tactics and generalship.41 We do not know if he collected the military thoughts, which he conceived during his account of the Roman wars, later in the ὑπομνήματα or, more probably, if he inserted the thoughts already expressed in the ὑπομνήματα in the key points of his Histories, as could be inferred from what ‘I have already explained in more elaborate detail’ (ἀκριβέστερον δεδήλωται). Although the loss of this work and the absence of every other clue mean that we cannot make a precise judgement, we might believe, however, that the ὑπομνήματα belonged to a different literary genre, being not a military history but a military manual.42

The birth of the technical manual, which regarded several fields of knowledge, from agriculture to medicine and mathematics, was a key event in Greek culture at the end of the fifth century BCE, when the increasing diffusion of more specialised crafts created the problem of how to pass on technical knowledge. It was above all Plato who understood and expressed this need. He believed that the acquisition of knowledge does not require notions of a certain skill to be passed on from an expert to one who has no experience. Instead, knowledge requires a more complex process, able to unite theory, codified in written form, with supervised training and then experience.43

This type of literature did not in any way stand as a substitute for the traditional channels of knowledge, the word of the teacher and practice, but it was a precious help. On one side, it provided in advance everything that could be learnt during personal experience through precepts, rules, and general information; on the other, it addressed the past, because it collected the results of others’ experience. Vitruvius highlights this important function of technical literature in the Augustan age while dealing with the subject of architecture: a different field, but one which has many things in common with the military ambit. According to Vitruvius, the ancestors wisely and usefully handed down their knowledge and scientific theories (cogitata) for posterity, through written evidence, so that they would not be lost. Since these theories became richer and richer with the passing of time, they were published in volumes in order to achieve the highest degree of knowledge. Vitruvius concludes that we should therefore be grateful to the ancestors, as they did not neglect to spread their results because they did not pass on in envious silence, but were instead committed to handing down in written form the result of each scientific acquisition.44

The first surviving examples of this type of literature were Xenophon’s Cavalry Commander and On Horsemanship, and, as Conor Whately notes in his chapter, Aeneas the Tactician’s How to Survive under Siege.45 The fact that they are the first explains some of their stylistic features, like a lack of homogeneity, repetition, the treatment of subjects one after the other without a precise general structure, and the influence of spoken language.46 On the other hand, as Felmingham-Cockburn’s chapter suggests, with respect to language there may, in fact, be more at play. Indeed, regarding Xenophon’s writings, the didascalic tone is associated with philosophical reflections (the relationship between the thing to mould and the artist’s will in Cavalry Commander 6.1; the power given by gods to men of instructing one another by word in On Horsemanship 8.13), in the same way that technical descriptions are mixed with images from daily life (the blade of a knife in Cavalry Commander 2.3; the rows of seats in a theatre in 2.7; hawks and wolves in 4.18–20; a child’s game in 5.10; the foundations of a house in On Horsemanship 1.2; the dancer in 11.6.).

IV. The work of a military writer

When technical knowledge was written down, it was able to leave the restricted field of practice and receive a wider and more general audience. Crucially, it could travel far in space and time. In this way, because this technical knowledge was written down in literary form, it was not limited to a mere reproduction and transmission among a small circle of professionals, but instead became ‘another’ type of knowledge, susceptible to analysis and reflection and therefore inserted into wider technical and cultural areas, giving rise to repetition, comparison, distinction, and integration.47

Nadya Williams in her chapter raises important questions about authors and readers of military texts. This choice to aim at a wider readership of professionals in each field is also evident in the military ambit.48 Aelian concludes the list of his predecessors in tactics stating that their writings were addressed to experts. This inconvenience created some difficulty, because Aelian himself could not find anyone able to explain the most difficult topics to him. For this reason, he chose to illustrate clearly the principles of tactics, resorting, when necessary, to diagrams. He also decided to use the same technical terms employed by the ancients, in order to familiarise his readers with their use and to make it easier for them to understand the works of his predecessors, thanks to his simple treatment of the topics.49

Aelian was not the first to do this. A little less than a century before, Hero of Alexandria stated that his Engines of War (Belopoeica) had been written with a technical, but not a specialised, language. He too chose a simple and essential language, which was detailed and accessible to any reader. In contrast to his predecessors who wrote for an expert readership, Hero considers that taking information from these writers and dealing with the same subjects, even though they are sometimes old-fashioned, and presenting them in such a way as to be understood by anyone, make a work worthy of praise. Therefore, Hero states that in the manual, he is dealing with the construction of machines and their parts, dwelling on names, composition, construction, dimensions, and uses, after having described the differences between the machines and their evolution.50 The intended reader-ship of the Belopoeica were not artillery experts but were instead officials and generals wishing to complete their military training with precepts on this subject. For this reason, Hero, even more than Aelian, because of the specialised nature of his subject, considers it appropriate to insert some drawings in his text, illustrating various mechanisms as a didactic aid, since this was of great help to the reader understanding the text. These illustrations are present in the miniatures of the handed-down codices.51

The need for clarity is of great importance when a military author wants to address a large and unidentified readership, helping them to understand some key concepts that ensure the transmission of knowledge. Vitruvius had been a military engineer in Caesar’s army dealing with the supply and repair of ballistae, scorpions, and other artillery.52 For this reason, he decided to include in his On Architecture a section on military mechanics. Justifying his choice, Vitruvius provides his reader with an interesting reflection on the characteristics and aims of military manuals. Indeed, he explains that the machines which he describes cannot be used in the same places and in the same way, since fortification systems and adversaries are always different: each reader can choose the most suitable information for his needs. In the same way, it is pointless to describe defence systems, ‘since the enemy does not construct their defences on the basis on our writings’.53

The aim of addressing a large and heterogeneous readership in some way leads the military author to not dwell upon in-depth details, which are linked to each specific situation, but to provide the reader with generic teachings, drawing from tradition or his own experience only what he believes to be useful for this type of readership and for both present and future conduct. Once again, one might reflect that the caution articulated by Schellenberg in his chapter may be warranted.

The question of readership and characters of the military manual genre can be well understood through an examination of the preface to Onasander’s The General (Strategikos).54 This work is addressed to Quintus Veranius, legatus Augusti between 42 and 43 CE in the province of Lycia and later (57–58) governor of Britain. Along with Veranius, Onasander also identifies magistrates cum imperio, senators, and, generally, all Romans as the ideal users of a manual on generalship, a readership as numerous as it is undefined, as is also evident from a comparison of the potential readership of manuals on other disciplines: in contrast to military writings, treaties on riding, hunting, fishing, and agriculture should be addressed to those who want to engage in these activities.55

In the preface, Onasander also explains the criterion he uses in writing the manual and his aims. He then outlines his own role as a collector, composer, and writer of strategic precepts. Firstly, Onasander wished to ‘deploy’ a ‘deployment’ – a play on words by the author – of precepts so that it would be training for good generals and a delight for old commanders.56 Secondly, he wanted to explain why some commanders have made mistakes and failed, whereas others have achieved victory and glory. Ultimately, he aimed to highlight Roman values, since the Romans did not extend their empire to the boundaries of the world by chance, but thanks to war. Illustrating the ambitious aim of his collection, Onasander defines his role as a writer: not someone who is too young and inexperienced in war, which are indispensable conditions to being considered credible, since people put their trust in one who shows himself to be an expert, even though he might not write elegantly from a literary point of view. On the other hand, people do not lend credence to non-experts, even if they write about precepts which can be carried out. Onasander states that all his subjects come from the great feats of the Romans, not his own; nevertheless, he justifies his approach saying that if a general composes a manual on generalship telling of the great enterprises of others along with reflections based on his own experience, he cannot be considered as an unreliable witness. In the same way, not everything included in his manual is the result of his own mind.

Actually, no reflection and precept from (The General) Strategicus can be directly linked to detailed and well-known episodes, despite the best efforts of modern scholarship to find elements of inspiration in them.57

The potential but also the limits of this type of research are clearly demonstrated by the fact that we can encounter many equally valid examples for each precept. Manuals on strategy and tactics differ from works on stratagems because they are theoretical in nature and do not necessarily require examples. Indeed, while Frontinus’ Stratagems (Strategemata) and Polyaenus’ Stratagems (Strategica) are military writings, they are not strictly speaking real manuals, since they do not feature the characteristics typical of this genre: didactic style, precepts, admonitions, and descriptions.58 They are instead collections of anecdotes. In practice, they cannot substitute the military precepts of military manuals, but are an addition to these precepts.59 The chapters of Aaron L. Beek and James T. Chlup, however, combine to challenge this assumption by suggesting that there may be broader, overarching objectives in these texts: they may be more than their individual pieces suggest. Indeed, Frontinus, the first representative figure of this genre (or subgenre), had already engaged in the writing of a military manual before collecting the Stratagems. In the preface to his work, Frontinus proudly claims to have been the only author to have organised the rules of military knowledge.60 As he believes to have achieved this aim, he consequently summarises in convenient sketches the skilled enterprises of the generals (sollertia ducum facta) that Greeks call ‘stratagems’. In this way, generals – who evidently constitute the readership of Frontinus’ collection – will have access to models of wisdom and experience, useful to give them a greater ability to design and carry out similar enterprises and to not worry about the results of their stratagems, since they can compare these with the successful experiences of the past.61 This underlines what Wrightson explores in his chapter, though with a twist of reading about stratagems to understand how to counteract them. Along with the problem of direct references to identified episodes, the research and identification of sources for this type of literature are no less problematic and always provide open and often contradictory results.

We have seen that, except for Homer, Onasander never cites his sources, but instead puts together a work that does not include concrete examples. The result is a manual which is generic bordering on banality. This characteristic determined his fortune in Byzantine military literature but also condemned him to the criticism of modern scholarship. Alphonse Dain defined Onasander as ‘une aimable graeculus, nullement versé dans l’art militaire, prodigue de flatteries’.62 Collecting and writing useful precepts for future generals is Onasander’s declared aim. In other words, knowledge of war is essential, as nobody is afraid of putting into practice what he has well learnt (nemo facere metuit quod se bene didicisse confidit).63

This principle is the basis of Vegetius’ Epitome of Military Science (Epitoma rei militaris), including Regulae bellorum generales at the end of the book (3.26.1–33) – certainly written by Vegetius and central to the conceptualising of the text, as Jonathan Warner explains in his chapter, which, importantly, had great fortune in the subsequent military tradition (for example, Maurice and Machiavelli’s Art of War (L’arte della guerra).64 Here, the historical context is completely different from the years of the empire when Onasander lived. Vegetius wrote in the aftermath of the defeat at Adrianople (378 CE), a moment of great disruption for the collective mindset of the Romans.65 Vegetius identifies military structures as being one of the weaknesses of the empire, leading to defeat. According to the writer, Roman military structures were weak due to a long period of inactivity and were completely unsuitable to defeating the barbarians who attacked the borders of the empire. In order to remedy this problem, Vegetius proposes his own solution to the emperor – to whom his work is addressed66 – consisting in the Epitome67 of a compendium of military theories from the past. He was convinced that he was undertaking a difficult and tiring operation which would be of great use to everyone, with the aim of reforming the military structures of the time.68 Therefore, Vegetius’ plan includes a return to the glorious ancient legion, or rather, to the values which it represents, through the application of its pivotal principles: the recruitment of Roman citizens and careful selection of soldiers, hard training, strict discipline, and knowledge of tactics and strategy for the generals. At first glance, Vegetius’ proposal has a mere antiquarian value (see also earlier, 270).

Indeed, this was the case. However, we should not forget that Vegetius’ solution had its origin in literature and was intended to remain there. This concept is the key characteristic and at the same time the most evident limit of this type of literature. Onasander and Vegetius, like Vitruvius before them, highlight the limitations of precepts in a military manual, which cannot include the whole repertory of possible events in war, but only offer guidelines, suggestions from one’s own or another’s experience, and also – in the case of stratagematic literature – examples and anecdotes as models to follow or to avoid.

V. The role of Byzantium in the tradition of military texts

Clear ideas, which can be easily understood by non-experts, general precepts, which can be used in various circumstances, elementary notions: this dimension without time and space determined the fortune of military manuals in Byzantine culture and, indeed, their survival – their ‘future’, or rather, the survival of some manuals to the detriment of others. For example, the presence of an articulated and in-depth compendium like Vegetius’ Epitome was probably decisive for the loss of the previous writings, which, in part, Vegetius himself cites and uses (Cato the Elder, Cornelius Celsus, Frontinus, Tarruntenius Paternus: 1.8.10–11; 15.4; 2.3.6–7). We have only clues about these, and, as Murray Dahm’s chapter suggests, speculating about a ‘lost’ text is useful in filling in the history of genre and demonstrating its appeal to ancient readers and generals. Indeed, if we exclude the accidents of the manuscript tradition – for example, regarding a corpus of writings on seamanship – the transmission of Greek military literature was the result of a process of selection which occurred in Byzantium.69

There was also a widespread activity in elaborating sylloges, epitomes, and excerpts.70 To comment on each of these writings and on the complex relationship they have with each other and with ancient military writings would be long and complex. It is enough to take a brief look at the titles of Alphonse Dain’s studies over more than twenty years, which give us a clear idea of how these anonymous companions made use of the military literature of the previous centuries.71

This was not only a literary operation. Besides the fact that ‘the compulsiveness of the Byzantines’ archaistic bent makes it frequently difficult for students of the works of Byzantine Greek literature to diagnose whether a writer is recording contemporary facts or is retailing some conventional tradition’,72 the Byzantine approach towards war was a pivotal element in order to know of the military writings of the past and their reuse: Clemens Koehn provides a useful frame of reference here. Referring to an ancient topos,73 the Byzantines considered war to be the worst and absolute evil, a barbarous act which the civil man should avoid:74 conflicts are created by the devil, who uses sin in order to arm one man against another.75 Although obliged to defend its own borders with arms, the Eastern Roman Empire never managed to conceive a positive theory on war, which could enhance or at least justify the use of arms. Therefore, Byzantium developed a war techne which was strongly based on the precepts of the ancients, but richer, more complex and codified, giving priority to strategic aspects, even at the expense of avoiding, whenever possible, the use of arms. They therefore valued reason over blind courage, organisation and discipline over number and strength.76

The retrieval of past military tradition is clearly shown in a compendium of an armchair general such as Syrianus Magister, particularly in the section devoted to tactics.77 There Syrianus uses Aelian’s Tactics, from which he draws the description of various manoeuvres, without providing changes or updates and actually proposing abstract models, which certainly were no longer used or usable in either war or training.78 In his 1980 article, Vladimir Kučma underlined that Syrianus applied to his compendium a method of ‘minimum transformativity’, characteristic of a ‘transformative-reductive’ work.79 In practice, Syrianus collects the precepts of the ancients modifying them just enough to make them relevant, through a process of simplification. The author’s aim is evidently not to give practical advice to generals or officials who are actively involved in the field of battle, but instead to carry out a cultural operation, engaging both the highest-ranking officers and officials or men close to the emperor. In short, his aim is to provide a Kriegsbildung.

Past scholarship highlighted the ‘antiquarian’ value of Syrianus’ compendium, particularly when compared with Maurice’s Strategicon.80 As a few contributors in this volume have suggested (Whately, Chlup, and Caldwell), antiquarianism is a recurring perceived feature that recurs throughout the genre; in fact, perhaps it is what ‘tethers’ the genre. Maurice’s text, however, is the most original and creative product of Byzantine military literature. Maurice was personally engaged in wars against the Persians and intended to write (or have someone write) a handbook which would be, above all, useful and therefore easily and clearly written – ‘we have paid no attention to the correctness of the writing or the sound of the words’ – a modest manual of elementary notions or an introduction for those devoting themselves to the art of generalship (μετρίαν τινὰ στοιχείωσιν ἤτοι εἰσαγωγὴν τοῖς εἰς τὸ στρατηγεῖν ἐπιβαλλομένοις).81 Nevertheless, in the same text where Maurice illustrates the aim and characteristics of his work, he admits his debt to ancient military authors: ‘we have resolved to write on this subject, as best as we can, briefly and simply, drawing in part on ancient authors and in part on our limited experience’.82 In doing this, Maurice declares that he does not expect to introduce new elements or try to improve what the ancients have already done. Nevertheless, from his point of view, the ancients addressed themselves to experts and for this reason dealt with subjects which were difficult for the common reader, omitting necessary and fundamental elements, those which were, in turn, useful for his times.83

It is undeniable that Maurice reworked materials taken from ancient authors in order to create an original compendium, where he gives great attention to reflections based on his own and others’ recent experience. In the same way, his treatment of tactics and military organisation is contemporary. Furthermore, in book 11 of his Strategicon, Maurice introduces a novelty regarding both content and method. Indeed, for the first time, a military manual devotes particular attention to the enemy, described as an abstract entity in the manuals of the past,84 considering the characteristics of each (the Persians, Scythians, Franks and Longobards, and Slaves) both military and ethnographic, on the basis of ἁρμόζεσθαι, the need to adapt to the enemy in order to defeat him.85

In Byzantium, the Strategicon was the most important and pivotal manual, so much so that when, in the tenth century, Leo VI the Wise wished to collect a compendium de re militari, he simply referred to Maurice’s work (Strategicon), reproducing the majority of its content, often verbatim, reworking and enriching it, in order to achieve his own aims.86 Unlike Maurice, Leo was not an emperor-general and probably never took part in a military campaign or saw an army in battle in his life.87 Like some of his predecessors (Syrianus, for example) or successors (as is the case of Naudé seen previously), Leo knew his Arab enemy from a distance, through his readings, his father’s memories, and reports of his generals.88 Besides the need to fit available military knowledge to practical necessities, and, as Meredith L. D. Riedel discusses in her chapter, insert a Christian frame, Leo wished to provide his readership with a consolidated repertoire of precepts. For this reason, he not only explained, paraphrased, and updated subjects from the Strategicon through linguistic revision, distributing them in a larger and more organised companion than the model adding to each subject his own personal reflections, but also enriched his work with sections taken from ancient authors, both on tactics (Aelian and Arrian) and strategy (Onasander) and on stratagems (Polyaenus).

The result is not a handbook that is ready to be applied in war, but a collection of precepts in order to educate the ruling class of a very militarised society. With Leo’s Tactica, the tradition of ancient military manuals withstands and overcomes innovation, and theory prevails over practice. Presenting his work, Leo immediately states his starting point, the characteristics, the method, and aims. He believes that the fatal mistakes made in war are not so much due to a lack of discipline and courage on the part of the soldiers, or to the inexperience and cowardice of the generals, as to the lack of a comparison with military writers of the past, due to their obscure characteristics. Therefore, Leo decided to undertake the enterprise of collecting and organising the ‘ancient and recent methods’ of generalship and tactics, but also stories and descriptions of other types, in order to give his subjects a great benefit, offering them, as synthetically and clearly as possible, a ‘regulatory manual’, a πρόχειρος νόμος, a kind of rulebook for officers and men with military roles.89

VI. Is war an art?

The organisation of military knowledge in a compendium by Leo VI perfectly reflects the literary and cultural canons of the age of the Macedonian dynasty, which are expressed with the word ‘encyclopaedism’.90 Based on his experience in the study of Byzantine military literature, with this definition Alphonse Dain identified two different tendencies, the creation and compilation of extracts.91

Both these forms found their best expression thanks to Leo’s son, Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos. During his reign, he patronised a historical collection (Scriptores post Theophanem) and above all excerpta of a moral-historical (Excerpta historica) and political nature (De Cerimoniis, De Thematibus, De Administrando imperio), and technical compendia, such as Geoponica (agriculture), Iatrika (medicine), and Basilika (law).92 In our field, Constantine VII was responsible for the recovery of the Hellenistic and Roman military tradition, in order to collect and transmit ancient military knowledge and make this available in the imperial library of Constantinople.

The most important result of this activity is the Laurentianus LV.4. This codex is the official copy of writings on tactics and strategy circulating in the scriptorium of Constantinople in the age of Constantine VII and the most important witness to the direct tradition of Greek military manuals. In Alphonse Dain’s words, this manuscript is ‘a military encyclopaedia, where one finds a complete volume of different kinds of writing related to the art of war’.93 The structure of the Laurentianus itself is noteworthy, since it is a corpus obtained from the composition of three different corpora. The first and the last are composed of Byzantine treaties. The first corpus presents the Strategicon at the beginning, in second place.

The core consists of the ancient military writings (Asclepiodotus, Aelian, Aeneas, Arrian’s Tactics and Expedition against the Alans, Onasander). With a perfect Ringkomposition, the corpus is bookended by two small handbooks attributed to Constantine VII: at the beginning the so-called Praecepta imperatori observanda, which is really a collection of notes taken from Leo Katakylas’ work.94 At the end, we find the De moribus diversarum gentium, mutilous without an end due to the loss of the final folio of the manuscript, which is in fact an excerpt taken from Maurice’s Strategicon, regarding the military uses of the Persians and Scythians. Likewise, the How the Saracens Fight (Quomodo Saracenis debelletur), which is positioned immediately before this, is an excerptum from Leo’s Tactics.95 This collection reveals an important and decisive date for the transmission of ancient military manuals. Constantine not only organised military knowledge, but, following in Leo’s footsteps, began to collect notes on military subjects, probably wishing to give them a literary form later. In this way, the transmission of knowledge went hand in hand with the production of the same knowledge in a field that we moderns would expect to be closer to contemporary times. Byzantine military writers referred to the authority and precepts of the ancients, first as followers of a tradition of military thought and then as makers of a process of transmission of this knowledge, establishing a relationship of continuity which was valuable despite the existing military structures, social conditions, and historical situations.

So, is war an art or a science?96 The Byzantines would have had no doubt when answering this question. Syrianus considers tactics as an ἐπιστήμη which allows the general to array and manoeuvre a body of armed men in an orderly way.97 Defining the different classes in a state and why they have been established, Syri-anus considers ἐπιστήμη and τέχνη (or rather τεχνικόν) as ‘a way of carrying out something with minimum effort in a proper and long-lasting manner’, so that an activity done ‘τέχνῃ’ is an activity which will be more easily completed and long-lasting.98 If ἐπιστήμη identifies itself only in part with τέχνη, it cannot however be reduced to a simple ‘knowledge’ (γνῶσις), as Syrianus states defining the ἱερατικὴ τέχνη.99 Considering war as a science, then, and as such, something to be known, communicated, preserved, codified, and transmitted, determined the survival of manuals by ancient polemographers, who were men of literature and science. Or rather, they were also men of literature and science.

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