The twentieth century was the bloodiest in history. Given how bloody other centuries have been, that is really saying something. Why is western civilization, so remarkably progressive in so many ways, so obstinately aggressive and warlike? In “The Origins of Western Warfare: Militarism and Morality in the Ancient World,” historian Doyne Dawson argues that the answer lies in the ethics of warfare bequethed to us by ancient Greece and Rome.
There is much to commend and comment on in this book. I’ll focus on just two.
First, Dawson examines the competing perspectives of Herodotus and Thucydides, the two greatest historians of antiquity. Dawson notes that whereas Herodotus emphasized the inherent order to things and ultimately the sameness from one period to the next, Thucydides emphasized the inherent uniqueness of events and the futility of trying to achieve order. Herodotus focuses on the similarities; Thucydides the variations. The central metaphor of Herodotus is a chain of retribution that tends to run to mysterious limits, and his central theme is the helplessness of man before fate. Thucydides, on the other hand, promotes a central metaphor of disconnect between words and deeds, and his theme is the efforts of man to control fortune through planning and intelligence. Whereas Herodotus’s work was highly literary and focused on moral achievement and cosmic order, Thucydides’ work was a mixture of rich chronological detail and highlights the decision-making that went into the actions (e.g. Pericles’ funeral oration, Melian dialogue). Thucydides presents both sides of the problem and he illustrates how the actions coming from that decision-making process unfolds. Again, matching and examining words and deeds. It thus encourages exploring all possible contingencies and challenges assumptions. In the fourth century BC, the author notes, the style of Herodotus won out over the realism of Thucydides. However, Polybius was a conscious imitator of the Thucydidean style, although he wasn’t nearly as widely read by contemporaries.
Second, Dawson compares and contrasts the Greek and Roman ways and the ethics of warfare. He notes that, in 490 BC, the Greeks perplexed the Persian commander Xerxes because they seemed to be constantly at war and always ready to engage in a hoplite battle that to the Persians seemed void of tactical or strategic reasoning. At the time, it was only the Greeks that put exclusive faith in the heavy infantry battle that made close-quarters shock combat inevitable. Despite Persian impressions, Dawson argues, the Greek way of warfare was predominantly ritualistic, a sublimation of the Homeric battle, a duel between city-states that actually limited casualties, not battles of annihilation as the Persians presumed. Much of this is similar to what Victor Davis Hanson argues in his excellent book “Carnage & Culture.”
Dawson does raise one important issue, however, that Hanson fails emphasize: the relative exclusivity of the hoplite in Greek society (e.g. Dawson estimates that just a one-third of the free male population qualified). Thus, the hoplite clash became a powerful symbol of the landowning class’s leadership position. The author maintains that landowners accepted the offensive nature of hoplite battle and the high costs to themselves in order to visibly demonstrate their ability to defend the soil, a role they guarded jealously. Militarism in the Greek city-state, therefore, was to promote esprit de corps amongst the landowners.
When war came, it was most usually for honor – not land or money or other possible causes, an explanation that the venerable Yale historian Donald Kagan also makes in “On the Causes of War and the Preservation of Peace.” Whereas the Homeric conception of war is romantic and strikingly individualistic, the cause was often quite similar: to avenge wrongs against the kings. In the age of city-states, the clash of competing, homogenous, landowning hoplite phalanxes took the symbolic place of two warriors avenging or upholding the honor of the city, which took the place of the king. In short, individual trophy-hunting was replaced by group warfare (Hanson would argue that the Greeks didn’t glorify war in the way Dawson seems to suggest). In the end, the casus belli of Greek warfare was the “just war.” The city or its citizens had to be “wronged” in some way or else the gods would be against them.
Because the just war was based on righting perceived wrongs, it often took on the shape of a crusade, making it very difficult for non-interested parties to remain neutral. It was almost a moral imperative to fight on the side of the supposedly just, Dawson says, and if you didn’t, there was now cause to wage a “Just war” against you. In summary, Greek morality placed few restrictions on warfare. Any wrong could provide a “legitimate” reason for a just war, and there was no statute of limitations on the offense in question. The elasticity of this idea made it easy to justify almost anything, and when it came to Barbarians all deals were off.
The case of the Romans is similar, but also different in some critical respects. Polybius sought to decipher Rome’s success in the second century BC. Unlike the success of the Greek states that more often than not were owed to “chance,” Rome’s triumph seemed a validation of their unique military system. The legion was essentially an adaptation of the Greek phalanx, only broken into maniples to allow greater independence and flexibility. In short, the Romans sacrificed the depth and cohesion of the phalanx for gains in mobility and maneuver. Finally, the Romans added a semi-professional officer corps (centurions) for leadership and intense drilling. Thus, Rome established a military state mechanism unknown outside of Sparta. But military improvements alone did not account for Roman domination of the world. The Roman army, while certainly formidable, did lose from time-to-time, as did the Spartans. Rather, it was the Roman system that was superior. In the end, it didn’t matter that the legions weren’t as advanced as Alexander’s army with his combined arms tactics, nor did it matter that Rome didn’t produce generals of a skill of Pyrrhus or Hannibal. In the end, Roman superior organization prevailed. Whereas the typical metaphor of Greek warfare was a duel, the Roman metaphor was that of a machine. The key to their success was the military and social organization that never gave up. The linchpin of success for other cities was mass (Persia), civic pride (Athens) or generalship (Carthage), but at Rome it was persistence.
The Romans had a highly formalized process for going to war that revolved around ensuring that, like the Greeks, only just wars were fought. The interesting thing is how much the ritualized process of going to war mirrors contemporary western diplomacy, at least from a cynical perspective. Unlike the Greeks, who believed in both a just war and just hegemony, but that fundamentally they were different, the Roman concept of just war was uniquely imperialistic. The gods were believed to sanction expansion if it were just; preventative wars were also considered just. In sum, the imperialism pursued by the Roman Republic was ritualized and wrapped in a veneer of morality. However, it must be remembered that it was considered just to attack someone that could threaten you in the future – the concept of burning the wasps in their nest common from Hellenistic times. Caesar used the preventative reasoning all throughout his Gallic campaign, and it was used as the pretext for the final stage of Republican conquest in Greece and Macedon.
Much of this heritage can be found today in the way western powers make foreign policy and undertake military action. The invasion of Iraq in 2003, for instance, is a classic example of a preventative war that was proceeded by all the trappings of demonstrating the justness of the cause (e.g. Colin Powell’s performance before the United Nations). It is also reflected in the way western conventional forces struggle in battling insurgencies in Iraq and Afghanistan as they violate the Homeric conception of honorable warriors dueling to the death in an open and fair contest.
“The Origins of Western Warfare” neither a light nor easy read, but the serious reader will be sure to find it engaging and insightful.
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