(NB: These remarks were delivered before the Lessons from Rome and Greece panel on Friday, Nov. 8, 2019, at the Northeast Political Science Association Conference.)
Rule of Law and Fear of God
“…social order must flow up from the
people themselves – freely obeying the dictates of inwardly-possessed and
commonly-shared moral values. And to control willful human beings, with an
infinite capacity to rationalize, those moral values must rest on authority independent
of men’s will – they must flow from a transcendent Supreme Being.
“In short, in the Framers’ view, free
government was only suitable and sustainable for a religious people – a people
who recognized that there was a transcendent moral order antecedent to both the
state and man-made law and who had the discipline to control themselves
according to those enduring principles.”
The US Attorney General uttered those
words when he gave a talk a few weeks ago (Oct 11) at Notre Dame. Of course, they come in the context of a
growing discontent in some circles with liberalism, classic or otherwise, but this
concern is not new: Plato. for example, explored how institutions, law, and
culture feed into a just state. Today I
want to draw your attention to Polybius.
What he suggests is simple enough: no matter the laws, democratic masses require fear of god. This thesis is of greater interest if we reflect
on the purpose of his histories: Polybius is kind enough to tell is from the
very outset that he writes for aspiring or active politicians. (1.1-2) According
to him, knowledge of historical facts and causes provides a reliable basis for
politicians to engage in ‘affairs’ (pragmata).
So, what are we to make of this lesson from Rome, this argument that fear of
god makes up for what law alone cannot supply?
Polybius does not seem to write for the law-giver, the would-be Lycurgus:
he writes for the practical student.
Alas, what this really means, I shall leave to the experts here gathered,
but not without a few of my own reflections.
For my part, I intend to discuss what he says, provide some intellectual
background, and, pose some questions, all the while reminding us that he is not
merely a narrator of history: rather, he was an experienced politician in his
own right who saw his histories as resources for current and future politicians. In short, I propose to take Polybius the
political theorist seriously and on his own terms.
Many still read Polybius primarily as a
historian.[1] Even interest in Book 6, where he presents a
theory of constitutions and an exposition of Rome designed to explain to the
attentive reader its rapid and unprecedented success, has tended to engage
modern readers primarily in terms of what Polybius got right or wrong regarding
2nd century Rome. As I say,
he is primarily, it seems to me, judged as a historian in a very narrow
sense. Perhaps this is partly due to the
imposing bulk of his work; partly, no doubt, to his excellent judgment and
recording of events of great interest. But let’s take Polybius on his own terms, as a
political thinker in his own right. Polybius
wants us to read him with care: as he says over and over, he wants aspiring and
practicing politicians to read his work and learn from history. With Book 6, itself is a self-conscious
interruption to his narrative, the goal is to help the reader understand the
institutional and political basis of Rome’s success. This exposition is delivered, however, in the
context of his political theory.[2] A proper understanding of all that will, he
claims, allow the attentive reader to judge the developmental stage of any given state as well as what lies in
its future. That’s the claim.
While
incomplete, Book 6 still preserves plenty of material. We find a theory of regimes: how they arise,
flourish, and decay – the famed anacyclosis.
Polybius describes Rome’s mixed constitution and military techniques; he analyzes
other, actual constitutions, such as those of Sparta and Carthage. For Polybius, it is axiomatic that a state’s worth
depends on its laws (nomoi) and
customs (ethe), a pairing that echoes
a concern with public and private life. (6.47.1-2) Thus, one can judge the
worth of a political system by its laws and customs. When it comes to the Roman system (politeuma – Aristotle says this is
synonymous with politeia), one
feature stands out, rendering it superior others: deisidaimonia or superstition. (6.56.6) Note: however good Rome’s
other institutional features, superstition is essential and deserves special
mention. He knows that this word, deisdaimonia, is normally pejorative,
but insists that in the Roman republic it serves a valuable purpose, having
been introduced specifically to
render the ordinary people (to plethos)
orderly, a condition which provides for the regime’s coherence. As he explains, if a state could have been
made of wise men, there would have been no need for this. However, ‘every multitude [being] fickle,
full of lawless desires, unreasoned passion (orge), and violent anger (thumos),’
needs to be kept in check by ‘invisible fears’ (adelois phobois) and ‘this sort of drama’ (tei toiautei tragoidiai). (hendiadys?) (6.56.11) In other words,
the common people, absent deisidaimonia,
would run amok and prove untrustworthy: superstition produces order among the
lower orders, which produces order within the state (sunekhein used twice). (6.56.7, 11) I don’t think there’s much question as to
which between superstition and laws is the junior partner. For, according to Polybius, without deisidaimonia, the irrational mob would
run riot. (An assertion made by Isocrates in the Areopagiticus 7.39) In Book
6, he says very little of law, whatever its benefits. Remember: we are to judge a political system
by its customs and laws, by the public and the private, which together produce
order, yet in his Book devoted to political theory, he never discusses Roman
law as an element of social control or a source of order. He illustrates his point about superstition
in the following way. First, he says
that with Greeks, if you entrust money to some official, despite everything
being recorded in triplicate – even they had red tape! – you could never be
sure that it wouldn’t be skimmed: despite the record-keeping, the rules, the
audits. (6.56.13-5) In short, positive
law, which should order public action, cannot prevent an official from skimming:
perhaps it cannot even render its citizens honorable. (Virtue is the product of
habit, not law, says Isocrates. Areo.
7.48) Yet the situation in Rome is different.
Its magistrates can, he says,
be trusted with money.[3] We find, if this illustration is to be
relevant, that Rome’s officials are more trustworthy. thanks to superstition! Some aspects of this example puzzle me. On the one hand, Polybius says that Roman
superstition was instituted to control the plebs. On the other hand, the example refers to officials,
viz. people who would not be drawn
from the mob or from the staff of slaves that served the state. Something else is strange.
Polybius concludes Book 6 by reasserting
the inevitable decay that must attend all regimes and by reminding the reader
that what he has just propounded will enable the reader to ‘foretell the
future’ (proeipein huper tou mellontos).
(6.57.1-4; cf. 6.3.2) Next, he narrows his focus and recalls for us the
conditions that turn democracy into mob-rule. (6.57.9) and connects this to the
Roman republic itself. Is he no longer
classing it a mixed regime? Is he now
thinking of its democratic aspect particularly?
I’m not sure. It is at this point
that, to demonstrate the republic’s acme, he highlights an event from the 2nd
Punic War which took place some 50 years before the period of composition.
(6.58.1ff) In 216, after the Battle of Cannae, he reports, Hannibal sent ten captured
Romans back to the city, proposing to exchange all his prisoners for
ransom. The ten had sworn an oath to
return to Hannibal. One, however,
contrived to fulfill the oath in its technical aspects, but thwart its
intent. To make a long story short, the Roman
senate rejects Hannibal’s offer and sends the captured soldiers back, including,
bound in chains, the one who had tried to worm his way out of the oath. Polybius cites this case because the Senate’s
decision demonstrates Roman megalopsukhia
(6.58.13) – at that time; but, if the Senators have dignity, the ordinary
soldiers were ‘bound by their oath.’ (6.58.12) We must note, however, that one
soldier tried to escape his sworn obligations: obviously, customs can’t cure
all miscreants. It is, perhaps, strange that after presenting a glowing
portrait of Rome, he includes an example of violating an oath. Human beings remain capable of overcoming
fear of god or law. As a matter of
history, the Romans had standing extortion courts and Polybius himself reports
the death penalty for bribery (6.56.4), for which there’d be no need if there
were no bribery. Both of these are
introduced after the 2nd Punic War, but during the author’s
lifetime. At any rate, real life is
complicated, and Polybius was always concerned with the practical. Ultimately, he is making a point about the
relationship between positive law and fear of god, to wit: where both exist,
that community is better, and its lower classes are more orderly. (Can we upscale virtue?)
I mentioned earlier that Polybius devotes
a sizeable portion of Book 6 to describing Roman military practices, including
the making and breaking of camp. (6.19.1-42.6) (He describes how the Romans
levy legions, how they conduct night watches, how they layout camps, and so
forth.) Apart from the practical purpose
of this – he believes that the Romans can teach the Greeks a thing or two about
military campaigns, and clearly thinks that their military practice has been an
factor in their success, I think there’s another way in which this part of Book
6 relates to his overall thesis about the source of Rome’s political coherence
and its control of the lower classes. Fear
is repeatedly identified as a factor in controlling the Roman legionary. Beatings are inflicted for a variety of
crimes (6.37.9-12), and, he argues, the severity, swiftness, and certainty of
the punishments lead to scrupulousness among the men. (6.37.6) Roman soldiers
live in dread (dediotes) of
punishment. (6.37.13) Moreover, the regularity of their encampments, unlike the
ad hoc nature of Greek practice,
ensures that everyone always knows his place and what to do. (6.42.1ff) We find
here a combination of fear and habit. To
my mind, this seems the very stuff of superstition, as advanced by Polybius,
with the added factor that, at least, in the case of the Roman legionary,
punishment is swift and assured. (cf. 6.37.6, punishment for failing
nightwatch) (Obviously, the divine is
not necessarily up to this standard!)
Fear seems an important factor in keeping otherwise potentially unruly
troops at bay, just as fear of the divine keeps the ordinary folk in good
order. Moreover, the habits of camp
life, with their regularity, echo, perhaps, the habits that law or superstition
provide for public life at Rome. In any
case, apart from the purely military interest of Roman practice, the camp
offers an analogue to political life within the city. (Isocrates: virtue comes
from habit. Areo. 7.40) Polybius
compares the camp to a town and stresses the soldier’s familiarity with where
he lives in a camp as to someone knowing his ‘native city.’ (6.31.10; 6.41.10)
(‘It never varies and is familiar to all.’ 6.42.5)
Now, returning to superstition, let me
add a few more observations. First, the
language Polybius uses to describe the implementation of the deisidaimonia deserves notice. On several occasions, Polybius uses words
derived from ‘tragedy’ to describe the stories that give deisidaimonia its oomph. Let’s
consider an instance. As a preliminary,
I want to point out how the commonly used translations fail to convey the right
sense. In the Loeb, for example, we find
‘these matters are clothed in such pomp;’ in the Penguin ‘solemnity,’ in the Oxford
‘elaborate,’ and the Budé has ‘dramatisé.’ These are efforts to render the verb
ektragodein: to make a theatrical
production of it.[4] English probably can’t capture that. What we find in Polybius are the notions of
fear and drama or theatricality. Next,
although Polybius argues that the Roman constitution arose naturally, unlike
that of ‘god-like’ Lycurgus, which arose by design, he claims that superstition
was introduced long ago (oi palaioi) and
for a reason. (6.56.12) We aren’t given
a reason for this claim; maybe Polybius believes that superstition, as he means
it, is man-made. At this juncture, I’d like to relate these comments about deisidaimonia to the anacyclosis or cycle of regimes,
introduced earlier in Book 6. There we
learn that monarchy works on the basis of strength, aristocracy, on the basis
of a council of wise men. Democracy Polybius defines thus: “when in a community
where it is traditional and customary (patrion
esti) to reverence the gods, to honor our parents, to respect our elders,
and to obey the laws, the will of the greater number prevails, this (these
kinds of systems/para tois toioutois sustemasin)
is to be called a democracy.” (6.4.5-6) Polybius here identifies several
features that are key to a genuine democracy, foremost of which is reverence
for the gods. Indeed, this reverence is first among various factors that naturally
fall into the category of customs, and the customs, we find, are balanced by
the laws. Thus, we find here our pair, customs
and laws, that seems key to Polybius, and we know from the definition offered
here and his later discussion the importance of superstition. Moreover, Polybius highlights this pair as a
critical component of democracy alone, not of other regimes. For doubtless it is in a democracy where
ordinary people have access to decision-making that restraint is most needed. This connection between superstition and democracy
has not received sufficient notice as an element within the political thought
of Polybius, but I do think it is significant: the mob may enter the halls of
power, but it must be polite! Furthermore,
Polybius does not explain religion’s origin, although he might have addressed
it in some lost passage; rather, we find that reverence is integral to true
democracy, and that the Romans wisely instituted superstition to regulate the
mob.
Someone might object: religion and
superstition are not the same thing. I
think that Polybius is saying that for the ignorant masses, the distinction
doesn’t really matter. We learn that
democracy calls for reverence. We find
in Rome, which he ultimately suggests is
democratic, that superstition is the outstanding component providing good
order. I think he means us to see that
reverence in part amounts to this, practically speaking. At any rate, I’d like to explore two things. First,
the concept, deisidaimonia. Second, the notion that religion was created
as a means of social control. This
background will enhance our appreciation of our author’s meaning. The etymology
of deisidaimonia is
straightforward. It means ‘god-fearing.’
In its negative valence, the word carries a connotation of excess and
irrationality. In other words, while
being deisidaimon in the sense of showing
proper reverence to the gods could be a fine thing, as Aristotle advises the
tyrant (Pol. 5.11, 1315a1) or as Xenophon describes Agesilaus (11.8); excess
coupled with ignorance poses a problem. Indeed, excess is probably never a good
thing in the Lyceum! This is what is said of deisidaimonia in the Characteres,
written by Aristotle’s successor, Theophrastus.
The work is a catalogue of types, drawn up, as an elderly Theophrastus
explains in the prologue, to help his children improve themselves by choosing the
right kinds of companions. (I want to point out in passing this practical
aspect of the Characteres.) Theophrastus defines superstition as
cowardice towards the divine (deilia pros
to daimonion). The superstitious man uses any means at his disposal to
appease the numinous, known or unknown. (16.1-2) For example, if he sees that a
mouse has eaten some barley in the house, he races to consult an expert. (16.6)
A dream sends him to an interpreter to identify which god requires prayer. He spits in his shirt, if he catches sight of
a madman or epileptic. (16.6) The emphasis is on automaticity and ritual,
motivated, it seems, by unreasoning fear.
There is no ‘theology’ nor is there any reasoning: all is driven by dread of what may happen if a ritual is
not performed. We often collapse centuries in the Greek world, as though
Polybius and Theophrastus could have been neighbors, so I accept that there are
complexities of language lost to us. Nevertheless, Polybius clearly wants to argue
in Book 6 that, however foolish it might seem, superstition is a social good. Up-scaling virtue, after all, is tough; up-scaling
fear, not so much. The irrational aspect of superstition highlighted by
Theophrastus find its ideal host in the irrational mob. Fortunately, ‘the ancients’ had the good
sense to introduce it, good sense because it orders the mob, hence the city. Maybe Xenophon hints at its power when he
describes the soldiers of Cyrus charging at the cry of the paean: ‘for in such
a situation particularly the god-fearing (deisidaimones)
are less fearful of men.’ (C. 3.3.58) Fear
of god outweighs fear of the enemy charging at with you a spear: perhaps,
Polybius might add, it also does more than law or boot camp! In any case, whatever
superstition says of an individual, Polybius is arguing for its collective
benefit: maybe we are to be surprised because he uses the word
counter-intuitively. Thus, he stresses
his point.
So, how are we to connect superstition
with reverence or religion? We know the
following: reverence for the gods is leading requisite of democracy;
superstition is the outstanding feature of the Roman system; the Romans introduced
certain dramatized notions (ennoias)
about the gods and about Hades to the lower orders. The image to draw from this is that deisidaimonia was doing the heavy
religious lifting at Rome. Now the idea
that religion made up to control people was not an invention of Polybius. In a passage from his play, Sisyphus, Critias declared religion a
man-made imposture. This literary
fragment is interesting because it points out that positive law governs public
actions and fear of gods (theon deos)
restrains private wrong-doing. (Sex. Emp. Phys.
1.54) The phrase, ‘fear of god,’ strikes
me as evocative of deisidaimonia. Similarly, Isocrates writes in the Busiris that the Egyptian lawgiver
established religion to habituate people to obedience. Here the fear of gods tames mankind, and
oaths are thereby made more reliable.
Polybius echoes this in his discussion of the Roman military. And, if we believe Lucretius, Epicurus
likewise argued that religion was an imposture designed to aid the powerful. You will also recall that Plato considers in
several works how stories about the divine can benefit the community. All the more so, as implied in the Gorgias,
when the circumstances for proper education cannot obtain and the elengkhos fails. So, in this regard, the idea that religion or
beliefs about the gods might be used to temper the unruly is not especially
novel. And none of this is meant to
answer the question whether Polybius believed in gods. Nor do I have any interest in reconstructing our
author’s bibliography. Rather, this
offers some context for appraising what Polybius was doing when he highlighted
the role of superstition in Rome’s success.
It apparently is a contrivance both beneficial and necessary to the
success of a system where the ordinary people would otherwise be unruly. Not to maintain power, but to preserve
order. He is explicit about the benefit
of dread, and he sees this not in the service of one group over another, but
the community as a whole. As I said
earlier, if you cannot elicit virtue on a grand scale, perhaps, you can wring
order from people through the introduction of fear of punishment, not from the
magistrate, but from the divine.
Now another puzzle: the audience and what
they are to make of all this. Polybius
writes for practical readers. He is
interested in facts and causes, which will allow, in the case of regimes, an
attentive reader to assess where in the stages of development a given system
is. One cannot use this information to
determine precisely when a regime will start to decay, but one can, he says,
determine where in its life-cycle a regime is.
As Polybius states on several occasions, he writes for those who would
engage in politics. He is giving lessons
for the real world. His comments on
superstition, then, are not merely about Rome.
How can they be? Rome is a case
study. And, in discussing it, he draws
our attention to factors, military and civil, that have made Rome an
unprecedented success. The problem for
even a mixed constitution, one may suppose, is how to keep the masses in order,
notwithstanding his description of checks and balances. It does not appear to be a problem for
monarchies or oligarchies until it’s too late!
Law is not enough, and superstition has worked wonders! Now, as attentive readers, what are we to do
with these insights? If we have the
means now to judge the worth of a system (i.e., its customs and laws) and where
it is in the course of its life, what next?
If we see that crime and lawlessness have increased in lockstep with
disbelief and cynicism, what does Polybius propose we do? Move to Costa Rica? Seize power? Brace
ourselves for the impact of the coming storm? Alas, I do not know. Superstition was artificially constructed by
some hazy ‘palaioi’ for the Romans;
how and under what conditions he doesn’t say, or, if he did, those bits don’t
survive. But, surely, superstition could
not be readily created and introduced among cynics, such as those who he says
laugh at superstition. His lessons would
appear to end up as an aporia except
in one respect. Machiavelli before
Machiavelli. Polybius invites us to
brace ourselves and wait for the opportunities as they arise. One must sometimes yield to circumstances,
sometimes exploit them. At least when
you know what condition your state is in, you can wait for your moment.
[2] He certainly deserves his own volume in
the Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought series.
[3]
Apart from the historical fact of
extortion courts or the case of Cato the Elder and Rhodes, Polybius gives his own sense of realism
at 18.35
[4]
Earliest attestation seems to be
this passage. LSJ has ‘to exaggerate, to
deck out in tragic dress.’
