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In the Achaemenid period, when the Persian empire extended from Greece to Gandhara, a meeting between the east and the west had taken place. Indian soldiers in the Persian army fought on Greek soil, and Greeks such as Scylax made explorations in India for the Persians. The Greeks of Bactria under Diodotus gained their independence from the Seleucids as a result of open revolt or through a gradual transition to power. Diodotus I considered himself a saviour of the Greeks in Bactria, some of his coins include the title of Soter. On the other hand, coins of Pantaleon and Agathocles are rare in the western parts of Bactria. The policy initiated by Agathocles was followed by Menander. It is generally accepted that Menander was married to Agathocleia, probably a sister or daughter of Agathocles. After Menander there began the process of decline and fall of the Graeco- Bactrian and Graeco-Indian kings.
The central issue in the development of Italy during the third and second centuries BC is without doubt that of its hellenization; nevertheless it would be a mistake to relate everything to this factor. Indeed, an enquiry confined to art and architecture would be unacceptable in the light of the approach taken recently by archaeology. The evidence leaves no doubt that the beginning of the third century and even the end of the fourth century constituted an intensely creative period in Italy. Models and ideas spread more vigorously in the field of art than in that of ordinary craft products, which Central Italy had no great need to import. As for Cosa, it represents an exception in Central-Southern Etruria and extends northward the expansion-zone of the great architectural innovations from Latium and Campania. Innovations were less acceptable, especially in Rome, insofar as they impinged on what might be called public morality.
The constitutional arrangements with which Rome emerged from the Second Punic War differed scarcely at all in form from those with which she had embarked upon that great struggle. Their essence remained the threefold structure of magistrates, Senate, and assemblies of the citizen body, the structure which the Greek observer Polybius was shortly to characterize as a 'mixed' constitution. Polybius saw that in the Roman governmental system the role of the Senate was central, that his aristocratic element predominated. This chapter examines the nature of Roman politics in the period. The idea that a major source of political power was a network of social connections which tended to be passed from one generation of a powerful family to the next prompted a further influential hypothesis. The combination of oligarchic predominance and popular electoral institutions had a further consequence which tended both to reinforce the pattern as a whole and to create ample scope for political competition conceived in personal terms.
Between the end of the second war against Carthage and the fall of Numantia in 133 Roman power engulfed northern Italy and vast territories in Spain, as well as defeating Carthage once more, destroying the city and establishing a province in northern Africa. In 201 there was not even a geographical expression to apply to the area which the Romans later came to call Gallia Cisalpina. On the coast Genua had been rebuilt in 203, and two years later it was partially secured by means of a treaty with the Ligurian people immediately to the west, the Ingauni. The year 182 apparently marked an increase in Roman effort in Liguria, since a proconsul as well as both consuls spent the year there, each with two legions. During the Third Macedonian War Roman governors in Spain restrained themselves or were restrained by the Senate. Under a treaty very advantageous to Rome, Rome and Carthage remained formally at peace for fifty-two years.
The span of time embraced by this volume is short. Some who could recall personal memories of its beginnings - perhaps the news of Hannibal's crossing of the Alps, or of the disaster at Cannae - witnessed events not far from its close; such people witnessed also an astonishingly rapid and dramatic sequence of developments which gave Rome the visible and effective political mastery of the Mediterranean lands. The beginnings of this change lie far back in the history of the Romans and of other peoples, in events and institutions which are examined in other volumes in this series (especially in Volume vn.2); but the critical period of transition, profoundly affecting vast territories and numerous peoples, lasted little more than half a century. In one sense a single episode, it nonetheless comprised a multiplicity of episodes which varied greatly in scale and character and in the diversity of those who, whether by conflict, by alliance, or by the passive acceptance of new circumstances, passed under Roman domination. Furthermore, the Romans themselves experienced change, and not merely in the degree of power and surpemacy which they enjoyed. That power, along with the material fruits and practical demands of empire, brought consequences of great moment to their own internal political affairs, to relationships within their society and between them and their Italian neighbours, to their cultural life and to the physical expressions of that life.
The Peace of Phoenice was intended to give Rome a free hand in Africa by closing the Balkan front. The peace terms seemed to secure the safety of the Straits of Otranto, therefore to protect Italy from Philip. Antiochus III was setting out to restore Seleucid control over western Asia Minor. Philip paid as little attention to Lepidus' arrogant protestations at Abydus as he had to the message of the legati sent via Nicanor from Athens. Antiochus' conquests in Asia Minor, but above all his crossing to Europe, had made him seem a threat to the main strategic Roman achievement of the Macedonian War. The Romans were thoroughly discomfited by Antiochus' consummate performance. The Roman peace was being shaken by the Aetolians. Probably in spring 193 they decided, in the absence of Roman troops, to try to upset the Roman settlement.
With the decline of Tyre the string of trading posts, which the Phoenicians founded from Gades on the Atlantic shore of Spain round to Malaca, Sexi and Abdera along the south-west Mediterranean coast, gradually passed into Carthaginian hands. A turning-point in Carthaginian relations with the Greeks was the battle of Alalia, where with their Etruscan allies they smashed Phocaean sea-power. When the First Punic War ended Hamilcar Barca remained undefeated in Sicily and was then given full powers by the Carthaginian government to negotiate a peace settlement with Rome. Hamilcar was succeeded in the governorship of Spain by his son-in-law and admiral, Hasdrubal, who was first chosen by the troops. On the death of Hasdrubal the army in Spain enthusiastically conferred the command on Hannibal, and this appointment was quickly confirmed by the Carthaginian government by a unanimous vote. Polybius condemns the Carthaginians in regard to Saguntum, but he equally condemns the Romans for their previous unjust seizure of Sardinia.
The war between Antiochus III and the Romans had been decided in Asia Minor and it was in Asia Minor, almost exclusively, that territory changed hands. The territories Eumenes and Rhodes received were unequivocally a gift, which implied an expectation that both powers would act as guarantors of the new order and that both would prevent any development disturbing to Rome. Eumenes had won the alliance of Cappadocia and had established control over Galatia, though under the treaty of Apamea he was secured against an attack by a Seleucid king, who resented the loss of their freedom. Within the short span of seven years Roman armies had defeated the Hellenistic world's two powerful kings, Philip V and Antiochus III. The events that brought Antiochus to the throne moved so quickly that scholars have often assumed part or all of them, including the assassination of Seleucus, had been arranged by Rome and Eumenes, perhaps with Heliodorus the pawn.
The Hellenistic world was a world well acquainted with literature and literary composition, and although in the third century it had had a number of distinguished historians of its own, there followed a long period, during which it produced little major historical writing apart from the work of Polybius. Polybius of Megalopolis was one of the thousand leading men of Achaea who were deported to Italy after the battle of Pydna in 168. Naturally historical and narrative works contribute much information regarding social, economic and cultural matters, just as non-historical works of all types and of all periods contain numerous anecdotes and incidental details relating to the political and military affairs of ancient period in Rome. The main categories of non-literary evidence available to the historian of the ancient world are documents written on papyrus, coins, inscriptions, and the enormous range of material remains, from great buildings to tiny domestic articles, which are recorded and studied by archaeologists.
This chapter focuses on the Roman tradition and Greek world through the eyes of two contrasted writers, such as Polybius and Fabius Pictor. The other fact that Polybius stresses is the sheer size of the Roman military and naval effort. The manpower resources of Rome and her Italian allies were, in the eyes of a Greek from the Peloponnese, enormous; her navies in particular larger than anything a Greek power could produce. The senator Fabius Pictor, who wrote a history of Rome in the Greek language, perhaps shortly after rather than during the c, attempted to prove not only that her policy in her recent wars had been eminently just, but that she was to all intents a Greek city. The Second Macedonian War brought Rome into direct contact with the Greek world and initiated a period of unprecedently rapid social and cultural change.
Japan's nineteenth-century history is the crossroads for three overlapping, but normally distinct, perspectives on social change. Each perspective constitutes a search, respectively, (1) for the origins of rapid modernization, (2) for the unraveling of the premodern social order, and (3) for the consequences of sweeping reforms. No one of these searches is yet near completion, but together they already offer convincing evidence of far-reaching changes in social structure. When bolstered by information from abundant materials such as local histories, which are rich in detail but eschew broad generalizations, the scholarship associated with these three perspectives provides an unusually strong historical foundation for attempts to summarize the main lines of social change in a nineteenth-century, still little modernized country.
Exploration of the origins of rapid modernization derives from questions about contemporary Japan. In search of the fundamental and distinctive qualities of Japan's “economic miracle,” a number of social scientists have turned back to the organizational characteristics, the work attitudes, and the general social structure that immediately preceded the modern era. Historically based catchphrases such as Chie Nakane's “vertical society” (tate shakai) and Hayami Akira's “industrious revolution” (kimben kakumei) are suggestive of the results of this retrospective inquiry, conveying the impression of a people prepared even before modern reforms were initiated for directed, concerted, and diligent action. In like manner, others eager to discover the roots of Japan's unusual modern development continue to find evidence for extraordinary qualities already widely dispersed among the Japanese people in the nineteenth century.
At the beginning of the nineteenth century, Japan was a preindustrial agricultural economy with technology and living standards not greatly different from those of other preindustrial areas of Asia. If a Frenchman of 1600 had been able to see the Japan of 1800, he would have been impressed by obvious differences in dress, manners, and architecture, but most features of economic life would have been readily understandable to him. Had the same Frenchman visited Japan a century later, he would have been bewildered. By the end of the century, the nation's output of goods and services had increased fourfold, and the proportion contributed by industry had at least doubled, whereas the contribution of agriculture had declined to less than half the total output. Much of the infrastructure necessary for the development of an industrial economy, such as transport, communications, ports, and financial institutions, had been created, and a modest but crucial nucleus of modern factory industry was becoming a viable growth sector. This was a century of economic change, and the change was at an increasing rate.
Explanations for this change represent both a variety of ideologies and a variety of views of the facts. Most Japanese historians have viewed it as a transition from a feudal to a capitalist society within the framework of the Marxian theory of stages of economic development. Even granted that a relative latecomer such as Japan might be able to take advantage of some shortcuts, it was not easy to see how such a change, which took centuries in Europe, could occur within a few decades in Japan.
Japanese historiography has conventionally located the beginning of the end of the Tokugawa (bakumatsu) in the decade of the 1830s, when the regime and the several domains embarked on a series of reforms aimed at arresting economic failure and restoring public confidence. Historians who have concentrated on making sense of the signs of financial failure point to the implementation of the Tempō reforms as recognition of a gathering crisis. Some have established the revolt of Ōshio Heihachirō in Osaka in 1837 as the turning point in Tokugawa history. But regardless of the many opinions concerning the beginning of the end, most discussions of the end of the shogunate have used economic signs, political events, or a combination of both as criteria for periodization. Yet to establish the beginning of the end in the 1830s obliges us to accept a concomitant assumption that cultural events constitute a second order of activity; one that avoids organizing the world in terms of a base-superstructure dyad but still sees culture and ideas as determined by material forces. Culture is then made to appear as a dependent variable of economic and political processes, and the observer is diverted from recognizing that the production of culture may in fact possess a logic of its own, one that seeks to resolve problems belonging to an entirely different class of events and facts.
If we regard culture as something more than a pale reflection of changes detected earlier in the material realm, we will be persuaded to propose that the special culture of late Tokugawa culture did not begin in the 1830s, or even later, but probably in the late eighteenth century or the early 1800s.