The Attalids differed in several ways from the Antigonids, Seleucids and Ptolemies. Like the rulers of Bithynia, Pontus and other monarchies (chapter 3, Introduction), they were not part of the Macedonian ‘royal club’ of the first generation after Alexander (chapter 2), but started under Philetaerus as local rulers in Pergamum with initially limited territory, and only achieved their royal status under Attalus I, the third ruler in the dynasty. The dynasty prided itself on its cohesiveness and freedom from internal challenges, in contrast to the Seleucids and Ptolemies. Unlike the Seleucids and Ptolemies, the Attalid rulers avoided deification of themselves in their lifetime. They sided with Rome in her intervention against Philip V then Antiochus III and as a result achieved their greatest power and prosperity when those monarchies had been curtailed by defeat at Roman hands. It was therefore appropriate that Rome should eventually inherit the kingdom she had helped to build up. Pergamum, the Attalids' capital city, maintained civic forms but was closely controlled by the rulers and lavishly beautified by them. From the beginning the Attalids cultivated their reputation in the Greek world, locally in Asia Minor, and further afield in the Aegean and on the mainland. Adapting the pose of classical Athens against the ‘barbarians of Asia’, they presented themselves as champions of the Greek world against the Celtic invaders in Anatolia. The reputation they enjoy in Greek sources is, not surprisingly, predominantly favourable.

Histories and surveys of the Hellenistic world commonly begin with the death of Alexander in 323. This may be justified if the subject is to be kept within manageable limits, yet the invasion of the Persian empire is arguably the natural starting point.

Alexander is by himself a large subject, and this chapter can only highlight major episodes and themes in his career, with emphasis on those of particular relevance for Alexander's ‘Successors’ and the world after him. The conquest of the Persian empire, the most profitable war of its kind in antiquity, was the precondition for the expansion of the Greek world and the influx of Greek settlers into western Asia. The result was not the literal ‘hellenisation’ of Asia, despite some optimistic generalisations, but it changed the face of the east, though Greeks remained numerically a minority amidst the indigenous populations. The movement of colonists during Alexander's time was apparently on a modest scale, and there is evidence of reluctance on their part to settle far away from the Aegean world. But the process gathered momentum after Alexander's death, as the consequences of the disappearance of the Persian empire became clear and the new rulers were anxious to attract Greek settlers to their emerging kingdoms. Alexander's own city foundations were seemingly few in number and not initially very successful, but they were important in starting a movement which his Successors pursued on a larger scale after his death.

This is the second and enlarged edition of a book first published in 1981 under the title The Hellenistic world from Alexander to the Roman conquest. A selection of ancient sources in translation. Since its original publication there has been a veritable explosion of scholarly work on this period, and the Hellenistic age has moved from a relatively marginal position in academic curricula to one where it is entitled to receive the same kind of attention as any other period in antiquity. I am very grateful to Cambridge University Press for giving me the opportunity to revisit the work after more than twenty years and take into account the development of scholarship that has taken place in the intervening period.

The new edition is similar in scope, purpose and design to the first one, and all the texts previously included have been retained. Nearly 50 texts have been added, some newly discovered or recently published, others already known but not included in the first edition. The book has been completely revised and updated. The structure and presentation of the original has been preserved, though for the sake of clarity chapter 5 (The Seleucids and Asia) is now organised in a single chronological section and chapter 7 (The Ptolemies and Egypt) has been divided into two not three sections, both organised chronologically. Each chapter has been provided with a short introduction to give a conspectus of the texts included.

The text

Nietzsche published each of the first three parts of Thus Spoke Zarathustra (TSZ hereafter) separately between 1883 and 1885, during one of his most productive and interesting periods, in between the appearance of The Gay Science (which he noted had itself marked a new beginning of his thought) and Beyond Good and Evil. As with the rest of his books, very few copies were sold. He later wrote a fourth part (called “Fourth and Final Part”) which was not published until 1892, and then privately, only for a few friends, by which time Nietzsche had slipped into the insanity that marked the last decade of his life. Not long afterwards an edition with all four parts published together appeared, and most editions and translations have followed suit, treating the four parts as somehow belonging in one book, although many scholars see a natural ending of sorts after Part iii and regard Part iv as more of an appendix than a central element in the drama narrated by the work. Nietzsche, who was trained as a classicist, may have been thinking of the traditional tragedy competitions in ancient Greece, where entrants submitted three tragedies and a fourth play, a comic and somewhat bawdy satyr play. At any event, he thought of this final section as in some sense the “Fourth Part” and any interpretation must come to terms with it.

The Honey Sacrifice

– And again moons and years passed over Zarathustra's soul and he took no notice of it; but his hair had turned white. One day as he sat on a stone before his cave and gazed outward – there where one looks out upon the sea and beyond twisting abysses – his animals walked around him pensively until finally they stood before him.

“Oh Zarathustra,” they said. “Are you perhaps on the lookout for your happiness?” – “What does happiness matter!” he answered. “I haven't strived for happiness for a long time, I strive for my work.” – “Oh Zarathustra,” said the animals again. “You say that as one who has had overly much of the good. Do you not lie in a sky-blue lake of happiness?” – “You foolish rascals,” answered Zarathustra, smiling.

The Child with the Mirror

At this time Zarathustra returned again to the mountains and to the solitude of his cave and withdrew from mankind, waiting like a sower who has cast his seeds. But his soul grew full of impatience and desire for those whom he loved, because he still had much to give them. For this is the hardest thing: to close the open hand out of love, and to preserve a sense of shame as a bestower.

Thus moons and years passed for the lonely one; but his wisdom grew and its fullness caused him pain.

But one morning he woke already before dawn, reflected for a long time on his bed and at last spoke to his heart:

What frightened me so in my dream that it waked me? Did not a child approach me carrying a mirror?

“Oh Zarathustra” – spoke the child to me – “look at yourself in the mirror!”

But when I looked into the mirror I cried out, and my heart was shaken; for I did not see myself there, but a devil's grimace and scornful laughter.

Zarathustra's Prologue

When Zarathustra was thirty years old he left his home and the lake of his home and went into the mountains. Here he enjoyed his spirit and his solitude and for ten years he did not tire of it. But at last his heart transformed, – one morning he arose with the dawn, stepped before the sun and spoke thus to it:

“You great star! What would your happiness be if you had not those for whom you shine?

For ten years you have come up here to my cave: you would have tired of your light and of this route without me, my eagle and my snake.

But we awaited you every morning, took your overflow from you and blessed you for it.

Behold! I am weary of my wisdom, like a bee that has gathered too much honey. I need hands that reach out.

I want to bestow and distribute until the wise among human beings have once again enjoyed their folly, and the poor once again their wealth.

For this I must descend into the depths, as you do evenings when you go behind the sea and bring light even to the underworld, you super–rich star!

Like you, I must go down as the human beings say, to whom I want to descend.

So bless me now, you quiet eye that can look upon even an all too great happiness without envy!

Bless the cup that wants to flow over, such that water flows golden from it and everywhere carries the reflection of your bliss!

The Wanderer

It was around midnight that Zarathustra started his route over the ridge of the island, in order to arrive at the other coast by early morning; for there he intended to board a ship. At that location there was safe harborage where even foreign ships liked to anchor; these would take the occasional passenger who wanted to cross the sea from the blessed isles. Now as Zarathustra climbed up the mountain he thought as he traveled about his many lonely wanderings since the time of his youth, and about how many mountains and ridges and peaks he had already climbed.

I am a wanderer and a mountain climber, he said to his heart. I do not like the plains and it seems I cannot sit still for long.

And whatever may come to me now as destiny and experience – it will involve wandering and mountain climbing: ultimately one experiences only oneself.

The time has passed in which accidents could still befall me, and what could fall to me now that is not already my own?