The age of Alexander the Great was a splendid time for warlike kings and generals – for all those would-be emperors who liked nothing better than overrunning large stretches of other people’s territory, and spilling vast amounts of blood in the process. On the other hand, it was a terrible time for quaint, old-fashioned values like peace and democracy. Such were the times that the Greco-Roman historian Plutarch chronicles in these nine biographies, collected here under the title The Age of Alexander.
Plutarch’s name and work are familiar to students of classical civilization. Living in the first and second centuries A.D., at the peak of the Roman Empire, Plutarch was of Greek cultural background, but eventually became a Roman citizen. Small wonder, then, that when he took as his great subject the study of biography, he chose to compose and bring together paired biographies of eminent Greek and Roman political and military leaders.
Plutarch’s Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans is the great classical work of comparison and contrast – Alexander is paired with Caesar among military leaders, Demosthenes with Cicero among orators, and so on. It would be as if a modern historian wrote a book titled Lives of the Noble Britons and Americans, and paired Churchill with F.D. Roosevelt, Montgomery with Patton, etc.
Implicit in Plutarch’s approach – and sometimes stated explicitly – is the idea that these biographies can teach readers what actions to emulate, and which to avoid, if they wish for their own lives to be worthy of being remembered and celebrated by future generations. As Plutarch himself puts it, the writing of these Lives “allows me to treat history as a mirror, with the help of which I can adorn my own life by imitating the virtues of the men whose actions I have described” (p. 151).
His work has been a staple of the classical education for centuries – William Shakespeare often drew upon Plutarch’s Parallel Lives for the plots of his plays, and the monster in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein educates himself in his isolation by reading a pilfered copy of Plutarch.
Because modern readers cannot be counted upon to know the ancient Greek or Roman world as well as did the people of classical times, Penguin Books has organized Plutarch’s Lives into a series of books – half of them dedicated to the Greeks, the other half to the Romans. Earlier books in the Greek part of the series were titled The Rise and Fall of Athens and On Sparta, and chronicled the ascendancy of those two Greek city-states. With the nine biographies included in The Age of Alexander, we move on to the period of Macedonian dominance.
But before we get to the Macedonians, there are leaders of other Greek city-states to deal with. Agesilaus II of Sparta (444-360 B.C.) was “king of Sparta for forty-one years; for more than thirty of these he was the greatest and most powerful man in Greece, and had been regarded as the king and the leader of almost the whole of Hellas, down to the time of the battle of Leuctra” (p. 68).
The battle of Leuctra, in 371 B.C., in which Thebes led Boeotian forces against Sparta and her allies, was a devastating defeat for Sparta, and therefore it is appropriate that this volume then turns to Pelopidas of Thebes (403-364 B.C.), who commanded the victorious Theban forces in that battle. Pelopidas always conducted himself with conspicuous battlefield courage; Plutarch sums up the short life of this leader by writing that Pelopidas “spent the greater part of his life surrounded with honour and renown and finally…while engaged in a heroic action aimed at the destruction of a tyrant, he sacrificed his life for the freedom of Thessaly” (p. 102).
Dion of Syracuse (408-354 B.C.), was “a disciple of Plato who knew the philosopher personally” (p. 104); and when his military campaigning eventually helped him become tyrant of Syracuse, he sought to behave in the Athenian manner, with moderation and restraint. Unfortunately, Dion “possessed the kind of temperament which finds it difficult to unbend”, and he behaved toward his Syracusan subjects in an excessively grave and formal manner, “even though the times called for a more gracious demeanour” (p. 145). His enemies thereupon found it an easy thing to plot and carry out his murder. For Plutarch, Dion provides lessons in what not to do.
A more positive role model is Timoleon of Corinth (411-337 B.C.). He fought many battles in Sicily, defending the Greek colonies there from the Carthaginian enemy on the other side of the Mediterranean, and established a constitution for Syracuse. By the time of his death from natural causes, “He had come to be regarded as the father of the whole people,” and at the time of his death it was announced that the Syracusan people “resolve to honour his memory for all time to come with annual contests of music, horse-racing, and gymnastics, because he overthrew the tyrants, subdued the barbarians, repopulated the largest of the devastated cities, and then restored their laws to the people of Sicily” (pp. 186-87).
One of the few non-military men in this volume is the renowned orator Demosthenes of Athens (384-322 B.C.). Here, readers get to hear the famous story of how Demosthenes overcame a speech impediment: “He corrected his lisp and his indistinct articulation by holding pebbles in his mouth while reciting long speeches” (p. 197). Therefore, I suppose Eliza Doolittle from the musical My Fair Lady can blame Demosthenes for the way in which Professor Henry Higgins makes her speak with marbles in her mouth in order to improve her articulation. Demosthenes poisoned himself after the decisive Macedonian victory over an alliance of Greek city-states in the battle of Crannon (322 B.C.), and the Athenian people erected in his honour a statue bearing the inscription, “If only your strength had been equal, Demosthenes, to your wisdom/Never would Greece have been ruled by a Macedonian Ares” (p. 216).
Phocion of Athens (402-318 B.C.), according to Plutarch, “By nature…was one of the kindest and most considerate of men, but his appearance was stern and forbidding” (p. 221). Like Demosthenes, Phocion had the misfortune of living in the time when Athens and other city-states were falling under Macedonian rule; but Phocion’s humility and practicality were appreciated by the people of Athens, as with his response when he learned that the Athenians wanted to make war against Philip of Macedon: “he at first tried to persuade the people not to go to war and to accept Philip’s terms, in view of the fact that the king was peaceably inclined and greatly feared the dangers which were likely to ensue from a war” (p. 230). Traduced and betrayed by his enemies, Phocion was executed; but “only a short time elapsed before the course of events taught the Athenians how great a protector and champion of moderation and justice they had lost….Phocion’s fate reminded the Greeks once more of that of Socrates: they felt that in each case the wrong which the city of Athens had done and the misfortune she had suffered were almost identical” (pp. 250-51).
All of which brings us to Alexander the Great. Most readers of this volume will be more interested in hearing about Alexander than about any of the other eight subjects whose lives Plutarch chronicles. Some of the most famous stories about Alexander are here – for instance, the story of how he tamed the supposedly “untamable” horse Bucephalus, winning a bet with his father Philip. Alexander figured out what was bothering the horse – “went quickly up to Bucephalus, took hold of his bridle, and turned him towards the sun, for he had noticed that the horse was shying at the sight of his own shadow” (p. 258). Once Alexander had successfully tamed Bucephalus – the horse that would carry him through so many legendary campaigns – Philip wept with joy and told Alexander, “My boy, you must find a kingdom big enough for your ambitions. Macedonia is too small for you” (p. 258).
Alexander, famously, was tutored by Aristotle; but if you think that the future world-conqueror was overawed by taking lessons from history’s greatest philosopher, think again. When Aristotle published one of his treatises on topics that Alexander thought should remain a word-of-mouth matter, the pupil did not hesitate to upbraid his teacher:
Alexander to Aristotle, greetings. You have not done well to write down and publish those doctrines you taught me by word of mouth. What advantage shall I have over other men if these theories in which I have been trained are to be made common property? I would rather excel the rest of mankind in my knowledge of what is best than in the extent of my power. Farewell. (p. 259)
Among the other pre-eminent bits of Alexandrian legend set down here is the story of the “Gordian knot.” Plutarch records how, after Alexander’s conquest of Gordium in modern Turkey, Alexander “saw the celebrated chariot which was fastened to its yoke by the bark of the cornel-tree, and heard the legend which was believed by all the barbarians, that the fates had decreed that the man who untied the knot was destined to become the ruler of the whole world.” Seeing the elaborateness of the knot, Alexander “did not know what to do, and in the end loosened the knot by cutting through it with his sword” (271) – thereby providing a lasting metaphor for all those who end up solving a problem by not quite following the rules.
Alexander emerges as an enigmatic figure in the pages of Plutarch – always bold, always ready for a fight, but sometimes treating either friends or enemies in an unexpectedly merciful or harsh manner. I suppose that is how it is when one is the conqueror of worlds.
Incidentally, it is not in Plutarch’s Life of Alexander, but rather in Plutarch’s essay collection Moralia, that one reads the story of Alexander weeping when he hears the philosopher Anaxarchus discussing the possibility that there exist an infinite number of worlds, and then saying to his friends, “Is it not worthy of tears that, when the number of worlds is infinite, we have not yet become lords of a single one?” This is the quote that Alan Rickman’s villainous Hans Gruber character mangles, albeit stylishly, in the movie Die Hard (1988) – another example of Alexander’s enduring hold on our culture.
Demetrius I of Macedon (337-283 B.C.) had a great nickname – “Demetrius the Besieger” – but in a way his nickname seems to speak to his problems; he always had to be besieging some town or city. His restless spirit, which kept him going through one conquest-and-defeat cycle after another, is cited by Plutarch as expressing the truth of Plato’s declaration “that great natures produce great vices as well as great virtues” (p. 336). It is as if he wanted to out-Alexander Alexander; he couldn’t accept and consolidate a victory. Out would come the siege towers again, and off went Demetrius the Besieger to yet another besieging. Plutarch links Demetrius with Rome’s Mark Antony as leaders who “met with prodigious triumphs and disasters, conquered great empires and as easily lost them, rose to the heights of success as unexpectedly as they plumbed the depths of failure” (p. 336).
And appropriately, this volume ends with Pyrrhus of Epirus (319-272 B.C.), whose career shows the beginning of the end of Greek or Hellenistic ascendancy, and the beginnings of Roman power. Pyrrhus gives us the term “Pyrrhic victory”; for while he never hesitated to engage his Roman enemies, his battles with Rome resulted in Greek casualties that Pyrrhus could not replace. Nominally, the Greeks won the Battle of Asculum in 279 B.C., but Greek casualties were so high that “when one of Pyrrhus’ friends congratulated him on his victory, he replied, ‘One more victory like that over the Romans will destroy us completely!’” (p. 409)
After some unsuccessful campaigning in Sicily, Pyrrhus and his army decamped for the Italian mainland in 275 B.C. As they did so, “The story goes that as he was leaving, [Pyrrhus] looked back at the island and remarked to his companions, ‘My friends, what a wrestling ground we are leaving behind us for the Romans and the Carthaginians.’ And certainly it was not long before this prophecy of his was fulfilled” (p. 412), as the First Punic War between Rome and Carthage began just eight years later, in 267 B.C. In Pyrrhus’ words, we see the final eclipse of Greek power in the Mediterranean basin. Henceforth, it will be Rome, as republic and empire, that will dominate the Western world for the next six centuries.
These nine Plutarch biographies collected as The Age of Alexander are essential reading for any student of the classical world – or, for that matter, for anyone who wants to observe the process by which hegemony and supremacy pass from one great power to another.