Category Archives: Roman History

What Can We Learn About Byzantium from the Strategikon?

I was always afraid to study Byzantium, because of its unjust reputation of complexity and strangeness. The term “Byzantine,” used to describe things that are difficult to understand, perhaps influenced me – too easily – to stay away from it. But when I picked up a copy of the Strategikon, which I encourage you to do, I immediately gained a better understanding of the Byzantine Empire, and its place as a successor to Rome. The Strategikon is a brilliant work, and it hints at many of the attitudes and conditions present in Byzantium at the time of its writing.

The first thing I noticed was pretty easy to understand. The primary tactical change between the military of the Eastern Roman/Byzantine Empire and the Roman Republic and Empire was a shift away from traditional heavy infantry tactics toward moremobile cavalry-based forces that stressed hit and run tactics. There were a number of causes for this shift. At the time that Maurice’s Strategikon was written, infantrymen serving in the thematic armies were responsible for supplying their own equipment, which consisted of light padded armor, wooden shields and a spear and/or bow [1]. Gone were the days of state-provided heavy metal armor, tower shields, and gladiuses of the Roman legions. Cavalry was better supplied, with money for armor and weapons coming from landowning commanding officers [2]. Heavy infantry simply did not exist from an affordability standpoint in Byzantium, and even if it did exist, it would be ill-suited for the type of warfare Byzantium was forced to conduct. The region was was surrounded by enemies and its people lived in a state of near constant warfare, mostly on its own territory. Byzantine lands were better suited for ambush tactics and guerilla warfare than for massed formations of infantry, which required more space and greater numbers to operate effectively.

Byzantine forces were smaller than that of Rome [3] and as a result, they were forced to fight with tactical cleverness and awareness of the landscape. Strategikon contains an entire book dedicated to ambushes. “Well-planned ambushes are of the greatest value in warfare,” it reads [4]. The choice to center the composition of the army to meet hit and run tactics is summarized succinctly in the section on general maxims: “The general would be well advised to have more cavalry than infantry. The latter is set only for close combat, while the former is easily able to pursue or retreat, and when dismounted the men are all set to fight on foot”[5].

The repeated emphasis of the Strategikon on ambush, terrain awareness and mobility implies that the Byzantines felt a need to institutionalize their strategy on defensive warfare, to make sure the multiple, smaller units of their military acted consistently to repel the frequent invasions of larger, offensively-minded neighbors. Constantinople was the premiere city and trade center of its day, and represented a high-value plunder target for the enemies of Byzantium. One of the prevailing Byzantine tactics to protect that great city was to use the rugged countryside of modern-day Turkey its greatest force multiplier.

The defensive-minded Strategikon stresses the importance of avoiding protracted conflicts and pitched battles between armies, which was a trademark of ancient Rome. The Strategikon advises, “It is safer and more advantageous to overcome the enemy by planning and generalship than by sheer force; in the one case the results are achieved without loss to oneself, while in the other some price has to be paid”[6]. Ancient Rome’s greatest victories and defeats were epic clashes of tens of thousands of men on either side. The Punic Wars were a demonstration of the Roman will to grind down its enemies with an avalanche of men and material raised over decades. Byzantium, with its small military, economic strain and enormous list of people eager to kill them, could not afford to lose men and material the way ancient Rome could. The emphasis in the Strategikon of living to fight another day implies that the loss of soldiers was more devastating to Byzantium than ancient Rome.

This attitude is further emphasized by the extensive guidelines in the Strategikon focusing on the armament, training, discipline and organization of infantry and cavalry. The very first paragraph of Book One of the Strategikon mentions the things cavalrymen should be doing to practice their craft [7]. Byzantium had a vested interest in getting the most production and longevity possible out of their soldiers. If one reads between the lines, it is easy to see that the Strategikon is a guidebook for a country under siege.

The work continues ancient Roman traditions in a number of ways as well. There is a very businesslike philosophy regarding the training, management, organization and recruitment of soldiers that resembles the traditional Roman emphasis on practicality. “Make peace a time of training for war”[8] and “courage and discipline are able to accomplish more than a large number of warriors” [9] could easily be cut and paste from the Strategikon to any ancient Roman military manual and no one would be the wiser. There seems to be a continuity of maxims that persist from ancient Rome into the Strategikon. Book VIII bears strong resemblance to Vegetius, with mirroring themes of deception, the necessity of supply, proper behavior of officers and soldiers and picking one’s battles wisely.

Maurice. I have a painting of myself just like this hanging over my fireplace at home.

Do manuals like the Strategikon articulate an official, conscious “doctrine” for the armed forces of Byzantium? In my opinion, yes. Though the authorship of the Strategikon is questionable, if the work is indeed Maurice’s, then we have a military emperor formalizing his philosophy. Imperial communications are usually intended to be followed. If the work is not Maurice’s, then it is still written by someone high up in command with the intent of distributing it to the lower ranks. Byzantium was a literate society. “The fact that the officers in the Byzantine army had to be able to read and write by itself sets it apart from other medieval armies,” says George Dennis of the Strategikon in the introduction [10]. The system for manual distribution exists via the literate commanders of Byzantium. Why require the commanders to be literate if there is no intention to pass written doctrines like the Strategikon to them? The introduction goes on to mention that Maurice was a reform-minded military ruler whose goal was to “put an end to the system of private armies which had prevailed for a century or more”[11].

Furthermore, from a strategic standpoint there is a strong motive for the centralization of the Byzantine military. Byzantium was set on all sides by enemies. In order for the empire to survive, a coordinated, smart strategy needed to be enacted from top to bottom. Byzantium could not afford to lose men, material, commanders or territory. The Strategikon, with its highly detailed scenarios and specific mention of tactical adaptation against various named enemies, lays out a defensive playbook that any field commander can learn and follow. It is a franchise-model system in which the enemies of Byzantium can expect the same type of fight from every commander and every unit that the Byzantines throw at them, regardless of where it occurs. The basic tactical theme of the Strategikon is, apparently, to make the invaders’ lives a living hell until they leave Byzantium.

Regarding the Roman continuity debate, I think the most important thing to remember is that these people called themselves Romans. They could have called themselves anything. Their home territory is a thousand miles from Rome, geographically, and the actual state of Western Rome had been dead for more than 100 years when this document was written. No living person at the time personally remembered the Western Roman Empire, but they felt it was important to share its name. There was an undeniable philosophical, social and religious connection shared between Rome and Byzantium that led Byzantium’s citizens to claim descent from Rome.

One difference that can be seen in the documents of Vegetius versus Byzantium that points to a change in attitude are the number of references to God and Christianity in the Strategikon that doesn’t exist in the earlier Roman work. Though Christianity united West and East, it can be argued that Christianity had a more prominent and central role in hearts and minds of Byzantine citizens and leaders than their Roman counterparts. Maurice’s call to the Holy Trinity in his introduction serves as a good example of that sentiment [12]. There is a level of sincerity there which conveys that the work is not only being endorsed by Maurice, but also by the Lord. Much like the mention of cavalry and training at the opening of Book One, if it’s important, it’s right at the beginning, where you can’t miss it. Otherwise, it would be buried in the middle.


[1] Stephen Morillo, Jeremy Black, and Paul Lococo, War in World History: Society, Technology, and War from Ancient times to the Present (New York, NY: McGraw-Hill, 2009), 152.

[2] Maurice and George T. Dennis, Maurice’s Strategikon: Handbook of Byzantine Military Strategy (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1984), 12.

[3] Stephen Morillo, Jeremy Black, and Paul Lococo, War, 152.

[4] Maurice and George T. Dennis, Maurice’s Strategikon, 52.

[5] Ibid., 90.

[6] Ibid., 80.

[7] Ibid., 11.

[10] Ibid., xiv.

[11] Ibid., xii.

[12] Ibid., 8.

Copyright 2016 Copperkettle Media LLC

Hannibal and Rome – What’s the Angle for Polybius and Livy?

One of the most important things to keep in mind about many ancient sources is that, frequently, they were written many years after the events described in those sources. This leads to two things: the event described will be flawed in some way – possibly a large way – and the narrative will tell the reader as much about the time of the author as it will about the event in question.

Polybius hung out with some pretty powerful people. How do you think that may have affected his work?

A good example of this are two accounts of the Battle of Cannae and its aftermath, provided to us by Polybius and Livy. In each historian’s narrative, they rightfully praise Hannibal’s tactical brilliance and describe him as a legitimate danger to the existence of Rome. I think that Hannibal’s tactical achievements stand for themselves, and would be apparent no matter who tells the tale. I also think that even though Polybius and Livy contribute to his legend, they do so in a way that speaks for the glory of Rome. By painting Hannibal as a terrible and cunning opponent, Polybius and Livy cast the Roman Republic as a determined and unbreakable entity that can withstand a threat like Hannibal, take on any challenge, and stand the test of time.

Both Polybius and Livy had personal connections to powerful Roman aristocracy. Polybius was the tutor of Scipio Aemilianus, the grandson (by adoption) of Publius Scipio Africanus, the hero of the Second Punic War. Livy frequented the court of Augustus Caesar and was known in the halls of power at the time. Being close to powerful people, neither writer is motivated to paint Rome as easy to defeat, or the victory over Carthage as anything but a glorious act of national willpower by Rome. Praising Hannibal is in line with this notion. After all, who could defeat the terrible and brilliant Hannibal but the more brilliant and resourceful citizen-soldiers of the Roman Republic?

Both Polybius and Livy were writing large-scale histories of the Republic. In telling the story of Cannae and the ravages of Hannibal upon Italy, ultimately their focus is on Roman fortitude and determination – the unbreakable Roman character.

Following his account of Cannae, Polybius brings the reader’s attention back to the real story. “Yet the Senate neglected no means in its power, but exhorted and encouraged the populace, strengthened the defences of the city, and deliberated on the situation with manly coolness. And subsequent events made this manifest. For though the Romans were now incontestably beaten and their military reputation shattered, yet by the peculiar virtues of their constitution and by wise counsel they not only recovered their supremacy in Italy and afterwards defeated the Carthaginians, but in a few years made themselves masters of the whole world.” [1]

Livy also brings the post-Cannae focus back to Roman resilience: “Certainly there is no other nation that would not have succumbed beneath such a weight of calamity.”[2]  Livy later praises the Roman civic traits of remaining level-headed and cool under threat of extermination: “… no one anywhere in Rome mentioned the word ‘Peace,’ either before the consul’s return or after his arrival when all the memories of their losses were renewed. Such a lofty spirit did the citizens exhibit in those days that though the consul was coming back from a terrible defeat for which they knew he was mainly responsible, he was met by a vast concourse drawn from every class of society, and thanks were formally voted to him because he ‘had not despaired of the republic.’ Had he been commander-in-chief of the Carthaginians there was no torture to which he would not have been subjected.”[3]

Because the Livy and Polybius make sure the focus is in the proper place, on the glory of Rome, it becomes safe to praise Hannibal. By the time Polybius and Livy wrote their histories, the Carthaginian leader and all his people had long been vanquished. The city of Carthage itself lay in ruin, never to revive. What harm could it do to praise a valorous enemy, who threw his best punch at Rome, but still could not finish the job?

Over the years, the Roman defeat at Cannae remains more famous than the Roman final victory at Zama, where Hannibal ran for his life and lost tens of thousands of men. Why?

The Roman victory at Zama ended in a peace treaty. There’s nothing more to say after that battle, which ended the Second Punic War. Cannae, however, is not the end of the story. It’s the high point of the story, in which Rome’s survival is hanging in the balance. Enter the final act, in which Rome recovers and a hero, Scipio Africanus, emerged. Polybius and Livy take the opportunity to cast Hannibal as the tactically brilliant but doomed villain, who defeated the soldiers of Rome, but not the spirit of Rome.

There are more factors that come into play than just Roman moral fortitude, but it’s interesting that the writers choose focus on this. As an institution, Rome was always very concerned with its image, both to its own people and to people outside of Rome. It was important for the people of Rome to feel as though they came from good stock, that their ancestors were morally righteous and virtuous, worthy of the ancestral veneration practiced in their homes and in the Senate. Livy and Polybius acknowledge that need with their writing, which elevates the idea of Rome. But the nitty-gritty of how Rome won is another story.

The GOAT of transcontinental road-trips involving elephants.

Keeping an invasion force well supplied deep into enemy territory was quite the challenge for any nation in the ancient world, but for Hannibal, it was almost a worst-case scenario. Hannibal’s only hope for resupply would be what he could forage from the countryside or wiggle out of Rome’s shakier Italian neighbors. For supplies to come from Carthage, they would have to come the same way Hannibal came, over the Alps. The sea wasn’t an option. Rome had control of the Western Mediterranean at the time (thanks to the First Punic War), and surely if Hannibal could have launched his invasion by sea, he would have done so.

Resupply would have been essential in a protracted siege of Rome, which had walls, manpower and, most importantly, river access.  Perhaps Hannibal’s best options, strategically, were to either force a political settlement to end the war, or find a way to rally the Italian cities and countryside against Rome.

Communication also played a vital role. It was much easier for Rome to communicate the will of the Senate to its people and nearby allies than it was for the Carthegians to coordinate strategy with Hannibal, across a sea that they did not control.

Surely, if we can see the difficulty/near impossibility of capturing Rome in this scenario, then Hannibal himself could as well. Is it possible, then, that Hannibal underestimated Roman resolve? In that case, the mistake would have been in assuming that the Romans thought like everyone else did. They clearly do not. That was one tough town, and it is a culturally unique element of Romans. The uniqueness of Rome – the things that make them exceptional – are the traits that the people of Rome celebrated most about themselves, and wanted to hear most from their writers and see from their artists. Busts, statues, arches, triumphs, celebratory games, theater, legends, and histories were all dedicated to their city, its heroes and its ancestors. It’s quite the multimedia public relations machine. The extent to which Livy and Polybius contribute to that machine is worth much consideration.


[1] Polybius: The Histories II, W. R. Paton, trans., (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979), 293.

[2] Livy, The History of Rome, Vol III, 22.54.

[3] Ibid., 22.61.

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A Closer Look at Sources: Herodotus, Polybius, and Aeschylus

It would be great if all sources we used to create history were complete, with perfect viewpoints, and no agendas of any kind, but that’s simply not true. It’s never been that way, even among the earliest of historians. Limitations due to point of view, time, and distance affect us all. In this post, I’m going to take a look at three ancient writers, Herodotus, Polybius, and Aeschylus, and show some of the characteristics and factors that affect their view of certain events.

One of the big issues when it comes to describing naval warfare, as opposed to land warfare, is point of view. In most situations, unless the battle was near an elevated terrain feature, it would be difficult for an eyewitness to describe the exact movement of naval forces against each other. Eyewitnesses are limited to the ship they occupied and its view. Herodotus and Polybius show us that there can be hundreds of ships in any ancient naval battle, and the spread of forces had the potential to be much wider than in a land engagement. Land battles in the ancient world are usually more compact affairs, and the potential to observe coordinated movement of troops would be greater, for observers and participants.

The general body of knowledge regarding naval warfare is not as well-known as that of land warfare. A typical historian writing well after the fact can  more easily imagine the movements and collision of forces on land than the specialized tactics and movement of ships. The exception, of course, is the historian experienced in that sort of warfare.

Herodotus, the “Father of History.”

Herodotus’ account of the Battle of Salamis suffers from a lack of detail regarding the tactics of what happened during the battle. In   fact, he almost dismisses the collision of the main body of ships: “For as the Greeks fought in order and kept their line, while the barbarians were in confusion and had no plan in anything that they did, the issue of the battle could scarce be other than it was”[1]. That, according to Herodotus, sums up what happened in one neat little line. Apparently that was enough?

Though Herodotus is light on tactics, he does provide however, a who’s who of participants in the battle, a summary of how the squadrons were lined up, and the fates of several groups of participants. He provides a good deal of information on the actions of Queen Artemisia of Halicarnassus [2], which could be due to Herodotus himself being from Halicarnassus.

It seems that the biggest problem Herodotus faced when recounting Salamis was not the strategic meetings and maneuvering before the battle but the actual tactical disposition of the ships during the battle. This could have been because the history was written 40 years after the fact, when larger details would have stood out more than smaller ones, particularly if eyewitnesses by that time were hard to come by. We also have to remember that Herodotus was one of, if not the first person to bring together historical accounts into record. He did not have the benefit of much that was written down before him. Had there been written accounts of what happened at Salamis before Herodotus created his history, he may have been able to provide a more accurate account of the tactics of the battle.

Polybius, on the other hand, benefited from more than 200 years of historiographic practice between Herodotus and himself. His accounts of Roman naval tactics are much more detailed, presumably because he was able to draw from more accurate sources.

Polybius on a pedestal.

Polybius gives a highly detailed tactical account of the naval Battle of Ecnomus, which resembled the land Battle of Cannae, with an attempt by the Carthaginians to execute a pincer maneuver on the Roman fleet.  Polybius describes the movements of all of the Carthaginian and Roman squadrons, including the pivotal moment when the two Roman squadrons in the center were able to flip direction and attack the flanking Carthaginians in the rear [3].

Elsewhere, Polybius also very accurately describes the structure of the corvus boarding ramp [4] and gives details of how it was used for the first time in battle [5]. Polybius wisely relates to his readers how this device worked near the beginning of his account of the major naval actions of the First Punic War. As this was a primary Roman naval machine used throughout war, the reader has the function of the corvus in mind while reading the tactical accounts of a battle like Ecnomus. Polybius, also being a close ally of the Scipio family, had access to information about the Punic Wars that other writers did not possess.

Even a poet in the right place and time can provide insight into a battle. Aeschylus’s play, The Persians, fills a different sort of role for those seeking information on the Battle of Salamis. We know from the play, written eight years after the battle, that the Battle of Salamis was viewed by the Greeks as an event worthy of dramatic retelling, and worthy of inclusion in a sacred event. Greek theatre was intended to honor the gods, and Aeschylus demonstrates Xerxes’s offense against the gods, bridging the Hellespont, as an act of hubris:

“Remember Athens: henceforth let not pride,

Her present state disdaining, strive to grasp

Another’s, and her treasured happiness

Shed on the ground: such insolent attempts

Awake the vengeance of offended Jove.

But you, whose age demands more temperate thoughts,

With words of well-placed counsel teach his youth

To curb that pride, which from the gods calls down

Destruction on his head” [6]

Aeschylus, warrior-poet.

Through the course of the play, Aeschylus recounts the names of many Persian lords who perished at the hands of the Greek fleet. Whether this list can be trusted is debatable, as Aeschylus could be just making up names for dramatic effect. However, Aeschylus is believed to have been a veteran of the Battle of Salamis, so he might have had privileged knowledge of the commanders involved in the battle.

Aeschylus’s status as a veteran of the battle lends credence to the play’s usage as a primary source for the Battle of Salamis. While it can provide little in the way of tactical description of the battle, it does demonstrate the mindset of at least one veteran, who believed that his actions, and the actions of his fellow sailors, were a divine instrument of punishment against a prideful and reckless foreign leader. By bridging the Hellespont, Xerxes laid offense to the people of Greece, the gods and the land itself. Furthermore, it also shows an attitude of acknowledgement by the people of Greece that the gods played a role in the victory, and that victory was definitely not assured otherwise. If the Greeks were confident that the victory was entirely their doing, the play would be celebrating themselves, and not the gods. This would indicate that to the Greeks, the Battle of Salamis was indeed a desperate and serious battle for the survival of Greece itself.

Take a moment and look at the featured image above this blog post. The painting is Wilhelm von Kaulbach’s Die Seeschlacht bei Salamis (1868). Notice that the idea of divine intervention in this battle is one that has lasted through the centuries. Those figures floating in the upper right corner of the painting are gods. Aeschylus helped create the lasting notion that the gods were watching and acting at Salamis. You can actually see Aeschylus’s influence reflected in the painting, more than 2,300 years after Aeschylus fought at Salamis.


[1] Herodotus, The History of Herodotus, trans. George Rawlinson, accessed June 24, 2015,

[2] Ibid.

[3] Polybius, Histories, trans. W.R. Paton, accessed June 25, 2015,, 28.10.

[4] Ibid., 22.3.

[5] Ibid., 23.5.

[6] Aeschylus, The Persians, trans. Robert Potter, accessed June 25, 2015,

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Two Takes on Training the Ancient Warrior: Vegetius and Sun Tzu

If there’s one military maxim that has been proven time and again over many centuries of history, it is that the best trained militaries typically perform much better than their poorly trained enemies. It’s not a radical concept to understand, but what might surprise some people is how organized and committed certain commanders and societies were at training their soldiers. Two outstanding documents on training that have survived to this day are the well-known Sun Tzu’s Art of War and the not-as-well-known De Re Militari, by the Roman general Pulius Flavius Vegetius Renatus (or, simply, Vegetius). Both training manuals have a distinct style, and show us how two very different cultures held similar viewpoints regarding war.

Vegetius’s De Re Militari

Vegetius (5th century AD, around AD 435-450) and Sun Tzu (544 BC to 496 BC) have much in common because their goals are similar from the outset. Both generals wrote manuals describing the ideal conditions of conducting a campaign and managing men under their banners. This commitment to the ideal draws the philosophy of two men from different lands, cultures, and times together.

In the ideal, armies are made of disciplined troops, who are well supplied and organized, and who exercise caution and aggression at just the right moment. Of course, these ideal troops always operate from advantageous terrain, in the proper formation and end the battle victorious, with as few losses as possible to their side. They are controlled in pursuit of the fleeing enemy and they allow the enemy the opportunity to flee. An ideal campaign is not protracted and lengthy, and an army’s soldiers stay motivated and level-headed. These are goals that both Vegetius and Sun Tzu value and mention in their works. But that says more about military culture than the cultures of Rome and China. All militaries, with few exceptions, would agree to these commonalities, so it’s not surprising at all to find them in the works of both Vegetius and Sun Tzu.

What makes Vegetius and Sun Tzu different from many is that they placed value on educating others about war. They viewed their professional duties from a systematic standpoint, and did not place value on chance and random events. Both men believed, as Vegetius says, that “…he who hopes for success, should fight on principal, not chance.”[1] As both men held prominent positions as military leaders, this attitude reflects an appreciation in both cultures for reason, rule and order. The fact that these manuals were meant to be shared also reveals a value placed on education and literacy in both cultures, at least for the ruling classes.

Both men lived their lives in periods of time where warfare was common, even constant. Consider the references to war as an art form. The title of Sun Tzu’s work is “The Art of War.” Vegetius, in his final words of his manual, refers to the “art of conquest.”[2] If you had never encountered war before, and saw it for the very first time, would you refer to it as art? Probably not. War is chaotic, bloody, violent, and centered on death and destruction. Yet, Vegetius and the Chinese referred to war as art. Regardless of medium, art is almost always controlled, deliberate, expressive, inspired, and provokes thought and/or emotion. This is how the two men viewed war. How many conflicts would a person have to bear witness to, and be a participant in, before his point of view shifted from the fear and confusion of the first battle to the visionary experience of a master artist? How indoctrinated in war must these societies be in order for this viewpoint to seem normal?

Read either Sun Tzu or Vegetius and you will also encounter many references to how “the ancients”[3] did things or how the heroes who came before them conducted themselves in war. [4] This is indicative of cultures that share ancestor veneration in common. Ancestral altars and memorials are well-known features of both Roman and Chinese homes. Both cultures observe filial piety across all classes of society, and this tendency is reflected in the constant presence of the ancients in the works of Sun Tzu and Vegetius. Indeed, both generals may have acquired instant credibility for their views by linking them with the actions of respected figures from the past.

Sun Tzu

One of the main differences that is noticeable between Sun Tzu and Vegetius is how they operate in different planes. Sun Tzu is more strategic in view and his philosophy is ethereal and spiritual. He talks of balances and relationships between one variable and another, such as rest and exertion, union and separation, confidence and surprise. [5]  He draws parallels between war and nature [6] and makes references to ch’i.[7] He is the more cerebral of the two authors, and his philosophy seems to fall in line with the traditional Chinese emphasis on harmonious relationships.

Vegetius is more tactical in his recommendations, and his tone is flavored with traditional Roman practicality. This is exemplified in his general maxims, nearly all of which apply to common situations within a campaign’s ground-level operations. “Valor is superior to numbers.” “The nature of the ground is often of more consequence than courage.” “Novelty and surprise throw an enemy into consternation, but common incidents have no effect.”[8]

Many people have read Sun Tzu’s Art of War, and have attempted to apply the work to everything from organized sports to business. My personal view is that this is a less than ideal way to view this work. The Art of War is a relic of a particular place and time. So is De Re Militari. We can learn much from these works about how the Chinese and the Romans viewed war, the role of the commander, and how they viewed the men who served as soldiers in the rank and file. Of course, one can learn from both books and be influenced by the lessons within each, but I urge you to spend more time thinking about the time and the setting of both books, rather than how they apply to modern life. Both manuals are a gold mine of insight into the past, and a wonderful opportunity to learn more about ancient Romans and Chinese.


[1] Vegetius, On Roman Military Matters, trans. John Clarke (St. Petersburg: Red and Black, 2008), 52.

[2] Ibid., 93.

[3] Sun Tzu, “Chapter 3: The Art of Warfare” in The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, trans. Ralph D. Sawyer (Boulder: Westview Press 1993), 163.

[4] Vegetius, 51.

[5] Sun Tzu, 158.

[6] Ibid., 165.

[7] Ibid., 170.

[8] Vegetius, 91.


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