My source:
CHIEF MAGISTRATES: THE SUFETES
The chief offi cials of the republic were an annually elected pair of
‘sufetes’, a title which Punic inscriptions and some Latin writers
attest, although Greeks – and even Carthaginians writing in Greek,
as we shall see – invariably use the term ‘king’ or ‘kings’ (basileus,
basileis). Aristotle stresses that wealth and birth were both needed in
seeking high offi ce, plainly implying that both were legally required.
On the other hand he mentions no details about a minimum requisite
level of wealth, for instance, or how distinction of birth was
defi ned. We can infer that Carthaginian ancestry on both parents’
sides was not essential, for Hamilcar the ‘king’ in 480 had a Greek
mother; but notable ancestors on at least one side must have been.
26
STATE AND GOVERNMENT
Cicero’s contemporary Cornelius Nepos mentions that there were
two sufetes – he too writes ‘kings’ – elected each year, and several
Carthaginian inscriptions date a year by a pair of sufetes’ names.
Two yearly sufetes are also recorded, most of them in Roman times,
at Libyan and Sardinian cities that retained Carthaginian cultural
usages. A passing comment by Plato the philosopher shows him,
too, taking for granted that Carthaginian magistrates served
annually. A pair a year can thus be accepted as Carthage’s historical
norm. Evidence for more than two is fragile – for instance Cato the
Censor, in the 2nd Century, seeming to write of four sufetes collaborating
in some action like levying or paying troops. Unfortunately
we have only a very scrappily preserved sentence with no context;
Cato may perhaps have been reporting an action taken over two
successive years. If more than two a year ever were elected, most
likely this happened seldom.14
Sufetes as supreme magistrates were a development of the 6th
Century or, possibly, the late 7th. A damaged Punic votive stele of
around 500–450 seems to be dated – though the reading is debated
– to ‘the twentieth year of the rule of the sufetes in Carthage’. There
is no independent evidence to confi rm this information, and another
reading of the stele gives ‘in the one hundred and twentieth year’
while a third interpretation sees no dating in it at all. If either of the
numerals is correct, it implies that the monarchy had lasted at least
two or maybe even three hundred years, until 620 or later. If not, the
best we can infer is that by the later 4th Century, Aristotle’s time, the
sufeteship was certainly the supreme offi ce.15
In an earlier period of Carthage’s history, it is just possible that
only one sufete existed: for instance, perhaps ‘Malchus’ in the 6th
Century (if he existed) and perhaps the ‘basileus’ Hamilcar who
fought the Sicilian Greeks in 480 were sole sufetes as well as generals.
One person holding more than one offi ce at a time was common
enough at Carthage when Aristotle wrote, and more than likely was
a long-established usage. It is just as conceivable, though, that in the
fi rst centuries of the republic there were already two sufetes: one
could take the fi eld as military commander when necessary, while
the other remained at home in charge of civil affairs. Limiting their
functions to civil and home affairs would then have occurred later.
When they do appear in Greek and Roman accounts, they are
running the affairs of the republic in consultation with the senate,
and – in later times at least – judging civil lawsuits.
Sufetes is Livy’s Latin version of Punic šp��m (shophetim, shuphetim
or softim), a title often mentioned in inscriptions at Carthage and
27
STATE AND GOVERNMENT
other Phoenician colonies which had the same offi ce. It is equivalent
to the biblical shophetim, conventionally translated ‘judges’. The
diffi culty with tracing developments is Greek writers mentioning a
Carthaginian ‘king’ or ‘kings’ but never a ‘sufete’. Herodotus
describes Hamilcar, the general who fought the Sicilian Greeks in
480, as ‘king of the Carthaginians’ – ‘because of his valour’, he
explains – while Diodorus reports how in 410 the city chose its
leading man Hannibal, who was ‘at that time king by law’, as general
for another Sicilian offensive. For another Sicilian war in 396 they
‘appointed Himilco king by law’; and did so again with Mago in
383, except that this time Diodorus leaves out the term ‘by law’.
Himilco was already in Sicily as general, so Diodorus’ report of his
appointment as ‘king by law’ is best explained as Himilco’s being
elected sufete for the new year while continuing in the Sicilian
command. The other men too, with the possible exception of
Hamilcar, can hardly be anything but sufetes: how a sufete could
also be a general will be explored later.16
Obvious family pride appears in inscriptions that list a dedicator’s
ancestors going back three or more generations. One document
naming the two sufetes together with two generals in an unknown
year includes six generations of the forefathers of one general,
Abdmilqart, and three for the other, Abd’rš (Abdarish). On another,
a man named Baalay lists fi ve generations, of whom the earliest had
been a sufete and his son perhaps a rab (another offi ce, soon to be
looked at). Women also commemorated their forebears, as does
Arishat daughter of Bodmilqart son of Hannibaal on a votive stele.
Rather overdoing it, in turn, was one Pn ‘of the nation of Carthage’,
dedicator of a stele at Olbia in Sardinia, who lists no fewer than
sixteen forefathers – a family record going back a good four hundred
years. None of these, nor Pn himself, held an offi ce, but this vividly
illuminates the ancestral claims that ambitious men might parade in
their political careers. A candidate who could point to sufetes or at
least ‘great ones’ (senators) among his forebears surely found it an
advantage.
When Aristotle describes the ‘kings’ (basileis) as the city’s chief
magistrates, who act in consultation with the Carthaginian senate,
he plainly means elected offi ce-holders. Nor does he suggest
anywhere that a titular king still existed too, even though he
discusses other offi cial bodies like the senate and the ‘pentarchies’.
In a famous confrontation with Roman envoys in 218, the Carthaginian
spokesman in the senate is termed the basileus by Polybius:
this must mean a sufete. An inscription in Greek, set up by a
28
STATE AND GOVERNMENT
Carthaginian named Himilco (‘Iomilkos’ in the text) on the Aegean
island of Delos in 279, terms him a basileus too, so the term was
not simply a literary usage. Again, it should mean that Himilco
was or had been a sufete.17
The sufete is sometimes called a ‘praetor’ by Latin writers
(including Livy once), borrowing the title of Roman magistrates
with judicial authority, and once or twice a ‘king’ as in Greek writers
– or even a ‘consul’, the name of the highest offi ce at Rome. It may
be that the sufete or sufetes began under the kings as judicial offi cers,
hence their title; then acquired greater authority over time, until the
king was sidelined and eventually not replaced (though some scholars
think that the offi ce survived at least in name). His replacement by
elected sufetes may well have come about from pressure, if nothing
worse, by Carthage’s council of elders or senate, whose predecessors
at Phoenician cities had always been a powerful makeweight to the
monarchs.
ADIRIM: THE SENATE OF CARTHAGE
Phoenician kings always had to collaborate with their city’s leading
men, who from early times formed a recognised council of advisors
as the ‘mighty ones’ or ‘great ones’ (’drm, approximately pronounced
adirim). At Carthage this became the senate, as the Romans called it;
in Greek terminology the gerousia. As just noted, the ‘great ones’
quite possibly were responsible for the effective end of the monarchy,
with the sufeteship as a limited substitute for it – like the consulship
at Rome – which at least some leading men could look forward to
holding turn by turn. Whether they were always elected by the whole
citizen body, or at fi rst by the ’drm with popular election developing
later, is not known. Nor how senators themselves were recruited, or
even how many there were at any time, although two or even three
hundred is likely as we shall see. The building where they usually
met seems to have been close to the great market square (agora to
Greeks) which was the hub of business and administration, but we
do read of two meetings held in the temple of ‘Aesculapius’, in other
words of Eshmun on Byrsa hill.
The senate had varied and broad authority, to judge from our
sources. As usual the glimpses are given by writers from Herodotus
in the 5th Century to much later ones like Appian and Justin, so
that generalisations have to be fairly careful. Again Aristotle gives
the fullest sketch. The ‘kings’ convened and consulted the body on
29
STATE AND GOVERNMENT
affairs of state; if they unanimously agreed on what action to take,
this could be taken without any need to put the issue before the
assembled citizens. On the other hand, some decisions taken by
sufetes and senate in agreement could still be put before the
assembly, which had the power to reject them. Again, if both
sufetes – or by implication even one – disagreed with the senate on
a matter, the question would go to the assembly. How often this
happened, and what questions might be put to the people, the
philosopher avoids stating.
What procedures and protocols governed the senate’s debates is
not known, nor is it clear whether changes in its protocol and range
of functions took place over the centuries. Polybius does claim that
by the time of the Second Punic War the republic had become ‘more
democratic’ – something he is not enthusiastic about, even hinting
that it cost Carthage the war – which would suggest that in earlier
ages senate and sufetes had seldom needed to involve the assembly in
decision-making. His claim, however, seems overdone. During and
after the war the senate can be found directing diplomatic, fi nancial
and even military measures, just it had done for centuries. And on
the other hand, Aristotle sees fi t to describe the Carthage of his own
time, a century before Polybius, fi rst as a blend of monarchy, aristocracy
and democracy (with aristocracy dominant), and later as
‘democratically ruled’: perhaps a clumsy generalisation, but a
noteworthy one.
The range of functions of the adirim was at least as broad as the
Roman senate’s. They decided on war and peace, though the decision
probably needed ratifi cation by the assembly of citizens, as Diodorus
mentions happening in 397. They handled foreign relations to the
point of deciding on war and peace: for example rejecting the victorious
invader Regulus’ harsh peace terms in 256, receiving Roman
envoys in 218 and accepting their declaration of a Second Punic
War, and conversely in 149 themselves declaring war in defi ance of
the Roman forces surrounding the city. In military affairs, we fi nd
the senate in 310 reprimanding (and putting in fear of their lives) the
generals who had failed to prevent Agathocles’ Syracusan expedition
from landing. After Hannibal’s victory at Cannae in 216, it
authorised fresh forces to go to Sardinia and Spain, and reinforcements
with sizeable funds for Hannibal. In 147 it issued (fruitless)
criticisms of the savage treatment of Roman prisoners by Hasdrubal,
the commanding general in the besieged city.
Some domestic decisions are recorded too. In the mid-4th Century,
in a fi t of anti-Greek feeling, the adirim issued a decree (ultimately
30
STATE AND GOVERNMENT
repealed) forbidding the study of that language. In 195 after Hannibal
left Carthage to avoid victimisation, they were forced to promise to
take whatever steps against him might be demanded by envoys just
arrived from Rome. No doubt it was a senate decree (even if ratifi ed
by the assembly) that proceeded to confi scate his property, raze his
house, and formally banish him.18
Measures like these would be decreed on the sufetes’ proposal, as
Aristotle indicates. There must have been sharp debates at times: for
example, leading up to the decision in 256 to fi ght on – for the Carthaginians
themselves had earlier asked for terms. Certainly there was
some opposition to peace in 202, even after Hannibal lost the battle of
Zama, forcing Hannibal himself to exert pressure on his fellow
senators and on the citizen assembly too to accept Scipio’s terms.
Nonetheless, when a powerful faction dominated the state, the sufetes’
proposals and the senate’s decisions naturally obeyed factional wishes,
whatever arguments opponents might put. Livy’s and Appian’s
pictures of the senate’s small anti-Barcid group speaking against the
Barcids’ policies to no avail may be imaginative in detail, but illustrate
fairly well what the situation must have been like.
Livy once mentions a smaller senatorial body too. The peace
embassy sent to Scipio Africanus in 203 consisted, he says, of thirty
senators called ‘the more sacred council’, termed the dominant
element in the senate. No such body appears under this name
elsewhere, but now and again other delegations of thirty leading
senators do: conceivably this ‘more sacred council’ again. One
delegation persuaded the feuding generals Hamilcar and Hanno to
cooperate against the Libyan rebels in 238; one in 202 – surely the
same body as the year before, though Livy does not comment – was
sent out to ask peace from Scipio after his victory over Hannibal; a
third, according to Diodorus, was delegated to learn the invading
Romans’ demands in 149. All the same, these seem rather demeaning,
even if necessary, missions for the supposedly most powerful body in
the republic’s most powerful institution. Greek writers, including
Polybius and Diodorus, do not help clarity by mentioning at various
times a Carthaginian gerousia (‘body of elders’), synkletos
(‘summoned body’) and synedrion (‘sitting body’), without
explaining the distinctions. All three terms are applied by Greeks to
the Roman senate, which had no inner council. Efforts to treat
synkletos or else gerousia in Carthaginian contexts as indicating the
‘more sacred council’, and the other two terms as referring to the
adirim, have no fi rm evidence to rest on. No Punic inscription
describes anyone as member of such an inner body, either.
31
STATE AND GOVERNMENT
If the ‘more sacred council’ did exist, at least in the 3rd and 2nd
Centuries, we could see it (given the absence of any specifi c details)
as a largely honorifi c body of eminent senators – probably ex-sufetes
– whose experience and high repute could be called on in diffi cult
situations. They could also have exerted real though unoffi cial infl uence
in normal affairs. If Livy’s term ‘more sacred’ has any specifi c
validity, it may be that the members also held high-ranking priesthoods,
conferring added solemnity on the council.
THE MYSTERIOUS ‘PENTARCHIES’
Another arm of government is mentioned, all too succinctly again,
by Aristotle and no one else: the ‘pentarchies’ or fi ve-man commissions.
New members were co-opted by existing ones, members
served without pay, and the commissions controlled ‘many important
matters’, including judging cases at law. None of these features
is described in any fuller detail. Nor is the philosopher very clear in
explaining how (or why) commissioners had lengthier tenures of
position than other offi cials: ‘they are in power after they have gone
out of offi ce and before they have actually entered upon it’. As it
stands, this seems to make it pointless for them to have a stated term
of offi ce at all, and to imply that there might often be more than fi ve
members of a commission in practice.
Carthaginian inscriptions make no mention of anyone belonging to
a fi ve-man commission, but do attest a board or commission of ten for
sacred places and one of thirty supervising taxes. Were the pentarchies,
or some of them, subdivisions of these? Also attested are offi cials
called ‘treasurers’ or ‘accountants’ (m��šbm sounded as mehashbim),
whose powers included penalising persons who failed to pay customs
dues. If Aristotle is correct that the pentarchies handled many important
matters and could try cases, either their tasks clashed with the
work of these offi cials or – much likelier – the m��šbm formed one or
more of the pentarchies. Carthage’s institutions are so opaquely
known that these interpretations are a reasonable possibility. Standard
public tasks like taxes, sacred places and judicial affairs perhaps
seemed to call for lengthier terms of administrative offi ce (three to fi ve
years?) for greater continuity. Even so, Aristotle’s dictum about
pentarchy members holding their positions both before and after they
were pentarchy members remains a puzzle.19
One offi cial at Carthage is known almost entirely from Punic
inscriptions: the rb or rab, meaning ‘chief’ or ‘head’. A hundred or
32
STATE AND GOVERNMENT
so men are termed rab in the documents without accompanying
description, implying an offi ce different from the rb khnm (rab
kohanim, chief of priests) and rb m��nt (rab mahanet, ‘head of the
army’ or general). This rab seems to have been in charge of state
fi nances, equivalent then to a treasurer. If so, this was the offi cial
whom Livy terms ‘quaestor’, using a Roman title again, who in
196 defi ed the newly-elected reforming sufete Hannibal until taught
a sharp lesson. (At Gades in 206 we read of a quaestor, too, presumably
that city’s rab.) He presumably had the m��šbm as his subordinates,
although the inscriptions mentioning these do not refer to
him. An inscription mentioning one person, it seems, as rab ‘for the
third time’ (rb šlš, approximately rab shelosi) suggests – along with
the large number of rabim known – that it was a position with a
time-limit. So does Livy’s report that the ‘quaestor’ defi ed Hannibal
because he knew that, after holding offi ce, he would automatically
join the powerful and virtually impregnable ‘order of judges’ (on
which more below). The offi ce was probably annual, like a
sufete’s.
It must have given plenty of opportunities for holders to enrich
themselves. Both Aristotle and Polybius tell us that Carthaginians in
their day viewed giving bribes as normal in public life, including
bribes for election votes. The philosopher comments, in a different
context, that it was perfectly normal for Carthaginian offi cials to
practise money-making activities (adding tartly ‘and no revolution
has yet occurred’). Profi ting from public revenues, which he also
notices, was a natural extension (rather optimistically, he thinks that
wealthy men like Carthaginian offi cials would be less tempted). In
one known period at least, it had become so severe that it was
affecting the republic’s ability to pay its way: Hannibal was elected
sufete partly to deal with it – and his fi rst confrontation was with the
chief of fi nances.
One more feature noted by Aristotle, disapprovingly, is that the
same man could hold more than one offi ce at the same time. A
votive stele interestingly commemorates one Hanno, sufete and
chief of priests (rb khnm, or rab kohanim), son of Abdmilqart
(Hamilcar) who again had been sufete and chief of priests. Of
course the sufeteship was a one-year offi ce, while the priesthood
was permanent. Aristotle no doubt was thinking more of
non-religious combinations, like being sufete and rab together, or
even sufete and general. Though no clear evidence for sufete-rab
combinations exists, it is possible that occasionally a sufete might
indeed become a general too.20
33
STATE AND GOVERNMENT
THE GENERALS
At some moment in the city’s history a further position was created,
that of general (rb m��nt, approximately pronounced rab mahanet;
in Greek, strategos). Offi cially this innovation separated military
duties from civil, a contrast with Rome where the consuls regularly
and praetors sometimes had to carry out both. The Carthaginians
perhaps initiated their generalship in the middle or later 6th Century,
when they began sending military forces over to Sicily and Sardinia.
Even if they did, it looks as though the offi ce down to the early 4th
Century could still, as suggested above, be taken on by a sufete
should the situation demand it. That would explain examples
mentioned earlier, such as Hamilcar in 480, Himilco in 396, and
Mago as late as 383 – ‘kings’ appointed to commands in Sicily. As
mentioned above too, Isocrates in an effusive paean to authoritarian
rule matches Carthage and Sparta as two states ‘ruled oligarchically
at home and monarchically at war’. This is not a sign that Carthage
still had real kings active in affairs, for he also praises his contemporary
the ruthless tyrant (in modern terms, dictator) of Syracuse,
Dionysius I. But it may be a sign that her ‘kings’ – that is, sufetes –
still led armies at least on important campaigns in his time.
All the same, over these centuries there were probably plenty of
military tasks not important or enticing enough for a sufete. These
could be handled by men who held the generalship alone, whether or
not they had been sufetes or later became sufetes. By Aristotle’s day
(it is clear) a general was not normally a sufete at the same time. But
generals too were elected, and the offi ce was enough of a political
prize for men to pay perfectly good bribes to obtain it. A century
later, effective control of affairs rested with the elected generals of
the Barcid family (Hannibal’s father and brother-in-law, and
Hannibal himself), none of whom is recorded as being sufete along
with being general. Instead they were able, it seems, to get kinsmen
and supporters elected to sufeteships year after year, not to mention
to other generalships as needed.
A general did not serve for a fi xed term, for obvious reasons.
The appointment seems to have been for the length of a war, or at
any rate until another general was chosen to take over command.
Then again, more than one rab mahanet could be chosen for
military operations: most obviously if land operations (in Sicily
for instance) needed one commander and naval operations
another, or for commitments in different regions. In North Africa
itself, during the great revolt by Carthage’s mercenary troops and
34
STATE AND GOVERNMENT
Libyan subjects from 241 to 237, two generals – Hamilcar Barca
and his one-time friend, then rival, Hanno ‘the Great’ – held
equal-ranking generalships, which caused friction. In an effort to
improve collaboration, Hanno was replaced for a time by a more
cooperative commander who, in practice if not in law, acted as
Hamilcar’s subordinate.
This is not the only evidence that, at times, one general might be
appointed as deputy to another. Two Punic inscriptions have the
term rb šny (vocalised approximately rab sheni), or an abbreviated
hšn’, each of which seems to mean ‘second general’. They imply
subordinate commanders and, although details are entirely lacking
(save that the hšn’ was a Hasdrubal), such an arrangement is often
reported in narratives of Carthage’s later wars. Thus in 397 Himilco,
the general in Sicily, had an ‘admiral’ (nauarchos in Diodorus)
named Mago leading his fl eet, while a century and a half later, in
250, Adherbal in command there had a naval deputy, one Hannibal,
whom Polybius terms a ‘trierarch’. Hamilcar Barca later appointed
his son-in-law Hasdrubal ‘trierarch’ when operating in Spain in the
230s, even though Hasdrubal’s naval tasks were minor by all
accounts: the equivalent term in Punic had perhaps become the
normal one for a general’s immediate deputy, whatever his duties.21
Certainly the practice of a supreme general with subordinates
became the norm over the nearly four decades of Barcid dominance
after 237. Polybius emphasises Hannibal’s direction of all military
affairs during the Second Punic War, which at its height involved
up to seven generals in different theatres. Hannibal commanded in
Italy with another offi cer acting semi-independently under him;
three generals – two of them his brothers Hasdrubal and Mago –
operated in Spain against the invading Romans; a sixth commanded
an expeditionary army in Sicily; and a seventh (apparently another
Barcid kinsman, Bomilcar) led out the navy on several rather fruitless
sorties. After peace with Rome in 201, with all warfare now
effectively banned, what was done with the generals is unknown.
Either they became civil (or ornamental) offi cials, or they lapsed
altogether until the Carthaginians unwisely decided to fi ght
Numidia half a century later. In their fi nal war with Rome, they
seem to have had two separate and equal generals again: one
operating in the countryside, the other defending the besieged city
(Chapter XII).
35
STATE AND GOVERNMENT
NEMESIS OF GENERALS: THE COURT OF
ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR
The state was notoriously draconian in dealing with its defeated
generals. In later times at least, the penalty for failure was crucifi
xion, as happened for instance to Hanno, the admiral beaten by
the Romans in 241. We are told that fear of punishment was
always in the mind of Carthaginian commanders, and we read of
one or two who killed themselves to avoid it (the corpse of one
such, Mago in 344 or 343, was itself crucifi ed instead). The process
of judging unsatisfactory military performance must originally
have been carried out by the senate and sufetes (or possibly one of
the pentarchies, but a fi ve-man court for such serious indictments
seems unlikely). A change, though, came in the 5th Century or
early in the 4th, when a special tribunal was created for the purpose
(Chapter VIII).
This was the body which Aristotle calls the One Hundred and
Four. He also calls it ‘the greatest authority’ at Carthage, with
members chosen solely on merit: but does not say what it actually
did apart from likening it to the fi ve ephors at Sparta. The comparison
looks excessive, for Sparta’s ephors not only supervised (and
could prosecute) the Spartan kings but dealt, too, with large areas
of administration both civil and military – areas which at Carthage
were handled by the pentarchies, on Aristotle’s own evidence, or
offi cials like the rab and the generals (on evidence from other
sources, inscriptions included). But Justin reports a hundred-strong
senatorial court being set up during Magonid times to scrutinise
generals’ actions. This must be the same body. Thus the court of
One Hundred and Four was the authority that convicted and
executed delinquent generals. After a time its supervision may have
widened to generals’ subordinates too. An offi cer was crucifi ed in
264 for giving up the occupied city of Messana in Sicily without a
fi ght, the same punishment that the court infl icted on unsatisfactory
generals, and so perhaps a case of its now judging other
military miscreants. What body had previously dealt with such
offi cers we do not know – maybe one of the pentarchies. Aristotle’s
comparison with the ephors would certainly be more understandable
if, even in his day, the One Hundred and Four was beginning
to encroach on other bodies’ functions.
Why there were one hundred and four judges is not known; the
fi gure has been doubted because Aristotle also writes simply of one
hundred, as does Justin. One suggestion, if one hundred and four is
36
STATE AND GOVERNMENT
correct (and ‘one hundred’ just a rounding-down), is that the two
sufetes and two other offi cials (the rab and the rab kohanim?) could
have been members ex offi cio. The ordinary judges were senators
selected by the pentarchies, on unknown criteria save for the merit
stated by Aristotle, and they served on the court for life.22
Supposedly then it was the One Hundred and Four who kept the
republic’s generals on the straight and narrow in wars, and for the
same reason caused them too often to be over-cautious. Yet how
impartial its judgements were may be wondered, especially when
feelings ran high after a defeat or – worse – a lost war. Generals, and
often if not always their lieutenants, were senators themselves: this
meant having friends and enemies among the adirim and participating
in Carthage’s vigorous, at times embittered, politics. Such
connections could be pivotal to the outcome of a prosecution
whatever the merits of the case itself. Punishments or threats of
punishment are rarely recorded. Crucifi xion did await Hanno, the
admiral whose defeat at the Aegates Islands in 241 forced Carthage
to sue for peace, yet twenty years earlier a defeated general, another
Hanno, not only survived (though heavily fi ned) but fi ve years later
was commanding a section of the navy. Hamilcar Barca, who had to
negotiate the invidious peace terms with Rome in 241, was threatened
with trial when he returned home, but nothing came of it. Nor
was Hannibal prosecuted after the disaster of Zama.
THE ASSEMBLY OF CITIZENS
The citizen assembly was called simply ‘m (ham), ‘the people’. It
most probably met in the city’s great marketplace, called the agora
by Greeks. In later centuries this lay south-east of Byrsa and near the
sea; earlier, before the city expanded in that direction, the original
agora may have been on the low ground between Byrsa and the
shore to its east.
The earliest possible mention of the ‘m as a political body is in
Justin’s story of ‘Malchus’, thus after 550. Returning from abroad
with his army to punish his ungrateful enemies, that general
summoned ‘the people’ to explain his grievances, complain that his
fellow-citizens had tolerated his enemies’ behaviour, but then grant
them – the citizens – his magnanimous forgiveness. He then ‘restored
the city to its laws’, meaning lawful government. If correct, this is a
picture of a citizenry which at least was treated with a degree of
respect. Whether restoring lawful government implied, among other
37
STATE AND GOVERNMENT
things, restoring political functions to the ‘m is only a guess, but at
some date the assembly gained the power to elect magistrates and –
probably as a later development – to vote on policy decisions.
Its normal share in affairs by Aristotle’s time involved voting on
decisions passed by the senate, resolving a deadlock between the
senate and one or both sufetes, and electing sufetes, generals, and
other offi cials like the rab. As already noted, Aristotle shows that
even some decisions agreed on by senate and sufetes were still put to
the assembly. On such occasions the sufetes ‘do not merely let the
people sit and listen to the decisions that have been taken by their
rulers’ but allow free discussion (a concession unique to Carthage,
he notes), and even then ‘the people have the sovereign decision’.
This must mean that the assembly could reject the proposals, just as
it decided the issue when there was a deadlock. Later on the philosopher
remarks that Carthage was a ‘democratically ruled’ state; rather
an exaggeration, but a passing acknowledgement that the assembly’s
role was both important and, at times, decisive.
These functions seem reasonably robust for a citizen assembly in
the ancient world. It is therefore puzzling to read Polybius’ disapproving
claim that in Hannibal’s day ‘the people’ (meaning the
citizen body) had the greatest say. After all we still fi nd the adirim
making the major decisions then – even in his own account of events,
such as going to war with Rome in 218 and discussing peace in 203.
No doubt these would in turn be put before the ham for ratifi cation,
but that was not new. The best surmise must be that by 218 every
decision of sufetes and senate, not just some as previously, was
formally presented to the assembly, even if merely to be ratifi ed. The
dominance of the Barcid generals down to 201, based as much on
popular support as on alliance with other leading men, probably
gave greater visibility to the assembly, without thereby adding to its
real power. This would hardly be a huge democratic advance, but
Polybius is really seeking to stress how superior Rome’s ‘aristocratic’
political system was in those days, and he may well be pushing an
over-artifi cial contrast.
No defi nite information exists about how the assembly functioned.
One hypothesis comes from a Latin inscription of ad 48 commemorating
a local magnate at the Libyan country town of Thugga, who
received an honorary sufeteship from the town’s senate and people
‘by the votes [or the assent] of all the gates (portae)’. These ‘gates’ at
Thugga must have been a voting arrangement, perhaps denoting
local clans or the residents of different sectors of the town. That the
citizens at Carthage likewise voted in separate groups, each called a
38
STATE AND GOVERNMENT
‘gate’ (š‘r), is speculation all the same. Gates of the usual kind are
mentioned on stelae or other documents – the New Gate inscription,
for example – but never in connection with political or social life.23
The citizen assembly perhaps gained its greater prominence under
the trauma of the great revolt of 241–237 in Africa. Citizens had to
enlist and fi ght in battle for Carthage’s survival, and they settled on
Hamilcar Barca as their military and political leader during the
revolt and after it. He was followed as general – in effect chief
general, whether or not so titled – by his son-in-law Hasdrubal and
then his eldest son Hannibal, each elected in turn by the citizen
body. The Barcid faction’s dominance of affairs clearly included the
adirim, the magistrates and even the One Hundred and Four, but it
always faced some opposition, and the support of the assembly may
well have been the Barcids’ ultimate strength.
After the peace of 201, the Barcids lost their control and the
republic came under the effective (though not offi cial) sway of the
court of One Hundred and Four. Their corrupt rule, as we shall see,
then brought Hannibal back as sufete a few years later to end the
scandals and help set the state back on its feet. For the remaining
decades of Carthage’s life, politics and government were more
vigorous than they had been in a century or more: a vitality which by
a tragic irony contributed to the ultimately lethal hostility of her old
enemy in Italy.
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