"ipsum principem cernere in publico": the visibility of the Roman emperor from 27BCE to 40CE

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Content “IPSUM PRINCIPEM CERNERE IN PUBLICO”: THE VISIBILITY OF THE ROMAN EMPEROR FROM 27BCE TO 40CE by Matthew Taylor ______________________________________________________________________ A Dissertation Presented to the FACULTY OF THE USC GRADUATE SCHOOL UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY (CLASSICS) August 2012 Copyright 2012 Matthew Taylor Table of Contents Abstract iii Introduction 1 Chapter One: Senator 38 Chapter Two: General 201 Chapter Three: Speaking with Power 274 Conclusion 377 Bibliography 381 Appendices Appendix A: Evidence for emperor’s presence/absence at meetings of the senate 405 Appendix B: Imperial profectiones and adventūs in our period 423 ii Abstract This dissertation tracks and analyzes the public visibility of the Roman emperors from Augustus to Gaius, with the aim of investigating exactly how the administration of Rome and its empire was accomplished under the rule of one man, and how the systems for this may have developed as the role of the emperor became more entrenched in both society and its discourse. I examine in particular the people’s conception of the role of their emperor in government and society, and the relationship between that role and the preservation of one man’s sovereignty over his subjects. Ultimately, the dissertation examines to what extent the experience of being governed is instrumental in the subjugation of all sectors of society to rule by a single individual. I argue that focusing on the emperor’s visibility is the ideal way to establish a hierarchy among the various factors that may have enforced and maintained his sovereignty. In essence, I believe that any and all of these factors were not relevant unless they were mobilized frequently into the public sphere so as to make subjects aware that they were in play, and that the primary vector for this effect was the person of the emperor himself. For example, the apparent conflict between an explanation based in military might and one on enlightened legality can best be resolved by investigating which of these forces was made visible at any given moment, which was actively communicated in a public context. To this end, I attempt to catalogue and iii analyze the contexts and frequency of his appearances, the composition of his audiences, and the activities in which he was actually seen to be engaged. I structure the dissertation according to the various personas the emperor would enact in public. This approach is based both in the way the Principate was embedded in the discursive forms and public practices of Rome’s previous social and political tradition, and in the fact that our sources frequently schematize the emperor’s appearance and performance according to such criteria. Such a structure not only presents a logical method for organizing the evidence, but also presents an intriguing analytical picture of that evidence in and of itself; indeed, in the divisions among the sources we can observe a tendency for particular personas to be manifested selectively to specific segments of the population. Thus the senatorial aristocracy preserves for us the clearest record of the emperor as senator, while provincial sources encounter him most often as the judge in their domestic or international disputes. My central thesis is that every such appearance, and every persona that was adopted, had as its central aim to instill within his subjects the conviction that they were being actively governed by the emperor, and that this was a condition that was in their own interest. Thus the emperor would appropriate suitable personas for every context in order to communicate a robust experience of management and inherent security, mobilizing publicly the various factors listed above, but making a show of doing so in service of his people. While such display would, of course, emphasize the supremacy of the emperor, it also implicated every subject’s interest in the practice of keeping him supreme. iv Introduction 1. Visibility and publicity This is a project about the visibility of the Roman emperor, and as such an investigation into the contexts and frequency of his appearances, the composition of his audiences, and the activities in which he was actually seen to be engaged. To some extent it presupposes the coordination of all these factors into a strategy of visibility that rendered the emperor’s body the primary medium for communication between himself and the constituents of the empire, be they masses or elites, citizens or provincial subjects. In recovering and analyzing the traces of such a strategy, it addresses the developing position of the emperor in terms of both Rome’s constitution and the broader structures of Roman society—what has elsewhere been called the statio principis. 1 The diachronic perspective puts into question whether it was actually important for the emperor to be visible or not: how it could benefit him to be, at some 1 1 Statio principis appears to be a modern coinage, based on the use among imperial writers of statio to refer to what we might call the position or station—if not office—of the emperor. The locus classicus for this usage of statio is Gellius (15.7.3), reporting a letter of Augustus to G. Caesar: “Deos autem oro, ut, mihi quantumcumque superest temporis, id saluis nobis traducere liceat in statu reipublicae felicissimo ἀνδραγαθούντων ὑµῶν καὶ διαδεχοµένων stationem meam.” Vell. 2.124.2 claims that the senate urged Tiberius in 14CE “ut stationi paternae succederet.” The phrase “paterna statio” is similarly used in the SC de Cn. Pisone Patre (lines 129–30) in respect to the relationship between Tiberius and Drusus(2), which, following the death of Germanicus, must be seen as analogous to that of Augustus and G. Caesar. See also Plin. Pan. 7.3, where Trajan is said to have taken up a particular statio. According to Lewis & Short, statio was generally used to denote “a station, post, an abode, residence” (e.g. Cic. Att. 6.9.5, Caes. B.G. 6.42.2), but was also employed by Vitruvius (1.2.5) to translate θεµατισµός (“that which is established by custom or prescription”). For the implications and history of statio in general, see Kostermann (1932, 358–368, 430–444), Béranger (1975, 153–163, 180 n. 110), Levick (1976, 78-9 n. 26-27), and Ando (2010, 37-38 and n. 1). times, the “observed of all observers,” and at other times to govern instead by correspondence. 2 Essential to this project are two further conceits: that government was effected through communication—from the most basic verbal commands to the highly ordered apparatus developed for the transmission of imperial decisions—and that the communication of government was itself a primary factor in ensuring both the empire’s stability and the emperor’s continuing capacity to rule, by which I mean both the ability to have his will realized in action and, on a finer level, to leverage the resources of the empire towards such a realization. 3 It is within such a conceptual framework that I situate my analysis of the emperor’s visibility, and the role it had to play in the processes—both material and ideological—of imperial government, as the primary instrument by which the hegemonic culture of the Principate was displayed, diffused, and developed. I engage in three levels of inquiry. First, the physical visibility of the emperor: his material practices, how he leveraged his visibility as a means of ruling, and how he used his body as an instrument of government and communication. This is the most empirical element of this approach, as I seek to enumerate the occasions, environments, 2 2 The formulation of Parker (1999), discussed below. See Millar (2004b) for the later paradigm of government when the emperor tended to spend longer periods away from the capital. 3 In broad strokes, a model of imperial government espoused by, e.g., Seeberg (1972, 5–8: “consenting subjects”) and Ando (2000: “Imperial Ideology”), and developed in other contexts by Mann (1986: “social power”) and Foucault (1983; 2000). Similar ideas have a long history in political theory, e.g. in Giovanni Botero’s formulation of the reason of state, which presupposes that a ruler rules in the “interest and utility” of his subjects, and even in the iustum imperium ideology of Rome itself (see, e.g., Verg. Aen. 6.851–853 or Richter 2011, 3–4 on Aelius Aristides’ speech To Rome). and trappings of his material appearances, basically in order to build a picture of what exactly people would have seen and how often they would have seen it. I use the term ‘practices’ in order to designate physical, embodied acts that (as far as is possible) can be said actually to have occurred, but also for its sociological valence in denoting activities that are instrumental in the (re-)production of sociocultural norms and values. 4 With this latter dimension in mind, I argue that visible practices played a critical role in defining the position of the emperor in government and society, contributing actively to the progressive institutionalization, and even ritualization, of that position; that is to say, I posit that at some point these visible practices became significant as the practices that in and of themselves constituted the practitioner as emperor. 5 Within the terms of performance theory, this would be a matter of the perlocutionary effects of speech and conduct becoming equal in importance to—or even overtaking—their illocutionary effects; this is, again, equivalent to suggesting that the emperor would both act in the capacity of emperor and at the same time perform the 3 4 I refer here to the arguments of scholars such as Geertz (1985), Bourdieu (1990), and especially Bell (1992, 81–88): “Practice is (1) situational; (2) strategic; (3) embedded in a misrecognition of what it is in fact doing; and (4) able to reproduce or reconfigure a vision of the order of power in the world, or what I will call ‘redemptive hegemony.’” As I discuss below, I am also aware that such practice is, for us at least, somewhat inseparable from discourse (a problem outlined most clearly by Roller 2010, 240–242). 5 Analogous to what Beard (2007, 246) calls “ritual solipsism,” by which she argues that “the ritual turns itself into the object of ritual, the triumph celebrates the triumph.” My model for this approach is Hanley (1985, 65–106), who has shown how the appearance of the king at the lit de justice assembly in 16th and 17th Century France developed from a legislative constitutional activity into a ritual that inaugurated kingship. role of emperor, a mingling of pragmatic duty (or “the pre-symbolic”) and interested ideological conduct to which we shall return later. 6 Second, I address the communication of that visibility to wider audiences, both geographically and temporally; that is to say, I examine the means by which the emperor’s visible practices and physical presence in certain locations were disseminated across the empire and commemorated for later audiences. I use the term ‘commemoration’ throughout this text to denote a type of communicative practice that makes information from the past available in the present. While most of the examples I will discuss are the product of what we might call official initiatives or mechanisms, I do not consider commemoration to require public authorization or even consensus: acts may be commemorated by different actors through different media and for diverse agendas. While commemorative practices implicate a certain type of authority—either 4 6 I adopt (with Diamond 1996) Butler’s (1997) somewhat emancipated reformulation of the performative (developed from Austin 1962), marked most clearly by her belief that performance can have perlocutionary functions and effects far beyond whatever may have been intended. I understand the perlocutionary to be “speech [that] leads to effects, but is not itself the effect” (Butler o.c., 39), and thus distinct from the illocutionary which “performs its deed at the moment of the utterance” (ibid. 3) and “enacts or produces that to which it refers” (Diamond o.c., 4). The distinction can be illustrated with reference to the Lex de imperio Vespasiani, which in its utterance (in this case textual) had the illocutionary effect of granting Vespasian certain legal prerogatives and the perlocutionary effect of defining the statio principis for future generations (its function of making him emperor is actually something of a collapse of the illocutionary with the perlocutionary). The perlocutionary function to which I am referring is to some extent covalent with Bell’s term “redemptive hegemony” (see note above). Diamond adds a particular focus on the spatiotemporal context of performance and its citationality; Parker and Sedgwick (1995, 2–4): “performativity has enabled a powerful appreciation of the ways that identities are constructed iteratively through complex citational processes” On the “pre- symbolic,” see Gell (1998). in the person of the commemorator or the substance of the thing commemorated (or both)— that authority may often be contested or even subverted. 7 For the purposes of this dissertation I focus mainly on the documentary sources —edicts, decrees, transcripts—that constituted a record of imperial activity which could be archived, copied, transmitted, published, studied, and read aloud, but other representing media—specifically iconographic sources like coins, statues, and cameos —were also implicated in this process; while I sometimes reference the latter for comparative or illustrative purposes, I have not yet made a thorough survey and integration of these sources. My basic method is to approach all such evidence as constituting a type of logistics for the communication of the emperor’s presence in certain contexts, undertaking certain action, possessed of a certain appearance. The choices made in the representation of such action may perhaps reflect something of how the producers of such evidence wished that action to be received. Third, I examine the role of this communication in both ruling in the immediacy and in the ongoing consolidation and negotiation of the statio principis. This is a matter of how existing structures and symbols—usually, but not exclusively, drawn from Rome’s Republican past—and certain normative discourses—such as those of civilitas and parrhesia—were used to render the emperor’s material practice into narratives that 5 7 My use of ‘commemoration’ is greatly informed by the role of commemoratio in Quintilian’s definition of the exemplum (Inst. 5.11.6): “quod proprie vocamus exemplum, id est rei gestae aut ut gestae utilis ad persuadendum id quod intenderis commemoratio.” This not only represents a more expansive understanding of the term, but also a potentially strategic element (“ad persuadendum”). On this passage, see Lowrie (2007, 106). On the relationship between authority and exemplary discourse, see, e.g., Habinek (1998, 45–46): “By definition, an aristocrat is someone who lays claim to special privileges on the basis of a connection with an authorizing past.” could be consumed and interpreted by different sectors of society, and how those narratives came, in turn, to constitute a functional description of the emperor’s place in the world. 8 Critical to this latter aspect is the role of commemorative practices and their artifacts in the composition of the historical record, and in particular their consultation by the literary authors who form so much of the fabric of our understanding of the Roman world. I situate these processes within the Roman “discourse of exemplarity,” a contemporary tradition of approaching history in thought and text that presupposed a “homology or continuity” between past and present, one that was either ethical or pragmatic, but which in both cases can be said to justify or advocate for certain types of practice in the future. 9 Augustus exhibits a consciousness of exemplarity in the Res Gestae, the monumental commemoration of his own deeds, when he states “by means of new laws that were passed with me as their auctor, I brought back many exempla that were already passing away from our age and I myself gave exempla of many things to be imitated by posterity” (8.5: “legibus novis me auctore latis multa exempla maiorum exolescentia iam ex nostro saeculo reduxi et ipse multarum rerum exempla imitanda 6 8 For the role of the Republican ideology in the Principate, see, e.g., Galinsky (1996) and Moatti (2009). On civilitas, Wallace-Hadrill (1982). I address parrhesia in detail in chapter 3, but follow, in particular, the model of monarchic parrhesia expounded by Foucault (2001; 2005), addressed as “speech to power” by Roller (2001). 9 Roller (2009) outlines what he calls the “four sequential operations” of exemplarity, pursued in much greater detail in Roller (2004); quoted here, (2009, 215). His sequence augments that of Lowrie (2007, 106–107) by emphasizing the persistent element of evaluation in exempla; that is to say, events are recalled or commemorated in ways that layer them with an evaluative discourse aimed at conditioning their reception. Alternately, evaluative discourse could be said to require exempla; as Habinek (1998, 57) puts it, “if one is to conduct an evaluation, a standard is necessary.” Suggestively, it appears that the term for official copies of documents archived in the aerarium Saturni was “exempla” (Sherk 1969, 6). posteris tradidi”). 10 The text itself could be said to commemorate his actions (res gestae) as exempla, which would serve as the grounds for both imitation by and authorization for subsequent emperors (the posteri), and has even been understood as an attempt to define the statio principis. 11 My basic argument is that it is no coincidence that a document like the lex de imperio Vespasiani of 70CE shows such sympathy with the activity of early emperors such as Augustus, Tiberius, and Gaius—nor with the Res Gestae in particular—but that rather, as the lex itself reflects, their activity was taken as the definitive and authorizing rationale for Vespasian’s prerogatives to act in certain spheres of government. 12 I believe that to conclude, as certain scholars have, that there was generally nothing exceptional in the passage of this lex at the outset of Vespasian’s reign is to elide some of the complicated processes—both material and textual—that contributed to forming a set of prerogatives that Tacitus could later summarize as “everything that was 7 10 Lowrie (105 n. 33) notes of RG 8.5 that “[e]xemplum tradere means ‘to set precedent’,” citing Sallust, Hist. 1.55.25, and further that the Greek version found on the Monumentum Ancyranum (“καὶ αὐτὸς πολλῶν πραγµάτων µείµηµα ἐµαυτὸν τοῖς µετέπειτα παρέδωκα”) suggests that Augustus himself was to be understood as the primary exemplum in question. Livy praef. 10 comments that exempla are traditionally supposed to be either imitated or avoided, while Quint. 5.11.6 also establishes that an exemplum may be simile, dissimile, or contrarium; Lowrie (o.c., 92): “Exceptional actions in fact become exemplary, hence imitable, so that history may incorporate radical change while following precedent.” 11 That these undefined posteri could be understood to be the emperors who would follow is suggested by the distinction between the old exempla, which Augustus claims were recovered be means of leges, and the new exempla, which he handed down himself (“ipse...tradidi”). Again, Quint. 5.11.6 renders the strategic commemoration of res gestae as the substance of exempla (see note above). On the relation to the statio, see Ando (2010a, 37-38 and n. 1). 12 CIL VI, 930 (= ILS 244; TDGR 6.82). The coordination of the lex with the career of Augustus is quite straightforward (e.g. Clause II correlates with the grant of tribunicia potestas in 23BCE). I explore this in more detail in chapter 1.2.iii. accustomed for principes” (Hist. 4.4.5: “cuncta principibus solita”). 13 A practice or right does not become solitum even in a single act of reiteration, especially in relation to a potentially contested term like princeps, no less as part of a cohesive collection that could be understood to constitute cuncta. 14 By way of example, Augustus had developed the constitutional basis for his pre-eminence methodically and over a considerable span of time; Tiberius, meanwhile, acceded to the throne in full possession of both imperium and tribunicia potestas, renewed as recently as 13CE. 15 Thus to the extent that the Lex de imperio Vespasiani enshrines the passage of a specific legislative act as the legal commencement of Vespasian’s Principate, it itself documents a development within the history of imperial procedures that finds its original precedent in the case of Gaius, who was the first emperor to celebrate a true dies imperii whereby he received all the rights of the princeps in concurrent grants by senate and (perhaps) 8 13 Brunt (1977, 95) concludes that only Clause VIII represents any innovation (“utique quae ante hanc legem rogatam acta gesta decreta imperata ab imperatore Caesare Vespasiano Aug. iussu mandatuve eius a quoque sunt, ea perinde iusta rataq(ue) sint ac si populi plebisve iussu acta essent”), which he understands as the retroactive ratification of all the acts of Vespasian between his declaration in July of 69CE and the passage of the lex in the first weeks of 70CE; he is followed in this by Hurlet (1993, 278ff), Lucrezi (1995, 102ff), and Lopez (2006, 430). Otherwise the lex is generally understood to represent the latest iteration of a comitial law that may go back as far as the reign of Gaius. Mantovani (2009) collates all the evidence for this law (e.g. CJ 1.17.1.7 and Dio 53.32.5–6) in an attempt to refute the idea that even Clause VIII is new or unprecedented, arguing in particular that the clauses without precedent are intended to regulate or annotate the grants made in the other clauses (o.c., 146–148). There are some problems with Mantovani’s presentation, e.g. he translates Tac. Hist. 4.4.5 as “tutti insieme i poteri soliti per i principi” (o.c., 128), which is an interpretation of the Latin, and could elsewhere (o.c., 134–138) be understood to suggest that the Arval tablets show Gaius and Claudius to have received the two-step recognition by senate and comitium attested for Nero, Otho, Vitellius and Domitian. Scheid offers both the best edition of the Arval tablets (1998) and a separate summary of the surviving references to senatorial acclamation and comitial grants of tribunicia potestas (1992, 221–237, esp. 225 Tab. 2, 227 Tab. 4); only the senatorial acclamation remains for Gaius, while neither is recorded for Claudius. 14 Vespasian was, at the most generous calculation, only the ninth occupant of the statio principis. The status of some of his predecessors is questionable: Vitellius’ name was erased from the records of the Arval brethren, while several emperors are notable for their absence from the Lex de imperio Vespasiani, which only recognizes Augustus, Tiberius, and Claudius by name; on this, see Brunt (1977, 103–104). 15 Vell. Pat. 2.12.1; Suet. Tib. 21.1. See Millar (2009, 125-7, incl. n. 129). people. 16 Moreover, the precedent of a single individual does not make something solitum; rather, it is the activity of Augustus, then Tiberius, then Claudius that renders it so (and, moreover, the citation of their predecessors as the precedent for that activity). 17 If the visible practices of the emperor can be said to have contributed to the institutionalization of the statio principis—to the extent that the activity of previous emperors is essentially what gave meaning to the statement that Vespasian became emperor in 69CE, both in defining the scope of his capacity to act and in defining what acting in that capacity would say about him 18 —they could be understood to have been implicated in the production of truth for the Principate. By ‘truth’ I do not refer to some absolute ontological idea, but rather a consensus as to what will be agreed to be true, what will constitute the official, public discourse of Rome and its empire, what we might call the “symbolically structured environment” that will, in turn, give meaning to future acts. 19 A belief in the ideological or perlocutionary elements of speech and 9 16 Levick (1976, 80–81). It should be re-emphasized that there is no record extant within the Arval tablets of Gaius receiving the tribunicia potestas via the comitium (Scheid 1993, 224). I return to the dies imperii at chapter 1.2.iii. 17 Thus, following Mantovani’s (2009, 142–143) argument, if clause V of the lex, regarding the ius pomerii proferendi and which recognizes Claudius as the first and only precedent, really does reflect the beginning of this as a regular right of the princeps, we are witnessing precisely here the constitutive moment of something that by Vespasian’s inauguration can be cited as solitum. 18 The lex de imperio Vespasiani precisely inscribes the right of the new emperor to act in the future: the main clauses of the lex all rely on a structure of licuit plus infinitives, establishing a legal definition of the role of princeps that is precisely defined in terms of the action he will undertake, e.g. Clause I: “[bellum pacem] foedusve cum quibus volet facere liceat, ita licuit divo Aug., Ti. Iulio Caesari Aug., Tiberioque Claudio Caesari Aug. Germanico.” 19 Bell (1992, 93), referring to the context in which practice—as ritual—both has and reproduces meaning. The discourse of exemplarity is heavily implicated in forming this consensus; so Miles (1996, 63 n. 73): “the reality of historical exempla was secondary to their role in dramatizing an ideologically true picture of Roman identity.” conduct are heavily implicated in this theory, but, I would argue, the material or illocutionary products of such practices likewise came to depend upon the truth that was produced by the emperor’s activity and the way in which it was communicated and commemorated. 20 What I mean by truth or official discourse can probably best be illustrated by opposition to an idea found in the historiography of Tacitus—that of the arcana imperii, what in their most basic sense have been understood as the secrets that must be kept secret in order to ensure a regime’s power. 21 The first and most famous example of these is the arcanum revealed in the civil wars of 68–69CE: that an emperor could be made elsewhere than at Rome (Hist. 1.4.2: “evulgato imperii arcano, posse principem alibi quam Romae fieri”). Tacitus offers three more in the course of his Annals: following the murder of Agrippa Postumus in 14CE, the imperial advisor Sallustius Crispus urges Livia not to let Tiberius bring the matter before the senate lest he expose the arcana domus (Ann. 1.6.3: “monuit Liviam ne arcana domus, ne consilia amicorum, ministeria militum vulgarentur, neve Tiberius vim principatus resolveret cuncta ad senatum vocando”); in 16CE, Tacitus characterizes the motion made by Asinius Gallus 10 20 I perceive the same mingling of action and symbol in the formulation of Geertz (1985, 15): “[a]t the political center of any complexly organized society...there is both a governing elite and a set of symbolic forms expressing the fact that it is in truth governing.” 21 Neocleous (2003, 64) tracks the term’s deployment within 17th century discourse and defines it further as the “early-modern version of what we know as state secrecy,” and “the essence of the state shrouded by the cloak of secrecy” that contributed to “the material nature of state power.” He cites the term from Robert Filmer’s Patriarcha (1680), and connects its use there to the speech of James I before the Star Chamber in 1616, wherein the latter made reference to “the mysterie of the King’s power.” Pocock (2003, 25-6) identifies the particular arcanum cited from Tacitus (Hist. 1.4.2) as being a “central concern to [Edward] Gibbon” in The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. The edited volume by Proctor and Schiebinger (2008) shows a new interest among the social sciences in studying areas of social or political ignorance for what they can tell us about practices or values. that Tiberius should nominate magistrates five years in advance as an attempt to pierce the arcana imperii, by forcing the emperor to declare his intentions for action so far ahead of time (Ann. 2.36.1: “...princeps duodecim candidatos in annos singulos nominaret. haud dubium erat eam sententiam altius penetrare et arcana imperii temptari”); and finally, he numbers Augustus’ policy of prohibiting senators and influential knights from entering Egypt, for fear they could blockade the country and starve Rome, amongst the arcana dominationis (Ann. 2.59.3: “nam Augustus inter alia dominationis arcana...seposuit Aegyptum ne fame urgeret Italiam quisquis eam provinciam...insedisset”). Obviously the simple fact that Tacitus knows and has himself commemorated these arcana puts the lie to their being straightforward secrets, and it may be more correct to think of them as open secrets or the repressed elements of empire. 22 The opposition in the first and second instance with the variations of the verb vulgare 23 is illustrative of the precise dimensions of arcana, since it literally promises the annihilation of an arcanum and a state-change to something vulgatum: that is, something offered to the vulgus, the most public of spheres. My own approach to arcana has developed from reading the narrative of another historian, Cassius Dio, who frequently dichotomizes the events of imperial Rome into an opposition between logos and ergon. At the most basic level we might 11 22 Haynes (2003, 34–35), commenting specifically on Hist. 1.4.2 and how the death of Nero allowed the material reality of military power, so long repressed under the Julio-Claudians, to find its expression. 23 We find a similar opposition in Horace: “qui Cereris sacrum vulgarit arcanae” (Carm. 3.2.27). These words (and their cognates) are naturally polar opposites. Lewis and Short list the primary meaning of the adjective arcanus, -a, -um as “Kept from public knowledge, secret, private”. conceptualize this as a distinction between discourse/commemoration and material practice, but some attention to the way he employs the dichotomy should add further nuance to role of communicated visibility which I will develop in the course of this dissertation. For example, Dio claims that when, in 13CE, the senate decreed that any decision Augustus should reach in consultation with his private consilium should have the binding force of a senatus consultum this was nothing more than the enshrining in a decree a practical right that the emperor had always enjoyed in practice (56.28.3: “ἐκ τοῦ δόγµατος...τῷ γε ἔργῳ εἶχε”). Dio uses a similar opposition when describing the honors decreed to Augustus following his death in 14CE which were nominally enacted by the senate (56.47.1: “λόγῳ µὲν ὑπὸ τῆς γερουσίας”) but in actual fact decided by Tiberius and Livia (ibid.: “ἔργῳ δὲ ὑπό τε Τιβερίου καὶ ὑπὸ τῆς Λιουίας”). In drawing this distinction between practice (ergon) and it subsequent recognition or expression in words (logos), Dio demonstrates the gap between public logos and the erga it claimed to represent. Logos in these instances is therefore not the truth, but rather the official discourse that was committed to words—in this case, the words of public decrees, on the basis of which principals could act in the present, and future emperors (or historians) could act in the future. On the basis of this dichotomy, I would suggest that arcana are not precisely secrets, but rather just those practices (erga) that are kept out of the official discourse (logos), and are not supposed to form part of the “symbolically structured environment” 12 or public truth that was the statio principis. 24 While this discourse does not account for entirety of the material reality of the Principate—which might at times invite or require politically-motivated assassination or military coercion—in its opposition to practice it could be said to reveal the strategies of the emperors and their advisors, in that their manipulation of the logos—the public side of government—versus what they kept arcanum can tell us something about what they considered important to the public role of the emperor. It is instructive that in the case of the murder of Agrippa Postumus—the second arcanum listed above—both Tacitus and Suetonius express uncertainty as to who actually did order the deed, and Suetonius says this was a direct result of Tiberius’ reluctance to speak publicly on the issue. 25 The communication of the emperor’s visibility thus played an analogous role to that visibility itself, in that both contributed to the ritualization of certain practices that, rendered distinct from other practices, would instantiate an individual as emperor. While visible material practices were the necessary precursor and reproducer of commemorated acts and values, the latter played an essential role in the institutionalization of those practices as both efficacious and symbolic (that is, felicitous in both their illocutionary and perlocutionary effects). 13 24 As Bérard (119–120) observes, Dio is very much confronting the realities of arcana imperii in his excursus on the difficulty of writing the history of the Principate, it being a formation that restricts knowledge of the things it has done precisely by not committing them to discursive structures (53.19.1– 4). There may be a case, therefore, for the idea that as historians we are confronted with a picture of the Principate that is actually quite representative of what was available to contemporary actors. Moatti (2003) makes a similar argument that, in general, the display and archiving of certain documents permits us an insight into which ones were considered to be important. 25 Tac. Ann. 1.6.1 and Suet. Tib. 22.1: “nam mox silentio rem obliteravit.” Damon (1999, 161) notes that there is remarkable contrast between Postumus’ death and the murder of Germanicus, which was treated publicly and the results committed to official records. 2. Scholarship This project connects with a body of research that addresses the world of Rome as an exceptionally visual culture, where dress, comportment, gesture, and gait were all modulated, scrutinized, and adapted towards establishing differentiations of both status and gender. 26 Holt Parker has argued that there in fact existed a “Paradox of the Gaze,” whereby a cultural imperative “to be the observed of all observers” otherwise ran counter to normative prohibitions against making a spectacle of oneself. 27 Augustus may actually have achieved this feat, since it has been shown that his statues, which were added to the Lares that adorned the crossroads within the city’s vici, would have dominated the urban space of Rome. 28 On a less narrow but no less important level, there is now a burgeoning literature on the ‘proxemics’ of ancient Rome—that is, the spatial relationships between bodies that were used to communicate and construct distinctions of status. 29 14 26 For general remarks, see, e.g., Barton (2002, 220), Levick (2010, 205); on Roman dress, the collection edited by Sebesta and Bonfante (1994); regarding gesture, Brilliant (1963) established the existence of an “appendage aesthetic” in Rome that he showed to be present in Etrusco-Italian art through to the Late Empire, a topic pursued in a specifically rhetorical context by Aldrete (1999); on the culture of walking see Corbeill (2002, 182–215) and now O’Sullivan (2011); for the connection between bodily comportment and gender specifically, see Gleason (1995) and Gundersson (2000). Classics could even be said to have undergone something of a ‘Spectacular Turn’ in the last couple of decades, of which the collection edited by Bergmann and Kondoleon (1999a) could be called both advocate and example. 27 Parker (1999, 167). 28 On such genii Augusti, see Zanker (1988, 129–130). 29 Roller (2006), Lateiner (2008, 618–634). Thorburn (2008, 435–448) offers a straightforward introduction to the application of proxemics, in the service of an analysis of Suetonius’ Tiberius. All of these approaches speak to what Donald Lateiner has called a “contemporary fascination with the body as locus of social cynosure,” but this fascination extended to the political sphere as well. 30 Nowhere is this perhaps more apparent than in the Republican practice of petitio—the canvassing for votes prior to magisterial elections. The Commentariolum Petitionis, a handbook on electioneering dated to the late Republic, enjoins its reader to to make of themselves a “spe<cie>m in re publica.” 31 An anecdote from Valerius Maximus concerning the petitio of P. Scipio Nasica shows how this practice involved courting the attention of both individuals and onlookers, since his haughty treatment of a single farmer was observed by others and quickly gained currency among the populus at large. 32 Both Alexander Yakobson and Robert Morstein-Marx implicate petitio among “the competitive routines of civic visibility” that Andrew Bell argues structured Roman political life in the Republic, and 15 30 Lateiner (2008, 622), observing how “[t]he Romans train bodies in self-revealing and other-controlling techniques: self-presentation, surveillance of others, prestation, and status-manipulation.” O’Sullivan (2011, 7) makes similar comments about walking in particular. Bell (1992, 93) remarks that “[t]he strategies of ritualization are particularly rooted in the body, specifically, the interaction of the social body within a symbolically constituted spatial and temporal environment.” 31 Comm. Pet. 41. Morstein-Marx (1998, 265 n. 33) argues in favor of this restoration, which is found in Shackleton-Bailery’s edition (Teubner, 1988) following the marginalia of Lambinus’ edition (1572–3); he translates species as “an impressive political presence.” In the elaboration of this precept, the language of sight and appearance pervades this section (41–43: “ (“appareat...videtur...videare”). On the date and authorship of the Commentariolum see Richardson (1971, 436–442) and Morstein-Marx (1998, 261). 32 Val. Max. 7.5.2: “cum aedilitatem curulem adulescens peteret manumque cuiusdam rustico opere duratam more candidatorum tenacius adprehendisset, ioci gratia interrogauit eum num manibus solitus esset ambulare. quod dictum a circumstantibus exceptum ad populum manauit causamque repulsae Scipioni attulit: omnes namque rusticae tribus paupertatem sibi ab eo exprobratam iudicantes iram suam aduersus contumeliosam eius urbanitatem destrinxerunt.” Cited by both Yakobson (1999) and Morstein- Marx (1998) (see note below). which Geoffrey S. Sumi has since tried to place into a more explicitly ritualized context by characterizing them as civic “ceremonies.” 33 Bell and Sumi perhaps come closest to the type of investigation which this dissertation attempts, but the former limits his scope to the Republican period, and the latter only devotes one chapter to the Principate, and restricts its focus to Augustus alone. 34 A diachronic survey of visible practice and political spectacle—outside of the sphere of Roman art—has so far not been attempted for the emperors. This is not because it ceased to be an issue under the Principate: if anything the emperor’s body now became the primary locus of Lateiner’s “social cynosure.” 35 This idea is quite directly expressed during the famous debate between Agrippa and Maecenas found in the Histories of Cassius Dio: πάνθ' ὅσα τοὺς ἀρχοµένους καὶ φρονεῖν καὶ πράττειν βούλει, καὶ λέγε καὶ ποίει. οὕτω γὰρ ἂν µᾶλλον παιδεύσειας αὐτοὺς ἢ ταῖς ἐκ τῶν νόµων τιµωρίαις δειµατώσειας· τὸ µὲν γὰρ ζῆλον τὸ δὲ φόβον ἔχει, καὶ ῥᾷόν τις µιµεῖται τὰ κρείττω, ὁρῶν ἔργῳ γιγνόµενα, ἢ φυλάττεται τὰ χείρω, ἀκούων λόγῳ κεκωλυµένα. καὶ αὐτὸς µὲν ἀκριβῶς πάντα πρᾶττε, µηδεµίαν συγγνώµην σεαυτῷ νέµων, ὥστε καὶ εὖ εἰδὼς ὅτι παραχρῆµα πάντες καὶ ὅσα ἂν εἴπῃς καὶ ὅσα ἂν ποιήσῃς µαθήσονται. καθάπερ γὰρ ἐν ἑνί τινι τῆς ὅλης οἰκουµένης θεάτρῳ ζήσῃ, καὶ οὐχ οἷόν τέ σοι ἔσται οὐδὲ βραχύτατον ἁµαρτόντι διαλαθεῖν· οὔτε γὰρ κατὰ µόνας ποτὲ ἀλλὰ καὶ µετὰ συχνῶν ἀεί τι πράξεις... 16 33 Yakobson (1999, 218) and Morstein-Marx (1998, 267-8), the latter of whom calls petitio “a public performance before the people as audience and judge.” See further Yakobson (1992, 32–52). Bell (1997, 1), pursued at length in his monograph (2004). Sumi (2005). Also Flower (2004, 323): “...spectacle needs to be appreciated as integral to the stability and success of the republican system of government.” 34 Sumi (2005, 220–262). 35 The contortion of Roman social, political, and representative practices around the person of the emperor is a general conceit of most studies of imperial Rome; see, e.g. Patterson (1992, 214), Bartsch (1994, vi), Habinek (1998, 13), Roller (2001), Connolly (2007, 1–22), Beard (2007, 242), Winterling (2009, 198-9). Whatever you wish your subjects to think and do, this you should always say and do yourself. In this way you will be educating them, rather than intimidating them through the punishments prescribed by the laws. … Be scrupulous with yourself in all your actions, showing no mercy to yourself, in the full assurance that all men will forthwith learn of whatever you say or do. For you will live as it were in a theatre in which the spectators are the whole world; and it will not be possible for you to escape detection if you make even the most trivial mistake. Indeed, you will never be alone, but always in the company of many when you do anything. Dio 52.34.1–3 (trans. Cary) The debate is, of course, a later fiction, but in so much as Maecenas’ argument, from which the quote above is drawn, has been effectively shown to constitute a proleptic description of the Principate as it subsequently came to exist, it could be characterized as the sustained elaboration of the statio principis as one imperial historian writing in the early 3rd Century understood it. 36 Here Maecenas not only confronts Augustus with the reality that as a monarch he will become “the observed of all observers,” but claims that in so becoming he will also become the radical reproducer of values and morals, based entirely on the example he sets in words and deeds. 37 The passage therefore implicates the concepts of statio, exempla, res gestae, and practice into a complicated social matrix, and in its protreptic aims perhaps underlines the strategic element of such practice: that is, that practice could be controlled, modulated, or even simulated, as in 17 36 Hammond (1932) and McKechnie (1981) both note the “Platonic coloring” of the debate; the former suggests it was an exercise in tracing Dio’s reality to its roots in Augustan policy, the latter in proving that the idealized notion of democracy was as inappropriate in 29BCE as it was in the 3rd Century CE. Both Meyer (1891) and Millar (1964) read it as a “political pamphlet” aimed at regulating the policy of Alexander Severus. Regarding its prolepsis, Hammond (op. cit., 91) further observes that Dio himself was an example of Maecenas’ advice to recruit the best men of the empire into the senate (52.19.2). The fact that we cannot quite corroborate every single step of Maecenas’ plan has been adduced as evidence for it constituting Dio’s own advice to his emperor (Hammond (op. cit., 90). 37 Thus an exemplum in the most Livian sense (praef. 10). the theater, in order to secure the right kind of judgment or have the right sort of effect on its audience. As O. J. Hekster notes, our sources “give an indication of the types of direct imperial display that the Romans expected from their rulers and show what was certainly the wrong way to go about it.” 38 Andrew Wallace-Hadrill and, more recently, John E. Thorburn, Jr. have both demonstrated how expectations regarding the emperor’s accessibility to his subjects became part of the normative ideal of civilitas. 39 It is by now an old saw that the emperors enjoyed a monopoly on that grandest of displays, the Roman Triumph, and Augusto Fraschetti has similarly demonstrated how this domination was extended to other types of public spectacle, including religious festivals and public funerals. 40 The majority of these studies tend to be rooted in comparisons with practices of kingship, and the implicit assumption that the emperors borrowed their techniques of political spectacle from the Hellenistic kings in particular. These ideas are not unfounded, but in starting from the idea of statio principis— precisely the position of the princeps within the symbolic structure of the res publica— 18 38 Hekster (2005, 160). Philo Legat. 42–51, for example, has the praetorian prefect Macro advise the emperor Gaius on how to comport himself in public at specific occasions, such as theatrical performances and games, where he has been seen to show too much emotional involvement in the proceedings. 39 Wallace-Hadrill (1982), used as a heuristic by Thorburn (2008) in his examination of Suetonius’ Tiberius. 40 On the Triumph, see, e.g., Beard (2007) and Sumi (2005, 247–250), and chapter 2.5. Fraschetti (1994). I am attempting an analysis of the emperor’s visibility that is more Roman in its focus and its explanation. 41 The project stands within a tradition of historical research that has sought to understand how the Principate worked, a tradition that includes Cassius Dio’s attempts to make sense of it within the limits of ancient Greek political terminology. Indeed, the explanations for the supremacy and longevity of imperial rule are by this point quite numerous: scholars of the modern age have stressed variously the Principate’s basis in Roman law and constitutional forms, its use of the codes and symbols of Hellenistic monarchical representation, the manipulation of state religion, the monopoly of public and private funds, and naked domination through military supremacy and public terror. 42 In some respects my dissertation represents a synthesis and analysis of this tradition, based on a conviction that any and all of these factors—diverse and compelling as they are—were not relevant unless they were mobilized frequently into the public sphere, nor was the threat of force alone sufficient to command so large and disparate a population. I have tried as far as possible to resist the application of complicated and often nebulous concepts like ‘power,’ and instead to analyze the events and actions in which power was actually realized (or, indeed, materialized), believing that such power as the emperor could be said to have enjoyed did not exist apart from 19 41 Believing, as Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 35), that it contains certain features relating to its constitution in terms of Republican Rome that make it exceptional among monarchical arrangements. 42 I refer here quite cursorily to Mommsen (1887/1888), Alföldi (1970), Millar (1977), and Veyne (1990). Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 32) presents a slightly expanded summary of the intellectual movements in Roman imperial history up to that time. those events and actions. 43 It is only from placing the focus on the mechanisms by which the emperor actually governed that we can reach a proper understanding of how —and even why—he continued to govern. 3. Methodology Recovering material practice some two thousand years after the fact is, of course, a risky proposition, especially given the fact that what evidence we have is largely constituted of what I have characterized as the logos of the Principate. Even iconographic evidence such as coins and sculpture are, by and large, the products of official apparatuses, and, in both the choice of content and the hazard of their survival, only represent a slim cross-section of the day-to-day practices in which the emperors may have engaged. My primary evidence for this study is the literary record, and in particular the accounts of Tacitus, Cassius Dio, and Suetonius. As authors, these sources present an immediate challenge to the historian, since they are selective in their representation of events, assemble and coordinate data according to their own narratological aims, and compose their accounts to meet contemporary, and thus different, standards for historiography. Moreover, all three authors wrote much later than the period I use them to examine: Tacitus and Suetonius in the early second century CE, and Dio in the early third. While in some ways this offered them the advantage of historical hindsight, it 20 43 Foucault (1983, 219): “Power exists only when it is put into action, even if, of course, it is integrated into a disparate field of possibilities brought to bear upon permanent structures.” also means they composed their accounts at a distance from the events which they narrate, and thus were themselves subject to the intervention and selection of more contemporary writers or commemorative practices. Nevertheless, none of these three men were strangers either to the emperors or the social and political worlds which they describe: Tacitus was a senator and the son-in-law of the celebrated general Cn. Julius Agricola; Suetonius held secretarial positions under both Trajan and Hadrian; Cassius Dio was a senator, advisor to the emperor Alexander Severus, and even held the consulship with him. As I will discuss in greater detail in chapter two, their intimacy with the senate and/or imperial court probably gave them particular access to the public archives, where the documents, decrees, and minutes generated in my period would have been stored. There exists by now a significant body of literary and historical criticism on all these authors to aid in their analysis, and so long as a historian reads them responsibly it is quite reasonable to use them as sources for this period; 44 indeed, rather than fearing the poststructuralist “abyss of textuality” engendered by accessing history through literature, the real challenge for the Roman historian writing today is finding a way to move beyond the “tyranny of the evidence,” and extrapolate reasonable conclusions within the limits of what we can claim to know. 45 21 44 The standard work on Tacitus remains Syme (1958a), but see, more recently, Woodman (1998), Haynes (2003), and others cited as appropriate throughout the dissertation. For Suetonius see Wallace- Hadrill (1983). Cassius Dio underwent an important rehabilitation by Millar (1964), his epitomators by Brunt (1980). 45 On the abyss see Roller (2010, 240–241), for tyranny Cornell (1991). In chapter one in particular, I also examine some of the documents these authors may very well have consulted, namely several inscriptions that purport to represent actions and decisions undertaken by the emperor within the context of and in concert with the senate. Originally I had approached these documents in order to see what they could reveal about senatorial procedure under the Principate; that is, what role the emperor played in proceedings, and what the performance of the role might have looked like. They also serve as an important check on and balance to the literary authors, since the inscriptions—while copies of original documents—are generally understood to represent somewhat contemporary records of the events they commemorate; indeed, the discovery of certain epigraphical documents has only enriched our understanding of the literary authors’ methods and reliability. 46 Similar problems persist, however: the priorities of officials, stenographers, and archivists, not to mention the individuals who requested or commissioned copies of the documents, combined with the pattern of survival (which privileges those documents committed to stone, rather than just wood or other materials), offers a fairly limited view of practice in this period. To appropriate a phrase from Barbara Levick, what we are examining is “all that can be seen of a political iceberg the shape of nine-tenths of which must be a 22 46 This is the case for Tacitus especially: the discovery of the senatus consultum de Cn. Pisone Patre has offered invaluable opportunities for comparing the historian’s account of events in 18–19CE, while the version of an oratio of Claudius preserved on the tabula Lugdunensis has been productively coordinated against Tacitus’ version of said speech in the Annals (Griffin 1982). matter for conjecture”; 47 there is by definition something that we aren’t seeing, not just because of the contingencies of history but because certain acts were deliberately kept out of the public sphere—the arcana imperii. 48 In this case, however, the “tyranny of the evidence” can actually be treated as an advantage, in that the activity and information committed to such documents, and subsequently copied or preserved, could be said to reflect precisely the logos of the Principate: the public side of government and the “official version” of history. 49 As such documents self-consciously reflect the ideology of government and the interests of the governed, they can be read as the strategic communication of visibility, and as such their relationship to the literary authors is instructive for how such commemorative practices could exert an effect on history and the institutionalization of the statio principis. Which is to say, the authors’ understanding and re-inscription of the role of princeps must have been based at least in part on the materials they themselves were able to survey, and what we—as they—are studying in the case of visible practice is precisely the tip of the iceberg. 23 47 Levick (1976, 211), referring specifically to the arcane nature of Tiberius’ retirement to Capri, during which outsiders only knew what was published in edicts or letters, or reported in rumors. We might just as well say we are focusing on the “public transcript” of the Principate (after Scott 1990, 2–3), although it should be made clear that arcana imperii are not the same as “hidden transcripts,” which are understood to be the secret discourse of the ruled. 48 As Bérard (119–120) observes, Dio is very much confronting the realities of arcana imperii in his excursus on the difficulty of writing the history of the Principate, it being a formation that restricts knowledge of the things it has done precisely by not committing them to discursive structures (53.19.1– 4). There may be a case, therefore, for the idea that as historians we are confronted with a picture of the Principate that is actually quite representative of what was available to contemporary actors. Moatti (2003) makes a similar argument that, in general, the display and archiving of certain documents permits us an insight into which ones were considered to be important. 49 Griffin (1997, 258) characterizes the Senatus Consultum de Cn. Pisone Patre as offering the “official version of the events leading to Germanicus’ death,” in contrast to the account in Tacitus’ Annals. Where possible I attempt to augment the details of these accounts and documents with what remains or is known of the topography and architecture of Rome in this period. A due attention to the physical spaces and structures in which commemorated action would have taken place is an important facet in reconstructing what practice may have looked like, who would have been able to see it, and thus what function it may have had for the emperor or society. The city of Rome itself is thus a primary source for a project such as this, especially since Augustus took such a leading role in its redevelopment and his images came to dominate its landscape. 50 Likewise, seemingly minor details like the position of the emperor’s curule chair in the senate or the inclusion of axes in the fasces outside the boundaries of the city are worth considering for how they contributed to the spectacle of imperial government and communicated messages or ideas to spectators. 51 Finally, in the appendices of this dissertation I offer my attempts to collate and present all the data for three types of visible appearance—that is attendance at the senate and the military ceremonies of profectio and adventus—with the conviction that the function of such appearances depends in large part on their relative frequency; as I will argue in chapters one and two, ritualization depends both on reiteration and rarefaction in order to establish certain action as distinct from the everyday. While I have steered quite a conservative course in compiling these appendices, in this they could again be said to reflect the 24 50 See Suet. Aug. 28.3 for his famous claim that he left Rome a city of marble. Primary bibliography for imperial Rome includes Nicolet (1991), Patterson (1992), Royo (1999), Haselberger et al. (2002), Steinby (1993), and Coarelli (2007). 51 For the fasces see Marshall (1984), to whom I return in greater detail in chapter 2. public side of government—the logos of the Principate. As I have attempted to argue in this introduction, what was made visible in words out of what had been made visible in practice was perhaps as critical—if not even more so—than the original material practices themselves. 4. Organization I have referred several times to the emperor’s role in society; as we can see from Maecenas’ metaphor of the Principate as a kind of theater, the idea that being princeps involved performing a role was current in Dio’s time. Implicit in Maecenas’ metaphor was the idea that Augustus could to some extent control his performance—indeed, that he ought to control it, because its perlocutionary effects were precisely somewhat out of his control. Similarly, Augustus’ last words are commemorated in more than one source as making a wry comment on the role he had played in life: “he called in his friends and asked them if he seemed to them to have performed the mime of life (“mimum vitae”) correctly.” 52 Dio editorializes that with these words “he made mock of the life of man”—perhaps by acknowledging the repressed arcana that underlie the public transcripts of the world. 53 25 52 Suet. Aug. 99.1: “admissos amicos percontatus, ecquid iis videretur mimum vitae commode transegisse, adiecit et clausulam: Ἐπεὶ δὲ πάνυ καλῶς πέπαισται, δότε κρότον/καὶ πάντες ἡµᾶς µετὰ χαρᾶς προπέµψατε.” Sumi (2005, 220) argues that these words specifically “acknowledged that his actions as princeps were highly performative—that is, self-conscious, represented actions that took place in the gaze of the Roman people.” 53 Dio 56.30.4: “κρότον δὲ δή τινα παρ' αὐτῶν ὁµοίως τοῖς γελωτοποιοῖς, ὡς καὶ ἐπὶ µίµου τινὸς τελευτῇ, αἰτήσας καὶ πάµπανυ πάντα τὸν τῶν ἀνθρώπων βίον διέσκωψε.” As the sources suggest, it is not anachronistic to think about the princeps as a role that needed to be played; indeed, a similar idea had currency in Roman philosophy, and in particularly Stoicism, a school that would only become more important as the Principate wore on. 54 It finds its most famous expression in Cicero’s treatise De Officiis (which is understood to be be modeled on a work by the Greek Stoic Panaetius): 55 intellegendum etiam est duabus quasi nos a natura indutos esse personis; quarum una communis est ex eo, quod omnes participes sumus rationis praestantiaeque eius, qua antecellimus bestiis...altera autem, quae proprie singulis est tributa. ut enim in corporibus magnae dissimilitudines sunt...sic in animis exsistunt maiores etiam varietates. … ac duabus iis personis, quas supra dixi, tertia adiungitur, quam casus aliqui aut tempus imponit; quarta etiam, quam nobismet ipsi iudicio nostro accommodamus. nam regna, imperia, nobilitas, honores, divitiae, opes eaque, quae sunt his contraria, in casu sita temporibus gubernantur; autem gerere quam personam velimus, a nostra voluntate proficiscitur. itaque se alii ad philosophiam, alii ad ius civile, alii ad eloquentiam applicant, ipsarumque virtutum in alia alius mavult excellere. We must realize also that we are invested by Nature with two personae, as it were: one of these is universal, arising from the fact of our being all alike endowed with reason and with that superiority which lifts us above the brute. … The other character is the one that is assigned to individuals in particular. In the matter of physical endowment there are great differences...diversities of character are greater still. … To those two above-mentioned personae must be added a third, which some chance or some circumstance imposes, and a fourth also, which we assume by our own deliberate choice. Regal powers and military commands, nobility of birth and political office, wealth and influence, and their opposites, depend upon chance and are, therefore, controlled by circumstances. But what persona we ourselves may choose to sustain is decided by our own free choice. And so some turn to philosophy, others to civil law, and still others 26 54 See, e.g., Brunt (1975) and Cancik (1998). 55 For more details on the relationship to Panaetius, see the commentary by Dyck (1996), who notes that with officium Cicero is translating the Stoic term καθῆκον, which is understood to denote “appropriate action,” and that the prefix κατά contains within it the idea of “back” or “back again,” thus suggesting a recurring event (pp. 2–5). It seems to me that this approaches an analogy to “practice,” as Bourdieu (1990) and Bell (1992) develop it. to oratory, while in case of the virtues themselves one man prefers to excel in one, another in another. Cicero, De Officiis 1.107–115 (trans. Miller) 56 Although the precise relationship between the third and fourth persona is notoriously difficult to comprehend, it seems fair to suggest that the persona of princeps falls most immediately under the third type—that which “some chance or some circumstance imposes”—at least according to the examples Cicero offers. 57 As with the fourth type, it is not a persona allotted to men by nature, and thus, while it may be the result of some external constraint, a man does not fulfill or enact that persona automatically as the result of simple genetics; indeed, Cicero goes on to suggest that some men might exercise a degree of choice and deny a persona they have inherited, or even that their natural persona may conflict with that endowed them by Fortune. 58 Ultimately he argues that we must weigh our endowments from Nature and Fortune in deciding what kind of life we wish to live (the fourth persona), establishing quite clearly the idea that we will live that life either better or worse depending on those endowments (1.120). Also implicit in this discussion is the idea of role-playing, since among the meanings of 27 56 Miller translates persona alternately as “character” and “role,” but for clarity I have restored all its instances to the Latin in this passage. 57 Gill (1988, 192) and Dyck (1996, 285) both acknowledge that there is some difficulty in reconciling the distinctions that Cicero makes. 58 De Officiis 1.116 (“fit autem interdum, ut non nulli omissa imitatione maiorum suum quoddam institutum consequantur”) and 1.120 (“multo enim et firmior est et constantior, ut fortuna non numquam tamquam ipsa mortalis cum mmortali natura pugnare videatur”). Philo Legat. 54–56 claims that Gaius saw his being Princeps as a matter of the second persona, clearly to his discredit (on which see chapter 4.4.ii). the word persona is the mask worn by dramatic actor. 59 While in this respect it is beneficial once again to invoke the tenets of performance theory, and consider the constitutive perlocutionary effects of the performance of a given role, I do not intend to empty such performance of its illocutionary functions as well. 60 Cicero himself is very much concerned about the proper coordination of natural gifts with social roles in order to bring about benefits for the rest of society—and thus, I would say, in the illocutionary functions of these roles. We should understand the persona of the princeps as a Rollenbegriff: it denotes a role that is to be played, for which there exist certain criteria according to which it can be played well or not (what Cicero calls officium). 61 These officia were defined in terms of a complicated social matrix, and the proper performance of one’s role was configured as an ethical duty to society at large. 62 Our investigation is therefore, to some extent, concerned with deciding what these criteria were and how they were developed, but, given the social and ethical component, it should be immediately clear how the concept of persona, particularly in a Stoic context, coordinates with the type of political ideology we have begun to explore. These are roles that mattered, and their 28 59 As Dyck (1996, 270) observes, “the whole theory of personae presupposes an analogy between the moral agent and a stage actor.” 60 Indeed, by keeping the illocutionary in focus I believe it is possible to circumvent Bell’s (1992, 43) reservations regarding performative theory, which basically amounts to a tendency among some critics to examine only the perlocutionary aspects of performance, and empty practice of any other value to society. 61 I adopt the term from Fuhrmann (1979). 62 Gill (1988, 171–172, 192–196). Dyck (1996, 33) places the persona in the context of Cicero’s concepts of honestum and utile which he explores in De Officiis 3: “[p]articularly far-reaching in its implication is the argument at 3.21–28 that the utilitates of the individual and of the community coincide.” performance was not empty; indeed, it was critical both to the integrity of Rome’s symbolically-structured social reality and to the functioning of the structures of her government. The language of officium is essential to a pragmatic engagement with the concept of personae. Certainly other sources seem definite that there were types of behaviors appropriate to particular personae. Hence Velleius Paterculus could make the distinction that Tiberius listened to the case of Drusus Libo “as a senator and a judge, not as a princeps,” an assertion that relies on the assumption that these represented three separate personae and that his practice could be matched to one over the other. 63 Similarly, the structuring value of civilitas could be said to constitute a code for behaving as a princeps, rather than as a rex. 64 A further parallel with the state of petitio can be adduced: in the persona of a petitor, certain behavior was permissible that would not befit the dignitas of an ordinary citizen, such as welcoming people from any walk of life into one’s amicitia or stooping to flattery (blanditia). 65 Similarly, the assumption of this persona was designated by the donning of the toga candida, just as, later, that of 29 63 Vell. 1.29.2: “cum quanta gravitate, ut senator et iudex, non ut princeps, causam Drusi Libonis audivit!” Odd as it may seem, this sentence seems to establish gravitas as a quality more appropriate to the former personae than to that of the princeps. 64 Wallace-Hadrill (1982), hence the subtitle of his fundamental article: “Between Citizen and King.” Interestingly, since to be civilis was to some extent to behave ut civis, it could be said that the code it offered was precisely one of behaving non ut princeps; perversely, therefore, the way of performing as princeps was not to perform as princeps. Wallace-Hadrill (o.c. 44 n. 101) notes, however, that the adjective civilis is never qualified, from which he extrapolates that there was no distinction made between practicing civilitas and being civilis. 65 Comm. Pet. 25 (“potes honeste, quod in cetera vita non queas, quoscumque velis adiungere ad amicitiam”) and 42 (“sed opus est magno opere blanditia, quae, etiam si vitiosa est et turpis in cetera vita, tamen in petitione necessaria est”). In the anecdote quoted above, therefore, Scipio Nasica could be understood not to have been behaving as a petitor at all; thus he let the second or third persona overcome his chosen (fourth) persona. senator would be confirmed with the latusclavus, and, according to Cassius Dio, that of emperor by the toga picta. 66 When the emperor Gaius wished to be worshipped as a god (or when our sources wanted him to be seen to do so), his first step was to dress in the costumes traditional to the representation of gods like Jupiter. 67 The performance of these personae were clearly coded visually, and accomplished through visible symbols. 68 In fact, contrary to Velleius’ intimations, I propose that the persona of the princeps was eventually constituted as an amalgamation and distillation of other traditional personae from Roman politics and society. This is not a matter of a priori assumptions—e.g., that he governed because he was a senator—but rather a proposal to investigate how his statio or persona was constructed in the commemoration of his practice in terms of these personae. To what extent were the duties or virtues of each persona amalgamated into that of the princeps? How did this amalgamation come to take place, if not through his active performance of such duties or virtues within the public sphere? And to what effect or function were these personae adapted by—or even forced upon—the emperor? 30 66 Bonfante (2004, 5–6) offers some general comments on how Roman dress “often, if not primarily signified rank, status, office, or authority,” while Stone (1994, 13) argues that the toga persisted in fashion chiefly as a means for marking out Roman men engaged in business. Remarkably, Livy 4.25.13 seems to imagine that outlawing the wearing of the toga candida would have effectively put an ending to aristocratic canvassing. 67 Philo Legat. 93–102. 68 See Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 39) for how the emperor might use dress to symbolize when he was acting as a privatus. As Bonfante Warren (1970, 60), Livy records that Scaevola mistakenly killed Lars Porsenna’s secretary because he was dressed like a king (11.12) In essence, I consider a persona to be any role for which there existed both a Rollenbegriff and an associated set of duties which were a. required of that role and b. constituted one as occupier of that role. To that extent, any number of personae could be explored with respect to the emperor, but for the purposes of this dissertation I examine only two: that of senator and that of general. The role of senator is perhaps the best attested, since it is how the upper classes who composed our literary sources most often encountered the emperor, and it constituted the values and symbols whose performance they valued most. 69 As I will explore in chapter one, however, the performance of this persona, together with the symbols and the logistics to which it had access, could have a utility beyond servicing the interests of a narrow Roman aristocracy. I have selected the general as presenting the best contrast to senator, both because the latter persona could be said to rely on something of an implicit rejection of the former—to the extent that, as Tacitus claimed, the names and powers of senatorial magistracies were used to clothe the factual power of the Principate—and because it will allow us to address that source of factual power—the military—which otherwise runs the risk of being part of the repression of empire. 70 Since, moreover, the syntagm statio principis has both military and senatorial connotations, a comparison of these two 31 69 See, e.g., Chastagnol (1992, 10): “[c]’est l’appréciation du Sénat, représentat du peuple en même temps que de lui-même...qui fait que l’empereur est considéré comme un bon prince ou au contraire comme un tyrans.” 70 E.g. in the contrast of Tac. Ann. 1.2.1 (where Augustus is said to have taken over “munia senatus”) and 1.3.7 (where the “eadem magistratuum vocabula” are permitted to persist). Cf. his statement that the tribunica potestas represented “that term for the highest rank” (Ann. 3.56: “id summi fastigii vocabulum”). personae in particular seems appropriate in investigating to what extent the developing persona of princeps represented an amalgamation of their duties. These two personae alone, however, do not account for the full dimensions of the emperor’s visible role in society which remain to be considered in a more fully developed version of this project. In particular, his role as a priest represents a significant portion of the public practices in which the emperor was seen to be engaged, both in the emperor’s monopoly of the position of pontifex maximus and his involvement in more private ceremonies that composed the fabric of Roman religious life. Since public sacral functions and their relationship to Roman religion represent a huge subject for investigation, I have omitted this persona from the dissertation in order to give it the full treatment that it deserves in a later incarnation of the project, but I am aware that without this dimension a major facet is lacking; indeed, religious practices had a role in the world of both the senator and general, and a full consideration of the persona of priest would allow for a better synthesis of all three. Other personae that remain to be elaborated in detail before this project could be considered complete and publishable as a monograph would include that of judge (after Velleius), and the emperor’s role as a leader of the people; at several points in this dissertation we will touch upon his duties to, appearances before, and communication with the people, which clearly implicate him in a relationship of officium to this group in particular, beyond that of senator or general. While this reflects a measure of the Republican usage of the term princeps, it could also be said to be constitutive of his 32 role as pater patriae, since it speaks to a paternalistic relationship to Rome’s citizens. 71 Similarly, the project could potentially be rounded out with the emperor’s role as a god, in order to account for the progressive association of the princeps with the divine and the role of divinized predecessors in buttressing the authority of later emperors (in much the same way I have proposed their practice and precedent did so). Finally, for this project to be considered complete I will need to expand the range of emperors, at least as far as the reign of Nero; as the Lex de imperio Vespasiani testifies, it was with the legacy of the Julio-Claudian dynasty as a whole that future emperors like Vespasian would have to contend, and each of the first five emperors had a material and ideological impact on the developing statio principis to which they acceded. The final chapter in this document offers an inquiry on a slightly different level, and addresses the topic of speaking to and with the emperor. This is a natural epiphenomenon to the study of the emperor’s visibility and the practice of government, since wrapped up in the officium is the duty to speak and be spoken to. As I have already stated, Roman government was essentially accomplished through words, either by direct command or by the recording and relaying of written commands and authorizations. In the spirit of both officium and the different roles the emperor had to play, however, I organize the evidence in this chapter according to the different audiences the emperor was called upon to address: essentially the senate, the people, 33 71 While it would also be possible to characterize this relationship in terms of the office of tribune of the plebs, it should be noted that the emperor held the potestas of this position but not the office itself (thus Galinsky 1996, 6). This is not to say that he did not play a role analogous to the tribunes, just that this role was not directly acknowledged in these terms in public discourse. and foreign embassies. The material in this chapter is also closely related to the idea of the logos of the Principate as I have elaborated it, since implicated in dialogues with the emperor is the question of truth: who can or will offer truth to the emperor, how will that truth be negotiated, and what will be constituted as the truth of the Principate? 5. Looking forward The Latin title of this dissertation (“ipsum principem cernere in publico”) is drawn from a speech composed by a contemporary of Tacitus and Suetonius in honor of the emperor Trajan: hinc immensum latus circi templorum pulchritudinem provocat, digna populo victore gentium sedes, nec minus ipsa visenda, quam quae ex illa spectabuntur, visenda autem cum cetera specie, tum quod aequatus plebis ac principis locus, siquidem per omne spatium una facies, omnia continua et paria, nec magis proprius spectanti Caesari suggestus quam propria quae spectet. licebit ergo te civibus tuis invicem contueri; dabitur non cubiculum principis sed ipsum principem cernere in publico, in populo sedentem, populo cui locorum quinque milia adiecisti. On this side the great sweep of the Circus rivals the beauty of temples, a worthy seat for a people who have conquered nations, no less a sight to be seen than the spectacles that will be exhibited there, and seen on account of its great beauty, but also because the plebs and the Princeps are placed on equal footing there. Since indeed it has a single arrangement for its entire length, completely continuous and equal, and as a spectator Caesar shares the seats as he does the spectacle itself. Thus it will be permitted for your citizens to gaze upon you in their turn; it will be allowed to see not just the emperor’s box but the Princeps himself in public, sitting among the people, the people to whom you have given another five thousand seats. Pliny, Panegyricus 51.3–5 72 34 72 Unless noted otherwise, translations of ancient sources are my own. When I have used translations, they are usually drawn from the LCL. When Pliny the Younger praised the emperor Trajan for allowing his people to see their princeps sitting among them, the true force of his comment could be said to have lain in the meaning of the term princeps itself. This was a meaning more specific than in the literature of the Republican period, where it could denote leading men of any type (including foreigners), and distinct from the more narrow designation of princeps senatus (although it was from this that it had come into use). 73 Princeps was, certainly by Pliny’s time, the word used to describe the singular political and social condition of being emperor—so much so that Trajan would style himself “princeps optimus” in order to distinguish himself from his predecessors in that role. 74 Just as the princeps senatus stood out from the senate, the princeps was a man so distinct from the populus that, according to Pliny’s text, his physical presence among them could be said to possess real visual and ideological impact. 75 On one level, this project constitutes an investigation into how the term princeps came to have a certain, specific meaning in describing the head of the Roman state and 35 73 E.g. in the writings of Caesar, a “princeps” is almost always a non-Roman: Gall. 1.7.3, 1.12.7, 1.13.2, 6.4.1, 6.44.2, 7.37.1, 7.88.4. Livy can speak generally of the “principes plebis” (4.25.13), Cicero of the principes of the Republic (e.g. In Cat. 1.7.6–9). Tacitus, meanwhile, famously identifies “princeps” as the name under which Augustus took his power (Ann. 1.1.3: “cuncta disordiis civilibus fessa nomine principis sub imperium accepit”), and in his Histories there is no doubt that princeps refers to the emperor specifically (e.g. at 1.4.2 and 4.4.5, both of which are discussed below); so Chilver (1950, 424 n. 71). Tiberius is supposed to have claimed that he was “master to his slaves, imperator to the soldiers, and Princeps to the rest” (Dio 57.8.2: “ καὶ πολλάκις γε ἔλεγεν ὅτι ‘δεσπότης µὲν τῶν δούλων, αὐτοκράτωρ δὲ τῶν στρατιωτῶν, τῶν δὲ δὴ λοιπῶν πρόκριτός εἰµι.’”). As Galinsky (1996, 74) notes, however, princeps did possess useful ideological content that could be imported from its history under the Republic. 74 Levick (2010, 298–99), evidenced by Pliny himself (Pan. 1.2). 75 As Bartsch (1994, 153) observes, “a public panegyric is the most obvious site for the reproduction of the public transcript,” and it is with the public transcript we are concerned. its empire. This was the result of a process begun by the emperor Augustus and exemplified in his Res Gestae, a document which in itself demonstrates a short-term evolution from the title of princeps senatus (13) to just princeps (32, 33). 76 What the Res Gestae also does, in both its title and its content, is connect this term specifically to the actions undertaken by Augustus in the role of princeps: as the primary textual exemplum of his reign, it constitutes the meaning of his career in terms of practice, and specifically action offered to the public sphere (both originally and by means of the text itself). 77 To be princeps, then, was to a certain extent to occupy the statio that had belonged to Augustus: this was to some degree defined in his reign, but, like any precedent, was also to be developed over successive iterations. The term statio principis contains an element of such diachrony within itself. In that it is both the result and the trace of a practice of finding a way to express the idea of the emperor through words, the very idea of statio establishes a certain temporal contingency and, perhaps more importantly, the social aspect of this practice; that is to say, it attests to an ongoing collective effort to fix and define a place for the emperor within Roman society. Statio principis also speaks to further truths about this practice— which, at its core, was something of a dialogue between the emperor and his subjects, and between action and discourse—since, as we shall see, making sense of the emperor 36 76 All three references involve the appositional ablative absolute “me principe.” The first relates to action specifically performed by the senate under Augustus’ leadership as Princeps; the latter refer to relations with foreign peoples, and seem to situate Augustus as a Princeps within the broader populus of Rome. Wirszubski (1950, 115) argues this usages “shows that he, and doubtless everybody else, thought of his principate as an institution.” 77 Ramage (1987, 115) and Lowrie (2007, 102–112). involved precisely finding a statio for him within the social, political, cultural, and linguistic traditions that actually pre-existed the institution of the Principate, while also acknowledging that this statio was a way of making room for something entirely new within these traditions: the princeps himself. 78 37 78 As Lowrie (2007, 104) puts it, the “paradoxical structure” of the “Augustan Principate” is analogous to the structure of the figure of the exemplum, which “turns out to be either the most representative or the most singular instance,” just as “[Augustus’] absolutely exceptional status derives from the concentration of honours rather than from anomalous ones” (emphasis mine). Chapter One: Senator 1. Introduction The emperor was always a member of the senate. Imperial heirs were introduced to the senatorial order at an early age, usurpers were possessed of curial pedigrees, and, left to its own devices, the senate would elevate only the most established of its own members to the purple. 1 Moreover, from 18BCE the practice whereby only senators and their sons wore the latusclavus in public visually coded the emperor and his heirs as members of this order. 2 If the Res Gestae can be read as the progressive constitution of Augustus’ statio within Roman government, it is significant that his early adlection to the senate is listed among the first of his accomplishments, second only to his marshaling of a private army: 3 eo nomine senatus decretis honorificis in ordinem suum me adlegit, C. Pansa et A. Hirtio consulibus, consularem locum sententiae dicendae tribuens, et imperium mihi dedit. In the consulship of C. Pansa and A. Hirtius, the senate decreed honors in my name, admitted me to their order, allotted me the privilege of speaking among the consulars, and gave me imperium. 4 38 1 E.g. Gaius in 6 and 5BCE (Dio 56.26.2 and 55.9.4), Lucius in 2BCE (Dio 55.9.10; see Suet. Aug. 26.2 for both), and Drusus(2) in 9CE (Dio 56.17.3). Syme (1939, 384–385) rightly emphasizes that the four emperors of 69CE all enjoyed favor within the imperial court, but for each of them this also went hand in hand with membership and participation in the senatorial order (see, e.g., the New Pauly entries on Galba, Otho, Vitellius, Vespasian, and Nerva). 2 Talbert (1984, 11–16). Dio (59.3.5) claims that Gaius wore the latusclavus conspicuously when he interred the bones of his mother and brothers in the Mausoleum of Augustus in 37CE, an event that Suetonius specifically labels a performance (Suet. Cal. 15.1: “scaena”). 3 I have argued for such a reading in the introduction. It is likewise suggested by Ando (2010a, 37–38). See Galinsky (1996) on the political significance of this event. 4 Cic. Phil. 5.46 seems to suggest that Octavian was actually only given the right to speak amongst the praetors; see Taylor & Scott (1969, 553, esp. n.55) for some discussion. Res Gestae Divi Augusti 1.2 This honor is commemorated as one of participation, of not just simply the senate but offering his sententia on the business brought before it. The activity of the senate is expressly cited in the Res Gestae on a further seventeen occasions, usually as passing decrees in Augustus’ honor, but also as mandating or authorizing him to take certain action on behalf of the state. 5 The senate looms equally frequently in the text of the lex de imperio Vespasiani, which, as I have argued, marks a similar attempt to fix the statio principis and should itself be considered the product of early imperial activity—if not a direct descendant of the Res Gestae itself. There the bulk of the prerogatives that the lex confers to the new princeps involve convening or passing legislation through the senate. 6 Likewise, “encouraging necessary action in the senate” remains one of the principal duties of the emperor that Fronto enumerates in his letter to Marcus Aurelius. 7 In the major discursive works that can be said to construct the statio principis, therefore, it can be observed that the emperor was expected to appear and act within the context of the senate. This chapter addresses the degree to which the emperors’ actions met such expectations. It should be stressed that this is not an attempt to resurrect what Mommsen called dyarchia. The power-sharing to which the Res Gestae, lex de imperio Vespasiani, 39 5 Honorific decrees: 4.1, 4.2, 5.1, 6.1, 9.1, 10.1, 11.1, 12.1, 12.2, 14.11, 34.2, 35.1; mandating/authorizing action: 6.2, 8.1, 13.1, 20.4, 22.2. 6 Of the eight clauses extant, II, III, and IV all imagine a role for the senate in some capacity. 7 De. Eloq. 2.6.: “nam Caesarum est in senatu quae e re sunt suadere...” and Fronto would seem to speak has by now been quite roundly dismissed as purely nominal in nature, and, indeed, did not even hold much currency among contemporary writers. 8 Tacitus famously remarked that Augustus may have preserved the names of the magistracies (Ann. 1.3.7: “eadem magistratuum vocabula”), but that he in reality drew all their actual functions into his own person (Ann. 1.2.1: “munia senatus”). 9 Cassius Dio likewise believed that Augustus’ sovereignty derived principally from his tight control of military and financial resources, and, as we shall see, his famous debate between Agrippa and Maecenas did not imagine the senate maintaining any real authority under the incipient Principate. 10 Moreover, he states quite plainly that after 27BCE “the whole power of the senate and people was given over to Augustus, and henceforth from his reign there precisely existed a monarchy.” 11 Even the Res Gestae itself seems to belie any message of dyarchia, since it acknowledges both Augustus’ undeniable military domination and likewise that he “stood before all others in auctoritas, while possessing no more potestas than anyone else.” 12 40 8 See, for example, Crook (1996). Galinsky (1996, 6) argues that the constitutional finesse upon which this explanation relies would likely have been lost on the average citizen, while Ando observes that more distanced or disinterested authors had no difficulty describing the Principate as a monarchy (2010a, 37). Yavetz (1984) summarizes the various positions taken by modern scholars on this question. 9 See also the famous sententia from Ann. 1.1.1: “[Augustus] cuncta disordiis civilibus fessa nomine principis sub imperium accepit.” While Yavetz (1984) attributes modern approaches of this kind to Gibbon, it is probably more correct to lay it at the feet of Tacitus; see Eck (2007), who offers a reading of the opening chapters of the Annals which establishes this as its major conceit. 10 53.16.1 and 52.31.1–2 (quoted below). 11 53.17.1: “οὕτω µὲν δὴ τό τε τοῦ δήµου καὶ τὸ τῆς γερουσίας κράτος πᾶν ἐς τὸν Αὔγουστον µετέστη, καὶ ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ καὶ ἀκριβὴς µοναρχία κατέστη·” 12 RG 34.1: “per consensum universorum potens rerum omnium”; 34.3: “auctoritate omnibus praestiti, potestatis autem nihilo amplius habui quam ceteri...” What the latter statement should confirm is that potestas alone does not explain the emperor’s actual power, and that therefore the legal arrangements reflected in both the Res Gestae and the lex de imperio Vespasiani do not by themselves account for his personal supremacy. While we will examine both auctoritas and potestas in greater detail in the following section, it can already be stated that in this contrast Augustus asserts quite nakedly his own primacy within the body of which he was a member and through whose mechanisms he would accomplish much of his work. 13 Similarly, the lex de imperio Vespasiani, for all that it preserves a place for the senate within imperial government, surrenders to the princeps exceptional powers in relation to it; in and of itself, therefore, it attests to the fact that actual power was not to be shared. Perhaps most tellingly, taken together clauses II and III of the lex essentially mandate the senate to pass any legislation the emperor might propose—without his even having to be present. 14 In a similar vein, Cassius Dio asserts that when, in 13CE, an aging Augustus obtained from the senate that any measure that he and his consilium should approve should have the legal standing of a properly ratified senatus consultum, he was merely enshrining in law a capability he had always enjoyed “τῷ ἔργῳ” (56.28.3). All of this supports Richard Talbert’s observation that, viewed under the most pragmatic of lenses, the emperor’s participation in the senate was wholly unnecessary, since he was 41 13 As Brunt (1984) argues, the senate was likely the instrument of much of the action which the literary authors attribute somewhat cursorily to Augustus. 14 Clause II: “...senatus consulta per relationem discessionemque facere liceat”; Clause III: “cum ex voluntate auctoritate iussu mandatuve eius praesenteve eo senatus habebitur, omnium rerum ius perinde habeatur servetur, ac si e lege senatus edictus esset habereturque” possessed of sufficient legal and factual power to accomplish just about anything he might desire or be required to do. 15 On this basis, the task of this chapter becomes twofold: first to investigate exactly how often the emperor appeared in the persona of a senator, and then to consider what benefit appearing as a senator would have conferred upon him, if it was not in fact necessary for the statutory pragmatics of administering the empire. This, of course, presupposes that there must have been some practical advantage—or, at the very least, some agency and rationale—in the emperor’s appearance among the senatorial order, just as there was apparently taken to be in inscribing it into the Res Gestae, and likewise to stamping it on coins. 16 If P. A. Brunt and J. M. Moore are correct that the Res Gestae, although recovered from the province of Galatia, was actually intended for a specifically Roman audience, 17 then a certain utility of this practice might seem immediately clear: the recurrence of the senate’s agency within 42 15 Talbert (1984, 174), who admits that the statement is “an extreme.” Again, compare Brunt (1984) for a picture of how important a role the senate was actually given in (at the very least mediating) imperial enactments. 16 See Levick (2010, 95) for the practice of including the legend S(enatus) C(onsulto) (“by decree of the senate”) on coins that began in the age of Augustus, together with a summary of the debate as to its signification including Sutherland’s appraisal (1976, 11, and 1984, 32). Sutherland further notes the reactivation of the mints in Rome during our period (1984, 1–3); if we can fairly coordinate this renewed initiative with the innovation of stamping SC on coinage, a strategic intent seems more than possible. See Ando (2000, 215) for some remarks on the role of coinage in fostering imperial ideology, with Galinsky’s (1996, 39–40) reservations concerning how programmatic such a role could feasibly have been. In the debate in Dio, Maecenas recommends to Augustus that everyone should be made to use official Roman coinage (52.30.9). 17 Brunt & Moore (1967, 3–4), adducing the fact that the provinces are largely ignored except in terms of conquest, and that the text omits the various expenditures and largesses he paid out for the provinces, focusing only on those that benefitted the Roman people. Yavetz (1984, 14–20) claimed it was rather directed towards Roman and Italian youth, a judgment that Millar (2002, 359) believes the subsequent discovery of the tabula Siarensis showed to be true. Levick (2010, 225), meanwhile, argues that the Res Gestae speaks to the whole empire. Augustus’ career suggests the continuation of Republican government, and disavows the monarchic element of his rule while repackaging his undeniable primacy as still subject to the will of the state as a whole–—the sham of dyarchia through which Tacitus saw so keenly. 18 Perhaps a more interesting explanation is that offered by Andrew Wallace- Hadrill and, more recently, Claudia Moatti, who observe the symbolic capital available in emphasizing the continuity and permanence of the Roman res publica, made accessible here by publicizing the continued operation of the senate. 19 Under this theory, the consistency of governmental operation links the present to a long and enduring tradition, establishing thereby a surety for the future in the minds of the governed. This function, communicated through coins or inscriptions like the Res Gestae (which, for all its focus on Rome, was recovered from the provinces) could operate for provincial subjects as well as Roman citizens. Karl Galinsky, meanwhile, has argued for a more transformational invocation of the res publica, as advertising a return to the state of affairs where the senate and its leaders worked for the common good of the state as a whole. 20 The sequence of honorifics and mandates reflected in the 43 18 Both Eck (2007) and Ando (2010a, 37) acknowledge that Tacitus’ interpretation may have exerted an undue influence on how the Augustan Principate (including the Res Gestae) is read. That is not to say that it was altogether incorrect, and that it did not appeal to some sectors of the population (see Jones in note below). As Chastagnol (1992, 10) emphasizes, “il demeure que, dans le principe, c’est du Sénat que les successeurs d’Auguste reçoivent leur autorité.” 19 Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 45-47) and Moatti (2009). See also Jones (1951, 112), who recognizes in the persistence of Rome’s institutions the fact that it must have mattered to some segment of the population (in his view, the Italian middle-class). 20 Galinsky (1996, 50). Res Gestae would then implicate both Augustus and the senate in a mutual program of civic-minded action, following a particular kind of governmental tradition, but without necessarily screening the emperor’s unique and superior position within that relationship. Both arguments present an interpretation of the state, and of the emperor’s role within it, and maintain that the maintain that the senate’s activity formed part of the semiotics for the communication of those interpretations. All of these approaches suggest that the senate had the potential to be a useful ideological instrument for the emperor in securing the broad acquiescence of a wide range of subjects, both at home and abroad, and promoting the continuity of Rome’s imperium both geographically and chronologically. It must be noted, however, that the senate was not only a political body, but also represented a social group in its own right, one that was both monied and aristocratic. The social and political at Rome were inseparable, with census qualifications dictating political eligibility and political achievement buttressing social standing. 21 Augustus’ adjustment of these qualifications and his numerous social laws—aimed in particular at the senatorial order and at establishing them more distinctly from the rest of society—only emphasize this fact. 22 Membership of the senatorial order, for example, was communicated visually by the 44 21 For a fuller argument, see Winterling (2009, ch. 2). Under the Republic, members of the senate had been drawn from the ordo equester, and were therefore pre-selected on the basis of economic qualification (a minimum of 400,000 sesterces), even before magisterial career and moral character (over both of which the aristocracy exerted a monopoly; see, e.g. Gunderson 2000, 6 for rhetorical training as the path to becoming a vir bonus). The Augustan Principate saw the establishment of a separate census- class, the ordo senatorius, with a much higher monetary qualification (as high as 1 million sesterces). On these developments, see Talbert (1984, 10–11); Chastagnol (1992, 23–48); Nicolet (1976, 21–38); Dio 54.17.3, 54.26.3–4; Suet. Aug. 41.3. For the census under Republican Rome, see Nicolet (1980, 49–88). 22 Levick (2010, 132). right to bear the broad purple stripe (latusclavus) on the tunica; under Augustus this right was extended to the sons of senators, prioritizing heredity over the exercise of magisterial office and presumably thus re-orienting certain of the interests of the order. It paid the emperor to keep this section of society reasonably happy, since any potential threat would (and, indeed, did) come from men with the distinction and resources to offer a legitimate challenge to his sovereignty. The paying of deference, both personally and publicly, went some way to doing this, 23 but by granting the senate a public role in government he also suggested there was a future for this order at Rome, and thus made it further in their interest to support his rule. Moreover, by actively participating as a member of this order—both politically and socially—the emperor aligned himself with their interests, and thus implicated himself within the efforts toward their protection. In doing so, he guaranteed the persistence of Rome’s social world, and went some way to alleviating any existential fears that may have gripped the aristocracy. 24 Cassius Dio offers another interpretation of the political utility of a healthy senate, which he places in the mouth of Augustus’ advisor Maecenas in 29BCE. Although he was writing over two centuries after the fact, Dio’s own experience of 45 23 Wallace-Hadrill (1982), discussed in greater detail in section 4.iv and in chapter 2. The locus classicus for Augustus’ respect for senatorial dignity is his relocation of the statues of Roman nobles to the Campus Martius during his building program, and, in contrast, their subsequent demolition by Gaius (Suet. Cal. 34.1). 24 Levick (2010, 132). Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 35–36), Hopkins (1983, 44–45; 110–111), Roller (2001, 5 n. 5), and, to some extent, Jones (1951, 112) all argue that the interests of the aristocracy should be understood to cover the upper stratum of the equestrian order as well as the more traditional senatorial families. See also Nicolet (1988) for an interpretation of electoral laws and early-Augustan Fasti which suggests an entrenchment by the nobiles against the interests of novi homines aiming at curule office. imperial government, together with the text’s historiographical prolepsis, make his analysis worthy of consideration: 25 Καὶ µέντοι καὶ τἆλλα ὧδ’ ἄν µοι δοκεῖς ἄριστα διατάξαι, ἂν πρῶτον µὲν τὰς πρεσβείας τάς τε παρὰ τῶν πολεµίων καὶ τὰς παρὰ τῶν ἐνσπόνδων καὶ βασιλέων καὶ δήµων ἀφικνουµένας ἐς τὸ συνέδριον ἐσάγῃς (τά τε γὰρ ἄλλα καὶ σεµνὸν καὶ ἀξιόλογόν ἐστι τό τε τὴν βουλὴν πάντων κυρίαν δοκεῖν εἶναι, καί τὸ πολλοὺς τοὺς ἀντιπάλους τοῖς ἀγνωµονοῦσιν αὐτῶν φαίνεσθαι), ἔπειτα δὲ ἂν πάντα τὰ νοµοθετούµενα δι’ αὐτῶν ποιῇ, καὶ µηδὲν τὸ παράπαν ἄλλο ἐπὶ πάντας ὁµοίως φέρῃ πλὴν τῶν ἐκείνης δογµάτων· οὕτω γὰρ τό τε ἀξίωµα τὸ τῆς ἀρχῆς µᾶλλον ἂν βεβαιοῖτο, καὶ τὰ δικαιώµατα τἀκ τῶν νόµων καὶ ἀναµφίλογα καὶ διάδηλα πᾶσιν ἅµα γίγνοιτο. Moreover (to pass to other matters), it seems to me that you would be adopting the best arrangement if you should, in the first place, introduce before the senate the embassies which come from the enemy and from those under treaty with us, whether kings or democracies; for, among other considerations, it is both awe- inspiring and calculated to arouse comment for the impression to prevail that the senate has full authority in all matters and for all men to be fully aware that those envoys who are unfair in their dealings will have many to oppose them. In the second place, you would do well to have all your legislation enacted by the senate, and to enforce no measure whatever upon all the people alike except the decrees of this body. In this way, the dignity of the empire would be more securely established and the judgments rendered in accordance with the laws would instantly be free from all dispute or uncertainty in the eyes of the people. 52.31.1–2 (translation by E. Cary) Dio’s account does not suggest the senate would operate in a genuine deliberative or legislative capacity, but that by merely adding the impression that all imperial measures had been subject to such a process it would make them seem more rational and valid, 46 25 Dio was an advisor to and co-consul with the emperor Alexander Severus; Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 44) characterizes him as “steeped in the senatorial tradition.” Hammond (1932) characterizes the debate between Agrippa and Maecenas that Dio imagines as an exercise in tracing the reality of Severan Rome to its roots in Augustan policy. McKechnie (1981) argues that Agrippa’s position is deliberately crafted as a straw-man, specifically because Maecenas possesses the implicit advantage in being able to outline a full picture of government based on the system as it already existed and had functioned for over two centuries. Both Millar (1964) and Meyer (1891) have seen the passage as contemporary in its focus and protreptic in its aims. and ensure the security of governmental rule. Dio has Maecenas proceed to suggest that senators and their families should be tried in the senate (52.31.3–4), so that they can be punished properly without any ill-will accruing to Augustus (“χωρὶς τοῦ σοῦ φθόνου”), while at the same time keeping others from offending through fear of being censured in such a public manner (“οἱ ἄλλοι ταῦθ’ ὁρῶντες βελτίους γίγνωνται φόβῳ τοῦ µὴ καὶ αὐτοὶ ἐκδηµοσιευθῆναι”). Again, Maecenas is only advocating for the strategic enhancements to public image these trials would provide, permitting the censuring of rogue senators and the pacification of their kind without any cost in reputation to Augustus. 26 Tiberius was certainly not afraid to use the senate as a scapegoat in negotiations: he purported to the mutinous legions in 14CE that he could not accede to their demands without senatorial approval, and later declared he would not offer financial support to individuals unless they could first prove genuine necessity to the senate. 27 This approach resonates somewhat with Maecenas’ first point: that strength in numbers was an important factor in political affairs, although he points in particular to face-to-face confrontations in the context of international relations. Dio was himself obviously sensitive to the visible economy of the political sphere, and the capital available to the emperor in appearing to be backed in government and decision by the leading men of his country. 47 26 And is therefore directly addressing the concerns raised by Agrippa at 52.7.2–4. Dio later claims this is precisely why Tiberius funneled all of his maiestas prosecutions through the consuls and senate (58.16.3). 27 Tac. Ann. 1.25 and Suet. Tib. 47.1 respectively. The historian offers us one further idea with which to explore the utility of the senate, and it is one that will become the structuring conceit of this chapter: that by operating through the senate the emperor could render his judgements “completely clear” or “visible” (διάδηλα) to everybody. This adjective obviously functions sympathetically with “ἀναµφίλογα” to establish how government conducted in consultation with the senate would appear more rational, but it also introduces a second idea: that of clarity and interpretability. What I will argue is that much of the value of the senate—and of the structures (both physical and discursive) that were inherent to it —lay in how they provided a familiar means for the expression of the emperor’s activity. This is a function of the senate that underlies all of the theories laid out above: in every case—whether it be fostering the illusion of dyarchia, activating the longevity of the Roman state, or honoring the social status of the aristocracy—the senate is used to provide the symbols and codes for contextualizing action and rendering it interpretable. Where authors and scholars all agree is that in the history of senatorial government lay the terms and systems necessary to establish narratives for the emperor’s subjects, narratives which would be instrumental in disseminating the critical ideology that they were being ruled effectively and in their own interest. We will begin to pursue this idea by elucidating the symbols that were used to structure these narratives. 48 2. Structures There were certain structuring elements in the emperor’s appearance as a senator that would remain reasonably static throughout our period. These form the context within which performance, iteration, and variation should be analyzed, and include: the physical meeting space of the senate, the journey the emperor would have to undertake to reach that space, the transactional powers with which he was endowed, and the mechanisms for recording, publishing, and enacting the decisions reached by the senate. In this section we will be constructing a frame within which to interpret the activity of the emperors individually, in order to consider what function these structures would have had and how they helped to lend a narrative to imperial action. i. Space We can begin the account of structures by making a general observation about space: from the range of information available to us, it would appear that during our period senate meetings were more often than not held in the Curia Julia, the structure located at the Northwest edge of the Forum Romanum, consecrated by Augustus on 28 August, 29BCE. 28 Scattered references to particular meetings elsewhere, most often in the temple of Apollo on the Palatine, suggest both that it was a matter of note when another space was used (such as when Augustus was growing too infirm to leave the Palatine 49 28 Taylor & Scott (1969, 538 n. 24). Patterson (1992, 193) notes that the construction of the Curia Julia changed the topography of the Forum Romanum, essentially disjointing, together with the new rostra, the relationship between the senate an the comitium. precinct comfortably) 29 but in general it is safest to assume that when no specific reference is made to another location, we are in fact dealing with a meeting in the Curia. 30 Although it was traditionally acceptable for the senate to meet in any appropriately designated space, 31 it is significant that a particular building does appear to have been used regularly and consistently throughout the reigns of all the emperors. As Claude Nicolet has observed, “topography is the science which enables us to answer questions about procedure,” 32 and the recurrence of the Curia Julia within the political fabric of Roman government suggests a respect for consistency, and the surety available in the pattern of life and the regularity of visible practice. Consistency yields interpretability: observers could know that business-as-usual was occurring, or, when action happened contrary to the norm, that something remarkable was taking place. There were also far more practical concerns: the Curia was specifically designed to accommodate meetings of the senate, and hence it is was only logical and utilitarian that it should have been the space used most frequently; indeed, only the Curia Julia 50 29 Suet. Div. Aug. 29.3: “quo loco iam senior saepe etiam senatum habuit decuriasque iudicum recognovit.” Decidedly vague, but seems to suggest the practice, once instituted, became quite common. The SC de Cn. Pisone Patre commemorates that the decree ordering its publication was passed at a meeting held in the Temple of Apollo on December 10, 20CE (1: “in Palatio in porticu, quae est ad Apollinis”; see section 5.ii below). 30 Such is the conclusion of Talbert (1984, 113–120), who summarizes the data for this and other locations, validated by Patterson (1992, 194). For the argument that the senate may have met on the Palatine more often than our sources explicitly record, see Thompson (1981). 31 The deliberations regarding the Secular Games in 17BCE took place in the Saepta Julia (Ehrenberg and Jones, Documents, no. 30, l. 50), while the consultations regarding triumphs in the Republican era had been held in the temple of Apollo Sosianus Medicus (Livy 37.58.3, 39.41.2, and 41.17.3–4), which also seems to have been used extensively for regular meetings after the original Curia burned down in 52BCE (Cic. Fam. 8.4.4, 8.8.6; Att. 15.3.1). 32 Nicolet (1980, 12). seems to have the facilities for stepped seating that a senatorial meeting would ideally require. 33 It will therefore be understood throughout this chapter that the emperor and senate are normally meeting in this space; where we have evidence to the contrary, it will be noted as it occurs chronologically. The accepted reconstruction of the Curia Julia is based on the structure as it was rebuilt under Diocletian; it is generally believed that this iteration would not have differed in many significant details from the original structure consecrated by Augustus himself. 34 The interior space is rectangular (25.63 x 17.73 meters), with the central aisle stretching 21 meters from its doors to the raised platform (suggestus) at the opposite end. 35 It is here that the consuls (or, if they were absent, the presiding magistrates) would sit in curule chairs in order to conduct meetings of the senate. Significantly, we are told by Cassius Dio that after 19BCE Augustus (whenever he was not consul himself) was given the right to sit between the consuls on a third curule chair (54.10.5); indeed, Augustus is pictured seated alone on such a chair on coins and on the Gemma Augustea. 36 Based on a later note that Claudius, as privatus, would step down from his curule chair during trials so as to sit among the regular senators (60.16.31), it has been 51 33 Talbert (1984, 114). For the argument regarding stepped seating, see Taylor & Scott (1969, 542) 34 Taylor & Scott (1969, 538–539); Talbert (1984, 114–115); Steinby (1993, 333). 35 Taylor & Scott (1969, 541), having in person checked the measurements of Bartoli (1963). 36 E.g. the obv. of Giard 43, discussed by Zanker (1988, 56 & fig. 44d). For the Gemma, Zanker (o.c., 230–231 & fig. 182), cited again in chapter 2. interpreted that this right of Augustus was subsequently extended to all emperors. 37 If this is true, then it represents a significant structuring feature of the relationship between princeps and senate, placing him at the focus of the meeting’s attention and rendering him at all times visible to the bulk of its attendees, who were seated on benches lining either side of the central aisle from door to dais. The emperor would have sat on a similar plane to the consuls, and their juxtaposition would have emphasized the enduring nature of his power and station: the consuls—and thus the years—may change, but the head of state endured. Roman audiences—especially political ones—were likely conditioned to read authority in the relative vertical elevation of a speaker; the very existence of the suggestum supports this idea, and, again, makes Augustus’ appearance there with the consuls significant. 38 This could also place him in a sort of panoptic position, leaving him able to surveil and police the reactions and responses of both individual senators and the body as a whole. 39 Thus, whatever the magisterial or legal standing of the emperor, his presence would have been difficult to ignore, his gaze hard to avoid. 52 37 Taylor & Scott (1969, 533 n. 13). Cf. Dio 59.12.2, where Gaius is said to have sat on a chair between the two consuls during a ceremony in the Forum. Certain coin issues from the reign of Tiberius (BMC 70) and Gaius (BMC 46) show them seated similarly (discussed by Sutherland 1984 as Tib. 48 and Gaius 37– 38, respectively). 38 See Corbeill (2002, 200) on the “hierarchy of speaking height.” 39 Analogous to the phenomenon of a mutual gaze in the Roman theater which Bartsch (1994) explores in its implications for subject-ruler relationships (particularly regarding Nero). ii. Topography We should not underestimate the visual capital available to the emperor in simply attending meetings of the senate, and thus the topographical advantage inherent to the location of the Curia Julia; indeed, both Julius Caesar and Augustus apparently believed there was merit in rebuilding this structure and, moreover, in maintaining its original location within the city of Rome. If we are correct to place the meetings of the senate regularly in this space, then, in order to attend, the emperor would have had to leave his home on the Palatine—an area which began a process of increasing privatization during his reign 40 —and cross the Forum, the most public space in the city. Thus his attendance would be made public to all, and his visibility on these days linked to purpose, to government. Certainly, Augustus seems to have been keenly aware of the importance of walking properly in Roman life, evidenced by both his famous maxim, “festina lente,” and the concern he is reported to have expressed about how the young Claudius’ infirmity would be interpreted. 41 Suetonius reports that during his consulships Augustus would go about on foot, and it is probably quite fair to assume that on senate days—as a holder of consular imperium—he did likewise. 42 Under the Republic, the most public 53 40 See Coarelli (2007, 142), citing Velleius Paterculus (2.81) for Augustus’ acquisition of other houses in the precinct, for both personal and private use. Also Royo (1999). 41 Noted by Corbeill (2002, 196), citing Suet. Aug. 25.4 and Claud. 4.5, together with Gellius 10.11.5 (for a second record of the aphorism as “ σπεῦδε βραδέως”) and Plin. Pan. 83.7 (for praise of Trajan’s stride). 42 Aug. 53.2: “in consulatu pedibus fere, extra consulatum saepe adoperta sella per publicum incessit.” Although this passage does suggest he used a litter when he wasn’t consul, the statement is qualified and can be fairly discounted for senate days, both because of Augustus’ status as semi-consulatus, and because, given the new, public senate schedule, he would have no need of the anonymity the litter would provide on these days. figures of government had lived on the Palatine, and had made this same journey to conduct the business of the state; the founder of Rome himself, Romulus, was even believed to have made his home there. 43 Augustus’ journey not only connected him with these men, but, as his own auctoritas swelled and the Palatine’s importance thus grew, politically and, we might add, architecturally, the visible economy of the emperor’s crossing to the Curia would only have taken on more and more value. 44 As Timothy O’Sullivan observes in his monograph on walking in Roman culture, “the destination...is only part of the story”; while the destination on these particular days was integral to establishing the story, the walk itself was just as important for establishing purpose and participation. 45 For these reasons, I believe, the emperor’s walk to the Curia ought to be added to the “political ceremonies” in which he would participate, especially as it was also a ceremony adapted from the context of the Republic in order to service imperial ideology. 46 54 43 See Coarelli (2007, 132–33) for a list of those we can name, including the father of the Gracchi, Cicero, Milo, Hortensius, and Marc Antony. On the Palatine in general, see Royo (1999). For Romulus, see Haselberger et al. (2002, 83) for the primary sources, with Coarelli (2007, 133–5) for the archaeology of the area in question. 44 While the history of the Palatine had the potential to do a lot for Augustus, Coarelli (2007, 133) notes that, ultimately, Augustus did more for the history of the hill itself by making it his home. He characterizes this choice as “the most important development in the history of the Palatine.” On Augustus’ swelling auctoritas, see Galinsky (1996) and the longer discussion below. 45 O’Sullivan (2011, 53), actually commenting on triumphs and funerals. He continues: “the daily movements of noblemen through the city were rehearsals for grander occasions” (54); I would contend that, especially under the Principate, meetings of the senate should be numbered among such occasions (see section 2.vii below). 46 Specifically to those catalogued by Sumi (2005, 221–227). In all its elements—temporality, topography, visual symbols—the walk to the senate satisfies the requirements for Bell’s (1992) ritualized action, understood as action somehow set apart from regular, day-to-day activity. At a rough estimate, a typical journey to the Curia Julia from the house of Augustus (204) would have required one to cross the Palatine for 250m to its most obvious access point, what is now called the Clivus Palatinus (224). 47 It was possible to continue down this street for 100m to where it met the Via Sacra, the major thoroughfare leading to the Forum Romanum, involving a walk of approximately 250m along the most direct route, depending on whether one took the North or South branch where the road branches at the Regia (138) and Temple of Divus Julius (139). An alternate route would involve turning off the Clivus Palatinus on to the Via Nova, an elevated road skirting the northern side of the Palatine, before descending the Scalae Graecae (130) and joining up with the Southern branch of the Via Sacra at a triumphal Arch of Augustus (140), a journey of around 260m; 48 the Northern branch of the Via Sacra may similarly have passed through a separate Arch of Augustus. 49 Any of these options would then require a jaunt of almost 150m to the doors of the Curia Julia (119) itself, through the center of the Forum, in full view of everyone gathered or passing through there. While other routes are possible (for instance, descending the Scalae Caci 55 47 All measurements are based on the map of Augustan Rome produced by Haselberger et al. (2002), which, while offering the best topography of Rome in this period currently available, may still only represent “the latest state of scholarly error,” as Haselberger puts it (11). Numbers in parentheses correlate with that of the maps’s index. Wiseman (1987, 403–409) argues that this was most likely the primary thoroughfare between the imperial house and the Forum Romanum. 48 Wiseman (1987, 407–8) believes that the emperor Gaius made this the entrance to the Palatine during his reign, and such is the force of Suet. Cal. 22.2: “partem Palatii ad forum usque promovit … aede Castoris et Pollucis in vestibulum transfigurata.” On Wiseman’s reconstruction, this would have turned the Actian arch of Augustus into the gate of the Palatine, a choice which Augustus himself had backed away from (o.c., 405–406). 49 There is some controversy about both of these arches, and especially concerning whether the northernmost arch ever actually existed. Patterson (1992, 194) summarizes some of the debate, but see the note in chapter 2.5.ii for a fuller discussion. (201) into the Forum Boarium), they would be more circuitous, and ultimately only make the emperor visible to more people as he passed through the city to the Curia. There appears to have been no way to reach the Curia without passing in sight of the Forum—nor should we imagine the emperor would have wished to do so. The routes suggested above, particularly that involving the Via Sacra, would seem to have been the most efficient available, and would have offered the greatest opportunity for public visibility on this journey, passing as they do along some of the wider streets and past some of the more important monuments of imperial Rome. We should not forget that from 19BCE onwards, by virtue of his consular imperium, Augustus was accompanied by twelve lictors when out in public, which, by tradition and through immediate visual impact, lent his journeys through the city a purpose and sense of occasion. 50 The lictors carried with them the fasces—bundles of rods, combined in certain situations with axes—the symbols of magisterial office, connoting the possession of imperium, the legal right to effect will by force. 51 Anthony Marshall has suggested, probably correctly, that we should not place too much emphasis on the historical or constitutional significance of the fasces, since we have no way of gauging how familiar the average inhabitant of Rome would have been with them; we can thus not assume that at any visual event these symbols were always 56 50 Dio 54.10.5; Levick (2010, 90). 51 Within the city lictors did not carry the axe, in recognition of the ius provocationis protecting citizens from their exercise (Marshall 1984). The axes were ritually added to the fasces on the occasion of a magistrate’s profectio, and were permitted within the pomerium during the celebration of a triumph; on this, see chapter 2.5.i. interpreted within the context of Rome’s political history. He places instead the emphasis on the more contingent value of their appearance in the city: the visible pomp of the lictors, and the practical utility of the fasces themselves as instruments of coercion—as he puts it, “a portable kit for flogging and decapitation.” 52 Perhaps most significantly, lictors would also be seen accompanying the year’s consuls on their own trip to the Curia (or elsewhere), and so, if nothing else, such an escort would inscribe the emperor’s appearance and activity within the realm of consular oversight and authority; as with the curule chair, their visual capital was shared with the Princeps. Indeed, not just the emperor, but every senator in the city would likewise be headed to the Curia Julia on these days, accompanied by slaves, attendants, and, in the case of curule magistrates, lictors of their own. We are told that Augustus forbade senators to attend him at his salutatio on days when meetings were held 53 —the focus of these days was to be the Curia, and every senator was to be seen to be conspicuously heading there. All of this contributed to a general sense of government in action, that would, in its visibility, inform the general public that things were happening, that the emperor and the senate were convening to get work done according to the traditional operation of government. This understanding was presumably augmented by rhythm and regularity, since in 9BCE Augustus instituted a regular schedule for senatorial 57 52 Marshall (1984, 125–30). As he notes, the fasces could be and were used as instruments of violence (e.g. Gell. 1.13.11; Plut. Ant. 36.2; Dio 49.22.6; 50.13.7; Suet. Dom. 8.4; Caesar BGall 8.38.5). From the perspective of this project, it is perhaps more significant that they were remembered as being used, thus projecting the possibility of their being used in the same way in the future. 53 Suet. Aug. 53.3 and Dio 54.30.1, who adds that in 9BCE Augustus forbade courts or other meetings that might require members’ attention to meet on that day (55.3.2—presumably this formed a clause in the lex de senatu habendo, on which see below section 4.i). meetings, mandating that they be held twice a month, on the Kalends and Ides. 54 As emperor and senate convened on the duly appointed days, making the same trip on the same day each month, subjects could be assured that were being ruled, that Rome and her empire were being administered. This practice, by virtue of its publicity, played out on the political landscape of the city, was far more useful than governing from the Palatine alone, issuing edicts to only the parties concerned. By moving government off the Palatine, and into the traditional spaces for political deliberation and decision- making, the emperor could better communicate the activity of government and disseminate the ideology that there was value in his station. He could instill within subjects, who may not even have been the subject of that day’s deliberation, the conviction that government was occurring. Thus, by the continuation of political and social structures, Augustus was able to render from their forms and their interpretation a basis for a new, individual sovereignty, rooted in the effects of government and interests of the governed. iii. Transactional powers It is worth outlining in some detail the nature of Augustus’ legal standing—what he referred to in the Res Gestae as his potestas—with regard to the senate, especially because it would form the precedent for the standing of all the emperors who would follow him. Suetonius states quite succinctly that “he took magistracies and honors 58 54 Dio 55.3.1-2; Suet. Aug. 35.3. Interestingly, Dio adds the note that attendance was not counted on occasions when the emperor was present, implying that he might not always have been (55.3.4). before the usual time, some of which were of a new type and for life” (Aug. 26.1); as Augustus himself records, in 43BCE he was given the extraordinary honor, having held no office, of admission to the senatorial order and the right to speak in the locus consularis (RG 1.2, discussed above). This was no small matter, since, for reasons of both expedience and honor, only senators who had held a curule office or performed some exceptional service would usually have the opportunity to offer their sententia on relationes. 55 Following the death that same year of the consuls Hirtius and Pansa, he was made a consul in their place, by right of which he would then be able to convene the senate, submit relationes for deliberation, call for sententiae, and move proceedings to a vote. Presumably, it was precisely these rights that were guaranteed in the ius consulendi senatum granted to Augustus (then simply Gaius Julius Caesar) and the other triumvirs for five years (later extended to ten) by the Lex Titia of 43BCE. 56 Following the technical expiration of the Second Triumvirate, he would hold the consulship again in 33BCE, and was elected to this magistracy continuously from 31BCE until he laid it down in 23BC. 57 In 28BCE he had become princeps senatus by 59 55 For a general discussion of the distinction between these senators and so-called pediarii, see Taylor & Scott (1969, 552–57). 56 Dio 47.2.1–3 describes the forced passage of the Lex Titia by the Second Triumvirate, which he claims was intended to do no less than allow them to manage all public business (46.55.3: ὥστε τά τε ἄλλα πάντα...διοικεῖν). For the specific right granted to them regarding the senate, see Gellius 14.7.5: “triumviros reipublicae constituendae causa creatos ius consulendi senatum habuisse.” 57 Ferrary (2001, 109–17) argues that, as part of the First Augustan Settlement of 27BCE, Augustus received a grant of consulare imperium domi et militiae, since he had no way of guaranteeing that he would be elected consul continuously following that year. This would ensure he retained the ius agendi cum populo and ius agendi cum senatu of a consul, whatever the outcome of the elections. For our purposes, the event is the same either way: Augustus in these years transacted with the senate with the powers of a consul. virtue of conducting the census (Dio 53.1.3). Upon vacating the consulship in 23BCE, he assumed the tribunicia potestas for life, which gave him both the power of veto and the same right as any other tribune of the plebs or curule magistrate to submit relationes to the senate; a subsequent decree most likely gave him priority over even the consuls in this regard. 58 Submission of relationes would become codified in the lex de imperio Vespasiani as one of the particular rights of the princeps, with Augustus listed as the primary precedent. This was augmented by the separate right he received in 22BCE to hold a meeting of the senate whenever he pleased (Dio 54.3.3, also reflected in the later lex). 59 Then in 19BCE he received the consular imperium for life, by right of which, as we have seen, he was thenceforth entitled to sit in a third curule chair between the two consuls for any given year (54.10.5, discussed above). Augustus was by this point possessed not only of exceptional rights that gave him precedence in submitting legislation to the senate, but also the privilege of pronouncing his sententia first on all business and the legal power to cancel any bills of which he did not approve. His claim, therefore, that he possessed no more potestas than any of his colleagues (RG 34.3, discussed above), may have been more than a little exaggerated. 60 58 See Nicolet (1988, 840-2) who argues convincingly that the text of Dio (53.32.5) must indicate the grant of such priority in addition to the tribunicia potestas, which by itself would traditionally have left Augustus at the bottom of the order of magistrates. If Nicolet is correct, it would suggest, contra Mantovani (2009), that the lex de imperio Vespasiani is in fact a grant of a set of powers unique to the emperor, and not just of regular tribunicia potestas; Galinsky (1996, 6) makes an important distinction between holding such potestas and holding the tribunate itself, echoing Dio 53.32.6. As Matthews (2010, 72) observes, the order of the meeting presented by Tacitus at Ann. 1.11–15 clearly demonstrates the continuing low priority of the actual tribunes, who are recorded as presenting their motion as the last item of the day. 59 Clause II of the lex de imperio Vespasiani covers both prerogatives: “utique ei senatum habere, relationem facere, remittere, senatus consulta per relationem discessionemque facere liceat, ita uti licuit divo Aug. (et cet.)” Tiberius is believed to have possessed all these same rights and powers prior to the death of Augustus on August 19th, 14CE. 60 Upon his adoption in 4CE, Tiberius had been awarded tribunicia potestas for a period of ten years, a grant which, as we have seen, formed the basis for the emperor’s right to transact with the senate. 61 This tribunicia potestas was renewed in 13CE together with Augustus’ own (Dio 56.28.1), at which time Tiberius was also made his legal partner in administering the provinces and conducting the census (Suet. Tib. 21.1: “ut provincias cum Augusto communiter administraret simulque censum ageret”). 62 Although the precise nature of the resolution reached between Tiberius and the senate during the meeting regarding his succession on September 17, 14CE, is unclear, it has generally been interpreted as an agreement on the scope for the exercise of the powers Tiberius already possessed. 63 The lex de 61 60 Seager (2005, 39) argues that Augustus’ death was in fact anticipated by the awards of these powers. 61 Levick (1976) dates the grant to June 27, based on Fasti Amit., Inscr. Ital, XIII, ii, 187. Suetonius says the grant was for five years (Tib. 16.1), Dio ten (55.13.2) (cf. Vell. 2.103.2.); Seager (2005, 30) argues that Dio is probably correct, based on the number of colleagues the Res Gestae records Augustus accepting in the tribunicia potestas. 62 The formula beginning with ut might even suggest that Suetonius is here quoting—or at least paraphrasing—the text of the senatus consultum in question. Compare, for example, the clauses of the lex de imperio Vespasiani, which Brunt (1977, 95) observes are more characteristic of an SC than a true comitial lex; it can be thus marshaled as an example of the process whereby SCC came to replace leges as the principal form of legal enactment, described by both Brunt (1984, 428) and Levick (1976, 102). Velleius (2.121.1) indicates it was accomplished by decree (“decreto complexus est”), although he attributes the agency to “senatus populusque Romanus.” Whether SC or lex, Seager (2005, 39) emphasizes the role of this grant in particular for securing the succession. 63 See, e.g. Levick (1976, 75-78), echoed by Brunt (1977, 97). The primary narrative is customarily Tac. Ann. 1.11–13; cf. Suet. Tib. 24.1–2; Vell. 2.124.1–2; Dio 57.2.1–3.1. The arguments for and against September 17th as the official date of Tiberius’ accession are explored in some detail by Levick (op. cit., 48–50), who maintains it as the correct date to this day (2010, 240). That we lack a clear and official dies imperii for Tiberius would tend to support Levick’s argument that this practice was instituted with the accession of Gaius (see note below). imperio Vespasiani likewise testifies to Tiberius enjoying all the same prerogatives that were attributed to Augustus. 64 By contrast, when Gaius succeeded Tiberius as princeps he was not possessed of any specific rights or powers. These had to be conferred upon him in a block grant by the senate at the time of his accession, and it is thus with his reign that we find the genesis of the practice of marking the dies imperii of an emperor, reflected in the inscriptional records of the Arval Brethren. 65 This practice continues for Claudius, Nero, and later emperors, and, it has been argued, the dies imperii should be understood as the date on which was passed a comitial law similar to the lex imperio de Vespasiani that, as Tacitus put it, granted “cuncta principibus solita” (Hist. 4.3.3). 66 While Claudius, like Tiberius, is listed in the lex as sharing the same exceptional rights as Augustus (and alone as the precedent for Clause V), the absence of Gaius and Nero should not surprise us, given the status of their memory in 69CE. 67 For our period, therefore, it seems safe to assume that the emperors all transacted with the senate based on a similar set of prerogatives, one instituted under Augustus, organized in the succession of Tiberius, and then somewhat formalized with the accession of Gaius. What is especially interesting to observe in this process is the broad schematization of 62 64 Augustus, Tiberius, and Claudius are listed together as the precedents for the rights awarded to Vespasian in Clauses I, II, VI, and VII. Augustus never appears listed without both Tiberius and Claudius. 65 Dio 59.3.2: “ὥστε πάντα ὅσα ὁ Αὔγουστος ἐν τοσούτῳ τῆς ἀρχῆς χρόνῳ µόλις καὶ καθ' ἓν ἕκαστον ψηφισθέντα οἱ ἐδέξατο, ὧν ἔνια ὁ Τιβέριος οὐδ' ὅλως προσήκατο, ἐν µιᾷ ἡµέρᾳ λαβεῖν.” Levick (1976, 80). See Scheid (1992) for a tabulation of the relevant passages. 66 Mantovani (2009, 125–155), discussed at length in chapter 1.2. See also Brunt (1977). 67 Brunt (1977, 103–104). these individual rights under the blanket term imperium, which was thus substantially reconfigured over the course of the first century CE. iv. Auctoritas As we have seen, despite this agglomeration of exceptional potestates Augustus would claim that any primacy he exercised in the state after 27BCE was actually a matter of his outstanding auctoritas; we should thus consider the role this had to play in his persona as senator. The claim, since it was made by Augustus himself in the Res Gestae, has in the past been taken at face value, to the point that auctoritas has, at times, been made an expedient explanatory term for the basis of the emperor’s factual power, and even theorized as a kind of official power itself that came to be unique to the princeps. 68 This theory is itself indebted to Mommsen’s dyarchia, whereby the emperor was held to have ruled through a genuine combination of personal authority and constitutional power. 69 Adherents to this approach have put particular stock in a passage of Cassius Dio, which seems to suggest that the name ‘Augustus’ was designed to recognize officially the emperor’s superior auctoritas—even though the historian 63 68 Most famously and systematically by Magdelain (1947), summarized in his general conceits by Chilver (1950, 420). 69 Mommsen Staatsr. II.2.745–749. Yavetz (1984, 24) summarizes the problems that have been raised with this approach. Winterling (2009, ch. 6) attempts to rehabilitate dyarchia, arguing that Mommsen meant that the emperor’s authority was simply exercised and expressed through the forms of constitutional power (something closer to my own approach). See also Lowrie (2009, 280 n. 5). says specifically that it conferred no actual power (dynamis). 70 This idea, however, is not too far-fetched: both ‘Augustus’ and auctoritas share a root in the verb augeo—to increase or augment. 71 In 1950, G.E.F. Chilver presented many valuable reservations against trying to systematize or formalize auctoritas in this way. Not the least of these is his observation that just because we are told in any particular instance that the emperor accomplished something by means of auctoritas, this in no way implies that he was not also backed by a specifically legal power that authorized and enabled him to accomplish it; indeed, if we look for such, we can almost always find it amongst the rights and powers enumerated above. 72 Certainly Cassius Dio himself did not think that auctoritas was the single, true explanation for the emperor’s domination: while being our best source for the majority of Augustus’ formal legal powers, he also states quite explicitly that “in fact Augustus was destined to be absolute ruler of everything forever, since he controlled both the finances and the soldiers.” 73 64 70 53.18.2, where Dio asserts “ἡ γὰρ δὴ τοῦ Καίσαρος ἥ τε τοῦ Αὐγούστου πρόσρησις δύναµιν µὲν οὐδεµίαν αὐτοῖς οἰκείαν προστίθησι, δηλοῖ δ’ ἄλλως τὸ µὲν τοῦ γένους σφῶν διαδοχήν, τὸ δὲ τὴν τοῦ ἀξιώµατος λαµπρότητα.” This arguments relies somewhat on comparisons between the Latin and Greek versions of the Res Gestae, specifically at 34.3, suggest that ἀξιώµατι was considered cognate with auctoritate; see Chilver (1950, 421). Elsewhere, however, Dio transliterates auctoritas directly into Greek, and claims that it is impossible to translate its semantics properly (55.3.4–5: “αὐκτώριτας...ἑλληνίσαι γὰρ αὐτὸ καθάπαξ ἀδύνατόν ἐστι.”). 71 Arendt (1977, esp. 121–122) makes a lot of use of this etymology in advancing her own theory of authoritarian power, which she precisely opposes to power effected through either persuasion or force; much of her argument seems to be founded on Mommsen (Staatsr. III.952; 1034; 1038–1039), and she incorrectly attributes auspicium to the same root (123) (see Ernout & Meillet, 1951). 72 Chilver summarizes and critiques chiefly Magdelain, Grant, and Siber. The criticism summarized here is developed on pages 425-26. 73 53.16.1: “τῷ γὰρ ἔργῳ καὶ πάντων καὶ διὰ παντὸς αὐτὸς ὁ Καῖσαρ, ἅτε καὶ τῶν χρηµάτων κυριεύων...καὶ τῶν στρατιωτῶν κρατῶν, αὐταρχήσειν ἔµελλε.” We should be very careful about attempting to formalize a term like auctoritas, one which in practice and definition was used to denote something that was fundamentally informal. As a marker of influence, auctoritas can only be properly understood within the bounds of a constitutionally ordered society; it is by definition the ability to influence people within the limits of such a system. It is likewise important to remember that auctoritas itself is a descriptive term, used to give shape to an individual’s influence around and over his citizen colleagues (as Augustus himself frames it). It is arguably something only visible in its effects; that is to say, it has no meaning or existence unless it is exercised, and, indeed, only becomes manifest in its exercise. This was how Cicero conceived of it during the Republic, when he suggested to the people that they had created for Pompey his auctoritas by their “great and outstanding judgments of him.” 74 We might return to the root of the word, augeo, which suggests that auctoritas represented the accretion of influence through past action and a record of success—as Chilver puts it, “honores and res gestae.” As such it may, indeed, be a useful term for describing the emperor’s capacity to effect his individual will—and Augustus certainly seems to use it as such—but we will wish to consider whether it had any a priori force in government, or whether it can only be used to describe action after the fact. More recently, Karl Galinsky has argued for the primary place of auctoritas as a structuring idea within the larger context of what he calls “Augustan culture.” This 65 74 Cic. Imp. Cn. Pomp. 43, “de quo homine vos, id quod maxime facit auctoritatem, tanta et tam praeclara iudicia fecistis,” discussed by Chilver (1950, 425). argument also finds its primary justification in the text of Res Gestae 34.3, yet while Galinsky similarly stresses the etymological connections to the name Augustus— together with the connotations with the concept of the auctor as one who both institutes and authorizes—he does not conceive of it as a fixed and static element that by itself authorizes Augustus’ supremacy within the state. While, as the Res Gestae seems to suggest, it may in some sense be said to transcend statutory power, he acknowledges, like Cicero and Chilver, the dialogical nature of auctoritas as designating something that “is not simply a given, but needs to be constantly reacquired and validated.” 75 Galinsky likewise admits that auctoritas, as an artifact of the cultural and intellectual sphere, stood in a complicated relationship with the more material elements buttressing Augustus’ position, including financial resources and military prestige: he observes, for example, how the expenditure of such resources in public benefactions was instrumental in augmenting his auctoritas. 76 It would be productive to reverse this formula and explore how auctoritas likewise provided the means for expressing or describing the less tangible results of such expenditure; that is, for denoting the immaterial benefit that accrued from public munificence. 77 66 75 Galinksy (1996, 12–23), citing also Hellegouarc’h (1972, 312): “...auctoritas presupposes the approbation and voluntary allegiance of those on whom it is exerted.” Gunderson (2000, 8), addressing auctoritas in the context of rhetorical performance, argues that “good manliness and performative authority are a mutually reinforcing dyad. The two require practice and iteration. Neither is given: they are performed and lived.” 76 Galinsky (1996, 376–378, 389). 77 In an interesting analogy, Hiebel (2009, 1–3) laments that the focus placed on the senatorial aristocracy in the world of Republican Rome by decades of prosopographical study has similarly reified the idea of auctoritas senatus, to the extent that the comitia have often been viewed as merely rubber-stamping the senate’s will. The reality, she argues, was a far more complicated and dialogical interaction between aristocrats and people. Auctoritas, then, if not a purely discursive phenomenon, is at least something that needs to be constantly (re-)performed. Such is the approach that Michèle Lowrie takes, focusing in particular on the role of re-iteration and re-enactment in promoting the representation of stability in which Augustus was engaged. Like Galinksy, Lowrie recognizes that auctoritas did not exist in a vacuum and required performance and validation from the community which it addressed, but she also returns to the Res Gestae in an interesting way, zeroing in on the role of writing itself in (re-)inscribing Augustus’ auctoritas into the Roman imagination—what she calls “the relationship of the representing mode to the power represented therein.” 78 While re-emphasizing for us the requirement that auctoritas be performed—and performed publicly 79 —Lowrie also implicates the recording of each and every performance in the process of the perpetuation of auctoritas. To some extent, the auctoritas school represented by Magdelain et al. embodies the logical conclusion of the relationship Lowrie exposes, since Augustus’ act of writing auctoritas into the Res Gestae perpetuated it so effectively that it was incarnated as the unifying explanation for his accomplishments. 80 Lowrie’s argument is analogous to a larger point I will make later in this chapter, concerning how the mechanisms outlined in section 2.v operated to institutionalize the 67 78 Lowrie (2009, 279–283). Such “re-inscription” is essential to auctoritas as I understand it; as Diamond (1996, 2) argues, “‘[r]e’ acknowledges the pre-existing discursive field...while…‘inscribe’...assert[s] the possibility of materializing something that exceeds our knowledge, that alters the shape of sites and imagines other as yet unsuspected modes of being.” 79 Lowrie (2009, 286). 80 Perhaps therefore also the proof of Galinsky’s (1996, 389) conclusion. power of the princeps, within the complicated matrix of statutory potestas and performed auctoritas. 81 Lowrie’s approach links performance back to the discursive approach to auctoritas which I outlined with regard to Chilver’s reservations, but it twists these reservations to the emperor’s advantage: by providing a terminology that accounts for the emperor’s transcendent activity within the existing governmental paradigm, auctoritas not only enables this activity to be expressed and understood, but renders into a discursive substance that can actually be used to justify future activity. This is arguably what the Res Gestae itself can be said to be doing, since, as Galinsky recognized, in it Augustus “was interpreting events more than describing them,” rendering them in a traditional language that accounted for the apparent contradictions of his innovatory position within the structure of government. 82 To say that auctoritas was mobilized in the explanation of imperial power, however, is not to say that it straightforwardly was the explanation for it, as Magdelain et al. would have us believe. Rather, that to whatever extent in can be said to have had this function, it must have been channelled through performance and the commemoration of performance, as both Galinsky and Lowrie observe. 68 81 As Lowrie (2009, 285) argues, “[p]otestas supplements auctoritas; it is the formality added to real power that makes what is real official…” 82 Galinsky (1996, 42–43, 48): “...events are not presented qua events, but are conceptualized and transformed into a paradigm that can be interpreted various ways.” Once more, see Roller (2009) on the centrality of such interpretation in establishing exemplary discourse, of which I have previously advanced the Res Gestae as a straightforward example. We should perhaps finish by emphasizing that whatever its precise meaning, auctoritas was, at least according to Cicero, an attribute specific to the senate. 83 We could therefore number the very idea of auctoritas amongst the benefits incumbent to the emperor’s performance as senator, since it was perhaps only as such that he could plausibly claim auctoritas as the backing for his actions (at least at the beginning of the Principate, before a separate auctoritas principis could be said to have emerged). Augustus himself seems to acknowledge such an idea in the Res Gestae, since, when he claims he “stood before all others in auctoritas, while possessing no more potestas than anyone else” (34.3), he must be understood to be comparing himself to other senators. Only magistrates possessed potestas, and all magistrates were senators; auctoritas, meanwhile, was an aristocratic attribute, cultivated through rhetorical education and accreted by the exercise of magisterial potestas. 84 No-one else in Roman society could reasonably be said to be possessed of the potestas and auctoritas against which Augustus’ were to be measured. This comparison, therefore, which has become so central to the discussion of Augustus’ constitutional position in particular, and which forms a discursive structure for communicating the activity of the emperor, is one rooted firmly in his identity as senator. 69 83 De Leg. 3.28: “cum potestas in populo auctoritas in senatu sit.” Galinsky (1996, 15) suggests that Augustus attempted to reconfigure this relationship, such that potestas now lay with the senate and auctoritas with the emperor himself, and that, just as the senate had once influenced the people to use its potestas properly in service of the res publica, now the emperor would perform the same role for the senate. 84 Gunderson (2000, 7–8) on auctoritas as the goal of rhetorical training and performance. Lowrie (2009, 285) for how how potestas buttresses auctoritas. v. Records and their circulation Given the importance of senatorial documents—specifically the senatus consulta reflected in surviving inscriptions and the acta senatus used as primary sources by literary authors—for the arguments that follow in this chapter, it is critical to give some space to examining the means and history of their production, storage, and publication, as well as to present the arguments for their use by the authors in this fashion. The circumstances and mechanisms of these processes reveal something about how the emperor’s visibility and participation were communicated, what aspects were considered important and to whom, and speak to a powerfully forward-looking, documentary self-consciousness on the part of the emperors. Indeed, their intervention in, attention to, or manipulation of the documentary practices inherent to the senate reveal something of the strategy of visibility and publicity which we are trying to access. The traditional operations of the senate generally ended in the output of senatus consulta, which were both their decisions and the texts that recorded them, usually containing details such as who had presented the issue to the senate (in the form of a relatio) and what opinions (sententiae) had been offered on the matter. There therefore existed within the senate mechanisms for the recording and publication of the governance that took place there, which, I will argue later in this chapter, embodied another peculiar benefit of this space for the performance of the imperial persona. 85 70 85 For the processes of redaction, see Sherk (1969, 7–8). Augustus himself saw fit to intervene in these mechanisms of redaction and archiving, which suggests that he was to some extent cognizant of the important role such documents could play in perpetuating the Principate. It was traditional for the texts of senatus consulta to be archived in the aerarium Saturni and its annex the Tabularium, most probably recorded on wooden boards that were bound together into codices organized according to month; 86 indeed, it seems decrees were not reckoned to have had any dispositive force until they were deposited there. 87 In 11BCE, Augustus discontinued the parallel practice whereby tribunes of the plebs or aediles had registered second copies of senatus consulta in the Temple of Ceres (a policy presumably rooted in the struggle between the orders that had marked the early Republic), turning the task of redaction over to the quaestors exclusively and making the aerarium Saturni the sole official archive; Cassius Dio claims that this was because the tribunes and aediles had been discharging their duty through assistants, resulting in errors and disorder (“τις ἐκ τούτου καὶ διαµαρτία καὶ ταραχὴ ἐγένετο”). 88 71 86 On the archiving of SCC in the aerarium, see Sherk (1969, 8–9), citing in particular an SC from 68CE (ILS 5947, II.2–4): “descriptum et recognitium ex codice ansato L. Helvi Agrippae procons., quem protulit Cn. Egnatius/Fuscus scriba quaestorius, in quo scriptum fuit ita quod infra scriptum est, tabula VƆVII/et VIII et X.” Also Corbier (1974, 674–675). The official terminology for this process appears to have been “in tabulas publicas referre” (Plut. Cat. min. 17; Jos. AJ 14.10.10). Corbier (1974, 678) that such tabulae seem to be depicted on the Anaglyph of Trajan. 87 Their deposition in the archives does seem to have been considered necessary for them to have executive force; see Coudry (1994, 66–7), citing Cic. Phil. 5.12, Tac. Ann. 3.51, Dio 57.20.4, and especially Suet. Div. Aug. 94.3, where in 63BCE an SC is neutralized by being kept from reaching the aerarium. 88 Dio 54.36.1. For the practice of storing documents in the Temple of Ceres, see Liv. 3.55.13, Zon. 7.15, Sherk (1969, 9), and Coudry (1994, 67). See also Talbert (1984, 308) with citations to Reynolds, Aphrodisias and Rome, no. 8, lines 1–3, with discussion 65–66. A similar concern seems to be evinced in Augustus’ regulation of the Sibylline books in 18BCE, which restricted their copying to the personal attention of priests; Dio (54.17.2) claims this was intended to limit who could consult the books, which had by this time become “ἐξίτηλα.” Likewise, under Tiberius a group of senators was elected to make fresh copy of the public records that were becoming illegible. 89 These officials commanded what appears to have been a separate staff that existed at the aerarium for the purpose of managing the archives of public documents (as opposed to the financial records related to the treasury also contained there). 90 Obviously the reduction in the number of archives was meant to exert a stricter control on the text of decrees, but it is also enabled tighter control of their dissemination. 91 The separate archive in the Temple of Ceres had not only threatened the legitimacy and authenticity of state documents (through textual divergences introduced by malice or carelessness), 92 but had also symbolized an ideology that citizens should have access to these documents. Its closure marked a significant shift in governmental policy, away from a practice of public information; from now on there would only be one legitimate exemplar of every senatus consultum produced, archived by senatorial magistrates in a single location. Significantly, the tighter control over these documents coincides with the progressive tendency for senatus consulta to assume the force of law under the empire, and eventually take over from comitial leges as the primary instruments of public policy. 93 Their regulation must 72 89 Dio 57.16.2–3. The Senatus consultum de Cn. Pisone patre also famously includes a subscriptio from Tiberius calling for the document’s deposition in the tabulae publicae (lines 175–176). 90 See Jones (1949, 38–55), and now Corbier (1974) for a prosopographical survey of managers of the aerarium, with pp. 676–677 for the distinction between the two staffs. 91 Moatti (2003) argues that such central archives by their very nature aid in the control of documents. 92 Cato the Younger had evidently complained of officials introducing changes to legislation before their archiving (Plut. Cat. Min. 17; Coudry (1994, 71)). Crawford (1996, vol. 1 26) notes that Suet. Jul. 28.2 suggests that leges stored in the aerarium might be corrected even after their deposition there. 93 For this process see Sherk (1969, 5), Brunt (1984, 428) and Levick (1976, 102) be understood as a critical part of this process, and one that had as much of an effect on history as it did on public law. Augustus similarly put an end to the circulation of the acta senatus, a journal detailing the proceedings of meetings of the senate, and this policy would appear to have been maintained throughout the Principate. 94 The acta differed significantly from senatus consulta, which only showed the result of a meeting together with certain formulaic details; they represented a much more detailed procedural record, which “permitted one to follow with precision the progress of meetings, to know the variety of opinions expressed, the tenor of debates, in short to unveil the work of the assembly, in its possible meanderings, and the personality of its members.” 95 The publication of these documents had first been instituted by Julius Caesar, as consul in 59BCE. Suetonius records that his first act upon taking office was to establish “that the daily acta of the senate should be written up and made public (confierent et publicarentur), like those of the people.” 96 This act suited Caesar’s populist platform, and it was most likely aimed at exposing to a wider audience the forms of senatorial politicking that 73 94 Suet. Div. Aug. 36.1. For a summary of what is known about the acta senatus, including their form and recording, see A. O’Brien Moore (o.c., 770–771), Talbert (1984, 308–23), Bats (1994), and Coudry (1994, 71–94); I follow the Talbert and Coudry most closely for details. For the maintenance of policy, see Baldwin (1979, 194), citing a letter of Fronto (ad. M. Caes. II: “hunc, nisi ita laudo ut laudatio mea non in actis senatus abstrusa lateat, sed in manibus oculisque versetur”). 95 Coudry (1994, 81). For a similar characterization, see Moatti (1997, 207–8). Matthews (2010, 68 n. 33), however, seems certain that the acta only recorded official spoken utterances (e.g. sententiae), and not interjections or incidental details (such as the affect of speakers or listeners); he does not offer his rationale or evidence for this opinion. 96 Jul. 20.1: “inito honore primus omnium instituit ut tam senatus quam populi diurna acta confierent et publicarentur.” Baldwin (1979, 189–90 & n.5) takes the primus as meaning that Caesar was the first to publish the acta, rather than that this was the first act of his consulship. until this time had left no mark the public record, hidden as they were within the walls of the Curia. Caesar himself had only recently been a victim of such behavior, when Cato filibustered his request to be allowed to enter the city and participate in the consular elections of 60BCE without forfeiting his imperium and right to a triumph. Such tactics were not recorded in the public documents emanating from the senate, and, presumably, his aim in publishing the acta senatus was to discourage resistance or obfuscation during his year in the executive branch of government. 97 Where before only the relatores and witnesses to legislation would become a matter of public knowledge, now every step in the process, every sententia for or against a relatio, would be available for anyone outside the senatorial order to observe, every contribution attributed by name to its author. Such a specific publicity had the potential to restrict the freedom of meetings; 98 in the future, if a senator were inclined to block Caesar’s bills, he would perhaps feel coerced to reconsider by the exposure to public opinion of every detail of senatorial meetings. The form of the acta senatus and the method of their compilation are largely a matter of conjecture. Caesar’s publication of them can be seen as a constitutive moment in their history, which is to say that from 59BCE onwards the term acta senatus came to signify the detailed record of the proceedings of the senate, which, presumably, were now compiled by and emanated from a central apparatus. Cicero had set something of a 74 97 Coudry (1994, 85). See also Baldwin (1979, 191). 98 Moatti (1997, 207–8). precedent for them in 63BCE, when he had the interrogation of the Allobroges before the senate recorded and published in support of the action he took against the followers of Catiline. 99 He proved the senate was capable of producing such a record when required, although the precise mechanism that was subsequently used, and exactly how it was organized, is still uncertain. Most likely, the acta senatus represented an official version constituted from (what had been up to this point) the private records of individual senators, and specifically the consuls. They would originally have been assisted by friends amongst the order in keeping a record of their activities in office, but, following Caesar’s edict, it is not unlikely that some personnel became more officially assigned to this activity. Certainly, later in the Principate we hear of individuals designated in the specific role of ab actis, and it has been assumed that they were, at the very least, made responsible for ordering an official account from the various records made at each meeting. Likewise, we do not know precisely what form their publication at this time took; we only have Suetonius’ straightforward but somewhat vague statement, which merely suggests that this record was made available in some fashion to the public. The verb publicare is used by Latin authors to designate the publishing of works of letters, presumably involving copying and circulation, but it also has a more general sense of placing something on public display, 100 hence it is unclear whether the acta were 75 99 See Cic. Pro Sull. 41–2. 100 Publishing literature: Plin. Ep. 1.1.1 “ut epistulas … colligerem publicaremque”; cf. Stat. Silv. 4.pr, Plin. Nat. pr. 6. Public display: Suet. Aug. 43.4 “id … quolibet loco publicare, ut rhinocerotem apud Saepta”; cf. Nero 21.2. actually circulated as a journal or just posted in a particular place. Caesar was certainly quite proficient in circulating information within the city when he wanted to; later in his life, as dictator, he would have libelli sent around the tribes, informing them how they should vote in upcoming elections. 101 Although the continuous redaction, copying, and circulation of acta senatus in this fashion may have been impractical, it nevertheless suggests that such an approach would have theoretically been possible. It is significant that Augustus did not stop the practice of generating the acta senatus, just circulating them publicly, and that Suetonius indicates both the original practice and its prohibition with the verb publicare (Div. Aug. 36.1: “ne acta senatus publicaretur”). Suetonius is silent as to the motive for either event, but Coudry suggests that their suppression may have been part of Augustus’ general program of enhancing the prestige of the senate, alleviating its members of the burden of the public eye that may otherwise have transfixed proceedings. 102 The acta senatus seem to have remained open to consultation, however, as Suetonius and Tacitus both demonstrate a familiarity with their archives. 103 John Matthews has used a close reading of a passage from Tacitus’ Annals (1.11–15, comprising the meeting de re publica discussed in section 5.i 76 101 Suet. Jul. 41, discussed by Moatti (2007, 225–6), who argues this practice marked the constitution of a particularly centralized and authoritarian interaction with the electorate. 102 Baldwin (1979, 191); Coudry (1994, 86). 103 Talbert (1984, 326–334) presents a systematic—and convincing—argument that Tacitus draws heavily on the acta senatus, even if he doesn’t always acknowledge it as he seems to at Ann. 15.74; Syme (1958a, 278–286) likewise concluded that the acta constituted the primary source for at least the first hexad of Tacitus’ Annales (an argument recapitulated in Syme 1982, 68-82). Barnes (1998, 135–144) progressively dismantles most of the reservations and oppositions presented to Syme’s position, particularly those of Momigliano. Talbert (o.c.. 324–25) presents the occasions in Suetonius where he claims to know details of senatorial proceedings or imperial orationes, which, if he can be believed, would most logically derive from the acta. below) in order to demonstrate how much of his material may be drawn from the acta senatus; in particular, he makes a productive distinction between the official utterances made by participants and the historian’s characterization or analysis thereof. 104 Taking a broader approach, Peter DeRousse has recently completed a systematic survey of source citations in the Annals which shows a strong statistical incidence of citations of what he classes as “documentary” sources—“decrees, roughly half of all letters, acta and so forth”—within senatorial narratives in particular. 105 He takes this as an indication that for these sections of the work, and markedly less so for non-senatorial narratives, Tacitus was supplementing prior literary accounts with information from his personal consultation of such documents—acta included. Indeed, in a letter to Tacitus, Pliny seems to assume that the historian was capable of accessing these documents. 106 Open is, of course, a relative word, and, like the senatus consulta, limiting the circulation of the acta senatus would have made it easier to keep a check on who was actually consulting them; indeed, it is quite likely they were stored with the decrees in 77 104 Matthews (2010, 63–67) divides the passage into two columns, separating what he calls the “speech acts” and other details that may have been in the acta from Tacitus’ commentary. Barnes (1998, 135; 142) makes a similar distinction, characterizing the acta as “a control and corrective to his narrative sources.” DeRousse (2012) notes that Tacitus warns us in his proem that he doesn’t trust the accounts of contemporary authors (Ann. 1.1: ‘Tiberii Gaique et Claudii ac Neronis res florentibus ipsis ob metum falsae, postquam occiderant recentibus odiis compositae sunt“). 105 DeRousse (2012): “Decrees account for 87% of all sources cited within senatorial narratives in Ann. I–IV , 88% in XI–XII, and 84% in XIII–XVI. This reflects consistency in his research.” The correlation is apparently sufficient to pass the requirements of a statistical Chi-square test, confirming that “there is just a miniscule chance of there being no correspondence between these two variables.” Matthews (2010, 61) notes a similar correlation—that periods of silence in Tacitus match periods when business was transferred from the senate—but without the hard numbers. DeRousse adds that “decrees and letters that were read into the minutes...account for 2/3 (65%) of all sources cited” by Tacitus. 106 Plin. Ep. 7.3.3: “demonstro ergo quamquam diligentiam tuam fugere non possit, cum sit in publicis actis” I am grateful to Peter DeRousse for drawing this reference to my attention. the aerarium Saturni. 107 Regardless, all official senatorial records appear to have been centrally maintained and managed in our period, which means that their consumption, if not completely restricted, could still be surveilled, and perhaps even limited. Certainly, Tacitus and Suetonius were not just anybody, the former a senator and consular, the latter an imperial secretary. 108 The freedom with which lesser individuals could access the acta senatus remains an open question. A further measure of the appreciation for publications of this type is shown by the apparent persistence of the acta diurna populi, that mysterious ‘gazette’ adduced by Suetonius as the model for Caesar’s popular acta senatus (Div. Jul. 20.1: “ut tam senatus quam populi diurna acta confierent et publicarentur”). Much like the latter, the form and publication of the acta diurna remains a matter of some debate, although it has recently been argued that the diurna should be construed as meaning they were a record of events organized by the day they occurred, rather than implying a daily schedule of publication. 109 Regardless, they seem to have remained a source for events in the city, and appear to have been used as such by Pliny, Suetonius, Cassius Dio, and 78 107 So Corbier (1974, 682) and DeRousse (2012). Woodman and Martin (1996, 114–115) present the worthy point that any documents contained here could potentially have been damaged or destroyed in the conflagration on the Capitoline in 69CE (Suet. Vesp. 8.5 refers specifically to the loss of SCC inscribed on bronze), which would limit their worth to a historian of Tacitus’ time. I believe, however, that the collective arguments of Matthews, DeRousse, Talbert, Syme, and Barnes are too compelling to ignore. 108 While conceding that both authors may have used the acta senatus, Moatti (2003) argues for Suetonius’ unusual privileges in this regard, and, again, that a central archive by its very nature allows for a tighter control on access to documents. DeRousse (pers. comm.), however, advocates that such archives exist to be used. Corbier (1974, 682) believes the archives at the aerarium “pouvaient être librement consultées par le sénat,” and further notes the most sensitive documents soon came to be stored on the Palatine—what Suet. Cal. 49 refers to as “secreta.” 109 Coudry (1994). Tacitus (although the latter expresses some distaste for their content), and likewise by Asconius, an author who, as far as we know, did not possess any official credentials equal to these others. 110 Significantly, we are not told that Augustus made any move to suppress this form of public record, and the references in later authors would seem to confirm that it continued in its regular operation; it has been argued that this was because the emperors found it easier to manipulate the acta diurna than they would the acta senatus 111 (which, in order to be a serviceable record, required the kind of accuracy that Augustus may have wished to avoid receiving public reportage). Certainly Caesar himself—the institutor of the acta senatus—seems to have been aware of the advantages available in the acta diurna for disseminating political information: we are told by Cassius Dio that he caused his refusal of the title of king to be included there (44.11.3). Since this was a controversial issue within his own lifetime, and there was therefore strategic value in communicating this event to the people, it seems fair to suggest that, whatever the means and mode of their publication, the acta diurna were made available in a somewhat timely capacity. Indeed, Cicero seems to have made use of them in order to stay current with events in the city during his exile. 112 79 110 Plin. NH 7.60; Suet. Tib. 5; Cal. 8.2, 36.2; Claud. 41.3; Dio 44.11.3, 57.12.2, 60.33.1, 57.23.2, 57.21.5, 67.11.3; Tac. Ann. 3.3.4, 12.24.11, 13.31.1, 16.22.6. See Baldwin (1979, 195–7) for summary and discussion. Asconius claims to have consulted them in preparing his commentary on Cicero’s Pro Milone during the reign of Claudius: “ultra relatum in actis illo die nihil” (44); “at ex actis eius anni cognovi” (47); “sunt autem contionati eo die, ut ex actis apparet, C. Sallustius et Q. Pompeius” (49). In each case it would seem he is referring to the acta diurna, and not the acta senatus. 111 Baldwin (1979, 194); Coudry (1994); Levick (2010, 132–133). 112 Baldwin (1979, 192–3), who cites all the occasions where acta are referred to among Cicero’s letters, including ad. Att. 3.8.3 and ad. fam. 12.23.2. We will explore the relationship of these logistics to an actual senatus consultum in more detail in section 4.i, but for now it should suffice to emphasize how they were systems endemic to the senate and the way government was accomplished through it. In both its institutional history and the innovations of Julius Caesar, there were pre- existing structures for producing records of the emperor’s activity in the senate, records that could communicate his performances to a wider audience—including to posterity, if those records were later consulted, cited, reproduced or excerpted. While Augustus’ changes to the management of senatus consulta and acta senatus represented a far more secretive—and arguably, less democratic—policy than either Caesar’s or the system before him, the role of such documents in defining the history of the Principate—as principal sources for the practice of Roman historiography—should already begin to suggest itself. vi. Structures for absence Frequently choice or circumstance would cause the emperor to be absent from meetings of the senate; the effects this had on the senate’s ability to conduct business is better explored emperor by emperor, but it is should be noted here that certain traditions and systems were installed relatively early in order to negotiate these absences. This essentially constituted the emperor’s right to transact with the senate by letter, through which he could make relationes, offer sententiae, or even interpose his veto; such a right is reflected in Clause III of the lex de imperio Vespasiani, and can be witnessed in 80 its exercise across the literary sources. 113 More specifically, it seems it was quite commonplace for the emperor’s family members—particularly his young heirs—to read his letters in these cases. We are told that the young Germanicus would occasionally read in Augustus’ place (Dio 56.26.2), and when Tiberius was overcome with emotion at the meeting regarding Augustus’ funeral in 14CE, his son Drusus took over the reading of both his speech and Augustus’ testamentary documents (Suet. Tib. 23.1, Dio 56.33.1–3). The practice obviously gave heirs the opportunity to speak in a conspicuous locus among the senate (much as Augustus had done in his youth), and ensured that the reflected auctoritas of the emperor’s words were kept within the imperial family. 114 When no family member was available, the task would appear to have fallen to a quaestor. Suetonius records a particular instance of the latter practice in 2CE, when Augustus was so ashamed by the disgrace of his daughter Julia that he had abstained from attending the meeting where it was announced (Div. Aug. 65.2, “de filia absens ac libello per quaestorem recitato notum senatui fecit”). The use of quaestors in this fashion led to the institution of the practice of designating two such magistrates each year as assistants to the emperor—presumably justified by his possession of consular imperium 115 —as what have generally come to be called the quaestores Augusti or quaestores Caesaris. Some of the immediate benefits 81 113 E.g. when Tiberius requested an SC passed that Macro be allowed to accompany him in the senate (Tac. Ann. 6.15; Dio 58.18.5–6), when the senate referred the question of checking vice to him (Tac. Ann. 3.53), and when he corrected an SC concerning a new Sibylline book (Tac. Ann. 6.12). 114 RG 1.2, discussed above. Cf. Cic. Phil. 5.46. 115 Cébeillac (1972, 6). are obvious: besides the efficiency of having such agents designated ahead of time, this practice effectively controlled who would enjoy the prestige of reciting the emperor’s letters, while keeping individuals who received this honor to one year terms that were (at least nominally) elected. This practice seems to have been quite straightforwardly pursued throughout our period and, indeed, into the later Roman empire. 116 Some close attention to the evidence for it, however, and in particular to the mark it leaves upon the official record is illuminating for both how practice was commemorated and what effect this could be said to have on memory, history, and the role of the princeps. Indeed, while scholars have tended to naturalize this position as a regular feature of the early Principate, the truth is that the quaestores Augusti leave very little mark on the official or historiographical record; that is, no state inscription records an oratio as being delivered per quaestorem, and the authors we possess who are believed to have consulted the senatus consulta and acta senatus—Tacitus, Suetonius, Pliny, Cassius Dio—do not make regular, if any, mention of this position. 117 For the reign of Augustus, we can only reconstruct two incidents where a quaestor spoke for the emperor, and both are anecdotal: the occasion in 2CE related by Suetonius, and another 82 116 Talbert (1984, 167), Harries (1988, 153), and Jones (LRE, 104) all treat the practice quite matter-of- factly, putting particular stock in statements made by Ulpian much later in the Digest (1.13.1.2: “hi [quaestores] etenim solis libris principalibus in senatu legendis vacant”; 12.13.1.4: “quique epistulas eius [principis] in senatu legunt.”). Although they do not acknowledge the impressive body of inscriptional evidence for the position assembled by Cébeillac (1972), it strongly supports their general assertions. 117 Indeed, Cébeillac (1972, 6–7) can cite only Suet. Div. Aug. 65.2, together with Suet. Vit. 1 (itself based on an honorific source, like the inscriptions she proceeds to address), Tac. Ann. 16.27 (regarding the reign of Nero), Plin. Epist. 7.16.2, and the Ulpian passages (Dig. 1.13.1.2; 2.13.1.4). Talbert (1984, 167 n. 40) begins with Ulpian, but adds Dio 54.25.5, 60.2.2, and HA, Hadr. 3.1. in 13BCE when, according to Dio, Augustus was too hoarse to deliver his address. 118 Both authors seem to present these occurrences as the exception rather than the rule, and do not speak to something like a regular practice. In fact, the primary evidence for the quaestores Augusti are the honorific inscriptions regarding senators who held the honor of this distinction. What appears to be the earliest of these comes from Delphi, from the sanctuary of the Athenian Treasury, and concerns one Cn. Lentulus Augur, consul of 18BCE and a member of the consilium principis: Ἁ πόλις τῶν Δελφῶν Γναῖον Λέντλον, Γναίου υἱόν Γναίου νἱωνόν [sic], ταµίαν Αὐτοκρὰ- τορος Καίσαρος Θεοῦ υἱοῦ Ἀπόλλωνι Πυθίωι. The polis of Delphi [commend] Cnaeus Lentulus, son of Cnaeus grandson of Cnaeus, quaestor of Imperator Caesar Divi Filius, to Pythian Apollo. Fouilles de Delphes, III, 1, 528, p. 348. (= Cébeillac, I) Cébeillac adduces seven such inscriptions for the reign of Augustus alone, which by themselves offer not only interesting prosopographical evidence, but also show (and are datable by) the evolution of the terms for their position, which progress from ταµίαν Αὐτοκράτορος Καίσάρος or q. Imp. Caesaris Aug. to ταµίαν Καίσαρος Σεβαστοῦ and 83 118 54.25.5: συναγαγὼν δὲ ἐκ τούτου τὸ βουλευτήριον αὐτὸς µὲν οὐδὲν εἶπεν ὑπὸ βράγχου, τὸ δὲ δὴ βιβλίον τῷ ταµίᾳ ἀναγνῶναι δοὺς τά τε πεπραγµένα οἱ κατηριθµήσατο, καὶ διέταξε τά τε ἔτη ὅσα οἱ πολῖται στρατεύσοιντο, καὶ τὰ χρήµατα ὅσα παυσάµενοι τῆς στρατείασ, ἀντὶ τῆς χώρας ἣν ἀεί ποτε ἤτουν, λήψοιντο, ὅπως ἐπὶ ῥητοῖς ἐκεῖθεν ἤδη καταλεγόµενοι µηδὲν τούτων γε ἕνεκα νεωτερίζωσιν. Cf. Suet. Div. Aug. 84.2 for Augustus’ use of a praeco to address the people when his throat was sore. q. divi Augustus as the emperor’s own nomenclature progresses. 119 It is worth noting that in their variability they suggest that there lacked an official or accepted designation for this position, and that appropriate terms were adapted to meet the descriptive requirements of any particular situation. Tacitus, in his single reference to the position, similarly indicates it with “quaestor eius” (16.27, under the reign of Nero), choosing pragmatic clarity over narrow terminology. What is apparent from this evidence is that it is largely the quaestores Augusti themselves who are responsible for the commemoration of this position, and perhaps even for its coalescing into an honorific as much as a practical role. Even Pliny—one of our only literary sources for the practice—is simply recalling his own tenure in the position, which he held together with his friend Tiro (Epist. 7.16.2, “simul quaestores Caesaris fuimus”). Suetonius, Tacitus, and Cassius Dio, meanwhile, seem always to present the practice of using a quaestor in this way as an exception, rather than the rule. This is significant, because it means that the position is only consistently preserved by the men with a personal interest in doing so, and that, conversely, it would appear either to have been occluded in the official record (perhaps out of a strategic interest) or by the predilection of our literary sources. The former explanation would imply that Augustus and his successors saw some value in either limiting or suppressing the visible activity of the quaestores Augusti, suggesting that the emperor’s physical presence at meetings was to be preferred, and his absence, if possible, to be effaced. 84 119 Cébeillac (1972, 11-25, summarized in a table on pp. 22–23). See Galinsky (1996) for the influence of the emperor’s own inscriptions on the tendency for notables to list all positions held in this fashion. The latter, on the other hand, suggests that our sources either considered it too obvious or immaterial to remark that a quaestor was reading the letter: what mattered were the emperor’s words themselves. Regardless of when this intervention in this historical record took place, it would seem that the words of the emperor—such as were recited by the quaestores Augusti—came to be considered as his, their mediation through the persons of others elided, and their recitation perhaps even reckoned to be tantamount to his actual presence in the space where they were spoken. 120 vii. Structures in action: September, 14CE The days following the death of Augustus at Nola provide a specific example of how all of these structuring features—space, transactional powers, logistics, and even absence —could be made to function together in the emperor’s interest. According to the literary sources, this was a time of some uncertainty and anxiety: Dio claims that Livia was concerned that there would be an uprising if the death was announced while Tiberius was still away preparing his campaign to Illyricum (56.31.1), while Suetonius reports that Augustus himself was worried there would be public disturbances (Div. Aug. 99.1). 121 We are told by Tacitus that “cheerful reports” were circulated until Tiberius made it to Nola, at which point one “fama” reported both “that Augustus had died and that Tiberius was the master of all things” (Ann. 1.5.4: “ laetique interdum nuntii 85 120 See Millar (1977, 203–6) for a picture of the importance of oratory to the position of emperor. 121 On the latter see Fraschetti (1994, 51). vulgabantur, donec provisis quae tempus monebat simul excessisse Augustum et rerum potiri Neronem fama eadem tulit”). Distance from the capital afforded the opportunity for this manipulation of information, although we should not assume that the latter announcement, even with its echo of Res Gestae 34.1 (“per consensum universorum potens rerum omnium”), was sufficient to secure Tiberius’ station. Tacitus also tells us that there was some speculation that Germanicus would oppose Tiberius’ accession, and that, given his pedigree, popularity, and military resources, he was himself in a strong position to make a play for control of the empire (thus implying that Tiberius was not truly potitus rerum). 122 New civil war could have seemed like a very real possibility, and, indeed, several of the legions in Germany and Illyricum actually revolted in 15CE (Suet. Tib. 25.1). It is worth emphasizing again that Augustus was not in Rome when he died, and that his colleague and heir was not even in Italy: Augustus had been on a tour of Campania, Tiberius preparing for a campaign in Illyricum (Suet. Aug. 97.3–98.5, Tib. 21.1). Rome would have had to rely on reports and rumor, and there may therefore be some truth to the picture Tacitus paints of Livia’s control of information. Certainly, there is a marked uncertainty among our sources about the precise details of Augustus’ passing, an uncertainty no doubt created by the obfuscation and misinformation that 86 122 Tac. Ann. 1.7.6: “causa praecipua ex formidine, ne Germanicus, in cuius manu tot legiones, immensa sociorum auxilia, mirus apud populum favor, habere imperium quam exspectare mallet.” Tacitus’ hindsight may be augmented by his knowledge of the events of 68–69CE, where, as he himself observes, it was revealed that an emperor could be made elsewhere than at Rome (Hist. 1.4.2). Since he calls this an arcanum imperii, it may not have been so evident in 14CE. Dio similarly claims that Tiberius was scared of Germanicus at this time (57.4.1). Levick (1976, 148), however, argues that it was in Germanicus’ best interest to support and preserve the status quo. Suetonius claims that the death was kept secret until Agrippa Postumus had first been dispatched (Tib. 22.1). surrounded it. 123 The body was conveyed from Nola to Rome with some ceremony: it was carried by municipal magistrates, travelled only by night, and was displayed in the basilicae or similar public buildings of the major settlements along the route. The journey of some 139.5 miles, even if it kept to the major routes of the Via Popilia and Via Appia, cannot have taken less than 6 days, and probably required substantially longer. 124 The body was likewise carried by night from Bovillae into the city of Rome itself by members of the equestrian order, and then secreted in the vestibule of Augustus’ house on the Palatine (Aug. 100.2; cf. Dio 56.31.2). We are not told that any great spectacle was made of its arrival and so it is difficult to know how public knowledge of it may have been, but between its arrival under the cover of night and its 87 123 E.g. whether or not Tiberius and Augustus spoke before he died: Dio 56.31.1 and Tac. Ann. 1.5.3 both register some uncertainty in this regard, while Suet. Div. Aug. 98.5 seems quite assured that they did. Cf. Tac. Ann. 1.5.1, where it could be suggested that it was the lack of solid information that led to speculation as to whether Augustus was poisoned or died by natural causes. 124 The primary account is in Suetonius (Div. Aug. 100.1–2). Distance based on the Barrington Atlas, map 44: ‘Latium-Campania.’ Casson (1994, 189) estimates the average speed of foot traffic on Roman roads at 15–20 miles a day. Since we are told the cortege travelled by night and, it must be assumed, was carrying Augustus’ body on a litter of some kind, we should assume the rate of progress was comparatively low, and that the journey is likely to have taken a week or longer. According to Suet. (Div. Aug. 100.1), Augustus died on August 19; he is corroborated by Dio (56.30.5) and the inscriptional record: Fasti Ostiens., Amit., Antiat. minist., Inscr. Ital., XIII, i, 185; ii, 191 and 208 (= Ehrenberg & Jones pp. 40; 50). For discussion of the chronology, see Levick (1976, 48–50 & n. 1). If Sage (1982/3, 306) is correct to suggest a date of September 4 for the meeting de honoribus that was held the day after the body’s arrival in Rome, the journey may thus have taken up to 2 weeks. Matthews (2010, 59) argues for a minimum of 11 days, based on the list of municipia at which Tacitus claims the cortege stopped. Casson (194–196) cites Hor. Sat. 1.5 for an anecdotal description of travel on the Via Appia in the reign of Augustus. deposition in a private space, it may not be unreasonable to suggest that secrecy was favored over visibility at this stage. 125 The very next day, Tiberius convened the senate by means of an edict: 126 nam Tiberius cuncta per consules incipiebat, tamquam vetere re publica et ambiguus imperandi. ne edictum quidem, quo patres in curiam vocabat, nisi tribuniciae potestatis praescriptione posuit sub Augusto acceptae. verba edicti fuere pauca et sensu permodesto: de honoribus parentis consulturum, neque absecedere a corpore idque unum ex publicis muneribus usurpare. For Tiberius initiated everything through the consuls, as if the old Republic were still in existence and he was uncertain about ruling. Even the edict by which he called the senators to the Curia was placed under the praescriptio of the tribunician power he had received under Augustus. The words of the edict were few and quite modest in their intent: he was to consult them concerning the honors due his father, and he would not leave the body except to take over this one matter alone from among the public affairs. Tac. Ann. 1.7.3–4 The edict had several functions: the most basic would of have course have been to summon the senators to the Curia for the meeting in question, but it also broadcast more generally the very fact this meeting was being summoned, that Tiberius was doing so by virtue of his legally endowed tribunicia potestas, and that he himself was keeping 88 125 On the contrast between the body’s visibility in Rome vs. in the municipalities, see Fraschetti (1994, 81), who likewise (78; 52–55, 63, 74) adduces Augustus’ meticulous plans for his own funeral (Dio 56.33.1, Suet. Div. Aug. 101.6) as evidence that all the events surrounding it were carefully stage- managed. Sumi (2005, 254) expresses surprise that Augustus’ body was displayed in his home, rather than on the rostrum like those of Agrippa and Octavia had been; I surmise that he has not given proper consideration to the state of the corpse after its passage through Italy in mid-August. 126 Dio (56.31.2) gives the timeframe, such as it is available (see note above). If the Augustan policy instituted in 9BCE of holding two regular meetings every month was still in force (Dio 55.3.1-2, Suet. Aug. 35.3), then the need for the edict might suggest this was an exceptional meeting (so Matthews 2010, 59). Even if we are dealing with a regular meeting, it would mean that the edict summoning it was likely even more performative than it was functional. company with Augustus’ corpse. 127 If we consider the edict as a performative utterance, it can be understood as aimed at producing effects beyond calling a meeting of the senate, such as constructing Tiberius as both loyal son and functional holder of transactional prerogatives. 128 While we cannot know exactly by what means and how widely the edict was circulated, to produce the most basic effect of summoning the senators themselves it must have been reached a reasonable dispersed area within the city; it is likely that it was read aloud by a crier (praeco) as well as posted in written form, but we do not know the extent to which a regular apparatus had been established for these practices. 129 Moreover, the edict that followed the meeting, to which we will turn momentarily, was specifically aimed at the general populace, and so some mechanism for broadcasting such utterances quite widely must have been in existence (we might compare Julius Caesar’s logistics for publishing the acta senatus). 130 Finally, it is worth noting that Tacitus himself seems here to intimate that he has consulted the 89 127 Presumably at this stage the ius consulendi senatum afforded him under the umbrella of tribunicia potestas, and not the exceptional right of same that would become part of the block grant of imperium to which the lex de imperio Vespasiani testifies (CIL VI, 930 = ILS 244, clause II), even though Tiberius is listed as a precedent for same. See Fraschetti (1994, 82) on the problem of pollution that Tiberius’ proximity to the corpse created and from which he was absolved by senatorial decree (Dio 56.31.3); for the present study, it is more relevant what his public acknowledgment of this pollution communicated to the public sphere than how or why he had to be cleansed of it. 128 An example of the collapse of the constative and performative functions of the utterance, as discussed by Habinek (1998, 8–9), since for the people—who were not the parties being summoned—its text would be purely descriptive, and yet at the same time have this potential strategic function. 129 Millar (1977, 252–259) discusses the limits of our knowledge regarding edicts. For the activity of the praeco, see Mommsen Staatsr. I.363–366 and Hinard (1976). 130 Suetonius’ anecdote that Augustus would recommend works of literature to the populus via edict (Div. Aug. 89.2) would also suggest that there existed a mechanism for reaching them by this method, and that, indeed, it was the preferred method of communicating with the masses (vs. direct address to the senate); on this, see chapter 3.2.ii. edict in question, since he makes specific reference both to its praescriptio and to its actual wording. 131 If these details can be understood in this fashion, it would suggest that a copy of the edict was archived somewhere so as to be available for later consultation. According to Cassius Dio, the meeting would have made for quite the spectacle: all the senators came dressed in equestrian garb, except for the magistrates, who wore senatorial costume minus the latusclavus, and Tiberius and his son Drusus, who were dressed in dark clothing “made for use in the forum” (τὸν ἀγοραῖον τρόπον πεποιηµένην, 56.31.2–3). 132 If true, we can use these details to elaborate the basic picture of senatorial attendance outlined in section 2.ii: a convocation of the city’s notables towards its center, all dressed similarly and yet at the same time atypically, and the procession of Tiberius and Drusus in their striking garb down from the Palatine, perhaps accompanied by the Vestal virgins (who we are told delivered Augustus’ will to the meeting), through the Forum to the Curia. 133 It is unclear whether Tiberius was preceded by the lictors to which he was presumably entitled by his grant of equal imperium in 13CE, but both Tacitus and Suetonius suggest he was surrounded by an armed guard of some description, even within the Curia itself. 134 90 131 Tiberius’ citation of his tribunicia potestas is attested with equal confidence by Suet. (Tib. 23.1: “iure autem tribuniciae potestatis coacto senatu…”). 132 Possibly the tunica pulla, on which see Sumi (2005, 228) and Heskel (1994, 134–35); cf. Swan (2004, ad loc.). 133 Tac. Ann. 1.7.3 states clearly that the edict summoned senators to the Curia on this occasion. Dio 56.32.1a, Tac. Ann. 1.8.1, and Suet. 101.1 for the Vestals’ attendance. The Vestals were likely accompanied by their own lictors (Plut. Numa 10.3); see Beard (1980, 17). 134 Tac. Ann. 1.7.5 and Suet. Tib. 24.1, discussed at greater length in section 4.ii. Such, then, was the sight greeting citizens on the morning after their emperor’s body arrived in Rome; a spectacle that mingled the public and private sphere by rendering Augustus’ death a matter of public mourning, 135 but which at the same time established a visual hierarchy whereby the greater claim to grief was allocated to his heirs alone. Indeed, we should emphasize the stratification suggested by the three levels of dress among the attendees: while they were united in their membership of the senatorial order and involvement in the honors owed to Augustus, rank was to a certain degree still preserved. Presumably the magistrates were likewise still accompanied by their own lictors to the meeting, an indicator that could always signal to the public that official business was taking place. Following the meeting we are told that Tiberius issued a second edict, this one aimed at the people specifically, admonishing them not to cause a disturbance as they did at the funeral of Julius Caesar; 136 this would imply that a mechanism did exist for publishing edicts widely enough to have some kind of effect on the general populace of Rome. 137 If we can assume from all this that the first edict likewise advertised the meeting of the senate to more than just the immediate parties concerned, we can once again remark on how the senate could be used to make governmental process visible on 91 135 Again, Fraschetti (1994, 91). 136 Tac. Ann. 1.8.5, discussed by Fraschetti (1994, 52–55; 63). Tiberius issued a similar edict following the death of Germanicus in 19CE (Ann. 3.6.1), which Seager (2005, 92) argues likewise called for restraint from the people. In both cases, Tacitus uses the phrase “edicto monuit.” See Fraschetti (1994, 84–85). 137 We might again compare Julius Caesar’s public circulation of the acta senatus (Suet. Div. Jul. 20.1), and likewise of electoral recommendations (ibid. 41). See, again, Moatti (2007, 225–6). a wider scale, since its mechanisms served to draw attention to the fact that governance was in fact occurring. This would be further confirmed by the official senatus consultum and by the event of the funeral itself, which in both Tacitus and Dio follows immediately. 138 While we possess a lot of detail concerning what happened in the meeting de honoribus, we do not even need those details to make some immediate observations about how this process may have functioned (indeed, it is quite unlikely that such details would immediately have been a matter of public record). What can be said here is that, by presenting to the public sphere a clear sequence of edict–meeting– edict–funeral, the activity of Tiberius and the senate following the death of Augustus modeled government in action, using interpretable signs, visual cues, and textual explanation, and resulting in concrete effects (e.g. the funeral itself). This emphasized both that government was continuing in the wake of Augustus’ death and, in particular, the new tradition of government as instituted by him, from which the population had drawn security and reassurance. 139 As we have seen, this function implicated all of the structuring features of the emperor’s senatorial persona, in a process that was aimed beyond the senate itself, both at the larger populace and, as Tacitus’ citation of the edict and his account of the meeting itself testifies, at posterity itself. Whether or not this 92 138 Tac. Ann. (1.8.6) and Dio (56.34.1). Dio includes several references to an SC resulting from this meeting: 56.34.4, 56.35.1, 56.42.3, and 56.43.1 (the latter 3 appear in his version of Tiberius’ laudatio for Augustus). 139 As such, it embodies a method for negotiating moments of dynastic succession by emphasizing the continuity of the state, much as the political ideology of The King’ s Two Bodies would in medieval times; see Kantorowicz (1957). For the Romans, this particular moment appealed to the symbolic capital available in the long tradition of Republican institutions as a surety for the future of the state; see Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 45-47) and Moatti (2009) (cited in section 1). constituted a systematic and strategic response to the understandable uncertainty caused by Augustus’ death, we can nevertheless see how such action taken within the physical and symbolic fields of senatorial government could function to buttress the stability of the Principate at this time. 3. A survey of appearances Before analyzing the three emperors individually, we can make some larger observations about the frequency of their attendance at senatorial meetings: Emperor Total attested meetings No. of times presence explicitly attested + no. of times presence can be reasonably assumed % Augustus 98 27 76 78 Tiberius 178 64 94 53 Gaius 29 6 15 52 The table above represents a summary of data from the Appendix, which constitutes an attempt to list chronologically all of the meetings of the senate for which we possess evidence. The Appendix was compiled through a thorough survey of the literary, epigraphical, and legal sources that attest to meetings in our period. 140 In the case of the 93 140 Principally Tacitus, Cassius Dio, Suetonius, and Velleius Paterculus, supplemented by the following inscriptions: Res Gestae; Sherk TDGR 4.97, 4.102, 6.11, 6.35, 6.36; CIL VI. 32272; Inscr. Ital. X. 1. no. 64; SC de Cn. Pisone Patre. In examining the legal sources, I have followed Talbert’s (1984, 438–443) list of SCC attested therein, but I have personally consulted every reference to check if explicit mention is made of the emperor’s presence in each case. I am quite indebted to his list in general, both as a check on my own reading and for his interpretation of certain passages. I do believe, however, that he has erred in one item (no. 27), where Pliny, NH 33.32 must surely only indicate the passage of a single SC concerning equestrian rings (that which Talbert lists as item no. 28), while the subject of popinae simply supplies Galba’s motive for its passage. latter two categories, the existence of a particular senatus consultum is assumed always to have been preceded by a meeting where it was passed. Where letters are attested from an emperor to the senate, I have as a general principle also assumed this would require a meeting at which they were read. 141 Therefore, when Tiberius is reported to have commended the senate on the passage of a particular decree, I have understood this to indicate that two meetings occurred: one for the initial passage of the decree and a subsequent one for the reading of his commendation. 142 An explicit attestation is any case where the relevant emperor’s presence is recorded at a meeting, either by an author or in the text of a decree itself; as I have argued in the introduction, and will argue later in this chapter, the truth value of such attestations may be less relevant than the fact a given emperor was remembered to have been present. Thus when authors claim to quote the emperor speaking verbatim in the senate this is taken to indicate a meeting at which he was present; however, as these instances are often anecdotal in nature (especially in Suetonius), they cannot be dated with any accuracy, and are therefore placed at the end of each section of the Appendix. 143 Occasionally Suetonius claims to cite an oratio in an instance when the emperor cannot have been present to deliver it (on the significance of this, see section 7). 144 The third column of the table represents the total number of explicit attestations 94 141 I.e. every letter is understood to have been treated like Tiberius’ letter to the senate condemning Sejanus (Dio 58.9.2–10.5). 142 E.g. in the case of the decision to pay the Praetorians from public treasury in 32CE (Dio 58.18.3). 143 E.g. the quotes from Suet. Tib. 28.1–29.1. 144 The letter from Tiberius condemning Sejanus is called an oratio (Tib. 65.1). Cf 67.3–4. combined with those instances where it seems most reasonable to conjecture that the emperor was present, i.e. meetings of the senate in periods when the emperor was known to be in Rome and in the general practice of attending meetings (e.g. Augustus 13BCE–13CE; Tiberius 14CE–20CE, 22-26CE). In several cases, we are told explicitly that the emperor did not attend, 145 but that cannot be taken to mean he was always present when no mention of his absence is made. Thus while this category must remain somewhat imprecise, it appears the most responsible way of accounting for such uncertainty. A further uncertainty is exactly how many days each matter before the senate consumed. In some cases the sources are explicit that an affair (especially maiestas trials, which represent their own category of senatorial business) was dealt with over multiple days (e.g. the trial of Cn. Piso), 146 but in general the literary authors are not terribly rigorous and tend to organize business by transaction rather than by date. In some cases they list multiple items that could conceivably have been transacted on the same day or over many days, 147 and in others cases they offer summaries of general 95 145 E.g. in 25BCE when an SC was passed regarding a treaty with Mytilene (Sherk TDGR 4.97, col. b lines 36–43 & col. c lines 1–8). 146 Tac. Ann. 3.13.1 claims that 2 days were to be allowed for the prosecution followed by a 6 day gap and then 3 for the defense, this presumably in addition to the first meeting where he was indicted. The trial went ahead even after Piso’s suicide, but it is unclear how much of the original allotment of days was used. Barnes (1998, 131) believes it “occupied at least eleven days, probably more.” DeRousse (2012) presents a demonstration of how Tacitus’ account of the trial of M. Scribonius Libo Drusus in 16CE (Ann. 2.27.1ff) shows it to have taken place over 4 days. 147 E.g. the embassies from Greek cities Tacitus lists (Ann. 3.61–63; 4.43) business that are too vague to tabulate. 148 The texts of senatus consulta and their citation in the jurists, likewise, most often do not reflect this kind of information. 149 Therefore, in the table above “meeting” should be understood to indicate an individual item of business, rather than one meeting that took place on a single day. It should likewise be added that many of the actions attested in an emperor’s reign were likely accomplished through the mechanisms of the senate, even when no meeting is explicitly attested. 150 We are told, for example, that Augustus had the senate meet twice a month throughout his reign, and that it may have met more frequently under Tiberius, 151 and yet Tacitus explicitly acknowledges that he does not report every meeting that occurred, only those “remarkable for their nobility or of memorable turpitude.” 152 Moreover, the fact that Frontinus attests to six separate decrees from the year 11BCE alone, concerning the relatively mundane business of the maintenance of aqueducts, should begin to suggest how poor our record—both for decrees and for 96 148 Eg. the sequence of trials in Dio 58.14–15, the prosecutions surrounding Albucilla in Tac. Ann. 6.48, and the summaries of business from Tac. Ann. 4.13 and Suet. Tib. 37.1–3. 149 Perhaps, therefore, offering proof of the deeper detail available to the authors in the acta senatus, as outlined in section 2.v. One notable exception is the Tabula Siarensis (=Sherk, TDGR 6.36), which attests to at least two meetings in its generation (on which see Nicolet, 1988). 150 See Brunt (1984), supported by the types of catalogues provided by Tac. Ann. 4.13 and Suet. Tib. 37.1–3 for which I cannot account. In the case of certain business, such as the decreeing of triumphs or ovations, I have assumed that a meeting must have occurred, but otherwise have erred on the side of caution. 151 Augustus instituted the schedule in 9BCE (Dio 55.3.1–2). In 33CE, Tiberius instructed the senate to meet as often as necessary (Dio 58.21.2). Both events are discussed in greater detail in sections 4 and 5, respectively. 152 Tac. Ann. 3.65. meetings—really is. 153 Nevertheless, while the nature of the sources necessitates a degree of imprecision, the emperor’s presence tabulated against such individual meetings as can be reconstructed should still be quite probative. 4. Augustus i. General comments As we saw in the introduction to this chapter, Augustus himself commemorated the senate’s participation in his government in the text of the Res Gestae, placing them in a relationship to the princeps that would alternately mandate and celebrate his action on behalf of the res publica. The respect paid to the senate in this inscription is reflected in what we can reconstruct of Augustus’ policies and habits, and the general impression with which we are left is that, when in Rome, he would attend meetings of the senate quite assiduously (reflected in the 78% attendance rate which it was possible to reconstruct in section 3). 154 In 9BCE Augustus enacted sweeping overhauls in senatorial procedure: he reduced the frequency of meetings to twice a month, fixed on 97 153 Frontin. Aq. 100–101; 104; 106; 108; 125; 127 (= Ehrenberg & Jones, Documents, 278). As Talbert (1984) notes, Frontinus’ citation of a lex (Aq. 129) from the same year could indicate a further SC preceding it. Similarly, the passage of any lex in our period, e.g. the Lex Papia Poppaea (Dio 56.10.3), could have been preceded by a senate meeting at which the rogatio was formulated, but I have chosen not to make this assumption. 154 There is a lacuna in Dio’s text at 55.34.1, which picks up with Augustus’ habit of giving his opinion last during debates just prior to the report of the change in his habits in or around 8CE, when age and infirmity forced a reduction in his attendance (“…µέντοι καὶ ἐν τοῖς πρώτοις ἀλλ' ἐν τοῖς ὑστάτοις ἀπεφαίνετο”). As Swan (2004, ad loc) observes, however, the “τότε δὲ” with which that passage begins (55.34.2) establishes an antithetical relationship to whatever preceded it, and it is therefore reasonable to assume that Dio had made some kind of positive assertion as to Augustus’ general attendance which is now lost. Indeed, the LCL translator (Swan) restores “It had been Augustus’ practice hitherto to attend all the meetings of the senate” in the opening of this section. the Kalends and Ides, and instituted new quorums for different types of decrees. 155 As a goad to attendance, he forbade courts and other public meetings to convene on those days, increased the fines for unexcused absence, and had the names of the current senators inscribed and posted publicly. 156 While Dio is clear in his opinion that these measures were all designed to address a continuing problem in senators failing to attend meetings, 157 many of them also contributed to the ritualization of the Kalends and Ides as senate days: not only would these be established—in law and in practice—as the days on which the senate met, but the cancellation of other business on those days and the compulsion for all senators to attend—combined with their public identification as senators, now reflected in writing as well as the latusclavus—would add to the pragmatics of the ceremony. Through the progressive organization and regularization of practice as outlined in section 2.ii, citizens could come to know that everything was occurring according to custom and habit. The arrangements may also have precluded meetings being called by other magistrates unexpectedly or when Augustus was unavailable. 98 155 Dio 55.3.1-2, who is unfortunately vague about what these different types of decrees might have constituted. Suet. Aug. 35.3 adds that he required only a quorum to attend in the months of September and October. In 11BCE in the face of dropping attendance Augustus had actually eliminated the standing requirement for a quorum to be present in order for SCC to be passed (Dio 54.35.1). In 6CE a quorum was maintained during a famine (55.26.2). Dio is our best—and, in many respects, only—source for much of what follows, and beneath his account there always lurks the danger of anachronism; Millar (1967), however, has shown how dependable Dio can actually be for arrangements in the Augustan period, especially since his text is in better repair here than for other periods (although for a rehabilitation of his epitomators, see Brunt 1980). 156 Dio 55.3.2–3: “τά τε ὀνόµατα συµπάντων τῶν βουλευόντων ἐς λεύκωµα ἀναγράψας ἐξέθηκε·” He had increased the fines previously in 17BCE (54.18.3). 157 Dio 55.3.4: “ταῦτα µὲν ἐπὶ τῇ τῆς συµφοιτήσεως αὐτῶν ἀνάγκῃ ἔπραξεν·” Dio claims that the quorum was counted precisely and continuously, except on occasions when Augustus himself was present; this is remarkable, because it suggests that the requirement for a quorum was waived if he was in attendance and desired to get things done. 158 The apparent contradiction between rule and practice is, of course, a hallmark of the Augustan Principate, but, if true, it speaks to both his raw pragmatism and suggests another means by which the emperor’s presence could come to accrue further practical and symbolic capital. Also of interest is the procedures instituted for when a quorum was lacking: “the senators would proceed with their deliberations and their decision would be recorded, though it would not go into effect as if regularly passed, but instead, their action was what termed auctoritas, the purpose of which was to make known their will.” 159 Dio adds that the resulting document could later be ratified when a quorum was present; writing therefore served two purposes, both to 99 158 Dio 55.3.4: “πλὴν γὰρ ὅτι ὁσάκις ἂν αὐτὸς ὁ αὐτοκράτωρ παρῇ, ἔν γε ταῖς ἄλλαις ἡµέραις ἐς πάντα ὀλίγου τὸ τῶν ἀθροιζοµένων πλῆθος καὶ τότε καὶ µετὰ ταῦτα ἀκριβῶς ἐξητάζετο.” It should be noted that Dio uses the neutral autokrator, rather than Augustus’ name specifically here, which could therefore presumably mean this is a general statement regarding all of the emperors, or even suggest another element of the lex de senatu habendo. As Swan (2004, 54) notes, however, there is evidence in inscriptions from the Tiberian period of attendance being counted even when the emperor himself was present (e.g. SCPP 173). 159 Dio 55.3.4–5: “ἐβουλεύοντο µὲν καὶ ἥ γε γνώµη συνεγράφετο, οὐ µέντοι καὶ τέλος τι ὡς κεκυρωµένη ἐλάµβανεν, ἀλλὰ αὐκτώριτας ἐγίγνετο, ὅπως φανερὸν τὸ βούληµα αὐτῶν ᾖ.” While “γνώµη” is traditionally cognate with sententia, and thus denotes something closer to ‘opinion’ rather than anything approaching an official, binding decision, it must here reflect the consensus reached by the senators who were in attendance, and thus imply a ruling—however unofficial—on a particular issue. If Dio is correct to refer to what resulted as an auctoritas, it is clearly a different use of the word from that examined in section 2.iv. In this case its referent is a written document recording the opinion of a meeting of the senate (elsewhere he calls it an “ἐπίκλησις,” see following note), which is not what Augustus was referring to in RG 34.3, nor Magdelain (1947) in his influential study Auctoritas Principis. Swan (2004, 54) avers that this is the only example of its transliteration in existence. According to Sherk (1969, 5), this was also the term for an SC that had been vetoed, which would similarly have recorded the senate’s will without having any legal force. There is therefore a continuous identification of the term in this context with the idea of will or decision, but in Augustus’ case it seems to have been used—both by himself and Magdelain’s school—to describe the ability to have such will or decisions effected. record the senators’ opinion and to enable a more efficient transaction later on, when the auctoritas could presumably simply have been read aloud and a discessio called. 160 What he does not say directly, but which follows logically from the rest of the arrangements, is that this must constitute a procedure for times when the emperor was also absent, since quorum was not counted when he attended. This effectively prevented an interested minority from producing dispositive decrees when the emperor or his partisans were not around to control proceedings or interpose a veto. The senate had actually proved capable of reaching decisions and instituting policy in periods when Augustus was abroad, such as the decree from the period 16– 14BCE which provided for members of the vigintivirate to be elected from the equestrian order. 161 Augustus would often, however, overrule certain decrees of the senate that pertained to his honors, such as those it voted him upon his return to the city in 13BCE. 162 On the occasion of his election as pontifex maximus in 12BCE, he stormed out of the meeting because the senators insisted on adding further honors; Dio claims that as a result of this “the measure therefore failed.” 163 While, therefore, it had previously been possible for the senate to take a vote in the emperor’s absence, it seems it was impossible for them to do so in a case where he had made his displeasure so 100 160 Dio 55.3.6: “καὶ αὐτῇ µετὰ ταῦτα καὶ ἡ κύρωσις κατὰ τὰ πάτρια ἐπήγετο καὶ ἡ ἐπίκλησις ἡ τοῦ δόγµατος ἐπεφέρετο.” 161 Dio (54.26.5) is not more exact about the date, but he does record a similar decree passed in his absence (54.26.7) which addressed a deficiency in tribunes by arranging for their election by lot from among ex-quaestors under the age of forty. 162 Dio 54.25.2–3. Tiberius had presided over the meeting in question as consul. On this general subject, see chapter 2.5.i. 163 54.27.2–3: “καὶ ἐγκειµένων οἱ ἐξανέστη τε καὶ ἐξῆλθεν ἐκ τοῦ συνεδρίου. ὄυτε ἐκεῖνα ἔτ’ ἐκυρώθη...” visibly apparent. Augustus’ exit could also be understood to indicate that if a bill was passed in his presence, even over his objection, it could still be imputed that he had ultimately consented; departure was the only way to extricate himself, qua senator, from the appearance of consensus. 164 A particular incident from Dio is worthy of note, since it would appear to form the basis for Augustus’ practices later in life and, indeed, for the procedure in certain cases under Tiberius. In 6CE it was discovered that the empire’s revenues were proving insufficient to pay the legions that guaranteed its stability (not to mention the emperor’s position). In that year Augustus created the aerarium militare, seeding it with a large donation in his and Tiberius’ name, and pledging to supplement it every year (Dio 55.25.1–3). Although he invited subject kings and communities to pay into its coffers, it still did not meet the needs of the army, and so a new solution was sought: προσέταξε τοῖς βουλευταῖς ζητῆσαι πόρους ἰδίᾳ καὶ καθ' ἑαυτὸν ἕκαστον, καὶ τούτους ἐς βιβλία γράψαντας δοῦναί οἱ διασκέψασθαι, οὐχ ὅτι οὐκ ἐπενόει τινά, ἀλλ' ὅπως ὅτι µάλιστα αὐτοὺς πείσῃ ὃν ἐβούλετο ἑλέσθαι. ἀµέλει ἄλλων ἄλλα ἐσηγησαµένων ἐκείνων µὲν οὐδὲν ἐδοκίµασε, τὴν δ' εἰκοστὴν τῶν τε κλήρων καὶ τῶν δωρεῶν, ἃς ἂν οἱ τελευτῶντές τισι πλὴν τῶν πάνυ συγγενῶν ἢ καὶ πενήτων καταλείπωσι, κατεστήσατο, ὡς καὶ ἐν τοῖς τοῦ Καίσαρος ὑποµνήµασι τὸ τέλος τοῦτο γεγραµµένον εὑρών· ...he ordered each one of the senators to seek out sources of revenue, each independently of the others, to commit their findings to writing, and give the resulting documents to him to consider. This was not because he had no plan of his own, but as the most certain means of persuading them to choose the plan he preferred. At all events, when different men had proposed different schemes, he approved none of them, but established the tax of five per cent on the inheritances and bequests which should be left by people at their death to any 101 164 In something of an inversion of Maecenas’ sentiment in Dio 52.32.1 that people will come to believe decisions to be their own if they are allowed to consult on them. except very near relatives or very poor persons, representing that he had found this tax set down in Caesar’s memoranda. Dio 55.25.4–5 (trans. adapted from Cary) Dio’s narrative makes the strategic benefits of consulting in this manner on what was evidently a touchy issue quite clear: it enabled Augustus to move forward with his own plan while projecting a performance of consultation with the leading men. In addition to his citation of Julius Caesar, he could present the decision—which placed the onus of funding the military on private inheritances (a tax known as the vicesima hereditatium) —as having been taken with the senate, thus communicating that it was a rational decision whilst also spreading the blame. 165 Thus Augustus was able to redeem the value of the senate as outlined by Maecenas—that his decisions would appear “to be free from all dispute or uncertainty in the eyes of the people” (52.31.2: “ἀναµφίλογα καὶ διάδηλα πᾶσιν ἅµα γίγνοιτο”)—without permitting actual deliberation or dissent from the senators. 166 This incident is further illuminated by the resumption of the issue in 13CE, at which point Augustus, because of his age, had ceased attending the senate so regularly. By this point more apt to take decisions with the consultation of the consilium principis, and communicate with the senate itself by letter or proxy. Given these circumstances, it 102 165 Swan (2004, 196–197) offers a concise bibliography on the vicesima hereditatium. See Nicolet (1980, 184–185) for the terms of senatorial resistance to this tax, Millar (1964, 153) and Swan (2004, 296) for Dio’s particular interest in it given the reforms of Caracalla (77.9.4–5). 166 At Dio 52.33.4, Maecenas also counsels soliciting opinions by this method (“ἐς γραµµατεῖα γραφοµένας”) so that senators will feel better able to speak freely (“παρρησιάζεσθαι”; see chapter 3) rather than have to follow the opinion of their senior colleagues. While it seems clear that in this matter Dio doesn’t believe that Augustus was really interested in their opinions, if the idea that the senate in general would vote in this way, then making a public show of soliciting opinions in such a ‘liberating’ format could also add value to the final decision. seems that much more remarkable that he had used written communication in 6CE, at which point he was still in the custom of running senatorial meetings according to the traditional form. According to Dio, by 13CE public dissatisfaction with the vicesima had grown sufficiently that a revolt seemed likely, and so Augustus ordered the senate in writing (the word again is biblion) to find another way to pay the army. Dio is specific that Augustus’ aim in this was to continue in his current policy while deflecting the blame for it onto the senators, intending that “when no other method should seem to them better, they should ratify the measure [i.e., the vicesima as it stood], reluctantly though it might be, without bringing any censure on him.” 167 While he does not say precisely that a new decree on the subject was produced, it follows from his strategic intent that the results of the meeting were meant to be published in some form, in order to communicate to the population at large that their leaders had been unable to find a better alternative. Dio claims that Augustus even forbade Germanicus and Drusus(2) from offering their sententiae on the matter, in case the senate, thinking that they spoke for him, should immediately follow their opinions; what he wanted was a genuine debate followed by the ratification of the status quo. 168 When the senators didn’t perform as he wanted—some of them going so far as to send their opinions to him in 103 167 Dio 56.28.4 (trans. Cary): “ ἐπεί τε ἐπὶ τῇ εἰκοστῇ πάντες ὡς εἰπεῖν ἐβαρύνοντο καὶ ἐδόκει τι νεώτερον ἔσεσθαι, ἔπεµψε βιβλίον ἐς τὴν βουλήν, κελεύων ἄλλους τινὰς αὐτὴν πόρους ἐπιζητῆσαι. τοῦτο δὲ οὐχ ὡς καὶ ἐκεῖνο τὸ τέλος καταλύσων ἐποίησεν, ἀλλ' ἵνα µηδενὸς ἄλλου αἱρετωτέρου σφίσι φανέντος καὶ ἄκοντες αὐτὸ ἄνευ τῆς ἑαυτοῦ διαβολῆς βεβαιώσωσι.” 168 Dio 56.28.5: “καὶ ὅπως γε µὴ τοῦ Γερµανικοῦ τοῦ τε Δρούσου γνώµην τινὰ εἰπόντων ὑποτοπήσωσί τε ἐκ τῆς αὐτοῦ ἐντολῆς τοῦτο γεγονέναι καὶ ἀνεξέταστον αὐτὴν ἕλωνται, προσέταξε µηδέτερον αὐτῶν µηδὲν εἰπεῖν.” As Dio says, he wanted the senators to speak on the matter. Tiberius would play the army off against the senate in a similar fashion when negotiating with them in 14–15CE (Tac. Ann. 1.25). yet more biblia—he was forced to threaten them with a direct tax on their country estates in order to secure the public ratification of the vicesima that he desired. 169 Talbert—who, it will be recalled, pointed out the pragmatic redundancy of the senate’s existence—has observed that the emperor’s attendance, even as privatus, perhaps only “gained value” if he actually participated in whatever debate was at hand, and this is perhaps reflected in the policy of not counting attendance in Augustus’ absence. 170 To perform the role of a senator was to participate in its mechanisms of governments—“to encourage necessary action in the senate,” as Fronto put it—and thus opportunities for such were to be reserved for when the emperor could enjoy them. As we have seen, the bulk of statutory rights accrued by Augustus, for all of their impersonal reflection in the lex de imperio Vespasiani, were precisely prerogatives to engage with and participate with the senate. Augustus would go on to commemorate that one of the first honors he ever received was the right to deliver his sententia among the consulars (RG 1.2), and Tiberius would later commend him in his laudatio for having done so regularly, in addition to participating in discessiones and referring business to the senate (Dio 56.41.3), although Dio also claims that he was apt to do so last, in order to allow senators the chance to offer their opinions independently (55.34.1). If he was presiding over a meeting by dint of his magisterial powers Augustus would be responsible for organizing the process of interrogatio, and 104 169 See Swan (2004, 297) for the debate on whether this was an idle threat or a very real attempt by Augustus to increase state revenues even further. 170 Talbert (1984, 184). Suetonius claims that on occasions when he did so he was apt to call on senators to speak out of order; although this practice could be said to reinforce his position as leader of the senate, and likewise prove his participation in meetings, Suetonius states that it was specifically aimed at securing the genuine participation of other senators. 171 Such interest and commitment cannot have been without purpose. Galinksy, for instance, has suggested that Augustus was actively attempting to revitalize senatorial agency in governing the res publica equitably. 172 Certainly, in terms of the function of his presence and participation on an immediate basis, Augustus’ senatorial activity could be said to aim at galvanizing them to action and, likewise, at making the senatorial order feel honored and useful. By attending regularly and encouraging genuine participation according to traditional form, Augustus gave senators a continuing purpose and prestige within his principate and, even as he reinforced their own status, made it in their interest to support his own. In this spirit, perhaps, Suetonius records that he was tolerant of objections and interruptions when he was speaking in the senate. 173 Suetonius also tells us that, despite being gifted at extemporary speaking, Augustus would invariably address the senate by reading from a prepared text (Aug. 105 171 Aug. 35.4: “sententias de maiore negotio non more atque ordine sed prout libuisset perrogabat, ut perinde quisque animum intenderet ac si censendum magis quam adsentiendum esset.” Corroborated by Dio 54.15.6, who claims Augustus only called on ex-consuls out of order. 172 Galinsky (1996), presumably at least in part inspired by Suetonius, who outlines the new positions Augustus created in order that “plures partem administrandae rei publicae caperent” (Aug. 37.1). 173 Suet. Aug. 54.1. As Talbert (1984, 172) notes, however, disagreement with Augustus seems to have been rare. 84.1). This suggests a careful management of the form his participation would take. It also, presumably, made it much easier for a surrogate to deliver his relationes and sententiae on his behalf, and would further have made the archiving or publication of his orationes much more straightforward. 174 Suggestively, we have observed that one such instance when a quaestor addressed the senate on Augustus’ behalf occurred when he was too ashamed by his daughter’s disgrace to face them (Aug. 65.2). These practices indicate a certain wariness regarding the public sphere; obviously Parker’s theory of “the Paradox of the Gaze” is here implicated—especially in the Julia incident —but it is also worth remembering that the senate was specifically a part of the sphere of public letters: what was said and done there would be remembered, either in gossip, personal commentarii, the acta senatus, or senatus consulta themselves. 175 I would suggest that Augustus’ care over his own words is as much a manifestation of a historical consciousness as it is a concern for his contemporary reception. ii. A procedural record Having outlined the spatial and legal relationships structuring encounters between the emperor and the senate, and exposed to some degree the complexity—if not outright contradiction 176 —of the senate’s continued existence and operation under the 106 174 The tabula Siarensis (frag. II col. b. 10–19) calls for the public inscription of libelli from which Tiberius and Drusus had read in senatu in 19CE (on which, see section 5.ii below). 175 Parker (1999, 167), addressed in the Introduction. 176 Galinsky (1996) identifies their persistence as one of the contradictions that have become characteristic of our interactions with the Augustan principate. Principate, it will be helpful to turn more fully to the sphere of public letters, and examine in some detail what may be our best account for the procedure of senatorial meetings under the reign of Augustus. Since this account comes in the form of an inscription—commonly known as the Fifth Cyrene Edict—it will also serve to illustrate how the emperor’s presence in such situations was made visible to a broader audience of his subjects, and thus how the logistics examined in section 2.v could work to offer a continuing benefit to Augustus and his regime. As we shall see, this document echoes the respect for the senate shown by the Res Gestae, evokes a similar tension between their continuing role and the existence of the emperor, and, in the detail it provides, elucidates many features of Augustus’ relationship with that body in greater depth. 177 The last of the so-called Edicts of Cyrene, a collection of five epigraphical documents unearthed there in the early twentieth century, constitutes the text of a senatus consultum, prefaced by a letter from Augustus himself which explains why he has sent the decree to the provinces. The original communiqué on which the inscription is based can be dated to the first half of 4BCE, and the opening lines are worth quoting in full: Αὐτοκράτωρ Καῖσαρ Σεβαστὸς ἀρχιερεὺς µέγιστος δηµαρχικῆς ἐξουσίας vvv ΙΘ vacat λέγει· vacat Δόγµα συνκλήτου τὸ ἐπὶ Γαίου Καλουισίου καὶ Λευκίου Πασσιήνου ὑπάτων κυρωθὲν ἐµοῦ παρόντος καὶ συν- 75 ἐπιγραφοµένου, ἀνῆκον δὲ εἰς τὴν τῶν τοῦ δήµου τοῦ Ῥωµαίων συµµάχων ἀσφάληαν, ἵνα πᾶσιν ᾖ γνωστόν, 107 177 De Visscher (1940, 1) suggests that the inscription rivals the Res Gestae in terms of the insight it— and the rest of the Edicts from Cyrene—give us into Augustus’ reign. So, too, Sherk (1969, 177–78). ὦν κηδόµεθα, πέµπειν εἰς τὰς ἐπαρχήας διέγνων καὶ τῶι ἐµῶι προγράµµατι ὑποτάσσειν, ἐξ οὗ δῆλον ἔσται πᾶσιν τοῖς τὰς ἐπαρχήας κατοικιοῦσιν, ὅσην φροντίδα ποιούµε- 80 θα ἐγώ τε καὶ ἡ σύνκλητος τοῦ µηδένα τῶν ἡµῖν ὑποτασο- µένων παρὰ τὸ προσῆκόν τι πάσχιν ἥ εἰσπράτεσθαι. vacat Δόγµα συνκλήτου vacat Ὑπὲρ ὧν Γάιος Καλουίσιος Σαβεῖνος Λεύκιος Πασσιῆ νος Ῥοῦφος ὕπατοι λόγους ἐποιήσαντο περὶ ὧν 85 Αὐτoκράτωρ Καῖσαρ Σεβαστός, ἡγεµὼν ἡµέτερις, ἐκ ξυµβουλίου γνώµης, ὃ ἐκ τῆς συνκλήτου κληρωτόν ἔσχεν, ἀνενεχθῆναι δι’ ἡµῶν πρὸς τὴν βουλὴν ἠθέλησεν, ἀνηκόντων ἐς τὴν τῶν συµµάχων τοῦ δήµου τοῦ Ῥωµαίων ἀσφάλειαν, ἔδο ξε τῆι βουλῆι· 90 Imperator Caesar Augustus, pontifex maximus, tribunician power for the nineteenth time, says: The senatus consultum which was passed when C. Calvisius and L. Passienus were consuls with me present and joining in the signature, and which pertains to the security of the allies of the Roman People, in order that it be known to all in our care, I decided to send to the provinces and to append to my covering letter. From this it will be clear to all those who inhabit the provinces, how much care myself and the Senate take that none of our subjects unduly suffer any wrong or execution. Senatus Consultum On the subject which C. Calvisius Sabinus, L. Passienus Rufus, consuls, set forth, which Imperator Caesar Augustus, our princeps, on the basis of an opinion of an advisory council which he obtained by lot from the Senate, wished to be presented through us to the Senate, inasmuch as it pertains to the security of the allies of the Roman People, the Senate decreed: 178 The resolution that follows details at length a new process by which provincials could pursue matters de repetundiis, so as to alleviate the burdens of travel and expenditure as a barrier to their receiving justice. The inscription was recovered from the agora at 108 178 SEG IX 8; FIRA I 68; Oliver, Greek Constitutions 12. Cited here: lines 72-90, translation adapted from Oliver. He translates the λέγει in line 93 as “says with authority,” presumably in order to communicate the peculiar (or even ritualized) force of the dicit that would have stood there in the Latin version. I have altered that in order to prevent confusion with the idea of auctoritas, but “says” does not quite do justice to the verb dico. Cyrene, and, unlike the edicts themselves (which seem to have been composed in Greek), the text of the senatus consultum has been translated from an original in Latin; steps had therefore been taken in order that the local population should be able to comprehend the substance of the document. 179 While, admittedly, the relative literacy of the provincial population was probably quite low (and is also quite difficult to quantify), 180 the very fact that it was translated implies that this document was intended to be read, that its particular text was understood to possess some meaning or value. Indeed, since it was by no means regular practice that all senatus consulta be published and circulated, even at Rome, 181 its transmission and posting in Cyrene suggests there was something remarkable about the bill, and certainly some motivation behind its extrication from the shadows of the public archives. In his influential monograph Ancient Literacy, William Harris reminds us that when evaluating writing we should be aware of its “usefulness to [both] the writer and to the reader”—that is, what value the act of committing words to text had to both the producer and the audience for that text. As he further observes, the ability of writing to extend words across time, to repeat the verbal act over and over, must be made a central 109 179 See Sherk (1969, 13–19) for the remarkable consistency apparent in the translations of senatus consulta into Greek, suggesting the actions of an official state apparatus in their preparation. He observes that the translators will often risk obscurity in the Greek in order to preserve the proper Latin formulae. Ando (2010, 26–31) confronts the difficulties presented by the admixture of a Latin bureaucracy and the need to use Greek to communicate its artifacts to the subjects they concerned; care thus had to be taken not to ‘translate’ too much. 180 Harris (1989) comes to the conclusion that general literacy, even under the Principate, was extremely low, but see the comments of Cornell (1991). Moatti (2007) suggests that the general suffusion of written culture in the Roman world must be taken to indicate a society where writing mattered a great deal, although Harris himself seems somewhat to have anticipated this argument (o.c., 14). 181 Talbert (1984, 306–7). consideration in its analysis. 182 The utility of documents such as the Fifth Cyrene Edict for provincial subjects has been widely demonstrated in recent scholarship; in this case, the text of the senatus consultum could from 4BCE be adduced by representatives of Cyrene seeking speedy reparations from Rome’s central government, the guarantee of their rights reactivated as often as necessity required. 183 What is of greater concern for the present study is how this document—which essentially enshrines forever the right of subjects to recoup monies from the government—could also serve a purpose for the authority that produced it. 184 The motive behind the publication and transmission of this decree is stated concretely in Augustus’ accompanying letter: so that the provincial population will know that their emperor is looking out for them and is actually legislating in their interest. The text of the letter emphasizes both his personal care for his provincial subjects (79–82), and his own agency in communicating this care to the empire at large (78–79). 185 To underscore this, he records his physical presence both at the passage of the decree and, it seems, at its official redaction, where he signed as a witness (75–6: 110 182 Harris (1989, 26; 323). Cf. Lowrie (2009, 279–283), discussed above in section 2.iv. Ando (2000, 101–108) offers some pragmatic arguments as to the relatively modest amount of local literacy required for imperial documents to have a substantial effect on provincial populations. Likewise, as Suet. Gaius 41.1 shows, individuals did not have to be able to read documents for them to have the force of law. 183 Ando (2000, 79). Thus the focus of analysis on the Fifth Cyrene Edict has been for its place in Roman law: De Visscher (1940, ch. 8) examines the place of this decree in the development of the senate’s penal jurisdiction, and concludes, somewhat more tentatively than other scholars, that it may indeed be the first step in the development of such a competency. See, likewise, Sherk (1969, 179-82). 184 For some general statements in this regard, see Levick (2010, 15; 133–134), citing Harries (2006, 132). 185 The Senatus consultum de Cn. Pisone Patre bears a similar message in the subscriptio added by Tiberius calling for its publication (lines 174–176). ἐµοῦ παρόντος καὶ συν|ἐπιγραφοµένου). The letter thus supplies extra details not available from the text of the senatus consultum alone (his presence at the meeting may be inferred, but is not explicit), filling out the story of the decree for those who were not present to witness it themselves. The fact that these documents are conspicuously aimed at an audience outside of the senate offers us an excellent opportunity to consider how his visibility there was communicated and what function this may have had. This should, in turn, offer further insight into why Augustus was so resolute in mediating his authority through the senate and why he rearranged its systems the way that he did. The emphasis placed on the emperor’s presence certainly suggests there was a value to his being in attendance when legislation was passed and, as Talbert observed, this value was presumably based on the implication that his presence also indicated his participation—if not outright control— and, therefore, an active role in the determination of foreign policy. As we have seen, Augustus certainly possessed, in his transactional powers and reorganization of meetings, the means and the opportunity to make his presence felt on any given matter. Much of the detail of the legislative process is of course elided in the record provided in the text, and we should not assume that provincial subjects were experts in senatorial procedure, 186 but such uncertainty arguably worked to the emperor’s advantage: it was not important how he participated, so much as that he participated, and to what end. Taken together, the letter and decree communicate this quite straightforwardly: he was 111 186 An analogy to Galinsky’s (1996, 6) argument regarding the finer constitutional points of Augustus’ statio. there, he cared about his subjects, and this new law was the result. Indeed, the text itself could be said to exhibit a will to explain to provincial subjects how Roman government worked, as well as establish the statio of Augustus within its systems. 187 A distinction is made in the text between the emperor as individual (75–76: “ ἐµοῦ παρόντος καὶ συνἐπιγραφοµένου”; 79· “ἐµῶι προγράµµατι”; 82: “ἐγώ”) and the senate as a collective (88· “δι’ ἡµῶν”), and their respective agencies memorialized in relation to one another, but they become united in their care for their subjects, who are thus interpellated as subject to both (81–82: “τῶν ἡµῖν ὑποτασοµένων”). On one hypothesis, all of the structures we have so far observed—many of which Augustus reorganized or reconfigured in order to make his attendance, participation, and control more straightforward—could be said to aim at authorizing and communicating a claim to participation, with documents such as these being the natural conclusion and ultimate goal. On the version of Harris’ and Lowrie’s models I have been developing, these documents would then themselves become the authorization for the emperors’ continuing participation in government. Tiberius’ claims that Augustus had given his sententia regularly can be implicated within this same project of constructing the authority by which the emperor would subsequently participate in government. 188 112 187 Eck, Caballos, and Fernández (1996) make a similar argument about the senatus consultum de Pisone Patre. 188 Dio 56.41.3. This may coordinate strongly with Tiberius’ later assertion in a letter that the emperor should be present to offer his opinion on a relatio (Tac. Ann. 3.53: “magis expediat me coram interrogari et dicere quid e re publica censeam”). Conversely, this same emphasis on presence reflects—and could even be said to create—the conceptual possibility that the emperor might in fact be absent. If Dio is to be believed, the senate could not actually transact binding business without the emperor present. This arrangement could have functioned, then, both to preserve these opportunities for his presence and participation and, by so hampering the senate in his absence, making his presence seem that much more essential. Thus even if there was no a priori value in the emperor’s presence before, the activity of the senate under Augustus’ reign would begin to construct one, and the lack of resolutions in his absence could also buttress his auctoritas. Nevertheless, although there were structures in place to accommodate for his absence—most notably the decree of 13CE giving decisions taken by the emperor and his consilium the legal force of senatus consulta (56.28.3)— history seems to remember such occasions as being exceptions, rather than rule, in the case of Augustus. 189 It would be for later emperors to evolve the procedure for participation in absentia more substantially. Having established this hypothesis, we should also consider the second half of Augustus’ statement “ἐµοῦ παρόντος καὶ συνἐπιγραφοµένου,” which seems to indicate that he took part in the redaction of the senatus consultum, if only because the syntax renders it of equal import to his presence at the bill’s passage. This claim is actually quite remarkable, since it is potentially the only example we have of an emperor’s 113 189 The Latin used to denote the emperor’s presence in the section of the lex de imperio Vespasiani dealing with this issue (clause III: “utique, cum ex voluntate auctoritate iussu mandatuve eius praesenteve eo senatus habebitur”) reflects the genitive absolute ἐµοῦ παρόντος of the Cyrene Edict almost exactly. participation in this part of the legislative process. 190 It was traditional for the proposer of a bill—the relator—to witness its redaction, accompanied by a number of other senators (presumably also supporters of the decree in question). The names of those present were usually recorded in the praescriptio of the senatus consultum, immediately following the date of its passage; such is the case in many examples of decrees from the Republican period—both Latin and Greek—in a clause typically beginning “scribendo adfuerunt” or “γραφουµένωι παρῆσαν.” 191 The signatories thus took public responsibility for the accuracy of the document, as well as, to some extent, its content. There is no such clause represented in the senatus consultum in the 5th Cyrene Edict; we have only the supplementary details offered in Augustus’ letter: “ἐµοῦ παρόντος καὶ συνεπιγραφοµένου” (75–6). Almost all the major editors and translators of the inscription have indeed taken this as indicating that Augustus witnessed the formal writing up of the senatus consultum, 192 but the departure from the traditional form is worth noting. We might translate it quite literally as “with me present [at the passage of the decree] and being written up together”; the major modern attempt to reconstruct the Latin version of the inscription have adhered to this sense of the Greek, 114 190 Noted by both De Visscher (1940, 140) and Talbert (1984, 319, n. 69). The SC de Cn. Pisone patre contains a subscriptio in which Tiberius records that his quaestor Aulus (Plautius, cos. suff. 29CE, according to Eck, Caballos, and Fernández 1996, 103–106) was responsible for the bill’s copying (lines 174–176); Griffin (1997, 253) understands this to constitute the emperor’s authentication of the preceding text. 191 For Latin examples, see the senatus consultum de Bacchanalibus, dated to 167BCE, and also Ehrenberg & Jones, Documents no. 30; for Greek, RDGE 2 (170BCE), 7 (mid-2nd C. BCE), 9 (ca. 140 BCE), 23 (73BCE) and 29 (35BCE). Sherk (1969, 12) offers a summary of the witnesses attested on extant SCC. 192 De Visscher (1940, 140), Crook (1989, 48), and Levick (2000, 68). Sherk (1969, 75) glosses it as “[I] participated in its writing.” rendering it as “me praesente unaque inscripto.” 193 This could be taken as referring simply to the act of writing his name into the text itself. The more technical meaning attributed to it by consensus seems to be based on a combination of the phrase’s context and the use of συνεπιγραφω in two later authors to indicate joint authorship of an object. 194 If this clause is indeed a reference to the redaction, it is the only indication at all of who was present at this point in the passage of the decree. Since it comes in Augustus’ letter, and lists only himself, it could be read as an attempt to augment his own image at the expense of whoever else may have been present, especially if, as our record suggests (albeit ex silentio), the emperor’s participation in this fashion was quite unique. We might posit that the two consuls, Sabinus and Rufus, were also present as witnesses, since, as the text records, it was they who were the proposers of the bill. Much like Augustus’ participation, their presence may be intended to be taken as read because of the longstanding form for the process, 195 but to a provincial less acquainted 115 193 The translation by G. Oliverio, the first editor of the inscription (1927, reproduced in FIRA I.410), which itself opts for symmetry with Clause III of the lex de imperio Vespasiani (quoted in note above). 194 Plut. 816e: θεν οἱ µεγάλοι καὶ δαίµονα καὶ τύχην τοῖς κατορθώµασι συνεπιγράφουσιν; Gal. 11.202: ἐν τούτοις γὰρ ὁ Ἐρασίστρατος ἐνδείκνυται σαφῶς οὐχ ἑτέρων θεραπείαν διηγούµενος, ἀλλ' ἑαυτὸν συναριθµῶν τε καὶ συνεπιγράφων ἅπασι τοῖς πραχθεῖσι περὶ τὸν ἄνθρωπον. This appears to have supported the translation of the passive participle in our inscription as meaning “named jointly as auctor of a decree of the Senate,” and it is translated as such in the LSJ (where the Cyrene Edict is the only instance listed). There is earlier papyrological evidence from Crocodilopolis in the 3rd Century BCE for the use of this verb to indicate joint witnessing (Mitteis, Chr.28.23-24: ...τῆς δὲ συγγραφῆς σφραγισθείσ [ης] | [ὑπό τε Σ]ωταίρου καὶ Σώσου καὶ ἐµοῦ καὶ τῶν συν- | [επιγρα]φέντων µοι µαρτύρων...) 195 It is also worth noting that in none of the senatus consulta listed in the previous note are the consuls actually recorded amongst the witnesses to the redaction. with Roman tradition, the inscription presents only one actual witness to its redaction, or, more precisely, one name as being “written up.” Likewise missing are the names of the urban quaestors, who, it has been surmised, were regularly present at the redaction of all senatus consulta. Their presence is directly attested in the praescriptio of one senatus consultum dated to 19CE, and it was originally suggested by Mommsen that this represents an Augustan innovation, since it conforms to his broader program for the role of the quaestors in the filing of such documents; this interpretation has been generally accepted among commentators on the subject. 196 As Marianne Coudry has argued, the quaestors had an important role to play in the life of a senatus consultum, since, being present at both the redaction and final deposition of a decree within the aerarium Saturni, they represented and were responsible for the continuity of the document through these steps. The consuls/ relatores were present as initiators of the bill, there to fix the wording and vouchsafe the text of the record, which, duly witnessed by the urban quaestors, was then registered by the latter as guarantee of its consistency with the proceedings of the legislative session in question. The elision of both consuls and quaestors (not to mention any other interested parties) in the redaction of the senatus consultum (if such is what συνεπιγραφοµένου represents) is significant, because it removes them from a key moment in the life of the 116 196 Mommsen, Droit Public Romain VII, p.200. Taken up straightforwardly by Talbert (1984, 304) and with some qualifications by Coudry (1994, 76–7). For the text of the SC in question, see Levick (1983, 98) (=Sherk, TDGR 6.35). decree. The emperor is the only person listed at the writing up of the bill, and therefore the only author of the final text and the sole guarantor of its authenticity. Since the force of this legislation rests completely in its wording, the communication of those words to the provincial subjects, and their ability to rely on its terms for future action in cases de repetundis, the abrogation of this role by Augustus would grant him privilege of place within its passage, and render him the real auctor of its substance at every step, even within the structures of traditional government. It should be noted that the absence of other witnesses in this senatus consultum is not necessarily unusual. Talbert has observed that while there are certainly recognizable formulae in the decrees that survive to us, there is also a general inconsistency in their forms and texts; 197 as noted above, we do have only one senatus consultum from this period that includes the urban quaestors among its witnesses. But we can still say with certainty that Augustus, in his accompanying letter, chose to inscribe his presence at the writing up and registration of the decree, implying that, whether or not we should have expected the presence of its other auctores, we are not to forget his. Indeed, even if we cannot commit to the technical interpretation of συνεπιγραφοµένου, it still emphasizes Augustus’ connection both to the decree and to its recording. Yet for all this personal aggrandizement, Augustus does assert that he is not alone in his care for the well-being of provincials, and that it is a matter of concern to 117 197 Talbert (1984, 304). both himself and the senate (80-81: ὅσην φροντίδα ποιούµε|θα ἐγώ τε καὶ ἡ σύνκλητος). 198 Perhaps the most conspicuous element in the text of the decree itself is indeed the fact that it was the consuls, and not Augustus, who made the initial relatio before the senate (85: ὕπατοι λόγους ἐποιήσαντο); we can understand from this that they were therefore presiding at this meeting of the senate, and thus responsible for coordinating the interrogatio—the formal offering of opinions by members of the senate—and calling for the final vote on the measure. Given the substance of the preceding letter, it would seem a further contradiction that Augustus should cede authorship and control of the bill in this fashion, especially when he was endowed with sufficient transactional powers to move the bill himself. It has been argued by Anton von Premerstein that the Fifth Cyrene Edict, in presenting a case where a relatio was made through the consuls and not the emperor himself, must document an exceptional case, and that otherwise Augustus was always the prime mover in senatorial activity. 199 J.A. Crook, in seeking to test this argument, has formed a quite productive picture of Augustus’ participation in the senate: he finds an important distinction in Suetonius, who reports that “on more important business he would call upon senators for their opinions” (35.4); since controlling the interrogatio in 118 198 Sherk (1969, 17) has observed that καί and τε are not used very often in the translation of senatus consulta into Greek (which generally favors asyndeton), and the emphasis placed here on their dual agency is perhaps all the more striking for this fact. Smyth (1956, §2974) notes that τε...καὶ constructions denote complements, and do not express subordination. De Visscher (1940, 139), on the other hand, argues that the “proud ‘myself and the senate,’ ἐγώ τε καί ἡ σύνκλητος underlines the pre-eminence of the emperor and forms a reminder of the famous phrase of the Res Gestae ‘auctoritate omnibus praestiti.’,” referring of course to RG 34.3. 199 V on Premerstein (1928, 482), cited by Crook (1955, 129), who suggests the argument is based on Mommsen, StR II 3 , 897 n. 3. this way suggests that Augustus was presiding at those meetings, the passage implies that the emperor would take over that function from the consuls only in matters of a particular weight. 200 One such example might be the institution of the aerarium militare —an important institution for the preservation of the empire—where Dio specifically records that Augustus “γνώµην ἐς τὴν βουλὴν ἐσήνεγκε” (which Crook translates as “relationem fecit”). 201 The legislation de repetundis was thus either of a more pedestrian nature, or—since we can infer from Suetonius that he had the option to preside at will—Augustus had a particular reason to pass it through the consuls. More generally, Crook finds von Premerstein’s characterization of Augustus’ participation somewhat overstated. While his attendance is celebrated, and attested in a number of anecdotes, the concrete evidence for his initiating action is somewhat more sparse, suggesting that the impression Crook gains from Suetonius may be more accurate. In fact, we can only reconstruct Augustus in open control of the senate on a handful of occasions: the lectiones senatus in 18BCE, 8BCE, and 4CE, the case of the aerarium militare, and certain other unique moments (e.g. the ‘transfer’ of power in 27BCE). 202 While this may only be a reflection of the business that was considered 119 200 Crook (1955, 129-32). Cf. the meetings de honoribus and de republica in 14CE, which, as Matthews (2010, 71) observes, demonstrate a difference in who was presiding: the first, summoned extra ordinem by Tiberius’ tribunicia potestas, seems to have been led by him, whereas the second, which Matthews believes to have been the regular Ides meeting delayed by mourning for Augustus, was run by the consuls. 201 Dio 55.24.9, discussed by Crook (1955, 13-2). See below for the regular use of gnome to translate sententia, although here Crook’s translation is more likely correct. 202 Lectiones: Dio 54.14.1-5; Suet. Div. Aug. 35.1-3. Aerarium militare: Dio 55.24.9 (discussed above). Abdication in 28BCE: Dio 53.2.7-10.8. important enough to record, we certainly do not get as positive a picture of Augustus’ presiding in the senate as von Premerstein advocates. Jean-Louis Ferrary has gone so far as to suggest that Augustus purposely took a backseat in the submission of even important legislation, so as to lend the consuls the appearance of legislative initiative. He is supported in this assertion by A.H.M. Jones, who observes that all the senatus consulta that survive from the reign of Augustus— those regarding the secular games, aqueducts, Mitylene, and the Fifth Cyrene Edict— were initiated by the consuls, as were several of the more important comitial leges: the Lex Junia, the Lex Fufia Caninia, the Lex Aelia Sentia, the Lex Papia Poppaea and the Lex Valeria Cornelia. 203 Both Ferrary and Jones emphasize that Augustus possessed the legal prerogative—the ius agendi cum plebe and the ius consulendi senatus (by virtue of his tribunica potestas and the separate grant of the ius consulendi senatus that Dio records)—to move all this legislation himself, and presuppose that he was both its author and the one who decided to use the consuls instead. Ferrary notes perceptively that it was the possession of such rights which freed him to use the consuls in this fashion—since this capacity was now enshrined in law, there was no danger to his superiority in restoring to the consuls this role in government. Jones interprets from this data that Augustus was legislating therefore by virtue of his auctoritas—his informal ability to accomplish his political will through the standard mechanism of government 120 203 Ferrary (2001, 118–9); Jones (1955, 115–16). For the SCC, see Ehrenberg and Jones, Documents, nos. 30 (discussed above), 278, 307 and 311 (the decree here under discussion). The Lex Valeria Cornelia is no. 365. —rather than his potestas; 204 here, then, might be an example of auctoritas made visible in its concrete effects. One way to resolve the apparent contradiction between Augustus’ personal agency and the otherwise traditional mechanism of government is to imagine that this document purposefully subordinates one to the other. As we have seen, the very text of senatus consultum renders the consuls instruments of the emperor’s will, acknowledging both his agency behind the relatio and his personal choice to make them its relatores, or, more precisely, to have it presented through them (88: ἀνενεχθῆναι δι’ ἡµῶν πρὸς τὴν βουλὴν ἠθέλησεν). The use of ἀναφερω is presumably intended as cognate with referro; we might wonder if the dια figures the consuls specifically as agent or instrument. This, in turn, constitutes Augustus as a narrower incarnation of Galinsky’s auctor: quite literally, the author of a bill, the one who gets things started and, as we have seen, the one who guarantees its validity. 205 We may here be witnessing the genesis of a new station in Roman government, somewhat analogous to the statio principis, but which, like auctoritas, only makes sense within the context of Roman government. That is to say, the officials, terminology, and narratives of the senate—its traditional language—give meaning to Augustus’ activity as auctor, and make it possible for the reader of the Fifth Cyrene Edict to understand precisely what 121 204 Ferrary (2001, 119); Jones (1951, 116). 205 Suet. Gaius 15.3 likewise uses “auctor fuit” to indicate that Gaius had an SC passed. CIL VI, 4416 = 2193 similarly commemorates its text as passed “ex auctoritate Augusti,” which is generally understood to mean on his proposal; I would suggest that this text also shows how auctoritas has its greatest meaning in describing action after the fact. he did on this particular occasion. As Dio states, the systems, magistracies, and procedures may still exist, “but nothing was done that did not please Caesar.” 206 While this function of the senate is analogous to its role as a public ceremony, it is one that is dependent on the textual medium for its effect. The sequence recorded in the documents we are examining would not have available in all its detail and nuance to the general public: much of it took place within the walls of the Curia, certain elements (such as the emperor’s care for his subjects) may not have been given voice in the meeting itself, and some of the work, as we shall see, was performed behind the scenes. It is the letter and decree together that supply the full narrative, and place Augustus into such a complicated relationship with the representatives and mechanisms of Roman government. Just as auctoritas is revealed only at the point of the passage of the degree, Augustus’ role as auctor is arguably only fully realized in the text that results. Unlike the contio and comitia, which Sumi argues were “limited to the present moment” as opportunities for public display, the senate had a pre-established mechanism for extending that display over time and space. 207 The Res Gestae testifies not just to Augustus’ accomplishments but to his sensibility of the power of writing to re-perform auctoritas over time; I take this to be one incarnation of what Greg Rowe has referred to as an “epigraphical self- consciousness.” 208 What I propose is that Augustus extended this awareness to the 122 206 53.21.6: “οὐ µέντοι καὶ ἐπράττετό τι ὃ µὴ καὶ ἐκεῖνον ἠρεσκε.” 207 Sumi (2005, 237). 208 Lowrie (2009, 279–283), cited earlier in section 2.iv. documents produced by the senate, and this is what lay behind, in part, his innovations in the production and control of their records examined in section 2.v and even his continued presence at their meetings. In both its documentary apparatus and its traditional language of symbols and forms, the senate offered an ideal context for the emperor to make his government visible to a wider audience. Such a policy may be reflected in the relative explosion of inscriptions that Galinsky notes began in the Augustan period, with the epigraphical record increasing a hundredfold in the imperial period as compared to the republic. 209 As Talbert observed, it was not necessarily regular practice to publish senatus consulta, and Maria Giua has noted that the Augustan period may see the first examples of decrees being inscribed at Rome by Roman magistrates, beginning with those related to the Ludi Saeculares in 17BCE. 210 The Fifth Cyrene Edict, in its obvious communicative and political priorities, is a perfect example of how such documents could be mobilized in the service of the emperor’s sovereignty: the very fact that we can today read Augustus’ role so clearly in Edict testifies to the power of the vocabulary and processes of which it makes use. iii. Consilium principis A striking contrast is to be found in Augustus’ consilium of advisors, drawn from the senatorial order and from within his own family, for which the Fifth Cyrene Edict is our 123 209 Galinsky (1996, 385), citing Alföldy (1991) and giving rough figures of 300,000 and 3,000 respectively. 210 Talbert (1984, 306–7) and Giua (2001). For the SCC in question, see FIRA 3 I.40 (= Sherk TDGR 6.11). only contemporary evidence (87: ἐκ ξυµβουλίου γνώµης, ὃ ἐκ τῆς συνκλήτου κληρωτόν ἔσχεν). The inscription records the relatio as the product of a gnome of this consilium; gnome used in this way is the regular Greek translation of the Latin sententia —in procedural terms, an opinion or recommendation on an issue or bill—and has precedent from as early as 112BCE. 211 While it was often Republican form to designate smaller senatorial councils to prepare legislation in this way, in the Fifth Cyrene Edict the language emphasizes that this was the personal council of Augustus—the consilium principis, as it has come to be known. According to Dio (53.21.4), this council was constituted every 6 months from the consuls, one of each of the other magistrates, and 15 other senators drawn by lot (the relatores of the decree were presumably therefore privy to its discussion). As with the quaestores Augusti, this arrangement presumably served to limit the honor bestowed on any particular senator and ensure every member of the order received an opportunity to participate. Dio reports that as part of the rearrangement of affairs to cope with Augustus’ growing infirmity he asked that the consilium’s membership be increased to twenty senators in 13CE, and that it was also voted that whatever decisions he should reach in counsel with them, the consuls, Tiberius, Germanicus, Drusus, and whomever else he wished should be considered as having been passed with the approval of the whole 124 211 See Sherk, RDGE p. 15, and nos. 14, 23, 17, and 18 (together with 31, our inscription). We have also seen it used by Dio at 55.3.4–5, to refer to what the auctoritas generated by a non-quorum meeting recorded. senate (“κύρια ὡς καὶ πάσῃ τῇ γερουσίᾳ ἀρέσαντα εἶναι”). 212 Significantly, Dio states that by this decree Augustus gained the privileges which “in fact he already possessed” (56.28.3: “ὅπερ που καὶ ἄλλως τῷ γε ἔργῳ εἶχε”). This does not mean, however, that the senate ceased to meet, nor that Augustus ceased to use them to mediate his own activity. The second attempt to address the matter of the vicesima happened this year, and despite of his prerogative to settle the matter using only his consilium he referred the issue to the senate, for the reasons we have examined in section 4.i. To return to 4BCE, however, the sequence of the bill made available in the Fifth Cyrene Edict is as follows: Augustus obtains a consilium of advisors by lot from within the senatorial order; the consilium deliberates on an issue related to the provinces (presumably placed before them by Augustus); the consilium comes to a gnome/ sententia; Augustus then has the presiding consuls present this gnome/sententia as a formal relatio before the senate, according to the traditional form. The practical advantages of this process are obvious: a small council is more wieldy than the full senatorial body and could reach a consensus more easily, but its role in the passage of the decree communicates that the senate was given a voice in government. 213 Dio states it was precisely for reasons of efficiency that Augustus adopted this arrangement, 125 212 Dio 56.28.2–3: “καὶ προσεψηφίσθη, πάνθ' ὅσα ἂν αὐτῷ µετά τε τοῦ Τιβερίου καὶ µετ' ἐκείνων τῶν τε ἀεὶ ὑπατευόντων καὶ τῶν ἐς τοῦτο ἀποδεδειγµένων, τῶν τε ἐγγόνων αὐτοῦ τῶν ποιητῶν δῆλον ὅτι, τῶν τε ἄλλων ὅσους ἂν ἑκάστοτε προσπαραλάβῃ, βουλευοµένῳ δόξῃ, κύρια ὡς καὶ πάσῃ τῇ γερουσίᾳ ἀρέσαντα εἶναι.” 213 Sumi (2005, 234) seems to read this role as genuine. “believing it to be better to consider most things, and in particular more important matters, beforehand with only a few others and in secrecy” (53.21.5: “βέλτιον µέντοι νοµίξων εἶναι τὸ µετ’ ὀλίγων καθ’ ἡσυχίαν τά τε πλείω καὶ τὰ µείξω προσκοπεῖσθαι”). 214 The historian’s use of ἡσυχία speaks to the fuller ramifications of this practice, which were that the senate was no longer to be a place for true and meaningful debate. The consilium left no records of its own, and its probouleutic function removes from sight the real process of deliberation and presents only a disingenuous ‘proposal’ to which the senate is expected to contribute the cache of procedural legitimacy. 215 Such is the picture available from the senatus consultum sent to Cyrene; indeed, as the Edict testifies, the only details we can recover from the meeting of the consilium left are those which Augustus saw fit to include in his letter. If the opinion of the consilium really had the force of a mandate as much as a recommendation, it would again suggest that the emperor’s appearances in the senate were more performative than anything else. Crook argues, at the end of his study of the consilium, that in many ways this council existed primarily to prevent any embarrassment that may be presented by actual debate in the context of the senate. 216 126 214 The Middle Liddell translates καθ’ ἡσυχίαν more specifically as “at leisure,” but given the conceits of this project I consider it impossible to ignore the connotations of silence and sequestration. Rolfe, the LCL translator, seems to ignore καθ’ ἡσυχίαν entirely. 215 As Swan (2004, 295–296) notes, P. Oxy 2435 verso (= TDGR 4.111/6.25) appears to contain an account of a meeting of the consilium at which Augustus, Tiberius, and several senators are present; see Bowman (1976, 154). If genuine, this is presumably a private commemoration by parties involved, rather than a public document like the acta senatus. Besides this document, which in both its media and find location is likely to have been private in nature, we have no documentary records from the consilium. 216 Crook (1955, 131-32), specifically contrasting Augustus’ wise use of the consilium in this regard with Tiberius’ less prepared dealings with the senate (for a larger discussion, see below). This explanation is borne out by what we are told about meetings held there: while, according to Suetonius, Augustus expressed the desire that senators should render genuine sententiae on business before them, he also controlled who was called upon to do so, and was apparently apt to do so out of order (Aug. 35.4). Likewise, in a separate incident which Talbert cites as evidence for Augustus’ genuine consultation of the senate regarding the Lex Julia de senatu habendo of 9BCE, it is striking that this consultation was only permitted in individual pairs; the traditional mode of debate, en masse and unpredictable, was not to be allowed. 217 Talbert also notes that disagreement with the emperor in the senate was rare. 218 We will see, when we come to Tiberius, the effect that his choice not to employ a consilium had on the senate and its record. iii. Augustus as exemplum The Fifth Cyrene Edict paints a vivid picture of the emperor participating in the traditional system of Roman provincial administration, which would previously have been under the purview of the senate alone. If consensus on the bill was organized by emperor, consilium, and consuls ahead of time, then the presentation of the formal relatio before the senate must have had a logistical advantage beyond the simple passage of the law, as must the role of the consuls and senate, publicized in a provincial 127 217 Suet. Div. Aug. 36, discussed above. Talbert’s evidence is from Dio 55.4.1, but is likewise reflected in Suet. Div. Aug. 35. Interestingly, Dio immediately follows the report of this incident with the assertion that Augustus wished to seem “democratic” (though he clearly intends the examples that follow to be particular proof of this). Galinsky (1996, 70) argues that it may be precisely for the element of chaos, which would necessitate the guiding hand of a princeps, that Augustus allowed these institutions to persist. 218 Talbert (1984, 172), with references to known examples. context. To put it another way: we must inquire what function passing and publishing the bill in this fashion had that just emperor and consilium could not. Despite Augustus’ exceptional agency, the praescriptio still culminates with the traditional formula ἔδο|ξε τῆι βουλῆι (89–90): the senate still approved the relatio, and were recorded as the authorizing force behind the decree. As I have argued, the incumbent advantages of mediating the emperor’s power through the activity of the senate are made readily apparent in this document: its language and processes were traditional, and thus intelligible to anyone familiar with Roman provincial administration. Even if the reader was not cognizant of the finer significance of the various offices it mentions, the narrative is sufficiently clear as to communicate what had happened and how it was accomplished. It was also made clear why it had occurred: because Augustus was driving the policy of Rome’s empire in new and determined ways. 219 The text of the decree itself enshrines Augustus as the leader of the issuing body (86: ἡγεµὼν ἡµέτερις), 220 and outlines in quite exceptional detail the innovations to the mechanism by which the decree was promulgated. Quite apart from mentioning the preparation of the bill within his private consilium, the senatus 128 219 Such is the conclusion on the bill’s substance by De Visscher (1940, ch. 8) and Sherk (1969, 179-82) (see note above on how the Edict has generally been canvassed for its influence on Roman law and policy). 220 De Visscher (1940, 141) argues that this has to be understood as denoting his position as princeps senatus, and that the translator did not use the traditional πρωτος or προκριτος because he mistook the Latin in the original as indicating something less technical. If we accept this, then we are here witnessing the linguistic turn away from the technical princeps senatus to a signification that would come to have a more general meaning to the public: princeps. consultum notes the force of the emperor’s will in its passage: “which Imperator Caesar Augustus...wished to be presented through us to the Senate” (86–88). To return to Augustus’ letter that accompanies the senatus consultum, he confesses quite openly his interest in sending a copy of the decree to the provinces: so that “it will be clear to all those who inhabit the provinces, how much care myself and the Senate take that none of our subjects unduly suffer any wrong or execution” (79– 82). It is thus a clear example of the use of documents to communicate government over great distance, in order to convince subjects that they are being ruled in their own interests. What this reading of the Fifth Cyrene Edict hopes to demonstrate is the utility of such documents in extending that communication over time as well, and, moreover, Augustus’ awareness of this utility (amply demonstrated by the existence of the Res Gestae). The contrast with the consilium shows clearly how business transacted in the senate in particular was made available for both public and posterior consumption. A great degree of its value to the emperor therefore lay in the fact that it created a public record couched in terms and representing processes familiar to both Romans and provincials, a record that, by virtue of the developing apparatus for redaction and copying of its documents, could be disseminated horizontally and vertically in order to confirm for his subjects that the emperor was engaged in the process of ruling. The consilium, on the other hand, worked to conceal the actual process of government—to preserve arcana imperii—while ensuring that its public counterpart performed smoothly. In this contrast, we again confront the political dimension of writing: the 129 effect of committing words or acts to record was to enable the repetition or consultation of those words or acts, and to offer that record to manipulation by interested parties. As Harris emphasizes, such effects are of critical importance in the analysis of textual practices in the context of power. 221 In the Res Gestae, Augustus claimed to have left many exempla to be imitated by posterity. 222 Such exempla do not exist apart from their representing media; that is to say, they can only be consumed and understood when given form in language or image, and one of the primary vectors for this was writing. Augustus constituted an exemplum for his successors both in practice and in the manner he arranged for the commemoration of this practice, by monopolizing practices of aristocratic display in the role of auctor of beneficial decrees. His powerful historical consciousness, which always kept an eye towards posterity, helps explained his assiduous attendance and participation in the senate, since activity there was instrumental in constructing the exemplum he would leave, both creating a precedent for the emperor as the auctor of government and offering an model of how to nurture and publicize a tradition of such precedence which could institutionalize the emperor’s claim to that role. His measures to regulate and control the generation of senatorial documents speak to a documentary sensibility, which likewise may have informed his choice to speak in this space from prepared texts—the eye of posterity was watching, and would not look kindly on 130 221 Harris (1989, 36–8, 332–33), citing in particular Lévi-Strauss (1973, 300). 222 RG 8.5: “ipse multarum rerum exempla imitanda posteris tradidi.” See Lowrie (2007). mistakes. This also adds a further dimension to the extraordinary honors offered to his heirs with relation to the senate—Germanicus reading in his place (Dio 56.26.2), Lucius reading his brother’s letters (Dio 55.10a.9), Drusus rendering sententiae in the locus consularis (Dio 56.17; cf. Vell. 2.121.2–3) 223 —all of which gave them the opportunity to speak on record, and have their auctoritas likewise commemorated and re-performed over time. As Lowrie puts it, “model and action reinforce each other in something of a spiral.” 224 The Fifth Cyrene Edict shows how governing in the senate was a practical way to define a model for the statio principis in the sphere of public letters; the sympathy of a later document like the lex de imperio Vespasiani with the activity of Augustus in this sphere shows precisely how this process could function. Thus it could be said that Augustus used his exceptional transactional powers in tandem with the senate’s apparatus of commemoration to construct the persona of the princeps for senate, people, and posterity. iv. The civilis princeps Although I will address the idea of civilitas in more depth in chapter three, something must be said about it here, since it is a phenomenon related to the emperor’s rank as senator and would become a structuring value for judging all the emperors who would follow Augustus. In his study of the invention of civilitas as a positive attribution used 131 223 On the latter see Sumi (2005, 253). 224 Lowrie (2007, 102). in the discursive characterization of Roman emperors, Wallace-Hadrill defines it broadly as implying “the behaviour of a ruler who is still a citizen in a society of citizens,” much of it “a matter of social etiquette.” 225 Civilitas appears to be a linguistic phenomenon of the imperial period, appearing to us first in Quintillian, 226 and is a term used by Suetonius in the description of both Augustus and Claudius. 227 Yet the true object of Wallace-Hadrill’s investigation is not so much the term itself as a related schema of behavior he sees exhibited precisely in the relationship between emperor and senate, for which, he argues, civilitas becomes the shorthand. Wallace-Hadrill renders civilitas cognate with practices in Cassius Dio that are described in terms of demokratia (or its derivatives), and cites two compelling examples: the occasion of the first Augustan settlement in 27CE, during which Augustus conceded a share in the government of the provinces to the senate, behaving “ ὣς δηµοτικός τις,” and the beginning of Tiberius’ reign in 14CE, at which time he used to pay proper deference to the annual magistrates, even rising in the presence of the consuls, “ὡς ἐν δηµοκρατίᾳ.” 228 Both cases exemplify a certain respect for the senatorial order, one practical and the other ceremonial or social, and are figured by Dio as behavior suitable to the political condition of demokratia. It would be incautious simply to assume that this Greek term should be understood as synonymous with the 132 225 Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 42; 36). 226 E.g. Inst. 2.15.33. 227 Aug. 51.1 (“clementiae civilitatisque eius multa et magna documenta sunt”) and, perhaps rather more sarcastically, Cl. 35.1 (“iactator civilitatis”). Its cognate civilis appears even more frequently. 228 53.12.1 and 57.11.3 respectively. concept of the Republic (meaning here the political arrangement prior to the Principate), 229 but, as a historian of Rome writing in Greek, Cassius Dio, like Polybius before him, 230 was constrained by Greek terminology in his description of the Roman political sphere. When Dio examines the emperors’ use of Republican magisterial powers and titles, the word demokratia can be reliably identified as designating the Republic. While he insists that the practical reality of the Principate is monarchia (53.17.2), he summarily identifies the powers and titles which the emperors assume— imperator (53.17.5-6), censor (53.17.7), Pontifex Maximus (53.17.8), and tribune of the plebs (15.17.9-10)—as ταῦτα...ἐκ τῆς δηµοκρατίας (53.17.11) and τῶν δηµοκρατικῶν ὀνοµάτων (53.18.2), the latter incidence being contrasted with the more neutral vocabulary of politeia. Likewise, when Dio represents Agrippa chronicling the sequential history of Rome’s political systems, the period after the kings is referred to as demokratia, and characterized by “τε γερουσία προεβούλευε καὶ ὁ δῆµος ἐπεκύρου” (52.9.5). If Wallace-Hadrill is correct to identify Cassius Dio’s anecdotes as resonant with civilitas, then it seems that the historian considered this code of behavior to be a distinctly traditional, and, at the very least, not typically monarchic one. It offered the appearance of a continuing senatorial agency within Roman government, analogous to the picture offered by the Res Gestae. 133 229 That is, as Tacitus uses res publica quite precisely at Ann. 1.3 (“quotus quisque reliquus, qui rem publicam vidisset?”) as a contrast to the political situation under Augustus. 230 See, for example, Mouritsen (2001, 5): “As a Greek, writing for a Greek audience, Polybius’ intellectual framework was naturally that of traditional Greek political thinking. His main analytical tool was the familiar model of the three constitutional archetypes of monarchy, aristocracy and democracy, with their deviant forms of tyranny, oligarchy and ochlocracy.” Of course, the very definition of civilitas still admits that one of the “society of citizens” is also now its ruler. As Wallace-Hadrill observes with regard to the recusatio, 231 both this posture of condescension on the part of the emperor and the fact that it is intrinsically ratified as condescension by its valorization in the sources serve to reify the imbalance of power between ruler and ruled; that is to say, in order for civilitas to be such a big deal, it must always be something the emperor does not have to perform. The very fact that a new term evolved to describe such behavior under the Principate shows that we are dealing with a very different world from that of the Republic, and the term itself is telling, since it implies that the emperor’s definition within the category of cives is not endemic to his office, but relies on a certain kind of performative action. Civilitas, then, is precisely a monarchic characteristic, since it redeems all of its value from the observance of certain social rules and rituals by an individual who, by dint of his factual power, naturally transcends them. To recognize civilitas is thus likewise to recognize its practitioner as one’s ruler. Both Wallace- Hadrill and Cassius Dio accept that civilitas was only a pretension, an appearance, an “aspect of imperial ceremonial.” The use of ὡς in both of the citations Wallace-Hadrill makes from Dio Cassius is very suggestive, acknowledging that action in the public sphere is not always genuine, and that it does not have to be so in order to have the desired social or political effect. 232 The civilis princeps is another role that is 134 231 Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 38). See, famously, Béranger (1973, 165–190). 232 See Kertzer (1988), who argues that the most important effect of civic rituals is the consensus that the rituals themselves matter, not why they matter. performed, and that has to be performed in the public sphere; it is also a role that is constituted for us in its reception by elite discourse as civilitas. It is therefore another phenomenon of the commemorated visibility of the emperor as senator. 5. Tiberius i. The succession How Tiberius interpreted the exemplum of Augustus would be formative to the continued construction of the statio principis. Since that exemplum, such as we are able to measure Tiberius against it, is left to us only in its representation in image and word, we have here a natural opportunity to gauge the effects of those representations in defining the persona Tiberius would be called upon to perform; that is to say, we can gain some measure of the function of written documents in delineating that persona by examining Tiberius against them. It will be recalled that Tiberius commended Augustus’ habit of rendering sententiae regularly in the senate; he later expressed the opinion that, when present, the emperor ought always to do so. These observations were supposedly preserved for our sources in the record Tiberius himself left to posterity: his laudatio for Augustus and a letter to the senate. 233 Taken together, they represent a bridge between the exemplum of Augustus and Tiberius’ consolidation of the persona of the princeps; while the letter advocates for a certain practice, it does so 135 233 Dio 56.41.3 and Tac. Ann. 3.53 (“magis expediat me coram interrogari et dicere quid e re publica censeam”) respectively. Tiberius’ letter thus supports Talbert’s (1984, 184) argument that the emperor’s presence gained value from participation. through writing, and it is as writing that it enters the record and constructs that persona for posterity. Thus writing is already implicated in the reign of Tiberius as it was for Augustus. As we saw in section 2.vii, Tiberius took advantage of both the senate and written documents immediately upon the death of Augustus to reassure the urban citizenry that the government was still operational and to establish his own position within it clearly. The activity of September, 14CE were used to demonstrate how the structures of the senatorial persona contributed a positive, interpretable narrative to the events that were unfolding, one that supported the fama that Tiberius was now potitus rerum. In the passage cited there, Tacitus used the edict of Tiberius, which claimed he convened the senate by virtue of his tribunicia potestas, as an example of the new emperor’s feigned civility (Ann. 1.7.3–4). It was complemented by the observation that Tiberius initiated all actions through the consuls (“Tiberius cuncta per consules incipiebat”); here, then, is another example of a practice reflected in the Fifth Cyrene Edict becoming a general policy of Tiberius, one that Tacitus connected directly to the performance of civilitas. 234 136 234 This reading understands “incipiebat” as frequentative in meaning, and would appear to be supported by Dio 57.7.2. Woodman (1998, 66) presents this is as the prevailing interpretation, but argues instead that it should be understood as applying only to the meeting of September 17, during which Tiberius took up the Principate officially as the result of a consular relatio (thus “beginning everything”). We have already seen that it was an Augustan habit to leave most relationes to the consuls; of the three SCC from the reign of Tiberius that survive as inscriptions, one was moved by the consuls (the Larinum SC (=Sherk, TDGR 6.35)), one by Tiberius himself (the infamous SC de Cn. Pisone Patre), and one is unclear (that of the fragmentary tabula Siarensis (=Sherk, TDGR 6.36)). Of the 16 SCC that Talbert (1984, 439–440) attributes to the reign of Tiberius, 8 can be ascribed to consuls (or, in one case, another senator (Dig. 48.2.12 pr.), only one to the emperor, and the rest are of uncertain authorship. See Levick (1976, 100) for a summary of textual references to Tiberius initiating action through the consuls. Suetonius claims that Tiberius specifically acted “civilem” at the outset of his reign (Tib. 26.1), and that included not permitting senators to abase themselves before him (27.1). As I mentioned before, we possess a lot of detail about what occurred at the meeting convened de honoribus preserved in the accounts of Tacitus, Suetonius, and Dio and presumably gleaned from the acta senatus. In the Curia itself, the consuls gave up their seats on the suggestus and sat instead on the benches allocated to the praetors and tribunes (Dio 56.31.3). No mention is made of where Tiberius and Drusus were seated, but the relocation of the consuls suggests perhaps that they relinquished control of this meeting to Tiberius. 235 We might surmise that he in fact took the emperor’s place on the suggestus, or at least that it was used for the readings that followed. According to Suetonius, Tiberius began an address to the senate, but was overcome with emotion and had to give the text of his speech over to Drusus to finish (Tib. 23.1). Here again we have evidence for an emperor reading from a text in the senate, and in this case it allowed Tiberius to speak, as it were, even though he was physically unable to continue. Drusus took Augustus’ will, which Suetonius claims occupied two codices, from the Vestal virgins and brought it inside the Curia, where its seals were authenticated by the witnesses of the document (Dio 56.32.1a). 236 The will was then read aloud, according to Dio by an imperial freedman since “it was not proper for a senator to read out such a 137 235 Tac. Ann. 1.8.1 certainly seems to imply as much: “nihil primo senatus die agi passus est nisi de supremis Augusti.” 236 Suet. Aug. 101.1: “testamentum L. Planco C. Silio cons. III. Non. Apriles, ante annum et quattuor menses quam decederet, factum ab eo ac duobus codicibus partim ipsius partim libertorum Polybi et Hilarionis manu scriptum depositumque apud se virgines Vestales cum tribus signatis aeque voluminibus protulerunt.” thing” (56.32.1 “ὡς µὴ πρέπον βουλευτῇ τοιοῦτόν τι ἀναλέγεσθαι”). 237 The will recognized Tiberius and Livia as Augustus’ heirs, and outlined a series of monetary bequests to every sector of society: family, senators, equestrians, the people and the armies (Dio 56.32.2). 238 Tacitus, who may even have consulted some version of this document, suggests that the bequests to the “primores civitatis” were precisely intended precisely to court the favor of posterity (iactantia gloriaque ad posteros), a criticism which acknowledges both the power of public documents (and, indeed, recognizes the place of Augustus’ will as a public document) and how they could be manipulated strategically. 239 Four more documents were then brought in and read aloud by Drusus: the instructions Augustus had left for his funeral, the Res Gestae, an account of military and fiduciary affairs, and some instructions for Tiberius and the people (56.33.1–3). 240 At this point Dio cuts directly to the funeral (56.34.1), presumably implying that Tiberius and the senate simply followed the instructions that Augustus had left, but Tacitus reports that there followed an actual discussion de honoribus, just as promised in Tiberius’ edict. As Sumi has observed, it is perhaps remarkable that this debate took 138 237 The involvement of the Vestals and witnesses is preserved only in the epitome of Zonaras, that of the freedman only by Xiphilinus. Tac. Ann. 1.8.1 corroborates the Vestals, although suggests that, contrary to custom, they actually brought the will in themselves (“testamentum inlatum per virgines Vestae”). 238 Dio and Tacitus (Ann. 1.8.2) largely agree on the amounts of each of Augustus’ bequests, differing only on the precise amount left to the people: Dio claims 40 million sesterces, while Tacitus says it was 43.5. 239 The will itself was supposedly still extant in the 4th century, and was cited by Charisius (1.80, P; 104 Keil). See Furneaux (1896, ad loc.). 240 Suetonius (Aug. 101.4) claims there were only three supplementary documents, omitting the last of Dio’s containing instructions for Tiberius and the people; he does, however, allow that Augustus left some instructions not to bury either of the Julias in the Mausoelum (101.3). place, given the fact Augustus had already taken the care to plan his own funeral. 241 The account runs as follows: tum consultatum de honoribus: ex quis qui maxime insignes visi, ut porta triumphali duceretur funus Gallus Asinius, ut legum latarum tituli, victarum ab eo gentium vocabula anteferentur, L. Arruntius censuere. addebat Messala Valerius renovandum per annos sacramentum in nomen Tiberii; interrogatusque a Tiberio num se mandante eam sententiam prompsisset, sponte dixisse respondit, neque in iis quae ad rem publicam pertinerent consilio nisi suo usurum, vel cum periculo offensionis; ea sola species adulandi supererat. conclamant patres corpus ad rogum umeris senatorum ferendum. remisit Caesar adroganti moderatione... Then consultation was taken concerning the funeral: the two opinions that seemed the most striking were made by Asinius Gallus, who suggested that the procession be led through a triumphal arch, and Lucius Arruntius, who suggested that the titles of the laws he had passed and the peoples he had conquered should be carried before it. Valerius Messala added that the oath of loyalty to Tiberius should be renewed every year: and when he was asked by Tiberius whether he had proposed this opinion at the emperor’s request, he replied that he had spoken of his own volition, and that in matters which pertained to the state he would use no judgment other than his own, even at the risk of offense; this was the only kind of flattery still left. The members all clamored that the body ought to be carried on the shoulders of senators. Tiberius dismissed this last in a showy display of moderation... Tac. Ann. 1.8.3–5 The fact that Tacitus attributes specific opinions to individual senators (Gallus, Arruntius, and Messala) in the course of the discussion once more at least suggests reference to a transcript of the meeting, as does Tiberius’ question of Messala in particular. Moreover, as Matthews argues, the order of speakers is itself quite probative: Asinius, Arruntius, and Messala offer their opinions in descending seniority, as was the 139 241 Sumi (2005, 256). Cf. Fraschetti (78; also 52–55, 63, 74) on how the very existence of this document suggests Augustus had planned it quite meticulously. custom, a sign of authenticity, if not direct consultation. 242 Certainly, we encounter throughout this passage the official vocabulary of senatorial meetings—consultatum, censuere, interrogatus, and sententiam—and Tiberius’ speech is described in formulaic terms: his inquiry of Messala is recognized as an interrogatio, in which (in oratio obliqua) he himself uses the term sententia. The scene, then, really is one of business as usual, continuing in the spirit of the Fifth Cyrene Edict, under the same shadow of the emperor’s factual power (although, as we have observed, Tiberius was probably formally and legally in charge of this particular meeting). Interestingly, Messala’s response establishes an almost formulaic distinction between genuine opinion and adulation, to which we shall return in chapter 2. The function of allowing/staging this debate is analogous to that of having the meeting in the first place: put quite straightforwardly, it gives Tiberius something to do. By opening the matter to the floor, soliciting sententiae, interrogating senators, and selecting from their suggestions, Tiberius assumes a role within the senate similar to that of Augustus reflected in the Fifth Cyrene Edict. This, in turn, renders a narrative in the customary terms of government, one that, as with all transactions in the senate, was recorded and archived for posterity. The benefits of such a narrative are quite obvious: the impetus for both Augustus’ grand funeral and the annual oaths of loyalty to his heir is dispersed among several of his subjects, presenting the ascendancy of the Julio- Claudian dynasty as the collective will of Rome’s leading citizens—the consensus 140 242 Matthews (2010, 72). universorum proclaimed in the Res Gestae (34.1). In the case of Messala, the detail of Tacitus’ account suggests that Tiberius even took care to ensure that the genuineness of that will was made a matter of public record. Similarly, the debate gives Tiberius the chance to absolve the senators of their more onerous suggestions—such as the idea that the senators themselves should carry Augustus’ body to the pyre—and he thus becomes the voice of moderation in a discussion that skirts close to the subject of royal honors. All this is packaged in the due exercise of appropriate legal prerogatives (Tiberius presumably interposed his tribunician veto), and is made available to consumption by posterity in the records made of the meeting. Tacitus presents this performance of civilitas as a counterpoint to the rest of Tiberius’ behavior: sed, defuncto Augusto, signum praetoriis cohortibus ut imperator dederat; excubiae, arma, cetera aulae; miles in forum, miles in curiam comitabatur. litteras ad exercitus tamquam adepto principatu misit, nusquam cunctabundus nisi cum in senatu loqueretur. But when Augustus died [Tiberius] had given the watchword to the praetorian cohorts as if imperator; he had guards, arms, and the other trappings of an aula; he was accompanied by soldiers in the forum, by soldiers in the Curia. He sent letters to the armies as if he had already taken up the Principate, and never showed any hesitation except when he spoke in the senate. Ann. 1.7.5 If true, this would indicate that showing himself to the Praetorian guard, and in the capacity of their commander, was considered critical for Tiberius to secure his position; this would have constituted a straightforward performative act: if I appear as your 141 leader, and perform the actions of your leader, then I must be your leader. Tacitus comments that in doing this Tiberius was already behaving in the persona of an emperor, which may be a reflection of his status as potitus rerum, but is certainly intended by the historian to put the lie to his ensuing verbal show of refusing the Principate. 243 Indeed, the entire passage constitutes a somewhat synchronic catalogue of the ways in which Tiberius was at this time already acting as Princeps, which for Tacitus boils down to his being accompanied by armed guards at home, in the forum, and in the Curia, together with his communicating with the armies by letter. 244 Suetonius makes a similar contrast between this behavior and Tiberius’ supposed refusal of the Principate, referring to his military guard specifically as “the true force and image of domination.” 245 Tiberius was actually perfectly entitled to engage in written communication with the armies; indeed, it was technically his duty, since in 13CE he had been made Augustus’ legal partner in administering the provinces and conducting 142 243 The “ut” is a telling indicator that a persona is being performed here; Woodman (1998, 54 n. 41) argues that ut is generally ambiguous in Tacitus, but that the “tamquam” in the following sentence clearly fixes this one as meaning “as if,” rather than “as.” Note that the ablative absolute would seem to imply that this action was taken immediately upon Augustus’ passing; in Tacitus, therefore, visiting the camp was a singular priority for Tiberius. Barnes (1998, 141) argues that Tacitus is deliberately disingenuous about Tiberius’ rights at this time, denying “the obvious political implications” of the facts in order to to characterize Tiberius’ actions as improper. 244 Furneaux (1896, ad loc.) insists that Tacitus does not mean the guard entered the senate house, since in 33CE Tiberius would make the formal request that he be allowed a small escort (consisting of Macro and a few tribunes and centurions) (Tac. Ann. 6.15). Although granted, this right was never exercised, since Tiberius never returned to Rome. Dio 57.2.2 claims Tiberius kept a bodyguard around him in September, 14CE specifically, and moreover asked the senate for an official guard at Augustus’ funeral. 245 Tib. 24.1: “principatum, qumavis neque occupare confestim neque agere dubitasset, et statione militum, hoc est vi et specie dominationis assumpta, diu tamen recusavit…” The LCL translator conflates the armed guard with principatum agere. the census (Suet. Tib. 21.1, cited in section 2.iii). It could, however, be argued that this somewhat exceptional duty was part of the statio principis, which, as Tacitus here foreshadows, Tiberius would attempt to reject at the meeting that followed on September 17; if we follow the historian, his actions in this regard put the lie to the words that would follow. The guard, on the other hand, is significant because it was primarily a visual indication, one interpreted by Tacitus and Suetonius as advertising a certain kind of status or reality. Of course, there is an element of historical hindsight on display here: in 14CE, for example, the term aula had yet to amass the precisely imperial connotations it would come to possess by the 2nd Century. 246 What the concise phrase “cetera aulae” implies, however, is that Tacitus and his contemporaries, at least, had quite a comfortable picture of what an emperor and his court looked like, one that the historian was capable of seeing clearly in Tiberius’ comportment (or of employing to make him fit the bill). Certain visible signs are understood here to communicate the performance of the principatus, establishing for us, at the very least, a set of criteria that by Tacitus’ and Suetonius’ time could be taken to indicate this status. Again, these actions are understood by both authors to contradict Tiberius’ performance of civilitas and recusatio, exemplified by his words and deeds in the two senate meetings of September, 14CE. The second of these, which I will refer to as the 143 246 On this, see Wallace-Hadrill (1996) and Winterling (2009, 86). meeting de re publica, 247 is believed to have occurred on September 17, at which time a relatio was made by the consuls proposing that Tiberius should assume Augustus’ statio. 248 Tiberius’ apparent and seemingly perverse reticence to accept the role at this time is a popular topic in his study, and has become paradigmatic for his reception by history. 249 This is thanks in no small part to the influence of Tacitus, Suetonius and Dio, all of whom make it quite clear that they considered this performance to be specious, since Tiberius was already in practice managing the munia he would make a show of refusing. 250 It is even possible that the consuls introduced the relatio at his behest; certainly, Mamercus Scaurus apparently saw fit to observe that Tiberius at no point chose to interpose his veto in the proceedings, as he had shown himself willing to do at the previous meeting de honoribus. 251 144 247 After Kampff (1963). 248 For the date see Levick (1976, 48–50), discussed in greater detail in section 2.iii. That there was a formal motion to this effect is supported by Tac. Ann. 1.13 (“relationi consulum iure tribuniciae potestatis non intercessisset”). Vell. 2.124.2 suggests the spirit, if not the actual wording, of the relatio was “ut stationi paternae succederet.” Both Levick (o.c., 78–79) and Matthews (2010, 69–71) coordinate Velleius’ clause with the text of the relatio. As Griffin (1997, 257) observes, the appearance of “paterna statio” in the SCPP (lines 129–130, regarding Drusus(2)), which Champlin (1999) argues constitutes the earliest attestation of this usage (in that it predates Gellius, even though he claims to quote a letter of Augustus), suggests that such language was not inappropriate for a relatio. Brunt (1977, 97 n. 15), however, believes it too vague a concept to have been used in this discussion. 249 The primary narrative is customarily Tac. Ann. 1.11–13; cf. Suet. Tib. 24.1–2; Vell. 2.124.1–2; Dio 57.2.1–3.1. For some interpretations, see Kampff (1963), Levick (1976), Woodman (1998b), and Seager (2005). 250 In the passages cited above—Tac. Ann. 1.7.5 and Suet. Tib. 24.1—and Dio 57.2.3, who invokes his customary “ἔργῳ” distinction. Tiberius was likewise already in possession of all the legal prerogatives necessary to do so (section 2.iii); Woodman (1977, 49): “The position which Tiberius was acknowledged to hold at the end of Augustus’ life was not only the position which he had held since A.D. 4 but also, somewhat paradoxically, that which he had held during the first period of his career as we have been considering it.” 251 Woodman (1998, 66) understands the “nam Tiberius cuncta per consules incipiebat” at Tac. Ann. 1.7.3 to mean precisely that Tiberius was behind the motion. It is not the place of this project to make another attempt at piercing the veil of Tiberius’ intentions at this juncture, but rather to examine what function his actions, as they were commemorated, may have had for his Principate. Since the confrontation in this meeting between senators and emperor is so obviously implicated in the subject of parrhesia—both in the relations of power and the problem of sincerity—I will return to a more detailed consideration of what we are told was said there in chapter two. For now, we can content ourselves with the basic narrative presented by the meeting of September 17, which runs as follows: 1. the consuls brought an official motion to the effect that Tiberius should take up his father’s position, 252 2. Tiberius at first expressed reluctance, 3. the senators—as a body and individually—urged him to accept, 4. Tiberius ultimately relented, and therefore succeeded to the statio of Augustus. This is the barest version of events, appropriately enough reflected in the encomiastic account of Velleius: 253 una tamen veluti luctatio civitatis fuit, pugnantis cum Caesare senatus populique Romani, ut stationi paternae succederet, illius, ut potius aequalem civem quam eminentem liceret agere principem. tandem magis ratione quam honore victus est, cum quidquid tuendum non suscepisset, periturum videret. There was, however, in one respect what might be called a struggle in the state, as, namely, the senate and the Roman people wrestled with Caesar to induce him to succeed to the position of his father, while he on his side strove for 145 252 Again, the precise wording is insecure. Tac. Ann. 1.13 might suggest that it was that he should “take up the empire” (“suscipi a se imperium”). ‘Empire’ is perhaps the most appropriate translation in this instance, given the fact that Tiberius was already possessed of legal imperium and the term was beginning to take on a stronger geographical connotation at this time (on which see Richardson 1991). Certainly Levick (1976, 75–78) reads it as inscribing the scope for the exercise of Tiberius’ legal prerogatives. 253 Syme (1971, 48, 33) calls Velleius’ narrative a “panegyric,” but see Woodman (1977, 28–56) for a fuller consideration of the question. permission to play the part of a citizen on a parity with the rest rather than that of an emperor over all. At last he was prevailed upon rather by reason than by the honor, since he saw that whatever he did not undertake to protect was likely to perish. 2.124.2 (trans. by Frederick W. Shipley) Velleius’ version presents some of the functions of the recusatio quite clearly: the senate (and, presumably by synecdoche, the people) of Rome are figured as demanding both an emperor and that Tiberius should be that emperor, while Tiberius performs publicly a lack of interest in such authority (in Suetonius he asserts the monumentality of the job), but relents rather than see it—the Principate? the state?—perish. 254 The Principate is thus constituted as something necessary and onerous, something that, according to ratio, is worth saving, and something that the senate and people wanted Tiberius to assume. Velleius’ own account is itself an example of how this meeting could be said to have been directed at posterity, since it provided him with the material to commemorate Tiberius’ accession in these terms. But let us turn for a moment back to its immediate functions: no concrete result of the meeting is recorded, but if the relatio was passed, as seems to be implied, there must at the very least have been produced a senatus consultum. 255 The account of Tacitus in particular indicates a more detailed record of the proceedings themselves, since he reports not only Tiberius’ general reticence but specific sententiae attributed to 146 254 Suet. Tib. 24.1. 255 To what precise effect is difficult to assert. While some might find here the prototype for the SC preceding a comitial lex de imperio, no trace of such remains and, as was covered in section 2.iii, in the case of Tiberius it would have been unnecessary. Again, Matthews (2010, 69–72) seems confident that any such SC would simply have contained language approaching that of Vell. 2.142.2. individual senators and the emperor’s reaction to them. While, as Velleius demonstrates, this could have been recovered from the individual accounts of senators who were present, 256 consultation of the acta seems, again, the most straightforward explanation. The distinction between acta and more official documents (both decrees and edicts such as that issued after the meeting de honoribus) is again worth emphasizing: the more detailed account to which we have access may not have been circulated generally, and certainly not immediately. As Sumi has observed, the relative “novelty of the Principate meant that no ceremony existed” for effecting a succession. 257 How, then, was it to be performed? I use “performed” here in the fullest sense: what actions could be undertaken or words spoken that would communicate to the world that Tiberius was assuming the statio of Augustus in such as a way to render that assumption authentic and felicitous? Once again, Rome’s traditions would provide the vocabulary—both linguistic and symbolic —to make this transition effective and interpretable, and the senate would furnish the pragmatic circumstances that made such a performance possible. The narrative of relatio allowed a subject to understand what occurred on September 17: the consuls and other senators asked Tiberius to take over the role of Augustus and, once he assented (or at least stopped refusing), 258 the motion was carried and Tiberius could now be 147 256 Woodman (1977, 29 n. 4). 257 Sumi (2005, 227), regarding Augustus’ adoption of Tiberius through a lex curiata. 258 Tac. Ann. 1.13.5. understood to be the new emperor (if not the new Augustus). 259 The efficacy of this meeting would have been enhanced by Augustan precedent, since his statio had been constructed through a progressive sequence of senatus consulta and leges; as we have seen, Tiberius’ own position as his colleague has been enacted in the same way. 260 The meeting de re publica can be understood a further example of how “[m]onarchical succession was sanctioned through Roman Republican ceremony. Thus, [Tiberius] set a precedent that other emperors followed.” 261 It is my position, however, that the narrative frame provided by such sanction was more important than how it may have operated to soften or conceal its monarchic reality. 262 Again, without entering here into too much detail on the debate at the meeting we can still give some further consideration to the precedents that were set by allowing it to occur at such length in a space that, as I have emphasized repeatedly, would record and archive its details so efficiently. Perhaps more significant than the way it authorizes Tiberius’ Principate as the will of the senate and people of Rome is how it authorizes 148 259 Dio 57.2.1 claims he did not use that name, Suet. Tib. 26.2 only in letters to foreign kings. As Griffin (1997) notes, the subscriptio to the SC de Cn. Pisone Patre effectively puts the lie to both authors. 260 See section 2.iii, Velleius 2.121.1, and Suet. Tib. 21.1. There was even arguably Republican precedent, especially if we follow Levick (1976, 75–78) that this meeting was meant to define a scope for the application of Tiberius’ powers: the wording of the so-called senatus consultum ultimum is recorded as “dent operam consules, praetores, tribuni plebis, quique pro consulibus sint ad urbem, ne quid res publica detrimenti capiat” (Caes. Bell. Civ. 1.5). 261 Sumi (2005, 227), originally addressing the precedent set by Augustus with the adoption of Tiberius. Again, the Arval Tablets connect the dies imperii of future emperors to the action of the senate (see note above). In 68-69CE, it was the senate who would ultimately recognize each of the usurpers in turn (e.g. Vespasian at Tac. Hist. 4.3.3), and the Lex de imperio Vespasiani has been understood in its language to be based on an SC that would have preceded it (Brunt, 1977, 95). 262 Matthews (2010, 69–71) similarly suggests that this meeting and, in particular, the language of statio were intended as a way of making sense of the succession. and defines the Principate as a general arrangement. I have already touched upon how Velleius reflects a measure of this process, but it would be worth dwelling on the particular opinions of Asinius Gallus, and the function of their being committed to public record (and thus history): tum Asinius Gallus “interrogo,” inquit, “Caesar, quam partem rei publicae mandari tibi velis.” perculsus inprovisa interrogatione paulum reticuit; dein, collecto animo, respondit nequaquam decoum pudori suo legere aliquid aut evitare ex eo, cui in universum excusari mallet. rursum Gallum (etenim vultu offensionem coniectaverat) non idcirco interrogatum, ait, ut divideret quae separari nequirent, sed ut sua confessione argueretur unum esse rei publicae corpus atque unius animo regendum. Then Asinius Gallus spoke: “I ask you, Caesar, which part of the res publica you wish to be committed to your charge.” Tiberius was taken aback by the unexpected question and was silent for a short time; then he collected himself and replied that it did not suit his own sense of decency to avoid or select any part of something from which he would prefer to be excused entirely. Gallus, inferring from Tiberius’ face his vexation, replied that he had not asked the question in order that Tiberius should actually divide that which no man was capable of separating, but rather so that by his own admission it should be made known that the res publica was as one body and ought therefore to be ruled by the mind of one man. Tac. Ann. 1.12.2–3 Once more, in the depth of detail and the repeated use of interrogatio and its cognates Tacitus’ account seems at least to promise that it is drawn from a systematic account of the proceedings. 263 What that account commits to public record, quite apart from the possibility of the emperor being surprised, is the critical idea that the management of the res publica is in fact indivisible, and requires the appointment of a single 149 263 As might the similarity of Dio’s account (57.2.5–6). individual. 264 Tiberius’ final assent to the motion therefore ratifies not only his own Principate but, as Gallus himself says, his assent to this general concept. The meeting de re publica, its resulting senatus consultum, and the records of its proceedings therefore represent a crucial moment in the history of the Principate, where senate and princeps reached a public consensus that it was the only form of government possible. Similarly, in the dramatic ambiguity of the term res publica, Tiberius and all future emperors are left a wide berth in which to exercise their transactional powers without fear of being embarrassed by the legal technicalities on which their positions rested publicly. 265 Tiberius’ reticence could be said to have resulted in the institutionalization of a broader remit for the exercise of his authority. Nevertheless, at the outset of his reign Tiberius does appear to have played the part of the civilis princeps: according to Suetonius, “he preserved the former maiestas and potestas of the senate and magistrates, and there was no matter of public or private business so small or so great that he did not bring it before the senate.” 266 Although Suetonius adds that this provided only the “appearance of liberty,” it is precisely with appearance that we are concerned, and this practice would have meant that Tiberius and his business appeared frequently in the Curia and on the public record. Suetonius adds 150 264 Levick (1976, 77) emphasizes this conclusion from Gallus’ interrogatio. 265 See Moatti (2009) on the semantic range of res publica. The trial of Marcus Primus in 24BCE (discussed in chapter 5) arguably represents an attempt to embarrass Augustus on just these terms. 266 Suet. Tib. 30.1: “quin etiam speciem libertatis quandam induxit conservatis senatui ac magistratibus et maiestate pristina et potestae. neque tam parvum quicquam neque tam magnum publici privatique negotii fuit, de quo non ad patres conscriptos referretur.” Examples of the types of business transacted follow. Suetonius likewise calls him “civilem” (26.1). that Tiberius did not complain when measures were passed against his wishes (31.1), that motions were often carried even when he voted against them (31.2), and, in contrast to what we are told about September, 14CE, that he always went unaccompanied in the Curia (30.1). A notable example of this attitude would be the incident from 16CE, when M. Hortalus appeared in the senate to plead for financial assistance; although Tiberius spoke sternly against his request, he yielded reluctantly to the general opinion of the house (Tac. Ann. 2.37–38). Dio corroborates the picture from Suetonius, stating that, so long as Germanicus lived, Tiberius “referred everything, even the smallest item, to the senate and shared it with them.” 267 As Woodman observes, “[e] ven Tacitus admits that the first years of Tiberius’ government were excellent,” in part because “public business and the most serious of private affairs were handled in the senate.” 268 In his general practice, then, Tiberius does seem to have followed the exemplum of Augustus. ii. New procedures Nevertheless, referring all business to the senate did not mean that Tiberius ceded complete control, and Suetonius may well have been correct to say this provided only the “appearance of liberty.” Dio claims that the discussion of Augustus’ divine honors —generally understood to have occurred during the same meeting de republica on 151 267 Dio 57.2.2: πάντα δὲ δὴ καὶ τὰ σµικρότατα ἔς τε τὴν γερουσίαν ἐσέφερε καὶ ἐκείνῃ ἐκοίνον. 268 Woodman (1977, 50) with Ann. 4.6.1 (“publica negotia et privatorum maxima apud patres tractabantur”). September 17th 269 —was conducted somewhat less openly than programmatic comments quoted above would imply: ἐπὶ µὲν οὖν τῷ Αὐγούστῳ τοσαῦτα, λόγῳ µὲν ὑπὸ τῆς γερουσίας ἔργῳ δὲ ὑπό τε Τιβερίου καὶ ὑπὸ τῆς Λιουίας, ἐνοµίσθη· ἄλλων γὰρ ἄλλα ἐσηγουµένων, ἔδοξε σφισι βιβλία παρ’ αὐτῶν τὸν Τιβέριον λαβόντα ἐκλέξασθαι ὅσα ἐβούλετο. προσέθηκα δὲ τὸ τῆς Λιουίας ὄνοµα, ὅτι καὶ αὐτὴ τῶν πραγµάτων ὡς καὶ αὐταρχοῦσα ἀντεποιεῖτο. Such were the decrees passed in memory of Augustus, nominally by the senate, but actually by Tiberius and Livia. For when some men proposed one thing and some another, the senate decreed that Tiberius should receive suggestions in writing from its members and then select whichever he chose. I have added the name of Livia because she, too, took a share in the proceedings, as if she possessed full powers. 56.47.1 (trans. E. Cary) If true, this passage could be said to testify to the end of transparent, deliberative government at Rome, as the senate on its own agency adopts a practice first used by Augustus in arranging for the vicesima in 6CE (section 4.i above), and, moreover, commemorates that adoption in a decree, committing it to both writing and memory. A variety of conflicting proposals should not have represented an insurmountable obstacle to senatorial decision-making; indeed, under the model of relatio-interrogatio- discessio, this should have been quite a normal state of affairs. We have already seen that the traditional process worked at the meeting de honoribus, with Tiberius’ veto solving any disagreements effectively. 152 269 Based on the coordination of Tacitus’ sequence (Ann. 1.8.6–11.1) with Fasti Antiates: CIL 2 I, 244; Inscr. Ital. 13.2, 510 (= Ehrenberg & Jones 2, , 52). Once more, see Levick (1976, 48–50) for a thorough discussion of the chronology. In this case, however, the senate declined to take any responsibility for reaching a final decision; if the “ἔδοξε” genuinely refers to an official decree in this vein, then the precedent is particularly important. As Dio himself emphasizes, using the familiar dichotomy of logos and ergos, a gap is being opened up between who holds sovereignty nominally and who in practice—exactly the type of gap to which Tacitus is always gesturing. 270 The corollary to this event is the further obfuscation of government: the senators’ suggestions, delivered in writing (βιβλία) directly to the Princeps, hides both sententiae themselves and the operation of veto, and leaves only the results of the process, which are all that enter the public record (those honors listed by Dio 56.46.1– 5). 271 To make matters worse, this allowed Livia to exert an influence on matters to which, as the counterfactual ὡς implies, she was not legally entitled. This is a significant evolution from the original meeting de honoribus, representing a new negotiation of the political capital of government: clarity, transparency, and tradition are here exchanged for privacy and individual agency. The net result is to transfer officially the power to render final decisions on a senatorial relatio to the emperor, presumably at a later date and in the privacy of his own domus. It is nevertheless not insignificant that this transfer is accomplished through a resolution of the senate, one that represents the moment itself as the result of rational deliberation as to what “seemed best” (ἔδοξε) to the members of senate. 153 270 See Ando (2010b, 38) on Tac. Ann. 1.1.1, 1.2.1, and 1.3.7 (discussed in section 1). 271 Tacitus, likewise, is only able to cite the honors that made it into the final decree (Ann. 1.10.8: “ceterum sepultura more perfecta, templum et caelestes religiones decernuntur”). While this episode may stand in marked contrast to the actual debate de re publica which followed it, it may indeed have set a precedent for future deliberations, at least where they concerned members of the imperial family. Certainly, the senate seems to have adopted the same resolution in selecting the honors for the dead Germanicus in 19CE, as enshrined in the text of the tabula Siarensis: 272 ---] n [--- ad conservandum memoriam Germanici Caesa– ris qui mori nu]nquam debuit [--- senatus censuit faciendum esse s(enatus) c (onsultum) de honoribus m]eritis Germanici Caesar[is --- atque ideo placuit uti age– retur de]ea re consilio Ti(beri) Caesaris Aug(usti) prin[cipis nostri atque uti libellus cum] copia sententiarum ipsi fieret atque is, adsu[e]ta sibi [indulgentia, ex omnibus iis] honoribus, quos habendos esse censebat senatus, legerit [eos, quos Ti(berius) Caesar Aug(ustus) et] Augusta mater eius et Drusus Caesar materque Germanici Ca[esaris et Agrippina uxore eius] adhibita ab eis et deliberationi, satis apte posse haberi existu[manuerint. D(e) e (a) r(e) i(ta) c(ensuere):] [--- for the purpose of preserving the memory of Germanicus Caes]|ar, who ought never to die away, [--- the senate has decided that a decree of the senate shall be passed concerning | the honors] owed to Germanicus Caesar [---, and therefore it has pleased (the senate) that there shall be a discussion | about] this matter together with the advice of Tiberius Caesar Augustus, [our] Leader, [and that a document] || shall be prepared for him with the total amount of (senatorial) opinions (about such honors), and that he (the emperor), with his customary [indulgence,] shall select [from all the] | honors, which the senate decided should be granted, [those which Tiberius Caesar Augustus and] | Augusta his mother and Drusus Caesar and the mother of Germanicus Ca[esar 154 272 The editio princeps of the tabula Siarensis is González (1984). It is customary to combine it with the text of the tabula Hebana (first published in Oliver and Palmer 1954) as both reflect segments of the Lex Valeria Aurelia, under which title they appear together in Crawford (1996, 507–543), and similarly in TDGR 6.36. Millar (2002, 351) argues that as a text, before an inscription, it reflects “the conception of the state as expressed publicly by those who played a role in it”; in choosing the phrase “expressed publicly” (rather than, e.g. “understood”), I believe he approaches the text in a manner similar—if not identical—to the present investigation. and Agrippina his wife,] invited by them also (to take part) in the deliberation, will have judged appropriate enough to be granted (to Germanicus). [Concerning this matter it has been decided as follows:] | Fragment I, lines 1–8, (trans. Sherk, emphasis in original) 273 The decree would appear to be very similar in form to that passed on September 17, 14CE, only where Dio there imputed Livia’s influence on the process of selection, here the right of not only Livia but also of Drusus, Antonia, and Agrippina to join the deliberation is explicitly authorized by the senate (7–8). Concerning this matter, they are to play a similar advisory role as that which is constructed for the princeps in line 4. 274 The insertion of this step into the deliberative process is quite remarkable, and yet the sequence of 1. the senate’s decision to refer suggestions in writing to the imperial family, 2. their selection from among the suggestions, and 3. the resulting senatus consultum here inscribed (signaled by the emphatically traditional “ D(e) e(a) r(e) i(ta) c(ensuere)” in line 8) almost naturalizes their participation in the life of the motion. The entire process actually required two separate senatus consulta, an unusual event and yet a fact which the inscription does not try to obscure, instead enshrining the combination of both decrees into the single text that survives. 275 155 273 I use the text from González (1984), translation from Sherk TDGR 6.36. 274 As Severy (2000, 321) remarks, “such formal recognition of women’s giving advice to the deliberative body of the senate is unprecedented and reflects dramatic changes in the boundaries between public and private.” I believe that Dio 56.47.1 certainly testifies to a practical precedent (and, arguably, since he was aware of it, some kind of formal commemoration of that precedent), but it is not officially attested in the documentary record, nor even couched as part of a resolution by the historian himself. 275 Fragment II (Col. b), lines 30–31 (“H(oc) s(enatus) c(onsultum) per relatio|nem secundam factum est unum”), with Nicolet (1988). In the meetings following the deaths of both Augustus and Germanicus, some measure of the deliberations and the rationale for final judgments was removed from the floor of the senate, and thus occluded from the public record. The senate thus ceded to Tiberius not only the ultimate agency in these matters, but afforded him the opportunity to make his final decisions away from the public eye, without the vexation of having to be seen turning down sententiae of which he did not approve. This is not insignificant: Tacitus somewhat censured Tiberius for vetoing some of the honors offered by the senate to Livia. 276 In the case of Germanicus, he could potentially escape similar criticism. In some respects, this new option of leaving resolutions open represents an inversion of Augustus’ use of the consilium, which would present the result of a limited consensus to the senate for ratification. It also may have paved the way for how government would be transacted in Tiberius’ absence later in his reign. Moreover, as in the case with the meeting of 17 September, 14CE, the choice to adopt this procedure was itself recorded in a decree, and thus contributed to the material formation of a precedent that would form the basis for future action in similar cases; the senatus consultum regarding the death of Germanicus both testifies to an incipient tradition, arguably beginning with the honors for Augustus, and contributes to its institutionalization as a tradition. The decree itself includes the directive for its own publication: its text was to be inscribed on bronze tablets and hung in the Temple of 156 276 Tac. Ann. 1.14.1: “ille moderandos feminarum honores dictitans eademque se temperantia usurum in iis quae sibi tribuerentur, ceterum anxius invidia et muliebre fastigium in deminutionem sui accipiens, ne lictorem quidem ei decerni passus est, aramque adoptionis et alia huiusce modi prohibuit.” Apollo on the Palatine, and also circulated among the Italian municipalities and colonies for publication in conspicuous locations there. 277 The rationale for this action is also stated: “so that the pietas of all the orders towards the Augustan house and the consensus of all the citizens (“consensu<s> universorum civium”) in honoring the memory of Germanicus Caesar should be made more readily apparent.” 278 The discovery of the inscription, in turn, has been used as evidence to argue for Tacitus’ subsequent consultation of such documents in constructing the narrative of 19–20CE in his Annals. 279 The strategic direction of senatorial procedure towards publicity and posterity is made even more explicit in the prosecution of Cn. Piso Pater for the murder of 157 277 Fragment II (Col. b), lines 20–23. Lines 18–19 likewise call for the inscription of Drusus’ oratio to be posted wherever he or Tiberius saw fit. Millar (2002, 350) notes that the production of the text and the production of its inscription implicate separate processes and apparatuses; we are therefore dealing with two levels of logistics, although in this chapter I argue for their collapse into a single order of strategy. If I might take another element of his argument a step further, he stresses (352–353) the role of the people reflected in the SC’s directive that the consuls present a lex on the same matter to the people (frag. 2, col. b, 27–30). Quite apart from the other implications of this clause, the process of passing comitial legislation—which traditionally involved the reading and posting of the text of a rogatio prior to the vote (Crawford 1996, 9–11)—would have aided in the publication and dissemination of its substance; indeed, we might be tempted to subordinate any other function of presenting a lex to the people to the role it played in communicating information to them. 278 Fragment II (Col. b), lines 22–23: “...quo facilius pietas omnium ordinum erga domum Augustam et conensu<s> universorum civium memoria honoranda Germanici Caesaris appareret.” The commemoration of “consensus universorum” echoes RG 34.1. Severy (2000, 325–326) argues that the unusual citation of the pietas omnium ordinum in this clause effectively summarizes the way in which the decree reconfigures the relationship between the imperial family and public religious practice and discourse. Cf. pp. 327–328 for the SCPP’s reorientation of maiestas away from the populus Romanus (as in Crawford 1966, no. 22) and towards the domus Augusta (lines 32–33). 279 See, e.g., González (1999). Germanicus in the following year. 280 The trial itself was held in the senate, and the text of the resulting senatus consultum directly acknowledges a concern for posterity and, by comparison to Tacitus’ account of the trial, exposes once again the difference between official records and acta senatus. 281 The decision to hold the trial in the senate was itself irregular, as even Tiberius acknowledged, and suggests a desire to keep certain details, at least for the immediate future, out of the traditional locale of the Forum and thus popular knowledge, while at the same absolving the emperor from the suspicion that could have resulted had the case been handled in the more complete privacy of a cognitio extra ordinem. 282 A middle-ground between openness and secrecy had to be found: the question of Tiberius’ guilt in the affair aside, the death of Germanicus was apparently a very sensitive issue in the capital, and Tacitus in 158 280 The date of the trial itself is a matter of some debate. The SC calling for the proceedings to be published dates its passage to December 10, 20CE (line 175), and some scholars have presumed the matter was concluded shortly beforehand, in November or December (e.g. Eck, Caballos and Fernández 1996, 109–121, 149–151). This conflicts with the account of Tacitus, who places the trial before Drusus’ ovation, dated to May 28 by means of the Fasti Ostienses (Inscr. Ital. 13.1, 187). Griffin (1997, 259– 260), therefore, argues that the trial took place in May, as Tacitus suggests, and that the decision to publish the proceedings was taken much later. Barnes (1998, 129–143) presents a thorough summary and discussion of the textual, practical, and chronological issues in play, concluding that the trial must have occurred some time after Drusus’ ovation in May and that Tacitus simply made an honest mistake based on the sources he would have had available. 281 The standard edition of the inscriptional Senatus consultum de Cn. Pisone Patre (hereafter SCPP) is that of Eck, Caballos, and Fernández (1996), together with the review and English translation by Griffin (1997). The subsequent review by Barnes (1998) and the special issue of AJP dedicated to this inscription (1999, vol. 120) are similarly essential. 282 Tac. Ann. 3.12.7 purports to quote the emperor: “id solum Germanico super leges praestiterimus, quod in curia potius quam in foro, apud senatum quam apud iudices de morte eius anquiritur.” The historian seems to imply that Tiberius thought a private cognitio too risky (ibid. 3.10.1: “haud fallebat Tiberium moles cognitionis quaque ipse fama distraheretur”). Richardson (1997, 510–518) believes the trial may illuminate some of the mysteries surrounding the transferral of maiestas trials from the quaestiones perpetuae to the senate under Tiberius: he concludes from the decision reflected in lines 120–123 of the SCPP that subsequent to this—and other trials in senatu—the regular quaestio was still called and the senate’s decision referred to it. This is, of course, more than Tacitus himself says, but see also Griffin (1997, 256), citing the case of Cornelius Gallus as it is narrated by Dio (53.23.7: “ἁλῶναί τε αὐτὸν ἐν τοῖς δικαστηρίοις καὶ φυγεῖν τῆς οὐσίας στερηθέντα”). particular records that public opinion was particularly volatile. 283 To this end, the senate was convened in the temple of Apollo on the Palatine instead of in the Curia, just as it had been for the meeting regarding Germanicus’ honors; 284 this accords with Tiberius and Livia’s general policy of not appearing in public during the affair, to which Tacitus imputes a desire not to have their real feelings on the matter discerned by prying eyes. 285 The paradox of the gaze rears its head once more. It should be remarked that simply referring the case to the senate creates a narrative of government, one that was easily interpreted in the present, through the attendance of the senate at the trial itself, and likewise communicated to the past: the senatus consultum records that the trial was the result of a relatio brought by Tiberius himself (4–5: “Ti(berius) Caesar divi Aug(usti) f(ilius) Augustus pontifex maxumus, tribuncia potestate XXII, co(n)s(ul) III, designatus IIII ad sena|tum rettulit qualis causa Cn. Pisonis patris visa esset”); 286 it further commends him for providing “everything which was necessary for seeking out the truth” (16–17: “rerum omnium, quae ad explorandam veritatem necessariae fuerunt, co|piam senatui fecerit”) and for insisting 159 283 Tac. Ann. 3.14.4 would seem to suggest that a crowd had gathered even around the temple on the Palatine (if “ante curiam” is to be understood as such—see note below). 284 As commemorated in line 1 of the SCPP and Fragment II (Col. b), lines 21–22 of the tabula Siarensis. Barnes (1998, 129 n. 14) resolves the apparent discrepancy between this and Tac. Ann. 3.14.4 by suggesting that the two events—that is, the trial itself and the meeting at which the SC was passed—took place in the Curia and the Temple respectively. It could also be that Tacitus simply uses “curiam” metonymically for the space in which the senate meets (cf. Ann. 3.12.7), which could therefore designate the Temple of Apollo. Thompson (1981) argues that this imprecise use of the word curia is characteristic of our literary sources. 285 Ann. 3.3.1: “Tiberius atque Augusta publico abstinuere, inferius maiestate sua rati si palam lamentarentur, an ne omnium oculis vultum eorum scrutantibus falsi intellegerentur.” See Woodman & Martin (1996, ad loc.). 286 I follow here the text of the SCPP provided by Potter & Damon (1999). that the trial be carried out and that Piso’s sons to defend him to the best of their ability (19–20: “nihilominus causam eius cognosci volue|rit filiosque eius arcessitos hortatus sit, ut patris sui causum defenderent”). The decision to try the case in the senate, while still keeping a measure of control over the proceedings, was therefore quite straightforward to configure as an example of civilitas on the part of Tiberius, and characterized as his desire to see the matter prosecuted publicly and equitably. This quite straightforwardly explains why the trial was continued even after Piso’s suicide, in what Tacitus calls the “imagine cognitionis” (Ann. 3.17.3). 287 That the redaction and publication of these proceedings was in particular aimed at posterity is shown by the closing section of the text: Et quo facilius totius actae rei ordo posterorum memoriae tradi posset atque hi scire<nt>, quid et de singulari moderatione Germ(anici) Caesa(ris) et de sceleribus Cn Pisonis patris senatus iudicasset, placere uti oratio, quam recitasset princeps noster, itemq(ue) haec senatus consulta in [h]aere incisa, quo loco Ti. Caes(ari) Aug (usto) vide– retur, ponere<n>tur, item hoc s(enatus) c(onsultum) in cuiusque provinciae celeberruma{e} urbe eiusque i<n> urbis ipsius celeberrimo loco in aere incisum figere– tur, itemq(ue) hoc s(enatus) c(onsultum) in hibernis cuiusq(ue) legionis et signa figeretur. That in order that the sequence of the entire transacted affair could more easily be handed down to the memory of future generations and they might know what the Senate thought both about the exceptional restraint of Germanicus Caesar and about the crimes of the elder Cn. Piso, it was <<the Senate’s>> pleasure that the speech our princeps read out and likewise these decisions of the Senate be 160 287 As discussed in chapter 1.3, the term imago is semantically related to species, and contains within it ideas of vision, performance, and commemoration. set up, inscribed in bronze, in whatever place seemed best to Ti. Caesar Augustus; likewise <<that>> this decree of the Senate, inscribed in bronze, be affixed in the most frequented city of every province and in the most frequented place of that city; and likewise <<that>> this decree of the Senate be affixed in the winter quarters of each legion near the standards. 165–172 (trans. Damon) There follows a subscription by Tiberius, affirming that he likewise wished the decree to be entered into the public records (174–176: “Ti. Caesar Aug(ustus)...manu mea scripsi: velle me h<oc> s(enatus) c(onsultum)...referri in tabulas pub<l>icas”). 288 Senate and emperor are thus united in their care for posterity, and both envisage writing as the primary medium for commemorating their actions in 20CE. The text claims that it seeks to communicate Germanicus’ restraint, Piso’s crimes, and “the sequence of the entire transacted affair” (166: “totius actae rei ordo”), which, as we have seen, included Tiberius’ motion to have the case tried before the senate, and his agency in ensuring a full and open consideration of the matter. 289 As we have seen, the literary sources claim Tiberius generally submitted business through the consuls, much as the Fifth Cyrene Edict demonstrates Augustus doing. 290 In comparison to that document, therefore, the 161 288 Sherk (1969, 8) identified this as the official terminology for the archiving of decrees in the aerarium Saturni even before the discovery of the SCPP . 289 I would suggest in answer to Richardson (1997, 510–518) that one of the reasons for transferring maiestas trials to the senate was precisely in order to control how they were conducted, recorded, and then commemorated for posterity. As Griffin (1997, 249) remarks of the SCPP, it represents “the official version of the trial.” Cf. the entry for September 13, 16CE in the Fasti Amiterni (= Sherk TDGR 6.28A; Inscr. Ital. 13.2, 193): “Festival in accordance with a decree of the senate, because on this day the impious plans, which Marcus (Scribonius) Libo had started concerning the safety of Tiberius Caesar and his children and other leaders of the state and concerning the Republic, were exposed.” 290 Like the Fifth Cyrene Edict, what we call the SCPP is actually “a composite document” (Barnes 1998, 127–128), comprising in addition to the SC a proscriptio and subscriptio, which both permit the comprehension of the “totius actae rei ordo” and also, as in the previous document, layer the text with purpose and ideological content. Barnes (o.c., 128) observes how “the text is articulated into sections by blanks in lines,” which would presumably have further aided reading comprehension. senatus consultum de Cn. Piso patre shows the benefits that could accrue to the emperor as the primary relator, benefits which Augustus had sought to recover using the letter prepended to the decree. The senatus consultum de Cn. Pisone patre may indeed record the “ordo” of the trial, but, as the account of Tacitus shows, several of the more precise details are missing. In particular, Tacitus claims to quote verbatim the speech made by Tiberius, in which he laid out his instructions for the trial (Ann. 3.12.2–7). 291 Among other details, he attributes specific sententiae to the consul Aurelius Cotta (3.17.4), Valerius Messalinus (3.18.2), Caecina Severus (ibid.), and Lucius Asprenas (3.18.3), and records Tiberius as vetoing several of their suggestions that did not, therefore, make it into the final decree (3.18.1). 292 It would seem a straightforward assumption that Tacitus consulted a copy of Tiberius’ oratio; for the other details he could have used the acta senatus. 293 The decree does order that Tiberius’ oratio be inscribed also (and gives the emperor a broad remit in choosing where), but even if these details therein were not 162 291 Damon (1999b, 336–338) argues that elements of the SCPP, specifically the judgment rendered concerning Germanicus “singularem moderationem patientiamq(ue)” (26–29), can be seen to answer the terms of Tiberius’ oratio (Ann. 3.12.5: “si qua fuit inqiuitas Germanici”), thus improving the case for believing that Tacitus is faithful in his reportage (contra Woodman & Martin 1996, 138–9). Barnes (1998, 143) reaches a similar conclusion. 292 Barnes (1998, 140) argues that these details are particularly probative of his consultation of the acta senatus. 293 As Eck, Caballos, and Fernández (1996, 295–298) and Moatti (2003) conclude. Earlier in Book 3, Tacitus makes reference to consulting historians and the acta diurna (3.3.2: “non apud auctores rerum, non diurna actorum scriptura, reperio”) for details regarding the arrival of Germanicus’ body at Rome (on which, see Woodman & Martin, 1996, ad loc.); see also section 2.v above. actively hidden from the public, their absence from the text of the senatus consultum is instructive for how much could be occluded by the official mechanism of redaction. 294 There is one final element worth commenting on in this text: it will be recalled that Cassius Dio lamented how the decision, in the case of the honors for Augustus, to let Tiberius choose from among written suggestions at his leisure gave Livia an unconstitutional opportunity to participate in the process of deliberation (56.47.1). Here, in the case of leniency for Plancina, the senatus consultum not only commemorates Livia’s interference in the deliberations of both emperor and senate, but would seem to aim at establishing a precedent for her future influence: et pro Plancina rogatu matris suae depreca⎡tus⎤ s⎡it⎤ et, quam ob rem e⎡a⎤ mater sua inpetratri vellet, iustissumas ab ea causas sibi ex– positas acceperit, senatum arbitrari et Iuliae Aug(ustae), optume de r(e) p (ublica) meritae non partu tantum modo principis nostri, sed etiam multis magnisq(ue) erga cui– usq(ue) ordinis homines beneficis, quae, cum iure meritoq(ue) plurumum posse in eo, quod a senatu petere<t>, deberet, parcissume uteretur eo, et principis nostri summa<e> erga matrem suam pietati suffragandum indulgendumq(ue) esse remittiq(ue) poenam Plancinae placere. ...and interceded for Plancina at his mother’s request, and received very just reasons, made to him by her, as to why his mother wanted to obtain these concessions, the Senate deemed that both Julia Augusta, who was most well 163 294 Griffin (1997, 254) notes there appears to be a distinction in the publication instructions in the SCPP (lines 165–173), suggesting the full set of documents (including the oratio) were only to be published in Rome, while the document as we have it is what was to be sent to the provinces and armies; she cites a similar clause in the tabula Siarensis (frag. II col. b. 20–7). Eck, Caballos, and Fernández (1996, 266) add that this is the first case we know of where a document was ordered to be published in the winter quarters of every legion. The tabula Siarensis (frag. II col. b. 18–19) similarly calls for a speech Drusus (2) delivered in senatu to be inscribed together with the SC; in this case, the inscription alludes to a libellus from which he read on the day in question, suggesting a further utility to prepared speeches of this kind. deserving of the republic not only because she gave birth to our princeps but also because of her many and great kindnesses to men of every order—although she rightly and deservedly should have the greatest influence in what she requested from the Senate, she used it most sparingly—and the very great devotion of our princeps to his mother should be supported and indulged; and that it was <<the Senate’s>> pleasure that the punishment of Plancina be remitted. 113–119 (trans. Damon) The essential arrangement of things has not changed from 14CE: Livia is not to be given a direct and open voice in government, she is not herself to come and speak in the senate. As before, her influence operates through Tiberius, but in this case it is openly acknowledged, and even ratified. Yet it retains a measure of secrecy, just as in the case of Augustus’ honors: we are not told precisely what Livia’s reasons for leniency were, just that the emperor assured the senate that they were very just (114)! The text therefore makes a show of rational government, even as it removes that rationale from public view (and therefore evaluation); the reader is implicitly asked to trust Tiberius, as apparently did the senate. The conviction that Tiberius is urging necessary action in the senate, to use the words of Fronto once again, is here represented, but we are deprived of the means to assess the validity of that representation. Meanwhile, the decree also enshrines the principle that Livia ought to have influence over deliberations in the senate, although it is noteworthy that the word auctoritas is studiously avoided, and the somewhat prosaic clause “she ought to get what she wants” preferred (116–117: 164 “quod| a senatu petere<t>, deberet”). What we might call an “official unofficial” role for the emperor’s mother is thus defined in the course of this text. 295 As it happens, Piso was instrumental in the formation of another important precedent, which came in the debate over the senate’s adjournment in 16CE; this, since it coincided with Tiberius’ absence from the city, would have left no-one to deal with petitions from Italians and provincials for the duration: res eo anno prolatas haud referrem, ni pretium foret Cn. Pisonis et Asinii Galli super eo negotio diversas sententias noscere. Piso, quamquam afuturum se dixerat Caesar, ob id magis agendas censebat, ut absente principe senatum et equites posse sua munia sustinere decorum rei publicae foret. Gallus, quia speciem libertatis Piso praeceperat, nihil satis inlustre aut ex dignitate populi Romani nisi coram et sub oculis Caesaris, eoque conventum Italiae et adfluentis provincias praesentiae eius servanda dicebat. audiente haec Tiberio ac silente magnis utrimque contentionibus acta, sed res dilatae. Ι would not mention the postponement of business in that year, if it weren’t worth nothing the different opinions of Cn. Piso and Asinius Gallus over that affair. Piso, although Tiberius had said that he would be absent, gave the opinion that for that very reason business ought to be carried on, so that, in the absence of the princeps, the ability of the senate and knights to sustain his duties should prove itself a credit to the res publica. Gallus, because Piso had anticipated him in making a show of liberty, claimed that nothing sufficiently respectable or in accord with the dignity of the Roman people could be transacted unless in the presence of and under the very eyes of Caesar, and for that reason the present gathering of Italians and influx of provincials ought to be reserved for his presence. Tiberius listened to these things in silence, which were argued with much contention on both sides, but the postponement was carried. Tac. Ann. 2.35 165 295 Severy (2000, 318–337) argues that in their presentation of the imperial family in relation to these matters, the SCPP, together with the Tabulae Hebana and Siarensis, “adapt to and help create a new power structure” by aiding in the institutionalization their relationship to Rome (319); she also observes that the terms of Livia’s influence, although remarkable in such a public context, are in some respects quite traditional for Roman elite women (330–331, citing, e.g., Plut. Ant. 54; Cic. Fam. 5.2.6). We witness here the resumption of a problem that developed under the reign of Augustus: if everything was to be referred to the senate under the emperor’s management, to what extent was it to be granted real autonomy when he had cause to be absent? In section 4.i, we observed how Augustus, in a combination of practice and procedure, gradually removed the senate’s capability to reach decisions in his absence. Under Tiberius, a general principle would be enshrined as precedent. The language here is definitive: princeps is opposed to senatus, and the distinction is drawn over the question of munia, which, it will be recalled, was the basis of Tacitus’ original separation between Augustus’ factual power and the empty names of Republican magistracies (Ann. 1.2.1 and 1.3.7, cited in section 1). Piso’s suggestion, however specious, is nothing less than a proposal that the senate’s original authority to accomplish things be restored to it. But it is Gallus’ sententia that is critical, in particular the claim that the senate could accomplish nothing worthy “unless in the presence of and before the very eyes of Caesar.” The formulation emphasizes the necessity of the emperor’s physical oversight, and makes his presence necessary for the passage of motions. Not only did Gallus’ sententia become a matter of public record, it would not be surprising if it were included on the final senatus consultum resulting from the motion (especially since his side prevailed). Thus a seemingly incidental opinion (which Tacitus characterizes as a fit of pique) passes into institutional history, and forms the basis for the definition of the senate’s sphere of activity in the absence of 166 the princeps. 296 This presumably laid the foundation for the shape senatorial procedure would take during Tiberius’ later retirement to Capri (to which we shall turn in section 5.iv). iii. Dissimulation As Tacitus reports, Tiberius remained silent in the debate on the senate’s adjournment, a debate which, I have argued, would set an important precedent in the governmental relationship between princeps and senate. His silence, of course, permitted the initiative for reserving business for the emperor’s presence to come from within the senatorial order—or at least to be recorded as having done so. All Tacitus can report is that Tiberius was there but said nothing. The incident is an obvious analogy to the meeting de re publica, where Tiberius resisted the motion that he assume his father’s statio—“as if living in the old Republic and unsure if he wanted to rule” 297 —and yet, it was pointed out, did not exercise his veto on the matter (section 5.i). The function was the same: to make it appear that the initiative for the institutionalization of the statio principis came from within the senatorial order. 167 296 If were to analyze this passage according to the methodology of Matthews (2010, 63–67, discussed in section 2.v), we would most likely conclude that “nihil satis inlustre aut ex dignitate populi Romani nisi coram et sub oculis Caesaris, eoque conventum Italiae et adfluentis provincias praesentiae eius servanda” were the words preserved in the acta senatus, with “quia speciem libertatis Piso praeceperat” representing Tacitus’ authorial contribution. 297 Tac. Ann. 1.7.3: “...tamquam vetere re publica et ambiguus imperandi.” Both events are examples of Tiberius’ famous dissimulation, which has become a programmatic feature of accounts of his Principate. 298 This is in part a measure of the influence of Tacitus, who claims that Tiberius’ recusatio at the meeting de re publica was paradigmatic: plus in oratione tali dignitatis quam fidei erat; Tiberioque etiam in rebus quas non occuleret, seu natura sive adsuetudine, suspensa semper et obscura verba; tunc vero nitenti ut sensus suos penitus abderet in incertum et ambiguum magis implicabantur. at patres, quibus unus metus si intellegere viderentur, in questus lacrimas vota effundi. There was more dignity than sincerity in this speech; for Tiberius, whether by his nature or by force of habit, was accustomed to use uncertain and obscure words, even in matters where he was not trying to hide anything; at this time he was trying to bury his feelings as deeply as possible, and so he slipped further into uncertainty and ambiguity. But the senators, whose one fear was that they should seem to understand him, collapsed into complaints, tears, and prayers. Ann. 1.11.2–3 299 Tacitus makes it clear that he sees the recusatio as a performance, with Tiberius making strategic use of ambiguous language in order to produce a certain effect; since, as the historian intimates, the performance does not seem to have convinced the senators at the meeting itself, it should perhaps most readily be understood as one aimed at posterity. Tacitus tells us the senators were anxious not to undermine the performance, and played their parts in begging him to take up the statio as though he were generally 168 298 Tac. Ann. 4.71 and Dio 57.1.1–3 are essential. Bérard (2005, 115–116) notes that dissimulation is rendered more of a general comportment or character trait than simple political technique, and acknowledges Tacitus’ role in particular in disseminating this portrait (as does Zecchini 1986, 23). Matthews (2010, 58) argues that Tacitus clearly establishes at the beginning of the Annals that dissimulation “was fundamental to his conception of the Principate,” which may explain why he chose to start his account in 14CE with the accession of Tiberius. 299 Cf. 4.31.2 and 13.3.2. reluctant; we should perhaps not be too quick to believe the feelings Tacitus imparts to them: this is his reading of the events at the meeting as they were recorded. When Tiberius suggested he might accept some part of the job (1.12.1), Gallus then asked him what part he would like; Tiberius was taken aback by the question, and Gallus, it will be recalled, hastily added the opinion that it was in fact indivisible. Gallus makes yet another appearance in an incident of Tiberius’ dissimulation, when, in 16CE, he moved that magistrates should be elected five years in advance and that every year the princeps should nominate 12 candidates from among the legionary legates as praetors designate (Ann. 2.36.1). This would essentially have forced Tiberius to make all his nominations ahead of time, therefore leaving him less flexibility in showing favor and manipulating the ambitions of the leading men; Tacitus claims that Asinius’ motion was nothing less than an attempt to penetrate the arcana imperii (2.36). In response, Tiberius argued that the motion would actually extend his prerogatives unduly,and that he would not be able to stand the prolonged resentment of candidates who knew they would not be receiving office for another five years. It is unclear whether the motion was stalled by veto or in an actual discessio, but Tacitus says that “by means of this speech, which appeared laudable, he held on to the power of empire” (2.36: “favorabili in speciem oratione vim imperii tenuit.”). There are normative implications regarding Tiberius’ sincerity that are best left for chapter 2, but his dissimulation is worth considering here in the scope of the senate as space of commemoration. For, if Tacitus is fair in his implication that all the senate 169 understood Tiberius’ real intention, at whom was this dissimulation aimed if not at posterity? So far we have exposed a self-conscious habit in the mechanisms of the senate, under both Augustus and Tiberius, of looking towards the future and the remembrance of activity and its rationale, a habit realized in Tacitus’ ready recapitulation of the events that took place there. We have likewise observed the danger presented to Tiberius’ performance by unexpected questions from the floor (particularly in the case of Asinius Gallus). While much could be done to arrange consensus beforehand, there was still a degree of contingency present in any meeting of the senate, even when none of the senators intended malice (Gallus seemed genuinely surprised by the emperor’s offense in 14CE). Tiberius’ dissimulation should not be viewed as a matter of perversity, but understood as a strategic reaction to the realities of the senate as both public sphere and sphere of public letters. Not only was he on display when he attended the senate, he was expected to participate in (at least the appearance of) deliberative government, which included offering sententiae and answering questions. If he was obscure or unclear, I believe it is more likely he was thinking of the acta senatus than the ears of his fellow senators. 300 The same strategy is indicated by the decisions that let him choose between written suggestions outside of the recording atmosphere of the senate itself. As Cynthia Damon has observed, there is a marked contrast between the evidence for the death of Germanicus and that for the death of Agrippa Postumus in 170 300 Levick (1976, 124) argues Tiberius’ lack of concern for “contemporary and lower-class public opinion” precisely exhibits his historical consciousness. 14CE. 301 In that case, Tiberius was advised against referring the affair to the senate, and the result is that, compared to the documentation we possess regarding Germanicus, there is very little evidence of what exactly happened. Neither Tacitus nor Suetonius are completely confident as to whether Postumus was murdered at the behest of Augustus, Livia, or Tiberius himself, and, while Tacitus seems to believe it was Tiberius, both are compelled to offer all three alternatives in their accounts. Tacitus notes that Tiberius said nothing about this matter in the senate, and Suetonius confirms that it was precisely his refusal to be drawn on the subject that has condemned the truth to oblivion. 302 The lack of a definite culprit continues to invite speculation as to who ordered the assassination. 303 It will be recalled that this is one of those episodes where Tacitus specifically uses the term arcana—specifically arcana domus—which were discussed in the introduction; 304 here the preservation of arcana, and, indeed, their concealment from history, is expressly linked to keeping them from being expressed within the senate. Keeping arcana out of the senate naturally limited its members’ ability to know and share them, but, as we can see, the accompanying effect upon its 171 301 Damon (1999, 161). 302 Tac. Ann. 1.6.2–3 and Suet. Tib. 22.1. On Tiberius’ silence specifically: Tac. Ann. 1.6.1 and Suet. Tib. 22.1: “nam mox silentio rem obliteravit.” Dio (57.3.5f), by contrast, is sure it was Tiberius. See also Bérard (2005, 120) on Ann. 1.5. 303 Seager (2005, 40–41 & n. 6) offers a summary of the options, as well as his own argument: that it must have been at the order of Augustus, but the centurion would have carried out his orders in the name of Tiberius, quite without the knowledge of the latter. 304 Tac. Ann. 1.6.3: “Sallustius Crispus particeps secretorum...monuit Liviam, ne arcana domus...vulgarentur, neve Tiberius vim principatus resolveret cuncta ad senatum vocando.” records also effectively frustrated historical investigations into such matters. 305 The contrast with other events from that year—for example the details of Augustus’ will, which was read in the senate—is striking. In the case of Postumus, Tiberius protected the arcana imperii by keeping the matter out of the senate. If, however, he was to follow the Augustan practice of governing through the senate, he would have to commit some things to the public sphere; as we have seen, this occasionally resulted in awkwardness or embarrassment, and gave brave souls like Gallus the opportunity to propose problematic motions. While, as in the case of Postumus, the decision to try Cn. Piso in the senate may have been an attempt to clear Tiberius of any complicity, it also vastly increased the public information surrounding the case, and produced a richer historical record, the fruits of which we have explored in section 5.ii. It also created more suspicion, since Piso had the chance to claim he had damning letters from Tiberius ordering Germanicus’ death; while these were prevented from being produced, their existence was likewise committed to the record. In the case of Cn. Piso, therefore, we have an example of the dynamic interplay of publicity and secrecy, and the various strategic benefits and difficulties policy could provide. Besides its strategic benefits, dissimulation is a further example of the senate’s immense power as a focal point in the sphere of public letters. To the extent that Tiberius is remembered as the dissimulator par excellence, this is a phenomenon of the 172 305 See Dio 53.19.3–6, with Bérard (2005, 119–120) and Syme (1958a, 364–365).. written record: it is the words Tiberius spoke (or did not speak) in the senate, and their subsequent interpretation by Tacitus and others, that have created this perception of his reign. François Bérard in particular, has pointed to Tacitus’ role in defining Tiberius as a dissembler, developing further the meta-textual relationship between historiography and history to suggest that Tacitus himself, in his “rhetoric of ambiguity,” likewise contributes to the obscurity of imperial history. 306 But this picture of Tiberius is also an epiphenomenon of his rigid pursuit of Augustus’ precedent; indeed, Levick has gone so far as to suggest that the Tacitean picture of Tiberius’ reign can be understood as the result of his misreading Augustus’ exemplum: he took “Augustus’s consilium as praeceptum, holding to be mandatory what his predecessor had regarded as advisable and…[turned] it from a sham into what it purported to be.” 307 In the career of Tiberius, therefore, we can potentially find his own reading of Augustus’ Principate, together with the incumbent dangers of appearing in the senate too much, what Levick has summarized as “the dilemma of a man who as princeps must not say too much and who as a senator is bound to speak”; Tiberius himself is purported to have opined “for me it is neither respectable to remain silent nor made easy to speak forth, because I do not play the role of aedile or praetor or consul. Something greater and loftier is required from a Princeps.” 308 In a marked departure from Augustan precedent, Tiberius does not 173 306 Bérard (2005, 127–129). 307 Levick (1976, 224). Sutherland (1984, 87) remarks that it was indicative of this relationship that “[t] here was not a single administrative innovation in the imperial coinage under Tiberius…” 308 Levick (1976, 17), describing Tiberius in particular. Tacitus (Ann. 3.53) quotes this in the gist of the emperor’s letter to the senate of 22CE, regarding his absence during the debate on the sumptuary laws. seem to have had much use for an officially recognized consilium; indeed, while Suetonius seems to indicate that at first Tiberius asked for his own consilium to be constituted from among the principes civitatis, he adds that these men were almost all destroyed in the scourges wrought upon the order. 309 According to Pliny the Younger, Domitian didn’t believe it was possible to act as a senator and still be Princeps. 310 Pliny’s implication is that Domitian was incorrect to think this way, and yet there is a pragmatic rationale to such a point of view: although the emperor may have had sufficient legal and factual power to execute whatever policy he wished, if such policy was submitted to the senate for its approval— for whatever reason—it was made subject to debate, before an audience and on the record, and courageous individuals could use this opportunity to question or otherwise embarrass their princeps Domitian’s idea might itself be based on a reading of Tiberius’ career, since we are told he studied his predecessor’s commentarii avidly. 311 Since Domitian was a contemporary of Tacitus, we may then have here two similar readings of the evidence available at that time for Tiberius’ reign, which, again, could speak to the nature of that evidence as much as the person of Tiberius himself. 174 309 Suet. Tib. 55: “super veteres amicos ac familiares viginti sibi e numero principum civitatis depoposcerat velut consiliarios in negotiis publicis. horum omnium vix duos anne tres incolumnis praestitit, ceteros alium alia de causa perculit…” 310 Pliny Pan. 63.6. 311 Suet. Dom. 20.1, with Bérard (2005, 118–119). iv. Absence Tiberius left Rome entirely for a period in 21–22CE, and then permanently from 26CE until his death in 37CE; 312 this means he was absent from the city for approximately half of his reign and explains why, even though we have the highest attestation of meetings from this period (176), his maximum conjectured attendance rate is only 53%. This rate is in part based on—but also tracks well with—the programmatic statements regarding his attendance while he was in the capital cited in section 5.i. His withdrawal in 26CE is generally understood to mark the real beginning of the less civilis/demotikos period in his reign, although our sources hold it was precipitated by the death of Germanicus in 19CE. 313 Yet despite his absence, government continued to be mediated through the senate, with Tiberius relaying reports from the provinces, referring ambassadors, and initiating relationes. Moreover, Dio purports to find it bizarre that Tiberius continued in his practice of initiating almost everything through the consuls (explored in section 5.i), despite still possessing his own transactional powers. 314 The historian, however, is probably guilty of reifying a later prerogative to transact with the senate by letter for which Tiberius was actually in the process of forming the 175 312 In 21CE he departed for Campania (Tac. Ann. 3.31; Suet. Tib. 39.1), returning only when Livia fell sick in 22CE (ibid. 3.64). In 26CE he withdrew to Capri (Dio 58.1.1; Tac. Ann. 4.57; Suet. Tib. 41.1) and, although he would return to the environs of Rome in 33CE (Dio 58.21.1; Tac. Ann. 6.39), he never again set foot inside. 313 Tac. Ann. 4.15 acknowledges that everything was till in the hands of the senate in 23CE. 314 Dio 58.21.3: “καί πολλὰ περὶ τούτου καὶ τοῖς ὑπάτοις ἐπέστελλε, καί ποτέ τινα ὑπ’ αὐτῶν καὶ ἀναγνωσθῆναι ἐκέλευσεν. ὃ καὶ ἐπ’ ἄλλων πραγµάτων ἐποίει, καθάπερ µὴ δυνάµενος αὐτὰ ἄντικρυς τῇ βουλῇ γράψαι.” precedent. 315 While there was some prior precedent for such a procedure in the later years of Augustus’ reign (see section 4.i) and in the submission of written sententiae in the deliberations regarding the honors for both Augustus and Germanicus (section 5.ii), the mechanisms for governing by correspondence would be more fully instantiated and exercised in these periods of Tiberius’ absences. The initial withdrawal in 21CE is characterized by Tacitus as a possible dry-run for his later retirement; 316 certainly it showed how government would work in such a situation. Although Tiberius had left his son and co-consul Drusus nominally in charge as concerned more mundane affairs, 317 communiques regarding the provinces were evidently directed straight to the emperor. Thus soon after he left the city, Tiberius wrote to inform the senate about Tacfarinas’ uprising in Africa and instructed them to select a suitable proconsul to deal with it: one who was “strong in body and experienced in warfare” (Tac. Ann. 3.32: “corpore validum et bello suffecturum”). 318 There was apparently a heated debate over who would be appropriate, during which Caecina Severus moved that, in the future, pro-magistrates should not be accompanied by their wives in provinces, with Valerius Messalina speaking against him; Tacitus relays the debate and sententiae with confident detail (ibid. 3.33–34). Despite the lively discussion, however, the senate failed to reach a resolution, and officially referred the 176 315 The right reflected in Clause III of the lex de imperio Vespasiani (discussed in section 2.vi). 316 Ann. 3.31: “longam et continuam absentiam paulatim meditans.” 317 At the first meeting of the year, Domitius Corbulo began agitating about the state of Italy’s roads (Ann. 3.31). 318 As late as 35CE legations from foreign cities would still come to the emperor first (Dio 58.26.2). choice of proconsul back to the emperor (ibid. 3.32: “de Africa decretum ut Caesar legeret cui mandanda foret”). At their next meeting, Tiberius nominated two candidates “per litteras,” and added a rebuke to the senate for “referring all their duties back to the princeps” (ibid. 3.35: “quod cuncta curarum ad principem reicerent”). One of the candidates, Manius Lepidus, appears to have been a straw-man, and so the other—who happened to be Sejanus’ uncle Junius Blaesus—was duly elected, and thus was presumably acknowledged as fulfilling Tiberius’ initial criteria. While it is tempting to follow Tacitus in condemning the two meetings as political theater, we should instead concentrate on how they functioned as a sequence: first, Tiberius publicly referred a question that touched on both the empire and the senatorial order to the house to make a decision; the senate engaged in a full debate, but ultimately returned the authority to make the selection to the emperor; he replied with two possible candidates, and claimed that in doing so he was performing the duties of the senate. The whole incident, therefore, could be read as the institutionalization of the princeps’ right to perform such a duty: it establishes a problem, the rationale for solving it, and then then portrays the emperor essentially solving it according to that rationale, all the while making a show of the senate’s traditional prerogatives being observed. An important element in this process is the mark left by Tiberius’ letters. When he is said to have written to the senate, it must be understood that these letters were recited in the course of a meeting (either by a relative or by a quaestor). They would therefore enter the public record, either lodged as separate documents or recorded in the 177 minutes of a meeting. Our sources are never shy about reporting their use, so they must have appeared in the acta quite straightforwardly. Indeed, sometimes they are quoted verbatim, 319 the most obvious example being one letter of 32CE that both Tacitus and Suetonius claim to quote directly; the similarity in their texts would seem to suggest they had each consulted a common exemplar. 320 Once again, the aspect of publicity could help resolve Dio’s confusion regarding Tiberius’ epistolary habits: letters to the senate became public record, but private instructions sent to the consuls did not do so quite as automatically. Conducting government through the consuls therefore reserved certain details or rationales for their eyes only, and contributed to the strategic arrangement of the public face of government. This variation in communicative forms is perhaps reflected in Tacitus’ distinction between the litterae sent to the senate and edicta directed towards the people: we should presumably understand a separation based as much on content as on form. 321 As Levick has so aptly put it, the letters and edicts represented “all that can be seen of a political iceberg the shape of nine-tenths of which must be a matter of conjecture” (this is true for both Tiberius’ subjects and for historians, ancient and modern). 322 Letters further opened the gap between words and 178 319 E.g. Tac. Ann. 3.53–55, on the subject of checking vice 320 Tac. Ann. 6.5–6.6 and Suet. Tib. 57.1. Or at least that this one letter of Tiberius was extant and considered genuine when both authors were writing. 321 Tac. Ann. 5.5. Dio is explicit as to a distinction between the letters sent by Gaius to the consuls and those to the senate (59.24.8, discussed below). Edicts seem to have been the primary means of communicating with the populus in general; Suetonius says that Augustus would read whole books aloud to the senate, and draw the attention of the people to the same works in edicts (Aug. 89.2). 322 Levick (1976, 211). In this vein, Tacitus reports a knight complaining to Tiberius that “spectamus porro quae coram habentur” (Tac. Ann. 6.8). deeds, illustrated by the way Tiberius obstructed the construction of an arch in honor of Livia that was decreed by the senate in 29CE: rather than veto or cancel the honor, which was by this point a matter of public record, Tiberius took on the cost of building it himself—and then never paid. 323 Likewise, the public nature of these letters made them the ideal means to communicate or perform certain things, such as Tiberius’ stance towards Sejanus: Dio claims that at first the emperor made his affection for him public by calling him “my Sejanus” in letters to the senate and people in 30CE, but that in the following year, as Tiberius sought to distance himself, his name became conspicuously absence from such missives. 324 The sequence of two meetings from 20CE shows how inefficient this model of government could be: just the appointment of a magistrate to deal with an incipient crisis required two letters from Tiberius, two meetings, and two decrees of the senate. Although Tiberius seemed to chide the senate for necessitating his continued involvement in the process, an incident that occurred at the end of 21CE would serve to expose how he really expected business to function. A Roman knight named Clutorius Priscus was prosecuted in the senate on a charge of preparing in advance a poem commemorating Drusus’ death. Despite two dissenting opinions, he was convicted and summarily executed. 325 Upon learning of what had occurred, Tiberius wrote to the senate commending their pietas but complaining about their precipitous punishment of 179 323 Dio 58.2.2. The offer to pay may have come in the letter attested by Tacitus (Ann. 5.2). 324 58.4.3 and 58.8.4. 325 The narrative is found in Tac. Ann. 3.49–51, Dio 57.20.3–4, and Suet Tib. 75.2. mere words; 326 Dio claims the emperor was in particular vexed that they should have passed the death penalty without first consulting him (or rather, securing his sententia). 327 The implication was that certain measures required the emperor’s opinion before their final passage. A compromise was therefore enacted: a senatus consultum mandating that future capital decrees would not be deposited in the aerarium Saturni—and thus not go into effect—until the 10th day after their passage. As Dio remarks, this would afford Tiberius the opportunity to review all convictions and void them before they were enacted; he also equates the deposition of such decrees in the aerarium with their “being made public.” 328 The measure constitutes an imaginative circumvention of the problem: by creating a delay in the otherwise traditional procedure, the emperor’s absence could be accommodated without too much disruption to form or narrative. This solution was, of course, facilitated by the documentary apparatus of the senate, and the delay was precisely in the publication of these documents: they would be kept arcana until the emperor had approved them. 329 180 326 Tac. Ann. 3.51: “cum extolleret pietatem quamvis modicas principis iniurias acriter ulciscentum, deprecaretur tam praecipitis verborum poenas...” 327 Dio 57.20.4: “ὅτι τις ὑπὸ τῶν βουλευτῶν ἄνευ τῆς ἑαυτοῦ γνώµης ἐθανατώθη...” (understanding gnome as indicating sententia) 328 Dio 57.20.4: “µήτε τὸ γράµµα τὸ ἐπ’ αὐτῷ γενόµενον ἐς τὸ δηµόσιον ἐντὸς τοῦ αὐτοῦ χρόνου ἀποτίθεσθαι, ὅπως καὶ ἀποδηµῶν προπυνθάνηται τὰ δόξαντά σφισι καὶ ἐπιδιακρίνῃ.” 329 Suet. Cal. 75.2 records that following Tiberius’ death in 37CE, some convicted individuals still died because Gaius didn’t intervene during the 10 day period. These problems and procedures persisted throughout Tiberius’ second retirement. 330 The senate continued to address matters as the emperor mandated them— especially maiestas trials 331 —and meanwhile attempted to deliver results they hoped would please him. Letters would arrive either commending decrees, such as the motion of 32CE that arranged for the Praetorian Guard to be paid from the public treasury, or condemning the relators of certain motions, such as when Junius Gallo proposed in the same year that ex-Praetorians be seated amongst the knights at public shows. 332 It may seem an inefficient way to conduct government, but Levick has characterized the use of correspondence as a strategic element in Tiberian policy precisely because it stifled genuine debate and further enabled Tiberius’ dissimulation, short-circuiting the Paradox of the Gaze: the emperor’s face and body could no longer be searched for his true intentions—nor could he be caught off guard as he had been in 14CE—but the reactions of senators could still be interrogated and reported back to the emperor. 333 In 29CE, Junius Rusticus was appointed from among the senators to compile acta specifically for the emperor, the better for him to keep abreast of everything that occurred. 334 That 181 330 Suet. Tib. 41.1 reports that the state almost ground to a halt in 26CE, since he left without appointing any magistrates. 331 Dio 58.16.3. Cf. Tac. Ann. 4.70. 332 Dio 58.18.3–4. 333 Levick (1976, 113–114; 198). Dio similarly reports that it was rumored that Tiberius stayed away so as to avoid his disagreements with his decisions (58.24.2). By 14CE, I refer specifically to the awkwardness at the meeting de re publica, and in particular to Tiberius’ response to Gallus’ question (see section 5.i). 334 Tac. Ann. 5.4. Rusticus perhaps represents the original incarnation of the office of ab actis. Suet. Tib. 73.1 provides one instance of Tiberius consulting these acta. Tiberius himself saw an advantage to this mode of government is suggested by his decision never to appear in the senate again, even though in 33CE he would move close enough to Rome that communications could occur on the same day. 335 Indeed, Dio claims that he actively pursued the possibilities for disinformation and ambiguity available in governing at a distance, constantly threatening to reappear at Rome and yet continuing to frustrate expectations. 336 It was suggested on two separate occasions that Tiberius was staying away from the senate for fear of his personal safety. In 32CE, the senate passed a motion that 20 of their members should be permitted to attend meetings under arms in order to protect the emperor; Tiberius sent a letter refusing the guard. 337 Dio adds that at this time the Curia had a guard stationed outside and that non-senators were not permitted to enter, 338 but the implication was that the danger was to come from within: Augustus had been rumored to wear a breastplate under his clothes at some meetings, 339 and the memory of the Ides of March was presumably still fresh. Later that same year, Tiberius asked the senate that Macro and a company of centurion and legates be permitted to accompany him when he attended meetings; the request was quickly converted into a decree. 340 182 335 Dio claims he came within 4 miles of the capital (58.21.1), Tac. that he could receive letters on the same day they were sent (Ann. 6.39). 336 Dio 58.6.3–6. 337 Dio 58.17.3; Tac. Ann. 6.2. Only Tacitus cites his reply. 338 Dio 58.17.4. 339 Dio 54.12.3 340 Tac. Ann. 6.15; Dio 58.18.5–6 While any real danger to the emperor is probably exaggerated by these episodes, it is worth observing here that, since the senate was one of the few spaces where the emperor would regularly appear in public, it was therefore one of the places where he was most vulnerable. So far we have explored this vulnerability as one linked to visibility, publicity, and interpretation, but the decrees under Tiberius reflect the much more physical vulnerability inherent to appearing in public. Moreover, the conventions of civilitas expected that the emperor would attend without the usual attendants of his aula, and that guards, lictors, and the like would be left at the door of the Curia. The decrees of 32CE perhaps functioned to reify the idea that the emperor was to a certain degree exposing himself to attacks when he appeared in the senate. The currency of such an idea could only increase the symbolic capital of civilitas: if an emperor chose to brave such danger—which the decrees seemed to suggest the senate itself recognized— then his courage and commitment to government was all the more commendable. A final phenomenon related to Tiberius’ absence must be observed. As I remarked in section 3, Suetonius cites at least one letter of Tiberius as an oratio; this is not a simple mistake on the part of the biographer, since in the same sentence he acknowledges that Tiberius was not present to deliver a speech in the senate. 341 Similarly, Tacitus characterizes the letter rebuking Junius Gallo was written “as if 183 341 That regarding the destruction of Sejanus (Tib. 65.1: “criminatus est pudenda miserandaque oratione, cum inter alia patres conscriptos precaretur, mitterent alterum e consulibus, qui se senem et solum in conspectum eorum cum aliquo militari praesidio perduceret”). [Tiberius] were addressing him in person.” 342 He later reports the defense speech of M. Terentius, who was accused in 32CE on the basis of his friendship with Sejanus, which includes several direct addresses made to Tiberius in the second person as though he were present in the senate to hear them (the speech is framed by Tacitus in oratio recta). 343 What should concern us here is not whether Tacitus is reporting Terentius’ actual words, but that he could conceive of such a speech being directed towards the emperor even in his absence, presumably to be relayed later in writing. This apparent conflation between litterae and oratio—terms which contain within themselves the seemingly opposing ideas of written and spoken word, of writing and performance—once more suggests a muddying of the distinction between these ideas in the Roman political and historical consciousness. That is to say, if the emperor’s words were read in the senate, it seems it was possible to imagine that the emperor himself had actually spoken in the senate. This fits with the elision of the quaestores principis which I have argued is tangible in the official record (section 2.vi), connects with the role of writing in (re)performance elucidated by Lowrie (section 2.iv), and perhaps even elaborates on the strategic use of written communication outlined by Levick: it could be suggested that letters were precisely a means for the emperor to speak—to perform—in the senate without subjecting himself to the gaze of 184 342 Tac. Ann. 6.3: “violenter increpuit, velut coram rogitans, quid illi cum militibus, quos neque dicta nisi imperatoris neque praemia nisi ab imperatore accipere par esset.” 343 Tac. Ann. 6.8: “tuum, Caesar, generum, tui consulatus socium, tua officia in re publica capessentem colebamus. non est nostrum aestimare, quem supra ceteros et quibus de causis extollas: tibi summum rerum iudicium di dedere, nobis obsequii gloria relicta est. spectamus porro quae coram habentur, cui ex te opes honores...de amicitia et officiis idem finis et te, Caesar, et nos absolverit.” others. The ease with which authors like Suetonius and Tacitus slip into language of speaking—rather than reading—suggests both the power and utility of such a strategy. Moreover, to the extent that such letters were easily absorbed into the traditional framework of senatorial government (as relationes or sententiae), it meant that for all intents as purposes, at least as regards the records of such proceedings, he was actually present, because participation was accomplished precisely through words. Tiberius thus showed both the logistical and imaginative potential behind government by correspondence. 6. Gaius Gaius’ reign was short, and our record for it suffers from the loss of the section of Tacitus’ Annals covering this period; it should not therefore be surprising that we have so few attestations of senate meetings (29 in total) during his Principate. Nevertheless, Cassius Dio’s account is relatively complete, and since his much longer narrative for the reign of Tiberius testifies to his attention to the emperor’s senatorial activity in particular, the relative paucity of such material that he provides for Gaius is instructive. 344 Moreover, we should by now have constructed a suggestive picture of the relationship between such activity and its commemoration: if, therefore, we cannot recover much evidence of Gaius’ appearances in the senate, it should probably be taken 185 344 It will be recalled that both Matthews (2010) and DeRousse (2012) have remarked that in Tacitus it is possible to correlate gaps in his senatorial narratives with the absence of business being presented to the house, which both use to posit a corresponding drop-off in the documents produced in these periods. as an indication that he did not appear there very often. 345 Given that Gaius’ reign is similarly divided into an early period of civilitas, where he paid the senate its due respect, and a later, more tyrannical period of indifference, it should not be surprising that his maximum conjectured rate of appearances (52%) is so close to that of Tiberius (53%), despite the great disparity in length of reign and total number of meetings. The positive valuation of Gaius’ first year in power is explicitly oriented around the role it appeared to imagine for the senate in his government. Suetonius describes him as civilis, and Dio reports that upon his first arrival in Rome in 37CE he made a show of deference to the senators in a meeting at which both knights and members of the populus were present, promising “to share his power with them and to do whatever would please them, calling himself their son and ward.” 346 The historian further characterizes him as being “δηµοκρατικώτατός”—a cognate for civilis (or even civilissimus)—at this time, precisely because he did not use letters to communicate with the senate and people. 347 He was conspicuously wearing the latusclavus when he interred the bones of his mother and brothers in the Mausoleum of Augustus, in a 186 345 Gaius does not even have a section in Talbert’s (1984, 438–443) master list of SCC, itself a reflection of our sources, which proceeds directly from the reign of Tiberius to that of Claudius. 346 Suet. Cal. 3.2. Dio 59.6.1: “τήν τε γὰρ ἀρχὴν κοινώσειν σφίσι καὶ πάνθ’ ὅσα ἂν καὶ ἐκείνοις ἀρέσῃ ποιήσειν ὑπέσχετο, καὶ υἱὸς καὶ τρόφιµος αὐτῶν λέγων εἶναι” (trans. from LCL). Probably the same meeting from Suet. Cal. 14.1, which means that it was Gaius’ first order of business on entering the city. Based on 59.6.2, which claims the meeting occurred when Gaius was 5 months and 4 days short of the age of 25, it may have taken place on March 26, 37CE, some 10 days after the death of Tiberius (Suet. Tib. 73.1; see Cal. 8.1 for the date of Gaius’ birth). 347 59.3.1: “δηµοκρατικώτατός τε γὰρ εἶναι τὰ πρῶτα δόξας, ὥστε µήτε τῷ δήµῳ ἢ τῇ γε βουλῇ γράζαι τι...” ceremony that therefore connected his familial obligations to traditional aristocratic practice. 348 Even the manner in which Gaius removed Tiberius Gemellus, the son of Drusus, from contention as heir to Tiberius’ power was channelled into a strategic performance of civilitas and the essential role of the senate in imperial government: he asked the senate to void Tiberius’ will on the grounds that Gemellus was too young to attend the senate, and thus would be unable to discharge the duties required of a princeps. 349 It is suggestive that this particular act was accomplished by letter, despite the general image of collegiate government that was to be projected upon Gaius’ arrival in Rome. The unpleasant business of removing Gemellus from contention was to be accomplished without debate, before his adventus and the display of civilitas that would follow; the presence of Macro in the senate when the letter was read no doubt communicated the necessity of the senate’s compliance. Gaius also asked the senate to bestow divine honors on the late Tiberius in his absence, but under the circumstances—and especially because the new emperor was as yet still something of an unknown quantity—they could not come to a resolution by themselves. Dio seems to believe that this was precisely Gaius’ aim: to avoid Tiberius receiving divine honors without being seen 187 348 Dio 59.3.5. As I noted in section 1, Suetonius calls attention to the performative nature of this event (Cal. 15.1). 349 Dio 59.1.2–3. himself to have wished them denied. 350 Much like Tiberius, Gaius apparently knew how to use absence as a strategic asset in dissimulation within the public sphere. It is the mark of an emerging tradition that both of these items were to be decided in the senate. Tiberius’ succession in 14CE had established the precedent whereby an emperor’s will and the question of his divinity were matters for senatorial debate and decree. The difference is that Tiberius had been present at both the meetings concerning these affairs, and had upheld both Augustus’ will and his deification. Gaius did not pay his predecessor the same favor, and by virtue of his absence did not have to engage either matter as a question for genuine deliberation. They were, nevertheless, transacted in the public sphere, with the senate’s decision (or lack thereof) becoming a matter of public record. Indeed, Dio comments that Gaius was forced to address Tiberius’ will publicly, rather than just ignoring it, since its contents were at this time quite well known. 351 As Tiberius’ choice of heirs was not arcana, some performance of due process according to a valid rationale was necessary in order for that choice to be circumvented; since Gaius’ authority rested to some extent on the validity of the statio held by his predecessor, his acts could not be simply disregarded. 352 Hence the will was submitted to the senate together with Gaius’ sententia that Gemellus was too young to 188 350 Dio 59.3.7, with Levick (1976, 221). 351 Dio 59.1.5. Cf. Suet. Tib. 76.1. Even though it was declared void, the will was presumably made public by its very reading in the senate on this occasion. 352 Though note Dio’s sententia at 59.1.3: “ἀλλ’ οὐδὲν γὰρ οὔτε πρὸς τὴν ἀγνωµοσύνην οὔτε πρὸς τὴν δύναµιν τῶν διαδεχοµένων τινὰ ἐπίσκηψίς τις ἰσχύει.” perform the role, an opinion with which the senate expressed consensus when they ratified it with a decree. There is further evidence that both emperor and senate continued to be attuned to the power of its commemorating functions: upon entering his first consulship, as one of the suffecti for 37CE, Gaius delivered an oratio in the senate denouncing Tiberius and making promises as to how he would govern. Dio is unclear as to the substances of these promises, but in their implicit opposition to Tiberius’ conduct they should probably be understood as broadly civilis in nature and in tune with Gaius’ statements earlier in the year. The senate’s response is informative: “fearing that he might change his mind, [they] issued a decree that this speech should be read every year.” 353 The decree seems to recognize precisely the power of writing to re-perform words that Lowrie discusses with relation to the Res Gestae: in this case the senate hoped that a repetitive speech-act would produce benevolent government. The idea behind it, as Dio sees it, is that the annual reading of Gaius’ words would constrain him to behave in line with them; thus precedent and its commemoration in text is to be employed in a strategic attempt to manage conduct. Presumably Gaius himself was not expected to read the oratio every year, and yet it was hoped that the re-performance of his words in the public sphere would have a measurable effect on his practice. Of course there are limits to the power of commemoration. Earlier, Dio laments that even though in 37CE Gaius requested a decree ordering sacrifices to his Fortune be 189 353 Dio 59.6.7: “ὥστε τὴν γερουσίαν, φοβηθεῖσαν µὴ µεταβάληται, δόγµα ποιῆσαι κατ’ ἔτος αὐτὰ ἀναγιγνώσκεσθαι.” (trans. by Cary) rescinded, and this request was itself inscribed on a stele, he would eventually have demand temples and sacrifices as if he were a god. 354 Dio thus acknowledges the potential for actors to contravene their pledges, even if they are commemorated on physical media, and even if they are to be re-performed in the public sphere. What he also testifies to, however, is the persistence of pledges commemorated in this way: it is the existence of the stele or the recorded oratio that makes possible the criticism of Gaius’ later action. In the public memory—and thus in history—Gaius is haunted by the precedents he set earlier in his reign, and his later actions become more lamentable by comparison. Even as a tyrant Gaius still acknowledged the power of written documents. When in 39CE he re-instituted charges of maiestas, he accompanied the act with an angry oratio in the senate. In it he eulogized Tiberius, and charged the whole senate with maiestas for its treatment of his memory (treatment which was in part commemorated by the decree calling for the re-performance of Gaius’ original oratio). 355 Gaius went through the names of all those convicted under Tiberius, and claimed that the senators had played a part in their downfall, “some by accusing them, others by testifying against them, and all by their votes of condemnation.” 356 Dio goes 190 354 Dio 59.4.4: “πρὸς δὲ τούτοις εἰκόνας τε ἀπαγορεύσας κατ’ ἀρχὰς µηδένα αὑτοῦ ἱστάναι, καὶ ἐς ἀγαλµάτων ποίησιν προεχώρησε, καὶ ψηφισθέν ποτε τῇ τύχῃ αὐτοῦ θύεσθαι παρέµενοσ, ὥστε καὶ ἐς στήλην αὐτὸ τοῦτ’ ἐγγραφῆναι, καὶ ναοὺς ἑαυτῷ καὶ θυσίας ὡς καὶ θεῷ γίγνεσθαι ἐκέλευσε.” 355 Dio 59.16.2. 356 59.16.2: “κἀκ τούτου καθ’ ἕκαστον τῶν ἀπολωλότων ἐπεξιὼν ἀπέφαινεν, ὥς γε ἐδόκει, τοὺς βουλευτὰς αἰτίους τοῦ ὀλέθρου τοῖς πλείστοις αὐτῶν γεγονότας, τοὺς µὲν ὅτι κατηγόρησάν σφων, τοὺς δὲ ὅτι κατεµαρτύρησαν, πάντας δὲ ὅτι κατεψηφίσαντο” (trans. by Cary). on to report that Gaius produced in support of his claims certain letters which in 37CE he had claimed he had burned, but presumably much of the proof he required was to be found readily in the senatus consulta resulting from those trials, if not the acta senatus as well. 357 The senate could not deny its complicity in those condemnations, since Tiberius had arranged for a decree in every case. Upon finishing his harangue, he ordered that it be inscribed at once upon bronze tablets and then stormed out of the senate, leaving the senators at first bewildered at the difference between his previous speeches and this latest one. 358 Dio’s claims to report sections of Gaius’ oratio verbatim may rest on his order that its text be made public, or may in fact reflect a genuine consultation of some record of it. The following day the senate reconvened to pass a decree offering annual sacrifices to his clemency and an ovation, a performance of obeisance that could be communicated to the emperor in the text of the senatus consultum that, as ever, followed. 359 There are other incidents that indicate Gaius’ relationship to public documents. Like Tiberius he used letters to the senate as a means to publicize certain information, such as his accusations against his sisters prior to their banishment in 39CE. 360 In this way the rationale for an imperial decision was rendered a part of the public record, but 191 357 59.16.3. Presumably the grammata he claimed to burn at 59.4.3. Gaius would later mandate that SCC continue to be produced to mark every conviction (59.18.2). 358 59.16.8–9. 359 59.16.10–11. It is unclear whether Gaius was present on this day, although 59.16.8 may be taken to imply that he was not. 360 Dio 59.22.8. was not made open to interrogation and did not have to answer for itself. Perhaps a more curious anecdote relates to the institution of new taxes: eius modi vectigalibus indictis neque propositis, cum per ignorantiam scripturae multa commissa fierent, tandem flagitante populo proposuit quidem legem, sed et minutissimis litteris et angustissimo loco, uti ne cui describere liceret. These taxes had been declared but not posted anywhere. The people complained, because many offenses had occurred through ignorance of the statue, and so at last he had it posted, but in tiny letters and in the most narrow place possible, so that no-one would be able to copy it down. Suet. Cal. 41.1 These taxes were specifically aimed at raising capital, so it was presumably in Gaius’ interest if people remained unaware that their activities exposed them to collections. What is most remarkable is the recognition that the taxes, in order to have the force of law, must have been written down somewhere (implicit in “ignorantiam scripturae”). This text had no doubt been recited in public on at least one occasion, but the audience had been necessarily limited. The people were demanding copies be posted publicly so they could be consulted, copied, and distributed more widely. 361 Gaius complied with the letter of their demands, but in such a way as to inhibit the wider dissemination of the text. Access to the written word of the statue becomes in this case a form of power, especially because citizens are subject to its stipulations whether they have read it or not. 192 361 Crawford (1996, 19–26) cites this episode for evidence of the practice of posting statues and constitutions on white boards in public places. The people’s concern similarly testifies to his argument that, regardless of their literacy, subjects of Roman law were aware that they would be held accountable to its terms and thus ought to know what those terms were (27–34). Gaius could just as easily manipulate the practical structures of the senate as he did its textual practices. Early in his career he re-instituted the practice of calling on ex- consuls to vote in the order in which they held office; Dio says that it had become habit for relatores to call upon them in whatever order they wished, presumably an incident of senators themselves following the example of Augustus. 362 Gaius did this to spite M. Silanus, his father-in law and a favorite of Tiberius, who had evidently accrued such prestige in the senate that he was always called on first. When in 38CE he made grants of lands to certain Eastern potentates he did so by means of a senatus consultum, and yet it was complemented by a ceremony in the Forum during which Gaius sat on the rostra on a chair between the consuls, much as he would have done in a meeting of the senate. 363 What precisely occurred here is unclear; it almost seems to be suggested that a meeting of the senate was held in the Forum itself, but if it wasn’t then at least some of the trappings of a meeting were transferred to this more public space in order to perform the transfer of lands to these individuals. The emperor took up his now traditional place between the consuls, and the decree was presumably read to the recipients. The ceremony is both vague and potentially complicated, but it could certainly be said to have made use of the elements of senatorial government in order to communicate and enact its purpose. 193 362 Dio 59.8.5–6. For Augustus’ habits, see Aug. 35.4 and Dio 54.15.6, discussed in section 4.i. 363 Dio 59.12.2: “...ψηφισαµένης δὴ τῆς βουλῆς, ἐχαρίσατο, ἔν τε τῇ ἀγορᾷ καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦ βήµατος ἐν δίφρῳ µεταξὺ τῶν ὑπάτων καθεζόµενος, καὶ παραπετάσµασι σηρικοῖς, ὥς γέ τινές φασι, χρησάµενος.” His absences caused similar problems to those of Tiberius, and were negotiated in a similar fashion. Although consul, he was away from Rome at the start of 40CE, and the man chosen to be his colleague had died. It was the praetors’ job to act in the absence of the consuls, but Dio reports that no-one was willing to appear to have usurped the emperor’s prerogatives by doing so. Two meetings were convened but no business was proposed, until on January 12th it was announced that the emperor had resigned his consulship and the suffecti took over. 364 Under Augustus and Tiberius we have seen that the consuls often acted as surrogates for the emperor, and their ability to do so presumably relied upon frequent consultation with him personally or by letter, and the remit implicit in their selection by the emperor. Suetonius says similar problems occurred when Tiberius left the capital in 26CE without nominating any magistrates. 365 It was only when the suffecti—presumably also chosen by Gaius—were permitted to step in that business could carry on as usual. This incident exposes the way the selection of magistrates constituted a primary form of control over the senate’s activities. In fact Dio says specifically that Gaius sent certain letters to be read in the senate and longer instructions to the consuls themselves. 366 This reflects a similar practice to Tiberius, where only certain information was destined for expression in the 194 364 The narrative is to be found in Dio 59.24.2–7. 365 Tib. 41.1 practically renders the nomination and replacement of magistrates the primary job of the emperor: “regressus in insulam rei p. quidem curam usque adeo abiecit, ut postea non decurias equitum umquam supplerit, non tribunos militum praefectosque, non provinciarum praesides ullos mutaverit...” 366 Dio 59.24.8. public sphere. In his absence, Gaius persisted in the imperial practice of reporting affairs to the senate, and the senate persisted in commemorating these reports with decrees. 367 Augustus and Tiberius had often made a show of rejecting the honors decreed by the senate in response to their activity, but Gaius apparently felt they represented a direct threat to his sovereignty, because “if anything that brought him honor was in the power of the senators...that would imply that they were his superiors and could grant him favors as if he were their inferior.” 368 As the Res Gestae clearly attest, Augustus—and similarly Tiberius—had perceived a strategic utility in letting it appear that the senate had authorized and ratified their actions; indeed, the latter would continue to submit matters for their approval until the end of his reign. It is perhaps telling that for the Julio-Claudian princeps who is traditionally held to have been the most tyrannical—a “monster” as Suetonius called him—these ceremonies of dyarchia were so abhorrent. 7. Conclusion At the outset of this chapter, I established two lines of inquiry: how often the emperor appeared in the persona of a senator and what material or ideological benefit those appearances may have offered to him. With regard to the first question, the results are perhaps not terribly surprising. A comprehensive survey of attested meetings and the 195 367 Dio 59.23.1–2. 368 Dio 59.23.3 (trans. by Cary). emperors’ presence or absence at them seems at first glance to confirm the traditional pictures of the reigns of Augustus, Tiberius, and Gaius: Augustus, when in Rome, seems to have attended the senate regularly, and even re-arranged affairs to facilitate such a pattern of attendance; although there exists a notable source-bias in Tacitus’ Annals, Tiberius appears to have been a constant presence in the senate, up until his departure from the city in 26CE; Gaius at first made attendance at the senate a great priority, but his interest in being a senator seems to have waned as he slipped further into despotism, if not megalomania. The princeps’ respect for this role—and the larger social and political structures in which it was implicated—was obviously coordinated with the way his reign was evaluated, although this again is not surprising given the interests of the literary authors. The attempt to tabulate the material practice of these emperors exposed once more the difficulty of such a task and the limitations inherent in the evidence that we have, although on a pragmatic level such evidence supports the view that all three emperors attended the senate more often than the sources attest directly. The demands of government would have required it, and the existence of structures like the senate presuppose, in some respects, their application. 369 In Augustus’ constitutional, procedural, and topographical arrangements lay the kernel of my answer to the second question: that his appearances as a senator were useful in communicating to non-senators his role in the government of Rome and the empire. At the most basic level, this was accomplished by the spectacle that was staged 196 369 Once more, see Brunt (1984) on the elision of the senate’s role in much of Augustus’ government. whenever the senate met, with senators convening in a designated space and the emperor himself making a public, visible journey from his home to join them. Even without any idea of what occurred within that space, the emperor’s passage to and presence within it communicated that he had played a role in whatever decision was reached. Moreover, channelling government through the senate gave every decision at least the appearance of rationality, offering matters to debate and reaching conclusions only through consensus; several anecdotes from the reign of Augustus attest to the way he manipulated these elements to foster support for or soften disgruntlement with his policies. Still, the emperor’s participation in most, if not all, decisions was obviously considered to be of premium importance; this is evidenced not only by certain ideological statements made by both Augustus and Tiberius, but in the complicated and protracted procedures, usually involving written communication, that were developed to account for his absence from Rome or the Curia. Secondary to the immediate visibility of his attendance were the documents that recorded and communicated that attendance to the world and to posterity. These took the form of edicts issued immediately following meetings, leges promulgated prior to what meetings of the comitia still took place, senatus consulta archived or copied and sent abroad, acta senatus assembled and stored for later consultation, or private accounts made by senators who were present. The bulk of these records were generated, officially or not, in the course of the activity of the senate; as Fergus Millar emphasizes, such records should be treated on two levels—as text and inscription—but together 197 they formed the basis of history and, moreover, represented an element of history that could be controlled from the head of a central apparatus, offering what Miriam Griffin calls “the official version” of public affairs. 370 If the emperors were aware of this apparatus and the role it played both politically and historically—and every indication is that they were—it follows that they could have used the senate and its institutions strategically, in order to mediate their performance and condition its reception. As Michèle Lowrie has put it, commemoratio is composed of both memory and narrative; controlling the commemoration of their activity enabled them to affect both the narrative and, I would suggest, the memory. 371 This, of course, was both a matter of controlling the commemorative logistics of the senate—the production, storage, and publication of documents—but also of regulating their own practices in—and outside— the senate. The importance of this for the model of the statio principis proposed in chapter 1 should be self-evident. Acta, commentarii, and senatus consulta intervene in the citationality of performance, fixing new points of citation and prefiguring future performances while effectively foreclosing others. When the Fifth Cyrene Edict commemorates Augustus as “ἡγεµὼν ἡµέτερις” (line 86), or the Tabula Siarensis Tiberius as “principis nostri” (frag. 1 line 4), this does more work than simply describe a state of affairs—it creates the role of ἡγεµὼν or princeps, and fills that role with the 198 370 Millar (2002) and Griffin (1997, 258), cited earlier with respect to the tabula Siarensis and the SCPP . 371 A formula she proposed at the conference on ‘Exemplary/Singularity’ at the University of Chicago, March 8–10, 2012. individual in question. 372 In other words, just as the illocutionary force of these senatus consulta relies on certain pragmatics to be what Austin calls “felicitous”—e.g. passage according to form, redaction, publication, copying, posting, citation (not to mention reading, comprehension, or even acceptance)—those same pragmatics contribute to a perlocutionary function: establishing that a princeps exist, what he does, and why he is in charge. 373 The narrative inherent to the illocutionary requirements of Roman government—based as it was in speech and text—serves double-duty in establishing the authority of those governing, and was relatively straightforward to re-orient in the emperor’s interest. So great was the power of the senate to make government visible, that emperors seem to have recognized very quickly that they could fulfill their roles in its processes at a distance. Since participation in the senate was a matter of contributing words—in relatio, interrogatio, or sententiae—all three emperors would at some time contribute theirs through the medium of written communication. While they occupied an exceptional position with regard to how the senate worked, their written words really did function as any other spoken utterance at a meeting of the senate. Thus they could 199 372 In an analogy to Derrida’s (1986) analysis of the Declaration of Independence, which, as he argues, constitutes the undersigned as free citizens only in the immediacy of the act of signing the document which emancipates them from the British government. The ideas he brings to bear are themselves somewhat analogous to Althusser’s (2001) theory of interpellation and ideological state apparatuses. 373 We witness here, therefore, the collapse of not just the constative and the illocutionary, but the perlocutionary as well (see Habinek 1998, 8–9; Butler 1997, 2–39). Lowrie (2007, 107) suggests that Augustus is an auctor twice, that is, of both the action and the text of a law. Given that, as we have seen, Roman law required textualization, publication, and archiving in order to be dispositive, I believe we have to subscribe rather to the collapse of action and text into one (since the illocutionary is so inseparable from the constative), a collapse which contains already within itself the perlocutionary effect, which could perhaps be called auctoritas. be said to have participated in a meeting, and their role was commemorated in the acta and senatus consulta that resulted. Our sources—both literary and documentary—are testaments to this fact. Moreover, the casual elision or imprecision among the literary authors when it comes to reporting these orationes—observable most clearly in the reign of Tiberius but perhaps also suggested by the citation by Tacitus and Suetonius of an Augustan oratio of 13CE 374 —might suggest that physical presence was less important than a visible participation of another type. If, as a result of its commemoration, we cannot say exactly whether Augustus was present to deliver the oratio requesting Tiberius’ powers be renewed himself, this would seem to suggest that his words were more important than his actual visibility, and that so long as his participation could be registered within the official narrative of government, such that it could be archived, copied, and publicized to a wider audience, his physical presence among the company of the senate was not actually required. So while in this period the senate remained the a mediating body for imperial government—and, indeed, gave shape and meaning to that government—we have witnessed in the reigns of these three emperors the gradual evolution of systems and procedures for negotiating the emperor’s absence from their meetings, perhaps reflecting an analogous negotiation of the emperor’s role as a senator within the Principate as it developed. 200 374 Tac. Ann. 1.10; Suet. Tib. 21.1. Read straightforwardly, both authors seem to assume he was present, but it was delivered precisely in the period we are told he was becoming too infirm to attend in person (e.g. Dio 55.28.2–3). Chapter Two: General 1. Introduction The emperor’s persona as general presents an obvious contrast to that of senator, even though historically Rome’s generals had all been members of that order. Command of the military resources of the empire was, as we have seen Cassius Dio remark, an element of the emperor’s factual power, the basis of Augustus’ claim that in 27BCE he had been the master of all the things, and as such is generally considered to constitute one of the realities that his performance as princeps was designed to conceal. 1 In the Republic the roles of senator and general were kept cognitively separate by means of costume: the individual departing the city in order to lead an army would don the military cloak (paludamentum) in a ceremony known as the mutatio vestis. 2 On his return he was expected to put off the paludamentum before crossing the pomerium, as a visible signal that he was become once more a civis inter cives and, from a legal perspective, had resigned his imperium militiae. 3 Mark Antony had been censured for his failure to observe this custom, not, presumably, because wearing the paludamentum 201 1 Dio 53.16.1. In the laudatio of 14CE, Tiberius is reported to have claimed that it was precisely control of these resources that Augustus had returned to the state (56.39.4–6); as Sutherland (1984, 23) observes, Augustus had made the same claim himself (53.9.6). The storied “potitus/potens rerum” of RG 34.1. 2 Marshall (1984, 121–122) presents perhaps the best reference work for the mutatio vestis, which is most frequently attested in Livy (e.g. 21.63.7–9, which also shows the consequences of its neglect); he calls it “a national drama for the Roman crowds.” Dio 53.13.4 and .8 seems to indicate that Augustus maintained this practice. Plutarch is clear that the purple paludamentum was the traditional aspect of a Roman general (Crass. 23.1: “λέγεται δὲ τῆς ἡµέρας ἐκείνης τὸν Κράσσον οὐχ ὥσπερ ἔθος ἐστὶ Ῥωµαίων στρατηγοῖς ἐν φοινικίδι προελθεῖν, ἀλλ’ ἐν ἱµατίῳ µέλανι…”); so Apul. Apol. 22. 3 Marshall (1984, 123 n. 10) notes the false etymology for paludamentum in the adverb palam reported by Isid. Orig. 19.24.9 and Varro Ling. 7.37. within the walls meant that he actually continued to enjoy such imperium, but rather because he had failed to perform their personal recognition of its surrender in his visible practice. 4 The persona of general contains within itself one of the structural problems of the Principate: the administration of an empire the size of Rome’s required the delegation of military commands to other individuals. While the constitutional arrangement of 27BCE had confined the best part of those provinces with standing armies to Augustus’ control, he still had to appoint legates to govern them on his behalf. 5 If Dio is to believed, these legates would also depart the city wearing the paludamentum, while governors of senatorial provinces henceforth sported only the consular insignia. 6 Upon his death in 14CE, the legions in lower Germany and Illyricum revolted, the former group preferring their own commander to Tiberius. 7 While these revolts were repressed bloodlessly, it was from the same quarter that the end of the Julio-Claudian dynasty and the strife of 68–69CE would emerge: generals of senatorial rank leading provincial armies more loyal to themselves than to the central 202 4 Dio 42.27.2; 45.29.2; 46.16.5; App. BC 3.7.45. The emperor Vitellius came in for similar criticism (Suet. Vit. 11.1; Tac. Hist. 2.89). 5 The standard account of the distribution of the provinces is found in Strabo (17.3.25; cf. Dio 53.12–15), who specifically remarks that Augustus assumed control of areas which were in need of a garrison (“ἑαυτῷ µὲν ὅση στρατιωτικῆς φρουρᾶς ἔχει χρείαν·”). See further Syme (1939, 326–330) and Millar (1966, 156–166). 6 Dio 53.13.4–7: “[senators:] καὶ ἔκ τε τοῦ κοινοῦ τῆς γερουσίας συλλόγου πέµπεσθαι µήτε ξίφος παραζωννυµένους µήτε στρατιωτικῇ ἐσθῆτι χρωµένους...καὶ παραχρῆµα ἅµα τῷ ἔξω τοῦ ποµηρίου γενέσθαι προστίθεσθαι καὶ διὰ παντὸς µέχρισ ἂν ἀνακοµισθῶσιν ἔχειν ἐκέλευσε…[legates:] τήν τε στρατιωτικὴν σκευὴν φοροῦντας καὶ ξίφος...” Both were permitted lictors. 7 Tac. Ann. 1.16–45 covers both revolts, which implicated seven legions in total, and specifically claims that the four in lower Germany hoped to support a claim of Germanicus over that of Tiberius (“magna spe fore ut Germanicus imperium alterius pati nequiret daretque se legionibus vi sua cuncta tracturis”). authority. That it took almost exactly 100 years for this to happen perhaps speaks to the truth of Tacitus’ assertion that the armies’ ability to make an emperor was a critical arcanum imperii. As Haynes remarked, this hard reality was a repressed condition of empire. 8 How was it kept so? The longstanding myth that Augustus had pursued, and encouraged his successors to pursue, a pacifist line of foreign policy has by now been roundly disavowed. The primary basis for this myth were the details preserved in the literary sources regarding Augustus’ testamentary documents, which were supposed to have included an account of provincial dispositions together with an enjoinder not to expand the borders of the empire any further. 9 P. A. Brunt was instrumental in establishing that this precept does not conform to the policy and practice of Augustus himself, let alone his successors. 10 Karl Galinsky, meanwhile, has gone so far as to suggest that continued military operations were vital for justifying Augustus’ renewed grants of imperium, i.e. that it was incumbent upon him to show that he was using the exceptional powers with which he had been awarded. 11 When Tiberius was made his equal in such powers in 13CE, the language we are given is precisely that he “should administer the provinces in common with Augustus,” suggesting that the grant was indeed intended to be 203 8 Hist. 1.4.2. Haynes (2003, 34–35), cited in the introduction. 9 Dio 56.40.2. 10 Brunt (1990b). See also Welch (2006, 1–2) for the “unparalleled” importance of war within Roman culture. 11 Galinsky (1996, 368). utilitarian. 12 While the laudatio delivered by Tiberius in 14CE reported in Dio is one of the sources for the idea that Augustus was against expansion, it also celebrates his military achievements—and he was not shy in commemorating them himself. 13 It is evident that Augustus and his successors had to—and indeed did—care about military affairs. Our essential question in this chapter is to what degree his visibility was used to communicate this care, either to the soldiers themselves, to the rest of the senatorial order, or to the people of Rome. How did the emperor’s public activity establish him as the commander in chief of all the armies of empire, and was this intended to preclude open revolt on the part of ambitious generals? It could certainly be argued that Nero’s own disinterest in the military sphere, combined with a prolonged absence from Rome, was what inspired Galba with the hope of success in the revolt of 68CE. This is not to suggest that visibility was the only way that the emperor kept control of the armies; for example, tight control of the means to pay the army formed the other half of Dio’s characterization of the Augustus’ factual power, and we have seen in chapter 1 that, in addition to establishing the unpopular vicesima 204 12 Suet. 21.1: “ut provincias cum Augusto communiter administraret simulque censum ageret” (cf. Vell. 2.121.1); as I argue in chapter 1.2.iii, the language here perhaps reflects the text of an actual SC. Atkinson (1960, 458–59) suggests this grant was focused more on “conferring the right to make war and to control the levying of troops” than on civil concerns, and that, taken with the language of the lex Julia maiestatis that outlaws any military action “iniussu principis” (which she places in 18BCE), it represents the true foundation of the Principate in Roman law (Dig. 48.4.3: “eadem lege tenetur et qui iniussu principis bellum gesserit dilectumve habuerit exercitum comparaverit”). Potter (1996, 56), on the other hands, believes that “principis” is here a later interpolation, reflecting an evolution in military policy, and that the lex Julia would actually have read “populi Romani” in its place, according to tradition. Seager (2005, 39) believes it was this grant that firmly secured the succession of Tiberius. 13 Again, Dio 56.40.2. See, e.g., RG 4.1. Augustan monumental iconography—including the Prima Porta statue and the sculptural regime of the Forum Augustus (on which see below)—was likewise also often of a martial nature. hereditatium, the emperor was the primary benefactor of the aerarium militare. But, once more, what we are interested in is forming a picture of to what degree acting as commander in chief formed part of the work of the emperor, and thus part of the persona of princeps. Since the evidence for this persona is far more limited than for that of senator, I have opted to arrange the material in this chapter by topic rather than by emperor; since this persona, more than any other, is one that Augustus fostered in the public activity of his heirs during his own reign—Tiberius, for instance, never took the field following his accession—this seems the most manageable and logical manner in which to treat this subject. 2. Imperator I choose ‘general’ over the perhaps more technically correct appellation ‘imperator’ in an attempt to avoid some of the possible confusions presented by that term. Imperator, of course, would eventually become synonymous with Princeps, and forms the etymological root of our word ‘emperor.’ 14 It is also a strictly military term, related both to imperium and the verb impero. 15 Its history within the Principate, however, is 205 14 Dio (53.17.4–6) claims it operated for the emperors precisely in place of the terms basileus or dictator, and enumerates a set of associated rights that has much in common with the lex de imperio Vespasiani, e.g. the right to make war and peace, and the general prerogatives of a consul (such as the ius consulendi senatum; see chapter 1.2.iii). Like other Greek authors, Dio uses autokrator to translate imperator (on which see Combès (1966, 111–114). In Philo’s Legatio ad Gaium this word seems to be used only as a spoken address to the emperor Gaius, in contrast to normative statements the author makes about the duties of a hegemon (which Smallwood chooses to translate as Princeps); on this see chapter. 15 Versnel (1970, 345) calls it a nomen agentis, together with rex and praetor, “all of which define a function—regere, praeire, imperare.” more complicated than as a simple Rollen- or Competenzbegriff. 16 Augustus, then Gaius Julius Caesar (and, as we know him, ‘Octavianus’) had taken the title as his praenomen in 29BCE, becoming simply Imperator Caesar, and continued to use it as such even after gaining his new title in 27BCE. 17 Yet he kept this usage cognitively separate from the acclamations as imperator which he received, on the Republican model, following his various military victories and those of his legates; indeed, as he himself records he received this appellation 21 times in his life, 18 most of these subsequent to the assumption of ‘Imperator’ as his praenomen. 19 While, in either incarnation, the title and its incumbent significations were therefore a continuing feature of his reign, representative strategy, and commemorated legacy, it is evident that in keeping the two iterations separate in this way Augustus did not believe they were one and the same thing, or rather, that he did not wish to forfeit the symbolic capital available from such acclamations. 206 16 The terms of Fuhrmann (1979) and Mommsen (e.g. Staatsr. 2.770), respectively. 17 On this change, see Syme (1958b) and Combès (1966, 121–150). 18 RG 4.1. Swan (2004, 365) presents a chronological table of acclamations from the period 25BCE– 13CE, including Augustus VIII–XXI and Tiberius I–VII together with the corresponding locations in Dio . Barnes (1974, 21–26) offers a more detailed prose survey of victories and acclamations in this period, culminating in a similar, if simpler, table (26). 19 Dio (who also records a total of 21) makes this same distinction, and, in his characteristic fashion, proleptically designates its praenominal usage as that “which signifies the possession of the supreme power, in which sense it had been voted to his father Caesar and to the children and descendants of Caesar” (52.41.3–4: “ταῦτά τε [καὶ] ὁ Καῖσαρ, <καὶ> ὅσα ἄνω µοι τοῦ λόγου εἴρηται, ἔπραξεν ἐν τῷ ἔτει ἐκείνῳ ἐν ᾧ τὸ πέµπτον ὑπάτευσε, καὶ τὴν τοῦ αὐτοκράτορος ἐπίκλησιν ἐπέθετο. λέγω δὲ οὐ τὴν ἐπὶ ταῖς νίκαις κατὰ τὸ ἀρχαῖον διδοµένην τισίν (ἐκείνην γὰρ πολλάκις µὲν καὶ πρότερον πολλάκις δὲ καὶ ὕστερον ἀπ' αὐτῶν τῶν ἔργων ἔλαβεν, ὥστε καὶ ἅπαξ καὶ εἰκοσάκις ὄνοµα αὐτοκράτορος σχεῖν) ἀλλὰ τὴν ἑτέραν τὴν τὸ κράτος διασηµαίνουσαν, ὥσπερ τῷ τε πατρὶ αὐτοῦ τῷ Καίσαρι καὶ τοῖς παισὶ τοῖς τε ἐκγόνοις ἐψήφιστο.”; trans. Cary); cf. 52.40.2. Moreover, while the title imperator would become both a ready term for designating the emperor as distinct from other individuals and, moreover, a title habitually assumed by later occupiers of the statio principis, within our period its usage is more of an open question. Tiberius supposedly only allowed the soldiers to address him as imperator—proclaiming that he was “master to his slaves, imperator to the soldiers, and Princeps to the rest—indicating that not only did he not accept it as either praenomen or title, but that he considered it a role that he only had to play for a limited segment of the population. 20 It may even mean that he would only accept imperator as a formal acclamation according to custom, and not a habitual use. Gaius also had no use for the title, and it does not seem to have come into sustained deployment until the reigns of Nero and Vespasian. 21 3. Imperium and auspicium A note is required on the peculiar legal structures that backed or—following the model laid out at length in chapter 1—were used to express and characterize the emperor’s 207 20 Dio 57.8.1–2: οὔτε γὰρ δεσπότην ἑαυτὸν τοῖς ἐλευθέροις οὔτε αὐτοκράτορα πλὴν τοῖς στρατιώταις καλεῖν ἐφίει … καὶ πολλάκις γε ἔλεγεν ὅτι ‘δεσπότης µὲν τῶν δούλων, αὐτοκράτωρ δὲ τῶν στρατιωτῶν, τῶν δὲ δὴ λοιπῶν πρόκριτός εἰµι.’” It will be recalled that prokritos is a standard translation for Princeps (see 1.1 and 2.4.ii). Philo (Legat. 119) makes a direct distinction between the roles of despotes and Princeps (on which, see chapter 3.4.ii). 21 Combès (1966, 151–154), who considers Vespasian somewhat paradigmatic in this regard (and thus constitutes him as an important exemplum for succeeding principes). command of military resources. 22 The emperors commanded the armies in their provinces by virtue of official grants of imperium. 23 In 28BCE Augustus had been officially entrusted with the care of these provinces by a decree of the senate, but presumably discharged that trust by virtue of the imperium he continued to possess as consul until the year 23BCE. At this time, it will be recalled, he laid down the office of consul but accepted exception grants of tribunicia potestas and imperium. The precise nature of this imperium remains a vexed question, chiefly related to whether it should be understood as consular or proconsular imperium and to its somewhat ambiguous qualification as maius, but it can be straightforwardly assumed that it was by this prerogative that he continued to command the armies (hence it was at the very least an imperium militiae). 24 That is to say, his factual control of the armies of the empire—a condition that pre-existed the settlement of 27BCE—was expressed as a task given him by the senate, his ability to command explained by the traditional language of legal 208 22 Regarding Agrippa, Levick (1976, 159) remarks “[f]or all his obscure origins, a soldier of renown in possession of imperium maius and tribunicia potestas could not have been removed from supreme power.” I would suggest such approaches—which presumes powers provide the backing for practice— ignores the forces that actually provided the backing for those powers themselves, and that made Agrippa’s imperium maius and tribunicia potestas actually mean anything. It may be more correct to say that Agrippa was factually in control of military resources and that the imperium maius subsequently rendered that control legal. 23 I cover the grants mentioned here at greater length in chapter 1.2.iii. 24 Ferrary (2001) has covered this issue in great depth and reaches perhaps the most satisfying conclusion. Dio seems to have believed that it was a simple matter of their possessing consular imperium (i.e. domi) within the pomerium, and proconsular imperium (i.e. militiae) without (53.17.4); his solution demonstrates to what extent the question is somewhat moot, since it undoubtedly reflects the practical prerogatives they actually enjoyed in both situations, regardless of the actual formalities of the constitutional arrangement. For the distinction between imperium domi and militiae see Cic. (de rep. 1.40.63; de leg. 3.3.6; 3.3.8), whose explanation seems to characterize it as a matter of context-sensitive definition, rather than two different types of imperium. imperium. It was this imperium in which Tiberius was made his colleague in 13CE, and which Gaius was granted upon his accession. 25 Based on the same system, however, and whether we believe imperium actually afforded an individual the ability to command soldiers or just described that ability (the reality is probably somewhere in between), this same prerogative was awarded to all the imperial legates, not to mention the governors of those provinces nominally under the senate’s control. This returns us to two of the questions raised in section 1: how was the emperor to maintain a material control over the activities of these armies, and 2. how was he to communicate the idea that he maintained such a control? 26 In some respects, of course, the legal species of the Principate was itself a limiting feature on the power of individual generals: to the extent that they could also be said to command only by virtue of imperium, the limits of its grant, tenure, and expiry helped prevent any commander from becoming too familiar with his troops or too ambitious in his vision. Part of the problem in 68–69CE was that commanders like Galba, Vitellius, and Vespasian had been left too long in charge of their forces, and thus the structures that had kept others before them institutionally outflanked were less effective. Yet, so long as commanders played the game of imperium, the structural features of the emperor’s imperium as both permanent and maius were perhaps critical in rendering him in 209 25 Again, see chapter 1.2.iii for the nature of the grant to Gaius, together with my comments in chapter 1.2 on Mantovani (2009). 26 As I believe I made clear in chapter 1, I do not believe these questions are in actual fact separable; i.e. communicating such a belief most likely would have contributed to maintaining factual control. ultimate control; 27 that is to say, if those commanders based their own authority on legally granted imperium they were forced to recognize the validity of the emperor’s own legally granted imperium maius—to deny one was ipso facto to deny the other. The traditional language of Roman military commands possessed a second idea with which these commanders could be said to have been ideologically outflanked: that of auspicium. In the constitutional sphere, this term denoted the right to take the auspices—that is, to ask of the gods whether it was right (fas) to take a certain action on a given day. 28 Auspicia were traditionally required before undertaking a war, and before offering battle in the field. This idea, and its connection to imperium, is brought into greatest relief in discussions surrounding the right to hold the triumph: in the Republican period, we find generals commemorated as triumphing for victories achieved under their “ductu auspicio imperioque.” 29 It would appear that all three conditions were considered to be necessary in order to qualify, and the criteria were 210 27 Ferrary (2001) in fact concludes that the maius was a purely instrumental qualification, designed precisely to resolve any conflicts that might arise between Augustus and another commander imbued with imperium on a purely constitutional standpoint. So, too, Barnes (1998, 144), on the basis of a comparison of the imperium granted to Germanicus in 19CE to that of both Tiberius and Cn. Piso (see note below). Crawford (1996, 5) makes an analogous point regarding the artificial distinction created by Mommsen between lex rogata and lex data, arguing that rogata and data ought to be understood as circumstantial participles, not adjectives that indicated “two mutually exclusive categories existing in Roman minds.” 28 Versnel (1970, 175); Koortbojian (2006, 196) argues for “the essential rapport between imperium and auspicium that lay at the heart of the republican political and religious institutions.” 29 Usually with either “eius” or “suo.” Livy (40.52.5) claims that in 189BCE L. Aemilius Regillus attached an inscription to a temple he built to the Lares Permarini commemorating his naval victory over Hannibal as accomplished “auspicio, imperio, felicitate, ductuque eius.” The so-called titulus Mummianus (CIL I, 541) commemorates the triumph of Mummius in 145BCE, following the capture of Achaia and the destruction of Corinth “ductu auspicio imperioque eius.” See Versnel (1970, 176–180), who, I believe, puts too much pressure on the “felicitate” attested only in Livy (as he acknowledges on 177, although see also n. 3 on that page) in reaching his broader conclusions about the ceremony (356– 397) (but see also Koortbojian 2006, 202–203). certainly used to explain why, in certain cases, a general was not permitted a triumph. For example, in 207BCE, during the second Punic War, the consuls Marcus Livius and Gaius Claudius Nero returned to Rome proclaiming victories over the forces of Hannibal and Hasdrubal in Gaul; as consuls both had possessed equal imperium, and both had led armies in the field. Only Livius, however, received the right to a full triumph in a chariot, while Claudius was granted an ovation, and rode into the city on horseback. Livy reports that one of the reasons given for this decision was that Livius had possessed the right of auspicium on the day battle was joined—therefore, he was the only one of the pair who satisfied the conditions of ductu auspicio imperioque. 30 In the Principate, and by virtue of his ultimate command of those provinces granted in 27BCE, the emperor at all times retained the auspicium for any military action undertaken by his delegates in the field. 31 So while both emperor and commander may have possessed imperium, and the commander himself the ductus, by virtue of monopolizing the auspicium the emperor was able to maintain the ultimate 211 30 Liv. 28.9.10: “eo die quo pugnatum foret eius forte auspicium fuisset.” Much as they alternated in the use of the proper fasces (Marshall 1984, 131 n. 41; Sumi 2005, 220), the consuls also took turns in holding the auspicium. As Versnel (1970, 179) notes, Livy also adduces two further reasons: that the victory occurred in Livius’ province and that only Livius had led his army back to Rome. The decision of the senate, expressed in these terms, trumped the people’s belief that the real authorship of the victory lay with Claudius (28.10.11–16). The rationale of auspicium is what would persist into the ideological program of the Principate. 31 Combès (1966, 167–169) argues that it was the arrangement of provinces—which placed all active theaters under Augustus’ imperium—that limited the acclamations of other generals as imperator (i.e. they just didn’t get a chance to earn it). We perhaps encounter here again a complicated of practice and discourse, where it is less than clear which was the determinant effect: a legal and religious symbolic structure or the straightforward disposition of persons within Rome’s territories. Practice proves principle, but principle justifies practice. responsibility for the victory. 32 This ideology was regularly redeemed in the practice of saluting the emperor as imperator for victories won under the ductus of another, which instantiated auspicium as the defining category when it came to military responsibility. Augustus’ storied refusal to celebrate triumphs for such victories served only to reinforce this hierarchy of values, since by exhibiting respect for the ductus of his commanders he buttressed the symbolic system upon which his auspicium rested. 33 This is generally understood to have been the explanation Augustus and his successors pursued in explaining why no-one outside the imperial family would triumph after L. Cornelius Balbus in 19BCE. The language of auspicia recurs throughout our period and into the reigns of subsequent emperors; for example, Augustus himself claims in the Res Gestae that 55 supplicationes were awardeded to him for “actions accomplished (res gestae) prosperously on land and sea either by myself or under my auspices.” 34 Suetonius states that Augustus undertook the subjugation of Spain and Gaul in 27–25CE “in part under his direct leadership and in part under his auspices” (Aug. 21.1: “domuit autem partim ductu partim auspiciis suis”). 35 Tacitus, meanwhile, reports that it was taken as a salve 212 32 See Koortbojian (2006, 206–210) for the manner in which, through both practice and representation, Augustus also monopolized the actual ceremony of taking auspicia. 33 On such refusals, see section 5.i below. 34 RG 4.2: “ob res a me aut per legatos meos auspicis meis terra marique prospere gestas quinquagiens et quinquiens decrevit senatus supplicandum esse dis immortalibus.” 35 See also Tac. Ann. 2.41: “ob recepta signa cum Varo amissa ductu Germanici, auspiciis Tiberii.” Vell. 2.115.3 ascribes Tiberius’ lack of a triumph over Illyricum in 9CE to the fact that he was not fighting “propriis...auspiciis,” although it is elsewhere recorded that he was decreed a triumph and did not celebrate it because of Varus’ disaster (Dio 56.18.1; see section 3.i below). to concerns over the youth of Nero at his accession in 54CE that wars would actually be fought under his auspicia, not by his own hands. 36 Without evacuating auspicia of its religious connotations, it might be possible to suggest that, as a practical matter, in the span of time between Balbus’ triumph and when Tacitus and Suetonius wrote we can mark something of a shift in the meaning of this term, from denoting the activity of augury to something closer to the modern usage of ‘auspices.’ 37 A coin minted at Lugdunum (Lyon) in 15BCE shows how this ideology of auspicium could be represented visually: two figures—Tiberius and Drusus—hand over their palm fronds to Augustus, who is seated before them on a raised platform. 38 The coin combines the symbolism of the palms, which become a transferrable marker of victory, with that of the distribution of bodies, as Augustus’ elevation clearly establishes him as the superior party. As Östenberg has noted recently, the questions of the precise relationship between imperium and auspicium, the means by which each were granted, and exactly 213 36 Tac. Ann. 13.6: “pleraque in summa fortuna auspiciis et consiliis quam telis et manibus geri.” See also Ann. 15.26, where Corbulo’s activity is commemorated as “auspiciis imperatoris rebusque a se gestis;” in the twin discourse of exemplarity and auspicium here exhibited, we could perhaps suggest we are approaching something like the discourse of Principate, especially since Corbulo is programmatically exploited by Tacitus as a comparandum for Nero. The verb gerere likewise appears qualified by auspicium at Vell. 2.115.3 (“quae si propriis gessisset auspiciis, triumphare debuerat”), cited in the note above. 37 In a letter to Varus, Fronto sets up a comparison between distinction in oratory and military triumphs (ad Var. 2.5: “una tui fratris de te tuisque virtutibus oratio nobilior ad gloriam et ad posteros celebratior erit quam plerique principum triumphi”), in the course of which he avers (2.3) that while Varus may have won a victory over the Parthians “ductu auspicioque tuo,” his victory in letters actually belongs wholly to Fronto (“eloquentiae vir<tus>, ausim dicere, meo ductu, Caesar, meoque auspicio parta est”). I believe Beard (2007) does not include this letter among her examples of triumphal discourse redeployed in other contexts. It is also worth noting that it may have been emblematic of Varus’ standing viz. Marcus Aurelius that he was apparently able to fight under his own auspiciis. 38 MuM Auction 38 (1968) no. 334 (Giard no. 1366), discussed by Zanker (1988, 225 & fig. 179a). how far the latter was limited to the emperor’s person alone are actually more vexed than those related to Augustus’ imperium maius. Attempts to prove that imperium was straightforwardly inferior to auspicium on a constitutional level have encountered problems stemming from apparent contradictions within our sources. 39 There is a particular problem in the fact that, under Augustus, Tiberius—and, under Tiberius, Germanicus—did in fact triumph ex ductu imperioque, despite fighting under the auspicia of the emperor. 40 Moreover, there may indeed have been some kind of cognitive separation between the right and practice of auspicium and the concept of the over-arching auspices of the emperor (just as there was between the two ideas of imperator), since in 20CE Drusus is said to have left the city following the trial of Cn. Piso, specifically “in order to reassume the auspicia” in preparation for his ovation. 41 Michael Koortbojian has recently offered perhaps the most elegant solution: that the renewal of the Lex Pompeia by Augustus in 19BCE, which mandated a five year delay between the holding of magistracies domi and military promagistracies, effectively made every commander under the Principate a privatus; that is, they would always as a result have commanded their armies by virtue of an exceptional grant of imperium and not a prorogued magisterial imperium, would therefore not have possessed the right of auspicium, and hence were always disqualified from celebrating 214 39 Versnel (1970) effectively problematizes the views of Laquer, Brennan (2000, vol. 1 12–18) those of Mommsen. Ferrary (2001). 40 Outlined clearly by Koortbojian (2006, 198). See also Combès (1966, 156–159), and Beard (2007, 298 n. 23 and 24) for generals earning triumphs under Octavian’s auspicium in the triumviral period, and senatorial proconsuls (technically suis auspiciis) who did not triumph in our period. 41 Tac. Ann. 3.19.3: “at Drusus urbe egressus repetendis auspiciis mox ovans introiit.” a triumph under the established conditions. 42 This does not, however, explain why from a purely legal standpoint Tiberius and Germanicus—both of whom were officially acting under the auspicia of an incumbent emperor—were allowed to triumph. There is perhaps here revealed a disjoint between practice and the finer points of its legal framing. 43 But these exceptions actually prove that what mattered most in these incidents was the continued expression of the emperor’s ultimate auspicium, which was, of course, actually expressed in each of these instances of imperial triumphs. In this matter, I believe the strength of the present approach is proved once more: as with the debate de re publica of 14CE, the finer points of law that lie behind the negotiations surrounding auspicium are largely irrelevant, since what we are interested in is what function the tip of this particular iceberg served for the princeps and his subjects. 44 As we will explore in greater detail in section 5, the distinction between imperium and auspicium perhaps found its clearest expression by means of the triumph (indeed, to a certain extent this could be characterized as one of that ceremony’s most important functions under the Principate). Our task is to examine how the emperor’s visibility communicated the ideas reflected in his functional imperium and his supervening auspicium to the different sectors of the population. 215 42 Koortbojian (2006, 196–201). Originally passed under Pompey in 52BCE (Dio 40.30.1; 40.46.2; 56.1) but revived by Augustus (Dio 53.14.2; Suet. Aug. 36.1). See Rich and Williams (1994, 204) and Hurlet (2001, 167–73). 43 As Beard (2007, 299) we are offered too little detail about the ductu auspicio imperioque in each case, and Livy himself may not even have fully understood all the distinctions at work. Combès (1966, 170) merely accepts that practice varied according to Augustus’ personal priority and policy at any given time. 44 Beard (2007, 300) comes to a similar conclusion. 4. The army i. Abroad Augustus did not rest on his laurels following his great triple triumph in 29BCE and the constitutional settlement of 27BCE: that same year he departed from Italy, according to Dio with the aim of invading Britain, but instead busied himself with settling affairs in Gaul and Spain. 45 The continued temptation of a war in Britain, combined with uprisings on the part of the Salassi in Gaul and the Cantabri and Astures in Spain, kept him abroad until 24BCE, even though he held continuous consulships throughout this period; Dio claims he led the campaigns against the Spanish tribes in person. 46 He would leave again in 22BCE for Sicily, and thence in 21BCE for Greece, crossing to Samos and wintering there before spending the following year in Asia, settling affairs in Bithynia and Armenia and transacting with the Parthians for the return of the standards lost at Carrhae in 53BCE, and then hurrying back to Rome in 19BCE after another winter in Samos. 47 216 45 Dio 53.22.5; the best chronological source for Augustus’ movements in this period is Cassius Dio (whose manuscript is reasonably complete for this period), and, unless otherwise noted, all references in this sub-section are to his Histories. Augustus was only 35 or 36 at the time, and therefore still in his prime: under the Republic, and especially after the reforms of Sulla, it would be quite normal for commanders to be in their 40s. 46 Revolts: 53.25.2. Augustus vs. the Spanish tribes: 53.25.5; Suet. Aug. 21.1. Return in 24BCE: 53.28.1– 3. Vell. (2.90.1–4) collapses these campaigns significantly. 47 Sicily: 54.6.1. Greece and Samos: 54.7.1–3. Asia in 20BCE: 54.7.4–9.10. Return to Rome: 54.10.2. The loss of the standards had been the symbolic salt in the wound of an unmitigated military disaster inflicted upon the triumvir Marcus Licinius Crassus (recounted most vividly in Plut. Crass. 23.1–31.7; cf. App. Syr. 8.51; Vell. 2.46.3–4; Suet. Aug. 21.3; Tib. 9.1), and their recapture was a coup for Augustus (54.8.2; Vell. 2.91.1). On the reception of this ‘victory’ in Rome in 19BCE, see section 5.i–ii below. This policy came at some expense, however: there was continuous unrest in the capital during his absence, with the people, desirous that Augustus should exercise the position, refusing to elect a second consul for the years of 21 and 19BCE. 48 Dio presents Augustus as greatly vexed by the necessity of dividing his attention between the capital and the provinces, implying that his actual presence was required in both and that he believed both to present valid priorities. 49 Evidently the administration of the provinces did require direct intervention, since upon Augustus’ return he immediately dispatched Agrippa—who had been tasked with minding affairs at Rome during his absence—to settle renewed disturbances in Gaul and Spain. 50 Augustus left the city again in 16BCE, this time, Dio claims, because of his growing unpopularity due to the stringency of his social laws, marking his withdrawal as something akin to a Solonic exile. 51 Sending Agrippa to Syria, Augustus departed with Tiberius for Gaul, which was being harried by incursions of Germanic tribes; 217 48 21BCE: 54.6.1–3. Dio states that “this incident showed clearly that it was impossible for a democratic government to be maintained among them” (“ὥστε καὶ ἐκ τούτου διαδειχθῆναι ὅτι ἀδύνατον ἦν δηµοκρατουµένους σφᾶς σωθῆναι”). 19BCE: 54.10.1–2, with violence following Augustus’ refusal of the consulship (cf. Vell. 2.92.1–5, which commemorates the actions of Gaius Sentius Saturninus, the sole consul of that year, in a perfect example of Roller’s (2004) exemplary discourse. 49 54.6.4: “ἀγανακτήσας οὖν ἐπὶ τούτῳ ὁ Αὔγουστος, καὶ µήτε µόνῃ τῇ Ῥώµῃ σχολάζειν δυνάµενος µήτ’ αὖ ἄναρχον αὐτὴν καταλιπεῖν τολµῶν...” 50 In fact Agrippa seems to have accompanied Augustus to Sicily in 22BCE, before being sent back to quell the disturbances of 21BCE, at which time he was married to Julia so as “to invest him with a dignity above the ordinary, in order that he might govern the people more easily” (54.6.5: “βουληθεὶς δὲ δὴ καὶ ἀξίωµα αὐτῷ µεῖζον περιθεῖναι, ἵνα καὶ ἐκ τούτου ῥᾷον αὐτῶν ἄρχῃ” trans. Cary)—a clear example of a performative act (cf. the marriage of Gaius in 1BCE, 55.10.18). Agrippa in Gaul and Spain: 54.11.1–7. 51 54.19.1–2. The reference, of course, is to the Athenian lawgiver Solon, who after giving the Athenians their law-code left the city for a period of 10 years in order that they could adjudge their worth without interference or recrimination. having taken the field himself that year but been refused battle, he coordinated the punitive operations of Tiberius and Drusus(1) (who must have joined them that year) in 15BCE. 52 Affairs in Gaul, Germany, and Spain must have occupied him for another year, since he did not return to Rome until 13BCE, on the heels of Tiberius, who must have returned in 14BCE in order to take up one of the consulships for the following year. Augustus made a further excursion to Gaul in 10BCE—once more to ward off Germanic invaders—before returning to the environs of Rome that same year. He would make one final expedition against the Germans in 8BCE, but remained in Roman territory while Tiberius took the war to the enemy. 53 Dio, however, claims he stayed active in military administration until late in his career, traveling to Ariminum (modern Rimini) in 8CE in order to coordinate the campaign in against the Dalmatians and Pannonians. 54 Obviously it had been Augustus’ policy to involve the young men of his family in Rome’s military exploits. Drusus had succumbed to disease while campaigning in Germany in 9BCE; 55 his military exploits and the style of their commemoration apparently garnered him a reputation as an enthusiastic soldier, who was particularly 218 52 Departure: 54.19.6. The Germans: 54.20.4. Frustrated in battle: 54.20.6. Tiberius and Drusus attack Germany: 54.22.1–5; Vell. 2.95.1–2. I refer to the three Drusi of our period as follows: Drusus(1) was the elder brother of Tiberius, Drusus(2) the son of Tiberius, and Drusus(3) the son of Germanicus and Agrippina the Elder. 53 Return in 13BCE: 54.25.1–4. Expedition in 10BCE: 54.36.2–4. Augustus actually did not re-enter the city until 8BCE, since he was to do so in a triumphal fashion, which the death of Drusus(1) in 9BCE had precluded (55.2.5; 55.4.4); on this see below, section 5.i. Germany in 8BCE: 55.6.2–3. 54 55.34.3. Dio reports even this trip occasioned a grand profectio and adventus, on which see section 6 below. 55 55.1.1–4. Vell. 2.97.2–3. intent upon winning the spolia opima. 56 Tiberius had begun his military career in 25BCE, serving as a military tribune in Augustus’ campaign against the Cantabri in Spain. 57 Suetonius reports that he accompanied Augustus on his Eastern campaigns in 22–19BCE, going so far as to claim it was Tiberius who publicly crowned the new king of Armenia, Tigranes, and even attributing the reclamation of the stands from Parthia to him. 58 As consul in 7BCE he mounted another expedition to Germany, for which he received a triumph. When, however, Augustus’ grandsons and legal heirs, Gaius and Lucius Caesar, came of age, Tiberius’ withdrawal from public life also meant a withdrawal from military action. 59 Despite his youth, Gaius was soon despatched on military projects of his own. His first expedition appears to have been to Arabia; although the record is sketchy, it appears that he distinguished himself in some minor skirmishes, and won the acclamation of imperator for Augustus. He returned to Rome to hold the consulship for 1CE, before departing again for the East the following year: he was first posted to the Ister in 2CE, and then redirected to Syria following a revolt in Armenia that same year 219 56 Suet. Claud. 1.4: “fuisse autem creditur non minus gloriosi quam civilis animi; nam ex hoste super victorias opima quoque spolia captasse summoque saepius discrimine duces Germanorum tota acie insectatus.” Rich (1999, 544–555) assesses the grounds for this reputation, and while he decides it is well-founded admits that the way Drusus’ career was monumentalized was critical to its establishment. See section 5.ii. 57 Suet. Tib. 9.1. Presumably the campaigns reported by Dio (53.25.5), who does not mention Tiberius. 58 Suet. Tib. 9.1: “recepit et signa, quae M. Crasso ademerant Parthi.” In the life of Augustus, however, Suetonius makes him the hero (Aug. 21.3). As we shall see, this event redounded directly to Augustus’ credit, but for our purposes it is enough to note that Tiberius was in Augustus’ company during it all. If Velleius (2.94.4) is to be believed, Tiberius may have led the Armenian mission himself; his account is problematic, however, since he names the new king as Artavasdes, and seems to suggest that Augustus did not even go to the East. Again, Dio makes no mention of Tiberius’ presence on this expedition. 59 55.9.5–8; Vell. 2.99.1–4. where he would again earn the name imperator, this time for both himself and Augustus in 3CE. 60 Velleius Paterculus claims to have been present at a public meeting of Gaius and the Parthian king: cum rege Parthorum, iuvene excelsissimo, in insula quam amnis Euphrates ambiebat, aequato utriusque partis numero coiit. quod spectaculum stantis ex diverso hinc Romani, illinc Parthorum exercitus, cum duo inter se eminentissima imperiorum et hominum coierent capita, perquam clarum et memorabile sub initia stipendiorum meorum tribuno militum mihi visere contigit. On an island in the Euphrates, with an equal retinue on each side, Gaius had a meeting with the king of the Parthians, a young man of distinguished presence. This spectacle of the Roman army arrayed on one side, the Parthian on the other, while these two eminent leaders not only of the empires they represented but also of mankind thus met in conference—truly a notable and a memorable sight—it was my fortunate lot to see early in my career as a soldier, when I held the rank of tribune. Vell. 2.101.1–2 (trans. Shipley) It will be interesting to consider later, in our discussion of the commemoration of military action, how features such as the facing ranks of soldiers contribute to the value and interpretation of the spectacle: even if they are an embellishment, they assist in the commemoratio of the act in question. 61 220 60 Dio’s account exists largely in epitome for these years. Barnes (1974, 23) makes the most sense out of the scattered evidence for this period, which includes conjecturing that Augustus’ 15th acclamation (CIL X.3827) must relate to Gaius’ activity in Arabia. Scattered references in Pliny form some of the best evidence for Gaius in Arabia (NH 6.141; 12.56; 32.20; 6.160). Gaius at the Ister: 55.10.17. In Armenia: 55.10.18–19; 55.10a.4–7; Dio claims Augustus was reluctant to send Gaius because of his age, but had no-one else to whom he could entrust the mission. Vell. 2.100.1 characteristically attributes the Armenian revolt to the news that Tiberius had withdrawn from public life. 61 Such details would be the implicit counterpart to the explicit evaluation which Velleius adds to the scene, although see Roller (2004) on the literary trope of including audiences in the commemoratio of res gestae. Both Gaius and Lucius died in the provinces, the former from wounds received in battle, the latter while on a mission to Massilia. Dio expressly states that Lucius “was being trained to rule by being despatched on missions to many places;” whether or not this was true at the time, by placing such an evaluation onto the commemoration of Lucius’ life, Dio establishes a paradigm for training emperors in this fashion. 62 Indeed, Brunt points to the continued mobilization of heirs towards such activity—despite the obvious risks the practice presented to the dynastic project—as a major argument for a policy of continued militarism under Augustus. 63 Certainly when Tiberius was now recalled to public life and adopted by Augustus in 4CE, he was immediately busied with military work: Velleius claims to have accompanied Tiberius on nine straight years of campaigns, and Dio reports that he was vexed to be kept so often by them from the capital. 64 Tiberius went first to Germany, and thence to Illyricum (probably in 6CE), where Suetonius reports that he spent three years in command of fifteen legions and their auxiliary units. eventually achieving sufficient success to merit a triumph. 65 The 221 62 Gaius’ was wounded twice (55.10.19 and 55.10a.6), and passed away at Limyra in Lycia in 3CE (55.10a.9). Lucius’ death: ibid. (“πολλαχῇ γάρ τοι καὶ ἐκεῖνος ἄλλοτε ἄλλῃ πεµπόµενος ἠσκεῖτο”). I believe this offers another illustration of Roller’s (2004) discourse of exemplarity as it relates to the statio principis. See also Tac. Ann. 2.44: “nec multo post Drusus in Illyricum missus est ut suesceret militiae studiaque exercitus pararet.” Vell. 2.102.3 claims that Lucius was on his way to Spain when he died. 63 Brunt (1990). 64 Vell. 2.104.3–4. Dio 55.27.5: “φοβούµενος µὴ ὁ Αὔγουστος ἄλλον τινὰ παρὰ τὴν ἀπουσίαν αὐτοῦ προτιµήσῃ.” 65 Suet. Tib. 17.1–2 (cf. Dio 56.1.1–2), probably exaggerating the size of the army given Tacitus’ (Ann. 4.5) summary of the legionary dispositions in 23CE, in which he claims that only 6 out of the 25 standing legions were stationed in the vicinity. Certainly the hurried levies in response to Varus’ defeat would probably not have proved necessary if there were that many operational legions currently in theater (Dio 56.23.3–4). Illyricum was the name of the Roman province, but most military actions conducted there were either fought against the Pannonians or Dalmatians. details of his return for the purpose of celebrating this in 9CE are in themselves quite remarkable, and are treated below in section 5.i. The triumph was, however, forestalled by news of the destruction of Quintilius Varus’ legions in Germany that same year, prompting Tiberius’ immediate dispatch to that region; after several years of operations he would finally celebrate this triumph in 12CE. 66 Tiberius had been preparing a new expedition to Illyricum when news reached him of Augustus’ death, at which point he hastened first to Nola and then to Rome. 67 Thenceforth he would not lead an army in person again. There is evidence that more was expected of him as princeps: Tacitus reports that he came in for public criticism for not dealing with the legionary revolts that occurred in 14CE in Germany and Illyricum in person, and that plans for a tour of the provinces were regularly floated in the senate during his reign. 68 While he never made good on these, their discussion suggests there remained some expectation that, as emperor, he should attend to military business personally. Yet there was also a competing ideological strain: according to Tacitus, Tiberius alleged in 14CE that leaving Rome would place both himself and the state in peril, and that the empire was better served by his visiting neither Germany or Illyricum, rather than favoring one over the other; besides, “his majesty would seem 222 66 Original triumph: 56.17.1. News of Varus’ defeat: 56.18.1 (cf. Vell. 2.117.1 and Suet Tib. 17.1, who says that it actually enhanced the magnificence of Tiberius’ victory). Tiberius’ dispatch: 56.23.3; Vell. 2.120.1. Dio’s account is somewhat fragmented, but it appears that in 9–10CE Tiberius was only tasked with securing the borders of the empire (56.24.1–6) and made an uneventful incursion over the Rhine in 11CE (56.25.2–3). Delayed triumph: Suet. Tib. 20; Vell. 2.121.2. 67 Suet. Aug. 97.3–98.5, Tib. 21.1 68 German revolt: Tac. Ann. 1.46. Tour of provinces: 4.4: “exim vetus et saepe simulatum proficiscendi in provincias consilium refertur.” Cf. 3.47; Suet. Tib. 38. more awesome at a remove.” 69 However specious these claim may have been, there is an echo here of difficulty Augustus faced in having to divide his presence between the city and the provinces. Meanwhile his nephew, adopted son, and heir apparent, Germanicus, took up his former position among the armies. Germanicus had begun his military career when Augustus dispatched him to join Tiberius in Illyricum in 7CE. 70 He received the honor of announcing the ensuing victory in 9CE (presumably in a letter to the senate), and, while Tiberius received the triumph, Germanicus was granted the ornamenta triumphalia for his role in the campaigns. 71 By 14CE he was entrusted with the command over Germany, where, it will be recalled, his familiarity to and popularity among the legions was characterized as a cause of concern to the new Princeps (even before the actual revolt of the legions in lower Germany, on which see section 7.ii below). 72 It was Germanicus who would avenge the Varian disaster of 9CE, recovering the lost standards “under his leadership and under the auspices of Tiberius,” and leading 223 69 Ann. 1.47: “immotum adversus eos sermones fixumque Tiberio fuit non omittere caput rerum neque se remque publicam in casum dare. multa quippe et diversa angebant: validior per Germaniam exercitus, proprior apud Pannoniam; ille Galliarum opibus subnixus, hic Italiae inminens: quos igitur anteferret? ac ne postpositi contumelia incenderentur. at per filios pariter adiri maiestate salva, cui maior e longinquo reverentia.” 70 55.31.1; Vell. 2.116.1. Dio claims that Augustus did this in part out of suspicion that Tiberius was purposefully prolonging the war (“ὑποπτεύσας ἐς τὸν Τιβέριον ὡς δυνηθέντα µὲν ἂν διὰ ταχέων αὐτοὺς κρατῆσαι, τρίβοντα δὲ ἐξεπίτηδες ἵν’ ὡς ἐπὶ πλεῖστον ἐν τοῖς ὅπλοις ἐπὶ τῇ τοῦ πολέµου προφάσει ᾖ...”), an interesting inversion of Tiberius’ own fears (see note on 55.27.5 above). 71 56.17.1–2. For the practice of announcing victories in this manner, see Barini (1952, 13 n. 1), Versnel (1970), and section 5.i below. 72 With Tiberius in Germany in 11CE: 56.25.2. Given command of the war by Augustus: Vell. 2.223.1. Popularity in 14CE: Tac. Ann. 1.7.6: “causa praecipua ex formidine, ne Germanicus, in cuius manu tot legiones, immensa sociorum auxilia, mirus apud populum favor, habere imperium quam exspectare mallet.” See chapter. 2.2.vii. the wife of the German chieftain Ariminius in his triumph in 15CE. 73 When he died in 19CE it was as commander of the legions of Syria, and his much-publicized disagreements with Cn. Piso Pater—which lay at the heart of the accusations that he had murdered Germanicus—centered around who was possessed priority of command in the province. 74 Tiberius’ son Drusus(2), meanwhile, enjoyed his own military career, having been despatched to quell the rebellion in Illyricum in 14CE, sent there again with a proconsular command in 17CE, celebrating an ovatio in 20CE before returning there that same year. His movements from that point on become a little unclear, but it would appear he was back in Rome before the start of 21CE to take up the consulship. 75 Tiberius asked the senate to make Drusus his colleague in the tribunicia potestas in 22CE, but he died the following year. 76 Gaius is, as ever, something of a special case. As the child of Germanicus, he grew up in the camps, in the company of soldiers; he earned his famous cognomen ‘Caligula’ from them because as an infant he was seen dressed in the costume of a 224 73 Tac. Ann. 2.41 (cited above). For Germanicus avenging Varus, see Tac. Ann. 1.50–71 with Woodman (1988c). For the triumph, which was awarded before Germanicus had brought the war to its conclusion, see Tac. Ann. 1.55, and section 5.i below. 74 Barnes (1998, 143–144) summarizes the legal questions. For Germanicus’ imperium, see Tac. Ann. 2.43.2 (“provinciae quae mari dividuntur maiusque imperium, quoquo adisset, quam iis qui sorte aut missu principis obtinerent”) and the SCPP (lines 34–36: “ut in quaecumq(ue) provinciam venisset, maius ei imperium quam ei, qui eam provinciam proco(n)s(ule) optineret, esset, dum in omni re maius imperium Ti. Caesari Aug(usto) quam Germanico Caesari esset”), on the basis of which it is understood to have been both distinct from and superior to that possessed by Piso as legatus Augusti. Griffin (1997, 258) adds that Tacitus may do a better job of clarifying their respective standing than the decree (which may itself reflect the text of the comitial lex by which Germanicus gained his imperium). Tac. Ann. 4.5 reports there were 4 legions posted in the province. 75 Based on Ann. 3.31 and Tiberius’ letter to the senate, excusing both of them from not participating in the campaign against Sacrovir in Gaul (Ann. 3.47). 76 Colleague: Tac. Ann. 3.56. Death: Dio 57.22.4; Tac. Ann. 4.9; Suet. Tib. 54.1. soldier. 77 Suetonius claims it was the sight of him in particular that calmed the mutinous legions of lower Germany in 14CE, and adduces this as evidence that “he won a great love and influence among them through the practice of sharing their nourishment.” 78 He had accompanied his father to Syria, but, following his death, returned to Rome, where he is reported to have lived with his great-grandmother Livia until her death in 29CE, at which point he passed into the care of his grandmother Antonia, before being summoned by Tiberius to join him on Capri in 31 or 32CE. 79 This meant that, unlike other imperial heirs, he was never given the opportunity to command an army prior to his accession in 37CE. Nevertheless, Gaius is commemorated as reveling in a military persona, appearing publicly in triumphal dress, riding a triumphal chariot, or wearing a breastplate purported to have belonged to Alexander the Great. 80 Where other emperors would make a point of exhibiting their heirs to the soldiers, Gaius put his wife Caesonia on display, riding at his side in a cloak, helmet, and shield. 81 One of the more famous 225 77 Suet. Cal. 9.1: “Caligulae cognomen castrensi ioco traxit, quia manipulario habitu inter milites educabatur.” Also commemorated by Tac. Ann. 1.69. The caliga was the boot regularly worn by soldiers (see e.g. Cic. Att. 2.3.1; Suet. Calig. 52; also used metonymically for military service, e.g. Plin. 7.43.44; Sen. Ben. 5.16.2). Suetonius also reports a popular poem about his birth: “in castris natus, patriis nutritus in armis,/iam designati principis omen erat” (Cal. 8.1). 78 Suet. Cal. 9.1: “apud quos quantum praeterea per hanc nutrimentorum consuetudinem amore et gratia valuerit.” I translate consuetudo as “practice,” and understand Suetonius to be using it here in its fullest theoretical dimension (after Bell 1992, as discussed in chapter 1.2–3). 79 These events are summarized quite briefly in Suet. Cal. 10.1–2, which is perhaps an indication of the degree to which Gaius was kept from the public eye during this period. 80 Triumphal dress: 59.7.1. Chariot: 59.7.4. Breastplate: Suet Cal. 52. 81 Suet. Cal. 25.3: “saepe chlamyde peltaque et galea ornatam ac iuxta adequitantem militibus ostenderit...” For the practice of displaying heirs to the praetorian guard, see sections 4.ii and 7.ii. episodes of his reign, the bridging of bay between Baiae and Puteoli, was precisely one of military import: besides the fact that he rode across it in the aspect of a triumphator, at the head of a column of troops, such feats of engineering were a hallmark of Roman military ideology. 82 This is amply attested by the scenes from Trajan’s column that depict the soldiers engaged in assembling fortifications and siege-works. 83 Suetonius reports the episode with a measure of ambivalence, naming it a “new and unheard of kind of spectacle” (Cal. 19.1 “novum praeterea atque inauditum genus spectaculi”) and attempting to defuse the obvious association with Xerxes’ bridging of the Hellespont (which he takes the care to mention was not as wide as the space bridged by Gaius). 84 This incident is also reported almost immediately before he makes the thematic turn from the species principatus to Gaius as monstrum, suggesting therefore that a spectacle such as this may have been part of the performance expected of the Princeps; certainly, it was not cognitively that different from the symbolism of the triumph (on which see section 5 below). 85 226 82 The event is attested in Suet. Cal. 19.1–3 (who claims he wore the corona quercea and a golden cloak on one day, and the next day rode across it in a quadrigium) and Dio 59.17.1–11 (who reports it was a purple cloak embroidered with gold and gems from India, and that it was on this occasion that he wore the breastplate of Alexander, but also attests to the second trip in the quadrigium). 83 Brilliant (1963). 84 Suet. Cal. 19.3: “scio plerosque existimasse talem a Gaio pontem excogitatum aemulatione Xerxis, qui non sine admiratione aliquanto angustiorem Hellespontum contabulaverit.” The association would be doubly damning, since Gaius should not wish to compete with such a negative exemplum. Suetonius claims that the feat was actual undertaken to frustrate a prediction of the astrologer Thrasyllus that Gaius was no more likely to be emperor than he was to ride a horse across the bay of Baiae. Dio 59.17.11, however, claims that Gaius himself made sport of Darius and Xerxes for having crossed a narrower expanse of sea. 85 Suet. Cal. 22.1, discussed in chapter 1.3. The speech that Dio attributes to Gaius after crossing the bay (59.17.6–7) is analogous to the letter customarily sent to the senate after a victory, in that it commemorates the achievement of the soldiers and places a positive evaluation on it (see section 5.ii). In spite of all this, Gaius made only one military expedition: 86 in 39CE, he set out for Gaul, ostensibly to protect it from Germanic incursions, but in actuality, as Dio tells it, in order to supplement the imperial coffers by despoiling Gaul and Spain. 87 Suetonius reports that on reaching the camp “he made a show of being a hard and severe general” by dismissing all the legates who did not arrive with their levies on time. 88 Dio claims that Gaius assembled a large force—quoting a figure as large as 250,000—but that they fought no real battles. 89 The historian states that Gaius merely engaged in plunder and customary acts of cruelty, while Suetonius has him staging fake confrontations with his bodyguards playing the role of the enemy. 90 While our sources do not agree on the details, they agree in their characterization, which is to show Gaius performing the persona of general in such a way as to reveal his despotism and lack of concern for important business. Dio states that Gaius didn’t even secure the revenues that had been his original goal, and that the 227 86 As Suet. Cal. 43.1 puts it, “militiam resque bellicas semel attigit...” 87 59.21.1–2. At 59.18.1 Dio reports that the bridge over Baiae in particular was one of Gaius’ indulgences that had impoverished the fiscus so. Suet. Cal. 43.1 presents the expedition as more of a whim, and claims that Gaius merely wanted to recruit a contingent of Batavians to be his personal bodyguard. 88 Suet. Cal. 44.1: “postquam castra attigit, ut se acrem ac severum ducem ostenderet, legatos, qui auxilia serius ex diversis locis adduxerant, cum ignominia dimisit.” 89 59.22.2, which also allows that it was only 200,000. Suet. Cal. 43.1 suggests that the expeditionary force included the praetorian cohorts, and that the army was mobilized so rapidly and in such disorder that they were forced to stow their standards on pack-animals in order to keep up with Gaius. 90 55.21.4–22.7. Suet. Cal. 45.1–2. upkeep of his expeditionary force only added to his wild expenditure. 91 Suetonius’ criticism is even more suggestive: atque inter haec absentem senatum populumque gravissimo obiurgavit edicto, quod Caesare proeliante et tantis discriminibus obiecto tempestiva convivia, circum et theatra et amoenos secessus celebrarent. And while this was going on he rebuked the senate and people for being absent in a most severe edict, stating that while their emperor was fighting battles and facing such great risks they were celebrating afternoon convivia and enjoying the theaters and pleasant vacation spots. Suet. Cal. 45.3 Implicit in this edict is an inversion of the ideology of res publica, whereby the emperor’s actions are represented as being undertaken for the public good. 92 Gaius’ sentiments, like his entire campaign, are clearly to be understood as the reverse of what is expected from the Princeps—or indeed, any general—who was supposed to undertake war pro rei publicae saluti. 93 In this inversion, therefore, the letter of Gaius perhaps reveals what, at least in Suetonius’ time, the emperor was expected to accomplish in his role as a general: peace and prosperity for the senate and people of Rome, who ought to be free to celebrate convivia while he keeps the dangers on the frontiers at bay and secures sufficient revenue to keep those frontiers secure. Indeed, even Tiberius, who we have seen was criticized for not attending to these affairs in person, at least represented them as a concern that he was managing from his station at 228 91 59.22.1: “οὐ µέντοι καὶ περιεποιεῖτό τι, ἀλλ’ ἔς τε τἆλλα ἐδαπάνα ὥσπερ εἰώθει (καὶ γὰρ θέας τινὰς ἐν τῷ Λουγδούνῳ ἐπετέλεσε), καὶ ἐς τὰ στρατεύµατα·” 92 I refer here to the ideology of res publica as Galinsky (1996) shows it to have been deployed under the Augustan regime. 93 On this ideology, see section 5.i below. Rome. As I will argue in sections 5, 6, and 8, this ideology—and, indeed, fostering the belief that there continued to be dangers that required his attention—may have been the central function of the performance and commemoration of the emperor’s role as general. On a practical level, the emperors and their heirs spent a lot of time among the armies in the provinces, both in camp and on the battle-lines. The frequent military honors won, not to mention the death of the young Gaius from a wound suffered in battle, attest to the reports—if not the fact—that they personally led legions on the field. The visible signs of paludamentum and fasces served to render them conspicuous among the troops, while reports, acclamations, and the commemorative ceremonies we will examine in sections 5 and 6 communicated to the people the work they were doing abroad. As we will see in section 7, being in camp gave soldiers the opportunity to interact with these men, to question them (according to a discourse of officium) or even to threaten their lives. It was no coincidence that emperors visited or dispatched their heirs to the same provinces (Gaul, Illyricum, Syria) repeatedly: this was where there was work that needed doing, symbolic capital to be earned, and—perhaps most importantly—where the bulk of the legions were stationed. Their presence, visibility, and activity in these theaters permitted their exposure to vast swathes of Rome’s armed forces, forging loyalties that would one day be turned to the task of king-making. Moreover, the performance of the persona of general in these early stages of the Principate seems to have had a direct result in a normative discourse that would claim it 229 was the emperor’s job to command the legions. Such is the substance of the criticism leveled at Tiberius and Gaius, but rendered in these terms such criticism has the added effect of constituting the princeps’ right to monopolize Rome’s military power. Discourse and practice remain irreparably intertwined. ii. At home This is not the occasion for a history of the institution of the praetorian guard, but it should be noted that under the Principate there was a standing army stationed in the environs of the capital, and that the emperors made a habit of showing themselves both to and with these soldiers as well. 94 Upon his arrival in Rome in 14CE, we are told that Tiberius’ first act was to give the praetorians the watchword—this even before convening the senate to make arrangements for Augustus’ funeral. 95 Moreover, it will be recalled that at that meeting he was conspicuously accompanied by soldiers to and even within the Curia; these were presumably men of the praetorian guard, and their presence was presumably intended to communicate to the rest of the city that the soldiery were behind Tiberius (besides the more immediate threat presented by men with swords). 96 This reading is supported by Dio, who reports that in 25CE—and 230 94 Bingham (1998, forthcoming as a monograph from University Press, Baylor) presents a complete historical study of the guard, including the developments in our period. 95 Tac. Ann. 1.7.5: “sed, defuncto Augusto, signum praetoriis cohortibus ut imperator dederat.” The use of imperator here is presumably synonymous with Princeps, and not the more general military usage. 96 Reported by all of our major sources: Tac. Ann. 1.7.5; Dio 57.2.2; Suet. Tib. 24.1 (who calls the guard the “vi et specie dominationis”). Furneaux (1896, ad Ann. 1.7.5) argues that the guard did not actually accompany Tiberius into the Curia itself. therefore at the height of the maiestas trials—Tiberius made an exhibition of the praetorian guard to the senators, “so that seeing how numerous and strong the soldiers were they would become more afraid of him.” 97 Perhaps on the model of Tiberius, Gaius combined these two acts into one, and made one of the first events of his reign an inspection of the praetorian guard in the company of the senate, at which he distributed to the soldiers the donative promised in Tiberius’ will—a payment for loyalty which the senate surely cannot have ignored. 98 If in its immediacy, appearing before the soldiers was about establishing oneself as their leader, forging a familiarity and demonstrating a concern for military affairs, with respect to the praetorian guard such familiarity was obviously even more critical. 99 This is presumably why later emperors would present their heirs to the guard first of all, in order to foster loyalty between the soldiers and their future leaders. 100 The power of the guard is clearly demonstrated in the rise to power of Sejanus, who was believed to command the loyalty of those soldiers in addition to Tiberius’ favor, and in how careful 231 97 57.24.5 (from the epitome of Xiphilinus): “ἐν δ' οὖν τῷ τότε ὁ Τιβέριος τὴν τοῦ δορυφορικοῦ γυµνασίαν τοῖς βουλευταῖς, ὥσπερ ἀγνοοῦσι τὴν δύναµιν αὐτῶν, ἐπέδειξεν, ὅπως καὶ πολλούς σφας καὶ ἐρρωµένους ἰδόντες µᾶλλον αὐτὸν φοβῶνται.” 98 “τούς τε οὖν δορυφόρους εὐθὺς γυµνασίαν ποιουµένους θεασάµενος µετὰ τῆς γερουσίας, τάς τε καταλειφθείσας σφίσι κατὰ πεντήκοντα καὶ διακοσίας δραχµὰς διένειµε καὶ ἑτέρας τοσαύτας προςεπέδωκε·” An illustration of Veyne’s (1990, 246, 257) argument that an emperor’s control of the the private fiscus, from which he could pay or supplement the pay of the army, was a critical element in the security of his position. See, e.g. Suet. Nero 32, with Brunt (1990, 11) who argues that the arrears in the army’s pay were a primary factor in Vindex’s ability to foment revolt in 68CE. 99 According to Dio (56.23.4), following the loss of Varus’ legions in 9CE Augustus dismissed all the Germans and Gauls serving the in the praetorian guard, fearing that their loyalty would prove greater to their nations than to Rome. This suggests that the guard’s proximity to the capital was perceived as a threat even before they learned to play kingmakers in 40CE. 100 Claudius presented Britannicus to the praetorian guard (Suet. Claud. 27.2), while Galba adopted Piso Frugi before an assembly of them (Galba 17.1). the emperor had to be in disposing of him. Indeed, he had to first cultivate the loyalty of another commander, Macro, whose shift in loyalty to Gaius was believed to be integral to his succession. Finally, it should be remarked that Gaius was himself killed by a commander of the praetorian guard, a demonstration of the proximity enjoyed by such individuals to the emperor’s person. 5. Triumph i. Ceremony Much like with the praetorian guard, I do not wish to attempt a history of the Roman triumph and its meaning. Such histories already exist, although they are lacking in their coverage of our period precisely because we do not have a lot of detail about the specific triumphs from our period. 101 A summary of the generic features of the triumph must suffice, before we move to considering the role of this ceremony within the current investigation. We must ask how often the emperor’s subjects would see him in the role of triumphator, and what function that role—as the apotheosis of the persona of 232 101 The most representative examples being Bonfante (1970) and Versnel (1970) (together with Bonfante’s (1974) review of the latter). Beard (2007) effectively problematizes all studies of this type and their tendency to flatten both the chronology of our sources and the experience of several centuries of Roman people. Bonfante (1970), for example, puts great stock in evidence such as “the fifth law of Numa” for establishing the Etruscan heritage of the triumph, but this is first attested for us in Festus, a source from the second century CE. The traditional picture of the ceremony is usually pieced together from sources as diverse as Polybius, Plutarch (Aem. 32), and Josephus (BJ 7.123–157)—none of whom witnessed or recorded the triumphs that occurred in our period. general—could have had. 102 Following the methodology of Anthony Marshall, we must do our best to consider what spectators actually saw, and attempt to imagine what meaning this spectacle might have had for them, without assuming that they were all aware of the triumph’s historical (and still contested) significations. 103 As Mary Beard has so amply demonstrated, it is difficult to describe the form of any particular triumph with any great certainty, and dangerous to assume that every instance was the same. 104 In the simple matter of its route, for example, she systematically exposes the series of assumptions involved in believing that this must have remained consistent throughout the history of the ceremony. 105 Nevertheless, it is reasonably safe to say that it would have started outside the city in the environs of the Campus Martius, passed through some structure known as the porta triumphalis, made some kind of circuit of the city (usually understood to have involved traveling around the Palatine via the Circus Maximus), before heading along the Via Sacra and through 233 102 I use ‘apotheosis’ both figuratively and literally, since some schools of thought hold that the appearance of the triumphator was supposed to connect him symbolically to Jupiter (e.g. Versnel, 1970), while some even suggest that he became Jupiter for a day. As Beard (2007) notes, the term triumphator is not actually attested until well after our period. As Versnel (o.c., 192) notes, the triumph was the only instance in which a commander functioned as a general within the walls of Rome. 103 Marshall (1984, 120) applies this methodology to his study of the fasces. Östenberg (2009) also acknowledges the utility of Marshall’s approach for examining the triumph, but is more interested in the representation of the enemy than the general himself. See, similarly, Feeney (1998, 118) and Sumi (2005, 247–250). 104 Beard (2007, 81–82) does at least presents a generic picture of the ceremony, before deconstructing the certainty of many of the elements which she lists. Versnel (1970, 95) and Sumi (2005, 247) also present serviceable summaries of the canonical features. 105 Beard (2007, 36–41). Favro (1994) is one example of the type of positivist account at which she is taking aim, and argues that the topography of the city would have molded itself around the traditional route of the triumph, rather than—as seems more likely—the route itself having to evolve at times to match the changing face of the city. the Forum, at which point the triumphator would ascend the Capitoline hill and make an offering to Jupiter Optimus Maximus, on behalf of the safety of the Republic (pro rei publicae saluti). 106 As Versnel argues, one of the best ways to approach a picture of procession itself with any kind of certainty is by comparison to the ovation: since this was considered to be a reduced form of the triumph, those things that were denied to the general celebrating the ovation can be understood to be what “make the triumph the triumph.” They are: entry of the triumpator into the city in a chariot wearing the vestis triumphalis and crowned with a laurel wreath, carrying a scepter (generally understood to have been topped with an eagle), and accompanied by the sound of trumpets and flutes. 107 It is likewise reasonable to state that the triumphator would have led his army —or a sizable portion thereof—in the procession, and that it was common practice for the it also to include a show of spoils, captives, and placards depicting the territories conquered (often believed to have been labelled with tituli). 108 234 106 The identity of the porta triumphalis was contested when Versnel (1970) wrote his monograph, and was still a matter of debate when Beard (2007) wrote hers. Even the Via Sacra remains an open question: see Patterson (1992, 199). On the sacrifice pro rei publicae saluti see Versnel (1970, 394), and also Liv. 28.9.6: “alii gratulabantur, alii gratias agebant, quod eorum opera incolumis res publica esset.” As Favro (1994, 157) notes, processions are reported to have passed through the Circus Flaminius and Circus Maximus (Liv. 39.5; Dion. Hal. 3.68) which would have provided seating from which to view the spectacle; see also Brilliant (1999). 107 Versnel (1970, 166). Dion. Hal. 8.67.10 calls the ovation an “ἐλάττων θρίαµβος.” The Parthians’ parody of a Roman triumph (Plut. Crass. 32.1–3) may also be useful in this regard, because it presents another reading of what was considered essential to the ceremony. Beard (2007, 187) mentions this episode only briefly in passing, and yet it is striking both for how the tropes of the triumph were believed to be known by foreign peoples, and how the symbolic discourse of Roman triumphalism could be subverted towards other strategic ends (part of Beard’s own argument). See Östenberg (2009, 7) on the importance of scripts as well as symbols in the process of ritualization. 108 For pictorial and written representations, ee, e.g. Jos. BJ 7.139-147, with Brilliant (1999, 227); also Tac. Ann. 2.41–42, discussed below. The sculptural reliefs on the Arch of Titus show spoils, captives, and tituli. Östenberg (2009, 9–12) examines the “syntactic issues of the parade,” with a particular focus on these elements. See Bergmann (1999b, 13) for some remarks on the effects of different media (spectacle, writing, sound) on spectators. The procedures involved in a general attaining a triumph are somewhat better attested, largely because Augustus seems to have paid a lot of public attention to their observation. By the first century BCE it was traditional that a victorious general should first be acclaimed as imperator by his troops; this was supposed to be spontaneous and according to the will of the soldiers, but the actual ceremony could be carefully stage- managed for maximum effect. 109 In the case of Blaesus, the last non-imperial general to receive the acclamation, Tacitus reports that “Tiberius allowed that he should be saluted as imperator by the legions, referring to the ancient honor by which generals who had accomplished acts to the benefit of the state were hailed as such in the joy and spirit of victory of the army.” 110 The general could then choose to send a missive to the senate announcing the victory and his acclamation, and asking for a supplicatio (a celebratory feast in honor of the gods, but from which, as the Res Gestae shows, he redeemed the glory) and, if he wished at this juncture, a triumph. 111 The senate could chose whether to recognize the acclamation, grant the supplicatio, and grant the triumph or mitigate it to an ovation. Sometimes the general would wait until his return to Rome to make these requests, although it seems to have been standard practice to hold the supplicatio before 235 109 Scipio Africanus seems to have been the first general proclaimed in this fashion, for his victory in 209BCE (Combès 1966, 51–72). Combès (o.c., 88) observes that in 43BCE, there was a delay of 2 days between Octavian’s victory and his acclamation, presumably to allow men and spoils to be properly collected for the ceremony. 110 Tac. Ann. 3.74: “sed Tiberius pro confecto interpretatus id quoque Blaeso tribuit ut imperator a legionibus salutaretur, prisco erga duces honore qui bene gesta re publica gaudio et impetu victoris exercitus conclamabantur,” clearly rendering the salutatio an example of evaluation applied to res gestae (on which see section 5.ii below). 111 For the process see Barini (1952, 13 n. 2), demonstrated in the case of the consuls Livius and Claudius in 207BCE, who summoned the senate to a meeting in the Temple of Bellona in order to request their triumph (Liv. 28.9.1–10). then. At any rate, he would be required to wait with his army outside the pomerium until the day of his triumph or ovation, since tradition dictated that upon crossing the city’s boundary he would forfeit his imperium militiae, which was required in order for him to triumph. Even the emperors—whose exceptional imperium did not technically expire upon crossing the pomerium—respected this rule, to the point that Augustus stayed outside the city during Drusus’ funeral in 8BCE. 112 Implicated in the senate’s decisions on these matters were assessments of the ductu auspicio imperioque outlined in section 3, but there were also other factors involved, and the Republican period saw many rivalries expressed in the debates and awards of such honors. 113 Each of these steps were required for the triumph to occur, and so initiative was required on the part of the army and general and an official decision on the part of the senate, but none of them in themselves could guarantee a triumph would be awarded. Cicero, acclaimed imperator twice in this province of Cilicia, famously waited several years in the hope of receiving a triumph that never came. Augustus, meanwhile, proudly commemorated his 55 supplicationes, but only 236 112 According to the nature of the grant of 19BCE made to Augustus (Dio 54.10.5: “τὴν δὲ τῶν ὑπάτων διὰ βίου ἔλαβεν, ὥστε καὶ ταῖς δώδεκα ῥάβδοις ἀεὶ καὶ πανταχοῦ χρῆσθαι”), which is thereafter assumed to have been the model for the imperium of all the principes. It has been suggested that rather than existing in permanence the emperor’s imperium militiae was simply understood to be renewed every time he left the boundaries of the city. But cf. the case of Drusus in 20CE, who left the city to reassume the auspicia before his ovation (Tac. Ann. 3.19.3, cited above in section 3). Once more, the legal technicalities are largely irrelevant, since the emperors’ practice was to respect the traditional rules in this matter. 113 While our friends Livius and Claudius are portrayed as magnanimous colleagues in their victory, Livy clearly also testifies to some kind of partisan rivalry (28.10.11–16). celebrated 3 actual triumphs (and those in the same year). 114 As Combès remarks, the institutional role of the senate in validating the victory, acclamation, supplicatio, and triumph would become a critical tool for the emperors in controlling the dispersal of these honors under the Principate. 115 Since they controlled the senate—factually and legally—they could use traditional instruments like veto and auctoritas to deny generals any one of these honors without having to exercise openly monarchical power. By 22CE a concerted policy of restricting such honors to the imperial house had redeemed itself into a status quo, such that it was remarkable that Tiberius should allow (the verb “tribuit” places the agency clearly on the emperor) Blaesus to be acclaimed as he did. 116 We have seen one example of this practice, and its modulation under the Principate, in Germanicus’ letter to the senate of 9CE, announcing the victory over Illyricum. 117 The result, as Dio reports it, was that Tiberius and Augustus were acclaimed as imperatores, Tiberius awarded a triumph, and Germanicus himself received the ornamenta triumphalia—a response that established a clear hierarchy between the three men involved, and which can be somewhat schematized according to 237 114 RG 4.1: “bis ovans triumphavi et tris egi curulis triumphos et appellatus sum viciens et semel imperator, decernente pluris triumphos mihi senatu, quibus omnibus supersedi.” As Rich (1998, 77) notes any suggestions that Augustus celebrated more than two ovations (e.g. Dio 54.8.3) must be erroneous (the two ovations were in 40 and 36BCE, and are reflected in the Fasti Triumphales). 115 Combès (1966, 78), who notes in particular that, although the senate could not technically intervene in the right of the army and general to use the acclamation, it nevertheless developed for itself an important ideological role in making a practice of validating (or not) such acclamations. 116 Beard (2007, 299) recognizes that this was a historical process; that is to say, although our record shows that non-imperial triumphs stop with Balbus in 19BCE, it takes years of subsequent activity to realize such a stop. 117 56.17.1–2 and section 4.i. the principle of ductu auspicio imperioque. Just as we saw in section 3, however, the pieces do not fit entirely perfectly. The awards made to Germanicus make simple enough sense: as the subordinate of Tiberius he was possessed neither of his own imperium or his own auspicium, and so while he had produced victory suo ductu it was rebounded to the credit of his superiors. 118 Tiberius, however, was not yet Augustus’ colleague in the imperium, and was presumably therefore fighting as a legatus pro praetore and not suis auspiciis; this explains why Augustus should receive an acclamation for the victory, but not, if a rigid legal principle was in fact being observed, why Tiberius should be entitled to a triumph. 119 Once more, however, such legal convolutions are less fruitful than considering how the terms involved and the continuum of honors could be used to commemorate victory and represent relationships of power; the a posteriori usage of the discourse of ductu auspicio imperioque, in making sense of this arrangement, is far more important. The last years of the Republic had seen a flurry of triumphs. After Octavian’s three-day triumph in 29BCE, over Illyria, Actium, and Egypt, generals of the triumviral period celebrated 8 more such occasions. 120 After Lucius Cornelius Balbus’ triumph 238 118 Germanicus’ personal ductus is commemorated by Dio (56.15.1–3). 119 Suetonius (Tib. 16.1) specifically claims that Tiberius was “delegatus pacandae Germaniae status,” whence he proceeded to Illyricum “ad curam novi belli.” M. Licinius Crassus occupied a similar position in 28BCE, and it is for this very reason that he is generally believed not to have been entitled to dedicate the spolia opimia; cf. Flower (2000). 120 The standard reference for the triumphs until 19BCE is Degrassi (ed.), Inscr. Ital. 13.1, which presents an annotated version of the inscribed Fasti Triumphales. Barini (1952) is an invaluable resource for all military honors—triumphs, ovations, and ornamenta—awarded in the period from 19BCE to the reign of Diocletian, but the account is organized by geographical region within the reigns of emperors, rather than chronologically; for the period from Actium to 19BCE, see the summary at p. 26, n. 1. Barnes (1974) also presents a concise narrative of victory honors accrued under the reign of Augustus. over Africa in 19BCE, however, no-one outside the imperial family would ever receive that honor again. 121 Nor would members of that family celebrate them that often. There are only three full triumphs attested in our period: those of Tiberius in 7BCE and 12CE, and that of Germanicus in 15CE. 122 A whole generation had come of age in the time between Augustus’ triple-triumph of 29BCE and Tiberius’ triumph in 7BCE, and again between that and his triumph in 13CE; after Germanicus, Rome would not see another iteration of the ceremony until the reign of Claudius. 123 Augustus and Agrippa had both famously refused several triumphs awarded to them for military actions performed either ductu or auspiciis. 124 Several more ovations are attested, and this period also saw the rise of the ornamenta triumphalia as a means of recognizing the merit of non- imperial generals, but the honor of the greater ceremony was held in reserve, with 239 121 For Balbus’ res gestae, see Plin. NH 5.36–37; Strabo 3.5.3; Vell. 2.51.3. As Beard (2007, 69) notes, the tablets on which the Fasti Triumphales are inscribed seem to have been designed to finish with the triumph of Balbus—his entry fitting perfectly at the end of the last tablet—suggesting that a policy had been instituted by the time of their inscription. Bonfante Warren (1974, 581) remarks that the straightforward replacement of the kings by the consuls in the performance of the triumph is instructive for how the Romans conceptualized the shift from monarchy to Republic (i.e. for tradition vs. innovation); we might make a similar observation of the replacement of consuls (or other magistrates) by emperors (or their heirs). 122 Tiberius in 7BCE: Dio 55.8.1–3. Tiberius in 12CE: Suet. Tib. 21. Germanicus in 13CE: Tac. Ann. 2.41–42. All three are discussed in more detail below. 123 Over Britain in 44CE (Suet. Claud. 17; Dio 60.23.1–6). Regarding Tiberius’ accession in 14CE, Tacitus opines “who was there left who had even seen the Republic?” (Ann. 1.3: “quotus quisque reliquus, qui rem publicam vidisset?”). 124 Augustus: Beard (2007, 300 n. 27). Agrippa: Dio 48.49.4 (37BCE); 54.11.6 (19BCE); 54.24.7 (14BCE). Augustus several times reducing grants made by the senate from triumphs to ovations, even for members of his family. 125 Between Augustus’ own refusals and his mitigation of the honors of his heirs, it has been quite fairly assumed that we have evidence of a deliberate policy on the part of the first emperor. 126 A standard explanation has been that he sought to restore a measure of prestige to the triumph, so often celebrated in the latter years of the Republic, and in particular to his own achievement in 29BCE. 127 It is perhaps worth reframing this in terms of Bell’s theory of ritualization, and consider how the ritual act of the triumph was better able to be set apart from the regular field of action by the reduction of its frequency. 128 Iteration therefore remains an important aspect of its ritualization, but it also redeems extra symbolic value from its rarity, which might magnify any function the triumph could be said to have. 129 Certainly it is not difficult to conceive of concrete reasons for the triumph being wheeled out when it was: it could be said to have marked the consolidation of dynastic hopes in the figure of Tiberius (twice), to have been used to quell feelings of insecurity following the death of Drusus or the defeat of Varus, or to have been deployed to resolve popular anxiety about the 240 125 On the ornamenta, see section 5.iii. Augustus reduced Tiberius’ first triumph over Pannonia, awarded in 12BCE, to ornamenta (Dio 54.31.4), and vetoed the cognomina decreed to him over his original triumph in 9CE (Suet. Tib. 17.1–2). See Barini (1952, 27–47) for a survey of Augustus’ reign. 126 Indeed, Dio (55.6.5) reports that he was also the agent behind Tiberius’ first triumph in 7BCE. 127 E.g. Sumi (2005, 249), Combès (1966, 118). 128 Bell (1992). See also Östenberg (2009, 5–7). 129 It thus forms something of an analogy to the Ludi Saeculares. See Bergmann (1999, 22–23) and Favro (1999, 205) for some moves in this direction. relationship between Tiberius and Germanicus. How would it have functioned to accomplish any of these effects? As I have stated already, the accounts of the three triumphs in our period are relatively thin. For that of Tiberius in 7BCE, Dio merely states: 130 Τιβέριος δὲ ἐν τῇ νουµηνίᾳ ἐν ᾗ ὑπατεύειν µετὰ Γναίου Πίσωνος ἤρξατο, ἔς τε τὸ Ὀκταουίειον τὴν βουλὴν ἤθροισε διὰ τὸ ἔξω τοῦ πωµηρίου αὐτὸ εἶναι, καὶ τὸ Ὁµονόειον αὐτὸς ἑαυτῷ ἐπισκευάσαι προστάξας, ὅπως τό τε ἴδιον καὶ τὸ τοῦ Δρούσου ὄνοµα αὐτῷ ἐπιγράψῃ, τά τε νικητήρια ἤγαγε καὶ τὸ τεµένισµα τὸ Λίουιον ὠνοµασµένον καθιέρωσε µετὰ τῆς µητρός· καὶ αὐτὸς µὲν τὴν γερουσίαν ἐν τῷ Καπιτωλίῳ, ἐκείνη δὲ τὰς γυναῖκας ἰδίᾳ που εἱστίασε. καὶ οὐ πολλῷ ὕστερον κινηθέντων τινῶν ἐν τῇ Γερµανίᾳ ἐξωρµήθη· Tiberius on the first day of the year in which he was consul with Gnaeus Piso convened the senate in the Curia Octaviae, because it was outside the pomerium. After assigning to himself the duty of repairing the temple of Concord, in order that he might inscribe upon it his own name and that of Drusus, he celebrated his triumph, and in company with his mother dedicated the precinct called the precinct of Livia. He gave a banquet to the senate on the Capitol, and she gave on on her own account to the women somewhere or other. A little later, when there was some disturbance in the province of Germany, he took the field. Dio 55.8.1–3 (trans. Cary) Apparently the historian is confident enough in his audience’s ability to know what a triumph would have entailed, although he adds the detail of Tiberius banqueting with the senate on the Capitol, presumably following the sacrifice to Jupiter Optimus Maximus. 131 There is an interesting analogy with several of the practices examined in 241 130 Vell. 2.97.4 merely states that the triumph occurred; he also famously errs in naming it Tiberius’ second triumph. 131 Sumi (2005, 249) argues that Tiberius’ triumph may have been intended to restore prestige to the senatorial aristocracy, since he was a scion of the gentes maiores (vs. Agrippa). In a similar vein, Nicolet (1988) argues that much of the force of the electoral legislation in this period, reflected in the text of the Tabula Siarensis, was to mediate the conflict between nobiles and novi homines over magistracies. chapter 1, since the banquet on the Capitol makes a public show of privilege to the members of the senate in particular; viewed as a matter of proxemics, it was not insignificant to be admitted into such close company with the triumphing general, whether one views him as victor, emperor, or even a god. What is perhaps more interesting is that it would seem that Augustus took no part, and continued to wait outside the pomerium himself until the triumph was over and he could make his own adventus. 132 This is remarkable both for the public courtesy paid to traditional rules and for the way Augustus yielded the spectacle entirely to Tiberius—whom he had let ride beside his chariot in 29BCE—although this perhaps makes sense given that, following Drusus’ death in 9BCE, Tiberius now seemed to be the heir apparent. 133 Indeed, the following year Augustus would secure for him his first five-year grant of the tribunicia potestas, just before his eclipse by Gaius and Lucius. 134 242 132 Dio 55.8.3–4. See section 6 below. 133 For Tiberius in 29BCE, see Suet. Tib. 6.4. 134 RG 6.2. According to Suetonius (Tib. 11.3), Tiberius continued to enjoy this power even during his exile. Dio (55.9.4) feels the need to explain the rapid succession of events by suggesting that the grant was specious and intended by Augustus to curb the youthful ambition of Gaius and Lucius. Suetonius, however, claims that Tiberius later said that he withdrew on his own account in favor of Gaius and Lucius, even though at the time he maintained it was for reasons of ill health, and further that Augustus complained about his withdrawal before the senate at that time (Tib. 10.1–2). Suetonius also reports that upon the expiry of his tribunicia potestas Tiberius asked leave to return to Rome to visit relatives, according to the rationale that without that power he would no longer present a rival to the current heirs (11.5). The record left by Tiberius’ second triumph, celebrated after some delay over Pannonia on October 23, 12CE, is similarly elliptical, but does preserve some remarkable details: 135 a Germania in urbem post biennium regressus triumphum, quem distulerat, egit prosequentibus etiam legatis, quibus triumphalia ornamenta impetrarat. ac prius quam in Capitolium flecteret, descendit e curru seque praesidenti patri ad genua summisit. Batonem Pannonium ducem ingentibus donatum praemiis Rauennam transtulit, gratiam referens, quod se quondam cum exercitu iniquitate loci circumclusum passus es<se>t euadere. prandium dehinc populo mille mensis et congiarium trecenos nummos uiritim dedit. dedicauit et Concordiae aedem, item Pollucis et Castoris suo fratrisque nomine de manubiis. After two years he returned to the city from Germany and celebrated the triumph which he had postponed; he was accompanied by his legates, for him he procured the ornamenta triumphalia. And before turned up to the Capitoline, he descended from his chariot and knelt before his father, who was presiding. He sent off Bato, the general of the Pannonians, to Ravenna with rich rewards, offering him thanks because he had once allowed him and his army to escape when they had been surrounded in an unfavorable position. Then he feasted the people at a thousand tables and gave them each a congiarium in the amount of 300 sesterces. And from the spoils he dedicated the temple to Concord and another to Castor and Pollux in his own name and that of his brother. 136 Suet. Tib. 20 Again, Suetonius apparently feels comfortable presenting his reader with only the deviations from the regular script: it seems that Tiberius had completed the circuit of the city in his chariot, but had paused at the foot of the Capitoline hill—and therefore 243 135 Vell. 2.121.2–3 does not add many details, despite the fact he claims to have participated in the ceremony; he would seem to corroborate Suetonius on the display of Bato as a captive (“quippe omnis eminentissimos hostium duces non occisos fama narravit, sed vinctos triumphus ostendit”), but does not mention his fate. Oddly, after the acknowledgement that it was awarded in 9CE (56.17.1–2) the triumph does not feature in Dio’s account again. For the date, see Barini (1952, 39 n. 2). 136 Dio (55.27.4) claims the Temple to Castor and Pollux was actually dedicated in 6CE, following games given by Tiberius and Germanicus in honor of Drusus’ memory. See also Val. Max. 5.5.3, and Barini (1952, 42 n.1). before the culmination of the ceremony—to kneel before Augustus. 137 While it most likely does not represent this precise occasion, the so-called Gemma Augustea gives some sense of the visual impact of such a scene, and the symbolism of a general dismounting his chariot to pay respects to another figure; on the Gemma, Augustus remains seated beside a representation of Roma, awaiting the approach of Tiberius, who has just dismounted a chariot driven by Victoria and also carrying Germanicus. 138 The symbolism of this moment in 12CE is complicated, since, as Suetonius emphasizes here, Augustus was legally Tiberius’ paterfamilias, and thus held him in his potestas. 139 Whether Tiberius thus knelt to his father or the emperor, we see here an example of family life, of the private sphere, intruding into the extremely public performance of a civic ritual. The structure of the Julio-Claudian domus was beginning to have an effect upon Rome’s physical and cultural space. There is a striking contrast with Augustus’ absence from Tiberius’ first triumph, but, given the fact Tiberius had since been officially adopted in 4CE and Augustus’ own advancing age, it perhaps made sense to 244 137 Vell 2.121.3 seems to suggest he was, as we would expect, accompanied by his soldiers in the procession. 138 See Zanker (1988, 230–231 & fig. 182), who argues that the lituus in Augustus’ hand communicates that the victory was won under his auspicium. 139 At 15.2 Suetonius has stressed that Tiberius returned to a state of alieni iuris upon his adoption in 4CE, going into some detail on the rights he lost in the process: “nec quicquam postea pro patre familias egit aut ius, quod amiserat, ex ulla parte retinuit. nam neque donavit neque manumisit, ne hereditatem quidem aut legata percipit ulla aliter quam ut peculio referret accepta.” This perhaps suggests, again, to what degree legal language describes as much as it does authorizes certain behavior: to the extent that Tiberius made a show of refusing certain of the practices permitted only to a man sui iuris, he thus became, for all intents and purposes, a man alieni iuris. It also demonstrates the type of symbolic capital that could be reaped from both performative action and recusatio specifically. perform their relationship in this fashion. 140 Suetonius’ commemoration of this event in this way shows how the subordination of one general’s activity could be expressed in terms other than that of ductu imperioque auspicioque. The triumph of Germanicus in 17CE is perhaps the most widely attested of the three from our period. 141 The primary account is found in the Annals of Tacitus: C. Caelio L. Pomponio consulibus Germanicus Caesar a. d. VII. Kal. Iunias triumphavit de Cheruscis Chattisque et Angrivariis quaeque aliae nationes usque ad Albim colunt. vecta spolia, captivi, simulacra montium, fluminum, proeliorum; bellumque, quia conficere prohibitus erat, pro confecto accipiebatur. augebat intuentium visus eximia ipsius species currusque quinque liberis onustus. sed suberat occulta formido, reputantibus haud prosperum in Druso patre eius favorem vulgi, avunculum eiusdem Marcellum flagrantibus plebis studiis intra iuventam ereptum, brevis et infaustos populi Romani amores. Ceterum Tiberius nomine Germanici trecenos plebi sestertios viritim dedit seque collegam consulatui eius destinavit. nec ideo sincerae caritatis fidem adsecutus amoliri iuvenem specie honoris statuit struxitque causas aut forte oblatas arripuit. In the consulate of Gaius Caelius and Lucius Pomponius, Germanicus Caesar, on the twenty-sixth day of May, celebrated his triumph over the Cherusci, the Chatti, the Angrivarii, and the other tribes lying west of the Elbe. There was a procession of spoils and captives, of mimic mountains, rivers and battles; and the war, since he had been forbidden to complete it, was assumed to be complete. To the spectators the effect was heightened by the noble figure of the commander himself, and by the five children who loaded his chariot. Yet beneath lay an unspoken fear, as men reflected that to his father Drusus the favour of the multitude had not brought happiness—that Marcellus, his uncle, had been snatched in youth from the ardent affections of the populace—that the loves of the Roman nation were fleeting and unblest! For the rest, Tiberius, in the name of Germanicus, made a distribution to the populace of three hundred sesterces a man: as his colleague in the consulship he nominated himself. All 245 140 In Suetonius’ account the triumph is followed directly by the grant to Tiberius of equal imperium (21.1), which Seager (2005, 39) argues was the conclusive step in defining the succession. 141 Suet. Cal. 1 mentions only that it occurred; Vell. 2.129.2 likewise; Strab. 7.1.4; Oros. 7.4.3. Barini (1952, 57 n.1) lists the epigraphical evidence for this triumph. this, however, won him no credit for genuine affection, and he decided to remove the youth under a show of honour; some of the pretexts he fabricated, others he accepted as chance offered. Tac. Ann. 2.41–42 (trans. Jackson) Tacitus supplies a few more details than we have been previously allowed: in this triumph we are told there were exhibited not only captives and spoils but also representations of landscapes and of battles fought. The latter element concretizes the degree to which the triumph can always be said to present a narrative, placing on display before the audience a representation of the means by which the victory was won, the prisoners captured, the booty appropriated. The congiarium, which we are told was the equal of that distributed in 12CE, materializes the conclusion of the narrative, as the spoils of the emperors’ wars are returned to the people of Rome—precisely the strain of Republicanism that Gaius’ angry letter in 39CE had rejected. 142 Our picture of the triumph of Germanicus brings together four strands that have been emerging in our study of this ceremony: 1. the incredible focus placed on the person of the general himself; 2. the display of familial relations in the course of the performance of this ceremony in our period; 3. the presentation of a military narrative and the exhibition of its results, be they manubiae, captives, or representations of battles themselves, which were presented as contributing to the salus rei publicae; 4. the subordination of the general’s victory to the authority of the reigning emperor. The latter element finds expression not only in Tiberius’ distribution of the congiarium in 246 142 Suet. Cal. 45.3, quoted above in section 4.i. Yavetz (1969, 137) renders congiarium as one of the benefits the plebs came to expect from the Princeps. See also Swan (2004, 365–366). Germanicus’ name, but in the construction of a triumphal arch which Tacitus reports was completed the year before the triumph’s celebration. This arch commemorated the recapture of the standards lost by Varus, “ductu Germanici auspiciis Tiberii”; we cannot know if Tacitus is citing the inscription on the arch itself, but his report can be taken to reflect some form of publicity surrounding this event. 143 Moreover, the event itself— between the costume, the parade of the soldiers, the inclusion of axes in the fasces, and the killing of captives—put on display the exercise of imperium militiae within Rome’s walls. 144 In each instance, therefore, the spectacle of the triumph can be said to communicate victory to its audience, to offer visual signs that articulate that victory as one stage in a narrative that finds its conclusion on the day of the ceremony, to connect this narrative to the members of a particular family who therefore demonstrate their service to the res publica, and finally to subordinate the ductus of any particular general to the auspicium of his emperor. Moreover, the preservation of the process of qualifying for a triumph—however much it was strategically manipulated by the emperors—added a further level of evaluation of the res gestae commemorated in the ceremony: the procedural hoops established that the army, general, and senate had all agreed that this 247 143 Tac. Ann. 2.41: “fine anni arcus propter aedem Saturni ob recepta signa cum Varo amissa ductu Germanici, auspiciis Tiberii.” See Koortbojian (2006, 200).. For the recapture, Ann. 1.60 and 2.25. The last of the three standards was actually retrieved in 41CE by Publius Gabinius, for which action Claudius “took the well-merited title of imperator” (Dio 60.8.7: ὡς καὶ ἀληθὲς ὄνοµα αὐτοκράτορος...τὸν Κλαύδιον λαβεῖν”); Dio’s language attests to the naturalization of the auspicium ideology. 144 Versnel (1970, 192), who notes the inclusion of the axes on the reliefs representing Tiberius’ triumph on the Boscoreale cups (in Kuttner 1993). See also Marshall (1984, 133), who adds the note from Livy that the axes were previously used to behead the captives (26.13.15). Brilliant (1999, 221–222) argues that the spectacle of the triumph specifically evoked a sense of violence. was a victory worthy of a triumph, and the acts thus presented to the people were more spectacular for this judgment. 145 These are, of course, only one set of interpretations of the ceremonies in this period, drawn largely from the few details provided in the literary record and with an eye to what might be the most basic meanings available in the spectacles provided (following Marshall’s principles of analysis). Specific readings—dynastic or military or of some other nature—may have played foremost in the mind of any individual spectator. If we do allow that some of these spectators were aware of the triumph’s institutional history—imagined or otherwise—then the available meanings become more diverse: besides the general strains of Roman traditionalism often cited in the Principate, one could read a more specific discourse of Roman imperialism, or observe the triumphator’s assimilation (symbolic or actual, temporary or permanent) to a god, or even see in him the kings of Rome returned. 146 Tacitus’ imaginative interpretation of the ceremony in 17CE shows how the visible signs were open to manipulation, both at the time by actors and later by their commemorators: the historian takes an outwardly dynastic display and subverts it to forebode the tragedy that awaits the house of Germanicus. The dynamic role of practice and the effects of exemplary discourse are 248 145 Army, general, and senate thus become the evaluative audience of Roller’s exemplary discourse. If a ius triumphandi establishing the objective qualifications for a triumph really did (as Val. Max. 2.8 suggests) then the occurrence of a triumph would ipso facto suggest that these conditions had been fulfilled, without any further account having to be presented to the people; on the question of the ius triumphandi, see Versnel (1970, 164–198). 146 On the triumphator’s divine aspect, specifically as it relates to the figure of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, see esp. Bonfante Warren (1970) and Versnel (1970); the latter explores the idea that the discourse of triumphalism imbued the triumphator with a numinous felicitas which he then shared with the population at large. On the regal aspect, see section 5.iii below. varied and dialogical, but still, however, admit of certain consistencies: under either reading, the triumph remains a ceremony that is now centered upon the imperial family. ii. Commemoration I have already alluded above to the role of commemoration in the triumphal ceremony, but given the theoretical conceits of this project it is worth collating and reiterating some of these ideas. As Beard observes, the true power of the triumph lay in its commemoration, by which she means the commemoration of the ceremony itself, in its depiction in monumental architecture or memorialization in literature. 147 The present study demonstrates this in the plain fact that I choose only to draw the limited conclusions available based on the details our authors preserve about each of the three triumphs; as Beard warns and other scholars exemplify, further conclusions require the synthesis of disparate evidence into a theoretically coherent whole. Architecture was an integral component of this commemoration: the buildings constructed ex manubiis testified to the benefit of Rome’s foreign wars, while triumphal arches and similar 249 147 Beard (2007, 18–37), giving particular privilege to writing as the medium “that inscribed the occasions in Roman memory” and enabled them to be “recalled, rethought, and resignified.” Suggestively, she (o.c., 75–76 n. 6) cites Cic. Ver. 2.1, 57 for the practice of storing the accounts of triumphant generals in the aerarium, which would mean they were to be found amidst the senatus consulta and acta senatus discussed at length in Chapter 1. The analogy with Lowrie (2007; 2009), discussed in chapter 1.3 and 2.2.iv, should be quite clear. See also Bergmann (1999b, 14) for the importance of commemoration for spectacles in general. Welch (2006, 11) presents an intriguing reading of the hermeneutics of separate reliefs of Trajan’s column as reflecting the rhetorical strategies of three distinct genres of writing: commentarii, epic poetry, and imperial panegyric. See also Brilliant (2006, 222) on how monuments communicated both “the alleged realia and the symbolic truth of Roman victory.” monuments replayed both battle and triumph for the eyes of Rome’s populace. 148 Tacitus claims that such an arch was constructed to celebrate Germanicus’ victory over Germany; we also know that another was built to commemorate Drusus’(1) successes there, and at least one in commemoration of Augustus’ personal exploits. 149 Such commemoration carried within it, on Roller’s model, an element of evaluation: the most obvious example is the discourse of victory, manifested both in images rendering the emperor and his army as the conquerors of foreign peoples and despoilers of their wealth, but also through the established symbols of Roman victory—quadrigium, laurea, tunica palmata, etc. 150 250 148 Trajan’s column bears both sculptural reliefs illustrating the Dacian campaigns and the legend ex manubiis. 149 For the arch of Drusus, see Suet. Claud. 1.3 and Rich (1998). Patterson (1992, 194) and Haselberger et al. (2002, 51–2) both present summaries of the ongoing debate over whether there were one or two Augustan arches at the eastern end of the Forum Romanum. The base of a triple-bay arch has been excavated at (140) on the map of Haselberger et al. (o.c.), where the Southern branch of the Via Sacra meets the Scalae Graecae, and the authors identify this as the Parthian Arch of Augustus reported by Dio to have been voted in 19BCE (54.8.3) and located next to the Temple of Divus Julius by a scholion to the Aeneid (schol. Veron. ad Verg. Aen. 7.606). Coarelli has argued, based in part on inscriptions found in the area, that these remains are actually those of the Actian Arch of Augustus (Dio 51.19.1), and that therefore the Parthian Arch must have stood on the other side of the Temple, astride the Northern branch of the Via Sacra (2007, 79–81; 1985, 258–308); Haselberger et al. reject this theory, and do not include the Northern arch on their map. Rich (o.c.), taking particular aim at the evidence from Dio (54.8.3), argues quite convincingly that the Parthian arch was vowed but never built, leaving only the Actian arch which must therefore be that for which we have the remains (to which he maintains an inscription regarding the Parthian success may have been added). Favro (1994, 152–160) argues for the general power of the city’s streets to remind people of triumphs past and their experience thereof, on the principle of Nora’s lieux de mémoire. 150 Roller (2009). Many scenes contain internal audiences for the action commemorated, e.g. in Trajan’s acclamation as imperator on the relief program of his column. These play the role of the evaluative audience in the exemplary anecdotes developed by Roller (2004). Monuments—especially quadrigate representations of triumphatores that depicted them in the moment of triumph, such as that of Drusus atop his arch or Augustus in his Forum—could be said to implicate their audiences in a similar relationship, since every time they recognize a statue as representing a triumph, the features of that commemoration are therefore re-presented. The triumph was, of course, itself a commemorative practice, and as such fulfills all of Roller’s conditions for exemplary discourse: it represented action paired with evaluation to communicate a message. 151 It (re)presents res gestae to the people of Rome, accompanied by the evaluative rider that such actions constitute a victory; in the case of Germanicus’ triumph, Tacitus tells us the ceremony could present a war as finished that was not, in fact, finished (“quia conficere prohibitus erat, pro confecto accipiebatur”). 152 This, again, is the power of precedent, or tradition, or exemplary practice and discourse: while originally the chariot, wreath, and procession may have been imbued with a meaning because they followed a victorious action (or were accompanied by convincing representations thereof), they could eventually come to imbue subsequent action with the ring of victory. 153 As Velleius comments, the triumph was a particular powerful medium for exemplary discourse, since it made a spectacle of captured enemies rather than simply reporting their slaughter. 154 What we have observed in section 5.i is the plasticity of triumphal discourse to allow for other types of evaluation and other messages to be communicated. Variation in forms—and specifically in the practice of the triumphant general—enabled the traditional ceremony 251 151 Roller (2009, 220). 152 Tac. Ann. 2.41, cited above in section 5.i. According to Tacitus, Tiberius had ordered Germanicus home despite his request for one more year to bring the war to a proper conclusion. 153 An analogue to the relationship between practice and Principate I argue for in chapter 1.2–3. 154 Vell. 2.121.3, quoted in note above. Polybius (6.15.8) similarly characterizes the triumph as enargeia. Brilliant (1999, 227) argues for the power of testimonia, such as the painted or animated images of the campaigns, in persuading the audience that a victory had been won (thus invoking the terms of Quintilian’s exemplum). O’Sullivan (2011, 53) argues that “the destination...is only part of the story; the parade itself conveys meaning, particularly a display of status and power.” to be subjugated to the dynastic imperatives of the imperial family, communicating both the familial ties of these generals and their ultimate subordination to the princeps. The commemoration of such acts from within the context of the triumph—such as Tiberius’ genuflection in 12CE—made them a persistent feature of the ritual in ink (or even ritual in marble), and thus communicated what we might call the ideology of salus ex auspiciis through subsequent encounters with the ceremony. 155 This function was only magnified when commemorative monuments—like the arch of 16CE—carried inscriptions testifying to the subordination of ductus to the emperor’s auspicium. 156 iii. Costume We must touch also upon the costume of the triumphator—the so-called vestis triumphalis—especially because it is believed to have formed the model for the costume of later emperors. 157 As with all aspects of the triumph, the precise details of its composition are not reported with any consistency, and scholars differ in their opinions of what exactly it may have looked like. 158 There is some consensus that the full costume involved both the toga purpurea or toga picta and the tunica palmata, but 252 155 Festus (Paulus) 123L: “monimentum est … quicquid ob memoriam alicuius factum est, ut fana, porticus...” 156 Koortbojian (2006, 197–199) argues that the bronze ‘Sheath of Tiberius’ in the British Museum— believed to show Germanicus presenting Tiberius with the victriola in 16CE—represents a scene subordinating ductus to auspicium. 157 Marshall (1984, 124). I believe this theory rests in large part upon statements made by Dio to this effect (e.g. 67.4.3). Sebesta (2004, 69–71) treats it more generically as the restriction to the imperial family of the wearing of purple (under Gaius and Nero specifically), and the use of gold embroidery on imperial costume. See also Jones (1999, 247). 158 Beard (2007, 84) presents a measure of the debate. the appearance of each of those is still something of an open question. The toga picta supposedly evolved from the toga purpurea—and so there is a measure of agreement that the triumphator wore a purple toga—but whether or when that toga came to be embroidered or otherwise decorated with gold is unclear. 159 The tunica palmata is alternately understood to have been a purple tunic embroidered with golden palms or a white tunic with a purple border as broad as a man’s palm; according to one account, the former evolved from the latter. 160 Rich cites a coin from the reign of Antoninus Pius that seems to depict both toga picta and tunica palmata in their most extravagant possible incarnation—down to the palms on the tunica—but even if he is correct it dates from a century after our period. 161 Similarly, we are never told directly what constituted the ornamenta triumphalia, the lesser honor permitted to non-imperial generals after 19BCE; it may have involved the wearing of the toga praetexta, or simply consisted of the laurel wreath. 162 It does seem clear, however, that the ornamenta were in some way distinct from the full costume worn by a triumphator, which after L. Cornelius Balbus would 253 159 Bonfante Warren (1970, 64) argues that the picta developed from the purpurea in the 3rd century BCE, although, as in all things, she perhaps puts too much faith in Festus (228L (209M)). See Stone (2004, 13) for the toga picta and purpurea in general, Versnel (1970, 56–57) for the toga picta as embroidered with gold stars, following Appian Lib. 66 (whom Beard (2007, 84) emphasizes is the only source). We have seen Gaius remembered as wearing a similar garment when crossing his bridge at Baiae. 160 Versnel (1970, 56–57) for the palm branches. 161 Rich (1998, 116), with BMCRE 401. 162 Beard (2007, 70 n. 57; 225–231) outlines some of the difficulties. Suet. Claud. 17.3 seems to suggest the toga praetexta, as does Tiberius’ adventus early in 9CE (although it is not stated that he was sporting the ornamenta, he had won them previously in 12BCE). henceforth only be seen on the body of an emperor or his heir. 163 Indeed, Dio reports that in 25BCE it was decreed by the senate that Augustus should be allowed to wear triumphal dress on the first day of every year; as Rich has argued at length with regard to other such honors preserved by Dio, just because this privilege was decreed does not necessarily mean it was exercised. 164 If, however, Augustus did choose to dress in this fashion on that day, it would mark him out as highly visible on the same day that the processus consularis took place: thus the emperor would on the day of the new consuls’ inauguration have the right to make of himself a particular spectacle, in clothes that connected him to the successful exercise of imperium militiae. 165 While we must allow for such readings, the symbolism of the triumphal costume—much like the ceremony itself—must not be located entirely in its imaginative or institutional history. Regardless of whether Cassius Dio is correct in his assertion that the triumphal robes were the same as those worn by Rome’s kings, his is 254 163 Or, more correctly, after the death of L. Cornelius Balbus, since triumphatores were permitted to wear the outfit in their funeral procession (Versnel 1970, 99–100). 164 Dio 53.26.5: “καὶ ἐψηφίσθη µέν που καὶ τὰ ἐπινίκια αὐτῷ καὶ ἐπὶ τούτοις καὶ ἐπὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις τοῖς τότε γενοµένοις·.” Rich (1998), in the course of his argument that the arch voted in commemoration of the return of the Parthian standards in 19BCE—for which Dio is the primary evidence—was never actually constructed. 165 Versnel (1970, 302), citing Mommsen Staatsr. I 3 615ff. Marshall (1984, 133) citing Ovid Fast. 1.79f. a reading from the 3rd Century CE. 166 Similarly, it is difficult to assess the real degree to which spectators might have seen in the costume the aspect of Jupiter; arguments for this interpretation customarily rely on a passage of Livy and assert that the statue of Jupiter Optimus Maximus may have been dressed in a similar fashion. 167 The most proximate meanings as I read them are twofold: first, the triumphal dress, at whatever occasion, was obviously associated with the triumph, either from direct experience or through the representations of triumphatores that were placed about the city; 168 second, the further from 19BCE we get and the longer we go with only emperors and their heirs wearing the costume, the more that costume would come to be associated with the emperor. Thus, even before it became an everyday costume for the Princeps, it could be said to be the costume that marked an individual out as either Princeps or destinatus. Just as the lex de imperio Vespasiani linked Vespasian’s legal prerogatives—which had 255 166 Versnel (1970, 83 n. 1) presents a catalogue of passages that connect the triumphal symbols to the kings, adding (88–89) that Rome’s kings were remembered as the original triumphatores (e.g. Plut. Rom. 25; Livy 1.38.3; the Fasti Triumphales in Degrassi ed., Inscr. Italiae 13.1) and that Julius Caesar may have done a lot of work in connecting the vestis triumphalis to the idea of kingship (397). As usual, Beard (2007, 275–277) presents an adroit reading of the problem, including how the emperors’ adoption of the costume may have played a role in re-inscribing it as the uniform of the kings. Sebesta (2004, 66 n. 6) notes, however, that archaeologists have discovered the remains of purple garments embroidered in gold that have been dated to the 7th Century BCE, and this at least makes the theory that the Etruscan kings dressed in this fashion feasible. 167 Livy 10.7.9 with, e.g., Bonfante Warren (1964, 34). Versnel (1970, 74) holds that the vestis triumphalis was actually the vestis Iovis, and would have been borrowed from the statue of Jupiter Optimus Maximus for the duration of the ceremony; see Bonfante Warren (1974) for the problems with this explanation (and again in Bonfante 2004, 4). Versnel (o.c., 57) elsewhere recognizes that there is equivocation among our sources as to the whom the triumphator was imagined to represent, and imagines some historical contortions in his interpretation (e.g. 92). Even if the statue were clothed in such a fashion, it would be tricky to disentangle the symbolism—was the triumphator a god, or the god triumphant? 168 Beard (2007, 246) similarly argues that the cry of “io Triumphe!” (Liv. 45.38.12) probably evoked the idea of a triumph in audiences of our period before it did any of the possible associations to epiphany or Dionysus (through its supposed root in thriambos). She calls this “ritual solipsism—whereby the ritual turns itself into the object of ritual, the triumph celebrates the triumph.” a Republican history—specifically to the practices of Augustus and his successors, so his donning of the triumphal dress in 70CE would have connected him more immediately to the figures of Augustus, Tiberius, and Germanicus than it did to those of their Republican predecessors. 169 We might add that the striking appearance of the triumphal costume—in both its purple and gold coloring and its separation from the costume of other citizens—served a practical purpose in rendering the person of the emperor especially visible in mass contexts, where spectators at the back may not have been sure on whom to focus their attention. 170 6. Profectio and Adventus Two public ceremonies connected to both the persona of imperator and, increasingly, the triumph, were those of profectio and adventus: the formal departure and arrival of a Roman general. As I alluded to in section 1, these were ritualized acts that used visual elements like costume to signify that a specific action was occurring. Marius and Mark Antony may have failed to observe the customs that symbolized their forfeit of imperium and reintegration as regular cives inter cives upon their adventus, but such failures could work the other way: Livy records that in 177BCE the consul Gaius Claudius left the city for war without informing anyone, and that one of the signs that 256 169 Although images of Republican generals continued to exist in Rome—for example in the Forum Augustusm—they would be subordinated—architecturally, temporally, and imaginatively—to those of the imperial house. 170 Aldrete (1999). See also Bergmann (1999b, 26), citing Ad Herenn. 3.22.37: “ut si coronis aut veste purpurea, quo nobis notatior sit similitudo.” was missing was the paludamenta of his accompanying lictors. 171 The formality of profectio allowed anyone familiar with the symbolism of the paludamentum to understand the reason for the imperator’s departure; for those who were not, the ceremonial addition of the axes to the lictors’ fasces upon their crossing the pomerium may have communicated that purpose in a more immediate fashion. 172 The paludamentum and the axes thus created an immediate narrative, not only between the ritualized act and the events and traditions of Rome’s past, but also, proleptically, in establishing the purpose of the general’s exit and therefore the expectation of a certain kind of action (what we might call a res gerenda). 173 As with many of the visible practices under discussion, the profectio is not especially well attested in our period; authors mainly record emperors or heirs departing for campaigns, furnishing scant detail and leaving it to the reader to add the features of the ceremony. Nevertheless, these individuals did depart frequently on military missions, and each departure was presumably accompanied by at least a modicum of display. 174 This generally involved a sacrifice in the heart of the city, before a procession to its borders and the assumption of paludamenta and axes; on specific occasions we are told that the general was accompanied as far as the pomerium 257 171 Liv. 41.10.5: “non paludatis lictoribus.” 172 Marshall (1984). 173 Liv. 42.29.1–8 shows how the audience of a profectio (in this case that the consul Publius Licinius in 171BCE) might read the future contained in the act, connecting it to the salus rei publicae, and establishes that both defeat and triumph were imaginative options. Marshall (1984, 122 n. 7) reads the “geritur” of 42.49.2 as indicating the same was true in Livy’s day. 174 Appendix B represents an attempt to catalogue all the imperial profectiones and adventus in our period. by family or members of the senate. Following its dedication in 2BCE, it became customary for such profectiones to begin from the Temple of Mars Ultor, and, as Sumi argues, this alteration in topography served to figure Augustus as “the linchpin between Rome’s glorious past and its equally prosperous future”: the Temple, vowed at the event of Augustus’ victory over the liberatores Brutus and Cassius in 42BCE and now home to the standards ‘recaptured’ from Parthia in 19BCE, was situated amidst the representational program of the Forum of Augustus, which consisted of images of Rome’s heroes—regal and Republican—and a quadrigate statue of the emperor himself. 175 The first such profectio would have been that of the young Gaius, and, according to Ovid, his departure was accompanied by games and similar spectacles. 176 If nothing else, the location of the Forum Augustus would have made the procession particularly visible, as it would have had to emerge into the space of the Forum Romanum before making its way to the pomerium (presumably usually towards the Campus Martius). 177 The profectio did not probably follow the precise route of the triumph (if such could even be said to have existed), but in passing from the Forum to 258 175 Sumi (2005, 241–257; 261), who notes that after its construction Augustus would make the Temple the endpoint of his own adventus (Dio 54.8.3). For a summary of bibliography on the Temple of Mars Ultor, see Sumi (o.c., 250 n. 103). Millar (2002, 355–356) emphasizes, on the contrary, the continued role of the summi viri in the Forum’s version of history. Wiseman (1987, 403–409) notes that the passage to Augustus’ house on the Palatine hill via the clivus Palatinus would have required the traveller to pass several other houses adorned with spolia from former triumphs, connecting the achievements of Augustus to those of the past in a similar fashion. 176 Ovid. Ars. Am. 1.181–228. 177 Favro (1994, 157 n. 25) cites Vitr. 5.1.1–2 to argue that the Roman fora were constructed so as to promote a spectator culture. the Campus Martius must necessarily have retraced some of its steps; this inversion would have solidified the link between profectio and adventus/triumph as two ends of a continuous narrative. Moreover, while scholars generally emphasize the innovation presented by the use of the Temple of Mars Ultor, and thus the re-calibration of traditional ritual around the symbols of the imperial house, I would also emphasize, as in chapter 1, the incipient tradition represented in this practice: as more generals departed from the Temple and the Forum Augustum, the environs of which were replete with martial imagery, and time moved on, it would become established within the symbolic vocabulary that contributed to the narrative of the profectio. At some level, the most important attribute of the temple within the visible economy would have become that it was the starting point of such ceremonies and such narratives. It has been generally established that the imperial adventus came to take on many of the aspects of the triumph; 178 as a public ceremony associated with the return of an imperator this should not perhaps be surprising, especially since Augustus apparently made a habit of closing his adventus with the dedication of a laurel wreath, even though he refused the rest of the ceremony. 179 One remarkable example of adventus comes from the start of the year 9CE, when Tiberius returned to the city following some victories in Illyricum in 8CE for which both he and Augustus had been 259 178 MacCormack (1972), who addresses the accretion of triumphal aspects by the Later Roman Empire, and notes that the chief difference became that only the triumph was concluded at the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus (725–726). So also Versnel (1970, 388), Ando (2000, 257), and Hölscher (2006, 38). 179 RG 4.1: “Laurum de fascibus deposui in Capitolio, votis quae quoque bello nuncupaveram solutis.” E.g. in 8BCE (Dio 55.5.1). Sumi (2005, 250) believes this adventus was particularly important for establishing the imperial adventus as a ceremony in its own right. See also Beard (2007, 296) on the use of triumphal tropes in Augustan adventus. claimed imperator. 180 Despite the postponement and the shadow cast by Varus’ defeat, Tiberius still re-entered the city of Rome in fine style: nihilo minus urbem praetextatus et laurea coronatus intravit positumque in Saeptis tribunal senatu astante conscendit ac medius inter duos consules cum Augusto simul sedit; unde populo consalutato circum templa deductus est. Nevertheless Tiberius entered the city wearing the toga praetexta and crowned with laurel, and the senate stood in attendance as he ascended a tribunal that had been set up in the Saepta, where he sat between the two consuls in the company of Augustus. He was greeted by the people, and then led around the temples. Suet. Tib. 17.2 The toga praetexta may in fact have been the ornamenta triumphalia, although, as I have stated above, this is not certain; it was more basically a toga bearing a purple stripe, and was customarily restricted to the persons of magistrates and priests. 181 Presumably, therefore, Tiberius was dressed in the same fashion as the two consuls, 182 with the addition of his laurel wreath, and thus made further distinct from the rest of the senators before the eyes of the people. The choice of the Saepta Julia is logical, not only because it was outside the pomerium and thus permitted Tiberius to make a show of the 260 180 The victory reported by Vell. 2.114.4 (see also Swan 2004, 215, citing Fasti Antiates Ministrorum Domus Augustae for 3rd August, 8CE (Inscr. Italiae 13.2.208, 491 = EJ p. 50): “T. Aug(ustus) {in} Inlyrico vic(it).”). Suetonius (Tib. 17.1) actually claims this adventus was the one from later that same year, following the completion of the war in Illyricum and the decree of Tiberius’ second triumph (subsequently postponed). Based on coordination with the account of Dio, who records the earlier adventus (56.1.1–2, see below), Tiberius’ return to Illyricum (56.12.1) and the award of his triumph (56.17.1–3), the marked similarity between Suetonius’ account and the first adventus has been shown to indicate that Suetonius in in fact conflating two events, attributing the details of Tiberius’ return in the spring to the context of the later victory. See Swan (2004, 223–224), citing Syme RP 3.1216–1218. 181 Stone (2004, 13–15), who points out the latusclavus—the broad purple stripe that signified senatorial rank—was to be found on the tunica worn beneath the toga, citing a wall-painting of a togate genius familiaris from the House of the Vettii. Barini (1952, 39) believes the toga praetexta might indicate this was an ovation, following Taylor (1937). Again, there is a measure of confusion regarding Tiberius’ two adventus in 9BCE (see not above). 182 For the possible significance of this, see Koortbojian (2006, 204), commenting on the award to Augustus of the right to wear insignia consularis. military imperium with which he had presumably been invested as legatus, but also because it was one of the city’s largest gathering spaces; in fact, it had a history as both a voting space and a marshaling ground for the triumph. 183 Since Suetonius seems to make clear that the intended audience for this particular spectacle was the populus (indeed, the senate are characterized as part of the display), it makes sense to select a space where the maximum amount of people would be able to witness it. 184 The use of the tribunal would have made the praetexta-clad Tiberius all the more visible, while at the same time granting him the visual and proxemic symbolism of elevation over his audience, much like the suggestum of the senate. As in the Curia, Augustus was seated between the two consuls, and Tiberius was permitted to join them, thus equating him with all three civic leaders, and them with him: when the people saluted the imperator, they would have had to look at Augustus and the consuls as well. 185 Dio’s version of the same event is illuminating in its own right: 261 183 See the entry for ‘Saepta Julia’ in Platner & Ashby (1929), Richardson (1992), and Steinby (1993). Begun by Julius Caesar (Cic. Att. 4.17.4), the structure was completed and dedicated by Agrippa (53.23.1). The senate appears to have met there on the occasion of the Ludi Saeculares in 17BCE (acta lud. saec., CIL VI.32323, 50). The Saepta was also the site of public entertainments under the Principate, with gladiatorial combats exhibited by Augustus (Suet. Aug. 43; Dio 55.8), Gaius (Suet. Cal. 18), Claudius (Suet. Claud. 21); apparently it proved insufficient for Gaius’ appetites (Dio 59.10.5). Patterson (1992, 196) observes that the Saepta was arguably the first great change the comitia had on the topography of the Campus Martius, and that it is therefore ironic how short-lived its career as a true legislative space was. 184 According to Cicero, Caesar had originally planned for the Saepta to be a mile in length (Att. 4.17.4: “ut mille passuum conficiatur”). Seneca writes of the “Saepta concursu omnis frequentiae plena” (de Ira 2.8.1). Sumi (2005, 257) calls this the traditional “triumphator’s contio,” but may be reading too much into the statement of Josephus. 185 The verb consaluto is regularly used (albeit with two accusatives) to salute or hail an individual as imperator or some similar honorific (e.g. Tac. Ann. 12.69; id. Hist. 3.86; Liv. 36.14.4), and thus forms part of the language of triumphal celebrations; see Combès (1966, 90–93). καὶ ταῦτα µὲν ἄλλοι καθῄρουν, ὁ δὲ δὴ Τιβέριος ἐς τὴν Ῥώµην, µετὰ τὸν χειµῶνα ἐν ᾧ Κύιντος Σουλπίκιος καὶ Γάιος Σαβῖνος ὑπάτευσαν, ἀνεκοµίσθη· καὶ αὐτῷ καὶ ὁ Αὔγουστος ἐς τὸ προάστειον ἀπαντήσας ἦλθέ τε µετ' αὐτοῦ ἐς τὰ Σέπτα, κἀνταῦθα ἀπὸ βήµατος τὸν δῆµον ἠσπάσατο, καὶ µετὰ τοῦτο τά τε ἄλλα τὰ προςήκοντα ἐπὶ τοῖς τοιούτοις ἐποίησε καὶ θέας ἐπινικίους διὰ τῶν ὑπάτων. ἐπειδή τε οἱ ἱππῆς πολλῇ ἐν αὐταῖς σπουδῇ τὸν νόµον τὸν περὶ τῶν µήτε γαµούντων µήτε τεκνούντων καταλυθῆναι ἠξίουν, ἤθροισεν ἐς τὴν ἀγορὰν χωρὶς µὲν τοὺς ἀγυναίους σφῶν χωρὶς δὲ τοὺς γεγαµηκότας ἢ καὶ τέκνα ἔχοντας, καὶ ἰδὼν πολὺ τούτους ἐκείνων ἐλάττους ἤλγησέ τε καὶ διελέξατο αὐτοῖς τοιάδε· While others were reducing these places, Tiberius returned to Rome after the winter in which Quintus Sulpicius and Gaius Sabinus became consuls. Even Augustus himself went out into the suburbs to meet him, accompanied him to the Saepta, and there from a tribunal greeted the people. Following this he performed all the ceremonies proper to such occasions, and caused the consuls to give triumphal games. And when the knights were very urgent, during the games, in seeking the repeal of the law regarding the unmarried and the childless, he assembled in one part of the Forum the unmarried men of their number, and in another those who were married, including those who also had children. Then perceiving that the latter were much fewer in number than the former, he was filled with grief and addressed them somewhat as follows... Dio 56.60.1–2 (trans. Cary) Dio proceeds to report an address commending the married men (56.2.1–56.3.9), after which Augustus went over to the other group (56.4.1: “µετῆλθέ τε πρὸς τοὺς ἑτέρους”) and delivered a separate rebuke (56.4.2–56.9.3). The upshot was some amendments to the restrictions on marriage and childbirth laid down in the Lex Julia of 18BCE, culminating in the passage of the Lex Papia Poppaea (56.10.1–3). 186 Besides the consistency with Suetonius in the sharing of the ceremony’s capital between Tiberius and Augustus and the special use of the Saepta for this occasion, what Dio’s account 262 186 The Lex Julia had been passed under similar protest (Suet. Aug. 34.1). Swan (2004, 232–235) holds that the preceding stipulations (56.10.1–2) are actually those of the Lex Papia Poppaea, and further notes (234) the possibility that the increased fines in the new Lex were required to pay for the cost of the campaigns in Illyricum that reached their conclusion that year. brings home is how the adventus and the triumphal games that accompanied it gave the people access to their emperor: public opinion had to be focussed towards those occasions on which the emperor was visible and could be made to hear complaints. The result, at least according to Dio, was a direct response from Augustus to the parties concerned, followed by legislation designed to address the same issue further. Indeed, it is precisely for this reason that both Augustus and Tiberius are said to have often made entry into the city by night, so as to avoid both the spectacle of adventus and the difficulty caused (both to themselves and the city) by petitioners attempting to make themselves heard to the emperor. 187 Such interventions not only complicated the logistics of such ceremonies, but laid the emperor under obligation to deal with their substance—in many ways it was therefore to his advantage not to be able to hear them. That the adventus constituted one of the major opportunities for the people to reach the emperor is similarly suggested by Suetonius’ claim that Gaius, at least early in his reign, was often placed in near mortal danger by the enthusiastic response of crowds at his adventus and profectiones. 188 Despite the physical arrangements in the Saepta in 9CE, the adventus could therefore be said to constitute an 263 187 E.g. Dio 54.25.4. 188 Suet. Cal. 4.1: “sic vulgo favorabilis, ut plurimi tradant, quotiens aliquo adveniret vel sicunde discederet, prae turba occurrentium prosequentiumve nonnumquam eum discrimen vitae adisse...” Note that Suetonius makes this particularly the action of the vulgus, rather than the senate. occasion where the proxemics between Princeps and Plebs allowed for more equal contact, and thus a more ready exchange of speech. 189 And yet despite the very good reasons not to make an adventus, the emperors and their heirs still made plenty of them—probably at least 21 in our period. 190 Although he would usually refuse either triumph or ovation, Augustus still often made a show of entering the city in the laurel wreath of the imperator and dedicating it to Jupiter. In 7BCE he apparently opted not to participate in Tiberius’ triumph, so that he could make a separate adventus of this type. In 9CE Tiberius made his return to the city as imperator despite the fact that the war in Illyricum was not concluded and he would have to return there that same year. Even Gaius’ farcical campaign in 39CE culminated in an adventus, and Suetonius reports that the city poured out to meet him. 191 Not only did emperors have to return to the city, but they are usually commemorated as doing so with a degree of ceremony, and their audience reported to be interested—if not ecstatic —in these occasions. While the strategic interests of the parties in these ceremonies involved are well reflected in the evidence—for the emperors the adventus communicated victory, for the 264 189 For proxemics as more narrowly designating the distance between parties, see Thorburn (2008) who specifically examines Tiberius’ injunctions against petitioners approaching him during his time in Campania. 190 Together with 23 profectiones. See Appendix B. 191 Suet. Cal. 4.1: “…e Germania vero post compressam seditionem revertenti praetorianas cohortes universas prodisse obviam, quamvis pronuntiatum esset, ut duae tantum modo exirent, populi autem Romani sexum, aetatem, ordinem omnem usque ad vicesimum lapidem effudisse se.” Cf. Liv. 28.9.5–6 for the adventus of M. Livius and G. Claudius Nero in 207BCE: “inde praemisso edicto ut triduo post frequens senatus ad aedem Bellonae adesset, omni multitudine obviam effusa ad urbem accessere. non salutabant modo universi circumfusi, sed contingere pro se quisque victrices dextras consulum cupientes, alii gratulabantur, alii gratias agebant, quod eorum opera incolumnis res publica esset.” people it provided an avenue to see and be seen by the emperors—I would like to place them once more in the larger context of the narrative of government. The punctuation of the year, and of military campaigns, by the events of profectio and adventus—public ceremonies that contained in their symbolism, both immediate and traditional, the beginning or culmination of a narrative of war—served to remind the city of Rome that the emperor or his legates were conducting military action on their behalf and in their interest. Adventus met the expectations established in profectio, presenting res gerendae as res gestae; the details of what intervened were contingent and could be expressed in greater or lesser detail, negotiated or manipulated as the actors saw fit, but regardless the ceremonies would have established the idea that things were happening, their ruler directing men and resources to some effect. The war in Illyricum took three years to complete, but by returning to the city intermittently Tiberius reminded the people that he was in the provinces, fighting to keep the borders safe. The discourse of victory that surrounded both triumph and adventus colored the intermittent commemoration of his ongoing action with an evaluative character that serviced the ideological goals of the Principate. 7. The role of the contio i. Contiones and the soldiers Among the sources for our period, the contio appears more often in a military context than a civil one, something that is perhaps to be expected given the roots of both contio 265 and comitia in the military organization of the Republic. 192 In Suetonius’ Lives of the Caesars, the word contio and its derivatives appear 33 times, of which 14 are of a civil nature, including those quoted above, and 18 are in a military context. 193 Of those 14 civil instances, only 8 involve the emperor (10 if we count Augustus’ career prior to 27CE), 194 while 10 of the 18 military instances deal with emperors appearing before troops. 195 Even more remarkable is the distribution found in Tacitus. In the Histories, contio or its derivatives appear 26 times, 18 of which denote gatherings in a military context (all involving emperors or heirs), and only 6 meetings in a civil one (of which only 4 involve the emperors). 196 This is perhaps to be expected of a work that essentially deals with a period of civil war, during which a glut of emperors appeared under arms, but in the Annals the distribution is even more pronounced: of a total of 21 266 192 Consultation of Lewis & Short suggests that the military usage may be mostly attested only in the Imperial period, but this requires further research. Gizewski, C., Contio in Brill’s New Pauly calls this the contio apud milites habita, and suggests that under the Republic that its history may have lain in the periods of crisis where it was necessary for the army to elect their own commanders (citing Liv. 25.37). 193 The remaining reference (Dom. 10.3) uses contio metonymically to denote a speech or address, rather than a gathering. It is used in this fashion occasionally in Tacitus as well (see notes below). The Life of Julius Caesar accounts for 7 of the military (33.1 (x 3); 55.4; 66.1 67.2, 83.1) and 4 of the civil instances (5.1; 17.2; 75.5; 85.1). 194 Aug. 40.5; 65.4; 84.2; Tib. 21.3; Cal. 15.1; 24.2; Vit. 15.3; Vesp. 7.3 (not at Rome, however). Before 27BCE, Octavian is described is delivering the laudatio for his grandmother Julia at a contio (Aug. 8.1), and also revealing the contents of Mark Antony’s will to such a gathering (Aug. 17.2). Tib. 32.1 and Claud. 22.1 refer to praetors appearing before the contio. 195 Aug. 25.1; 27.3; Cal. 48.1; 48.2; Claud. 10.4; 26.2; 27.2; Nero 19.2; Galba 17.1; Otho 6.3. The remaining reference (Titus 6.2) is to the Flavian general Caecina. Sumi (2005, 227 and n. 25) is guilty of being a little imprecise with his evidence, since, when he cites Claud. 27.2 and Galba 17.1 as examples of emperors exhibiting heirs to contiones, he does not mention that these were specifically gatherings of the praetorian guard. 196 Emperors or heirs at military contiones: Hist. 1.18; 1.31; 1.55; 2.57; 2.59; 2.79; 2.82; 2.94; 3.3; 3.9; 3.32; 3.56; 3.60; 3.82; 4.24; 4.32; 4.57; 4.73. 2.79 is marginal, since it specifically designates an occasion on which a contio didn’t take place. At civil contiones: 1.90; 3.36; 3.68 (used twice). Contio is used once (4.76) to denote a speech or address, rather than a gathering. instances, 15 are military (13 of which involve an emperor or heir) and only 5 civil (with only 1 involving the emperor). 197 This is not to say that civil contiones did not occur—as we have seen, actions are commemorated as having been taken in contiones of that type, and the continued use of the word by authors of the 2nd century CE demonstrates that it still held some currency. But, within our surviving Latin sources at least, it would appear this type of gathering is more likely to be employed for an interaction with the army than with the people at large. What are we to make of this? There is a particular bulking of contio references in the section of the Annals dealing with the legionary revolts of 14CE. The rebellion of the Pannonian legions began when one Percennius addressed an assembly of disgruntled troops “as if he were addressing a contio” (Ann. 1.17: “velut contionabundus interrogabat”). 198 The soldiers, thus emboldened, proceeded to heap up a mound of earth at the site in question in order to form a tribunal (a raised platform is a general feature of contiones, presumably for reasons both logistic and proxemic), and it was on such a stage that their commander Blaesus and, eventually, Drusus(2) would 267 197 Emperors or heirs at military contiones: Ann. 1.26; 1.29; 1.34; 1.35; 1.39; 1.43; 1.44; 2.12; 2.14; 2.22; 11.35; 15.26; 15.72. At civil contiones: 4.40, and even that only imagines a situation where Tiberius might appear. Contio is used twice (4.34 and 5.4) to denote a speech or address, rather than a gathering. 198 The “velut” is remarkable, since it appears for all intents and purposes this functioned as a contio. Since this is the first such instance of contio in the Annals, it is tempting to suggest that some kind of precedent was being set within a military context. It is, however, probably more likely that Tacitus refuses to allow it full authenticity because Percennius was not empowered with the prerogative to call an actual contio (as Drusus and Germanicus with their imperium would have been). have to confront and transact with them. 199 When Germanicus, in turn, confronted the contumacious legionaries of lower Germany, it was also in a contio: adsistentem contionem, quia permixta videbatur, discedere in manipulos iubet: sic melius audituros reponsum; vexilla praeferri, ut id saltem dicerneret cohortis; tarde obtemperavere. … ut seditionem attigit, ubi modestia militaris, ubi veteris disciplinae decus, quonam tribunos, quo centuriones exegissent, rogitans, nudant universi corpora, cicatrices ex vulneribus, verberum notas exprobant; mox indiscertis vocibus pretia vacationum, angustias stipendii, duritiam operum ac propriis nominibus incusant vallum, fossas, pabuli, materiae, lignorum adgestus, et si qua alia ex necessitate aut adversus otium castrorum quaeruntur. Germanicus ordered the soldiers, who were gathered as for a contio, to disperse into their maniples, because in the present arrangement they seemed mixed up confusingly. They replied that they could hear him better as they were. So he asked them to send forth the standards, so that he could at least recognize the cohorts. … When he touched upon the mutiny, asking where was their soldierly moderation, where the renown of their former discipline, whither had they driven their tribunes, whither their centurions, they all bared their bodies, and made show of their battle-scars and the marks of beatings. Soon with a great mixture of voices they complained of the fees for military exemptions, the meagerness of their pay, the harshness of their toil, naming specifically the building of wall and trench, the gathering of food, building materials, and firewood, and anything else which they did either from necessity or to combat idleness in the camp. Tac. Ann. 1.34–35 The confrontation grows more heated, and when Germanicus attempts to dismount the tribunal and leave the contio, he only narrowly escapes with his life. Two points present themselves: the first is that the soldiers resist Germanicus’ command to reassemble into the maniples, a reflection of the practice whereby citizens would reassemble into tribes or centuries to vote, marking the change from contio to comitia). There is obviously 268 199 Erection of tribunal: 1.18–19. Blaesus: 1.19. Drusus: 1.25. something symbolic in their refusal to obey him, especially in the matter of rearranging themselves for his inspection, but it might be doubly so in that the manipular (much like the comitial) arrangement would not expect or permit an exchange of speech between speaker and audience. Indeed, the soldiers suggest they wouldn’t even be able to hear him properly in their maniples. 200 While Germanicus, therefore, may occupy the superior proxemic space of the tribunal, the soldiers claim a power over their own bodies and the right to hear—and perhaps even respond to—his words. The second point follows from the first: a contio was an occasion not only to see the commander, but to engage with him actively. For the soldiers it was an opportunity to express their discontentment, and its structures permitted them to respond to statements of which they disapproved. 201 This degree of intimacy may be why emperors chose or are said to have used contiones to exhibit their heirs publicly— Augustus to the people, Claudius and Galba to the praetorian guard. 202 Certain boundaries of space and custom were removed on these occasions, and, quite apart from perhaps affording the onlookers a better view of their future emperor, it may also have fostered a sense of camaraderie that the comitium or military formation did not. These latter arrangements distinguished the speaker as magistrate or commander 269 200 Even the contio may not have permitted everyone to hear what was being said: Suetonius reports that in 49BCE, Julius Caesar exhibited the fugitive tribunes Curio and Mark Antony to his troops at a contio, but that a misunderstanding of his gestures on the part of those soldiers stationed at the edge of the assembly, “who could see him more easily than hear him,” led to the popular myth that he promised each of them the monetary equivalent of a knight’s estate (Jul. 33.1: “extrema contio, cui facilius erat videre contionantem quam audire, pro dicto accepit, quod visu suspicabatur”) 201 For this reason it is especially surprising that Yavetz (1969) does not mention the contio. 202 Suet. Tib. 21.3; Claud. 27.2; Galba 17.1. All cited above. through tradition and physical disposition of bodies; the contio, in comparison, collapsed this distinction and, through its more informal proxemics, suggested the speaker was more a civis inter cives. 203 8. Conclusion All of the visible activity with have examine above, together with representational practices and ideological strategies, have at their core one goal: to communicate to an audience—senatorial, military, or popular—that the princeps was personally and actively engaged in the command of Rome’s armies. One did not have to understand, have a vested interest in, or even care about the finer religious or constitutional significance of auspicia to appreciate the idea that it was used to express: that the emperor was ultimately in charge of the armed forces. Secondary to this, as with his performance of the persona of senator, was the idea that his being in command was in the best interest and greatest utility to the members of those audiences. Spectacular ceremonies, symbolic dress, and the commemoration of both enabled the dissemination on a grand scale of both elements of this ideology, communicating through a vocabulary of signs and events the continued operation of the military apparatus and, more importantly, its continued achievements. Campaigns meant nothing without regular returns to the capital in order to communicate res gestae, before establishing in 270 203 A clear example of one dimension of Wallace-Hadrill’s (1982) civilitas, as elaborated by Thorburn (2008). The use of the contio may also have been one way to cultivate a degree of levitas popularis, which could be understood as a sub-elite incarnation of civilitas. subsequent and inevitable departure that more things had still to be done (what we might call res gerendae). The regular punctuation of life—both military and civic—by these ceremonies was critical in establishing such narratives. The spectacles offered at the triumph and adventus served this purpose well, aiding in the conversion of military victory, “a momentary factual event, limited in space and time, and...achieved by means of physical, technical, and economical force,” into political power, “a long-term structural concept, based on political, social, and religious institutions as well as on ideological foundations…[whose] aim is general stability for the leader and his regime over space and time.” 204 These ceremonies thus demonstrated not only the emperor’s control of material forces, but his ability to leverage them to material effect. This may have carried an element of warning, but it also serviced a message of stability and security—the salus rei publicae. Complementary to this was the pageant made of Rome’s defeated enemies and the revenues which their defeat had yielded. Indeed, to the extent that such ceremonies could be said to forge connections of national identity, such connections were 271 204 Hölscher (2006, 27), emphasis in original. constructed in opposition—and from a position of superiority to—the enemies whom the emperor was fighting. 205 I would close by adding what I think may be a fresh idea: that the triumph and similar commemorations did not just communicate that Rome’s enemies were defeated, but also that such enemies existed. The profectio, similarly, suggested that these enemies continued to exist. The emperor Gaius is reported by Suetonius to have lamented that there was no great disaster in his reign, such as the defeat of Varus under Augustus, which would have given him the opportunity to shine as princeps. 206 Suetonius also claimed that this defeat had made Tiberius’ achievements in Illyricum seem all the greater by comparison. 207 Although Augustus is remembered as being haunted by this disaster until the end of his reign, it nevertheless served the Principate well, justifying further campaigns in Germany, the continued leverage of revenue for that purpose, and allowing Tiberius and Germanicus (and, later, Claudius) the symbolic 272 205 See, e.g. Debord (2008, 12) for the spectacle as “a social relationship between people that is mediated by images.” Welch (2006, 2) argues for war as the Romans’ “way of ordering their world” and “a means of self-definition in relation to other cultures.” Östenberg (2009, 1–12) explores the triumph as a “communal drama” that figures a relationship between self and other. Dillon (2006, 244–271) demonstrates that pictorial representations of the enemy came to rely more on physiognomy for differentiation, rather than just cultus. Marshall (1984, 136) argues that the fasces could have been read as “tokens of absolute, imperial power over the socii,” since the ius provocationis protected citizens from feeling their scourge; as he observes, they are cited as symbols of imperial authority in speeches by foreign generals (Tac. Ann. 1.59.6; 12.34; Jos. BJ 2.365–366), and their parade with the axes in the triumph could have been as a sign of national pride. 206 Suet. Cal. 31. In a striking parallel, Ambinder (2011) observes that “[a] president's executive power-- the actual assets and resources he can move--in the modern era rests primarily in two areas: warmarking and disaster response,” predicting that these would be the two spheres in which Barack Obama’s presidency would be publicly assessed. 207 Suet. Tib. 17.1: “cui gloriae amplior adhuc ex oportunitate cumulus accessit. nam sub id fere tempus Quintilius Varus cum tribus legionibus in Germania periit, nemine dubitante quin uictores Germani iuncturi se Pannoniis fuerint, nisi debellatum prius Illyricum esset.” opportunity of returning the standards lost by Varus. 208 Viewed this way, the famous boast of Augustus that he closed the gates of the Temple of Janus three times may be less important than the events of their re-opening: so long as they stood open, they served as a reminder to Rome that there were enemies that needed defeating. As Welch puts it, “[w]hen Rome was at war, all was well,” and the strategic utility of this ideology was redoubled when it could be combined with the message that “all was well” because the emperor was leading the war. 209 All of these ideas perhaps found their greatest expression in the triumph of Claudius in 44CE, in which the emperor re- enacted the conquest of Britain for his audience, even though he had not been present himself—auspicium was converted to ductus, in the context of victoria in service of salus. 210 273 208 E.g. Suet. Aug. 23. 209 Welch (2006, 12). For the emperor as cynosure of these representational programs, see the remarks of Brilliant (2006, 222). 210 Suet. Claud. 21.6 (“edidit et in Martio campo expugnationem direptionemque oppidi ad imaginem bellicam et deditionem Britanniae regum praeseditque paludatus”), with Brilliant (2006, 227–228). Chapter Three: Speaking with Power 1. Introduction i. Framing the question In this chapter, I examine practices of speech between the emperors and other parties: how, when, and where it was possible to address speech to the emperor, what the form and content of that speech might be, and how the emperor would or was expected to respond. My primary concern is with the mechanisms and rules that existed—or came to exist—for dialogue between the emperor and others, and this chapter constitutes an initial, exploratory attempt to analyze speech exchanges with the emperor to see if they reveal something about his role in society and how it was conceptualized, idealized, institutionalized, or ritualized. Where other chapters have, to a certain extent, been concerned with visible conduct, here I focus more explicitly on the speech in which government was effected, social relations constructed, and cultural values negotiated or performed. This chapter evolved from an initial interest in the related topics of speaking to power and the role of parrhesia in the Principate, and the latter in particular still enjoys a general emphasis in the text that follows. 1 The bulk of the examples discussed were originally selected for how they reflected the values of parrhesia, and a more fully developed intervention on this topic would attempt to canvas an even wider array of speech exchanges. 274 1 Leading from encounters with the work of Roller (2001) and Foucault (2001; 2011) especially. Parrhesia, most simply understood as ‘frank speech,’ is a particular form of or way of characterizing “speech to power,” “the speech of those who have fewer economic, political, and/or cultural resources to whose who have more.” 2 Speech of this kind presupposes, attempts to negotiate, and could even be said to construct “asymmetrical” relations of power between people, and it was part of the novelty of the Principate that it placed a requirement on Rome’s aristocracy to speak to power, rather than just be spoken to, as had been the case under the Republic; that is to say, the presence of the emperor reconfigured society such that everyone was now implicated in such asymmetrical relations of power. 3 Matthew Roller situates frank speech within a system of exchange employed by both emperor and aristocracy in a dynamic negotiation of the place of the former in society, which specifically involved the emperor’s capacity to accept frank speech and distinguish it from flattery. He demonstrates, moreover, how such relationships of exchange could serve a role in characterizing the emperor, and thus be used to pass a judgment on his Principate. 4 Critically, Roller emphasizes “the dialogical aspect of this activity of representation,” which is to say that speech exchanges require at least two actors, and that it is both the 275 2 Roller (2001, 108–24), adopting the governing term “speaking to power” from Scott (1990). 3 Konstan (1997, 21) uses the term “asymmetrical” to describe Roman relations of patronage, as distinct from those of friendship (and therefore equality). As we shall see below, relations of friendship could themselves actually be asymmetrical, and parrhesia was arguably instrumental in construing such relationships. For the new challenge facing the aristocracy, see Roller (2001, 125); cf. Winterling (2001, 198-9), who notes the change inherent in the fact that honores were now to be sought within the domus of the emperor, and not the more public spheres of the senate or comitium. See Morstein-Marx (2004, 1–33) for a picture of asymmetrical power relations between aristocracy and people in Republican contiones, which were in part maintained through the control of public discourse. 4 Roller (2001, ch. 3). speech and its reception by each party that subsequently communicates something about either or both of them. 5 Hence I choose to reformulate the topic as “speaking with power,” so as to emphasize this element of dialogue and the role of both parties in the exchange and what it can be said to reveal. “Speaking with power” is also apt because it accounts for the emperor’s speech- acts by themselves, in that he is the actor within asymmetrical relations who could be said to speak from a position of power or to instrumentalize power in his speech. Indeed, the work of governing the Roman empire essentially consisted of a series of ritually contextualized and appropriately inflected speech-acts, and, as we have seen in chapter 1, the emperor perhaps performed his role in words even more than he did through conduct in the visible sphere. In a letter to Marcus Aurelius’ imperial colleague, Verus, the orator Fronto declares that “imperium is not just a word denoting statutory power, but a word of speaking: for the power of ruling is exercised in ordering and forbidding.” 6 Fronto’s relocation of power from legal prerogatives (potestas) to the emperor’s speech (oratio) is an important development in the history of the Principate, reflecting not just the emperor’s right to direct government but his active role in that direction: “ordering and forbidding.” The utterance of such a normative statement at this stage in history speaks to a certain understanding, if not an actual 276 5 Roller (2001, 129, 173). 6 Ad Verum Imp. 2.1.8: “imperium autem non potestatis tantummodo vocabulum sed etiam orationis est: quippe vis imperandi iubendo vetandoque exercetur.” In another, arguably even more paradigmatic, letter (De. Eloq. 2.6), Fronto lists the duties of the emperor, more than half of which obviously implicate acts of speaking or writing (“suadere...appellare...litteras missitare...edictis coercere...laudare...”). institutionalization, of this role and the form it would take in practice; was his capacity to order and forbid rooted in potestas, in precedent, or even in his command of the tropes of rhetoric? 7 Similarly, the emperor’s speech and his relationship to the speech of others had a critical role to play in constituting what would be agreed upon as true, what I have called the public or official discourse (the logos) of the Principate. Both elements could therefore be said to have contributed to the fixing and development of the emperor’s place in society, and, as with his visibility, I will pay particular attention to how his speech and speech exchanges were publicized, commemorated, or manipulated—either by himself or by others. The material in this chapter is arranged according to the types of audience with whom the emperor engaged in speech exchanges: the people, by which I mean the non- elite citizens of Rome; the elite, or senatorial aristocracy; and provincials and their embassies. While these three categories do not in themselves account for all the constituents of Rome, let alone its Empire, together they cover most of the actual contexts in which people would have had the opportunity to hear or speak with the emperor, and such members of society who are missing would likely have encountered the emperor’s speech in one of them. Organization by audience is the most appropriate, since spaces, situations, and normative expectations seem precisely to have been coordinated in this way; thus the contio was a means of addressing the people, whereas 277 7 The verb exerceo used in Fronto’s statement actually has a connotation of training and mastery through practice. See, e.g., Tac. Ann. 14.56.3, where Nero is described as “factus natura et consuetudine exercitus velare odium fallacibus blanditiis.” the Curia and convivia were spaces to speak with the aristocracy. Each context had its own pragmatic features and cultural codes: the rules governing speech in the Curia were very different from those of the convivium. The order of the sections reflects what I see as an ascending degree of formal expectation from actors in given speech exchanges, increasing from the traditionally informal atmosphere of the contio to the structured speech of the senate and finally to the emperor’s interactions with foreign embassies, where the normative discourse of parrhesia finds its most obvious and sustained expression. Since, however, parrhesia and other values related to speech in the Roman world—libertas, licentia, adulatio, veritas—form the cultural, philosophical, and political foundation for much of what follows, it is first necessary to explore the history and valence of these terms. ii. Parrhesia The Greek term parrhesia has a historical life: it can—and does—possess a different meaning under different periods and in different contexts, denoting a practice, an ideal, or a right. 8 In the Hellenistic period and under the Principate, however, it mostly takes on the form of a “monarchic parrhesia”; that is, frank speech offered to power. 9 As we 278 8 The classic reference for parrhesia is still considered to be Momigliano (1973), although he offers more of an intellectual history of “freedom of speech” than a philological survey of the Greek term alone. Foucault (2001) provides a historical analysis of the term parrhesia specifically, including a sequential typology of the forms it can be said to have taken; in this text, as elsewhere, he seems to follow Scarpat (1964) quite closely. Sluiter & Rosen (2004b, 4–8) represents the most recent account of parrhesia’s semantics. 9 As outlined in Foucault (2001, 85–87) and (2010, 202–204), and elaborated at length in Foucault (2005; 2010; 2011). shall see, this broad categorization remains open to some nuance and negotiation at any specific moment, monarchic parrhesia could be said to possess certain generic circumstances: the frank-speaker (or parrhesiastes) must stand in a subordinate position to his interlocutor, often therefore will be in some danger when speaking frankly to him, and consequently should be understood to manifest courage in choosing to speak frankly even in the face of such danger. 10 While parrhesia customarily carries a connotation of truth, 11 it is safer to suggest that parrhesia in the monarchic context is sincere speech oriented towards helping the monarch govern better, in the interest of both himself, the parrhesiastes, and, indeed, all of his subjects. 12 Such a discourse of parrhesia presupposes that governing is a job or duty (or officium), one that can be exercised well or poorly, and that therefore invites or even requires frank advice. 13 279 10 Thus the titles of Foucault (2001) and (2011), presumably following Scarpat (1964, 43), and reflecting a tradition acknowledged by Momigliano (1973, 260). Quite apart from Tiro’s own acknowledgment of the risk he is undertaking, Josephus also says he was judged to be showing andreia (AJ 16.377: “οὐκ ἀνάνδρως αὐτοῦ πρὸς τὸν καιρὸν ἱσταµένου.”) 11 For Foucault (2001, 14) the parrhesiastes always believes what he is saying is the truth. As even he acknowledges, however, Plato’s Socrates problematized claims to parrhesia as often constituting nothing more than a rhetorical figure (13) (on this idea in Roman rhetoric, see below). Markovits (2008) pursues this problem in Plato (specifically in the Gorgias) at greater length, and explores—quite fruitfully—the distinction between “truthfulness” and pure truth; see also Sluiter & Rosen (2004b, 7). The role of truth in parrhesia is a potentially fertile subject: for Foucault (2001; 2005, 405) parrhesia implicates the formation of the subject in relation to his truth; in Josephus it seems to be suggested that truth is constituted in how parrhesia is received by its addressee (AJ. 16.108: “εἰ µὲν οὖν εὕροι λόγον τῆς ἀληθείας ἡ παρρησία”); similarly, but with a more strategic nuance, Chrissanthos (2004, 347–348) could be said to show that ‘truth’ is merely whatever you can convince your audience to believe on any given day. Gunderson (2000, 24) similarly characterizes rhetorical theory as “a discourse of truth...the knowledge it produces, a knowledge everywhere suffused with power, has the quality of constraining the truths of antiquity.” 12 Such is the use Plutarch imagines for parrhesia (Mor. 59D: “ἡ µὲν γὰρ ἀληθὴς καὶ φιλικὴ παρρησία τοῖς ἁµαρτανοµένοις ἐπιφύεται”), which as such stands as an adjunct to statecraft. On the other hand, Momigliano (1978, 260–261) suggests that parrhesia could also be employed as a form of resistance to tyranny. 13 A connection made by Foucault (2005, 375). Finally, for monarchic parrhesia to achieve its fulfillment, the monarch must suspend any anger provoked by the frank-speech and receive it openly in the spirit of sincere and honest criticism; Foucault calls this “the parrhesiastic contract,” and the monarch’s ability or willingness to observe its tenets are commonly what separate the just ruler from the tyrant. 14 This kind of parrhesia is precisely a practice, but one that implicates certain ideals and that cannot be separated from discursive formations—both because it is a practice concerned with and accomplished through words, 15 and because it is in some respects constituted in the literary sources that describe interactions between the emperors and their interlocutors. Plato’s analysis of the Persian king Cyrus in the Laws perfectly enunciates the conditions of parrhesia “in the field of autocratic power.” 16 For Plato, Cyrus was a model autocrat, precisely because he admitted the wisest of his generals to his council, and permitted them to exercise parrhesia: καὶ εἴ τις αὖ φρόνιµος ἦν ἐν αὐτοῖς καὶ βουλεύειν δυνατός, οὐ φθονεροῦ τοῦ βασιλέως ὄντος, διδόντος δὲ παρρησίαν καὶ τιµῶντος τοὺς εἴς τι δυναµένους συµβουλεύειν, κοινὴν τὴν τοῦ φρονεῖν εἰς τὸ µέσον παρείχετο δύναµιν, καὶ πάντα δὴ τότε ἐπέδωκεν αὐτοῖς δι’ ἐλευθερίαν τε καὶ φιλίαν καὶ νοῦ κοινωνίαν. 280 14 Foucault (2001, 31–36) demonstrates the terms of the parrhesiastic contract quite neatly using Eur. Bacch. 664–676 and El. 1055–1060. While Graham Burchell, the translator of Foucault’s lectures at the Collège de France, uses “parrhesiastic pact” to translate “le pacte parrèsiastique,” I generally prefer “parrhesiastic contract” as the choice made in Foucault (2001)—lectures delivered in English at Berkeley in 1983—and for its specific semantic coloring. Foucault (2010, 202–204) argues it is part of the good ruler’s duty to open up spaces for meaningful parrhesia. 15 See Scarpat (1964, 45) on its connection to logos. For precisely this reason parrhesia should be considered as a performative utterance; see Butler (1997, 1–42), and later in section 5. 16 So Foucault (2010, 202–204; 273–274), referring to Plat. Laws 3.694A–B, and citing a general tradition in Greek political thought that idealized the Persian Empire under Cyrus (as in Xen. Cyropedia). ...and if there was any wise man amongst them, able to give counsel, since the king was not jealous but allowed free speech and respected those who could help at all by their counsel,—such a man had the opportunity of contributing to the common stock the fruit of his wisdom. Consequently, at that time all their affairs made progress, owing to their freedom, friendliness and mutual interchange of reason. Laws 3.694B (trans. by R.G. Bury) Plato associates freedom (eleutheria) with speaking truth to the king, a situation which benefits the state at large by engendering both koinonia of reason and philia. The former promises the exercise of power according to rational criteria oriented towards beneficial ends, with the king’s nous augmented by those of his wisest advisors. The latter seems to be understood by Plato specifically as a philia between Cyrus and his generals—it is his philoi who will offer him parrhesia, and it is by offering parrhesia that they will become philoi—but he claims that such philia among the upper strata will trickle-down to the rest of the empire (3.694A), a sentiment somewhat echoed in the advice given by Maecenas to Augustus in the account of Cassius Dio. 17 iii. Libertas and licentia Although parrhesia is an idea from Greek language and thought, originating amidst the political and cultural developments of 5th and 4th Century Athens, it enjoyed a 281 17 In his advice to Augustus to make an exemplum of himself so that other men might follow (Dio 52.34.1–3, cited in chapter 1). continued existence into the peculiar discursive terrain of the Principate. 18 A tradition of parrhesia persisted from the Republican period in a number of incarnations and within a number of spheres, not just amongst Greek writers. It is most explicitly received by the Latin world within the sphere of rhetoric: Cicero himself uses the Greek term— albeit in a pejorative fashion—to describe the unchecked prattle of Clodius’ supporters in 61BCE. 19 Quintilian likewise listed it, again in Greek, amongst the figures of rhetorical persuasion that can be either sincere or feigned: quod idem dictum sit de oratione libera, quam Cornificius licentiam vocat, Graeci παρρησίαν. quid enim minus figuratum quam vera libertas? sed frequenter sub hac facie latet adulatio. The same thing [that when feigned it counts as an oratorical figure] may be said about oratio libera, which Cornificius calls licentia, the Greeks parrhesia. For what has less of the figure than true libertas? But frequently adulatio hides beneath this mask. Quint. Inst. 9.2.27–28 I have left several key phrases untranslated, because this passage represents the most direct attempt by a Latin author to render parrhesia in his own language. 20 The choice 282 18 In Josephus parrhesia is also directed towards Augustus (then Octavian) and Agrippa (AJ 15.216, 16.27). Interestingly, in the version of Tiro’s story contained in the BJ Josephus does not use the term parrhesia at all. This may be explained by Thackeray’s (1927, xv–xvi) assertion that Josephus’ assistants, adherents of Sophocles and Thucydides, are more heavily involved in the composition of the AJ than the BJ. As Thackeray also notes, however, the AJ are more interested in Jewish affairs than the BJ (ibid. vii– x), and the entire episode is considerably more elaborated in their text (occupying 16 chapters as compared to the BJ’s 8). Parrhesia may therefore have been added in order to deepen the characterization of Herod. 19 Cic. Att. 1.16.8: “insectandis vero exagitandisque nummariis iudicibus omnem omnibus studiosis ac fautoribus illius victoriae παρρησίαν eripui.” Clearly this is the kind of immoderate parrhesia decried by Plato (e.g. Phdr. 240e6). The passage has been taken as paradigmatic of parrhesia’s untranslatability into Latin (see Scarpat 1964, 57). 20 It is therefore paradigmatic for Foucault (2001, 21; 2005, 366, 372; 2010, 46). Scarpat (1964, 114) notes that Latin lacks a term that etymologically expresses the original signification of parrhesia. of oratio libera seems the most straightforward—corresponding almost exactly to “free speech”—but, as Quintilian notes, the same idea has been called licentia by others, and this statement enables us to connect parrhesia with the licentia treated in some detail in the Rhetorica ad Herennium, a rhetorical treatise generally agreed to date to the last century of the Republic. 21 There the author characterizes licentia as a right, and one that sometimes has to be exercised courageously towards those to whom we owe fear or respect; 22 as with monarchic parrhesia, he acknowledges that licentia may sometimes provoke ill-feeling in the recipient, which should be assuaged with a dose of praise (laus). 23 Finally, like Quintilian, he acknowledges that this courageous ethical position can be feigned for rhetorical effect, when the orator represents himself as overcoming his fear only to say something with which he knows his audience is actually apt to agree. 24 In Rome’s rhetorical tradition, therefore, it is plain that parrhesia, qua licentia, 283 21 Indeed, Scarpat (1964, 110) sees them as direct cognates. The connection is sufficiently strong that this passage has been used as evidence to suggest Cornificius was actually the author of the Rhetorica ad Herennium; see Caplan (1981, x–xiv), citing Thiele (1892, 725ff) but agreeing with Koehler (1909, 8ff) that Cornifician authorship is ultimately unlikely. 22 Rhet. 4.48: “licentia est cum apud eos quos aut vereri aut metuere debemus tamen aliquid pro iure nostro dicimus, quod eos aut quos ii diligunt aliquo in errato vere reprehendere videamur…” 23 Ibid. 4.49–50: “si nimium fuerit aspera, mitigabitur laude.” An example may be found in the parrhesiastic confrontation between Diogenes and Alexander in Dio Chrys. Fourth Discourse on Kingship, 18–20 (with Foucault 2001, 129). 24 Ibid. 4.50: “adsimulatione...quae non indiget mitigationis, propterea quod imitatur licentiam et sua spontest ad animum auditoris adcommodata.” Cf. Dio (58.1.2), where delatores make a show of parrhesia in order to make their victims do they same; for them “this freedom of speech involves no danger, since they are supposed to speak as they do, not because of their real feelings, but because of their desire to convict others” (“ἀκίνδυνός ἐστιν ἡ παρρησία (οὐ γὰρ ὡς καὶ φρονοῦντές τινα, ἀλλ’ ὡς ἑτέρους ἐλέγξαι βουλόµενοι λέγειν αὐτὰ πιστεύονται” trans. Cary). continued to include an element of speaking to power, albeit one that was now acknowledged to be open to manipulation by the cunning orator. 25 Quintilian also makes a seemingly straightforward connection between parrhesia and libertas—as we have seen Plato did with eleutheria—and it has been shown that as a political idea this Latin term, while somewhat vague and undefined, was generally assumed by the Romans to include connotations of free speech, even under the Republic. 26 Scarpat goes so far as to suggest that, in its connection to licentia, such freedom of speech was understood to follow from some positive law or privilege enjoyed by Roman citizens. 27 There is something of a scholarly consensus that under the Julio-Claudian emperors this connection between libertas and free speech only intensified as any actual right to it was eroded or abrogated. Tacitus is usually produced 284 25 Momigliano (1973, 261) argues that “an element of criticism was often implied” by its translation as licentia, presumably based on the negative political connotations of the latter term (see Wirszbuski 1950, 7–8, citing Cic. Pro Flacco 16, Livy 23.2.1 and 24.49.8, Tac. Dial. 40; also Haynes 2003, 40, 62, on the thematic use of licentia in Tacitus’ Histories). Scarpat (1964, 110–114) explores the contrast between libertas and licentia, citing, in particular, Livy 34.2.14, 3.37.8; Cic. Resp. 3.23. . Plut. Mor. 51C describes how a competent flatterer can feign parrhesia as means of flattery. Tac. Hist. 1.1, meanwhile, notes that odium expressed in historiography can assume the false appearance of libertas (on which see Haynes o.c., 36–37). 26 As Chrissanthos (2004, 342–344) notes, libertas under the Republic “had no ‘universally recognized meaning.’” but still apparently contained an element of freedom of speech. He cites, for example, Sal. Jug. 31.1, quoting the tribune C. Memmius (“certe ego libertatem, quae mihi a parente meo tradita est, experiar”), and Cic. Phil. 11.3 (“qui libere de re publica sensimus, qui dignas nobis sententias diximus”), with Syme (1939, 152: “freedom of speech was an essential part of the republican virtue of libertas”). Momigliano (1973, 261), however, maintains that “freedom of speech was never directly and precisely connected” with the term libertas. For fuller discussions of the semantics of libertas under the Republic, see Wirszburski (1950), Momigliano (1951), and Brunt (1988). 27 Scarpat (1964, 110–111), unpacking the semantics of licentia to argue that, before its connotations of “abuse of freedom” (see not above), it simply meant “lawful” (“liceità). He makes a contrast with his picture of Athenian parrhesia (op. cit. 7–34), which he figures as a something of an epiphenomenon to the isegoria enjoyed by citizens. Cf. Momigliano (1951, 146). as the primary evidence: 28 at the start of his Histories, for example, he contrasts the dominatio of previous emperors with the relative felicity of life under Nerva and Trajan, in which “it is permitted to feel what you wish and say what you feel” (“sentire quae velis et quae sentias dicere licet”). 29 Similarly paradigmatic is Tacitus’ account of the prosecution of A. Cremutius Cordus, a historian from the reign of Tiberius who fell under an accusation of maiestas for praising Brutus and Cassius in his work. 30 The passage at Ann. 4.32–33 in particular has become a popular locus for scholars to expound the view that Tacitus thought “the days of the republic were superior to those of the empire in range of topic and liberty of speech.” 31 The emperor Tiberius himself is elsewhere quoted as opining that “in a free society there ought to be freedom of speech and of thought”; while, in light of Cordus’ persecution, one is tempted to treat this anecdote only for its irony, it should be 285 28 Momigliano (1973, 262) identifies the theme of the Dialogus as “the relation between decay in eloquence and decline of political liberty” (cf. Foucault 2010, 305). See also Jess (1956), Morford (1991), and Bartsch (2004, 181–191). Foucault (2010, 305) argues that parrhesia is “the concrete form of freedom in autocracy.” Crook (1955, 142) argues that Tacitus has “over-influenced” our impression of liberty under the emperors. 29 Tac. Hist. 1.1.4. As Haynes (2003, 36–39), the antagonism between “velis” and “licet” indicates that these circumstances are “a possibility, not a necessity,” and thus perhaps upsets any simple identification of Tacitus’ ‘freedom’ with the type of libertas he claims was enjoyed by Republican historians (1.1.1) (which Haynes similarly problematizes as standing in a limiting relationship to an ideological obeisance to res publica). Similarly, Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 38) has argued that “the libertas of the empire was only what the autocrat voluntarily conceded to his subjects.” 30 Momigliano (1973, 261), presumably after Tacitus, renders the charge of maiestas the fundamental check on free speech under the Principate. 31 Tac. Ann. 4.32: “sed nemo annalis nostros cum scriptura eorum contenderit qui veteres populi Romani res composuere. ingentia illi bella, expugnationes urbium, fusos captosque reges, aut si quando ad interna praeverterent, discordias consulum adversum tribunos, agrarias frumentariasque leges, plebis et optimatium certamina libero egressu memorabant.” Thus an echo of Hist. 1.1.1 “nam post conditam urbem octingentos et viginti prioris aevi annos multi auctores rettulerunt, dum res populi Romani memorabantur pari eloquentia ac libertate.” See McHugh (2004, 391), who summarizes the secondary scholarship(n. 4), and argues instead that this passage in the Annals constitutes Tacitus’ guide on precisely how to read and write freely under an emperor. observed that for such an effect the comment must still have appealed to some kind of genuine belief, desire, or theoretical connection enjoyed by its audience. 32 If, then, free speech under the Republic could be said to have existed as an ideal—or even a right—it would seem that by the period about which Tacitus is writing it is perhaps better understood as a practice—that is, as something that one did, but not something that was guaranteed or practiced—and as something that had to be practiced at some risk to the parrhesiastes—whether it be Cordus, or Tacitus himself. 33 For Tacitus it is a practice that is, again, intimately connected to words (perhaps even more so because in his case we are dealing with the written word of historiography) and, in the strategies in which the historian must engage, likewise to rhetoric. 34 With a due respect for the complicated history and signification of both terms, for the purposes of this chapter I will treat libertas as a the closest Latin cognate of parrhesia, since in the sources for this period both words were used to characterize courageous speech offered to power. 35 286 32 Suet. Tib. 28.1: “subinde iactabat in civitate libera linguam mentemque liberas esse debere.” It is followed by an anecdotal quotation that Suetonius describes as “percivilis” (on the implications of which, see section 2.ii below). See Momigliano (1973, 261) on the irony of this situation. Tiberius presents an echo of Memmius (Sal. Jug. 31.1, quoted in note above). 33 Wirzsubski (1950, 164–165): “…it is undoubtedly the most characteristic and significant feature of his idea of freedom under the Principate that he conceived of libertas less as a constitutional right than as the individual will and courage to be free.” This passage presumably shows its in influence in subsequent statements by Momigliano (1973, 260), although as an ethical position it may enjoy some connection with the rise of Roman Stoicism (Roller 2001, ch. 2, discussed below). 34 Again, McHugh (2004) and Haynes (2003, ch.1). On the connection between rhetoric and historiography more generally, see Woodman (1988). 35 Some scholars, e.g. Momigliano (1973, 260–261), seem reluctant to allow that political parrhesia has any single direct cognate in Latin. Crook (1955, 142) renders libertas and parrhesia as cognates, and seems to prefer the latter in discussing the topic under the Principate. Roller only uses the Greek term parrhesia once (2001, 113 n. 87), but there he seems to accept quite straightforwardly that it equates to libertas (as denoting “frank speech”). Scarpat (1964, 110) shows a conviction that licentia (at Rhet. 4.36.48 and 4.37.49) ought to be translated as parrhesia. iv. Amicitia and adulatio And yet free speech did not always have to be hidden by rhetoric. The seemingly sinister “licet” in Tacitus’ characterization of life under the Antonines reconnects free speech to the Latin word licentia—precisely something that is permitted—and, it will be recalled, monarchic parrhesia often relies upon the existence of a parrhesiastic contract which enjoins the ruler to permit his subject to speak frankly to him. 36 As I will show in this chapter, a similar kind of normative expectation continued to operate for the Roman emperors as it had for Persian and Hellenistic kings. It should perhaps not be surprising that the most obvious discourse of parrhesia is to be found in the Greek sources from the Imperial period, such as Josephus, Plutarch, Philo, and even Cassius Dio. 37 As Momigliano has noted, under the Principate, if not before, the Greek opinion on freedom—including freedom of speech—must be taken into account, and these particular Greek-speakers all possess significant ties to the Roman Empire. 38 287 36 Again, see Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 38). The monarch’s willingness to concede libertas to his subjects is another shade of the parrhesiastic pact, and thus a part of the characterization of emperors, both as an institution and as individuals. 37 Dio is not traditionally adduced among the sources for parrhesia, but a TLG search of the Boissevain edition yields 49 results for parrhesia itself and 15 for parrhesiazomai. Interestingly, these incidents are distributed relatively evenly throughout the text, occurring almost as frequently in his coverage of the Republican era as they do in the monarchic or Imperial periods. 38 Momigliano (1951, 14): “But I do not see how one could separate the discussion on Libertas from that on Eleutheria when one comes to the imperial age. Many of the people who wrote in Greek were by now Roman citizens, and in any case both Roman citizens and provincials obeyed the emperor.” Cf. Beard (2007, 71 n. 62). Cassius Dio’s pedigree has been discussed in chapter 1; Flavius Josephus was an intimate of the emperor Titus, and even carried his nomen; for Plutarch’s relationship to Rome, see Jones (1971) and Gianakaris (1971); Philo appeared as an ambassador before the emperor Gaius (on which see section 4.ii below). The author who tackles parrhesia most straightforwardly is perhaps Plutarch, since among his Moralia there exists a treatise transmitted under the Greek title Πῶς ἄν τισ διακρίνειε τὸν κόλακα τοῦ φίλου, in Latin Quomodo adulator ab amico internoscatur (both of which translate as How to tell a flatter from a friend). 39 The essay is addressed to one C. Julius Antiochus Philopappus (48E), another Roman citizen of Greek descent, and, as the LCL translator notes, following the exploration of its titular topic it “digresses into a disquisition on frank speech (παρρησία).” 40 The topic under which Plutarch offers his discussion of parrhesia is very useful for our purposes, since it establishes more clearly the Platonic distinction between the false parrhesiastes about whom Quintilian warns (the kolax or adulator) and the genuine parrhesiastes who is also to be understood as a true friend (the philos or amicus). 41 Indeed, Plutarch wears his Platonism on his sleeve, focusing on how the activities of the flatterer and the friend can affect a man’s self-knowledge, and thus his cultivation of what is good, and citing the philosopher directly in several instances. 42 The Atticizing practices of the so- called Second Sophistic could thus be said to have played a role in the importation of parrhesia into the context of the Roman Empire. 43 288 39 Plut. Mor. 48E–74E. On the subject of the titles, and the Lamprias catalogue in general, see Babbitt (1927, xviii–xix). 40 Babbitt (1927, 263), emphasis in original. 41 Whatever reservations we might have about the title (see note above), it does a fair job of describing the topic of the essay (see, e.g. Mor. 48F). The verb internoscere is used in a similar context by Cicero (Ac. 2.18, 2.7; Lael. 25). 42 49A–B, citing Plat. Laws 730C shows this most straightforwardly, but there are other parallels, e.g. 66E and Laws 937D, which can be found in the catalogue by Jones (1916, 109–117). 43 On which generally see Swain (1996). Plutarch also imported a more specifically monarchic parrhesia from Plato. In fact, his Life of Dion is deployed by Foucault as another classic illustration of this kind of parrhesia and the terms of the parrhesiastic contract. The Life has been shown to draw heavily on Plato’s Epistles, and actually features Plato himself as one of two parrhesiastai who attempt to speak frankly to the tyrant Dionysius of Sicily. 44 Parrhesia is not just important for Greek and Persian kings, however: one of Plutarch’s primary examples in How to tell a flatter from a friend places his discourse of parrhesia and philia directly in the context of Imperial government: Τιβερίου δὲ Καίσαρος εἰς τὴν σύγκλητόν ποτε παρελθόντος εἷς τῶν κολάκων ἀναστὰς ἔφη δεῖν ἐλευθέρους ὄντας παρρησιάζεσθαι καὶ µηδὲν ὑποστέλλεσθαι µηδ' ἀποσιωπᾶν τῶν συµφερόντων· ἀνατείνας δὲ πάντας οὕτως, γενοµένης αὐτῷ σιωπῆς καὶ τοῦ Τιβερίου προσέχοντος, “ἄκουσον,” ἔφη, “Καῖσαρ ἅ σοι πάντες ἐγκαλοῦµεν, οὐδεὶς δὲ τολµᾷ φανερῶς λέγειν. ἀµελεῖς σεαυτοῦ καὶ προΐεσαι τὸ σῶµα καὶ κατατρύχεις ἀεὶ φροντίσι καὶ πόνοις ὑπὲρ ἡµῶν, οὔτε µεθ'ἡµέραν οὔτε νυκτὸς ἀναπαυόµενος.” πολλὰ δ'αὐτοῦ τοιαῦτα συνείροντος, εἰπεῖν φασι τὸν ῥήτορα Κάσσιον Σευῆρον “αὕτη τοῦτον ἡ παρρησία τὸν ἄνθρωπον ἀποκτενεῖ.” And once, when Tiberius Caesar had come into the Senate, one of the flatterers arose and said that they ought, being free men, to speak frankly, and not to dissemble or refrain from discussing anything that might be for the general good. Having thus aroused general attention, in the ensuing silence, as Tiberius gave ear, he said, “Listen, Caesar, to the charges which we are all making against you, but which no one dares to speak out. You do not take proper care of yourself, you are prodigal of your bodily strength, you are continually wearing it out in your anxieties and labours in our behalf, you give yourself no respite by day or by night.” As he drew out a long string of such phrases, they say that the orator Cassius Severus remarked, “Such frankness as this will be the death of this man!” Plut. Mor. 60C–D (trans. Babbitt) 289 44 Jones (1916, 108, 119 n. 4), citing Müller (1876) de fontibus Plutarchi vitam Dionis enarrantis, Bachof (1874) de Plutarchei Dionis fontibus, and Stoessel (1876) Epistulae Platonicae et Dionis vita Plutarchea quomodo cohaerant. We witness in this anecdote precisely the danger of parrhesia against which both Quintilian and the Rhetorica ad Herennium warned: the unidentified kolax opens up a space for parrhesia (“παρρησιάζεσθαι”) in the senate, pledging that he will not dissemble (“ὑποστέλλεσθαι”) nor, most critically, shy away from anything that would be useful (“τῶν συµφερόντων”). Tiro, it will be recalled, also claimed that his parrhesia, if heeded, would be “συµφέρουσαν” to Herod (Jos. AJ 16.379). Plutarch makes Tiberius seem agreeable to this pledge, proffering the terms of the parrhesiastic contract as he does his ears (“καὶ τοῦ Τιβερίου προσέχοντος”). The kolax then wastes the opportunity opened up by his pledge and Tiberius’ attention, delivering only kolakeia under the guise of parrhesia. He does not address any of the genuine problems with Tiberius’ reign about “which no one dares to speak out” (“οὐδεὶς δὲ τολµᾷ φανερῶς λέγειν,” again implicating courage in the practice of parrhesia), and thus does not provide the means for Tiberius to improve himself—what would in fact be most useful to everyone. The kolax thereby shows himself not to be any kind of philos, and his flattery may in fact prove fatal: Cassius Severus’ wry comment is presumably predicated on Plutarch’s earlier claim that false parrhesia is easily discernible, just as the club wielded by a comedic actor playing Heracles will prove a light and hollow counterfeit. 45 290 45 Plut. Mor. 59B–D: “ὥσπερ ἐν κωµῳδίᾳ Μενάνδρου Ψευδηρακλῆς πρόεισι ῥόπαλον οὐ στιβαρὸν κοµίζων οὐδ’ ἰσχυρὸν ἀλλὰ χαῦρόν τι πλάσµα καὶ διάκενον, ὅυτω τὴν τοῦ κόλακος παρρησίαν φανεῖσθαι πειρωµένοις µαλακὴν καὶ ἀβαρῆ καὶ τόνον οὐκ ἔχουσαν…” See section 3.i on Tiberius’ attitude towards flatterers. Such concerns were not restricted to Greek literature: Roller has demonstrated convincingly that the genuineness of speech was a central concern in Roman aristocratic discourse, citing it as a recurrent theme from Cicero through to Seneca (among others). 46 Both authors seem to advocate for wariness against flattery— adsentatio, adulatio, or blanditiae in Latin—which is figured as a common and ethically hazardous feature of speaking to power, a strategic effort on the part of inferior parties to achieve personal ends by appealing to their superior’s vanity. Cicero cites rhetorical topoi aimed at distinguishing flattery from genuine speech (verum/ veritas), which demonstrate that it was considered a problem within the set of power relations that existed during the Republic. 47 Flattery was not just unethical, it was specifically a matter of furthering personal interest at the expense of the public good and against prevailing social and political norms. Under the Principate, however, with one man now possessed of such enormous factual power, the potential of flattery to do real political damage was exponentially magnified. 48 This may explain why the meditations on free speech in Tacitus cited above notably include references to—and, 291 46 Roller’s key texts for constituting flattery as a genuine issue among the Roman elite are Cic. Lael. 89– 99, Sen. Nat. 4A pr., and Plut. Mor. 48E–74E (= Quomodo adulator ab amico internoscatur). Habinek (1990) explores the model of friendly and frank intervention presented by Cicero’s de Amicitia. 47 Roller (2001, 108–9, 112–13), citing Cic. Top. 83 (“qualis sit assentator”) and 85 (“quid intersit inter amicum et assentatorem”). Flattery is opposed to veritas and verum in Lael. 89 and 98 respectively. 48 The potential political damage of flattery directed towards an autocratic ruler represents the alternative to Foucault’s model of Platonic political parrhesia—true discourse offered to the Prince in the interest of the state (2010, passim, e.g. 195–204). I take this up in greater detail below. indeed, have even been characterized as a problematization of—adulatio, which appears as the shadowy alternative to genuine libertas in historiography. 49 It is Seneca the Younger who constitutes flattery as a problem for the Principate specifically, transferring it even more concretely to the political situation in which he was experienced. 50 Like Cicero and Plutarch, Seneca opposes the speech of a flatterer with that of a true amicus, who, as Roller puts it, “gives praise when appropriate, but also reproaches and rebukes if he disapproves of a friend’s actions or intentions, and consequently does not allow him to hold a false moral valuation of himself.” 51 In his De Beneficiis, Seneca suggests that “fidele consilium, adsidua conversatio, sermo comis et sine adulatione iucundus” are the greatest benefits an amicus can pay to his benefactor, even if he be of a much higher station (6.29.2); we should note that all three elements seem to imply physical company (both by nature and by the reiteration of the assimilated prefix cum). He proceeds to demonstrate how much better off Xerxes would have been had he heeded the warnings of Demaratus—“quod solus sibi verum dixisset” (6.31.11)—and then adduces Augustus as a ruler who had also been in need of amici to speak such truth to him, in this case with regard to the adultery of his daughter Julia: haec tam vindicanda principi quam tacenda, quia quarundam rerum turpitudo etiam ad vindicantem redit, parum potens irae publicaverat. deinde, cum 292 49 E.g. Tac. Ann. 1.1. See Momigliano (1951, 149) and (1973, 261–262). 50 Foucault cites Seneca Ep. 75, 40, 38, and 29, together with Nat. 4A pr. 51 Cic. Top. 85, Lael. 89–98 and Mor. 48E–78E (all cited in the notes above), together with Cic. De Or. 3.117, all make this distinction explicitly. Roller (2001, 113). interposito tempore in locum irae subisset verecundia, gemens, quod non illa silentio pressisset, quae tam diu nescierat, donec loqui turpe esset, saepe exclamavit: “horum mihi nihil accidisset, si aut Agrippa aut Maecenas vixisset!” These things ought both to have been punished and kept quiet by the Princeps, because the turpitude of certain matters stains even the one punishing them, but he was unable to control his anger and made them public. 52 Then, when some time had passed and in the place of anger had risen shame, he lamented that he had not suppressed with silence those things which he had not known about until it was shameful to talk about them, and often he cried: “None of this would have happened to me, if either Agrippa or Maecenas were alive!” 6.32.2 While Seneca doubts the likelihood of either man actually speaking the truth to Augustus (6.32.4), it is precisely for this activity that Augustus is made to lament their loss, and Seneca purports to find it ridiculous that Augustus never replaced them after their deaths (6.32.3). Cassius Dio imparts this same value to Agrippa and Maecenas in the debate we have already had cause to examine several times, and their discord and frankness in that scene are emblematic of true discourse—what each believes Augustus needs to hear, not what he wants to hear. 53 In the case of Julia, it seems to be suggested that these amici would have done two things. First, they would not have kept the burgeoning scandal from him until it was too late to deal with it (“donec loqui turpe esset”), and the implication is that the flatterers, by hiding it from the emperor so as to keep him happy in the short term, caused him greater grief and political difficulty later on; in this example, therefore, we can observe the damage that can result from the type 293 52 As recorded by Suet. Aug. 65 and discussed in Chapter 1.2.vi. 53 Dio 52.2–40. If the scene is in fact to be interpreted as Dio’s advice to his own emperor (see Hammond 1932, 90; Millar 1964), then in itself it can likewise be said to constitute the true discourse of an amicus to his ruler. of behavior Plutarch cites from the reign of Tiberius. Secondly, Agrippa and Maecenas would have been able to temper Augustus’ ira, and thus enable him to make the most rational and personally advantageous decision; since for the princeps what was personally advantageous was likely to coordinate with what was politically advantageous, their true discourse was most especially missed. Seneca thus shows how flattery can present a danger to both the princeps and the state, since, in this case, it threatened to undermine the moral authority which underpinned Augustus’ station. While not a contemporary to Augustus, Seneca, like Dio, wrote from a privileged position with the imperial court, as the teacher and regent for the emperor Nero, and, with his hindsight, identified the dichotomy of flattery and truth as active even in the early years of the Principate. 54 He represents a contemporary retro-perspective on the social and political fabric of imperial Rome, and connects the discursive concerns of his day with those of Cicero and the Republican aristocrats. The coordination of two passive periphrastics with the word “princeps”—not Augustus— emphasizes the normative force of the passage in question (“haec tam vindicanda principi quam tacenda”): this is a true exemplum, commemorating the actions of a past emperor in order to influence those of the future. In his comparison of Augustus to a further exemplum—that of Xerxes—Seneca links the political realities of the two rulers in order to elaborate his argument: while Augustus may not call himself a rex, he has as much need of a truth-speaking amicus as did his Persian counterpart, and the lack of 294 54 Foucault (2010, 344) identifies Seneca as the case par excellence of the philosophical and parrhesiastic education of a Prince by his advisor. such a voice to counsel the princeps can lead to real political difficulties. Their coordination speaks to the material elements of pure monarchy that were a necessary component of the Principate, a discourse of realpolitik in which, we have seen, Cassius Dio was at times similarly engaged. 55 Finally, Seneca also interposes the concept of the ruler’s ira as a factor to be negotiated in the choice between flattery and true discourse, demonstrating the full complement of the constituent terms of the parrhesiastic contract. There is another echo of Plato in Seneca’s valuation of true discourse, which, as we have seen, he submits is a great beneficium when offered to a ruler by his amicus. All the Roman-era sources synthesized by Roller identify veritas as the characteristic of an amicus, and make adulatio (or its cognates) the opposite of proper amicitia. Like the empire of Cyrus, then, where parrhesia was seen by Plato to be the basis for true and useful philia, for the Romans (from Cicero to Seneca) it was explicitly cast as the action of an amicus; indeed, Seneca characterizes it as the one gift any man can benefit from, no matter how fortunate (or how powerful he may be). Amicitia could be recognized materially, but in our period it also came to be recognized officially through the designation of imperial amici. 56 As we have seen in Chapter 1, Cn. Lentulus, the quaestor Augusti, advertised himself also as the emperor’s amicus. Since he was a member of his consilium, and therefore a political confidant, we might expect that this 295 55 In Seneca we thus find further rationale for Maecenas’ characterization of the Principate as a monarchia in Dio, since it faces the problems of, literally, rule by a single man. 56 See Crook (1955, 21–30) on the new distinction of amici and comites that emerged under the Principate, together with Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 40). claim was predicated in no small part on his advice and Augustus’ trust in it, not to mention the fact that he probably saw and spoke to the emperor a great deal. 57 There is no reason to imagine that this relationship did not fulfill the conditions for parrhesia in an autocratic context, and Lentulus was presumably selected for his wisdom and loyalty, and enjoyed a certain amount of libertas (understood as freedom of speech) under the terms of the parrhesiastic pact. In sum, as Momigliano puts it, “if Tacitus is the first to make ‘adulatio’ the centre of his analysis of tyranny, the problem of freedom of speech inevitably concerned most of the writers of the imperial age from Phaedrus and Persius to Quintilian and Juvenal.” 58 What this minor efflorescence may point to is a general rise in the genre of Fürstenspiegeln, which would naturally accompany the change in the political organization of the state: as the control of affairs devolved into the hands of one man, subjects—and particularly those with the leisure to care about such things— perhaps became more concerned with the training and counsel that man received. 59 Certainly there seems to have been a prevailing feeling that a good ruler ought to be able to distinguish between flattery and parrhesia, and we should not ignore the ethical expectations placed on the emperor in this discourse: Plutarch and the other authors of 296 57 Cébelliac (1972, 11–12), citing Lentulus’ military service to Augustus recorded by Florus 2.28.29 (for which he received the ornamenta triumphalia according to Tac. Ann. 4.44) and Tac. Ann. 1.27; it was for the latter action that he apparently received the title amicus. 58 Momigliano (1951, 149). Elsewhere (1973, 261) he implicates Philo, Dio Chrysostom, Plutarch, and Epictetus. 59 Harris (2001, 22 and n. 22). Bartsch (1994, 148–149) also addresses the genre of speculum principis, with specific reference to the Panegyricus of Pliny. the empire could be said to render making the correct distinction (diakrinein/ internoscere) part of the job of the emperor. If adulatio/kolakeia, as much as parrhesia itself, was a major concern of this discourse, it would likewise make sense under a system where such flattery was now focussed to such a great degree on one man. It may also be related to developments in the realm of philosophy—and in particular Cynicism and Stoicism—of which many of these authors would likely be aware, if not intimately embroiled. 60 The political and ethical principles of parrhesia had an important role to play in the Principate. As a practice, frank speech was necessary for the basic requirements of governing an Empire well, for subjects to have their needs recognized and fulfilled, and for individuals to negotiate their position in relation to the princeps as his statio developed. As a discourse it was present in the minds and words of the authors who record and narrate the events of our period, and yet it has never been fully addressed as 297 60 Toynbee (1944, 43), cited by both Wirszubski (1950) and Momigliano (1951, 149), distinguishes between Cynics, who criticized emperors as an institution, and Stoics, who criticized particular men who occupy that role; the distinction is itself probative, since it is constructed in relation to the state of Principate. In light of Foucault (2010, 195–196), this difference could be re-conceptualized in terms of dunasteia and politeia: Cynic parrhesia desires a change in politeia, Stoic parrhesia to see the dunasteia in a politeia exercised well. For the history of Cynic parrhesia see Scarpat (1964) and Foucault (2001, ch. 3). Foucault (2010, 292) makes a further distinction between Platonic and Cynic parrhesia as being psychagogic vs. politically oriented. Roller (2001, 118–122) believes that in Roman culture, frank speech —particularly as implicated in asymmetrical power structures—was part of a particularly Stoic approach to conceptualizing social relations. a discrete topic in studies of the early Principate. 61 In what follows I will advocate for the implication of a third interested party in the parrhesiastic game: that of the public sphere. That is to say, I will focus particularly on how parrhesia—as both a political practice and a discursive paradigm—could be used to communicate to an audience something about the nature of the princeps. I see this process as more outwardly focused than Roller’s model, although equally dialogical in its practices. As was the case in the preceding chapters, a cultural and literary tradition stretching back five hundred years once again provided the structures for articulating and, yes, constructing the role of the Princeps for both present and posterior audiences. It should not be difficult to see why parrhesia is so relevant to the current project. Monarchic parrhesia occurs precisely when a subject interacts with his ruler: it therefore requires a degree of access to—and thus the visibility of—the emperor. As we shall see (e.g. with Tiberius in the senate or Gaius in Philo), the ability to interpret the 298 61 Wirszubski (1950)—still a touchstone in most discussions of free speech in a Roman context—is decidedly thin on our period, and does not address parrhesia directly (cf. Momigliano 1951, 149). While, as I will argue later, parrhesia ought to be understood as a type of civilitas, Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 38– 39) does not use the term, even though he makes his own brief disquisition on libertas and the emperors’ “patience” of the free speech it implied. Habinek (1990) confronts “the politics of candor in Cicero’s de Amicitia,” but does not characterize it as parrhesia. Monoson (2000, 51–63, 154–180) and Markovits (2008) both address parrhesia specifically in terms of politics, rhetoric, and philosophy, but they have kept their focus squarely on the world of democratic Athens. In Sluiter & Rosen (2004a), only Sluiter & Rosen (2004b), McHugh (2004), and Braund (2004) specifically, all of which are primarily concerned with it as a literary phenomenon. Bartsch (1994), although it is directly concerned with flattery, sincerity, and “doublespeak” does not use the term parrhesia. Harris (2001), although dedicated to an important element of monarchic parrhesia—the withholding of anger—does not use the term at all. Braund & Most (2003) contains nothing about Roman anger outside of a literary context, let alone anything concerning parrhesia. Only Crook (1955, 142–147), Foucault (2001; 2005; 2010; 2011), and Roller (2001) have really addressed the topic directly for the Principate. Crook devotes a short appendix to the subject of free speech in the consilium principis—which he calls parrhesia—but does not treat it systematically; Foucault’s coverage of this period is somewhat brief, since his true interest lies in ethics, philosophy, and the birth of critical discourse; Roller, meanwhile classifies his topic as “speech to power,” using parrhesia only once and in a footnote (o.c. 113 n. 87), and limiting his discussion to the aristocracy’s use of speech in the exchanges which constructed their relationship to the emperor. While my debt to both of these authors is substantial, much work remains to be done. visible reaction of the emperor to frank-speech is an essential element in the parrhesiastic situation. 62 Parrhesia is also a performance, 63 one that, in order for the parrhesiastic contract to exist, requires two subjects to undertake the personas of parrhesiastes and monarch, and which, in the course of the performance itself, actually constitutes each within those roles: by offering frank-speech the parrhesiastes constitutes himself as a parrhesiastes and his addressee as his superior; in his observance—or not—of the terms of the parrhesiastic contract, this superior, in turn, constitutes himself as either tyrant or just ruler—or, we might even say, as princeps. 64 Finally, parrhesia, like the visibility of the emperor, is something that exists for us only in the words that preserve it, in the treatises and histories that record or reflect parrhesiastic relationships between the emperor and his advisors or subjects. As I have indicated above, it is this aspect in particular that is critically undervalued in the existing scholarship on both the emperor and parrhesia, and which I intend to pursue most directly in the following pages. 65 299 62 See also Jos. AJ 16.121, which shows Augustus studying Herod for his reaction to his son’s parrhesia. 63 Foucault (2010, 62) claims that parrhesia cannot be considered a performative utterance, because it effects were not known and ordered in advance. Fortunately, the work of Butler (1997, 1–42) has, I believe, liberated us from such a narrow definition of the performative. What I treat in this chapter are, arguably, the more indirect functions of parrhesia, although, as should become clear, in most cases these functions can still be considered to have been ordered in advance. 64 This is arguably the result of all speech exchanges; see, e.g. Hall (1998, 413–426) and Lateiner (2008, 619) on the function of simple greetings. 65 While, as I have noted above, Scarpat (1964, 45) acknowledges parrhesia’s relation to logos, and Roller (2001, ch. 3) that the negotiation inherent to speaking to power is instrumental in constructing that power, I do not believe that anyone has yet pursued the implications of these ideas to their fullest and most synthetic extent. 2. The People i. The contio In a letter to Marcus Aurelius that is often cited for the purpose of defining the duties of the emperor, the imperial tutor Fronto lists them as follows: 66 Nam Caesarum est in senatu quae e re sunt suadere, populum de plerisque negotiis in contione appellare, ius iniustum corrigere, per orbem terrae litteras missitare, reges exterarum gentium compellare, sociorum culpas edictis coercere, bene facta laudare, seditiosos compescere, feroces territare. For the work of a Caesar is to encourage necessary action in the senate, to address the people on most business in the contio, to correct unjust law, to send letters throughout the world, to call to account the kings of foreign peoples, to restrain the faults of allies with edicts, to praise good deeds, to hold the factious in check, and to keep the warlike in a state of terror. Fronto, De. Eloq. 2.7 67 While several of its clauses seem to anticipate or mandate action conducted through spoken or written words (as Fronto goes on to acknowledge), what I wish to comment on in this section is the clause regarding the contio. 68 Under the Republic, the contio had constituted the primary occasion and space for magistrates to interact with the people of Rome (as distinct from the senate). As its etymological root (it is a contraction of conventio = “a coming together”) suggests, the contio was an informal gathering convened prior to the people’s organization into tribes or centuries for the 300 66 E.g. Millar (1977, 203), Talbert (1984, 171). 67 I translate “in contione” as the ablative of place where, especially since the most common idiom for summoning people to a contio uses the accusative with ad or in and some derivative of the verb vocare (e.g. Cic. Sest. 12.28: “advocat contionem”; Liv. 2.2.4: “plebem ad contionem vocare”; Tac. Ann. 15.26: “exercitum ad contionem vocat”); on the idiom, see Hiebel (2004, 18–21). 68 I am indebted to Dario Mantovani for drawing my attention to the apparent curiosity of this clause. operations of the comitia. 69 Its purpose was for magistrates to present—and even debate —the details of a lex that was about to be put before the comitia, or for candidates to present themselves prior to the voting of the assembly. The contio was both physically and institutionally less structured than the comitia, which required the people to self- identify as members of a certain tribe or century and dispose of their bodies accordingly, and did not permit an exchange of words between the rostra and audience. Not only, therefore, was the contio an opportunity for the people to see and hear their magistrates, it offered them the freedom to engage in dialogue with them—and even to question them. 70 What is so remarkable about the comment of Fronto is that, according to conventional scholarly wisdom, the contio fell somewhat into disuse under the Principate. 71 As we have explored in chapter 1, one effect of the emperor’s factual power was that the traditional relationship between senate and comitia was reoriented 301 69 The standard reference has always been Taylor (1990, 13–38), but see now Morstein-Marx (2004) and Hiebel (2009) for much fuller accounts of its history under the Republic; also Sumi (2005, 18–22). Oddly, Nicolet (1980, 215) seems uninterested in the contio, dismissing them as “preliminary assemblies at which no decisions were taken” (precisely the perspective which Morstein-Marx and Hiebel aim to correct). 70 Sumi (2005, 18–20), Hiebel (2009, 6–8, 323–325). Morstein-Marx (2004, 14–23) offers some provocative arguments as to how the magistrates nevertheless controlled the topics and expression of such exchanges. 71 See, e.g., Gizewski, C., Contio in Brill’s New Pauly: “[t]he general decline in political significance of public assemblies in Rome after the introduction of the principate, towards the end of the 1st cent. AD, meant a corresponding loss of purpose of the contiones also, but not their disappearance altogether.” Hiebel (2004, 326–328) imagines a role for the contio analogous to its manipulation by ambitious aristocrats under the Republic, but she does not explore it in any great detail; indeed, she claims to have restricted her study to the Republic because it was then that “ces assemblées occupèrent une dimension centrale sans égale au sein de la vie publique” (6). Perhaps most tellingly, Yavetz (1969), in his foundational study of the relationship and interactions between Princeps and plebs, makes absolutely no mention of the contio as a particular site of confrontation. to one between princeps and senate; that is to say, whereas before it had been the duty of the senate to frame and present legislation to the comitia for ratification, now it was more common for the emperor to frame and present it for the senate. This was both compounded by and contributed to the process whereby senatus consulta came to have the force of leges during our period. In 14CE Tiberius moved the elections from the comitia to the senate, putting paid to even the appearance of free elections that the Augustan practice of commendatio and destinatio had effectively ended. 72 The deliberative role of the people thus diminished, the practical needs which the contio had served under the Republic were essentially removed. 73 While references to the contio do persist into the Principate, they are relatively few in number (see below). Recently, however, Geoffrey Sumi has argued for the persistence of the contio under Augustus especially, marking it as one of the key public ceremonies carried over from the Republic as a space for political performance on the part of the emperor. 74 His primary evidence for this practice is a passage from Dio, taken from one of the programmatic descriptions of Augustus’ reign: οὐ µέντοι καὶ πάντα ἰδιογνωµονῶν ἐνοµοθέτει, ἀλλ’ ἔστι µὲν ἃ καὶ ἐς τὸ δηµόσιον προεξετίθει, ὅπως, ἄν τι µὴ ἀρέσῃ τινά, προµαθὼν ἐπανοθώσῃ· 302 72 Tac. Ann. 1.15.1 with Syme (1958a, 756–760) and Yavetz (1969, 9). As we have seen in section 4.i, the people had exercised some freedom in the elections at least as late as 19BCE. The practice of destinatio is mostly reconstructed from the tabula Siarensis, on which see Nicolet (1988, 827-866). For a positive spin on destinatio—as expressing the consensus of Princeps, senate, and upper division of knights—see Sumi (2005, 233). For a grimmer picture, Nicolet (1980, 314–315). 73 Hiebel (2009, 323–325) argues that the institution of the contio more than anything testified to the idea of the “souveraineté du peuple,” and it was this idea that was manipulated by aristocrats and emperors. 74 Sumi 2005 (211–228); Sumi chooses ‘ceremony’ over ‘ritual’ mainly because the former “connotes a public and often political action and therefore is more appropriate” (9). He did not, however, enact all these laws on his sole responsibility, but some of them he brought before the public assembly in advance, in order that, if any features caused displeasure, he might learn it in time and correct them. Dio 53.21.3 This would seem to attest to a rogatio in the truest Republican sense. 75 Sumi adds two items from Suetonius: Augustus’ orders mandating the wearing of togas at contiones, and the adoption of Tiberius by means of a lex curiata in 4CE, before which Augustus is reported to have delivered an oath, in a contio, that this was being done for the good of the state; Sumi makes this latter episode paradigmatic of his larger argument that “Augustus was compelled to modify existing ceremonies to accommodate the requirements of monarchy.” 76 He also points out that Augustus, as consul or by virtue of his tribunicia potestas, was permanently empowered with the ius agendi cum plebe, although, as I have argued in chapter 1, just because an emperor was possessed of a given prerogative does not mean that we should assume he exercised it. 77 On the basis of this evidence, Sumi believes it is reasonable to assume that contiones occurred 303 75 For the process of rogatio, see Crawford (1966, 10–11), and Hiebel (2009). 76 Togas: Suet. Aug. 40.5. Adoption: Aug. 65.1 and Tib. 21.3 (the term is only actually deployed in the latter). Sumi (2005, 227–228). 77 Sumi (2005, 228). Chapter 1.2.iii. frequently at appropriate occasions, e.g. when Augustus made a show of turning over the consular fasces to his colleague Agrippa in 28BCE. 78 There are a few suggestive passages regarding the contio that should be added to Sumi’s sources, mainly because, like the anecdote about Augustus’ concern about togas, they speak to a general habit of holding contiones that do not surface individually in our sources. The first is Suetonius’ note about Augustus’ use of surrogate praecones to address the people when his own voice was hoarse, which implies he was generally in the practice of doing so himself (Aug. 84.2: “praeconis voce ad populum contionatus est”). 79 The second is the biographer’s summary of Gaius’ grief over the death of his sister Drusilla, after which “he never took an oath about any matter of any import, either before a contio of the people or before the soldiers, except by swearing it to her godhood” (Cal. 24.2: “nec umquam postea quantiscumque de rebus, ne pro contione quidem populi aut apud milites, nisi per numen Drusillae deieravit”). Finally, I would add an incident, also reported by Suetonius, wherein Augustus responded to the people’s frequent entreaties that he recall his daughter Julia from exile by offering a public prayer, before a contio, that they should all be blessed with such wives and 304 78 Sumi (2005, 226–227) with Dio 53.1.1 and Vell. 2.89.3. Sumi performs a subtle sleight of hand at this point: having ‘established’ that Augustus was in the habit of addressing the people at contiones by coordinating (in his notes, 222 n. 7) Suet. Aug. 84.1 (which does not mention the contio) with the letter of Fronto (a document some two hundred years posterior) cited at the top of this section, he adduces the fasces incident as a factual instance—rather than conjecture—of this established custom on the following page. His other passages, which actually attest directly to contiones in Augustus’ reign, are produced only after these moves have been made. 79 It is perhaps suggestive that Augustus remains the subject of the main verb, and the voice of the praeco is made his instrument: as with the use of quaestores Augusti we examined in chapter 1.2.vi, Augustus remains the agent of the speech act, and the speaker is only his medium. On the praeco, see Hinard (1976, 730–746), Harris (1991, 208) and Moatti (2007). daughters (Aug. 65.4: “nam ut omino revocaret, exorari nullo modo potui, deprecanti saepe populo Romani et pertinacius instanti tales filias talesque coniuges pro contione inprecatus”). It may be stretching the Latin to much to assume that these urgings on the part of the people were expressed at contiones, but it would seem likely, given the wit and informality of his reply, that Augustus is supposed to have made an ad hoc reply; indeed, such informality would have befitted the traditional remit of the contio. 80 Whether or not Suetonius’ account can be trusted, it at least speaks to a confidence on the author’s part that Augustus or Gaius could be believed to have been present at contiones during their reigns—where they might address the people, swear an oath, and lay themselves open to public entreaty. It seems, therefore, the contio persisted as a means for staging exchanges of speech across asymmetrical power relations, and therefore a place for acknowledging, addressing, or re-contextualizing the interests of the people in a way that would increase to the emperor’s authority. 81 To make even a show of presenting policy to the people and hearing their opinions was to conjure a picture of truly republican government, and to communicate the ideology that the emperor governed them in their interest. It is therefore another example of how both the practices and legitimating strategies of Republican magistrates were subsumed into the role of princeps. 305 80 See also Aug. 42.1, which is clearly figured as a face-to-face interaction (“querentem de inopia et caritate vini populum severissima coercuit voce: satis provisum a genero suo Agrippa perductis pluribus aquis, ne homines sitirent”). 81 In an analogy to the conclusions of both Hiebel (2009, 323–325) and Morstein-Marx (2004, 279–287) on its role in the Republic. ii. Edicts A useful comparison to the contio is to be found in another method of addressing the people: through edicts. 82 While much of the nature and apparatus of edicts—if any stable form can be said to have existed—is difficult to reconstruct, as written mass- communication they clearly establish a more one-sided relationship of speech than that of the contio. 83 The right to issue an edict, moreover, not to mention the ability to mobilize the public information structure in service of that right, established the issuing agent as someone of importance (this is one sense in which logistics could be said to construct the authority of the emperor). 84 We have already seen that in 14CE, Tiberius used an edict to warn the people not to make a disturbance at Augustus’ funeral; he issued a similar warning over the funeral of Germanicus in 19CE, and also that he should not be disturbed during his sojourn in Campania in 27CE (in each case, moneo is paired with the instrumental ablative “edicto”). 85 There are later instances in Tacitus 306 82 Suet. Aug. 25.1 figures contiones and edicts as the two primary means by which Augustus might have addressed the soldiers (“neque post bella civilia aut in contione aut per edictum ullos militum commilitones appellabat, sed milites”). 83 Millar (1977, 252–258) presents the limits of our knowledge regarding the form and logistics of edicts. Seeberg (1972), who collates what edicts we possess—documentary and reported—in attempt to observe the generic features of their content, is somewhat more positivist in describing their form (o.c., 19–23); her comprehensive lists of edicts in inscriptions and papyri (vii–ix, chronological by reign) and those reported by literary authors (146–147, alphabetical by author) is an invaluable resource for their study. 84 Compare Ando’s (2000, 215–228) approach to Roman coinage, which argues that just as coins redeem their value from the emperor’s image, so the emperor redeems authority from the ability of that image to guarantee that value. On the logistics of edicts, see the discussion in chapter 1. 85 Ann. 1.8 (“populumque edicto monuit”); 3.6 (“monuit edicto”); 4.67 (“edicto monuisset”). of edicts actually being used to rebuke the people, establishing an even more openly paternalistic —or “asymmetrical”—relationship. 86 Suetonius records that once when Augustus was amongst the audience at a theatrical performance, the people stood and applauded the line “O dominum aequum et bonum!” as if it had been said about him: 87 ...et statim manu vultuque indecoras adulationes repressit et insequenti die gravissimo corripuit edicto; dominumque se posthac appellari ne a liberis quidem aut nepotibus suis vel serio vel ioco passus est atque eius modi blanditias etiam inter ipsos prohibuit. ...he at once stifled their indecorous adulations with a gesture and a glance, and on the following day reprimanded them with a most serious edict; and after this he would not suffer himself to be called dominus even by his children or grandchildren, whether in seriousness or in jest, and prohibited such flatteries even amongst themselves. Suet. Aug. 53.1 We can observe immediately that a public appearance was here made the occasion for flattery, one that presented the opportunity for and the exposure to adulatio. Speech to power classically occurs in such face-to-face interactions between superior and inferiors, and flattery merely constitutes one strategy or mode of behavior in such contexts. Its ethical value aside, flattery does generally constitute its recipient as somehow superior to the flatterer, and thus scenes such as this serve to interpellate both 307 86 Ann. 5.5: “increpitaque per edictum plebe.” 11.13: “Claudius...theatralem populi lasciviam severis edictis increpuit.” 14.45: “Caesar populum edicto increpuit.” Note the recurring instrumental use of edictum, in sympathy with the point made about Fronto below. With reference to the libelli described in Suet. Jul. 41, Moatti (2007, 225–6) argues that one-sided written communication of this type establishes a particularly authoritarian relationship with its audience. Seeberg (1972, 59–61) classifies these as “rebuking edicts,” in opposition to what she calls the “ordaining edicts” that have a straightforward illocutionary aim. 87 As Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 36) notes, the refusal of dominus as a title was another hallmark of civilitas. ruler and ruled in a fixed relationship of power (here made all the more fixed by the use of dominus). The standard reading of this passage would re-emphasize Augustus’ claims to possess no more power then anyone else (e.g. those of RG 34.3), and use this to explain his public and reiterative rejection of the crowd’s actions. But Suetonius does specifically characterize the projection of the title as both adulatio and blanditiae, and editorializes that the former is, in fact, indecorus: it is flattery, speech designed to appeal to the recipient’s ego, and which offers him no benefit as man or ruler. If Suetonius can be said to be quoting the edict in question Augustus himself may even have used one or more of these terms to describe the people’s speech. Rejecting the title, and doing so publicly—in person and by edict—accomplishes two things. First, by rejecting it as flattery, Augustus effectively empties it of any truth-value, since, as we have seen, adulatio is the opposite of veritas. Thus any ideological threat it might present to Augustus’ public image is undermined by his choice not to recognize it as constituting an utterance of truth. Secondly, by rejecting this flattery publicly, by performing the rejection of flattery in this manner, Augustus (or Suetonius) demonstrates his ability to detect and resist adulatio (again, to diakrinein/internoscere), a skill that, as we have seen, Cicero, Seneca, and Plutarch all suggest ought to be cultivated by those in power, whether they be aristocrat or absolute ruler. This then serves to prove Augustus’ right to occupy a superior station (somewhat equivalent to the amicus maior in a more private relationship), if not his actual right to rule. 308 Furthermore, in the two fields of action—gesture and edict—we see again the pattern we witnessed in the relationship between senate and senatus consultum exposed at such length in chapter one: writing once more enables an act to be repeated over time and for a wider audience, maximizing the effect of Augustus’ performance. Thus while adulatio and its rejection constitute a speech exchange that requires immediate contact between ruler and ruled to have an effect, writing enables Augustus to publicize his side of the exchange and reap symbolic capital from it after the fact. 88 That is not to say edicts could not form something of a dialogue: Suetonius reports that Augustus himself used an edict to rebuke the people in response to their demands for a congiarium which they had not been promised. 89 Presumably they had made these demands known at a public occasion: there is another anecdote from Suetonius wherein the people applauded him as dominus in the context of a theatrical performance, for which action he also chided them in an edict. 90 But these are not true dialogues; in each case, Augustus withdrew from the interaction and communicated his 309 88 That the episode rebounded to Augustus’ credit is indicated by its commemoration by both Seneca and Cassius Dio. Although the latter does not treat it at great length nor implicate the language of parrhesia (perhaps because it exists only in epitome), he does note that Augustus not only forbade the use of the title “but also took care to enforce the command” (52.12.2: “δεσπότης δέ ποτε ὁ Αὔγουστος ὑπὸ τοῦ δήµου ὀνοµασθεὶς οὐχ ὄπως ἀπεῖπε µηδένα τούτῳ πρὸς ἑαυτὸν τῷ προσρήµατι χρήσασθαι, ἀλλὰ καὶ πάνυ διὰ φυλακῆς αὐτὸ ἐποιήσατο.” trans. Cary). Dio may perhaps be referring to the edict, which, as a burgeoning source of law, would have leant coercive force to Augustus’ verbal negation, and thus functioned to make his utterance both sincere and felicitous. 89 Suet. Aug. 42.2: “non promissum autem flagitanti turpitudinem et impudentiam edicto exprobavit.” 90 Suet. Aug. 53.1: “insequenti die gravissimo corripuit edicto.” I discuss this incident in greater length in chapter 3.2.ii. opinion through written communication. 91 The people were not thereby empowered to discern his affect or reply to his words, and, to use an extreme example, he was placed at nothing like the risk that Germanicus faced from the legions in 14CE. 92 Edicts therefore possessed the same strategic advantages as the letters to the senate which we examined in chapter 1: they presented the emperor’s will in a medium that was difficult to second-guess, debate, or refuse. 93 This may be why Nero chose to lay out his accusations against his wife Octavia, whom it is reported was much loved by the people, in an edict, rather than in person. 94 Also, much like those letters, the edicts left a more substantial trace on the historical record than words spoken at a contio: sources like Tacitus and Suetonius often claim to cite an edict, and some even survive to us in inscriptional form, such as the collection from which the Fifth Cyrene Edict was drawn. 95 This may be why the contio is often assumed to have disappeared under the Principate: because unlike edicts, letters, or, indeed, meetings of the senate, it did not formally leave behind a written record of its operation. 310 91 Although Seeberg (1972, 59) argues that “[B]eing the answer to some request or demonstration of opinion from the part of the people, such edicts form part of a dialogue between emperor and people.” Emphasis is mine. 92 In the contiones discussed in chapter 2. 93 In an interesting inversion, in the defense made by the historian Cremutius Cordus, on trial for maiestas in 25CE, he seems to suggest that his written work is less dangerous than a speech delivered at a contio (Tac. Ann. 4.35: “belli civilis causa populum per contiones incendo?”). On Cordus, libertas, and maiestas, see McHugh (2004). 94 Tac. Ann. 14.63: “at Nero praefectum in spem sociandae classis corruptum et incusatae paulo ante sterilitatis oblitus, abactos partus conscientia libidinum, eaque sibi comperta edicto memorat insulaque Pandateria Octaviam claudit.” 95 The best example is the edict convening the senatorial meeting de honoribus in 14CE, for which Tacitus (Ann. 1.7) and Suetonius (Tib. 23.1) seem to corroborate one another, and from which, it will be recalled, Tacitus claims to cite the praescriptio. Suet. Aug. 28.2 likewise claims to cite an edict verbatim. The Cyrene Edicts better fulfill Fronto’s enjoinder to correct provincial subjects by means of edicts. Beyond the evidence of the examples cited above (and, of course, the pragmatics of addressing the masses by means, for which writing, as a copiable and portable medium, was most efficient), it seems to be suggested that edicts came to be the preferred means of communicating with the people. 96 As one example of his learned character, Suetonius claims that Augustus was in the habit of reading whole books aloud to the senate, while referring their titles to the people via edict (Aug. 89.2: “etiam libros totos et senatui recitavit et populo notos per edictum saepe fecit”). Similarly, and in a systematic demonstration of the different means of communication we have been outlining, Tacitus records Nero, following the bloody suppression of the Pisonian conspiracy, as “convening the senate, delivering an oratio among the senators, an edictum before the people, and committing the evidence and confessions of those charged to written records” (Ann. 15.73: “Sed Nero vocato senatu, oratione inter patres habita, edictum apud populum et conlata in libros indicia confessionesque damnatorum adiunxit.”). In this case, which Nero evidently wished to receive the appropriate commemoration, he pursued the three means most likely to leave their mark on the written record: oratio, edict, and libri. But, as with Octavia, these methods did not present the guilt of those charged for deliberation or moderation. Fronto, it will be recalled, also listed the use of edicts among the duties of an emperor (“sociorum culpas edictis coercere”). This clause may, in turn, illuminate something about the clauses we have so far examined regarding the senate and contio: 311 96 Roller (2009) makes these aspects of writing central to its role in exemplary discourse. here the edicts are clearly figured as an instrument of a more primary function, which is to check the faults of allied peoples. Perhaps the contexts of “in senatu” and “in contione” should be equally subordinated to the main action of their clauses—fostering necessary action and addressing the people—rendering them instruments of imperial government as well as ends in themselves (a dual role for the senate for which I have argued at length in chapter 1, and which, I believe, Sumi likewise attributes to the contio and other facets of what he calls Republican ceremonial). 3. Roman Elites i. The Curia The complicated picture of Tiberius that emerges in history is equally complicated with regard to parrhesia. Although he is recalled as despising flattery and projected a public posture of preferring free speech from the senate, it was in his reign that the charge of maiestas was so famously leveled against those who criticized the emperor, including the historian Cremutius Cordus. 97 While it has been suggested that Tiberius withdrew to 312 97 See Suet. Tib. 28.1 for Tiberius’ public commitment to free speech, while Plut. Mor. 60C–D implies a deadly attitude towards kolakeia (both are quoted above in section 1). Early in his reign (17CE), Dio remarks how Tiberius brought no harm upon a certain Marcellus, who chided him on his use of a Greek term in an edict, “in spite of his extreme frankness” (57.17.3: “καίπερ ἀκρατῶς παρρησιασάµενον”). Dio (58.1.2) also shows how informers could make a show of parrhesia in order to lead their victims into ruin. Again, Momigliano (1973, 261) figures maiestas as the direct enemy of free speech in the Principate. Capri precisely in order to escape the adulatio by which he was so plagued, 98 Tacitus also reports that it was frank speech at the trial of V oteius Montanus in 25CE—the year before his retreat from Rome—that drove him to leave those proceedings, and we have already seen the degree to which his subsequent retirement insulated him from the cut and thrust of political debate. 99 Prior to his withdrawal, Tiberius famously had little use for the consilium of his predecessor, preferring instead to refer any and all matters to supposedly open deliberation in the senate. 100 On the surface this would appear to be an endorsement of parrhesia, in tune with Plato’s characterization of Cyrus; in practice, the airing of such discourse in the senate, together with Tiberius’ reaction to it, did not proceed so smoothly. As Tacitus put it, “speech was difficult and slippery under a Princeps who feared libertas but hated adulatio” (Ann. 2.87: “angusta et lubrica oratio sub principe qui libertatem metuebat adulationem oderat”). 101 Let us return to a passage from chapter one, from the meeting de honoribus in 14CE: 313 98 Winterling (2011). Suet. Tib. 56.1 records the emperor’s wrath at a grammarian who attempted to bribe his attendants for knowledge about what Tiberius had been reading, in order to be able to pre-prepare for literary conversation at a convivium; Tiberius’ reaction seems to cast such behavior as adulatio— disingenuous speech aimed at advancing position—and speaks to a desire for parrhesia in the convivial context. Thorburn (2008, 442–443) argues that Tiberius may have feared adulatio as a matter of proximity, citing the incident in Tac. Ann. 1.13 where he mistook a supplication for an attack and, among other items, Julius Caesar’s assassination. 99 Tac. Ann. 4.42. Dio 58.25.2–3 seems to suggest that the free speech in Fulcinius Trio’s will, which Tiberius ordered to be read in the senate, is what kept him from returning to the capital in 35CE. Tac. Ann. 6.36 records his name as Fulcinius Tiro, which coincides neatly with the name of our first parrhesiastes from Josephus. 100 Crook (1955, 36–39). 101 See also Suet. Tib. 27.1 (“adulationes adeo aversatus est, ut neminem senatorum aut officii aut negotii causa ad lecticam suam admiserit, consularem vero satisfacientem sibi ac per genua orare conantem ita suffuguerit, ut caderet supinus”) with the discussion by Thorburn (2008, 442–443). tum consultatum de honoribus: ex quis qui maxime insignes visi, ut porta triumphali duceretur funus Gallus Asinius, ut legum latarum tituli, victarum ab eo gentium vocabula anteferentur, L. Arruntius censuere. addebat Messala Valerius renovandum per annos sacramentum in nomen Tiberii; interrogatusque a Tiberio num se mandante eam sententiam prompsisset, sponte dixisse respondit, neque in iis quae ad rem publicam pertinerent consilio nisi suo usurum, vel cum periculo offensionis; ea sola species adulandi supererat. Then consultation was taken concerning the funeral: the two opinions that seemed the most striking were made by Asinius Gallus, who suggested that the procession be led through a triumphal arch, and Lucius Arruntius, who suggested that the titles of the laws he had passed and the peoples he had conquered should be carried before it. Valerius Messala added that the oath of loyalty to Tiberius should be renewed every year: and when he was asked by Tiberius whether he had proposed this opinion at the emperor’s request, he replied that he had spoken of his own volition, and that in matters which pertained to the state he would use no judgment other than his own, even at the risk of offense; this was the only kind of flattery still left. Tac. Ann. 1.8.3–4 In the course of a discussion on the form that Augustus’ funeral should take, Valerius Messala, in his turn, offers a sententia according to established practice, but one that does not relate directly to the matter at hand: that an oath of loyalty should be sworn to Tiberius annually. He might be forgiven for his rashness, since, it will be recalled, this was the first meeting of the senate following the death of Augustus, and his sententia might seem to anticipate the apparent anxiety about the future of the Empire that would find expression in the subsequent meeting de re publica. Nevertheless, Tiberius, who was presiding over that meeting exercised his right to question the speaker (“interrogatusque a Tiberio”) and asked whether he had given this opinion of his own volition (“num se mandante eam sententiam prompsisset”). The num construction contains, of course, the implicit expectation that Messala will deny that he spoke thus at 314 Tiberius’ urging; if he was not commanded to make the original statement, he certainly seems to be coerced to make the subsequent avowal as to its sincerity. The passage is interesting, because of the show it makes of the principles of parrhesia: Messala might have been expected to speak, but he was not required to, nor was Tiberius required to ask a further question of the speaker. Both acts of speech required also the will to speak, illustrating more clearly why freedom of speech was considered to some extent cognate with libertas: speaking was an expression of will, and free speech an expression of free will. Most interesting within our paradigm is the care taken by Tiberius to have Messala pledge, on the record, that he spoke according to his own free will and not at the command of another. Messala is therefore called to bind himself to his speech, in a perfect demonstration of Foucault’s argument that parrhesia should be understood as libertas because it is “so bound up with the choice, decision, and attitude of the person speaking.” 102 By pledging that he had spoken of his own accord (“sponte dixisse”), Messala could also be said to pledge that he is possessed of and exercising libertas; the avowal thus does double-work, making the motion to swear vows of loyalty to Tiberius the operation of a spontaneous free will and contributing to the fiction that everyone present existed in a state of freedom. The episode also shows that within the deliberative context of the senate, speech is only possessed of value insofar as it is true or is asserted to be true; in pushing him to make such an assertion, therefore, Tiberius is here putting on a performance of the tropes of parrhesia, one in 315 102 Foucault (2005, 372). which his respect of the parrhesiastic contract and desire for sincerity is calculated to enhance his image as a proper ruler. Tacitus’ sententious judgment—that this was the last form of flattery yet to be tried (“ea sola species adulandi supererat”)—not only undermines this performance, but should also draw our attention to how a discourse of frank speech itself is being used to mask flattery (just as Quintilian warns at Inst. 9.2.28). Whether or not Messala’s sententia had been pre-arranged, Tiberius was able to turn its seeming adulation to his advantage, making a show of a desire for sincerity and prompting Messala to make a public commitment to such sincerity. But as we have seen, part of the difficulty that Tiberius encountered in the senate was that not all its speech was ordered or controlled in like fashion. Asinius Gallus was a particular thorn in the emperor’s side, ever ready with a contentious sententia or probing question, and for this Dio commemorates him as having used parrhesia throughout Tiberius’ reign. 103 Of course, it was the same parrhesia that resulted in his being condemned on a charge of maiestas in 30CE. Suggestively, the conviction was secured while Gallus was visiting the emperor on Capri; presumably it was not desirable that he exercise his frank speech during the legal proceedings in the senate. 104 It is, of course, from Tacitus that Gallus’ parrhesia is actually recoverable. We have had cause to examine most of the interactions between Tiberius and Gallus that he 316 103 Dio 58.3.1: τῷ δὲ δὴ Γάλλῳ ὁ Τιβέριος, τῷ τήν τε γυναῖκα αὐτοῦ ἀγαγοµένῳ καὶ τῇ περὶ τῆς ἀρχῆς παρρησίᾳ χρησαµένῳ, καιρὸν λαβὼν ἐπέθετο. 104 Dio 58.3.2–3. records already, but it was worth considering them again under the lens of parrhesia. In the awkwardness and confusion at the meeting de re publica in 14CE, Gallus struck the emperor dumb with the frankness of his speech: tum Asinius Gallus “interrogo,” inquit, “Caesar, quam partem rei publicae mandari tibi velis.” perculsus inprovisa interrogatione paulum reticuit; dein, collecto animo, respondit nequaquam decoum pudori suo legere aliquid aut evitare ex eo, cui in universum excusari mallet. rursum Gallum (etenim vultu offensionem coniectaverat) non idcirco interrogatum, ait, ut divideret quae separari nequirent, sed ut sua confessione argueretur unum esse rei publicae corpus atque unius animo regendum. Then Asinius Gallus spoke: “I ask you, Caesar, which part of the res publica you wish to be committed to your charge.” Tiberius was taken aback by the unexpected question and was silent for a short time; then he collected himself and replied that it did not suit his own sense of decency to avoid or select any part of something from which he would prefer to be excused entirely. Gallus, inferring from Tiberius’ face his vexation, replied that he had not asked the question in order that Tiberius should actually divide that which no man was capable of separating, but rather so that by his own admission it should be made known that the res publica was as one body and ought therefore to be ruled by the mind of one man. Tac. Ann. 1.12.2–3 Even more than the Messala episode, this passage brings home the degree to which the senate could be said to be a space that expects parrhesia; that is, true discourse oriented towards productive deliberation and rational government. Certainly in its role as an advisory body to the people and magistrates of Rome, it could be argued that the senate had performed precisely this function in the Republic, but how was this role to be negotiated under the Principate? Again, Gallus was not exactly required to speak at this meeting, but there was something of a formal expectation that senior senators and magistrates would contribute questions and opinions, and his formal question of 317 Tiberius, couched in the technical language of interrogatio, bound Tiberius to reply in turn. As we observed in chapter one, this presented its own difficulties, given the nature of the senate as a space that produced records, but there are other aspects worth emphasizing here. Again, there is the radical contingency of speech that has not been pre-arranged (“perculsus inprovisa interrogatione”), but of more relevance to parrhesia is Gallus’ capability to read the reactions of his interlocutor and register that he has upset him—a critical feature of the parrhesiastic game, since the ruler’s anger was always a factor that was disregarded at the parrhesiastes’ peril. One gains the sense from the passage that Gallus’ question may have been a sincere attempt to solve the remarkable deadlock in which princeps and senate were caught at this meeting, since a frank answer to the question could have released them all from anxiety and prevarication. Gallus’ actual motives are impossible to know, of course, but if they are, as the rest of the senate seems to have wished, to compel Tiberius to accept the statio of Augustus, then it is interesting how he first attempts to achieve this goal with frank speech, and then tries again with something closer to adulatio. Like Messala, Gallus has an opportunity to re-situate his speech, and make clear to his audience—and posterity—his intent and his sincerity. In a striking inversion of the Messala episode, he then enjoins Tiberius to bind himself in speech (“sua confessione argueretur”) to the principle that the Empire must needs be governed by a single individual. Again, these acts of binding are all the more powerful because they occur not just between 318 individuals and their words, but before the audience of senators and under the eyes of history. Tacitus’ account of the debate concerning the senate’s adjournment in 16CE is also expressed through the paradigm of parrhesia: Cn. Piso offered a sententia first, to the effect that the senate should be allowed to continue conducting business in the emperor’s absence, in order that “the ability of the senate and knights to sustain his duties should prove itself a credit to the res publica” (Ann. 2.35). Gallus rendered an opposing sententia, claiming that “nothing sufficiently respectable or in accord with the dignity of the Roman people could be transacted unless in the presence of and under the very eyes of Caesar” (“nihil satis inlustre aut ex dignitate populi Romani nisi coram et sub oculis Caesaris”), but Tacitus reports that he did so “because Piso had anticipated him in making a show of liberty” (“quia speciem libertatis Piso praeceperat”). Two observations present themselves: first, that Piso’s sententia was a show of libertas, by which I understand Tacitus to be suggesting that it was an insincere utterance, but that it at least, like Messala’s sententia in 14CE, would give the appearance of free and open deliberation in the senate; the second is that, by characterizing Gallus’ sententia as the opposite of libertas, Tacitus is classifying it as adulatio, and likewise devoid of sincerity or truth value. Thus both sententiae—whether they smack of libertas or adulatio—are shown to be specious, and the libertas of the senate as a whole completely undermined. It will be recalled that Tiberius did not utter a word in the 319 proceedings, but that the adjournment was carried (presumably the result that he had desired). The same year Gallus submitted a motion that Tiberius should nominate candidates for office five years in advance; Tacitus claims this act—which he specifically casts as a verbal act—was an attempt to penetrate the arcana imperii (Ann. 2.36: “haud dubium erat eam sententiam altius penetrare et arcana imperii temptari.”). This exchange—which Tacitus labels a “certamen”—was presumably not choreographed beforehand, and Tiberius found that he had to repudiate the motion in the senate and on the record, by claiming that to do so would, in fact, place too much power in his hands and make disappointed candidates all the more unhappy with him. Tacitus comments that with this speech, that appeared to be favorable, he held on to the force of empire (“favorabili in speciem oratione vim imperii tenuit.”). Speech, then, is made the instrument of both an assault on power and its defense, and sincerity is a factor in both utterances. Gallus’ motion, as a senatorial sententia, purports to be and do what it says: to constitute a sincere request for a rearrangement in policy in order to make government run better. But Tacitus’ analysis suggests that there is something lying beneath: an attempt to pierce Tiberius’ secrets and give the senators a strategic advantage. Tiberius has to answer speech with speech, if the paradigm (or fiction) of deliberative government is to persist; to veto the motion or interrupt it in some other way would be incivilis. 320 A comparable episode occurs later in Tiberius’ reign, in 27CE following his withdrawal from Rome: tum censuit Asinius Gallus, cuius liberorum Agrippina matertera erat, petendum a principe ut metus suos senatui fateretur amoverique sineret. nullam aeque Tiberius, ut rebatur, ex virtutibus suis quam dissimulationem diligebat: eo aegrius accepit recludi quae premeret. Then Asinius Gallus, to whose children Agrippina was aunt, moved that it ought to be sought from the Princeps that he should confess his fears to the senate and allow them to remove them. Tiberius loved none of his virtues (as he saw them) so much as his knack for dissimulation, and for that reason was all the more irritated to be asked to reveal what he was hiding. Tac. Ann. 4.71 On the surface, Gallus’ motion seems sincere in its intent: the emperor had been absent from Rome for a year and, desiring his return, it seemed a straightforward solution to have him declare frankly what he feared and empower the senate to take care of it. As a pragmatic offering, it is somewhat analogous to Gallus’ question in 14CE. Tacitus claims that it was precisely because it enjoined the emperor to speak frankly—to reveal what he was hiding—that Tiberius took the motion so ill, and Gallus was only saved from his anger by the intervention of Sejanus. Again, it should be emphasized that Tiberius was not just being called upon to confess his fears, but to confess them to the senate (“senatui”), with all the consequences of publicity such an act would bring with it. As with the nomination of magistrates, Gallus’ motion would require the emperor to bind himself to certain utterances, restricting his freedom of action in the future if he wished to be seen as sincere in those utterances. Gallus, therefore, shows how the truth 321 —and laying upon someone the obligation to speak the truth—could be used as a political weapon. Viewing the activity of Gallus through the lens of parrhesia perhaps further fills out the picture of the senate as a problematic space that persisted in the Principate. For all the strategic and communicative benefits that it brought with it, it also carried an expectation for speech, and the binding of individuals in the pledge of the sincerity of their speech. This pledge, reinforced by the recording of such speech in the minutes and decrees of the senate, made the senate a potential source of embarrassment for the emperor, who could be called upon to speak the truth and even find himself caught in a lie. Moreover, a general characteristic of Gallus’ parrhesia is that it constructs Tiberius as absolute ruler, from the meeting in 14CE to his request in 27CE; in its frankness it recognizes Tiberius’ singular statio, including the monarchic elements that he would rather disavow. This is in itself something of a meta-effect of parrhesia, since, as we have said from the beginning of this chapter, such speech always constitutes its recipient as superior, and, moreover, as someone who has the power to inflict harm upon the speaker. While a willingness to accept parrhesia could be a positive characteristic for a princeps, even positively intended frank speech—which in its frankness must recognize certain realities, including the emperor’s station—could be ideologically threatening for the Principate. The trajectory of Gaius’ career—from an optimus and demokratikos princeps to a despotes—is well-established, both in scholarship in general and in the particular 322 relationship with the senate that we charted in chapter one. This pattern is also expressed through parrhesia and Gaius’ relationship to the truth. When, at the outset of his reign in 37CE, Gaius publicly did away with the charge of maiestas, Dio reports that “he was commended, as it was expected that he would be truthful above all else; for by reason of his youth it was not thought possible that he could be guilty of duplicity in thought or speech.” 105 The idea of duplicity (“διπλοῦν”) is presumably meant to distinguish him from Tiberius, the old dissimulator, but as Dio has already assured his reader earlier in the same book, these expectations would soon be frustrated: πρῶτός τε ὑβρίσας αὐτὸν καὶ πρῶτος λοιδορήσας, ὥστε καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ἐκ τούτου χαριεῖσθαί οἱ νοµίσαντας προπετεστέρᾳ παρρησίᾳ χρήσασθαι, ἔπειτα καὶ ἐνεκωµίαζε καὶ ἐσέµνυνεν, ὥστε καὶ κολάσαι τινὰς ἐφ' οἷς εἰρήκεσαν. καὶ ἐκείνους τε ἅµα ὡς ἐχθροὺς τοῦ Τιβερίου διὰ τὰς βλασφηµίας, καὶ τοὺς ἐπαινοῦντάς πῃ αὐτὸν ὡς καὶ φίλους, ἐµίσει. τά τε τῆς ἀσεβείας ἐγκλήµατα παύσας πλείστους ὅσους ἐπ' αὐτοῖς ἀπώλεσε. Though he had been the first to insult him and the first to abuse him, so that others, thinking to please him in this way, indulged in rather reckless freedom of speech, he later lauded and magnified Tiberius, even going so far as to punish some for what they had said. These, as enemies of the former emperor, he hated for their abusive remarks; and he hated equally those who in any way praised Tiberius, as being the other’s friends. Though he put an end to the charges of maiestas, he nevertheless made these the cause of a great many persons’ downfall. Dio 59.4.2 (trans. Cary) Notably, Dio has earlier made this same practice—proffering abuse of Tiberius and then persecuting people for joining in with their own parrhesia—a tactic of delatores under 323 105 59.6.4: “ἐπαινούµενός τε ἐπὶ τούτοις, ἐπειδὴ καὶ ἠλπίζετο παντὸς µᾶλλον ἀληθεύσειν ἄτε µηδὲν διπλοῦν ὑπὸ τῆς νεότητος ἢ φρονεῖν ἢ λέγειν δύνασθαι νοµιζόµενος...” the previous emperor (58.1.2). Not only, therefore, has nothing changed under Gaius, but he is now doing the work of the informers himself, and once more bringing maiestas to bear against parrhesia. Dio adds a curious anecdote, however, from later in his reign—specifically the period in which he was beginning to dress up as a god— where Gaius actually spared a Gallic shoemaker for his parrhesia in making mock of his pretensions to divinity: “thus it is, apparently, that persons of such rank as Gaius can bear the frankness of the common herd more easily than that of those who hold high position.” 106 This is a provocative inversion of the paradigm we have inherited from Plato, Plutarch, Seneca, Josephus, and even Dio, where parrhesia is to be sought out and tolerated from the best of men in particular; in the case of Gaius, who by 40CE has fully assumed the role of mad tyrant, it can only be tolerated from the lowest of men—a shoemaker, and a non-Roman one at that, whose speech is therefore considered to be less dangerous than that of, for example, a senator. 107 ii. The consilium As we have observed in chapter one, our record for Augustus’ activity within the political sphere is relatively thin—at least as compared to that for Tiberius—and 324 106 59.26.9: “οὕτω που ῥᾷον τὰς τῶν τυχόντων ἢ τὰς τῶν ἐν ἀξιώσει τινὶ ὄντων παρρησίας οἱ τουιοῦτοι φέρουσι.” 107 It is perhaps interesting to consider this episode in light of the discourse of libertas, specifically as it could be understood to have constitute some sort of right of Roman citizenship (see, e.g., Syme 1939, 152, and section 1.ii). Since the Gallic sheomaker was presumably not a citizen, he would intrinsically be dispossessed of any such right. Therefore his exercise of free speech was not ideologically threatening, because it was not covalent with the exercise of a right that stood in opposition to the factual power of the Princeps (cf. Foucault 2005, 372). oriented more towards its results than the procedures that yielded them. That is not to say there does not exist a discourse of parrhesia surrounding his political activity: Cassius Dio reports that one of Augustus’ aims in the lectio senatus of 18BCE was to purge it of the most obvious flatterers (54.13.1: “τοὺς κολακείᾳ ἐκφανεῖς”), and elsewhere commends him for restraining his anger in the face of the parrhesia offered by an opponent in the courts: καὶ τὸν κατήγορον αὐτοῦ οὐχ ὅπως δι’ ὀργῆς ἔσχε καίπερ πάνυ πολλῇ παρρησίᾳ χρησάµενον, ἀλλὰ καὶ εὐθυνόµενον ἐπὶ τοῖς τρόποις ἀφῆκεν, εἰπὼν ἄντικρυς ὅτι ἀναγκαία σφίσιν ἡ παρρησία αὐτοῦ διὰ τὴν τῶν πολλῶν πονηρίαν εἴη. ...but [Augustus] was so far from being angry with the friend’s accuser, though this man had indulged in the utmost frankness in his speech, that later on, when the same man appeared before him, as censor, for a scrutiny of his morals, the emperor acquitted him, saying openly that the other’s frankness was necessary for the Romans on account of the baseness of the majority of them. Dio 55.4.3 (trans. Cary) Augustus’ opinion that parrhesia is necessary (“ἀναγκαία”) is, of course, an echo of Josephus (AJ 16.379: “ἀναγκαίαν”) and, to a lesser extent, Plutarch (Mor. 60C: “δεῖν”). Whether it is actually the opinion of Augustus or that of Dio, 108 we are clearly dealing with a similar discourse concerning the value of true speech in government, and it is here being deployed to the emperor’s credit. Similar, in the laudatio for Augustus delivered in 14CE, Dio reports that Tiberius praised him for giving the senate in particular the safety to speak freely (56.40.3: “τὴν ἀσφάλειαν τῆς παρρησίας προσέθηκεν”), that he valued frank speech that was useful (56.41.8: “πᾶσι δ’ ἁπλῶς τοῖς ὠφέλιµόν τι ἐπινοῆσαι δυνασθεῖσι παρρησιάσασθαι ἐπιτρέψαι”), and that he 325 108 See later in this section for an elaboration on Dio’s beliefs about parrhesia. praised those who spoke the truth and he despised flatterers (ibid.: “τοὺς µὲν ἀληθιζοµένους τινὰ ἐπαινέσαι, τοὺς δὲ κολακεύοντας µισῆσαι”). Following the speech, Dio adds his own anecdotes attesting to Augustus’ control over his temper (56.43.2–3) —a necessary condition for “τὴν ἀσφάλειαν τῆς παρρησίας.” I would like to suggest, however, that the comparative paucity of parrhesiastic episodes from the reign of Augustus is not simply an accident of record, but may in fact be a product of policy, and more specifically a by-product of Augustus’ policy of preparing legislation through the consilium. If we return once more to our friend Cn. Lentulus Augur, the quaestor Caesaris, we should recall that his actual activity as amicus is largely only evident from the effect it had on his career, and mostly from his own honorary inscription; this is certainly true as far as it concerns any counsel or advice that he may have offered Augustus, which leaves no real trace beyond his commemoration as amicus. This returns us to the dichotomy of senate and consilium described in chapter one, the size and setting of each, and the nature of the records they both kept. We have already observed that, at least under Augustus, the senate does not seem to have been a space for open deliberation, or, rather, has not left much of a record of such. We might now go further, and suggest that it was not made into a space for parrhesia, for true discourse to be offered, especially to the Princeps. Seneca certainly wishes that Augustus had possessed true amici to advise him when to keep things, such as Julia’s disgrace, from public utterance in the senate (the verb in question was publicare, the lexical opposite of arcana), which suggests both that frank speech was 326 not occurring there and that Augustus should not have exposed this truth in such a context. Under Augustus, then, parrhesia is perhaps to be understood as included among the arcana imperii; we might even suggest that while parrhesia was valued, it was more for its effects than for its immediate operation (which, again, seems to have been Seneca’s argument). This balance of parrhesia and arcana is quite complicated, since 1. the due observance of the parrhesiastic contract would serve to enhance Augustus’ reputation as a good ruler, one who is receptive to frank advice in the interest of the state, but 2. as true discourse, parrhesia must necessarily acknowledge things that ought otherwise be kept secret (in the interest of the state), including, perhaps, the fact that the emperor accepts advice from his inferiors. All of this only reiterates the political value of the consilium as a space where Augustus could receive true discourse and frank advice on (and prior to) the exercise of power, and yet in such a way that it left no mark other than the subsequent fact of that exercise; we have here, then, an example of how secrecy can actually facilitate parrhesia. 109 The consilium was therefore all the more ideologically valuable, since it broadcast that Augustus was responsible in taking advice from the best men in the state —senators and members of his family—and simultaneously interpellated them as the best men in the state (and here gain we see how the consilium worked as analogy to the senate under the Republican system). What is perhaps most interesting about this 327 109 Crook (1955, 146–147) adduces some examples of parrhesia in the consilium. arrangement is that, contra Foucault’s straightforward precept (following Plato) that the monarch should select the best men as his advisors, the Fifth Cyrene Edict informs us that the consilium was constituted by lot (87: ὃ ἐκ τῆς συνκλήτου κληρωτόν ἔσχεν). 110 Yet if we accept that it was Augustus’ duty (and the mark of a good ruler) that he recognize and select worthy advisors from whom to receive parrhesia—and Seneca, while skeptical that Maecenas and Agrippa qualified, does suggest that some such vetting was appropriate—then choosing them by lot from the senate was yet another way to pay a public compliment to that order, by suggesting that any man of them was capable in this regard, and worthy of the parrhesiastic contract. Dio seems to have been of a similar opinion, since the role of parrhesia comes up several times in the discourse on monarchy which he attributes to Maecenas in 19CE —a scene which, we have noted, could itself be considered an example of parrhesia, if we understand it to constitute meta-textual advice offered by Dio to the emperor Alexander Severus. 111 The beginning of Maecenas’ case for maintaining the Empire in a state of monarchy is fragmented, but appears to constitute an argument about how political opportunists use free speech to manipulate division within a democracy: “... οὔτε πεῖσαί τι ῥᾳδίως ὑπὸ παρρησίας τοὺς οὐχ ὁµοίους δύνανται, κἀν ταῖς πράξεσιν ἅτε µὴ ὁµογνωµονούντων σφῶν κατορθοῦσιν. ὥστε εἴ τι κήδῃ τῆς πατρίδος, ὑπὲρ ἧς τοσούτους πολέµους πεπολέµηκας, ὑπὲρ ἧς καὶ τὴν ψυχὴν ἡδέως ἂν ἐπιδοίης, µεταρρύθµισον αὐτὴν καὶ κατακόσµησον πρὸς τὸ σωφρονέστερον. τὸ γὰρ ἐξεῖναί τισι πάνθ' ἁπλῶς ὅσα βούλονται καὶ ποιεῖν καὶ λέγειν, ἂν µὲν ἐπὶ τῶν εὖ φρονούντων ἐξετάζῃς, εὐδαιµονίας ἅπασιν αἴτιον 328 110 Foucault (2010, 202–204; 273–274), citing Cyrus in the Laws (3.694B, quoted above). 111 Dio 52.2–40 with Meyer (1891), Hammond (1932, 90), and Millar (1964). γίγνεται, ἂν δὲ ἐπὶ τῶν ἀνοήτων, συµφορᾶς· καὶ διὰ τοῦτο ὁ µὲν τοῖς τοιούτοις τὴν ἐξουσίαν διδοὺς παιδὶ δή τινι καὶ µαινοµένῳ ξίφος ὀρέγει, ὁ δ' ἐκείνοις τά τε ἄλλα καὶ αὐτοὺς τούτους καὶ µὴ βουλοµένους σώζει. διόπερ καὶ σὲ ἀξιῶ µὴ πρὸς τὰς εὐπρεπείας τῶν ὀνοµάτων ἀποβλέψαντα ἀπατηθῆναι, ἀλλὰ τὰ γιγνόµενα ἐξ αὐτῶν προσκοπήσαντα τήν τε θρασύτητα τοῦ ὁµίλου παῦσαι καὶ τὴν διοίκησιν τῶν κοινῶν ἑαυτῷ τε καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις τοῖς ἀρίστοις προσθεῖναι, ἵνα βουλεύωσι µὲν οἱ φρονιµώτατοι, ἄρχωσι δὲ οἱ στρατηγικώτατοι, στρατεύωνται δὲ καὶ µισθοφορῶσιν οἵ τε ἰσχυρότατοι καὶ οἱ πενέστατοι.” “(… nor can they easily convince by frank argument those who are not in a like situation) and they succeed in their enterprises, because their subjects are not in accord with one another. Hence, if you feel any concern at all for your country, for which you have fought so many wars and would so gladly give even your life, reorganize it and regulate it in the direction of greater moderation. For while the privilege of doing and saying precisely what one pleases becomes, in the case of sensible persons, if you examine the matter, a cause of the highest happiness to them all, yet in the case of the foolish it becomes a cause of disaster. For this reason he who offers this privilege to the foolish is virtually putting a sword in the hands of a child or a madman; but he who offers it to the prudent is not only preserving all their other privileges but is also saving these men themselves even in spite of themselves. Therefore I ask you not to fix your gaze upon the specious terms applied to these things and thus be deceived, but to weigh carefully the results which come from the things themselves and then put an end to the insolence of the populace and place the management of public affairs in the hands of yourself and the other best citizens, to the end that the business of deliberation may be performed by the most prudent and that of ruling by those best fitted for command, while the work of serving in the army for pay is left to those who are strongest physically and most needy.” Dio 52.14.1 (trans. Cary) Dio has Maecenas present nothing less than an apology for the restriction of free speech within the state. 112 The terms in which it is couched—“the privilege of doing and saying precisely what one pleases”—echoes somewhat Tacitus’ formulation of the freedom enjoyed under Nerva and Trajan, where “it is permitted to feel what you wish 329 112 Maecenas continues to argue this point at both 52.15.4–5 and 52.30.2, ultimately asserting that the people should not even be allowed to come together in assembly (“µήτε ἐς ἐκκλησίαν τὸ παράπαν φοιτάτωσαν”). and say what you feel” (“sentire quae velis et quae sentias dicere licet”). 113 Maecenas is addressing political speech in particular: his point is that deliberation is of critical importance to governing safely and well, and that only the “most prudent” should be allowed a voice in such deliberation (“βουλεύωσι µὲν οἱ φρονιµώτατοι”). 114 While the rationale is clearly one of reason of state in its most negative incarnation 115 — accompanied by an injunction not to be deceived by “the specious names of these things” (“τὰς εὐπρεπείας τῶν ὀνοµάτων” (= libertas?)) and hyperbolic rhetoric concerning the danger of extending free speech to everyone—this argument still imagines that speech and its exchange are both useful and necessary for good government, and, in avowing the need to be discerning about the quality of that speech, is not so far from the Platonic paradigm we encountered in the Laws. Moreover, the closing section of the passage, although alarmingly illiberal in its conceits, is decidedly Stoic in its argument, recalling the system of the Four Personas we examined in chapter 330 113 Hist. 1.1.4. 114 In this respect, Dio could be said to understand democracy as a deliberative paradigm; that is, one where every citizen is entitled to engage in phronesis. Markovits (2008, 16–25, 65–68) situates the birth of ideas of isegoria and parrhesia precisely within the a paradigm of deliberative democracy; on this model the restriction or extension of freedom of speech is precisely covalent with how democratic a state can be said to be. 115 Foucault (2000, 213) is indicative of the prevailing ethical reaction to reason of state (for him, raison d’État), which he understands “as that which infringes on the principles of law, equity, and humanity in the sole interests of the state.” While his characterization retains the rational, instrumental character from Giovanni Botero’s treatise, it also strips reason of state of Botero’s ethics, and thus connects the principle more with Machiavelli (Foucault does this somewhat explicitly in the preceding pages, although he nowhere mentions Botero). Foucault’s theory of parrhesia, as a practice oriented towards an ethics of government, is arguably quite close in spirit to Botero’s stated aims. The paragraph on raison d’État quoted here is found in Foucault’s famous essay Governmentality, which was drawn from a lecture delivered on February 1st, 1978, and was published and translated several times before the rest of that year’s course saw print; there may be some irregularities in its provenance, on which see the note in Foucault (2007, 101). one. 116 Maecenas does not indicate whose job it will be to decide who is best equipped to participate in deliberative practices, but the implication, of course, is that it will fall to Augustus, just as it did to Cyrus. 117 Having limited the field of possible parrhesiastai in this way, Maecenas proceeds to preach the value of parrhesia for Augustus in very pragmatic terms: τήν τε παρρησίαν παντὶ τῷ βουλοµένῳ καὶ ὁτιοῦν συµβουλεῦσαί σοι µετὰ ἀδείας νέµε· ἄν τε γὰρ ἀρεσθῇς τοῖς λεχθεῖσιν ὑπ' αὐτοῦ, πολλὰ ὠφελήσῃ, ἄν τε καὶ µὴ πεισθῇς, οὐδὲν βλαβήσῃ. Grant to every one who wishes to offer you advice, on any matter whatever, the right to speak freely and without fear of the consequences; for if you are pleased with what he says you will be greatly benefited, and if you are not convinced it will do you no harm. Dio 52.33.6 (trans. Cary) This constitutes a rational enjoinder to extend the parrhesiastic contract freely and without fear of the effects of frank speech. The mode of its expression is, however, more complicated than the basic form of monarchic parrhesia: τὰς µέντοι γνώµας αὐτῶν µὴ φανερῶς, ὅσαι γε καὶ ἐπισκέψεως ἀκριβεστέρας δέονται, διαπυνθάνου, ἵνα µὴ τοῖς προήκουσί σφων ἐφεπόµενοι κατοκνῶσι παρρησιάζεσθαι, ἀλλ' ἐς γραµµατεῖα γραφοµένας, οἷς αὐτὸς µόνος ἐντυχών, ὑπὲρ τοῦ µηδενὶ ἄλλῳ ἐκδήλους αὐτὰς γίγνεσθαι, εὐθέως αὐτὰς ἀπαλείφεσθαι κέλευε· οὕτω γὰρ ἂν µάλιστα τὴν ἑκάστου γνώµην διακριβώσειας, εἰ ἀνέλεγκτον αὐτὴν παρὰ τοῖς ἄλλοις πιστεύσειαν ἔσεσθαι. 331 116 More precisely, Maecenas seems to be invoking the second persona—that with which we are outfitted by individual nature—from Cicero, Off. 1.115. 117 That Maecenas’ advice so obviously prefigures the terms of Augustus’ laudatio (56.41.8: “πᾶσι δ’ ἁπλῶς τοῖς ὠφέλιµόν τι ἐπινοῆσαι δυνασθεῖσι παρρησιάσασθαι ἐπιτρέψαι”) demonstrates quite clearly the proleptic nature of this scene, which McKechnie (1981) has argued serves to characterize Maecenas’ argument as the stronger and make Agrippa the straw-man. There is, likewise, a rhetorical strategy at work in first proposing a certain course of action as being the best and then valorizing an actor for adhering to it. Do not, however, ask for a public expression of their opinion on any matter that requires an unusually careful consideration, lest they hesitate to speak freely, since in giving their opinions they follow their superiors in rank; make them, rather, write their opinions on tablets. These you should read in private, that they may become known to no one else, and should then order the writing to be erased forthwith. For the best way for you to get at each man’s precise opinion would be to give him the certainty that his vote cannot be detected among the rest. Dio 52.33.4 (trans. Cary) On the surface this seems like a practical solution to the problems inherent to delivering opinions in the senate, aimed at ensuring that each man truly does offer parrhesia by offering them the protection of privacy. 118 But it also foreshadows a practice that we have examined in chapter one—that of the submission of sententiae on certain issues in writing—which, as we observed there, gave a different color to deliberation and restricted its expression within the public sphere. While privacy may prevent a sententia from embarrassing a senator, it also prevents it from embarrassing the Princeps; as we shall see in the following section, this was perhaps not an idle concern. Maecenas’ argument is in harmony with the practice of using the consilium as a probouleutic mechanism, one that hides deliberation from public scrutiny but also assures the public—as Maecenas does—that deliberation is taking place, and that is of the wisest and best character. So, then, while the opinions of Maecenas may well be those of the historian Cassius Dio—rather than a reflection of genuine Augustan policy —they can, nevertheless, be shown to reflect a political practice of the period which he 332 118 Speaking according to rank, it will be recalled, is one of the reasons Momigliano (1973, 261) claims there was not true freedom of speech in the senate. Likewise, the particular problem created by having to deliver sententiae after the emperor (or some member of his family) is one we have encountered in chapter one. is discussing, and therefore may be said to suggest—if not demonstrate outright—the ideology behind that practice, one that places a value on parrhesia but wishes to restrict the audience for it. 119 iii. The convivium The convivium was an aristocratic institution that persisted into the Principate, as a site for creating, maintaining, and displaying social bonds between elite members of Roman society. Suetonius reports that Augustus was both respectful of this institution and sensitive to the normative expectations of convivial relations: Convivabatur assidue nec umquam nisi recta, non sine magno ordinum hominumque dilectu. Valerius Messala tradit, neminem umquam libertinorum adhibitum ab eo cenae excepto Mena, sed asserto in ingenuitatem post proditam Sexti Pompei classem. Ipse scribit, invitasse se quendam, in cuius villa maneret, qui speculator suus olim fuisset. Convivia nonnumquam et serius inibat et maturius relinquebat, cum convivae et cenare inciperent, prius quam ille discumberet, et permanerent digresso eo. Cenam ternis ferculis aut cum abundantissime senis praebebat, ut non nimio sumptu, ita summa comitate. Nam et ad communionem sermonis tacentis vel summissim fabulantis provocabat, et aut acroamata et histriones aut etiam triviales ex circo ludios interponebat ac frequentius aretalogos. He held convivia assiduously and always according to formality, with a great care in selecting guests according to rank and person. Valerius Messalla records that no freedman was ever invited to dinner by him except for Menas, and only after he had been made free in return for betraying the fleet of Sextus Pompeius. Augustus himself writes that he once invited to dinner a man who had once been his bodyguard, in whose home he used to stay. He sometimes arrived late 333 119 If, as I have suggested above, Maecenas is to be understood to be offering parrhesia to Augustus in this scene, then the scene itself is a demonstration of the practice which he proposes, since the debate is conducted in camera with only Augustus, Maecenas, and Agrippa as witnesses. Similarly, when Dio has Livia offer Augustus counsel on the value of clemency, it is in a conversation conducted in private between the two of them (55.17–18). at convivia and left early, but allowed his guests to begin dining before he had lain down and to remain after he had left. He would serve a dinner of three courses, or six when he was being most lavish, which were not over- extravagant, and were accompanied by the greatest camaraderie. For he enticed to conversation those who were silent or whispering quietly, and presented music and actors or even players from the circus, and storytellers especially. Div. Aug. 74 This passage places a particular importance on Augustus’ choice of guests, and Menas is clearly figured as a remarkable exception to a general rule of discernment when it comes to the composition of convivia. 120 He also emphasizes that the gap in status between host and guest in the case of Vedius is quite exceptional, and that Augustus’ attendance in itself should be understood as a show of great favor and friendship. Both invitations to and attendance at convivia—especially from and by the emperor—were commodities within the system of gift-exchange that Roller demonstrates was an abiding feature of Roman social life. 121 This is demonstrated by Menas’ exceptional invitation to dinner, seemingly as payment for his singular service against Sextus Pompey. 122 It is perhaps most straightforward to begin with one of Roller’s primary examples from the reign of Augustus: that of the incident that occurred in 15BCE at the house of Vedius Pollio, an equestrian only one generation removed from a freedman 334 120 Emphasized by both Levick (2010) and Roller (2001, 144–5), who adds that Augustus (then Octavian) was quick to repudiate Menas socially when his political star ceased to shine. For Menas’ betrayal of Pompey, see App. B Civ. 5,78-80, 330-337 (where he is called Menodorus). After he switched sides twice more, Octavian pardoned him but posted him to Illyria, where he soon died (Dio 49.37.6). 121 Part of what Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 40) calls the officia amicorum. 122 Roller (2001, 129–146). See also his treatment of Suet. Poet. fr. 11, pp. 28–29 Reifferscheid, in Roller (2006, 1–2). In Jos. AJ 18.289–301, Gaius abandons his plan to erect a statue in the Temple at Jerusalem in repayment for king Agrippa’s hospitality at a banquet. who, Cassius Dio tells us, “became very famous for his wealth and his cruelty, such that he has gained a place in the discourse of history.” 123 The historian’s remarks are apposite, since the anecdote appears elsewhere in Pliny’s Natural History and Seneca’s De Clementia and De Ira. 124 Seneca’s evaluative language in the latter is of particular interest: fregerat unus ex seruis eius crustallinum; rapi eum Vedius iussit ne uulgari quidem more periturum: murenis obici iubebatur, quas ingentis in piscina continebat. quis non hoc illum putaret luxuriae causa facere? saeuitia erat. euasit e manibus puer et confugit ad Caesaris pedes, nihil aliud petiturus quam ut aliter periret, ne esca fieret. motus est nouitate crudelitatis Caesar et illum quidem mitti, crustallina autem omnia coram se frangi iussit conplerique piscinam. fuit Caesari sic castigandus amicus; bene usus est uiribus suis: 'e conuiuio rapi homines imperas et noui generis poenis lancinari? si calix tuus fractus est, uiscera hominis distrahentur? tantum tibi placebis ut ibi aliquem duci iubeas ubi Caesar est?' One of his [Vedius’] slaves had broken a crystal goblet; Vedius ordered him to be seized and put to death in a highly unusual manner: he was ordered to be thrown to his lampreys, which were huge and kept in a pool. Who would not judge that he did this for the sake of extravagance? It was savagery. The slave slipped from Vedius’ hands and sought refuge at the feet of Caesar, intending to seek nothing but another manner of death, and that he should not become fish- food. Caesar was moved by the unprecedented cruelty and ordered the slave to be set free, that all the goblets should be brought out and broken, and that the pool should be filled in. This was precisely how Caesar ought to have punished his friend, and he used his powers well: “You order men snatched from the convivium and torn apart in punishments of a new type? If your cup is smashed, the innards of men are to be pulled out? Are you so pleased with yourself that you would order someone to be led to their death in the presence of Caesar?” 125 De Ira 3.40.2–4 335 123 Dio 54.23.1: “ἐπὶ δὲ δὴ τῷ πλούτῳ τῇ τε ὠµότητι ὀνοµαστότατος γενόµενος, ὥστε καὶ ἐς ἱστορίας λόγον ἐσελθεῖν.” For Vedius see Syme (1979, 512–529), who notes that Dio was proved correct, since history remembers Vedius more for his fishpond than his services in Asia (527). 124 Plin. Nat. 9.77. Sen. De Clem. 1.18.2. 125 Translation adapted from Roller (2001, 169). In Dio’s account, Augustus first tries to offer advice to Vedius, in the hopes of tempering his anger and dissuading him from the action that Seneca condemns so categorically as “saevitia.” 126 In doing so, the emperor adopts the position of the amicus minor—the friend of lower station—and himself becomes the parrhesiastes offering speech to his superior with the aim of helping him govern himself and (in this case) his house. It is only after Vedius ignores him—breaking the parrhesiastic contract and thus failing in his obligations as the recipient—that Augustus asserts his exceptional ability to override normal social relations on the basis of his absolute sovereignty. If it seems perverse that the emperor should adopt the role of the amicus minor, this may in part be explained by the structure of convivial relations, since, as a guest, Augustus would be expected to show some deference to Vedius; indeed, the codes of both convivium and amicitia might be said to mandate both this deference and his display parrhesia, and empower Augustus to perform both without fear of undermining his station. Seneca specifically designates Vedius as the amicus of the emperor, and Roller notes there is reason to believe that, in spite of Augustus’ harsh castigation of his 336 126 54.23.2–4: καί ποτε τὸν Αὔγουστον ἑστιῶν, εἶτ' ἐπειδὴ ὁ οἰνοχόος κύλικα κρυσταλλίνην κατέαξεν, ἐς τὰς µυραίνας αὐτόν, µηδὲ τὸν δαιτυµόνα αἰδεσθείς, ἐµβληθῆναι προσέταξεν. ὁ οὖν Αὔγουστος, προσπεσόντος οἱ τοῦ παιδὸς καὶ ἱκετεύσαντος αὐτόν, τὰ µὲν πρῶτα πείθειν τὸν Πωλίωνα ἐπειρᾶτο µηδὲν τοιοῦτον δρᾶσαι, ὡς δ' οὐχ ὑπήκουσεν αὐτῷ, “φέρε” ἔφη “πάντα τἆλλα ἐκπώµατα, ὅσα ποτὲ τοιουτότροπα ἢ καὶ ἕτερά τινα ἔντιµα κέκτησαι, ἵνα αὐτοῖς χρήσωµαι.” καὶ αὐτὰ κοµισθέντα συντριβῆναι ἐκέλευσεν. friend, this episode caused no great disruption in their continued relations. 127 Indeed, as we have seen, there is reason to believe that checking one’s friends in this manner was considered to be the proper behavior of an amicus. 128 According to Seneca, this was in part the value of which Augustus was robbed once Agrippa and Maecenas had died, because by himself he was “unable to master his anger” (De Ben. 6.32.2: “parum potens irae”). 129 Cassius Dio likewise identifies Maecenas in particular as a friend who held the emperor’s anger in check. 130 In the De Ira, Seneca judges Augustus’ actions at the house of Vedius to be a good example for his readers on how to correct the behavior of their friends (“fuit Caesari sic castigandus amicus”); besides being plain “saevitia,” Vedius’ behavior could also be said to have overstepped the bounds of acceptable 337 127 The first sentence in Brill’ s New Pauly identifies Vedius as “Friend (amicus) of Augustus,” presumably understanding him to have possessed the quasi-official designation we have witnessed in the funeral inscription of Gn. Lentulus, although it may, as in other details, be following Syme (1979, 519), who similarly calls him “the friend and favourite [sic] of Caesar Augustus.” Roller (2001, 171), citing Dio 54.23.5 and Pliny Nat. 9.77; the former notes that Vedius made Augustus an heir in his will, “strong evidence that reasonably warm relations endured, since testamentary dispositions often acknowledged and reciprocated gift-debts.” In Brill’ s New Pauly, Eck notes that Vedius likely served as an imperial agent in Asia, citing IEph Ia, no. 19A,6, lines 2 and 8 and his appearance on coins from Tralleis (RPC I 2634 f.); he also financed a Caesareum at Beneventum (ILS 109) (again, presumably following Syme, op. cit.). Tac. Ann. 1.10.5 claims that Augustus despised his luxury, however Syme (o.c., 528) notes that Ann. 12.60.4 complicates this picture, and adds that Alexander and Aristobulus, the sons of Herod from section 1.i, may have even been raised in the house of Vedius (referring to AJ 15.343, where the “Pollio” in question is traditionally taken to have been Asinius). 128 Roller (2001, 108–26). On the role of conviviality in constructing bonds of sodalitas see Habinek (2005, 34–44). The present chapter could be said to argue for a type of amicitia that is equally as formalized as sodalitas, but based on certain other behaviors (e.g. parrhesia); indeed, the paradigm of amicitia I have been developing seems to have much in common with the dicta sodalium cited by Habinek (o.c., 48–49), e.g. Plaut. Bacch. 394–397 which contains a normative discourse of gift exchange. 129 The resonance here with RG 34.1, where Augustus proclaims himself “potens rerum,” is perhaps too great to be ignored—although easily done before the publication of the missing fragment of the monumentum Antiochenum (Botteri, 2003). Rather than simply being an ironic dig at Augustus, we might suggest that Seneca is attempting to say something about the Principate, i.e. that even the Princeps can be overcome by anger, and so needs the counsel of friends. Jos. AJ 16.351, while not necessarily critical of Augustus’ anger, shows how it could become misdirected when he is purposely misinformed. 130 55.7.1–3: τῆς τε γὰρ ὀργῆς αὐτὸν ἀεὶ παρέλυε καὶ ἐς τὸ ἠπιώτερον µεθίστη. “conspicuous display.” 131 Although his version does not include Augustus’ attempts first to reason with his host, it does connect a discourse of psychagogy to the performance of amicitia, and moreover roots it in material activity that had very real consequences for Vedius (and his slaves). The convivium is illustrative of both the dialogical aspect of parrhesia and the pragmatics of discourse: Augustus was capable of slipping into the role of the amicus minor because the peculiar conventions of the social convention permitted him to perform reduced status without any effect on his actual status (indeed, as I shall discuss in the following section this performance could actually be said to enhance his status). The rules of the convivium provide a structure under which these relationships of speech make sense, but also the opportunity for such exchanges to occur, both between individuals in general and with the emperor in particular: in this space it is possible to address the emperor as an amicus, rather than as Princeps, imperator, etc. 132 Convivia created opportunities for interaction between a wider variety of persons, 133 and without the rigid structure of, for example, the senate, where convention dictated who could 338 131 See Habinek (2005, 40–41); the feeding of slaves to the lampreys could be classed among the “waste of prestige goods” he names “‘an active factor in social reproduction’” (after Hedeager 1992, 31). 132 For some comments on the role of the convivium as a ritualized but dynamic site for social differentiation, including the mixing of elites with non-elites, see Habinek (2005, 40–43). 133 According to Suetonius, Gaius used convivia as an opportunity to meet and evaluate the wives of senators for his subsequent predations (Cal. 36.2); this story may have reflected a broader anxiety concerning the sexual availability of women at such occasions (Roller, 2006, 6–9). See also Lateiner (2008, 622). The convivium as an institutionalization of contact with the emperor should be compared, for example, to the case of Tiro and Herod, where it is not precisely clear how the old soldier gained an audience with the king (Jos. AJ 16.379). speak and controlled, to some extent, the field of such utterances. 134 The senate was not the place for the sermo—actual conversation—that Seneca claimed was a benefit of amicitia and in which Suetonius reported Augustus was a lively participant. Indeed, he is remembered by one commentator as having cultivated the company of men of paideia precisely “in order to nourish not only his body but his mind with the appropriate food.” 135 Moreover, the traditions of the convivium, which opens up a greater licentia for “free and jesting speech”—and thus the subsequent disavowal of the truth value of utterances—perhaps make it the ideal space for parrhesia, since some of the risk involved can be reduced. 136 The temporary suspension of certain external hierarchies, the imposition of alternative hierarchies of hospitality, the expectations of conversation, and the greater license afforded by wine and the convivial atmosphere made the convivium an appropriate site for parrhesia, for the exchange of frank speech between amici. Such freedom was still balanced by the normative expectations of conviviality and the discourse of parrhesia: Seneca’s evaluative language—both regarding the slave’s punishment and Augustus’ response—show us how public performance even at 339 134 Momigliano (1971, 261) argues that, even under the Republic, the structures of the senate (e.g. speaking in order of rank) stifled true freedom of speech. Roller (2006, 8–9) argues that “dining practices were subject to less scrupulous surveillance” than other areas of Roman life, specifically rhetorical performances. 135 Phil. Legat. 310: “κατὰ`γὰρ τὰς ἐν δείπνῳ συνουσίας ὁ πλεῖστος χρόνος ἀπενέµετο τοῖς ἀπὸ παιδείας, ἵνα µὴ τὸ σῶµα µόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ ἡ ψυχὴ τοῖς οἰκείοις ἀνατρέφοιτο.” 136 Roller (2001, 146–157); cf. Foucault (2010, 56). One need only look at Catullus 57 as an example of the kind of ribaldry perhaps expected at such occasions. Braund (2004, 409–428) explores how Horace negotiates the gap between libertas and licentia, a relationship which, she argues, constitutes one of the principal structures of Roman satire. an occasion such as this could be taken to reflect on character, both immediately and in the eyes of posterity; 137 the very existence of the Vedius anecdote likewise shows the potential for actions at a convivium to be recorded or broadcast to a wider public—this was not a fully private space. 138 Indeed, freedom in this space was not absolute: behavior could be surveilled, and opportunistic delatores would make speech at such occasions the grounds for charges of maiestas. The evidence for one of the first denouncements under Tiberius was collected in such a fashion. 139 Again, however, the emperor’s response to such reports could be used to communicate as much about himself as it did about the accused. Another element from the Vedius anecdote that deserves attention is the way Augustus ultimately exerts his singular power as princeps to override the orders of his host as regards his own property, suspending whatever structure of convivial or—even parrhesiastic—relations may have been in effect. A separation is made between his role as a guest and his role as, in Seneca’s words, “Caesar,” perhaps coextensive with the type of separation between factual power and social or political codes we have examined elsewhere. What this should remind us of is Wallace-Hadrill’s civilitas, which we examined in chapter one: the condescension of the emperor to behave as if he is 340 137 Roller (2006, 1–14) makes some broad comments on how appearance and behavior at the convivium was evaluated in the negotiation of social status. 138 Lateiner (2008, 619) refers to occasions such as convivia and salutationes as “semi-public mini- dramas.” 139 On delatores in the convivium, see Roller (2001, 158). “still a citizen in a society of citizens.” 140 In both attending the convivium and, in Dio’s version, in first attempting to mediate the anger of his amicus with speech, Augustus could be said to demonstrate the codes of civilitas that Wallace-Hadrill demonstrates were so important to the Principate, especially in our period. The criticism and commendation to which Seneca subjects this episode likewise demonstrate the normative aspects of this discourse. 141 The anecdote, in creating a link between such condescension and that of the parrhesiastic pact, should cause us to consider the relationship between the values of parrhesia and those of civilitas. Wallace-Hadrill’s elaboration of civilitas already includes some elements related to free speech; in particular, he refers to the “patience” some emperors showed towards it, although he observes that “the level of opposition reported by the sources dwindles from fairly sharp criticisms by senators of Augustus and Tiberius to the jibes of court jesters under the Antonines.” 142 If true, this trend could make parrhesia, understood as frank speech offered in a somewhat ritualized context (in this case the senate), a hallmark of the early Principate, and one of the phenomena that could be said to recede as it developed into the more entrenched forms we call High Empire and Dominate. It may therefore, like civilitas and recusatio, be one of the elements specific to the 341 140 Wallace-Hadrill (1982), discussed in chapter 1.4.iv. 141 It might be tempting to suggest that Vedius’ relatively mean background demonstrates that these codes were important to an even wider swathe of the populace than that for which Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 35– 36) argues. It is more likely, however, that the example of Augustus’ civilitas is cultivated by and for the aristocratic audience represented by Seneca and Dio. 142 Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 39), citing Suet. Jul. 75.5; Aug. 51.2–3, 56; Tib. 28; Vesp. 13. See also Crook (1955, 142) for the pairing of patientia and parrhesia within imperial virtues. Principate that so set it apart from other forms of monarchy. 143 We might also wish to enrich Tacitus’ formulation of libertas—whereby “it is permitted to feel what you wish and say what you feel” (Hist. 1.1.4: “sentire quae velis et quae sentias dicere licet”)— with the added notion that the emperor ought to listen to what is said, either by senators or at least by his amici. Wallace-Hadrill also demonstrates how adulatio continued to be a danger in such exchanges, and how Pliny the Younger tried to show that Trajan was concerned to avoid it. 144 Perhaps, therefore, the diakrinein/internoscere ethic was also a part of civilitas, at least so far as it was considered civilis not to accept or encourage adulatio. These codes are social, insofar as they guarantee a respect for the men of the senatorial and upper equestrian orders and promise that the emperor will be even- handed in bestowing favor upon them, but they also have a political element, since adulatio or self-interest has the potential to inhibit the practices of good government. The career of Gaius offers some opportunities to consider the role of truth in the emperor’s speech. We have already seen how Tiberius is roundly criticized for so resolutely concealing his true feelings, but in the case of Gaius we may have a case of an emperor who was too truthful, at least within the ideological construct of the Principate. As Suetonius puts it, “he added to the enormity of his crimes by the brutality of his language” (Cal. 29.1: “immanissima facta augebat atrocitate verborum”), and famously said to his grandmother Antonia, who was trying to offer him some advice, 342 143 Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 35) and Béranger (1973, 137–169). 144 Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 39), citing Plin. Pan. 2.2, 3.1–4, and 4.1–2. that “I have the right to do anything to anybody” (ibid.: “omnia mihi et in omnis licere”). 145 Similarly, at a convivium he apparently broke out into spontaneous laughter, and asked by one of the consuls what the reason for it was, said “with a single nod of mine both of you could have your throats cut on the spot” (Cal. 32.3: “uno meo nutu iugulari utrumque vestrum statim posse”). 146 These statements are empirically true, their veracity borne out by the events of Gaius’ career. And yet Suetonius is clearly critical of Gaius for uttering this truth, presumably because it acknowledges directly the extreme factual power enjoyed by the emperor and the material danger this presents to his subjects. As such, these utterances stand in direct opposition to the values of civilitas, which practiced the disavowal of these realities in the service of creating bonds with the upper strata of society. In the case of the second anecdote especially, it is easy to see how civilitas’ opposite—the frank speech of the emperor—could serve to alienate such individuals. This also suggests, in spite of the criticism of Tiberius, that parrhesia was only expected to operate in one direction—from below—and how the truth of the emperor could actually threaten the status quo. In the twin practices of parrhesia and civilitas, we see a complex negotiation of social standing linked to the political field in a way that clearly mattered to the interested parties, and that required the emperor’s presence and visible activity in order to occur (or, at least, to be inscribed within the discourses of parrhesia and civilitas). If 343 145 We should note the use of licere, and its resonance with both licentia (with all of its connotations) and Tac. Hist. 1.1.4. 146 The translations in this paragraph are drawn from Rolfe in the LCL. the senators were to be his partners in government, or at least made complicit in supporting the powers the emperor exercised and the social stratification that rendered their exercise feasible, they required not only an incentive to do so—in this case, the preservation of their material and prestige-based interests, in their right to own their property and their station above the lower orders—but a field in which to manifest this support, to inscribe the emperor into public life, themselves into his life, and thus themselves once more into public life itself. Outside of the rhythms and formulae of governmental practice, social occasions such as convivia and ludic performances gave them the opportunity to pursue and display favor, in a way that could accrue tangible social and political benefits. Yet every time they did so, every act they took, every occasion that suggested proximity to the emperor indicated something of weight, further relocated social and political power in his person, and gave it still greater influence in any appearances that would follow. 4. Provincials and their embassies i. General remarks Wallace-Hadrill notes that Latin authors are more concerned with the emperor’s civilitas towards Roman citizens than they are with equivalent behavior towards foreign petitioners; indeed, as he defines civilitas it could be said to be a value that refers to the relationships between the princeps and other citizens, specifically. 147 Nevertheless, he 344 147 Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 42), which adduces other terminology in foreign relations: “facilitas in admissions and comitas to petitioners.” begins developing his analysis of the civilis princeps from the Greek response to Hellenistic monarchs, who were expected to behave so as to be “approachable (euprosodos) and affable (euprosēgoros).” This follows from the fact that Greeks most often encountered these monarchs in a diplomatic context, and thus prized monarchic behavior that was receptive to entreaties from embassies and petitioners; as Wallace- Hadrill notes, “[e]mperors…like republican governors, played the role of kings in the Greek East,” and so were subjected to similar discourses of valuation. 148 This represents another explanation, therefore, for why parrhesia appears so directly in the Greek sources that have a vested interest in such relationships with the emperor, although, as I have argued above, we still ought to take account of how these members of the Empire constructed their relationship with him. 149 Josephus is a perfect example of a Greek author using parrhesia to characterize diplomatic relations with the emperor. Frank speech and a discourse of philia are made critical in King Herod’s ability to gain pardon from Octavian in 30BCE for the material support he had offered Antony in the civil war. Gaining audience with him at Rhodes, Herod showed his “greatness of spirit” (Jos AJ 15.187: “τὸ µεγαλεῖον τοῦ κατ’ αὐτὸν φρονήµατος”) by admitting openly to the aid he had given Octavian’s rival, but claiming he had done so in due observance of the great amicitia which they had shared 345 148 Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 34, 42). See also Millar (1977). 149 Moreover, Wallace-Hadrill (1982, 44) argues that Cassius Dio was “steeped in the senatorial tradition,” and we have seen (and will see) that he made use of the parrhesia discourse in his characterization of emperors. ‘Hybrid’ figures such as Dio could therefore be said to represent a further bridge between parrhesia and civilitas. Parrhesia appears most obviously in a diplomatic context in Philo Legat., discussed at length in section 4.ii. (15.189: “φιλίαν αὐτῷ γενέσθαι µεγίστην πρὸς Ἀντώνιον”). Herod implies that Octavian might condemn his philia because of his anger toward Antony (15.193: “εἰ µὲν τῇ πρὸς Ἀντώνιον ὀργῇ κρίνεις”), but that fear of this outcome will not prevent him from speaking openly (ibid.: “ἐκ τοῦ φανεροῦ λέγειν”). Rather, if Octavian considers Herod’s deeds properly, he will perceive how Herod behaves towards his benefactors and what kind of a friend he is (ibid.: “τίς εἰµι πρὸς τοὺς εὐεργέτας καὶ ποῖος φίλος ἐξετάζοις”). 150 All of the elements of parrhesia are mobilized in this account—frank speech, philia, orge, and the expectation that the ruler will krinein—and they rebound to Herod’s credit: “by such words and by his general behavior he showed his freedom of soul, and greatly attracted Caesar, who was honorable and generous” (15.194: “τοιαῦτα λέγων καὶ παράπαν ἐµφαίνων τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς ἐλευθέριον, οὐ µετρίως ἐπεσπάσατο τὸν Καίσαρα φιλότιµον ὄντα καὶ λαµπρόν”; trans. Marcus & Wikgren). Octavian proceeded to have Herod’s position confirmed by a decree of the senate (15.196). According to Josephus, the relationship between Octavian and Herod continued to be one of parrhesia: following the deaths of Antony and Cleopatra, Herod hastened to attend Octavian in Egypt where “he spoke to him with greater parrhesia as though he were an old friend” (15. 217: “µετὰ πλείονος παρρησίας εἰς λόγους ἦλθεν ὡς ἤδη 346 150 Dio records that Terentius, an intimate of Sejanus, similarly escaped prosecution following the fall of the latter by affirming both his philia with him and “that he had shown the greatest zeal in his behalf and had paid court to him for the reason that the minister had been so highly honoured by Tiberius himself” (58.19.3: “ὅτι ἐπὶ τῇ τοῦ Σειανοῦ φιλίᾳ κρινόµενος οὐχ ὅσον οὐκ ἠρνήσατο, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἔφη καὶ σπουδάσαι µάλιστα αὐτὸν καὶ θεραπεῦσαι, ἐπειδὴ καὶ ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ τοῦ Τιβερίου οὕτῳς ἐτιµᾶτο...” trans. Cary). φίλος”) and was rewarded with territory and the bodyguard of 400 Gauls that had previously belonged to the Egyptian queen. When in 20BCE Octavian, now Augustus, visited Judaea, the bond of parrhesia Herod had constructed with him enabled him to ask for and receive a tetrarchy for his brother Pheroras (15.362: “τοσαύτης δὲ ἐχόµενος παρρησίας τῷ µὲν ἀδελφῷ Φερώρᾳ παρὰ Καίσαρος ᾐτήσατο τετραρχίαν”). 151 Similarly, Josephus marks the occasion of Agrippa’s visit to Samos in 14BCE as constituting an opportunity for the Ionian Jews to perform parrhesia and protest the way their exemptions from certain duties were not being respected (16.27: “πολὺ πλῆθος Ἰουδαίων, ὃ τὰς πόλεις ᾤκει, προσῄει καιροῦ καὶ παρρησίας ἐπειληµµένοι”). Josephus preserves a lengthy address made by Nicolas of Damascus on their behalf (16.31–57), which, in particular, reminded Agrippa of the responsibilities of empire and the need to respect the concessions already offered to the Jews (16.46–48). The Jews were successful in their appeals, and Agrippa observed that this was owed both to the merits of their case and to Herod’s goodwill (eunoia) and philia towards him personally (16.60: “διὰ µὲν τὴν Ἡρώδου πρὸς αὐτὸν εὔνοιάν τε καὶ φιλίαν”). The two men then made a public show of philia before the assembled crowd, embracing each other as equals (16.61: “Ἡρώδης δὲ προσεστὼς κατησπάζετο καὶ τῆς εἰς αὐτὸν διαθέσεως ὡµολόγει χάριν. ὁ δὲ καὶ εἰς ταῦτα φιλοφρονούµενος ἴσον αὑτὸν παρεῖχεν, ἀντεµπλεκόµενος καὶ κατασπαζόµενος”). 152 347 151 Dio briefly alludes to a grant made to Herod himself in this year, of the “tetrarchy of a certain Zenodorus” (54.9.3: “τῷ τε Ἡρώδῃ Ζηνοδώρου τινὸς τεραρχίαν”). 152 Philo Legat. 294–298 preserves a similarly rosy account of Agrippa’s visit to Jerusalem, where he tarried “κατὰ χάριν τὴν πρὸς Ἡρῴδην.” These are stories about Herod primarily, but they also reflect on Augustus and Agrippa: by portraying them as respectful of parrhesia, Josephus reveals them both to be worthy leaders, and shows how they govern their Empire to the mutual interest of the Romans and their subjects. He therefore also reveals his own attitude towards the Principate, one that should not be surprising given his personal connections to the Flavian dynasty. The process is straightforwardly dialogical: the parrhesiastai seek an appropriate occasion for speaking frankly to their superior, they offer a discourse that is frank but which also offers explicit use-value to the recipient, and then Augustus and Agrippa prove their worth by recognizing the strength and truth of that discourse. Philia and eunoia trump orge, and elsewhere Josephus shows how Augustus’ great eunoia toward Herod—which has been earned in the episodes of parrhesia examined above—induces him to trust and support him, rather than satisfy the immediate interests of the mob (15.357). This is plainly the type of diplomatic discourse to which Wallace- Hadrill was referring, and the characterization of both Augustus and Agrippa stands in stark contrast to the portrait of Herod painted by his reaction to the parrhesia elsewhere in Josephus. 153 Josephus makes it clear how a first century author could characterize the Roman emperor in traditionally Greek terms, i.e. like Cyrus in Plato’s Laws. As we have seen, 348 153 Most obviously in the anecdote (AJ 16.373–379) from 7BCE involving an old soldier named Tiro who, upon offering “τὴν τολµηρὰν ταύτην παρρησίαν, ἀναγκαίαν δὲ σοὶ καὶ συµφέρουσαν” (16.379) to Herod, is imprisoned and tortured, and his speech used as a pretext for the execution of Herod’s sons (AJ 16.386–394; BJ 1.546–551). For the circumstances of their imprisonment, see AJ 16.320–324; the matter was referred to Augustus, and then to a local tribunal convened near Beirut that included C. Sentius Saturninus, the governor of Syria, and one V olumnius, an imperial procurator. They recommended leniency and death, respectively (AJ 16.356–372; BJ 1.535–543). In AJ 16.372 Herod remains in a quandary after the trial, but at BJ 1.543 he is portrayed as intent on his sons’ execution. even Seneca saw the similarities between the situation of the Persian kings and that of the emperors, and in both cases enjoined the monarch to heed the frank speech of his amicus. What shows itself to be perhaps of greater concern to the Greek authors is the idea that the emperor should be able to recognize (diakrinein/internoscere) and value true speech, rather than just to perceive and disregard adulatio. This is perhaps because, at least according to Wallace-Hadrill’s division, the stakes are different: Greek-speaking subjects like Herod and the Ionian Jews desire their service and petitions to be recognized and honored, while Latin-speaking subjects such as the Roman aristocracy only require that their rivals not be able to gain advantage through flattery. Aside from this distinction, the other difference we can observe between civilitas and parrhesia is that while the former is a pose of the monarch that represents him as an equal to other citizens, the latter always figures the monarch as superior to his subjects. Faithful observance of the parrhesiastic pact, at least from the Greek perspective, is a monarchic characteristic, and relationships constructed through the discourse of parrhesia render one of the actors as greater in power than the other. In showing how the greater individual understands and uses that power, parrhesia shows us how the author understands that individual. ii. Philo Philo’s Legatio ad Gaium has been described by one commentator as “an invective against Gaius,” yet it could equally be reckoned a sustained demonstration of the values 349 inherent to the parrhesiastic discourse. 154 Purporting to be an account of the petition delivered to the emperor in person by a Greek-speaking Jewish embassy in 40CE, it is perhaps only natural that it would characterize his response in the terms of parrhesia, especially given its author’s predilections for elements of both Platonism and Stoicism. 155 The same commentator, however, does not directly acknowledge the violation of the parrhesiastic pact as one of the “various examples of that Emperor’s outrageous behaviour” that it offers, nor is the text cited among any of the scholarly works that take parrhesia as their topic. 156 Nevertheless, the Legatio is quite obvious in its conceits—which are rhetorical, theological, and constructed towards a strategic end —and so the way Philo employs parrhesia programmatically—to the opposite effect of its role in Josephus in characterizing Augustus—is quite instructive. 157 350 154 Smallwood (1970, 4), pointing out Philo takes some liberties in connecting events in Alexandria and Palestine so as to put more blame on Gaius; all translations of Philo are from her edition of the text. Barraclough (1984, 449) cites the scholarly consensus on this opinion, although seeks to complicate it somewhat (see below). Goodenough (1962, 58) notes the inconsistency in details between the Legat.— where Gaius is the “perfect villain”—and the In Flaccum in particular, which he attributes to a rearrangement of material in the pursuit of their different targets. Sly (1996, 167–180) argues that the social and historical causes of the troubles in Alexandria in 38CE are more complicated than either of Philo’s treatises suggest. 155 In this, and in its focus on Jewish affairs in particular, it should be placed in the tradition of the passages from Josephus cited above. The latter wrote his own account of Philo’s embassy (AJ 18.257– 60), which is cited below. For Philo’s relationship to Platonism and Stoicism, see Billings (1979), Barraclough (1984, 441–442), and Sandmel (1979, 4; 1984, 4–5), who also points to his general “Atticism.” 156 Most notably Scarpat (1964) and Foucault (2005, 2010, 2011). The latter cites Philo’s De Vita contemplative (particularly in Foucault 2005), but never the Legat. Nor do any of the scholars interested in Philo’s Platonism (cited in note above) show any interest in parrhesia in particular; the “Indices to V olumes I–X” that appear in V ol. X of the LCL only show one entry for parrhesia, and that from In Flaccum 4, despite its presence in our text. Sandmel (1979, 104–106) argues that “Philo’s view of kingship conforms with Hellenistic thinking” and connects the soul of the king to the welfare of the state, but he does not mention parrhesia. 157 So Bond (1998, 33–35) and Hurley (1993, ix). The prevailing consensus seems to be that if the missing palinode to the Legat. had survived, it would have shown Gaius reaping the desserts of his conduct, and thus conclusively demonstrate Philo’s aims in the treatise; see e.g. Sandmel (1979, 46–47) Before turning to the topic of the outrages against the Jews and the embassy they prompted, the Legatio makes a lengthy excursus on Gaius himself (8–119), presumably to set the scene for events later in the text. 158 Of primary interest is Philo’s account of the fates of Macro and Silanus, Gaius’ principal advisors, because his relationship to both of them involves elements of parrhesia which reveal something about all those involved (32–73). Macro’s loyalty, for example, is demonstrated in parrhesiastic terms: Philo commends him for supporting Gaius before his accession, since “it is a mark of flattery to pay court to success” (32: “κολακείας γὰρ ἴδιον τὰς εὐπραγίας θεραπεύειν”); 159 Macro is not a kolax, and is therefore established as someone who might offer true speech to the emperor. Following Gaius’ accession, Macro does exactly that: he “began to give him advice directly and frankly” (41: “ἀνυπούλοις καὶ πεπαρρησιασµέναις ἐχρῆτο ταῖς νουθεσίαις”). Philo suggests he assumed a right to do this based on his history of service to the emperor, much like Herod’s previous relationship to Augustus had entitled him to offer parrhesia (Jos. AJ 15.216). The instructions attributed to him are numerous, and contained many 351 158 It should be noted that Philo is himself somewhat instrumental in establishing the traditional narrative of Gaius’ turn from virtue to despotism; see, e.g., Winterling (2009; 2011). 159 As Smallwood (1970, ad loc.) notes, it is a famous part of the tradition regarding Macro that he supported the “rising sun over the setting sun” (Tac. Ann. 6.45.5; Dio 58.28.4). normative observations on what type of behavior was appropriate for a Princeps, 160 concluding with a summary of the emperor’s duties: ἄρχοντι δὲ οἰκειότατος ἔρανος, βουλὰς ἀγαθὰς εἰσηγεῖσθαι περὶ τῶν ὑποτεταγµένων καὶ πράττειν τὰ βουλευθέντα ὀρθῶς καὶ ἀταµίευτα προφέρειν τὰ ἀγαθὰ πλουσίᾳ χειρὶ καὶ γνώµῃ, πλὴν ὅσα κατὰ πρόνοιαν τῆς εἰς τὸ µέλλον ἀδηλότητος ἄξιον παραφυλάττειν. The ruler’s peculiar contribution is the introduction of wise proposals for his subjects, the correct execution of these proposals, and the lavish bestowal of benefits with a generous hand and heart, with the single exception of those benefits which it is proper to hold back in view of the uncertainty of the future. Philo Legat. 51 (trans. Smallwood) We come close here, I think, to a classic definition of the Hellenistic monarch, which communicates more about the normative expectations that Philo and his companions had of the emperor than perhaps it does about Macro or Gaius himself. 161 Philo claims that Macro offered this advice in order “to improve Gaius” (52: “ὥστε βελτιῶσαι τὸν Γάιον”), but the emperor was “quarrelsome and cantankerous” (“φίλερις καὶ φιλόνεικος”) and mocked Macro for playing the role of “teacher to one who no longer needed to learn” (53: “ὁ διδάσκαλος τοῦ µηκέτι µανθάνειν”). Macro’s speech is characterized as useful and instructive, but Gaius does 352 160 Legat. 42–51. This passage is cited in chapter 1.3, both for its relation to the concept of Princeps and for the judgment of his visible behavior. Philo uses the Greek word hegemon consistently to describe the position of the emperor within state and Empire; Smallwood (1970) translates this simply as “Princeps.” In contrast to Macro’s advice to Gaius on how to behave at the theater, Plut. Mor. 56F claims it was the praise of flatterers (“ὁ τῶν κολακευόντων ἔπαινος”) that led Nero to take the stage. 161 The passage does resonate with the broad conclusions of Millar (1977) and Veyne (1990) regarding the emperor, both of whom understand his position to have been constructed in the terms of Hellenistic monarchy. Smallwood (1970, ad 43) calls Philo’s “idealized portrait” of Macro that of “the philosophical adviser whom philosophers recommended kings to follow,” and points out the contrast to his characterization by Tacitus (Ann. 6.48.4). Barraclough (1984, 470) likewise calls Macro “Philo’s mouthpiece,” and suggests that the real Macro wouldn’t recognize his portrait in the text of the Legat. Dio (59.10.6), however, does suggest that Gaius was criticized for the way he repaid Macro’s favors (“εὐεργετηµάτων”). not perceive it is such, nor does he believe he requires counsel on how to rule. Quite to the contrary, he is made to express the belief that he is genetically prepared for the role of Princeps: ἐµοὶ µὲν γὰρ ἐξ ἔτι σπαργάνων µυρίοι διδάσκαλοι γεγόνασι, πατέρες, ἀδελφοί, θεῖοι, ἀνεψιοί, πάπποι, πρόγονοι µέχρι τῶν ἀρχηγετῶν, οἱ ἀφ' αἵµατος πάντες καθ' ἑκάτερον γένος τό τε πατρῷον καὶ µητρῷον, αὐτοκρατεῖς ἐξουσίας περιποιησάµενοι, χωρὶς τοῦ κἀν ταῖς πρώταις τῶν σπερµάτων καταβολαῖς εἶναί τινας δυνάµεις βασιλικὰς τῶν ἡγεµονικῶν. ὡς γὰρ αἱ τοῦ σώµατος καὶ τῆς ψυχῆς ὁµοιότητες κατά τε τὴν µορφὴν καὶ σχέσεις καὶ κινήσεις βουλάς τε καὶ πράξεις ἐν τοῖς σπερµατικοῖς σῴζονται λόγοις, οὕτως εἰκὸς ἐν τοῖς αὐτοῖς ὑπογράφεσθαι τυπωδέστερον καὶ τὴν πρὸς ἡγεµονίαν ἐµφέρειαν. εἶτα ἐµὲ τὸν καὶ πρὸ τῆς γενέσεως ἔτι κατὰ γαστρὸς ἐν τῷ τῆς φύσεως ἐργαστηρίῳ διαπλασθέντα αὐτοκράτορα τολµᾷ τις διδάσκειν, ἀνεπιστήµων ἐπιστήµονα; ποῦ γὰρ τοῖς ἰδιώταις πρὸ µικροῦ θέµις εἰς ἡγεµονικῆς ψυχῆς παρακύψαι βουλεύµατα; “Right from the cradle I have had thousands of teachers—parents, brothers, uncles, cousins, grandfathers, ancestors right back to the founders of the family, all the relations on both my father’s and my mother’s sides who acquired independent power—quite apart from the fact that even their actual conception embodied some royal potentialities for government. For just as physical and mental resemblances as regards appearances, attitudes, movements, plans, and actions are preserved within the seminal Logoi, so it is likely that some resemblance to a capacity for government will also be roughly sketched out within the same Logoi. When I was fashioned to be an Emperor even before my birth, in Nature’s workshop, my mother’s womb, does a mere nobody dare to instruct me? Does the ignorant dare to instruct the learned? Where do people who were recently mere private individuals get the right to pry into the deliberations of the heart of a princeps?” Philo Legat. 54–56 (trans. Smallwood, emphasis in original) The breach in the parrhesiastic contract is here explicitly connected to a discourse of self-obsessed kingship, and Gaius presents a quite striking picture of a hereditary right to rule which ultimately rejects the idea that someone else could have useful speech to 353 offer him. 162 This stands in stark contrast to the model of monarchic parrhesia which we have been examining, and Gaius makes the decidedly un-Roman (or even incivilis) move of acknowledging this as a discourse of royalty (“τινας δυνάµεις βασιλικὰς”). In his outrage, Gaius perversely acknowledges both the didacticism and the courage involved in Macro’s parrhesia (“τολµᾷ τις διδάσκειν”), but does not value his speech on either count. Philo’s agenda is quite obvious: he is “idealizing Macro and intent on blackening Gaius” by first presenting a rational picture of government in the interest of subjects and then having Gaius reject it in the course of a dynastic monologue that presents himself as the conclusion of a line of natural rulers. 163 It is precisely for trying to help the princeps in this way—and for offering him eunoia specifically—that Philo says Macro was forced to suicide (59). The fate of Marcus Silanus, father of Gaius’ first wife, is characterized in similar terms: ὁ µὲν γὰρ τοὺς τοῦ κηδεµόνος λόγους ἀεὶ διεξῄει µηδὲν ἐπικρυπτόµενος τῶν εἰς βελτίωσιν καὶ ὠφέλειαν ἠθῶν καὶ βίου καὶ ἡγεµονίας, ἔχων εἰς παρρησίαν καὶ µεγάλας ἀφορµὰς ὑπερβάλλουσάν τε εὐγένειαν καὶ τὴν κατ’ ἐπιγαµίαν οἰκειότητα...ὁ δὲ πρὸς ὕβρεως τὰς νουθεσίας λαµβάνων τῷ πάντων οἴεσθαι φρνοιµώτατος καὶ σωφρονέστατος ἔτι δὲ ἀνδρειότατος εἶναι καὶ δικαιότατος ἤχθαιρε µᾶλλον τῶν ὁµολογουµένων πολεµίων τοὺς διδάσκοντας. For he kept on making the sort of remarks that guardians make, omitting nothing which might serve to improve and help Gaius’ character, life, and 354 162 See Smallwood (1970, ad loc.) for prevailing notions of genetic heredity. As she notes, Gaius’ sentiments are echoed by Nero in Tacitus (Ann. 14.52.6: “exueret magistrum, satis amplis doctoribus instructus maioribus suis”). The genetic argument presents an interesting complication of Cicero’s schema of persona examined in chapter 1.4, which included personae endowed by nature as well as those we play in society. 163 Smallwood (1970, ad loc.). See Philo’s eulogy of Macro at Legat. 60. government. He regarded his own very high birth and their relationship by marriage as giving him an excellent starting point for speaking freely. … Gaius, however, took Silanus’ advice as impudence, because he looked upon himself as the most sensible and intelligent, and also the most courageous and virtuous, of all men, and hated his instructors more than his avowed enemies. Philo Legat. 63–64 (trans. Smallwood) Given how closely this passage conforms to Foucault’s picture of parrhesia, it is perhaps all the more remarkable that he never cited it: the pragmatic psychagogy of Silanus’ parrhesia is expressed clearly in the sequence “character, life, and government” (“ἠθῶν καὶ βίου καὶ ἡγεµονίας”), and the implication that improvement in each flows from the other. Philo also lists the chief qualifications for Silanus as parrhesiastes, which include his familial ties to Gaius and his own noble birth—who better to speak as the amicus of the princeps? Gaius, however, again fails to perceive the value of the parrhesia offered to him, dismissing it instead as hubris. This mistake is indicative of his delusion that he is the most “sensible and intelligent” and “most courageous and virtuous” of all (“φρνοιµώτατος καὶ σωφρονέστατος ἔτι δὲ ἀνδρειότατος εἶναι καὶ δικαιότατος”), a delusion which does not permit the kind of advice necessary for rational government. Here Gaius is again deployed as the dynastic monarch who is actually confused by the structure of the Principate left to him by Augustus and Tiberius: it will be recalled how, in a similar fashion, he thought that letting the senate approve his actions somehow lessened his majesty. 164 In their clear and dichotomous expression through the discourse of parrhesia, the falls of Macro and 355 164 Chapter 1.6.i, citing Dio 59.23.3. Silanus, as Philo narrates them, are intended as proleptic devices, ones that do not augur well for the Jewish embassy. With this character portrait of the emperor established, Philo and his colleagues come to Rome to protest the abuse of Alexandrian Jews by the Greeks living there; the substance of their complaints are in some ways quite similar to those made to Agrippa by the Ionian Jews in 14BCE. 165 While the embassy is waiting for an audience with the emperor—going so far as to follow him on a sojourn to Dicaearchia (Puteoli) in the hopes of being heard (185)—they receive the terrible news that Gaius in his megalomania has ordered a statue of Zeus be erected in the Temple at Jerusalem (188). 166 The bearer of these tidings informs them that the gentile population in Jamnia (Jabneh) have taken advantage of Gaius’ well-known desire to be worshipped as a god to make him the enemy of the Jews (198–202). 167 Their actions have been compounded by the counsel of the imperial procurator in the region, one C. Herennius Capito, and Gaius’ advisors: Helicon, “the slave aristocract” (“τῷ εὐπατρίδῃ δούλῳ”), and Apelles, a tragic actor (202–205). The text mocks the qualifications of the latter pair (203: “συµβούλοις χρησάµενος τοῖς ἀρίστοις καὶ σοφωτάτοις”), and makes it clear that all three are advising Gaius in service of their own private interests: Capito, having enriched himself through illegal taxation, seeks to protect himself from subsequent 356 165 For the historical background, see Smallwood (1970) and Sly (1995, 167–180). 166 Philo refers to Gaius as “ὁ φρενοβλαβὴς” at the conclusion of this section (Legat. 206). Schwartz (2009, 28–29) argues that the decision to place a statue in the Temple would have seemed a perfectly rational response to the troubles in Jamnia. 167 On Jabneh, see Jones (1937, 254, 259, 271–275, 281). prosecution by besmirching the local population (199), while Helicon and Apelles were simply following the anti-semitic predilections of their respective nationalities (205). 168 Unlike Macro and Silanus, who had the emperor’s soul and thus the interests of the Empire foremost in their sights, these are not the type of men who should be advising Gaius, and he has failed in another area of the parrhesiastic contract by taking advice from the basest of men, rather than those equipped by birth and by experience to offer him sincere and useful counsel. Into this fresh disaster arrives Herod Agrippa, the king of Syria, come to pay his respects to Gaius. 169 Unaware of either his plans for the Temple or the trouble it has provoked in Judaea, he is admitted into the emperor’s company, where he is able to tell something is wrong simply from the emperor’s comportment: ἐτεκµαίρετο µέντοι διὰ τῆς οὐκ ἐν τάξει κινήσεως καὶ τῆς τῶν ὀµµάτων ταραχῆς ὑποτυφοµένην ὀργὴν καὶ ἀνεσκόπει καὶ διηρεύνα ἑαυτὸν πάντῃ καὶ πρὸς πάντα µικρά τε αὖ καὶ µεγάλα τὸν λογισµὸν ἀποτείνων, µή τι δέδρακεν ἣ εἶπεν ὧν οὐ χρή. ὡς δέ συνόλως οὐδὲν ἕυρισκεν, ἐτόπασεν, ὅπερ ἦν εἰκός, ἑτέροις τισὶ πικραίνεσθαι. πάλιν δὲ ὅτε ὑποβλεπόµενον εἷδε καὶ τετακότα τὰς ὄψεις πρὸς µηδένα τῶν παρόντων ἢν µόνον ἐπ’ αὐτόν, ἐδεδίει καὶ πολλάκισ ἐρέσθαι διανοηθεὶς ἐπέσχε, τοιοῦτον λαµβάνων λογισµόν· “ἴσως τὴν ἀπειλὴν πρὸς ἑτέρους οὖσαν αὐτὸς ἕλξω περιεργίας ὁµοῦ καὶ προπετείας καὶ θτράσους ὑπόληψιν ἐξενεγκάµενος.” ἐπτοηµένον δ' οὖν καὶ ἀποροῦντα θεασάµενος αὐτὸν Γάιος – ἦν γὰρ δεινὸς ἐκ τῆς φανερᾶς ὄψεως ἀφανὲς ἀνθρώπου βούληµα καὶ πάθος συνιδεῖν – ”ἀπορεῖς”, εἶπεν “Ἀγρίππα; παύσω σε τῆς ἀπορίας. ἐπὶ 357 168 Helicon was of Egyptian extraction, Apelles from Ascalon (on which see Smallwood, 1970, ad loc.). The phrase “anti-semitic” may be anachronistic, but Philo clearly constructs a paradigm in which his people—in Alexandria, Jamnia, and Rome—are persecuted for being Jewish, in both a legal and religious sense. While in the case of Gaius there are quite concrete reasons in his megalomania for his resenting their monotheism, Helicon and Apelles are reported to have opposed Philo’s embassy simply because their countrymen hate the Jews (see, e.g., Legat. 170: “ἔχεις τὰς κατὰ Ἰουδαίων καὶ τῶν Ἰουδαικῶν ἐθῶν διαβολάς, αἷς ἐνετράφης· ἐξ ἔτι σπαργάνων ἀνεδιδάχθης αὐτάς, οὐ παρ’ ἑνὸς ἀνδρὸς ἀλλὰ τοῦ γλωσσαργοτάτου µέρους τῆς Ἀλεξανδρέων πόλεως·”). 169 See Brill’s NP on Herod Agrippa, Smallwood (1970) on the chronology, with Jos. AJ 18.289–301. τοσοῦτόν µοι χρόνον συνδιατρίψας ἠγνόησας, ὅτι οὐ τῇ φωνῇ µόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῖς ὄµµασι φθέγγοµαι µᾶλλον ἢ οὐχ ἧττον ἕκαστα διασηµαίνων;” Nevertheless he deduced from Gaius’ irregular movements and the excitement in his eyes that there was anger smouldering there; so he puzzled and racked his brains, pondering over every incident, great or small, that had occurred, in case he had said or done anything wrong. On finding nothing whatsoever, he then made the obvious guess that Gaius was annoyed with some other people. But when he noticed that he was looking askance at him and keeping his eyes fixed on him alone and on no-one else in the room, he began to be afraid. He often intended to ask Gaius but he refrained, arguing on these lines: “Perhaps I shall bring upon myself the threat which is hanging over other people, if I give the impression of being officious, rash, and presumptuous.” So when Gaius noticed that he was worried and perplexed—he was clever at divining a man’s hidden wishes and feelings from his visible expression—he said, “Are you perplexed, Agrippa? I will put an end to your perplexity. When you have spent such a long time with me, do you not know that I speak not only with my voice but also with my eyes, making my meaning clear as much, if not more, with them?” Philo Legat. 261–264 (trans. Smallwood) Gaius proceeds to explain that he is exercised at Agrippa’s “countrymen”—by which he means the Jews—for the disobedience they have shown in protesting against the statue of Zeus (265); the anxiety which this induces in the king is sufficient to cause him to faint on the spot (266). 170 The passage shows how physical proximity provides actors with the ability to read one another’s eyes, faces, and bodies, and, moreover, emphasizes the danger inherent to one or both actors in submitting to such proximity. While Agrippa is able to interpret the emperor’s looks and steer a more careful course as a result, Gaius can just as easily perceive the king’s timidity around him, especially because Philo says he was gifted with a particular talent in this regard. This scene 358 170 For the view that Agrippa’s faint was in fact a stroke caused by a cerebral hemorrhage, see Smallwood (1970, ad loc.); it seems to me unnecessary to put that much pressure on the historicity of Philo’s account (see below), since, as I see it, this anecdote is intended to establish a literary effect. therefore illustrates, in the negative, the types of strategies and anxieties inherent to the emperor’s absence from the senate which we examined in chapter one, and is emblematic of the requirement on both sides to perform properly in such encounters. 171 It also brings home the kind of danger a subject could feel in these instances— particularly with an emperor such as Gaius—and thus further underlines the courage that was implicated in the utterance of truth. So intimidated is Agrippa by Gaius’ physical presence that he has to speak to him in a letter, one that, while it separates the two actors in space and time, nevertheless invokes the codes of parrhesia. The opening lines of the letter excuse Agrippa for addressing the emperor in this way, making reference to Gaius’ anger and his majesty: “My lord, fear and modesty prevent me from pleading with you face to face. Fear seeks to avoid your threats, while modesty makes me alarmed at the magnitude of the dignity surrounding you” (276: “τὴν µὲν κατ' ὄψιν ἔντευξιν, ὦ δέσποτα, φόβος µε καὶ αἰδὼς ἀφείλαντο, ὁ µὲν ἀπειλὴν ἐκτρεπόµενος, ἡ δὲ τῷ µεγέθει τοῦ περὶ σὲ ἀξιώµατος καταπλήττουσα·”). The gambit is artful, shaming Gaius for the anger that provokes fear in his friend (and thus annuls the parrhesiastic contract) and yet tempering the criticism with a dose of laus, as recommended in the Rhetorica ad Herennium. In the mixture of frank speech and praise, Agrippa is seeking to establish himself as a parrhesiastes in writing, and use the values of the parrhesiastic contract (even in its violation) as a 359 171 I am referring specifically to Bartsch’s (2004) arguments about the “actors in the audience” and Parker’s (1999, 167) “Paradox of the Gaze”; Roller (2006, 9) presents a similar picture of the dual social role of spectator/performer, in the context of the convivium specifically. strategic device to achieve his goal: that Gaius should cancel his plans to put the statue in the Temple. The parrhesiastic strategies continue: while maintaining a steady application of laus (e.g. 277: “καὶ περὶ τούτων οὐδεµιᾶς ἐστί σοι χρεία διδασκαλίας, ἐκθύµως µὲν στέργοντι τὴν πατρίδα, ἐκθύµως δὲ τὰ πάτρια τιµῶντι”), Agrippa presents a series of straightforward arguments for the cancellation of Gaius’ plan. These include: the fact that by palliating Jerusalem Gaius will earn the goodwill of the Empire’s entire Jewish diaspora (281–285), how Pilate’s anti-semitism caused political problems for Tiberius (299–305), 172 what seems like a veiled threat about how committed the Jewish people would be to stopping the statue (306–308), 173 and the precedent that Augustus showed in respecting both the customs and Temple of the Jews (309–321). 174 Agrippa also specifically identifies himself as philos and hetairos of the emperor (327–328), and enumerates the various favors and gifts that Gaius has already given him (323–326), thus constructing a relationship of amicitia that not only gives him the right to offer parrhesia but enjoins Gaius to listen to it and grant his request. He concludes the letter by invoking the emperor’s power of life and death over him: if Gaius does not heed his 360 172 For the importance of Philo’s account in our understanding of Pontius Pilate see Bond (1998, 24–48). She notes that much of the language used to criticize him is deployed elsewhere in the text in the description of Gaius himself (31). 173 Bond (1998, 35) likewise reads the presence of a threat in this section, which works together with the “fates of Flaccus, Helicon, Apelles (and possibly Gaius in the lost ending of the Embassy…)” to establish Philo’s rhetorical effect. 174 Goodenough (1962, 31) summarizes the aims of both Legat. and In Flaccum—including the implication that emperors threaten the Jews at their own peril—in strikingly similar terms; Agrippa could, therefore, be said to be even more of a mouthpiece for Philo than Macro. Thatcher (1995, 216– 217) has classified this section a “hortatory discourse.” parrhesia, then it will show that he is no longer his philos, and if that is the case he should order Agrippa be put to death (329: “εἰ δὲ ὑποικουρεῖ τί σου τὴν διάνοιαν ἔχθος...κέλευσον ἐκποδὼν αὐτίκα γενέσθαι”). Agrippa’s closing demands may seem hyperbolic, but they invoke the hierarchy implicit in the parrhesiastic contract as a rhetorical device designed to steer Gaius towards a certain course of action. And he proved somewhat successful: although Gaius “was angered at each of the points...he was moved by the mixture of arguments and pleas” (331: “ἐφ’ ἑκάστῳ τῶν νοηµάτων ἅµα µὲν ᾤδει...ἅµα δὲ καὶ ἐπεκλᾶτο ταῖς δικαιολογίαις ὁµοῦ καὶ δεήσει”) and he “approved of the way in which [Agrippa] did not disguise or conceal any of his feelings, and said that this gave proof of a very independent and noble spirit” (332: “ἐπῄνει δὲ τὸ µηδὲν ἐν ἑαυτῷ σισκιάξειν καὶ ἐπικρύπτςιν, ἅπερ ἔλεγεν εἶναι δείγµατα ἐλευθεριωτάτων καὶ εὐγενεστάτων ἠθῶν”). What is important to observe here, again, is not how Agrippa is using parrhesia, but how Philo is doing so: the letter he claims to reproduce is probably not a perfect copy of Agrippa’s correspondence, nor is there any reason to think Philo expects us to believe it is. 175 Further, in Josephus’ version of these events there is no mention made of any such letter; Agrippa instead persuades Gaius by courting his goodwill at a 361 175 Smallwood (1970, ad 276). See also Talbert (1984) and Woodman (1988) for the expectation that authors would embellish at moments such as these (the letter can readily be understood as an exercise in rhetoric). Bond (1998, 25) notes, for example, that “his description of Pilate’s character and intentions has very likely been influenced by his rhetorical objectives.” magnificent banquet. 176 The letter may therefore be a complete fabrication on the part of Philo. 177 What is he doing by invoking the tenets of parrhesiastic discourse in this way? Taken together with the account of the fall of Macro and Silanus, the letter of Agrippa is, I believe, intended to establish further a paradigm of parrhesia and the emperor Gaius’ receptiveness to it (in this regard, the more generic they appear the better). Not only does the picture that emerges clearly redound to his discredit as a ruler, but the reiteration of the emperor’s attitude to parrhesiastai—be they ministers or petitioners—sets the stage for the climax of the text: the audience with the embassy of Philo and the other Alexandrian Jews. The portrait of Gaius, constructed carefully across several instances of his performance as monarch, prefigures how he will respond to the embassy’s requests, and establishes that he will do so on a basis of self-interest, vanity, and a lack of respect for the conventions of parrhesia that are supposed to govern relationships between a ruler and his subjects. Even when Agrippa mobilizes the precepts of parrhesia to such a degree that Gaius cannot help but be moved, he still finds away to circumvent the commitments he is compelled to make: while he abandoned his present attempt to put the statue in the temple, he added that people should not be prevented from erecting statues on his behalf, and Philo claims he 362 176 Jos. AJ. 18.289–301. Smallwood (1970, ad 276) cites Perowne (1958, 72) as an attempt to reconcile the two accounts. Bilde (1978) has used their comparison to argue that Josephus is a better historian than has often been thought, although this opinion is based on the lack of theology in his account, rather than anything to do with the letter. Bond (1998, 24 n. 3) adds that the accounts in the AJ and BJ (2.203) do not square either. 177 So Barraclough (1984, 452) and Bond (1998, 24). intended to have a second statue manufactured in Rome and then sent to Jerusalem (334–337). The stage is thus set for Philo’s confrontation with Gaius, and following his treatment of Macro, Silanus, and Agrippa, we should have no expectations that he will be either euprosodos or euprosegoros. The embassy and their opponents—the delegation of Alexandrian Greeks led by Isidorus—meet the emperor in the gardens of Maecenas and Lamia, where the emperor shows himself more interested in inspecting the scenery than hearing the arguments of his petitioners; as Philo puts it, “it was there that the drama concerning all our people was to be staged, with us as the principal actors” (351: “κεῖθι γὰρ ἐπὶ παροῦσιν ἡµῖν ἡ κατὰ παντὸς τοῦ ἔθνους ἔµελλε σκηνοβατεῖσθαι δραµατοποιία”). Things appear grim from the beginning: “as soon as we came into Gaius’ presence, we realized from his appearance and gestures that we were standing not before a judge but before an accuser more hostile to us than our actual opponents” (349: “εἰσελθόντες γὰρ εὐθὺς ἔγνωµεν ἀπὸ τοῦ βλέµµατος καὶ τῆς κινήσεως, ὄτι οὐ πρὸς δικαστὴν ἀλλὰ κατήγορον ἀφίγµεθα, τῶν ἀντιτεταγµένων µᾶλλον ἐχθρόν”). Philo proceeds to enumerate the actual duties of a judge, and then contrasts them with Gaius, whose “actual conduct...was that of an implacable tyrant with a scowl on his despotic brow” (350: “τυράννου δὲ ἀµειλίκτου δεσποτικὴν ὀφρὺν ἐπανατειναµένου τὰ πραχθέντα”). Philo thus constitutes for his readers the role that the emperor ought to play on these occasions, defines it in terms of practice and bearing, 363 and then characterizes the emperor’s comportment as that of another role: the tyrant. The language of performance, theater, and roles continues throughout this section: εἶτα ἡµεῖς ἐλαυνόµενοι παρηκολουθοῦµεν ἄνω κάτω, χλευαζόµενοι καὶ κατακερτοµούµενοι πρὸς τῶν ἀντιπάλων ὡς ἐν θεατρικοῖς µίµοις· καὶ γὰρ τὸ πρᾶγµα µιµεία τισ ἦν· ὁ µὲν δικαστὴς ἀνειλήφει σχῆµα κατηγόρου, οἱ δὲ κατήγοροι φαύλου δικαστοῦ πρὸς ἔχθραν ἀποβλέποντος, ἀλλ’ οὑ τὴν φύσιν τῆς ἀληθείας. Then we were driven along and followed him upstairs and downstairs, while our opponents mocked and railed at us just as in farces on the stage. Indeed, the whole affair was a farce. The judge had taken upon himself the role of the accuser, and our accusers that of a corrupt judge who has an eye to hostility and not to the facts of the case. Philo Legat. 359 (trans. Smallwood) 178 With his established record and the atmosphere he creates in this particular encounter, Gaius leaves the Jews only one recourse: silence, which is, of course, neither parrhesia (nor, as Philo offers in the passage above, aletheia) nor will it actually accomplish anything of benefit to either themselves or Gaius (360: “ὅταν δὲ αἰτιᾶται κρινόµενον δικαστὴς καὶ τοσοῦτος, ἀνάθκη σιωπᾶν”). At last, after taunting them with the tetragrammaton (353) and asking them why it is they don’t eat pork (361–362), Gaius finally gives the Jews an opportunity to plead their case: εἶτα ὀψέ ποτε παρασεσυρµένως “βουλόµεθα µαθεῖν” ἔφη, “τίσι χρῆσθε περὶ τῆς πολιτείας δικαίοις.” ἀρξαµένων δὲ λέγειν καὶ διδάσκειν, ἀπογευσάµενος τῆς δικαιολογίας καὶ συνεὶς ὡς οὐκ ἔστιν εὐκαταφρόνητος, πρὶν ἐπενεγκεῖν τὰ ἐχυρώτερα, συγκόψας καὶ τὰ πρότερα δροµαῖος εἰς τὸν µέγαν οἶκον εἰσεπήδησε 364 178 The same imagery returns at 368: “τοιοτον ἀντὶ δικαστηρίου θέατρον ὁµοῦ καὶ δεσµωτήριον ἐκφυγόντες — ὡς µὲν γὰρ ἐν θεάτρῳ κλωσµὸς συριττόντων, καταµωκωµένων, ἄµετρα χλευαζόντων...” For Philo’s use of theatrical language as an instrument of criticism in both In Flaccum and Legat., see Calabi (2003, 91–116). καὶ περιελθὼν προστάττει τὰς ἐν κύκλῳ θυρίδας ἀναληφθῆναι τοῖς ὑάλῳ λευκῇ παραπλησίως διαφανέσι λίθοις... οὕτω τῶν ἡµετέρων σπαραττοµένων καὶ διαρτωµένων καὶ µόνον οὐ συγκοπτοµένων καὶ συντριβοµένων δικαίων, ἀπειρηκότες καὶ µηδὲν ἔτι σθένοντες, ἀεὶ δὲ οὐδὲν ἕτερον ἢ θάνατον προσδοκῶντες, οὐκέτι τὰς ψυχὰς ἐν αὑτοῖς εἴχοµεν, ἀλλ' ὑπ' ἀγωνίας ἔξω προεληλύθεσαν ἱκετεύειν τὸν ἀληθινὸν θεόν, ἵνα τοῦ ψευδωνύµου τὰς ὀργὰς ἐπίσχῃ. We began to give an explanation, but as soon as Gaius had had a taste of our pleading and realized that it was cogent, even before we had produced our strongest arguments, he cut us short, rushed on ahead into the large room, went round it, and gave orders for its windows all round to be filled again with transparent stones rather like colourless glass… In this way our rights were rent asunder, dismembered, and almost completely broken up and shattered. As a result we were in despair and quite exhausted, and all the time expected nothing but death. Our souls were no longer within our bodies, but in our anguish they had left us to pray to the true God to restrain the fury of the man who falsely called himself god. Philo, Legat. 364–366 (trans. Smallwood) Although Gaius opens the floor to his inferiors, as soon as they not only speak (“λέγειν”) but also teach (“διδάσκειν”)—which, it will be recalled, was the activity of Macro and Silanus, whom Philo called “τοὺς διδάσκοντας” (64)—he cuts them off and returns to his inspection of the mansions. The embassy’s speech is clearly figured as something useful that would educate the emperor, and he is shown to be uninterested in that type of speech, preferring the kolakeia of Isidorus and company; all Philo and his colleagues can hope for is that God will somehow restrain the emperor’s orge. 179 In the end, the Jews are relieved when Gaius simply declares them mad and dismisses them 365 179 Isidorus is called a “spiteful sycophant” (355: “ὁ῾πικρὸς συκοφὰντης”) and when his entourage laugh at Gaius’ question about the pork Philo says they do so “partly because they made it their business as flatterers to let his remark seem witty and entertaining” (361: “τῇ δὲ καὶ ἐπιτηδευόντων ἕνεκα κολακείας ὑπὲρ τοῦ τὸ λεχθὲν δοκεῖν σὺν εὐτραπελίᾳ καὶ χάριτι εἰρῆσθαι”); he adds that their laughter almost got them into some hot water with the mercurial Gaius. (367); apparently no decision was reached in the matter. 180 While Philo apologizes for what may seem like a lack of courage in this encounter (369: “οὐκ ἐπειδὴ φιλοζωοῦντες θάνατον κατεπτήχειµεν”), the blame clearly rests on the emperor, who has done nothing to create a space conducive to parrhesia (ibid.: “αλλ’ εἰδότες ἐπ’ οὐδενὶ λυσιτελεῖ παρανάλωµα γενησόµενοι µετὰ πολλῆς δυσκλείας”). If Herod Agrippa, the emperor’s philos, was too afraid to speak the truth to him, what chance did Philo have? In the Legatio ad Gaium, Philo deploys parrhesia, both in name and in its conceits, in service of a programmatic characterization of the emperor. Elements such as frank speech, flattery, and anger are made to recur in order to show Gaius to be heedless of parrhesia and scornful of the normative expectations of the parrhesiastic contract. Parrhesia functions, therefore, to fulfill Philo’s aims of presenting Gaius as an emperor overcome by his anger on account of his self-obsession and his desire for deification (368: “µνησικακῶν...περὶ ἑαυτοῦ καὶ τῆς εἰς τὴν ἐκθέωσιν ἐπιθυµίας”). Much like Herod in Josephus’ account, Gaius appears as a ruler who cannot resist his emotions, heed the advice of his friends, or accept the petitions of his subjects—and thus as no kind of ruler at all. Perhaps most strikingly, in order to accomplish this characterization Philo makes use of two different modes of monarchic parrhesia we have been exploring: Foucault’s model of psychagogic discourse, which relates to statecraft and might be more closely linked to civilitas, and the diplomatic values of 366 180 A letter of Claudius reproduced by Josephus (AJ 19.280–285) has been understood to address the matter presented by Philo’s delegation, but its authenticity has been called into question in light of a papyrus rescript that seems to contradict it (see Sandmel 1979, 8–9 & n. 13). euprosegoria and (what we might call) euprosodia that Wallace-Hadrill suggests were of greater concern to Greek provincial subjects. A comparison with Josephus proves still more productive, since although both he and Philo employ the preoccupations of parrhesia in order to communicate something about their subjects, their personal politics have been shown to be quite different. Josephus, it has been argued, is critical of dynastic monarchies in general, and of Roman rule in particular. Philo, meanwhile, has been shown to be positively disposed towards the emperors, since, despite the injuries they sustained under Gaius, the Principate largely functioned to preserve the rights of the Jews. 181 Indeed, Philo’s criticism of Gaius could be adduced as a shade of what Scott calls “naive monarchism,” since it chooses to attribute the ills of his reign to the particular occupier of the role of Princeps and not to the system itself; that is to say, it can be said to support the existing power structure even as its words attack or undermine a specific element within it. 182 This is demonstrable in his frequent praise not only of Augustus but of Tiberius, 183 and, moreover, by the following passage: Μέγιστος οὖν καὶ ἀκήρυκτος πόλεµος ἐπὶ τῷ ἔθνει συνεκροτεῖτο. τί γὰρ ἂν εἴη δούλῳ βαρύτερον κακὸν ἢ δεσπότης ἐχθρός; δοῦλοι δὲ αὐτοκράτορος οἱ 367 181 Bond (1998, 33–34). 182 Scott (1990). 183 Augustus: 154–159, 309–318, 143–148. Tiberius: 21. Smallwood (1970) argues that the sympathetic picture of Tiberius in Philo problematizes the prevailing portrait in our other sources, but Bond (1998, 27–8 & n. 11) understands it as a rhetorical construction designed to communicate something about Gaius, adding that Philo omits Tiberius’ expulsion of the Jews from Rome in 19CE which is otherwise well-attested (Jos. AJ 18.79–83; Suet. Tib. 36; Dio 57.16.5a; Tac. Ann. 2.85). As she notes (33–45), the positive characterization of Tiberius does double-duty in blackening the conduct of Pilate as his disobedient agent (another hallmark of naive monarchism). ὑπήκοοι, καὶ εἰ µηδενὸς ἑτέρου τῶν προτέρων διὰ τὸ σὺν ἐπιεικείᾳ καὶ µετὰ νόµων ἄρχειν, ἀλλά τοι Γαΐου πᾶσαν ἐκτετµηµένου τῆς ψυχῆς ἡµερότητα καὶ παρανοµίαν ἐζηλωκότος – νόµον γὰρ ἡγούµενος ἑαυτὸν τοὺς τῶν ἑκασταχοῦ νοµοθετῶν ὡς κενὰς ῥήσεις ἔλυεν – · ἡµεῖς δὲ οὐ µόνον ἐν δούλοις ἀλλὰ καὶ δούλων τοῖς ἀτιµοτάτοις ἐγραφόµεθα τοῦ ἄρχοντος τρέποντος εἰς δεσπότην. What heavier burden could a slave have than a hostile owner? Subjects are the slaves of an Emperor, and even if this was not the case under any of Gaius’ predecessors, because they ruled reasonably and legally, yet it was the case under Gaius, who had cut all humanity out of his heart and made a cult of illegality; for he regarded himself as the law, and broke the laws of the lawgivers of every country as if they were empty words. So we were enrolled not simply as slaves but as the lowest of slaves, when the Emperor turned into a tyrant. Philo, Legat. 119 (trans. Smallwood) Philo here recognizes the immense factual power of the princeps, granted him by the structural situation in which he plays his role, but adds that how he plays this role dictates whether his subjects are slaves or, by extension, free. When the emperor respects the laws and rules reasonably, his subjects live well, but when he turns into a tyrant they are naught but slaves. In the Legatio ad Gaium, Gaius shows by his conduct towards his advisors, friends, and subjects that he is a despotes, and this view of his conduct is focused through the lens of parrhesia. 184 For whom is the portrait intended? Not Gaius himself, since he was killed shortly after the events it records, and its composition is generally assumed to have 368 184 It will be recalled that despotes, as the cognate of dominus, is the title which Augustus was so careful to reject publicly (Dio 52.12.2; Suet. Aug. 53.1). While Philo’s “ἐν δούλοις ἀλλὰ καὶ δούλων τοῖς ἀτιµοτάτοις ἐγραφόµεθα” undoubtedly possesses a technical meaning (similar to Xen. Cyr. 4.3.21; Soph. OT 411), as reflected in Smallwood’s translation, it is hard to resist noting the metatextual aspect of this vocabulary: Philo writes himself and his fellow subjects into the roles of slaves, thus adding evaluation to the commemoration of Gaius’ reign and therefore furthering the strategic aims of this exemplary (written) discourse of parrhesia. been posthumous. 185 It remains a matter of some debate whether Philo wrote the Legatio ad Gaium with a Jewish or a Roman audience in mind; certainly it could speak to any individual literate in Greek who had an interest in Jewish or Roman affairs, or the events of 38–40CE specifically (much like ourselves). Within the secondary scholarship, a theory still prevails that the text is actually intended for Claudius (or even Nero), as a lesson about how they ought to treat their Jewish subjects. 186 Proponents implicate naive monarchism (without calling it such) in their arguments, noting how attacking Gaius alone, and in particular his character, enables Philo to offer criticism on Roman government without offending the current emperor; that is to say, he attacks a particular actor without undermining the role of the princeps in general. 187 The meaning of the last quote then becomes double, praising not just the past emperors who respected the laws but also those who do so in the present. Gaius, whose character flaws turned him into a tyrant, constitutes a warning and a lesson for these better emperors. 188 So, too, the protreptic discourse of Herod Agrippa’s letter, and Philo’s claim that, through their exempla, Augustus and Tiberius “as emperors plead the cause of the laws to you as emperor, as Augusti to you as Augustus” (322: “παρακλητεύουσι τοῖς νόµοις αὐτοκράτορες πρὸς αὐτοκρατορα, Σεβαστοὶ πρὸς Σεβαστόν”). What 369 185 Bond (1998, 33 n. 47) adds that the text includes references to events after Claudius’ succession (Legat. 206). 186 Goodenough (1938, 19–20; 1962, 31) seems to have originated this theory, but it is cited by Smallwood (1970), and supported by both Bond (1998, 33). 187 Sandmel (1979, 103) argues that Joseph in The Allegory is, likewise, intended to be understood as an allegory for a Roman official, as another strategy of offering ‘safe’ criticism of the dominant regime. 188 Hurley (1993, vii) presents a similar point regarding how Suetonius’ twin portraits of Gaius as princeps and monstrum sheds light on what he understands the emperor’s role to be. perhaps these scholars do not emphasize is that there are positive lessons in statecraft and diplomacy to be gleaned from this portrait of the conduct of Gaius, and these are all closely connected to the normative discourse of parrhesia. 189 What Philo’s text then shows is how parrhesia can be used to offer critique of a Roman emperor in a way that doesn’t threaten the status quo—indeed, speaking through the discourse of frank speech could even be said to create some security for frank speech—but that is both ethically and strategically aimed towards concrete political effect, and that it constructs meaning for an audience—be they emperors, Jews, or history itself. 190 5. Conclusion Philo’s text is a classic demonstration of almost all of the tropes inherent to monarchic parrhesia elaborated in this chapter: free speech; truth, flattery, and the ruler’s ability to distinguish between them; courage, anger, and the parrhesiastic contract; statecraft; and civilitas. Moreover, it brings into relief the three parties that can be said to constitute parrhesia for us: the parrhesiastes, the ruler, and the author who commemorates a given speech event using the language or traditions of parrhesia. As I alluded to earlier, 370 189 Bond (1998, 34–35), for example, makes very similar arguments, but only insofar as they address anti-semitism within imperial conduct. The fact that the treatise is transmitted under the Greek name Peri aretōn (Concerning Virtues) often seems ironic, but, as Williamson (1989, 16–17) notes, the text does indeed model some virtues for its audience. Although he sees these as the virtues of God, they are those of the God “who takes care of his people, just as he did when he took compassion on the delegation by turning Caligula’s spirit to mercy (pros eleon), and relaxing him into a ‘softer mood’...” 190 As Bond (1998, 33 n. 47) notes, Eusebius EH 2.18.8 claims that Philo read what he had written about Gaius before the Roman senate: “οὗτος µὲν οὖν κατὰ Γάϊον ἐπὶ τῆς Ῥώµης ἀφικόµενος, τὰ περὶ τῆς Γαΐου θεοστυγίας αὐτῷ γραφέντα, ἃ µετὰ ἤθους καὶ εἰρωνείας Περὶ ἀρετῶν ἐπέγραψεν, ἐπὶ πάσης λέγεται τῆς Ῥωµαίων συγκλήτου κατὰ Κλαύδιον διελθεῖν, ὡς καὶ τῆς ἐν βιβλιοθήκαις ἀναθέσεως θαυµασθέντας αὐτοῦ καταξιωθῆναι τοὺς λόγους·” She reads this as an indication that Philo may actually have been trying to influence policy. parrhesia is not an activity that exists for us outside of the discursive sphere: it is a dialogical activity conducted through words, but also one commemorated in words. As we can see from Philo, the same discourse that Josephus used to praise Augustus could be turned to the critique of the Principate. This discourse was both an epiphenomenon to and a reproducer of the idea that the emperor was a role, or even a job, one that could be performed well or badly, and whose conduct was open to criticism. Put simply: when a ruler bases his right to rule in the stability and efficacy of his government of territory and population, to some extent he subordinates his sovereignty to the interests of the state, and makes its exercise into a duty subject to critical discourse. 191 As we have seen, it was in large part the emperors themselves who opened up the very space for this idea by virtue of the strategies they used to exercise and express their power. Which is to say, the strategies of legitimation we have examined in such detail in chapters two and three necessarily permit, and even invite, a critical discourse on the exercise of the princeps’ sovereign power. As I believe we have already seen, the criteria against which the ruler will be assessed are not religious or philosophical absolutes, but rather practical and ethical realities contingent to the time and place in which he exercises power. 371 191 Seeberg (1972 6–7): “...the ruler’s assertion of his right to rule implies that this very right can be questioned.” Foucault (2000, 210–211) opposes sovereignty and government, based specifically on the ends to which they are aimed: sovereignty towards the perpetuation of itself, government towards territory and population. What I propose is a re-calibration of this dichotomy, which puts government and sovereignty into a more complicated relationship whereby they support each other, to some extent becoming each other’s target, to the benefit of sovereign and (perhaps) subjects. Nor was this critique limited to the realm of Greek discourse: senators like Asinius Gallus could use the practice of parrhesia in order to call into being a critical sphere around the conduct of the emperor; the emperor’s response would close the circle, and furnish the ultimate portrait that emerges from the dialogical exchanges of frank speech. On the other hand, the career of Augustus demonstrates how an adroit ruler could turn this discourse to his own strategic advantage, making public rejections of adulatio, manifesting public respect for parrhesia, and using the consilium to navigate between the pressure to display such respect and the necessity of keeping certain things secret. What all three approaches—Philo, Gallus, and Augustus—share is an eye towards audience. The images or performances that all three seek to project are conscious of a third party: Philo his readership (and perhaps the senate), Gallus the senate (and perhaps posterity), and Augustus the senate, people, and posterity. What I want to emphasize at the close of this chapter—and this is the element that I believe has yet to receive due attention in the existing literature on parrhesia—is that its discourse is never constituted in a vacuum: it is always produced for someone, just as true discourse is itself produced for the emperor. To return to Plato, Markovits has argued regarding dialogues such as Gorgias that the true target of Socrates’ speech is not his interlocutor (Callicles) but what she calls the “corona” of listeners that surrounds them both; that is, it is the corona whom Socrates seeks to educate through his interrogation 372 of his subject, not the subject himself. 192 It is a simple step of reasoning to suggest that the true corona of a Socratic dialogue is actually the reader for whom Plato narrates it, and it is the corona that I think needs to be added to the study of parrhesia, of which Foucault, in his focus on practice and on the soul of the Prince itself, perhaps loses sight, and from which Roller, for all of his focus on the world of letters, perhaps becomes too disconnected. 193 In both Josephus and Philo there are generally coronae of onlookers observing—and even interpreting—the speech exchanges we have examined. 194 Gallus performed his parrhesia before the senate and their stenographers. Augustus’s attitudes towards truth and flattery were committed to the public sphere—in an edict, a laudatio, and in the historians’ commemoration thereof—while his restriction of parrhesia to the consilium was precisely aimed at restricting the size of its corona. Quintilian observed that an orator’s audience stretched beyond the judge and jury he was addressing; 195 where parrhesia really mattered, I believe, is in its subsequent effects on the memory of the emperors and, therefore, on their conduct. 373 192 Markovits (2008, 101), making an analogy to the corona in lawcourts. 193 Roller is certainly not insensitive to this idea; elsewhere he argues that Rome aristocrats were “not simply seeking to comprehend changes that had already occurred, but were also proactively imposing normative expectations about what the relationship of emperor to aristocrat ought to be like, and of how these parties should regard and treat one another” (2010, 246). In Roller (2001), however,—his major work on frank speech—I believe his focus is more on the self-interest of the frank-speaker than on an outwardly -directed display of parrhesiastic discourse conducted with an audience in mind. 194 E.g. Jos. AJ 16.103 (“τοῖς παροῦσι”), 16.121 (“τοῖς παροῦσιν”); Philo Legat. 181 (“τοὺς ἐν κύκλῳ πάντας”). 195 Inst. 9.2.68, although he was referring to how what was said in a speech might get back to the emperor; see McHugh (2004, 398 n. 16). We have seen that the emperors inherited a collection of spaces, places, and mechanisms for addressing or exchanging speech to or with the people they ruled. The traditions governing these different situations offered a multiplicity of strategic outlets for contextualizing speech and establishing a narrative of rational government which further supported the emperor’s exceptional status and capacity to govern; that is, to order and forbid and to have those speech-acts actually accomplish something. 196 Each of those contexts and their audiences placed different practical and normative expectations on the speakers, and especially the emperor. Sometimes these expectations, such as those of civilitas and those of parrhesia, had different shades of symbolism and were important to their audiences for different reasons, but ultimately all the codes of conduct that we have examined share a concern in the truth, the potential for others to have a say in government, and the emperor’s ability to govern rationally, ethically, and pragmatically. The discourse of parrhesia, in particular, can be shown to have lain behind many—if not all—the speech exchanges we have examined in this chapter, demonstrating that its values, concerns, and structures were very much alive in the relations between the emperor and all sectors of society. While to a certain extent it is difficult to separate the parrhesiastic paradigm from the texts that record these exchanges, at the very least it seems to have held a currency in the discursive sphere surrounding the emperor, and I would suggest that our sources characterize the 374 196 Here I refer to how the pragmatics of discourse in these contexts supported both their illocutionary force, such that orders were actually realized in action, and their perlocutionary force in constructing the emperor’s authority. Again, these two effects were intimately bound up with one another. better emperors as being sensitive to the expectations of this discourse and alert to the opportunities for performing or subverting it to their political advantage. In the course of his panegyric speech to the emperor Trajan the younger Pliny makes the following statements: Iubes esse liberos: erimus; iubes quae sentimus promere in medium: proferemus. … At nunc tua dextera tuisque promissis freti et innixi, obsaepta diutina seruitute ora reseramus, frenatamque tot malis linguam resoluimus. Vis enim tales esse nos quales iubes, nihilque exhortationibus tuis fucatum, nihil subdolum, <nihil> denique quod credentem fallere paret non sine periculo fallentis. You bid us be free, and we shall be free; you tell us to express ourselves openly, and we shall do so. … Today we can place our trust and reliance on your promises and sworn oath, and open our lips long sealed by servitude, loosen our tongues which were bound to silence by so many evils; for you truly wish us to be what you bid us, and your exhortations are free from all overtones of deception. Plin. Pan. 66.4–6 (trans. Radice) This excerpt demonstrates, I think, that the all the elements of parrhesiastic discourse were still in play some 70 years after our period ends. Pliny clearly connects the concept of libertas to speaking freely and openly; here to be free is “to say what we feel,” an obvious echo of Tacitus’ “sentire quae velis et quae sentias dicere licet.” 197 Trajan is clearly to be praised for ordering his subjects (and the senate more specifically) to engage in parrhesia, and to have give this order sincerely, in the expectation of frank speech. Shadhi Bartsch has noted that panegyrics are obvious examples of the speculum principis or Fürstenspiegeln genre, and can always be 375 197 Tac. Hist. 1.1.4, cited in section 1.ii. Pliny’s formulation also maintains the same perversity observed by Haynes (2003, 36–39): how free can anyone be if he performs freedom on the orders of another? understood as to some extent presenting a model to their subject on how they ought to behave; that we possess this speech precisely because it was committed to text after its original performance testifies to the desires of this genre to speak to a wider audience than just the prince himself. 198 Which is to say, the statio principis is constructed not just for the attention of the princeps himself, but for society at large, such that they might have a ready set of criteria against which to judge him (what we might again call his officium). 199 Bartsch also argues, however, that the Panegyricus as a whole constitutes an attempt by Pliny to rehabilitate a space for sincere speech in the Principate, and sincere praise in particular. 200 In pursuit of this, he maintains a persistent and hortatory argument that Trajan actually means what he says, that when he calls for senators to speak their minds he really means it, and the senators can trust his sincerity. Pliny thus makes it the duty of the princeps not only to submit to true discourse, but to offer true discourse himself. 376 198 Bartsch (1994, 148), noting that Plin. Ep. 3.18.2 claims the published text was designed to “recommend to our emperor his virtues.” Although, as she pursues it, this seems to define Trajan as the primary audience, it could also be said to do two further things: 1. it establishes clearly that Pliny thought his text could do something, have a function or effect; 2. it offers a way of reading the text in order to excavate his intent. These elements could work just as well for subjects as emperors—such is the power of exemplary discourse. In a move that Foucault would have found interesting, Pliny could be said to constitute a site for criticism of his emperor; which is to say, his text—by dint of both its content and commemorative form—actually makes critique possible. 199 Foucault (2005, 375) asks, “How can the exercise of power become a function and job?” The existence of ‘guidebooks’ like Plutarch’s How to tell a flatter from a friend suggest that there are rules to being a ruler: in this case, part of his job is to diakrinein/internoscere the types of speech offered to him. 200 Bartsch (1994, 148–187) Conclusion By enumerating and analyzing the emperor’s appearances in just two of several possible personae, I have tried to offer the beginnings of a fuller picture of how often he was actually seen by the people he claimed to rule, and, through a consideration of the visible form of those appearances and the practices which they put on display, how his visibility may have constituted both a logistics of government and a strategy of power. Even though a complete picture will require a similar analysis of the rest of the primary personae adopted by the emperors, from these two alone certain patterns and ideas have begun to emerge. First and foremost among these is the role of the emperor’s person in establishing what I have called narratives of government, both in the context of civil administration and in the field of military operations. We have seen how the types of spectacles in which he was visibly engaged offered to their audiences both a logical and consistent story—which included simple elements such as a problem, a response, and a resolution—and a clear impression of the emperor’s role, and especially his will to act, within those stories. 1 This will to act, and to act effectively, was an integral component of a political ideology that based the emperor’s right to rule on the premise that he ruled well and in his subject’s interest—what we might call an ideology of officium. As we saw in chapter three, much of the emperor’s speech and the speech exchanges in which he engaged can be understood to operate in the same fashion, 377 1 The analogous structure of both edicts and senatus consulta suggest that a Roman audience was to some extent conditioned to consume information offered in this pattern. communicating a model of rational and beneficial government and working to organize a community of “consenting subjects.” 2 Perhaps surprisingly, what has emerged most strongly from this exploration into visible practices is the importance of textual and documentary practices in constructing and institutionalizing the role of the emperor. Although this arises in part from the requisite reflection on the sources of our knowledge for this period, the particular focus on what was made visible in the Principate—put more expansively, what was made public—and the logistics for the production of such visibility or publicity has brought into relief another set of strategies pursued by the early emperors, related to how their activity was to be represented, commemorated, and thus remembered. As I have tried to suggest, this strategy was realized in the precedents they established and how these came to be relied upon by future emperors as the backing for their activity; the dimensions of this diachronic relationship require further development, but the seemingly straightforward relationship between the practices I have analyzed and the texts of the Lex de imperio Vespasiani and Fronto’s letter are, I think, quite suggestive. While, as I have shown, it is part of the discursive reality of this period that the emperor’s practices tend to be schematized according to established Republican personae or officia—which is in part an effect of the ways in which he showed himself to different sectors of the population—what I eventually hope to argue, with the benefit of more time, the analysis of more personae, and the expansion of my chronology to 378 2 Seeberg (1972, 6–11). encompass later emperors, is that as the Principate wears on we begin to see the convocation of all such personae—senator, judge, general, priest—in the emperor’s single characterization as princeps. Which is to say, what emerged as the statio principis was no accident, but rather the result of a historical process involving both the emperors’ material practice and the way that it was commemorated in documents, literature, and iconography. An approach centered on visibility has also necessitated a positive focus on the audience for every practice, speech-act, or commemoration I have analyzed. On one level, this dissertation constitutes an attempt to interpret what any of these things would have meant to the people who saw, heard, or read them, privileging their experience over any pre-existing tradition or intent (although both of these elements may have been realized in that experience). While this approach has led to a lot of focus on the perlocutionary effects of the emperor’s conduct and speech, I have tried to maintain throughout a role for the more direct illocutionary effects, and thus form a picture of how each category actually reinforced the other. For example, the senatus consultum appended to the Fifth Cyrene Edict would have had a material function in guaranteeing a means for wronged provincial communities to recoup extorted funds, but I have also tried to show the way in which the edict made the action of the decree’s passage matter to individuals who had never been the victim of such extortion. Similarly, the ceremonies of profectio, adventus, and triumph can be understood to communicate the importance of continued military activity—and the emperor’s role therein—to people 379 who had never seen a German or Dalmatian. The emperor’s body was an important instrument in communicating these messages, both in the immediacy and in subsequent commemorations: his person would function as both representing and represented object, such that his role in the activity that made Rome work could be understood by a broad range of people, separated from the original event by both space and time. All such practices—visible attendance, public participation, speech exchanges, and the commemoration of these in art and text—were aimed at establishing an official version of imperial government and securing a consensus that it was both valid and worthwhile. 380 Bibliography Aldrete, G. S. (1999). Gestures and acclamations in ancient Rome. Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University Press. Alföldi