Searching for the Boni

In March of 49, Cicero wrote to his friend Atticus with an update on the situation in Rome after Caesar had taken control of the capital. He described how life was getting back to normal and people settled in under the new regime. Personally, Cicero considered his options and asked, ‘What shall I do? Rush madly for Brundisium, appeal to the loyalty of the municipalities?’. The main obstacle he faced was, as he said, that the boni would not follow and neither would anyone else.Footnote ¹ His reference to a group of people called boni, who were apparently reluctant to come to the rescue of the old political order, is intriguing: who were they, and what lay behind their stance at this critical juncture in the life of the republic?

The hesitance of the boni, which Cicero shortly afterwards described as their ‘imbecillitas’ – feebleness – Att. 9.13.4 (SB 180), should have come as no surprise; just a few years earlier he had warned the senate that their support might not be forthcoming in the future. In a list of ominous threats facing the res publica, Cicero had predicted that ‘soon the support of the boni will no longer be readily available whenever called upon by our order (sc. the senate)’.Footnote ² The passage is interesting; for not only does it suggest that the loyalties of the boni were fraying well before the final showdown between Pompey and Caesar; it also indicates that they constituted a discrete segment of society, separate from the senate and the political class, and endowed with interests, identity and allegiances that were entirely their own.

The present study thus explores a section of Roman society that has largely escaped scholarly attention. Despite their increased visibility during the late republic, there is practically no modern literature on the boni, be it on their definition, profile and place in the social landscape, or on the role they played in the political and military events that led to the advent of monarchy. There are several reasons for this surprising oversight. The most important is lexicographical, since, with few exceptions, they have never been recognised as a distinct social class with a well-defined membership. The word bonus – ‘good’ – covers a range of semantic nuances, from capable, ethically sound to decent and respectable. However, the meaning of bonus that will mainly concern us here is that of ‘wealthy’; for as it will become clear, the boni to whom Cicero and other writers repeatedly referred were defined above all by their standing in society and the economic resources that made them a constituent part of the Roman elite. Their social position can in fact be pinpointed with some precision since they appear to have occupied a place between the two highest orders of senators and equites and the population at large.

This stratum has generally not been acknowledged as a social category in its own right. Part of the explanation lies in the particular approach to Roman politics that dominated among ancient historians until relatively recently. It assimilated the boni to one of two putative ‘parties’ in republican Rome, namely the ‘senatorial party’ of so-called optimates. This model was firmly rooted in nineteenth-century constructions of Roman politics which closely mirrored the parliamentary systems of the newly formed European nation states. Abandoning the anachronistic ‘party-model’ has unexpected implications since it leaves us with a group of Romans who were clearly central to the public and social life of the republic but have been largely overlooked by contemporary scholarship. Liberated from the traditional ‘party’ paradigm, we are presented with a clean slate that allows us to reconstruct the original meaning of ‘boni’, unencumbered by modernising preconceptions and distortions.

As we are investigating a category that – at least in historiographical terms – does not yet exist, we are in many ways embarking on a ‘journey of discovery’, which involves gradually piecing together from a wide array of sources an ever more detailed and rounded picture of this group, its identity, values and place in Roman society and politics. In practical terms, that means revisiting the contemporary evidence from the late republic and subjecting it to close readings that put the emphasis on the meaning of words, on the use of language and on subtle terminological distinctions. The discussion therefore stays close to the primary sources, quoting extensively from republican texts, above all those of Cicero and Sallust. This is deliberate because the boni, despite their ubiquity, effectively have been written out of the history of the late republic. The aim is thus to convey the authentic voice of those who engaged with the boni, commented on their attitudes, sought their support – and sometimes despaired at their indifference. As part of this exploration the frequent citations from the ancient sources will serve partly as a means of demonstrating the prominence of this group in the surviving record, and partly of showing the different forms and guises they assume, depending on context, audience and authorial intent. Since the boni paradoxically have been hiding in plain view, the aim is to remedy the neglect of past historians by placing the spotlight squarely on the sources in which they appear.

Individual chapters follow each other roughly in the order in which the argument first developed. Thus, the opening questions are those that initially inspired the investigation and subsequent chapters reflect how new problems and ideas emerged as the project gradually expanded into a broader study of the late republic. As each step in the inquiry raised new issues, in some instances shifting the focus away from the original starting point, some passages and questions were revisited. In terms of structure the inquiry therefore takes a somewhat meandering course, with discussions of values and concepts interspersed with sections of narrative and synoptic overviews of Roman society and the economy. Occasionally it crosses paths already travelled and returns to passages that are questioned afresh. The purpose of these detours and moments of déja vu will hopefully become clear as the investigation progresses and the overall argument takes shape.

The starting point for this study is the contention that ‘boni’, rather than being a rhetorical cliché or a partisan epithet, represented a social category with well-defined characteristics and a membership to which the term was applied uncontroversially and as a matter of course. The main qualification of a vir bonus was wealth, and this fundamental aspect of their identity lends the whole study a distinctly socio-economic dimension. It invites us to rethink the social landscape of republican Rome and to consider the wider historical implications, for ultimately it was property that determined the social position of the boni as well as their political outlook and priorities. It will therefore also provide the particular lens through which the political turbulence of the late republic is viewed. For that reason, the inquiry carries a more pronounced ‘materialist’ flavour than has usually been the case in modern narratives of the ‘fall’, which tend to include socio-economic factors but rarely put them centre stage. It is, however, worth bearing in mind that in Rome, as in most other societies, the ‘state’ – by which the Romans understood the shared public interest, the res publica – had as its core function the protection of private property along with the social hierarchies it embodied and sustained.

In The Wealth of Nations, Adam Smith, an astute observer of the relationship between wealth and power, noted that ‘civil government, so far as it is instituted for the defence of private property, is, in reality, instituted for the defence of the rich against the poor, or of those who have some property against those who have none at all’.Footnote ³ Smith’s formulation may strike some as overly reductionist, especially when viewed from a modern democratic perspective, but it expresses a basic truth that is often overlooked when historians investigate past societies. In the case of the late Roman republic, there are signs that the security of private property was becoming a real and growing concern for the elite. Sallust famously ascribed the ‘fall’ to material factors, above all excessive spending and indebtedness among the political class, but across the ancient record runs an undercurrent of anxiety about the safety of one’s possessions as well as the permanence of the social order. The question is how these fears shaped the political history of the period. The management of the res publica had historically been entrusted to a small group of families, who over time established themselves as an informal class of semi-hereditary office holders, the nobiles. But although they maintained a near-monopoly on the highest offices, they did not rule sovereign nor did they do so in isolation. The nobiles were firmly embedded within a much wider elite, for as Keith Hopkins observed almost forty years ago, the Roman senate is best understood as ‘the prestigious political arm of a broader class of Roman and Italian land-owners’.Footnote ⁴ The implications of this structure have been little explored, probably because this extended class of property owners has seemed too elusive and lacking in definition to allow in-depth analysis. The identification of ‘boni’ as the standard designation for this group thus opens up important new avenues of inquiry that will be pursued in the following chapters.

The interaction between boni and nobiles forms a central theme of this study. Their relationship was complicated by the ambiguous role played by the boni in Roman public life; for despite constituting the closest Rome came to a ‘public’ and largely controlling access to the highest offices, the boni took little active part in politics. As a result, the nobility became the ‘executive’ wing of the elite, while the majority embraced a quiet life, free of ambition and the pursuit of honores. Their non-political outlook left the boni reliant on others to manage their most vital interests on their behalf, and for many years the ‘social contract’ between nobles and boni seems to have worked to the satisfaction of both parties, the former safeguarding the affairs of the latter in return for power and distinctions. During the late republic their relationship appears to have undergone significant changes. Politics became far more turbulent, and we also encounter in this period a relentless anti-noble discourse, often spilling over into open hostility, which called into question the morals as well as the capability of the governing class. The nobles were regularly accused of failing to keep up the ancestral traditions that formed the basis for their claims to prominence. So, as the res publica became more unstable and a general sense of uncertainty spread among the boni, the blame was invariably laid at the door of the leading families.

The tensions within the elite were deeply rooted and reflected long-standing differences in lifestyle and priorities that became more pronounced during this period. The boni traditionally embraced the civilian ideal of otium, a state of internal peace and stability where law and order were enforced and private property protected. Their values were therefore those of moderation, prudence and caution, which, as we shall see, in many respects made the Roman vir bonus a close cognate of the later European ‘gentleman’. At the same time, escalating competition for public office left the political class structurally destabilised; as the cost of careers rose to unsustainable levels, the result was mounting problems of indebtedness, risk-taking and norm breaking.

This study places the political and military upheavals of the late republic within a context of growing alienation of the nobiles from their traditional hinterland of the boni. The shift in allegiances explains why the boni appear to have been relatively sanguine about the collapse of the traditional political order, which in their eyes probably had run its natural course. The rule of the nobles no longer seemed capable of protecting the collective interests of the elite; so, when the nobility faced a military challenge in 49 (from within its own ranks, it should be noted) the boni chose to remain neutral. That also helps us understand better what happened next; for eventually they found a relatively easy accommodation with the new regime that emerged out of the civil wars and promised to safeguard their interests more efficiently than the old system had done. As it turned out, the pax Augusta would represent the near-perfect embodiment of the private state of otium which the boni had always treasured. This outcome was not given, however, and for a brief moment it seemed as if a reborn ‘Republic of the boni’ might have been a (faint?) possibility. In a final chapter devoted to the role played by Cicero, the life-long champion of the boni, the tantalising ‘what-if’ scenario of a revived res publica is considered.

The ‘fall’ of the republic has traditionally been interpreted as the result of military and political changes that undermined the internal cohesion of the political class, hampered its ability to contain its leading generals and, above all, weakened its control over the armed forces.Footnote ⁵ These factors were undoubtedly crucial to the unravelling of the centuries-old system of aristocratic government; still, this study seeks to add another facet to this picture by drawing attention to the internal rifts that had appeared within the elite itself. The fault lines were to a surprising degree focused on basic concerns about material possessions, which may have played an important part in the process that ushered in a new and more secure property-regime under the Principate.

Cicero and the Boni

Before embarking on our investigation, we may briefly consider the ancient sources and the issues they present, which in practice means addressing the hermeneutic problem posed by Cicero. His position in relation to the boni will form a recurring theme, for the simple reason that our Roman republic in many respects is synonymous with Cicero’s republic. His writings provide the vast bulk of the contemporary evidence at our disposal, and it is no overstatement to say that without the works of Cicero the late republic would have looked very different. To complicate matters further, Cicero is not just our main source for this period but was himself one of its key political protagonists. His twin role as actor and reporter is, of course, no mere coincidence, as the quality and scale of his oratory and other writings – along with his relentless drive towards self-publicity – were integral not just to his remarkable public career but also to the long-term survival of his works.Footnote ⁶

As a result, Cicero occupies a unique position in the political and cultural landscape of the late republic. While later sources, not least those produced by Greek imperial writers like Plutarch, Appian and Dio, may offer broad narrative frameworks or character sketches, they are too far removed from the world of the republic to convey any first-hand experience of the era; they are inevitably outsiders looking back from a long temporal and cultural distance. Cicero, on the other hand, wrote as a participant in the actions he describes, which gives his testimony an entirely different degree of authenticity. Importantly, he comments on political developments as they happened, without knowledge of eventual outcomes. This lends his account an open-ended quality that sets it apart even from those of near contemporaries such as Sallust, whose work, despite its temporal proximity, already carries an air of retrospection as he analyses recent political changes from a position of hindsight. By contrast Cicero’s running commentary on events has no narrative structure or direction. What we find is instead the unmediated voice of a late republican politician reacting to events as they unfolded, often without a view to remembrance or posterity, as in the case of his most intimate letters.

The extraordinary richness of the Ciceronian evidence can, however, be a curse as well as a blessing. Without the remarkable survival of his works our understanding of the late republic would have been infinitely poorer but relying so extensively on a single source also presents methodological problems, especially when dealing with an author so deeply involved as Cicero was. To make best use of his evidence one therefore has to strike a balance – between questioning his every word (because they cannot be corroborated) and accepting it at face value (because without him there would be little republican history). The need to steer a pragmatic middle course is obviously not specific to Cicero but in principle applies to all ancient sources; still, in Cicero’s case scholarly approaches have tended to become more polarised, reflecting the depth of our dependency on his work and the difficulties we face when trying to verify his account against other contemporary evidence. Thus, many scholars, wary of the one-sided nature of the ancient record, have approached Cicero with considerable distrust.Footnote ⁷ Their suspicion has been stoked not least by Cicero’s forensic speeches, in which he, like any other Roman advocate, tried to pull the wool over the eyes of the judges, often transparently so.Footnote ⁸ On other occasions Cicero’s political judgement clearly failed him and he got carried away by wishful thinking, painting a picture of Roman politics and his own role within it that must be taken with a dose of scepticism. In recent years, much scholarly attention has focused on the ways in which he as a new man, consciously or not, built up his position personally and politically through elaborate acts of literary ‘self-creation’.Footnote ⁹

These studies have produced valuable insights into Cicero’s work, persona and politics, but healthy scepticism can of course be taken too far; it is important to retain a sense of proportion and remind ourselves that although Cicero in many respects was exceptional he was also firmly embedded in a contemporary reality that is reflected in every aspect of his work. Neither Cicero nor his writings existed in a vacuum; what we have from his hand invariably engaged with public audiences, correspondents, or general readers. He may often have pushed a particular agenda, but when he does so it is rarely difficult to spot the intention. For example, when he praises the nobles in his defence of Flaccus and attacks them in his speech for Plancius, the apparent inconsistency is evidently a response to the contingencies of each case. And the fact that he puts his own spin on events and characters does not mean he is constructing an alternative reality; in these instances, for example, the shift in perspective does not call into question the existence of a category of ‘nobiles’ which formed the pinnacle of Roman society.

While Cicero did not create a parallel universe, there are of course occasions where he went out on a limb and pushed conventional language and concepts further than usual. Paradoxically, when that occurred historians have sometimes been less critical, especially when Cicero’s agenda happened to coincide with their own. Thus, Cicero’s works have been extensively mined for clues to unravel the secrets of Roman politics. Sometimes that has meant clutching at straws. Most glaringly, it has turned a few passages of the Pro Sestio that contrast ‘optimates’ and ‘populares’ into a comprehensive model of Roman politics. This example provides a salutary warning against taking Cicero’s words and statements out of context, for a survey of his political terminology – as well as that of his contemporaries – makes it clear that the passages in question are highly contingent and entirely dependent on the argument he is pursuing in this part of the speech. It follows that no general pattern can be extrapolated from this isolated instance, neither with regard to political language and categories nor to actual practice. A similar, if less egregious example, relates to Cicero’s so-called concordia ordinum policy which has been accorded a significance that is hardly warranted by the few and scattered references we find to this common ideal.

So, however prone Cicero may have been to the occasional flight of fancy, special pleading or even outright deception, it is still important to take a balanced and measured view of his evidence. As always, the answer lies in applying a comprehensive approach that considers each statement within its proper textual and historical setting. Doing so would, for example, easily have refuted the party-model of ‘optimates’ and ‘populares’, since it turns out that the two terms are never paired in this way anywhere else in his writings. The famous digression in the Pro Sestio is, of course, still intriguing (and in some respects illuminating, as will be argued), but its modern afterlife reminds us of the risks involved in taking Cicero’s words out of context.

Cicero’s works present a body of material so varied and extensive that it in a sense provides its own comparanda, allowing us to identify when he presents specious arguments, twists the facts or uses terms and concepts in unusual ways. The need to consider the full picture naturally takes us to the central focus of this study, the boni, for Cicero claimed, with some justification, to enjoy a particular bond with this constituency and often presented himself as its leader, spokesman and protector. The important question is to what extent this connection may have distorted our picture of their significance and place in Roman society. Or put differently, did his many references to the boni reflect his own wishful projection or describe an ‘objective’ political reality?

It must be emphasised that our identification of the boni is not reliant on any single ‘revelatory’ statement but draws on the entire Ciceronian corpus. The boni feature with remarkable regularity throughout his works, appearing hundreds of times in every literary genre and historical context, ranging from forensic speeches, deliberative interventions in the senate and at contiones, philosophical and rhetorical treatises, to semi-formal political communications and intimate private letters to Atticus, Quintus and Tiro. Chronologically, the attestations span Cicero’s entire career and relate to political situations as diverse as Sulla’s dictatorship, his own dramatic consulship and traumatic exile, the unsettled time of the triumvirs, and the final power struggle that followed the Ides. Across these decades the profile of the boni remains remarkably stable and consistent; they are invariably presented as wealthy and respectable pillars of society, whom all politicians sought to attract and would claim as their first priority. At no point do we find any ‘Sestian’ attempts at manipulating the definition or extending its application. In fact, the identity of the boni is never problematised or even explained, precisely because they were omni-present and the terminology so common that it was immediately understood by Cicero’s audiences.

There is ample evidence to suggest that the importance Cicero attaches to the boni was shared by his peers and the Roman public at large. Thus, while his testimony may loom large in the ancient record, it does not stand in isolation. For example, his various correspondents all use a terminology identical to Cicero’s when referring to the boni, who also feature in the works of other republican writers as well as those of the early empire. We must therefore conclude, as Strasburger did almost 100 years ago, that ‘assuming that the existence of the boni was merely a fiction of Cicero’s speeches, pretence or self-deception … would be a mistake. The party of the boni was simply not suited to produce men whose names are recorded in history.’Footnote ¹⁰

The ‘discovery’ of the boni has implications also for our understanding of Cicero himself, his politics, career and self-fashioning. Cicero, the historical figure, has somewhat paradoxically been obscured by Cicero the writer and source for the late republic. The two aspects are of course inseparable, but the significance of Cicero as a politician is difficult to gauge objectively since he provides most of the evidence on which his own role is assessed. This creates a built-in bias in the record for which many historians have (over)compensated by deliberately downplaying his influence and ability to shape events. When confronted with Cicero’s all too obvious ego and constant self-promotion the reaction has typically been to query the foundations for these claims. As attempts at counteracting the Cicero-centric nature of the evidence that may perhaps be understandable, but caution can be taken too far and the aim here is to offer a different approach, for by shifting the focus onto the boni the question of Cicero’s significance is itself reframed. By reconfiguring the social and political landscape of the late republic Cicero emerges as a more centrally positioned figure than has often been recognised. The intention is not to ‘rehabilitate’ Cicero – and his character and personality remain irrelevant to this study; the aim is to gain a clearer idea of the world in which he operated and of the factors that facilitated his remarkable rise. The story of Cicero’s ever-evolving relationship with the boni becomes part of a wider narrative of the late republic, one in which the boni provide the prism through which the political, social and economic history of the period is considered. The first question that needs to be addressed concerns the identity of the boni, which logically must begin with a survey of existing interpretations and current lexicographic definitions.