This chapter concludes the monograph, emphasising how important the study of ancient assistive technology such as prostheses and aids is for achieving a fuller understanding of the lived experiences of the impaired and disabled in antiquity, and considering how much the objects themselves can tell us about their users. It reiterates that the assistive technology that has survived from antiquity has done so because the objects were included in the tombs and graves of their users, which indicates that they were viewed as part of the individual's body rather than separate from it.

This chapter surveys the evidence for extremity prostheses and assistive technology (walking sticks, canes, crutches, corrective footwear) in classical antiquity. It discusses the different ways in which an extremity such as an arm or leg might be lost (surgical intervention, military activity, judicial and extra-judicial punishment, self-mutilation or deliberate mutilation), and how individuals dealt with their resulting impairments and disabilities. Not everyone could utilise a prosthesis due to the nature of their impairment; they might need to, or indeed choose to, use another type of assistive technology, such as a crutch.

This chapter surveys the evidence for prosthetic hair (wigs and hair pieces) in classical antiquity. It discusses the different ways in which hair might be lost (natural ageing process, ill health, voluntary and involuntary body modification), and how individuals dealt with their resulting impairments and disabilities. It concludes that prosthetic hair is the most widely attested and evidenced type of ancient prosthesis, in both the ancient literature and the archaeological record.

In some contexts, the equites were subsumed into the wider category of boni, while in others the two groups were clearly distinguished. The question is how they were separated – what were the criteria? And were there implications for the place of the boni in public life, especially in relation to the judicial process? To clarify these questions, we will first have to define Rome’s second order, the ordo equester. Currently the debate evolves around two basic positions, which adopt what we might call the ‘minimalist’ and the ‘maximalist’ approach. The former focuses on the archaic institution of the equus publicus – ‘the public horse’ – as the sole qualifying attribute of an eques, while the latter applies a much broader definition that comprises all those who fulfilled the equestrian census requirement, probably set at HS 400,000 during the late republic.

Otium was more than a general sense of comfort; it carried an almost existential quality of ‘security’ that brought it semantically close to salus. The two concepts were, as we saw, often paired, hinting at the profound nature of the underlying concerns. Indeed, Roman public life could, as Cicero did in the Pro Milone, be conceptualised as a perpetual fight ‘for the salus of the boni against the madness of desperate men’.1 And an official senatorial decree calling for Cicero’s restoration had apparently stated that any obstruction would be ‘contrary to the res publica, to the salus of the boni and to the concord of the citizens’.2 Salus represented personal security in the broadest sense of life, possessions and social standing, and while the boni may have taken little interest in day-to-day politics, they did of course care very much about their personal welfare and prosperity. Attempts at engaging them therefore focused on these concerns, repeatedly warning of threats to their ‘salus et otium’. The key passage of Cicero’s second agrarian speech, quoted above, listed the most important benefits of otium, and as its final crowning reward he placed the protection of the family fortune, which rested on pax, ‘res familaris in pace’; for that reason, Cicero stressed that: ‘you ought to preserve otium by all means’.3

It is not least Cicero’s final struggle in 44–3 that invites a revaluation of his place in the history of the late republic. During those crucial months he was the effective leader of the res publica, the treasured ideal which he had always claimed to personify, and which arguably vanished together with its last dedicated defender. As already noted, Cicero occupies a unique place in the history of this period, being our primary source as well as one of its leading protagonists. His dual role as actor and reporter – along with the sheer amount of evidence surviving from his hand – has paradoxical consequences, as it affects our ability to evaluate his historical significance objectively. One way of overcoming this problem it to reconsider the wider social landscape in which he operated, which in practice means looking beyond the narrow confines of the political class. This study has tried to draw attention to a hitherto unrecognised element of Rome’s social structure, the boni, who comprised the broader class of property owners that formed the backbone of the res publica. The simple fact that they far outnumbered the small circle of families who monopolised the highest offices automatically changes our understanding also of Cicero’s position in Roman politics.

The concerns about private property explored in the previous chapters may help us understand better what we might call the ‘politics’ of the boni as well as their relationship with the small inner circle of families that filled the highest offices. Their misgivings about the conduct of the political class appear to have focused on one particular section within it, the so-called nobiles, who occupied a distinct place in the power structure of the republic.1 Overall, the Roman elite was strikingly homogeneous, defined as it was almost exclusively by property and economic resources. No Roman could ever be considered ‘elite’ without substantial assets to his name that guaranteed a life free of work and material concerns. The sources of their wealth were relatively similar across the board, despite some variation in the extent to which different sections engaged in commerce, trade and state contracts.2 The scale of their wealth did, of course, also vary considerably, but that did not affect the fundamentally plutocratic character of the Roman elite. Their shared material interests may have been a contributing factor behind the broad uniformity of values and outlook that seems to have characterised the elite. The most important structural differentiation evolved around public honores, which split the propertied classes into those who took active part in government and state affairs and the majority that did not. Although the former category never formally constituted themselves as a ‘ruling class’, always remaining dynamic, fluid and in principle open to outsiders, over time the position of some families became so entrenched that they set themselves apart while claiming the honorific epithet of ‘nobilis’.

This chapter surveys the evidence for facial prostheses (eyes, noses, teeth) in classical antiquity. It discusses the different ways in which a facial feature might be lost (surgical intervention, military activity, judicial and extra-judicial punishment, self-mutilation or deliberate mutilation), and how individuals dealt with their resulting impairments and disabilities, as missing facial features were difficult, if not impossible, to disguise. It concludes that the evidence for prosthetic eyes and noses is relatively sparse, but that for prosthetic teeth is much more plentiful, both in ancient literature and in the archaeological record.

The boni emerge from the ancient record as a central constituency of the Roman republic, whose importance was reflected in public discourse as well as in private communications between members of the elite. Almost all our sources mention the boni while many texts address them directly. The overall impression is that the boni – in the wider or narrower sense – in many respects constituted a ‘public’, whose views mattered to all who were involved in politics. If, as argued above, they represented a substantial, socially and economically important section of Roman society, they would naturally have maintained a presence at the centre of power. Most likely they dominated the spaces where public affairs took place, above all in and around the Forum, which many would have visited on a daily basis along with senators and equites. While in the Forum they would often have joined the crowds that listened to contiones and formed the coronae which surrounded public court proceedings. They probably also provided most of the participants in the legislative comitia that were held in the Forum; as property owners many of them would have been inscribed in rural tribes and hence able to provide an even spread of tribules that could meet the quorum requirements.

As a class the boni displayed two fundamental characteristics: their privileged position as property owners and their detachment from the world of public affairs, in which only a small sub-section took active part in their capacity of senators and office holders. Attempts at engaging the boni politically would therefore naturally focus on their social position and any threat they might be facing. The boni shared a vested interest in protecting a status quo that guaranteed their place in society; so, if any political creed can be associated with this class, it was the maintenance of stability – at almost any cost, as we shall see. Sallust made this point explicitly, noting that men were not called ‘good’ or ‘bad’ citizens on the basis of their services to the res publica; the rich were regarded as boni because they defended the ‘praesentia’ (i.e. the current conditions).1