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Chapter two examines Cloelia, a girl sent as a hostage to the Etruscans to secure a truce. According to legend she courageously escaped, swam the Tiber, and returned to Rome. She is commonly said to display virtus—military valor, or “behavior appropriate to an adult male (vir).” But what does it mean to be a “manly maiden,” a virgo who displays virtus? What norms might she provide for persons of various sexes and ages? Addressing these questions requires nuanced moral reflection. Adding complexity, her courageous escape abrogates the truce and tars the Romans as perfidious. Thus she can serve as a positive or negative exemplum, as the rhetoric of the current argument requires. Finally, an equestrian monument connected with Cloelia seems to make her vividly and immediately “present” to observers—as if they were eyewitnesses to her original performance. Such “timelessness” is a common feature of exemplarity, one which this exemplum particularly thematizes.
Chapter eight, the conclusion, examines Seneca the Younger’s Stoic critique of Roman exemplarity—particularly (but not only) its moral dimension. From a Stoic perspective, Seneca contends that observing individual actions provides insufficient grounds for judging an actor’s moral status. First, judges evaluating single actions may mistake a virtue for a vice, and so misjudge the actor’s moral state. Second, since Stoic ethics values consistency, a person’s true moral state becomes evident only over time, in the performance of many actions in many contexts; no single action provides sufficient information to ground a valid moral judgment. These Stoic critiques impinge heavily upon three of the four operations of Roman exemplarity as described in the introduction. A Stoic exemplary morality is possible, however, if the four operations are revised and given “appropriate” content. Seneca’s critique reveals that “conventional” exemplarity was by no means uncontested, and shows that formal, theorized philosophy can supply an alternative.
Chapter three examines Appius Claudius Caecus, a prominent political figure of the late fourth to early third centuries. The tradition ascribes to him important public works, high-stakes military activity, oratorical prowess, and reforms of the state’s constitutional, legal, and ritual infrastructure. Yet every area of his activity is represented as profoundly controversial, spurring both positive and negative evaluations from contemporary and later judging audiences and permitting him to be invoked as a model for imitation or avoidance in different contexts. For instance, Livy makes him an incompetent general who is forced to pursue alternative arenas of activity and achievement, while Cicero presents him as a “good old Roman” who instantiates upstanding, conservative moral values and who imposes a familial rebuke upon his descendants. This chapter also analyzes key monuments associated with Appius, which themselves display striking and contradictory moral bifurcations.
Chapter five examines Fabius Cunctator, the proponent of military non-engagement or “delaying” during the Hannibalic war. According to legend, Fabius was criticized for cowardice until his strategy was vindicated by events; then he was glorified for his foresight and concern for the commonwealth’s safety. This striking revaluation of his performance from “bad” to “good” within a single moral category (gloria) comes about because Fabius is presented as recognizing, alone, a moral nuance in the Hannibalic war: that displaying valor in battle does not, for the moment, support the commonwealth’s long-term survival. The Fabian exemplum schools audiences in distinguishing among related but distinct moral concepts (especially gloria and virtus), and in understanding what kinds of actions truly serve the community. This moral refinement has rhetorical and political consequences, as later generals and statesmen invoke Fabius to justify disregarding traditional values when they believe circumstances require it.
Chapter one examines the figure of Horatius Cocles, who according to legend defended the “bridge on piles” (pons sublicius) single-handedly and kept an Etruscan attack at bay, saving the city in the earliest years of the Republic. Horatius is richly endowed with monuments—topographical, bodily, textual, and iconographic—and is sometimes adduced as a norm or model for imitation among later Romans. An exemplary exemplum, Horatius provides a particularly suitable vehicle for analyzing the dynamics of commemoration, monumentality, and norm setting. In particular, this chapter studies cases in which the Horatius exemplum is tendentiously shaped to “fit” a certain context, or in which its meaning and value are disputed, or in which debate arises about whether a particular attempt at imitation is successful or unsuccessful, virtuous or vicious. Such polemics and contestation attest to this exemplum’s liveliness and rhetorical effectiveness from the late Republic onward.
Chapter seven examines an episode in the life of Marcus Tullius Cicero: the demolition of his house after he fled into exile in 58 BCE, and the consequences that followed. In the speech “On his house,” Cicero reveals that his enemy Publius Clodius has assimilated him to three legendary “aspirants to kingship” of the early Republic: Spurius Cassius, Spurius Maelius, and Marcus Manlius Capitolinus. These figures, evaluated negatively for their crimes, were supposedly executed and their houses demolished. Two additional negative exempla, Marcus Vaccus and Marcus Fulvius Flaccus, were punished similarly for different transgressions. Cicero strenuously denies that he is a “kingship aspirant,” and he turns these exempla against Clodius instead. His argument depends partly on describing a sequence of monumental structures on and neighboring his housesite, whose vicissitudes track their owners’ fortunes. That Cicero and Clodius wage a bitter political dispute in terms of exemplary models and monuments testifies to the persuasive force exempla were thought to possess.
The Introduction opens with an example of a Roman exemplum – Polybius’ narrative of Horatius Cocles defending the bridge – and proceeds to offer a general model of Roman exemplarity as a notional sequence of four operations: action, evaluation, commemoration, and norm-setting. Exempla play critical roles in three dimensions of Roman culture: they are central to Roman argumentation and persuasion, hence can affect how Romans actually behave; they are central to Roman moral discourse, hence to the establishment, reproduction, and modification of social values; and they presuppose a particular relationship between present and past, and so constitute a kind of historical consciousness. These cultural dimensions are central to the work that examples do in Roman culture, and all are pertinent, in varying degrees, to each of the case studies presented in the chapters to follow. The introduction also includes discussion of the various fields of scholarly inquiry upon which this study impinges.
Historical examples played a key role in ancient Roman culture, and Matthew B. Roller's book presents a coherent model for understanding the rhetorical, moral, and historiographical operations of Roman exemplarity. It examines the process of observing, evaluating, and commemorating noteworthy actors, or deeds, and then holding those performances up as norms by which to judge subsequent actors or as patterns for them to imitate. The model is fleshed out via detailed case studies of individual exemplary performers, the monuments that commemorate them, and the later contexts - the political arguments and social debates - in which these figures are invoked to support particular positions or agendas. Roller also considers the boundaries of, and ancient alternatives to, exemplary modes of argumentation, morality, and historical thinking. The book will engage anyone interested in how societies, from ancient Rome to today, invoke past performers and their deeds to address contemporary concerns and interests.
In the final paragraph of the last volume of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire Edward Gibbon sketched the issues that had most concerned him. In the section of the list which covers the causes of the end of the Roman West one finds “the disorders of military despotism; the rise, establishment, and sects of Christianity; the foundation of Constantinople; the division of the monarchy; the invasion and settlements of the barbarians of Germany and Scythia.” All these issues had certainly attracted Gibbon's attention in previous volumes, although in an even more succinct précis he had placed particular emphasis on two factors: “I have described the triumph of Barbarism and Religion.”
In what follows I wish to examine the relationship between the “triumph of Religion” and the “Decline and Fall” of the west Roman Empire—taking “Decline and Fall” as the period from the fourth to the seventh centuries, and not in a strictly Gibbonian sense. Although one can certainly say that the Empire came to an end in the West at some point in the fifth or sixth century, my prime concern is not with the significance of the deposition of the last western emperor (nor even with the fall of the Empire), but rather with the difference between western Europe, and the western Mediterranean more broadly, in 300 and in 600. While this is not intended as a critique of Gibbon, his interpretation provides a useful scaffolding for examining the changes that took place between those two dates. The distinction between the late- and post-Roman western Mediterranean can be seen as illustrating a “Decline,” but, as will become clear, I doubt whether the qualitative judgement that the word implies is helpful when one considers the major changes that took place.
Even though Gibbon's concerns, most especially that of religion, will provide the main focus for the line of argument that I will put forward, it should be stated immediately that his summary can no longer be regarded as providing an adequate list of the causes of the fall of the west Roman Empire.
The reactions to the devastation of parts of Gaul and Spain, and to the activities of the Visigoths within Italy did, however, have their religious side. Some pagans attributed the taking of Rome by the barbarians in 410 to the aban-donment of the old gods, while some Christians saw the disaster as a just retribution on a sinful world. One need only recall the letters of Jerome and Pelagius, and the sermons of Augustine, written in the immediate aftermath of the Sack of Rome; or the subsequent, and very much more considered, response of the bishop of Hippo in the City of God. Orosius reversed the pagan argument: the destruction had been unleashed by God on the ungrateful city, and indeed the major damage to the forum had been caused by a divine thunderbolt, which destroyed all the idols. Even so, in his view, the three-day sack in 410 was as nothing compared with a fire that had devastated the city 700 years after its foundation (i.e. in 54/53 bc), not to mention the one that lasted six days during the reign of Nero or the total sack of Rome by Brennus following a six-month siege in ca. 399 bc. In any case, the Gothic sack famously morphed into a religious procession after Alaric ordered the restitution of “the sacred vessels” to the Church of St Peter.
It is worth pausing here for a moment on some of the ideas relating to the Empire and its demise that were current in the fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries. Eusebius, of course, had set out a very positive view of the Empire as the fulfilment of Christian history. In one way or another his view was adapted in the East to fit the developments of the fifth century—the reigns of Theodosius II (401–50) and of Marcian could still be seen as belonging to the triumph of the Christian Empire. In the West, despite the fact that Eusebius's Chronicle, in Jerome's translation, seems to have been better known than it was in the East, it was harder to follow a pure Eusebian line. Not surprisingly there is an apocalyptic strain to be found in a number of chronicles of the period, notably that of Bishop Hydatius writing in north-west Spain in the middle of the fifth century.