Roman Political Thought

8/18/2019 Roman Political Thought

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The Encyclopedia of Political Thought , First Edition. Edited by Michael T. Gibbons.© 2015 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.

DOI: 10.1002/9781118474396.wbept0897

Roman Political ThoughtDean Hammer

For many Polybius (ca. 200–118 ) serves as

the entrée into Roman political thought: aGreek theorizing about a Roman politicalsystem that had already achieved empire. ForPolybius, Rome’s ability to attain power whilealso preserving liberty lay in large part in itspolitical system, which contained aristocratic(the senate), democratic (the people), andmonarchical (the consuls) elements. Politicalpower, according to Polybius’ well- known for-mulation, is distributed among different parts

of the state so that no one institution holdspower. Each part brings to the system its owninclinations and interests and each requires thecooperation of the other in order to getsomething done. In times of emergency, thestate acts “in concord and support” (Polybius2011: 6.18.2). In times of peace, the efforts ofone part toward supremacy – a fact of humannature – can be “counterworked and thwarted”by the others (Polybius 2011: 6.18.7).

Polybius is, of course, talking about theRoman Republic (ca. 509–31 ), a periodwhose beginning is shrouded in myth and enddissolves in violence. The Roman Republic wasnot quite the closed oligarchy once assumed.Nor was Rome the democracy that some haveclaimed. Rather, Rome’s political institutionswere a complex and historically layered arrayof hierarchically organized units with the pop-ulus meeting in assemblies of various types and

with various functions being the source oflegitimacy and power but having limited venues for participation and expression, thesenate having limited formal powers but largelycontrolling what can be done, the annuallyelected consuls possessing both imperium (thepower of command) and auspicia (the right toconsult the gods about state matters), and thetribunes of the plebs serving primarily as a

protection or advocate of the people throughtheir power to intercede on behalf of citizensagainst state coercion or veto any action ordecision by a magistrate.

We know Rome politically through its institu-tions. But ultimately what held the systemtogether – or at least what regulated competitionand steered it toward public ends for a longwhile – was an abiding sense of tradition. Thecentral concept of Roman political life was themos maiorum (the custom, or mores in theplural, of ancestors). When Ennius, the firstgreat Roman poet, writes, “On ancient customsand manly vigor the Roman state stands”( Moribus antiquis res stat Romana virisque )(fr. 156 Sk; my translation), he is not referring toa particular legal or constitutional frameworkbut to a relationship with and attitude towardthe past. The mos maiorum oriented Roman cit-izens to a sense of civic virtue and duty throughstories of deeds that were reinforced by visualreminders, public ceremonies, celebrations, ora-tions, and exempla , models of virtue.

Rome was a community of tradition, buthardly of consensus. The conflicts that inhered

in the Roman Republic ran deep, and were fre-quently organized around contending claimsabout the meaning and inclusiveness of theseancestral traditions. The conflicts werenumerous: struggles between patricians andplebs, often referred to as the conflict of theorders; between the propertied and unproper-tied classes; between enfranchised Romans anddisenfranchised Italians; between the leadingelite families and the novi homines (new men

rising to top positions); and between elites whodivided (or were categorized by others) broadlyas populares (“populists,” those who invokedthe power of the people, often by way of thetribunes, to address problems of debt, poverty,and landlessness) and optimates (“the best,”those who used the senate, the mostconservative political body in Rome, to protectproperty and elite privilege).


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The Republic would eventually be exhaustedin the last century by dynastic competi-tion, tumultuous violence, naked self-interest,hypocrisy, corruption, and terror untilOctavian finally emerged as sole ruler with thedefeat of Antony in 31 . Octavian, latergiven the title “Augustus” (from augere , “toincrease”) and “Princeps” (or “first man,” aterm used in Republican Rome to refer to themost eminent member of the senate), wouldhold the formal power of the state. Whatevercontinuities there might initially have beenwith the Republic, the rise of Augustus foreverplaced Rome’s political fate in the hands of asingle, and largely unaccountable, ruler.

This political context is critical for under-standing two aspects of Roman politicalthought. First, the Romans thought throughand with their history. To the contemporarypolitical theorist steeped in abstraction, Romanpolitical thought seems mired in a hopelesslycomplex array of names, places, laws, andevents. But in this complexity we can locate theconceptual core of Roman political thought.For the Romans, the human artifacts that sur-

rounded them provided a foundation, likeLivy’s Ab urbe condita (“From the founding ofthe city,” the opening words of Livy’s History (Livy 1998)), by which they related not just tothose things, but also to each other. A fullappreciation of the range and diversity ofRoman political thought, thus, must reachbeyond abstract philosophic arguments andlook to historiography, poetry, letters, andorations.

This cultural context is important for a sec-ond reason. As obnoxiously confident as theRomans were about their destiny, they wereequally consumed by the precariousness oftheir hold on power and, unlike Polybius, thefragility of their own system. What makesRoman political thought so interesting is that itdoes not seek refuge in an ideal state or in idealconditions of politics. The question that drivesRoman political thought in all its diversity is

not “How do we create anew?” but “Where dowe go from here?” and “How can we get back towhere we were?” It is born from a deep political

crisis, an attempt, amid corruption, violence,chaos, and despotism to reconstitute a terrarecognita – to make sense of, to know again,and to recognize the political world theyinhabit.

Cicero and the Res Publica Amissa (The Lost Republic)

Cicero (106–43 ) introduced Rome topolitical thought. The hallmark of Cicero’spolitical thought is an ongoing mediation bet-ween the eternal order of the cosmos and thecontingent expressions of human politics andculture. However much Cicero repeated thatour true place is with the gods, he could notimagine a home outside politics. Howeverimportant reason may be as the distinctive anddivine attribute of humans, ultimately ouraffection for the things we have come to knoworient and bind us to them. The mark ofCicero’s works lay in his unswerving attach-ment to the res publica that was disintegratingeven as he spoke.

Cicero is credited with bringing Greek phi-

losophy to a Roman audience. But to under-stand Cicero as a mere translator is tomisconceive Cicero’s project. Cicero’s On theRepublic (Cicero 2000), modeled after Plato’sRepublic , takes on its own distinctive Romancoloring. When Cicero talks about the beststate, he is not imagining a Platonic ideal but amodel and pattern, perfected in time, ofnature’s impetus. If Cicero’s founder shares thedivinity that Plato associates with the philoso-

pher, it is not in his or her proximity to theForms, but in the ability to authorize ideas; toget others to obey what philosophers have dif-ficulty getting others to even believe (Cicero2000: 1.2.3, 1.7.12). Furthermore, the perfec-tion of the state does not derive from the visionof a single lawgiver or legislator who standsoutside politics and enforces his will, but fromthe enactment of politics by multiple founders,“in a long period of several centuries and

many ages of men” (Cicero 2000: 2.1.2; also2.21.37). Where Plato locates the ideal outsidetime – thus making time into the enemy of


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politics – Cicero cannot imagine the perfectionof something without the experience that timebrings.

Neither “state” nor “regime” adequately cap-tures the associational aspects that Cicero seesas characteristic of the res publica . What makesa gathering into a res publica is that there mustbe iuris consensus , an agreement on justice, andutilitatis communione societus , a partnershipfor the common interest (Cicero 2000: 1.25.39).Justice for Cicero is not just the ordering ofone’s own actions; since it is guided by oursocial instinct, justice functions “to promoteand strengthen society” (Cicero 1913:1.28.100). The social nature of the res publica isgiven a particular form as a societas , or part-nership. Although societas connotes a range ofnatural associations, the term also has a morelegal denotation in Latin, and one that framesCicero’s understanding of political association.It refers to a type of contractual agreement orpartnership, one whose features are immedi-ately recognizable in the Roman politicalsystem, in which: (1) individuals contributeproperty or work toward a common aim; (2)

profits and losses continue to be shared, eitherequally or in proportion to an agreed-uponrecognition of differences in service or othercontributions; and (3) the parties remain “ofthe same mind” (Gaius 1946–1953: 3.149–51).A social partnership is categorized as aparticular category of contract, a consensualcontract, which does not have explicit, objectiveconditions but requires ongoing agreement.

Viewing the res publica as a social partner-

ship in which the nature and extent of power isthe subject of ongoing negotiation helps usunderstand both the emergence and the impor-tance of the mixed constitution in Cicero’sthought. The magistrates (expanded to includethe tribunes) have potestas , which is a necessaryexecutive power to implement decisions. Thesenate provides auctoritas , which is an affectiveform of power that derives from recognitionand respect for one’s words and actions.

Auctoritas smoothes out the commandingpower of potestas by giving standing, conti-nuity, and dignity to the partnership. And

libertas manifests itself as public choice, not just as a protection from domination andencroachments on property, but as a way ofcollectively and publicly proposing, deciding,and binding each other to the disposition ofpublic things. What is striking and distinctivein Cicero’s approach to politics is the personaltone: society is neither an abstraction nor acomplex arrangement of explicit laws, but apeople bound together through trust, affec-tion, recognition of service, tradition, status,and regard for need.

Lucretius and the Limits of Power

Lucretius (ca. 94–ca. 55/51 ), of whom weknow little, reveals just how diverse the strandsof political thought in Rome were. He looksoutside Rome: to nature, generally, andEpicurus, specifically, to provide a philosophiclanguage by way of poetry for his Roman audi-ence. Lucretius’ beginning point is physics, inwhich he posits a nonteleological, kinetic, infi-nite universe comprised of solids and the void.The formation of compounds, including

humans, is not governed by any larger designor purpose but by a virtually infinite array ofchance encounters, capable of producing dif-ferent worlds.

To know one’s self is to know the physicalprocesses that comprise the self. Part of thatknowledge is simply the recognition of thematerial sensations of pleasure and pain. Thisknowledge also allows us to make judgmentsabout whether avoiding or desiring something

can lead to tranquility associated with hêdonê (pleasure), the aim of Epicureanism. Hêdonê isnot indulgence but can best be understood asthe absence of pain or freedom from mentaldisturbance.

The knowledge of nature not only providesthe basis by which one orients thought andaction, but also serves as a lens through whichsocial development and organization can beinterpreted and critiqued. For Lucretius, all

compounds have a distinct power implanted bynature, have a natural sense of how to use thatpower, and have their power limited. Lucretius’


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discussion of human communities can be readas tracing the various appearances of sover-eignty that are then undermined by a violationof one of these natural conditions of power.One alienates one power (handing it over tosomeone or something else), confuses one’snatural sense of power with a community-created sense of power, or fails to recognize theboundaries of power.

Viewing social development from the per-spective of our natural power results in a devas-tating critique of the meaningfulness andusefulness of categories associated with the mosmaiorum . Religion, for example, encourages usto be terrified of natural phenomena, to look tothe gods to explain our affairs, and to live interror about what happens to us after we die. Sotoo society teaches us that happiness lies in thepursuit of honor and glory, a pursuit that resultsin an endless and fruitless quest to sate desiresthat have no natural limits nor permanence. Evenour fear of death arises from a misconception ofour sensual nature: we are finite beings who, onour death, will dissipate back into the universe.

Although Lucretius replaces the majesty of

the Roman state with the “majesty of nature”(1924: 5.7), it is not majesty devoid of politics.Political communities are types of natural com-pounds joined by compacts that are premisedon the recognition of natural boundaries, aims,and relationships. The health of a compoundrequires two things, both of which bear on thecontemporaneous Roman state. First, a healthycompound requires that its boundaries be pro-tected against bombardment and its body from

depletion. Its strength must be continually sup-plemented and nourished. The problem ofempire, for example, is that it simply becomestoo large and, thus, too difficult to protect andnourish. Second, a compound requires anordering of internal relations of power that arepremised on the recognition of both limits andcapabilities. In Lucretius’ account, and it isunique among extant Epicurean accounts, theresponse to turbatio , the turmoil among indi-

viduals, is a Republic in which men createmagistrates, establish justice (iustitia ) (whichfor Epicureans is simply an arrangement over

not harming or being harmed that frees sociallife from disturbance), and form laws (leges )(1924: 5.1143–4; also 6.1–3) that everyone sub-mits to by their own will (sponte sua ) (1924:5.1147). It is precisely that turbatio that nowthreatens to dissolve the Roman state.

One of the enduring paradoxes of Epi-cureanism, generally, and Lucretius’ philo-sophical poem, specifically, is how frequentlytheir seeming disavowal of politics ends up beinginvoked by political actors and thinkers: from theanti-Caesarian elements at the end of the RomanRepublic to the American revolutionaries at thebeginning of the American republic. Lucretius’importance does not lie in his vision of a politicalsystem as much as in the language he provides toaddress the limits of politics.

Sallust and the Constraints of Desire

If Lucretius takes us outside the assumptions ofRoman political life to in turn critique them,then Sallust (ca. 86–35/34 ) problematizesthe central concept of Roman political life, themos maiorum (or the custom of ancestors),

seeking its restoration. Sallust employs a fre-quent Roman claim in describing the work ofthe historian as recalling the memory of greatdeeds, exempla that once inflamed the spirit ofsubsequent generations to imitate the deeds ofthe past. The problem, as Sallust continues, isthat the inheritance of the past has become soconfused that it no longer functions to providetrue standards by which subsequent genera-tions can measure themselves. Instead, a

perverse competition has ensued in whichindividuals seek to rival their ancestors “inriches and extravagance rather than in upright-ness and diligence” (1921: 4.7). Not surpris-ingly, then, when Sallust looks back, he istracing an inheritance that can no longer berelied upon to provide any orientation beyondthe immediacy of one’s desires.

Sallust is most frequently associated with thenotion of a health-giving metus hostilis , or fear

of an enemy. According to Sallust, with thedestruction in 146 of Carthage, theirlongstanding rival and nemesis, Romans


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became lax, indulgent, and self-interested. Theclaim itself is not novel in ancient politicalthought. But Sallust, in talking about the loss ofan enemy, is exploring something moresignificant; namely, how communities organizedesire. The coherence of a community – whatholds it together as something more than anaggregate of individual desires – requires aforce powerful enough to shape and constrainthose desires. Sallust’s discussion of early Rometraces the mechanisms by which the organizingprinciples of Roman life were given shape.

Carthage is important, not only because itsdestruction removes an important constraint, butalso because the prosecution of the war and theexpansion of Rome’s empire altered the constella-tion of constraints that formed Rome’s politicalinheritance and shaped individual dispositions.The final defeat of Carthage weakened the martialimpetus that lay at the heart of the Roman con-ception of virtus . And the absence of any realthreats altered the calculus of action. But theimportance of Carthage does not lie simply in theremoval of the constraint of fear. It reveals forSallust how Rome’s foreign ventures had implica-

tions for the institutional organization of desire.Rome’s empire had grown so large and so com-plex that its maintenance required that the peoplerelinquish their power to provincial administra-tors and the senate. Absent the dispersion ofpower, there were no checks or limits on howthose resources were acquired, or how they couldbe employed. As Sallust writes:

Affairs at home and in the field were managed

according to the will of a few men, in whosehands were the treasury, the provinces, public

offices, glory, and triumphs. The people were

burdened with military service and poverty.

The generals divided the spoils of war with a

few friends. Meanwhile the parents or little

children of the soldiers, if they had a powerful

neighbour, were driven from their homes.

(1921: 41.7–8)

It is in this altered context that we can under-

stand how the practice of plundering, learnedon the battlefield, could have such free reign athome.

In casting about for a solution to thecorruption, Sallust looks neither to the patri-cians nor to the new men, both of whom havesuccumbed to this corrosive environment,their inheritances now inextricably linked. Theinheritance of the past had become so con-fused that it no longer functioned to provide atrue standard by which subsequent generationscould measure themselves. Instead, a perversecompetition had ensued in which individualssought to rival their ancestors “in riches andextravagance rather than in uprightness anddiligence” (1921: 4.7). Sallust, thus, casts aboutfor an alternate genealogy, one that emphasizesthe populus Romanus as the heirs of thefounding of the Republic and the only forcestrong enough to counter the centripetal com-petition for power. Sallust is not making a rad-ically democratic argument nor is the populusRomanus without its problems. In recalling thegenealogy of the Republic, Sallust is identifyingfour features that have been lost: decisionswere made in public; leaders were accountable;laws were equal; and the people had a say in thegovernance of the Republic. The exempla that

Sallust provides are not of particular individ-uals performing great deeds, but of the conse-quences of forgetting these conditions and ofthe moments in which these principles werereasserted. The importance of these conditionsfor Sallust is that they are the basis by whichdifferences can be settled, ambition channeled,and agreements reached.

Virgil and ViolenceWhere Cicero, Lucretius, and Sallust stood onone side of the civil war, watching the dissolu-tion of the Republic, with Virgil (70–19 )we are witnessing the beginning of the politicalthought of the principate, a state organized bypolitical forces that seem as powerful and asabstract as any divine forces. Gone is the lan-guage of the res publica: libertas , populus , andnobiles , and the salience of such institutions as

the consuls, senate, tribunes, and assembly. Inits place is the language of imperium that isglobal in its scope and singular in its rule: a rule


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that, as Virgil writes, will have “no bounds inspace or time” (1916–18: 1.278). Howevergrand the ideals of gloria , pietas , and pax , Virgilreveals their human dimension in the experi-ences of memory, affection, and loss.

We can begin to understand Virgil’s contri-butions by thinking about the alternativeapproaches to political thought available tohim. One alternative is the Greek (specificallyHomeric) epic tradition, which privileges thegreatness of the individual warrior. A secondalternative is recourse to an ideal community,whether Plato’s republic, Epicurus’ communityof sages, or even Cicero’s res publica . A finalalternative is a form of political escapism, aflight from the public world to an increasinglyprivate and interior one. Virgil variously drawson each of these strands: in his creation of apost-Troy epic tale, in his invocation of thegolden age, and in his pastoral poetry. ButVirgil’s thinking never seems to find solace inthese alternatives. His thought, instead, contin-ually arises from, and returns to, the experi-ence of action in the world.

Virgil’s world is one saturated in violence.

Nothing – neither nature nor culture, neitherinnocence nor guilt, neither piety nor impiety,neither hero nor coward – is untouched by vio-lence. Violence is not mastered; its effects arenot reversed by glory; it is not joined tocourage; it is not justified by power; nor is itredeemed by righteousness. Nor can the vio-lence be forgotten. Each character is entangledin the realization that there is no forgetting;that the past cannot be undone. Virgil’s poetry

implicates his audience in the disorientingconfusion and staggering sense of loss thatconnects the bloodshed of Troy, the bloodshedin Italy in the virtual civil war between theTrojans and Latins, tied by marital bonds, andthe late Republican civil war. And, very impor-tantly, the victor in that early civil war, Aeneas,is shown at the end destroying the leader of theother side in cold anger and hatred and inrevenge for another killing. Virgil thus leaves

his audience/readers with a big question (thecontemporary relevance of which was obvious):where is the new victor (Octavian) going to

take his people and country? What is the peacehe will establish going to be like? What Sallustand Livy do through history, Virgil doesthrough epic: raising, dramatizing, and illumi-nating questions of the highest political impor-tance and principle that agitated his time. Whatis seared into Roman consciousness by way ofVirgil is that the Romans, however paradoxi-cally, are connected through the fragmentingeffects of violence. The possibility of peace,

pax , derives from recognizing the horror ofboundless violence so that the community canre-establish limits and engage in the coopera-tive task of rebuilding. Stated slightly differ-ently, violence forges a common plight; treatiesand agreements form a common future.

Livy and Felt Meanings

Livy’s History , like Virgil’s poetry, can be readas a response to the violence and fracturedpolitics of the fallen Republic. Livy’s workshows a variety of influences: an annalistictradition that chronicled names and events; aHellenistic historiographic tradition that

embellished the past by creating dramaticencounters between characters, inventingspeeches, and inferring emotions; and aRoman rhetorical tradition that taughtlessons, or exempla , by which individualswere to take their cues about character andconduct. Livy (59 –17 ) is important topolitical thought, not because he posits a setof theories or analytic categories, but becausehe explores how political concepts like liberty,

authority, and power are organized byaffective associations that are forged in his-tory, transmitted as cultural memories, andenacted as human practices. Political conceptsappear as felt meanings, given coherence asstructures of feelings.

Livy’s ideas in Ab urbe condita appear as analternative to Plato’s philosopher-king andAristotle’s model of phronesis , both of whichultimately look to reason as the mechanism by

which communities can be organized and madeto endure. There is no philosopher or founderwho can stand outside time and history and


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organize the community. For Livy (as for Ciceroin the Republic , where this is conceptualizedmore theoretically), Rome has successivefounders who are able to craft through visualreminders (like Livy’s own history) a commonidentity and core concepts of authority and lib-erty. Yet, no matter how important elites may be(or may want to be) in directing the people, theyare never able to completely define those mean-ings for the populace. They are never able to fixinterpretations. The people, as Livy’s History makes clear, are continually and vigorouslyengaged in acts of interpretation that derive asmuch from their own experiences and condi-tions as from anything elites might contrive.Whether begrudgingly recognizing this or not,Livy’s psychological history traces the animatingrole of popular vision in the emergence of lib-erty and the effects of political blindness experi-enced by both elites and masses in the corruptionof the community.

The trajectory of the early books of Livy’s Aburbe condita is toward the increasing opennessof Roman politics, not out of a principled beliefin rights but because the health of the community

depends on the shared, though not necessarilyharmonious, ability to orient and organizeshared meanings. The concern becomes morepronounced as Livy turns his attention to theperiphery of the empire, asking the question,“Who will fight for us?” Livy’s History becomesa reflection on the loss of, and in turn the possi-bility of renewing, the animating spirit of Romanpolitics, even if the terms of that renewal wereforever changed. Livy’s history speaks to an age

when there are no longer deserts and wilder-nesses out of which may be created new com-munities but only the rubble of the past:populations divided in their loyalties, born ofdifferent historical experiences, and orientedtoward divergent and opposing ends.

Seneca the Younger and the Jurisdictionof the Self

One of the striking aspects of Roman politicalthought is how it is impacted by the practice ofpolitics. Even Stoicism, a philosophy often

associated with withdrawal from politics in itsGreek expression, assumes prominence in thepolitical life of Rome, notably in Cato theYounger’s suicide in defiance of Caesar’s tyr-anny, in Seneca (ca. 4 –65 ) serving asadvisor to Nero, in the so-called “Stoic opposi-tion” to successive emperors, and culminatingin the rule by Marcus Aurelius (121–180 ).

For Stoics, the only true aim of humanthought and action is moral good. The practiceof Stoicism teaches one to live in conformitywith a rationally ordered universe by con-trolling how one receives and responds tostimuli, stripping away one’s subjective or emo-tional evaluations. Politics is classified assomething indifferent since it does not affectone’s choice of moral goodness. But Stoicismdoes not teach isolation. Human moraldevelopment requires others. One learns whoone is and one’s relationship to the cosmos byway of reflection, in which one sees one’s self aspart of the rational order of the universe, andby way of experience, in which one learnsabout one’s self as an embodied, perceivingbeing who must put into concrete action the

axioms of moral goodness.Seneca’s political thought is an exploration

of the struggle to maintain this moral jurisdic-tion over one’s self in a political world thatactively subverts the boundaries of moral andimmoral, proper and improper, and legal andillegal (Seneca 1932, 1971, 1996). Senecaattempts to restore our jurisdiction as a free,moral being in two ways. First, philosophybecomes a guardian, a way of life, that fashions

a new genealogy (one not of nobility but ofnobleness), models of action (notably Socrates),and precepts to practice. Philosophy alsoprovides a partner to engage in continualconversation with and cross-examination ofoneself. Through the practice of philosophy,we enter moral adulthood, in which we are incharge of ourselves. We are ready for citizenship.Seneca provides a second way of restoring jurisdiction, and that is by constituting a

broader conception of citizenship, one thatmakes one free by right of nature even if not byright of Roman citizenship. As part of one


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great, universal body where we are createdfrom the same source and for the same end, wehave duties that arise from our mutual affec-tion toward others. In claiming the world asour country we have an even greater arena inwhich to engage in human interaction, fairness,and justice. Seneca’s model is Socrates, anexample of world citizen who was able to moveabout as a free man under thirty tyrants.

Marcus Aurelius will later take this conceptionof world citizenship even further. To be without a

polis is to be torn from the unity of the universeand the concord of others. The person without a

polis is like a xenos , an alien who has no under-standing of his surroundings, or a phugas , anexile from reason, or a ptôchos , a beggar whomust depend on others (1916: 4.29). Thiscitizenship has implications for our relationshipwith others. We are joined in fellowship with andlove of our neighbor. That love for Marcus derivesfrom the embrace of the being of things. To loveone’s self is to love one’s Nature, which is to loveanother. Augustine will pick up on these strands:we are like strangers in a foreign land, but whereMarcus directs us to recognize our earthly rela-

tionship to others, Augustine enjoins us to recog-nize our citizenship in the City of God.

Tacitus and the Malady of Despotism

In some striking ways Tacitus, in looking backat the reigns of Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius,and Nero, and having lived under Domitian,complements Seneca’s exploration of the loss ofmoral bearings (Tacitus 1970, 2004). Like

Seneca, Tacitus’ pessimism does not seem tostem solely from the character of the tyrant.Rome had known tyrants before. What marksthe difference between Rome’s earlier experi-ences of tyranny and the emergence of the prin-cipate is the seeming complicity of thearistocracy and people. These perplexities ledTacitus to a diagnosis that something moreenduring had penetrated into Roman politicallife. He is referencing a far less visible, far more

experiential, way in which despotism alters thecues by which individuals develop their politicalattitudes, dispositions, and aspirations.

Tacitus is talking about the loss of politicalbearings: one’s sense of the clarity by whichinstitutions and norms transmit expectations,channel ambition, and recognize accomplish-ments. With the progress of despotism, everymarker – whether distinctions of legal andillegal, honorable and dishonorable, or trust-worthy and untrustworthy – can mean itsopposite. As Tacitus takes us inside the individualwhile the individual attempts to navigatethrough this unknowable and unreliable realm,we see the consequences of this transformationof the political landscape as ambition is chan-neled into melancholy, delirium, and servility.

For Tacitus, despotism appears as a malady,like that of insanity (as described by themedical writer, Celsus), which requires that themind of the patient be turned from vainimaginings to something more real. Tacitus’writings aim to restore the lost sentiments of apolitical self by prompting the patient to recallwhatever glimmers of sanity might remain.Tacitus’ asymmetrical, often jarring syntaxhighlights pretext, juxtaposes truth andfalsehood, and emphasizes the discordant

relationship between events. Tacitus’ writingsare meant to agitate, prod, provoke, and awakenthe individual and the community from itsdespotic slumber. Tacitus’ political thought,true to its Roman form, does not seek escapebut immerses one in the ugliness of thedeformed political soul in order to restore one’spolitical bearings.

There is an element of truth to Virgil’s claimthat Roman greatness lies not in philosophy

but in rule. The Romans were suspicious of theabstract philosophizing characteristic of theGreeks. Although seen by some as ploddinglypractical, Roman political thought is enlivenedby its intimate connection to the practice ofpolitics. Roman political thought, thus, doesnot easily reduce to tidy theories or offer a vision of perfectibility but continually grappledwith the tragic dimensions and limits of itsown power: whether a founding mired in vio-

lence, a conception of glory that would turncitizen against citizen until the Republic wasdestroyed, a tradition of manly liberty that


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would give way to hypocrisy and sycophancy,or ultimately a city that would crumble, just asit had destroyed so many cities before.

Acknowledgment

My thanks to Kurt Raaflaub, J. E. Lendon, andElizabeth Meyer for their helpful comments.

SEE ALSO: Augustine of Hippo: AureliusAugustinus (354–430); Aurelius, Marcus (121–80);

Cicero, Marcus Tullius (106–43 bce);

Cosmopolitanism; Epictetus (mid-1st–2nd centuryce); Epicurus (341–270 bce); Polybius (ca. 200–118

bce); Republics; Stoicism; Tacitus, Publius

Cornelius (ca. 56–115/18?)

References

Aurelius, M. (1916) Meditations , trans.C. R. Haines. Cambridge, MA: Harvard

University Press.

Cicero, M. T. (1913) On Duties , trans. W. Miller.Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Cicero, M. T. (2000) On the Republic , trans.C. W. Keyes. Cambridge, MA: Harvard

University Press.

Gaius. (1946–1953) The Institutes of Gaius , trans.F. de Zulueta. Oxford: Clarendon.

Livy. (1998) History of Rome , trans. B. O. Foster.Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Lucretius. (1924) On the Nature of Things , trans.W. H. D. Rouse. Cambridge, MA: Harvard

University Press.

Polybius. (2011) The Histories , trans. W. R. Paton.Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Sallust. (1921) War with Catiline. War with Jugurtha , trans. J. C. Rolfe. Cambridge, MA:Harvard University Press.

Seneca. (1932) Moral Essays , trans. J. Basore.Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Seneca. (1971) Natural Questions , trans.T. Corcoran. Cambridge, MA: Harvard

University Press.

Seneca. (1996) Epistles , trans. R. Gummere.Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Tacitus. (1970) Agricola. Germania. Dialogus , trans.M. Hutton and W. Peterson, rev. R. M. Ogilvie,

E. H. Warmington, and M. Winterbottom.

Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Tacitus. (2004) The Annals , trans. A. J. Woodman.Indianapolis, IN: Hackett.

Virgil. (1916–18) The Eclogues. The Georgics. The Aeneid , trans. H. R. Fairclough. Cambridge, MA:Harvard University Press.

Further Reading

Asmis, E. (2004) “The State as a Partnership:Cicero’s Definition of Res Publica in His Work

On the State ,” History of Political Thought ,25, 569–99.

Brunt, P. A. (1988) The Fall of the Roman Republicand Related Essays . Oxford: Clarendon.

Cicero, M. T. (1996) Tusculan Disputation , trans.J. E. King. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University

Press.

Connolly, J. (2007) The State of Speech: Rhetoric andPolitical Thought in Ancient Rome . Princeton, NJ:

Princeton University Press.Edwards, C. (1993) The Politics of Immorality in

Ancient Rome . Cambridge: Cambridge UniversityPress.

Feldherr, A. (1998) Spectacle and Society in Livy’sHistory . Berkeley: University of California Press.

Flower, H. (2011) Roman Republics . Princeton, NJ:Princeton University Press.

Foucault, M. (1990) The History of Sexuality,Volume 3: The Care of the Self , trans. R. Hurley.New York: Vintage Books.

Galinsky, K. (1996) Augustan Culture: AnInterpretive Introduction . Princeton, NJ:Princeton University Press.

Garstens, B. (2009) Saving Persuasion: A Defense ofRhetoric and Judgment . Cambridge, MA:Harvard University Press.

Habinek, T. (1998) The Politics of Latin Literature:Writings, Identity, and Empire in Ancient Rome .Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Hadot, P. (1995) Philosophy as a Way of Life:Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault , ed.A. Davidson, trans. M. Chase. Oxford: Blackwell.

Hammer, D. (2008) Roman Political Thought andthe Modern Theoretical Imagination . Norman:University of Oklahoma Press.

Hammer, D. (forthcoming) Roman PoliticalThought: From Cicero to Augustine . Cambridge:Cambridge University Press.

Hammer, D. (Ed.) (forthcoming) A Companion toGreek Democracy and the Roman Republic .Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell.

Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (2010) Reconstructing the RomanRepublic: An Ancient Political Culture and Modern Research . Princeton, NJ: PrincetonUniversity Press.


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Jaeger, M. (1997) Livy’s Written Rome . Ann Arbor:University of Michigan Press.

Kapust, D. (2011) Republicanism, Rhetoric, andRoman Political Thought: Sallust, Livy, andTacitus . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Lintott, A. (1999) The Constitution of the RomanRepublic . Oxford: Clarendon.

Millar, F. (1998) The Crowd in Rome in the LateRepublic . Ann Arbor: University of MichiganPress.

Mouritsen, H. (2001) Plebs and Politics in the LateRoman Republic . Cambridge: CambridgeUniversity Press.

Powell, J. G. F. (Ed.) (1996) Cicero the Philosopher:Twelve Papers . Oxford: Clarendon.

Raaflaub, K. (Ed.) (1986) Social Struggles in

Archaic Rome: New Perspective on the Conflict of

the Orders . Berkeley: University of CaliforniaPress.

Reydams-Schils, G. (2005) The Roman Stoics: Self,Responsibility, and Affection . Chicago: Universityof Chicago Press.

Schofield, M. (1995) “Cicero’s Definition of ResPublica .” In J. G. F. Powell (Ed.), Cicero thePhilosopher: Twelve Papers . Oxford: Clarendon,pp. 63–83.

Syme, R. (1939) The Roman Revolution . Oxford:Oxford University Press.

Vasaly, A. (1993) Representation: Images of theWorld in Ciceronian Oratory . Berkeley:University of California Press.

Zanker, P. (1988) The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus , trans. A. Shapiro. Ann Arbor:

University of Michigan Press.

Roman Political Thought

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