Cicero’s Ideal Statesman in Theory and Practice 9781780932958, 9781472555632, 9781780934716

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Cicero’s Ideal Statesman in Theory and Practice

Cicero’s Ideal Statesman in Theory and Practice Jonathan Zarecki

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc LON DON • OX F O R D • N E W YO R K • N E W D E L H I • SY DN EY

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square London WC1B 3DP UK

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www.bloomsbury.com BLOOMSBURY and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published 2014 Paperback edition first published 2015 © Jonathan Zarecki, 2014 Jonathan Zarecki has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by Bloomsbury or the author. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: HB: 978-1-78093-295-8 PB: 978-1-47426-188-3 ePUB: 978-1-78093-470-9 ePDF: 978-1-78093-471-6 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. Typeset by RefineCatch Limited, Bungay, Suffolk Printed and bound in Great Britain

MEAE CARISSIMAE REBECCAE

Contents Acknowledgments Abbreviations

ix

Introduction I. Aims and assumptions II. Terms and definitions III. Individual, hypothetical, or type IV. Organization

1

11

1

Academic Skepticism and Cicero’s Political Philosophy I. Cicero’s skepticism II. De Re Publica as a philosophical treatise III. Cicero’s use of academic methodology in De Re Publica

16

Cicero’s Philosophical Politics I. From consul to exile II. Oratory and statesmanship in De Oratore III. Pompey’s annus mirabilis

45

De Re Publica and the Outbreak of Civil War I. The explication of the rector-ideal II. The rector-ideal as practical politics III. In the shadow of two dynasts

77

2

3

4

Rex Caesar and the Rector-ideal I. The reluctant survivor: Cicero in Brundisium II. Clemency and the statesman: Pro Marcello, Pro Ligario, and Cato III. Philosophy under a tyrant: Cicero’s program in 46–45 IV. Cicero on autocracy once more

xi

2 5 9

19 24 38

48 62 69

80 91 94 105 108 112 122 127

Contents

viii

5

The Ultimate Failure of the Rector-ideal I. Post-Caesarian philosophy: De Senectute, De Amicitia, and De Officiis II. Cicero as rector: the Philippics and the fight against Antony III. The death of the rector-ideal

Epilogue Notes Bibliography Index Locorum General Index

132 135 145 155 160 163 192 203 209

Acknowledgments This book has had a long gestation from its beginnings as a dissertation written at the University of Florida. Lewis Sussman, professor emeritus et optimus, my chair and mentor, helped this young Ciceronian in ways that are impossible to put into words. Robert Hatch, Kostas Kapparis, and Jennifer Rea read more drafts of my dissertation than they likely care to remember, and all provided excellent commentary and close readings. Though this book little resembles the dissertation I wrote under their watch, I am eternally grateful for their guidance and suggestions. The University of North Carolina at Greensboro has been very generous with both time and money. A semester’s research leave granted by the College of Arts & Sciences in the spring of 2010 allowed me to complete much of my preliminary research. A New Faculty Grant and the Proposal Preparation Program allowed me to travel to where I needed to go. Much of this book was written in the Burnam Classics Library at the University of Cincinnati during the summers of 2011 and 2012. Jacquelene Riley and her staff graciously treated me as one of their own, and gave me the space and the access needed to complete this project. The staff at the Classics Library at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, especially Karen Doudas and Bruce Swann, provided much needed assistance during the earliest stages. Gaylor Callahan and Pat Kelly with the Interlibrary Loan department at UNCG were invaluable to my work, as they never failed to secure the sources I needed in a timely fashion. A number of friends and colleagues deserve recognition for professional and personal reasons. My colleagues on a panel at the MPSA in 2013, Dan Kapust, David Fott, Gary Remer, and Grant Nelsestuen were excellent sounding-­boards for my ideas; their input has been more influential than they know. Del Chrol and Tom Strunk graciously read portions of the manuscript, and it is to my detriment if I have failed to follow any of their excellent suggestions. Special recognition is due to Jessie Craft, my research cum editorial assistant in 2012. His meticulousness saved me from many embarrassing mistakes, and his astute questions helped me to better understand my own work: non sai quanto ti sono grato, Jessie. Randall Childree, Tim Johnson, Hans Mueller, Mike Nerdahl, Andy Nichols, Victoria Pagán, Hanna and Joseph Roisman, Gareth Schmeling, Rex

x

Acknowledgments

Stem, and Steve Tuck have all provided academic, moral, and professional support along the way, for which I am ever in their debt. Completion of this project was greatly facilitated by the support of my exceptional friends and colleagues at UNCG: Hugh Parker, Susan Shelmerdine, Maura Heyn, Bob Simmons, and Joanne Murphy. Dave Wharton’s Latinity and knowledge of Plato proved especially valuable in the final stages of composition. It has been an absolute pleasure to work with the publication staff at Bloomsbury Academic. Deborah Blake, Charlotte Loveridge, Dhara Patel, and Joshua Pawaar at RefineCatch have shepherded this book through from proposal to publication, and I am grateful for their professionalism, their support, and especially their patience. The two anonymous reviewers for Bloomsbury understood what I was trying to say better than I did, and their comments have led to a much improved book. Any remaining errors reflect my shortcomings, not theirs. There are no words to express the debt I owe to my wife, Rebecca Muich. She has been an omnipresent source of support, both professional and emotional, through every stage of my academic career. I am quite confident that this book would not exist if she had not been by my side the entire way. It is with my most profound love, respect, and gratitude that I dedicate this book to her.

Abbreviations ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt. Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung. Berlin: 1972–. RE

von Pauly, A., G. Wissowa, and W. Kroll (eds) Real-Encyclopaedie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. Stuttgart, 1893–1980.

SBA

Shackleton Bailey, D.R. Cicero’s Letters to Atticus. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965–70.

SBF

Shackleton Bailey, D.R. Epistulae Ad Familiares. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977.

SBQ

Shackleton Bailey, D.R. Epistulae ad Quintum Fratrem et M. Brutum. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981.

TLL

Thesaurus Linguae Latinae. Leipzig, 1900–.

References to journals follow the standard abbreviations found in the L’Année Philologigue. Ancient sources are cited according to the conventions of the Oxford Latin Dictionary and A Greek-English Lexicon. I have used the relevant volumes of the Oxford Classical Texts series for all ancient citations unless that series lacked a particular author or work, in which case I have used the Bibliotheca Teubneriana. For the corpus of Cicero’s letters, I have used Shackleton Bailey’s Cambridge editions. For brevity’s sake I have not included Shackleton Bailey’s numbering system with each citation; I have instead used the vulgate numbers according to his organizaton. All translations are my own unless otherwise noted.

Introduction

I will do what you ask, as best as I am able, and now will begin my discussion according to the rule which I think ought to be used in such discussions, if you wish to avoid causing confusion, that if the term for what is under discussion is agreed upon, then the meaning of that term ought to be explained. If we agree on the meaning, then the discussion can begin, for the attributes of the term under discussion cannot be understood unless we first understand what the term actually is. Therefore, since we are discussing the State, we should first see what exactly it is that we are discussing. De Re Publica 1.38 With these words Scipio, the chief interlocutor of Cicero’s De Re Publica, begins his long discourse de optimo statu civitatis et de optimo cive, “about the best type of constitution and the best type of citizen” (Q.fr. 3.5.1). Over the six books of De Re Publica Scipio engages in a wide-­ranging exposition covering not only constitutional matters but religion, law, and philosophy. Scipio’s focus throughout, however, remains firmly on the res publica and a figure called the rector et gubernator rei publicae, “the director and helmsman of the state” (Rep. 2.51). The rector rei publicae occupies a prominent position throughout the work. Though the text of De Re Publica has been egregiously damaged—only about one-­quarter of the work has been preserved—the themes of the missing sections of the dialogue can be reconstructed with some measure of certainty.1 A great part of the dialogue—the majority of the second book, the entirety of the fifth, and nearly all of the sixth—focuses on the character and responsibilities of the ideal statesman. Unfortunately, the fifth book, which contained the most explicit dissertation on the ideal statesman, has all but disappeared; only a scant few fragments, known from quotations in other works, are able to be assigned to it with any certainty.2 Sir Ronald Syme once famously dismissed De Re Publica as “a book about which too much has been written.”3 However, despite the problems of working

2

Cicero’s Ideal Statesman in Theory and Practice

with such a badly preserved work, it seems that De Re Publica is a book about which not enough has yet been written. Since the publication of Karl Büchner’s commentary in 1984 there has been a resurgence of interest in Cicero’s treatise on the State. It has been the subject of no fewer than seven critical editions, including the first Oxford Classical Text in 2006, four English translations, and a great number of articles by classicists, philosophers, and political scientists. Yet despite the attention paid to both De Re Publica in general and the rector rei publicae in particular, there is still disagreement about the exact role of the ideal statesman within the dialogue and whether or not it played a role in Cicero’s philosophy outside of De Re Publica. Cicero’s discourse on the State—the capitalization is intentional—has been enjoying a renaissance in the last two decades. I hope to add a new interpretation of one aspect of De Re Publica to the discussion, and by doing so resurrect the ideal statesman as an integral part of Cicero’s life-­long political philosophy.

I.  Aims and assumptions The arguments set out in this book rely on two main assumptions. I assume, first and foremost, that Cicero was a pragmatic politician who, despite his periods of lugubrious and self-­pitying despair, navigated the political upheaval of the Late Republic with careful consideration of his own position and the future of the Republic. Attendant with this first assumption is the belief that it is possible to tease out threads of commonality across different genres and decades. The problem of genre is an omnipresent obstacle in the study of Cicero and his convictions. Yet in the end all of Cicero’s works were written by the same man. While generic differences must by necessity influence our reading of the speeches, or the treatises, or the letters, we should not simply presume on all occasions the presence of a persona which obscures the personal thoughts and goals of the author. I offer three primary conclusions in this book. First, I establish the profound influence which Academic skepticism exerted on Cicero’s political philosophy and the creation of his concept of the ideal statesman. Though the skeptics considered Plato their founder, the term “skeptic” generally denotes the teachings of the Academy under the series of scholarchs from Arcesilaus to Carneades (c. 269–138 bce); this period, in the main, represents the type of skepticism practiced by Cicero. However, I follow Gisela Striker in defining skepticism not by a time period but by the characterization of its function as containing

Introduction

3

“a thesis, viz. that nothing can be known, and a recommendation, viz. that one should suspend judgment on all matters.”4 But, contrary to the counterarguments of the Stoics, the ideological enemies of the skeptics, this suspension of judgment did not result in mental or physical paralysis. There was, as Richard Bett has noted “a broadly ethical aspect—that is, a practical aspect—to skepticism.”5 For Cicero to be a skeptic, as he repeatedly claimed that he was, was to embrace an ideology that required not only rigorous inquiry into any topic but also consideration of the practicality of both the inquiry itself and its results. During the 50s Cicero embarked on a period of skeptical inquiry which resulted in three political-­philosophical works: De Oratore, De Re Publica, and De Legibus. Skepticism surely played a substantial role in Cicero’s deliberations on the function and fate of the Republican constitution. He realized as early as 59 that the Republic had been seriously crippled, if indeed it had not already passed into history. To be sure, Cicero’s preference was for the continuation of the mixed constitution. De Re Publica is full of positive statements concerning the Roman constitution; it is, in fact, the best form of government ever devised by man (Rep. 1.45, 69). Any serious philosophical investigation into the Roman State would have revealed, especially to such a politically engaged citizen as Cicero, that the Republic of Scipio Aemilianus was fit only for the pens of historians. Furthermore, as part and parcel of a thorough scrutiny of the res publica, Cicero would have been required to consider, or at least to reconsider, the suitability of monarchial power for the Roman State. Cicero’s forgiving attitude towards greater individual power is reflected in his admiration in De Re Publica of monarchy in general and Rome’s early kings in particular. Cicero was no monarchist—it is virtually impossible to argue otherwise, though occasional arguments to that effect have been made (see below)—but he recognized the value of exceptional individual authority, especially for the suppression of the democratic element. Second, I argue that the ideal statesman of De Re Publica represents more than a philosophical archetype with no intended functionality beyond its literary use. I propose that the ideal statesman is the mature product of the entirety of Cicero’s philosophical education and political experience. The ideal statesman is a construct which incorporates theoretical as well as practical considerations, which should be expected given Cicero’s skepticism. The three dialogues which Cicero composed between 55 and 51 were designed to be useful, in contrast to those of Cicero’s predecessors, who wrote purely academic discussions “not designed to be useful for either citizens or states” (non ad hunc usum popularem atque civilem de re publica disserebant, Leg. 3.14). Cicero was thus ideally suited

4

Cicero’s Ideal Statesman in Theory and Practice

to assess the state of the Roman constitution, theorize on solutions, and craft practical guidelines for maintaining the res publica. His political thought was both pragmatic and flexible, allowing for deviations from political or cultural mores where necessary while simultaneously working on the basic principle that the Roman Republic was worth saving. Despite the difficulties of working with a lacunose De Re Publica, it is possible to recreate a fairly comprehensive model of the characteristics and duties of the ideal statesman as Cicero envisioned him. If we look at the Ciceronian corpus as a whole, it becomes evident that the ideal statesman is much more than the product of wishful thinking or nostalgia for the past.6 While Cicero’s conception of the ideal statesman reflected practical considerations and goals, it was at the same time an intensely personal construct. Cicero certainly used himself as one of the sources, and we can see in the ideal statesman numerous echoes of Cicero’s career and philosophical beliefs. While he hoped that De Re Publica, like the philosophical program of the 40s, would be useful, Cicero knew that he would never create a new generation of statesmen through his exposition of the State and statesmanship. The ideal statesman, rather, was constructed by Cicero for Cicero. It served not only as a model for his own behavior but also as a template against which he would be able to evaluate political developments. Once Cicero had fully developed his idea of the ideal statesman, it continued to be the foundational principle for his political activities after his return from the proconsulship of Cilicia. Third, and most significantly, I demonstrate that the ideal statesman played two important roles within Cicero’s life and political philosophy. The ideal statesman, once it had reached its theoretical zenith in De Re Publica, became Cicero’s rubric for assessing the actions of the powerful triumvirate of Pompey, Caesar, and Antony. It became also the primary stimulus for his own actions and reactions during the 40s. Cicero viewed the ideal statesman, I believe, as a practical template for public life in an increasingly violent and fractured political community. By the time De Re Publica was published, Cicero believed that the Republic existed only in name (rem publicam verbo retinemus, re ipsa vero iam pridem amisimus, Rep. 5.2). The power of the individual to dictate social, legal, and military policy had been demonstrated repeatedly in the decade prior to De Re Publica’s publication, from Cicero’s own consulship to Caesar’s, from Clodius’ despotic tribunate to Pompey’s magnanimous turn as sole consul. The political impotence of the Senate and the increasing physical power of the Roman people had created an impossible situation. The moral voices in the Senate, men like Cato and Cicero himself, were impotent, while the less scrupulous—Caesar,

Introduction

5

Pompey, Milo, and others—became the primary authors of events. Cicero had seen the benefits of unilateral action by a magistrate with strong convictions in his actions against Catiline, and Pompey’s swift restoration of order during his sole consulship confirmed the value of strong leadership. But such leadership had to be combined with a philosophical morality in order to ensure the continued existence of the Republic. Cicero’s model of the ideal statesman reflects the new political reality, and demonstrates a greater sympathy towards individual power than is generally allowed.

II.  Terms and definitions As Scipio noted in the passage which opened this introduction, definitions are a crucial component of philosophical inquiry. While I will not be utilizing the skeptical dialogue format for my argument, it is no less important to set out at the beginning the key terms and definitions which I will be using in the following chapters. The most important of these terms is, of course, rector et gubernator rei publicae. Chapter  3 contains a longer exposition of the primary features and nuances of Cicero’s rector, so the description presented here will be somewhat cursory. I have employed the term “rector-ideal” throughout my argument to refer to Cicero’s ideal statesman. Cicero used the word rector sparingly in his works; it appears a mere ten times in the entire Ciceronian corpus, and always in a philosophical or oratorical treatise.7 The ideal statesman, however, is generally termed the rector rei publicae in the scholarship, as the preponderance of occurrences of rector appear in De Re Publica. Using this phrase in lieu of a periphrasis such as “ideal statesman” or “best citizen” is beneficial because such English approximations are unduly limiting. The rector rei publicae is an ideal, to be sure, and statesmanship is indeed the primary duty of the rector, who must also be a civis Romanus. But the rector-ideal simultaneously encompasses moral, philosophical, and political aspects, and thus transcends the rigid definition imposed by these oft-­used English periphrases. I have also chosen rector-ideal as my reference term of choice because the use of rector in a political context is a Ciceronian innovation. The word itself presumably predates Cicero, though it appears for the first time only in the literature of the 50s bce.8 While Cicero does not limit himself to a political context—twice he uses it to refer to helmsmen (Fin. 4.11; N.D. 2.89)—the majority of the Ciceronian uses are made in reference to politics.9 Furthermore, while rector is rarely used, Cicero employs many synonyms for the ideal

6

Cicero’s Ideal Statesman in Theory and Practice

statesman, including gubernator, conservator, procurator, moderator, and auctor. Again, these terms are not uniquely associated with politics, and by themselves these words do not necessarily refer to Cicero’s ideal statesman. Equivalence with the rector-ideal occurs when Cicero combines these words with such modifiers as rei publicae (e.g. Rab. Per. 26; Sest. 98; Rep. 2.51), publici consili (De or. 1.211, 1.215, 3.63; Fam. 12.2.3), or civitatis (Rep. 2.51, 5.8).10 Thus, to avoid the constraints of particular vocabulary and to avoid unnecessary verbosity, rectorideal will be used throughout for the concept of the ideal statesman. While the term rector presents no special difficulty in either its etymology or translation, res publica, while an extremely common term, requires some explanation.11 Res publica, unlike rector, has a polyvalence which can make interpretation difficult, a problem which Hans Drexler has illustrated well.12 In general, res publica is used as a synonym for the Roman State, at least insofar as it denoted its people and not its physical boundaries.13 Yet, as Malcolm Schofield has shown, res publica is not synonymous with what we would call a “constitution,” a written body of fundamental organizing principles according to which a state is governed.14 Nor is res publica tied inextricably to the existence of the Roman mixed constitution.15 The Roman res publica could in fact exist without the mixtum genus; Cicero mentions both a regalis res publica, “a res publica ruled by a king” (Rep. 3.47) and a popularis res publica, “a democratic res publica” (Rep. 3.48). While both types exist, neither is a type to be admired. Fortunately for any study of the rector rei publicae, Cicero provides a definition of the true, acceptable form of res publica early in the discussion of De Re Publica: “Est igitur,” inquit Africanus “res publica res populi; populus autem non omnis hominum coetus quoquo modo congregatus, sed coetus multitudinis iuris consensu et utilitatis communione sociatus.” Rep. 1.39 “As I was saying,” said Africanus, “the res publica is really the affairs of the people; however, the people is not simply an assemblage of men brought together in an arbitrary way, but rather an assemblage of a great number of people united by the unanimity of the law and the fellowship of advantage.”

Scipio presents his definition as a binary equivalence: the res publica is synony­ m­ous with the res populi. For Karl Büchner, this equivalence formed a critical part of the foundations of the Roman state.16 The populus, which has gathered together by the desire to be ruled by law in a society dedicated to the common good, is the salient feature of this, and indeed all, forms of the res publica, whether

Introduction

7

regalis, popularis, or the same as the res populi. The approbation of the rule of law and the safety of the public welfare is the foundation of the State, not the body of written or unwritten law which dictates the manner of governance. The definition of res publica in Rep. 1.39 complements the rather more precise definition of res publica found in the earlier speech Pro Sestio. In the preface to the long sermon on politics found in §96–143, Cicero defined res publica as res ad commune utilitatem, “the things pertaining to the communal advantage” (Sest. 91). This definition from Pro Sestio fits well the meaning of res populi postulated by Schofield, who argued that res populi is “the affairs and interests of the populus,” or, in other words, the things over which the Roman people have some measure of control.17 This control is granted to the people by virtue of their libertas, the nominal control over public affairs exercised by the citizen voting organizations known as comitia. The libertas of the Roman people was a long-­standing and foundational principle of the Roman State, appearing as early as the Twelve Tables.18 The res publica is thus tied inextricably with the idea of libertas, and it is libertas, “the power of law exceeding the power of men,” which is the hallmark of a functioning state.19 Freedom, of course, did not mean the license to do whatever one pleased. It meant that the role played in the government by each social class was protected, and that the law was upheld and applied equally. To return, then, to the phrase rector rei publicae, we can see that Cicero envisaged the rector rei publicae, the “director of the affairs of the people,” to be primarily concerned with ensuring the libertas of the people and the consensus of the classes—both within each class and with each other—which ensured both the sovereignty of the people and the influence of the aristocratic element.20 In this respect, the rector does have some responsibility for the preservation of the physical state; Cicero would later claim in De Officiis that ensuring the sanctity of private property was a fundamental duty of any body politic (Off. 2.78). It is, however, the foundational principles of the res publica and the consequent freedom of the various social classes which must be the concern of the rector. Whether Cicero had a particular person in mind as the paradigm for or embodiment of the rector, and whether he envisioned a host of people who could be considered rectores rei publicae, is not made explicit in the surviving portions of De Re Publica; both aspects of the rector-ideal were presumably addressed in the severely mangled fifth book. At no time, however, does Cicero suggest the establishment of a permanent magistracy for the rector. Cicero did not believe in a separation of powers, or a constitution where the regal, aristocratic, and popular elements were mixed in equal measure. The best expression of both freedom and law, the two main components of the res publica, was the traditional Roman

8

Cicero’s Ideal Statesman in Theory and Practice

constitution. Whatever role the rector was supposed to play in the State, he would assuredly do it within the confines of the Republican constitution. A few words should perhaps be said about the definition of “constitution” as it pertains to the Roman Republic. Despite the lack of the foundational documents which are the hallmark of modern political entities, we would be correct to speak of a constitution, at least in terms of Roman thought. Elizabeth Asmis’ definition of “constitution” as “the organization of a state” will suffice for the present argument.21 Beyond simple organization, however, the constitution embodies the traditions and laws, both written and unwritten, which create the organization; the constitution is not just the product but also the process.22 Benjamin Straumann has recently identified two criteria which are “individually necessary” and “jointly sufficient” for the concept of a constitution. The first is entrenchment, a hierarchy of deeply ingrained rules with little or no mutability. The second is political importance, which requires that the rules governing the distribution and exercise of political power have significant prominence.23 Part and parcel with both entrenchment and importance is the necessity of consensus among the different political groups within the State. The high degree of stratification in Roman society produced distinct social groups with different concerns and goals. Each of these groups had a role to play in the functioning of the State, though we should not think of a modern separation of powers—a topic I shall treat in more detail in Chapter  3—but rather something more akin to Plato’s ideas of justice in Book 4 of the Republic (443b). It was imperative, however, that, as Chaim Wirszubski has argued, each social group work towards the continuation of the res publica and the utilitas communis, respecting each other’s rights and interests.24 Cicero indeed credits the usurpation of the constitution to the splintering of the unity of the people and Senate with themselves and each other (Rep. 1.31–2).25 If the unity of the people failed, so too would the state. From its beginnings in the middle of the fifth century, taking the abolition of the decemvirs as the terminus post quem, the Roman constitution was predicated on the freedom of action by the people, the authority of their decisions, and the agreement by the upper-­classes to abide by their rulings. Despite the restrictions on the actual sovereignty of the populus—for example, the inequality in the organization of the tribes and the limitations of voting without the ability to debate or amend—the libertas of the res publica was at the heart of the constitution. That is not to say that Rome was a democracy. Cicero states quite clearly that the masses should not have the greatest share of the State’s power (Rep. 2.39), and he was a staunch supporter of class distinction. However, the voice of the people was preeminent, though it was tempered by the aristocratic

Introduction

9

element of the constitution, the Senate.26 The development of the constitution, from the creation of new magistrates such as the tribunes, and the opening of the higher offices to the plebeians, ensured, at least in theory, that the people were protected against the ambition of domination by any one person or group of persons.27 Any man who would be a rector rei publicae would be expected to work to protect the res publica, and thus the Republican constitution.

III.  Individual, hypothetical, or type The fragmentary text of De Re Publica no doubt contributes to the wide variety of theories which have been postulated about the nature and importance of what Catherine Steel has called “that most misunderstood figure of rector rei publicae.”28 While a number of scholars have tackled the issues surrounding the rector rei publicae, no book-­length discussion of Cicero’s ideal statesman has been published since the 1950s. Nor, to the best of my knowledge, has one ever been written in English. The only two book-­length treatments of this topic remain Ettore Lepore’s Il principe ciceroniano e gli ideali politici della tarda repubblica, published in 1954, and Per Krarup’s Rector Rei Publicae: bidrag til fortolkningen af Ciceros De re publica, which followed two years after Lepore’s work.29 Despite these two detailed studies, scholarly consensus has not yet been reached. Recent scholarship has tended towards the acceptance of one particular interpretation of the rector rei publicae, but variant readings are still occasionally proposed. As my argument has been influenced by several of these arguments, it is worth taking some time to review the primary arguments about the ideal statesman. Despite the lack of manuscripts devoted to the rector rei publicae, the ideal statesman has been subject to a substantial amount of inquiry.30 The study of the rector has generally centered around two possible interpretations. In one of the earliest treatments, Richard Reitzenstein held that the rector rei publicae was an autocrat, in fact, a forerunner of the Augustan principate. For Reitzenstein, Cicero was not only prescient in his prognostication about the end of the Republican system of government but it was possible that Augustus himself may have used Cicero’s rector as a model for his own rule.31 Eduard Meyer disagreed slightly with Reitzenstein, believing instead that the ideal statesman was not a call for an Augustan-­style principate but was rather a declaration of Cicero’s preference for the return of monarchy to Rome.32 Meyer’s view in part sought to explain the long discourse on the positive aspects of monarchy which appears in the first two books of De Re Publica. As Cicero repeatedly presents himself as a

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Cicero’s Ideal Statesman in Theory and Practice

supporter of the Republic, neither Reitzenstein’s nor Meyer’s argument has found wide acceptance, though Andrew Lintott has recently, and perhaps surprisingly, resurrected the essence of Meyer’s.33 A compromise between the apology for monarchy and Cicero’s devotion to the Republican constitution was put forth by Klaus Girardet. He argued that the rector was not intended to be a monarch, but was rather to function as a dictator by another name.34 In a similar vein, Tom Stevenson has agreed that Cicero advocated for a rector-as-­dictator equivalence, and maintains that Cicero used Scipio as a surrogate for Pompey and thus that we should read Scipio’s statements about monarchy as support for a dictatorship by Pompey.35 None of the theories which attribute monarchial power to the ideal statesman, whether in autocratic or dictatorial guise, have found much support in recent years. The second, and now generally accepted, interpretation of the rector rei publicae is that it represents a type, not a specific office or individual. Wilfried Stroh, for example, citing Cicero’s debt to Plato in De Re Publica, identified the rector as matching the philosopher-­kings of Plato’s Republic.36 As a politically engaged Roman, the rector is, in J.G.F. Powell’s view, synonymous with the optimus orator described in De Oratore.37 James Zetzel and Elaine Fantham have argued that the rector is a purely theoretical construct, devoid of any substantial practical significance, and thus a manifestation of Cicero thinking out loud.38 The theory concerning the ideal statesman which has found widest acceptance, however, is that the rector rei publicae is merely a representative of the type of statesman which should be found among the leaders of the Roman State. The foundational argument for this is Richard Heinze’s 1924 article, “Ciceros Staat als politische Tendenzschrift.” Heinze contended that Cicero’s rector is merely a description of what politicians should be like in the Late Republic, akin to what is signified by the Greek word politikos.39 Heinze also believed—in opposition to Reitzenstein and Meyer in particular—that the rector embodies no monarchial aspects.40 Much of the recent scholarship on the rector is predicated on the acceptance of Heinze’s argument. Jonathan Powell, in perhaps the most widely cited article on the nature of the rector, concurred with Heinze’s conclusions and the Heinze–Powell hypothesis has come closest to being the communis opinio concerning the identity and function of the rector rei publicae.41 I agree in the main with the Heinze–Powell hypothesis, though I also find the arguments for a significant Pompeian influence on the creation of the rector to be attractive, as I will explain in more detail in Chapter 3. The rector is indeed a type. It is a mixture of ideal and practical qualities. The ideal statesman appears in both De Oratore and De Re Publica, and, as Powell points out, there are

Introduction

11

substantial similarities between the statesman in both works. There have been in the past numerous rectores rei publicae, and all of them share similar characteristics: they are moral, wise, and constantly looking out for the best interests of the State. Furthermore, Powell is absolutely correct to deny the rector an official position within the government. Cicero was not attempting to rewrite the Roman constitution, as he makes clear in De Legibus, the companion piece to De Re Publica. The ideal statesman is not a monarch, though he assuredly embodies some of the characteristics and duties of one. Cicero went out of his way to create a new vocabulary for his ideal statesman, as Powell demonstrates, for the concept would have been foreign to his audience.42 I do, however, disagree with the Heinze–Powell interpretation in two important ways. First, the rector rei publicae is not synonymous with the Greek term politikos, as I have demonstrated elsewhere.43 Second, the Heinze–Powell argument assumes that De Re Publica is purely an academic treatise, perhaps written as a self-­consolation amid the political upheaval of the last years of the 50s.44 For them, De Re Publica and its discussion of the rector becomes an intellectual exercise, with no relation to Cicero’s subsequent writings or conduct; it certainly lacked any practical use. Yet as Ingo Gildenhard has stated, “the dialogue is not just about, it quite simply is, politics,” and thus the rector rei publicae, which plays such a prominent role in the dialogue, must also be political.45 While Cicero surely never envisaged the creation of the office of rector, the concept of the ideal statesman was designed to be functional.46 It serves its practical purpose by being a hypothetical ideal, an idea which will form the core of my argument in Chapter 3. The rector-ideal was designed as a template, a template which Cicero could use to determine his optimal course of action in the rapidly decaying Republic. Far from being an abstract philosophical model—as Plato’s philosopher-­ kings had been—the rector-ideal was simultaneously broadly applicable and intensely personal. Cicero did not hope to influence the actions of Caesar or Pompey with his ideal; he hoped, rather, to influence his own.

IV.  Organization As the rector-ideal was first shaped by current events and then helped to shape current events during Cicero’s life after the civil war, I employ a roughly diachronic framework throughout this work. The first two chapters are primarily foundational, providing first the philosophical and then the political influences and contexts for the creation of the rector-ideal. The third chapter presents my

12

Cicero’s Ideal Statesman in Theory and Practice

interpretation of the rector-ideal and examines how it influenced Cicero’s activities during the war between Pompey and Caesar. Chapter 3 thus serves as the bridge between the themes of the first two chapters and those of the final two. The final two chapters describe the practical application of the rector-ideal within Cicero’s writings and his political activities under Caesar’s dictatorship and then Antony’s domination. In the first chapter, an examination of Cicero’s philosophical education is followed by an exposition of his skepticism. Following the arguments of Woldemar Görler, Harald Thorsrud, and others, I consider Cicero to be a Philonian skeptic; that is, the dialectical philosophical method promoted by Philo of Larissa was the foundation of Cicero’s political philosophy. As a Philonian, Cicero continually engaged in a criticism of traditional politics founded upon his experiences as a statesman and a philosopher. The expository dialogues presented in De Oratore and De Re Publica, carried out in adherence to Academic precepts, reveal Cicero’s conclusion that the res publica had failed. While he maintained hope that it could be restored, Cicero, as a skeptic, began to consider alternatives. The consideration of alternatives, particularly in De Re Publica, explains the depth of the apology for monarchy which dominates the first books. As Charles Brittain has noted, the use of adversarial discourse allowed Cicero to avoid publicly committing to any dogmatic viewpoint.47 Within the dialogue Cicero could explore the advantages of monarchy without the opprobrium associated with the idea of kingship in Rome. Cicero was also able to come to two distinct yet related conclusions by employing the Academic dialogue format. He could simultaneously craft an apology for monarchy— which would be useful should the victor in the inevitable civil war prove to be a tyrant rather than a republican—as well as create a political manifesto for his own use in navigating the new political realities of Rome. The second chapter places the composition of De Re Publica and the rector-ideal into its social and political context. The chapter is divided into three subsections to reflect three distinct periods in the development of the rector-ideal. The period between Cicero’s consulship in 63 and the publication of De Oratore in 55 was the catalyst for his decision to engage in a philosophical analysis of the res publica. Of particular importance for the development of the rector-ideal is the breakdown of the concordia ordinum, the establishment of the so-­called First Triumvirate, and the manner of Cicero’s exile at Clodius’ instigation. The two years between Cicero’s return from exile and the commencement of work on De Oratore was a formative period for Cicero’s political philosophy as evidenced in the long discourse on statesmanship found

Introduction

13

in Pro Sestio. The continued dissolution of the mixtum genus overshadowed and indeed influenced the composition of De Oratore, the second period described in this chapter. In De Oratore, his first attempt at the dialogue format, Cicero begins to flesh out the framework of the rector-ideal in contrast to and in concordance with political developments. Last, but by no means the least important, are the years between 54 and 51. Of particular importance for discussing the rector rei publicae was Pompey’s appointment as sole consul in 52, a year which, in the context of the rector-ideal, I term Pompey’s annus mirabilis. While we cannot view Pompey as the model for the rector-ideal, he more than any other individual influenced its creation. Pompey’s sole consulship in 52 struck a particularly resonant chord with Cicero, and much of the apologia of monarchy in De Re Publica is a reflection of the sole consulship. Chapter 3 presents my interpretation of the rector rei publicae. In this chapter I establish the viability of the rector-ideal as both a theoretical and practical construct. By placing the rector-ideal in its proper place within Cicero’s political philosophy, I demonstrate that the rector is not a philosophical ideal without practical benefit. Unlike the Platonic politikos, the Ciceronian rector rei publicae is not an abstract vision of a philosopher-­king, but a functional rubric and sustainable position within the political fabric of the Roman State. Cicero, contrary to popular opinion, envisaged a single rector at work in the State at any given time. To have multiple rectores would merely replicate the flaws of the current system. Cicero indicates in De Re Publica that a number of people with the qualifications of the rector could exist simultaneously, as, for example, during the time when Scipio Aemilianus stood preeminent. But only one man could, and indeed should, be recognized as the rector rei publicae. A sole rector would thus ensure that another Sulla or Clodius would not appear. The rector is in this respect an autocratic figure, as he has sole responsibility for maintaining the res publica and the rights of the citizens. Cicero’s Academic skepticism led him to an acceptance of the rector-ideal as the only form of salvation for the res publica against the radical changes of the 50s. Once he had created the rector-ideal, it became the sine qua non of his political activities and relationships, as we see in the last section of Chapter  3 and in the entirety of Chapters  4 and 5. These chapters demonstrate the significance of the rector-ideal to Cicero’s political theory and actions through his interactions with Pompey, Caesar, and Antony. Chapter  4 focuses on the period of Caesar’s autocracy. Caesar’s ultimate victory strengthened Cicero’s belief in the rector-ideal while simultaneously weakening his faith in the Senate to act in the Republic’s best interests. This chapter begins with Cicero’s self-­imposed exile in Brundisium as an introduction

14

Cicero’s Ideal Statesman in Theory and Practice

to an exposition of his aims in the so-­called Caesarian speeches, Pro Marcello, Pro Ligario, and Pro Rege Deiotaro. The manner in which Cicero used these speeches to make public his opposition to Caesar, and how he employed the rector-ideal to craft his criticisms of the dictator, are the subject of the second section. Once Cicero had decided that Caesar would never restore the res publica, he based his opposition on the tenets of the rector-ideal. With Caesar firmly in control, and options for political participation slipping further and further away, Cicero embarked on his great burst of composition. The philosophical treatises written between 46 and 44 and their relationship to and influence on the rectorideal are discussed in the third section. Even under Caesar and in the turmoil which followed his assassination, Cicero maintained his hope that someone exhibiting the character of the rector-ideal would yet emerge from the shattered Republic. In the aftermath of Caesar’s assassination, the period under scrutiny in the final section of this chapter, Cicero does not hesitate to conflate Caesar with Tarquinius Superbus, the archetype of the tyrant. In doing so he uses terminology which clearly recalls the rector-ideal. The use of the rector-ideal as the primary criterion of successful political action is continued in Cicero’s comments on Cato, Brutus, Cassius, and the rest of the Liberatores. They are depicted as coming closest to executing the duties of the rector-ideal, though all of them, like Pompey and Caesar, would prove to be failures in Cicero’s eyes. The fifth and final chapter examines Cicero’s continued adherence to the precepts of the rector-ideal in the aftermath of Caesar’s assassination by devoting focused inquiry to the philosophical works written in 44, Cicero’s decision to fight Antony and assume a leadership role in the Senate, and the catastrophic results of Cicero’s failure to ensure Antony’s destruction at Mutina in 43. Each of the surviving works from this period, whether philosophical or oratorical, treats in more or less detail the rector-ideal and its application to a post-Caesar Rome. While both De Senectute and De Amicitia reveal important aspects of Cicero’s political thought, the majority of the discussion in this chapter is focused on De Officiis and the Philippics. De Officiis, Cicero’s final philosophical statement, reiterates the essentials of the rector-ideal, and passes judgment on Caesar’s autocracy as the most degenerate form of government Rome had seen, at least in terms of its divergence from the rector-ideal. Cicero’s decision to stake his reputation, and ultimately his life, on his ability to assume the mantle of the rector rei publicae is a direct result of the machinations of Antony, whom Cicero depicts, particularly in the Philippics, as the complete antithesis of the rectorideal. In his return to political primacy, Cicero for the first time made an attempt to live up to his own ideal. There was no one left whom he could trust to be both

Introduction

15

just and moral, especially after Octavian, in whom Cicero had placed so much trust, proved that he would not be controlled. Octavian’s defection to Antony from the senatorial cause rattled Cicero’s beliefs to the core, and proved that the rector-ideal was inherently flawed, for it could not withstand the new generation of military-­supported demagogues. Yet Cicero clung to the ideal which had shaped his politics for so long. In the end, his attempt to embody the rector-ideal created an unfortunate, and ultimately fatal, irony. By acting in a manner which he firmly believed was beneficial to the state, he not only helped to create the triumvirate and hasten the destruction of the last vestiges of the republican constitution, but he also brought about his own death at the hands of Antony’s assassins.

1

Academic Skepticism and Cicero’s Political Philosophy

You know, I have not suddenly begun to be a philosopher, and from my youngest days I have expended no small amount of diligence and care in this study. When I least seemed to be philosophizing, I was at that time actually at my most engaged, a fact that my orations attest to, full as they are with philosophical aphorisms; so too my acquaintance with the most learned men in whose presence my house always flourished, and also those eminent and famous men who were my teachers: Diodotus, Philo, Antiochus, and Posidonius. And if indeed all precepts of philosophy make a difference in life, I think that I have demonstrated them in both my public and private actions, as reason and my education have advised. De Natura Deorum 1.6–7 The separation of Cicero the politician from Cicero the philosopher is a modern convention.1 Cicero himself viewed philosophy, particularly Academic skepticism, as both a lifestyle and a useful tool for political advancement, and not just in his last years but throughout his life.2 Occasionally, politics and philosophy were at odds, as, for example, during the first months of the civil war, when the internal conflict between Cicero philosophus and Cicero politicus caused paralysis. At other times, they were in concord, as during the composition of De Officiis and his attempts to survive and flourish in a post-Caesar Rome. Yet they were never mutually exclusive, and there is no reason to assume that Cicero was being less than truthful in his professions of lifelong adherence to the Academic school. There was no distinct separation of public from private activities during the period when Cicero was composing De Oratore, De Re Publica, and De Legibus as there was later when he sat on the political sidelines under the autocracy of Caesar. Cicero was just as busy during the late 50s as he had been a decade earlier as consul (cf. Att. 4.16.2; Q.fr. 3.1.11; de Orat. 1.1–4; Div. 2.3).3 Yet he still found the time to write while continuing his work as an advocate and

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exercising his duties as a senior consular in the Senate. That Cicero was simultaneously a philosopher in politics and a politician in philosophy is the starting point for the following discussion, particularly in terms of how the integration of these two aspects of Cicero’s life influenced the composition of De Re Publica. In his later years, with Caesar’s victory assured and his own fortunes pinned to Caesar’s goodwill, Cicero turned to philosophy as a means of educating Rome’s youth and as a salve for his personal and professional grief.4 His intentions with the philosophical program completed between 46 and 44 are well-­established, primarily through his own statements in his prefaces to these works.5 He is also candid about his purpose in writing his first dialogue, De Oratore: it had long been a goal of his to return to the study of oratory, and his brother Quintus was urging him to do so (de Orat. 1.3–5). Unfortunately, the other two philosophical works of the 50s, De Re Publica and De Legibus, present interpretive challenges on several fronts. These two treatises have come down to us with a badly mangled preface and no preface at all, respectively.6 Ostensibly, they are the least philosophical, covering as they do topics of immediate and practical importance, the Roman res publica and its laws. They also lack the explicit didacticism of Cicero’s later works. Nor do they present themselves as justifications of the value of philosophy for the Roman ruling class in the manner that, for example, the Paradoxa Stoicorum or De Natura Deorum do. What is clear, however, is that with De Re Publica and De Legibus Cicero engaged in concurrent and interrelated philosophical inquiries into politics and law which were heavily influenced by both Rome’s illustrious past and its very uncertain future. These complex topics— the nature of the Roman res publica especially—had never before been subject to analysis in the Latin language.7 Cicero was, as he would often be again in his later philosophical works, required to start from scratch, so to speak, as he had no Roman models from which to craft his endeavor. Cicero thus required not only a Latin vocabulary but also a methodology which would facilitate his project. He found his methodology in Academic skepticism.8 The Academy, to which Cicero had belonged from the beginning of his education in philosophy, provided both the tools and the training for a serious philosophical investigation into the origin, development, and success of the Roman res publica. The Academic preference for arguing in utramque partem, “from both sides of the issue,” in the dialogue format inherited from Plato provided Cicero with a method appropriate for this sort of philosophical inquiry. Cicero’s topic in De Re Publica was a suitable one for an inquiry according to Academic doctrine. Trivial topics were not worthy of discussion in the Academic manner; only the greater philosophical

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Cicero’s Ideal Statesman in Theory and Practice

questions, such as the one Cicero tackles in De Re Publica or in De Natura Deorum were to be subjected to it; Scipio tells his friends that “the very nature of commonwealths often overcomes reason” (vincit ipsa rerum publicarum natura saepe rationem, Rep. 2.57). Furthermore, the skeptical Academy’s resistance to claims of absolute knowledge encouraged the reevaluation of old views and the incorporation of new ones. Probability rather than certainty had become the hallmark of the version of skepticism which Cicero learned from Philo of Larissa, his most influential teacher. Epistemology lay at the heart of Academic skepticism. For most of its history the Academy had been engaged in a long-­running feud with the Stoics over the nature of knowledge and the criteria necessary for belief.9 This feud had not abated when Cicero began his studies under Philo; the advent of the more mitigated skepticism adopted by the scholarchs of the late third and early second centuries had failed to bring about either victory or reconciliation. However, while Cicero was well-­versed in Academic epistemological theory, he was less interested in understanding the nature of knowledge than he was in the manner in which Academics engaged with the questions of knowledge and opinion. Cicero’s treatise on the State provides a salient example. With De Re Publica Cicero may not have been seeking a teleological solution to the State’s problems, but the employment of the processes of Academic inquiry nevertheless led him to a personal telos which seemed not only probable but also practical. But, as a skeptic, philosophy did not provide him with a determined course of action. What it did provide was a way to cast the problem into relevant terms; the final choice of whether to accede to the conclusions reached was a personal one. Cicero’s skepticism is thus central to my reading of De Re Publica and the rector-ideal. The three political-­philosophical works of the 50s, De Oratore, De Re Publica, and De Legibus, are philosophically, methodologically, and thematically linked.10 This chapter will focus on De Re Publica; more will be said about the relationship of De Oratore and De Legibus to the development of the rector-ideal in the next chapter, in the context of Cicero’s reaction to the political developments of the 50s. A comprehensive analysis of Academic doctrine is neither my goal nor particularly germane to my argument, but it will be necessary to outline several major developments in it, particularly those that relate to method and the holding of opinions.11 A prosopographical or chronological history of the Academy likewise lies outside the scope of the present argument, but once again it will be necessary to survey the scholarchs of the later Academy.12 It will suffice to say that Cicero identified two incarnations of the Academy, both of which shared a commitment—albeit of varying degree—to skepticism: the Old, which

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began with Plato and was identical to the Peripatetic school (Ac. 1.18), and the New, which had been inaugurated by the scholarch Arcesilaus in the third century (Ac. 1.46). However, it will be important for the following discussion to define Cicero’s peculiar brand of skepticism and the parameters of skeptical inquiry which he employed in De Re Publica. The following explication is divided into three sections. The first summarizes Cicero’s philosophical education, particularly his engagement with Academic skepticism under the tutelage of both Philo and Antiochus. The parameters of Cicero’s concept of skepticism, especially his adoption of Philonian mitigated skepticism, the limits of Academic political philosophy, and the usefulness of Philonian skepticism for investigating political questions are also discussed in this section, for these three issues inform both the method and the content of De Re Publica. The following section establishes De Re Publica as an Academic dialogue by examining Cicero’s use of dialectic and the dialogue format to integrate earlier philosophical arguments from a variety of schools with his own uniquely Roman view of the mixed constitution. The third and final section uses the apology of monarchy in De Re Publica as both proof of the Academic nature of the dialogue and as an example of how Cicero integrated his philosophy with his political principles. The chapter ends with a few closing comments on the importance of Philonian skepticism for the creation of the rector-ideal, a topic which will be treated in much more detail in Chapter 3.

I.  Cicero’s skepticism Cicero’s education, like that of many upper-­class Romans, was designed to prepare him for a career in public life. He memorized the Twelve Tables (Leg. 2.4); he studied rhetoric and the best Latin orations of the day (Inv. 1.17–18; Tusc. 2.27; Brut. 127, 129); and he apprenticed with several of the leading orators in Rome, including Crassus, Scaevola Augur, and Marcus Antonius (de Orat. 2.2).13 He also received rigorous training in all things Greek. His first formal schooling was likely done with a Greek grammaticus, quite possibly the poet Archias (Q.fr. 2.4.2; Arch. 5, 7). He became intimately acquainted with the works of Homer in particular, as evidenced by the frequent and varied quotes used in his correspondence with Atticus.14 Even some of his early rhetorical training was in Greek (de Orat. 1.13), a practice he renewed during his two-­year trip to the East in 79–77. More important for the present discussion, however, is the fact that, in addition to the standard course of study in the pragmatic disciplines of rhetoric,

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Cicero’s Ideal Statesman in Theory and Practice

oratory, and law, Cicero received a broad education in philosophy which immersed him in the teachings of the major schools prevalent in first-­century Rome. Cicero took to philosophy as easily as he did to rhetoric. By the age of seventeen he was, by his own admission, enamored of philosophy and thoroughly devoted to its study (Brut. 306). His fascination with philosophy, which was at this time considered a thoroughly Greek discipline, was uncommon. Philosophy was very much mistrusted by the Romans, carrying as it did the air of subversiveness which had caused periodic attempts to banish philosophers from the capital. Nevertheless, Cicero embarked on a philosophical education which rivaled, if it did not exceed, that of any of his peers. The list of Cicero’s teachers, fortunately preserved in his own writings, is impressive for its depth and breadth. He received instruction from the Epicureans Phaedrus and Zeno (Fam. 13.1; Fin. 1.16), the Stoics Diodotus and Posidonius (Ac. 2.115; Tusc. 2.61), and, most importantly, the Academics Philo and Antiochus (Brut. 306; Ac. 1.14). The only school with which Cicero does not seem to have engaged in formal study was the Aristotelian Peripatos. He was, however, well-­acquainted with the tenets of that school, and Cicero held the Peripatos in high regard.15 He often referred to Aristotle himself with admiration (e.g. Ac. 2.132; Div. 1.53; Orat. 172; Tusc. 1.7) though it is likely that he never read any of Aristotle’s works.16 While Cicero received a thorough training in a variety of schools and internalized a number of the teachings of his various instructors—the Stoics proved to be particularly influential on the subject of ethics—his most important philosophical influence was undoubtedly the time he spent with the Academic philosophers Philo of Larissa and Antiochus of Ascalon. When he became Cicero’s teacher Philo was scholarch of the Academy, a position he had held since 110, and the last of the scholarchs to be based in Greece; indeed, he seems to have been the final scholarch of the Academy as an established school.17 He had arrived in Rome as part of the diaspora of leading philosophers from Greece ahead of Mithridates’ invasion. Cicero came under Philo’s tutelage shortly after the latter’s arrival in the capital. Cicero had a long apprenticeship with Philo, which lasted until shortly before the philosopher’s death in 84/83. Several years after Philo’s death, and after he had started his career in the law courts, Cicero renewed his Academic studies in Athens with Antiochus (Brut. 315).18 A former pupil of Philo’s, Antiochus, by at least the time Cicero visited him in Athens, had rejected Philo’s version of skepticism in favor of a more dogmatic view which he claimed was closer to the Platonic origins of the Academy. So different were Antiochus’ views that Sextus Empiricus, the second-­century Pyrrhonian author, considered Philo and Antiochus the heads of distinct doctrinal incarnations of the Academy (PH 1.220).

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The primary difference between the skepticism of Philo and that of Antiochus was related to the criteria necessary for both knowledge and action. Philo represents the end of a long tradition of skepticism which, while not uniform in its beliefs, began in the middle of the third century under Arcesilaus, who had, in an extreme reaction to the Stoic conception of knowledge, shifted the Academy into a radically skeptical mode which called for the suspension of assent in all matters (Ac. 1.45).19 Carneades, scholarch in the middle of the second century and famous in Rome for his discourses on justice in 155, softened Arcesilaus’ stance by admitting that, on certain occasions, a wise man will declare that he holds an opinion (Ac. 2.78). Carneades also considered the Stoic conception of knowledge to be unobtainable, but believed that provisional knowledge was possible.20 In the absence of absolute certainty the best criterion for truth is “that which is probable,” to pithanon, or, in Cicero’s translation, probabile (Ac. 2.99).21 Thus, Carneadean skepticism has also been called probabilism. For Carneades, in order to discover that which was probable, the question at hand had to be subjected to rigorous scrutiny, with evaluation of all available evidence on both sides.22 The use of Socratic dialectic in this process was confirmed by both Arcesilaus and Carneades (Tusc. 5.11; N.D. 1.11).23 As a result of this thorough scrutiny, a skeptic, according to Carneades, could assent to a proposition and consequently engage in action without a declaration of obtained knowledge (Ac. 2.59, 99). The caveat, however, was that the skeptic must always consider his opinions mutable and provisional and subject to change in the face of new evidence which meets the criteria of probability (Ac. 2.67, 78, 112). Subjective plausibility, then, rather than absolute certainty, was considered sufficient as a motivation to action though it remained insufficient for determining whether or not something was true in the Stoic sense. Philo, like his immediate predecessor Clitomachus, upheld Carneades’ position on both dialectic and probabilism. He continued to support the long-­ standing Academic insistence that knowledge was outside the realm of human comprehension, at least as far as the Stoics defined it (Ac. 2.28).24 The more temperate form of skepticism developed by Carneades, which allowed for the holding of beliefs, seems to have been Philo’s position for much of his tenure as scholarch.25 However, around the time that Cicero began his studies with him, Philo published a collection of lectures known today as the Roman Books. In the Roman Books, Philo offered a novel view of knowledge which was a bold innovation on Carneadean probabilism. Philo’s new position was predicated on two main points: that dialectic was relative, not absolute, and that while truth was impossible according to Stoic criteria, it was possible in relation to the actual

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nature of the thing in question (Ac. 2.18; S.E. PH 1.235).26 That is, while Stoic catalepsis was impossible, non-Stoic catalepsis was possible. Thus, Philo continued, it was possible for a skeptic to give assent to a claim of knowledge even if the criteria for such a claim were themselves false. This “fallibilist” view stood in stark contrast to the views of Arcesilaus and Carneades. Antiochus, on the other hand, felt that the Academy had gone too far in its adoption of both probabilism and fallibilism. Arcesilaus’ innovations had turned the Academy too far from its Platonic roots (Ac. 2.70). Antiochus, once Philo’s student, returned to a position which he felt was more closely aligned with the pre-Arcesilausian Academy but which was, in reality, a dogmatic position fundamentally the same as Stoicism. He felt that Philo was being dishonest in promoting the fallibilist position of the Roman Books (aperte mentitur), and that Philo had come around to a position which denied the existence of any knowledge at all, the very position that Philo had hoped to avoid (Ac. 2.18). In contrast to Philo’s fallibilism, Antiochus declared that probable impressions are in no way equal to the Stoic concept of cognitive impressions, and that by continuing to insist on such a position the Academics were actually being as dogmatic as the Stoics (Ac. 2.35–6). Antiochus came to view Stoic epistemology as fundamentally sound, and he argued for a fundamental cohesion of thought between the Academics, Stoics, and Peripatetics (e.g. Tusc. 5.32).27 His dogmatism thus placed him in stark contrast to the fallibilism of Philo. The influence of the two divergent views of Philo and Antiochus on Cicero’s political philosophy is a question of some importance for the study of De Re Publica and the rector-ideal. The Academy did not teach knowledge, but rather method, and the epistemological differences between the skepticism of Philo and that of Antiochus influenced their methods.28 Both the method of inquiry used in that dialogue and Cicero’s commitment to its results are directly related to the type of skepticism Cicero espoused. The question of Cicero’s philosophical affiliation—whether he was an adherent of Philo’s fallibilism, or of Antiochus’ dogmatism, or whether he switched back and forth between the two—is not a new one.29 The debate has hinged on the interpretation of the oft-­cited passage from the Academica in which Varro asks Cicero directly whether he has changed his philosophical affiliation: Tum ille: “Istuc quidem considerabo, nec vero sine te. sed de te ipso quid est” inquit, “quod audio?” “Quanam” inquam “de re?” “relictam a te veterem Academiam” inquit, “tractari autem novam.” “Quid ergo” inquam “Antiocho id magis licuerit nostro familiari, remigrare in domum veterem e nova,

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quam nobis in novam e vetere? certe enim recentissima quaeque sunt correcta emendata maxime. quamquam Antiochi magister Philo, magnus vir ut tu existimas ipse, negaret in libris, quod coram etiam ex ipso audiebamus, duas Academicas esse, erroremque eorum qui ita putarent coarguit.” Ac. 1.13 Then Varro said, “I will indeed consider your view, though not without your help. But what is this that I hear about you?” “About what now?” I said. “That you have left the Old Academy and are now conducting yourself according to the New Academy,” he said. “What of it?” I replied. “Is our friend Antiochus more allowed to return to his old home from his new one than I am allowed to go into the new one from the old? To be sure, the most recent theories are more truthful and less prone to error; although Philo, Antiochus’ teacher, a great man, as you know, denied in his books that there were two Academies— such a thing we heard from him in person, too—and he proves those people wrong who think that it is otherwise.”

Varro’s assertion seems prima facie to imply that Cicero had once been an Antiochan but had now reverted to the teaching of Philo. However, as Woldemar Görler has demonstrated, and I think he has done so conclusively, there is strong evidence that Cicero was from the outset of his Academic studies an adherent of Philo’s fallibilism.30 That is not to say that Cicero disavowed Antiochus, however; Antiochan principles appear in many of Cicero’s works (e.g. Leg. 1, Tusc. 4, and esp. Ac. 2). Yet for obvious reasons, a man intent on a career in politics would not find Arcesilausian or Antiochan skepticism compatible with the necessities of public life. Thus, when we speak of Cicero the skeptic, we must keep in mind that the fallibilism of Philo, especially its focus on critical inquiry and emphasis on provisional beliefs, was the foundation of Cicero’s philosophy. Where, then, does Cicero’s personal concept of skepticism fit into this picture? Cicero was a Philonian, and thus a proponent of mitigated skepticism, which, as we saw above, denies the possibility of certain knowledge and has as its goal to discover, through arguing both sides of an issue, “what is true or at least what comes closest to being true” (quod aut verum sit aut ad id quam proxime accedat, Ac. 2.7; cf. Ac. 2.65–66; Tusc. 1.8; Fin. 1.13). As a committed Philonian, Cicero disparaged dogmatism, remaining throughout his life critical of those who accepted ideas without critical inquiry (Ac. 2.9; N.D. 1.10; cf. Mur. 60–6).31 It is true that Cicero presents conflicting views of not only his own skepticism but the tenets of the Academy as a whole, and that he at times appears to be a

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committed Stoic instead of an Academic.32 These inconsistencies have occasionally led to charges of eclecticism or insincerity being leveled against Cicero as a philosopher.33 Cicero certainly adopted theories or tenets from many sources throughout his philosophical writings, and at times he even crafted substantial endorsements of schools of which he did not in any way approve.34 We should not expect him to do otherwise. Cicero’s broad philosophical education and his affiliation with the Academics naturally led him to seek out, discuss, and amalgamate theories from the different schools of thought into his philosophical treatises without sacrificing originality. As I mentioned in the introduction, modern scholarship has moved away from source-­criticism, and the belief that Cicero’s philosophical works were nothing more than translations (apographa, Att. 12.52.3) has fallen into desuetude. Greater recognition of Cicero’s substantial contributions to Roman philosophy has become the norm.35

II.  De Re Publica as a philosophical treatise We must now move to De Re Publica and examine the influence Cicero’s skepticism exerted on its composition. Gildenhard has stated that “[De Re Publica] is not just about, it quite simply is, politics,” a view that he offers up as the opinio communis.36 This viewpoint, however, promotes the artificial modern distinction between Cicero the politician and Cicero the philosopher. There is, to be sure, an omnipresent tension in De Re Publica between philosophy and politics. There are more than a few disparaging comments about the political philosophy of Cicero’s predecessors, and Scipio, by virtue of his political experience, will be able to give a much more useful discourse on the nature of the State (e.g. 1.36–7).37 This tension, however, serves to highlight, not diminish, the philosophical nature of the dialogue. As I will demonstrate below, while the subject of the work may be Roman politics, its structure and methodology bear the hallmarks of an Academic discussion. De Re Publica, I suggest, should be read not only as Cicero’s most explicit treatise on government but also as a philosophical text in the Academic mode. While they may have held differing views on epistemology, both Philo and Antiochus agreed that dialectic was the proper methodology for the Academy. The give and take of the Socratic elenchus was ideal for the more radical ratio contra omnia disserendi method of Arcesilaus and Carneades, yet it also had utility for the more mitigated fallibilist arguments of Philo. Whether radical or mitigated, a skeptic relied on rational inquiry to explore all possibilities; while he

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may continually insist that a question had not been answered, at no point would a skeptic say that a question could not be answered. Dialogues facilitated this sort of discussion, as the varied number of interlocutors could each be assigned a particular question or opinion. It is true that the primary goal of the dialogue format was epistemological.38 But given the Academic stance on absolute knowledge, the process of Academic inquiry was not a means to an end; the means were the end. With absolute certainty ever out of reach, subjective probability and a constant reevaluation of personal beliefs are required for the holding of an opinion and consequent action based on that opinion. That is to say, Academic inquiry “keeps the virtue of perseverance from degenerating into the vice of obstinacy.”39 Although he was an Academic, Cicero did not adopt wholesale his methodology from either Plato or any particular individual from among Plato’s successors. It is worth taking a moment here to attempt to describe the Academic method as Cicero understood it, with the caveat that Cicero’s conception of Academic methodology should not be considered a faithful facsimile of the teaching of the school. In his use of the dialogue format, as in so many other areas of philosophy and oratory, Cicero was an innovator. His description of the method employed in De Officiis is instructive: “I, not merely as a translator but as is my custom, shall take up from these sources [i.e. the Stoics] however much seems, by my judgment and discretion, most useful for the present discussion” (non ut interpretes, sed, ut solemus, e fontibus eorum iudicio arbitrioque nostro quantum quoque modo videbitur, hauriemus, Off. 1.6; cf. Fin. 1.6). Cicero certainly borrowed from a great number of sources in composing De Re Publica; Plato, Polybius, Dicaearchus, Theophrastus, and others can all be counted among his influences.40 It is, however, safe to say that Cicero’s perception of the ultimate goals of Academic inquiry was the same as that of Arcesilaus, Carneades, Philo, or even Antiochus. For the skeptics, the goal was always verisimilitude, the discovery of that which was closest to absolute knowledge. Cicero claims the same goal for his dialogues on several different occasions (e.g. Fat. 1; N.D. 1.4; Ac. 2.64–7). For the purposes of my argument for reading De Re Publica as an Academic treatise, two particular aspects of Cicero’s version of Academic inquiry require elucidation: the meaning behind the method and the application of the method. Such a strategy fits with the nature of the dialectical model favored by the Academics, which was predicated on face-­to-face discussion on a thesis chosen by the interlocutors and debated, pro and con, by the characters present in the dialogue. For Cicero, the Academic method was the only method of philosophical

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inquiry which could lead to the discovery of the probable and the closest approximation of the truth (itaque mihi semper Peripateticorum Academiaeque consuetudo de omnibus rebus in contrarias partis disserendi non ob eam causam solum placuit, quod aliter non posset quid in quaque re veri simile esset inveniri, Tusc. 2.9). A more explicit statement of the goals of Academic inquiry is presented as the coda to De Divinatione. Cicero writes: Since, however, it is the custom of the Academy to promote no judgment of its own, but to be satisfied with those which seem to be closest to the truth; to compare arguments and to bring out whatever is able to be said against any opinion whatsoever; to leave the judgment of the audience unbiased and wholly its own, without the Academy’s authority inhibiting it in any way (cum autem proprium sit Academiae iudicium suum nullum interponere, ea probare quae simillima veri videantur, conferre causas et quid in quamque sententiam dici possit expromere, nulla adhibita sua auctoritate iudicium audientium relinquere integrum ac liberum). Div. 2.150

That is not to say that Cicero’s own opinions would be entirely removed from the discussion. Cicero, who was open about his failures as a Stoic sage (Ac. 2.66), recognized that it was not possible for an Academic to engage in a completely objective inquiry. In a letter from December 60, Cicero informed Atticus about Caesar’s proposed agrarian legislation, and told his friend that he would in Socratic fashion (Sōkratikōs eis hekateron), give both sides of the issue and then give his own opinion, “as the Academics are accustomed to do” (sed tamen ad extremum ut illi solebant tēn areskousan, Att. 2.3.3). We can, and indeed should, therefore be sensitive to instances when Cicero’s voice enters the discussion in De Re Publica; he was, after all, the author, in complete control of the form, style, and substance of the treatise on the State. The application of the Academic method is most easily accomplished through the use of the literary dialogue, the format that Cicero favored throughout his philosophical corpus. The dialogue format is used for the benefit of the external audience, whereby they may be able to make their own decisions about which argument is more probable (quo facilius id a quoque probaretur quod cuique maxime probabile, Fat. 1). Dialogues, of course, required multiple speakers to engage in a disputatio (disputatioque esset inter eos, ut est consuetudo dialogorum, Brut. 218). One of the primary characteristics of Ciceronian dialogues is the use of oratio perpetua, long speeches from a single viewpoint, placed in opposition to each other, and the establishment at the conclusions of these speeches of the

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position deemed the most probable.41 Both De Natura Deorum and De Divinatione are examples of Cicero’s use of oratio in utramque partem perpetua in the later philosophica (Fat. 1). But De Re Publica, perhaps even more so than De Oratore, represents Cicero’s earliest attempts at this method. Cicero’s dialogues are not adversarial in the way that Plato’s dialogues are, but, as an Academic, adversarial elocution is a central tenet of Cicero’s mos dialogorum. The subject of De Re Publica did not require, indeed could not possess, a straight yes or no answer. While De Re Publica is a mature product of Cicero’s political philosophy, it is still an immature work of Academic philosophy. The thematic and substantive differences between De Oratore, De Re Publica, and De Legibus have often made them outliers in the discussion about Cicero’s philosophical program.42 Cicero had yet to write a work of this kind, and in entering into this project he was attempting both a first for himself—a dialogue on politics—and a first for Latin literature—a philosophical inquiry into the Roman system of government. While De Re Publica does not follow precisely the method of a Socratic dialogue, nor is it strictly dialectical, Cicero was committed to the Academy’s methodology.43 He presents a strong statement of allegiance in the preface to De Natura Deorum. He declares that he will abandon the Academy if, and only if, all of the various schools can agree on a topic or a single philosopher can be found who has discovered absolute truth (tum demum mihi procax Academia videbitur, si aut consenserint omnes aut erit inventus aliquis, qui, quid verum sit, invenerit, N.D. 1.13). However, given that it was the Academics’ policy to argue against the other schools and that, for the Academics, attainment of absolute truth (verum) was impossible, the conditions necessary for Cicero to renounce the Academy as shameless (procax) will never be met. Given Cicero’s use of the Academic method and his stance as a committed skeptic, we should not expect him to seek out absolute truth in De Re Publica, and in fact he does not. Whatever truths he may arrive at after completing his inquiry will be applicable only to Rome. Personal bias and practical considerations color the work, as for example in the virulent dismissal of democracy as a valid form of government.44 Furthermore, Cicero is clear in the introduction that, unlike Socrates, or Arcesilaus, or Carneades, he, Cicero, has practical as well as theoretical knowledge about both statesmanship and the efficacy of philosophy’s role in civic affairs. His political experience and his knowledge of philosophy make him uniquely qualified to write such a treatise as De Re Publica (1.13; cf. Leg. 3.14); for the same reasons, the characterization of Scipio is all the more believable, as Scipio himself also accomplished great deeds while becoming

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well-­versed in philosophy. Yet, despite such statements, Cicero carefully establishes De Re Publica as a philosophical work, based more on dialectic than on adversarial rhetoric. As we shall see below, he employs a number of strategies in De Re Publica to conform his Academic dissertation more closely to Roman preferences. Cicero had originally intended to make himself a character in De Re Publica, an approach which would further cast the discussion as Roman, not Greek. He changed his mind, however, apparently several times (saepe iam scribendi totum consilium rationemque mutavi), ostensibly to avoid giving offense to any contemporaries (Q.fr. 3.5.1). Cicero is himself present in the prefaces to Books 1, 3, and 5, in which he addresses his brother in his own voice on contemporary topics. Since Cicero is not one of the primary interlocutors and he claims that he is merely reporting a story he heard when he was still a young man, care must be taken in attempting to discern his “real” thoughts within the hypothetical discussion in De Re Publica. However, much as Crassus has been identified as Cicero’s foil in De Oratore, there are strong reasons to identify Scipio as Cicero’s foil in De Re Publica.45 Setting his dialogue in the past allowed him to better emulate Plato—Pliny records that Cicero claimed in a now-­lost section of De Re Publica to be “Plato’s companion” (Platonis comes, Nat. praef. 22 = 1b Ziegler)— and to combine his own authority with the auctoritas of the past.46 It would be strange, then, to assume that Cicero would devote such care to crafting arguments that were both somewhat implausible for the characters of the dialogue and far from his own views. Such an effort would serve no point from an Academic standpoint. Verisimilitude was paramount not only with respect to the outcome but also the exposition (cf. Att. 4.16.2). Thus, though I will occasionally ascribe statements or beliefs to Scipio or one of the other characters, the philosophy presented in De Re Publica, and the conclusions reached about the best type of state and citizen, are, in my opinion, those of Cicero himself. There is, of course, the matter of Cicero’s sources. Although De Re Publica is Cicero’s unique contribution, both De Re Publica and his philosophy in general were greatly influenced by Greek predecessors. It seems unnecessary to recapitulate the long list of Greek sources Cicero consulted during the composition of De Re Publica, as this has been done in detail by other scholars and because Cicero’s debt to his Greek predecessors, especially Plato, not only in De Re Publica but also in De Oratore and De Legibus is eminently noticeable.47 That is not to say that knowledge of Cicero’s sources is unimportant; there are parts of the discussion which can be directly linked to earlier works of Plato, Aristotle, Dicaearchus, and others, and how Cicero interpreted these sources is

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an important question. The mixture of Greek thought with Cicero’s own innovation creates its own set of problems for interpretation of his political philosophy, as Rudolf Stark has eloquently noted.48 Source-­criticism has its limits, however, and an overreliance on discovering Cicero’s models relegates the distinctively Ciceronian character of De Re Publica to a secondary role. What is more important are the questions of why Cicero felt compelled to use such varied sources and how the presence of numerous different authors from several different philosophical schools supports my reading of De Re Publica as an Academic text. As an Academic, Cicero would have naturally turned first to his Academic predecessors, and there can be little doubt that Plato’s Republic was the model for De Re Publica. Under Plato, the Academy had been a center for both philosophical and scientific inquiry, the first school of political science in the Greek world.49 Plato was the chief god in Cicero’s philosophical pantheon, and Cicero uses only the most glowing and familiar terms to refer to him: for example, “our friend Plato” (noster Plato, Rep. 4.5; Leg. 3.5), “that god of ours” (deus ille noster, Att. 4.16.3), and “the most eminent of the philosophers” (princeps philosophorum, Fin. 5.7). But De Re Publica is not simply Cicero’s attempt to recreate Plato’s Republic in Latin.50 Cicero was well aware of the inadequacy of Plato—and indeed all the other Greek philosophers who had written political treatises—as models for a thorough investigation of the Roman State. For example, Philus states his hope that Scipio’s discourse will be “much more productive” than Greek treatises on similar subjects (Rep. 1.37), and there are numerous criticisms of Plato’s theories (e.g. Rep. 2.22, 2.52, 4.3; Leg. 3.32). Plato had been a political idealist, concerned more with the moral and ethical aspects of utopian constitutions than the practical considerations of political life. While a few of Plato’s successors had written on political themes, the Academy after Plato lacked a tradition of engaging with political questions. A number of Greek philosophers had written of political utopias, including Aristotle, Zeno, and even Diogenes. But these men were either only theorists or they lacked the skill of exposition (Rep. 1.13).51 From the outset, Cicero had envisioned De Re Publica as a philosophical text. In the first explicit mention of it, in a letter to Quintus in May 54, Cicero calls the work the politika, a term which indicates that it will be primarily philosophical in form and content (Q.fr. 2.13(12).1).52 In late June Cicero confirmed to Atticus that he would be writing prefaces for each book in imitation of Aristotle’s dialogues, and that his decision to drop Scaevola as a character was done in consideration of Plato’s Republic (Att. 4.16.2–3). More importantly, in this letter

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Cicero calls his new work a disputatio de re publica. A disputatio, or “systematic philosophical discussion,” is inherently a Greek type of argumentation, linked to abstract theorizing about natural phenomena and containing some negative connotations (Rep. 1.16; de Orat. 1.104; Parad. 6; Fat. 4; Ac. 2.5). It is also best accomplished by learned and exceptional men, as had happened in Plato’s dialogues, and Cicero holds true to this maxim in both De Re Publica and De Oratore (Rep. 1.13; cf. de Orat. 1.23).53 As we will see below, Cicero continues to highlight De Re Publica’s status as a disputatio throughout the surviving text of the work. The integration of Greek style with Roman content made explicit in this letter to Atticus is further explained in the familiar letter to Quintus concerning Cicero’s revisions to De Re Publica (Q.fr. 3.5.1–2). The authority of his Greek predecessors had more influence with Cicero’s planned revision than did Sallustius’ critique of the completed first two books. Despite Cicero’s qualifications to be the primary speaker in De Re Publica, and Sallustius’ insistence that it would serve the work well, Cicero deferred to the practice that both Heraclides and Aristotle had followed in similar works.54 It appears from this letter to Quintus that Cicero’s vision was to compose a philosophical work rather than a pragmatic volume on Roman statecraft. There were, to be sure, considerable practical reasons for not including himself in the work and setting it in the current day, foremost among them the possible negative reactions of Caesar and Pompey (Q.fr. 3.5.2).55 But I think that it is more likely that Cicero’s decision to adhere to the original setting of the dialogue was due to the fact that he considered the historical Scipio to hold views which were very close to his own.56 In any event, Cicero’s concerns about a negative reception of his work did not prevent him from engaging in rather scathing social commentary in the later prefaces. The introduction to Book 5 is particularly derisive in its assessment of the current state of political affairs, in which Cicero declares that the res publica exists only in name and not in fact (rem publicam verbo retinemus, re ipsa vero iam pridem amisimus, 5.2). Cicero’s fear of a backlash against his work seems to have been subordinated to the necessities of the dialogue format. As we will see in more detail in the following chapter, Cicero composed De Re Publica during a period of significant political unrest. Unfortunately, there is a large gap in the preserved correspondence from late 54 until May 51, making it difficult to know how these events influenced the composition. We are without further comment on De Re Publica until after Cicero had published it sometime before he left for Cilicia.57 Cicero’s fears seem to have been unfounded, for his treatise on the res publica was well-­received.

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Shortly before Cicero left Italy for his proconsulship, Marcus Caelius sent him a long letter on current events which concludes with the short coda, “Your political books [i.e. De Re Publica] are exceedingly popular” (tui politici libri omnibus vigent, Fam. 8.1.4).58 Atticus also approved of them (Att. 6.2.9, 6.3.3), and he maintained a robust conversation with Cicero about matters of style and content (e.g. Att. 5.11.2, 6.1.8). From the comments of Caelius and Atticus, and Cicero’s own high opinion of it in later letters and treatises, it seems that Cicero achieved the goals he had set for De Re Publica.59 Unfortunately, the preface to De Re Publica is incomplete, with perhaps half of the original text missing from what was the longest preface of any of Cicero’s works.60 We thus lack much of Cicero’s explanation of his objectives, which the fragments of the preface indicate were included in the lost sections.61 The thirteen sections remaining and the smattering of fragments and references in later authors, present, however, a relatively certain picture of Cicero’s goals and their relationship to his personal philosophical tenets. From the preface of Book 1 we learn that there were two primary purposes for the discussion presented in De Re Publica: to engage in a disputatio de re publica, “a philosophical discussion on the Roman State,” and to ensure that this disputatio was useful both to philosophers and to statesmen by combining philosophy and statecraft not only in the minds of his readers but also in the literary personae of the dialogue’s interlocutors. (1.12). There are other problems or questions which are introduced for scrutiny in the dialogue, chief among them the dissolution of political unity between the people and Senate (1.31–2). These important questions, however, are subordinate to the two themes introduced in Cicero’s own voice in the preface to the first book. Cicero employs two strategies in the preface and the opening sections of the dialogue to achieve his goals. He first breaks down the barriers between philosophy and statesmanship by demonstrating the inadequacy of Greek philosophical objections to engaging in public life (1.1–11). He does this through the use of Roman exempla and then by taking on the major Greek schools on their turf, namely by showing that virtue (virtus) and ethics are in fact geared towards public life. Then, after demonstrating that philosophy and statesmanship are not only compatible but indeed complementary, he engages in a short disavowal of the dialogue in which he attributes the conversation between Scipio and his colleagues to a story heard when he was much younger (1.12–13). The temporal distance of the conversation from the present day gives cover to Cicero’s arguments, arguments bound to seem radical were they not coming from revered figures from Rome’s past. Yet, while he creates separation, Cicero

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simultaneously strengthens his association with the literary, idealized character of Scipio and thus his interlocutor’s conclusions on the State and the statesman. This avoidance of ownership, perhaps the result of the concerns voiced in Q.fr. 3.5, allows Cicero to not only present De Re Publica as a philosophical exercise in the Academic manner—albeit one which departs significantly from its Greek models—but also to minimize any objection to Roman statesmen engaging in philosophy. Cicero’s first strategy, countering philosophical objections to civic engagement, facilitates the integration of philosophy into the Roman concept of proper behavior for a statesman. If Cicero were to fail in countering this basic obstacle, the whole project would fail (quae ne frustra haberetur dubitationem ad rem publicam adeundi in primis debui tollere, 1.12). Thus Cicero mounts a forceful attack of philosophical opposition to engaging in political affairs. The chief enemy, as we may expect, is the Epicureans, who, with their doctrinal aversion to politics, represented the extreme position. They are not the only enemies of civic engagement, however, and all the major schools, even the Academy, are taken to task.62 The attack on philosophers has been widely discussed, but I wish to highlight a particular aspect of it which is related to Cicero’s purpose in De Re Publica.63 To counter the philosophers, Cicero first recognizes the dichotomy between philosophers and politicians, thus establishing a common point of departure for the following argument. He then breaks down the dichotomy by using himself as an example of the successful blending of Greek philosopher with Roman statesman. Finally, he removes the distinction completely by uniting in Scipio the best of both worlds; that is, Scipio combines the ethics of a philosopher with the pragmatism of a statesman. The preface as we have it begins in the middle of a clause, a conditional sentence which immediately establishes a distinction between contemplative life and public life. The text picks up in the midst of Cicero’s recollection of a litany of Roman men who had performed great service for the Roman State, all of whose actions were carried out according to the very nature of the human race; that is, to defend the communal weal and suppress the enticements provided by leisure and pleasure (1.1). None of these men, war heroes all, were known for their philosophical leaning; they had forsaken otium for service to the State (1.1). Cato, the final example in Cicero’s list of devoted statesmen, is a homo demens, “a madman,” to the Epicureans because he chose the uncertain fortunes of public life instead of the much more enjoyable tranquility and leisure of life removed from service. Philosophers are unnatural, for they seek to override the impulse to service which Nature herself has implanted in mankind. Not only do

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philosophers suppress man’s natural impulses, but when they do recognize virtue, they choose to do nothing with it, as they view virtue as an ars which can be possessed and never used (1.2). The example of Xenocrates proves that it is the philosophers who have created the barrier between philosophy and public service. Xenocrates, the only philosopher mentioned by name in the preface, and scholarch of the Academy in the late fourth century, claimed that his students learned from him to do on their own what the law compelled them to do (id sua sponte facerent, quod cogerentur facere legibus, 1.3). According to Cicero, philosophers and statesmen are actually in fundamental agreement, but philosophers choose to ignore the practical application of their teachings. After establishing that philosopher and statesman are separate categories, Cicero embarks on a methodical deconstruction of the arguments proposed against civic engagement (1.4–8). He does not hold back his irritation; the labors of public life are “clearly a minor hindrance to an observant and hard-­working man, and one that must be disdained” (1.4). Cicero does not name any particular group in his refutation, employing third-­person verbs (opponuntur, disputant, adiunguntur, putant, colligant) to move from the specific to the general. It is true that there have been many examples of men who have endured grievous wrongs, no one more than Cicero himself (1.6). The key verb putant (1.6) reveals that Cicero’s own suffering is the cause of this hesitation to engage. There is no self-­ deprecation here, as Cicero continues his forceful defense of public service. He accepts his membership among the greatest statesmen of the recent past, though the use of nec vero allows for a measure of humility. Using himself as an example, Cicero proceeds to invert the positive aspects of otium (1.2, 5, 7, 9), which he presented in his earlier works, most thoroughly in Pro Sestio, as the goal of statesmen. Otium can have value, but only when it is compatible with public service, not exclusive of it. The conversation which Cicero will recount is the product of otium, but otium that was presented by the holiday from business provided by the Feriae Latinae (1.14). Cicero’s attack on philosophical disengagement leads finally to a programmatic statement about the temporal and philosophical framework within which the dialogue will take place (1.12–13). Now that the way has been cleared for philosophers to act as statesmen and for statesmen to think as philosophers, Cicero is free to begin the dialogue proper without running the risk of losing either half of his proposed audience. He does, however, put one additional safeguard into place through the creation of narratological detachment from the speeches he will report in the dialogue itself. His statement concerning the dialogue’s content is introduced with nec vero, a phrase which places Cicero

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squarely outside the subsequent dialogue by denying the invention of the precepts espoused by the interlocutors: Nec vero nostra quaedam est instituenda nova et a nobis inventa ratio, sed unius aetatis clarissimorum ac sapientissimorum nostrae civitatis virorum disputatio repetenda memoria est, quae mihi tibique quondam adulescentulo est a Publio Rutilio Rufo, Smyrnae cum simul essemus complures dies, exposita; in qua nihil fere, quod magnopere ad rationes civilium rerum pertineret, praetermissum puto. Rep. 1.13 In fact, the argument that is undertaken here is neither innovative nor of my own creation, but is rather a dialogue among the most accomplished and wisest men of our state of a single age, a dialogue which was once related to me and to you when we were young men by Publius Rutilius Rufus during the few days we were visiting him at Smyrna; I believe that nothing which is relevant to these explanations of civil problems has been left out.

He further explains that the argument, here termed a ratio, is neither new nor original (nova et a nobis inventa, negated by the opening word nec). The exposition of the previous sections is not negated by Cicero’s status as a reporter, a status which is confirmed by his statement that the entire work, while written in support of his personal philosophical and political goals, is fundamentally a very long example of reported speech. Verisimilitude was an important factor in the fictitious world of the dialogue, much as it was in oratory, but Cicero was quite clear that the reported speech of his dialogues was fabricated to serve the purposes of the narrative (Att. 4.16.1; Fam. 9.8.2; cf. Att. 13.14–15.1). Cicero employs the well-­known philosophical trope of using second-­hand reports to support a particular point of view, a strategy used often in Plato’s dialogues.64 The reported speech could occupy most of the dialogue, as with the Symposium, the recollection of an event reported to the narrator Apollodorus by Aristodemus, and Socrates’ retelling of Aspasia’s funeral oration in the Menexenus (236d–249c). Cicero presents here a strong formal indication that De Re Publica will be primarily philosophical, not pragmatically political. Yet, much as with the poetic recusatio prominent in later lyric poets, Cicero’s separation of narrator from narration succeeds in drawing him even more tightly to the subject and the composition.65 This quasi-recusatio is an effective philosophical strategy for several reasons. In the first place, and of particular importance to Cicero as both Academic and politician, is the fact that the use of reported speech allows the narrator to imbue his arguments with the authority

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of the past. Cicero’s attempt to make philosophy suitable for statesmen is supported by the appeal to the auctoritas of history. Evidence taken from the past, whether from memories or from tangible sources such as inscriptions, is dignified, pleasing to hear, and authoritative (Verr. 3.209). The conversation reported in De Re Publica Cicero claims to have heard from Publius Rutilius Rufus, whom he had visited in Smyrna shortly before the latter’s death in 78 (1.13; cf. Brut. 316); Rutilius is given explicit credit as the author of the conversation (auctor sermonis, 1.17). Rutilius had, despite his conviction for repetundae and subsequent exile to Smyrna, an excellent political career, having served as a military tribune under Scipio Aemilianus during the Numantine War—where he occasionally engaged Scipio in philosophical discussions (Rep. 1.17)—and consul in 105, among other civil and military posts. His association with the great men of the age via military service, political service, or marriage— he married a sister of Marcus Livius Drusus, the opponent of the Gracchi— made him not only a plausible originator of the conversation Cicero reports in De Re Publica, but also inculcated his report with his personal auctoritas. Cicero’s discussion of the ideal statesman, while not a radical reinvention of Roman civic engagement, was nonetheless the first systematic look at the behavior and morals of the ruling class. The potential for dismissal out of hand was omnipresent, as Cicero made clear in his attack on philosophical disengagement. The extra layer of insulation provided by framing the dialogue as reported speech thus further protects Cicero from any possible misinterpretations while simultaneously adapting a philosophical trope to further his aims. It is not surprising to find Cicero employing this philosophical trope; it was, after all, a favorite of Plato. It is surprising, however, that Cicero would choose to utilize this device in a work in which he was ideally suited to take part as an interlocutor. But by cloaking himself in the narratological detachment provided by his use of the extended indirect discourse, he adroitly sidesteps one of his original concerns in composing the work while providing an example of the practicality of the Platonic dialogue form for Roman questions. While Cicero may himself have been a model of the wise statesman, it is clear that he was not unique. In fact, Roman statesmen had been combining philosophy with statesmanship for decades; surely such a method had merit if eminent men like Scipio and Laelius found it useful. In his single programmatic sentence of the content of the work, Cicero skillfully addresses both the internal and external audiences. Quintus, the presumed dedicatee who also heard Rutilius’ recollection of the conversation at Scipio’s villa, represents the internal audience, and the readers of the published

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text the external. Cicero the narrator is speaking primarily to Quintus, the internal narratee, but the appeal to the authority of the past is directed primarily at the external audience. Quintus needs no assurance that the views expressed in De Re Publica are old and were held by Scipio, since he himself was present to hear first-­hand Rutilius’ account. We, however, and whomever Cicero envisaged would take care to read the dialogue, do need assurance of the veracity of the conversation. The internal audience—Quintus, who, at this time, was serving on Caesar’s staff and was a high-­credibility source—provides the external audience, and any member of that audience who might take umbrage with anything Cicero recounts, with a measure of assurance of the veracity of Rutilius’, and thus Cicero’s, account. Cicero employs a similar strategy at the beginning of De Oratore. In that work, he declares the dialogue to be a recordatio among viri omnium eloquentissimi clarissimique, “the best and most eloquent of men” (de Orat. 1.4). These are fitting adjectives, given the elevated social status, political accomplishments, and oratorical talent of the impressive collection of participants in the dialogue.66 Cicero establishes his authorial separation by admitting that this recordatio will be “not as clearly recalled as perhaps it could be” (non sane satis explicata), but that it will nevertheless be apta,“suitable,” for its purpose. The similarities between this passage in De Oratore and Cicero’s final statements in his own voice in De Re Publica are striking. In his work on the State, the dramatis personae are once again clarissimi, as they were in De Oratore, but now Cicero calls attention to their wisdom rather than their oratorical abilities. The dialogue in De Re Publica will be “a discussion among men who were at one time the best and wisest men of our state” (unius aetatis clarissimorum ac sapientissimorum nostrae civitatis virorum disputatio, 1.13). Two words in particular stand out here. First, the choice of sapientissimi to describe men who were without a doubt clarissimi confirms that the subsequent discourse will be a philosophical discussion, especially as it follows closely after Cicero’s mention of the Seven Wise Men of Greece, nearly all of whom took active roles in government.67 In the preface of De Re Publica, sapiens is reserved for the Greek philosophers whom Cicero criticizes (1.9–11); its first use in the dialogue proper is as an honorific for Socrates (1.15). In his other works, Cicero employs sapientissimus as an honorific in a variety of situations, often without any particular resonance of a philosophical nature.68 But it is a bold leap here to suddenly attribute what had heretofore been a thoroughly Greek—and derogatory—epithet to a group of Rome’s eminent statesmen. The second, and perhaps more important, word is disputatio. As I mentioned previously, a disputatio is a systematic philosophical discussion, generally created

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by learned or otherwise exceptional men.69 Most of Cicero’s dialogues are disputationes, particularly the more theoretical works such as De Fato (1), De Finibus (1.13), De Natura Deorum (2.3, 3.19), the Academica (2.5), and, of course, the Tusculanae Disputationes; De Oratore, the first of Cicero’s philosophical works, is both a disputatio and a dialogus (Fam. 1.9.23). The paired dialogues De Senectute and De Amicitia, on the other hand, are both sermones (Sen. 3, Amic. 3), a word more closely identified with the act of speech than with philosophical argumentation.70 Cicero hammers home De Re Publica’s status as a disputatio in Book 1 through repeated statements by both himself (1.12, 13) and the main interlocutors (Philo at 1.20, Laelius at 1.34 and again at 2.22, and Scipio at 1.38). Disputation, either through the use of the noun disputatio or its base verb form disputo, is made unequivocally a Greek exercise (1.3, 4, 16, 20, 25).71 Scipio’s preface to his discussion of the state lays out the methodology he will employ, twice using disput- forms to frame his argument (1.38).72 The incomplete preface to Book 3 continues the themes from the introductory preface and furthers the identification of De Re Publica as a primarily philosophical work. Even though Scipio, Laelius, and the others are moving farther and farther away from what has been written previously in Greek treatises (ingressum rationem ad disputandum novam, quae nusquam est in Graecorum libris, 2.21), Cicero again refers to the discussion as a disputatio at the start of the second day (3.5; cf. 3.47), a reminder that the second day will not only continue the disputatio of the first but will be a philosophical discussion in its own right (cf. 2.70). By Book 3, it is now acceptable for Roman statesmen to be sapiens (3.7); by the time the conversation reaches its third day at the start of Book 5, the traditional foundation of statesmanship, the mos maiorum, is no longer sufficient to overcome the moral failings of the present age, and new methods of fortifying the Republic must be found (5.1). What these new methods may be is unknown, as the fifth book is the most damaged, but the description of the rector rei publicae was predicated on the fusion of Greek philosophy with Roman statesmanship.73 The new methods appear to be the utilization of philosophical methods. In summary, Cicero takes great care to establish De Re Publica as a philosophical dialogue. While the twin subjects of the work are government and statesmanship, two very practical subjects, the use of the dialogue format and the reliance on reported speech, two favorite strategies of Plato, characterize the treatise as a philosophical exercise. The eclecticism in his choice of sources is consistent with the Academic method as Cicero understood it, as is the use of oratio perpetua. The repeated references to the conversation reported in De Re

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Publica as a disputatio establishes the course the dialogue will take and how Cicero will receive the results of the inquiry. Finally, the integration of philosophy with statesmanship and the engagement in a refutation of civic disengagement, themes which run throughout the text and culminate in depiction of the divine statesman in the Somnium Scipionis, suggest that De Re Publica should be understood as primarily a work of philosophy, not a handbook of statesmanship.

III.  Cicero’s use of academic methodology in De Re Publica Thus far we have seen that Cicero was throughout his life a committed Philonian skeptic and that De Re Publica was as much an exercise in Academic philosophy as it was an exposition of Cicero’s political philosophy. We may now turn to the body of the treatise for examples of Cicero’s application of his Academic methodology to the discussion on the State and the consequent effect on his political philosophy. I have chosen to use the discussion of monarchy that occupies much of the dialogue among Cicero’s interlocutors in the first two books (1.42–69, 2.11–52) as an illustration of both Cicero’s use of Academic methodology and how that methodology influenced his conclusions about the form of the best type of State. My choice is, admittedly, influenced by the fact that the palimpsest of De Re Publica has preserved almost the entirety of the first two books, with the text becoming increasingly fragmented as the dialogue continues. The numerous lacunae make reconstruction of the dialogue difficult; in Zetzel’s words, “not much more than one-­third of On the Commonwealth survives, and for the purposes of reconstructing the philosophical argument, it is the wrong third.”74 Though it may be the “wrong third” for discussing the overall argument, it is sufficient to demonstrate the influence of the Academy on Cicero’s political dialogue. The apology of monarchy plays “a surprisingly central” yet not well understood part of the first day’s discussion, and its presence has colored the interpretation of the entire work, particularly the figure of the rector rei publicae.75 We have seen in the introduction how Cicero’s positive depiction of monarchy has been used to posit a range of interpretations, many of which stand in opposition to the opinions expressed by Cicero in other works. There are two central roles played by this eulogy, neither of which are any longer considered controversial: it serves as a foil for the superiority of the Roman mixed constitution, and it facilitates the exploitation of Roman historical exempla as paradigms of statesmanship. But the discussion of the conditions under which monarchy is an acceptable form of

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government and the exploration of its merits and faults is included not simply to highlight the failings of that form of government. Monarchy, and Cicero’s depiction of it, plays an important secondary role as a demonstration of the importance of Academic skepticism in De Re Publica in particular and Cicero’s political philosophy in general. A brief recapitulation of Scipio’s arguments in favor of monarchy is warranted here. Monarchy is the best of the simple forms of government, but only so long as it retains its true character of ensuring the well-­being, equality, and concord of the citizen body (2.43; cf. de Orat. 1.32). The early Roman kings, who are without doubt presented in an idealized light, ruled over a stable res publica because of their “virtue and royal wisdom” (virtus et sapientia regalis) and not because of royal birth (2.24). The Roman monarchy, however, was, indeed, a “good type of state” (bonum genus rei publicae, 2.47), and the Roman people were fully in support of the monarchy (2.52). But monarchy’s primary weakness, and the cause of the end of the Roman regnum, lay in the fact that it could easily be overthrown by a single morally corrupt individual (1.47, 65; 2.50). This is in fact how a monarch becomes a tyrant, not by assuming new and illegal powers but by abusing those that he already possesses (2.51). When the State is subject to the capricious whims of a single individual or group who holds supreme power, there is no res publica at all (3.45). Yet, Scipio informs us, had Superbus not corrupted the nature of the kingship, the Roman regnum would have continued forever (1.64). Even after the establishment of the Republican constitution, which attempted to combine all three simple forms of government, the monarchial element was always favored: the consuls, the representatives and embodiment of the imperium Romanum, were invested with a power which was both symbolically and functionally regal (2.56; cf. Leg. 3.8–9). We should not take away from the discussion of monarchy in Books 1 and 2 that Cicero was in any way a supporter of monarchy as a cure for the Republic’s sickness; there is nothing in De Re Publica or his other writings to suggest that he believed a just monarch was preferable to the mixed constitution.76 We can say, however, that Cicero bore no philosophical ill-­will towards monarchy as a form of government. His precise separation of monarchy from its inverse form, tyranny, supports this conclusion. In his separation of monarchy from tyranny Cicero was likely following Plato, who had in the Politicus divided monarchy into two separate components, kingship and tyranny (Plt. 302d), but the characteristics of each are framed in a thoroughly Roman context. The fundamental decency of the Roman monarchy is further demonstrated by the fact that Latin had no native term for a “tyrant” except the transliteration of the Greek term; the Latin rex

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corresponds to the Greek basileus, which is a generally positive term.77 Even the Latin rex, despite the negative connotations associated with it during the Late Republic, encompasses several neutral, even favorable, meanings.78 Tyranny, on the other hand, had no redeeming features: “nothing is more loathsome or abominable than a tyrant, and it is not possible to imagine a beast more detested by both gods and men” (tyrannus, quo neque taetrius neque foedius nec dis hominibusque invisius animal ullum cogitari potest, 2.48). The careful distinction between monarchy and tyranny demonstrates that Cicero is engaged in a careful, nuanced argument, and that he is refusing to paint his political philosophy in broad strokes. If the discussion of monarchy was simply part of Cicero’s take on the anakyklosis, in emulation of Plato, Dicaearchus, or Polybius, then it need not occupy such a disproportionate share of the work. Scipio could have rejected each of the simple forms with far less effort, as he does with the other two simple forms. Democracy, though never tried in Rome, had failed spectacularly in Athens; no further proof was necessary (1.44, 2.39; cf. 3.45), despite the well-­known definition of the State as the property of the people (res publica res populi, 1.39). Aristocracy was at its most useful when it was joined with one of the other simple forms, and a combination of king and senate was best of all (2.15). The focus on monarchy and the mixed constitution can be traced to the simple fact that these two forms of government were the only two forms which Rome had had in her long history. The functional aristocracy which characterized much of the Republican period, when the State was dominated by the Senate and supported by class distinction and the glories of Rome’s past, was never codified. The illusion of popular sovereignty was maintained throughout. Thus, when Scipio is charged with choosing the best form of government, he has to select one of only two possible options. Scipio, in true Academic fashion, will argue in utramque partem on the best type of government, utilizing arguments from philosophical and historical sources as well as his own experience. The discussion will be unequal—the positive aspects are much more prominent, and occupy a greater portion of the dialogue—but a discussion it will be. It is thus no surprise that the most Socratic passage in the entire treatise is found during the eulogy of monarchy.79 The dialogue begins with the discussion of two suns, an astronomical phenomenon long recognized as a metaphor for the division of the Roman State caused by the tribunate of Tiberius Gracchus (1.31). The appearance of twin suns is quickly disproved through science and learning (1.21–5); Gallus and Pericles, in their reassurances to their people, both exhibit the combination of statesmanship and erudition that Cicero called for in the preface. This metaphor sets up a binary

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structure that will be repeated throughout De Re Publica, not only in the physical organization of the work but also in its arguments. This binary structure of De Re Publica further intensifies the presence of Academic methodology. The dialogue is organized into pairs of books organized both by day—two books devoted to each of the three days of the holiday—and by the three themes of the forms of government, the possibility and use of justice in government, and the ideal statesman.80 The first book in each pair is framed in more theoretical terms while the second book is tied more closely to historical exempla, particularly Roman ones. For example, the discussion of the types of constitutions in Book 1 relies heavily on general arguments, often taken from Greek authors, while the demonstration of the superiority of the mixed constitution is sustained by the use of Roman examples from the founding of the city down to the dramatic date of the dialogue.81 Each theme receives a thorough discussion, with a champion of each side dominating the dialogue in the appropriate place. Scipio and Laelius overshadow the discussion in the first two books, while Book 3, which is based on Carneades’ Roman lectures on justice delivered in 155, finds Laelius and Philus as the chief interlocutors. Book 4 hands the conversation back to Scipio and Laelius. The fifth book is so fragmented as to prevent any reasonably certain reconstruction of the speaking parts, but it can be assumed that Scipio once again takes one of the primary roles, as his is the only preserved speech from Book 6. In each book, the primary interlocutors take the role of adversaries. This is particularly evident in Book 3, where Philus argues for the necessity of injustice in government—an opinion he clearly does not hold himself—while Laelius defends the essential nature of justice for the existence of a res publica. There is another thematic structure at work here, however, which has not, to the best of my knowledge, been explored, that allows us to see further into Cicero’s method and, ultimately, understand why De Re Publica was a successful endeavor for Cicero. As we have seen above, the dialogue is firmly dyadic. This dyadic structure is not limited to a linear progression through the text, however. The six books can also be broken down into thematic groups of Books 1 and 6, 2 and 5, and 3 and 4. The themes of Books 1 and 6 revolve around the responsibilities and rewards of statesmanship when it is combined with philosophical inquiry. The second and fifth books focus on the contributions of individuals—monarchs in the second, the rector rei publicae in the fifth—while the third and fourth books are devoted to questions of ethics. This circular structure reflects Cicero’s methodology. Cicero begins the work from the premise that philosophy and statesmanship are not mutually exclusive. The Somnium in Book 6 ultimately confirms the

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validity of the original premise. Book 2 introduces a second premise that is contingent on the first. This premise is based on Cicero’s conception of Rome’s historical past, where strong individuals, kings and magistrates alike, were the font from which the mixed constitution flowed. The rector rei publicae, which received its most explicit definition in Book 5 and which represents the political telos of Scipio’s investigation de optimo cive (2.67), confirms this hypothesis by combining the most desirable aspects of monarchy, the mixed constitution, and the Roman past into a single figure. The middle books represent the hinge on which the demands of the preface swing. If there is no barrier between philosophy and statesmanship, then Cicero must demonstrate the usefulness of philosophy for statesmen. The moral arguments of the second book are primarily centered around the concept of libertas, an idea tied inextricably with the concept of justice (virtus). Justice is the subject of the methodologically Academic speeches of Philus and Laelius in Book 3. Philosophical argumentation is thus proven to be applicable to topics of particular interest to Roman statesmen. Now, the door has been opened for philosophy to enter the world of Roman statesmanship, and Book 4 is concerned with the methods by which this new philosophical morality can be safely combined with traditional Roman customs and values. The successful integration of this new erudition results in the rector rei publicae of Book 5. The final book summarizes the result of the successful amalgamation of Greek theory and Roman practice. By the time Scipio awakens from his dream in Book 6, there are no longer any barriers between philosophers and statesmen. Cicero thus comes back to his original premise, a premise that has now been confirmed through a wide-­ranging and thorough philosophical inquiry which conforms to the precepts and meticulousness required by the Academy. So, in summary, what does Cicero’s skepticism have to do with the composition of De Re Publica and the creation of the rector-ideal? We have discussed in some detail the use of Academic methodology; what, now, can be said about Academic conclusions? First, Cicero, as a skeptic, was open to new ideas. This is crucial for the understanding of his purpose in composing De Re Publica. Cicero embarked on De Re Publica because he needed guidance during the breakdown of the Republican constitution. That Cicero knew that the constitution had reached, if not its end, then certainly a critical moment, is not a revolutionary argument; such a conclusion would have been apparent to nearly anyone involved in Roman political life at the time. What Cicero was able to do as a skeptic was to take a step back—both physically and philosophically—and investigate the problem from all angles, using all available information to thoroughly examine the question of the best constitution. Was the Roman constitution the best? By

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the end of the dialogue, Cicero had come to the conclusion that it was. Whatever dogmatic attraction to the Roman Republic we may wish to ascribe to Cicero before the composition of De Re Publica can certainly be found in his conclusions about the mixed constitution. Now, however, his opinions, while still not dogmatic, were supported by the results of his Academic inquiry. It is significant that Scipio, despite his recognized authority as the best man to discourse on political matters, goes out of his way to deny that he is attempting to teach his friends instead of engaging in conversation with them (sed vereor . . . ne si diutius in hoc genere verser, quasi praecipientis cuiusdam et docentis, non vobisum simul considerantis esse videatur oratio mea, 1.70). Was the best constitution worth fighting for, even dying for? By the end of the dialogue, Cicero had come to the conclusion that it was, for the eternal rewards of statesmanship far exceeded the temporal dangers. But “best” did not mean “perfect,” and Cicero, as he does with the three simple forms of government, makes no secret either of its shortcomings or its potential for failure. The mixed constitution had continued to endure because, unlike the Greek constitutions, it had not been created in one fell swoop. Centuries of crisis, innovation, reaction, and stalwart resolution by the Republic’s great heroes had led to its success. The flexibility of the Roman constitution, like the flexibility of a Philonian skeptic, was its greatest strength. Evolution, not revolution, was as much a key to the survival of the mixed constitution as it was the key to Cicero’s political philosophy. For the State to survive, its statesmen had to evolve, and evolve they had. Now, in Cicero’s time, nearly seventy-­five years removed from the constitution’s heyday, a radical revolution of Roman statesmanship was called for. The type of statesman now required was embodied in the rector-ideal: a statesman imbued with both Greek theory and Roman practicality. The focus on the role of individual statesmen and the rector-ideal in De Re Publica makes little sense if Cicero was simply reaffirming the virtues of the past, or waxing hypothetical as Plato had done in his Republic. While Cicero’s loyalty to Academic skepticism may have led him towards a greater acceptance of monarchy, it simultaneously facilitated the entrenchment of the Republican constitution as the centerpiece of Cicero’s political theory and the development of the rector-ideal. The significance of reading De Re Publica as an Academic text bears directly upon my interpretation of the rector-ideal. De Re Publica as a philosophical exercise resolves the question of whether or not Cicero had a practical plan for the rector-ideal. In the first place, skepticism helps to explain why the explication of the rector-ideal occupies the final two summative books; it is the telos of the previous two days of discussion and the answer to the

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question which spurred the dialogue’s creation; the events that led Cicero to engage in the inquiry that became De Re Publica, and their influence on its composition, are the subjects of the next chapter. Secondly, such a reading sheds light on Cicero’s continued valuation of the rector-ideal as a rational rubric for political activity despite the upheaval of the civil war and Caesar’s domination. The rector-ideal was not an epistemic conclusion, nor was it a teleological outcome of the continuation of the mixed constitution. It was, rather, an opinion in the Philonian sense. The slight modifications to the rector-ideal that occurred after the civil war do not diminish its importance; rather, they highlight the importance of the skepticism used in creating it. The rector-ideal is an opinion, a position arrived at through Academic inquiry and one that was continually reaffirmed by new developments and continued reevaluation.

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Cicero’s Philosophical Politics

For, as you all clearly see, the death of Tiberius Gracchus and even before that the conduct of his entire tribunate divided the people into two parts; now Scipio’s enemies and antagonists, at the first instigations of Publius Crassus and Appius Claudius, and no less after their deaths, hold the one part of the Senate in opposition . . . but it is indeed possible for us to have only one senate and only one people, and if we do not, then there will be much trouble; we know that matters stand otherwise at the moment, yet we see that if that state of affairs can be brought into being we will live better and more fortunate lives. De Re Publica 1.31–2 The previous chapter examined Cicero’s skepticism and how his loyalty to the Academy and its methods influenced the composition of De Re Publica. I have argued that this disputatio de optimo statu civitatis et de optimo cive was primarily a philosophical exercise produced for Cicero’s own benefit. It was not, nor ever intended to be, a handbook for statesmen, nor was it intended to be a programmatic solution to the various disturbances in the functioning of the State that were a hallmark of the 50s. However, its composition was closely tied to the political and social events of the period during which Cicero contemplated writing a treatise on the State, and no discussion of De Re Publica can fail to take account of the real-­world pressures exerted on Cicero as both philosopher and politician. In the previous chapter I placed De Re Publica into its philosophical context. This chapter describes the political and social influences that both encouraged Cicero to write the treatise and also shaped its composition. While Cicero’s skepticism will not be discussed explicitly in this chapter, the conclusions of the previous chapter are omnipresent, particularly the notion that, as a skeptic, Cicero was constantly reevaluating his opinions on all matters when new evidence was brought to his attention. Cicero was just as much of a

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skeptic during the period between his consulship and the outbreak of war as he was after Caesar’s victory; he was, as we have seen, by his own admission always a philosopher, even when he was engaging in non-­philosophical activities. This chapter will focus on the period between the end of Cicero’s consulship in 63 and Pompey’s third consulship in 52. The primary reason for beginning my argument with his consulship is that we are exceedingly well-­informed of Cicero’s activities, and the activities of his compatriots, during this period. From the Ciceronian corpus we have over 160 letters between the Ad Atticum and Ad Familiares collections as well as sixteen speeches and three philosophical works which can be dated to this period. In addition, Plutarch provides biographies of Cicero, Caesar, Pompey, Cato, and Brutus, with Suetonius adding a further biography of Caesar. There are, to be sure, significant generic differences between the genres represented by our sources. Letters, speeches, philosophical treatises, and biographies all have their own nuances, and authorial bias must always be considered. Yet I believe that there are coherent threads of thought which run through Cicero’s works, particularly in relation to politics. These threads reveal not only the evolution of a codification of the political philosophy concerning the mixed constitution that Cicero expressed most fully in De Re Publica but also the initial deliberations on what would become the rector-ideal. The goals of this chapter are twofold. The primary goal is to demonstrate that De Re Publica was the culmination of Cicero’s long reflection on the state of the Republic. It was not an attempt to keep busy during a forced retirement, as the later philosophical works written between 46 and 44 were. Nor was it simply an attempt to recreate Plato in Latin, an endeavor that would have been of little use either to Cicero or to his readers. Rather, De Re Publica was the keystone of a coherent trilogy of works—De Oratore, De Re Publica, and De Legibus—that originated from what Cicero viewed as the failures of the three primary braces of the mixed constitution: oratory, statesmanship, and the law.1 Thematic similarities and a common vocabulary link together the three philosophical works devoted to these topics. These same links also tie them to the speeches and letters of this period. Thus we can see that while Cicero was heavily engaged in three separate genres of written communication—epistolography, rhetoric, and philosophical dialogues—he was treating similar themes in similar ways. Indeed, the generic differences in these three types of documents serve to highlight the cohesiveness of Cicero’s political philosophy rather than create barriers to its interpretation. The secondary goal is to introduce the foundations of the rector-ideal through a thematic yet diachronic outline of Cicero’s view of statesmanship during the

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50s. As we saw in the last chapter, Cicero was committed to the opinion that the mixed constitution was the most stable form of government. While that stability had been severely challenged, and in fact seemed to have completely given way to the pressures of the increasingly powerful cabal of Pompey, Caesar, and Clodius, Cicero hoped that the mixed constitution would survive the upheaval of the 50s in some fashion resembling that of the glorified period of Roman dominance in the previous century. In the decade since his consulship, Cicero had seen how each political group—magistrates, Senate, and populus—had in turn, and sometimes in concert, thrown the mixed constitution out of balance. As he makes clear in De Re Publica, Cicero believed that the people as a political group were very dangerous (e.g. 1.42, 3.45). Cicero had certainly been the victim of popular sovereignty run amok in the form of Clodius’ tribunate, especially Clodius’ success in securing Cicero’s exile. Furthermore, the monarchial element in the Republic had proven to be just as dangerous to the res publica as the people. In the years immediately prior to the composition of De Oratore, De Re Publica, and De Legibus, Rome had suffered a succession of what seemed to Cicero to be terrible consuls, in particular Gabinius and Piso in 58 (e.g. Sest. 17, 53, 64). The mixed constitution was exempt from the inevitable devolution of the three simple forms of government. Its only vulnerability was unethical or unscrupulous leaders (magna principum vitia, Rep. 1.69). In the decade since his consulship, this is exactly what Cicero had seen happen. The rector-ideal directly addressed, indeed attempted to correct in a theoretical fashion—the rector-ideal was not envisaged as a teleological solution—the perceived moral and ethical failure of the principes rei publicae. Once again, real-­world circumstances exerted direct influence on the conclusions of De Re Publica. This chapter contextualizes the composition of De Re Publica and the formalization of the rector-ideal. Each of the three sections focuses on a particular aspect of the development of De Re Publica which can be tied to particular chronological periods as well as specific social and political developments. The first section examines the breakdown of the concordia ordinum in the five years between Cicero’s consulship in 63 and his exile in 58. The formation of the so-­called First Triumvirate and the manner in which Clodius secured Cicero’s exile contributed greatly to Cicero’s analysis of the concordia ordinum, which was central for the success of the mixed constitution. The second section focuses on the three years between Cicero’s return from exile in 57 and the commencement of work on De Re Publica in 54. This period includes the publication of two important texts for tracing the development of Cicero’s political philosophy, Pro Sestio and De Oratore. Both were influenced by the continued dissolution of the

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mixtum genus and Cicero’s increasingly pessimistic view of the future of the Republic. Both Pro Sestio and De Oratore contain passages which reveal Cicero’s early thoughts on the themes which would become manifest in De Re Publica. The most salient passage is the long encomium of the optimates in Pro Sestio (96–143), in which Cicero’s elaboration on the identity and duties of the optimates closely mirrors his discussion of the rector-ideal in De Re Publica. In both works Cicero begins to flesh out the framework of the rector-ideal in contrast to and in concordance with current political developments. Last, but by no means the least important period, is the quadrennium between 54 and 51, from the publication of De Oratore to the publication of De Re Publica and Cicero’s departure for his proconsulship in Cilicia. Of particular importance is the year 52, a year which, in the context of the composition of De Re Publica and De Legibus, I have chosen to call Pompey’s annus mirabilis, partially because of his reclamation of much of the public standing he had lost under Caesar’s domination and partially because Pompey’s activities had a significant effect on the creation of the rector-ideal. While the annus mirabilis signified the beginning of the final breach between Pompey and Caesar, Pompey’s sole consulship in 52 struck a particularly resonant chord with Cicero and his hopes that the mixed constitution could be salvaged.

I.  From consul to exile The five years between Cicero’s consulship and his exile reveal much about the evolution of his political philosophy. The major theme of this period for a discussion of the rector-ideal is the breakdown of the concordia ordinum, which had been one of the pillars of Cicero’s political philosophy during his consulship. The physical disintegration of the concordia ordinum affected Cicero personally as well as politically, as his exile in 58 was a direct consequence of the increasingly combative politics of the Late Republic. Cicero viewed the cooperation of the various political units, especially a concordance between the senatorial class and the equites, as one of the two foundations of the Republican constitution (duo firmamenta rei publica . . . senatus auctoritatem . . . et ordinum concordiam, Att. 1.18.3). Cicero was not advocating for a modern republican system of checks and balances—the explicit mention of the auctoritas senatus demonstrates the primacy of the aristocracy in Cicero’s thought—but rather a political synchronization based around policy dictated by the Senate.2 For Cicero, the greatest expression of the concordia ordinum was his successful suppression of

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Catiline’s insurrection, an event that, as Cicero would repeatedly mention over the years, reflected the mixed constitution functioning at its best. With the breakdown of concordia came the splintering of the State into factions, creating a bifurcated State similar to the one noted by Laelius at the beginning of De Re Publica (1.31). The splintering of the State not only facilitated the major political developments of this quinquennium—Clodius’ acquittal for sacrilege, the formation of the gentlemen’s understanding between Pompey, Caesar, and Crassus, and Cicero’s exile—but also contributed to Cicero’s conception of the rector rei publicae as the guardian of the concordia ordinum. Mark Temelini has identified three distinct meanings of concordia in Cicero’s works.3 The elementary meaning encompasses the stability of the res publica, a stability that is equivalent to the Greek concept of homonoia and translated here as “unity.”4 The second meaning, a “novel” interpretation of Cicero’s own design, denotes the concept often defined as the concordia ordinum, “harmony of the orders,” the cooperation between the Senate and the equestrians achieved with the consent of the people. The third definition categorized by Temelini represents an expansion of the “harmony of the orders” concept in which class distinctions are eliminated, thus opening up the concordia to include not just senators or equites but all men whom Cicero would qualify as boni. This concept is denoted by the phrase consensus omnium bonorum (e.g. Har. 45, Sest. 36). Temelini’s definitions are instructive, as they demonstrate in microcosm the evolution of Cicero’s political philosophy in advance of the composition of De Re Publica. He does not, however, extend his discussion to De Re Publica itself. The evolution of this central tenet of Cicero’s political philosophy, which Cicero himself pronounced to be his “policy and custom” (ratio institutioque, Att. 1.17.10) reaches its apex in De Re Publica. The idea of the concordia ordinum plays a small yet prominent role in De Re Publica, especially in the discussion of monarchy and, more importantly, in the initial definition of the rector rei publicae. The concordia ordinum was a long-­standing part of Cicero’s political philosophy. A partnership between the senatorial class and the equites, or at least the subgroup of the equites represented by the tax farmers (publicani), appears in Cicero’s works as early as 66 (Clu. 152).5 The highly rhetorical nature of Pro Cluentio, a speech considered to be one of Cicero’s greatest oratorical successes, certainly colors the interpretation of the use of the concordia ordinum here; Cicero himself supposedly boasted that he had pulled a shade over the eyes of the jury (Quint. Inst. 2.17.21).6 Yet the rhetoric of Cicero’s defense of Cluentius should not lead us to think that this speech, delivered at a critical time for Cicero’s future political prospects, is entirely divorced from either

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Cicero’s true thoughts or the political circumstances of the speech’s delivery. There were multiple audiences beyond the jury and the assembled crowd.7 Cicero was surely planning at this point on running for the consulship two years hence, and he would not have passed up an opportunity to impress potential political allies of either order. Thus the discussion of Cicero’s desire for concordia in Pro Cluentio appears in connection with a denigration of separate legal measures passed first by Gaius Gracchus and then by Sulla, each of whom was determined to strengthen one order by marginalizing the other with respect to the composition of juries (151).8 Cicero’s appeal for unity is designed to appeal equally to both parties. Here, the concordia ordinum is tied directly to the integrity and uprightness of the Senate (integritas et innocentia), the most important group to win over. The dignitas of the Senate is presented as the highest virtue, the one against which all other groups are measured.9 Cicero complements the equites as the group closest to the senatorial order in dignitas (equites ordini senatorio dignitate proximos); as they are close in dignitas, it is proper for the two to share the same goals. The unification of the Senate and the equites is the objective of the just and moral senators—that is, those who share Cicero’s views—while the senators bent on securing their own power, presented here as demagogic power (ii qui sese volunt posse omnia), would rather have the equites in a state of servitude (in potestatem suam). Dissension in the ordo senatorius, in other words, leads to subservience, the domination of one group by another at the expense of freedom under the law. The equites, for their part, are fêted for representing the best interests of the Roman people; in resisting the judicial reforms of Marcus Drusus, Cicero bestows on several prominent equites the status of “buttresses of the Roman people” (illa robora populi Romani, Clu. 153). Cicero’s defense of Cluentius did not hinge on convincing the jury that it was necessary for the senators and knights to get along; the theme of concordia ordinum does not appear outside of sections 151–3. Despite its relatively minor role in Pro Cluentio, the concordia ordinum became both a reason for and motivating factor in Cicero’s consulship. As a novus homo without exceptional political or financial resources at hand, Cicero had relied on his successful courtship of all social groups for his election to the consulship, especially the publicani and the senatorial class. As consul, he made the concordia ordinum the focal point of his magistracy (Rab. Perd. 27; Catil. 4.14–17). From the outset he touted his own ability to generate political unity, as he and his consular colleague Gaius Antonius Hybrida—who had run in concert with Catiline in the consular election and was no friend of Cicero’s—proclaimed their solidarity on their first

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day of office (Leg. Agr. 1.203). His success against Catiline, which was the result of Cicero’s ability to mobilize the Senate and equites behind him (Catil. 1.32, Fam. 5.2.8), left Cicero feeling justifiably proud of the unity he had created (e.g. Catil. 4.15).10 Cicero had managed to shape the mere coming together of the separate groups, the concursus bonorum omnium, in his opening salvo of the first speech to the Senate (Catil. 1.1) into a genuine partnership held together by a universal desire for the preservation of the Republic (Catil. 4.15). It was no coincidence that the meeting of the Senate in which the fate of the conspirators was debated was held in the Temple of Concordia in the Forum. The absence of any mention of the urban plebs in Cicero’s list of Catiline’s followers (Catil. 2.17–23) indicates that, unlike the situation only three years before in Pro Cluentio, even the populus was now part of the concordia ordinum.11 Cicero could rightly have claimed a major political victory for the confederacy he brokered between these groups. Concordia, however, was not an end in and of itself, and the role of concordia in Catiline’s defeat was symptomatic of the state of Roman politics rather than diagnostic. It was rather the constant juggling of the political and social needs of each constituency, and the elimination of influences which sought to overthrow the order of the State. It was an iterative process, contingent upon the individuals holding influence at any given point, and a process that was constantly being reinvented according to changing circumstances. It was also, at a foundational level, both antagonistic and agonistic. Conflict between the orders was essential for the perpetuation of balance. Concordia belied the constant tension between the ordo senatorius and the populus Romanus. For example, in his speech for Lucius Flaccus, who as urban praetor had arrested Lentulus and the rest of the Catilinarians in Rome, Cicero declares that Flaccus’ actions had been praised “with the unanimous consent of all” (uno consensu omnium, Flac. 103). The consensus omnium is the first item in a tricolon which also includes the una vox populi Romani and the unum orbis terrae testimonium. While surely rhetorical and perhaps more than a little hyperbolic, Cicero’s separation of consensus omnium from the populus Romanus reveals that he viewed the concordia ordinum as separate and distinct from a true unity of all social classes. It was always designed to be representative of the duty of each group to attend to their own duties in sustaining the State. Cicero could not envisage a State in which governance was shared equally, or one which employed a series of checks and balances; the Senate was always to be the embodiment of the Roman imperium (Leg. 3.8–10).12 Yet while concordia required a stasis in the execution of political roles, it was subject to a constant revision caused by the fluid political alliances endemic to the Roman system.13

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Changing alliances, based on personal goals rather than goals associated with any sort of political party, characterized Roman politics, never more so than in the last few decades of the Republic. These fluctuating associations caused a constant shift in personnel but no lessening of the inherent state of strife; Cicero would later equate his election to the consulship as being dropped “into the middle of the danger and strife of public affairs” (in medium rerum omnium certamen atque discrimen, de Orat. 1.3).14 Concordia, while dependent on the ancient social structures and the perpetuation of class distinction, was also the agent of radical change, not often for the better. The mutable nature of Roman political alliances—and the continuing social conflict caused by this change—is evident in the immediate aftermath of the successful suppression of Catiline’s insurrection. As soon as Catiline’s threat had been removed and the stability of the State restored, the different groups once again began to look out for their own best interests. Even Cicero, acclaimed as pater patriae by Catulus and Cato and at the peak of his power and popularity (Pis. 3; Sest. 121; Plu. Cic. 23.6), suffered the consequences of the return to business as usual. Cicero’s greatest success was followed less than a month later by a stinging public humiliation imparted by the tribune Quintus Metellus Nepos, who forbade Cicero from delivering the traditional contio on his departure from the consulship (Fam. 5.2.7; Pis. 3, 6–7; Plu. Cic. 23.1). The trial and acquittal of Clodius for profaning the rites of the Bona Dea dealt a heavy blow to the cooperative politics Cicero championed (Att. 1.16.4, 6).15 The election of Lucius Afranius as consul for the following year had been secured through bribery on a massive scale, likely organized by Pompey himself, and Afranius’ election combined with the defeat of the Senate-­backed reforms on voting procedure and law courts to destroy the concordia ordinum once and for all (ordinum concordiam diiunxit, Att. 1.18.3). Even more ominously, the final dissolution of the concordia ordinum occurred at approximately the same time that rumors of Clodius’ transfer to the plebeians were made known (Att. 1.18.4). Such was the state of politics that Cicero was sure Atticus would see that “the Roman State is no longer able to endure” (res Romanas diutius stare non posse, Att. 1.18.2). With the death of Quintus Lutatius Catulus in 60, Cicero was left “with neither succor nor ally” (nec praesidio ullo nec comitatu, Att. 1.20.3). In December 61, Cicero had tied the depressing state of public affairs to the breakdown of concordia. Concordia had given way to disiunctio, and the Republic was now “feeble, wretched, and unsettled” (infirma, misera commutabilisque, Att. 1.17.8). Despite his pessimism, Cicero had not yet given up on resurrecting the concordia ordinum, but he had begun to seek alternatives (Att. 1.17.10; cf. 1.20.3),

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perhaps in the form of some sort of agreement with either Caesar or Pompey to support each other’s political aspirations for the good of the Republic. Cicero had good reason to believe that even if he could carry no influence with Caesar he would, at least, be able to do so with Pompey. Despite the rather frosty relations which had developed between Cicero and Pompey after the latter’s return from the East in December 62, Cicero felt that he and Pompey shared a common affinity for each other, if not similar political goals. In the period between his consulship and Caesar’s, Cicero makes numerous references to the positive relationship between them: Pompey is amicissimus (Att. 1.12.3; cf. Att. 1.8.1), and Cicero felt comfortable in joking with Atticus that their closeness led the youth of Rome to salute Pompey as “Gnaeus Cicero” (Att. 1.16.11). Cicero believed that they shared not only amicitia but also “such a close intimacy” (tanta familiaritas, Att. 1.19.7).16 We do not know if Pompey reciprocated Cicero’s affection, or whether he envisaged Cicero as a key partner in his own plans. Cicero, however, felt that a close relationship between the two was paramount to maintaining any sort of political serenity; any hostility between the two would, in Cicero’s opinion, result in the “greatest dissension in the state” (maximae in re publica discordiae, Att. 2.1.6). The formation of a new political faction signaled a transformation in the functioning of the Roman State. This change had a profound effect on Cicero’s political philosophy. Individual needs and the desire for personal power drove three prominent men into an alliance designed for their own benefit, not the benefit of the State. The triumvirate provided a counterdemonstration of the ability of powerful individuals to create harmony. Its establishment left Cicero with two models of statesmanship. On the one hand, there was the example of his consulship, based on universal approbation generated by the skillful use of political means, supported by nothing more than Cicero’s own exquisite statesmanship and his impeachable character. On the other, there was the triumvirate, whose influence had been secured by money and soldiers without regard for the greater good of the Republic. The triumvirate simultaneously promoted and suppressed the adversarial politics which had characterized the mixed constitution. Cicero was invited to join forces with the triumvirs, and he recognized the opportunities that the alliance provided: intimate relations with Pompey and Caesar, peace with the populus, and especially “a care-­free old age” (senectutis otium, Att. 2.3.4). But he rejected the offer, preferring to maintain his political independence and promotion of the concordia ordinum while banking on his ability to influence Pompey and Caesar to become better citizens (Att. 2.1.6–7). His friendship with Pompey and the assurances of Marcus Calpurnius

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Bibulus, Caesar’s consular colleague, that Caesar would follow both Cicero’s and Pompey’s advice in all things (Att. 2.3.3) gave some measure of hope to Cicero that the “three-­headed monster”, as it was termed by Appian (BC 2.2.9), now dominating Roman politics would prove to be an aberration. Though it was Caesar who held the consulship in 59 and acted with disregard for custom and established practice, it was Pompey who bore the brunt of Cicero’s vitriol. Pompey’s desire for universal approbation was a political deficiency Cicero was quick to point out (cf. Att. 1.13.4, 1.20.2, 2.21.3–4). Pompey had proven vulnerable to the machinations of Caesar, who guaranteed ratification of the eastern settlement in exchange for Pompey’s support during Caesar’s consulship (Suet. Jul. 19.2; App. BC 2.9.33). Cicero was quick to point out that Pompey had never known popular disapproval. In a lengthy letter to Atticus he presented Pompey as “not used to dishonor . . . marred in body and disheartened in spirit” (insolens infamiae . . . deformatus corpore, fractus animo), and “quite unused to effrontery” (tam insuetus contumeliae, Att. 2.21.3–4). By allying himself with Caesar and Crassus, Pompey had, in Cicero’s estimation, forfeited his position as Rome’s greatest hero. Pompey became an enigma to Cicero, who no longer felt confident that he could discern Pompey’s plans (Att. 2.16.2; cf. 2.17.3). Pompey had returned to the status of private citizen after his return from the East, yet despite his lack of political office it was he and not Caesar whom Cicero began to depict as a dynastus (Att. 2.9.1) and a tyrannus (Att. 2.17.1), words that, as we have seen in the previous chapter, were political insults of the first rank. If the coalition of Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus did not do enough damage to Cicero’s hopes of either restoring the concordia ordinum or even exerting some sort of influence in the Senate, the triumvirs’ tacit approval of Clodius’ increasingly demagogic actions left Cicero a political pariah. His subsequent exile, which he attributed to the combined forces of “Pompey’s sudden desertion, the consuls’ alienation and that of the praetors, the anxiety of the tax-­farmers, and the armed” (Q.fr. 1.4.4), proved once and for all that any residual spirit of the unity that had been engendered by his consulship had disappeared forever. In fact, the concordia had been completely perverted, as the various groups had now united against Cicero. Although it is unlikely that there was any sort of united front against Cicero as there had been against Catiline, the fact remained that the influence of Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus was now superior, and Cicero’s refusal to join the triumvirs became a personal and political disaster. He became a spectator to the subordination of the policies he had championed as consul, and could only watch while Caesar dictated politics and policy with the consent of the other two

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men. Clodius’ successful attempt to exile Cicero as punishment for the execution of Catiline’s accomplices was a result of this new power dynamic. The triumvirs played an integral role in the transfer of Clodius to the plebeian order and Cicero’s subsequent exile. Clodius was no mere tool of the triumvirs, but they must have acquiesced to the tribune’s attacks on Cicero; Clodius’ adoption could certainly not have taken place without the assent of Caesar as pontifex maximus and Pompey as augur.17 The circumstances of Cicero’s exile are well-­known, and need not be repeated here.18 The results of it on his political philosophy are, however, important, for as Sarah Cohen has noted, Cicero is the first to link exile with the legitimacy of the State that is left behind.19 The triumvirate, Clodius, and his exile were merely symptoms of the underlying constitutional crisis, all made possible by the failure of the optimates to take a firm stand for unity and the mixed constitution. As Asmis has demonstrated, there is a correlation between consensus/concordia and the stability of the mixed constitution.20 We may expect Cicero to side firmly with the Senate as the protectors of the State against dissension, yet even he recognized that it was often not the people but the patres who were responsible for the dissolution of concordia, as had happened towards the end of 61 (Att. 1.17.8–9). Cicero’s exile provides a further example of the responsibility born by the ordo senatorius in creating disiunctio at the expense of concordia. Exile was a devastating blow for Cicero, a complete reversal of fortune for the ex-­consul once hailed as pater patriae (Att. 3.10.2). Time would not heal this wound (Att. 3.15.2), and the last letter to Atticus from exile depicts Cicero as utterly despondent and without hope for restoration: “I see from your letter and from the way things stand that I am utterly destroyed” (ex tuis litteris et ex re ipsa nos funditus perisse video, Att. 3.27). Cicero’s fatalism was for naught, as his supporters, with the support of both Caesar and Pompey, who had had a falling-­out with Clodius during the eighteen months of Cicero’s exile, forced through a bill calling for Cicero’s return. On 4 August, the bill was approved by the comitia centuriata, and Cicero set out for Italy the very same day (Att. 4.1). The return to Italy was bittersweet. Cicero found himself once more in the public esteem, but his personal affairs were in chaos (Att. 4.1.3, 4.3.6). Though he won a victory over Clodius in the matter of his house on the Palatine, the debate over the site of the domus and Clodius’ consecration of it demonstrated that Cicero’s return had not brought about a corresponding revival of concordia (Att. 4.2.4). A mere three months after his return, Cicero was assaulted by Clodius’ thugs and nearly killed (Att. 4.3.3). He had returned to a very tumultuous Republic indeed.

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The evolution of concordia ordinum into consensus/consensio omnium bonorum is tied directly to Cicero’s recall from exile. Clodius’ actions had been facilitated by the absence of concordia, “harmony”, but Cicero’s return was the result of consensus, “agreement.” While the concordia had been founded upon the active participation of the various groups, consensus was achieved when the groups followed the lead of strong-­willed individuals. Upon his return, Cicero’s speeches to the Senate and to the people are filled with references to his many benefactors, who as a group represent the authority of the Senate, the unanimity of Italy, and the exertion of all of the boni (hac auctoritate senatus, tanta consensione Italiae, tanto studio bonorum omnium, Red. Pop. 18; cf. Parad. 28). While Cicero acknowledged that it had been a group effort to bring him back to Italy, he took care to single out Lucius Ninnius, Lentulus Spinther, Quintus Metellus, and Pompey as the leaders to whom he owed his return (Red. Sen. 3–5, 8–9; Red. Pop. 11). The other tribunes, the majority in the Senate, and the citizens voting in the comitia merely allowed and approved the motion without taking active participation. Passive approval was the norm now; the days when Atticus would lead an army of armed citizenry in support of the Senate’s motions and safety, as had happened during the Catilinarian conspiracy, had passed into memory. But while Cicero acknowledged the increasingly individual power dynamic, he was simultaneously expanding the consensus omnium bonorum. In his speech to the people, the consensus has grown to include the divine realm, as the immortal gods showed their approval of Cicero’s recall through bountiful harvests and decreased grain prices (dis denique immortalibus frugum ubertate, copia, vilitate reditum meum comprobantibus mihi, Red. Pop. 18). The speech on behalf of Publius Sestius, delivered a mere six months after his return from exile, illuminates the change in Cicero’s view of the concordia-­ consensus.21 The long exposition on government which occupies most of the final third of the speech (98–135) is founded on the shift from concordia to consensus and the corresponding changes in the membership of that group. Initially, however, Cicero employs the theme of the concordia ordinum to describe the day that a decree was ordered for the Senate to wear mourning dress (27). All three groups—Senate, equites, and populus—are represented in union (bonos omnes privato consensu et universum senatum publico consilio mutasse vestem).22 A similar sentiment marks the introduction to Cicero’s declamation on his own career. He first defends his acquiescence to exile, a course of action taken despite the fact that he held the moral high ground and all of Roman society supported him (nam si ego in causa tam bona, tanto studio senatus, consensu tam incredibili bonorum omnium, tam parato populo, tota denique Italia ad omnem contentionem

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expedita, 36).23 Cicero once more credits first the Senate, though calling attention to their studium instead of their auctoritas, and then the consensus bonorum omnium, for the first time modified by both an adjective and an adverb. Cicero enjoyed even greater support as the victim of a wicked tribune than he had as a consul crushing sedition, yet he still chose not to fight. Cicero rationalized his decision by claiming that the inevitable result of staying in Italy would have been bloody civil war (42–4). I would argue, however, that Cicero’s timidity and lack of fight was due not to any sort of character flaw but rather the recognition of the impracticality of the concordia ordinum as a method of stabilizing a tottering Republic. As we may expect from an Academic skeptic, Cicero then engaged in a reevaluation of his political philosophy. To compensate for the inferiority of his previous conception of consensus omnium bonorum, Cicero developed a much more inclusive definition centered on those men whom he deemed to be optimates. The term optimates did not refer to any one particular social group as, for example, equites or plebs did. The optimates are defined as all those “who are both irreproachable and sensible and well-­prepared for domestic affairs” (qui et integri sunt et sani et bene de rebus domesticis constitui, Sest. 96–8). They shared with their opposite number, the populares, the goal of engaging in public affairs and excelling in them. Cicero’s concept of optimates was inclusive, not exclusive, as the concordia ordinum/consensus omnium bonorum had been.24 All those who served the best interests of the State and its government were, whether plebeian, equestrian, or noble, members of the optimates (97). The boni did not disappear from Cicero’s political philosophy, but now, instead of being the ones who united to serve the best interests of the State, they were the ones who sought out otium cum dignitate (98). The inclusive politics of Pro Sestio indicates a shift in Cicero’s thought concerning cooperative politics, simultaneously looking backward at the glorious concordia of his consulship and forward to the much more pessimistic judgment of De Re Publica. He was moving away from the concordia ordinum as a means of preserving the Republic while seeking a means by which he could join a greater number of individuals together. The senatorial order was still the keystone of Cicero’s political philosophy, and his elevated opinion of the Senate clearly influenced his depiction of the optimates; it was no secret that the good men always favored noble birth because it was advantageous for the res publica (21). But even within this group he identifies various subgroups, namely the defensores optimatium and the principes civitatis (97). Membership in the optimates is open to any man, not just a senator or member of the equites, but there are more exclusive and prestigious subgroups within the optimates. These

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subgroups are distinguished from the rest of the optimates by their willingness to act in defense not just of omnes optimates but of the res publica (138). The optimates, while by necessity engaged in public affairs, need not be directly involved in running the State. The subgroups, however, called defensores, principes, and gubernatores, are detached from the greater group by virtue of their actions in gubernanda re publica (97). The optimates are, of course, “infinite in number” (numero, si quaeris, innumerabiles, neque enim aliter stare possemus), but the defensores occupy an elite position as the principes civitatis. A further distinction between the general designation of optimates and the exclusive subgroups is made by the separation of desire from results. While all optimates wish for otium cum dignitate, “tranquility joined with public standing,” (98), not all are able to see it into practice.25 Actually achieving otium cum dignitate is the preserve of those who would be called the “keepers of the citizen community” (conservatores civitatis, 98).26 In fact, otium cum dignitate must be the goal of all the optimi cives, even at the risk of death. As Wirszubski has rightly pointed out, Cicero places the emphasis on cum dignitate.27 Tranquility could be had by withdrawal from politics, or an escape to a life of leisure outside of the capital, or even by a move to the provinces. But to achieve tranquility with public standing, one needed to stay active in government, and ensure that each part of the mixed constitution continued to exercise its proper amount of influence. A few months after delivering Pro Sestio, Cicero spoke in the Senate in support of the prorogation of Caesar’s Gallic commission. This speech, known as De Provinciis Consularibus, had a tripartite goal: garnering support for the recall of Gabinius and Piso from their provinces, praising Caesar’s exploits in Gaul, and publicly demonstrating Cicero’s acquiescence to the political superiority of the triumvirs. The speech is full of statements about the deplorable state of the Republic, though many of them, such as his comment that Gabinius and Piso were “the bane of our allies, the destroyers of our soldiers, the ruin of the tax-­ farmers, the devastators of our provinces, and blots on our empire,” are more than a touch hyperbolic and, possibly, even outright lies.28 Cicero states unambiguously that the rights and privileges of the senatorial order must be protected, as this order is the “author and leader of both public policy and all of my decisions” (publici consili et meorum omnium consiliorum auctor et princeps, Prov. 25). At the same time, however, he argues that the Senate must not give cause for offense to an illustrious or powerful man (39). In a long passage filled with rather excessive praise, Cicero discusses the benefits of an eminent statesman such as Caesar working in concert with the Senate (38–44).29 The watchwords of Cicero’s argument in De Provinciis Consularibus are dignitas,

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concordia, and auctoritas (47). Compromise is always far better than disorder, and Caesar’s recall—the legality of the lex Vatinia notwithstanding—would be only a small part of what Cicero describes as a chaotic torrent of legal repeals (45–6). The concordia of the state had moved Cicero to subsume his own feelings towards Caesar and the triumvirs (30, 40), and to seek a course of action which would benefit the many at the expense of the few. After 54, the consensus omnium bonorum moves from the practical realm to the philosophical. Cicero makes one final explicit reference to his cherished goal in his lengthy apology to Lentulus Spinther in October 54. Once more Cicero recalls the halcyon days of his consulship and the years leading up to Caesar’s consulship, when Cicero still played an influential role in the Senate and all of the good men were unified in their opinion, an opinion that matched Cicero’s own (Fam. 1.9.12). The consensus has no relation to the present, as Cicero wistfully recalls the many men who supported him in the face of Clodius’ legislation for exile. Such cooperation was no longer possible, with the triumvirs continuing to consolidate their influence and factional violence still rampant. While the consensus omnium bonorum had proved sufficient for defeating Catiline, it was impotent against the peccadillos of the triumvirs, especially Pompey, and a small group of their adherents among the optimates (Fam. 1.9.13). In fact, one of Clodius’ greatest crimes was the abolition of measures taken for the security of the Republic “by the combined approval of all of the orders” (consensus pro salute rei publicae gesta resciderat, Mil. 87). Conversely, though the advent of demagogic leadership had demonstrated the impracticality of expecting the various orders to work in concert, it revealed the potential of the individual statesman to bring about both concordia and otium. We shall see below that the failure of the concordia ordinum and the consensus omnium bonorum had a significant influence both on Cicero’s judgment of Pompey’s third consulship and on his conception of statesmanship in De Re Publica. Cicero makes one final, pathetic appeal to a universal approbation by the different classes in a letter to Scribonius Curio imploring him to help Cicero secure the consulship for Milo in 52 (Fam. 2.6.3). The idea of the concordia ordinum and consensus omnium bonorum as a political reality then disappears from Cicero’s works after the publication of De Re Publica. However, in the idealized Scipionic era described in that work, concordia and consensus are still important parts of the mixed constitution. While Cicero had, by this point, given up on the concordia ordinum as a practical goal, his philosophical devotion to the idea remained as strong as it had it been during his consulship. The definition of concordia goes through an evolution in De Re Publica which follows a reverse

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path from its evolution in Cicero’s earlier works. From a negative aspect of two degenerate forms of government it evolves into a characteristic of monarchy and finally into a foundational trait of the mixed constitution. Cicero introduces his original definition of concordia as “unity” early in the dialogue. Unity, however, is now a slogan of the supporters of democracy, a type of government that is most amenable to concordia because everyone is working on behalf of a common interest (facillimam autem in ea re publica esse posse concordiam, in qua idem conducat omnibus, 1.49). The depiction of concordia here is associated with an unstable government, as is consensus in 1.44 in a reference to the tyranny of the Thirty in Athens.30 The use of the formerly positive concordia and consensus in reference to democracy and tyranny is consistent with Cicero’s opinion of the state of the res publica during the earliest period of De Re Publica’s composition. When he began work on De Re Publica in 54, there were ominous signs of future conflicts as well as immediate concerns regarding the suspension of elections due to violence. In the late summer there was much talk of resurrecting the dictatorship, which had not been used in its traditional fashion since the Second Punic War.31 Elections were nearly impossible; the employment of interreges became common. Bribery was so rampant that all four candidates for the consulship in 53 were accused of ambitus (Q. fr. 3.2.3). By the end of October 54, Cicero complained to his brother that “you see that there is no longer a commonwealth, a Senate, courts, or dignitas for any of us” (Q. fr. 3.4.1).32 As the discussion of the various constitutions continues, however, concordia takes on a more positive meaning. Monarchy, which we have seen in the previous chapter to be an acceptable simple form of government, has, in De Re Publica, the ability to engender concordia. Numa Pompilius, the paradigm of the wise and just Roman king, ruled during a period of “total peace and harmony” (summa in pace concordiaque regnavisset), due to his establishment of religion and clemency, the two most honorable supports for the stability of the State (2.27). Neither of Numa’s innovations played much of a role in Cicero’s concept of concordia, nor are they a focus of De Re Publica. Concordia, for Cicero, always revolved around cooperation, which, by the nature of monarchy, could not be a characteristic of a regalis res publica (2.43). The mixed constitution, however, was much more conducive to cooperation and concordia. Though the early Republic was unsettled, with frequent conflicts between the patres and the plebs, concordia was possible. The first consuls elected after the deposition of the decemvirs in 449, Lucius Valerius Potitus and Marcus Horatius Barbatus, instituted the right of provocatio as a way to maintain concordia with the people (hominum concordiae causa sapienter popularium consularis lex sanxit, 2.54; cf. Liv. 3.55).

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In the examples of Numa, Valerius Potitus, and Horatius Barbatus, concordia was brought about not by the unified goodwill of the various groups but by the initiative of powerful individuals. As the dialogue progresses, concordia again becomes the result of strong individual leadership, as it had been during Cicero’s consulship, and not because of universal altruism. The strongest statement about the relationship of concordia to the individual is found during Scipio’s initial comments on the rector rei publicae. A lacuna of unknown length interrupts the initial discussion of the rector which begins at 2.67. After the lacuna, Laelius declares his comprehension of the duties and function of the rector, and Scipio continues to further clarify the rector’s role as the guarantor of concordia: Ut enim in fidibus aut tibiis, atque ut in cantu ipso ac vocibus, concentus est quidam tenendus ex distinctis sonis, quem inmutatum aut discrepantem aures eruditae ferre non possunt, isque concentus ex dissimillimarum vocum moderatione concors tamen efficitur et congruens, sic ex summis et infimis et mediis interiectis ordinibus, ut sonis, moderata ratione civitas consensu dissimillimorum concinit, et quae harmonia a musicis dicitur in cantu, ea est in civitate concordia, artissimum atque optimum omni in re publica vinculum incolumitatis, eaque sine iustitia nullo pacto potest esse. Rep. 2.69 For just as in playing the lute or the flute or singing with voices a certain symphony must be preserved among the individual sounds, a symphony which an erudite listener will not be able to endure if it is changed or out of tune; and this symphony is made harmonious and agreeable although created through the balancing of very distinct voices. Likewise, the community of citizens, by the combination of the highest, lowest, and middle classes, is brought into harmony by the agreement of its very different constituents. And that very thing which is called harmony in song by the musicians is harmony in the community of citizens, the best and most tightly bound fetter of safety in any state, and without justice there is never able to be unity. (emphasis added)

The three key terms are consensus, harmonia, and concordia. This grouping is unique in Cicero’s works, and the trio encapsulates the final evolution of his concept of the concordia ordinum. The metaphor of learned listeners refers to the rector, whose duty it will be to pay careful attention to the various notes of the mixed constitution and take corrective action when necessary. The concordia is a balancing act, combining dissimilar elements—the Senate, equites, and

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plebs—into a harmonious grouping in which each element performs their role to perfection. Unfortunately, there is an even larger lacuna after 2.69, so we do not know if Cicero continued his discussion of concordia. He did return to the theme of consensus in Book 3, but instead of a consensus of people as a political goal he crafts the idea of a consensus iuris, or an “association under the law,” as the social characteristic without which a populus cannot exist (3.45). The reappearance of the positive and enduring aspects of the concordia ordinum in De Re Publica demonstrates the summative effects of politics on Cicero’s conception of the harmony of the orders. The harmony created by Cicero’s galvanization of Rome’s disparate social groups during his consulship remained a personal goal even when it had ceased to be a valid political one. It is no surprise to find concordia and consensus as key components of the rector, as I demonstrate in the following chapter. The change from practical to philosophical, from group concept to domain of strong individuals, reflects not only a willingness of Cicero to adapt his philosophy to reflect tangible political changes but also that the rector was founded on and shaped by Cicero’s long-­held political principles.

II.  Oratory and statesmanship in De Oratore A further consequence of the breakdown of the concordia ordinum and the increased turmoil of the 50s was the disappearance of opportunities for the free expression of public oratory. Oratory was an important component of the Roman political process, as the antagonistic and open-­air character of public life demanded that a statesman be able to comport himself competently, not only in the law courts but also in the Senate. The increased political influence of the triumvirs and the growing physical power of the armed bands employed by Clodius and Milo hampered this free expression. Matters had not yet gone so far as to signal to Cicero that the mixed constitution had outlived its usefulness. In 56, when Cicero began De Oratore, there was still the hope that the Republic would once again be able to function as it had in the past. The defense of oratory in De Oratore and the promotion of its usefulness in a free Republic is closely tied to its author; De Oratore may very well be, as Andrew Lintott has described it, “a defence of [Cicero’s] whole career.”33 Cicero had made his career through advocacy and senatorial debate, so it is natural that he was concerned for the preservation of the means by which he had achieved so much. By the end of 52, however, it was clear to him that oratory would be useless in a future governed at

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the point of a sword. For this reason, oratory plays no role in De Re Publica. Though the rector rei publicae bears many similarities to the perfectus orator of De Oratore, the efficacy of the rector-ideal is bound up firmly in action, not words. Despite the absence of oratory from Cicero’s exposition on the ideal state, De Oratore is important for the study of the rector-ideal. This section focuses on two particular aspects of De Oratore: first, Cicero’s unique blending of philosophy and oratory as a precursor to the similar merger of philosophy and statesmanship found in De Re Publica, and, second, the interrelationship between the perfectus orator of De Oratore and the rector rei publicae of De Re Publica. In De Oratore Cicero presents oratory as a once and future weapon for preserving the Republic. Oratory, the privileged domain of an elite subgroup of the Roman aristocracy, had been useful in the past, even as recently as the 60s, but it had not, however, stemmed the corruption or legal irregularities that had contributed to the unsettled political situation. A partial solution to oratory’s ineffectualness is to be found, according to Cicero, in the marriage of oratory with philosophy. Much of the content of Cicero’s first dialogue need not concern us here; the detailed arguments about the canons of rhetoric that occupy much of the second and third books are of less interest to the present discussion than the juxtaposition and reconciliation of oratory and philosophy. This juxtaposition is a new, superior vision for Roman oratory. Cicero presents De Oratore as a more polished and developed summary of the ratio dicendi, an improvement over the immature De Inventione written some three and a half decades earlier (de Orat. 1.4–5). The fusion of oratory with philosophy found in De Oratore is both indicative of Cicero’s thinking during this period about both his own life and the state of the Republic, and, more importantly, it previews the political-­philosophical reconciliation central to the arguments in De Re Publica and De Legibus.34 For Cicero, abstract ideals were no longer appropriate; they must be accompanied by practicality and utility. Since oratory had been and continued to be inseparable from politics, at least in Cicero’s view, De Oratore is as much a political treatise as it is a rhetorical one, and, as a political dialogue, it is firmly grounded in contemporary events.35 The perfectus orator of De Oratore is, like the rector rei publicae of De Re Publica, an ideal, an aspirational paradigm with little hope of actualization, though the oratorical perfection praised by Crassus in De Oratore is in large part self-­referential.36 The two ideals do share several prominent characteristics: knowledge of philosophy (de Orat. 1.52–7; Rep. 1.11, 1.37), a comprehensive understanding of the law (de Orat. 1.166–200; Rep. 5.5), and an unimpeachable

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morality (de Orat. 1.68; Rep. 2.69). Furthermore, practical experience is key for both (de Orat. 1.57, 219–33; Rep. 3.5, 5.5). Even the dialogues themselves are parallels in many respects, from using the dialogue format and Platonic models to a dramatic setting far removed from the date of composition. De Re Publica appears in many ways to be a continuation of De Oratore, structurally and theoretically if not thematically.37 The relationship between the two ideals is more complicated, however, as oratory disappears from both the training and duties of the ideal statesman in De Re Publica. While both figures are expected to be auctores publici consili and principes civitatis, the means by which the orator and the rector are anticipated to execute their duties are distinct. The orator will use his powers of persuasion, amplified by the addition of philosophical sapientia, while the rector will utilize his political knowledge and personal auctoritas to compel his fellow citizens to follow his lead. For this reason, morality is not an important component of the character of the ideal orator, and is noticeably less important for the discussion in De Oratore than it is for the rector and the dialogue of De Re Publica. We shall see below how the shift from the practicality of the orator to the theoreticality of the rector contributes to the establishment of the rector-ideal as the summation of Cicero’s political philosophy. De Oratore was completed in little over a year, and published some time towards the end of 55 (Att. 4.13.2; cf. Fam. 1.9.23). The year between the success­ ful defense of Sestius and the completion of De Oratore had seen a number of events turn out badly for Cicero, and these events had severely damaged his hopes of the return of a semblance of what he considered normal political operations. Although he had successfully resumed his career as an advocate almost immediately after his recall, and had celebrated minor triumphs over Clodius’ continued hostility, Cicero nevertheless found himself at one of the lowest points of his career. The restoration of cordial relations between the triumvirs at Luca in April 56—an event brought about in no small part, according to Cicero, by his own political activities—resulted in a none too subtle threat from Pompey that Cicero needed to watch his tongue (Fam. 1.9.9–10).38 The preface to the first book of De Oratore is deeply imbued with Cicero’s melancholy (de Orat. 1.1–4); the prologue of Book 3 declares Crassus blessed by the gods for his early death, as he did not live to see Rome become “a community defaced in every possible way” (in omni genere deformata ea civitas, 3.8).39 Although ostensibly free to chart his own course, Cicero recognized that he was bound by the power of the triumvirs, especially since any affront could result in the withdrawing of their protection against the dangerous Clodius (Fam. 1.9.11).

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It is no surprise, then, to see Cicero’s depression expressed in his first dialogue. Far from being examples of Cicero’s penchant to sink into an enveloping ennui, however, these melancholic prologues firmly establish the text as relevant to and a comment on Cicero’s own situation in 55 bce. It may be obvious to state that the entirety of De Oratore is a Ciceronian creation, from the setting to the cast of characters to the content and format of the discussion, but it is a point worth repeating. De Oratore tackles the failure of oratory, the first of the three primary supports of the mixed constitution. The limitations placed on oratory by the political situation may not have prevented Cicero from continuing his advocacy, but the speeches he delivered after Pro Sestio and before Pro Milone in 52 reflect his diminished capacity for oratorical freedom.40 Oratory was not one of the gentler Muses, and, as the letter to Spinther demonstrates, it had become downright dangerous (Fam. 1.9, esp. 8–11, 23). Under these circumstances Cicero crafted De Oratore, his first attempt at the dialogue format and the first of the trilogy of dialogues treating contemporary problems.41 As early as De Inventione, composed sometime around 90 bce, Cicero acknowledged that eloquence without philosophical wisdom was not only useless but quite possibly ruinous for the State (Inv. 1.1). De Oratore continues this idea and expands upon it by highlighting the necessity of the orator’s possession of knowledge, which he will come to possess through the use of philosophy (1.58–73). Though much less theoretical than the subsequent De Re Publica, De Oratore still exhibits many similarities to Plato’s Phaedrus, though by Cicero’s own admission it was modeled more closely on Aristotelian and Isocratean dialogues (Fam. 1.9.23). The Academic method is on prominent display, both in the structure and the content.42 The ideal orator shares many traits with philosophers, but none more important than the ability, in Crassus’ phrase, “to be able to speak on each side of any issue” (de omnibus rebus in utramque partem possit dicere, 3.80; cf. 2.152). Cicero provides a concrete demonstration of the Academic method in the long disputatio between Antonius and Crassus on whether knowledge is necessary for an orator that takes up much of the first book (1.48–73, 147–59, 166–262), a disputatio which Crassus ultimately admits was merely an exercise in persuasion (2.40). The Academic method facilitates the acquisition of useful knowledge, and therein lies its primary benefit for the orator. Knowledge—philosophical, legal, and rhetorical—allows the ideal orator to become the auctor publici consili, “originator of public policy” (1.211, 1.215, 3.63). The phrase is rare though not unique, nor is it especially limited to the realm of the ideal. Many men and institutions are denoted as auctores

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publici consili, including Quintus Catulus (Pis. 6), the Senate, (Prov. 25; cf. Leg. 3.28), Gaius Scribonius Curio (Vat. 24), and, with more than a bit of sarcasm, a number of the men pardoned by Caesar (Fam. 12.2.3). The full description of the ideal orator given by Antonius in Book 1 provides a description of the perfectus orator in which the orator is cast as a romanticized depiction of a Roman statesman: Sin autem quaereremus quis esset is, qui ad rem publicam moderandam usum et scientiam et studium suum contulisset, definirem hoc modo: qui quibus rebus utilitas rei publicae pareretur augereturque, teneret eisque uteretur, hunc rei publicae rectorem et consili publici auctorem esse habendum, praedicaremque P. Lentulum principem illum et Ti. Gracchum patrem et Q. Metellum et P. Africanum et C. Laelium et innumerabilis alios cum ex nostra civitate tum ex ceteris. de Orat. 1.211 But if we are looking for the type of person who has brought to bear, for the purpose of managing the state, his customs and wisdom and learning, I would define him in this way: he who possesses and uses these virtues by which the welfare of the State is obtained and increased, this person must be considered to be the rector rei publicae and the originator of public policy, and I could mention that most distinguished citizen Publius Lentulus, and the elder Tiberius Gracchus, and Quintus Metellus, and Publius Africanus, and Gaius Laelius, and countless others both in our state and in others.

This passage marks the introduction of the phrase rector rei publicae into Cicero’s political philosophy. Though De Re Publica was not published for another three years, the description of the orator in de Orat. 1.211 is redolent of the later depiction of the rector in De Re Publica. This passage indicates that Cicero was, by 55 at the latest, in the early stages of conceptualizing what would become the rector-ideal. We can also infer that at this early stage in the development of the rector-ideal Cicero was still committed to the notion that the power of oratory was able to provide avenues for both personal advancement and the preservation of the res publica. The introduction of the term rector rei publicae in De Oratore highlights only one aspect of its relationship to De Re Publica. The connection between the two works extends far beyond the use of similar phrases and functions on many levels. Compositionally, they are both dialogues based on Greek models but treating thoroughly Roman topics. In both works the dialogue format is used as

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a counterweight against the philosophical criticisms of rhetoric and political engagement.43 Thematically, they address two of the three key supports of the State, oratory and statesmanship, which are, in De Oratore, presented as two sides of the same coin. Conceptually, they combine the pragmatic with the philosophical to create idealized versions of Roman institutions, the perfectus orator and the rector rei publicae. These ideals are only aspirational, not achievable, as the settings and choice of characters suggest. De Oratore, like De Re Publica, is a summative work, presenting Cicero’s matured conception of oratory in its superlative form and function.44 In this respect, De Oratore presages the dialogue in De Re Publica, and the appearance of several characters in both dialogues—including Scaevola, Manilius, and Scipio himself—further strengthen the reading of De Oratore as a preliminary to De Re Publica.45 The relationship between the two works can be further illustrated in the way that Cicero “flips” the dramatic setting with respect to philosophy. This reversal of this key component provides insight into the common conceptual framework into which both works fit. It also illustrates how Cicero’s concept of oratory and statesmanship changed between the publication of De Oratore and De Re Publica. Oratory’s importance diminished greatly after 54, largely due to the political developments that will be discussed in the following section. The absence of oratory in De Re Publica is noticeable, especially given the importance of philosophy for the execution of the rector’s duties. However, viewing the two works as complements, and focusing on the flipped nature of the dialogues, clarifies the disappearance of oratory as an aspect of statesmanship despite the continued similarities between the ideal orator and the ideal statesman. For example, the choice of Crassus and Antonius as the primary interlocutors in De Oratore creates a strong correlation between the death of oratory and the death of the Republic itself. The viability of oratory as a political strategy goes hand in hand with the health of the mixed constitution. The group gathered at Crassus’ villa reflects a wide range of ages, characters, and reputations brought together by the crisis which would lead to the Social War (de Orat. 1.24). All were skilled in traditional areas of public life, including oratory and the law; the younger, less accomplished men, Rufus and Cotta, represent the future of senatorial primacy. Yet every one of them save Cotta would be dead within four years, and oratory would perish with them.46 Ironically, the very skill by which Crassus had defended the State caused his death. In defending himself on the eve of the Social War against the hostile oratory of Philippus, Crassus brought on the sickness which claimed his life, whereby his death occurs simultaneously with the dissolution of the republican constitution, a dissolution that had begun with

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the problems of the Gracchi and the untimely death of Scipio in the second century. The reversal of the literary settings—the earlier De Oratore taking place chronologically after the setting of the later De Re Publica—highlights this inversion of political norms. When the Republic had begun to come apart in the aftermath of Tiberius Gracchus’ tribunate, oratory, embodied in the persons of Crassus, Antonius, and their colleagues, had held it together (de Orat. 1.38), and facilitated a recovery sufficient for the creation of the concordia ordinum through Cicero’s own oratory.47 There was no need of oratory in the idealized Scipionic Republic of De Re Publica because of the strong leadership exerted by Scipio and other like-­minded aristocrats. Both rhetoric and oratory are worthy of scorn for their deleterious influences. Oratory, unlike money, can corrupt even an honorable man (frr. dubia 8 Powell = 5.11 Ziegler). From a fragment preserved in Nonius (521.12), Scipio appears to have embarked on a refutation of rhetoricians which caused Mummius to be “imbued with hatred of rhetoricians” (erat enim odio quodam rhetorum imbutus). The Gracchi—here only Tiberius because of the dramatic date of the dialogue—are once more held up as the causes of evil (1.31). Though the elder Gracchus’ oratory is not specifically cited, both he and his younger brother were recognized as excellent speakers in De Oratore (1.38, 154). As we shall see in more detail in the next chapter, the specific duties of the rector are linked only to demonstrative and summary actions which support the continuation of the res publica. The rector is persuasion embodied, as his character and modus vivendi inspire respect, emulation, and obedience. The rector is characterized by incorporeal values such as prudentia, virtus, dignitas, and auctoritas. While philosophy is a key contributing factor to the excellence of the rector, morality and ethics are of much greater importance than oratorical skill. Though there is no discussion of oratory in the surviving sections of De Re Publica, the two works are undeniably related. While De Oratore emphasizes the utility of philosophy for the orator, there was, by 52, no longer any tangible reason to believe that oratory could make a significant impact. De Re Publica, therefore, leaves oratory to the past, and focuses instead on more practical means by which a statesman can preserve the res publica. Wilkinson has written that “if the De Oratore is Cicero’s apologia, the De Re publica is his consolatio.”48 Cicero felt that the argument of De Re Publica was a sufficient guarantor of his moral superiority (Att. 6.1.8), and, as I will demonstrate more fully in the following chapters, the rector-ideal, which formed the keystone of the political philosophy of De Re Publica, became the surety for Cicero’s own conduct.

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III.  Pompey’s annus mirabilis The publication of De Oratore in 55 was followed by several years of increasingly violent disruptions to the normal functioning of the republican government. Politically motivated violence became a regular occurrence, preventing the Senate, tribunes, and the various comitia from exercising their duties. Such was the turbulence of the decade that Harriet Flower, in her recent dissection and revision of the republican period, denies that the 50s should be considered part of it, and that they belong to a period “after the shipwreck” of the Republic.49 The triumvirs were openly hostile towards any development which was contrary to their interests, even at the expense of public order (Suet. Jul. 19.2).50 Though an increasing number of opponents of the Pompeian-Caesarian faction were elected to high office in 54–3, Pompey and Caesar—Crassus having been killed at Carrhae in 53—remained preeminent in political matters. The mixed constitution, especially in its weakened state, was simply not able to repel individual influence of that magnitude. The most important development of the period between De Oratore and Cicero’s departure for his proconsulship in Cilicia was Pompey’s appointment as consul without a colleague in January 52. The sole consulship in many ways encapsulates the dissolution of the Republic, and has rightly been identified as a definitive turning point in Rome’s history.51 It also exerted a considerable influence on Cicero’s political philosophy. De Re Publica, like De Oratore before it, was firmly grounded in contemporary politics. It is not improbable to see shadows of Pompey and his irregular and quasi-­legal appointment in the apology of monarchy and the depiction of Scipio. After all, the composition of De Re Publica was carried out under the resurgence of Pompey’s political independence, when, for the first time, he began to earn Cicero’s approval as a statesman. The events during 54–3 which led to Pompey’s sole consulship are well known, and only a few will be highlighted here for their special relevance to Cicero.52 The disruptions to the election cycles left Rome in the hands of a series of interreges, a situation which had continued on and off since the fall of 54 (Att. 4.18.3). Cicero was able to joke about this development at the beginning of the year in a letter to Trebatius Testa, a jurist friend on campaign with Caesar in Gaul (Fam. 7.11.1), but his good humor, or at least his gallows humor, dissipated quickly. Cicero had given hints of depression over the state of the res publica even before the interruption in elections. The acquittal of Gabinius in 54 on the charge of maiestas caused Cicero to despair that the Republic was now, in fact, quite dead (Q. fr. 3.9.3). Now, by the middle of 53 he no longer felt comfortable

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writing what he felt, and the constant state of uncertainty created such a sense of doom that Cicero warned Curio, then serving as a proquaestor in Asia, that the state had been weakened to the point of extermination (Fam. 2.4.1, 2.5.1). Clodius’ murder on 18 January—a personal victory which Cicero had foreseen with remarkable clarity in November 57 (Att. 4.3.5)—and the consequent riots that claimed the Curia and many other buildings in the Forum, served only to inflame an already tense situation. The severity of the political crisis caused the bipartisan promotion and acceptance of Pompey’s appointment as consul without a colleague. Even the conservative Cato gave his approval for this constitutional hapax, claiming that he preferred any form of government to no government at all, though he later refused to become part of Pompey’s consilium.53 Pompey accepted the position and, dictator in all but name, set about on an ambitious program to restore order, a program characterized by the alacrity and skill which had marked his great campaigns against the pirates and Mithridates a decade earlier. He reformed the legislation against electoral bribery and violence with an eye towards the prosecution of Milo and others connected with Clodius’ murder.54 He reinforced earlier legislation which created a quinquennium between the holding of a magistracy in Rome and appointment to a provincial command (D.C. 40.56.1). He also supported the so-­called “Law of the Ten Tribunes,” a bill which allowed Caesar to stand for the consulship in absentia and renewed Pompey’s own proconsular appointment for a further five years (Att. 7.1.4; Phil. 2.24). As a further measure to gain popular support, Pompey availed himself of the option to name a colleague after he had served at least two months in office, appointing his new father-­in-law Metellus Scipio as his consular colleague with five months left in the year. After overseeing the election of a full slate of magistrates for 51, both men peacefully left office. While Pompey managed to restore order in the capital, his sole consulship sowed the last seeds of the civil war which would break out two years later (Tac. Ann. 3.28). His acceptance of the position and his actions during it were self-­ serving. Plutarch informs us that Pompey viewed civic magistracies as a way to protect himself against Caesar’s growing military strength, and that he refused to mitigate the public disorder in hopes that the Senate and people would grant him such an extraordinary command (Pomp. 54.1–2). By the end of his consulship, he was, in both theory and practice, in complete control of the city of Rome (App. BC 2.25.1). Caesar, embroiled in the revolt of Vercingetorix in Gaul, was relegated to the second position. He still carried much influence, as evidenced by consideration of the proposal to make him Pompey’s consular colleague (Plu. Pomp. 56.1). But Pompey’s successes as consul and his decision to marry Crassus’

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former daughter-­in-law instead of Caesar’s grand-­niece Octavia placed him firmly in the forefront of politics in the capital. Unfortunately, we do not know for certain what Cicero made of all this. Much of his judgment on Pompey’s third consulship is not contemporary. There is a large gap in Cicero’s correspondence with Atticus during the important period between November 54 and May 51, likely because Atticus was in Rome. The correspondence with his brother ends in December 54, and only thirty or so letters to friends and colleagues remain from this period, many of which are letters of recommendation. The Pro Milone presents a special problem of interpretation. It is packed with fawning platitudes of Pompey: Pompey is “very wise and exceedingly just” (sapientissimus et iustissimus, 2), “a wise man, gifted with a noble and almost divine spirit” (homo sapiens atque alta et divina quadam mente praeditus, 21), in possession of “the most exceptional virtus” (praestantissima virtus, 66), and in the most flattering of flatteries in a speech teeming with them, Cicero anoints him “a true expert in the law, the customs of our ancestors, and all manner of political matters” (peritissimus iuris publici, moris maiorum, rei denique publicae, 70). The circumstances of this speech require that we take these accolades with more than a single grain of salt, as does the fact that it is difficult to discern if these comments were part of Cicero’s original speech or later stylistic changes.55 Yet the references in Pro Milone are not out of line with Cicero’s later, favorable comments. In the works which do survive from the years 52–50 it is possible to make several well-­supported inferences about his increasingly positive opinion of Pompey in general and the sole consulship in particular. These inferences indicate that though Cicero certainly had mixed feelings about the use of the sole consulship as a solution to the political crisis, he generally approved of Pompey’s activities as consul. For example, Pompey made it clear that impartiality was not to be a part of his agenda nor that he felt bound by his own laws.56 Pompey appears to have attempted to rig the verdict during Cicero’s prosecution of Clodius’ lackey Bursa. In a letter to Marcus Marius in January 51 referencing this event Cicero describes Pompey as a “most illustrious and powerful individual” (clarissimus et potentissimus vir, Fam. 7.2.2), an exceptionally biting critique given Cicero’s usual employment of these terms.57 Conversely, on his way to Cilicia six months later Cicero wrote to Caelius that Pompey had demonstrated to him that the general was now “the consummate citizen, prepared in both spirit and reason for all those contingencies against which we must be ready” (civem egregium esse Pompeium et ad omnia quae providenda sunt in re publica et animo et consilio paratum, Fam. 2.8.2; cf. Att. 5.7.2).58 Cicero

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had earlier indicated to Atticus that he wished to engage Pompey in “dialogues on the state of the res publica” (dialogous de re publica, Att. 5.5.2).59 His faith in Pompey did not diminish during his proconsulship. Cicero wrote to Atticus that he was becoming fonder of Pompey every day (Att. 6.2.10), and he repeated his belief that the future was not to be feared as long as Pompey was the champion of the Senate (Att. 6.3.4), despite Caelius’ warning that Pompey was in a state of melancholy, and was unsure of himself (Fam. 8.13.2). Whatever reservations Cicero had about Pompey’s legislation, it appears that the end result of the sole consulship was a renewal of Cicero’s affection for Pompey and his faith that Pompey could be a valuable member of the optimates. The change in Cicero’s view of Pompey as a statesman and Cicero’s positive assessment of his activities, especially as sole consul, must be read against the long relationship the two men enjoyed.60 Amicitia had certainly colored Cicero’s judgment of Pompey in the past, particularly in the 60s, though it had not prevented him from commenting negatively on Pompey’s actions.61 Amicitia among the Roman elite was not necessarily a mark of what we would call friendship in the modern sense, but it would be too cynical to deny that Cicero felt a genuine affinity for Pompey.62 However, amicitia often had no connotation of affection, and could present itself strictly as a mutually beneficial relationship.63 With regard to Pompey’s third consulship, however, it seems that Cicero gave his approval not because of any particular personal fondness but because Pompey’s actions aligned with Cicero’s views concerning effective leadership. Cicero was duly impressed with Pompey’s performance, and on the eve of war Cicero proclaimed Pompey’s third consulship as “that divinely-­inspired third consulship of his” (ille divinus tertius consulatus, Att. 7.1.4).64 Though Cicero recognized that Pompey was partially to blame for the intractable impasse between Caesar and the optimates (Att. 7.1.3), he had nevertheless decided to cast his lot with Pompey in the inevitable conflict. The sole consulship no doubt contributed in a significant way to Cicero’s decision. It is important to once again remind ourselves that Pompey was not the primary influence behind the creation of the rector-ideal. He must surely have been an influence, but it was rather the idea of Pompey as general-­statesman par excellence that inspired Cicero, not Pompey the man. In fact, as we shall see in greater detail in the next chapter, Pompey was more often than not a complete disappointment to Cicero. The years after the publication of De Oratore reveal that Cicero had found a new faith in Pompey’s ability to be the protector of the Republic. Cicero must have felt comforted by the nearly universal support shown by Pompeians, Caesarians, and even opponents of both groups for Pompey’s

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selection as sole consul. For one brief moment, the concordia ordinum seemed to be reborn (Plu. Pomp. 54, Cat. Mi. 47; D.C. 40.50.3). The sole consulship was not part of the mixed constitution, but the spirit of compromise that allowed Pompey’s appointment required innovation. The dictatorship had been in abeyance since the Second Punic War, and a consulship for Caesar was a non-­ starter. Cicero was himself pragmatic enough to recognize that change was both inevitable and beneficial, though none of our sources record his name in connection with the debate over Pompey’s appointment. Two years before the sole consulship he had written to Spinther that change was both necessary and beneficial: nam neque pugnandum abritrarer contra tantas opes neque delendum, etiam si id fieri posset, summorum civium principatum permanendum in una sententia conversis rebus ac bonorum voluntatibus mutatis, sed temporibus adsentiendum. Fam. 1.9.21 For I should have thought neither to fight against such great odds, nor that the supremacy of our most distinguished citizen should be abolished, if such a thing were even possible, nor that we should continue to hold on to a single way of thinking, when circumstances have changed and the desires of the good men have likewise changed, but rather that we should acknowledge that things are different.

Pompey’s consulship reinforced the obvious fact that the functional state was moving farther and farther away from concordia towards monarchia; such is the term used by Appian to describe Pompey’s power in 52 (BC 2.23.1). The functional effectiveness of the determined and empowered individual replaced once and for all the morally superior consensus omnium bonorum. Over the course of the previous three years Cicero had seen how effective a single man could be in restoring the balance and civil order which the mixed constitution inherently contained. Pompey’s success demonstrated the effectiveness of a motivated, autocratic individual and the ineffectiveness of the Senate.65 In a cruel irony, Pompey demonstrated by his restoration of the res publica that the system was beyond saving. The sole consulship also influenced the argument of De Legibus, the third of the three related philosophical treatises Cicero wrote during the 50s. Like De Re Publica, De Legibus presents special problems of interpretation. It is lacunose— Macrobius (6.5.8) cites from a fifth book—or possibly unfinished, and Cicero does not mention it in his letters or his curriculum philosophicum (Div. 2.1).66

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We can say for certain that it was composed concurrently with De Re Publica and envisioned by Cicero as a complement to the dialogue on the State (Leg. 1.15, 1.20; 2.23; 3.4, 3.12). One of the more discussed issues concerning this dialogue is whether or not Cicero intended for De Legibus to summarize the laws of the ideal constitution described in De Re Publica.67 This debate is not, however, of great importance for the present discussion. I am primarily concerned with two other aspects of De Legibus: its depiction of Pompey and how that can inform us about Cicero’s view of the sole consulship, and how the sole consulship shaped Cicero’s political philosophy. In many respects, De Legibus is more philosophical than either De Oratore or De Re Publica.68 That is not to say that De Legibus lacks recognition and praise of outstanding acts of statesmanship.While the res publica is idealized, contemporary politics are nonetheless prominent. We should thus not infer that De Legibus is irrelevant for examining the political zeitgeist of De Re Publica. The dramatic setting of the dialogue is not specified, but it is likely that it was set in late 52 or 51, thus placing it in the middle of Pompey’s resurgence. Pompey appears sparingly in De Legibus, but he is always described in familiar if not intimate terms. Atticus is the first to introduce Pompey when he advises Cicero to write a history of his own generation in order to sing the praises of not only himself but also “his dear friend Pompey” (hominis amicissimi Cn. Pompei laudes, 1.8), a term which indicates both personal and political affinity.69 Atticus again demonstrates affinity with Pompey through the use of both the sobriquet “Magnus” and the familiar noster when he describes how Pompey had praised Cicero and his compatriot Marius as conservatores rei publicae during their joint defense of Ampius in 56 (2.6).70 Quintus also refers to noster Pompeius at 3.22 during his attack on Pompey’s attitude towards the powers of the tribunate. It is notable that it is Atticus and Quintus, not Cicero, who utilize the familiar adjectives with Pompey. Cicero uses only the expected Pompeius, even when engaged in the encomium which follows Quintus’ remarks about the tribunate. Cicero’s praise in this section, while lacking terms of endearment, is notable for its political accolades. He spins Pompey’s restoration of the tribunes’ powers during his first consulship in 70 as the act of an astute politician (sapiens civis), for Pompey realized that the tribunate was necessary for the success of the mixed constitution (deberi non posse huic civitati illam potestam, 3.26). Atticus and Quintus remain unswayed by Cicero’s praise, however, and Cicero does not press the issue. There is a further subtext to this passage which relates directly to the rector-ideal. As Dyck has noted, there is a similarity here to the description of the rector at Rep. 2.54.71 The importance of this passage lies precisely in Cicero’s

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inability to persuade his fellow interlocutors that Pompey’s decision, which aligned with his expectations of the rector rei publicae, was a proper act of statesmanship. By comparing Pompey to the rector and allowing Atticus and Quintus to disagree, Cicero makes a strong statement that the rector-ideal was a personal principle which was not designed for wider application. Cicero was convinced that Pompey was acting like the rector; it mattered not at all if his audience agreed with him. This passage is also connected to the introduction into the ideal State of the magister populi, a dictator-­like figure required in the case of war or civil discord (quando duellum gravius, discordiae civium, 3.6; cf. Rep. 1.63). The magister populi is limited to a six-­month term, like the dictators of old, but, unlike the earlier dictators, this magister is appointed by the Senate, not by one of the consuls (si senatus creverit). In the ideal State presented in De Legibus, most of the institutions remain the same: the Senate is the primary deliberative body and the holders of the greatest part of Rome’s auctoritas (Leg. 3.10), the consuls retain their “royal authority” (imperium regium, Leg. 3.8), the tribunes their duty as the protectors of the plebs (Leg. 3.9), and the assemblies their voting prerogatives (Leg. 3.10). But the magister populi is an innovation which bears the imprint of Pompey’s sole consulship. Many of the later histories of the period highlight the role of the Senate as a body in appointing Pompey to his unique office (e.g. Plu. Pomp. 54.5; Suet. Jul. 26.1; App. BC 2.23.1). This passage formalizes in a fashion the place of the rector rei publicae within the State, although Cicero never envisaged a constitutional role under the name of rector rei publicae. The State in De Legibus, however, functions perfectly. There is no discussion of dissent, no mention of factions which have split the State irrevocably in two as there was in both De Oratore and De Re Publica, the discussion of a man having two patriae in 2.5–6 notwithstanding. There is no need of quasi-­divine statesmen in the literary world of De Legibus.72 The State would take care of itself, but in extreme circumstances a magister populi like Pompey would be sufficient. As we have seen from the preceding survey, by the time Cicero published De Re Publica in 52 the Republic had undergone a significant transformation. He had seen the failure of the three most important foundations of the mixed constitution. Factional politics and the extremism of a few select individuals destroyed the concordia ordinum so fastidiously cultivated and cherished by Cicero, and succeeded in rendering traditional modes of statesmanship impotent in a political climate that was growing more and more martial. The advent of the triumvirate and the violent demagoguery of Clodius eliminated the possibility for the free expression of oratory; exile and none too subtle

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threats from the triumvirs left Cicero muzzled and melancholy. Pompey’s third consulship, which restored the law courts and the façade of the mixed constitution, had accomplished both of these developments through irregular means. These three events each contributed to the picture of politics which appears in De Re Publica, the summative account of Cicero’s political philosophy. When he set out for Cilicia in 51 Cicero found himself, perhaps surprisingly, supporting a new vision of the status quo in which individuals would dominate to a greater extent than they had before. Yet we can detect in the writings immediately subsequent to De Re Publica that he was comfortable with his choice to put faith in Pompey and that he was hopeful that a form of the ancestral Republic could be resurrected. What would be required for both Pompey’s success and the restoration of the Republic was a statesman or statesmen who would act in accordance with the rector-ideal. The following chapter will provide a definition of the rector-ideal, and will present Cicero’s ideal as a viable, normative template for actions in support of the Republic.

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And, as happened with Tarquinius, not by having obtained new power but by using unjustly those powers which he already had, [the tyrant] overthrows the entire apparatus of the royal state. In opposition to this type of person is another man, who is good and wise and experienced in the public welfare and the public authority, as if he were the tutor and guardian of the state: for so will he be called the rector and helmsman of the state. Take care that you can recognize this man, for it is he who is able to protect the state through his judgment and effort. De Re Publica 2.51 The foregoing two chapters have established the philosophical and political background to De Re Publica. With the themes of these chapters in mind, it is now time to turn to the rector-ideal itself, the focal point of Cicero’s work on the State and, as I will argue in this chapter and in the succeeding ones, a fundamental guiding principle of Cicero’s political activities in the last years of his life. The rector-ideal was a long time in the making. In its creation Cicero drew on his philosophical expertise as well as his many years of service to the res publica. It combined the best aspects of strong autocratic leadership—as evidenced by Rome’s first kings and Pompey’s sole consulship—with the virtues of the great Roman statesmen of the past, including Cicero himself. Cicero considered the rector-ideal to be not only a perfected, idealized form of Roman statesmanship, but also a form of statesmanship that was practical, indeed essential, for the restoration of the mixed constitution. As we have seen in the previous chapter, a chaotic political situation overshadowed the composition of De Re Publica. A monarch would certainly have been able to restore order and end the political chaos of the 50s, as Meyer has argued.1 Pompey’s third consulship in 52 did much to stem the disorder, as I discussed at the end of Chapter 2. As consul, Pompey was ostensibly subject

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to tribunician veto, though his concurrent proconsulship eliminated the opportunity for prosecution. He was a monarch de facto if not de jure. While Cicero acknowledged the efficacy of Pompey’s activities, the permanent institution of a monarchial figure was anathema. Cicero owed his career to the opportunities provided by the republican system, and a devotion to preserving the republican constitution is an important part of his political philosophy. While monarchy was in principle a virtuous form of government, its primary flaw was, as many ancient political theorists recognized, its tendency to devolve into tyranny, the most despicable form of government. Thus, it was important to Cicero that the republican system be preserved in some fashion, for republicanism was crucial for preventing the advent of tyranny. As we saw in Chapter 1, Cicero viewed tyranny as the worst of the six forms of government. The preservation of the Republic and the consequent prevention of tyranny was the fundamental purpose of the rector rei publicae. Previous assessments of the rector have been treated in the Introduction, but it is worth reviewing the more accepted interpretations again here. The “rector as monarch” thesis, first proposed by Reitzenstein and advanced by Meyer, has been discredited, but it is correct in recognizing the central importance of the rector to the preservation of the State.2 The philosopher-­king model, most recently argued for by Stroh, rightly emphasizes the sapientia of the rector but dismisses the position as a purely literary construct without practical utility; this is also the position of Zetzel and Fantham. The most widely accepted explanation is the one I shall call the Heinze–Powell thesis.3 In two articles seventy years apart, Heinze and Powell argued that the rector merely denotes a type of idealized statesman, a genus of politically engaged citizen that could include monarchs, consuls, and anyone else who worked to preserve the “advantage and excellence of the state” (utilitas dignitasque civilis, Rep. 2.51). No new magistracy is to be created; Cicero was not attempting to revise the constitution to accommodate the rector. Ultimately, the rector is synonymous with any just ruler, whether a king or a consul or a senator or, presumably, even a tribune; the rector was, in Powell’s assessment, “an expression of what is after all a true principle: that good government can happen only if there are good governors.”4 I agree in the main with the Heinze–Powell thesis, particularly that the rector is a particular type or species of politically engaged citizen. But their argument is deficient in several important ways. Both Heinze and Powell are seduced by the similarities of De Re Publica to the idealistic works of Plato and Aristotle. While these similarities are made explicit by Cicero himself (Q.fr. 3.5.1), and, as I demonstrated in Chapter 1, the entire De Re Publica is an exercise in Academic

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philosophy, neither scholar considers the possibility that Cicero had a practical purpose in mind in creating the rector-ideal, despite the obviously philosophical nature of the dialogue. With the rector-ideal Cicero was making a strong statement about the need for good governance, a topic to which he had already devoted significant portions of Pro Sestio and De Oratore. It would be odd indeed for Cicero to devote such time and care to crafting a figure like the rector, a construct founded in current events, and then relegate it to a theoretical scrapheap. This is my primary point of departure from the Heinze–Powell thesis. The theoretical and philosophical facets of the rector do not preclude a functional aspect. In fact, Cicero’s letters during the civil war indicate that the rector-ideal was never far from his mind, as do the later philosophical works, particularly those written between Caesar’s assassination and Cicero’s fateful decision to go to war with Antony. That the rector is indeed an important and functional part of Cicero’s political philosophy is my primary thesis, and the underlying assumption behind the remainder of my argument in this and the following chapters. The first goal of this chapter is to provide a definition of the rector-ideal which highlights its status as both the consummate philosopher-­statesman and also as a viable construct for navigating the new political reality. I begin with the primary attributes of the rector: sapientia, prudentia, and auctoritas. The three qualities are intertwined, and reflect the primary influences on the rector’s creation: Cicero’s philosophy, his political experience, and his insistence on the superiority of the mixed constitution. I then move into a synopsis of the rector’s duties and goals. The well-­understood purpose of the rector is to preserve the Republic, primarily through crisis mediation. The best way for the rector to overcome military emergency or civil discord is through the creation—or re-­ creation, as Cicero would have it—of concordia among the various political units. We have seen in the previous chapter how the failure of the concordia ordinum was one of the key influences on Cicero’s political philosophy in the late 50s. It is not surprising, then, to find the restoration of concordia to be one of the principal concerns of the rector. The final question addressed in this section is one that has troubled many commentators: whether Cicero envisioned a group of rectores working in concert or if he imagined a single statesman executing the rector’s responsibilities. There is a compelling argument to be made that Cicero conceived of a single rector at any given time, for reasons related both to his views on contemporary politics and to internal evidence in De Re Publica, particularly in the Somnium Scipionis. The second goal of this chapter is to emphasize the rector-ideal as a normative principle in Cicero’s political philosophy. The rector, I argue, was conceived from

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the beginning as a practical construct, but not one designed for mass consumption. It was created by Cicero for his own use; any greater impact on society would certainly be a boon, but De Re Publica was not meant to be a handbook of sorts for a new generation of statesmen. As the result of Cicero’s Academic inquiry into the republican constitution, the rector holds the status of an Academic opinion, one that would hold until further evidence forced its revision. As part of this discussion I address the question of whether Cicero felt that he either was, or could become, the rector. In a foreshadowing of the discussion in Chapter 5 of Cicero’s motivations in casting his lot against Antony, I delineate the reasons why he, at the time of the rector’s creation, felt that he would not be able to live up to the ideal. Lastly, this chapter begins the chronological demonstration of the importance of the rector-ideal as a political touchstone for evaluating the character and activities of Pompey, Caesar, and Antony during the 40s. The prominence of the rector-ideal in Cicero’s letters during the civil war is compelling evidence of its importance as a foundational political principle. Cicero became more and more marginalized in the first six months of 49 while he simultaneously grew in symbolic importance. Both sides desired his allegiance, and Cicero, faced with the impossible choice of joining the side he felt was destined for defeat or abandoning his cherished republican virtues, became reluctant to act, preferring instead to reengage in an examination of his situation in comparison to the ideal laid out in De Re Publica. His critiques of himself, Caesar, and in particular Pompey, are couched in language reminiscent of the rector-ideal. After Pharsalus, with the political situation becoming clearer, Cicero withdrew to Brundisium, there to begin a long reevaluation of his position which continued to employ the rector-ideal as the foundation of his analysis of the new Caesarian state.

I.  The explication of the rector-ideal The rector-ideal is a central tenet of De Re Publica, and Cicero devotes a considerable part of the text to the elucidation of the rector’s character and duties. The foundational statement on the rector’s nature opened this chapter. I repeat the citation here with the Latin text: ut, quemadmodum Tarquinius, non novam potestatem nactus sed quam habebat usus inuste, totum genus hoc regiae civitatis everterit. Sit huic oppositus alter, bonus et sapiens et peritus utilitatis dignitatisque civilis,

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quasi tutor et procurator rei publicae: sic enim appelletur quicumque erit rector et gubernator civitatis. Quem virum facite ut agnoscatis: est enim qui consilio et opera civitatem tueri potest; quod quoniam nomen minus est adhuc tritum sermone nostro, saepiusque genus eius hominis erit in reliqua nobis oratione trac[tandum * * *] Rep. 2.515 And, as happened with Tarquinius, not by having obtained new power but by using unjustly those powers which he already had, [the tyrant] overthrows the entire apparatus of the royal state. In opposition to this type of person is another man, who is good and wise and experienced in the public welfare and the public authority, as if he were the tutor and guardian of the state: for such will he be called, the rector and helmsman of the state. Make sure that you recognize such a man, for he is the only one who is able to preserve the commonwealth through his judgment and his labor. But since this title has not yet been treated in our conversation, we must investigate this class of man often in the rest of our discussion.

The rector is, then, at its most basic level, the antithesis of the tyrant. The tyrant, as described by Scipio in the six preceding sections and embodied by Tarquinius Superbus (2.45–50), is characterized as the oppressor of liberty, the enemy of justice, and the abuser of the powers invested in him by the people. The apparent simplicity of this initial definition of the rector belies its comprehensive and ambitious nature. It contains a striking tripartite structure, as Powell has noted.6 Cicero provides first the attributes of the rector with two politically and philosophically loaded adjectives, bonus and sapiens, followed by the requirement of experience in the much more practical, and indeed Roman, concepts of utilitas and dignitas. He then offers two metaphors which approximate the rector’s duties, split, in a parallel with the attributes, between educational (tutor) and functional (procurator).7 Finally, Cicero provides the names by which this figure will be known, with the new term rector paired with the older and well-­known gubernator. When the parts of this initial definition are taken together, we can see clearly Cicero’s intent from the outset to combine philosophy with statesmanship in a way that is innovative yet founded on traditional Roman principles. Each aspect of this tripartite definition receives attention in the surviving sections of De Re Publica, and my delineation of the rector-ideal will follow Cicero’s pattern: first the rector’s attributes, then his duties and goals. Unfortunately, Cicero’s coda to the definition is lost, as there is a lacuna of some six manuscript pages immediately

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following the truncated tractandum. When the text resumes, Scipio is stating his intention to employ Platonic principles to engage with the causes of public goods and evils (cuiusque et boni publici et mali causam, 2.52). The exact relationship between the rector and Plato is thus unclear, but as the rector plays a prominent role in the remainder of the book, it would seem that the concept was central to Scipio’s successful departure from his Platonic models. The generic requirement that the rector be a good man (bonus) remains an important subtext throughout De Re Publica, especially in the Sominum Scipionis. Cicero must have been thinking of the optimates depicted in Pro Sestio, and perhaps the vir bonus dicendi peritus of De Oratore as well.8 However, I will focus on three other virtues, all of which are related to morality and ethics but which are more practical in their application to the problems of the res publica. The three particular virtues which Cicero chooses as the foundation of the rectorideal—sapientia, prudentia, and auctoritas—are representative of the influences on his political philosophy described in the previous chapters. Sapientia denotes the influence of Greek philosophy, particularly Academic skepticism and Stoic ethics. Prudentia reflects a traditional Roman education which includes knowledge of the law and historical exempla. Auctoritas, and the related concept of dignitas, encapsulate one of the important traditional virtues of the senatorial class. When combined in a man who is both morally good and inclined to support the constitution (bonus), these three virtues provide both the impetus and tools for the execution of the rector’s duties. There are other attributes which Cicero will assign to the rector in the course of his discussion, but these three are the foundations of the ideal. They are also major components of the criticisms Cicero would level at Pompey and Caesar during the civil war and its aftermath, usually in a context which recalls their presence in the rector-ideal. The first, and most important virtue is sapientia. It is the attribute which receives the most attention in the remainder of dialogue, and is the most important part of Cicero’s ideal statesman. It carries with it the connotation of philosophia, and within the construct of the rector-ideal it emerges as the attribute which enables the possession and use of both prudentia and auctoritas. As we saw in Chapter 1, sapientia is a characteristic of philosophers in the preface to De Re Publica, but with the designation of Scipio and his friends as sapientissimi at 1.13 Cicero begins to imbue it with a more Roman character. This Romanized version of sapientia is linked both to Rome’s past, as the principle behind Rome’s success, and Rome’s future, as a necessary component of the ideal statesman. Sapientia, then, provides the bridge between the philosophers who deny the

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politically active lifestyle and the exceptional Roman statesmen who have contributed to Rome’s triumph. Sapientia represents a specific kind of knowledge in the context of civic governance. The first of the three definitions of sapientia in De Re Publica comes early in the dialogue, during Laelius’ enjoinder to Scipio to begin his discourse on the best type of State. Laelius declares that the most admirable service of wisdom (praeclarissimum sapientiae munus) is to make men useful to the State (1.33). The connection of statesmanship to sapientia is not an innovation. In one of the earliest passages which can be connected to the development of the rectorideal, from Pro Rabirio Perduellionis Reo in 63, sapientia is one of the reasons why men earn the designation of “guardians and helmsmen of the state” (custodes gubernatoresque rei publicae (Rab. Perd. 26).9 The personal qualities of these men include sapientia, humanitas, gravitas, and prudentia; these personal qualities became manifest in their actions in support of the Republic. Great works carried out by men possessing sapientia are unimpeachable, even if the men in question are kings, as they often are. The Persian king Cyrus (1.43), Romulus (2.11), Numa Pompilius (2.25), and Tullus Hostilius are all considered to be sapientes; in fact, the only way in which autocracy can be called monarchy is when the “permanent power, justice, and absolute wisdom” (perpetua potestas et iustitia omnique sapientia) of the monarch are employed in the protection of citizens (2.43). A further protection for the people is provided by the rector’s knowledge of justice and the laws of the State (Rep. 5.5). It is imperative for the rector to understand the law since he will not be in a position to make the law; he is, rather, an upholder of the existing law, particularly those laws which provide a counterbalance to changes favoring the emergence of monarchy or democracy (Rep. 2.2, 58; Leg. 1.57). The protection and prosperity of the State engendered by sapientia is at the heart of the second of the three definitions of sapientia in De Re Publica. In Book 3, Philus declares sapientia to be the motivating virtue behind Rome’s success (3.24). Although Philus here contrasts sapientia to iustitia, “justice,” as part of his Carneadean argument with Laelius about the role of injustice in a State, the results of employing sapientia are boons for the State by any objective standard: an increase in wealth, acquisition of territory, and external security via the domination of neighboring states and peoples. Scipio repudiates Philus’ definition with his own, a more succinct explanation which is similar to Laelius’. Scipio describes sapientia not in terms of its results but in a more abstract way as the trait most desired in ruling a state (3.47). Scipio, who as we have seen was quite complimentary to monarchy, does not differentiate between the sapientia

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of magistrates and the regalis sapientia which appealed to the early Romans (2.25). Sapientia, when it contributed to Rome’s well-­being, was acceptable regardless of its possessor. In concert with his sapientia, the rector must also possess prudentia. Unlike sapientia, which has specific connotations relating to Greek philosophy and Roman statesmanship, prudentia is defined merely as “a quality which takes its name from the ability to foresee” (quae ipsum nomen hoc nacta est ex providendo, 6.1), a fragment of what surely was a lengthy expansion on the prudentia of the ideal statesman.10 It is, without question, separate from sapientia, but cognate with it; we may think of sapientia as “knowledge” and prudentia as “understanding.” Philosophical education and knowledge of the Roman past are two paths to prudentia, according to Cicero’s sua voce introduction to Book 3, but the when combined, as they are in the rector, they are deserving of the highest praise (3.5– 6). While sapientia is an enabling virtue, the possession of which facilitates the possession of the others, prudentia is on the whole a more tangible virtue which manifests itself in both actions as well as dispositions. The importance of prudentia to the rector-ideal is demonstrated by the fact that the entirety of the rector’s character, and by extension his actions, are bound up with prudentia. A large lacuna after 2.66 interrupts Scipio’s overview of the rector, but when the dialogue resumes Laelius asks Scipio if the man he is seeking is a vir prudens. Scipio affirms Laelius’ definition with an emphatic approval (istum ipsum, 2.67). Prudentia is not listed among the rector’s virtues in the initial definition at 2.51, but it receives a thorough introduction via the interlocutors themselves. Scipio, who himself had been named a prudentissimus vir in De Oratore (3.134), refers to his friends both as viri prudentes (1.38) and viri prudentissimi (1.70). It is Laelius, however, who bestows the title of prudens on Scipio, acknowledging that Scipio could use himself as the paradigm for the rector prudens (ut a te ipso ordiare, 2.67). In the holistic and contemporary view of the rector as a vir prudens there are indeed philosophical associations as well as oratorical ones.11 But it is in action that prudentia finds its primary expression. Rome’s kings had excelled in prudentia in this respect. It was, for example, the excellens providentia of Romulus which enabled him to found his new city in the most advantageous location (2.5), thereby avoiding the threats associated with proximity to the open sea.12 The most useful aspect of prudentia, however, is that a statesman in possession of it will continuously be on guard against the forces attempting to overthrow the state (2.45). The apparent passivity of the duty described by Scipio in 2.69, where the primary duty of the rector is considered to be making himself a moral exemplar for his colleagues and the people, is repudiated by the metaphor of the

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musicians that immediately follows.13 It is not enough for the musician, or more aptly suited for our subject, the conductor, to merely recognize the notes. He must, in order to achieve something greater than the individual notes, actively unite them into a smoothly operating whole. The metaphor of the musician relates prudentia to the last of the three primary virtues of the rector in terms of the practical results brought about by its possession and use. Auctoritas is an outgrowth of dignitas, a necessary component of any republican system of government (Leg. 3.28).14 As part of a republican system, there is a direct and necessary correlation to auctoritas and the ability of the rector to create concordia; his auctoritas is in fact the only instrument available. The requirement that the rector be a military figure is absent from De Re Publica; it is possible that Cicero addressed this in the fifth book, but nothing in the surviving sections of any book engages specifically with martial responsibilities. Philus refers to generals (imperatores) immortalized because they enlarged Rome’s empire (3.24), but their success is due to prudentia, not knowledge of the ars belli. The absence of a specific military role is certainly a reflection of contemporary events, especially the mob violence which characterized the period of De Re Publica’s composition. The only avenue thus left open was the traditional method of auctoritas. This moral and political authority, taken to its extreme in the person of the rector, compels men to work for the benefit of the res publica.15 In this respect, there are many similarities between the rector-ideal and the principes optimatium in Pro Sestio (96–101). Cicero repeatedly links auctoritas and dignitas in works spread across both time and genre, highlighting in each case the distinction between the auctoritas of magistrates and the dignitas of the Roman people (e.g. Red. Sen. 7, 16; Dom. 89–90; Div. 1.27; Marc. 3; Q. fr. 1.3.6). Furthermore, the dignitas of the Roman State—a crucial component, as we have seen, of Cicero’s cherished otium cum dignitate—is bound up in the dignitas of its magistrates (Sest. 98, Leg. 3.12).16 The three primary attributes of sapientia, prudentia, and auctoritas characterize the rector as a forward-­thinking philosopher-­statesman. These personal qualities manifest themselves in different ways, but each quality is integral to the successful discharge of the rector’s duties. Among the other obligations with which Cicero charges the rector are continual self-­improvement, the exhorting of others to imitate his own example, and making himself a paradigm for the citizens by his supreme excellence of life and character (Rep. 2.69; Att. 8.11.1). The primary purpose of the ideal statesman, however, was to ensure the continued existence of the State by all available means. A significant component of this ultimate duty of the rector was the preservation of aequabilitas,

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“impartiality.” The preservation of aequabilitas contributes, and even causes, the consensus of the different groups which is integral to the functioning of the mixed constitution. It is the agreement of the entirety of the Roman State which is the rector’s goal, not the elimination of financial or political disparity. When the State became imbalanced, the rector would take action to restore the balance.17 Scipio’s charge in De Re Publica is not only to expound upon what he considers the best type of constitution. He is also, as part and parcel of the discussion, asked to discover a way to restore the unity which Tiberius Gracchus had destroyed.18 The failure to preserve aequabilitas is where Caesar and, to a lesser extent, Pompey had gone wrong. Their concerted effort to dominate Rome’s political mechanisms at the expense of the mixed constitution reflected their lack of both sapientia and prudentia; this is especially evident in Cicero’s posthumous criticisms of Caesar. The rector as the guarantor of the res publica and as representative of a type of statesman have found wide acceptance among modern commentators. There is another question to consider with the rector-ideal which has not yet found consensus and which is of significant concern for my interpretation of Cicero’s ideal statesman. If the rector is the paradigm of a genus of philosopher-­statesmen, did Cicero envision a multitude of rectores working in concert or did he consider a single rector at a particular time to be more useful to the State? As the Roman State had endured and triumphed over a very long time, Rome obviously had much success in producing a succession of rectores, though within De Re Publica there is a curious lack of specification about how the mixed constitution contributes to the emergence of such men.19 There is no doubt that multiple rectores have existed in the Roman past, and that the rector-ideal denotes a particular type or class of men, as the Heinze-Powell thesis persuasively argues. Arguments for a multitude of rectores are based primarily on Cicero’s comments at de Orat. 1.211, Rep. 2.67 and 6.17.20 In these three passages Cicero appears to acknowledge that there can be an indefinite number of rectores working within a State at a particular time. The three passages are presented here: Sin autem quaereremus quis esset is, qui ad rem publicam moderandam usum et scientiam et studium suum contulisset, definirem hoc modo: qui quibus rebus utilitas rei publicae pareretur augereturque, teneret eisque uteretur, hunc rei publicae rectorem et consili publici auctorem esse habendum, praedicaremque P. Lentulum principem illum et Ti. Gracchum patrem et Q. Metellum et P. Africanum et C. Laelium et innumerabilis alios cum ex nostra civitate tum ex ceteris. de Orat. 1.211

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But if we are looking for the type of person who has brought to bear, for the purpose of managing the state, his customs and wisdom and learning, I would define him in this way: he who possesses and uses these virtues by which the welfare of the state is obtained and increased, this person must be considered to be the rector rei publicae and the originator of public policy, and I could mention that most distinguished citizen Publius Lentulus, and the elder Tiberius Gracchus, and Quintus Metellus, and Publius Africanus, and Gaius Laelius, and countless others both in our state and in others. (Scipio) “[* * * quem] iamdudum quaero, et ad quem cupio pervenire.” (Laelius) “Prudentem fortasse quaeris?” Tum ille: “Istum ipsum.” “Est tibi ex eis ipsis qui adsunt bella copia, vel ut a te ipso ordiare.” Rep. 2.67 (Scipio) “. . . he whom I have been seeking for a long time, and whom I wish to discover.” (Laelius) “Perhaps you are seeking a wise man, then?” (Scipio) “That very man.” (Laelius) “There are a great number of such men here with you, or would you begin with yourself?” Sed quo sis, Africane, alacrior ad tutandam rem publicam, sic habeto: omnibus qui patriam conservaverint adiuverint auxerint, certum esse in caelo definitum locum, ubi beati aevo sempiterno fruantur. Nihil est enim illi principi deo, qui omnem mundum regit, quod quidem in terris fiat, acceptius, quam concilia coetusque hominum iure sociati, quae civitates appellantur: harum rectores et conservatores hinc profecti huc revertuntur. Rep. 6.17 Know this well, Scipio, that for all those men who have maintained, supported or advanced the state, there is in heaven an appointed place where these blessed enjoy eternal life. For there is nothing which happens on earth which is more dear to that immortal god who rules the entirety of the heavens than the assemblies and companies of men joined in a community of law, and these are called “states.” The rectores and preservers of these states depart from this place, and it is to this place that they return.

These three passages appear to be persuasive evidence that Cicero, through his chosen interlocutor, felt that a bevy of rectores was desirable. However, they do not conclusively eliminate the possibility that Cicero anticipated only a single

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rector at any one time. The insistence by Heinze and others on multiple rectores rests partially on the view that Cicero found all types of monarchial rule objectionable. However, as we have seen in Chapter  1, Cicero in fact had no ideological problems with monarchy. The characteristics of the rector are applied regularly throughout De Re Publica to monarchs, as we have seen in this chapter, and the oppositus alter of the tyrant in Rep. 2.51 could also apply to a monarch, the counterpart to the corrupt tyrant within the anakyklosis. It would seem that the rector would be expected, indeed allowed, to wield a form of monarchial power in order to keep the State successfully on its proper path. But the power of the rector to decisively intervene when necessary was not an indication of autocratic rule or a supersession of either the law or mores. In a crisis, of course, Rome had traditionally turned to a dictator.21 But even after the dictatorship had fallen into disuse, Rome’s history provided numerous examples of individuals taking radical action to end political crises. Cicero, particularly in De Re Publica, takes care to highlight the great services rendered by individuals. The praise of Lucius Brutus’ expulsion of Tarquinius (Rep. 2.46) demonstrates that unilateral action is both useful and indeed practical when traditional methods of resolution have failed.22 It is true that the rector denotes a class of person, but only for the simple fact that there have been a number of them throughout both Roman history and the history of other states. In the passages mentioned above Cicero is clearly considering the whole scope of Roman history, throughout which a number of rectores have certainly appeared. Heck has noted, however, that the surviving fragments of the fifth book reveal a dichotomy between the quasi-­monarchial status of the rector and the need for there to be a succession of rectores ready to step in should the current rector be removed and the crisis not yet resolved.23 This is the correct view. For the rector-ideal to work, there would surely have to be a succession of rectores. The Roman constitution had proven over and over again its instability, and a successful resurrection of a res publica/res populi would require a rector to be present for its continuation. Asmis has argued that, given the necessity of “reason” to be the sole governing attribute, it does not matter at all whether “reason” is embodied in one person or many people—nothing prevents such an individual from being joined by others who also have political wisdom.24 One of the first bits of wisdom Africanus bestows on Scipio in the Somnium, one that is designed to make the younger man “all the more enthusiastic to protect the state” (alacrior ad tutandam rem publicam) is that the rectores et conservatores of States come from heaven, and to heaven they return as a reward for their deeds (6.13). Scipio, who is destined to become a rector himself, will

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meet many other men worthy of the name when he arrives in heaven, for, in Cicero’s view, there have been—and will hopefully be again—a succession of rectores to guide the State. Additional evidence for the necessity of one rector at a time is found in the metaphors Cicero uses for the rector-ideal. These metaphors confirm that the rector exemplified a genus of statesmen, but they also illustrate the benefits, indeed the necessity, of having a single recognized rector working to ameliorate a particular crisis. We may think of each crisis as having a particular redeemer, though quite obviously the same man could adjudicate a series of crises. The rector’s position as both a tutor and a procurator—terms largely identified with education and guidance—highlights his role as one who corrects behavior, instills knowledge and morals, and gives assent to undertakings. In the final part of the definition in 2.51, Cicero equates the rector with a gubernator, “helmsman.” The equivalence of rector and gubernator is common, but it is the most illustrative of the rector’s position and duties within the State. The ship of State motif is quite common in Greco-Roman literature, and Cicero employs it to great effect in several of his speeches.25 Both the rector and the gubernator gain their knowledge through experience, and experience is critical for their respective success; Cicero equates the rector’s knowledge of the law as akin to the gubernator’s knowledge of the stars (Rep. 5.5). The practical knowledge which the gubernator gains from his past experiences allows him to remain calm and steer the ship safely through the danger. Yet a good helmsman can often avoid the storm completely. By recognizing the signs of an approaching storm, that is, by both possessing and utilizing his particular type of sapientia, the gubernator can gauge the level of danger for himself and his ship, and make the appropriate decisions to ensure safety (Rep. 1.11, 62). He can put in to port, choose a different course, or even weather the storm by charging straight through it. In a similar fashion the rector charts his course through political storms. For example, by returning to the metaphor of the rector as gubernator civitatis, we can see that Cicero prefers a single helmsman in charge of the ship of State, as a ship is much better off with a single helmsman (Rep. 1.62; cf. Inv. 1.58). Cicero reinforces the importance of a single individual in control of a situation through the examples of a doctor and his patient.26 The idea of a philosopher-­ statesman serving an ailing res publica like a doctor serving a patient is not a new one. The metaphor appears in Plato (e.g. R. 389b), and as early as Cicero’s first speech against Catiline (Catil. 1.31). Scipio allows that though the duties of the doctor and the helmsman are of less importance than the management of the State, they are nevertheless suitable metaphors for statesmanship; Scipio uses

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them to force Laelius to consent to the proposition that monarchy is a perfectly acceptable form of government (1.62). Though Laelius concedes the point, Scipio continues to highlight the benefits of entrusting power to one person in a crisis. Like a sailor in a storm or a man who has contracted a severe illness, the Roman people in times of war seek out an individual to guide them to safety (1.63). Cicero skillfully avoids endorsing the dictatorship, which had been in abeyance since the end of the Second Punic War, referring instead to term this sort of individual the magister populi. A lacuna interrupts Scipio’s narrative, but by ending with a term that straddles the political and educational realms he foreshadows his use of tutor and procurator in the full definition of the rector at 2.51. An interesting argument has also been made that the role of the sun in the astronomical discussion in Rep. 1 and 6 is a metaphor for the rector. In particular the role of the sun in regulating the motion of the universe is comparable to the role of the rector in guiding the State.27 There is only one sun in the sky, and in Book 1 Scipio takes care to dispel the notion that such a state is impossible; the science of astronomy is more than adequate for explaining the phenomenon (1.21–5). So too is the science of politics sufficient to dispel the appearance of numerous and false rectores. Throughout De Re Publica nature is described as being at a fundamental level a monarchy (1.56, 3.37; cf. Leg. 1.23). There is a definite hierarchy to the universe, a hierarchy which allows existence to continue. On a human level, the mind is a monarchy, a microcosm of the organizational principle of the universe. In the human mind ratio, “reason,” is responsible for holding the passions in check (1.60). To take the metaphor even further, Cicero may be saying that though there may appear to be several rectores active in the State, we ought to be very careful, and, as Scipio warns, take care that we are able to identify the true rector (1.51). Just as a tyrant perverts the name of monarchy and destroys the res publica, a false rector is a threat to the very existence of the State. We have now come full circle in our investigation into the nature and function of the rector within De Re Publica. Scipio’s initial definition of the rector as the inverse of the tyrant is indicative of the fact that Cicero feared tyranny above all else. Despite his hatred of tyranny, Cicero nevertheless considered only one rector at a time as beneficial, for a large number of equally endowed and esteemed rectores would certainly lead to the same factional violence which led Cicero to a systematic revision of Roman statesmanship in the first place. It is now time to see how Cicero incorporated the rector-ideal into practical politics. The next short section of this chapter will describe the parameters for implementing the

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rector-ideal as a determinative template for evaluating the political developments which followed Pompey’s sole consulship and preceded the outbreak of war. The final section will illustrate how Cicero employed the rector-ideal in his initial deliberations about choosing sides in the war and in his evaluations of both Pompey and Caesar. This last section will provide a bridge to the argument of the next two chapters, which demonstrate that the rector-ideal was an omnipresent influence on Cicero’s decision-­making after Caesar’s victory. Cicero did not think that the rector would or even could be realized. What is certain is that he felt that it should be realized, and this opinion, that the rector, despite its status as an ideal, was a functional outline of the type of statesman that could rescue the Republic from its current crisis, became a central tenet of Cicero’s political philosophy.

II.  The rector-ideal as practical politics The choice of the three characteristics of prudentia, sapientia, and auctoritas as the foundation of the rector-ideal makes it clear that the rector-ideal was of more use to Cicero than simply being part of a philosophical exercise. All of these attributes were at least nominally achievable, though in combination they made the rector an unobtainable ideal.28 The prologue to the first book makes it clear that Cicero is not simply swimming in philosophical waters. For Cicero, the possession of virtue is useless unless it is employed in politics. The greatest of Rome’s statesmen combined word and deed, and put into practice the things which Greek philosophers only echo in corners (in angulis personant, Rep. 1.2).29 Cicero’s unshakeable belief in the inseparable conjunction of philosophy and politics is a common theme running through many of his post-­war treatises, and in none more so than De Officiis. In 52, this assimilation of philosopher and statesman was novel, representing as it did an ethical and political revision of traditional Roman statesmanship. Scipio, presented in De Re Publica as the paradigm of the Roman statesman, comes tantalizingly close to embodying the characteristics of the rector rei publicae, but his premature death prevented him from attaining this lofty position.30 Yet despite being both unobtainable and theoretical, the rector-ideal was nevertheless practical, not as some form of universal outline for guiding either the actions of powerful individuals or the attitude of the masses, but rather as a personal construct for Cicero’s own use in his future political affairs. While Cicero never intended De Re Publica to be a handbook for the education of Rome’s elite, he certainly felt that the composition

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of such a work had value for the State. Cicero may have hoped that Pompey or Caesar would read De Re Publica and learn from it, but its practical value lay outside the realm of public scrutiny. Part of the practicality of the rector within Cicero’s political philosophy is that it was widely applicable, and was resistant to the effects of traditional corrupting practices such as amicitia or the patron–­client relationship; more will be said about the role, or rather the lack thereof, of amicitia within the framework of the rector-ideal in Chapter 5. Cicero did not create the rector-ideal in the image of any one person, thus ostensibly freeing himself from personal connections which may have corrupted his decision-­making. Pompey, surely, must have been the one whom Cicero felt would approach the rector-ideal most closely. The discussion in De Re Publica, though framed as a Platonic discussion set some seventy years in the past, is firmly grounded in current affairs; Cicero’s comments on the state of the Republic in the prefaces to Books 1 and 5 make it difficult indeed to argue that the dialogue operates independently from its zeitgeist. Thus, while Cicero did not equate his rector with Pompey, there is an undeniable Pompeian influence.31 Cicero approved of Pompey’s sole consulship in 52, describing it as ille divinus tertius consulatus, a description that parallels Scipio’s comment that it will take a divinus paene vir to both hold the reins of the State and keep it under his control during times of revolution (Rep. 1.45). In Fam 2.8, Pompey’s attributes are nearly identical to those presented in De Re Publica as the attributes of the rector rei publicae. Cicero writes that Pompey is “a consummate citizen . . . prepared in both spirit and reason for all those things against which we must be ready” (civem egregium esse Pompeium et ad omnia quae providenda sunt in re publica et animo et consilio paratum, Fam. 2.8.2). Pompey had a mind ruled by reason (consilium; cf. Rep. 1.60), and the vision and foresight to tackle any deleterious people or factions (providenda, cf. Rep. 2.45, 67). Pompey is furthermore a civis egregius, a pointed compliment which speaks to Pompey’s patriotism.32 Cicero shared personal and political bonds with most of the great men of the day, including Caesar, but, as we will see in the next section, such connections were secondary to evaluation based on the rector-ideal.33 Cicero certainly was not thinking of himself; he would not consider himself in a position to act like a rector until faced with Antony’s tyranny in the late summer of 44. The lack of military resources at Cicero’s disposal—his acclamation as imperator in Cilicia was of no real benefit in Italy—placed him at a disadvantage in relation to Pompey and Caesar, though he possessed, at least in his own mind, the primary virtues of the rector. Cicero was no military man; his suppression of the

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Catilinarian conspiracy had relied on the military prowess of men better suited to the task. The rector-ideal was, as the term implies, an ideal, one that was ultimately never realized. It was an ideal created out of Cicero’s own extensive political experience and his vast knowledge of Greek philosophy. It was the result of thorough Academic inquiry, as we saw in Chapter 1, and as such it held the status of an Academic opinio. Cicero would consider his assessment of statesmanship valid until other evidence caused him to reevaluate his conclusions. Contrary evidence never appeared; Pompey and Caesar continued to act in a manner contrary to the precepts of the rector-ideal, and Cicero continued to ruminate on his ideal statesman when evaluating each new development in post-­republican politics. The practical knowledge of which Cicero is so proud makes his philosophy applicable to the Republic (Rep. 1.13). The acceptance of the rector-ideal as a normative part of Cicero’s political philosophy helps to explain his actions during the opening months of the civil war, actions which are characterized by hesitancy, reversals, and a general lack of direction. These are not the result of a lack of constancy or a personal failing, but rather the acts of a skillful politician who truly believes he knows what is best for the Republic, as Cicero declared in a similar situation in 44 (Off. 1.83). His political theory and his ideal of the rector rei publicae were based on a flexibility that caused them to conform to the current situation. Cicero thought that he alone knew what was best for the State, as he had made clear in his defense of Sestius (Sest. 49). He had experienced first hand, by virtue of his success in quelling Catiline’s conspiracy, the advantages of a strong, sole leader during times of crisis. The political strife which consumed the decade between his consulship and Pompey’s sole consulship demonstrated that the mixed constitution had fallen permanently out of balance. The monarchial element had become the dominant one. Demagogues had replaced the consuls as the pars regia. In his philosophical treatises of the 50s and from his pulpit in the law courts, Cicero promoted a reform of Rome’s statesmen, a reform which would stop the slide of the res publica from the ideals of traditional patriotism toward the kind of egotistical quest for glory and self-­aggrandizement that had brought ruin upon the Greek city-states and would lead to the permanent establishment of tyranny. This political reform was centered on the figure of the rector rei publicae. As Cicero envisaged it, the rector would guide the State by virtue of his great sapientia, prudentia, dignitas, and auctoritas, more in the manner of Lucius Brutus, Cato the Elder, or Scipio Africanus than Sulla or Marius.

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In summary, the rector-ideal becomes the systemic set of conditions for Cicero’s Academic inquiry into statesmanship. Cicero did not conceive the rector-ideal as an absolute truth but rather as a practical opinion; this was allowed by Cicero’s skepticism, as the holding of opinions was both rational and wise.34 As Cicero had stated in the preface to the second book of the Academica, the opinions held by an Academic were easy to act upon despite their inherent uncertainty (quae sequi facile adfirmare vix possumus, 2.8). It is clear that Cicero never fully believed that either Pompey or Caesar would actually live up to his ideal. Cicero’s reluctance to fully support either man is not indicative of his distaste for one-­person rule but rather a reflection of his belief that neither man was intellectually or morally capable of acting in a manner beneficial to the res publica. How well he judged the ability of each of these men, and ultimately himself, to live up to the ideal of the rector was the primary motivation behind Cicero’s actions in this period. It is to a discussion of Cicero’s opinion of Pompey and Caesar during the civil war vis-à-vis the rector-ideal that we must now turn.

III.  In the shadow of two dynasts We are exceptionally well-­informed about Cicero’s thoughts during the first five months of the civil war. A great number of letters survive, nearly eighty to Atticus alone. These letters provide a nearly unbroken record of Cicero’s opinion of the preparations and actions of both Pompey and Caesar. The content of these letters as well as their wording indicate that the rector-ideal was foremost in Cicero’s mind as he watched the course of the war unfold. The letters further demonstrate that he was constantly weighing a variety of possible courses of action and outcomes. While he maintained a preference for the preservation of the mixed constitution, such as it was at that time, he was becoming more and more convinced that the result of the war would be the advent of autocracy. The palpable despair and confusion in many of the letters was caused in large part by the fear of tyranny, not the fear of monarchy. He perceived in both Pompey and Caesar an inability to achieve a just and popular rule, and he harbored no illusions that either man would gladly give up the extraordinary power they would possess after a victory. Faced with the impossible choice between a man possessing an impeccable character but a lack of foresight and a man with an exceptional mind but a disreputable character, Cicero fell back on the rectorideal in an attempt to make the best decision both for himself and the Republic. In the pages that follow I will detail Cicero’s use of the rector-ideal in his

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deliberations between the outbreak of war in January 49 and his dejected return to Brundisium in October 48. Before examining the war years, it is worth stepping back for a moment to see how Cicero gauged matters in the year before the war. Prior to his departure for Cilicia, Cicero had, despite the relative calm which had been produced by Pompey’s sole consulship, come to the realization that conflict between Pompey and Caesar was imminent. Pompey, now preeminent in Italy, was naturally the one to whom Cicero was to turn. He made a concerted effort to spend time with Pompey before he departed for his proconsulship in order to learn Pompey’s opinion on the state of the res publica and to discover what plans Pompey had formulated for the resolution of the question about the prorogation of Caesar’s command in Gaul. Cicero spent three days with Pompey at Tarentum, engaging him in conversations about the state of the Republic (Att. 5.5.2). After his meeting, having learned Pompey’s contingency plans should Caesar refuse to obey the Senate’s orders (Att. 5.6.1), Cicero declared Pompey to be completely loyal to the Republic and ready to go to war to defend it (Att. 5.7). It was in Cicero’s best interests to learn everything that he could before he left Italy. During his time in Cilicia, he would be quite a ways out of the loop, especially since Atticus was absent from Rome for a considerable part of Cicero’s proconsulship (Att. 6.5.1). The information Cicero did receive, however, only caused his esteem for Pompey to grow. Caelius wrote that once Pompey had spoken in favor of replacing Caesar on 1 March 50, the Senate passed a decree to that effect with no dissent from the tribunes (Fam. 8.8.4). To Appius Pulcher Cicero claimed that Pompey was the greatest Roman who had ever lived, and that he feared nothing as long as Pompey had been entrusted with all the necessary forces (Fam. 3.7.5, 3.10.2; Fam. 3.11.3; cf. Att. 6.2.10, 6.3.4). Further glowing praise would follow as the year 50 came to a close. Cicero, taking at face value Pompey’s statements of his strength and of Caesar’s weakness, wrote that he had no fear as long as Pompey stayed the course: etsi mihi crebro xunos Evualios occurrebat, tamen levabar cura virum fortem et peritum et plurimum auctoritate valentem audiens politikōs de pacis simulatae periculis disserentem. Att. 7.8.4 Even though it occurred to me that Mars was all around us, nevertheless I was released from worry by hearing such a man as Pompey, a powerful, experienced man, formidable in his authority, holding forth in the manner of a statesman about the dangers of a phony armistice.

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It is noteworthy that Cicero uses language that is distinct from that which he employed in crafting the rector-ideal. On the eve of war, Cicero appears to have either become caught up in war fever or completely convinced that Pompey would inevitably prove victorious if war should break out with Caesar. He is concerned only with Pompey’s strength, not his character. Even Pompey’s substantial auctoritas is bestowed by his ability to fight, not by his ability as a statesman. The fact that Pompey is finally beginning to speak “in the manner of statesman” is still tied to his martial acumen. His decision to quit Rome for Greece in the face of Caesar’s advance became for Cicero an inexcusable sign of weakness, thereby negating his ability to act like a statesman (Att. 8.16.1). Nevertheless, Cicero was under no illusions that the dispute between Pompey and Caesar could be brought to a peaceful conclusion. In April 50, while still in his province, he learned that Pompey had made it clear that Caesar must relinquish his army by November, and that Pompey had thrown in his lot with the Senate (Fam. 8.11.3). Caelius further warned Cicero that Pompey had no intention of allowing Caesar to be elected consul unless he gave up his army (Fam. 8.14.2). A visit from Batonius in late September brought word that Caesar would do no such thing (Att. 6.8.2), and Cicero’s thoughts became increasingly darker. He believed the coming conflict would be more terrible than any which had come before (videre enim mihi video tantam dimicationem . . . sed tantam quanta numquam fuit, Att. 7.1.2). The war would be for personal power only, and would have nothing to do with the safety of the State (Att. 7.3.4). The final outcome would be nothing less than the rule of a tyrannus (Att. 7.5.4). Yet at the same time that he was bemoaning the current state of affairs, Cicero continued to pledge explicitly his full support for Pompey. He found himself fully in agreement with Pompey’s politics (Att. 7.1.3). Pompey’s declaration that debate about Caesar’s provincial command should be postponed until 1 March 50 was met with Cicero’s approval (Fam. 8.8.9). Cicero even declared that defeat at Pompey’s side would be preferable to victory with Caesar (Att. 7.1.4). Before his return to Italy, Cicero stated that he would be willing to die at Pompey’s side, though his overriding concern was still the safety of the Republic (Fam. 2.15.3). Pompey would tell Cicero several times that he neither hoped for nor even sought reconciliation with Caesar (Att. 7.4.2, 7.8.4), but even these declarations of war would not prevent Cicero from tying his own fortune to Pompey’s. The year 49 began with Cicero still firmly behind Pompey. On 12 January, the day after Caesar crossed over into Italy, Cicero wrote to Tiro that preparations for opposition to Caesar were being made diligentissime, due to the “authority

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and zealousness of our old friend Pompey” (id fit auctoritate et studio Pompei nostri, Fam. 16.11.3). The faith which Cicero had placed in Pompey in 50 and the first weeks of 49 would not last long, however. Though Caesar’s actions were to some extent expected, Pompey’s reaction to Caesar’s entry into Italy was not. Pompey called for the Senate and magistrates to join him as allies, and abruptly left the city on 17 January. Cicero followed the next day, after Pompey had declared that anyone who remained in Rome would be considered a traitor to the State (Caes. Civ. 1.33.2; Plu. Pomp. 61.3) Pompey must have been considering the evacuation of Rome in the face of Caesar’s advance even before news of it had reached him. In a letter dated 1 October 50, Cicero states that he had learned from Batonius that Pompey was considering the abandonment of Rome (Att. 6.8.3).35 Nevertheless, Cicero presents Pompey’s actions as a complete surprise. Cicero immediately wrote to Atticus that Pompey’s plan was the plan of a madman (amentissimum consilium, Att. 7.10). Despite his knowledge of Pompey’s plans, Cicero claimed there was nothing more ridiculous than leaving the capital (Att. 7.11.3). For Cicero, any sort of settlement with Caesar was preferable to the abandonment of Rome (Att. 7.13.2). Pompey’s decision was a powerful symbol of defeat for Cicero, even at such an early stage in the conflict. The sacredness of place played an important role in Cicero’s political philosophy and especially in his concept of the rector-ideal. For Cicero, the heart of the res publica—indeed the very emblem of its continued existence—was Rome herself. In a well-­known passage from De Legibus, Cicero discussed the emotional attachment Romans felt for their city. Atticus began the conversation by stating: Movemur enim nescioque pacto locis ipsis in quibus eorum quos diligimus aut admiramur adsunt vestigia. Me quidem ipsae illae nostrae Athenae non tam operibus magnificis exquisitisque antiquorum artibus delectant, quam recordatione summorum virorum, ubi quisque habitare, ubi sedere, ubi disputare sit solitus; studioseque eorum etiam sepulchra contemplor. Leg. 2.4 For we are moved in some manner, I don’t know how, by these very places, in which the memories of those whom we esteem and whom we love remain; for even in our beloved Athens, they charm me not so much by the magnificent buildings and the excellent works of art of ancient masters than by the remembrance of its greatest citizens, where each used to live, where he sat, where he was accustomed to carry on discussion, and I even enjoy contemplating their very tombs.

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Cicero replied by telling Atticus and Quintus that a man has two fatherlands, his birthplace and Rome. It is to Rome, however, that a man owes his ultimate allegiance, because Rome signifies the essence of the State (Leg. 2.5). To Cicero, it was the altars and hearthstones that made the res publica what it was. Pompey, like Themistocles before him, believed that the State was embodied in her people, not in the buildings and edifices which made up the physical city (Att. 7.11.3; App. BC 2.37). Cicero disagreed, lamenting Pompey’s refusal to follow the example of Pericles, who had chosen to withdraw behind the walls of Athens during the early stages of the Peloponnesian War (Att. 7.11.3, 10.8.4). The soundness of Pompey’s military strategy held no sway with Cicero. He could not look past the effect on public opinion of the sight of Pompey in flight. Cicero remained devoted to the physical city and all that it stood for. The preservation of the res publica remained paramount; anything that did not contribute to that preservation was an example of bad statesmanship. Cicero’s shock at Pompey’s decision to leave Rome reflects a recurring theme throughout his correspondence in the first two months of the war. He constantly complained of his inability to learn Pompey’s plans. He had no idea as to what Pompey would do or where he would go (Att. 7.12.2), and believed that Pompey was unaware of the course of events (Att. 7.10). Pompey was acting “without a plan” (sine consilio, Att. 7.13.1), a powerful insult against a man Cicero had repeatedly praised before the war for his organizational and strategic skills. Alternatively, Cicero may have meant that Pompey was acting “without reason.” This second translation reflects a common criticism which Cicero often made during this period, namely Pompey’s lack of any sort of sapientia (cf. Att. 7.10). Cicero soon learned from Pompey that the general felt he was in a good position, and would soon have a substantial army at the ready (Att. 7.16.2). Cicero’s ignorance of Pompey’s plans continued into February; as late as 9 February Cicero was forced to say he knew nothing about Pompey’s strategy (Att. 7.22.1). The only thing he would be able to say with certainty was that Pompey was on the run (Att. 7.24). Cicero still professed hope that if Pompey made a stand somewhere in Italy, the situation could be salvaged (Att. 7.10), but if he left Italy, it would make following Pompey a most difficult decision. By February, however, Cicero was ready to blame Pompey for all the failings of the Roman State (Att. 8.3.3–5). He felt that the republican forces were woefully unprepared (Att. 7.16.3), and his letter of 10 February reveals that he considered them to be “defeated, overwhelmed, certainly now slaves” (victi, oppressi, capti plane, Att. 7.23.1). Pompey was clearly not up to the task of guiding the State. Cicero felt pity for Pompey, and wrote to Atticus that the skill required to direct

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the State in such times is not a common one (erat enim ars difficilis recte rem publicam regere, Att. 7.25). Pompey’s actions were, however, depressing enough for Cicero that his letter to Atticus on 22 February concludes with no personal tidings, merely the words “It’s all over” (confecta res est, Att. 8.4.3). With Pompey in Greece, Caesar in control in Italy, and the State split firmly in two as it had been at the beginning of De Re Publica, Cicero could imagine no worse situation than the one he found himself in at the end of February (nihil fieri potest miserius, nihil perditius, nihil foedius, Att. 8.11.4). Cicero’s defeatism and hopes for a quick and lasting peace also clouded his judgment concerning his own course of action.36 On numerous occasions he complained to Atticus that his course was not clear. The oft-­cited bon mot “I know from whom I should flee, but not whom I should follow” (ego vero quem fugiam habeo, quem sequar non habeo, Att. 8.7.2) is representative of Cicero’s thought throughout the first three months of 49. He refused Pompey’s repeated entreaties to either join him in Greece or to take up arms in defense of the Republic (e.g. Att. 7.17.4, 8.1.1, 8.3.4). Pompey, for his part, was eager to have Cicero on his side. He repeatedly asked him to participate in the defense of Italy, only to be met each time with a refusal. Once Cicero did reluctantly accept the defense of Capua and the Campanian coast, he did nothing to secure their defenses (Att. 8.3.4).37 Although Cicero declared himself for Pompey by taking the nominal command of Campania, he did not stop considering the possibility of joining Caesar, whose benevolence towards Cicero was well-­known. Caesar’s victory thus meant personal safety at the expense of the Republic, while Pompey’s victory could put Cicero in mortal danger because of his less than full support of Pompey’s cause. Three times during February alone Cicero reversed himself: he was unsure of his course on 5 February, torn between his ties with Pompey and the shamefulness of joining a tyrant (Att. 7.20.2), then fully behind Pompey on 12 February (Att. 7.26.2), and finally again in utter confusion on 21 February (Att. 8.7.2). The situation was no clearer in March. Atticus was finally moved to upbraid Cicero for his indecision, to which Cicero replied that their intimate relationship sometimes caused him to write out his thoughts in a stream-­ofconsciousness manner (Att. 8.14.2). Cicero was still unsure of himself on 3 March, but he had begun to consider the role of public opinion in his choice (Att. 8.15.2; cf. 9.2a.2). Cicero’s indecision was not simply the result of fear or concern for his own well-­being, though his well-­developed sense of self-­importance no doubt contributed to his desire to stay safely out of danger. During this, his most insecure period, between 17 February and 22 April, Cicero wrote several letters

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in which he described Pompey’s failures in terms which recall the rector-ideal. On 17 February, Cicero responded to Atticus’ recommendation that he reflect on his past deeds, actions, and writings: Nam quod me hortaris ad memoriam factorum, dictorum scriptorum etiam meorum, facis amice tu quidem mihique gratissimum, sed mihi videris aliud tu honestum meque dignum in hac causa iudicare atque ego existimem. mihi enim nihil in ulla in gente umquam ab ullo auctore rei publicae ac duce turpius factum esse videtur quam a nostro amico factum est. Att. 8.2.2 You have advised me to recall my past deeds, sayings, and writings, and you are acting as a friend and indeed I am grateful for it, but you seem to consider suitable and worthy a different course for me than I do in this war. For it seems to me that no other promoter of our state or general from any other state has acted more shamefully than our friend has.

A long letter to Atticus followed the next day, in which Cicero detailed all of Pompey’s failures. Pompey was acting without sapientia, and everything he had done had been contrary to Cicero’s consilium and auctoritas (Att. 8.3.3). Each of these terms—sapientia, consilium, and auctoritas—is a key component of the rector-ideal. Cicero must have spent the next ten days ruminating over the rectorideal, for on 27 February he sent to Atticus a letter which directly addressed the rector-ideal and its primary role in his thoughts on his own course of action. The subject of this well-­known letter is statesmanship, particularly the failure of both Pompey and Caesar to live up to the rector-ideal. The passage in question is rather long, but should be presented in full: You think that I am agitated with a great disturbance of the mind. Yes, I am, but not so much as I may seem to be to you. For all care is lightened [levatur enim omnis cura] when either one has settled on a plan or when nothing is explained by thinking. It’s quite permissible to lament the whole day through, but since I accomplish nothing by that, I am afraid that I may be a detriment to my studies and my writings. I therefore spend all my time pondering [consumo igitur omne tempus considerans] how much virtue there is in that man whom I have described diligently enough, as you say, in my books. Do you remember that moderator rei publicae by whom I want to consider everything? It was in the fifth book, I think, where Scipio says, “For just as the favorable course is the goal of a helmsman, health is for the doctor, and victory is for the general [gubernatori cursus secundus, medico salus,

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imperatori victoria], so too is the happy life of the citizenry the goal for the moderator rei publicae, a life that is sustained by power, rich in resources, full of glory, and respected for virtue [opibus firma, copiis locuples, gloria ampla, virtute honesta]. For that is what I want him to bring about, this best and greatest of all human affairs.” Our friend Pompey has never before given a thought to such a thing, especially not in this state of affairs. Absolute supremacy is sought by both of them [dominatio quaesita ab utroque est], not a happy and respected state. Pompey didn’t desert Rome because he couldn’t keep her safe, nor did he desert Italy because he was driven out, but because he intended from the very beginning to disturb heaven and earth, to rouse up barbarian tribes, to bring vicious tribes to war in Italy, to prepare huge armies. For a long time now [iam pridem] he has been seeking a Sullan-­ style despotism [genus illud Sullani regni], and many others are desirous of the same thing. Or would you agree that there was no common ground between them, no bargain was possible? It’s possible today. But whether or not we are happy, that is not the goal of either one. Each one wants to rule [uterque regnare vult]. Att. 8.11.1–2

The quote reported here from the badly fragmented fifth book of De Re Publica had clearly been on Cicero’s mind for some time. He had been contemplating the gubernator rei publicae since 23 January (Att. 7.13), when Atticus had first enjoined him to spend time in reflection. But we may be able to trace the prominence of the rector-ideal in Cicero’s thought—possibly even this particular passage—back to December 50. Cicero employs the same phrase for the solace he finds in his philosophy (levatur omnis cura) as he did in describing his joy at hearing Pompey publicly oppose Caesar (levabar cura, Att. 7.8.4). In the earlier letter, Pompey had been speaking politikōs, in the manner of a statesman ready and willing to take swift and decisive action.38 In February Cicero, resorting to black humor, told Atticus that Pompey was more responsible than anyone else for knocking down property values in Rome (Att. 7.17.1), which certainly did not help with the copiis locuples mentioned here.39 The reflection on the rector-ideal continued into March. Cicero was no longer drawn to Pompey because of his abilities or their friendship, as he had been in February (Att. 8.3.2). Pompey’s failures as a statesman were now matched by his failures as a general (Att. 8.16.1). On 10 March Cicero noted Pompey’s most salient virtues as temeritas, ignavia, and neglegentia (Att. 9.5.2); these are the opposites of the rector-virtues of sapientia, virtus, and diligentia.40 At Formiae on 12 March Cicero, in an effort to avoid falling into complete despair, took up

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“political and timely topics” (theseis quae et politikai sunt et temporum horum) which he related to Atticus in Greek. These topics are mostly concerned with how a man should act under the rule of a tyrant and the role of a statesman in such a State. The passage is again lengthy, but will repay scrutiny: Should one stay in his fatherland when it is subjected to a tyrant? Should he try to overthrow the tyrant by any and all means, even if the state is likely to be in danger because of this? Should he beware of the overthrower lest he be set up as tyrant? Should he attempt to give aid to his fatherland through every possible opportunity and through words rather than through war? Should a statesman live on quietly in retirement when his fatherland is subjected to a despot, or should he run every risk for the sake of freedom? Must he bring war on his country and besiege it when it is ruled by a tyrant? Should he still, if he does not approve of removing the tyrant through war, align himself with the best men? Should he join in the dangers with his friends and supporters among the tyrant’s opponents even if he does not think that they are acting sagely in these affairs?41 Should he, having done the greatest service to his fatherland and therefore brought suffering and resentment on himself, want to put himself in danger on behalf of his country, or is it possible for him to take precautions for himself and his household, giving up party-­strife to those who have prevailed? Att. 9.4.2

This passage is of great importance not only for Cicero’s opinion of Pompey but also the relevance of the rector-ideal to Cicero’s political philosophy of this period. Cicero had now accepted that the end result of the war would be the return of autocratic rule to Rome. He would continue to believe in Pompey’s cause, but would, for the rest of the war, make a distinction between Pompey the man and Pompey the figurehead of the republican cause. Pompey becomes merely the lesser of two evils, the “king who is more temperate and honest and sane,” as Cicero would call him in April (modestior rex et probior et integrior, Att. 10.7.1). Cicero resigned himself to believing that Pompey’s ultimate goal was a Sullan-­style monarchy (Att. 9.7.3, 10.7.1); the fears and rumors that had preceded Pompey’s return from the East in 62 would now be realized. For Cicero, the war, while it had been necessary and perhaps even virtuous, would end in disaster for Rome whether Pompey won or lost (Att. 10.4.3). With no realistic hope for an acceptable outcome, the only option for Cicero was to start planning for life under a tyrant. The rector-ideal was still weighing heavily on Cicero well into April. On the fourteenth of that month he dispatched a letter to Atticus from Cumae, where he

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had stopped after visiting his brother.42 This letter—the first to Atticus in over a week—begins with an assessment of the current political situation and further reflection on Cicero’s own career. Cicero declares his conscience to be clear with regard both to his past career and his current situation. Pompey and Caesar have acted badly, not Cicero himself. To prove his point, he once again returns to De Re Publica. In a reference to a now-­lost passage, he declares that that nothing was bonum unless it was honestum, and nothing was malum unless it was turpe (Att. 10.4.4; cf. Fam. 4.2.2). The moral tone of the passage from De Re Publica highlights the fact that, in Cicero’s view, Pompey and Caesar have engaged in a contest for dominatio, putting their own dignitas above the dignitas and salus of the State.43 As we have seen, the primary goal of the rector rei publicae is to ensure the salus of the State. Cicero, in casting aside his last hopes for peace, grounds his condemnation of the two demagogues in the language of De Re Publica. The correspondence with Atticus would continue to be fairly regular until the end of May. Only a few sporadic letters survive between Cicero’s departure for Greece on 7 June and his return to Brundisium in November 48—none dating to the period June–December 49—when regular contact seems to have been restored. Even the correspondence with his friends and family is severely under-­ represented.44 We should not be surprised at the lack of political theory or philosophy in these letters. Cicero was now with Pompey, and he felt a great sense of doom. After seeing the ill-­prepared army and the degenerate officers surrounding Pompey, Cicero adopted a defeatist attitude (Fam. 7.3.2–3). He won himself no friends in Pompey’s camp, as his sarcastic humor greatly irked the Pompeian leadership (Plu. Cic. 38.2; Macr. Sat. 2.3.7–8). The Republic was dead, and a resolution to the conflict would only be achieved on the battlefield. Cicero would write to Atticus from Dyrrachium in mid-June that matters were swiftly coming to a head, but his anxiety had made him a physical wreck, despite Pompey’s high spirits (reliqua non videntur esse difficiliora . . . me conficit sollicitudo, ex qua etiam summa infirmitas corporis . . . estque in spe magna, Att. 11.4a). There was no place for either the rector-ideal nor its creator in Pompey’s camp, and Cicero predictably left off from further speculation about statesmanship. Events would soon prove that further speculation on Cicero’s part was unnecessary; Caesar’s victory at Pharsalus in August settled the question of who would be Rome’s new ruler and provided a vision of the sort of State that would emerge from the aftermath of the civil war. After Pharsalus, Cicero left Pompey’s camp, and returned to Italy to wait for Caesar’s victorious return. In Caesar’s Rome, with the lack of political participation engendered by the domination of a military dictator, Cicero would have the time to ponder his

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relationship with Pompey and try to come to terms with how the man in whom he had placed so much hope had failed so spectacularly. Although Cicero felt that Pompey had possessed a mind deficient in political acumen and personal virtue, he would not completely abandon his friend’s memory; he would later embark on a rehabilitation of Pompey’s memory as a form of opposition to Caesar. With his withdrawal from the war, Cicero would also have the time to determine how, if at all, the rector-ideal could be applied to the politics of the new regime. He never achieved the rapport with Caesar that he had enjoyed with Pompey, but the lack of the same level of personal attachment to Caesar would allow him to revisit the rector-ideal without his judgment being clouded by any sort of emotional attachment. As we will see in the next chapter, Cicero would arrive at many of the same conclusions about Caesar as he had reached about Pompey. The subjects may have changed, but the parameters by which Cicero judged them, the rector-ideal, had not, and how Cicero used the rector-ideal as both shield and weapon against Caesar is the subject of the next chapter.

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Rex Caesar and the Rector-ideal

Everything is a source of misery during civil wars, which our ancestors certainly never experienced but which our generation has experienced often. But nothing is more miserable than victory, which, although it comes to the better men, nevertheless renders them violent and less restrained, so that although they may not have been this way by nature, they are compelled to be so by circumstance. So many things must be done, even unwillingly, by a conqueror at the insistence of those who helped him emerge victorious. Surely you saw at the same time that I did just how cruel this victory would be? Epistulae Ad Familiares 4.9.3 In the last chapter I demonstrated how Cicero used the rector-ideal during the civil war as both a guide for his own activities and as a rubric for assessing the merits and character of Pompey and Caesar. For Cicero, the failings of the State highlighted in De Oratore and De Re Publica had come to fruition. The constitution of the Republic had broken down, in the process generating the series of political strongmen who dominated the 50s. That the civil war was caused not so much by the failings of Rome’s constitution as much as the failings of its statesmen was a recurrent theme in Cicero’s correspondence in the aftermath of Pharsalus. After the death of Pompey, however, or perhaps even as soon as Caesar crossed the Rubicon, the State had ceased to function as a republic. There could be no illusion, as there had been under Sulla, that the Republic was simply experiencing a temporary transitional period. The civil war illustrated on a grand scale that the Republic had failed. The three components of the res publica became permanently out of balance. Henceforth, the monarchial element would dominate at the expense of the aristocratic and democratic. The Pompeian defeats at Pharsalus, Thapsus, and Munda left Caesar the undisputed master of the Roman world, free to remake the State as he saw fit. Instead of standing down, or assuming the position of an elder statesman, Caesar continued

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to consolidate his power, eventually removing the last vestiges of the democratic element by appointing magistrates for several years in advance. A king in practice if not in name, Caesar ultimately came to embody the l’etat, c’est moi philosophy common to many historical monarchs. This was the Roman world in which Cicero would spend the last few years of his life. Gone was the free expression of oratory which had characterized the early first century and which Cicero eulogized in De Oratore. Gone, too, was the mixed constitution of Scipio’s day as it was depicted in De Re Publica. In the new autocracy there would be no room for laws, or even the respect for laws, as Cicero had described in De Legibus. All of these developments were the result of Caesar’s actions, especially after the death of Pompey. Whether Caesar aimed for kingship, tyranny, or some other position was a mystery even to ancient writers, who certainly had access to much more primary material than modern historians.1 The focus for this chapter is Cicero’s opinion of Caesar’s activities and what Cicero perceived to be his goals. Specifically, I examine the influence of Cicero’s political philosophy on his view of Caesar’s domination, and how the rector-ideal becomes the sine qua non of the Caesar who appears in Cicero’s writings. Cicero unquestionably viewed Caesar as a tyrant, especially during the war and after Caesar’s victory at Munda. Even when he removed himself from an active role in politics, Cicero continued to contemplate the future of a Rome dominated by Caesar. As Caesar continued to arrogate the entire authority of the State under his sole control, Cicero naturally returned to the political philosophy which had guided his actions during the civil war: the rector-ideal. Now, in this new political climate, one facet of Cicero’s rectorideal was cast into deeper relief. While Cicero had feared the advent of a tyrant during the war, Caesar’s victory assured him that a tyrant had arrived. The rector rei publicae, as we saw in Chapter  3, was the complete reverse of a tyrant. Though Cicero did not apply the term tyrannus to Caesar until fairly late in Caesar’s domination, his opposition to Caesar as presented in the letters, speeches, and philosophical works between November 48 and Caesar’s assassination in March 44 is firmly rooted in his promotion of the rector-ideal. This chapter is divided into four sections which cover the years 48–44, from Cicero’s retreat to Brundisium after Pharsalus to Caesar’s assassination on the Ides of March. We are well-­informed about Cicero’s thoughts during this period. Three speeches, eight philosophical and rhetorical works, and nearly 500 letters have survived. These resources provide insight into both Cicero’s public and private opinions on the state of the republic, on Caesar, and Cicero’s prognostications on the lasting impact of Caesar’s primacy. They reveal a consistency of thought which perpetuates the rector-ideal as the motivating factor in Cicero’s political activities.

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Caesar’s absence from Rome during the majority of the 50s left Cicero without certain knowledge of his activities or political machinations. Caesar had been an omnipresent, if shadowy, figure in the major events of Cicero’s life during the 50s, as he had a hand in Cicero’s exile, the request for Cicero’s obeisance and silence after the conference at Luca, and the political intrigues which led to war with Pompey, but the two men met in person only three times between 58 and 47, and Cicero was consistently misinformed both about Caesar’s whereabouts and his intentions. Caesar, however, would become the most important political figure for the last six years of Cicero’s life. His influence would extend into all of Cicero’s writings during his second forced retirement. The first section of this chapter discusses Cicero’s decision to quit the war after Caesar’s victory at Pharsalus. During the eleven months of his quasi-­exile in Brundisium Cicero spent much of his time communicating with Atticus about his decision and about the future course of the war. He felt no remorse over his decision, though he was apprehensive about throwing his support behind Caesar. Caesar’s victory presented an opportunity for Cicero to align his own personal and political fortunes with Caesar’s. Cicero, however, could not overcome his belief that Caesar was operating like a tyrant. Cicero remained aloof from Caesar’s politics, only later turning against him with open hostility. The Republic was dead, but for Cicero the war was not over. The one small sliver of hope which sustained Cicero was that Caesar the tyrant could be replaced either by a restored Republic or by a king; monarchy, after all, was the best simple form of government. But the tyrant was eventually replaced by an even worse ruler, thus confirming Cicero’s worst fears. After his exile in Brundisium came to an end in September 47, Cicero excused himself from any substantial role in the politics of the new regime. He remained intellectually active, embarking on his second period of philosophical composition and even returning to the role of advocate for three speeches in 46–45. The second section of this chapter looks at Cicero’s public activities in 47–45, with special focus on the so-­called “Caesarian speeches.” These speeches, in which “everything hinges on the complex psychological relationship between these two men [Cicero and Caesar],” present evidence which complements the application of the rector-ideal to the new political order.2 Cicero’s ideological opposition to Caesar’s autocracy grew to maturity during this period. As part of this discussion, I will consider Cicero’s rehabilitation of Pompey’s memory. Cicero created a moral, statesman-­like Pompey as a foil for the tyrannical Caesar, particularly in comparison to the politically and philosophically ­inferior Cato Cicero created in his eulogy for him. The third section is concerned with the philosophical works composed during this period. They can be broken into two coherent groups. In 46, Cicero

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completed a group of works on oratory. While these works—Brutus, De Optimo Genere Oratorum, and Orator—are to some extent also political in nature, especially Brutus, they will not be discussed individually but rather as supplementary sources for my discussion. The following year, however, Cicero embarked on a series of works which dealt not with political theory or oratory but with ethics. Three works written in 45—Academica, De Finibus, and Tusculanae Disputationes—are of particular interest for the present study. Cicero felt that such works would be useful in the new Caesarian State. He desired to interject philosophy into public debates on politics, and he believed that he could do a great service to Rome and her posterity by making Greek philosophy available in the Latin language.3 Though composed in a different time and under a different form of government, these works must be read both against and with Cicero’s earlier political works. They reflect in great measure not only the political circumstances under which they were written but also the political beliefs of their author. As we will see below, each of these discourses contains political as well as philosophical concepts which are directly related to Cicero’s works on political theory and his continued devotion to the rector-ideal. The fourth and final section of this chapter examines the continuing deterioration of Cicero’s opinion of Caesar and his politics during the last six months of 45 and the early part of 44. Cicero may have engaged in passive resistance after his release from Brundisium, but following the news of Caesar’s victory at Munda he no longer hid his hatred for Caesar’s domination. During his last appearance as an advocate, in his defense of King Deiotarus of Galatia, Cicero could not hide his contempt for Caesar; a dangerous act, given that the speech was delivered in front of Caesar who sat as both the judge and jury of the case. Cicero employed the vocabulary of tyranny in letters to many of his correspondents, and he even began to contemplate martyrdom for himself on behalf of the State. While the sources from this period lack specific references to the rector-ideal, the criticisms which Cicero levels at Caesar in his correspondence are reminiscent of discussions about the rector-ideal from De Re Publica and other works. The continuing buildup of Cicero’s frustration and anger would play a major role in his attempt to bring the rector-ideal into practice after Caesar’s assassination.

I.  The reluctant survivor: Cicero in Brundisium The defeat at Pharsalus, followed by Pompey’s assassination in Egypt and Caesar’s continued military success, left Cicero adrift. Pompey’s defeat had been a great

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shock (Att. 11.5.1). Cicero became a man as equally unsuited to a peaceful existence under Caesar as he was for a military command under Pompey. He recognized that his fate was no longer under his own control. After Pharsalus, he unceremoniously abandoned Greece, choosing to return to Italy rather than continue the fight in either Asia or Africa. He returned to Italy and awaited whichever fate Caesar had in store for him.4 The eleven months of Cicero’s Brundisian exile became a time for reflection, both on his own actions and the future course of the war. Why did Cicero believe that he had made the right decision in leaving the war? The answer is not entirely clear. Cicero himself posits a number of possible reasons, for example, his horror at the bloodthirsty nature of Pompey’s officers (Att. 11.6.2; cf. Marc. 17–18), the falling out with his brother and nephew (Att. 11.5.4, 11.8.2), and his belief that he had fulfilled the duties required of him (Fam. 7.3.3, 9.5.2). It is also possible that Cicero felt that he had been wrong about Pompey. He seems to have forgotten all of Pompey’s faults in the aftermath of his defeat and death. In a letter from December 48—only the second letter to survive from the period immediately after Pompey’s assassination—Cicero wrote to Atticus that while he was not surprised by Pompey’s fate, he was nevertheless grieving over the fate of a someone he considered “a blameless and virtuous and venerable man” (homo integer et castus et gravis, Att. 11.6.5). This grouping of words in Cicero’s description is not arbitrary. Two of these terms, integer and castus, are not part of Cicero’s treasury of stock political terms. Both imply moral purity or religious piety, though they also appear in conjunction with statements about the inherent superiority of the law (e.g. Clu. 175, Leg. 2.24, 3.47).5 The term gravis, on the other hand, is one of Cicero’s favorites. He uses it often to imply the presence or possession of auctoritas.6 It often appears as an honorific, used of such people as Gaius Sulpicius Gallus (Rep. 1.24) and Plato (Leg. 2.5).7 Each of these descriptors would be a positive judgment of Pompey’s life. Taken together, they form an unambiguous, though posthumous, endorsement of Pompey’s character.8 I would like to offer here another possible reason in addition to those listed above for Cicero’s withdrawal from active resistance to Caesar, namely, that his decision was fully in line with the tenets of the rector-ideal. Cicero was as pragmatic a politician as ancient Rome produced. He never ceased his Academic inquiries, even during the Brundisian exile. The letters to Atticus are rife with the same sort of philosophical and political banter that characterized their correspondence during the first few months of the war. Cicero must have recognized that there were two ways in which he could make an impact on the course of events. He

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could either take up a military command with the remaining Pompeian forces, an option that was certainly within his rights as a proconsul and imperator, or he could attempt to guide public policy through other political, less martial means. The first method was impossible, on both ideological and practical grounds. The surviving sections of De Re Publica give no indication that Cicero discussed the military responsibilities of the rector. We should not expect him to have made the rector a military leader. Cicero’s own career had been made while directing the State as a civilian. The suppression of Catiline’s conspiracy had been the result of Cicero’s skillful manipulation of the Senate and the people. Pompey, too, had achieved his greatest political victories in the late 50s without the use of armed force, though he had successfully used the threat of force. Now, however, with Pompey dead, the remaining republican forces hardened against any settlement, and with Italy controlled not by the Senate but by Caesar’s officers, there was no room for statesmanship; Cicero would later explain to Torquatus that what had doomed the Republic was the settlement of disputes through force of arms (Fam. 6.1.5). Cicero could adhere to the rector-ideal without taking an active part in military operations. There was no role for him to play under a military dictatorship, unless such a dictatorship was run by a philosopher, and thus the best course of action was to withdraw and wait (cf. Att. 11.9.2). Cicero’s dismissal of his lictors and the forfeiture of the triumph that Caesar supported was a strong statement both that Cicero had submitted to Caesar as the sole military authority in Italy and that he had determined to protect the public perception of his independence.9 As for the second option, that, too, remained outside the realm of possibility. Though he was willing to give Caesar time to reorganize the state in accordance with the demands of law and reason (Fam. 4.4.2–5; 4.9.2; 7.28.3; 9.6.2–3), Cicero resolved to follow the example of Greek philosophers who had lived with dignity under tyrants (Fam. 4.3.1; 4.9.3–4; 4.14.2; 7.3.2–4). The destruction of the res publica had rendered statesmanship irrelevant. There was still hope for its restoration, but it had nonetheless been destroyed by the war. The perversion of dignitas for personal gain, the elimination of any hope for otium cum dignitate, and the lack of interest in the utilitas rei publicae contributed in no small part to Cicero’s displeasure with Caesar’s regime. Furthermore, the rector’s primary duties, as we saw in Chapter 3, are to secure the life and liberty of Rome’s citizens and to ensure that the mixed constitution maintains its equilibrium. Neither of these would be possible under either the bloodthirsty Pompeians or the autocratic Caesar. The rector-ideal, like Cicero himself, was without a political home. In this political reality Cicero made his residence in Brundisium. He maintained a vigorous correspondence with both Pompeians and Caesarians, and received a

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number of visits from old friends who brought him news of the war, among them Atticus, Balbus, Matius, Oppius, Pansa, Terentia, and Trebatius. He could not bring himself to fully accept the new Caesarian regime as long as the remaining Pompeians continued to resist (Att. 11.7.2).10 A clean victory by Caesar would be one thing, but a long, drawn-­out war left everything up in the air. January 47 saw Caesar bogged down in Alexandria, the republicans regrouping in Africa, and a revolt in Spain against Caesar’s governor (Att. 11.10.2). It was necessary for Caesar to bring the war to a successful conclusion not only for Cicero’s own survival but also for preserving any chance for him to take an active part in the new government. Cicero began to have his doubts that the Caesarians would in fact win (Att. 11.13.6; cf. Att. 11.7.3, 11.14.2, Fam. 6.4.1). Once he was no longer convinced of a Caesarian victory, he engaged once more in skeptical inquiry by presenting his views and asking Atticus for both advice and rebuttal (e.g. Att. 11.16.3). Cicero certainly tried to escape Brundisium.11 He sent messages to Caesar via Caesar’s legates (Att. 11.18.1), and even thought of sending his young son to plead on his behalf (Att. 11.17a.1). Caesar’s entanglement in Egypt left Cicero with no reliable news about Caesar’s situation; there had been no dispatches from Caesar to Italy since December 48 (Att. 11.17a.3). Caesar’s silence gave Cicero little reason to hope for peace or a quick pardon (Att. 11.18.2, 11.19.1). Nevertheless, he felt that resolution—to his exile, to the war, even to his continued existence—would soon be at hand (Att. 11.25.1; cf. 11.22.2). News of Caesar’s return to Italy met with some joy. Cicero’s joy was tempered, however, by the fact that Caesar’s return did not provide any clarification of Cicero’s position. It signaled resolution together with danger, as Caesar was now, in Cicero’s mind, treating fellow citizens like a master does his slaves, that is, with capriciousness (ab hoc ipso quae dantur, ut a domino, rursus in eiusdem sunt potestate, Att. 11.20.2). Comparisons to Sulla crop up in the correspondence with Atticus, with Sulla emerging as the more palatable type of dictator, if a new one should arise (Att. 11.21.3; cf. Har. Resp. 54, Phil. 8.7). Cicero would not leave Brundisium until September 47. He had received a letter from Caesar in August which assured him of his status and Caesar’s friendliness (Att. 11.23.2), but Cicero was still uneasy. He finally met Caesar in late September. The meeting demonstrated that Caesar was willing to publically honor Cicero as a statesman and a friend (Plu. Cic. 39.4–5). Shortly after their meeting Cicero departed for his villa at Tusculum, where he would begin to reacquaint himself with a literary lifestyle, whence he would continue on to Rome. Though he no longer faced the possibility of a hostile reception by Caesar, Cicero could not have found much to be appealing in an immediate return to Rome. Many of

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his friends and former allies were dead or on the run: Pompey, Bibulus, Domitius Ahenobarbus, Caelius, and Milo had all lost their lives since the beginning of the war, while Cato, Metellus Scipio, and Pompey’s sons were attempting to regroup in Africa (cf. Fam. 4.13.2). Caesar still controlled Italy through his legates, in particular the magister equitum Antony, who could not be counted as an ally. Only Cicero’s location changed, not his political or philosophical concerns. Cicero’s exile in Brundisium affected him physically, politically, and philosophically. The harsh climate wreaked havoc on his health, and fears for himself and his family caused no end of anxiety. Politically, he recognized that Caesar’s victory, despite the autocracy which would attend it, was the only legitimate hope for the survival of both the Republic and Cicero himself. He still felt strongly that the Pompeian cause was the morally right one, but he could not countenance a victory by the men who were fighting for it. During his time in Brundisium he decided that once he was free to resume residency in Rome he would remain aloof from public life; he would remain true to his word save for three speeches on behalf of old friends. At the same time he decided to retire from politics he also decided to turn once more to philosophy. The next two years were consumed by philosophical composition, about which more will be said below. The works written after the end of his exile reveal that while specific references to De Re Publica or the rector-ideal are absent from the Brundisian correspondence, Cicero must have been contemplating his ideal statesman, for these later works—even his correspondence with Atticus and others—are rife with specific and ideological comparisons to the rector rei publicae. As we shall see, the influence of the rector-ideal on Cicero’s personal and public personae becomes more and more pronounced between 47 and 45. By late summer of 45, Cicero would decide that Caesar’s autocracy was incompatible with his belief in the rector-ideal. But first, we must illuminate the ways that Cicero incorporated the rector-ideal into his life and works under the autocracy of Caesar.

II.  Clemency and the statesman: Pro Marcello, Pro Ligario, and Cato Cicero spent the first year of his life after Brundisium acclimating to life under the new regime. Even under the new political situation, he quickly resumed his usual literary habits. He recommenced his usual volume of correspondence. He also began work on Brutus and Paradoxa Stoicorum, the first of the nine

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philosophical or rhetorical works he would publish or begin between 47 and 45.12 The return to a life of otium, even with his dignitas diminished, suited Cicero well after the turbulence of the last three years. He wrote to Varro that his renewed acquaintance with his library had brought him some relief from his mental anguish (Fam. 9.1.1). A life of study and contemplation had replaced participation in politics. Cicero was certainly free to return to the Forum and resume his activities in both the law courts and the Senate. He had been spared by Caesar, who had continued to show respect to Cicero in his position of senior consular. Yet Cicero, despite Caesar’s goodwill, refused to align himself with Caesar and his politics. He preferred to remain in political limbo, continuing to work on his philosophy while assuming the position of a backbencher in the Senate. Had Caesar remained in Rome after his meeting with Cicero, Cicero may have found it easier to be a part of public life. Caesar, however, had left Italy almost immediately to deal with the remaining Pompeians in Africa. With the life of otium came renewed interest in the fate of the res publica. The political circumstances bore a similarity to those in the last year of peace before the war began. Two rival factions, one militarily superior, the other morally, were locked in a mortal contest for supremacy. Cicero’s anguish over the fate of the Republic is evident in the introduction to the Brutus, in which he expresses his desire to focus on philosophy and rhetoric to alleviate his sadness over the state of public affairs (Brut. 7–9). As part of his ruminations in the months preceding Caesar’s return from Africa, Cicero looked back to what he had already written on political theory. In a letter to Varro from late April, he laid out his desire “to live in our studies” (vivere in studiis nostris) and to provide advice for anyone who should seek it. If, however, no one should ask either man for assistance, Cicero suggests the following course of action: si nemo utetur opera, tamen et scribere et legere Politeias, et, si minus in curia atque in foro, at in litteris et libris, ut doctissimi veteres fecerunt, navare rem publicam et de moribus ac legibus quaerere. Fam. 9.2.5 And if no one should make use of our abilities, at least let them write and read “Political Works,” and, if we should be unable to guide the state or to inquire about customs and laws in the Senate and the Forum, as our most learned ancestors have done, at least let us do it through letters and books.

This passage makes a number of allusions to the three political works of the 50s. There is a definite reference to De Legibus in the phase legibus quaerere.13 The

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“political works” can only be De Re Publica, as Cicero had not written anything else which could qualify under this term.14 The phrase gubernare rem publicam et de moribus ac legibus quaerere is a parallel of Cicero’s statement in the preface to the first book of De Oratore concerning “those who are able to direct and to guide the res publica by their advice and their judgment” (iam vero consilio ac sententia qui regere ac gubernare rem publicam possent, 1.8).15 The content of this letter gives us a great clue as to Cicero’s mindset as he waited for Caesar’s return. If he had not done so already, he intended to review his works concerning the rector-ideal. Such study would be useful as Cicero prepared himself for a return to politics if the opportunity for active participation should present itself. To engage in the productive oratory and politics described therein was the goal. Yet Cicero realized that it was impossible to return to the last days of free expression and an independent Senate. He felt that he had gone from being the gubernator rei publicae to being at best a passenger on the ship of State or at worst merely a piece of cargo (Fam. 9.15.2). Thus, the path which he would follow as a statesman without a State would be to expound further upon themes which would be useful for navigating the new political landscape. As he started the period of composition which would produce his discourses on ethics and morality, he would build on the foundation for his literary program which had already been laid down in the political works of the 50s and, by extension, the rector-ideal. The battle of Thapsus in April 46 destroyed the last substantial military opposition to Caesar’s domination. Caesar was free to return to Rome, which he did in late July. Between late September and early October he celebrated his quadruple triumph over Gaul, Alexandria, Pontus, and Africa (Suet. Jul. 37.1).16 Caesar was the undisputed master of Rome, though his position was by no means absolutely secure. Several powerful Pompeians still remained unconquered and unpardoned—Labienus and Pompey’s sons Gnaeus and Sextus chief among them—and it was clear that Caesar would have to deal with them eventually. Cicero recognized this state of affairs, commenting to Paetus that everyone was a slave to Caesar, but that Caesar was a slave to circumstances (Fam. 9.17.3). These circumstances, however, resulted in a brief respite from war and Caesar’s absence from Italy. Soon after Caesar returned he was faced with petitions seeking pardons from the allies of several prominent Pompeians, including Marcus Claudius Marcellus, consul in 51 and one of Caesar’s most intractable opponents.17 The pleas on behalf of Marcellus were successful, and Caesar gave permission for him to return to Italy. More pardons would follow, with Caesar demonstrating that he could subsume personal feelings in the name of

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reconciliation. Even Q. Ligarius, for whom Caesar held special contempt, was forgiven for opposing him during the war.18 The “Caesarian speeches,” those on behalf of Marcellus, Ligarius, and King Deiotarus of Galatia, are Cicero’s only speeches from 46 and 45; apart from the Philippics, they are the last speeches Cicero ever gave.19 Despite the difference in cause and setting, Cicero uses the speeches for the same ends. These speeches are as much political statements as they are public utterances on behalf of others. While they do much to stroke Caesar’s ego, they are not encomia of Caesar’s leadership.20 The three speeches are, to be sure, quite different from the rest of Cicero’s surviving speeches. But as Griffin has noted, they demonstrate Cicero’s political and oratorical genius.21 These speeches, Pro Marcello and Pro Ligario in particular, represent the beginnings of the process which would ultimately lead Cicero to assume the leadership of the opposition to Antony.22 A new political order required a new type of oratory. In the Caesarian speeches, Cicero combined his natural gifts for oratory with his philosophical beliefs, thereby crafting a set of speeches which simultaneously ease his way back into public life while subtly announcing publically his opposition to Caesar and his regime. Both speeches rely heavily on backhanded compliments and ambiguous phrases to commend Caesar for his lack of brutality while simultaneously laying out Cicero’s political position. There are three primary ways in which Cicero accomplishes his task. First, he highlights Caesar’s personal virtues, particularly his clementia and sapientia. Both virtues are commendable, but Cicero discusses them with a degree of irony which allows him to safely critique Caesar while appearing to confirm the opinion of the Senate. Secondly, Cicero returns to the rector-ideal to frame his discussion of Caesar’s statesmanship and the viability of a Caesarian restoration of the Republic. Lastly, Cicero decorates his praise with comments of dubious sincerity. He draws attention to the nature of the war as that of citizens against citizens, the status of the senators as conquered men dependent on Caesar’s goodwill, and the inferiority of military victories when compared to great acts of statesmanship. In total, the speeches fit perfectly with the opinions of Caesar which Cicero expresses in his contemporaneous correspondence. They also highlight, albeit indirectly, Cicero’s continued devotion to the rector-ideal as a personal code of conduct. The most salient feature of both Pro Marcello and Pro Ligario is the discussion of Caesar’s famous clementia. The term does not have an exact parallel in English, though “mercy” and the cognate “clemency” are functional approximations. In his first surviving work, De Inventione, Cicero had defined clementia as a component of temperantia: “clementia is that through which minds rashly

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excited towards hatred of someone inferior are constrained by kindness” (clementia per quam animi temere in odium alicuius iniectionis concitati comitate retinentur, Inv. 2.164). The noun clementia is, as Weinstock has shown, very rare in early Latin, and even Cicero uses the term sparingly.23 The manner in which Cicero used the term, however, is telling. He seems to be relying on a definition of his own design. Of the twenty-two occurrences of the word in Cicero’s speeches, seventeen appear in works delivered in front of Caesar or directly related to his dictatorship.24 Cicero must have felt that the term encapsulated a particular aspect of Caesar’s political agenda, as he separates it from other related terms such as mansuetudo and misericordia. For example, the virtues which allowed Cicero to win the war were aequitas and misericordia, while the virtue which freed Pompeians such as Cicero from persecution is termed clementia (Marc. 12). Clementia seems to have been a lesser form of misericordia, as evidenced from the ascending tricolon of virtues to which Cicero appeals in the peroration of Pro Ligario (29); clementia is placed above humanitas but below misericordia.25 The definitions provided in De Inventione and Pro Marcello are positive. Cicero nevertheless felt that clementia was a dangerous thing.26 The danger, however, could lie either in excessive demonstration of it or in its absence.27 It was also a virtue which could be easily faked. Cicero had his doubts about the sincerity of Caesar’s professed leniency (e.g. Att. 10.8.6), though these doubts did not become overtly manifest until after Caesar’s assassination. In any event, clementia did have its place in both politics and philosophy. In De Re Publica, and later in De Officiis, clementia is one of the hallmarks of a great man, whether he is a magnanimous king or a devoted patriot (Rep. 2.27, Off. 1.88). It is closely linked with sapientia. The gods have entrusted the survival of the Republic to Caesar’s clementia and sapientia; this second virtue was at the heart of the rectorideal (Rep. 2.51).28 Cicero refers to Caesar’s sapientia as paene divina (Marc. 1), an echo of the wording used in Rep. 1.45 to describe the rector-ideal.29 These comparisons are, however, no more than passive-­aggressive compliments which disingenuously place Caesar among the ranks of the boni. The problem with clementia, at least as it is presented in Pro Marcello and Pro Ligario, is that it is incompatible with a republican government.30 The conferral of clementia from one man to another confirms the superior position of the one who bestows the beneficence. Caesar himself had made mercy a prominent part of his agenda during the civil war, writing to Oppius and Cornelius that misericordia and liberalitas would be the primary means of victory (Att. 9.7c.1).31 The exercise of clementia, however, did not preclude Caesar from being a tyrant. In De Re Publica, Cicero, via Scipio, had noted that a tyrannus can be clemens in

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the same way that a rex can be importunus, “insolent” (Rep. 1.50). Dyer has thus framed Cicero’s argument in Pro Marcello in terms of an enthymeme or, more accurately, a dilemma.32 The argument runs like this: moral autocrats deserve to live so they can continue to exercise moral leadership; Caesar has demonstrated moral leadership by his pardon of Marcellus; Caesar therefore has nothing to fear as long as he continues to act in a moral fashion. But if he continues to exercise his clementia despotically towards his former allies, then he will be acting like a tyrant and thus worthy of death. Cicero, through his praise of the clementia Caesaris, does not highlight Caesar’s virtue but rather his position as autocrat. The great irony which Cicero places at the forefront of Pro Marcello is that Caesar’s clementia has allowed Cicero to speak on behalf of Marcellus in the guise of a free senator, but the very fact that Marcellus required Caesar’s clementia to return to Rome highlights the autocratic nature of Caesar’s regime. The same ironic use of clementia is found in Pro Ligario. Cicero intimates that Caesar has been trapped into a policy of clementia by his victory. There could be no peace without pardons, for a harsh victory would have brought an even harsher peace (Lig. 15). Caesar’s victory can only be recognized if first one recognizes his clemency, for the pardoning of the survivors lumps together all the dead, regardless of how they died or their relationship with Caesar, as enemies (Lig. 19).33 The special circumstances of the case, with Caesar sitting as sole judge, placed Cicero in the position of arguing not to a jury but to a man who holds the entire state in his potestas. Cicero acknowledges Caesar’s position by stating that what would have worked on a jury is not appropriate here; the better tactic is to plead Ligarius’ case “as if to a father” (apud parentem, Lig. 30). The entreaty that follows is rife with terms of supplication: “I made a mistake, I acted rashly, I am sorry for what he did; I appeal to your clemency; I beg forgiveness for my error, I implore you to forgive me” (erravi, temere feci, paenitet; ad clementiam tuam confugio, delicti veniam peto, ut ignoscatur oro). Cicero’s prayers reinforce the idea that Caesar’s clemency is bestowed at his discretion alone, secured only through Caesar’s goodwill. Cicero builds on the ironic theme of clementia by hammering home the fact that Caesar’s latest victories have been triumphs over Roman citizens. There would be no expectation of mercy from a Roman commander sitting in judgment of a conquered barbarian foe, nor would tears be shed over massacres of large numbers of foreign enemies. Only in a civil war, with Roman citizens as victims, would either clementia or crudelitas be noteworthy. Cicero describes the civil war as a horrible thing (tantus et tam luctuosus), a divine punishment for some unspecified crime by the Roman people (Marc. 18). A war sent by the gods would

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be bad enough. But Cicero goes one step farther, telling Caesar that it had not been sent by the gods—the fault for the war lay entirely on Caesar’s shoulders (Marc. 29). Despite Caesar’s attempts to frame the conflict as merely a “disagreement between citizens” (discidium civile, Lig. 19), it was a civil war, and one in which both sides—there can be no doubt that uterque dux refers to Pompey and Caesar—were responsible for deeds unbecoming of statesmen (multaque uterque dux faceret armatus, quae idem togatus fieri prohibuisset, Marc. 24). Cicero’s repeated declarations of his own policy of peace and reconciliation place him firmly in opposition to Caesar’s policy of military victory (e.g. Marc. 14–15, Lig. 7, 28). They also place Cicero in the guise of the senior statesman who is prepared to advise, critique, and argue with the dictator in order to make full use of his political and philosophical experience (e.g. Marc. 2).34 Cicero had ended his own “respectable retirement” (honestum otium) in order to take part in the proceedings for Marcellus (Fam. 4.4.4). From his position as a senior statesman, Cicero advises Caesar not to resign his dictatorship but instead to use his unique position to prop up, if not actually restore, the mixed constitution in line with the tenets of De Re Publica. As Gotoff has noted, Cicero viewed Caesar as the only instrument by which the Republic could be restored.35 In pardoning Marcellus, Caesar acted in concert with the consensus senatus, and in doing so demonstrated concern for the auctoritas of the Senate and the dignitas of the res publica (Marc. 3), all of which were necessary for the Republic to function. Caesar must continue along his current path and revive the mixed constitution. Now that he held mastery of the Roman world, Caesar was in a position to see to it that the courts were reestablished, credit renewed, vices suppressed, the birth rate increased, and harsh laws imposed to ensure that the Roman mores were secured for future generations (Marc. 23). In Cicero’s advice to Caesar there are clear parallels to the discussion between Scipio Africanus and his grandfather in Book 6 of De Re Publica. In both De Re Publica and Pro Marcello, Cicero discusses the immortality of statesmen. Thematically, Scipio and Caesar occupy the same position. At the beginning of his dream, Africanus the Elder compliments his grandson on his future missions in Egypt, Syria, Asia, and Greece, and his victories over Carthage and Numantia (Rep. 6.11). He then informs Scipio of the greatest task which is to come: Nam cum aetas tua septenos octiens solis anfractus reditusque converterit . . . te senatus, te omnes boni, te socii, te Latini intuebantur; tu eris unus in quo nitatur civitatis salus, ac ne multa, dictator rem publicam constituas oportet, si impias propinquorum manus effugeris. Rep. 6.12

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For when you reach the age of 56 . . . the Senate, all the good men, our allies, and the Latins will turn to you; you alone will be the one on whom the health of the state is supported, and in short, it will be necessary for you as dictator to establish the state once again, if you can escape the godless hands of your relatives.

Scipio’s untimely death would prevent him from carrying out this final act of statesmanship, which must have been related to suppression of the Gracchan land reform of 133.36 In Pro Marcello, Cicero places Caesar at the exact moment of Scipio’s death. Caesar’s political and military accomplishments, like Scipio’s, had been enormously successful, and they would be rightly admired in the future (Marc. 8–9). But Caesar, unlike Scipio, had attained the dictatorship. He had managed to go one step farther towards immortality than Scipio. As dictator, he had thus far avoided assassination—rumors of which Cicero addressed in Marc. 21–3—but one final duty remained, the very same duty which was destined for Scipio: Haec igitur tibi reliqua pars est: hic restat actus, in hoc elaborandum est, ut rem publicam constituas, eaque tu in primis summa tranquillitate et otio perfruare: tum te, si voles, cum et patriae quod debes solveris, et naturam ipsam expleveris satietate vivendi, satis diu vixisse dicito. Marc. 27 This is the part which remains for you: this undertaking stands apart, this is what you must endeavor to do: to restore the res publica and to enjoy the rewards in peace and retirement: then, when you have paid what you owe to your fatherland, when you have filled up Nature herself with a surfeit of living, only then can you say that you have lived long enough.

Why would Cicero return to De Re Publica, a work dedicated to the rector-ideal, in a speech of advice to an autocrat? There are several reasons. First, he may have found it expedient to rely on the content of his earlier works, as Pro Marcello was delivered extemporaneously after Caesar’s decision had been rendered. The second, and more likely, explanation is that Cicero used De Re Publica as confirmation of both Caesar’s position—he was now in a position which even Scipio had not reached—and his own beliefs about statesmanship and the future of Caesar’s regime. Despite his cynicism about Caesar’s virtues and political ambitions, Cicero still nurtured a tiny bit of hope that the res publica would prove to be eternal (Fam. 4.13.5). Though Caesar was the man most responsible for the destruction of the res publica, he was the only one who could restore it. In

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September 46, Caesar had the chance to fulfill all of the criteria for Cicero to accept him into the ranks of the rectores rei publicae. The speeches for Marcellus and Ligarius were not the only ways that Cicero publicly stated his opposition to Caesar. Two further methods deserve mention: Cicero’s use of Pompey as a warning to Caesar and the literary eulogies of Cato in Paradoxa Stoicorum and Cato. Cicero presented both Pompey and Cato as paradigmatic anti-Caesars, though Pompey could claim to have been the better statesman. In the correspondence of 46, Cicero insisted that he had always held great regard for Pompey (e.g. Fam. 6.6.4). Cicero made Pompey the model of restraint, given that Pompey’s military prowess and auctoritas in the State gave him unrestricted license to act however he wished (Fin. 2.57). In hindsight, neither the man himself nor his virtue was the problem; the primary reason for Pompey’s defeat was that he had surrounded himself with ruthless and vindictive allies. Two letters from September call attention to the bad guidance Pompey received from the other nobiles in his camp. Cicero wrote to Marcellus that Pompey, even when he did ask for advice, took his counsel from men Cicero describes as “men with the slightest amount of foresight” (certorum hominum minime prudentium, Fam. 4.9.2).37 To Caecina Cicero lamented the fact that while his own auctoritas carried weight with Pompey, it meant nothing to those serving with Pompey, all of whom viewed the war as a path towards self-­ enrichment (Fam. 6.6.6). Cicero and others possessed such prudentia—which, as we have seen in earlier chapters, was a key part of the rector-ideal—but they had either been marginalized or killed. Cicero believed that had Pompey only listened to him, he would have been successful against Caesar, or even have avoided armed conflict in its entirety. Pompey’s jealousy of Cicero’s political achievements prevented him from listening to him and ensuring the happiness of all the boni (Fam. 5.21.6; cf. Att. 1.13.4). Cicero would make this warning part of the perorations of both Pro Marcello and Pro Ligario. A few months before Cicero resurrected Pompey as a warning for Caesar, he had begun work on a eulogy of Cato.38 Cicero generally held a favorable view of Cato, even though they had not always been on the same political page.39 Though it prolonged the war, Cicero commented in a positive manner on Cato’s decision to continue the fight against Caesar from Africa (Att. 11.7.4). Cicero’s most significant statement of approval was reserved for his Cato, published in the later part of 46. This work, now lost, apparently celebrated Cato’s suicide as a praiseworthy alternative to living under Caesar’s autocracy.40 By embarking on such a composition, Cicero joined a growing number of Romans who were writing eulogies of Cato and his cause.41 Cicero was by far the most prolific writer

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among them, thus making it much easier to assess the place of Cicero’s Cato in relation to his literary program and his political theory. The act for which Cato earned his highest praise—especially in authors writing under the Principate— was his suicide after Caesar’s victory at Thapsus. Rather than suffer the indignity of receiving Caesar’s pardon and living as a slave to Rome’s new master, Cato chose the ultimate expression of self-­control.42 As a Stoic, suicide was a viable option for Cato, though it was not fully compatible with all philosophical schools.43 Cicero praised Cato’s decision, calling his suicide a glorious death (praeclare, Fam. 9.18.2; cf. Off. 1.112). Yet Cicero never made Cato a political equal to Pompey. The key to Cicero’s choice of Pompey over Cato lies in the philosophical ideals which had been driving Cicero’s political thought since the late 50s. If we return to De Re Publica we can see that the very act which Cicero praises is one that is inconsistent with the rector-ideal. In Book 6, Scipio asks his father Paulus why he cannot join his illustrious ancestors in heaven immediately. Paulus replies that it is not for men to decide when their soul is freed from their bodies. This prerogative belongs to the deus alone, and to take one’s own life would be to shun the duty decreed to them by the deus. A suicide would be prevented from entering heaven, as the sole method by which a man can become one of the immortal rectores civitatis is by discharging their duty to the res publica (Rep. 6.15). Without a doubt Cato possessed enviable personal virtue (Phil. 13.30), but his devotion to Stoicism kept him from realizing his political potential and ultimately forced him to remove himself entirely.44 Had Cato been an Academic like Cicero he may have continued to avail himself to the cause of the Republic. Cato thus proved an imperfect model, both for his suicide and the hatred which Caesar held towards his memory. Thus, despite his admiration for Cato’s personal virtues, Cicero’s praise of Cato was never more than cursory. His Cato was more of a dig at Caesar than it was an approval of Cato.45 Cicero had embarked on the work only at Brutus’ suggestion (Orat. 35). Cicero even withheld publication out of fear of causing offense to those in power, perhaps weighing the value of publishing such a work at the moment when he was taking the first steps towards a return to active participation in politics (Att. 12.4.2). When it was published, Cicero shrugged it off with resignation (Att. 12.5.2). The publication of Caesar’s acrimonious response, the Anticato, did not cause Cicero much consternation.46 The three non-­philosophical works composed in 46—Pro Marcello, Pro Ligario, and Cato—gave Cicero the opportunity to present himself once again as an experienced politician with a clear vision for the direction of the State. The centrality of the rector-ideal to Cicero’s thought, even under the rule of an

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autocrat, is reflected in these works. While holding out hope that the Republic could be saved, Cicero planted himself firmly in opposition to Caesar. In crafting his attitude toward Caesar Cicero relied heavily on his earlier works of political theory. He borrowed heavily from the rector-ideal in all three works, passing judgment on Caesar, Cato, and even himself through the application of the ideal to the current political situation.

III.  Philosophy under a tyrant: Cicero’s program in 46–45 The speeches for Marcellus and Ligarius were victories, albeit small ones, in Cicero’s attempt to reintroduce himself into the role of statesman. He had provided his advice to Caesar, and made clear his stance on Caesar’s dictatorship. Unfortunately, the hope expressed in Pro Marcello that Caesar would restore the Republic quickly dissipated. After setting his affairs in order, including the installation of his chosen candidates as magistrates for the following year, Caesar set off for Spain and a denouement with the remaining Pompeian forces. As the year 46 came to a close, Cicero found himself once again on the outside of political life. Ostensibly he still enjoyed the same personal standing as he had had since leaving Brundisium. But it no longer mattered whether he participated in politics. Everything had been thrown into chaos (Fam. 4.15.1). Particularly galling was the extinction of the free expression of oratory, a process which had begun in the 50s according to De Oratore and which had seen its ultimate expression in Cicero’s performances on behalf of Marcellus and Ligarius: ego autem, si dignitas est bene de re publica sentire et bonis viris probare quod sentias, obtineo dignitatem meam; sin autem in eo dignitas est si quod sentias aut re efficere possis aut denique libera oratione defendere, ne vestigium quidem ullum est reliquum nobis dignitatis. Fam. 4.14.1 But if dignitas is feeling like a patriot about the state and finding acceptance for one’s thoughts among the good men, then yes, I still hold my dignitas. But if however dignitas is being able to bring into effect what one thinks or being able to defend them through the power of free speech, then there is no longer any shred of dignitas left for us.

As we have seen, Cicero had always made dignitas a key component of his plans for himself and the res publica. The uncertainty over the outcome of the war

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made otium cum dignitate impossible. Cicero began to consider that he might not live to see either side emerge victorious. The prospect of a violent death was once a fear, but now it held no more worry than a death from old age (Fam. 6.4.4). His own mortality would feature prominently in many of the letters written in December 46 and January 45 (e.g. Fam. 6.2.2, 6.21.1), surely a result of his opinion that no matter which side won, the Republic would lose. Cicero’s pessimism over political matters was amplified by the death of his beloved daughter Tullia in February 45. The genuine despair and grief that he felt is evident throughout his correspondence with Atticus (e.g. Att. 12.13.2, 12.14.1– 3; 12.15; 12.18.1); Sulpicius Rufus’ consolation (Fam. 4.5) is the best known of what was certainly a large number of similar letters. Tullia’s death became the catalyst for a change in the type of philosophical composition in which Cicero was engaged.47 He had already finished Brutus and Orator, bringing to a conclusion the rhetorical trilogy which began with De Oratore. The Paradoxa Stoicorum had appeared in the early spring of 46. In the six months following Tullia’s death Cicero composed six major philosophical works: the Consolatio, Hortensius, Academica, De Finibus, Tusculanae Disputationes, and De Natura Deorum.48 These works reflect Cicero’s grief, as he moves from the physical world of politics and oratory into the more speculative world of philosophy. After he had begun to recover from his long period of mourning, he becomes more cynical about the direction in which Rome is heading.49 The jovial banter with Atticus and the jokes which peppered his correspondence with his friends were replaced by passive-­aggressive—often openly aggressive—comments about Caesar, his politics, and his followers.50 The second major blow for Cicero was Caesar’s victory at Munda, news of which reached Rome near the end of April (D.C. 43.42.3). At the time when he learned the outcome of Munda, Cicero was twice-­divorced, the father of a deceased daughter, estranged from his brother, and subjected to repeated denunciations by his only nephew. A terse letter to Atticus on 5 May reveals Cicero’s disgust at the continuing hostilities. No longer could Cicero muster any enthusiasm for the Pompeians. He felt that Caesar’s defeat, should it occur, would mean bloodshed and retaliation by the Pompeians, now led by Sextus Pompey, against any perceived supporters of Caesar; Philotimus’ report eight days later that there was still a lot of fighting left to be done could not have sat well with Cicero (Att. 12.44.3). A victory by Caesar would merely confirm the status quo of Caesar’s mastery of Rome. Cicero had lived a relatively peaceful life for nearly two years under Caesar’s dictatorship, and had already turned his attention towards the composition of a comprehensive body of philosophical treatises in

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the Latin language, but now these works would be composed under the unrivalled domination of Caesar. He returned to the study of philosophy as a refuge from personal turmoil, as he had before the composition of the political works of the 50s. Yet we should not view Cicero’s decision to devote his time to writing as tacit acceptance of the new status quo. Cicero still resented the changes Caesar had brought to Rome. The uncertainty over Caesar’s plans once he returned to Italy overshadowed the plan and execution of Cicero’s program.51 Though ostensibly writing in the safe genre of philosophy, Cicero continued to highlight his personal views on the new State by attacking Caesar, sometimes covertly, sometimes openly; for example, he concludes the Brutus with a reference to Caesar as a “terrible fate for the Republic” (misera fortuna rei publicae, Brut. 331). Despite, and in part because of, these two major events, Cicero created a body of ethical and moral literature in Latin. How does this part of his philosophical program demonstrate his continued adherence to the rector-ideal? I would argue that Cicero’s new philosophical program served two purposes. First, it brought him back to his philosophical roots. Through these works he reaffirmed his allegiance to Academic philosophy as the foundation of all that he had accomplished.52 He was also able to expand upon his beliefs by focusing several of his works, particularly the Academica and Tusculanae Disputationes, on the superiority of Academic philosophy when contrasted with Epicureanism and Stoicism. The focus on Academic philosophy affirms Cicero’s earlier conclusions about the direction of the State while simultaneously demonstrating the inferiority of the other prominent schools. Cicero once again engages in the rigorous philosophical inquiry which is the hallmark of Academic skepticism. Any lingering doubts about Cicero’s devotion to the conclusions about the res publica he reached in De Re Publica had now been thoroughly dispelled. Academic inquiry had led him to the creation of the rector-ideal before the civil war, and the course of the war had confirmed that his conclusions had been correct. There was no reason for a return to political philosophy, as his original conclusions were still valid. What Cicero had not fully explained in De Re Publica, however, had been the ethical and moral system of the rector-ideal; the mangled fifth book most likely dealt with the rector’s duties, not his character. Thus, Cicero focused not on tracts concerning political theory but dialogues on rhetoric, ethics, and theology. Secondly, this group of compositions served to reestablish Cicero’s philosophical and political auctoritas. Cicero’s attempt to give Rome a body of philosophical writings in its native language is well-­documented and has been treated in depth elsewhere.53 It is the timing of his decision that is most important for my argument. Part of Cicero’s motivation in composing the Academica, for

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example, was to present himself publicly as both a Roman philosopher and also a sage for a new generation of statesmen (N.D. 1.8, Off.1.1).54 In De Re Publica, Cicero had attacked the effectiveness of philosophers who “shout in the corners” (in angulis personant, Rep. 1.2), spouting philosophical doctrine without considering its usefulness in practical matters. Cicero explained in the preface to De Natura Deorum that philosophy can be useful as a political tool: et si omnia philosophiae praecepta referuntur ad vitam, arbitramur nos et publicis et privatis in rebus ea praestitisse, quae ratio et doctrina praescripserit. Sin autem quis requirit, quae causa nos inpulerit, ut haec tam sero litteris mandaremus, nihil est, quod expedire tam facile possimus. nam cum otio langueremus et is esset rei publicae status, ut eam unius consilio atque cura gubernari necesse esset, primum ipsius rei publicae causa philosophiam nostris hominibus explicandam putavi magni existimans interesse ad decus et ad laudem civitatis res tam gravis tamque praeclaras Latinis etiam litteris contineri. N.D. 1.7 And if all the precepts of philosophy are relevant to life, I think that I have demonstrated in my public and private life those precepts which reason and learning have prescribed. If anyone asks what has compelled me to put these things into writing at such a late time, there is nothing in the world which I am able to refute more easily than this question. For when I was withering away in a life without duties, and the state of the Republic was such that it was being helmed by the plan and whim of a single man, I thought it would be good for the Republic to set forth the tenets of philosophy for our contemporaries, believing it to be for the benefit and glory of the Republic to have such elevated and excellent things set down in the Latin language.

Not only could philosophy be useful for the education of future statesmen, but Cicero realized that philosophy could take the place of statesmanship itself, as he would later explain in De Divinatione: in libris enim sententiam dicebamus, contionabamur, philosophiam nobis pro rei publicae procuratione substitutam putabamus. nunc quoniam de re publica consuli coepti sumus, tribuenda est opera rei publicae, vel omnis potius in ea cogitatio et cura ponenda; tantum huic studio relinquendum, quantum vacabit a publico officio et munere. Div. 2.7 For in my books I was making deliberative speeches and giving speeches before the assemblies, for I was under the impression that I had traded

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political activity for a life in philosophy. Now that I am once again being consulted about the direction of the state, all of my reasoning and attention must be devoted to this matter; only the time which will not be taken away from doing my public duty can be devoted to philosophical study.

Cicero’s otium, caused by the lack of political obligations under Caesar’s domination, paradoxically allowed him to organize his thoughts and craft moral and ethical reasons for opposing Caesar. Varro’s statement that “to write down what one wishes to keep concealed is at the very least a careless act” (Ac. 1.2) is indicative of Cicero’s purpose. Underlying each work is an attack on Caesar. His attack on dogmatism in the second book of the Academica could as easily refer to the current political situation as it could to philosophical debates (Ac. 2.8). When it was time for him to put away his philosophy, Cicero would use the arguments from both his political and moral-­ethical works to assume once more a position of political leadership. There was, however, no good reason for Cicero to write further on political subjects. He had already put down what he wanted to say on that account; this is Cicero’s rebuttal to those who would have him write on more germane subjects (Fin. 1.11). In the preface to the first book of the Tusculanae, Cicero calls attention to the Romans’ superiority over the Greeks in the areas of statesmanship. Strangely, the only area in which the Romans are “definitely” (certe melioribus) better than the Greeks is in statesmanship; in other areas, such as morality and family life, the Romans are merely “better and more refined” (melius et lautius, Tusc. 1.2).55 What he had not yet done was compile his thoughts on ethics and morality. While De Oratore and De Re Publica treated the training and duties of the ideal statesman, they did not contain an explication of the morals which were to guide the statesman’s actions. Cicero completed this part of his program in late July or early August. He would not publish another philosophical work until after Caesar’s assassination. As with Pro Marcello and Pro Ligario, Cicero’s efforts in this round of philosophica bore little political fruit. Caesar continued to consolidate his power, Cicero was forced to remain outside of politics, and the hoped-­for generation of moral and ethical statesmen failed to appear. Cicero did manage to solidify his reputation as a philosopher and statesman, albeit one without a role in Caesar’s government. After the publication of De Natura Deorum in August 45 we have only a single speech, Pro Rege Deiotaro, and a number of letters as evidence for Cicero’s thoughts. What we can see in these sources is the continued hardening of Cicero’s opposition to Caesar, with a renewed focus on the death of the Republic at

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Caesar’s hands. Cicero’s political opposition, which had been and continued to be grounded firmly in the rector-ideal, was now complemented by definitive philosophical and moral parameters. In the last eight months of Caesar’s life, these two branches of Cicero’s thought formed the foundation of his continued resistance.

IV.  Cicero on autocracy once more The previous sections have demonstrated that from the time Cicero left Brundisium until the completion of the first set of works in his philosophical program, he counted himself as an enemy of the new regime. His opposition was manifest in his letters, but in his public utterances—the two speeches for Marcellus and Ligarius and the six moral-­ethical works—it was often couched in ambiguous terms. Over the next five months, however, from August to December 45, Cicero made it very clear to his correspondents that he had given up on Caesar as a potential second Romulus. He was angry that every trace of the traditional res publica had been swept away by Caesar. He was disgusted by the lack of fortitude shown by the boni. Most of all, Cicero was frustrated that Caesar’s military dictatorship precluded any attempt to act in a manner consistent with the rector-ideal. The result was a final break with Caesar. Even before he had finished De Natura Deorum, Cicero set out to clarify his position vis-à-vis Caesar’s autocracy. Despite his opposition, he was still a citizen of Rome, one who was as loyal as circumstance allowed (Att. 12.51.2). Circumstance, however, had perverted not only politics but even the meaning of the term civis. There was no longer any res publica to speak of (Fam. 6.11.2). Subservience and obeisance now defined what it meant to be a citizen, not adherence to the mos maiorum or any sort of republican ideals (cf. Fam. 9.7.1). The only term which was appropriate for Caesar’s position was dominus. Cassius, for example, had written to Cicero in January 45 in reference to Gnaeus Pompey that even he, Cassius, preferred to have an old and clement master than a new and cruel one (malo veterem et clementem dominum habere quam novum et crudelem experiri, Fam. 15.19.4). Though he had referred to Caesar as a rex during the civil war, there had always been some hesitation in employing the term, as Cicero was unsure of Caesar’s true intentions. Now, however, unqualified references to rex Caesar begin to appear (Att. 13.37.2; cf. Fam 6.19.2, 11.27.8).56 No better evidence for Caesar’s position as king of the Romans could be found than Caesar’s appointment of Gaius Caninius Rebilus as suffect consul on the

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last day of the year in 45. Upon the death of Quintus Fabius Maximus—who had himself been named suffect consul after Caesar had abdicated the consulship— Caesar appointed Caninius Rebilus to a suffect consulship which lasted only a few hours (D.C. 43.46.2–4; Plut. Caes. 58.2–3; Suet. Jul. 76.2).57 Cicero’s anger at this act was palpable. He wrote to Curio of the personal dishonor he felt at living in the Rome of the day; Curio would have openly wept had he seen the farce that was Caninius’ consulship (Fam. 7.30.1–2). The boni, whom Cicero had made a part of his political philosophy for nearly two decades, were nowhere to be found. Cicero quipped to Cassius that in order for Caesar to join the ranks of the good men he would have to hang himself first (Att. 13.40.1).58 Consulars—whether Pompeian, Caesarian, or neutral—had no place in public life. Cicero had once termed Caesar’s entourage as a nekuia (Att. 9.18.2). These men were now holding the highest magistracies, running the State in Caesar’s absence like slaves for their dominus. In such a climate, Cicero felt that living statesmen were as useful as dead ones, and that the dead were just as happy as the living (Att. 13.10.1). Maintaining a low profile was the only way to ensure at least some small semblance of freedom (Att. 13.31.3). After all, there were no political duties left for men like Cicero. Legitimate advocacy was out of the question with Caesar holding supreme power (omnis potestas, Att. 12.49.2), a state of affairs which Cicero postdated to his defense of Ligarius.59 Against charges of flattery, Cicero responded that he had no other option; he no longer cared if his reputation suffered; he even considered his defense to be a trifle (nugae, Att. 13.20.4). Despite his misgivings about political matters Cicero would make one final appearance as an advocate in October 45. He took up the cause of Deiotarus of Galatia, who was being accused of treason for attempting to murder Caesar in 47. The Pro Rege Deiotaro, despite its rather banal subject matter, provides much insight into Cicero’s thoughts about the res publica Caesaris. It was Cicero’s last judicial speech, delivered at the zenith of Caesar’s power and the nadir of Cicero’s fortunes. The circumstances of its delivery make it unique among Cicero’s orations. Cicero’s client was a foreigner, not a Roman citizen. It was delivered in front of Caesar, who sat as both judge and jury, in Caesar’s own home. Caesar’s autocracy had become more and more obvious, and his public reputation had begun to suffer.60 Rumors that Caesar was to be assassinated, some of which implicated even his closest allies, had begun to percolate once more.61 Cicero spoke under these unique circumstances. Deiotarus would live on to be restored to his kingdom, but the speech could hardly be considered a success. Cicero would later describe his performance as “not worth being put into writing” (nec

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scriptione magno opere digna) and being “of poor construction” (levidensis, Fam. 9.12.2). But despite Cicero’s self-­deprecation, the speech contains much more explicit criticism of Caesar than either Pro Marcello or Pro Ligario.62 Cicero begins by admitting that he is afraid to speak, thus begging Caesar’s pardon for anything he says which rubs the dictator the wrong way (1). He then immediately highlights the tyrannical nature of the entire proceeding. The fact that a foreign king was on trial for his life in front of a single Roman drew attention to the fact that Caesar was now the king of kings. There was no way for Deiotarus to receive a fair trial, since the man whose life he was accused of plotting against now sat in judgment of him (4). Caesar had arrogated the power reserved for Roman monarchs of hearing cases in his own home (5).63 The symbols of the Republic—the Curia and Forum—were now hidden by the walls of Caesar’s house, and the success of Cicero’s speech rested on Caesar’s aequitas and diligentia—two virtues which Cicero could not guarantee would guide Caesar’s decision—and not on the orator’s traditional supports of audience and location (6–7). The appeals to virtue, in particular Caesar’s fides, constantia, and clementia, echo the earlier speeches for Marcellus and Ligarius, but in this context Cicero invokes them as a suppliant to an all-­powerful master (8). As a further crack at Caesar, Cicero praises Pompey effusively. There is a hint of censure in Cicero’s declarations that Caesar’s honors trump Pompey’s in both number and magnitude (12). Not only was it possible to count Pompey’s honors because he was no longer alive to accrue them, but the unprecedented honors which Caesar had received were as much a curse as a blessing.64 The honorific statues of Caesar on the Rostra are given special mention. While Cicero claims that there is no better place for a statue than on the Rostra, where two effigies of Caesar had been placed, he passes over the fact that there were also statues of Caesar in the Circus Maximus, the temple of Quirinus, on the Capitol, and in fact in every temple in the city (Suet. Jul. 76.1–2; D.C. 44.4.4).65 The skillful use of praeteritio could not have been lost on Caesar, himself skilled in the oratorical arts. In nearly every part of the speech for Deiotarus, Cicero brings attention to the questionable legality of the entire proceeding and the tyrannical position which Caesar now occupied. He adds another layer of criticism by harping on the slave–­master relationship in his attack on Deiotarus’ accusers. In that section of the speech, Cicero comments on the danger of provoking and corrupting a slave to attack his master: servum sollicitare verbis, spe promissisque corrumpere, abducere domum, contra dominum armare, hoc est non uni propinquo, sed omnibus familiis

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nefarium bellum indicere; nam ista corruptela servi si non modo impunita fuerit, sed etiam a tanta auctoritate approbata, nulli parietes nostram salutem, nullae leges, nulla iura custodient. Ubi enim id, quod intus est atque nostrum, impune evolare potest contraque nos pugnare, fit in dominatu servitus, in servitute dominatus. Deiot. 30 To seduce a slave by words, to corrupt him with hope and promises, to lead him away to your home, to arm him against his master . . . this is to declare a wicked war against not just one single relative but against every family unit. For if that bribery of yours should go unpunished, even approved by such great authority, then no walls, no laws, nor any right of man will safeguard our welfare. For when that which is inside our very home is able to run away with impunity and to fight against us, slavery turns into domination, and domination into slavery.

It is not hard to imagine Cicero in the role of the slave and Caesar in that of the master. If Cicero was thinking of himself in this passage, then we can see a veiled threat to Caesar that Cicero was prepared to do more for the Republic should Caesar continue in his tyranny. The next section begins with o tempora, o mores, Cicero’s rallying cry from his first speech against Catiline (Catil. 1.2). Cicero had stood up to a tyrant once; he had now decided that he would do it again if circumstances allowed. It is unsurprising that Cicero ends the speech with an evocation to Caesar’s clementia, a virtue which he had eloquently attacked as tyrannical in Pro Marcello and Pro Ligario. The speech for Deiotarus provides a suitable summary of Cicero’s philosophical and political stance in the years between Pharsalus and the Ides of March. As I have shown in this chapter, Cicero made no attempt to reconcile with Caesar once his exile in Brundisium ended in September 47. His speeches, letters, and philosophical works all contain criticisms of Caesar and his regime. For a short period, before the battle of Munda ended military opposition, Cicero did indeed hope that Caesar would prove to be the consummate statesman. The Pro Marcello and Pro Ligario were Cicero’s attempt to advise Caesar. Only Caesar was in a position to restore the Republic and thereby execute the ultimate duty of the rector rei publicae. Implicit in the advice was criticism, which was surely evident to a skilled orator like Caesar. But whereas Cicero had resorted to irony, oratorical commonplaces, and philosophical verbiage to criticize Caesar in 46 and the first half of 45, by the mid-­point of the year he no longer felt the need to resort to such methods. He was against Caesar, and he did not care who knew it. The

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letters leading up to the Ides of March are full of political language, all of it hostile to Caesar. Unfortunately, there is a gap in Cicero’s correspondence between January and April 44. We do not know in what ways, if any, Cicero’s views towards Caesar changed in the last four months of the dictator’s life, or if Cicero knew in advance of the plot to assassinate Caesar. But what we can see for certain is that Cicero became an intractable opponent of the dictator as a result of his destruction of the res publica and the elimination of statesmanship and oratory from political life.66 Antony’s primacy, the unfortunate sequel to Caesar’s dictatorship, would finally spur Cicero into political action. He would, for the first time since his consulship, attempt to assume the position of the rector rei publicae. How Cicero came to embody the rector-ideal, and how the rector-ideal ultimately proved to be Cicero’s downfall, is the subject of the next chapter.

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The Ultimate Failure of the Rector-­ideal

There are many kinds of activities, with the result that the greater obscure the lesser, but the most important are first, as it seems to me and to those men whose philosophy we are now discussing [i.e. the Academic skeptics], a contemplation and understanding of heavenly objects and those things hidden from us by nature which reason is able to penetrate, next, the practice and knowledge of political affairs, and then prudence, temperance, bravery, and justice and the other virtues and activities compatible with virtues, which we describe under the blanket term of morality. De Finibus 5.58 In the previous chapter, we saw that Cicero maintained a consistent position against Caesar in the period between 47 and 44. Only the intensity of his position changed, as Cicero moved from passive-­aggressive opposition to open hostility. He rejoiced at the assassination of the tyrant, finding much comfort in the action of the conspirators.1 His joy, however, was short-­lived. The lack of contingency planning by Brutus, Cassius, and their compatriots—including, above all, the failure to assassinate Antony—ensured that Caesar’s arrangements would not be overturned easily. The free Republic which Cicero had longed for, and which he had urged Caesar to restore, did not materialize. Antony proved to be much more dangerous than Caesar had ever been. For all his faults, Caesar was preferable. He was an aristocrat through and through, with a distinguished family lineage, great skill in oratory, and a successful military career. Antony, on the other hand, owed everything to Caesar. He, too, could boast of a distinguished family, but he displayed none of the attributes of his ancestors. He was more at home with soldiers and common people than with senators and nobles. Antony’s actions after Caesar’s death would confirm Shackleton Bailey’s description of Caesar’s retinue as “obscurities, some needy and disreputable, parvenus, hungry

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adventurers.”2 Antony was a soldier, not a politician, seeking martial solutions where Caesar may have resorted to political ones. The greater threat posed by Antony presented a greater opportunity for Cicero to experience his finest hour. In the turbulent aftermath of the Ides of March, Cicero left Rome. As he had done twice before, in 54 and 45, he turned inward for guidance. He used his time away from Rome to explore his political options. His introspection resulted in a renewed and very public commitment to the rectorideal. We are exceptionally well-­equipped to study Cicero’s thought during this period. He composed seven philosophical works, delivered thirteen speeches, published a fourteenth, and put forth a voluminous correspondence; more than one-­fifth of his surviving letters can be dated after Caesar’s assassination.3 The Philippics and the correspondence play off each other, with the former designed for public hearing and the latter for a more private audience, and with both demonstrating Cicero’s irrevocable commitment to the principles of libertas, senatorial dignitas, and a balanced constitution, even at the cost of his own life. During this period, Cicero was quite concerned with the topic of morality. As we have seen in Chapter 3, the rector-ideal required the possession of exceptional virtues. These virtues, sapientia, prudentia, and dignitas, facilitated the rector’s ability to correct aberrations in the functioning of the State. These virtues, or rather the lack of them, shaped Cicero’s attacks on Antony in the Philippics. They also served as the watchwords for Cicero’s courtship of the Roman people and the military commanders such as Decimus Brutus and Octavian who would be crucial to defeating Antony. While the philosophical works represent the theory of the rector-ideal, the Philippics, and Cicero’s concurrent actions outside of the Senate, represent the application of the rector-ideal to the real world. Throughout the fourteen speeches Cicero represents Antony as the antithesis of the rector-ideal, while concurrently fashioning his own persona as the embodiment of that ideal. It would be timely to reiterate that I do not believe that Cicero believed the rector-ideal to be an implementable solution for reviving the moribund Republic. With hindsight, we can, of course, see that the rector-ideal failed: Antony emerged bloodied but unbeaten from Cicero’s attacks, Cicero forfeited his life, and the Republic disappeared forever. The important point is that Cicero felt that the adoption of the rector-ideal for himself was the key to defeating Antony and removing the threat of tyranny from the State once and for all. The rector-ideal was practical for Cicero, and for Cicero alone. His political resurgence in 44–43 again brought him the power and influence he had last experienced during his consulship, when he had embodied the Platonic philosopher-­king (Q. fr. 1.1.29).4 Once again his position was supported by

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universal approbation, at least among those who mattered the most. Although he was initially successful in his personal war with Antony, Cicero again became a polarizing figure. The following discussion divides the last year and a half of Cicero’s life into three parts, each of which has as its central theme an explication of how the rector-ideal shaped Cicero’s activities between March 44 and July 43. The first section focuses on three particular works: De Senectute, De Amicitia, and De Officiis. The subjects of these treatises were the most pressing ethical concerns which confronted Cicero in the months following Caesar’s death: could an old man play a role in the new political environment? What role would amicitia play? Which virtues would be most valuable for a statesman? Cicero confronts each of these questions, and in doing so crafts a coherent set of practical ethics which both springs from and expands upon the rector-ideal. The second section focuses on the fourteen Philippics as examples of the practical application of the rector-ideal. These speeches, especially the earlier ones, must be considered companions to the three works discussed in the first section. The Philippics not only share themes and examples with the philosophical works but also demonstrate the application of the rector-ideal to practical politics. If Cicero had appeared indecisive during the civil war, the Philippics as well as the contemporary letters demonstrate to the contrary that he had a firm conviction of purpose in his opposition to Antony. The themes of libertas, dignitas, and amicitia permeate both collections, as do the virtues of prudentia and sapientia, all of which had appeared as the core values of the rector-ideal. Furthermore, Cicero once again relies on the metaphor of the helmsman as the primary representation of the duties of the rector.5 From September 44 until April 43 Cicero enjoyed his greatest success. As the author of public policy through his leadership of the Senate he proved, albeit briefly, that the rector-ideal was a successful political model for him to follow. April, however, brought news of Antony’s resurgence, Octavian’s desertion of the Senate’s cause, and Lepidus’ decision to cast his lot with Antony. The third section of this chapter takes as its starting point the battles of Forum Gallorum and Mutina, and traces the political and military developments during the summer of 43 and down to Cicero’s murder in December. We will see how Cicero maintained a staunch devotion to the rector-ideal even when it became clear to him that he had failed in his quest to destroy Antony and to breathe new life into the Republic. This section provides a postscript both to Cicero’s life and also the rector-ideal as a viable political philosophy.

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I.  Post-Caesarian philosophy: De Senectute, De Amicitia, and De Officiis Despite his jubilation at Caesar’s death, the lack of any coherent strategy by Caesar’s assassins left a bad taste in Cicero’s mouth (Att. 14.10.1). It quickly dawned on him that nothing had actually been accomplished; as he was fond of saying, the tyrant was dead but the tyranny remained.6 He felt there was no place for him in politics, as the ratification of Caesar’s acts had ensured the appointment of Caesarian magistrates for the next two years (Att. 14.6.2). Cicero thus left Rome in early April, determined to spend his time safe and secure at one of his villas; he would not return to the capital until August.7 While he was away, Antony continued to consolidate his power, the young Octavian returned to Italy from his studies in Greece, and Sextus Pompey continued to prepare for war from his base in Spain.8 The political situation was thus much more chaotic than it had been when Cicero last turned to philosophy, as now there were four groups competing for power, not two. As during his other two forced “retirements,” Cicero did not remain idle. He became, as Lintott has called him, a “passionate spectator.”9 He embarked once more on a period of intense composition of philosophical works. Between January and November 44, he completed six more philosophical works which have survived to the modern day—the second book of De Divinatione, De Fato, De Senectute, De Amicitia, Topica, and his magnum opus, De Officiis—and a seventh, De Gloria, which has perished. Cicero had been politically adrift in April, as unsure of his own course as Brutus and Cassius were of theirs (Att. 14.13.2, 14.19.1; cf. Fam. 12.1.2). The only thing he knew for certain was that matters had not improved; in fact, they had gotten worse (Att. 14.1.1). In the early months of Antony’s primacy Cicero made no outward intimations that he wished to stand as the champion of republicanism, commenting that the inevitable conflict between Antony and Caesar’s assassins would be a young man’s game (Att. 14.19.1). He even felt like quitting Italy altogether, preferring a visit to Greece to see his son to remaining in an Italy dominated by Antony’s military autocracy (Att. 14.7.2). While he might have felt unsure of his personal course of action, Cicero had a clear view of the political situation in Rome. He believed that war was inevitable, with some combination of Antony, Octavian, Brutus, and Sextus Pompey dragging Rome into yet another civil war (Att. 14.6.1, 14.13.2, 14.21.3). He felt that Octavian would never be one of the boni, for he was just a boy with too many handlers, though he could prove useful if he could be kept away from Antony’s influence (Att. 14.12.2, 15.12.2). Despite the perceived inevitability of war, as the summer wore on Cicero became

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more and more convinced that he would be able to play a major role in politics once more. His withdrawal can only be described as half-­hearted. As early as 26 April Cicero believed that there were circumstances under which he could be of service to the State (Att. 14.13.4).10 Atticus’ suggestion that Cicero submit to Antony’s primacy was met with a firm refusal, as there were many other options still open and preferable and Cicero desired to be of assistance to Brutus (Att. 15.3.1–2). Relations between Brutus, Cassius, and Antony reached their nadir at the same time, with the exchange of letters and edicts which contained open threats towards each side (Fam. 11.3). The consolation provided by Caesar’s assassination was no longer sufficient; action had to replace complacency (Att. 15.4.2). By August Cicero found the thought of participation in the Senate to be an attractive proposition. On Brutus’ recommendation he abandoned any thoughts of fleeing Italy in favor of a return to Rome and participation in public life (Att. 16.7.1–3, 7). This unstable political situation is reflected in both the purpose and the content of Cicero’s literary program. A major difference between the philosophical works of 45 and those composed after Caesar’s assassination is that the latter group was not written as a way to escape from the unpleasantness of current events (Sen. 1). There are, to be sure, both consolatory and didactic aspects behind their composition. But these works can and should be read as works of political philosophy which provide insight into Cicero’s decision to cast off the guise of retired elder statesman.11 They created the personal and political framework around which Cicero would structure his fight against Antony; literary immortality was merely a happy by-product of their composition (Phil. 2.20). Three of the philosophical treatises are of particular importance to the present argument: De Senectute, De Amicitia, and De Officiis.12 Cicero had three goals in the composition of these works. First, he needed to demonstrate that old men could play a role in the administration of the State, even in the uncertain military-­political circumstances which followed Caesar’s death. Second, he had to repudiate any ties of amicitia with Caesar and, more importantly, with Antony, in order to free himself from any obligations to them. Lastly, Cicero needed to declare and explain his political position vis-à-vis the politics of Antony’s Rome. The first two goals were accomplished primarily through De Senectute and De Amicitia and their thematic relationship to De Re Publica. The last goal was executed in De Officiis, Cicero’s last philosophical work and his most detailed exposition of the virtues of a statesman. I first consider De Senectute and De Amicitia together, since Cicero himself envisioned them as companion pieces (Amic. 4).13 Both works are monothematic

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expositions of practical ethics with an extensive thematic overlap that also demonstrates Cicero’s continued commitment to Academic inquiry. These works are connected not only to each other but also to Cicero’s earlier body of work, specifically De Re Publica. The dramatic setting of the dialogues, the choice of interlocutors, and the recurrence of similar themes which are directly related to the continued importance of the rector-ideal make this group unique among Cicero’s later philosophical writings.14 Cicero’s first goal in the summer of 44 was to determine if a man in his sixties could be a productive, if not leading, man in the Senate. Cicero was by now a senex and one of Rome’s oldest consulars.15 The ruling elite in Rome was a generation removed from Cicero. Despite the importance of the mos maiorum and Cicero’s own education with elder luminaries such as Scaevola and Crassus, Cicero had not dealt with men of his own age in his political philosophy. Scipio, Cicero’s statesman par excellence, never had the chance to become old. He died at the age of 56, the same age as Caesar had been when he was killed. Most of the men who had been described as rectores rei publicae in De Oratore (1.211) had not been as old as Cicero now was. Even Laelius had been younger when he lost Scipio than Cicero was when he was composing De Amicitia. There were a number of reasons why Cicero could have been excused from participation on grounds of age. The four reasons which make old age an unhappy time are all difficulties which Cicero himself had experienced: withdrawal from public life, a weakened body, deprivation of physical pleasures, and proximity to death (Sen. 15). Cato’s argument in De Senectute, however, seeks to recast the tribulations of old age as useful aspects of aging, and consequently to prove that an old man was both able and deserving of a role in Rome’s politics. One of the thornier problems facing the aged Cicero was that military proficiency had taken on an even greater role in the two decades since his consulship than it had possessed during Cicero’s formative years. Military achievements, while useful for political success in the past, now became the primary requirement for a man’s success. Antony, for example, owed his entire political career to the favor he had earned as a loyal Caesarian soldier; so too Hirtius and Pansa, consuls-­elect for the following year. We have seen in Chapter 3 that Cicero did not incorporate military service into the rector-ideal. Military glory was fleeting, and could be achieved by only a select few; moral or political excellence, however, could be achieved by anyone (Sen. 13). Men can only act according to their strengths and their circumstances (Sen. 27). If a man lacked physical strength, he would be foolish to compete with those who possess it; we would not be going too far to suggest that Cicero was thinking of himself and

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Antony here. Scipio and Laelius had made this distinction a key component of their friendship, as each man deferred to the strengths of the other. At the beginning of the conversation in De Re Publica, Laelius is given pride of place at the center of the discussion circle because “Laelius honored Scipio as a god on the battlefield on account of his exemplary success in war while Scipio looked on Laelius like a father because of his age” (Rep. 1.18). In the narrative of De Senectute, Cato, now too old to lead troops himself, proudly describes how he now dictates the conduct of wars by guiding the Senate’s opinions (Sen. 17–18). Old men are ideally suited to their role as advisers and the dictators of public policy. In Cicero’s political philosophy, age and tested wisdom—of both people and customs—was privileged over youth and innovation. The second book of De Legibus, for example, is particularly concerned with demonstrating the value of the mores/exempla maiorum in the construction of a code of law (cf. 2.3, 23, 40, 62). In De Senectute, as part and parcel of his proof that old men could be leaders of the state, Cicero disparages the ability of younger men to be competent leaders. Cicero’s comment that even the greatest States have been overthrown by youths must be a veiled remark on Antony and Dolabella, both now serving as consuls (Sen. 20).16 Cicero notes that temeritas is the hallmark of youth, while prudentia is the domain of elders, thereby emphasizing the disconnect between Cicero’s concept of statesmanship and that of the current ruling class.17 Cicero once more employs the gubernator motif, citing the greater importance of the helmsman’s actions over the brute strength of the rowers (Sen. 17).18 Cicero understood that a return to politics might require the sacrifice of his life for the sake of the Republic. Death itself was no longer a concern—it was even preferable to die a thousand times than to continue to suffer under Antony (Att. 14.9.2)—though he found the thought of dying in battle at his advanced age distasteful (Att. 14.22.2). Death at the peak of one’s abilities and honors was preferable to living for living’s sake (Amic. 11), for what happened after one was gone was hardly a concern for the living (Amic. 43). A large portion of De Senectute (66–84) is devoted to a refutation of death as something to be feared, with a similar refutation found in De Amicitia (88). In both works, Cicero has drawn in large measure from Book 6 of De Re Publica to prove his points. Suicide is once more prohibited, for a man cannot take his life without just cause (Sen. 73; cf. Sen. 77, Rep. 6.15).19 The immortality of the soul, which had been at the center of Scipio’s dream (Rep. 6.14), is repeated with special reference to Scipio’s father and grandfather, who had been his guides during his dream (Sen. 82). In the refutations of death in De Senectute, De Amicitia, and De Re Publica there is a confluence not only of characters but also of circumstance. Each of the

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characters bears the imprint of Cicero’s own character. Cicero repeats the doctrine that only rectores rei publicae are allowed to enjoy the immortality which follows death. Cicero’s acceptance of death thus reveals that he had decided not only to rejoin the ranks of Rome’s statesmen but also to act in a manner which would assure him the posthumous immortality which Scipio, Cato, and Laelius enjoyed; that is, according to the rector-ideal. A death earned through the execution of the rector’s duties and virtues would be a fitting end to the old statesman’s life. Cicero’s second goal in composing his philosophical works in the summer of 44 was the repudiation of amicitia with Caesar and Antony. Amicitia, as is well known, was a major component of social interactions among Rome’s elite. Cicero enjoyed amicitia with Antony, though the two could never be considered “friends” (Fam. 16.23.2).20 Achieving this goal would allow him freedom of action without a repeat of the embarrassing conundrum of the early days of the civil war when Cicero knew whom to fear but not whom to follow. With no political ties to the ruling cabal, Cicero could claim a constancy of action which would help him to create new political bonds with those he felt to be most likely to help him restore the res publica. In Cicero’s dialogue, Laelius’ definition of amicitia is predicated on the agreement in all things, both human and divine. He offers two similar definitions. Amicitia is the “loftiest agreement of desires, pursuits, and opinions” (15; cf. Off. 1.55–6), and, in a more expansive treatment: Est enim amicitia nihil aliud nisi omnium divinarum humanarumque rerum cum benevolentia et caritate consensio; qua quidem haud scio an excepta sapientia nihil melius homini sit a dis immortalibus datum. Amic. 20 For “friendship” is nothing unless it is the agreement of all things, both human and divine, with benevolence and love; for I do not know of anything better, with the exception of wisdom, which has been given to mankind by the immortal gods.

The emphasis on consensio calls to mind the devotion to the consensus omnium bonorum that was discussed in Chapter  2. Furthermore, the officium amici encompasses more than the obligations of one friend to another. It also includes any actions which in a particular circumstance would be expected of a friend.21 The definition of the boni had changed under Caesar and Antony. In Pro Sestio Cicero had defined the “good men” as statesmen, men who were “well-­prepared for domestic affairs” (Sest. 97). In De Amicitia, the “good men” are now those who

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use good faith, integrity, fairness, and generosity in their life and work, and who are free from avarice, passion, and boldness (Amic. 19). As we will see, the change from a primarily political to primarily moral definition is a product of the destruction of the res publica under Caesar and Antony. The change in Cicero’s definition is related to the expansion of his discussion of the statesman’s virtues found in De Officiis. Cicero further tries to specifically disassociate himself from friendship with Antony in De Amicitia by proposing that those who have entered into a shameful association should not consider themselves bound to maintain it (42). We may also be correct in seeing an attempt to recast Cicero’s relationship with Caesar as something other than true friendship. A key part of amicitia is the seeking, giving, and taking of advice (91–2). Advice must be given without flattery or hypocrisy, for flattery, though it does not harm the flatterer, can prove disastrous to one who enjoys it (97). Such friendships as those between flatterer and flatteree are “trifling” (levis, 100). Cicero concludes De Amicitia with an admonition to “honor virtue—without which there cannot be true friendship—as being the most exalted thing in the world outside of friendship” (ita virtutem locetis sine qua amiticita esse potest ut ea excepta nihil amicitia praestabilius putetis, 104). Cicero’s insistence that a friend is a second self (est enim is qui est tamquam alter idem, Amic. 80) perfectly encapsulates his desire to sever all bonds with Antony. In his philosophical works, Cicero is Laelius, Scipio, Crassus, and Cato, at least metaphorically. By both projecting the rector-ideal onto these three men and then re-­projecting that image back onto himself, Cicero aligns himself in the bond of true amicitia only with those who had the best interests of the res publica at heart. The discussion of the two Gracchi could easily be applied to Caesar and Antony, the two dynasts being equated with Tiberius and Gaius Gracchus, respectively. In the dialogue, Laelius emphasizes the need for all Romans to be on guard for destructive influences (Amic. 40–1). The State has swerved from its proper path, mainly because of the successful attempt by Tiberius Gracchus to rule Rome as a king. Caesar had also attained the kingship—a fact which would be central to Cicero’s position in the Philippics—and had likewise prevented the State from functioning properly. The res publica was strictly speaking a res populi; the appearance of a king or a tyrant was incompatible with the type of State Cicero was attempting to restore, and friendship with a tyrant was utterly impossible (Amic. 36–8). There was danger in what Cicero was hoping to accomplish. The breakdown of amicitia could result in the destruction of even the most stable of states (Amic. 23). The war between Pompey and Caesar had been caused in no small measure

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by the failure of the amicitia between the two men. While Antony’s Rome could not rightly be called stable, as several factions were competing politically and militarily on the fringes of public life, there was at the very least a functioning central government based on the authority of the consuls and the Senate. Should others follow Cicero’s lead, there was a risk of further destabilization and a concurrent increase in the likelihood of renewed civil war. From a personal standpoint, without the bonds of amicitia there would be no avenue of reconciliation for Cicero, even in the event that Antony adopted a conciliatory attitude towards either him or the Liberatores. Cicero’s decision to make himself both an inimicus and a hostis to Antony, that is, a private and a public enemy, played no small role in his later decision to marshal the Senate and its forces against Antony. Once Cicero had decided that he did have a viable role to play in Rome’s politics, and that he could not countenance a friendship with Antony, he set about delimiting the ideological parameters of his opposition.22 The third goal of Cicero’s program in the summer of 44 was the creation and explication of the virtues which would be at the foundation of his new political agenda. He had made virtue a major part of De Re Publica and the creation of the rector-ideal. But De Re Publica and De Oratore—which contained in-­depth discussion of the virtues of an orator—had been set in the past, when the mixed constitution had functioned as intended. They predated the civil war, and the devolution of Caesar’s reign into Antony’s tyranny. Cicero needed to recast the virtues of the rector-ideal into a modern setting. This he did in the first two books of De Officiis.23 He took as his foundation much of the vocabulary and many of the themes from his earlier works and placed them into the new format of a letter of advice to his son. While historical exempla would again play a significant role in De Officiis as they had in De Re Publica, Cicero would make much greater use of his contemporaries, especially Pompey and Caesar, to once more declare his adherence to the rector-ideal. In the De Officiis Cicero sought to invalidate the entirety of Caesar’s career by presenting his dictatorship—and, by extension, Antony’s consulship—as the worst government the res publica had seen since the expulsion of Tarquinius Superbus. Whereas we can see in De Re Publica a glimmer of hope that the result of the civil war would not be a tyranny but some other form of just government, the De Officiis manifests the fatalism which Cicero felt towards Caesar’s primacy and Antony’s succession. The months between Cicero’s return to Rome in late August and the completion of De Officiis in early December had proven Cicero correct about both Antony and the State. Brutus and Cassius had begun their

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exodus to their provinces, Antony had savaged Cicero twice in speeches to the Senate (1 September and 19 September), and Octavian had not only feigned a march on Rome but had orchestrated the defection from Antony’s cause of several legions of Caesar’s veterans. A new round of civil war, one that would be caused in large part by Antony’s intransigence, was a virtual certainty. As a consequence of the political developments wrought by Antony, any goodwill Cicero may have felt for Caesar was replaced by invective. Cicero portrays Caesar as a man bent on becoming tyrant and destroying all that the res publica had stood for.24 In the letters written after the Ides, there is also no longer any question as to whether Caesar had become Phalaris or Peisistratus. At no point during Caesar’s life does Cicero call him a tyrannus, but after the Ides Cicero does not hold back, and refers to Caesar in scathing terms.25 Cicero preferred to call Caesar a dominus (e.g. Att. 8.16.2, 14.14.4; Fam. 12.3.2) or tyrannus (e.g. Att. 14.5.2 14.6.2, 14.9.2) instead of using his actual name. Caesar is also described as a rex (Fam. 11.8.1, 11.27.8, 12.1.1) and a homo impurus who had held the State under a long servitude (Fam. 12.1.1–2). To Atticus, Cicero took special care to denigrate Caesar and his legacy (Att. 14.12.1, 14.14.2, 15.20.2). Cicero’s uncompromising description of Caesar as a tyrant is partly related to his disgust at recent political events. Cicero does not hide his revulsion at the primacy of Antony and his followers, who are called “men not so much intent on changing things as completely destroying them” (homines non tam commutandarum quam evertendarum rerum cupidi, Off. 2.3). Twice Cicero mentions that the Republic is gone (Off. 2.3, 2.29), and that he had chosen to leave Rome rather than deal with the scelerati who now run rampant through the city (3.3). The primary method of attack Cicero employed in De Officiis was to comment upon Caesar’s virtues, or more specifically, his lack thereof. The only virtue which Cicero agreed that Caesar had possessed was clementia. This virtue is described as the one most commendable and most worthy of a famous man (Off. 1.88). Yet clementia is absent from the virtues ascribed to the rector-ideal, and, as we saw in the previous chapter, Caesar’s famous clementia was presented not as a virtue but as the condescending act of a tyrant. Cicero’s only mention of clementia in De Officiis comes during a discussion of justice that strongly suggests that Caesar’s clementia had been dispensed for the good of the few, not the many (1.88). Later in the Philippics, Cicero would deny that Caesar possessed even this lone virtue; he merely had a species clementiae (Phil. 2.116; cf. Phil. 5.39).26 As we saw in Chapter 3, the rector-ideal was predicated on a very particular set of skills, skills which were acquired partially at birth, partially over a long career. The twin

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virtues of sapientia and prudentia, so critical for the discussion of the rectorideal in De Re Publica, play a major role in the discussion in Book 1 of De Officiis. Cicero also employs a vocabulary more closely associated with Stoic philosophy, and in De Officiis, he presents himself as proponent of the Stoics (Off. 1.6). There could be no charge of disingenuousness or inconstancy. As a skeptic, Cicero would adopt whichever philosophical precepts best withstood inquiry or trial and error. Each of Cicero’s works, except the Academica, borrowed in some fashion from other schools; the list of Stoic virtues in Off. 1.12, for example, would be equally at home in De Re Publica.27 The two primary moral attributes of the rector, sapientia and prudentia, are placed in the first division of Stoic morality, which is primarily concerned with the discovery of truth (Off. 1.15). Sapientia is the chief of all virtues, encapsulating the “knowledge of divine and human affairs as well as the union of the gods and the community of man” (divinarum et humanarum scientia, in qua continetur deorum et hominum communitas et societas inter ipsos); prudentia, on the other hand, is “the knowledge of what must be sought and what must be avoided” (rerum expetendarum fugiendarumque scientia, Off. 1.153). Those who possess sapientia thereby use their prudentia for the good of mankind (1.156; cf. 1.81, 1.160, 2.17). Sapientia cannot be separated from moral goodness, for wisdom without goodness is cunning (calliditas, 1.63).28 It is found in deeds, not in reputation (1.65). Not surprisingly, prudentia is the possession of old men, who can use their prudentia to augment and correct the inexperience of youth (1.122).29 It is, when combined with “justice” (iustitia), the foundation of “trust” (fides) (2.33–4).30 Fides is impossible in a regnum (1.26), and it is fides which allows a man to act in the manner of a rector, to deal with crises and take corrective action according to the situation at hand.31 It was not enough to simply demonstrate that Caesar had been a tyrant. Cicero takes care to merge Caesar’s tyranny with the most negative aspects of radical democracy. He criticizes Caesar’s ambition, stating unequivocally that the dictator had set out to destroy the res publica and install himself as the font of all law: Nam quidquid eius modi est, in quo non possint plures excellere, in eo fit plerumque tanta contentio ut difficillimum sit servare “sanctam societatem.” Declaravit id modo temeritas C. Caesaris, qui omnia iura divina et humana pervertit propter eum quem sibi ipse opinionis errore finxerat principatum. Est autem in hoc genere molestum,quod in maximis animis splendidissimisque ingeniis plerumque exsistunt honoris imperii potentiae gloriae cupiditates. Off. 1.26

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Whenever there is a situation such that there is no possibility for rule by more than one person, competition for it becomes so great that it is extremely difficult to preserve a “sacred fellowship.” The foolhardiness of Gaius Caesar, who, on account of the sovereign power which he had contrived for himself by his depraved imagination, trampled underfoot all laws of gods and men, declares as much.

Caesar’s temeritas is what allowed him to disregard both human and divine law. This subtly insulting noun was used previously in De Re Publica to indicate the abuse of power by the popular assemblies (Rep. 1.52).32 Cicero further denigrates temeritas as something without which all decisions by a moral person must be made (Off. 1.101). The most damning attacks on temeritas come in the second book, which contains the most explicit destruction of Caesar’s virtues. Temeritas is presented as the furthest extreme from sapientia (Off. 2.8), which of course is a key attribute of the rector-ideal. The depiction of Caesar as tyrant is carried further in the second book than in the first. Caesar is guilty of libido (2.84), a word that Cicero had earlier linked with regal potestas (Rab. Post. 1). Libido is expressed by the conduct of Tarquinius Superbus and his family (Rep. 2.45); Superbus’ inability to control his son had of course led to the dissolution of the monarchy and the evolution of the Roman regnum to a tyranny. The decemvirs and Clodius were also guilty of libido (Rep. 2.63; Leg. 2.36). It is a trait of no one other than a tyrant. Philosophically, libido is subordinate to ratio, and is listed among the other vitiosae partes animi such as anger (Rep. 3.37). Cicero also contrasts libido with salus at Rep. 1.63; salus is the virtue which overrules libido and holds it in check. It seems then that if salus is the opposite of libido, then anyone displaying undue libido would be incapable of providing for the salus of the populus Romanus, which was the prime mandate of the rector (Leg. 3.8, salus populi suprema lex esto). Libido is not even considered a human attribute (Leg. 1.51, quid inmanius libidine?). Caesar’s peccandi libido is referenced prominently at Off. 2.84. In De Senectute, De Amicitia, and De Officiis Cicero set the moral and ethical parameters of his return to politics. He answered the critics who felt that an old man could not or should not participate in politics. He freed himself from bonds of friendship or obligation with the Caesarians, thus clearing a path for open resistance without opening himself up to charges of hypocrisy.33 Lastly, he updated the rector-ideal to better fit the current political circumstances. Cicero did not make any substantive changes to his personal code, rather he took advantage of his last period of forced retirement to flesh out the moral

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underpinnings behind the qualifications and duties of the rector rei publicae. In doing so, he made clear the position he would adopt against Antony. There could be no doubt after the completion of De Officiis that Cicero was ready to engage in a nasty fight with Antony. Antony is grouped with Caesar, Clodius, and Catiline among those whose immanitas had torn the Republic down to its very foundation (Off. 1.57). Cicero stressed the need for each person to honestly assess their own character and abilities and not act the part of someone else (Off. 1.114). His intentions became clear with the threat that “the fangs of a liberty regained are sharper than those of a liberty never repressed” (acriores autem morsus sunt intermissae libertatis quam retentae, Off. 2.24). Cicero, through his actions over the six months between his return to Rome and the battle of Mutina, would sink his fangs deeply into Antony and the Caesarians.

II.  Cicero as rector: the Philippics and the fight against Antony Once Cicero had composed his philosophical testament, he was ready to take part once more in political affairs. What did he hope to achieve by becoming Antony’s most outspoken opponent? In a nutshell, he hoped to eliminate all vestiges of Caesar’s usurpation of the res publica, by politics if possible, by force if necessary. The key was to remove Antony by exile or death. Cicero recognized that the repeal of all of Caesar’s legislation—even the forged acts put forth after the dictator’s death—was impractical, for the alternative was continuation or even worsening of civil unrest (Phil. 1.16). Elimination of Antony would, in Cicero’s view, restore the Senate to its traditional role. The Senate, once reestablished, would be guided by Cicero and his renewed, and now greater, auctoritas and dignitas. Now, however, he looked only inward for inspiration and execution of his plans where once he had looked outward for someone to live up to the rector-ideal. Pompey, who had possessed the personal virtues necessary to do so, had failed. Caesar, who had possessed the auctoritas and strength of will necessary to do so, had also failed. Antony, whom Cicero had always despised, was never considered a viable option. Brutus and Cassius had proven to be major disappointments; Caesar’s assassination had been carried out “with the vigor of men but the forethought of a child” (Att. 14.21.3; cf. 15.4.2). The suffect consul Dolabella, despite the praise heaped on him by Cicero for his suppression of riots and the destruction of Caesar’s honorific pillar, was the same profligate dandy who had divorced Cicero’s daughter.34 Octavian, in whom Cicero would place so much trust in the early months of 43, was only nineteen years old, a

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mere puer, as Cicero was fond of saying, with no demonstrable assets except his inheritance under Caesar’s will. Cicero could no longer count on anyone else to possess both the personal virtues and the will to do what was necessary. Out of options but sensing an opportunity, Cicero finally took it upon himself to live up to his own ideal and insert himself into the center of the final fight for the Republic. There was ample opportunity for him to do so. Rome lacked a political leader. Antony ruled by force of arms, shielded by Caesar’s acts and his position as Caesar’s hand-­picked consular colleague. The boni, in whom Cicero had placed such hope in the 50s, were now leaderless, with those who would lead them either away from Rome or not yet installed in their magistracies. Cicero recognized the power vacuum, and declared himself ready to step in and assume the mantle of leadership which he had to this point refused (Fam. 12.22.2).35 When Cicero returned to Rome on 9 December, his die was cast. The rector-ideal would become the primary method for Cicero to achieve his aims. The Philippics naturally hold the most prominent position in any discussion of Cicero’s relationship with Antony. The fourteen speeches provide a continuous record of Cicero’s opposition to Antony from September 44 until April 43.36 As Stevenson has rightly pointed out, the Philippics can best be understood as a series dominated by ideology and Cicero’s own experiences.37 The ideal combination of philosophical expertise with political experience which Cicero had extolled in De Re Publica (1.13) and De Legibus (3.14) produces practical fruit in the Philippics. Cicero returns not only to well-­worn rhetorical devices and strategies of invective but also to his writings on political philosophy.38 Within these speeches Cicero sets out, as he had in De Officiis with Caesar, to craft a depiction of Antony that makes him the antithesis of the rector-ideal. If Cicero was going to marshal the full support of the Senate, he would need to convince them that Antony was a tyrant and thereby as deserving of removal as Caesar had been. One method which Cicero employs to do this is to once again frame the entirety of Caesar’s career as that of a tyrannus. The Philippics thus become “a contribution to an ongoing negotiation of monarchic power in Rome.”39 In Cicero’s depiction of Caesar, rex, an odious enough term even when the Republic was functioning properly, becomes conflated with tyrannus. Cicero uses the terms interchangeably in both the Philippics and his contemporary correspondence.40 Caesar’s tyranny receives similar treatment in the Tusculanae, De Officiis, and Philippic 2, further strengthening Cicero’s opposition as moral and philosophical as well as political.41 Caesar is often cast as a rex because it was necessary, for Cicero’s purposes, that he be clearly identified as an enemy of the Republic (Phil. 2.80, 108). The action taken by the Liberatores would be worse

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than parricide if Caesar had not been a king and tyrant, for they would have been guilty of murdering the father of the fatherland (Fam. 12.3.1; Phil. 2.31). But as part of his strategy to further denigrate Antony, Cicero now grudgingly admits that Caesar had virtues; he includes among them ingenium, ratio, memoria, cogitatio, and diligentia (Phil. 2.116). None of Caesar’s virtues, however, not even his clementia, were those of the rector-ideal.42 Antony, who had received only peripheral mention in De Officiis, had to be cast as a tyrant in the Philippics in order to stand in contrast to Cicero, who presented himself in these speeches as Rome’s sole hope for freedom from tyranny. In order to effectively combat the activity of Antony’s supporters, while simultaneously casting Antony as a tyrant, Cicero adopts a bullying persona.43 The creation of a tyrannical Antony naturally induces a comparison with the creator of the persona. Cicero thus becomes a foil for Antony, exhibiting—or at least valuing—all the traits which Antony does not possess. Cicero resurrects his own persona as pater patriae, the honorific bestowed on him for his prosecution of the Catilinarian conspiracy, as a way to supersede Antony’s authority. After all, the only two Romans in living memory to be titled pater/parens patriae were Cicero and Caesar. Cicero could thus argue from a position of popular if not moral superiority.44 Tyranny is once more presented as an unstable form of government (Phil. 8.12), and Antony is portrayed as the source of the instablity now affecting the State. Cicero’s political philosophy had always revolved around diametric oppositions: slavery and freedom, tyranny and the res publica, that which is just and that which is unjust. The rector was just the sort of political construct to oppose Antony, given that the duty of the rector was to restore balance. Antony had perverted the role of adviser to his more powerful colleague, Caesar. Cicero mockingly calls Antony another Laelius (Phil. 2.83). Antony has also perverted the traditional role of the priesthood, as he has become not an instrument of stability in the State but rather the sacerdoes tyranni (Phil. 2.110). In a further perversion of the role of the rector rei publicae, Antony urged Caesar to become the auctor regni instead of the auctor publici consili (Phil. 2.85); Antony’s actions during the Lupercalia left no doubt about his desire to see Caesar assume the mantle of a monarch. The perversion of the role of adviser is further illustrated by Antony’s abolition of the dictatorship, which placed “eternal disgrace” (ignominia sempiterna) on Caesar and his memory (Phil. 1.32). If Antony viewed Caesar as the holder of extra-­constitutional authority, then he had undermined his own legitimacy as the heir to Caesar’s position. In comparison with Antony, even Tarquinius, long the epitome of Cicero’s concept of the tyrant, becomes a benefactor of Rome (Phil. 3.9–11). Worse still,

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Antony has brought with him into the city a cadre of armed men (Phil. 5.17). Neither the kings nor those who had aspired to the kingship—for example, Spurius Cassius, Marcus Manlius, and Spurius Maelius—had ever been accompanied by a bodyguard. The contrast between Antony and Tarquinius is made more explicit by a comparison between their actions at Suessa Pometia and Suessa Aurunca. In De Re Publica (2.44) Tarquinius is praised for using the booty from the sack of Suessa Pometia to rebuild the Capitol in Rome. The city most likely survived Tarquinius’ victory, as it is the place where the sons of Ancus Marcius went into exile (Liv. 1.41). It was strong enough to revolt against the Romans in 503, and it was again plundered and sacked by Sp. Cassius (Liv. 2.25). After this, the town fades from history.45 But the positive results of Tarquinius’ actions at Suessa are negated by the actions of Sp. Cassius, who, of course, was assassinated for desiring the kingship. Antony, too, achieved notoriety for his actions at a town named Suessa, in this case Suessa Aurunca in Campania.46 Three times Cicero mentions Antony’s slaughter of citizens and soldiers there (Phil. 3.10, 4.4, 13.18). In the first occurrence, Cicero contrasts the mercy of Tarquinius with Antony’s savagery; in the second, the slaughter of citizens is presented as the behavior of a tyrant; in the third, the massacre is presented as the ultimate expression of Antony’s tyranny. Antony’s willingness to slaughter citizens, which surely would have called to mind Caesar’s fifth triumph, highlighted his amoral nature. Cicero’s moral superiority in the Philippics is buttressed by the fact that Antony is presented as a man who possesses no virtues at all aside from cruelty, drunkenness, and hypersexuality. Even more damning is that Cicero places hope for the beleaguered Republic in a number of Antony’s contemporaries who are credited with the possession of all the virtues which Antony lacks (Phil. 2.25–7). The consuls Hirtius and Pansa, in whom Cicero placed so much hope, were presented as capable of supporting the forces of Octavian, Decimus Brutus, and Lucius Egnatuleius with three virtues: prudentia, virtus, and concordia (Phil. 3.36).47 Pansa is further credited with virtues similar to Octavian’s—magnitudo animi, gravitas, and sapientia (Phil. 7.7). Pansa possessed great intelligence, but Cicero, as the auctor publici consili, was required to advise him; even the greatest helmsmen, according to Cicero, were accustomed to receive advice from their passengers during powerful storms (Phil. 7.27). Lepidus is also construed as embodying many of the elements of the rector-ideal. Cicero calls for the Senate to put their hope for otium, pax, concordia, and libertas in Lepidus’ virtues (Phil. 5.41). But the two most virtuous men, Brutus and Cassius, had earned that position by having taken decisive, independent action on behalf of the res publica in assassinating Caesar. While what they had done may have run afoul of human

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law, it had been done according to the laws of reason and nature and the rectorideal.48 When opposing a tyrant, the ends truly justify the means. But Brutus and Cassius had failed because they did not act with sufficient ruthlessness in their attempt to extirpate the nascent tyranny. By refusing to allow the death of Antony as a necessary component of the removal of Caesar, the Liberatores were guilty of excessive moderatio and insufficient prudentia.49 The man they let live was anything but moderatus, as Cicero savagely points out in the Philippic 2.50 His lack of moderation, particularly with drink, left him incapable of prudentia (Phil. 2.81). The only virtutes to be found in Antony were libido, crudelitas, petulantia, and audacia (Phil. 3.28), with levitas, furor, and vinolentia coming to the fore as his situation became more and more desperate (Phil. 6.4). Cicero was successful in assassinating Antony’s character. But he could not remove him on his own. He would need the authority of the Senate and the goodwill of the commanders in the field. Thus, Cicero also had to present himself as the viable alternative, one who could achieve the goal of restoring the res publica. Throughout the Philippics, Cicero presents himself as the consummate patriot, the one man who had seen the truth behind the Caesarians’ goals and the one man who could effectively guide the ship of State through this latest and greatest storm, engaging in what Wooten has called “the rhetoric of crisis.”51 Cicero was able to bring all rhetorical weapons to bear on Antony, as a crisis requires swift action for resolution. Hyperbole, exaggeration, fear-­mongering, and emotives are all employed to rouse the Senate into military conflict with Antony. Cicero hammers away with the repetition of key terms, most of which, as I demonstrate, are taken from the vocabulary of the rector-ideal. The result of his invectives is the creation of a body of work that found wide acceptance and simultaneously strengthened his vision of himself as rector. Cicero felt that he was the most qualified to be the auctor publici consili. His oratory again became a valuable weapon for the defense of the State, as open debate was once more a part of Senate meetings. Cicero had faced a difficult task in uniting the Senate. The Senate could in no way be considered a homogeneous body. The roll was composed of Pompeians, Caesarians, Liberatores, and a significant number of uncommitted backbenchers. Yet, for approximately five months, Cicero succeeded in unifying this motley crew, exerting enormous influence through his oratory and auctoritas. Even Antony grudgingly admitted Cicero’s achievement (Phil. 13.30). Those whom Cicero termed the conservatores rei publicae—especially Marcus and Decimus Brutus, Cassius, Octavian, and Lucius Egnatuleius—were away from Rome, opposing Antony in Italy, Gaul, and the East.

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Cicero successfully made himself the leader of the Senate. As the virtual ruler of Rome following Antony’s flight, he was in a position to bring the boni back into consensus.52 Universal support was certainly lacking, but Cicero’s sentiments met with approval from the Liberatores—Cassius in particular was fond of the first speech against Antony (Fam. 12.2.1), while Brutus commented favorably on the fifth and seventh speeches (ad Brut. 2.3.3). An important aspect of Cicero’s new-­found primacy is that he managed to influence policy and strategy despite holding no official position within the government.53 While Cicero spent an enormous amount of time in crafting his depiction of Antony, no less care was taken in his self-­presentation. He adopted a number of honorary titles for himself, all of which reflected in some way the rector-ideal. He once more found himself in the position of auctor publici consili.54 The acme of his restored political fortunes came on 20 December, when he delivered Philippic 3—he would later write to Cornificius that this was the date when he had offered himself to the Senate and people as their princeps (Fam. 12.24.2). The Senate accepted Cicero’s proposal opposing the assignment of replacements for provincial governors, a result to which Cicero made numerous references over the following six months.55 The majority of this speech was devoted to a glowing panegyric of Antony’s enemies: D. Brutus, Octavian, the citizens of Transalpine Gaul, and the two legions who had refused to obey Antony’s orders. By sheer strength of will, Cicero claims, he restored to the moribund Senate its old fervor (Fam. 10.28.2). It was Philippic 3 which set Cicero irrevocably against Antony (Phil. 4.1; Fam. 12.25.2). He inserts himself among those who fight for the Republic by claiming the title of defensor conservatorque libertatis (Phil. 3.28). The dénouement of the peroration of Philippic 2 contains Cicero’s defiant statement of opposition to Antony and his agenda: “I defended the Republic when I was a young man, and I shall not abandon it now that I am old” (Phil. 2.118). From the very beginning of his conflict with Antony, Cicero declares his acceptance of death as the price he may need to pay for the libertas of the Roman people (Fam. 10.1).56 His profession of dedication to the freedom of the populus enabled Cicero to add the unity of the people to the unity of the Senate to create an important political weapon in the fight against Antony. The inclusiveness which was the hallmark of the concordia ordinum is brought to the fore in Cicero’s conflation of himself with the res publica. The inclusivity of Pro Marcello is abandoned for the same union of all good men espoused with great detail in Pro Sestio and De Re Publica.57 The populares are on the receiving end of Cicero’s abuse in the ninth speech (9.4). Cicero also returns to the cum dignitate motif of the mid-50s. He

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implores the Senate to die with dignitas rather than to live with the indignity of slavery (ut cum dignitate potius cadamus quam cum ignominia serviamus, Phil. 3.35). Cicero claims that he had subsumed his own dignitas for the greater good of the Republic—Pompey, on the other hand, had been only concerned with his own majesty (Phil. 2.38). The repetition of dignitas in the speeches to the Senate, and of libertas in the speeches to the people, are especially prominent. Freedom forms the foundation of much of what Cicero tells the crowd in his contiones. The first speech to the people, Philippic 4, eschews a long, flattering introduction in favor of the immediate casting of Cicero as the “leader of the defense of freedom” (princeps vestrae libertatis defendendae, Phil. 4.1). Even though the Senate voted to send an embassy to Antony rather than adopt Cicero’s more militant proposal, Cicero nevertheless recasts his disappointment into hope for the restoration of freedom. At the contio called by the tribune P. Apuleius on 4 January, Cicero praised the foundations of a restored Republic which had been put into place by the Senate (Phil. 6.1–2). These foundations reestablished the libertas of both Senate and people. Once more Cicero had taken the will of the people—as expressed by their reaction to the Philippic 4 on 20 December—and used it to influence his own actions and those of the Senate. The concept of libertas plays a much more explicit role in the Philippics than it does in either De Re Publica or De Officiis.58 The threat of tyranny was even more pronounced in the summer of 44 than it had been in 52 or even in 49. Antony did abolish the office of dictator (Phil. 1.3, 32), though even this praiseworthy action is left aside after the delivery of the fourth speech.59 In the Philippics, Cicero uses libertas to designate the proper state of the constitution. He presents two possible alternative statuses for the State: freedom or tyranny. There is no longer the possibility of benevolent monarchy or a moral aristocracy. Either Antony and his tyrannical aspirations will triumph, or the Roman people will avoid slavery and continue to enjoy the personal and political prerogatives which were integral to the ancestral constitution. Cicero goes further in the Philippics than he does in De Re Publica by eliminating the distinction between the freedom of the people and the existence of the State. Those who fight for libertas—especially Brutus, Cassius, and their allies—are christened as the defenders of res publica itself (Phil. 2.27, 34, 118–19; 5.38; 10.23). In the ideological battle against Antony, libertas becomes the key to preserving all of the traditional republican virtues, including otium, pax, and concordia (Phil. 5.41; 8.8; 11.36).60 The libertas of the people, and even their dignitas, is dependent on Antony’s death or submission to the Senate’s demands (Phil. 3.19). Furthermore, Cicero continually reiterates that the people’s libertas is

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linked to the dignitas of the Senate. In fact, preserving the libertas of the populus Romanus is the charge of the entire Senate (Phil. 7.27). The people’s libertas and Senate’s dignitas are the two goals to which Cicero will devote the rest of his days (Phil. 3.33; cf. 4.12, 5.34). Cicero was thinking also of the importance of the kairos in the assumption of the rector-ideal. He recognized the kairos at every turn, or so he wrote to Brutus in the early part of 43. This letter, appropriately addressed to a fellow philosopher, contains an explicit statement of the importance of the rector-ideal to Cicero’s activities in 44–43: omnia, Brute, praestiti rei publicae quae praestare debuit is qui esset eo in quo ego sum gradu senatus populique iudicio conlocatus, nec illa modo quae nimirum sola ab homine sunt postulanda, fidem, vigilantiam, patriae caritatem. ea sunt enim quae nemo est qui non praestare debeat. ego autem ei qui sententiam dicat in principibus de re publica puto etiam prudentiam esse praestandam nec me, cum mihi tantum sumpserim ut gubernacula rei publicae prehenderem, minus putarim reprehendendum si inutiliter aliquid senatui suaserim quam si infideliter. ad Brut. 2.1.2 Brutus, I have done everything for the res publica which one who has been placed in my position by the judgment of the Senate and the people together ought to do, without a doubt not only those things which are demanded from a man—faithfulness, vigilance, and affection for the fatherland, for these are the things which everyone has the duty to provide. I also think that prudentia must be demanded from anyone who speaks among the leaders of the res publica. Since I have endeavored to take up the helm of the state, I would not consider myself less at fault if any advice which I gave to the Senate proved useless than if I were deceitful.

As Cicero brings his confirmatio to a close in the second Philippic, he returns to the language of the rector-ideal. He was willing to make corrections to the rectorideal when it was necessary for achieving his goals, though he never strayed far from his original conception of it. In a striking reversal of his thoughts from early 49, Cicero now claimed that the res publica was not tied inextricably to the city of Rome: Habet populus Romanus ad quos gubernacula rei publicae deferat: qui ubicumque terrarum sunt, ibi omne est rei publicae praesidium vel potius ipsa res publica, quae se adhuc tantum modo ulta est, nondum recuperavit.

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Habet quidem certe res publica adulescentis nobilissimos paratos defensores. Quam volent illi cedant otio consulentes; tamen a re publica revocabuntur. Phil. 2.113 The Roman people has men to whom it can entrust the rudder of the ship of state: wherever they are, there will be the security of the Republic, or, as it seems, the Republic itself, which has up to now only taken revenge, but has not yet recovered itself. Undoubtedly the Republic has defenders on guard, the most noble flower of our youth. Let them go where they will out of consideration for the public weal; the Republic will call for them when they are needed.

Wherever there are men who are capable of handling the rudder of the ship of State, there shall be the Republic; Cicero may have had Brutus, who was at the time in Crete, in mind in this passage. Antony is the worst type of helmsman, one who has led the res publica onto the rocks instead of into the harbor (omnia te gubernante naufragia metuebam, Phil. 2.92). While consulars have an obligation to serve the State, even after their term of office has expired, Rome’s principes have failed in their duties, and Cicero refuses to recognize them as consulars (Fam. 12.2.3 12.4.1).61 They have failed to disassociate themselves from the impious citizens who are promoting Antony’s cause; failed to offer themselves as auctor, princeps, and dux of the Senate and people; and they do not realize that peace is only achieved when war and the fear of slavery have been expelled from the res publica (Fam. 10.6.3). Cicero complained about being hamstrung in his efforts by the reticence of the consulars to take action. Pansa, too, was an obstacle, as he had successfully opposed Cicero’s motion that Cassius be entrusted with the defeat of Dolabella (Phil. 11.29–31; Fam. 12.7.1).Yet there is no dearth of men deserving of the title consularis—anyone who makes the proper judgments concerning the State is a consular (Phil. 8.22). The honors and concurrent legitimacy bestowed upon key figures, in particular Octavian and Lepidus, was a further attempt to mobilize the existing political machinery.62 In the Philippics, legitimacy is not secured through legal sanction or the holding of a magistracy. Rather, it is determined solely by intent and action, and “approval of services rendered to the res publica.”63 In a letter to Decimus Brutus in mid-December 44 (Fam. 11.7), Cicero implores Brutus to act on his own, without waiting for the Senate to send him direct orders. The orders of an enslaved Senate are of little value when the libertas et salus populi Romani is under attack. Unilateral action which protects the State will carry with it retroactive approval, for the will of the Senate is what really matters. Cicero ends

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the letter by encouraging Brutus to continue to oppose Antony, with or without explicit orders from Rome. The use of the Senate as the primary weapon to defeat Antony reflects Cicero’s pragmatism. Everything that Cicero has himself achieved has been through the existing mechanisms of the republican constitution (Phil. 7.8–9). But where his oratory had facilitated his rise to the consulship, and had given him great success in the courts, he recognized that there was no longer any hope that oratory would be useful, as fighting weapons with words was an unequal battle (Fam. 12.22). Cicero placed so much on the forces of those loyal to the Senate because he never envisioned the rector as having any sort of military command. His assessment of the military situation in the autumn of 44 likely played a large role in his decision to remain neutral.64 As the auctor publici consili, the rector would be able to dictate the use of force when sanctioned by the Senate. But he would not, like Marius, Sulla, Pompey, and Caesar, personally lead troops into battle. The lack of any military responsibilities sets the rector in contrast to both the ancestral form of the dictatorship and the type that had been embodied in Caesar and now Antony. More importantly, Cicero, if he were to uphold the rector-ideal, needed to mobilize the existing structures of government. As consul he had not arrested the Catilinarian conspirators until he was under the aegis of the senatusconsultum ultimum, and he could with no small measure of truth claim that he had always acted in concert with the wishes of the Senate (Phil. 2.11). The Senate must exercise its auctoritas, for such is the nature of the mixtum genus. Even if the Senate is not the originator of a course of action, it must give its assent to maintain at least the appearance of a functioning Republic. Thus Cicero sought senatorial approval for Octavian’s actions and the independent actions of the Fourth and Martian legions (Phil. 3.7). By bringing the authority of the Senate to bear against Antony, Cicero reinstated one of the most important features of the mixed constitution. In doing so he not only restored, albeit temporarily, the balance inherent in the mixed constitution but also exhibited the traits of the rector-ideal. For six months in the winter of 44 and the spring of 43, Cicero brought into practical politics the ideal which he had crafted as his personal code in the 50s. His opposition to Antony in the Philippics relied on his ability to motivate successfully both the Senate and the people in accordance with his philosophical precepts. The rectorideal at last bore practical fruit. Unfortunately for Cicero, its application would also result in his death and the final extinction of the mixed constitution he had fought to defend.

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III.  The death of the rector-ideal As the leader of the Senate, Cicero marshaled the military forces under the command of Decimus Brutus and Octavian to inflict two major defeats on Antony at Forum Gallorum and Mutina, though at the cost of the lives of the consuls Hirtius and Pansa. News of the victories confirmed Cicero’s position as the princeps of the state. On 20 April, Cicero received what he called the greatest reward for his labors and his vigilance on behalf of the Republic (ad Brut. 1.3.2). A huge crowd met him at his house and escorted him to the Forum, where he triumphantly ascended the Rostra. He was moved by this demonstration of thanks, for it represented once more that the consensus omnium bonorum had once again been achieved through his actions. He could celebrate his greatest success when the Senate declared Antony a public enemy shortly after the results of the battles became known (ad Brut. 1.3.4; cf. Fam. 10.21.4). These results, however, lessened neither Cicero’s anxiety nor his desire to continue as the leader of the Senate. Decimus Brutus urged him to bring the full measure of his auctoritas and prudentia to bear to ensure that the deaths of Hirtius and Pansa did not result in the Antonians returning to power (Fam. 11.9.1; cf. 11.11.2). Cassius, too, wished to see Cicero take an even greater role—a military one, if necessary—in the promotion of the senatorial cause (Fam. 12.12.4). Cicero’s vaunted prudentia failed him, however, in Mutina’s wake. In particular, we may find fault with him for not recognizing the threats to the Republic posed by Octavian and Lepidus. Cicero certainly had high hopes that Octavian would be a loyal partisan of the Senate (Fam. 10.28.3). He felt that Octavian, who had not yet reached his twentieth birthday and had never held office, could be seduced into serving the Senate’s wishes by the promise of laus and gloria (Fam. 12.23.2).65 Cicero was open about the fact that he was using the young Caesar for his own advantage. He wrote to Brutus in mid-April 43 that, despite Octavian’s position of power—he had been granted propraetorian imperium at Cicero’s instigation on 1 January and was in command of a large part of the senatorial forces—he hoped he would be able to continue to control Octavian “as easily as I have done thus far” (utinam tam facile eum florentem et honoribus et gratia regere ac tenere possimus quam facile adhuc tenuimus, ad Brut. 1.3.1). The pledge given to the Senate on 1 January 43 that Octavian would always remain a citizen loyal to the Senate and the Republic would not hold beyond that summer. Octavian, though untested in battle, had refused to follow Decimus Brutus’ exhortations after Mutina to cross the Apennines, an act which Brutus claimed had allowed Antony to escape destruction (Fam. 11.10.3).66 Cicero received

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word that Octavian had taken umbrage at Cicero’s remark that “the youth must be praised, decorated with honors, and then pushed aside” (laudandum, ornandum, tollendum, Fam. 11.20.2). Brutus, for his part, did not believe that Octavian would dare turn against the Senate, despite Octavian’s ominous refusal to send back to Brutus one of Pansa’s legions, which had been loaned to him. The deaths of Hirtius and Pansa, who had gone on campaign in no small part because of Cicero’s influence, created the same sort of power vacuum which had enabled Antony to assume control after Caesar’s assassination. Less than a month after the battles of Forum Gallorum and Mutina, Decimus Brutus wrote to Cicero about the confusion in Rome. Suffect consuls would not be appointed until 19 August, when Octavian and Quintus Pedius were elected after marching on Rome with their armies. By mid-May, however, Brutus had changed his mind, and expressed his misgivings about Octavian to Cicero. He felt Octavian to be too young to aspire to the consulship, and he admitted to Cicero that he was in fear of the young Caesar (ad Brut. 1.4a.3). The comments by Appian (BC 3.82), Dio (46.42), and Plutarch (Cic. 45) that Cicero used his influence to help Octavian gain the consulship must be rejected; by this point Cicero recognized that Octavian had been lost to the Senate’s cause (ad Brut. 1.18). It was not until 27 July, however, that he admitted that he too had been wrong about Octavian (ad Brut. 1.18.3). Lepidus, too, proved inscrutable to Cicero. Cicero’s belief in Lepidus’ loyalty was likely driven by necessity, not genuine friendship or conviction. Simply put, Lepidus controlled an army in a strategically valuable location. He could, if he cast his lot with the Senate, provide the anvil upon which Antony would be ultimately crushed by the hammer of the combined forces of Decimus Brutus and Octavian. Cicero felt Lepidus to be one of the independent commanders who needed special coddling, particularly since Cicero was aware of possible Antonian sympathies as early as March 43. Cicero advised Lepidus that if he envisioned a future with Antony wielding autocratic power, the boni would fight to the death against it (Fam. 10.27.1–2). Lepidus in turn replied in mid-May that he would keep Cicero well-­informed of his activities, all of which would be in accordance with the wishes of the Senate and the needs of the res publica (Fam. 10.34.2); Cicero apparently believed him (Fam. 11.18.2). Despite the honors voted him at Cicero’s instigation, Lepidus nevertheless provided shelter for Antony, and on 29 May the two Caesarian partisans formed a united front against Decimus Brutus and the Senate. By 9 June, Lepidus had been lost for good (Fam. 12.8), and Cicero noted that he was now more hated than Antony had ever been (Fam. 12.10.4).

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The flurry of letters written between 14 April and 27 July reveal Cicero’s increasing uneasiness over the direction of the war. Despite Antony’s apparently dire circumstances, Cicero recognized that the danger had not yet passed (Fam. 12.25a.2). Octavian was sending mixed signals about his desire to continue obeying the Senate, and Lepidus was proving himself as enigmatic as Octavian. Cicero nevertheless declared himself ready to continue his crusade to destroy Antony by stating that he would “be afraid of nothing and wary of everything” (Fam. 11.21.4). In Philippic 14, delivered in late April, Cicero took little notice of political realities, focusing instead on effusive praise of the victors at Forum Gallorum and Mutina, though he was aware that matters were much more complicated than he hoped them to be. His comment to Decimus Brutus in a letter written in Rome on 19 May indicates that Cicero felt the situation slipping out of his control. Whereas he had earlier decried the lack of any effective leaders among the senators, he now believed that the Senate was brave, and had valiant leaders (Fam. 11.18.1). Soon, it seemed, Cicero would no longer be needed as the Senate began to reassert its authority. His prominent role had inspired others whom he does not name to put away their trepidation. Marcus Brutus seems to have believed that Cicero was no longer sufficiently invested in prosecuting the war, or that his judgment was clouded by recent success. In a letter sent shortly before the alliance between Lepidus and Antony was made public, Brutus laid the successful outcome of the war squarely on Cicero’s shoulders (ad Brut. 1.4a.2; cf. ad Brut. 1.17). Brutus’ intractable adherence to Stoicism naturally placed him in philosophical opposition to the skeptical Cicero. Brutus despised Cicero’s liberality with the dispensation of honors for those who remained loyal to his cause. As an “unbending legalist,” in Mitchell’s term, Brutus remained committed to observing the laws, both written and unwritten, upon which the Republic was founded.67 Cicero, on the other hand, was frustrated by Brutus’ inability to subsume his philosophical beliefs for the greater good of the res publica. Cicero was committed to a defense of the Republic, but for him, the ends certainly justified the means. Despite Cicero’s pleas for a swift return to Italy, Brutus remained in the East. With Brutus and Cassius absent, Decimus Brutus weakened, and Octavian no longer trustworthy, Cicero turned to Lucius Mutatius Plancus as the last and best hope for defeating Antony. With the situation slipping out of Cicero’s control, it is not surprising that Plancus figured in his plans. The younger man had long been joined to Cicero through the amicitia Cicero had shared with Plancus’ father, and Plancus was known to support the Republican cause (Fam. 10.8, 10.9.3). Unfortunately

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for Cicero, Plancus would prove to be no more useful than Octavian in securing the Senate’s victory over Antony. A smattering of letters down to July 43 has survived (ad Brut. 1.18; Fam. 10.24 to Plancus), but the correspondence with Atticus breaks off in November 44. Thus, for the last four months of Cicero’s life, there is no first-­hand account of his activities. Later historians, especially Plutarch, Appian, and Cassius Dio, have filled in many of the blanks, though there is assuredly some historical revisionism in their accounts. Their works reveal a Cicero who remained true to his ideals even until the bitter end, despite finding himself once again on the losing side of a civil war. He was aware that he was coming to the end of his life; what remained would be devoted to his duties as a senator and a consular (Phil. 1.39; Fam. 9.24.4). His convictions were badly shaken by the events in May. On 7 June he penned a morose letter to Decimus Brutus in which he admitted that he was “a spent force” (plane iam, Brute, frigeo, Fam. 11.14.1). Cornificius’ requests for money to continue his military operations were glumly refused (Fam. 12.30.4). Decimus Brutus, now in command of the last senatorial forces in Italy, becomes the best hope of victory, as the Liberatores’ arrival from the East was not assured (Fam. 11.25; cf. Att. 14.13.2). Cicero recognized too late the true state of affairs. He lamented to Marcus Brutus in the middle of June that the union between Lepidus and Antony and Octavian’s maneuvering for the consulship signaled the death knell of the Republic: illudimur enim, Brute, tum militum deliciis, tum imperatorum insolentia. tantum quisque se in re publica posse postulat quantum habet virium. non ratio, non modus, non lex, non mos, non officium valet, non iudicium, non existimatio civium, non posteritatis verecundia. ad Brut. 1.10.3 We are being played, Brutus, by the vagaries of soldiers and the arrogance of generals. Each man demands as much political power as he has military forces; no longer do reason, due measure, law, custom, and duty have a place, nor do sound judgment, the opinion of the people, nor the disapproval of our descendants.

The end came quickly. In early August, Octavian marched on Rome, and was rewarded with the suffect consulship; Cicero showed his displeasure by being one of the last senators to greet the young Caesar (App. BC 3.92). The decree making Antony a public enemy was repealed (App. BC 3.96), and Cicero was given a release from attending the Senate (Ep. fr. 23B = Non. 702L). In late November Octavian, Antony, and Lepidus had themselves appointed triumvirs

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for the restoration of the Republic. Proscription lists were drawn up, and Cicero, his brother, and his nephew found themselves sentenced to death. Cicero chose not to flee, and met his death fearlessly near his villa at Caieta on 7 December 43. With Cicero perished both the rector-ideal and the Republic which the ideal was supposed to save. Cicero’s death came at the end of the most intense period of personal and public activity of his life. His third period of philosophical composition was followed immediately by a return to the center of Roman politics. During the last two years of his life he composed what is arguably his most influential philosophical work, the De Officiis, and, for a brief period, held the rudder of the ship of State in a firm grasp, a remarkable feat for someone who had been pushed to the sidelines for nearly a decade. Cicero’s execution by the triumvirs should in no way diminish his philosophical and political accomplishments. Though he did not hold the power of the State as tightly as Caesar or Antony had, his influence on the events of 44–43 cannot be discounted. Nor can his failure to secure the restoration of the Republic be held against him; many others also failed to achieve what Cicero attempted. What we can see in his writings and actions after Caesar’s death is that he continued to maintain a deeply ­held allegiance to the personal code which he created as a way to guide him through the turbulence of the Republic’s last decade. Cicero may have failed as a Republican, but he succeeded in living up to the rector-ideal.

Epilogue Cicero’s death signaled the ultimate failure of the rector-ideal. The toga had, once and for all, yielded to the arms. But as I hope to have demonstrated in the previous chapters, the rector-ideal played a central role in Cicero’s life, writings, and politics in the years between 52 and 43 bce. With the benefit of 2,000 years of hindsight, it is easy to ascribe to Cicero a naivety which makes him an almost comic figure. We cannot help reading Cicero’s letters, his speeches, and his philosophical works without knowing that everything he was attempting to do would be in vain. This lends a measure of sadness to studying Cicero’s last years. In a darkly ironic twist, Cicero’s efforts under the guidance of the rector-ideal in no small part caused the ultimate destruction of the mixed constitution by forcing Antony, Octavian, and Lepidus into their alliance. But Cicero could never have been, as we are now, the omniscient narrator of events, who could piece together events to fit what we now know to be the final outcome. Nonetheless, it is beneficial to do exactly that, to see both the strengths and the flaws of the rector-ideal. As we saw in the last chapter, Cicero was well aware that his commitment to Antony’s destruction could result in his own death. That Cicero himself believed strongly enough in the rector-ideal to sacrifice his life makes it worthy of our admiration and study. With the virtue of our hindsight we can see the major failing of the rectorideal. Cicero badly underestimated the potential for armed conflict during the periods of crisis the rector was designed to fix. As I have shown, Cicero made no allowance for the vagaries of military affairs. He never embraced the idea of a military position for the rector, though many of his historical models, especially Scipio, had earned renown on the battlefield. He relied on virtue and respect for customs and the law as a way to ensure loyalty among the generals. In Cicero’s view, the auctoritas of the Senate was both the carrot and the stick. If he can be accused of not learning from past mistakes, it is because he refused to acknowledge that Rome’s statesmen now earned their positions through force or threat of force, a state of affairs which had existed even before he created the rector-ideal. However, Cicero had, for a brief moment, proven that when the concordia ordinum and the consensus omnium bonorum existed, the rector-ideal, in the hands of someone like himself, could be an efficient tool for securing the safety of the res publica.

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Why did Cicero cling to the rector-ideal even when capitulation to Antony could have preserved his life? Once he had achieved his goal of bringing the rector-ideal into practical politics, he had no alternative but to see through his policies to the end. With no Republic, there was no place for a rector. He firmly believed that the Republic was one of the greatest political achievements of mankind. His experience and philosophical reflection had made it clear to him that this was so. The sixth book of De Re Publica had made it clear that the rector had to be willing to surrender his life for the benefit of the State. By sacrificing himself to Antony’s thugs, Cicero fulfilled this key requirement, and sacrificed himself in order to achieve the immortality offered as a reward to the saviors of the State. I do not believe that Cicero offered himself as a martyr, in the hope that if he was struck down he would become more powerful than Antony or Octavian could possibly imagine. The rector-ideal was, as I have stressed, a personal construct. Cicero, his life’s philosophy proven wrong, accepted his fate—there could be no other outcome. His tacit acceptance of his fate is related by Plutarch, who describes Cicero meeting his death calmly, wordlessly offering his neck to his assassins (Cic. 48). He did not become a symbol for resistance, and the opponents of the triumvirs rallied around Brutus and Cassius. What can the rector-ideal tell us about Cicero and his politics? We can see that Cicero was not a dogmatist, no matter how closely he followed the Stoics in his philosophical works nor how vociferously he defended the very idea of the mixed constitution. His belief that the mixed constitution had failed drove him to create another model, one that would ultimately assure the Republic’s continuation but one which was predicated on a unique blend of philosophy and statesmanship. The rector-ideal encompassed all that Cicero believed was good and useful in both of these areas. In crafting it, Cicero came to be much more accepting of monarchy than he has heretofore been credited. He was, to be sure, in favor of a monarchy in the most basic sense of the word, the rule by a single moral individual who served the best interests of the State. He felt that in the absence of the mixed constitution, monarchy was the best alternative. The desire to see the Republic endure combined with the inevitability—indeed, the necessity—of a strong individual leader produced the foundation of the rector-ideal. We can also see that the ideal statesman of De Re Publica was not an abstract philosophical construct. It was always envisioned as something which could be useful during the troubles of the late 50s and 40s. If we take the rector-ideal as the practical modus vivendi which Cicero envisioned it to be, then his seemingly contradictory attitudes and actions during the civil war and Caesar’s dictatorship come into clearer focus. He was pragmatic enough to realize that he could not

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make a difference in a conflict between two warlords. His indecision in the first months of the war between Pompey and Caesar was not a sign of constitutional weakness but rather his attempt to determine which side offered the best chance for the creation of a moral state in which he could play a part. When the same situation occurred after Caesar’s death, Cicero chose the same strategy. In the intervening years, under Caesar’s dictatorship, he chose to stay in semi-­retirement since the res publica, the sine qua non of the rector-ideal, had ceased to exist. My evaluation of the rector-ideal as a practical code of behavior for Cicero and the paradigm by which he assessed the actions of his contemporaries provides a new interpretation of this enigmatic concept. If we possessed the fourth and fifth books of De Re Publica in their entirety, Cicero’s intentions might be much clearer. I am sure that the discussion about the rector rei publicae will continue, and I make no claims to have solved this problem to everyone’s satisfaction. I hope, however, that I have provided a reexamination of this important concept which has added to our understanding of Cicero’s ideal statesman.

Notes Introduction 1 Zetzel (1999) xv. For the discovery of the text, see Mai (1823) xxiii–xliiii and Mercati (1934) 226–8; on the manuscript tradition, see Powell (2006) v–xxxii. 2 Powell (2006) xxii–xxiii, 127–31; Nenci (2010) 187–8. Büchner (1984) 389 is much more circumspect, and hesitates to make any claims about how Cicero organized this book. 3 Syme (1939) 144 n.1. A dissenting voice can be found in Büchner (1952) 360: “the De re publica may be called central to the originality of Cicero’s political thought.” 4 Striker (1996a) 92. Skepticism, especially as Cicero practiced it, was, as Bett (2010) 2 has called it, a “certain kind of intellectual posture—specifically, a posture of suspension of judgment.” 5 Bett (2010) 2. Italics in the original. 6 Asmis (2005) 389, 401 has argued that De Re Publica presents “a strategy for saving the state in the present,” though she agrees that the rector rei publicae is “clearly . . . a type, admitting of many tokens.” 7 de Orat. 1.211; Rep. 2.51, 5.5, 5.6, 6.1, 6.13; Fin. 4.11; N.D. 2.89; Div. 1.24. 8 The only reference which may predate De Oratore is found in Catullus, where it is used as a synonym for the immortal being which created the world. (64.204). Rector was used often in a similar context in the Augustan period (e.g. V. A. 8.572; Ov. Met. 1.331, 668); see also Powell (1994) 23 n.5. Livy used the term rector rei publicae only once, in reference to Cincinnatus (4.14), but as Livy is an Augustan author, the innovation remains with Cicero. 9 In one instance, Div. 1.24, Cicero combines the nautical and political aspects, using the term navium rectores to refer to the commanders of the individual Greek ships sailing for Troy. 10 See also Krarup (1956) 197–8 and Ferrary (1995) 52–3. 11 Interestingly, the verb rego gives rise not only to rector but also to rex and regnum, both of which are usually presented in Roman political discourse as obstacles to libertas; see Hellegouarc’h (1972) 560–1, and Powell (1994) 25–6. As we will see, however, the rector is closely connected with libertas. The verb rego in general is a neutral term in Cicero, describing a wide variety of situations in political and popular life. 12 Drexler (1957, 1958). See also Zetzel (1999) 37–8. Drexler (1957) 253–4 noted that res publica is a correlative to res privata. This correlation is used by Cicero

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throughout his surviving works, though res privata often has the connotation of personal wealth or property (e.g. Mur. 24, Mil. 76, Att. 9.7.5). 13 Lacey and Wilson (1970) 1; RE 2.1.634. 14 Schofield (1999b) 181–3. 15 In De Officiis, Cicero would use res publica in the much narrower sense of the state which was destroyed by Sulla’s dictatorship (Off. 2.29), but for the same reasons he equates the res publica with the res populi; namely, Sulla had overthrown the rule of law and allowed the guilty to go unpunished. 16 Büchner (1984) 123. 17 Schofield (1999b) 186, though not in any moral sense (RE 2.1.670). 18 Liv. 7.17: “so that whatever was the last thing the people had decided should have the binding force of law” (ut quodcumque postremum populus iussisset id ius ratumque esset). 19 Feldherr (1997) 138; RE 2.1.634; cf. Clu. 53, “we are all servants of the law so that we can be free” (legum denique idcirco omnes servi sumus ut liberi esse possimus). See Wirszubski (1950) 4–9 and Lind (1986) 46–52. On libertas in De Officiis, see Arena (2007b) 51–60. 20 Büchner (1984) 421 believed that “the main task of the statesman was to unite the community with the consilium publicum.” 21 Asmis (2004) 570 n. 3. 22 The mos maiorum played a major role in the development of the state, as Lintott (1999) 1–8 discusses. 23 Straumann (2011) 284. For example, the exclusive power to pass laws lay with the people and their assemblies. As dictated by the Twelve Tables, the most recent decisions of the Roman people had the force of law (Liv. 7.17.12). The people, however, could not change the law which gave them the power to make law. In other words, there was an exception to every law except the law which granted the exception. 24 Wirszubski (1950) 8–9, 79–87. 25 Kapust (2011b) 81–110 argues that the same is true for Livy. 26 Mouritsen (2001) 128–30. Millar (1998) 209, on the other hand, claims that “the res publica was a direct democracy, not a representative one.” 27 Arena (2007a) 43–6. 28 Steel (2005) 15. 29 Though Krarup (1956) provides a short English summary at the conclusion of his book, the majority of the work is inaccessible to scholars who do not read Danish. For example, the review by Crook (1958) in the Classical Review surveyed only the English summary. 30 See Schmidt (1973) for an excellent survey of scholarship on De Re Publica. 31 Reitzenstein (1917). His response to Heinze (more on whom below) in 1924 reaffirmed his original argument while admitting that Heinze’s argument was compelling.

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32 Meyer (1918); How (1930). Pöschl (1936) also subscribed to Meyer’s concept of the rector. 33 Lintott (2008) 240–1. 34 Girardet (1983). 35 Stevenson (2005). Krarup (1956) 204–5 believed that the rector was not to be read as Pompey, but rather as an idealized version of Cicero himself; in this argument, Krarup was influenced by the work of Frank (1930). Lintott (1999) felt that Cicero was certainly thinking of either himself or Pompey. 36 Stroh (2008) 63. 37 Powell (1994) 21. 38 Zetzel (1995) 25–9; Fantham (2004) 314–19 is particularly influenced by Rawson (1983) 152, who explicitly denied the use of Pompey as a model for the rector rei publicae. 39 A view shared by Lepore (1954), Büchner (1962), Ferrary (1982), Girardet (1983), and Steel (2005) 76, who even doubts that the views put forth by Scipio are Cicero’s own, and Connolly (2007). Arena (2007a) 40 refers to a “growing consensus that the rector rei publicae should be taken as representative of the category of statesmen, exemplifying the profession of the politician in its highest form, rather than any specific historical figure.” 40 Heinze (1924) 76. 41 Powell (1994). 42 Powell (1994) 22–3. 43 Zarecki (2009). The pattern of use with the Greek term politikos demonstrates that Cicero considered the two terms to have distinct meanings. 44 Heinze (1924) 94. 45 Gildenhard (2007) 48. Steel (2005) 76 has noted that Cicero, in creating the rector rei publicae, seems to be consciously trying to divorce the ideal statesman from both the constraints of annual magistracies and also the traditional requirement that magistrates have military experience. 46 The argument presented in this book springs in large part from Powell’s (2001) 26 observation that the term optimus, particularly as it relates to De Re Publica, does not mean “ideal” but rather “the best that is practicable.” For a further discussion of “ideal” versus “best” in De Re Publica and De Legibus, see Fott (2009) 151–3. 47 Brittain (2006) xii.

1  Academic Skepticism and Cicero’s Political Philosophy 1 For example, Habicht (1990) 2–3, Powell (1995) 2, Asmis (2001) 110, and Erskine (2003) 6. Stem (2006) 206–10 rightly and forcefully argues for eliminating the

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artificial divisions between Cicero the orator, Cicero the philosopher, and Cicero the epistolographer. Stroh (2008) 12–13 views Cicero’s life and political activities as an attempt to live up to the Platonic ideals which Cicero held dear. 2 For example, Att. 1.18.3 (January 60) and 2.16.3 (late April 59); de Orat. 1.1–2 (55); Brut. 306, 323 (46); Off. 1.155 (44); cf. the favorable comments made about philosophy as a lifestyle at Fin. 3.4 (“the art of life is philosophy”) and Tusc. 2.13 (“the culture of the mind is philosophy”), 2.16 (“philosophy is the teacher of life”), and 5.5 (“O philosophy, the guide of life!”); cf. Off. 2.5 (“philosophy is nothing else except the desire for wisdom”). 3 See Fantham (2004) 9–15 and Gildenhard (2007) 48–51. 4 That is not to say that Cicero was delighted by the state of affairs in the 50s. He was just as pessimistic about Rome’s future then as he was later under Caesar (e.g. Att. 4.18.2; Q.fr. 3.7.2). 5 On Cicero’s purpose in composing his philosophical curriculum in the 40s, see the excellent discussion of the prefaces of these works in Baraz (2012). 6 On the lack of a preface for De Legibus, see Dyck (2004) 52–3. 7 The sixth book of Polybius’ Histories, a work which Cicero knew well, contained a detailed exposition on both the theory and apparatus of the Roman constitution, and was the first such attempt in Greek literature. 8 I employ the terms “Academic skeptic” and “skeptic” in general to refer to the doctrines of the Academy from the scholarchate of Arcesilaus (c. 268–41) to the death of Philo (c. 84). This version of skepticism is separated from the skepticism of Pyrrho (c. 365–270), which flourished several centuries after this death. The use of these terms is a convenience, as the distinction between Academic and Pyrrhonian skepticism is not cut and dried. On the differences between Academic skepticism and Pyrrhonism, see Striker (1996b) 135–49 and (2010) 195–207 and Bonazzi (2012). 9 On Stoic epistemology, see Frede (1999a); on Academic epistemology, particularly that of Arcesilaus and Carneades, see Schofield (1999a). Allen (1994) and Perin (2005) provide substantive overviews of the differences between Academic and Stoic epistemology. 10 Stroh (2008) 54 has termed them “ein platonische Werktrias,” “a Platonic trio,” and identifies them as parallels to the Theaetetus, Sophist, and Politicus. 11 For histories of Academic doctrine, see especially Hankinson (1995), Thorsrud (2009), and Cicero’s own Academica. 12 Whether the Academy went through two, three, or five incarnations is irrelevant for my argument, as is the philosophy of Pyrrho, whose extreme skepticism Cicero criticized on several occasions (e.g. Fin. 2.43; Off. 2.7). 13 All three men were consulars and famed for their oratory, and Cicero would make them major characters in De Oratore. On Cicero’s education in rhetoric and oratory, see Corbeill (2002) and Fantham (2004) 78–101.

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14 See Clarke (1968) 19–20. On Greco-Roman bilingualism, particularly concerning Cicero and his letters, see Swain (2002) and Adams (2003) 308–47. 15 Cicero was particularly close with Cratippus of Pergamon, who he refers to as “my dear friend” (familiaris noster, Div. 1.6) and “the prince of current philosophers” (princeps huius memoriae philosophorum, Off. 3.5). He later entrusted his son’s education to Cratippus. 16 Aristotle’s works were virtually unknown in Rome until the late first century bce, and Barnes (1997) has persuasively argued that Cicero had no first-­hand experience with even those works to which he makes direct reference; cf. Fantham (1973) 288, who argues against Peripatetic influence on the discussion of proportional justice in Rep. 1. For an opposing view, see Radford (2002) 15–17. 17 For a biography of Philo, the facts of whose life are reasonably well-­established, see Brittain (2001) 38–69. On the end of the Academy as an institution, see Lévy (2010) 89–102. 18 None of Antiochus’ writings survive. On his life and works, see Hatzimichali (2012). 19 Arcesilaus engaged almost exclusively in negative dialectic, which involved arguing against the beliefs of others without affirming his own beliefs (D.L. 4.36). 20 On the different types of assent possible for a skeptic, see Frede (1987). Whether Carneades actually held this view or adopted it for the sake of arguing against the Stoics is unknown. Even his disciple Clitomachus, who succeed Carneades as head of the Academy, could never figure out what views Carneades really held, if he held any at all (Ac. 2.78, 139); see also Striker (1996a) 93–4. On Carneades’ methods, see N.D. 3.43 and Div. 2.9–11. 21 On Cicero’s definitions of these terms, see Glucker (1995). 22 As Harris (1961) 12 has described the process, “there must be a systematic approach to the subject by well-­read men who possess also the gift of oratory.” For a succinct discussion of Carneades’ views, see Thorsrud (2009) 70–83. 23 Thorsrud (2002) discusses the problems with Cicero’s—and to Thorsrud, mistaken—interpretation of Carneades vis-à-vis Philo’s fallibilism. Cf. Barnes (1989) 68–70, who dismisses the idea that Antiochus left Philo because of the Roman Books. 24 Pyrrho’s predecessor Arcesilaus, while denying that any knowledge was apprehendable by humans, had argued that the suspension of judgment is to be preferred to belief in knowledge which has not been adequately justified by dialectical investigation (epochē); see Thorsrud (2010) 60–2. 25 Here Philo followed Metrodorus, who argued that Carneades had been the first to adopt this more modest form of skepticism (Ac. 2.78). For a summary of Philonian epistemology prior to the Roman Books, see Hankinson (1995) 116–20 and Brittain (2001) 73–128. 26 See the comments in Frede (1999b) 253.

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27 Cicero went so far as to describe him as “a most genuine Stoic” (germanissimus Stoicus, Ac. 2.132), and Sextus Empiricus claims that he taught Stoicism in the Academy (PH 1.235). Both Striker (1997) 257–8 and Schofield (2012) 240–3, however, have cast doubts on the depth of Antiochus’ Stoicism. 28 See Fott (2012) 153–4. 29 For Cicero as an Antiochan, see Glucker (1988, 1992), and Steinmetz (1989); for Cicero as a lifelong Philonian, see Görler (1995), Rudd (2001), Thorsrud (2002), Sedley (2003), and Brittain (2006). 30 Görler (1995), especially 97–110. 31 See Griffin (1994) 721–2 for an eloquent defense of Cicero’s philosophical borrowing. 32 Thorsrud (2012) makes a persuasive argument for the unity of Cicero’s skepticism despite the apparent contradictions found in the Academica. 33 Wood (1988) 11, for example, comments that Cicero was a “mediocre philosopher, unoriginal and eclectic,” though he does admit that “[I do not] suggest an absence of anything new and valuable in his thought.” Powell (1995) 2–3 declares that Cicero’s “adoption of the sceptical methods of the later Academy . . . should not be taken for vacillation or inconsistency.” For a refutation of the existence of ancient eclecticism, see Donini (1988) and Sedley (1989) 118 n. 48. 34 As he does with Epicureanism at the end of the Tusculans; see Gildenhard (2007) 37–8 and 67–9. 35 Powell (1990) 128 makes the forceful statement that “nobody now believes (at least, one hopes not) that Cicero’s philosophical works are all transcribed from some lost Greek sources,” and that to continue to search for a definitive source for works such as the Somnium Scipionis is “absurd.” Powell’s opinion is shared by Griffin (1994) 715 and Millar (2002) 1–11. On the types of Quellenforschung most often employed with Cicero’s works, see Dyck (1996) 18–21 and Fortenbaugh (2005) 37–40. Apographa is unattested in Greek literature, further adding to the idea that Cicero might be jesting with Atticus (SBA s.v. Att. 12.5.3). 36 Gildenhard (2007) 48. 37 Particularly about their utility in Rome, e.g. Rep. 1.2, 1.37, 2.22, 2.52, 4.3; cf. Leg. 3.32. 38 See Buckley (1970) 144–7 and Annas (2001) xv. 39 Thorsrud (2009) 92. 40 Büchner (1984) 49–56, Ferrary (1984), and Zetzel (1995) 13–29 provide concise surveys of Cicero’s debt to Plato and other philosophers in De Re Publica. 41 Powell (1995) 21–2. The Socractic elenchus is much rarer, though elenchetic passages are found (e.g. Rep. 1.58–63). 42 Powell (1995) 19 excludes these three dialogues from the rest of the philosophica, for which “Cicero’s adherence to Philo’s methods (or to his own conception of them) is on any showing fundamental.” Baraz (2012) does not engage with them because of

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the differences in Cicero’s personal circumstances during the period of their composition (9). 43 See the discussion in Thorsrud (1999) 31–5. 44 In De Re Publica, democracy, particularly the type of radical democracy practiced in Athens, is disparaged not only for the licentiousness which characterizes it but also because it is the breeding ground of tyrants (e.g. Rep. 1.43, 53). 45 A position defended by, among others, Nicgorski (1978) 93–4, MacKendrick (1989) 54, Asmis (2004) 573, and Brunt (2013) 235. On Crassus as Cicero’s mouthpiece in De Oratore, see Dugan (2005) 92–3. 46 As noted by Zetzel (1995) 406. Büchner (1984) 50–1 minimizes the impact of this statement, stating that the term gives no indication of a formal relationship between De Re Publica and Plato. 47 On Cicero’s relation to and interpretation of Plato, see the surveys in Degraff (1940) and Hösle (2008). 48 Stark (1954) 56, “Cicero’s political philosophy is . . . a difficult matter to be handled. Here politics and philosophy, practical experience and theory, both adopted and his own, Greek and Roman, meet in such an entanglement that a satisfactory analysis appears hardly possible.” 49 See Chroust (1967), esp. 26–8. 50 Zetzel (1999) x goes too far in attributing the dialogues of the 50s to a simple desire by Cicero to imitate his beloved Plato. 51 See Erskine (1990) 9–42 for a discussion of the Politeiai of Zeno and Diogenes. The one person whom Cicero mentions who was equal or greater than himself in combining philosophy with statecraft was Demetrius of Phalerum (Leg. 3.14). 52 On Cicero’s use of the untransliterated form of politicus, see my argument in Zarecki (2009) 258–9. A contemporaneous letter to Atticus hints that Cicero is working on a set of libri, but without any detail on the subject; these books, however, must have been De Re Publica (Att. 14.14.1), despite the questions raised by Schmidt (2001). 53 See Gildenhard (2007) 9–12. Scipio is described as the one most able to engage in a disputatio on the best form of the State at Rep. 1.34 54 Likely the Politics and On Kingship (SBQ s.v. 3.5.1). On Cicero following Heraclides’ example, see Att. 13.19.4. 55 Though Cicero mentions no names (ne in nostra tempora incurrens offenderem quempiam), he must surely be referring to Pompey, Caesar, and their adherents, as quispiam implies that Cicero has some idea of who might take offense and the remaining triumvirs were certainly the most powerful men in the State. 56 As Krarup (1956) 177 noted. 57 The relevant evidence from Cicero and other ancient authors has been collected by Heck (1966) 17–153.

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58 Interestingly, Caelius’ comment reflects the phrase Cicero had used three years earlier to describe the origins of the treatise. The Latin adjective politicus is an exceedingly rare Greek loan-­word in Republican and early Imperial literature. Only four instances of the untransliterated form are found prior to the third century ad: de Orat. 3.109, in reference to Greek philosophers who wrote political treatises; Fam. 8.1.4 in reference to De Re Publica; Plin. Nat. 5.122, as part of the former name of the area around Aphrodisias; and Apul. Pl. 2.8, where ethical philosophy is declared suitable for someone who wishes to be a politicus. The untransliterated form, however, appears relatively frequently in Cicero’s writings, almost always, as we may expect, in the letters to Atticus, and often in a context which identifies it as a philosophical term (e.g. 2.1.3, 4.8a.4, 13.30; cf. Brut. 265, Fin. 4.2 and 5.23). 59 See Heck (1966) 28–42 for references to De Re Publica in Cicero’s works after its publication. 60 Zetzel (1995) 95. Approximately eighteen leaves are missing from the Vatican manuscript; see Ziegler (1969) ix–xv and Powell (2006) vi–­xxiv on the organization of the manuscript and the numerous lacunae. 61 Ziegler (1969) 1–2. Powell (2006) lxxii, however, includes only fragments 1a, 1d, and 1f in the preface. 62 See the discussion in Asmis (2001). On Cicero’s anti-Epicureanism in De Re Publica, see Maslowski (1974) 56–65. 63 Recent treatments of Cicero’s purpose in the preface to Book 1 include Asmis (2005) 384–91, Meyer (2006) 117–21, Fox (2007) 105–10, and Powell (2012) 17–23. 64 As, for example, in the prefaces to Timaeus (29b–d), Critias (108c–d), and Theateatus (142d–143c). 65 Cicero had experimented with the more familiar poetic recusatio in his poem De Consulatu Suo, which was composed between 60 and 55; see Volk (2013) 108–9. 66 All of the participants in De Oratore except for Sulpicius Rufus (tribune of the plebs in 88) and Caesar Strabo (aedile in 87) held the consulship between 117 and 75. 67 Rep. 1.12: “Truly, I understand that nearly all of those seven men whom the Greeks call The Wise took an active part in political matters” (eos vero septem quos Graeci sapientes nominaverunt omnis paene video in media re publica esse versatos). Cf. Leg. 2.26, where Thales is described as “the wisest of the Seven” (qui sapientissimus in septem fuit). 68 For example, Quintus Catulus at Verr. 1.44; unnamed great men brought low by adverse Fortune at Q.fr. 1.1.5; Marcus Marcellus’s advice at Fam. 4.9.2; Scipio Nasica at N.D. 2.11; and Odysseus at Leg. 2.3. 69 Cicero’s disagreements with his brother on the role of practice in making a great orator are also disputationes (de Orat. 1.5). Disputatio is much rarer in the speeches, though it does occur in the sense of “forensic argument” (e.g. Balb. 30, Dom. 142, Agr. 2.39) or “challenge” (Caec. 79, Phil 13.32), but never with the sense of philosophical inquiry.

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70 Varro (L. 6.64) makes disputatio a subcategory of sermo, with a disputatio being the type of sermo in which words are set down clearly and without obfuscation of meaning (sic is sermo in quo pure disponuntur verba, ne sit confusus atque ut diluceat, dicitur disputare). A sermo to Varro is merely a discussion involving two or more men (sermo enim non potest in uno homine esse solo, sed ubi oratio cum altero coniuncta). In De Re Publica, sermo has a variety of meanings, including a simple speech act (2.37, 3.3, 6.20, 6.23, 6.25), the faculty of language (2.7), or a conversation held during leisure time (1.17, 19; 6.10). Most often it is used to refer to the internal discussions of the dialogue, particularly as it is a discussion undertaken during a time of leisure (e.g. 1.17, 19, 33, 38; 6.10; cf. Off. 1.132). 71 Several other uses of disput- forms in Book 1 are more neutral, lacking specific reference to Greek practice, but the context of these references implies that Cicero is referring to arguments made previously by Greek philosophers (e.g. 1.53 on the arguments for and against the three basic types of government as “the best”). 72 A passage quite similar to Quintilian’s tripartite structure of a disputatio (Inst. 3.6.80). 73 Grillius’ comment on the rector (In Cic. Rhet. p. 28.14 Martin) highlights the necessity of the rector to be both sapiens and doctissimus, especially in Greek literature. 74 Zetzel (2013) 184. 75 Connolly (2007) 155. 76 See especially Ferrary (1995), Zetzel (1999) xviii, Powell (2001) 27, and Fantham (2004) 311–19. On the hatred of regnum being one of the defining characteristics of late Republican politics, see Wirszubski (1950) 87–8, Brunt (1971) 44–5, and Lintott (1999) 195. On Cicero’s use of rex, regnum, regnare, and regius in his political speeches, see Erskine (1991) 111–14. 77 The LSJ s.v. basileus provides numerous examples of basileus used for princes, lords, masters, magistrates, and more generally for any sort of great man. 78 For example, Plautus uses rex in the sense of “great man” or “rich man” (Stich. 287, Cur. 284–7) and the patron of a parasite (Capt. 825). Erskine (1991) 110 has argued that the Roman abhorrence of rex, especially with reference to Tarquinius Superbus, is no older than the second century, and that it was Caesar’s dictatorship that gave monarchy its polemic nature. 79 Scipio thrice refuses to provide Laelius with a direct answer about his preference, much to the latter’s feigned annoyance (1.46, 54, 65). Scipio prefers to engage his friend in a stichomatic elenchus reminiscent of Socrates (1.58–63). On the Socratic nature of this passage, and how Cicero adapts the elenchus to fit his purpose, see Gorman (2005) 37–47. 80 The chronological and thematic structures have been well-­elucidated by Zetzel (1995) 16–17 and (2013) 185.

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81 The discussion of justice in Book 3, which is itself modeled on Carneades’ Roman lectures, is highly ethical, while the fragments of Book 4 indicate that Roman mores provided concrete examples of moral actions. The rector-ideal occupied Book 5, while Book 6 took the rector-ideal and placed it into the historical tradition by ascribing its description to Africanus and its embodiment to Aemilianus.

2  Cicero’s Philosophical Politics 1 I follow the argument of Schmidt (1969) 259–92 and (2001) for contemporaneous composition of De Legibus with De Re Publica; cf. Dyck (2004) 7 and Stroh (2008) 125. 2 For example, Dom. 94, where Cicero attributed his success during his consulship to consensus combined with the auctoritas senatus in his speech, and Har. 45, in which the auctoritas senatus and the consensio omnium bonorum are linked as the dual targets Catiline had most wished to destroy. 3 Temelini (2002) 3–8. 4 A common equivalence not limited to the Republican period; Plutarch (Cam. 42) and Dio Cassius (44.4.5), for example, use naos Homonoia to refer to the Temple of Concord. For an idealized description of the Republican ideal of concordia, see D.H. 2.11.2–3. 5 On the definition of equites as a group, see Nicolet (1966) 163–76; on Cicero’s support of the equestrians, see Berry (2003) 222–4. Gruen (1974) 47–82 provides a valuable exposition of the terms optimates, populares, and factiones. 6 Quintilian (e.g. Inst. 4.1.35) and Pliny (Ep. 1.20.4), among others, both extolled the virtues of this speech. 7 As Vasaly (2002) 106 has noted. 8 On the legal issues of the case and Cicero’s forensic strategies in dealing with them, see Nótári (2012) 51–61. 9 In a foreshadowing of a prominent theme of Pro Sestio, Cicero also at this early date exhibits signs that otium cum dignitate was on his mind. The list of fundamenta otiosae dignitatis at Sest. 98 is quite similar to the list at Clu. 154, though the explicit association of dignitas with otium is lacking from the earlier speech. 10 Yavetz (1963) 495 is typical of the opposing view, that Cicero did nothing special in defeating Catiline. 11 As Yavetz (1963) 488–91 has explained. Of course, Cicero was speaking to the plebs in this speech, so it is perhaps not surprising that he would avoid alienating his audience. As Mouritsen (2001) 145 has noted, however, there must be a distinction made between the populus Romanus and the populus which engaged in political

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activities. Cicero, however, makes no mention of any segment of the plebs, thus indicating that he included the entirety of the body in the concordia. 12 Krarup (1956) 199 interprets Rep. 2.56 as the ultimate expression of the mixed constitution: a mixtum genus with a free but voiceless populus, consuls with imperium and a Senate holding the overwhelming majority of the State’s auctoritas. 13 In a valuable study, Eagle (1949) borrows the Canadian term “the Family Compact” to aptly describe the Roman political system as a conservative collection of family units (including friends and allies) constantly fighting to support the status quo. 14 Cf. his description of the res publica during the consulship of Gabinius and Piso in 58, when Cicero was thrown “into the middle of civil strife and discord” (in mediam contentionem dissensionemque civilem, Fam. 1.9.13). 15 On the Bona Dea scandal, see Tatum (1999) 62–86. 16 The fundamental meaning of familiaritas is a bond between men, a bond which could be either personal or only political. However, it often denotes a serious friendship, and is much more personal than amicitia (e.g. Q. fr. 1.1.16; Fam. 13.19.1; Balb. 1) or necessitudo (Mur. 7, Fam. 10.3.2); for example, Cicero characterizes his epistolary relationship with Atticus as familiariter scribere (Att. 9.4.1). 17 See Gruen (1966) for a survey of the evidence, mostly from Cicero, against identifying Clodius as an instrument of the triumvirs. 18 See, for example, Rawson (1983) 93–8, Robinson (1994), and Lintott (2008) 154–9. 19 Cohen (2007) 112. Cohen’s article explicitly links Cicero’s exile to his political philosophy, including De Re Publica, and should be read against the more literary aspects of his exile discussed by Claassen (1999). 20 Asmis (2004), especially 596–8. 21 For a summary of the charges against Sestius and an account of the trial, see Kaster (2006) 14–22. 22 As the omnes boni are separated from the Senate, it is likely that Cicero is referring to the knights exclusive of the other two groups. Cicero tends to use two groups as a balanced representation of the concordia ordinum (cf. Flac. 103). 23 I have followed Mommsen’s reading of populo here instead of the Halm-Kayser reading of equestri ordine favored by Kaster (2006) 202. The phrasing of the other occurrences of consensus/consensio omnium bonorum make no specific mention of the equestrians. 24 On Cicero’s tendency to create and then collapse the distinction between optimates and populares, see Riggsby (2002) 182–3. 25 The translation is borrowed from Kaster (2006) 32. The phrase itself has engendered much debate, but will not be discussed in depth here. For useful discussions of the phrase, see Wirszubski (1954), Balsdon (1960), and Kaster (2006) 31–7. 26 On Cicero’s distinction between civitas and res publica, especially in De Re Publica, see Maass (2012).

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27 Wirszubski (1954) 10–12. 28 Syme (1939) 65–6 felt that Gabinius was more than capable as governor; Badian (1959) is also sympathetic towards Gabinius. 29 Frank (1930) 212–13. 30 Consensus is paired with factio to create a “hendiadys for a party-­conspiracy” (Büchner 1984 130)). Cf. Rep. 3.43, where Scipio, in reference to Phaleris, tyrant of Acragas, emphatically declares that in a tyranny there cannot be either consensus or a unified society (nec consensus ac societas coetus). 31 Q. fr. 2.13.5, 2.15.4, 3.4.1, 3.5.9. The memory of Sulla’s irregular and destructive dictatorship was one reason why the boni found the thought of a dictator to be disagreeable (Q. fr. 3.8.4). The last dictator appointed for either of the traditional purposes of rei gerundae causa or comitiorum habendorum causa had been Servilius Geminus in 202. 32 It is, of course, very difficult to know when each book of De Re Publica was composed, or if Cicero wrote chronologically, thematically, or without any discernible pattern at all. The first two books were definitely completed by October 54, when Sallustius heard them and made his comments on the plan of the work (Q. fr. 3.5.1–2). 33 Lintott (2008) 225. 34 May and Wisse (2001) 3; cf. Stull (2011). 35 See for example Connolly (2007) 104 and Dugan (2005) 78–9. Fantham (2004) 310 is mistaken in her belief that it is impossible to discern Cicero’s personal opinions on the state of the Republic because the dramatic date of the dialogue is several decades removed from date of composition. 36 Görler (1988) 234, Dugan (2005) 77; Dugan’s entire second chapter, especially pp. 90–6 and 149–51, is supportive of this thesis. As Fam. 7.32.2 makes clear, Cicero presented his own thoughts in De Oratore, mostly through Crassus but occasionally through other characters as well; see May and Wisse (2001) 17 with further references in n. 14. 37 Lintott (2008) 232 noted that since “the perfect orator required an appropriate res publica,” a treatise on the State was the natural next step. On the numerous links between De Oratore and De Legibus, see Görler (1988) 217–20. Powell (1994) 21 is representative of the view that the prefectus orator and the rector rei publicae are functional equivalents. 38 Cicero makes no comment in the surviving correspondence about the conference at Luca nor the apparently impressive exodus from Rome. Later sources mention 200 senators and enough proconsuls and praetors to total 120 fasces (Plu. Caes. 21.5, Pomp. 51.4; App. BC 2.17.62). Gelzer (1985) 121 n. 5 believes these numbers to be exaggerated, especially in light of contradictory evidence in Plutarch (Crass. 14.6), who states that the triumvirs conducted their meeting in private.

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39 Fantham (2004) 1–25 provides an insightful view of Cicero’s political and personal beliefs at the time he began De Oratore. 40 In Vatinium (56), Pro Caelio (56), De Provinciis Consularibus (56), Pro Balbo (56), In Pisonem (55), Pro Plancio (54), Pro Scauro (54), and Pro Rabirio Postumo (53 or 52). 41 On the dialogue structure of the work, see Wisse (2002) 378–83 with references. 42 The Academics, however, are presented throughout as committed opponents of rhetoric (1.45–7, 84–93), despite the fact that Philo had introduced the teaching of rhetoric into the Academy (3.110). 43 See Dugan (2005) 84–5. 44 Cicero did return in a systematic way to the topic of oratory, particularly its association with philosophy, in Orator and Brutus (Div. 2.4). These later works, however, are dominated to an ever greater degree by the political situation, written as they were during Cicero’s wilderness years after the end of his exile in Brundisium. 45 Catulus introduces the dramatis personae of De Re Publica at de Orat. 2.154, noting that Scipio, Laelius, and Furius were not only Rome’s most famous, most influential, and most cultured men, but were also men who enjoyed the company of Greek philosophers in public and in private (et certe non tulit ullos haec civitas aut gloria clariores aut auctoritate graviores aut humanitate politiores P. Africano, C. Laelio, L. Furio, qui secum eruditissimos homines ex Graecia palam semper habuerunt). 46 Sulpicius Rufus died shortly after Sulla’s march on Rome in 88; Antonius, Lutatius Catulus, and Caesar Strabo were put to death by the Marians in 87; Scaevola also died in 87, though not in the Marian purge; and Crassus died of natural causes very soon after the end of the dramatic setting of the dialogue. Cicero recounts their deaths in de Orat. 3.9–10. 47 In an interesting article on the so-­called Scipionic Circle, Hanchey (2013) argues that Cicero extends the stability created by oratory to his own circle through the similarities between himself and Crassus, and, through this connection to Crassus, even back to Scipio’s era. 48 Wilkinson (1982) 262. 49 Flower (2010) 149. 50 Gruen (1969) 96–9 shows the difficulties the triumvirs encountered as they tried to influence elections and legislation. 51 For example, Schmidt (2001) 16; Flower (2010) 151. 52 For a survey of the period, see Wiseman (1994) 401–19. 53 Liv. Per. 107; Plut. Pomp. 54.4, Caes. 28, Cato 47; Asc. 36; Suet. Jul. 26.1. According to Dio (40.50.4) there was even talk of reviving the consular tribunate, which had fallen into disuse after 367. 54 Plut. Cat. Mi. 48.3; Cic. Mil. 15, 70, 79; App. BC 2.3.23. On Pompey’s legislation, particularly the laws de vi and de ambitu, see Gruen (1974) 233–9. Cicero’s

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former quaestor Fadius was also convicted by the reinvigorated judicial system (Fam. 5.18.1). 55 Settle (1963) makes a compelling argument based on Asconius’ commentary that the delivered version and the preserved version of Pro Milone are fundamentally the same. I agree with Settle’s assessment. On the possible differences between the delivered and published speeches, see Marshall (1987). 56 Whether Pompey’s position was merely extraordinary or actually illegal does not seem to have bothered Cicero. While serving as sole consul, Pompey was concurrently invested with imperium as proconsul of Spain. Taylor (1949) 149 has argued that since Pompey was already a proconsul when he became consul, and because he was in violation of the law requiring a fixed number of years between consulships, the consulship was unconstitutional. Meyer (1918) 177 and Gelzer (1949) 184 are representative of the opposing view, which seems to be the majority opinion. 57 Clarissimus is a standard term in Cicero’s political vocabulary, but potentissimus is very rare; the combination of the two is rarer still. Cicero reserves this particular combination of epithets for Pompey (Fam. 7.2.2), the Senate (Prov. 39), the tribune Livius Drusus (Cluen. 153), Gaius Porcius Cato (cos. 114, Verr. 2.4.22), Gaius Claudius Pulcher (cos. 92, Planc. 51), and Sulla (Rosc. Am. 6). 58 Cicero generally reserves the phrase civis egregius for his political allies, such as Valerius Messalla (Att. 1.14.6), Caecilius Metellus Celer (Att. 1.18.5, 1.20.5), Publius Sestius (Mil. 38), Marcus Aemilius Scaurus (Mur. 36), Hirtius, Pansa, and Octavian (Fam. 10.28.3), as well as Cicero himself (Dom. 85), and great leaders from the past who achieved notable victories for the state like Paullus, the conqueror of Macedonia (Catil. 4.21), and Opimius, the slayer of Gaius Gracchus (Sest. 140). 59 Cf. Att. 5.6.1. SBA s.v. 5.5.2 notes that this letter signifies a change in Cicero’s attitude towards Pompey and his political position. 60 Badian (1958) 283, Anderson (1963) 48–52, and Ward (1970) 126–9 argue that the friendship between Cicero and Pompey began in 89. Gelzer (1939) 843 argued for a friendship dating only to 71, and Rawson (1978) 5 believes there was “little contact, let alone friendship of any kind” until 66. 61 For example, Att. 1.13.4, 1.20.2, 2.21.3–4, 2.9.1, 2.17.1. 62 Holliday (1969) 17–22; Rawson (1978) 184 characterizes the relationship between Cicero and Pompey as a purely professional one. Even Pompey’s role in his exile could not dampen Cicero’s affection (Att. 2.21.4). 63 A detailed discussion about the nature of amicitia and its role in Cicero’s decision to oppose Antony is found in Chapter 5. 64 SBA s.v. 7.1.4 senses a measure of irony in Cicero’s comment, though he acknowledges that Cicero had an overall favorable opinion of the consulship; so too did Ziegler (1974) 30, commenting on Leg. 1.8.

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65 Cf. Smethurst (1955) 120: “[Cicero’s] ideal of the Senate as a model of deportment must be considered fantastic by anyone who has the slightest knowledge of the bickering, the selfishness, the pusillanimity that too often tarnished what remained of the Senate’s former glory.” 66 See Dyck (2004) 5–12 on the various arguments put forth regarding the date of composition and Cicero’s motives. 67 I concur with Powell (2001) 17–20, who does not believe that De Legibus represents a legal code for the State presented in De Re Publica. 68 Leg. 1.14–17. On the philosophical nature of De Legibus, see the introductions to each book in Dyck (2004). 69 Cicero uses this term for Pompey when Pompey’s politics supported Cicero’s own, particularly in the late 60s (e.g. Att. 1.8.1, 1.12.3) and in the immediate aftermath of his recall from exile, in which Pompey had played a significant role (e.g. Sest. 15, 133; Rab. Post. 33; Red. Sen. 29). 70 On the date of Ampius’ trial, see Dyck (2004) 261. This is exactly the sort of praise Cicero had wanted from Pompey in 62 (Fam. 5.7). 71 Dyck (2004) 515. 72 There are only two occurrences of the most common synonyms for the rector— gubernator, conservator, moderator, propugnator—in De Legibus: Cicero and Marius as the conservatores rei publicae (2.6) and the gods as the moderatores omnium rerum (2.15).

3  De Re Publica and the Outbreak of Civil War 1 Meyer (1918) 184–5. 2 Powell (1994) 25 acknowledges the need for a “locus standi” if the rector is to be effective. 3 Heinze (1924) and Powell (1994). 4 Powell (1994) 28. 5 Powell mistranslates sermo as “in our language”; Zetzel (1999) 48 correctly renders “in our conversation.” The pattern of use of sermo within De Re Publica strongly suggests the meaning of “conversation” or “discussion” (e.g. 1.16, 17, 19, 33; 2.33; 3.24; 6.10), though at 2.7 and 3.3 sermo must mean “language” in the context of immigration to maritime cities and the origins of man’s capacity for speech, respectively. 6 Powell (1995) 205. 7 See Büchner (1952) 350–1 for a discussion of other synonyms and attributes which further separate the rector from the tyrant. 8 Cf. Rep. 3.46. On the character of the Ciceronian orator, see Grant (1943) and Kapust (2011a). Büchner (1984) s.v. 2.51 believes that the two adjectives bonus and sapiens

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are what separates the rector from the tyrant; he also sees, mistakenly, a connection to the Platonic politikos, as do Krarup (1956) 201 and Powell (1994). 9 The list includes Q. Lutatius Catulus, M. Aemilius Scaurus, P. and Q. Mucius Scaevola, L. Licinius Crassus, and M. Antonius, many of whom would become characters in De Oratore. In addition, the vir optimus of De Oratore is described as a man of unique wisdom and purpose (consilio et sapientia singulari, de Orat. 1.37). 10 Cicero derives prudentia from provideo in both De Re Publica (6.1, quae ipsum nomen nacta est ex providendo) and De Legibus (1.60, quae virtus ex providendo est appellata prudentia). The necessity of the rector’s possession of prudentia was echoed by both Macrobius (p. 125.10 Z) and Augustine (De civ. 19.20). There is no special significance to the more precise civilis prudentia at 2.45, as Büchner (1984) has noted. 11 Prudentia was one of the four cardinal virtues in De Inventione (2.159), and is an important part of both De Officiis (s.v. Off. 1.15), and the Philippics as I demonstrate in Chapter 5. On prudentia in De Oratore, see Cape Jr. (2003) 42–51. 12 Marquez (2009) 22–3 attributes to the early kings an “instinctive understanding” of the advantages of the mixed constitution which guided their actions. Providentia and prudentia are etymologically identical, and, at least in De Re Publica, thematically identical as well. 13 See the discussion in Nicgorski (1991) 241–5. 14 Cicero relates failings of monarchy and democracy to the absence or abuse of dignitas (Rep. 1.43, 53); hence the need for the rector to be peritus dignitatis in his role as tutor of the state. 15 See the examples collected by Hellegouarc’h (1972) 351–2. Rawson (1973) 355 believes that Cicero is unaware of the hindrance which popular generals and their dependent armies posed for the commonwealth. 16 As Wirszubski (1954) 9 argues, dignitas in Pro Sestio is a political construct, not a social one. 17 Asmis (2005) 378. 18 Asmis (2004) 572–3. 19 See Marquez (2009) 19. 20 Cicero mentions at Sest. 97 that the number of optimi cives, with whom the rector shares many characteristics, is also infinite. Cicero is careful to distinguish, however, between those who are merely optimi and those who are actually propugnatores rei publicae (Sest. 101). 21 Stevenson (2005) 140–7 has made the interesting argument that Rep. 6.12 is a covert declaration by Cicero that he was open to the possibility of creating a dictator-­like office to deal with the political upheaval of the 50s. 22 Ferrary (1995) 72; cf. Cicero’s later, favorable comments about Nasica’s assassination of Tiberius Gracchus (Off. 1.76) and Cassius’ activities against Dolabella in 43 (Phil. 11.28).

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23 Heck (1966) 268–9. 24 Asmis (2005) 411, “It [reason] tends to peak in a single outstanding individual like Scipio or Cicero himself ”; cf. Drexler (1941) 42, who also believes that only a single rector is needed. 25 For references and a comprehensive survey of the motif, see May (1980). 26 In the well-­known passage from Rep. 2, Scipio also compares the rector to an African mahout. This rector beluae guides his elephant in whichever way he wishes by a brief command or a light touch (levi admonitu aut tactu, 2.67). The passage is unfortunately quite confused, as several pages are either missing or out of order, and thus it is difficult to know exactly how Cicero completed the metaphor. 27 Gallagher (2001). 28 Lepore (1954) 71 notes that these terms are often used of the functions of the regular slate of Roman magistrates. 29 See the discussion in Asmis (2001) 114–16. 30 On Scipio’s exceptional personal qualities, see Plb. 31.25. 31 Stevenson (2005) 150 has put it best, that although Cicero never explicitly credits Pompey with the qualities of the rector, “he is the kind of figure who has to be considered when reading the De Re Publica”; cf. Meyer (1918) 189 and Powell (2001) 28 n. 32. 32 A phrase repeated in a contemporary letter to Atticus (5.7). 33 The influence of Caesar, who in 52 was the only other likely candidate to execute the duties ascribed to the rector, is not as noticeable in De Re Publica, perhaps a reflection of Caesar’s absence from the capital since his consulship. 34 See Brittain (2001) 14–16. 35 As the rumor of Caesar’s advance to Placentia did not reach Rome until 15 October (Att. 6.9.5), Pompey must have been formulating his strategy at this early date. If so, Cicero’s later complaints about Pompey’s lack of planning must be taken with more than a single grain of salt. 36 The vitriolic letter to Fadius, a letter “without parallel in the entire correspondence” that demonstrates Cicero’s anger and sadness at his current situation, probably belongs to this period (SBF s.v. 7.27). The two complaints, “It really surprises me that to you I, to whom all men owe their freedom, seem to be a slave” (me autem, propter quem ceteri liberi sunt, tibi liberum non visum demiror), and that the State owes Cicero much more than it has given him (tu es optimus testis quid mihi populus Romanus debeat), are especially poignant. 37 Cicero, however, wrote to Tiro that after Italy had been divided into military districts, he chose to look after Capua (nos Capuam sumpsimus, Fam. 16.11.3). Cicero later refused to take command of the remaining Pompeian forces after the battle of Pharsalus, a refusal that nearly cost him his life at the hands of an irate Sextus Pompey (Plu. Cic. 39.2).

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38 Zarecki (2009) 259–61. A few weeks before he sent the above letter, Cicero called attention to Pompey’s lack of consilium and diligentia (Att. 7.21.1), two of the canonical traits inherent in the rector-ideal. 39 In Book 3 of De Re Publica Laelius had included within the concept of ius the respect for both public and private property; see Asmis (2005) 407–8. 40 Cicero would continue to criticize the temeritas of the Pompeians in the Pro Marcello (§7). Caelius, too, would comment on Pompey’s lack of initiative in a contemporaneous letter (Fam. 8.15). 41 Given Cicero’s reluctance to throw his lot in with Pompey, the phrase en tois politikois, which I have translated as “among the tyrant’s opponents,” may refer in this letter to the Republican forces; see Zarecki (2009) 262–3. 42 For a summary of Cicero’s movements in January–April 49, see SBA 4.428–37. 43 Quintilian would later refer to the war as a dignitatis contentio (11.1.80). Cicero later separated this war from the conflict between the Sullans and the Marians, calling the earlier war a rei publicae contentio (Phil. 8.7). 44 Only six letters to Terentia and his family survive from this period in addition to single letters written to Cicero by Caelius and Dolabella (Fam. 8.17, 9.9).

4  Rex Caesar and the Rector-ideal 1 The biographies by Suetonius and Plutarch seem to agree, however, that Caesar was intent on being the supreme authority in Rome; on the problems faced by both authors, see Pelling (2009). Gardner (2009) views Caesar’s position in the years 49–44 as the product of “haste and improvisation in times of crisis, rather than the execution of some long-­premeditated plan . . . to make himself autocratic sole ruler over Rome and its empire (60). 2 Gotoff (1993) xi. 3 Baraz (2012) 1–4 provides a succinct and insightful summary of Cicero’s goals in writing philosophy under Caesar. 4 Caesar’s actions towards Cicero after his return likely came as a surprise to Cicero. Messages from the loyal Caesarians Balbus and Oppius assured Cicero that Caesar posed no threat to the orator’s dignitas—in fact, he was eager to increase it (Att. 11.6.3). Caesar recognized Cicero’s status as both proconsul and imperator, a sop which was surely welcome (Fam. 14.23; Deiot. 38). Caesar also made Cicero exempt from Antony’s decree prohibiting Pompeians from returning to Italy (Att. 11.7.2). 5 In reference to moral purity: Phil. 5.12, Cael. 42, Rep. 2.45, Leg. 2.24, Orat. 64; in reference to religious piety: Dom. 105, Har. 12, 24, Rab. Perd. 11. In addition to the reference under discussion here, these two adjectives are also paired in Cael. 42 (ne

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probrum castis, labem integris, infamiam bonis inferat) and Font. 32 (hoc vestrae mentes tam castae, tam integrae sibi suscipient). 6 There are far too many examples of this use in Cicero’s work to be listed here. Representative citations are found in the TLL s.v. auctoritas 2.A.2. 7 Gallus (cos. 166), was a successful general and a man of great learning, particularly about astronomy (V. Max. 8.11.1; Fron. Str. 1.12.8; Plin. Nat. 2.53). 8 SBA s.v. 11.6.5 takes a more sanguine approach towards this epitaph, viewing this combination of adjectives as “implying absence of vice rather than active virtue.” However, Cicero would reuse this phrase in his attack on Antony in Phil. 5, in a passage where he is clearly highlighting the inherent baseness of Antony’s character. It seems that in Att. 11.6 Cicero is in fact making a judgment about Pompey’s character in the active sense. 9 See especially Wistrand (1979) 200–2. 10 He would, however, claim that he had never doubted Pompey’s defeat, and that Juba’s involvement with Cato’s forces in Africa precluded him from rejoining Pompey’s troops (Att. 11.6.5, 11.7.3). 11 Whether Cicero was prevented from leaving by order of Caesar, as Gelzer (1969) 258–63 and Shackleton Bailey (1971) 172–3 have argued, or whether he stayed away from Rome as a way to preseve his status as both proconsul and imperator, as Wistrand (1979) 168–80 believed, is an unresolved question. 12 A useful timeline is found in Griffin and Atkins (1991) 29–32. 13 As Rawson (1983) 211 has noted. Cicero was not working on the unfinished De Legibus at this time; Schmidt (1969) has persuasively argued for simultaneous composition of De Legibus with De Re Publica. 14 See Zarecki (2009) 258–9. Politeia is also the title of Plato’s treatise on the State (cf. Att. 2.1.8, 4.16.3), but it is unlikely that Cicero is urging Varro or the unnamed petitioners to read Plato’s work instead of his own De Re Publica given the context of the rest of the passage. 15 The phrase de moribus quaerere also appears in Rep. 1.16 in reference to Socrates. 16 On the pomp and circumstance of this triumph, see Weinstock (1971) 76–9. Appian (BC 2.101) records the negative reaction of the people to the African triumph. 17 Marcellus, who consistently advocated using military means to deal with Caesar’s demands for a second consulship, had retired from the war after Pharsalus. Unlike Cicero, however, Marcellus chose to remain in seclusion in Greece. He would be murdered before he returned to Rome (Fam. 4.12.2). 18 Walser (1959) 90–3 provides an excellent summary of Ligarius’ activities during the war and the circumstances surrounding Tubero’s accusation of Ligarius. 19 Pro Marcello was delivered in the Senate in mid- to late September, Pro Ligario in front of Caesar in the Forum in late November 46, and Pro Rege Deiotaro in Caesar’s house in late summer 45; on the date of Pro Ligario, see SBF s.v. 6.14.2. All three

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speeches were put into circulation fairly soon after their composition. On the speech for Deiotarus, see the next section of this chapter, “Philosophy under a Tyrant.” 20 Rawson (1983) 219 believes the speech for Marcellus is a sincere reflection of Cicero’s thought. Mitchell (1991) 278 is particularly harsh, noting that there is “no special significance” to Pro Marcello, a speech which “made no attempt to address the specific problems present in 46 or the specific remedies needed to solve them.” Leach (1999) 175 believes that the Pro Ligario represents “the moment of [Cicero’s] greatest service and influence under Caesar and also, therefore, of his closest approach to reconciliation”; Winterbottom (2002) 38 claims that “we should take it at face value” (38); Gelzer (1985) 280, on the other hand, views the speech as outright criticism of Caesar’s rule. For rhetorical studies of Pro Ligario, see Craig (1984), Montague (1992) 562–71, and especially Gotoff (1993) 105–82. Quintilian (5.13.5) deemed it Cicero’s only true deprecatio, or appeal for mercy. 21 Griffin (2003) 158. Gelzer (1985) 281 had made similar comments, but felt that Cicero’s political program was one of reconciliation and support. 22 Lintott (2008) 317–19 provides a succinct summary of the political connection between Pro Marcello and Pro Ligario. Peer (2008) skillfully exposes the interconnectedness of these speeches with each other and with Pro Rege Deiotaro. 23 Weinstock (1971) 234–9 identifies many other words which also relate to the meaning of clementia, including humanitas, mansuetudo, misericordia, lenitas, moderatio, and the verbs parcere and ignoscere; at Marc. 1, clementia is paired with mansuetudo, with clementia presented as the greater term. Perhaps not surprisingly, the noun clementia becomes quite common in Augustan authors, particularly the desperate Ovid and the moralizing Livy. 24 Cicero prefers clementia/clemens to misercordia/misericors at a ratio of nearly two to one, with seventeen occurrences of clementia and only ten of misercordia/misericors: Marc.12, 21; Lig. 14, 15 (twice), 29, 37, 40 (twice). Likewise, the terms lenitas, humanitas, and mansuetudo occur only nine times in total in the three speeches. 25 “All that I have said I prefer to be announced to the single summit of your humanity or your clemency or your mercy” (quidquid dixi ad unam summam referri volo vel humanitatis vel clementiae vel misericordiae tuae). 26 Caesar’s invidiosa clementia was linked to Pompey’s iracundia during the early months of the civil war (Att. 8.16.2); cf. Plu. Sull. 72. 27 Before the civil war Cicero worried about Caesar’s lack of clementia (Att. 7.7.7), which suggests that he viewed clementia as a virtue. After Caesar’s assassination, however, the clementia Caesaris becomes unambiguously a vice for Cicero; it was in fact what had gotten Caesar killed (Att. 14.22.1). 28 Cf. Fam. 6.6.10: “I often admire Caesar’s seriousness, fairness, and wisdom” (admirari soleo gravitatem et iustitiam et sapientiam Caesaris).

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29 Rep. 1.45: quidam civis et divinus paene vir. Winterbottom (2002) 34 believes that there is nothing special about the phrase paene divinus. Cicero, however, uses the phrase elsewhere with named individuals only as a term of the highest praise: Pompey (Phil. 2.39), Aristotle (Div. 1.53), true friends (Amic. 64), and the virtues of Octavian (Phil. 3.3), and Aristotle (Div. 1.53) receive it; cf. Att. 7.14 on Pompey’s third consulship, ille divinus tertius consulatus. It is also used sarcastically to refer to Antony (Phil. 9.10). 30 Konstan (2005) attempts to dispel the idea that clementia, especially the clementia Caesaris, was a negative term. He notes that clementia was only one of several terms for the abstract idea of leniency towards one’s opponents (341–2). 31 Caesar himself used clementia only twice, both times in indirect discourse and both times pairing it with mansuetudo (Gal. 2.14 and 2.31); see Weinstock (1971) 236. He preferred to use the terms misericordia, liberalitas, lenitas, and crudelitas as antonyms for his policy of mercy and forgiveness; Griffin (2003) 159–63 gives several possible reasons for Caesar’s avoidance of the term. 32 Dyer (1990) 23–6. 33 I read the ablative absolute cognita vero clementia tua as causal, in the sense “only once your clemency has been recognized can there be anyone who does not approve that victory in which no one died unless they died in arms?” Cicero is speaking, of course, to a Senate full of survivors, who earned their place either by abstaining from participation in the war or by promotion or pardon from Caesar. 34 Such is the view of Dyer (1990), who argues that the speech is an attack on Caesar and his politics which even goes so far as to call for Caesar’s assassination. 35 Gotoff (2002) 233: “The individual must serve the state to the extent he is needed and then becomes expendable. This harsh reality is a fundamental Roman tenet; and the compact ends only with a man’s death . . . Service to the state, i.e. restoring the Republic, becomes a requisite, potentially onerous and painful, for a personal goal: immortality.” 36 See Astin (1967) 227–41 and Stevenson (2005) on the possibility of a dictatorship for Scipio in 129. 37 Plutarch highlighted this as one of the major reasons for Pompey’s defeat, especially with regard to the deliberations following Dyrrachium (Pomp. 66–7). We also learn from Plutarch that the men to whom Cicero is referring are likely Domitius Ahenobarbus, Favonius, and Lucius Afranius. 38 The first edition of Cicero’s eulogy of Cato appeared in 46. On the first edition, see Att. 12.4.2, 13.40.1, 13.46.2; on the second edition, published in 45, Fam. 16.22.1. 39 On Cicero’s opinion of Cato between 63 and 49, see Pecchiura (1965) 13–18, and, on Cicero’s use of wit and humor in his literary treatment of Cato, van der Wal (2007) 186–93.

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40 The laudatory nature of the work can be inferred from the fragments and summaries which have survived; see Lewis (1991) 3659 n. 130, and Jones (1970) with discussion of select fragments. Cicero had already praised Cato in the Paradoxa Stoicorum as a great orator; see Stem (2005). Baraz (2012) 131–6 has demonstrated how Cicero uses Cato in the preface of the Paradoxa to strengthen his claim for the usefulness of combining philosophy with politics. 41 Marcus Brutus and Fabius Gallus are also known to have written similar works (Att. 12.21.1, 13.46.2; Fam. 7.24.2), and later authors, in particular Lucan (1.126–8), continued to praise him in similar fashion. Plutarch (Cat.Mi. 72.2), despite his positive characterization of Cato, thought his suicide unnecessary and even selfish. For a summary of Cato’s appearances in other Latin works, see the studies by Pecchiura (1965) and Goar (1987). 42 Plutarch (Cat. Mi. 67–72) gives the most detailed treatment of Cato’s suicide. 43 Aristotle had determined that killing oneself to escape personal circumstances was the act of a coward (N.E. 3.1116a12). Plato had a more sympathetic view; see Griffin (1986) 70–1. On the philosophical differences between Cicero and Cato, see Stem (2006), especially 227–31. 44 Stem (2006) 229. On the reception of Cato as the paradigm of “heroic Stoic suicide” in early imperial authors, see Griffin (1986). 45 Cicero felt that the publication of Hirtius’ list of Cato’s faults, which presumably had Caesar’s approval (Att. 12.40.1), could be published as a way to bring derision upon Hirtius, at the time one of Caesar’s closest allies (Att. 12.45.2). 46 Cicero termed Caesar’s response, the Anticato, a “censure” (vituperatio, Att. 12.40.1; cf. 12.41.4), most likely of Cato and not Cicero. In the event no great breach developed. Caesar paid lip-­service to Cicero’s syle (Att. 13.41.2), and in return Cicero pronounced a favorable opinion of Caesar’s work (Att. 13.50.1, 13.51.1). Whether they were sincere in their praise of each other is of course unknowable, but it seems that Caesar was being less than truthful. Cicero would later comment that the letter of advice which he was planning but never sent could be construed as a make-­up present for Cato (Att. 13.27.1), which implies that Caesar was annoyed by Cicero’s work. The fragments of Caesar’s Anticato have been collected by Tschiedel (1981) 69–129. 47 Baraz (2012) 87–95 demolishes the oft-­repeated view that Cicero’s philosophical program was caused by his profound grief at Tullia’s death. By April 46 Cicero had already completed the Brutus, a history of Greco-Roman oratory, and the Paradoxa Stoicorum, a discourse on six Stoic doctrines. The Orator, finished some time during the summer of 45, completed the rhetorical trilogy begun with De Oratore and including the Brutus (Div. 2.4). Cicero was clearly not motivated by grief alone, though it is impossible to deny that Tullia’s passing greatly affected him, as he himself explains at N.D. 1.9.

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48 The first book of De Divinatione was written some time after the completion of De Natura Deorum but before Caesar’s assassination; on the dating of De Divinatione, see Durand (1903) 173–83. 49 The composition of the Academica occupied Cicero during the first months after Tullia’s death; on the date and composition, see the still-­valuable introduction by Reid (1885), especially 1–63, and the invaluable timeline in Griffin (1997) 28–34. 50 Fuhrmann (1992) 150–4 provides a number of examples of Cicero using his sharp wit as way to cope with the restrictions placed on his political activities by Caesar’s dictatorship. 51 Fam. 9.8.2: “Would that we were able to busy ourselves with our studies in times of quietude or, at the very least, with the status of the state settled definitively if not well” (atque utinam quietis temporibus atque aliquo, si non bono, at saltem certo statu civitatis haec inter nos studia exercere possemus). 52 Tracy (2012) argues that the desire to demonstrate “political consistency” (constantia) was, over and above his adherence to Academic skepticism, Cicero’s primary philosophical belief. 53 Baraz (2012) provides a thorough examination of Cicero’s goals through a discussion of the prefaces to each work. Lévy (2012) 71 holds that scholarship on that topic has run its course: “Everything or almost everything has been said about his [Cicero’s] wish to give Rome a great philosophical literature.” 54 Lévy (1992) 631–5 had earlier ascribed the impetus for composition of the Academica to the destruction of the libera res publica by Caesar; the work was thus envisioned as a form of political protest. Griffin (1997) 13–14 argues against Lévy’s conclusions, citing Cicero’s relatively amicable relationship with Caesar during this period. 55 Baraz (2012) 107 calls attention to the ambiguity of certe melioribus, noting that the comparative could indicate the superiority of Romans over Greeks or of the ancestors over Cicero’s contemporaries. 56 The Spanish triumph no doubt contributed to the rapid escalation of the hostility which becomes evident in Cicero’s letters. This triumph was celebrated for a victory not over a foreign enemy, but the citizens who had fought and died at Munda. The spectacle was a public relations disaster for Caesar (Suet. Jul. 56.7–9; D.C. 43.42.2). 57 Yavetz (1983) 195–6 claims that by nominating Rebilus Caesar was acting according to the letter of the law but against its intention. He is in the minority, however, and most scholars agree that republican institutions could not have been more abused, e.g. Gelzer (1985) 311. 58 Implicit in Cicero’s remark is a criticism of Brutus as well for his continued adherence to Caesar’s cause, as noted by SBA s.v. 13.40.1. 59 On the absence of free speech under Caesar, see Hall (2009), esp. 90–2.

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60 Peer (2008) 191 highlights the “tense and dangerous atmosphere” surrounding the speech’s delivery. The sight of Caesar’s statue paraded next to the statue of Victory at the ludi circenses met with silence from the crowd (Att. 13.44.1). 61 Gossip concerning Caesar’s assassination had been in circulation as early as 47 (Marc. 21); Cicero would later implicate Antony in this early plot (Phil. 2.74). In late 45 rumors centered around Gaius Trebonius, a long-­time Caesarian who would be named consul suffectus that year (Phil. 2.34; Plu. Ant. 11.2, 13.2). Trebonius would later play a major role on the Ides of March by preventing Antony from entering the Senate. 62 Fuhrmann (1992) 149 sees “uncompromising candor” in Cicero’s attack on Caesar in this speech. 63 Bringmann (1986) 84–5 discusses Caesar’s lack of concern in this proceeding for even the most basic legal principles, noting that “as Caesar had replied to the accusations against Deiotarus with the usurpation of judicial functions and the fixing of a process that was without any model, he demonstrated in a drastic way both his low estimation of the republican order and the unpredictability of his personal rule.” 64 By the time Cicero spoke for Deiotarus, Caesar had received a great number of honors from the Senate; Suetonius (Jul. 76.1) preserves a long list, though not in chronological order. Plutarch (Caes. 57.2) attributes the bestowal of at least some of these offices to Cicero and Caesar’s other enemies as a means of justifying Caesar’s assassination. 65 Cicero had earlier quipped that he would rather see a statue of Caesar in the temple of Quirinus than in the temple of Salus (Att. 12.45.2). It is unlikely, as SBA s.v. 12.45.2 has argued, that Cicero was thinking of Caesar’s assassination. Lintott (2008) 334 n. 119 notes that the remark is “sinister,” even without the added shadow of assassination. 66 Caesar seems to have grasped the severity of Cicero’s odium, at least according to Cicero’s posthumous remarks (Att. 14.1.2, 14.2.2).

5  The Ultimate Failure of the Rector-ideal 1 Att. 14.6.1, 14.12.1. Balsdon (1958) 81 states that Caesar’s assassination provided proof that republicanism was not yet dead and gone. 2 Shackleton Bailey (1998) 108. 3 White (2010) 138. 4 As Rawson (1983) 280 has noted. 5 Cicero uses gubern- forms 38 times in the works primarily concerned with the rector-ideal (Pro Sestio, De Oratore, De Re Publica, De Legibus, De Senectute, De

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Amicitia, De Officiis, Philippics) and a further seven times in the letters of 44–43 (thrice each to Atticus and Brutus, and once to Plancus). If we exclude the uses of gubern- forms in De Divinatione and De Natura Deorum—both primarily concerned with the gods, not human affairs—fully 42 percent of Cicero’s use of these forms falls in works which focus on the rector-ideal. For comparison, only 20 percent of the occurrences of gubern- forms (22 of 107) appear in the combined speeches before the composition of the Philippics. 6 For example, “the tyrant is dead, yet the tyranny lives” (Att. 14.9.2); “We who are not free men despite the death of the king” (Att. 14.11.1); “I see that though the tyrant has been removed, the tyranny remains” (Att. 14.14.2); “We seem to have been freed from a king but not a kingship” (Fam. 12.1.1). 7 Cicero had planned to be present in the Senate on the Kalends of June, in order to bring a motion on behalf of the Buthrotians (Att. 14.14.6). It was at this meeting, which Cicero ultimately chose not to attend, that Antony passed the measure authorizing him to take up the proconsulship of Gaul instead of his allotted province of Macedonia. 8 A letter from Decimus Brutus to Cicero, written shortly after Caesar’s funeral, summarizes the position of the conspirators vis-à-vis Antony (Fam. 11.1). Decimus advocated withdrawal from Italy and quiet retirement. 9 Lintott (2008) 339. 10 These circumstances seemed to be predicated on Brutus remaining in Rome (Att. 14.18.4, 14.20.3). 11 Baraz (2012) 200 illustrates “the integration of philosophical ideas with questions of relevance to the state” which would culminate in De Officiis, though she views De Amicitia as “a departure from the type of treatise” which appears in De Senectute (203). 12 De Senectute was nearly complete in January 44; Powell (1988) 267–8 places its completion between January and March 44. It was not revised and published, however, until July. De Amicitia is absent from the list of philosophical works presented in the preface of the second book of De Divinatione, but it appears in Off. 2.31. Thus, it can be placed securely between April and November 44. Dyck (1996) 8–9 contains the relevant passages from Cicero’s letters concerning the composition of De Officiis. He believes that no matter when Cicero began work—likely the last days of September—he must have finished working on it by 9 December. 13 On the relationship of De Amicitia to Cicero’s correspondence with Matius, see Lintott (2008) 359–66. 14 Nicgorski (2008) 85–9 has identified De Amicitia in particular as a complement to the political thought of De Re Publica. Scipio and Laelius play no great role in De Senectute, which is functionally a monologue by Cato the Elder. Laelius, however, as the only living participant in all three works, is the primary connection between

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them. Cicero had longed to be a Laelius to someone’s Scipio; such was his hope for the relationship between himself and Pompey in the 60s (Fam. 5.7.3). 15 Other than Cicero himself, of men who held the consulship during or prior to 63, only L. Aurelius Cotta (cos. 65), L. Julius Caesar (cos. 64), and Cicero’s colleague C. Antonius Hybrida are known for certain to have been alive in September 44. 16 Antony had been born in 83, nearly two decades after Cicero; he was, at least according to tradition, too young to even stand for the consulship which he now held. Adulescens generally denotes a person younger than Antony’s age in 44, though in De Amicitia Laelius, who would have been in his late fifties at the time of the dialogue, refers to Scaevola and Fannius, then in their early thirties, as adulescentes (Amic. 101); on the divisions of human life, see Powell (1988) 107. The “idiot kids” (stulti adulescentes) of Naevius’ Lupo, cited at Sen. 16 as the primary reason for the misfortunes of the Lupo, could easily refer to Caesar’s inner circle, most of whom were, like Antony, born in the 80s. See Isayev (2007) for a detailed examination of these terms and their relation to generational conflict in the Late Republic. 17 A similar comment is made at Rep. 1.67, where one of the negative consequences of democracy is that “young men (adulescentes) take on the authority (pondus) of old men (senum) and old men sink to the level of childish games (ad ludum adulescentium)” in the search for popularity. In De Re Publica (1.52), temeritas is a hallmark of the populus in a democracy and one of the primary reasons why aristocracies are considered the most moderate form of government. 18 In De Finibus (5.6) prudentia is defined as the ars vivendi, which is equal to the ars navigationis of the helmsman. 19 See also the discussion in Powell (1988) 247–8, where he notes that “human life is envisaged as a sort of guard-­duty under the command of a god, and to commit suicide is to desert one’s post.” We saw in Chapter 4 that this was the reason why Cicero never promoted Cato as a moral alternative to Caesar. 20 Fam. 11.5.2 seems to indicate that their amicitia had in fact ended. 21 Powell (1990) 92. 22 Cicero also works in an apology for his withdrawals from Rome at several places in De Officiis (e.g. 1.69–71, 1.83, 2.2–6). 23 De Officiis, while providing the final part of Cicero’s program, was written several months later, and therefore must be read in conjunction with the first two Philippics. Cicero had completed the first two books of De Officiis by 5 November (Att. 16.11.4), and likely put down his pen—whether or not the work had been revised or even completed—when he returned to Rome on 9 December (Fam. 11.5.1). Thus, the composition of De Officiis falls between the delivery of Philippic 1 in the Senate on 2 September and Philippics 3 and 4 on 20 December.

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24 The distinction between man and beasts, which includes the statement that man can understand cause and effect because of the presence of ratio (1.11), prefaces the explicit claim that Caesar knew what he was doing (1.26). 25 Even Pompey was not immune from criticism, though Cicero reiterates that he still had some feelings towards him (2.60). Cicero claims that Quintus Catulus was in no way inferior to Pompey, though Catulus had been one of Pompey’s earliest enemies and was not known for his military prowess (1.76). Pompey’s cause is said to have been well-­versed in failure (2.45). Cicero also makes disparaging comments about the third member of the triumvirate, Crassus, to whom he attributes the remark that a man could only be considered rich if he could fund his own private army (1.25). 26 The species/simulatio clementiae became a commonplace in Cicero’s attacks on Antony; cf. ad Brut. 1.2a and 1.15.10, Phil. 6.16. Griffin (2003) 164–82 provides a succinct discussion of the philosophical use of clementia after the Ides of March, with particular focus on Seneca. 27 Stone (2008) 215–27. 28 Cf. Off. 2.10, 3.71, and 3.96, where those who do not understand that whatever is morally right is also expedient often confuse sapientia with “craftiness” (malitia). 29 In a passage reminiscient of Sen. 20, Cicero notes that old men should strive to bring the full weight of their consilium and prudentia to bear for the benefit of the State (Off. 1.123). 30 Cf. Phil. 4.14, where Cicero tells the crowd that there can be no peace with Antony because of his lack of fides, and, by extension, his lack of iustitia and prudentia. 31 Fides and iustitia are linked together numerous times in De Re Publica, e.g. 1.2, 2.26, 2.61; fides is also connected to prudentia at Rep. 3.28. The description of the duties of magistrates at Off. 1.124 combines the duties of the rector described in De Re Publica and De Legibus with the requirements of fides. 32 Cf. Off. 1.49, where temeritas is presented as an unhealthy extension of benevolentia, a trait for which Caesar was widely known. 33 Friendship did play a role in the discussion of De Officiis, though Cicero refers his readers back to De Amicitia for exposition on his views (Off. 2.31; cf. 1.55–6). On the controversy over the date of composition for De Amicitia, see Dyck (1996) 409–11. 34 On the destruction of Caesar’s column, see Att. 14.15.1, 14.16.2, 14.17a.3, 14.95; Fam. 11.2.2, 12.1.1; Phil. 1.5. 35 Mitchell (1991) 300–11 presents Cicero as an unwilling participant in the opposition to Antony. Such a view, however, ignores the evidence from Cicero’s own pen, particularly the letters to his friends and colleagues, which consistently reference his satisfaction with being the princeps senatus. 36 On the unity of the corpus, see Shackleton Bailey (2009) xviii–xxii. In the following discussion I follow the excellent chronology provided therein (lix–lxvii).

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37 Stevenson (2008) 104. 38 In Philippic 2 in particular Cicero resurrects a number of themes from both of the earlier works. De Re Publica 5.6 and De Legibus 1.50–1 form the foundation of both his goals in Philippic 2 and the methods he uses to attain them; see Pitcher (2008) 132. 39 Stevenson (2008) 102. Cicero described Caesar’s dictatorship as having taken on a royal character (regia potestas, Phil. 1.3). He later portrayed Caesar as lord and master, “clad in a purple toga, sitting on a golden chair, and wearing a crown” (Phil. 2.85). 40 Ehrenberg (1964) 154 is convinced that in the Philippics Cicero intended to portray Caesar as a god. He continues on to say that “worship and divinity” were “without a doubt” part of Caesar’s own political aims; cf. Rawson (1975) 148. 41 Angel (2008) 114. 42 In Philippic 2 Cicero highlights the important roles which clementia and beneficium will play in a post-Caesar Rome; see Angel (2008) 129. By July 43, however, Cicero denied that clementia had any place in the war against Antony and, by that point, Lepidus as well (ad Brut. 1.15.11). 43 Hall (2002) 283. 44 Cicero is, however, faced with a great difficulty in employing the language of pater/parens patriae. By claiming Caesar to be a tyrant while simultaneously highlighting his position as parens patriae Cicero has opened himself to the old criticism that he had been aiming at tyranny during his consulship when he himself had been proclaimed pater patriae. 45 The history of Suessa Pometia was sufficiently well-­known to appear in Livy (1.41, 53; 2.25), Valerius Maximus (2.2), the elder Pliny (NH 7.69), Tacitus (Hist. 3.72), Orosius (1.2.4), and Eutropius (1.8). 46 Cicero does not make a distinction between the names of the two towns. 47 Cicero considered Hirtius an amicus of long-­standing; see Shackleton Bailey (1998) 111–12. Quintus Cicero thought much less highly of the incoming consuls. In a letter to Tiro he described Hirtius and Pansa as “full of desires and the inertia of a most effeminate spirit” (libidinum et languoris effeminatissimi animi plenos), and felt that unless they recused themselves from the consulship there was “a very great danger of a universal shipwreck” (qui nisi a gubernaculis recesserint, maximum ab universo naufragio periculum est, Fam. 16.27.1). 48 Dawes (2008) 278. 49 At Phil. 2.34 Cicero declares that had he been in charge of the conspiracy to assassinate Caesar, he would have “completed the whole play, not just a single act” (non solum actum sed totam fabulam confecissem). 50 On Antony’s lack of moderation, Phil. 2.63–70, 106–7; cf. Off. 1.24, 1.106, 2.77. 51 Wooten (1983) 3–20 see also Hall (2002) 283–7. 52 Cicero opens the fifth speech by trumpeting the consensus of the Senate and people on 20 December, when he had delivered the third and fourth speeches. The theme of

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consensus continues in 5.46, where the Fourth and Martian legions, under the dux and auctor Octavian, have united with the cause of the Senate to defend the Republic. 53 In the words of White (2010) 161, “the wartime correspondence of Cicero illustrates the workings of auctoritas in a Roman sense, but not of political authority in the modern sense.” 54 Plutarch (Ant. 17) calls Cicero “the most powerful man in the city” (ton d’ en te polei megiston dunamenos) in late 44 and early 43. 55 Cf. Fam. 1.6a.2, 12.22a.1. 56 Fam. 10.1 is dated between 1 September and 19 September 44; cf. Phil. 3.35. 57 Dawes (2008) 274. 58 Cowan (2008) 140 n. 4. 59 Cicero had retained the office of dictator in his discussion of the law in De Legibus (3.9); cf. Rep. 2.56. It was Caesar’s position as dictator perpetuus, not his assumption of the office, that was odious to Cicero. 60 Similar expressions can be found at Sest. 98 and Rep. 1.41. 61 After the death of Sulpicius, only Lucius Caesar was worthy of his position (Fam. 12.5.2). 62 Hall (2002) 296. For a list of the honors Cicero wished the Senate to bestow, see Phil. 5.35–53. 63 Christian (2008) 162. Thus, Cicero’s letters, coming as they did from an elder consular, helped to confirm legitimacy on the opponents of Antony despite any legal standing. 64 See Mitchell (1991) 302–3. 65 Like Pompey in the first war, Octavian suffered from bad advice at the hands of unreliable and unscrupulous advisers. Cicero had recognized as early as April 44 that Octavian’s attendants would prevent him from joining the ranks of the boni (Att. 14.12.2). Later, these men urged Octavian to seek a suffect consulship in 43, despite his age and the political turmoil it would cause (Fam. 10.24.7). 66 Cicero would later blame Decimus Brutus for Antony’s escape (ad Brut. 1.10.2). 67 Mitchell (1991) 321.

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Index Locorum appian

Bellum Civile 2.2.9: 54; 2.3.23: 175n.54; 2.9.33: 54; 2.17.62: 174n.38; 2.23.1: 73, 75; 2.25.1: 70; 2.101: 181n.16; 3.82: 156; 3.92: 158; 3.96: 158 apuleius

De Platone 2.8: 170n.58 aristotle

Nicomachean Ethics 3.1116a12: 184n.43 asconius

p. 36 Clark: 175n.53 augustine

De Civitate Dei 19.20: 178n.10 caesar

De Bello Civili 1.33.2: 97 De Bello Gallico 2.14: 183n.31; 2.31: 183n.31 catullus

64.204: 163n.8 cicero

Academica 1.2: 126; 1.13: 23; 1.14: 20; 1.18: 19; 1.45: 21; 1.46: 19; 2.5: 30, 37; 2.7: 23; 2.8: 94, 126; 2.9: 23; 2.18: 22; 2.28: 21; 2.35–6: 22; 2.59: 21; 2.64: 25; 2.65: 23; 2.66: 23, 25–6; 2.67: 21, 25; 2.70: 22; 2.78: 21, 167n.20, 167n.25; 2.99: 21; 2.112: 21; 2.115: 20; 2.132: 20; 168n.27; 2.139: 167n.20 Brutus 7–9: 113; 127: 19; 129: 19; 218: 26; 265: 170n.58; 306: 20, 166n.2; 315: 20; 316: 35; 323: 166n.2; 331: 124 De Amicitia 3: 37; 4: 136; 11: 138; 15: 139; 19: 140; 20: 139; 23: 140; 36–8: 140; 40–1: 140; 42: 140; 43: 138; 64: 183n.29; 80: 140; 88: 138; 91–2: 140; 97: 140; 100: 140; 101: 188n.16; 104: 140 De Divinatione 1.6: 167n.15; 1.24: 163n.7, 163n.9; 1.27: 85; 1.53: 20, 183n.29; 2.1: 73; 2.3: 16; 2.4: 175n.44,

184n.47; 2.7: 125; 2.9–11: 167n.20; 2.150: 26 De Domo Sua 85: 176n.58; 89–90: 85; 94: 172n.2; 105: 180n.5; 142: 170n.69 De Fato 1: 25–7, 37; 4: 30 De Finibus 1.6: 25; 1.11: 126; 1.13: 23, 37; 1.16: 20; 2.57: 120; 3.4: 166n.2; 4.2: 170n.58; 4.11: 5, 163n.7; 5.6: 188n.18; 5.7: 29; 5.23: 170n.58; 5.58: 132 De Haruspicum Responsis 12: 180n.5; 24: 180n.5; 45: 49, 172n.2; 54: 111 De Inventione 1.1: 65; 1.17–18: 19; 1.58: 89; 2.159: 178n.11; 2.164: 116 De Lege Agraria 1.203: 51; 2.39: 170n.69 De Legibus 1.8: 74; 1.14–17: 177n.68; 1.15: 74; 1.20: 74; 1.23: 90; 1.50–1: 190n.38; 1.51: 144; 1.57: 83; 1.60: 178n.10; 2.3: 138, 170n.68; 2.4: 19, 97; 2.5: 75, 97, 109; 2.6: 74–5, 177n.72; 2.15: 177n.72; 2.23: 74, 138; 2.24: 109, 180n.5; 2.26: 170n.67; 2.36: 144; 2.40: 138; 2.62: 138; 3.4: 74; 3.5: 29; 3.6: 75; 3.8: 39, 51, 75, 144; 3.9: 39, 51, 75, 191n.59; 3.10: 51, 75; 3.12: 74, 85; 3.14: 3, 27, 146, 169n.51; 3.22: 74; 3.26: 74; 3.28: 66, 85; 3.32: 29, 168n.37; 3.47: 109 De Natura Deorum 1.4: 25; 1.6: 16; 1.7: 16, 125; 1.8: 125; 1.9: 184n.47; 1.10: 23; 1.11: 21; 1.13: 27; 2.3: 37; 2.11: 170n.68; 2.89: 5, 163n.7; 3.19: 37; 3.43: 167n.20 De Officiis 1.1: 125; 1.6: 25, 143; 1.11: 189n.24; 1.12: 143; 1.15: 143; 1.24: 190n.50; 1.25: 189n.25; 1.26: 143, 189n.24; 1.49: 189n.32; 1.55–6: 139, 189n.33; 1.57: 145; 1.63: 143; 1.65: 143; 1.69–71: 188n.22; 1.76: 178n.22, 189n.25; 1.81: 143; 1.83: 93, 188n.22; 1.88: 116, 142; 1.101: 144; 1.106: 190n.50; 1.112: 121; 1.114: 145; 1.122:

204

Index Locorum

143; 1.123: 189n.29; 1.124: 189n.31; 1.132: 171n.70; 1.153: 143; 1.155: 166n.2; 1.156: 143; 1.160: 143; 2.2–6: 188n.22; 2.3: 142; 2.5: 166n.2; 2.8: 144; 2.10: 189n.28; 2.13: 187n.12; 2.17: 143; 2.24: 145; 2.29: 142, 164n.15; 2.31: 189n.33; 2.33–4: 143; 2.45: 189n.25; 2.60: 189n.25; 2.77: 190n.50; 2.78: 7; 2.84: 144; 3.3: 142; 3.5: 167n.15; 3.71: 189n.28; 3.96: 189n.28 De Oratore 1.1–2: 16, 64, 166n.2; 1.3: 16–17, 52, 64; 1.4: 16–17, 36, 63–4; 1.5: 17, 170n.69; 1.8: 114; 1.13: 19; 1.23: 30; 1.24: 67; 1.32: 39; 1.37: 178n.9; 1.38: 68; 1.45–7: 175n.42; 1.52–7: 63; 1.57: 64; 1.58–73: 65; 1.68: 64; 1.84–93: 175n.42; 1.104: 30; 1.154: 68; 1.166–200: 63; 1.211: 6, 65–6, 86, 137, 163n.7; 1.215: 6, 65; 1.219–33: 64; 2.2: 19; 2.40: 65; 2.152: 65; 2.154: 175n.45; 3.8: 64; 3.9–10: 175n.46; 3.63: 6, 65; 3.80: 65; 3.109: 170n.58; 3.110: 175n.42; 3.134: 84 De Provinciis Consularibus 25: 58, 66; 30: 59; 38–44: 58; 39: 58, 176n.57; 40: 59; 45–7: 59 De Re Publica frr. dubia 8: 68; 1.1–13: 31, 33; 1.1: 31–2; 1.2: 91, 125, 168n.37, 189n.31; 1.3–4: 37; 1.9–11: 36; 1.11: 63, 89; 1.12: 32–3, 37, 170n.67; 1.13: 27, 29–30, 33–7, 82, 93, 146; 1.14: 33; 1.15: 36; 1.16: 30, 37, 177n.5, 181n.15; 1.17: 35, 171n.70, 177n.5; 1.18: 138; 1.19: 171n.70, 177n.5; 1.20: 37; 1.21–5: 40, 90; 1.24: 109; 1.25: 37; 1.31–2: 8, 31; 1.31: 40, 45, 49, 68; 1.33: 83, 177n.5; 1.34: 37, 169n.53; 1.36: 24; 1.37: 24, 29, 63, 168n.37; 1.38: 1, 37, 84; 1.39: 6–7, 40; 1.41: 191n.60; 1.42–69: 38; 1.42: 47; 1.43: 83, 169n.44, 178n.14; 1.44: 40, 60; 1.45: 3, 92, 116, 183n.29; 1.46: 171n.79; 1.47: 39; 1.49: 60; 1.50: 117; 1.51: 90; 1.52: 144, 188n.17; 1.53: 169n.44, 171n.71, 178n.14; 1.54: 171n.79; 1.56: 90; 1.58–63: 168n.41, 171n.79; 1.60: 90, 92; 1.62: 89–90; 1.63: 75, 90, 144; 1.64: 39; 1.65: 39, 171n.79; 1.67: 188n.17;

1.69: 3, 47; 1.70: 43, 84; 2.2: 83; 2.5: 84; 2.7: 171n.70, 177n.5; 2.11–52: 38; 2.11: 83; 2.15: 40; 2.21: 37; 2.22: 29, 37, 168n.37; 2.24: 39; 2.25: 83–4; 2.26: 189n.31; 2.27: 60, 116; 2.33: 177n.5; 2.37: 171n.70; 2.39: 8, 40; 2.43: 39, 60, 83; 2.44: 148; 2.45–50: 81; 2.45: 84, 92, 144, 178n.10, 180n.5; 2.46: 88; 2.47: 39; 2.48: 40; 2.50: 39; 2.51: 1, 6, 39, 77–8, 81, 88–90, 116, 163n.7; 2.52: 29, 39, 82, 168n.37; 2.54: 60, 74; 2.56: 39, 173n.12, 191n.59; 2.58: 83; 2.61: 189n.31; 2.63: 145; 2.67: 18, 42, 61, 84, 86–7, 92, 179n.26; 2.69: 61, 85; 2.70: 37; 3.3: 171n.70, 177n.5; 3.5: 37, 64, 84; 3.6: 84; 3.7: 37; 3.24: 83, 85, 177n.5; 3.28: 189n.31; 3.37: 90, 144; 3.43: 174n.30; 3.45: 39–40, 47, 62; 3.46: 177n.5; 3.47: 6, 37, 83; 3.48: 6; 4.3: 29, 168n37; 4.5: 29; 5.1: 37; 5.2: 4, 30; 5.5: 63–4, 83, 89, 163n.7; 5.6: 163n.7, 190n.38; 5.8: 6; 6.1: 84, 163n.7, 178n.10; 6.10: 171n.70, 177n.5; 6.11–12: 118; 6.13: 88, 163n.7; 6.14: 138; 6.15: 121, 138; 6.17: 86–7; 6.20: 171n.70; 6.23: 171n.70; 6.25: 171n.70 De Senectute 1: 136; 3: 37; 13: 137; 15: 137; 16: 188n.16; 17–18: 138; 20: 138, 189n.29; 27: 137; 66–84: 138; 73: 138; 77: 138; 82: 138 Epistulae Ad Atticum 1.8.1: 53, 177n.69; 1.12.3: 53, 177n.69; 1.13.4: 54, 120, 176n.61; 1.14.6: 176n.58; 1.16.4: 52; 1.16.6: 52; 1.16.11: 53; 1.17.8: 52, 55; 1.17.10: 49, 52; 1.18.2: 52; 1.18.3: 48, 52, 166n.2; 1.18.4: 52; 1.18.5: 176n.58; 1.19.7: 53; 1.20.2: 54, 176n.61; 1.20.3: 52; 1.20.5: 176n.58; 2.1.6–7: 53; 2.1.8: 181n.14; 2.1.3: 170n.58; 2.3.3: 26, 54; 2.3.4: 53; 2.9.1: 54, 176n.61; 2.16.2: 43; 2.16.3: 166n.2; 2.17.1: 54, 176n.61; 2.17.3: 54; 2.21.3: 54, 176n.61; 2.21.4: 176n.61; 3.10.2: 55; 3.15.2: 55; 3.27: 55; 4.1.3: 55; 4.2.4: 55; 4.3.3: 55; 4.3.5: 70; 4.3.6: 55; 4.8a.4: 170n.58; 4.13.2: 64; 4.16.1: 34; 4.16.2: 16, 28–9; 4.16.3: 29, 181n.14; 4.18.2: 166n.4; 4.18.3: 69; 5.5.2: 72, 95; 5.6.1: 95, 176n.59; 5.7:

Index Locorum 95, 179n.32; 5.7.2: 71; 5.11.2: 31; 6.1.8: 31, 68; 6.2.9: 31; 6.2.10: 72, 95; 6.3.3: 31; 6.3.4: 72, 95; 6.5.1: 95; 6.8.2: 96; 6.8.3: 97; 6.9.5: 179n.35; 7.1.2: 96; 7.1.3: 72, 96; 7.1.4: 70, 72, 96, 183n.29; 7.3.4: 96; 7.4.2: 96; 7.5.4: 96; 7.7.7: 182n.27; 7.8.4: 95–6, 101; 7.10: 97–8; 7.11.3: 97–8; 7.12.2: 98; 7.13: 101; 7.13.1: 98; 7.13.2: 97; 7.16.2–3: 98; 7.17.1: 101; 7.17.4: 99; 7.20.2: 99; 7.21.1: 180n.38; 7.22.1: 98; 7.23.1: 98; 7.24: 98; 7.25: 99; 7.26.2: 99; 8.1.1: 99; 8.2.2: 100; 8.3.2: 101; 8.3.3–5: 98; 8.3.3: 100; 8.3.4: 99; 8.4.3: 99; 8.7.2: 99; 8.11.1–2: 101; 8.11.1: 85; 8.11.4: 99; 8.14.2: 99; 8.15.2: 99; 8.16.1: 96, 101; 8.16.2: 142, 182n.26; 9.2a.2: 99; 9.4.1: 173n.16; 9.4.2: 102; 9.5.2: 101; 9.7.3: 102; 9.7.5: 164n.12; 9.7c.1: 116; 9.18.2: 128; 10.4.3: 102; 10.4.4: 103; 10.7.1: 102; 10.8.4: 98; 10.8.6: 116; 11.4a: 103; 11.5.1: 109; 11.5.4: 109; 11.6.2: 109; 11.6.3: 180n.4; 11.6.5: 109, 181n.8, 181n.10; 11.7.2–3: 111, 180n.4; 11.7.3: 181n10; 11.7.4: 120; 11.8.2: 109; 11.9.2: 110; 11.10.2: 111; 11.13.6: 111; 11.14.2: 111; 11.16.3: 111; 11.17a.1: 111; 11.17a.3: 111; 11.18.1–2: 111; 11.19.1: 111; 11.20.2: 111; 11.21.3: 111; 11.22.2: 111; 11.23.3: 111; 11.25.1: 111; 12.4.2: 121, 183n.38; 12.5.2: 121; 12.5.3: 168n.35; 12.13.2: 123; 12.14.1–3: 123; 12.15: 123; 12.18.1: 123; 12.21.1: 184n.41; 12.40.1: 184n.45, 184n.46; 12.41.4: 184n.46; 12.44.3: 123; 12.45.2: 184n.45, 186n.65; 12.49.2: 128; 12.51.2: 127; 12.52.3: 23; 13.10.1: 128; 13.14–15.1: 34; 13.19.4: 169n.54; 13.20.4: 128; 13.27.1: 184n.46; 13.30: 170n.58; 13.31.3: 128; 13.37.2: 127; 13.40.1: 128, 183n.38; 13.41.2: 184n.46; 13.46.2: 183n.38, 184n.41; 13.50.1: 184n.46; 13.51.1: 184n.46; 14.1.1: 135; 14.1.2: 186n.66; 14.2.2: 186n.66; 14.5.2: 142; 14.6.1: 135, 186n.1; 14.6.2: 135, 142; 14.7.2: 135; 14.9.2: 138, 142, 187n.6; 14.10.1: 135; 14.11.1: 187n.6; 14.12.1: 142, 186n.1; 14.12.2: 135,

205

191n.65; 14.13.2: 135, 158; 14.13.4: 136; 14.14.1: 169n.52; 14.14.2: 142, 187n.6; 14.14.4: 142; 14.14.6: 187n.7; 14.15.1: 189n.34; 14.16.2: 189n.34; 14.17a.3: 189n.34; 14.18.4: 187n.10; 14.19.1: 135; 14.20.3: 187n.10; 14.21.1: 182n.27; 14.21.3: 135, 145; 14.22.2: 138; 14.95: 189n.34; 15.3.1–2: 136; 15.4.2: 136, 145; 15.12.2: 135; 15.20.2: 142; 16.7.1–3: 136; 16.7.7: 136; 16.11.4: 188n.23 Epistulae Ad Familiares 1.6a.2: 191n.55; 1.9.8–11: 65; 1.9.9: 64; 1.9.11: 64; 1.9.12–13: 59; 1.9.13: 173n.14; 1.9.21: 73; 1.9.23: 37, 64; 2.4.1: 70; 2.5.1: 70; 2.6.3: 59; 2.8.2: 71, 92; 2.15.3: 96; 3.7.5: 95; 3.10.2: 95; 3.11.3: 95; 4.2.2: 103; 4.4.2–5: 110; 4.4.4: 118; 4.9.2: 120, 170n.68; 4.9.3–4: 110; 4.9.3: 105; 4.12.2: 181n.17; 4.13.2: 112; 4.13.5: 119; 4.14.1: 122; 4.14.2: 110; 4.15.1: 122; 5.2.7: 52; 5.2.8: 51; 5.7: 177n.70; 5.7.3: 188n.14; 5.21.6: 120; 6.1.5: 110; 6.2.2: 123; 6.4.1: 111; 6.6.4: 120, 123; 6.6.6: 120; 6.6.10: 182n.28; 6.19.2: 127; 6.21.1: 123; 7.2.2: 71, 176n.57; 7.3.2–3: 103; 7.2.2–4: 110; 7.3.3: 109; 7.11.1: 69; 7.24.2: 184n.41; 7.27: 179n.36; 7.30.1–2: 128; 7.32.3: 174n.36; 8.1.4: 31, 170n.58; 8.8.4: 95; 8.8.9: 96; 8.11.3: 96; 8.13.2: 72; 8.14.2: 96; 8.15: 180n.40; 8.17: 180n.44; 9.1.1: 113; 9.2.5: 113; 9.5.2: 109; 9.7.1: 127; 9.8.2: 34, 185n.51; 9.9: 180n.44; 9.12.2: 129; 9.15.2: 114; 9.17.3: 114; 9.18.2: 121; 9.24.4: 158; 10.1: 150, 191n.56; 10.3.2: 173n.16; 10.6.3: 153; 10.8: 157; 10.9.3: 157; 10.21.4: 155; 10.24: 158; 10.24.7: 191n.65; 10.27.1–2: 156; 10.28.2: 150; 10.28.3: 155, 176n.58; 10.34.2: 156; 11.1: 187n.8; 11.2.2: 189n.34; 11.3: 136; 11.5.1: 188n.23; 11.5.2: 188n.20; 11.7: 153; 11.8.1: 142; 11.9.1: 155; 11.10.3: 155; 11.11.2: 155; 11.14.1: 158; 11.18.1: 157; 11.18.2: 156; 11.20.2: 156; 11.21.4: 157; 11.25: 158; 11.27.8: 127, 142; 12.1.1–2: 142; 12.1.1: 187n.6, 189n.34; 12.1.2: 135; 12.2.1:

206

Index Locorum

150; 12.2.3: 6, 153; 12.3.1: 147; 12.3.2: 142; 12.4.1: 153; 12.5.2: 191n.61; 12.7.1: 153; 12.8: 156; 12.10.4: 156; 12.12.4: 155; 12.22a.1: 191n.55; 12.22: 154; 12.22.2: 146; 12.23.2: 155; 12.24.2: 150; 12.25.2: 150; 12.25a.2: 157; 12.30.4: 158; 13.1: 20; 13.19.1: 173n.16; 15.19.4: 127; 16.11.3: 97, 179n.37; 16.22.1: 183n.38; 16.23.2: 139; 16.27.1: 190n.47 Epistulae Ad Marcum Brutum 1.2a: 189n.26; 1.3.1–2: 155; 1.3.4: 155; 1.4a.2: 157; 1.4a.3: 156; 1.10.2: 191n.66; 1.10.3: 158; 1.15.10: 189n.26; 1.15.11: 190n.42; 1.17: 157; 1.18: 156, 158; 1.18.3: 156; 2.1.2: 152; 2.3.3: 150 Epistulae Ad Quintum Fratrem 1.1.5: 170n.68; 1.1.16: 173n.16; 1.1.29: 133; 1.3.6: 85; 1.4.4: 54; 2.4.2: 19; 2.13(12).1: 29; 2.13.5: 174n.31; 2.15.4: 174n.31; 3.1.11: 16; 3.2.3: 60; 3.4.1: 60, 174n.31; 3.5.1–2: 174n.32; 3.5.1: 1, 26, 30, 78, 169n.54; 3.5.2: 30; 3.7.2: 166n.4; 3.8.4: 174n.31; 3.9.3: 69 In Catilinam 1.1: 51; 1.2: 130; 1.31: 89; 1.32: 50; 2.17–23: 51; 4.14–17: 50; 4.15: 51; 4.21: 176n.58 In Pisonem 3: 52; 6: 52, 66; 7: 52 In Vatinium 24: 66 In Verrem 1.44: 170n.68; 2.4.22: 176n.57; 3.209: 35 Orator 35: 121; 64: 180n.5; 172: 20 Paradoxa Stoicorum 6: 30; 28: 56 Philippics 1.3: 151, 190n.39; 1.5: 189n.34; 1.16: 145; 1.32: 147, 151; 1.39: 158; 2.11: 154; 2.20: 136; 2.24: 70; 2.25–7: 148; 2.27: 151; 2.31: 146; 2.34: 151, 185n.61, 190n.34; 2.39: 183n.29; 2.63–70: 190n.50; 2.74: 186n.61; 2.80: 146; 2.81: 149; 2.83: 147; 2.85: 147, 190n.39; 2.92: 153; 2.106–7: 190n.50; 2.108: 146; 2.110: 147; 2.113: 153; 2.116: 142, 147; 2.118–19: 151; 2.118: 150; 3.3: 183n.29; 3.7: 154; 3.9–11: 147; 3.10: 148; 3.19: 151; 3.28: 149–50; 3.33: 152; 3.35: 151, 191n.56; 3.36: 148;

4.1: 150–1; 4.4: 148; 4.12: 152; 4.14: 189n.30; 5.12: 180n.5; 5.17: 148; 5.34: 152; 5.35–53: 191n.62; 5.38: 151; 5.39: 142; 5.41: 148, 151; 5.46: 191n.52; 6.1–2: 151; 6.4: 149; 6.16: 189n.26; 7.7: 148; 7.8–9: 154; 7.27: 148, 152; 8.7: 111, 180n.43; 8.8: 151; 8.12: 147; 8.22: 153; 9.4: 150; 9.10: 183n.29; 10.23: 151; 11.28: 178n.22; 11.29–31: 153; 11.36: 151; 13.18: 148; 13.30: 121, 149; 13.32: 170n.69 Post Reditum Ad Populum 11: 56; 18: 56 Post Reditum Ad Senatum 3–5: 56; 7: 85; 8–9: 56; 16: 85; 29: 177n.69 Pro Archia 5: 19; 7: 19 Pro Balbo 1: 173n.16; 30: 170n.69 Pro Caecina 79: 170n.69 Pro Caelio 42: 180n.5 Pro Cluentio 53: 164n.19; 151: 50; 152: 49; 153: 50, 176n.57; 154: 172n.9; 175: 109 Pro Flacco 103: 51, 173n.22 Pro Fonteio 32: 181n.5 Pro Ligario 7: 118; 14–15: 182n.24; 15: 117; 19: 117–18; 28: 118; 29: 114, 182n.24; 30: 117; 37: 182n.24; 40: 182n.24 Pro Marcello 1: 116, 182n.23; 2: 118; 3: 85, 118; 7: 180n.40; 8–9: 119; 12: 114, 182; 14–15: 118; 17–18: 109; 18: 117; 21–3: 119; 21: 1 82n.24, 186n.61; 23–4: 118; 27: 119; 29: 118 Pro Milone 2: 71; 15: 175n.54; 21: 71; 38: 176n.58; 66: 71; 70: 71, 175n.54; 76: 164n.12; 79: 175n.54; 87: 59 Pro Murena 7: 173n.16; 24: 164n.12; 36: 176n.58; 60–6: 23 Pro Plancio 51: 176n.57 Pro Rabirio Perduellionis Reo 11: 180n.5; 26: 83; 27: 50 Pro Rabirio Postumo 1: 144; 26: 6; 33: 177n.69 Pro Rege Deiotaro 1: 129; 5: 129; 6–8: 129; 12: 129; 30: 130

Index Locorum Pro Roscio Amerino 6: 176n.57 Pro Sestio 15: 177n.69; 17: 47; 21: 57; 27: 56; 36: 49, 57; 42–4: 57; 49: 93; 53: 47; 64: 47; 91: 7; 96–7: 57–8; 96–101: 85; 97: 139, 178n.20; 98: 6, 57–8, 85, 172n.9, 191n.60; 101: 178n.20; 121: 52; 133: 177n.69; 138: 57; 140: 176n.58 Tusculanae Disputationes 1.2: 126; 1.7: 20; 1.8: 23; 2.9: 26; 2.13: 166n.2; 2.27: 19; 2.61: 20; 5.5: 166n.2; 5.11: 21; 5.32: 22

207

orosius

Historiae Contra Paganos 1.2.4: 190n.45 ovid

Metamorphoses 1.331: 163n.8; 1.668: 163n.8 plato

Critias 108c–d: 170n.64 Menexenus 236d–249c: 34 Politicus 302d: 39 Republic 389b: 89; 443b: 8 Theateatus 142d–143c: 170n.64 Timaeus 29b–d: 170n.64 plautus

dio cassius

40.50.3: 73; 40.50.4: 175n.53; 40.56.1: 70; 43.42.2: 185n.56; 43.42.3: 123; 43.46.2: 128; 44.4.4: 129; 44.4.5: 172n.4; 46.42: 156 diogenes laertius

4.36: 167n.19 dionysius of halicarnassus

Antiquitates Romanae 2.11.2–3: 172n.4 eutropius

1.8: 190n.45 frontinus

Strategemeta 1.128: 181n.7 grillius

Commentum in Ciceronis Rhetorica 28.14: 171n.73 livy

Per. 107: 175n.53; 1.41: 148, 190n.45; 1.53: 190n.45; 2.25: 148, 190n.45; 3.55: 60; 4.14: 163n.8; 7.17: 164n.18, 164n.23 lucan

1.126–8: 184n.41

Captivi 825: 171n.78 Curculio 284–7: 171n.78 Stichus 287: 171n.78 pliny the elder

Naturalis Historia praef. 22: 28; 2.53: 181n.5; 5.122: 170n.58; 7.69: 190n.45 pliny the younger

Epistulae 1.20.4: 172n.6 plutarch

Antony 11.2: 186n.61; 13.2: 186n.61; 17.1: 191n.54 Caesar 21.5: 174n.38; 28: 175n.53; 57.2: 186n.64; 58.2–3: 128 Camillus 42: 172n.4 Cato Minor 47: 73, 175n.53; 48.3: 175n.54; 67–72: 184n.42; 72.2: 184n.41 Cicero 23.1: 52; 23.6: 52; 38.2: 103; 39.2: 179n.37; 39.4–5: 111; 45: 156; 48: 161 Crassus 14.6: 174n.38 Pompey 51.4: 174n.38; 54.1–2: 70; 54.4: 175n.53; 54.5–6: 73, 75; 56.1: 70; 61.3: 97; 66–7: 183n37 Sulla 72: 182n.26 polybius

31.25: 179n.30

macrobius

Saturnalia 2.3.7–8: 103; 6.5.8: 73 nonius

521.12L: 68; 702L: 158

quintilian

Institutio Oratoria 2.17.21: 49; 3.6.80: 171n.72; 4.1.35: 172n.6; 5.13.5: 182n.20; 11.1.80: 180n.43

208

Index Locorum

sextus empiricus

Outlines of Pyrrhonism 1.220: 20; 1.235: 22, 168n.27 suetonius

Divus Julius 19.2: 54, 69; 26.1: 75, 175n.53; 37.1: 114; 56.7–9: 185n.56; 76.1–2: 128–9; 76.1: 186n.64 tacitus

Annales 3.28: 70 Historiae 3.72: 190n.45

varro

De Lingua Latina 6.64: 171n.70 valerius Maximus

2.2: 190n.45; 8.11.1: 181n.7 vergil

Aeneid 8.572: 163n.8

General Index Academic skepticism 16–44 passim, 124 and Cicero’s pragmatism 2–4 development of 18–20 epistemology 18, 21–8 methodology 17–18, 24–7, 37–44 Aemilius Paulus, Lucius 121 aequabilitas 85–6 amicitia 72–4, 92, 134, 136, 157 not possible with Antony 139–41 anakyklosis 40, 88 Antiochus of Ascalon skepticism of 19–25 Antonius, Marcus (orator) 65–8 Antony (Marcus Antonius) 4, 112, 131–59 passim lack of virtue 149 as tyrant 146–9 Arcesilaus 2, 19, 21–5, 27 Aristotle 20, 28–30, 78 Atticus, Titus Pomponius 31, 65, 74–5, 95, 101, 109, 123, 136 auctoritas 59, 64, 68, 75, 91–3, 100, 109 of Caesar 145 of Cicero 28, 100, 120, 124, 145, 149, 155 of Pompey 96, 120 of Rutilius Rufus 35 of the Senate 48, 57, 59, 118, 154, 160 as virtue of statesmen 82, 85 Bona Dea scandal 52 boni 49, 116, 120, 127–8, 135, 139, 146, 150, 156 definition 56–7 Brutus, Decimus (D. Junius Brutus Albinus) 133, 148–50, 153–8 Brutus, Lucius Junius 88, 93 Brutus, Marcus Junius 121, 135–6, 141, 145, 148–58 passim Caelius (M. Caelius Rufus) 31, 71–2, 95–6, 112

Caesar, Gaius Julius 4, 53–4, 58, 70–1, 147 assassination of 131–2, 136, 145, 147, 156 compared with Scipio Aemilianus 118–20 dictatorship and autocracy of 105–6, 111–31 passim, 140–2 see also tyranny/tyrannus lack of virtues 142–4 role in Clodius’ adoption 55 rumors of assassination 119, 128 Caninius Rebilus Gaius, 127–8 Carneades 2, 27, 41, 83 skepticism of 21–2, 24–5 Cassius (C. Cassius Longinus) 127–8, 136, 148–50, 155 Catiline (L. Sergius Catilina) 5, 49–52, 59, 130, 145 Cato the Elder (M. Porcius Cato Censorius) 32, 93, 137–8, 140 Cato the Younger (M. Porcius Cato Uticensis) 4, 52, 70, 107, 112 suicide of 120–2 Catulus, Quintus Lutatius 52, 66 Cicero, Marcus Tullius Academic methodology of 25, 42–3, 143 actions during civil war 99–103 in Brundisium 108–12 under Caesar’s dictatorship 105–31 as character in his dialogues 28–30 criticism of Caesar 86, 115–31 against dogmatism 12, 23, 43, 126 education of 19–20 in exile 55–6 goals under Caesar 112–14 grief for Tullia 123 lack of fear of death 138, 150 as model of statesmanship 35, 53, 118, 124, 130, 139, 149–51, 161 as novus homo 50

210

General Index

opinion of monarchy 3, 60, 73, 88–90, 101–2, 161 as pater patriae 52, 55, 147 philosophical affiliation 3, 16, 22–7, 38, 124 posthumous rehabilitation of Pompey 109, 120–1 reasons for returning to Italy 108–10 relationship with Caesar after Pharsalus 111–13 relationship with Pompey 52–5, 71–2, 92, 95–8 repudiates amicitia with Caesar and Antony 139–41 against suicide 121 support for Caesar in Gaul 58–9 support for mixtum genus 42–3, 78 use of Greek sources 28–31, 37, 41, 66 use of recusatio 34–6 withdraws from Rome 135–6 Cicero, Marcus Tullius filius 111, 141 Cicero, Quintus Tullius 35–6, 74–5, 109, 123 civil war 94–104 clementia and Caesar 115–17, 129–30, 142, 147 incompatibility with mixtum genus 116–17 Clitomachus 21 Clodius (P. Clodius Pulcher) 47, 54–6, 59, 62, 64, 75, 145 murder of 70 transfer to plebeians 55 concordia/concordia ordinum 48–62 passim, 68, 72–3, 75, 85, 150, 160 definition of 48–52, 59–62 as focus of Cicero’s consulship 50–1, 57, 62 impracticality of 57, 59, 73, 75 and the mixtum genus 60 and monarchy 60 see also consensus/consensio omnium bonorum consensus/consensio omnium bonorum 49, 51, 59–62, 73, 139, 155, 160 definition of 56 constitution definition of 8–9 idealized 75

Roman 8, 42–3, 48 see also mixtum genus Crassus, Lucius Licinius 19, 64–5, 67–8, 137, 140 as Cicero’s mouthpiece in de Orat. 28, 63 Crassus, Marcus Licinius 49, 54, 69–70 Curio, Gaius Scribonius 59, 66, 70, 128 Deiotarus 115, 128–30 democracy failings of 8, 27, 40, 47, 143–4 dialectic 25–8 dialogue format 24–37, 40–2, 63–7, 72 dignitas 58, 60, 68, 110, 122, 133–4 of Cicero 113, 122, 145, 151 of Rome 85, 103, 118 of the Senate 50, 152 disputatio 30–1, 36–8, 65 in utramque partem 17, 26–7, 40 Dolabella, Publius Cornelius 138, 145, 153 dominus 127–8, 142 Drusus, Marcus Livius (tribune in 91) 50 elenchus 24 Epicureans/Epicureanism 20, 32, 124 equites 48–51, 56–7, 61 Flaccus, Lucius 51 Gabinus, Aulus 47, 58, 69 Gracchus, Gaius 50, 140 Gracchus, Tiberius 40, 68, 86, 119, 140 Heinze, Richard 10–11, 78–9, 86, 88 Hirtius, Aulus 137, 148, 155 Horatius Barbatus, Marcus 60–1 Hybrida, Gaius Antonius 50 ignavia opposite of virtus 101 kairos 152 Laelius (C. Laelius Sapiens) 41, 61, 83–4, 90, 137–40, 147 Lentulus Spinther, Publius Cornelius 56, 59 Lepidus, Marcus Aemilius 134, 148, 153, 155–8

General Index Liberatores 14, 141, 146, 149–51, 158 libertas 7–8, 42, 133–4, 148, 150–3 libido 144, 149 Ligarius, Quintus 115, 117, 120, 122, 127–9 Luca 64 Lutatius Catulus, Quintus 52, 66 magister populi 75, 90 Marcellus, Marcus Claudius 114–15, 117–18, 120–2, 127, 129 Metellus Nepos, Quintus Caecilius 52, 56 Milo, Titus Annius 5, 59, 62, 70, 112 mixtum genus 6, 13, 60, 67, 69, 73, 154 stability of 47 monarchy 73, 77, 83, 90 apology for 38–40 becomes tyranny 39–40 in Rome 3 mos/mores maiorum 37, 88, 118, 130, 137–8 Munda 105–6, 108, 123, 130 Mutina 14, 145, 155–7 neglengentia opposite of diligentia 101 Ninnius, Lucius 56 Numa Pompilius 60–1, 83 Octavian 133–5, 142, 145, 148–50, 153–8 passim, 160–1 old age and politics 138 and statesmanship 137–9 virtues of 143 optimates/optimi, 59 definition 57–8 oratio perpetua 26–7, 37 oratory under Caesar’s dictatorship 115–22 and philosophy 63–8 restrictions on 65, 68, 114 role in mixtum genus 67 and statesmanship 65–7 otium 53, 59, 113, 118, 148, 151 cum dignitate 57–8, 85, 110, 123, 150 and statesmanship 32–3

211

Pansa (C. Vibius Pansa Caetronianus) 137, 148, 153, 155–6 Philo of Larissa 12 skepticism of 18–25 philosophy after Caesar’s assassination 135–45 under Caesar’s dictatorship 122–7 compatibility with statesmanship 31–5, 41–2, 84, 91–4, 124–6 and oratory 62–5 and wisdom 82–3 Piso (L. Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus) 47, 58 Plancus, Lucius Mutatius 157–8 Plato 8, 37, 43, 46, 78, 89, 109, 133 and Academic skepticism 2, 25 use of dialogue format 34–5, 65 value as source 10, 28–30, 64, 82 Pompey (Cn. Pompeius Magnus) 4–5, 53, 55–6, 64, 108–9, 118, 154 compared with Caesar 129 decision to abandon Rome 96–8 failure as statesman 54, 72, 98–103, 145, 151 influence on Leg. 74–5 as possible dictator 10 sole consulship 48, 69–78, 92 Pompey, Sextus 123, 135 Powell, J.G.F. 10–11, 68, 78–9, 81, 86 preface to de Orat. 1 36 to de Orat. 3 64 to Rep. 32–6, 91 provocatio 60 prudentia 68, 91, 133–4, 138, 143, 148–9, 155 as virtue of statesmen 82–6 ratio contra omnia disserendi 24 rector-ideal alternate terms for 5–6, 57 definition 80–93 individual or type 86–90 lack of military ability 85, 92–3, 109–10, 154, 160 metaphors for 89–90 as personal construct 4, 79–80, 91, 93, 133, 161 previous theories about 9–11, 78–9

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res publica definition 6–7, 40 rex 40, 127, 142, 146 Romulus 83–4 Rutilius Rufus, Publius 34–6 sapientia/sapiens 36, 71, 78, 91, 110, 115–16, 133–4, 143–4 as knowledge of philosophy 64–5 as practical knowledge 89–90 as virtue of statesmen 82–5, 100 Scaevola (Q. Mucius Scaevola Augur) 19, 29, 67, 137 Scipio Aemilianus 1, 6, 24, 35–6, 41, 43, 61, 67–8, 83–4, 86–91, 118–19, 138, 140 as Cicero’s mouthpiece in Rep. 27–8 Scipio Africanus 88, 93, 118–19 Sestius, Publius 56, 64, 93 skepticism see Academic skepticism Stoics/Stoicism 15, 18, 82, 121, 124, 143, 157, 161 and Academic skepticism 20–6 Sulla 13, 50, 93, 102, 105, 111, 154

Sulpicius Gallus, Gaius 109 Sulpicius Rufus, Servius 123 Tarquinius Superbus 14, 39, 81, 88, 141, 144, 147–8 temeritas 138 opposite of sapientia 101, 143–4 Thapsus 114 Tullus Hostilius 83 tyranny/tyrannus 54, 60, 77, 81, 88, 116–18, 127–31, 142, 146–7, 151 as outcome of civil war 94–6, 110 see also Caesar: dictatorship and autocracy of Valerius Potitus, Lucius 60–1 Varro, Marcus Terentius 22–3, 113, 126 virtus of Hirtius and Pansa 148 and libertas 42 of Pompey 71 in public life 31 and the rector-ideal 68, 101 of Rome’s kings 39 Xenocrates 33