Eager to be Roman: Greek Response to Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia 9781472540669, 9780715637531

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To Rikke

Preface This book is a rewritten version of my PhD dissertation, completed at Aarhus University (Denmark) in June 2006 under the supervision of Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen, with whom I share an interest in Bithynia. I am grateful for his encouragement and support over the years, both as a doctoral student and later as a colleague at the University of Southern Denmark, where this book was completed. I would like to thank him warmly for many stimulating discussions. I am also grateful to Greg Woolf for welcoming me at St Andrews on several occasions and for reading through earlier drafts of this book. I have benefited enormously from his insightful criticism. I am also extremely grateful for the hospitality I have enjoyed at the School of Classics, St Andrews. I would also like to thank Jesper Carlsen, who willingly read and commented on earlier drafts of this book, for his support as head of department, enabling me to complete this book. I would also like to thank my colleague Cristian Høgel for taking the time to read the entire manuscript. Special thanks must go to my good friend Carsten Hjort Lange, who has always been there for me, ready to discuss, read and offer suggestions on more drafts than he would like to remember. I am very grateful to Roger Rees for proof-reading and commenting on the book and for his and his family’s warm hospitality during my stays in Scotland. I would also like to express my thanks to Eckart Olshausen, Jason König, Kirsten Dige Larsen and Rita Ratenborg for their interest in this project and for reading this book or my dissertation. I am grateful to my students at the University of Southern Denmark: their contributions have had a significant impact on the final result and are greatly appreciated. Thanks are due to the institutions who have supported this project. The dissertation was completed at the Danish Research Centre for Black Sea Studies, and I would like to express my most sincere gratitude to Pia Guldager Bilde, director of the centre, and to Jakob Munk Højte, Jane Hjarl Pedersen, George Hinge and Vladimir Stolba, for three fantastic years. I would like to thank the Danish Institute in Rome and the Danish Institute in Athens for the opportunity to use their facilities and work on the project in a constructive environment. I am also grateful to Ali Vural for his delightful company during a trip to Turkey in 2004, which surely would have been less fruitful had I not benefited from his ability to solve practical and linguistic problems.

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Preface Most of all, I am grateful to my wife Rikke Heilmann Madsen for her unconditional support over the years. Without her encouragement, understanding and forgiveness this would have been a very different experience. I dedicate the book to her. Odense, April 2009

Jesper Majbom Madsen

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Introduction Generations of historians, classicists, philosophers and political thinkers have admired ancient Greek literature, material culture and architecture, just as Greek intellectual and political thought have come to play a crucial role in the shaping of European and western civilisation. As a result, Greek civilisation has been, and often still is, seen as superior to other cultures of the ancient Mediterranean, and even though the influence of neighbouring cultures on Greek communities can be recorded, it has been the general notion in early as well as recent scholarship that the cultural influence from the outside world did not cause Greeks to redefine or re-evaluate their identity. The purpose of this book is to study how the population in the province of Pontus and Bithynia responded to Roman rule. The aim is to analyse what impact the coming of Rome had in a province dominated by Greek culture and how the empire affected the ways Greeks perceived themselves. An essential question in this respect is whether the population, particularly the elite, in Pontic and Bithynian cities developed a sense of belonging to a Roman collectivity, or whether they consciously or subconsciously refrained from identifying themselves as Romans. The focus will be on the period from just after the Mithridatic Wars, 89-66 BCE, which led to full Roman control of the region, to Caracalla’s edict in 212 CE, when the empire granted Roman citizenship to the free population of the empire. A large and varied source material consisting of different literary and epigraphic evidence offers a glimpse into how the population, mostly but not exclusively the elite, responded to the coming of Rome in a Greek dominated province. The possibility we have to compare local views in the speeches of Dio Chrysostom or in the historical account of Cassius Dio with the Roman opinion expressed in, for instance, Pliny’s letters to Trajan, provides a rare opportunity to study how Roman rule and provincialisation were perceived from both sides. In the twentieth century scholars traditionally approached the question of cultural interaction between the Greek and Roman world in two different ways. At the beginning of the century the adoption of Roman culture was described as a natural attraction, particularly within the Iron Age communities in the western part of the empire, to reach a higher stage of development. As the Greek world predated Roman civilisation and had already reached a highly developed and sophisticated stage of civilisation, Rome had little if anything to offer. According to Francis Haverfield and

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Eager to be Roman Michael Rostovtzeff, Greek communities remained largely unaffected by the coming of Rome, not least because Roman commanders chose to use the polis model in the urbanisation and pacification of the parts of Anatolia and the East where urban civilisation was underdeveloped.1 Rome’s decision to continue to use the polis model, combined with the relatively low numbers of foundations of Roman colonies in the East, brought about the assumption that Roman urban civilisation was insufficiently authoritative to modify life in the Greek poleis. Decisive in this respect was the continued use of Greek as the official language, the use of the original polis constitutions and local laws, which meant that fewer obtained Roman citizenship than in the west, and the general Roman admiration for Greek civilisation.2 A different approach has acknowledged that the Greek communities were exposed to changes following the coming of Rome, but without Greek cultural identity being compromised. Greg Woolf has argued that Greek urban communities continued to define themselves as Greeks, based on a collective identity founded on historical, linguistic and mythological conditions, as well as on a long tradition of academic and cultural training, paideia, particularly among the elite. These circumstances allowed the Greek population to adopt various elements from Roman culture such as architecture, building techniques and material culture without compromising their indigenous cultural identity.3 The idea that a strong Greek cultural identity enabled the Greek population to resist the influence of Roman culture is also found in an important study of the Greek authors of the so-called ‘Second Sophistic’ – the Greek literary revival dated to the late first to mid-third centuries CE.4 In his extensive and challenging survey of how Greek writers viewed the Roman empire and Greek culture in general, Simon Swain accepts interaction between the Roman world and Greeks – especially on a political level – but argues that Greek intellectuals set their Greek cultural background before what was mainly a political and social affiliation to the Roman world and did not in general identify themselves as Roman.5 This approach to the encounter between the Greek and Roman worlds emerged from a profound scholarly debate on the Second Sophistic – particularly in the second half of the twentieth century. In his Greek Sophists in the Roman Empire (1969) Glen Bowersock described the phenomenon as a strong Hellenic movement within the Roman empire but not one of opposition to Rome, in which many Greek intellectuals served as a link between the empire and the provincial communities.6 A different approach has been offered by Ewen Bowie who has seen the ‘Second Sophistic’ as a reaction to Roman rule: in order to balance the influence from Rome’s world domination Greek writers devoted their literary focus to the Greek past.7 In Greek Literature and the Roman Empire: The Politics of Imitation (2001) Tim Whitmarsh offers a rather different angle to the Second Sophistic, arguing against the idea that Greek intellectuals used

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Introduction literature as a medium to express a view towards the Roman empire. As such, The ‘Second Sophistic’ represented ideals of education and training – paideia – something closely related to status. According to Whitmarsh, the Second Sophistic did not emerge in opposition to Rome and was not a movement to express what may be described as common ground against the Roman world.8 A different approach to the interaction between the Greek and Hellenised world on one side and Rome on the other has been offered by Stephen Mitchell. In his influential study of Asia Minor, Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor (1993), Mitchell argues that Roman culture offers a different approach to the interaction between the Greek and Roman worlds: for Mitchell religion and provincial administration had a significant influence on Greek communities. With the introduction of censorship and a college of three to five officers, acting under the law known as the lex Pompeia, Rome managed to influence and even control civic life in Pontus and Bithynia.9 Before turning to the question of how the coming of Rome affected the self-perception of the population in Pontus and Bithynia, a definition of identity is needed. The question of how individuals define themselves is complicated. Even in modern contexts, hidden agendas and the very nature of identity as something negotiable and changeable, as a result of wars, migration, shifts in power and changes in social hierarchy, make it difficult to decide what criteria constitute the identity of individuals and groups at any given time. Returning to the ancient world, a useful approach has been offered by Judith Lieu, who defines the term identity as ideas of sameness, boundedness and differences, of continuity, homogeneity and recognition by oneself and by others.10 That ideas of ‘sameness’ and ‘differences’ were essential to how ancient commentators categorised people is illustrated clearly by Herodotus’ famous definition of Hellênikon: There are many important reasons that would prevent us from doing this [joining the Persian army against the Spartans] even if we wanted to. First and foremost there are the statues and the temples of the gods, which have been sacked and destroyed; it is necessary for us to avenge these with all our might rather than come to an agreement with the man who did it. Then again there is the matter of Hellenicity (Hellênikon) – that is, our common blood (homaimon), common tongue (homoglôsson), common cult places and sacrifices (ta theôn hidrymata … koina kai thysiai) and similar customs (êthea … homotropa); it would not be right for the Athenians to betray all this. (Hdt. 8.144.2)11

Here the author has the Athenians assuring Spartan envoys that Athens would not follow the advice of the Macedonian king Alexander I to take the Persian side before the battle of Plataea. Whether Sparta did in fact fear this after the Athenian victory at Salamis is doubtful and the authenticity of the speech has rightly been questioned.12 More significant for this study

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Eager to be Roman is the question whether or not Herodotus here provides a widely shared definition of what it meant to be Greek.13 Hall has argued that the passage illustrates Herodotus’ insistence on a cultural definition of identity, founded on criteria such as common language, religion, rituals and customs. Blood or kinship (homaimon) was still fundamental to Herodotus’ concept of communitarian identity, but by emphasising cultural criteria he extends the definition of Greekness from an ethnic basis, linked to a mythical Hellenic genealogy, to one which emphasised a common culture.14 A similar attempt to define Greekness is found in the account of Dionysius of Halicarnassus, who stresses the ability to speak Greek, live by Greek customs and acknowledge Greek gods and laws. Blood is now left out as a determinant, perhaps inspired by the fact that Dionysius wrote during the age of Augustus, stressing an overtly political agenda of portraying Rome as a Greek city, originally inhabited by a people that lived like Greeks (Dion. Hall. 1.89-90). On the other hand, Polybius and Diodorus had already disregarded Hellenic genealogy and emphasised that the ability to speak Greek and follow Greek customs defined Greekness.15 Later during the imperial period, ideas of sameness as decisive factors for a shared identity were also emphasised by Dio Chrysostom, who in his attempt to plead for homonoia, ‘concord’, between the cities in Bithynia, stresses that the cities were inhabited by people related by common ancestors and intermarriages, the worship of the same gods at the same festivals, and common customs (Dio Chrys. Or. 38.22 and 46). These examples suggest that in the eyes of Greek commentators from the Classical era through the Hellenistic period to the coming of Rome and later, ideas of what it meant to be Greek changed from a definition based on ethnic criteria towards a criterion of shared culture.16 As already pointed out by Hall, this change in perspective, likely to have occurred already in the fifth century BCE, may well have been a response to the inflexibility of the Hellenic genealogy. A definition of Greekness based on the ability to trace a city or a people’s founding hero back to Hellen lost its meaning when the system could not allow the Arcadians, who fought against the Persians, a place in the Greek collective; while at the same time it opened up an ethnic relationship between the Persians and the Argives, who were related through the Argive hero Perseus whose son Perses, according to mythology, was founding father of the Persians.17 Greek intellectuals’ focus on language, cult and customs and on a long tradition of paideia has led scholars to assume that the Greeks’ perceptions of themselves depended on cultural values, and that the population in Greek provinces were therefore less likely to identify themselves as Romans.18 But does this approach risk privileging one criterion in a wide field of determinants? A fundamental premise in the approaches to identity is that individuals as well as groups were members of various collectivities at the same time, and therefore defined themselves in several

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Introduction different ways according to the context in which they appeared.19 The ‘solitarist’ approach to identity has been convincingly overturned by Amartya Sen, who, in his Identity and Violence: The Illusion of Destiny (2006), argues that individuals and communities are simultaneously part of several groups, each with significant influence on how the identity of a particular person or community was formed.20 Equally important, Sen observes that the determinant of a community-based identity need not be the principal, dominant or even only factor by which individuals define themselves. The idea that the communitarian identity was prioritised over all other memberships rests on the assumption that access to other communities’ conception of identity was either restricted or denied. No doubt norms, values, and specific perceptions of a community and culture, to which individuals and groups belonged, had a significant influence on how identities were shaped.21 It is also true that the choice of how individuals or groups could identify themselves was limited. In antiquity, admission to a community could be very restricted, such as in fifth-century Athens, where admission to the citizen body depended, at least in theory, on one’s parents’ status as locals (astoi).22 Nevertheless, not all ancient communities were equally exclusive. As already mentioned, Greekness was increasingly determined by the ability to live, talk and think in ways defined as Greek, which allowed newcomers to see themselves and be perceived as belonging to the Greek collectivity. Membership of the Roman community depended on legal rights and, until 212 CE when the emperor Caracalla extended Roman citizenship to all the empire’s free, was open only to those who could obtain Roman citizenship through military service, or a cursus honorum in the world of local politics, or as a personal favour from Roman magistrates, commanders or emperors, or through manumission from slavery. Obviously, Roman citizenship was not a status provincials could adopt simply as they desired. It was a reward for loyal participation rather than a cultural choice available to everyone. If Sen’s model of plural identities is applied to Pontus and Bithynia in the imperial period, the inhabitants of Pontic and Bithynian cities, particularly members of the elite, could at the same time belong to both Greek and Roman collectivities. Examples of such pluralist affiliation can be found, for example, in the city of Prusias ad Hypium, in the Bithynian hinterland. Here, in a wall built in the middle of the third century CE to protect the city against Gothic invaders, a number of honorific decrees from the late second and third centuries are preserved.23 One of these inscriptions, still built into the west wall, introduces a Titius Ulpius Aelianus Papianus24 Descendant of senatorial and consular family, Titius Ulpius Aelianus Papianus, Bithyniarch and Pontarch, Mystery Hierophant of the common temple and sebastophant, Alone and First after while in office having imparted subsequently his donation in the metropolis of Nicomedia the

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Eager to be Roman remains to his home town, Priest for life of Soter Asclepius and donator of food to the enlisted and the inhabitants of the Land, Censor for life, member of the koinon, member of the college of ten, Agoranomos of the bread supply, Secretary, holder of the highest office, twice donator of food on his own expense to all enlisted and the inhabitants of the land, son of Titus Ulpius Aelianus Antoninus Bithyniarch and Pontarch, logistês of the most glorious city of the Cians, holder of all the remaining offices, the most powerful phylê of Sebastene hereby honour, also in this does Papianus prove his magnanimity in raising the statue at his own expenses according to his promise.

Papianus was a citizen of Prusias ad Hypium, a member of the phyle Sebastene and a priest of Asclepius Soter for life. But at the same time he is also represented as a Roman citizen, descendant of a senatorial and consular family, a Bithyniarch and Pontarch, positions with responsibilities for emperor-worship at the provincial level, and as a sebastophant, whose job it presumably was to carry the images and symbols of the emperor in cult processions.25 Furthermore the inscription, set up in Greek, states that he was the son of Titus Ulpius Aelianus Antoninus, who had also served as both Bithyniarch and Pontarch, as well as logistês of Cios, an office in which he represented Roman administrative interests in the affairs of a neighbouring city.26 Thereby Papianus appears as affiliated to Greek as well as Roman collectivities. This proud citizen of Prusias ad Hypium and priest of the Asclepius cult was also a Roman citizen and eagerly claimed consular and senatorial descent as well as a leading role in two koina – the institutions responsible for the conduct of emperor worship on the provincial level. Some of the collectivities that individuals or groups affiliated to could simultaneously belong within the same category (for example Roman or local citizenship and thoughts of affiliation to home-land and ethnos). Individuals or groups would have to prioritise the importance of these identities in case of conflicts.27 This was the case for Dio Chrysostom, who simultaneously held citizenships in three Bithynian cities – Nicomedia, Apamea and Prusa – but prioritised the latter, at least when speaking to the Prusians, as the most important one (Dio Chrys. Or. 44.1-6). Similarly, Cassius Dio, who is likely to have followed his father to Rome at an early age, states that Nicaea was his patria even though he lived most of his life in Rome or among Romans in the army and in the provinces where he served (Cassius Dio 76.15.3 and Fr. 1.3).28 As Roman citizenship did not replace a person’s status as citizen in Prusias ad Hypium or challenge their commitment or affiliation to Greek culture, Papianus had no obligation, at a legal level, to choose between being Roman or being Greek. The opportunity to be Greek and at the same time to feel a sense of belonging to the community of Roman citizens is clearly illustrated by the rhetor Aelius Aristides from Mysia in Asia Minor, who, in his panegyric To Rome, celebrates Roman citizenship:

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Introduction I mean your magnificent citizenship with its grand conception because there is nothing like it in the records of all mankind. Dividing into two groups all those in your empire – and with this word I have indicated the entire civilised world – you have everywhere appointed to your citizenship, or even to kinship with you, the better part of the world’s talent, courage, and leadership, while the rest you recognized as a league under your hegemony. (Aristides To Rome 59)29

Later Aristides goes on to praise Roman citizenship for its ability to unite the empire through what we may call a common Roman identity. On the contrary, you [the Romans] sought its [the Roman citizenship] expansion as a worthy aim, and you have caused the word Roman to be the label, not of membership in a city, but of some common nationality (alla antirropou pasi tois loipois). (Aristides To Rome 63)30

Talking in front of the emperor giving what was expected to be a speech of praise, Aristides would be unlikely to express any criticism or sign of opposition and the speech is no source for his inner feelings towards Rome and Roman rule, which if reluctant he wisely kept to himself. Still, Aristides’ theorising defines Roman citizenship as membership of the Roman state. His praise of Roman citizenship together with the honorific decree to Papianus confirms that Greeks were well aware that they simultaneously belonged to several collectivities. Despite Greek awareness of plural identities it should be noted that communitarian identity was strong in the individual polis communities, as is confirmed by the rivalry between Nicaea and Nicomedia and Apamea and Prusa (Dio Chrys. Or. 38; 39; 40; 41). The cosmopolitan idea that belonging to more than one community was possible, is illustrated by Dio Chrysostom’s claim that he saw Apameans as his fellow citizens and that his children thought it to be their home (Dio Chrys. Or. 41.6-7). In reality, this cosmopolitanism must have been limited to the elite. To the Nicomedians, to whom Dio presented his ideas of homonoia, a union between themselves and the Nicaeans based on ideas of shared values may have seemed altogether academic. Nor would we be surprised if the reaction of the Nicomedians’ descendants to the news that Septimius Severus had punished Nicaea’s support for his imperial rival Niger by revoking the city’s honorific titles would be anything other than one of malicious delight. Roman status could coexist with self-definition as Greek, or with citizenship of Prusias ad Hypium, or with membership of a local elite. In order to be Roman, Aristides or Papianus did not need to give up their sense of being Greek. It is one thing, however, to assert that identity as Roman could in theory coexist with various Greek and local affiliations; it is very different to consider whether the population in Pontus and Bithynia identified themselves as Roman or preferred not to affiliate with the

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Eager to be Roman Roman collectivity. This question is the central theme in the following study of how members of the local elites in Pontus and Bithynia responded to Roman rule. Rome’s view of Pontus and Bithynia, seen through the eyes of Pliny the Younger and the emperor Trajan, will be discussed in Chapter 1. The unique correspondence between them will form a fruitful antithesis to the local view of Rome, the main subject of this book, and promises to shed light on the views and ways of the provincials seen from the centre. At the same time there is an unprecedented coincidence in time and place between the Letters and other surviving literary evidence, written by Romans from the Bithynian part of the province, and the epigraphic material found in the province itself. Having thus looked at Pontus and Bithynia from a Roman angle, it becomes vital to assess to what extent Roman rule modified the local way of life. This is the subject of Chapter 2. It will be argued that Rome largely refrained from any major changes to local constitutions, and instead focussed on formalising the connections between the local elite and Rome. At the same time it should be remembered that Rome was always eager to intervene in local affairs whenever she felt this was needed in order to uphold the economic and political stability of empire. Chapter 3 will focus on the members of the local elite who left the province in order to pursue a career in the Roman imperial administration. The standard consensus tells us that this was done mostly as the result of a pragmatic view of the empire: that is, the Greeks did not become Romans, but wanted power.31 This consensus will be challenged, and instead it will be suggested that for most members of the Bithynian and Pontic elite, the road to the senate and the most prestigious magistracies and promagistracies was long and tiresome, often involving many years of military service. At the same time it should be remembered that being Roman had changed: Romans were not part of a specific ethnic group and all Roman citizens in the empire had in principle equal rights and the elite equal opportunities. Taking this a step further, Chapter 4 will look at the locals who did not leave Pontus and Bithynia and their interactions with and views on Rome. It will be argued that Rome’s influence on this group was very different from that on the group of locals who left the province. The people who stayed behind were, for obvious reasons, less exposed to Roman influence, but at the same time they were eager to show their affiliation to Rome and Roman rule. The last chapter will focus on opposition to Rome. Greek intellectuals criticised aspects of Roman rule, which could be a manifestation of Greek culture and thus an eagerness not to become or appear Roman. But even the most critical of Greeks advertised their good relations with Roman authorities. This chapter thus reconsiders the context of the criticism, suggesting that their personal experiences with Rome determined their criticism and thus this naturally changed over time. Furthermore, what

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Introduction has been described as Greek cultural criticism may indeed equal a universal criticism of Rome, also found in Latin texts of the same period. But we begin on a September day in Ephesus when Pliny the Younger, on his way to his province, arrived in the province of Asia.

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A Governor at Work The Younger Pliny entered Pontus and Bithynia from Ephesus on the 17th of September, some time between 109 and 111 CE.1 The pleasant sea voyage from Italy to Ephesus was followed by a more tiresome and hot journey, first over land and later on a cargo ship along the Propontic coast. Delayed by headwinds and illness, Pliny and his staff finally arrived at the city of Prusa just in time to attend the celebration of Trajan’s birthday the following day (Pliny Ep. 10.17.a). This chapter seeks to provide an introduction to the province of Pontus and Bithynia, as seen through the eyes of Pliny and Trajan. The Letters give us a remarkable opportunity to look at a Roman province as seen from the centre, which together with epigraphic material and the literary text from Pontus and Bithynia offers an indispensable insight into how Roman rule was conceived from a provincial and Roman point of view. The province Pliny was about to govern was bounded on the north by the Black Sea and ran from the Bosphorus in the west to the territory of Amisus to the east. The Propontic coast defined its western border while the southern inland border ran from Dascylium, south of Prusa and Iuliopolis along the Paphlagonian border east of Flaviopolis and north of Pompeiopolis and Neoclaudiopolis. The Propontic part of Bithynia was characterised by a mixture of plains stretching towards the sea, and mountain ranges which separated the cities’ territories and made communication over land difficult. The Pontic part of the province was dominated by a mountain massif interrupted by a number of rivers terminating in the Black Sea, of which Halys, Billaius and Sangarius were biggest. Except for Sinope and Amisus, with territories dominated by plains, the cities on the Pontic coast were located on the coastline with the mountains rising just behind, providing little or no territory suitable for farming. Until Trajan’s accession Pliny had been active as a lawyer in Rome. Under Domitian he began a senatorial career, made possible by the close relations between his uncle Pliny the Elder, who served as commander of the fleet at Misenum, and the Flavian dynasty. After his praetorship, Pliny was appointed Prefect in the Military Treasury for three years and Prefect for the Treasury of Saturn. With these appointments Pliny is likely to have been fully occupied until his suffect consulship in the year 100 CE. With a background as one who had benefited from the hated Domitian, Pliny was determined to make a good impression on Trajan. His Panegyricus, held at his consular accession, was meant to assure the emperor of his loyalty

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1. A Governor at Work to Trajan and dissociation from Domitian – an ambition which appears to have been fulfilled, as he was admitted to the ranks of the augurs, the second most important college of priests in Rome, and to the magistracy responsible for Rome’s sewers and protection against floods.2 When appointed to Pontus and Bithynia as the emperor’s legatus, Pliny was assigned to pay special attention to the cities’ public accounts (Pliny Ep. 10.18.2-3).3 His previous appointments in the various Treasuries were presumably the reason Trajan gave him the assignment in the first place. Also, as defence lawyer in the trials between the Bithynians and the governors Varenus Rufus (‘I appeared for Varenus, not with out success’, egi pro Vareno non sine eventu …) and Bassus (‘Bassus had entrusted me with the task of laying the foundation of his defence’, … totius defensionis fundamenta iacerem …), Pliny already had an idea of the challenges awaiting him and had perhaps obtained some notion of the potential conflicts between Roman authorities and the provincial community.4 Attempts to trace the route Pliny followed when visiting the cities have divided the correspondence into two periods running from September to September during his first year in office and a second period beginning in September, which, however, was cut short by Pliny’s death.5 And it has been suggested that the letters were consecutive and followed a chronological order, thus providing the reader with a map of Pliny’s movements within his province.6 Accordingly, Pliny spent his first period in Bithynia focusing on Prusa, Nicaea and Nicomedia with visits to Claudiopolis, Byzantium, Apamea and Iuliopolis and did not visit Amastris, Sinope and Amisus until the second period. The reconstruction of the route Pliny followed is plausible and any cities not mentioned in the relevant letters may have received a visit from their new governor as he followed this itinerary.7 Against the reading of Book 10 as a documentary record of a provincial governor’s progress, Greg Woolf has questioned the collection’s status as an authentic record of chronologically sequenced letters between Trajan and Pliny. He points out that compared to Cicero’s less comprehensible private correspondence, Pliny’s letters treat only one question at a time and are too polished and too easy to understand to have been a genuine administrative record of the problems and challenges Pliny encountered. When taken together with the Letters’ tone and the way the correspondents always come out on good terms with each other, this has led to the conclusion that the letters are a literary construction which models the ideal relationship between emperor and governor; thoughts that were already presented in Pliny’s Panegyricus.8 The lack of dates for the letters and the fact that they usually treat a single question certainly demand explanation, given that Pliny’s letters dealt with administrative matters to which he often needed an answer before he could proceed. It would, so it seems, have been more efficient if

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Eager to be Roman Pliny had grouped his questions in fewer letters. But to dismiss the letters’ authenticity because of the ideology they represent, their literary traits, their accessibility or because they treat a single theme at a time, is a radical solution which prompts a number of objections. First, what seem to be later quotations of the letter Ep. 10.97, in which Trajan instructed Pliny how to deal with the Christians, suggest that Hadrian used Trajan’s view as a guideline on the matter. Certainly the Christians had an interest in holding on to Trajan’s answer after the correspondence had been published, but it seems more convincing that Hadrian would base his opinion on a copy in the imperial archives rather than a letter presented by one of the parties.9 Secondly, the collection’s authenticity is further supported by a number of cases in which Trajan’s answers are lacking. Even though one could imagine deliberate gaps as part of a strategy to enhance the collection’s credibility, the missing letters suggest that correspondence was a collection of authentic letters, where some of Trajan’s answers are absent because they were missing from Pliny’s files, or never arrived, or were never written.10 As Trajan’s originals were not part of Pliny’s personal archive, they were irreplaceable. Thirdly, the letters’ accessible style and focus on single questions set them apart from Cicero’s correspondence with his family and friends.11 One example of Pliny’s accessible style is found in a letter dealing with whom the provincials should consult before they move the graves of their relatives: Certain persons have asked me to allow them, in accordance with the precedent set by the proconsuls, to transfer the remains of their relatives to some site or other, either because of damage caused by the passage of time or because of the flooding of a river and other reasons similar to these. Because I knew that in our city it is the custom for application to be to the college of the pontiffs in a case of this kind, I decided that I must consult you, Sir, as supreme pontiff, about what course you wish me to follow. (Pliny Ep. 10.68)12

The letter is certainly easy to follow. Pliny carefully explains the matter and provides details both about why the persons in question wished to move the graves and how previous practice has allowed them to do so. He also refers to the practice in Rome, where such action had to be approved by the pontiffs – something Trajan must have been aware of, given his position as the supreme pontiff. This way Pliny appears as the dedicated governor, concerned with the upholding of religious practice. If the letter did not clarify the question to a third party, why did Pliny not address other issues in the letter and why is he so specific about the pontiff’s role in a letter to Trajan who apparently dealt with such matters in the capital? Pliny’s preference for a more elevated literary style does not mean that the letters are not authentic. Any letter has a literary dimension, creating a self-image of the author.13 Pliny’s Letters reveal him to be a dedicated and

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1. A Governor at Work capable governor who approached Trajan in such a way that provincial government itself is seen as a partnership between emperor and governor.14 The accessible style may be explained by the letters’ admission to the imperial and provincial archives. In another letter Pliny refers to the emperor’s archive as the reason why he did not send the correspondence between previous emperors and their governors along with his own letter. In fact there was read out in my presence an edict relating to Achaia which was said to be one of the deified Augustus’; there were also read out epistles of the deified Vespasian to the Spartans, and of the deified Titus to the same people and to the Achaeans, and of Domitian to the proconsuls Avidius Nigrinus and Armenius Brocchus, and likewise to the Spartans. I have not sent these texts to you for this reason, because they seemed to me to be both inadequately corrected and in some cases, of doubtful authenticity, and because I believed that the genuine and corrected texts were in your archives (scrinia). (Pliny Ep. 10.65.3)15

As this example suggests, the correspondence between the emperor and his governors went into the imperial archive, where it could be consulted later, as a way of establishing precedence in legal matters.16 The letters therefore needed to be written in the most accessible way in order to be comprehensible to magistrates and emperors who could not be expected to know the exact details and context. That the letters were filed in the emperor’s archives is also a reasonable explanation as to why Pliny sticks to one theme at the time as such filing must have been organised thematically. Furthermore, it is true that the tone between Pliny and Trajan is civilised and respectful. Trajan often accepts Pliny’s solution to a problem or assures him that it was correct of him to ask for a decision on a specific matter. It is, however, not always the case that Pliny enjoys Trajan’s approval. Pliny is told off on a number of occasions, for example when he asks Trajan to send an architect to inspect public buildings in Nicaea and in Claudiopolis. In his answer, Trajan tells his governor in a rather unkind fashion not to assume that he has any spare architects: You cannot be short of architects. There is no province which does not have men who are both expert and skilful; only do not suppose that it is quicker to have them sent from the capital, when they are actually accustomed to come from Greece to us. (Pliny Ep. 10.40.3 )17

In another letter Pliny presents Trajan with accusations brought against Dio Chrysostom for having handed over his building to Prusa with inadequate accounts and for placing a statue of Trajan in the same building, where the bodies of Dio’s wife and son were buried. Under a different emperor, the latter offence could lead to a trial of maiestas for insulting the emperor. In Trajan’s answer, Pliny is criticised for not knowing Trajan’s position on this kind of trial.

15

Eager to be Roman You could have been in no uncertainty, my dearest Secundus, about that matter on which you decided that I should be consulted, since you were well aware of my determination not to obtain respect for my name through inspiring men with fear or terror or through charges of treason. (Pliny Ep. 10.82.1)18

Where the first example was a reminder to Pliny that he had to solve his own problems, the latter was a far more serious critique of his judgement. Being presented as unaware of Trajan’s policy on the question of treason does not make Pliny appear as someone close to the new regime. It has been argued that Pliny was well aware of Trajan’s policy on the matter but used the question of treason to get an answer as to whether Dio, who claimed the emperor’s friendship, was to present the accounts of the building for which he had been responsible.19 This may very well have been the case. Pliny knew that trials for treason were not used lightly in the reign of Trajan as he himself celebrated this in his panegyric to the emperor (Panegyricus 42.1). The possibility that the use of a treason case was a strategy to elicit an answer as to whether Dio was to present the accounts or not supports the argument for the authenticity of Book 10. If Book 10 was a literary construction intended to idealise the relationship between Trajan and Pliny, it is difficult to see how Pliny would gain personally from the kind of criticism to which he is exposed in Trajan’s reply. Finally, the genuineness of Book 10 is further suggested by the rather trivial ending, where Pliny informs Trajan that he had allowed his wife to use the imperial pass when she left the province on her grandfather’s death. Again, one wonders why Pliny would have chosen such an ending had the book been fictitious. It has been suggested that the last exchange of letters, where Pliny admits to having broken the rule and Trajan accepts Pliny’s explanation, was a perfect ending, which underlined the friendship and trust between the parties. This way of ending the correspondence would furthermore advertise Pliny’s social capital and at the same time present the emperor as one who founded his administration on a positive rapport between himself and the senate – something that would harmonise well with the thoughts presented in the Panegyricus.20 Yet, if the ending was part of Pliny’s own plan, providing that he finished and perhaps even published the collection before his death, it still seems an abrupt way of concluding a collection constructed to reflect the best in both Pliny and Trajan. If this was indeed the case, should we not expect Pliny to send a letter, in which he informed Trajan that he had done the job well and consequently was on his way home? As it stands the collection seems inconclusive: what, for instance, had Pliny been doing in the rest of his second year? Had he been recalled out of incompetence? And where are the letters from the years after Pliny’s return to Italy? If they were friends would they not have kept on writing to one another (given that letters from the years before his

16

1. A Governor at Work departure are integral to the first part of the correspondence)? Finally, if Pliny and Trajan were as close as is suggested why is there not one exchange of letters where Trajan sent the first letter? Would a letter on Trajan’s initiative not be the ultimate proof of Pliny’s high standing with the emperor? Evidently, even if the letters are authentic, we should not expect them to provide a full account of the administrative challenges Pliny faced in Pontus and Bithynia nor expect the letters to be strictly chronologically ordered, thereby allowing us to map the exact route Pliny followed when he inspected his province. What they offer, on the other hand, are situations where Pliny was unsure how to act and sought Trajan’s advice. Through the correspondence we get an idea of provincial administration and the financial situation in the province. In addition they provide glimpses of life in the cities he visited; whether he made the visit in the order the letters preserve is less important. Whatever the pitfalls in establishing the Letters’ authenticity, they remain indispensable for the study of how Roman rule affected life in Pontus and Bithynia and how Roman authorities experienced Pontus and Bithynia in the early second century. Having celebrated Trajan’s birthday, Pliny went straight to work. Up until his arrival, the cities seem to have spent considerable sums on public buildings and infrastructure, aiming to improve the architectural fabric and sanitary conditions. But many of these buildings stood unfinished, either because the allocated money had already been spent or because technical and manpower problems prevented local contractors from finishing the projects. Prusa had its fair share of problems. When Pliny went over the accounts, he discovered that some of the sums promised by private individuals had never been paid and that expenses had been drawn without justification (Pliny Ep. 10.17a.3). A bath complex was in a state of disrepair and Pliny took the initiative to have it replaced (Pliny Ep. 10.23). That it was the governor who took the initiative to consult the emperor before a new bath was begun is important testimony to the restriction put on public buildings and Trajan’s attempt to control the use of public funds and building activities. This pattern of the governor’s intervention and imperial approval is replicated in several of Pliny’s letters and seems to have been an essential part of Trajan’s administration of Pontus and Bithynia (Pliny Ep. 10.23-4; 10.37-8; 10.3940; 10.91; 10.98-9). The contemporary Dio Chrysostom shared Pliny’s concern for the city. In a speech to his fellow citizens, Dio argues here that the city would fall behind the other cities in the region if nothing were done to lift the city’s architectural level (Dio Chrys. Or. 40.5-6; 47.13-15). This comment on the state of Prusa’s civic landscape may be political and an attempt to get his proposal to build a stoa passed by the assembly, but together with Pliny’s concern for the bath and his determination to supervise the project, we gain an impression of a city, if not in despair, then at least in need of renewal.

17

Eager to be Roman After Prusa, Pliny travelled north either by boat or overland to the city of Nicomedia, the former residential town of the Bithynian kings, located on the Propontic coast at the end of the gulf of Izmit. The city controlled a vast territory including both the bay area and the fertile landscape around Lake Boane. The failure of a previous attempt to bring water into the city required the governor’s full attention; before Pliny’s arrival, the city had already spent almost 3,320,000 sesterces on an aqueduct, which quite apart from being unfinished was falling apart. Another 200,000 sesterces had been wasted on a second attempt to begin the aqueduct, but this had also been given up. To solve the problem, Pliny provided Trajan with a plan of how to bring fresh water into the city, which the emperor accepted on condition that Pliny commit himself to finding those responsible for the failure of the projects (Pliny Ep. 10.38; 10.39). However, a further letter reveals that not every building project in Nicomedia was as badly carried out as the aqueduct. Pliny’s report of a new forum under construction is not concerned with financial or technical problems but with whether or not an old temple to the goddess Magna Mater could be moved in the process, as it was in the way of the new building (Pliny Ep. 10.49). Together the reports from Nicomedia confirm that funding and the right skills to carry out large-scale public works were available in Nicomedia; this suggests that the city was not experiencing a financial crisis at the time of Pliny’s visit, despite the large sums already lost. After his first visit to Nicomedia, Pliny moved his quarters to Nicaea, located to the south-east on the bank of Lake Askania. The fertile land around the lake ensured the city plenty of resources. As suggested by several inscriptions set up in memory of oikonomikoi, at least part of this land was given over to a form of farming in which trusted slaves and freedmen supervised agricultural slaves, tenants or a mixture of the two on behalf of absentee landowners.21 On his arrival Pliny discovered that a theatre still under construction had cost more than 10,000,000 sesterces. In his report to Trajan, he writes that the theatre was subsiding and had visible cracks in the structure either because the ground was too wet or soft to support the building or because the stones used were not sufficiently strong. Furthermore, a new gymnasium had been begun after the old one had burned down but seemed to lack an overall plan and was, according to another architect in the city, a rival to the one in charge, poorly done (Pliny Ep. 39.1-4). In his answer, Trajan asked Pliny to decide whether the theatre should be given up or rebuilt and to make sure that the gymnasium met the city’s needs. Even though considerable sums had been lost already on the first construction, Trajan still favours the completion of the theatre and asks Pliny to make sure that the private individuals who had offered to pay for improvements kept their promises:

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1. A Governor at Work

Fig. 2. The territory of Nicaea (modern Iznik). As the man on the spot you will be the best to consider and decide what ought to be done with the theatre which has been begun at Nicaea. It will be enough for me to be informed of the decision you arrive at. After that make private individuals add the embellishment, when the theatre in connection with which those embellishments were promised has been finished. The Greeklings (Graeculi) do enjoy their gymnasia; perhaps it was for that reason that the people of Nicaea set about building one in an over-ambitious spirit: but they must be content with the kind which can meet their needs. (Pliny Ep. 10.40.1-2)22

In the same letter, Pliny refers to the construction of a public bath in the city of Claudiopolis, former Bithynium, located in the highlands to the east of Nicomedia. The bath was financed by the money new boulê members, admitted by the grace of Trajan, were asked to pay the city in return.23 Once again, Pliny is concerned that the bath in Claudiopolis would be given up because of its problematic location on a mountainside and that the money acquired from Trajan’s grant of boulê membership would be wasted on another poorly prepared project (Pliny Ep. 10.39.5). The correspondence gives the impression that Trajan is more understanding and forthcoming to the needs and conducts of the Nicaeans, particularly in respect of the gymnasium, than Pliny, who is ready to demolish the theatre and abandon the building. But what the Letters also suggest is that Nicaea

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Eager to be Roman

Fig. 3. The theatre in Nicaea.

and Claudiopolis had the financial means to finish both projects, if not in the original form, then at least in a more moderate fashion and that Trajan had enough faith in the projects and those behind to let them continue. After Nicaea and Claudiopolis the letters focus once again on Nicomedia, suggesting that Pliny left the Bithynian inland for the city. Here Pliny was involved in a project to connect Lake Boane with the sea. A canal would simplify the transport of agricultural products, marble, wood and timber, which were shipped across the lake to be reloaded on carts and taken overland to Nicomedia. Trajan approves the project but encourages Pliny to carry out accurate surveys to prevent the canal draining the lake (Pliny Ep. 10.41-2). It is not clear who should finance such a project, but Trajan’s willingness to send experts to survey the lake suggests that he would cover at least some of the cost. But even if the canal project does not indicate the economic capacity of Nicomedia to fund in full improvements of these dimensions, it confirms that the advantages to be obtained were thought to be significant enough to justify the project. After his second visit to Nicomedia, Pliny crossed the Bosphorus in order to inspect the public accounts of Byzantium. Having examined the accounts he concluded that the city could save 12,000 sesterces by abandoning the habit of sending delegates to the emperor each year to assure him of the city’s loyalty, and another 3,000 sesterces by reducing the

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1. A Governor at Work amount spent on honouring Moesia’s governor (Pliny Ep. 10.43). This focus on how a relatively small amount was spent not only testifies to Trajan’s attempts to control how the cities administered their public funds but also points to interference in their local autonomy, which seems to characterise how he wished Pontus and Bithynia to be governed. The colony of Apamea is the next city to appear in the letters, which means that Pliny may have disembarked here on his way back to Asia Minor. The letter is concerned with the question of whether the colony’s accounts, normally not subjected to the governor’s control, should be inspected by Pliny (Pliny Ep. 10.47). From Trajan’s answer it appears that it was his decision to have Apamea’s accounts examined and that Pliny was to do so (Pliny Ep. 10.48). To enforce control on a city not normally inspected by the governor is a strong testimony to the increased focus Trajan had on public finances in Pontic and Bithynian cities and to his readiness to disregard both local autonomy and the cities’ individual rights, which he in other cases so eagerly upheld. This once again underlines increasing control over part of the local administration.24 The following letters focus on Bithynia. Pliny returned to Prusa to follow up on the building of the bath, and while in Prusa he became involved in the dispute between Dio Chrysostom and his rival, the philosopher Flavius Achippus, over the accounts of the public buildings for which Dio was responsible (Pliny Ep. 10.81-2). In Nicomedia, Pliny became further involved in the canal project. Surveys had already been made, allowing him to inform the emperor of the lake’s depth and currents and to advise Trajan on how the project could be carried out (Pliny Ep. 10.61-2). It is not until the last part of Book 10 that questions of the Pontic cities are addressed. The first city to receive the governor was Sinope, which suggests that he arrived in this part of the province through this busy harbour town. The city had no aqueduct and Pliny took on the project. But before writing for permission to initiate the construction, Pliny got the investment in place and commissioned a survey of a particularly problematic part of the projected route from the spring to the town. Again Trajan agrees but reminds Pliny to examine the ground carefully before the project is begun and to make sure that the citizens of Sinope can finance the project themselves (Pliny Ep. 10.90-1). After Sinope and Amisus, where Trajan decides that societies formed to help the poor should be allowed (Ep. 10.92-3), Amastris is the next city to be mentioned. A long and beautiful street is said to be one of Amastris’ main attractions but a filthy stream running along the street both spoiled the beauty of the street and posed a health threat to its inhabitants. Pliny suggests that the sewer should be covered and Trajan agrees as long as the project could be financed by the city itself (Pliny Ep. 10.98-9). Again, the letters from Pontus suggest that there was money available in the cities. Building an aqueduct was very costly, as we have seen from the attempts in Nicomedia,

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Eager to be Roman and the description of Amastris as a beautiful city gives the impression of a city with a relatively high level of architecture. The land was rich, as the area between Propontis and Colchis received more rainfall than any other part of Anatolia and provided excellent conditions for forestry, sheep and cattle farming, and other agricultural activities. The land on the Black Sea coast was known for its excellent ship-timber, and the area around Sinope was furthermore praised for its nuts, wine and olive production (Xenophon Anabasis 6.4.6; Strabo 12.3.15). The territory of Amisus was also mentioned for its fertile soil, suitable for all agricultural activities, and for its breed of sheep, which provided wool of high quality of which there was a shortage in the rest of Pontus and Cappadocia. Fishing and fish processing was another resource available to the Pontic and propontic cities. Polybius notes that fish was one of the most important products from the Pontic area exported to both Greek and Roman markets (Polyb. 4.38.4; 31.25.5).25 Strabo describes how tuna was caught at various locations of the southern shores and Athenaeus notes how Byzantium was called the ‘mother of tuna’ (Athenaeus 3.116b).26 It has been argued that ancient fishing was inefficient and unable to supply large quantities and that fishing activities should be considered as subordinate and supplementary to agricultural production, particularly in years of harvest failure.27 If this holds true, fishermen on the Black Sea coast may have supplied their own local needs but need not have contributed significantly to the region’s economy. However, this idea of small catches and primitive fishing techniques, in which nets were only used from land, ignores Aelian’s description of how tuna was caught with nets operated from boats. Also, discoveries of a large number of hooks at archaeological sites testify further to the use of methods with a potential for large catches in ancient fishing.28 Whether or not fish products from the Black Sea region were exported regularly to Mediterranean markets is less clear due to lack of clearly identifiable transport vessels.29 In the Roman period, Pontic wine and olive oil reached markets in the Mediterranean, but the number of amphorae from the Black Sea is by no means impressive. This has led to the conclusion that wine, oil and fish products were only secondary to the export of timber, grain and slaves, and it seems likely that Pontic wine and oil were primarily sold locally or exported to markets within the region itself.30 Besides its fertile soil and marble resources, Pontus and Bithynia benefited from its location on the trade route between the northern Black Sea and the Mediterranean. According to the writer known as PseudoSkymnos, the shortest distance across the Black Sea was between southern Crimea and Sinope (Pseudo-Skymnos 998-1000). With good harbour facilities and the rich supply of timber, food and other products, the cities on the Propontic and Pontic shores were busy. Trade in local products and service of cargo ships, which were looking for shelter, repairs or

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1. A Governor at Work

Fig. 4. The city of Amastris and its natural harbours.

supplies, must have provided another vital source of income for cities such as Sinope, Amastris, Heraclea, Nicomedia and Apamea. Two aspects of the administration of Pontus and Bithynia are illustrated by the correspondence between Pliny and Trajan. On the one hand, Pliny was asked to pay special attention to the cities’ finances and accounts, and Trajan was to be consulted before new building projects were begun – a strategy that clearly challenged the idea of the cities’ autonomy. On the other hand, the Letters reveal Trajan’s intention to respect local law and to accommodate the provincials’ customs and existing practices in the individual cities. Trajan’s decision that provincials should not seek permission from the pontiff in Rome before moving the graves for their relatives to new locations is one example of how local practice was prioritised over standard ruling (see above). Another example is the question of whether those enrolled in the boulê by the censors were to pay entrance fees. According to Pliny, there was nothing in the law that required newly elected boulê members to pay for their admission, but those admitted to the councils by a favour of Trajan had in some cases been known to pay between 1,000 and 2,000 denarii each. Later the proconsul Anicius Maximus had also ordered that those elected by the censors should pay an entrance fee, but only in some cities. When Pliny asked Trajan to decide a standard practice, he refused to lay down general rules for the entire province.

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Eager to be Roman No general rule can be laid down by me about whether or not all those who become decurions in every city in Bithynia should pay a fee for their decurionate. So I think that the law of each city should be followed, something which is always the safest course, but indeed I am sure that those who become decurions by invitations will so act that they outstrip all the rest in generosity. (Pliny Ep. 10.113)31

Another example of Trajan’s determination to follow local law is a case where Pliny requests the emperor to decide the cities’ right to recover debts owed to them by the citizens. Former proconsuls had granted the cities priority over all other creditors, but Pliny fears that such privileges could be ignored or changed and asks to rule on the matter (Pliny Ep. 10.108). From Trajan’s answer it appears that he refuses to enforce a standard decision but prefers to follow the law of each city. What rights the cities of Bithynia or Pontus ought to exercise in respect of those sums of money which, for whatever reasons, will be owed to the community, must be determined in accordance with the law of each city. For, if they have privilege by which they take priority over all the other creditors, it should be protected, but if they do not have one, it will not be appropriate for this to be granted by me to the detriment of private persons. (Pliny Ep. 10.109)32

This reluctance to interfere in how the cities could recover the money owed to them gives the impression of an emperor who generally respected the cities’ local autonomy and right to decide in internal affairs and could be seen as a relationship of trust between Rome and the provincial community. That Trajan’s trust was limited is, however, exemplified by the ban on the formation of a fire brigade in Nicomedia. The suggestion came from Pliny after a large fire had destroyed many private and public buildings. The reason given by Trajan was political and full of prejudice. You are in fact following the example set by very many people in conceiving a plan that an association of firemen could be established at Nicomedia. But let us recall that that province and especially those cities have been troubled by cliques of that kind. Whatever name we may give, for whatever reason, to those who gather together for a common purpose, they will turn into political clubs, and that in a short time. (Pliny Ep. 10.34)33

Apparently it was not just the economy of the cities that Trajan wished to control. The attempt to prevent the gathering of the cities’ inhabitants testifies to Trajan’s desire to pacify political currents within the cities. One gets the impression that Trajan’s decision to use local laws and customs was a part of a strategy to avoid unnecessary disturbances. By minimising the number of laws from Rome, Trajan furthermore simplified the administrative tasks of the governor. In this respect it did not matter what right

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1. A Governor at Work the cities had to recall their debts or for that matter whether newly elected council members had to pay entrance fees or not. What mattered was to ensure financial and political stability in cities, which was the only way Rome could peacefully avoid opposition. As Pontus and Bithynia was not a frontier province no legions were as a result placed under Pliny’s command. The nearest army was stationed in Cappadocia where two legions guarded central Anatolia and the Parthian frontier towards Armenia Minor and the Caucasus.34 In his Periplus Arrian describes how he set out from the navy base of Trapezus to inspect army camps and installations along the eastern Black Sea coast. This provide a useful idea of how commanding governors visited the soldiers deployed in their region in order to pay wages and inspect the troops. Even though Pliny did not command any legions he had soldiers at his disposal (Pliny Ep. 10.21). Some of the troops were deplored to assist Gavius Bassus, prefect of the Pontic shores, while others were sent to protect Maximus, one of Trajan’s freedman, on his trip to collect corn in Paphlagonia and to assist him and the imperial procurator under whom he served (Pliny Ep. 10.27-8). Pliny also used his soldiers in the cities as when he deplored troops to guard city prisons. Larger contingents of troops were also stationed in Byzantium under the command of a centurion to maintain security in the busy harbour town (Pliny Ep. 10.77-8). As illustrated by the Letters, Roman authorities were backed by force when they travelled around the province – for instance when collecting corn. As such, the authority of governors and other Roman officials rested ultimately on the availability of force, a fact which underlined the reality that Roman rule was a military occupation. There is, however, no reason to assume that Pliny and Romans serving in Pontus and Bithynia were in great danger when caring out the tasks. The relatively limited number of soldiers assigned to protect men in Roman service testifies to the general safety Roman authorities enjoyed in the beginning of the second century. It has been suggested that Pliny was on a special commission because of an economic or administrative crisis. If correct, this would suggest that the situation was unusual and that any attempt to generalise from it is difficult. Trajan reminds Pliny that he had been assigned to pay special attention to the cities’ finances and the correspondents discuss matters related to the accounts of Prusa, Byzantium and of Apamea. Yet the crisis should not be exaggerated. Trajan’s concern for the cities’ economy and Pliny’s focus on the public accounts suggest that some cities overspent on public buildings, and that some of the accounts were inadequately done. The only failed projects we hear of are the aqueduct in Nicomedia and the gymnasium and theatre in Nicaea. Based on the Letters there is no reason to believe that Nicomedia and Nicaea faced ‘bankruptcy arising out of unregulated public spending’.35 What may have been at stake is rather a combination of bad management in terms of insufficient calcu-

25

Eager to be Roman lations of cost and poor preliminary surveys of construction sites, which, together with private benefactors’ broken promises to pay for public buildings, put pressure on the cities’ economies. The correspondence could also be read as a source for a relatively stable economy in Pontus and Bithynia. Some of the projects surely did go wrong, but the correspondence shows that the cities were able to finance other expensive projects. In Nicaea, Trajan sanctioned the completion of the theatre and the gymnasium if Pliny concluded that that would be the best way to proceed. Trajan’s willingness simply to be informed of Pliny’s decision suggests that Nicaea did not experience substantial economic difficulties. New projects, fully financed, in Prusa, Sinope and Amastris were initiated during Pliny’s governorship, indicating that at least some of the province’s cities had economies stable enough to allow significant sums to be invested in public installations. How and to what extent the coming of Rome changed the Hellenistic communities is the theme of the following chapter. I will go back in time and look at the constitutional changes brought about by Roman rule as institutionalised by the provincial code lex Pompeia and consider how the interference of Roman authorities affected the civic communities.

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2

Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia In 66 BCE, after having defeated Mithridates VI and evicted the king from Anatolia, Pompey initiated a large re-organisation of the East, in which the province of Bithynia and Mithridates’ kingdom were joined into a single unity placed under the jurisdiction and administration of one governor. Few would suggest that this provincialisation changed nothing and that the Greek civic communities continued as before. Two former independent and competing kingdoms were joined into a single province and the monarchies were replaced by Roman rule. In the new political environment the civic communities in Bithynia and on the Pontic coast now had to adjust to the reality of changing governors and a number of new laws introduced as part of the lex Pompeia. Also, as the Pontic part of the new province was less urbanised, particularly inland, Roman foundations of cities after a Greek pattern certainly represented a change to the way life in the area was organised. Yet Roman conquest of the East is generally believed to have brought fewer changes to the existing urban communities in comparison to the West, where Rome either founded cities or re-founded existing urban centres as the administrative backbone of the new provincial community.1 There is an opinion widely shared among scholars that many of the changes following Roman provincialisation were already part of Greek culture or were easily assimilated by the Greek communities. Rome held on to the polis model, as illustrated by the continuous use of local laws and constitutions in which political power was divided between dêmos, boulê and magistrates. As argued by MacMullen and others, only a few colonies were founded in the East and when Roman commanders decided to found cities in the less urbanised part of the East the new settlements were often organised after a Greek pattern. As a result, provincial communities in the East were less affected by the coming of Rome than their counterparts in the West. On the other hand, it is also widely accepted that the coming of Rome brought significant changes to Greek cities in the form of technological improvements. Public buildings were from time to time raised in what can be determined as a Roman architectural style, and the introduction of Roman citizenship and institutions affected the cities’ legal composition and social hierarchies.2 As Fergus Millar observed, the impact of Roman rule was notable also in Greek cities, and the culture that emerged from the meeting of the Roman and Greek worlds is better described as GraecoRoman than Greek or Roman.3 In addition, it has been suggested by

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Eager to be Roman Henri-Louis Fernoux that by introducing property qualifications and lifelong membership of the boulê, Rome established a political system after a Roman pattern and thereby brought radical changes to the polis constitution, which, all told, was seen as a significant reorganisation of Greek political structure.4 Other factors might have been taken into account, such as taxes and the deployment of Roman troops. Roman publicani were active in Bithynia even before provincialisation: according to King Nicomedes III their depredations had left him in a tight situation, in that he did not have enough free men to support Rome’s wars against the Cimbri and Teutones.5 The Roman taxation introduced after the creation of the province of Bithynia in 74-73 BCE laid claims on the provinces and is likely to have been increased first by Caesar’s assassins and later by Mark Antony in their attempts to finance the Civil Wars. Even though Roman garrisons were located throughout the province, the foundation of only two colonies and the absence of legions in the province suggest that the influence of the army was less significant in Pontus and Bithynia than, for example, Galatia, Cappadocia and other more militarised provinces. Yet neither taxation nor garrisons were a novelty in the Roman era. Hellenistic kings had already both settled garrisons and taxed the cities in Asia Minor. Some cities were subordinated to the Seleucid kingdom and lost their freedom while others gained their independence back as a gift from the king and were thereafter freed from both tax and garrisons. Under Seleucid rule, cities were divided legally between subordinated and independent poleis and, as John Ma has convincingly argued, subordinated cities did experience a loss of autonomy.6 What the factors considered here all have in common is that they represent a significant interference in the administration of the cities subjected to Rome. What Roman government brought about was the introduction of constitutional law, according to which any legal disputes were to be settled according to Roman laws, not local ones, if one of the parties happened to be a Roman citizen. Another change that contradicted previous practice was the habit of intervening in local matters: new interventions could concern how and to whom cities could award citizenship and under what criteria individuals were admitted to the civic council. Together with the tight control of how the cities could honour the emperor, such restrictions on local autonomy underlined the submission of the ‘autonomous polis’ to the Roman order. How and to what extent the coming of Roman rule and the introduction of Roman institutions changed the political, social and cultural environment in Pontus and Bithynia constitute the main focus of this chapter. Attention will be directed towards Pompey’s provincialisation and the constitutional changes it brought about. Another essential question to be treated is the introduction of emperor-worship, which has traditionally been deemed a Greek response to Roman rule conducted by one man with

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2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia absolute power. Yet here the idealised picture of Greek autonomy was challenged by close regulation from the emperor and Roman authorities. Finally, the question of local autonomy will be discussed in further detail, involving consideration of how Roman interference in local matters affected local communities. The Pompeian provincialisation After his series of victories in the East, Pompey initiated a comprehensive reorganisation aimed to stabilise and secure Roman control in Anatolia and the Levant. An essential part of this process was the amalgamation of the province Bithynia with the kingdom of Mithridates into one province. The new province was called Bithynia, which remained the official name until the abdication of the client king Polemo II in 63 CE.7 Unification of Bithynia and the kingdom of Mithridates, for convenience often referred to as the kingdom of Pontus, into one Roman province would not only secure the more populous part of northern and central Anatolia,8 it would also ensure a definitive dissolution of Pontus, which had provided some of the strongest opposition to Roman rule since the Punic Wars. The hardest challenge to Pompey’s provincialisation was reorganising the Pontic hinterland into a city-based structure similar to the polis, which already characterised Bithynia and the Black Sea coast. Under Mithridates the organisation of the Pontic hinterland was based on a system in which entrusted eunuchs and members of the king’s family controlled hundreds of villages from scattered fortresses. In order to break this pattern and to make sure that potential opposition or gangs of robbers could not use the castles as strongholds, Pompey ordered their destruction and thereby took the initial steps towards the introduction of a city-based power structure in the then sparsely urbanised parts of Pontus (Strabo 12.3.38). One of the best sources for Pompey’s urbanisation is the Geography of Strabo, who grew up in Amasia with a mother whose great grandfather, Dorylaüs, served as taktikos under Mithridates VI (Strabo 12.3.33). In his account of Pontic geography, Strabo relates that Pompey founded cities (poleis) in existing centres, such as Eupatoria, founded under Mithridates VI, which Pompey renamed Magnopolis, and Caberia, the location of Mithridates’ palace and a temple to the Persian god Men, which Pompey re-named Diospolis – city of Zeus (Strabo 12.3.30-1). As part of this strategy the city of Nicopolis was founded where Mithridates was finally defeated. Neapolis was located in the village of Phazemon just as Megalopolis and Pompeiopolis were refounded on what is likely to have been existing villages (Strabo 12.3.28; 12.3.37-40). The Persian temple communities in Zela and Comana also felt the influence from the Pompeian reorganisation. Zela, which, according to Strabo was not a city under Mithridatic rule, obtained civic status as part of the reorganisation and Comana was placed under the authority of Archelaüs,

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Eager to be Roman whom Pompey appointed high priest with the responsibility for a new and larger territory. Comana was characterised as a city (polis) and ruled by a man who had received honours from both Sulla and the senate, and who had close contacts to men of consular rank (Strabo 12.3.24 and 12.3.37).9 It is not entirely clear from Strabo whether Pompey’s programme of urbanisation included the construction of public buildings such as theatres, bath buildings and temples, or the provision of political and administrative institutions, or both. Was Pompey’s urbanisation more of a reclamation and re-nomination of existing urban centres than an actual attempt to introduce a civic culture in a sparsely urbanised area? As has been pointed out, the claim that Pompey founded 39 cities all over the empire is an exaggeration. It is more likely that he re-founded or reorganised pre-existing communities than actually established completely new urban centres (Plut. Pomp. 45.2; App. Mith. 17.117).10 In the case of Pontus, scholars have generally agreed that Pompey allocated civic status to existing centres as a means of establishing the necessary legal, financial and administrative basis in the region. The question is whether the motive behind Pompey’s strategy was to introduce a city-based administrative system into the area to control the region by Roman organisation or whether the foundations were part of a cultural commitment to introduce an urban culture into the lesser urbanised Hellenised area.11 Strabo does not specify one way or the other, and Pompey’s policy had not had a long time to establish itself when in 39 BCE the region was de-provincialised by Mark Antony, who allocated the cities in the Pontic part of the province to client kings and temple communities.12 There are elements in Strabo’s account which suggest that Pompey’s reorganisation included more than an introduction of legal, fiscal and administrative institutions. Strabo differentiates between the non-urban temple community at Zela, inhabited by temple servants and supervised by priests, and the polis introduced by Pompey. A similar development can be seen at Caberia, where Pompey founded a polis in the locality of Mithridates’ palace. Temple and royal palace communities were unlikely to have had institutions in which free citizens could participate in the political process. Strabo implies that Pompey’s introduction of poleis established a free citizen body and implemented a political structure with magistrates, councils and assemblies. In the Pontic hinterland, where slaves, temple-servants and more or less dependent peasant communities made up the population, Pompey needed to create a citizen-body in order to make the urban community work. An inscription from Pompeiopolis shows that Pompey, as part of the foundation, settled western soldiers and gave the city a Roman calendar.13 This suggests that creation of citizenship was indeed part of the policy. Use of Roman and Italian settlers, together with Strabo’s reference to Pompey’s division of Mithridates’ kingdom into eleven territories, suggest that

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2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia the demographic basis for the new cities was made up by a synoecism of villages (Strabo 12.3.1).14 Pliny the Younger provides the best evidence for Pompey’s legal interventions in the province, known as the lex Pompeia. Two laws from that code point to the desire to establish and maintain a functional citizen-body within each city. First, one law secured for children of Pontic mothers the right to be Pontic. This has been convincingly interpreted as an attempt to provide easy access to citizenship in Pompey’s cities and thereby increase the number of citizens.15 Pliny mentions that another law prevented Bithynian cities from awarding citizenship to individuals who already held citizenship in another Bithynian city. The second law does not refer to Pontus and it is therefore not clear whether the law against double citizenship applied only in Bithynia or in the Pontic cities as well. But as will be argued below, there seems to be no consistency in the way Pliny and Trajan referred to the province, suggesting that lex Pompeia concerned the entire province. In any case, regulation of citizenship was a break with the practice in the Hellenistic cities and the law was, it seems, disregarded until Pliny the Younger at the beginning of the second century 16 CE raised the problem with Trajan. The intention of law may well have been to prevent citizens in the newly founded cities from migrating to larger cities within the province. Specifically it would have been targeted at the elite, as they were the only ones with the means to further their ambitions. Such migration would inevitably have destabilised the Pontic hinterland socially as well as financially, and would have undermined Pompey’s reorganisation of the province.17 If this interpretation is accepted, a picture emerges in which Pompey took the initiative to implement a civic structure in the Pontic hinterland and thereby the necessary steps to make a coherent single provincial administration out of two very differently organised kingdoms. This rearrangement must have been a dramatic step for the local population. The old hierarchy was dissolved, and life in the emerging civic community side-by-side with Roman veterans represented a major break with village lifestyle. Previously, the local population had had no access to the political process. The introduction of an urban community with working political institutions and a participative citizenship must have been a challenge and may not have succeeded everywhere. Furthermore, the few decades between Pompey’s urbanisation initiative and Antony’s dissolution of the Pontic part of the province was hardly enough time to develop a working and stable civic culture in the hinterland. In any case, Antony’s strategy in the Pontic region put an end to any further development of the politically autonomous poleis until Augustus provincialised both Galatia and Paphlagonia as part of his re-organisation of Anatolia. Another part of Pompey’s reorganisation was to place the province under the jurisdiction of one governor alone. The newly proclaimed province was placed under this single authority from at least 57 BCE when C.

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Eager to be Roman Papirius Carbo was honoured on coins issued by both Bithynian and Pontic cities.18 From the inconsistency in how the two parts of the province are mentioned in Pliny’s Letters, some consideration is needed as to whether or not Pontus and Bithynia were ruled together as a single administrative unit. The correspondence between Pliny and Trajan is the only source that treats the lex Pompeia in detail.19 In some letters Pliny and Trajan refer only to Bithynia, as when they are discussing how to interpret the laws on minimum age for public office and admission to the boulê: It is prescribed, Sir, in the Pompeian law which was laid down for the Bithynians, that no one should hold a magistracy or be a member of a senate (senatus) who was under thirty years of age. (Pliny Ep. 10.79.1)20

A similar focus on Bithynia is repeated in the letter of the rules for admitting citizens who were already citizens in other Bithynian cities: Under the Pompeian law, Sir, the Bithynian cities are allowed to enrol any persons they choose as honorary citizens, provided that none of them come from those cities which are in Bithynia. (Pliny Ep. 10.114.1)21

But in the letter in which the question of an admission fee is discussed, Pliny places both Pontus and Bithynia under the authority of the lex Pompeia: The Pompeian law, Sir, which the people of Bithynia and Pontus observe, does not order those who are enrolled in a council (boulê) by censors to pay money; but those whom your generosity has allowed some of the cities to add over and above the lawful number have paid one or two thousand denarii each. (Pliny Ep. 10.112.1)22

Pliny’s distinction between Pompey’s law for the Bithynian cities and the remark that the lex Pompeia applied to both Bithynia and Pontus is intriguing. Did the minimum age of thirty for council membership and the rules concerning the admission of new citizens apply in Bithynian cities only? If not, it existed as a common rule for the entire province, like the law concerning the censors’ election of council members. One approach to the question is to interpret the letters very straightforwardly as if the provisions regarding minimum age and the admission of new citizens referred to the Bithynian cities alone, while the laws regarding admission fees to the boulê concerned the entire province.23 This way of interpreting Trajan and Pliny’s use of the Bithynia and Pontus, or just Bithynia, raises the question of whether there existed different rules at a provincial level in the Bithynian and Pontic halves of the province already from the time of the Pompeian reorganisation. The lex Bithyniorum mentioned by Gaius (Institutes 1.193) in a discussion of women’s status and

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2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia Roman laws on tutela, has been identified with lex Pompeia. This could suggest that there were laws in lex provinciae that only applied in Bithynia.24 Yet, the concern for Bithynian women’s social status suggests that the lex Bithyniorum was not a lex provinciae. Rome’s concern was primarily on the constitutional level, as is also apparent from the references to the lex Pompeia that appear in Pliny’s letters. Instead the lex Bithyniorum should be seen as a local law regulating how women in Bithynia could engage in financial transactions. This fits with Gaius’ interests in peregrine laws that existed alongside the lex provinciae, which he often compared to Roman practice on the matter.25 Pliny’s letter 10.112 followed by Trajan’s reply in 10.113 are examples of the inconsistent use of Bithynia and Pontus and Bithynia. In his question to Trajan, Pliny is referring to the lex Pompeia as the law for both Bithynia and Pontus, while in his reply Trajan mentions only Bithynian cities: No general rule can be laid down by me about whether or not all those who become decurions in every city in Bithynia should pay a fee for the decurionate. (Pliny Ep. 10.113)26

Pliny would have been well aware of the official name of the province he was governing and would hardly have mentioned to the emperor that the lex Pompeia was a law common to all of Pontus and Bithynia, had this not been the case. Trajan’s reference to Bithynian cities is more likely to have been an abbreviation used inconsistently. It is therefore reasonable to conclude that the name Bithynia covered the official name Pontus and Bithynia. When Pliny and Trajan discussed the Pompeian laws for the Bithynian cities it applied to the entire province. What is just as clear from Pliny’s correspondence is that local law and practices still applied, as illustrated by the lex Bithyniorum and Trajan’s reluctance to draw up a general law for entrance fees to the boulê.27 Pompey’s provincial law for Bithynia did not replace the existing city codes but was introduced to standardise the civic constitution to ensure common practice in the new province. As such the lex Pompeia seems to have been along the line of lex Rupilia, the provincial legislation of Sicily written down in about 132 BCE. Here it appears that pre-Roman laws continued to apply to the local population. As it appears from Cicero’s speeches against Verres, Romans were only appointed to the jury when other Roman citizens were accused by locals or when both parties were Roman.28 Another concern was to implement a system which allowed Rome to tax the newly founded province. We know very little of how the taxation of Pontus and Bithynia was organised. The lex Pompeia must have had a paragraph on tax, as did the lex Hieronica in Sicily, but as Pliny and Trajan never discuss taxation, the Letters provide no useful details on the matter. One option is to look at the system introduced in Asia in the

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Eager to be Roman republican period. As suggested by Lintott, the first taxation of Asia was based on a system where farmers were asked to declare how much land they possessed under cultivation. From these calculations tax contractors competed for the right to collect the revenue.29 After the First Mithridatic War Sulla gave the cities in Asia a fine of a total of 20,000 talents as a punishment for Asia’s role in the First Mithridatic War and Lucullus raised taxes temporarily to 25% on crops, slaves and house property in Asia in an attempt to collect the fine. Caesar later left the collection of taxes to the cities and abolished the system of direct tax collection.30 In the early Principate communities were assessed collectively. Possessors were liable to the cities and the cities to the Roman government. The collection of taxes was now in the hands of local magistrates who replaced the dubious tax contractors whose personal gain stood in the way of fair treatment of provincial communities.31 A similar system is plausible in the case of Pontus and Bithynia. Based on the existing system of taxation, farmers in Pontus and Bithynia may have been asked to assess the amount of land under crops and other values, and the publicani could thereafter bid on the assignment. Dio Chrysostom’s remark that cities benefited the more tribute they were able to collect from their territories suggests that Pontus and Bithynia was taxed from collective assessment.32 It is, however, less likely that Pompey would have imposed a heavy regime on the cities in the new province, as Sulla had done in Asia. Bithynia was already a Roman domain before the outbreak of the Third Mithridatic War, not allied with Mithridates; high taxation on the newly founded cities in Pontus would have given them a very difficult start. When Caesar or later Augustus reformed the taxation of Asia, it is a reasonable assumption that a similar system was introduced in Pontus and Bithynia. The polis constitution in Pontus and Bithynia How the coming of Rome changed the Greek civic communities has been interpreted in two different ways. One view has tended to see the influence of Roman rule as minimal. It is argued by MacMullen, Jones and Rostovtzeff that a general admiration of Greek civilisation and a willingness to sustain a form of administration that was already working encouraged Rome to maintain and use the polis constitution in her provincialisation and urbanisation of the Anatolian hinterland.33 Another approach, represented by Fernoux, focussing specifically on the Bithynian part of the province, has seen the lex Pompeia as a radical revision of the existing Greek constitution. As such, the introduction of a minimum age of 30 years for both magistrates and council membership as well as the life long membership of the boulê determined by property qualification have been described as an introduction of an oligarchic rule that gave the elite exclusive control over the political process in the cities.34

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2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia That Rome’s reform of particularly the city council, the boulê, provided the elite with a more privileged position has been pointed out by Jones, who argued that in order to assimilate the councils in Greek constitutions to her own model, Rome introduced property qualifications and life-long membership to the boulê. These changes provided a legal basis for elite control of the decision-making process and institutionalised what was already the practice in most Hellenistic cities. As the council no longer represented the assembly, it had become a body by which the elite could control political development in the cities.35 What sets the two views apart is not so much the fate of the boulê as whether these changes represented a fundamental break with the de facto situation in Hellenistic cities. Once again, Pliny’s letters are the best evidence for the constitutional changes that Pompey’s provincialisation had brought about in Pontus and Bithynia. It is from the following and much quoted letter that the reconstruction of how the civic constitutions functioned under Roman rule mostly rests. Under the code of law, Sir, which Pompey drew up for Bithynia, it was laid down that no one could hold civil office or sit in the senate under the age of thirty. The same law stated that all ex-officials should become members of the local senate (senatus). Then Augustus permitted (permisit) the minor posts to be held from the age of twenty-two. The question therefore arises whether anyone who has held office under the age of thirty can be admitted to the senate by the censors, and, if so, whether the law can be similarly interpreted so that persons who have not actually held office can be admitted to the senate at the age when they were eligible to do so. This has been the practice hitherto, and is considered unavoidable because it is so much more desirable to choose senators from the sons of better-class families (honestiorum hominum) than from the common people (plebs). (Pliny Ep. 10.79.1-3)36

What appears from the first half of the letter is that the lex Pompeia laid down a minimum age of thirty for magistrates and admission to the boulê. Later Augustus modified that rule by allowing men from the age of twenty-two to hold minor magistracies. The question is therefore whether the Augustan edict also allowed the admission of ex-magistrates under the age of thirty to the boulê, and secondly whether men under thirty, who had not yet held a magistracy, were allowed in the boulê on reaching the age that made them eligible to hold office. Pliny, when asked by the censor, thought it right to allow ex-magistrates under the legal age to enter the boulê, but hesitated to grant similar rights to those under the age of thirty who had not yet begun their public careers. As so often before, Pliny’s decision proved to be the right one. Trajan later agreed that young ex-magistrates should be admitted to the council but ruled that men without office and under the legal age could not obtain a seat in the boulê (Pliny Ep. 10.80).

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Eager to be Roman According to the letter, there were two ways to qualify for the boulê. One was to hold a magistracy in the city, the other was to turn thirty. Giving ex-magistrates lifelong membership of the council was clearly in line with Roman custom of ensuring that a privileged political and social elite had control over the decision-making process. What also becomes clear from the letter is that up until Pliny’s arrival it had been the practice to elect young men from the elite under the legal age to fill up spare seats in the boulê, because it was considered desirable to choose sons of the honestiorum hominum over the plebs. What Pliny describes as practice had no legal standing, which further indicates that members of the plebs had a right, at least theoretically, to a seat in the city council. This interpretation raises further questions. What were the standards by which the censors elected the group that did not hold office? And who are the group Pliny calls plebs, which was apparently prevented from entering the boulê against the intention of the law? Are members of this group to be found in the social strata just below the elite or should we imagine that anyone from the dêmos had a theoretical right to a seat in the boulê? And what about the property qualifications, which, as we have already seen scholars have suggested, were introduced as part of the reorganisation? Would this not prevent men with lesser financial means from entering the boulê in the first place? To judge from Pliny’s letter and Trajan’s answer, boulê members were elected either by the censors or directly by decision of the emperor.37 What criteria the censors used to put together the boulê is, however, far from clear. The existence of a property qualification for the boulê in Pontus and Bithynia cannot be proven with certainty but is hypothesised from two examples from the province. The first is Iulius Piso who appears in front of Pliny in a case where his home town Amisus has asked him to pay back a gift of 40,000 denarii, which he had received from the city twenty years earlier by decision of the boulê and the people (Pliny Ep. 10.110). Apart from the usual defence that he already used the money to the benefit of the city, Piso claims as part of his argument that paying back the money would ruin what was left of his standing: ‘… cum eversione reliquae dignitatis reddere cogeretur’.38 The other example is a letter attributed to Domitian, where the emperor orders Terentius Maximus, presumably an eques with access to the emperor’s finances, to buy a farm near Prusa for up to about 100,000 sesterces as a personal gift to the philosopher Flavius Archippus. Domitian hopes that this gift will enable Archippus to support his family. Flavius Archippus the philosopher has prevailed upon me to give instructions for the purchase of an estate worth up to 100,000 sesterces for him in the area of Prusa, his native city, on the income of which he can support his dependents. I wish this to be bestowed upon him. You will charge the full cost to my generosity. (Pliny Ep.10. 58.5)39

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2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia These two passages have been seen as evidence for the existence of a property qualification and therefore as evidence that the census qualification to the boulê in Pontus and Bithynia rested on wealth.40 Based on these two examples, it has been suggested that 100,000 sesterces, 25,000 denarii, was the property qualification for the boulê in Pontus and Bithynia, which Piso, if forced to pay back the 40,000 denarii, would fail to meet; and Archippius, by the gift from Domitian, could hope to achieve.41 Another of Pliny’s letters, this time to Romatius Firmus, shows that the property qualification for a decurion in Como was 100,000 sesterces (Pliny Ep. 1.19). It is true that a property qualification in Pontus and Bithynia might correspond to the pattern set earlier in Thessaly and in Achaea, where property qualification for magistrates and councillors were introduced as part of the provincialisation.42 The two examples from Prusa and Amisus fit well with the property qualification in Como, and together with examples of Roman property qualification on the Greek mainland may suggest that Pompey introduced status classification as part of his reorganisation. Still, if property qualification was introduced as part of the provincialisation, why did the censors in Pontus and Bithynia have to bend the law to ensure that sons of the elite were elected above the plebs? A controversial answer is that the figures mentioned in connection with Piso and Archippus do not refer to a property qualification, as suggested by Fernoux and others, and that there did not exist a property qualification similar to the one known from the Greek mainland.43 In the case of Piso, Pliny mentions that paying back the 40,000 denarii (more than one and a half times the property qualification for decurial status in an Italian city), could ruin what was left (reliquae) of Piso’s standing (dignitas). Pliny refers to a possible loss of dignity but it is less clear whether he also referred to an eventual loss of the ability to meet a social classification in Amisus. A property qualification was either met or not and could not be lost in part. Piso’s claim that he would lose what was left of his dignitas could therefore more probably refer to his general social standing, which no doubt was at risk. Having to pay back a sum of 40,000 denarii would have ruined the fortune of most members of the local elite in any provincial town, with unavoidable social consequences. Furthermore, being asked to pay back a gift offered by the city in return of all the good Piso had done for Amisus twenty years ago could only have been taken as a personal attack on his social position. Domitian’s decision to buy a farm for up to 100,000 sesterces corresponds better to the property qualification in Como. Therefore it may seem reasonable to assume that the emperor was ensuring that one of his supporters could meet the necessary social classification in Prusa. Yet the reason Domitian gave Terentius Maximus for the order to buy the farm was his wish that Archippus would be able to support his family from its surplus. Naturally the emperor could have kept his real intention to himself. But if he had decided that Archippus was to meet the property

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Eager to be Roman qualification, why did he not provide him with a farm that was worth 100,000 sesterces? Instead, Terentius Maximus was instructed to spend a figure of up to the 100,000 sesterces and the letter gives the impression that Domitian would be happy if the farm could be bought at a lower price. We do not know whether Archippus had any capital himself or whether the emperor provided only part of the property qualification. All in all, there seem to be too many unanswered questions for this example to be taken as the explicit proof for property qualification in Pontus and Bithynia, as has been claimed.44 Instead, 100,000 sesterces may have related to land prices around Prusa and corresponded to the anticipated cost for a decent farm big enough to support both Archippus and his family in a respectable manner suitable for one of the emperor’s supporters. Instead of property qualification deciding admission to the boulê, the council was composed top down by its members approving those whom they saw as the most qualified citizens.45 In the epigraphic record from Prusias ad Hypium it appears that men who served as censors also served as first archons and Bithyniarch or Pontarch and thereby belonged to highest echelons of society (see further below). It remains unclear what criteria censors used to fill the ranks of the boulê, but the election may well have depended on personal fortunes and social standing. One way of populating the boulê would be to elect the ex-magistrates first and then fill the remaining seats according to the candidates’ financial means. Such a practice would surely favour the elite but not exclude the remaining part of the dêmos, members of which could obtain a seat after the elite had been admitted. In all probability, as censors belonged to the highest level of society they preferred to share the council with men from their own rank rather than with men of lower status and used the uncertainty in the Augustan edict to fill the boulê with their own sons. This practice would have been both normal and desirable, as Pliny says with much understanding, but it was not based on the lex Pompeia, as Trajan’s ruling confirms (Pliny Ep. 10.80). Thus it seems that the aim of Pompey’s reorganisation was not to replace an existing Greek constitution with an oligarchic system. One reason why Pompey hesitated to introduce property qualification may have had to do with the newly founded cities in the Pontic hinterland. Years of centralised rule and an organisation in which villages worked the royal land are likely to have resulted in a population with very limited resources. In these new civic communities, a property qualification similar to the one in Como is likely to have excluded most of the citizen body and it would thus have been difficult to find enough members to make the council work. In order to introduce a functional civic structure, Pompey combined elements from both the polis and Roman constitutions. Ex-magistrates were ensured a privileged position in the decision-making process and stability was added to the council by the introduction of life membership. Men outside the elite were still given the right to a seat in the boulê.

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2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia The changes Pompey made to the existing constitutions were not as radical as has been suggested.46 Life membership of city councils was a well-known phenomenon in the classical period, as in the cases of the Gerousia in Sparta and the Areopagus in Athens. This is also true of minimum age limits on certain offices, which already applied for certain magistracies in the Hellenistic period – for example, the law that the gymnasiarch should be between thirty and sixty (Austin 1981, 118). Therefore it is also dubious whether Pompey’s reform of the boulê was met with much objection from society’s elite. A life-long seat in the council would have provided the elite with more permanent access to the decisionmaking processes compared to constitutions in which the council members were elected on a yearly basis or sat for only a limited number of periods. Throughout the Hellenistic period, members of the elite had taken upon themselves the responsibility for paying for anything from the essential corn supply and embassies to Hellenistic kings to schools and festivals.47 Wealthy citizens also assumed responsibility for the cities’ magistracies and spent a considerable amount of their own money to the benefit of the city.48 It is not surprising that these favours were highly appreciated by the civic communities, as is apparent from a decree in which the city of Paros honoured Cillius for his record in keeping down prices on high quality corn while serving as agoranomos.49 The decisive role played in the upkeep of the city is likely to have given the elite a central role when the political strategy was decided. Men with lesser financial means were, as Jones argued, likely to have left the political scene to those who were ready to supply the funds necessary to fill the gap between the finances available in the city and the actual costs magistrates would have to supply if they wished to fulfil the offices well.50 What the lex Pompeia did was to place power in the hands of ex-magistrates and the cities’ most wealthy class and thereby legalise what was de facto the reality within the civic communities. The lex Pompeia seems furthermore not to have altered the dêmos’ voting rights. The council continued to issue honorific degrees and prepare laws and candidate lists for the election in the ekklêsia. Dio’s speeches to the boulê in Prusa (Dio Chrys. Or. 49.14-15; 50.7,10) have been used as evidence for the councils’ right to carry out the election of the archon.51 Dio claims to be on his way to Rome and declines the offer, but states, however, that if there had been no obstacles he would have enlisted voluntarily and been grateful for an election (Dio Chrys. Or. 49.14). To judge from the passage it seems as if Dio is arguing against an appointment more than an actual election, which implies that the boulê completed the nomination of candidates for the ekklêsia to elect.52 Altogether, then, the polis constitution was preserved, and even though the elite were allowed to exert a strong influence on the political life of their cities, it was still possible for non-magistrates to enter the boulê and take part in political life, a task that was more rarely accomplished in the

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Eager to be Roman western ordo. Furthermore, despite the increased importance of the boulê, the ekklêsia remained the governing body which voted for candidates and approved laws concerning local matters. Pompey thus managed to favour the use of local laws and customs in political life. This earned him the respect of Cassius Dio, a member of the Nicaean elite, who celebrated him for using the city’s original laws when conducting his re-organisation (Cass. Dio 37.20.1-2). Emperor-worship: Greek traditions and Roman influence Another institution introduced into Pontus and Bithynia as a consequence of Roman rule was emperor-worship. An understanding widely shared in modern scholarship is that the cults of the living Octavian/Augustus and the deceased Iulius Caesar emerged as a local, that is, Greek, initiative, organised and implemented by the koina in Bithynia and Asia. In this light, Octavian’s role in how the cult came into being has traditionally been seen as reactive, limited to the occasional adjustments and modifications to prevent what was essentially a Greek phenomenon becoming too extreme in the eyes of the Roman elite.53 Worship of Hellenistic kings and Roman magistrates was a well-established phenomenon and one view among scholars has seen emperor-worship as a political institution, which aimed to secure the best possible relationship with the emperor and, as such, was a logical continuation of Hellenistic ruler-worship.54 That emperor-worship was a mere continuation of Hellenistic ruler cult was questioned by Simon Price, who in his influential work Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor (1984), argued convincingly that there was a decisive difference in the way Greek rulers and Augustus were honoured. Instead, worship of the emperor is seen as a complex system of exchange, whereby the provincial communities in Greek Asia Minor, formally through the koinon institution, shaped a cult in close collaboration with the governor, the senate and the emperor himself. Admission of the emperor into the sphere of the Olympic gods was, according to Price, more than simple flattery. It was a way in which members of the local elite in Asia Minor could adjust to the political reality of a sole ruler.55 A fundamental question to be treated in this section is whether the ancient evidence supports the consensus of emperor-worship as a largely Greek institution shaped and introduced as a common Greek initiative carried through by the provincial council – the koinon. Clearly, the koina played a role in the daily organisation of emperor worship in both Bithynia and in Asia, and the koinon of Asia honoured Roman magistrates by offering them temples, festivals and other honorific dedications already in the republican period.56 It is, however, less clear whether the ancient evidence supports the notion that the koina in Bithynia and in Asia were the decisive factor in the shaping and implementation of the cult to

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2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia Octavian/Augustus in 29 BCE. Instead, the emperor and Roman authorities seem to have been responsible for how local petitions were organised in the worship of Octavian/Augustus. Furthermore, the koinon seems remarkably indecisive when the temple to Tiberius, Livia and the senate, Asia’s second neokoria, was founded in the city of Smyrna. The Asian cities were not represented by a single delegation but by eleven individual embassies, suggesting that no agreement was made about where to place the new temple. Instead the eleven cities competed independently to achieve the honour (Tac. Ann. 4.55-6). Another essential matter with implications for the organisation of emperor worship in Bithynia is the question of the precincts dedicated to Divus Iulius and Dea Roma, which Cassius Dio claims Octavian allowed in Nicaea and Ephesus. Modern scholarship has traditionally seen the precincts as temples set up to a joint cult, where Roman citizens were ordered to honour the two deities.57 Yet Cassius Dio is the only clear reference to such a cult and it is therefore reasonable to subject this evidence to closer scrutiny. Our understanding of how and by whose initiative emperor-worship was first implemented rests fundamentally on Cassius Dio’s much-quoted account of the events in 29 BCE when Octavian, after his victory in the Civil Wars, wintered in Pergamum on his way back from Egypt. Caesar [Augustus] meanwhile conducted his other business and he let sanctuaries come into being (temenê … genesthai ephêken), to [Dea] Roma and to his father Caesar, calling him Divus Julius (herôa … Ioulion), in Ephesus and in Nicaea; for these were then the most prominent cities (proetetimênto) in Asia and Bithynia respectively. These (toutous) [sc. Roma and Julius Caesar] he assigned (prosetaxe) to the Romans who lived among these people to pay honour to. But, as you would expect (dê), he entrusted (epetrepse) the foreigners (xenois), for whom he used the name Hellenes (Hellênas sphas epikalesas), with establishing some sanctuaries for himself (heautô tina [sc. temenê] … temenisai), the Asians in Pergamum and the Bithynians in Nicomedia. From this point onward this happened also in the case of other rulers (autokratorôn), not only among the Greek peoples (en tois Hellênikois ethnesin) but also among all other peoples who obey to the Romans. For note that in the city itself and the rest of Italy not a single person, no matter how great a reputation he might deserve, has dared to do this. Yet even there heroia (hêrôa) are made for those who have ruled correctly once they have passed (metallaxasi) among other honours on a par with gods (isotheoi timai) which are given them. (Cass. Dio 51.20.6-9)58

An essential problem with the notion that the koina shaped and introduced emperor-worship in the form it first appeared in 29 BCE is that Cassius Dio does not use the term koinon in his account of the events. Deininger, who in his study of the provincial assemblies treated the missing reference to the koina in great detail, suggested that the term

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Eager to be Roman ethnos was a synonym for koinon.59 Cassius Dio uses the term Hellênikon ethnos when identifying those who worshipped the living emperor, which according to Deininger suggests that the koinon was behind the cult. This approach finds its origins in the interpretation of Mommsen that the koinon was a ‘national institution’ representing specific ethnic groups such as the people of Bithynia, or a provincial community such as the one in Asia.60 Elsewhere, Cassius Dio uses ethnos as a collective term for ‘province’, for example, when he mentions that Tiberius preferred to meet envoys from cities and ethnoi together with men who had served in the respective regions.61 Therefore it is a reasonable assumption that Cassius Dio used ethnos as a synonym for the Latin provincia. Ethnos in the sense of koinon appears in the Digest when Modestinius states that the highest priesthoods of an ethnos were Asiarchs and Bithyniarchs (Dig. 27.1.6.14). As such, Hellênikon ethnos could refer to the Bithynian and Asian koina and thereby reflect the institutions responsibility for the daily organisation of the cult. Still, the use of ethnos as a synonym for provincia elsewhere in the work questions the theory. Such reasoning is particularly problematic in the case of Pontus and Bithynia, where two koina, each one a part of the province, assembled at the time Cassius Dio wrote his Roman History.62 The words of Cassius Dio have traditionally been used to support the idea that cult to Octavian/Augustus emerged on a local initiative. Epetrepse and ephêken are traditionally interpreted as if Octavian gave the Bithynian and Asian koina permission to consecrate the cults to himself and his father, leaving Octavian as passive beneficiary. Secondly, Tacitus’ account of the decision among the cities of Asia to offer a new neôkoria, this time to Tiberius and the senate, has traditionally been seen as further evidence for the idea that the koina were behind the initiative to shape and organise the cult.63 Senators, I am fully aware that there have been those who have noted inconsistency in my behaviour when I recently failed to oppose a similar request to this which was being made by the communities of Asia. I shall thus use this occasion to explain why I allowed the people of Asia their request, and what my future policy in this field is to be. I treat as law everything that has been done or said by the Divine Augustus. He did not refuse (non prohibuisset) the people of Pergamum permission to build a temple (templum) to himself and the city of Rome. With his example behind me I more readily agreed to Asia’s request because the people there proposed to conjoin my cult with worship of the senate. (Tac. Ann. 4.37)64

Deininger offers a notable exception to the orthodox understanding. According to his interpretation of epetrepse, it was Octavian who entrusted the Asians and Bithynians to erect the temples to Octavian/Augustus in Nicomedia and Pergamum. Deininger’s suggestion is interesting, as it

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2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia points towards a scenario where Octavian and Roman authorities were far more involved in the shaping and implementation of the cult to Octavian/Augustus than has normally been assumed. By his interpretation Deininger suggests a very plausible scenario allowing Octavian, who was present in Asia Minor at the time, a key role in how the cult was shaped and organised. However, Cassius Dio hardly intended to stress that Octavian requested temples to be built in his honour. Providing worship of oneself was apparently what Caligula did in Asia when he ordered Miletus to build a temple to his personal cult, something Cassius Dio sees as an act of megalomania (Cass. Dio 59.28.1). Whether or not the story is true is difficult to tell, but it provides an idea of what Cassius Dio saw as appropriate and inappropriate emperor-worship. Surprisingly, Deininger maintained that Cassius Dio, by ascribing the initiative to Octavian, misunderstood the events of 29 BCE, and pointed towards Tacitus’ account of the temple to Tiberius as evidence for a local initiative.65 Another question is whether the exact words used by Cassius Dio and Tacitus are useful in determining whether the cult was implemented as a local initiative or, alternatively, whether Octavian led the local elite to understand that he would appreciate such an offer. Throughout the work epitrepô is used to mean either ‘entrust’ or ‘permit’, so from the outset it is difficult to determine with certainty the meaning intended by Cassius Dio at 51.20.7.66 Because of the consideration mentioned above, a more plausible interpretation is that Cassius Dio either intended to say that Octavian permitted the temples to be built or that Octavian, after having accepted the request from a local petitioner, entrusted the selected cities to carry out the projects. In any case, Cassius Dio gives the impression that the petition to honour the emperor was a local request. Even so, his choice of words is, perhaps, intentionally ambiguous, and it is interesting to note that when he relates that Octavian ordered Roman citizens to worship the cult of the deceased Caesar and Dea Roma he uses the word prosetaxe, a much more straightforward choice. Public honours were an essential part of Roman politics, not least during the second triumvirate and in the principate. In a diplomatic exchange between ruler and subjects, honorific decrees of various kinds were offered by the senate, the people of Rome, influential individuals and provincial communities as demonstrations of loyalty. The ruler’s role, on the other hand, whether it was Caesar, Antony or Octavian/Augustus, was to acknowledge the honours and accept most of them. At the same time, some modesty was expected, for example, by declining the most extravagant petitions. This balance between being modest and being ungrateful can be illustrated by Octavian’s refusal to allow the Italians to pay for the gold for the crown they had voted in his honour, or by his request that the decision to have the citizens of Rome come out to meet him at his return from Egypt was not to be put into effect (Cass. Dio 51.20.5). The system depended on the notion that the ruler received honours presented on a

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Eager to be Roman voluntary basis by his loyal and loving subjects. With this in mind, Cassius Dio could not have Octavian, his ideal emperor, request his own cult in 29 BCE. Similarly, Tiberius could not have argued in the senate, not even in Tacitus’ version, that his father had encouraged the inhabitants in Asia and Bithynia to consecrate temples and cults in his honour. That the koina in Bithynia and in Asia were behind the initiative to organise and consecrate the cult to Octavian/Augustus in 29 BCE rests fundamentally on Tacitus’ account of the decision made by the cities of Asia to offer a second provincial temple (neôkoria) this time to Tiberius. According to Tacitus, who provides the only detailed account of the process taking place before the consecration of a neôkoria, the temple was voted to Tiberius, Livia and the senate as a sign of gratitude for the support in two repetundae trials against Lucilius Capito, the procurator of Asia, and Gaius Silanus, the proconsul of Asia (Tac. Ann. 4.15).67 As such the idea of offering a temple to Tiberius may well have rested on local dynamics. Tiberius had not previously accepted a personal cult and his decline of a similar offer from Spain suggests that he did not encourage the petition (Tac. Ann. 4.36-7). Tacitus’ account of events also reveals that the location of the temple was eventually decided in Rome after deliberation in the senate, and furthermore that the cities in Asia were represented by individual delegations – not by deputies from the koinon representing Asia as a whole:68 To take people’s minds off such gossip, the emperor made regular appearance in the senate, spending several days listening to rival ambassadors from Asia Minor making claims for various cities which were vying for the privilege of erecting a temple (templum) to him. In fact, eleven cities, equally keen, but of varying significance, competed with each other. (Tac. Ann. 4.55)69

Apart from the impression that Octavian and not the koina chose the location for the temples to Roma et Augustus in Bithynia and Asia, Tacitus’ account suggests that the details concerning where to locate the temple to Tiberius were left for the Roman authorities to decide – apparently without any direct involvement from the koinon. This obvious lack of agreement among the cities has been explained as a deadlock within the koinon, which caused its members to refer the debate and the decision to Rome.70 Tacitus suggests that the cities in Asia decided to offer a temple to Tiberius, his mother and the senate, a decree which the assembly may have voted on at one of its meetings. The competition between the eleven cities, each represented by individual embassies, suggests that there was no agreement and no common ground as to where, how and in what form the temple should be built. If anything, the koinon merely expressed a readiness to honour Tiberius and the senate, leaving the decisions, large and small, to be made in Rome.

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2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia Looking at the evidence the following picture emerges: it seems likely that the cities of Asia proposed to honour Octavian, sending embassies to him while he was still in Asia, during the winter of 30-29 BCE (Cass. Dio 51.21.1). Octavian accepted this, but at the same time laid down the ground rules for the cult, entrusting (epetrepse) the chosen cities to build the temples needed for this worship. At the same time he may have placed responsibility for the cult in the hands of the koina. It seems convincing to describe this process as a dialogue between Rome and the provincial communities, represented either by the koina or more probably by the cities individually.71 The role Roman authorities played in shaping emperor-worship is particularly clear from the suggestion by Asia’s governor to reform the calendar and let the year begin with Augustus’ birthday. The idea may be Roman but the decision was not, at least not officially, forced upon the Asian cities. In 29 BCE the koinon of Asia decided to reward the person who suggested the greatest honour for the empire’s new sole ruler. Twenty years later, the crown was finally voted to the governor who used the opportunity to stress that a new age had begun by the accession of Augustus and that it was therefore proper to let Augustus’ birthday mark the beginning of the New Year.72 Naturally, there are political undertones both in the governor’s suggestion and in the koinon’s decision to honour his proposal. For both parties it was essential that the reform of the calendar appeared as Asia’s own, as this would make the decision to honour Augustus seem genuine. And the governor would easily have had his own relationship with the emperor in mind, when he presented his suggestion and set up the relevant inscription. Still, the proposal is an example of how Roman authorities took an active part in the organisation of emperor-worship. Roman influence on the organisation of emperor-worship is further delineated in the letters of Pliny the Younger (Ep. 10.75). Pliny informs Trajan that in his will a Iulius Largus from Pontus had entrusted Pliny with funds to celebrate the emperor in the cities Heraclea and Tium: either through the erection of a public building dedicated to Trajan or by the introduction of a five-yearly festival in the emperor’s honour. Again, the initiative to worship the emperor is local but the decision as to how Trajan should be honoured was left in the hands of the governor (Ep. 10.75-6).73 That Roman authorities were concerned with how temples and shrines were established is also illustrated by an example from Arrian’s governorship in Cappadocia. Here Arrian reports to Hadrian that a statue and altar set up to the emperor in Trapezus were of such poor quality that he had replaced the altars and sent for another statue (Periplus 1.1).74 Arrian’s report, even if it does contain a panegyrical element and a desire to appear as the loyal and dedicated governor, shows that Roman authorities could interfere in how cult facilities were realised if they did not meet their expectations.

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Eager to be Roman Whether these examples of direct interference from Rome should be characterised as mere adjustments and modifications of Greek religious practice or as a deliberate attempt to set up standards of how emperorworship was to be conducted is a matter of approach. If by initiative we mean the readiness to present the emperor with the offer of worship leaving the details for him and other Roman authorities to decide and arrange, one may argue that the initiative was local. Surely a local initiative had to include the emperor and his magistrates, as the public acceptability of worship was a vital part of what Price has described as a ‘system of exchange.’ As such, the offer served to notify the emperor of the honour they were ready to perform. Such behaviour was particularly obvious in the case of the Tiberius temple, where although many of the eleven cities had no real prospect of winning and sustaining such an honour, they all participated in the competition for the right to host the temple.75 Yet, if by initiative we mean the ability to shape a cult introduced in two separate provinces, we will have to look towards Rome. In sum, even though ruler cult was originally a Greek phenomenon, the Greek cult had changed into what should be considered a Roman institution: the decision how the emperor was to be worshipped and who was honourable enough to host the cult now rested ultimately with Rome. Scholars are no doubt right to stress that Octavian was met by embassies in Asia in 29 BCE, but even Cassius Dio suggests that Octavian was actively involved in the shaping of the cult. A question of temples Another question with implications for how emperor-worship was organised in Bithynia is the number of temples consecrated and the combination of deities receiving worship within them. The dominant interpretation of Cassius Dio’s account is that Augustus in 29 BCE permitted two kinds of temples: one for the worship of Dea Roma and Divus Iulius (in Nicaea and Ephesus), and one for Dea Roma and Augustus (in Nicomedia and in Pergamum). While the cult for Augustus is known from both numismatic evidence and the accounts of Tacitus and Suetonius, Cassius Dio is the only clear reference for the Iulius-Roma cult.76 As will appear from the following, the problem is not easy to solve. From the text it is not clear whether Cassius Dio is referring to a joint cult for Dea Roma and Caesar or to two separate sanctuaries. One possible solution to the missing temples in Nicaea and Ephesus is that Cassius Dio did not speak of one cult but of two separate cults in each of the cities. He was then misunderstood as the appearance of the joint Roma et Augustus in Nicomedia and Pergamum led scholars to assume that the worship of Roma and Caesar in Nicaea and Ephesus also took place in joint temples. This way of reading Cassius Dio would solve many of the problems relating to the interpretation of the reference to the Iulius-Roma cult and

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2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia explain the absence of other references and substantial epigraphic and archaeological evidence. If, on the other hand, as most scholars believe, Cassius Dio speaks of a joint cult to Divus Iulius and Roma in Nicaea and Ephesus, some consideration is needed as to whether such cults did exist and, if not, why he would try to give the impression that they did? A fragmentary inscription from Ephesus that refers to the worship of Caesar has been seen as evidence for the Iulius-Roma cult implemented in 29 BCE.77 The inscription has convincingly been seen as a Greek translation of an official Roman decree to honour Caesar by the Divus Iulius cult in 44 BCE. A key word is hieromnemon, which has been interpreted as a Greek translation of the Latin pontificatus or flaminatus, where flaminatus, the priesthood allocated to Mark Antony as part of the initial plan, connects the inscription to the Divus Iulius cult.78 Antony’s name appears in the inscription, which has led to the assumption that it was set up earlier; for instance in 41 BCE, at the time he stayed in Ephesus.79 Later, it was argued that 41 BCE might be too early and that the inscription should be dated to 40 or 39 BCE when the triumviri had begun to promote the cult on a more regular basis.80 It is difficult to be specific, but the fact that Antony appears in the inscription suggests that the triumvir was involved in consecration of the cult, presumably in an attempt to promote the cult to Caesar in Asia. Antony could thus underline his relation to the late dictator and stress his position as flamen in a political environment in which Octavian, his colleague and rival, took the name Caesar divi filius to legitimise his right to power and his status as son and heir of Caesar. It is, of course, not implausible that an earlier law that mentions Antony could have been sent up in Ephesus when the Iulius-Roma cult was consecrated in 29 BCE. But it seems unlikely that the victorious triumvir would have allowed his enemy to be associated with Caesar and have his name appear in a legal document to the cult, reminding the public of Antony’s elevated status in the original decision to consecrate a cult to Caesar. It is therefore more convincing to date the inscription to the period when Antony was active in the East. The epigraphic and numismatic records from Nicaea are no doubt large compared to other Bithynian and Pontic cities but are still very limited. Also, even though the epigraphic record of Ephesus was not limited, it cannot be excluded that records of the cult could have been lost. In her thorough investigation of temples to the first emperors, HänleinSchäfer suggested that a building at the so-called Kaiserforum in Ephesus may have been the temple to the Iulius-Roma cult. No dedication links the building to either Divius Iulius or Dea Roma. But with a building technique datable to the late first century BCE, an architectural style which seems to be Roman, a structure which could have hosted a double temple and a location in the imperial forum, HänleinSchäfer argued that the building could be the temple to Iulius-Roma.81 Another source for the earliest emperor-worship in Asia Minor is Tacitus’

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Eager to be Roman comments on the decision to locate the temple to Tiberius, Livia and the senate in Smyrna: Pergamum boasted that it already had a temple to Augustus, but it was considered that that city thereby already had sufficient honour. Ephesus and Miletus put in claims, but they were thought to be fully occupied with their state-cult of Diana and Apollo respectively. (Ann. 4.55)82

In the following chapter, Tacitus states that Smyrna was chosen over Sardis because of Smyrna’s support for Rome before it was clear that she would achieve world domination (Ann. 4.56). Just as interesting are his remarks that the temple was not given to Pergamum or Ephesus; it was believed that Pergamum was sufficiently honoured by the temple to Augustus. The Ephesians, on the other hand, were, according to Tacitus, too devoted to the worship of Artemis and therefore not the best choice. That Tacitus mentions what must have been the Roma et Augustus temple in Pergamum but says nothing of the Iulius-Roma cult in Ephesus is odd. Again, this does not prove that the cult never existed, but it is striking however that Tacitus refers only to the Artemis cult, leaving out the alleged temple to Iulius-Roma, particularly when judging Ephesus’ worthiness and readiness to receive Asia’s second neôkoria. It should, however, be pointed out that Tacitus also ignores the temple of Augustus at the Artemision and another temple dated to 27 BCE in the city centre and could, therefore, have left out the Iulius-Roma temple.83 Yet Tacitus did not take into consideration any temples commissioned and erected by civic order. Both Miletus and Sardis had such temples to Augustus. This is particularly interesting in the case of Sardis, which apparently was considered a strong candidate for the neôkoria for Tiberius. More surprisingly, Cassius Dio also leaves the Iulius-Roma cult out of the equation when he refers to the official decision Caligula gave for deciding that the Asian temple in his honour was to be located in Miletus: The reason he [Caligula] gave for choosing this city was that Artemis had pre-empted Ephesus, Augustus Pergamum and Tiberius Smyrna; but the truth of the matter was that he desired to appropriate to his own use the large and exceedingly beautiful temple which the Milesians were building to Apollo. (Cass. Dio 59.28.1)

Again, Ephesus’ worship of Artemis is seen as the main reason why the temple was located elsewhere. Certainly the city was known for having one of the major temples in the Greek world, and it was no doubt difficult, even for an emperor, to compete with Artemis. But it is surprising that Cassius Dio did not mention the Iulius-Roma temple in the context of the cults to Augustus and Tiberius, particularly as he strongly underlines the importance of the cult in 51-20.6-9. Still, Hänlein-Schäfer could be right. The building in Ephesus may have been the temple to

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2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia Iulius-Roma, particularly considering that the building was located in the imperial forum and that temples dedicated to civic worship of Augustus have been located elsewhere.84 Furthermore, a consecration of a IuliusRoma cult could make sense, particularly in the case of Ephesus, where Caesar, while still alive, had been honoured as Theos Epiphanes, the manifested god.85 As such, a cult to Divus Iulius would have been a natural response to Octavian’s consecration of the temple to Divus Iulius in Rome at his triumphs in 29 BCE. On the other hand, the consecration of a cult to Divus Iulius and Roma as part of the events in 29 BCE is also undermined by doubts about which deities received worship together. According to Cassius Dio, it was Caesar and Dea Roma that, on the request of Octavian, were joined in a double cult while Octavian, apparently, had a cult consecrated to himself alone. It is difficult to follow him here. Coins minted with clear references to the Roma et Augustus cult from as early as 19 BCE confirm that from very early on Octavian/Augustus was worshipped together with Dea Roma. To explain Cassius Dio’s missing reference to Dea Roma it has been suggested that the goddess was first added to the Augustus cult sometime after its consecration but before 19 BCE when the joined cult appeared on coins from Pergamum.86 This is clearly possible. Cassius Dio refers to the original decision but ignores the result. Following the logic of this argument, Octavian decided only later to appear together with Roma as recorded by Suetonius (Aug. 52). Another, and perhaps more plausible scenario is that Octavian decided on the joint worship with Roma at the time he entrusted Nicomedia and Pergamum to build the temples and that Cassius Dio left Roma out of the account. He was highly placed in the imperial administration and thus cannot have been unfamiliar with the fact that it was normally Augustus, not Caesar, who was worshipped together with Roma. One reason why Cassius Dio could have ascribed Dea Roma to the Divus Iulius cult may be found in emerging practice among Roman immigrants in Anatolia. These immigrants worshipped Roma in the form of Roma Archegetis, the ‘founding god’, which indicates that the Roman colonists themselves were behind the introduction of the cult. That the Roman part of the population was behind the introduction of the Roma cult is also illustrated by the names of the early priests in Attaleia in Pamphylia: Caecilia Tertulla, priestess of Iulia Augusta and Roma, and Sextus Paccius Valerianus Flaccus, who was sacerdos of Rome and another priest of Roma Archegetis and Drusus (the son of Tiberius).87 Setting up a cult to Roma was initially a way for cities in Asia Minor to show their loyalty and recognition of Roman power, but as pointed out by Mitchell, worship of Dea Roma became a way in which Roman immigrants underlined their Roman origin and their common identity in a Greek environment.88 Worship of Dea Roma by Roman citizens was, at the time Cassius Dio wrote his account, a well established phenomenon, even in Rome, but he may not

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Eager to be Roman have been aware that Roman worship of Dea Roma was uncommon in the republican period and first implemented in Rome some time in Hadrian’s reign.89 Cassius Dio may have thought that by ascribing Dea Roma to the Caesar cult he would be placing a joint cult of two deities honoured by Roman citizens in Nicaea and Ephesus and thereby giving the impression of a cult in which Roman citizens worshipped their departed ruler and the personification of the city. A controversial solution would be to suggest that the precincts to the Iulius-Roma cult were never consecrated in Nicaea and Ephesus. To dismiss Cassius Dio’s reference to the Caesar-Roma cult altogether is admittedly a radical conclusion but should be considered as part of a general revision of Cassius Dio’s reliability as a source for emperorworship as a whole. Worship of Caesar did take place in Ephesus when the dictator was still alive and is likely to have continued under the triumvirate and the imperial period.90 But Cassius Dio’s account of a Caesar cult that emerged as a local initiative, to which Octavian added Dea Roma and which he ordered all Roman citizens to worship, seems less reliable, particularly when he leaves out that Dea Roma was part of the Augustus cult in Pergamum and in Nicomedia. Furthermore, Cassius Dio claims that no living emperor, no matter how worthy, received worship in Rome and Italy (51.20.9). Where this may be true in the case of Rome, at least officially, Gradel has convincingly demonstrated that Augustus received divine worship in Italy while still alive and thereby corrected the previous view that, in Italy, cult of the living emperor was directed only towards the worship of his genius. According to Gradel, the reconstruction of the inscription CIL 10, 816 from Pompeii which places a Geni(o) [Aug(usti)] cult at the city’s forum, represents the only example of a municipal cult to the emperor’s genius in Italy, but does not fit the letters available. Instead, Gradel suggested that the reconstruction should be Genio Coloniae, a cult known elsewhere in Campania.91 Another point convincingly made by Gradel is that a cult devoted to the emperor’s genius would resemble the kind of worship slaves were expected to offer their master and therefore hardly desirable among the political class in Italian cities.92 That the living Augustus was worshipped by the inhabitants in Italian cities is further supported by a number of temples and priests to the living emperor.93 This confusion in the account of how emperor worship was first implemented was hardly a matter of ignorance. An explanation for the attempt to mislead the reader may be found in Cassius Dio’s scepticism towards a cult, where Roman citizens worshipped the living emperor as a god. This reluctance is particularly apparent in the fictive speech of Maecenas in book 52, where Augustus is warned against a cult consecrated in his honour. Worship of the emperor, according to Cassius Dio’s Maecenas, could happen only with the emperor’s own consent, for which he would risk being ridiculed (52.35-36.1).

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2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia Cassius Dio’s bias towards a cult in which Roman citizens worshipped the living emperor may very well be a product of his own age, in which emperors such as Commodus and Elagabal, of whom he had personal experience, crossed the boundary between mortal and divine within Rome. Elsewhere Cassius Dio stresses that Commodus demanded to be worshipped as Hercules. He also took the name ‘god’ and had a large statue made of gold, an honour normally reserved for the gods, set up in the capital (Cass. Dio 73.15-16). Commodus’ claims to divine honours, together with his degrading treatment of the senators, underlined the hierarchical distance between emperor and senate; something that since the reign of Augustus had been clear to both parties, but also a political reality which the senators did not appreciate. Elagabal, born Varius Avitus Bassianus, was in the eyes of Cassius Dio no better. Coming from Syria, with no senatorial background, he arrived as emperor in Rome, dressed as a Syrian priest of the sun god Elagabalus. Soon after his arrival he began reorganising Roman religion, elevating Elagabalus above Jupiter. He also had a golden statue made in his own image and had a picture of himself together with his god set up in the senate house above the image of Victoria, where the senators in Cassius Dio’s time used to make a libation before initiating the debate (Cass. Dio 80.11-12.2; Herodian 5.3-6.). To a respectable and well-educated senator such as Cassius Dio, this behaviour was unacceptable. The distinction between a cult in which Romans worshipped the deceased emperor and a cult in which nonRomans worshipped the living emperor is very likely a literary construct, preparing the reader for the speech of Maecenas, and must be seen as an attempt to influence contemporary emperors. By claiming that Augustus, his model emperor, never intended Roman citizens to worship him while still alive, Cassius Dio gives the impression that worship of living emperors was unintentional and wrong. Even though the Agrippa-Maecenas debate was a way of presenting the challenges Augustus and his successors faced, nonetheless the chapters should be seen as an attempt to advance his own ideological view.94 It does seem unlikely that Cassius Dio, coming from Nicaea, would place temples to Iulius-Roma in his home town and in Ephesus had they never existed. On the other hand, he wrote more than two hundred years after Octavian wintered in Pergamum and the sacred landscape of both Nicaea and Ephesus would have changed quite dramatically. That temples could be neglected is illustrated from an example in Prusa, where a temple in honour of Claudius seems to have been falling apart (Pliny Ep. 10.70, 71). In a zone with frequent earthquakes it is not unimaginable that a temple built 150 years earlier had disappeared; in a parallel case, the major earthquake around 120 CE, after which Hadrian contributed to the reconstruction of the city, may have led to the transformation of the sacred landscape. As part of this process the emperor may have reconstructed the

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Eager to be Roman Roma et Augustus temple in Nicomedia, as suggested by the new set of coins celebrating the temple dating to 136 CE.95 However, the inspiration for a Iulius-Roma temple in Nicaea may have come from a different source. On the inscription set up over Nicaea’s northern and eastern gates in 123 CE the city’s status as neôkoros is announced. Nicaea’s claim to the title is confusing. The general interpretation of the inscription is that Nicaea was a neôkoros at the time the inscription was set up. It has been argued that the temple in question was for the Iulius-Roma cult,96 but as has already been pointed out, the temple to Iulius-Roma was designated to Roman citizens and therefore not the responsibility of the koinon. Instead, it has been suggested that Nicaea received the right to host a neôkoros when Hadrian visited the city in 123-4 97 CE, a policy that would correspond to the strategy in Asia. Despite the inscription, it is not entirely clear that Nicaea was indeed a neôkoros in 123 CE. A different interpretation suggests that the inscription celebrates a historic status, not a present one.98 Nicaea was Bithynia’s mêtropolis at the time Strabo wrote his geography. Like Pergamum, the mêtropolis of Asia, Nicaea would be the city most likely to receive the cult and temple to Roma et Augustus in 29 BCE. Later, perhaps at the time Germanicus visited the province, Nicaea lost its right to call itself mêtropolis and may at the same time have lost the right to host the temple to Roma et Augustus, and with that the status as neôkoros.99 Why Nicaea was stripped of its honorific titles we do not know, and the reason may have been equally unclear two hundred years later when Cassius Dio wrote his account. When Cassius Dio mentions the decision to consecrate a temple to the imperial cult and Dea Roma in Nicaea it was not altogether wrong – Nicaea was as the mêtropolis of Bithynia awarded the right to host a temple to the imperial cult. The inscription was erased in 193 CE as a result of the Civil War and no longer visible at the time Cassius Dio composed his account. Yet the city’s strong self-image as neôkoros and the memory of the inscription – visible at the time Cassius Dio lived in Nicaea – made the story recognisable. If we reject the existence of an Iulius-Roma cult introduced as part of the implementation of emperor-worship in 29 BCE, it is equally clear that the idea of differentiated worship of the emperor according to legal status evaporates. From the beginning, the living emperor was worshipped by Rome’s subjects, or what Cassius Dio calls xenoi, as well as Roman citizens. The neôkoria to Roma et Augustus in Nicomedia was followed by a temple to Commodus when Nicomedia was granted permission from the senate and the emperor to build a second temple. Apparently this permission was in reality the result of the efforts of the Nicomedian Saoterus, the emperor’s chamberlain between 180 and 182, and was reversed at his fall and death.100 A few years after, Nicomedia received the chance to consecrate a new neôkoria, this time to Septimius Severus, to whom they managed to shift their allegiance in the Civil War against Pescennius Niger. In contrast to Nicaea, which had Niger at its city gates and

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2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia therefore maintained its allegiance to him, Nicomedia was rewarded and received the emperor’s temple and the right to call itself first of the province.101 In the third century a temple was consecrated to Elagabal, presumably when the newly announced emperor settled in Nicomedia for the winter. As was the case with the temple to Commodus, this right to a third neôkoria was withdrawn later during the reign of Severus Alexander.102 Despite the unfortunate choices, Nicomedia finally received its third neôkoria in the middle of the third century, this time set up to Valerian and Gallienus, as shown on coins where three temples appear together with Demeter, Nicomedia’s city goddess.103 The history of the neôkoroi in Bithynia further supports the interpretation that emperor-worship, at least on the provincial level, was directed by Rome. Not only was permission given by the emperor or the senate as part of the diplomacy between Rome and the provincial community, Roman authorities could also withdraw a city’s right to use the title. The emperor played a fundamental role, not only by accepting the offer but also in the appointment of a cult organiser and in the decision about a temple’s location. This is evident from several instances in Bithynia when the emperor visited the city, province or region before the consecration of a new temple. In Bithynia the temple to Roma et Augustus appeared after Octavian wintered in Pergamum, the temple to Severus was decided after Nicomedia’s support in the war against Niger, and the cult to Elagabal must have been decided when he wintered in Nicomedia. Surely the suggestion to set up a new cult had to come from the cities and not from the emperors themselves. The latter was heavily condemned, as is indicated by Cassius Dio’s criticism of Caligula’s request for worship in Miletus. It is equally obvious that emperorworship and the influence of Roman authorities on the decision-making process put the theory of local autonomy to the test. It is difficult to measure to what extent the emperor and Roman representatives encouraged the local communities to carry out emperor-worship. The governor’s suggestion to let the year commence with Augustus’ birthday is only one example from an early stage of the cult. But with Roman authorities deciding whether and under what form petitions of worship could be carried out, emperor-worship was not a Greek cult consecrated to worship the emperor after a Greek pattern, or a way to elevate the emperor out of the social and political hierarchy. It was a system of exchange, as argued by Price, but one in which Roman influence over how the cult was organised and implemented underlined the provincial communities’ submission to Roman order. Greek autonomy and Roman rule Rome’s ability to interfere in local autonomy was an essential element of the provincial administration. Cities were still dealing with local matters, but Rome had the power to engage in and overrule local decisions, large and small, and place an entire civic and provincial community under direct

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Eager to be Roman supervision. What this meant in the case of Pontus and Bithynia is illustrated by the letters in which Pliny and Trajan discussed the possibility of closing an unhealthy stream in the city Amastris. The elegant and finely built city of the Amastrians, Sir, has among its outstanding structures a most beautiful and also very long street; by the side of this, along its entire length, there stretches, what is by name a stream, but in reality a most foul sewer, and, just as it is disgusting in its most filthy appearance, so it is injurious to health in its most revolting stench. For these reasons it is just as much in the interests of health as of beauty that it should be covered over; this will be done, if you permit it, and we (curantibus nobis) will ensure that money also is not lacking for a project both grand and necessary. (Pliny Ep. 10.98)104 There is good reason, my dearest Secundus, for that stream which flows through the city of the Amastrians to be covered over, if, left uncovered, it is a danger to health. I feel certain that with your usual diligence you will ensure that money is not lacking for this project. (Pliny Ep. 10.99)105

What emerges from this correspondence is that the decision as to whether the Amastrians could cover a sewer which polluted their city and posed a health risk was taken not by the city itself, in fact not even by the governor in office, but by the emperor. This attempt to control public buildings may have been a well-intended strategy to prevent public investments from escalating.106 The requirement that the emperor grant permission before new projects were initiated is likely to have been introduced by Trajan, and the close supervision of public building activities may well have been a recent development, as the many unfinished projects suggest. Pliny’s letter nonetheless illustrates the loss of the Amastrians’ right to carry out a much-needed improvement – despite the fact that they apparently had the money – and therefore indicates a considerable loss of autonomy. It is difficult to say whether the initiative to cover the sewer came from Pliny, when he visited the city, or whether it was a long unfulfilled wish by the local population, but Pliny’s promise that ‘we will ensure the money’ suggests that the local population was involved in the project. A similar example of Rome’s interference in local government is the ban on the formation of a fire brigade in Nicomedia. The formation of a fire brigade may well have been Pliny’s idea, but Trajan’s answer illustrates that other initiatives to form similar associations were likely to get a similar response. It is not difficult to follow Trajan’s reasoning, but his ruling illustrates once again that questions of local concern were ultimately decided by the emperor, at least in the time of Trajan, which points to the cities’ loss of autonomy. Beyond public business in the provincial cities, Roman authorities could also intervene in the private sphere, as is shown by Pliny’s recommenda-

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2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia tion that the financial capital belonging to the cities could, as a last resort, be loaned out for profit on a compulsory basis to members of the boulê. Trajan agrees that interest should be lowered in order to encourage citizens to take loans but instructs Pliny that to force loans upon anyone did not correspond with the sense of justice of their age (Pliny Ep. 10.54, 55). This particular exchange of ideas provides an interesting example of how Roman officials were able to interfere with the individuals’ right to make their own financial decisions. That it was no longer acceptable to force loans on the elite is likely to have been a recent decision made by Trajan, as Pliny, always anxious to follow the emperor’s desires, still thought it an acceptable yet unfortunate solution to the problem. No doubt Roman provincial administration tolerated local laws and autonomous decisions made by the cities’ governing institutions. The lex Bithynorum and the lex Rupilia suggest that local laws settled most matters of dispute between provincials.107 Local solutions were also found to various problems, as in the case where individuals in Nicaea and Nicomedia, who had been sentenced to hard labour or to appear in the arena, were allowed to serve as public slaves with a yearly allowance. From Trajan’s answer it appears that means should have been taken to adjust this reduction in sentence but also that the cities could expect their decisions to be unnoticed even for decades (Pliny Ep. 10.31, 32). Rome’s lack of detailed knowledge of how the law and edicts were followed is further illustrated by the common habit of double citizenship, which rendered the lex Pompeia a dead letter. When Trajan was made aware of the problem, he decided that no measures should be taken against those who illegitimately held a seat in a council, but emphasised that the law was to be upheld in the future (Pliny Ep. 10.114, 115). Once again, the local administration of Roman law is accommodated by Trajan’s decision and the irregularity is ignored to prevent instability. Local codes and self-government were of vital importance for Roman provincial administration, and Trajan was apparently ready to go a long way to accommodate decisions made in the cities. But Rome’s readiness to intervene and the ability to overrule local decisions or place the provinces under financial supervision could be realised at any time, as suggested on several occasions in Pliny’s letters when he either asks Trajan for permission before new projects are initiated or underlines that the project in question had been initiated before his arrival. That permission to start the projects in the cities had to come through the imperial post to the governor and from him back to the cities caused significant delay. It also reminded members of the local elite that decisions regarding their city’s architectural fabric were in the hands of the emperor and thereby out of their control. Rome’s interference in Greek civic autonomy by Rome did not go on unnoticed.

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Eager to be Roman You who rule are yourself ruled, you rule a city subject to proconsuls, the agent of Caesar. You should arrange your cloak more decently and look at the orator’s platform from the standpoint of the governor’s office and not have great pride or confidence in your crown, since you see his boots above your head. (Plutarch Moralia 813E)108

Plutarch reminds members of the Greek elite that they are under the authority of the governor. However, he no doubt exaggerated matters in order to put his point across. That Rome was far from in control of how local organisation was carried out is evident from the example of multiple boulê membership in the Bithynian cities, the unauthorised reduction of capital punishment in Nicaea and Nicomedia, and from the example in which a sentence to exile for life issued by Iulius Bassus was ignored (Pliny Ep. 10.57). With a small number of staff and a large territory to cover, the ability of governors less energetic than Pliny to oversee the cities’ decisions was limited. It is a fair assumption that when Rome sent governors, irregularities were likely to appear mostly on the initiative of the citizens themselves – a good example occurs when Archippus complains about Dio Chrysostom’s use of public funds in Prusa. This, no doubt, gave the local elite a considerable degree of power and much freedom. In this respect it is interesting to note that one of the concerns in the Political Advice is to remind local politicians that one way to maintain their city’s autonomy was to take responsibility and solve internal disputes locally. Bringing in Roman authorities would, according to Plutarch, cause unnecessary submission and cause the local government to lose its authority (Plutarch Moralia 814E-815A).109 In Plutarch’s view, the loss of autonomy and the degree of Rome’s interference depended on the elites’ ability to govern their cities. The temptation to settle internal disputes by bringing in the governor could easily reveal other irregularities within the city that would get Roman authorities further involved in the local administration. As such, provincial administration was balanced between local government, acting under both local and Roman laws, and Roman supervision, performed by the governor and his staff. This system gave local government significant influence on daily matters, but as illustrated by examples from Pliny’s experience in Pontus and Bithynia, the balance could tip at any time. Such changes in the degree of autonomy could be affected either by the emperor’s focus on a specific area or by the appointment of a particularly keen governor, or because the local elite called upon the governor to solve a local dispute.110 The autonomy Rome allocated to the local government was therefore not given by right but mutable according to the political climate in Rome. In effect, what had previously been left for the local government to decide could quickly be placed under Roman authority. What may prove to be the greatest change brought about by the coming of Rome is the higher degree of interference in the cities’ autonomy. Even

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2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia though there were limits to the control Rome could exercise in the cities, the ability and more importantly the readiness to intervene in local matters, even in trivial matters, represented a break with previous Hellenistic practices. Hellenistic kings taxed the cities under their domain and placed garrisons in them from time to time. When Mithridates took over Ephesus as his new royal residence, he is likely to have disregarded the cities’ democratic institutions. Hellenistic kings demanded loyalty and support, but no king would expect to have his approval sought before an unhealthy stream was closed any more than he was likely to compel part of the population to take out loans. On the other hand, it must be remembered that most of the cities in Bithynia were founded by Bithynian kings. Compared to the kingdom of Pergamum and the Macedonian rule on the Greek mainland where Hellenistic kings subjected already established cities, Bithynian cities may have had closer ties to the king. By acquiring Greek cities such as Sinope, Amastris and Amisus, the Mithridatic kings included well-established cities in their kingdom, but they are unlikely to have enjoyed much autonomy or freedom. Some of the restrictions Rome laid on the cities may have been of little importance to the cities and their political class. Others, such as the right to realise public buildings as the city itself saw fit or Rome’s interference in how the emperor should be worshipped, constantly reminded the Greek cities and their inhabitants that they had lost what for centuries had been essential to Greek identity: their freedom and autonomy.

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3

Greeks in the Roman World It is among members of society’s elite that we find Greeks who had left their home towns in order to take up careers as army officers, politicians, or members of the imperial administration. With their cultural awareness and education, this group had a distinct notion of Greekness. Arrian and Cassius Dio are two such intellectuals who in their writing paid attention to Greek history as well as underlining their roots in the Greek world by stating their origin (from Nicomedia and Nicaea respectively) and by retaining ties to their home communities (Cass. Dio 76.15.3; Fr.1.3; Arr. Anab. 1.12.1-5).1 In Hellenism and Empire Swain argued that the focus on Greek history, culture, norms and values by Greeks in the imperial administration testifies to a general reluctance among members of the elite to define themselves as Roman.2 Most scholars accept the presence of Greeks serving as army officers or as magistrates and promagistrates in the Roman administration, but at the same time there has been a tendency to explain the involvement of the Greek elite in imperial administration as a pragmatic attempt to fulfil personal ambitions or to secure economic and political benefits for their home towns.3 This perception of the Greek elite as reluctant to acknowledge what Rome had to offer has found further support in a number of cases in which Greeks, after retirement from service in Roman administration, returned to a life in the Greek-speaking world. Again the best-known examples may be Arrian and Cassius Dio, who presumably ended their lives in Athens and Nicaea respectively. But there are more examples of Greeks returning to a life in the Greek world. One is C. Iulius Demosthenes, a Roman procurator in Sicily, who returned to Oenoanda in 125 CE and sponsored a music festival;4 another is Flavonius Rufus from Apamea who reached the highest level of the equestrian cursus when appointed tribunus militum urbanicianus in Rome. As indicated by a funeral inscription, he died in his home town (IK 32.8). Together with the late appearance of Greeks in the Roman senate, these examples of Greeks retiring to Greek communities after their careers in Roman administration have led to the conclusion that members of the Greek elite were largely satisfied with a public career in their home towns and therefore less interested in what the Roman world had to offer.5 Yet the idea that the Greek elite were pragmatic and resistant towards the Roman world is likely to overstate the significance of Greek culture’s advanced intellectual evolution and its insistence on keeping Roman

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Eager to be Roman influence at a minimal level. The hypothesis underestimates the benefits Rome had to offer members of the Greek elite beyond sanitary improvements, new building techniques and violence as entertainment. Participation in Roman society not only provided access to powerful appointments in the army, in politics and in the imperial administration but also, by affiliation to the world’s dominant power, social mobility. This could alter social status from that of subject of the empire’s ruling community to membership of it. Additionally, it should be noted that those who left their home towns for careers in the Roman world were far more exposed to influence from Roman culture, where success depended in part on the ability to represent Rome. Therefore such immigrants were more likely to develop a sense of belonging to the empire or at least to its political elite than their peers who remained at home where Greek culture continued to dominate. The key questions of this chapter are whether or not the few examples of Greek senators and the late appearance of Greeks in the senate and in the imperial administration testify to a general Greek scepticism towards Rome or to reluctance to enter a career in the world of Roman politics and administration. Instead of interpreting late admission to the senate and careers in the imperial administration or the focus on Greek cultural values as deliberate strategies to avoid influence from Roman culture, the possibility of a more open-minded Greek elite eager to engage in the Roman world will be pursued. I shall focus on the career patterns that members of the Bithynian and Pontic elite followed in the Roman administration, how these careers were organised, and the path followed by members of the Greek elite through political and social hierarchies. What demands consideration is how affiliations to activities in Roman politics and administration were presented in a Greek context as well as how the Greek communities responded to men who left home to follow personal ambitions in the empire. But before we can judge the significance of these careers in a wider context focus needs to be directed on how the relationship between the Greek and Roman elites had developed from the first Roman conquests in the Greek world to the late first and early second centuries CE. Greek influence on Roman politics At the start of the imperial period the improved economic and legal rights bestowed by Roman citizenship were mainly awarded to the highest level of the elite in Asia Minor as a reward for their support for Roman activities in the region. Even though the number of Roman citizens increased from the late first to the second century CE, until Caracalla’s edict in 212 CE Roman status was largely limited to citizens at a higher social level.6 One obvious exception to that rule was freedmen, who after their manumission from either the imperial family or private households assumed Roman

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3. Greeks in the Roman World citizenship. With tria nomina and distinct Roman names, freedmen and their descendants are difficult to recognise and easily confused with members of the elite. Another challenge is to determine their place of origin as they came from every corner of the empire and beyond. Their cognomina may have been Greek or Latin but were often provided by their owners and say nothing of their ethnic origin. This men in Roman service from Pontus and Bithynia with Greek and Latin cognomina, who may be perceived as members of the local elite, could in fact be sons of manumitted fathers. As they were not necessarily Greek they cannot testify to any interest members of the Greek elite might have had in the army or imperial administration. It is also among the elite in Asia Minor that we find the first individuals of local origin who embarked on careers in the imperial Roman administration (see below). That men of Greek origin were drawn to Rome and engaged with members of the Roman elite does not represent a major break with earlier traditions. Since the republican period Greeks of higher social standing and Roman aristocratic families had been in close contact with each other, like when men such as Polybius and Parthenius were held hostage, or through more voluntary friendships as those between Lucullus and Ascalon or Pompey and Poseidonius.7 This contact, no matter how unpleasant it was for some, did in other cases develop into a mutual exchange of cultures between the Roman and Greek. Some of the Greek hostages even acted as political advisors, academics or mentors to members of the empire’s governing elite after Rome no longer needed to detain them. As such Polybius stayed in Rome and was offered accommodation in the household of Scipio Aemilianus, where he acted as friend and advisor.8 As a result, Rome and the Italian peninsula gradually became more influenced by Greek culture. Families of the highest social standing came to appreciate appropriate Greek arts, architecture and intellectual skills to a degree which made Greek influence an aspect of cultural pretension in Rome. Rome’s appreciation of Greek art encouraged the appropriation of Greek statues and other art from the newly conquered cities in Greece. This was of course controversial and prompted a reaction when Cato the Censor deemed such interests as unworthy and damaging to the Roman state.9 Despite Cato’s growing concern, Greeks continued to play a highly appreciated role in Rome as doctors, teachers, philosophers or mentors of various kinds. It was common too for Roman promagistrates or commanders serving in the East to develop friendships with Greeks of equal social standing. Cn. Pompeius Theophanes from Mytilene, for example, obtained Roman citizenship as a reward for his loyal service under the Pompeian reorganisation of the East and became another of Pompey’s Greek friends. Later Theophanes continued to support Pompey and followed him in the Civil Wars but managed to survive this error of judgement without losing his favourable social status.10 Instead, the family’s prestige grew further

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Eager to be Roman when his son, Cn. Pompeius Macer, was granted a higher administrative post among the equestrian offices, and even further when his grandson, Q. Pompeius Macer, was appointed praetor in the reign of Tiberius.11 The first group of Greeks with significant influence on the imperial administration were freedmen in the imperial court during the reigns of the emperors Caligula, Claudius and Nero. These emperors were either young at the time of their accession to power or had limited support in the senate.12 The political influence of Greek imperial freedmen such as M. Antonius Pallas and Narcissus became still more extensive as the rule of Claudius and Nero was separated further and further from the senatorial elite. This was taken to an extreme when Nero left the rule of the empire to Helios during his trip to Greece in 67.13 The first senators from Asia Minor to serve in the empire’s imperial administration were men of Roman or Italian veteran families or merchants. The Plancii from Perge are an example of a family of Italian origin, which over the years managed to acquire extensive landholdings in Galatia near the Augustan colony of Germa. Through marriage alliances there they also established relationships with the local nobility, which itself descended from the houses of Rome’s former client kings.14 It was presumably this combination of extensive land holdings and Italian origin which cleared the way for M. Plancius Varus to be admitted to the senate in the reign of Nero.15 In achieving this, he anticipated most aristocratic families from Asia Minor who were generally appointed to this honour from the Flavian period onwards.16 M. Plancius Varus can already be connected to the province of Pontus and Bithynia at an early point in his career, when he served as quaestor pro praetore provinciae.17 Having ended his period as praetor in 69 CE,18 he was sent as legatus pro praetore to Achaea and Asia, an appointment followed first by a consulship and later by the proconsulship in Bithynia and Pontus.19 Other senators from the East, such as C. Antius A. Iulius Quadratus and C. Iulius Bassus, were soon to follow Plancius.20 C. Antius A. Iulius Quadratus from Pergamon was twice consul and served as promagistrate in some of Rome’s most prestigious provinces, thereby surpassing the career of Plancius Varus. Seen from a Roman point of view, the careers of M. Plancius Varus and C. Iulius Bassus, who served as quaestor and proconsul in Pontus and Bithynia under Vespasian and Trajan, were not in any way extraordinary.21 Yet it should be taken into consideration that admission to the senate and appointments in the imperial administration were still out of the reach of the majority of the elite in Greece, Asia and Pontus and Bithynia. Admission to the imperial administration was therefore a sign of both higher social status and significant political and economic resources; furthermore, it would provide significant social mobility on a local level as well as within the imperial hierarchy as a whole. The process of integrating the elite in the western provinces into Roman politics and administration was accelerated by Claudius and was well

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3. Greeks in the Roman World under way in Asia Minor by the second half of the first century CE.22 And even though the number of eastern senators at first remained relatively low compared to the situation in the West, the number did increase from the Flavian period to the second half of the second century CE, when senators of eastern origin made up about half of the non-Italian senators.23 The significant numbers in which senators of eastern numbers reached the consulate and imperial administration further testifies to the integration of the Greek elite.24 This increase in the number of Greek senators serving in the Roman administration indicates neither prejudice against Greeks in the empire’s ruling community, nor a desire among the Greek elite to remain separated from the Roman world. Since the dissolution of the client kingdoms, members of the aristocracy in Asia Minor had enjoyed a privileged status in Rome. Cassius Dio tells us that Augustus gave the client kings the rights of friendship and alliances with Rome.25 Rome’s client kings were not chosen because of any sort of royal lineage or territorial right, but depended exclusively on the expectation that they would be able to control their domains and stay loyal to Rome and the emperor. As the kings died and Rome felt strong enough to convert their kingdoms into provinces,26 royal families lost their privileges of direct rule. In return they obtained Roman citizenship and favourable positions in the new social hierarchy, and because of their status and large estates were able to continue to dominate the newly established province.27 As a consequence the close connection between, for instance, the Galatian and Attalid kingdoms and Roman authorities continued and descendants of the royal families maintained a strong interest in the Roman world. It may be argued that the combination of royal origin with Roman citizenship made descendants of the royal families in Anatolia better disposed to the influence of Roman culture and more likely to identify themselves as Romans than the elite in the cities. As the rule of the client kings and the prestigious position of their descendants depended on Rome, it would be natural if they saw Roman influence on their community as a way of maintaining their privileged positions. But what should also be noted is that interest in the Roman world was not limited to a few Hellenised Galatian chieftains and their families in central Anatolia. An early interest in Roman politics and administration is also apparent among descendants of the royal house of Pergamum, as illustrated by the careers of C. Antius A. Iulius Quadratus and C. Iulius Bassus, described above. In the Bithynian and Pontic kingdoms, no political relationship between Rome and the civic elite seems to have played any significant role before Pompey carried out his provincialisation. As a result, the status of the local elite would not have depended on their relationship with Rome. Roman predispositions, whether kindly, neutral or hostile, would have been irrelevant. Rome was now the ruling power and a relationship to the empire’s ruling elite had to be established. But in contrast to Galatia, in the first

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Eager to be Roman century CE the status of the elite in Pontus and Bithynia did not depend on Roman power and therefore they were not affiliated to a similar degree. The way the elite of a province engaged in Roman politics and imperial administration may therefore provide a more nuanced perception of how the elite in Greek communities responded to the coming of Rome and the opportunities that followed. In Roman service Apart from a brief period under the second triumvirate when Bithynia and Pontus was allocated to allied kingdoms, tyrants and temple dynasties,28 the province was not under the influence of client kings after Pompey’s provincialisation. As the civic elites in Pontus and Bithynia did not obtain Roman citizenship in the same way as the leading families in central Anatolia or in Pergamum, they were not as personally attached to the emperor as descendants of royal families. As such, there was no direct interdependency between the emperors and part of the civic elite, and no family held an elevated political position in the Bithynian and Pontic cities as a result of royal descent. Under the Julio-Claudian emperors, particularly from the accession of Claudius onwards, members of the most influential families in the East gained the opportunity to follow careers in the imperial administration.29 For wealthy families in Pontus and Bithynia the way to successful careers in the imperial administration was often via service in the Roman army, beginning at the rank of officer of equestrian status. Over time, service in the army could lead to more prestigious admission to the senate and from there to appointments in the imperial administration. What is clear from the careers discussed in the following pages is that it was not uncommon for the members of the Bithynian elite to reach the consulship or governorship in Rome’s most important and prestigious provinces. This underlines the social mobility that could be gained from careers starting from even a moderate level of the army hierarchy.30 An example of an equestrian career leading to admission to the senate and an appointment as governor of Asia is […]tilius Longus from Apamea, presumably Catilius Longus,31 who held his first significant military appointment as tribunus militum in the IV Scythian legion when appointed by Claudius ‘beneficio divi Claudi’.32 From a Latin honorific inscription set up in Apamea, it appears that Catilius Longus was later made praefectus cohortis before he was admitted to the senate by Vespasian ‘adlecto inter praetorios ab imperatore Vespasiano Augusto’ and appointed legatus pro praetore for the province of Asia.33 Catilius Longus’ career illustrates the considerable social mobility available from a career in the army. The promotion from tribune to praetor and legatus pro praetore was not uncommon and demonstrates that members of the provincial elite could make quite a noticeable advance within

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3. Greeks in the Roman World the empire’s social hierarchy.34 Yet what Catilius Longus’ career also shows is that social mobility and advancement to the highest position of the social hierarchy took place only after years of service as an equestrian officer, in his case under Claudius to Vespasian, before he was appointed to the senate. Catilius Longus’ origin is uncertain. His name indicates an Italian background and suggests his descent from one of the veteran families settled in the Julian colony of Apamea sometime in the late 40s BCE.35 The name, however, is no guarantee of Apamean origin. Nor does the fact that Catilius Longus appears as the patron of the city prove local descent. In the years between the reign of Claudius and Vespasian it was not uncommon in Pontus and Bithynia for changing governors to appear as patrons of Nicaea or Nicomedia. According to the available sources, the patrons were from outside the province, and Catilius Longus was the only patron not to have governed the province and the first not to have been the patron of either Nicomedia or Nicaea – the leading cities in Bithynia.36 These circumstances indicate that Catilius Longus was somehow special and as one of Apamea’s successful sons with a senatorial career he was the obvious choice for Apamea, which could not expect to tie the governor to the city. Inscriptions from the territory around Apamea reveal that a family by the name Catilius was connected with the area. One example is a Latin funeral inscription raised by Tertius, vilicus of a Cn. Catilius Atticus, in honour of his sister Tertia, which underlines that a Catilius family owned land near Apamea and also that they chose to use trusted slaves to oversee the estate.37 The name Cn. Catilius Atticus and the fact that the inscription was set up in Latin further supports the Apamean origin of […]tilius Longus. Another Catilius thought to be the son of Cn. Catilius Atticus was the successful senator L. Catilius Severus Iulianus Claudius Reginus, who began his career in the imperial administration as quaestor in the province of Asia.38 From here he continued his senatorial career as praetor urbanus before being appointed once again to Asia, this time as propraetor. After the propraetorship, L. Catilius Severus Iulianus Claudius Reginus held a number of important magistracies in Rome’s civic administration, until he was elected consul suffectus around 110 CE. Following his first consulship, L. Catilius Severus Iulianus Claudius Reginus served as proconsul in Cappadocia, Armenia Maior and Minor and presumably in the province of Syria at around 117. In 120 he received the honour of being elected consul for the second time and was allotted the province of Africa before ending an extraordinary career as praefectus urbi.39 If the connection between […]tilius Longus from Apamea and the Catilii is correct it illustrates the social advancement available to a single family, from equestrian rank to the highest level of the governing classes with respectable posts in the capital as well as in the imperial administration

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Eager to be Roman – all within two generations. If Catilius Longus was an early ancestor of L. Catilius Severus Iulianus Claudius Reginus, the family might have benefited from its Italian background, as did the Plancii from Perge. However, while a career in the Roman army and the imperial administration seems a natural step for a veteran family of equestrian rank, we should be cautious about the extent to which a similar opportunity was available or attractive to the elite of local origin. Like Catilius Longus, Flavonius Rufus advanced socially through a career in the army. In contrast to Catilius Longus, he began his social advancement as a middle ranking officer in the army, where he continued to serve in various offices until appointed tribunus militum urbanicianus – one of the most prestigious equestrian appointments.40 From a Greek grave inscription raised in his honour, it appears that Flavonius Rufus’ first post of importance was as centurio deputatus, an officer in the less prestigious castra peregrina. From here, Flavonius Rufus was appointed primipilus, the highest-ranking centurion in the first cohort of a legion, which, apart from general prestige, provided admission to the equestrian ordo and an economic reward of 600,000 sesterces.41 For Flavonius Rufus the appointment to primipilus was already a significant social advancement, but the height of his career was without doubt the office of tribunus militum urbanicianus, presumably the last post he held. Flavonius Rufus never made it to the senate, but his career was nevertheless extraordinary. The promotion from centurio deputatus to primipilus alone was rare and the position of tribunus militum urbanicianus was about the highest a member of the equestrian order could reach.42 The origins of Flavonius are more straightforward than those of Catilius Longus. Apamea was fairly certainly his home town as his gravestone was found here. His career provides another example of the duration of some imperial careers and the social mobility that could be gained from them. Flavonius Rufus did not enter the army from the equestrian ordo but served his way up from the level of a lower ranking officer. Yet this does not alter the fact that Flavonius Rufus’ career was remarkable, and an example of a local Bithynian’s ambition to follow a career in the Roman army and administration. Flavonius Rufus spent by far the largest part of his adult life in the Roman army before he was summoned to Rome and admitted to the highest levels of the equestrian elite. This underlines the fact that long service in the army was required before social mobility could be achieved. It is not surprising that inhabitants of Roman colonies from different social levels pursued careers in the army, and – despite the suggestion that the veteran families who settled in Anatolian colonies were Hellenised rather than promoting Roman culture43 – it is difficult to deny the close relationship between Rome and her colonies. Yet, as should be clear from the following examples, it was not citizens in Roman colonies alone who pursued careers in the army or in the imperial administration and used

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3. Greeks in the Roman World these careers to advance socially in the Roman community. Members of the local elite of a number of Bithynian and Pontic cities without colonial status showed an equal interest in the imperial administration and were keen to advertise their achievements in the Roman world. In Nicaea members of the elite reached the highest magistracies and promagistracies in the Roman cursus honorum. A relationship between Cassius Agrippa, presumably the consul suffectus in 130 CE, and Nicaea can be posited from a reconstruction of an inscription. Cassius Agrippa was among the first from Pontus and Bithynia without an Italian background to be admitted to the senate and the imperial administration.44 If the inscription is correctly reconstructed, he started out as a military tribune before serving as quaestor. He was then sent to the province of Crete and Cyrena as propraetor and appointed praetor. After returning to the army as legatus Augusti of the XXth legion Valeria Victrix stationed in Britannia, Cassius Agrippa was made proconsul of Baetica before being appointed consul suffectus in 130 CE.45 This career is significant to the understanding of the various patterns followed by members of the Bithynian and Pontic elites and it illustrates the opportunities available to Greeks of equestrian status with no royal or Italian background. Despite its poor state of preservation, the inscription reveals that his career took Cassius Agrippa all over the empire to hold important military and administrative posts in both Spain and Britain. At first his career may not seem extraordinary in any way, but the appointment as quaestor suggests that Cassius Agrippa followed a more traditional career than Catilius Longus who was admitted to the senate at the level of praetor. More Cassii from Nicaea were part of the imperial administration in the second and third centuries, and M. Claudius Cassius Apronianus was the next known Cassius to achieve a senatorial appointment.46 Cassius Apronianus, father of the third-century historian Cassius Dio, held a prestigious governorship in the strategically important province of Lycia and Pamphylia around 180 before he was appointed legatus Augusti to Cilicia and Dalmatia in the course of the 180s.47 Cassius Dio also had a successful career in the imperial administration. He may have come to Rome, following his father, at the beginning of 180 CE and started his political career as son of a Roman senator.48 Cassius Dio is likely to have followed a regular career for senators’ sons and held various civil as well as military offices in the senatorial cursus honorum before his admission to the senate and appointment as praetor in the first half of 190s.49 Even for a son of a senator and a former consul, Cassius Dio’s career was extraordinary. He was elected consul in 205 CE and followed Caracalla to Nicomedia in 214/215.50 In 218 he was appointed curator of Pergamum and Smyrna51 before he initiated his career as governor first in Africa in 223, then in Dalmatia in 224 and Pannonia sometime between 225 and 229.52 In 229 he achieved the honour of a second consular appointment with Alexander Severus as his colleague.53

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Eager to be Roman As the son of a senator, Cassius Dio did not begin his career in the army as an equestrian officer but followed the cursus honorum for members of the senatorial elite. A career in the senate included military service, albeit for a well-defined period of time, but only as a step on the path to magistracies and pro-magistracies. Cassius Dio’s career serves as an example of how a Greek intellectual with well-defined roots in Greek culture spent by far the greatest part of his life in the western part of the empire representing Roman interests as an integrated member of the empire’s ruling elite. Another less well known but important example of a senator from Nicaea is Sedatus Theophilos, who reached the level of praetor under the reign of Antoninus Pius. If Sedatus Theophilos is not known for much else, his example illustrates that others beside the gens Cassii represented Nicaea in the senate.54 From the city of Nicomedia, L. Flavius Arrianus, or Arrian, and his son Flavius Arrianus both reached the consular office in the second century 55 CE, and a third senator of Nicomedian origin, whose identity is unknown because of the state of preservation of the inscription, was admitted to the senate and served as legatus Augusti after a career within the city itself.56 Arrian is another example of a member of a local Greek elite who left his home town for a glorious career in imperial administration. At the beginning of the second century Arrian left the city to study Stoic philosophy under the guidance of Epictetus in Nicopolis.57 In 111-114 he is listed as legatus Augusti pro praetore on the consilium of the Achaean corrector C. Avidius Nigrinus. This dates to Trajan’s reign, and thus an early stage in Rome’s provincial organisation.58 Unfortunately the further development of Arrian’s early career is difficult to follow, but it has been suggested that he served in the militia equestris in Trajan’s campaign against Parthia in 114 CE.59 A Greek inscription from Cordoba honouring Artemis mentions a proconsul named Arrianus and may connect Arrian to the Spanish province in the 120s.60 A stint as the pro-praetorial appointment as proconsul in Baetica was a reasonable step on the way to the consulship in 129 CE, which again led on to a curatorial office in Rome with responsibilities for the opera publica and an appointment as legatus to the strategically important Cappadocia, where he served from 130/1 to 136/7 CE.61 It has been suggested that Arrian ended his career as governor of Syria in the early 140s.62 But the evidence is fragile, based on a remark by Lucian about a governor with philosophical interests in Syria. Arrian is elsewhere referred to as a philosopher, but as has been pointed out, it is far from certain that he ever did govern Syria.63 The reference to Arrian as a philosopher is from a statue base set up by the Gellius family from Corinth.64 And even though Lucian refers to Arrian as a particularly well-educated Roman (Romaios) in his work on Alexander, he never directly calls Arrian a philosopher.65 As he was unlikely to have been the only

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3. Greeks in the Roman World Roman governor interested in philosophy, it is too speculative to place Arrian in Syria on the strength of these references alone, even though Syria would be a natural next step for a competent and loyal governor of Cappadocia. To govern Cappadocia, Arrian must have shown sufficient military competence and loyalty to Hadrian and Rome, and have been regarded as both a trustworthy official and an important member of the governing elite. Such a man the emperor could expect to represent the interests of Rome. All in all, the career of Arrian seems to indicate his strong interest in the Roman world at an early stage in his life. Starting out as a student of Stoic philosophy, he soon entered the army at the equestrian level and was admitted to the senatorial ordo, presumably shortly after Hadrian’s accession. If it was our Arrian who honoured Artemis in Cordoba, it indicates that he served in the western part of the empire, which, together with his long service in the army, shows that he spent a considerable part of his life in the Latin part of the Roman world. The way in which Arrian’s imperial career developed left little room for a long political career in Nicomedia. If Arrian left his home town at the age of 20 or thereabouts, he would have left before he reached the minimum age for local office, and his decision to settle in Athens, where he served as archon in 145/6 CE, places him outside Nicomedia after his retirement.66 Arrian’s involvement in the civic administration of Nicomedia is unclear, but he had an early attachment to the imperial administration as a member of the corrector’s council. However, his whereabouts until his consular appointment in 129 CE and his claim to have held office (tina archên) in his homeland (patris) complicate this picture.67 It is possible that he returned to Nicomedia between Trajan’s Parthian War of 114-117 and his appointment to the senate in the early 120s, which would have given him plenty of time to serve as the priest for Demeter and Cora, mentioned by Photius, or even as a magistrate with administrative responsibilities in the city. As Arrian left Nicomedia as a young man and settled in Athens after his imperial career, the time span between the Parthian War and the senatorial appointment in the early 120s both fits Arrian’s own record and represents the only period in which engagement in local politics could have taken place.68 Another possibility is that Arrian held the priesthoods while in absentia after his appointment to the senate or when serving in the imperial administration. Even though senators were excepted from munera in their home towns it was not uncommon for them to keep in close contact and to take on expensive assignments for the benefit of the cities. As illustrated by a study of the senators’ activities in their towns of origin, a priesthood was something several senators took up.69 Arrian’s example shows that members of the Greek elite could return to their home towns and take up administrative or religious responsibili-

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Eager to be Roman ties after starting a career in the world of Roman politics and administration; or they could finance the office from abroad. But before attributing too much emphasis to Arrian’s eventual return, it should be noted that if he returned to Nicomedia it was only for a few years, because he was admitted to the senate back in Rome some time around 117 CE. In any case, Arrian’s career does not support the idea that members of the Greek elite were generally satisfied with a political life in their home towns and therefore less eager to pursue careers in the imperial administration. If anything, Arrian’s return to a career in Rome suggests the opposite: that admission to the senate and appointments in the imperial administration were more prestigious and attractive than local politics. Another family engaged in the imperial administration was the gens Domitia from the Bithynian city Prusias ad Hypium. M. Domitius Valerianus was presumably elected consul suffectus in 239 CE.70 As in the cases of both Catilius Longus and Arrian, Domitius Valerianus started his career as an equestrian officer in the army, where he was promoted to tribunus laticlavius – the highest-ranking tribune in the III Gallic legion.71 He was hereafter admitted to the senate and continued his military service as a senator when appointed propraetor of the XII Fulminata legion stationed in Cappadocia.72 His military qualities are further underlined by a second appointment as legatus legionis, this time in Moesia Superior, an unusual step back that may seem like a demotion, but Valerianus’ military experience may explain why he was asked to serve as legatus a second time. After this second period as legatus, Domitius Valerianus was appointed corrector civitatum in Pamphylia before he was sent to Sicily, and Roman Arabia as legatus Augusti pro praetore.73 As is the general case for officers of equestrian rank, it is doubtful whether Domitius Valerianus had the opportunity to undertake public offices in Prusias ad Hypium. The inscription set up to him in Prusias ad Hypium does not mention any civic magistracies, and it is likely that he left the city for the army before he reached the minimum age required for public office in Prusias ad Hypium. It has been suggested that Domitius Valerianus and M. Domitius Candidus were one and the same person, and thus it has been argued that M. Domitius Candidus was senator and consul in the third century CE.74 There is however nothing to indicate that M. Domitius Candidus was a senator, or pursued a career in imperial administration. Instead, he was known in Prusias ad Hypium as a successful and important member of the local political elite who served in several prestigious municipal offices such as his election as first archon some time after 212 CE.75 Furthermore, it has been argued that the Domitii from Prusias ad Hypium were represented in the senate by other family members. A phylê inscription set up after 212 CE to celebrate M. Domitius Paulianus Falco, first archon of the city, states that he originated from a senatorial and consular family and mentions that his father, M. Domitius Stratocles, was logistês, which has been taken as an indication of the father’s senatorial status.76 But as has been pointed

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3. Greeks in the Roman World out, M. Domitius Stratocles’ presumed status as a senator is based on his appointment as logistês, which in itself is no proof of a senatorial career.77 That M. Domitius Paulianus Falco was a member of a senatorial and consular family may relate to M. Domitius Valerianus’ career and not prove that there was more than one senator in the family. As will be discussed below, there seems to be a relationship between the office of logistês and the provincial koina, which indicates that logistai were not necessarily recruited from the senate, but often recruited from the upper provincial elite – men of the equestrian ordo. The city of Claudiopolis was represented by at least three senators: Marcus Domitius Euphemus, who reached the level of consul in the late second/early third century;78 Marcus Ulpius Arabianus, who reached the highest level of the imperial administration as governor in Syria-Palastina and Africa in the reign of Marcus Aurelius and Commodus;79 and Marcus Ulpius Domitius Aristaeus Arabianus who reached the level of praetor and served as propraetor in the province of Asia in the beginning of the third century.80 In the city of Prusa, the local elite joined the political ranks of the Roman empire when Lucius Egnatius Victor Lollianus was admitted to the senate in 213 and the Sodales Antoniniani in Rome. He served in Rome as praetor before a number of appointments as magistrate and promagistrate including consul suffectus, corrector of Achaea, proconsul of both Bithynia and Pontus and Asia, and city prefect.81 Service in the imperial administration on the senatorial level is less well attested in the Pontic part of the province. Whether the lack of inscriptions indicates that the local elite in Sinope and Amisus were less interested in the imperial administration or should be attributed to vagaries of archaeological and epigraphic survival is difficult to answer with certainty. Still, it should be emphasised that in the city of Sinope the population, particularly the Sinopian elite, did set up inscriptions honouring Roman authorities and individuals serving on a local as well as on imperial level.82 Because of Sinope’s colonial status, it was influenced by the traditions of Roman political organisation and Roman epigraphic habits. But to conclude that the city was not represented in the senate based on an argument e silentio may well be too dogmatic a conclusion. However, it should be noted that the circumstances in the Pontic part of the province, where the elite previously had been subjugated to a centralised form of government in the Pontic kingdom, were different from those in Bithynia. The Bithynian kings did control large estates, as was also the case in the kingdom of Pontus, but the higher level of urbanisation in Bithynia provided a more decentralised structure, which maintained a local aristocracy on which both the Bithynian kings and Rome’s governors based their administrative machinery. In contrast, the Mithridatic kings based their rule on satrapies, which ruled the large number of villages in the Pontic interior. The satraps were appointed by the Pontic kings and did not constitute an aristocratic community with its own raison d’être. When

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Eager to be Roman Lucullus and Pompey advanced into Anatolia during the Third Mithridatic War, this group was removed and their influence eliminated after Pompey’s demolition of their castles and redistribution of their land and villages under the jurisdiction of both new and already existing cities. Even though we must be cautious not to draw too many conclusions from the absence of senators in Sinope and the presence of one or two senators in Prusias ad Hypium, the lack of an independent landowning elite in Pontus might explain why the elite community did not join the Roman senate in Rome in the same numbers as the elite community in Bithynia did. One family from the region with strong relations to the Roman world is the Severi from the city of Pompeiopolis, a city, which as part of Augustus’ reorganisation of Anatolia was placed under the jurisdiction of the newly established province of Paphlagonia. C. Claudius Severus was admitted to the senate as inter quaestorios around 98 CE and reached the praetorship as praetor urbanus sometime around 102 CE. He was afterwards appointed legatus pro praetore in the province of Arabia between 106 and 11583 and elected consul around 112 CE, while still serving in Arabia.84 C. Claudius Severus was the ancestor of two other senators: his son Cn. Claudius Severus Arabianus and grandson Cn. Claudius Severus both achieved consular appointments. In the second half of the second century CE the family entered the highest level of the governing class in Rome when Cn. Claudius Severus married Marcus Aurelius’ daughter Annia Galeria Faustina immediately after the accession of Aurelius in 161.85 The Severi are thus another example of a family leaving their home town behind when moving to Rome. From what we know of the family, Cn. Claudius Severus Arabianus and his son Cn. Claudius Severus spent much of their adult life outside Pompeiopolis, and it is doubtful whether they ever lived in the city at all. Even though the earliest steps of the first Cn. Claudius Severus’ career are unknown, it is reasonable to assume that Cn. Claudius Severus, who was admitted to the senate as inter quaestorios, began his service in the imperial administration as an equestrian officer. Similarly, the time Cn. Claudius Severus Arabianus spent in Pompeiopolis is likely to have been limited. To judge from these career patterns, members of the local elites of Pontus and Bithynia who reached the senate initiated their careers in the imperial administration as members of the equestrian ordo and, as a consequence, they often left their home towns before they reached the minimum age for local office. For members of the provincial elite entering into political life in Rome, appointments in the imperial administration were secured through longer periods of military service as officers of equestrian ordo. As indicated by the career of Catilius Longus, who served as an equestrian officer from the reign of Claudius until the accession of Vespasian before he was admitted to the senate achieved, this social mobility was achieved after years of service in the army and lower ranks

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3. Greeks in the Roman World of the imperial administration.86 What the career of Catilius Longus also shows is that elevation from the equestrian ordo to the senatorial ordo was for most not a part of a defined cursus honorum but something obtained after long service and/or a personal favour of the emperor, such as Vespasian’s admission of individuals who supported his rise to power or Hadrian’s admission of Arrian.87 Yet, what also seems to have been the case is that a few members of the Bithynian and Pontic elites could follow the ordinary career from military tribune to the senate – as seems to have been the case for Cassius Agrippa from Nicaea. Cassius Dio and the second and third generations of the Severi from Pompeiopolis all started their public careers as sons of senators and followed the cursus honorum accordingly. They began their careers in the army but served for only a defined period of time; this was meant to provide sufficient military experience for them to begin their political cursus honorum in Rome and in imperial administration. From what we know, Cassius Dio returned to Asia Minor a number of times during his imperial career, once when Caracalla visited Nicomedia in 214 CE, and again in 218 CE when serving as curator of Pergamum and Smyrna.88 Whether he went to Nicaea on this or on other occasions is less clear, but certainly plausible. These visits, however, were likely to have been relatively short, as Dio seems to have been occupied with the imperial administration. As with other imperial magistrates from Bithynia, for Cassius Dio there is no evidence to suggest that he served as a magistrate in Nicaea either before he followed his father to Rome or after he withdrew from the public stage. Even though an appointed senator maintained his domicile in his home town and kept in contact with the city,89 admission to the senate meant that the newly elected senator ceased to be municeps in his city of origin;90 this juridical right may also have applied to his sons, who as a result were exempted from their munera. Senators did not always move the entire family to Rome and it was not uncommon for a senator’s son to grow up in his home town and consequently, if he was still there as an adult, to take on administrative responsibilities in the town.91 Prestige was no doubt to be gained at home if the senator decided to take on expensive tasks, or if he let his son initiate his public career in the home town, but it must have been a choice. Moreover, it may never have been the intention of many senatorial families that their sons should engage themselves in the administration of their fathers’ home towns. It seems a reasonable conclusion then that for the Greek provincial elite a career in imperial administration, at least at the senatorial level, was not used as a stepping-stone to a political or magisterial career in their home towns. Members of the local elite who left home to join the army or to follow their fathers around the empire rarely returned to political activities within the framework of their own ancestral polis. Those who left the cities for imperial careers were therefore, apart from serving as

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Eager to be Roman possible contacts in Rome,92 of limited use to their city of origin. Generally, senators were not allowed to govern provinces from which they originated and the cities could therefore not benefit directly from having a governor of local descent. What seems to have been a larger problem, however, was that those who obtained senatorial status took no part in their cities’ political or administrative agendas, which often excluded their sons and thus the next generation of wealthy and politically interested citizens as well. This was a matter of great concern to Plutarch, who returns to the subject on a number of occasions. In On Tranquillity of Mind, where Plutarch gives advice on how to find inner peace, Galatia and Bithynia are mentioned as provinces, where members of the local elite were particularly dissatisfied with their social position in their local communities and therefore eager to pursue careers in Rome and the imperial administration.93 He returns to this theme in his essay on proper statesmanship, the Political Advice, where he is far bolder in his criticism of Greeks who became procurators and governors because of the prestige and economic benefits connected to these offices. Here he stresses that this group neglected the administrative problems in their home town.94 From Plutarch’s essays alone it is difficult to judge how big a problem the imperial careers of wealthy families were for civic administration in the Greek poleis. The number of senators of eastern origin was only just beginning to increase when Plutarch wrote the largest part of his Moralia.95 Nonetheless, Plutarch returns to this matter several times, suggesting that Greek participation in the imperial administration was increasing and had reached a level serious enough to attract critical attention. If the number of Greeks who joined the Roman governing class rose significantly in the last years of Plutarch’s lifetime, this may explain the great distress of the ageing spokesman interested in conserving Greek cultural heritage.96 In addition to individuals and families who reached the senatorial level, it should be remembered that other members of the elite left their home towns for long careers in the army or to join the imperial administration as procurators or other offices in the imperial administration; such men left their home towns behind at least for a while. The imperial procurators who reached the more prestigious levels of administration belonged to the equestrian ordo and were recruited from the cities’ elite. The number of individuals from the Greek elite to leave their native poleis behind alone or together with their families, should be added, at least at first, to those admitted to the senatorial class.97 T. Aurelius Calpurnianus Apollonides from Nicaea, known from an inscription dated to the reign of the Severi,98 was a Roman procurator who spent much of his life outside Nicaea. Like most others from the Bithynian and Pontic elite who followed an imperial career, T. Aurelius Calpurnianus Apollonides joined the army before he was appointed procurator of Gaul, Moesia Inferior, Trachea, Dalmatia, Spain and finally Alexandria, where

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3. Greeks in the Roman World he was made responsible for accounts as the culmination of a glorious career. As a procurator, T. Aurelius Calpurnianus was not tied to Rome in the same way as senators and could, like C. Iulius Demosthenes from Oenoanda, have returned to Nicaea to take up local politics.99 It is, however, far from certain that he did so. C. Lucenus Archelaus, who set up the honorific inscription to a T. Aurelius Calpurnianus, did not refer to any magistracies held in Nicaea, which could mean that T. Aurelius Calpurnianus had not yet begun his career in Nicaea at the time the inscription was set up. But lack of references to a career in local politics could suggest that T. Aurelius Calpurnianus Apollonides never involved himself in Nicaean politics. That members of the civic elite did not necessarily join local politics after a career in the imperial administration is also the impression we get from Prusias ad Hypium, where none of the city magistrates advertises a post held in the imperial administration. This argument, admittedly e silentio, is naturally problematic, but given the relatively large collection of honorific inscriptions from the city and the fact that the pattern is not contradicted by surviving inscriptions from other Bithynian cities, we may assume the elite in Pontus and Bithynia did not regularly return from appointments in the imperial administration to pursue a career in local politics. Arrian’s office in Nicomedia, together with his election as first archon in Athens, offers one example of a Bithynian who returned to careers in the Greek world. But it should be emphasised that if Arrian held office in Nicomedia, it was before his appointment to the senate and the province of Cappadocia. After he retired from the imperial scene, Arrian chose to live in Athens, not Nicomedia. One Roman equestrian officer returning to his home town after serving as a Roman procurator in Sicily was C. Iulius Demosthenes who sponsored a music festival in his home town Oenoanda in 125 CE. Here, he engaged himself at the highest level of civic administration when appointed prytanis and secretary of the boulê.100 Certainly C. Iulius Demosthenes was not the only civil servant of Greek origin to return to his home town and engage in local politics.101 That Greeks who joined the imperial administration generally did not return to a career in local politics is also indicated by Plutarch’s criticism of Greeks who aimed at imperial careers instead of concentrating on the needs of their home towns. Had it been general practice for younger members of a local elite to initiate their public careers in the imperial administration as a way to obtain prestige, establish networks, and improve their financial means before returning to a political career at home, Plutarch would hardly have commented on the unavailability of the Greeks who became procurators and governors as a fundamental problem for the poleis. Furthermore, if the Greeks returned to local politics after a career in the Roman administration we would expect this to be reflected in grave or honorific inscriptions. And as friends and relatives of men with merits in Roman service were keen to show their affiliation to those serving Rome, there

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Eager to be Roman seems to be no good reason why men with Roman careers should not state their previous achievements in the imperial administration. Plutarch’s view of the pursuit of careers in the Roman administration as a matter of greed or a lack of inner peace seems not to have been widely shared in Pontus and Bithynia. Honorific inscriptions raised in favour of men in the imperial administration on the initiative of private individuals, in strictly local contexts, confirm the significant status careers in the Roman administration conferred. What drove individuals from Pontus and Bithynia to pursue careers in the Roman world is not likely to have been the desire to improve social standing in their native cities, which they left as a consequence of their imperial activity and often never saw again. The object was instead to exploit the possibility for social advancement within the framework of the empire as a whole and thus to become part of a larger, more prestigious, and influential community constituted by the empire’s governing elite. On the other hand, we do not need to imagine that the local elite in Pontus and Bithynia engaged in the imperial administration as a result of a strong Roman identity. There were substantial financial, legal and social benefits to be gained from imperial service, as is clearly illustrated in the case of Flavonius Rufus from Apamea, and his reward of both social mobility and the substantial sum of 600,000 sesterces when he left the army. Army officers and civil office holders in the Roman administration were paid by the empire and stood in sharp contrast to the magistracies in their home towns, who were expected to pay substantial sums as a part of their stint. But careers in politics were not alone a matter of money, which magistrates and promagistrates could either earn or spare. If admission to the senate and the magistracies in the Roman cursus honourum was obtained, magistrates were expected to cover the various expenses connected to their offices. The majority of the Greeks who joined the army and entered the lower levels of imperial administration must have remained in the equestrian ordo. Still, social mobility was available even if admission to the senate was never achieved. Members of the Greek elite would move beyond the level of local politics into the imperial organisation, entry into which – with its larger scale, greater responsibility, and tougher challenges – would transform their status from provincial nobles and members of a subjugated people into the empire’s ruling community. As such, the desire for power and enhanced social prestige are elements that are likely to have played a significant role when members of the local Greek elite engaged in imperial service. That there were substantial economic, political and social benefits to be gained from an imperial career should not, however, be taken to prove that the Greek provincial elite took part in Roman politics or imperial administration for mostly pragmatic reasons. The way in which the imperial service was organised demanded a certain level of clear loyalty to Rome and its emperor. In military and civil administration, civil

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3. Greeks in the Roman World servants as well as army officers functioned as representatives of Rome, with the clear mandate to enforce and maintain Roman laws, norms, and values, often against the interests of other Greek communities. In order to fulfil this task, close relations with the Roman community were prioritised, as is illustrated by the fact that many Greeks, including members of the Bithynian and Pontic elite, served in the Latin-speaking part of the empire.102 While imperial careers and admission to the senatorial ordo of the Greek elite are seen as primarily a pragmatic attempt to gain personal and economic advantage, it should be remembered that social mobility and the most prestigious appointments in the imperial administration were accomplished after several years of military service. Only then was the admission to the senate or highest equestrian offices within reach. Even though military service as an officer was probably less harsh than that of most ordinary legionaries and even though the border provinces were usually quite peaceful, ten to twenty years in the army was still a high price to pay; and, of course, far from every officer was admitted to the senate or appointed to higher levels of imperial administration. It is therefore unrealistic to imagine that many Greeks chose a career in the army as a short cut to benefits and privilege. What is more likely is that admission to the senate as inter quaestorios or inter praetorios as well as the eventual allotment of a governorship were based on the recipient’s perceived loyalty to Rome and in particular to the emperor, as was the case with both Catilius Longus and Arrian, who were admitted to the senate on the expectation that they represent Roman interests wholeheartedly. It seems unlikely that Hadrian would have chosen Arrian to govern a vital military province like Cappadocia had he not been absolutely sure of both Arrian’s competence and undivided loyalty, no matter how fascinated he might have been with Greeks and their culture. The relatively late admission of Greeks to the senate should therefore not be interpreted too readily as illustrative of general Greek resistance to Roman culture or as the result of a general satisfaction with careers in civic administration. If this were the case, it would need to be explained why this feeling changed so suddenly in the early second century, at a time when Greek cultural renaissance was at its highest. Likewise, it must be explained why members of the Greek elite from all over the eastern part of the empire obtained a still more dominant position in imperial administration, not just in their home or neighbouring provinces, but also in the western part of the empire. A possible explanation for the later admission of the Greek elite to the senate is likely to be related to the differing ways in which Rome and the imperial house treated the various parts of the empire. In the early Principate, Rome’s attention was directed to the western provinces and the serious problems in Spain, Gaul and in Germany occupied successive

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Eager to be Roman Julio-Claudian emperors. The relatively late entrance of the Greeks into imperial administration might very well have had to do with the peaceful conditions in the Greek provinces which were first disrupted by the Armenian conflict in the reign of Nero, and thus did not demand the attention of earlier emperors. First when the situation in Spain, Germania and Britannia had eased and a reasonable, although temporary solution to the Germanic limes problem had been found after repeated military campaigns under the rule of Augustus, Tiberius and Claudius, the emperors’ attention could be directed more widely. The long eastern commands held by both Vespasian and Titus further strengthened the relationship between the imperial house and the local aristocracy in Anatolia and involved the Greek elite more directly in Vespasian and Titus’ political agenda in the East and in general.103 Another reason for the later appearance of Greeks in the senate may have had to do with the constitution of the Greek poleis. As the boulê contained a larger part of the civic population than the more exclusively recruited ordo decurionum in cities designed after a Roman pattern, it did not have a similar status and did not constitute the same basis for the recruitment to imperial administration, which could, eventually, have led to admission to the senate.104 The relatively few Roman colonies founded in Pontus and Bithynia and the East in general may be another part of the explanation why men from the Greek and oriental elite reached the senate later than their peers in the West. It is worth noticing that the Catilii from the colony of Apamea were the first from Bithynia to reach the senate and the highest level of Rome’s political elite when L. Catilius Severus Iulianus Claudius Reginus in 120 CE was appointed consul for the second time. The economic potential of the local elite in the eastern provinces was another reason why individuals with Greek background were in general admitted to the senate later than the elite from Baetica and Gallia Narbonensis. Even though Pontus and Bithynia was relatively fertile, the mountains put a natural limit on the agricultural opportunities. Pontus and Bithynia was known for its timber and our knowledge of slave bailiffs testifies to an agricultural production of some size. But compared to southern Spain, which in the imperial period provided the largest share of Rome’s oil import, Pontus and Bithynia and the elite remained economically and thus socially inferior. When one considers the later date for the granting of Roman citizenship and the change of focus from West to East during the second half of first century CE, it seems reasonable that the Greek aristocracy would make their appearance in the senate and in the imperial administration later than their peers in the West. But when the increase in the number of senators of eastern origin and the speed with which they reached governorships in the most prestigious provinces are considered, there seems to

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3. Greeks in the Roman World be no grounds to assume prejudice against Greek participation at the highest level of Roman politics and administration, either in Rome or within the Greek elite itself. Roman Greeks Greeks who pursued careers in the imperial administration left their home towns to join a community dominated by Latin and Roman norms and values. Those who engaged in Roman politics, army and administration are likely to have had a distinctively Roman outlook in addition to their Greek cultural background. It is notable that all magistrates and promagistrates from Pontus and Bithynia who served in the Roman administration were Roman citizens at the time that they began their careers; furthermore imperial service for many meant full immersion and participation in Roman institutions, so we can assume that Greeks, who served in the imperial administration or pursued a political career in Rome, were heavily involved in Roman political, administrative and religious practices as well as typical Roman leisure activities, such as bathing, festivals and gladiatorial games. Imitation or adoption of Roman public behaviour and ways of social life were related closely to the acceptance of Roman norms and values, and are likely to have been essential in the pursuit of a successful career in the Roman world. Men like Arrian and Cassius Dio, with a strong interest in Greek culture, must have behaved in a recognisably Roman manner to succeed in Rome and function convincingly in the imperial administration. The army was commanded in Latin, and Latin was used in the reports governors made to the emperor, even to the most philhellenic ones, as is illustrated by Arrian’s mentioning of the Latin report he sent to Hadrian before writing the Periplus.105 Whether this necessary involvement in Roman institutions and social life provided a sense of collective identity shared by Greeks in the imperial service and the Roman people in general is less obvious and has been questioned.106 There was no doubt a necessary common linguistic community between Greeks in the imperial service and the Latin-speaking part of the empire, where communication took place in either Latin or Greek, depending on the language skills of the Latin speaker or the forum in which the debate took place. The sense of belonging to the empire’s ruling community, as stressed by Cassius Dio’s reference to the senatorial body as ‘We’ or to the Roman soldiers as ‘our troops’ suggests that Dio felt he belonged at least to the empire’s ruling elite.107 What is more complicated is to determine whether Roman senators and various officials of Greek origin also saw themselves as Romans or as a part of the Roman community in general. One way of determining the cultural identity of Greeks in the imperial administration has been to analyse how Cassius Dio and Arrian defined

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Eager to be Roman themselves in their own literary works. As part of the notion that the Greek elite had their identity solidly rooted in Greek cultural heritage, it has been assumed that Greek authors’ use of the word patris or third person plural forms when referring to the Romans was a sign of their resistance attitude towards identifying themselves as Romans.108 According to this approach, despite their close connections with the Roman world and their long service in the army and imperial administration all over the empire, Arrian and Cassius Dio have a patently Greek identity and a fundamentally resistant attitude towards Roman culture.109 It is certainly correct that both Cassius Dio and Arrian referred to themselves as Greeks and to their Greek poleis as their native countries. Pliny the Younger, whose Roman identity no one would question, states that his native hearth was in Como and Cicero argues that he, as many native Italians, had two patriae, one of nature and one of citizenship, and states that he saw Arpinum, his place of birth, and the city of Rome as the native and political patriae respectively.110 Other statements in Arrian and Cassius Dio’s works indicate that they saw themselves as belonging to the Roman community. Cassius Dio states that his patris was Nicaea but emphasises that Rome was his new home (Cass. Dio Fr. 1.3). This explicit reference to Rome as his new home and his affiliation to the senatorial ordo, does not mean, of course, that he had ceased to identify himself as Greek but suggests, rather, that he did identify himself as a member of the Roman community. To the people in Nicaea and his family and his friends, Cassius Dio was presumably thought of as Greek, but to the emperor, to the people in Rome, and to Greek and non-Greek provincials against whose interests he would be prepared to act, it was his Roman status that mattered. This was regardless of where he or his family came from. The assumption that Arrian was reluctant to adopt Roman identity is essentially based on his reference to Romans in the third person plural in the Tactica, where Arrian stresses the ability of the Roman people to adopt useful elements from other cultures.111 Yet the Tactica was addressed to a Greek audience and presumably written in Athens. As such, there is nothing unusual in Arrian’s use of Rhômaioi when describing the people of Rome to a Greek audience, even though in other instances Arrian might have identified himself as Roman.112 In his Epitomae de Tito Livio, Florus also uses third person forms to describe the Romans, as for instance in his record of the Third Punic War, where he writes ‘Compulsis in unam arcem hostibus portum quoque mari Romanus obstruxerat’ (‘While the enemy been driven into the sole remaining stronghold, the Romans had also blocked up the harbour’).113 Modern ideologies of nationhood, culture and ethnicity have further complicated discussions of Greek and Roman identity. In the debate about how Greek authors defined themselves culturally, it has been argued that there was a separation between an identity as Greek (based on a Greek culture

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3. Greeks in the Roman World heritage) and a political interest in the Roman world (based on the pragmatic motivation to achieve political, economic or social advantages).114 Members of the Greek elite were clearly aware of the benefits offered by a career in imperial administration, but to see this awareness as an argument for having careers in Roman politics and administration does not take into consideration the possibility that Roman rights and the advantages attached to various Roman institutions were highly estimated in Greek communities, as is illustrated in the epigraphic material available from the Bithynian cities. Here, careers in Roman politics or administration are presented as something prestigious and best understood as a matter of status within the Greek poleis.115 Imperial officers, particularly those who achieved the highest equestrian posts or were admitted to the senate, could identify themselves as part of the empire’s governing elite and thus add this status as a sort of superstructure above and beyond the pattern of social and political relations, which constituted their cultural identity. Men like Arrian and Cassius Dio, as well as other Greeks in the imperial administration, had similar rights and were offered the same opportunities in the Roman imperial administration as their kinsmen in Italy, Gaul and elsewhere in the Latin west. This made Greeks part of the Roman community on equal terms with the rest of the empire. As a result, they were likely to have seen themselves and have been seen, as an integral part of the Roman community, an equality, which Aristides understandably celebrated eagerly in the middle of the second century CE.116 These shared political rights elevated the issue of being Roman from an ethnic question to one of political and social status. Members of the Greek elite now became part of the empire’s absolute elite with access to power, which removed one of the most essential barriers in the process of cultural interaction. A much larger part of the local elite in Pontus and Bithynia never pursued political careers in Rome or in imperial administration. Compared to those who left home for an imperial career, they remained in the province and were likely to have responded differently to Roman rule as local Greek culture counteracted the influence of Rome. In order to provide a more detailed picture of how deeply Roman culture influenced life in the Bithynian and Pontic cities we must now consider the local responses to the coming of Rome.

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4

Turning Roman in Pontus and Bithynia Compared with members of the elite who left the province to pursue careers in the Roman army, high politics in Rome, or imperial administration, the inhabitants of the Pontic and Bithynian cities surely felt the push and pull of Roman culture differently. As discussed in Chapter 2, Roman rule brought changes to Greek constitutions such as admission to the boulê, submission to provincial administration and interference in local autonomy. However, as indicated by the epigraphic record, Greek continued as the dominant language. Even Roman citizens had funerary inscriptions set up in Greek, as is illustrated by the examples of C. Iulius Agathas from Prusa and L. Cornelius Rufus from the colony of Sinope.1 Latin inscriptions appeared as honorific decrees set up to celebrate the emperor or Roman officials, or as funerary inscriptions,2 but Greek continued to dominate, even in an official context, and was used as the common language in honorific decrees, even to members of the imperial house.3 The continuous use of the polis constitution and the fact that the local elite continued to dominate the political agenda may together have given the inhabitants of the Greek cities the impression that little had changed since the coming of Rome.4 Meantime, Greek and local religions maintained their central position. Rome’s liberal attitude towards her subjects’ religious beliefs, and the similarities between the Greek and Roman pantheons, made the continuation of Greek religious practices unproblematic. Furthermore, various Roman authorities from Pompey onwards gave political authority to temple communities in Pontus and thereby provided a natural continuity for the Asian religions in Anatolia. Emperor-worship was introduced and influenced religious and political life in the Greek provinces, but never replaced Greek religious traditions altogether, as is illustrated by the local elite’s ongoing involvement in the celebration of the Olympic gods.5 Unlike their peers who joined the army, moved to Rome, or took part in imperial administration outside the Greek world and thereby lived in a cultural environment dominated by Rome, the elite inhabitants of the Bithynian and Pontic cities, more than the average population, were not exposed to as great an influence from Latin, Roman religion or other Roman customs, norms and values. Except for the Roman colonies of Sinope and Apamea, where Greek also dominated the epigraphic record, cultural influence from Rome was counterbalanced by the continuity of Greek institutions and traditions. As such, the inhabitants of Bithynian

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Eager to be Roman and Pontic cities are unlikely to have adopted Latin as their daily language, at least to any significant degree, to have practised religion according to Roman traditions or to have defined Rome as their patria. It is also equally unlikely that the population in the province felt they had a shared historical past with the population in Rome, just as it is not very likely that they saw themselves as Roman in any ethnic sense of the word. The focus of this chapter is on how the population of Pontus and Bithynia responded to the coming of Rome and whether involvement in institutions such as citizenship, the imperial cult and provincial administration fostered among them a sense of belonging to a Roman collectivity. It is widely accepted that members of the elite received Roman citizenship and engaged in Roman administration locally and further afield. The essential question to be pursued is therefore not whether the elite in Pontus and Bithynia was politically and administratively active in Roman institutions, but whether the section of the population with the ability to obtain Roman citizenship and participate in religious, administrative and cultural collectives in the Roman sphere identified itself as Roman, and how membership of Roman institutions and social groups was perceived locally. Our evidence for how the elite in the Pontic and Bithynian cities chose to appear and present themselves in public is largely limited to inscriptions – especially those set up to celebrate and honour political careers or deceased relatives. Here, the use of names and the citation of achievements in civic and provincial administration indicate the status and career of the individual in question; they often also provide valuable information about the relatives and friends who set up the inscriptions. Although still a body of elite evidence, compared to literary sources, epigraphy represents a larger group of individuals and offers a more representative picture of how the population in Pontus and Bithynia perceived their relation to Rome, Roman rule and the institutions it brought. Use of Latin names was one way by which provincials could demonstrate their identity as Roman. A full Roman name, consisting of the tria nomina, that is, praenomen, nomen and cognomen, correctly identifies somebody as a Roman citizen. In Pontus and Bithynia, the practice of using Roman names, normally written in Greek, became a common phenomenon among the provincial population during the imperial period. Here, tria nomina can be divided between three forms: first, all three names are Roman; second, the praenomen and nomen are Roman but the cognomen is Greek. (When provincials were awarded Roman citizenship it was the practice to take the praenomen and nomen of their benefactor, which in the imperial period was often the emperor or, perhaps more rarely, the governor in office.6) The third form is the custom of appearing with only one Roman name. This latter category represents a large group whose status is not always clear, as we shall see. As it was common for both Greek and Roman writers to call Romans by

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4. Turning Roman in Pontus and Bithynia a single name,7 it cannot automatically be assumed that individuals appearing with only one Roman name were not Roman citizens. The context should therefore always be considered before any conclusion is drawn. When centurions appear with one name, it is reasonable to assume that they were in fact Roman citizens. The same applies in the case of St Paul, whose nomen gentile and praenomen are unknown even though we think that he must have had them. Examples of the opposite are the evangelists Mark and Luke, who held Roman or modified Roman names but probably not Roman civic rights. 8 Phylai inscriptions in Prusias ad Hypium may give a sense of how Roman names were used to show personal status. In inscriptions datable to the end of the second and beginning of the third century CE, but set up before the grant of universal citizenship in 212, three types of naming formulae appear. First, tria nomina, with Roman praenomen and nomen gentile and a Greek or Roman cognomen; secondly, Greek names presented in the Greek traditional form (that is, a single Greek name followed by the father’s name in the genitive); and thirdly, names of Roman origin not in the tria nomina form, this time also followed by the father’s name, sometimes Roman, sometimes Greek, in the genitive (for examples see below). Such inscriptions were set up officially to honour the first archon of the city and thus offer an opportunity to view how Roman names were used in an official context. The archons generally had tria nomina, as in the example of Cl. Tineius Asclepiodotus.9 Only the archon Domitius son of Aster appears without tria nomina,10 indicating that presentation of Roman citizens in public inscriptions with their full Roman name was the epigraphic convention in this period. Among the phylarchs a similar constellation of names can be traced. In the inscription honouring Cl. Tineius Asclepiodotus, the twenty-four phylarchs can be divided between individuals with tria nomina (such as L. Staberius Manius and Domitius Ailius Sofus), individuals with Greek names followed by their father’s name (such as Filippus son of Crispus and Asklepiodotus son of Sanctus), and those with Roman names followed by the father’s name in the genitive (such as Domitianus son of Aristides or Marcianus son of Marcus).11 Roman citizenship was not forced upon the provincials but was attractive for its economic, legal and political advantages. For this reason, it is not obvious why anyone who as matter of choice had gained Roman status would wish to conceal or suppress it in a public inscription when other citizens were eager to present their Roman rights and thus their elevated status. Furthermore, we may expect that such inscriptions would have drawn upon information about social and legal status, as held by the city’s authorities. Therefore, in this study, individuals appearing in the epigraphic material will be recognised as Romans if they have full tria nomina or a combination of praenomen and nomen.12 A different problem is the relationship between name and origin. It can be difficult to tell the difference between locals who held Roman citizenship and cognomina, and

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Eager to be Roman various Roman immigrants – officers, colonists, merchants, ex-slaves. This is particularly the case if families received citizenship in the republican period. Again the context is essential: ex-slaves were not likely to appear in local or provincial politics, but merchants or their descendants could and did participate.13 Often, however, locals with Roman citizenship would have the emperor’s nomen gentile as Claudius, Flavius or Aelius; or the names of magistrates from the republican period such as Cassius and Domitius, suggesting that they had received their citizenship from C. Cassius, Cn. Domitius Ahenobarbus (consul in 32 BCE), or Cn. Domitius Calvinus when they served in the East.14 One exception to be considered is the question of ex-slaves freed by Roman masters who would assume the nomen gentile of their former owner. In the epigraphic record it can be difficult to see the difference between members of the local elite who obtained Roman citizenship from Roman authorities or inherited the status from their family, and freedmen who obtained their Roman citizenship when manumitted. Another problem is that the group of freedmen with Roman citizenship may testify to the spread of Roman citizenship in Pontus and Bithynia, but as they originate from every part of the Roman empire and beyond they do not add to an understanding of how and to what degree individuals of Greek origin obtained Roman citizen status. Another issue is whether or not individuals with Roman names were representative of the larger group whose funerary inscriptions and honorific decrees have been lost. Although there are many full inscriptions from several different cities, the epigraphic material from Pontus and Bithynia is not suitable for a quantitative approach to determine the percentage of Roman citizens in the province. Such a methodology would require a calculation of all the individuals appearing in the epigraphic material, with the risk of counting the same person more than once. A further problem concerns the dating of these inscriptions. The majority of the material, which falls into the category of funerary inscriptions, is often difficult to date. The texts themselves offer little information which can be dated, and stylistic dating is, with few exceptions, not possible because most of the stones are no longer extant, or are in poor condition. A quantitative approach therefore does not provide any basis for estimating the percentage of Roman citizens in different periods, offering only a general idea of the individuals who held Roman citizenship over the whole period. Instead, the inscriptions will be used as qualitative examples of how Roman names were implemented in the provincial population. While use of Roman names may be helpful as a source of legal status, names should not too readily be regarded as an indication of a person’s ethnic affiliation. As demonstrated by Koen Goudriaan’s study of ethnicity in Ptolemaic Egypt, names and ethnic identity frequently did not coincide. It was not unusual, for example, for an individual considered to be Greek to have Egyptian names.15 Ethnic considerations may have been at stake in Ptolemaic and Roman Egypt as a means of categorising Hellenes, Jews

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4. Turning Roman in Pontus and Bithynia and Egyptians. In the Roman period, different ethnic groups in Egypt were accorded different legal rights and fiscal obligations, which made the question of ethnicity more pressing.16 Outside Egypt, however, ethnic considerations were not used as a reason to exclude groups from obtaining Roman citizenship. Use of Roman tria nomina, therefore, did not necessarily mean that the person in question identified themselves ethnically as Roman. It is a possibility that tria nomina were used and seen as a symbol of the individuals’ legal status. Becoming legally Roman Roman citizenship improved an individual’s legal, economic and political rights and was essential to reach specific priesthoods and magistracies of higher social standing. Appointments such as archpriesthoods, chief magistracies and priesthoods of the koinon (Asiarch, Bithyniarch and Pontarch), as well as the position of logistês, were granted mostly to citizens, and Roman citizenship was necessary for the admission to the equestrian order and thereby the higher reaches of the empire’s social strata. Roman citizenship was less widespread in the Greek provinces than in the West. How the local elite in the Greek communities obtained Roman citizenship is not clear. As was pointed out by Sherwin-White in The Roman Citizenship, first published in 1939, there is no proof that Greeks holding offices in the poleis were granted Roman rights ex officio or upon entering the boulê. Instead, Sherwin-White suggested that Greeks obtained Roman citizenship as a favour or as a reward on the initiative of the governor or the emperor.17 The political elite in Greek poleis held citizenship in their home town and, as we have seen above, in other cities in the region. A political career at the local level did therefore not provide the ex-magistrate Roman status as was the case, at least theoretically, in the West, where a greater number of cities held Latin Right. Furthermore, it has been suggested that the lack of a direct link between tenure of magistracies in Greek cities and Roman citizenship meant that the local elite in the eastern provinces did not automatically obtain Roman rights.18 At the same time, the early spread of Roman citizenship among the local elite in the East could suggest that holders of some magistracies might have been awarded citizenship more systematically from the reign of Claudius onwards. That Pliny asked Trajan to grant citizenship to individuals with Greek names on a number of occasions does not, as has been argued by Sherwin-White, prove that Greeks generally obtained citizenship as a personal favour.19 In the few cases where Pliny asks Trajan to grant citizenship to individuals whom he thought deserved it, or full citizenship in the case of freedmen and freedwomen who at their manumission had received limited Roman citizenship with ties to their former owners, Pliny is referring to personal friends, acquaintances and clients and is not acting as the governor of Pontus and Bithynia.

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Eager to be Roman My recent illness, Sir, put me under an obligation to my doctor, Postumius Marius, to whom I can make an adequate return with your help, if you will grant my petition with your usual kindness. I pray you therefore to confer citizenship on his relatives, Chrysippus son of Mithridates, and on Stratonice, wife of Chrysippus, daughter of Epigonus, and Chrysippus’ two sons, Epigonus and Mithridates, with the privilege of retaining the rights of a patron over their freedmen, while remaining under their father’s authority. I pray you further to grant full Roman citizenship to Lucius Satrius Abascantus, Publius Caesius Phosphorus, and Pancharia Soteris; I make this request at the desire of their Patrons. (Pliny Ep. 10.11)20

From the few examples of Greeks bearing the names of Julian emperors, it seems fairly certain that the non-colonial cities in Pontus and Bithynia did not obtain Latin rights as part of the Pompeian or Augustan reorganisation. Names such as Cassius and Domitius suggest that in the republican period members of the local elite obtained Roman citizenship as a favour of Roman promagistrates and generals as a reward of their loyal service and local expertise as shown in the case of Cn. Pompeius Theophanes. A study of the distribution of imperial nomina gentilia in Bithynian cities has shown that ‘Claudius’ and ‘Flavius’ each occur more regularly as a nomen gentile than does ‘Iulius’, which may suggest that Claudius, perhaps Nero, and the Flavians focussed more on the distribution of citizenship than had previous emperors. Apart from ‘Aurelius’ – the name taken by those citizens who obtained civic rights as a result of Caracalla’s reform in 212 CE – Fernoux has demonstrated that the nomen gentile that appears most frequently in Bithynian cities was ‘Aelius’, the nomen gentile of Hadrian. As Hadrian visited Pontus and Bithynia in the early 120s the relatively high number of Aelii suggests that Hadrian, as part of the visit, granted citizenship to both individuals and larger groups, as in Claudiopolis, the home city of his lover Antinous, where twenty-five Aelii have been detected.21 Hadrian’s generosity in Bithynia supports the idea that provincials obtained Roman citizenship as a favour from the emperor. It seems evident that members of the Greek elite did not obtain Roman citizenship after having served as archon, the highest ranking college of magistrates in the city – as would have been in accordance with the practice of awarding citizenship to ex-duumviri in the western cities with Latin rights.22 That the local elite did not receive Roman citizenship after having served as archons is further supported by the case of Domitius, son of Aster, from Prusias ad Hypium who was elected first archon in the early third century CE.23 Contrary to the customary practice, there is no mention of a nomen gentile in the relevant phylê inscription. Despite his Roman name, it is unlikely that Domitius was a Roman citizen who chose not to appear as such in public. The same applies in the case of Quintus, son of

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Fig. 5. List of the imperial gentilicia attested in Bithynia, based on Fernoux 2004, 201.

Quintus, from Prusa who served as archon, but seems not to have held Roman civic rights.24 Domitius and Quintus both belonged to the political elite in their respective cities and it is therefore telling that they seem not to have been Roman citizens. Another possibility is that Roman citizenship was awarded to those who had served as first archons – prôtoi archontes. At the time the inscription was set up, Quintus had not yet served as first archon and Domitius would then go on to obtain his citizenship having served his term as first archon in Prusias ad Hypium. If this were the case, only a very limited number of local politicians could ever hope to obtain Roman citizenship by participating in local politics, but it would correspond with the low number of new Roman citizens to appear each year.25 Domitius’ and Quintus’ Roman rights could have been lost, but since their fathers also appeared without tria nomina it seems unlikely that they were born Roman citizens but lost their status while holding on to a privileged position in their cities. It could of course have been a personal choice not to obtain Roman rights or to appear publicly without them. But again, it is not entirely convincing that a member of the political class would deliberately decline improved rights or conceal the Roman status granted to him and his family on official inscriptions, particularly when Roman status did not challenge a person’s communitarian identity as a citizen of Prusias ad Hypium or as Greek. In any case, shifting emperors played a vital role in the spread of Roman citizenship in Pontus and Bithynia.26 In the end, Roman citizenship does not automatically suggest that the holder identified himself as Roman or felt a sense of belonging to the Roman collective. The legal, economic and political benefits Roman status granted to citizens could have been reason enough to aspire to Roman citizenship without any sense of loyalty or commitment to Rome. On the other hand, it should also be remembered that Roman citizenship not only provided the holder with membership of a collective with improved rights,

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Eager to be Roman but also represented a change in status from subject to a member of the empire’s ruling community; if not culturally, then socially, this would set him and his family apart from those without Roman citizenship. Whether provincials with Roman citizenship identified themselves as Roman in a cultural sense, or simply enjoyed the pragmatic benefits it conferred, is difficult to determine from their legal status alone. In order to get a clearer sense of whether individuals or groups identified themselves as Romans, it is necessary to look at other examples of affiliations to Roman institutions and collectives and the contexts in which they appear. One such context where members of the local elite could advertise their commitment to Roman collectives was through activities in the imperial cult, or by other ways of honouring the emperor. Affiliation to the emperor C. Cassius Chrestus provides a good example of local commitment to the emperor. From his sarcophagus found to the east of the city of Nicaea it appears that he served as sebastophant, archpriest and the city’s ambassador.27 As confirmed by an inscription on Nicaea’s eastern gate, C. Cassius Chrestus was involved in honouring the Flavian dynasty, when he, on behalf of M. Plancius Varus, who was proconsul at the time, dedicated a statue group of the Flavians on top of the city’s main entrance To the emperor and the imperial house and to Nicaea, first city of the province, the proconsul M. Plancius dedicated this through the agency of C. Cassius Chrestus, who set it up.28 (IK 9.25-8)

Another inscription set up on C. Cassius Chrestus’ own initiative, as part of the gate complex, refers to the same M. Plancius Varus. To M. Plancius Varus proconsul, patron of the city (from) his friend C. Cassius Chrestus. (IK 9.51)

The ability of C. Cassius Chrestus to fund a donation to M. Plancius Varus and his appearance on official inscriptions as the proconsul’s agent confirm his elevated position in Nicaea. His affiliation with Roman power and his support for the emperor are further suggested by his appointment as archpriest, sebastophant and Nicaea’s ambassador – all functions that were linked to the emperor. To those who knew him or may have remembered his activities in the imperial cult, or noticed his name in relation to the governor and emperor, Chrestus is likely to have appeared as a member of the Roman community whose support for the emperor and Roman order was unequivocal. A similar example comes from Heraclea Pontica:

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Fig. 6. The eastern gate at Nicaea. To good fortune. By decision of the provincial council and the home-city, Claudia Licinnia and Claudia Saturnina (honour) the well-born and magnanimous archpriestess of the divine Antoninus and the generous ‘Queen’ and Vestal of the city, Claudia Saturnina, daughter of Claudius Domitius and their aunt, by terms of the will of the father, Claudius Domitius.29 (IK 47.1)

In his will Claudius Domitius made arrangements to honour his daughter Claudia Saturnina, who in a Greek inscription appears as the well-born (eugeneia) and magnanimous archpriestess of the cult of the divine Antoninus Pius.30 There is no mention of Claudius Domitius’ political activities, but his daughter’s high position in the city’s imperial cult and the fact that she is referred to as well-born indicate that the family was among the elite in Heraclea. The use of Roman names by the female members points to a local family’s attempt to adopt Roman customs. Women normally got their name from their father’s nomen gentile in a feminine form. That all three females were named Claudia suggests therefore that Claudius was the family’s nomen gentile and that Roman legal rights had been obtained in the reign of either Claudius or Nero. As indicated by the reference to Pontic koinon, Claudia Saturnina was archpriestess of the Pontic imperial cult leaving little doubt about the family’s Roman status and loyal support for the imperial institution.

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Fig. 7. The sarcophagus of G. Cassius Chrestus in Nicaea.

Two similar inscriptions from Prusa add to the picture of a Bithynian and Pontic elite eager to appear publicly as active members of the imperial cult. The first example is that of Quintus’ son Quintus, who served as sebastophant in what is likely to have been the imperial cult in Prusa.31 The lack of a nomen gentile suggests that Quintus had not obtained Roman citizenship at the time the inscription was set up. There is, however, no reason to question Quintus’ relation to the political elite in Prusa, where he served as archon and agoranomos. Even though Quintus was not a Roman citizen, the coming of Rome did have an influence both on him and on his family, as is illustrated by the use of Roman names across two generations. Quintus was not Roman in the legal sense of the word and may not have identified himself as such in a cultural sense. Yet his affiliation to Rome and the emperor was clear enough from his engagement in imperial worship; his example therefore illustrates that members of the local elite could and did work to associate themselves with Roman institutions without being legally Roman. A further piece of relevant evidence from Prusa is a damaged honorific decree: … the [ ]arch and pontarch and two times priest of the emperor, agonothetês, logistês for life of (the famous city X).32

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4. Turning Roman in Pontus and Bithynia From the unfinished Greek inscription it appears that the honorand in question served as Pontarch, maybe Bithyniarch, and was twice appointed priest of the emperor (hiereus tou Sebastou). Bithyniarch and Pontarch were priesthoods linked both to the imperial cult and to the koina in Pontus and Bithynia. As confirmed by the epigraphic material, both Bithyniarch and archiereus (the archpriest of the imperial cult) were related to the cult and its temples, but it has been vigorously debated whether archiereus was another term for Pontarch, Bithyniarch or Asiarch, or whether the two titles covered two different functions in the imperial cult.33 In support of the latter theory is the inscription set up in the honour of M. Aurelius Alexander from Amastris. Here it appears that Alexander served as archiereus for Pontus, and as both Bithyniarch and Pontarch, which effectively rules out the idea that archiereus and Pontarch were the same office.34 Based on Strabo’s remark that Asiarchs were considered among the leading men of the province of Asia, it has been convincingly argued that the position of Bithyniarch was the leading office in the Bithynian koinon under which the archpriest ranked, a claim which finds further support in the observation that a large number of Bithyniarchs belonged to the equestrian order while archpriests did not always hold Roman rights.35 Despite the missing names, from the appointments as Bithyniarch, Pontarch and logistês it seems reasonable to assume that the anonymous priest was a Roman citizen, who may have been a member of the equestrian order. His appointment in the imperial cult and as logistês for life clearly shows the priest’s affiliation to Roman power and his membership of the Roman community. As Rome’s accountant in the provincial administration, it was his task to represent Rome against the interests of the neighbouring cities. The inscription therefore suggests that our priest was a member of the Prusian elite, who was keen to advertise his membership of Roman collectives and institutions. Not only did he serve in the most prestigious offices in the province, among whose major duties was the province’s celebration of the imperial family, he also presented himself as two-time priest of the imperial cult, probably in Prusa itself, as well as logistês. The material from Prusias ad Hypium also testifies to the political elite’s advertisement of their achievements in the imperial cult and in the provincial administration. T. Flavius Domitianus Nestor is an example of a member of Prusias ad Hypium’s political elite who was part of both Greek and Roman institutions. From the phylê inscription celebrating his appointment as first archon, it appears that T. Flavius Domitianus Nestor served as Bithyniarch and sebastophant as well as priest and agonothetês of Olympian Zeus.36 That T. Flavius Domitianus Nestor was keen to display his active role in the imperial cult is further suggested by another inscription set up by Nestor himself in honour of his father, where he uses the opportunity to mention his appointments as Bithyniarch and sebasto-

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Eager to be Roman phant.37 M. Aurelius Philippianus Iason, also from Prusias ad Hypium, was a member of the elite who was keen to announce his affiliation to the emperor. Besides being celebrated as first archon in 211, M. Aurelius Philippianus Iason was honoured for having appeared in front of Septimius Severus.38 Like Nestor, Iason was involved in the cult to the gods in the Greek pantheon as confirmed by his appointment as agonothetês and priest of Zeus. M. Aurelius Asclepiodotianus Asclepiades was another illustrious member of Prusias ad Hypium’s elite who was honoured for his relationship with Elagabal, whom he presumably met when the emperor spent the winter of 218-19 in Nicomedia.39 In addition he was honoured as first archon, presumably sometime between 219 and 221 CE, priest and agonothetês of Zeus, koinon member for life, and both censor and logistês. As such, M. Aurelius Asclepiodotianus Asclepiades is another example from the Prusian elite whose traditional career in the city magistracy and role as priest to Zeus are mentioned together with his appointments in the provincial administration and the honour of having met the emperor in person. Another first archon from the same period is Claudius Iulianus Asclepiodotos, whose appearance in front of Septimius Severus and Caracalla is mentioned together with the honour of being favoured by M. Aurelius Antoninus (Elagabal).40 Because the last part of the inscription is missing, it is not possible to determine whether Asclepiodotos held any priestshood in the imperial cult, but the beginning of the decree confirms that he did serve as agonothetês for both the Olympic Zeus and Asclepios Soter. The references to the embassy to Severus and the relationship with Elagabal confirm his affiliation to the emperor and to Roman power in more general terms. The general picture derived from the inscriptions discussed above is that the local elite in Pontus and Bithynia admired Roman power and authority. C. Cassius Chrestus was keen to show his close relationship to M. Plancius Varus, who he claimed was his friend and whose donation of a statue group he carried out. His funerary inscription, stating his career as sebastophant, archpriest and ambassador, suggests that he wished to be remembered as a faithful supporter of the emperor. In Heraclea, Claudius Domitius arranged for an inscription to be set up in the city mentioning his daughter’s appointment as the archpriestess to Antoninus Pius. In Prusa, Quintus, a local member of the elite, was sebastophant and an anonymous member of the elite served as Bithyniarch, Pontarch and logistês, indicating both his elevated social status and his position as a responsible figure within the practice of emperor-worship. A similar picture emerges from Prusias ad Hypium, where the phylarchs celebrating the first archons treated the honour of having met the emperor and appointments in the provincial administration and imperial cult with pride and respect. Together these examples reveal that members of the Pontic and Bithynian elite from the first to the third century were keen to display

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4. Turning Roman in Pontus and Bithynia their activities in Roman collectives to the local public and thereby their affiliation to Rome and Roman power. How representative these examples are of the elite in general is an obvious question to ask. Alone these few examples do not permit us to conclude that the elite in Pontus and Bithynia were all affiliated to Roman collectives or felt they belonged to the Roman sphere in the way Aristides suggested in his speech to Antoninius Pius (Aristides To Rome 63). On the other hand, the inscriptions were all set up in Greek, which enabled the larger part of the population to understand and appreciate their achievements. The decision to present as an honour a meeting with the emperor or appointments in the imperial cult is based on the expectation that a Greek audience would regard Roman citizenship and participation in elite Roman culture as prestigious. The prestige associated with Rome in Pontus and Bithynia is also confirmed by Dio Chrysostom, who claimed friendship with the emperor and an understanding with the governor in order to persuade the Prusans of his ability to improve the cities’ standing (Dio Chrys. Or. 45.2). Also, when put under pressure by his political opponents in Prusa, Dio refers to his understanding with the governor, expecting that this will earn him respect in the audience and settle criticism from his peers in the Prusan elite (Dio Chrys. Or. 40.5-6). Whether Dio was in fact a friend to Nerva and the governor is here of less importance. The point is that Dio could expect his audience to find such friendships prestigious, which corresponds well with the expectations of his contemporary C. Cassius Chrestus from Nicaea when he chose to present himself on the city gate as the friend of M. Plancius Varus. The examples of magistrates who chose to record the merits of friends and relatives in Roman institutions as part of their own achievements further underline the prestige of Roman associations. The first archon Titius Ulpius Aelianus Papianus from Prusias ad Hypium is one such local magistrate who announced his father’s appointment as logistês in the record of his own political career.41 Another example, also from Prusias ad Hypium, is M. Domitius Paulianus Falco, who states that his father served as logistês.42 Another way of recording honours achieved by family members and friends in Roman institutions was through private dedications. T. Flavius Domitianus Nestor honoured the appointment of his father, another T. Flavius Domitianus Nestor, as sebastophant;43 and in yet another example from Prusias ad Hypium, T. Ulpius Papianus honoured his friend, T. Claudius Piso, for his administrative and religious appointments as sebastophant and logistês in the city of Nicomedia.44 It is clear that involvement in emperor-worship was a task highly appreciated by the civic community. Festivals and sacrifices were expensive, as was the dedication of statues and honorific decrees; these would cost considerably more than the average inhabitant could afford. It should therefore be recognised that the admiration and appreciation of participation in the imperial cult were signs of gratitude for taking on the

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Eager to be Roman management of the cult – an important duty both for the city’s relationship with Rome and the emperor, and as part of the competition between individual cities in the province. Thus it should be remembered that local appreciation of activities in the imperial cult and other initiatives to honour the emperor might have been the city’s way of saying thank you for solving a recurrent problem. On the other hand, it is equally clear that activities in the imperial cult, particularly at the highest level, should hardly be considered a sign of scepticism, opposition or indifference towards Rome, the emperor as an institution or of the Roman presence as a whole. To participate in worship of the emperor or to provide other honours to the emperor was to display the affiliation and loyalty of those involved. Not only were Bithyniarch and Pontarch in Pontus and Bithynia always Roman citizens, they were often equites and thereby belonged to the Roman elite. Furthermore, if a logistês was comparable to the Latin curator rei publicae and appointed from the equestrian order, members of this group would have belonged not only to the highest level of the local elite, but also to the higher levels of Roman society.45 Roman names, status and identity Use of Roman names was another way that members of the local community could show their commitment to the Roman collective. Again the material from Prusias ad Hypium is valuable for its many instances of locals who appear with tria nomina; however, it should be noted that the inscriptions date to the period from the late second century to the first half of the third century CE, when the city had been under Roman rule for centuries and the reforms of Caracalla in 212 had increased the number of individuals with Roman legal rights.46 Still, the picture provided by the epigraphic material from Prusias ad Hypium indicates that the local community responded to influence from Rome by adopting Roman names. An interesting example of the adoption of Roman customs is the use of Roman names for the family’s female members, who could not have had any direct political influence. Again, it is important to underline that the references to women with Roman names should not be analysed quantitatively in an attempt to determine the percentage of women with Greek and Roman names. Instead, the spread of Roman names to women should be used qualitatively as examples of how Roman names found their way into the naming practices of the local population. In the cities Apamea and Sinope, Roman names such as Gellia Tertia and Rascania Prima, both from Apamea,47 and Aelia Cornelia, the wife of Vibullius Theseus, from Sinope, appear.48 To judge from the name Aelia Cornelia, this woman was from either a Roman veteran family, who brought the name to Sinope from Italy, or a family of local origin that obtained Roman status in the reign of (Aelius) Hadrian. Similar examples also from Sinope are Veturia Alexandria, who set up a funerary relief to

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4. Turning Roman in Pontus and Bithynia her husband Veturius Callinicus,49 and Antonina Sabina, the wife of Gaius the sculptor.50 That female members of a family were given Roman names can be expected to be more common in the colonies, where a relatively large number of Roman families might be expected to provide a tradition of women with Roman names. However this was not limited to the colonies. The daughter Claudia Saturnina and granddaughters Claudia Saturnina and Claudia Licinnia of Claudius Domitius from Heraclea, had unmistakably Roman names.51 A similar case arises with Aelia Antigeneia from Prusa.52 Women with Roman names were also a well-known phenomenon in Claudiopolis, where Marcia Domitia,53 Aelia Magna,54 Aelia Antipatris55 and Flavia Valentia56 are examples of local families who named their daughters after Roman practice. Traditionally women did not appear with praenomen in the Hellenistic and Roman period but were given a name deriving from the father’s nomen gentile or cognomen. From the beginning of the first century BCE women began to appear with cognomina and the boundaries between praenomen and cognomina started to dissolve. With the reintroduction of a binominal naming system in the third century Roman women appeared regularly with a combination of nomina gentilia and cognomina.57 The combination of a nomen gentile and a second name, whether Latin or Greek, indicates that the fathers had Roman nomina gentilia and thereby Roman citizenship, but as nomina gentilia from the imperial house became more and more common, it may have been a practical solution, at least up until the mid-third century CE, to give daughters a second Greek or Roman name, particularly if there were several daughters in the family. Another way to underline a family’s Roman status was to provide all family members with three Roman names in imitation of the tria nomina, which according to Roman tradition were given to the male members of a family only. In Pontus and Bithynia, for instance, Tiberia Claudia Aureliana Archelais from Heraclea appears with three Roman names, suggesting that she and her family possessed Roman legal rights, and a Greek cognomen, which may originate from her father’s patronymikon.58 Two similar examples, this time from Prusias ad Hypium, are Ulpia Titia Fadilliane Artemonis59 and Flavia Domitia Artemonis,60 both with patronymic endings after a Greek cognomen.61 To give tria nomina to female members of the family was a clean break with Roman tradition. But the use of tria nomina with a recognisable Latin nomen gentile is a clear indication of the individual’s and the family’s eagerness to emphasise their Roman status in public. If the preservation of Greek culture had been a central issue for these families it would have been more appropriate to give females, without political opportunities, Greek names and to retain Greek traditions. To allocate tria nomina to a family’s female members illustrates that Roman names were more than just a pragmatic attempt by the politically active elite to demonstrate their legal status. A family of Greeks with Roman citizenship had no legal or

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Eager to be Roman political obligation to give its female members Roman cognomina. The application of Roman names to women was the families’ deliberate choice, which signals either that Latin names had become an integral part of Greek naming traditions or, perhaps more likely, that these particular families were keen to show not only their Roman legal status but also that they identified themselves as Roman. As such, there is not necessarily a relationship between a woman’s Roman name and her status as a Roman citizen. A woman with the name Prima62 may have originated from a family with Roman status just as Tiberia Claudia Aureliana Archelais. In practice, however, there are examples from Pontus and Bithynia where women with Roman names had fathers with only a single Greek or Roman name and thus presumably were not Roman citizens.63 Apart from examples where women have both Latin names and fathers who did not have Roman citizenship, there are several examples of grave inscriptions written in Greek, where the deceased had a single Roman name followed by the father’s name in the genitive: Paulinus son of Lucius from Nicaea (IK 9.125). Sabinus son of Sabinus from Nicaea (IK 9.171). Marcianus son of Marcus from Prusias ad Hypium (IK 27.1). Domitius son of Aster from Prusias ad Hypium (IK 27.2). Gaius son of Polion from Prusa (IK 39.120). Lucius son of Callicles from Prusa (IK 39.131). Rufinus son of Damocritos from Prusa (IK 39.158).

The adoption of Roman names by what seems to be the non-Roman part of the population should presumably be seen, at least in cities without colonial status, as an imitation of the local elite rather than an attempt to imitate Roman representatives. Still, this practice illustrates that Roman names penetrated into various levels of Greek communities beyond the elite, as suggested by the use of Roman names in families where the fathers were not Roman citizens.64 The adoption of Roman names in the part of the population that stood outside the elite indicates that the influence of Rome penetrated deep into the provincial community. For these men, the use of Roman names was hardly a strategy to flatter Roman officials. Representatives from Rome who visited the city were unlikely to have shown the slightest interest in the non-Roman non-elite part of the community. Instead, it is more likely that the non-Roman part of the population, outside the local elite, saw Roman names as a symbol of status and political allegiance, as well as of power and prestige, and out of admiration for this status used Roman names for their sons. This integrated use of Greek and Roman names is further illustrated by various examples in which fathers with Roman names give their sons Greek names.65 Such alternations between Greek and Roman names indicate that the use of a Roman name like Gaius, Sabinus or Paulus was not necessarily a clear statement of the holder’s or his family’s desire to be

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4. Turning Roman in Pontus and Bithynia perceived as Roman. Instead, it suggests that Roman names had been adopted into the body of names used by Greeks of various social levels in a response to the introduction of Roman legal rights and the use of Roman names by the elite. No doubt the use of Roman names was far from always a conscious choice made to state a family’s or person’s Roman identity, particularly in cases outside the well-educated and culturally conscious elite. Still, the use of Roman names reflects the effect Roman culture had on the Bithynian and Pontic community, and provides a picture of widespread adoption and incorporation of Roman practices into one of the most important means of expressing individual identity in antiquity. Roman identity and Greek pragmatism One possible objection to the interpretation that Greek participation in Roman institutions, imitation of Roman behaviour, and use of Roman names were means of displaying commitment to the Roman collective is that such behaviour could have been a pragmatic response intended to flatter the Roman authorities. In this respect, cultural and political interactions between the Roman world and the Greek elite were diplomatic, with little if any influence on cultural self-consciousness in the wider Greek population.66 This argument may find some support in the view that the tria nomina in the Greek provinces before 212 CE seem to have been limited mostly to the elite and the view that the constellation in which Greek names often appear as cognomina in the tria nomina could suggest that individuals wished to accentuate their Greek identity. The slow spread of Roman citizenship might even have been more noticeable in Pontus and Bithynia, where boulê members were not awarded Roman citizenship and where military service was not an obvious choice as no legions were stationed in Pontus and Bithynia or in Asia. Yet despite the less widespread distribution of Roman citizenship in Bithynian and Pontic cities, Roman status was still well received by the local elite, at least from the second half of the first century CE onwards, where local Romans strongly advertised their Roman status in public. The combination of Roman and Greek names is another element that may indicate conservation or protection of a Greek identity. A Greek cognomen was often incorporated in the formula of the tria nomina and is likely to have been the name used on a daily basis. One example of a man with tria nomina who was known by his Greek name is Quintus Valerius Rufus, known as Philippus.67 We do not know if Philippus was exceptional in this respect, but it may be the case that other Greeks with tria nomina continued to be called by their Greek names, while the Roman names were used mainly in a public context in honorific decrees and other public inscriptions. As Roman tria nomina were adopted, Greeks with Roman citizenship often abandoned their Greek patronymikon and used their Greek name as cognomen.68 Alternatively, they may have taken four

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Eager to be Roman names, quattuor nomina, where the last name in Greek may have been a patronymikon,69 which altogether may be taken to prove a family’s decision to underline its roots in the Greek tradition. The integration of a Greek patronymikon into tria nomina as in Ulpia Titia Fadiliane Artemonis, where the final syllable in Artemonis presumably refers to the father’s name, may well have been intended to advertise familial relations more than ethnic identity. Instead, what is likely is that the use of Ulpia Titia Fadiliane Artemonis indicates the family’s ambition to appear as a part of the Roman sphere in Prusias ad Hypium.70 That the family sought to show its affiliation and membership of the Roman community is further underlined by the name of Ulpia Titia Fadiliane Artemonis’ son, Ulpius Titus Calpurnianus Fado, who was a member of the equestrian order. The reference to an older family member, another Ulpius Titus Calpurnianus Fado, also appears in the inscription as Bithyniarch and logistês. Had it been important for the family here to appear as a conservative Greek family with firm roots in Greek traditions and largely indifferent towards what Roman collectives had to offer, it is unlikely that Ulpia Titia Fadiliane Artemonis would have appeared in an inscription with an elaborate Roman name and a list of her family’s achievements in the Roman administration. If a Roman appearance was regarded as an attempt to flatter the imperial authorities in order to obtain various favours, it is not obvious why members of the local elite would have paraded such claims within the local context of Greek cities. In such a context, it would have been easier and less controversial to use a Greek name and write the inscription according to Greek traditions: yet it seems these combinations of Greek and Roman inscriptional traditions were designed for local consumption. The adoption of Roman names by locals who had Roman citizenship and by the larger part of the population without Roman rights, and the use of Roman names by female members of the family, even in imitation (and extension) of tria nomina conventions, suggest that Roman status and a sense of belonging to the Roman collective were regarded as prestigious. The appearance of Roman names outside the political class is a strong indication that there was more behind the use of Roman names than flattery or pragmatic strategies to win the favour from Roman representatives. It is not very likely that Roman officials paid much attention to the various inscriptions in cities they visited, though as they passed through they could orientate themselves by reading inscriptions and gain some sense of the city’s social and political hierarchy. In a situation where a local individual appealed before a Roman governor to their ancestors’ status (to resolve legal matters), the most authoritative evidence to which the enquiry could turn would be documentary sources based on a birth registration introduced as part of Augustus’ social legislation compulsory to all Roman citizens. In return the family received a wooden diptych certifying the citizenship. New citizens, on the other hand,

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4. Turning Roman in Pontus and Bithynia received a letter from the Roman warrant briefly stating the holder’s status, while soldiers after having served in the auxiliary were given a bronze diptych, a diploma civitatis.71 That most funerary and honorific inscriptions were written in Greek rather than Latin further suggests an audience of locals rather than of Roman officials, who would have been more impressed by a Latin text. As Greek was highly regarded by and well known to most members of the Roman elite and as more and more Roman magistrates serving on all levels in the Roman administration had a Greek background, the use of Latin might not have been necessary in order to appear Roman. As the inscriptions were intended to honour and celebrate the life and achievements of the honoured or deceased and to direct positive attention towards those responsible for setting them up, it is reasonable to assume that in the Pontic and Bithynian cities, significant prestige was attached to Roman status and service in the various kinds of Roman institutions and administration. Instead of understanding these public displays of names, status and achievements in Roman collectives as a matter of flattery without any sincere feeling of shared identity with the Roman community, they should be seen as a matter of social status and prestige. As the civic population largely conducted local politics by itself, it is difficult to see why members of the political elite would present themselves as active members of the Roman community if such activities were not admired in the context in which they appeared. For the part of the local population who had Roman citizenship but did not pursue a career in Roman institutions or politics, Roman citizenship still provided improved legal and political rights. From the first century CE onwards, governors and other Roman officials in Greek provinces were recruited from among Roman citizens with Greek backgrounds72 and later appeared in some of the most prestigious offices in the imperial administration. By the late second century the history of Roman occupation in Pontus and Bithynia had witnessed a transformation in the concept of Roman identity: the first governors had been Italian aristocrats from Rome, but the last could be drawn from senators of Greek origin. Over time, the essence of what it meant to be Roman had shifted from an identity premised on ethnicity to the more negotiable dynamics of social and political status. Roman culture did not replace that of the Greeks, nor did the population cease to see themselves as Greek. Greek religion maintained its dominant role in the civic community, as indicated by the various magistrates in the local administration honoured as priests of the Olympian gods. Greek continued as the official language, as demonstrated in official inscriptions in non-colonial cities. Even in the colonies, Greek is likely to have remained the dominant language in the private context, as indicated by

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Eager to be Roman funerary inscriptions in which individuals with full Roman tria nomina were commemorated in Greek. The Greek and Roman worlds continued to be two separate cultures with different values, but as time passed the line between them softened. In the elite in particular, cultural exchange took place as Romans took an interest in the intellectual aspects of Greek culture, and Greeks joined Roman institutions and administration, both locally and at the imperial level. Rome and Roman status came to symbolise power both at the imperial level, as a magistrate in Rome or a promagistrate in imperial administration, and at local level, represented by priests in the imperial cult or logistai. Members of the local elite who chose to record their Roman status and belonging to the Roman sphere did not do so to flatter Roman officials, who were hardly their main audience for such public appearances in the local communities where the inscriptions appeared. Instead, it is more convincing to accept that the political elite recorded their Roman status and activities in the Roman administration as a way of demonstrating a sense of belonging to the imperial elite and distancing themselves socially from the rest of the population. As Roman status and participation in Roman institutions did not collide with Greek cultural heritage, appearance as part of the machinery of provincial administration or other Roman institutions is likely to have represented a genuine desire by the local elite to be seen as Roman.

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5

Responses to Roman Rule The general attitude to Roman rule in Pontus and Bithynia is best seen as a spectrum, with total acceptance and total rejection as the two extremes. This chapter will focus mainly on the negative approach – criticism of Rome – as it has been the centre of modern scholarly debate on this important issue. This needs to be balanced with criticism in the Latin West and Rome itself. Criticism of rulers, of institutions, and of politics in general is an integral part of life in most societies, and this was certainly the case also in Rome, but only under very extreme circumstances does criticism of government lead to revolt or what might be described as direct opposition. The problems in reconstructing and quantifying these voices are considerable; this chapter will discuss the phenomenon of criticism of Rome in Pontus and Bithynia by viewing it in its context. The enthusiasm among members of the local elite for presenting themselves as Roman and emphasising their careers in various Roman institutions, treated in the previous chapter, can easily be assumed to represent the wider provincial society. But the extrapolation from the record of a philo-Roman part of the community to a reconstruction of a unified acceptance of Roman culture and rule across the whole is problematic. First, funerary and honorific inscriptions indicate individuals’ decisions to engage in the particular Roman institutions, not a preference for positioning themselves outside Roman culture; they do not constitute a likely medium for expressions of any opposition to Rome. Secondly, those appearing in public inscriptions were already part of Roman institutions and collectives and therefore presumably felt a sense of belonging to the Roman sphere in one way or another. Even if, as we shall see below, members of the local elite were sceptical towards the coming of Rome and expressed this elsewhere, it is not in epigraphic evidence that we should expect to find any critique of Roman rule. A notorious characteristic of Classical scholarship is its dependence on elite sources; the voices of political dissidents can be as elusive as those of other groups, such as women, the poor, slaves, children or foreigners. Outside the world of Roman politics, institutions and administration, a group of people existed whose attitude to Rome is difficult to ascertain, either because they lacked the means or the will to establish an enduring record of their attitude, or because they deliberately chose not to engage in Roman institutions. Besides, the vocal nature of political opposition, whether publicly or privately expressed, would leave little trace in a body

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Eager to be Roman of evidence that is predominantly textual. Trajan’s concern that the firemen’s guild might develop into political opposition, or the criticism of Roman imperialism attributed by Tacitus to Calgacus, are rare glimpses of opposition preserved in text (Pliny Ep. 10.33-4, Tac. Agr. 30-2.14). It is therefore to be expected that in Pontus and Bithynia, apart from the pro-Roman elite who took the opportunity to join the dominant political community, there would have been dissident voices within and outside the elite, who expressed their opposition to Roman rule in a variety of ways and contexts. How many and how large these groups were in relation to those who held Roman civic rights and saw themselves as belonging to the Roman community is irrecoverable. Furthermore, it is reasonable to assume that even groups with a generally positive view of Rome would criticise some aspects of Roman rule or, as in the case of Dio Chrysostom (discussed below), alter their views of Rome and Roman power over time. The only serious revolt against Roman order in Pontus and Bithynia took place in 47 BCE under Caesar’s dictatorship, when Sinope and Amisus supported the invasion of Pontus by Pharnaces, son of Mithridates VI. But the part played in the war by Sinope and Amisus is more likely to have been motivated by an offer from Pharnakes that could not be refused rather than by Pontic opposition to Roman rule per se. Amisus’ and Sinope’s reluctance to rebel against Rome is further illustrated by Caesar’s later clementia, especially towards Amisus, which, unlike Sinope, was not turned into a colony.1 Apart from this very limited armed resistance, there was also more peaceful opposition found in the writing of Greek intellectuals of the imperial period. For, just as with Tacitus’ Calgacus, where a voice of dissent can appear despite the elite nature of the source, so too in the pages of writers such as Dio Chrysostom, traces of opposition to Roman rule can be discerned. Although still elite, it is the inherent reflectiveness of this type of literary evidence that differentiates it from the elite epigraphic record and makes it most valuable for the purposes of this enquiry. A literary record has a capacity for commentary that epigraphy lacks, for instance, Dio Chrysostom’s criticism of Roman luxury and lack of education (Dio Chrys. Or. 13.29-31) or Pausanias’ criticism of the way Roman generals treated Greek cities that had not shown any hostility towards the Roman invasion (Pausanias 7.8.2.). However, these critical comments on the Roman empire are hardly typical of Greek literature of the period: the literature produced by Greek intellectuals between the first and third centuries CE focuses on the Greek past, particularly the fifth and fourth centuries BCE, in genre, style and theme. Since Philostratus, writing at the turn of the second century CE, this archaising focus on Greek culture has been known as the ‘Second Sophistic’. Most Greek intellectuals of this period focussed their attention on the Greek past.2 At times, as we have seen above, these writers also

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5. Responses to Roman Rule expressed some scepticism about aspects of Roman society and rule, and it is these aspects that will dominate this chapter. Compared with armed resistance, this intellectual scepticism is very complex. The vast majority of Greek intellectuals who expressed criticism towards various aspects of Roman rule were Roman citizens. In several cases, Greek intellectuals of the period were involved directly in various Roman institutions or enjoyed friendship with members of the ruling elite in Rome. Dio Chrysostom, who criticised Rome and Greeks aiming for Roman honour, also claimed friendship with governors and emperors; Arrian, who in his literary production did not focus much on Rome, served as an army officer, promagistrate and governor; and Cassius Dio, on the whole a supporter of the principate and Roman rule, criticised incompetent emperors.3 However, in each case the complexity of these authors’ criticisms of Roman society and rulers, with their specific applications and generic contexts, is such that any isolated critical appraisal need not be equated with opposition to Roman rule generally. A different conceptualisation of the ‘Second Sophistic’ presents the period as a literary phenomenon or movement in which authors were devoted to the linguistic and literary preoccupations of fifth-century BCE Athens and presented this knowledge in a highly developed rhetorical performance, but were not interested in questions of a Greek challenge to Roman culture.4 This definition has the advantage of not combining the indisputable interest in Greek literary and cultural heritage with an element of cultural opposition to Rome. Philostratus defined the ‘Second Sophists’ as Greek intellectuals in the imperial period whose main interests were to practise and teach rhetoric. This coinage was premised upon the ‘First Sophists’ of the fifth century BCE, men such as Protagoras and Gorgias, who were described as travelling intellectuals who taught politics, philosophy and rhetorical skills to the Athenian elite. Although there were noticeable exceptions, such as Herodes Atticus from Athens and Polemo from Smyrna, both with a clear focus on power, many in Philostratus’ second generation of sophists were more interested in performance than in securing political influence.5 Philostratus’ Lives of the Sophists gives the impression that the art of rhetoric had turned into a game or intellectual competition and had become a symbol of cultural knowledge (paideia).6 Sophistry in the imperial period had come to symbolise an art form, where intellectuals performed and competed for recognition. Some of these intellectuals spoke on serious matters and were well prepared, but part of the tradition of the Second Sophistic was to demonstrate the ability to speak on any given subject without preparation.7 Aelius Aristides is mentioned as a man who did not orate spontaneously but offered to receive any theme and declaim on it the following day.8 There is, as has been pointed out by Tim Whitmarsh in his The Second Sophistic (2005), a certain lightness to the ‘Second Sophistic’ tradition, where linguistic

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Eager to be Roman style and rhetorical method had become more important than deeper knowledge of the subject itself.9 Even though Greek literature from the Classical period onwards had always been a major source of inspiration for both Greek and Roman writers, the focus on rhetorical skills and the promotion of Greek language inspired by the language used in fifth-century BCE Athens is likely to have strengthened the notion of Greek literature and cultural heritage as a whole. One reason for the increased interest in the roots of Greek culture may have been a response to the various changes brought about first by the Macedonian empire and later by subjection to Roman rule. In the Hellenistic age, as koinê Greek developed and became the predominant language, classical Greek underwent changes. Writers such as Polybius and Strabo used koinê Greek in academic circles, but it was also the language used by writers with less literary ambitions, such as the evangelists, and it became the common language spoken by the uneducated part of the population. In the imperial period, as knowledge of classical Greek deteriorated, Attic Greek became the language of distinction, which members of the intellectual elite used to demonstrate their higher level of education and cultural excellence.10 The Second Sophistic tradition focused on old Greek values and is ultimately an expression of an attempt to develop a collective sense of belonging rooted in a time when it was believed that the Greek world had been in its prime. Intellectual interest in the Greek past and the fact that some of these same authors profoundly criticised aspects of Roman rule and culture have led to the impression that the negative attitude towards Rome represented a more general Greek opposition to Roman culture.11 According to this interpretation, it seems likely that a literary tradition celebrating an invented Golden Age developed as a response to a period in which knowledge of the Greek past and its cultural heritage was under severe pressure from Roman political, economic and cultural influences. And even though it is easy to overestimate the right to speak freely under Trajan, Hadrian and the Antonine emperors, it seems reasonable that the emperors from Trajan to Marcus Aurelius did tolerate a higher degree of criticism than Domitian had done, particularly when directed towards the previous dynasty.12 Pliny’s panegyric presents itself as an example of the ability to speak, if not bluntly, then at least freely to the emperor. In the speech, given at the beginning of Pliny’s consulship in 100, Trajan is reminded of his dependence on the senate and that he should see himself as subject to the law. As was affirmed by the lex de Imperio Vespasiani, the princeps could act above the law as his predecessors had done before him. As pointed out already, it may have been in Trajan’s own interests to appear as someone who acted under the law and thereby mark the difference between Domitian and himself. But that Pliny addressed the subject testifies to a new atmosphere between the senate and the princeps.13 Despite its focus on various aspects of Greek culture at its peak, the

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5. Responses to Roman Rule Second Sophistic was not necessarily a response to the influence of the Roman empire. As will be discussed in this chapter, criticism by various Greek intellectuals of impossible emperors, worship of the living ruler, gladiatorial combats, luxurious living and other trappings of Roman culture was matched by Roman intellectuals as well. That Roman intellectuals, who like their Greek peers belonged to society’s aristocracy, formulated a similar critique, indicates that criticism of the emperor and the institutions surrounding him or the Roman population as a whole need not have been culturally motivated, but may have been politically or socially determined. Also, the idea that criticism in literary texts was in general an ethnic preference or indicative of cultural opposition to Roman rule needs to be readdressed. As well as the cultural, political and social differences between the authors, we must take into account the possibility that the individual experiences each writer had of Roman authorities affected the ways in which he reflected on and described Rome. This does not mean that the views of different Greek writers did not have a general appeal among the intellectual elite or in the Greek community in general. What it does mean, however, is that the authors’ negative or positive attitudes to Rome and particularly to its representatives were decisive for the way Roman rule was presented by the intellectuals individually. Bithynia was the place of origin for three noticeable and widely read Greek intellectuals whose work survives in large quantities: Dio Chrysostom, Arrian of Nicomedia and Cassius Dio of Nicaea. These authors wrote between the late first and the first quarter of the third century, long after the provinces had been established and after Greeks had begun to participate in imperial administration and had been admitted to the senate on a more regular basis. Another intellectual from Bithynia, Asclepiades from Myrleia, Apamea or Nicaea, was the author of several works including studies of Bithynia and Alexander the Great, and Memnon from Heraclea published a larger study of the history of his home town and of Bithynian history. It is unusual to be able to use the works of three Greek intellectuals from the same Roman province when considering issues of Roman rule: this trio provides an opportunity to see how Greek intellectuals from Bithynia responded to the increasing influence of Roman institutions as well as how they experienced the increasing cultural interaction between the Greek and Roman worlds. Dio Chrysostom: a bitter patriot Dio Chrysostom was born in the middle of the first century CE in Prusa and grew up in a wealthy family; his mother’s side in particular was highly placed within the city and in Rome, and his maternal grandfather had had some sort of dealings with the emperor, presumably Claudius (Dio Chrys. Or. 41,6, 46.6).14 Dio began his literary production in the 70s with the

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Eager to be Roman Rhodian (Or. 31), Alexandrian (Or. 32) and Trojan speeches (Or. 11). The speech held after the corn riot in Prusa (Or. 46), where Dio’s house is attacked, and the two speeches on Melancomas (Or. 28-9) have also been dated to the period before he was sent into exile by Domitian in 82 CE.15 This exile lasted for about sixteen years, after which Dio was recalled by the emperor Nerva. His literary work continued under Trajan, and he probably died in the second decade of the second century. His work contains more than seventy speeches and philosophical dialogues on a vast range from sophistic exercises to more serious matters, from local politics about relationships between Bithynian cities to advice to Trajan about imperial rule. Altogether, Dio’s publications offer a valuable understanding of how a Bithynian intellectual, who was also a member of the political elite in Prusa, experienced the rule of Rome and the institutions that followed and, although he suffered some significant disappointments, his speeches offer rare and valuable insights into key events, providing some idea of how the part of the elite who had no glorious career to advertise experienced Roman authority. Not surprisingly, Dio’s own work provides most of the evidence for his life and career. A supplement to Dio’s version is however to be found in Philostratus’ biography of Dio in his Lives of the Sophists from the third century, in Synesius’ Dion from the beginning of the fifth century, and in Photius’ Bibliotheca from the tenth century. A fundamental problem for the understanding of Dio’s life, career and relationship with the political elite in Rome is the significant discrepancy between Dio’s own version and that of Philostratus. This is particularly obvious in the case of Dio’s exile under the reign of Domitian: Philostratus claims that Dio was not formally exiled but chose to flee from Domitian’s anger (Philostr. VS 488); Dio himself claimed to have been exiled (Dio Chrys. Or. 13.1, 45.1). Another notable difference is a strange story told by Philostratus in which Dio is presented as the adviser Trajan loved but did not quite understand. According to Philostratus, Dio used to ride with the emperor in a chariot made of gold, suggesting that he was a very trusted advisor (Philostr. VS 488). That a description of such a close relationship between Dio and Trajan appears only in the Lives of the Sophists is reason enough to be curious. Because Dio does not appear as someone who would fail to mention such a prestigious appointment, which easily could appear in almost any one of the speeches delivered to the Prusans, the story is unlikely to be true. It has recently been suggested that Dio, not Philostratus, invented the chariot ride and that the latter got the story from Dio’s pupils.16 It is certainly not difficult to picture Dio telling an attentive audience how important he was to various emperors; but it is equally clear that Philostratus often staged scenes where Greek intellectuals advise the Roman emperor. In his life of Apollonius of Tyana, for example, Philostratus staged another scene in which Dio and Apollonius advised Vespasian on how to rule should he win the Civil War (Philostr. VA 27-38). Scenes

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5. Responses to Roman Rule where kings were advised on constitutions or met with great philosophers were well-known topoi in Greek literature: it is therefore not to be ruled out that Philostratus simply picked Dio for his reputation as a learned philosopher and cast him in the role of an advisor to Vespasian and Trajan.17 Another problem is the relationship between the speech as delivered and the written version. Many of the speeches seem too long to have been given in the version known today, and Dio, when criticising the audience in Alexandria for instance, often uses a tone that might have provoked the original audience. That the speeches were long and the criticism sharp does not mean that they were never delivered, but we need to take account of the fact that the spoken and written versions were not necessarily identical. The possibility cannot be ruled out that in editing his work, Dio sharpened his criticism or made certain points more forcefully. Another possibility is that the written versions were made up from several oral deliveries and collated into a plenary version. When Dio published the speech, his audience changed from men in the council or the assembly in a given city, to a larger and educated readership.18 With a change in audience, the agenda changed, particularly in the speeches where the relationship between Greek and Roman cultures was addressed. After publication, Dio’s view not only affected the audience in the city, where he had originally delivered the speech (or a version of it), but now contributed to a more widespread, and therefore potentially more influential, debate. Even quite substantial changes could be made to an oral version. It would have been difficult for the audience to remember the original speech at the time the final version appeared, even if the relationship between the original delivery and the published version was of any interest anyway. Substantial changes to the original version may also have been what readers expected. In a number of his letters Pliny discusses rewriting speeches he already made and argues against the opinion that it was unnecessary to read out a speech already delivered. In Pliny’s eyes there are great differences between the written and delivered versions of a speech, and he comments that he himself made quite substantial changes to his speeches (Pliny Ep. 1.20.9, 7.17). In a study of Dio’s view of homonoia, the emperor and Roman rule in general, legitimate and intriguing questions about the origins and evolution of individual speeches should be borne in mind but not allowed to undermine the views he ultimately projected in his published versions. There has been a tendency to portray Dio Chrysostom as a Greek intellectual with strong reservations about Rome and the influence of Roman institutions. His speeches have been seen as a fundamental critique of Roman lack of culture: of Roman cruelty and barbarity in the time of Romulus (Or. 25.8); of a Roman father’s right to kill his offspring without trial (Or. 15.20); or of the Roman passion for gladiatorial combat (Or. 31.121-2).19 The detail and accumulation of such examples might be

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Eager to be Roman thought to present Dio as fundamentally opposed to Roman culture and to make of him something of a spokesman against Greek affiliation to Roman culture as a whole. An essential question to be pursued is whether Dio expresses and maintains a generally negative view of Roman rule and culture as a whole. Other equally important questions are how Dio experienced the cultural interaction between Greek and Roman culture, how his views of Rome might have changed over time, and finally whether there is a connection between Dio’s personal experience of Roman authorities and his view of Roman rule. One episode fundamental to Dio’s attitude to Rome and Roman rule was his period of exile. According to Dio, Domitian pronounced this sentence in the early years of his reign. Dio gives two different reasons why he was expelled. In Athens, he explains the exile by reference to his association with prominent Romans killed for their opposition to Domitian (Or. 13.1). Dio gives the impression that he was punished for his role as a friend and advisor, presumably to one of the men behind the attempted coup against Domitian in 82 CE. In the other version, Dio tells the Prusians that he was exiled because he challenged the emperor openly (Or. 45.1). Here he claims a more active opposition against what he describes as a reign of evil and appears in a more independent role as the one who protested against Domitian’s unjust rule. Dio’s exile story is challenged by Philostratus’ claim that he was not ordered into exile but instead chose to flee from Domitian’s general anger against philosophers (Philostr. VS 488). Scholars have generally preferred Dio’s version of the story, but Philostratus’ version has found some support.20 Tim Whitmarsh has pointed out that exile stories served as topoi in which intellectuals went through a process of suffering, a transformational experience which turned them into philosophers. In the speech to the Athenians, Dio claims a similar conversion and thereby writes himself into this tradition.21 However, even though Philostratus has been ignored and Dio’s claim to a metamorphosis draws on a tradition of exile stories, a rejection of exile has a fundamental problem – Dio’s absence from Prusa. If Dio was not sentenced to exile but fled as a result of Domitian’s anger towards philosophers in general, why did he not return to Prusa? While it is perfectly plausible that Dio would have wished to avoid Domitian by staying away from Rome, it is less clear why he would not have returned to his home town where he would have maintained the right to live. Of course, Dio may have preferred to publicise the version where he was exiled for his opposition to Domitian, than one where he fled out of fear. Sixteen years of absence from home seems a high price to pay to appear as a philosopher. There must also have been a limit to Dio’s exaggeration or falsification, particularly when speaking in Prusa, where magistrates and ex-magistrates must have known whether he had been exiled from the city. That Dio could have invented the story of the exile and stayed away from Prusa afterwards in order to make the story trustworthy, with

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5. Responses to Roman Rule considerable economic and personal loss, is less convincing. What seems altogether more persuasive is that Domitian exiled Dio in the milder form, relegatio, which required him to stay away from Italy and his home province but allowed him to keep his property.22 The reason is more likely to be his association with one of the men behind the coup in 82 CE than a public critique of the emperor. A passage in the speech to the Athenians held just after he had been recalled indicates that after Dio was sent into exile he took advantage of the opportunity for intense personal reflection. So after exhorting myself in this way neither to fear or be ashamed of my action, and putting on humble attire and otherwise chastening myself, I proceeded to roam everywhere. And the men whom I met, on catching sight of me, would sometimes call me a tramp and sometimes a beggar, though some did call me a philosopher. From this it came about gradually and without any planning or any self-conceit on my part that I acquired this name. Now the great majority of those styled philosophers proclaim themselves such, just as the Olympian heralds proclaim the victors; but in my case, when the other folk applied this name to me, I was not able always and in all instances to have the matter out with them. And very likely, as it turned out, I did profit somewhat by the general report about me. For many would approach me and ask what was my opinion about good and evil. As a result, I was forced to think about these matters that I might be able to answer my questioners. Furthermore, they would invite me to come before the public and speak. Consequently, it became necessary for me to speak also about the duties of man and about the things that were likely, in my opinion, to profit him. (Or. 13.10-13)23

Even though Dio presents the exile as a period of personal development in which he changed from sophist to philosopher, the exile from Rome and his home town led to loss of influence in both Rome and Prusa, circumstances which understandably affected his view of the Romans and Roman rule. In the thirteenth speech Dio criticises the Roman desire for luxury and lack of proper education (Or. 13.29-37).24 John Moles has argued that in this speech Dio presents himself as a teacher – one who, learned in Greek philosophical training and knowledge, educates the Romans who possessed military knowledge only, but were lacking in broader cultural accomplishments.25 Dio was not always critical of Roman mores. He stressed his personal acquaintance with emperors and governors (Or. 44.12, 45.2-4, 45.8-9). In his speech to the Alexandrians, he is positive about Roman rule and criticises the city for its lack of respect for the emperor (Or. 32. 95-6). The speech’s date is uncertain, although it is usually put at the beginning of the 70s CE during the reign of Vespasian.26 Dio never identifies the emperor to whom he suggests that the Alexandrians should pay more respect, and realistically he could be referring to either Vespasian or Trajan. The only emperor mentioned in the speech is Nero, whose devotion to music is criticised by Dio and whom he contrasts with the present ruler and his

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Eager to be Roman notion of culture and reasoning; this emperor is thus presented as a better model for the Alexandrians (Or. 32.60). The comparison with Nero could point towards his successor Vespasian as the unnamed emperor. This is supported later in the speech, when Dio encourages the Alexandrians to be on their best behaviour after what has happened, so that the emperor will not regret his generosity and may even provide them with further benefits (Or. 32.95-6). If Dio is referring here to the loud demonstration in Alexandria in the early 70s CE, it would seem reasonable to identify the emperor as Vespasian (Cassius Dio 65.8.). Dio’s speeches treating political issues can be divided into four categories: promotion of Roman rule and the emperor, such as the speech to the Alexandrians (Or. 32); advice to the emperor Trajan on how to rule the empire (Or. 1-4); speeches on the question of homonoia between Bithynian cities (Or. 38-41); and speeches on local politics in the city of Prusa (Or. 42-51). One element of Dio’s criticism of Roman rule is found in his view of imperial worship, where he questions the practice of honouring the living emperor as a god and argues that Zeus gave the king power to rule men.27 For Dio, the emperor could obtain divine status and become a daimôn or a hêrôs, but only after his death (Or. 3.54).28 His dislike of emperor-worship is related to his experiences under the rule of Domitian, described as a regime of evil, where the emperor demanded to be worshipped as both a master and a god (Or. 45.1). By criticising worship of the emperor, Dio distances himself from the population in the Bithynian cities and their eagerness to worship Octavian. On the other hand, Dio was not alone in his uneasiness with a cult to the living emperor; rather, he represented a common view among both Greek and Latin intellectuals that the emperor was mortal until his death.29 The series of speeches on the Concordia between the Bithynian cities held in Nicaea and Nicomedia can be read as examples of Dio’s increasing uneasiness towards Rome and Roman authorities. In Or. 38 and 39, Dio discusses the issue of solidarity between the cities. In Dio’s mind, the competition between Nicaea and Nicomedia to be the best city in the province compelled the cities to aim for unnecessary honorary titles such as mêtropolis or ‘first city’ of the province. Such competition would, according to Dio, cause discord between the cities, weaken their ability to resist Roman demands, and enable the governor to benefit from the disharmony.30 A practical illustration of this would be in res repetundae cases where the governor on trial could gain support from testimony from one of the prosecution’s rival cities. Dio suggests that the cities in Bithynia, particularly Nicomedia and Nicaea, should unite to give themselves a stronger position against the corrupt governors in the best interests of what he calls the ‘Bithynian people’. But you must also strive to give the provincial governors occasions to respect you, by continually making it manifest that you are not content

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5. Responses to Roman Rule with merely being well governed yourselves, but that you are concerned for the welfare of the whole Bithynian people [tou tôn Bithynôn genous], and that you are no less displeased over the wrongs inflicted upon the others than over those inflicted upon yourselves. (Or. 38.33) 31

Dio’s use of the term tôn Bithynôn genos is particularly interesting in that it poses the question of the existence of a collective Bithynian identity, which was to be preserved through homonoia between the Bithynian cities. In this passage, it seems as if Dio’s biggest concern is that the rivalry between Nicomedia and Nicaea enabled the governors to abuse Bithynia with impunity by making an alliance with either of the two cities. Or is it possible you are not aware of the tyrannical power your own strife offers those who govern you? For at once whoever wishes to mistreat your people comes armed with the knowledge of what he must do to escape the penalty. For either he allies himself with the Nicaean party and has their group for his support, or else by choosing the party of Nicomedia he is protected by you. (Or. 38.36; translation by Crosby 1946)

As he reaches this conclusion, it becomes more apparent that union and homonoia in Dio’s mind were not important to Bithynia alone, but something that should apply to all of Asia Minor, as he urges highly rhetorically in the dream of a future when men from Bithynia can join the dêmos in Ephesus as well as sharing the buildings in Smyrna (Or. 38.47). Dio suggests that the cities of Bithynia should end their strife and form a coalition, which could make Bithynia less vulnerable to the abuse of various governors and thereby prevent any internal disputes between the cities that might prevent a corrupt governor from being prosecuted. But it is also clear that Dio’s idea of homonoia was more than simply an attempt to minimise a governor’s opportunity to abuse the Bithynian cities. His argument against competition among the cities for honorific titles is a means for Dio to criticise unnecessary involvement with Rome. In a more philosophical guise, Dio is emphasising the difference between real coherence, homonoia, and the subject’s attempt to flatter the ruler. In the last part of his speech, he takes his view on homonoia to an extreme when he presents the same kind of homonoia between Asian and Bithynian cities as a dream, unlikely to have been shared in the Asian cities. Finally, we return to the examples where Dio is said to present Rome as uncivilised and cruel. The twenty-fifth speech, in which Dio refers to Roman savagery and cruelty under the rule of Romulus, has been used to claim that he perceived Rome as uncivilised and barbaric.32 However, the speech is not entirely critical. Dio mentions the fact that Rome’s second king, Numa, gave the Romans both laws and gods. Numa is said furthermore to have made the Romans less warlike by establishing contacts with their neighbours (25.8). One may argue that according to Dio, Numa civilised the Romans at a very early stage by introducing law and order,

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Eager to be Roman and peace and respect for the gods. By portraying Numa as the king who brought law and religion to the Romans, Dio is observing the same traditions as Livy, who had presented Romulus as the warrior king. And yet Hannibal, perhaps, neither the Carthaginians nor the Romans could fittingly claim as their good guiding spirit. But Numa took over Rome when it was still small, unknown to fame, and situated in a land owned by others, when it had as its inhabitants an unprincipled rabble, who were, besides, at enmity with all their neighbours, were both povertystricken and savage, and lived a precarious existence because of the harshness of Romulus’ rule; caused them to hold their land in security and to be on terms of friendship with their neighbours, and gave them a code of laws, and gods to worship, and a political constitution, thus becoming the author of all their subsequent felicity of which all men speak. (Or. 25.8; translation Crosby 1946) After receiving supreme power in this way [by augury] Numa determined that Rome, which had originally been established through force of arms, should be re-established through justice, law, and proper observance. But her inhabitants could not be accustomed to such a change, he realised, if they were forever at war, which brutalises the soul. To soften the bellicose temper of the people by inducing them to give arms, he made the temple of Janus at the foot of the Argiletum an indicator of peace and war: when open, it signified that the state was in arms; when closed, that all surrounding peoples were at peace. (Livy 1.18-21; translation Luce 1998)

The fifteenth speech, where Dio mentions that fathers in some societies had the right to sell or kill their children, has been identified as criticism of Roman legal practice.33 The cultural and rhetorical contexts are vital to the interpretation of Dio’s criticism. It is not unreasonable that Dio was thinking of Rome, but the speech is primarily a discussion of slavery and freedom and of how freeborn people could still be subjected to the authority of others and therefore not be unconditionally free. But against this, Dio does not directly criticise Roman culture or imperialism. The fifteenth speech is more concerned with the Greek world than with Roman culture, and had Dio wanted to focus on Roman legal practice he could have done so in explicit terms. Explicit reference to Roman practice would also have been necessary if the audience, who did not know early Roman law, were to understand the point. Dio’s agenda seems to be a different one. In the fourteenth and fifteenth speeches he commits himself to a Stoic view of life: that men who were legally free were subject to the will of their surroundings and that they were slaves of their minds, while some slaves had more control of their minds and thereby could be said to be free – perhaps even more free than their masters.34 Again, appreciation of Dio’s criticism of Rome needs to be placed in context. Dio’s critique of gladiatorial combat has been seen as another example of a critical attitude towards Roman culture in general.35 The games were

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Fig. 8 The theatre of Dionysus in Athens.

obviously a Roman institution and Dio’s criticism can be read as general opposition to Roman culture as a whole. Again, the interpretative impulse to see the general in the particular needs to be set against the rhetorical context. Dio’s criticism of gladiatorial combat is set in Athens and addresses the Athenian passion for the games and the fact that they were held in the Theatre of Dionysius. Dio goes on to compare the games in Athens, where he claims that gladiators were killed among the priests on the front seats, with the games in the colony of Corinth (Or. 31.121-2).36 Here, he says, the games were held at a more remote location outside the city, and he stresses indirectly that the people of Corinth, which was a Roman colony, had a more civilised attitude towards the games than the Athenians did. Even though Dio did not admire gladiatorial games, it was the Athenian passion for them and the way the games were held there that he criticised, and we should be hesitant before a critique of gladiatorial combat in one of the Greek world’s most important theatres is taken as a general criticism of Roman culture in general. There is no doubt that Dio criticises aspects of Roman culture, as we might expect of an informed and animated social commentator, but it is important to note that his view of Rome was in no way one-sided. Nor was it unchanging. If the speech to the Alexandrians is correctly attributed to the 70s, Dio’s more reluctant attitude towards Rome after his return from

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Eager to be Roman exile marks an important shift. It is to be expected that an intellectual would change his perception over time, particularly over as long a period as from the 70s to the first decades of the second century. In order to understand the development of Dio’s views of Rome, it is essential to focus on how his relationship with the Roman authorities evolved from the first phase of his adult life, when he pursued a life in Rome, to the years after the exile, when he tried to establish himself as Prusa’s benefactor. From his support for the emperor in Alexandria, it seems that at first, Dio was somehow involved with the political elite in Rome. He surely did not like everything he saw at the capital – who would? – and is likely to have been reluctant about certain elements of Roman culture. If, on the other hand, he acted as a political speaker and mingled with the elite in the capital, he was hardly a profound critic of Rome in the 70s. And, as an intellectual Roman citizen from a rich family with influential friends, he could well have been aiming for a respectable career in Rome; it is not unlikely that he hoped to follow in the footsteps of his grandfather who may have acquired his fortune from service at court (Or. 46.3).37 However, Domitian’s accession shifted the balance of power in Rome and Dio’s position there seems to have changed. Even if we question the exile story, it is clear that Dio’s time in Rome and his affiliation to the empire’s political elite ended either because of his public criticism of Domitian or because of his connection to Domitian’s political enemies. Even though Dio describes his exile as a period of personal development, it seems equally clear that the experience led to a more negative view of Rome. There is a certain bitterness in the thirteenth speech, in which Dio criticises Roman lack of education and extravagant luxury in decisive contrast to the positive picture of the emperor in the speech to the Alexandrians (Or. 32.95-6). On the other hand, Dio’s critique of Rome in the years after his return should not be exaggerated. At his return to Prusa, Dio channelled his energy towards improving the city’s political status (Or. 44.11-12) and beautifying it through an extensive building programme. His aim seems to have been to prevent his city from falling behind other cities in the region (Or. 47). In a speech given at the assembly in Prusa shortly after his return from exile, Dio presented his plans for upgrading the political status of Prusa, a project which, due to his alleged ties with the emperor, he saw himself as the perfect man to carry out. In Prusa Dio told his fellow citizens that the city had a reasonable chance not only of acquiring the right to host the imperial court and establish a larger council, but also of obtaining freedom, eleutheria,38 which would protect the city from the governor’s interference and release it from paying taxes to Rome. This must have caused much excitement in the city. A man from a noble family had returned after many years in exile and claimed that he was able to elevate the city to almost the highest status that a city within the Roman empire could reach. To Dio this may have been a long-desired opportunity to establish himself in the role as one of Prusa’s most impor-

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5. Responses to Roman Rule tant benefactors. In the following speech, Or. 45, it becomes clear, however, that Dio may have overestimated his influence at the Roman court. Prusa was granted the right to increase the number of its council members and the right to process legal cases, but the request for freedom was never granted. From this speech, which shows Dio in a defensive position, it seems that he was criticised by his enemies in the council for not delivering what he had promised.39 To judge from the speeches, the embassy to Trajan was viewed as a failure by his political enemies in Prusa, who, it seems, were far from pleased with the increase in the number of boulê members. The increase in the legal number of council members had both economic and social implications for the city. In some cities newly admitted boulê members were expected to pay an entrance fee large enough to finance a public building, as in Claudiopolis (Pliny Ep. 10.39). But the enlargement of the boulê also allowed a larger part of the population a seat on the city council, which the elite had tried to monopolise.40 Dio was also likely to have expected more from his encounter with Trajan. The right to hold court and to raise the number of the boulê members were small improvements, which Trajan could easily have granted in an effort to appear favourable, but the question of Prusa’s freedom was likely to be the most important of the requests. How successful Dio’s embassy to Rome was depends on whether freedom for Prusa was an essential objective in 100 CE. Dio says that the city could obtain freedom some day (Or. 44.11). This may indicate that he did not expect the emperor to grant freedom at their first meeting. But from the start freedom is presented as a realistic ambition. Dio mentions that his grandfather had already tried to obtain the status and underlines that Prusa had a chance as long as the city was inhabited by honourable men – that is men like Dio (Or. 44.5). In the last part of the speech Dio offers to read out a letter from the emperor, presumably Nerva, in order to show the Prusans that the idea of freedom came from another very important source – the emperor himself. The contents of the letter are unknown and we cannot say if Dio overinterpreted or misrepresented the letter. But given that the speech ends with the question of freedom, and that Dio refers to the emperor’s positive attitude, expectations must have increased within the city. If the aim was to achieve freedom for Prusa, Dio overestimated his influence in Rome. He may not have taken into consideration that the death of Nerva would reduce his influence with the emperor or may have expected that Trajan would be equally well-disposed towards his predecessor’s friends. But Trajan and Nerva did not seem particularly close.41 Trajan did not take the name Cocceianus as part of his adoption by Nerva, suggesting that he did not see himself as part of Nerva’s family. That Trajan was not the son of Nerva did not mean, of course, that he would disregard Dio’s request on behalf of Prusa, but he had no reason to give Prusa the much-coveted status of free city. It is surprising that Dio or the

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Eager to be Roman Prusians could have thought that they would obtain such a privilege. With the competition between the cities in mind, it is not difficult to imagine the commotion that would have arisen in Nicaea and Nicomedia if Prusa had been awarded freedom. That the project seemed realistic can perhaps be explained by the level of information in Prusa and by Dio’s overestimation of his own influence in Rome. After his journey to Rome Dio realised that he would not achieve freedom for Prusa, and he never mentions it again. This must have been a great disappointment, particularly as Dio had presented himself as the natural heir to the project continuing his grandfather’s story. It is also in the period after his embassy to the capital that Dio’s view of Rome changed from criticism of Domitian in particular to the generally negative view of Roman rule expressed in the homonoia speeches. Dio presents his embassy as a success and the exile as a period where he grew as a man. But it does not alter the impression that he started out as a positive supporter of Rome until Domitian forced him away from the political scene in the capital. When he returned, Dio tried to regain his status by taking on the ambitious project to upgrade Prusa both physically and legally, which, as we have seen, was only partially successful. Dio was politically and personally involved with the elite in Rome and had at one time spoken highly of an emperor, presumably Vespasian, in Alexandria. Understandably, this positive attitude changed, either as a result of his exile, which caused him a significant loss of influence in the capital as well as at local level, or as a result of his inability to persuade Trajan to give Prusa its freedom. The hardest blow may not have been his problems with the unpredictable emperor Domitian but rather his disappointment under the highly respected Trajan. Dio’s critique of Rome should be seen in the light of his varied experience of Roman authority. His attitude towards Rome seems to have been influenced decisively by a number of personal disappointments. This need not be thought to be representative of the inhabitants in Bithynia or other members of the elite. That Dio was a cultural patriot who throughout his life aimed to protect and uphold Greek cultural values is not convincing. He was more likely a man who associated with the political elite in Rome and who, after a series of disappointing episodes with Roman authorities including sixteen years of exile and unfulfilled expectations, developed a critical and bitter attitude towards Roman rule. On the other hand, Dio’s critique of Rome should not be exaggerated. It is notable that Dio criticised worship of the living emperor, but this does not differentiate him decisively from other Greek and Latin intellectuals, who also argued against the cult. Dio warned the Bithynian cities against the corruption and malpractice of various governors,42 but in so doing he was invoking the legal machinery that Rome itself had developed in the course of her massive expansion. Dio urged that the Bithynian cities should end their strife and live united in peace, but this need not be interpreted as a call to

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5. Responses to Roman Rule cultural opposition to Rome. And when Dio criticises Domitian,43 he is in line with the majority of Greek and Latin writers at the end of the first/beginning of the second century CE. By criticising Domitian and arguing for a settlement between the Bithynian cities, Dio was not being critical of Rome but merely following a commonly held view, which was surely in line with the ideology of the new dynasty.44 L. Flavius Arrianus: a Roman authority and a nostalgic Greek Arrian’s military and political careers have already been discussed in Chapter 3. That he was an integrated member of the empire’s political elite who represented Rome and the emperor is apparent from his appointment to the strategically important province of Cappadocia in 131 CE and the later extension of this office until 137. There is therefore no reason to assume that he in any way worked against or disagreed with the principles of Roman rule he represented so efficiently. In his written works, Arrian stayed loyal to the empire and never criticised Roman rule or institutions. He has nonetheless been presented as a man who did not want to align himself culturally with Rome. Focus has traditionally been directed towards Arrian’s archaising interests in the Greek past and towards what he did not include or write about.45 The complicated questions of how Arrian prioritised his Greek and Roman affiliations and how he perceived himself in his writing and thoughts have been the subject of some speculative discussion.46 What is perhaps more revealing is how Arrian wished to appear publicly in various stages of his life. As was the case with Dio Chrysostom, it is essential to consider the possibility that Arrian’s self-presentation and the perception of him among others changed over time. Arrian’s literary production includes philosophy, military tactics, battle reports, a Periplus of the Black Sea, a hunting manual, a local history of Bithynia up to the time of Roman provincialisation, and a history of Alexander’s campaign. In most of his works, Arrian showed a profound interest in and acknowledgement of Greek literary traditions, and the entire corpus reveals that he wrote more about older Greek themes and history than he did about contemporary topics. Arrian’s attempt to situate himself in the literary tradition headed by Herodotus, Thucydides, and in particular Xenophon, is clear from a number of his works. A good example is to be found in his manual On Hunting, where he makes a direct comparison between himself and Xenophon, whom he calls ‘the other Xenophon’.47 It is underlined that besides their interest in hunting with hounds, they shared interests in both military tactics and wisdom, which places them in the same social and intellectual class.48 Arrian’s desire to follow in the footsteps of classical Greek writers is also apparent in the Anabasis of Alexander, which, apart from the title, is related to the Greek

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Eager to be Roman canon by a direct comparison between Homer’s account of Achilles and Xenophon’s own Anabasis (Arr. Anab. 1.12). Apart from his interest in Greek literature of the fifth and fourth centuries BCE and his desire to place himself within the traditions of the most respectable Greek writers of the Classical period, Arrian presented himself as a man educated in the Greek tradition, dedicated to philosophy. Having studied in Nicomedia, Arrian travelled to Nicopolis, where he began his philosophical studies under the guidance of the stoic Epictetus, whose thoughts and lectures, the Discourses, he later wrote out and published. As already pointed out, it is highly probable that Arrian wrote down his master’s lectures or discussions, presumably for his own use, notes which he later made available to others. It is therefore to be expected that the Discourses contained Arrian’s own thoughts and his interpretation of Epictetus’ words.49 The work on Epictetus won Arrian a contemporary reputation as a philosopher. He was praised for his philosophy by members of the Gellian family at Corinth, to whom Arrian had sent his work on Epictetus; the Gellii honoured him with a statue and an inscription referring to him as a philosopher.50 That Arrian was respected as a man of philosophy is further confirmed in the writing of Aulus Gellius and Marcus Aurelius.51 The Anabasis, where Arrian celebrates the life and deeds of the man whom he saw as the most remarkable in history, is another of his works that points towards his roots and his admiration for the Greek past. Even though Arrian criticises Alexander’s lack of self-control, his mutilation of Bassus, use of Persian clothes and the drunken rage that led him to kill Cleitus, his history of Alexander’s achievements is no doubt an endorsement of an amazing accomplishment which, according to Arrian, no one had surpassed.52 A somewhat cryptic statement regarding his patria, his family and the public offices held in his homeland is the closest we come to information about Arrian’s origin. He does not mention the city by name but states that his family and the merits held within his home town were not unknown.53 I need not declare my name – though it is by no means unheard of in the world; I need not specify my country and family, or any official position I may have held. Rather let me say this: that this book of mine is, and has been from my youth, more precious than country and kin and public advancement – indeed, for me it is these things. (Anab. 1.12)54

Based on Photius’ summary of Arrian’s History of Bithynia, in which Arrian is said to have defined Nicomedia as his patris and the place where he grew up, studied and served as priest in the cults of Demeter and Core, Swain has convincingly suggested that Nicomedia was the patria mentioned in the Anabasis.55 Still, the reference to his homeland is, by design, so obscure that it hardly allows us to see a clear manifestation of origin or

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5. Responses to Roman Rule even of whether Arrian identified himself as Greek or Roman. It draws on the tradition among Greek writers from the Classical period of identifying themselves and their methods and of justifying their work.56 As argued by Stadter, Arrian does not state his own name, but points out that even though Alexander had achieved more than any other man he had still not received a history worthy of his deeds.57 Arrian is refraining from giving his name, family, homeland, and offices obtained because of a Stoic notion that such elements were beyond his control – unlike his writing, which was his alone.58 By downplaying his identity as anything else but a writer, he was ready to enter the company of the masters of Greek literature (Anab. 1.12). Arrian’s claim that his personal origin and career were less important than his writing and the accomplishments of Alexander has been seen as suggestive of Arrian’s preference for Greek culture over Roman power and thus as an indication of his cultural affiliation.59 Yet his other studies on Bithynia could suggest that there was a focus on Bithynian history and therefore perhaps something that might qualify as a distinct Bithynian identity parallel to a sense of belonging to both the Greek and Roman worlds. There may be another explanation for the vague statement of descent, origin and career. Arrian’s reference to his youth in the Anabasis suggests that he wrote his work on Alexander later in life, perhaps after he had settled in Athens.60 At the time, Arrian was well-known in the city. Not only had he served on the council of C. Avidius Nigrinus when the latter was corrector in Achaea, he was also respected for his philosophical works. It is likely that he stepped right into Athens’ political elite, serving as archon. Yet, despite his use of a well-known topos and his admiration for Alexander and the Greek past, Arrian’s promotion of himself as a worthy author of the history of Alexander may find its roots in contemporary circumstances. Being a man from Nicomedia who had served the Roman empire for years, Arrian might have looked more Roman than Greek to his Athenian audience, particularly at a time when Greekness and a Pan-Hellenic union experienced a revival centred on Athens.61 Neither Nicomedia nor any other city of Bithynia was part of the Pan-Hellenic union, meaning that to his contemporaries in Athens, Arrian did not originate from a city which met the new imperial definition of what it meant to be Greek. The cryptic statement concerning his descent was perhaps a way to avoid the unpleasant question of Greekness, which could compromise his muchdesired affiliation with classical Greek writers. The archaising approach in most of Arrian’s works has led to some debate among scholars. Stadter described Arrian as a man of his time who had interests in the Greek past, but also as a man who did not just adopt the norms of a glorious past. Stadter argued that Arrian maintained a nuanced approach to the writing of Xenophon, whose advice on hunting is brought up to date. Accordingly, Arrian did not glorify the past but related views in classical literature to his own time.62 Swain offered another

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Eager to be Roman approach, presenting Arrian as a man who had a larger sense of belonging to the Greek world although he participated in Roman administration.63 Swain acknowledged Stadter’s view that Arrian brought the writing of the classical period up to date, but drew attention to Arrian’s interests in the Greek world and to his disregard of contemporary Roman society.64 According to Swain, this disregard is apparent in the manual on hunting, where Arrian mentions Celtic dogs but does not attribute their availability in Greece to the empire.65 But Swain’s interpretation could be inverted: where Swain questions Arrian’s sense of belonging to Roman society because he chose not to comment on certain details, Arrian’s mention of Celtic hounds could be thought to create a sense of empire, since his comment that Xenophon was unlikely to have known about Celtic-bred dogs suggests that it was the coming of Rome that made hunting with this type of hounds possible in Greece (On Hunting 1-2). There is no reason to doubt, however, that Arrian saw himself as Greek. That said, Lucian identified him as Roman when he called Arrian the most prominent Roman and one who had lived an educated life.66 Lucian is likely to be teasing, but his identification of Arrian as Roman is not entirely misplaced. The question of identity in terms of Roman and Greek self-perception is an artificial way to approach the concept of collective identity, at least in terms of the empire’s cosmopolitan elite. Arrian addresses his duties as the emperor’s legatus in Cappadocia very openly in his Periplus. The text, in the form of a letter to Hadrian in which Arrian reports on the state of his province, the army and the region to which the emperor is planning a visit, may give some idea as to how Arrian wanted to appear, at least in the 130s CE when he was part of Rome’s political elite. The altars are already set up, though in rather rough stone, and as such the inscribed letters are not particularly clear; the Greek inscription is also inaccurately carved, as it was written by barbarians. I therefore decided to rebuild the altars in white stone, and to carve the inscriptions in clear letters. And though your statue has been erected in a pleasing pose – it points out to the sea – the work neither resembles you nor is beautiful in any other way. So I have sent for a [new] statue. (Periplus 1.1-4)67 I gave the army its pay and inspected its weapons, the walls, the trench, the sick, and the food supplies that were there. My opinion about this latter point I have written to you in the Latin report. (Periplus 6.2)68

Writing to the emperor on battles and inspections, Arrian needed to speak as a compatriot, but the Periplus should not be dismissed, as has been suggested, as a source for how Arrian wanted to appear in public, just because it resembles a governor’s account.69 As the situation in the province was already covered in the Latin report, the Periplus is more than an

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5. Responses to Roman Rule account of the state of affairs in Cappadocia and its surrounding area. Written in Greek and with a focus on the literature from the Classical period, the text was intended for a wider Greek readership, not Hadrian alone, even if the latter would have appreciated the archaising approach. Arrian’s report of the unfortunate statue of Hadrian in Trapezus and the faulty inscription on the altar he ordered to be replaced show him in the role of the loyal governor carefully representing the emperor’s interests. To his readership, Arrian may well have appeared as he did to Lucian: as one who took part in Roman administration and belonged to the Roman sphere but also one with deep roots in the Greek world. Depending on the approach, it is possible to view Arrian as an intellectual who saw himself as either a Roman with strong interests in the Greek past, or as a Greek who had followed his ambition to a career in imperial administration. Arrian was from Nicomedia and deeply sensitive to what he saw as his Greek cultural heritage. On the other hand, he lived and served in provincial administration and moved in the highest circles of the political elite. As a consequence he spent a large part of his life in Rome, in the Roman army or in the provinces, eastern as well as western, representing Roman interests. In the Periplus, Arrian was keen to appear as a dedicated governor to what must have been a Greek readership. The fact that Arrian presented the work as a governor’s report only underlines further that he was eager to show his belonging to the Roman sphere and the collective constituted by the empire’s political elite. Later, when he settled in Athens, Arrian was anxious to underline his Greek origin to persuade his readers of his worthiness to write a book on Alexander, to follow the traditions of classical literature and his own Stoic view. When he was settled in Athens and his daily life no longer revolved around Roman politics and administration, it seems only natural that he concerned himself with the question of Greekness, Greek values and history – these were, after all, at the centre of intellectual debate after the introduction of the Pan-Hellenic union. When compared directly, Pliny the Younger and Arrian have much in common. Both reached the senate and the consulship with a background as equites and both served loyally in imperial administration. Pliny knew Greek and its literature, and we know that Arrian knew Latin from his command in the army, his service in the western as well as the eastern parts of the empire, and from his Periplus. Pliny and Arrian belonged to the same cosmopolitan class but no doubt had different cultural backgrounds. Arrian’s Greek origin, however, is the reason why his identity as Roman is questioned. Yet Aristides’ remark that being Roman meant being part of a community larger than just a city might just illustrate how Arrian understood himself in relation to the empire: as a prominent Roman of Greek origin (Aristides To Rome 63).

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Eager to be Roman Cassius Dio: a Roman from Bithynia Another prominent intellectual from Bithynia was Cassius Dio, who in the late second and early third centuries had one of the most successful senatorial careers in Roman administration. Apart from being a distinguished member of the senatorial elite and a trusted member of the imperial administration under several emperors, he wrote a history of Rome, which is best described as an account of the empire from the foundation of Rome to the last years of his life. Cassius Dio wrote in an Attic style inspired by the writers of fifth century BCE, particularly Thucydides,70 but also by Attic writing in the imperial period, which would have been a better source of information for Roman history than historians writing in the fifth century BCE.71 When writing on Roman history, Cassius Dio refers to Roman terms and institutions, which he saw a need to transcribe, translate, or replace with equivalent Greek expressions.72 This attempt to explain the world of Roman institutions to his audience indicates that the majority of his readers were Greek: presumably Greeks who, like Cassius Dio himself, aimed at or engaged with Roman politics.73 It could also be the case, however, that the attempt to explain aspects of Roman culture was a service to a Greek readership to help them understand Roman organisation in a work aimed at the empire’s elite in general. As already discussed in Chapter 2, Cassius Dio’s Maecenas speech and his criticism of the cult to the living emperor may very well have been attempts to influence his own contemporaries – the political elite in general. Despite his affection for Attic Greek and his admiration for Thucydides, Cassius Dio wrote in a Roman tradition, continuing the practice of Latin authors such as Livy.74 As such, his work contains elements from Greek as well as Latin traditions, which in effect illustrates the doubleness of his cultural identity. In the Roman History, he presents an overall positive picture of Rome and Roman rule. The speech of Maecenas shows that he thought the principate the ideal constitution to rule the empire, as long as the emperor was fair and competent. Cassius Dio’s critique of Roman rule is therefore closely related to emperors who did not fulfil their tasks or tried to reduce the senate’s influence on the political process. It is therefore symptomatic that when he criticises Roman rule he focuses on the worship of the living emperors and on emperors who demanded the worship of themselves: prime examples being when Caligula ordered the Milesians to worship him as a god (59.28.1), or when Domitian required divine status in his titles (67.5.7). Although he did not seem to oppose the principle of a cult to deceased emperors (51.20.8), Dio depicted emperors who desired divine status while still alive as examples of men who lack respect for the gods (59.28.1-4). Apart from the worship of the living emperor, Cassius Dio criticised various emperors for their incompetence and incapacity to rule – for

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5. Responses to Roman Rule example Domitian, who is noted for having killed countless numbers of Romans (67.11). Likewise Commodus is described as an incompetent emperor who also killed a vast number of senators (67.5.7) and entertained himself with gladiatorial games and chariot racing instead of running the empire (73.10.2.). Septimius Severus, Caracalla and, as already discussed, Elagabal were also criticised, for their lack of respect for the senate, or for their incompetence, or for their lack of interest in running the empire, or for simply being mad.75 Living emperors were generally viewed as men rather than gods by intellectuals. As discussed above, Dio Chrysostom also showed reservations in connection with this particular kind of worship, and Tacitus notes Tiberius’ refusal of direct worship and criticises Domitian’s request to be titled master and god, an attitude also articulated by Pliny the Younger and Dio Chrysostom.76 To criticise the ruthless emperors and the imperial cult to living emperors was not a Greek phenomenon but a central theme among Latin intellectuals as well, suggesting that this sort of criticism was more politically and socially motivated than cultural.77 No doubt Cassius Dio was educated in the Greek manner. He retained a great interest in the Greek past and its cultural heritage, but spent most of his life in Rome, in the army, or in provincial administration – often in the Latin-speaking part of the empire. The influence of Roman culture is expressed in the way his Roman History was inspired by Latin historical authors and the several examples of references to his own role in imperial administration. He never used the word Roman about himself, but it is clear from the use of ‘we’ when referring to the senate that he saw himself as a man who belonged to and represented the Roman empire.78 * These three Greek intellectuals from Bithynia may not have been representative of their contemporaries. However, some conclusions can certainly be suggested. It is significant that they all wrote in Greek, even Cassius Dio, who is likely to have spent much of his life in Rome and in the Latin-speaking West. In this respect they shared a clear and ongoing relationship with their Greek cultural heritage. This was further underlined by unambiguous statements of their Bithynian origin. Dio Chrysostom, Arrian and Cassius Dio defined themselves culturally as part of the Greek world and cherished Greek writing and literature. On the other hand, they were all keen to demonstrate their role in the empire. Even Dio Chrysostom, the most critical of the three, emphasised that he was a political speaker in Rome and joined the political elite in the capital before his exile, just as he was happy to present himself as friend to both Nerva and Trajan. The response to Roman rule which these three intellectuals manifested seems to be much in line with how the local elite in general responded to

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Eager to be Roman Rome’s influence. Their attitude to Rome was in general positive, and to varying extents all three showed a desire to demonstrate their belonging to the Roman world. When he emphasised his connections to various emperors and underlined that he was a public speaker in Rome, with connections to the political elite in the capital, Dio Chrysostom certainly expected to impress his audience. When Arrian presented himself as a dedicated governor, concerned with the appearance of Hadrian, he demonstrated his important position in imperial administration and thus underlined his belonging to the empire’s ruling class. A similar self-presentation is to be found in Cassius Dio, not only when he refers to the senators as ‘we’, but particularly when he mentions his and his father’s service in the Roman imperial administration or talks about the Roman army as ‘our soldiers’.79 All three defined themselves as part of a Greek cultural heritage, and placed their patriae in the Greek world. None of them used the word ‘Roman’ explicitly to define themselves, which has been seen as a sign of their reservation about Roman culture. Still, it may be asked whether this is the most fruitful way to approach the question of self-definition in the Roman empire. It seems questionable whether men like Arrian or Cassius Dio would or could define themselves as Romans and leave their home town out of the picture, while Italians, according to Cicero, had both a natural and a political patria. None of the three hides his Roman citizenship – on the contrary, Dio Chrysostom talks about his citizenship in Apamea,80 while Arrian and Cassius Dio underline their role in the senate and their loyal service in the imperial administration. The claim to Roman citizenship was more than a sign of favourable status. As was the case when members of the local elite presented themselves as Romans or as part of the Roman community in a local context, these Bithynian writers emphasised their relationship to the Roman world in a Greek context, seeing it as worthy of admiration.

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Conclusion The varied source material available on Pontus and Bithynia, consisting of the writing of three very different intellectuals and a governor’s report on one side, and a large amount of epigraphic material on the other, offers a unique opportunity to see Roman rule from both a central and a local point of view. Whether the readiness of provincials in Pontus and Bithynia to parade their affiliation to Rome, Roman institutions and the Roman sphere testifies to a general sentiment in other Greek provinces must be subject to individual inquiries, as local conditions and specific historical circumstances determine how the relation between Rome and the community in question developed. A body of evidence similar to the one found in Pontus and Bithynia is available both on the Greek mainland and in the province of Asia. Here much epigraphic material and better preserved archaeological remains, together with the writing of, for instance, Plutarch, Philostratus on the Greek mainland and Aristides in Asia, offer a valuable insight into how both intellectuals and other members of the Greek elite responded to Roman rule. Whether or not the Bithynian and Pontic eagerness to be Roman was shared in Asia and in Greece is fundamental to the study of how Greek communities responded to Roman rule. But it can also contribute to a better understanding of how and to what extent the formation of new identities depends on individuals’ access to legal, cultural and political institutions. This is true in later periods too, when cultural interaction and integration of people is equally dependent on the formal rights and actual legal ability to join the institutions and societies essential for affiliation. For over a century, a consensus in modern scholarship has presented Greek provincials as highly devoted to their Greek background and thus less likely to be affected by the coming of Roman rule. Recent studies of the Greek world under Roman rule have shown that elements of Roman culture and civic life found a way into Greek communities and members of the elite gradually obtained Roman rights, seats in the senate and appointments in imperial administration. Roman installations and public buildings were introduced into Greek cities and welcomed by the local population, which often took the initiative to use Roman technology to improve the cities’ architecture and sanitary conditions. Despite the legal, social and material influence Roman rule brought to the cities, the general impression remains that Greeks held on to their identity and did not identify themselves as Roman. The latter assumption does certainly not

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Eager to be Roman apply in the case of Pontus and Bithynia. Here the population, most notably the elite, showed a great interest in the Roman world. Apart from accepting Roman material culture and technology, members of the local elite were eager to announce their active participation in Roman institutions and to demonstrate their affiliation to Rome, Roman power and the Roman sphere in general. The provincialisation following Rome’s inheritance of Bithynia and her conquest of the Mithridatic kingdom were not completed without substantial changes to existing laws, constitutions and power relations. Pompey united the former enemies into one province and took the initial steps to urbanise the Pontic kingdom by founding a number of new cities in already existing centres. To ensure that the population in the new provinces remained stable, Pompey legislated against double citizenship in Pontus and Bithynia. In order to provide a functional citizen body, boulê membership was not determined by property qualifications. Instead, admission to the boulê as well as the right to hold public office were determined by a minimum age and ex-magistrates obtained what must have been a permanent seat on the council after holding even minor office. The attempt to regulate admission to the boulê was not a revolution bringing substantial constitutional changes to Greek political life. Since the Hellenistic age members of the civic elite had spent their own money on corn supplies, embassies, festivals and public buildings. These personal contributions to the benefit of the city were surely welcomed by other citizens, who gradually left the political scene to those able and willing to fill the gap between the cities’ economic means and the actual costs if public ambitions were to be met. By favouring the elite’s access to the decision-making process in the boulê, the lex Pompeia legalised the de facto political reality. By and large the polis constitution was preserved, and even though the elite were allowed stronger influence on the decision-making process, Rome did not alter the right of the dêmos to vote on laws, proposals and magistrates. A more notable change brought about by the coming of Rome was repeated interference in the cities’ autonomy. Local laws and the scale of Roman provincial administration imposed a limit on the control Rome could exercise in the city, but the ability and readiness to intervene in local matters still represented a break with the previous practices of the Hellenistic age. Hellenistic kings demanded loyalty, taxed their subjects and from time to time placed garrisons in the cities. But no king expected to have a say before public installations were initiated or a corps of fire-fighters was established. Some of the restrictions Rome laid on the cities may have been of little importance, while others, such as the right to raise public buildings or Rome’s direct influence on how and by whom the emperor should be worshipped, surely reminded the provincials that at the coming of Rome they had lost not only their freedom but also more autonomy than they had under the rule of Hellenistic kings. One way to escape the status of Roman subject was to join the conquer-

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Conclusion ors and become part of the Roman institution. Members of the elite in particular obtained Roman citizenship and were later admitted to the senate. Pontus and Bithynia was first represented in the senate in the reign of Vespasian, by Catilius Longus, a descendant of colonists in Apamea. In general, however, members of the Bithynian and Pontic elite launched their senatorial careers somewhat later at the very end of the first/beginning of the second century CE and reached the office of consul and other more prestigious appointments in the imperial administration sometime during the first half of the second century. As in the rest of Asia Minor and mainland Greece, the political elite in Pontus and Bithynia generally reached the senate and the highest level of the imperial administration later than their peers in Gaul or Spain. Whether this later entrance should be explained as Greek reluctance or scepticism towards Roman culture or has a fundamentally administrative explanation is essential to the question of how the Greeks responded to Roman rule. Two arguments against the idea of Greek hesitancy to join the empire’s highest political level are the sudden increase of senators of eastern background in the late first and early second centuries, and the speed with which these senators reached the highest posts in the imperial administration. In the middle and second half of the second century, members of the Greek civic elite obtained consulships and were appointed as governors in prestigious military and senatorial provinces not only in the East, where their local knowledge and linguistic skills were an obvious advantage, but also in the West, where the influence of Roman culture is likely to have been far stronger. Had there been a general resistance to joining the Roman world of politics, it is difficult to explain why so many Greeks suddenly appeared in the Roman political and administrative arenas at a time when Greek culture was the subject of increased interest on the part of the elite community in particular. A different explanation for the later appearance of Greeks among the senatorial elite is the continued use of the polis constitution, where the boulê, despite a desire to favour the political elite, never came to constitute the same elite community as the ordo decurionum in the West. While it seems clear that ex-magistrates in Pontic and Bithynian cities received life-long membership of the council, it is not certain that they or other magistrates in the Greek cities received Roman citizenship as a reward for civil service. Another factor is that of the emperors’ increased focus on the East from the second half of the first century CE onwards. As the attention of the emperors was directed towards the East, relations between Rome and members of the Greek elite grew stronger. The long periods of command of Vespasian and Titus in the East during the Jewish War and the Civil War preceding Vespasian’s accession in 69 CE gave the eastern elite an opportunity to form alliances with the highest levels of the Roman world. The emperors’ interests in the East were taken up again by both Trajan, who depended on the eastern aristocracy in his preparation for the

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Eager to be Roman Parthian war, and Hadrian, whose activities in the East brought further attention on the Greek world and made the admission of the Greek elite to the upper levels of Roman society seem a natural step. Social mobility and economic opportunities made imperial careers attractive and it has been argued that those who joined the imperial administration did so mostly out of personal ambition and not out of any special sense of loyalty or affiliation with Rome. Political and financial reasons as well as the opportunity for social mobility came under consideration when members of the Greek elite initiated careers in the imperial administration. Equally, there is no need to assume that every Greek member of the administration agreed completely with Roman rule, norms and values or felt a particularly strong sense of belonging to the Roman community. On the other hand, it is not convincing to conclude that Greek engagement in imperial administration was generally pragmatic or carried out with a reluctant or sceptical attitude towards Roman culture. When economic benefits and access to power are given as the primary motives for Greeks’ participation in imperial administration, it should be borne in mind that admission to the senate and appointments to the most prestigious provinces were not reached by following a definite career pattern, where the admission and the accompanying appointments were automatically achieved after a specific number of years in military service. A career in imperial administration, with its significant economic rewards and possible elevation to the higher levels of society, was therefore not in any way a certain result when members of the Greek elite joined the Roman army. Most Greeks who joined the senate as first generation inductees were admitted after long military service. As military service for members of the equestrian order, however, was not part of a cursus honorum, which automatically led to more prestigious posts in the imperial administration, service without admission to the senatorial elite was presumably the fate of most equestrian officers of Greek origin. Still, service in the army or as civil servants at the equestrian level could lead to considerable social mobility even though admission to the senate was never achieved. By joining the army or the lower levels of imperial administration, members of the Greek elite changed their status from subjects to members of the empire’s ruling community and thus became part of the general political community constituted by army officers and magistrates of various levels. Greeks who had a career in the imperial administration did not give up their Greek identity. Men like Arrian and Cassius Dio, who kept their Greek cultural heritage throughout their long and successful careers in the Roman world, are excellent examples of men with strong affiliations to various Roman institutions who nonetheless treasured their Greek cultural background. Despite these men’s continuous focus on Greek culture, the influence from the Roman world should not be underesti-

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Conclusion mated. Those who left home to pursue careers in the army or in the imperial administration were more exposed to the influence of Roman culture than those who remained in an environment where indigenous Greek culture co-existed with influences from the outside world. Apart from a solid knowledge of Latin, a career in the army and in the imperial administration required that officers and magistrates participated in various Roman festivals, worshipped the emperor and took part in other Roman cults and, depending on their appointments, were even responsible for carrying out such rituals. Like other administrators and army officers in Roman service, the Greeks were expected to represent Roman interests and enforce Roman laws in provincial communities, often acting against the interests of other Greeks. No doubt some administrators, such as Herodes Atticus, showed sympathy for their fellow Greeks, but it is also worth noticing that one of the repetundae processes in Bithynia was brought against Iulius Bassus from Pergamum. In order to represent Rome in a way that satisfied the emperor and the provincial communities alike, officers and magistrates of Greek origin had to follow Roman practice and, at least publicly, promote Roman laws and traditions. Such adjustment did not necessarily cause Greeks to lose their Greek identity or define themselves as Roman, but a career in the Roman army or particularly in the imperial administration implied a certain level of loyalty to and support for Roman rule and Roman culture. At its most conspicuous, this caused officials in the Roman service to appear as integrated members of the Roman community. It is hardly surprising that some members of the highest elite took the opportunity to benefit from the power and economic opportunities offered by a career in the Roman army and the imperial administration. It may be argued that the participation of a limited number of Greeks in the Roman world is not representative of the general attitude towards Rome in Pontus and Bithynia. Still, despite the fact that influence from Roman political, religious and cultural institutions was less significant in Pontic and Bithynian cities, members of the civic elite there remained eager to demonstrate their connections with the Roman world. One way for the provincial population to show their status as Roman citizens was the use of tria nomina, which ideally underlined the individuals’ Roman rights and at least legally testified to their belonging to the Roman community. Yet legal status as Roman citizen does not determine an individual’s identity, and Greeks with Roman names and rights did not necessarily identify themselves as Romans or for that matter as part of the Roman community simply because they chose to use Roman names. A stronger indication of the local population’s desire to appear as part of the Roman community was the elite’s keen participation in Roman institutions and in various administrative tasks and their eagerness to announce such activities to their local community. One such Roman institution was the imperial cult, where members of the local elite served

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Eager to be Roman as priests both in the local civic cult and in the cult directed through the koina. Such activities were costly but provided at the same time an opportunity to promote oneself and to achieve substantial social mobility. Logistai appointed by the Roman authorities to control the accounts of Greek cities other than their own are another example of Greeks who through their service in the provincial administration appeared as Rome’s representatives and thus as members of the Roman sphere. But despite the fact that logistai represented Rome, often directly against the interests of the Greek community, it is striking that this appointment was often mentioned in honorific decrees raised in the officials’ home communities, which indicates that such activities must have been highly regarded within that context. Another way for a Greek family to demonstrate Roman cultural identity was to give Latin names to their female members, who did not enjoy any political rights. The practice of giving Roman names to women was quite common in Bithynian cities. Apart from showing the family’s involvement in the imperial cult in Heraclea Pontica, the Roman names given to daughters and granddaughters emphasised further the family’s Roman status, and the wish to appear in public as a family integrated in the Roman sphere. That local families were eager to appear Roman is further illustrated by the giving of three names in a constellation resembling the Roman tria nomina to female members of the family. These attempts to use tria nomina illustrate an almost over-eagerness to appear Roman. Such examples are particularly interesting because they show a desire to follow the tradition of Roman naming but at the same time a lack of understanding of how this tradition worked in practice. The reason why members of the local elite in Bithynian and Pontic cities chose to identify themselves as Roman is not fundamentally different from the motives of those who left their native towns for the army, for a political career in Rome, or for the imperial administration. To be Roman was to be part of the people who dominated the known world, and through participation in Roman institutions, or for instance as logistai in provincial administration, members of the provincial elite were able to join the empire’s ruling community. Once again the question of whether this was done through pragmatism, diplomacy or flattery needs to be considered. As is the case with the Greeks who were a formal part of the imperial administration, there is no need to rule out that some imperial priests, logistai or others who participated in other Roman institutions chose to do so for pragmatic reasons alone. But again the context in which the inscriptions appear is important. Most of the inscriptions were set up within the native towns of those honoured and were most likely meant to impress the inhabitants of those cities. It is true that Roman officials read Greek and were able to gain an impression of the city’s social composition by scanning inscriptions as they passed through the city’s agora or necropolis. The governor or other Roman officials,

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Conclusion however, are unlikely to have used epigraphic records to determine a family’s status in legal matters. Since the inscriptions seem directed towards the local audience, it is convincing that Roman status and posts in Roman institutions were regarded as prestigious in the local community. If Roman status and relations with the Roman world had been considered socially unacceptable, it is difficult to see why the political elite would so eagerly announce publicly such connections to the Roman world in their home communities and risk condemnation. Instead, these connections were perceived as highly prestigious political and social achievements. No doubt Roman rule was also met with some scepticism in the provincial community and no doubt some attempted to resist the cultural influence that followed its institution. The idea of Greek resistance to Roman culture has been based on the writing of Greek intellectuals and their significant criticism of Roman rule; and on the examples of Greeks who participated in Roman politics and administration. From Pontus and Bithynia works of three Greek authors, Dio Chrysostom, Arrian of Nicomedia and Cassius Dio of Nicaea, give an impression of how the coming of Rome was viewed by the intellectual elite within the province. Yet the responses of these three writers seem to be much in line with how the local elite in general responded to the influence of Rome. Their behaviour towards Rome was in general positive and they show a keenness to proclaim their connections to the Roman world. At the same time, Dio Chrysostom and Cassius Dio criticised various emperors, particularly those generally regarded as incompetent, evil or keen to be worshipped as gods. These views represent a criticism of Roman rule or at least an aspect of it, but it is less clear that this criticism also disguised a truly anti-Roman sentiment or an inclination to see the Roman world as less culturally refined than the Greek. Again it should be emphasised that such criticism did not differ significantly from the views held by Latin writers, such as Pliny the Younger, Suetonius or Tacitus, who also criticised the cult of the living emperor, the killing of senators, and rulers who were generally incompetent. It is therefore likely that the attitude found in the writings of Dio Chrysostom and Cassius Dio, in particular, represents the view of the empire’s intellectual elite in general more than a peculiarly Greek opposition to Roman rule. Despite their criticism of Roman rule, Greek intellectuals were keen to broadcast their achievements in the Roman world. When Dio Chrysostom mentioned his relationship to various emperors and emphasised that he was a public speaker in Rome with friends among members of the political elite there, it is a fair assumption that he expected his audience to admire this. It is true that the authors defined themselves as part of the Greek cultural world, and claimed Bithynian cities as their patriae. It is also significant that none of them used the word Roman in defining themselves, which has been seen as a sign that neither any influence from Rome nor

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Eager to be Roman their life in the Roman world affected their cultural identity as Greek. Yet this is hardly the right way to approach the question of self-definition in the Roman empire and it seems doubtful that men like Arrian or Cassius Dio would define themselves as Romans or renounce their native towns – after all, according to Cicero, even Italians were happy to recognise both a natural and a political patria. The idea that the population in general did not identify themselves as Romans or as part of the Roman world (or at least not to the same degree as in the western part of the empire) is highly problematic; it rests on the assumption that Greek culture, with its language, art, literary tradition and intellectual life, was more sophisticated than that of its neighbours – including the Romans. It is agreed that the coming of Rome was followed by notable legal, political, social and material changes, but because Greeks are said to have based their cultural identity on the intellectual values mentioned above, the influence from Rome is believed not to have caused Greek provincials to assume a Roman identity. As such, there has been a tendency among scholars to prioritise a community-based identity, a feeling of belonging to the Greek world above all other social and cultural institutions to which individuals are affiliated. Such a solitarist approach to the question of identity has a tendency to oversimplify not only the question of cultural negotiations but also the process by which identities emerge. This is illustrated by the inscription set up in honour of Titus Ulpius Aelianus Papianus from Prusias ad Hypium, who was a priest of both the emperor and of Asclepius; he was a Roman citizen, with a very distinctive Roman name and the son of one of Rome’s logistai in Bithynia with descendants of consular and senatorial background. To judge from the nomen Aelianus, Hadrian’s family name, his citizenship in Prusias ad Hypium and his status as Asclepius’ priest for life, Papianus was a local with a Greek cultural background. But Papianus was also Roman and eager to show his affiliation to the Roman world by advertising his citizenship, his activities in the imperial cult and his father’s appointment as logistês in Cios. Any attempt to establish Papianus’ inner feelings is likely to be fruitless. What we may hope to pinpoint is the public image he wished to fashion for himself. To judge from the inscription it appears that he was a son of Titus Ulpius Aelianus Antoninus, that he could boast a series of memberships including the phylê Sebastene, the city of Prusa, the local elite, the cult of Asclepius, the Roman people, and the group of individuals who had the responsibility for emperor worship in the Pontic and Bithynian koina. To prioritise one of these identities over the others is to impose a modern value-system on a complicated ancient nexus.

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Notes Introduction 1. Haverfield 1923, 11-14; Rostovtzeff 1928, 215, 223-4. 2. Jones 1940, 58; Jones 1963, 1-5. For similar views see also Bowersock 1965, 69-72; MacMullen 2000, 7-10. 3. Woolf 1994, 127-9; MacMullen 2000, 19-20. 4. A number of recent publications bring attention to the question of the ‘Second Sophistic’ and Greek intellectual response to the influence of Roman culture. See Goldhill 2001 and Konstan and Saïd 2006. 5. Swain 1996, 70-1, 240-1, 246-7, 405, 412. 6. Bowersock 1969, 58. 7. Bowie 1970, 17-18, 39-41. 8. Whitmarsh 2001, 295, 300-301. 9. Mitchell 1993, 88-9. See also Millar 1993, 238, 254. 10. Lieu 2004, 12. 11. Translation by Hall 2002, 189. 12. Hall 2002, 189-90. 13. Hall 2002, 189-90. 14. Hall 2002, 191. 15. Polyb. 34.14; Diod. 5.6.5. 16. Isocrates Paneg. 50. See also Hall 2002, 209. 17. Hall 2002, 198. 18. For paideia as essential to the Athenocentric definition of Greekness see Hall 2002, 202. For the view that Greek self definition was based on intellectual values rather than material culture and therefore less easily influenced compared with e.g. Iron Age cultures in the western part of the Roman empire, see Jones 1940, 58; Jones 1963, 1-5; Swain 1996, 414-18; Woolf 1994 126-9. 19. Sen 2006, 19-20. 20. Sen 2006, xii-xiii. 21. Sen 2006, 33-4. 22. Cohen 2000, 49-50. 23. IK 27 page 17. 24. IK 27.17. 25. IK 2 page 29. 26. IK 27 page 22. 27. Sen 2006, 28-9. 28. Cassius Dio on his consular election, see 77.16.4; for the election as consul ordinaries, AE 1971, 430; for his governorship in Dalmatia, see Cassius Dio 49.36.4 Madsen 2006, 71. 29. Translation by Oliver 1953. 30. Translation by Oliver 1953. 31. Bowersock 1965, 69; Brunt 1976, 161-5; Swain 1996, 414-22; MacMullen 2000, 5-6, Salmeri 2000, 59-60.

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Notes to pages 11-25 1. A Governor at Work 1. The year of Pliny’s arrival is disputed, but the general consensus focuses on 109-111 CE. Sherwin-White 1966, 81 favours 109-111, Williams 1990, 13 favours 110 CE; Eck 1982, 349 favours 110-111 and Radice 1963, 15 111 CE. 2. Williams 1990, 14-15. 3. For Pliny’s career see the inscription ILS 2927 set up in his home town, Como. For the various stages in Pliny’s career see Sherwin-White 1966, 72-82, 732. 4. Pliny Ep. 4.9, 5.20. 5. Sherwin-White 1966, 82; Radice 1963, 15; Williams 1990, 2. For the opposite view, suggesting that Pliny completed Book 10 before his death, see Noreña 2007, 270. For further discussion see below. 6. Wilcken 1914, 134-5; Sherwin-White 1966, 529-33. 7. Sherwin-White 1966, 533. 8. Woolf 2006, 94-7; see also Hoffer 2006, 74-5 for a comparison between the Panegyricus and Ep. 10.1. 9. Euseb. Hist. Eccl. 4.8.6; 4.9. 10. For further examples see Ep. 10.1, 10.2, 10.4, 10.10, written by Pliny without a reply from Trajan. 11. For the difference between Pliny’s letters and those of Cicero see Morello 2007, 170, who points out that letters were a more informal genre and thus by nature more ‘inclusive’. 12. Translation by Williams 1990. 13. Hinge 2005, 44. 14. Woolf 2006, 94-7; Noreña 2007, 252. 15. Translation by Williams 1990. 16. Millar 1977, 261. 17. Translation by Williams 1990. 18. Translation by Williams 1990. 19. Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 135-6. 20. Noreña 2007, 270. 21. IK 9.192, 9.196, 9.205, 10.1.753, 10.1.1062, 10.1.1201; Robert 1970, 241-2. For the various status and many tasks oikonomikoi could have and fulfilled see Carlsen 1995 15-16, 123-5 and 148-9; Carlsen 2002, 118. For trusted slaves in the owner’s familia urbana see also Aubert 1994, 198. 22. Translation by Williams 1990. 23. For boulê members’ payment of entering fees see also Pliny Ep.10.112, 113. 24. For Trajan’s respect of local laws see Pliny Ep. 10.93, 109, 113. 25. Strabo 7.6.2, 11.2.12; Curtis 2005, 36. 26. Trapezus and Sinope: Strabo 7.6.2; Pharnakeia: Strabo 12.3.19; Højte 2005, 138. 27. Gallant 1985, 25, 35, 43-4. For the importance and value of tuna see Horden and Purcell 2000, 194-7. 28. Ael. NA 15.5. Bekker-Nielsen 2005, 89-93; Jacobsen 2005, 98-101. 29. Lund and Gabrielsen 2005, 163-4. 30. For the export of timber see Hannestad 2007, 86-8 and 93-5; for the marginal role of wine, oil and fish see Lund 2007, 185-6, 190. 31. Translation by Williams 1990. 32. Translation by Williams 1990. 33. Translation by Williams 1990. 34. Hassall 2000, 323; Liddle 2003, 5-6.

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Notes to pages 25-36 35. Radice 1963, 18. 2. Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia 1. Woolf 1998, 112-17, 122-6; Bullo 2002, 213-22, esp. 221-2; Hingley 2005, 77-87, esp. 82-6. For a more overall treatment of Romanisation see MacMullen 2000, for Africa 31-3, for Spain 50-3 and 59-62, for Gaul 93-9. 2. MacMullen 2000, 9-10, 19-20. See also Jones 1940, 60-1, 69-72; Jones 1963, 1, 5; Woolf 1994, 126-7; Dmitriev 2005, 189. 3. Millar 1993, 249. 4. Fernoux 2004, 142. 5. Polybius 36.3.1; Harris 1980, 864. 6. Ma 2000, 154-5, 158-62. 7. Wesch-Klein 2001, 251-6; SEG 51.1717. 8. For the official title of Pontus see Mitchell 2002, 50-1. 9. Strabo 12.2.10-12.3.20; App. Mith. 12.115; Plut. Pomp. 42-5. The reorganisation of Pontus has received a lot of attention in studies of both Asia Minor and the political career of Pompey: Magie 1950, 368-75; Gelzer 1984, 88-91; Marek 1993, 43-6. 10. Dreizehnter 1975, 213-15 and 237. 11. Fletcher 1939, 17-20; Dreizehnter 1975, 237. 12. Strabo 12.3.14; Cass. Dio 49.32-3; Magie 1950, 434-6; Mitchell 1993, 38-9; Marek 1993, 49-51; Marek 2003, 40-1, Map 3, 180. 13. Marek 1993, 63-5. 14. Contra Fletcher 1939, 20. 15. Dig. 50.1.1.2; Marshall 1968, 108. 16. Pliny Ep. 10.114-15; besides Prusa, Dio Chrysostom held citizenship in Apamea and Nicomedia (Dio Chrys. Or. 41.10; Or. 38). 17. Marshall 1968, 103-9; Fernoux 2004, 137-8. 18. On Papirius Carbo’s appearances on coins issued by Bithynian and Pontic cities, see Waddington Babelon Reinach 1904-12, for Apamea, 249, no. 29, Bithynium, 268, no. 1, and Amisus, 58, no. 45; see also Marek 2003, 40. 19. Pliny Ep. 10.79, 80, 108, 109, 112, 113, 114, 115. 20. Translation by Williams 1990. 21. Translation by Williams 1990. 22. Translation by Williams 1990. 23. Sherwin-White 1966, 679-84 and 721-2. 24. Mommsen 1887, 315; Sherwin-White 1966, 670. 25. Marshall 1968, 105-6. 26. Translation by Williams 1990. 27. Pliny Ep. 10.112 and 113. 28. Cic. Verr. 2.32-40. 29. Lintott 1993, 74-6. 30. Plut. Luc. 20.3-4; App. Mith. 83; Lintott 1993, 77. 31. Brunt 1981, 169. 32. Dio Chrys. Or. 38.26, 35.14. 33. Jones 1963, 1-5; Jones 1940, 58; Rostovtzeff 1928, 215. 34. Fernoux 2004, 142. 35. Jones 1940, 170-1. 36. Translation by Williams 1990. 37. For the censors’ election of the boulê see Pliny Ep. 10.112; for admission by

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Notes to pages 36-42 the decision of Trajan see Ep. 10.39.5, 10.112-13; for discussion concerning the admission of new boulê members see Dio Chrys. Or. 44.11, 45.7-8. See also Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 126-7. 38. Various interpretations of Pliny’s words have been attempted. A convincing solution seems to be the suggestion from Williams: ‘… the ruin of what was left of his standing’, which successfully combines reliquae and dignitatis (Williams 1990, 150). 39. Translation by Williams 1990. 40. Fernoux 2004, 143; Sherwin-White 1966, 720. 41. Fernoux 2004, 143; Sherwin-White 1966, 643, 720. 42. Livy 34.51; Paus. 7.16.9. See Jones 1940, 336 n. 28 for more examples. 43. Fernoux 2004, 143; Sherwin-White has argued that 100,000 sesterces was the sum, which seems to have been mentioned in the lex Pompeia as the financial qualification in Bithynia (Sherwin-White 1966, 643). See also Williams 1990, 150. 44. Fernoux 2004, 143. 45. Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 127. 46. Fernoux 2004, 142. 47. For supply of corn see e.g. the decree in the honour of Boulagoras from Samos c. 246-243 BCE (SEG 1.366, lines 35-50; Austin 1981, 113). See also the decree from Histiaea in honour Athenodorus who in gratitude for corn supply was given citizenship and access to the council (Austin 1981, 115). For schools see e.g. Austin 1981, 119. 48. Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 69-70. 49. Austin 1981, 110. 50. Jones 1940, 165-7. 51. Quass 1993, 400. 52. Dio Chrys. Or. 48.17. 53. For the view that the provincial cult was imposed by the provincial assemblies see Beard, North and Price 1998, 349, 352. For the view that Rome and the emperor modified and adjusted what were essential proposals presented on a local initiative see Mommsen 1921, 318; Taylor 1931, 146-7; Bowersock 1965, 116, 121; Nock 1966, 485. See also Deininger 1965, 18-19; Mellor 1975, 80; Price 1984, 54; Hänlein-Schäfer 1985, 264-5; Burrell 2004, 17-19, 147-8. 54. Bowersock 1965, 121; Mellor 1975, 21, 26; Fayer 1976, 14-16. 55. Price 1984, 1, 55. 56. For Greek cities honouring proconsuls by the offer of temples, see Suet. Aug. 52. For examples of Roman magistrates honoured by the koinon of Asia see Bowersock 1965, 150-1. For the view that temples to Roman governors were unlikely to have been built see Price 1984, 46. 57. Weinstock 1971, 403; Mellor 1975, 58; Price 1984, 76-7 and 254; Gradel 2002, 74; Burrell 2004, 18, 275-6. 58. I am grateful to Dr Martine Cuypers, Trinity College, Dublin, for her kind help and many valuable suggestions for a word-for-word translation of Cassius Dio into English. For other translations see Cary Loeb; Carter 1987, Freyburger and Roddaz’s Budé edition 1991; Gradel 2002, 73-4; Burrell 2004, 17. 59. Deininger 1965, 16-17 and 137. 60. Mommsen 1887, vol. 3, 744. 61. Cass. Dio 54.30.3 or 57.2.4; see also App. BCiv. 2.13 for a similar example. 62. For reference to a Pontic koinon see IK 47.1, 27.17. See also Marek 1993, 73-82. 63. Deininger 1965, 17-18; Mellor 1975, 80 n. 346; Burrell 2004, 38.

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Notes to pages 42-51 64. Translation by Shotter 1989. 65. Deininger 1965, 17-18. 66. In the sense of ‘permit’ see Cass. Dio 1.1.2, 5.18.5, 17.57.56. For ‘entrust’, Cass. Dio 8.36.33, 36.1.1, 37.40.1. 67. Burrell 2004, 38. 68. Tac. Ann. 4.55-6. 69. Translation by Shotter 1989. 70. Burrell 2004, 39. 71. See also Price 1984, esp. 69-71; Jones 1999, 107-8. 72. Price 1984, 54-5. For the koinon’s honour of the governor see Sherk 1969, 65. 73. A similar example is to be found in Oenoanda where Hadrian granted C. Iulius Demosthenes the right to introduce a musical competition in the city in which also the emperor was honoured by the show of his image in what must have been a public procession in which also the image of Apollo was carried around. See Mitchell 1990, 183. 74. For the interference of Rome and the emperor in the implementation of emperor-worship see Price 1984, 69-71. 75. Tac. Ann. 4.55. 76. For references to the Roma et Augustus cult in Pergamum see BMCRE 705, 706; Tac. Ann 4.55. For Nicomedia see BMCRE 1098b; BMCRE 1099c; see Burrell 2004, 19 and 148. For a general remark on Augustus’ decision to receive worship together with Dea Roma see Suet. Aug. 52. 77. Price 1984, 76-7. 78. IK 32.4324; Price 1984, 76-7 (for the translation of hieromnemon see particularly 76 n. 92). 79. Weinstock 1971, 402-4. 80. North 1975, 176. 81. Hänlein-Schäfer 1985, 264-5. 82. Translation by Shotter 1989. 83. For the Augustus temple in connection with the Artemision see ILS 97 = CIL 3.7118; also IK 12.412. For the Augustus temple at the city centre see IK 13.902. For discussion see Price 1984, 254. 84. Price 1984, 254. 85. Syll. 760. Weinstock 1971, 296. 86. Burrell 2004, 362. 87. Mitchell 1993, 102-3. 88. Mitchell 1993, 103. 89. Mellor 1975, 201, Cass. Dio 69.4.3. 90. Syll. 760. Weinstock 1971, 296. 91. Gradel 1992, 47f. For a different approach see Hertz 2006, 642-3. 92. Gradel 2002, 80-4. For example the temples in Neapolis dedicated to Roma and Augustus dated to 2 CE (see Hänlein-Schäfer 1985, 128ff.); in Beneventum where the knight P. Vedius Pollio dedicated a temple to ‘Caesari Augusto et Coloniae Beneventanae’ (see Hänlein-Schäfer 1985, 141f.); and in Pola where there was a temple to ‘Romae et Augusto Caesari divi f(ilio) patri patriae’ (see HänleinSchäfer 1985, 149ff.). For references to priests to the living Augustus see Gradel 2002, 85-91. 93. Gradel 2002: for priests, 85-91; for temples, 80-4. 94. For the Maecenas debate see Rich 1990, 14-15. See also Swan 2004, 17; Gowing 1992, 291-4.

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Notes to pages 52-63 95. Metcalf 1980, 139-40; Burrell 2004, 147. 96. S,ahin 1978, 24-5. 97. Burrell 2004, 164. 98. Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 48 n. 22. 99. Nicaea’s loss of the title is confirmed by Dio Chrysostom’s speech to the Nicomedians (Or. 38.39). For the role of Germanicus see Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 47 n. 11. 100. Cass. Dio 73.12.2. See also Burrell 2004, 153. 101. Burrell 2004, 154. 102. Burrell 2004, 158. 103. Burrell 2004, 160. 104. Translation by Williams 1990. 105. Translation by Williams 1990. 106. Harris 1980, 886-7. 107. Cic. Verr. 2.32-40. 108. Translation by Duff 1999. 109. See also Dio Chrys. 34.19; Sheppard 1986, 242-4. 110. For the emperor ruling as response to petitions from governors and local groups see Millar 1977, esp. 6. 3. Greeks in the Roman World 1. Arrian does not mention Nicomedia directly but the context, in which he argues for his worthiness to write of Alexander, has generally been taken to mean that he was referring to his city of origin. See Chapter 5; Swain 1996, 244-5; Bosworth 1980-90, 106. 2. Swain 1996, 414-22. 3. MacMullen 2000, 5-6; Swain 1996, 243-4, 415 on Arrian’s personal ambition and Greek descent. For earlier studies see Bowersock 1965, 69; Brunt 1976, 161-2. 4. Wörrle 1988, 4-5; Mitchell 1990, 183; Salmeri 2000, 59-60. 5. Salmeri 2000, 56-60; Swain 1996, 404-5; Griffin 1984, 212. 6. Fernoux 2004, 200-8; for further discussion see below. 7. For Parthenius see Lightfoot, 1999, 30. 8. Polybius 31.23; Walbank 1957-79, 3; for other examples of Greek ‘guests’ in Rome, see Bowersock 1965, 2. 9. Plut. Cat. Mai. 23; that Cato was also heavily influenced by Greek culture has been pointed out by Gruen 1992, 59. 10. Halfmann 1979, 33, 100. 11. Halfmann 1979, 33. 12. Griffin 1984, 31; Halfmann 1979, 19-21. 13. Suet. Ner. 23. 14. Mitchell 1974, 31-3. 15. Mitchell 1974. 28. 16. Mitchell 1974, 38; Halfmann 1979, 71-81. 17. Mitchell 1974, 27-9. 18. Tac. Hist. 2.63. 19. For the appointment as proconsul see TAM IV 1, 22; IK 9.25. 20. Halfmann 1979, 43, 112-15. 21. Pliny Ep. 4.9; Halfmann 1979, 115-16. 22. Tac. Ann. 11.23-5. 23. Devreker 1980, 261-4; Eck 2000, 219.

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Notes to pages 63-68 24. In his study on the eastern senators, Halfmann 1979, 100-212 shows that the provincial elite in Anatolia reached the senate and the higher magistracies in the imperial administration in the late first century CE or during the first of the second century CE. 25. Cass. Dio 53.25.1. 26. On the imperial provincialisation and urbanisation of Galatia and remaining central Anatolia, see Mitchell 1993, 61-9, 80-99. 27. Halfmann 1979, 43. 28. Magie 1950, 434-7; Marek 2003, 41. 29. Halfmann 1979, 19. 30. Fernoux 2004, 478-84. 31. Whether Catilius Longus is the correct reading is uncertain due to a missing part in the beginning of the first line. For the reading Catilius Longus, see Halfmann 1979, 115; IK 32.2. 32. IK 32.2. 33. IK 32.2. Halfmann 2008, 128. 34. For further examples, see Halfmann’s catalogue of senators from the East: no. 26, C. Iulius Quadratus Bassus, 119-20; no. 34, C. Caristanius Iulianus, 129; no. 45, Ti. Lulius Frugi, 140; no. 49, Sex. Quintilius Valerius Maximus, 141; no. 57, Ti. Claudius Iulianus, 147; no. 58, L. Antonius Albus, 148; no. 81, C. Iulius Severus, 165; similar examples from Bithynia, apart from Catilius Longus, see L. Flavianus Arrianus Fernoux 2004, 456-8, 481. 35. Halfmann 1979, 29; IK 32.2. 36. Eilers 2002, 161-5, esp. table 2. 37. IK 32.21; CIL 3.337. 38. PIR2 C.558; CIL 10.8291; IK 32.33. Halfmann 2008, 129. 39. Halfmann 1979, 134-5; Halfmann 2008, 130-1; Degrassi 1952, 33, 35; CIL 10.8291; ILS 1041. 40. IK 32.8 ; Fernoux 2004, 444; Le Bohec 1994, 41. 41. IK 32.8; Le Bohec 1994, 39. 42. IK 32.8, where it is argued, based on CIL 6.1645 = ILS 2773, that there is only a single example of a similar military career; see also Le Bohec 1994, 43-6. 43. MacMullen 2000, 3-5, 7-10. 44. IK 9.57; PIR2 C.481; Fernoux 2004, 461. 45. Fernoux 2004, 461; Degrassi 1952, 32. 46. Millar 1964, 8; Halfmann 1979, 194. 47. Halfmann 1979, 194; for the career of M. Cassius Apronianus, see Cass. Dio 69.1.3, 49.36.4: CIL 15.2164. See also Fernoux 2004, 464-6. 48. For a suggestion on the early years of Cassius Dio’s cursus honorum, see Millar 1964, 15-17. 49. Fernoux 2004, 467; Millar 1964, 193-4. 50. Cass. Dio 77.17.3-18.4. 51. Cass. Dio 80.7.4. 52. Cass. Dio 49.36.4. 53. PIR2 C.492; suffect consul, Cass. Dio, 80.5.1; consul ordinarius, AE 1971, 430; Cass. Dio. 49.36.4. 54. Aristides Or. 48.48, 50.16; see Fernoux 2004, 463-4. 55. For Arrian’s son IG 2/3 2.4251-3; see also Fernoux 2004, 459. 56. TAM IV 1, 42; Fernoux 2004, 460. 57. Liddle 2003, 3; Stadter 1980, 5. 58. Syll. 827A; Liddle 2003, 3-4; Stadter 1980, 7.

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Notes to pages 68-74 59. Stadter 1980, 9. 60. AE 1974, 370; Liddle 2003, 4. 61. CIL 6.31132; Degrassi 1952, 37; Halfmann 1979, no. 56, 146-7; Eck 1983, 217; Liddle 2003, 4; Fernoux 2004, 456-8. 62. Lucian Pereg. 14. 63. For further discussion of Arrian’s Syrian governorship see Halfmann 1979, 146; Syme 1988, 42. See also Liddle and Fernoux who find no solid proof that Arrian’s imperial career continued after his Cappadocian appointment: Liddle 2003, 12-13; Fernoux 2004, 458. 64. Bowersock 1967, 279-80. 65. Lucian Alex. 2. 66. IG 2.2055; Liddle 2003, 12. 67. Arr. Anab. 1.12.1-5; see also Swain 1996, 244. 68. Phot. Bibl. 93; Fernoux 2004, 457. 69. Eck 1980, 311-14. 70. Degrassi 1952, 67. 71. IK 27.45. 72. IK 27.45; for a full account of his career, see Fernoux 2004, 472-4. 73. IK 27.45. 74. Millar 1964, 10 n. 2. 75. IK 27.6. 76. IK 27.7. 77. Fernoux 2004, 476. 78. PIR2 D.146; IK 31.65; Fernoux 2004, 469. 79. IGR 3.85; CIL 8, 1640, 15876. See also Fernoux 2004, 469, no. 39; Halfmann 1979, 205, no. 148; Fernoux 2004, 469-70. 80. PIR2 D.134; IGR 4.698; Fernoux 2004, 471; Halfmann 1979, 205 no. 148. 81. PIR2 E.36; CIL 4.1405, 2001; CIL 3.6058; IG 7.2510; Fernoux 2004, 453-4. 82. For an inscription set up in the honour of the emperor see e.g. IK 64.87 to Antoninus Pius and IK 64.88-9 to Marcus Aurelius. For the honouring of a Roman legate see IK 64.98 and for the honouring of a local magistrate who served as priest in the city’s Caesar Augustus cult see IK 64.100. 83. Halfmann 1979, 135. 84. Degrassi 1952, 33. 85. Cass. Dio 79.5.4; see also Halfmann 1979, 180; Kienast 1996, 139. 86. Fernoux 2004, 482. 87. Levick 2000, 610-11. 88. Cass. Dio 80.7.4. 89. Dig. 1.1.11. 90. Dig. 52.1.23. 91. Eck 1980, 282. 92. Plut. Prae. ger. reip. 814, where he implies that a good statesman should always try to obtain contacts with centrally placed Romans in the capital. 93. Plut. Moralia 470B-D. 94. Plut. Moralia 814. 95. Swain 1996, 162; Jones 1971, 135-7. 96. In the studies of both Halfmann and Rémy it is clear that the elite in the eastern provinces were included on a far more regular basis from the beginning of the second century. See Halfmann 1979, 99-213; Rémy 1988, 257-9, where tables of the origin of magistrates in the Anatolian provinces show that the number of

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Notes to pages 74-83 civil servants of eastern origin increased from the beginning of the second century onwards. 97. For a catalogue of members of the Bithynian equestrian ordo, see Fernoux 2004, 417-45. 98. IK 9.58. The first line of the inscription is missing and the name of the man honoured has to be reconstructed based on an inscription (ILS 8850) found in Egypt, where a T. Aurelius Calpurnianus Apollonides with an identical cursus honorum is honoured. 99. On his return to Oenoanda C. Iulius Demosthenes stepped as prytanis and secretary of the council into the highest level of Oenoanda’s political administration. 100. Wörrle 1988, 4-5; Mitchell 1990, 183; Salmeri 2000, 59-60. 101. For a discussion of the continuous contact between Roman magistrates of Greek origin and their home town and province under and after their service in the Roman administration and army see Quass 1982, 207-8. 102. Of imperial officials from Pontus and Bithynia with appointments in the western part of the empire mention can be made of Cassius Agrippa who served in Baetica (IK 9.57), Cassius Dio who held the governorship in Pannonia, Dalmatia and Africa (Cass. Dio 49.36.4.), and Arrian, who served presumably in Baetica before he was elected consul in the late 120s (AE 1974, 370). 103. C. Antius A. Iulius Qvadratus, Iulius C. Bassus and Catilius Longus are all likely to have been admitted to the senate under Vespasian as a reward for their support of the new emperor; see Levick, 2000, 610-11. 104. Sherwin-White 1973, 310-11. 105. Arr. Periplus 6.2. 106. Swain 1996, esp. 411-12. 107. For Cassius Dio’s references to himself as a part of the senate or the empire, see 75.1.4, 76.12.5, 80.4.1-2; see also Rich 1990, 2; Swain 1996, 403. 108. Swain 1996. For the discussion of Arrian’s use of patris, see 245, for the case of Cassius Dio, see 405. 109. Arr. Anab. 1.12.5; Cass. Dio 76.15.3. 110. Cic. Leg. 2, 2.5; Pliny Ep. 1.8, 5.7. 111. Swain 1996, 247-8; Arr. Tact. 33. 112. Arr. Tact. 44.2-3. 113. Florus 1.31.14 (translation by E.S. Foster). For one example in Livy see 23.14.1. 114. Swain 1996, 243, 404-5. 115. IK 27.7, 17. 116. Aristides To Rome 92-5. 4. Turning Roman in Pontus and Bithynia 1. IK 39.125 and IK 64.128. 2. See for instance IK 39.9 from around Prusa, where Vespasian and Titus are honoured for rebuilding a road, or the honouring of Trajan in Prusias ad Hypium, IK 27.32. 3. Despite the fact that Latin inscriptions were set up to the emperor, it remained a common practice to raise honorific inscriptions to the emperor in Greek. See for instance IK 27.31 and 27.33-41 from Prusias ad Hypium. 4. Jones 1940, 164-9. 5. See P. Annius Claudianus Metrodorus from Prusa ad Olympum, IK 39.22; Cl.

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Notes to pages 84-94 Tineius Asklepiodotus from Prusias ad Hypium, IK 27.1; Domitius, son of Aster, from Prusias ad Hypium, IK 27.2. 6. McLean 2002, 115. In the republican period citizenship and thereby Roman names were given to the Greek elite in particular by Roman officials such as commanders and various kinds of magistrates and promagistrates. As such Roman family names such as Cassius, Flavius, Domitius and Iulius appear in the epigraphic material from Pontus and Bithynia. 7. This practice of calling Romans by a single name is to be seen, for instance, in the writing of Cassius Dio, who, however, gives the full name to persons expected to be less well known to his audience. Cassius Dio 46.1, where Dio provides the full tria nomina of Quintus Fufius Calenus. 8. Solin 2001, 190. 9. IK 27.1. 10. IK 27.2. 11. IK 27.1. 12. This approach, I am aware, runs the risk of leaving out a number of Roman citizens, who chose to present themselves with one name only. 13. One prominent example is Marcus Plancius Varus from Perge Halfmann 1979, 104. 14. Carlsen 2006, 71; Carlsen 2008, 74. 15. Goudriaan 1988, 62-7 and 86-7. 16. Goudriaan 1992, 93. 17. Sherwin-White 1973, 310-11. 18. Halfmann 1979, 23-6; Griffin 1984, 212. 19. Sherwin-White 1973, 311. 20. Translation by Radice 1963. 21. Fernoux 2004, 201-5; Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 99-100. 22. For the role of the archon see IK 27.20, Fernoux 2004, 322-3; Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 73-4. 23. IK, 27.2. 24. IK 39.16. 25. Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 99. 26. Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 99-100. 27. IK 9.116. For the role of the sebastophant see IK 27.29; IK 40.59. Judging by the name Cassius, G. Cassius Chrestus was a descendant of the wealthy Nicaean Cassius Asclepiodotus, who was exiled by Nero and later rehabilitated by Galba, Tacitus, Ann. 16.33; Cassius Dio 62.26.2: See also Millar 1964, 8-9. 28. Translation by Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 112. 29. Translation by Jonnes 1994. 30. IK 47.1. 31. IK 39.16. 32. IK 39.13. 33. See Deininger 1965, 44-5; IK 27.31; Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 83. 34. OGIS 531 commented by Marek 1993, 95. See Friesen 1999, 283-4; BekkerNielsen 2008, 84 for the most recent discussion of the unification theory. 35. Fernoux 2004, 353. For the question of social status of the Bithyniarchs see Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 84-5. 36. IK 27.5. 37. IK 27.46. 38. IK 27.9; Fernoux 2004, 403.

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Notes to pages 94-105 39. IK 27.11. 40. IK 27.12. 41. IK 27.17. 42. IK 27.7. 43. IK 27.46. 44. IK 27.47. 45. Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 104-5. 46. Cass. Dio 78.9.3-6. See Fernoux 2004, 201. 47. IK 32.22. Rascania is a name of Etruscan origin. 48. IK 64.109. 49. IK 64.156. 50. IK 64.155. 51. IK 47.1. 52. IK 39.64. 53. IK 31.30. 54. IK 31.35. 55. IK 31.73. 56. IK 31.82. 57. McLean 2002, 127. 58. IK 47.8. On the question of the patronymikon, see Daux 1977, 405. 59. IK 27.54. 60. IK 27.53. 61. Two other examples of women with tria nomina like names also from Prusias ad Hypium, are Aurelia Heraklidiane Domitia, IK 27.85; Calpurnia Domitia Markiane, IK 27.53. 62. IK 9.123. 63. See Prima the daughter of Apollodotos, IK 39.156; Iulia Paula the daughter of Gaius, IK 39.124; Maxima daughter of Leukios, IK 40.1052. 64. Dion, the son of Basilides, was the father of Saturninus, IK 39.160; Pasikrates, the son of Alexander, was the father of Decimus, IK 39.30. 65. Timotheos, son of Gaius from Prusa ad Olympum, IK 39.111; Dionysodorus, son of Gaius from Prusa ad Olympum, IK 39.108; Dion, son of Quintus from Prusa ad Olympum, IK 39.104. 66. Woolf 1994, 125-6; Swain 1996, 404-5. 67. IK 39.169. 68. Daux 1977, 405. 69. Daux 1977, 405. 70. IK 27.54. 71. Sherwin-White 1973, 315-16. 72. Rémy 1988, 27-9. 5. Responses to Roman Rule 1. Magie 1950, 419-25. 2. Bowie 1970, 4-8; Swain 1996, 18-19, 139-40, 411-15; Desideri 2000, 93-5. 3. Rich 1990, 15. 4. Anderson 1993, 55-6; Whitmarsh 2004, 146-8. 5. Philostr. VS 481; Anderson 1993, 16. 6. Whitmarsh 2005, 13. 7. Whitmarsh 2005, 24-5. 8. Philostr. VS 582.

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Notes to pages 106-120 9. Whitmarsh 2005, 26. For a satirical view of the sophistic performance as an oral show with little content other than entertainment, see Lucian Teacher of Rhetoric 15. 10. Swain 1996, 19. 11. Swain 1996, 41-2, 71. 12. Tac. Agr. 3.1; Hist. 1.1.4; Marcus Aurelius Meditations 1.14-15. 13. Pliny Pan. 66.4; Morford 1992, 586. 14. Jones 1978, 5-7, Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 120. 15. Jones 1978, 16-17; Moles 1978, 87. 16. Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 135-6. 17. Moles 1978, 83. 18. Fantham 1999, 222-5. 19. Salmeri 2000, 87. 20. Desideri 1978, 36; Jones 1978, 48; Swain 1996, 189. 21. Whitmarsh 2001, 159-61. 22. Jones 1978, 46. 23. Translation by Cohoon 1939. 24. Dio Chrys. Or. 13.29-37. 25. Moles 2005, 128. 26. Moles 1978, 87; Jones 1978, 36. 27. Dio Chrys. Or. 1.42, 1.45. 28. Swain 1996, 195. 29. Seneca Apocol. 10f.; Pliny Panegyric 2.3; Suetonius Dom. 13.2; Madsen 2009, 189-91. 30. Dio Chrys. Or. 38.34, 38.36ff. See also Sheppard 1984-6, 237. 31. Dio Chrys. Or. 38.33. 32. Salmeri 2000, 87. 33. Salmeri 2000, 87. 34. Garnsey 1996, 66. 35. Salmeri 2000, 87. 36. For gladiator games in Roman Athens and the colony of Corinth see Welch 2007, 163f. 37. Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 121-2. 38. Dio Chrys. Or. 44.11-12. 39. Dio Chrys. Or. 45.2-4. 40. Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 126-7. See above, Chapter 2. 41. Eck 2002, 225-6. 42. Dio Chrys. Or. 38.34-6. 43. Dio Chrys. Or 13.1, 45.1. 44. Pliny Pan. 2.3. 45. For Arrian’s primary interests in the Greek past before the coming of Rome, see Bowie 1970, 24-7. For the focus on what Arrian did not mention or write about, see Swain 1996, 242-8. 46. Swain 1996, 243. 47. Bowie 1970, 24-5. 48. Arrian On Hunting 1.4-5. 49. Stadter 1980, 28. 50. Stadter 1980, 14; see Bowersock 1967, 279-80, who argues that even though Arrian’s name is missing, he is the only philosopher to have governed Cappadocia in the reign of Hadrian. 51. Gell. NA 1.2; Marcus Aurelius Meditations 1.7; Stadter 1980, 18.

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Notes to pages 120-126 52. Arr. Anab. 1.12. For the incident with Bassus see Arr. Anab. 4.7. For the Persian dressing see 4.8. For his drunkenness and the killing of Cleitus see 4.9. 53. Arr. Anab. 1.12.1-5. 54. Translation by De Sélincourt 1971. 55. Phot. Bibl. 93: See Swain 1996, 244-5. 56. Hdt. 1.1-5; Thuc. 1.1. 57. Arr. Anab. 1.12.1-5; Stadter 1980, 61-2. 58. Stadter 1980, 64-5. 59. Swain 1996, 246. 60. Bowie 1970, 27. Out of what seems to be a lack of specific references to Cappadocia, Bosworth dates the Anabasis to the years before Arrian’s appointment to the province, Bosworth 1980-90, 9-10. This attempt to date the Anabasis by an argument from silence has been questioned by Stadter 1980, 185. 61. Spawforth & Walker 1985, 79-82. 62. Stadter 1980, 59. 63. Swain 1996, 243. 64. Swain 1996, 247. 65. Swain 1996, 246-7. 66. Lucian Alex. 2. 67. Translation by Liddle 2003. 68. Translation by Liddle 2003. 69. Swain 1996, 243-4. 70. Rich 1990, 11. 71. Millar 1964, 41. 72. Millar 1964, 41-2; Rich 1990, 5. 73. Rich 1990, 5. 74. Rich 1990, 5. 75. Severus did not as promised abstain from killing senators. Instead he entrusted his hopes for safety to the army, and not on maintaining good terms with the senate (Cass. Dio 75.2.); Severus sent Rome into a civil war that weakened the empire (Cass. Dio 76.7). Caracalla was guilty of killing out of envy (Cass. Dio 78.1.1-2), for killing his brother (Cass. Dio 78.2) and for killing of distinguished men (Cass. Dio 78.4.1). 76. Dio Chrys. Or. 13.1; Pliny Pan. 2.3. 77. Tac. Agr. 39-46, especially 43 where Tacitus suggests that Domitian played a role in Agricola’s death. Suetonius offers a more balanced but still critical treatment of Domitian’s life, depicting the emperor’s murder of many noblemen (Suet. Dom. 10). 78. For instance when the senate decided to deify Pertinax (Cass. Dio 74.17.4-5). 79. Cass. Dio 73.20.1-3. 80. Dio Chrys. Or. 41.6.

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Index Locorum References to the pages and notes of this book are in bold type. Aelian De natura animalium 15.5: 136n.28 Appian Bella Civilia 2.13: 138n.62 The Mithradatic Wars 12.115: 137n.9; 12.83: 137n.30; 17.177: 30 Aristides To Rome 59: 7; 63: 7, 95, 123; 92: 143n.116 Other orations 48.48: 141n.54; 50.16: 141n.54 Arrian Anabasis 1.12: 59, 120, 121, 142n.67, 143n.109, 147n.52, 147n.53, 147n.57; 4.7: 147n.52 On Hunting 1.2: 122; 1.4-5: 146n.48 Periplus 1.1: 45; 1.2: 122; 6.2: 122, 143n.105 Tactica 33: 143n.111; 44.2-3: 143n.112 Athenaeus 3.116b: 22 Cassius Dio 1.1: 139n.66; 5.18: 139n.66; 8.36: 139n.66; 17.57: 139n.66; 36.1: 139n.66; 37.20: 40; 37.40: 139n.66; 46.1: 144n.7; 49.32: 137n.12; 49.36: 135n.28, 141n.47, 141n.52, 141n.53; 51.20: 41, 43, 48, 50, 124; 51.21: 45; 52.35: 50; 52.36: 50; 53.25: 141n.25; 54.30: 138n.61; 57.2: 138n.61; 59.28: 43, 48, 124; 62.26: 144n.27; 65.8: 112; 67.5: 124, 125; 67.11: 125; 69.1.3: 141n.47; 69.4: 139n.89; 73.10: 125; 73.12: 140n.100; 73.20: 147n.79; 74.17: 147n.78; 75.1: 143n.107; 75.2: 147n.75; 76.7: 147n.75; 76.12: 143n.107; 76.15: 6, 59, 143n.109; 77.16: 135n.28;

77.17: 141n.50; 77.18: 141n.50; 78.1-2: 147n.75; 78.4: 147n.75; 78.9: 145n.46; 79.5: 142n.85; 80.4: 143n.107; 80.5: 141n.53; 80.7: 141n.51, 142n.88; 80.11: 51; 80.12: 51 Fr. 1.3: 6, 59, 80 Cicero De Legibus 2.2: 143n.110 Verres 2.32-40: 140n.107, 137n.28 Digesta 1.1.11: 142n.89; 27.1.6.14: 42; 50.1.1.2: 137n.15; 52.1.23: 142n.90 Dio Chrysostom 1.42: 146n.27; 1.45: 146n.27; 3.54: 112; 11: 108; 13.1: 110, 146n.43, 147n.76; 13.10-13: 111; 13.29-31: 104, 108, 146n.24; 13.29-37: 111; 15.20: 109; 25.8: 109, 113, 114; 28: 108; 29: 108; 31: 108; 31.121-2: 109, 115; 32: 108, 112; 32.60: 112; 32.95-6: 111, 112, 116; 34.19: 140n.109; 35.14: 137n.30; 38: 137n.16; 38.26: 137n.32; 38.33: 113, 146n.31; 38.34: 146n.30, 146n.42; 38.35: 146n.42; 38.36: 113, 146n.30, 146n.42; 38.39: 140n.99; 38.47: 113; 40.5: 17, 95; 40.6: 95; 41.6: 107, 147n.80; 41.6-7: 7; 41.10: 137n.16; 44.1-6: 6; 44.5: 117; 44.11: 117, 138n.37; 44.11-12: 116, 146n.38; 44.12: 111; 45: 116; 45.1: 110, 112, 146n.43; 45.2-4: 95, 111, 146n.39; 45.7-8: 138n.37; 45.8-9: 11; 46.3: 116; 46.6: 107, 108; 47: 116; 47.13: 17; 48.17: 138n.52; 49.14-15: 39; 50.7: 39; 50.10: 39 Diodorus 5.6: 135n.15

159

Index Locorum Dionysius of Halicarnassus 1.89-90: 4 Eusebius Historia Ecclesiastica 4.8-4.9: 136n.9 Florus 1.31: 143n.113 Gaius Institutiones 1.193: 40 Gellius 1.2: 146n.51 Herodian 5.3: 51 Herodotus 1.1: 147n.56; 8.144, 3 Isocrates Panegyricus 50: 135n.16 Livy 1.18-21: 114; 23.14: 143n.113; 34.51: 138n.42 Lucian Alexander 2: 142n.65, 147n.66 Teacher of Rhetoric 15: 146n.9 Peregrinus 14: 142n.62 Marcus Aurelius 1.7: 146n.51; 1.14-5: 146n.12 Pausanias 7.8: 104; 7.16: 138n.42 Philostratus Vita Sophistarum 481: 145n.5; 488: 110; 582, 145n.8 Vita Apollonii 27-38: 108 Photius Bibliotheca 93: 142n.68, 147n.55 Pliny the Younger Epistulae 1.18: 143n.110; 4.9: 136n.3, 140n.21; 5.7: 143n.110; 5.20: 136n.3; 10.1: 37, 136n.10; 10.2: 136n.10; 10.4: 136n.10; 10.10: 136n.10; 10.11: 88; 10.17: 11, 17; 10. 18: 13; 10.20: 109; 10.21: 25; 10.23: 17; 10.27: 25; 10.28: 25; 10.31: 55; 10.32: 55; 10.33: 104; 10.34: 104; 10.37: 17; 10.38: 18; 10.39: 18, 19, 117, 138n.37; 10.40: 15, 19; 10.43: 21; 10.47: 21; 10,48: 21; 10.49: 18; 10.54: 55; 10.55: 55; 10.57: 56; 10.58: 36; 10.61: 21; 10.62: 21; 10.65: 15; 10.68: 14; 10.70: 51; 10.71: 51; 10.75: 45; 10.77: 25; 10.78: 25; 10.79: 32, 35, 137n.19; 10.80: 35, 38. 137n.19; 10.81: 21; 10.82: 16, 21; 10.90: 21; 10.91: 21; 10.93: 136n.24; 10.97: 14; 10.98: 21, 54; 10.99: 21, 54; 10.108: 24, 137n.19; 10.109: 24, 136n.24, 137n.19; 10.110: 36; 10.112: 33, 136n.23, 137n.37, 137n.27, 137n.37; 10.113: 24, 33, 136n.23, 136n.24, 137n.37, 137n.27;

10.114: 55, 137n.16, 137n.19; 10.115: 55, 137n.16, 137n.19 Panegyricus 2: 146n.29, 146n.44, 147n.76; 42: 16; 66: 146n.13 Plutarch Cato Maior 23: 140n.9 Lucullus 20.3-4: 137n.30 Pompey 42-5: 137n.9; 45.2: 30 Moralia 470B-D, 142n.93; 813E: 56; 814: 142n.92, 142n.94; 814-15: 56 Polybius 4.38: 22; 31.25: 22; 34.14: 135n.15; 36.3: 137n.5 Pseudo-Skymnos 998-1000: 23 Seneca Apocolocyntosis 10: 146n.29 Strabo 7.6: 136n.25, 136n.26; 11.2: 136n.25; 12.2: 12.3 137n.9; 12.3: 137n.12; 12.6: 22; 12.3: 29-31, 136n.26 Suetonius Divus Augustus 52: 49, 138n.56, 139n.76 Nero 23: 140n.13 Domitian 10: 147n.77; 13: 146n.29 Tacitus Agricola 3.1: 146n.12; 30-2: 104; 39-46: 147n.77 Annales 4.36: 44; 4.37: 42, 44; 4.55: 41, 48, 139n.68, 139n.75; 4.56: 48, 139n.68; 11.23-5: 140n.22; 16.33: 144n.27 Historiae 1.1: 146n.12; 2.63: 140n.18 Thucydides 1.1: 147n.56 Xenophon Anabasis 6.4: 22 Epigraphic sources Austin 113: 138n.47; 115: 138n.47; 118: 39 AE 1971: 430, 135n.28, 141n.53; 1974: 370, 142n.60, 143n.102 CIL 3.337: 141n.37; 3.6058: 142n.81; 3.7118: 139n.83; 4.1405: 142n.81; 4.2001: 81; 6.1645: 141n.42; 6.31132: 142n.61; 8.1640: 142n.79; 8.15876: 142n.79; 10.816: 50; 10.8291: 141n.38; 15.2164: 141n.47 IG 2.2055: 142n.66; 2/3 2.4252-3: 141n.55; 7.2510: 142n.81

160

Index Locorum IGR 3.85: 142n.79; 4.698: 142n.80 IK 9 Nicaea 25-28: 90, 140n.19; 51: 90; 57: 141n.44, 143n.102; 58: 143n.98; 116: 144n.27; 123: 145n.62; 125: 98; 171: 98; 192: 136n.21; 196: 136n.21; 205: 136n.21 IK 10,1 Nicaea 753: 136n.21; 1062: 136n.21; 1201: 136n.21 IK 12 Ephesus 412: 139n.83 IK 13 Ephesus 902: 139n.83 IK 27 Prusias ad Hypium 1: 98, 144n.5, 144n.9, 144n.11; 2: 98, 144n.5, 114n.9, 144n.2; 5: 144n.36; 6: 142n.75; 7: 142n.76, 143n.115, 145n.42; 9: 144n.38; 11: 145n.39 12: 145n.40; 17: 4, 138n.62, 143n.115, 45n.41; 31: 143n.3, 144n.33; 32: 143n.2; 33-41: 143n.3 45: 142n.71-3 46: 144n.37, 145n.43; 47: 145n.44; 53: 145n.60, 145n.61; 54: 145n.59, 145n.70; 85: 145n.61 IK 31 Claudiopolis 30: 145n.53; 35: 145n.54; 65: 142n.78; 73: 145n.55; 84: 145n.56

IK 32 Apamea 8: 59, 141nn.40-2; 2: 141nn.31-3, 35; 21: 141n.37; 22: 145n.47; 33: 141n.38 IK 39 Prusa 9: 143n.2; 13: 144n.32; 16: 144n.31; 22: 143n.5; 30: 145n.64; 64: 145n.52; 104: 145n.65; 108: 145n.65; 111: 145n.65; 120: 98; 124: 145n.63; 125: 143n.1; 131: 98; 156: 145n.63; 158: 98; 160: 145n.64; 169: 145n.67 IK 40 Prusa 1052: 145n.63 IK 47 Heraclea Pontica 1: 138n.62, 144n.30, 145n.51; 8: 145n.58 IK 64 Sinope 87: 142n.82; 98: 142n.82; 100: 142n.82; 109: 145n.48; 125: 143n.1; 155: 145n.50; 156: 145n.49 ILS 97: 139n.83; 2927: 136n.3; 2773: 141n.42; 8850: 143n.98 SEG 1.366: 138n.47 Syll. 760: 139n.85, 139n.90; 827A: 141n.58 TAM IV 1, 22: 140n.19; IV 1, 42: 141n.56

161

General Index Achaea, 15, 37, 62, 71, 121 Achilles 120 Aelian, 22 Africa, the province, 65, 67, 71 Ailius Sofus, D., 85 Alexander the Great, 107, 120-1, 123 Alexandria, 74, 109, 112, 116, 118 Amasia, 29 Amastris, 13, 21-3, 26, 57, 93 Amisus, 11, 13, 22, 36-7, 57, 71, 104 Anatolia, 2, 25, 27, 29, 31, 49, 63-4, 66, 72, 77-8, 83 Antoninus Pius, 91, 94-5 Apamea 6, 7, 13, 21, 23, 25, 59, 64-6, 76, 78, 83, 96, 107, 129 Apollo, 48 Apollonius of Tyana, 108 Arabia, 70, 72 Arcadians, 4 Archelaus, 29 Argives, 4 Aristides, 80-1, 105, 123, 126 Armenia Maior, 65 Armenia Minor, 25, 65 Armenius Brocchus, 15 Arpinum, 80 Arrian, 25, 45, 59, 68-70, 73, 75, 77, 79-81, 105, 107, 119-22, 125-6, 130, 133-4 Artemis, 48, 68-9 Ascalon, 61 Asclepiades 107 Asclepius Soter, 6, 134 Asia Minor, 3, 6, 21, 28, 40, 43, 47, 49, 60-1, 63, 83, 113, 129 Asia, the province, 34, 40, 41, 43-7, 52, 62, 64, 71, 93, 127 Askania, Lake, 18 Athens, 3, 39, 59, 69, 75, 80, 105-6, 110, 123 Attaleia, 49 Attalid kingdom, 63

Augustus and Octavian, 4, 15, 31, 34, 40-53, 72, 78, 88 Aurelius Alexander, M., 93 Aurelius Asclepiodotianus Asclepiades, M., 94 Aurelius Calpurnianus Apollonides, T., 73, 75 Aurelius Philippianus Iason, 93-4 Avidius Nigrinus, C., 15, 68, 131 Baetica, 67-8, 78 Billaius, 11 Black Sea, 11, 22, 119 Boane, Lake, 20 Bowie, E., 2 Britannia, 67 Byzantium, 13, 20, 25 Caberia, 29-30 Caecilia Tertulla, 49 Calgacus, 104 Caligula, 43, 48, 53, 62, 124 Calpurnianus Fado, U. Titus., 100 Campania, 50 Cappadocia, 25, 28, 45, 65, 68-9, 75, 77, 119, 122-3 Caracalla, 1, 5, 60, 67, 73, 88, 94, 125 Cassius Agrippa, 67, 73 Cassius Apronianus, M. Claudius, 67 Cassius Chrestus, C., 90, 94-5 Cassius Dio, 1, 6, 40-4, 46-9, 51-3, 56, 59, 67-8, 73, 78, 80-1, 105, 107, 124-6, 130, 133-4 Catilius Atticus, Cn., 65 Catilius Longus, 64-6, 70, 75, 129 Catilius Severus, L. Iulianus Claudius Reginus, 65, 78 Cato the Censor, 61 Cilicia, 67 Cios and Cians, 6, 134 Claudia Aureliana Archelais, T., 97 Claudia Saturnina, 91, 97

163

General Index Fernoux, H., 28, 34, 88 Flavia Domitia Artemonis, 97 Flaviopolis, 11 Flavius Achippus, 21, 36-8, 56 Flavius Domitianus Nestor, T., 93-5 Flavonius Rufus, A., 59, 66, 76 Florus, 80

Claudiopolis, 13, 19-20, 71, 88, 97, 117 Claudius Domitius, 91, 94, 97 Claudius Piso, T., 95 Claudius Severus Arabianus, Cn, 72 Claudius Severus, C., 72 Claudius Severus, Cn, 72 Claudius, 51, 62, 62, 64-5, 78, 87-8, 91, 107 Colchis, 22 Comana, 29-30 Commodus, 51, 53, 71, 125 Como, 37-38, 80 Cora, 69, 120 Cordoba, 68-9 Corinth, 68, 115, 120 Cornelius Rufus, L., 83 Crete and Cyrena, the province, 67 Dalmatia, 67, 74 Dascylium, 11 Dea Roma, 41, 46-7, 49-50 Deininger, J., 41-3 Demeter, 69, 120 Diana, 48 Dio Chrysostom, 1, 4, 6, 7, 15, 17, 21, 34, 39, 95, 104-5, 107, 109-11, 113-19, 125-6, 133 Diodorus, 4 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 4 Diospolis, 29 Divus Iulius, 41, 46-9 Domitian, 11, 13-14, 36-8, 106, 108, 110-11, 116, 118-19, 124-5 Domitius Ahenobarbus, Cn., 86 Domitius Calvinus, Cn., 86 Domitius Candidus, M. 70 Domitius Euphemus, M., 71 Domitius Paulianus Falco, M., 70-1, 95 Domitius son of Aster, 85, 88-9 Domitius Stratocles M., 70-1 Domitius Valerianus, M., 70 Dorylaüs, 29 Drusus, Claudius, N., 49 Egnatius Victor Lollianus, L., 71 Egypt, 43, 86-7 Elagabal, 51, 53, 94 Ephesus, 11, 41, 46-51, 57, 113 Epictetus, 68, 120 Eupatoria, 29

Gaius, 32-3 Galatia, 28, 31, 62, 74 Gallia Narbonensis, 78 Gallia, 74 Gallienus, 53 Gaul, 74, 77, 81, 129 Gavius Bassus, 25 Gellius, A., 120 Germanicus Iulius Caesar, 52 Germany, 77 Germe, 62 Goudriaan, K., 86 Gradel, I., 50 Greece, 15, 62, 122, 127, 128 Hadrian, 14, 45, 51-2, 69, 73, 78, 88, 106, 122-3, 126, 130, 134 Hall, J., 4 Halys, 11 Hänlein-Schäfer, H., 47 Haverfield, F., 1 Helios, 62 Heraclea, 23, 45, 90, 97 Hercules, 51 Herodes Atticus, 105 Herodotus, 4, 119 Italy, 81, 96 Iulia Augusta, 49 Iulianus Asclepiodotus, C., 94 Iuliopolis, 11, 13 Iulius Agathas, C., 83 Iulius Bassus, C., 13, 62-3 Iulius Caesar, C., 34, 40, 43, 46-8, 50 Iulius Demosthenes, C., 59, 75 Iulius Largus, 45 Iulius Piso, 36-7, 48 Iulius Quadratus, C. Antius A., 62-3 Iulius-Roma, the cult, 46-7, 51-2 Jones, A.H.M., 34-5, 39 Jupiter, 51

164

General Index Kingdom of Mithridates (Pontus), 29, 128 Levant, 29 Licinius Lucullus, L. 34, 61, 72 Lieu, J., 3 Lintott, A, 34 Livia, 41, 44, 48 Livy, 114, 124 Lucenus Archelaus, T., 75 Lucian, 68, 122-3 Lucilius Capito, 44 Lycia and Pamphylia, the province, 67 Ma, J., 28 MacMullen, R., 27, 34 Maecenas, 50-1, 124 Magna Mater, 18 Magnopolis, 29 Marcus Aurelius, 71-2, 106, 120 Mark Antony, 28, 30-1, 43, 47 Mark, 85 Maximus, 25 Megalopolis, 29 Memnon, 107 Men, god, 29 Miletus, 43, 48, 53 Millar, F., 27 Mitchell, S., 3, 49 Mithridates VI, 27, 29, 34, 104 Modestinius, 42 Moesia Inferior, 21, 74 Moesia Superior, 70 Moles, J., 111 Mommsen, T.H., 42 Mytilene, 61 Neoclaudiopolis, 11 Nero, 62, 78, 88, 91, 111-12 Nerva, 95, 108, 117, 125 Nicaea, 13, 15, 18-20, 26, 41, 46-7, 50-2, 55, 59, 65, 67, 68, 73-5, 80, 90, 95, 107, 112, 118 Nicomedes III, 28 Nicomedia, 5, 6, 7, 13, 18-21, 23-5, 42, 46, 49, 52-6, 59, 65, 67-70, 73, 75, 94-5, 112, 118, 120-1, 123, 133 Nicopolis, 29, 68, 120 Numa, 113-14 Oenoanda, 59, 75

Paccius Valerianus Flaccus, S., 49 Pamphylia, 49, 70 Pannonia, 67 Paphlagonia, 11, 25, 31, 72 Papirius Carbo, C., 31 Parthenius, 61 Parthia, 68 Pausanias, 104 Pergamum, 41-2, 46, 48-9, 53, 57, 62, 64, 67, 73 Perge, 62, 66 Perses, 4 Perseus, 4 Persia and Persians, 3, 4 Pescennius Niger, 52-3 Pharnaces, 104 Phazemon, 29 Philostratus, 105, 108, 110, 127 Photius, 120 Plancius Varus, M, 62, 90, 94-5 Plataea, 3 Pliny the Younger, 1, 8, 9, 11, 13-21, 23-6, 31-2, 35, 45, 55-6, 87, 109, 123, 125, 133 Plutarch, 56, 74, 76, 126 Polemo, 105 Polybius, 4, 22, 61, 106 Pompeii, 50 Pompeiopolis, 11, 29-30, 72-3 Pompeius Macer, Q. 62 Pompeius Macer, Cn., 62 Pompeius Theophanes, Cn., 61, 88 Pompey, Cn., 27-31, 35, 37-40, 61, 64, 72, 128 Poseidonius, 61 Price, S. 40, 46, 53 Propontis, 22 Prusa, 6, 7, 11, 3, 17-18, 21, 25-6, 36-8, 51, 56, 71, 83, 92-5, 97, 100, 107-8, 110, 112, 116-18, 134 Prusias ad Hypium, 5, 6, 7, 70, 72, 75, 85, 88-9, 93-7, 134 Pseudo-Skymnos, 22 Quintus son of Quintus, 88-89, 92, 94 Roma Archegetis, 49 Roma et Augustus the cult, 46, 49, 52-3 Romantius Firmus, 37 Romulus, 113-14

165

General Index Rostovtzeff., M.I., 2, 34 Salamis, 3 Sangarius, 11 Saoterus, 52 Sardis, 48 Scipio Aemilianus, 61 Sedatus Theophilos, 68 Seleucid kingdom, 28 Sen, A., 5 Severus Alexander, 53, 67 Severus Septimius, 53, 94 Sherwin-White, A.N., 87 Sicily, 70, 75 Silanus, G., 44 Sinope, 13, 21-3, 26, 57, 71, 72, 83, 96, 104 Smyrna, 41, 47-8, 67, 73, 113 Spain, 44, 77-8, 129 Sparta and Spartans, 3, 15, 39 St. Paul, 85 Staberius Manius, L., 85 Stater, P., 121-2 Strabo, 22, 29-30, 93, 106 Suetonius, 46, 49, 133 Sulla, 30, 34 Swain, S., 2, 59, 120-2 Synesius, 108 Syria, 51, 65, 68-9, 71 Tacitus, 42-4, 46-8, 104, 125, 133 Tarentius Maximus, 36-8 Tertia, 65 Tertius, 65 Thessaly, 37

Thucydides, 119, 124 Tiberius, 41-4, 46, 48-9, 62, 78, 125 Tineius Asclepiodotus, Cl., 85 Titus, 15, 78, 129, 134 Tium, 45 Trajan, 1, 11, 13-21, 23-6, 31-2, 45, 54-5, 62, 68, 87, 104, 106, 108-9, 111-12, 117-18, 125 Trapezus, 25, 45, 123 Tullius Cicero, M., 13-14, 80, 134 Ulpia Fadiliane Artemonis, 97, 100 Ulpius Aelianus Antoninus, Titus, 6, 134 Ulpius Aelianus Papianus, T., 95 Ulpius Aelianus Papianus, Titus, 5, 6, 7, 134 Ulpius Arabianus, M., 71 Ulpius Domitius Aristaeus Arabianus, M., 71 Ulpius Papianus, T., 95 Valerian, 53 Varenus Rufus, 13 Vespasian, 62, 64-5, 72-3, 78, 108-9, 111, 112, 118, 129 Victoria, 51 Whitmarsh, T., 2, 3, 105 Woolf, G., 2, 13 Xenophon, 119-22 Zela, 29-30 Zeus, 93-4, 112

166