by David Potter
In keeping with the common practice of his age, Marcus turned to the gods. Apollo, speaking from his oracle at Claros in western Turkey, is said to have prescribed certain rites to dispel the demons that were held responsible for the outbreak. Marcus circulated the news throughout the empire. Nor was this the only oracle he consulted. In the reign of Antoninus, a Greek prophet named Alexander had set up a new oracle at Abonuteichos in northwestern Turkey. Alexander had a snake named Glycon, who answered questions posed by the faithful. Marcus duly asked Glycon’s advice not only about the plague, but also about a new threat looming over the empire: the tribes north of the Danube were poised to overrun the frontier.
The early years of the NorthernWars, as the conflict against the Danubian tribes is known, were grim for Rome. Acting on the advice of Alexander’s oracles, Marcus had tossed two lions into the Danube as a votive offering to the river gods to thwart the barbarians’ crossing. This attempted sacrifice failed on all counts. The lions simply swam the river, and in AD 170 the tribes penetrated as far south as Aquileia in northern Italy, where Marcus himself came under siege, while at least one Roman army was routed in the central Balkans. Once again, Marcus invoked the gods’ help, and claimed that this time they heard his prayers. In one case he is reported to have summoned a thunderbolt from heaven to destroy a siege engine; in another, the emperor’s prayers (or the intervention of a favoured Egyptian magician) supposedly brought a thunderstorm to the aid of a hard-pressed legion.
Marcus’ appeals to the gods for their aid in dealing with the problems that threatened his empire are one side of a complex personality, the other side of which appears in his most personal reminiscences. It appears that, to help him gain perspective on his imperial duties and responsibilities, he evolved an individual form of Stoic philosophy, jotting his thoughts down (in Greek) in a series of musings that have since become known as the Meditations. This personal diary, which he wrote while on campaign in the Northern Wars between AD 170 and 180 and never intended for publication, contains reflections on the meaning of life and the transient nature of all things on earth, including imperial power. Although the tone of the Meditations is often melancholic, Marcus Aurelius never renounces his belief in an organizing principle guiding the universe, or loses sight of the fact that, despite his enormous power, he was still but a mortal man.
His own mortality was certainly on his mind in AD 175 when Marcus declared his only surviving son, the 14-year-old Commodus (AD 161–192), his co-emperor and began to groom him as his heir, while at the same time relying on experienced generals for day-to-day control. Not all of them welcomed Commodus’ promotion. As soon the news became known, Avidius Cassius, hero of the Parthian campaign and supreme commander of the eastern provinces, declared himself emperor. This was a rash act that garnered little support; Cassius was declared a public enemy by the senate and killed by one of his own men.
The final years of Marcus Aurelius’ reign saw incessant fighting on the northern border. But by now Rome’s forces were in the ascendant, and a series of treaties mentioned by the historian Cassius Dio indicate that Marcus had begun to re-establish a system of client states north of the border when he suddenly fell ill and died at Sirmium in Pannonia on 17 March, AD 180. Commodus succeeded to the throne, the first teenaged emperor since Nero. The new emperor lacked any experience of government, but was surrounded by advisers steeped in the principle of collaborative rule, and so the people of Rome expected continued stability. Their confidence turned out to be badly misplaced; it is not without good cause that Edward Gibbon began his tale of the decline and fall of the Roman empire with the accession of Commodus.
The contrast between the reign of the so-called ‘Five Good Emperors’ and that of Commodus may have been overplayed by later generations; certainly the tyro emperor’s portrayal in the 2000 Hollywood movie Gladiator has more than a touch of Grand Guignol about it. Even Gibbon tacitly admitted that, since Rome’s decline took 300 years to unfold, it would be unwise to place too much emphasis on Commodus’ accession alone. But what he and later commentators were right to stress was that this event did mark the beginning of the terminal erosion of Rome’s traditions of effective government.
Running the Empire: Emperors and Administrators
(AD 68–180)
Even Rome’s most autocratic rulers had to rely upon a large and complex network of officials to conduct the business of empire. Military prowess was a key aptitude in ensuring a person’s advancement, but a head for finance was also an invaluable skill. The transition from imperial Rome’s turbulent early years to the long pax Romana of the second century AD was marked by a pronounced change in the style of governance.
Alongside the general dicta on humanity that Marcus Aurelius offers in his Meditations, he also makes a number of observations about people he knows and regularly encounters. These tell us a great deal about the circles in which a Roman emperor moved and the day-to-day considerations that motivated his actions. The people Marcus mentions fall broadly into two categories: members of the political élite and slaves in the imperial household. The ruler’s daily concerns focus on life in the palace, and the best way to treat subordinates. For instance, Marcus notes that his station in life obliges him not to show anger, not to display signs of boredom and always to act fairly. Dealings with officials defined the parameters of Marcus Aurelius’ existence and were central to his profound sense of duty; Cassius Dio says that he would routinely burn the midnight oil in order to finish his day’s work. His responsibilities included hearing petitions from his subjects, reading reports from his officials, managing state finances, reviewing the dispositions of the army and appointing reliable people to run his empire. But who were these officials and what qualities did they need to perform their duties successfully?
The emperor’s advisers
The officials who surrounded a Roman emperor at court were a microcosm of the government as a whole. There were members of the senate who had held various traditional magistracies, equestrians and freedmen. Each group had its particular sphere of influence. Generally speaking, senators were employed in areas relating to the command of armies and the government of provinces. Members of the equestrian order usually occupied posts that were connected with the finances of the state or in domains that were under the direct control of the emperor – notably, the extensive network of estates throughout Italy and the provinces that formed the patrimonium (the portfolio of property holdings bequeathed from one emperor to the next).
A favoured few equestrians obtained positions close to the emperor as secretaries, legal advisers or overseers of the grain supply of Rome. The importance of this latter post cannot be overstated: some 400,000 tonnes of grain were shipped into the city annually, and another 100,000 were required every year by the Roman army. Being appointed overseer of grain supplies was often a prerequisite for holding one of the city’s two praetorian prefectures. Finally, freedmen tended to be entrusted with fiscal positions in the household and a variety of tasks connected with special matters of imperial concern such as the quality of entertainment in the palace, or public spectacles for the people of Rome. The common denominator of all three groups of officials was their proven aptitude in financial affairs. With the exception of a few senior imperial secretaries who were recruited directly into their positions on the basis of their rhetorical or juristic skills, all those who were elevated into the upper echelons of the imperial service had shown that they could be trusted with money. This fact alone meant that officials tended largely to be recruited from the landholding classes, where it was an integral part of a young man’s education to learn from his parents how to manage estates and large households. However, men whose fiscal competence had helped them earn their freedom could also win promotion.
A less obvious, but equally important, quality shared by members of all three groups was their ability to work within a hierarchical structure. Almost all senators and equestrians who entered the imperial service were required to
spend at least one or two years as middle-ranking army officers. During their military service, these men were transferred rapidly from unit to unit, the primary aim being for them to gain experience in dealing with subordinates rather than necessarily acquire expertise in military tactics or fighting skills.
Winning friends and influencing people
Good people skills and a head for finance may have been preconditions for getting ahead in the emperor’s service, but they were not the sole factors that determined the success or failure of a person’s career. Fewer than one-third of the men who embarked on a senatorial career ever reached its pinnacle – the consulship. A similar proportion of equestrians attained the highest-paid jobs at the top of the ladder.
How did a person climb the ladder? To answer this question we are fortunate to have the thoughts of a few men who made the climb, albeit to a variety of rungs, on their own. One of these men was Cornelius Tacitus, one of Ancient Rome’s most important historians – and the source of much of our knowledge about the empire under the Julio-Claudians and the Flavians – and one of the biggest ‘winners’ in the system of imperial advancement. The son-in-law of a famous general, his ultimately distinguished senatorial career began in the final years of Vespasian’s reign. Occupying various provincial administrative posts, he even flourished under Domitian; his renown as a public orator grew under Nerva and Trajan; and he was made consul in AD 97 and governor of Asia in AD 112–13.
Pliny the Younger (AD 63–c. 113) was an exact, though somewhat less distinguished, contemporary of Tacitus. The son of a landowner in Comum (modern Como in Italy), he went to Rome to complete his education, after the death of his father, when he was still quite young. He learned rhetoric, taking part in the trials of a number of provincial governors, and he too rose through a series of civil and military offices. Under Trajan, he was appointed governor of the combined provinces of Bithynia and Pontus (on the southern Black Sea coast) between AD 110 and 112, where he remained until his death. Despite the fact that he was never on the top rung of senatorial power, he amassed great wealth; it is estimated that his estates were worth some 20 million sesterces (a labourer’s daily wage was four sesterces). Pliny’s life, encompassing most of the main public offices open to a Roman citizen, is often taken as the quintessential model of a successful career under the imperial system. His Letters, written between AD 97 and 112, provide a unique record of Roman administration and everyday life.
A third person in this category is Cornelius Fronto (AD 95–166), who reached the consulship in AD 143 and was from Cirta in North Africa. His primary claim to fame was that he was a great orator. Later generations held that he was the best of his time, and a contemporary writes of him as if he were a virtual god on the cultural stage of the era. He is best known to us these days through his own collection of Letters, many of them to his prize pupil – the emperor Marcus Aurelius – as well as to Marcus’ predecessor, Antoninus Pius. Finally there is Cassius Dio, whose father was in the senate before him, and whose history, especially as he attains his adult years after AD 190, is chock-full of highly informative stories about all sorts of people he knew. As a man who was consul twice, the second time as the colleague of the emperor Severus Alexander in AD 229, he too was one of the major winners in the system, despite the considerable twists and turns along the way.
What all these men have to tell is that – to quote an adage that still holds good even in more meritocratic modern societies – in imperial Rome it was not just what you knew but who you knew. A key to success was the ability to make and exploit useful connections. Clearly, a person’s chances of advancement were boosted if any of his family members had the emperor’s ear. Yet this could only propel one so far – a notable feature of the recommendations that have survived in the collections of Pliny the Younger and Fronto is that they are overwhelmingly aimed at people who are just setting foot on the first few rungs of the promotion ladder. What all of our sources tell us is that, to advance beyond the first stage of a career, a record of actual accomplishment and a proven ability to mix well in society were vital. When Pliny writes that a praetor named Larcius Macedo, forgetting that his own father was a freedman, treated his slaves harshly, his clear implication is that this man lacked the personal qualities expected of a senior official (elsewhere, Pliny makes it plain that he himself is deeply solicitous of his servants’ welfare). Aside from this, Pliny seems also to have had a great gift for rhetoric. He made many appearances in the law courts, as did Tacitus, who was renowned as one of the finest orators of his age. Each legal case was a test not only of an orator’s persuasive advocacy but also of their good judgement in picking the right person to defend or prosecute.
Likewise, the senate house was the venue for demonstrating political acumen. Here, aspiring statesmen vied to earn the respect of their peers: drawing out the business of the senate by arguing minor points merely irritated one’s colleagues, whereas offering sensible suggestions on how to improve a proposal from the emperor helped establish a person’s reputation for wisdom and independent thought. Great finesse was called for in political machinations; senators could only be arraigned by their peers, but if an individual began proceedings against a fellow senator who had behaved badly, in the hope of winning the emperor’s favour, he was at risk of alienating his colleagues. The wise man knew how to balance the interests of his class against the interests of the emperor, showing independence without arrogance.
By the latter stages of his career a man would have chosen a path that suited his abilities. Some men displayed genuine leadership qualities, moving effortlessly from one senior position of command to the next in different armies. Such skills were especially sought after during Rome’s long-running and arduous struggles against the Danubian tribes and the resurgent Parthians in the reign of Marcus Aurelius. During this period, martial ability was at such a premium that commanders who already had a proven track record of success were constantly on the lookout for others whose skills could support their own. For example, Claudius Pompeianus, Marcus’ brother-in-law, championed the cause of one Publius Helvius Pertinax (AD 126–193), the son of a freedman, who showed exceptional talent in war, and defended him against critics who claimed that his lowly birth disqualified him for the highest offices. Marcus heeded Pompeianus’ advice, and Pertinax gained both the consulship and the governorship of an important province. Later, he was to win the ultimate prize by becoming emperor, albeit only for three months.
Grace and favour
For their part, emperors had their own ways of deciding whom to trust. One tried and tested method was to invite a prospective appointee to dinner, or for the candidate to join the ruler for a few days to help him decide legal cases (Trajan did this, once, with Pliny). In a letter preserved by Suetonius, Augustus revealed to Tiberius that he had been dining and playing dice with a couple of senior generals. Augustus also maintained a council of senators that changed every six months so that he could get to know the men who served him. Nor were these occasions reserved for senators alone; letters from several emperors include reference to notable men of the equestrian orders who sat with them to deliberate on official business.
Many later rulers – notably the ‘Five Good Emperors’ – followed Augustus’ example by revolving invitations to participate so that they could take the measure of as many members of the upper classes as possible. These sessions served a number of purposes, affording the emperor an opportunity to form his own impression of a person’s judgement, giving potential appointees an insight into the emperor’s approach to various issues, and (not least) performing ‘public relations’ function of allowing the ruler to demonstrate his decency. As the Younger Pliny put it after his audience with Trajan, ‘What could be more pleasant than to witness the justice, wisdom and grace of the emperor in a quiet place where these qualities were easily revealed?’ The extent to which Trajan relied on these meetings as training sessions is reflected in his later communication to Pliny as governor of Bithynia,
reminding him that he knew ‘very well that it is my fixed position that reverence for my name may never be sought from fear or terror or through charges of treason’. Trajan, who had himself spent many thankless years governing provinces under the notoriously nit-picking Domitian, set great store by giving governors free rein to exercise their own initiative. Instead of bombarding his subordinates with rules and regulations for every occasion, Trajan expected them to improvise in accordance with what they could reasonably intuit would be his wishes.
Changing imperial styles
Tacitus’ writings chart the shift that took place in styles of governance between Augustus and Vespasian. In his Annals, Tacitus exonerates certain provincial governors from former times of the charge that their profligate lifestyles compromised their ability to do their job effectively. But the very fact that he feels it necessary to highlight their sybaritic excesses is eloquent testimony that things had changed by the time he was writing. All the men whom Tacitus cites advanced under Nero, an emperor who was a byword for self-indulgence, and for Tacitus their career histories are axiomatic of two general rules regarding the ruler and his officials: first, that the ambitious man must be able to read the mood of the emperor, and second that each emperor’s habits are reflected in the behaviour of his subordinates. Certainly, Pliny, Tacitus and others who made their way in the second century AD seem to have been genuinely moderate in their personal habits. In this, they took their cue from the emperors of the day, especially Vespasian, Trajan and Marcus Aurelius. Even Hadrian, who had a penchant for all things Greek (often synonymous with decadence), shunned outright debauchery.