1. How did Romans understand and act on vengeance? See pages 379-387
2. How did Romans understand and act with honor? See pages 387-398

The following you may find the pages 379 to 387 related to the first question:

"You will compel me ... to have a mind for my own dignity [dignitas]," says Cicero. "No- one ever brought the tiniest suspicion on me whom I did not overturn and wreck" (Cic. Sul. 46). Although philosophers might complain about it, Romans expected to take revenge for insults. 10 Seneca defines the very emotion of anger as "the lust to avenge insult," and clemency as not taking vengeance when one can.11 To Cicero, the law of nature consists of six elements. One of them, ranked alongside piety to the gods and parents, is the duty of vengeance. 12 We see this duty of revenge in particular in the way the Roman law authorized men to deal with the sexual misconduct of their wives and daughters: the Augustan Adultery Law of 18 or 17 BC allowed (under limited circumstances) the private killing of daughters and their lovers, and of the lovers of wives. In the second century BC the killing of adulterous wives had also been accepted.

(p. 380) Outside the household, the normal venue of revenge for upper-class Romans was litigation, for a victory in court was honorable to the victor and shaming to the defeated:

[my client, Publius Quinctius] begs you that that reputation [existimatio], that honor [honestas] which he brought into your court... he be allowed to carry away again from this place; that he whose dutifulness [officium] no one ever doubted may not in the sixtieth year be branded with shame [dedecor], disgrace [macula; lit. "spot, stain"] and the basest ignominy [turpissima ignominia]; that Sextus Naevius [his opponent] not abuse my client's honorable distinctions [ornamenta] as spoils of victory; that you allow my client to carry that reputation [existimatio] which he has borne into his old age, even to his grave.

Not only will Quinctius lose honor if he loses the case, but his prosecutor, Naevius, is conceived as carrying Quinctius' honor away as spoil to enjoy himself. And not only one's own matters of honor were pursued in court: it was a duty of pietas for a young man to prosecute his father's enemies-even more so, his father's murderer. 16 Marcus Cotta, on the very day he assumed the toga virilis (a transition to manhood made at around age fourteen) prosecuted the man who had convicted his father (Val. Max. 5. 4. 4). Such prosecutions were a characteristic Roman behavior: "it is also said that Cato [the Censor], meeting a young man passing through the forum after a case at law in which he had secured a verdict of loss of citizenship against an enemy of his dead father, greeted the youth and said, 'these are the things we must sacrifice to our ancestors: not lambs and baby goats, but the tears and condemnations of their enemies."

The Roman law of iniuria, insult, was expansive, and evokes a very touchy sense of honor: action for insult lay not only against those who insulted oneself, but also against those who insulted anyone "under our power," including slaves or children; or those who were "objects of our affection," that is, wives or daughters-in-law; or the corpse of a man who had made one his heir (Ulpian Dig. 47. 10. 1. 3-6). Beatings, shouted abuse, and written libels naturally constituted insults, but so did house-breaking (although a case could not be brought by a man residing temporarily in a brothel), taking action-like sealing up his house that implied a solvent debtor would not pay, preventing a man from fishing, taking a victim's son into a low cook-shop, or contumeliously blowing smoke at those living in higher apartments. Appropriately, (p. 381) the punishment of those convicted of insult under the Lex Cornelia de iniuriis (as well as for other crimes) was infamia, 'infamy,' a legally defined state of disgrace that might deprive one of certain legal rights and ranked one with gladiators, whores, and actors: those with no honor because they had no sense of shame. 19 Insults that did not rise to the level of iniuria might be repelled by a sponsio, a type of action at law reserved for questions of honor: a litigant offered a wager on a statement, "that I am a better man than you," for example, or "that the Carthaginian fleet was defeated under my (rather than your) command," and challenged his opponent to take up the challenge. If the opponent did, then a judge decided between them; if he demurred, he was deemed to be admitting that his opponent's position was the true one. Thus when Cicero insultingly accused Piso of having crept into Rome by the Caelimontane gate upon his return from a disgraceful governorship, Piso promptly responded with the sponsio, "That I entered by the Esquiline Gate," and Cicero could not respond.

Failing access to or success in court, all the iniuriae (insults) against which the law inveighed could be mobilized for purposes of revenge. From their distant past the Romans inherited ritualized shaming behavior, occentatio, singing abusive songs at the house door, and flagitatio, shouting one's grievance in public in the presence of the person to be shamed. House doors might be pelted with stones, rude ditties posted, or accusing writings circulated.21 Like the pot-banging Mediterranean charivari in its many forms, shaming by a community could be organized and elaborate: a whole town in first- century AD Gaul once subjected a senator of Rome to a mock funeral, complete with facetious groaning and lamentations. Or an individual could simply follow the man to be shamed around, silent, but dressed in mourning.22 In extreme cases the characteristic Roman institution of revenge suicide could be resorted to-suicide calculated and organized to bring obloquy upon its target, a measure especially employed to shame misbehaving emperors. 23 Insult bred insult in return, and the two parties might descend into a state of long-term mutual abuse, inimicitia (enemyship), punctuated, where opportunity offered, by legal or political attacks.24 These were the methods employed by lite Romans who could not command armies. But if the very strong felt that their honor could not be defended within the institutions of the city because those institutions were commanded by their enemies, they might resort to civil war. The rebel Catiline wrote to a friend that he was

(p. 382) stirred up by insults and slights, because, robbed of the fruit of my labor and zeal I could not obtain a position of honor [dignitas] ... It is not that I could not pay my debts... but rather that I saw unworthy men honored with office [non dignos homines honore honestatos] and myself an outcast by false suspicion. For this reason, honorable enough [satis honestas] in my situation, I have followed my present course in the hope of preserving what honor [dignitas] I have left.

This might seem a quixotic pose, a bizarre motivation for beginning a rebellion, had not Sulla likewise justified his march on Rome in terms of revenge (App. Civ. 1. 77), and had Julius Caesar not defended in eerily similar terms his decision to cross the Rubicon and take up arms against Pompey and the senate.

Caesar summoned his soldiers to assembly. He reminded them of all the insults [iniuriae] his enemies had inflicted upon him at any time, and complained that those enemies had corrupted Pompey and led him astray because of Pompey's envy and detraction of Caesar's glory [laus]; Caesar, on the other hand, had always supported and aided Pompey's honor [honor] and dignity [dignitas]. ... He exhorts them... to defend the honor [existimatio] and dignity [dignitas] of their commander from his enemies.

Evidently Caesar assumed an audience for his work on the Civil War-in which he made this claim-sympathetic to his claim that he needed to take revenge on those who had insulted him, as his soldiers had been when he addressed them. And the similar motivation of Augustus, in avenging the murder of his adoptive father Julius Caesar, was memorialized in his vast temple to Mars the Avenger (Mars Ultor), whose titanic ruins can still be seen in Rome, and which he vowed during the war of Philippi against Brutus and Cassius.

Revenge not only played its role in creating the Roman principate, it also posed a perennial threat to Roman emperors.28 Caligula's strange and monstrous conduct was not itself enough to get him killed. Rather, his murderer, the tribune of the guard Cassius Chaerea, was moved to kill him because the emperor

was accustomed to abuse him with every kind of insult as soft and effeminate, although he was quite advanced in age, and when he asked for the watchword the emperor would give him "Priapus" or "Venus," and when he offered his hand to kiss-when Chaerea was thanking him for some reason-he gestured and moved it in an obscene fashion.

Caracalla died for the same reason, and Nero thwarted a conspiracy that included members, including the poet Lucan, who were driven to plot against him by his insults to them.

(p. 383) At Roman revenge's most elevated level, the Roman state itself sought in foreign war revenge against insult. As the Greeks did their cities, so Romans regarded Rome anthropomorphically, as a gigantic person; thus Rome, like a person, had honor, and slights against that honor had to be avenged. In 107 BC, the tribe of the Helvetii had defeated a Roman army. When Julius Caesar commanded a Roman army in Gaul fifty years later, he was eager "to exact in war punishment for the old iniuriae of the Helvetii to the Roman people," and when the Helvetii tried to push into Roman territory in southern Gaul, he sensed another iniuria, and made war upon them.31 Catching one canton of the Helvetii isolated from the rest by a river, he slaughtered them, remarking with satisfaction,

This canton had in the memory of our fathers marched out alone and slain the consul L. Cassius, and sent his army under the yoke. Thus whether by chance or the judgment of the immoral gods, that part of the Helvetian community that had inflicted so striking a calamity on the Roman people was the first to pay the penalty. By this event Caesar avenged [ultus est] not only public iniuriae, but private as well, because the grandfather of his father-in-law L. Piso, the legate L. Piso, the Tigurini had slain in the same battle as L. Cassius.32

From Rome's semi-mythic early days-from the war against Tarentum, undertaken (the Romans said) because a Tarentine shat upon the toga of a Roman envoy-through the wars with Carthage, the republic's wars in the East, and on into the wars of the Roman 33 Empire in both East and West, revenge was always powerful in directing Roman arms.

Lack of Violence

But where are the Roman Capulets and Montagues? Where is the day-to-day violence over honor in the streets of the city? What about dueling, and blood feud, and slights on the street avenged in blood?34

(p. 384)

"I serve as good a man as you."

"No better."

"Yes, better, sir."

"You lie!"

"Draw, if you be men!"

Most honor societies know violence like this, and violence over honor was an acute public order problem in the cities of the Italian Renaissance-and at many Southern U.S. universities until the Civil War. "The ultimate vindication of honour lies in physical violence," writes the anthropologist, on evidence both ethnographic and historical, from all social levels, from many centuries and many countries.35 But at Rome such violence, if it existed at all, was not a phenomenon large enough for contemporaries to remark upon. Romans went unarmed in their cities. Seneca's de Constantia, de Ira, and de Clementia largely concern the ethics of honor and vengeance, but even he, eager to present revenge in the worst possible light, does not associate vengeance with violence.36 Killing those who insult you, as one of Seneca's imaginary interlocutors admits, is largely a satisfaction confined to the imagination (Sen. Ira 3. 43. 3-4). And where insult did occasionally elicit violence in Roman society-Nero's father once gouged out an equestrian's eye for abusing him-the violence is signaled out as inappropriate, even bizarre.37 In most honor societies there is more talk of killing for honor than there is of actual violence: a discontinuity exists between society's standards as expressed and as lived in practice.38 But Rome stands out because even at the level of talk, offenses to honor between men- even violent ones-were not usually expected to elicit violence in return.39 Had it been otherwise, a master of invective like Cicero would hardly have made it (p. 385) alive out

of his teens. Roman dinner parties, the special home of witty abuse, would have ended in bloodshed. Nor, if insult had led to wounding and death, could the Roman culture of

gorgeous literary slander-Catullus, Horace, Juvenal, Persius, Martialhave burgeoned.

Within the household, as the rhetorician's cry for vengeance suggests, violence over honor was at least imaginable. Killing of adulterous wives and daughters and their lovers occurred in fact: imperial rescripts refer to actual cases. 41 Valerius Maximus does as well, in his collection of exempla for the use of orators. In his pages, exemplary of severity to unchastity is Pontius Aufidianus, who, upon discovering that a slave of his had debauched his daughter, slew both daughter and slave.42 But if so unextravagant an instance ranks as an exemplum, can such killing have been very usual? In fact, the more one looks into the historical evidence (which records countless cases of unchastity), the less killing one encounters: in the late republic and early empire morals were easy at the top of society, and if adultery had demanded killing, there would have been a general slaughter among the aristocracy. No actual instances of a husband killing an adulterous wife or her lover are known in the literary record of this era. Indeed, by this period of Roman history the adultery of aristocratic wives tended to result not in murder, but in divorce, when it was not simply tolerated.43 And the divorcing husband of a proved adulteress was entitled to an additional increment of merely one twenty-fourth of her dowry as compensation.44 The centrality of the chastity of wives and daughters to male honor has been taken as the defining quality of Mediterranean honor: "[t]hroughout the Mediterranean area, male honor derives from the struggle to maintain intact the shame of kinswomen; and this renders male reputation insecurely dependent upon female sexual conduct." This describes the legendary world of Lucretia and Verginia, and the fantasy world of the declaimers; it does not describe Roman aristocratic values of the late republic and empire. 45 By then the honor of men and women, at least of the aristocracy, had become to a great degree independent of each other, and the (p. 386) honor of women no longer a fragile treasure at the center of male honor, but separate and structurally similar to male honor. 46 The honor of women was not confined to their chastity, but they too took pride in glorious lineage, wealth, and worthy deeds.47 The honor of aristocratic women and men relates less like that of man and wife or father and daughter in the Mediterranean tradition, and more like that of Roman brothers-concerned for each others' reputation, which has an impact on their own, but fundamentally independent entities in the world of honor.

The measures on killing adulterers in Augustus' adultery law confirm the picture of a society in which such killing was extremely rare. The Lex Julia was directed at the discouragement and punishment of adultery. It made adultery a publicly punishable offense, and it endeavored to compel husbands to divorce adulterous wives-if they failed to do so, they could be prosecuted for pimping. In this context we naturally expect the strongest reinforcement of husbands' and fathers' rights to deal sternly with adultery themselves. Nor should we imagine that the avenger of Julius Caesar, the builder of the temple of Mars Ultor, had set himself against vengeance in principle. Yet in fact, the right of husbands and fathers to kill adulterers was constrained by so many conditions in the Lex Julia as to render it almost purely theoretical. A father could kill his daughter and her lover only if (1) he was sui iuris and she was still under his power, and (2) he caught her in the very act of adulterous sexual intercourse, in his house or her husband's, fell upon the lovers immediately, and killed both of them.49 A husband could not kill his wife.50 He could kill her lover only if he caught his wife and the adulterer in the act, in his own house, and the lover belonged to a degraded social category, was a slave, one of their freedman, a pimp, an actor, or similar (Macer Dig. 48. 5. 25(24). pr.). (p. 387) Why all the limitations? Evidently despite Augustus' severe purpose-his intention (as he describes his moral legislation in his Res Gestae) "to restore many exemplary practices of our ancestors now fallen into disuse"-vengeance killing had become so exotic by the Augustan Age that it could hardly be contemplated at all. 51 All Augustus could do to stem the rising tide of laxity was to carve out a narrow exception for the bouts of uncontrollable rage-what we might call temporary insanity-brought on by actually coming upon adulterers in the act. His was a society that had come to countenance blood revenge only as a dish that had to be eaten unbearably hot.

Among the Romans, a people with a strong sense of honor and a lively conception of revenge, insults between men were not expected to end in violence and did not do so in fact. Where the chastity of women was involved, violence was imagined (confirming the membership of the Romans in the wider culture of Mediterranean honor) but lethal violence rarely occurred in fact, and had come to be understood by Augustus' day as a form of temporary loss of mental control-far from the deliberate, cold planning of blood vengeance. 52 And where violence over honor did occur, it seems to have had limited social ramifications-no extended violent feuds between families, no Hatfields and McCoys. Oddly, Romans were prepared to launch civil wars to defend their honor, and foreign wars to defend that of Rome, but were not prepared to strike their next-door neighbors.

A Roman peculiarity related to the lack of violence over honor at Rome was the Roman tolerance of hearty and enthusiastic verbal abuse in the public sphere-in politics and especially in the law courts. 53 With every appearance of pride Cicero reports on an exchange of invective-he calls it an yv, a contest with his bte noir Clodius on the very floor of the Roman Senate (I paraphrase freely): "You were at a hot-spring! (you decadent swine)." "Is that like saying I snuck into the mysteries (like you did)?" Ha ha! "What does a rube from Arpinum know about hot water?" Ha ha! "You bought a house! (you fat bastard)." "But you bought a jury!" Ha ha! "The jurors didn't trust what you said on oath." "To the contrary! Twenty-five trusted me, and thirty-one didn't trust you: they made sure to get their bribe money is advance!" Roars (Cic. Att. 1. 16. 10). Although the Romans had no concept of parliamentary privilege, there is no sign that remarks like these were prosecuted as iniuriae, although iniuriae they were emphatically intended to be.

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The following you may find the pages 387 to 398 related to the second question:

(p. 388) Nor prosecuted were the astonishing things said about opponents in court- yokel! greedy-guts! temple-breaker! murderer! pimp! rotten lump of carrion! swamp vulture! where the vituperatio, the blackening of an opponent's reputation, was a perfectly normal part of litigation, even small-stakes civil litigation.54 How could such practices arise and survive in a society where men were tender about their honor? Who, faced with the prospect of such treatment, would take someone else to court or enter the senate? Was abuse in politics and the courts somehow set outside the world of honor?55 Were remarks made in such special contexts presumed to have no effect on the honor of the participants? Or did the audience merely judge the torrent of mutual abuse as a joyful contest between the orators, dismissing the accusations that made it up as purely rhetorical?56 But, in fact, such abuse did have an effect on honor-an orator might restrain himself in the interests of the existimatio of an opponent57-as the very existence of the phenomenon also implies: for if such abuse had no effect on reputation, why engage in it?58 And if invective was a competition, why should that particular form of competition take root in a world where men cared for their reputations? The great orator Hortensius, something of a dandy, sued a man for iniuria for jostling him and disarranging his toga. 59 But like all other Romans of the ruling class, he put up with constant iniuriae in politics and the courts. Just as with the Roman reluctance to strike those who insulted them, this is hardly what we expect in a society preoccupied with honor.

In the private sphere as well-we see it especially in the context of dinner parties (convivia)the Romans appear to have had a very high tolerance for mockery. Hosts teased guests, guests derided each other, and jesters were hired and sharp-tongued slaves trained to make fun of the diners.60 Is the Roman convivium another narrow realm where the laws of honor were suspended? Or can we offer a better explanation for why the Romans could both value honor and tolerate abuse?

The anthropologist Julian Pitt-Rivers offered a celebrated distinction between what he called honor as virtue, "honour which derives from virtuous conduct," and honor as precedence, "honour which situates an individual socially and determines (p. 389) his right to precedence."61 This second variety of honor, of which elevated Romans especially partook, necessarily admits gradations in quantity, gradations that define social rank. But what especially characterizes the Roman outlook is the tendency to view such honor as a stable commodity, an objective, concrete possession, capable of being added to or subtracted from in small quantities, granted by one person (or honorable entity, for not only persons possessed honor) to another, imported from outside the circle of rivals for honor, and hoarded over the generations. This curious solidity of Roman honor is alluded to in Aulus Gellius' approving paraphrase of Theophrastus:

A small and minor shame [turpitudo] or disgrace [infamia] should be undergone if by so-doing a great benefit be obtained for a friend. For the slight loss incurred to damaged honor [honestas] is repaid and compensated for by the greater and profounder honor [honestas] that inheres in helping a friend. And the small blemish or hole, as it were, in one's reputation [fama] is shored up by the fortification formed by the benefits gained for the friend (1. 3. 23).

Not for the Romans, evidently, the Spanish dictum that "glass and a man's honor shatter at the first blow." To Gellius the first blow, or any number of slight blows, may be willingly accepted, since the walls of honor are easily repaired later. Roman honor is not like glass; it is like masonry: slow to build, and slow to crumble. This was especially true of those at the top of society, who could be indifferent to the opinions of others:

Those who are eminent from inherent prestige (oik iwi) neither seek signs of approval from anyone, nor, should they be lacking, censure those who failed to provide them, knowing full well that they are not being scorned. On the other hand, those whose grandeur is acquired [Sejanus is meant] seek such things very eagerly, as necessary to fill up their prestige ( ,

wva) and should they fail to get them, are as irritated as if they were being slandered, and as peeved as if they were being insulted (Dio 58. 5. 3).

"The inherent prestige" of the true grandee depends chiefly upon the apprehension of his lineage and property. The honor an aristocrat of an ancient family with great estates drew from those sources was incontrovertible; he possessed it whatever an individual might say, and could afford to be relatively indifferent to insult.

(p. 390) Those whose honor was not unassailable were more anxious to protect it, more anxious to avoid slander and insult and humiliation. But the relative solidity of Roman aristocratic honor means that it was not amenable to catastrophic loss.63 We can see this because behaviors associated with such permanent loss in other societies are not common at Rome: Romans sometimes committed suicide at the prospect of shame-after a conviction in court or loss of a battle-but much less when the shame they feared had actually come upon them, when they had been sent into exile or captured. Nor did Romans, when humiliated, usually withdraw permanently from society in the manner of the emperor Tiberius on Capri.65 The greatest humiliation of Cicero's career was his exile, and his expressions of mortification in his letters are moving and authentic: "Nothing is more wretched, more vile, more unworthy of us than this. I am prostrated by shame as well as misery."66 But although in his shame he "cannot abide crowds, flees the company of men, and can hardly bear to look upon the light" (and even contemplates suicide), he intrigues relentlessly for his recall, and when it happens, it never strikes him not to return, not to retake his place in society and politics with his honor, he says, completely restored. 67 Cicero's honor had been "obscured" as he put it (Red. Pop. 4), not blotted out for good. The honor of Roman aristocrats seems to have been nearly impossible to exterminate entirely, and always amenable to repair. 68 This durable quality of Roman honor helps to explain the Roman custom of attacking the tombs and mutilating the cadavers of the dead (guarded against in so many Roman epitaphs) and the post-mortem shaming of the executed: the destruction of their houses, and most famously, damnatio memoriae, the destruction of their statues and removal of their names (p. 391) from public monuments. Not even a shameful death could destroy a Roman's honor-so the process of shaming had to continue after death.

Here, then, we have an appealing explanation-in the peculiar chemistry, as it were, of Roman aristocratic honor-for the lack of violence over Roman honor, and Roman tolerance of abuse in politics and the courts. It is not that insult did a great Roman no harm in his honor-in that case Cicero's invectives would have been a waste of breath- but it did not do much harm. It did not threaten the destruction of his honor; it merely knocked a few bricks off the edifice. And even Romans who had undergone the most profound shame found ways to rebuild their honor. The imperviousness of Roman honor to permanent damage made Rome, like New York, a city of second chances. The future historian Sallust was a turbulent tribune in 52 BC, and was expelled from the Senate in 50. He joined Caesar's faction, participated in the civil war, was praetor in 46, and then Caesar's governor of Africa. There he conducted himself badly, incurred (in Cassius Dio's words) "the most shameful disgrace," was prosecuted upon his return to Rome, and had no future in politics.70 But rather than stew in mortification, Sallust turned to the writing of history, as an alternative road to honor:

It is a glorious thing to serve one's country in deeds; but to do so with words is not to be despised. One can become renowned [clarum fieri] in both peace and war. Many are praised who act, but also those who have written the acts of others. And although the same amount of glory [gloria] hardly attends the writer as the doer of deeds, nonetheless to write about events is extremely arduous.

Despite his previous disgrace, Sallust does not depart the struggle for honor. He simply chooses another method of seeking it. And he succeeded brilliantly: for Sallust's adoptive son, his father's distinction as an historian threw open the gates to the highest offices.72 As a second-chancer, Sallust finds his parallel under the empire in the poet Silius Italicus, who (Pliny the Younger reports), "damaged his reputation [fama] under Nero-it was believed that he accused people willingly-but he conducted his friendship with [the emperor] Vitellius wisely and tactfully, brought back honor [gloriam reportaverat] from his proconsulate in Asia, and wiped out the stain to his honor [macula] that his previous [political] activity had inflicted, by a praiseworthy leisure"-his verse (Plin. Ep. 3. 7. 3).

The masonry of Roman honor was not only amenable to repair, but it could also be built higher.73 Anthropologists sometimes class honor as a limited good, which, if it can be gained, can be increased only by despoiling competitors for honor (p. 392) of it.74 Although Roman honor could be taken from another and made one's own in court or civil war, no traces of a sense of its ultimately being limited in quantity can be found among the Romans.75 To the Roman mind, honor could not only be accumulated within the community of the honorable, but also be imported from outside. Thus Silius Italicus' ability to "bring back" glory from Asia.76 We might well dismiss this as a metaphor gotten out of hand, if the empire's subjects did not take so seriously their role in providing their rulers with honor to cart back to Rome, and if those rulers did not devote themselves so earnestly to gaining provincial honors. The provincials themselves met to vote their governors countless honorific decrees in their cities and provincial councils, and erected thousands of statues to the officials placed over them.

This reveals another aspect of the constitution of Roman honor: it was regarded as divisible into small, durable quanta-'honors' (decora, honores, tipai ...)and those quanta were granted by one entity that possessed honor (without thereby losing its own) to another, by a process of 'honoring' (honorare, tiw).77 This could be done by honorable individuals-one could be "praised by a praised man"78with complimentary words, invitations to dinner, flattering letters (the 'signs of approval' Sejanus sought above), by cities, especially with their resolutions and seats of honor and statues, and by corporate bodies of any type: provincial councils, guilds, military units, or the Roman Senate. 79 Regimes of honors are known in many aristocratic states-even now the British crown publishes its 'honours list'-but what sets the Roman Empire apart is the multiplicity of fonts of honor whose honors were valued, and the fact that so many of those fonts were collectivities rather than individuals. If in aristocratic societies honor exists in a tension between ascription by the community at large ('reputation') and by discrete acts of honoring ('distinctions'), the upper classes of the Roman Empire appear to have been attracted to the later understanding of honor to an historically unusual degree.

(p. 393) What about the honor of those further down in society? Cicero notes that the orator is to make different kinds of appeals to the lofty and to the low:

Who pursues honor, glory, praise, and any distinction as keenly as he flees ignominy and discredit and contumely and disgrace? [quis enim honorem, quis gloriam, quis laudem, quis ullum decus tam umquam expetat quam ignominiam, infamiam, contumeliam, dedecus fugiat?] ... In addressing well-educated people [i.e., members of the lite] we shall speak most of praise and honor [de laude et de honestate]. ... Whereas if we are speaking to uneducated and ignorant people [i.e., humble persons], profits, rewards, pleasures, and avoidances of pain should be put forward; and ignominy and contumely [contumeliae atque ignominiae] should be added, for no one is so rustic that ignominy and contumely [contumelia ... et dedecus] do not greatly move him, even if honor [honestas] itself moves him less.

The honor of the grandee is something that can be sought after, accumulated, piled up. The humble man, by contrast, is considered to be concerned about preserving, not increasing, his honor. Haughty Cicero, peering down from his vast height, does not expect the humble man to seek positive distinction, but merely to react to dishonor, like an amoeba fleeing a tiny prickle: to defend the honor that being a free man conveys in a world of honorless slaves. No matter how low its possessor, that honor is tender. "Demonstrate," Cicero advises the orator, "that the insult (iniuria) was such as could not be tolerated not merely by a man of rank, but by any free man at all."81 The poor man's honor, Cicero implies, is a treasure to be kept, or lost, and arguably not as stable as the honor of the aristocrat.82 Yet if Cicero's contrast were strictly true, we might expect violence over honor among the humble, of which there is only the most exiguous traces, an absence sufficient to exclude the likelihood of sanguinary Renaissance Verona operating underneath the world of high Romans we are privileged to see clearly.83 In fact, when we can see the honor of the lowly at work-when they come together to form guilds and associations, for example, which leave inscriptions-the honor of the humble seems to have the same composition as that of the grand, consisting of an accumulation of quanta, of "honors," however small or even ridiculous those might seem to an aristocrat.84 No glass honor here: humble honor is a brickwork, just like the honor of the lofty. But, alas, we do not see the honor of the Roman humble clearly enough to come to any firm conclusions about its nature.

(p. 394) Roman Honor as a Constructive Force

From a comparative perspective, Roman honor was singular in two ways. It was not, under normal conditions, and at any social level, socially disruptive, and it was, at least among the higher classes for whom we have evidence, a fairly stable possession or acquisition.85 It is appealing to posit that these two singularities are relatedthat is was the very stability of Roman honor that rendered it comparatively pacific, since Romans did not feel that their whole honor was apt to be lost at a single reproach not energetically repulsed.

These singularities in the Roman conception of honor had, moreover, gigantic consequences in the Roman world. Cicero depicts the Roman man of honor as defensive in his outlook, more anxious to defend his existing honor than to add to it: in this huddling, nervous figure we recognize the archetypal Mediterranean man of honor. But what sets the lite Roman apart from that model is that once his existing honor was established and protected, he went out into the world to make a systematic career out of accumulating more of it. "We are by nature ... as zealous and as hungry as possible for honor (honestas) ... and there is nothing we are not prepared to endure and suffer in order to obtain it."86 "Honor (honos) nourishes the arts, and all men are fired up to zeal by fame (gloria)," and we have seen that men of talent could gain honor by cultural pursuits, poetry, history, and above all oratory, the queen of arts under the Roman Empire.87 Not only was courtroom advocacy highly honorable, but eloquence performed as public entertainment was the most prominent form of high culture, and especially in the Greek East, virtuoso display orators-sophists-were men of prodigious fame (cf. Schmitz in this volume). Honor might also be pursued by the cultivation of a great clientage, and by ostentation in appearance, retinue, and domicile.

Until the first century BC the glory of courage in war had been an indispensable element of Roman honor: it explains in part the army-ant quality that permitted the Romans to triumph over peoples so much richer and more sophisticated than they were. Sallust puts the rise of Roman power in a nut-shell: "once liberty was obtained, the city grew great very quickly, such was the lust for glory [gloria] that (p. 395) possessed them."89 Under the empire, military command was still highly honorable, and an aristocrat might choose to pursue honor as an officer in the Roman army. But military service was usually slotted into a career of civilian office holding, because in imperial Rome and the cities of the empire the most usual way honor was pursued was by running for office, and significantly the most usual Latin word for a political office is honor. 90 "Julius Naso seeks an office [honores]. His opponents are both many and worthy. To overcome them is as glorious [gloriosum] as it is difficult" (Plin. Ep. 6. 6. 1). So strong was this urge for political advancement that offices in the cities of the Roman Empire, rather than being remunerative, were highly expensive, both because of the public generosity expected of candidates, and because of the sums-often formally set out-an office-holder was expected to contribute to his city upon election. For the quest for honor through office was closely entwined with another: the quest for honor through public generosity.91 A great proportion of the day-to-day expenses of cities under the empire, not to mention great projects like the building of temples and theaters, was met not from tax revenues, but from the contributions of towns' richer inhabitants. Indeed, the cities of the empire could not function without public benefaction; where generosity flagged (or poverty overwhelmed it) the government had to step in to require it. But public benefaction did not arise from governmental fiat; it arose out of the benefactors' desire for the honors their city bestowed upon those benefactors, for praises chanted in the assembly, for statues, monuments, and local offices. It arose, in short, out of lite Romans' competition with one another for honor.92 Apuleius describes such a benefactor in his Golden Ass:

Thasius ... was a native of Corinth, which was the leading city in the entire province of Achaea. As his lineage and honor [dignitas] demanded, he had proceeded in order through all the local magistracies and had now been appointed to hold the office of duumvir quinquennalis [the highest office in a Roman town]. To repay the town for his appointment, he had munificently promised a three-day gladiatorial show. In his zeal for public glory [gloria] he had even traveled to Thessaly to buy the most noble beasts and notorious gladiators.93

First Thasius protects his honor by doing what is expected of persons of his lofty rank- holding all the offices in his town. Then he seeks to add to his honor by sponsoring unusually opulent games. It is upon the cumulativeness and durability of Roman honor that so much of what we consider characteristic of Roman civilization is consequent: the relentless spectacles, the great buildings and the public amenities unmatched again in the West until the nineteenth century, so many of them private works erected for the love of honor, with the donor's name in stone-cut letters, man-high.

(p. 396) The same drive to accumulate the Roman Empire's curiously substantial honor played its role too in the empire's most striking quality: its stability. Roman rule depended upon the cooperation of the cities of the empire, and of the chief men of each city. An important part of how that cooperation was gained was by the emperor and his governors granting honors to, or withholding honors from, the grandees and cities of the empire. This was a powerful technique:

When the emperor looked benevolently upon his [Opramoas'] policy, and by the manner of his reply encouraged the other magistrates to the same zeal, and encouraged the man himself to increase his enthusiasm for virtue-for the praise of a mighty emperor can do this, who encourages the spirits of those who strive towards highest reputation, and thus provides for the cities an abundance of good men-then Opromoas, exalted by the divine [imperial] replies, showed his generosity.

At the same time, and no less important to the peace of the provinces, the provincials- who did not, of course, choose their governors-regulated the behavior of those placed over them by conferring honors upon good governors and withholding them from bad. 96 The stern Thrasea Paetus grumped at the power this gave provincials over their rulers: "now we court foreigners, and we flatter them... let false praise and praise elicited by begging be restrained like evildoing or cruelty ... The early days of our magistrates are usually better, and they decline when their tenures draw to a close when, just like candidates, we are gathering up votes."97 One rather suspects that provincials did not share the Stoic saint's suspicion of the best way they had-other than prosecuting the worst offenders-of getting governors to rule in their interests rather than in the governors' own.

Conclusion

An upper-class Roman went about with three different codes of honor in his mind. The first was the hot-blooded, fragile honor of the rhetorical schools, where insult and unchastity were avenged with killing. This conception of honor is closest to the anthropologist's understanding of honor in traditional Mediterranean village society. But the Roman knew that the world of the schools was a fantastic Never-Never Land, a world of sister-seizing pirates and virgin-ravishing tyrants. He did not live by the code of the schools: his reaction to insult, or to his daughter's creeping out (p. 397) at night, was more subdued. Quietly confident that the honor he possessed was, in fact, in no great danger of loss, he guarded it primarily with good manners, and his day-to-day thoughts about honor had to do with increasing it, not merely protecting it. The lived honor of high-placed Romans was therefore not very like traditional Mediterranean honor, or, given the lack of violence over it, to European aristocratic honor before the decline of dueling. It was similar to, and perhaps in part derivative of, the honor of the Classical Greeks. Yet lying between the glass honor of declamation and the building-block honor of daily life was a third honor, the honor Romans aspired to, the honor the Romans wished they had: neither as bloody as the honor of the schools, nor as stolid and acquisitive as the honor of daily life in the forum. This is the honor we see when an orator adduces idealized claims of honor to appeal to a real audience, or when philosophers discuss the rights and wrongs of revenge. When Seneca in his de Constantia and de Ira argues that the wise man should be indifferent to insult, it is primarily at the vengeful precepts of the honor Romans aspired to, rather than the honor Romans lived, that he aims: in real life insult did not tend to produce the uncontrollable and undignified rage against which he warns. The Romans, in short, felt they should be, or in the case of philosophers, should guard against being, more touchy about matters of honor than they actually were. Accordingly, they often feared that their honor was more fragile than it actually was, dreading the more absolute shame that they imagined patrolled the honor they aspired to. This is suggested by their habit of committing suicide at the prospect of shame, Cicero's extravagant grief at the disgrace of his exile, and by his surprise upon his return that people treated him exactly as they had before he went: "I have obtained to a degree beyond my hopes what I thought it would be the most difficult to recover," he writes to Atticus a few days after his return, "my public distinction, my dignity in the Senate, and my influence among the aristocracy." An lite Roman, moreover, was always tugged some way toward the bloody honor of the schools by the code of honor Romans aspired to, which is why he might go to law over his reputation, or, if he had an army and the courts were closed to him, launch a civil war to defend his honor. And, as a collectivity, Romans operated by the crueler honor they aspired to rather than the honor they lived by in the streets of the city: that is why revenge is a larger theme in Roman foreign relations than in Roman politics, as Carthage and Corinth had cause to rue.

The deepest historical significance of Roman honor lies in how it was lived from day to day, not in the declaimers' honor, nor in the touchier honor Romans wished they had. In some societies, like old Albania, the violence born of honor made government impossible. In others, like Renaissance Venice, a wobbly serenity was achieved by turning all the powers of order against honor: noble violence was severely punished, nobles' insults of one another-likely to lead to violence-were vigorously prosecuted by the state, and the Venetians strictly controlled the forms of aristocratic ostentation, such as armorial insignia (p. 398) and large banquets, which touched off fights elsewhere.99 Elsewhere still, as in Germany before WWI, honor and the state have existed side by side, rarely touching, since approaching the state over a matter of honor was to sacrifice one's honor, given that "appeal to a court of law was interpreted as a groveling confession of assailability and weakness."100 In other societies yet, like nineteenth-century Corsica, revenge could be sought by violence or through the courts, indifferently. 101 Things were otherwise at Rome. Roman honor, as in Classical Athens, did not usually lead to violence, and disputes over honor were often settled, among the classes we can see, through the institutions of the city state, and especially in court. 102 Rather than the world of honor being opposed to the world of the city, or independent of the world of the city, or parallel to the world of the city, honor lived in the city, and powered the city like an electrical grid, driving men to excel in what the city desired: service to the city, expenditure for the city, and service to the empire. It could do so because Roman honor, rather than being a fragile bauble to be protected, was strong, durable, and amenable to increase by increments-increments that could be granted by the city. Honor is one of history's strong forces, like greed or the lust for power. Opposed to the state, it can thwart the state, destroy the state, or make the state impossible. Independent of the state, it can create a baroque and spectacular world of its own-that of classical Spanish drama, or duelists in the mists of the Bois de Boulogne. But placed at the service of the community, honor can create, and preserve, an empire.

Answer the above two questions using the Roman Honor article by J. E. Lendon.