Bryn Mawr Classical Review

Nicolas Lévi, La révélation finale à Rome: Cicéron, Ovide, Apulée. Étude sur le "Songe de Scipion" (De republica, VI), le discours de Pythagore (Métamorphoses, XV) et la théophanie d'Isis (Métamorphoses, XI). Rome et ses renaissances. Paris: Presses de l'Université Paris-Sorbonne, 2014. Pp. 537. ISBN 9782840509455. €26.00.

Reviewed by Adrian Mihai, Université Laval (adrian.mihai@mail.mcgill.ca)

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This book, developed from a doctoral thesis under the well known Ciceronian scholar Carlos Lévy, aims to establish the motif of the 'final revelation' as a transgeneric literary device in Latin literature. This is accomplished by a threefold analysis: the final revelation in book VI of Cicero's Republic, which has survived only in fragments (p. 59-186), the final book of Ovid's Metamorphoses (p. 189-311), and Apuleius' final revelation from his Metamorphoses, better known as the Golden Ass (p. 315-454). Its method is that of narrative theory.

In addition to a preface, acknowledgments, a preliminary chapter and three main parts dedicated to each of the three authors, the book ends with a general conclusion, a brief bibliography and 23 pages of indexes (an index locorum and an index nominum et rerum). Each of the three main parts is divided into three chapters, and each chapter into various sections and subsections. These divisions are welcome since they help readers to avoid fatigue in their perusal of such adense academic books.

The thesis of the author is the following: the function of the 'final revelation' in Roman literature (at least in the authors under discussion) is twofold: first, to elucidate retrospectively the main plot of the work; secondly, and this feature marks the originality of Roman literature, the author shows that this motif structures the narrative of the work, and is not just an awkward addition unjustified by the preceding action, in fact that it is the driving force of these works.

From the start, the author establishes a typology of various minimal units of a revelatory narration (p. 17-35, especially the table at pages 31-32). These constitutive characteristics are based on the setting, the content and the effect or result of the revelation. The "setting" is determined by the relationship between the human sphere and the supernatural one, the figure of the author of the revelation and the beneficiary of the revelation. The "content" is determined by the apocalyptic utterance, the unveiling of the past and of the secrets of the universe and the exhortation to a particular way of life. Finally, the "effect", which is not essential to the constitution of the revelatory experience, is determined by its immediacy or its consecutive result. Depending on each of these units, we will find different kinds of literary revelations.

In each of the three works the motif of the final revelation is used differently, since these constitutive units are reassembled or linked in particular configurations, depending on the goal pursued by each author. In Cicero, Scipio's dream or revelation confirms the political ideas expressed in the previous books but doesn't provide any new way of life to be followed, since the good political system achievable in this life is the image of the eternal ordering of the universe. Ovid's open-ended approach instead of providing a final resolving revelation, raises more questions than it solves.

Lastly, Apuleius' serio-comic romance uses the final revelation found in the Isiac apology as the focal point that illuminates the whole work. The strange adventures of Lucius until his conversion to the cult of Isis in the eleventh and final book is better understood only in light of the final revelation. By contrast with Ovid's final episode, Apuleius' ending is definitely closed.

Among the many literary problems treated, particularly illuminating are the discussions on Euripides' scenic device of the deus ex machina as forerunner to the motif of 'final revelation' (p. 36-43). This device, mostly used by the last of the three great tragedians at the end of his plays, functions to show to the audience a deity from above and to close the plot of the play.

Concerning the debate among scholars as to the influence of Pythagoreanism or Neo-Pythagoreanism on Ovid (p. 259-271), the author adopts a modern or median stance between those that believe, like J. Carcopino, that Ovid was a Neo-Pythagorean martyr and, on the other hand, those (like P. DeLacy) that see in Ovid's use of Pythagorean ideas a rhetorical device.

Another interesting discussion focuses on Apuleius' notion of the Supreme God, which the author shows has remained unchanged in all of Apuleius' works, from the Apology to the De Platone (p. 380-399). According to this view, Apuleius has a tendency to approach, even blend together, the ineffable and unknowable Primal God of the Corpus Hermeticum and Plato's God, as understood by the Middle-Platonists (p. 397).

I have only one mild criticism to make: though the author, in a number of places, discusses the philosophical and religious aspects of the three works, in his explanation of the meaning of the 'final revelation' he brushes them aside, and provides a narratological explanation, according to which meaning is a production of the text itself. Yet, these divine interventions in the narrative are meant to be revelations of immortality and as such, they lead the reader beyond the mere enigmas of the literary plots as works of fiction (cf. p. 465). In other words, it is anachronistic to think that the authors with which we are here concerned viewed their literary text as referring only to the world established by the text itself, without any relation to a world beyond it, such as the cosmological theory of their authors, especially in the texts of Cicero and Apuleius. The revelation episodes of these two authors remain difficult to evaluate without a clear understanding of ancient cosmology (such as the order of the planets, the hierarchy of the four elements and the passage of the soul through both of them).

Regardless of all this, Nicolas Lévi has offered us a notable study of three of the greatest Roman writers and their respective magna opera.

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William Fitzgerald, Variety: The Life of a Roman Concept. Chicago; London: University of Chicago Press, 2016. Pp. ix, 243. ISBN 9780226299495. $55.00.

Reviewed by Jane Heath, Durham University (j.m.f.heath@durham.ac.uk)

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For a term that the Oxford Latin Dictionary tentatively derives from 'pimple' (varus, 17), varius turns out to belong to a remarkably interesting and aesthetically pleasing area of discourse. This is one of those wonderful books that take something that has grown familiar and show us why it matters in ways we have forgotten to think about. 'Variety' and 'various', as Fitzgerald points out, are hardly noticeable in modern English usage. In the affluent, Anglophone West, 'variety' is of most interest to the consumer in the supermarket, who desires to exercise choice between different flavours of yoghurt, different types of cheese, and different brands of cereal. When we are discussing anything serious, like the European Union, we wipe our lips and use the word 'diversity' instead: thus the official motto of the EU runs in varietate concordia, but in English it becomes 'United in Diversity'. Fitzgerald wants to show us that the semantic blandness of 'variety' is only a recent phenomenon. From ancient Rome to the early twentieth century, varius in Latin and 'various' in English retained a semantic richness that has melted away in recent times. The purpose of the book is to chart some of that forgotten territory of meaningful variety.

Chapter 1 on 'Words and Meanings' begins with a selection of passages from English poetry from the Renaissance to the twentieth century in which the words 'various' and 'variety' appear. Arnold, Milton, Blackmore, Norris, Shakespeare, Byron, Pope and MacNeice stand arrayed as witnesses to the communicative power of 'variety': they use it when pondering experiences that are moving and powerful, both in this world and beyond it. The point about English having been well made, Fitzgerald turns to the etymology and semantic field of the Latin varius and varietas. Cicero said that varietas is properly used of uneven colours, but has many transferred usages, such as for a poem, speech, character, fortune, or pleasure. Fitzgerald places this in relation to other Latin and Greek terms, especially what varius shares with the Greek poikilos and the way it is used closely with the Latin distinguere. He concludes the chapter by introducing literary topoi in which the concrete meaning of varietas as colourful works together with the abstract idea of a shifty character: the comic slave is varius inside and out, cunning as a character and beaten black-and-blue; Dido exemplifies the character of woman as varium et mutabile semper and bruises her flesh to a variegated colour on her path to self-destruction.

Chapter 2 on 'Variety's Contexts' offers a two-page potted history of 'variety', then plunges into an extended discussion of the ideas with which it is most frequently associated. Fitzgerald distinguishes four main themes: (1) Nature's variety, which can be a delightful spectacle, a baffling marvel, or a troubling mixture of evil and good, ugly and beautiful. It occasions different theological interpretations according to which of these aspects is in view. (2) Variety in rhetoric, where paradoxically varietas not only produces the delightful plenitude of copia, but is also the balm to relieve satiety induced by copia. Rhetorical variety can respond to the needs of a diverse audience, and the creativity of the human wordsmith can be interpreted by analogy with or participation in God's creativity in nature. (3) Variety as a source of pleasure also becomes a principle of aesthetics. It relieves tedium and so is important in the literary structure of narratives; more positively, it can supply the delightful sensation of being overwhelmed with pleasing variety, or the empowering experience of selecting from a rich spread. Narrative variety is often figured as a journey, since it is constituted by change over time; what Fitzgerald calls 'anti-synoptic aesthetics', when the 'eye cannot settle' due to encountering an overwhelming diversity, is more often figured through jewels or mosaics. In the aesthetic categories of the eighteenth century, variety's place remains unstable: it contributes to different kinds of experience, including the sublime, the beautiful, and the picturesque, and its effect can be good or bad. (4) Variety as a social and political phenomenon is part of the experience of the Roman empire; Fitzgerald observes several instances where imperial diversity is put on display, including Vergil's shield of Aeneas, the arena in Rome, and Luke's account of Pentecost. This is an important chapter of Fitzgerald's book because it grounds the exploration of variety in particular authors, genres and books in the remaining chapters. The four conceptual areas are not intended to be sharply distinguished, but are presented as overlapping dimensions of a complex and interesting discourse, in which the language of variety plays an important role.

Chapter 3 turns to the study of individual authors. Fitzgerald argues that several ancient authors treated 'variety' as a significant concept, and indeed a positive value: he singles out Pliny, Lucretius, and Horace for discussion. Pliny the Younger receives the fullest treatment: Pliny deliberately makes his pursuits various because he is self-conscious about his inability to be a good specialist; he uses various styles in his book to appeal to diverse readers; he delights in variety when it comes to villas, the Fons Clitumnus, Pompeius Saturninus, and his own composition of Catullan nugae during his hours of leisure; by contrast his business duties drag on like chains. Pliny's thematisation of variety spans all the important conceptual areas discussed in the previous chapter. Lucretius engages with variety for different reasons: a fearless Epicurean and no anxious Pliny, he serenely delights in the generous variety of nature that is composed through diverse combinations of atoms, and compares it with the combinations of letters that make up the words of his own text. Dryden, Hopkins and Catullus are introduced as poetic variations on Lucretian varietas. Horace is mentioned more briefly, as he will be important in the following chapters: he foregrounds varietas as a programmatic but problematic stylistic intention in his comments on his own poetry in Odes 4.2, and on poetry in general in Ars Poetica.

Chapter 4 moves from authors to literary forms and the subjectivities associated with them. While the list as such is not a form of literature, there are several literary forms that use lists in different ways: priamel, the rhetorical figure of love as a hunt, satire, panegyric, and the hawker's cry are discussed. Each of these is shown to create situations in which the author confronts variety, but with different attitudes to it. For example, priamel allows Horace to distinguish himself as a lyric poet from others in their pursuits; Ovid and Propertius vary the form to characterise their experiences of erotic encounter, Ovid with many women, Propertius with the many sides of just one. Satire is the genre of variety and abundance (varietas and copia) par excellence, but the satirist's stance is one of satiety: he has had enough; the variety before him characterises humanity as a bunch of inconsistent fools, and flattens into tedious repetitiveness. Fitzgerald shows that although the different rhetorical forms cultivate different attitudes to variety, they also share some characteristic features of listing, such as the author being found both inside and outside the list, and the variety of items paling into sameness in the enumeration.

Chapter 5 brings the study to an end with a discussion of imperial miscellanies in both prose and verse and in different genres. Fitzgerald challenges us to take the miscellanists seriously about their own miscellanism: following A. Barchiesi, he suggests that since the 1970s we have tended to study the classics as part of a quest for the perfect book, and he points out that recent interest in miscellanies too readily falls into that pattern by trying to show that miscellanies too are perfect books in their own way. He wants us to see instead that the miscellanists were earnestly interested in variety, and our task is to find ways of analysing that. He takes a two-pronged approach. First, he explores the miscellanists' own ways of drawing attention to their literary variety. These include paratextual aspects such as titles; accounts of what their work is not, and of what it does; biographical fictions about how they composed it; and their ways of characterising readers and the reading of miscellanies. Secondly, Fitzgerald contributes his own analysis of the effects of miscellaneity in particular works, especially Gellius' Attic Nights.

Variety: the Life of a Roman Concept is a welcome and significant contribution to contemporary discussion of aspects of variety and miscellaneity in antiquity. As Fitzgerald points out, there has been a marked growth in study of imperial miscellanism in recent years, but it has not involved detailed attention to the miscellanists' most explicit source of interest and aesthetic value: variety itself. Variety has been discussed in a different context: namely, the study of ancient aesthetics. However, this has focused on the Greek poikilia rather than the Latin varietas, and is still in its early days.¹ Fitzgerald's exploration of varietas is important both for its excavation of Roman material and for identifying so many significant texts and aspects of variety beyond the miscellany alone. He makes a strong case that varietas marks reflection on a concept whose contours allow some definition, and that this is worth studying in both ancient and modern contexts, and in the relationship between them.

There are some aspects of the book that I find less successful. Fitzgerald expresses a sense of tension with approaches to historical context in two other areas of scholarship: against much contemporary reception history, he assumes that words carry their meanings with them rather than being transformed at each reception; he suggests they are like a 'form of energy, which finds various outlets in its modern continuations', therefore he can 'bounce around from period to period or author to author' (6). Against those he refers to as 'historicists' (inverted commas his), he regards persistence as an important historical fact, which grounds an approach to variety that is not chronologically organised (31). I agree with Fitzgerald that persistence is real, important and interesting (and I think many other historically-minded scholars would too), but it needs to be demonstrated rather than assumed. History is not grounded in the idea that everything changes, but that some things change and some stay the same. We try to differentiate between the two, and to explain. This does not preclude thematic organisation when studying a concept like 'variety', but it does preclude 'bouncing around' between periods and authors with sparse historical contextualisation or justification for placing them in dialogue with each other. That approach could be effective in constructing a new philosophical theory of variety, but for a book that hopes to show variety's historical persistence and significance, it lacks necessary discipline. The argument about both the ancient and the modern material is weakened when attention keeps shifting between them. Fitzgerald does in fact find considerable variety in the uses of 'variety', both ancient and modern, and this undermines the assertion that differences between periods and authors can be overlooked.

My second point of critique concerns the treatment of 'variety' as an object of study. It would clarify the aim and method of the research if the introduction offered a systematic account of the relationship between variety as a word, a concept, a discourse, and an experience. All of these are interwoven in the study; the first two chapters go some way toward distinguishing them, but without an explicit theoretical or methodological grounding. All these dimensions are important and I am grateful that they are treated together, but the burden of thinking through the relationship between them is left with the reader.

Having varied my favourable comments with mottled critique, I hope it remains clear that the present reviewer is delighted at the contribution of this engaging and beautifully presented work.

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Notes:

1.   A valuable item of bibliography that came too late for Fitzgerald is Grand-Clément, Adeline, 'Poikilia,' in: Pierre Destrée and Penelope Murray (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Aesthetics (Blackwell, 2015) 406-21.

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Fred K. Drogula, Commanders and Command in the Roman Republic and Early Empire. Studies in the History of Greece and Rome. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2015. Pp. x, 422. ISBN 9781469623146. $59.95.

Reviewed by Simon Day, Wadham College, University of Oxford (simon.day@wadh.ox.ac.uk)

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Drogula's book begins, as it ends, with the bold claim that the history of provincial command was to a large extent the history of the Roman Republic and Early Empire (p. 1 and p. 382). Roman historians themselves were well aware that commanders and command played a crucial role in shaping the world in which they lived. Livy, for example, asks his readers to pay particular attention to the men and conduct, in the civilian and military spheres, through which imperium was established and increased (pr. 9). Tacitus later famously began his Annals with a sweeping account of over seven hundred years of Roman History, starting with the rule of kings and ending with the armies of Lepidus and Antonius passing into the hands of Augustus, who with the name of princeps took everything under his imperium (1.1.1). Drogula thus follows a long tradition in making a serious contribution to furthering our understandings of this history. Unlike Livy and Tacitus, though, he focusses on the development of a number of key concepts (imperium, auspicium, magistratus and prouincia) that defined provincial commanders and command rather than the deeds of individuals.

A vast amount has been written on these concepts both within specific contexts (e.g. research on particular regions, notions of empire, the Senate, individual magistracies, aristocratic competition, etc.) and within more general studies on the "Roman constitution" (or Römisches Staatsrecht) over the last two centuries. Drogula pulls together various complex topics into a comprehensive single study (p. 6) and, in doing so, challenges a number of the standard views held in the earlier scholarship. His book also offers an alternative interpretation of provincial command to Vervaet's recent monograph (which had not been published when Drogula's manuscript went to press) investigating the practice of assigning the supreme command (the summum imperium auspiciumque) to commanders in specific spheres.¹ Vervaet is generally more willing to accept (with necessary criticism) the evidence from the so-called annalistic sources (most of which date to the first century or later and were liable to have been skewed by earlier family histories).² Drogula, on the other hand, believes one must disentangle overarching "structural themes" from what he views as the unreliable and anachronistic details in the annalistic tradition (pp. 2-6 and pp. 8-13). Largely as a result of this fundamental difference, Vervaet observes a number of "enduring" constitutional "principles" (governed by custom and law), whereas Drogula argues that the concepts connected with provincial command—in particular imperium and prouincia—evolved gradually between the sixth and first centuries (all dates are BCE unless otherwise stated).

In Chapter 1 ("Concepts and Traditions of Military Leadership in Early Rome (to 367)"), Drogula questions the Roman tradition—such as is preserved in Livy's History—that two consuls were created as equal colleagues with supreme authority over domestic and military affairs after the expulsion of the last king of Rome (e.g. Liv. 2.1-2). He takes military authority as originally a "vague concept" (p. 13) that was unconnected with civilian authority in Rome: Roman aristocrats predominantly used military resources from their clans and tribes to wage private wars (pp. 18-33). He suggests that the state only gradually acquired control over commanders, starting, perhaps, with the exclusive right to grant imperium around 449 and culminating in a Licinian-Sextian law that limited the number of annual commanders to three praetors in 367 (pp. 33-44).

A major problem with this interpretation, as Drogula acknowledges on several occasions, is that the evidence is insufficient to reach firm conclusions (e.g. p. 25, p. 31 and p. 44). One may wonder whether there was more central organisation earlier than the mid-fifth century (perhaps even going back to the regal period). Likewise, the fact that the title consul only first appears in surviving inscriptions from around 264 does not tell us very much, given that there is a complete absence of any epigraphic evidence for Roman offices (including praetors) prior to the third century (cf. p. 41f). It remains open to debate whether the evidence we do have for the Early Republic from later historians should be rejected altogether, especially for the last half of the fourth century when information may have been better preserved (note esp. e.g. Q. Fabius Pictor's reference, though only surviving in a later Latin translation, to the election of consuls in 367 in FRHist, no. 1, F31).

The second and third chapters explore the key principles that defined military command. Chapter 2 ("Fundamental Concepts of Authority in Early Rome (to 367 BC)") focuses on the separation of authority domi militiaeque and the concepts of potestas, auspicium and imperium. It accepts the standard view that the power of magistrates was restricted by the rights of citizens in the civilian sphere (domi) and unrestricted in the military sphere (militiae). Yet, it mounts a strong challenge to Mommsen's widely accepted theory that this was the result of a difference between imperium domi (within the pomerium) and imperium militiae (outside the pomerium). Drogula plausibly contends that all magistrates had potestas within the city (at various levels)—which was all they needed to undertake their civilian duties (pp. 57-68) —whereas imperium was ordinarily exercised only within the military sphere (pp. 81-117).³ He proposes that exceptions were made to this rule for the decemuiri consulari imperio legibus scribundis between 451 and 449 (p. 103), commanders celebrating officially sanctioned triumphs (pp. 111-116), dictators (pp. 118-121) and magistrates following the passage of so-called senatus consulta ultima (pp. 121-125).

Chapter 3 ("The Concept of Provincia in Early Rome (to 367 BC)") provides an excellent—and much needed—account of the use of prouinciae as effective means of separating commanders into different spheres and preventing conflicts between imperium-holders (pp. 142-148). Earlier scholarship has tended to concentrate on the hierarchy of imperium (dictatorium imperium, consulare imperium and praetorium imperium) and auspicium. In contrast, Drogula (radically) argues that all commanders possessed the same type of imperium and that the prouincia was therefore the principal means of establishing whose imperium took precedence in a particular sphere. Although the dictator's power is discussed here (pp. 165-168), the arguments against distinct consulare imperium and praetorium imperium are made in the following chapter. (A cross-reference would have been helpful.)

In Chapter 4 ("The Development of the Classical Constitution (367 to 197 BC)"), Drogula argues that consular commanders came to possess greater prestige than praetorian commanders rather than de iure authority during the third century (pp. 183-189). In doing so, he offers alternative interpretations of the evidence traditionally used to support the notion that consuls had greater power than praetors (pp. 193-209). Although the discussion highlights that it should not be assumed that a legal distinction between consular and praetorian imperium necessarily existed as early as the fourth century, I am not convinced that we should abandon the possibility that this developed sometime between the third and second centuries (if not before). The earliest surviving reference to the praetor's minus imperium comes from the (now lost) Libri Magistratuum of C. Sempronius Tuditanus (cos. 129), as preserved by Aulus Gellius (second century CE) via M. Valerius Messalla (cos. 53).⁴ Tuditanus may well have correctly recognised a difference between consular and praetorian imperium in the second century (even if some of the other details in his account are wrong, for which cf. pp. 190-193), just as Cicero seemingly did in 55 (Pis. 38). The fact that praetors had six fasces securesque (at least militiae), whereas consuls possessed twelve, may be best interpreted as a reflection of the different types of imperium rather than prestige/rank (see esp. Plut. Aem. 4.2 and cf. p. 94, n. 155, p. 187, n. 14 and p. 216).

On balance, Drogula elucidates well the importance of the concept of the prouincia for delineating the authority of commanders, but arguably goes too far in rejecting other means of separation—such as official hierarchy (e.g. consulare imperium and praetorium imperium) and the designation of a supreme commander with the summum imperium auspiciumque (for which cf. p. 89 and p. 154 and Vervaet's recent study, referred to above).

The remaining three chapters further explore how the concepts that defined military command changed between the third century and Augustus' constitutional settlement of 23. Chapter 5 ("From Command to Governance") follows the orthodox view that the prouincia was originally a temporary military task assigned to a commander that gradually came to refer to a geographically defined territory under Roman control (pp. 235-255).⁵ Drogula argues that this change—which he suggests stemmed from the overseas conquests in the third century—had a number of significant consequences. First, whilst consuls continued to receive "traditional prouinciae" (involving military conquests), praetors were regularly assigned the less prestigious "permanent prouinciae" (geographically defined conquered territories which offered fewer opportunities to win military glory). Second, praetors were more likely to profit through improper means, as they took on more administrative functions in their prouinciae (pp. 263-273). This, in turn, led to new restrictions being imposed to regulate their behaviour from around the mid-second century (pp. 273-292). Drogula places particular emphasis on the lex Porcia (dated to 100, but conceivably somewhat earlier than this), which he claims was predominantly aimed at circumscribing the movement and activities of praetors (pp. 281-292).⁶

The distinction made between "traditional" consular and "permanent" praetorian prouinciae is arguably too neat and somewhat forced in places; and one may question whether Roman senators would have thought in those terms. There is evidence that consular commanders ordinarily needed permission to leave their prouinciae (e.g. Liv. 22.37.13; 28.45.8-9; 30.24.1-4; 39.55.3- 4; and 43.1.4-12), which presupposes that they were somehow geographically defined (and not conceived primarily as "wars" or "campaigns", as suggested throughout—cf. esp. p. 284f and p. 366). This also raises the question whether the lex Porcia sought to institutionalise what had previously been the mos maiorum for all commanders and was less aimed at praetorian prouinciae per se.

Chapter 6 ("The Late Republic (100 to 49 BC)") considers changes in the conception and use of prouinciae and imperium. It concentrates first on the effects of the lex Sempronia de prouinciis consularibus (123/122), which Drogula suggests "required" the Senate to name the consular prouinciae before the consular elections rather than at the start of each year (p. 343 and p. 379, although he is more cautious in conceding that it may not have been a legal "requirement" on p. 298). This meant that consuls had less influence over their provincial assignment, which led to an increasing use of popular legislation to secure desired prouinciae (pp. 304-314). Drogula observes that a number of extraordinary prouinciae voted for by the people in the first century—most famously Pompeius' command against the pirates in 67—overlapped with other existing prouinciae. He proposes that imperium maius was first conceived within this context about ten years later and, then, finally granted to Brutus and Cassius in 43 (pp. 318-332). The problem with this argument, however, is that there is no decisive evidence that Brutus and Cassius ever received imperium maius (which we should remember was not a type of power and was always used in comparison with another imperium).⁷ Cicero's proposal that Cassius should receive imperium maius quam the imperium held by other proconsuls was rejected (Phil. 11.30 and cf. Fam. 12.7.1); and none of the references given in p. 330, n. 75 explicitly refers to its approval some months later. At the very least, further discussion is required here to support the interpretation given.⁸

The final chapter ("Augustan Manipulation of Traditional Ideas of Provincial Governance") examines how Augustus took advantage of the evolution of the traditional concepts of prouincia and imperium, as interpreted in the previous chapters, in order to forge a new supreme position for himself in the state between 32 and 23.

Overall, the book is written in a clear and engaging style (though there are some particularly noteworthy errors, typographical slips and instances of unnecessary repetition).⁹ Drogula has mastered a vast array of ancient and modern literature and his overarching vision of provincial command as a fluid and complex concept that developed over time is refreshing. Whilst not all of his interpretations of the timing and manner of this development are entirely persuasive, they will undoubtedly stimulate healthy debate on provincial command and its place in the history of the Roman Republic and Early Empire.

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Notes:

1.   Vervaet, F.J. (2014). The High Command in the Roman Republic: The Principle of the summum imperium auspiciumque from 509 to 19 BCE, Stuttgart, Franz Steiner Verlag.
2.   Ibid., esp. p. 15f and e.g. pp. 91-93.
3.   This builds on the arguments made in Drogula, F.K. (2007). "Imperium, Potestas, and the Pomerium in the Roman Republic", Historia, 56.4, 419-452 (cited p. 57, n. 27).
4.   FRHist, no. 10, F2.
5.   Cf. Bertrand, J.-M. (1989). "À propos du mot provincia: Étude sur les modes d'élaboration du langage politique", JS, 3-4, 191-215 (cursorily dismissed by Drogula on p. 237).
6.   Here he returns to the arguments first made in Drogula, F.K. (2011). "The Lex Porcia and the Development of Legal Restraints on Roman Governors", Chiron, 41, 91-124 (cited p. 282, n. 140).
7.   See e.g. Paschoud, F. (2005). "À propos d'imperium maius: nil sub sole nouum", ZPE, 153, 280-282.
8.   Cf. Girardet, K.M. (1993). "Die Rechtsstellung der Caesarattentäter Brutus und Cassius in den Jahren 44-42 v. Chr.", Chiron, 23, 207-232 (which appears in the bibliography).
9.   For factual errors/questionable claims see e.g. p. 29 (L. Cincius may not be the L. Cincius Alimentus [pr. 210, not 209 as stated] referred to here, for which see Fest. 276L and FRHist, Vol. 1, no. 2, p. 181); p.124 (the so- called senatus consultum ultimum was not first used in 133, as claimed, but rather in 121, for which cf. Cic. Cat. 1.3 and 1.4); p. 133 and p. 311 (the date of the Lex Manilia is given as 67 instead of 66); p. 258, n. 78 (there is a strange reference to "slave revolts" in Sicily between "215 and 11 BC" for the defection of the Syracusan kingdom after the death of Hieron II); p. 308 (the date of the renewal of Caesar's Gallic command is given as 54 rather than 55); p. 360, n. 31 (it is claimed that Augustus' provincial command was renewed for ten years rather than five); and p. 382 (the reference to the "Second Triumvirate"—which is a misnomer and should be avoided in any case—is anachronistic). For less serious typographical errors see e.g. p. 73, n. 86; p. 162, n. 100; p. 216; p. 224; p. 302 (quia for quis in the quotation of the Lex Antonia de Termessibus); p. 307, n. 19; p. 365, n. 41; and p. 369, n. 53. For instances of repetition see e.g. p. 49 with n. 6 and p. 83 with n. 123; p. 156, n. 86 and p. 157, n. 89; p. 186 and p. 186, n. 10; p. 212 and p. 212, n. 78; p. 302 with n. 7 and p. 316 with n. 47; and pp. 304-314, p. 317 (which appears out of place) and p. 343.

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Adalberto Giovannini, Les institutions de la République romaine des origines à la mort d'Auguste. Schweizerische Beiträge zur Altertumswissenschaft, 42. Basel: Schwabe Verlag, 2015. Pp. 245. ISBN 97837965345845. €78.00.

Reviewed by Yann Berthelet, Université de Liège (Yann.Berthelet@ulg.ac.be)

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A book of Adalberto Giovannini is always a pleasure to read, thanks to the clear, direct and pedagogic style of its author. And it's always interesting, not only because the Swiss historian knows the Greek and Latin sources very well, but also because arguments based on mere authority have no influence on him. For the same reasons, it's always more or less iconoclastic.

The book's structure is unusual. Indeed, the reader will not find any reference to scholarship before the end of the book (p. 179-217), where a critical discussion of modern works is proposed. The presentation of the subject matter tries to take into account the imbalance between the relatively abundant documentation of the last two centuries of the Roman Republic—that allows a structural approach of the Roman institutions—and the rare and problematic documentation for earlier periods.

As A. Giovannini specifies it (p. 9), this book is written for both students and scholars. Indeed, it should be considered as an academic handbook of high standard, which will be very useful to French speaking colleagues as they prepare lessons on Roman Republican institutions. The structural description of the institutions of the last two centuries of the Republic (first part) and the historical narrative of the Roman Republic, which takes an institutional point of view and to which it is not possible to give a detailed commentary here (second part), are systematically (and soundly) supported by ancient sources referenced in the footnotes. Modern works are evaluated in the final "État de la recherche", which conveniently follows the order of the table of contents. Finally, a bibliography and indices help readers to find their way.

These readers have to be aware, however, of the a priori opposition of the author to the 19^th century's theory, systematized by Theodor Mommsen in his Römisches Staatsrecht (1887-1888), which conceives the power of the Republican magistrates as originally transmitted from the kings and later, year after year, from the magistrates in office to their successors. By contrast, A. Giovannini thinks that the founding principle of the Roman State was the sovereignty of the people¹; furthermore, this was the basis of the authority of the Senate, an assembly of former magistrates that were elected by the people (p. 78-79). This sovereignty was submitted to the will of the gods and, therefore, to the will of the Roman magistrates, who were the only ones with the authority to interpret the auspices obligatory before all important public deeds, civilian as well as military (p. 36-37 et 107). As the auspicia taken by the magistrates were controlled by the augurs, these priests had an authority that was respected even during the Civil Wars and that allowed a single augur to nullify a popular decision (p. 86-92).² The magistrates were also controlled by the Senate, whose orders to them were imperative (p. 79).

However, it is impossible to reduce the capacity of the magistrates and the augurs, as A. Giovannini does, to a simple "right of veto" against the "unjust" decisions of the people (p. 37): not only has the Swiss historian overestimated the reality of popular sovereignty³—even the populares, despite their radical method and ideology, never questioned fundamentally the aristocratic nature of the regime,⁴ so that the sovereignty of the populus Romanus was largely nominal⁵—and underestimated the magistrates' power of convoking comitia, of rogatio⁶ and of renuntiatio⁷; but he has not properly esteemed the necessary complementarity between the potestas sine auspiciis of the people, the potestas cum auspiciis of the magistrates of the people (i.e. the holders of patrician magistracies) and the auctoritas of the augurs and of the Senate.⁸ In accordance with his ideas on the sovereignty of the Roman people and with his supposition that the comitia curiata were originally dominated by the patrician gentes, A. Giovannini thinks that this assembly gave the auspices to the magistrates (p. 43-44 and 110)⁹: this assumption, unfortunately, is certainly wrong.¹⁰

If the Swiss historian's demonstration of the nonexistence of the so-called lex Cornelia de prouinciis ordinandis¹¹ is recognised today as definitive (p. 210 and 214), we can deplore that he has maintained less fortunate opinions, such as the supposed lack of "promagisterial" auspices¹² or his problematic assumption that the prouocatio would not have been territorially limited to the Vrbs and the area embraced by the first Roman mile (p. 181).¹³ The meaning of the limitation of military dictatorship to six months is also misunderstood (p. 53-55; cf. 209-210): this term did not imply any expiration date for the extraordinary magistracy, but only urged the dictator not to keep his power longer. As a consequence, an abdication was necessary to put an end to a military dictatorship, as well as to a civil one.¹⁴

In the "État de la recherche" too, some positions of the author will provoke discussion. Thus, for example, his interpretation of Marius' military reform (p. 208; cf. p. 138-141) does not take account of recent research on the subject, which tends to relativize his immediate military impact.¹⁵ His understanding of the recent work of Fr. J. Vervaet (The High Command in the Roman Republic. The Principle of the summum imperium auspiciumque from 509 to 19 BCE, Stuttgart, Franz Steiner Verlag, 2014), and therefore his criticism of Fr. Hurlet and A. Dalla Rosa (p. 214-215; cf. p. 189-190), is erroneous as well: he confuses, indeed, the concept of imperium maius (i.e. an imperium superior to another, such as the imperium of a consul in relation to the imperium of a praetor) and the concept of summum imperium (i.e. the precedence of the commander-in-chief, including over a holder of an equal imperium), which Fr. J. Vervaet, precisely, strives to distinguish.

Eventually, we can regret that A. Giovannini's synthesis remains confined to the same juridical perspective as Mommsen's Römisches Staatsrecht, without any attempt to renew the approach of Roman institutions thanks to the contribution of the social sciences. Yet, the works of German historians such as K.-J. Hölkeskamp, M. Jehne or E. Flaig would have given him something to think about. Indeed, they have stressed also the political importance of the populus and the plebs, but not as the supposed source of magistrates' power, but as a third civic instance whose main function was to arbitrate the aristocratic struggles for power.¹⁶

Despite these criticisms, I would like to insist again, in conclusion, on the clarity of A. Giovannini's exposition of the Roman Republican institutions, on his rational insistence on the necessary return to the ancient sources and on the great utility of his final "État de la recherche".

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Notes:

1.   See already: A. Giovannini, Consulare imperium, Bâle, Friedrich Reinhardt Verlag, « Schweizerische Beiträge zur Altertumswissenschaft », 16, 1983, passim; id., « Magistratur und Volk: Ein Beitrag zur Entstehungsgeschichte des Staatsrechts », in W. Eder (ed.), Staat und Staatlichkeit in der frühen römischen Republik, Stuttgart, Franz Steiner Verlag, 1990, p. 406-436.
2.   See already: A. Giovannini, « Auctoritas patrum », MH, 42, 1985, p. 28-36.
3.   It should be noted, however, that A. Giovannini never speaks of a Roman democracy, not even "in a strictly neutral sense", as F. Millar does (« Popular Politics at Rome in the Late Republic », in I. Malkin and Z.W. Rubinsohn [ed.], Leaders and Masses in the Roman World: Studies in Honor of Zvi Yavetz, Leiden, Brill, 1995, p. 94). For a recent synthesis on the debate provoked by F. Millar's works, see: A. Yakobson, « Popular Power in the Roman Republic », in N. Rosenstein and R. Morstein-Marx (ed.), A Companion to the Roman Republic, Oxford, Blackwell Publishing, 2006, p. 383-400, especially p. 392, where the "sovereignty" of the Roman popular assemblies is discussed.
4.   See: J.-L. Ferrary, « Optimates et populares. Le problème du rôle de l'idéologie dans la politique », in H. Bruhns, J. M. David and W. Nippel (ed.), Die späte römische Republik. La fin de la République romaine. Un débat franco- allemand d'histoire et d'historiographie, Roma, École française de Rome, « Coll. EFR 235 », 1997, p. 221-231.
5.   See: Cl. Nicolet, Le Métier de citoyen dans la Rome républicaine, Paris, Gallimard, 1980² [1976], p. 288-290: « Nous savons aujourd'hui […] que le peuple [romain] n'a pas toujours eu le droit d'élire les magistrats, que ces décisions n'ont pas toujours été souveraines […]. Il est vrai […] qu'au dernier siècle de la République […] la souveraineté du peuple est plus nettement affirmée. Mais c'est là une expression du langage politique qui ne rend pas compte du substrat juridique. » Cf. J.-L. Ferrary, « L'iter legis, de la rédaction de la rogatio à la publication de la lex rogata, et la signification de la législation comitiale dans le système politique de la Rome républicaine », in id. (ed.), Leges publicae. La legge nell'esperienza giuridica romana, Pavia, IUSS Press, « CEDANT 9 », 2012, p. 24-25.
6.   See: Cl. Nicolet, Le Métier de citoyen, op. cit., p. 290: « Même si sa volonté exprimée (i.e. the populus Romanus' will) devient prépondérante, encore faut-il que quelqu'un, en dehors de lui, mette en mouvement cette volonté, d'abord en le réunissant (c'est-à-dire en convoquant une assemblée), ensuite en lui proposant, comme une sorte de contrat, de participer à ce qui ne pourra être en fin de compte, comme dit Mommsen, qu'un acte bilatéral […]. »
7.   See: Cl. Nicolet, Le Métier de citoyen, op. cit., p. 401: « il est probable qu'au départ le titulaire de l'imperium avait pour devoir de désigner lui-même son successeur, et jusqu'à la fin de la République c'est lui qui présidera les comices où son successeur sera élu, et qui sera chargé de l'annonce officielle (renuntiatio) qui, en droit, est la seule investiture valable. »
8.   Let me mention, on this question: Y. Berthelet, Gouverner avec les dieux. Autorité, auspices et pouvoir, sous la République romaine et sous Auguste, Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 2015, especially p. 143-283.
9.   See: A. Giovannini, Consulare imperium, op. cit., p. 52-53.
10.   Fr. Van Haeperen, « Auspices d'investiture, loi curiate et légitimité des magistrats romains », CCG, 23, 2012, p. 71-112 ; Y. Berthelet, Gouverner avec les dieux, op. cit., p. 103-137.
11.   See : A. Giovannini, Consulare imperium, op. cit., p. 73-101.
12.   See: A. Giovannini, Consulare imperium, op. cit., p. 37. Such position is untenable: cf. Y. Berthelet, Gouverner avec les dieux, op. cit., p. 157-168.
13.   A. Giovannini, Consulare imperium, op. cit., p. 22-26. For discussion: Y. Berthelet, Gouverner avec les dieux, op. cit., p. 191-194. On the other hand, Giovannini's appendix (Institutions..., p. 173-178) arguing against the "plebeian" origin of the prouocatio is convincing.
14.   U. Coli, Regnum, Rome, Apollinaris, « Excerptum ex SDHI, 17 », 1951, p. 395-418, especially p. 407-411.
15.   P. Cosme, L'armée romaine. VIII^e s. av. J.-C-V^e s. ap. J.-C., Paris, Armand Colin, 2007, p. 52-53 ; Fr. Cadiou, « Le dilectus de l'année 151 et les guerres celtibéro-lusitaniennes : remarques sur la question de la réticence face au service militaire dans la Rome du II^e siècle av. J.-C. », in I. B. Antela-Bernárdez and T. Ñaco del Hoyo (eds.), Setting landscapes into motion in the Ancient Empires, Oxford, British Archaeological Reports, International Series 1986, 2009, p. 26-27.
16.   See, particularly: K.-J. Hölkeskamp, Rekonstruktionen einer Republik. Die politische Kultur des antiken Roms und die Forschung der letzten Jahrzehnte, Munich, Oldenbourg, 2004, p. 82-83.

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Susan Sauvé Meyer, Plato: Laws 1 and 2. Translated with an Introduction and Commentary. Clarendon Plato series. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2015. Pp. xiv, 361. ISBN 9780199604081. $74.00.

Reviewed by Nicholas R. Baima, University of Missouri-Columbia (NichBaima@gmail.com)

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Plato: Laws 1 and 2 includes a short introduction, an outline of Books 1 and 2, a new translation of these books, a commentary that discusses the ethical, legal, and psychological issues raised in the text, a helpful bibliography, and a thorough index. Students of Plato will greatly benefit from this book. Indeed, anyone working on the Laws should own this book.

The introduction is brief and follows fairly conventional lines of thinking; readers unfamiliar with the text will find it helpful. The introduction situates the Laws within Plato's corpus, provides an overview of the entire Laws, offers a description of the characters in the dialogue, and gives a synopsis of Books 1 and 2.

An outline of Books 1 and 2 follows the introduction. The structure of these books is winding and often difficult to follow; the discourse seems to change subjects abruptly, only to continue at a later point in the text. Meyer's outline provides a useful map for navigating this challenging terrain.

Trevor Saunders (1970) and Thomas Pangle (1980) produced the main English translations of the Laws.¹ Both translations have advantages and disadvantages. Pangle's translation follows a more word-for-word methodology that matches English words and Greek words with precision. However, this sometimes makes for verbose and awkward sentence constructions that fail to capture the meaning of the text. In contrast, Saunders' translation aims for readability, but it lacks precision; for those readers who lack knowledge of Greek, they will miss out on some of the intricate philosophical points if they use Saunders' translation. Meyer aims to offer a readable and fluent translation of the text like Saunders, but without sacrificing philosophical and philological nuance. Meyer succeeds on both fronts. Her translation reads much more like an actual conversation than Pangle's, while still being precise. Additionally, because Meyer offers a line-by-line commentary on the text, she will note if there are any thorny philological issues at stake.

In what follows I will compare translations of three important passages (1, 624a; 1, 644d-e, and 2, 654c), so that readers can get a sense of what to expect.

Laws 1, 624a

Pangle: [Athenian] "Is it a god or some human being, strangers, who is given the credit for laying down your laws?" [Clinias] "A god, stranger, a god—to say what is at any rate the most just thing. Among us Zeus, and among the Lacedaimonians, from whence this man here comes, I think they declare that it's Apollo. Isn't that so?" (58 words)

Saunders: [Athenian] "Tell me, gentlemen, to whom do you give the credit for establishing your codes of law? Is it a god, or a man?" [ Clinias] "A god, sir, a god—and that's the honest truth. Among us Cretans it is Zeus; in Sparta—which is where our friend here hails from—they say it is Apollo, I believe. Isn't that right?" (59 words)

Meyer: [Athenian] "Is it a god or a human being, Strangers, who get the credit for establishing your laws?" [ Clinias] "A god, Stranger, most assuredly a god! Here on Crete we say it is Zeus, while in Sparta, where our friend here comes from, I believe they say it is Apollo. Isn't that so?" (51 words)

Meyer's translation is the most concise and readable. For example, Meyer's use of the phrase "comes from" is more colloquial and modern than Saunders's "hails from." Additionally, Meyer's avoids Pangle's longwinded and slightly misleading "to say what is at any rate the most just thing" and replaces it with the terse "most assuredly."

Laws 1, 644d-e

Pangle: [Athenian] "Let's think about these things in this way: let's consider each of us living beings to be a divine puppet, put together either for their play or for some serious purpose—which, we don't know. What we do know is that these passions work within us like tendons or cords, drawing us and pulling against one another in opposite directions toward opposing deeds, struggling in the region where virtue and vice lie separated from one another." (76 words)

Saunders: [Athenian] "I suggest we look at the problem in this way: let's imagine that each of us living beings is a puppet of the gods. Whether we have been constructed to serve as their plaything, or for some serious reason, is something beyond our ken, but what we certainly do know is this: we have these emotions in us, which act like cords or strings and tug us about; they work in opposition, and tug against each other to make us perform actions that are opposed correspondingly; back and forth we go across the boundary line where vice and virtue meet." (100 words)

Meyer: [Athenian] "Let's think about it this way. Consider each of us, living beings that we are, to be a divine puppet—whether constituted as the god's plaything or for a serious purpose, we have no idea. What we do know is that these various experiences in us are like cords or strings that tug at us and oppose each other. They pull against each other towards opposing actions across the field where virtue is marked off from vice." (77 words)

Meyer's translation is concise, but still able to capture a number of important nuances. Consider two important differences in her translation of this passage. First, both Saunders and Pangle render the opening line in such a way that is consistent with the puppet metaphor applying to every living creature. But this is not the point of the passage. The point is that the puppet metaphor applies to humans. Meyer captures this subtlety with: "Consider each of us, living beings that we are, to be a divine puppet." Second, Meyer translates pathē as "experiences," while Sanders renders it "emotions" and Pangle "passions." In her commentary she explains that "its scope here is broad enough to include not only the pleasure, pain, and anticipation invoked at 644c6-d1, but also instances of the 'calculation' (logismos) introduced at 644d1-2" (p. 179). That being said, I dislike Meyer's (and Pangle's) translation of thauma theion as "divine puppet," since it can suggest that the puppet itself is of divine quality. The intent and emphasis of the passage is that the puppet is under the possession of the gods.

Laws 2, 653a-b

Pangle: [Athenian] "Well, I say that the first infantile sensation in children is the sensation of pleasure and pain, and that it is in these that virtue and vice first come into being in the soul; as for prudence and true opinions that are firmly held, he is a fortunate person to whom it comes even in old age. He who does possess them, and all the good things that go with them, is a perfect human being. Education, I say, is the virtue that first comes into being in children. Pleasure and liking, pain and hatred, become correctly arranged in the souls of those who are not yet able to reason, and then, when the souls do become capable of reasoning, these passions can in consonance with reason affirm that they have been correctly habituated in the appropriate habits. This consonance in its entirety is virtue . . ." (145 words)

Saunders: [Athenian] "I maintain that the earliest sensations that a child feels in infancy are of pleasure and pain, and this is the route by which virtue and vice first enter the soul. (But for a man to acquire good judgment, and unshakable correct opinions, however late in life, is a matter of good luck: a man who possesses them, and all the benefits they entail, is perfect.) I call 'education' the initial acquisition of virtue by the child, when the feelings of pleasure and affection, pain and hatred, that well up in his soul are channeled in the right courses before he can understand the reason why. Then when he does understand, his reason and his emotions agree in telling him that he has been properly trained by inculcation of appropriate habits. Virtue is this general concord of reason and emotion." (140 words)

Meyer: [Athenian] "Here's what I mean. When we are children, the first sensations we experience are pleasure and pain, and it is in our pleasures and pains that virtue and vice first develop in our souls. By the time we are old, we are lucky if we have also developed wisdom and stable true opinions, for these goods and all that they involve complete a person, but it is the virtue that first develops in children that I am calling education. If pleasure and liking and pain and hatred develop correctly in our souls when we are not yet able to grasp the account, and when we do grasp the account they agree with it because they have been correctly trained by appropriate habits, this agreement is virtue in its entirety." (130 words)

The major difference is that Meyer translates logos as "account," while Saunders and Pangle translate it as "reason." In the commentary Meyer explains that "reason" can be misleading because it suggests a faculty and the Athenian's point is about making correct evaluative judgments that agree with one's feelings (i.e., pleasure, pain, liking, and hatred). Although Meyer's translation is more precise, I am skeptical that the use of "reason" here is as misleading as she thinks. The Athenian is differentiating between three different states: feelings (pleasure, pain, liking, and hating), evaluative judgments, and understanding why certain evaluative judgments are correct and why certain feelings are appropriate. However, we are to understand the moral psychology discussed in the puppet metaphor of Book 1, 644d-645a, it is clear that evaluative judgments and understanding are more closely associated with the cognitively robust "golden cord," while feelings are more closely associated with the "iron cords." Because the golden cord has cognitive capacities that the iron cords lack, and the iron cords consist of hedonic states as well as what are typically thought of as emotions (e.g., fear and shame), the division between reason and emotion is natural.

Overall, the commentary is excellent. Anyone familiar with the Clarendon Plato Series will know what to expect. Meyer provides a useful guide to main issues of contention in the secondary literature, as well as outlining difficult parts of the text. Although Meyer's commentary does not stay neutral on these debates, it does appreciate the various stances taken. The bibliography is extensive and includes a variety of different sources.

This is an excellent book. In my opinion, it is currently the best English translation of Books 1 and 2 of the Laws. Meyer's book will greatly help readers sort out the various difficult and obscure passages that pervade these two books.

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Notes:

1.   Currently available as T. L. Pangle, The Laws of Plato. Translated with notes and an interpretative essay (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988); and T. J. Saunders, Plato: The Laws in J. M. Cooper and D. M. Hutchinson (eds.), Plato: The Complete Works (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing, 1997).

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