BMCR 2009.07.50: Geiger on Wallace-Hadrill, Rome's Cultural Revolution

Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, Rome's Cultural Revolution.  Cambridge/New
York:  Cambridge University Press, 2008.  Pp. xxi, 502; 16 p. of
plates.  ISBN 978-0-521-89684-9.  $130.00.  ISBN 978-0-521-72160-8.
49.00 (pb).

Reviewed by Joseph Geiger, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem
([email protected])
Word count:  2620 words
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It is now seventy years since Syme's Roman Revolution made its lasting
impact on the study of the Augustan Age. While the post-war generation
was largely engaged with examinations of  its main thesis, the
transformation of the Republic and its political struggles into the one
party state of Augustus, the last twenty years or so have witnessed a
series of studies that came to fill voids left by Syme. To name only a
notable few, P. Zanker's The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus
(1988), K. Galinsky's Augustan Culture (1996) and R. MacMullen's
Romanization in the Time of Augustus (2000) all illuminated important
aspects of the age. Now Andrew Wallace-Hadrill shows us how different
it was to be a Roman -- not necessarily of the ruling class -- in the
Late Republic and under the Early Empire, with the transformation of
society, culture and identity. To realise how much this book reflects
present-day concerns one should read it alongside Keith Thomas'
wonderful and exactly contemporaneous The Ends of Life. Roads to
Fulfilment in Early Modern England: for instance their discussions of
the spread of consumer goods, luxury wares and fashions show one of the
most amazing historical parallels one is ever likely to encounter.

The book consists of four parts, two chapters in each. The first,
'Cultures and identities', starts with the introductory, as it were,
'Culture, identity and power' (3-37), exploring the conceptual
underpinnings. Rather than following the outdated models of
nineteenth-century cultural superiority, or of the more modern notion
of 'creolisation,' Wallace-Hadrill points to the parallel of
bilingualism (or rather multilingualism) and sees hellenisation and
romanisation as processes of code-switching, in fact 'two closely
interrelated aspects of the same phenomenon' (26). 'Code-switching'
does not require value-judgments and is free from the constraints of a
chronological sequence. Hellenic influence was present in Rome from the
very beginnings, and the picture of the uncouth Romans was a rhetorical
construct of the second century BCE. Yet the replacement of old by new
elites is very real: '"Being Roman" is only superficially the same
thing in 100 CE as in ...100 BCE ... ' (36).

'Dress, language and identity' (38-70) is very much about the
relationship with the Other. The toga becomes a conscious marker in
contrasting the Roman with the Greek in the period of 'hellenisation'
and its 'classic' form emerges under Augustus. Though on certain
occasions it was appropriate to dress in Greek style, the accurately
worn toga sent a clear message of character and of intellectual
qualities. In an interesting discussion of heroic nudity we are
reminded that Octavian, after a brief flirtation with it, adopted as
Augustus the compromise of the 'hip-mantle'. (One regrets here that
Wallace-Hadrill does not discuss and offer his view of the Terme
Ruler.) While dress marked in the first place Roman as against Greek,
with language it was the other way round. It is here that the
socio-linguistic concept of 'code-switching' comes to the fore. Most
significant here are the changes that both languages underwent: in
order to become an imperial language Latin had to be standardised --
and involved in Greek scholarly polemics between anomalia and analogia,
while the Greeks were discussing the proper meaning of
hellenismos.[[1]]

Part ii, 'Building identities', puts forward the central arguments from
archaeology in 'Roman Italy: between Roman, Greek, and local' (73-143).
That consistent patterns underlie the variety is demonstrated by a
survey of some important case-studies, ranging from Celtic Oleggio
through the Oscan mountain sanctuaries to Praeneste, the Secco valley
and finally to Pompeii and its comparison with Pietrabbondante. It is
the different aspects of hellenisation, romanisation -- and in some
cases Etruscan and Oriental influences can also be perceived -- and
their varying degrees of absorption combined with a range of local
traditions that construct the rich harmony of a great orchestra
consisting of many different instruments. An important concept is
autoromanizzazione, especially in monumental building as an expression
of communal identity. All this of course without losing sight of Roman
political and military might that enabled much of the boom up to the
Social War. The other aspect of 'Roman, Greek, and local' in this
chapter is bilingualism or trilingualism (one remembers Ennius' tria
corda). Here again, Latin was never imposed from above, but there were
abundant incentives for Italians to learn both Latin and Greek. Here
one must also distinguish, for example, between Oscan and Umbrian; it
is the different situations that determine the use of the various
languages, as well as the adoption of the Latin script. The famous
Social War coin (depicted on the cover) of the Italian bull vanquishing
the Roman wolf is in fact 'a mirror image of Roman coinage' (89), and
there are copious examples of Latin penetrating the Italic dialects.
And surely there is little truth in the widely held view of
bilingualism being an elite phenomenon -- it is as so often the elite
attestation that leads us astray. Influences were long-term, gradual,
and shaped by local moulds.

'Vitruvius: building Roman identity' (144-210) analyses the work in
terms of Greek theory and Roman context and practice, of ratio and
consuetudo. Taking account of social and political structures enables a
new definition of Roman-Italic contrasted with Greek identity. Yet
Vitruvius' juxtaposition of Greek and traditional Roman architecture is
his own artificial construct, and it is responsible for much in the
work and for some omissions, as, famously, amphitheatres. It is
enlightening to see that the contrast between Greek and Roman theatres
is very much a geometrical game -- as is so much of ancient
mathematics, one may add. There follows an excellent discussion of the
replacement of wooden theatres by stone and its implications for Roman
society and politics. Next, baths and gymnasia. Rather than a contrast,
the former are an evolution of the latter. But what really matters are
the social uses and the intellectual associations of these
institutions, and the latter often were associated with paradigms of
morality.[[2]] Last, discussions of the town house and country villa
bring out once again the deliberately deployed (rather than opposed)
Greek and Roman elements, perhaps nowhere better to be observed than at
the Villa of the Mysteries.

Part iii is about 'Knowledge and power'. Three different aspects of
'Knowing the ancestors' (213-258) are explored. First, the regard of
the nobles for their maiores received renewed emphasis by the erection
of statues and monuments whose permanent display was a leap from the
traditional funeral masks. Yet, as Sallust reminds us, the reference to
the hallowed memory of the ancestors is acceptable only if it is indeed
a spur to virtue, rather than an excuse for the abuse of power. Next,
while in speeches the ancestors are invoked in order to justify
contemporary policies it is above all in Cicero's philosophical works
where the gap between the Good Old Days and the present is made
evident. The nobility's declining expertise in religion and civil law
was replaced by antiquarian study, constantly re-defining the mos
maiorum. Perhaps the new calendars and time, first under Caesar and
then under Augustus, are the best examples of the wish to represent
radical change as a return to tradition. Third and most importantly, a
revolution in the structure of knowledge and a new specialisation
deprived the elites of their traditional dominance. While in the Good
Old Days a Cato could master all that a Roman needed to know, now one
had to refer to the authority of experts in the various branches of
knowledge -- and Augustus could employ them for his own ends.

'Knowing the city' (259-312) is played on the home ground of the
author. First, the Seven Hills: as so often -- e.g., there were
seventeen contenders for a place among the Seven Sages (Diog. La.
1.41-42) -- it was the number that was fixed rather than the actual
list. Then, the four Varronian regions and the vici of republican Rome,
in a city that resisted the temptations of a Hippodamian grid: how well
could one know the city? It was Julius Caesar and his reduction of the
number of the recipients of the corn-dole that first required detailed
information based on the neighbourhoods of Rome. This, and the
encounter with the magnificent cityscapes of Alexandria, Antioch,
Pergamum and other Hellenistic centres were instrumental in the
Augustan revolution. Despite our very limited information about the
establishment of the fourteen regiones on August 1st, 7 BCE[[3]] and
their connexion with the vici, there is no question that they were a
cardinal component in the Augustan scheme, as witnessed e.g. by the
numerous surviving monuments -- a fraction of the lost ones -- of the
vicomagistri. The last sections of the chapter discuss the Severan
marble plan and the fragments of its predecessors. It appears that they
were only display pieces standing in for much richer and more detailed
information stored on perishable material. Who would profit from such
exhaustive information? Wallace-Hadrill provides the answer, in some
cases certain, in others perhaps somewhat speculative: certainly those
in charge of the distribution of grain and other commodities, and no
less certainly the vigiles; very probably the aediles, the curatores
aquarum, and quite probably the praefectus urbi and also the praetorian
prefects. The disorder aided by the lack of information, and the
ensuing political upheavals of the Republic, were not to recur. The
Severan marble plan and its predecessors were above all symbols of the
control of the city brought about by the Augustan revolution.

The last part, 'The consumer revolution', starts with a discussion of
'Luxury and the consumer revolution' (315-355). The modern historian,
living in a society of consumerism and of conspicuous consumption,
tends to focus on the historiographical aspect of Roman discourses
about luxury, moral decline and the sumptuary laws. Yet at the time
these were serious social and economic concerns. Here Wallace-Hadrill
broadens his scope and discusses early modern discourses concerning
luxury, from Bernard Mandeville's Fable of the Bees or Private Vices,
Publick Benefits to Voltaire and Montesquieu, Adam Smith and Dr
Johnson. Europe, in both the northern monarchies and the states of
Italy, introduced sumptuary legislation in the course of some 600
years. It was the transformation of the economy in the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries, characterised by the extraordinary rise in the
quantity and quality of consumer goods and in their diffusion over the
different classes of society, that brought about a sea-change in
attitudes, giving economic considerations priority over moral concerns.
Another factor is the pursuit of fashion, often reflecting the tensions
between social rank and wealth. Roman sumptuary laws centred mostly on
the details of lavish feasting, entirely neglecting economically far
more significant issues, such as the magnificent houses of the elite
with their luxurious furnishings or their grand funerary monuments,
thereby betraying both the laws' function as social discourse and their
Greek origins -- indeed, closely connected to the Greek discourse of
<greek>trufh/</greek> and the decline of states. Dress, a matter of
sumptuary legislation in many other societies, never became an issue in
Rome with its regulations concerning political rank, as indicated by
the stripes and other features of the toga. Also, in Rome attempts at
conserving social differentiation (such as gold rings) were directed
against the pressure of the newly wealthy. Yet as that
arch-conservative Tiberius already realised there was no point in
sumptuary legislation, and in the event Tacitus could, perhaps
over-optimistically, announce the demise of luxury by his time. Since
my summary of this chapter, in particular, fails to do justice to both
the richness of material and the depth of thought in it, it is perhaps
in order to emphasise again its main point: we have to contemplate the
Romans' discourse about luxury on their own terms, free from our
preconceptions, to see both the seriousness of their approach and the
selection of their targets.

The last, and longest, chapter 'Waves of fashion' (356-440), is a
detailed analysis of some categories of luxury items, both known from
literature and richly represented in archaeological finds, such as
bronze candelabra, bronze (and downmarket clay) lamps, various metal
vessels, pottery, couches (bronze and ivory, but also more expensive
silver and cheaper bone -- and the author stresses (435) that the list
could have been expanded by an assortment of marble furniture), Herms
and many other items. I will limit myself to the two main conclusions
drawn from a very wide range of evidence. For one, fashions have not
only a 'trickle-down' effect, but there are also sub-luxury items, made
no less to distance one from one's social inferiors as to imitate one's
betters. Though not to be compared with the industrial revolution, the
period's wide variety had most significant effects on the economy, a
fact ignored by our sources, intent as they were on moralising. The
other main point is the chronology: the heyday of Hellenistic imports
is in the late Republic, not unconnected with the activities of Italian
negotiatores in such places as Delos. The second phase is the Augustan
production in Italy, not blindly imitating, but naturalising, as it
were, and developing the various products. Finally, in the early
Empire, Italian products were exported to fill the increasing demand in
the provinces, generating also local production: it is hardly helpful
to term the first phase hellenisation and the last romanisation. Luxury
creates its own language (and its solecisms), and the changes in that
language are part of the larger revolution.

This is a great work of synthesis, building, as all the best works of
its kind, both on previous groundwork by the author and on (generously
acknowledged) foundations laid by a host of other scholars. Though its
view is panoramic it is both very much focused on the city of Rome, and
to a lesser degree on Italy -- hence Rome's rather than the Roman
cultural revolution -- and kept very much at eye level. No doubt every
reader -- not least this reviewer -- will be grateful for having
learned a great number of details and having become more familiar with
a number of issues. But, more importantly, this book is not only an
assembly of evidence, however learned, but also a thoughtful engagement
with that evidence. Nowhere more so than in the 'Epilogue: a cultural
revolution?' (441-454). As was hinted at the beginning of this review,
the time when the historian can discuss this period without wrestling
with Syme's Roman Revolution has not yet come. Here we get discussion
not only of the elite, but of the newly expanded citizen body and the
new meaning of citizenship, characterised by a new pride and a shared
culture. This is perhaps the basic meaning of the revolution here
discussed: the forging of a new citizen body in which not only is the
old elite replaced by a new one, but where sub-elite groups are coming
into their own and where a new cultural language, and a new identity,
absorbing constituents of 'hellenisation' and 'romanisation', come into
being.

The book is almost[[4]] faultlessly produced and it is well served by
its numerous black and white illustrations, which are as much part of
the book as is the text, but it contains a feature I do not recall ever
seeing before: the 31 excellent colour plates in the middle of the book
do not contribute new material, but are colour versions, in some cases
slightly enlarged, of some of the illustrations distributed in their
proper places all over the book. I wonder whether any reader will be
able to refrain from speculating about the negotiations between author
and publisher that brought about this oddity. (A hint: in the text the
references are only to the black and white illustrations, not to the
colour plates.)


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Notes:


1.   If the reviewer may introduce an example of his own, it seems
significant that Ptolemy of Ascalon, in all probability an Augustan
author, wrote On Hellenismos, i.e. On Correct Diction (in 15 books),
and that Theodorus of Gadara, Tiberius' teacher of rhetoric, wrote On
Questions in Pronunciation (in 3 books): it was precisely in a rather
incompletely hellenised part of the Empire where proper hellenismos had
to be sanctioned.

2.   It is correctly maintained that the Romans had no equivalent to
the rite de passage of the ephebeia, associated with the gymnasium. Yet
one wonders whether short discussions of the Augustan Troia and
iuventus were not in order here.

3.   Despite the prominent place given to Varro in this chapter
Wallace-Hadrill does not consider the possible influence of that
scholar with an obsession for hebdomads on the division, for which see
J. Geiger, The First Hall of Fame. A Study of the Statues in the Forum
Augustum (Mnem. Suppl. 295, Leiden and Boston 2008), 106.

4.   Misprints are few and trivial (though, as in so many
English-language books, not so few in the German items of the
bibliography), but a few minor mistakes will have to be corrected in a
second edition. An alloy is not 'a new chemical compound' (7); 7 BCE is
not 'dated by Augustus' eleventh consulship', rather he had been eleven
times consul before that date (247); at 293, second paragraph, the
syntax is mixed up: though 'he', 'his', 'he' and 'him' all refer to the
subject, Suetonius, there can be no doubt that they were meant to refer
to Augustus, nowhere mentioned in the entire paragraph. The debate
about luxury in Tac. ann.  3.52-55 is correctly dated to 22 at 329 and
351, but to 23 at 330 and 333. To follow Athenaeus in referring to
'Nicolaus the Peripatetic' (357; viz., of Damascus) is less than
reader-friendly.