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Europe: Ancient and Medieval 121 B.C.E. to resolve the political impasse between Gaius Gracchus and his opponents. The function of the SCU, according to Golden, was not to grant high magistrates (usually the consuls) additional powers, but rather “to provide political cover for a magistrate who went beyond the law in order to deal with a crisis” (p. 148). While its first use was unprecedented, the SCU became a regular tool of crisis management in the late Republic, employed nine or ten times in approximately 80 years, including twice in 43 B.C.E. In that year, when Marc Antony besieged Decimus Brutus at Mutina, a tumultus was declared, an SCU was issued, and other emergency military measures were taken. Antony was defeated, but both consuls died in the fighting, and legions began to defect to Octavian against the interests of the senate. Another tumultus was declared and another SCU issued (entrusting defense of the republic to the praetors), but when Octavian marched against Rome, the senatorial army defected, and Octavian forced his way into power. Thus, the available crisisresponse mechanisms were incapable of saving the Republic. Golden concludes that the Republic’s undoing was its failure to develop institutions and mechanisms to solve internal political crises without violence, which he suggests is reflective of a Roman attitude toward problem solving and perhaps even their national character. When a crisis arose, the Romans typically relied on high-ranking or extraordinary magistrates with a lot of power to deal with it. Yet the Roman political system lacked a single “final arbiter” with unquestioned authority whose decision would be accepted by all sides in a political impasse. So when two holders of fundamental power within the Roman political system opposed each other in a dispute, unless one backed down, the only path to resolution was the use of force. I am not entirely convinced by this final analysis. The legitimacy of the final arbiter in any political system rests on its acceptance by stakeholders in the system. The SCU and tumultus declaration did not work in 43 B.C.E. because the bulk of the army refused to recognize the authority of the senate. The existence of the Roman equivalent of the Supreme Court would not have changed the outcome if the army refused to abide by its decision and instead still decided to back Octavian’s power grab. Despite this objection, I recommend this book. While the approach at times seems a little old-fashioned, with its heavy emphasis on legal-constitutional technicalities and categorization, the analysis nevertheless adds a new layer to our understanding of the fall of the Republic, one of the great topics in Roman historiography. MICHAEL P. FRONDA McGill University MYLES LAVAN. Slaves to Rome: Paradigms of Empire in Roman Culture. (Cambridge Classical Studies.) New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013. Pp. xiii, 288. $99.00. AMERICAN HISTORICAL REVIEW 1329 The core of this book is a series of philological studies exploring how ancient Roman writers from the first century B.C.E. to the third century C.E. used the rich social vocabulary of masters and slaves, patrons and clients, and occasionally parents and children, to describe their empire and its subject populations. The works of Cicero and Tacitus take center stage, but a variety of other writers of Latin prose and poetry are also featured. It is a thought-provoking discussion of the hierarchical terminology that was deployed to portray the power and authority of Rome. Myles Lavan emphasizes the persistence of the paradigm of slavery even though, with the transition from a republic to an imperial monarchy, provincials became increasingly integrated within the Roman ruling elite and alternative, more inclusive models gained currency. Lavan highlights the multiplicity of imperial models that could be articulated to different audiences. His analysis of selected texts demonstrates how the Romans could describe some subjects as allies of near equal status, while at the same time casting themselves in the role of powerful patrons, or the masters of docile or unruly slaves, in relation to others. Lavan’s sophisticated, sensitive approach to the nuances of Roman social and political discourse is exemplified by the way he handles the tricky theme of patronclient relationships. He is suitably cautious, eschewing attempts to codify what he terms “a heterogeneous cluster of relationships” that formed part of “a continuum of relations of dependence” (p. 185). His interpretations of key passages from the works of Cicero and Livy show how the figurative language of patrons and clients could be adapted to present both positive and negative views of Roman imperial power in contemporary and historical contexts. The book’s origins in a doctoral thesis help to explain why, apart from a chapter on imperial letters and edicts to provincial cities in the Greek-speaking eastern empire, Lavan restricts his analysis almost entirely to Latin authors. He justifies this in terms of the Italian ruling elite, whose culture was centered on the city of Rome itself. Consequently, the perspectives of the Greek elite, who provided many provincial governors and administrators, and who identified closely with Roman imperial power, receive little attention. Lavan rightly argues that their cultural and political identities were more complex than those of writers who identified themselves exclusively as Romans, but the result is very one-sided. Lavan barely mentions Appian of Alexandria, whose regionally organized Roman History chronicled Rome’s conquest of all those nations that were under their rule by the mid-second century C.E., when he wrote. He briefly considers the third-century C.E. historian Cassius Dio on the grounds that, although a Greek, “his status as senator and counsellor of several emperors locates him at the centre of Roman power” (p. 9), and because he supposedly broke with Greek historiographical tradition in portraying Roman rule as enslavement. This looks like special pleading and does not do justice to Appian, the preface to whose Roman OCTOBER 2014 1330 Reviews of Books History contrasts the capacity of Roman power to enslave others with the former ability of the Greeks to resist enslavement, and whose account is, to a considerable extent, a celebratory catalogue of imperial conquests and enslavements. The dust jacket features a striking sculptural image from the sanctuary of the imperial cult at Aphrodisias in Asia Minor, representing the emperor Claudius as a heroic conqueror with a bound, female captive kneeling at his feet. Lavan is aware that such public depictions were central to the highly visual culture of the ancient world, but he chooses not to engage with scholars such as Sheila Dillon or Iain Ferris on the subject. His focus seems even narrower when compared to recent, multifaceted investigations of imperial cultures, such as David Cannadine’s Ornamentalism: How the British Saw Their Empire (2001). The numerous Latin and Greek quotations in the main text are translated, but those in footnotes are not. The copy editing and proofreading are of a very high standard, which sadly is no longer a given for the major university presses. There is an index of passages discussed, which does not cover citations in footnotes; and the general index is very selective, focusing on Latin terminology. Because of the series in which this book is published and the detailed philological analysis, Lavan’s study will appeal primarily to classicists and ancient historians. Nevertheless, all scholars of imperial cultures could profit from his excellent analysis of how Latin writers articulated Roman imperialism. PHILIP DE SOUZA University College Dublin RAFFAELLA CRIBIORE. Libanius the Sophist: Rhetoric, Reality, and Religion in the Fourth Century. (Townsend Lectures/Cornell Studies in Classical Philology.) Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2013. Pp. x, 260. $49.95. Libanius taught rhetoric in Antioch during a period when the leadership of his society shifted between pagans and Christians, and, ultimately, settled on the side of the Christians. Thanks to recent monographs and translations, among them Raffaella Cribiore’s The School of Libanius in Late Antique Antioch (2007), Libanius’s work—including 64 orations and 1,544 letters—is becoming more accessible. The survival of so many texts by a pagan author is an invaluable resource for a period otherwise dominated by Christian writers. But Libanius’s insights have never been fully appreciated: Edward Gibbon dismissed him as a “recluse student,” immersed in epic poems and detached from the world around him (p. 3), while others have viewed him as untrustworthy because he would attack someone in an oration and then flatter him in personal correspondence. Likewise, Libanius might defend paganism and then socialize with Christians. Cribiore’s book aims to explain these perceived shortcomings, not just to protect the sophist’s integrity, but also to understand his AMERICAN HISTORICAL REVIEW social circle of religious moderates, whose mere existence is mostly obscured by the writings of the Church Fathers and a few exceptionally zealous pagans, such as the emperor, Julian. Cribiore approaches each text carefully, “as a literary artifact and as a social response”(p. 4), because the “real interest . . . lies in trying to ascertain what meaning the speech had for Libanius and his audience” (p. 5). The first half of the book examines the literary and social context for Libanius’s rhetoric in this manner. Among many other insights, Cribiore uncovers the connections between Libanius’s Autobiography and contemporary pagan and Christian biographies, including Libanius’s personal link to the Latin translator of the Life of Antony. By bringing together the biographies of Libanius and Antony—who normally would be seen as having little or nothing in common—Cribiore shows “how permeable the boundary between pagan and Christian could be” (p. 55). Throughout the book, Cribiore combines pagan and Christian sources in innovative ways, challenging the long-standing (but flawed) notion that pagans and Christians were clearly defined groups that regarded each other with hostility. The second chapter demonstrates that the invective and courtesy in Libanius’s letters and orations stemmed from these genres rather than from his supposed twofaced opportunism. When Libanius played on his listeners’ emotions by accusing his enemies of sexual improprieties, they were accustomed to public speeches and theater, and took these accusations with a grain of salt. Likewise, the courtesy shown in Libanius’s letters was due to a genre that required correspondents to “camouflage” their anger “with a fiction of friendship” (p. 130). The second half of the book focuses on Libanius as a moderate pagan in a period known for its religious divisions. Cribiore tallies up Libanius’s references to the gods, providing a chart divided by categories (significant, literary, and formulaic references) and period. Interesting anecdotes emerge from the letters: when Libanius could not accompany the emperor Julian mountain climbing to honor Zeus, his Christian friend Olympius went instead. In some cases, Cribiore’s interpretations need more explanation and/or more evidence: she interprets frequent literary references to the gods as resulting from Libanius’s need to establish his scholarly credentials, while fewer references to the gods during Julian’s pagan revival means that Libanius no longer needed to emphasize his religious allegiance. Although it is possible to observe these patterns, it is perhaps impossible to explain them convincingly. Overall, however, it is clear that Libanius avoided extremes of religious devotion: “Although he was a pagan, he was not a zealous one; he supported his Christian students and over the years developed intimate relationships with Christian relatives and friends” (p. 160). The final chapter covers several topics, including friendships among pagans and Christians. Olympius accepted unmarried women into his household, an arrangement Cribiore identifies as a “spiritual marriage” OCTOBER 2014