Roman and Local Citizenship in the Long Second Century CE 9780197573907, 0197573908, 2021027753, 2021027754, 9780197573884

Table of contents :
Cover
Series
Roman and Local Citizenship in the Long Second Century ce
Copyright
Contents
Acknowledgments
Contributors
Abbreviations
Introduction
1. Citizenship and Its Alternatives: A View from the East
2. Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century: Citizenship, Taxation, and the Constitutio Antoniniana
3. Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks
4. Manumission, Citizenship, and Inheritance: Epigraphic Evidence from the Danube
5. The Onomastics of Roman Citizenship in the Greek East: From Second Sophistic to Local Epigraphic Loyalty
6. Documenting Roman Citizenship
7. Citizenships and Jurisdictions: The Greek City Perspective
8. Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East during the Second Century CE: Local Contexts for a Global Phenomenon
9. Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction
Works Cited
Index

Citation preview

ROMAN AND LOCAL CITIZENSHIP IN THE LONG SECOND CENTURY ce

OXFORD STUDIES IN EARLY EMPIRES Series Editors Nicola Di Cosmo, Mark Edward Lewis, and Walter Scheidel The Dynamics of Ancient Empires State Power from Assyria to Byzantium Edited by Ian Morris and Walter Scheidel Rome and China Comparative Perspectives on Ancient World Empires Edited by Walter Scheidel Trouble in the West The Persian Empire and Egypt, 525–​332 BCE Stephen Ruzicka Sui-​Tang China and Its Turko-​Mongol Neighbors Culture, Power, and Connections, 580–​800 Jonathan Karam Skaff State Correspondence in the Ancient World From New Kingdom Egypt to the Roman Empire Edited by Karen Radner State Power in Ancient China and Rome Edited by Walter Scheidel The Confucian-Legalist State A New Theory of Chinese History Dingxin Zhao Cosmopolitanism and Empire Universal Rulers, Local Elites, and Cultural Integration in the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean Edited by Myles Lavan, Richard E. Payne, and John Weisweiler Power and Public Finance at Rome, 264–49 BCE James Tan The Jiankang Empire in Chinese and World History Andrew Chittick Reign of Arrows The Rise of the Parthian Empire in the Hellenistic Middle East Nikolaus Leo Overtoom Empires and Communities in the Post-Roman and Islamic World, c. 400–1000 CE Edited by Walter Pohl Roman and Local Citizenship in the Long Second Century CE Edited by Myles Lavan and Clifford Ando

Roman and Local Citizenship in the Long Second Century ce

Edited by Myles Lavan and Clifford Ando

1

1 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2021 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Lavan, Myles, 1977-editor. | Ando, Clifford, 1969-editor. Title: Roman and local citizenship in the long second century CE / edited by Myles Lavan and Clifford Ando. Description: New York, NY : Oxford University Press, 2021. | Series: Oxford studies in early empire series | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2021027753 (print) | LCCN 2021027754 (ebook) | ISBN 9780197573884 (hardback) | ISBN 9780197573907 (epub) | Subjects: LCSH: Citizenship—Rome. | Roman provinces—Administration. | Constitutio Antoniniana. | Rome—HistoryAntonines, 96-192. Classification: LCC JC85.C5 R66 2021 (print) | LCC JC85.C5 (ebook) | DDC 323.60937/09015—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021027753 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021027754 DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197573884.001.0001 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed by Integrated Books International, United States of America

Contents

Acknowledgments  Contributors  Abbreviations 

vii ix xi

Introduction  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan

1

Part I.  New Perspectives on Citizen Privilege 1. Citizenship and Its Alternatives: A View from the East  Ari Z. Bryen

41

2. Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century: Citizenship, Taxation, and the Constitutio Antoniniana  Lisa Pilar Eberle

69

Part II.  Roman Citizenship and Family Strategies 3. Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  Myles Lavan

103

4. Manumission, Citizenship, and Inheritance: Epigraphic Evidence from the Danube  Rose MacLean

140

Part III.  Practices of Citizenship 5. The Onomastics of Roman Citizenship in the Greek East: From Second Sophistic to Local Epigraphic Loyalty  Aitor Blanco-​Pérez

v

167

vi Contents 6. Documenting Roman Citizenship  Anna Dolganov

185

Part IV.  Local Contexts 7. Citizenships and Jurisdictions: The Greek City Perspective  Georgy Kantor

231

8. Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East during the Second Century CE: Local Contexts for a Global Phenomenon  Cédric Brélaz

255

Part V.  Epilogue 9. Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction  Clifford Ando

285

Works Cited  Index 

313 363

Acknowledgments

This volume brings together a number of scholars who had independently been wrestling with various problems relating to the significance and function of Roman citizenship in the imperial period. Funding from a BA/​Leverhulme Small Research Grant made it possible to organize a pair of workshops in 2017 and 2018 to compare notes and identify some areas where we could make progress together. This collective re-​evaluation of the significance of Roman citizenship in the long century is the fruit of those discussions. We are very grateful to the British Academy and the Leverhulme Trust for their support, as well as to the Division of Humanities of the University of Chicago. We would also like to thank several other colleagues who joined us for one or both of the two workshops: Kim Czajkowski, Paul Du Plessis, Gabrielle Frija, Jill Harries, Saskia Roselaar, and especially Kostas Buraselis, who was unable to submit a paper to the final volume but whose fundamental work on Roman citizenship in the imperial period has been an important influence on all our work. Finally, we express our gratitude to Stefan Vranka at OUP; Sam Kumar at Newgen KnowledgeWorks, who oversaw the production process; and especially Wendy Keebler, who performed the copyediting with exceptional sensitivity, accuracy, and care.

vii

Contributors

Clifford Ando is David B. and Clara E. Stern Distinguished Service Professor; Professor of Classics, History, and in the College, University of Chicago. Aitor Blanco-​Pérez is Assistant Professor of Classics at the University of Navarra. Cédric Brélaz is Chair Professor of Ancient History at the University of Fribourg (Switzerland). Ari Z. Bryen is Associate Professor in the Departments of History and Classical and Mediterranean Studies at Vanderbilt University and Associate Professor (by courtesy) in the Vanderbilt Law School. Anna Dolganov is Postdoctoral Fellow at the University of Vienna. Lisa Pilar Eberle is Assistant Professor in the Department of History at the University of Tübingen. Georgy Kantor is Official Fellow and Tutor in Ancient History at St John’s College, Oxford. Myles Lavan is Reader in the School of Classics at the University of St Andrews. Rose MacLean is Associate Professor in the Department of Classics at the University of California, Santa Barbara.

ix

Abbreviations

Classical texts are cited using standard and easily interpreted abbreviations. See the Oxford Classical Dictionary, 4th ed. The following abbreviations are used for corpora of inscriptions and papyri and other works of reference. AE A&R AvHierapolis

BE BGU CAG CCAG Ch.LA CID CIG CIL CIS CJ Clauss-​Slaby CPL CPR Crawford, Roman   Statutes CTh

L’Année épigraphique. Aphrodisias and Rome, ed. J. Reynolds. London, 1982. “Inschriften,” ed. W. Judeich. In Altertümer von Hierapolis, ed. C. Humann et al., 67–​202. Berlin: G. Reimer, 1898. Bulletin épigraphique. Aegyptische Urkunden aus den Königlichen (later Staatlichen) Museen zu Berlin, Griechische Urkunden. Carte archéologique de la Gaule. Catalogus Codicum Astrologorum Graecorum, 12 vols. Brussels, 1898–​1953. Chartae Latinae Antiquiores. Basel, 1954–​1998. Corpus des inscriptions de Delphes. Paris, 1977–​. Corpus Inscriptionum Graecorum, ed. A. Boeckh. Berlin, 1828–​1877. Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum. Corpus Inscriptionum Semiticarum. Codex of Justinian. http://​www.manfredclauss.de/​gb/​index.html. Corpus Papyrorum Latinorum. Berlin, 1863–​. Corpus Papyrorum Raineri. Vienna, 1895–​. Roman Statutes, ed. M. Crawford. London, 1996. Codex Theodosianus.

xi

xii Abbreviations EJ

Documents illustrating the Reigns of Augustus and Tiberius, ed. V. Ehrenberg and A. H. M. Jones, 2nd ed. Oxford, 1976. FD III Fouilles de Delphes III: Épigraphie. Paris, 1909–​1985. FIRA2 Fontes Iuris Romani Antejustiniani, ed. S. Riccobono et al. Rome, 1940–​1941. F.Xanthos Fouilles de Xanthos. Hauken, Petitions Petition and Response: An Epigraphic Study of Petitions to Roman Emperors 181–​249, ed. T. Hauken. Bergen, 1998. IAM Inscriptions antiques du Maroc. Paris, 1966–​1982. I.Aphrodisias 2007 Inscriptions of Aphrodisias (2007), ed. J. Reynolds et al. http://​insaph.kcl.ac.uk/​iaph2007. I.Assos Die Inschriften von Assos, ed. R. Merkelbach. Bonn, 1976. I.Beroia Ἐπιγραφὲς Κάτω Μακεδονίας (μεταξὺ τοῦ Βερμίου ὄρους καὶ τοῦ Ἀξιοῦ ποταμοῦ). Τεῦχος Αʹ. Ἐπιγραφὲς Βεροίας, ed. L. Gounaropoulou and M. B. Hatzopoulos. Athens, 1998. I.Claros mémoriaux Les mémoriaux de délégations du sanctuaire oraculaire de Claros, d’après la documentation conservée dans le Fonds Louis Robert, ed. J.-​L. Ferrary. Paris, 2014. I.Délos Inscriptions de Délos, ed. F. Dürrbach et al. Paris, 1926–​1937. I.Didyma Didyma, II: Die Inschriften, ed. A. Rehm and R. Harder. Berlin, 1958. IDR Inscriptiones Daciae Romanae. Bucharest, 1975–​. I.Eleusis Eleusis, the Inscriptions on Stone: Documents of the Sanctuary of the Two Goddesses and Public Documents of the Deme, ed. K. Clinton. Athens, 2005–​2008. I.Eph. Die Inschriften von Ephesos, ed. H. Wankel et al. Bonn, 1979–​1984. I.Ery. Die Inschriften von Erythrai und Klazomenai, ed. H. Engelmann and R. Merkelbach. Bonn, 1972–​1973. IG Inscriptiones Graecae. Berlin, 1873–​. IGBulg Inscriptiones Graecae in Bulgaria repertae. Serdica, 1956–​. IGR Inscriptiones Graecae ad res Romanas pertinentes, ed. R. Cagnat et al. Paris, 1911–​1927. IGUR Inscriptiones Graecae urbis Romae, ed. L. Moretti. Rome, 1968–​1990. I.Heraclea Pontica The Inscriptions of Heraclea Pontica, ed. L. Jonnes. Bonn, 1994. ILAlg Inscriptions latines de l’Algérie. Paris, then Algiers, 1922–​.

Abbreviations  xiii I.Laodikeia Lykos

Die Inschriften von Laodikeia am Lykos, ed. T. Corsten. Bonn, 1997. ILGN Inscriptions latines de Gaule (Narbonnaise), ed. É. Espérandieu. Paris, 1929. ILGR Inscriptiones Latinae in Graecia repertae: Additamenta ad CIL III, ed. M. Šašel Kos. Faenza, 1979. ILJug Inscriptiones Latinae quae in Iugoslavia repertae et editae sunt. Ljubljana, 1963–​1986. ILLProN Inscriptionum lapidarium Latinarum Provinciae Norici usque ad annum MCMLXXXIV repertarum indices. Berlin, 1986. ILN Inscriptions Latines de Narbonnaise. Paris, 1985–​. ILNovae Inscriptions latines de Novae, ed. V. Bozilova et al. Poznan, 1992. ILS Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae, ed. H. Dessau. Berlin, 1892–​1916. I.Magnesia Die Inschriften von Magnesia am Maeander, ed. O. Kern. Berlin, 1900. IMS Inscriptions de la Mésie Supérieure. Beograd, 1976–​1982. IMT MittlMakestos Inschriften Mysia & Troas, ed. Matthias Barth and Josef Stauber. Leopold Wenger Institut. Universität München. Version of 25.8.1993 (Ibycus). Packard Humanities Institute CD #7, 1996. I.Mylasa Die Inschriften von Mylasa. Bonn, 1987–​1988. I.Opramoas Die Opramoas-​Inschrift von Rhodiapolis. Euergestismus und sociale Elite in Lykien, C. Kokkinia. Bonn, 2000. IOSPE Inscriptiones antiquae orae septentrionalis Ponti Euxini Graecae et Latinae per annos 1885–​1900 repertae, ed. B. Latyšev. St. Petersburg, 1885–​1901. IPArk Prozessrechtliche Inschriften der griechischen Poleis: Arkadien, ed. G. Thür and H. Taeuber. Ienna, 1994. I.Perinthos Perinthos-​Herakleia (Marmara Ereğlisi) und Umgebung: Geschichte, Testimonien, griechische und lateinische Inschriften, ed. M. H. Sayar. Vienna, 1998. I.Sardis Sardis, VII: Greek and Latin Inscriptions, ed. W. H. Buckler and D. M. Robinson. Leiden, 1932. I.Smyrna Die Inschriften von Smyrna, ed. G. Petzl. Bonn, 1982–​1990. I.Stobi Inscriptiones Stoborum, ed. Slavica Babamova. Stobi, 2012. I.Stratonikeia Die Inschriften von Stratonikeia, ed M. Ç. Şahin. Bonn, 1982–​1990.

xiv Abbreviations I.Tralleis

Die Inschriften von Tralleis und Nysa, I: Die Inschriften von Tralleis, ed. F. B. Poljakov. Bonn, 1989. IvO Die Inschriften von Olympia, ed. Wilhelm Dittenberger and Karl Purgold. Berlin, 1896. IvP III Altertümer von Pergamon, Vol. 8, Part 3: Die Inschriften des Asklepieions, ed. Christian Habicht. Berlin, 1969. LCL Loeb Classical Library. Levick, Government The Government of the Roman Empire, ed. B. Levick. 2nd edition, London, 2000. LGPN A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names. Oxford, 1994–​. MAMA IX Monumenta Asiae Minoris Antiqua, Vol. IX: Monuments from the Aezanitis Recorded by C. W. M. Cox, A. Cameron, and J. Cullen, ed. B. Levick et al. London, 1988. MARE Municipal Administration in the Roman Empire, F. F. Abbott and A. C. Johnson. Princeton, 1926. M.Chr. Grundzüge und Chrestomathie der Papyruskunde, II Bd. Juristischer Teil, II Hälfte Chrestomathie, ed. L. Mitteis and U. Wilcken. Leipzig–​Berlin 1912. MEFR Mélanges d’Archéologie et d’Histoire de l’École Française de Rome. Antiquité. MDRW The Municipal Decrees of the Roman West, ed. R. K. Sherk. Buffalo, 1970. Montanari, BDAG The Brill Dictionary of Ancient Greek, ed. F. Montanari. Leiden, 2018. O.Brux. Au temps ou on lisait le grec en Égypte, ed. J. Bingen. Brussels, 1977. OGIS Orientis Graeci inscriptiones selectae, ed. W. Dittenberger. Leipzig, 1903–​1905. Oliver, Greek Greek Constitutions of Early Roman Emperors   Constitutions from Inscriptions and Papyri, ed. J. H. Oliver. Philadelphia, 1989. P.Amh. The Amherst Papyri, Being an Account of the Greek Papyri in the Collection of the Right Hon. Lord Amherst of Hackney, F.S.A. at Didlington Hall, Norfolk, ed. B. P. Grenfell and A. S. Hunt. London, 1900–​1901. P.Ant. The Antinoopolis Papyri. London, 1950–​1967. P.Bacch. “The Archives of the Temple of Soknobraisis at Bacchias,” ed. E. H. Gilliam. Yale Classical Studies 10 (1947): 179–​281. P.Berl.Cohen Greek Documentary Papyri from Egypt in the Berlin Aegyptisches Museum, ed. N. Cohen. Oakville, 2007.

Abbreviations  xv P.Cair.Isid.

P.Congr.XV

P.Diog. P.Flor. P.Freib. P.Gen. P.Giss. P.Hamb. P.Hever

P.Hib. PIR2 P.Kramer

P.Kron. P.Lond. P.Mattha P.Mich. P.Michael.

P.Mil.Vogl. P.Oslo P.Oxy. P.Paris

P.Petaus

The Archive of Aurelius Isidorus in the Egyptian Museum, Cairo, and the University of Michigan, ed. A. E. R. Boak and H. C. Youtie. Ann Arbor, 1960. Actes du XVe Congrès International de Papyrologie II, Papyrus inédits, ed. J. Bingen and G. Nachtergael. Brussels, 1979. Les archives de Marcus Lucretius Diogenes et textes apparentés, ed. P. Schubert. Bonn, 1990. Papiri greco-​egizii, Papiri Fiorentini. Milan, 1906–​1915. Mitteilungen aus der Freiburger Papyrussammlung. Heidelberg, then Bonn, 1914–​1986. Les Papyrus de Genève. Geneva, 1896–​. Griechische Papyri zu Giessen. Leipzig–​B erlin, 1910–​1912. Griechische Papyrusurkunden der Hamburger Staats-​und Universitätsbibliothek.  1911–​. Aramaic, Hebrew and Greek Documentary Texts from Nahal Hever and Other Sites, ed. H. M. Cotton and A. Yardeni. Oxford, 1997. The Hibeh Papyri. London, 1906–​1955. Prosopographia imperii Romani: Editio altera. Berlin, 1933–​2015. “. . . vor dem Papyrus sind alle gleich!” Papyrologische Beiträge zu Ehren von Bärbel Kramer, ed. R. Eberhard et al. Berlin and New York, 2009. L’Archivio di Kronion, ed. D. Foraboschi. Milan, 1971. Greek Papyri in the British Museum. London, 1893–​. The Demotic Legal Code of Hermopolis West, ed. G. Mattha. Le Claire, 1975. Michigan Papyri.  1931–​. Papyri Michaelidae, Being a Catalogue of Greek and Latin Papyri, Tablets and Ostraca in the Library of Mr G. A. Michailidis of Cairo, ed. D. S. Crawford. Aberdeen, 1955. Papiri della R. Università di Milano. Milan, 1937–​2001. Papyri Osloenses. Oslo, 1925–​1936. The Oxyrhynchus Papyri. London, 1898–​. Notices et textes des papyrus du Musée du Louvre et de la Bibliothèque Impériale, ed. J. A. Letronne et al. Paris, 1865. Das Archiv des Petaus, ed. U. Hagedorn, D. Hagedorn, L. C. Youtie and H. C. Youtie. Opladen, 1969.

xvi Abbreviations P.Rev. Laws

P.Ross.Georg. P.Ryl. PSI P.Sijp. P.Stras. P.Tebt. P.Thmouis P.Vind.Bosw. P.Wash.Univ. P.Wisc. P.Yadin RAAN RDGE RE RECAM II

RGDA RGDA ed. Cooley RIU RMD SB Scheid, CFA

Sammelbuch griechischer Urkunden aus Ägypten. Beiheft 1, Papyrus revenue laws, ed. J. Bingen et al. Gottingen, 1952. Papyri russischer und georgischer Sammlungen. Tiflis, 1925–​1935. Catalogue of the Greek and Latin Papyri in the John Rylands Library, Manchester. Manchester, 1911–​1952. Papiri greci e latini. Florence, 1912–​. Papyri in Memory of P. J. Sijpesteijn, ed. A. J. B. Sirks and K. A. Worp. Oakville, 2007. Griechische Papyrus der Kaiserlichen Universitäts-​und Landes-​bibliothek zu Strassburg. Leipzig, 1912–​. The Tebtunis Papyri. London, 1902–​. Le Papyrus Thmouis 1, colonnes 68–​160, ed. S. Kambitsis. Paris, 1985. Einige Wiener Papyri, ed. E. Boswinkel. Leiden, 1942. Washington University Papyri. Missoula, then Opladen, 1980–​1990. The Wisconsin Papyri, ed. P. J. Sijpesteijn. Leiden, 1967–​1977. The Documents from the Bar Kochba Period in the Cave of Letters. Jerusalem, 1967–​2001. Rendiconti della Accademia di Archeologia, Lettere e Belle Arti. Naples. Roman Documents from the Greek East, ed. R. K. Sherk. Baltimore, 1969. Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. Regional Epigraphic Catalogues of Asia Minor, II: The Ankara District. The Inscriptions of North Galatia, ed. Stephen Mitchell. Oxford, 1982. Res gestae divi Augusti. Res gestae divi Augusti: Text, Translation and Commentary, ed. A. E. Cooley. Cambridge, 2009. Die römischen Inschriften Ungarns. Budapest, 1972–​. Roman Military Diplomas. London, 1978–​. Sammelbuch griechischer Urkunden aus Aegypten. Berlin,  1915–​. Commentarii fratrum Arvalium qui supersunt: Les copies épigraphiques des protocoles annuels de la confrérie arvale (21 av.–​304 ap. J.-​C.), ed. J. Scheid. Rome, 1998.

Abbreviations  xvii SEG Sel.Pap. SGO Staatsverträge

Syll.3 TAM TH2 TitAq TLL W.Chr.

Welles, RC ZPE

Supplementum epigraphicum graecum. Leiden, 1923–​. Select Papyri. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA, 1932–​1942. Steinepigramme aus dem griechischen Osten, ed. R. Merkelbach and J. Stauber. Stuttgart, 1998–​2004. Die Staatsverträge des Altertums II, ed. H. Bengtson and H. H. Schmitt. Munich, 1962; III, ed. H. H. Schmitt. Munich, 1969. Sylloge inscriptionum graecarum, ed. W. Dittenberger. 3rd ed. Leipzig, 1915–​1924. Tituli Asiae Minoris. Vienna, 1901–​. Tabulae Herculanenses: Edizione e commento I, ed. G. Camodeca. Rome, 2017. Tituli Aquincenses, ed. P. Kovács and Á. Szabó. Budapest,  2009–​. Thesaurus Linguae Latinae, 1900–​. Grundzüge und Chrestomathie der Papyruskunde, I Bd. Historischer Teil, II Hälfte Chrestomathie, ed. L. Mitteis and U. Wilcken. Leipzig and Berlin, 1912. Royal Correspondence in the Hellenistic Period: A Study in Greek Epigraphy, ed. C. B. Welles. New Haven, 1934. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik.

Introduction Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan

Beyond Privilege The long century between the Flavians and the Constitutio Antoniniana is usually glossed over in histories of Roman citizenship. The aftermath of the Social War was obviously a pivotal period, with the extension of citizenship to all Italians, the municipalization of Italy, and the emergence of Cicero’s influential notion of two patriae. So, too, was the reign of Augustus, with its measures to re-​ embed enfranchised provincials in their native communities, exemplified by the edicts from Cyrene. The later first century draws attention for an apparent acceleration in the rate of grants to provincials, especially Greeks, under Claudius, Nero, and the Flavians. The Flavian period also demands a mention because of the crucial evidence of the Flavian municipal laws from Spain, which illuminate the situation in the proliferating number of Latin communities in the western provinces. But there has seemed little to say about the following century, beyond generic remarks about the continuing spread of Roman citizenship and a concomitant devaluation in its significance—​until the whole process reaches what is seen as its inevitable telos in Caracalla’s universal grant. This book emerges from a shared sense of dissatisfaction with this received narrative—​particularly its teleological character and its inattention to the complexities of the second-​ century situation.1 The figure of A. N. Sherwin-​White looms large over the subject. His precocious masterpiece remains the authoritative study of the subject (and not just for anglophone readers) eighty years after the bulk of it was written.2 His narrative of the development of Roman citizenship moves quickly over the period between

1. Similar concerns have led Gabrielle Frija to organize a conference and a volume (Frija 2020) exploring the significance of Roman citizenship in the province of Asia in the second century. We are grateful to her for sharing insights in one of the workshops that led to this book. 2. Sherwin-​White 1973a. Though the second edition was published in 1973, the main, narrative portion (chapters I–​XVI) is repeated almost verbatim from the 1939 edition (published just five years after Sherwin-​White began work on the subject in his doctoral dissertation), the single exception being the newly written chapter V on the motives of the Italian rebels. The other later additions are the technical notes in the appendix to chapters I–​IV (“Some Recent Theories about Latini, Municipes and Socii Latini”) and the new part III (“Technical Problems of Roman Status”), inserted before the original part III, which is now part IV.

Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan, Introduction In: Roman and Local Citizenship in the Long Second Century CE. Edited by: Myles Lavan and Clifford Ando, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197573884.003.0001

2  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan Claudius and Caracalla. A series of kinetic and mechanical metaphors evoke the unfolding of a vast and relentless process that begins in the mid-​first century CE and culminates in Caracalla’s universal grant of citizenship.3 Although Sherwin-​ White eschewed any attempt at quantification, his narrative implied that the “great machine” had spread Roman citizenship widely well before the Constitutio Antoniniana. It also endorsed the then conventional view that the expansion of the citizen body led to a “decline of the practical content of the citizenship and its acceleration during the second century,” which left Roman citizenship “a matter of honour and titular distinction” by the second century.4 The narrative is misleading on both counts. Most subsequent research has found that Roman citizenship was less widespread than the conventional view supposed, especially in the eastern provinces. The suggestion that citizenship was evacuated of practical significance is also a considerable exaggeration. Indeed, Sherwin-​White himself took a quite different view by the end of his career, influenced not least by the discovery and publication of the now-​famous Tabula Banasitana (first publicized in 1961 and published in 1972).5 The passages just quoted go back to the original edition of 1939 but were left unchanged in the principal, narrative part of the expanded second edition.6 It is unfortunate, but perhaps inevitable, that they have proved more influential than his mature judgment. This volume aims to replace the conventional reduction of second-​century developments to a diffusion of citizenship and erosion of its privileges. One goal is to illustrate the complexity of the question of citizen privilege in this period. A  second is to show the limitations of the conventional focus on privilege itself: the social and cultural significance of Roman citizenship extended far beyond the fiscal and juridical privileges it entailed. A third is to demonstrate the limits of global generalizations. Roman citizens (henceforth “Romans”) were distributed very unevenly across the empire and lived in a wide variety of juridical contexts. Accounts of the significance of Roman citizenship must ultimately be 3. “From the time of Claudius [the history of the extension of the Roman citizenship] appears to develop without a break until the issue of the Constitutio Antoniniana” (Sherwin-​White 1973a, 237). “The impression is as though a great machine were at work” (251). After a pause during the principate of Nero, “activity is renewed under the Flavians and never ceases till the bad times of the third century” (252). “Under Hadrian the many tendencies of the preceding period come to a head; what has been but a steady march becomes a gallop. The Constitutio Antoniniana is but ‘the final act’ ”  (279). 4. Sherwin-​White 1973a, 272, 270. 5. “[T]‌here is no reason to hold, as some historians do, that the Roman citizenship had lost its substantive importance even before the whim of Caracalla transformed it into a universal and hence insignificant badge” (Sherwin-​White 1972, 53–​54). “Altogether the Tabula Banasitana provides a remarkable refutation of that numerous body of Roman historians who are so anxious to write off the significance of the Roman citizenship as a status dignitatis in the later Principate” (Sherwin-​White 1973b, 91). He is perhaps culpable of obfuscating the extent to which his own monograph had endorsed this conventional view. 6. The new chapters do show awareness of the Tabula (discussed briefly at 311–​312, 382–​383, 393–​394), but they were written before the publication of the text in 1972—​signaled in two later additions (336, 393)—​ and before Sherwin-​White had time to come to a considered view of its significance (cf. Sherwin-​White 1973b, 86n1). His initial inclination seems to have been to read it as confirming the view advanced in earlier chapters (“The Roman status is being steadily reduced in significance”; 312).

Introduction  3 local.7 A fourth goal is to insist that Roman citizenship cannot be understood in isolation from the various local regimes of citizenship in the two-​thousand-​odd city-​states of which the empire was composed. Hence the dyad in our title: imperial and local citizenship. Finally, we hope to make more accessible to anglophone readers the fruits of several generations of scholarship in the continental traditions. The long shadow of Sherwin-​White seems to have deterred most anglophone Roman historians from technical study of Roman citizenship, but important work has continued to be published in other languages. The chapters in this volume offer new perspectives on various facets of Roman citizenship in its second-​century context. We open with this introductory essay that sketches the whole. Following a survey of personal and collective statuses in Roman public law, we discuss the question of the number and distribution of Romans. We then survey the different ways in which Roman citizenship was experienced in the second century: the juridical and fiscal effects of legal difference; the effects of Roman law on the behavior of Romans in the family sphere; the links between citizenship and cult; a variety of other practices often entailed by possession of Roman citizenship, including distinctive civic rituals and the use of a distinctive onomastic form; and the complex relationship between citizenship and belonging. We end by surveying the contents of the volume. Personal Status in Roman Law Ancient legal systems in general, and Roman law in particular, devoted immense energy to the classification of persons and the distribution of rights, duties, agency, and disabilities at law. What is more, in the Augustan period, Rome transformed its census from a mechanism for counting adult male citizens eligible for military service and ranking them within a system of social differentiation indexed to household wealth into a survey of the population and private wealth of the empire as a whole.8 Thereby was held out the possibility that Roman government would penetrate subject populations to the level of the individual or, at least, the household—​and, as a corollary, that a more or less uniform law of persons would come to obtain throughout the empire. Nothing of the sort seems then to have been envisaged.9 On the contrary, in many areas, the conduct of the census was delivered into the hands of city-​state institutions, and, as a related matter, Roman government operated so as largely to recognize, but also to shape, local systems of social differentiation, including those codified at law. A full account of personal status in Roman law, regarding matters narrowly of interest to this volume, should therefore survey the myriad local social systems 7 . Frija 2018 is an exemplary study of Stratonikeia in Asia. 8. No empire-​wide survey of the census exists. For now, see Lo Cascio 1999; Bérenger 2009; Le Teuff 2014. 9. Few have done so much to advance the study of status at the intersection of law and society in recent years as Jane Gardner; see esp. Gardner 1986a; Gardner 1993; Gardner 1996; Gardner 2001b.

4  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan that comprised the empire. What is possible and useful in this context is instead a survey of the intersection between local ways of classifying persons, on the one hand, and the interests of Rome, on the other. Several aspects of the evidentiary regime on this topic deserve some explication, by way of establishing the conditions of possibility for studying these issues. As a normative matter, Rome sought to divide the landscape of empire into territorial units, in each of which a single city-​state was recognized as dominant: its institutions were instrumentalized in the service of Roman ends, its operations were recognized as political, and its members were denominated citizens.10 What is more, its law-​making and law-​applying institutions were granted monopoly powers within its territory. (We shall have more to say about this.) Concerning law—​and the law of persons—​the implications of this way of proceeding are made clear at the opening of the Institutes of Gaius, the one dogmatic treatise on Roman law to survive from the classical period. “Citizens’ law [ius civile] is the law that each citizen body makes for itself.”11 In consequence of this assumption that legal systems in the empire operate in parallel, which is to say, in non-​overlapping territorial units, and further that citizens distribute themselves across the landscape of empire city-​state by city-​state, Gaius and other writers on classical Roman law saw their task as describing the law of persons as it existed within the Roman citizen body, not within the empire as a whole. As regards evidence, a further essential characteristic of the classical legal tradition as we have received it is that it was codified under Justinian in the sixth century CE, three centuries after the universalization of Roman citizenship. Material that pertained to a world of diverse citizenships, and plural systems of law, appears unsurprisingly to have been rigorously excluded. Despite the narrowness of his field of view, Gaius may serve to illustrate three essential features of a specifically Roman law of persons germane to the topic of this book as a whole. First, Gaius nowhere enumerates the rights and agencies of an adult male of full legal personality. His concern is rather to identify the specific disabilities of those of deficient legal personality:  slaves, women, children, freed persons, and so forth. Second, in expression of its commitment to patriarchy, the Roman law of persons sought to account for persons of deficient personhood by subsuming them—​in respect of space, property, and agency—​to adult male heads of household of full legal personality. This project of control was never complete; indeed, there is little evidence that Romans sought to complete it. But it remained ideologically and conceptually potent. Third, Gaius’s project is not one of taxonomy; he does not take the world to be static. He focuses rather on movement:  slaves are freed, adults die, children mature, women get married, women 10. The literature on the relationship of city-​states to the empire is vast; sophisticated essays that treat the instrumentalization of city-​states by the empire are fewer. Among the best is Carrié 2005, though its nominal chronological focus is late; see also Hanson 1988; Reynolds 1988. 11. Gai, Inst. 1.1: nam quod quisque populus ipse sibi ius constituit, id ipsius proprium est vocaturque ius civile, quasi ius proprium civitatis.

Introduction  5 depart guardianship. Most notably, Gaius considers many routes by which non-​ Romans can become Romans: beyond enfranchisement for service in the auxiliaries and similar functions, many persons who were not Roman citizens existed in relations of subordination to or social dependency on Roman citizens, and there were systematic routes by which such persons might become Roman. The most important as a demographic matter were surely connected with manumission and the production of children, but other routes to citizenship were not related to social dependency on a particular Roman but were connected to contributions to perceived public goods:  (Junian) Latin freedmen might become Roman by serving in the police, or building and operating a ship in the grain trade, or working in a mill, or investing in real estate in the city of Rome, and so forth.12 Roman law evaluated persons—​which is to say, assessed their caput, or legal personality—​according to a matrix of indices: libertas (whether they were free or slave, to which freed persons were an important tertium quid); civitas (their citizenship: Roman, Latin, or peregrine—​or, in special cases, none); and their position within a familia (a household).13 As a matter of public law, citizens were also assigned to a voting tribe, which was the context in which their ongoing identity as republican citizens found expression. Among free male citizens, Roman law under the principate also distinguished persons according to status, whether senator, equestrian, or mere citizen (which is to say, non-​elite). This system represented a simplification of the complex census classes that had been operative under the republic, whose main public expression had been to organize voting in the centuriate assembly; the census classes were thus linked to electoral and legislative power in a fashion that rapidly lost its relevance in the first decades of the first century CE. In the wider landscape of empire, these status designations intersected with local systems of rank and prestige in complex ways. Communities that were recognized by Rome as city-​states and so dominant over a territory and potentially other peoples (on behalf of Rome) were perforce allowed to operate their own law-​making and law-​applying institutions. More broadly, Roman policy was committed to the preservation of local social orders and local systems of social differentiation, on the grounds, as it seemed, that these conduced order for the empire as a whole.14 Commitments such as these might have allowed provincial communities to continue to develop along some pre-​Roman trajectory. At the same time, across myriad contexts, Roman authorities steered constitutions toward Roman-​style republican institutions: magistracies were held for one year and filled by election; eligibility qualifications as regards age and property were established for magistracy; and legislative power was frequently restricted to a council of ex-​magistrates and adlected others.15 12. Gai, Inst. 1.32b–​34. 13. For an overview, see Taylor 2016. 14. Ando  2016f. 15. Summary treatments include Galsterer 2000; see also Ando 2006, 181–​182; Roselaar 2016.

6  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan Combined with the heavy tendency of Greek and Roman communities to observe a close homology between political and religious authority, the institutions of Roman-​era Mediterranean city-​states thus operated so as to cultivate the existence of a socioeconomic elite, buttressed by the cultural capital of priestly functions and affirmed in its status as an elite by democratic processes of election. Imperial government thus encouraged the structuration of the citizen body within non-​Roman communities into two classes, the curiales or decuriones (from curia, or town council) and the rest. This basic principle of social organization was recognized in Roman law and administration in statements to which the fact of social differentiation was accidental—​for example, in aggregative definitions that implicitly constitute the population of towns from bipartite grouping of municipes and decuriones—​and others to which the difference in social rank was essential.16 In communities of one or another Latin status—​all of which seem to have been in the West—​magistrates and their immediate families were granted Roman citizenship upon exiting office. But the forms of privilege granted at law to members of municipal councils were not restricted to Romans, nor, as we observe elsewhere, was it systematically the case that Romans in non-​ Roman communities were members of the elite or that the city-​state elites were dominated by Romans. Rome nurtured city-​state republics governed by elites; those city-​states, and their elites, were valuable to Rome apart from the number, distribution, and local status of whatever Roman citizens happened to reside in them. As a final matter, in the high and late classical periods, legal literatures begin to display, with increasing frequency, patterns that were probably co-​ constitutive:  one set of texts evinces a concern for the excessive influence at law of persons of wealth and power (the potentes or potentiores);17 the other distinguishes between “the more noble” and “the more humble,” the groups being subject to discrepant treatment in many aspects of procedure and punishment.18 The Status of Communities in Roman Public Law The Mediterranean world ruled by Rome had been a landscape of city-​states—​ and empires—​before the rise of Rome, and it remained such under Roman rule. That world also contained populations that were not urbanized and some that were not sedentary. This world was variously transformed by Roman power, even in areas where Roman infrastructure penetrated only thinly. This came about 16. Pomponius, Encheiridion frag. 179 Lenel  =  Dig. 50.16.239.5 (on the etymology of decuriones). Accidental: Ulpian, Sabinus bk. 8 frag. 2491 Lenel = Dig. 29.2.25.1. Essential: Callistratus, De cognitionibus bk. 4 frag. 28 Lenel = Dig. 22.3.5.pr. 17. Ulpian, Opiniones bk. 1 = Dig. 1.18.6.2. On the law’s concern for the excessive influence of the powerful, see McGinn 2017. 18. Rilinger 1988, with full bibliography; see also the fine review of this work by Krause 1991.

Introduction  7 because some communities were recognized by Rome as city-​states and granted a monopoly over various powers within their respective territories, in particular in respect of other populations that were not called polities but villages (or some related category) and whose lifestyles were perforce not political. In a world of Hobbesian sovereignty-​by-​acquisition, the statuses of city-​state and village were ascribed categories; whatever their tralatician nature and however much they perdured, they were held on sufferance of Rome. Where city-​states are concerned, Rome distinguished between communities of Roman, Latin, and peregrine status (not to mention others that were denied recognition as political communities).19 Only a minority of the more than two thousand city-​states of which the empire was composed were Roman, organized as coloniae and municipia. These included all the four hundred or so in Italy and another few hundred in the provinces. The majority of the Roman coloniae in the provinces originated as colonial foundations in which Roman citizens, usually veterans, were settled in provincial territory. Many early municipia were also colonial in character, based on the grant of communal rights to existing nuclei of Italian settlement. From the time of Caesar, however, Roman status also began to be granted to select subject communities as a reward or favor, entailing the reconstitution of an existing civitas peregrina as a community of Roman citizens. At first, these were usually granted the status of municipium (such as Gades under Augustus or Volubilis under Claudius), but it later became more common to make them coloniae (as with Vienna under Gaius or Claudius and Caesarea Iol under Claudius; these are sometimes termed “honorary” colonies in modern scholarship).20 There were around a hundred Roman municipia and coloniae by the death of Augustus, all but a handful founded by Caesar or Augustus. At most, one or two hundred more were founded over the following two centuries.21 All the citizens (technically, coloni or municipes) of these communities were by definition Romans, but they would have lived alongside free persons of other statuses—​not to mention slaves. In Italy, where all communities were Roman, Roman citizens still lived alongside the two classes of disadvantaged ex-​slave created by the Augustan manumission legislation:  Junian Latins and liberti dediticii (and their children, who inherited their status if they were not promoted). In major commercial centers, there would also have been some freeborn non-​Romans from Latin and peregrine communities in the provinces; some would have had the status of resident aliens (incolae). Outside Italy, the 19. Jacques and Scheid 1990, 219–​250. 20. Gades: Cass. Dio 41.24.1, with Galsterer 1971, 17–​19. Volubilis: ILM 56, 57, with Gascou 1982, 148–​150. Vienna: CIL xiii 1668 ii 14–​17, with Raepsaet-​Charlier 2010–​2011, 22–​23. Caesarea Iol: Plin. HN 5.20, with Gascou 1982, 52–​54. 21. The situation under Augustus is relatively well documented thanks to the geographical books of Pliny’s Natural History, which include lists of civitates that appear to derive primarily from Augustan data. Later developments generally have to be inferred from epigraphic evidence for changes in status.

8  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan minority of Roman communities were generally surrounded by communities of other statuses. The population of Roman citizens and their ex-​slaves would have been supplemented by an even larger proportion of incolae from neighboring non-​Roman communities. Many originally colonial foundations in the provinces also included disenfranchised populations descended from the original inhabitants. Occasionally expelled from the territory, these were more often left in place but generally excluded from both Roman and local citizenship; in Roman law, they, too, had the status of incolae. It is generally hard to trace their history over the subsequent centuries. Some individuals and conceivably some whole populations may eventually have acquired Roman citizenship, but other populations remained excluded from citizenship through to Caracalla’s grant.22 Other communities were Latin.23 Originally a status granted to the citizens of the other cities of Latium, the Latin right had been transformed into an instrument of colonization in the fourth century BCE, providing the legal framework for most of the coloniae founded during the conquest of Italy. It was reinvented again as a privileged status short of citizenship for non-​Italians when Pompeius Strabo granted it to Cisalpine Gaul in 89 BCE. This was the model for the grant of Latin status to provincial communities in the triumviral and Augustan periods. Around a hundred individual communities had the Latin right by the death of Augustus, mostly in Narbonensis, Baetica, and Tarraconensis.24 Over the course of the first century, the Latin right was extended en bloc to the Alpine and Iberian provinces and probably also the three Gauls and individually to many communities in the African and Danubian provinces.25 By the mid-​second century, the majority of western communities were Latin, but the status seems never to have been granted in the East. Most of the Latin communities were constituted as coloniae (in the Gauls) or municipia (elsewhere)—​a potential source of confusion with Roman communities, which considerably complicates the determination of status in individual cases. One of the privileges of the Latin right was that the citizens of these communities could acquire Roman citizenship by holding one of the local magistracies (or, when a superior form of the Latin right—​Latium maius—​was introduced, by being adlected to the local ordo).26 All Latin communities thus included both Romans and non-​Romans in their citizen body. These Latin communities nominally had their own laws, but by the Flavian period at the latest, these essentially reproduced Roman law as it was applied in Rome. This facilitated intercourse between the Roman and non-​Roman members of the community. Romans participated fully in public life, as full citizens of the 22. On the Gauls, see Chastagnol 1995, 131–​141. On the East, see Rizakis 1998b; Sartre 2001, 128–​130; Brélaz 2018, 27–​30; and Brélaz, ­chapter 8 in this volume. On incolae in Roman law, see Gagliardi 2014. 23. Kremer  2006. 24. Again, the figures are derived from the geographical survey in Plin. HN  3–​6. 25. Kremer 2006; Chastagnol 1990a. 26. Gai. Inst. 1.95–​96, lex Irnitana s. 21.

Introduction  9 local community, and there were no barriers to commerce between Romans and non-​Romans (though there was some friction as regards marriage and testation, to which we return later).27 The remaining communities of the empire—​the vast majority in the East and a small but not insignificant minority in the West—​were civitates peregrinae in Roman public law. A  small minority of these enjoyed the privileged status of a “free” community (civitas libera), which nominally exempted them from the authority and jurisdiction of a provincial governor.28 By the second century, most peregrine communities would probably have included at least a handful of Romans. In some, such as Ephesus and Pergamum in Asia, the citizen presence was very significant. By the imperial period, these Romans living in civitates peregrinae were thoroughly integrated into the local community. The principle of the incompatibility of Roman and other citizenships that Cicero held so dear (though it was evidently disputed even then) had long been abandoned. A Hadrianic senator and even the emperor Commodus are known to have become citizens of Athens.29 Roman citizens participated fully in the public life of the peregrine communities, from voting through to holding office. They were also normally fully liable for the taxes and obligations that fell on their fellow citizens.30 In the private sphere, commercial relations with peregrines were enabled by local law or through the Roman concept of ius gentium. The only two areas in which integration was limited were marriage and testation, where Roman law did place significant obstacles to intercourse between Roman citizens and peregrines.31 Finally, the existence of the superordinate structures of empire, both viewing and regulating a world of city-​states, makes visible as perhaps never before the politics that had occluded the nonurbanized from view in the cultural production of city-​state elites.32 These nonurbanized populations are of a number of types. On the one hand, wherever possible, Rome governed provincial landscapes by administratively subordinating territories and populations to the control of regional city-​state powers. This was a matter of rendering them legible, of course, but also of instrumentalizing those city-​states as nodal points for the extension of Roman interests into the countryside. The recognition of some polities as city-​states

27. See Lavan, ­chapter 3 in this volume. 28. On the status of free city, focusing on western evidence, see Jacques 1984. 29. The principle of exclusivity:  Cic. Balb. 28, Nep. Att. 3.1. Leading Roman citizens who were citizens of Athens: Oliver 1951. On the legal question, see further Marotta 2009, chap. 4. 30. On the formula salvo iure gentis, see Blanco-​Pérez 2020b; ­chapters 2, 3, and 9 in this volume. 31. See “Family and Property” later in this introduction; Lavan, ­chapter 3 in this volume. 32. No one has done more to illuminate this world than Brent Shaw; see esp. Shaw 1984; Shaw 1986; Shaw 1990; Shaw 2000. Regional studies within particular disciplinary traditions abound; see, e.g., Schuler 1998; Tate 1992; Tchalenko 1953–​1958. On the fiscal relations that issued from city-​state dominance, see Corbier 1991; for a narrow understanding of the legal issues but a broad treatment of the epigraphic evidence, see Laffi 1966.

10  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan and classification of others as villages came about for many reasons, not a few connected with the long history of empire in the ancient Mediterranean.33 We glean some sense of the forms of domination exercised by city-​states over these populations in the narrow range of language used by Pliny the Elder to describe these relations of administrative subordination (adtributio).34 Such communities sometimes developed socially and economically in such a way that they could petition to become a city-​state in their own right; at times, the dominant community sought to forestall this outcome by co-​opting the elite among the relevant population group into its own council—​sharing honors and control, in exchange for drawing off the energy and loyalties of the most influential members of that group.35 It should be stressed that, juridical difference to one side, there is reason to believe that substantial social and economic intermingling of such populations was regular and even expected, even to the point of significant intermarriage.36 In the era before the universalization of citizenship, either of these outcomes, to wit, the elevation of the entire group to city-​state status or the adlection of its elite into the city-​state’s council, had implications for the local and imperial status of the relevant persons. In some regions, the condition of the local population was such that Roman administrators declined to recognize any population group as juridically constituted, that is, as a city-​state in the Greek or Roman conception. Such communities might be dominated nationes or gentes and were allowed to retain non-​republican forms of self-​government. Even so, the Romans might reward their leadership with a grant of citizenship, setting in motion dynamics of elite identity similar to those obtaining in city-​states.37 In a few cases, most notably Egypt, the refusal to recognize any community as a city-​state at the moment of annexation blurred with a refusal to allow its later formation. Falling outside the norm, such cases resist patterned analysis. It is nevertheless frequently clear that the presence of empire significantly inflected local systems of classifying persons. For example, the label “Egyptian” as used by the Romans was applied to non-​ Roman dwellers in the countryside of Egypt, regardless of ethnicity.38 Similarly, the Greeks of Asia had referred to the population of the province as comprised of “Greeks and others who dwell in Asia.” The Romans, for their part, referred only to Greeks, and decrees of the province of Asia eventually adopted the Roman usage, which is to say that elites of the province came to describe themselves, in their communications with the center, according to the ethnic classification of them used by the center.39 33. Ando  2017b. 34. Shaw 1981; see also Ando 2015, 10–​12. 35. Millar 1992 [1977], 432–​434, 438–​439; Millar 2004, 336–​398. 36. Ando 2012b; Ando 2019b. 37. Sherwin-​White  1973b. 38. Nelson  1979. 39. Ferrary 2001; Ando 2010.

Introduction  11 In a very small number of instances, the Romans broke the pattern of recognizing particular city-​state institutions as sovereign within a territory and gave significant recognition to a minority population within the city-​state. By far the best attested of any such group was the Jews.40 Their situation illuminates the conceptual and political difficulties experienced by Roman administrators in conceiving the interpenetration of communities—​as opposed to the presence of atomized outsiders—​within a unified geopolitical space. The Number and Distribution of Romans Traditional narratives of the spread of Roman citizenship tended to assume—​ without any particular attempt at quantification—​that citizenship became massively widespread in the second century, such that the Constitutio Antoniniana could be seen as the capstone of a well-​advanced process—​the “final act,” in Sherwin-​White’s telling metaphor.41 Yet several decades of scholarship have established that there remained a very significant population of peregrines on the eve of Caracalla’s grant, particularly (but not only) in the eastern provinces. One important index is the large number of persons with the gentilicium Aurelius who appear in third-​century sources, most of whom must owe their citizenship directly or indirectly to Caracalla’s grant.42 Another is the significant presence of persons with peregrine-​form names in the epigraphy of all eastern and many western provinces as late as the Severan period. From a different angle, one of this book’s editors has argued that the mechanisms of enfranchisement, which are relatively well understood, would not have been capable of extending Roman citizenship to more than a third of the population of the provinces.43 But a global statistic is of limited value for understanding the significance of citizenship in particular contexts. The population of Roman citizens was not distributed evenly across the empire. They were concentrated first in Italy and then in the Roman communities in the provinces, which were always a distinct minority of even those communities recognized as city-​states in Roman public law. The remainder were dispersed across the many communities of Latin and peregrine status. The precise proportions varied widely from province to province and even city to city, depending on the scale of Italian settlement in the late republic and grants of citizenship in the triumviral and imperial periods. We are still far from being in a position to estimate the prevalence of Roman citizenship for individual 40. Linder 1987; see Ando, ­chapter 9 in this volume. 41. Sherwin-​White 1973a, 279. 42. Buraselis 1989 (translated as Buraselis 2007) was fundamental. See most recently Kracker and Scholz 2012. The evidence of the Aurelii can be supplemented with other evidence of the impact of Caracalla’s edict (see, e.g., Smith 2012 on the explosion in marble sarcophagi in third-​century Aphrodisias as an index of its effects). 43. Lavan 2016b, now supplemented by Lavan 2019a for the army.

12  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan communities or even provinces. In most cases, the evidence consists largely or wholly of a corpus of names mentioned on inscriptions (mostly epitaphs), which only represent an unknown proportion of the population, are generally hard to date, and rarely admit the conclusive determination of status. The best available proxy for the presence of peregrines in 212 is the relative proportion of Aurelii in these corpora.44 But it is very crude indeed, due to variation in the chronological distribution of inscriptions and in the scope of the epigraphic habit. For example, Britannia has produced a significantly lower proportion of Aurelii (23 percent of all persons with an imperial gentilicium) than the Danubian provinces of Dacia, Pannonia, Dalmatia, and Moesia Superior (33–​38  percent).45 But it would be wrong to infer that it had a higher proportion of Roman citizens in 212. The epigraphy of Britannia is disproportionately military; what we are observing is the military population, not the provincial population as a whole. For now, we must fall back on subjective assessments based on scattered and heterogeneous data. Individual provinces probably fell on a spectrum between Narbonensis and Baetica on the one hand (with relatively high proportions of Roman citizens, due to high levels of Italian settlement in the late republic, a relatively large proportion of Roman communities, and an early proliferation of the Latin right) and Egypt on the other (with very limited Italian settlement, no Roman communities, few viritim grants, and no Latin right). In any case, the differences within provinces could be as great as those between provinces. In late-​second-​century Asia, for example, the prevalence of Roman citizenship within the bouleutic elite seems to have varied from around 75 percent in Ephesus to less than 1 percent in Chios.46 Any study of the significance of Roman citizenship needs to be acutely sensitive to this variation. The particular mix of statuses in a community and its environs must have largely determined the significance of Roman citizenship for those who had it—​and for those who did not. It is sometimes assumed that the possession of Roman citizenship was closely correlated with social status. But again, the reality is more complex.47 First, there was clearly considerable variation between cities. Second, the principal mechanisms of enfranchisement should have produced a bifurcation in the citizen population in most non-​Roman communities. The beneficiaries of the Latin right and of personal grants would certainly have been concentrated at the top of the social hierarchy. But wherever there were wealthy Roman citizens, the manumission of slaves should have produced another concentration of Roman citizens in the middling strata. They would have been supplemented by downward social mobility from the citizen elite, by enfranchised auxiliary veterans, and by the

44. Usefully tabulated by Kracker and Scholz 2012, 70. 45. Data from Kracker and Scholz 2012, 70. 46. Lavan 2020. On the East, see further Brélaz, ­chapter 8 in this volume. 47. See further Lavan 2019b, 42–​47.

Introduction  13 descendants of less successful Italian settlers. So it would be dangerous to assume that families with Roman citizenship were wealthier or better connected than their non-​citizen peers, merely because they had Roman citizenship. A good illustration of this fallacy is a list from the reign of Commodus of 101 members of the gerousia of Sidyma in Lycia.48 The list distinguishes between 51 bouleutai (members drawn from the bouleutic elite) and 50 demotai (from the rest of the population). It is striking that 30  percent of the demotai are Roman citizens, compared to only 6 percent of the bouleutai.49 Here there seems to be a higher representation of Roman citizens in the middling strata than at the top, even in the late second century. Legal Difference The historical meaning of the array of juridical and fiscal differences attached to citizenship is best understood in light of the developments that led to the fairly stable landscape of the second century. In respect to both the application of law and the administration of fiscal matters, a condition of possibility for the development and actualization of theory was the relatively primitive ability of even the high imperial Roman state to govern at the level of the individual. On the contrary, Rome operated by instrumentalizing, if also shaping and occasionally corrupting, local institutions.50 This basic principle is visible throughout the long history of the application of law, until the aftermath of the Caracallan revolution. Descriptions of Roman rules of jurisdiction prior to the first century BCE are cursory at best, and we rely wholly on paraphrase in literary accounts. What is more, the extant accounts—​by Polybius of the early treaties between Rome and Carthage, in 509 and 348 BCE;51 and by Cicero in respect to the lex Rupilia of 132 BCE, on jurisdiction in Sicily—​focus on intersubjective disputes related to trade and not, for example, on family law or issues of succession. Our ability to trace a long history across the full scope of ancient law is therefore extremely limited. Nevertheless, it seems clear from the prescriptions paraphrased by Polybius that in the bilateral world imagined by the treaties, something like a rule of lex fori, to wit, a principle of territoriality in respect of choice of law, prevailed: disputes between Romans and Carthaginians were to be handled by the courts in the territory in which the dispute occurred, using local law.52 48. TAM II.1 176 with Schuler 2019, 209–​10. 49. See later in this introduction on the inference of status from onomastic form. 50. Czajkowski and Eckhardt 2020 offers a substantial survey of the evidences for legal history in the provinces of the empire. 51. For a recent study with bibliography see Serrati 2006. 52. A long tradition urges that Romans of the middle republic forbade access to Roman courts, or, rather, forbade foreigners to use the statutory actions of Roman civil law, and therefore that the Romans adjudicated disputes among foreigners and between Romans and non-​Romans, using ius gentium. The most eloquent modern exponent of this tradition is Roberto Fiori; see, e.g., Fiori 1998–​1999; Fiori 2011a, 97–​120. The

14  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan The lex Rupilia, on Sicily, reflects a significantly more complex approach to jurisdiction, arising as it does from the pluralistic landscape of a multipolar province; it also springs from a much later world. Cicero’s account of the law runs as follows: Siculi hoc iure sunt ut, quod civis cum cive agat, domi certet suis legibus, quod Siculus cum Siculo non eiusdem civitatis, ut de eo praetor iudices ex P.  Rupili decreto, quod is de decem legatorum sententia statuit, quam illi legem Rupiliam vocant, sortiatur. Quod privatus a populo petit aut populus a privato, senatus ex aliqua civitate qui iudicet datur, cum alternae civitates reiectae sunt; quod civis Romanus a Siculo petit, Siculus iudex, quod Siculus a civi Romano, civis Romanus datur; ceterarum rerum selecti iudices ex conventu civium Romanorum proponi solent. (Cicero Verr. 2.2.32) The Sicilians are subjects of law as follows: actions of a citizen with a fellow citizen are tried at home, according to their own laws. To adjudicate actions of a Sicilian with a Sicilian not of the same citizenship, the praetor should appoint a judge by lot, in accordance with the decree of Publius Rupilius, which he fixed on the recommendation of the ten legates [sent to advise him at the formal organization of the province], which decree the Sicilians call the Rupilian Law. To adjudicate suits brought by an individual against a community, or by a community against an individual, the senate of another civitas should be assigned, granting the possibility that a civitas might be rejected by each side. When a Roman citizen sues a Sicilian, a Sicilian is assigned to adjudicate; when a Sicilian sues a Roman citizen, a Roman citizen is assigned. In all other matters judges are accustomed to be selected from among the Roman citizens resident in the assize district. In Cicero’s account, the legal landscape of Roman Sicily is tessellated into jurisdictions, each of which is understood to possess its own body of civil law—​ arising from its own law-​making institutions—​as well as a system of courts to apply that law.53 Those jurisdictions are significantly termed civitates, and these are understood in their totality as embracing all lands and peoples—​and thus all justiciable actions—​of the province. The vocabulary of Roman public law assumes that citizens dwell in city-​states possessing their own citizens’ law; nevertheless, the authors of the Rupilian law recognize that private disputes may arise between persons who are alien in respect to each other, among whom might be Romans. Such disputes could only occur because relations of contract were formed between persons of discrepant citizenship, including not only

theory results from conjecture based on ideological construal of much later evidence that was itself ideologically motivated. No evidence for it survives. 53. Kantor  2010.

Introduction  15 contracts with resident aliens but also, presumably, contracts that crossed political boundaries. Difference between Romans and all those denominated Sicilian is also recognized, but the rules for the selection of iudices do not systematically operate with a presumption of solidarity among Romans and a bias in their favor. Alas, nothing is said of the complex matters of succession and social dependency among Romans that dominate laws on Romans in the alien landscapes of the high empire. Across the first century BCE, two forms of corruption in systems of legal difference become visible in the East. First, the law of Greek city-​states tended to restrict the right to own property in land to citizens. In areas outside peninsular Greece, this was a major instrument in the oligarchic domination by poliadic citizen bodies over the populations in their hinterlands. It is now clear that through several means, by the later second and early first centuries BCE, Roman citizens in the East wrested ownership of land for themselves in numerous city-​states.54 Second, in the final decades of the republic, Roman dynasts rewarded several followers—​undoubtedly more than we can now identify—​with complex rights to evade the reach of local courts in their city-​states of origin. One such grant was made by Octavian to a certain Seleukos of Rhosos. Octavian then wrote to the magistrates and council of Rhosos about the implications of this grant; we cite one among several illustrative clauses: [If anyone] wishes to accuse them or bring a charge [against them] or seek judgment on them or institute legal proceedings[—​], in respect of all these matters, [whether] they wish to be tried at home by their own [laws, or in] free [cities], or before our magistrates or [promagistrates—​], they [shall] have the right of choice, and nor is anyone to act otherwise [than is prescribed in these clauses], or give judgment concerning them ?after having referred the case, or deliver a sentence (on them), [—​if ?anything] contrary to these terms takes place, it [is not to be] valid.55 It is implied by subsequent letters from Octavian to the city that Seleukos so conducted himself that the city chafed at his presence. The abuse of provincials by Roman citizens by means of the legal system—​relying both on perversion of systems of jurisdiction and on ad hoc grants of privilege—​met with a substantial, emphatic, and apparently effective effort at reform by Augustus in 7/​6 BCE.56 In an edict preserved on a stele in Cyrene, Augustus cited the complaints of provincials as motivation for a thorough reform of its jury system. The complaint

54. Eberle  2014. 55. The translation is from Raggi 2004b; see also Raggi 2001 on the Senatus consultum de Asclepiade, which text preserves at least some of the relevant formulations in Latin. Full commentary on the relevant legal and historical issues may be found in Raggi 2006, 109–​172. 56. On these abuses, see further Bryen, ­chapter 1 in this volume.

16  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan had been that Romans supported one another, serving in turn as accusers and witnesses in spurious actions against Greeks of the province before juries, it is implied, that were stacked by Romans. Augustus responded to the situation by granting to alien defendants the right to ask that half the jury be Greek.57 (The third edict on the stele requires that Greeks who have received Roman citizenship shall nevertheless continue to perform civic liturgies.58 The last of the five edicts recorded on the same stele is described as concerning “the security” of all “allies of the Roman people” and simplifies the process for hearing extortion claims by provincials against Roman magistrates.) The landscape that emerges from this background in the high principate has two significant characteristics.59 Where there existed a juridically constituted city-​state that the Romans recognized as supervisory over its territory, its law-​ making and law-​applying institutions regulated legal relations among its citizens, as well as between citizens and resident aliens (as well as among any populations in its hinterland who were not recognized as civic by Rome). In short, with regard to social relations among aliens, and relations of contract overall, a rule of territoriality applied. This was true even in Egypt, where Rome allowed only four communities in the province to constitute themselves as poleis and allowed at most only one of those to have a council (albeit, it seems, without law-​making powers). In short, no polis in Egypt had powers of jurisdiction, and the great bulk of the persons of Egypt, namely, those classified as “Egyptians,” were therefore not “citizens” of any polity.60 Nevertheless, the evidence of practice in Egypt reveals that Roman courts systematically sought to apply local norms61 and furthermore that nonmilitary Romans who were resident in Egypt also conducted their business affairs according to local norms.62 (Relations of soldiers with other soldiers, conducted in the context of an army camp, constitute a special case, in Egypt as elsewhere.) It might, of course, be that this practice of recognizing and enforcing local norms—​which was, of course, a political act—​issued from a Roman desire to restrict access to Roman legal actions to Roman citizens. It might also have resulted from a simple lack of infrastructural capacity: the Roman state lacked the power 57. FIRA2 I 68. 58. Blanco-​Pérez 2020b situates the Augustan requirements that enfranchised provincials should continue to perform local liturgies in a long context that leads to Caracalla. The difficulty of the language at this juncture in the text presumably results from the novelty of the enterprise, namely, the assertion of some form of continuity in communal obligations across a change in citizenship—​from being Greek to Roman—​despite what normative understandings of the change of citizenship had theretofore entailed. 59. Ando  2016d. 60. Contra Taubenschlag 1955, 17–​19. 61. This is true regardless of how we believe the Romans conceived the status and origin of the “law of the Egyptians,” or what status we attributed to P.Oxy. xlvi 3285, the Greek translation of P.Mattha. On these issues, see Mélèze Modrzejewski 2014, 3–​27 and passim; Alonso 2013, 353–​354. 62. Substantial evidence may be found in Taubenschlag 1955, catalogued passim under the heading of separate areas of law; for a summary presentation, see Alonso 2013, 354–​355.

Introduction  17 to educate its subjects and could therefore not reasonably require adherence to Roman norms. Whatever the motivations of their practice, the Romans gave normative explanation to the pluralism of the empire by appeal to the (imperial) utility and ethical propriety of preserving local social orders. In the words of a prefect of Egypt, almost undoubtedly of the reign of Trajan, “it is best that they should decide cases in accordance with the law of the Egyptians,” a position endorsed in universal terms by Trajan himself some years later, in a letter to the governor of Bithynia-​Pontus: “I think, then, that the safest course, as always, is to follow the law of each civitas.”63 The second dominant pattern in respect to choice of law in the high empire is that with regard to succession, family law, and legally enforced relations of social dependency, Roman citizens, wherever they lived—​whether in communities that were Roman or alien as a matter of public law—​were expected to utilize Roman legal forms (with important social effects that we discuss in the following section). What is more, they appear generally to have done so.64 As an essential and unsurprising corollary, aliens were excluded from using these forms. Expectations of the state in this regard may be judged in respect to Roman Egypt via a reading of the Gnomon of the Idios Logos, a rulebook of the “private account,” a Ptolemaic office for financial matters relevant to state properties and confiscated private properties.65 Under Rome, the office developed extensive interest in, and responsibility for, issues of succession and personal status, in large measure because, in many cases, improper wills or legacies derived from improper unions defaulted to the state. One version of this text survives from the Antonine period. (The chronology of a second extract is disputed.) The text commences from an Augustan document and includes selections of later enactments, from a variety of sources of law, relevant to the office’s concerns. The text clearly possesses chronological layers, and whatever the role of the Antonine redactor in its compilation, its content is in important respects tralatician. What is crucial about this document is its intense interest in affirming status distinctions among persons (Roman citizens; astoi, to wit, citizens of the four poleis of Egypt; and the “Egyptians,” namely, all other residents of an undifferentiated countryside). The affirmation of difference is operationalized via punishments at the moment of succession of persons who construct social relations outside licit categories, although certain rules about access to and use of legal forms are also articulated.66 63. P.Oxy. xlii 3015, ll. 2–​3: κάλλιστόν ἐστιν αὐτοὺς δικαιοδοτεῖν πρός τοὺς Αἰγυπτίων νόμους. The papyrus preserves three extracts, and the next two date from the reign of Trajan and the prefectship of Sulpicius Similis. Plin. Ep. 10.113 (trans. Radice): Id ergo, quod semper tutissimum est, sequendam cuiusque civitatis legem puto. 64. For a pithy statement, see Alonso 2016, 63–​65. For the evidence, see Wolff 2002, 99–​200; Keenan 2014. 65. BGU V 1210; see also P.Oxy. xlii 3014. 66. The most famous requirement is that Roman citizens must prepare wills in Latin (§8).

18  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan Further evidence of the state’s concern that family relations among Roman citizens, as well as legally enforceable relations of social dependency, should follow Roman law is available in the municipal charters delivered by Rome to Roman communities in the West. Long known from copies delivered to Latin communities in Spain in the Flavian period, fragments of an extraordinarily similar charter have now been recovered from Troesmis, a community of Roman citizens in Lower Moesia.67 The charters delivered to Latin communities envision the systematic granting of Roman citizenship to holders of magistracy on their departure from office. Noteworthy in these clauses is the attention given to guardianship, on the one hand, and the duties owed by freed persons to former masters. In both cases, care is taken to ensure that legal relations are conducted along Roman lines, in ways that sustain the material and legal affordances of citizenship.68 In brief, therefore, Roman law of the second century CE observed a principle of territoriality where relations of contract and other intersubjective obligations were concerned but a principle of personality in matters of succession and family law. There remained the exceptionally important area of the relationship of citizen to community. As we have seen, the third edict of Augustus engraved in Cyrene insisted that, bracketing an individual exception, those awarded Roman citizenship should continue to remain liable for local liturgies in their city-​state of residence, which principle was regularly rearticulated in contexts both general and specific into the third century CE. This demand, which operated to the financial detriment of Roman citizens, derived, it seems, from at least two concerns on the part of imperial authorities: first, that civic life in the city-​states of the empire should flourish, for which end the financial contribution of its local elites, whatever their legal status, was essential; and second, that those elites who were privileged to receive Roman citizenship should not be elevated above, or atomized in relation to, their immediate municipal context.69 On the contrary, grants of Roman citizenship to ex-​magistrates were intended to bring into being an alignment of interest, affective and material, between local councils and imperial authorities. That required that new Roman citizens remain, in myriad essential ways, local.70 These basic principles constitute an essential refrain over a long period, within the triangular negotiations among individuals seeking exemption from liturgies, their polities, and the imperial center.71 Further evidence for imperial attention to the sustaining of local life in juridically non-​Roman institutional contexts may be found in, for example, the letter of Plotina and rescript of Hadrian concerning the directorship of the school of Epicurus at Athens. The 67. González 1986; Eck 2016. 68. Ando  2020c. 69. See Eberle, ­chapter 2 in this volume, for a fuller account of developments in the sphere of fiscal privilege. 70. Ando  2016e. 71. Millar 1992, 477–​506; Millar 2004, 336–​371.

Introduction  19 succession was arranged via testation.72 The fact of the position’s being held by a Roman perforce meant that it had in that case to be left to a Roman. At Plotina’s request, Hadrian allowed for succession to a non-​Roman and even granted permission that a will along these lines might be written in Greek.73 This raises a final issue. The most famous narrative of citizen privilege is surely the life of Paul as recounted in Acts, where his status as a Roman citizen is invoked at several moments to ward off (or retroactively condemn) arbitrary violence at the hands of public authorities.74 (The public law status of Philippi as a Roman colony and the status of its citizens as Roman citizens are also invoked to condemn the content of Paul’s preaching.)75 As the story of Plotina, Hadrian, and the headship of the school of Epicurus makes clear, by the second century, citizenship was one among a matrix of axes of evaluation that Roman and, perforce, local authorities employed in situating human beings in relation to state power. As with Paul, so in juristic material, the evaluation of persons in relation to such matrices is deemed particularly important when the question concerns state violence, whether the application of torture in the course of inquisitorial procedures or physical punishment in criminal cases. As already mentioned, the second century CE witnessed the emergence and very gradual codification of a distinction between “more humble” and “more noble” persons.76 What deserves stress in this context is the cross-​cutting nature of the axes of evaluation that are applied to yield such labels. As with the privileges granted to persons of distinction in the arts and learned fields, so persons might be deemed “more noble” and therefore worthy of some degree of protection—​in respect at least of dignity—​by virtue of an array of qualities. Citizenship surely numbered among these, but it was neither a necessary nor a sufficient quality in these acts of discernment. Roman government was invested in the promotion and protection of republican elites, and, as we have stressed, Roman citizenship was not uniformly a feature of elite identity in all communities of the empire. Family and Property The history of Roman citizenship often focuses on its public dimension—​on duties and rights. Indeed, for the imperial period, the tendency is to focus exclusively on the latter, the fiscal and juridical privileges accorded to Romans by the imperial state and local municipalities, and their erosion over time. But citizen status impinged on the lives of Roman citizens in other ways:  in their family 72. Besson 2020, 340. 73. ILS 7784. 74. Acts 16:37–​38; 22:25–​29; 23:22–​27. On the New Testament as evidence for provincial life under Roman rule, see the classic treatment in Sherwin-​White 1963. 75. Acts 16:12, 20–​21. 76. Rilinger 1988; Krause 1991. See also Garnsey 1970.

20  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan relations, in their relationships with the divine, and in a range of other practices that marked them out from the rest of the population. For many citizens in the provinces, these may have been the most significant entailments of their status. We begin with family life. As we noted earlier, this was the one sphere where the Roman state imposed something like a principle of personality in choice of law. This meant that citizenship had potentially important consequences, affecting Romans’ choice of a spouse and their freedom to leave and receive bequests while also shaping gender roles and relations with slaves. Roman citizenship is generally conceived of as a privileged status, but it could also be a burden, particularly for Romans living among peregrines, insofar as it imposed constraints that were not felt by their non-​Roman peers. One enduring legacy of the late republic was a legal regime, originally intended to restrict the expansion of the citizen population, that was dis-​favorable to intermarriage between citizens and non-​citizens.77 A  lex Minicia, which probably dates to the decades before or (more likely) after the Social War, replaced the ius gentium principle that children of a mixed union took the status of the mother with a new rule that all such children took the status of the inferior parent, in the absence of a grant of conubium, to wit, the right to form a legal union. It is a significant fact of the history of citizenship in the imperial period that this law was never repealed or modified. Roman citizens also faced potentially onerous obligations and restrictions in transmitting their property at death. The formal requirements for a Roman will were strict, and failure to adhere to them could lead to the will being deemed invalid, thus denying testators the freedom to dispose of their property as they wished. Roman law also made it very difficult for Romans to bequeath property to non-​Romans. Again, this restrictive rule was never repealed but was actually tightened over the course of the first two centuries CE. Violation of the rules governing marriage and inheritance would only have had consequences in case of litigation, so they were probably irrelevant to those with little or no property. But—​even bearing in mind the need for caution in assuming a correlation between citizenship and social status—​Romans were probably overrepresented in the propertied strata of society. In those contexts, Roman law should have discouraged marriages between citizen and non-​citizen families and also disrupted the circulation of legacies, another important modality of family alliances among the wealthy. More generally, it should have worked to distort the circulation of capital, preventing property from flowing out of the citizen community by inheritance. These effects can be observed wherever we have good evidence for marriage patterns in the peregrine communities of the East.78 Though there was certainly no ban on intermarriage and many Romans did in fact marry 77. For a fuller discussion of the issues in this paragraph, see Lavan, c­ hapter 3 in this volume. 78. The rules governing marriage and inheritance in communities with the Latin right is much less clear but may have been less prejudicial to intermarriage.

Introduction  21 non-​Romans, they did so significantly less often than we would expect if they were indifferent to status. Several well-​documented cases show a marked distortion of marriage alliances, with two distinct networks of families with only weak links between then. The possession of Roman citizenship also had significant implications for gender roles, at least in the propertied classes, insofar as it opened up the possibility of greater economic freedom for some women. As in Greek law, a Roman woman could own property independently of her husband but was subject to male supervision, first by her father and after his death by a guardian (tutor), usually a male relative. By the imperial period, however, the guardian’s supervision had become relatively light, and a woman could escape it altogether by giving birth to a number of children (the ius liberorum). In the eastern provinces, the spread of Roman citizenship thus had the potential to bring a degree of emancipation for propertied women, insofar as it freed them from the constraints that they experienced when their property was governed by Greek law; the same may well have been true of the western provinces, though there is very little evidence for preexisting norms.79 Of course, these new legal rights may not always have resulted in independent economic agency, since local convention might still have subordinated Roman women to male control. In third-​century Egypt, for example, several legal documents show women (now all Roman citizens) simultaneously claiming the ius liberorum and nonetheless acting in the presence of—​and hence potentially supervised by—​a male relative, usually the husband.80 Nevertheless, the epigraphy of the Greek East does provide some evidence that the change of status did sometimes have the expected effect, insofar as Roman citizen women are proportionally more visible than their peregrine peers as benefactors and in other public contexts. This process would have overlapped with, but is distinct from, a better-​known, secular development by which elite women become progressively more visible in the public life of Greek cities from the Hellenistic period, as a consequence of the emergence of a class of super-​ rich and the concomitant “privatization” of public life.81 That phenomenon was exclusive to the wealthiest and most powerful families and seems to have been an expression of familial strategies, with most of the women acting as wives or daughters or on behalf of sons.82 The new legal rights brought by Roman citizenship had the potential to affect a wider segment of society and to have greater emancipatory effect. 79. The a priori case based on Roman norms is best made by Hemelrijk 2015, 22–​24, with respect to the western provinces. See also van Bremen 1996, though she places little emphasis on Roman law per se, focusing instead on longer-​term developments that begin in the Hellenistic period. 80. See, e.g., P.Oxy. VI 912, with Vandorpe and Waebens 2010, 421. 81. van Bremen 1996 is the fullest analysis. See also Thonemann 2010, 163–​164 for a pithy overview of the process. 82. Argued most forcefully by van Bremen 1996.

22  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan A final aspect of family life on which Roman citizenship impinged was relations with slaves and freed slaves. Romans were subject to the peculiarities of the Roman manumission regime as it had been regulated by Augustus. On the one hand, they faced a number of constraints as to how many and what type of slaves they could free lawfully (though nothing prevented them from freeing other slaves illegitime; persons so freed became Junian Latins or dediticii). On the other, those slaves who were freed legitime became Roman citizens themselves, a marked contrast with practice in the Greek world. Relations with slaves were also a context in which the restrictive rules about marriage and testation produced distinctive behaviors in some citizen populations.83 For some Romans in non-​Roman communities, the easiest way of securing an heir may have been to free a slave. Whereas Roman law restricted their ability to transmit their citizen status to their children and prevented them from leaving property to non-​citizen kin or associates, almost any Roman could create a citizen heir by freeing a slave in his will. (Creating a citizen freedman during one’s lifetime was more difficult, because manumission vindicta required access to a Roman magistrate, which is likely to have been difficult for Romans who did not live in Rome or a provincial conventus center.) In the Danubian provinces, for example, Roman citizen veterans and liberti were disproportionately likely to name liberti as heirs. These were both groups liable to die without Roman children because they married relatively late in life. Leaving their property to their ex-​slaves seems to have been a common response to this predicament. But Rose MacLean suggests that the roots of this behavior go beyond simple convenience. Freeing slaves and creating new citizen liberti may have been a characteristic way in which these Roman citizens performed their citizenship in mixed-​status communities. Cult According to Roman theory, the cultic practices of individuals could be classified as either public or private.84 By these terms were understood obligations that derived from two different social domains: public cults were those instituted and sustained by one’s political community; private cult was that practiced within one’s clan or family. A formal statement of rules on cult grounded in this understanding is on display in the law code elaborated in Cicero’s On the Laws: Separatim nemo habessit deos, neve novos neve advenas, nisi publice adscitos. Privatim colunto quos rite a patribus

83. See MacLean, ­chapter 4 in this volume. 84. Ando and Rüpke 2006; see also the papers in Ando and Rüpke 2015.

Introduction  23 Let no one have gods separately, whether new or foreign, unless they have been taken up publicly. Privately let them worship those whose worship they have received from their fathers. Ritus familiae patrumque servanto. Let them preserve the rituals of their family and ancestors. (Cicero De legibus 2.19; trans. Zetzel, modified) In Roman understandings of the religious lives of individuals, the public/​private distinction did not operate so as to segregate religion as private from some other sphere—​the political, for example—​that was public. On the contrary, religion itself has two different spheres. One domain is that of public law; it concerns the cult of gods whose worship had been taken up publice, which is to say, by the populus, the citizen body, according to proper procedure. Citizens are also expected to have private religious lives, in the assessment of which the term of art is “ancestral,” articulated here by reference to one’s patres, “fathers,” whose underspecified plural is often employed to refer to one’s ancestors. It further deserves emphasis in respect of the present analysis that although the domain of the private in respect to religion could exist at the level of the individual, the individual was almost always conceived as existing within a variety of non-​statal communal structures: family, ethnic group, club, guild, cult association, and so on. In what follows, we survey aspects of the religious life of Roman citizens within this framework, focusing on themes that reach across the experience of citizens in Roman and non-​Roman communities. A second principle that regulated much ancient practice and thought in respect to religion concerns place. A normative statement in this regard is available once again from Cicero, who asserted in his speech Pro Flacco, “Every political community has its own religio, Laelius, even as we do” (Cicero Flacc. 69:  sua cuique civitati religio, Laeli, est, nostra nobis).85 The term that we translate with “political community,” civitas, had as its primary meaning “citizenship” but by common metonymies could also designate the community of persons united by a given citizenship, as well as the urban space and wider territory that citizen body inhabits, to wit, city and city-​state.86 It being taken for granted as a normative matter that citizens would reside in the city-​state where they held citizenship, Cicero’s dictum effectively urges that particular juridically constituted communities, residing in their own space, would have cultic obligations in consequence of their residence in that space. The same assumption undergirds the theology, if you will, behind Roman notions that particular city-​states have protective deities attached to the spaces they mutually inhabit. From this derives the 85. On this passage in a religious-​historical context, see Borgeaud 2014; for an elucidation of its language within the Roman legal tradition, see Ando 2016f. 86. TLL s.v. civitas; see also Ando 2015, 7–​14.

24  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan Roman practice, upon entering a new space, of worshiping “that god or goddess, under whose protection this grove or place is,” even in this anonymous way until its name is known.87 It was in consequence of this understanding of a connection between cult and place that juridically Roman communities might include resident aliens (incolae) as well as citizens in religious celebrations. At the Roman citizen colony of Urso—​formally the colonia Genetiva Julia—​for example, the rule regarding ludi scaenici (public shows) specifies that whoever will be in charge of them—​ whether duumvir, aedile, or prefect—​that person should grant, assign, and lead to sit the colonists, resident aliens, guests, and visitors, in accordance with whatever decree the decurions have made about the granting and assigning of places at the shows.88 This is not to say that the Romans of Rome did not distinguish in an ongoing way between Romans and non-​Romans in the practice of cult. In the prayers that accompanied the taking of vows in connection with the Augustan Secular Games, for example, the desire was articulated that the gods and goddesses “should increase the power and greaterness of the Roman people . . . and that the Latins should always be obedient.”89 Similarly, on the occasion of the annual vow taken on January 3 for the ongoing health of emperor and empire—​whose form we know to have been remarkably standardized across the empire—​in the reign of Marcus Aurelius, the presiding official of the Arval brethren at Rome promised to complete his vow to Jupiter if “the res publica of the Roman people, the Quirites, the Roman empire, the army, allies, and peoples who are under the sway of the Roman people and the Quirites, will be unharmed” on the same day one year hence.90 Cult thus allowed for acts that were simultaneously inclusive and differentiated; an essential axis of differentiation remained that of domination.91 Regarding that which the Romans denominated private in respect to cult, normative thought in the classical period classified as private those acts of worship performed “for single individuals, families, or clans.”92 As with the categories patrician and plebeian, so in respect to public and private cult, the clear 87. Scheid 2003, 170; Ando 2008, 95–​119, 130–​132. 88. Crawford, Roman Statutes, no. 25, chap. 126: colonos Genetivos incolasque hospites atventoresque. On this text, see Rüpke 2006. In municipalities of Latin status, the evidence of the Flavian municipal law suggests that the inclusiveness of celebrations was a matter for locals to decide: Lex Flavia municipalis chaps. 77, 79. Such clauses should be interpreted in light of certain defaults in domains outside religion, e.g., that resident aliens were allowed to participate in local elections (Lex Flavia municipalis chap. 53). Epigraphic commemoration of particular celebrations certainly records the occasional presence of resident aliens; see, e.g., ILS 3395, from Baetica. On religion in Roman and Latin municipalities, see Scheid 1999. 89. Schnegg-​Köhler 2002, ll. 126–​127 (see also ll. 92–​99): precamur oramus obsecramusque uti tu imperium maiestatem populi Romani Quiritium duelli domique auxis utique semper Latinus obtemperassit. 90. Scheid, CFA no.  85, ll. 3–​4:  Iuppiter optime maxime, si res publica populi Romani Quiritium, imperium Romanum, exercitus, socii, nationes, quae sub dicione populi Romani Quiritium sunt, incolumes erunt. 91. On these themes, see Scheid 2016, 73–​95. 92. Festus s.v. publica sacra (284L): Publica sacra quae publico sumptu pro populo fiunt, quaeque pro montibus, pagis, curis, sacellis: at privata, quae pro singulis hominibus, familiis, gentibus fiunt.

Introduction  25 demarcation of the former—​it was presumably taken to be always clear which rites were performed by elected magistrates and priests at public expense—​ allowed the other category, the private, to function as a default. In a community with a high number of voluntary and involuntary immigrants such as Rome qua metropole of empire, the existence of the category of “private cult” served an essential function, in allowing officials to bracket many forms of religious conduct as simply outside state interest.93 Paradigmatic tales in this respect, rehearsed in the Augustan period, concerned attempts by Roman authorities in the middle and late republic to police the presence of non-​Roman religious practices. In one case, during the Hannibalic War, what triggered outrage was non-​Roman practice in spaces that were juridically public, including the forum and capitol; and the solution was to forbid that sacrifice should be performed in novel or foreign ways in places that were juridically public or publicly sacralized.94 Likewise, Valerius Maximus reported that in 139 BCE, the praetor Calpurnius Hispanus ordered astrologers and Jews to leave the city and “removed their private altars from public spaces.”95 The normative restriction of state interest to those spaces that the state could actually control conduced alike the legitimacy of state power and the maintenance of a peculiarly urban and imperial form of social order.96 Within this framework, patterns of conduct in respect to cult observed by Romans and non-​Romans in the landscape of empire should be differentiated first according to status of the community and space in Roman public law: Romans, at least, would have expected one set of norms to obtain in spaces that were classified as Roman at law and others to obtain in non-​Roman spaces. But the question of what constituted a norm of cult practice that might be exported to Roman communities outside of Rome must be carefully specified.97 Outside some highly localized expectations—​for example, that a colony founded by Julius Caesar should institute a cult of Venus—​colonial and municipal charters delivered to communities by Roman authorities enjoin only the worship of Jupiter, occasionally the dei Penates, and the practice of imperial cult.98 Equally important are the institutions and norms that those charters enjoin, which are three. First, the

93. On immigration to Rome, see Cracco Ruggini 1980 and Noy 2000. On the important category of the religion of slaves (who were often involuntary immigrants), see Amiri 2021. 94. Livy 25.1.6–​12: Is et in contione senatus consultum recitavit et edixit ut . . . neu quis in publico sacrove loco novo aut externo ritu sacrificaret. 95. Valerius Maximus 1.3.3, which is preserved only in the epitomes of Paris and Nepotianus. The language we cite is from Nepotianus: Iudaeos quoque, qui Romanis tradere sacra sua conati erant, idem Hispalus urbe exterminavit arasque privatas e public locis abiecit. The epitomes both preserve the name of the praetor as “Hispalus,” but this is certainly wrong. 96. Regarding the impact of demographics on individual and cultural self-​interpretation, see Habinek 1997. 97. For a survey with bibliography, see Ando 2007. 98. On the charters, see Scheid 1999; Rüpke 2006; Strothmann 2020. In the case of the Lex Flavia municipalis, we lack the clauses that would have outlined the number and duties of statutory priesthoods, but note the gods by whom official oaths are to be sworn: Jupiter, the divine emperors (named one by one), the genius of Domitian (the current emperor), and the dei Penates (Lex Flavia municipalis chap. G).

26  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan charter of the colony at Urso institutes two Roman priesthoods, pontifices and augures. Second, the charters as a group imagine the authority to conduct rites of public cult to be vested in annually elected magistrates. In short, the charters create communities that operate within the framework of religion’s relationship to politics—​and politics’ relationship to religion—​that Richard Gordon has denominated the “civic compromise.”99 Third, beyond the lowest-​common-​ denominator list of deities already discussed, the charters clearly expect that individual communities will institute further public cults; responsibility for the selection of gods to be worshiped through those ritual actions is delivered to the local council. This is not to say that the selection of gods exhausted the possible means whereby a juridically Roman community might enact its status as Roman. Four examples can demonstrate the range of further ways of proceeding. First, several communities in the western Mediterranean established public cults whose rules of action made specific reference to the rules of the cult of Diana on the Aventine. In Narbo late in the reign of Augustus, for example, the final clause of the regulations for the cult of the numen of Augustus states: “Let the other regulations for this altar and its texts be the same as those of the altar of Diana on the Aventine.” The reference was presumably symbolic, no easy means being to hand whereby one might confirm the rules of practice on the Aventine.100 Second, and in similar fashion, a recently discovered lex sacra for a public cult of the Roman colony at Carthage simultaneously flags its status as African, through the worship of the indigenous god Abbadir, and yet enjoins practices that are distinctively Roman. Or, rather, it employs vocabulary and names implements of worship that are rare in Latin epigraphy; where these are known, it is via evidence from Rome or other Roman colonies.101 Third, numerous communities in central Italy (and a few in southern Italy and one in Sicily) erected local copies of the Roman calendar. The practice is largely confined to the reigns of Augustus and Tiberius. There can be no doubt as to the symbolic and affective meaning that inhered in the act of importing and publishing a specifically Roman calendar, as the ritual information in these documents was largely without the possibility of actualization outside the topography of the city of Rome.102 Finally, in the second century CE in particular, numerous African communities established Capitolia, that is, temples to the Capitoline triad of Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva, in what seems clearly a regional fashion, arising from a desire on the part of African elites to elaborate communities that were Roman in form.103 99. Gordon 1990a; Gordon 1990b. 100. ILS 112 (Narbo); see also ILS 4907 (Salona) and CIL XI 361 (Ariminum). On these texts, see Ando 2009. 101. The most significant fragments of the editio princeps were republished as AE 1999, 1835–​1841; Ennabli and Scheid 2007–​2008; Ando 2020b. 102. Rüpke 2011, 124–​139; see also Gordon 1990a. 103. Quinn and Wilson 2013.

Introduction  27 As regards the cult activities of Romans resident in communities that were juridically non-​Roman, we should distinguish the activities of individuals acting on their own behalf (which are as diverse as the religious landscapes in which those Romans found themselves) from communal cultic activities in which the agency of Romans—​acting collectively as Romans—​is singled out for mention in the commemorative documentation. Commencing already in the late republic, standard genres of public epigraphy—​such as civic decrees that honor local benefactors for providing public banquets—​observe a new taxonomy when enumerating the persons invited to such feasts:  citizens, foreigners, and “the Romans who are resident among us.”104 The documentation regarding what appear to be standing associations of Roman citizens increases greatly in the principate. These are occasionally recorded as engaging in acts that one might interpret as culturally Roman—​such as worshiping the goddess Roma alongside the local dêmos105—​but, of course, the cult of Roma had a long life in Greek cities apart from the existence of associations of Roman citizens.106 They are also on record as contributing alongside other civic groups (whether the local citizen body or others) in religious acts of a more narrowly local character. In this case, the commemoration celebrates the shared act of worship by distinguishing the population along an axis of political affiliation, before reconstituting it by virtue of their shared devotion.107 Other Rituals and Practices of Citizenship Romans might also be marked out from the non-​citizen population by a range of civic rituals, notably those associated with birth and succession. As Anna Dolganov has observed, “family law was a key sphere in which Roman citizens were distinguished from other population groups . . . through distinctive and often highly visible rituals and practices.”108 For example, Romans had to register the births of their children separately from other status groups. In the case of legitimate children, the fathers had to make a public declaration of paternity before a Roman magistrate within thirty days; even illegitimate children had to be documented by their mothers through a formal declaration before fellow Romans.109 Similarly distinctive rituals surrounded the composition and opening of wills. A Roman will had to be witnessed by other adult males who

104. A notable example is the famous case of Cleanax of Kyme, from the Augustan period: SEG 32, 1243. For republican examples, see IG XII, 7 no. 15; IG XII, 9 no. 234. 105. Harland 2014, no. 103 = I.Assos no. 20. 106. Mellor  1975. 107. On associations of Roman citizens, see Ramgopal 2016; on Asia Minor in particular, see Harland 2014, 75–​81, 159–​166. 108. Dolganov 2021b,  24–​25. 109. See Dolganov, ­chapter 6 in this volume.

28  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan were themselves Romans.110 In the imperial period, as a result of the need to collect the inheritance tax, the opening of a Roman will became a public ritual conducted before Roman officials. In Egypt, for example, the wills of Roman citizens were opened before their witnesses and the strategos at the local temple of the imperial cult (kaisareion), whereas the wills of other residents of Egypt were opened at the office of the agoranomos.111 Thus, Romans of the propertied classes would have participated in networks of mutual support, witnessing one another’s private legal acts. They would also have periodically participated in public legal rituals that distinguished them from non-​citizens and implied a special relationship with the imperial state. In the many non-​Roman communities of the provinces, these rituals had the potential to produce a consciousness of Romans as a class apart. These procedures had other corollaries. One was a distinctive material culture of documentation. Roman citizens had to document birth registrations, marriage contracts, and other important private legal acts on sealed wax tablets (tabulae). In areas with a different documentary culture (such as Egypt, where documentation on cheaper papyrus was the norm), these tabulae may have been a distinctive status symbol.112 A second corollary was a special—​and potentially onerous—​relationship with the Latin language.113 There is certainly no question of all Romans speaking Latin in this period. Greek (or another local language) must have been the primary language of the majority of citizens born in the eastern provinces. Some probably had limited or no Latin, and numerous examples are attested anecdotally.114 But they were still required to use Latin in wills and certain other legal documents—​for which they must have relied on scribes. A rule in the mid-​second-​century version of the Gnomon of the Idios Logos in Egypt shows that some Latin-​less Romans sought to circumvent this requirement by adding codicils in Greek and that the state refused to allow this; the rule concludes, “a Roman is not permitted to write a will in Greek.”115 Even in the West, there must have been a growing number of citizens who had limited Latin. Questions arising from the use by Roman citizens of local languages such as Gaulish and Punic seem to have suddenly attracted the attention of Roman jurists after Caracalla’s grant, presumably because the universalization of citizenship increased the scale of the phenomenon.116 But there must have been similar cases even before 212. Gai. Inst. 2.104. Taubenschlag 1955, 203–​204; Nowak 2015, 76–​78. Meyer 2004; Dolganov 2021b. On Roman citizenship and the use of Latin, see further Adams 2003, 562–​571. On the use of Latin in the East, see especially Rochette 1997; see also Adams 2003; Clackson 2015. BGU V 1210 s. 8. It was possible to write fideicommissa (trusts) in Greek, at least by the later second century (Gai Inst. 2.281). The rule was also relaxed for soldiers, but this was a special privilege. See Lavan, ­chapter 3 in this volume. 116. Ulpian wrote that fideicommissa (but not the rest of the will) “may be left in any language, not just in Latin or Greek but even in Punic or Gaulish or (in the language) of any other people” (Dig. 32.11.pr). Ulpian’s statement implies that these languages were still being spoken in the early third century CE by at least 110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115.

Introduction  29 These rules—​and the implicit norm that Latin was the proper language of the Roman citizen—​must have given Roman citizens living in non-​Latin-​speaking contexts a sense of a special relationship with the Latin language. For Roman citizens living in non-​Roman communities, their citizenship sometimes entailed participation in formal associations with other Roman citizens—​in a particular manifestation of the wider associative phenomenon that characterizes the Roman period. As noted in the previous section, many non-​Roman communities in the provinces had associations of resident Romans, variously titled. The phenomenon had its origins in the Italian diaspora of the late republic, but many of the associations they formed persisted into the second century. In some provinces, in some historical periods, the associations had extensive contact with Roman officials and may even have been sanctioned in the formula—​the administrative schedule—​prepared at the forming of the province.117 They had officers, assemblies, collective decision-​making, and all the trappings of association; unlike most other associations, they also figured prominently in the public life of the community. Recent scholarship has tended to interpret these narrowly as “trading communities” of foreign traders and supposed that their membership excluded local families who had received Roman citizenship.118 But their officers were often drawn from those families, and it may be unwise to assume that their membership always excluded them.119 In any case, this was probably a heterogeneous phenomenon, whose roots and trajectory varied from place to place. In at least some non-​Roman civitates, the association may have united the minority population of Roman citizens into a formal community. Moreover, all these associations were founded on recognition of a shared Roman citizenship. Arguably the most visible and consequential practice associated with citizenship was onomastic. In many non-​Roman communities, Romans were distinguished from most non-​citizens by their names.120 Their practice was far from uniform, with the praenomen often omitted, considerable variation in the expression of filiation, and many other idiosyncrasies. But for all their heterogeneity, these Roman-​form names are almost always distinguishable from the names used by the rest of the population, which take a non-​Roman form usually based on the widespread norm of idionym and patronym (though it, too,

117.

118. 119. 120.

some members of the propertied classes in the western provinces (since the substratum of those who owned little or nothing would have fallen beneath the notice of the civil law). The inference for state sanction is strongest for Africa Proconsularis, where the language employed to described the community of resident Romans—​Romani qui morantur—​is not employed elsewhere but is uniform throughout the province. Van Andringa 2003 and Terpstra 2013, chap. 5, both favor a “trading community” model, though the phenomenon was probably more diverse in nature. On curatores and other officers who are clearly from the local civic elite, see Van Andringa 2003, 56–​57, with examples from both Gaul and Asia Minor. See further Blanco-​Pérez, ­chapter 5 in this volume.

30  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan shows considerable local and personal particularities).121 It is crucial here to distinguish onomastic form (“Roman” or “non-​Roman”) from linguistic origin (whether Latin or other).122 Many provincial populations quickly began to incorporate common Latin forms such as Marcus, Iulius, or Secundus into their repertoire of names. They often appear as idionyms or patronyms (or both) in peregrine-​form names, but this is no reason to think that persons so named were Roman citizens. While using one’s full Roman-​form name was obviously advisable in legal documents, it was never obligatory in private contexts—​or indeed in the public life of a non-​Roman community. Yet Roman-​form names are widespread in epitaphs and in honorific and other public inscriptions. Roman citizens certainly did not use Roman-​form names at all times. An idionym probably sufficed for quotidian interaction. In some contexts (notably the world of letters), Roman-​form names were studiously avoided.123 Yet the epigraphic record leaves no doubt that many provincial citizens used Roman-​form names widely. The result was a visibly bifurcated society in many provincial communities. The distinction may have been suppressed in everyday interactions where idionyms were the norm; it is not always clear even in epitaphs (where abbreviation is sometimes common); but it was unmistakable in more formal contexts. It is most obvious to us in the many lists naming unrelated members of the same community, whether a civic body or a private association. Across the provinces—​from the late-​second-​ century lists of collegia members from Noricum to the Antonine prytany lists from Cyzicus in Asia—​they represent an obviously divided society.124 Though the sharpness of the distinction is often softened by various idiosyncrasies among both Roman and non-​Roman names (and the occasional ambiguous case), the binary character is generally obvious. But the distinction is almost never represented according to a logic of hierarchy; the two different types of name are usually mixed together, not kept apart. The impression that emerges from these lists is of a society that is divided but not obviously hierarchical. The importance of naming as a cultural practice is brought into high relief in the case of new citizens. One striking example comes from the temple of Zeus Panamaros in the territory of Stratonicea in Asia. The annually appointed priests and priestesses of the sanctuary inscribed their names and those of their kin on the walls of the temple of Zeus, constituting an extraordinary dossier for the study of family relations.125 Leon son of Hekataios was a prominent local citizen in the 121. For a history of the Roman-​form names, see Salway 1994. For an overview of the dual onomastic system as it appears in Greek and Latin contexts, see Ferrary 2010 (and Ferrary 2014, chap. 4) and Dondin-​Payre 2011, respectively. 122. Dondin-​Payre 2011,  22. 123. Blanco-​Pérez in ­chapter 5 of this volume analyzes onomastics as a cultural practice that is accommodated to different contexts. See also “The Meaning of Roman Citizenship in Free Cities” in Brélaz, ­chapter 8 in this volume on Rhodes. 124. See, e.g., AE 1983 731 (list of around 100 members of a collegium centonariorum at Flavia Solva, Noricum, 205 CE) and CIG 3664 (prytany list with around 110 names, Kyzikos, Antonine). 125. Laumonier 1937; Laumonier 1938; discussed further by Lavan in ­chapter 3 of this volume.

Introduction  31 early second century.126 He was not a Roman citizen himself, but one of his sons, Ariston, received Roman citizenship from Trajan and became M. Ulpius Ariston. He and his brother Alexandros both held the priesthood of Zeus Panamaros. Both left inscriptions on the walls of the temple. Like other Romans, Ulpius Ariston names himself in Roman style, including praenomen, filiation, and tribe (though with addition of his Stratonicean phyle). He also names his Roman wife and children in similar style, but his peregrine brother is named in Greek style with idionym, patronym and papponym (Alexandros son of Leon grandson of Hekataios).127 Alexander’s own inscription names him in exactly the same Greek style but also names his citizen brother in abbreviated but recognizable Roman style (Ulpius Ariston, without patronym).128 Moreover, it also reveals a similar distinction among Alexander’s children. One son (P. Aelius Aristeides) evidently received Roman citizenship from Hadrian and is named exactly like his uncle and unlike his father. A second son did not and is named like his peregrine father. The example illustrates several significant aspects of onomastics as a cultural practice. The use of Roman-​form names in a sacred context shows that this was often a matter of choice, not just legal requirement. Ulpius Ariston’s embrace of a new name that distinguished him from his previous self (when he presumably styled himself Ariston son of Leon) and an onomastic form that marked him off from his non-​Roman kin reveals the discontinuity in personal histories that the acquisition of Roman citizenship could represent. Finally, the careful observation of juridical distinctions within a single family attests to the attention to, and visibility of, the distinction between Romans and peregrines in this society—​even if it cannot be reduced to anything as crude as a simple hierarchy of statuses. Belonging The granting of formal membership in the metropolitan community to persons who had once been subjects raises questions about the meaning of such grants at the levels of affection, identity, and self-​interpretation (to invoke only three relevant frameworks of interpretation). But before such questions can be entertained, it merits observation that it is uniquely in respect of Rome among macro-​regional powers of the ancient world that the questions can even be asked. The Achaemenian Empire nurtured and instrumentalized regional elites, but the upper levels of its administration were monopolized by a Persian ethno-​class. The Athenian Empire exploited social divisions between elites and commons in the city-​states of the Hellenic League, but it made no effort to establish meaningful relations of identity across the peoples of those states. Neither did any of 1 26. For biographies of his sons, see Laumonier 1937, nos. 104, 106. 127. I.Stratonikeia 237. 128. I.Stratonikeia 240.

32  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan the successor states to Alexander establish an inclusive imperial governing class, in which adlected members of poliadic elites might perform acts of mutual recognition. Nor, it goes without saying, did any of these polities meaningfully universalize an ideology in which universal membership could be imagined, outside eschatology. By contrast, citizenship in the city-​state of Rome was held by many around the empire; it was extended systematically to local elites and veterans of auxiliary units alike, by mechanisms codified in law and published to the world; it was granted on an ad hoc basis as a reward for service. In Latin municipalities throughout the West, those who were elected to office—​largely the non-​Roman municipes who populated the town—​received Roman citizenship by virtue of having held local office, whether they willed it or not. Alongside émigrés from Italy, citizens so created were present as a minority population in many cities that were otherwise alien in respect to Rome. In some regions, owning property across poliadic boundaries became common, alongside the holding of multiple citizenships. Provinces sustained councils that brought together representatives of their constituent city-​states to practice imperial cult and more besides. By contrast with prior macro-​regional polities, the structures of Roman government did sustain regional and (increasingly) transregional elites, and the members of these groups more or less universally held Roman citizenship. What is more, across virtually every form of communal conduct and intersubjective relations, discrepancies of citizenship translated into relations of difference. How did all this cash out in relations among these individuals and in particular in the orientation of their affective attachments and political aspirations? As the topic lacks a comparative dimension in respect to other Mediterranean and Near Eastern empires, so it lacks a significant literature even in respect to Rome.129 For one thing, it merits observation that the term “belonging” itself is a relatively new arrival in the sociology of politics. Its recent origins suggest the appearance of a new explanandum, the arrival of scholarship in a world in which patriotism and affection are no longer taken to follow processually from legal status; and its usage, which seems particularly focused on postcolonial states and politically marginal populations within liberal states, accords with this intuition. In keeping with the expansiveness of the topic and the relative paucity of the literature, in what follows we delineate broad areas and forms of inquiry only. By way of isolating some features of discourses on belonging in the Roman period, one ought perhaps to commence from the observation that empire has historically proved the essential context for the articulation of species of cosmopolitanism. That is to say, as Anthony Pagden has urged, the positing of citizenship in all humankind as an ideal in politics did not occur in multipolar 129. See Gernentz 1918; Klingner 1927; Hammond 1951; Bonjour 1975; Shaw 1985; Gasser 1999; Ando 1999; Ando 2000.

Introduction  33 worlds such as classical Greece, with its myriad sovereign states and fractious inter-​state relations.130 Such ideals arose, rather, in contexts of empire, in which there existed some lowest-​common-​denominator form of macro-​regional polity whose institutions and ideology provided the conditions of possibility for such imaginings. Hence, Democritus in the fifth century BCE was able to reject the narrow ideologies of poliadic politics only by claiming to be apolis, or a citizen nowhere; the rise of Stoic cosmopolitanism awaited the Hellenistic empires. In the second century CE, a notable appeal to cosmopolitan identity, in explicit rejection of Greek poliadism and myths of autochthony, was voiced by Favorinus of Arles; the appeal to inhabit the world—​rather than world empire—​is all the more noteworthy in light of Favorinus’s status not simply as a Roman citizen but (certainly ultimately) as an equestrian.131 Favorinus voiced these sentiments in a work on exile, written under the fiction—​and perhaps the reality—​of his own status of relegatus to Chios.132 If doctrines of cosmopolitanism appear to occur within the context of imperial states with even a minimalist footprint, the discourse of exile that arises in the high imperial monarchy of Rome appears to issue from a context of significant intensification of governmentality. In texts written in both Latin and Greek, commencing already under Julius Caesar, exiles recognize that they can satisfy the law through relocation within the empire, but they remain nevertheless directly interpellated by, and accessible to, the powers of the state. A Greek exile of the classical period, by contrast, might simply be a metic in a new city-​state; and classical literature about exiles was largely a literature addressed to exiles, because they were not “here,” as it were. The high Roman Empire gives rise to a substantial literature by exiles, who are notable for dwelling among us. This understanding of self and city-​state was enabled by the empire; it was Roman government that made the exile something other than a traveler from another city, even to himself.133 On some readings, the second century CE in particular witnesses the flowering of aspirations to emancipation from Rome. Proponents of such arguments cite the prominence of literatures that advocate, or instantiate, ideologies of separation: heterotopic fiction among the Greeks; literatures of nostalgia that seem to ignore the here and now; claims to legal and social autonomy in a nascent rabbinic movement, effected in part by ignoring nearly completely the Roman world in which they resided and whose populations thoroughly interpenetrated their own.134 There is no reason to doubt that such interpretations are in some cases 1 30. Pagden 2000; Pagden 2003; Pagden 2005. For a recent survey of the ancient material, see Richter 2011. 131. Whitmarsh 2001a; to be preferred to the version in Whitmarsh 2001b, 133–​180. 132. Swain  1989. 133. Ando  2004. 134. The literature is vast; Goldhill 2001 may stand for the movement. It merits observation that such interpretations are nearly wholly restricted to anglophone scholarship.

34  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan possible, in others likely. But one must also recall that many among the cultural elite were Roman citizens. Their figurations of identity—​their performance of alienism—​must be understood in this light.135 There is also the issue that, however many were the axes along which Rome insisted on juridical difference, it had also to encourage the continuance of local structures of belonging. Their ongoing vitality conduced both a local and an imperial social order. The challenge presented to historians by the many frameworks of identity under Rome is to distinguish localisms that are rejections of empire from those that were constituent or even constitutive of it. One important dynamic within this field is captured by an honorific inscription from Patara in Lycia, nominally erected by the Lycians in thanks for a benefaction from the emperor Claudius. Claudius had granted them two significant rights of government: the right to use their own laws (“autonomy” in the classical Greek sense of the word) and limited rights of sovereignty, “the conduct of affairs having been entrusted by the uncritical majority to councilors selected from among the best persons.” No doubt, among the powers granted to this council was the power (to adapt the language of Gaius) to make law for themselves. In reply, the Lycians honored Claudius, declaring themselves “the Rome-​loving and Caesar-​loving Lycians.”136 The grant to the Lycians of significant powers of what we might term cultural autonomy generated an outward expression of patriotism to emperor and empire. A further and typical illustration of the dynamics that bound localism to empire in the second century CE may be found in the texts that record the foundation at Oenoanda in Lycia of a festival, by one Gaius Julius Demosthenes, to be named after himself.137 Demosthenes was a Roman citizen and equestrian administrator, who had served the emperor in Sicily before returning to Oenoanda and making his foundation. The dossier of inscriptions that commemorates the foundation of the festival and regulates its performance contains a letter from the emperor Hadrian, congratulating Demosthenes for the honorable ambition (philotimia) that he displayed on behalf of the Termessians of Oenoanda (l. 3). For his part, despite his Roman citizenship, Demosthenes referred to Oenoanda as his patris (l. 8), his fatherland, while the councilors of Oenoanda referred to Demosthenes as a fellow citizen (l. 103). There can no doubt about either the depth of Demosthenes’s participation in the structures of Roman power or the full-​throated invocation, by both himself and the members of his town, of local patriotism and shared identity in their community. 135. The same might be said of ideals of classicism in the Second Sophistic, which arguably were an export to Greece from Rome in the late republic and Augustan period. 136. The stadiasmus provinciae Lyciae, SEG LI 1832, face A; text and translation (used here with modifications) in Jones 2001a. 137. Wörrle 1988; see also Mitchell 1990.

Introduction  35 In his life as a Roman citizen, Demosthenes was a member of the Fabian tribe (l. 7 and elsewhere). In causing his tribal identity to be recorded, Demosthenes participated in a remarkably widespread practice among Roman citizens in the provinces. No ancient commentary on the practice survives, but it is difficult not to draw the conclusion that it attests a specific pride in the republican nature of Roman citizenship. Of course, as with other features of nomenclature, some individuals chose not to include their tribal affiliation, as individuals might choose, from one context to the next, to employ their full Roman names or not.138 But we should not lose sight of the fundamental dialectic that bound together affective attachment for both the local and the imperial, at least among the elites of city-​states who benefited from the politics and political economics of empire. This returns us to the distinction drawn in the monument from Patara, between a council whose members “were drawn from among the best” and the “uncritical commons” that legitimated them.139 A similarly elitist view of the world informs the most famous text on citizenship to survive from the second century, namely, the panegyric to Rome of Aelius Aristides. The remarkable section of that speech on citizenship opens as follows: τοῦτο δέ καὶ πολὺ μάλιστα πάντων ἄξιον ἰδεῖν καὶ θαυμάσαι τὴν περὶ τὴν πολιτείαν καὶ τὴν τῆς διανοίας μεγαλοπρέπειαν, ὡς οὐδὲν ἐοικὸς αὐτῇ τῶν πάντων. διελόντες γὰρ δύο μέρη πάντας τοὺς ἐπὶ τῆς ἀρχῆς—​τοῦτο δ᾿εἰπὼν ἅπασαν εἴρηκα τὴν οἰκουμένην—​τὸ μὲν χαριέστερόν τε καὶ γενναιότερον καὶ δυνατώτερον πανταχοῦ πολιτικὸν ἢ καὶ ὁμόφυλον πᾶν ἀπεδώκατε, τὸ δὲ λοιπὸν ὑπήκοόν τε καὶ ἀρχόμενον.140 But there is that which very decidedly deserves as much attention and admiration now as all the rest together. I mean your magnificent citizenship with its grand conception, because there is nothing like it in the records of all mankind. Dividing into two groups all those in your empire—​and with this word I have indicated the entire civilized world—​you have everywhere appointed to your citizenship, or even to kinship with you, the better part of the world’s talent, courage, and leadership, while the rest you recognized as a league under your hegemony. Aristides assumed—​incorrectly, as it happens—​that the machinery of empire worked uniformly across its territory and therefore that the use of citizenship to recognize, reward, and enforce social distinction was universal. We know this not to have been so. What is more, Aristides was among those whose names survive in multiple genres (and media), and his full Roman name was emphatically not common among references to him.141 Nonetheless, in this context, he praised 1 38. 139. 140. 141.

Blanco-​Pérez, ­chapter 5 in this volume. Jones 2001a, ll. 25–​27: τοῖς ἐξ ἀρίστων ἐπιλελεγμένοις; ll. 28–​29: ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀκρίτου πλήθους. Aristid. Or. 26.59, trans. Oliver. Blanco-​Pérez, ­chapter 5 in this volume.

36  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan Rome and celebrated his membership in it, because his beliefs about the meaning of Roman citizenship affirmed postulates of a deeply held sense of self. He was “from among the best.” Conclusion There can be no global answer to the question of what Roman citizenship meant. It is one thing to ask what the metropolitan elite may have thought of Roman citizenship, another to ask what it meant to Aristides and other members of the provincial elite of Asia. Even within those groups, we should expect a diversity of opinion, as in earlier periods: continued debate as to what citizenship meant in the present and how it should develop in the future—​through to Caracalla’s grant. Elsewhere, the significance of Roman citizenship must have been heavily dependent on the context: both the location—​not just the province but often the specific city-​state—​and the particular social milieu within it.142 Nevertheless, we hope to have demonstrated the poverty of the conventional view that sees Roman citizenship as increasingly irrelevant in the second century. As late as the Severan period, Romans appear to have remained a minority in many provinces, often a very small minority. Their citizen status continued to entail some privileges, but its significance went well beyond these privileges, particularly in non-​ Roman communities where Romans lived alongside peregrines. The disadvantageous effects of Roman law on mixed unions had marked effects on family networks. A range of other rituals and practices also marked out Romans as a distinct group with a special relationship with the Roman state—​though their distinctiveness was rarely represented in crudely hierarchical terms. This is certainly not to deny that this was a period of change. But the developments were more gradual and less linear than usually assumed. The enfranchisement of provincials continued to expand the citizen population, though this was a slow process and appears to have slowed rather than accelerated over the course of the second century.143 There is evidence that some of the privileges of citizenship were diminished—​notably, immunity from tributum capitis and the right to appeal to the emperor—​but there is little or no evidence for any parallel erosion in the legal norms that discouraged alliances with non-​Roman families. The period saw the proliferation of a new vision of empire (which had its origins in the early principate) as a community of cities and subjects united in their dependence on the emperor, despite the fact that the population of the

1 42. See further Brélaz, ­chapter 8 in this volume, on the impact of diverse local conditions in the Greek East. 143. The model in Lavan 2016b produces a slowdown in the rate of expansion after around 100 (29, 32–​33). The more detailed model of grants to soldiers in Lavan 2019a suggests that the number of beneficiaries fell sharply after 139 CE (60). Evidence from the province of Asia suggests that the rate of viritim grants peaked even earlier, in the Julio-​Claudian period (Lavan 2020).

Introduction  37 empire continued to be divided between citizens and aliens in Roman public law.144 Roman administrators and jurists began to codify the respect for social distinction that had long been a principle of Roman imperial practice, constructing an emergent distinction between honestiores and humiliores. This formalized the position of the economic and political elite as a privileged class—​a class that excluded many Romans but included some peregrines. Yet these privileges emerged in parallel with those associated with citizenship; they did not replace them. All these developments are aspects of a broader transition from a conquest state, which enriched Italians at home and protected their interests abroad, to a more complex imperial formation that aligned its interests with the whole subject population, or at least the propertied classes. But the conquest state left a lasting legacy in the structures of the mature empire, most obviously in the distinction between Italy and the provinces and in Rome’s exclusive regime of citizenship. These structures endured through the second century, despite some challenges.145 They were entirely in keeping with the careful management of differences within the subject population that characterizes empires in general and the Roman case in particular. Their eventual erasure seems inevitable only in retrospect. The chapters in this volume offer new perspectives on various aspects of Roman citizenship in the second century. We begin with two novel interventions on the familiar subject of citizen privilege. Ari Bryen situates the subject of juridical privilege in a broad frame, by exploring how colonial groups in the provinces had used the legal protections of Roman citizen status to shield various predatory behaviors and the mature Roman state sought to rein in such predation and its disruptive effects by providing protections to non-​citizens. Lisa Eberle complicates the conventional narrative of an erosion of fiscal privilege by showing that there was never an abstract principle that Roman citizens should be immune from taxation and that taxation could be framed as a form of participation in imperial rule, rather than a mark of subjection. The focus then turns to the important but often neglected impact of Roman citizenship in the sphere of family relations. Myles Lavan shows that the Roman law of marriage and testation incentivized Roman citizens living in non-​Roman communities to preferentially marry other Roman citizens, producing a tendency to endogamy that persisted largely unchanged through to 212. Rose MacLean explores how Roman law produced a characteristic nexus of Roman citizenship,

144. Ando 2000, esp. chap. 8, argues that this model was first advanced by provincial writers and later taken up by the Roman state. See also Lavan 2016a, on the spread of “ecumenical” language; and Bryen, ­chapter 1 in this volume, on the emergence of a sense of “subjecthood” distinct from citizenship. Sherwin-​White himself recognized that the loyalism that he sought to explain became independent of Roman citizenship in the imperial period and hence decided to study “the attitude of the subjects towards Rome and the emperors” (in 1973a, part IV) separately from the spread of citizenship and Roman municipal institutions (parts II and III). 145. On the privileged status of Italy in the second century, see Eberle, c­ hapter 2 in this volume.

38  Clifford Ando and Myles Lavan slave ownership, and manumission, particularly for groups that had a depressed level of family formation, such as soldiers and ex-​slaves. The next two chapters explore other aspects of the experience of Roman citizenship. Aitor Blanco-​Pérez re-​examines naming practice in the Greek world—​ conventionally approached instrumentally as an index of status—​as a cultural practice, exploring what it can reveal about what citizenship meant to those who had it. Anna Dolganov illustrates the particular prominence of documentation and validation in the life of Roman citizens, a corollary of the Roman state’s intensive efforts to acquire and manage knowledge about its subjects, particularly those who were Romans. The final three chapters shift the focus from the imperial to the local. Georgy Kantor illustrates the continued importance of local citizenships in this period, showing that local jurisdiction continued to be strongly concerned with the litigants’ citizenship. Cédric Brélaz underlines the importance of local context to understanding the significance of Roman citizenship, arguing that various local differences can explain why Roman citizenship might have seemed more attractive to the elites of some cities than for others. Finally, Clifford Ando closes the volume with an exploration of social, legal, and ritual contexts in which Roman and poliadic citizens commingled and quarreled, alongside and often together with still others who were deemed nonpolitical by those in power.

Part I

New Perspectives on Citizen Privilege

39

1

Citizenship and Its Alternatives A View from the East Ari Z. Bryen

After the Flood Tide Outside of narrowly juristic circles, the study of Roman citizenship has normally been bound up with questions of the nature, content, and development of Roman identity more generally. This is in large measure the intellectual legacy of what remains the foundational work in the field, at least among anglophone readers, A.  N. Sherwin-​White’s The Roman Citizenship (1st ed. 1939, 2nd ed. 1973a). Eschewing a legalistic treatment of his topic, Sherwin-​White narrated the history of the spread of citizenship from Rome to Italy and eventually to the surrounding provinces. His story of the spread of citizenship during the principate was overtly, perhaps even jubilantly, teleological: citizenship spread as the central state reacted to increasing cultural uniformity and to increasing loyalty on the part of the empire’s subjects. As subjects acculturated, they demanded formal inclusion; accordingly, the state (in Sherwin-​White’s telling, the emperor himself) felt obligated to concede to them the formal status they so desired. The process culminated with the Constitutio Antoniniana in 212, but even before then, it was anticipated by what Sherwin-​White called the “Flood Tide,” the age from the Flavians to the Severans, in which first the populations of the West and then eventually a large portion of the East were increasingly offered citizenship by the Roman state. To be sure, the two halves of the empire diverged in the relative pacing and the central mechanism of this transformation. As the municipal structures that acculturated the West were largely absent in the East, the main mechanism for eastern cultural integration was not the city itself but rather the imperial cult, which allowed for the articulation of sentiments of loyalty. But by the Severan age, the East had caught up, ushering in a period of imperial unity. Sherwin-​White’s vision of the relationship between citizenship and imperial integration was breathtaking in sweep and optimistic in orientation. And if the book remains today a starting point for many, then perhaps some part of this might be explained by its appeal to contemporary values. If nothing else, it would be hard for a reader situated in a relatively pluralistic liberal democracy not to be sympathetic to The Roman Citizenship’s optimism about patriotism’s potential Ari Z. Bryen, Citizenship and Its Alternatives In: Roman and Local Citizenship in the Long Second Century CE. Edited by: Myles Lavan and Clifford Ando, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197573884.003.0002

42  Ari Z. Bryen for integrating diverse peoples and about law’s ability to help subjects realize their political and social aspirations. It can be readily understood as part of a larger project (and a deeply humane one) to which Sherwin-​White returned in his (admittedly less well-​received) Gray lectures in the mid-​1960s, later published as Racial Prejudice in Imperial Rome (1967). Nonetheless, the last fifty years have not been particularly kind to The Roman Citizenship’s picture of a world knitted together by common loyalty. To begin with, epigraphic research in particular has undermined a number of its central contentions. The work of scholars of onomastics has shown that citizenship spread throughout the eastern world at highly uneven rates. Lacking a municipal system like that of the West that offered citizenship to all former magistrates upon laying down their office (or upon entering it, as in the case of the grant of the right of Latium maius), citizenship spread through other vectors, for example, individual grants brokered by powerful men at Rome. The result was a highly fragmented landscape of personal status:  local elites might consist primarily of Roman citizens in one city (Ephesus, e.g.), while being substantially underrepresented in other cities or even in other regions (such as Lycia).1 What is more, because another main engine of granting citizenship was discharge from the Roman army, the link between Roman citizen status and elite status more generally was highly variable. Status was similarly problematic in the case of manumitted slaves of Roman citizens, who acquired citizenship upon their formal manumission. It would be difficult, on this evidence, to think of citizenship as a tool for elite integration in the Greek world, much less a tool for the integration of loyal subjects more broadly. Furthermore, recent work by Myles Lavan (2016b) has suggested, on the basis of a simulation derived from contemporary risk-​management models, that the number of Roman citizens in the Greek world must have been far lower than we had previously imagined—​and certainly lower than anything that might rightly be called a “flood tide.” Lavan’s simulation, if correct, strikes a further blow at the empirical foundations of Sherwin-​White’s thesis: if relatively few people were citizens, and the ones who were obtained their citizenship more or less automatically through birth, military discharge, or manumission from slavery rather than through demonstrations of a more abstract loyalty “to Rome,” then Sherwin-​White’s thesis of the integration of personal status and political loyalty runs into serious difficulties. To these empirical objections, scholars have recently added a series of methodological objections as well. Most important, it has been more clearly emphasized that, in the East in particular, Roman citizenship was obtained by multiple means and given to relatively diverse groups of people (veterans, freed slaves, and elites), in addition to people who obtained it by descent from Romans or Italians already living abroad. Given that Roman citizenship increasingly appears to be a 1. See, e.g., Brélaz, ­chapter 8 in this volume, who synthesizes a number of recent findings.

Citizenship and Its Alternatives  43 more diffuse phenomenon than previously imagined, then to what extent can it be conceived as a proxy for understanding the integration of empire? A survey of recent scholarship by Myles Lavan (2019b) suggests that it cannot be. Building on work by, among others, Clifford Ando (e.g., 2000) and Greg Woolf (1998), Lavan suggests that Roman citizenship seems to have mattered far less than the common bonds felt by elites, both Roman citizens and not, based, among other things, on the alignment of material interests, the spread of shared cultural systems, and an increasingly common system of education.2 What is more, both Lavan and others have emphasized that, even if Roman citizenship was a tool of political integration, to posit this process as occurring, as Sherwin-​White once did, in a largely linear fashion starting with the advent of monarchy is mistaken. The nature of Roman citizenship (if indeed it is possible to speak of such a thing) continued to change throughout the first three centuries CE. We might simply note here the recent discussion of Lisa Eberle (2017), who has convincingly argued that the reign of Augustus also brought a reimagining of the status of Romans abroad, both provoking and reflecting a new understanding of the juridical geography of the empire and the place of Roman citizens within it.3 We might also add a further concern about Sherwin-​White’s thesis. As a methodological principle, we should be wary of any optimistic account of cultural integration that relies primarily on the evidence of urban elites. To begin with, we should be wary of mistaking “elites” with “everyone” or even “everyone who matters for a particular analytic purpose.” But perhaps more important, we should remember the cautions of one of Sherwin-​White’s great interlocutors, G. E. M. de Ste. Croix, whose The Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World (1981) once reminded us that our “local elites” were, first and foremost, an exploitative class. There are two corollaries to such a caution. First, I urge that we treat a significant proportion of our epigraphic evidence with a serious dose of skepticism about the degree to which it reflects the full picture of local reality. The praises of elite men that we find on stone, and which constitute the bulk of our epigraphic record, may reflect the feelings of other elite men (though they need not); they likely do not reflect the views of their tenant farmers, hired hands, neighbors, and fellow citizens. The mere fact of a particular individual’s having held political office or being chosen as a community’s patron in no way undermines this—​being hated, even being hated by many, is no bar to the possession of office or honor. Second, and relatedly, in treating our epigraphic evidence, we should remember that behind the praise bestowed upon local elites always lurked the fact of material exploitation. In other words, while we might be impressed with the fact or scale of the political integration of the Roman world, as citizens of relatively pluralistic modern societies, we are under no obligation to be enchanted by it, and much less so as some sort of encouraging model for our own world. 2 . In comparative perspective, see now also Lavan, Payne, and Weisweiler 2016. 3. Cf. Ando 2019a on the shifting imaginative geographies of empire.

44  Ari Z. Bryen Thus, serious doubts have emerged about the validity of the “flood tide” narrative. Still, while such doubts must surely be correct, they have produced another effect that is perhaps less desirable: as a result of rejecting the narrative of integration, it has become exceedingly difficult to link the history of Roman citizenship to other political or cultural phenomena within the empire, or at least the eastern half of the empire. This concerns me, for several reasons. If Roman citizenship is not somehow linked to broader questions of political integration or the running of empire, then this seems to sit in tension with what at least some ancient people thought Roman citizenship did. That is, when authors as diverse in status, chronology, language, and political orientation as Philip V of Macedon, Cicero, Velleius Paterculus, the emperor Claudius, and Aelius Aristides speak of Roman citizenship as uniting the empire, we need to pose some explanation as to why this was.4 One could, of course, pose some answers that could satisfy critics: that they were ideologically committed to the proposition that giving Roman citizenship to deserving parties was an important tool of integration and necessary to good government but that they were wrong; or that, for ideological reasons, they chose to misrepresent or misrecognize their circumstances. But this only serves to defer the question; we would still need some account of precisely why they were wrong or misrecognized affairs and why they did so in the same way. Similarly, we could ask a slightly different version of what is essentially the same question. One thing that seems quite clear, even as our histories of Roman citizenship become increasingly discontinuous, is that numerous people nonetheless wanted citizenship and went to great lengths to attain it. The evidence on this point is relatively straightforward: the letters of Pliny amply attest requests that Roman citizenship be given to children of friends or dependents or to his Egyptian doctor; the interaction of the apostle Paul with his jailer, who admits to having paid dearly for his Roman citizenship; the exemplary stories in Suetonius of Augustus refusing grants of citizenship to those he deemed undeserving; the petitions of cities that wished to attain the status of colonies . . . the list could easily be extended.5 We could add indirect evidence, too: the beautifully rendered diplomata of discharged Roman soldiers, for example, or the monumentalization of documents conferring citizenship as found in the Tabula Banasitana. To be sure, there were people who chose, when speaking in particular genres, not to emphasize that they held Roman citizenship (Greek elites of the highest echelons, for instance), as well as people who may have been in a position to obtain it but seem nonetheless to have chosen not to.6 Even taking such exceptions into

4. Syll.3 543; Cic. Balb. 31; Vell. Pat. 2.16; Tac. Ann. 11.24; Aristid. Or. 26.59, 64, 78 (Behr); cited and further discussed in Dench 2005, 93–​151. 5. Plin. Ep. 10.5, 6, 107; Acts 22:28; Suet. Aug. 40.3; Sifre Duet. 26. 6. On these elites and their self-​presentation, see Blanco-​Pérez, ­chapter 5 in this volume.

Citizenship and Its Alternatives  45 account, it nonetheless seems fair to say that numerous people wished to possess it. Far from being devalued, then, Roman citizenship seems to have been a thing of value to a substantial number of people, and we need to understand why. Here it will not do to suggest that it had primarily (or merely) symbolic value (for this simply invites the question: symbolic of what?) or that it was ultimately a meaningless distinction (for many who were undistinguished sought and received it, and yet, to use what is perhaps an inappropriate metaphor, the market does not seem to have cooled). Why, then, did people want it and, evidently, want it more than—​or in addition to—​their citizenship in other cities? For what did they want it, and why did they perceive it to be worthwhile in spite of its well-​ known burdens (be they patria potestas, restrictions on marriage, unusual and stringent modes of testation, inheritance taxes, and so on)? Here I am on first principles loath to accept any sort of explanation that relies on three centuries of collective mistake or misrecognition. I accept, again on first principles, that this particular status must have had meaning within particular constellations of political authority (a category into which I fold religious authority)—​if only because I simply am incapable of imagining that this is irrelevant. The challenge, then, in the wake of the failure of the “flood tide” narrative, is to find some way of linking the important recent advances in the study of citizenship to the literature on what we might call governmentality—​that is, to the world of actual administration, to the exercise of power in discrete circumstances, and to the acceptance, always contingent, of the exercise of that power. This, it turns out, is a remarkably difficult exercise. Nonetheless, I shall make an attempt, while conceding that what follows is necessarily speculative at key junctures. It is also an unapologetically materialist history. The argument is arranged broadly into two parts. First, in the next two sections, I attempt to trace the outlines of a process that was repeated across the Roman East from the first century BCE to the second century CE. The process begins with conquest, and accordingly, I begin by mapping, in broad strokes, the diffusion of Roman citizens into the eastern provinces, and I turn from there to the problems that they posed in the eyes of residents and imperial government alike. Second, in the two sections that follow, I  suggest that this process had two important effects. The diffusion of Roman citizens across the landscape raised the question of the nature of the state in the provinces and the relation between state and non-​state actors; and the problem of managing this diverse landscape of privilege gave birth to a new form of belonging, one crafted in the crucible of interactions between states, citizens, and foreigners—​namely, subjecthood. It is this last category, subjecthood, that I will suggest best explains the ways in which the diverse and fragmented landscapes of the eastern empire eventually came to be integrated. Subjecthood, rather than citizenship, is what eventually provided inhabitants of empire with ways to vindicate their rights against others and to express their membership in a global imperial order. There was, I will suggest, something of a “flood tide”—​but it did not

46  Ari Z. Bryen take the form of the integration of provincial elites by offering them citizenship. It was, instead, a process of integration that took place in the wake of a series of violent incidents and in the teeth of substantial inequality, wherein dominated populations accepted the fact of domination but simultaneously argued that such domination was contingent upon the dominant classes’ recognizing that they could only operate within relatively well-​defined limits. I would also suggest, but cannot herein demonstrate, that the central government eventually adopted this strain of provincial thinking over the course of late antiquity, codifying it in texts that we now read as part of the final phase of this system’s process of rationalization, the Corpus Iuris Civilis.7 Mer Hahn en Neue Oberkeet . . . One way to begin linking together our narratives of citizenship and governmentality might be to start not with “Roman citizenship” as a legal or theoretical construct but rather with the behavior of Roman citizens in the context of their spread across the landscape of the eastern provinces more generally and with the effects of that movement at the level of the distribution of resources. Fortunately, this story has been told many times before.8 We might just re-​emphasize a few key points. At the level of the Roman state and its associated geopolitics, the Roman conquest of the East was an extended process, taking place over some two and a half centuries. It was marked by episodes of remarkable (if frequently highly localized) violence. Such violence could come in different forms: cities might be besieged and plundered, as Athens was by Sulla or Jerusalem was by Vespasian and Titus; regions, too, might be opened to looting (as in the case of Aemilius Paullus’s treatment of Epirus). Perceived acts of dissent or rebellion were treated harshly. Even loyalty might prove expensive if cities were required to quarter armies. Such disruptions, while traumatic, were mostly fleeting; more permanent disruption came as preexisting political and geographical relationships were substantially reorganized.9 The process produced winners, to be sure—​cities such as Aphrodisias that kept their freedom or enlarged their territory. But it produced losers, too—​in densely populated parts of the world, one city’s territorial expansion necessarily came at the expense of others, even, at times, at the cost of the erasure of preexisting political communities. And even the winners were left in a precarious state, as Menippus of Colophon found as he shuttled back and forth to Rome to protect his city’s autonomy from its violations by Roman governors.10 7. I  hope to pursue this line of argument in greater detail in a book (in progress), tentatively titled The Judgment of the Provinces. 8. Useful surveys of the process can be found in Rostovtzeff 1941, 2:737–​1025; Morstein-​Marx 1995 (for Macedonia and Asia during the republic); Mitchell 1993, Vol. 1 (for central Anatolia). 9. Most famously, Liv. 45.29–​30. See further Ando 2010. 10. SEG 39 1244.

Citizenship and Its Alternatives  47 Still, at least Menippus was successful; other cities fared worse. Constitutions might be rapidly changed by Roman officials if these officials perceived local or regional disorder, and privileges might be quickly snatched away. It is well enough known, if the details are nonetheless still poorly understood, that one long-​term effect of the Roman conquest of the East was the transformation of political institutions, and more specifically the rise of oligarchies (at the expense of assemblies)—​a process that continued through the first century CE.11 A substantial proportion of our epigraphic documentation concerning the rights of cities can be explained as a reflection of this process: cities advertised their status and privileges in permanent media precisely because they were, in practice, insecure.12 But the violence committed by the Roman state, in its official capacity, was not limited to warfare and plunder. Most obviously, annexation brought taxation, a process that accelerated in the late first century BCE and expanded radically after the war against Mithridates.13 Though methods for the collection of taxes changed during the principate, one must imagine that this process was both exploitative and in many places arbitrary. And what is more, the right to collect taxes was, in essence, the right of their collector to use violence. “Nobody is unaware of the extent of the audacity and insolence [quantae audaciae, quantae temeritatis] of cliques of tax farmers [publicanorum factiones],” thundered Ulpian in his commentary on the praetorian edict.14 Not to be outdone, Pollux offered an extensive list of names one might call such people:  “burden, pack animal, garotter, sneak-​thief, shark, hurricane, oppressor of the downtrodden, inhuman, nail in my coffin, insatiable, immoderate, Shylock, violator, strangler, crusher, highwayman, strip-​Jack-​naked, snatcher, thief, overcharger, reckless, shameless, unblushing, pain in the neck, savage, wild, inhospitable, brute, dead weight, obstacle, heart of stone, flotsam, pariah.”15 It mattered little, in practice, whether collectors were local or imperial officials; upon both was devolved the right to use violence in the name of the state. But while taxation might have been hated, perhaps more disruptive than the fact of taxation were other intrusions in the landscape that came as a result of Roman policy. The most important of these was the wave of colonization that took place under Julius Caesar and (especially) Augustus. The implantation of colonies of veterans (in particular) at key places in the landscape permanently altered preexisting networks of commerce; the fact that such colonies were often 11. de Ste. Croix 1981, 518–​537. Cf. the case of the annexation of Lycia, discussed in Jones 2001a. 12. Cf. the attempt of the otherwise undistinguished polis of Naryx to preserve its rights, presumably against another city that sought to encroach upon them. SEG 51 641. Compare the arguments about the “epigraphic habit” raised by Woolf 1996. 13. Morstein-​Marx 1995, 117–​121. 14. Dig. 39.4.12.pr. (Edict 38). Brunt 1961 reminds us that the principate did not necessarily bring benevolence. 15. Onom. 9.30, translation with valuable discussion in van Nijf 2008.

48  Ari Z. Bryen themselves miniature models of the city of Rome, rather than bearing resemblance to their surrounding neighbors, which operated on a different model of urbanism, must have been a stunning development in the eyes of preexisting populations.16 It should be added that the implantation of colonies and the accompanying process of granting each colony a dependent territory seem to have had substantial effects on the communities included in the territory—​ and much for the worse for the territories.17 The process by which preexisting towns and cities suffered, one might hypothesize, had both juridical and material aspects. Juridically, a territory was the more easily exploited because the preexisting inhabitants would have been reduced to mere incolae—​residents bereft of rights.18 Materially, taking from them was made easier by the fact that the newly arrived colonists were themselves former soldiers—​violent specialists who were accustomed to seizing the things they needed from those who could not, or dared not, complain. To be sure, some of the earlier colonial foundations, such as Patras, operated on a model more common in the western Mediterranean, where some of the preexisting population (presumably its “better” members) was included in the colonial foundation. But this seems not to have been the predominant pattern; thus, Philippi (founded first by Antonius and then again by Augustus) was composed of new settlers, as was Pisidian Antioch. We might also include in this process the settlements of soldiers who made up the “non-​colonial coloni” spread throughout the eastern landscape, settled sometimes within communities and sometimes alongside them.19 In brief, the evidence just of the Augustan period speaks to a point of transition where, as a result of official policy, waves of Roman citizens moved into the eastern provinces to take positions of power and influence vis-​à-​vis the landscape as a whole. The Augustan phase of colonization is perhaps only the best documented and best understood, but the process happened again and again as the boundaries of the empire pushed farther east. It only seems to end in earnest in the second century, with the Hadrianic foundation of Aelia Capitolina on the site of Jerusalem, populated by a deductio of veterans—​either the cause of, or the result of, the Bar Kochba revolt.20 To be sure, as Roman control stretched farther east, the process 16. The literature on colonization is massive. For a still valuable regional perspective, see Levick 1967. For more recent perspectives, see the essays collected in Brélaz 2017a. For an in-​depth study of Philippi which also succeeds in placing the history of that colony in the context of other processes of colonization, see now Brélaz 2018. 17. E.g., Alcock 1993, 137, on central Greece. On their disadvantageous position, one might simply note Galen, Properties of Foodstuffs 6.749 (Kuhn), cited with discussion in Ma 2000, reporting that in times of crisis, food could simply be snatched from the surrounding peasants to feed the cities. 18. Rizakis  1998b. 19. Broughton 1935. Cf. Mitchell 1979, 434–​435, who reminds us of the many ways in which Roman citizens came to reside in communities under Augustus. One might add the presence of active Roman soldiers across the landscape, as an occupying force—​on which see Isaac 1990. 20. Sartre 2005, 155.

Citizenship and Its Alternatives  49 looked rather different from the large-​scale shifts in Greece and Asia Minor that took place under Augustus. They were nonetheless significant: the numbers of colonies may have been smaller, but the major cities of Syria and Judaea were nonetheless garrisoned. Some, such as Berytus, were made colonies in the traditional sense; even relatively small places, such as Ptolemaïs/​Akē (Acco), underwent centuriation.21 Though the process has produced a different archaeological and epigraphic signature and remains as yet relatively poorly understood, the introduction of large groups of armed men operating in the name of the central Roman state (and at times at odds with local systems of government) surely caused a dramatic alteration in the social landscape, and thus in the channels through which power flowed. In the case of Jewish populations, at least, the effects of these processes were fundamental to how Jews came to reimagine their place in the world and their relation to the state. We know far less about other groups of people but are nonetheless justified in suspecting that the processes by which they were integrated into the empire were disruptive, if not traumatizing.22 But the alteration of the landscape was not limited to colonial foundations or to the official exportation of Roman citizens and garrisons. That is, the shift in the structures of the eastern world was the result of more than just the policy of the Roman officials in Rome or of Roman governors within their provinces. There was voluntary action as well. Existing alongside communities created by official policy were groups of Roman citizens who resided as foreigners within provincial communities—​the Roman negotiatores. Again, their story is well enough known, and I will only rehearse here a few particulars.23 Communities of Roman citizens living as foreigners first in the Aegean basin and then farther afield formally created organizations that offered them mutual aid and support and, more important, distinguished them from the native populations among whom they dwelt—​religiously, linguistically, and politically. Some individuals became fabulously wealthy. Always politically influential, at times these communities of expatriate Roman citizens came to completely dominate the local cityscape, as they did in Apameia, for instance.24 The mere fact of their existence should not surprise us; Rome had been exporting its social problems since the middle republic, and Italians had similarly been pushed abroad both by the promise of material gain and by the transformations of the Italian peninsula more broadly in the second and first centuries BCE. But their success within their new landscape speaks not to some sort of inherent ability, now unleashed in a new area, but rather to what we must imagine were their intimate relationships with Roman state power and their ability to manipulate such power in their favor. 21. Applebaum 1989. For a valuable overview of the process, see Pollard 2000. 22. Isaac 1990 remains valuable in this context. 23. Purcell 2005. The Roman diaspora (in Purcell’s terminology) has been dealt with in two dissertations: Eberle 2014 and Ramgopal 2016. I look forward to their forthcoming monographs. 24. Thonemann 2011, 99–​109.

50  Ari Z. Bryen In other cases, provincial communities came to host Roman freedmen of high status—​a category of the formerly enslaved that was at best foreign, if not disturbing, to the communities of the eastern empire. One must imagine that imperial freedmen, such as the G. Julius Zoilos responsible for so much building in Aphrodisias, must have posed conundrums for the city as a whole. Degraded but powerful, wealthy but tainted, his existence both within and at a tangent to the local elite of the city (unlike many elites, he held priestly but no magisterial offices) must have called into question the connection between personal virtue, independence, and the ability to lead (that is, to dominate others).25 We might raise one final point about the transformation of the Greek world at the hands of Roman citizens, namely, that the changes involved more than a new demography. Existing economic patterns shifted substantially. Thus, as Lisa Eberle and Enora Le Quéré (2017) have made clear, Roman conquest brought with it a substantial change in the distribution of wealth in the provincial landscape, with substantial resources, commercial and otherwise, being siphoned into the hands of Roman citizens. In addition to monetary resources, great amounts of land also changed hands. The process was similar to the case of movable wealth: the Roman state took large amounts of land in the process of provincial organization. A great deal of this had happened early in the process, of course, but in some areas, provincialization was a process ongoing until the early second century.26 Plenty of land ended up in private hands as well. Large tracts went to the friends and family of the emperors, but a great deal also ended up in the hands of Roman aristocrats or ambitious Italians.27 And while the greatest provincial landholder—​the emperor—​might seek to treat his tenants favorably, others were not so concerned.28 These owners devolved control over their lands and tenants to their slaves, freedmen, and agents in the countryside, instructing them to extract resources—​a process that likely ended up de facto devolving upon their agents a set of quasi-​feudal powers.29 In other words, when

25. Reynolds 1982, 156–​164. 26. On republican period confiscation, see Rizakis 2015. Prominent citizens in the provinces always risked losing their status and along with it their massive holdings. Note just the case of Claudius Hipparchus, the father of Herodes Atticus; Oliver, Greek Constitutions no. 92. 27. E.g., Mitchell 1993, 1:149–​154 on Italian acquisitions in Galatia; 1:163–​164 on Pisidia. On imperial estates in Phrygia and on Italian acquisitions in the Maeander valley, see, respectively, Thonemann 2011, 113–​115, 251–​253. The question of acquisitions by the imperial family and their friends in Egypt remains vexed; for a variety of perspectives, see Parássoglou 1978; Tacoma 2015; Broux 2019. 28. On imperial attempts to stimulate production through giving advantageous leases, see Quass 1996 (though all of the relevant material is late first to early second century). Still, imperial ideology to one side, emperors might be violent toward their tenants as well; ILS 961 (regarding an imperial estate in Italy). 29. Procurators in charge of imperial property were formally granted jurisdiction from the age of Claudius (Brunt 1990, 163–​187), and we are given hints that they abused it (CJ 3.26.3 = Levick, Government 56); it takes no great feat of imagination to think that the agents of other senatorial landholders acted de facto in a similar fashion. Compare the abuses of the conductores on the Saltus Burunitanus (Hauken, Petitions no.  1), or the quasi-​feudal punishment of the villagers in the Kemaliye inscription (Hauken, Petitions no. 4).

Citizenship and Its Alternatives  51 Calgacus (ventriloquized by Tacitus) condemned the Romans as “pillagers of the world” (raptores orbis), he knew of what he spoke.30 The Domination of Citizens We should work from the assumption that in their behavior, these citizens were not models of propriety. Roman citizens brought with them a certain sense of desert. Cicero says as much, in accusing G. Verres of having crucified a Roman citizen: Poor men of humble birth sail across the seas to shores they have never seen before, where they find themselves among strangers, and cannot always have with them acquaintances to vouch for them. Yet such trust have they in the single fact of their citizenship that they count on being safe, not only where they find our magistrates, who are restrained by the fear of law and public opinion, and not only among their own countrymen, to whom they are bound by the ties of a common language and civic rights and much else beside: no, wherever they find themselves, they feel confident that this one fact will be their defense. Take away this confidence, take away this defense from Roman citizens; lay it down that to cry “I am a Roman citizen” shall help no man at all; make it possible for governors and other persons to inflict upon a man who declares himself a Roman citizen any cruel penalty they choose, on the plea that they do not know who the man is; do this, accept that plea, and forthwith you exclude Roman citizens from all our provinces, from all foreign kingdoms and republics, from every region of that great world to which Romans, above all other men, have always had free access until now.31 I shall return to Verres momentarily; suffice, for the moment, to note that Cicero here imagines that Roman citizens abroad saw themselves surrounded by an array of protections that were juridical in nature. These citizens carried with them a package of rights and protections. Of these, some were de iure, while others emerged de facto from the tendency of Romans abroad to assemble themselves in collective bodies. Citizen bodies were, in particular ways, off limits to others. This is especially the case in terms of the relationship of Roman citizens to provincial or even local government. There were strict limits on doing judicial violence to Roman citizens.32 To begin with, they were subject to the criminal jurisdiction of Roman governors; local communities were not welcome to 30. Agr. 30.4–​5. 31. Cic. Verr. 2.5.167, trans. Greenwood, LCL. Cited with discussion in Ramgopal 2016, 17. 32. Often honored in the breach, to be sure. Cf. Jos. BJ 2.308 (Florus crucifying Roman citizens of equestrian rank); Suet. Galb. 9; SC de Pisone Patre ll. 50–​52.

52  Ari Z. Bryen punish them.33 Citizens could later appeal to emperors in criminal cases and were exempted from corporal punishment.34 Additionally, in cases in which their private interests were infringed, Roman citizens had a better chance of receiving a hearing from Roman magistrates.35 But we might also note that, on Cicero’s telling, citizens were protected not only in places where they found their own magistrates and countrymen but “wherever they found themselves” (quocumque venerint). They were similarly immune from violence—​the violence of subject communities but also that of any other person (alium quempiam) who might seek to punish them. That is, in addition to being protected from certain forms of state violence, Roman citizens perceived themselves as possessing a certain inviolability vis-​à-​vis their neighbors as well. Such, at least, seems to have been the case in the petition of a former veteran: To his excellency Vedius Faustus, epistrategos, from Gaius Julius Niger, a veteran, of the Osirantinoan tribe and Hermaian deme. Being a person who has been honestly discharged from the army, my lord, and not being troublesome I have reached a point where justice from you becomes necessary. I  have suffered unacceptable violence from an Egyptian fellow, Isidoros, son of Achillas, scribe of the superintendents of sequestered property of the village of Karanis of the Herakleides division of the Arsinoite nome while his servant, Didymos, cooperated with him in this matter. The case is as follows . . .36 While statements such as this are rare, there are good reasons for thinking that Roman citizens differentiated themselves from their neighbors and gave off something of a menacing air. That these citizens were disruptive of social relationships more broadly can be shown not only from their individual behavior but also from their collective behavior. Such collective behavior seems to have risen to the notice of Augustus himself in the case of the Romans in Cyrene: In the Cyrenaic part of the province the total number of Romans with a census of 2,500 denarii or more, from whom the jurors come, is, I find, 215 of all ages. The embassies from cities of the province have complained that among these very jurors there exist certain conspiracies, which victimize the Hellenes in the death penalty cases, the jurors allegedly taking turns in bringing accusations and in supporting each other with testimony. And

33. E.g., Cass. Dio 54.6 (Augustus reducing Cyzicus to slavery for whipping and executing Roman citizens). 34. Acts 16:19–​39, 25:11–​12; Cic. Verr. 2.5.139–​142. 35. See Lewis 2000 on the evidence from Egypt; cf. Dio Chrys. Or. 46.14, threatening to involve the proconsul in a dispute between himself and his city. Republican evidence dealing with protections of publicani: e.g., Cic. Leg. Man. 4; Att. 5.21. 36. SB XXIV 16252 (165 CE), ll. 1–​6, trans. ed. with modifications.

Citizenship and Its Alternatives  53 I myself have learned that some innocent persons have been oppressed in this way and have been brought to the ultimate penalty.37 To be certain, the goal of this edict was to try to rein in such behavior. And in this respect, perhaps, Augustus and Verres had something in common:  trying to find a way to assert the protected status of some members while also finding ways to limit their obnoxious behavior. I shall return to this problem, but for now it is worth noticing three things. First, this privileged class of Roman citizens in Cyrenaica must have always been tempted to oppress its neighbors through means both fair and foul—​that is, both directly and through insinuating itself into organs of justice to commit selfish acts under cover of law. Second, these Romans were not extraordinarily wealthy men. The census for jurors at Rome, for instance, was 100,000 sesterces: that is, one only needed to have 2.5 percent of the wealth in the provinces as one did in the metropole to decide the fate of others. It was cheap to be abusive (too cheap, it seems—​to stop these conspiracies, in addition to changing the structure of the courts, Augustus also raised the minimum property qualification to 7,500 denarii, though conceding that this might leave an inadequate number of Roman jurors). Third, this group seems to have been sufficiently protective of its corporate identity that when the “Hellenes” of the province chose to complain, they identified themselves to Augustus precisely as a group. In other words, the source of the oppression was clear enough to the preexisting community. So much so, it seems (from the third edict on the same stela), that some of these “Hellenes” sought to join them—​to acquire Roman citizenship themselves, so that they could divest themselves of local responsibilities and join the class of people that was in charge. Augustus put an end to this, too, but from their abortive attempt we might learn something of how the status of Roman citizens was perceived: with hatred of the oppression done at the hands of cabals of privileged men but also with envy—​that is, with a longing to be an oppressor oneself, to sever oneself from one’s native community whose status (Hellene) previously enabled its domination of others. Such a mixture of resentment and envious desire is not surprising; this was, after all, a colonial encounter. The behavior of the Cyrenean Hellenes might help us to understand as well some aspects of the earliest groups of enfranchised Roman citizens in the provinces. Augustus’s attempts to regulate the interactions of Romans and Hellenes must have stemmed in part from a desire to begin to clean up the excesses of the triumviral era, when citizenship was given to Greeks who proved useful in the midst of political chaos—​men like Seleukos of Rhosos. The privileges that Seleukos obtained included not only citizenship but also the opportunity to pick the judicial forum most congenial to him, along with the concomitant threat that any local community that sought to punish him against his will would in turn 37. FIRA2 I 68 = Oliver, Greek Constitutions no.8, who also provides the translation.

54  Ari Z. Bryen be punished severely.38 This surely rankled his local community, and this was perhaps the point:  citizenship was desirable precisely because it brought with it the exciting opportunity to mistreat one’s local enemies, with a fair chance of avoiding punishment in the process. Nonetheless, these sorts of abuses could only be brought to heel in a limited number of cases. Romans at Cyrenaica might be regulated; men like C. Julius Eurycles, tyrant of Sparta, were harder to manage and might create problems both within their local ambits and even further afield. The case of Eurycles is instructive: promoted during the civil wars, he was eventually brought down by local Spartan aristocrats who had not been given Roman citizenship.39 Envy and hatred of this new generation of powerful individuals, marked out from their communities by their distinguished citizenship, was not hard to find. A  similar pattern seems to prevail in Athens:  not only did some four families—​Roman citizens all—​practically monopolize high offices, but they also tended to cause grief among their fellow Athenians. One can only imagine, for instance, how satisfying it must have been for the Athenians to receive the olive groves confiscated from Claudius Hipparchus, which they were permitted to cultivate at a favorable rate. The Athenians’ dislike for Hipparchus’s grandson, Herodes, was similarly famous, and vented, in a memorable trial in front of Marcus Aurelius himself.40 These individual cases are just instances of a larger pattern. In addition to the movement of Italian natives into provincial contexts, Rome as a matter of policy also frequently granted citizenship to local bigwigs. Some were descendants of preexisting native royalty, who, despite being formally deposed, nonetheless continued to exercise influence and power within their previously royal domains. Thus, the wealthy and ostentatious sophist Polemon of Smyrna (M. Antonius Polemo) was descended from Pontic kings; the large landholder in Galatia C.  Julius Severus could trace his ancestry back to Deiotaurus.41 Others, presumably, were merely powerful individuals with extensive holdings—​men upon whom someone like a governor might have to call to get a significant project done and men who, perhaps more important, might successfully prevent a project from getting done. But a similar logic holds with these men, as with the more recent immigrants:  citizenship flowed to centers of power—​and of violence. It did not, of course, flow to all such people, and surely there were local chieftains or landholders who were not Roman citizens. But it is striking nonetheless that

38. SEG 54 1625, §10, with discussion in Raggi 2006, 153–​164. 39. Eurycles: Strabo 8.5.5; Plut. Apophth. Reg. 207F, with Bowersock 1961. It should be added that we know other Gaii Julii who might have engaged in similar practices in their own communities; the evidence, however, does not allow us to see the full picture. See Robert 2007, 636–​637. Jones 2011 sees a parallel between the eventual downfall of Eurycles and that of G. Julius Nikanor in Athens. 40. Hipparchus: see note 26. Herodes: Philostr. VS 549–​550, 559–​561. See further Kennell 1997. On offices at Athens more generally, see Camia 2014. 41. Polemo: Thonemann 2004. Julius Severus: Mitchell 1993, 154–​155.

Citizenship and Its Alternatives  55 this particular status marked its possessors as people who were authorized to use violence and who in many circumstances did. There are additional hints, throughout the evidentiary record, that these Roman citizens were largely mistrusted if not actively despised by the communities in which they either came to settle or, in the case of the native powerbrokers, over which they were elevated.42 The principate would not see another attempt, like that of Mithridates, at the mass extermination of Romans, but this did not mean that local groups did not periodically try to manage their influence. In some cases, local officials simply put Roman citizens in their place with violence. Cassius Dio reports that in one case, magistrates of Cyzicus simply whipped offending Romans and crucified them; Augustus eventually took revenge upon them, but they must have thought, at that moment, that they would achieve something worthwhile.43 Dio similarly reports that the Rhodians impaled some Roman citizens in the reign of Claudius; they, too, were punished, but again their intentions seem clear.44 A  similar but far less explosive event seems to have occurred in Egypt, when a local official, the strategos, beat a Roman veteran with rods in front of a group of his peers. They complained about it, of course, and we might imagine that the strategos was later punished.45 But surely some got away with it.46 At other times, communities might act collectively, hoping to escape punishment. Such, it seems, was the intention of the crowd that marched, bearing torches, on Dio Chrysostom’s house (they chickened out, and he threatened them with the justice of the proconsul, but the message was clear enough).47 Or they might attempt to press their Roman citizen neighbors into engaging in local liturgies.48 Others, it seems, were restricted to fantasizing about getting the better of their imperial overlords: the readers of Apuleius’s Metamorphoses, for example, must have been amused when a poor gardener beat an arrogant soldier unconscious to protect his meager property rights.49 To be sure, not all Roman citizens were imperious, and not all of them gave off a frightening air of noli me tangere. Plenty of them made alliances, however tense, with local elite families, engaged in commerce (similarly a practice fraught with tension), and settled down into quiet

42. This might be the case even in relatively mundane matters: cf. Hadrian’s letter to Stratonicea, allowing the Stratoniceans to force the sale of the house of Tib. Claudius Socrates, presumably an absentee landlord. Oliver Greek Constitutions, no. 79. 43. See note 33. Cf. Cic. Verr. 2.1.27, reporting the inhabitants of Lampsacus burning down the house of Gaius Verres and a similar event in Utica a few years before. 44. 60.24. 45. SB V 7523 = FIRA2 III 188 = Sel.Pap. II 254. 46. Notice the ominous letter in which a Roman veteran is asked to warn another veteran moving to a new community about “the kinds of villagers we have, let he be threatened” (SB VI 9636, 135–​136 CE). Cf. BGU III 747 = W.Chr. 35 on the problem of bringing the privileged to heel. 47. Or. 46.14. For a later comparandum, see Herodian 7.4.2–​6, where a group of African farmers conspire to murder an imperial procurator. 48. BGU XI 2058 (post-​169 CE). 49. 9.40.

56  Ari Z. Bryen lives in villages.50 But the behavior of individuals must not be confused with the perception of Romans as a corporate group. Thus, the ideal type is important, if only as a way of framing what Romans must have normatively looked like in provincial eyes and why they might be both terrifying and despised. And also why there was an increasing desire to imitate them. As the case of Herodes Atticus suggests, this particular story of Roman citizens and their effects on local populations is not just a story set in the republican and triumviral era but rather part of a larger pattern of changes that continued into the second century. To be sure, this pattern took shape earlier in some areas and later in others. Greece and western Asia Minor are exceptionally well documented, whereas eastern Asia Minor and Syria are rather less so. The coming of Roman rule in Judaea and its accompanying traumas are well known. To the degree that Egypt may be exceptional, this seems due in part to strict controls placed on the province by Augustus. Yet even here there were shifts, and the abundant and granular documentation of fiscality in particular may simply mask more complex feelings of resentment. Certainly, such resentment was felt in Alexandria, as its explosion of violence in the riots of 38 CE makes clear. That the Alexandrians chose to vent their rage on the Jews, rather than on Roman citizens, must have been largely (a)  because there probably were relatively few Roman citizens on which to do so, (b) because to vent their rage on the Roman citizens who were there would have been suicidal, and, finally, (c) because the Alexandrian Jews—​ who fared relatively well in their relations with Caesar and Augustus, while the Alexandrians themselves fared poorly—​could be easily enough imagined as stand-​ins for Roman citizens themselves.51 Whether or to what degree this process took place in rural areas is a harder—​and still open—​question. It may be fair to ask how heavily this history bears on practices of the second century, rather than the first—​that is, whether after the initial trauma, the regions that had undergone this process had somehow “normalized” in the second century. The answer must be, in part, that they had. However, such a history would not have been readily forgotten; it would always have loomed in the background. This is so not least because even in the areas that underwent this process in its earliest phases—​peninsular Greece and western Asia Minor—​cities had long memories. The Roman Republic was not forgotten, and those who acquitted themselves well vis-​à-​vis the Greek cities were memorialized and paid honors.52 Those who were cruel were remembered by implication or in stories that circulated orally. Plutarch, after all, remembered being told by his grandfather how during the war between Octavian and Marc Antony, his grandfather 50. See, e.g., Baslez 2002 on intermarriage; on veterans settling down, see Alston 1995, 53–​68, who is relatively more optimistic about their social integration. Cf. Haynes 2013, 363–​366, on veterans who failed to integrate (and who would be thereby underrepresented in standard forms of evidence). 51. On the riots, see Blouin 2005. 52. Jones  2001b.

Citizenship and Its Alternatives  57 and his fellow citizens were forced to carry grain to fill Antony’s ships, and anyone too slow to keep up would be whipped.53 But perhaps more to the point: historical traumas cast long shadows; just as Christian identity was forged from the remembrance of long-​past acts of oppression (imagined or real), so, too, was eastern provincial identity. It was forged in the midst of violence and, in particular, in acts of violence and disruption initiated by Roman citizens. In the eyes of those who experienced it over the course of the long conquest of the Roman East, Roman citizenship was not just a particular personal status. It was also, if not primarily, a mode of exerting domination over others and a mode of protecting oneself while so doing. It was, in that sense, a dignitas, as Hervé Inglebert (2002, 241) has emphasized. But we should take this to mean more than a mere “honor.” As a dignitas, it was a way of measuring oneself against others and of coming to a favorable result. Similar to the way dignitas was treated in Roman law, it was also a protected category, a thing that others could not infringe. This raised two questions for the problem of governmentality. First, how precisely was one to govern such privileged people, and were all of their dignitates precisely the same? Second, how was one supposed to live with them, and under what circumstances were people without such a dignitas to be protected? Citizens, Abuse, and the Emergence of the State One might spare a thought for G.  Verres. He may have been as cruel as Cicero suggested, but he might also have had good reasons for crucifying a Roman citizen. Governing provinces was difficult work, and sometimes disruptive people had to be made examples of—​Roman citizens or not. Cicero himself tried to get around this brute reality of governance by denying that cruelty was off limits to governors: “I am not claiming that no one should ever be beheaded, nor am I arguing that fear should play no part in military discipline, or that commanders should not exercise severity, or that punishment should not be carried out when a crime has been committed. I fully admit that stern, harsh punishments have often been advanced quite legitimately, and not just on the allies, but on our own citizens and soldiers too.”54 But the problem was structural. Or, more accurately, there were two structural problems. The first was simply to control the powerful Roman citizens in the province itself. This was an ongoing challenge, and one that tended to align the interests of provincial populations and Roman governors. The second was more diffuse, more complex, and it speaks to the difficulties that modern scholars have in accounting for where, precisely, power sat in this world. For lack of a better term, we might suggest that the power of Roman citizens, and of the Roman state more generally, might also be laundered through the numerous para-​state, 53. Plut. Vit. Ant. 68.4. 54. Cic. Verr. 2.5.133, trans. Berry.

58  Ari Z. Bryen para-​citizen actors who were at times responsible for carrying out the commands of powerful Romans and who, at other times, by their own initiative used their proximity to social power to oppress others for their own aggrandizement, normally by appropriating their property. We might take just as an example the problem of slave managers of senatorial property. We ought to assume, for instance, that the slave pragmateutai who administered the estate of the Ummidii in the Kibyratis did at times lord their authority over their tenants, though the latter were free men. Though slaves, they were connected to a powerful senatorial family and derived their authority therefrom. Their job was to ensure the orderly administration and exploitation of a series of massive tracts of land. Their power thus derived from close connections to a group of Roman citizens, but they operated in a political space where they would have to give account for their behavior only to the provincial governor. They also likely had close connections to groups of Roman businessmen (pragmateuomenoi Rhomaioi) throughout the region more generally.55 The governor, in turn, was likely closely connected to the family of their owners and also at other times responsible for detailing soldiers to help these procurators perform their extractions.56 The conundrum that faced a man like G. Verres is thus clearer: his tendency toward acts of visible, spectacular violence was in many ways conditioned by the fact that his position sat at the nexus of a massive collection of nodes of power. The nodes in this network must also have been frequently inscrutable, both to him and to others. Spectacular violence was, if nothing else, an attempt to deny or temporarily negate their existence and bring clarity to a messy situation. Both of these modes of doing violence—​that of the imperious citizen and that of the laundering of Roman power—​were the results of the extrusion of a privileged class of people across a landscape in which state control was rudimentary at best and where a dizzying array of privileged individuals and their agents might expect to be able to give orders to less privileged people and to have those orders obeyed with regularity. By the time of the principate, the contours of the new dynamic had emerged. Aside from the cases of exceptionally powerful Roman citizens like Herodes Atticus (who could be handled by emperors through individual convictions and confiscations),57 the question that remained for governance was about the right to use violence and to take property, and in particular to do both under color of law. That is, the big question that would have to be negotiated

55. On the estate of the Ummidii and its relation to the “demos” of the Ormeleis (which was, it seems, actually just a group of villages), see Corsten 2005, 6–​17. For examples of exploitation of peasants done by people of similar status and in the same region, see note 63, or compare the more famous petition of the coloni of the Saltus Burunitanus in Africa (ILS 6870 = Hauken, Petitions no. 1). 56. E.g., Plin. Ep. 10.27–​28; Hauken, Petitions 188–​196. 57. Cf. the scenario described by the peasant in Dio’s Euboicus, who was living as a tenant herdsman on the land of a powerful man; one day, the emperor convicted him and confiscated the land, leaving the tenants precarious but essentially independent. Dio Chrys. Or. 7.11–​12.

Citizenship and Its Alternatives  59 by governors was the nature of provincial fiscality and the bundle of property and personal rights tied up with it. The imperial government, of course, had an ideological interest in protecting provincial populations, even from Roman citizens. But the interest was more than ideological; local cooperation was necessary for the smooth operation of the fiscal machinery in the provinces. There simply were not enough Roman administrators to ensure that the peace was kept. But this meant that the state had to have something like a double relationship to its own citizens and their agents: they were understood to be privileged, and those privileges were often enough enforced, but they also had to be made tractable and prevented from fomenting substantial discontent. It was a delicate balance, for in addition to the presumed superiority of Roman citizens with respect to others, there was also the brute fact that some Roman citizens did indeed need to be able to take from others, by violence if necessary. Finding the proper balance might be difficult. In one case, it was attempted mathematically: The people of Sagalassos must provide a service of ten wagons and as many mules for the necessary uses of people passing through, and should receive, from those who use the service, ten asses per schoenum for a wagon and four asses per schoenum for a mule. . . . However, the right to use this service will not be granted to everyone, but to the procurator of the best of princes and his son, and they are granted the use of up to ten wagons, or three mules in place of a single wagon or two donkeys in place of a single mule on the same occasion, being liable to pay the price I have decided. In addition (the use of the service is granted) to persons on military service, both to those who have a diploma, and to those who travel through the provinces on military service in the following manner: no more than ten wagons, or three mules for individual wagons, or two donkeys for individual mules, should be provided to senators of the Roman people liable to pay the sum I have prescribed; three wagons, or three mules for individual wagons, or two donkeys for individual mules, must be provided to a Roman knight whose services are being employed by the best of princes on the same condition, but if anyone requires more he shall hire them at a price decided by the person who hires them out; a wagon, or three mules, or six donkeys, shall be provided to a centurion on the same condition. I want nothing to be provided for those who transport grain or anything else of that sort either for their own use or to sell, and (nothing should be provided) for anyone for their own personal baggage animals or for their freedmen’s or slaves’ animals.58 58. SEG 26 1392 (14–​21 CE) = Mitchell 1976, who provides the translation. My debt to Mitchell’s important study will be evident in what follows.

60  Ari Z. Bryen The governor in this case, Sex. Sotidius Strabo Libuscidianus, makes this rule, he insists, because of the “indiscipline” (licentia/​πλεονεξία, more properly “greed”) of “certain parties.” The most likely culprits, it seems, are those listed at the end: those “who transport grain or anything else of that sort either for their own use or to sell.” We might reconstruct the scenario as follows. The people of Sagalassos approached the governor, Strabo, with their complaints. It is possible that their complaints were generalized to all members of the Roman administration but more likely that they were particularly concerned with the last class of people, those “who transport grain or anything else of that sort either for their own use or to sell.” If we take Strabo at his word, it might seem that two groups of people were especially problematic. The first are grain merchants and transporters. These were not members of the Roman administration, but they must have imagined themselves as having analogous privileges. They engaged in public law contracts with the Roman state, and their services were essential for keeping the peace in Rome and in the major cities. We cannot tell whether these particular transporters were Roman citizens, but there is a good possibility that they were; what seems more certain is that they were arrogating to themselves privileges analogous to those deserved by other members of the state. The second group, merchants who were simply transshipping other goods (that is, not frumentum but things for their personal profit and use—​quaestus sui caussa vel usus) helped themselves to the same privileges as well. Strabo rectified the situation by determining the hierarchy mathematically: the imperial procurator, persons on military service, and senators (ten wagons each); equestrians (three wagons); and centurions (one wagon). These men, and these alone, could extract resources by force; all others—​to say nothing of their slaves and freedmen—​would have to pay. Such abuses seem to have been consistent enough that, at least in one case, the emperor was forced to worry whether these sorts of abuses would lead to something like a right acquired by proscription. Thus, in a letter to a procurator in Syria, the emperor Domitian warned that “until now an inveterate custom [παλαι(ὰ) καὶ εὔτονος συνήθεια] survives, and it will gradually become law [κατ’ ὀλίγον χωροῦσα εἰς νόμον] if it is not vigorously prevented from gaining strength. So I enjoin it upon you to take special care that no one, unless he is provided with my diploma, seize an animal.”59 Distinguishing between those acting in official and unofficial capacities was often no easy task. And it is in the nature of citizenship that it does not map such categories, either. Accordingly, the countryside might find itself populated by Roman citizens who also had a privileged official status; the question was how to manage

59. Text and translation from Oliver, Greek Constitutions no. 40.

Citizenship and Its Alternatives  61 them when they were off duty, so to speak. The prefect of Egypt found himself in a similar situation: Proclamation of Marcus Petronius Mamertinus, prefect of Egypt: I am informed that without having a warrant [ἄνευ διπλῆς̣] many of the soldiers when travelling through the country requisition boats and animals and persons improperly, in some cases seizing them by force, in others obtaining them from the strategοi through favor or obsequiousness, the result of which is that private persons are subjected to violence and abuse and the army is reproached for greed and injustice [ἐπὶ πλεονεξίᾳ καὶ ἀδικίᾳ]. I therefore command the strategοi and royal scribes never in any case to furnish to any person without a warrant [ἄνευ διπλῆς], whether travelling by river or by land, any contribution for the journey, understanding that I will vigorously punish anyone who after this edict is discovered receiving or giving any of the aforesaid things.60  A similar situation prevailed: soldiers, at least some of them citizens, arrogated to themselves the right to take property from those without a privileged status. Though it was sometimes necessary to do so, in other cases they did so without permission.61 Soldiers were by far the worst offenders. But there are hints in the extant documentation that they were not the only ones and that others—​private persons presumably somehow affiliated with the army—​piggybacked on their privileges. Thus, in an inscription from Syria, the governor confirms that “if anyone—​either a soldier or a private person—​lodges with you against your will [βιαίως], send him to me and I will judge him.”62 In all of these cases, then, the concern was not only with abuse by officials but additionally with abuse by private people who in some fashion attached themselves to officials. Thus, a similar situation seems to prevail in an inscription from the area near Kibyra, where a group of local villagers complained about abuse by “Hedistus, whom you appointed tabularius, and the two Crispi and Zosimus, Cassius, Chrysogonus and Sabinus” for making “supplementary exactions” from the local peasants (πάροικοι). This odd mixture of Greek and Latin names in an area filled with senatorial estates suggests that a group of leaseholders and their slaves or agents, confident in their power, used it to shake down the local peasants, expecting that they would be treated as acting in an official capacity.63 The peasants disagreed and complained to the emperor, 60. PSI V 445 = Sel.Pap. II 221 (133–​137 CE), trans. ed. with modifications. 61. There is some question of how to understand ἄνευ διπλῆς̣. The best answer seems to be “without official authorization,” that is, without a document declaring that they were on official business. Cf. Montanari, BDAG, s.v. διπλῆ. 62. IGR III 1119 = MARE 113 = Hauken, Petitions 180–​187. 63. SEG 59 1556 (prev. SEG 48 1583) = Souris and Haensch 2009, with further discussion (esp. 361 on the identity of the malefactors).

62  Ari Z. Bryen who in turn instructed the proconsul to investigate further. In this case, as in the others, it is not just the fact of abuse but also the particular abusers who are at issue: powerful Roman citizens (with or without an official role) and others who accompanied them to benefit from their power.64 While the right to take property under color of law was the most pressing issue for a number of provincial communities (especially those communities that happened to be near a major market center or near an important road),65 there remained questions, among provincial communities, about the rights of Roman citizens to acquire property. Perhaps the most striking example of the sort of toxic behavior that resulted from this inscrutable mixture of Roman citizenship, official status, and ultra vires behavior comes from a Macedonian inscription of the second century CE. A group of Macedonian villagers, the Battynaioi, found themselves in conflict with what appear to be former Roman officials: An assembly was called by the Battynians with Alexander son of Leonidas as poleitarch, where many citizens lamented being forced from the use of public land by eparchikoi who were unsatisfied with the things that were pledged to them (for they lied about many things at that time) but who also appropriate for themselves other rights over the land, which the former possessors had foresworn and given over to the community. Now the more powerful eparchikoi are violating [ἐκβιάζονται] the poor community members, for they wish to possess their things—​which they are not permitted to do. They are also bringing the other land under cultivation and cutting off the citizens from their charakismos and pasturage and rights of way.66 Accordingly, the Battynaioi proposed that no eparchikoi, save those who possessed their land in good faith from a set time, should be allowed to possess land; moreover, they proposed that no one was to enfranchise an eparchikos in order to enable his possession; any official caught doing so would be fined substantially, with half going to the city and half to the fiscus. The Battynian assembly then agreed to send their decree to the acting Roman governor, Junius Rufinus, for approval. The text presents a number of questions, but the most important for present purposes is the identity of the eparchikoi. Two answers are possible: they were either simply provincials (that is, other subjects) or former Roman officials (that is, people connected to the eparchia). The latter seems the better solution:  the

64. To this we might compare BGU XVI 2258 (= Hagedorn and Jördens 2006), an edict of 22 BCE forbidding anyone other than soldiers from wearing the paenula. Presumably, the presence of state actors wearing such a garment inspired others to try the same thing, with the goal of shaking down their neighbors. 65. E.g., SEG 19 476 (159–​160 CE) = Hauken, Petitions 170–​178, from Histria. 66. SEG 30 568.

Citizenship and Its Alternatives  63 inscription seems to indicate not just a generalized group of “others” but rather a specific threat. It would likewise be odd that the Battynaioi, presumably not Roman citizens themselves, complained about “provincials” more generally. This, coupled with the existence of a number of nearby Romans with extensive landholding, militates in favor of thinking of the eparchikoi as Roman citizens.67 If that is correct, then the inscription is striking: a small community in Macedonia invokes the power of the Roman state to keep them safe from the predations of people with Roman citizenship. To be sure, we do not know if the embassy was successful.68 But it is certain that other attempts of local communities to regulate the Romans settled within them were; such, it appears, was the case in nearby Parthicopolis when Antoninus Pius ordered the “property holders settled among you” (ἐνκεκτεμένοι παρ’ ὑμ[ῖ]ν)—​ presumably Roman citizens—​ to obey the decisions of local magistrates in cases up to 250 denarii.69 But perhaps the most striking feature of the process by which Roman governors sought to limit the abuses of their citizens was the ramifications these efforts had in Roman jurisprudence. In the second century, we begin to see jurists attempting to render sense of the practices of provincial government, trying to build juristic structures out of the diverse mass of governors’ mandata, senatus consulta, and earlier imperial decisions. The earliest such attempt is Venuleius Saturninus’s De Officio Proconsulis. Unfortunately, only a few meager fragments are preserved, since the Justinianic compilers preferred to draw their materials from Ulpian’s somewhat later work of the same title (a work that made only limited reference to Venuleius). Still, the fragments are interesting. The ten preserved passages deal with issues similar to the ones addressed here: the holding of trials, the position of the legatus, and the role of municipal magistrates. An interest in punishment seems to animate them. Thus, legati are prohibited from applying harsh punishments; instead, they should remand the case to the proconsul himself, “for he [i.e., the legatus] does not have the right to inflict capital punishment, to punish, or to beat people violently” (neque enim animadvertendi coercendi vel atrociter verberandi ius esset).70 What is more, even if a legatus fines someone, the fine can be appealed to the proconsul, who can decide for himself what the proper penalty should be.71 Control of soldiers is likewise addressed: they are to be punished by those in charge of them.72 We similarly catch a glimpse of what might be identified as malfeasance on the local level: “To prevent anyone who has 67. Rostovtzeff 1957, 2.650–​651. The suggestion of “former Roman officials” comes from Pleket, in SEG 29 1529. For a possibly similar problem, this time at Ephesus, see Oliver Greek Constitutions, no. 71 = I.Eph. V 1486. 68. There is some controversy as to the members of the embassy sent to the governor: it may have included a Roman citizen as a representative of the Battynaioi. However, the reading is far from certain. 69. SEG 14 479 = Oliver, Greek Constitutions no. 156. 70. Dig. 1.16.11 = Lenel 1889, Venuleius Frg. 47. 71. Dig. 49.15.15 = Lenel 1889, Venuleius Frg. 48. 72. Dig. 48.3.9 = Lenel 1889, Venuleius Frg. 44.

64  Ari Z. Bryen taken custody of a prisoner from releasing without cause the mandata provide as follows: ‘If you should establish any prisoners in the cities have been released by the magistrates hastily and without cause, you shall order them [i.e., the city’s magistrates] to be bound and shall impose a fine on those who released them. For when magistrates are aware that if they lightly release men from bondage they will bring trouble on their own heads, they will not causally do so in the future.’ ”73 We might imagine that this fragment gives us some insight into a world of extortion on the part of the city magistrates—​taking people into custody and demanding bribes to release them, then dropping any “charges.” To the evidence of Venuleius’s De Officio Proconsulis we might add a further fragment, this one preserved as De Poenis Paganorum liber singularis. This text may have been written by the same author or by a different second-​century author, Claudius Saturninus. The question need not detain us here.74 The text itself is unusual; it attempts to classify crimes through a four-​part, then a seven-​ part structure, illustrating each one with examples. “There are punishments for things done, such as thefts and killings, or for things said, such as insults or false pleadings, or for things written, such as forgeries and libels, or for things counseled, such as conspiracies and the guilty knowledge of robbers; and the scale of the crime is the same for those who aid others by advice. These four categories, however, must be considered in seven aspects: the motive, the person, the place, the time, the quality, the quantity, and the outcome.”75 Predictably, however, the author seems to quickly find his typology unworkable and resorts to quoting Demosthenes and Homer. What is more, his typology cannot even handle the exceptions that he does know: “It happens that the same crimes are punished more severely in certain provinces, for example, those who burn the harvest in Africa or the vines in Mysia, and those that debase the coinage where there are mines.”76 It is overall an example of sloppy thinking but one nonetheless symptomatic of an early attempt to try to explain practices that had previously been developed in an ad hoc fashion. The concern, in both of these texts, is not to eliminate violence in the provinces but rather to lay out a rationalized view of what had heretofore been a scattered mass of materials and in so doing to direct the violence necessary to provincial government into its proper channels. These texts thus achieve two things. First, they anticipate what would, in the early third century, be the most sophisticated attempt to think of the provinces as spaces that were fundamentally law-​governed:  Ulpian’s De Officio Proconsulis. Second, they do this by attempting to delineate the relevant capacities of the people who populated this

73. Dig. 48.3.10 = Lenel 1889, Venuleius Frg. 50, trans. Watson with modifications. 74. See González Romanillos 2014. 75. Dig. 48.16.16.pr-​2 = Lenel 1889, Venuleius Frg. 52, trans. Watson. 76. Dig. 48.16.16.9 = Lenel 1889, Venuleius Frg. 52, trans. Watson with modifications.

Citizenship and Its Alternatives  65 landscape. Not everyone could use violence and not under all circumstances. Those who could not, but who did so anyway, were to be liable for punishment. In other words, one of the results of the reaction to the processes of domination and exploitation that took place in the republic and into the first century was the eventual juridification of the provincial landscape and the creation of systems of rights therein. These rights extended beyond the distinction between citizen and peregrine and began to be thought of, by jurists and by others, as generalizable protections that could attach even to the dominated. We see at the end of this process that Roman administrators were sua sponte willing to craft rules about the proper treatment of non-​citizens. Thus, when in 202 CE the legatus Q. Sicinnius Clarus founded the emporion of Pizos by amalgamating some smaller villages, he declared the following: Since it is proper that things which issue from a divine gift should become more fortunate also from the orders of those who are in charge, I have ordered that these emporia should receive not emporiarchs who are commoners but toparchs who are councilors [βουλευτὰς], granting them, also by letter, the use of an official seal and the right of jurisdiction, having instructed them to administer the inhabitants not with violence and harm [μὴ ὕβρει μηδὲ βίᾳ], but with justice and moderation. And not only should they do these things, they should also protect [the inhabitants] from the abuse and power of those who have chosen to commit injustice and violence.77 The end result of this body of thinking, I would contend, is the emergence of something like a bureaucratic state in the Roman provinces. That is, over the course of three centuries, we move from a system in which being a Roman citizen was a status that allowed one, de facto or de iure, to dominate others in provincial contexts. Over the course of time, and in the process of trying to manage such difficult people, the provincial government began to craft rules that distinguished lawful extraction from illegal shakedowns and created systems of rules that allowed one to know who was permitted to dominate whom and to what degree. This came from defining the relative capacities and responsibilities of governors and their legati, the abilities of provincials deputized to collect on behalf of the government, the lines of command for soldiers and the indicia of their official capacities, and the responsibilities of all of these people in cases where they exceeded their authority. This process of rationalization, however, did not occur naturally or inevitably; it emerged as governors and jurists took measures to cope with a landscape whose violence and disorder threatened to undermine

77. IGBulg III 1690, with the corrections of Mitchell 1995, whose translation I follow here.

66  Ari Z. Bryen the smooth and predictable extraction of resources. And in this process, they had collaborators—​the provincial subjects themselves. The Emergence of Subjecthood Provincial subjects knew their places. They were inscribed in a hierarchy of privilege, with Roman citizens at the top and citizens of subordinate poleis (or even non-​citizens) a rank below. They also knew two other things: that they were not slaves and that they were not barbarians. That is, though they may have had fewer rights or relatively less dignitas, that did not mean that they could be exploited at will. Emperors promised as much, both explicitly and implicitly, and governors repeated these promises.78 Provincial populations sought to protect their persons and property accordingly.79 As will be apparent from the evidence presented in the previous section, nearly all attempts by governors and others to regulate the interactions between state, citizen (or para-​state and para-​citizen) actors and provincial subjects were initiated from below, as subjects petitioned for relief from exactions that were either illegal or perceived to be. The end result of this process was the cultivation of a particularly imperial form of belonging. Such a mode of belonging emerged over the course of time. Though there had been long-​standing traditions of quarreling with one’s neighbors throughout the Hellenistic world (traditions that persisted in the Roman period), the advent of Roman control brought complaints against agents of the state as well. Thus, we see complaints from cities about the behavior of soldiers,80 but we also see a number of petitions concerned with the behavior of tax collectors. Though these complaints are not directed against Roman citizens, they should be understood as part of the unfolding of the process that I described earlier. Provincial subjects conceded (for they had no choice) the right of the state and of local communities to extract resources from them, but they insisted that such exactions be fair and predictable and be made by a relatively narrow and predictable range of state actors—​rather than a vague and amorphous group of powerful individuals existing in inscrutable relation to official power. Accordingly, they appealed to the language of rationality. Thus, we hear one man complain to another about the collection of taxes, presumably in contemplation of formal action, “don’t you know that they have illegally exacted money, and that they have violated the rights of our people? This is completely without reason!” (οὔκ ἐστιν εὔλογον).81 78. Explicit promises: SB XII 11012 = Oliver, Greek Constitutions no. 39 (letter of Nero?); PSI V 445 (edict of Mamertinus, quoted in the previous section). 79. E.g., P.Bacch. 19.11–​17 (171 CE), reporting official abuse from a dike inspector; BGU I 45 (203 CE), interpersonal violence; PSI IV 292 (third century CE), invoking imperial law to keep his body “free from violence and abuse”; SB XX 14401 (147 CE). 80. E.g., P.Wisc. II 48 (second century CE), a trial concerning extortion by soldiers. 81. P.Michael. 26 (second century CE).

Citizenship and Its Alternatives  67 In another case, a man complained that he was nominated for a liturgy “not according to reason” (οὐκ ἀνὰ λόγων).82 This vocabulary of reasonableness eventually spread and reached relatively far down the social scale; thus, a group of Phrygian peasants might, in the mid-​third century, complain to the emperor that “we are being extorted beyond even what is unreasonable [(δια)σειόμεθα δὲ παρὰ τὁ ἄλογον] and are being shaken down by those who ought to be preserving the common good.”83 The same vocabulary used to protect rights to property came also to protect rights to personal integrity. This was true not only in that subjects might complain that their neighbors used violence against them “irrationally”84 but also that state officials did the same thing. Thus, in Christian texts, the soon-​to-​be martyrs complain that governors act “irrationally” in punishing Christians without respecting normal judicial procedures.85 Rationality came, in the world of the second century and beyond, to be equated to legitimacy and to be contrasted to violence. Thus, Dio Chrysostom might suggest that logos itself was the only thing that could transcend violence; he would further claim that the logos of prudent men was the only thing capable of true leadership, implicitly contrasting it with mere force.86 Though structurally weaker, these inhabitants of the empire had a sense of rights and were capable of persuading the Roman imperial government that those rights ought to be respected. However, the rights themselves are not based in citizen status. We might venture to say, instead, that they imagined these rights as quasi-​contractual. They attached to subjects to the extent to which they were willing be obedient and to pay what was required of them. In exchange, government was expected, first, to protect them against other powerful actors who populated the landscape, regardless of their status; and, second, to agree to respect any particular privileges that they had been given in the process. That is, any particular subject, be it an individual or a collective entity, might find that in the course of time, it had acquired particular privileges that distinguished it with respect to others. These sorts of micro-​rights, given as beneficia by powerful patrons, had to be respected as part of legitimate government. It is this final feature of subjecthood that explains a further aspect of the rhetoric through which these populations claimed their rights, namely, the very intimacy of some of the language used to make requests. Indeed, one might be loath to speak of provincial subjects claiming “rights” when their requests for personal protection are often framed as if they would be granted not on the basis of what the laws claim that a person in fact deserved but rather as if they would 82. P.Oxy. XII 1405 (early third century CE?). 83. Hauken, Petitions no. 6, ll. 13–​14. Cf. TAM V.1 419. 84. Bryen 2013, 94–​95. 85. E.g., Mart. Lyons 9–​10 (Musurillo); Justin Apol. 2.1.1; Bryen 2014. 86. Or. 30.23. Cf. Lib. Or. 1.2.

68  Ari Z. Bryen be granted because the official granting it would do so as a good patron.87 “Since your ingrained justice, my lord prefect, is extended to all men, I too, having been wronged, have recourse to you, begging for redress,” writes one petitioner;88 similar sentiments can be found in other contexts.89 Such requests are often taken as the basest form of flattery, a judgment that is surely in some sense quite correct; however, they might also be understood as a means by which someone inserted himself or herself into a network of reciprocity—​a quasi-​contractual network of reciprocity—​and by so doing asserted a form of membership in the social order more broadly. That the only way one could do this was by demonstrating that one was, in fact, abject is perhaps one of the most unpalatable aspects—​at least, to modern people in the liberal democratic tradition—​of this very imperial form of membership and perhaps a reason we are too often prepared to be optimistic about citizenship. I should like to close with a further thought on subjecthood. If I am correct in thinking that the great majority of subjects saw their relationship to the Roman state in quasi-​contractual terms, rather than through the totalizing category of citizenship, then this similarly allowed for something like a framework through which the terms of the contract might continuously be revised. That is to say, as I  have argued elsewhere, “membership” in this world was not conceived in totalizing fashion, or as a fundamentally affective bond to a particular metropolis, but rather as a running list of privileges and disabilities that could be expanded to the extent that one’s rhetoric might prove convincing. Such a mode of thinking about rights and privileges would persist even after the Roman state deigned to include subject populations in the community of citizens stricto sensu.90 Indeed, the third century seems to show not the abatement of this sort of discourse but rather its intensification.91 A sense of rights, even one contingent on the fact of subordination, can be terribly hard to give up. This was perhaps all the more so in a world that featured a more authoritarian state that made yet more strident demands upon its subjects.92

87. I thank Cam Grey for this insight. See his comments in Grey 2015, 788–​789. 88. P.Oxy. XVII 2131 = Sel.Pap. II 290. 89. Cf. ILS 6870 = Hauken, Petitions 1. See, on later material, Fournet 2001. 90. Bryen  2016. 91. Cf. the materials collected in Herrmann 1990. I obviously come to different conclusions from his about the context of this rhetoric. 92. Cf. Dillon 2012.

2

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century Citizenship, Taxation, and the Constitutio Antoniniana Lisa Pilar Eberle

T

he history of Roman citizenship in the empire is often told as a narrative of loss and decline. What had once been a bundle of active rights became a bundle of passive privileges, and soon enough, these privileges were also evacuated of their content. On many levels, this story is not wrong, but as many contributions in this volume show, it is at best only one half of the story. Once we look more closely at the implications of citizenship in relation to different aspects of social life, it turns out to be not only a privilege but also a burden. Fiscality was no exception. For a good part of the long second century, Roman citizenship arguably meant fiscal privilege. For the first half of the period, Roman citizens most likely did not pay the poll tax that was collected in the provinces of the empire. At the same time, for the entirety of the period, Roman citizens also paid a range of taxes that nobody else in the empire paid—​taxes on inheritance and on the manumission of slaves, for instance. How are we to make sense of this seemingly contradictory situation? How could Roman citizenship be both fiscal privilege and burden at the same time? The central contention of this chapter is that in order to understand this situation and its history, we need to take seriously the meanings that contemporaries gave to the payment and to the collection of taxes. Taxes have a semantic dimension; they have meanings, albeit much-​ignored ones. Taxation constitutes a transfer of resources that, unlike, say, a gift, is on some level forced. But this compulsory element of taxation does not stop people, both ancient and modern, from explaining, interpreting, and theorizing taxes, just as they do with gifts.1 As a result, the payment and the exaction of fiscal dues, just like the giving of gifts, constitute symbolically charged transactions with deep-​running implications for how community and status are being construed.

1. O’Neill and Orr 2018 assemble a wide range of philosophical reflections about taxation and its legitimacy in the current moment. The literature on gift-​giving in the ancient world is endless. For a good volume gathering together a wide range of materials and perspectives, see Satlow 2013.

Lisa Pilar Eberle, Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century In: Roman and Local Citizenship in the Long Second Century CE. Edited by: Myles Lavan and Clifford Ando, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197573884.003.0003

70  Lisa Pilar Eberle Modern historians’ terminology of “privilege” and “burden” are good illustrations of just such interpretations. For one, this terminology is based on the assumption that paying less in taxes is good and that paying more is bad. The idea of “privilege” also suggests that paying less in taxes was somehow a marker of social status. But the meanings of taxation in the Roman Empire were much more diverse (as they also are today). Taxes marked difference, yes, but this could be constitutional difference and social difference, the difference among political regimes and between the more and the less honorable, as well as imperial difference, the difference between imperial subjects and rulers, and both the payment of taxes and immunity from taxation could signify preeminence in the imperial polity. These competing and at times contradictory meanings, I contend, go a long way in making sense of the history of the relationship between Roman citizenship and fiscality in the long second century, which is the subject of this chapter. Ultimately, the development of a new meaning of taxation in the late second century may even have informed Caracalla’s decision to grant Roman citizenship to the inhabitants of the empire. Existing accounts of the relationship between citizenship and taxation in the empire focus on one question: the extent to which Roman citizens were liable to perform the obligations that befell the elites of non-​Roman communities, which are commonly known as munera. This scholarly debate centers around a fixed set of documents,2 and its point of contention is essentially chronological: when did Roman citizens become liable to perform such munera?3 At one extreme, de Visscher argued that the incompatibility of Roman citizenship with other citizenships—​a doctrine expounded by Cicero in two separate speeches—​never applied to new citizens in the first place, meaning that they always remained liable to local fiscal demands.4 By contrast, Sherwin-​White maintained that the third Cyrene edict, where Augustus decided on the fiscal liabilities of newly minted Roman citizens in that province, was the first text to insist that these citizens remained members of their home communities and continued to pay taxes there.5 More recently, Raggi sought a middle ground between these two positions

2. The key documents are the privileges that Octavian gave to one of his sea captains, Seleukos of Rhosos, according to a lex Munatia Aemilia and to an unspecified group of veterans (FIRA2 I 55 and 56, both with new editions in Raggi 2006), Augustus’s third edict from Cyrene published in 1927 (FIRA2 I 68), as well as the bronze plaque recording grants of citizenship from Marcus Aurelius, unearthed in 1957 in ancient Banasa in modern-​day Morocco (Seston and Euzennat 1971). A provision in the lex repetundarum from 123 BCE (Crawford, Roman Statutes 1, ll. 76–​79), the privileges that the Senate bestowed on three sea captains fighting for Sulla (FIRA2 I 35), and Domitian’s privileges for veterans (FIRA2 I 76) are also sometimes discussed in this context. For the debate’s point of departure, the alleged incompatibility of Roman citizenship, see Cic. Caecin. 100 and Balb. 11.28, 12.29, 13.31. 3. The contributions to this debate are too numerous to exhaustively list here. Ferenczy 1982, 1046–​1058, summarizes its history. Important later contributions are Link 1989, 109–​127; Talamanca 1991; Link 1995 Capogrossi Colognesi 2000, 178–​184; Raggi 2006, 109–​150; Buraselis 2007, 143–​154. 4. De Visscher 1940. 5. Sherwin-​White 1973a, 295–​306.

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century  71 and suggested that in the privileges of Seleukos of Rhosos and of Octavian’s veterans, one could already see how late republican generals persistently infringed on the principle of incompatibility in practice.6 My contribution to this volume sidesteps this debate, not just due to its chronology—​it concerns a period before the long second century—​but also because this debate only focuses on one, rather limited aspect of the empire’s fiscal landscape. Indeed, as the following brief overview of this fiscal landscape will show, local munera were but one among many forms of taxation with which the inhabitants of the empire, including Roman citizens, had to contend.7 For one, in every province, the empire levied two types of taxes: the tributum soli and the tributum capitis. The regular counting, evaluating, and registering of people and property in the census created the knowledge that enabled this massive extraction of resources. People in the empire were keenly aware of the tight link between census and taxation: in the language of the gospels, kensos and phoros were interchangeable, and the emperor Claudius claimed that the census was about making the empire’s resources known.8 While the connection between tributa and census operations quite likely existed on an empire-​wide scale, the precise nature of the respective taxes varied widely from province to province.9 The tributum soli could consist of a tithe or payments in cash, and the tributum capitis, while technically being a tax on heads, could also include a valuation of non-​landed property.10 If tributa taxed agricultural production and the people required to carry it out, portoria were the charges by which the empire profited from the movement of goods and people within the empire and beyond.11 The Roman statio, or customs house, which could be located at provincial or regional borders as well as at central nodes of transport, provided the means for levying this tax.12 At the only external frontier for which we have good evidence, the Egyptian coast of the Red Sea, customs dues could amount to 25 percent of the cargo’s value.13 Within the 6. Raggi 2006, 145–​149, building on Talamanca 1991. 7. Günther 2015 provides the most up-​to-​date bibliographical overview of imperial taxation in the principate. The plentiful material from Egypt is dealt with in Sijpesteijn 1987; Rathbone 1993; Monson 2012; Wilson 2015. On customs dues, see also Duncan-​Jones 2006; Kritzinger, Schleicher, and Stickler 2015. On Roman fiscal terminology and its problematic relation to modern notions, see France 2007; Kritzinger 2018. And for taxation in the republican period, see now Tan 2017. 8. Mark 12:14; Matthew 16:25, 17:19; CIL XIII 1668, ll. 38–​49. Note that in Egypt, laographia, the registering of the people, was also the name for the tributum capitis (Capponi 2005, 89). 9. Brunt 1981, 163–​166; contra Neesen 1980, 33–​44. 10. For variation in the assessment and payment of tributum soli, compare Hyg. agrim. 205–​206 L (ed. Campbell) on Asia, Phrygia, and Pannonia with Wallace 1938, 11–​19 on Egypt. For similar variation in relation to the tributum capitis, see Dig. 50.15.3 on Syria; Bagnall and Frier 1994, 27–​28 on Egypt; as well as Neesen 1980, 117–​120, for an overview. 11. Purcell 2005 discusses taxation of mobility of both goods and people in the Mediterranean. 12. France and Nelis-​Clément 2014 provide an excellent way of accessing the plentiful evidence, archaeological and otherwise, concerning the Roman statio. For different arrangements of stationes, see de Laet 1949, 331–​344, on Syria and Judaea; France 2001, 347, on Gaul; France 2015 on Zarai in North Africa; Wojciech 2015 on the environs of Rome. 13. De Romanis 1998, 48–​55; Wilson 2015, 27–​28.

72  Lisa Pilar Eberle empire, rates between 2 and 5  percent are attested, with 2.5  percent being the most widespread.14 Beyond tributa and portoria, the imperial fiscal landscape also included various other forms of taxation such as the vicesima hereditatium, a 5 percent tax on inheritances and legacies; the vicesima libertatis vel manumissionis, a 5 percent tax on the manumission of slaves; and the centesima rerum venalium, quite likely a tax on sales at auction—​all three with ample collection apparatuses throughout the empire.15 To such empire-​wide exactions locally specific taxes can be added; documented examples include Vespasian’s infamous levy on urine resold from public urinals for chemical processing in Rome, the toll levied for the journey from the Nile through the desert to the Red Sea along well-​guarded roads, and a tax on iron and nails that the empire seems to have levied in the province of Asia.16 Purpose-​bound exactions such as the contributions to the imperial cult, the financing of transport and maintenance for imperial officials, and discrete levies of materials for the army round out this imperial fiscal landscape. Lastly, local communities in the empire operated their own fiscal regimes, taxing anything from the marketing of pine cones to prostitution and river crossings.17 As Mireille Corbier has argued, many cities across the empire also operated their own quasi-​imperial schemes, extracting revenues from subject villages that Roman authorities had attributed to them; Italian Capua, for instance, received revenues from regions on Crete for more than two hundred years.18 Over time, the empire claimed ever more authority over such local fiscal regimes. By the late second and early third centuries, local communities had to ask the emperor for permission when levying a new tax, and imperial jurists developed universal and increasingly detailed rules for what they called munera, the obligations of local socioeconomic elites, which included, for instance, overseeing the water supply and maintaining local roads. This chapter will not discuss the position of Roman citizens vis-​à-​vis all these different types of taxes, not least because in relation to some of them—​portoria, for instance—​Roman citizens as a group do not seem to have occupied a special position. Instead, I will focus on the taxes that made up the contradictory position of Roman citizens in the imperial fiscal landscape:  the tributum capitis, from which Roman citizens were exempt, and the vicesima hereditatium which only Roman citizens had to pay. I also examine the long-​lasting but contested

14. Duncan-​Jones 2006, 4. 15. Günther 2008, 23–​154. 16. Suet. Vesp. 23.3 and Cass. Dio 66.14.5 mention Vespasian’s tax. For the road toll in the Egyptian desert, see OGIS 674; Wilson 2015, 14–​21, discusses its economic context. For the tax on iron and nails in Asia, see I.Aphrodisias 2007 8.34, ll. 8–​15. 17. CIS IIa (3) 3913, ll. 75–​76, 191–​193, mentions taxes on prostitutes and pine cones in Palmyra. Plut. Mar. 15.4 and Str. 4.14 note a tax on river crossing at Massalia. 18. Corbier 1991. On Capua’s revenues from Crete, see Vell. Pat. 2.81.2 and Cass. Dio 49.14.5.

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century  73 immunity of Italy from the tributum soli, not just because it mainly concerned Roman citizens but also due to the way in which this immunity was enmeshed in the empire’s geography of power. While these taxes and immunities were continuously interpreted as constituting difference, Severan fiscal practice seems to have invoked a new semantics of taxation, which, instead of emphasizing distinction, created community. As such, this semantics might have played a part in making thinkable the kind of imperial community that Caracalla’s universal grant of citizenship enacted. Before embarking on these arguments, though, I make a brief case against the recurring idea that there was some republican legacy that made Roman citizens in the provinces immune from direct taxation. Dispelling a Myth: Roman Citizenship and the Direct Taxation of Property When considering the implications of Roman citizenship for fiscal obligations, one quickly encounters the idea that Roman citizens paid no direct taxes. Strong formulations of the idea posit an “incompatibility” between citizenship and direct taxation.19 The freedom of Roman citizens supposedly did not allow for such regular and forced impositions. More moderate versions point to 167 BCE as the moment in which Roman citizens were “freed from taxation.”20 And indeed, this year was a meaningful moment in Roman fiscal and imperial history. But, as I hope to show, it did not establish a principled connection between Roman citizenship and freedom from (direct) taxation. In fact, such a principled connection never existed, neither in the republican period nor in the long second century. In 168 BCE, Aemilius Paullus defeated the Antigonid king Perseus at Pydna on ancient Macedon’s Aegean coastal plain. This victory spelled the end of the Antigonid kingdom, and Paullus transferred the kingdom’s riches to the treasury in Rome. As a result, Paullus could be seen as a Cincinnatus for the second century, a model Roman general who had taken only glory and a good name back to his house, and the Roman people, the populus Romanus, stopped paying one particular tax:  tributum.21 No ancient source I  know describes these events as having any implication for the relationship between citizenship and direct taxation. To be sure, the tax at issue, the tributum civium Romanorum, was a direct tax that only citizens paid. It was a tax on the property they owned—​a tax on 19. E.g., Günther 2008, 2 (“da sie den Status eines civis Romanus als unvereinbar mit den schon 167 v. Chr. abgeschafften direkten Steuern, den tributa, hielten. Trotzdem war die Unvereinbarkeit des politischen, rechtlichen und sozialen Freiheitsstatus als civis Romanus mit der regelmäßigen Erhebung von Steuern hier z.T. bereits aufgegeben”). 20. E.g., Tan 2015, 208 (“After the creation of a tributary empire, Roman citizens enjoyed a rare political privilege, more familiar from modern oil states than from militaristic premodern examples:  freedom from taxation”). 21. Cic. Off. 2.76 and Phil. 2.93, Plin. HN 33.56, Val. Max. 4.3.8, and Plut. Aem. 38 all describe these events, commenting both on Paullus’s actions and on their implications for the tax burden of the Roman people.

74  Lisa Pilar Eberle property that they had declared in the census, to be precise.22 But Roman citizens did not declare all of their property in the census, only property that they owned according to the ius civile.23 And by the second century, Roman citizens had significant possessions on legal grounds that were not part of the ius civile. Such possessions included any and all claims to parts of ager publicus, whether in Italy or in the provinces, as well as the growing number of landed estates that Roman citizens had begun to own in the emerging provinces from the late third century onward.24 In short, in 167 BCE, Roman citizens were not freed from direct taxation, but a significant part of their properties were. James Tan’s account of Rome’s fiscal history in the middle republic provides a helpful framework for understanding the precise outlines of this change in Roman fiscality. As Tan has suggested, Rome entered a period of intense fiscal innovation in the second half of the third century BCE, catalyzed by the unprecedented costs of naval warfare in the First Punic War and by the catastrophic and costly defeats in Italy during the Second Punic War.25 Tax revolts accompanied both these moments, as the people who manned the assemblies and paid the tributum according to the census refused to accede to the political elite’s demand for ever more revenue. Based on these experiences, members of this elite arguably went looking for different sources of revenue to fund their military adventures, and they found them in the growing amount of indemnity payments from 241 BCE onward and through an intensification of indirect taxation, especially harbor dues, in the early second century.26 In this context, the abolishment of the tributum civium Romanorum in 167 BCE can be seen as the culmination of an effort to shift the tax burden away from voting citizens with whom the political elite might have to negotiate about its extent. Indeed, the tributum civium Romanorum was precisely the tax that voters in the assembly paid. After all, the census provided the basis for distributing not only fiscal obligations but also political rights; the census was the basis upon which the centuriated assembly was composed.27 While a blanket immunity from direct taxation might have had much the same effect, the suspension of the tributum civium Romanorum was a more economical solution to the perceived problem of potential tax revolts. As a result, the events of the early 160s BCE did not free the estates of Roman citizens in the provinces from direct taxes. When we look at the evidence for taxation in the republican provinces, no abstract principle rendering Roman citizenship incompatible with direct taxation 22. Nicolet 1976b, 27–​33, 79. 23. Cic. Flac. 80; Festus, Gloss. Lat. 50. 24. For ager publicus and the census, see Crawford, Roman Statutes 2, l. 8. Eberle and Le Quéré 2017 discuss the evidence for Italian and Roman estates in the provinces. For provincial land being excluded from the operations of the ius civile, see Bleicken 1974, 374; Eberle 2016, 57–​58. 25. Tan 2015, 212–​213; Tan 2017, 93–​143. 26. Tan 2015, 213. 27. For ideological reflection of this connection between census, tax burden, and political participation, see Liv. 1.42.5, 43.13, as well Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 4.9.7, 19.23, 20.1, 21.2.

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century  75 seems to have protected the estates of these Roman citizens, either. In 111 BCE, the Roman assembly passed a law that privatized much of the then-​existing ager publicus, both in Italy and in the provinces. While the new owners in Italy were encouraged to enter their new properties in the census in Rome, the law also specified a set of taxes that new owners in the provinces were to pay to the Roman treasury.28 In 70 BCE, Cicero imagined that Roman citizens paid taxes on their estates on Sicily; both Sicilians and Romans on Sicily were aratores, the word for taxpayer in the lex Hieronica, the legal framework according to which the Romans taxed the annual grain harvest on Sicily.29 In 59 BCE, Cicero did not feel the need to explain to his audience why the estates of a certain Decianus, which were located in Apollonis in Asia Minor, were liable to taxation there. Also, two inscriptions from Messene, probably from the first century BCE, seem to document just that: Roman citizens paying taxes on their estates in the province of Achaea.30 In Messene, the tax at issue was an extraordinary levy, a tax of eight obols for each mina of property. It was collected at the order of a Roman proconsul, a certain Memmius, and another Roman magistrate, a praetor named Vibius, was overseeing the collection locally. The first document related to the levy is an honorific inscription for a certain Aristokles, the citizen of Messene in charge of the property evaluation on which the levy was based. This was a sensitive business, and the Messenians praised Aristokles for his transparency: he had his measures and valuations inscribed every day and presented his results before the assembled Messenians in the theater.31 The second document contains yet another demonstration of Aristokles’s transparency:  it shows the detailed calculations with which Aristokles arrived at the eventual sum that the citizens of Messene handed over to the Romans. In these calculations, we find Roman citizens who had their properties evaluated as part of the tribal system of Messene, together with other Messenians. But we also find a second group of Romans, who had their properties evaluated in a group with other foreigners since they were all subject to symbola, inter-​ state treaties that Messene had concluded with other communities.32 This differentiation among Romans in Messene quite likely reflects the fact that

28. Crawford, Roman Statutes 2, ll. 6–​8, 77–​82. 29. Cic. Verr. 2.2.155: Modo aratorum, honestissimorum hominum et locupletissimorum, et Siculorum et civium Romanorum, maximum numerum abs te abalienasti? On the aratores as taxpayers in the lex Hieronica, see Carcopino 1914, 6–​12; and for the meaning of the term in this particular passage, see Cic. Verr. 2.2.149–​ 150, the passage to which Cicero refers back at the beginning of Verr. 2.2.155. 30. IG V(1) 1432–​1433. The date of the inscriptions is much debated, with 70 BCE and the first half of the first century CE at either end. For overviews of the scholarly opinions regarding the date, see Rizakis, Zoumbaki, and Kantirea 2004, 276; Gawlinski 2012, 7n20. Doyen 2017 provides a helpful summary of the second document, which records the method for arriving at the cash equivalent of the tax. 31. IG V(1) 1432, ll. 5–​6, 24–​26, 29–​30. 32. IG V(1) 1433, ll. 8, 14–​15.

76  Lisa Pilar Eberle Messene had concluded symbola with some Italian communities, but not with others, and that by the time that Aristokles carried out the evaluation, most inhabitants of the Italian peninsula had become Roman citizens. Moreover, the mention of these two groups of Romans in Messene in Aristokles’s property evaluation makes it likely that these symbola contained clauses pertaining to the fiscal status of the Romans in question, possibly even to their liability for taxes on property.33 As a result, the structure of the evaluation would seem to indicate that if Roman citizens had any privileges related to taxes on property in the provincial communities in which their estates were located, they had negotiated them locally, most likely with the help of the city in Italy from which they originated.34 If these sources make the existence of a principled connection between Roman citizenship and immunity from direct taxes on property very hard to maintain for the republican period, later centuries do not seem to have known such a principle, either. The Augustan reorganization of taxation in the provinces did not introduce a connection between Roman citizenship and immunity from taxation on property, and Severan jurisprudence suggests that this absence survived into the early third century.35 In the fiftieth book of the Digest, the Justinianic excerptors created a chapter on the taking of censuses.36 The majority of this chapter consists of passages from two works of Paul and Ulpian, which were both entitled De censibus. As part of these works, the two jurists had seemingly tried to compile lists of cities in the empire that enjoyed fiscal privileges. Take, for instance, a passage from Paul’s De censibus, in which he mentions the Lusitanian communities that had received the ius Italicum. According to Paul, the Barcinonenses, another community in the same region, were also immunes, which suggests that fiscal immunity was the aspect of the ius Italicum that interested him in the first place.37 Strikingly, in this context, Paul and Ulpian do not appear to have made lists of coloniae, of communities of Roman citizens. Writing about the province of Syria, Ulpian records that Berytus, a colonia in Syria, had received the ius Italicum from Augustus; by contrast, Ptolemais, another such colonia, had “nothing except the name of colony.”38 Citizenship per se, it seems, had no implication for liability to property taxes. Admittedly, Ulpian and Paul most likely wrote their works after 212 CE, and so they might have been uninterested in historical distinctions 33. On symbola, see Gauthier 1972, who focuses mainly on their procedural and legal provisions. For examples of fiscal provisions in such treaties, see Staatsverträge III 408, ll. 6–​7; 456, ll. 15–​16; or 476, l. 15. 34. For a further argument in support of the idea that Roman citizenship meant immunity from direct taxes, see Spagnuolo Vigorita 1993, 15–​17, 21–​22. Raggi 2006, 114–​115, and Mélèze-​Modrzejewski 2011, 31 (contra Buraselis 2007, 144–​145), infer the idea from the language of republican-​era grants of citizenship, esp. FIRA2 I 35, ll. 23–​24; 55, ll. 20–​21. 35. See Neesen 1980, 40–​41, on the Augustan moment. 36. Dig. 50.15. 37. Dig. 50.15.8.pr. On the fiscal component of the ius Italicum, see Bleicken 1974, 373–​377. 38. Dig. 50.15.1–​3: nihil praeter nomen coloniae habet.

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century  77 between Roman and non-​Roman communities.39 However, in light of the evidence from earlier periods, this distinction had long probably been immaterial from a fiscal perspective. And yet, quite likely, many Roman citizens in the provinces did not pay direct taxes on their properties there. The tax exemptions that at least some Romans had managed to negotiate in Messene are a tantalizing bit of evidence pointing in this direction. More extensive support for the idea comes from the cadastral inscriptions of Orange in the Rhone Valley.40 They mention a category of land called EXT, which is commonly understood to be an abbreviation of ex tributario solo, “separate from the tributary land,” and as it so happens, this was the land that veterans and their offspring, mostly Roman citizens, were assigned.41 A similar situation might be observed at Carthage, where the Roman citizens with land that was not subject to tribute included the veterans whom Octavian settled there but quite likely also some Romans who had resided in the expanded Carthaginian territory already prior to Octavian’s foundation.42 It should be noted, though, that in both these cases, the immunity from taxes on property was tied not to individuals but to the land that they possessed. As a result, the histories of the distribution of the tax burden between Roman citizens and the remaining local population in each of these places was shaped as much by inheritance patterns as by sporadic imperial intervention, including the original assignation of land to legionaries as well as grants of immunity to the entire territory, as might have happened in Carthage under Septimius Severus.43 For the most part, though, we simply lack the evidence to follow these local histories. Roman Citizenship as Fiscal Privilege: The Varied Semantics of the Tributum Capitis While at the beginning of the long second century, many Roman citizens across the empire paid taxes on their property, most likely all of them were exempt from the tributum capitis, the tax on persons that was collected in all provinces.44 The evidence for this exemption is mainly negative: in Egypt, where we have plentiful evidence for the collection of this tax, no Roman citizens seem to have paid it, until 212 CE, that is.45 Only one document, a census declaration of two Roman women from Karanis in 175 CE, could (but does not have to) be interpreted

39. On the date of Ulpian’s De censibus, see Honoré 2002, 190–​191, who dates it to 213 CE. For the date of Paul’s work of the same name, see Liebs 1997a, 172, who suggests that it was composed under Elagabalus. 40. Piganiol 1962, a monumental study of these documents, remains foundational. 41. Piganiol 1962, 55–​56. 42. CIL X 6104, VIII 26274, with Gascou 1984, 116–​120. 43. Corbier 1991, 656–​657. 44. Neesen 1980, 117–​120. 45. Wallace 1938, 96–​134; Neesen 1980, 121.

78  Lisa Pilar Eberle otherwise.46 However this may be, as I hope to show, by the second half of the second century, the idea that no Roman citizen should pay the tributum capitis had in any case disappeared. The immunity of Roman citizens from the tributum capitis most likely goes back to Augustus. In the republican period, the evidence for a poll tax in the provinces is spotty at best: when Cicero was governor in Cilicia, he considered his predecessor’s collection of such a tax to be an exceptional (and outrageous) occurrence, and apart from Appian, for whom this would not be the only case in which he retrojected aspects of the second-​century empire into the republican period, no other authors mention a poll tax in the republican period.47 By contrast, second-​century authors such as Tertullian and Cassius Dio saw taxes on property and taxes on heads, the tributum soli and the tributum capitis, as the bread and butter of Roman taxation in the provinces.48 While Augustus introduced this change in the patterns of provincial taxation along with the provincial censuses on which they relied, there is no direct evidence that he also exempted all Roman citizens from the poll tax he introduced.49 That being said, Augustan-​era authors such as Livy and Dionysius of Halicarnassus have a clear and shared view on poll taxes, a view that can readily be interpreted as providing the ideological underpinning to a general immunity for Roman citizens from such taxes. Both Livy and Dionysius knew that Roman citizens had once paid a poll tax, before Servius Tullius became Rome’s last good king. Servius abolished the poll tax and introduced the property-​based census instead.50 In their respective accounts, the tax on heads is thought to be the hallmark of tyranny and bad one-​ man rule; by contrast, the institution of the property-​based census amounted to the foundation of pax, at least according to Livy. It is well known that Augustan authors drew a clear parallel between Servius and Augustus as (re-​)founders of the Roman res publica. Livy’s idea that Servius founded pax suggests as much, as do the parallels in how both men manipulated space in their re-​founding of the res publica, not just in Rome and Italy but also at an empire-​wide scale.51 As regards fiscality, however, Augustus would appear to have done the exact opposite of Servius: if the latter had abolished the poll tax, Augustus introduced it. At 46. P.Ibscher 10 = SB VI 9573, with Braunert 1968. 47. Cic. Att. 5.16.2 and Fam. 3.8.5, 15.4.2. See Neesen 1980, 1118n2, for further occasional taxes on persons in the republican period. Appian mentions the tributum capitis in republican provinces on two occasions:  Pun. 20.135 and Syr. 8.50. For an instance of Appian’s retrojection of aspects of the empire under the principate into the republican period, see Ib. 38.152. For the poll tax as an Augustan innovation in Egypt, see Rathbone 1993, 86–​99. 48. Tert. Apol. 13.6; Cass. Dio 62.3.3. 49. On the provincial census, see Neesen 1980, 33–​44; Brunt 1981; Nicolet 1991, 133–​139; Lo Cascio 1999. On its connection to the figure of the emperor, see now Claytor and Bagnall 2015, 637–​638. 50. Nicolet 1976b, 27; Liv. 1.42.5, 43.13; Dion. Hal. 4.9.7, 11.2. 51. On Augustus and Servius Tullius, see Treggiari 1996, 885; Beard, North, and Price 1998, 184; Eberle 2017, 362.

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century  79 the same time, the association of such taxes with tyranny in both authors might also have provided the historical foil for exempting Roman citizens in the entire empire from this tax. With such an exemption, Augustus would have insisted that he was no tyrant within the community of Roman citizens, which he saw as stretching throughout the empire. As a result, the tyrannical character of poll taxes in Augustan authors not only makes it very unlikely that Augustus made Roman citizens pay such a tax; it also suggests that the immunity of Roman citizens from this tax was part of Augustus’s strategy for negotiating his position within the Roman polity, a strategy that might have involved the claim that while he was no tyrant in relation to Roman citizens, he certainly was one when it came to many of his other imperial subjects.52 At some point in the long second century, this principle of immunity appears to have broken down. The first possible indication for such a breakdown stems from Paul’s second book on the census.53 There Paul recorded that Vespasian had made Caesarea a colony without giving it the ius Italicum; instead, he had only remitted the tributum capitis. Titus then “interpreted” this grant—​interpretatus est—​to mean that the territory had been made exempt. There are some difficulties with understanding the series of imperial actions that Paul describes in this passage. Vespasian might indeed have explicitly granted Caesarea immunity from the poll tax, and Titus then added immunity from the tributum soli. In that case, however, Paul’s use of the verb interpretor to describe Titus’s actions is puzzling. Why describe his actions as a way of interpreting existing law when Titus simply added a new kind of immunity? Alternatively, Vespasian’s grant might have taken the form of a personal grant—​he gave the community immunitas—​without specifying any further whether this should or should not include community members’ possessions and their territory at large. One might usefully compare Domitian’s grant of omnis immunitas to his veterans, where it is unclear if that included immunity also for their property or only for their persons.54 But this reading, too, runs into a distinct problem: Paul explicitly states that Vespasian gave Caesarea immunitas from the poll tax, and while this might be an interpretation of Vespasian’s grant that had existed before Titus provided a new one, a certain awkwardness also remains on this reading. Overall, then, it seems at least possible that in the late first century, a Roman emperor specified that a 52. Rathbone 1993, 86–​87, discusses how the poll tax was used to make distinctions within Egyptian society, where the citizens of Alexandria and their slaves were exempt from it while the inhabitants of the chora were not. 53. Dig. 50.15.8.7. Neesen 1980, 121n1, suggests that Claudius’s grant of immunitas to Volubilis (FIRA2 I 70, l. 8) and Domitian’s grant of omnis immunitas to his veterans (FIRA2 I 76, ll. 17–​18) indicate the absence of Roman citizens’ immunity from the poll tax in the first century. But these grants do not mention immunity from this tax specifically; in fact, their language, in all its vagueness, makes it likely that these grants encompassed immunity from many more taxes than the tributum capitis. As such, they are inconclusive for the question of the history of Roman citizens’ immunity from this tax. 54. FIRA2 I 76, ll. 17–​18.

80  Lisa Pilar Eberle community of Roman citizens was not liable to the poll tax, which might indicate that the exemption that Augustus had introduced could no longer be taken for granted. About a hundred years later, we have evidence for a very different dynamic:  Roman authorities insisting that grants of Roman citizenship should not affect their recipients’ fiscal obligations. The grants of citizenship that are memorialized in the Tabula Banasitana specify that the recipients should enjoy their new status salvo iure gentis and, in the last of three grants, also sine diminutione tributorum et vectagalium populi et fisci.55 The suggestion that the ius gentis, the law of the Zegrenses tribe to which the recipients belonged, should remain intact might already have had implications for the recipients’ fiscal status, both in their community and vis-​à-​vis the imperial fiscal landscape.56 To some degree, then, these grants might have constituted no radical departure; Augustus had already insisted that newly minted citizens in Cyrene were not exempt from local munera.57 However, the insistence that the income of the populus and of the fiscus should not decrease as a result of these grants is attested here for the first time. The unequivocal implication of this provision is that the newly minted citizens in question—​the wife and children of the head of the Zegrenses tribe—​ would continue to pay the poll tax. While we cannot know for sure when Roman authorities began insisting that grants of citizenship should not affect the recipients’ position in relation to imperial taxes, various considerations make it likely that the practice became increasingly widespread in the late second and early third centuries. In addition to the grants in the Tabula Banasitana, which date to the reign of Marcus Aurelius and Commodus, we know that when Caracalla made Antioch a colony, he did so salvis tributis; the newly minted Roman citizens in Antioch would continue paying the poll tax.58 Also, the text of the Constitutio Antoniniana has been restored to contain a savings clause said to preserve the fiscal status of the newly minted citizens.59 While this restoration gained steam with the discovery of the Tabula Banasitana, which might make my argument appear to be circular, various independent arguments have also been made in its favor.60 Not least, such a provision would explain why tributum capitis continued being collected in the

55. AE 1971 534, ll. 13, 20, 37–​38. 56. The meaning of this phrase is much disputed; cf. ­chapters  3 (Lavan) and 6 (Dolganov) in this volume. Among those scholars who understand it to have fiscal implications are Seston and Euzennat 1971, 484; Spagnuolo Vigorita 1993, 17; and van Minnen 2016, 218, who all propose that it already included obligations to the imperial treasury. By contrast, Sherwin-​White 1973a, 393, and Wolff 1976, 100, suggest that it only pertained to the municipal obligations of the recipients. 57. FIRA2 I 68.3; cf. also Blanco-​Pérez 2020b, 3–​6. 58. Dig. 50.15.8.5. 59. Sherwin-​White 1973b, 92, 97; Nicolet 1976a, 31; Kuhlmann 1994, 231–​232; Mélèze-​Modrzejewski 2011, 30–​33; van Minnen 2016, 217–​218 support this restoration. 60. E.g., Nicolet 2006, 52.

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century  81 third century and why newly minted Aurelii also paid it.61 Lastly, a military diploma from Dacia dated to somewhere between 141 and 147 CE has long been read to document a grant of citizenship in which any immunity from imperial taxation was explicitly denied.62 The fragmentary document contains the phrase iure fisc[ . . . , which has been restored to read iure fisci salvo, an analogous construction to salvo iure gentis in the Tabula Banasitana. However, this phrase, which is not found on other military diplomas, has also been interpreted as the result of an earlier or later use of the bronze.63 Firm evidence for grants of citizenship with savings clauses relating to imperial taxes thus begins during the reign of Marcus Aurelius. To be sure, the fact that we know of no earlier grants of citizenship with similar provisions does not mean that such grants did not exist. At the same time, the language that these grants used to prevent changes in fiscal status was unlikely to be in circulation in the first century. The ius, or right, of the fiscus was common language in the second half of the second century:  under Septimius Severus, Callistratus composed a treatise called de Iure Fisci et Populi, Paul’s Sententiae contained a chapter on the ius fisci et populi, and the author(s) of the Historia Augusta knew that Alexander Severus made laws on that same subject.64 Just like the composer of the Tabula Banasitana, these authors also differentiated imperial revenues according to their recipients: fiscus and populus. In short, the language used to delimit the changes in fiscal status that accompanied grants of citizenship in the second century was part of the conceptual world of that period, and quite likely, this conceptual world was only coming into being in that century. Nerva appears to have been the first emperor to treat the fiscus as a legal entity that could be party to a suit, and Hadrian further fostered this development by instituting the office of the advocatus fisci, a magistracy designed to represent the interests—​the iura, one might say—​of the fiscus.65 While the argument is not decisive, the language of the attested savings clauses in the second century adds further weight to the idea that Roman authorities really only began infringing on the exemption of Roman citizens from the poll tax in that century. If they had done so earlier, one might expect to still see traces of the language they had used then in the second century.

61. Neesen 1980, 128–​130. Third-​century jurists still imagined the collection of the poll tax (Dig 50.4.18.29); SB I 5677, XXIV 15968, and P.Ross.Georg. 5.20 constitute poll tax receipts that postdate 212; and SB VI 9128 shows Aurelii paying the poll tax after the same date. 62. AE 1962, 391, 2 (= IDR I/​D 28 and III/​5, 696 = RMD I, frg. 3). 63. RMD I, frg. 3, reiterated in RMD IV 271. I owe thanks to Myles Lavan for bringing this interpretation to my attention. 64. On Callistratus’s de Iure Fisci et Populi more generally, see Puliatti 1992; for the title of the work, see Liebs 1997a, 211–​212; for its date, see Dig. 49.14.2.6; Paulus, Sent. 5.12; SHA Alex. Sev. 15. 65. Dig. 1.2.2.32 and SHA Hadr. 20, with Bolla 1938. For the much-​debated history of the fiscus more generally, see Jones 1950; Millar 1963; Brunt 1966.

82  Lisa Pilar Eberle So, at the latest in the second half of the second century CE, ever more Roman citizens in the Roman Empire began to pay the poll tax. From a fiscal perspective, this change constitutes a stark departure from previous practice. However, within the larger scheme of how Roman authorities thought about citizenship and the privileges attendant upon it, this change looks to be in line with long-​standing tradition. For instance, Roman freedmen and Roman women enjoyed distinct and arguably more limited forms of rights and privileges throughout Roman history. Also, republican texts such as Octavian’s grant to Seleukos of Rhosos or to his veterans articulated the idea that some citizens should be optimo iure optimaque lege cives: citizens with the best right and the best law.66 Domitian’s edict for his veterans reiterates the same idea.67 In other words, there was a long history of thought and practice in which Roman citizens had differential rights. Some had “the best” ones; others, it seems, had worse ones. The second century was simply the period in which immunity from the poll tax became part of this gradation in rights. If we ask why this change happened, two factors come to mind:  mounting fiscal pressure accompanying the Antonine Plague and the emergence of new categories of social distinction which focused on the integrity of the person. Fiscal pressures will play a significant role in the later parts of my argument, and quite likely it also contributed to the increasing number of newly minted citizens in the long second century who paid the poll tax. However, the possibility that we have a fiscal savings clause attested in the 140s, and thus before the Antonine Plague, suggests that the second possible factor, the emergence of new categories of social distinction—​the emergence of the categories of honestiores and humiliores—​should not be underestimated or discounted. The differences between these two groups, which cut across the citizen–​alien divide, consisted of the kinds of punishment they could suffer in penal law. The former group, the “more honorable,” were subject to less harsh punishments; in particular, unlike the “more humble,” they could not suffer any form of physical punishment or torture.68 Social status, of course, always played a role in Roman trials, but the emergence and regulation of such a distinction and its consequences in imperial enactments in the middle of the second century—​a matrix of difference that would later be crystallized in the categories of honestiores and humiliores—​was a distinct phenomenon that betrays Roman authorities’ increasing willingness to distribute honor across the citizen–​ alien divide.69 66. FIRA2 I 55, l.  21 and 56, l.  10—​a formulation that might have developed in the context of civitas sine suffragio in the early and middle republic. I owe thanks to Myles Lavan for suggesting this possibility to me. 67. FIRA2 I 76, l. 17. 68. On the history of the honestiores/​humiliores distinction, see Garnsey 1970 and Rilinger 1988; Ando 2012a, 182–​186, provides a helpful summary. 69. The distinction is well attested under Hadrian and Antoninus Pius; see Dig. 47.21.2 and 48.5.39(38).8, together with Garnsey 1970, 153–​172.

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century  83 The abandonment of the principled immunity of Roman citizens from the tributum capitis at roughly the same time might have become thinkable in this context, where the limits to the state’s power over a person’s body became markers of social distinction. Physical violence and taxation were seemingly part of the same strategy by which people were being distinguished from one another through the integrity of their bodies. From the perspective of imperial authorities, then, the poll tax moved from one field of semantics to another. For Augustus, it was part of thinking about constitutional difference; in the second century, imperial authorities might have seen the tax as part of their strategies for creating and maintaining social distinction beyond the alien–​citizen divide. While the extent to which people in the empire shared these accounts of the poll tax remains unclear, Tertullian appears to preserve a third meaning of the tributum capitis that was quite likely rather widespread in the provinces: together with the tributum soli, he called the poll tax a nota captivitatis, a mark of captivity.70 The imagery of slavery, which Tertullian invokes here, was a widespread metaphor for imagining imperial power relations in the Roman Empire, and quite likely this interpretation of taxes as signs of enslavement and imperial subjection was frequently invoked when, as happened so often, the taking of a census, which provided the basis for collecting the two tribute, gave rise to revolts.71 We should imagine, then, that many people in the empire were familiar with this meaning of tributa, not least because it also had a basis in the actual distribution of taxation in the empire. In many ways, it was a convincing way of thinking about taxation, because people in Rome and Italy, in the empire’s center, did not pay these taxes. As I  hope to show in the next section, the history of this immunity in the imperial center, which mainly concerned Roman citizens, was closely intertwined with the contested history of the empire’s geography of power in the long second century. Italy’s Fiscal Immunity in the Context of Imperial Geographies of Power The suspension of the annual collection of the tributum civium Romanorum in 167 BCE meant that Roman citizens’ property in Italy was no longer being taxed. In the second half of the first century BCE, the civil wars briefly interrupted this absence of direct taxation in Italy.72 At the end of the long second century, the Severan reforms of the annona militaris meant that property in Italy was taxed again, if only intermittently and in kind.73 Ultimately, though, it was only in the

70. Tert. Apol. 13.6. 71. Lavan 2013; Corbier 1988; Goodman 2014, 58. 72. Nicolet 1976b, 89–​90; Brunt 1990, 21n5. 73. Cass. Dio 78.9.1–​3; cf. Mitthof 2001, 74–​76, and Lo Cascio 2005, 153.

84  Lisa Pilar Eberle late third and early fourth centuries that Diocletian’s reforms put a decisive end to Italy’s privileged fiscal position in the empire and ensured that people and property in Italy were taxed in precisely the same way as in those in any other part of the empire.74 This longevity of Italian fiscal privilege is all the more surprising if one bears in mind that Italy was quite likely the region in the empire where land values were highest.75 Italy was also one of the most urbanized regions in the empire, meaning that the infrastructure for collecting taxes was readily available. As a result, the region constituted an ideal tax base for a rent-​seeking agrarian empire, a tax base that Roman emperors also demonstrably tried to access, albeit not through tributum.76 Most likely, the unique bargaining position of some potential taxpayers on property in Italy goes some way toward explaining this situation. Even though ever more members of provincial elites joined the Senate in the first and second centuries, all senators owned land in Italy. Trajan’s ruling that at least a third of senators’ properties had to be located in the Italian peninsula ensured continued senatorial landownership in the region.77 Crucially, senators not only had ready access to the emperor—​Cassius Dio shows them debating taxation with at least one emperor, Augustus, who threatened to reimpose tributum on Italy—​but they also played an important role in choosing an emperor and maintaining him in his position.78 Much the same could be said about the plebs in Rome, who might have feared an increase in prices resulting from the imposition of tributum.79 Already in 60 BCE, the shouting of the Roman plebs seems to have been the crucial factor leading to the abolishment of portorium in Italy, shouts that in the principate were redirected toward the emperor, both in the forum and in the theater.80 In brief, taxing property in Italy, as attractive and tempting as it might have been for emperors, also meant going against the interests of two powerful groups in the empire. On one level, these interests were clearly material, but, as I hope to show, they also had an important symbolic dimension. At least by the late second century BCE, Italy began to be considered part of the empire’s center, a hinterland of Rome, which was different from all the other regions in the empire, not least because this was the place from which the rest of the empire was ruled.81 This elision between Italy and Rome only intensified under the Julio-​Claudians, where it can be observed in emperors’ rhetoric and action, the changing urban fabric of towns in Italy, and imperial subjects’ reflections.82 74. Lo Cascio 2005, 179–​181. 75. Launaro 2011, 179–​180, discusses the high cost of owning and cultivating land in Italy as opposed to the provinces in the first century CE. 76. See the next section of this chapter. 77. Plin. Ep. 6.19.4. For a later alteration of this law, see SHA Marc. 11.18. 78. Cass. Dio 55.25, 56.28.4–​6. On the senatorial elite and its role in making emperors, see Flaig 1992, 94–​173. 79. On the role of the plebs urbana in making or breaking emperors, see Flaig 1992, 38–​93. 80. Cic. ad Qu. fr. 1.1.3, with Rathbone 2008, 260n28. 81. Carlà-​Uhink 2017, 164–​174, discusses the history of “Italic centrality” as an idea. 82. Cooley 2016a; Purcell 2000, 405–​412.

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century  85 As part of this process, Italy’s fiscally privileged position became tied up with the empire’s new geography of power. The abolition of portoria in Italy in 60 BCE might be seen as a first sign of this entanglement.83 As the imperial center, Italy was to have unchecked access to all the goods that the world had to offer. Trajan’s monumentalization of Italian harbors one hundred fifty years later seems to have appealed to rather similar ideas.84 The creation of the ius Italicum provides further evidence for the connection of Italy’s fiscal privilege with its imperial centrality. Not only was this status the highest honor that a provincial community could obtain, but it also had a clear fiscal component: the territory of the community was to be immune from taxation.85 Lastly, one might also see reflections of this connection in first-​century CE political history. In 67 CE, Nero granted fiscal immunity to the province of Achaea, or Hellas, as he called it.86 Even though he gave the Roman people Sardinia to compensate for the loss in revenue that this block immunity had caused, Vespasian, his eventual successor, thought it best to reverse the grant.87 Contemporaries, both in Greece and in Italy, quite likely understood that the implications of such fiscal immunity went beyond its material aspects: the location of the empire’s center was at stake. While in the second half of the first century, several Neros became the figures around which resistance to Rome—​or, rather, plans to take over Rome—​crystallized in the Greek East, many contemporaries in Italy might have been reminded of the civil wars when Marc Anthony was suspected of wanting to move the imperial center to Alexandria.88 In short, the stakes of Italy’s fiscal immunity were not limited to material concerns. This immunity also symbolized a world order. Opposition to changing this world order—​that is, opposition to changing the empire’s geography of power and thus possibly also Italy’s fiscal status—​would appear to have persisted into the second century. To be sure, the erosion of the institutional difference between Italy and the provinces during this period is undeniable. For instance, from the late first century onward, imperial curatores were involved in municipal finance throughout Italy, and from Marcus Aurelius’s reign onward, four iuridici of consular rank heard cases in the region.89 However, a closer look at Antonine emperors’ actions in relation to Italy and at their changing 83. Cic. ad Qu. fr. 1.1.3. For a second, if temporary fiscal privilege of Italy, see Suet. Calig. 16.3 and Cass. Dio 59.9.6 on Caligula abolishing the Augustan tax on sales at auction in Italy. On that tax in general, see Günther 2008, 127–​148. 84. Cooley 2016b, 122–​127. See Seelentag 2008 for further analysis of the rhetoric of Trajan’s building program in Italy. 85. Sherwin-​White 1973a, 317–​321; Bleicken 1974, 367–​391. 86. IG VII 2713, l. 14. 87. Paus. 7.17.3–​4; Zissos 2016, 7–​10. 88. On the different Neros, see Gallivan 1973; Champlin 2003, 10–​12. On Antony and the East, see Plut. Ant. 50.4, with Bengtson 1977, 216–​218. 89. On the curatores, see Jacques 1983; Jacques 1984. For the iuridici, see SHA Marc. 11.6, with Eck 1995 [1991], 318.

86  Lisa Pilar Eberle accounts of the empire’s geography of power more generally would suggest that this erosion of privilege can only appear gradual in hindsight. Hadrian divided Italy into four regions and sent a man of consular rank to each of them, quite likely calling these four magistrates legati Augusti pro praetore, the title that governors of imperial provinces bore.90 Hadrian was also the first emperor to portray himself as restitutor orbis terrarum: what Augustus had done for the res publica and Trajan for Italy, Hadrian was going to do for the entire world.91 Correspondingly, he also minted a series of coins that no longer showed provinces as defeated enemies but as the recipients of his beneficence.92 Crucially, Italy was part of this series, one region in the empire among many that could hope for the emperor’s attention. By the end of Hadrian’s rule, the inhabitants of Italy might indeed have wondered if soon they, too, were to pay the tributum soli. Antoninus Pius seems to have allayed their concerns. He abolished the legati Augusti pro praetore, an action for which Italian elites might have thanked him by giving him the title of restitutor Italiae.93 His coins also no longer showed Italy on a par with other regions of the empire.94 However, Marcus Aurelius, his successor, seems to have reversed some of Antoninus Pius’s policies: he introduced four iuridici of consular rank that heard cases throughout Italy. Quite likely, these magistracies were Hadrian’s legati Augusti pro praetore but with a different name. Language mattered, it seems, and while emperors in the second century might have begun to treat Italy like another province, opposition seems to have arisen in moments when they overtly stated that this was what they were doing. Take Marcus Aurelius’s proposal to source the annona urbis from Italy and not from the provinces.95 This measure was never implemented, quite likely because it proposed that Italy should take the place of the provinces in feeding the city of Rome. The unequivocal meaning of the tributum soli and of the tributum capitis—​ they were notae captivitatis, as Tertullian put it in the late second century—​thus quite likely also explains why Italy retained its unique fiscal status into the late third century. And yet, as mentioned at the outset of this section, Italy’s fiscal privilege did not survive the long second century unscathed. Septimius Severus and Caracalla seem to have been the first emperors to impose a regular and institutionalized annona on the regions through which their armies were traveling.96 Such requirements to supply armies in kind are attested before, but there they had

90. SHA Hadr. 22.13, with Eck 1995 [1991]. 91. For this shift in the object of restoration from Trajan to Hadrian, see Seelentag 2011, 306–​311. 92. The coin series are discussed in Zahrnt 2007. 93. App. B Civ. 1.38.172, with Eck 1995 [1991], 325n45. 94. Seelentag 2011, 312–​ 313, discusses the depictions of Italy and the provinces on the coinage of Antoninus Pius. 95. SHA Marc.  47–​48. 96. Mitthof 2001, 53.

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century  87 always been accompanied by an indemnity. Under the Severans, the annona militaris became a tax on property in kind for which no compensation was provided, and this tax was also collected in Italy, where senators paid it as well.97 Again, it seems important that rhetorically, this fiscal innovation did not upend the empire’s geography of power. The Severans came to power in a period of unprecedented fiscal crisis, caused mainly by the death toll of the Antonine Plague, and the Severans also came to power through the backing of the military.98 In the hostile tradition preserved in Cassius Dio, Septimius Severus advised his sons to “get  along, enrich the troops and care little about everyone else.”99 And indeed, Roman soldiers under Septimius Severus and Caracalla saw unprecedented pay raises, the abolishment of pay deductions, and a rise in donatives and praemia militiae.100 These two factors—​fiscal crisis and the need to pay soldiers well—​made the Severan period fertile ground for fiscal innovation such as the reformed annona militaris: as a tax in kind, it obviated the problems of inflation and scarce monetary revenue at the time;101 levying it on the region where the army was currently located obviated long and expensive transport across the empire. At the same time, as I hope to show in the last section of this chapter, the new shape of the annona militaris can also be seen as an example of a new set of ideas surrounding taxation, its function, and its meaning, which rose to prominence at the end of the long second century. However, before analyzing these ideas in detail, I now turn to the last remaining set of taxes in relation to which Roman citizens had a unique relationship—​the set of taxes that only they paid—​and the role of these taxes in the construction of imperial difference. Roman Citizens as Tax Base: Paying for Soldiers as Participation in Imperial Rule We know of at least three types of taxes in the empire that only Roman citizens paid. One is the vicesima libertatis vel manumissionis, a 5 percent tax on Roman citizens’ manumission of their slaves.102 This tax had republican origins, and as Roman citizens began to live in the provinces, it was also collected there. Next, the Gnomon of the Idios Logos also mentions a tax on rich unmarried Roman 97. Cass. Dio 78.9.1–​3, with Mitthof 2001, 74–​76, and Lo Cascio 2005, 153. 98. The contributions in Lo Cascio 2012 discuss different aspects of the impact of the Antonine Plague. See Jongman 2012 and Marcone 2012 for its economic and fiscal implications. 99. Cass. Dio 77.15.2. 100. Lo Cascio 2005, 153. 101. For another such attempt in obviating volatile market prices, see Lo Cascio 2005, 150–​152, on the decision to source Rome’s olive oil supply from imperial properties all across the empire, which civil war had increased massively. 102. Liv. 7.16.7–​8. Günther 2008, 95–​126, discusses the nature of the tax and the institutional apparatus for collecting it.

88  Lisa Pilar Eberle women, both free and freed.103 This tax was a penalty on single life, on life that had no chance of producing Roman citizens, and it seems to have been one of several aspects of Augustan social thought and legislation that made it into that document.104 Most significantly, Augustus also found a way of taxing Roman citizens’ property throughout the empire, including Italy. In 6 CE, he introduced the vicesima hereditatium, a 5 percent tax on the property that Roman citizens inherited.105 The revenue of the tax went directly into the aerarium militare, the newly created fund for soldier’s pay and pensions.106 Not only was this inheritance tax the heaviest of the fiscal burdens that only Roman citizens bore, but we also know of various changes that the tax underwent in the long second century. As a result, it constitutes the focus of this section of my chapter. The vicesima hereditatium was a tax of opportunity. Just like the tax on Roman citizens’ manumission of slaves and the centesima rerum venalia, a 1 percent tax on goods sold at auction that Augustus also introduced to feed the aerarium militare, it taxed a type of transaction that could only take place at specific times and places, meaning that collecting these taxes was comparatively cheap and easy.107 The manumission of slaves required the presence of a Roman magistrate, and auctions were publicly announced and thus relatively straightforward to tax.108 The lex Iulia de vicesima hereditatium created an analogous situation for Roman citizens’ inheritance: it encouraged the opening of the wills of Roman citizens in public, more specifically, in the presence of a magistrate, both by penalizing their opening in private and by providing incentives for certain heirs to bring wills before a magistrate.109 That being said, intestate succession was also still an option for Roman citizens, but the preference for legacies, which also played an important role in the reciprocal relationships that bound together the Roman elite, made it increasingly unattractive.110 As a result, we should imagine that the procurators and tax farmers who were part of the empire-​wide attested collection apparatus for the tax were constantly in

103. BGU V 120, ll. 84–​86. 104. Dolganov 2020a discusses the Augustan nature of the document. 105. For the introduction of the tax, see Cass. Dio 55.25, 56.28.4–​6, as well as Suet. Aug. 49.2, with Günther 2005. It remains unsure whether the tax did indeed fall on all citizens’ property. Cass. Dio 55.25.5 mentions Augustus exempting “poor people” from paying the tax. Gardner 2001a, 51, and Günther 2008, 46–​48, read Plin. Pan. 39.5–​40.2 to mean that this was Trajan’s doing. The language of both passages allows for different readings, though, as Günther 2008, 47, readily acknowledges. 106. On the aerarium militare and its history, see Corbier 1977. Speidel 2009, 72–​78, analyzes the context of its foundation. 107. For the sales tax, see Cass. Dio 58.16.2; Tac. Ann. 1.78.2, 3.42.4, together with Günther 2008, 127–​148. 108. For the role of magistrates in Roman manumission, see Ps.-​Ulp. epit. 1.5–​8. On agoranomoi and their involvement in auctions, see Moretti, Fincker, and Chankowski 2012. On the public nature of the Roman auction, which is attested through the prominent role of the praeco, see RE II(2), s.v. “Auction, römische.” 109. For the penalties on the opening of wills in private, see Paul. Sent. 4.6.2a. On legal incentives for heirs to open the will before a magistrate, see Günther 2008, 41, 55. 110. On legacies and reciprocity, see now Jehne 2016, 199–​200. Günther 2008, 40–​42, discusses other reasons for why intestate succession might have been on the wane.

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century  89 touch with local authorities and Roman magistrates, waiting for potential heirs to approach them.111 While Augustus introduced the vicesima hereditatium to remedy a serious political problem—​soldiers had to be compensated, both during and at the end of their service, and land assignments, as practiced during the civil wars, had proven deeply problematic—​the tax was by no means popular. Cassius Dio reports vigorous senatorial opposition to it, including various attempts to source the money elsewhere and a potential tax revolt in 13 CE that Augustus was only able to quash by threatening to impose tributum in Italy instead.112 Augustus might have tried to win approval for the tax by claiming that he had found the measure in the acta Caesaris.113 But quite likely, he also made a different argument. The central role that spending money played in how Augustus justified his own position and the concrete actions through which he sourced the funds for the aerarium militare raise the possibility that he tried to give the tax a radical new meaning, making its payment signify imperial rule and participation therein. Money and the spending of it were a cornerstone of how Augustus explained his preeminent position in the Roman polity. This is readily apparent in the preamble to his posthumous autobiography, a text that was possibly planned and composed, in several drafts, sometime before his death.114 The document is commonly known as the Res Gestae, a name that derives from its first two words. Quite likely, though, we should think of it as the Res Gestae et Impensae, “the things Augustus did and the money he spent,” not just because this is how the preamble continues but also because the many expenses that Augustus undertook “for the res publica and for the populus Romanus” are a central feature of the entire document.115 Among the concrete expenses listed, he also mentioned the lump sum and regular yearly payments that he placed in the aerarium militare.116 Arguably, this voluntary self-​taxation—​if such a thing were not an oxymoron—​ provided a model for senators, with whom Augustus was negotiating about the vicesima hereditatium. Augustus seems to have made the case that contributing a share of one’s own private fortune, also on a regular basis, was a fundamental aspect of what it meant to occupy a preeminent position in Rome’s imperial polity. If holding such a position was one of the senators’ ambitions, if they and

1 11. Günther 2008, 59–​87, outlines the nature and operation of the collection apparatus. 112. Cass. Dio 55.24–​25, 56.28.4–​6. 113. Cass. Dio 55.25.5. Kienast 2001 discusses the veracity of this claim as part of a wider investigation into Augustus’s relationship with Caesar. 114. Eck 2007, 169. Cooley 2010, 42–​43, who provides references to the entire debate, prefers a later date, close to Augustus’s death. 115. RGDA ed. Cooley pr. Cooley 2010, 34–​35, discusses the motive of “expenditure” (impensae) in the document. Speidel 2009, 76n86, also gathers evidence for Augustus advertising the use of his own money on his coins. 116. RGDA ed. Cooley §17. For the combination of lump-​sum and annual payments, see also Cass. Dio 55.25.3.

90  Lisa Pilar Eberle other Romans wanted the empire to be theirs in some meaningful way, they had better start making their own contributions; in other words, they had better start paying that 5  percent tax on inheritances that would pay for the soldiers who conquered and maintained this empire. The vicesima hereditatium, so Augustus might have claimed, meant that, to some extent at least, the Roman Empire was also still the Romans’ empire. The precise history of this meaning remains unclear. It certainly was not as persuasive as Augustus would have liked it to be. The potential tax revolt in 13 CE suggests as much. In 100 CE, though, we have a text that might contain echoes of Augustus’s interpretation of the tax. The passage in question stems from Pliny’s Panegyricus for the emperor Trajan, in which he spends five paragraphs praising the alterations that Nerva and Trajan had made to the lex Iulia de vicesima hereditatium as illustrations of the emperors’ frugality (frugalitas), generosity (liberalitas), and drive to remedy injury (iniuria).117 Crucially, however, Pliny begins the passage by explaining the general rightfulness of the inheritance tax. On his account, the vicesima hereditatium was one of those taxes that owed their existence to the “burdens of imperial rule” (onera imperii).118 As such, the inheritance tax was justified by imperial rule, and so the clear implication is that those paying it helped shoulder the burdens of that rule, just as Augustus might have claimed when he instituted the tax. That being said, Pliny also called the tax grave, onerous, and oppressive—​ not on everybody, though, but on new citizens.119 Augustus had made certain inheritances exempt from the vicesima.120 The precise dimensions of these exemptions remain debated.121 Inheritances from parents and grandparents, children and grandchildren, and siblings, so relatives of the first and second degree, are almost certain; the situation of aunts and uncles remains unclear. What does seem certain, though, is that these exemptions only applied to people whose familial relations were recognized by Roman law, which was rarely the case with new citizens. Their new civic status had legally cut them off from their existing family relations, both cognatic and agnatic.122 Nerva and Trajan changed this situation by exempting inheritances that new citizens might receive from family relations up to the second degree from the inheritance tax.123 For Pliny, then, the oppressiveness of the vicesima hereditatium that these emperors remedied resulted from 117. Plin. Pan. 37–​41, esp.  37.1 (iniuria), 38.4 (liberalitas), and 41.1 (frugalitas). On the role that these paragraphs played in Pliny’s (consular) self-​fashioning in the speech, see now Noreña 2011, esp. 30–​31. 118. Plin. Pan. 37.1. 119. Plin. Pan. 37.2–​5. 120. Plin. Pan. 37.1 (domestici) and Cass. Dio 55.25.5 (syngeneis). 121. Gardner 2001c, 205–​211; Gardner 2001a, 52; Günther 2007, 76–​79; Günther 2008, 42–​46. 122. Plin. Pan. 37.1–​5. On the legal implications of capitis deminutio media, which is how the Romans categorized the change in status that being granted citizenship entailed, see Gardner 2001a, 55. 123. Plin. Pan. 37.3–​39.5. On the nature of these changes, see Gardner 2001a, 55–​60; Günther 2008, 82–​84; Lavan, ­chapter 3 in this volume.

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century  91 the way in which Roman law rent apart familial bonds (sparsas atque . . . laceras gentilitates) and deprived people of things to which they were entitled based on blood, family ties, and shared religious rites (sanguine, gentilitatibus sacrorum denique societate).124 I want to make two observations in relation to this passage. One, if Pliny’s language is anything to go by, the changes in the exemptions to the vicesima hereditatium under Nerva and Trajan were wrapped up in growing preference for cognatic as opposed to agnatic ties that the Roman law of inheritance, as exemplified in the senatus consultum Tertullianum and the senatus consultum Orfitianum, increasingly displayed in the second century.125 Pliny’s repeated mention of the violation of new citizens’ iura cognationis—​violations that, so Pliny claimed, went against natural law and the divine order—​as well as the fact that Nerva made it so that these iura now automatically accompanied every grant of citizenship, suggest as much.126 Pliny’s unusual use of the word gentilitas to describe the social unit that grants of citizenship stood to rupture also indicates that these changes to the vicesima hereditatium were part and parcel of a way of thinking about familial bonds and the property rights that they entailed that broke with existing ideas.127 My second point relates to how, according to Pliny, the bestowal of Roman citizenship could be perceived. Citizenship was supposed to be the greatest favor (beneficium), he claims, but until the reforms of Nerva and Trajan, it had been the source of hatred (odium), discord (discordia), and loss of relatives (orbitas).128 It remains uncertain what relationship such claims had to the actual attitudes of new citizens. Pliny had been prefect of the aerarium militare, a position in which he might have heard reports from the procurators involved in collecting the inheritance tax. However this may be, the restricted iura cognationis of new citizens and their increased liability to the vicesima hereditatium, which resulted from these restrictions, was a case in which the Roman notion that it was all right for different citizens to have different rights encountered a limitation.129 In the second century, this limitation took the form of distinct and strong notions of familial relations and the property rights that these relations supposedly entailed. Emperors after Trajan further modified the law related to the vicesima hereditatium. Hadrian issued an edict related to the tax that only Justinian revoked; the Historia Augustus and Zonaras mention changes that Marcus Aurelius made; and Septimius Severus might also have altered some aspect of 124. Plin. Pan. 37.2, 39.3. 125. Cf. Gardner 1998, 228–​233. For earlier traces of this development, see Gardner 1998, 27–​34, 83–​84. 126. For iura cognationis and their violation, see Plin. Pan. 37.3, 6; 39.1, 2. Arguments about natural law and the divine order can be found at 39.2, 4; and 38.7. 127. Plin. Pan. 37.2, 39.3. Gardner 2001c, 207, highlights the unusual nature of this use of gentilitas. 128. Plin. Pan. 37.4. 129. See “Roman Citizenship as Fiscal Privilege,” earlier in this chapter.

92  Lisa Pilar Eberle the collection mechanism.130 The precise nature of all these changes escapes us. At the very least, however, the regular imperial attention that the tax received in the long second century suggests that it continued to provide a stage on which emperors could readily put their virtues (liberalitas, frugalitas, etc.) on display. Caracalla’s manipulations of the inheritance tax, however, seem to have gone in the exact opposite direction: in the early third century, this emperor doubled its rate and abolished all exemptions.131 While Macrinus undid these reforms in 217 CE, they nonetheless deserve more detailed examination.132 Cassius Dio, who tells us about the details of Caracalla’s reforms, saw these acts as further evidence for the material motives underlying Caracalla’s grant of universal citizenship. And indeed, there is little doubt that Caracalla’s measures substantially increased the income of the aerarium militare. That being said, in the following and final section of this chapter, I hope to show that the precise contours of his manipulations of the vicesima hereditatium were also part of a wider pattern of thought and action related to fiscality that can be traced under the Severans. Crucially, this Severan fiscal ideology not only changed Roman citizens’ relation to taxation, but by possibly providing one of the ideological underpinnings of the Constitutio Antoniniana, this new semantics of taxation might have altered the relationship between citizenship and the empire as a whole. Taxation and Community under the Severans In 29 BCE, Agrippa and Maecenas debated the pros and cons of democracy and monarchy before Octavian, or so Cassius Dio, writing in the early third century, would have it.133 As part of their debate, they also touched upon fiscal questions. Agrippa raised the issue as part of his case for democracy: he claimed that democracies, unlike monarchies, had no problems raising funds because in them people paid taxes voluntarily and willingly.134 In the second part of his speech, where he listed a set of concrete proposals for how to best organize a monarchy, Maecenas agreed that the legitimacy of taxation was indeed a problem for sole rulers, but he also proposed various ways around this problem.135 His

130. Cod. Iust. 6.33.3; Zonar. 12.1; SHA Marc. 11.8; Paulus, Sent. 3.5.15. Günther 2008, 54–​56, discusses in some detail the changes that Hadrian might have made. I disagree with his reading of Gai. Inst. 93–​94, where he suggests that Hadrian might have rolled back some of the exemptions that Nerva and Trajan had added. 131. Cass. Dio 78.9.4–​5. 132. Cass. Dio 79.12.2. 133. Cass. Dio 52.2–​40. This debate between Agrippa and Maecenas probably is the most studied part of Dio’s work. Adler 2012, 477n3, provides a comprehensive bibliography. See now also the relevant contributions in Fromentin et al. 2016 and Lange and Madsen 2016. 134. Cass. Dio 52.6. 135. Cass. Dio 52.28–​29.

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century  93 first suggestion was to avoid taxation altogether; instead, the monarch was to turn banker, selling off existing public property in order to subsequently lend out the income from those sales at interest. In a second step, all other revenues from imperial properties such as mines were to be counted. And then, in third place only, taxes on property could be levied. To ensure their legitimacy, according to Maecenas, the monarch had to ensure that not just he himself but also the taxpayers benefited from how the taxes were spent. If taxes were used to pay soldiers who were then used to ensure the security of taxpayers’ property, people would pay these taxes willingly. Crucially, for this willingness to arise, all those who enjoyed the benefits of how taxes were spent also had to pay them. No exemptions, neither to communities nor to individuals, should be granted. After all, it was only “just and proper” that those who benefited from the expenditure of taxes should also pay them—​this, at least, is what Maecenas claimed.136 These were strong ideas but not necessarily new ones. As Fergus Millar pointed out, the proposal to create public revenue by selling off public property and lending out the incoming revenue at interest has a clear precedent in Trajan’s sale of the properties that Domitian had confiscated, through which he created a source of revenue for his alimenta scheme.137 More recently, Jérôme France has argued that Maecenas’s attempt to legitimate property taxes by pointing to the security of property for which they paid can already be found in the Augustan period.138 In line with these arguments, I want to suggest that Maecenas’s vigorous dislike of exemptions to property taxes, his suggestion that all those benefiting from how property taxes were spent should also pay them, can be seen as another feature of already existing practice that went into his fiscal proposals. This attitude, I contend, was a hallmark of Severan fiscal reform. Given Maecenas’s endorsement of universal citizenship, the inclusion of yet another Severan idea among his arguments should not come as a surprise.139 Turning to Severan fiscal practice, the way in which Septimius Severus and Caracalla reformed the annona militaris can be read as an attempt to put into practice the fiscal thought that Dio put into Maecenas’s mouth. As a tax in kind that sustained the army and that was only levied in the region where the army was stationed, it enacted a very tight link—​a closed circuit, one might say—​ between paying the tax and enjoying its benefits. Crucially, the way in which the tax was collected also does not appear to have respected existing fiscal privilege. As mentioned earlier, the annona militaris was also collected in Italy, we know 136. Cass. Dio 52.28.6–​7. 137. Millar 1964, 110. 138. France 2016. As Cliff Ando has pointed out to me, Vell. Pat. 2.89.4 already mentions the idea that Augustus restored the security of property rights to Roman citizens. 139. Cass. Dio 52.19.6. Kemezis 2019, 45, makes a case for how Maecenas’s fiscal arguments set up a foil that Dio’s portrayal of the Severan period constantly violated. Based on my argument here, one might build on this suggestion to see Dio as purposefully contrasting Severan ideology and practice.

94  Lisa Pilar Eberle of no exemption from its payment, and, as Cassius Dio was keen to emphasize, senators paid it as well.140 Furthermore, Caracalla’s manipulations of the vicesima hereditatium might also be seen as an attempt to redesign that tax in line with this fiscal thought. The revenue from the inheritance tax had always gone directly into the aerarium militare, and so the close connection between paying taxes on property and enjoying the benefits of how they were spent, albeit less immediate than with the annona militaris, was an essential feature of that tax. As mentioned, Caracalla also abolished all exemptions from the inheritance tax, exemptions that had been a feature of that tax since Augustus introduced it in 6 CE. With this measure, Caracalla might indeed have sought to raise money for paying his soldiers.141 However, what interests me here is the precise way in which Caracalla tried to raise this money:  by abolishing all exemptions on a property tax that fed the aerarium militare—​in other words, by creating a situation in which, according to Maecenas, people would pay this tax willingly, not least because the people paying the tax were those whose property its expenditure was meant to protect. Moving beyond the taxes that I have discussed in this chapter so far, Severan legal reasoning about taxation, about munera in particular, also betrays signs of Maecenas’s fiscal thought. For one, fragments of several Severan jurists as well as Septimius Severus’s own legislation suggest that this was a time in which exemptions to taxes on property were minimized. In the third book of his Opiniones, Ulpian claimed that everyone must pay the vectigalia and the onera sollemnia, most likely “customary burdens,” on their patrimonies.142 Since the other fragments preserved from this book concern municipal matters, the sentence might be read as a general pronouncement about liability to taxation in a municipal context:  no exemptions on taxes on property should be granted.143 Importantly, one might also see this principle at work in the way in which Septimius Severus delimited the tax exemptions of veterans: they were to be exempt from all munera except for those on patrimonies, an approach that stood in clear contrast to earlier imperial legislation by Octavian and Domitian on the matter.144 In his fourth book on the office of the proconsul, written under Caracalla, Ulpian later reiterated the same idea, and Papinian seems to have delimited philosophers’ privileges along identical lines.145 In brief, also in

140. Cass. Dio 78.9.2–​3. 141. Cass. Dio 78.9.2–​5. Lo Cascio 2005, 153. 142. Dig. 49.18.2. Watson 1985 translates sollemnis as “religious”; “customary,” another possible meaning of the word, is supported by the passages cited later, which seem to illustrate the principle we get with that translation. 143. Lenel 1889, 1006–​1007. 144. Dig. 50.5.7. For the quasi-​universal grants of immunity by Octavian and Domitian, see FIRA2 I 55, 56, 76. For treatments of the history of veterans’ privileges, see. Wolff 1986 and Link 1989. 145. Dig. 49.18.4, 50.5.8.4. For speculations about the precise date of Ulpian’s work, see Honoré 2002, 181–​185.

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century  95 municipal contexts, Severan emperors and jurists appear to have insisted that everyone should pay taxes on property. Of course, a substantial group of munera were considered taxes not on property but on persons, and certain groups in the empire could readily be exempt from this latter type of taxation, also under the Severans.146 Quite likely, this willingness was not limited to munera. As I suggested earlier, in the course of the long second century, the tributum capitis, the tax on persons par excellence, became intertwined with the way in which imperial authorities allocated honor across the citizen–​alien divide, a strategy that Caracalla seems to have continued, if indeed the Constitutio Antoniniana contained a savings clause concerning the fiscal status of the newly minted citizens.147 Taxes on the person, it seems, could readily be used to confer and enhance status distinctions. By contrast, when it came to taxes on property, especially those that were earmarked for a specific purpose such as the military or the concrete tasks that munera enshrined, everyone had to pull their weight, even soldiers, whose status, in most other respects, increased significantly under the Severans. Admittedly, we do have evidence for one prominent tax exemption from the Severan period that seems to contradict this neat principle: the so-​called sacrae litterae, attested in seven copies, in both Greek and Latin throughout the Greek East, from Paros and Ephesos to Phrygia, Lydia, and Pisidia.148 In this pronouncement, the emperors confirmed a senatus consultum of unknown date according to which senators were exempt from the requirement to provide accommodation to officials or soldiers. According to Ulpian, at least, hospitium, of which the munus of hosting an official guest was a part, was a munus on property and not on the person.149 According to Severan fiscal thought, as I have tried to excavate it here, then, senators should not have been exempt. Several remarks can be made in relation to this exemption and the way in which it is preserved. One, it seems important to note that the original source of the exemption had been the Senate itself. Septimius Severus and Caracalla were confirming a senatus consultum in which the senators had granted themselves an immunity. Going against this decision of the Senate would have meant opposing both the material interests of that body and its claim to authority. Two, the very fact that the emperors had been asked to confirm this exemption makes it likely that something had called it into question, possibly an environment in which 146. Cf. Dig. 50. 4.1.2–​4 (Hermogenian), 4.6.4 (Ulpian), and 4.18 (Arcadius). The last two authors also try to give analytical definitions of the different types of munera, and they also give their opinions on the class of munera to which concrete cases belong. 147. This restoration is supported by Sherwin-​White 1973b, 92, 97; Nicolet 1976a, 31; Kuhlmann 1994, 231–​ 232; Mélèze-​Modrzejewski 2011, 30–​33. 148. Mitchell 2016, 681–​682, gathers the references to all the different copies and re-​edits in addition to the one published by Robert 1978 based on the discovery of new fragments of the inscription. I need to thank Georgy Kantor for drawing my attention to this set of documents. 149. Dig. 50.4.3.14.

96  Lisa Pilar Eberle imperial authorities, including emperors and jurists, were demonstrably trying to clamp down on fiscal exemptions concerning taxes on property. Three, the widespread copying of the imperial decision, which had most likely been given in response to one particular case, might also be explained in light of this environment. As Thomas Drew-​Bear remarked, these copies are an example of senators adopting a strategy that we usually find among less powerful people in the empire such as the inhabitants of highland villages: they copied out and monumentalized imperial pronouncements that had been given in response to one particular inquiry in order to protect themselves from predation.150 Differently put, we might have so many provincial copies of the sacrae litterae precisely because they went against the fiscal thought and practice of their age. The papyrus containing Octavian’s provisions for his veterans might illustrate the same dynamic. The papyrus begins by recounting how a veteran, Manius Valens, read aloud parts of Octavian’s provisions, quite likely as part of a trial.151 The papyrus is commonly thought to date from the second or third century, and we have a good second-​century example for just this practice:  in 172 CE, another veteran, Gaius Iulius Apolinaris, wrote a petition in which he invoked an unspecified diatagma in which the rule had been laid down that veterans were exempt from munera for five years after the end of their service.152 At a time when Severan emperors and jurists insisted that taxes on property, both local and imperial, should be paid, Manius Valens would appear to have struck gold with Octavian’s edict, a text that purported to concern “all veterans” and that gave quasi-​universal immunities to them, their families, and their properties.153 My last example of Severan legal reasoning that shows parallels with Maecenas’s fiscal thought is Ulpian’s position on the liability to perform local munera. In his second book on the edict, Ulpian explained that regardless of where a man’s landholdings were located, if he did all his legal business in a municipium, frequented the forum there, and went to the theater and to the baths there, his domicilium was to be in that municipium, meaning that he was liable to perform munera there.154 In other words, if you enjoyed the benefits of a place, you could also be required to help finance and sustain that place and the benefits you enjoyed there. As Fergus Millar has pointed out, Ulpian’s student Modestinus appeared to be thinking along the same lines when he suggested that somebody who did not use the amenities of a town, even though he lived in the countryside nearby, could not be considered an incola and thus could not be liable to perform munera in that town.155 Only those who enjoyed the benefits of a place should 1 50. Drew-​Bear 1977, 363. See Bryen, ­chapter 1 in this volume. 151. FIRA2 I 56, l. 1: recitasserit. 152. BGU I  180, ll. 1–​5. For the date of the papyrus containing Octavian’s edict, see its publication as BGU II 628. 153. FIRA2 I 56, ll. 4–​12. 154. Dig. 50.1.27.1. For evidence of earlier jurists who had rather different views on the matter, see Dig. 50.1.5. 155. Dig. 50.1.35, with Millar 1983, 84.

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century  97 be made to pay for them. Lastly, the emperor Septimius Severus might have articulated much the same principle in a response to a petition of villagers from Egypt that was then cited and discussed in a trial before the prefect of Egypt in 250 CE.156 He declared these villagers exempt from munera and claimed that this exemption was eulogos, reasonable or well-​reasoned, a word that suggests that some argument, possibly along the lines that we find in Ulpian and Modestinus, had gone into making this decision.157 While these fragments of legal reasoning are further evidence for the pervasiveness of the fiscal thought that Dio had Maecenas expound in the Severan period, they also point to the way in which this way of thinking about fiscality gave taxation a new meaning: it allowed the payment of taxes to constitute communities. Membership in these new fiscal communities had two features: enjoying certain benefits and paying for them. Neither of these features was optional. The fiscal provisions discussed so far focused on ensuring the second feature: they sought to make sure that everyone paid. Arguably, though, it was also possible to approach the problem from a different direction:  to look at who paid and make sure that all of the payers enjoyed the benefits of how their taxes were spent. In the remaining part of the chapter, I want to explore the possibility that this way of thinking might have underpinned the Constitutio Antoniniana. After all, Caracalla’s universal grant of citizenship was not just a monumental shift in the history of Roman citizenship; it also meant thinking of the empire in a different way, it meant thinking of it as community. According to Maecenas, those who paid property taxes derived a clear benefit from them: these taxes went to pay soldiers, who in turn ensured the security of the taxpayers’ property. Jérôme France was certainly right to see here an echo of the pax Augusta. But the late second century was a time when the promise of pax had become only one among many claims that emperors were making about the benefits of Roman rule. Septimius Severus and Caracalla, in particular, highlighted nike, victoriousness, as one of the things that the empire was bringing to its subjects. The late second century was a time when the concrete victories of emperors and their commemoration throughout the high empire were being replaced with a more general sense of victoriousness, quite likely as a bottom-​up process that was catalyzed by the deepening sense of crisis and anxiety enveloping the empire in the late second century.158 One of the first attestations of this general victoriousness can be traced in civic monuments in the provinces from the middle of the second century, such as newly built baths in Carian Aphrodisias, and Septimius Severus then became the first emperor to speak of victoria aeterna on his coins.159 Fittingly, under 156. 157. 158. 159.

P.Lond. 2565, ll. 82ff., esp. 105–​106. P.Lond. 2565, l. 84. McCormick 1986,  11–​34. Charles-​Picard 1957, 423, 469–​470.

98  Lisa Pilar Eberle the Severans and probably already with Commodus, the aurum coronarium, the payment that communities throughout the empire had previously made on the occasion of an imperial triumph or accession, became a regular tax.160 As the celebration of general victoriousness was replacing the monumentalization of separate victories, voluntary donations for specific occasions were being replaced by continuous impositions. Caracalla, of course, modeled himself on the ever-​victorious Alexander and portrayed various actions of his, including his success in overthrowing the murderers of Geta, as signs of this victoriousness.161 Intriguingly, nike also appears in Caracalla’s reasoning in the Constitutio Antoniniana. Directly after granting citizenship to the oikoumene, Caracalla seems to have provided a justification for so doing.162 The sentence begins with ophelei gar—​“for it is appropriate”—​suggesting that it contained an important part of Caracalla’s explanation. The precise contours of what Caracalla considered appropriate are only fragmentarily preserved. His reasoning, however, unambiguously involved nike, victory or victoriousness, and participation therein (enperilambanesthai).163 According to a widely shared but not uncontested restoration of Adolf Wilhelm, Caracalla reasoned in this passage that it was only right for those who paid for this victoriousness to share in it as well.164 Since this victoriousness was a quality of the emperor, sharing in it meant becoming what Caracalla himself called “his people” (tous meous anthropous); it meant becoming Roman.165 Now the victoriousness of the emperor was shared by all inhabitants of his empire. To be sure, this reading of P.Giss. 40 is highly speculative, not least because it rests on a heavily restored passage in the papyrus. At the same time, it gains strength from the distinctly Severan fiscal thought that I have excavated in this last section of the chapter, fiscal thought that provides an intellectual context for this restoration. At a time when imperial authorities were eliminating tax exemptions to make sure that everyone was pulling their weight when it came to financing the benefits that supposedly everyone enjoyed, the idea that one might approach the problem also from the other direction—​by ensuring that those who paid also reaped the benefits—​does not seem far-​fetched. Caracalla’s grant of universal citizenship might thus have constituted the ultimate resignification of taxation in the empire. 160. Duncan-​Jones 1994,  7. 161. Kuhlmann 1994, 238; Mélèze-​Modrzejewski 2011, 27. On Caracalla and Alexander, see Hdn. 4.8.1–​3; Cass. Dio 78.7.1. 162. P.Giss. 40, ll. 9–​11. Buraselis 2007, 14–​93, and Imrie 2018, 99–​133, analyze the sentences before the actual grant as a way into the thought-​world that underpinned Caracalla’s grant. 163. P.Giss. 40, l. 10. 164. Wilhelm 1934, followed by, e.g., Heichelheim 1941. Kuhlmann 1994, 238, argued that the remaining fragments of letters did not allow for this restoration. However, Mélèze-​Modrzejewski 2011, 36, goes back to Wilhelm’s text. Most modern commentators stop short of discussing the passage. 165. P.Giss. 40, l. 6.

Fiscal Semantics in the Long Second Century  99 In sum, Cassius Dio claimed that fiscal demands—​Caracalla’s greed, his need for more taxes—​had motivated his universal grant of citizenship.166 I, too, have suggested that taxation underpinned Caracalla’s grant—​not the material aspects of taxation, though, but its semantic dimension. Severan fiscal thought, which I  have traced through emperors’ enactments, jurists’ reasonings, and contemporaries’ histories, radically transformed the possible meanings of taxation in the empire. This way of thinking made it possible to see the payment of taxes as giving rise to community, both at the municipal and at the imperial level. Dio had Maecenas articulate this fiscal thought—​the idea that it was just and fair that those enjoying the benefits of taxation should also be the ones paying for them—​as part of his argument about the circumstances under which imperial subjects would pay taxes willingly. According to Agrippa, this was a problem that monarchy faced in general. Arguably, though, concern with ensuring the receipt of revenue might have become particularly acute in the context of the broader imperial crisis that began in the late second century. As a result, what I have called Severan fiscal thought might readily be seen as a response to this crisis: it was ancient social thought developed in response to an urgent problem of the period. As this social thought shaped the actions of emperors and jurists, it altered the fiscal landscape of the empire and Roman citizens’ position in it. These alterations went on to have varied lives. However, the way in which the social thought that underpinned these changes saw taxation as constitutive of community might have also impacted the conception of the empire as a whole, in this case with profound and long-​lasting consequences.

166. Cass. Dio 78.9.5.

Part II

Roman Citizenship and Family Strategies

101

3

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks Myles Lavan

R

oman citizenship is usually conceived of as a source of privilege. But it could also be a burden, since it entailed a number of obligations that were exclusive to Roman citizens (henceforth “Romans”).1 These arose particularly in matters of marriage and inheritance. One example is the requirement for a Roman will to be written in Latin, which must have posed challenges for many of the Greek-​speaking Romans in the East of the empire, not to forget those in the West who spoke languages other than Latin.2 A second example—​the main subject of this chapter—​is the strict regime governing the transmission of citizen status and property to the children of unions between Romans and non-​Romans (“mixed unions”). Romans were never prevented from marrying peregrines, but Roman law restricted their capacity to transmit their citizen status to their children if they did so. It compounded this disadvantage by making it difficult for them to leave property to any peregrine children. These restrictive features of the Roman law of marriage, status, and inheritance have received growing attention in recent years, particularly from historians of the Greek East.3 This chapter aims to advance on this literature in three respects. First, I  try to do justice to the complexity of the legal issues, which are less straightforward than sometimes suggested. There were a number of exceptions and qualifications that allowed some Romans in mixed unions to transmit their status to their children. The existence of these potential loopholes means that the impact of the legal regime is ultimately an empirical question that can only be addressed through quantitative analysis of actual cases. I will show that inscriptions and papyri show not just that some Romans in mixed unions did indeed have non-​Roman children but that the 1. I use “Romans” as a shorthand for “Roman citizens,” both for economy and to avoid confusion when I use “citizen” with regard to membership of one of the constituent communities of the empire (a muncipium, colonia, or other civitas). 2. See “Other Rituals and Practices of Citizenship” in the introduction to this volume. 3. See esp. Roberto 2009; Kirbihler 2012b; Ferrary 2014, 51–​56; Pont 2016, 244; Besson 2017, 211–​215; Besson 2020, 305–​313; Fournier 2020, 245-​251.

Myles Lavan, Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks In: Roman and Local Citizenship in the Long Second Century CE. Edited by: Myles Lavan and Clifford Ando, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197573884.003.0004

104  Myles Lavan prejudicial treatment of mixed unions seems to have produced a pronounced tendency toward endogamy among Romans in mixed-​status communities—​at least, in the propertied classes. It is also essential to bear in mind the variety of juridical ecologies in which Romans lived.4 The law here would have had different effects in Roman, Latin, and peregrine communities; in the latter two cases, its consequences would also have depended on the relative proportion of Romans and non-​Romans, which varied widely from community to community. Second, I  offer a diachronic perspective on the development of the legal regime governing mixed unions, to complicate a common assumption that imperial policy always worked to facilitate the integration of the provincial population. Roman law did become somewhat more accommodating to mixed unions over the course of the imperial period, but measures to mitigate the effects of these two restrictive principles were limited and came surprisingly late. Moreover, the development was far from linear, with interventions to loosen the rules alternating with others that tightened them. Finally, I try to explain the surprising persistence of these exclusive principles, arguing that it is just one example of the Roman Empire’s relatively slow transformation from a conquest state to an aristocratic empire. The chapter begins by reviewing the two key restrictive principles in Roman law: the rule established by the lex Minicia that the offspring of a mixed union took the status of the inferior partner and the ban on testation to peregrines. I then trace the evolution of these rules over the long second century, stressing the modest scale of efforts to mitigate their prejudicial effects on mixed unions. The second half of the chapter supplements the legal analysis with empirical evidence. I  first present concrete examples of peregrine children of Roman parents from inscriptions and papyri, proving the operation of the first principle through to the end of the second century. I then examine the effects of the legal regime on the structure of family networks in the provinces, presenting evidence that Roman law encouraged endogamy among Roman families in mixed-​status communities. Romans certainly married non-​Romans but did so at much lower rates than one would otherwise expect. I  also notes a second and indirect effect of the Roman law of marriage. Roman citizenship facilitated the development of supra-​poliadic networks of leading Roman families, both because the incentive to endogamy sometimes entailed looking further afield for partners and because Roman citizenship facilitated marriage outside one’s community, which may have been more difficult for peregrine families in some of the old Greek poleis.

4. See “The Status of Communities in Roman Public Law” in the introduction to this volume.

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  105 The Transmission of Property and Status The Lex Minicia, Conubium, and Illegitimacy Before the lex Minicia, Roman law seems to have regulated the status of children according to a ius gentium principle that the child of a mixed union took the status of the mother.5 The lex Minicia introduced a new, stricter rule that the child of a union between a Roman and a peregrine took the status of the inferior parent (deterioris parentis condicio), unless the partners had conubium (the right to form a iustum matrimonium).6 It is a profound gap in our knowledge that we do not know when this important law was passed. It is mentioned only by Gaius and the Tituli Ulpiani. The first known magistrates with the nomen Minicius are two suffect consuls of the Flavian period.7 But the author might have been an unknown Minicius of earlier date. Or the name of the law—​which survives intact only in a single, barely legible passage in the manuscript of Gaius—​may be a corruption of Minucia, there being numerous earlier Minucii who could be its author.8 The closest to a terminus ante quem is the last known lex rogata (the lex Iunia Vellaea of 28 CE); it is unlikely that it was much later.9 Scholars have tried to tease the chronological context out of Gaius’s description of its effect on Latins, but the arguments are inconclusive.10 The decades before the Social War are one plausible context, but so, too, are the 60s (with the lex Papia, the trial of Archias, and several Minucii active in politics), and it would not even have been out of place under Augustus or Tiberius.11 What we do know is that the law was still in force in the late second century and seems never to have been repealed.12 5. Ulpian at Dig. 1.5.24 and Gai. Inst. 1.78. Our understanding of the legal regime is complicated by the fact that most of the legal sources postdate the Constitutio Antoniniana, after which unions with peregrines were no longer a significant issue. Our best guide is a short overview in Gaius’s Institutes (1.65–​92), which is corroborated by the much briefer synopsis in the later Tituli Ulpiani 5.3–​10. There are good syntheses at Friedl 1996, 136, and Buckland 1963, 100, and fuller discussion at Kaser 1955, 241–​242, and Treggiari 1991, 45–​49. 6. Tituli Ulpiani 5.8 and Gai. Inst. 1.78 (restored from the former). 7. PIR Minicius 605 and 609. Cn. Minicius, a supposed consul of the early first century, has proved to be a fiction (Bowman, Tomlin, and Worp 2009, 163–​164). 8. Castello 1953, 313–​314. 9. Sisani 2018, 368. 10. An unfortunately fragmentary sentence stated that the term peregrinus in the lex Minicia encompassed solum exterae nationes et gentes, sed etiam qui Latini nominantur, but observed that these Latini did not include Junian Latins (Gaius’s main concern), but rather ad alios Latinos pertinet, qui proprios populos propriasque civitates habebant et erant peregrinorum numero (Gai. Inst. 1.79). Luraschi 1976 argued that several details in Gaius’s gloss—​notably the present pertinet and the use of a complex periphrasis rather than the simple phrase Latini coloniarii or Latini prisci—​are more appropriate to the fictitious Latin coloniae created in Transpadana in 89 than to the veteres Latini of Latium or the Latin colonies founded before the Social War. García Fernández 2018 argues that the description of independent status better fits the pre–​Social War context. There are merits in both arguments, leaving the date of the law entirely uncertain. 11. Castello 1953, Cherry 1990, Roselaar 2013, and García Fernández 2018 make the case for a date before the Social War; Luraschi 1976 and Terreni 1999, 349n27, for the 60s; Sisani 2018, 367–​370, for the reign of Tiberius. 12. The law is described as current at Gai. Inst. 1.78 (and implicitly applied at 1.75) and Tituli Ulpiani 5.8. It seems to be applied in the mid-​second-​century text of the Gnomon of the Idios Logos (BGU V 1210 s. 39, with Bagnall 1993).

106  Myles Lavan Where the partners had conubium, the lex Minicia did not apply, and the child took the status of the father.13 Setting aside for a moment the situation in communities with the Latin right, conubium between Romans and peregrines seems to have been relatively rare in the imperial period. Gaius notes the possibility of conubium in unions with peregrines or (Junian) Latins, but the only example he gives is the regular grant of conubium to some veterans.14 We know from the military diplomas that soldiers in the auxilia, fleets, equites singulares, and praetorian and urban cohorts received a grant of conubium with an existing or future peregrine wife toward or at the end of their term of service.15 Even in their case, the right seems to have been limited to a single marriage and could not be transferred in the case of divorce or the death of the first wife.16 It is possible but unlikely that their living children received the same right. There were some similar grants of conubium to legionary veterans, but these were probably exceptional.17 The only other explicit evidence for conubium comes from Volubilis in Mauretania, where two inscriptions commemorate a Claudian grant of Roman citizenship and concomitant reconstitution as a municipium together with conubium with peregrine women.18 It has been suggested that all Roman coloniae and possibly also municipia enjoyed this privilege, on the grounds that it would be necessary to ensure the long-​term sustainability of their citizen populations in a provincial context. The hypothesis is entirely plausible, but it cannot be proven.19 Even if the hypothesis is correct, it would still only cover a minority of mixed unions, because the rate of exogamy must have been much lower in Roman communities than among Romans living dispersed in Latin and peregrine communities. The vast majority of mixed unions in the many peregrine

13. Gai. Inst. 1.56 and Tituli Ulpiani 5.8. See Roselaar 2013 on the republican background to the institution of conubium in the imperial period. 14. Gai. Inst. 1.56–​57. 15. Lavan  2019a. 16. So Gai. Inst. 1.57 (quas primas  .  .  .  uxores duxerint). The restriction is clear in the formula used in constitutions for the praetorian and urban cohorts (cum singulis et primis uxoribus). It is not obviously present in the formula used for auxiliaries and classici (dumtaxat singuli singulas, later dumtaxat singulis), but the restriction may well have been interpreted in the same way. See Lavan 2019a, 31n25. 17. The three examples are all Domitianic: P.Mich. 432, P.Ryl. 611, ILS 9059. Several considerations suggest that these were exceptional; see Wolff 1974, 496–​509. 18. ab divo Claudio civitatem Romanam et conubium cum peregrinis mulieribus . . . impetravit (IAM 2 448; cf the briefer reference on IAM 2 448). 19. Vittinghoff 1994, 288, finds confirmation of this hypothesis in a passage of Tacitus’s Histories where the Ubii of Cologne, rejecting calls to join in the German and Gallic revolt by massacring the Romans among them, point to their ties to the immigrant population “settled long ago and allied with us through conubium” (Tac. Hist. 4.65.2; cf. also 3.41.1 on Cremona). Given Tacitus’s distaste for using technical terms in their technical sense, however, it would be unwise to insist that it means any more than “intermarriage” here. See Gerber and Greef 1903, s.v. conubium for Tacitus’s loose usage elsewhere. Tacitus, of all authors, cannot prove anything about the legal framework. But his Histories does illustrate a wider recognition of, and interest in, the fact of intermarriage in colonial contexts (on which see Ando 2016c; Ando 2019b, 184–​186).

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  107 communities of the empire should have been subject to the provisions of the lex Minicia. There was one possible loophole in the lex Minicia, namely, the doctrine of illegitimacy.20 Children conceived outside of marriage (vulgo concepti/​quaesiti) were regarded as having no father and took the status of their mother. Roman women in unions with peregrine men could therefore transmit their status to their children by declaring them illegitimate. There is scattered evidence that some did so, living in stable relationships but forgoing marriage. In second-​century Egypt, for example, Sempronia Gemella registered two children, M. Sempronius Socratio and M. Sempronius Sarapio, as illegitimate (ex incerto patre). It has been suggested that their father was Sokrates, a local tax collector who appears to have lived a few houses away from Sempronia Gemella (though it is perhaps significant that the two do not appear to have lived together).21 This may also explain some anomalous cases in the epigraphic record of fathers with peregrine-​form names who have children with Roman-​form names.22 Nevertheless, it is far from clear that the value of transmitting citizen status would have outweighed the costs of forgoing marriage. Even setting aside any possible social stigma associated with illegitimacy, both mother and children might encounter adverse effects in disputes relating to dowries or intestate succession, as soldiers’ partners experienced to their severe detriment when they sought to reclaim their dowries in Roman courts.23 In any case, the epigraphic evidence for non-​Roman children of Roman mothers (see “The Peregrine Children of Roman Citizens” later in this chapter) indicates that many unions between Roman women and peregrine men were recognized as marriages and that the children were born peregrines, in accordance with the lex Minicia.24 Junian Latins and the Latin Right The lex Minicia did not apply to unions with the class of disadvantaged freed slaves that we term Junian Latins.25 These were slaves who had been freed by Roman citizens in contravention of the restrictions established by the Augustan

20. On illegitimacy in Roman law, see esp. Rawson 1989; Gardner 1997; Evans Grubbs 2015. 21. P.Mich. 3 169, with Strassi 2001, 224–​226. 22. Gascou 1999, 296–​297, discusses nine examples from Latin communities in Narbonensis, Lugdunensis, Noricum, and Africa Proconsularis. See “The Peregrine Children of Roman Citizens” later in this chapter. 23. Phang 2001, 221–​223, 317–​320 (on legal implications for mother and children, respectively); Gardner 1997, 40–​50; Cherry 1990, 252. 24. Roman law did recognize non-​Roman marriages as such. Though they did not produce all the effects of matrimonium in the ius civile, they did have legal consequences (Corbett 1930, 96; Kaser 1955, I: 267; Fiori 2011b, 217; Nowak 2020, 187). Otherwise, the provisions of the lex Minicia for children of female citizens by peregrine men would have been redundant, as would the summary of those provisions in Gaius’s Institutes (1.75), the Tituli Ulpiani (5.8), and the similar rule in the Gnomon of the Idios logos (s. 39), all of which state that the child of a Roman woman by a peregrine is a non-​citizen. 25. On Junian Latins, see esp. Weaver 1990 and López Barja de Quiroga 1998.

108  Myles Lavan manumission laws (which specified minimum ages for master and slave) or without using the statutory forms of manumission (vindicta, testamento, censu). The Augustan laws established that slaves freed in contravention of the limits or illegitime (“informally,” in modern parlance) were free but not Roman citizens. Instead, they acquired a new status modeled on that of the persons settled in coloniae Latinae in republican Italy. According to Gaius, the lex Minicia did not apply to unions between Romans and Junian Latins. Instead, the child of a Roman and a Junian Latin normally took the status of the mother, by the ius gentium (albeit with some complications that I will return to).26 The situation is more obscure in the case of unions between Romans and the non-​Roman citizens of the growing number of western communities that possessed the Latin right (ius Latinum). The problem is related to a broader controversy about the status of the latter in Roman law. It remains unclear whether the ius Latinum enjoyed by provincial communities in the imperial period entailed a personal status analogous to that of the Latini before the Social War or if it had become a purely collective status, with the non-​Roman citizens of these communities being classed as peregrines.27 Even if they did enjoy a distinct status as Latini, it would not necessarily follow that they enjoyed the right of conubium with Roman citizens.28 Our principal authorities for the treatment of mixed unions in Roman law—​the surveys in Gaius’s Institutes and the Tituli Ulpiani—​both state unequivocally that Latini only enjoyed conubium if it was expressly granted.29 They seem to be thinking exclusively of Junian Latins, but it is still revealing that the Latin status created for these ex-​slaves did not entail conubium. Indeed, a badly damaged passage of Gaius seems to imply that the scope of the lex Minicia explicitly extended to the citizens of Latin communities, which would be hard to reconcile with a general right of conubium.30 (Precisely which Latin communities these were depends on the date of the law:  the “old Latins” of Latium, the coloniae Latinae founded during the conquest of Italy, the Cisalpine communities promoted by the lex Pompeia in 89 BCE, or the provincial communities promoted by Caesar and Augustus.) The Flavian Municipal

26. The case of a Roman father and a Junian Latin mother seems to have been relatively clear: the child was a Latin (Gaius 1.67; restored at 1.79). The reverse case generated some controversy, with some jurists holding that the lex Aelia Sentia created conubium in some cases, with the effect that the child would follow the father and hence also be a Latin. But this was eventually settled by Hadrian, who ruled that the child would always be Roman (Gai. Inst. 1.80). See “Developments in the Second Century” later in this chapter; and Gardner 1996, 93–​95. 27. See Zimmermann 2017, 31–​47, for an overview of the issues, guardedly concluding in favor of the latter hypothesis. For the contrary view, see the papers in Gerión 36.2 (2018) on “provincial” Latinity. 28. Many have concluded that they did not. See, e.g., Kaser 1955, 244, and Besson 2020, 312–​313. 29. Gai. Inst. 1.56–​57 (and also 1l. 79–​80); Tituli Ulpiani 5.4. 30. Gai. Inst. 1.79. Gaius’s point appears to be that the lex Minicia did not apply to Junian Latins, even though it explicitly mentioned Latini, because the persons so named (qui Latini nominantur) are to be understood exclusively as the inhabitants of peregrine communities promoted to the Latin right. See Luraschi 1979, 238–​257.

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  109 Law sheds no light on the question, because any regulations for mixed unions, if these existed, must have fallen into one of the present lacunae. Conubium is, however, mentioned in the subscriptio of Domitian which ends the inscribed copy of the lex Irnitana. Domitian writes that he is aware that the grant of the Latin right entailed new rules about conubium and that some persons have inadvertently contracted marriages in contravention of them. He grants leniency for past violations but insists that the law be observed in future.31 While the nature of the violations is left unspecified, it seems likely that they were related to unions between persons of different status and plausible that they involved some unions between Romans and non-​Romans.32 In any case, Domitian’s subscript suggests that the marriage regime in the new Latin municipium was restrictive and potentially confusing. Most of the authorities on the Latin right have concluded that Romans who were citizens of these communities must have enjoyed conubium with their non-​ Roman compatriots, which would ensure that the children of a Roman father would be Roman, though those of a Roman mother would be non-​Roman.33 The strongest arguments are based on the epigraphic evidence for the status of children of mixed unions in Latin communities. This is not unproblematic, because it depends on the use of onomastic form as an index of citizen status (see “The Peregrine Children of Roman Citizens” later in this chapter). Nevertheless, a series of studies of mixed unions have found a pattern strongly suggestive of the existence of conubium: children of mixed unions having the same onomastic form as their fathers.34 Nevertheless, it is far from clear that there was a general right of conubium between Romans and the inhabitants of Latin communities. Conubium might, for example, have been limited to unions between citizens of the same Latin community.

31. conubia conprehensa quaedam lege late scio; et postea aliqua si quit sollicitudo vestra indicat parum considerate coisse, quibus in praeteritum veniam do in futurum exigo memineritis legis cum iam omnes indulgentiae partes consumatae sint (González 1986, “letter” ad fin., with Crawford 2008 on late vs. Lati). 32. For various perspectives on the possible context, see Gardner 2001b, 219; López Barja de Quiroga 2002–​ 2003, 69–​70; Dardaine 2003, 104–​106; García Fernández 2018. 33. García Fernández 2018; García Fernández 2007; Kremer 2006, 116–​117; Dardaine 2003, 99–​106; Gascou 1999, 294; Chastagnol 1995, 104–​105; Chastagnol 1998; Le Roux 1998 (= 2014, 467–​468); Christol 1989, 93–​95 (= 2010, 194–​197); Humbert 1981, 22. 34. Nemausus in Narbonensis:  in all ten apparent cases of unions between Roman fathers and peregrine mothers, the children are Roman; in three of five cases of unions between peregrine fathers and Roman mothers, the children are peregrine (Christol 1989; Chastagnol 1998). The two exceptions are best explained as the result of illegitimacy or remarriage (Gascou 1999, 298). Civitas of the Vocontii in Narbonensis: one union of a Roman father and a peregrine mother produced a Roman child; one union of a peregrine father and a Roman mother produced a peregrine child (Desaye 2000, 75). Civitas of the Treveri in Belgica: at least two and possibly all of six unions between Roman fathers and peregrine mothers produced Roman children; all three unions between peregrine fathers and Roman mothers produced peregrine children (Raepsaet-​Charlier 2001, 391–​392). In all these cases, “Roman” and “peregrine” persons are to be understood as persons with Roman-​form and peregrine-​form names, respectively (see “The Peregrine Children of Roman Citizens” later in this chapter).

110  Myles Lavan The Transmission of Property to Peregrine Children The prejudicial effects of the lex Minicia were compounded by the Roman law of inheritance.35 It was a basic principle of the ius civile that peregrines did not have testamenti factio, the capacity to make or take from a Roman will.36 Both Gaius and the Tituli Ulpiani state unequivocally that peregrines could not be named as heirs or left legacies in a Roman will.37 This meant that any peregrine children of Romans would be denied not just their parent’s Roman status but also their patrimony. There was a period during which the third form of bequest, the fideicommissum or trust, made it possible to circumvent the ban. According to Gaius, “to start with, foreigners could take under trusts: this was more or less how [trusts] started. But later this was prohibited.”38 Unfortunately, Gaius does not date the prohibition, but it must predate Hadrian, since Gaius goes on to describe a further tightening of the rule by that emperor (see the next section). The most plausible author of the original prohibition is Vespasian.39 His reign was characterized by a larger project of regulating fideicommissa, as exemplified by the senatus consultum Pegasianum. This included a similar measure to prevent the use of trusts to circumvent restrictions on bequests to unmarried and childless Romans.40 And the Gnomon of the Idios Logos includes a rule of Vespasian’s establishing the penalty of confiscation for trusts left by Romans for Greeks (and the reverse).41 This cannot be the rule mentioned by Gaius, since it includes a penalty of confiscation, which did not become general until Hadrian. But the two measures may be related; Vespasian might have prohibited fideicommissa to peregrines and also introduced even stricter rules for the province of Egypt.42 It is worth noting that this prohibition could not prevent Romans from attempting to circumvent the law through trusts or their heirs from carrying out their wishes. But it did mean that any such trusts would not be actionable. Their intended beneficiaries could not rely on Roman courts to enforce them in the case of any dispute with the heir(s). The ban on peregrines taking from Roman 35. See also Besson 2020, 326–​334. 36. Kaser 1955, 576. 37. Gai. Inst. 1.25 (nullo modo ex testamento capere possunt), 2.218 (nullo modo legari possit), 2.110 (prohibeantur capere hereditatem legataque); Tituli Ulpiani 22.2 (heres institui non potest  .  .  .  testamenti factio non est). 38. Ut ecce peregrini poterant fideicommissa capere, et fere haec fuit origo fideicommissorum. Sed postea id prohibitum est (Gai. Inst. 2.284–​285, trans. Gordon and Robinson). 39. For a fuller discussion, see Johnston 1988, 35–​38; Besson 2020, 332–​334. 40. Gai. Inst. 2.287. 41. BGU V 1210 s. 18. 42. So Johnston 1988, 35–​38, followed by Besson 2020, 332–​334. Babusiaux 2018, 142–​143, suggests that the Vespasianic measure was not specific to Egypt but was limited to trusts concerning the estate as a whole (fideicommissa hereditatis), whereas the Hadrianic measure extended the ban to trusts concerning specific things (fideicommissa de singulis rebus). In any case, it is clear that the rules preventing peregrines from taking from Roman wills became progressively more stringent over the course of the first and second centuries.

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  111 wills did not just affect the peregrine children of Roman citizens. It also excluded peregrines from the circulation of legacies that played such an important role in building relations of friendship and patronage between propertied families. The fact that the one loophole was closed sometime in the first century, probably as late as the Flavian period, is a first important qualification to the notion that the imperial period was characterized by a progressive erosion of the legal structures that divided Romans from non-​Romans. It is possible that the situation was different in communities with the Latin right. Jane Gardner has proposed that the Flavian Municipal Law solved this and related problems by creating a regime of “full dual citizenship”: although Roman citizens of a Latin municipium could not bequeath property to non-​ Roman children under Roman law, they could do so under the local law of the municipium.43 This hypothesis seems unlikely in light of the fact that Roman jurists do appear to have adhered to a rule of personality of law in the sphere of status, family, and inheritance—​even if they did not in other contexts.44 As Hannah Cotton remarks in response to Gardner’s hypothesis: “The possession of Roman citizenship was inextricably bound up with the ius civile in matters concerning the law of persons. . . . A full and unqualified double citizenship for those who received the citizenship per honorem, i.e. ex‐magistrates and their families, in the sense that these people could use two systems of private law, both Roman and local, is untenable.”45 But it is very possible that non-​Roman citizens of Latin communities could take from Roman wills under Roman law. Unfortunately, the situation is entirely obscure. Gaius states that Junian Latins were prohibited from receiving bequests or legacies by the lex Iunia (though they could take from fideicommissa), but neither he nor any other jurist says anything about other Latins.46 A passage in Cicero suggests that the last Latin colonies in Italy, those founded in the third and second centuries BCE, had the right to inherit from Romans (the implication being that the older colonies did not).47 This may well have provided the model for Pompeius Strabo’s grant of Latinity to Cisalpina and later grants in the provinces, but nothing can be proven.48

43. Gardner 2001b. The hypothesis is analogous to the controversial theory of dual citizenship that Ernst Schönbauer formulated to explain the persistence of non-​Roman legal institutions after the Consitutio Antoniana, with all the problems it entails (Schönbauer 1960, with, e.g., Alonso 2020, 50). 44. Cotton 2007, 10–​12; Alonso 2020, 56–​57. See also Wolff 2002, 153–​162, and Alonso 2016, 64, on the evidence from Egypt. Kirbihler 2020, esp. 127, illustrates the principle at work among the Roman citizens of Ephesos. 45. Cotton 2007, 11. 46. Gai. Inst. 1.23, 2.110, 2.275 47. Cic. Caec. 102, where the duodecim coloniae are probably those founded between Ariminum (268) and Aquileia (181). See Kremer 2006, 42n7; Roselaar 2013, 114. 48. Besson 2020, 330–​332 is too quick to conclude the opposite, that Latins probably did not have the right to take from a Roman will.

112  Myles Lavan Developments in the Second Century Nerva, Trajan, and the Vicesima Hereditatium It is sometimes assumed that Roman law became progressively more accommodating to mixed unions. Looked at in the round, however, second-​century developments were limited and far from linear. The period began with two undeniably liberal reforms that addressed a further stricture I have not yet mentioned. The first concerned the vicesima hereditatium, a 5 percent tax on the inheritances of Roman citizens, introduced by Augustus to fund the aerarium militare.49 The burden of this new tax was partly alleviated by an exemption for inheritances from close kin.50 But the exemption did not apply to newly enfranchised families, since naturalization was held to dissolve existing personal relations.51 Unless they secured an additional personal grant of ius cognationis from the emperor, new citizens were fully liable for the vicesima hereditatium on inheritances from their parents and other close kin. Nerva addressed this obvious source of grievance by granting a blanket exemption for all inheritances between mothers and children and for inheritances by sons in potestate from fathers (but not the reverse). Trajan later removed the requirement for sons to be in potestate, extended the exemption to inheritances by fathers from sons, and also exempted inheritances in the second degree of kinship (between siblings and between grandparents and grandchildren).52 Though tangential to my main focus on mixed unions, these reforms do evince a desire to mitigate the disadvantageous effects of strict interpretation of the law on new citizens. More important, however, the fact that they came so late demonstrates the vulnerability of a priori arguments that the Roman state would have been unwilling to tolerate disruption to family relations in the provinces.53 The century between the institution of the tax and the reforms by Nerva and Trajan saw the extension of Roman citizenship to many of the wealthiest provincial families, through a combination of imperial grants and the operation of the Latin right in the West (which was by this period universal in Spain and probably in Gaul). Without the explicit testimony of Pliny, would we have believed that the vast majority of these new citizens had accepted what amounted to the expropriation of 5 percent of their patrimony—​around a year’s income (or twice that, if more than two generations received citizenship at the same time)? Nerva and Trajan also expanded the special privileges accorded to the soldier’s will (testamentum militare). These privileges included the exceptional right to

49. Günther 2008, 23–​94; and “Roman Citizens as Tax Base” in Eberle, ­chapter 2 in this volume. 50. Günther 2008, 42–​46. 51. Gardner 2001a, 55–​56. 52. Plin. Pan. 37–​39, with Gardner 2001a and Günther 2008, 48–​54. 53. So Eck and Pangerl 2003, 347–​350; Cotton 2007, 11–​12.

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  113 institute peregrines in the wills.54 Since the evolution of the bundle of privileges from their origins under Titus to their codification by Trajan remains obscure, this particular right cannot be precisely dated.55 But for Gaius, writing in the late second century, the right to institute peregrines and (Junian) Latins remained a special privilege enjoyed by soldiers.56 Like the similar exemption from the requirement that the will be written in Latin, the special privilege illustrates a norm that remained in force and was presumably burdensome for other Romans. Hadrianic Reforms The reign of Hadrian saw a slew of interventions in family law and the law of status which seem to amount to a program to address problems that had arisen from Augustus’s social legislation and from the strict application of Roman law in this sphere.57 In many cases, the solution involved relaxing some of the rigid formalism of the ius civile. Some of these reforms concerned mixed unions, but on the whole, their impact was modest, and they were not always advantageous to the families concerned. According to Gaius, a Hadrianic senatus consultum resolved a long-​standing dispute about the status of a child born to a Roman woman and a Latinus, by which Gaius almost certainly means a Junian Latin.58 The Augustan manumission legislation that created the class of disadvantaged ex-​slaves seems to have left some ambiguity as to the status of their offspring by mixed unions. The child of a Roman man and a Junian Latin woman seems to have been widely held to be Latin by the ius gentium (on the understanding that the lex Minicia did not apply). The problem arose in the reverse case because some jurists held that the lex Aelia Sentia created conubium between Junian Latin men and Roman women under certain circumstances and that in those cases, the offspring should follow the father, meaning that they, too, would be Latins.59 The Hadrianic senatus consultum rejected the latter argument and established that the child of a male Junian Latin and a Roman woman would always be a Roman citizen.60 In an uncharacteristic misstep, André Chastagnol suggested that Hadrian reformed the functioning of conubium in communities with the Latin right such that all unions between Romans and non-​Romans produced Roman offspring (and not just those in which the father was a Roman, which would be

54. Gai. Inst. 1.110 (Praeterea permissum est iis et peregrinos et Latinos instituere heredes vel iis legare; cum alioquin peregrini quidem ratione civili prohibeantur capere hereditatem legataque, Latini vero per legem Iuniam); cf. Gnomon s. 34. 55. Dig. 29.1.1.pr (Ulpian), with Campbell 1984, 222. 56. Gai. Inst. 2.110. 57. D’Orgeval 1950, 1–​104; Casavola 1968; Gardner 1996; González Roldán 2014. 58. On Gaius’s usage of Latinus, see Terreni 1999, 348n26. 59. Gai. Inst. 1.80. 60. Gai. Inst. 1.80 (cf. also 1.30), with Gardner 1996, 93–​95.

114  Myles Lavan the normal effect of conubium).61 Chastagnol based his theory on the passage of Gaius just discussed (Inst. 1.80). In doing so, he ignored the prevailing view that Gaius both here and elsewhere uses the category Latinus specifically and exclusively of Junian Latins.62 Read in context, it is clear that Gaius is discussing unions between Romans and Junian Latins (which were now regulated by the ius gentium doctrine that children follow the mother), not unions between Romans and the inhabitants of Latin communities (which were regulated by conubium). Even more egregiously, Chastagnol neglected to mention that the very same passage almost certainly stated explicitly that the child of a Roman man and a Latin woman would be Latin—​not Roman, as his theory required.63 Chastagnol also suggested that his hypothesis was confirmed by epigraphic evidence of Roman children born to unions between peregrine men and Roman women in Latin communities in Narbonensis and Africa. But it is not clear that all of Chastagnol’s examples postdate the supposed reform. More important, they can be explained by other rules, notably those governing illegitimacy, without having to resort to a theory of a Hadrianic expansion of conubium.64 There probably was some form of conubium between Romans and the non-​Roman citizens of Latin communities, but there is no good evidence that it ever allowed Roman women to transmit their status to children born of a marriage with a non-​Roman. The clarification of the status of children of Roman women and Junian Latin men is the only certainly Hadrianic reform to the legal regime governing the status of offspring of mixed unions. It was certainly liberal in intent, but it was also very narrow in scope. The children of Roman men and Junian Latin women continued to be born Junian Latins. More important, the lex Minicia continued to govern unions with peregrines in the absence of conubium. The restrictive regime described by Gaius is exactly as Hadrian left it. Moreover, some other Hadrianic clarifications and modifications to the law of status were disadvantageous to mixed unions. Hadrian and his jurists considered the question of the status of a child conceived in a union between two peregrines if the woman became a Roman citizen between the conception and birth. A  senatus consultum ruled that the child would be born peregrine, unless the father had been naturalized as well.65 Another Hadrianic constitution held that when a family was enfranchised 61. Chastagnol 1994; Chastagnol 1998, 259–​262; rightly rebutted by Gascou 1999 and Kremer 2006, 116–​117, though Chastagnol’s hypothesis continues to be accepted by the unwary. 62. See note 58. At 1.79, Gaius explicitly contrasts Latini in the sense he is using it with the inhabitants of communities with the Latin right. 63. Unfortunately, the statement fell in the two illegible lines at the start of 1.79. Nevertheless, it is clear from the eadem ratione ex contrario that introduces 1.80 that the lost text included a statement that the child of a Roman man and a Latin woman was a Latin. All editors have supplied this statement in one form or another: e.g., (Hushke, followed by Kuebler), (Mommsen). In any case, the rule is stated explicitly at Gai. Inst. 1.67 and Tituli Ulpiani 5.9. 64. So Gascou 1999. 65. Gai. Inst. 1.92.

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  115 together, the children would not be in the potestas of their father unless a specific personal grant was secured from the emperor.66 Even more prejudicial was an important Hadrianic intervention in the law of inheritance. Hitherto, Roman parents of peregrine children could resort to fideicommissa to leave their property to their children. Although any such fideicommissa were by now void, meaning that their beneficiaries could not rely on a Roman court to enforce their claims on the designated heir, there was nothing to prevent the designated heir from honoring the fideicommissum. This changed when Hadrian personally proposed a senatus consultum providing that any offending fideicommissa would be confiscated by the fisc.67 This gave the state an interest in identifying and policing any infractions and incentivized delatores to report offending wills. The legal environment thus became significantly more hostile to mixed unions. A remark by Pausanias to which I will return shows that the law of inheritance became a source of grievance for provincials in the East of the empire.68 In short, there is little evidence that Hadrian and his jurists sought to treat mixed unions between Romans and peregrines more favorably, in the sense of making it easier for the Roman parents to transmit status or property to their children. The one liberal reform was specific to Junian Latins and illustrates a particular concern with the libertine milieu and the complex and sometimes undesirable ramifications of the new statuses created by the Augustan manumission laws.69 The measure to police the ban on testation to peregrines speaks against any wider concern for the plight of Romans in mixed unions with freeborn peregrines. Erroris Causae Probatio A senatus consultum of unknown date provided a remedy for Romans who married non-​Romans in the mistaken belief that their spouses were Romans or that they themselves were not Romans.70 If the Roman could prove that the marriage was contracted in error and that it had produced at least one child, the marriage could be rectified through a grant of citizenship to the children and 66. Gai. Inst. 1.93–​94. 67. Gai. Inst. 2.285. 68. Paus. 8.43.4–​5. 69. So Gardner 1996. 70. Gaius discusses the remedy at length (Inst. 1.67–​75). It may be represented, with some discrepancies, in the provisions of section 46 of the Gnomon (s. 46) and in a badly damaged letter of the prefect of Egypt (BGU IV 1086). According to Gaius, the remedy was available to Roman men who married Junian Latins, peregrines, or liberti dediticii in the belief that they were Romans (Inst. 1.67); to Roman women who married peregrines or liberti dediticii (but not Junian Latins) believing them to be Romans or Junian Latins (1.68); to Roman men (but not women) who married Junian Latins or peregrines believing themselves to be of the same status (1.71); and to Junian Latins who married peregrines believing them to be Romans or Junian Latins (1.69–​70). After some controversy, it was also ruled that the peregrine partner could also bring the claim (1.74–​75). See further Castello 1951, 197–​216; Gardner 1996, 95–​99; Terreni 1999.

116  Myles Lavan the non-​Roman spouse (unless the spouse was a libertus dediticius, in which case only the children received citizenship). This is another important measure whose date remains highly uncertain.71 The senatus consultum must predate two decisions of Hadrian that clarified its effects.72 Hadrian’s extensive interventions in the rules regulating the transmission of status provide a plausible context for the measure.73 The cluster of three clarificatory constitutions in his reign and that of his successor might also suggest that it was a relatively recent introduction (though it should be borne in mind that our knowledge of constitutions of emperors before Hadrian is relatively limited). Yet the language Gaius uses to describe one of those additional constitutions implies that the original measure was older. Discussing the effect of a successful erroris causae probatio on a father’s will, Gaius first describes the old situation (olim) after the original senatus consultum established the remedy, then describes the current regime (nunc) following a new or recent (novum) senatus consultum moved by Hadrian.74 Both the use of olim and the fact that only the second senatus consultum is attributed to Hadrian strongly suggest that the original measure was passed under an earlier emperor.75 The closest to a terminus post quem is Claudius’s edict on the Anauni, since the senatus consultum, had it existed, would have provided a solution to the problem of intermarriage noted by Claudius.76 The measure clearly built upon the so-​called anniculi probatio, the avenue that the Augustan manumission legislation provided for Junian Latins to acquire Roman citizenship by forming a family—​with the notable distinction that it provided for the naturalization of peregrines as well as Junian Latins. It illustrates a wider and ongoing commitment by Roman lawmakers and jurists to supporting marriage and the production of legitimate children.77 As several scholars have observed, it also implied a relatively generous attitude to the expansion of the citizen body.78 But it is important not to exaggerate the scope of this measure. Gaius stresses that the remedy was only available in cases of genuine error: “If, on the other hand, there was no mistake but their union was in full knowledge [scientes] of their status, in no case [nullo casu] can the defect of such a marriage be made good.”79 Cases of error were very likely in a Roman milieu thanks to the system of 71. Volterra 1969, 1073n154, and Gardner 1996, 95–​96, favor a Hadrianic date. Castello 1951, 213–​214; Kaser 1971–​1975, I: 241; and Terreni 1999, 353n35 all conclude that it was earlier. 72. Hadrian: Gai. Inst. 1.73 and 2.143; cf. also 1.74 for a constitution of Antoninus Pius. 73. Argued most forcefully by Gardner 1996, 95–​96. 74. Simile ius olim fuit in eius persona, cuius nomine ex senatusconsulto erroris causa probatur. . . . Nunc vero ex novo senatus consulto, quod auctore divo Hadriano factum est (Gai. Inst. 2.142–​143). 75. So Castello 1951, 213–​214, and Terreni 1999, 353n35. Gardner 1996, 95–​96, tries to reconcile Gaius’s language with a date early in Hadrian’s reign. 76. So Castello 1951, 213–​214. His argument that it probably postdates Vespasian, given the inconcinnity with his relatively illiberal ruling on error in the case of union with a slave (Gai. Inst. 1.85) is much weaker. 77. Gardner  1996. 78. Gardner 1996, 98–​99; Gardner 1997, 52; Venturini 1995–​1996, 238; Terreni 1999, 362. 79. Gai. Inst. 1.75, trans. Gordon and Robinson.

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  117 disadvantaged statuses created by the Augustan manumission legislation.80 While some slaves freed by Romans became Romans themselves, others became Junian Latins and peregrini dediticii. Unless they secured promotion (which was in any case not available to dediticii), their children would inherit their status, becoming Latins or peregrines, respectively.81 Romans always lived with and alongside non-​ Romans of these types. Given the complex rules governing the acquisition and transmission of these statuses and the fact that these persons used Roman-​form names that made them almost indistinguishable from Romans, there was considerable scope for uncertainty about the precise status of many ex-​slaves and their children.82 Such uncertainty was much less likely outside a milieu of slaves freed by Romans. In most of the non-​Roman communities of the provinces, there was a clear divide between a population using Roman-​form names and a population using the conventional style of idionym and patronym (see “The Peregrine Children of Roman Citizens” later in this chapter). Though there may have been room for doubt about the status of some of those with Roman-​form names, it is implausible that any of the many persons who bore peregrine-​form names could be mistaken for Romans. It therefore seems most likely that the remedy was both aimed at and largely used for marriages involving persons of the various disadvantaged statuses created by Augustus. As such, it would have represented one of a series of measures that sought to address problems that had arisen from the Augustan manumission legislation, as Jane Gardner has argued.83 Finally, it is worth noting that the need for probatio of the fact of error left individual magistrates considerable discretion in the degree of scrutiny to be applied. The senatus consultum must have been arbitrary in its effects, since the remedy both required access to the praetor or governor and depended on his discretion. In any case, the following sections include incontrovertible evidence that there continued to be Romans with non-​Roman children in the decades after Hadrian, when the senatus consultum was certainly in effect. Antoninus Pius Pausanias’s survey of Greece includes a digression on the merits of the emperor Antoninus Pius, occasioned by the observation that he had promoted Pallantion in Arkadia to the status of a polis. Pausanias credits him with a significant reform related to mixed unions: There is also another memorial of himself left by this emperor. There was a certain law whereby provincials [ὑπήκοοι] who were themselves 80. Gardner 1996, 98. 81. See Corcoran 2011 on the children of Junian Latins and Gardner 1996, 98, on the children of dediticii (probably born peregrini). 82. Two letters of Pliny prove that Junian Latins used the tria nomina (Ep. 10.5.2 and 11.2). On the difficulty of distinguishing Junian Latins from Romans, see most recently Hirt 2018 and López Barja de Quiroga 2018. 83. So implicitly Gardner 1996, 92 (focusing on the statuses created by the Augustan manumission legislation) and 99 (“free non-​Romans living in Roman communities”).

118  Myles Lavan of Roman citizenship [ὑπῆρχεν εἶναι Ῥωμαίων], while their children were considered of Greek nationality [ἐτέλουν  .  .  .  ἐς τὸ Ἑλληνικόν, i.e., were peregrine in Roman law], were forced either to leave their property to strangers or let it increase the wealth of the emperor. Antoninus permitted all such to give to the children their heritage, choosing rather to show himself benevolent than to retain a law that swelled his riches.84 The predicament that Pausanias describes is precisely what we would expect to result from the coincidence of the lex Minicia and the ban on testation to peregrines in its even harsher Hadrianic form, by which offending fideicommissa were not just annulled but confiscated. Some Romans had peregrine children because they had married peregrines and were prevented from bequeathing property to them, on penalty of confiscation. The “certain law” was perhaps the Hadrianic constitution that had provided for the confiscation of fideicommissa to peregrines.85 Hadrian’s reform had presumably made it much more difficult to circumvent the ban on bequests to peregrines. Pausanias’s testimony proves that Roman law was preventing some Romans in the East of the empire from transmitting not just their status but even their property to their children and that this was a source of hardship. Pausanias also reveals that Antoninus Pius did something to make it possible for Roman parents to leave property to their non-​Roman children, though the nature of the reform is left unclear. Did he make the fideicommissa valid or merely abrogate the Hadrianic constitution vindicating them to the fisc? Did the reform apply to all fideicommissa to peregrines or just those to the testator’s children? Was it even universal in scope, or might it have been limited to the citizens of some or all Greek cities? None of this is clear.86 The fact that Gaius does not mention any such measure when discussing the ban on testation to peregrines might suggest a relatively narrow measure, though it may postdate him if it came late in Pius’s reign. In any case, it is possible that Pius’s constitution effected a significant amelioration of the situation of Romans in unions with peregrine spouses. Yet it is also noteworthy that his remedy was limited to the issue of the transmission of property. Pausanias’s text implies that the law of status was left unchanged. Roman law continued to exclude the children of mixed unions from Roman citizenship.

84. Paus. 8.43.4–​5, trans. Jones. For the use of Hellênes to denote the non-​Roman citizens of Greek poleis, see, e.g., Cass. Dio 51.20.7, 68.32.1; SEG IX 8 (I) l. 18; Oliver 1989, no. 73, l. 20; SEG L 1096 ll. 8–​9 85. See further Johnston 1988, 39, and Cherry 1990, 259. 86. Besson 2020, 340–​341, suggests it was restricted to the polis of Pallantion, but Pausanias seems to be thinking wider than that particular polis in this digression.

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  119 Salvo Iure Gentis The famous Tabula Banasitana, a bronze tablet from the Augustan colonia of Banasa in Mauretania Tingitana, records two successive imperial grants of Roman citizenship to leading men from the Zegrenses, a neighboring Berber tribe.87 First, Iulianus, one of the primores of the tribe, successfully petitioned Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus for citizenship for himself, his wife, and their four sons, the first of whom was also called Iulianus. Several years later, an Aurelius Iulianus, princeps of the Zegrenses and this time a Roman himself, successfully petitioned Marcus and Commodus for citizenship for his wife (a non-​Roman woman called Faggura) and four children. He was obviously the recently naturalized son of the first Iulianus, having taken the gentilicium of the two co-​emperors from whom he received citizenship. The fact that he needed another imperial grant to ensure that his own children would be citizens confirms the continued operation in the 170s of the rules described by Gaius. Without the second petition, this Roman family would have disappeared after the second generation. The two grants were made with a qualification—​salvo iure gentis (“preserving the rights/​law of the tribe”)—​that might have a larger relevance for my question. The clause qualifies the grant of citizenship both in the two imperial rescripts and in the extract from the archive of persons granted citizenship that accompanies the second, where it is supplemented with the additional qualification sine diminutione tributorum et vect[i]‌galium populi et fisci. Some believe that this salvo iure gentis clause resolved inter alia the second difficulty addressed in this chapter: the inability of Romans to securely bequeath property to peregrine children. Despite the confidence of some pronouncements on the matter, however, we should recognize that we cannot be certain what the clause meant, how widely it was used, or when it was introduced. There are two broad schools of thought on its legal effects. The first holds that it enabled new Romans to continue to follow local law in all their dealings with their fellow Zegrenses, including marriage and the transmission of property (though not all of the proponents of the view commit themselves on the latter point).88 Like the analogous hypothesis sometimes advanced for Romans in Latin communities, the last proposition is hard to reconcile with the personality principle that seems to have prevailed in the sphere of family law—​and with the fact that the younger Iulianus was apparently unable to circumvent the lex Minicia after marrying a non-​Roman.89 Most recent discussions have concluded that it had a much narrower effect, merely ensuring that that the individuals’ obligations 87. IAM 94. 88. Seston and Euzennat 1961, 319–​321; Schönbauer 1963; Spagnuolo Vigorita 1993, 17; Gascou in IAM 94 ad loc. 89. Sherwin-​White 1973b, 94–​95; Wolff 1976, 100; Cotton 2007, 10–​11.

120  Myles Lavan to their original community, including liability to taxes and munera, were unaffected by the change of citizenship.90 This would be consistent with developments in the late republic and early principate that saw Roman authorities begin to insist that naturalized Romans did not escape their existing obligations to their communities.91 The clause would thus be merely a new shorthand for what was by this point normal practice. It is also unclear when the formula was introduced and how widely it was used—​despite some claims that it was a standard qualification for personal grants of citizenship. The particular phrase salvo iure gentis cannot possibly be a generic term, since gens was in Roman usage a technical term for idiosyncratic groups like the Berber peoples. If it was used more widely, then other terms such as civitas must have been used in other contexts. There is no sign of the phrase in Trajan’s letters confirming grants of citizenship to Pliny when he was governor of Bithynia (being the closest parallel to the letters of Marcus and Verus to the governors of Tingitana), nor does it appear on the constitutions granting citizenship to veterans, not even when their formulae were revised in 140 and the 150s.92 There may have been a similar clause in the famous first edict on P.Giss. 40 I, which may be the Constitutio Antoniniana, but that badly damaged text remains too open to divergent interpretations to illuminate the Tabula Banasitana.93 In any case, what matters for present purposes is that the clause did not obviate the need for the younger Iulianus to return to the emperors some years later in order to secure citizenship for his own children. He was evidently aware that his children were not born Romans and desired citizenship for them. Nor had anything like it alleviated the situation of the eastern Romans whose plight motivated Antoninus Pius to reform the rules on trusts. The Peregrine Children of Roman Citizens Roman law as it existed at the beginning of the second century was prejudicial to the children of mixed unions. In the growing number of Latin communities in the West (and perhaps also the small minority of Roman communities), some form of conubium seems to have allowed Roman men in such unions to transmit their status to their children. But the same rule should have ensured that Roman women could not: their children should have taken the status of the non-​Roman 90. Sherwin-​White 1973b, 92–​95; Wolff 1976, 99–​102; Cotton 2007, 10–​11; Mélèze-​Modrzejewski 2011, 490–​ 491; Alonso 2020, 51. 91. RDGE 26 b 26–​36 (Caesar to Mytilene); SEG IX 8 (III) (third Cyrene edict). 92. See Waebens 2012a for the changes to diploma formulae. 93. The badly damaged first qualification to the grant of citizenship can be restored to produce a Greek gloss on the (generic) form of salvo iure gentium: [μ]ένοντος [τοῦ δικαίου τῶν πολιτευμ]άτων (Seston and Euzennat 1961, 320, followed by Oliver 1989, Kuhlmann 1994, and essentially Purpura 2012a) But politeumata would be an idiosyncratic translation of Latin terminology, and one would rather expect a list of types of community rather than a single generic term (Wolff 1976, 102–​105).

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  121 father. Moreover, in the many peregrine communities of the East and West, neither Roman men nor Roman women should have been able to transmit their status, except in the few cases where a Roman man enjoyed a personal grant of conubium (as many veterans did). The situation was essentially the same a century later, the only significant developments being the Hadrianic reform regarding unions between Roman women and Junian Latin men—​a phenomenon specific to the society of Roman citizens—​and the introduction of the erroris causae probatio (if it was not already in place), which was probably targeted at the same milieu. The lex Minicia remained in force. There were, however, two potential loopholes that might have allowed Romans in mixed unions to circumvent the lex Minicia. First, Roman mothers in unions with non-​Roman men might have declared their children illegitimate. Second, Romans who knowingly formed unions with non-​Romans might have been able to use the erroris causae probatio to gain citizen status for their children (and their partners). I have argued that it is a priori unlikely that either of these loopholes allowed a significant proportion of mixed unions to circumvent the restrictive rules governing the transmission of citizenship. Even if the Roman authorities were unable or disinclined to scrutinize declarations of illegitimacy, illegitimacy involved disadvantageous consequences that might well outweigh the benefits of transmitting citizenship. Meanwhile, the genuine error that the erroris causae probatio required would not be plausible in most cases of unions with freeborn peregrines. But the existence of these loopholes means that the key question of how easily and how often the lex Minicia was circumvented is ultimately an empirical matter. It can only be addressed by looking at evidence for actual mixed unions. I will argue in this section that the evidence from the provinces indicates that the legal regime did often have the expected effects. Two examples have already been discussed: the Berber Aurelius Iulianus, who was evidently aware that his children were born peregrines, and the Romans with peregrine children whose grievances were noted by Pausanias. Before discussing other examples, it is essential to note that names are usually the only evidence for the Roman-​law status of persons who appear on inscriptions or papyri. Despite the objections that are sometimes raised to the use of names as an index of status, there does seem to have been a convention of using names to mark the distinction between Romans and non-​Romans in the many provincial communities characterized by a dual onomastic system (with a mix of Roman-​form and peregrine-​form names).94 Outside certain particular contexts (most notably the army), it is generally reasonable to conclude that persons named with a Roman-​form name are Roman (or possibly Junian Latin, depending on the social context) and, conversely, that

94. See “Other Rituals and Practices of Citizenship” in the introduction to this volume.

122  Myles Lavan persons named with an idionym and a patronym are not Roman, though there is always the possibility of error in particular cases. A more significant problem is abbreviation. The abbreviation of names to a single idionym—​the name that distinguished individuals in everyday life—​can be observed among both Romans and freeborn peregrines in many contexts, leaving them indistinguishable from each other and from slaves. Abbreviation is particularly common in epitaphs, the most common type of inscription and the type most likely to record family groups. This is a significant obstacle to the investigation of mixed unions in the epigraphic record. The rich body of legal papyri from Egypt offers a particularly good test case for the transmission of status, given the tendency to give full names for all relevant parties. When Raphael Taubenschlag collected the evidence available to him in 1944, he found that all the evidence for mixed unions involving Romans conformed to the strict rule established by the lex Minicia and repeated in the Gnomon.95 He identified four children of mixed unions between Romans and peregrines without conubium, all of them apparently peregrine:  Sarapion son of Sarapion, the child of Sarapion son of Apollonios and Romania Berenike (attested in Tebtynis in 99 CE); Soter son of Cornelius Pollio, the child of Cornelius Pollio and Cleopatra daughter of Ammonios (Thebes, shortly after 100); Maximus son of Hermeios, the child of Hermeios son of Ammonios and Claudia Leontis (Hermopolis, mid-​second century); and Zoilos son of Zoilos, the child of Zoilos and Aelia Primiana (Oxyrhynchus, 204 CE).96 Other examples could now be added, such as Gaia alias Serapias daughter of Pausanias, the daughter of Pausanias son of Astyanax and Iulia Herakla (Oxyrynchus, 95 CE).97 Taubenschlag also found another four examples of peregrines with Roman fathers but unknown mothers, whom he plausibly explained as the offspring of mixed unions.98 The only contrary examples of children of mixed unions who are Roman involve cases where the father was a veteran who enjoyed conubium and could thus pass on his status to children by a non-​Roman wife. It is worth noting that the recurring pattern by which parents who both have Roman-​form names have children with Roman-​form names, while couples with mixed nomenclatures normally have children with peregrine-​form names, is independent confirmation that names are generally a good guide to status. On the other hand, the Egyptian evidence shows that the question of inheritance was more complex than the ban on leaving to peregrines suggests.99 In 176 95. Taubenschlag 1955, 108n18. His catalogue has never been updated, but Nowak 2020, 186–​198, comes to the same conclusions about the transmission of status in mixed unions. 96. Tebt. ii 316 iii 30ff.; OGIS 698; P.Ryl. 153; P.Oxy. xiv 1719. 97. P.Oxy. ii 273 98. BGU 581; P.Lond. 908; SB 1090; BGU 1662. Taubenschlag also cited the Σόφος Μάρκου Σατορνίλου named on P.Ryl. 150 with a simple genitive, but he may well be a slave (Nowak 2020, 194–​195). 99. For fuller discussion, see Amelotti 1966, 121–​123, and Nowak 2020, 238–​242.

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  123 CE, G. Fabullius Macer, a veteran of the Misene fleet, left a Roman will declaring a fellow veteran (and Roman) as heir but leaving a legacy to the apparently peregrine Aitete daughter of Phrontis.100 The heir refused to hand over the legacy, so Aitete petitioned the dikaiodotes for it. We do not know whether her status played a role in the heir’s refusal, nor do we know whether the petition was successful. But we do know that M. Valerius Turbo, another veteran, who died in 181 or 182, named two Roman sons as heirs but also left property to Kyrilla, an apparently peregrine daughter by a previous marriage.101 Since we do not know when he was discharged, it is conceivable that his will still qualified for the dispensations granted to soldiers’ wills. But that cannot have been the case with C. Iulius Niger, an auxiliary veteran at Karanis in Egypt, who died around 189 CE, more than three decades after discharge. Yet his property was able to pass via his two sons (one of whom might not have been Roman) to two grandchildren, who were almost certainly not Roman.102 These may be cases where the heirs were willing to honor the testator’s fideicommissum and no third party objected. Or they may have benefited from the reform introduced by Antoninus Pius, whatever form it took. But they illustrate that some Romans in late-​second-​century Egypt were able to leave property to their peregrine children. Peregrine Children of Roman Fathers Outside Egypt, the evidence for mixed unions is limited to inscriptions and particularly epitaphs. Perhaps the best evidence for the phenomenon of peregrine children of Roman fathers has been produced by Jean-​Louis Ferrary, building on Rudolf Heberdey’s work on Termessos. Ferrary has drawn attention to an unusual but recurring onomastic formula in the lists of delegations from Greek cities to the oracle at Klaros.103 Most of the approximately two thousand persons who appear in these lists have either a peregrine-​form name (idionym and patronym, with occasional addition of a papponym or second idionym) or a Roman-​form name (gentilicium and one or more cognomina, with or without praenomen and filiation). But fourteen names take the distinctive form of an idionym combined with a patronym in duo or tria nomina style, as in these three examples: • Διογᾶς Γ(αΐου) Λικ(ινιου) Διογενους υἱός, in a delegation from Herakleia-​ Salbake ca 110 (I.Claros mémoriaux 4.15) • Σώπατρος Φλ(αβίου) Εὐάρχου, in a delegation from Bargasa ca 117–​25 CE (I.Claros mémoriaux 10.11–​12)

100. BGU I 327, with Phang 2001, 221–​223. 101. BGU VII 1662, with the commentary by the editors (P. Viereck and F. Zucker) and Phang 2001, 220. 102. P.Mich. VI 422 with Bieżuńska-​Małowist 1957 and Nowak 2020, 219–​20, on the status of Niger’s son Gaius Apollinarius Niger (though her argument is not conclusive) and his grandchildren Gaia Apollinaria and Gemellos alias Horion. 103. Ferrary 2014, 51–​52; Ferrary 2008, 258–​261.

124  Myles Lavan • Μελιτίνη Π(οπλίου) Πονπωνίου Παύλου [Ὀ]νησίμου, in a delegation from Laodikeia-​on-​the-​Lykos, 147/​8 CE (I.Claros mémoriaux 101.8)104 The names occur in delegations from five different poleis in Asia and Creta, over a period from the early second century to the early third. When isolated cases of names of this form had been encountered before, they were usually identified as the slaves of Roman citizens. But there seems no question of slaves being included among the choirs of children sent to Klaros.105 Ferrary must be right that most or all of these persons are peregrine children of Roman men and peregrine women, as Heberdey had proposed for several similar cases in the epigraphy of Termessos.106 Variations in the onomastic formula—​inclusion or omission of the father’s praenomen, one case with huios after the patronym in Roman style, two with huios before the patronym, eleven with a simple genitive in the normal Greek style—​show that there was no standard form. Nor is there any reason to believe that the usage was universal. There are probably other peregrine children of Roman citizens on the lists who are indistinguishable from other peregrines because they used just one of their fathers’ names as a patronym. Now that the significance of this type of onomastic formula has been clarified, a proper survey of its prevalence is needed. Heberdey had documented six cases at Termessos.107 Ferrary himself noted two other examples.108 Table 3.1 lists several others known to me (including some from the Latin West), without any pretense of exhaustiveness. I have deliberately omitted a larger number of Latin examples where the Roman name in the genitive is not followed by filius/​-a​ (e.g., Bannona Anni Sabini at Virunum, CIL III 4884), because these are conventionally identified as slaves of Roman masters. Many such persons may well be slaves, but some others might be freeborn peregrines, especially in communities where filiation in peregrine-​form names was normally expressed by a simple genitive, without filius/​-a​ . I have focused on more straightforward examples in order to provide a preliminary illustration of the geographical and chronological range of the phenomenon. It is highly unlikely that any of these persons are slaves. In five cases, explicit filiation makes free birth certain (2, 5, 8, 11, 13). Circumstantial evidence indicates freedom for six of the remaining eight: one held public office (13), one was a victor in an agon (12), one served in the army (9), and three appear in documents that 104. The other examples are catalogued at Ferrary 2014, 51–​52. I discount one of Ferrary’s fifteen examples (84.2–​3) because it requires supplying a cognomen to supplement the gentilicium in the patronym. 105. Ferrary 2014, 115–​122. A few public slaves who accompanied some delegations are named separately and explicitly identified as such (I.Claros mémoriaux 90.5, 157.4, 175.10–​11). 106. Heberdey 1929, 24. 107. Heberdey 1929, 24; note also another fifteen cases where Aurelii are supplied with a patronym or papponym in Roman style, representing children of Romans who were born peregrine but subsequently acquired Roman citizenship through the Constitutio Antoniniana. (Heberdey 1929, 24–​25). 108. SEG 29 1186 (Saittai, 165–​166 CE) and I.Laodikeia Lykos 91. See also Fernoux 2020, 193 for three additional examples in an inscription from Parion.

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  125 Table 3.1.  Miscellaneous other likely cases of peregrine children of Roman fathers (in rough chronological order). Name (as it appears)

Place and date

Reference

Notes

1

Μητρόδωρος Ποπλίου   Μουνατίο [υ —​ —​ —​ —​]

Thasos, early principate?

IG XII.8 342, 4–​5

Appears in a short fragmentary list of names. Fournier 2018b, 213: child of a Roman father and a peregrine woman?

2

Pacatus L(uci) Guti f(ilius)

Igaeditani, Lusitania, 1st c.

Ramos Epitaph. Married to a Ferreira 2004, freedwoman with a single no. 101 name (Seloca Flaccillae lib.).

3

Σωτὴρ Κορνηλίου Πολλίου, μητρὸς Φιλοῦτος

Thebai, Egypt, late 1st c.

OGIS 698, 1

4

Διονυσίου Λ(ουκίου) Φορνίου

Laodikeia, Phrygia, 1st/​ 2nd c.

I.Laodikeia Epitaph. Married to a Lykos 98, 3–​4 woman with a single name (Ammia). Ramsay 1897, I: 75: an idiosyncratic rendering of L. Furnius Dionysus by someone who did not understand Roman-​ form names. Ferrary 2014, 53: peregrine son of a Roman.

5

Tascurt Flavi Fausti filia

Tinfadi/​Hr Metkides, Africa, early 2nd c.?

CIL viii 2200 = ILAlg 2975

6

Σωκράτην υἱὸν Γαίου Οὐαλερίου Χαιρημονιανοῦ

Karanis, Egypt, 133

BGU 581, 6–​8 Record of oath of surety. Taubenschlag 1955, 108n18: peregrine son of a Roman.

Epitaph on sarcophagus. Former archôn, with a mother with a single name and a peregrine wife (Κλεοπάτρα Ἀμμωνίου; IGR I 1229). Taubenschlag 1955, 108n18: peregrine son of a Roman.

Inscription on a mausoleum. Married to a peregrine (Aumasgaris Smagarsae filius). ILAlg ad loc.: A Roman woman named by someone who did not understand Roman-​ form names.

(continued)

126  Myles Lavan Table 3.1. Continued Name (as it appears)

Place and date

Reference

Notes

[Εὐ]δαιμον̣ίδος Μάρκο[υ Οὐλπ]ίου Σαραπίωνος τοῦ καὶ Σερ]ή[νοῦ . . . θυγα̣[τρὸς] Σερή̣ν̣ο̣υ̣ υ̣ἱοῦ Μ̣άρκ̣[ου] Σεμπρωνίου Κο[ρν]ηλιανοῦ

Hermopolis, Egypt, 139

P.Lond. III 908, 6–​7, 20–​21

Petition to the prefect of Egypt. Taubenschlag 1955, 108n18: peregrine daughter of a Roman.

Karanis, Egypt, 155

P.Mich. IX 526, 5–​6

9

Πτολεμαῖος Μάρκου Ἀνθεστίου

SB 22 15337, 16

10

Φιλέταιρον Λ. Ὀ[κ]ταβίου Πωλλίωνος

Ptomelais Euergetis, Egypt, 161 Saittai, Lydia, 165–​166

Guardian for a woman who appears to be Roman (Valeria Neilous). This would be anomalous but not unprecedented. Cf. BGU 472 (141 CE) and SB 7558 (173 CE), with Taubenschlag 1955, 158n5, 171n4. Census declaration. A soldier.

11

Κυρίλλα θ]υ[γά]τηρ Μάρκου Οὐαλερίου Τούρβ[ωνο]ς Αλεχανδρου Καρπου Λουκι[ου] Ουαλεριου Ιασονος Ἐπαφροδείτου υἱοῦ Μ(άρκου) Ἀν(τωνείνου) Ἐπαφροδείτου Διόγνητος ὁ καὶ Πρόκλος Ποπλίου Σθενίου Πρόκλου

Seki near Oenoanda, Lycia, undated

SEG 60, 1558 Epitaph on stele with a relief of a cavalryman. Rousset 2010, 159: peregrine son of a Roman; wrongly (?) reidentified as a slave by O. Salomies at AE 2010 1653.

7

8

12 13

14

SEG 29 1186, 2–​3

Honorific stele. Bakir-​ Barthel and Müller 1979: slave. Ferrary 2014, 52–​53: peregrine son of a Roman. Ptolemais BGU 1662, 2 Receipt. Taubenschlag 1955, Euergetis, 108n18: peregrine daughter Egypt, 182 of a Roman. Patara, Lycia, SEG 65 1490, Agonistic victor. Lepke 185–​198 1 2015, 137: peregrine son of a Roman. Aphrodisias, I.Aphrodisias One of five magistrates Asia, 198–​212 2007 12.326, responsible for public 17–​18 honors for Caracalla.

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  127 imply freedom (6, 7, 8). Other features provide independent support for the hypothesis that these were peregrines. In the one case where a mother is named, she appears to be peregrine (3). The four spouses who are named all appear to be peregrine, which is consistent with the marriage patterns of peregrines rather than Romans (as will emerge from the next section).109 These examples provide further support for Ferrary’s hypothesis that persons so named are generally peregrine children of Roman fathers, denied Roman citizenship by the strict rules governing the transmission of citizenship by birth. It should be noted that counterexamples can certainly be found, apparently Roman children of Roman men married to peregrine women.110 But they are few and often admit other explanations: the children could be from a previous marriage with a Roman woman, they may have benefited from personal grants of citizenship, or the mothers might be Roman citizens who were named in traditional fashion for some reason.111 We cannot rule out the possibility of knowing or unknowing usurpation of Roman citizenship in some cases. But the bulk of the evidence confirms the norm. The wide prevalence of the phenomenon of peregrine children of Roman fathers is significant in at least three respects. First, it confirms that Roman citizenship was denied to the children of some Roman men. Second, it proves that these families were aware of the change in status and acknowledged it in their naming practices. Last but not least, it demonstrates that some of those affected still valued the evanescent connection to Roman citizenship enough to highlight the father’s citizen status by using a distinctive form of patronym. Peregrine Children of Roman Mothers Roman women with peregrine children cannot be identified in the same way because of the rarity of metronyms. But some examples can be inferred from epitaphs that preserve the names of both mother and child. Unfortunately, conclusive examples are rare because of the tendency to abbreviate children’s names to simple idionyms. This form of abbreviation is very common among peregrine families and is not infrequent among Roman families when the father is named, since the gentilicium was easily inferred for the children.112 Omission of the gentilicium seems a priori less likely when only the mother was Roman, but 109. Two spouses are named with idionym and patronym and were certainly peregrines (3, 5); two are named with idionym alone and were probably peregrines (2, 4). 110. See, e.g., IGR III 500 B II 7–​13 (mid-​first century Oinoanda; the Roman Licinnius Mousaios and the apparently peregrine Ammia daughter of Kroisos have two Roman sons, Licinnius Thoas and Licinnius Mousaios; see further note 128 in this chapter) and I.Didyma 356 (mid-​second century; a couple of mixed status, Flavius Pankrates and Babaithis daughter of Nikeratos, appear to have a Roman daughter, Flavia [—​], though the inscription is badly damaged). 111. For example, I.Stratonikeia 244 appears to show an exception: P. Aelius Hekatomnos, a Roman, married to Apphias Tryphaina daughter of Apollonides, a peregrine, with a Roman son, P. Aelius Hekatomnos. But the son is explicitly identified as “his,” not “their” (as in other examples from the inscriptions from Panamara); the most likely explanation is that he is a child by a previous marriage to a Roman woman. 112. On the omission of gentilicia in Roman families, see Raepsaet-​Charlier 2001, 349–​350.

128  Myles Lavan Table 3.2.  Illustrative likely cases of peregrine children of Roman mothers. Mother

Father*

Child

Civitas

Date

Reference

1 Aponia Iunia

(Rufus)

Rufina Rufi fil(ia)

Conimbriga, Lusitania

2nd c.

2 Iulia Aiva

Tertius Uxsperi Matio Terti filius

CIL II 387, with Chastagnol 1998, 257–​ 258 Faust 1998, no. 205

3 Serania Severa

(Lucius)

4 Pompeia Servatilla

(Secundinus)

5 Fabricia Fortunata 6 Herrenia Rufila

Severus Luci fi(lius)

Servatus Secundini fil(ius) Celsinus Urbani Evasia Celsini fil(ius) fil(ia) Themarsa Harian(us) Hariani Themarsa(e) filius

Colonia 2nd c. Agrippinensium, Germania Inferior Nemausus, 2nd c. Narbonensis Vocontii, Narbonensis

2nd c.

ILGN 493, with Christol 2010, 196 ILN 7 117

Nattabutes, Africa 2nd c.

ILAlg 607

Calceus Herculis, 2nd c. Africa

CIL VIII 2511, 2512, with Le Bohec 1989, 132

* Names in parentheses are inferred from the child’s patronym.

it is conceivable if the child(ren) had the same gentilicium as the mother, as one would expect in the case of illegitimacy. It would thus be unsafe to conclude that every instance of a Roman woman with a child named with idionym alone is an example of the failure to transmit status—​though many probably are. I therefore limit my examples to a selection of rare cases where a Roman woman has a child named in non-​Roman style with idionym and patronym (and where the mother–​daughter relationship is made explicit in the epitaph) (see table 3.2). These are almost certainly cases of peregrine children of Roman women and peregrine men. The same method can produce contrary examples where the children of unions between Roman women and peregrine men have Roman-​form names, contrary to what we would expect given the lex Minicia. In most of these cases, the child has the same gentilicium as the mother. These could be examples of the circumvention of the lex Minicia by declaration of illegitimacy, though one can never rule out alternative explanations such as the mother being a Junian Latin (in which case the child would be expected to take the mother’s status), the Roman child being the offspring of a previous marriage, or the child having benefited from a

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  129 viritane grant of citizenship or promotion per honorem in a Latin community—​or simply a discrepancy between name and status.113 Nevertheless, these examples do suggest that Roman mothers sometimes succeeded in circumventing the lex Minicia. The key question therefore becomes how often they did so. Again, this is an empirical question that requires a quantitative approach. A satisfactory answer is elusive because the data are so sparse. Even sites with both a large corpus of Roman-​period deceased-​commemorator epitaphs and a significant visible population of freeborn non-​Romans (itself a relatively rare combination) tend to produce a relatively small number of relevant cases, because epitaphs naming a father, a mother, and at least one child are rare, and so are mixed unions (a phenomenon I will return to). The analysis is further hampered by the tendency to abbreviate the name of the spouse, especially the wife, to an idionym and even more so by the abbreviation of children’s names. This is particularly problematic because it introduces a significant bias: the majority of Roman children will be easily identified as such because they are named with duo nomina, whereas the majority of peregrine children will appear to be of indeterminate status, since the inclusion of a patronym for peregrine children is rare. For what it is worth, I examined the corpus of epitaphs in eleven promising communities (i.e., those with a large number of Roman-​period deceased-​commemorator epitaphs and a significant visible population of peregrines) (see table 3.3). The communities selected are heterogeneous in their juridical status: Thessalonike was peregrine through to 212, while the others all received a grant of the Latin right at different points in the first and second centuries. But this should not affect the analysis, since we would expect the child of a Roman woman and a non-​Roman man to be born non-​Roman in all types of community. The analysis produced a total of fifty-​two fairly certain cases of unions between a Roman woman and a peregrine man. In fourteen cases, children were named. Five were almost certainly peregrine (with idionym and patronym taken from their peregrine father), four were probably Roman (with duo nomina, the gentilicium taken from the mother), and five were named with a simple idionym, making them probably but not certainly peregrines. Of course, it would be unwise to assume that epitaphs preserve a random sample of mixed unions. But if there is any bias, it is probably that Roman children were more likely than peregrine children to commemorate or be commemorated with a stone epitaph. Thus, the surviving data should, if anything, overestimate the proportion of Roman children. Crude as it is, the analysis suggests that a significant minority of Roman women in unions with peregrine men may have been able to transmit their status to their children, most likely

113. See Gascou 1999, 298–​299, for a discussion of several of these possibilities. According to Gaius, the same Hadrianic senatus consultum that clarified the status of the child of a Roman woman and a Junian Latin man also specified that the child of a Junian Latin and a peregrine took the status of the mother (Inst. 1.81); there may not have been a clear rule previously.

Table 3.3.  The names of children of Roman women and peregrine men. Civitas, province

Inscriptions Marriages

Of which Roman women and peregrine men

Of which Name form with at least of child(ren) one child Duo/​tria Single named nomina names

References (source of data; marriages with children) Idionym and patronym

Thessalonike, Macedonia

647

154

15

1

0

1

0

IG 10.2.1.284–​931; IG 10.2.1.521

Smyrna, Asia Virunum, Noricum Igaeditani, Lusitania Nattabutes, Africa Thuburiscu Numidarum, Africa “Frontier zone,” Africa Nemausus, Narbonensis

322 1,062

86 183

3 4

0 3

0 2

0 1

0 0

244

43

1

0

0

0

0

I Smyrna I 190–​510 Clauss-​Slaby (place: Virunum); CIL III 4962, 4998, 4989 Clauss-​Slaby (place: Igaeditani)

256

52

6

1

0

0

1

NA

133

7

0

0

0

0

NA

287

4

1

0

0

1

NA

NA

4+

4

2

0

2

Clauss-​Slaby (place: Nattabutes); CIL VIII 16939 Cherry 1998, 209–​219

Cherry 1998, 162–​208 (excluding Lambaesis); CIL VIII 2511–​2512 Christol 2010, 194–​197, plus AE 2003 1132; CIL XII 3943, 2954 (in both cases, the Roman mother is inferred; see Christol); ILGN 479, 493, AE 2003 1132

Vocontii, Narbonensis “Central Gaul” (Bituriges Cubi, Aedui, Senones, Carnutes, Turones, Parisii) Treveri, Belgica TOTAL

NA

NA

1

1

0

0

1

Desaye 2000, 75; ILN 7 117

NA

NA

2

0

0

0

0

Dondin-​Payre 2001, 225

NA

103

4

3

0

3

0

Raepsaet-​Charlier 2001, 391–​392; CIL XIII 4001, 4012, 4229

52

14

4

5

5

132  Myles Lavan through a declaration of illegitimacy, but that the majority had children who were born and remained peregrines. Family Networks in the Provinces The scattered evidence of Romans with peregrine children confirms that Roman law did often have the expected effects, excluding many children of mixed unions from Roman citizenship. It also demonstrates that the families concerned were aware of the effects and explicitly acknowledged it when naming their children. But the effects of the regime extend beyond the impact on children born of mixed unions. It is also worth considering the mixed unions that were never contracted because of the disadvantageous consequences they entailed. It is a priori plausible that the obstacles to transmitting citizenship status and, perhaps more important, the concomitant barrier to transmitting property would have disincentivized Romans from forming unions with non-​Romans, in the absence of conubium. Of course, the incentives would have been much weaker for those with little or no property, since disputes over property were the context in which questions of status were most likely to arise. And even those with property sometimes chose to marry non-​citizens in the absence of conubium, as is shown by the scattered evidence of Romans with peregrine children. But one would expect the legal framework to have made such unions rarer than they would otherwise have been. If so, the restrictive legal framework could have had a significant effect on the shape of family networks in provincial society. Studies of two cities in Asia Minor suggest low levels of intermarriage between Roman and non-​Roman families.114 (Note that this is distinct from the question of relations between immigrant and native families, which is the usual focus of analysis.) François Kirbihler found that marriages between Italian and native families only became common at Ephesos after a significant number of the latter received Roman citizenship under Claudius.115 Some Romans even chose to marry Roman freed slaves rather than freeborn peregrines.116 He very plausibly attributed the lack of intermarriage to the restrictions that Roman law placed on the transmission of status and property.117 Anne-​Valérie Pont found a similar and longer lasting split in the family network at Iasos, where most leading native families remained peregrine through the second century. She concluded that Roman law led Iasian Romans to practice endogamy to transmit their status and property to their children.118 114. More recently, Guerber 2020, 182–​183 has observed a similar situation in Heraclea Pontica. Fournier 2020, 246–​247 sees a complex pattern in Thasos (the issue, I will argue, is not whether Romans sometimes married peregrines—​clearly they did—​but how often they did so). 115. Kirbihler 2016, chap. 8. 116. Kirbihler 2009,  56–​59. 117. Kirbihler 2009, 57 and 2016, 244. 118. Pont 2016, 244.

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  133 A Tendency to Endogamy? The qualitative conclusions of Kirbihler and Pont can be confirmed by a quantitative analysis of marriage patterns in three exceptionally rich data sets: the priests of Zeus Panamaros from Stratonikeia, the family trees reconstructed from the inscriptions of Termessos, and the genealogy of Licinnia Flavilla of Oinoanda.119 The question to ask is not whether Romans married peregrines—​they clearly did, and scattered examples can be found across the empire—​but whether they did so at the rate that we would expect if they were indifferent to the legal status of their spouses. If unions were formed without regard to juridical status, one would expect juridical statuses to be paired randomly. The expected proportion of mixed unions in any population can thus be calculated from the proportions of Romans and peregrines in the population.120 Any tendency to endogamy should be visible in systematic deviation from the expected proportion. Perhaps the single richest data set for marriages is provided by the sanctuary of Panamara in Stratonikeia, in Karia in Asia. The annually appointed priest of Zeus Panamaros and priestess of Hera, who were often husband and wife, inscribed texts on the walls of the temple naming themselves and their kin. The painstaking work of Alfred Laumonier has reconstructed the biographies of around 180 priests and priestesses.121 These biographies document fifty-​eight marriages in which the status of both partners can be identified and which can be dated between the mid-​first century CE (when Romans first appear in the priestly families) and the Constitutio Antoniniana.122 Romans and peregrines seem to have been near parity in the population that supplied the priests and priestesses for most of this period.123 With roughly equal numbers of Romans and peregrines, one would expect around half of Roman men to have married peregrine women and around

119. See Kirbihler 2012b, 279, on the exceptional importance of these data sets for the study of family relations in general. 120. For example, one would expect the proportion of unions involving a Roman man and a Roman woman (URR) to be a function of the distribution of both types of person: (a) E(URR) = MR*FR where E(URR) represents the expected value of URR, MR is the proportion of males who are Roman and FR the proportion of females who are Roman. We would have a similar expectation for the proportion of unions involving two peregrines and mixed unions: (b) E(UPP) = MP*FP (c) E(URP) = MR*FP (d) E(UPR) = MP*FR 121. Laumonier 1937; Laumonier 1938. 122. The analysis is based on Laumonier 1937 after making the corrections and additions in Laumonier 1938. The calculation excludes nos. 1–​5 (dated to the first half of the first century or earlier; see Laumonier 1937, 243) and 146–​172 (Aurelii, mostly postdating the Constitutio Antoniniana; see Laumonier 1937, 292) and all others that Laumonier explicitly or implicitly locates in the third century. This leaves fifty-​ eight marriages in which the status of both parties can be determined. 123. By my calculation, Romans made up 47 percent of eighty-​two priests and priestesses datable to 50–​140 and 40 percent of seventy-​eight datable to 140–​212.

134  Myles Lavan half of peregrine men to have married Roman women, if they were indifferent to status, so that about half of all marriages would be mixed. The observed pattern is very different: 92 percent of Roman men married Roman women (n = 25), and 97 percent of peregrine men married peregrine women (n = 33). Only 5 percent of the fifty-​eight marriages were mixed, compared to 40  percent between two Romans and 55  percent between two peregrines. This is strong evidence that Romans in Stratonikeia preferentially married other Romans to a striking degree. Two specific examples illustrate the preference at work even within family groups. One of the family stemmas that Laumonier reconstructed documents six marriages within an extended family.124 Three of these marriages were between two peregrines; two were between two Romans; only one was mixed. Even more striking is the divergence between two brothers in that family. Ulpius Ariston, the son of a peregrine and beneficiary of a personal grant of citizenship from Trajan, married a Roman woman (Aelia Tryphaina Drakontis, also a new citizen), while his peregrine brother, Alexandros son of Leon, married a peregrine woman (Khotarion daughter of Aristeides).125 These examples show the tendency to endogamy at work even within a single family. Rudolf Heberdey used the rich epigraphy of Termessos in Lycia et Pamphylia to reconstruct stemmata for seventeen local families. This was a milieu in which Roman citizenship was rare. Only three of the seventeen families have any Romans datable before the Constitutio Antoniniana, and Aurelii massively predominate in third-​century inscriptions. Being a small minority, one would have expected most Romans to have married peregrines if they were indifferent to status. Yet we again observe a pronounced tendency to endogamy. Of eight Romans whom Heberdey dates to his Generation VII (ca 180 CE) or earlier and who have a known spouse, six (75 percent) married Romans.126 Besides the two mixed unions, all other marriages from this period are between two peregrines. A mausoleum built at Oinoanda in the early third century incorporated a series of genealogical inscriptions that document the ancestry of a woman called Licinnia Flavilla and her kin.127 The family could trace its citizenship back to two brothers, Licinnius Thoas and Licinnius Mousaios, who were granted citizenship under C.  Lininius Mucianus, legate of Lycia et Pamphylia around 60 CE. The

1 24. Laumonier 1937, table 4 (“Ulpii and Aelii”). 125. Laumonier 1937, nos. 104, 106. 126. Two Romans: (1) Tib. Fl. Varus + Fl. Nannelis, (2) Tib. Kl. Agrippinus + Aelia Capitolina Kille, (3) Ti. Cl. Teimodoros + Ti. Cl. Perikleia (all family H); (4)  Claudius Moles + Flavia Armasta, (5)  Claudius Numphikos + Claudia Telete, (6) Ti. Claudius Florus + Aur. Kille (Heberdey 1929, 116, infers that she was already Roman before 212) (all family M). Mixed: (1) Tib. Cl. Platon ho kai Tiberios + Aurelia Ge Hermaiou (evidently a beneficiary of the Constitutio Antoniniana who was still peregrine when their children were born, since they are named as Aurelii and obviously did not inherit their father’s citizenship; see Heberdey 1929, 74, 24) (family D), (2) Strabonianos Apollonios, son of Strabo + Tib. Cl. Kille he kai Capitolina (family H). 127. SEG 46 1709.

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  135 inscription documents twenty-​five marriages involving them, their descendants, and relations in the various families they married into. Like neighboring Termessos, this was a milieu in which Romans were a minority. Yet the Romans in this extended family hardly ever married peregrines. In at least twenty-​three cases (92 percent), Romans married other Romans. Only two appear to have married peregrines.128 The analysis is complicated somewhat by the phenomenon of close-​kin marriage. Like other elite families in the region, the Licinnii sometimes married kin, with a particular preference for patrilineal first cousins (the children of the father’s brother).129 This would have contributed to the tendency to marry other Romans, but it certainly does not explain all of it. In the early generations, there must have been patrilineal kin who were not Romans, but the family chose to marry other Romans instead. Moreover, the majority of marriages do not appear to have involved close kin, yet they show the same pronounced preference for fellow Romans. The analysis can be extended to communities with a significant corpus of deceased-​commemorator epitaphs and a significant visible presence of non-​ Romans. But the exercise is greatly complicated by the tendency to abbreviate wives’ names and by uncertainty about dating, so I defer it for discussion elsewhere. These three exceptional data sets should be enough to illustrate a pronounced tendency for Romans to marry other Romans, even when they were a small minority within the local circle of elite families. This tendency cannot be ascribed entirely to a preference for endogamy per se, since citizenship will often have been co-​distributed with other desirable characteristics such as wealth and social status. But it seems plausible that considerations about the transmission of status and property did play an important role in producing these marriage patterns. Though Romans were never prevented from forming unions with non-​ Romans, Roman law created incentives that ought to have encouraged endogamy. The scattered evidence from the provinces suggests that Romans in mixed-​status communities did indeed prefer to marry other Romans. They certainly married non-​Romans, but they did so at much lower rates than one would expect if they were indifferent to the status of their partners. It is worth repeating that the phenomenon may have been limited to the propertied classes: the three data sets all represent the wealthiest strata of local society, and the incentives to endogamy may well have been weaker for those with little or no property to transmit to their descendants.

128. (1) In the first generation, Licinnius Mousaios married Ammia daughter of Kroisos. The fact that the two sons are Licinii and hence apparently Romans makes this one of the possible exceptions to the rule noted earlier. (2) Licinnia Flavilla’s kinsman Flavianus Diogenes was the son of Simonides son of Diogenes and Flavia Lykia. 129. Thonemann 2017 discusses the phenomenon and counts at least eight close-​kin marriages among the thirty documented in Licinnia Flavilla’s genealogy.

136  Myles Lavan Family Networks, Wealth, and Power In communities where wealth and patronage links with the imperial elite were concentrated in the hands of Roman families, this propensity to endogamy may have limited the upward social mobility of families without Roman citizenship. The effect of bifurcated marriage networks would have been compounded by an overlapping divide in the circulation of legacies. The transfer of legacies between families played an important role in the negotiation of relations of friendship and patronage.130 Since Roman law prevented Romans from leaving legacies to peregrines, it ensured that these bonds, too, were normally exclusive to Roman families. Thus, what was for individual citizens a potentially burdensome constraint—​restricting their freedom to dispose of their wealth and status—​ may have had the systemic effect of making citizenship an advantageous status, insofar as it gave native families easier access to a network of wealthy and influential families. But this was only an indirect effect of the constraints that citizenship placed on individual familial strategies. And it was not necessarily the case everywhere. In cities like Iasos, where the Italian negotiatores who settled there seem never to have rivaled the wealth of established native families, their tendency to endogamy appears to have contributed to their marginalization from the highest stratum of local society, which continued to be dominated by non-​ Roman families through the second century CE.131 The same legal regime is likely to have had different social effects in different juridical ecologies. There was a second way in which the distribution of Roman citizenship may have shaped family networks. Thus far, I  have focused on the ways in which Roman law constrained marriage choices. But there was one respect in which citizen status might make it easier to form unions, namely, marriages with citizens of other civitates. In the classical period, many Greek poleis had restrictive rules about the transmission of citizenship by birth, requiring both parents to be citizens. Aristotle presents this as the norm.132 While he may be understating the number of exceptions, it is noticeable that most classical poleis whose citizenship laws can be reconstructed conform to this model.133 It is possible that some of these poleis relaxed their rules in the Hellenistic period, and the restrictive principle seems not to have been taken over by most of the new diaspora Greek communities in the Near East and Egypt.134 Nevertheless, the Hellenistic phenomenon of treaties of epigamia suggests that at least some established poleis retained their strict rules. These treaties made it possible to form valid 1 30. 131. 132. 133.

Sherwin-​White 1966, 203; Saller 1982, 124–​125; Verboven 2002, chap. II.3. Pont 2016, 242–​244. Politics 1275b. Hannick 1976: Athens, Byzantium, Rhodes, and Orchomenos all conform to the rule; Siphnos is the only exception. 134. Relaxation: Ogden 1996 and Heller and Pont 2012a, 10; see also Oliver 1970, 50–​53, for evidence of intermarriage. Diaspora communities: Mélèze-​Modrzejewski 2005, 350.

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  137 marriages with citizens of certain other poleis, revealing an underlying norm that such a marriage would otherwise be invalid.135 There is also evidence that Rome constructed new barriers to intermarriage in some regions, as part of a wider policy of dividing provincial populations.136 These restrictions, both local and imperial, would not have been felt by Roman families, since they automatically had conubium with Romans in other cities. This was probably what Aelius Aristides was referring to when he praised Rome because “you made it possible to marry anywhere” (γάμους τε κοινοὺς ποιήσαντες). He seems to be crediting Roman citizenship with an important role in facilitating intermarriage, his perspective being that of a Hellene with Roman citizenship.137 Intermarriage between cities was the basis of the regional aristocracies that are a defining feature of the Roman period. The correlation between inter-​poliadic marriage alliances and promotion to the equestrian and senatorial orders suggests that these alliances played an important role in the accumulation of wealth by allowing the consolidation of patrimonies across multiple civitates.138 Insofar as Romans were predisposed to seek out other Romans for marriage and also may have found it easier to form inter-​poliadic alliances, privileged access to these emerging regional networks of leading families may have been another indirect benefit of Roman citizenship and the Roman law of marriage—​though obviously limited to the wealthiest Roman families.139 Conclusion The prejudicial treatment of offspring of mixed unions seems to have emerged surprisingly late in Roman history, most likely a few decades before or after the Social War, when the lex Minicia replaced a more liberal regime with a rule that all children took the status of the “inferior parent.” There is no evidence that the law was ever repealed or modified. Some relatively liberal measures were taken with regard to unions with ex-​slaves and their children, evidently aimed at ameliorating some of the undesired effects of the Augustan manumission legislation. And Antoninus Pius seems to have made it easier for Romans who had non-​ Roman children to leave property to them. But the lex Minicia continued to apply to Romans living in peregrine communities through to 212 CE. The situation was probably more liberal in Latin communities, where it is likely that some form of conubium allowed Roman men in mixed unions to transmit their status to their children; but the same rule should have prevented Roman women from doing 1 35. So Saba 2011, 94–​95. 136. See Livy 45.19.10, with Ando 2012a, 81, on the ban on intermarriage across the regional boundaries imposed on Macedonia in 167 BCE. 137. Or. 26.102, trans. Oliver. So Oliver 1953, 947–​948, and Marotta 2009, 36–​37. 138. See Halfmann 1979, chap. 2, on the marriage alliances of eastern families that produced Roman senators. 139. So Vittinghoff 1980, 277; Marotta 2009, 36–​37, 57–​58; Pont 2016, 248; Besson 2020, 305.

138  Myles Lavan so, since conubium ensured that the child took the status of the father. Examples of Roman men and women with children who were denied their parents’ status by Roman law can be found across the empire and through to the end of the second century. The last examples from the Klaros list were children in a delegation of around 207 CE. There is also some evidence that the disadvantages of not being able to transmit their status caused Romans to preferentially marry other Romans. The phenomenon illustrates that there were limits to Roman efforts to integrate the Roman and non-​Roman populations of the empire before Caracalla. It is certainly the case that the rhetoric of the Roman state often elided the distinction between Romans and non-​Romans, by evoking a vision of a community of peoples or persons united in their dependence upon, and loyalty to, the emperor.140 These professions of an intent to rule in the interests of all subjects enabled non-​Romans to claim the right to be protected by Roman emperors and governors, even though they lacked Roman citizenship.141 The universalizing rhetoric deployed by the Roman state and petitioning subjects has its counterpart in legal structures that enabled persons of different status to live alongside each other. In the sphere of private relations, Roman magistrates had long facilitated commerce between persons of different status (notably through the creation of the praetor peregrinus), and Roman courts had the discretion to use the fictio civitatis to give non-​Romans access to some of the more sophisticated remedies notionally exclusive to the law of Roman citizens. In the civic sphere, Roman practice of the imperial period “inserted a wedge between public duties and private status,” in the formulation of Hannah Cotton.142 Whereas earlier grants of citizenship to foreigners had often privileged the new Romans at the expense of their peers, by allowing them to claim exemption from their obligations to their home community, Caesar and Augustus removed this source of disruption by insisting that new Romans remain liable to taxes and liturgies in their home communities, even if those were juridically non-​Roman. There were, however, limits to this tendency to foster integration, and they were most acute in the sphere of family relations. While the Roman state never sought to ban Romans from forming mixed unions, it did persistently place strict limits on their ability to transmit their status and property to their children. We can observe a tension between a norm of fostering social cohesion, inter alia by promoting marriage, and a norm of protecting the exclusivity of Roman status—​ a tension in which the latter seems often to have prevailed. Though this may seem surprising, the strict regulation of the transmission of citizenship was just 1 40. See Lavan 2016a on the language of letters and edicts and, more generally, Ando 2000. 141. See Bryen, ­chapter 1 in this volume, and, for a wider perspective, Ando 2000. 142. Cotton 2007, 11.

Roman Citizenship, Marriage, and Family Networks  139 one instantiation of the imperial state’s broader role in policing personal status in a mixed-​status society. Like capital jurisdiction, the determination of personal status was one of the functions of government that the Roman state sought to monopolize or at least oversee, even in the first and second centuries when its bureaucratic resources were limited.143 All the communities of the empire had populations of mixed status. Besides the obvious distinction between slave and free, even nominally “Roman” communities contained freeborn Romans living alongside freed Romans and other, disadvantaged ex-​slaves and their children. In Latin and peregrine communities, Romans also lived with—​and were normally outnumbered by—​freeborn non-​Romans. Most of these distinctions—​between slave and free, between freed and freeborn, and between disadvantaged and Roman freedmen—​obviously served the interests of the slave society.144 That between Romans and freeborn non-​Romans in Latin and peregrine communities is less obviously functional. But it was a legacy of the empire’s origin as a conquest state. The conquest of the Mediterranean had produced an Italian colonial diaspora that exploited its connections to Roman commanders and administrators to appropriate positions of political and economic power across the Mediterranean.145 The empire of the first and second centuries CE was gradually evolving into an aristocratic empire, in which social status was more important than ethnicity or culture. An imperial elite that was predominantly composed of Italians or men of Italian origin was being reconfigured into a pan-​Mediterranean class of landowners.146 But this was a slow process, during which many features of the conquest state persisted. The disproportionate representation of Italians in the senatorial order is one. The conception of Roman citizenship as an exclusive status is another. The deference Roman emperors and governors afforded to the lex Minicia and other norms designed to prevent the indiscriminate expansion of the citizen population is only one manifestation of the tenacity of a conception of the relationship between citizenship and empire that originated in the conquest state of the middle and late republic. Originally the preserve of an imperial elite and the colonial diaspora, Roman citizenship continued to be seen as the mark of membership of a ruling people, even after generations of intermarriage had eroded the distinction between Italians and the rest of the provincial population and even as the ever-​wider distribution of Roman citizenship became ever more difficult to reconcile with that vision.147 143. 144. 145. 146.

Sherwin-​White 1966, 525–​526. On the social function of Junian Latin status, see esp. Roth 2010. Purcell 2005; Eberle and Le Quéré 2017. See Weisweiler 2016 and Weisweiler 2021 on the reconfiguration of the imperial elite and Kautsky 1997 on aristocratic empire as an ideal type. 1 47. Lavan  2019b.

4

Manumission, Citizenship, and Inheritance Epigraphic Evidence from the Danube Rose MacLean

As Roman citizenship extended unevenly into the provinces, so, too,

did the rights and obligations that continued to distinguish cives Romani from members of peregrine and Latin communities through the second century CE, particularly in the areas of marriage, inheritance, and manumission.1 Although the laws regulating manumission under the empire are relatively well documented, precisely how this system worked on the ground in the provinces and to what extent it contributed to the growth of the citizen population are uncertain.2 At issue here are not just overall rates of manumission but also the proportion of freed people (liberti/​ae) who obtained Roman citizenship during their lifetimes, as well as the impact of social, economic, and regional differences on the practice of manumission and experiences of freed people. This chapter contributes to an increasingly detailed account of manumission and enfranchisement in the Latin West by asking how the social background of enslavers may have affected their preference for formal mechanisms, which conferred Roman citizenship, over informal ones, which did not. At the same time, I consider how manumission functioned as a marker of status in the provinces, where Roman citizens were probably still a minority at the beginning of the third century and, even in the western part of the empire, congregated in certain areas and social strata.3 The formal manumission of enslaved people to citizenship (manumissio iusta) was the exclusive preserve of Roman citizens. Eligible enslavers could manumit before a magistrate with imperium in a ceremony known as manumissio vindicta or by including the proper formula in their will (testamento).4 After the passage The project from which this chapter is drawn has benefited at various stages from the input of colleagues at “Historiography Jam II” (Stanford, 2017), the AIA/​SCS Joint Annual Meeting (Boston, 2018), and “A Deep History of Slavery: Antiquity and Modernity in Dialogue” (Yale, 2019). I am especially grateful for the advice of John Bodel and Brent Shaw and for the valuable comments of the editors and referees of this volume. 1. See “Family and Property” in the introduction to this volume. 2. For a review of the quantitative issues, see Lavan 2016b, 13–​14. 3. Lavan  2016b. 4. Gai. Inst. 1.17; Ulp. Reg. 1.6. Manumissio censu, which entailed the enrollment of an enslaved person in the census, fell out of use in the empire, and manumissio in ecclesia was not formalized until Constantine (see Buckland 1908, 449–​450).

Rose MacLean, Manumission, Citizenship, and Inheritance In: Roman and Local Citizenship in the Long Second Century CE. Edited by: Myles Lavan and Clifford Ando, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197573884.003.0005

Manumission, Citizenship, and Inheritance  141 of the lex Iunia (probably in 17 BCE) and until the time of Justinian, enslaved people whose manumissions did not meet the criteria for manumissio iusta became so-​called Junian Latins.5 The most important of these criteria were the age requirements of twenty for manumitters and thirty for enslaved people, as prescribed by the lex Aelia Sentia (4 CE), although there was a range of potential exceptions.6 Junian Latins might later advance to citizenship through an imperial grant, in return for select types of public service, after raising a child to one year of age (anniculi probatio), or by undergoing a second manumission that followed the mandated procedures (iteratio).7 Nevertheless, because informal manumissions lacked the legitimacy of those performed according to civil law, they could not authorize the transformation of enslaved people into citizens.8 The custom of enrolling formerly enslaved people in the citizenry was a distinctive element of the Roman slave system.9 Enslavers of peregrine status were certainly capable of manumitting according to local law, but in the eyes of the Roman state, these freed people were peregrini/​ae.10 The principle is famously illustrated by Pliny’s request that Trajan grant citizenship to Harpocras, a medical specialist from Alexandria who had been freed by a peregrine woman and was therefore a peregrinus.11 In the West, the situation was complicated by the proliferation of Latin communities, in which non-​citizens could manumit before municipal magistrates (apud iiviros) in a version of manumissio vindicta.12 However, according to the same principle that assigned peregrine status to enslaved people manumitted by peregrini/​ae, manumission apud iiviros conferred freedom and membership in the municipium, not Roman citizenship.13 Roman enslavers living in the same polity who wished to manumit vindicta needed to appear before a provincial governor or proconsular legate.14 Manumissions testamento were presumably more convenient, at least in terms of procedure, but they still required the presence of witnesses and official documentation.15

5. On the date of the lex Iunia, see Balestri Fumagalli 1985; on the preservation of Junian Latinity under the Constitutio Antoniniana, see Koops 2012 and Koops 2014. 6. Gai. Inst. 1.18–19, 1.40; on the Augustan manumission laws, see Mouritsen 2011, 80–​92. 7. Gai. Inst. 1.28–​35; López Barja de Quiroga 1998, 145–​146, with additional references. 8. As observed, e.g., by Sirks 1983, 212. 9. See, in particular, Syll3 534.32–​34 (Philip V to Larisa) and Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 4.22–​24; cf. Plaut. Persa 462–​475 and Poen. 372; Livy 1.8.6, 2.5.9; Polyb. 30.18, cf. Livy 45.44; App. Mith. 1.2; Diod. Sic. 31.15; Cass. Dio 20.69; Tac. Ann. 11.24 and Ger. 25, cf. Ann. 14.39. 10. Fr. Dosith. 12. One exception was a Hadrianic senatus consultum that applied to peregrini a provision of the lex Aelia Sentia that invalidated manumissions undertaken to defraud patrons and creditors (Gai. Inst. 1.47); however, the aim of this senatus consultum was clearly to protect financial interests. 11. Plin. Ep. 10.5.2; on the further complication of Harpocras’s Alexandrian citizenship, see Marotta 2017. 12. For an overview of the issues, see López Barja de Quiroga 2007, 17–​20. 13. See “Identifying Enfranchised Freed People” later in this chapter. 14. On magistrates capable of manumitting vindicta, including the prefect of Egypt, see López Barja de Quiroga 2007, 19–​20; cf. Sherwin-​White 1973a, 330. 15. See Dolganov, ­chapter 6 in this volume.

142  Rose MacLean As a result of these stipulations, enfranchised freed people would have been most numerous in sectors of provincial society where Roman slavery was intensively practiced by citizens, above all among the imperial and municipal elites and military personnel.16 In the eastern empire, Greek manumission persisted under Roman rule, a point exemplified by the adaptation of Roman law to local forms in the immediate aftermath of Caracalla’s grant.17 In the western provinces, Roman slavery and manumission spread more extensively, but with a high degree of local and regional variation.18 In Spain, for example, liberti/​ae are attested far more frequently in cities than in less urbanized areas.19 In Gaul, they are especially prominent in the epigraphic material from Narbo and Lugdunum, nodes of Roman administrative and economic activity.20 Military outposts in Germany and along the Danube have yielded substantial evidence for freed people, as have seaside capitals like Salonae.21 In North Africa, freed people can be found in private households and on agricultural estates, as well as among soldiers and veterans.22 Of the relatively few liberti/​ae attested in Roman Britain, most were associated with the army.23 Although this picture is undoubtedly shaped by biases in the epigraphic record, which furnishes the bulk of the evidence for liberti/​ae in the provinces, it is also a predictable outcome in light of the powerful link between Roman manumission and citizenship.24 Yet any attempt to study formal manumission and the role of freed citizens in provincial society runs up against the formidable challenge of distinguishing enfranchised liberti/​ae from Junian Latins, who also bore tria/​duo nomina.25 As one approach to this quandary, I  propose in the first section of this chapter that testation and heirship can help to identify enfranchised freed people in Latin epigraphy. Although Roman law restricted the testamentary capacity of all freed people, Junian Latins were barred from making or benefiting from a will, except indirectly by trust (fideicommissum).26 This implies that freed people with Roman nomenclature who served as testators or heirs would have been citizens, although there are important exceptions. 16. See Lavan 2016b, 43, for the estimate that the wealthiest 1 to 2 percent accounted for 50 percent of enslaved people (following Harper 2011, 59). 17. Harper 2011, 369–​378; Youni 2010; cf. Calderini 1908, 159–​164. Salsano 1998 analyzes the scattered references to vindicta in Greek documentary sources. The standard treatment of Greek manumission is Zelnick-​Abramovitz  2005. 18. Morley  2011. 19. Curchin 1991, 83–​84; Manjarrés 1971. 20. Woolf 1998, 98–​105, emphasizing the effects of the epigraphic habit. 21. For Germany, see Lazzaro 1993, 365–​366; for Illyricum, see Mihăilescu-​Bîrliba 2006. 22. Shaw 2017 offers a cogent summary; cf. Chausa 1998 on slavery among veterans. 23. Webster 2005, 169. 24. Meyer 1990 and 2011 has made a strong case for the role of enfranchisement in expanding the Latin epigraphic habit; but cf. Woolf 1996; Beltrán Lloris 2014, 144–​145. 25. Weaver 1990; cf. López Barja de Quiroga 2018. 26. Gai. Inst. 1.23–​24; Ulp. Inst. 20.14; see López Barja de Quiroga 1998, 142, with additional references.

Manumission, Citizenship, and Inheritance  143 Using this measure, I  next analyze a corpus of Latin inscriptions that attest testators with identifiable heirs in the Danubian provinces of Noricum, the Pannonias, Dalmatia, Dacia, and the Moesias (N = 466). Studying patterns of testation to freed people cannot solve the larger problem of how frequently manumissio iusta was employed relative to informal procedures, nor can it determine the regularity with which Junian Latins advanced to citizenship. However, my case study of evidence from the Danube suggests an increased demand among veterans and (more tentatively) citizen liberti/​ae for freed people who would be eligible to inherit. I seek to explain this demand largely on the basis of impediments to marriage and childbearing faced, for different reasons, by military personnel and enslaved and freed people. At the same time, acts of testation to liberti/​ae who had received the franchise through official channels arguably provided both testators and heirs with an opportunity to perform their Roman citizenship against the variegated backdrop of provincial society. Identifying Enfranchised Freed People The vast majority of Latin inscriptions are frustratingly vague when it comes to legal standing, especially in the later first and second centuries, when the number of individuals of unknown status (incerti/​ae) steadily rises.27 However, understanding the significance of manumissio iusta in the provinces depends on our ability to distinguish enfranchised liberti/​ae from Junian Latins, as well as from peregrine freed people. In some cases, freed people are commemorated in ways that clearly convey Roman citizenship, most notably by the citation of a voting tribe or visually through togate portraiture.28 A  handful of epitaphs cite the formal mechanism through which a freed person had been manumitted, whether vindicta or testamento.29 However, unless tribal affiliation is given, the nomenclature of enfranchised freed people is identical to that of Junian Latins, leaving historians to rely on other, highly imperfect criteria, such as age at death younger than thirty.30 The theory that Junian Latins omitted the abbreviation lib(ertus/​a) followed by their manumitter’s praenomen in the genitive—​an onomastic element commonly known as pseudo-​filiation or libertination—​cannot be supported, if one accepts that Greek cognomina are a rough indicator of freed status.31 When a 27. This trend was identified by Taylor 1961, 118–​122. 28. Zanker 1975; Kleiner 1977; Kockel 1993. 29. Incelli  2016. 30. Most recently, Hirt 2018; cf. Alföldy 1972. 31. Mouritsen 2007; pace Emmerson 2011; Silver 2013. The use of Greek cognomina to identify freed people in epigraphic texts is controversial. Hirt 2018 refutes the validity of this method, citing relatively even distributions of Latin and Greek cognomina among freed people who died at age thirty or younger. Despite her claim that “the present dataset is larger and more diversified than that on which this view is generally based” (296n42), her findings may be skewed by an overrepresentation of vernae among those manumitted at a young age, even if they are not explicitly identified as such in all instances (pace 298). On the predominance of Latin cognomina among vernae, see Bruun 2013.

144  Rose MacLean freed or mixed-​status couple with different nomina appears alongside a freeborn child who takes the father’s nomen, the parents are likely to have been citizens at the time of the birth, but these families are far from abundant.32 Testation and heirship are common features of epitaphs that (to my knowledge) have not been used systematically to evaluate the juridical status of liberti/​ ae. As I have noted, the most important handicap imposed on Junian Latins was their inability to make or undertake a Roman will or to be appointed testamentary guardians, although they could benefit from fideicommissa. Under most conditions, I see no reason to doubt that freed people who became the heirs of private citizens, whether in Italy or in the provinces, must have been cives. It is usually impossible to know whether citizenship had been conferred through manumissio vindicta or testamento, or by the advancement of a Junian Latin to citizenship, or under an exception to the lex Aelia Sentia, such as manumission to undertake an insolvent estate or for the purpose of marriage.33 In the vast majority of cases, all that can be said with an acceptable level of certainty is that freed people with tria/​duo nomina who are identified as heirs in Latin inscriptions would have been citizens at the time of commemoration or shortly thereafter. Freed people who instituted heirs, made bequests, or established fideicommissa under Roman law would also have needed to possess Roman citizenship at the time they drew up their will. It is important to emphasize that enfranchisement alone did not give freed people full control over how their property would be distributed during the empire. According to a praetorian edict from the late republic, freedmen were required to assign one half of their estate to their patron, unless a biological child could be instituted as heir, whether in potestate, emancipated, or given in adoption.34 Under the Augustan lex Papia Poppaea, freedwomen who gave birth to four children would be released from tutela, but an equal share of their estate would still be withheld.35 The same law stipulated that freedmen with an estate valued at 100,000 sesterces or more would need to produce at least three children before excluding their former enslaver from succession.36 These rights did not terminate upon the death of patroni but passed down to male and certain female descendants.37 I will return to this issue in my discussion of freed testators, but for the moment, it is sufficient to establish that freed people with tria/​duo nomina who are identified as testators in Latin inscriptions would have been Roman citizens.38 32. Weaver 1990, 284–​286. 33. On insolvency, see Gai. Inst. 1.21, 2.154–155; Ulp. Reg. 1.14; for other exceptions, see note 6. 34. Gai. Inst. 3.40–​41; Dig. 38.2.1; see Gardner 1993, 25–​28; Gardner 1986b, 19–​20. 35. Gai. Inst. 3.44. 36. Gai. Inst. 3.42. 37. Gai. Inst. 3.45–​47. 38. Citizenship would also be indicated by formulae that refer more generally to testation, such as h(eredibus) m(onumentum) n(on) s(equatur) and l(ibertis) l(ibertabusque) p(osterisque) e(orum), which reflect the establishment of a legacy under a modus, typically for the purposes of tomb maintenance (Johnston

Manumission, Citizenship, and Inheritance  145 The freed heirs of citizen soldiers are governed by a different rule, because the testamentum militare allowed testators to institute Junian Latins, in addition to peregrini/​ae, although manumissions testamento would be void if they violated the lex Aelia Sentia.39 When a soldier died during his term of service and left a freed person as heir, it is impossible to tell whether that freed person had received Roman citizenship or was a Junian Latin, unless further information is provided. The privileges of the testamentum militare were only relevant to Roman citizens, whether serving in the legions or in auxiliary units.40 By the time of Trajan, the proportion of citizens enrolled in the alae and cohortes had increased as auxilia were progressively integrated into the state, perhaps reaching 50 percent on the Rhine and the Danube.41 The freed people of auxiliary soldiers on active duty therefore require special attention. In the sample analyzed here, only one auxiliary soldier is attested with a freed heir, an eques by the name of Ti. Claudius Ligomarus, who died in Dalmatia at the end of the first century after spending thirty years in Cohors III Alpina.42 His tribal affiliation shows that he had received the franchise by the time of his death, and his length of service suggests (though does not prove) that he may in fact be a veteran. His freed heir, Ti. Claudius Abascanius, would in that case have been a Roman citizen. Among veterans, legionaries who had been honorably discharged would already have been citizens, and the grant of citizenship to men retiring from the alae and cohortes was regularized under Claudius. After this point, virtually all former soldiers would have been eligible to manumit vindicta or testamento by virtue of their age and juridical status. The situation is complicated by the fact that the testamentum militare extended one year after discharge, at which time veterans who intended to transmit property to liberti/​ae under Roman law would have needed to follow the same guidelines as private citizens.43 However, only a small fraction of veterans would have died in that window. If the typical age at enrollment was between seventeen and twenty years, the cohort of veterans most likely to have retained a military will are those who died before their fiftieth birthday.44 Age at death is known for 76 of the 112 veteran testators in my data set, with a mean of sixty-​one years. The ages cited for veterans who named at least one freed heir range from fifty to one hundred, but among the three men said to have died at age fifty, one was a newly enfranchised auxiliary to whom the testamentum militare would not have applied, and another had served for

1988, 100–​103). However, my analysis includes only testators with identifiable heirs so does not rely on such formulae. 39. Gai. Inst. 2.109–​110; Dig. 29.1.29. 40. Meyer-​Hermann 2012,  40–​45. 41. Haynes 2013, 63. 42. Škegro 1997, no. 8 = CIL 3.14632 (upper fragment only). 43. Dig. 29.1.17.4, 26, 38. 44. See Scheidel 2007.

146  Rose MacLean twenty-​two years, which makes it implausible that he died within one year of retirement.45 Non-​Roman civilians could pass property to freed people under local law, but most of these cases should be visible on the basis of peregrine name forms, even if onomastic rules were not followed perfectly in every instance.46 The nomenclature of non-​Roman freed people varied but typically did not involve tria/​ duo nomina; to give two examples from the Danube, a peregrine woman named Iucunda Bithi f(ilia) was commemorated by Abascantus Iucundae lib(ertus); and a freedman named Mogio Tritouti lib(ertus) commissioned a burial for himself and his freeborn daughter Dubnia Mogionis f(ilia) and one other.47 The applicability of onomastic guidelines to non-​Roman inhabitants of Latin municipia depends on the premise that the ius Latii was a communal designation under the empire, rather than a personal status.48 This idea has further implications for the study of freed people, since it determines how one reads the chapter of the lex Flavia municipalis governing manumission apud iiviros by “a local citizen who is Latin” (municeps . . . qui Latinus erit; §28). If Latinity was purely a collective status, this phrase might refer to Junian Latins, who would have been capable of manumitting before local magistrates, perhaps because they held a privileged position relative to non-​Roman liberti/​ae.49 Even so, their inability to make or benefit from a will would have remained firmly in place, and testation would still be a valid measure of citizenship among freed people with tria/​duo nomina.50 However, other scholars have understood municeps . . . qui Latinus erit to be a straightforward description of someone whose personal status is Latin (not Junian Latin), thus reopening the question of nomenclature.51 This is not the place to try to resolve this debate, but it may provide some reassurance to note that Roman citizenship is indicated for the majority of testators with tria/​ duo nomina in my corpus on grounds other than onomastics. Of the 109 testators identified as “Roman civilians,” roughly 30 percent belong to the decurional or imperial elite, nearly 40 percent come from Roman communities, and another 10 percent are Aurelii and/​or date from the third century. In light of these considerations, it is reasonable to conclude that most freed testators and heirs with tria/​duo nomina on the Danube would have been Roman citizens, with the exception of heirs instituted by soldiers on active duty. That 45. AE 1974, 475; AE 1984, 761. 46. See “Other Rituals and Practices of Citizenship” in the introduction to this volume. 47. AE 1984, 779; AE 1948, 23. 48. Millar 1992 [1977], 485–​486, 630–​635; cf. Humbert 1981; followed by van Berchem 1982, 155–​164; Chastagnol 1990b; Chastagnol 1995, 51–​190; Dondin-​Payre 2011, 15, 23. 49. Gardner 2001b. Alternatively, the singular municeps Latinus may simply evoke the rights enjoyed by individuals who belonged to the category of cives Latini, but who were nevertheless juridically peregrine; Chastagnol 1990b: 575n8. 50. Gardner 2001b, 224. 51. So, e.g., González 1986, 206; on onomastics, see García Fernández 2010.

Manumission, Citizenship, and Inheritance  147 being said, commemorators of Latin epitaphs employed greater flexibility in their use of social terminology than a Roman jurist would have advised, and one cannot assume that every individual who claimed to be the commemorand’s heir or to be acting ex testamento (my criteria for inclusion) was describing legal succession. I suspect that the impetus to misidentify heirs in epitaphs would have been low, among both freeborn and freed Romans. Testation was a fundamentally legal act, and imprecisions of language or form could render a will invalid, despite the likelihood that most testators produced their own documents without expert advice.52 The legal and literary sources reflect a widespread fear that wills and codicils might have been forged, including by liberti/​ae in pursuit of a legacy.53 Combined with the broader prejudice against freed people in Roman culture, this concern for the preservation of testators’ wishes would have generated significant pressure on freed people and other commemorators to avoid claiming heirship without cause. The tendency to leave heirship implicit in commemorations for family members is probably a more serious source of epigraphic bias. Because inheritance was so closely tied to the duty of commemoration in Roman burial culture, restricting my analysis to inscriptions that make overt reference to testation and heirship through inclusion of testamentum or heres has skewed the data set in favor of non-​kin, not to mention the wealthier classes.54 Freed people who inherited property from their former enslaver may have been compelled to distinguish themselves in an inscription as heredes or coheredes, whereas spouses and children might prefer to emphasize social titles like coniunx or filius/​a, despite also serving as heirs.55 As a result, freed heirs are almost certainly overrepresented in the present corpus. To mitigate this, I ascribe little importance to the incidence of freed heirs overall but instead focus on the differences between social categories, across which this particular bias should in theory remain fairly consistent. Testators and Freed Heirs in the Danubian Provinces Using the Epigraphische Datenbank Heidelberg (EDH), which is complete for Noricum, the Pannonias, Dalmatia, Dacia, and the Moesias, I compiled a corpus of Latin inscriptions that attest testators with heirs whose names and/​or social relationship to the testator can be identified (N = 466). This material covers a wide geographical area, with Upper Pannonia being the best represented (115 entries), followed by Dalmatia (89), Lower Pannonia (71), Lower Moesia (56), Dacia (53), Upper Moesia (50), and Noricum (32). The chronological scope of the corpus

52. Champlin 1991, 70–​75. 53. Champlin 1991, 82–​87; Plin. Ep. 7.6.8. 54. Cf. Champlin 1991, 46–​59. 55. Cf. Meyer 1990; Woolf 1996, 29.

148  Rose MacLean extends from a terminus post quem of 1 CE to 400 CE, with a few outliers and undated entries (table 4.1). Because the vast majority of Latin inscriptions can be dated only to an approximate range, and because these ranges typically span decades, if not centuries, I simplified the EDH’s chronological data by assigning each entry to an interval of 50, 100, 150, or 200 years. Despite the unavoidable problem of overlap between some intervals, this made it possible to measure the approximate chronological distribution of the entries. The years 1–​200 and 101–​ 300 CE account for a relatively equal number (167 and 233, respectively), and the modest increase from the former to the latter period can easily be explained by the rise of the epigraphic habit. Likewise, the steep decrease in the number of entries for the years 201–​400 reflects the decline in epigraphic production that is characteristic of the third century. Table 4.1.  Chronological distribution of all testators and testators with freed heirs. Dates (CE)

All testators

With freed heir

1–​50 1–​100 1–​150 1–​200 51–​100 51–​150 51–​200 1–​200 1–​100 only 101–​150 101–​200 101–​250 101–​300 151–​200 151–​250 151–​300 101–​300 101–​200 only 201–​250 201–​300 201–​350 201–​400 251–​300 251–​350 201–​400 201–​300 only Other/​undated Total

12 51 22 5 38 34 5 167 101 53 48 6 14 36 34 42 233 137 29 25 1 1 2 2 60 56 6 466

1 11 7 1 5 7 1 33 (20%) 17 (17%) 5 8 1 0 6 4 10 34 (15%) 19 (14%) 4 4 0 1 0 0 9 (15%) 8 (14%) 0 76 (16%)

Manumission, Citizenship, and Inheritance  149 Table 4.2.  Social background of all testators and testators with freed heirs. Social group

All testators

With freed heir

Roman civilians Freed people Citizen soldiers Veterans Roman (all) Non-​Roman civilians Auxiliary soldiers Non-​Roman (all) Other soldiers Total

109 28 123 112 372 18 62 80 14 466

18 (17%) 13 15 (12%) 27 (24%) 73 (20%) 1 1 2 (3%) 1 76 (16%)

Among all testators, 76 (16 percent) instituted at least one freed person or probable freed person as heir. The proportion of testators with at least one freed heir remains fairly stable across the first three centuries, a point to which I will return. Analyzing this material according to the social background of testators produced the following subgroups: Roman civilians (109); certain and probable freed people (28); legionary soldiers and members of the citizen cohorts (123); veterans (112); non-​Roman civilians (18); auxiliary soldiers, not including members of the citizen cohorts (62); and other soldiers, including praetorians and those whose regiment is unknown (14).56 Table 4.2 displays the number of all testators in each group and the number attested with at least one freed heir. Non-​Roman civilians account for a small fraction of testators overall (4 percent) and almost never appear with freed heirs. Among Roman testators, veterans instituted freed people more frequently than did citizen soldiers or civilians (24  percent vs. 12  percent and 17  percent, respectively). Of the twenty-​eight freed testators in this corpus, nearly half instituted an heir of the same legal status. The small size of these subgroups, particularly non-​Roman civilians and freed people, limits the utility of further quantitative analysis. In the rest of this section, I attempt to explain the most obvious patterns on the basis of social and cultural factors and examine individual cases that may help to illuminate the issues at hand. 56. Parameters for identification of social status were as follows:  (a) Roman civilians:  tria/​duo nomina; (b)  freed people:  lib(ertus/​a) or patronus/​a for secure identification, *Augustalis, Greek cognomen, or certain constellations of shared nomina for probable identification; (c)  citizen soldiers:  military title or stipendia with citation of legion or citizen cohort; (d) veterans: vet(eranus) or military title with age at death of 60+ and/​or stipendia of 35+ to account for discharged soldiers who are not explicitly called veterani; (e) non-​Roman civilians: peregrine nomenclature. While not accurate in every instance, these indicators provide a statistical method for analyzing overall patterns. One freed testator with peregrine nomenclature was categorized with other freed people (ILJug 292).

150  Rose MacLean Most non-​Roman civilians in this corpus were commemorated in Roman cities or at military sites in the late first and second centuries, contexts in which the influence of Roman epigraphic conventions would have been particularly strong.57 In only one instance does a non-​Roman civilian appear with a freed heir, and the details of this epitaph are unclear.58 The male commemorand, Camulianus son of Camulus, has an idionym in -​ianus that derives from his father’s name, a combination of Celtic and Roman elements that may even suggest citizen status in the provincial capital of Virunum.59 By contrast, among Roman testators of any rank, 20 percent appear with at least one freed heir. I want to emphasize again that this figure overestimates the actual frequency of testation to freed people. However, it draws an important distinction between Romans and non-​Romans in the Danubian provinces, not just along the lines of juridical status but also in terms of the contexts in which Roman modes of slavery were employed. In Dalmatia, for example, Roman slavery was practiced most intensively by Italian colonists and their descendants and by military personnel, whereas the evidence for enslaved and freed people in rural areas is highly uneven. A recent epigraphic survey revealed only two patroni/​ae of non-​citizen status in Dalmatia, whereas many have military backgrounds or carry Italian nomina.60 Likewise, more than half of the twenty-​one testators with freed heirs in Dalmatia were commemorated in the coastal cities of Salonae (ten), Iader (two), and Narona (two), which had been coloniae since the first century BCE, and another three at Aequum, a colonia since the reign of Claudius.61 In the Pannonias, most of the eighteen testators with freed heirs are linked to Roman military activity at Aquincum (six), Carnuntum (six), and Intercisa (three).62 Although these results are once again determined by the density of inscriptions at urban and military sites, they must be interpreted in light of the almost complete absence of freed heirs among non-​Roman testators in the same provinces. 57. Virunum (CIL 3.4854, 4893, 6493); Celeia (CIL 3.5257; ILJug 369); Teurnia (ILLProN 487); Brigetio (AE 2005, 1220; CIL 3.4282); Aquincum (AE 2010, 1306); Campona (TitAq 1010); Intercisa (AE 1906, 115); Ulcisia Castra (CIL 3.10576); Scupi (AE 1972, 510). The exception is a case from Alburnus Maior, a Dacian mining town where the application of Roman law to non-​Romans in the local economy is famously documented by the so-​called tabellae ceratae Dacicae (AE 2008, 1166). On the adaptation of Latin epigraphic forms by non-​Romans, see, e.g., Woolf 1996. 58. CIL 3.4893:  Camuliano/​ Camuli et/​ Suadra Sen/​ uci h(eres) f(ecit) [F]‌ a/​ cundus l(ibertus). “To Camulianus, son of Camulus, and Suadra, daughter of Senucus; an heir made this, Facundus, a freedman.” 59. Cf. Alföldy 1974, 233. 60. Mihăilescu-​Bîrliba 2006, app. II; cf. Alföldy 1961; Kolosovskaja 1987. 61. Salonae (CIL 3.2035, 2092, 2096, 2458, 2531, 8737; AE 2009, 1015; AE 2010, 1167; ILJug 2103, 2722); Iader (CIL 3.2919; ILJug 2887); Narona (CIL 3.1832, 8438); Aequum (CIL 3.9761, 9771, 14946). 62. Aquincum (CIL 3.3533, 3550, 3683, 10610; AE 1990, 810; AE 2010, 1283); Carnuntum (CIL 3.4499, 4520, 13483; AE 1929, 200; AE 1978, 620; Hild 1968, no. 243); Intercisa (AE 1971, 339; AE 1910, 146; RIU 1242). The Moesias furnish twenty-​five entries, with an obvious cluster at Scupi (six), a Flavian veteran colony, as well as across sites occupied by the army, including Viminacium (three), Troesmis (two), and Novae (two). Dacia accounts for only eight testators with a freed heir, half of whom are military personnel from Drobeta. The three cases of testation to freed people in Noricum are from Virunum and Iuvavum, a Claudian municipium.

Manumission, Citizenship, and Inheritance  151 Among Roman citizens, the elevated proportion of veterans attested with at least one freed heir suggests that the decision to institute liberti/​ae was further conditioned by socioeconomic status (see cases summarized in Table 4.3). Any consideration of inheritance patterns among veterans must begin with the effects of military service on marriage and childbearing.63 In this respect, the difference between veterans and citizen soldiers may be surprising, because soldiers on the Danube were less likely to form conjugal unions than were veterans, although that gap narrowed somewhat in the second and third centuries.64 Moreover, the testamentum militare made it possible for soldiers to transmit property to Junian Latins and therefore to bypass the extra step of manumissio iusta or iteratio that most veterans would have needed to complete if they wished to institute a freed person. For these reasons, one might expect veterans to have relied on freed heirs less heavily than did soldiers, but the data suggest an opposite trend. One explanation might be that soldiers preferred to leave their estates to commilites on or, in a few cases, to veterans with whom they had an established relationship. The veterans in this corpus named fellow military personnel as heirs less often than did citizen soldiers (roughly 20 percent vs. 30 percent), perhaps a consequence of their separation from the army and at least partial integration into civilian life. The impact of military service on family formation is most apparent in the difference between veterans and other Roman civilians regarding their selection of heirs. In the first century CE, the majority of legionaries serving on the Danube were commemorated by people outside their immediate families, an epigraphic phenomenon that indicates the postponement of marriage and childbearing in military populations.65 With the expansion of local recruitment, commemorations of legionaries by non-​kin in this region fall to 31 percent in the second century and to 14 percent in the third.66 These broader phenomena help to contextualize veterans’ testation to freed people. In my data set, when the origo of a veteran with a freed heir is known, it reflects external recruitment, except for one legionary veteran who was born, served, and settled in Lower Moesia and a soldier from Dalmatia who was born in castris but transferred to the equites singulares, a unit with persistently low marriage rates.67 Moreover, the distribution of veterans with freed heirs across chronological intervals suggests a progressive decline in their reliance on freed people from the first through the third centuries, although once again the numbers are too small to be conclusive (table 4.4). It is reasonable to suppose that most veterans opted to pass their estates to freed people in the absence of immediate family or, more restrictively, sui heredes. 63. See Scheidel 2007 for an overview. 64. Phang 2001, app. 7. 65. Phang 2001, 152. 66. Phang 2001, 406–​407. 67. CIL 3.6144; AE 2010, 1167.

Table 4.3.  Inscriptions attesting veterans with freed heirs. Entry

Date

Province

City

Unit

Age

Nomen

AE 1984, 761

1–​100

Moesia Sup.

Scupi

Leg V Mac

50

Apuleius

AE 1960, 128 ILJug 38 AE 1929, 200

1–​100 1–​100 1–​100

Moesia Inf. Oescus Moesia Sup. Scupi Pannonia Sup. Carnuntum

Leg V Mac Coh II Praet Leg XV Apol

50

Iulius [-​]‌tonius Armentiacus

CIL 3.14946 CIL 3.9761 AE 1974, 475 AE 1984, 746 AE 2009, 1015 ILJug 34 CIL 3.13360 AE 2010, 1167 AE 1990, 810 ILJug 1299 ILJug 2103 CIL 3.6144 CIL 3.14216, 4 CIL 3.14216, 5 AE 2010, 1283 AE 1971, 339 CIL 3.8115 CIL 3.4322 AE 2005, 1303 AE 1910, 146

1–​100 1–​150 51–​100 51–​100 51–​150 51–​150 101–​150 101–​150 101–​150 101–​200 101–​200 151–​200 151–​200 151–​250 151–​200 151–​300 151–​300 151–​300 151–​300 201–​250

Dalmatia Dalmatia Noricum Moesia Sup. Dalmatia Moesia Sup. Pannonia Inf. Dalmatia Pannonia Inf. Moesia Sup. Dalmatia Moesia Inf. Dacia Dacia Pannonia Inf. Pannonia Inf. Moesia Sup. Pannonia Sup. Dacia Pannonia Inf.

Aequum Aequum Virunum Scupi Salonae Scupi Cibalae Salonae Aquincum Timacum minus Salonae Nicopolis Drobeta Drobeta Aquincum Intercisa Viminacium Brigetio Drobeta Intercisa

Leg VII Claud Leg VII Claud Coh I Nor Leg VII Claud Coh II Cyrrh Leg VII Claud Multiple Leg Multiple Leg Leg [?]‌ Coh I Thrac Unstated Leg I Ital Coh V Gal Leg V Mac Multiple Leg Leg II Adiut Leg VII Claud Leg I Adiut Leg V Mac Coh I Hem

AE 2004, 1261 ILNovae 54 AE 1966, 372

201–​250 201–​250 201–​400

Moesia Inf. Moesia Inf. Moesia Inf.

Abrittus Novae Tomi

Unstated Leg I Italica Leg XI Claud

55

50 60 90 70 75 100 60 86 66 60 80 70 70

Octavius Varenus Claudius Iulius Caetennius Herennius Flavius Iulius Cassius Aelius Claudius Aelius Aelius Annius Aurelius Aelius Iulius Domitius Aurelius Aelius Flavius/​Aurelius Claudius

Origo

Heir

Relationship Heir

Relationship Heir

Italy?

Incerta

Daughter

Freedwoman

Liberta et coniunx

Macedonia? Freedman Macedonia Freedman Italy Incertus

Freedman Freedman Unstated

Freedwoman

Italy

Freedwoman Freedman Freedmen Freedwoman Freedman Freedman Freedman Freedman Freedman Freedman Freedman Freedman Daughter Freedman Freedman Freedwoman Freedman Freedman Freedman Liberta et coniunx? Freedman Unstated Freedman

Liberta et coniunx

Freedman

Freedman

Freedman

Freedman

Freedwoman

Freedwoman

Freedman

Freedman

Freedman Freedman

Freedman Freedman

Incerta

Wife

Incerti

Sons

Incerta

Daughter

Freedman Veteran

Freedman Unstated

Freedman?

Unstated

Dalmatia Syria Dalmatia Dalmatia in castris

Moesia Inf. Spain

Freedwoman Freedman Freedmen Freedwoman Freedman Freedman Freedman Freedman Freedman Freedman Freedman Freedman Incerta Freedman Freedman Freedwoman Freedman Freedman Freedman Freedwoman? Freedman Incerta Freedman

Relationship

Freedwoman Freedwoman

154  Rose MacLean Table 4.4.  Chronological distribution of all veterans and veterans with freed heirs. Dates (CE)

All veterans

With freed heir

1–​200 1–​100 only 101–​300 101–​200 only 201–​400 201–​300 only Other/​undated Total

31 19 59 41 21 19 1 112

10 7 13 8 4 3 0 27

This thesis is strengthened by the fact that most of the freed people who inherit from veterans in the Danubian provinces are attested either alone or with other liberti/​ae, without any mention of the deceased’s kin. In five cases, family members appear alongside freed heirs, but in four of these, the freed heir is either explicitly identified as liberta et coniunx or is likely to have been so.68 We are therefore left with only one inscription in which a veteran has unambiguously instituted freed people in the presence of living kin.69 These observations, while based on a limited data set, support Champlin’s conclusion that Roman testators had a strong preference for family and only named freed people as heirs when necessary, usually in groups of coheredes.70 In the case of auxiliary soldiers, disruptions to family life and legal restrictions placed on the transmission of property to non-​Roman children would have been alleviated somewhat by regular grants of conubium, together with citizenship for wives, children, and descendants upon honorable discharge.71 The latter privilege was narrowed to wives under Antoninus Pius, with the exception of the Italian and perhaps the Pannonian fleets, but the number of auxiliaries among veteran testators on the Danube (twenty-​one) is too small to determine what the impact of this change might have been on testation to freed people. The likelihood that legionaries were not regularly granted conubium with peregrine women may have been an additional factor motivating them to manumit enslaved people formally (or to perform iteratio for existing Junian Latins) and to institute these liberti/​ae as heirs. Alternatively, as we have just seen, some veterans chose to manumit and marry enslaved women, with whom they could produce citizen

68. AE 1984, 761; AE 1929, 200; AE 1910, 146; CIL 3.14216, 4. 69. CIL 3.4322. 70. Champlin 1991, 132–​133; cf. multiple freed heirs attested in AE 1974, 475; AE 1984, 746; ILJug 1299; AE 2004, 1261; CIL 3.8115; CIL 3.4322. 71. On the legal background, see Lavan 2019a, 27–​35, and earlier discussion in this chapter.

Manumission, Citizenship, and Inheritance  155 children, although any child who had been born in captivity would need to be formally manumitted. While the pressures created by military service were probably the main driver of the difference between veteran testators and Roman civilians, the selection of freed people over fellow military personnel, friends, and other freeborn associates depended on more than simple convenience. One consideration may have been the desire to demonstrate socioeconomic status and authority over enslaved people, which was often framed ideologically as a generous bestowal of freedom by enslavers.72 Claims to wealth and authority would have been especially strong when a veteran’s freed heir also held a high position in society, most notably as a member of the *Augustales. At Brigetio, in Upper Pannonia, a former cornicularius tribuni named M. Iulius Proculus was commemorated by his heirs, Iulius Primio, an Augustalis, and Iulius Eutyches, a freedman, as well as by his wife.73 A  comparable epitaph was found at Drobeta, where a freed Augustalis named C.  Domitius Nicostratus commissioned a tombstone for C.  Domitius Alexander, ex signifero of Legio V Macedonica.74 The prominence of these liberti in public life elevated their own prestige and that of their former enslavers, both of whom were high-​ranking officers and had likely promoted their civic careers. Veterans who named liberti/​ae as heirs also performed their Roman citizenship, whether they had received the franchise at discharge or had enrolled in the army as citizens. Among auxiliaries, an instructive case is provided by the funerary altar of C. Iulius Mara, a veteran of Cohors II Cyrrhestarum.75 According to his epitaph, he was born in the Syrian city of Beroea, retired from active service between 10 and 20 CE, and lived at Salonae until he died in old age. The size of the monument, which stands at about 1.5 by 1.5 by 1 meter, suggests that Iulius Mara was a man of substantial means, although no precise account of his wealth is provided. The sole commemorator is Magnus, who identifies himself as freedman and heir of the deceased (libertus idemque heres). This Syrian veteran most likely encountered Roman-​style manumission in Dalmatia, whether during his term of service or as a resident of Salonae. Although Iulius Mara may have been childless, his decision to institute an enfranchised freed person presented an opportunity to exercise his power as a Roman enslaver and, in the process, to embed himself further into a citizen community in Dalmatia.76 Among all veterans with freed heirs in this corpus, four are attested with an Italian origo, whereas eight were provincials. The number of imperial nomina in this subgroup, especially in the second century, suggests further that most veterans with freed heirs were born into families that had been enfranchised within 72. Cf. Mouritsen 2011, 242. 73. CIL 3.4322. 74. AE 2005, 1303. 75. AE 2009, 1015; see Matijević 2009. 76. Cf. AE 1974, 475; CIL 3.14216, 4; AE 1910, 146.

156  Rose MacLean one or two generations. This agrees with recruitment patterns on the Danube but may also reflect the role of the army in expanding the Roman slave system, together with citizenship.77 Take, for example, the epitaph of T. Flavius Lucilius, who died at Salonae in the second century: T(ito) Fl(avio) T(iti) f(ilio) Pol(lia) castr(ensi?) | Lucilio | vexillario equitum sing(ularium) | Aug(usti) sesquiplicario eiusd(em) numeri | duplicario et summo curat(ori) | equit(um) sing(ularium) Aug(usti) (centurioni) coh(ortis) VIII vol(untariorum) | honesta missione commodis accept(is) | omnibus ab Imp(eratore) Hadriano Aug(usto) | T(itus) Fl(avius) Eulogus lib(ertus) | et heres vivus fecit ex vo|luntate sua et sibi et libert(is) | libertabusq(ue) suis posterisq(ue) eorum. To Titus Flavius Lucilius, son of Titus, of the Pollia tribe, born in camp. Vexillarius of the equites singulares Augusti, sesquiplicarius of the same unit, duplicarius, and summus curator of the equites singulares Augusti; centurion of Cohors VIII Voluntariorum; honorably discharged with full benefits by the emperor Hadrian Augustus. Titus Flavius Eulogus, his freedman and heir, made this while living on his own volition, also for himself and his freedmen and freedwomen and their offspring.78 Born in castris, Flavius Lucilius enrolled in Cohors VIII Voluntariorum and rose to the grade of centurion, at which point he joined the equites singulares and advanced through the ranks to summus curator. His nomen suggests that his family had received Roman citizenship, perhaps as the result of his father’s military service. The absence of kin speaks again to the demographic forces that prompted veterans to select liberti/​ae as heirs. At the same time, by exercising his citizenship in this way, Flavius Lucilius strengthened his affiliation to the imperial center, which element of his persona is already conveyed by his military career and receipt of “full benefits” from Hadrian. A comparable mix of social and cultural factors likely motivated the freed testators in this corpus to institute fellow liberti/​ae as heirs. Several situations might be envisioned in which a freed person would have chosen to institute an heir of the same legal status—​namely, families in which multiple members were freed, friendship among unrelated freed people, and patronage of liberti/​ ae by freed people. In all of these cases, citizenship would be necessary on the part of both the testator and the heir, and when a freed testator’s age at death is provided, it is consistent with this stipulation (table 4.5; range thirty-​six to seventy years). There are two cases in which freed testators and freed heirs were connected by kinship but only one in which the freed heirs were the testator’s 77. Mann 1983, 55, 64. For a measured assessment of the army’s role in enfranchisement, see Lavan 2019a. 78. AE 2010, 1167; Jeličić-​Radonić 2006.

Table 4.5.  Inscriptions attesting freed people with freed heirs. Entry

Date

Province

City

Testator

CIL 3.4520

1–​100

Carnuntum

Freedwoman

CIL 3.2531 CIL 3.2096

1–​150 1–​150

Pannonia Sup. Dalmatia Dalmatia

Salonae Salonae

Freedman Freedman

CIL 3.2092

1–​150

Dalmatia

Salonae

Freedman

IlJug 292 AE 1979, 537

51–​150 Pannonia Inf. Mursa 101–​150 Moesia Sup. Ratiaria

Office

Age Heir

Relationship Heir

70

Freedman

Freedman

Freedman Freedman

Unstated Freedman

Freedman Freedman

Freedmen

Freedmen

Freedman? Freedman? [Augustalis] Freedwoman? Freedman? [Augustalis] Freedman? [Aug. lib.?] Incerta Freedman? Freedman Freedman

Uncertain Unstated

Freedmen Freedmen [Seviri Augustales]

Augustalis Sevir Augustalis

Freedwoman Freedman

50 42

CIL 3.6207 101–​200 Moesia Inf. AE 1933, 246; 101–​200 Dacia CIL 3.1425, 1426 CIL 3.14427 151–​200 Moesia Inf.

Troesmis Freedman? Sarmizegetusa Freedman Nicopolis

Freedman

IMS 2.167 CIL 3.12486 ILJug 2722 CIL 3.3533

Viminacium Galați Salonae Aquincum

Freedman 60 Freedwoman? 50 Freedman? Freedman? Augustalis 41

151–​200 151–​250 151–​300 201–​250

Moesia Sup. Moesia Inf. Dalmatia Pannonia Inf.

Augustalis, ornamenta

36

Wife Unstated Brother Daughter Son Freedman Freedman

Relationship Kin attested None Unstated Freedman

Uncertain Liberta et coniunx Wife (incerta) Children Uncertain

Incerta Mother Freedmen Unstated [Augustales]

Wife, mother None

Freedman Freedman Freedman? Son

Daughter Sons None None

Freedman

Freedman

Brother

158  Rose MacLean children.79 Another freed testator instituted his daughter, a woman of uncertain status, as co-​heir with a libertus from his household.80 In the remaining entries, freed testators were either patroni/​ae of their freed heirs or the relationship is not made explicit. Like military service, although for vastly different reasons, slavery and manumission had a destabilizing effect on marriage and childbearing, and these conditions were exacerbated by Roman law.81 The age requirement established by the lex Aelia Sentia meant that formally manumitted persons would have spent their most fertile years in captivity, with some important exceptions, such as women freed matrimonii causa. Junian Latins could marry and produce freeborn offspring, but their ability to pass property to those children would have depended on their own advancement to citizenship. Moreover, the basic conditions of enslavement threatened to disrupt kinship networks through sale, death, sexual exploitation, and surveillance. Nor could Roman enslavers be relied on to manumit enslaved partners (contubernales) together or to release children from slavery at the same time as one or both parents. As a result, the odds of having legitimate children upon whom to bestow one’s estate would have been lower for freed citizens, particularly those freed by manumissio iusta after age thirty, than for freeborn Roman civilians. This may help to explain why freed testators in the Danubian provinces selected liberti/​ae from their own households as heirs in lieu of or even in addition to children. At the same time, as discussed earlier, Roman inheritance law put freed people who had not parented at least one child at a disadvantage when it came to testation. Notable exceptions to this principle were “independent freedmen,” who had been absolved from patronal obligations and were financially autonomous.82 In this light, it may be significant that the socioeconomic status of freed testators on the Danube is remarkably high, even when one accounts for the fact that making a Roman will in the first place assumes a certain level of affluence.83 Among the twenty-​eight liberti/​ae attested with an identifiable heir, there are ten *Augustales, four of whom bequeathed property to freed people. Even if these testators had been subject to patronal oversight early in their careers, their choice of heir suggests that they had attained some degree of autonomy by the end of their lives.84 One well-​documented case is that of Ulpius Domitius Hermes, a citizen of Sarmizegetusa during the middle of the second century.85 An honorific inscription from the town forum records a dedication that he made to his patronus, 79. CIL 3.12486 (probable freedwoman). 80. IMS 2.167. 81. Flory 1978; Mouritsen 2011, 152–​153; Kleijwegt 2012. 82. Garnsey 1981; D’Arms 1981, 140–​148; but cf. Mouritsen 2011, 233–​234, 243–​246. 83. Champlin 1991, 55–​56. 84. Cf. Mihăilescu-​Bîrliba 2006, 111. 85. Mihăilescu-​Bîrliba 2006n584.

Manumission, Citizenship, and Inheritance  159 Ulpius Domitius Rufinus, a decurion.86 Domitius Hermes went on to become an Augustalis and was honored in death by his fellow Augustales and heirs, four of whom share the nomen Domitius and are most likely freedmen from his household.87 It is possible that Domitius Hermes left the requisite portion of his estate to Rufinus or to a descendant of Rufinus and divided the remainder among these five heirs. However, a more plausible explanation is that, having been relieved of the burden of the ius patronorum despite being childless (as far as we know), Domitius Hermes distributed his wealth among his colleagues to cement his legacy in the Augustales. Likewise, at Salonae, a Sevir Augustalis named T. Ancharius Anthius commissioned a tomb for himself, his wife, and nine liberti et heredes, three of whom belonged to that college.88 The idea that testation provided freed people on the Danube with an opportunity to perform their Roman citizenship is worthy of special attention, since freed citizens in the provinces before 212 would have stood out not only from Junian Latins but also from non-​citizens of any background. Freed commemorators who identify themselves as liberti et heredes arguably make claims both to inheritance and to citizen status, in addition to fulfilling the duty of commemoration that had been imposed on them by a former enslaver. This is not to suggest that freed testators and heirs focused exclusively on the question of citizenship, a common assumption about freed people’s burial culture that has rightly been nuanced in recent scholarship.89 Nevertheless, the bestowal of property on one freed person by another brought the citizenship of both parties to attention, together with other elements of their personae in death, such as civic standing. These conclusions can be situated in historical context by examining continuity and change over the first three centuries CE, as I have done for veterans, at least to the extent allowed by the evidence. Proportions of all testators with at least one freed heir do not fluctuate dramatically across time periods, with a slight difference between the intervals of 1–​200 and 101–​300 (20 percent vs. 15 percent) that fades when only entries that fall in the intervals of 1–​100 and 101–​200 are considered (17  percent and 14  percent, respectively; table 4.1). I  found no discernible change from the second to the third centuries in the overall proportion of testators with freed heirs, although the size of the data set for the latter period again warrants caution. Adopting the view that Roman citizenship lost its value after the Constitutio Antoniniana, one might expect to see a decrease in the proportion of testators who named citizen freed people as heirs, particularly in light of the apparent decrease among veterans in the third century. However, high levels of economic inequality, as well as the persistence of

86. AE 1933, 246. 87. CIL 3.1425, 1426. 88. CIL 3.2092; cf. AE 1979, 537. 89. Mouritsen 2005; Mouritsen 2011, 285–​289.

160  Rose MacLean the Roman slave system, meant that Roman citizenship still conferred a body of rights that were not exercised uniformly by all people.90 In this context, testation to enfranchised liberti/​ae may still have conveyed social and economic authority. Moreover, Caracalla’s grant did nothing to alter the legal conditions under which enslaved people gained Roman citizenship upon manumission. Finally, it may be worth noting that all but one of the nine testators with freed heirs attested in the interval of 201–​400 come from families who had already received Roman citizenship, not from newly minted Aurelii. The fragmentary epitaph of Aurelius Claudius Certus, a veteran of Legio XI Claudia, provides an illustrative case: D(is) M(anibus) | et perpetuae securitatis(!) hic [-​-​-​]|vis L(?)NI(?)[-​-​-​]er est semper quem [-​-​-​] | dequerentem questus [a]‌dque(!) qu(a)e | [brevi?] lectu [Cl]audius nomine | quem [inflor]entem posuerunt paren|tes pr(a) en[o]men Aurel(ius) nomenque | Claudiu[s] habebat veteranus quidem | leg(ionis) XI Cl(audiae) Certus octiens sic decies | subito fata rapuerunt tenebris | et li[c]et sine liberos(!) alumnos(!) | heredes remisi et modo post | ob[it]um reddo meae vitis(!) rationem | [n]unc opto ut hic lapes(!) aeterna|[m] sedem quiescat et me salvum | [pi]us et heres Hermes patrono titu/​lum posuit honorandum sepulcro. To the divine shades and eternal Security. Here . . . [if?] you wish . . . is always . . . whom . . . lamenting laments and those things which in a brief reading . . . Claudius by name, whom his parents laid to rest in the prime of life, he had the praenomen Aurelius and nomen Claudius, veteran of Legio XI Claudia, [with the cognomen] Certus. He served for 18 years [?]‌. Death snatched me off suddenly in the shadows, and despite lacking children or alumni, I left heirs and just after death render an account of my life. Now I wish that this stone may keep in peace my eternal seat and me unharmed. Hermes, dutiful heir, placed this inscription for his patron on his tomb to honor him.91 This commemoration clearly highlights the demographic pressures that prompted legionaries to name freed people as heirs.92 The family’s addition of Aurelius to Claudius as a praenomen indicates that they were already citizens in 212.93 Even at a time when most freeborn inhabitants of the empire were Roman citizens, Claudius Certus would have been particularly well positioned to perform his citizenship through the corresponding acts of manumissio iusta and testation, both because he died without having had children and because he claimed enslaved 90. Garnsey  2004. 91. AE 1966, 372; trans. adapted from Russu 1966. 92. Cf. CIL 3.8115, in which a deceased alumnus is commemorated. 93. Salway 1994, 134–​135.

Manumission, Citizenship, and Inheritance  161 people as property. Claudius Hermes, whose social and legal obligations to the deceased are captured by the phrase pius et heres, documents not only his fulfillment of that imposed duty but also his possession of the franchise, which was a point of distinction among freed people even after the Constitutio Antoniniana. Conclusion Without a reliable method for determining the frequency with which freed people obtained Roman citizenship, analyzing patterns of testation to liberti/​ae offers one potentially fruitful approach, although by no means a perfect solution. Non-​ citizens are almost never attested with freed heirs in the Danubian provinces. Instead, the evidence for this practice comes primarily from citizens in urban and military contexts, a finding that accords with the overall distribution of Roman enslavers and liberti/​ae. Of course, the presence of Roman freed people in the epigraphy of cities and military bases does not prove their absence elsewhere. However, the picture that emerges from these inscriptions gains credibility when one accounts for the exclusivity of manumissio iusta and for the inconsistency with which non-​citizens adopted Roman modes of slavery in this part of the empire. Furthermore, as Lavan points out in ­chapter 3 of this volume, Romans living in the provinces were governed by rules of inheritance that strongly discouraged the passage of property to peregrini/​ae. While Roman testators rarely gave freed people precedence over living children, instituting enfranchised liberti/​ae as heirs would at least guarantee legitimate succession to citizens who bore the family nomen. Differences in the proportion of Roman testators with at least one freed heir can be explained primarily on the basis of disruptions to marriage and childbearing. The broader implications of these phenomena for the study of Roman citizenship on the Danube depend on how much weight one ascribes to testation as a motive for manumissio iusta or iteratio among provincial enslavers. It is clear that both procedures involved effort and expense on the part of the manumitter, not to mention a loss to prospective heirs (except, of course, liberti/​ae et heredes). This would have been especially true outside of Italy, where opportunities for Roman citizens to manumit vindicta were limited. Manumission by testament did not require the presence of a magistrate, but it deprived enslavers of the benefits of having freed dependents during their lifetimes and may not have been an effective means of social control, as historians have traditionally assumed.94 Where manumission inter vivos is concerned, Roth has argued persuasively that informal modes were “the masters’ preferred (socio-​economic) choice for their slaves’ first step to (full) freedom,” although the frequency with which Junian

94. Mouritsen 2011, 180–​185.

162  Rose MacLean Latins advanced to citizenship remains an important unknown.95 Nevertheless, promotion could not have been automatic, and the loss of a Junian Latin’s peculium would have been a clear disincentive to iteratio, even if the freed person paid a hefty price for that privilege. It therefore stands to reason that the intention to bequeath property to a freed person was one of the more compelling socioeconomic forces that prompted Roman enslavers in the provinces to undertake manumissio iusta or iteratio. Financial self-​interest was certainly not the only factor determining the choice of formal versus informal modes, and some Junian Latins would have gained access to the franchise through mechanisms that did not require the approval of a patron. The benefit of marking oneself as a Roman citizen may have been sufficient cause for some provincials to use manumissio iusta. Others undoubtedly held out the promise of iteratio to extract labor and loyalty from Junian Latins.96 These aims would need to be weighed by enslavers against the practical difficulty and economic costs of manumissio iusta or iteratio. Insofar as the evidence from the Danube suggests, the presence or absence of sui heredes played an important role in tipping that balance. If these assumptions are valid, the elevated proportions of freed heirs attested epigraphically among veterans and freed people may indeed reflect an elevated preference for manumissio iusta at these social levels. However, the demographic impact of these preferences is unlikely to have been very large, since the proportion of testators with freed heirs in any social group is almost certainly an overrepresentation, thanks to the tendency to leave heirship implicit in commemorations of immediate family. The material analyzed in this chapter may also shed light on patterns of social and economic mobility among Roman citizens in the Danubian provinces. If veterans manumitted enslaved people to citizenship at higher rates than did civilians, this would have increased their contribution to the number of citizens at social levels below the elite, although again any effects would be modest. The role of testation and inheritance in determining the potential for upward mobility among freed people is ambiguous. The monetary values of estates are not regularly cited in epitaphs, and some freed heirs may have been instituted only to perform the duties of commemoration, with little or no provision for their future livelihood. However, inheriting even a modest sum improved one’s chances of economic success, and formal manumission or promotion to citizenship gave freed people control over at least half of their property, in contrast to the prospects for Junian Latins. An opposing force was exerted by the tendency of Roman testators to name several freed people as co-​heirs, thus preventing any single libertus/​a from becoming too affluent, and by the age requirement for 95. Roth  2010. 96. Roth 2010, 114–​116.

Manumission, Citizenship, and Inheritance  163 manumissio iusta, which (among many other factors) delayed and destabilized families. The remarkably high social profile of freed testators on the Danube suggests that only a select group of freed people managed to overcome these impediments, and even prominent liberti in marriages to Roman women would have been prompted to divide their wealth among several freed people in the absence of eligible children.

Part III

Practices of Citizenship

165

5

The Onomastics of Roman Citizenship in the Greek East From Second Sophistic to Local Epigraphic Loyalty Aitor Blanco-​Pérez

O

n his way to address the council of the province of Asia in Pergamum, a second-​century CE author recounts how he had a dream following a visit to a temple of Apollo in Mysia.1 Telesphoros, the son of Asklepios, had appeared to him carrying a letter with oracles previously given for a girl called Philoumene. This reverie served to explain the recurrent stomachache of the writer and his divine salvation but also revealed the inscription of his own name:  Αἴλιος Ἀριστείδης. Aelius Aristides is one of the most important authors of the so-​called Second Sophistic, best known for his hypochondriac condition and his Sacred Tales.2 This man of letters produced a series of texts that deal primarily with events affecting his immediate environment and very personal circumstances. References to him as Aristides can be found in Philostratus’s Lives and the Suda, for example.3 Attestations in literature of his anthroponym as Aelius Aristides, by contrast, are rather exceptional. The Greek name Ἀριστείδης was preferred not only by later compilations but also by the author himself in his many works.4 Indeed, there is only one other instance in which the sequence Aelius Aristides appears, and it is connected to another letter, in this case sent to the emperors Marcus Aurelius and Commodus.5 The situation is quite different in the public epigraphic sources illustrating his activities in western Asia Minor, as also happens with many other sophists of the Roman imperial period.6 One honorific statue base, probably from Smyrna and set up by a group of Egyptian Hellenes, records a Πόπλιος 1. Orat. LI (Sacred Tales V) 22–​25. On the circumstances of this travel, see Behr 1968, 103–​104; Petsalis-​ Diomidis 2010, 147. 2. See, most recently, Abbamonte et al. 2016; Downie 2013; Harris and Holmes 2008. 3. Philostr., VS 581–​585; Suda, Alpha 3902. See Israelowich 2012, 26–​29. 4. Aristid. Or. XLVII (Sacred Tales I) 41; XLIX (Sacred Tales III) 45; L (Sacred Tales IV) 78; XXXII (Funeral Address in Honor of Alexander) 1. 5. Aristid. Or. XIX (A Letter to the Emperors Concerning Smyrna) 1: Αὐτοκράτορι Καίσαρι Μάρκῳ Αὐρηλίῳ Ἀντωνίνῳ Σεβαστῷ καὶ Αὐτοκράτορι Καίσαρι Λουκίῳ Αὐρηλίῳ Κομόδῳ Σεβαστῷ Αἴλιος Ἀριστείδης χαίρειν. 6. See Puech 2002, 141.

Aitor Blanco-​Pérez, The Onomastics of Roman Citizenship in the Greek East In: Roman and Local Citizenship in the Long Second Century CE. Edited by: Myles Lavan and Clifford Ando, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197573884.003.0006

168  Aitor Blanco-Pérez Αἴλιος Ἀριστείδης Θεόδωρος.7 The first three elements of the sequence must correspond to a Roman citizen referred to with his tria nomina. The last name, Theodoros, is related to another oneiric episode in which a man from Smyrna shouted this epithet in the Asklepion of Pergamum because all of Aristides’s affairs were “gifts of the god” (τοῦ θεοῦ δωρεά).8 The surviving record of this person’s nomenclature presents some certainties and some problems. On the one hand, it is evident that the single name Aristides was preferred by the sophist, when he referred to himself in both literary works and when he offered private divine vows near his Mysian hometown, as well as by later biographers.9 On the other hand, it appears that there were contexts in which his Roman nomen Αἴλιος tended to be added. For the study of Roman citizenship in the provinces, the addition of these fuller onomastic sequences is fundamental.10 As many case studies and the introduction to this volume show, the quantification of peregrine population in the Greek East mostly depends on the appearance of tria nomina in epigraphic, numismatic, and papyrological sources. At least after the reign of Claudius, Roman citizens had the exclusive right to state a tripartite nomenclature basically consisting of praenomen, nomen (gens), and cognomen.11 By the high imperial period, the system was fully developed, and this combination could become more complex with individualizing agnomina such as Theodoros, while regular praenomina were usually dropped from the inscribed commemoration.12 The nomina, however, always remained central to the system, as they indicated filiation to a family and, in the case of new Roman citizens, to the emperor who could grant the change of status.13 For example, the sequence Πόπλιος Αἴλιος implies that either Aristides or one of his immediate ancestors had been enfranchised by Hadrian (Publius Aelius Hadrianus), even if this detail is not mentioned by the author in any of his writings. 7. I.Smyrna 901. On the problematic nature and authentication of this inscription found in Italy, see Bingen 1987, 182–​183; Quet 1992. 8. Aristid. Or. XLVII (Sacred Tales I) 53–​54. 9. IMT MittlMakestos 2509, 2510, 2549; SEG 63.1093. See Robert 1937, 211; Puech 2002, 138–​ 140. These inscriptions set up by Ἀριστείδης most likely came from the author’s estate of Laneion, near Hadrianoutherai, as reported in Orat. L (Sacred Tales IV) 43–​47. The absence of a patronymic in these private offerings is interesting. Sequences of name + patronymic were the most common in the Greek East in order to differentiate many homonymous individuals. The fact that the sophist decided to use a single name may reveal his confidence in being sufficiently recognized and renowned. 10. See Mócsy 1959; Alföldy 1969 (cf. Vittinghoff 1977; Dana 2011) for two foundational studies that have later been applied to the provinces of the eastern Mediterranean. Before the colloquium “Roman Onomastics in the Greek East: Social and Political Aspects” with general and case studies by Rizakis, Buraselis, and Solin, among others, the adoption of Roman nomenclature by the peregrine population in the Greek East had mainly been analyzed by Daux 1977, even if that article was just an introduction (cf. Salomies 1987, 244). For more recent case studies on the subject, see Ferrary 2008; Madsen 2009, 83–​99. 11. Suetonius, Claudius 25.3. See Mócsy 1970; Ferrary 2014, 54–​56. 12. See Salway 1994. For the nomenclature of women, see specifically Kajava 1994. The earlier contacts between Roman onomastics and a Greek-​speaking environment can be studied through the evidence from Delos; see Baslez 1996. 13. Alföldy 1966; Sherwin-​White 1973a, 306–​311; Jacques and Scheid 1990, 216–​219.

The Onomastics of Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  169 Onomastic studies, consequently, play a pivotal role in the assessment of Roman citizenship, with regard not only to its spread in the provinces but also to the different policies of the various emperors. Nomenclature likewise had important social connotations. Under imperial rule, the display of the traditional Greek name format—​(idionym) + patronymic—​in inscriptions could become a marker of peregrine status.14 The evidence from Claros, for example, seems to show that children from mixed marriages and without Roman citizenship adopted a particular naming pattern that distinguished them from other children sent to the oracle of Apollo, as Lavan studies in ­chapter 3 of this volume.15 Such interesting cases, nonetheless, should not lead us always to regard names as unequivocal indices of citizenship status under all circumstances. The well-​attested example of Aelius Aristides offers instead a caution, by introducing some of the complexities that bedevil the field. In this case, not only was his full nomenclature sequence most usually abbreviated, but also a single Greek name was frequently preferred even if it was not indicative of his privileged status. A complete appreciation of the Roman citizenship granted to Aristides’s family in the second century CE should therefore not focus solely on the adoption of Πόπλιος Αἴλιος but likewise explain the absence of tria nomina in parts of his literary and epigraphic production. As a result, this chapter will first attempt to study the contexts in which such omissions of Roman nomenclature sequences occur. Second, it seeks to determine whether the different naming practices had any implications for the new Roman citizens in the Greek East from Trajan to Caracalla. This analysis will show that the choice and display of names by Roman citizens in the Greek East were subject to contextual forces that significantly conditioned their self-​ presentation in the literary and epigraphic materials available to us. As we will see, an intellectual environment advocating for timeless Hellenic identity and contemporary alienism influenced the position of many Greek authors during the imperial period. At the same time, local habits in provincial communities and the prevalent appreciation of loyalty toward the emperors were also fundamental for the overwhelming record of nomina in public inscriptions through various formats. Roman citizens thus participated in an onomastic phenomenon that could be accommodated to different contexts and cultural practices. The Second Sophistic and Roman Names Apollonius of Tyana was a much-​admired figure in the sophistic circles of the Roman imperial period.16 According to Philostratus’s biography, the Pythagorean philosopher once approached Smyrna, where the Ionians were about to hold a 14. On the general features of Greek-​form names, see Masson 1990 and, of course, the volumes of the LGPN. 15. Cf. Ferrary 2014, 51–​52, 258–​261. 16. See Flinterman 1995; Swain 1999.

170  Aitor Blanco-Pérez meeting to which he had been summoned.17 While reading the invitation decree, Apollonius came to notice that the motion was headed by a certain Lucullus, together with other magistrates with non-​Ionian names such as Fabricius, which stirred him to write a letter rebuking their barbarism (βαρβαρισμός). How could these Ionians consider themselves Greeks, when they had lost the marks of their ancestors (τὰ τῶν προγόνων σύμβολα) with foreign names instead of those of heroes, admirals, and lawgivers?18 Even though no Λούκουλλος or Φαβρίκιος is attested in the surviving epigraphic evidence of Smyrna, a quick look at the corpus index reveals that Roman names were common in a city that still called itself the “jewel of Ionia” (κόσμος τῆς Ἰωνίας) in the third century CE.19 This polis, proud of its Greek heritage and Homer’s legacy, also celebrated in the selfsame civic titulature that it was the first metropolis of Asia in beauty and magnitude and a guardian of the cult of the emperors, in accordance with the decrees of the very sacred Senate.20 Ethnic identity and grateful loyalty toward Rome were therefore compatible in the public discourse of an urban center that flourished during the imperial period as one of the hubs of sophism.21 From Mysia, Aelius Aristides came to reside in the city, where he taught rhetoric and composed an encomiastic speech, To Rome.22 This eulogy is well known in Roman citizenship studies because it praises Rome for ruling the world with the magnificence of a πολιτεία that appointed to its citizenship and even its kinship “whoever is among the more accomplished, noble, and powerful persons everywhere.”23 Those words, however, should not make us forget that the same author consistently refused to employ in his works non-​Attic neologisms such as the term εἰρήναρχος, which were brought to the Greek East by imperial domination.24 The world of the Second Sophistic was one of balanced tensions; between Hellenism and Rome, classicism and the present, literary discourse and personal reality.25 The display of names necessarily had to mediate between forces to which Greek authors who became also Roman citizens were consciously subject. Aelius Aristides regularly omits not only his own nomen but also those of the many Iulii, Claudii, and Flavii with whom he resided in Smyrna.26 The case of Plutarch is even 17. Philostr., VA IV.5. 18. Letters of Apollonius 71. In Letter 72, Apollonius also censures his brother Hestiaios for wanting to alter the ancestral onomastic tradition of their family and adopt names such as Lucretius or Lupercus. 19. I.Smyrna 637, 638, 640, 665, 666, 674. On the significance of this titulature in the context of intercity rivalry, see Heller 2006, 329–​331. 20. See Kuhn 2009. 21. Philostr., VS 516, 535, 613. 22. See Oliver 1953; Swain 1996, 274–​284; Holmes 2008. 23. Aristid. Or. XXVI.59. 24. Aristid. Or. L (Sacred Tales IV) 72–​73; see Swain 1996, 268–​269. On his appointment, Aristides’s refusal, and the origin of the office, see Brélaz 2005, 90–​122; Blanco-​Pérez 2013. 25. See Bowersock 1969; Bowie 1970; Anderson 1993; Schmitz 1997; Goldhill 2001; Whitmarsh 2005; Schmitz and Wiater 2011. 26. See, e.g., Holtheide 1983, 229 and no. 52 of his index.

The Onomastics of Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  171 more notorious. The writer of Chaeronea did not just produce speeches where the use of single names could imitate the practice of classic Attic orators, but he compared biographies of Greek characters and Roman rulers who had different onomastic practices.27 While Plutarch does not hesitate to state sequences such as Ἰούλιος Πρόκλος in the Life of Galba,28 he fails to mention the nomina of any of his contemporary Greek friends such as (C. Iulius) Pardalas, (Tib. Claudius) Polykrates, or (T. Flavius) Pemptides.29 Actually, if one exclusively relies on the self-​references of the author, it would be impossible to know that Plutarch was himself a Roman citizen.30 As with his Boeotian companions, this information is to be inferred from the epigraphic evidence recording his public activities in the cities of Roman Greece. An honorific inscription dedicated to Hadrian by the Amphictyonic League in Delphi indicates that the priest Μέστριος Πλούταρχος had been in charge of setting it up.31 The identification of this individual with the writer is possible both from the autobiographical information contained in his many works and from his close relationship with the consul L. Mestrius Florus.32 Again, when Plutarch mentions his friend, he has no problem in referring to him as Μέστριος Φλῶρος.33 On the basis of the nomen bestowed upon Plutarch, Mestrius Florus appears to have mediated in obtaining this grant of citizenship from the emperor.34 This can also be confirmed from the fact that Plutarch’s sons Soklaros and Autoboulos were recorded in Chaeronea as Λ(ούκιος) Μέστριος Σώκλαρος and Λ(ούκιος) Μ[έσ]τριος Αὐτόβουλος.35 Rizakis has produced copious evidence that the use of Roman nomenclature in Greek epigraphy was near universal by the second century, even in societies hitherto reluctant to accept foreign influences such as Rhodes.36 Not only were new Roman citizens such as Plutarch recorded with nomina in connection to local magistracies, but also their sons continued to display even longer onomastic sequences in the civic landscape of their fatherland Chaeronea. And yet the aforementioned complaints of Apollonius of Tyana should not solely be regarded as “protestations des intellectuels” that had “peu d’effects pratiques.”37 The selfsame mental framework conditions the choice of names in Plutarch’s literary

27. See Duff 1999; Pelling 2002. 28. Plut., Vit. Galb. 26.1. 29. See Puech 1992. Plutarch, by contrast, states the nomina of Romans with a western origin such as Sosius Senecio, Terentius Priscus, Aufidius Modestus, and Cornelius Pulcher. 30. Plut., Conjugalia praecepta 138a; De superstitione 170a; De tranquillitate animi 464e; Consolatio ad uxorem 608a; An seni respublica gerenda sit 792f; Platonicae quaestiones 1011a. 31. CID 4.150 (FD III.4.472). 32. Ziegler 1949, 20; C. P. Jones 1971, 22, 32. 33. Plut., Vit. Otho 14; Quaest. conv. 626e, 680c. 34. See Alföldy 1966, 37–​40; Salomies 1993. 35. IG IX, 1 61 (securely dating to 118 CE); IG VII 3423. See C.  P. Jones 1971, 22; Puech 1981; cf. Babut 1999, 175. 36. See Rizakis 1996a. On the particularities of Rhodes, see Bresson 1996. 37. Rizakis 2008, 23.

172  Aitor Blanco-Pérez production and also prevents us from knowing with absolute certitude the citizenship status of many protagonists of Greek imperial literature. This is precisely the case with Lucian, who refers to himself merely as Λουκιανός and again omits in his prolific corpus any reference to the nomina of Iulian, Claudian, Flavian, Aelian, and Antonine emperors that populated the inscriptions of enfranchised provincials in the Greek East.38 If we are to believe Lucian’s works, his status as Roman citizen and member of the equestrian order would have been required for the position that he allegedly held in the administration of the prefect of Egypt.39 Previously, he had also accumulated experience in courts and forensic activity.40 Therefore, the absence of tria nomina from the record he provides of himself does not result from an ignorance of the Roman onomastic system within the intellectual circles of imperial sophists. In the Ass (55), for example, when the governor requests the identification of a suspect in the tribunal, the following reply is delivered: “My name is Lucius, and that of my brother is Gaius, and the other two names we share with our father. I write histories and other prose works, while he is an elegiac poet and a skilled prophet. Our native city is Patrae in Achaia.”41 Lucian’s choice of names must therefore be situated between two famous anecdotes belonging to the cultural milieu in which his literary activity was developed. On the one hand, in Demonax, he mocks a certain Polybius for his defective education and grammar—​instead of receiving Roman citizenship, he should have become (properly) Greek.42 On the other hand, in How to Write History, Lucian himself criticizes those authors who, due to their excessive care to be Attic and purify (ἀποκεκαθάρθαι) their language, “even change the names of Romans and render them in Greek, so as to say Chronion for Saturninus, Phrontis for Fronto, Titanios for Titianus, and other things even more ridiculous.”43 Such an attitude resembles the remarks of Apollonius of Tyana, who would have censored the very name of Λουκιανός. Indeed, at the beginning of the third century CE, Artemidorus of Daldis still assigned the appearance of Roman togas to the interpretation of barbaric dresses,44 while recalling a Greek man who imagined being

38. Lucian, Verae historiae 2.27; De morte Peregrini 1; Nigrinus 1. On the general anonymity of Lucian in his works, see Ni Mheallaigh 2010. 39. Lucian, Apology 12. See Pflaum 1959; Jones 1986, 20–​21; Billault 2010. 40. See, in particular, Double Indictment 32 and Fisherman 9, 25. Cf. Jones 1986, 12–​13. 41. These were two cliché Roman names commonly used in legal writings as already observed by Perry 1967, 369, on the basis of this text and Plutarch, Quaes. Rom. 271e. It is, however, interesting to note that Patrae was a Roman colony in this period, and its population would therefore be expected to know tria nomina sequences; see Rizakis 1998a. 42. Lucian, Life of Demonax 40. 43. Lucian, How to Write History 21: τὰ ὀνόματα μεταποιῆσαι τὰ Ῥωμαίων καὶ μεταγράψαι ἐς τὸ Ἑλληνικόν, ὡς Κρόνιον μὲν Σατουρνῖνον λέγειν, Φρόντιν δὲ τὸν Φρόντωνα, Τιτάνιον δὲ τὸν Τιτιανὸν καὶ ἄλλα πολλῷ γελοιότερα. 44. Artemidorus, Oneirokritika 2.3.6. See Bowersock 2004.

The Onomastics of Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  173 beheaded and then turned into a Roman citizen after “losing his former name and status.”45 Under such circumstances—​and considering that Lucian appears to stand on a middle position46—​it is easier to understand that the Lives of the Sophists compiled by Philostratus omits as a rule virtually any reference to the imperial nomina that his protagonists were frequently granted. The family of Philostratus was Flavii themselves;47 more important, his collection of biographies was prepared after the Constitutio Antoniniana, when the eastern Mediterranean was flooded with documents recording the new Aurelii.48 Even so, the only record of Philostratus’s Roman nomenclature throughout his corpus appears in the context of a greeting formula addressed to the emperor.49 The references to Antonius Polemon in the Lives are even more revealing. This chair of rhetoric in Smyrna and friend of Hadrian is systematically named Πολέμων in one of the longest biographies of the collection.50 On only one occasion does his nomen Ἀντώνιος surface, and it does so in a letter sent to him by Trajan and reported in direct speech.51 This practice of addressing Roman citizens with their nomina and cognomina in imperial correspondence is confirmed by a fragmentary letter that Hadrian sent to Pergamum and mentions Antonius Polemon.52 Furthermore, the praenomen of the sophist is known from inscriptions of Smyrna that report his civic activities and benefactions.53 By contrast, when, after a dream, the same Polemon decided to honor the great Athenian orator Demosthenes, he employed only his single name.54 These practices closely resemble those adopted by the protagonist of the introduction of this chapter, Aelius Aristides, who happens to be Polemon’s pupil. The following points can now be extracted from the evidence analyzed so far: 45. Artemidorus, Oneirokritika 1.35.8:  οἶδα δέ τινα, ὃς ἔδοξε τετραχηλοκοπῆσθαι καὶ ὢν Ἕλλην ἔτυχε τῆς Ῥωμαίων πολιτείας καὶ οὕτως ἀφῃρέθη τοῦ προτέρου ὀνόματός τε καὶ ἀξιώματος. See Thonemann 2020, 193–​194. 46. See Swain 1996, 308–​329. 47. IG XII, 8 27; I.Ery. 63; see Puech 2002, 377–​383. On the problems in identifying the different Philostrati of the family documented in the literary and epigraphic sources, see, generally, De Lannoy 1997; and, more recently, Janiszewski et al. 2015, 292–​296. 48. See Buraselis 2007; Rizakis 2011; Blanco-​Pérez 2016. 49. Philostr., VS 479:  ΤΩΙ ΛΑΜΠΡΟΤΑΤΩΙ ΥΠΑΤΩΙ ΑΝΤΩΝΙΩΙ ΓΟΡΔΙΑΝΩΙ ΦΛΑΟΥΙΟΣ ΦΙΛΟΣΤΡΑΤΟΣ. Cf. references to Φιλόστρατος (ὁ Λήμνιος) in VS 624, 628. 50. Philostr., VS 530–​535. See Bowie 1982, 32–​53; Quet 2003; Thonemann 2004. 51. Philostr., VS 533:  ἔπεμψεν ὁ αὐτοκράτωρ ἐπιστολὴν ὧδε ξυγκειμένην·«Ἀντώνιος Πολέμων τῶν ἐπιδοθέντων ὑμῖν ὑπ’ ἐμοῦ χρημάτων ἐμοὶ τοὺς λογισμοὺς ἔδωκε». This text belongs to the latest edition produced by Stefec 2016. In the previous canonical edition by Kayser, the nomen Antonius was removed from the main text. 52. IGR 350–​351. Cf. Oliver 1989, 150–​154, no. 59. 53. I.Smyrna 676: εἰσηγη̣[σαμένου] Μάρκου Ἀ̣[ντωνίου Π]ολέμων̣[ος τοῦ σο]φιστ[οῦ]; I.Smyrna 697: καὶ ὅσα ἐπετύχομεν παρὰ τοῦ κυρίου Καίσαρος Ἁδριανοῦ διὰ Ἀντωνίου Πολέμωνος. 54. IvP III 33: Δημοσθένην Δημοσθένους Παιανιέα Πολέμων κατὰ ὄναρ. See Puech 2002, 396–​406.

174  Aitor Blanco-Pérez (a) Sophists who were Roman citizens usually use or are referred to by idionym/​ cognomen in “literary” texts (the few exceptions being in quotations of documents). (b) The same men regularly use or are referred to by Roman onomastic sequences with a nomen (and sometimes also praenomen) when they are recorded in public inscriptions. (c) In private inscriptions, the single name is again frequent. Moreover, the material provided by Philostratus shows that the Constitutio Antoniniana does not seem to have radically affected these practices. Besides the Lives of the Sophists, other works produced by the third-​century author were undoubtedly influenced by his current circumstances.55 His Gymnasticus, for example, seeks to improve athletic training at a time when the Roman Empire was undergoing the “explosion agonistique.”56 Here the exercises of a Phoenician referred to as Ἕλιξ are extolled as those of an indescribably wonderful competitor.57 In the Heroicus, among many mythological allusions, there is also the story of a Helix who sent an envoy to the oracle of Protesilaos asking for the number of his future victories at Olympia in both wrestling and pankration competitions.58 The lack of any other onomastic elements in the dialogue hampers the identification of this athlete with any of the many Olympic victors for whom honorific inscriptions were set up in the Greek East.59 Conversely, this use of single names contributes to assimilate living individuals to the Homeric idols that are described in sophistic creations of the imperial period such as the Heroicus. Just as Polemon honors Demosthenes as if he were living in a world detached from Roman elements, the nomenclature without nomina of many of Philostratus’s characters blurs the boundary between historical reality and Attic fiction. Not all the Greek authors, however, appear to share the same concerns under similar circumstances. The Roman senator Cassius Dio, for example, describes the activities of an athlete from Smyrna called Aurelius Zotikos with whom Elagabalus had a famous affair.60 Under the same reign, the Bithynian author also reports that the athlete Αὐρήλιος Ἕλιξ rose to fame, after winning both wrestling and pankration at the Capitoline Games and being prevented by the jealous Eleans from repeating the deed at Olympia.61 The Aurelius Helix of Cassius Dio and Philostratus’s Helix are obviously the same person, an international star whose renown even reached the mosaics of Italy, together with that of his greatest rival, 55. See Anderson 1986; Billault 2000; Bowie and Elsner 2009. 56. See König 2005. On this concept and its impact on other media, see Robert 1984, 38; Mitchell 1990; van Nijf 1999; Newby 2005; Nollé 2012. 57. Philostr., Gymnasticus 46. 58. Philostr., Her. 15.8. See Jones 2001c. 59. See, e.g., Moretti 1953. 60. Cass. Dio 80(79).16. Cf. Hist. Aug. Heliogab. 10.2–​7. 61. Cass. Dio 80(79).10.

The Onomastics of Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  175 C. Perelius Aurelius Alexander from Thyateira.62 Unlike the case of this Lydian pancratiast, the lack of epigraphic sources for Helix prevents us from knowing whether Αὐρήλιος was added to nomenclature that predated the Constitutio Antoniniana in order to honor Elagabalus (Marcus Aurelius Antoninus),63 or the nomen indicates a direct grant of citizenship by the emperors.64 Whatever the case may be, this example shows that Philostratus’s style was driven by the constraints of his sophistic persona. The author might omit mention of the Capitoline Games and other Roman influences but nevertheless engaged with contemporary events also recorded by Greek historians such as Cassius Dio who did not succumb to the mania for Atticism that Lucian disparaged. Indeed, among contemporary ­figures, Galen is not alone in recording the imperial nomina of doctors who, similarly to athletes, frequently benefited from grants of citizenship by the emperors.65 In the world of the Second Sophistic, onomastic choices could therefore reveal cultural compromises.66 The Epigraphic Display of Roman Citizenship Having studied the limited display of Roman nomina that can be observed in Greek literature of the second century CE, this chapter now moves to the inscribed record of citizens such as Titus Flavius Damianos, persons who can be situated in the same intellectual milieu.67 According to Philostratus, the Ephesian sophist was “a man of the highest renown” and had attended the lectures of Aristides in Smyrna.68 His great wealth was put at the service of the people of his fatherland, with unique constructions such as the portico connecting the city with the temple of Artemis.69 He also paid for the enormous amounts of supplies consumed by the army of Lucius Verus as it returned from Parthia, and such a generous gift earned him honors from two associations of the polis.70 These inscriptions are important for revealing that, in contrast to other contemporary 62. Jones 1998, 293–​298. 63. On the change of nomenclature of C. Perelius Aurelius Alexander, see the final section of this chapter. 64. For example, the honorific statue base of Publius Aelius Aristomachos records that he had been granted citizenship by Hadrian together with his father, mother, and brothers (I.Magnesia 180:  τειμηθείς τε ἐπὶ τούτοις ὑπὸ θεοῦ Ἁδριανοῦ Ῥωμαίων πολειτείαις εἴς τε τὸν πατέρα καὶ τὴν μητέρα καὶ τοὺς ἀδελφοὺς). This privilege was also granted to the Sardian victor M.  Aurelius Demostratus Damas under Marcus Aurelius and Commodus (I.Sardis 79)  and possibly to another athlete from Tralles under Septimius Severus and Caracalla (SEG 43.732). 65. Galen, De compositione medicamentorum 12.637, 13.185, 13.539, 13.645, 13.1029; De antidotis 14.113, 171. For Galen’s probable Roman citizenship from a father, Aelius Neikon or Iulius Nicodemus Neikon, see Schlange-​Schöningen 2003, 45–​60. On the issue of Atticism and the language used by the doctor, see Galen, De ordine librorum propriorum K19.60–​61; cf. von Staden 1997, 52–​53. For the benefits of imperial doctors, see also Marasco 1998. 66. See Whitmarsh 2010. 67. See Puech 2002, 190–​200. 68. Philostr., VS II.605. 69. The existence of this stoa is archaeologically confirmed; see Steskal et al. 2003. 70. I.Eph. 672, 3080. Cf. Kalinowski 2006; Kirbihler 2006.

176  Aitor Blanco-Pérez sophistic figures such as Herodes Atticus, Damianos’s career had a purely local character, despite his acquaintance with Hadrian and the resources of a family that was first granted Roman citizenship under the Flavians. His close contacts with the imperial administration can indeed be illustrated through the honorific statue base that he personally funded for the legate of the legion III Gallica during the Parthian wars.71 While the cursus of the young senator is given in Latin, the name and position of Damianos are written exclusively in Greek. This mixed-​language inscription should accordingly be regarded as an evident sign of Damianos’s intellectual stance.72 Cultural chauvinism, nonetheless, did not prevent him from having his Roman names publicly displayed as Τ. Φλ. Δαμιανός. The same tria nomina sequence can also be restored in the inscription set up for the consul M. Nonius Macrinus,73 even if his praenomen was missing when he honored his friend (φίλος) and quaestor Veturius Paccianus.74 The varied record available for T. Flavius Damianos illuminates several points that need to be taken into account when analyzing the nomenclature sequences of Roman citizens within social contexts where Greek language, inscriptions, and sophistic culture were predominant. First, the use of abbreviations in the Ephesian evidence does not appear significant. I.Eph. 672 and 3080 are close analogues of each other, and the display of Φλ. for Φλάουιος should not be taken to indicate disregard for the longer nomenclature format.75 In fact, the same inscription that refers to Damianos as Τ. Φλ. assigns the sequence Γ. Λικινίου Ἀρτειμήτου Αὐρηλιανοῦ to the local magistrate who supervised it. Second, it is difficult to argue that the omission of Flavius Damianos’s praenomen in the honors of Veturius Paccianus was due to a conscious intent to conceal his personal status. Third, if praenomina were not required as markers of Roman citizenship, the fact that new Roman citizens were still recorded with them should not be taken for granted. Finally, all the inscriptions illustrating Damianos’s career, either as honorand or honoring magistrate, were meant to be displayed to the inhabitants of Ephesus, and, as will be discussed, this communal character played an important role.76 On the basis of these points and the evidence analyzed in the previous section, it can therefore be concluded that the record of Roman citizenship in the public epigraphic practice of the Greek East was standard even for some of the most celebrated figures of the Second Sophistic. Indeed, the first chair of rhetoric in Athens—​referred to by Philostratus as Theodotοs—​was honored by his Attic 71. I.Eph. 811. 72. On the mixed-​language contexts of Ephesus and its social significance in the imperial period, see Blanco-​Pérez  2020a. 73. I.Eph. 3029. 74. I.Eph. 735. 75. This can also be confirmed by looking, e.g., at the epigraphic records of T. Cl. Dionysius (I.Eph. 426, 3047; cf. VS 521–​526) and Ti. Claudius Nicomedes (IvP III.29, 31, 4; cf. VS 591). 76. The remains of a funerary monument outside the city may be ascribed to a more private context, but its state is too fragmentary to extract any conclusions regarding onomastic usages (I.Eph. 2100).

The Onomastics of Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  177 disciples as Ἰούλιος Θεόδοτος.77 In the case of the Thessalian Phoinix, his pupils even opted for the complete and unabbreviated tria nomina sequence:  Τίτος Φλάβιος Φοῖνιξ.78 According to their nomina, the families of Phoinix, Theodotos, and Damianos appear to have all been enfranchised before the second century CE. Might their display of Roman nomenclature simply reflect longer acquaintance with this onomastic system? Or did the epigraphic practices sketched here also apply to brand-​new Roman citizens of different social backgrounds? An analysis of the nomenclature of new Roman citizens for each period and dynasty after the first century CE unfortunately cannot be performed under similar conditions. The principal problem arises from the adoption of the Antonine nomina by the Severan emperors.79 Caracalla was named Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, and this sequence served as the basis for the majority of provincials benefiting from the Constitutio Antoniniana. The result is the impossibility of distinguishing between the many Aurelii attested in the third century and the fewer who can certainly be dated before 212 CE.80 Indeed, the numbers of this latter group are not large enough to support drawing any conclusion relating to onomastic usages as it also happens with the Septimii.81 Dynastic succession also complicates the assessment of the reign of Antoninus Pius after he adopted the nomen Aelius from Hadrian.82 Finally, the phenomenon of individuals such as (Mestrius) Plutarch who took the names of those who mediated in their acquisition of citizenship does not contribute to clarifying the situation. These issues do not, however, affect the study of grants by Trajan (Marcus Ulpius Traianus).83 That said, the Ulpii are not very numerous in our sources. For the provinces of Syria and Arabia, Sartre counts just thirty-​three in total—​that is, not only during the second century CE—​who mostly belong to the upper strata of Bostra and Palmyra.84 There are only two in the recent catalogue of Cilicia,85 nineteen in the entire province of Bithynia-​Pontus,86 and none in Beroea.87

77. IG II² 3813 (VS 566–​567). Theodotos’s nomen also appears in his record as local magistrate (IG II² 3616, 4084, 4087) and when his son was honored in Eleusis (I.Eleusis 492). See Puech 2002, 462–​464; Janiszewski et al. 2015, 360–​361. 78. Puech 2002, 384–​385; Janiszewski et  al. 2015, 298, although the claim by the latter that Damianus of Ephesus was still living in the 230s is wrong. On his sophistic career, see Philostr., VS 604. 79. See Baharal 1996, 21; Hekster 2002, 189–​195; Cooley 2007; Rowan 2012, 47–​49; Kemezis 2014, 30–​89. 80. See Blanco-​Pérez 2016. 81. There are just thirteen in Holtheide 1983, 474; five in Tataki 1988, 270–​272; four in Sartre 1996, 245 (not counting the Septimii of Palmyra belonging to Odaenathus’s family); two in Byrne 2003, 431–​432; one in Rizakis, Zoumbaki, and Kantirea 2001, 441; and none in Claros. 82. See Bureth 1964, 65–​77; Hekster 2015, 83–​86. 83. See Perret 1929; Bureth 1964, 54–​65. 84. Sartre 1996, 244. 85. Pilhofer 2015, 231, B80, B81. 86. Fernoux 2004, 201; see also Madsen 2009, 87–​90. 87. See Tataki 1988. This situation is common in the province of Macedonia, and only Philippopolis (Augusta Traiana) stands out as an exception; see Samsaris 1984, 197–​207.

178  Aitor Blanco-Pérez Even in an extremely well-​documented city such as Athens, Byrne has recorded only twenty-​one,88 while twenty-​three were active in the sanctuary of Apollo at Claros.89 With the exception of Cocceius, Ulpius is also the least frequent imperial nomen occurring in Holtheide’s collection of the Asian evidence.90 Among these attestations, the significant presence of freedman and athletes is noteworthy, as it also occurs in the evidence from the Peloponnese.91 While the profile and limited distribution of enfranchisement by Trajan across the Greek East might be similar across contexts, the local display of nomenclature sequences by these new Roman citizens does not everywhere observe the same practice. In Ephesus, for example, the vast majority are recorded with tria nomina such as those of the athletic star M. Ulpius Domestikos, unless they appear in the long catalogues of Kouretes, where the praenomina tended to be omitted.92 Only one of the Ephesian Ulpii displays his Roman tribe, and the addition of agnomina is not common.93 By contrast, these longer onomastic sequences are regular in the evidence from Stratonikeia in Caria, with examples such as Μ(ᾶρκος) Οὔλ(πιος), Ἀρίστωνος υἱός, Κυρείνα, Ἀλέξανδρος Ἡράκλειτος.94 This comprehensive format was also adopted by the prophetes of nearby Miletus, Marcus Ulpius Flavianus Phileas.95 Regional peculiarities in the epigraphic display of the Roman nomenclature sequences of the second century CE are not restricted to the Ulpii of Trajan. This reality emerges even more visibly from the more copious evidence provided by the generous citizenship policy implemented by Hadrian in the Greek East.96 There are fifty-​eight Aelii from Ephesus alone recorded in Holtheide’s collection, and, as was the case with the Ulpii, the Roman tribe of the Aelii is virtually absent from their epigraphic records.97 This situation again contrasts with that of Stratonikeia, where longer sequences such as Πό(πλιος) Αἴλ(ιος) Πο(πλίου) Ἀριστείδου υἱός Σεργία Φαῖδρος continue in the Antonine period.98 In the Peloponnesian region of Laconia, for example, a Greek patronymic was usually added to the Roman 88. Byrne 2003, 459–​461. There were fewer than ten in the previous collection produced by Woloch 1973, 246–​247. 89. Ferrary 2014, 54. 90. Holtheide 1983, 232. 91. For the Ulpii freedman:  I.Eph. 3017; TAM V.2.1319; ILGR 17; SEG 11.1124 (Rizakis, Zoumbaki, and Kantirea 2001, 148, no. 163). Athletes: TAM V.2.995; IG IV.591 (Rizakis, Zoumbaki, and Kantirea 2001, 239, no. 259). 92. I.Eph. 1155, 1089b. 93. I.Eph. 904: Μάρκῳ Οὐλπίῳ Μάρκου υἱῷ Σεργία Πείῳ Ὀλύμπῳ. 94. I.Stratonikeia 530, 668. On the prominence of his father, M. Ulpius Ariston, and the family stemma in the early second century, see Frija 2012, no. 356, http://​www.pretres-​civiques.org/​pretre/​ulpius-​ariston#a. His interesting onomastic choice compared to that of his peregrine brother is commented on in the introduction to this volume. 95. I.Didyma 279. The high status of the family is again confirmed by the inscriptions recording his father as high priest, I.Didyma 152, 230; see Frija 2012, no. 173, http://​www.pretres-​civiques.org/​node/​6120. 96. See Raggi 2014. 97. To this list the following exception should now be added: Engelmann 2000, 90, no. 27 (AE 2000.1411; SEG 50.1156). 98. I.Stratonikeia 241; cf. I.Stratonikeia 240.

The Onomastics of Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  179 tria nomina, as in the well-​documented case of Πό(πλιος) Αἴλιος Δαμοκρατίδας Ἀλκανδρίδα.99 Similar sequences, for example, Πό(πλιος) Αἴλ(ιος) Ἀντίπατρος Ζηνοδότου τοῦ καὶ Θέωνος, are also common in the Rhodian city of Lindos but absent in neighboring Camiros.100 As for southwestern Asia Minor, the addition of an extra Greek name to the Roman tria nomina can frequently be encountered in Hierapolis, as evidenced by Π(όπλιος) Αἴλος Ζευξείδημος Κασσιανός, grandfather of Caracalla’s teacher, P. Aelius Antipater.101 An analogous pattern can be found in nearby Laodicea, Aphrodisias, and Heraclea Salbake.102 It is therefore no coincidence that, in this area of Anatolia, the longer sequence Μᾶρκος Αὐρήλιος, instead of the pseudo-​praenomen Aurelius, was preferred after the Constitutio Antoniniana.103 From the fact that particular patterns of nomenclature can be located in specific regions and even cities, it must inferred that the epigraphic display of Roman citizenship was not solely driven by personal preference but was also subject to contextual forces.104 Onomastic choice should therefore be studied from the perspective of political communities that were still shaping local public life in the Greek East during the imperial period. In the first section of this chapter, it was argued that the intellectual environment conventionally called Second Sophistic played a key role in explaining the general lack of Roman nomenclature sequences in Greek literary works produced between the second and third centuries. An analysis of contemporary inscriptions, on the other hand, shows that the poleis to which Greek authors with Roman citizenship belonged favored a discourse encouraging the display of tria nomina in various formats. The encounter of political and literary worlds can be observed in inscriptions publicly honoring Roman citizens with Greek epigrams. This is the case of the Cilician athlete Maron and the city of Seleucia. One of the faces of a statue erected in his honor refers to him as Τ. Αἴλιος Αὐρήλιος Μαρών and formally records his many victories in high-​rank competitions such as the Olympics and the Capitoline Games.105 On the other face, twelve verses in distichs were carved extolling the same successes in a poetic tone which conclude with the following coda: “I am Maron, the boy, youngster, man from Seleucia who has never yielded victory

99. Rizakis, Zoumbaki, and Kantirea 2004, 148, no. 9. On this regional peculiarity, see also Rizakis’s introductory remarks in the same volume and Hoët-​van Cauwenberghe 1996. 100. IG XII,1 839. See Bresson 1996, 230–​232, and Brélaz, ­chapter 8 in this volume. 101. AvHierapolis 31 (IGR IV.819); cf. MAMA IX 26. The close relation between P.  Aelius Antipater and Caracalla is reported by Philostr., VS II.606–​607, and confirmed in I.Eph. 2026. See Puech 2002, 83–​94; Janiszewski et al. 2015, 34–​35. 102. Holtheide 1983, 378–​382. On the common use of double names in Aphrodisias, even among those without Roman citizenship, see Chaniotis 2013. 103. See Blanco-​Pérez 2016, 287–​293. 104. See also Rizakis 2019. On the spread Roman citizenship as a major force in the adoption of Roman nomenclature, see Balzat 2019. 105. See Şahin 1991, 141–​149.

180  Aitor Blanco-Pérez to enemies in the stadiums.”106 The omission of Aelius or Aurelius in this last self-​reference is not exceptional. Actually, these two nomina are nearly absent in the multiple verses inscribed across the Greek East during the imperial period.107 Besides issues of prosody and scansion, the Hellenic epigrammatic tradition imposed certain language usages and barriers that the addition of Roman nomenclature sequences would obviously break. Just as cultural heritage conditioned the choice of a single name in the poetic section, the display of Maron’s nomina in the city’s honors must be attributed to epigraphic conventions of the highly institutionalized context that Rome encouraged among many provincial societies under its rule. Inscribed Loyalty and Onomastic Realities After a successful career in the agonistic periodos, the Ephesian pancratiast M.  Ulpius Domestikos became the high priest of the athletic guild, the ξυστός, and supervised the imperial baths at Rome.108 During his time in office, he headed an embassy to Antoninus Pius asking for premises for the association.109 The emperor granted the request, and the epigraphic monument commemorating the binding response records the guild’s ambassador as Οὔλπιος Δομεστικός.110 The same base discovered in the xystos headquarters near the Baths of Trajan also featured a dedication to the granting emperor, but on this occasion, the tria nomina sequence of Domestikos is recorded complete, exactly as it happens in the epigraphic records of the athlete in his hometown. Finally, a further omission of his praenomen can be observed in the letter that Hadrian had previously sent to the association following another diplomatic mission of its high priest.111 Considering the diverse evidence of the previous section, one may wonder whether this practice of inscribing or omitting praenomina was simply an ­epigraphic peculiarity of the imperial capital or whether a larger phenomenon should be discerned. This entirely reasonable question can fortunately be solved by a recently discovered dossier of documents from Hierapolis. In this polis of inner Anatolia, the display of long nomenclature sequences was favored, so when the local benefactor Ti. Iulius Myndios established a foundation, we are not surprised by the following references to the magistrates with Roman 106. SEG 41.1407 (SGO 19/​ 05/​ 01):  παῖς ἀγένειος ἀνὴρ ὁ Σελευκεὺς οὔποτε νίκης εἴξας ἐν σταδίοις ἀντιπάλοισι Μάρων. 107. See Blanco-​Pérez 2016, 274. There are, however, two MM. Ulpii who were exceptionally hailed in the vocative with their Roman nomen in I.Didyma 223 (SGO 01/​19/​25) and RECAM II 146 (SGO 09/​12/​03). 108. IG V,1 669. 109. IGUR I 237 (IG XIV 1109). On Domestikos’s office and the establishment of the headquarters of the athletic guild in Rome, see Pleket 1973; Caldelli 1992. 110. IGUR I 236 (IG XIV 1055). 111. IGUR I 235 (IG XIV 1054).

The Onomastics of Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  181 citizenship who intervened in the publication of the decree: Μᾶρκος Οὔλπι[ος Ἀ]θηναγόρας Ἰουλιανός, Πόπλιος Αἴλιος Ἀπο[λ]λωνίδης Αἰβουτιανός, Πόπλιος Αἴλιος Ἀπολλώνιος Ἀντιοχιανός, Πόπλιος Αἴλιος Ἀπολλωνίδης Λιβωνιανός, Γάϊος Λειβήνιος Φιλέται[ρος] Πομπωνιανός.112 Ti. Iulius Myndios was likewise recorded with his full tria nomina in the dedication he made to the people of Hierapolis, Zeus Olympios, and Hadrian.113 Yet when the emperor sent a letter to the Hieropolitans with regard to a golden crown and their asylum status, the name of the local representative is conveyed as Ἰούλιος Μύνδιος.114 Again, a significant difference can be detected between the epigraphic record of Roman nomenclature in the imperial correspondence and other types of inscriptions populating the civic landscape of this community. Whereas the preference for longer or shorter onomastic uses is particular to a specific political context, the omission of praenomina in letters sent by emperors is a pattern that we also observe, for example, in the text that Septimius Severus addressed to Smyrna concerning the sophist Claudius Rufinus.115 Two important conclusions can therefore be extracted from this evidence. First—​and slightly off the topic—​cities in the Greek East such as Hierapolis appear to have inscribed and erected letters sent by the emperors verbatim, even if those texts contravened the normal display of local onomastic practices. Second, the recording of praenomina does not seem to have been required by the emperor (and the epistolary administration) as an essential indication of status, even in reference to his own Roman citizens. As a result, the fact that full tria nomina sequences were so profusely carved by many Greek cities and their inhabitants becomes even more significant. As was discussed in the case of Flavius Damianos, the nomen long remained the main marker of Roman citizenship, while the personal cognomen was employed to designate inhabitants in their local communities. In one section of the decree of Iulius Myndios, for instance, the benefactor is referred to as simply ὁ Μύνδιος. Were he one of Philostratus’ characters in the Lives of the Sophists, this single name would have been selected by the author. Onomastic sequences, however, did not serve solely to signal Roman status in the Greek East. The use of double patronymics in Aphrodisias must be related to the insistence of its population on remembering first-​century BCE ancestors who were still celebrated as founders of the polis as late as the third century CE.116 An obsession with genealogy is also a feature of Pisidian inscriptions in the imperial period, and many Marci Aurelii of the region adopted Greek names with the Latin the ending 112. SEG 51.1783. See Ritti 2001. 113. SEG 41.1200: Διὶ Ὀλυμπίῳ καὶ θεοῖς πατρίοις καὶ Αὐτοκράτορι Καίσα[ρι Τ]ραιανῷ Ἁδριανῷ Σεβασ[τ]ῷ κ[αὶ τ]ῷ [σύ]ν[παν]τι οἴκῳ τῶν Σεβαστῶν καὶ τῷ Δήμῳ τῶν [Ἱερ]απολειτῶν Τιβέριος Ἰούλι[ο]ς Μ[ύνδ]ιος. 114. SEG 55.1415. See Ritti 2004. 115. I.Smyrna 602. On his career as sophist, see Philostr., VS. II.608; Puech 2002, 438–​443; Janiszewski et al. 2015, 321. 116. See Reynolds 1982, 164–​165.

182  Aitor Blanco-Pérez –​ianus to indicate filiation after 212.117 The choice to employ Roman nomina could likewise function as a sign of loyalty. Even if the surviving evidence leads us to expect that new citizens would adopt the emperors’ names,118 the addition of imperial nomenclature by previous Roman citizens can prove this point. Under Elagabalus, for example, Caius Perelius Alexander—​the main rival of Aurelius Helix—​began to be referred to as Γ(άϊος) Περήλιος Αὐρήλιος Ἀλέξανδρος after a successful embassy and the grant of games to his fatherland by the “Aurelian” emperor.119 In the second century, the onomastic sequence recorded for the rhetor P. Aelius Antonius Crispinus Metrotimos in Olympia may also indicate particular gratitude toward Hadrian,120 as has also been argued for Aelius Praxagoras, who was a member of the prominent family of Claudii from Melite and became one of the main figures of second-​century Athens.121 Roman nomenclature should therefore be regarded as an instrument for the display of allegiance, one that transcends legal discourse. What is more, it cannot be affirmed—​outside of wills—​that a law even existed that obliged citizens to display their nomina under all official circumstances.122 What should be argued instead is that as emperors insisted on employing such nomina in their responses, the expectation arose and spread that imperial subjects would reference themselves via the display of all these Roman elements, even in the Greek East, where single names or sequences with patronymics were preferred. Unfortunately, there are no epigraphic records of private letters written to second-​century rulers in the regions studied in this chapter. What we do have is the attestation of some of these epistles in the literary works on which the first section focused. There we could find Aelius Aristides exceptionally stating his nomen to Marcus Aurelius and Commodus on behalf of Smyrna. In his correspondence with the latter emperor, the author of a compendium on the Attic language also presented himself as Ἰούλιος Πολυδεύκης.123 Epistolary exchange 117. See Corsten 2010; Feissel 2016; Blanco-​Pérez 2016, 278. On the importance of filiation in the contemporary epigraphic production of the region, see the case of Licinnia Flavilla and her mausoleum in Oenoanda (IGR III 500) analyzed by Hall, Milner, and Coulton 1996. 118. Cf. Cass. Dio 60.17.7. 119. In TAM V.2.1017, C. Perelius Alexander is honored as winner of the local Asklepeia contest of Thyateira without Aurelius. Once he became head of the xystos and led the embassy of its hometown before Elagabalus, this nomen was added to his honorific bases: TAM V.2.1018, 1019, 1020; SEG 49.1699. 120. IvO 463 (Rizakis, Zoumbaki, and Kantirea 2001, 413, no. 2). 121. See Kapetanopoulos 1970, 563; Woloch 1973, 265; Byrne 2003, 30–​32; Janiszewski et al. 2015, 308–​309. 122. On forging names in testaments, Dig. 48.10.13.pr.: Falsi nominis vel cognominis adseveratio poena falsi coercetur. Cf. Paulus, Sent. 5, 25, 1: Qui sibi falsum nomen imposuerit, genus parentesve finxerit, quo quid alienum interciperet caperet possideret, poena legis Corneliae de falsis coercetur. Gordian still considered these documents valid in cases where any of the tria nomina had been incorrectly written by mistake but the beneficiary could be identified: C.J. 6.23.4. Note also Ulpian’s question as to whether all the elements of the tria nomina needed to be stated in cases of disinheritance or if just one of those was enough: Dig. 28.2.1. As expounded in Dig. 28.2.2, the bottom line was, again, that the names had to be recognizable. 123. Pollux, Onomastikon 1.1.1, 5.1.1, 6.1.1, 7.1.1, 8.1.1, 9.1.1, 10.1.1. According to Philostr., VS 592–​593, Pollux was appointed to the chair of rhetoric at Athens by Commodus; see Puech 2002, 414–​415; Janiszewski et al. 2015, 306.

The Onomastics of Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  183 likewise explained the exceptional attestation of Antonius Polemon’s nomen in the Lives of the Sophists. In a provincial world dominated by loyalty and imperial ideology,124 the public display of names of Roman citizens became significant. The fact that many communities opted to record tria nomina sequences in honors voted to their citizens could be considered a statement of their alignment with the ruling power of Rome. These signs may have contravened the simpler Greek onomastic practices that guardians of Hellenic culture such as Apollonius of Tyana tried to preserve. Nevertheless, even Plutarch, who was careful in his literary production to omit the nomina of all his Greek friends, could be recorded as Mestrius when he acted as priest of a city such as Delphi, striving to seek the imperial favor during his tenure.125 In the case of the sophists, it has been argued that the general lack of Roman nomenclature sequences in their surviving works was due to the constraints of an intellectual environment that encouraged an identity alienism, recreating Attic fictions and cultural fatherlands but eventually becoming subject to contemporary circumstances. Their historical reality, and that of the Greek East in the second century CE, was one of political communities influencing the epigraphic representations of their inhabitants in terms of content, format, and, on the basis of my analysis, nomenclature as well. It is true that self-​naming could remain a personal or familiar issue, as, for example, the attestation of many supernomina in places such as Lydia still illustrates in the high imperial period.126 Indeed, the fact that individuals in the eastern provinces of the empire—​regardless of their status—​could be referred to and recognized with single names proves that this aspect of social life remained virtually unaffected by Roman influence. What did not escape transformation was the public representation of these same individuals in communities that fundamentally determined epigraphic conventions. This paper has not attempted to assess the degree to which Greeks accepted the use of Roman elements in their inscriptions on an individual basis, since personal motivations for the content of epigraphic records cannot be measured unless explicitly stated. Instead, my aim has been to provide an explanatory framework for two paradoxically differing onomastic occurrences:  the general absence of Roman-​form sequences in the literary works of the Second Sophistic that are available to us, on the one hand, and the many contemporary inscriptions with tria nomina that did not necessarily respond to imperial legal requirements, on the other. From this analysis, it has become obvious that the naming practices and epigraphic habits of Roman citizens in the second century did not only revolve around the issue of privilege and differentiation. 124. Ando  2000. 125. See Oliver 1989, 156–​160, nos. 181–​193; Swain 1991. 126. See Ricl 2010.

184  Aitor Blanco-Pérez Instead of using onomastics solely as an index of status to be instrumentalized by scholars in statistical approaches, this evidence should also be understood within a broader cultural phenomenon that was accommodated to different contexts and can shed light on what citizenship meant to some of those who possessed it. Aristides may have opted for his single name in private dedications to revered local deities near his rural estate. When a statue base was set up for him in Smyrna, however, the honoring Hellenes were impelled to extoll him as Πόπλιος Αἴλιος Ἀριστείδης Θεόδωρος. Eventually, his Aelian nomen and the new status that was gifted by Hadrian were to chase this Roman Greek even in his oneiric nightmares and letters.

6

Documenting Roman Citizenship Anna Dolganov

O

n a fateful day in the reign of Nero, violence broke out in Jerusalem outside the Jewish temple. As soon as the Roman garrison reached the scene, those who were busy beating one particular man halted their blows in midair. The Roman soldiers seized the man and marched him to their military headquarters, followed by an angry crowd clamoring for the man’s arrest. The man spoke to the Roman commanding officer (tribunus) in Greek, identifying himself as “Paulus, a Jew of Tarsus in Cilicia, a citizen of no insignificant city.” Without dwelling on this statement, the tribunus ordered Paulus to be beaten and tortured to investigate the cause of the violence. As he was being tied up, Paulus questioned whether it was permissible to beat a Roman citizen. The soldiers notified the tribunus, who confronted Paulus:  “Tell me, are you a Roman?” “Yes!” Impressed, the tribunus informed Paulus that he had obtained his own Roman citizenship for a large sum of money, to which Paulus replied that he was born a Roman citizen. By virtue of this status, Paulus was transferred to the court of the governor in Caesarea with a military escort to protect him. Insisting on his right to be tried by a Roman court, he ultimately appealed to the emperor and was sent off to Rome. “To Caesar you have appealed,” so pronounced the governor, “to Caesar you shall go.”1 This well-​known story, told at some point near the turn of the second century, elicits several basic questions about Roman citizenship as an exclusive and privileged status in the Roman Empire before the Constitutio Antoniniana of 212 CE. What are the implications of a claim of Roman status being made with confidence by a Hellenized Jew traveling far beyond his province of origin and being accepted, apparently without question, by Roman provincial authorities? When Roman citizenship was asserted by individuals throughout the empire, what could imperial officials do to verify these assertions? To what extent was status claimed on the basis of official documents? To what extent were administrators able to detect erroneous or fraudulent status claims? Investigations into these questions have tended to be skeptical about the role of documentation and the ability of the Roman state to verify the civic 1. See Acts 21:30–​25:12. On Paul’s Roman citizenship, see Acts 16:37–​38 (in Philippi) and 22:25–​28 (in Jerusalem), with Sherwin-​White 1963, 144–​171.

Anna Dolganov, Documenting Roman Citizenship In: Roman and Local Citizenship in the Long Second Century CE. Edited by: Myles Lavan and Clifford Ando, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197573884.003.0007

186  Anna Dolganov and legal status of individuals. As one study concludes, “the procedures were there for punishing infringements, once detected. But the possibility of fraud, which an insistence on documentary evidence from some sort of official source would have greatly reduced, seems virtually unchecked.”2 This view of Roman state record keeping continues to be widely accepted. A recent monograph on Roman technologies of information argues that Roman archives “could contain considerable quantities of material, but rarely collected systematically and not organized well for later use,” and concludes that calling these technologies primitive is “not an entirely unfair description.”3 There is broad agreement that Roman authorities did not require individuals to present official records of their status (such as birth declarations) or regard such records as a privileged form of evidence.4 Instead, it is argued that “the use of documentary proof of status was (always excepting Egypt) only patchy and not a legal requirement.”5 Why, exactly, Egypt should be treated as an exception is far from obvious. In this uniquely well-​documented Roman province, we find abundant evidence for the Roman state’s elaborate procedures of registering the population and policing membership in privileged status groups. Papyri also show individuals being regularly asked to prove their status on the basis of official records. In this and other respects, Egypt appears to be exceptional mainly in its wealth of documentary evidence illustrating Roman administrative practice, with fundamental implications for our understanding of the institutional framework of the empire.6 This chapter will analyze the institutions and procedures by which the Roman imperial state documented and kept track of Roman citizens. I  will begin with an overview of the census—​ the core demographic apparatus through which the Roman state exacted its fiscal demands and exercised oversight of fiscally privileged groups. I will then examine a series of institutional contexts in which administrators registered and verified the status of Roman citizens.

2 . Gardner 1986a, 11–​12; see also Reinhold 1971 and Brunt 1971, 42–​43, 170–​171, 208–​209. 3. Riggsby 2019, 203. 209. This study draws its conclusions from a limited sample of evidence comprising several dozen citations of predominantly Latin authors and only thirty-​six Latin inscriptions, five Greek inscriptions, and eight passages from legal texts. Of hundreds of relevant papyri, only eight are mentioned. This omission is regrettable, since the documentary evidence speaks resoundingly against the conclusions reached by the author. 4. A generally accepted thesis; see Schulz 1943, 63–​64; Gardner 1986a, 4–​5; Parkin 2003, 178–​182; Sánchez-​ Moreno Ellart 2001 and 2010, 119, “the Roman proof system did not recognize the value of privileged evidence.” 5. Gardner 1986a, 12. The exceptionalism of Egypt continues to shape historical scholarship on the Roman Empire; accordingly, the most recent comprehensive treatment of the Roman imperial census devotes a special section to “la spécifité égyptienne” (Le Teuff 2012, 325–​339). 6. In this respect, I build on the important work of Rudolf Haensch on Egypt as a rich source of evidence for Roman imperial institutions and administration; see in particular Haensch 1992 and 1994.

Documenting Roman Citizenship  187 Population Records in the Roman Empire The Census in Republican Italy The Roman Republic had a strong demographic tradition. Every five years, a population census was conducted in the city of Rome, a procedure that culminated in a ritual of civic purification (lustrum) and produced an official number of Roman citizens (capita civium). The census was the basis of taxation, military recruitment, and the division of the population into property classes and voting tribes.7 Supervision of the census, conducted by two censors, was the most prestigious and senior magistracy in a Roman public career. By virtue of their prerogative of moral policing (regimen morum), the censors could downgrade the status of individuals, cancel their voting rights, and expel them from their political class, including the Senate and the equestrian order.8 In the traditional procedures of the census, adult male citizens who were legally independent (sui iuris) presented themselves before the censors and declared under oath all members of their household, including wives, children, freedmen, and slaves, specifying their name, age, filiation, and tribe and the value of their property.9 It can be deduced that Roman widows and orphans were registered as well.10 It is an essential point that the operations of the republican census were not limited to the adult male citizens who made up the official lists of capita civium but were a demographic enterprise that was comprehensive in nature. Accordingly, the censors collected information about families, slaves, and freedmen, as well as non-​citizens and Latini residing at Rome and in territories subject to the Roman census.11 The census could also be imposed on new territories, a fate suffered by twelve Latin colonies that were forced to submit to a Roman-​style census (ex formula ab Romanis censoribus data) after failing to provide military recruits to the Roman army during the lustrum of 209–​204 BCE.12 7. On the census of the Roman Republic, see the balanced discussion of de Ligt 2012, 79–​134, with the remarks of Marcone 2014; see further Hin 2013, 261–​297, 351–​353 (earlier version published as Hin 2008), and Nicolet 1991, 123–​130 and 2000, 19–​69. 8. Accordingly, the census was wielded as a means of social control. We are informed by Cicero that it was the duty of the censors to record the births of legitimate children and discourage bachelorhood among the elite; see Cic. De legibus 3.7. 9. On the procedures, see note 7. 10. Both Hin (2008, 215–​218) and de Ligt (2012, 85) point out that the exclusion of widows and orphans from the lists of capita civium (Livy 3.3.9; Per. 59.7) implies their registration, as further indicated by the financial obligations imposed on them, such as the aes equestre; see Livy 7.41.8 (341 BCE), Plut. Cam. 2 (376 BCE), and Festus 183L, with Hin 2008, 209. 11. On the broad demographic scope of the republican census, see de Ligt 2012, 82–​105. The registration of freedmen and slaves is implied by the term familia; Cic. De leg. 3.7: censoris populi aevitates suboles familias pecuniasque censento. The registration of Latini is illustrated by a lex of 177 BCE ordering registered Latini and their descendants to leave Rome and return to their cities of origin; see Livy 41.9.9, 39.3.4–​6, 41.8.6–​ 12, with Laffi 1995. 12. See Livy 29.15.9–​10, with Le Teuff 2012, 183, 200; Kremer 2006, 81–​91. This may constitute early evidence for the use of decentralized census procedures, as noted by Nicolet 1991, 128–​129.

188  Anna Dolganov The demographic data generated by the census flowed into a number of different registers and lists. During the Second Punic War, two thousand men were purportedly expelled from their voting tribes for avoiding military service during the previous lustrum, a story that implies that officials cross-​checked information between census and recruitment records.13 The lex Voconia of 169 BCE, prohibiting individuals worth more than 100,000 sesterces from naming women as heirs, indicates that registers for each property class could be readily consulted.14 Under the second triumvirate, such registers made it possible for the triumvirs to consider imposing a tax on the 1,400 wealthiest women at Rome.15 Livy mentions that the censors of 184 BCE ordered slaves under the age of twenty, who were purchased since the previous lustrum of 189 BCE for 10,000 asses or more, to be assessed at ten times their cost and taxed threefold. This story implies that census officials cross-​checked incoming declarations with those of the previous census cycle.16 The concern of officials to keep track of the acquisition of slaves was presumably linked to Rome’s policy of granting freed slaves access to Roman citizenship. A  senatus consultum of 177 BCE ordered manumitters of slaves to swear an oath that the manumission did not serve the purpose of altering a person’s civic status, which suggests that voluntary enslavement and manumission were employed as a strategy to acquire Roman citizenship.17 The extension of the civitas Romana to the Italian peninsula in 89–​87 BCE as a consequence of the Social War strained the Roman political system and the institutions of the Roman census, which did not resume a regular cyclical pattern for several decades. In the ensuing period, Italian enfranchisement did not cease to be a matter of bitter controversy, reflected by the lex Papia of 65 BCE, which established a standing tribunal for prosecuting illegitimate claims of Roman citizenship.18 The decentralized census procedures implemented throughout Italy in the aftermath of the Social War are documented by the Tabula Heracleensis, a set of regulations published in the southern Italian municipium of Heraclea ca 45 CE, which includes a detailed description of how local censuses in Italian municipalities (municipia, coloniae, praefecturae) were coordinated with the census at Rome.19 One hundred and twenty days before the Roman census was 13. See Livy 24.18.1–​12. 14. On the lex Voconia, see Manthe 1999. 15. See Appian, BC 4.32–​33. The women were requested to submit an inventory of their property and valuables. Livy tells a similar story, that the censors of 184 BCE instructed their staff to increase taxes on women’s luxury items (Livy 39.44.3). We also hear of taxes being imposed on widows and orphans, of whom there were evidently lists; see note 10. 16. See Livy 39.44.3, with Brunt 1971, 15. 17. See Livy 41.9:  ciuitatis mutandae causa manu non mittere. For another reference to this strategy, see Petronius, Sat. 57: quia ipse me dedi in servitutem et malui civis Romanus esse quam tributarius. 18. On the lex Papia of 65 BCE, see Brunt 1971, 41–​42. Its consequences are illustrated by Cicero’s defense of Archias, who was prosecuted under this law in 62 BCE; see Cic., Pro Archia  6–​10. 19. See Crawford, Roman Statutes I: 355–​391, with Nicolet 1987 and 1991, 127–​129. For the argument that these procedures were an innovation of the age of Caesar, see Lo Cascio 1990 and 2001. For the more persuasive argument that the Tabula Heracleensis probably reproduces earlier regulations, since there is some

Documenting Roman Citizenship  189 due to be completed, municipal magistrates had sixty days to conduct their local census, taking declarations according to the same format as employed by the Roman censors. They were to enter these declarations into their public records (tabulae publicae) and send a copy of these records in the form of libri (presumably papyrus rolls) to Rome. During the ensuing sixty days, the staff of the censors was to examine the municipal records and deposit them in the archives at Rome (ll. 142–​156). Individuals with domiciles in multiple cities were to be registered at Rome (ll. 157–​158), while holders of urban property at Rome were to file declarations (professiones) to establish the location of their properties, their obligation to repair the streets adjacent to them, and their ineligibility—​presumably by virtue of their double residence—​for the grain dole (annona civica, ll. 1–​20). This portion of the document finds an echo in Suetonius’s description of Caesar’s efforts to keep track of Rome’s urban population and its eligibility for the annona, ordering that the census be conducted “not in the usual manner and location, but street by street [vicatim] through the owners of houses within each street-​block [per dominos insularum].” Clearly, at some point in the late republic, the census came to be linked to cadastral records and street-​by-​street surveys of the city of Rome.20 Altogether, republican sources suggest a diachronic development whereby the expansion of the census within Italy gave rise to decentralized procedures where census records produced at the local level flowed into central record offices at Rome.21 This system of documentation and the topographical organization of the census described by Suetonius would be employed in the extension of the census to the provinces, to which we now turn. The Roman Provincial Census In the late republic and early principate, a centralized infrastructure of administrative record keeping was progressively implemented throughout the Roman Empire.22 A  major pillar of this infrastructure was the institution of a cyclical census in every province.23 Already in the late republic, the provinces of Sicily and Bithynia observed a five-​year census on the Roman model that was supervised

evidence for decentralized census procedures in Roman municipalities before the Social War, see de Ligt 2012, 106–​112; Nicolet 1987; Brunt 1971, 519–​523. 20. See Suet. Div. Iul. 41: recensum populi nec more nec loco solito, sed vicatim per dominos insularum egit. On the topographical turn in Roman administrative record keeping in the late republic and early principate, see Nicolet 1987 and 1991, 123–​148. 21. A significant shift from the circulation of people to the circulation of documents, as emphasized by Nicolet 1987 and 1991, 129. 22. See Nicolet 1991, 123–​208. 23. On the Roman provincial census, see Brunt 1981, 329–​335; Nicolet 1991, 123–​148; Jördens 2009, 62–​94; Le Teuff 2012, 248–​264, where skepticism is due regarding “la specificité égyptienne.” It is simply not true that in Egypt there were no declarations of property or cadastral registers (Le Teuff 2012, 327), see Jördens 2009, 103–​108.

190  Anna Dolganov by the governor.24 In the Augustan province of Egypt, the census was initially conducted in seven-​year cycles, then in fourteen-​year cycles from the reign of Tiberius, a periodicity determined by the traditional age at which the population became eligible for capitation taxes.25 In line with what is known about procedures in republican Sicily, the census in Egypt was initiated by an official pronouncement of the governor (praefectus Aegypti) and conducted by local officials within each of the forty-​five Egyptian districts (“nomes”). Census declarations were made “house by house” (kat’oikian) and contained the name, age, filiation, and civic and legal status of every person for whom the house served as a legal residence. Some declarations were submitted by property owners for themselves and their families, while others listed tenants living in rented properties; property owners also declared houses in which no one permanently resided. In Egypt, the population census—​laographia, literally a “record of the people”—​was distinct from the assessment of landed property: declarants listed their urban property holdings but not their landholdings, which were subject to separate surveys and procedures of declaration. Household declarations were issued in multiple copies, collated and reviewed by officials, and deposited in local archives. Additionally, a complete copy of these records was sent to be reviewed and deposited in the central archives of the provincial capital.26 The similarity of these procedures to those described in the Tabula Heracleensis and the remarkable correspondence between the system of household declarations and Suetonius’s description of the Roman census being conducted street by street (vicatim) through the owners of houses (per dominos insularum) provide strong evidence that the census in Roman Egypt was broadly reflective of Roman administrative practice in Italy and elsewhere in the empire.27 The evidence for the provincial census beyond Egypt, although limited, supports the conclusion that a cyclical census was implemented in every Roman province. As far as we can tell, census cycles in different provinces were not coordinated and may have varied in length.28 The nature of the localities within which the census was conducted—​a city and its territory or a nome, prefecture, toparchy, or other type of district—​varied as well. It is reasonable to infer, on the basis of the Egyptian evidence, that the length of census cycles did not exceed the 24. On the five-​year census in Sicily and Bithynia, see Cic. Verr. 2.138–​139 and Plin. Ep. 79–​80, 112–​115, with the discussion of Le Teuff 2012, 211–​217. 25. In personal communication, Andrew Monson confirms my suspicion that, considering that the Roman census was introduced after the Romans had already instituted the poll tax building on Ptolemaic practices, the fiscal age in Egypt was most probably of Ptolemaic origin. Contra Le Teuff 2012, 331–​332. 26. On the procedures, see Hombert and Préaux 1952, 53–​147; Bagnall and Frier 1994, 1–​30; Jördens 2009, 68–​87; Le Teuff 2012, 332–​333. 27. On the link between the Tabula Heracleensis and the provincial census of the principate, see the important analysis of Nicolet 1987. 28. On the evidence for census cycles in other provinces, see Bérenger 2009, 154–​158; Le Teuff 2012, 248–​264. It is possible to identify patterns of fifteen years in the testimonia for Thrace and the Gallic provinces; see Le Glay 1981 and Jacques 1977, respectively.

Documenting Roman Citizenship  191 age at which the population of a given province became liable to taxes. Likewise, the existence of separate procedures for the population census and the assessment of landed property was not limited to Egypt but is attested in Arabia and arguably implicit in the Roman legal sources.29 Through household declarations, local officials obtained detailed demographic data that were linked to the topography of a particular locality.30 This information was instrumental for the collection of capitation taxes, including the poll tax (laographia, tributum capitis) to which most provincials were liable.31 Through land surveys, officials obtained similarly detailed records of landholdings and landowners, some of whom did not permanently reside in the locality.32 The demographic records produced by the census, combined with information furnished by land surveys and property declarations, enabled officials to estimate the total wealth and income of individuals, which, in addition to determining membership in the ruling classes (ordines), was the basis for the Roman system of compulsory public services (munera publica).33 Between census cycles, population records were supplemented by additional declarations of birth and death. The submission of birth declarations was incentivized as an authoritative means of documenting free birth, filiation, and status, helping to secure the child’s status and inheritance claims for the future, especially in the eventuality that one or both parents should die before the next census. Documentary evidence shows that birth declarations were, in practice, a requirement for members of hereditary status groups, who account for the majority of surviving declarations.34 Declarations of death were necessary for remission from capitation taxes and for claiming an inheritance from a deceased relative. Accordingly, papyrological evidence consistently shows death declarations being submitted promptly after the death of the individual. The census was compulsory, and attempts to evade it incurred heavy penalties.35 Failure to register oneself or members of one’s household resulted in 29. Separate procedures are suggested by two census declarations from the province of Arabia in 127 CE (P. Yadin 16, P.Hever 62) where individuals list their landholdings without providing information about their family. Ulpian’s use of the phrase in censum referre with reference to the declaration of land may imply a similar distinction; Dig. 50.15.4.pr. (Ulpianus 3 de cens.). 30. Local officials had at their disposal topographical surveys, see P.Oslo III 111 (Oxyrhynchus, 235 CE), with the remarks of Bagnall and Frier 1994, 23. The epikrisis pediakē (topographical inspection) attested in P.Oxy. X 1287 (205–​206 CE), PSI V 450 (early third century CE) and several other papyri illustrates precisely this: a detailed record of the urban topography within which individual homeowners and tenants were inscribed. 31. Other capitation taxes included a tax on unmarried Roman women of childbearing age (see BGU V 1210, ll. 87–​88) and annual contributions to the fiscus Iudaicus (see P.Lond. II 260 [ca 73 CE], ll. 432–​451). 32. See, e.g., P.Tebt. II 343 (Arsinoite, second century CE). 33. See, e.g., P.Cair.Isid. 6 (Arsinoite, 304–​305 CE), a register of declarations of land belonging to landholders near the village of Karanis, and BGU I 6 (Arsinoite, 157–​158 CE), a list of candidates for local offices with their net wealth (poros). 34. In Roman Egypt, birth declarations played an instrumental role in the status verification (epikrisis) of Roman, Alexandrian, and Antinoite citizens, while their absence undermined claims of citizenship and inheritance, see the following sections on birth and epikrisis. 35. See Bagnall and Frier 1994, 14, 25, 29; Hombert and Préaux 1952, 97–​99.

192  Anna Dolganov the confiscation of one-​fourth of one’s property for every unregistered person.36 Failure to register slaves resulted in their confiscation, illustrated by a hearing where a Roman woman who failed to declare her houseborn slaves sees them confiscated by a Roman procurator.37 At each census, individuals were routinely requested to produce evidence of previous census declarations—​or, if unable to do so, to explain why a certain declaration was missing.38 The practice of cross-​ checking declarations was presumably an effective deterrent from attempts to evade registration or submit inconsistent information. In papyri, we occasionally find lists of individuals who failed to show up for the census and were recorded as absent from their legal residence (aparastatoi). Sometimes their whereabouts are specified; elsewhere, it is noted that their absence is pending investigation.39 Other documents mention lists of persons who have permanently abandoned their place of residence (anakekhōrēkotes).40 A few papyri attest to persons not registered in the census (anapographoi) being reported and caught as undocumented.41 The term anapographos itself implies an administrative expectation that the majority of the population would be captured by the census. Overall, the Roman census as we observe it in the towns and villages of the Egyptian hinterland appears to have been effective at capturing and tracking the population. Where this task could become problematic was in very large cities such as Alexandria. This is illustrated by an edict of the prefect Vibius Maximus announcing the start of the census and ordering individuals to return to their place of legal residence and “resume their duties of land cultivation.” Those who believed they had a legitimate reason to remain in Alexandria had to register themselves with a military officer and obtain permits of residence within thirty days.42 This stipulation suggests that during the period of the census individuals could expect to be stopped on the street and frisked for their papers. The edict of Maximus appears to have been part of a broader tendency of Roman 36. See BGU V 1210, ll. 150–​154. For Romans and Alexandrians, the total penalty was limited to one-​fourth. 37. See M.Chr. 372 = P.Catt. recto col. vi (135 CE). The confiscation of unregistered slaves is likewise stipulated in BGU V 1210 (Arsinoite, 149–​161 CE), l. 155. 38. See Bagnall and Frier 1994, 20, 28. In PSI XII 1230 (Oxyrhynchus, 203 CE), a metropolite explains to local officials that he is missing from the last census of 201 because he spent time abroad. In SB XX 15337 (161 CE, Arsinoe), ll. 13–​17, the head of a household explains that the resident Ptolemaios son of Diogenes, who now goes by the name Gaius Valerius Capito, was registered in the previous census as Ptolemaios son of Marcus Anthestius (presumably the military name of his father). 39. In the tax records of P.Sijp. 26 (51 CE), an individual is recorded as returning from abroad (ll. 115–​119). In the administrative records of P.Lond. II 260 (ca 73 CE), individuals are recorded as traveling beyond Egypt (ll. 545–​549). See also P.Berl.Cohen 17 (second century CE), where a list of absent persons is annotated by a second hand that gives their whereabouts or states that this is being investigated. 40. See P.Oxy. II 251 (44 CE), where a father requests that his son be registered as having permanently moved abroad. 41. See P.Sijp. 26 (51 CE), ll. 109–​114, a list of undocumented fourteen-​year-​olds subject to the poll tax, and PSI III 229, 232–​233, where warnings are issued to unregistered persons. See also P.Kramer 7 (second century CE), where a private individual reports an undocumented person, and PSI XIII 1326 (181–​182 CE), where an undocumented person plaintively states that he was orphaned as a child and never registered. 42. See P.Lond. III 904 col. ii = W.Chr. 202 (104 CE), with Le Teuff 2012, 178–​180.

Documenting Roman Citizenship  193 administrators to exploit the census as an occasion to identify and expel migrants from major cities in the empire.43 The demographic data yielded by the census and supplemented by additional declarations flowed into a variety of registers and lists.44 One remarkable document is a contract for nine scribes hired by local officials to process incoming census returns. First, they were to produce lists of persons subject to the poll tax, ordered by name (and, presumably, place of residence). Second, they were to create updated lists of the Hellenic class (katoikoi), whose members paid a reduced poll tax, as well as lists of minors and other individuals exempt from capitation taxes. Finally, they were to update the population lists of the previous year on the basis of the current census. From other documents, we learn that local officials kept registers of births and deaths and population lists organized by year of birth, which made it possible to keep accurate lists of taxpayers—​including minors due to enter the age of fiscal liability in any given year.45 The presence of roll and column numbers in census rolls and the practice of citing these numbers when referring to census declarations indicate that the rolls were meant to be consulted in the archives when necessary.46 These indexing marks—​tomos (roll), deltos (tablet), kollēma, and selis (page)—​are not attested in Ptolemaic documents but emerge in diverse genres of administrative records in the Roman period. They appear to reflect the implementation of a distinctly Roman model of archival practice, employed at Rome as early as the second century BCE.47 How these records were used is significant:  when individuals cite official records in administrative proceedings, it is stated (or can be deduced) that they present copies of the records in question. It is often specified that copies have been made from records that have been “looked up” (epeskemmena) in the archives. There are numerous surviving copies of this sort, some displaying signs of correction by the archivist.48 In copies of records, we consistently find 43. Compare the edict of Caracalla expelling migrants from Alexandria, likewise on the occassion of the census, in P.Giss. I 40 col. ii, ll. 16–​29 (215 CE). See also the sources mentioning expulsions of Jews and Isiac worshipers from Rome, collected in Rutgers 1994. One such expulsion resulted in the shipment of four thousand freedmen to Sardinia (Tac. Ann. 2.85). 44. See Hombert and Préaux 1952, 135–​147; Bagnall and Frier 1994, 27–​28. 45. See P.Mich. XI 603 (Arsinoite, 134 CE), with Bagnall and Frier 1994, 27–​28. 46. See Bagnall and Frier 1994, 28, noting that census records included the roll and column numbers of previous declarations. For a striking example, see P.Lond. II 324 = W.Chr. 208 (161 CE), containing two extracts from archival records of census declarations dating twenty-​five and thirty years back, ordered by roll (tomos) and column (kollēma). These declarations had been retrieved from the archives to prove that two siblings were the children of the same mother. 47. See, e.g., RDGE 12 (ca 129 BCE) and RDGE 23 (73 BCE), two Greek inscriptions containing extracts from the acta of Roman officials with cataloguing marks indicating their location in the archives at Rome. These records were ordered by deltos and selis, the Greek rendition of the Latin tabula and pagina, the terms used in birth declarations of Roman citizens in Egypt, discussed in the next section. 48. For references to authenticated copies (epeskemmena) from archival records, see, e.g., BGU I 73 (Arsinoite, 135 CE) and W.Chr. 77 (Arsinoite, second century CE). Surviving examples of such copies include CPR I 18 (Arsinoite, 124 CE), SB IV 7362 (Arsinoite, 188 CE), and SB III 6995 (124 CE), all corrected in red ink by archival officials.

194  Anna Dolganov cataloguing marks specifying the archival location, such as the year, locality, roll, and column number of a census declaration or the year and locality (city quarter, street block) under which a person’s entry could be found in population registers. Altogether, the evidence supports the conclusion that individuals who sought to make claims on the basis of administrative records were expected to possess the relevant information that would enable these records to be checked (episkeptein) in the archives and were generally expected to submit authenticated copies of these records to officials. Accordingly, during a hearing in 87 CE, an association of Egyptian priests presented a judicial record from the year 46 that had been duly verified (epeskemmenos) in the archives at Alexandria.49 Revealing insight into the mentality underpinning Roman archival institutions is furnished by the correspondence of a local official (royal scribe) in Roman Egypt who was filling in for his senior colleague as strategos of the nome. From his position as deputy strategos, he continued to draft official letters to himself as royal scribe, even though he was occupying both positions.50 Clearly, the purpose of the correspondence was not simply to convey information but to create an official record of the communication, every component of which could later be verified, even after the memory of the fact that for a short time the royal scribe and the strategos were functionally one and the same had faded. As an example, we observe a villager traveling to the archives of the regional capital to procure an extract from the correspondence of a local official as proof that his land had suffered damage from an inadequate water supply.51 A  record-​keeping system in which data could be looked up and retrieved over periods of several decades established Roman administrative records as an abundant and highly authoritative source of legal evidence.52 It is no coincidence that the strong notion that the existence of a claim was predicated upon it being “on record” (en katakhorismō) and capable of being “looked up” (epeskemmenon) in the archives first emerges in documents from the Roman period. The documentary evidence shows that the Roman provincial census was much more than a periodic collection of demographic information at intervals of ten to fifteen years. It would be more accurate to think in terms of an infrastructure or matrix into which demographic data from various sources systematically flowed (household declarations, reports of birth and death, manumissions, slave sales, changes in status or residence) and with which other bodies of information (e.g., cadastral records and fiscal records) systematically communicated. These forms of administrative record keeping are not attested in Ptolemaic Egypt. Instead, they emerge in the Roman period, showing clear parallels to what is known about 49. See P.Vind.Bosw. 1 (Arsinoite, 87 CE), ll. 7–​8, 18–​19. 50. See SB XVIII 13175 = W.Chr. 52 (Nesut, 194 CE), with Kruse 2002, II: 857–​858. 51. See P.Wisc. I 31 (Arsinoite, 147 CE), with my remarks in Dolganov 2021a. 52. On the impact of Roman record-​keeping institutions on legal evidence and factuality, see Meyer 2004, 216–​250; Ando 2020b.

Documenting Roman Citizenship  195 records and archives in the city of Rome. Consequently, there is no reason to assume that these practices were specific to Egypt and dramatically different in other provinces. On the contrary, what is known about the census beyond Egypt supports the conclusion that similar arsenals of records were available to local officials who administered the census—​and used the census to administer taxes and compulsory public services—​elsewhere in the empire. Roman Citizens and the Census under the Principate Roman citizens were the single most privileged status group in the Roman Empire, with numerous fiscal immunities and legal privileges. In the provinces before the Constitutio Antoniniana, Roman citizens made up a minority, ranging from one-​tenth to no more than one-​third of the total imperial population.53 As with other status groups, the main apparatus through which officials collected information about Roman citizens was the census. The evidence, although limited, suggests that a cyclical five-​year census continued to be conducted in Italy under the principate.54 However, the progressive extension of Roman citizenship to provincials meant that the census in Italy ceased to fulfill the function of a census populi Romani. How this traditional procedure evolved is not well documented. In his Res Gestae, Augustus cites census figures issuing from a census populi conducted by him on three occasions, in 28 BCE, 8 BCE, and 14 CE, respectively.55 These figures, which show a fourfold increase in Roman capita civium from the census of 70–​69 BCE, may reflect the inclusion of Roman citizens residing in the provinces.56 This would mean that Augustus thrice conducted a coordinated imperial census of Roman citizens. An empire-​wide census populi is subsequently attested under Claudius (47–​48 CE) and once again under Vespasian (73–​74 CE).57 The Claudian census populi is reflected by a single piece of documentary evidence from Egypt:  a Latin census declaration submitted by a legionary veteran named Pompeius Niger, the format

53. See the important work of Lavan 2016b and 2019a, who employs quantitative models to demonstrate that the total number of Roman citizens within the empire in the first and second centuries has been significantly overestimated. 54. The Augustan evidence for the census strongly suggests a five-​year cycle: a census populi Romani in 28 BCE (RGDA 8), evidence for the appointment of censors in 22 BCE (Cass. Dio, Roman History 54.2.2), two lectiones senatus in 18 BCE and 13 BCE (Cass. Dio, Roman History 54.13, 54.26.3), another census populi Romani in 8 BCE (RGDA 8), further evidence for an Italian census in 4 CE (Cass. Dio, Roman History 55.13.4) and a third census populi Romani in 14 CE (RGDA 8); see Le Teuff 2012, 348. A five-​year census and lustrum in Italy is assumed by an Antonine legal writer in the Fragmentum Dositheanum de manumissionibus 17; see Liebs 1997b. 55. See RGDA 8, with Le Teuff 2012, 22–​23, 348–​350. 56. On the Augustan census figures, see de Ligt 2012, 120–​135, and Hin 2008, with an overview of the long-​ standing scholarly debate. 57. On the census and lustrum of Claudius, see Suet. Cl. 5.16, Plin. NH 7.159, and Tac. Ann. 11.25. On the census of Vespasian and Titus, see Suet. Vesp. 8 and 17, Tit. 6, and Plin. NH 7.162–​164, with Bosworth 1973. That the latter emperors took on the censorship is taken to imply that they conducted an empire-​ wide census populi Romani.

196  Anna Dolganov of which differs from that of Greek kat’oikian declarations and corresponds to what is known about declarations in Italy.58 It appears that the Claudian census populi required Roman citizens in the provinces to submit special declarations—​ in Latin and according to a specific format—​that were collected and processed by the staff of governors and the results forwarded to Rome. Lack of evidence for a coordinated, empire-​wide census populi Romani after Vespasian suggests that this was an extraordinary procedure, occasionally undertaken by emperors as an act of symbolic significance and possibly conducted for the last time in the Flavian period. Under ordinary circumstances, Roman citizens in the provinces were subject to the regular provincial census. This is evidenced by kat’oikian declarations filed by Roman citizens in the Egyptian hinterland, several of which are declarations of property where no one is registered and at least two of which are “primary” declarations where Roman citizens declare themselves and their family members.59 Evidently, Romans residing in provincial communities had the possibility of filing their census declarations with local officials.60 For residents of Roman municipia and coloniae, the procedure was fundamentally similar, since it can be inferred on the basis of the Tabula Heracleensis and other sources that Roman municipalities conducted local censuses that were coordinated with the provincial census.61 In view of the authority of Roman administrative records as the basis of legal claims, to what extent could individuals legitimize false claims by having them go “on record” with Roman administrators? Was it possible, for example, to usurp Roman citizenship by fraudulently asserting it in a census declaration? The evidence suggests that the submission of declarations was a face-​to-​face procedure conducted within small localities such as villages and neighborhoods of larger 58. See PSI XI, 1183, with Rathbone 2001 and Le Teuff 2012, 219–​220. Rathbone is surely right to link this declaration with the Claudian imperial census of 47–​48. 59. For declarations of property where no one is registered, see SB XII 10788 (Oxyrhynchus? 61 CE), BGU I 53 (Dionysias, 133 CE), BGU VII 1581 (Philadelphia, 147 CE), and P.Stras. IV 2680 (Philadelphia, 174–​175 CE,). For “primary” declarations by Roman citizens, see the fragmentary SB VI, 9573 (Karanis, 175 CE), where a Roman woman declares herself, her sister, and her children, and SB XX 15337 (Arsinoe, 161 CE), where a Roman veteran registers himself, his son, two female slaves, and a resident named Ptolemaios. These declarations provide unequivocal evidence for the participation of Roman citizens in the provincial census. The argument of Rathbone 2001, 109–​111, that Romans and Alexandrians were exempt from the poll tax and therefore exempt from the census—​hence the two “primary” Roman declarations were made as an “error of safety”—​is implausible. The purpose of the census was not merely fiscal but demographic (see Bagnall and Frier 1994, 11–​13), and the participation of Antinoites (likewise exempt from the poll tax) surely implies that Alexandrians participated as well. 60. The evidence from Egypt shows that Roman citizens (in particular, veterans) could declare any provincial community their legal residence (idia  =  origo), as illustrated by the formula boulomenos parepidēmein (“wishing to reside in”; see, e.g., BGU I 113 = W.Chr. 458, after 143 CE). The acquisition of local citizenship was, of course, a separate question. 61. On the coordination of municipal censuses in Italy with the census at Rome, see the discussion at note 19. On the coordination of civic censuses with the provincial census in Sicily and Bithynia, see Cic. Verr. 2.138–​139 and Plin. Ep. 79–​80, 112–​115, respectively, with Le Teuff 2012, 211–​217.

Documenting Roman Citizenship  197 cities. The Roman subdivision of cities into residential districts, in line with a well-​ attested practice in the city of Rome, ensured that declarations were collected in localities of manageable size under the supervision of local magistrates.62 A face-​ to-​face dynamic no doubt enhanced the ability of officials to verify the identity of declarants and the information submitted by them. As papyrological evidence shows, census declarations were subject to routine cross-​checking with previous censuses and population registers.63 This presumably made it difficult to declare oneself a Roman citizen in a community where one was previously registered as a non-​citizen without providing evidence of how one acquired this status. To register for the first time in a new community as a Roman citizen likewise involved the submission of documents, as in the case of veterans who settled in the hinterland of Egypt and presented their military diplomas (or other evidence of their honorable discharge) and copies of their status verification (epikrisis) to local officials.64 Even if one managed to secure the cooperation of officials, it is unlikely that registration in the census would suffice to make lasting claims of Roman citizenship. In numerous administrative contexts, ranging from sales of real property to entry upon inheritance to procedures of epikrisis, the lack of more substantial evidence such as a Roman birth declaration or evidence of family history was likely to make the defective status visible to officials. Beyond the sphere of Roman municipalities, from the perspective of local officials in most places in the empire before the Constitutio Antoniniana, Roman citizens were a conspicuous minority with fiscal exemptions that distinguished them from the rest of the local population. In the hinterland of Egypt, officials assiduously collected information pertaining to Roman citizens. This data was compartmentalized and entered into lists: surviving administrative records include lists of Roman citizens who resided or owned property in the locality; Roman citizens also feature in tax lists as a separate group.65 It is clear that officials in Egypt had a very precise sense of who the local Roman citizens were, where they resided and owned property, when (if relevant) their Roman status was acquired, and whether it had been formally verified by the governor (the

62. On the Roman subdivision of cities into districts (in Egypt, amphoda, laurai), see Alston 2002, 138–​165, who draws a connection to the system of curiae and vici at Rome. Indeed, it is intuitive to link amphoda and amphodarchoi in Egypt with Roman vici and vicomagistri; see Tarpin 2001 and 2008. 63. See notes 38 and 39. 64. See, e.g., P.Oxy. VII 1023 (second century CE, Oxyrhynchus), a certificate issued by local officials that a Roman veteran has provided evidence of his honorable discharge and epikrisis. See also PSI V 447 (166–​ 167, Oxyrhynchus), a copy of an epikrisis record submitted by a Roman veteran to the local strategos. On epikrisis, see the final section of this chapter. 65. For Roman citizens as a separate category in population registers and tax lists, see SB XX 14433 (second century CE, Diospolis Magna); P.Lond. II 260 (ca 73 CE, Ptolemais Euergetis, city quarter [amphodon] of Apolloniou Parembolē), ll. 330–​349, 626–​631; BGU IX 1894 (ca 157 CE), ll. 154, 213, 217; and P.Oxy. III 597 (108–​109 CE). The document from the Arsinoite amphodon refers to a “register [graphē] of Romans and Alexandrians” compiled by the amphodarchos for the fifth year of Vespasian.

198  Anna Dolganov procedure of epikrisis, to be discussed in detail).66 Much of this data derived from declarations submitted by the individuals themselves, but the evidence also shows officials proactively requesting and verifying information.67 For example, the evidence for village tax collection shows that tax collectors went from household to household, while several references to public registers of “topographical inspection” (epikrisis pediakē) appear to indicate that officials in third-​century Oxyrhynchus went from door to door to collect detailed information about the de facto inhabitants of each urban dwelling.68 The compartmentalization of records at the local level went hand in hand with their centralization in the provincial capital. It is clear from papyrological sources that governors disposed of detailed lists of fiscally privileged groups—​Roman citizens, citizens of Greek cities (the so-​called astoi), priesthoods, citizens of the mētropoleis. The availability of lists of Roman citizens is illustrated by a curious piece of literature produced by Phlegon of Tralles, a freedman at the court of Hadrian. In his Makrobioi, a study of longevity, Phlegon includes a list of men and women in the Roman Empire who had attained the age of 100 or more. The majority are freeborn Romans (with a smaller number of freedmen) from cities in Italy. They are classified by age, starting with those who reached 100, followed by several whose age ranges from 100 to 120. Like Pliny the Elder before him, Phlegon states that he has laboriously obtained this information from census records.69 The shape of his list suggests that he looked through population registers of Italian cities—​probably lists organized by year of birth, well known from papyrological sources—​that had been deposited in the archives at Rome. Even more striking, however, is Phlegon’s inclusion of individuals—​both Roman citizens and peregrini—​from cities in the provinces of Achaea, Bithynia, and Lusitania. To obtain this information, one would imagine that Phlegon wrote to several governors to ask their staff to search the provincial census records and produce lists of persons older than 100.70 The Makrobioi of Phlegon thus provides

66. As stated in the Arsinoite amphodal register of Roman citizens (mentioned in the previous note): “and the total for the fifth year of Vespasian amounts to  .  .  .  of whom two are Roman citizens and one has obtained Alexandrian citizenship, for a total of three, of whom the aforementioned Aulus Valerius Dextrus has undergone status verification [epikekristhai] under Ponticus, while Lucius Valerius Fronto remains ­unverified and was not present for the census.” 67. For example, we find a list of Roman men who have “demonstrated” that their status has been verified by the governor and that this information has been conveyed to the regional procurator (epistrategos, P.Wash. Univ. I 3, third century CE, Oxyrhynchus). This list includes men of different ages who underwent epikrisis over several decades, which suggests that at some point, local officials asked a series of Roman men to submit evidence of their epikrisis. 68. On the topographical organization of village tax collection, see Hanson 1978 and 1994. For the epikrisis pediakē, see note 30. 69. See Phlegon, Peri makrobion (FGrH 257 F 37) in the edition of Stramaglia 2011, sections 1–​4, with his commentary. 70. Pace Braunert 1957, the evidence does not support the notion that provincial census records were available at Rome. Accordingly, the emperor asked governors to provide the census data of candidates for imperial citizenship grants; see notes 148 and 149.

Documenting Roman Citizenship  199 remarkable testimony for the organization and retrievability of Roman administrative records, which enabled officials to obtain very specific information about their provincial subjects. Documenting Citizenship and Its Acquisition Documenting Birth It is generally accepted that regular procedures for declaring birth and death were instituted during the reign of Augustus. For Roman citizens, the procedures of birth declaration were outlined in the Augustan laws regulating marriage and manumission—​the lex Aelia Sentia of 4 CE and the lex Papia Poppaea of 9 CE.71 A number of extant birth declarations by Romans in Egypt (60–​242 CE) document these procedures in detail. The majority are authenticated copies (descriptum et recognitum) of declarations (professiones) submitted at Alexandria and entered into the Roman birth register, the so-​called album professionum. A few declarations are affidavits (testationes) attesting to the births of illegitimate Roman children who were excluded from the album by the Augustan laws. Both types of documents were drafted in Latin on waxed wooden diptychs (tabulae, the traditional medium of Roman legal documents) with an exterior text and a hidden interior text, with the names and seals of seven witnesses, all of them Roman citizens.72 In light of these documents, the procedure for registering the birth of a Roman citizen in Egypt may be described as follows. For a legitimate child born to a Roman father, the birth declaration (professio) had to be registered in the provincial capital—​most likely within a stipulated period of thirty days—​by the father in person or through a representative.73 The term professio implies that the declaration was made before an official. If it was accepted, a record of the declaration was created that included the name of the father, the name and gender of the child, the name of the mother, and the Roman date of birth, for 71. Both laws are mentioned in extant birth declarations. On declarations of birth and death, see Geraci 2001 and Haensch 1992, 283–​290. Roman birth registration is the subject of detailed studies by Schulz 1942–​ 1943 and, more recently, by Sánchez-​Moreno Ellart 2001 and 2004. 72. For an appendix of Roman birth declarations (professiones and testationes), see Haensch 1992, 306–​313. For the texts themselves, see Sánchez-​Moreno Ellart 2001, 113–​165. On Roman tabulae as a documentary medium, see the useful overview of Cooley 2012, 73–​82, 171–​172, and the extended treatment of Meyer 2004. 73. A time limit of thirty days is mentioned in the Historia Augusta (HA Marc. 9.7). While this source cannot stand alone, it is corroborated by all seven dated examples of professiones in albo by Roman citizens. Further evidence is provided by an Antinoite birth declaration (P.Ant. I 37, 208–​209 CE) filed “within twenty-​nine days in accordance with . . .”—​presumably with Roman regulations. From the reign of Septimius Severus, new procedures allowed older children to be registered; see Sánchez-​Moreno Ellart 2001, 158–​165. The majority of our evidence shows Roman birth declarations being submitted by a parent in person. For three cases where a father acts through a representative, see BGU VII 1694 = CPL 157 (Philadelphia, 163 CE), P.Mich. III 168 = CPL 153 (145 CE), and SB VI 9228 (Syene, 160 CE).

200  Anna Dolganov example: “M. Valerius Turbo declares his son M. Valerius Maximus, born from Antonia Casullutis on the fifteenth day before the Kalends of September that have recently passed, to be a Roman citizen.”74 These records were inscribed on a whitewashed wooden board, the so-​called tabula albi professionum, displayed at the location of the governor’s tribunal at Alexandria.75 After a period of display, the tabula albi was taken down, copied, and archived; the declarant then had the possibility to make an authenticated copy (descriptum et recognitum) of the declaration from the archival records.76 In addition to the text of the declaration, each copy contained precise information about the archival location of the record: the consular and imperial year, the name of the governor, the number of the tabula, and the specific pages (paginae) on which the record could be found.77 It is clear from these indexing marks that Roman birth declarations were organized in the archives by consular year, under which one could locate the text of the relevant tabula albi and find the correct pagina.78 It is noteworthy that copyists made an effort to give a visual description of the record, noting prescripts and marginal annotations, as well as the sizing of the letters. Some scribes copied down the exact date written on every pagina as they leafed through them: “tabula 8, on pagina 2 it is written in letters of larger size: ‘in the second consulship of L.  Nonius Torquatus Asprenas and M.  Antonius Libo’ and subsequently on pagina 9: ‘on the sixth day before the Kalends of April’ . . .” followed by the record itself.79 These annotations clearly indicate that records of birth declarations were meant to be consulted in the archives when necessary. Several of our documents are copies of birth records that were made many months after their deposition in the tabularium of the governor.80 74. BGU VII 1692 = FIRA III 3 = CPL 152 (Philadelphia, 144 CE), ll. 16–​19. For a detailed description of the format of Roman birth declarations, see Schulz 1942, 85–​87, and 1943, 57–​59. The concluding formula CREADK or CREAK has been variously interpreted. It seems likely that CRE stood for c(ivem) R(omanum) e(sse). The interpretation of ADK and AK as ad K(alendas) or ad K(alendarium) is more controversial; see Schulz 1942, 88, and Haensch 1992, 286. 75. On the atrium magnum (see BGU VII 1691  =  CPL 150, Philadelphia, 109 CE) and forum Augusti (see P.Mich. III 166 = CPL 151, Arsinoite, 128 CE) as locations of the governor’s tribunal, see Capponi 2010, 258–​260, and Kelly 2011, 170. 76. Schulz 1942, 87–​88, assumes that the tabulae albi were copied onto papyrus rolls. However, the citation of birth records by tabula and pagina rather suggests that the tabulae albi were copied onto bundles of waxed tablets, as were judicial records in the West; see CIL X 7852 = ILS 5947 (69 CE). 77. The same cataloguing marks are attested—​in Greek (deltos, selis)—​in archival records from the city Rome; see note 47. 78. In two instances, a tabula begins with an entry from the previous consular year, then transitions into the next year; see BGU VII 169 = CPL 150 (109 CE) and P.Mich. III 166 = CPL 151 (Arsinoite, 128 CE). This suggests that the tabula albi had a standard size: when a given tabula had only one entry at the end of the year, it was continued into the next year until it was full. Accordingly, the scribal practice of describing each pagina is observable in instances where the consular year at the beginning of the tabula was different from the consular year of the entry. 79. P.Mich. III 166 = CPL 151 (Arsinoite, 128 CE), pag. iii, ll. 1–​4. 80. That Roman birth declarations were archived in the governor's tabularium is tentatively concluded by Haensch 1992, 296. It is difficult to imagine that the declarations as we have them—​drafted in Latin and registered in the provincial capital under the authority of the governor—​could have been archived anywhere else.

Documenting Roman Citizenship  201 Under the Augustan marriage laws, only children born into a legitimate Roman marriage could be registered in the album professionum. For an illegitimate child born to a Roman mother, the birth declaration took the form of an affidavit (testatio) in which the mother declared the birth before seven Roman witnesses. Although excluded from the album, testationes of birth could likewise be made before officials and entered into the public records—​in actis profiteri, in the words of the Roman legal sources.81 This procedure is documented by a testatio of a Roman woman named Sempronia Gemella, who sailed to Alexandria from the Arsinoite village of Karanis to declare her illegitimate twins one month after their birth. Clearly, Gemella undertook the journey to register the twins in the public records of the provincial capital. Her testatio was drafted in Latin on tabulae before seven Roman witnesses in two copies, one of which was kept by Gemella and the other presumably deposited in the governor’s archive at Alexandria. An analogous procedure is mentioned by Apuleius, who describes the birth declaration (professio) of his wife Pudentilla being drafted on two sets of tabulae, one of which was kept by her family and the other deposited in the tabularium publicum.82 Without exception, the evidence from Egypt shows the registration of Roman birth declarations (both professiones in albo and testationes) taking place in the provincial capital.83 Even during periods of the year when the governor was typically at Memphis or elsewhere in Middle Egypt on his assize tour, Roman citizens traveled to Alexandria to register the births of their children.84 The lack of any evidence for Roman birth declarations being submitted beyond Alexandria does not seem to be a coincidence. It follows that, in Egypt, the birth registration of Roman citizens could only take place in the provincial capital.85 A Roman birth declaration was a highly authoritative official document that was regarded by officials as strong proof of Roman citizenship. This is clear from proceedings of status verification (epikrisis) before the prefect of Egypt, where—​ without exception—​Roman citizens present their registered birth declarations.86 81. A professio denotes a declaration before an official; hence a testatio of birth that was registered with official authorities was a professio in its own right. This is rightly emphasized by Sánchez-​Moreno Ellart 2001,  78–​79. 82. For the testatio of Gemella, see P.Mich. III 169 = FIRA III 4 = CPL 162 (Karanis, 145 CE), with Strassi 2001, 1224–​1226. For the Apuleius passage, see De magia 89.1–​4—​whether this tabularium publicum was a municipal archive or the archive of the governor at Carthage is unclear. 83. The locally drafted testationes of auxiliary soldiers are a different matter, as they were not Roman citizens and could not legally marry. These “constraints of military service” (districtio militiae; see BGU VII 1690 = FIRA III 5 = CPL 160, Philadelphia, 131 CE) barred soldiers from registering birth declarations with Roman authorities in the provincial capital. 84. See, e.g., P.Mich. III 166 = CPL 151 (March, 128 CE) and P.Mich. III 169 (April, 145 CE). 85. This is also the conclusion of Haensch 1992, 287. The possibility of appointing a representative in itself provides indirect evidence for the requirement that registration take place in the provincial capital. 86. There is not a single known instance where a Roman citizen undergoing epikrisis does not present a birth declaration. On the epikrisis (status verification) of fiscally privileged groups in Roman Egypt (discussed in the final section), see Nelson 1979; Foti Talamanca 1974, 56–​68; Haensch 1992, 290–​293; Kruse 2002 I: 252–​271, II: 638–​640; Kruse 2013; Kruse 2019, 123–​126.

202  Anna Dolganov For freeborn Roman women, a birth declaration is the main document submitted as evidence of Roman status in epikrisis proceedings.87 By contrast, census declarations and extracts from population registers are never cited as evidence of Roman citizenship, which reflects their inferior—​and, one would guess, implicitly derivative—​authority with respect to birth declarations.88 To what extent were Roman officials able to verify the accuracy and authenticity of birth declarations? The professiones themselves inform us that they were submitted at Alexandria “without investigative proceedings” (citra causarum cognitionem). While this means that the governor did not give a formal audience (cognitio) to declarants—​and, indeed, may even have been absent from the capital—​it does not imply that Roman birth declarations were accepted without verification.89 In order to register a child in the album professionum, the declarant had to be a Roman citizen in a legitimate marriage—​all others were excluded by the Augustan laws. In view of the exclusive nature of the album, one would expect that declarants were required to present some evidence of their identity, Roman status, and legitimate Roman marriage. While the texts of professiones give little insight into the procedures of declaration, it is relevant that birth declarations by Alexandrians and Antinoites always involved three guarantors who personally vouched for the identity of the parents, their marriage—​often with a copy of the marriage contract—​and the identity of the baby as their natural child.90 One would not expect the status of Roman citizens to have been verified less rigorously. In view of the consistent presence of three guarantors at the epikrisis of Roman citizens before the governor, it is reasonable to infer that guarantors were involved in the process of birth registration as well. In view of the centralized procedure requiring Romans to travel away from their residence to the provincial capital, it is likely that declarants brought documents (such as military diplomas or their own birth declarations) to certify their status. The registration of birth declarations in the governor’s tabularium and the practice of documenting copies on sealed tabulae, with indexing marks that made it possible for the record to be located, further contributed to the authority of these documents. Indeed, it is 87. See P.Oxy. XII 1451 (Oxyrhynchus, after 175 CE), where a woman with the ius trium liberorum registers her children and presents her own professio as proof of her Roman status. See also P.Diog. 6–​7 (Arsinoite, after 142 CE), where a freedwoman presents her tabulae manumissionis and the birth declaration of her patrona. For freeborn Roman boys undergoing epikrisis, a birth declaration is always presented; for adult men, the epikrisis record replaces the birth declaration as proof of status. 88. The invariable use of Roman birth declarations (but never census records) as proof of status in epikrisis proceedings speaks against the central thesis of Sánchez-​Moreno Ellart 2001 that birth declarations were not more authoritative than other types of declarations. See contra Sherwin-​White 1973a, 314, “but inscription on the [census] rolls provided only a presumption of citizen status. It was not a proof in itself. That depended normally on evidence of birth,” etc. 89. That citra causarum cognitionem meant “to accept the professio without controlling its truth” was argued influentially by Schulz 1942, 87–​88 and continues to be widely accepted; see, e.g., Parkin 2003, 178–​182. 90. See in particular SB V 7602 (Antinoupolis, 151 CE), which spells out that the guarantors certify the marriage and birth. On the procedures of birth registration for Antinoites and Alexandrians, see Bell 1933 and Delia 1991, 55–​58, 68–​69, respectively.

Documenting Roman Citizenship  203 very difficult to imagine how Roman birth declarations could have been routinely accepted by governors as evidence of Roman citizenship in epikrisis proceedings if Roman officials were not confident in their ability to verify their contents. On the basis of this evidence, we may conclude that a Roman birth declaration (professio or testatio) registered with the governor and deposited in his tabularium, with an authenticated copy drafted on tabulae before seven Roman witnesses, was the single most authoritative document demonstrating the status of a freeborn Roman citizen.91 As such, Roman birth declarations also constituted authoritative evidence of filiation and age, evidenced by Apuleius’s use of the professio of his wife Pudentilla to demonstrate that she was not older than the maximum age of legal marriage stipulated by the Augustan laws.92 When the Roman jurist Modestinus states that “age is proven on the basis of birth registration or on the basis of other legitimate proofs,” it is implicit that a registered birth declaration was the first point of recourse, lacking which one could resort to other evidence.93 This is corroborated by numerous citations of Roman legal writers who discuss how age or status can be proved in the absence of a birth declaration—​implying that a birth declaration would have provided the necessary evidence, which now had to be obtained from other sources.94 By contrast, when a birth declaration was available, it was treated as authoritative.95 In view of the authority of birth declarations as evidence of Roman status, one would expect birth registration to have been documented in a centralized fashion in every Roman province. Whether all provincials had to travel to the capital is less clear. In Egypt, where there were no Roman municipalities, the only state archive in which Roman birth declarations could be registered was apparently the tabularium of the governor at Alexandria. Could Roman municipalities register the birth declarations of their own citizens? This question is left open by Apuleius, who describes his wife’s declaration being deposited in a tabularium publicum—​was this the governor’s archive at Carthage or the local tabularium of the municipium of Oea?96 It is reasonable to suppose on the basis of evidence such 91. In this respect, the documentary evidence speaks against the received notion that the Roman state did not regard birth declarations as more authoritative evidence of age and status than other documents; see the references cited earlier in note 4. 92. See De magia 89.1–​4, mentioned earlier in note 82. 93. Dig. 27.1.2.1 (Modestinus 2 excus.). The interpretation of Sánchez-​Moreno Ellart 2001, 52, that Modestinus is arguing that birth declarations were not the only legitimate proof misses the point, I think. 94. An imperial rescript reassuring one female petitioner that the loss of her birth declaration did not a priori “mutilate” her status, Cod. Iust. 4.21.6 (286 CE), underscores the declaration’s perceived importance. See also Dig. 1.5.8 (Pap. quaest.), Cod. Iust. 5.4.9, and Cod. Iust. 7.16.15 (293 CE). 95. See Cod. Iust. 2.42.1 (223 CE), where a birth declaration is produced out of the archives (tabulis . . . oblatis tibi) to prove the exact age of a woman. In Dig. 22.3.29.1 (Scaevola 9. Dig.), an ex-​husband is able to vindicate his paternity of children who had been declared by his ex-​wife as illegitimate, which reflects the inherently weaker authority of testationes with a missing father. 96. Roman municipia and coloniae had their own tabularia publica attested in epigraphic sources; see, e.g., CIL III, 1315 = IDR 3.3 364 (region of Sarmizegetusa, Dacia) and CIL XII, 525 = ILN 3, 30 = CAG 13.4 (Aquae Sextiae, Gallia Narbonesis).

204  Anna Dolganov as the Tabula Heracleensis that Roman citizens residing in municipia and coloniae had the possibility of registering birth declarations with local magistrates, who deposited the records in the local tabularium and sent a copy to Rome or the capital of the province.97 By contrast, Romans residing in non-​Roman communities apparently had to travel or send representatives to the capital. How widespread was birth registration among Roman citizens? Apuleius speaks about his father-​in-​law declaring the birth of his daughter “like everyone else” (more ceterorum), while the Historia Augusta refers to Gordian registering his son’s birth “in the Roman way” (more Romano).98 The long journeys to Alexandria undertaken by Romans in Egypt are powerful illustrations of the importance attached to this procedure. In provincial landscapes where Roman citizens were a minority, a registered Roman birth declaration was probably viewed as a safeguard of a status that many felt to be precarious. One vulnerable group were the children of veterans, whose ability to acquire Roman status from their fathers could not be taken for granted and therefore had to be documented. A veteran who did not register the birth of his children could undermine their claims to Roman status and ability to inherit—​if, for example, it were alleged that they were not his children at all or were illegitimate by virtue of being born during his military service.99 In one document, a Roman freedwoman presents her young son by a deceased veteran for status verification (epikrisis) before the governor. To prove his legitimate birth, she provides his birth declaration—​ registered by the father at Alexandria—​along with the father’s epikrisis record and death certificate. Had the veteran failed to declare his son’s birth before his own death, with no census intervening, the woman is likely to have had trouble demonstrating his paternity of the child.100 Another vulnerable group were the children of Roman freedmen, for whom the absence of a birth declaration could call not only their Roman status but also their free birth into question. This scenario is attested in the Roman legal sources and illustrated by the case of Petronia Iusta, the daughter of a Junian Latin freedwoman at Herculaneum whose lack of a birth declaration enabled her mistress to claim that she was born into slavery.101 In a second-​century document, we encounter a Roman freedwoman who had been manumitted in the same year as the birth of her illegitimate twins. Had 97. For the procedures documented by the Tabula Heracleensis, see note 19. 98. Apul. De magia 89.2 and HA Gord. 4.8. 99. In the property dispute between the Roman widow Tertia Drusilla and the veteran Iulius Agrippinus, Drusilla faced allegations that her marriage had been contracted during her husband’s military service, which called its validity into question; see M.Chr. 372 (Arsinoite, 140s CE), with Phang 2001, 395–​401. On the Drusilla affair, see Rupprecht 2001. 100. P.Diog. 6 (Arsinoite, after 143 CE). See also M.Chr. 372 col. iv, ll. 1–​15 (115 CE), where a woman tries to convince the governor that her son’s father is a deceased soldier who had neglected to make a birth declaration. 101. At the same time, her patrona’s lack of a manumission document enabled Iusta to insist that she was freeborn; see Metzger 2000 and Weaver 1997, 69–​71. See also Dig. 4.2.8.1 (Paulus, ad edict.), where official documentation (instrumentum) of an individual’s free status is destroyed to enable him to be enslaved.

Documenting Roman Citizenship  205 she failed to file birth declarations for her children, she would presumably have faced similar problems demonstrating their free birth.102 In the interesting case of Sempronia Gemella, a Roman woman who was de facto married to a Greco-​ Egyptian named Socrates, registering the birth of her children as illegitimate (spurii) was a strategy for them to receive her Roman citizenship.103 For auxiliary soldiers, who were not Roman citizens but could expect to be awarded citizenship after their honorable discharge from the army, an affidavit of birth (testatio, drafted in the Roman fashion in Latin on tabulae with the seals of seven Roman witnesses) was a crucial document for claiming paternity and requesting citizenship for children born during military service.104 The testationes of soldiers could be drafted locally in the army camp and apparently did not need to be registered at Alexandria—​perhaps because, unlike the testatio of Sempronia Gemella filed at Alexandria, they were not birth declarations by Roman citizens but documents anticipating future claims of citizenship. The absence of a testatio could undermine the question of paternity; in a second-​century legal case, an anxious woman appears before the prefect of Egypt, worried that her son’s lack of a birth declaration will prevent him from inheriting from his father, a deceased soldier.105 The significance of such testationes is spelled out by the soldier Marcus Lucretius Diogenes, who states his intention to demonstrate (adprobare) that the child is his natural son at his future status verification (epikrisis).106 Similarly, informally manumitted freedmen (the so-​called Junian Latins) could claim Roman citizenship for themselves and their children by demonstrating (adprobare) by means of a testatio of birth that they had entered a legitimate marriage with a partner of Roman or Latin status and produced a one-​year-​old child—​anniculi probatio, as the procedure is called by Roman legal writers.107 For both soldiers and Junian Latins, the adprobatio had to take place before an official with high jurisdictional powers—​the Roman praetor or provincial governor.108 For enfranchised civic elites in the provinces, birth registration was a question not only of Roman status but also of legitimacy and lineage, which determined inheritance rights and membership in the officeholding class. It can be deduced from the provisions of the Augustan marriage laws that legitimate birth 102. See SB I 5217 = FIRA III 6 (Theadelphia, 148 CE). 103. See Strassi 2001, cited earlier in note 82. 104. For testationes of birth by soldiers, see BGU VII 1690 = FIRA III 5 = CPL 160 (Philadelphia, 131 CE), P.Diog. 1 = CPL 159 (Contrapollonopolis, 127 CE), and P.Mich. VII 436 = CPL 161 (Pselkis, 138 CE). 105. See M.Chr. 372 col. iv, ll. 1–​15 (115 CE), mentioned earlier in note 99. The soldier, an Alexandrian citizen, had not made a birth declaration. While recognizing the boy’s legitimacy as an heir under a military will (where soldiers were free to name whomever they pleased), the prefect informs the woman that he cannot be regarded as a legitimate son of the soldier. 106. P.Diog. 1 = CPL 159 (Contrapollonopolis, 127 CE). 107. On anniculi probatio and other procedures for Junian Latins to attain Roman citizenship, see Weaver 1997, 57–​62. See further the section on manumission in this chapter. 108. On the power of legis actio, necessary to approve claims of Roman citizenship, see the discussion of manumission at note 118.

206  Anna Dolganov and registration in the album professionum were necessary for entry into the local senate (ordo decurionum) and other elite ordines. The same standard applied to the bouleutic class of Greek cities, as we observe in the examination of ephebic candidates at Alexandria and Antinoupolis, where families presented the registered birth declarations of their sons as proof of their pedigree and legitimate birth.109 Roman citizens who were simultaneously citizens of Alexandria or Antinoupolis accordingly registered the births of their children with the civic magistrates of their Greek city and in the Roman album professionum in the provincial capital.110 How common was birth registration among the general population? The only places in the empire where Roman citizenship would have been relatively widespread before the Constitutio Antoniniana were Italy and communities of Roman citizens (coloniae and municipia civium Romanorum) in the provinces. If it is correct to think that these communities had local procedures of birth registration, one would expect birth declarations to have been a common practice. Even in Italian cities, freeborn Roman citizens were a privileged sector of the population, distinct from slaves, freedmen, Junian Latins, and migrants of peregrine or Latin status. As a parallel, one may adduce the citizens of the mētropoleis of Egypt, who had an active practice of birth registration that enabled them to secure local citizenship and fiscal privileges for their children. Judging from the behavior of metropolites, as long as Roman citizenship remained an exclusive and fiscally privileged status, one would expect Romans to have been active in registering the births of their children.111 The authority of birth declarations as proof of free birth—​which was, among other things, a requirement for service in the Roman army—​provided a further incentive for birth registration. The instructive example of P.Petaus 1–​2 (185 CE), containing two copies of a birth declaration filed by Egyptian villagers who did not possess any sort of fiscally privileged status but clearly did not want to wait until the next census to register the birth of their daughter, encourages us to think in terms of widespread birth registration among the general population.112

109. See P.Diog. 8 (Arsinoite, 217 CE), P.Oxy. III 477 = W.Chr. 142 (Oxyrhynchite, 132–​133 CE), and P.Flor. III 382 = W.Chr. 143 (Hermopolite, 223 CE). On the ephebate at Alexandria and Antinoupolis, see Nelson 1979, 47–​59; Whitehorne 1982; and Delia 1991, 71–​88. 110. See Schubert 1990, 19–​33, on P.Diog., an archive of papers belonging to a family of Antinoites with Roman citizenship. Among the documents are P.Diog. 2 (Antinoite birth certificate), P.Diog. 8 (Antinoite epikrisis), and P.Diog. 5 (Roman epikrisis). 111. On birth registration by metropolites, see Sánchez-​Moreno Ellart 2010. His assertion (116–​117) that birth declarations are never cited by metropolites in epikrisis proceedings does not seem to be correct; in at least three published epikrisis applications, parents refer to the registration of their sons in the birth registers (en epigegenēmenois): BGU I 109 (Arsinoite, 121 CE), l. 17; SB XIV 11270 (Arsinoite, 96–​97 CE), ll. 19–​20; and P.Gen. I 19 (Arsinoite, 148 CE), ll. 12–​13. It may be inferred that copies of birth declarations were submitted with the applications; see the section on epikrisis. 112. The Historia Augusta (HA Marc. 9.7) attributes to the emperor Marcus Aurelius a general requirement that the freeborn status of Roman citizens be proved on the basis of birth declarations registered in public

Documenting Roman Citizenship  207 Overall, it seems likely that birth registration by Roman citizens was common throughout the empire before the Constitutio Antoniniana. While it may have been possible to register Roman children locally in Roman municipalities, Romans who resided in peregrine communities (as was the case in Egypt and elsewhere in the Greek East) apparently had to do so directly in the provincial capital. From an administrative perspective, birth registration “created” new Roman citizens. Consequently, one would expect copies of municipal records of Roman birth declarations to have been forwarded to the provincial capital, reviewed by officials, and deposited into the tabularium of the governor. Documenting Manumission In the Roman tradition, the manumitted slaves of Roman citizens had the possibility of acquiring citizenship. This could be achieved via three formal procedures:  manumissio vindicta (“by the rod”) in proceedings before a magistrate, manumissio testamento in the will of a Roman citizen, or manumissio censu whereby a Roman citizen pronounced a slave free before magistrates administering the census.113 Slaves manumitted by any other method—​by letter, for example, or informally in the presence of friends (inter amicos)—​had their freedom protected by Roman magistrates but did not become citizens.114 Under the principate, Augustan legislation further restricted the possibilities for formal manumission: the lex Fufia Caninia of 2 BCE limited the proportion of slaves in a single estate who could be manumitted in a will, while the lex Aelia Sentia of 4 CE limited formal manumission to slaves aged thirty and older who were freed by Roman masters aged twenty and older.115 The ancient sources attribute these policies to the concern of Augustus to curtail the influx of freedmen into the civitas Romana.116 While narrowing the pathway from manumission to citizenship, Augustan legislation did not limit the practice of manumission itself. This had the effect of expanding the category of informally manumitted freedmen,

113.

114.

1 15. 116.

archives within thirty days. Whether or not this reflects an actual piece of imperial legislation, it is significant that such an administrative requirement seemed plausible to the fourth-​century authors. On the procedures of Roman manumission, see Buckland 1908, 437–​451, and Mouritsen 2011, 11–​13. On manumission as an avenue to citizenship, see Sherwin-​White 1973a, 322–​334. Manumissio censu is generally (and perhaps incorrectly) regarded as an obsolete procedure under the principate. It is briefly described by two Antonine legal writers; see Gai. Inst. 1.17, 35, 44 and 138–​140 and the Fragmentum Dositheanum 17, cited earlier in note 54. The latter text states that manumissio censu was performed exclusively in the city of Rome. Under the republic, the freedom of informally manumitted freedmen was not recognized under Roman ius civile (see Cic. Top. 10: si neque censu nec vindicta nec testamento liber factus est, non est liber) but was protected by the praetor; see Gai. Inst. 1.22, 3.56, and Fr. Dosith. 4–​8, with Mouritsen 2011, 85–​86. Under the principate, their status became a modified form of Latin status; see notes 117 and 118. On the Augustan manumission laws, see Mouritsen 2011, 80–​92; Treggiari 1996, 893–​897; Gardner 1991. See Suet. Aug. 40; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Roman Antiquities 4.24.4–​8; and Cass. Dio, Roman History 56.7.4–​6, 56.33.3. On the imperial vision of Augustan social legislation, see Dolganov 2021b.

208  Anna Dolganov whose legal status was assimilated to that of Latini with limitations on their transmission of property.117 Of the formal procedures resulting in citizenship, manumissio vindicta was performed before a magistrate as a fictitious trial where a third party claimed the slave without objection from the owner, thereby setting the slave free. Manumissio vindicta had to be performed before a high-​ranking official with the power of legis actio—​the Roman praetor, consul, or provincial governor (or one of his legati, who could receive legis actio by delegation).118 This is exemplified by Pliny’s letter to his father-​in-​law Calpurnius Fabatus, on whose behalf Pliny had asked the incoming governor of Baetica to divert his journey to Comum so that Fabatus could manumit his informally freed slaves. Clearly, the procedure could not be performed locally but required the authority of a praetor or governor, even if the latter was not in his own province.119 Manumissiones vindicta were documented in Latin on tabulae and kept by the freedmen.120 As acts performed under the authority of a Roman official, the manumissions were presumably entered into the official’s administrative records, which were stored in the archives at Rome or in the governor’s tabularium.121 In the case of Calpurnius Fabatus, one would imagine that the manumissions were documented both in the acta of the proconsul of Baetica and in the acta publica of the municipium of Comum, with copies of the record drafted on tabulae for Fabatus and his freedmen. A further level of documentation is reflected by two second-​century certificates that two freedmen manumitted vindicta have paid the 5 percent manumission tax (vicesima libertatis). By recording payments of the vicesima tax, the Roman fiscal administration indirectly created an additional, detailed record of Roman manumissions.122 117. The assimilation of informal manumission to Latin status took place through a lex Iunia of uncertain date (see Gai. Inst. 1.29, 31; Inst. Iust. 1.5). In favor of the 17 BCE date, see Balestri Fumagalli 1985 and Weaver 1997, 58–​59. In favor of the 19 CE date, see Sherwin-​White 1973a, 328–​334. On Latini Iuniani and their prevalence, see Weaver 1990, 1997, and 1998. 118. On the authority to manumit vindicta, see the sources discussed in Buckland 1908, 453–​455. On manumission before a consul, see Dig. 1.10.1.2 (Ulpianus 2 de off. cons.). On manumissio vindicta before a legatus of the governor, see Dig. 40.2.17 (Paulus 50 ad ed.). The emperor could dispense with the procedure; his voluntas was all that was required: Dig. 40.1.14.1 (Paulus 16 ad Plaut.). In the Flavian period, manumissions performed by municipal magistrates resulted in informally manumitted freedmen of Latin status; see chap. 28 of the Lex Irnitana, with Gardner 2001b. By the third century, some municipal magistrates could apparently manumit by virtue of their legis actio (Paul. Sent. 2.36.4). 119. See Pliny Ep. 7.16. The civil jurisdiction of a proconsular governor began as soon as he left Rome (Dig. 1.16.2pr. (Marcianus 1 inst.)) and was not restricted to his province (Dig. 1.7.36.1 (Paulus 18 resp.)). 120. As described in P.Diog. 6 (Arsinoite, 142 CE), ll. 19–​22. 121. It is noted in the legal sources that manumissiones vindicta could be performed by governors in an informal setting, such as the baths or a private villa; see Dig. 40.2.7 (Gaius 1 rer. cott. sive aur.) and Dig. 40.2.8 (Ulpianus 5 ad ed.). Even in such cases, one would expect the manumission to be documented in the governor’s acta. For a good illustration of acta being recorded “on the go,” see the acta of a strategos of the Ombite nome preserved in P.Paris 69 = W.Chr. 41 (Elephantine, 232 CE). 122. The tax certificates are inscribed in Latin on small wooden tablets; see van Minnen and Worp 2009, 15–​18 (second to third century CE), and P.Mich. VII 462 (second century CE). One would suppose that these certificates were necessary for the procedure to be complete and for the freedmen to obtain their tabulae manumissionis.

Documenting Roman Citizenship  209 Testamentary manumission likely accounted for the largest number of formally manumitted freedmen eligible to receive Roman citizenship. The opening of Roman wills was subject to precise rules and took place under the close scrutiny of fiscal officials to ensure that the Roman taxes on inheritance (vicesima hereditatium) and manumission (vicesima manumissionis) were duly paid. In Egypt—​and presumably in other provinces—​Roman wills had to be opened at special toll stations (stationes) for the collection of these taxes in the presence of fiscal agents.123 In a second-​century document, two agents of the procurator vicesimae hereditatium write to an imperial freedman to request his presence at the opening of a Roman will in the Arsinoite nome.124 The agents specify that the freedman’s presence is mandatory, that the procedure must take place in a specific location (presumably the statio vicesimae in the regional capital of Arsinoe), and that detailed records must be made in the freedman’s presence within ten days after opening the will. One can infer that manumissions and other provisions of the will were recorded by the fiscal agents and forwarded to the fiscal procurator at Alexandria. Precisely how testamentary manumissions were carried out is less clear. It would have been necessary to verify payment of the manumission tax125 and check the age and personal history of the slaves to determine their eligibility to receive Roman or Latin status in line with the Augustan laws. A record of the manumission could then be created, with a copy drafted on tabulae. In the provinces, one would expect this to have been a centralized procedure that took place under the authority of the governor, as was the case with manumissiones vindicta. That Roman citizens seeking to claim an inheritance had to petition the governor is evidenced by several surviving Latin requests for entry upon inheritance (agnitiones bonorum possessionis).126 A  further clue is furnished by a second-​century legal case where an official at Alexandria investigates a claim of inheritance by an Alexandrian woman.127 The official had looked for and failed to find her birth declaration in the archives at Alexandria, leading him to suspect her Alexandrian citizenship. If the testamentary claims of Alexandrians residing in the hinterland were sent to Alexandria for review, one would expect a similar level of scrutiny for the testamentary claims of Roman citizens. In a second-​century hearing before a Roman fiscal procurator, a freedman states that he has sailed down to Alexandria to pay his

1 23. 124. 125. 126.

On the procedures for opening Roman wills, see Nowak 2015, 73–​104. See P.Oxy. XX 2265 (Oxyrhynchus, 119 CE), with van Minnen and Worp 2009, 20–​22. See the tax payment certificates discussed earlier in note 122. On agnitiones bonorum possessionis in papyri, see Gagos and Heilporn 2001. Possibly, in Roman municipalities, inheritances could be claimed through local magistrates who forwarded the records to the governor. 1 27. See P.Oxy. XVIII 2199 (Oxyrhynchus, 117–​138 CE), containing only a partial transcription. A full transcription and analysis of the papyrus will be published by me in a separate paper.

210  Anna Dolganov manumission tax, which may shed light on the procedure of formalizing testamentary manumissions.128 As noted, the informally manumitted slaves of Roman citizens (the so-​called Junian Latins) were under some circumstances eligible to be granted citizenship, if, for example, they sponsored the construction of public buildings, served on the fire brigade at Rome, or presented evidence of a child from a legitimate marriage with a partner of Roman or Latin status (anniculi probatio). Junian Latins could obtain citizenship exclusively from the praetor or governor—​or, in exceptional cases, directly from the emperor.129 The procedure of anniculi probatio is documented in three tabulae from Herculaneum that were part of a dossier belonging to a Junian Latin named Lucius Venidius Ennychus. The first tabula is a testatio by Ennychus for the birth of his daughter on July 24, 60 CE. The second is a fragmentary copy of a decree of the local senate of Herculaneum (ordo decurionum) dated July 25, 61 CE. As the date coincides with the first birthday of the child, it may be deduced that Ennychus had presented his wife and daughter to the ordo to claim Roman citizenship. The third tabula is a copy of an edict by the Roman praetor on March 23, 62 CE, stating that the magistrates (duumviri) of Herculaneum have forwarded to him the ruling of the ordo that Ennychus has successfully demonstrated his legitimate marriage with a one-​year-​old child. Satisfied with the ruling, the praetor pronounces Ennychus, his wife, and their daughter Roman citizens.130 These documents demonstrate the logic of the procedure. First, Ennychus’s claim was examined and approved by the local ordo on the basis of the necessary evidence—​the testatio of the daughter’s birth and presumably the manumission documents of Ennychus and his wife, with guarantors confirming their identity. The results of the investigation were then forwarded to the praetor, who exercised his authority to confer Roman citizenship.131 The promotion of Junian Latins is also evidenced by three letters of Pliny to Trajan requesting the ius Quiritium for informally manumitted freedmen on behalf of their patroni. In one instance, Pliny makes the request for three Junian Latins whose patronage he has inherited from a deceased friend, presumably because the original patronus could not be present to give his consent. This also seems to be the explanation for Pliny’s other two requests: that it was not possible for the

128. See BGU II 388 = M.Chr. 91 (157–​159 CE), ll. 6–​26, with Meyer 2004, 234–​236—​a complex case where a Roman citizen dies intestate and several tabulae manumissionis drawn up by him twelve years earlier are discovered in his house. One of the freedmen brings his tabulae to Alexandria to pay the vicesima tax for himself and his children. As this was not, strictly speaking, a testamentary manumission, it presumably did not result in Roman citizenship. 129. See the later discussion at notes 132 and 133. 130. See AE 2006, 306 = TH2 5 + 99 (July 24, 60 CE); AE 2006, 307 = AE 2017, 223 = TH2 A2 (July 25, 61 CE); and AE 1959, 297 = AE 2006, 305 = TH2 89 (March 23, 62 CE), with the commentary of Camodeca 2017, 57–​84, and Weaver 1997, 68–​69. 131. The procedure was perhaps analogous for testamentary manumissions, which one would imagine were processed locally in Roman municipalities and then finalized through the praetor or governor.

Documenting Roman Citizenship  211 patroni to be physically present at a hearing before the governor.132 In granting the first request, Trajan states that the grant of ius Quiritium will be duly entered into his administrative records (commentarii).133 Altogether, one may conclude that grants of citizenship to freedmen manumitted by Roman citizens were issued under the authority of the praetor or provincial governor (or one of his legati) and documented in a centralized fashion, both in the acta of the official and in the records of the Roman fiscal administration by virtue of the vicesima taxes. As evidenced by the case of the freedman Venidius Ennychus, Roman municipalities could locally investigate and approve claims of Roman citizenship, but only a high-​ranking official such as the praetor could formally confer the status. In non-​Roman communities, one suspects that manumitted slaves had to approach the governor to formalize their status as Roman citizens. Documenting Enfranchisement Apart from birth and manumission, the third avenue by which individuals could enter the civitas Romana was enfranchisement—​through service in the Roman army, through an imperial grant, or by entering the ordo decurionum or holding a magistracy in a Roman municipium. Grants of citizenship to honorably discharged veterans—​those who had served in the fleet or auxiliary units (accessible to non-​citizens) or under exceptional circumstances had been transferred to a legion—​are documented by more than 1,200 surviving bronze military diplomas. These bronze tabulae, which replicated the format of Roman waxed tablets, were given to veterans as certificates of their Roman status and their right to contract a legal marriage (conubium) with one non-​Roman woman of their choosing.134 The earliest diplomas date to the reign of Claudius, who may have been the first emperor to regularize the enfranchisement of auxiliary veterans.135 The emergence of bronze diplomas evidences a marked intensification of administrative record keeping with regard to Roman citizenship, further reflected by the introduction of special procedures of status verification for Roman citizens and other fiscally privileged groups, discussed in the next section of this chapter. 132. See Plin. Ep. 10.104–​105, 10.5.2, 10.11.2, with Sherwin-​White 1966, 714–​715, 566–​568, 576–​578, respectively. If Pliny had been the original patronus, he would presumably have been able to promote his own freedmen to the ius Quiritium—​as may be inferred from Ulpian’s remark that a consul may supervise the manumission of his own slaves; see Dig. 1.10.1.2 (Ulpianus 2 de off. cons.). 133. See Plin. Ep. 10.105: referri in commentarios meos iussi. 134. On Roman military diplomas, see Eck 2003 and the edited volumes of Eck and Wolff 1986 and Speidel and Lieb 2007, as well as the useful overview of Cooley 2012, 172–​177. On the number of Roman citizens produced by the Roman army, see Lavan 2019a. On the conubium privileges of veterans, see Campbell 1978 and Phang 2001, 53–​85. 135. The earliest-​known diploma is CIL XVI, 1 (Stabiae, 52 CE), issued to a veteran of the fleet of Misenum. On the possibility of a Claudian regularization of citizenship grants to auxiliaries, see the remarks of Beutler 2007 and Lavan 2019a, 28–​31.

212  Anna Dolganov A military diploma was part of a dossier of records tracing the military career of each Roman soldier that were kept by the imperial administration.136 Such records began with the soldier’s recruitment and evaluation of eligibility and fitness for military service (probatio), followed by his formal induction into the army (signatio) and assignment to a specific unit (relatio in numeros). Considering that soldiers were often sent to serve in other provinces, one would expect that records of their recruitment, probatio, and relatio were kept in the governor’s tabularium in his home province, possibly with copies forwarded to the assigned province.137 From the texts of military diplomas, one may deduce the procedures by which grants of Roman citizenship to veterans were processed and documented. Every year, the commander of each military unit had a number of soldiers who were eligible to be honorably discharged and (if relevant) to receive Roman citizenship. As attested in numerous documents, soldiers could request conubium with their de facto wives and Roman citizenship for children born during military service and have their names inscribed on their bronze diplomas.138 One would imagine that soldiers declared their family members to the military commander, presenting documents such as testationes of birth, after which lists of soldiers and family members were drawn up and submitted to the governor, whose staff reviewed the lists and forwarded them to Rome. At Rome, these lists would have been reviewed once again and formally approved by the emperor, who issued a collective grant of Roman citizenship and conubium privileges. The imperial grant was inscribed on a large bronze plaque with the names of the veterans (and, if relevant, their family members) and displayed in a prominent location in the civic center of Rome. A copy of each entry was then inscribed on bronze tablets, closed, and wired shut, with the names and seals of Roman witnesses. These bronze diplomas were sent to the provincial governor, whose staff compiled a record of them for the governor’s archive. The diplomas were then distributed to veterans in each military unit.139 A bronze diploma was a highly authoritative record that a veteran could present in any place in the empire where he chose to settle. As with Roman birth declarations, the authority of a military diploma derived from its being an

136. For an example of an administrative dossier documenting the career of a Roman cavalryman in the early fourth century, see Rea 1984. On documentation pertaining to the Roman army in the governor’s tabularium see Haensch 1992, 264–​276. 137. For a detailed discussion of recruitment, probatio, and documentation of these procedures, see Davies 1989,  3–​32. 138. Among many examples, see CIL XVI 24 = AE 1927, 96 = AE 2004, 389 (Egypt, 79 CE), where citizenship is granted to a fleet veteran and his wife and son. 139. On the procedures of issuing and distributing diplomas, see Eck 2003. Provincial records of citizenship grants to veterans are evidenced by epikrisis documents where confirmation of the grant is obtained from the governor’s archive; see P.Hamb. I 31 = P.Stras. V 340 (Arsinoite? 103–​107 CE), P.Diog. 5 (Arsinoite, 131–​133 CE), and SB IV 7362 (Arsinoite, 188 CE).

Documenting Roman Citizenship  213 authenticated copy (descriptum et recognitum) of records that were kept at Rome and in the capital of the province where the soldier had completed his service. Its inscription in bronze bore the strongest possible message of authenticity: the bronze tabulae were issued at Rome on a single occasion and could not be altered or replicated.140 At the same time, when veterans presented diplomas on which their wives and children were inscribed, they also presented an official confirmation of their honorable discharge by the archive keepers of the governor. It appears that, when more than one claim of Roman citizenship was at stake, additional verification was requested from the archival records of the province.141 Roman legionary veterans did not ordinarily receive diplomas, since by definition they had to be Roman citizens in order to enroll in the legions. It could therefore be assumed that their Roman status had been verified and confirmed during the initial recruitment (probatio). The situation was more complex for auxiliary soldiers who were transferred up to a legion, as illustrated by a petition to the governor of Judaea by veterans of the legio X Fretensis who had been transferred from the fleet of Misenum to compensate for devastating losses during the Bar-​Kokhba revolt.142 Since the veterans planned to return to their native city of Alexandria, they asked the Judaean governor to confirm their honorable discharge “from this very legion and not from the fleet, so that in times of necessity your confirmation may serve as official documentation [instrumentum].” Clearly, they were anxious about returning home without bronze diplomas and being suspected of failing to complete their service in the fleet. While their initial recruitment would have been documented in the records of the governor of Egypt, their subsequent transfer to a legion in Judaea evidently was not. To oblige them, the Judaean governor wrote to the prefect of Egypt that their transfer and honorable discharge from the legion took place on orders from the emperor. The insistence of the veterans on official documentation (instrumentum) reflects their conviction that administrators in their home province would expect them to prove their status on the basis of official records.143

140. The non-​replicability of military diplomas is arguably implied by references to auxiliary veterans “without bronze diplomas”; see, e.g., BGU I 113 = W.Chr. 458 (after 143 CE) and BGU I 265 = W.Chr. 459 (Arsinoite, after 148 CE). This could indicate that no bronze diploma was issued or that it had been lost or destroyed. The implication was, clearly, that it could not be issued again. 141. See note 139. 142. See PSI IX, 1026 = CPL 117 = Ch.LA XXV, 784 (Caesarea, 150 CE), with Campbell 1994, 201–​202. On emergency recruitment during the Bar-​Kokhba revolt, see Eck 1999, 79–​80. 143. It is unclear why Mann and Roxan 1988, 343, assume that the standards of documentation that worried these legionaries were specific to Egypt. It is only logical to suppose that legionaries who settled away from the provinces where they had served needed to present some form of documentation of their honorable discharge. The problem faced by soldiers who were transferred up to a legion and returned to their home province would presumably have been the same everywhere. For soldiers who chose to settle in the province where they had served, provincial authorities could simply check their own military records, as illustrated by SB XII 11043 R = Ch.LA XI 466 R (Caesarea, 152 CE).

214  Anna Dolganov Altogether, the evidence for the enfranchisement of veterans attests to highly centralized record keeping, whereby requests for honorable discharge and Roman citizenship were examined within the military unit, then by the officium of the governor, and ultimately by the staff of the emperor—​since, in strict terms, Roman citizenship was a privilege (beneficium) conferred on veterans by the emperor himself.144 It follows that the emperor’s staff had a complete record of grants of Roman citizenship to veterans and their family members in any given year. That administrators at Rome had a precise sense of the number of enfranchisements taking place through the Roman army is significant for interpreting changes in imperial citizenship policy, such as the progressive erosion of the liberal policy allowing children of veterans born during military service to receive Roman status.145 Grants of Roman citizenship could also be made by the emperor on an individual basis, in response to requests from petitioners or officials and civic communities acting on their behalf.146 Several examples of viritane grants are preserved in Pliny’s correspondence with Trajan. In one exchange, Trajan grants Roman citizenship to the daughter of a centurion, whose request Pliny had forwarded.147 On another occasion, Pliny asks Trajan to grant Roman citizenship to his Egyptian doctor. Approving the request, Trajan asks Pliny to provide the doctor’s name, age, nome (evidently, his legal residence), and wealth (census) for the imperial records, after which an official letter could be drafted to notify the prefect of Egypt of the citizenship grant.148 A similar procedure is documented by an imperial letter preserved in an inscription from Banasa in Mauretania (the so-​ called Tabula Banasitana), where Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus respond to the governor concerning a citizenship request by a local chieftain. In granting citizenship to the chieftain and his family, the emperors ask the governor to provide their exact ages for the imperial records.149 Following the letter, the inscription includes an authenticated copy (descriptum et recognitum) of the relevant entry in the register of imperial grants of Roman citizenship (commentarius civitate Romana donatorum) kept in the archives at Rome. This register was evidently organized chronologically by imperial reign and consular year. The entry contained the precise date and location of the grant (issued at Rome on the sixth of July), the names and ages of the Mauretanian chieftain and his family, the circumstances of the grant (private petition forwarded by the governor), and the conditions of 144. On the role of the emperor as the commander in chief of the army, see Eck 2003. The prohibition against dishonorably discharged soldiers residing in Rome and other locations with an imperial residence (Dig. 3.2.2.4 (Ulpianus 6 ad ed.)) further illustrates the centralized documentation of missiones. 145. On the privileges of veterans and their development, see Wolff 1986. On the erosion of the civitas liberorum privilege, see Waebens 2012a and 2012b. 146. On viritane grants of citizenship by the emperor, see Millar 1992 [1977], 477–​490. 147. See Plin. Ep. 10.106–​107, with Sherwin-​White 1966, 715–​717. 148. See Plin. Ep. 10.5–​7, 10.10, with Sherwin-​White 1966, 566–​571, 575–​576. 149. See IAM II 1, 94, with the commentary of Seston and Euzennat 1971.

Documenting Roman Citizenship  215 the grant (Roman citizenship salvo iure gentis but without diminution of imperial taxes and tribute). Analogous to a military diploma, an authenticated copy of the record was drawn up at Rome on tabulae—​possibly bronze—​with the names and seals of Roman witnesses, in the case of the Tabula Banasitana by twelve members of the consilium of the emperor.150 As with military diplomas, the tabulae were presumably first sent to the governor, whose staff entered the information into his records and handed the document over to the recipient. Therefore, following the general pattern of Roman state record keeping, records of individual grants of citizenship were kept in the imperial archives at Rome, in the governor’s tabularium, and in the hands of recipients, who registered these grants with local officials in their cities of residence. A further means for individuals to enter the civitas Romana was to be elected to a magistracy in a Roman municipium with the “lesser” Latin right (Latium minus) or to be admitted into the curial class (ordo decurionum) of a municipium with the “greater” Latin right (Latium maius).151 How admission into the ordo of a Roman municipium functioned and was documented is suggested by evidence for the admission of Alexandrians and Antinoites into the ephebate, an institution of the civic elite. When applying for the ephebate, families brought copies of the registered birth declarations of their sons and other documents attesting to their local citizenship, family history, and successful participation in a number of civic rituals. All documentation was submitted to a Roman official—​the prefect or one of the epistrategoi—​for review. The families then presented themselves in a hearing before the prefect (for Alexandrians) or epistrategos (for Antinoites), who questioned ephebic candidates regarding their identity, family, residence and education.152 Other

150. In view of the prestigious context of imperial citizenship grants, it seems likely that the tabulae were bronze—​as may be implied by a reference to a diploma in another inscription documenting a viritane grant: ZPE 143, 243 = AE 1999/​00, 168 = AE 2003, 29 = AE 2007, 82 = AE 1999, 1250 = AE 2003, 1379 (Carnuntum, Pannonia, ca 151–​230 CE). 151. On the acquisition of citizenship per honorem or through adlection into the ordo of Roman municipalities, see Thomas 1996, 83–​97, and Kremer 2006, 146–​148, 169–​173. The ius Latii traditionally conferred citizenship only on magistrates. The Latium maius encompassing all members of the ordo was a later development, first documented for the African municipium of Gigthis, which successfully petitioned for it in the reign of Antoninus Pius; see CIL VIII, 22737 = ILS 6780. 152. On admission into the ephebate, see Nelson 1979, 47–​59, and Delia 1991, 71–​88. On the involvement of the Roman epistrategos in the examination (epikrisis) of Antinoite ephebes, see Thomas 1982, 107–​ 110. That Alexandrian ephebes were examined by the prefect of Egypt is implied by the inclusion of Alexandrians in introductory formulae of second-​century epikrisis records; see BGU IV 1033 (unknown provenance, after 117 CE) and P.Hamb. I 31 (Arsinoite? 126–​133 CE). See also P.Lond. II 260 (Arsinoite, ca 73 CE), l. 354, referring to an epikrisis of Alexandrians at the conventus, and P.Flor. III 382 (Hermopolite, 223 CE), ll. 73–​74, referring to an Antonine register of ephebes “inscribed by the prefect.” Contrary to Haensch 1992, 290–​291, and Foti Talamanca 1974, 58–​59, the involvement of Alexandrian officials does not imply that the epikrisis hearings ceased to take place before the prefect. Instead, the procedure seems analogous to the epikrisis of Roman citizens, where delegated officials received and processed the paperwork. For a record of proceedings of an ephebic examination (presumably before the prefect of Egypt), see P.Gen. II 111 = SB V 7561 (mid-​second century CE).

216  Anna Dolganov evidence suggests that admission into the curial class of a Roman municipium functioned in a similar manner. The procedure was supervised by the duoviri quinquennales, the magistrates responsible for the municipal census and album decurionum, who reviewed each candidate’s credentials, such as legitimate birth, wealth and civic status. The applications were then subject to review and approval by the governor.153 A significant number of incoming decuriones were sons of officeholding families who were already Roman citizens.154 Accordingly, one would expect applications by “new men” of Latin status to have undergone closer scrutiny. To receive Roman citizenship per honorem or by entering the ordo of a municipium, individuals had to be born or adlected as citizens of the municipium.155 Adlection into the ordo was beyond the authority of Roman municipalities and required approval from the emperor. An Antonine inscription from the municipium of Tergeste praises an orator who had persuaded the emperor to allow wealthy members of local tribes to be admitted into the ordo and obtain Roman citizenship through elected magistracies.156 The inability of municipia and coloniae to confer Roman citizenship through adlection is further illustrated by the case of Dio Chrysostom, a native of Prusa in Bithynia, whose mother and maternal grandfather had received Roman citizenship and citizenship in the Roman colonia of Apamea from the emperor. Dio’s phrasing suggests that the imperial grant of Roman status was a prerequisite for acquiring citizenship in the colonia.157 In an Antonine inscription from the colonia of Saldae in Mauretania, two men with Roman names thank the emperor for permitting the ordo to adlect them as citizens of the colonia.158 Another Antonine inscription commemorates a certain C.  Valerius Avitus, former citizen of the municipium of Augustobriga, whom the emperor had allowed to obtain citizenship in the 153. On the work of the duumviri quinquennales in supervising admission into the local ordo decurionum, see the extensive treatment of Jacques 1984, 573–​618. The role of the governor in the procedure is illustrated by Plin. Ep. 79, 112, 114; see Le Teuff 2012, 204–​205. 154. On the sons of decurions, see Jacques 1984, 603–​613. 155. On adlection into the ordo, see note 153. On analogous procedures in Roman municipalities in the Greek East, see Raggi 2004a. 156. See CIL V, 532  =  ILS 6680  =  AE 1975, 423 (Tergeste, Venetia et Histria, 138–​161 CE), with Thomas 1996,  87–​89. 157. See Dio Chrys. 61.6 (Or. 41):  μὲν γὰρ πάππος ὁ ἐμὸς μετὰ τῆς μητρὸς τῆς ἐμῆς παρὰ τοῦ τότε αὐτοκράτορος φίλου ὄντος ἅμα τῆς Ῥωμαίων πολιτείας καὶ τῆς ὑμετέρας ἔτυχεν, ὁ δὲ πατὴρ παρ’ ὑμῶν, with Raggi 2004a, 61–​63. Raggi argues that the reception of honorific citizenship in Apamea by Dio’s father, Pasikrates, implies that he was already a Roman citizen. By contrast, Blanco-​Pérez 2015, 146–​148, interprets the passage as evidence for an independent local citizenship of Apamea being bestowed on a peregrinus. The notion of a separate, non-​Roman citizenship in a Roman colonia makes little sense in Roman juridical terms. The two other examples cited by Blanco-​Pérez (OGIS 567 [Attalea, 138 CE] and I.Magnesia 192 [Magnesia, 161–​169 CE]) appear to show Roman coloniae granting citizenship to individuals who were already Roman citizens and hence do not support this argument. Such grants by no means excluded that the coloniae still had to ask for imperial permission to confer their citizenship; see the documents cited in notes 158 and 159. 158. See CIL VIII, 20682 = ILS 06875 (Saldae, Mauretania Caesariensis, 152 CE).

Documenting Roman Citizenship  217 colonia of Tarraconensis.159 It is unclear whether these men needed imperial permission because they were not, in fact, Roman citizens or whether (as seems more likely) citizenship in Roman coloniae was generally subject to central oversight by imperial authorities at Rome. Altogether, the evidence clearly shows that Roman coloniae and municipia did not have the power to create new citizens through adlection without permission from the emperor. As in the case of the Mauretanian chieftain and Pliny’s Egyptian doctor, these imperial grants would presumably have been documented in the commentarius civitate Romana donatorum at Rome, in the records of the governor, and in the local records of the city, with authenticated copies kept by the recipients.160 It is opportune to conclude this section on enfranchisement with several well-​ known instances where illegitimate claims of Roman citizenship came to the notice of Roman officials. In 46 CE, it was reported to the emperor Claudius that the municipium of Tridentum in Cisalpine Gaul had illicitly adlected members of neighboring Alpine tribes, enabling them to acquire the legal status (origo) of Roman citizens.161 Since many years had passed and some were serving in the praetorian guard and the quinque decuriae of judges at Rome, Claudius issued an edict granting the individuals in question Roman citizenship.162 The emphasis on longa usurpatio and intermarriage suggests that the adlection had taken place several decades earlier, possibly during the initial phase after the foundation of the municipium under Caesar or Augustus. The timing of the discovery is significant, as it coincides with Claudius’s empire-​wide census populi Romani, described by Claudius in the Senate as a “laborious enterprise” (opus arduum) intended to “thoroughly investigate and make publicly known the resources of our empire” (ut publice notae sint facultates nostrae exquiratur).163 A few years earlier, Claudius had appointed a senatorial commission to supervise the collection of 159. See CIL II, 4277 = ILS 6943 (Tarraco, Hispania Tarraconensis, 138–​192 CE). Raggi 2004a, 60, follows De Ruggiero 1921 in supposing that this was a Roman citizen who required imperial permission to change his origo to a Roman colonia. 160. The skepticism of Brunt 1971, 171–​172, that “the Roman government would probably not have controlled grants of the local franchise by a Latin city” (with reference to the municipalization of Gallia Cisalpina) seems unwarranted. If Roman officials at Alexandria systematically verified claims of metropolite citizenship and Hellenic status in the hinterland of Egypt, it is difficult to imagine that Roman officials would “probably not have controlled” grants of citizenship by Roman municipia. 161. See the so-​called Tabula Clesiana, CIL V 5050 = ILS 206 = AE 1983, 445 = AE 2014, 45 = AE 2014, 60 (Cles, Venetia et Histria, 46 CE), with Chastagnol 1987, 21–​23, and Ando 2017a, 125–​129. 162. The citizenship grant did not extend to the three tribes but only to the adlected tribesmen. As suggested by Ando 2017a, the mingling of colonists with the surrounding population and their subsequent legitimation through legal fictions and grants of citizenship may have been part of the Roman colonial agenda. As parallel examples, one may adduce Tac. Hist 3.34 on Cremona (adnexu conubiisque gentium adolevit) and Domitian’s pronouncement attached to the lex Irnitana legitimizing past transgressions of conubium; see Mourgues 1987. 163. See the so-​called Tabula Lugdunensis, which records a speech delivered by Claudius in the Senate regarding the ius honorum of Gallic elites in the context of his imperial census; CIL XIII, 1668 = AE 1955, 115 = AE 1975, 612 = AE 1983, 693 = AE 2003, 41 (Lugdunum, Gallia Lugdunensis, 48 CE), with Riess 2003 and Le Teuff 2012, 21, 33, 60–​63, 379, 439.

218  Anna Dolganov arrears due to the fiscus.164 The Claudian imperial census and fiscal review provide a plausible context for the origo of the municipes of Tridentum being closely scrutinized, revealing that a number of them did not have solid claims of Roman status going back to a legitimate source. Although the episode of the Tridentini is often cited as evidence of the Roman state’s incapacity to detect fraudulent status claims,165 it arguably demonstrates something quite different: the interest of Roman administrators to trace status claims back to their source and their ability to do so, even in a remote Alpine municipium. That the Roman state had a growing interest in policing membership in privileged status groups is reflected by the emergence of centralized procedures for the verification of status in the reign of Claudius, discussed in the next section. Two further cases of illegitimate status involved the recruitment of non-​ citizens into military units of Roman citizens. During Pliny’s governorship of Bithynia, a recruitment officer found two slaves among the new recruits. The irregularity was apparently discovered quickly, before the slaves were distributed into units.166 In response to Pliny’s inquiry, Trajan wrote that, if the slaves had volunteered for the army, they should suffer capital punishment; if they had been put forward in the place of others, the latter should be punished; if, however, the slaves were drafted, the blame fell on the officials who vetted their eligibility (lecti sunt, inquisitio peccavit). Whether this was a case of error or fraud by the recruitment officials is not revealed. Some years later, in 119, Hadrian issued an edict granting Roman citizenship to members of the praetorian guard whose Roman status was defective—​either because they had been drafted by officials who failed to scrutinize their family history (ex dilectu probati parum examinata origine parentum) or because they had been transferred from other units.167 The deployment of the praetorians in Trajan’s Parthian campaign, with likely emergency levies in situ, suggests a plausible context for indiscriminate recruitment and transfers of troops from units of non-​citizens. Interestingly, Hadrian presents his citizenship grant as a preemptive remedy against future legal problems, evidently anticipating that the defective status of the praetorians would be detected by administrators. The preservation of the edict on three bronze diplomas shows that their function, like the instrumentum requested by Alexandrian oarsmen transferred to a legion in Judaea, was to provide these veterans with certification of their Roman citizenship.168 Unlike the incident 164. See Cass. Dio 60.10.4, with Le Teuff 2012, 258, 380. It is relevant that the adlection of Alpine tribesmen at Tridentum was reported to Claudius along with a series of fiscal infringements, including encroachment on imperial land, which suggests that the information came to light during a fiscal review of the region. 165. See, e.g., Brunt 1971, 208: “the fact that in the meantime they had not only enjoyed local civic rights in the municipium of Tridentum but had even been enrolled as iudices at Rome shows how negligently local records were kept and how easily they were taken at face value by the central government.” 166. See Plin. Ep. 10.29–​30. Whether the recruits were intended for legions or auxilia is debated, but legions seem more likely; see the remarks of Sherwin-​White 1966, 599–​600. 167. See Eck, Pangerl, and Weiß 2014a and 2014b. 168. See notes 142 and 143.

Documenting Roman Citizenship  219 reported by Pliny, Hadrian’s edict does not illustrate status fraud within the Roman army; on the contrary, it appears to anticipate procedures of verification by Roman authorities. Status Verification of Roman Citizens (Epikrisis = Recensio, Probatio) In the mid-​first century CE, papyrological sources attest to the introduction of generalized procedures of status verification, termed epikrisis, which required all male members of fiscally privileged groups to prove their status on the basis of official documents.169 The semantics of the term are significant: in classical and Hellenistic sources, epikrisis is a rare word for discernment or judgment, employed in particular with reference to arbitration proceedings.170 This connotation prompted the use of epikrisis to render the Latin arbitratus in the Greek translation of the customs law of Asia in the early principate.171 However, epikrisis emerges with a different meaning in Roman administrative documents from Egypt. In a letter drafted during the census of 4 BCE, the Roman prefect requests complete lists of priests with documentation of their status, “so that I may verify/​ confirm [epikrinō] them among those of the twenty-​fifth year of Caesar.” Here, epikrinō clearly signifies a review of members of a particular status group.172 In the early decades of the first century, epikrisis is attested in papyri with reference to the provincial census and verification of the fiscal status of land.173 This suggests that epikrisis was linked to the Latin census or recensus, a meaning that accords with the phrasing of the Augustan prefect’s letter.174 A  further clue is offered by Suetonius’s description of Caesar’s revision of the lists of Romans eligible for the grain dole as a recensio, which corresponds to the use of epikrisis for the verification of eligibility for the grain dole in numerous documents from

169. On the papyrological evidence for epikrisis of fiscally privileged groups, see the literature cited earlier in note 86. The implications of this evidence for Roman administrative practice beyond Egypt have, to my knowledge, never been assessed. 170. See IG V2 6 = IPArk 3 (Tegea, fourth century BCE), ll. 19, 50, where ἐπίκρισις appears to be synonymous with κρίσις. See also IG XI4 1052 (Delos, third century BCE) ll. 24–​31, and I.Eph. 4 (297–​296 BCE), l. 6, with reference to the judgments of arbitrators. In Ptolemaic Egypt, see P.Hib. II 197 (Hibeh, mid-​third century BCE) with reference to an ἐπίκρισις γῆς, and P.Rev. Laws (Arsinoite? ca 259 BCE) col. xxviii, ll. 6–​8, referring to the sealed record of a judgment (ἐπίκρισις). See also Hipparchus of Nicaea (second century BCE), cited in Strabo 1.1.12, where ἐπίκρισις refers to the discernment of astronomical phenomena. 171. See epikrisis for arbitratus in the Augustan clauses of the lex portorii Asiae: SEG 39, 1180 (75 BCE–​62 CE), ll. 69 (clearly, a rendition of boni viri arbitratu), 102, 107, 110, 124, with the remarks of Cottier et al. 2008, 144–​145. See also epikrisis for a decretum of Claudius in IG XII4 1, 87 (41–​54 CE). 172. See BGU IV 1199 (Herakleopolite, 4 BCE). 173. In P.Oxy. II 288 (Oxyrhynchite, 25 CE), ll. 35–​42, and O.Brux. 14 (Thebaid, 38–​39 or 42–​43 CE), epikrisis refers to the census. The review of eligibility for fiscal privileges ordered by the prefect in BGU IV 1199 (Herakleopolite, 4 BCE) likewise takes place in the context of the census. See further CPR XV 6 (Arsinoite, 16 CE), SB I 5240 (Arsinoite, 17 CE), and BGU III 915 (Arsinoite, ca 49–​54 CE), where epikrisis refers to the status of land being earmarked for review (ἐν ἐπ̣ι̣[κ]ρ̣ίσει τετάχαμεν). 174. The Greek text of the letter strongly suggests a Latin original, which may have had probare or recensere. The expression ὅπως ἐν τοῖς  .  .  .  ἐπικρίνῳ suggests a Latin expression with inter + censere; see, e.g., Ovid Epist. ex. Pont. 1.2.137–​138: hanc probat et primo dilectam semper ab aeuo est inter comites Marcia censa suas.

220  Anna Dolganov third-​century Oxyrhynchus.175 It appears, therefore, that epikrisis in Roman administrative terminology was linked with recensio, connoting a review and verification of status and eligibility for privileges. Whereas in the early first century, epikrisis is only sparsely attested in papyri, from the mid-​first century onward epikrisis and its variants (epikritheis, epikrithenai, epikrinomenos, epikekrimenos) emerge as standard technical terms for procedures of status verification.176 In addition to recensio, Roman administrative use of epikrisis also appears to have been linked with the Latin probatio, as suggested by late-​first-​and second-​ century documents where the probatio of military recruits is rendered in Greek as epikrisis.177 I will return to the significance of this point.178 Distinct from the census, the procedures of epikrisis investigated the source of one’s status, in some cases tracing family histories back to the earliest holders of the status, documented up to two centuries earlier.179 These procedures were applied to all major fiscally privileged groups:  Roman citizens, citizens of Greek cities (astoi), citizens and Hellenic class of the mētropoleis, as well as Egyptian priesthoods and professional associations. The first clear evidence for a generalized epikrisis dates to the first year of the reign of Nero, attested in a Flavian administrative document from the Arsinoite nome where a number of metropolites in their forties, fifties, and sixties are referred to as “epikekrimenoi in the first year [of Nero].”180 By contrast, individuals who had undergone epikrisis in subsequent years of Nero are referred to as “epikekrimenoi in their fourteenth year.”181 This indicates that status verification was instituted for metropolites in the Arsinoite nome in the first year of Nero and was initially applied to all male metropolites and subsequently only to boys entering their fourteenth year. This accords with the evidence for the epikrisis of metropolites elsewhere in Egypt, all of which postdates the beginning of Nero’s reign.

175. See Suet. Div. Iul. 41 (recensionis causa, qui recensi non essent) and analogous use of epikrisis in Oxyrhynchite grain-​dole applications: P.Oxy. XL 2892–​2899, 2902–​2903, 2908, 2013, 2927, 2931–​2932 (Oxyrhynchus, 269–​275 CE). 176. In P.Oxy. II 288 (Oxyrhynchite, 25 CE), ll. 35–​42, and O.Brux. 14 (Arsinoite, 38–​39 or 42–​43 CE), epikrisis refers to the census. By contrast, in P.Congr.XV 13 (Arsinoite, mid-​first century CE), SB XX 15210 (Oxyrhynchus, 77 CE), P.Oxy. VII 1028 (Oxyrhynchus, 86 CE), and later papyri, epikrisis and its variants refer specifically to status verification. 177. The link between the Roman administrative meaning of epikrisis and probatio was already noted by Wilcken 1912, I: 197, 395–​396, on the basis of P.Oxy. I 39 = W.Chr. 456 (Oxyrhynchus, 52 CE), BGU I 142 = W.Chr. 455 (unknown provenance, 159 CE), and BGU I 143 = W.Chr. 454 (Arsinoite? 159 CE). 178. It is not possible to determine whether epikrisis was employed with the same administrative meaning in other eastern provinces, where papyrological evidence is lacking. In Roman-​period Greek inscriptions, epikrisis remains rare and on occasion stands for the Latin arbitratus, arbitrium, and decretum in line with its earlier meaning of “judgment” in Hellenistic sources (see note 171, as well as SEG 49, 1676 [Sardis, 189–​190 CE], and the bilingual text of I.Eph. 43 = AE 1906, 30b [375–​378 CE]). 179. See, e.g., P.Oxy. XVIII 2186 (Oxyrhynchus, 260 CE), a third-​century epikrisis application where Greek gymnasial status is documented for every generation back to the Augustan age. 180. See P.Lond. II 260 (Arsinoite, ca 73 CE), ll. 553–​576. 181. See P.Lond. II 260 (Arsinoite, ca 73 CE), ll. 507–​526.

Documenting Roman Citizenship  221 As documented by papyri, Roman procedures of status verification can be described as follows. For metropolites, epikrisis was required for all males and male slaves in their fourteenth year.182 It was necessary to submit to local officials evidence of the metropolite status of both parents, typically in the form of extracts from population registers of the city quarter (amphodon) in which the parents were registered during the most recent census.183 It was also necessary to submit documentation of birth, likewise in the form of an extract from the amphodal register in which the parents had registered their son during the last census or through a separate birth declaration.184 Similar documentation was presented in the epikrisis of slaves, who were declared by metropolites in the census and registered in the amphodon.185 In turn, freedmen and freedwomen of metropolites seeking to register their sons had to demonstrate the source of their status by bringing evidence of the metropolite status of their male patrons or fathers of female patrons. In a second-​century epikrisis application, a metropolite freedwoman named Dionysous cites the registration of her son in the amphodon with evidence of the metropolite status of her late husband and of the father of her patrona in the amphodal register.186 For the Hellenic class of the mētropoleis, the standards of documentation were more elaborate. In addition to demonstrating the Hellenic status of both parents (again, on the basis of the amphodal registers), applicants had to provide evidence of Hellenic status for all male ancestors on each side of the family, tracing both genealogies back to registers of Hellenes compiled in the reign of Vespasian.187 As further proof of status, families adduced birth declarations and

182. This is made explicit in epikrisis applications, where metropolites state that they are acting “in accordance with orders regarding the epikrisis of those entering the age of thirteen if they are metropolites taxed at the rate of twelve drachmas”; see, e.g., W.Chr. 217 (Oxyrhynchus, 172–​173 CE), ll. 5–​8. 183. See, e.g., SB IV 7440 (Hermopolite, 132–​133 CE) and SB XIV 11270 (Arsinoite, 96–​97 CE). On regional variations in the format of epikrisis applications, see Kruse 2013, 319–​322. In the Arsinoite nome, metropolites tended to submit particularly extensive paperwork, as illustrated by BGU I 109 (121 CE), documenting the registration of both parents in the amphodal lists for every census during their lifetimes, as well as the registration of the grandparents before the birth of the parents. 184. See, e.g., BGU I 109 (Arsinoite, 121 CE), ll. 15–​17; SB IV 7440 (Hermopolite, 132–​133 CE), ll. 39–​42; and SB XIV 11270 (Arsinoite, 96–​97 CE), ll. 14–​17, where parents cite their registration of their son in the amphodon during the last census. Separate birth registration is likewise mentioned in a number of epikrisis applications (see note 111). 185. See, e.g., W.Chr. 27 (Oxyrhynchus, 172–​173 CE), where a metropolite registers his thirteen-​year-​old houseborn slave and provides evidence of his own metropolite status. See further BGU I 324 = W.Chr. 219 (Arsinoite 166–​167 CE), where a metropolite woman registers two slaves (apparently not houseborn) whom she had declared in the last census. As supporting evidence, she submits a copy of the successful epikrisis of another slave several years earlier. 186. See P.Oxy. III 478 (Oxyrhynchus, 132 CE), annotated in a different hand (ll. 15a, 28a), which appears to note inconsistencies between the application and the statements made by Dionysous during her epikrisis hearing. This document illustrates the Roman principle of manumission as an avenue to citizenship being applied to the local citizenships of provincial towns. 187. On the requirement that ancestry be traced back to the Vespasianic registers, see Ruffini 2006, 75–​78. See, e.g., P.Oxy. X 1266 (Oxyrhynchite, 98 CE), SB XX 14111 (Arsinoite, after 161 CE), and P.Amh. II 75 (Hermopolis, 161–​168 CE). Some families could document their ancestry back to the registers compiled under Nero and Augustus (see Kruse 2013, 314–​316), which was not a strict requirement but

222  Anna Dolganov records documenting the marriages of parents and grandparents.188 In families with multiple children, evidence of the successful epikrisis of older sons was typically provided.189 It is clear that applicants submitted authenticated copies of the records enumerated in their epikrisis applications.190 For both metropolites and Hellenes, the procedures of epikrisis culminated in a hearing where applicants were examined by local officials. The proceedings were documented in local administrative records, a copy of which was kept by the applicant and his family. This information was transmitted to tax officials, who entered the name of the epikekrimenos into their tax lists as paying the relevant reduced tax rate.191 Quite remarkably, the epikrisis records of each mētropolis were forwarded to Alexandria, where officials systematically reviewed them and, if necessary, rejected the claims or sent them back for additional verification.192 In the Greek cities of Alexandria and Antinoupolis, status verification is attested for boys in their fourteenth year in connection with the ephebate.193 Like the Hellenes of the mētropoleis, ephebic candidates submitted extensive paperwork, which always included an authenticated copy of a registered birth declaration, evidence of the father’s ephebate and marriage, birth declarations, and (if applicable) evidence of the ephebate of all male siblings. All of this information was certified by three guarantors present at the hearing.194 In both Alexandria and Antinoupolis, ephebic applications were processed by civic magistrates, while hearings took place before the governor (for Alexandrians) or the epistrategos (for Antinoites), who certified the applicant’s examination.195 Despite an additional prestige factor. In the mid-​third century CE, Hellenic families could still trace their ancestry back to the Augustan lists; see note 179. 188. For references to birth declarations, see the documents cited earlier in note 187, with Kruse 2013 and Nelson 1979, 26–​39. For references to documentation of marriages of parents and grandparents, see, e.g., P.Oxy. II 257 (Oxyrhynchus, 94–​95 CE), ll. 25–​27, 30–​32, and P.Oxy. X 1266 (Oxyrhynchus, 98 CE), ll.  15–​20. 189. For references to the epikrisis of older sons, see SB IV 7440 (Hermopolite, 132 CE) and SB XIV 11270 (Arsinoite, 96–​97 CE). 190. See P.Amh. II 75 (Hermopolis, 161–​168 CE), containing verbatim citations of entries in the amphodal registers, as well as P.Oxy. X 1266 (Oxyrhynchus, 98 CE), ll. 15–​20, which refers to a marriage contract registered in the katalogeion at Alexandria. See also BGU XI 2086 (234–​235 CE), a copy taken from archival records of epikrisis. 191. In tax lists, it is specified that individuals have been “verified [epikritoi] for the payment of twelve drachmas”; see, e.g., P.Kron. 1 = P.Mil.Vogl. II 81 = SB VI 9394 (Arsinoite, 123 CE). In other administrative lists, we find references to anepikritoi (see, e.g., P.Berl.Cohen 17 [Arsinoite, second century CE], P.Lond. II 259 = W.Chr. 63 [Arsinoite, 94–​95 CE], and P.Lond. II 260 [Arsinoite, ca 73 CE], ll. 626–​631), which implies that the other individuals listed had been verified. 192. See PSI X 1109 (Oxyrhynchus, 93–​94 CE), where the status of a thirteen-​year-​old metropolite is questioned by an official at Alexandria (eklogistes), who orders the local strategos to obtain additional proof of status from both parents. The document is discussed by Kruse 2013, 328–​331. 193. On the ephebate at Alexandria and Antinoupolis, see Nelson 1979, 47–​59, and Delia 1991, 71–​88, discussed at notes 109 and 152. 194. See, e.g., P.Flor. III 382 (Hermopolite, 223 CE) and P.Diog. 8 (Arsinoite, early third century CE) for Alexandria and Antinoupolis, respectively. 195. On the involvement of Roman officials in supervising the examination of ephebes, see note 152. This has important implications for our general understanding of the ephebate in Greek cities under Roman

Documenting Roman Citizenship  223 an apparent lack of published evidence for the epikrisis of slaves and freedmen of Alexandrians and Antinoites, their fiscal immunity implies that they, too, were subject to procedures of status verification, on par with the slaves and freedmen of metropolites and Roman citizens. A second-​century document shows a local official processing slave sales by Egyptian provincials to Alexandrians. The official took a money deposit until an authenticated record of the registered sale (chrēmatismos) was submitted to him, “in line with other cases of slaves sold to individuals immune from taxes.”196 Clearly, changes in the fiscal status of slaves had to be registered with Roman provincial authorities and the registration reported to local officials before the fiscal immunities could be claimed. If the freedmen of astoi could acquire citizenship through manumission, as some evidence suggests, one would expect them to have been subject to an analogous standard of status verification to that of Roman freedmen.197 The epikrisis of Roman citizens is documented in approximately two dozen papyri, the majority of which are records of epikrisis proceedings before the Roman prefect of Egypt.198 The date of the hearings and references to a dialogismos indicate that epikrisis frequently took place at the governor’s assizes.199 The epikrisis records are prefaced by prescripts indicating that the procedure applied to veterans, freeborn Roman citizens, and their freedmen and slaves.200 In line with these prescripts, epikrisis documents show veterans, freeborn Romans and Roman freedmen registering themselves and their sons and male slaves with the governor. The procedure involved submission of documentary evidence of Roman status to a military officer (typically a tribunus legionis) appointed by the governor, followed by a hearing in the presence of three guarantors who vouched rule—​as, in effect, a curial class monitored by the Roman state. As a parallel, one may adduce the epikrisis of priests, conducted before the archiereus, who was a Roman procurator; see Kruse 2019, 126. 196. See P.Thmouis (Mendesian, 180–​192 CE) col. cxix, ll. 1–​23. 197. That the Roman state established a pathway from manumission to citizenship for the freedmen of astoi is suggested by P.Hamb. IV 270 (Alexandria, second to third centuries CE), where the freedwoman of an astos describes herself as an astē. In the Roman fiscal rulebook of the Idios Logos, astoi and their freedmen are subject to the same rules concerning marriage and inheritance; see BGU V 1210 (Arsinoite, 149–​161 CE), ll. 38–​41, 50, 133–​135. 198. On the epikrisis (status verification) of Roman citizens, see Foti Talamanca 1974, 56–​68, and Haensch 1992, 290–​293. The Roman epikrisis proceedings listed in Haensch 1992, 313–​317, can be supplemented with BGU IV 1032 (Arsinoite, 173 CE), P.Diog. 6 (Arsinoite, after 143 CE), and P.Oxy. LVIII 3920 (Oxyrhynchite, early third century CE). 199. That many epikrisis hearings date to the early spring months when the prefect was typically touring Middle Egypt was already noted by Wilcken in his commentary to W.Chr. 458–​459. For references to epikrisis taking place at the conventus (ἐν διαλογισμῷ), see SB VI 9227–​9228 (Syene, 161 CE) and P.Lond. II 260 (Arsinoite, ca 73 CE), l. 354. In a private letter, a certain Ptolema (presumably a Roman or Alexandrian) urges her brother to sail to the ongoing assize of the prefect “so that, if at all possible, we may get the little one examined [epikreinai]” (P.Hamb. I 86, Arsinoite, second century CE). 200. See, e.g., the prescript in BGU I  113  =  W.Chr. 458 (unknown provenance, ca 140 CE), ll. 1–​7:  οἱ ὑπογεγραμένοι οὐετρανοὶ  .  .  .  ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ Ῥωμαῖοι καὶ ἀπ̣ελ̣[εύθ]ερο[ι] καὶ δοῦλ[ο]ι καὶ ἕτεροι. In one instance, we find that the epikrisis of veterans was documented in a separate roll of records from the epikrisis of other Romans; see BGU I 165 = W.Chr. 459 (Arsinoite, 148 CE) and SB I 5217 = FIRA III 6 (Theadelphia, 148 CE), with Foti Talamanca 1974, 65, and Haensch 1992, 292.

224  Anna Dolganov for the identity of the declarant. For auxiliary veterans undergoing epikrisis, it was customary to present a bronze diploma as proof of Roman citizenship.201 In two instances where veterans present diplomas on which their children are inscribed, they provide letters from the tabularii of the governor confirming their honorable discharge.202 While no epikrisis proceedings of Roman legionary veterans or their children have survived, it may be presumed that legionaries, like all Roman citizens, provided evidence of their status (birth declaration, military probatio, or honorable discharge) and, if relevant, their conubium privileges.203 In the epikrisis of freeborn Roman children, fathers presented the child’s registered birth declaration (professio) with evidence of their own Roman status in the form of an epikrisis document.204 In the epikrisis of illegitimate children, the mother presented the child’s testatio of birth together with evidence of her own status—​for freeborn Roman women a registered birth declaration (professio liberorum), for freedwomen a tabula manumissionis together with evidence of the Roman status of the patronus or patrona in the form of an epikrisis document or birth declaration, respectively.205 In the epikrisis of houseborn slaves, the master or mistress presented the slave’s birth declaration (oikogeneia) together with a census declaration mentioning the slave—​to show that the slave had been declared and the relevant taxes paid to Roman authorities in good faith.206 It is reasonable to suppose that in the epikrisis of slaves purchased by Roman citizens, a copy of the contract of sale was submitted in place of the birth declaration.207 201. See, e.g., BGU I  265  =  W.Chr. 259 (Arsinoite, 148 CE) and BGU III 780 (Arsinoite, 154–​159 CE). By contrast, in SB IV 7362 (Karanis, 188 CE), an auxiliary veteran presents a letter from a former prefect attesting to his honorable discharge—​either because no bronze diploma had been issued or because the diploma had been lost or damaged; see note 140. 202. See P.Hamb. I  31  =  P.Stras. V 340 (Arsinoite? 103–​107 CE) and P.Diog. 5 (Arsinoite, 131–​133 CE), discussed earlier at notes 139 and 140. A waxed tablet where the prefect of Egypt confirms the honorable discharge of an auxiliary veteran may have served a similar purpose; see W.Chr. 457 = CPL 113 (Arsinoite, 122 CE), with Mann and Roxan 1988. See also SB IV 7362 (Karanis, 188 CE), discussed in note 201. 203. For documents attesting to the honorable discharge of Roman legionaries, see the evidence discussed in Mann and Roxan 1988, with my reservations expressed earlier in note 143. P.Mich. VII 432 = CPL 105 (unknown provenance, first century CE) is a witnessed copy of an imperial edict granting citizenship and conubium privileges to the legio XXII Deioteriana with the individual’s name below. That epitaphs for soldiers often refer to the date of their probatio suggests that documentation thereof was kept by the soldiers. 204. See, e.g., SB VI 9227–​9228 (Syene, 161 CE) and BGU III 847 = W.Chr. 460 (Arsinoite, after 176 CE). 205. See P.Oxy. XII 1451 (Oxyrhynchus, 175 CE), where a freeborn Roman woman registers her illegitimate children and provides her own professio. See also SB I 5217 = FIRA III 6 (Theadelphia, 148 CE), where a freedwoman registers her illegitimate son and provides her own tabula manumissionis with the epikrisis document of her patronus, whereas in P.Diog. 6 (Arsinoite, 143–​161 CE), a freedwoman provides her tabula manumissionis with the birth declaration of her patrona. 206. See BGU IV 1033 (unknown provenance, after 117 CE), PSI V 447 (Oxyrhynchus, 166–​167 CE), and P.Oxy. XII 1451 (Oxyrhynchus, 175 CE). See also SB III 6995 (Memphite, 124 CE), an authenticated copy of an oikogeneia by a Roman citizen (with payment of the relevant tax, aparchē) from the archival records, presumably from the central archive of the mētropolis, corrected in red ink by the archivist. Failure to declare houseborn slaves warranted confiscation; see note 37. 207. For slave sales by Roman citizens, see, e.g., P.Freib. II 8 (Arsinoite, 143 CE), where shares of inherited slaves are sold among siblings and co-​heirs. It is specified that the slaves were born at Alexandria but not that they were houseborn. Presumably, this means that they had been purchased by the testator. Clearly,

Documenting Roman Citizenship  225 Were the procedures of status verification (epikrisis = probatio) a requirement for Roman citizens? This certainly seems to be implied by the prescript that “veterans, Romans, and their freedmen and slaves” undergo epikrisis “on orders [ex enkeleuseos] from the prefect.” For metropolites, epikrisis was a prerequisite for the enjoyment of fiscal privileges: if for whatever reason the epikrisis was not performed in the fourteenth year, metropolites were automatically entered into the list of laographoumenoi and taxed at the full rate.208 That Romans appear as epikekrimenoi and anepikritoi in fiscal records209 and consistently present their children and slaves for epikrisis prior to the age of fourteen210 seems to indicate that a similar standard was in place. The epikrisis of Roman slaves offers perhaps the clearest indication that epikrisis was linked to the enjoyment of fiscal immunity. This constituted a strong incentive for Romans and their family members to undergo the procedures of status verification. To what extent can the evidence for status verification in Roman Egypt be generalized for the rest of the empire, where comparable documentation has not survived? The apparent link between these procedures and the imperial census and fiscal reforms of Claudius, along with the contemporaneous emergence of bronze military diplomas, certainly suggests a broader imperial reform ca 48 CE.211 One would not expect the introduction of sweeping measures for the verification of Roman citizenship and other fiscally privileged statuses to have been limited to one province. Instead, one would presume that similar procedures were implemented elsewhere, with adjustment for regional variations such as the inclusion of both men and women in provinces where both were liable to the poll tax. What was the terminology of status verification beyond Egypt? As noted, papyrological sources suggest that the term epikrisis was linked with the Latin recensio and probatio, illustrated by epikrisis/​recensio with reference to verification of eligibility for the grain dole and several papyri where epikrisis refers to the probatio of military recruits.212 The civilian and military procedures of status verification

208.

2 09. 210.

211. 212.

the will and subsequent contract of sale would be relevant for the epikrisis of the male slave once he entered his fourteenth year. See BGU II 562 = W.Chr. 220 (Arsinoite, reign of Trajan), where a family of Hellenic katoikoi pursues the status examination of one of their sons who had been listed as anepikritos (“unverified”) and added to the list of laographoumenoi; see Kruse 2013, 326–​328. See note 191. The only exception in the surviving evidence appears to be SB I 5217 = FIRA III 6 (Theadelphia, 148 CE), where a freedwoman manumitted in the same year as the birth of her illegitimate twins registers her adult son at the age of twenty. One wonders, in this case, whether the requirements for illegitimate children were different or whether the woman had evaded registration for other reasons—​for example, to await the death of her patronus, who may have been the father of the child. In P.Oxy. XII 1451 (Oxyrhynchus, 175 CE), the supplement δέκα τρ]ε̣ιῶν is preferable to εἴκοσι τρ]ε̣ιῶν in the editio princeps at line 31, which brings the document in line with the broader pattern of children being registered before the age of fourteen. A link between the emergence of bronze diplomas and the Claudian imperial census of 48 CE is likewise posited by Beutler 2007. See notes 175 and 177.

226  Anna Dolganov were in many respects analogous, involving examination of documentary evidence for status back to its legitimate source, described in Latin as inquisitio and examinatio of the origo parentium and so forth.213 Probatio and adprobatio were technical terms for the examination of citizenship claims by Junian Latins as well as army veterans seeking Roman status for children born during military service.214 While one cannot generally expect to find references to routine administrative procedures in epigraphic sources, dozens of military inscriptions mention the year of a soldier’s probatio, underscoring the importance of the procedure and its documentation for soldiers throughout the empire.215 There are also epigraphic testimonia for the probatio of officeholders and members of professional groups. At Beneventum, we find a man who had been probatus as a specialist in weights and measures and granted a public salary.216 In the colonia of Madauros in North Africa, we encounter a municipal officeholder adlected ex inquisitione—​“upon investigation,” presumably into his status, wealth, and family history—​as a priest of the imperial cult (flamen perpetuus).217 In Umbria, we find a sacerdos probatus, likely signifying a similar procedure.218 One also suspects that the Roman citizen and medicus from Prusa, who was probatus by clarissimi viri at Rome to serve as an assessor, had been evaluated by a senatorial commission in a procedure analogous to epikrisis.219 Further evidence for status verification may be found in provincial inscriptions mentioning administrators of the census. In the cursus inscriptions of high-​ranking senators who held governorships and served as censitores of major provinces, the function presumably designated a supervisory role in a province-​wide fiscal review.220 Elsewhere, however, we find military officers appointed to “receive the census” (ad census accipiendos), a legionary tribune who served as censitor Thraciae, a praefectus cohortis appointed censitor of Roman citizens in the colonia of Camulodunum in Britain, and a legionary officer (tribunus or praepositus) who served as censitor of Roman citizens in the assize (conventus) of Caesaraugusta in Spain.221 The latter two, in particular,

2 13. 214. 215. 216. 217. 218. 219.

See the earlier discussion at note 167. See the earlier discussion at notes 106, 107, 108, 130, and 132. See, e.g., CIL VI, 2731 = MEFR 2002, 742 (Rome, third century CE). RAAN 1965, 141 (Beneventum, second century CE), ILAlg 1, 2145 = AE 1907, 234 = AE 1919, 37 (Madauros). Epigraphica 1996, 52 = AE 1996, 601 = AE 2013, +444 (Casuentum, second century CE). CIL XI, 3943 = ILS 7789 (Etruria, 87 CE). A municipal doctor once probatus could also be deprived of his status by the municipality, see Dig, 27.1.6.6 (Modestinus 2 excus.). 220. See, e.g., CIL VI, 1333  =  CIL VI, 31633  =  ILS 1077  =  AE 2016, 28 (Rome, 172–​177 CE), a senatorial career that includes the consulship and governorships of Cappadocia, Arabia, and Lusitania, the last as legatus Augusti and censitor. See further CIL V, 7783 = ILS 1128 (Albingaunum, third century CE) and CIL II, 4121 = CIL V, 1005 = ILS 1145 (Tarraco, early third century CE). The evidence is enumerated and discussed by Brunt 1981, 333–​335, and Bérenger 2009. 2 21. For military men appointed ad census accipiendos, see, e.g., AE 1975, 251 (Paestum, 71–​79 CE) and CIL VIII 5355 = CIL VIII 17493 = ILAlg 1, 282 (Calama, Africa Proconsularis). For censitores of military rank, see, respectively, CIL V, 7784 (Albingaunum, third century CE), CIL XIV, 3955 = ILS 2740 (Nomentum, second century CE), and CIL VIII, 7070  =  CIL VIII, 19428  =  ILAlg 2.1, 669  =  AE 2011, 1775 (Cirta,

Documenting Roman Citizenship  227 pose a suggestive parallel to the legionary tribunes appointed by prefects of Egypt to receive and evaluate the epikrisis applications of Roman citizens.222 From an administrative perspective, the status verification (epikrisis = recensio, probatio) of Roman citizens can be described as a “backup” procedure in which official documentation produced by the procedures of birth registration, manumission, discharge from the army, and the census was collected, examined, and verified once again. If indeed epikrisis was a prerequisite for Roman citizens to claim fiscal exemptions for themselves and their children and slaves, as the evidence from Egypt suggests, then we are observing the introduction of a very impressive standard of documentation and proof of Roman status. That this was indeed the case is suggested by analogous procedures being applied to other fiscally privileged groups and being assiduously documented by Roman administrators. In view of the clear evidence that epikrisis applications from Greek cities and all forty-​five mētropoleis of Egypt were reviewed by Roman officials at Alexandria every year, it follows that administrators in the provincial capital disposed of detailed records of the status and family history of male citizens and members of the civic elite in all major cities of the province. The likelihood that similar procedures were implemented beyond Egypt opens a striking perspective on the Roman state’s potential for administrative and fiscal surveillance of urban elites throughout the empire. Conclusion Papyri provide by far the most abundant and detailed evidence for Roman provincial administration. It is all the more peculiar that this rich corpus tends to be marginalized, as if Roman Egypt were an exception from the norms of Roman administration elsewhere in the empire. The present investigation has taken the opposite approach, treating papyrological evidence as providing a high-​resolution image of institutions and practices that were generally present in the Roman provinces. One result of this investigation has been to demonstrate how scattered pieces of evidence from other provinces can be comfortably integrated within the general picture deriving from papyrological sources. Similarly, procedures that are often regarded as specific to Egypt (such as epikrisis) can, without too much effort, be shown to be part of a broader continuum of Roman administrative practice: just as epikrisis was semantically linked with the Latin recensio and probatio and finds an important parallel in the status verification (probatio) of Roman military recruits, evidence for the population census in Egypt corresponds to procedures attested in southern Italy and in Rome itself. second to third centuries CE). In AE 1931, 36 (Sala, Mauretania, 144 CE), we find an officer who was detained in Cappadocia to supervise the census. 2 22. See, e.g., P. Diog. 6 (Arsinoite, 143 CE) and BGU I 465 = W.Chr. 459 (Arsinoite, 148 CE).

228  Anna Dolganov Similarly, Roman birth declarations in Egypt conform to the evidence of the Roman legal sources and sources from Roman North Africa. Seen from this angle, Roman provincial administration reveals itself as replicating recognizable patterns, which in their main contours hearken back to the institutions of republican Rome and its administration of Italy. The subdivision of people into discrete status groups, each with specific privileges and obligations in legal and fiscal terms, was a distinctive and characteristic aspect of Roman social life that was integral to the Roman approach to governance, fiscality, and social order within the empire. It is only to be expected that the developing apparatus of the Roman state should devote considerable effort to keeping track of status and fiscal privilege within the imperial population. And this is precisely what the evidence shows. Overall, the results of this investigation underscore the importance of the Roman apparatus of administrative record keeping as a context in which status claims—​including claims of Roman citizenship, the most privileged status before 212 CE—​were made by individuals and evaluated by officials in the Roman Empire. Implicit in the story of Paul’s Roman citizenship is a self-​evident notion that status claims could actually be verified; regardless of the truthfulness of the story, this notion is a necessary underpinning of its plausibility. Only this explains why it was sufficient for Paul to utter the magic words civis Romanus sum. Paul’s claim that he was born a citizen implies that his birth had been registered. Even if he did not carry a copy of his birth declaration, it would have been possible to locate it in the archives of his province, along with evidence for his registration in the census, his name in the tax lists, his status verification, and so on. The tribunus who had purchased his Roman citizenship would in turn have had a diploma documenting the grant, registered in the imperial records at Rome and in the capital of his province of residence. That Phlegon of Tralles could get his hands on demographic records for centenarians in Italy and several Roman provinces offers a further illustration of the immense administrative knowledge wielded by the Roman state over its provincial subjects. Needless to say, then as now, knowledge is power.223

223. The sphere of administrative record keeping provides an ideal starting point for pursuing the question of the infrastructural power of the Roman imperial state, posed by Ando 2017a with reference to Mann 1984.

Part IV

Local Contexts

229

7

Citizenships and Jurisdictions The Greek City Perspective Georgy Kantor

Problems of Method: Multiple Citizenships and Legal Pluralism This chapter is concerned with the role that local citizenships in “Greek” cities played in the legal sphere alongside Roman citizenship in the long second century CE, trying to adopt a provincial rather than a Roman perspective. A proper understanding of that role must form one of the key issues in an analysis of either the provincial legal regimes in this period or the significance of the spread of Roman citizenship. This much is, of course, common ground. To quote the introduction to the volume that is now the most comprehensive survey of Roman provincial legal history, “People were not made citizens to promote a Roman legal order, but the possible recourse to that order was part and parcel of their elevated status. Quite without provident planning, they did become carriers of the Roman legal system; by exercising their privilege of recourse to it, they therefore helped propagate the idea of Rome as the ultimate guarantor of justice.”1 The mechanics of this process and of any countervailing tendencies, however, remain a matter of dispute and, as far as the high empire is concerned, are still understudied. To put the crucial questions simply, in what ways was the spread of Roman law in provincial legal practice and of resort to Roman (as opposed to civic) courts by provincial litigants connected with the spread of Roman citizenship? And in what ways would being a citizen of a particular polis matter when appearing in front of Roman authorities? The answers to these questions are also crucial for the interpretation of the Constitutio Antoniniana. Assuming the commonly accepted restoration of some form of preservation of local rights in lines 7–​9 of P.Giss. 40, based on the wording of the Tabula Banasitana, an analysis of what this meant in the context of 212 CE can only proceed from the understanding of the preceding period.2

1 . Czajkowski and Eckhardt 2020, 9. 2. See most recently Alonso 2020, 50–​ 52. For recent reconstructions of this clause of the Constitutio Antoniniana, see also note 17.

Georgy Kantor, Citizenships and Jurisdictions In: Roman and Local Citizenship in the Long Second Century CE. Edited by: Myles Lavan and Clifford Ando, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197573884.003.0008

232  Georgy Kantor In discussing these issues, I shall focus primarily on the evidence (mostly epigraphic) from the Greek civic world, particularly the cities of the peninsular Greece, Asia Minor, and the west coast of the Black Sea, rather than on the papyrological evidence from Egypt and the Levant. The boundary between the two is inevitably fuzzy: in important respects, every province was unique, and it is not proposed here to go back to isolating Egypt (let alone Egypt together with the desert fringes of the Fertile Crescent, hardly similar cases) as somehow uniquely unrepresentative.3 Still, there were undeniable common features in the pre-​ Roman roots and Roman treatment of local citizenships and civic institutions in the Greek polis world as distinct from the whole of the eastern Mediterranean, which require a separate treatment. As would be obvious, it was not everywhere in the empire that Roman jurisdiction came across a concept of citizenship that predated the conquest and was distinct from the Roman understanding of civitas but, at the same time, could still be used as a meaningful category alongside it in legal contexts.4 Moreover, whatever view one takes on the nature of Greek citizenships, it is clear that their continued legal existence remained crucial for the institutional survival of a polis throughout the period we are dealing with, in a manner that would not necessarily be true in the same way of personal statuses outside the polis world, including here the chora of Egypt before the Severan municipal reforms. No less significantly, the polis world was distinguished by the survival of local jurisdictions not yet fully incorporated into, let alone delegated from, the institutions of imperial jurisdiction: the difference with Egypt on one hand and with the Latin municipia of Spain on the other was, as we shall see, an important one in this respect.5 The long second century was, of course, not quite the end of the road for local Greek citizenships (or jurisdictions, for that matter), and some of the more striking evidence for their continued significance comes from the period after 3. For instance, the status of the Bithyni and Pontici in the countryside of northern Asia Minor (A. H. M. Jones 1971, 160–​161) may have been in important respects parallel to the status of Egyptians in the chora. On the unique πολιτευόμενος καὶ ἐν ταῖς κατὰ Λυκίαν πόλεσι πάσαις formula in Lycia, see Kokkinia 2012; Baker and Thériault 2018, 306–​307; and on the connected Ῥωμαῖος καὶ formula, see Kantor 2020b. 4. A contrast can be made here with the Roman understanding of the status of the diaspora Jews, which could be recognized as a communal status with legal consequences but at the same time was distinct from a citizenship (Roman or local) and could be held alongside it. Note in particular the letter of L. Antonius to Sardis of 49 BCE, quoted by Flavius Josephus (AJ 14.234, where the manuscript reading Ἰουδαῖοι πολῖται ὑμέτεροι, “Jewish citizens of yours,” is preferable to the ἡμέτεροι, “ours,” of modern editions). On the evolution of the Greek concepts of citizenship and their comparison with the civitas Romana, Gauthier 1981, Heller and Pont 2012b, Müller 2015, and Fröhlich 2016 provide crucial entry points into the discussion joined here. For the spread of Roman citizenship in Greece and Asia Minor in the second century CE, see now the contributions to Frija 2020. 5. Alonso 2013, 352, stresses that there was “no alternative to the Roman jurisdiction” in Egypt, which he rightly sees as the key difference with “the rest of the poleis in the Eastern Empire.” For the Severan municipalization of Egypt, which did not change this particular aspect of the situation, Bowman 1971 remains fundamental (note esp. 113–​115 for the absence of a role for the metropolitan boulai in appeals and complaints). Note, however, for some Egyptian parallels with the treatment of citizenships in Greece and Asia Minor, Girdvainyte 2018, 126n395 and esp. 316 (P.Oxy. XVIII 2199 is a crucial piece of evidence in this regard, to which I shall return).

Citizenships and Jurisdictions  233 Caracalla. For instance, in 251 CE, a Christian martyr could allegedly foreground his citizenship of Thyatira when questioned by the proconsul of Asia;6 in the privileged city of Aphrodisias in Caria, insistence on privileges pertaining to local citizenship seems to have continued into the reign of Gordian III and perhaps beyond;7 at Intercisa in Lower Pannonia, a verse epitaph for a certain Aurelia Pia (a Roman citizen with nothing visibly Greek to her nomenclature) presented her as “a citizen from Nicaea, born of Bithynian origin.”8 Even as late as 298 CE, Aurelius Sarapammon, a traveling athlete from Oxyrhynchos, a person of some standing and obviously a Roman citizen, could be presented in a document appointing his legal representative as an Ὀξυρυνχεί|[της- - - ] καὶ Ἀθηναῖος, “citizen of Oxyrhynchos and Athens” (P.Oxy. XIV 1643, ll. 1–​2).9 With the growing recognition in recent scholarship of the still rather limited spread of Roman citizenship across the empire pre-​212, the implications of the significance of local rights and privileges in the decades following Caracalla’s grant can be a fortiori extrapolated to the preceding century.10 It has been increasingly recognized in recent discussions that individual citizenships and rights connected to them retained their vitality in the legal sphere both before and after the Constitutio Antoniniana and were not fully supplanted by the distinction between honestiores and humiliores.11 The practical specifics of the interplay of citizenships in Greek cities under Rome in the period between Vespasian and Caracalla, when there was little outward change in the status of these communities, however, remain elusive both methodologically and evidentially, as is the model of citizenship implied by its juridical consequences in this period. These difficulties need to be admitted from the outset. While it will be argued here that local citizenships remained crucially important for the legal landscape of Greek-​speaking provinces in this period, the evidence is admittedly patchy, 6. Mart. Carpi 24–​27. The date of 241 CE in Kantor 2016a, 52n35, is a misprint. 7. See esp. A&R nos. 22 and 25 = I.Aphrodisias 2007 8.100 and 8.114. Cf. Kantor 2016a, 47–​49; for the second-​ century status of Aphrodisias, compare Reynolds 2000, 10–​15; Fournier 2010, 470–​474, discussed further in “Privileged Citizenships,” this chapter. The arrangement and purpose of the “archive wall” dossier, to which these documents belong, have been brilliantly analyzed by Kokkinia 2015–​2016. Contrast I.Eph. II 217, where the focus is not on the citizen rights but on the privileges of “the blessed and devoted metropolis of Ephesus,” and the more ancient sources of such privileges are viewed through the lens of Ulpian’s treatises De officio (for a full discussion and an improved text, see now Filippini 2019). 8. CIL III 3337, l.  2:  x Ncia ciues Byth(inicae) orignis orta. Compare CIL III 7335 with Nörr 1963, 578. 9. The lacuna is about seven letters long; I wonder whether πολίτης might be an alternative to another short ethnic. For the implications of his epithet κράτιστος at that date, see P.Oxy. ad loc. 10. Lavan 2016b, and for the parallel onomastic approach, Blanco-​Pérez 2016 and c­ hapter 5 in this volume; for regional variability in Asia Minor, see Feissel 2016 and Frija 2018. 11. The seminal contribution of Buraselis (2007) is now entering the mainstream in this respect. The argument for the centrality of the honestiores/​humiliores distinction is made in Garnsey 1970. The most recent broad discussion of the post-​212 legal landscape, Karambelas 2016, however, is in important ways going back to downplaying the role of Greek law even before 212 and casting the possible tensions as a conflict between “Greek rhetoric” and “Roman law.” As will become apparent, our approaches are significantly different regarding this period.

234  Georgy Kantor and it can be superficially tempting to argue the opposite case, particularly insofar as it concerns the less privileged communities without the status of a “free” city-​state (civitas libera) or one united to Rome by a “treaty” (civitas foederata). Potentially relevant Roman legal sources have mostly lost whatever they said about peregrine citizenships at the hands of the late antique compilers, and even the Institutes of Gaius, who lived in the Antonine age, commented on the provincial edict, and might have taught at Alexandria Troas, have only a couple of occasional glimpses into the world of local laws and jurisdictions. Epigraphic sources are inevitably biased toward the more spectacular privileges of the civitates foederatae rather than the routine of the law courts. Moreover, survival of institutions is not always a sign of their great vitality, let  alone frequent use:  a member of the University of Oxford may be allowed to think of the Convocation, of the appeal to the college Visitor, or of the criminal jurisdiction of the High Steward of the University.12 It has accordingly been tempting to explain away some of the attestations of more independent local jurisdiction in the long second century as simply antiquarian.13 The same question needs to be asked about local citizenships: they obviously continued to exist and could be significant for self-​representation, but to what extent and in what ways were they more legally meaningful than (to continue with quaint English examples) being a freeman of an English borough in modern Britain?14 An interesting example comes from the late-​second-​century inscription from Rome listing agonistic achievements of a M. Aur. Asclepiades, who was “Alexandrian, Hermopolitan, Puteolan, Neapolitan, Eleian and Athenian city councilor, and citizen and city councilor of many other cities.”15 Being a city councilor would certainly have meaning everywhere, even if he could not have been an assiduous attendee, but citizenship of Puteoli or Naples could not have had much legal impact outside its political and fiscal implications. The question we need to address is in what respects would Elis or Athens be different? Besides, spread of Roman legal forms beyond the confines of Roman citizenship is now well attested, not only in contract law but also (as in the famous case of Babatha in the new Trajanic province of Arabia) in the law of persons. To the extent to which, as will be argued further, the Roman approach to “legal pluralism” was one of competing authorities rather than of competing systems of laws, what was the salience of citizenship in the sphere of jurisdiction?16 Tellingly,

12. Compare Jones 1972, 96, for the iudices decuriarum as an honorific in the third century. 13. E.g., Karambelas 2016, 267, on capital jurisdiction at Smyrna, a somewhat strained explanation in that particular case. 14. For local hierarchies taking precedence over the citizenship status at Stratonikeia in Caria, see Frija 2018, 137–​138. 15. Ἀλεξανδρεύς, Ἑρμοπολείτης, Ποτιολανός, Νεαπολείτης [καὶ] | Ἠλεῖος καὶ Ἀθηναῖος βουλευτὴς καὶ ἄλλων πόλεων πολλ[ῶν] | πολείτης καὶ βουλευτής (IGUR I 240, ll. 8–​10). 16. Alonso 2013 is central to this debate; see note 38 for a survey of recent discussions.

Citizenships and Jurisdictions  235 it is somewhat unclear (at least in the Greek translation) whether the Constitutio Antoniniana referred to local citizenships in unambiguous terms: as recognized by Peter van Minnen in his important recent discussion of the text, the term πολίτευμα, which is relatively securely restored in the “reservation clause” for the rights of local communities, is otherwise untypical for the legal terminology of the imperial period and seems to be contrasted here with πολιτεία used for the Roman citizenship, putting them on a different level.17 As was stressed already by François Jacques and John Scheid in their classic overview of the structures of the Roman imperial state, “la constitution de 212 concernait les personnes, non les cités,”18 but might it be that in the sphere of jurisdiction (perhaps by contrast with the political, religious, or fiscal spheres), we are in fact dealing with “cities rather than citizenships,” with a principle of territoriality rather than personality? This, on the parallel of the restrictions on local jurisdiction better attested for the Flavian municipia in Baetica, is essentially the solution toward which the comprehensive study of Julien Fournier has inclined, if with considerable caveats.19 It will be argued here that such an approach would glide over significant differences between different regions of the empire and, crucially for our topic, between Latin citizenship in municipia and local citizenships of different origins in the Greek East. A more complex picture, in which territorial and personal rights could be and indeed needed to be resolved via hierarchies of authority, would reflect our evidence for the latter more closely. I shall start from a detailed case study of an important and so far understudied document from the province of Macedonia, which illustrates the problems at stake for a small and non-​privileged civic community, and try to bring it together with the evidence of the Digest for similar regulation elsewhere. I shall then consider our evidence for the ways in which citizenship and jurisdiction could be regulated by Rome in more privileged poleis, which provides an important corrective to this picture, and for the extent to which the ability to use Roman or local law corresponded with citizenship status in Greek cities. In conclusion, I shall return to the model of “competing authorities” as offering a possible solution to the conundrum presented by our evidence. 17. P.Giss. 40, col. I, ll. 8–​9, with van Minnen 2016, 218n61. His own tentative restoration is μ̣έ̣νοντος | [κυρίου τοῦ δικαίου πάντων τῶν ἐθνῶν καὶ πολιτευμ]άτον̣, “preserving [the rights of all the peoples (gentes) and communities (cuitatates)].” It may gather some support from a recently published honorific inscription to Caracalla from Cnidus, presenting him as [τὸ]ν̣ γᾶς καὶ θαλάσσας καὶ παν|τὸς ἔθνους δεσπόταν, “the lord of land and sea and all the peoples” (Blümel 2017, 55–​57, no. 37, ll. 1–​2). For other recent attempts at reconstruction (assuming shorter lines), see Marotta 2009, 118; Purpura 2012a. Myles Lavan and I hope to address the textual issues elsewhere. (I fail to understand van Minnen’s arguments for the wording κυρίου τοῦ δικαίου; BGU VIII 1824, l. 27, adduced by him in support, does not provide a parallel.) For official translations of imperial constitutions in the Severan period, see Mitchell 2016; it is, however, doubtful that the distinction could be expressed in the original Latin, where civitas must have stood both for πολιτεία and for πολίτευμα. 18. Jacques and Scheid 1990, 281; cf. now Marotta 2009, 154. 19. Fournier 2010, esp. 348–​353.

236  Georgy Kantor Jurisdiction over Non-​c itizen Residents: The Case of Parthicopolis A crucial piece of evidence, already discussed briefly in this context by Fournier, comes from the letter of Antoninus Pius, dating to 158 CE, to a new city in the Strymon valley in Macedonia, at the modern site of Sandanski.20 The letter deals with three main issues: limits on local jurisdiction in pecuniary cases, with which we shall be concerned here; the permission for local authorities to impose a surcharge of one denarius on the poll tax; and the size of the local council and of the summae honorariae of its members. It will be particularly useful for our discussion, since there is no reason to assume that the city had any kind of a privileged status, and names of the local offices make it sufficiently clear that it was a Macedonian polis rather than a Roman colony or a municipium. While a full discussion of the local circumstances cannot be entered into here, two aspects seem central to the understanding of this document. First, although this is clearly not the beginning of the story and the city already has a board of politarchs, the “setting up” of the polis was visibly incomplete at the time the letter was issued (notably, the council is being set up rather than expanded), and all of the measures seem connected to establishing the city’s rights and indeed providing it with initial financial stability. Second, despite the incompleteness of the foundation, not everyone settling in the new community is its citizen, and some non-​citizens already have a right to purchase land in its territory (l. 12: οἱ ἐνκεκτημένοι παρ’ ὑμ[ῖ]ν), and it is the jurisdiction over them that is at issue. Citizenship distinctions are important and play a role in the rights both of the city authorities and of the individuals living within the community. In fact, the situation may have been a long time in the making; the name of the city is lost, but it is most probably to be identified with a Parthicopolis known to exist in this area. If that is the case, it was probably founded in premature celebration of Trajan’s victories in the East and then left incomplete for a while, as an embarrassing reminder of a short-​lived attempt to emulate Alexander.21 If that 20. SEG XIV 479; SEG XVI 408; IGBulg IV 2263; IGBulg V 5895; Oliver, Greek Constitutions 156. See on it esp. J. and L. Robert, BE (1956) no. 159; Fournier 2010, 350–​351; Sharankov 2016, 341–​342 (who offers some important new restorations and discusses the context of relations with Heraclea Sintica; his article, which I have only seen at the final stage of my own work, offers a different set of arguments for the foundation date of Parthicopolis accepted here). Both Mihailov in IGBulg and Oliver provide useful notes. 21. The identification of Sandanski with Parthicopolis was first proposed by J. and L. Robert, BE (1948) no. 112; (1956) no.  159 (with fuller argumentation), followed by Papazoglou 1988, 371–​375, and G.  Mihailov, IGBulg IV, 243–​245; cf. now Mitrev 2017 for a survey of other possibilities. The name of Παροικόπολις in Ptolemy’s Geography and in one of the manuscripts of Hierocles’s Synecdemos is likely to be a scribal corruption of Παρθικόπολις, as suggested already by K. Müller (for the opposite view, see Papazoglou 1988, 371). Pace Mitrev, it could hardly be identical with the Parthenopolis mentioned between Callatis and Tomis by Eutropius 6.10, as one of the cities captured by Marcus Lucullus (see Danoff 1962): Eutropius’s sequence is geographical, and all the other cities mentioned belong to the West Pontic coast. The Roberts suggested that Parthicopolis was founded in place of the vanished Alexandropolis in Thrace, allegedly a foundation of Alexander in 342 BCE, as a “fondation en l’honneur du vanquer des Perses,” evidently in the Roman period. This is plausible, and justified doubts about the historicity of Alexander’s foundation

Citizenships and Jurisdictions  237 suggestion is correct, we are dealing here with the consequences of four decades of institutional deadlock, and it is even more noteworthy that the exclusivity of local citizenship is maintained and the ἐνκεκτημένοι are not incorporated into the citizen body. It has been argued by Fanoula Papazoglou in her fundamental study of Macedonian cities in the Roman period that the category of the ἐνκεκτημένοι here is just another name for the resident Romans, whom she distinguishes from the payers of the poll tax, viewed by her as village paroikoi without political rights.22 However, both the internal evidence of the document and comparative evidence from the town itself and elsewhere in the Greek East seem to speak against this suggestion. The beginning of the imperial letter, unfortunately surviving only in part, seems to be concerned with the ξέν[ο]ι, “foreigners” (l. 1), not accepting their fair share of burdens, while the citizens overpay. It would be logical to take the reference to the ability to impose a surcharge on “the free persons who traditionally pay the poll tax” (ll. 6–​7: τοῖς σώμασι τοῖς ἐλεύθεροις, ἂ [δι]ὰ χρό|νου φόρον διδόασιν), which follows immediately from that, as covering both the citizens and the “foreigners” (particularly as there is no reason to assume that full citizens of Parthicolis would have been immune from direct Roman taxation), and the jurisdiction clause as zooming in on the “foreigners with property rights” in particular.23 Another notable inscription from the same town, a foundation by a certain Flaviana Philocratia in honor of her husband Iulianus son of Alexander (IGBulg IV 2265), provides for distributions to “citizens and resident foreigners and slaves” during the festival, showing regular presence of the second category in the city.24

(Fraser 1996, 26, 29) are irrelevant, as it clearly could be accepted as historical in the second century CE (Plut. Alex. 9). At any rate, the campaign of Trajan is the most convincing candidate for a commemorative occasion at any date prior to the issuing of Pius’s letter (the only other contender worth any consideration would be the eastern expedition of Gaius Caesar, which would impose an even longer and scarcely credible chronology). Trajan’s foundations in that part of the world (of which Ulpia Nicopolis was the nearest) are, of course, well known. 22. Papazoglou 1988, 374–​375, summarized in SEG XXXVIII 604. It should be noted in passing that, as demonstrated by Gagliardi 2017, the term παροίκοι appears to be used in Achaia and Macedonia in the high empire in the sense of incolae, rather than that of the subordinate rural population, λαοί. The equivalence is provided by Pomponius in the Enchiridion (Dig. 50.16.239.2), showing juristic interest in the issue. In Macedonia itself, Gagliardi notes the translation of colonarum et incolarum coniuges by κολώνων καῖ παροίκων αἱ γυναῖκες on a statue base from the Roman colony of Dion (SEG XXXIV 631), clearly meaning all inhabitants without the colonial citizenship; the use of τῶν παροικούντων ξένων for “resident foreigners” in a decree of Anthemous (Hatzopoulos and Loukopoulou 1992, 46–​48, no. A2, l. 10, ca 46–​37 BCE); and οἱ παροικοῦντες at Acanthus at roughly the same date (SEG I 282, l. 6; see note 26). 23. For this translation, see J. and L. Robert, BE (1956) no. 159; Papazoglou 1988, 374n51. 24. IGBulg IV 2265, ll. 16–​17:  πολεῖται καὶ ξέ|νοι καὶ δοῦλοι. The significance of this is stressed by J.  and L.  Robert, BE (1948) no.  112. Compare, for a similar formula, I.Stratonikeia I  203, l.  18 (between 164 and 166 CE), with a recent discussion in Zuiderhoek 2017, 195; notably, I.Stratonikeia I  347, ll. 5–​9, distinguishes “the Romans” as a separate category from “the foreigners”: ἑκά[σ]τωι τῶν | πολι[τ]ῶν καὶ | τῶν Ῥω[μ]αίων | [καὶ] ξέ[νων] καὶ ταῖς | [γυναιξὶ πάσαις].

238  Georgy Kantor Besides, though there is no doubt that resident Romans could be an important category of landowners who were not local citizens in Macedonia,25 the term Ῥωμαῖοι is not used here, while elsewhere in the same region, at least on some occasions, the resident Romans were clearly distinguished from other categories of non-​citizens.26 The term (ἐν)κεκτημένοι, on the contrary, as was pointed out already by Oliver in his collection of imperial constitutions, seems to be used in the general sense of non-​citizen landowners in two roughly contemporary documents:  a letter of Hadrian to Coronea in Boeotia concerning flood control (Oliver, Greek Constitutions, no. 110) and a fragmentary second-​ century CE proconsular letter from Heraclea Lincestis concerning the financing of roadworks (Oliver, Greek Constitutions, no. 56, now republished in IG X.2.2 52).27 The latter, in particular, is striking in its limitation of liturgies of the κεκτημένοι to the obligations on their estates (presumably those in the territory of Heraclea Lincestis); this clearly belongs in the same context as the decision concerning the owners of estates at Parthicopolis. In the Severan period (and after the Constitutio Antoniniana), a similar usage and a similar set of problems are attested in a fragementary letter of Caracalla to Apollonia on Salbace in the province of Asia issued in December 215, where a rule is supposed to cover “not only the Heracleotes [but also all] the privileged foreigners with land in [your

25. See esp., from the neighboring area, honors to the proconsul of Macedonia L. Calpurnius Piso at Beroia from the Βεροιαῖοι καὶ οἱ ἐνκεκτημένοι | Ῥωμαῖοι (I.Beroia 59, ll. 2–​3, 57–​55 BCE), and for a general treatment, Eberle and Le Quéré 2017. A detailed discussion for the provinces of Achaia and Macedonia extending into the high empire is offered in the Oxford doctoral thesis of Lina Girdvainyte (2018, chap. 2); a monograph based on it is forthcoming. 26. Note ἡ πόλις καὶ | οἱ συνπραγματευ|όμενοι Ῥωμαῖοι καὶ | οἱ παροικοῦντες at Acanthus (Tod 1918–​1919, 84–​85 no. 13 = SEG I 282, ll. 3–​6, age of Augustus); τῶν τε πολειτᾶν | καὶ Ῥωμαίων καὶ μετοίκων on Cos (IG XII.4.2 1142, ll. 7–​8, age of Augustus); πολείταις καὶ Ῥωμαίοις καὶ ξένοις at Odessus (IGBulg I2 58, ll. 2, 5, age of Vespasian). The evidence from Achaia and Macedonia is fully tabulated by Girdvainyte 2018, 143–​ 145. For the distinction of οἱ κατοικοῦντες ἐν Δή|λοι Ἀθηναίων καὶ Ῥωμαίων καὶ | τῶν ἀλλων Ἑλλήνων καὶ ο[ἱ] | καταπλέοντες ἔνποροι κα[ὶ] | ναύκληροι in late republican Delos, see I.Délos 1661, ll. 2–​6, with Müller 2017. For holders of the Alexandrian citizenship distinguished at Perinthus (no earlier than the reign of Hadrian) as the Ἀλεξανδρεῖς οἱ πραγματευόμενοι ἐν Περίνθῳ and acting alongside the council and the assembly in honoring a P. Aelius Harpocration, see I.Perinthos. 27 (= IGR I 800), ll. 6–​7; and 28, ll.  4–​5. 27. The obligations imposed by this letter on the community of the Antanoi, located in the neighborhood of Stobi (as attested in I.Stobi 12 and in the Synekdemos of Hierocles; see Robert 1934; cf. also Robert and Robert 1983, 30–​32, for an important parallel from Asia), were limited to those Antanoi “who are in Macedonia” (l. 6: τῶν ἐν Μακεδονίᾳ ὄντων Ἀντανῶν), which makes it more likely that the author of the letter was a proconsul of Macedonia rather than an emperor. There is no evidence apart from this letter that Hadrian (the only possible imperial author) ever visited Dyrrhachium (Halfmann 1986, 192), and a proconsul’s stop at Dyrrhachium in late May en route to Italy at the end of his year of office would be in line with the normal proconsular calendar. As Papazoglou points out (IG ad loc.), Oliver’s key argument for imperial authorship, that Dyrrhachium was transferred to the procuratorial province of Epirus in the second century CE, is incorrect. The hypothesis of Holleaux (1898, 274) that the κοινὸν διάταγμα is the Greek rendering of edictum prouinciale (in which case, this is an important piece of evidence about the use of proconsular edicts in the high empire) is also considerably more plausible than the alternative of a general edict from the emperor. While Holleaux’s geographical identification was faulty, his basic argument about the community of Antanoi being divided between two provinces (1898, 278, followed by Robert 1934, 36n5) must be correct.

Citizenships and Jurisdictions  239 country?]”; again, a focus on the neighboring Heraclea on Salbace shows that the concern is with the mobility of the provincials and the rights of the cities over their territory.28 It would be counterintuitive to assume that in an imperial letter, where one would normally expect a greater formality and precision of expression, the unqualified discussion of the ξένοι and the ἐνκεκτημένοι would refer simply and solely to Roman citizens.29 In fact, it is not altogether obvious that Roman citizens were included in that category at all; were that the case, it would have implied that civic tribunals of a non-​privileged and only just established community had been given a measure of unqualified jurisdiction over Roman citizens who did not hold the citizenship of that polis in parallel. While such a measure could have been highly practical and the limit established is a relatively low one, given the absence of anything comparable in the surviving privileges of the civitates foederatae from that period, it might be best to be cautious. Leaving aside this tantalizing possibility, several key features of local jurisdictional authority emerge. They are all the more important since in a new foundation, the emperor was likely to promote what was perceived by the Roman government as a typical arrangement; indeed, the tenor of Pius’s remarks at the beginning implies that the town had previously been at a disadvantage compared to a typical situation. First, and most important, for this is where the rules diverge in the most obvious and significant way from the surviving municipal or colonial charters, there is no suggestion that the town’s jurisdiction over its own citizens in pecuniary litigation was in any way restricted.30 This would imply that even sixty or so years before the Constitutio Antoniniana (and there is no strong reason to imagine any change in this respect in the intervening years), the difference in the jurisdictional sphere between Roman and Latin communities on one side and peregrine communities on the other remained substantial. While this might indeed be dealing with “the cities rather than persons” (to reverse the phrase of Jacques and Scheid quoted earlier), it is certainly very much about the civitates, in both of the connected senses of the Latin word.31 Second, the crucial issue in the legal sphere, and one providing a possibility for interventions by the Roman authorities, appears to be that of jurisdiction over non-​citizens in the town’s territory (if not quite all of them). They are to “be subject to the jurisdiction of your magistrates, both as plaintiffs and as defendants, in 28. Oliver, Greek Constitutions 268, ll. 11/​12: [οὐ]χ Ἡρακλεῶται μόν[ον ἀλλὰ | καὶ πάντες] οἱ κεκτημένοι πα[ρ’ ὑμεῖν], with his translation. 29. Compare also the convincing reasons advanced by Ferrary and Rousset 1998, 311, for rejecting the restoration τῶν κατο[ικούντων Ῥωμαίων] in SEG XLVIII 592, l. 6. 30. For the main views on the jurisdictional limits in Roman and Latin communities, see Rodger 1996; Metzger 2013. See also the brief remarks of Hurlet 2019, 127, and Czajkowski 2019, 120–​121. 31. See note 18 for the quotation. On the double meaning of the term civitas, see, e.g., Ando 2015, 7–​14.

240  Georgy Kantor cases up to 250 denarii.”32 The separation of jurisdiction over non-​citizens into a separate issue displays significant similarities with our considerably more abundant evidence for the privileged communities of the late republican and Augustan age.33 The substantial difference, though, is that while the affirmations of local jurisdiction of civitates liberae or foederatae in the first century BCE usually limited explicit regulation to cases involving Roman citizen litigants and any further imperial interventions involving citizens of other provincial communities should have been based on a conflict of local privileges, Parthicopolis got a more comprehensive set of rules governing the issue. The intervention (though without any doubt still motivated by local concerns and petitions in the first place) is general and preemptive, rather than trying to resolve the circumstances of a particular case. It is notable, however, that this is one of the issues that required an imperial intervention, rather than simply a decision from the proconsul of Macedonia, and that the emperor had to set out a specific sum, rather than refer the town to the lex provinciae, proconsular edict, mandata of the proconsul, or any other general provincial regulation. Both of these points strongly suggest that, at least in Macedonia and arguably for peregrine communies in the Greek East more generally, there was no universal template even at this relatively late date and that specifics of the rules for particular communities could still vary, presumably in accordance with their size and importance. This may seem to be contradicted by an important passage of seemingly general import in the first book of Gaius’s commentary on the provincial edict, preserved in the Digest:  “An incola must obey both the magistrates of the place where he is an incola and those of the place where he is a citizen; nor is he subject only to municipal jurisdiction in both municipalities, but he must also perform all public munera.”34 It is notable, however, that, unless we posit an interpolation, Gaius is dealing with the municipia rather than peregrine communities here, and in any case, the passage need not preclude a specification of limits to such jurisdiction elsewhere. Third, the rules as envisaged for Parthicopolis were undoubtedly much more restrictive in this respect than those attested in the case of civitates liberae or foederatae in the republican and Augustan periods, though perhaps not out of line with the developments in their rights in the long second century, to which

32. Oliver, Greek Constitutions 156, ll. 12–​14: οἱ ἐνκεκτημένοι παρ’ ὑμ[ῖ]ν ὑπακουέ|τωσαν τοῖς ἁρχουσι πρὸς τὰς δίκας καὶ διὼκοντες καὶ φεύ|γοντες μέχρι διακοσίων πεντήκοντα δηναρίων (trans. Oliver). 33. For an attempt to discuss the late republican provincial jurisdiction from this angle, see Kantor 2010. See also the observations of Talamanca 1991, esp. 726 (for the contrast between the peregrini alicuius civitatis and peregrini nullius civitatis). The prohibition to extend the jurisdiction of local magistrates “beyond the boundaries of their community” (CTh 12.1.174 = CJ 10.32.53: extra metas propriae civitatis) in the province of Africa in 412 CE, rightly adduced by Karambelas 2016, 274, as a piece of evidence for the survival of local jurisdiction in late antiquity, may show a variation of the same concerns even in the fifth century. 34. Dig. 50.1.29: incola et his magistratibus parere debet, apud quos incola est, et illis, apud quos ciuis est: nec tantum municipali iurisdictioni in utroque municipio subiectus est, uerum etiam omnibus publicis muneribus fungi est (trans. M. Crawford). Cf. Nörr 1963, 537.

Citizenships and Jurisdictions  241 I shall turn in the next section. Not only is the local authority over non-​citizen landowners restricted by the rather trivial sum of 250 denarii (below the annual salary of a legionary by that date), strikingly both when they are plaintiffs and when they are defendants, the letter offers no guidance on jurisdictional authority over foreigners who did not possess property at Parthicopolis, and it would be tempting to assume that they had to use the conventus of the proconsul of Macedonia, or at the very least could resort to it if they so wished.35 Interestingly, another imperial letter partially surviving from the town may be dealing precisely with the proconsular jurisdiction during the assize circuit.36 What remains unclear is whether this relatively restrictive attitude to local jurisdictional authority in a non-​privileged peregrine community was a new development here or followed a longer-​standing tradition; at any rate, it would be unlikely in the extreme that this was an innovation for the sake of Parthicopolis itself, not tried anywhere else. Remarkably, there is also no explicit indication of the legal system that will govern litigation with resident foreigners here, hardly a trivial concern in a new foundation with no “ancestral” legal tradition of its own, and presumably part of a territory of another polis (with a potentially different set of laws) previously.37 We seem to be dealing, therefore, not with a rule aimed primarily at resolving a “conflict of laws” but rather with establishing a hierarchy of legal authority but one based at least in part on citizenship and personal status, if not unconnected to the rights of the polis over its territory. There is certainly a scope for “jurisdictional politics” here (a term introduced by Lauren Benton for early modern empires), but they do not seem to be primarily concerned with a systematic choice of substantive law, a situation that finds important parallels in Roman provincial legal practice elsewhere, as has been recently argued on a different set of material.38 35. Contrast the fines of 850 denarii (even if including 500 to the fiscus) imposed on moneylenders in I.Mylasa I 605, or the limitation of the jurisdiction of the xenokritai to 2,500 denarii (ten times the Parthicopolis amount) in the formula tutelae copied out in the Babatha archive, P.Yadin 28–​30, with Czajkowski 2017, 97. Cf. also Czajkowski 2017, 137–​143, on what little we can say about the jurisdiction of the city council at Petra. It is, however, similar to the limit used in chap. 84 of the lex Irnitana (1,000 sesterces). For the jurisdiction of governors in the disputes over whether someone was an incola in a community (de iure omnium incolarum, quos quaeque civitates sibi uindicant), note the rescript of Hadrian discussed in a fragment of the De cognitionibus of Callistratus (Dig. 50.1.37 pr). 36. IGBulg IV 2264 (= Oliver, Greek Constitutions 274), a letter of Caracalla “to the koinon of the Macedonians” (τῷ κοινῷ τῶν [Μακεδόνων]), may speak of [δικ]ῶν ἀγορὰν (l. 9): the word order would require explanation, but the interpretation of the agora as a local fair in the letter to the provincial koinon appears suspect, and the meaning of an “assize session” seems more natural. Compare for a similar subject matter the letter of Severus Alexander to the koinon of the Bithynians concerning criminal appeals (Oliver, Greek Constitutions 276; Dig. 49.1.25). 37. Compare Naryca in Locris having “the laws of the Opountians” (IG IX.12.5 2018, l. 5), one of the signs that it was a separate polis from its neighbors for the emperor Hadrian. Contrast also Hadrian’s letter to Aphrodisias discussed later (SEG L 1096). I shall return to the question of the use of particular laws in this chapter’s section on “Substantive Law in Greek Cities.” 38. For the argument that the key to explaining the legal situation in Roman provinces was “authority” rather than “normative force” (Alonso’s formulation), arrived at from two different perspectives, see Kantor 2012 and Alonso 2013, with a dissenting reaction to Alonso in Jakab 2016, and a review of earlier views in

242  Georgy Kantor It is also significant, however, that (be it as it may with the inclusion of Roman citizens in the ἐνκεκτημένοι category), no other jurisdictional privileges seem to be taken into account. Up to 250 denarii, we are dealing with what may be termed a straightforward forum delicti (rather than a forum domicilii) rule, to use the terminology of the nineteenth-​century Romanists: the disputes up to this level are to be resolved locally and not to be remitted to the home cities of the landowners, while beyond it, local jurisdiction simply does not apply at all. There is no safeguarding clause that would protect privileges of being “tried at home in accordance with their own laws” of the type held by privileged communities such as the Lycians or the Aphrodisians (which I shall discuss in the next section), in case the landowners held any such citizenship. While, as argued earlier, the specific rules for Parthicopolis are likely to be tailored to local conditions, the treatment of all non-​citizen landowners as a homogenized category should be reflecting a general approach. That would also tend to support for this period the view expressed most prominently by Mario Talamanca, who saw “l’esclusività dell’ordinamento competente per territorio” as the fundamental principle of polis jurisdiction and the application of personal privileges as a function of internal rules of the polis—​but complicated by the jurisdictional and regulatory role of provincial and imperial authorities.39 While it will be argued in the next section that we should not read into the Parthicopolis case some kind of a systematic abrogation of older privileges elsewhere at that date (and they could at any rate be intact for more serious litigation), this is an important direction of travel. It seems clear that at the individual community level, the forum domicilii rules by that point represented an older layer of jurisdictional arrangements, rooted in the messy processes of establishment of Roman rule, while the insistence on the forum delicti is being supported by the imperial government, if potentially in line with the wishes of less privileged poleis such as Parthicopolis. This contrasts with the development of the forum domicilii rules at the provincial level, where the conventions for remitting cases to someone’s province (as opposed to the city) of origin appear to be a relatively short-​lived development of the long second century CE.40 It might, in Jördens 2016. For the role of local courts within that perspective, see Czajkowski 2017, 133–​165. See now also Alonso 2020, exploring “a striking contrast between centre and periphery” (60) after 212 CE. Hurlet 2019, while also proceeding from the principle of a hierarchy of jurisdictions, assumes a neater picture of “the superimposition of Roman jurisdiction on the local jurisdiction” (134), based on sources from both the Augustan and the Severan periods. The term “jurisdictional politics” is used here as defined by Benton 2002, 10. 39. Talamanca 1991, 704–​705. 40. For the older debate on the forum domicilii and forum delicti rules, see Mommsen 1899, 357, who correctly argued for the early origin of the forum domicilii rules, and Sherwin-​White 1963, 28–​31, for developments at the provincial level; the evidence is reviewed anew by Nogrady 2006, 96–​100. An important passage, not discussed by Sherwin-​White, is the rescript of Antoninus Pius to a certain Pontius Proculus, presumably a provincial governor, summarized by Ulpian in the De officio proconsulis (Dig. 48.2.7.5), and providing for remittance of cases of sacrilege to the province where the crime was committed (cf. Nogrady 2006, 100).

Citizenships and Jurisdictions  243 fact, be argued that it was precisely the decline of the forum domicilii rules at the community level that led to its strengthening at the level of the provincial governor: in the absence of the right to return to their hometown for trial, a return to their own province at least might have been seen as desirable by many defendants. Privileged Citizenships: Jurisdiction and Roman Regulation A number of texts from the late second century CE, spread over the Greek world, commemorate a successful athlete and official of the athletic synodos, M.  Aur. Demostratos Damas, “a citizen of Sardis, Alexandria, Antinoopolis, Athens, Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Nicomedia, Miletus, and Sparta,” a list to which he kept adding.41 Like his contemporary Marcus Aurelius Asclepiades, mentioned earlier, he was a city councilor in some of these cities, but clearly not in all of them, and, unlike in the late antique usage, the mention of his citizenships cannot be reduced to council memberships.42 What did this mean for him in legal terms, then, beyond the honor of being recognized as a citizen of famous, and in some cases privileged, cities? What is observed by William Mack in respect to the use of multiple Greek citizenships by their recipients in the classical and Hellenistic periods still no doubt held true under the Antonines: “The extent to which they made use of these additional citizen identities seems to have depended on how far they were interested in a relationship with the citizens of that polis and the relevance of grants to particular contexts of interaction.” But was the other half of his summary—​that “granting communities . . . seem generally to have been formally committed to The specificity and straightforwardness of the strongly worded rule implies an exception to otherwise more complex rules. 41. Μ. Αὐρήλιον Δημόστρατον Δαμᾶν | Σαρδιανόν, Ἀλεξανδρέα, Ἀντινοέα, Ἀθηναῖον, Ἐφέσιον, Σμυρναῖον, Περγαμενόν, | Νεικομηδέα, Μιλήσιον, Λακεδαιμόνιον (IGUR I 243, ll. 4–​6). A date is provided by his mention as the chief priest and ξυστάρχης in P.Lond. III 1178, ll. 51–​53, issued on September 22, 194 (partly restored from the previous text but adding Tralles to the list of his citizenships). Two inscriptions from Delphi (FD III 1 556; Daux 1944–​1945, 125–​126, no. 37), attesting him only as such, and a statue base from Sardis itself (IGR IV 1519) show that he was originally a Sardian citizen, but the order of his other citizenships appears random; the Sardis text and another inscription from Delphi add Corinth, Argos, Delphi, Neapolis, and Elis to the list. The fullest study remains Robert 1930. 42. For his council memberships at Ephesus and another city, FD III 1 557, l. 7, with Robert 1930, 48n4, on the abbreviation β(ουλευτής). For the sense of the terms πολιτευόμενος and προπολιτευόμενος in the late third and fourth centuries CE, compare Bowman 1971, 155–​158; note also I.Heraclea Pontica 10, ll. 2–​3 (with Pont 2020, 196n54), where a local councilor, Aur. Heracleides (mid-​third century CE), is described as πᾶσαν | πολειτίαν πολιτευσάμενος. For Asclepiades (IGUR I 240), see note 15. The increased visibility of multiple Greek citizenships in the imperial period is stressed by Müller 2015, 365. The puzzling mentions of διπολῖται in Egyptian astrological texts (CCAG VIII.1, 258; Ps.-​Manetho Apotelesmatica 4.375), which I owe to Jane Lightfoot, probably refer to the combination of Alexandrian (or another Greek) citizenship with the Roman in the pre-​212 period, rather than to local double citizenship, otherwise unattested as a distinct category among multiple citizenships.

244  Georgy Kantor treating the recipients of citizenship grants . . . as citizens”—​still holding, and if so, what did that entail in the legal sphere?43 In what ways might the answer have differed between the citizenship of a privileged city, a civitas libera or foederata, such as Sparta or Athens, and that of an ordinary city in the formula provinciae? The attention in modern scholarship has, unsurprisingly, focused more on the abundant evidence from the late second and first centuries BCE, notably the decrees for Polemaius and Menippus from Claros, the privileges granted to Chios by the Senate in 80 BCE, the treaty of 46 BCE with the Lycian League, and the senatorial decree of 39 BCE on Aphrodisias.44 Unfortunately, we do not get a comparable set of regulations to the one we discussed for Parthicopolis (let  alone anything more comprehensive) for any other non-​privileged polis in that period. Evidence for more privileged poleis, however, scattered as it is, also suggests that citizenship remained important in the sphere of jurisdiction, even beyond tax privileges or local political rights, though the latter were no doubt significant both for the imperial power and locally.45 The tangible benefits of local citizenship in privileged communities and the regulation by imperial authorities of their extension to new citizens are well illustrated toward the end of the Julio-​Claudian period by the (admittedly heavily restored) edict of Claudius from 52 CE, permitting Delphi to admit new citizens with the same privileges ([τὰ] πρεσ[βεῖα]) as the current citizenry, and by the development of the two degrees of Delphian citizenship, the “common” one (κοινὴ πολιτεία), given in honorific grants, and a fuller version with membership in the damiourgoi, a pattern that continues throughout the period discussed in this volume.46 While the regulation of access to local citizenships at Tyras by Severus and Caracalla in 201 CE focuses on the issue of “not diminishing the profits of Illyricum through personal ambition” (ll. 23–​24: cum Illyrici fructum per ambitionem deminui non oporteat) and thus on tax privileges connected to local citizenship,47 and in a wide-​ranging set of legal cases in 174/​5 CE, Marcus 43. Mack 2019, 78. 44. See Ferrary 1991 (with some revision of his arguments in Ferrary 2017, 180); Laffi 2010; Kantor 2010; Fournier 2010, 403–​468. 45. For a late example, important for understanding the maintenance of local claims in the Constitutio Antoniniana itself, note the rescript of Severus and Caracalla on behalf of the Smyrnaean sophist Claudius Rufinus (Oliver, Greek Constitutions 255, 202 CE). Notably, while the question of his immunity is resolved by the emperors, and “according to the divine constitutions of our predecessors (κατὰ τὰς θείας τῶν πρόγονων | ἡμῶν διατάξεις)” (ll. 4–​5), and not according to any local regulations, the rescript speaks of Rufinus as “your fellow citizen (ὁ πολείτης ὑμῶν)” (l. 2), and of Smyrna as “his ancestral city (τὴν πατρίδα)” (l. 7), rather than stress his Roman citizenship. 46. Edict of Claudius: FD III 4 286 = Syll.3 801d = Oliver, Greek Constitutions 31, with the generally accepted restoration in l. 9 printed here. Two degrees of Delphian citizenship: Ferrary and Rousset 1998, 297–​299; Girdvainyte 2018, 161. The crucial text for this distinction is FD III 4 442, ll. 9–​11 (ca 25–​50 CE). 47. IOSPE I2 4 (whence ILS 423 and FIRA I2 86) = IOSPE3 I 12, ll. 23–​28, with Jacques 1984, 654–​655. For the regulation of local citizenships in this period, see most recently Bryen 2019, 135; compare also Dolganov, ­chapter 6 in this volume, for the imperial control over colonial and municipal citizenships, particularly in the “double communities” such as Apamea, where a Roman colony was established on the basis of a Greek city.

Citizenships and Jurisdictions  245 Aurelius appears to be concerned primarily about the political rights and cultural prestige of Athens, undoubtedly a unique city in Roman imagination,48 the well-​ attested case of Aphrodisias remains a locus classicus for showing that citizenship remained crucial in determining jurisdiction. The crucial document is now a letter of Hadrian of 119 CE on the judicial autonomy of Aphrodisias, published with an exemplary commentary by Joyce Reynolds in 2000 and representing our fullest statement of the development of jurisdictional privileges of the privileged communities from their state under Augustus.49 It prescribes that in the χρηματικαὶ δίκαι (I.Aphrodisias 2007, no. 11.412, ll. 5–​6), causae pecuniariae, between two citizens of Aphrodisias, the Aphrodisian court is a proper judicial authority “according to your own laws” (ll. 7–​8: κατὰ τοὺς ὑμετέρους | [νόμους]), while a lawsuit brought by an Aphrodisian citizen against a Greek from another city is to be heard “under Roman law and in the province” (l. 9: [κατὰ Ῥωμ]αίων νόμους καὶ ἐν τῇ ἐπαρχίᾳ), unless a defendant owes money to the city of Aphrodisias or (on a plausible restoration) “stands surety for such a debt,” in which case the jurisdiction still rests with Aphrodisias. Interestingly, Hadrian distinguishes between Aphrodisian citizens “by birth” (l. 6: φύσει) and the newly enfranchised ones, even though they are to be governed by the same rules in this particular instance, putting this document in the context of regulations concerning access to citizenship as at Tyras or Delphi, and not just of jurisdictional rights. A potentially significant omission—​by comparison with earlier privileges—​is the situation in which an Aphrodisian is sued not by a fellow citizen but by a Greek from another city. The later remittance by Gordian III of a case against an Aphrodisian citizen Polydorus in the city of Rome to his “home” (or “appropriate,” depending on one’s translation) court makes it clear, however, that privileges of this kind could still be asserted.50 It would, of course, be methodologically dubious to assume from a confirmation by an emperor how easy the exercise of these rights would be, particularly beyond the boundaries of one’s province, and it is not difficult to envisage a situation in which they would clash with privileges of another city (what of an Aphrodisian who owed money to the public treasury of, say, Amisus?). At a minimum, however, they would not occasion too much surprise and could still be practically operative, at least in some cases.

48. Oliver, Greek Constitutions 184, esp. plaque II, ll. 30–​35, notably stressing the principle of the security of status, on the basis of which the emperor maintains the Athenian citizen status of a certain Popilius Pius. For the discussion from the point of view of the double citizenship, see Talamanca 1991, 723–​725; cf. also Marotta 2009, 95. 49. Reynolds 2000, 10–​15 (ll. 1–​13 of a stele with at least four letters of Hadrian to Aphrodisias), whence SEG L 1096; AE 2000, no. 1441; I.Aphrodisias 2007 11.412. On legal points, see now also Thornton 2008, esp. 924–​ 929; Kantor 2010, 198; Fournier 2010, 470–​474. 50. I.Aphrodisias 2007 8.100, l. 13: τῷ οἰκείῳ δικαστηρίῳ. Cf. Reynolds 1982, 138, on this expression. See in general Kantor 2016a, 47–​49, with earlier bibliography.

246  Georgy Kantor Two technical expressions in Hadrian’s letter are particularly interesting for us here. First, the meaning of κατὰ Ῥωμαίων νόμους καὶ ἐν τῇ ἐπαρχίᾳ, an expression thus far unattested elsewhere, needs to be explored further. Does this necessarily mean that the decisions would have been taken in accordance with Roman substantive law? Another, and at least no less likely, possibility would be that this refers simply to approaching the governor for the in iure stage following the Roman procedure and then the governor appointing the judge in accordance with the general principles of his edict, which would still leave open the possibility for appointment of a judge mandated to judge in accordance with local laws and customs relevant to the case.51 The parallelism with the “own laws” of Aphrodisias that are to govern internal litigation (presumably meaning a particular set of local legislation), while significant, does not seem to fully preclude this possibility. Second, it is important that both Aphrodisian citizens and citizens of other Greek cities are here designated as “Greeks”:  Ἕλλην Ἀφροδεισιεὺς (ll. 6, 7)  or Ἕλλην πα|[ρ’ ἄλλης πόλεως] (ll. 8–​9). While this undoubtedly reflects the established practice of subsuming citizens of local communities in Greek-​speaking provinces under the designations such as “the Greeks in the province of Asia” or similar, this raises a question: does Hadrian’s pronouncement exclude even those Roman citizens who hold a local citizenship (i.e., is a “Greek Aphrodisian” only an Aphrodisian who has not been granted civitas Romana?) and those provincials who would not count as “Greeks,” such as members of the Jewish diaspora who did not hold a local citizenship in Asia?52 The answer should arguably be in the affirmative in both cases in the absence of evidence to the contrary. At the very least, the emperor’s wording left such possibilities open. The consequence of that would be twofold: keeping the jurisdictional privileges of Roman citizens intact in private law cases and retaining the possibility of arbitrating, at the provincial and imperial levels, between the claims of different privileges. Furthermore, to make an obvious point, a trial at some place like Parthicopolis as a court of first instance would only with considerable difficulty qualify as 51. Compare Reynolds 1982, 82–​83, for the distinction between the in iure and apud iudicem stages in the senatus consultum de Aphrodisiensibus of 39 BCE. For a possibility of endorsing local regulations in a provincial Roman formula in the principate of Hadrian, compare, above all, the lex rivi Hiberiensis in Hispania Tarraconensis (AE 2006, no. 676). 52. For the “Greeks of such-​and-​such province,” Ferrary 2001 is fundamental; on potential exclusions, see Kantor 2010, 189–​192. A different reconstruction of the text, making a Roman citizen the defendant in this clause, has been proposed by Thornton (2008, 925–​926) and more fully developed by Laffi (2013, 57–​59), on the basis of parallels with the Lycian treaty of 46 BCE (SEG LV 1452, ll. 37–​42). Laffi reads in lines 7–​9 ([χρήματα ἀπαιτῇ παρ’ Ἑ]λ̣ληνος Ἀφροδισιέως, κατὰ τοὺς ὑμετέρους | [νόμους καὶ παρ’ ὑμεῖν καθί]σ̣τασθαι τὰς δίκας·εἰ δὲ τοὐναντίον Ἕλλην πα|[ρὰ Ῥωμαίου ἀπαιτῇ, κατὰ Ῥωμ]αίων νόμους καὶ ἐν τῇ ἐπαρχίᾳ) if an Aphrodisian Greek “demands money from an Aphrodisian Greek, the case is to be heard under your laws and among yourselves, but if, on the contrary, from a Roman, under Roman law and in the province.” This would have substantially simplified matters (even if ignoring the category of Greeks from other cities altogether, which is not without its own problems), but is about six letters too long for the lacuna in line 7 and arguably a couple of letters too long for the lacuna at the beginning of line 9.

Citizenships and Jurisdictions  247 happening “under Roman law and in the province.” Consequently, while the homogenization of Greek citizens of whatever other city into a single category regarding jurisdiction is observable at Aphrodisias as it is at Parthicopolis, the Aphrodisian privileges themselves, which continued to exist and be reaffirmed beyond 212 CE, provide an example of a countervailing tendency at least regarding private law, and while Aphrodisian claims to a unique status create a certain bias in our evidence, they need not be taken entirely at face value. There is no reason to assume that the jurisdictional privileges of (for instance) Lycia, with its unique federal institutions still in charge of maintaining security throughout the Antonine period, or of Mylasa, with its abundant evidence for the activities of “foreign judges” in the late first and early second centuries CE, were necessarily any less extensive than those of Aphrodisias.53 The existence of local penal regulations, which will be discussed in more detail in the next section, would suggest that the same conflict of privileges based on the territorial (as at Parthicopolis) and civic (as at Aphrodisias) principles remained a possibility in noncapital cases more generally. Capital jurisdiction is a more complicated case. The advice of the sophist Polemo to the city of Smyrna, where he was a citizen by naturalization, to carry out (ἐξάγειν) capital cases from the city (Philostr. VS 1.25.532) may imply that at least a theoretical possibility of local capital jurisdiction in a free city remained, as it would otherwise be rather meaningless.54 It would be risky to assume, however, that this remained a serious practical possibility.55Another story in Philostratus may be more illustrative of the usual mode of operation:  the sophist Hadrian of Tyre, active in Athens in the 170s CE, was, according to his biographer, prosecuted before the proconsul of Achaia on a charge of murder, after a pupil of a fellow sophist was beaten 53. Peace maintenance in Lycia:  Brélaz 2005, 213–​225; Lycian federal courts in the second century CE:  I. Opramoas bl. 2D, ll. 10–​12 (113–​115 CE); TAM II 915, l. 6 (137 CE); F.Xanthos VII 86, bl. H l. 5 (130s–​140s CE, litigation between Calynda and Caunus); Mylasa: Kantor 2016b. 54. The opposite view is expressed, among others, by Fournier 2010, 331–​333, and Karambelas 2016, 267. The latter’s argument that Polemo’s advice was “a defensive denial of reality” is no doubt true on a certain level. There is, however, a difference between prudential and legal reasons, and I remain unpersuaded that the long explanatory parenthesis in Philostratus, emphasizing the difference between capital and monetary cases, would have been meaningful for his readers if a possibility of local capital jurisdiction could not be entertained even theoretically. For parallels drawn between this passage and Hadrian’s letter to Aphrodisias, see Campanile 2001; Thornton 2008, 925n54; Laffi 2013, 58. Note, however, for a citizen of Smyrna facing a capital trial in a Roman court already under Nero, Philostr. VS 1.19.512 (with a Roman magistrate as his accuser, making it difficult to generalize). 55. An interesting, but isolated, possibility is raised by Plutarch’s essay On Exile, addressed to an exile from Sardis (Mor. 600A, 601B), sometimes identified with Menemachus, the addressee of the Precepts on Statecraft (the argument goes back to Siefert 1896, 74–​75n1). It is clear from the whole tone of Plutarch’s address that the exile has not lost his property and is not restricted to a particular place (though Mor. 602D may suggest that he was now resident on Naxos, and praise of islands is conspicuous throughout; 604A shows that he was free to come to Eleusis, Athens, Delphi, or Corinth, admittedly all outside his home province): the crucial passage is Mor. 604B, seemingly defining his sentence as “the exclusion from one city” (πασῶν ἐστιν ἐξουσία πόλεων ἡ μιᾶς κώλυσις). This does not fit the standard descriptions of a sentence of exile pronounced by a Roman governor and raises a possibility that we are dealing with a local sentence. At any rate, the sentence is clearly connected to his city of origin in some way.

248  Georgy Kantor up by slaves of Hadrian’s pupils (Philostr. VS 2.10.588).56 Crucially, Hadrian was brought to court “as an Athenian citizen” (ὡς ἕνα Ἀθηναίων), with his membership in an Athenian phyle and deme used as evidence of his status. It seems clear both that capital jurisdiction of the proconsul now covered the free city of Athens and that one possible line of defense for Hadrian was to try to get the case remitted to Tyre; at any rate, Philostratus feels that the trial in Achaia deserves an explanation for his readers. Tyre, prior to the grant of a colonial status by Septimius Severus in 198 CE, appears to have been a civitas foederata.57 It is a question worth asking whether what was at stake here was not a general rule that would have allowed anyone coming from Syria to avoid the proconsular jurisdiction in Achaia but rather a privilege of a citizen of a “treaty community.” At the very least, however, the grant of Athenian citizenship to Hadrian (rather than simply the place where the crime was committed) appears to be central in determining jurisdiction. It would seem, then, that while in the majority of provincial communities, homogenizing tendencies develop more visibly in this period than before, there was still considerable purchase both in the jurisdictional sphere and in the application of one’s community’s “own laws” in asserting one’s rights as a citizen of a privileged community while confronting Roman or local courts elsewhere. This, in its turn, attracted both Roman regulation of grants of such citizenship and (as in the earlier period) possibilities for the intervention of Roman authorities in resolving the conflicting claims of privileges.58 It is worth stressing that the claim I am making here is thus a narrow one. All we know about the practices of Roman jurisdiction would speak against the suggestion that such rights could be asserted without an explicit claim from the interested party, which for a variety of practical reasons would not be forthcoming in every case. Moreover, as we shall see in the next section, the relation of the claims made for local substantive law in this period to jurisdictional privileges accepted by the Roman power was (despite the explicit connection made by Hadrian in the case of Aphrodisias) far from a straightforward one. Rather than just reduce this to a “partial” or “selective” judicial autonomy (as has been argued by Fournier), however, it seems to me more attractive to speak of another dimension of “jurisdictional politics,” in which the

56. Mommsen 1899, 357; Sherwin-​White 1963, 30–​31 (with an incorrect reference); Fournier 2010, 499–​500. For the career of Hadrian of Tyre (and the possibility that he was a Roman citizen), see K. Stebnicka in Janiszewski et al. 2015, 151–​152, no. 434. I am unconvinced that a reference to the consular Cn. Claudius Severus as his προστάτης in a statue dedication (I.Eph. V 1539) should be seen as evidence of a grant of Roman citizenship negotiated by Severus (a view going back to Groag 1902), in the light of Hadrian’s conspicuous failure to use the tria nomina for himself there. A further dimension of interest in this case is the use of expert medical evidence to acquit Hadrian, which I hope to discuss elsewhere. 57. Evidence assembled by Guerber 2009, 56. The key passage comes from Ulpian, in Dig. 50.15.1. 58. For provincial legal process as a negotiation of claims of rights and precedent made in the situation of imperfect knowledge and without an attempt at systematizing, see, above all, Bryen 2012, esp. 789–​807, a central contribution to this debate.

Citizenships and Jurisdictions  249 exact scale of local privilege would vary from one case to another depending on the availability and source of legal information, connections of the litigants, relative authority of the judge, and general considerations of political prudence.59 Substantive Law in Greek Cities Generalized statements on the use of “own laws” in Greek cities from the authors of the “long second century CE are contradictory. Possibly as early as 149 CE, Aelius Aristides, addressing the Rhodians on internal concord, asked rhetorically: “is there not one emperor and common laws for all?”60 This type of rhetoric will certainly become prevalent in the third century, notably in Menander of Laodicea’s advice on oratory for formal occasions.61 In a passage of Philostratus’s Life of Apollonius, Greek education is contrasted with the study of law as early as ca 220 CE.62 At the time of Aelius Aristides, however, multiplicity of laws in the Greek East could be assumed as an obvious rhetorical point by authors as diverse as the Smyrna sophist and imperial companion Polemo and the Christian apologist Athenagoras, and while the evidence for continued use of local laws in practice, and particularly issuance of new legislation, is patchy, it certainly continues throughout the period we are dealing with here.63 Insofar as we speak of the “free cities,” in the case of Amisus in Pontus-​Bithynia (Plin. Ep. 10.92–​93), Trajan’s reply assumed a less restricted right to legislate compared to other provincial communities based on a foedus as late as ca 110 CE, and at Aphrodisias there may have been some significant legislative activity in the second century CE, but examples from elsewhere show at least some new legislation, not all of it on sacral matters, in less privileged communities, too.64 For Hadrian, foundation of a new 59. Fournier 2010, 501, for “autonomie judiciare ‘partielle’ ou ‘sélective.’ ” For Apamea choosing not to assert its privileges against Pliny in exchange for their reconfirmation, compare Plin. Ep. 10.47–​48 with Kantor 2020a, 197; and for the council of Smyrna making only a token appearance against Aelius Aristides once he obtained a testimonial from the emperor, Aristid. Or. 50.89–​92, with Meyer-​Zwiffelhoffer 2002, 117–​132. For law courts as “a place . . . to re-​instate proper social hierarchies” and play out local politics, see now the penetrating observations of Bryen 2019, 137–​138. 60. Aristid. Or. 24.31: βασιλεὺς δὲ εἷς, νόμοι δὲ κοινοὶ πᾶσι (trans. C. A. Behr). See on this passage Fontanella 2015, 173–​175. Compare also Cortés-​Copete 2019, 106–​110, on Aristid. Or. 26.103. 61. Men. Rhet. 363.11–​12; 364.10–​14 Spengel. The most recent detailed treatments are Karambelas 2016, 267–​ 279, and Cortés-​Copete 2019, 108–​109, with earlier bibliography. Karambelas somewhat misrepresents the views expressed by Caroline Humfress and myself. Menander’s statement can be taken as evidence of common assumptions of his own time and in that sense be contrasted with the High Empire. It may well be that he dated the disappearance of local laws to before 212 CE, as he does not mention the Constitutio Antoniniana, but he does not give any precise chronological indications, and I do not share the certainty of Cortés-​Copete 2019, 109, that Menander’s account is based on Aristides’s Praise to Rome; it would, in any case, be difficult to take his statement as a particularly precise description of the situation in the second century. 62. Philostr. VA 7.42, with interesting observations by Karambelas 2016, 263–​264. 63. Polemo, Physiogn. 35; Athenagoras, Leg. 1.1, with Kantor 2015 for a broader overview of the available evidence, which has some inevitable overlaps with the discussion here; for assembly decisions in this period in general, see Fernoux 2011, 251–​345. 64. Amisus: Kantor 2020a, 203–​204, arguing for new legislative activity at Amisus after its (probably Augustan) treaty. Aphrodisias: honors to L. Antonius Claudius Dometinus Diogenes name him as τὸν νομοθέ|την,

250  Georgy Kantor Greek city, as in the case of Antinoopolis, or recognition of the city status of an existing one, as in the case of Naryca, already referred to, required determination of the set of laws that was the city’s own, and the tiny Naryca, in particular, was hardly in the most favored tier of civic communities.65 This is not, I would argue, reducible just to “Greek rhetorical order” or “Greek cultural authority and tradition,”66 even though the common focus on jurisdiction and hierarchies of authority, as opposed to rules for the conflict of law, discussed earlier, certainly made these considerations far from unimportant in the choice of law to be applied in particular cases, especially when Roman authorities were involved in the case. What, then, is the place for local substantive law in this picture? And to what extent can it be connected to local citizenships? A remarkable document bearing on this question has been recently discovered at Tralles in the Roman province of Asia and published by Hasan Malay, Marijana Ricl, and Davide Amendola, with an important commentary.67 It is a popular decree, dated on paleographical grounds to the second century CE and moved by “the secretary of the People,” “the secretary of the Council,” and the city’s archons (whatever the last of these terms means for Tralles in this historical period), restricting males “living a licentious life” from sanctuaries and gymnasia. The text is obviously of considerable interest for the history of attitudes toward sexual behaviors perceived as non-​normative in Roman Asia Minor, but what will concern us here are the interconnected questions of the scope for local legislation and the approach to ancestral law taken in the preamble to the document. The decree justifies itself by declaring that (in the editors’ translation) “the people have always revered the prudent and decent way of life of our fathers, who ordered the city through pure laws and customs,” and it is the reassertion of that way of life that is the avowed purpose of the enactment.68 It is arguably significant that while “the people,” that is, the citizens of Tralles, are the legislative authority here, the remit of the new rules is not explicitly limited to the citizens. Rather, the concern is with the behavior in public places and maintaining “public decency” as understood by the decree’s drafters more generally, even though the exclusion from the sanctuaries and gymnasia would certainly affect primarily the local citizens to whom membership in the latter was presumably restricted, at least in the first instance.69 The authority over the city is the prime consideration, as is the πατέρα καὶ | πάππον συνκλητι|κῶν (I.Aphrodisias 2007 2.11, ll. 5–​9). All his other offices, attested elsewhere, are omitted, and as Reynolds (2008, 185) rightly notes, “the stress on the nomothesia here indicates unusual importance for it—​it was, perhaps, a genuine law-​giving.” 65. Antinoopolis:  W.Chr. 27; Naryca:  IG IX.12.5 2018. Compare for the Hellenistic period the letters of Antigonus Monophthalmus on the synoecism of Teos and Lebedos (Welles, RC 3, 4). 66. Quotations from Karambelas 2016, 280–​281. 67. Malay, Ricl, and Amendola 2018. 68. Lines 6–​9: ἐπεὶ τὴν σώφρονα καὶ δικαίαν ἀγωγὴν | ὁ δῆμος ἀεὶ τετείμηκεν τῶν πατέρω[ν] | ἔν τε νόμοις καὶ ἔθεσιν καθαροῖ δια|κεκοσμηκότων τὴν πόλιν. 69. Malay, Ricl, and Amendola 2018, 96: “the denial of access to (public) sanctuaries and gymnasia basically equals to . . . circumscription of civil rights.” For membership in the gymnasia in the Roman period, an

Citizenships and Jurisdictions  251 case with the admiration for the “way of life” and “ordering” of it in earlier legislation, expressed in the preamble. While this is now our most illuminating piece of evidence in this respect, this approach to local authority certainly finds parallels elsewhere in the Greek East. So, for instance, we may note Rhodes, where gladiatorial games, highly untypically for the Greek East in that period, were prohibited by a local law, seemingly effectively, or the regulations for moneychangers at Mylasa, one of the classic texts for the continuing vitality of local legislation.70 Notably, at Mylasa, on the eve of the Constitutio Antoniniana, the only distinction drawn regarding liability was between “free” (ἐλεύθερος) and “slave” (δοῦλος), not between citizens and non-​citizens.71 This is, however, arguably not in contradiction with the evidence from Parthicopolis discussed in detail earlier: Mylasa was a much larger city, with a “free” status, and 850 denarii imposed as a fine could be well within any limits imposed on its jurisdiction over non-​citizens. Significantly, though, the concern is with establishing a rule for the city, not for the citizens. Similar dynamics are in place at a considerably earlier date in Hadrian’s regulations for the trapezitai at Pergamon, establishing a local court to deal with cases arising from their contract with the city, and in the letters of the same emperor to the Artists of Dionysus, which established that “the customary courts concerning punishments shall be set up according to the laws in force in each place [κατὰ | τοὺς παρ’ ἑκάστοις νόμους].”72 Similarly, at Athens, Hadrian (acting at least partly as the local lawgiver but at the same time establishing rules binding on the provincial authorities) established the jurisdiction of the strategos over both citizen and non-​citizen merchants for the infringements of his oil law, assisted by the boule for cases under 50 amphorae and by the assembly for those over this limit, with the right of appeal to the proconsul.73 Hadrian’s measures may be particularly significant as a part of an effort to harmonize some of the local impressive recent discussion is Dana and Dana 2013, showing integration of non-​Greek rural elites in the gymnasia of Dionysopolis and Odessus on the western coast of the Black Sea. In the light of that, one needs to be careful with the gymnasial membership elsewhere; the restrictive practices of Roman Egypt (on which see, e.g., Whitehorne 1982) may not have been universally paralleled. 70. Rhodes: Dio Chrys. Or. 31.122, confirmed by the total absence of gladiatorial monuments on the island, cf. Robert 1940, 248; Mylasa: I.Mylasa I 605, with Fournier 2010, 237–​242; Kantor 2016a, 53. For a general overview of local jurisdiction at Rhodes and Mylasa in the imperial period, see Fournier 2010, 185–​243. The free status of Mylasa is attested by Plin. NH 5.108. 71. See for this point Fernoux 2011, 342. The earlier case of Cyzicus in 39 CE, discussed by Fernoux as a parallel, is different, as there a distinction is clearly drawn between the citizens of Cyzicus and the rest (Syll.3 799, ll. 24–​25). 72. Pergamon: OGIS 515 = Oliver, Greek Constitutions 84, esp. ll. 52–​56. Hadrian to the Artists of Dionysus: SEG LVI 1359, ll. 54–​55, with Harter-​Uibopuu 2009; cf. also Harter-​Uibopuu 2007, assembling epigraphic evidence for the penalties imposed by the agonothetai at Sparta. The phrasing δικαστήρια . . . ἀποδιδόσθω should reflect the Latin iudicium dare; compare Laffi 2013, 9, 42. 73. IG II/​III2 1100 = Oliver, Greek Constitutions 92, ll. 42–​57, with Harter-​Uibopuu 2008. Importantly, however, the foreign merchants who already got away are to be reported by Athens to their hometown (l. 46: τῇ πατρίδι αὐτοῦ) and to the emperor—​a kind of the forum domicilii rule but demanding the application of an Athenian rule, backed up by its imperial source and the Roman power here.

252  Georgy Kantor legislation, though claims for that need to be made with considerable caution.74 The one seemingly general juristic pronouncement on the matter preserved in the Digest, the classic passage of Salvius Iulianus in Book 84 of his Digesta (Dig. 1.3.32 pr–​1), also appears to assert, in its original context, the primacy of written local laws of each particular place, to be supplemented by local custom (mores et consuetudo), and, if neither local law nor custom could be ascertained, “law used in the city of Rome” (ius quo urbs Roma utitur).75 This does not, however, fully reflect the complexity of the provincial legal order, and substantial evidence conflicting with this neat picture exists in parallel. Salvius Iulianus (as suggested by the order of his fragments in Lenel’s Palingenesia) appears to be dealing with the rules for civic office here, an area in which local rules would inevitably apply if in existence, and his approach may be contrasted with the continued citizenship-​determined application of local rules in other areas of law, not only in the status-​bound sphere of manumissions but also notably in the law of inheritance and land ownership.76 So, for instance, writing to Hadrian in 121 CE on behalf of a Roman citizen who was the head of the Epicurean school at the time, the empress Plotina stated that her protégé could only choose a Roman citizen heir. Since this limited the list of suitable candidates to the post (a problem still familiar to university appointment panels), Plotina asked that he should be allowed “both to draw up a testament in Greek concerning that part of his decisions which pertains to the organisation of the succession and to be able to appoint as successor to himself a man of peregrine status [peregreinae condicionis].”77 Later on, the general exemption from the ban on leaving inheritance to the peregrines granted by Antoninus Pius to children of Roman citizens who retained “Greek status” (τὸ Ἑλληνικόν), so presumably citizenship of a Greek city, was important enough to get lavish praise from Pausanias.78 74. The argument for a large-​scale effort at “legal harmonization” initiated by Hadrian is made by Cortés-​ Copete 2019. For later imperial enactments toward this end, limited to particular provinces nonetheless and assuming a considerable degree of variation continuing into the Severan period, note, e.g., Dig. 50.5.8 pr (Septimius Severus providing exemption for parents of five children from the high priesthood in the koinon of Asia) and 50.6.3 (a rescript to Venidius Rufus, the governor of Cilicia, banning minors from officeholding in the cities of that province; see K.  Wachtel and M.  Heil, PIR2 V369, for the date in the 190s—​the absence of the emperor’s name may further suggest the authorship of Pescennius Niger). 75. Kantor 2016a, 49n21; Alonso 2020, 54n52, for this interpretation. I hope to argue against the interpretation of this passage in a purely Roman context (going back to CJ 1.17.1.10) at more length elsewhere. For the opposite view, see, e.g., Jakab 2016, 256–​257. 76. For manumissions, note in particular fragm. Dositheanum 12: “the praetor does not allow the one who is manumitted to be a slave, unless it is otherwise provided in foreign law [nisi aliter lege peregrina caueatur]”; Plin. Ep. 10.5:  “he is of peregrine status having been manumitted by a peregrine woman [peregrinae condicionis manumissus a peregrina].” 77. IG II/​III2 1099 (= Syll.3 834; Oliver, Greek Constitutions 73), ll. 7–​9. New edition and translation (followed here) by van Bremen 2005, 525–​527. Compare also P.Oxy. XVIII 2199 (with the further bibliography in note 5), where citizenship (Alexandrian or Antinopolitan) of a litigant in an inheritance case needs to be established by the strategos of her nome in order to find out whether she is entitled to a legal remedy. 78. Paus. 8.43.5, discussed more fully by Lavan, ­chapter 3 in this volume. This is hardly about the Greeks “as a descent group,” as argued by Champion 2004, 77. It might be worth mentioning in this context that

Citizenships and Jurisdictions  253 Similarly, but from a Greek perspective, the decree of the city of Delphi concerning the distribution of public land issued ca 129–​131 CE, conceivably with the involvement of the Roman corrector Aemilius Iuncus (who is mentioned at the start of the document), expressly prohibited leaving land in inheritance to anyone who was not a citizen of Delphi.79 The same principles appear to have been at play later in this period at Thisbe in Boeotia, where the edict of the otherwise unknown proconsul Marcus Ulpius, conceivably even later than 212 CE, prohibited passing on the rights in public land (χωρίον δημόσιον) to a foreigner (ξένῳ) as security for a loan or through inheritance, clearly a rule based on Thisbean rather than Roman citizenship, while at Battyna in Macedonia in 193 CE, a civic decree approved by the proconsul Iunius Rufinus was concerned with the encroachments of ἐπαρχικοί (clearly, “provincials” rather than “provincial officials”) on civic land.80 As with jurisdiction, then, claims of territoriality and civic status for the applicability of local (or, for that matter, Roman) substantive law could both be made by litigants or communities and could both get support from the imperial power, which, to complicate matters further, could also endorse royal regulations of the earlier period because of their antiquity or particular connection to the place. Note, to give just one example, a proconsular decision in the boundary controversy between Thyatira and Hierocaesarea in the province of Asia, possibly from the time of Caracalla, referring to “ordinances of the royal period” (tem[po]ris regiis con[stitutionibus]) (TAM V.ii 859, l.  17). Once again, claims needed to be negotiated, backed up by authorities, and weighed, and one could not rely on their universality. We can glimpse such processes in operation at different levels: in the third-​century letter of Thonius from Oxyrhynchus, who in preparation for the prefect’s ἐπιδημία was ransacking precedents both in the prefectural court and in that of the “archiereus in the Pharbaethites”;81 in the case of the estates of Memmius Antiochus at Daulis in Phocis, where Roman rules of inheritance were affecting the issue alongside local rules governing the boundaries of public land, and which was dealt with both by a Roman iudex datus and by a local panel of twelve arbitrators (some of whom were Roman citizens);82 in the

79. 80.

81. 82.

Artemidorus of Daldis in his treatise on the interpretation of dreams, written arguably just a few years before Caracalla’s edict, assumes that much trouble will come from a marriage between a Roman and a Greek woman (Artem. 4.33.1, with Thonemann 2020, 193; for the date of composition, see Thonemann 2020, 9). Artemidorus was familiar with the legal dimension of Roman citizenship, as we can glimpse from the association of the dreams of decapitation with the change of citizen status and acquisition of Roman citizenship by the Greeks (Artem. 1.35.5, 1.35.8), a clear reference to the capitis deminutio media of Roman jurists (Gai. Inst. 1.161; Paulus, in Dig. 4.5.11). SEG XLVIII 592, l. 11: μὴ ἐξέστω δὲ μηδεν[ὶ] ξένῳ καταλιπεῖν, with Ferrary and Rousset 1998, 323. Thisbe: Syll.3 884, ll. 35–​54, with Pernin 2014; Girdvainyte 2018, 232–​234. Battyna: SEG XXX 568, with Girdvainyte 2018, 262–​264. See also in general Bryen 2019, 134–​136. For the understanding of the ἐπαρχικοί as “provincial officials,” see Papazoglou 1979, 363n277, and H.  Pleket, in SEG XXIX 1529. Contrast Lavan 2013, 58n119, on this alleged meaning of provinciales. P.Oxy. LXXXII 5321, esp. ll. 9–​19. IG IX.i 69, with Grenet 2011; and for the legal dimension, see now Girdvainyte 2019.

254  Georgy Kantor most widely copied imperial document from this period, the bilingual sacrae litterae of Severus and Caracalla from May 31, 204, noting the immunity of senatorial properties from the duty of enforced hospitality, which should be known “if you consult with experts [μετ’ ἐμπείρων /​cum peritis].”83 Perhaps the most striking example of this attitude comes from the decision of Marcus Aurelius in a case concerning personal status at Athens: “This solution which presented itself as I formed my opinion from the present case would not in the future confuse the traditional rules.”84 Conclusion In the absence of detailed evidence for most poleis, our conclusions must necessarily be tentative, and we cannot aim for any great precision. The general contours that emerge from the disparate sources suggest, however, that local jurisdiction, across the whole range of jurisdictional autonomy from Aphrodisias to Parthicopolis, continued to be strongly concerned with the litigants’ citizenship, as sometimes was the applicability of particular rules of substantive law. This concern, however, existed in constant competition and negotiation with the claims of the territorial principle, which might have been getting stronger support than before in some of the imperially sponsored local regulations, particularly regarding jurisdiction over minor cases, and with the more interventionist approach of provincial justice, which was now arrogating to itself some of the areas previously reserved to local jurisdiction in more privileged communities, at least in practice. It is, in short, a legal environment in which, in the words of Benton, legal practices “fail to obey the lines separating one legal system or sphere from another,” but also one in which one’s citizenship—​or, frequently, citizenships—​remained one of the more important tools in negotiating one’s way across those lines.85

83. Oliver, Greek Constitutions 256, with Jones 1984; Mitchell 2016. 84. Oliver, Greek Constitutions 184, plaque II, ll. 14–​15: τὸ δὲ ἐπὶ τούτου μοι παραστάν, λαβόντι τὴν γνόμην ἐκ τῆς παρούση[ς δ]ῖκης. οὐκ ἂν [πρὸς] | τὸ μέλλον συνχέαι τὰ παραφυλαττόμενα. 85. Quotation from Benton 2002, 8.

8

Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East during the Second Century CE Local Contexts for a Global Phenomenon Cédric Brélaz

I

t is certainly the case that the overall prevalence of Roman citizenship before the issuance of the Constitutio Antoniniana in 212 CE has tended to be overestimated, as recent model-​based studies have suggested, and that grants of Roman citizenship slowed in the second century CE in many regions of the empire, as regional studies relying on the examination of onomastics have shown.1 The general impression we get from the epigraphic evidence is still that a fair proportion of the local elites throughout the provinces were Roman citizens by the second century. But the situation varied considerably from place to place. Because of the different circumstances under which each region was incorporated into the empire, differences in the relationships between provincial populations and Roman power, and variations in policy from emperor to emperor, we can observe huge discrepancies in the proportion of Roman citizens among local populations, especially among local elites. One of the challenges for future research will be to go beyond subjective estimates by providing both regional and quantitative studies in order to get a better picture of the extent of the spread of Roman citizenship throughout the empire during the first and second centuries CE. In contrast with local citizenship in Greek cities, which implied specific rights and duties that varied with the constitutional and legal system of each city, Roman citizenship in theory followed the same rules in any province of the empire. Roman citizenship could be acquired and transmitted under the same conditions, and Roman citizens, as far as their personal status was concerned, enjoyed the same legal and fiscal privileges (though with some differences regarding property taxes between Roman citizens in Italy and those living in the provinces), without prejudice to the obligations determined by each individual My acknowledgments go to Julien Fournier and François Kirbihler for sharing material and information, to the participants in the St. Andrews workshop for their very valuable suggestions and remarks, and to Myles Lavan for improving my English text. All remaining errors are mine. 1. Modeling: Lavan  2016b.

Cédric Brélaz, Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East during the Second Century CE In: Roman and Local Citizenship in the Long Second Century CE. Edited by: Myles Lavan and Clifford Ando, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197573884.003.0009

256  Cédric Brélaz belonging to a political community at the local level.2 Several chapters of this volume are devoted to the discussion of these privileges, in particular to their accessibility and scope as well as their practical effects in the daily lives of the Roman citizens scattered throughout the provinces.3 The formalistic and generalizing approach that has long prevailed in the scholarship with regard to the issue of the spread of Roman citizenship into the provinces, focusing on imperial policy in this field and on its legal implications, has led scholars to overlook a critical factor:  local communities and their idiosyncratic contexts. With the grant of Roman citizenship on a massive scale to the inhabitants of peninsular Italy after the Social War and then to growing numbers of provincial dignitaries, double citizenship—​though in principle not permitted by Roman law—​became commonplace.4 Provincials who were awarded Roman citizenship remained first and foremost citizens of their local political communities. For most, the political and social implications of local citizenship probably outweighed those related to Roman citizenship. Even if the privileges afforded by Roman citizenship could potentially be activated in case of need—​especially in order to get judicial protection from Roman courts—​they nevertheless remained virtual from a legal point of view for the people who possessed it. Moreover, only a tiny fraction of all the Roman citizens across the empire were able to enter the equestrian or senatorial order or had the opportunity to have direct access to central power or to exercise responsibilities at the imperial level. Local citizenship was much more important than Roman citizenship on a day-​to-​day basis for most Roman citizens. This is all the more true for the Greek-​speaking provinces, where, unlike in the West, there was a centuries-​long tradition of local autonomy and where local citizenship was still expressly conceptualized as such and highlighted and celebrated through political performances, rituals, and discourse, throughout the imperial period.5 This chapter focuses on the political, social, and cultural implications of Roman citizenship at the local level. It explores the meaning, significance, and value attached to Roman citizenship in different local contexts of the Greek-​ speaking provinces—​with a particular focus on Greece and Asia Minor—​during the second century CE, a time when Roman citizenship, although certainly not widespread at the level of the population as a whole, had become more common among local elites. It also attempts to reconstruct some aspects of the lived experiences of the people who were granted Roman citizenship, focusing on the

2. Besson  2017. 3. See Bryen, ­chapter 1, on legal privileges and Eberle, ­chapter 2, on fiscal immunities. 4. Thomas  1996. 5. Heller and Pont 2012b. There is debate about whether local citizenship was also conceptualized as such in Western municipia and colonies; see Demougin 2012. Despite Demougin’s doubts, arguments supporting this view can be inferred from epigraphic evidence expressly referring to local cives in the West, as well as from the cases where Roman citizens changed their civic tribe in order to obtain the tribe of the new community where they settled. See Forni 1966.

Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  257 following questions: What did Roman citizenship mean for those people? What social or political opportunities did it provide them at the local or regional level? Did local populations desire Roman citizenship, or were they indifferent to it? Did the distinction between those who had Roman citizenship and those who did not matter for relations within a given city or province? Although my primary goal is not to provide a systematic survey of the evidence, I will draw on quantitative data where they are available. The sections that follow cover, first, the significance of Roman citizenship for local elites and for their social status in a local context; second, the indirect benefits derived by local elites from the possession of Roman citizenship with regard to their activities at the regional level; third, attitudes toward Roman citizenship in free cities (which in theory were not part of the Roman Empire); and, fourth, the distinction between Roman citizens of Italian or Western descent and those from native families. I suggest that, while the general framework within which Roman citizenship operated was established by imperial power, its actual significance was highly sensitive to the local context. The variety of local situations I illustrate should be seen as an attempt at a qualitative explanation for why there was so much variation from city to city in the numbers of Roman citizens among local officials and the wider local elite. To Be or Not to Be a Roman Citizen The general assumption that Roman citizenship continued to spread steadily or even exponentially throughout the second century CE, to the extent that the ruling elite in most cities eventually became “homogenized,” is not borne out by the evidence in most parts of the Greek-​speaking provinces.6 It probably is the case that there were more Roman citizens in the East in the middle of the second century CE than a century earlier—​simply due to the fact that Roman citizens were able to pass on their personal status to their descendants (provided that they married persons having Roman citizenship or foreigners having the privilege of conubium), which helped increase the total number of Roman citizens, not to mention the additional people who were awarded Roman citizenship by emperors during the intervening period. But the spread of Roman citizenship across the eastern provinces was never a linear process. Taking a broad view, however, there is considerable evidence that Roman citizenship became quite widespread among local elites throughout Asia Minor during the second century CE. In this regard, it is interesting to examine the social status of holders of the same office across different cities of Asia Minor. Let us take the example of middle-​to high-​ranking offices, such as those of paraphylax and eirenarch,

6. For such a view, see Dmitriev 2005, 331–​334.

258  Cédric Brélaz two offices that dealt with law enforcement and had policing duties (the latter office standing higher in the internal hierarchy of local political careers). These two offices had become common across Asia Minor by the middle of the second century; we know of more than 180 holders of the two offices combined, coming from about fifty different cities and ranging from the end of the first century to the middle of the third. Setting aside cities of secondary importance or located in remote regions (such as those in Pisidia and Cilicia, where Roman citizenship was clearly less widespread than in the western part of the peninsula), almost all known paraphylakes and eirenarchs were Roman citizens.7 The most notable exceptions are Aphrodisias and the cities of Lycia, which might be explained, in the case of the former, by its status as a free city (see “The Meaning of Roman Citizenship in Free Cities” later in this chapter) and, for Lycia, by the characteristics of its political culture and regional identity (see discussion later in this section). The high proportion of Roman citizens in this sample is representative of a broader spread of Roman citizenship among local elites during the first two centuries CE. In western Asia Minor in particular, the possession of Roman citizenship was by no means exceptional by the second century CE, and it is unlikely that the grant of this status was celebrated and displayed as conspicuously as, for example, in the tribal societies of the hinterland of Mauretania, where Roman citizenship was still regarded in the second half of the second century as a special reward reserved for a privileged few, as shown by the Tabula Banasitana.8 But the spread of Roman citizenship in the east of the empire followed rhythms and speeds that varied significantly from province to province. Hence the meaning and value of Roman citizenship could vary hugely from place to place, depending on the particular regional and local context and especially on the proportion of Roman citizens in the local population. Roman citizenship did not necessarily have the same meaning and importance in western Asia Minor, where a large (though varying) proportion of the local elite of each city had Roman citizenship by the second century, as in Thrace, for instance, where Roman citizenship was much less widespread.9 This is all the more true for eastern Asia Minor and for the Near East. In Syria, for example, Roman citizenship remained exceptional until the Constitutio Antoniniana, even among the ruling elites of Greek or Hellenized cities. This would explain why people in that region seem to have been so proud to display the gentilicium they received after 212 CE and why Aurelii are so conspicuous in the evidence.10 The small number of Roman citizens among the local elites in the Near East would also explain why veterans of the Roman army had a

7. Brélaz 2005, 90–​145. 8. AE 1971, 534. 9. Camia 2013. 10. Sartre  1996.

Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  259 deeper sense of pride in their personal status—​being Roman citizens by birth or having been rewarded by an imperial grant at retirement—​and were much more involved in local civic life than, for example, in Italy, where veterans were typically satisfied with the exemptions they enjoyed as former soldiers and did not seek to hold local offices.11 Great variation in the numbers of attested Roman citizens can be observed even within a particular region or province—​even in Asia, generally considered to be a province where Roman citizenship was relatively widespread. In Ephesus, for instance, almost all of the most important officials were already Roman citizens by the Flavian period.12 But this was not typical of the province as a whole. The proportion of Roman citizens among local elites was noticeably lower in other major cities of the province, such as Smyrna and Pergamum, where Roman citizenship was monopolized by descendants of the local royal family, as in Ancyra (see “Ancillary Benefits at the Regional Level” later in this chapter).13 The size of the city, the wealth of the local elites, the presence of an old and large community of Italians, and the residence of the governor all help to explain why Roman citizenship spread so early and so deeply in Ephesus. The recently published inscriptions commemorating the names of people sent by cities (mostly from Asia Minor) to visit the sanctuary of Claros in Ionia to consult the oracle of Apollo on behalf of their fellow citizens allow us a further glimpse of these regional discrepancies.14 Hundreds of commemorative inscriptions, many of them emanating from the same group of cities (mainly within the province of Asia) and dating from the second century CE, were carved on monuments of the sanctuary. Since most of the delegations sent to Claros were composed of officials and choirs of young boys and girls from upper-​class families, this evidence—​ though it cannot reveal the exact proportion of Roman citizens among the local population—​can still offer useful information about the significance of Roman citizenship for the local elites of the various cities. While there were only a few Roman citizens among the delegations sent, for instance, by the cities of Phocaea in Ionia or Tabai and Heraclea Salbace in Caria, a fair number of the officials and choristers from Laodicea on the Lycus, also in Caria, and from Acmonia in Phrygia had Roman citizenship (the proportion even reached 41 percent in the case of the delegations sent by Hierapytna in Crete).15 At the other extreme, out of the dozens of people recorded for the numerous delegations sent by Chios, only six were Roman citizens. In the cases of Laodicea and Acmonia, the presence in both cities of large groups of Roman traders explains why the proportion of Roman citizens was relatively high and probably also why Roman citizenship 11. Stoll 2015, 167–​194. For the situation in Italy, see Ricci 2010. 12. Kirbihler 2016, 452–​453; Kirbihler 2020. 13. Halfmann 2004, 131–​132; Ventroux 2017. 14. Ferrary  2014. 15. Ferrary 2014, 181–​182. For quantitative studies of the Claros evidence, see Lavan 2020.

260  Cédric Brélaz was more widespread among the local elite than in other cities of the same region.16 As far as Chios is concerned, the apparent lack of interest in Roman citizenship was certainly due to its status as a free city (see “The Meaning of Roman Citizenship in Free Cities” later in this chapter). Although Roman citizenship became progressively more common among those holding local offices, it never became a formal requirement for such or for entering local councils.17 Even in Ephesus, with its high proportion of Roman citizens among its officials, there were still a few members of the local elite who lacked Roman citizenship in the mid-​second century. The simple fact that Roman citizenship was never a prerequisite for joining the ruling class and that in some cities only a fraction of that class were Roman citizens means that we cannot assume, as some have done, that the increasing number of Roman citizens in the provinces would have led—​by an unavoidable, almost mathematical logic—​to a reduction in the practical and symbolic value of Roman citizenship by the late second century.18 Not only did Roman citizenship still afford legal, fiscal, and practical privileges, but in many cases it still functioned as a status symbol in local society.19 This was especially true for cities where only a small portion of the local elite were Roman citizens—​as was the case in most cities across Asia Minor and Greece, including some large ones. In these cities, Roman citizenship was a criterion of distinction within the local elite, dividing the upper stratum, who were Roman citizens and monopolized the most prestigious offices, from the rest, who did not have Roman citizenship and were limited to minor offices. This can be seen, for instance, in the cities of Bithynia, where local elites acquired Roman citizenship relatively late (relative to Ephesus and Asia more broadly), with the result that only a minority were Roman citizens even in the second century  CE. Yet the highest offices were usually filled by the few individuals who were Roman citizens.20 The same can be said for the Peloponnese. Many elite families received citizenship by imperial grant from Augustus until the middle of the first century CE, but the rate of grants then dropped dramatically. Yet in the second century, the most important offices of many cities were still in the hands of descendants of the families who were awarded Roman citizenship between the 40s and the 60s, as can be seen in the prevalence of Claudii.21 In Sparta, for example, most ephors were Roman citizens, whereas there were more peregrines among the nomophylakes, who stood lower in the city’s political hierarchy.22 It is interesting to note that even after imperial grants of Roman citizenship had largely 16. Ferrary 2014, 133–​134, 157, 164–​165. 17. Campanile  2004. 18. Dmitriev 2005, 327. 19. Stephan 2002, 228. 20. Fernoux 2004, 218–​226. 21. Rizakis 2007. For Elis, see Zoumbaki 2001, 186–​190. 22. Hoët-​Van Cauwenberghe 2010; Rizakis and Zoumbaki 2017.

Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  261 ceased and hence many families could not hope to attain it, Roman citizenship was still considered essential for belonging to the highest stratum of local society. The leading families of Peloponnesian cities exploited their Roman citizenship to create social stratification and reinforce their concentration of power—​one example of a broader oligarchic trend that can be observed in many Greek cities in the imperial period.23 In Ephesus, by contrast, where almost all local officials were Roman citizens, that status could not serve to distinguish different strata in the local elite. This could explain why the imperial period saw the emergence of patterns of officeholding that can be compared to a cursus honorum, although the local institutions, unlike in the Roman colonies settled in the East, were not patterned after a Roman model.24 The establishment of a predetermined order for holding the various local offices might have been a way of controlling access to office in a context where all candidates were Roman citizens—​that is, using socioeconomic criteria other than possession of Roman citizenship to restrict the highest offices to the upper stratum of the elite. We have other positive evidence that Roman citizenship retained its value for local elites in the second century CE. In Lycia, in particular, some notables who were active at the provincial level in the federal institutions of the koinon, such as C.  Julius Heliodorus from Lydai, were explicitly called Rhomaioi in inscriptions mentioning them.25 In Greek inscriptions of the second and first centuries BCE, when the presence of Roman citizens within Greek cities was still regarded as unusual (see “Westerners among Roman Citizens in the East” later in this chapter), the ethnic Rhomaios had been regularly used to describe Roman citizens of western origin. In second-​century Lycia, however, the people occasionally described as Rhomaioi were not Italians but the descendants of local families who had been awarded Roman citizenship during the first century CE.26 The explicit use of the ethnic Rhomaios (in the singular) to denote the possession of Roman citizenship seems to have been a peculiarity of Lycia during the imperial period.27 The ethnic Rhomaios was listed alongside other ethnics referring to the citizenships of various Lycian cities. For example, C. Julius Heliodorus was described as “Rhomaios and Lydates and also honored with other citizenships

23. Zuiderhoek 2008; Heller 2009; Heller 2013; Brélaz 2016. 24. Kirbihler  2012a. 25. TAM II 155. See also IGR III 493, 494, 496 (C. Licinii from Oinoanda); TAM II 495 (Ti. Claudius Agrippinus from Patara); Balland 1981, nos. 90–​91 (Veranii from Xanthos). For an earlier attestation dating to 40–​30 BCE, see AE 2012, 1658. Local notables who did not belong to the Lycian provincial elite could also display their participation in Roman citizenship this way: TAM II 291, 665, 853. The C. Iulii from Lydai most probably did not get Roman citizenship from Caesar but from a later governor having Julius among his gentilicia; see Reitzenstein 2012b. 26. Reitzenstein 2011, 145–​146. 27. Kantor 2020b. On the contrary, Rhomaioi in the plural form in Limyra (the only known attestation in Lycia so far) referred to the local association of Roman citizens of western origin, as elsewhere in Asia Minor; see Wörrle 2016, 421–​424.

262  Cédric Brélaz from many cities.”28 Multiple citizenship was common among the provincial elite of Lycia, and many prominent notables held citizenship of multiple Lycian cities simultaneously.29 Roman citizenship was included in these lists of local citizenship but was always named first—​proof of its superiority. A similar emphasis on Roman citizenship can be observed in other parts of the Roman East but at times when it was still exceptional for local elites to be granted Roman citizenship.30 In first-​century BCE Ephesus, for instance, a local notable seems to have specified that he had been “the first among the inhabitants of Asia and among those who were awarded Roman citizenship (primus ex is qui in Asia habitant [et civitate Romana? don]ati sunt)” to hold equestrian military offices.31 Roman citizenship was still praised in the same way in mid-​first-​century CE Epidaurus, although the status had by this time spread widely among local elites all over the Peloponnese. T. Statilius Lamprias was said to have been “second to none in the most glorious and noble cities of Greece, in Sparta, in Argos and in holy Epidaurus, but also honored with the citizenship which was the most important and the most famed among mankind, namely Roman citizenship.”32 The fact that Lycian dignitaries were similarly eager to display their status as Roman citizens in the second century CE suggests that Roman citizenship was still regarded as a mark of distinction among the local elites in Lycia at the time. This is borne out by the fact that not even the notables who held the highest offices within the Lycian koinon were universally Roman citizens in the second century. The situation in Lycia during the second century might seem somewhat paradoxical. Imperial power had intervened massively in Lycia in 43 CE in support of local aristocrats who were facing civil strife and opposition from democratic factions. After order was restored through imperial intervention and the Lycian League, long an ally of Rome, was turned into a Roman province by the emperor Claudius, the first governor, Q. Veranius, appointed new members to the council of the Lycian confederacy and to the local councils of the various cities and also granted Roman citizenship to several families in the region.33 Yet Roman citizenship was not granted widely to local elites either then or later, even though the emperors Claudius and Nero were extending Roman citizenship widely throughout the Peloponnese at approximately the same time.34 Among the many second-​century Lycian dignitaries who were not Roman citizens were the TAM II 155. Reitzenstein  2012a. Ferrary  2005. AE 1997, 1436. IG IV2 1, 84, ll. 33–​34. For later examples, see Raggi 2017. AE 2005, 1498 (with the reading of Schuler and Zimmermann 2012, 616–​617 for l. 2); AE 2007, 1512a. See Kolb 2002. 34. No Roman name is to be found among the dozens of preserved names in the member list of the local council of Patara in the second half of the first century CE: AE 2012, 1661; additional fragments of the same list in Lepke, Schuler, and Zimmermann 2015, 307–​321, no. 3. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  263 famous figures of Opramoas of Rhodiapolis (federal high priest in 136 CE) and Iason of Kyaneai (federal high priest in 139 CE). There is no general consensus on why Opramoas was not granted Roman citizenship, given his wealth and his close relationship with successive Roman governors of Lycia-​Pamphylia. Several explanations have been proposed. The view that Roman citizenship had lost its value by that time is at odds with what I have shown here;35 C. Julius Heliodorus, who was high priest of the Lycian koinon just six years after Opramoas and three years after Iason, proudly signaled his Roman citizenship. An alternative suggestion that Opramoas desired but failed to acquire Roman citizenship is hardly convincing, either.36 Opramoas enjoyed the support of several different Roman governors, as shown by the numerous letters of recommendation carved on his mausoleum. He unquestionably had the wealth, reputation, and connections that were needed for local elites to receive Roman citizenship. The best explanation for why Opramoas did not become a Roman citizen may simply be that he did not want to. In contrast with most other regions of the Roman East (see the next section), possession of Roman citizenship was not a prerequisite for access to the provincial elite in Lycia. But this lack of interest in Roman citizenship should not be seen as a form of resistance to Rome. The loyalty of the Lycian elites, who depicted themselves as “lovers-​of-​the-​Romans” (philorhomaioi) and “lovers-​of-​ Caesar” (philokaisares), as well as “faithful allies” (pistoi symmachoi), even during the process of the transformation of their league into a Roman province, cannot be questioned.37 Self-​confidence in their own regional identity and attachment to the specificities of their koinon—​also visible in, for example, the deep bilateral relations between Lycian cities, the conservativism of Lycian onomastics, discourse about Lycian ethnicity, and the wider prerogatives of the federal institutions—​ most probably explain why Roman citizenship was not considered a prerequisite for standing among the highest dignitaries of the province.38 Ancillary Benefits at the Regional Level Despite the legal privileges that were afforded by the grant of Roman citizenship and were in theory guaranteed by the Roman state, the vast majority of newly made Roman citizens continued to act primarily in their home cities. The acquisition of Roman citizenship did not in itself mean a promotion into the upper strata of Roman society at the level of the empire; there was no automatic correlation between the grant of Roman citizenship and the award of equestrian rank or appointment as an official in the imperial administration. The opportunities that

35. Reitzenstein 2011, 146. 36. Kokkinia 2000, 229–​230. 37. AE 2002, 1472; AE 2007, 1512a. See Thornton 2001; Thornton 2004. 38. Behrwald  2000.

264  Cédric Brélaz mattered for most Roman citizens remained local. This is all the more true since Roman citizenship did not have any impact on the obligations related to local citizenship (the famous Tabula Banasitana states this with the expression salvo iure gentis).39 One could not invoke Roman citizenship in order to avoid local taxation or escape liturgies or offices.40 But Roman citizenship was very often used for the purpose of social stratification within the local elites, although it was never a formal prerequisite for entering local councils or to be appointed to offices in the cities of Greece and Asia Minor. Cities such as Ephesus, where almost all members of the local elites had Roman citizenship by an early stage, were exceptions. In most cities, especially the smaller ones, only a fraction of the local elites were Roman citizens as late as the middle of the second century CE. In these contexts, possession of Roman citizenship could also have implications for activity at the regional level. In the Cyclades, for instance, the few families who possessed Roman citizenship were also active outside their small cities, predominantly in Ephesus (the capital of the province the islands belonged to) but also in other regions such as Boeotia, Euboea, or Athens. Since Roman citizenship elevated them above the rest of the local elite, these families deliberately left the islands to pursue ambitions on a regional scale.41 In the midsized city of Iasos in Caria, where the highest offices were monopolized by a few established families into the imperial period, the few families who had Roman citizenship were forced to establish marriage alliances outside the city in order to maintain their rank and keep their social status. The need to transmit Roman citizenship to the next generation led them to build connections with other cities.42 The same issue might explain why Roman citizenship was not always regarded as attractive by local elites.43 In both cases, Roman citizenship, being a rare status, had more significant effects than in cities where there was a higher proportion of Roman citizens in the local elite. Roman citizenship must have meant more in these cities than, for example, in Ephesus. A similar observation can be made for the leading families of villages in Asia Minor and especially Syria, where there was a sharp distinction between individuals who lacked Roman citizenship, whose success was limited to their village, and those who were granted Roman citizenship and were able to move to the town and, in some cases, to enter the council and hold office at the city level.44 The dividing line between those who had Roman citizenship and those who did not was extremely clear when it came to those who had responsibilities at the provincial level.45 In most federal organizations (koina) across the Roman 39. AE 1971, 534. 40. Fournier  2012. 41. Le Quéré 2015, 214–​253. 42. Pont  2016. 43. Frija 2018. See, for instance, for Boeotia Müller 2020. 44. Schuler 1998, 225–​230, 278–​287; Sartre 1996. 45. Frija  2019.

Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  265 East,46 almost all high priests of the provincial imperial cult were Roman citizens.47 Within the koinon of Achaia, all the high priests known from the second century had Roman citizenship.48 As far as the koinon of Asia is concerned, the names of more than half of the men who held the provincial high priesthood at Ephesus from the creation of this office in 88/​9 CE to the middle of the third century are preserved. Among the eighty-​five known high priests (the vast majority of them serving before 212 CE), at most 5 percent did not possess Roman citizenship.49 It seems to have been an almost systematic practice to appoint high priests of the imperial cult at the provincial level from among Roman citizens. But this was not a formal requirement by the imperial power. The imperial authorities certainly fostered the worship of emperors, as is illustrated by the grant of the title of neokoros to cities hosting temples of the imperial cult or by the confirmation of new contests named after the emperor,50 but they did not formally establish the federal institutions of the imperial cult, at least in the Greek-​speaking provinces.51 Although some high priests (or their descendants) possessed or later obtained equestrian or even senatorial rank—​particularly common in the koinon of Galatia, where the provincial elite was descended from members of the old royal aristocracies who were awarded Roman citizenship under Augustus—​there was no automatic promotion to the upper orders of Roman society.52 For that reason, Roman citizenship was never a formal prerequisite for holding offices within provincial koina. Moreover, the possession of Roman citizenship was never required for performing imperial cult and thus was irrelevant when it came to displaying loyalty to Rome. In this regard, there is a striking contrast with the holders of priesthoods of the imperial cult at the local level. (In some cities, these local priests were also called high priests, archiereis, but are not to be confused with high priests within the provincial koinon.) Whereas at least 95 percent of the provincial high priests based in Ephesus had Roman citizenship, not even the half of the men known to have been priests of the imperial cult in the cities of Asia (160 people in total) were Roman citizens during the second century.53 Ephesus again is the notable exception. It is interesting to observe that some provincial high priests, who were (necessarily) Roman citizens, originated from cities where the local priests of the imperial cult did not all have Roman citizenship during the second century. This was the case, for instance, in Magnesia on the Maeander, Miletus, and Aphrodisias.54 46. Lozano  2017. 47. Edelmann-​Singer 2015, 153–​160. 48. Camia  2008. 49. Kirbihler  2008. 50. Burrell 2004; Guerber 2010, 79–​301. 51. Kolb and Vitale 2016. 52. Mitchell and French 2014, 10–​18. 53. Frija 2012, 173–​186. 54. Compare the list in Kirbihler 2008, 120–​133, with the list in Frija 2012, 223–​273.

266  Cédric Brélaz This shows that Roman citizenship was a determining factor for careers at the provincial level. Of course, not all Roman citizens in local elites of the cities of Asia could aspire to a provincial career within the koinon, but Roman citizenship was evidently used by the delegates in the provincial council themselves as one criterion—​alongside wealth and social distinction—​to select candidates and to appoint high priests. The same observation is true for Galatia: whereas the provincial elite were all Roman citizens by the mid-​second century CE, only a small portion of the local population in Ancyra had Roman citizenship at the time.55 In Macedonia, too, Roman citizenship was typical of the notables active within the provincial koinon, whereas most of the local elite were not Roman citizens.56 This ancillary benefit of Roman citizenship helped individuals belonging to the upper stratum of provincial society to distinguish themselves from people who were limited to a local career. There is, of course, the noticeable exception of Lycia, where we have seen that some of the most influential federal officials did not have Roman citizenship in the middle of the second century and do not seem to have sought it, most likely due to the cultural specificities of the koinon there (see the previous section). Competition between notables who had Roman citizenship and others who did not can also be seen, paradoxically, in the small city of Delphi. From the mid-​first century CE onward, the local families who had been holding the priesthood of Apollo Pythios in Delphi for the past decades began to be challenged by families who were not from Delphi but had been awarded Roman citizenship. In that case, the great fame of the sanctuary of Apollo and the importance of the local priesthood within the Amphictiony attracted notables from other parts of Greece who—​like provincial elites in koina—​drew upon their Roman citizenship, and sometimes their connections with Roman power, to elevate themselves above local candidates.57 Another ancillary benefit of Roman citizenship, again regional in scope, can be seen in a different context. According to the testimony of Dio Chrysostom, who delivered a speech in his home city of Prusa under the emperor Trajan, his fellow citizens were eager to acquire local citizenship in the nearby Roman colony of Apamea. To illustrate the close partnership between the two neighboring cities, Dio referred to marriage alliances between families of the two cities and stated that “some of [his] fellow citizens, virtually the most influential citizens among [them], have obtained the honor [of citizenship] among them [i.e., the Apameans].”58 In the corresponding speech he gave in Apamea in order to foster the restoration of good relations between the two cities which had been 55. Mitchell and French 2014, no.  8:  out of ninety-​two members of an association offering a dedication to Antoninus Pius, only fourteen had Roman citizenship. The ratio of Roman citizens is, however, higher in another list of dedicants (twenty-​two out of fifty-​six people); Mitchell and French 2014, no. 9. 56. Sverkos  2017. 57. Bouchon and Kyriakidis 2017. 58. Dio Chrys. Or. 40.22.

Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  267 undermined by recent disputes, Dio explicitly recorded the benefits that Prusians were given by Apameans: “Several people from there [i.e., from Prusa] you have even made citizens [politas], you have given them a share of membership in the Council, you have deemed them not unworthy of becoming magistrates among you, you have admitted them to partnership in these great privileges with are characteristic of the Roman State [tes Rhomaion poleos].”59 Since the grant of Roman citizenship was a prerogative of Roman central power and Apamea would not have been allowed to bestow Roman citizenship upon people who did not yet have it,60 the “honor [time]” to which Dio refers in the first speech and the “citizenship” he mentions in the second should be understood as the local citizenship in Apamea, rather than Roman citizenship in general. We have to assume that the citizens of Prusa who were made citizens in Apamea already possessed Roman citizenship before receiving local citizenship from the nearby Roman colony.61 As discussed in the previous section, Roman citizenship was not as common among the local elite in Bithynia as in the province of Asia. Dio’s claim that many Prusians were made local citizens in Apamea and were thus Roman citizens is undoubtedly an exaggeration. This does not, however, imply that Roman citizenship would have been enough in itself to give them access to the supra-​regional or provincial elite. For the notables from Prusa who were Roman citizens, the opportunities opened up by Roman citizenship were narrower in scope though still significant. It made them eligible for local citizenship in Apamea, which could bring many social, political, and fiscal benefits. As Dio made clear, Roman citizenship allowed Prusians to seek marriage alliances with families originating from Apamea.62 As local citizens of Apamea, Prusians could also hope to hold office in the colony, enter the local council, and pursue a local career as an official of a Roman community. This is presumably what Dio meant when referring to the “great privileges with are characteristic of the Roman State.” Although only a small fraction of the local officials in the Roman colonies of the East were promoted to equestrian rank (see the later section on “Westerners among Roman Citizens in the East”), becoming a decurio or, even more, a duumvir in the nearby colony of Apamea was certainly regarded by Prusians as a prestigious honor. Most probably, Prusians also tended to take advantage of the close relationship between the Roman colony and the governors of Bithynia-​Pontus to enhance their careers. Unlike most other Roman colonies in Greece and Asia Minor, Apamea served as one of the meeting places for the assize court (conventus) of the provincial judicial administration and, for that reason, periodically hosted the governor.63 The prospect of meeting the governor on this occasion was probably a significant consideration for the 59. Dio Chrys. Or. 41.10. 60. Raggi  2004a. 61. Guerber 2017. Blanco-​Pérez 2015 advocates the opposite view. 62. See the previous section for the difficulties encountered by the few Roman citizens from Iasos. 63. Guerber  2011.

268  Cédric Brélaz Prusians who acquired local citizenship in Apamea. Citizenship in Apamea also helped Prusians advance their economic interests, since the colony was used as a harbor by traders from Prusa. Finally, the privileges of being local citizens of Apamea also brought tax advantages. As Dio notes, the Roman citizens of Apamea enjoyed a “privileged constitution [politeian exaireton].”64 This was likely a reference to the ius Italicum the colony was awarded by the emperors. This privilege brought tax exemptions, in particular immunity from the property tax, as was the case for Roman citizens living in Italy. Prusians enjoying local citizenship in Apamea probably benefited from the same privilege, but the exemption only applied to their properties in Apamea, not to their properties in Prusa. Moreover, in order to claim this benefit, they would probably have had to change their origo (normally Prusa, unless they were allowed by imperial decision to transfer their origo to Apamea), since, according to Roman law, origo usually prevailed over domicilium when the conflicting belongings arising from multiple citizenship raised problems relating to tax liability or exemptions.65 The Meaning of Roman Citizenship in Free Cities The relationship between cities that had been granted the privileged status of libertas and Roman power was in many respects ambiguous. In addition to tax exemptions, free cities were not subject to provincial administration. In theory, they did not belong to any province and were not part of the Roman Empire. Precisely because they had at some point supported Rome—​and had therefore been awarded libertas/​eleutheria—​free cities, paradoxically, had a special relationship with Roman power, and their privileges needed to be frequently confirmed and renewed by imperial authorities.66 The limits of extraterritoriality is exemplified by the case of Aphrodisias. In the third century CE, the city was so proud of its status that it had copies of dozens of letters from Roman authorities from 39 BCE to the 240s CE confirming its rank as a free city put together and carved on the walls of the theater. Yet during the second century, the city repeatedly asked for the intervention of the proconsul of Asia to resolve internal problems, deliberately accepting a reduction in its own privileges.67 Despite the apparent uniformity of the legal status of eleutheria which was unilaterally conferred by the Roman state, we can observe many specificities in the political cultures of the different free cities through the Greek-​speaking provinces. Attitudes toward Roman citizenship are illustrative of this variation. In particular, both the proportion of Roman citizens among local officials and the interest

64. Dio Chrys. Or. 40.22. 65. Fournier  2012. 66. Guerber 2010, 33–​77. 67. Chaniotis 2003; Kokkinia 2015–​2016.

Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  269 of the local elite in Roman citizenship varied dramatically from city to city. One should note here that Roman citizenship had particular significance in free cities, since, unlike stipendiary cities, they were allowed to exercise unlimited jurisdiction over their own citizens—​including in criminal law and even in cases involving capital punishment.68 The possession of Roman citizenship was in this regard crucial. Local citizens who were Roman citizens could invoke that status to lodge an appeal before a Roman court and thus escape local jurisdiction.69 We will discuss here a few contrasting instances. Although Athens was a free city, the proportion of Roman citizens in the local elites was very similar to that in Ephesus, which was not a free city (see “To Be or Not to Be a Roman Citizen” earlier in this chapter). From the Flavian period, virtually all the major officials of the city—​archons, hoplite generals, heralds of the Areopagos, high priests of the imperial cult—​were Roman citizens.70 The few known exceptions among the archons are mostly from a small number of families who provided several officials. Interestingly, the proportion of Roman citizens is lower among officials of lower rank, such as the kosmetes in charge of the training of the ephebes.71 The prevalence of Roman citizenship among the upper stratum of Athenian society was due to the special connection between Athens and Rome from the second century BCE. Many Roman citizens of Western origin settled in Athens as early as the mid-​second century BCE and obtained local citizenship. Some Athenians were in turn awarded Roman citizenship during the first century BCE. As in the Peloponnese, the Claudian emperors granted citizenship widely to the Athenian local elite, and—​unlike in many other regions of Greece—​ the process continued under the Flavians and, after an interruption under Trajan, resumed under Hadrian due to his commitment to the city. No other free city of the Roman East had as high a proportion of Roman citizens among the local elite. In most free cities, Roman citizenship had much less attraction for the local elite. In Aphrodisias, a fair number of local officials and local priests of the imperial cult were not Roman citizens in the second century CE.72 This is consistent with what we know of the Aphrodisians’ deep attachment to their local identity. The statuary, for instance, shows that members of the local elites, even those who were Roman citizens, emphasized Greek cultural elements in their clothing and appearance.73 Local patriotism and self-​confidence in their status as citizens of a free city might to some extent explain why Roman citizenship did not seem as attractive to Aphrodisians as it did to citizens of stipendiary cities in the province of Asia.74 The assertion of local identity by Aphrodisians should not, however, be 68. Fournier 2010, 469–​501. 69. For the implication of Roman citizenship on the place of jurisdiction, see Kantor, ­chapter 7 in this volume. 70. Byrne 2003, xv–​xvi; Camia 2008. 71. Follet  1976. 72. Frija 2012, 180–​181. 73. Ştefan 2017, 124–​125; Smith 1998. 74. Pont  2012.

270  Cédric Brélaz seen as an expression of distrust toward imperial power. The mausoleum of the local magnate and freedman of Octavian C.  Julius Zoilos celebrating both his Greek and Roman identities as early as 40 BCE, the building of the Sebasteion praising imperial military victories in the mid-​first century CE, and the taste of Aphrodisians for gladiatorial shows are sufficient to illustrate that local identity did not stand at odds with loyalty to Rome.75 Similar conservative mentalities can be observed in Thasos, where the city had summary lists of its principal officials (the archons and the theoroi) going back to the fourth century BCE displayed on public buildings of the agora and updated down to the mid-​third century CE, alongside copies of various documents emanating from Roman authorities and confirming the privileged status of the city in the same manner as the Archive Wall in Aphrodisias. In so doing, the Thasians intended to emphasize the antiquity of their city and their long-​standing political autonomy. Yet it turns out that fewer than 10  percent of the approximately 140 archons known from the first two centuries CE were Roman citizens.76 As we observed earlier for Iasos, membership in the local elite in Thasos did not depend on the possession of Roman citizenship, even in the second century CE. On the contrary, Thasian dignitaries were proud to bear old local names going back to the classical period. At the same time, as in Aphrodisias, there is no question of the Thasians’ allegiance to Rome, with members of the local elite being almost systematically called “lovers-​ of-​Caesar” (philokaisares) and “lovers-​of-​their-​homeland” (philopatrides) in inscriptions, highlighting their double commitment toward the emperor and their own city.77 Evidence from Stratonikeia in Caria tends to confirm the view that local elites in free cities were rather unwilling to seek Roman citizenship. Even in the second century, some very prominent families who participated in successful embassies to Rome and welcomed Roman officials who visited the city were not Roman citizens.78 Called philorhomaioi, philokaisares, philosebastoi, or philopatrides, like the Thasian notables, these men seem to have had the wealth, connections, and influence required to obtain Roman citizenship. Local patriotism, as in Lycia (see “To Be or Not to Be a Roman Citizen” earlier in this chapter), and self-​confidence in the privileged status of their community combine to explain why dignitaries of free cities in some instances decided not to seek Roman citizenship. To turn back to Thasos, one should note that it was in theory not part of any province, although the governor of Thrace, as the nearest Roman promagistrate, exercised de facto control over the city and was able to intervene in case litigation arose (as the proconsul of Asia did in the case for Aphrodisias). As such, Thasos did not

75. 76. 77. 78.

Sion-​Jenkins  2010. Fournier  2018a. Fournier  2018b. Frija  2018.

Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  271 take part in the activities and celebrations of the Thracian koinon.79 Hence the ancillary benefits of Roman citizenship in giving access to a provincial elite that I outlined earlier were probably irrelevant to Thasians, since they would not have been suitable candidates for the provincial high priesthood either in Thrace or in nearby Macedonia. There might also have been other, more practical reasons behind the very low rate of Roman citizenship among the local elite in Thasos. Imperial-​period Thasos was not as prosperous as Aphrodisias, for instance, although there were still active marble quarries, as at Aphrodisias. Despite their self-​asserting rhetoric, Thasian dignitaries probably lacked the wealth and the connections that allowed several local families from Aphrodisias to get Roman citizenship, to move to Ephesus, and even in some cases to enter the equestrian order and become senators.80 In some cases, members of the local elite in free cities could even show reluctance to adopt Roman citizenship. For example, Alain Bresson has argued that the Rhodians—​despite a special relationship with Rome dating back to the second century BCE—​were disinclined to seek Roman citizenship and even deliberately avoided mentioning their gentilicium in the few cases where they were granted Roman citizenship. Indeed, the first Rhodians known to have been awarded Roman citizenship lived in the mid-​first century CE.81 Pointing to inscriptions where Roman gentilicia seem to have been omitted for some people who may have been Roman citizens and to a passage of the speech Aelius Aristides delivered to the Rhodians in which he reproached his audience for having abandoned their previous practice of keeping Greek, and even Doric, names, Bresson posited that a formal law prohibited the use of Roman names in official documents at least until the mid-​first century CE.82 The apparent reluctance of Rhodians to display their Roman names would have been praised by Apollonius of Tyana, who repeatedly complained that Greeks of his time who were not Roman citizens preferred Roman names to traditional Greek ones.83 There is, however, scanty epigraphic evidence for this interesting interpretation. This also raises the wider question about the usefulness of inscribed names for determining personal status. It is well known that Roman gentilicia could in some specific instances be omitted in Greek inscriptions and Roman citizens referred to by their (Greek) cognomina alone. This might have been the case in Camiros, on the island of Rhodes, where the lists of the local officials (damiurgoi) that were maintained through the third century CE (as in Thasos) did not include tria nomina, although we know from other evidence that some of the damiurgoi were Roman citizens. In this case, the officials probably continued to be registered under their 79. 80. 81. 82. 83.

Fournier  2013. Fournier  2020. Bresson  1996. Aristid. Or. 24.57. Apoll. Ty. Letters  71–​72.

272  Cédric Brélaz personal name (the cognomen for the Roman citizens) according to the Greek practice in order to ensure consistency with the first sections of the lists dating back to the third century BCE.84 Nevertheless, the inferred reluctance of the local elite of Rhodes to acquire Roman citizenship is consistent with what we know of Rhodian identity and political culture down to the second century CE. Aelius Aristides, as well as Dio Chrysostom in his own speech to the Rhodians,85 both depicted the city as the last bulwark of pure Hellenism under Roman rule. As late as the second century CE, a Rhodian law prohibited gladiatorial shows, though they were very popular in Aphrodisias and Stratonikeia, for example.86 The Doric dialect was still used in official inscriptions down to the third century CE. Unlike in many other cities, the city walls were still repaired, arsenals and a navy were maintained, and the city continued to nurture a culture militaire going back to the Hellenistic times which enhanced its status as a free city.87 The attitude of the Rhodian elites toward Roman citizenship might have been part of this larger cultural agenda. However, it should not necessarily be understood as an expression of resistance or hostility toward Rome and should not be overemphasized in political terms. Despite the murders of some Roman citizens under Claudius88 and repeated removal and restoration of its libertas because of civil disorders in the first century CE, Rhodes still enjoyed a privileged status in the second century. Moreover, as in any other city, the local elite celebrated the imperial cult, and, significantly, one of the ships of the Rhodian navy in the imperial period was called Imperial Peace (Irena Sebasta).89 Westerners among Roman Citizens in the East Scholars have long studied the economic, social, and political integration of Roman citizens from the West who settled in the eastern Mediterranean during the Hellenistic period and also the cultural interactions between the communities of Italians doing business in the East and their Greek environment from the mid-​ third to the first centuries BCE.90 Scholars have also focused on the earliest stages of the granting of Roman citizenship to local elites in the East, from the beginning of the first century BCE to the first decades of the first century CE, with a special focus on the period between Caesar and the reign of Augustus.91 The presence of large communities of Roman citizens in some cities might have offered a strong 84. Bresson 1996, 231–​232. 85. Veyne 2005, 211–​215; Franco 2008. 86. Dio Chrys. Or. 31.121–​122; Aubriet 2011. 87. Brélaz  2015. 88. Cass. Dio 60.24.4. 89. Brélaz 2005, 199–​203. 90. Van Andringa 2003; Terpstra 2013; Eberle and Le Quéré 2017; Ernst 2018. The classical study by Hatzfeld 1919 has not yet been superseded. 91. Ferrary  2005.

Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  273 incentive for the local elite to seek Roman citizenship to facilitate interrelations—​ and a way for them to obtain it. Ephesus and Athens, in particular, welcomed large groups of Italians from the second half of the second century BCE.92 As we have seen, both cities had the highest ratio of Roman citizens among local officials during the imperial period. The same holds true for some midsized cities of Asia Minor. As we have seen with the example of the delegates sent to the sanctuary of Claros, some of the delegations that included large numbers of Roman citizens came from cities where there were well-​established communities of Roman businessmen of western origin. The acquisition of Roman citizenship by the local elite enabled connections and marriage alliances with families of Italian origin. In cities where the groups of Italians were smaller, as, for example, in Iasos, the few families who were awarded Roman citizenship were forced to move to other cities in order to make alliances with families of Roman citizens and transmit Roman citizenship to their descendants.93 In many cities of Greece and Asia Minor, the spread of Roman citizenship under the Claudian emperors led over the course of the second half of the first century CE to a merging of Roman citizens of Italian origin with indigenous elites who had been awarded Roman citizenship. The question of the relative position of Roman citizens of Italian origin and those of local origin after this period of integration has, however, been comparatively neglected. Most studies on the question have thus far focused on onomastics, distinguishing local families who were granted Roman citizenship (often recognizable by their imperial gentilicia in our evidence) and Roman citizens of western origin bearing more characteristic names originating from Italy.94 As discussed earlier, the ethnic Rhomaios, which had been widely used in late Hellenistic cities to qualify Roman citizens of western origin, vanishes from the epigraphic evidence at the beginning of the first century CE, as native elites themselves obtained Roman citizenship.95 Thereafter, no formal distinction was drawn in inscriptions between Roman citizens of different origin. Setting aside local variation in onomastic practice, all Roman citizens in the Greek East, regardless of their origin and of the conditions under which they obtained Roman citizenship, were recorded in the same manner in inscriptions, with their tria (or sometimes only duo) nomina and, at times, also their filiation and tribe. When abroad, local notables having Roman citizenship were described as citizens of their home city through their local ethnic, rather than as citizens of Rome. One noticeable exception was Lycia, where the possession of Roman citizenship was emphasized through the ethnic Rhomaios beside other local citizenships as late as the second century CE. Despite the juridical equivalence of all Roman citizens, 92. Kirbihler  2016. 93. Pont  2016. 94. Purcell 2005; Salomies 2007. 95. Italici/​Italikoi performed a similar function, for example, at Delos, referring to westerners from Italy (not just those with Roman citizenship) as a group. See Adams 2003, 642–​686; Nocita 2012; Ernst 2018, 33–​38.

274  Cédric Brélaz however, there remained a cultural distinction between the two categories as late as the second century CE. Outside of legal texts, the term Rhomaioi was generally used with reference to westerners, while Greeks who had Roman citizenship were instead described as Hellenes.96 The use of Rhomaios by Aelius Aristides in his speech To Rome is telling. While Aristides praised the Roman Empire for having replaced the old division of Greeks and barbarians with a legal distinction between those who were Roman citizens and those who were not (regardless of any cultural identity), and although he considered that this helped to unify mankind,97 he paradoxically excluded himself, though a Roman citizen, from the Rhomaioi by addressing “the Romans” in the second person.98 For Greeks who had Roman citizenship, their Hellenism tended to be more important than their share of universal citizenship. This ethnic and cultural distinction between Roman citizens of western origin and local elites who were granted Roman citizenship was even acknowledged by Roman power in some specific cases. For example, in the first of Augustus’s Cyrene edicts, revising the administration of justice in the province of Cyrenaica, an exception was made for the people who had been “honored with Romanness” (τις ῾Ρωμαιότητι τετειμημένος). Unlike other Roman citizens who were referred to as Rhomaioi, they were allowed to stand as prosecutors in criminal cases involving Hellenes, that is, peregrines, who were said to be their “fellow citizens.”99 In this context, a distinction that was legal in nature though cultural in expression—​denoted by “honored with Romanness” rather than “honored with Roman citizenship”—​was made between new Roman citizens of local origin, who were assimilated to the peregrines lacking Roman citizenship, and westerners who had always been Roman citizens. The purpose was to ensure that membership in the local political community and participation in local citizenship would prevail over Roman citizenship in determining who was able to initiate a criminal case against a local.100 On the whole, the spread of Roman citizenship in the East did not dissolve the cultural and ethnic identity of individuals, especially in Greek cities. It is interesting to note that associations of Roman traders of western origin, based on both shared occupational interests and common ethnic origin and identity (cives Romani qui negotiantur /​οἱ πραγματευόμενοι Ῥωμαῖοι), were not abolished

96. It is not clear whether the people depicted as Rhomaioi by Cassius Dio (50.24.4, 54.7.6, 57.24.6, 60.17.3) who were said to have been abused or killed during uprisings in Cyzicus, Rhodes, and Lycia between the late first century BCE and the mid-​first century CE were local elites having Roman citizenship rather than Roman citizens of western origin, or both. See Fournier 2010, 491–​495. 97. Aristid. Or. 26.59–​64. 98. Pernot 2008. 99. SEG 9.8, ll. 38–​41. 100. Fournier 2010, 287–​290, 490. In a similar way, the Third Edict (SEG 9.8, II. 57–​59) recalls that those “who were honored with [Roman] citizenship” were liable to liturgies like the Hellenes, meaning implicitly that Roman citizens of western origin, not having local citizenship, were exempted. For the interpretation of the wording of this disputed passage, see Ferrary 2005, 73–​74.

Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  275 during the imperial period and that the designation Rhomaioi in the plural form continued to be used to refer to them as groups, even though the singular ethnic Rhomaios was no longer used to refer to their members individually (with the exception of Lycia, as noted earlier).101 These guilds had been of crucial importance in enabling Roman citizens to promote and defend their economic and legal interests at a time when Italians formed scattered groups throughout the eastern Mediterranean and when Roman citizenship was not common among local elites, from the second century BCE to the mid-​first century CE. Yet communities of Rhomaioi, that is, of Roman citizens of western origin, still were powerful associations during the first and second centuries CE, sometimes acting alongside the official institutions of the cities where they were based, as if they were corporate bodies themselves (cives Romani consistentes /​οἱ κατοικοῦντες Ῥωμαῖοι). What is more, the second century CE saw the membership of some of these associations expanded by local notables who had been awarded Roman citizenship. In Tralleis, for instance, a notable named Ti. Klaudios Panychos Eutychos Koibilos even took the chair of the association of the Roman citizens settled in the city (conventus civium Romanorum).102 Groups of Roman citizens of western origin were run as clubs. That exclusiveness, probably enhanced by the prestige related to the Italian ancestry of most of their members, could make them attractive to members of the local elite who were granted Roman citizenship.103 The fact that Roman citizens of local origin could access the highest offices in these clubs illustrates the above-​mentioned merging of Italians and local elites having Roman citizenship. Nevertheless, the continuation of these clubs, which went on to present themselves in terms of ethnic identity down to the second century CE as if they were distinctive groups, also shows that Roman citizenship retained a sense of exclusivity, at least in some cities.104 In some cases, families of Italian origin who settled in Asia Minor managed to attain a prominent position in their adopted city and even to enter the senatorial order—​as early as the mid-​first century CE, in the case of the Plancii of Perge, the Calpurnii of Attaleia, or the Servenii of Acmonia.105 Italian or, more generally, western origin was not, however, sufficient to give Roman citizens a privileged social status in the cities where they were settled during the imperial period. In small and/​or conservative cities, such as Iasos or some of the free cities discussed earlier, Roman citizens were not able to access the highest offices, which were monopolized by old, local families who did not have Roman citizenship. Moreover, as time went on, Roman citizens of western origin could well be 101. Stephan 2002, 225–​226. For the ethnic Rhomaiai applied to “Roman women,” i.e., women having Roman citizenship, as opposed to “Greek women,” see Thonemann 2010. 102. I.Tralleis 77. For the local association of Rhomaioi, see also I.Tralleis 19, 80, 93. 103. Ramgopal  2017. 104. See SEG 53.1464 from Phrygian Hierapolis for a conventus still existing around 212 CE; cf. SEG 58.1510. 105. Halfmann  2007.

276  Cédric Brélaz superseded by influential local families who had been granted Roman citizenship in large cities with a high proportion of Roman citizens among local elites, such as Athens, of course, but also cities of regional importance throughout Asia Minor. This was all the more true in provincial capitals, such as Ephesus or Ancyra, where there were many Roman citizens of lower social status coming from the West to serve as soldiers or officials in provincial administration, while several families of local origin had acquired equestrian or senatorial rank, some of them as early as the Flavian age—​not to mention their royal ancestry as descendants of the Attalid and Galatian households.106 Not even Italian colonists settled in the East were assured of social promotion. From their foundation between the 40s and the 10s BCE down to the mid-​first century CE, when Roman citizenship started to become more common among local elites in Greek cities, Roman colonies had been the communities with the highest number of Roman citizens in the eastern provinces. Although we lack exact figures, it is clear that thousands of Roman citizens of western origin—​ retired soldiers and civilians driven out of Italy in the civil wars—​were sent to the provinces and settled in thirty or so colonies across the Greek-​speaking provinces.107 The geographical distribution of Roman colonies in the East was, however, very uneven. Even if several colonies were established as a kind of network in some regions (e.g., along the Adriatic seashore of the Balkan peninsula, along the Egnatian Way in Macedonia, in northwestern Asia Minor, and in Pisidia), it was never the intention of the central power to control those provinces through the establishment of colonies. Unlike the colonies that were settled in Italy until the second century BCE, these were not military strongholds.108 Even after the Flavian period, Roman colonies remained for a long time the places with the greatest concentration of Roman citizens. Yet the presence of these large groups of Roman citizens of western origin in some areas of Greece, Asia Minor, Crete, and Syria did not result in the dissemination of Roman citizenship in the surrounding areas—​nor did it lead to the spread of the Latin language, of Roman cults, or of Roman political institutions.109 In the colonies themselves, only the settlers coming from Italy possessed Roman citizenship at their foundation. The local population of the preexisting Greek city was deprived of its civic rights when the former political entity was abolished and replaced by a Roman colonia. In Roman public law, they were now considered foreigners (peregrini) and residents (incolae), rather than citizens, of the colony in whose territory they were allowed to stay. Depending on 1 06. Halfmann 1982; Demougin 1999. 107. In his Res Gestae 15.3, Augustus mentions 120,000 colonists as recipients of his benefactions in 29 BCE, but this global figure includes all of the colonies that had been founded at that time throughout the empire (there were nearly 150 by the end of the reign of Augustus). 108. Sartre  2001. 109. Brélaz  2017b.

Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  277 the case, however, some members of the local elites could be granted Roman citizenship through the patronage of prominent Romans, either at the foundation of the colony or later. In Buthrotum, for instance, the notables of the new colony included several C. Iulii, who owed their Roman citizenship to Caesar or Augustus, as well as Pomponii and Caecilii, who had benefited, already before the settlement of the colony, from the support of T. Pomponius Atticus (Cicero’s famous friend, who was then adopted by his uncle Q. Caecilius), who had estates in first-​century BCE Buthrotum.110 In most other eastern colonies, such as Philippi—​where we know of many Iulii and Flavii—​or Dium, a portion of the local population was awarded Roman citizenship by emperors during the first and second centuries CE, even if in Philippi these new citizens only exceptionally reached the officeholding elite.111 In Pisidian Antioch, a fair number of the native population had managed to get Roman citizenship by the beginning of the second century CE with the support of the governors of Galatia, likely thanks to the close relationship the colony had with individuals of senatorial rank.112 Before the Constitutio Antoniniana, however, Roman citizenship was never generalized among incolae of eastern Roman colonies, and moving to a Roman colony never guaranteed provincials Roman citizenship or social promotion. This is all the more true since Roman citizenship was a prerequisite for anyone seeking to participate in the civic life of a Roman colony and to enjoy local citizenship, as we have seen with the case of Bithynian Apamea.113 One of the principal reasons Apamea was as attractive to Roman citizens from neighboring Prusa, and most probably also to notables lacking Roman citizenship from other Greek cities in the area, was the fact that the colony was one of the meeting places for the assize court of the governor. A similar phenomenon can be seen in the colony of Corinth, which served as the site of the Isthmian Games, the venue for celebrations of the provincial koinon, and headquarters of the proconsul of Achaia. Families from the Peloponnese who had Roman citizenship strove to hold honors and priesthoods in Corinth and to get benefits from the governor.114 In Macedonia, on the other hand, all provincial notables, regardless of their status, preferred to settle in Thessalonica, where the proconsul had his headquarters, or in Beroia, where the Macedonian koinon met, rather than in Roman colonies such as Philippi or Dyrrachium, where the opportunities for social promotion seemed less promising. Although they were members of local communities that were technically part of the Roman state and regarded as having a higher status than other provincial 110. 111. 112. 113.

Rizakis  2003. Brélaz 2018, 262–​274. Levick 1967, 75–​76. See also Raggi 2020. Due to strict ethnic discrimination, possession of local citizenship in Alexandria was a prerequisite for receiving Roman citizenship in the province of Egypt; see Marotta 2017. 114. Rizakis 2001; Millis 2010.

278  Cédric Brélaz cities, Roman colonists of Italian origin were not automatically given preference over provincial notables who had been granted Roman citizenship with regard to opportunities for promotion. The number of known knights and senators is lower for most eastern Roman colonies than for several cities of regional importance, such as Aphrodisias, Patara, Philadelphia, Sardis, or Tralleis.115 In the colony of Philippi, for instance, where about twenty knights are attested, no members of the equestrian order managed to acquire high-​ranking positions in the imperial administration, and the only known senator (dating to the reign of Antoninus Pius) was not a descendant of the original Italian settlers but an offspring of the Thracian royal house.116 In Corinth, old aristocratic families from the Peloponnese who possessed Roman citizenship played a more prominent role than the descendants of the original colonists, who had been freedmen of trading families sent from Rome.117 The case of Pisidian Antioch, with more than twenty known knights (several of them pursuing a high-​level career in imperial administration) and almost fifteen senators (the first of them attaining that rank as early as the 40s CE), was exceptional, not just among the Roman colonies but for the East as a whole (the only comparable cases being the great cities of Ephesus, Ancyra, Pergamum, and, of course, Athens).118 Their great wealth and their direct connection with imperial power and senators in Rome at an early stage, just a few years after the colony was founded in 25 BCE, explain why so many families of Italian colonists in Antioch benefited from such social advancement.119 The “honorary colonies” were a totally different case. These were Greek cities that were rewarded with colonial status. In this case, the transformation of the local community into a Roman colony was not seen as a punishment involving the abolition of the former political entity but rather as a promotion.120 For that reason, the local population was granted Roman citizenship en masse. Even if the central power sometimes took the opportunity to settle veterans in the territory, the adjunction of Roman citizens from abroad was not automatic or necessary.121 Formally, no distinction was drawn between these communities promoted to the rank of a colony and ordinary settlement colonies. Local communities granted colonial status were also provided with bylaws patterned on the Roman model and Roman political institutions, and Latin was even used for official communication, at least on their coins. Very few colonies of this type were created before the Severan age, when the emperors rewarded cities in the Near East for their assistance during the civil war between Septimius Severus and Pescennius 115. 116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121.

Zoumbaki  2008. Brélaz 2018, 297–​313. Millis 2014; Millis 2017. Levick 1967, 111–​120; Christol and Drew-​Bear 2002a; Christol and Drew-​Bear 2012. Christol and Drew-​Bear 2002b. Millar  1990. Dąbrowa 2004; Dąbrowa 2012.

Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  279 Niger, or during the campaigns they conducted in Mesopotamia. The earliest example in the East was probably Caesarea Maritima, the former capital of King Herod. It seems that Emperor Vespasian rewarded the city and its population with the status of a Roman colony and with Roman citizenship, to thank them for their loyalty and support during the Jewish War.122 In the second century, the village of Halala in Cappadocia was turned into a Roman colony and renamed Faustinopolis by Marcus Aurelius in memory of his wife, who died there in 175 CE. The opportunity for the local population to acquire Roman citizenship partly explains why colonial status was so eagerly sought by local communities in the Near East, where Roman citizenship remained exceptional until the Constitutio Antoniniana even among local elites, whereas cities in Greece and Asia Minor, which were also particularly attached to their autonomy and to Hellenism, preferred to compete for the status of free city or for other honorary titles rather than become part of the Roman state.123 Since the universal grant of Roman citizenship did not affect the legal status of local communities and since colonial status could also bring tax exemptions and other privileges, it remained attractive for local communities in the Near East after 212 CE. Conclusion: Communis Patria and the Requirements of the Local Patris In this chapter, I  have tried to reassess the significance of Roman citizenship in the second century CE by contextualizing different local experiences in the Greek-​speaking provinces. We have seen that the meaning and the significance attributed to Roman citizenship varied greatly depending on local conditions. I have suggested that the attraction of this status for the local elite often depended on the proportion of Roman citizens in the local population, and more specifically among local dignitaries; on the social structure and the prevailing ideology of the elite group; and on local political institutions. Local demographic, social, economic, cultural, and political factors played a crucial role in the way Roman citizenship was perceived and addressed by local elites. But the actual number of Roman citizens in a city was not determined wholly by social, cultural, or moral considerations. A variety of specific historic circumstances also had a direct impact, including the nature of the relationship between a territory and Rome from the time of the conquest, the attitude of the local elites toward Roman power, the number and wealth of the local elite, the administrative status of local political communities, and the presence or absence of a large group of Italian traders from the late Hellenistic period. In the end, of course, grants of Roman citizenship 122. Isaac 2009; Isaac 2017. Another early example is Caesarea in Mauretania; see Leveau 1984, 13–​24. Eck 2009, on the contrary, thinks that Caesarea Maritima was an ordinary veteran colony. 123. Guerber 2010, 375–​416; Brélaz 2021.

280  Cédric Brélaz were decided by the central power, and variations in imperial policy also explain the huge discrepancies in the numbers of attested Roman citizens depending on the period and the region. Yet applicants played an active role in the entire process of granting Roman citizenship. Apart from the cases where the imperial authorities decided to enfranchise entire communities or large groups of people en masse, the initiative lay in individuals’ determination to seek citizenship and in their ability to get patronage, recommendation, and support from powerful sponsors. The decision to enter into this process or to refrain from it depended on their interest in Roman citizenship and on the benefits they expected to derive from it. This leads us back to the local context. Although the privileges of Roman citizenship were in principle applicable to any Roman citizen all over the empire, local elites primarily judged the value of Roman citizenship based on its usefulness for their own local agenda and based on the social recognition it might bring in their home cities. The diversity of local contexts resulted in different, and sometimes contradictory, attitudes toward Roman citizenship. In some cities, local notables eagerly sought Roman citizenship as a status symbol to foster their own ambitions at the local or regional level. This was an ancillary benefit of Roman citizenship. In many midsized cities throughout Greece and Asia Minor, Roman citizenship was used to express social distinction through the second century CE. Although Roman citizenship seems to have sometimes been a social prerequisite for holding higher offices (boards of senior officials in some cities, high priesthood in most koina), it never became a systematic or formalized requirement for entering local or provincial councils or accessing (higher) offices. Cities such as Ephesus or Athens, where virtually all of the highest officials already had Roman citizenship by the end of the first century CE, were exceptions—​and we have seen that alternative strategies were developed in Ephesus to establish a hierarchy within the local elite of Roman citizens. But there were other cities, particularly small, conservative ones, where there were very few Roman citizens, and also some free cities with a strong local identity, where local distinction did not rely on the possession of Roman citizenship. The local elite was rather composed of old families who lacked Roman citizenship and seem to have been somewhat reluctant to acquire or display that status. Personal considerations could also weigh in the balance. Even in contexts where Roman citizenship was common among the local elite, certain individuals seem to have refrained from seeking Roman citizenship, presumably because they were confident in their own standing. One should also note that the need for new Roman citizens to seek alliances with other families of Roman citizens in order to transmit citizenship was potentially onerous, and this can explain why, in some cases, Roman citizenship was not regarded as desirable.

Experiencing Roman Citizenship in the Greek East  281 It follows that the significance of Roman citizenship was not assessed in the same way everywhere. Although it was one of the very few common threads symbolizing the legal unity of a multiethnic empire, the value of Roman citizenship was established locally. As in so many other aspects of the administration of the empire, local identities and contexts were predominant. Despite Aelius Aristides’s celebration of universal citizenship in his speech in praise of Rome, the local elites of the cities of Greece and Asia Minor cared more about their standing in what remained their own small patris than about their relationship to the communis patria.

Part V

Epilogue

283

9

Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction Clifford Ando

Introduction It is easy to indict Sherwin-​White for his neglect of the second century CE. On a generous reading, he devotes two brief chapters to the history of Roman citizenship under the Flavian and Antonine emperors.1 Outside some limited consideration of metropolitan and provincial attitudes as expressed in literary sources, and some reflection on institutional operations as reflected particularly in the Flavian municipal law, on the one hand, and the ongoing existence of associations of Roman citizens, on the other, The Roman Citizenship eschews the need for serious quantitative or interpretive work in preference to an a priori view that the empire continued in this period on a trajectory established by the emperor Claudius: When it is next possible to take an official view of the Roman Empire, the impression is as though a great machine were at work to stamp with the seal of a formal recognition all that has been done or is being achieved in the way of what is called Romanization. The intervention of Claudius had been effective; it is understood that successive principes must register, with the mark of promotion suitable to each, the varying stages of the growth of the Roman world, here bestowing Latium or there establishing a Roman municipium according to the necessity of time and place.2 In classical scholarship, Claudius’s most famous action in respect of citizenship has long been the delivery of a speech to the Senate during his censorship; the occasion was his receipt of a petition by Gallic citizens of Rome who requested his support in their desire to hold office at Rome and thereby gain membership in the Senate. He gave them his support, and his speech sought to win 1. Sherwin-​White 1973a, 251–​274. 2. Sherwin-​ White 1973a, 251. See also 237:  “These famous and much discussed words [of Clotho in Apocolocyntosis 3] seem to open the last period in the history of the Roman citizenship, which from the time of Claudius appears to develop without a break until the issue of the Constitutio Antoniniana”; and 249: “A comprehensive idea of the history and importance of the citizenship in the time of Claudius can now be formed. There is a plurality of processes in operation at the time” (emphasis added).

Clifford Ando, Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction In: Roman and Local Citizenship in the Long Second Century CE. Edited by: Myles Lavan and Clifford Ando, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2021. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197573884.003.0010

286  Clifford Ando over the reluctant senators through reflection on historical Roman practice in the granting of citizenship as a general matter. In short, he justified his policy by describing his practice as harmonious with a pattern of historical conduct and a long-​standing attitude among the Roman elite.3 Claudius’s claims in these matters were at best misleading, if they were not wholly tendentious. That said, his is among the earliest in a sequence of histories of Roman citizenship that impose upon it a Tendenz that leads inexorably to its universalization among all good people.4 In this sense, at least, Claudius does launch a pattern, but it is not the one that Sherwin-​White credits to him.5 A more serious historical argument in favor of the “machine” hypothesis might, of course, be mounted. It would commence not with the impressionistic claims of political rhetoric—​the praises of Rome by Aelius Aristides, for example—​but with the outputs of institutional operations. The most important text of the second century in this regard is probably the so-​called Tabula Banasitana, the record of a grant of citizenship from the reign of Marcus Aurelius and Commodus to the chieftain of a local tribe in Mauretania. The third document on the bronze tablet, that which transmits confirmation of the grant of citizenship, announces its status as a copy of an official record as follows: Copied and verified from the record of those granted Roman citizenship by the divine Augustus and Tiberius Caesar Augustus and Gaius Caesar and the divine Claudius and Nero and Galba and the divine Augusti Vespasian and Titus and Domitian Caesar and the divine Augusti Nerva and Trajan Parthicus and Trajan Hadrian and Hadrian Antoninus Pius and Verus Germanicus Medicus Parthicus Maximus and Imperator Caesar Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus Germanicus Sarmaticus and Imperator Caesar Lucius Aurelius Commodus Augustus Germanicus Sarmaticus, which file Asclepiodotus the freedman produced, that which is written below. (IAM 94, ll. 22–​29) The protocols of the document testify to the authority and accuracy of the imperial bureaucracy as a producer of knowledge and of its records as preservers and conveyors of that knowledge.6 In a similar vein, the long litany of emperors, each identified as a grantor of citizenship, suggests that the empire had always already been engaged in what is implicitly a process, or cluster of processes, transforming 3. ILS 212. For an introduction, revised edition, translation, and commentary on the bronze tablet that preserves the speech of Claudius, see Malloch 2020, esp. 26–​42 on the context. 4. On imperial histories of Roman citizenship, see Ando 2016e, 175–​176. 5. Of course, Claudius did far more to affect particular localities as well as long-​term trends than adlect senators, as Sherwin-​White makes clear, even if his interpretation of these actions is problematic. See also Besson 2020, 118–​130. 6. Ando 2000, 35–​36, 82n28, 93–​94, 375. See also Ando 2020c and Dolganov, ­chapter 6 in this volume.

Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction  287 aliens into Romans. In this context, one way to characterize the work of Myles Lavan in quantifying the spread of citizenship would be to say that he has taken the machine argument as far as it might go, and it does not reveal what Sherwin-​ White and others have assumed that it would.7 Caracalla did not put the capstone to a process on the threshold of completion. Sherwin-​White’s arguments are vulnerable in other respects, too. In his study of metropolitan attitudes toward the spread of citizenship, he sought statements explicitly directed to the spread of citizenship as fact or policy. However, outside of provincial voices—​most particularly, of course, the so-​called Roman Oration of Aelius Aristides—​the second century CE yields very little in this regard. Sherwin-​White then read the limited metropolitan evidence that he did find as lamenting the indiscriminate nature of imperial grants. In this way, he interpreted this evidence as confirming both the fact of widespread grants and the lack of influence on policy of those senatorial voices that expressed hesitation about those grants.8 The small number of those voices, and their powerlessness, in turn justified—it was supposed—the conjoined theses of regular and rapid distribution of citizenship, alongside general approval of this practice among the imperial elite. Nor was Sherwin-​White alone in supposing ecumenical visions of Roman citizenship—​and cosmopolitan visions of empire—​to have been not simply widespread but normative. But here, too, hesitation is in order. Other work by Lavan has urged reconsideration of this understanding, too: Slaves to Rome offers a powerful reminder that metropolitan discourse on provincial populations continued into the Severan period to operate through matrices of political and moral evaluation that viewed aliens as legally subject and ethically inferior.9 In short, the intervention of Claudius into the politics of empire had not been effective, or not as effective as Sherwin-​White suggested. Let me stress that Sherwin-​White’s command of the evidence was masterful, and he was not incorrect in the patterns that he discerned in the evidence available to him. In very many respects, his vision of what a history of citizenship should embrace was remarkably capacious. Nevertheless, discourses of citizenship can scarcely do otherwise than commence from a structural binarism of citizen and alien. Analytic frameworks constructed on such a basis, including those that informed our evidence and those that we have constructed for ourselves, may well occlude social-​historical and political-​economic issues of considerable interest. Not even in the liberal tradition, with all its legalitarian commitments, do we still regard the law of persons as a sufficient lens onto a history of belonging. A contemporary socio-​legal study of citizenship would undoubtedly proceed on the basis of very different considerations of context and contextual change. The 7. Lavan  2016b. 8. Sherwin-​White 1973a,  258. 9. Lavan  2013.

288  Clifford Ando effects of empire on the contexts and formation of political subjectivity were numerous and cut across rules of personality and personal status. These same considerations urge caution in regarding the spread of citizenship as a leading indicator of cultural change or even as merely covariant with it.10 This is so for the very simple reason that the spread of citizenship across provinces, regions, and even cities was not uniform, and Rome did not govern less in those places where it made few citizens. Culture change was an effect not of the law of persons but of power.11 Put another way, efforts on the part of the empire to instrumentalize city-​state institutions in the service of imperial ends could and did proceed apace, regardless of the status vis-​à-​vis Rome of the members of any given locality—​and those efforts had knock-​on effects for innumerable aspects of local politics and culture. For example, I  have elsewhere argued that local political cultures writ large—​and local legal orders more narrowly—​gradually began to exhibit homologies with empire at the level of their ordering principles and homeomorphies at the level of institutional and procedural form. This was an effect of power and practice, apart from any intent on the part of imperial authorities. The result was that local social orders, which had previously existed in a purely hierarchical relation to the empire, were gradually reoriented in fractal subordination to it.12 A case in point regarding the second century CE might be the institutionalization of a practice in Chersonesus of listing in public records those who were present for the writing of any given document, which Georgy Kantor has suggested developed in imitation of Roman practice—​a practice, it might be said, supremely visible on the Tabula Banasitana.13 Such mimesis within institutional contexts occurred alongside widespread forms of cultural change that should be understood as driven by the aesthetics of power. A notable example in this domain is the taking up of the symbolics of Roman power within local contexts of worship—​for example, such that gods are displayed holding legionary standards—​practices that appear to cut across any forms of social differentiation based on the law of persons that might have been obtained in those contexts.14 This conclusion supplements and advances the project of this volume by taking on board structures, policies, and situations in which the citizen–​alien distinction—​and other, related distinctions that were then, and are now, taken to be homeomorphic with it—​were regularly confounded, as well as persons whose lives the discourse of citizenship systematically effaced. 10. I bracket as inessential any engagement with Sherwin-​White’s use of the term “Romanization” and the literature that term has provoked. 11. Many definitions of power, and many theories of its effects, might be cited. It is hopefully sufficient in this context to observe that where the Roman world of the second century is concerned, different models of power issue in very different interpretations of provincial literature; compare, e.g., Woolf 2020 with Schwartz 2020. 12. Ando 2014 and elsewhere. For a kindred argument, see Eckhardt 2016. 13. Kantor 2013b: 79. Witnesses on the Tabula Banasitana: IAM 94, ll. 41–​53. 14. Rostovtzeff 1942; Kantorowicz 1965, 7–​24.

Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction  289 City-​S tates, Citizen Bodies, and Minority Communities in Contexts of Empire The introduction to this volume cited formulations both early and late—​including the Rupilian law on jurisdiction in second-​century BCE Sicily and the theory of ius civile offered in the second century CE in Gaius’s Institutes—​to demonstrate normative expectations on the part of Romans of two kinds. First, systems of norms were distributed across the empire, city-​state by city-​state. They were generated by the law-​making institutions of those civitates, and they were enforced by the law-​applying institutions of those self-​same polities. Second, persons were members of populations or, rather, of citizen bodies, and these dwelt in the city-​states wherein they held membership. Similar expectations obtained at the intersection of juridical identity and republican politics. For example, historically, Roman voting tribes were territorially defined, such that someone who moved from the territory of Aniensis to the territory of Scaptia would be reassigned from the former to the latter voting tribe. Every one of these expectations, and many related to them, were regularly confounded, not simply by the world as the Romans encountered it but by the world that they created through imperial action. Of exceptional importance to this claim are those persons who possessed neither Roman nor local citizenship, that is, those whom ancient normative texts classified as residents of a village or members of an ethnic group—​for which many terms were available, of varying anthropological significance—​the important point being that the Romans understood membership in such a group to have been defined by descent rather than by law. Many were the spaces and peoples whose institutional form could not, by hook or by crook, be recognized as poliadic, or republican, but which nevertheless had to be governed. A case in point is precisely the gens of the Zegrenses, whom a Roman anthropology did not regard as juridically constituted but who nevertheless were credited with “law.” Likewise important to this claim is the reality that the Romans expected that persons would regularly move, or be moved, across taxonomic divides in the law of persons: minors would reach majority, persons in power would become sui iuris, men and women would have children (or not), and aliens would become Romans.15 The important result is simply that the populations of any given political space, which normative political and legal theory suggested would be unitary in respect of status, were always heterogeneous. A particularly violent example of the upending of an immanent norm through imperial practice would be the implantation of a colony of veterans in a preexisting town of Roman citizens; occasionally, the epigraphic record reveals that citizens of the “colony” were assigned to a different voting tribe from those who held membership in the town. All 15. Ando 2019c; see also Ando 2020c.

290  Clifford Ando manner of assumptions about the territorial basis of voting tribes were thereby undone.16 Such moments were far more disruptive when the colony of Roman citizens was implanted in an alien landscape, or, as an act of violence, at a moment when the juridical functioning of the preexisting community was formally abrogated. Livy’s narrative of the history of Antium suggests a belief that such interventions had long been an instrument of Roman colonialism. During the settlement of Latium in 338 BCE, according to Livy, the Romans founded a colony at Antium.17 The residents of the former town were invited to join the colony, at the cost of erasing their former non-​Roman identities. The language used by Livy at the relevant moments in his narrative is so terse as to preclude certainty about details. Nevertheless, it seems clear from Livy’s narrative that some declined this invitation. In 317, some persons still identified as Antiates—​presumably persons who had not enrolled in the colony and therefore existed outside governmental or legal institutions—​complained that they were living without laws or magistrates; the Roman Senate granted that the patrons of the colony should write laws for them, in what amounted to a gathering in of those who had lingered as nonmembers of the colony but residents in its political space.18 In provincial contexts, the more common outcome of such processes appears to have been a so-​called double community: two juridically constituted political communities, each with its own institutions, dwelling in the same political space.19 It deserves stress that these cases are known because they departed from the norm. Indeed, the two best-​attested cases of the preservation of a system of “local law” are ones that were institutionally anomalous, and so they required explanation, attracted critique, and demanded defense. In each case, use of the relevant system of norms was determined by a law of personality in a context in which an assumed cohomology of personal status, juridical space, and sovereignty broke down. One case is that of those classified by Rome as “Egyptians,” which was simply the category to which the Romans assigned those in Egypt who were neither Roman citizens nor citizens of the few poliadic communities that were allowed to exist.20 The other well-​attested case is that of the Judaeans who, unlike the “Egyptians,” did not inhabit a single political space (of whatever

16. Taylor 1960, 319–​323. 17. Livy 8.14.8:  Et Antium nova colonia missa, cum eo ut Antiatibus permitteretur, si et ipsi adscribi coloni vellent; naves inde longae abactae interdictumque mari Antiati populo est et civitas data (“A new colony was also sent to Antium, with the condition that it should be permitted to the Antiates that they should be enrolled as colonists, if they wished; their long boats were taken away and they were forbidden access to the sea, and citizenship was granted to them”). 18. Livy 9.20.10. On the interpretive possibilities to which these passages are open, and a review of scholarship on these issues, see Oakley 1998, 565–​567, and Oakley 2005, 275–​276. 19. Teutsch 1961; Mitchell 1978; Mitchell 1979; Purcell 1987. 20. On rules of personality and systems of law in Egypt under Roman rule, see the introduction to this volume; see also Keenan, Manning, and Yiftach-​Firanko 2014.

Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction  291 characteristics). Instead, diaspora Judaeans are known from city-​states across the eastern Mediterranean, including Alexandria in Egypt, where they sometimes held local citizenship and sometimes dwelled as resident aliens.21 The situation of the Judaeans of the first two centuries CE demands our attention because they were understood by the Romans to be a community of descent—​in the Greek texts on which we rely, they were an ethnos—​that had, and perforce was entitled to use, its own laws.22 This privilege is first recorded to have been extended to the Judaeans in Sidon by Julius Caesar, in connection with his favor for Hyrcanus, “son of Alexander, high priest and ethnarch of the Judaeans.”23 But insofar as the Jews existed as a minority community in many cities in the eastern Mediterranean, this privilege was repeatedly extended, and it lay in the nature of imperial institutional operations that the package of rights that were granted to Judaeans in such contexts very rapidly consolidated around a predictable nucleus. It was furthermore consistent with Roman justifications of institutional operations that the case of the Judaeans was explained in Roman public documents as the working out in a particular case of a principle that obtained generally.24 So, for example, in a letter addressed to the Alexandrians, the emperor Claudius affirmed the right of the Jews to follow their own laws, which act Claudius described as consonant with an earlier action on the part of the emperor Augustus, who had wanted “each party [namely, the Macedonians and the Jews] to abide by its own customs and not be compelled to violate its ancestral religio.”25 Similarly, in a letter to the Ephesians from ca 14 BCE, Agrippa had urged that those who steal the temple tax of the Jews “and flee to places of asylum, I want them to be dragged away and handed over to the Jews, on the same legal principle under which temple robbers are dragged away.”26 The specification of the legal principle at stake operates to elide any particularity of the Jewish case, in favor of an act of construal by which the religious properties of the Jews are assimilated to sacred properties more generally. In the perspective of the metropole, the privileges granted to the Judaeans were largely those of assembly as a self-​identified minority population and the right to follow their own customs. But this had potential, and apparently regular, implications for the city-​states in which these populations of Judaeans resided, namely, that where the working out of the Judaeans’ norms conflicted with local law, the Romans granted the Judaeans exemption from the relevant obligations. 21. On the contentious question of the incidence of local citizenship among diaspora Jews, see Ritter 2015. 22. Eckhardt  2017. 23. Pucci Ben Zeev 1998, document no. 1. 24. Ando  2016f. 25. Pucci Ben Zeev 1998, document no. 28 = Josephus Ant. 19.282–​283: βουλόμενον ὑποτετάχθαι ἑκάστους ἐμμένοντας τοῖς ἰδίοις ἔθεσιν καὶ μὴ παραβαίνειν ἀναγκαζομένους τὴν πάτριον θρησκείαν. 26. Pucci Ben Zeev 1998, document no. 24 = Josephus Ant. 16.168: τούς τε κλέπτοντας ἱερὰ χρήματα τῶν Ἰουδαίων καταφεύγοντάς τε εἰς τὰς ἀσυλίας βούλομαι ἀποσπᾶσθαι καὶ παραδίδοσθαι τοῖς Ἰουδαίοις, ᾧ δικαίῳ ἀποσπῶνται οἱ ἱερόσυλοι.

292  Clifford Ando Hence, beyond the attestation of the granting and affirmation of privilege, we also know of efforts on the part of city-​states to have those privileges withdrawn. In 70 CE, for example, when Titus stopped at Antioch on his way from Jerusalem to Rome, the population of Antioch followed its acclamation of the emperor with a request that he (allow them to) expel the Judaeans from their city. When he declined, they asked again: if he would not expel the Judaeans, he should at least remove “the bronze tablets on which were inscribed the rights of the Judaeans.”27 There were other groups within poliadic territories whose right to use their own norms (within limits), or whose separation from the norms of the city-​ state, was recognized by Rome, and difficult questions can be raised about the extent to which patterned similarities and differences among these cases should be explained as the result of iterated but individual acts of legal reasoning, or whether we should understand the Romans as having had a general category—​ for example, the voluntary association—​of which many such communities were treated as instances.28 In the present context, more important by far, I  would argue, is the evidence that Roman law and reasoning with respect to status—​and in particular with respect to changes of status—​had profound and far-​reaching effects on notions of personhood among precisely those provincial communities that sought and were granted the right to use their own laws. Once again, the Jewish case is the best attested among populations colonized by Rome, but there is little reason to think of it as idiosyncratic in respect of the general phenomenon. In Jewish texts of the second century CE, and in an ongoing way thereafter, legal arguments with clear affinity to Roman substantive law were advanced with regard to the treatment of persons captured by bandits, for example, or the marital rights of freed slaves. The most complex and compelling case concerns the law regarding converts, the essential point being that the “convert” was not a concept known to halakha; it developed in the Roman period, and demonstrably under the influence of Roman rules on changes of status.29 Rome thus contributed to the juridification of systems of identity even among populations that (polemically) did not understand themselves as Roman. Unequal in Equal Subjection: Performing Loyalty to Emperor and Empire In further tracing the imbrication of Romans, local citizens, and others in local landscapes, it is essential to commence with some points on evidence and method. 27. Josephus Bell. Iud. 7.110: τὰς γὰρ χαλκᾶς ἡξίουν δέλτους ἀνελεῖν αὐτόν, ἐν αἷς γέγραπται τὰ δικαιώματα τῶν Ἰουδαίων. On this passage, see Pucci Ben Zeev 1998, 424; Ando 2000, 124; useful, too, is Eilers 2009. 28. Eckhardt  2019. 29. Berthelot 2019 provides an overview of the historiography. On particular points, see Hayes 2002; Dohrmann 2008; Malka and Paz 2019; Wilfand 2020.

Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction  293 For efficiency’s sake, I therefore state in bald terms a number of claims, both historical and theoretical, that will ultimately require substantial and specific verification. First, Latin and Greek varied in their commitment to differentiating between the languages of ethnicity and juridical status. This matters because the political salience of juridical difference may have depended, from context to context, on the ethnic origin of the parties who were Roman at law, and ancient texts may deliberately confound categories that we would keep analytically distinct. Second, as a related matter, the historical demography of populations of juridical Romans in specific contexts must have varied over time, such that from case to case and time to time, juridical Romans were either immigrants from Italy or enfranchised locals. Third, different regions witnessed highly discrepant patterns of historical change, whether cultural or demographic—​related to the immigration of Italians or settling down of discharged auxiliary soldiers. One of the more fascinating consequences of the Constitutio Antoniniana was that the Roman authorities themselves had to wrestle with the problem that juridical understandings of identity—​that they were Roman who were legally Roman—​ were frequently at variance with other indices of cultural change and social conduct. Persons made Roman through acts of law might well live lives disconsonant with Roman custom and would need to be admonished to live more Romano—​ and this was known and done.30 Exemplary tales were told of persons rebuked for not knowing Latin or appearing in public without a toga—​and of their correction. Roman authorities were not nearly so processualist as dogmatic accounts of the Roman law of persons might make them appear. A test case for what the language of our texts reveals, and what it occludes, is provided by records for the performance of the vows and oath of loyalty that were undertaken and discharged every year on the third of January, in the first case, or sworn on the anniversary of the emperor’s accession, in the second. Consider first the representation given of the participants in the oath of loyalty sworn to Augustus and his descendants in Paphlagonia in March of 3 BCE: [I]‌n Gangra, in the , the oath completed by those dwelling in Paphlagonia and the Romans doing business among them (καὶ τῶν πραγματευομένων παρ᾿ αὐτοῖς Ῥωμαίων) . . . All those [in the countryside] swore the same words in the temples of Augustus throughout the province at the altars of Augustus. The Phazimonians swore likewise, the ones dwelling in so-​called New Polis, all of them, in the temple of Augustus at the altar of Augustus.31 Here, as in other representations from the Julio-​Claudian period, an account of political action differentiates between locals and Romans, even as the content 30. Ando 2011b, 23. 31. ILS 8781 = EJ 315. The phrase “in the countryside” translates a restoration: οἱ ἐ[ν τῇ χώρᾳ].

294  Clifford Ando of their action was the same. In the juridically constituted polis of Assos, for example, the decision to swear the oath is represented by the locals as jointly conceived by both the demos of Assos and “the Romans doing business among us” (SIG 797). In short, in the Julio-​Claudian period, in documents that purport to be disinterested accounts of ritual action (Paphlagonia), as well as in those that derive from a first-​person perspective (in the text from Assos, “us” is the people of Assos), care is taken to distinguish between the actions of Roman citizens and those of locals—​they have discrepant status in respect of the center—​even as they are united in their affection for the emperor and subjection to his power. A century later, Pliny provided Trajan with accounts over two successive years of the paired ceremonies, the vows on January 3 and the oath on the anniversary of Trajan’s accession on January 28. Pliny himself employs on one occasion an undifferentiated first-​person plural: “we have made the annual vows for your safety” (Ep. 10.35); elsewhere, he specifies that not only was the action undertaken by himself but that he led the soldiers under his command in swearing the oath and that the provincials competed with the soldiers in their zeal for the action: “I preceded the soldiers in swearing the oath in ritual fashion, with the provincials swearing the same oath in competitive fashion” (Ep. 10.52: Praeivimus et commilitionibus ius iurandum more solemni, eadem provincialibus certatim pietate iurantibus); “We discharged the vows undertaken last year with zeal and joy, and we undertook new vows, with your fellow soldiers and the provincials competing in their displays of piety” (Ep. 10.100: Vota, domine, priore anno nuncupata alacres laetique persolvimus novaque rursus certante commilitionum et provincialium pietate suscepimus). In his responses, Trajan consistently emphasizes Pliny’s role in reciting the vow or oath first, which is to say, Pliny leads the ceremony by doing, while the others follow by imitating; Trajan also deemphasizes the notion of competition and once, at least, stresses the shared commitment of all participants (Ep. 10.53: te praeeunte; 10.101: te praeeunte . . . laetissimo consensu; 10.103: praeeunte te). Pliny thus provides invaluable evidence for the form of the ritual:  it was done by lining, which is to say, he as leader recited the words first, and he was followed by others whose knowledge and performance of correct conduct were learned through mimicry. Furthermore, the population was divided into two groups for the purposes of performance—​soldiers and provincials—​even as they were united through the identity of their actions. For his part, Trajan provides an interpretation: their feeling was unitary; their sentiment was literally shared (consensus). At the same time, Pliny’s ritual both divides and unites the world according to different principles of social differentiation from those apparent in the Julio-​Claudian records:  as magistrate, he led and set the example for both (Roman) soldiers and (alien) residents of the province. There were presumably non-​soldiering Romans present, but the need to break them out, as it were, had

Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction  295 receded in favor of a new set of priorities, which differentiated soldier and civilian but also united them in loyalty and subjection. The same logic is visible in the reference to the annual vows offered a century later by Tertullian, on the eve of the Constitutio Antoniniana: “What of the annual taking of vows? How do they seem? They are taken first in the camps, and then in the Capitolia” (De corona 12.3: Ecce annua votorum nuncupatio quid videtur? Prima in principiis, secunda in Capitoliis). Once again, the distinction among participants that is salient to political action is that which distinguishes civilian and soldier. Populating the Legal System The late republic and the triumviral period disrupted many aspects of local and macro-​regional life in the Mediterranean, not least in respect of the rule of law. One noteworthy instantiation of Roman willingness to exploit legal institutions to further private interest is the grants of privilege to “friends” of Rome—​or friends of powerful Romans—​in the form of allowances that they might have their legal disputes heard wherever they might wish: in the courts of their hometown, in another polis, or in the court of the Roman governor.32 Provoked, no doubt, by the abuses such persons were empowered to enact but also by local resentment of manipulation of the legal system by resident Romans, the emperor Augustus sought in a sequence of edicts of 7/​6 BCE to correct both specific and systemic problems in the province of Cyrene. (The set of four edicts from 7/​6 BCE was inscribed at Cyrene alongside an edict of general application promulgated in 4 BCE.) The first edict was directed at abuses of the legal system by resident Romans: Since I find that all the Romans in the province of Cyrene are two hundred and fifteen of every age who have a census valuation [τίμησιν] of twenty-​ five hundred denarii or more, from whom the judges are [chosen], and that there are conspiracies among these Romans—​so the embassies of the cities from the province have complained—​that have oppressed the Greek in capital cases [ἐν ταῖς θανατηφόροις δίκαις], the same people taking turns as accusers and as witnesses for each other . . . The fair and appropriate course of action, it seems to me, would be for those who govern the province of Crete and Cyrene to set up [a list] in the province of Greek judges of the highest census valuation [τὸν ἴσον ἀριθμὸν Ἑλλήνων κριτῶν ἐκ τῶν μεγίστων τιμημάτων ὅσον καὶ Ῥωμαίων], equal in number to the Roman judges.33

32. The most important texts in this regard are the senatus consultum de Asclepiade and the dossier of Seleukos of Rhosos; on these, see Raggi 2001; Raggi 2004b; Raggi 2006. 33. SEG IX 8 = EJ 311, edict I, ll. 3–​11, 13–​16 (trans. R. K. Sherk).

296  Clifford Ando Augustus goes on to propose that Greeks on trial may choose to have a jury composed entirely of Romans or of half Romans, half Greeks; the method of selection, including opportunities for both accuser and defendant to reject a certain number of names, is very Roman, albeit much of the terminology (e.g., for the urn that held the balls with names, whence the jurors were randomly selected, the κληρωτηρίον) is unproblematically Greek. Broadly speaking, the underlying principles that Augustus aims to actualize in Cyrene—​not simply the use of juries but also their composition and, indeed, the publicity given their composition—​ are ones consistently on display in Roman rules of procedure, in all manner of courts over which Rome exercised any influence.34 Several aspects of the situation merit specific attention in this context. First, the background condition would seem to be thorough interpenetration of the two populations. Second, the legal system—​which must have consisted of local courts as well as a governor’s tribunal—​allowed the Romans who were resident in the province to manipulate procedure so as to transform criminal trials into an instrument of colonialist oppression, by stacking the jury. A further background condition is therefore sufficient alienation between Romans and locals, and corruption among at least a select group among the Roman elite, that juries could be successfully manipulated to produce this result. (Please observe that Augustus faults structural factors of this kind and does not identify any one agent—​a Verres, for example—​as chiefly responsible.) The basic institutional structures for the administration of law in the second century CE are essentially homeomorphic with those that were present in Cyrene—​every autonomous city had its own law-​applying institutions, and every governor held assizes around his province.35 A notable aspect of this system is the power it effectively delivered to the citizens of the dominant city-​state within any given territory, whose monopoly control over the production and application of law delivered to it immense power over the populations that were administratively subordinated to it. (I will take up this issue further.) Beyond this, two aspects of the staffing of legal institutions, particularly in the eastern Mediterranean, come into view in the second century in a fashion that suggests considerable demographic and social change with regard to the juridical status of those who staffed the system. These concern juries, on the one hand, and legal experts—​particularly experts in local law—​who are attested above all in advisory capacities to Roman tribunals, on the other. 34. Beyond the material from the eastern Mediterranean to be discussed here, the relevant sources include Cicero’s account of the lex Rupilia, written for Sicily in 132 BCE (Cic. Verr. 2.2.32, with Kantor 2010; fragments IV, VI, and VII from the lex Colonia Genetiva = Michael Crawford, Appendix I to González 1986; and the lex Flavia municipalis, chaps. 86–​89. 35. For surveys, see Fournier 2010 and Kantor 2015. Beyond Cicero’s description of the lex Rupilia (on which see note 34), evidence for the West derives principally from Pliny the Elder, on which see Ando 2011a.

Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction  297 Where juries are concerned, two pieces of evidence from the first century CE and two from the second suggest that the use and constitution of juries continued along procedural lines similar to those outlined in the first Cyrene edict.36 An honorific inscription for Quintius Decius Saturninus from the reign of Tiberius, erected in Aquinum, records his holding office as “praefectus fabrum with jurisdiction and oversight of the selection of jurors by lot in [the province of] Asia” (ILS 6286: praefectus fabrum iuri dicundo et sortiendis iudicibus in Asia). Mommsen had understood the role of Saturninus as analogous to that of Quintus Volusius on staff with Cicero during Cicero’s governorship of Cilicia: Cicero sent Volusius to Cyprus in order that the few Romans who were resident (aliens) there should not be without access to a Roman tribunal.37 But the decrees from Cyrene and the reforms they enact, which are likely to antedate the office of Saturninus, greatly increase the likelihood that he oversaw a jury selection process that involved both Romans and aliens.38 The same might be said for Gaius Calpurnius Asclepiades of Prusa, who held citizenship in seven cities:  “he sat alongside magistrates of the Roman people both elsewhere and in the province of Asia,” with oversight of the jury rolls and the urns for selecting juries (ILS 7789: adsedit magistratibus populi Romani ita ut in aliis et in provincia Asia custodiar(ius) [tabellarum?] in urna iudicum). Finally, in a letter to Trajan otherwise concerned with the situation of a naturalized Roman, Flavius Archippus, who was trying to claim exemption from local liturgies on grounds of his status as a teacher of philosophy, Pliny frames the inquiry by reference to his own preparations for holding an assize at Prusa: “When, sir, I was summoning jurors and preparing to hold assizes, Flavius Archippus tried to claim exemption on the grounds that he was a teacher of philosophy” (Plin. Ep. 10.58.1, trans. Radice: Cum citarem iudices, domine, conventum incohaturus, Flavius Archippus vacationem petere coepit ut philosophus). A jury system connected with Roman tribunals is therefore now visible in multiple provinces, and there is every reason to believe that those in Asia and Bithynia-​Pontus adhered to the system established in Cyrene. They would have drawn on rosters of the local elite; the juries are likely to have been mixed, commingling in some proportion Romans and aliens. But what sort of Romans were these? Were they immigrants from Italy or descendants thereof? Or naturalized Greeks? To put the question in those terms is to raise issues of Roman policy in the cultivation of local elites and empirical questions about the spread of citizenship that reach beyond the scope of this section. But we can and should consider in this context another issue, which can to a point be treated as a proxy to the problem of the composition of juries, and that is the nature of those elites who are recorded 36. For the evidence, see Sherwin-​White 1966, 639–​640, on Pliny Ep. 10.58.1. 37. Mommsen 1871–​1888, I: 231–​232, citing Cic. Att. 114.6 SB. 38. See also I.Didyma 272.

298  Clifford Ando as experts in matters of local law, and in particular those who served as advisors to Roman magistrates in such issues. This is a topic that has received a great deal of attention in recent years, and two patterns in the data deserve mention in this context.39 First, experts in local law are visible in epigraphic sources in general—​ and in particular as advisers to Roman courts—​above all, in the second century CE. To be sure, epigraphic sources in general are more numerous in the second century than they are for the Julio-​Claudian period. Nevertheless, the evidence very strongly suggests that experts in local law became public figures of the sort they were, with institutional roles of the sort they had, worthy of public commemoration in the manner they were, because the superordinate structure of empire called them into being. To put the matter in this way is to urge that “local law” was not a historical relic of the pre-​Roman era that somehow lingered on, belatedly, until Roman norms could drive it from the scene. Instead, expertise in law was both a skill that local elites could provide to Roman magistrates and a notionally disinterested, narrowly technical mechanism by which local socioeconomic elites could affirm their status as elites before local subalterns. To speak in such terms is, of course, merely to align the history of local law under the empire with the situation of colonial law in premodern empire more generally. The second pattern revealed by contemporary inquiry into the history of local legal experts is precisely that in any given context, these were frequently Roman citizens and also members of the local elite. We are therefore returned to the central demographic and social problem of this chapter. Local Citizenship and Republican Empire The composition and situation of local elites in the second century CE need to be understood in light of the deep and abiding interest that Rome possessed, and the wide-​ranging efforts it undertook, to foster stable local elites across the landscapes of the empire.40 Again, it is essential to emphasize that there is little evidence of a uniform policy or abstract commitment on the part of the Romans to the notion that the utility of local elites to the imperial project, or the consonance between local and imperial orders, depended in any way on the fashioning of those local elites as juridically Roman. It is essential, therefore, to highlight the mechanisms by which Rome sought to nurture local elites into being and instrumentalize them in pursuit of their own and imperial interest, regardless of status. Looking back at the origins of Roman rule in peninsular Greece from precisely the second century CE, the travelogue and historical tourist Pausanias recalled that after the sack of Corinth in 146 BCE, Lucius Mummius and the 39. C. P. Jones 2007 [2009]; Kantor 2009; Kantor 2013a; and Dolganov 2020. 40. On the creeping power of plutocratic elites in the Hellenistic polis, see Hamon 2007 and Hamon 2009. On the implications of these trends for our estimation of political cultures, see Ando 2018.

Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction  299 ten senatorial commissioners who were advising him “put an end to rule by the masses and established offices based on property qualifications” (Paus. 7.16.9: ὡς δέ ἀφίκοντο οἱ σύν αὐτῶι βουλευσόμενοι, ἐνταῦθα δημοκρατίας μὲν κατέπαυε, καθίστα δέ ἀπὸ τιμημάτων τὰς ἀρχάς). Although Pausanias also urges that the Greek politician and historian Polybius—​who had long been resident in Rome and advised Romans at the highest levels of the aristocracy—​played a role in the writing of local civic constitutions, particularly for cities that had been members of the Achaean league (Paus. 8.30.8–​9), the surviving text of Polybius’s History suggests that he had played a more limited role: The ten commissioners, having settled these matters in six months, left for Italy in the spring, leaving behind them a good example to the whole of Greece of the policy of Rome. On quitting Polybius, they enjoined him to visit the cities, and clear up any matters about which people were doubtful, until they grew accustomed to the constitution [politeia] and laws [nomoi]. (Polyb. 39.5.1–​2, trans. Paton, revised by Walbank and Habicht:  ἐνετείλαντο δὲ τῷ Πολυβίῳ χωριζόμενοι τὰς πόλεις ἐπιπορευθῆναι καὶ περὶ (ὧν) οἱ ἄνθρωποι ἀμφιβάλλουσι διευκρινῆσαι, μέχρις οὗ συνήθειαν ἑχωσι τῇ πολιτείᾳ καὶ τοῖς νόμοις.) Whatever the specifics, it is clear from later references by the Romans themselves, in response to political unrest in Greek cities in subsequent decades, that they understood the “constitution” granted to the Greeks in 146 to have been directed not simply at affairs at the level of the province but to the organization of public-​law matters in the cities themselves. For example, ca 115 BCE, the proconsul Quintus Fabius Maximus responded to unrest in the city of Dyme: an anti-​Roman politician had destroyed civic archives and public records and proposed a cancellation of private debts—​and, Maximus averred, wrote laws in contravention of the constitution given to the Achaeans by the Romans (SIG 684, ll. 9-​10: ὁ καὶ τοὺς νόμους γράψας ὑπεναντίους τῆι ἀποδοθείσηι τοῖς Ἀχαιοῖς ὑπὸ Ῥωμαίων πολιτείαι). This impression granted by the partial but considerable evidence for Achaea is both extended and confirmed by the evidence for other constitutional enactments regulating public powers in the communities of provinces.41 The best attested is surely the so-​called lex Pompeia, which still regulated the affairs of the city-​states of Bithynia and Pontus in the second century CE, when Pliny held his special governorship there in the reign of Trajan.42 It is clear that Pompey sought to regulate the size and membership

41. The evidence collected by de Ste. Croix 1981, app. IV, deserves careful study, but the terms of his analysis are crude and unhelpful. By far the best regional study remains, in my view, Magie 1950, 368–​377, 1231–​1240. 42. For a summary, see Mitchell 1993, I: 88–​89; in greater detail, see Sherwin-​White 1966, esp. on Plin. Ep. 10.79, 10. 112, 10.114.

300  Clifford Ando of city councils and established regulations governing eligibility for public office, as well as restricting the ability of cities to grant local citizenship as a dual citizenship to persons from other communities in Bithynia. What is perhaps notable is the extent to which a remarkable variety of titulature in public offices persisted; whatever the terms employed by the lex Pompeia and the severity with which these were enjoined, they were actualized at a local level in local terms.43 Not for naught does Cassius Dio recall that Pompey gave to the peoples of Asia “their own laws and constitutions” (Cass. Dio 37.20: νόμοις τε ἰδίοις καὶ πολιτείαις). Less is known about the province of Asia, but in 9 BCE, the city-​states of the province undertook a province-​wide reorganization of local calendars so that all new years should begin, and all magistrates should enter office, on the birthday of Augustus. The second decree of the koinon in connection with this effort observes that this change should be made to harmonize with a preexisting enactment by a Roman magistrate—​almost undoubtedly Sulla—​the lex Cornelia, which had theretofore governed civic elections in the cities of the province.44 Cicero had earlier cited a lex Cornelia to deputations from the cities of his province, cautioning them against expenditures on embassies in excess of the lex Cornelia (Fam. 73.6 SB). Further evidence of Roman influence on local elections may be inferred from the procedures for local elections that are adumbrated in the rules for the selection of the rotating position of agonothete (“holder of the games”) in respect to the festival endowed by Gaius Julius Demosthenes in Lycian Oenoanda in the reign of Hadrian. As Michael Wörrle makes clear in his remarkable commentary, the procedures at second-​century Oenoanda mimic those of nomination and counter-​nomination known from Roman private and public law, as does the award of a temporary exemption from other civic duties for the (un?)lucky soul who wins the position.45 In the judgment of Stephen Mitchell, “the electoral laws of Oenoanda show strong Roman influence and may indeed go back to a lex provinciae.”46 Structures such as these help to establish the conditions of legitimate interpretation for modern historians inquiring into the status of Roman citizens in provincial communities in the second century CE. They certainly demonstrate the interest of Rome in nurturing and sustaining local elites—​residing in urban centers, which provided the monumental context for the operation of 43. In a matter of public law that bears on the reach of the lex Pompeia, see Plin. Ep. 108–​109: Pliny invites Trajan to make a general rule about the power of cities to recover money from contracts for hire or sale, namely, should claims by the polity have priority over the claims of othe lenders? Trajan abjures the utility of making a general rule: Quo iure uti debeant Bithynae vel Ponticae civitates in iis pecuniis, quae ex quaque causa rei publicae debebuntur, ex lege cuiusque animadvertendum est. See also Trajan ad Plin. Ep. 10.113: Id ergo, quod semper tutissimum est, sequendam cuiusque civitatis legem puto. 44. OGIS 458 = RDGE 65, ll. 78–​84 at 83: ὡς καὶ ἐν τῷ Κορνηλίῳ νόμωι. 45. Wörrle 1988, 77–​100. For the text, see SEG 38, 1462, esp. ll. 87–​90 but also 29–​30. 46. Mitchell 1990, 188.

Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction  301 depersonalized institutions of Greek and Roman statal power—​whom the empire might then instrumentalize as nodal points for the translation and extension of Roman interest into countrysides that imperial infrastructural power was never going to reach.47 In this way, the two thousand or so communities that the empire recognized as self-​governing city-​states were mobilized in order to capture their hinterlands for the purposes of imperial fiscal control.48 In the language of empire, those city-​states were “to have” the lands and communities in their hinterland; those communities, whatever their status before their administrative subordination, were henceforth denominated villages; and all their peoples became purely nonpolitical. An example of this language may be found in the triumviral decree of the Roman Senate on the status of Aphrodisias from 39 BCE:49 and [it is agreed] that the polity and the citizens of Plarasa and Aphrodisias are to have, hold, use and enjoy all those lands, places, buildings, villages, estates, strongpoints, pastures, revenues which they had when they entered the friendship of the Roman People.50 Similarly, in a second-​ century CE grant from Hadrian to the citizens of Stratonikeia Hadrianopolis, a city that he had assisted to refound in 123 CE: You seem to be asking for things that are only just and necessary to a recently established city-​state [δίκαια ἀξιοῦν μοι δοκεῖτε καὶ ἀναγκαῖα ἄρτι γεινομένῃ πόλει]. Accordingly, I grant you the taxes from the rural area [τὰ τε οὖν τέλη τὰ ἐκ τῆς χώρας δίδωμι ὑμεῖν], and as for the house of Tiberius Claudius Socrates that is in your city, let Socrates either repair it or sell it to one of the local inhabitants, so that it does not collapse from age and neglect. (SIG 837 = Oliver 1989, no. 79; trans. Oliver) By virtue of these conjoined practices, the elites of the privileged city-​states of the Roman world—​to wit, those communities denominated city-​states as a matter of (imperial) public law—​were (re)created by Rome as republican elites: an aristocracy of virtue within city-​states nominally organized along democratic lines, elected to powers for which they alone were eligible, and dominating households and countrysides using social and legal powers increasingly hybridized between local and imperial norms. To adopt the terms that I employed earlier, the forms of politics and domination that Rome had learned in the governance of Italy in the middle and late republic were now standardized, and these were deployed at a local level, in fractal (and belated) reduplication of the structures of republican empire. 47. Ando 2017b; Ando 2017c. 48. In addition to the items in note 10 of the Introduction (with their bibliographies), see Ando 2021. 49. An exceptionally clear introduction to, and history of, the privileges grant to Aphrodisias may be found in Pont 2012. 50. I.Aphrodisias 2007 no. 8.27 = Raggi and Buongiorno 2020, ll. 58–​60 (trans. Reynolds): ἔχωσιν, κρατῶσιν, χρῶνται, καρπίζωνται τε.

302  Clifford Ando None of this required that the elites of those city-​states be juridically Roman. That they might be Roman in any given case was an effect of macro-​ regional patterns and accidental to their utility to Rome. What mattered both to them and to the empire was, rather, the maintaining of forms of social distinction that sustained the dominance of poliadic elites over the residents in their administratively subordinated hinterlands. Thus, when the universalization of Roman citizenship effectively required that city-​states embrace the populations in their hinterland in local structures of political belonging, new forms of distinction—​often drawing on older languages and concepts—​had to be mobilized in order to re-​establish the fiscal dominance of the poliadic elite.51 I will return to the role of city-​state institutions in counting and cataloguing persons in their territories. Naturally, in actual practice, at the start of the second century, many members of local and regional elites must have been Roman citizens, with the percentage increasing over time. Once upon a time, many scholars simply assumed that this process would have proceeded mechanistically (to employ Sherwin-​White’s metaphor), even in the East. In his remarkable survey, “The Greek City in the Roman Period,” for example, Fergus Millar performed a reading of an honorific inscription from Kalindoia in 1 CE and suggested that, “Given [its] early date, one element is missing: the progressive extension to the leading families in most Greek cities of the Roman citizenship, and, following on that, the acquisition by their members of positions in the equestrian service and the Roman senate.”52 The problem, however, is precisely that the hard empirical work of determining the preponderance of Roman citizens among local civic elites in the East had not been done in 1993, and has still not been done, neither for citizens in general nor for equestrians.53 In the West, of course, grants of Roman citizenship to elected magistrates in Latin municipalities were systematic, and a grant of the so-​called “greater Latin right” resulted in the conferral of citizenship en bloc on all current members of a town’s council.54 The citation of the systematic grants of Roman citizenship to local elites in consequence of either local election or local eminence antedating a grant of Latin status to the community as a whole raises questions about the meaning of the distinction encoded by Roman citizenship. As I have stressed elsewhere, the peculiarity of these grants cannot be overemphasized: far from being an honor carried by metropolitan Romans in alien landscapes or a reward granted by Rome to 51. For the requirement that cities extend local citizenship to residents of their hinterland, see Ulpian ad Edictum bk. 61 frag. 1409 Lenel = Dig. 50.1.30: Qui ex vico ortus est, eam patriam intellegitur habere, cui rei publicae vicus ille respondet. On social distinction in the aftermath of the edict of Caracalla, see esp. Bryen 2016; see also Ando 2017b. 52. Millar 1993 = Millar 2006, 127. 53. For now, see Müller and Hasenohr 2002; Cébeillac-​Gervasoni and Lamoine 2003; Cébeillac-​Gervasoni, Lamoine, and Trément 2004; Lavan 2020. 54. Gai. Inst. 1.96. For an example, see ILS 6780 from Gigthis, where the gratitude of the local elite to Marcus Servilius Albucianus, who undertook the embassies to secure the right, is palpable.

Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction  303 individuals for their political conduct or cultural self-​fashioning as Romans, Roman citizenship in these communities attached to individuals as a result of their successful performance in purely local sociopolitics.55 What is needed at this juncture, then, are studies of both local practices for adjudicating issues of status as an interest of government and the understandings with which provincials enfranchised as Romans were then freighted. To these topics I now turn. Citizenship and Status at the Local Level In a set of letters from his third year in Bithynia, Pliny consulted Trajan regarding several matters of public law related to the conduct of the local census; the questions bore on the composition of the civic council, the payment of entrance fees on selection to the council, the practice of cities of granting their citizenship as a second citizenship to persons who already were citizens elsewhere in Bithynia, and the duty of censors to expel from civic councils senators who were holders of dual citizenship.56 (Though Pliny refers to “censors,” the functions he identifies were carried out by officials with titles that varied from place to place: βουλογράφοι, κοσμηταί, πολιτογράφοι, and τιμηταί.) In all these matters, local norms and practice intersected with, and were occasionally at variance with, the lex Pompeia. Three features of this correspondence bear on the present inquiry. First, they are a reminder that Rome relied extensively on the machinery of local government to count people and adjudicate questions of personal status. Second, they participate in another pattern of the evidence, which is that the principles and mechanics of local censuses are best known to us from moments of intersection between local and imperial interest.57 (I employ the term “principles and mechanisms” to distinguish this area of inquiry from the titulature of local officials involved with the census, which is attested in honorific and funerary epigraphy.) Third, virtually all the evidence that is available to us bears on the relations between cities and members of regional economic elites. There is little from the principate outside Egypt that reveals so much about the conduct of local censuses as two texts from republican Italy, the so-​called Lex Osca of the Tabula Bantina, and the Tabula Heracleensis (Crawford, Roman Statutes nos. 13 and 24, ll. 142–​156).58 The latter is of the greatest importance, insofar as it reveals a wholesale reliance by Rome on the local machinery of government to accomplish its ends, as well as the intensity of communication about both the

55. See Ando 2016d. 56. Plin. Ep. 10.112–​115. 57. In saying this, I must issue the important caveat that no proper collation and analysis of the evidence for the operations of local censuses under the empire has yet been published. One awaits a proper publication of Le Teuff 2012. The western evidence is surveyed in Bérenger 2009; on the East, see Jones 1991. The best recent work is probably that collected in Heller and Pont 2012b. The much-​cited articles by Dieter Nörr (1963 and 1965) treat many aspects of Roman rules regarding local citizenship but do not seek to assemble data on local institutions. 58. On the local censuses of republican Italy, see Humbert 1978, 320–​325.

304  Clifford Ando extent of information to be gathered and the form in which it is to be recorded to render it susceptible to aggregation upon its delivery to Rome. While little of the evidence from the principate speaks to the operations of local censuses at this level of detail, what we can see—​at the sites of their interaction with Roman authorities—​is an intense desire to define who qualifies as a local citizen and who merely as a resident, by way of clarifying who may be subjected to local (fiscal) obligations. Once the answer to this question is clear, the battle naturally shifts to the question of whether resident aliens might also be rendered liable and to what degree. (There are notable differences in the nature of evidence available to us from East and West, and therefore differences in the questions that we can pose in the different regions, but these differences have no major salience here.) What merits stress is that although the context of this material is intensely imperial—​the extent of human mobility and the mere existence of a superordinate legal framework to regulate it are both products of empire—​the system on view in the second century CE is emphatically not oriented toward the sustaining of a distinction between Roman citizens and locals who were alien in respect to the metropole, such that Romans were released from local obligations. On the contrary, the great bulk of the evidence available to us concerns the distinction between local citizens (who might also be Roman) and those who, as resident aliens, might or might not be liable for local civic obligations. A significant portion of the evidence arising from imperial correspondence concerns the desire of some to escape local duties on grounds of occupation or individual exemption.59 Here it is crucial to bring appropriate caution to any reading of the extraordinarily extensive evidence of the extracts in Dig. 50.1 (Ad municipalem et de incolis, “On citizens of municipalities and concerning resident aliens”), because evidence concerning the discrepant experience of Romans and aliens on any legal issue had no relevance in the era when the texts were excerpted into the Digest. That said, an extract from Modestinus’s work “On exemptions” quotes a constitution of Commodus, who himself cites a list of those possessing immunity from local duties written by his father, Marcus Aurelius: In all those cases my deified father, immediately he had achieved the purple, confirmed in an edict all existing offices and immunities, providing that philosophers, rhetoricians, grammarians, and doctors were to be immune from the function of gymnasiarch, agoranomiai, priesthoods, billeting soldiers, corn buying or oil buying, nor were they to be adjudicators or ambassadors, nor compulsorily enlisted in military service nor forced into other provincial duties nor anything else.60 59. Millar 1983 = Millar 2004, 336–​371. 60. Modestinus, De excusationibus bk. 2 frag. 60 Lenel = Dig. 27.1.6.8 (trans. Andrew Lewis).

Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction  305 The point, obvious thought it may seem, is that Roman citizenship is not among the personal qualities that exempted one from local service. Indeed, among the situations that Augustus had sought to regularize in the so-​called Cyrene edicts was precisely that Greeks who were awarded Roman citizenship must continue to perform local liturgies; he grandfathered in the special cases created in the turmoil of the late republic and triumviral period, but henceforth Roman citizenship was not to elevate enfranchised provincials beyond the reach of local obligations.61 This remains the standard rule thereafter. This is clear not simply from the clauses on grants of Roman citizenship in the Flavian municipal law but from the saving clause in the grant of citizenship recorded on the second-​century Tabula Banasitana. There it is specified that the grant of citizenship occurs salvo iure gentis, “with the law of the tribe preserved,” which must mean that the fiscal and other obligations that bound the beneficiary to his community persisted in the aftermath of his change of status.62 It was simply not in imperial interest that Roman citizens should amount to a class apart in matters of local governance, especially not those locals who received Roman citizenship as a reward for their success within local matrices of social distinction.63 The battleground in the second century was instead the ability of city-​states to extract money and services from highly mobile regional elites, who owned properties and did business in multiple communities but sought, by declaring themselves merely resident aliens in respect of purely local structures of belonging, to escape civic obligations. Hence Hadrian had had to lay down in an edict that “Family origin, manumission, grants of citizenship by the local authority, and adoption make citizens, but residence makes resident aliens” (CJ 10.40.7.pr.: Cives quidem origo manumissio adlectio adoptio, incolas vero, sicut et divus Hadrianus edicto suo manifestissime declaravit, domicilium facit). But even residence (domicilium) and the status of resident alien rendered one liable to some obligations. The first evidence for such liabilities derives from the second-​century land surveyor Agennius Urbicus but purports to concern a grant of the emperor Augustus: Some colonies, either through the generosity of the founders, like the people of Tuder, or subsequently by appeal to emperors, like the Fanestres, gained this, namely, that the resident aliens [incolae] who cultivate land in their territory [qui intra territorium colerent], even if they were born elsewhere, should be liable to hold all honors in the colony. The Fanestres have gained this right recently; the people of Tuder hold it through the generosity of their founder [Augustus].64

61. 62. 63. 64.

SEG 9, 8 (trans. Sherk, with modifications), edict 3, ll. 57–​59, quoted at note 76. IAM no. 94, l. 37; on this clause, see Blanco-​Pérez 2020b. Ando  2016d. Agennius Urbicus, De controversiis agrorum p. 42.5–​9 Campbell (trans. Campbell, modified).

306  Clifford Ando But the best evidence for this derives from a municipal decree of Aquileia in 105 CE. On the motion of Publius Tullius Maximus, the quattuor iure dicundo, the local senate had decreed a statue for its citizen, Gaius Minicius Italus, an equestrian with a long record of imperial service, on the following grounds: Since Gaius Minicius Italus . . . and above all other things it is known that the most sacred princeps Trajan Augustus decreed, at his request, that the resident aliens whom we regularly include in our census should perform munera with us, and it is known that it happened through him that we enjoy the fullest kindness of our great emperor.65 Of course, Trajan did not simply side with local communities against individuals—​ as he wrote to Pliny, “I want no less to take thought for the individuals of each place as for its public revenues” (Trajan ad Plin. Ep. 10.111). But the result in a context of empire was the necessity that the superordinate power adjudicate between the claims of individuals and those of city-​states, which forced city-​ states in turn to learn the rules and adopt the knowledge technologies of the adjudicating power. Hence, alongside his definition of what made a citizen and what made a resident alien, Hadrian had also to specify that when a city-​state “claimed” a resident alien—​presumably via its census—​and the individual denied that he was a resident alien of the community, there should be a hearing before the governor of the province “in whose care is the city-​state by which the individual is summoned to munera.”66 As with the influence of Roman law on local conceptions of identity, in this domain as well, the consequence of empire was a juridification of systems of social distinction at a poliadic and regional level. These remarks might give the impression that regional elites were always trying to escape the fiscal entailments of socioeconomic and political privilege, but that is clearly not the case. On the contrary, a quite remarkable number of persons are attested as holding more than one citizenship, and while some of the awards of a secondary citizenship appear to have been largely symbolic—​a matter of prestige only—​it is also clear that in many cases individuals readily undertook the service that was enjoined by the honors that they accepted.67 Because such cases are often recorded in the epigraphy in a fashion that declares merely the fact of dual citizenship, in notable contrast to the space and rhetoric given to records of exemption from liturgies, these instances of the performance of

65. MDRW no. 2 = ILS 1374. See also Gai. Ad edictum provinciale bk. 1 frag. 53 Lenel = Dig. 50.1.29 (trans. Crawford, modified): Incola et his magistratibus parere debet, apud quos incola est, et illis, apud quos civis est: nec tantum municipali iurisdictioni in utroque municipio subiectus est, verum etiam omnibus publicis muneribus fungi debet (“A resident alien must obey both the magistrates of the place where he is a resident alien and those among whom he is a fellow citizen; nor is he subject only to municipal jurisdiction in both municipalities, but he must also perform all public munera”). 66. Callistratus, De cognitionibus bk. 1 frag. 7 Lenel = Dig. 50.1.37.pr. 67. van Nijf 2012. Note the casual way in which Dio asserts at Apameia that Apameia could enroll not simply Dio himself but the best of the Prusans as their fellow citizens (Dio Chrys. Or. 41.4).

Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction  307 citizenship in more than one location loom less large in the imagination of contemporary historians, but they should not therefore be ignored. One might likewise infer from their desire to “claim” resident aliens that city-​ states were in dire financial straits and sought systematically to capture persons of whatever citizenship or degree of transience for the purposes of local taxation. In support of such a narrow reading, one might adduce the opening of Dio Chrysostom’s oration in Nicomedia, in the aftermath of that community’s having voted to offer him citizenship. “When I reason out the causes, men of Nicomedia, why you have made me your fellow citizen, [I am at a loss]. For I  do not see that I have great wealth, such that I should believe that I was desired by you for mercenary reasons” (Or. 38.1; trans. Crosby, adapted). Of course, as the speech unfolds, it becomes clear that Dio is willing to entertain publicly the notion that the Nicomedians’ motivation might be fiscal—​it is therefore at least plausible—​ only because he wishes to set it aside in favor of an explanation that flatters both parties. In the long history of empire, however, the more important politics of local censuses lay in the efforts of city-​states to impose obligations on the elite members of the non-​citizen, administratively subordinated populations in their hinterlands—​for example, the peoples in the hinterland of Aphrodisias whom the polis had and enjoyed. By the later first century CE, and certainly in the second century CE, many administratively subordinated populations had long since become deeply imbricated in the social and economic networks of the wider region, so much so that it was conceivable that such communities might apply to become city-​states in their own right.68 If that were to happen, of course, the city-​state to which they had hitherto been subordinated would lose territory and revenue. A frequent solution appears to have been to seek to impose civic obligations on the elites of those administratively subordinated populations. How exactly all this fell out on the ground is hard to tell, because we often know of the desire of city-​ states to impose civic obligations on such persons from reflections on the topic by jurists in the metropole, who largely rejected the notion that persons who dwelt in the hinterland and did not enjoy the conveniences and benefits of civic life should be liable to the performance of munera. Significantly, Modestinus does not express this principle by saying that such persons should not be subject to munera (or perform liturgies); he says, rather, that such persons should not be regarded as incolae, a term he transliterates into Greek: “for someone who does not use the conveniences of the polis in question cannot be said to be a resident alien.”69 (Obviously, he regards as settled the question of whether resident aliens 68. For some reflections on the language of intermingling, intermarriage, and culture change in Greek and Latin reflections on these situations, see Ando 2019b; see also Ando 2012b and Ando 2016a, 285–​286. 69. Modestinus, De excusationibus bk. 1 frag. 57 Lenel  =  Dig. 50.1.35 (trans. Michael Crawford, modified): Εἰδέναι χρὴ ὅτι ὁ ἐν ἀγρῶ καταμένων ἰνκόλας οὐ νομίζεται· ὁ γὰρ ἐκείνης τῆς πόλεως ἐξαιρέτοις μὴ χρώμενος οὕτως οὐ νομίζεται εἶναι ἰνκόλας (“One must realize that someone who remains in the country is not regarded as an incola; for someone who does not use the conveniences of the city-​state in question is therefore not to be regarded as an incola”). See also Ulpian ad Edictum bk. 2 frag. 191 Lenel  =  Dig.

308  Clifford Ando were liable for civic munera.) In this sense, the elites of local villages, who were alien in respect to their local city-​states and who, as villagers, lived lives that were deemed normatively nonpolitical, were explicitly dis-​preferred in comparison with resident aliens—​they were not expected to enjoy the affordances of urban life—​but this did at least shield them from obligations to which incolae were regularly subject. The alternative to the naked exploitation of such persons was their co-​ optation into the elite of the city-​state: the existing elite would have to share power and social prestige, of course, but the energy and wealth of the subordinate elite would be siphoned off from their local community, whose potential to become autonomous would therefore be curtailed. The best-​known instance of this practice is that recorded in the decree of the municipal council of Tergeste in the reign of Antoninus Pius: Fabius Severus, the town’s ambassador, obtained from Pius “that the Carni and Catali, who had been administratively subordinated to our respublica by the divine Augustus, insofar as they had earned this through their lives and worth [prout qui meruissent vita atque censu], by means of holding the office of aedile should be admitted into the town’s council and by this means should obtain Roman citizenship.” In this way, it was urged, the treasury of the town would be enriched and the council filled out.70 In short, by virtue of the public-​law status of Tergeste, its extension of local citizenship to wealthy subordinate aliens in its hinterland—​albeit with imperial permission—​was going to result in the systematic granting of Roman citizenship to those members of the social elite among an alien tribe whom the council of Tergeste approved.71 Conclusion: Becoming Roman, Staying Local In closing, I want to return to some issues raised by the saving clause in the Tabula Banasitana, the evidence that Sherwin-​White does discuss, and the patterns of change, attestation, and silence in the totality of evidence that remains with us today. On my reading, the saving clause in the Tabula Banasitana—​salvo iure gentis, “with the law of the tribe preserved”—​is a shorthand that reflects a hard-​won

50.1.27.1: in listing the many things that one might enjoy in a municipium, Ulpian says that a citizen of a colony should be regarded as having his domicile in the place whose commodis he enjoys, rather than the place where he simply cultivates the land. 70. MDRW no. 1 = ILS 6680. 71. The formulation employed in the text is not to be taken as staking out a position on the technical question of whether Roman colonies might extend citizenship in the colony on their initiative, and so effectively grant Roman citizenship to peregrini. The question is famously raised and not settled by the case of Dio and Apamea, on which see Dio Chrys. Or. 41.6.

Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction  309 consensus but also a common understanding. From at least the third Cyrene edict of 7/​6 BCE, the imperial government had pushed to insist that newly enfranchised non-​Romans, the bulk of whom must have been members of local social elites, should remain embedded, even as Roman citizens, in local structures of authority, political belonging, and social dependency. To consider the simplest possible cases: to co-​opt to Roman interest the members of the councils of city-​ states by granting them all Roman citizenship when awarding the community the greater Latin right, or to reward local magistrates for their service by granting them Roman citizenship, in such a way that they were henceforth atomized in relation to their local community, or merely created resentment that diminished their legitimacy and effectiveness, was not in Roman interest. The wider context that I have sketched is in many respects a conventional one, in which the Roman citizens visible in the local communities of the empire of the late republican and Augustan age were often Italian immigrants. These appear as a distinct group within the population of the landscape as a whole: they swore the same oath in the same ceremony but were marked by difference nonetheless. In that earlier era, groups of Roman citizens often also functioned as units constituent of a wider population but remained distinct from its other political groups in the performance of communal activities, even when, say, the community of a polis and the association of the resident Romans undertook joint action. By the second century, however, ongoing attestation of associations of Roman citizens (of whatever degree of institutional stability) occurs at the peripheries of empire; these peripheries might be internal, by which I mean they were located in areas that were less urbanized and whose populations had not theretofore been juridically constituted, or they might be peripheral with respect to the geography of the empire as a whole and located in provinces only recently acquired.72 In the older regions of the empire, by contrast, the problem of the alienness of Roman citizens had faded, whether because animosities toward Italians had faded, or immigration from Italy had declined, or because the Romans whom one encountered every day were in fact locals, or some combination of these and other factors. The study of the place of Roman citizenship within matrices of factors that contributed to local and regional systems of social distinction therefore involves us not simply in legalitarian questions but in complex ones of identity. The Romans did often intend to reward their allies with citizenship. Abundant evidence from the second century CE testifies to this. At the same time, they were interested in the cultivation of purely local systems of prestige and concretizing these in the structures of government. They sought to create republics and constitute an empire out of them. And in all cases, juridical Romans and juridical aliens resided side by side and practiced membership in the same polities. Teasing out 72. These are among the genuinely second-​century phenomena studied by Sherwin-​White (1973a, 269–​271).

310  Clifford Ando the social consequences of juridical difference is, in such contexts, a difficult and tentative process. A number of scholars of provincial identity in the early Roman Empire, writing principally from literary sources, have stressed that one might “become Roman” while “staying Greek” or, for that matter, Gallic.73 As a shorthand for the normative pluralism and social dynamics of ancient empire, I have myself urged that being Greek was an excellent way of being Roman.74 The Cyrene edicts, narrowly, and the discourses of citizenship and identity in public law offer us a surprisingly underexploited way of getting at ancient theorizations of these issues. Consider, for example, the clauses on Greeks who were awarded Roman citizenship in the first and third edicts from Cyrene: The correct and appropriate course of action, it seems to me, would be if the future governors of Crete and Cyrene, in the province of Cyrene, would not permit a Roman to be the accuser of a Greek in the case of the murder of a Greek man or woman, except that someone who has been honored with Romanness [with Roman citizenship] may go to court on behalf of the death of one of his relatives or [fellow] citizens [πλὴν εἰ μή τις Ῥωμαιότητι τετειμημένος ὑπέρ τινος τῶν οἰκήων ἢ πολειτῶν θανάτου δικάζοιτο].75 If any people from the Cyrenaican province have been honored with [Roman] citizenship, I order them to perform liturgies in no respect less in their turn, in their role as Greeks [or “being Greeks in respect of their body (?)” or “being among the body of the Greeks”], with the exception of those to whom immunity from taxation has been granted along with citizenship in accordance with a law or decree of the Senate or decision of my father or of myself [εἴ τινες ἐκ τῆς Κυρηναϊκῆς ἐπαρχήας πολειτήαι τετείμηνται, τούτους λειτουργεῖν οὐδὲν ἔλασον ἐμ μέρει τῷ τῶν Ἑλλήνων σώματι κελεύω, ἐκτὸς τ[ο]ύτ{ι}ων οἷς κατὰ νόμον ἢ δόγμα συνκλή τῶι τοῦ πατρός μου ἐπικρίματι ἢ τῶι ἐμῶι ἀνεισφορία ὁμοῦ σὺν τῆι πολειτήαι δέδοται].76 In the first edict, what the honorand is honored with is “Romanness” (Ῥωμαιότης)—​a terminological usage effaced by every modern translation that I have found. The abstraction was invented because a novel situation, in which someone becomes juridically Roman but remains in some fashion also Greek and local, summoned forth innovation in language. The corresponding abstraction in Latin, Romanitas, is first attested very late, in the work of Tertullian, writing 73. Woolf 1994; Woolf 1998. 74. Ando 2010; see also Ando 2014. 75. SEG 9, 8 (trans. Sherk, with modifications), edict 1, ll. 36–​40. 76. SEG 9, 8 (trans. Sherk, with modifications), edict 3, ll. 57–​59.

Romans, Aliens, and Others in Dynamic Interaction  311 in Carthage ca 200 CE.77 One can speculate about the reasons for this. For one thing, “Romanness” was, for Romans of the metropole, above all a juridical concept; they were Roman who held citizenship in the city-​state of Rome. The need for the abstraction arose, in Carthage as in Cyrene, because patterned cultural practices were perceived to be in tension with some notion of (juridical) identity. Tertullian’s treatise On the pallium diagnoses the context perfectly: on his understanding, Carthage as space and population had experienced imbricated waves of immigration and imperial action, in consequence of which old populations took on new practices, and the social meaning of old practices changed as new identities were crafted alongside prior ones. In the first edict inscribed in Cyrene, the presence of the essentializing abstraction rather than any legal term—​such as is, in fact, used in the third edict—​ alongside the reference to the new Roman citizens’ former fellow Greek/​local/​ non-​Roman citizens, gestures at rather than resolves the fundamental questions of what the grant of Roman citizenship amounted to and how it affected one’s relations with persons from whom one was now juridically distinct. Certainly, the possibility that such persons could function legally as if Greek, on the grounds that they continued to be related to Greeks and were, in fact, still the fellow citizens of their co-​residents, demands attention. The third edict goes further and insists that newly enfranchised Romans among the Greeks must remain enmeshed in local systems of political obligation, but it obviously lacks a normative vocabulary by which to explain why this is so. (Roman political theory had an apparatus for discussing dual citizenship, but the law had not yet caught up.) The solution was to insist, in language that still defies scholarly consensus, that the new Roman citizens continued to have a material existence as provincials and were perhaps in their bodies still Greeks.78

77. Tert. De pallio 4.1. Tertullian also employs neuter singular abstractions: Romanum, Poenicum, etc. 78. The phrase is a famous crux. It is perhaps sufficient to say that the language is so difficult because the situation that it is called upon to describe had no conventional language for its articulation.

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Index

abbreviation of names, in epigraphy, 176–​177 abuses by Roman citizens, 58–​63 abuses by Roman soldiers, 61–​62, 63 Achaea (province), 85 administrative subordination, 72, 296, 307 See also adtributio adtributio, 10 See also administrative subordination Aelii, geographic distribution and naming practices of, 178–​179 Aelius Aristides, 35–​36, 44, 137, 167–​169, 170, 184, 249, 271, 274, 286 Aemilius Paullus, 73 Africa (province), 114 Agennius Urbicus, 305 Agrippa, 291 Alexandria, 192, 200, 291 Amendola, Davide, 250 Amisus, 249 Ando, Clifford, 43 annona militaris, 83, 87, 93–​94 annual vows of loyalty, 24, 293–​295 Antioch, Pisidian, 48 Antioch, Syrian, 292 Antium, 290 Antoninus Pius, 63, 86, 117–​118, 154, 180, 236, 252 Antonius Polemo, Marcus, 54, 173, 247 Apamea, 49, 216, 266–​268

Aphrodisias, 46, 50, 97, 181, 233, 242, 244, 245, 247, 258, 268, 301 Apollonius of Tyana, 169–​170, 271 Aquileia, 306 Aristokles of Messene, 75–​76 Artemidorus, 172–​173 arval brethren, 24 Asia (province), 12, 36 associations of Roman citizens, 28, 29, 49, 274–​275, 294 Assos, 294 Athens, 9, 54, 178, 245, 247, 252, 269 Augustales, 155, 157, 158, 159 Augustus, 7, 15–​16, 22, 43, 49, 52, 55, 58, 76, 78–​79, 84, 90–​91, 94, 295, 305 Aurelius (gentilicium), 11–​12, 81, 134, 146, 160, 173, 177, 181, 258 See also onomastics Aurelius Demostratos Damas, Marcus, 243 Aurelius Helix, 174 aurum coronarium, 98   Baetica (province), 12 Battynaioi, 62–​63 belonging, 31–​36, 41, 45, 68 Berytus, 49, 76 birth declarations, 191, 199–​207, 221, 224 births, registry of, 27 See also birth declarations Bithynia-​Pontus (province), 17, 177, 260, 297, 299–​300

363

364 Index Bosra, 177 Bresson, Alain, 271 Britannia (province), 12   Caesarea, 79 calendars, 26 Capitolia, 26 Caracalla, 2, 11, 13, 73, 80, 86–​87, 91, 93, 98–​99, 177, 233, 254, 287 Carthage, 13, 26, 77 Cassius Dio, 55, 78, 84, 89, 97, 174–​175, 300 census, 3, 5, 52–​53, 71, 74, 187–​199, 207, 217–​218, 303–​304 Chastagnol, André, 113–​114 Chersonesus, 288 Chios, 12, 33, 244 choice of law, 15–​17, 53 Cicero, 13–​14, 22–​24, 44, 51, 57, 75, 78, 297, 300 Cilicia (province), 78, 177, 258 Cisalpina (province), 111 citizenship, Greek, 232–​233, 255–​281 citizenship, Roman burdens of, 45, 87–​92, 103 (see also taxation) created by manumission, 22 cultural integration and, 41–​42, 44 exclusive regime of, 37, 44, 103 gender and, 21 historiography of, 1–​3, 41–​43, 69, 70, 112 performance of, 155, 159, 162, 182, 196, 293–​294 as privileged status, 2, 12–​13, 36–​37, 103, 159–​160, 195, 255, 260, 275 religion and, 22–​27, 41 spread of, 1–​2, 31–​33, 142, 161, 168, 233, 255, 257–​259, 288, 293 city-​states, as instruments of empire, 4, 5, 6–​7, 9–​10 civitas libera, 9, 234, 240–​241, 244, 257, 268–​272 Claros, 123, 138, 178, 244, 259, 273 Claudius, 1, 7, 34, 44, 71, 106, 145, 195, 211, 217, 244, 262, 285–​286, 291

cognate succession, 106 colonies, Roman, 7, 26, 44, 47–​49, 76, 106, 187, 204, 239, 276–​279 See also s.v. individual colonies Commodus, 9, 98, 119, 167, 286 conflicts of law, 250 Constitutio Antoniniana, 1, 2, 11, 77, 80, 159, 231, 234–​235 conubium, 20, 105–​106, 108, 113–​114, 120–​121, 132, 154, 201, 202, 211, 224 Corbier, Mireille, 72 Corinth, 277, 278, 298 Coronea, 238 cosmopolitanism, 32–​33 cult, 22–​27 curiales, 6, 13 customs duties, 71–​72 Cyrene edicts, 15–​16, 52–​53, 70, 295–​296, 305, 310 Cyzicus, 52n33, 55   Dacia (province), 12, 147 Dalmatia (province), 12, 147 de Ste. Croix, G.E.M., 43 death declarations, 191 dei Penates, 25 Delphi, 183, 253, 266 Democritus, 33 dignitas, 57 Dio Chrysostom, 55, 67, 266, 307 Diocletian, 84 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 78 documentation of citizenship, 38, 141, 182, 185–​228 domination, 51–​66, 301–​302 Domitian, 60, 79, 109 double community, 244n47, 290 Dyme, 299   Eberle, Lisa, 43, 50 Egypt (province), 10, 12, 16, 17, 56, 61, 77–​78, 122–​123, 199, 232 Egyptian (personal status), 10, 290–​291 endogamy, among Roman citizens, 104 Ephesos, 9, 12, 262, 291

Index  365 Epicurus, school of, 18, 252 erroris causae probatio, 115–​117 exile, 33   family, 19–​22, 112 See also endogamy; intermarriage family law, 16–​17, 19–​22, 27 Faustinopolis, 279 Favorinus of Arles, 33 Ferrary, Jean-​Louis, 123–​124 fideicommissa, 28n155, 110–​111, 115, 118, 144 fiscal privilege, 37 Flavians, 1 Flavius Damianos, Titus, 175–​176 Fournier, Julien, 235 France, Jérôme, 93, 97 freed persons, 18, 22, 37–​38, 150, 204, 223 See also manumission   Gades, 7 Gaius (jurist), 4, 106, 108, 110, 111, 113–​ 116, 118, 119, 234, 240, 289 Galen, 175 Gangra, 293 Gardner, Jane, 111, 117 gentes, 10, 105n10, 235 Gnomon of the Idios Logos, 17, 110 Gordon, Richard, 26 governmentality, 45, 65–​68 guardianship, 18, 21   Hadrian (sophist), 247–​248 Hadrian, 18–​19, 31, 34, 40, 81, 86, 91, 113–​115, 180–​181, 238, 245, 251–​ 252, 301, 305, 306 Heberdey, Rudolf, 134 Hellenistic kingdoms, 31–​32 Herodes Atticus, 54, 58 honestiores/​humiliores, 19, 37, 82   Iasos, 136 imperial cult, 41 imperial estates, 58 incolae. See resident aliens

Inglebert, Hervé, 57 inheritance. See succession to property intermarriage, between persons of discrepant citizenship, 20–​21, 37, 103–​139, 201 See also lex Minicia intermarriage, between Romans of different city-​states, 137 Italy, 83–​87 Iulius Apollinaris, Gaius, 96 Iulius Demosthenes, Gaius, 34, 35 Iulius Eurycles, Gaius, 54 Iulius Severus, Gaius, 54 Iulius Zoilos, Gaius, 50, 270 ius liberorum, 21, 25   Jacques, François, 235 Jerusalem, 48 Jews, 11, 25, 56 Judaeans, 11, 290–​292 Julius Caesar, 25, 291 Junian Latins, 7, 107–​108, 162–​163, 205, 210 jurisdiction, 13–​16, 38, 231–​254, 289 jury systems, 15–​16, 295–​297   Kantor, Georgy, 288 Karanis, 77 Kirbihler, François, 132 Kyzikos, 30   La Quéré, Enora, 50 Laconia, 178–​179 Latin (language), 28–​29, 103 Latin (personal status), 5 Latin (status of community), 6, 7, 8, 42, 108–​109, 111, 137, 215, 302 Laumonier, Alfred, 133 Lavan, Myles, 42–​43, 287 law of persons, 3–​5, 13–​22, 139, 234 law, local, 231–​254, 255–​256 law, Roman, 17, 142, 231, 245–​246 lex Aelia Sentia, 113, 141, 144, 145, 199, 207 lex Cornelia, 300 lex Flavia municipalis, 24n88, 25, 108–​109, 146, 305

366 Index lex fori. See territoriality, principle of lex Fufia Caninia, 207 lex Hieronica, 75 lex Iunia, 141 See also Junian Latins lex Minicia, 20, 104–​110, 113, 114, 118, 121, 128, 137, 139 See also intermarriage lex Papia Poppaea, 144, 199 lex Pompeia, 299, 303 lex Rupilia, 13–​15, 289 lex Voconia, 188 liberti dediticii, 7 liturgies, local, and Roman citizens, 79, 95, 96–​97, 197, 264, 304–​306 Livy, 78, 290 localism, 263, 269–​270, 272 Lucian, 172–​183 Lycia, 34, 134, 258, 262–​263   Macedonia, 62, 73 Mack, William, 243 Madauros, 226 Maecenas, 92 Malay, Hasan, 250 manumission, 22, 113, 140–​163, 207–​211 Marcus Aurelius, 24, 54, 81, 85, 86, 167, 244–​245, 279, 286 marriage. See family law; intermarriage Menander of Laodicea, 249 Menippus of Colophon, 46 Messene, 75–​76 Mitchell, Stephen, 300 Modestinus (jurist), 96, 203, 304, 307 Moesia Inferior (province), 147 Moesia Superior (province), 12, 147 munera. See liturgies municipalization, 1, 7 municipia, 7, 18, 32, 106, 196, 204, 216–​217, 239, 302 Mylasa, 247, 251 Mysia, 64, 170   names, personal. See onomastics Narbonensis (province), 12, 114

Naryka, 250 nationes, 10, 24n90, 105n10 negotiatores, 49 See also associations of Roman citizens Nero, 1, 85, 262 Nerva, 81, 90, 112 Nicomedia, 307 nomenclature. See onomastics Noricum (province), 39, 147   Octavian. See Augustus Oenoanda, 34, 134 Oliver, James P., 238 onomastics, 12, 29–​39, 38, 121, 123–​128, 143, 146, 150, 167–​184 Opramoas of Rhodiapolis, 263 Orange, 77   Pagden, Anthony, 32 Palmyra, 177 Pannonia (province), 12, 147 Papazoglou, Fanoula, 237 Paphlagonia, 293 Parthicopolis, 63 Patara, 34 Paul (apostle), 19, 44, 185 Paul (jurist), 76, 79 Pausanias, 117–​118, 298–​299 Peloponnese, 260–​261 peregrine (status of community), 7, 9 peregrini, 5, 103, 123–​132, 169, 231 Pergamon, 9, 251, 258 Persian Empire, 31–​32 personality, principle of, in law, 17, 18, 235 Petronius Mamertinus, Marcus, 61 Philip V of Macedon, 44 Philippi, 48 Philostratus, 173, 174, 175, 247–​248, 249 philotimia, 34 Phlegon of Tralles, 198 Pisidia, 181, 258 Pizos, 65 Pliny the Elder, 10

Index  367 Pliny the Younger, 44, 90–​91, 294, 297 Plotina, 18–​19, 252 pluralism, 4, 14, 17, 23–​24, 234 Plutarch, 170–​171, 183 Pollux, 47 Polybius, 13, 299 Pompeius Strabo, Gnaeus, 111 Pont, Anne-​Valérie, 131 portoria. See customs duties Prusa, 266–​268, 297 Ptolemais, 76 public/​private distinction, 23, 25   Raggi, Andrea, 70–​71 rationality, of state power, 66–​68 Red Sea trade, 71 religion. See cult resident aliens, 7, 16, 24, 48, 236–​238, 239–​240, 253, 277, 304–​306 Rhodes, 171, 179, 249, 251, 271–​272 Rhomaioi, 261, 273–​274, 274–​275 Ricl, Marijana, 250 Romans, distribution of, 11–​13 Rome-​loving, 34   Sagalassus, 59–​60 Salvius Iulianus (jurist), 252 Scheid, John, 235 Second Sophistic 33–34, 170–​171, 183–​184 Secular Games, 24 Seleukos of Rhosos, 15, 53, 71 senatus consultum Pegasianum, 110 Septimius Severus, 77, 86–​97, 91, 93, 97, 181, 248, 254, 278 Servius Tullius, 78 Sherwin-​White, A.N., 1–​2, 11, 41–​42, 70, 285–​287 Sicily (province), 13, 75, 190 Sidyma, 13 slavery, 22 Smyrna, 170, 181, 184, 247, 259 social differentiation, 36–​37, 82, 259–​266, 269, 275–​276, 302 See also honestiores/​humiliores

Social War, 1 Sotidius Strabo Libuscidianus, Sextus, 59–​60 Sparta, 54 status, personal, 3–​6, 137–​139, 217–​227, 228, 202 Stratonikeia, 30–​31, 133, 178, 270, 301 subjecthood, 45–​46, 66–​68 succession to property, 17, 20, 28, 37–​38, 69, 110–​111 See also wills, Roman Syria (province), 60, 61, 258   Tabula Banasitana, 2, 44, 80, 119–​120, 121, 214–​215, 231, 258, 286, 288, 305 Tacitus, 51 Talamanca, Mario, 242 Tan, James, 74 Taubenschlag, Raphael, 122 taxation, 37, 47, 69–​99 Termessos, 34, 123–​124 territoriality, principle of, in law, 13, 18, 235, 253 Tertullian, 78, 83, 86, 91, 295, 311 testamentum militare, 112–​113, 145–​147, 151 See also veterans Thasos, 270–​271 Thessalonike, 129, 277 Titus, 79, 113, 292 Trajan, 17, 31, 85, 90, 112, 145, 277–​278, 294, 297, 306 Tralles, 250, 275 tribes, voting, Roman, 36, 290 tributum capitis, 71, 77–​83, 191, 225 tributum soli, 71 Tridentum, 217   Ulpian, 47, 63–​64, 76, 94–​95, 96–​97 Ulpii, geographic distribution and naming practices of, 177–​178 Ulpius Ariston, Marcus, 31, 134, 178n94 universalism, as political ideology, 92–​99, 138, 281 Urso (colonia Iulia Genetiva), 24, 26

368 Index Valerius Maximus, 25 van Minnen, Peter, 235 vehiculatio, 59–​61 Velleius Paterculus, 44 Venuleius Saturninus, 63–​64 Verres, Gaius, 51, 57–​58 Vespasian, 70, 110, 195, 279 veterans, as enfranchised Romans, 12, 42, 44, 47–​48, 94, 112–​113, 151, 155–​156, 205, 211–​214, 223 vicesima hereditatium, 72, 88–​92

vicesima libertatis, 72, 87 village (ascribed status), 10, 48, 65, 279 Volubilis, 7, 106   wills, Roman, 27–​28, 88, 103, 123, 182, 209 witnesses, to Roman legal actions, 28, 88, 201, 203, 288 Woolf, Greg, 43 Wörrle, Michael, 300   Zegrenses, 80, 119, 289