REFERENCES
Linked references are available on JSTOR for this article:
https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5184/classicalj.110.1.0061?seq=1&cid=pdf-
reference#references_tab_contents
You may need to log in to JSTOR to access the linked references.
JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide
range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and
facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org.
Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at
https://about.jstor.org/terms
The Classical Association of the Middle West and South, Inc. (CAMWS) is collaborating with JSTOR
to digitize, preserve and extend access to The Classical Journal
Abstract: This paper analyzes Cicero’s citations of the not-always-historical past in his theoretical
corpus. Examining both the Marian oak in the prologue of De Legibus and Cicero’s overall use
of historical references, I suggest that Cicero explicitly employs unhistorical (or at least not
certifiably true) exempla, with a view to the internal consistency of the dialogues’ fictional world.
By encouraging the reader’s acceptance of such fictional examples, Cicero establishes an
intersubjective and empathetic relationship with his audience. Ultimately, Cicero seeks to uphold
and use others to confirm his internal world as an alternative to the tense world of Roman politics.
I n the De Republica Cicero explains the importance of the past and memory:
when a society loses touch with the past through negligence and ultimately
through forgetfulness, the very identity of the community is threatened. 1 But
in the preface to De Legibus Cicero adds nuance to this idea, suggesting that the
way in which an author deals with the past is in part due to the spirit of the genre
in which he writes. 2 While a poet might put the past to one use, a historiographer
might put it to an entirely different one, based on his different goals and
circumstances. What makes this observation in the prologue of the De Legibus
particularly interesting is the implications it holds for the genre in which Cicero is
writing, especially in Ciceronian dialogues. This paper examines the question
through two complementary methods, first through the consideration of how
Cicero himself addresses the issue in the programmatic prologue of De Legibus,
and, secondly, by examining briefly Cicero’s own pattern of exempla-usage within
∗ Thanks go both to the anonymous reviewers, whose comments have helped clarify my
arguments, and to the audience at the meeting of CAMWS in April 2014 for their questions and
suggestions.
1
See Gowing (2005) 3. Cf. Rep. 5.1. On Cicero’s use of exempla and the past in Rep., see Asmis’
article in this volume.
2
For a survey of how historiographers developed their perspectives on the past, see Chaplin
(2000), esp. 6–11. Gowing (2005) discusses the importance of remembrance and the past across
many genres (9). For memory in poetry, see Seider (2013).
THE CLASSICAL JOURNAL 110.1 (2014) 61–75
3
Cf. De Or. 2.62. Marincola (1997) 225–36 discusses how elements not directly oriented
toward truth in Roman historiography did not violate the historian’s fundamental interest in
providing a truthful narrative. For an argument asserting the Roman historian’s basic interest in
truth, see Lendon (2009), contra Wiseman (1979) and Woodman (1988). Cf. Feldherr (2009) 7–
8. For more of Cicero’s perspective, see Leg. 1.5. On the De Or. passage, see Marincola (1997) 160–
2 (cf. Marincola (2009) 18–19) and Lendon (2009) 49–51 contra Wiseman (1981) 375–6 and
Woodman (1988).
4
Cicero summarizes the Academic position on truth and the plausible in Acad. 2.7–8. On
probabile, truth, and the veri simile, see Glucker (1995).
5
For the suggestion that historians viewed the past in the same way, as a core susceptible to
rhetorical elaboration, see e.g Wiseman (1979), (1981), and (1993) and Woodman (1988).
are reiterated in a new setting by an actor imitating the original actor. 6 Both act
and commemoration are necessary for the repetition of the cycle.
In the opening words of De Legibus, Cicero broaches the ideas of history and
exemplarity in the context of his role as author. The scene balances intimacy (set
in Cicero’s boyhood home, Arpinum, with his friend, Atticus, and brother,
Quintus) with a literary self-consciousness. As the proem of De Finibus 5 shows,
the relationship between place and experience often stimulates memory. 7
Cicero’s Atticus shows himself particularly susceptible to such stimulations in
that proem (Fin. 5.4). He seems to hope to make a similar connection in the
proem of De Legibus which features the “Marian oak,” a tree owing its reputation
to Cicero’s poem on the Roman general Marius. Having spotted a tree that he
believes to be that of Cicero’s poem, Atticus speaks first.
Quintus responds to the identity of the trees that Atticus proposes by
introducing a third tree. His statement problematizes the relationship between
the tree of the Marius and the real tree it was intended to signify, which, according
to Quintus, may or may not be growing in Arpinum. Quintus’ response to Atticus
hinges on Atticus’ query about whether or not the actual, signified tree was still
alive (si manet). Quintus responds that it does in fact live and always will
(manet...et semper manebit), though he has changed the subject of discussion to
the signifying tree of the poem. This tree, as the object of a “famous” poem, will
last forever, a monimentum aere perennius. Quintus, partly because of his own
interest in poetry, appeals to the trope of poetic immortality.8 The poetic survival
of the tree, he continues, will ensure that any oak growing in the spot in which the
interlocutors are standing will be identified with the original “Marian oak.”
Quintus thus implies the possible existence of at least three trees, the oak of the
poem, the original tree it once signified, and a third, actual tree, which has grown
6
Roller (2009) 216–17.
7
There is a sense in which this kind of association renders the space timeless or transtemporal.
On the association between time and space, as well as the distinction between place and space in
Roman considerations of the past, see Riggsby (2009).
8
The discussion of trees recalls both the plane tree of Plato’s Phaedrus and Cicero’s earlier De
Oratore (1.28), which itself recalls the Phaedrus with its own plane tree. Dyck (2004a) points out
that the De Or. focuses on the “growth” of the tree while Quintus is more concerned with the tree’s
“permanence” (60). On the similarities of setting between Plato’s Phaedrus and Leg., see Dyck
(2004a) 20–3 (who also discusses the influence of Plato’s Laws) and 57–60 passim. Cf. Eigler
(1996) 139 on the function of the tree as a symbol of an idealized past. Benardete (1987) connects
the oak to the theme of Socratic self-knowledge discussed by Cicero at the end of Leg. 1 (298).
in a spot near to where the original tree stood. To complicate the discussion
further, the second tree is not actually crucial to Quintus’ argument. The
identification of an actual tree in modern Arpinum with the oak of the Marius
need not be predicated on an actual oak to which the oak of the Marius made
reference. That is, the “real” tree is authorized by the fictional one.
Atticus processes the implications of Quintus’ description quickly before
rephrasing his original question explicitly for Cicero. He wishes to know whether
Cicero in fact invented (literally “planted,” severint) the oak tree (Leg. 1.3). Not
surprisingly this leads to consideration of the truth-value of stories and how
assess that value. As befits his historical bent, Atticus persists in his concern over
the validity of a given story. Cicero, donning the role of poet, insists that the
poetry renders such concerns insignificant: the goal of history is veritas, while that
of poetry is delectatio. 9 In the wake of this description, the question of the “truth”
of the signifier oak in the poem goes unresolved.
Even more interesting is what remains unmentioned, namely the tree that
inspires Atticus’s question. Although that “tree” is itself a literary construct in this
dialogue, it serves as the touchstone for Atticus’ appeal to truth and is the one tree
that must be real, though it cannot be proved to be so. The connection between
genre and truth comes into play, as this dialogue either will view the past as
historical reality or create it, as poetry does. The closest we get to finding out
which is in the paragraphs that follow, when Cicero does not identify the genre of
the dialogue per se but explicitly tells Atticus that he cannot write history. He
simply does not have the time to do it justice, finding instead only “windows of
time” in which to write (subsciva tempora, 1.9). Such windows are insufficient for
historiography, but quite enough for the prolific writing of dialogues.
When considered alongside the preceding discussion of literary trees, this
confession hints strongly at the dialogue’s distinction from historiography, 10
perhaps placing it closer to poetry in its concern with “facts.” 11 While there were
9
For a consideration of the fictionality of poetic history, see Dyck (2004a) 65–6. Aristotle
distinguishes history from poetry by claiming the former speaks of things that have happened, the
latter of things that might happen (Poet. 1451b4–5). According to Benardete (1987), “de legibus is a
poem about law” (300).
10
Fleck (1993) tackles the difficult question of how Cicero did in fact function as a historian. In
other respects dialogues, like oratory, resemble historiography. Cicero’s Antonius introduces a
discussion on the relationship between history and oratory in De Or. (2.51). At stake in Antonius’
discussion is not truth so much as style. Cf. Leeman (1955) 188–90.
11
In one sense this poetic quality of dialogue is seen in Cicero’s willingness to be loose with
historical detail in the historical settings he creates. See Ad Quint. Fr. 3.5; Ad Att. 13.12, 13.
of course real trees in Arpinum, of all the possible trees proposed in the De
Legibus, none is explicitly real. Nevertheless, the effect of the exchange about trees
is to implant firmly in the reader’s mind a belief in a specific real tree in Arpinum.
This proem thus reaffirms the reality of the oak of the Marius through purely
literary devices. The discussion of the oak, as if it is the one signified, functions as
a means of legerdemain. Such literary adroitness directs the reader’s attention to
a set of questions about the tree’s identity, thus allowing the account presented to
serve as a reference point for “truth.”
The generic character of the dialogue becomes particularly important when
assessing the truth-value of Cicero’s characterizations and usage of exempla,
which themselves have the potential to function differently in the dialogues from
in Cicero’s speeches. This is the case because the speeches have the capacity to
make references that have two meanings. In the dialogues, most “historical”
references are ventriloquized through the mouths of the interlocutors, which
automatically places their historical value in question.12 The dialogue’s generic
affinity to poetry and the two-layered historical referentiality create a strong sense
of ambiguity regarding the role of “truth” for these exempla.
Cicero’s treatment of the oak demonstrates why it is difficult to map Roller’s
schema of exemplary history onto the dialogues, in which Cicero offers only a
smattering of historical detail due to the limits of subsciva tempora. These
dialogues operate primarily in Roller’s steps 3 (actor before audience) and 4
(actor imitating actor). They function equally well whether or not they are
appealing to actual events. The proem of De Legibus cautions its audience against
the assumption that cited examples have historical referents. Instead they rely on
an internal consistency emblematic of Cicero’s literary efforts in the dialogues.
Though he readily admits in his letters (and, implicitly, in many parts of the
dialogues) to the fictive nature of the dialogues themselves, these works maintain
an internal historical plausibility and are regularly used to reinforce the dialogues’
own accounts. Cicero sometimes even goes so far as to use characters from his
other dialogues as exempla.
12
In Bakhtin’s studies of dialogism in the novel (1981) he identified “voices” as a critical
medium through which communication happens (262–3). By “voices” he meant the idea that most
communication involves an unexpectedly high proportion of direct or indirect quotation of
another’s words, complicating the utterance and removing it from the isolated subjectivity of the
individual speaker. Cf. Gillespie and Cornish (2010) 34–5.
13
Scipio: Leg. 1.20, 1.27, 2.23, 3.12, 3.38.
14
In illis de re publica libris or simply in illis libris.
15
Ad Quint. Fr. 3.5.2.
16
Fox (2007) and Asmis (this volume) draw similar conclusions from the interchange between
Laelius and Scipio in De Republica 2, wherein Scipio claims to base his understanding of ideal
constitutions on Roman history, but where Laelius also questions the historical accuracy of Scipio’s
narrative (62–8). Fox points to Cicero’s use of “irony about the possibility of anchoring
transcendence in factual account” (66) and suggests that Cicero “is exposing the fictional quality of
his dialogue structure” (62). For Fox these kinds of ironies ultimately argue against dogmatic
readings of the dialogues (67–8). Asmis examines the same passage, concluding that Cicero’s irony
leads to the mythologizing of Scipio’s account of history and paves the way for the somnium at the
treatise’s conclusion as an exhortation to virtue as the means of redemption for the republic.
17
Van der Blom (2010) 66–7.
18
Van der Blom (2010) 67–72.
19
The overlap is particularly pronounced in the parallel usage of inventio by both the philosopher
and the orator. Aristotle, in the introductions to his Rhetoric and Topics, first identified this
similarity, but proceeded to divide the two disciplines of rhetoric and philosophy according to the
former’s use of inventio in the consideration of hypotheses and the latter’s interest in theses (see
Quint., Inst. Orat. 3.5.5). Even this distinction was later challenged by Hermagoras, who allowed the
orator to consider theses, and Philo, who saw the value of hypotheses for the philosopher. See Brittain
(2001) 332–42. Cicero via Crassus in De Or. (3.104–25) emphasizes the fundamental
interdependence of the disciplines. On the merging of philosophy and rhetoric in De Or., see May
and Wisse (2001) 20–6 and, on hypotheses and theses in the same work, Wisse (2002) 394–7 Cf.
Hanchey (2013b) on the overlap of philosophical and rhetorical inventio in Cicero’s first Tusculan.
20
On rhetoric in the New Academy, see Brittain (2001) 296–344.
21
See, e.g., Sulpicius’ persistent questioning of Crassus in De Or. 1.98.
dialogues are too numerous to consider in toto. Rather, let us consider a few of his
more common choices, beginning with the über-example, M. Porcius Cato,
whose cited authority and integrity made him a touchstone for discussions of
republican mos maiorum. Cicero appeals to Cato’s example on more than forty
occasions in the dialogues outside of the dialogue in which he appears as
interlocutor (De Senectute), making him among the most named figures. At De
Oratore 2.271 Cicero even directly addresses Cato’s value as a source of
exemplary actions and sayings.
A typical example of Cato’s function in the dialogues comes in the opening
words of the second book of De Republica. Scipio claims he wishes to start the
discussion by considering Cato’s regard for the Roman constitution. He was,
Scipio continues, a man estimable both in experience and speech. For Cato, the
Roman constitution, as a product of the input of many citizens, surpassed any
Greek forebear. Many of the hallmarks of rhetorical exempla are present: Scipio is
speaking, and his personal connection to Cato both adds authority to his account
and provides pleasure. Further, Scipio is a worthy example in his own right, and
he had chosen Cato as an example; the pleasure of the example is increased by
the fact that it celebrates Roman activity at the expense of Greek activity; and,
more generally, Scipio cites Cato’s political experience and thereby encourages
others to commit to similar experiences in public life. Cato is all the more
germane because of his own experience as a historian, a fact that lends at least an
air of plausibility to his cited words. In Scipio’s mouth Cato closely fits the mold
of an orator’s exemplum. But other Ciceronian interlocutors treat Cato
differently.
Early in De Legibus (1.6) Atticus lists Cato among those historians whose style
lacked flourish and rhetorical ornaments. 22 Atticus’ appraisal directly contradicts
Scipio, who had both admired and sought to imitate Cato’s style. The
discrepancy is easily explainable: first, Scipio could be thinking of Cato’s speech,
while Atticus has in mind Cato’s writings. Additionally, the aesthetics of Roman
rhetorical style had evolved considerably between Scipio and Atticus, such that
Scipio’s judgment could be reasonable in the last third of the second century,
while Atticus’ would befit the mid-first century. But the discrepancies continue
elsewhere. 23 In the Brutus, Cicero as interlocutor admits to certain flaws in Cato’s
22
On the influence of the historian Cato on Cicero, see Fleck (1993) 109–15.
23
Cicero quips on Cato’s style some eight times in the dialogues (Leg. 1.6; Rep. 2.1; De Or. 2.51,
2.53, 3.135; Brutus 68, 293, 298).
style, attributing them to the limitations of his age (68, 298), while Atticus
criticizes Cato more generally (293). At De Oratore 2.51–53 Antonius cites Cato
as an unornamented and dry annalist, while Crassus, like Cicero, defends Cato
based on his time period (De Oratore 3.135). In De Legibus, Cicero appears to
employ these passages to confront a contemporary criticism of Cato (voiced by
Atticus and Antonius) and to justify thinking of him as a straightforward
exemplar seen in De Republica 2.1. This kind of defense is important for Cicero’s
self-formulation. As a successful new man committed to excellence in several
different fields of Roman aristocratic activity, including writing, Cato provided
both a personal exemplum and a worthy comparandum for Cicero. 24 An ideal Cato
paves the way for an ideal Cicero.
At the same time, the sum of these exempla places disproportionate emphasis
on Cato as a prose stylist. In her study of exempla in Livy, Chaplin considers
repetition of the same exemplum, distinguishing between the effects of each
individual use on the given internal audience and the cumulative effect of the
repeated example on the external audience. 25 She notes how the Romans evolved
in their use of the example of Cannae, while the Carthaginians failed to do so, to
their peril. Only an external audience can understand such consequences. Cicero
does something similar but, rather than repeating an example such as Cannae,
Cicero chooses topics such as Cato’s prose style. By repeating the talking points
on Cato’s style across several dialogues Cicero begins to mold a new version of
Cato, whose identity can be recovered not in the historical record, but in the
dialogues. Cicero influences Cato as much as Cato might influence another. The
same is true of Cato qua historian. Cicero specifically mentions Cato’s Origines
on nine different occasions. 26 In five of those instances, he cites a specific episode
from the work, but only two different episodes are mentioned, one used twice,
another thrice.27 Not surprisingly, perhaps, such repetition conveys a hackneyed
quality, for the very redundancy gives these examples the feel of stock material.
Such ingredients, even if easily recognizable, can nevertheless border on cliché.
This pattern of repetition is by no means limited to Cato. Another of Cicero’s
preferred exempla is Scipio Aemilianus, who like Cato appears dozens of times as
an example in the dialogues outside of his role as a speaker. Many times he is
24
Dugan (2005) 11 and passim.
25
Chaplin (2000) 50–72.
26
Tusc. 1.3, 4.3; Brut. 66, 75, 89, 293; De Or. 1.227, 2.51, 2.53.
27
Tusc. 1.3, 4.3; Brut. 75, 89; De Or. 1.227. The first three instances relate a story of a flute being
passed at a banquet, the latter two refer to the prosecution of Galba.
simply adduced for his exemplary statesmanship.28 But Cicero also reinforces this
general exemplarity with a set of specific modes of characterization Five times
Scipio serves as an example of an aristocrat with an interest in philosophy. 29 Six
times he is invoked for his oratorical skill. 30 Three times he appears as a successful
general.31 Each of these traits conforms to Cicero’s standards of the mos maiorum,
though as with Cato, they are not traits that would necessarily be associated with
Scipio generally. Cicero uses three specific pieces of data to establish Scipio’s
philosophical interests: his association with Panaetius first and foremost, his
affinity for Xenophon, and his attendance of the philosophers’ speeches during
the embassy of 155. 32 Each time Cicero brings up Scipio’s association with
philosophy, he contextualizes it with Scipio’s fundamentally exemplary
statesmanship, which serves as proof of the appropriateness of the Roman
aristocrat’s philosophical pursuits.
Cicero discusses Scipio’s oratory in similar terms: he is repeatedly praised for
his skill as an orator, with particular attention to his style and Latinity. 33 But these
references are contextualized by Antonius’ explanation in De Oratore 1.211 that
Scipio, like his friend Laelius, was a statesman who happened to speak well, rather
than an orator who served as a statesman. Scipio is first recognized as exemplary,
after which his approval of philosophy and oratory can serve as an example to
others. Implicit in Scipio’s practice of both philosophy and oratory is the claim
that he lived in a formative age, when moral standards were still being developed.
This implication creates a divide that is more than chronological. Despite the fact
that Scipio had lived only a century earlier, after the first two Punic Wars and
several generations of exemplary Romans, Cicero has imbued Scipio with the
status of a lawgiver or founder. 34 He lived when decisions could still be reached
about what behaviors best suited the Romans. While appealing to Scipio’s
historical example Cicero de-historicizes him, replacing chronology with an
ideological then and now. The shift from chronology to ideology allows Cicero
again to forge an identity between the exemplum, excellent statesmen generally
28
De Or. 1.211, 2.341, 3.56, 3.87; Fin. 5.70; Nat. D. 2.165; Leg. 1.20.
29
De Or. 2.154; Acad. 2.5; Tusc. 1.81, 2.62; Fin. 4.23.
30
De Or. 1.255, 2.106, 3.28; Brut. 80–5, 258; Tusc. 1.5.
31
Tusc. 2.62, 4.50; Fin. 5.70.
32
See n. 29 above.
33
Especially in Brut. 80–5 and De Or. 1.255.
34
Cf. the mythologization and essentialization addressed by Asmis (this volume).
and, ultimately, himself, just as he has done with Cato. The ideal Roman of the
past looks a lot like the Cicero of the present. This connection could be harder to
uphold on the subject of Scipio’s military activity, a major component of the
historical Scipio’s life and a key distinction between Scipio and Cicero. But
Cicero only mentions this activity three times. 35 Each time he is presented not as
an example of a military commander per se, but as an individual who found
philosophical fulfillment even in the midst of his military affairs. Scipio’s military
action is ancillary to his virtuous (or, in Fin. 5.70, pleasurable) life.
Nothing in Cicero’s use of Scipio as an exemplum is unexpected, from the
manipulation of historical detail to the identification of Scipio’s priorities with
Cicero’s own to the use of Scipio as a touchstone for the mos maiorum. In each
instance, one interlocutor is attempting to persuade another by citing Scipio’s
positive example, often in the moral-didactic tradition of rhetorical exempla. But
as a whole the picture these exempla paint is peculiar. Because each exemplum
occurs in a literary context and is part of a repeated pattern emphasizing select
traits of Scipio, the single instances of exempla result in a consistent and well-
defined caricature of Scipio that takes on a life unique to the dialogues. 36 This
effect is a bit different from that seen in Livy’s repeated use of the Cannae
exemplum, in large part because topics such as Cato’s prose style and Scipio’s
philosophical pursuits are hardly touchstones of the past like Cannae. As with
Cato or even the Marian oak, the dialogues’ representations of figures from the
past consistently reinforce themselves. Accordingly, while internally within a
dialogue an individual exemplum functions like a rhetorical exemplum and aims in
the first instance to persuade, the collection and pattern of exempla contribute
further to the consistency and self-referentiality of the dialogues’ internal
universe. 37 When faced with such repeated examples, the reader of the dialogues
becomes progressively aware that he or she is being presented with a
caricaturized version of an historical figure that belongs to Cicero’s literary world.
With each use of an exemplum such as Scipio then the dialogues make less of an
appeal to the historical Scipio and more of one to Cicero’s Scipio. This effect
mirrors the way in which the interlocutors of De Legibus consistently cite the
35
See n. 31 above.
36
On the historical Scipio, see Astin (1967), who paints a very different picture than that painted
by Cicero.
37
So compelling is this internal universe that it led to one of the most prominent fallacies of 20th
century Roman scholarship, the Scipionic circle. On the fallacy of this construct, see Strasburger
(1966) and Zetzel (1972).
example of Scipio from De Republica. Cicero’s use of repeated and stock exempla
ensures that many of his exempla operate on the level of caricature and may be
accepted for the literary devices they are.
Cicero forges a kind of cooperation between himself, the literary world he
constructs, and his reader’s expectations, a cooperation identifiable with the
phenomenological/sociological concept of intersubjectivity developed by
Husserl, and elaborated in competing ways in discourse studies by Heidegger
and Habermas. 38 Intersubjectivity in the wake of Husserl is not always clearly
defined, 39 but it consists in general of empathy between subjects. 40 In a positive
sense it involves one subject, relying on a common set of cultural and
communicative principles (Husserl’s “lifeworld,” Lebenswelt), communicating
clearly and effectively with another subject, with each subject understanding one
another and one another’s perspective in large part because of their shared
Lebenswelt.41 Butte encapsulates this positive sense of what he calls “deep
intersubjectivity” in literary contexts with the phrase “I know that you know that I
know.” 42 One subject does not merely make assumptions about another, but
establishes agreement through actions so that each can recognize their
intersubjectivity. In his dialogues Cicero self-consciously uses stock exempla; his
audience can perceive them as such; and Cicero is aware that they are so
perceived, never requiring for them to pass as anything other, as the excursus on
38
Husserl (1988). The work of Heidegger (1962) and Habermas (1990) has advanced the
work of Husserl on intersubjectivity in competing ways, with Heidegger emphasizing
intersubjectivity as a reaction to a presupposed world, and Habermas suggesting that
intersubjectivity constitutes an objective world.
39
Confusion over intersubjectivity can in part be traced to various appropriations of the term in
various capacities within the disciplines of sociology, psychology, and philosophy. But as
mentioned in the previous note, even within philosophical/phenomenological studies, a line has
been drawn between the work of Habermas (1990) and the work of Heidegger (1962), the former
of whom, as Kompridis (2006) summarizes, “is committed to defending the priority of validity to
meaning (truth to disclosure)” in intersubjective relations, while the latter was committed to “the
priority of meaning to validity (disclosure to truth)” (46).
40
Husserl (1988). Gillespie and Cornish (2010) offer perhaps the most basic and
encompassing definition of intersubjectivity as “the variety of relations between perspectives” (19).
41
Husserl (1970); for Habermas (1990), the shared circumstances of the subjects connote an
objectivity to their experiential world.
42
Butte (2004) draws his inspiration for the complex multipart interchange of deep
intersubjectivity from the idea of Merleau-Ponty’s chiasm (5–7).
43
The self-awareness of De Legibus is further confirmed in 1.15, when Atticus encourages Cicero
to write a treatise on laws as a companion to his treatise on the state. As so often, Cicero blurs lines
between written and spoken discussions (cf. Benardete (1987) 300–1, who connects this
ambiguity in Leg. both to Plato’s Phaedrus and the legal differentiation between lex and ius civile).
44
Asmis (this volume) considers a specific instance of self-aware fiction, the myth of the
founders in Rep. 2, and how this fiction prepares the way for how to read the fiction of Scipio’s
dream.
45
Connolly (2007) argues that Cicero’s ideal world of virtue can only come into being via
communal interaction: “The subjects in the interdiscursive relationship are not always already
there in the first place, at least not as fully virtuous subjects; it is precisely the moment of encounter
that produces virtue. What was there before… is a potentiality that becomes an identifiably good
self only in the process of contact with other human beings” (144).
46
Kompridis (2006) 48.
47
Gowing (2005) describes a similar phenomenon as a sort of “‘surrogate’ memory.” Such
memories “become part of the individual’s experience and understanding of the past, and, to the
extent that such memories are shared, part of the culture’s ‘collective’ memory” (10).
effective than those of other genres. For, in one sense, the dialogues’ exempla
recall for the present audience the events and figures of the past in the manner of
history; and, as with oratory, they are in part used to persuade or even improve
their audiences. 48 But the dialogues’ exempla also co-opt significant figures from
republican history and deploy them to create a self-contained literary circle
within the dialogues, a fictional para-reality, that authorizes itself and can function
independently or even in parallel to the fraught world of the late republic. 49 They
then take the process a step farther when they admit to their awareness of this
independence from reality, particularly in passages such as those discussing the
Marian oak or those in which lines between fictional dialogue characters and
their historical referents are conspicuously blurred. They are self-aware and they
allow the audience into this awareness. Such awareness is not mere nostalgia for
days of a future that passed, but rather a palpable intersubjectivity between
author and audience, one that invites readers to share Cicero’s perspective on the
past and the republic. Just as the dialogues themselves rely on social communities
rather than single voices to express their ideas, so Cicero offers his readers not so
much an accurate picture of the past as a plausible alternative model of Roman
life and community that they can adopt. When the prevailing contemporary
realities have become too undesirable Cicero proposes an alternative that is
viable and achievable if taken to heart and invites his audience to understand and
participate in his proposal. That complicity is the first step towards his goal of a
renewed republican community.
DAN HANCHEY
Baylor University, Dan_Hanchey@baylor.edu
48
Asmis (this volume) shows convincingly how Cicero can manipulate and mythologize history
in service to an exhortation to virtue.
49
The co-opting and reconstructing of history itself is of course not alien to any literary genre,
and is in fact crucial to the development of aristocratic identity in republican literature. As Habinek
(1998) argues, the mos maiorum involves hardly anything else (53). “Latin literature of the early
classical period both participates in the invention of tradition and makes itself part of the tradition
that is being invented. In this way it secures for itself a permanent role as an agent of aristocratic
acculturation” (54).