Using the example of the Corinthian bronzes, this chapter aims to investigate how the encyclopaedist and the epistolographer dealt with luxury items. It analyses two famous passages from the Naturalis Historia on the Corinthian bronzes (34.6-7 and 48), two references to the same material in Pliny the Younger’s third book (3.1 and 3.6) and discusses the treatment of the topic within the frame of the Roman debate on private and public luxury. Rocchi discusses possible intertextual references made by both authors to Cicero’s speech De Signis against Verres in order to show how Cicero’s moralistic remarks on dealing with luxury items such as bronze statues and vessels propound a model of behaviour to Pliny the Younger as a donor of a bronze figurine to his home town of Comum. Finally, Rocchi addresses Pliny’s knowledge and use of the Verrine Orations more generally. In an appendix, he adds some remarks on the Corinthium signum described in Ep. 3.6 and on its lost plinth, as well as on further Corinthian bronzes mentioned in Latin inscriptions.

This chapter examines Ep. 2.20’s intertextual engagement with Demosthenes’ De Corona and Cicero’s In Verrem. By analysing these ‘allusions’, we can determine that Pliny self-identifies with his famous oratorical predecessors. More specifically, Pliny’s feud with Regulus recalls Demosthenes’ rivalry with Aeschines and Cicero’s oratorical competition with Verres. Pliny casts himself as a successor of this tradition and, like his great forebears, can overcome his nemesis. Yet the letter also has a more poignant political point about Pliny’s civitas (community). Demosthenes claims that some individuals who were involved in Greek political affairs were bribed by Philip. Aeschines was therefore symptomatic of a wider failing among the Greek political elite. Similarly, Cicero claims that high ranking senators support men such as Hortensius so long as it benefits their own careers. By bringing Cicero and Demosthenes to mind, then, Pliny suggests that his own political elite community reward wicked men such as Regulus in much the same way. In fact, Pliny’s letter seems to suggest an even gloomier future, where his own civitas are worse than the precedent of the past. These intertextual allusions, then, can challenge common scholarly pre-conceptions about Pliny’s view of Rome’s future under the Trajanic principate.

This chapter has a simple argument: Pliny’s Epistles is a work of many intertextual parts. Neither beholden to Cicero’s Epistles, its professed generic forebear, nor privileging ‘poetic memory’ over prose, it integrates a broad range of predecessors, old and new, verse and prose. In a larger study of Plinian intertextuality Whitton has argued that Quintilian’s Institutio Oratoria is its unsuspected protagonist, with Tacitus’ Dialogus tightly caught up in the same weave. Rather than rehearsing those claims, he uses this short contribution to pick out some other ingredients to his mix. Three short passages (from Ep. 4.3, 5.16 and 7.1) include a long-forgotten reworking of Cicero’s Orator and hitherto unremarked imitations of Lucretius’ De Rerum Natura, Valerius Maximus’ Facta et Dicta Memorabilia and Tacitus’ Agricola. In examining these liaisons, the chapter exemplifies some modes and norms of Plinian imitatio and demonstrates that these works and authors all have a role in his pages (so, incidentally, adding to their reception histories). More broadly – if very selectively – it argues that Pliny’s generic self-positioning is a literary act of high ambition: for all its professed simplicity, the Epistles integrates a wide range of exemplary texts into its blend. We just need to start plumbing its depths.

In his obituary of Silius Italicus (Ep. 3.7), Pliny uses a series of apposite intertextual allusions drawn from a variety of sources (especially from Seneca’s Dialogi and Epistles, Cicero’s Epistulae ad Familiares and Hesiod) which help him denigrate Silius’ posthumous reputation. Pliny evokes several titles of Senecan works and thus virtually creates an epistolary library with a section containing Stoic best sellers. In this letter, Pliny absorbs Seneca’s Stoicism, prompts his readers to evaluate Silius’ character through the lens of Stoic discourses and to notice an inconsistency between Silius’ Stoic death and his un-Stoic way of life, while all the while associating the epic poet with Epicureanism. He has good reasons to undermine Silius’ reputation, since the latter was Pliny’s rival for the title of Cicero’s heir. However, at the same time Pliny differentiates himself from Seneca by rejecting some of his central ideas, as e.g. his idea that human life is not short. The negative insinuations against Silius are further accentuated by intratextual links with other letters addressed to Caninius Rufus.

Nonius Marcellus’ intellectual tendencies, contemporary concerns and treatment of the Roman literary past are the subject of this study, which contends that the author’s predilections and intended readership often guided his selection of quotations, affected his presentation of them, and, consequently, shaped our reception of early Latin we know principally or exclusively from the De compendiosa doctrina. Nonius was selecting not merely ‘old words’ regardless of their valence, but more precisely those old words that could be incorporated with minimal accommodation into the speech patterns of fourth-century North Africa. This means that his collection of Latinity often has as much to do with imperial, provincial, and formal public speech as it does with republican Latin literary styles; that Nonius was more attuned to the philosophical, intellectual, theological, and cultural implications of the texts that he was excerpting than has yet been recognised; and that he probably bequeathed us a collection of literary Latin distorted by his own interests and concerns, and by his readers’ particular needs.

Cicero is well known to provide information about early Roman drama through his frequent references to performances, biographical details and characteristics of playwrights, motifs in dramas, language and style. Most of these comments are integrated into a specific context and therefore reflect Cicero’s argumentative aim. Yet, at the same time, they reveal insights into the nature of Roman Republican drama and its assessment in Cicero’s time. This chapter explores Cicero’s comments on the language, style and rhythm of early Republican dramas as well as his taking up of linguistic features of these plays. By looking at a selection of representative passages, this contribution examines what Cicero says about the language and idioms of early Roman playwrights and analyses whether Cicero takes up any of the linguistic features highlighted or instead opts for alternative versions. Such a study enables a better understanding of the Romans’ own view of the language of their early dramas as well as of any differences and developments between the various playwrights and dramatic genres.

The Introduction outlines crucial intellectual contexts and frameworks for thinking about how Cicero's Brutus is a crucial intervention in the the civic crisis and the writing of literary history. It also surveys the scholarship to date and examines how Cicero's project reflects general trends in academic inquiry and civic government.

Chapter 2 focuses on the dialogue’s intellectual filiations. It begins by examining the preface’s (1–25) insistence on remaining silent about the civic crisis even as the interlocutors' exchange of written texts incessantly circles back to the accomplishments and struggles of the Roman state. Atticus’ Liber Annalis and Brutus’ de Virtute inspired the Brutus, but to what extent and to what purpose remains initially unclear. In aligning their texts with de Republica and the Brutus, Cicero creates a complex web of learned exchange in the service of the republic. The chapter then considers other potential intellectual predecessors: Varro’s writings on literature, the history of the dialogue genre, and Cicero’s own works. The Brutus draws together several intellectual currents and promises significant innovations in how to document and conceptualize the literary past.

Chapter 8 turns to the famous judgment of Julius Caesar’s commentarii (nudi, recti, venusti, 262). Not only textual aesthetics but also visual analogies and the plastic arts underlie Cicero’s judgments. An analysis of statuary analogies and of the fuller contexts for Cicero’s statements suggests a deft ploy on his part. He portrays himself as Phidias crafting a statue of Minerva (the Parthenon Athena) and Caesar as Praxiteles crafting a statue of Venus (the Aphrodite of Knidos). The fundamentally different symbolic resonances of the goddesses simultaneously challenge Caesar’s military accomplishments and underscore Cicero’s civic achievements. Cicero thereby promotes his vision of the need to restore the Roman republic once the civil war has concluded.

In De Officiis, Cicero undertakes sustained engagement with Roman exemplary ethics. He uses dozens of different exempla to serve a variety of functions including as inspirational paradigms as means of illustrating abstract concepts and to communicate the important principle of situational variation. In addition he reflects upon some of the challenges of exemplary ethics when viewed within the Stoic context and also develops new techniques for utilising exempla and exemplary modes within a Stoic framework. He achieves this partly by incorporating into his philosophical discussion some key features of Roman exemplary ethics including a sense of particularity and historical specificity emotional charge and injunction and indeterminacy. De Officiis anticipates to some extent ideas later developed more explicitly by Seneca; identifying these enables us to better appreciate the unfolding dialogue between Stoicism and exemplary ethics.

Cicero’s De Officiis offers the most extensive discussion of the Stoic concept of duty (Greek kathēkon). The chapter addresses the way Cicero introduces into his treatise, with the support of relevant examples, the topic of conflict between different duties and their corresponding actions. The first part of the chapter discusses the influence of the Stoic Panaetius’ treatise ‘On Duty’ on Cicero and Cicero’s divergence from Panaetius in his treatment of conflict of duties. The second part of the chapter analyses how duty applies to different social relationships in De Officiis and how these duties are prioritized, in case of conflict, according to the specific circumstances of action. It is thereby shown that the idea of conflict of duties in Cicero excludes ‘tragic dilemmas’, supporting the Stoic view that there is only one dutiful action to be discharged on every occasion. Finally, the third part of the chapter presents the conflict between the ‘expedient’ and ‘honourable’ courses of action in De Officiis and Cicero’s attempt to present, in line with Stoic views, such a conflict as merely apparent.

This chapter argues that Cicero’s discussion of decorum in De Officiis (1.93-151) represented a striking innovation—both within Cicero’s Roman milieu and in the Greek tradition of his source, Panaetius—for its importation of an aesthetic term, to prepon, into the sphere of ethics. Panaetius’ adoption of this term for philosophical purposes was clever, and one of several innovations that foreshadowed important trends in later philosophy. For Cicero, writing during dramatic social and political upheaval, Panaetius’ innovation represented an opportunity that suited the times. Caesar’s accession had brought profound changes, encouraging a shift from the traditional activities of public self-display to a focus on private self-care and a self-display predicated on written works; as Cicero himself puts it at Off. 2.3, if Caesar had not abolished republican governance, he would still be delivering speeches, not writing philosophy. Moral behavior at Rome had long been governed by exempla, public acts by (usually) public men. By borrowing Panaetius’ suggestion that moral goodness could also be understood in private (and expressly literary/rhetorical terms), Cicero laid the groundwork for a remarkably durable idea in Roman culture, and one with particular resonance in the Augustan period, as Horace’s Ars Poetica shows.

Given the apparent importance of exempla to Cicero’s project in De Officiis, any account of Cicero’s philosophical method in this work is forced to grapple with the question of how these historical insets function within the text. Yet understanding how, exactly, they contribute to the reader’s moral progress is an interpretative challenge: Cicero’s treatment warns us against taking them simply as models for imitation. Instead, I argue, Cicero focuses on three different, but related, functions for his exempla within De Officiis. First, looking at the behaviour of others can help us to develop the analytical skills necessary to correctly deliberate about our own actions. Secondly, exempla work to verify the theoretical claims of the text. Finally, they show the beneficial outcomes of following the teachings of the text, in terms of the glory and praise that accrues to those who engage in correct action – though, as we shall see, this strategy is only effective because of Cicero’s radical redefinition of the concepts of glory and praise.

In his discussion of decorum Cicero supposes that most people would agree to the general principle that in our speech, bodily deportment, and actions we should avoid giving offence to others. This is because we possess a sense of shame or verecundia. The particular details are very culture-specific: customs and conventions largely set the parameters of verecundia, and we do well to follow them. Cicero also admits that philosophical figures often flaunt established customs and conventions: he points to Socrates, who is justified in doing so owing to his great and godlike virtue, and the Cynics, who are not justified in doing so at all (1.148). He then sets out a bold thesis: ‘Indeed the reasoning of the Cynics must be rejected absolutely; for it is inimical to a sense of shame (verecundia), without which nothing can be upright (rectum), nothing honourable (honestum)’. For the Cynics, verecundia is not natural; hence we are justified in flaunting customs and conventions. Cicero develops a counter-argument against the Cynics: the source of shame or verecundia is indeed natural. I explore his argument for this thesis (which appears at 1.126ff.) and assess his critique of the Cynics.

In this Introduction, I first discuss the title, form and method of De Officiis, with a focus on Cicero’s prefaces to the three books that comprise the work, in order both to complement the essays that follow and because the prefaces give important information about Cicero’s compositional methods and motives. Having thus put the work into context, I go on to explain and discuss the structure of the volume itself, and offer a brief outline of the individual chapters.

In De Officiis, Cicero values very highly the little society of parents and their children: an origin of society and seedbed of the republic, whose members should rank extraordinarily high among each other’s priorities. In light of Cicero’s biography and longstanding interest in a philosophical debate about parental love, I argue that Cicero’s position is that nature gives to humans a non-rational desire to care for their children, which leads many parents to rational love of their children, whereby they care about what is natural for at least some other humans, their children, as they care about it for themselves, holding property in common within the household. The rest of the family thereby learn loving attitudes. Such parents and their home are for their children images, however flawed, of virtue and a virtuous society. By making this experience common, nature teaches a lesson in what virtuous altruists would be like.

Contemporary moral education could learn a thing or two from the ancient Greco-Romans. This essay introduces the two major varieties of ancient Skepticism: Pyrrhonism and the New Academy, situating them within the current resurgence of interest in virtue ethics that includes, for instance, Stoicism. I then make an argument that the Academic Skeptics – authors like Carneades and Cicero – pursued two major intertwined interests: ethics and natural philosophy. “Ethics,” in the Greco-Roman conception, had a far wider scope than the field of study that we now identify by that label, having to do with how to best live one’s life. In turn, a crucial component of good living was thought to be the ability to understand, through natural philosophy, how the world actually works, in order to avoid taking refuge in psychologically reassuring fantasies of the kind that we refer to nowadays as pseudoscience.