122 - Jupiter and Hercules

Hello, and welcome to the History of Rome, episode 122, Jupiter and Hercules. I think it's fair to say that for the last 50 odd years, the Roman Empire had been flying by the seat of its pants. Emperors would appear on the scene, run around madly trying to deal with whatever that week's crisis was, and then pass the baton off to the next man, who would run around madly trying to deal with the next week's crisis before passing the baton off to the next man, and so on and so on. Improvisation was the order of the day, and if anyone even had a long-term strategy, they usually had neither the time nor the resources to put it into action. Most of the emperors who ruled during the 3rd century had no idea that they would even be emperor a year before they found themselves draped in the purple, sometimes not even the day before.

So it's not like these men were bringing with them carefully laid out plans when they took over power. But by all accounts, Diocletian was different. He had been thinking about it. He had thought long and hard about the problems facing the empire, and what he would do if he had the chance to solve them. This is not to say that Diocletian was immune from the twists and turns of fate, and he was forced to improvise with the best of them, but he at least had some broad notions about the direction the empire needed to go in, and he did his level best to keep the empire going that way. And after defeating Carinus in 285 AD, he wasted no time getting going.

Right away, Diocletian set the tone for the kind of administration he planned to lead. Elites across the empire always viewed transitions of power as incredibly dangerous periods of time. Who knew what kind of purges the new emperor would initiate as he set about consolidating his power. But right from the get-go, Diocletian made it clear that clemency would be his watchword. Not only were there no executions or banishments for Carinus' allies, Diocletian actually kept on most of the previous regime's magistrates.

But just as the relief was taking hold, the elites in Rome couldn't help but miss the other big signal Diocletian sent them. He would not be coming to the capital any time soon. Diocletian had no interest in acknowledging even the symbolic power of the senate, and though the frontiers were mostly quiet and he could have made the trip easily, one of the things he had been thinking a lot about was that Rome needed to be removed from the political equation. The snubbing of the ancient capital was deliberate and permanent and part of Diocletian's long-term project to rest imperial legitimacy on something other than the consent of the long-irrelevant senate.

The other big idea that Diocletian had firmly in the front of his mind when he came to power was that the job of emperor was now, without a doubt, too big a job for one man. At its core, the problem lay in the tension between external and internal threats. In order to ensure his place on the throne, an emperor has to keep with him at all times the largest and strongest army around. That way, ambitious generals elsewhere would not be able to muster any serious threats. But that meant that any significant external invasion had to be met personally by the emperor, since he was the only one with an army big enough to face it down. That meant a lot of running around for the emperor and a lot of borderland left unguarded as he ran from here to there. It also meant that these invasions were not being met in anything even resembling a timely manner.

Diocletian had thought about this seemingly intractable problem, and finally came to the conclusion that there just had to be two emperors. Now this was not a novel idea, but previous examples of it had arisen out of dynastic concerns, going back to the partnership of Augustus and Agrippa that was initiated most of all because Augustus had almost died without there being a capable heir in place. Fathers and sons would rule together or brothers would rule together to cement a family dynasty, but never before had the idea of co-rulers been premised on the simple notion that more than one emperor was actually needed. And these days, Diocletian recognized that more than one ruler was needed.

The basic logic of this solution was simple. Two emperors operating over different spheres would each be able to respond to problems in their territories far quicker and more efficiently than any one emperor would ever be able to do. It would also, by splitting the load of administrative paperwork, create a far more efficient bureaucracy to deal with all the minutia of governance. Some questions can only be answered by emperors, and with two emperors, twice as much can be answered twice as fast.

Finally, and this is where the whole thing could unravel, Diocletian bet that by investing a colleague with imperial authority, that command of the huge array of armed forces that would come with that promotion, a huge array of armed forces that were needed to keep the empire safe, that would not go to said colleague's head. They would already have all the dignity and power of an emperor, so no reason to rise up in revolt after winning some victory out on the frontiers, right?

The question then became, who in the world could be trusted with such a promotion? Diocletian needed another imperial army out in the field, and he needed someone capable of leading it, and since he had no son of his own, he needed someone from outside his family whose loyalty he could absolutely count on. Enter Maximian. The man who would become known as Marcus Aurelius Valerius Maximianus, was born around 250 A.D. near Sirmium, into a family of shopkeepers. He was five or six years younger than Diocletian, which meant that they were just close enough in age to have essentially risen through the ranks together, but just far enough apart in age for Diocletian to always be the senior partner.

As with most of the Illyrian generals, the bulk of Maximian's early career is obscure, but it is almost certain that he was leading troops during Carus' eastern campaign, and highly likely that he was on hand for the drama of Numerian's death and the decision to elevate Diocletian. Depending on how far in advance Diocletian had been making his plans, it is entirely possible that he had been cultivating a friendship with Maximian for years, with the idea of appointing his junior colleague to share the purple with him if he ever got the chance to become emperor.

Maximian was a good general, a stern disciplinarian, and a competent administrator. All of these traits recommended him to Diocletian, but perhaps more important than what Maximian brought with him to the table, was what he didn't. Diocletian had no native political talents to speak of. Elevating another man with a political mind might cause the new imperial partnership to devolve into mutual scheming, backbiting, and then, inevitably, civil war. But by choosing a blunt soldier who had no time for political machinations, Diocletian could be assured that he would have a partner in power, not a rival for power.

The rapidity with which Maximian was promoted following Diocletian's elevation means that most likely, all of this had been prearranged. Whether it had been arranged years in advance, or whether it was the final carrot used to secure Maximian's support following Numerian's death, is unknown. But we do know, that immediately after the death of Carinus in July of 285, that the imperial entourage traveled to Milan, where, in a solemn ceremony, Maximian was elevated to the rank of Caesar, and formally adopted by Diocletian. The empire now had two capable men of imperial rank to watch over its domains.

And it was a good thing that it did, because there was no time to sit around basking in the glow of newfound imperial luxury. There were things to be done. Diocletian had already determined that he was going to leave the new Caesar Maximian to handle the west, and in particular the troubled province of Gaul, while he himself traveled east so he could secure the Danube frontier and be ready for any fallout from Carinus' previous invasion of Persia.

Making his capital in the city of Nicomedia in Asia Minor, essentially for the same strategic reasons Constantine chose to build his capital in Byzantium, Diocletian settled a brief war with the Sarmatians, before taking a tour of the eastern provinces, to ensure that the new administration would not have to deal with any problems from seditious-minded locals. It had, after all, been only a decade since the eastern Mediterranean had nearly become its own political entity. For all of 286, Diocletian put his stamp on the east, and back in Nicomedia in 287, he received the good news that far from looking for revenge, the Sassanid king Bahram II was looking for peace.

The Persian king sent an embassy to Diocletian with gifts and promises of a stable border between the two great empires. Delighted that he might be able to solve the Persian question diplomatically, Diocletian jumped at the overtures, and after some haggling, the two sides agreed to swap some territory in order to rationalize the border, and then pledged mutual friendship and eternal peace. It didn't turn out to be exactly eternal peace, but at that moment, with so much else to deal with, the promise of even a temporary peace on the eastern front was music to Diocletian's ears.

Unfortunately, the reason there was so much else to deal with was because despite getting off to a good start, Maximian had run into some serious difficulties in the west. As I just mentioned, Diocletian was not omnipotent, and he was forced to improvise his plans on the fly. The first test of his ability to make it up as he went along came early in 286, when frantic reports came pouring in that a general named Corotius had broken free of Maximian's control and had proclaimed himself Augustus of Britain and northern Gaul. Well hell.

To go back a bit, after being named Caesar, Maximian had traveled north to Gaul, where he set up a capital in Mainz. His first major test came against a collection of peasants and ex-soldiers called, and I know I'm going to butcher this pronunciation, the Bugaudi. We have very little understanding of the group, and no one really knows whether they were a real revolutionary force, or whether they were just opportunistic brigands. But they had been running rampant throughout central Gaul for years, and had to be stopped. Maximian, with the authority and resources of an emperor, was able to easily divide and conquer the gangs.

But with Roman attention focused on the interior, tribes of Alamanni and Burgundians took advantage of the situation and began raiding into the empire. Compounding this threat along the upper Rhine was the new threat of Frankish and Saxon pirates, who were based around the lower Rhine. As Maximian dealt with the Alamanni and the Burgundians, he delegated the piracy issue to a highly capable general named Corotius, who was not only a native of northern Gaul, but also an experienced naval captain.

At first, everything went great. Maximian pushed back the Germans in the south, while Corotius ran circles around the overmatched pirates in the north. But then troubling reports began to filter down to Maximian. Rather than returning the captured loot to its rightful owners, or at the very least collecting it in some public treasury, he was siphoning it off into his own private stashes. And worse than that, it was being reported that Corotius was waiting for the pirates to finish plundering before he made any move to intercept them, so as to maximize his own profit.

Now, a little pocket lining is one thing, but this breach of faith, actually standing by and allowing pirates to plunder and burn, was something else entirely. Maximian may have been a rough soldier, but a sense of honor pervaded his commitment to the empire. The legions were there to defend, not to exploit. Corotius, whatever his merits, had gone too far. And this is where his lack of political savvy doomed Maximian. Rather than laying some careful trap for his wayward admiral, rather than coaxing him out of his stronghold with flattery and promises of friendship, Maximian simply demanded Corotius report at once to account for himself. Incredibly nervous about what might happen if he complied, Corotius hesitated, which caused Maximian to declare him a public enemy and order his execution. This, of course, immediately negated any possibility of a peaceful end to the situation.

Corotius had at his disposal the entire Roman fleet, as well as the massive pile of loot he had spent the last few months accumulating. If Maximian wanted him, he could try to come get him, but good luck with that. Corotius withdrew to Britain, where, with the help of his ill-gotten gains, he secured the loyalty of the legions stationed there. At the same time, everyone suddenly became aware of the back-channel talks Corotius had been engaged in with the Franks this whole time. When the split with Maximian became official, the Franks seized most of the Gallic coast, and in particular the port of Boulogne. With the help of his new German allies, Corotius now controlled an impregnable little kingdom.

Even if Maximian were able to drive off the Franks, the Caesar had no fleet and no way of even reaching Britain, let alone fighting for it. And even then, getting bogged down in the north threatened the peace everywhere else. Reluctantly, Maximian allowed Corotius to hold his little kingdom.

This sudden rebellion forced Diocletian's hand. Up to this point, the relationship between Diocletian and Maximian had been one of Augustus and Caesar, father and son. But with Corotius declaring himself Augustus, Diocletian had to match the bet on the table. It wouldn't do from a public relations standpoint to have an Augustus, self-proclaimed or otherwise, being met by a mere Caesar. The optics of it were all wrong. So in April 286, he further elevated Maximian to the rank of Augustus, and henceforth their relationship was one of brothers, rather than that of father and son.

Though he had botched the handling of Corotius, Diocletian still had faith in Maximian, and Maximian, for now, continued to prove his worth. He may have been politically inept, but as a soldier he was second to none. Refusing to launch a rash campaign to retake Britain, Maximian kept his focus on southern and central Gaul, campaigning on both sides of the river to completely pacify the region before allowing himself to turn to the north. Not that preparations weren't underway. A fleet was even then being constructed for the eventual invasion of Britain.

But Maximian wanted to make damn sure that his back was covered before he went north. Plus, Corotius's rebellion had led him naturally into alliance with the German tribes. By launching a scorched earth campaign in Germany, Maximian hoped to devastate all of Corotius's allies, leaving the treasonous general isolated on his island, without mainland support. All through 286 and 287, while Diocletian was settling things diplomatically in the east, Maximian was settling things with the sword in the west.

In the spring of 288, however, Diocletian felt confident enough in the stability of the eastern provinces that he decided to come to Gaul himself and aid his brother emperor. The breakaway of Corotius was without a doubt the single most important thing going on in the empire at that moment. The prestige of the new administration was on the line, and Diocletian wanted to make sure that nothing was left to chance. The senior Augustus had his sights set on completely redefining the imperial order, with the express aim of denying future ambitious generals access to the kind of legitimacy they would need to usurp the throne, and, as you can imagine, the existence of a usurper in Britain was seriously upsetting Diocletian's plans.

To explain what I mean by denying access to legitimacy, we have to go back in time a bit. When he was reorganizing the state, Augustus used the Senate's longstanding and unrivaled authority to convey legitimacy onto his new regime. After two and a half centuries, though, the Augustan system had finally cracked, and legitimacy was now conferred not by the Senate, but by the troops in the field. You could say that this had always been the case, but it was never so nakedly apparent to the soldiers themselves as it was during the crisis years. They used their new power with reckless abandon, and emperors were made and unmade at the drop of a hat.

Diocletian had thought about how to wrest this power away from the soldiers, and he thought that he had hit upon a solution. Rather than looking down to the legions, or over to the Senate for their legitimacy, emperors should henceforth look up to the heavens. This was a hugely important step in the history of political theory in the West, as it was here in the late 280s AD that Diocletian laid the foundation for 1,500 years of divinely appointed kings ruling over Europe.

The fascinating thing about all this is that this foundation was laid because of the specific circumstances facing Diocletian. He needed to restore discipline to the troops, and restore a sense of awe-inspiring majesty to the office of emperor in order to restore stability to the empire. In his biography of Diocletian, Stephen Williams makes the point that though their policies were miles apart, that at heart, Augustus and Diocletian were really the same kind of man. Both were acutely aware that they needed to find a way to restore order after years of chaos. Had their roles been reversed, it would not at all have been out of character for Diocletian to have used the institutions of the republic to stabilize a new autocracy, nor would it have been out of character for Augustus to argue for divine right following the crisis of the third century. Neither man was an ideologue. They were pragmatists more than willing to follow whichever course they thought would best achieve their ends.

So it was not megalomania that led Diocletian to begin telling everyone that he was appointed by Jupiter, and nothing less than Jupiter's agent on earth, just as it was not humility that led Augustus to tell everyone that he was merely the first citizen. It was rather, in both cases, a carefully thought out piece of pageantry that each believed would halt the entropy that had afflicted their empire.

It was in this way that the formal slide, and here is another one of those arbitrary labels we use to keep history straight in our heads, from principate to dominant, from the emperor styled as first citizen to the emperor styled as your lord and master. It was as he was finishing up his negotiations with the Persians in 287, that Diocletian first began to claim the divine authority that would become the foundation of his regime and the foundation of all future regimes. He took for himself the title Jovias, and gave to Maximian the title Hercules, references to the respective patron deities Diocletian had chosen for them, Jupiter and Hercules. The former, the head of the gods, the master architect, the supreme authority. The latter, the great hero, the indefatigable defender of mankind. And, this is where the supreme political artistry of Diocletian becomes apparent, the ever ready tool of Jupiter.

As Diocletian was setting up his new imperial paradigm, he made sure that it cemented the relationship he wished to have with his brother Emperor Maximian. Diocletian would be Jupiter, the architect of policy. Maximian would be Hercules, the hands that carried out those policies. It was a relationship that suited both men just fine. Maximian was no politician, and Diocletian was no general.

Down the road though, these new divinely inspired dynasties would run into problems. What if the new Jovias lacked vision? What if the new Hercules didn't want to take orders? But these were questions for another day. For now, Jupiter and Hercules would rule the united empire in harmony.

Well, dang it, not fully united anymore, Hercules had gone and blundered away the island of Britain. Next week, Jupiter will travel to the west to help his faithful hero regain his footing. But it won't do much good. After running a joint campaign to put the final crackdown on any German troublemakers, Diocletian would leave the recovery of Britain in the hands of Maximian, but good old Hercules would botch the job again, and wind up leaving Corotius's position even stronger than it had been before.

The upshot of the botched retaking of Britain was Diocletian's realization that two emperors were perhaps not enough. The British question wasn't going anywhere, but the empire couldn't afford to have Maximian forever bogged down on the Gallic coast. He was needed elsewhere. So next week, we will see another doubling of imperial authority, and for the first time in its long history, Rome would have four emperors working in concert with each other, a system that we have come to know as the Tetrarchy.

Before we go this week, I want to mention two things for those of you out there who just can't get enough Mike Duncan in your lives. First, I did an interview last week with Andrew Johnston on his Podcast Squared show, so if you want to listen to me ramble on about various topics and say um and sort of a lot, you can download Podcast Squared on iTunes or at the Lifestyle Pod network. The URL for the direct download is a mouthful, so I'll just post a link at thehistoryofrome.typepad.com. Second, in the more funsy category, I will be a guest on listener Matthew Johnson's local Austin radio show Remix on Wednesday, January 19 at 2pm Central Time. What I get to do is bring in a mixtape of music and then talk with him about the relationship between work and writing and music, so it should be lots of fun. If you want to listen to the music that I listen to while writing the show, you can stream Co-op Radio online at www.koop.org (opens in a new tab). That too will get a link at thehistoryofrome.typepad.com. So January 19 at 2pm. See you then.