Roman Realism

There are many things about ancient Rome that fascinate me. My love for the era finds its roots in the wonderful books of Rosemary Sutcliff and the spectacular cinematic epics like “Ben Hur” that were released during my childhood.

Over the years I’ve studied the Roman world in great depth. I shifted my numismatic interested to coins of the Constantinian era. (You can still purchase the genuine articles relatively inexpensively. Thanks to the tragic individuals who buried their hoards during troubled times and never returned to recover them.)

One of my favorite things about the Romans was their realism which manifested itself even in the busts they carved. Unlike the Greeks who strove to idealize everything, the Romans were pragmatic. If the honoree’s face lacked character (or suffered from an excess of the same), then the artist was expected to reflect that fact.

Just look at all the character in the face of the unknown Roman portrayed above. Or, how about this one. So vivid. Imagine just how difficult life must have been for this thirty-two year citizen.* Yes, they did an impressively faithful job portraying the subjects of their artistic studies.

I’m not naïve enough to think that the emperors’ likenesses weren’t “airbrushed” just a tad. But take a look at the image to the left. It was made of an extremely important person, Pompey the Great, and it’s obviously intended to be a true likeness. This image always reminds me of a troubled chaplain assistant who served with me during my isolated tour in Korea. That sergeant’s tussled coiffure witnessed to a nasty hangover. I cannot attribute Pompey’s unruly mane to the same cause.

C.S. Lewis said the first requirement of art is to engage, to connect in some fashion with the interests of the viewer. He wrote this in his essay “Hamlet: The Prince or the Poem,” which he wrote in 1942.

To interest is the first duty of art; no other excellence will even begin to compensate for failure in this, and very serious faults will be covered by this, as by charity.

If I lined up a dozen beautiful and stylized Grecian busts against one wall and the same number of Roman examples against another, I have no doubt which would merit and receive the greatest attention. Idealized portraiture can be appreciated. But realistic likenesses, that celebrate the uniqueness of each human being, these are truly engaging.

Oh, and in closing let me say that I’m just vain enough—should anyone undertake to create a bust of me—to want it crafted in the Greek style, rather than the Roman . . .

* True age unknown . . . but you already knew that, right?

The Ides of March

I was introduced to ancient Rome as a young reader. Rosemary Sutcliff (1920-1992) wrote such fine historical fiction that it appeals to young readers and adults alike. A film version of The Eagle of the Ninth was made just last year. And I’m a sucker for a good Roman movie (wherein “good” excludes all of the so-called spaghetti gladiator films made in the fifties and sixties).

As a student of Rome, I find it worth noting today’s date. Even those who know “nothing” about Rome should understand its significance. You don’t need to have studied Latin or the classics to understand the warning “Beware the Ides of March.” The Ides is the fifteenth day of the month. And it was on this day that Julius Caesar was murdered by members of the Roman Senate.

It was left to his adopted son, Caesar Augustus, to transform the Republic into an autocratic Empire. It was this Caesar who ruled Rome at the time of Jesus’ birth, and he bequeathed the title of “Caesar” to his heirs. When Jesus requested that the Pharisees and Herodians “show him the coin for the tax,” we do not know whether Augustus or Caesar Tiberius adorned it. It matters not, since the image of Caesar was tantamount to representing Rome itself.

Jesus taught his disciples to be discerning in the loyalties we offer. We are to be responsible citizens. But we are also required to remember our true citizenship rests in the New Jerusalem.

C.S. Lewis astutely illustrated this truth. He lived during two global conflicts, and served in combat defending his homeland. Yet Lewis recognized the dangers of placing our trust (faith) in even the “noble” things of this world.

A man may have to die for our country: but no man must, in any exclusive sense, live for his country. He who surrenders himself without reservation to the temporal claims of a nation, or a party, or a class is rendering to Caesar that which, of all things, most emphatically belongs to God: himself. (“Learning in War-Time” – a sermon preached in Oxford in 1939).

So, on this day when Julius’ dreams of glory bled out in Rome . . . may you and I find refuge, hope, peace and meaning in the One who bled and died for each of us on Calvary.