BMCR 2025.05.41

Commodus: the public image of a Roman emperor

, , Commodus: the public image of a Roman emperor. Wiesbaden: Reichert Verlag, 2023. Pp. 224. ISBN 9783752007640.

Emperor Commodus does not enjoy a good reputation in literary sources. The portrayal conveyed by contemporaries like Cassius Dio and Herodian, not to mention his biography in the much later Historia Augusta, is that of a reckless and megalomaniac young man, more interested in enjoying the comforts of Rome and showing off his physical prowess than in ruling the empire. In contrast, records like inscriptions, coins, and portraits draw a picture of virtue and good government, which generally falls within the conventional framework of imperial representation—only the pervasiveness of the emperor’s depiction as Hercules late in his principate may look peculiar. This divergence between categories of sources, particularly conspicuous in the case of ‘bad’ emperors, constitutes a challenge for modern interpreters, who seek to reconcile conflicting images and propose a balanced reconstruction of the past. In this book, occasioned by the reappearance of a hitherto unpublished marble portrait of Commodus, Smith and Niederhuber offer a thorough and fresh re-examination of the emperor’s public image, which also goes along these lines. More than twenty years after Oliver Hekster’s reappraisal of Commodus’ principate,[1] a new assessment focused on the emperor’s (self-)representation in textual and visual sources is more than welcome. This is all the more so because with the exception of Cecile Evers’ unpublished doctoral thesis,[2] it is the sole modern work which systematically addresses and contextualises the emperor’s portraiture from his childhood to the aftermath of his death. This book, however, is not just about Commodus or the magnificent portrait featured  on its cover. It also offers a broader and compelling essay on imperial portraiture and its underlying historical, cultural, and artistic dynamics.

The argument is laid out in six chapters. Chapter 1 (“A new Commodus”) is a thorough presentation of the new portrait, including a detailed account of the process behind its conservation and restoration. Chapter 2 (“Imperial portraits: practice and history”) contains a brief discussion of the imperial portrait ‘system’—i.e. design, circulation, and reception of the centrally-authorised portrait types in the imperial mint and marble workshops—, and an overview of the changing imperial self-representation from the 1st century BC to the 4th century AD. Chapter 3 (“Commodus: a brief life”) offers a comparison between the representation of Commodus in the literary sources and that in the documentary and visual evidence dated to his principate; its focus lies in the emperor’s association with Hercules. Chapters 4 (“Portraits of Commodus as prince”, that is, before AD 180) and 5 (“Portraits of Commodus as emperor”) examine Commodus’ eight portrait types and their spread through coins, medallions, and sculptures; statue bases are also discussed. Chapter 6 (“Conclusion: the new Commodus in context”) summarises the results, providing a framework to better appreciate the place of the new portrait in the trajectory of Commodus’ self-representation and imperial portrait practice. This is followed by an appendix dedicated to portraits on gems, cameos, and other media, a comprehensive bibliography, and indexes. The book, lavishly illustrated throughout, ends with 99 b/w and colour plates.

A major point of interest lies in the method adopted in the analysis of portrait types, the spread and development of which are followed separately in imperial coins and medallions on one hand, and sculptured portraits on the other. The potential of numismatic evidence, often relegated to an ancillary role in this context, is fully unlocked thanks to the implementation of die-study and a broader comparative scrutiny of the materials. Such an approach, successfully tested by Niederhuber in his recent book on Marcus Aurelius’ and Faustina’s portraits,[3]  provides a more precise assessment of portrait types in terms of chronology—and hence in their interpretation. This approach also has the advantage of offering  insights into the functioning of imperial portraiture at the centre, because the evidence considered comes mostly from Rome and Italy. From this vantage point, we can take a closer look at the reception of portrait designs in the imperial mint and Italian marble workshops. For example, the conversion of a new portrait model into coin dies could take some time and be quite uneven, as shown by the continued use of Type 3 (AD 175) and the gradual uptake of Type 4 (late AD 176) well into AD 177, perhaps because the perceived difference between the two likenesses was not that marked. This implies that die-cutters, even at the centre of power, could enjoy some degree of agency when facing new models. The versions of Type 4 showing different alterations in order to sport Commodus’ growing beard in both coinage of AD 180 and marble portraits (nos. 24–27), likely independent from a centrally-revised model, indicate that the same freedom was shared by sculptors. This is, of course, of much relevance for our understanding of workshop processes and it also give us a glimpse of the perception that the emperor as well as the craftsmen could have of some portrait designs. Furthermore, it allows us to better appreciate the significance of a sudden and pervasive change, like the swift adoption on coins and medallions of the groundbreaking Type 8 (late AD 192), representing Commodus with short-cropped hair and lion-skin headdress. As the authors argue, this probably entailed a vigorous intervention from above (p. 90), betraying the importance that the new portrait design had in the emperor’s perspective.

Statue bases are also incorporated in a fruitful way. Relying on the data collected by Jakob M. Højte,[4] Smith and Niederhuber discuss the pedestals datable within the same period in which a given portrait type was certainly in use, i.e. from its creation to its replacement by a new portrait model, in order to “assess any relationship between portrait types and inscribed bases” (p. 65). The authors rightly highlight the dissonant nature of these materials compared to the portrait evidence in terms of provenance (predominantly outside Italy) and material of the statues they once carried (mostly bronze). The bases throw light on the opposite end of the spectrum of imperial portrait practice—the empire’s inhabitants who honoured the ruler and his family by fueling the replication of their images. Instead of trying to outline any consistent picture from such scattered evidence, Smith and Niederhuber draw on information from portraits and the wider historical context, which is contrasted on a case-by-case basis . It emerges, for instance, that most dedications predating Commodus’ sole rule were set up in the period of joint rule with his father (AD 176/7–180), when Type 4 was circulating; perhaps unsurprisingly, the young boy gained relevance in  the eyes of the empire’s communities when he became Augustus. Comparing the (low) number of dedications in the first years following AD 180 and the figures known for other emperors after their acclamation, it becomes clear that the transfer of all power to Commodus after Marcus Aurelius’ death was not regarded as a momentous event (p. 81). Another interesting aspect is that a considerable number of statue dedications date after Commodus’ death. The figure of 21 bases given by the authors (roughly 20% of the total) should be slightly revised, though: at least two or three bases (CIL VIII 4212 and 14892; perhaps also CIL X 1116) feature the emperor’s name written over an erasure, most likely of his own titulature—a phenomenon which occurred throughout the empire in the wake of his rehabilitation. Should these bases really be regarded as new dedications set up after AD 192? We do not know what happened to the statues they carried in the time between Commodus’ declaration as public enemy and his consecration. At any rate, they bear witness to another strand of the emperor’s rehabilitation, which could have been integrated in the discussion on the afterlife of his images (pp. 92–3).

Smith and Niederhuber make full use of the literary sources and, through the aid of documentary evidence, they propose a detailed and complex picture of Commodus’ association with Hercules. In general, they demonstrate sensibility in handling Dio’s and Herodian’s hostile narratives, discussing the verifiability of facts and events often used to cast the emperor in a bad light—for instance, the transformation of the Sun Colossus into Commodus and the unusual inscription boasting his gladiatorial deeds. Several of their observations on the emperor’s literary representation merit further elaboration and some of their ideas specifically on his relationship to Hercules are compelling. There is no doubt, as the authors suggest (p. 60), that the gold statue representing Commodus with a bull and a cow mentioned by Dio among the exceptional honours voted for the emperor (72.15.3) was actually meant to celebrate him as re-founder of Rome after the fire, in parallel to the emissions of late AD 192 featuring on the reverse Hercules ploughing with two oxen and the legend Herc(uli) Rom(ano) Conditori. In the case of Commodus’ adoption of the title Hercules Romanus, however, their circumspection looks too excessive. According to Smith and Niederhuber, the emperor never officially took the title,  and the sources’ accusation that he styled himself as such in the context of his ‘Hercules mania’ is false (pp. 49, 59, 98). While the authors recognise that the title was used as a legend in the dative case on coin and medallion reverses with Herculean themes, they emphasise its absence in the imperial titulature on obverses featuring Commodus’ portrait as Hercules (Type 8). In their view, the epithet’s occurence in the imperial titulature on some papyri, inscriptions, and provincial coins just indicate that “the idea of using the title… was clearly something in the air at the imperial court in 192” (p. 47). While these documents are thoroughly scrutinised, Dio’s quotation of a letter addressed from Commodus to the Senate, which attests to the adoption in the imperial titulature of Hercules Romanus and other new epithets (72.15.5–6), is barely considered. But there are actually good grounds for giving Dio more credit in this matter. As Pieter J. Sijpesteijn proved,[5] the sequence of titles found in the MSS of Dio’s work (εἰρηνοποιὸς τῆς οἰκουμένης εὐτυχὴς ἀνίκητος Ῥωμαῖος Ἡρακλῆς) is entirely consistent with that attested in Egyptian papyri (with the only variant of τοῦ κόσμου instead of τῆς οἰκουμένης). Both are ostensibly Greek translations of the same Latin model (pacator orbis felix invictus Romanus Hercules) whose empire-wide distribution is further confirmed by the inscriptions. The geographical spread and consistency of the formula strongly suggests that Commodus, in fact, adopted these titles and that they were made known in the provinces. If the use of Herculean attributes in portraits or in real life—considered a typical ‘descriptive metaphor’ of Roman visual culture—could be misunderstood and wielded against the emperor by later writers (p. 59), likewise the adoption of a title which established an analogy between Commodus and Hercules could be passed off as the ravings of a madman fully identifying himself with the god.

These are but a few of the interesting themes in a very stimulating book, which provides much food for thought in terms of both methodology and content. Many other points would be worth highlighting, from the exemplary presentation of the new marble Commodus to the issues of portrait reception in the provinces briefly raised in the discussion of some individual pieces. Much of this will certainly serve well future studies on imperial portraiture. But if there is one aspect which ultimately deserves to be pointed out, it is the truly interdisciplinary character of this work: Smith and Niederhuber have shown how sources of very different nature could be assessed and successfully brought together to offer a comprehensive picture of the past. Anyone interested in Commodus, imperial portraiture, or Roman cultural history in general will benefit from reading it.

 

Notes

[1] O. Hekster, Commodus: an Emperor at the Crossroads, Amsterdam 2002. Cf. Ch. Witschel, ‘Kaiser, Gladiator, Gott — Zur Selbstdarstellung des Commodus’, Scripta Classica Israelica, 23, 2004, 255–272.

[2] C. Evers, Recherches sur les ateliers officiels de sculpture à Rome sous les Antonins: les portraits d’empereurs, PhD dissertation, Université libre de Bruxelles, Bruxelles 1995. A digitised version is now available: http://hdl.handle.net/2013/ULB-DIPOT:oai:dipot.ulb.ac.be:2013/212520.

[3] C. Niederhuber, Roman Imperial Portrait Practice in the Second Century AD: Marcus Aurelius and Faustina the Younger, Oxford 2022. The debt to his work is evident also in the choice of terminology: words like ‘copy’ or ‘replica’, commonly used in studies about ancient portraiture, are systematically avoided in favour of ‘version’ and alternative terms, seen as better suited to describe the varied reality of the evidence.

[4] J.M. Højte, Roman Imperial Statue Bases: From Augustus to Commodus, Aarhus 2005.

[5] P.J. Sijpesteijn, ‘Commodus’ Titulature in Cassius Dio Lxxii.15.5’, Memnosyne 41, 1988, 123–24.