In 2023, a viral TikTok trend encouraged women to ask how often their men think about the Roman Empire. To the shock of many women, it turns out many men think quite a lot about the imperial eagle. I can’t dispute this, because I myself think about it several times a month, if not more. In the words of historian Tom Holland, Rome is like a Tyrannosaurus Rex — exciting because it’s “safely extinct.”
Rome was no less fascinating to its own citizens. Few were more determined to understand it than Tacitus, the Roman politician, orator, and historian famed for his “Histories” and “Annals” of the first emperors. As a survivor of the civil wars following Nero’s suicide, the establishment of the Flavian dynasty, and its end in Domitian’s reign of terror, Tacitus had opinions about power and virtue.
Apart from his two magna opera, only three of his minor works survive: a biography of his father-in-law Agricola, an ethnography of the Germanic tribes, and a set-piece dialogue on the subject of orators. Though not essential reading, each demonstrates the yearning Tacitus felt for a virtuous but lost past.
The dialogue on rhetoric, for instance, preserves an evergreen generational complaint: “The true causes [of modern oratorical decay] are, the dissipation of our young men, the inattention of parents, the ignorance of those who pretend to give instruction, and the total neglect of ancient discipline.” Though you could dismiss this as a typical old man’s lament, it blends with the portrait in his major works of a Rome which, in its imperial glory, had abandoned the virtues that made it glorious.
Likewise, Tacitus surveys the Germans partly by weighing their practices against traditional Roman values. He approves barbarian customs of marriage and family which encourage “a state of chastity well secured; corrupted by no seducing shows and public diversions, by no irritations from banqueting.” This compares unfavorably with Roman parents who, in the dialogue on orators, “are the first to give their children the worst examples of vice and luxury” with their “passion for horses, players, and gladiators.”
You’ll find no better example of Tactitus’s ideal virtuous Roman than in the biography of his father-in-law Agricola, the military governor of Britain who completed its conquest and pushed the victories of Roman arms deep into modern-day Scotland. In Agricola, Tacitus finds the perfect blend of severity toward the corrupt, lenience toward the repentant, selfless devotion to duty, and a prudent modesty that secures an empire’s interests without attracting the violent attentions of jealous emperors.
Tacitus here reveals that he has not lost all hope for the persistence of virtuous men in vicious days. Those who keep a righteous light burning in the night prove that it can be done, and their memory must and shall be preserved: “Over many indeed, of those who have gone before, as over the inglorious and ignoble, the waves of oblivion will roll; Agricola, made known to posterity by history and tradition, will live for ever.” And so he has, thanks to a son-in-law who found in him a reason to believe that, even in the worst of times, the best of humanity is never truly lost.