Exposure

Bust of a young girl.

     Every Roman's life began with the same ritual: Directly after birth, the midwife placed it on the floor. Best case scenario, Dad picked it up again, acknowledging the child as his own. Unfortunately, not every story ended so happily.
     Sometimes Dad hesitated. He bit his lip. He glanced at his wife, then at the baby, and finally shook his head. A slave was dispatched to abandon the child, a practice known as exposure.

Roman father and son.

     Nobody knows how often this situation played out. Some historians claim that it was a commonplace thing, while others argue that it was much more rare. Regardless, at least a few infants were abandoned up until the later days of the Empire.
    Apalling, I know. But before passing judgement, let's take a closer look at the parents' plight. What could possibly motivate a father to expose his child?
     For many, the answer was deformity. In Gynecology, Soranus gives step-by-step instructions on how to recognize a newborn worth rearing. Midwives were advised to check "that its ducts… are free from obstruction; that the natural functions of every <member> are neither sluggish nor weak; that the joints bend and stretch; that it has due size and shape and is properly sensitive in every respect." While some fathers decided to raise disabled children anyway, at least a few were cast out, perceived as a bad omen by their superstitious parents.
     Even if the infant met all of Soranus' criteria, it was still in peril of exposure, especially if it was female. According to one comic poet, "Everyone raises a son, including the poor; but even a rich man exposes a daughter."
     But why? What's wrong with girls?
     According to custom, every bride required a dowry. And since every girl became a bride, Dad would have to dish out oodles of money, which might have been needed for that month's groceries. Girls simply weren't viable. All too often their father was forced to choose between raising them or financial stability--a situation dramatized in Ovid's Metamorphoses. Below is an excerpt from the poem, explaining a husband's prayer for his pregnant wife:

     "There are two things I pray to heaven for
     On your account: an easy birth and a son.
     The other fate is much too burdensome,
     For daughters need what fortune has denied us:
     A dowry…."

     Another influencing factor was Rome's callous attitude toward newborns. Cicero explains it best: "If a child dies young, one consoles himself easily. If he dies in the cradle, one doesn't even pay attention." Plutarch goes even further. "Until [the umbilical cord] comes off," he writes, "the child is more like a plant than an animal." While this attitude braced parents for staggering infant mortality rates, it may have softened the idea of exposure as well.
     Finally, as Dad sent his daughter away, he may have hoped that a childless couple would adopt her. It wasn't unheard of. After all, Oedipus was raised by a king. Romulus and Remus were suckled by a wolf. At least the baby had a chance this way--although wild dogs might get to it first.
     Bear with me, modern readership. I know this is a gloomy article, not everyone in the ancient world agreed with exposure.
     Take the Stoics for example. Their philosophy taught that children were the whole point of marriage, and spoke against all forms of family limitation. Christians took a similar stance. Opposition to exposure became more widespread during the third century, and Constantine decreed in 331 that anyone who abandoned an infant lost patria potestas (similar to custody) over the child. Orphanages were founded during the 4th century as well, and charity was sent to impoverished families.
     While Constantine never outlawed exposure, these preventative measures represent a significant change in the way that Romans viewed newborns. Raising children in the Ancient World certainly wasn't easy, but Dad had more options now, and the future was brighter for his abandoned daughter.

A Matter of Perspective

Recently I received Suetonius’ Lives of the Twelve Caesars, and it reads like a gossip magazine. Poison! Intrigue! Murder! By the end of the exposé on Nero, I was wondering how such a loony rose to power in the first place.

If my opinion of Nero was built entirely upon Suetonius, it would be very disproportionate. The writer had his own agenda. His own biases. And thousands of years later, here I am, innocently lapping it up.

In order to understand an event, it’s necessary to consider different perspectives, weighing their beliefs and prejudices. This is especially difficult with contemporary accounts, also known as primary sources.

I first heard this from my history teacher, Mrs. Smith*. She explained that different people have different perspectives on the same event, and to demonstrate she invited two eyewitnesses of 1981 Springbok Tour to take questions from the class.

But first, a bit of background.

During the 1980s, South Africa was in the grip of apartheid--a regime so cruel that the international community decided to exclude it. New Zealand, however, wasn’t too keen on the idea. Kiwis and Afrikaans had developed a friendly rugby rivalry that thrilled fans on both sides. Ostracizing South Africa would mean an end to that. “And anyway,” some argued, “politics shouldn’t interfere with sport.”

Thus armed, the New Zealand Rugby Football Union arranged for the South African team, the Springboks, to visit their country for a 16-game tour. Rugby fans rejoiced--but not everybody shared their enthusiasm. Human rights activists called it an outrage. In their opinion, fraternizing with the Afrikaans was immoral, as well as damaging to New Zealand’s image. Thousands took to the streets in protest--Ms. Smith’s first witness was one of them. 

His name was Mr. Johnson*. He was tall, tan and wore a life preserver. Upon entering the classroom he started bellowing an old protestors’ chant: ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR! WE DON’T WANT YOUR RACIST TOUR! FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT! STOP THE TOUR, IT’S NOT TOO LATE!

I jerked back in my seat. That was loud. To make matters worse, Mr. Johnson started drumming on a trashcan lid, which he had been carrying like shield. The class was transfixed. What the heck was going on?

Mr. Johnson explained that the life preserver and trashcan lid were a homemade suit of armor for protection against the riot police. They weren’t afraid to use violence. Cops marched into huddles of protestors, swinging long-batons and hollering, “MOVE. MOVE. MOVE.” Mr. Johnson demonstrated with a baseball bat to make sure we got the idea.

Once I recovered from my initial shock, I was enraptured by the interview. Mr. Johnson was a terrific speaker--made the protest sound like a crusade against racism. The police became mindless henchmen, Nelson Mandela was their figurehead, and martyrs emerged from the riots.

But Mrs. Smith wasn’t done yet. She still had one witness left--a policeman who spent the Tour fighting people like Mr. Johnson. Unfortunately he passed away a few years ago, so we had to watch a taped interview with another class.

The policeman was quiet. Gravelly. Morbid. He reminded me of an old war veteran. While Mr. Johnson spoke in terms of moral duty, the policeman acted as though he were dispelling a myth, turning the Springbok Tour into a cautionary tale.

Turns out, the protestors gave as good as they got. Property was destroyed. Cops were bashed. The policeman labeled most of the activists as hypocrites, recalling a priest whom he had seen babbling prayers and spreading glass on a rugby pitch. After that, the policeman’s faith in the Church was shattered. My own anti-tour sympathies collapsed altogether.

Which side was right? I wasn’t sure. Previously I had assumed that the protesters were good because they were against racism, but the police had some valid points too. I couldn’t just brush them aside.

My eventual conclusion was that nobody was completely right. The protestors shouldn’t have hit the police and the police shouldn’t have hit the protestors. That was a much more mature opinion than the one I’d held previously. Both sides of the argument were needed to balance it.

So next time you’re examining a primary source--be it neighborhood gossip or Suetonius’ biography of Nero--try playing devil’s advocate. What would the opposition say? What is the author’s motivation? Suetonius, for example, wanted to sell his book. Mr. Johnson and the policeman may feel the need to justify their actions, although that’s not a bad thing. Perspective is an instinct. It slips in, unnoticed, and skews the world in our favor.

You can try now, if you want. Below I have shared two taped interviews with eyewitnesses to the Springbok Tour. Compare, contrast, and let me know what you think!

An interview with a member of the Blue Squad (riot police)

                                    

Perspectives from a former rugby player and Marx Jones, a man who rented an aeroplane and lobbed flour bombs into a stadium to protest the Springbok Tour.

*Stalkers should note that names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Peek-A-Boo

Engraving of Emperor Nero

Every so often during the course of my research, the author will share a historical anecdote. Characters pop in for the duration of a paragraph, then disappear, leaving us to wonder about the rest of their lives. Feels like an archaic game of peek-a-boo.

Take this situation, for instance. Suetonius tells us that Emperor Nero fancied himself a great actor. Usually the audience endured his productions without comment, but something unexpected happened during “The Frenzy of Hercules.”

“They say a young recruit, seeing the emperor in mean attire and bound in chains, as the subject required, rushed forward to lend him aid.” (Suet. Nero, 21)

Can you imagine that?

One moment you’re watching Nero sing off-key in a Hercules costume. Then somebody dashes across the amphitheater. Is it an assassin? Another actor? No. It's a soldier. He's onstage now. He’s sprinting toward the Emperor. He’s offering him a hand, shouting, “Don’t worry, sir, I’ll save you! Have a seat while I sort out the plot.”
Poor kid. Seems he couldn't bear seeing Nero in trouble--even if it was just make-believe. Or perhaps he was so moved by the Emperor's plight that he forgot it was pretend. Either way, he must have been embarrassed afterward. I just hope he didn't get in trouble.

Another short story can be found on an Ancient Greek grave inscription. This time, as an added bonus, the characters are given names: meet Mikkos, a wet nurse, and Aischre, her charge.

Mikkos looked after Phyrgian Aischre all her life, even in old age. When she died he set up this monument for future generations to see. Thus the old woman departed from this life, having received due recompense for her breasts.

Did you catch the mock-heroic tone? Says a lot about their relationship. I imagine there was a lot of sarcastic give-and-take. What makes this story even more remarkable is that wet nurses were often slaves, and while we can’t be certain that Mikkos was one, it’s a possibility.

I've taken a lot of creative license in this article. There's no way of knowing what these people were like--but that's one of the reasons I love these short stories so much. There's room for the imagination. Our minds begin to fill in the blanks. We find ourselves sympathizing with people from vastly different cultures, who died hundreds of years ago. For me, at least, these stories bring the dead back to life.

But enough about what I think. What do you think?
What were Mikkos and Aischre like? Why did the recruit care so much about Nero?

Greek funerary stele

Renaissance Armor

The Chicago Art Institute never ceases to amaze. In addition to the prints featured in last week’s post, a spectacular array of Renaissance weaponry was on display. While not technically apart of the Middle Ages, the sight of halberds and jousting equipment evokes images of King Arthur. Check out the suit below and you’ll see what I mean.

While this suit of armor definitely looks Arthurian, it’s actually an example of 16th-century German craftsmanship. The rounded shaped, curved breastplate, sharp edges and roped gauntlet were designed to guard against thrusts. And see the hook under the collarbone? That was supposed to help the knight with his lance.

Speaking of which...

These halberds harken back to the late 16th and early 17th century, by which time firearms had begun to usurp traditional weaponry. As such, the ones pictured above were mostly used for ceremonial purposes. Often pole arms like these were engraved with their lord's coat of arms.

The "proof mark," underneath the lance hook.

As I said earlier, guns were making their battlefield debut, driving old-fashioned warfare into retirement. This suit is a prime example of that transition, being one of the last examples of cuirassier calvary. Adjustments have been made to protect the wearer from musket fire--notice the thick helmet and breastplate. A slight dent called a “proof mark” can also be seen below the lance hook. This is where the smith shot a bullet into the steel to prove it would guard against firearms.

While I found the previous exhibits intriguing, hands-down favorite was the armored horseman pictured above. Can’t you imagine him lowering his lance and galloping off the pedestal? 

Readers should note the different segments of armor: round helmet, curved breastplate and foot guards. Each is made out of small armor plates and ridges designed to imitate pleats, removing extra pounds of steel from the knight’s shoulders.

Do you lament the collapse of medieval warfare? Or do you think we’re better off with firearms?