By: Jillian Darcy-Rosario
Art by: Ashley Xie
I often question the extent of my independence. An independent life hinges on writing our own narrative, proclaiming who we are and acting in accordance with our desires. The existence of independence is a product of freedom from some other. There is no independence without rejection of a certain external power. Independence is a separation, a splitting off, a once together and now irreconcilably fractured. Our oneness and subservience to the governing powers which permeate our lives - political governance, patriarchy, social mores - are sources of dependence from which I question my distinction, to not be entirely subsumed within the systems of some other entity’s creation, but rather to establish my life by my own order.
In the ancient world, a woman was defined by assigned silence. The Greek philosopher and historian Plutarch writes in the Moralia, “Not only the arm of the virtuous woman, but her speech as well, ought to be not for the public, and she ought to be modest and guarded about saying anything in the hearing of outsiders, since it is an exposure of herself; for in her talk can be seen her feelings, character, and disposition” (Plutarch Moralia 142c-d, transl. Babbitt). Speech is a means of expression, but even more than that it is a means of survival. The success of humanity in being able to dominate an ecosystem of organisms and forces stronger and more powerful than humans stems from our ability to speak with one another. Communicating ideas fosters progress through employing multiple people to act collectively rather than alone by understanding each other. Plutarch's dogmatic explanation of feminine propriety alludes to society's contempt towards women speaking. The most highly regarded women in society know to withhold their vulnerabilities. They have been conditioned to present themselves as a mere outline of a figure, rather than a woman complete with her personality.
The narrative of femininity can be framed through the suffering that permeates women’s lives. Very few Roman women are noted in history but the well-known ones who had enduring effects on Rome are depicted as passive objects manipulated and harmed by men. This precedence begins the mythological foundings of Rome; the rape of the Vestal Virgin Rhea Silvia who then gave birth to Romulus after whom Rome is named. Livy writes, “The Vestal was forcibly violated and gave birth to twins. She named Mars as their father, either because she really believed it, or because the fault might appear less heinous if a deity were the cause of it” (Livy Ab Urbe Condita, Chapter 4, transl. Roberts). The king then imprisoned Rhea Silvia and attempted to kill her twins. No longer “chaste”, which the role of Vestal Virgin demanded, positioned Rhea Silvia against societal order. Not even claiming a god as her perpetrator could save her. Despite the crime being committed by a man, Rhea Silvia is punished for transgressing beyond the bounds of her feminine place. Rhea Silvia suffers a violent rape, imprisonment, her children being taken away and purportedly killed; an unchaste, unvirtuous Vestal Virgin threatens power; women are defined by what society dictates.
Livy deepens the connection of rape and the foundation of Rome in his narration of the rape of Sabine women. Due to the lack of women in Rome during its beginnings, king Romulus feared that Rome might die out. Neighboring tribes, such as the Sabines, denied Roman men as husbands, compelling Romans to use force to abduct Sabine women as their wives. In this account, the continuance and success of Rome entirely hinged on the abduction and rape of the Sabine women; the lineage of all Romans can be traced back to the raped Sabine women and the Romans as the perpetrators. The virile strategy to preserve the Roman kingdom is hailed as a heroic, national origin story, glorifying the actions of men acting with greater purpose for the state. Male power exploiting women is regarded as honorable, rather than horrific. Pivotal to Rome’s mythical origins, the rape of Sabine women prevailed throughout the course of Roman history as a source of pride in Rome’s perseverance and dominance. Despite the violence these Sabine women experienced, pride comes from the actions of the men, rendering the experiences of these women unimportant, and thus unheard, to the Roman citizens.
The establishment of the Roman republic, as told by the historian Livy, again expounds on the theme of rape catalyzing political change. Livy recounts the rape of the noblewoman Lucretia. According to Livy, who describes the events leading up to Lucretia’s rape, the Roman king’s son, Sextus Tarqinius, the perpetrator of the crime, first speaks to Lucretia and says, “‘Silence, Lucretia! I am Sextus Tarquinius, and I have a sword in my hand; if you utter a word, you shall die’ … Tarquin began to confess his passion, pleaded, used threats as well as entreaties, and employed every argument likely to influence a female heart. When he saw that she was inflexible and not moved even by the fear of death, he threatened to disgrace her, declaring that he would lay the naked corpse of the slave by her dead body, so that it might be said that she had been slain in foul adultery. By this awful threat, his lust triumphed over her inflexible chastity” (Livy Ab Urbe Condita, Chapter 58, transl. Roberts). In the aftermath of her rape, Lucretia kills herself, asking “‘what can be well with a woman when she has lost her honour?’” Due to Lucretia’s status as a virtuous woman in the upper echelon of Roman society, the Roman populace became enraged; the monarchy was too dominant if they could go so far as to rape Lucretia, and thus the king was killed and the Roman republic began.
Although the actions inflicted on Lucretia played a pivotal role in Roman history, Lucretia as her own, singular entity was silent. How can one demarcate who the individual Lucretia is from the lifeless mass acted upon by others? Her individuality is not lost – it never existed. From the beginning of her appearance in Livy’s history, she must first be silenced. Livy re-articulates the status of woman; this narrative is dominated by the man, there is silence for a woman. In Livy's account, a woman's speech is death: Lucretia's first and only words explain why she is about to take her own life. But what is the value of life with no voice? When Lucretia does speak it is to explain her death, as a woman is worthless without societally-defined feminine virtue. Livy describes how Tarquin’s words initially fail him. Tarquin only prevails in raping her when he leverages society’s burdensome shame as a threat. The very nature of his words lacking power is a cleverly crafted political argument made by Livy. As described by Mary Beard, “To become a man (or at least an elite man) was to claim the right to speak. Public speech was a - if not the - defining attribute of maleness. Or, to quote a well-known Roman slogan, the elite male citizen could be summed up as vir bonus dicendi peritus, ‘a good man, skilled in speaking.’”[1] Livy, like many other Romans, held a strong disdain for tyranny; power resting in one man’s hands was a dark mark in Roman history. Thus Livy highlights the power of words and one’s voice by emasculating Tarquin through his inability to enact his desire through speech. Lucretia silently submits to the rape because she is strictly bound to the status by which society has defined her. She proceeds to kill herself because she has no life having to bear the weight of societal ignominy. Her life cannot nor is allowed to exist outside of these confines.
In these texts, women are either tacitly virtuous in their alignment with socially acceptable behavior, or women suffer silently bearing the weight of a society in which their voices are not accepted. Even poetic texts which are deeply personal can expose the larger external forces shaping the culture of the time. Take for instance Cynthia, the object of affection in Propertius’ love poems, the Elegies. While Cynthia defies the gendered, social order because Propertius’ infatuated love of Cynthia allows her to hold power of him, she is described as evil and dangerous; power is so unnatural to the female sex that she must be depicted as an alien, a foreigner, rather than a true woman. Propertius describes for his readers the gendered paradigm in which he operates; in order for a woman to hold power over a man Propertius must depict her as cruel, insane and even witch-like. Cynthia yields influence over Propertius, as described in the fear Cynthia instills in him. Take just the first poem of Propertius: he writes, “Cynthia prima suis miserum me cepit ocellis, / contactum nullis ante Cupidinibus,”[2] [Cynthia first took miserable me with her eyes, I who had been touched before by no Love] where cepit with ocellis here mean metaphorically “bewitched wretched me with her eyes.” Contactum can mean both touched, pierced and corrupted, [3] allowing it to take on a softer meaning, alluding to the gentleness of love, and also a violent one, referencing the unnatural and perhaps destructive power and influence loving Cynthia has on Propertius. In order for her love to be potent, its tender qualities are overpowered by its violent and deceptive nature. Cynthia’s love is not womanly but rather monstrous; society cannot rationalize women only holding power in any other way. In the third poem of Book One, Cynthia has a voice for the first and only time in Book One. In fact there are only four occasions before the fourth and final book of Propertius in which Cynthia has direct speech.[4] The third poem begins with Propertius gazing lovingly at sleeping Cynthia. He shows his affection for her when she is in a subdued state, writing, “yet I had not dared to disturb the sleep of my mistress, fearing the savage abuse I had experienced before.” As Cynthia speaks, she describes her sadness, “Would that you might pass such nights, rogue, as you are always forcing unhappy me to have…and from time to time in desolation I complained softly to myself over the frequent long delays in loving others; until Sleep with his pleasant wings pushed me to fall: that was the final cure for my tears.”[5] As the poet, Propertius decides how Cynthia speaks, and he only voices her pain. She longs for Propertius to come back home and not leave her alone, without him she has spent the night crying and in pain over the absence of her lover. Cynthia’s potency comes not from her own voice, but rather the cruel power she sadistically holds over Propertius. Her words and power are all created by Propertius; he assigns her words, actions and their effects. Propertius holds total control over his depiction of Cynthia despite his many references to Cynthia’s power over him. Ultimately, Cynthia lacks a voice because her narrative can never be her own; she is a creation molded and introduced to the world solely by Propertius as auctor [author, creator].[6]
I do not know where I begin and others’ expectations and rules end. I feel sometimes that reaching my conception of “mineness” in life is just out of reach. By being part of a world larger than I will ever know, part of a human history in which I am minuscule, there exist structural orders I cannot overpower; these monoliths of human society are already written. But in between endurance and destruction lies defiance. I singularly determine my actions to not participate, to resist having my story written by a voice other than my own, knowing that this act of defiance threatens. I threaten this endurance, constructing the possibility of a new narrative, our own order.
Endnotes
[1] Beard, Mary. Women & Power. Liveright Publishing Corporation, 2017, pp. 17.
[2] Heyworth, Stephen J. Elegi, by Sextus Propertius, 2007, Online ed., Oxford University Press; Oxford Classical Texts, 2015.
[3] "Contactum." Logeion, University of Chicago, 2022, https://logeion.uchicago.edu/contingo
[4] Breed, Brian W. “Portrait of a Lady: Propertius 1.3 and Ekphrasis.” The Classical Journal, vol. 99, no. 1, 2003, pp. 35–56. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/3298080. Accessed 23 Feb. 2024.
[5] Heyworth, Stephen J. Cynthia: A Companion to the Text of Propertius. Oxford University Press, 2007.
[6] “Auctor.” Logeion, University of Chicago, 2022, https://logeion.uchicago.edu/auctor
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