There are many different forms of imperial control. A couple of weeks ago, I (lightly) compared the US/Venezuelan model with the imperialism of the Roman Republic – which privileged Rome “getting its own way” over the institutional forms of direct control (which came a bit later in Roman history). The maps of the Roman provinces, with their fixed boundaries, reflect much more the later situation under the rule of the emperors from the first century BCE on. So too do all the institutional structures (and personnel) of imperial government.
What gets more complicated at that period is the question of extending, rather than just controlling, Roman imperial territory. Most of the Roman empire was “acquired” between the third and early first centuries CE. After one major defeat (the Varian disaster of 9 CE), it looks as if the first emperor Augustus decided that Rome’s military resources were stretched to the limit and that the days of expansion should be ended. He is supposed to have left instructions to that effect to his successor, Tiberius (Tacitus, Annals, 1, 11).
But it wasn’t quite so simple. From early in Rome’s history (whatever the governmental mechanisms, or lack of them), enormous prestige always went with Roman conquest and territorial expansion. In fact, it was said to be an “ancient tradition” that those who expanded Rome’s empire were also allowed to extend the sacred boundary of the city, the pomerium (Tacitus, Annals, 12, 23). It is unclear quite how “ancient” a tradition this was – and to what extent the privilege of extending the pomerium was much more than symbolic is likewise a moot point. The pomerium was a sacred rather than a practical boundary and the built-up area of Rome extended far beyond it. But it certainly meant something (equating somehow the greatness of Rome’s territory with the greatness of the city itself). And after the emperor Claudius had conquered part of Britain, he made a show of erecting new “pomerium markers” (some survive) to demonstrate what he had done.
So, there was a clash between the strategic imperative to stick to the existing boundaries and the irresistible allure (as the Romans saw it) of adding to Roman territory. The result was a lot of what have been called Roman “vanity campaigns” in the first few centuries CE. That vanity cost a lot in terms of human life, and any victories were massively celebrated. But the territory added was usually small, and often not held for very long. The emperor Trajan’s hit-and-run campaigns, for example, in Mesopotamia were given up almost instantly by his successor, Hadrian. The fact was, though, that there were always emperors who wanted to claim they had made Rome bigger. I suspect that the thousands of ancient statues of emperors in battle dress were a part of that phenomenon: if you can’t expand the empire, you can at least dress up as if you had?
I don’t think that such a territorial urge has ever gone away, even though it comes in different forms. (To my knowledge, the Romans never purchased territory: on the contrary, neighbouring kings sometimes “voluntarily” bequeathed their kingdoms to Rome on their death, in the hope of ensuring their safety, more or less). And this is where it is hard not to think about Greenland. The recent history of the US has been built on the accretion of territory (the Louisiana purchase, Alaska etc). It’s hardly surprising that the current President invests in this idea. But if we see a new set of boundary stones, Claudian-style, circling Washington, we’ll know for sure that there is something Roman driving this.
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