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Representations of Brutus: Plutarch, Shakespeare, and the Literary Uses of History by R. Michael Steinmacher, III A Master’s Thesis Submitted to the Faculty of the Master of Arts in Liberal Studies Program in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts in Liberal Studies Bellarmine College Louisville, Kentucky October 14, 1996

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Representations of Brutus: Plutarch, Shakespeare, and the Literary Uses of History

by

R. Michael Steinmacher, III

A Master’s Thesis Submitted to the Faculty of the

Master of Arts in Liberal Studies Program in partial fulfillment of the requirements

for the degree of

Master of Arts in Liberal Studies

Bellarmine College Louisville, Kentucky October 14, 1996

ii

The thesis entitled, “Representations of Brutus: Plutarch, Shakespeare, and The Literary Uses of History,” is accepted by the faculty of the Master of Arts in Liberal Studies program of Bellarmine College in partial fulfillment of the requirements of the degree of Master of Arts in Liberal Studies.

Committee:

_____________________ Chairperson

____________________

____________________

Date _______________

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FOR FRITZ

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author would like to gratefully thank the following for their contributions to this work: Dr. Anthony J. O’Keeffe Friend and mentor. Tony always forced me to improve upon work which I believed to be my best. Any measure of quality found in this work is largely a credit to his unswerving dedication to detail, thoroughness, and professionalism. Dr. Amelia S. Stewart and Dr. Gail R. Henson Friends and thesis committee members. I knew that when this work left my hands, it would receive tough, constructive criticism from both Amy and Gail. I appreciate their unwavering professionalism and support of my academic career at Bellarmine College. Dr. John S. Gatton Friend and trusted literary advisor. While John would humbly dismiss his contributions to this work, I am forever indebted to him for the many insights he provided regarding the portrayal of Brutus in Julius Caesar and Shakespeare’s style as a dramatist. Mrs. Supa Bilz Mother-in-law and constant advocate of education. I am thankful to her for continuing to remind me of the importance of education in one’s life. Mr. & Mrs. Robert M. Steinmacher, Jr. Parents and friends. Without their love and support, I would not be the person I am today. They always encouraged me to accept nothing less than the best for myself and I share my academic successes with them. Ms. Bobie Jo Marie Bilz Beloved wife and best friend. Bobie stood by me throughout this project with encouraging words. She emotionally supported me during the tedious revisions and frustrating rewrites and insisted that this work be nothing less than my best. I look forward to the years we have before us. Fritz Beloved companion. More than a dog, Fritz was my wonderful Daschund who altruistically loved me and was at my side throughout the many revisions of this work. His unabashed enthusiasm, love, and friendship were an inspiration and a reminder that every day of one’s life is a gift from God. He will never be forgotten. May he rest in peace.

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ABSTRACT Modern theoretical discussion of history is founded upon the difficult and never settled relationship between past and present. Modern historical theoreticians suggest that the past is not the static and immutable period of the antiquarian; it is, instead, an essential tool for interpreting one's own time. Theoreticians such as Hayden White, Wallace Martin, and Patricia Limerick suggest that the tools used in the construction of literary works are equally applicable to the presentation of history. Relying upon ideas such as objectivity, moral complexity, and narrative, the theoreticians believe that history, despite natural human bias, can be properly presented. Considering the historical figure Marcus Junius Brutus as he is represented in the works of Plutarch and William Shakespeare provides ample opportunity to employ analytically the theorists’ ideas. By exploring the characterization of Brutus in these representations, one witnesses how the intersection of theory and representation sharpens critical understanding of the individual representation and helps one grasp the efficacy and validity of that historical theory.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS ONE: THE MEETING GROUND OF HISTORY AND LITERATURE ............................1 TWO: PLUTARCH’S LIFE OF MARCUS BRUTUS......................................................... 19 THREE: WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE’S JULIUS CAESAR................................................. 38

CONCLUSION: A CLEAR LINE BETWEEN HISTORY AND FICTION? .................. 62

BIBLIOGRAPHY..................................................................................................................... 74

The aim of history is to know the elements of the present by understanding what came into the present from the past. For the present is simply the developing past, the past the undeveloped present...The antiquarian strives to bring back the past for the sake of the past; the historian strives to show the present to itself by revealing its origin from the past. The goal of the antiquarian is the dead past; the goal of the historian is the living present.

Frederick Jackson Turner

1891

ONE

THE MEETING GROUND OF HISTORY

AND LITERATURE

7

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The words of Frederick Jackson Turner indicate something of the complex nature of

history. Modern theoretical discussion of history is founded upon the difficult and never

settled relationship between past and present, as their interdependence leaves their

boundaries blurred. Modern historical theory suggests that the past is not the static and

immutable period of the antiquarian; it is, instead, an essential tool for interpreting one's

own time. As if it were it not complex enough a task to consider what the past tells one

about the present, modern thought further suggests that the present says something about

the past. To interpret the past, the modern historian applies the sensibility and conception

of history of his/her era to the historical data of a period long since gone. Although the data

remains intact, the social mores and customs of the historian’s own time shape the way the

“past” is interpreted in the historian’s “present.” Historians, therefore, utilize contemporary

examples familiar to his/her audience to reinterpret the events of past times. The

“actual” past, one must acknowledge, is obviously lost forever. While historical data has

been passed down through the ages, it is not possible to live in Rome during the time of the

assassination of Julius Caesar. Yet efforts persist to present the facts, feelings, and

consequences of those tense days in Roman history, as historians remain fascinated with

the political, social, and moral issues of that historical data. While many have attempted to

fashion more or less accurate portrayals of the assassination, no one historian or author,

no historical or artistic genre can exhaust the act's realities. The reality of the event cannot

be adequately described by an eyewitness account, nor by a historian writing two millennia

later; therefore, what audiences are left with is a representation of the facts as interpreted

by a writer. Examining these various representations side-by-side and using them to

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complement one another, one may be able to create a more authoritative perspective on

that time in Roman history, as a consideration of multiple viewpoints (similar and divergent)

deepens our understanding.

As facts cannot speak for themselves, it is left up to individual human "creators" to

give them voice, to provide a representation of them. The word "representation" by itself

speaks to the very nature of the historian’s work. As the prefix “re” means “again” and

“presentation” is defined as a “giving,” “representation” is the “new presentation” or “giving

again” of events and circumstances. By its very definition, “representation” makes little

pretense of being original. In the case of the historical account, therefore, it is obvious that

no historian actually "presents" history, as all reports of historical data are representations.

Therefore, the historian serves his/her audience by speaking for and representing those

historical facts for modern consumption. Cultural critic Hayden White writes in Tropics of

Cultural Discourse: Essays in Cultural Criticism that "The historian speaks for them [the

facts], speaks on their behalf, and fashions the fragments of the past into a whole whose

integrity is -- in its representation -- a purely discursive one" (White 125). As a result of this

"fashioning" of historical fragments, the historian assembles a limited representation of the

past.

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"Recreating" the past is a task complicated by a number of variables, but Patricia

Limerick, author of The Legacy of Conquest: The Unbroken Past of the American West,

identifies a key point for those seeking to create historical representation. "The historian,"

she writes, "is obligated to understand how people saw their own times, but not obligated to

adopt their terminology and point of view" (Limerick 114). Many historians embrace

Limerick's perspective, as they recognize the necessity of non-participatory historical

representation. Accounts written well after an event allow the historian the opportunity to

create a less subjective account than an eyewitness, as the historical data becomes more

complete. Whereas a participant or eyewitness deals with the data available before,

during, and immediately after an event, the passage of time allows the historian to place

the event chronologically within the events of the historical period. This "distance" between

the event and its later representation allows time not only for the emotional response to the

event to lessen, but also for a solidification of the historical data. In this regard, the

historical representation emerges as more objective than an emotional first-hand account of

a historical event, though itself incomplete.

Limerick notes that the solidification of data can cause complications as well,

pointing out that many students of 19th Century historian Frederick Jackson Turner

adopted his model of the history of the American West and were therefore limited to

Turner’s perspective (Limerick 20). By leaving the Turner model unchallenged, Limerick

states, historians ignored the possibilities for further study of Western history. When it was

presented, she writes, the results yielded inferior, stereotypical representations.

Challenging the data and interpreting it from many perspectives, she argues, allows the

historian to create new representations in the previously tilled field of Western history.

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Rather than remain tied to the data as previously presented, Limerick suggests that various

perspectives allow for the possibility of creating new, yet valid, historical accounts.

Limerick and White would agree, however, that there is no such thing as an

"objective" history. “Objectivity” implies that an account achieves the impossible feat of

being a complete account and demonstrating no bias on the part of the author. Limerick

and White would likely agree that a more appropriate term is a “valid” history, which treats

divergent viewpoints of events fairly and stays true to the historical data. Scholars agree

that it is possible to create valid historical representation despite the lack of a purely

objective framework from which to work. In the case of the assassination of Caesar, the

incidental and superficial elements of the story have fallen away, leaving only basic

historical data to consider, such as historical figures and the sequence of events. Although

representation is difficult because of a lack of specific historical details, the known historical

data provides the building blocks from which the historian will create his/her work.

In Tropics of Discourse: Essays in Cultural Criticism, Hayden White identifies three

essential forms of historical representation: (1) the annal, (2) the chronicle, and (3) the

history proper. Simply put, the "annal" is a chronology of events ordered vertically. In this

form of historical representation, the connections between events are not explicitly

commented upon and the importance of the event consists in nothing other than having

been recorded. For example, a portion of the life of the Greek biographer Plutarch has

been reconstructed below in the form of the annal:

ca. 46 Born to wealthy parents

ca. 66 Educated in the liberal arts

ca. 68 Marries Timoxena, daughter of Alexion

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ca. 100-115 The Lives published

ca. 120 Dies

As there was, ironically, no biography apparently written about the Greeks’ master

biographer, most details of Plutarch’s life are lost. One can see from the annal that there is

no connective tissue between the events represented in the annalistic representation of

Plutarch’s life, leaving one to conclude that all that can be drawn from this type of historical

representation is a simple summary.

The "chronicle,” by contrast, "often seems to wish to tell as a story, aspires to

narrativity, but typically fails to achieve it. More specifically, the chronicle usually is marked

by a failure to achieve narrative closure. It does not so much conclude as simply terminate.

It starts out to tell a story but breaks off in medias res, in the chronicler's own present; it

leaves things unresolved, or rather, it leaves them unresolved in a story-like way" (White 5).

White cites The History of France by Richerus of Rehims as an example. Written in A.D.

998, the work recounts the country’s history chronologically until Richerus' own present,

where the account stops.

White's third category, the history proper, contains elements of both the annal and

the chronicle, yet several characteristics make it unique. White defines a proper history in

this way:

"The account must manifest a proper concern for the judicious handling

of evidence, and it must honor the chronological order of the original

occurrence of the events which it treats as a baseline not to be

transgressed in the classification of any given event as either a cause or

an effect" (White 4).

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White's ideas about the construction of a proper history are augmented by the work

of narrative theorist Wallace Martin. Martin's work complements White's thesis, suggesting

that events must be relevant to one subject (such as a specific historical figure or event)

and that any representation must provide some insight into the human condition. Thus, by

making one subject the history's focus, such as the assassination of Caesar, the scope is

sufficiently limited to a single topic. Additional factors, such as the assassins’ motivations

and the fate of the principal figures after the assassination, are ideas which appeal to the

historian's audience on the basis of their humanity. Human motivations such as greed,

idealism, and honor have not changed so much that they would seem alien to

contemporary readers. These characteristics, Martin argues, are crucial to fashioning a

proper historical representation:

“Knowing what is of human significance, the historian has a subject; knowing

something of human thoughts, feelings, desires, the incredible variety of their

manifestation and the social structures that mediate them, he or she can

form a hypothesis concerning why something happened as it did” (Martin 73).

Patricia Limerick recognizes the importance of the issue of appealing to the

audience on the basis of its shared humanity as well. She suggests in The Legacy of

Conquest: The Unbroken Past of the American West that the stereotypical portrayal of

prostitutes in the history of the American West minimizes their impact upon history as well

as removes the human interest from their portrayal. While there were no doubt prostitutes

who fit the cliché of having a "heart of gold" as they are so typically remembered in Western

history, Limerick reminds one of the significance which the prostitute played in the Western

town. In fact, she points out, their "industry" provided an economic powerhouse which

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many Western towns needed to grow and thrive. Limerick's restoration of the idea that the

prostitute was much more than a minor figure in the history of the American West restores

the “reality” to their portrayal (Limerick 49). Limerick indicates that this restoration of the

complexity of human nature to the prostitute’s representation shatters their one-dimensional

stereotype and adds an individual, human dimension to their representation. It is this three-

dimensional portrayal of prostitutes, Limerick states, which accurately displays the

economic and social realities of their profession, that makes the role of the prostitute

interesting to audiences as historical representation.

While both Martin and Limerick advocate complex presentation of historical figures,

Martin also identifies the idea of the temporal series, a component of the time line which

has its own beginning and end, as a key to proper historical representation. Martin says

that in the beginning of a temporal series, few may recognize that a connected series of

events has begun to unfold. As persons and nature are unpredictable, no one can

definitively say how a temporal series of events will unfold. In many cases, in fact, a

temporal series is not even recognized until it reaches what people seem to see as a

conclusion. In the case of Caesar's assassination, few could have foreseen the rise to

power of young Augustus Caesar. The complex number of variables which play a role in

the time line could have easily ended the temporal series which began with Caesar's death

in an entirely different fashion.

Only with hindsight can a person recognize a temporal series and, consequently,

give it a logical shape and form. Martin writes, "History, fiction, and biography are based on

a reversal of cause-effect relations. The present moment is teeming with causes and

beginnings, but we cannot recognize them; at some end we will say, 'Now I understand.'

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And 'if the future is open, the past cannot be utterly closed'" (Martin 196).

The temporal series is crucial to developing a history, as it provides an organizing

beginning, middle, and end, which allows the author to create his/her narrative. In addition

to identifying the vital role of the temporal series, Martin's work also illustrates that the

conventions of narrative are shared by the historian and the literary artist. He explains that

literary and historical narrators face the same problem: that of showing how a situation at

the beginning of a temporal series leads to a different situation at its end. "The very

possibility of identifying such a series depends upon the following presuppositions, as

theorists Arthur Danto and Hayden White have shown: (1) the events involved must all be

relevant to one subject, such as a person, a region, or a nation; (2) they must also be

unified in relation to some issue of human interest, which will explain why, and (3) the

temporal series must begin and end where it does" (Martin 72).

Narrative, therefore, creates the possibility of historical representation for White and

Martin. They believe that without the conventions of narrative, the historian lacks the tools

to create a proper history. The proper history, they state, strongly depends upon narrative,

as it allows writers to focus history into a manageable “plot.” Discussing the importance of

narrative to historians, Martin succinctly states:

"The conventions of narrative, as identified by Danto and White, are not

constraints on the historian or novelist; rather, they create the possibility

of narration. Without them, and confronted with a sheer mass of facts,

the historian would have nowhere to begin" (Martin 73).

White argues similarly that narrative allows the historian to embody his/her thesis

into an ordered presentation. The narrative, Whites states, creates order out of seemingly

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discontinuous events and historical material and "displays a formal coherency to which we

ourselves aspire" (White 21). White states that events and historical figures that could

have been included in a temporal series are left out if they do not seem to fit within the

focus in time being studied. A proper historical narrative focuses upon a particular point-in-

time and represents it without straying too far from the topic of interest.

Although the narrative forces historical data to display the coherency of a story,

which, in itself, suggests a flaw of narrative as a historical tool, White acknowledges it as

the best tool writers have at their disposal as they begin to fashion a historical

representation. White states:

“Narrative might well be considered a solution to a problem of general

human concern, namely, the problem of how to translate knowing into telling.

We might not be able fully to comprehend the specific thought patterns of

another culture, but we have relatively less difficulty understanding a story

coming from another culture, however exotic that culture may appear to us”

(White 1).

Because of its ability to transcend culture, White argues that "Narrative is a meta-

code, a human universal on the basis of which transcultural messages about the nature of

shared reality can be transmitted" (White 1). While works such as poetry are difficult to

translate from culture to culture because they rely upon the subjective, cultural meaning

imbued within them by their authors, the ability to translate a story from culture to culture is

far easier, as its obstacles are primarily semantic. This ability to translate stories from one

culture to another demonstrates the strength of the “meta-code” in narrative convention, as

it allows a historian to reinscribe the events recounted or interpret the text for his/her

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specific audience.

For these theorists, the meta-code nature of narrative is a key for creating historical

representation, as it provides a link between the historical data and the story which is to be

told. White states that this meta-code aspect of narrativity is an essential tool for

representing history and that historians must consciously rely upon narrative’s conventions

if they are to create a valid historical representation. Without relying upon narrative’s

conventions, such as meta-code, historical representation is difficult, as one must

determine a way to transcend the cultural border between peoples and present a story to

them which is comprehendible.

While White recognizes the potential of narrative as a vehicle to deliver historical

representation, he also notes that more is required of a history proper than to register the

events chronologically and narrate them. White suggests that to achieve the status of a

true proper history, the events must be revealed as having structure and meaning. This

structure and meaning distinguish the "proper history" from both the "annal" and the

"chronicle." Whereas the annal lacks meaning and connective tissue between events and

the chronicle terminates abruptly, the proper history reaches a conclusion which offers

some kind of meaning. While many possible meanings may be gleaned from the same

historical data, White argues that the historian's perceived meaning is valid so long as it

does not conflict with the historical data. For instance, both Plutarch and Shakespeare

address the issue of Marcus Brutus’ goal to restore the Roman Republic. Plutarch implies

that Brutus was an intelligent man solely motivated by this honorable intention;

Shakespeare, however, presents a Brutus who holds that same ideal, yet is seemingly

blinded by idealism and pulled into the plot to kill Caesar through deception. As both

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accounts hinge upon Brutus’ noble intention and both conclude with the idea that the end

Brutus sought was both respectable and honorable, both representations of the historical

data should be seen as valid. White would say that representations such as these succeed

on the level of containing meaning, as they conclude with a moral idea and order. Without

meaning, White states, a narrated history simply fleshes out the time between the annal’s

landmarks.

While White and Martin agree upon the importance of narrative as a tool of historical

representation, they also concur that the narrative is obviously limited. Inevitably, the

selectivity required in constructing a narrative creates a biased perspective. "Common

opinion has it that the plot of a narrative imposes meaning upon the events that make up its

story level by revealing at the end a structure that was immanent in the events all along"

(White 20). In the narrative form, events which apparently had no order as they occurred

have continuity. It is the author’s individual focus in a historical narrative which allows

he/she to conclude with a moral order that the author has identified and explored

throughout the work. Therefore, the individual writer of a “history” discerns what he/she

sees as the meaning within the historical data and passes it along to his/her audience in the

form of a narrative.

While theorists might argue that the particular conclusion of the historian is

irrelevant so long as the conclusion can be rooted in the historical data, they concur on the

issue of meaning. The historian's audience, the theoreticians insist, must derive meaning

from the representation. In the case of Caesar's assassination, what do the many different

representations seem to emphasize? Is it politics? Moral character and a moral lesson?

Or something entirely different? The historian, White argues, must create a representation

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which allows one to discern a meaning from the assemblage of historical data if it is to

succeed as proper history. White suggests that the demand for meaning is tied to the idea

of coherency:

“The demand for closure in the historical story is a demand, I suggest,

for moral meaning, a demand that sequences of real events be

assessed as to their significance as elements of a moral drama” (White 21).

As the narrative should display the coherency of a story, it also requires a conclusion. As

stories such as fairy tales frequently end with a moral, White suggests that if the historical

representation takes the form of narrative, it should conclude as any other story: with a

recognizable conclusion and some moral meaning that the audience can recognize. The

theorists are adamant that the recognition of meaning within an account is crucial to the

narrative’s success as proper historical representation.

While White and Martin consider the issue of meaning in historical narrative at

length, Limerick addresses the “meaning” issue from the standpoint of the historical figures

featured in that narrative. Limerick states that the figures presented in a historical

representation should demonstrate the complexities of any human being, so as not to

reduce the representation to a generic level. She notes that the women of the American

West must be portrayed as possessing strengths and weaknesses in order to avoid

stereotypes and emerge as “real” historical figures. She suggests, as does White, that it is

necessary to embrace the diverse and occasionally contradictory elements of human

character in order to fashion an accurate representation. “Black and white” representations

such as a “good” woman and “evil” Indians have no place in proper history she argues:

“The idea of the innocent victim retains extraordinary power, and no situation

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made a stronger symbolic statement than that of the white woman murdered

by Indians. Here was surely a clear case of victimization, villainy, and

betrayed innocence. But few deaths of this kind occurred in American history

with such purity; they were instead embedded in the complex dynamics of

race relations, in which neither concept--villain or victim--did much to

illuminate history” (Limerick 37).

As an example of this, Limerick considers the case of Narcissa Prentiss Whitman.

Whitman left her home in New York in 1835 to perform missionary work in Oregon; after

arriving, Whitman, her husband Marcus, and other missionaries set about converting the

Cayuse Indians. In addition to her missionary work, Whitman served as care giver for

exhausted travelers and orphaned children. Then, in November 1847, after eleven years

with the missionaries among them, the Cayuse revolted, killing fourteen people, including

the Whitmans.

To some, Whitman would appear a martyr slaughtered by the ungrateful Cayuses.

To the Cayuse, she was an invader. Whose perspective is correct in this matter?

Limerick argues that “one skill essential to the writing of. . .history is a capacity to

deal with multiple points of view” (Limerick 39). Therefore, it is crucial for the historical

writer to consider the possible viewpoints of a situation when writing his/her history. In the

case of Narcissa Whitman, it is crucial to consider her as both a martyr and an invader as

the “truth” of the situation involves both elements. By examining the multiple viewpoints of

any given situation, Limerick suggests, it is possible to strike a more balanced account, and

by avoiding “black and white” stereotypes, the historian avoids “fracturing a whole, living

person into disconnected abstractions” (Limerick 59). Limerick labels this detailed

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presentation of events and portrayal of figures as complex and sometimes contradictory

beings as “moral complexity.” “Moral complexity,” Limerick says, takes into account the

diversity of circumstances and human motivations, desires, and goals and drives her vision

of historical representation (Limerick 39). If “moral complexity” is present in the historical

narrative, she suggests that it will enhance the narrative and touch its readers on the basis

of its humanity. While the biases of the historian will inevitably color his/her account, the

theoreticians agree that the possibility of a valid account exists, as an “objective” historical

account cannot be written.

As the theoreticians agree that creating an unbiased account is impossible for any

historian, they acknowledge the possibility of valid written, auditory, and visual forms of

historical representation. Film maker John Sales suggests that as all humans interpret

things differently, there cannot be a universal, definitive historical account of anything

(Carnes 25). This attitude is shared by historian Eric Foner, who notes that there is not a

single "correct" interpretation of anything:

"There are often many legitimate interpretations of the same historical event

or the same historical process, so none of us can claim that we are writing

history as objective fact. On the other hand, there are limits. If my point of

view was completely divorced from the evidence, other historians would know

that my views were implausible, and they would point that out because the

evidence is there and there are standards" (Carnes 25).

The utilization of divergent viewpoints, modern historical discussion suggests,

proves a definite strength when considering history. Writers such as White, Martin, and

Limerick all suggest that the "reality" of history is best represented through multiple points-

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of-view. Limerick clearly embraces the idea, as it brings essential “moral complexity” to the

events being considered. She considers accounts that argue a single perspective to be

anathema to historical discourse. Limerick addresses this idea in considering both the

pioneer wife and the prostitute in the history of the American West:

"The same woman could be both inspirational in her loyalty to her family’s

welfare and disheartening in her hatred of Indians. Those two attributes were

not contradictory; they were two sides of the same coin. We cannot

emphasize one side at the expense of the other, without fracturing a whole,

living person into disconnected abstractions” (Limerick 54).

Generic representations such as the loving pioneer wife terrified by Indians or

prostitutes being white women resorting to prostitution as a means of survival, demonstrate

the stereotype that Limerick insists historians avoid. Concepts such as the terrified wife

have little place in proper history, Limerick argues, suggesting that complex, multifaceted

representations of historical figures and events “creates” reality for the audience. This idea,

one finds, is at the core of contemporary discussions of history, as it returns time and again

to the idea that multiple perspectives yield more detailed and realistic representations of

historical events and figures.

One can evaluate the success of historical representation on the basis of the

complexity of its presentation of events and figures and the attention to which the author

pays the historical data. Considering this criteria and the same basic evidence as

represented in different genres provides insight not only into the individual representations,

but also allows one to consider the individual works in the light of common discourse, as

they can be evaluated on the basis of the reality which they share. The particular agendas

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of the individual "artist" and the specific meaning that he/she discerns from the historical

data can be gleaned and it will become clear whether or not an individual representation

can bear the scrutiny of the theoretical ideas presented. This discourse allows one to

recognize the similarities and differences of the narratives and the common and divergent

insights which they offer about the period being considered. By examining a representation

in the light of White, Martin, and Limerick’s theoretical ideas, one can examine the care with

which the historical data is handled and whether or not attention is paid to the construction

of complex historical figures.

The role of Marcus Brutus in the assassination of the Roman dictator Julius Caesar

in 44 B.C. provides an excellent opportunity to unearth these insights, as the assassination

has been recounted time and again by a diverse body of historians. When considering

Brutus, it is important to recall that much of what is known about him is refracted through

artistic genres. Some recall him in the glowing light of the Greek biographer Plutarch, who

presents Brutus as a man of the highest moral caliber, motivated to murder Caesar not for

personal gain, but for the good of the Roman state. More, however, remember Brutus as

the principal conspirator in the murder of Julius Caesar, as represented in Shakespeare's

Julius Caesar. Clearly, the Brutus most typically known through these works is not

presented within an "objective" historical context; he is a historical figure ”re-presented” in

literary and artistic efforts.

Considering Brutus as he is represented in Plutarch's biography and Shakespeare’s

Julius Caesar provides ample opportunity to employ analytically the modern theorists’ ideas

regarding the conventions of narrative, temporality, and moral complexity. In order to

accomplish this task, it is first necessary to explore in depth the representations of Brutus

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portrayed by Plutarch and Shakespeare. By exploring the characterization of Brutus in

these representations, one witnesses how the intersection of theory and representation

sharpens critical understanding of the individual representation and helps one grasp the

efficacy and validity of that historical theory. Looking at the representations together, one

can recognize that multiple viewpoints of the same basic historical data unite to form a

complex whole and also reveal much about the nature of historically connected discourse.

“But this Brutus, whose life we now write, having to the goodness of his disposition added

the improvements of learning and the study of philosophy, and having stirred up his natural

parts, of themselves grave and gentle, by applying himself to business and public affairs,

seems to have been of a temper exactly framed for virtue.”

The Life of Marcus Brutus (Plutarch 571)

TWO

PLUTARCH’S LIFE OF MARCUS BRUTUS

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As a writer begins to construct a historical representation, one recognizes the

difficulty he/she faces, as one must handle massive amounts of historical data, select a

point with which to begin and end, and build an account which will conclude with a moral

order. However, when an author utilizes the theoretical ideas of Hayden White, Wallace

Martin, and Patricia Limerick, it is apparent that the theoreticians provide a blueprint for

proper historical representation to both the historical and literary writer. While considering

the ideas suggested by White, Martin, and Limerick independent of an actual text may lead

one to conclude that their theories are little more than disconnected abstractions, they are,

in reality, elements vital for successful historical representation. Evidence of this

importance surfaces when one considers modern historical theory, as application of such

theory may bring useful light to the “historical” aspect of that text. If the theory proves

applicable, one can gain insight into the text, as it will be possible to measure whether or

not the work can be considered valid historical representation.

Plutarch's Life of Marcus Brutus proves an excellent example for such a study, as it

features the familiar story of the assassination of Julius Caesar. Plutarch (ca.46 - ca.120)

is best remembered for two works, The Moralia, a collection of 22 individual works which

consider various philosophic and moral issues, and the Lives, a series of biographies of

noble figures in history. Among the many figures represented in the Lives, Julius Caesar,

Marcus Brutus, and Marc Antony stand out, as their individual biographies recount the

same historical incidents from the title character’s focus.

In considering the theorists’ ideas, it is appropriate to select Marcus Brutus as a

historical figure to explore, as he has been represented by historians time and again

because of his role the assassination of Caesar. In the case of Plutarch’s biography, the

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Greek immediately portrays Brutus as a person important to Rome, through both his

lineage and the principles which guide his life. As a descendant of Junius Brutus, the man

who expelled the Tarquins from Rome and destroyed their monarchy, Marcus Brutus was

held in the same high regard and was expected, if necessary, to serve as Rome’s

protector. Plutarch creates a portrait of a man who combines the Roman populace's idolatry

of his relative with a "goodness of disposition" (Plutarch 572) not found in the earlier Brutus.

Unlike his ancestor, whom Plutarch records as having an inflexible nature, Marcus Brutus

"added the improvements of learning and the study of philosophy" (Plutarch 572) to his

make-up. This allowed him to be a man "who seems to have been of a temper exactly

framed for virtue" (Plutarch 572). In fact, Plutarch, in his introduction to the life of Marcus

Brutus, points out that should any good be seen in the conspiracy against Julius Caesar, it

is Brutus who will bring that good to the issues and the event (Plutarch 572).

Plutarch spends little time recounting the sparse historical data known about Brutus'

early life and dwells much upon the events leading up to and following the assassination of

Caesar. During his exposition, Plutarch establishes the portrait of a just man whose virtue

propels his life. Early in the narrative, Plutarch reports that Brutus chose to pledge loyalty

to Pompey as the threat of civil war loomed following the split between Pompey and

Caesar. Whereas Brutus could have remained neutral, Plutarch reports that he selected

Pompey, the murderer of his father, as Pompey’s cause seemed the more just of the two.

Plutarch’s acknowledgment that Brutus chose Pompey over Caesar is indicative of

the respect with which Plutarch handles the historical data. White argues that such

respect for the historical data is essential to the creation of a truly proper history. However,

White adds a caveat to the historian’s respect for handling historical data:

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“The events must be not only registered within the chronological framework

of their original occurrence, but narrated as well, that is to say, revealed as

possessing a structure, an order of meaning, that they do not possess a

mere sequence” (White 5).

Clearly, White expects a historical narrative to not only narrate the sequence of events, but

to also be ordered, coherent, and allow the audience to discern meaning at the narrative’s

conclusion. Although he demands much of a proper historical narrative, White would note

that Plutarch serves as an impeccable “speaker for the facts” in regards to his source data.

Plutarch, unlike many other “historians,” does not compress the time line, rearrange the

series of events, or portray any figure as being inconsistent with the historical data. By

respecting the data as it was known, Plutarch demonstrates a sincere interest in

representing “history” as it apparently occurred, which allows him to take tentative steps

toward writing a history that White would consider “proper.”

In the light of White’s work, Plutarch must also be considered a success as he

presents a fully formed narrative which has a clear beginning, middle, and ending. As

Marcus Brutus is the focus of this section of the Lives, Plutarch begins with Brutus’ early

political life and concludes with the death of Brutus’ beloved wife Portia. While Plutarch

clearly respects the time line in crafting his biographical narrative, one also sees that his

narrative is not nearly as contained as other versions of the story. Shakespeare, for

instance, who would base his drama Julius Caesar upon Plutarch’s biographies, crafted a

much more taut narrative that leaves audiences with a definite sense of closure. At the end

of that work, all that is left is for Marc Antony to eulogize Brutus, “the noblest Roman of

them all” (V.v.68). Plutarch, however, has to contend with Portia, an important part of

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Brutus’ life, after the biography’s subject is deceased. Had Plutarch ignored Portia, there

would be no sense of closure; had he dispatched her earlier (as Shakespeare does), he

would have violated the time line for which he shows great reverence. Clearly, Plutarch

faced a conflict of resolving the biography without disturbing the time line. Nevertheless,

Plutarch’s narrative biography “reveals to us a world that is putatively ‘finished,” done with,

over, and yet not dissolved, not falling apart” (White 20).

While Plutarch presents a “finished” world and respectfully adheres to the time line,

one recognizes that his narrative’s conclusion is not entirely satisfactory. As Brutus is the

focus of the biography, it seems appropriate that his death would mark the biography’s

conclusion; however, Plutarch chose history over literary style in this case. Whereas

Shakespeare would sacrifice historical accuracy for his drama, Plutarch adheres to the

data, even though it leaves the biography with a less structured conclusion.

While the conclusion of Plutarch’s narrative is unsatisfactory as its “historical” end is

weakly structured, White would point out that the Plutarch biography features both

coherency and moral order, cornerstones of a proper historical account. Plutarch’s

narrative displays the formal coherency of a story, as it features a beginning, middle, and

ending, and flows logically from event to event. In the course of creating a coherent

narrative, Plutarch also concludes the narrative with a moral order.

The idea that a historical narrative concludes with some comment upon the human

condition is vital to White, who claims that the conclusion must demonstrate a moral order if

it is to succeed as proper history. “What else,” White asks, “could narrative closure consist

of other than the passage from one moral order to another?” (White 23). White’s demand

for “moral order” presents itself clearly in Plutarch’s work, as the entire biography focuses

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upon the portrayal of Brutus as a noble man. Throughout the biography, Plutarch presents

Brutus as a model of nobility and as someone Plutarch believes should be looked upon as

a model for others.

The combination of respecting the time line and presenting meaning allows

Plutarch’s biography to meet White’s criteria for a proper history. Having Brutus be a

model of nobility is not inconsistent with other representations, as many have portrayed him

as a noble man with honorable goals. White would say that the meaning Plutarch discerns

from the historical data is valid, as it does not contradict that data.

As White and Martin’s theoretical ideas complement one another, it is unsurprising

that their ideas are best illustrated by application to a “historical” text. One recognizes that

Martin’s work seems to anticipate White’s. One should recall that White’s theory regarding

moral order appears to be a continuation of Martin’s ideas regarding the temporal series

and cause and effect relationships.

Martin suggests that a temporal series, a small segment of the time line which

features its own beginning, middle, and end, is the point from which any historical account

originates. A temporal series, Martin adds, may not be perceived until it reaches what one

would recognize as a conclusion. This inability to recognize a series of events, he

suggests, is a result of the huge number of variables which could alter the course of a

temporal series. Once a series of events seems to be concluded, Martin suggests, the

historian has the building blocks from which to construct a historical narrative. This

ability to construct a valid historical narrative, Martin indicates, is based upon the reversal of

the cause and effect relationship (Martin 74). Whereas, in reality, an event occurs

precipitating effects, the historian is faced with a completed series of events from which to

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work. For example, while no one could predict at the time how the assassination of Caesar

would affect Roman society, the historian knows that it ended with the triumvirate of

Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus taking power and Brutus’ suicide. Knowing how the story

ends provides the historian the opportunity to create the “moral order” which White

demands of a proper historical narrative. Martin explains how this is possible, stating:

“Knowing an effect, we go back in time to find its causes: the effect ‘causes’ us to find

‘causes’ (which are ‘effects’ of our search)” (Martin 74).

Martin’s idea proves useful to those writing a narrative, as Plutarch proves by

utilizing his knowledge of Brutus’ life. Brutus’ death allowed Plutarch to unravel the tapestry

of Brutus’ life in order to find events which illuminated his nobility. By the time he reaches

the beginning of Brutus’ early political life, he had mined many examples of Brutus’ nobility

(i.e., committing suicide rather than being a “slave” to the unscrupulous Triumvirate, the

decision to spare Antony on the basis of morality, and his inability to be compromised by

flattery or hypocrisy). Therefore, the reversal of the cause and effect relationship allowed

Plutarch to work back through the historical data, finding examples of Brutus’ nobility, and

then to construct his narrative so as to illustrate the nobility of Brutus throughout.

As Plutarch wrote the Lives with the clear intention of fashioning moral tales which

would serve as examples for his audience, it is quite evident that narrative facilitates the

delivery of his moral tale. One should recall that Hayden White reminds his audience that

“Narrative ceaselessly substitutes meaning for the straightforward copy of the events

recounted” (White 9). In choosing the narrative mode of discourse, Plutarch successfully

manages to construct a narrative with an obvious moral meaning.

However, when one considers the Lives as historical representation, one must not

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forget that the biography was written in the 2nd Century A.D. and not in the 20th Century,

where ideas such as Martin and White’s abound regarding historiography. The fact that

Plutarch’s biographies meet much of White and Martin’s criteria for proper historiography is

a credit to the strength of Plutarch’s work. However, while Plutarch’s biography of Brutus

seems true to White and Martin’s work, The Life of Marcus Brutus falls under harsh scrutiny

when considering the theoretical ideas of Patricia Limerick.

Limerick suggests that a history can only be seen as “proper” or “valid” if it presents

complex figures and events viewed from multiple points of view. In the case of Plutarch’s

biography of Brutus, the historical figures and events are portrayed in a one-dimensional

manner, which mitigates much of the biography’s legitimacy as a proper historical account.

Simply described, Plutarch’s Marcus Brutus is a misguided, noble patriot who begins the

biography as a noble person, is followed through all of his noble acts (seeking to restore the

Roman Republic, sparing Antony, being kind to townspeople his legions overran,

committing suicide, etc.), and dies a noble death. As Plutarch only superficially

acknowledges two instances of character defect (sparing Antony and allowing Cassius’

army to plunder two cities), the Brutus presented in the biography is a character who is

constantly noble. Brutus' rationale for sparing Antony even demonstrates this nobility.

While his fellow conspirators had great reason to fear Antony after the assassination,

Brutus opposed their advice, “insisting first upon the injustice of it, and afterwards giving

them hope that a change might be worked in Antony" (Plutarch 584). Brutus makes an

obvious tactical error in this regard, yet fails to recognize it, as it is couched in his own

moral idealism. The conspirators’ reasons are sound and practical, yet Brutus overrules

them with his own moral arguments. Rather than demonstrating the complexity of a “real”

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man faced with such a moral dilemma, Plutarch presents Brutus as a man who will react

only with noble and righteous decisions. As a consequence of this portrayal, the flaws

which Plutarch does acknowledge have little effect on Brutus’ later actions and Brutus is

never presented as wrestling with the intense, moral questions that come with

assassinating Caesar or sparing Antony.

And yet, one must recall Plutarch’s intent in writing this biography and all the others

in the Lives series: he was seeking to record the lives of men he saw as honorable and

suggest to his audience that his biographical subjects were exemplary role models. As

Plutarch does not present Brutus as a complex individual, the “real” Marcus Brutus is

undermined by the Lives. As Plutarch’s audience consists of people with complex,

individual personalities that allow them to feel and act in a wide variety of ways, his Brutus

is elevated above the status of the audience. As someone presenting a work which offers

a moral message and a role model, Plutarch succeeds; as a historian, however, Patricia

Limerick would dismiss his representation of Brutus.

Limerick argues that to present a historical figure objectively, a historian must

incorporate multiple perspectives. Recall Limerick’s example of Narcissa Whitman, the

missionary murdered by Cayuse Indians. Limerick suggests that Whitman was a

combination of the martyr her people believed her to be and the invader she was viewed to

be by the Cayuse. Coupled with this, one must also consider the complexity of the human

personality which Whitman and all humans have as part of their psychological make-up.

Taking that diversity of human emotions into account, Limerick argues that the truth of

historical representation lies with the historian who incorporates multiple viewpoints into

his/her representation.

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Considering Plutarch’s representation of Brutus and Limerick’s idea of how Narcissa

Whitman should be represented, one sees that Plutarch’s Brutus clearly does not emerge

as the complex Brutus which Limerick would require him to be. Brutus, as represented by

Plutarch, appears to be a man who places virtue and honor above all other considerations.

In this respect, Brutus and Limerick’s American settlers act upon similar motivations. The

Americans, Limerick states, “went West convinced that their purposes were as

commonplace as they were innocent. The pursuit of improved fortunes, the acquisition of

property, even the desire, for adventure seemed so self-evident, that they needed neither

explanation or justification” (Limerick 42).

Like the American pioneers, Plutarch presents a Brutus who thought his cause was

right and did little to justify it to himself or others before acting. The biographer presents a

Brutus who believed his cause was just and thought it was evident to the Roman people

that Caesar was stepping beyond his bounds as ruler. It is evident, therefore, that the

criteria which Limerick uses to scrutinize the representation of Western American settlers is

also apropos to Plutarch’s representation of Brutus.

While on this basic level, one may recognize similarities between Brutus and the

American pioneers, it is their development which Limerick scrutinizes. Whereas Limerick

argues that Whitman and other pioneers must be portrayed as complex individuals in order

to succeed as proper historical representatives, nowhere in his biography does one see

Plutarch embody Limerick’s idea of the historian serving as both “defense” lawyer and

“prosecutor.” Instead, Plutarch emerges as an advocate for Brutus, highlighting the noble

and honorable acts of Brutus’ life. Without moral complexity, Brutus is throughout the

biography, as David C. Green, author of Julius Caesar and Its Source, states, simply “too

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noble” (Green 3).

As Plutarch’s constant focus is Brutus’ nobility, examples of it abound throughout

the text. A clear example of Plutarch’s respect for his subject comes early in the

biography:

“For his [Brutus’] natural firmness of mind, not easily yielding, or complying

in favor of every one that entreated his kindness, once set into action upon

motives of right reason and deliberate moral choice. . .No flattery could ever

prevail with him to listen to unjust petitions; and he held that to be overcome

by the importunities of shameless and fawning entreaties, though some

compliment it with the name of modesty and bashfulness, was the worst

disgrace a great man could suffer” (Plutarch 576).

In highlighting Brutus’ nobility, Plutarch also indicates that Caesar himself had

concerns about the young man he had appointed first praetor. Plutarch states that “he

[Caesar] feared, indeed, the high spirit and the great character and the friends that he

(Brutus) had, but thought himself secure in his moral disposition” (Plutarch 577). Later in

the passage, Plutarch further indicates that while Caesar was concerned about Brutus, he

believed that Brutus would not betray him to gain power immediately; Plutarch records that

Caesar asked of those who warned him about Brutus: “‘What, do you think that Brutus will

not wait out the time of this little body?’ as if he thought none so fit to succeed him in his

power as Brutus” (Plutarch 577).

Plutarch’s representation of Caesar makes it clear that the dictator thought Brutus

would be prudent enough to wait until he died a natural death and attain power rather than

overthrow him to gain that power. In this regard, Plutarch’s Caesar is entirely correct;

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Brutus was not motivated to gain power for himself, but sought to return to the people the

power which Caesar had consolidated into his dictatorship.

Like Caesar, Brutus’ brother-in-law Cassius, chief architect of the assassination plot,

also illuminates Brutus’ nobility. This is nowhere more evident in the text than when he

attempts to recruit Brutus to join the conspiracy. Plutarch explains:

"When Cassius went about soliciting friends to engage in this design

against Caesar, all whom he tried readily consented, if Brutus would be

head of it; for their opinion was that the enterprise wanted not hands or

resolution, but the reputation and authority of a man such as he was, to

give as it were the first religious sanction, and by his presence, if by

nothing else, to justify the undertaking; that without him they should go

about this action with less heart, and should lie under greater suspicions

when they had done it; for if their cause had been just and honorable,

people would be sure that Brutus would not have refused it" (Plutarch 578).

Clearly, Plutarch’s representation of the largely unseen and unheard from people of

Rome makes it clear that Brutus wielded influence over the entire city. That influence was

not based upon power, as was Caesar’s, but upon his nobility, strength of will, and virtue.

These examples from The Life of Marcus Brutus leave little doubt that Plutarch intended to

utilize Brutus’ honor and nobility as a beacon to which the audience could turn for

inspiration.

As a result of Plutarch’s incessant moralizing and repeated demonstration of Brutus’

honor, the complex man that was the “real” Marcus Brutus becomes a cardboard

stereotype. He is an ideal, not a complex individual. Green, in Plutarch Revisited, would

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agree, stating: ”Every page of The Life of Marcus Brutus exudes Plutarch's admiration for

him. Far from being a traitor to his friend, Brutus thrust all personal considerations aside in

order to serve justice and humanity as he saw them" (Green 3). While many may indict

Brutus for his complicity in conspiring against Caesar, "in the face of accusations of

treachery against Brutus, Plutarch's answer is that as he fought with the hated Pompey

because he thought him in the right, now he plots to kill his beloved Caesar because he is

in the wrong" (Green 13). And Plutarch himself succinctly summarizes Brutus’ nobility in

his comparison of the life of Brutus and that of Dion: "For he (Brutus) had no private

quarrel with Caesar, but went into the risk singly for the liberty of his country" (Plutarch

610).

Although many modern scholars regard Plutarch’s body of work as literary due to his

overt, subjective presence, ancient scholars held his work in the same regard as that of the

renowned historian Suetonius. While Plutarch’s biographies are blatantly subjective, one

must acknowledge that the Greek does, in fact, chronicle the life of an actual person, which

allows his work to continue to be considered somewhat “historical” by modern scholars.

While Plutarch’s work contains both “literary” and “historical” elements, one must recall that

both the literary writer and the historian face an impossible task in trying to recreate the

complicated personality of an individual. Limerick argues, however, that representations

such as Plutarch’s are too one-dimensional to be acceptable if a work is to be considered a

proper historical account. A proper history, she states, must be populated by characters

who both reflect the known data about the historical figures and manifest a facsimile of a

complex human personality.

Plutarch, however, attempts to preach virtue and nobility with his representation of

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Brutus, not present a flawed figure to his audience. His Marcus Brutus is a man drawn into

a murder plot by sincere letters from the populace wishing he would live up to his family

name and overthrow the tyrant Caesar, not by shameless entreaties and coercion. By

representing Brutus as a man who is a paragon of virtue and a model of nobility, Plutarch

successfully advances the moral agenda of his biography. However, his Brutus is not a

successful historical representation because Plutarch dwells upon his nobility without

seriously addressing his human flaws. A summary of Brutus’ character halfway through the

biography again indicates Plutarch’s attitude toward his subject:

“Brutus, for his virtue, was esteemed by the people, beloved by his friends,

admired by the best men, and hated not by his enemies themselves. For he

was a man of a singularly gentle nature, of a great spirit, insensible of the

passions of anger or pleasure or covetousness; steady and inflexible to

maintain his purpose for what he thought right and honest” (Plutarch 592).

One should focus upon the word “singularly” in the passage, as this is Plutarch’s own

attitude toward his representation of Brutus. Plutarch presents Brutus from a single point

of view; Plutarch’s singular focus is Brutus’ honor and nobility, and Plutarch suggests that

not a single person would see him outside of the way he is described in the biography.

Plutarch’s own words suggest the conclusion that one may reach when considering his

representation of Brutus as a proper historical representation.

Through these examples, it is obvious that the limited historical data presented

within Plutarch’s biography of Marcus Brutus is focused through a moral lens, which White

would acknowledge as an important element to proper historiography. However, the heroic

and noble characteristics of Brutus are expounded upon, while the man's weaknesses are

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touched upon only cursorarily, violating Limerick’s idea of the morally complex individual.

As written, Plutarch's representation of Brutus is unrealistic from a historical point of view

as it is extremely biased. One must recall that Limerick consistently advocates the

importance of viewing history from multiple points of view if a proper historical

representation is sought. Her argument for stepping beyond the sentimental and

stereotypical images of the West suggests how Plutarch Brutus could have been a fully

realized portrait. She states:

“Acknowledge the human reality. . .and you have taken a major step toward

removing. . .history from the domain of myth and symbol and restoring it to

actuality. Exclude women from Western history, and unreality sets in.

Restore them, and the Western drama gains a fully human cast of

characters. . .whose urges, needs, failings, and conflicts we can recognize

and even share” (Limerick 52).

Had Plutarch elected to present an “objective” representation of Marcus Brutus, he would

have had to acknowledge in Brutus the strengths and weaknesses that all human beings

possess. While one recognizes that Plutarch was not seeking to write a proper history, it

becomes evident that he would have to embrace Limerick’s idea regarding characterization

in order to meet the criteria of representing historical figures. Instead, Plutarch succeeds

in providing his audience with a beacon of morality, not a portrait of a believable, yet noble,

man.

Martin and White would agree with Limerick’s assessment, and all three would

recognize that Plutarch’s narrative followed the historical data, presented it as a narrative,

and concluded with a moral order -- elements all necessary to proper historical accounts. It

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is important to remind oneself, however, that Plutarch's subjects always emerge in a same

virtuous and noble light. Never in the Lives does he chronicle the career of a man whom he

would deem to be without great virtue. In the light of Plutarch's bias, the meaning which

one identifies within the biography seems superficial when considering White and Martin’s

work. True, the Life of Marcus Brutus demonstrates that narrative quality and

meaningfulness which modern historical theory deems necessary for proper historiography,

but the account is flawed in its representation of Brutus as he is not a believable human

being.

Plutarch's representation sorely lacks the moral complexity that Limerick

emphasizes time and again. This lack of complexity is quite evident, as the historical

figures in the biography are portrayed in a one-dimensional fashion. Brutus, obviously, is

incredibly moral and good; the conspirators, however, are self-interested and bad. When

one judges the biography by the moral complexity that Limerick advocates, it becomes

evident just how one-dimensional the figures in Plutarch's biography are, as Plutarch never

strays far enough from Brutus' virtues to even consider the complexity of the individual

conspirators. When considering the conspirators' attitude toward Antony, it is enough for

Plutarch to say, "It was indeed their opinion of all others, when they were consulted about

the execution of their design, that it was necessary to cut off Antony with Caesar, looking

upon him as an insolent man, an affecter of monarchy, and one that, by his familiar

intercourse, had gained a powerful interest with the soldiers" (Plutarch 583). Plutarch

simply does not develop the figures represented other than Brutus, whose representation is

of a single focus. Brutus is truly his focus and is presented solely in the light of his virtue.

The other characters, including Caesar, exist in Plutarch's narrative only to illuminate the

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character of Brutus.

Plutarch's emphasis on the virtues of Brutus and the vices of the other conspirators

clearly violates Limerick's directive regarding characterization: "We cannot emphasize one

side at the expense of the other, without fracturing a whole, living person into disconnected

abstractions" (Limerick 134). Plutarch systematically emphasizes a single side of character

in his biography, fracturing his representation of Brutus into the abstractions which Limerick

abhors. Rather than a complex individual, one is left with Green's assessment of Plutarch's

Brutus as being simply too noble. Plutarch never attempts to develop a full characterization

of Brutus, no doubt knowing that acknowledgment of Brutus' character defects would

undermine his attempts at portraying the "noblest Roman of them all."

Because of Plutarch's emphasis upon Brutus' virtues, his representation of one so

noble is uninteresting from a human interest standpoint. Rather than being represented as

having contradictory thoughts and feelings that he must reconcile, Plutarch's Brutus is

simply “good.” The biographer's attempts to acknowledge character defects, such as

Brutus' decision to offer Cassius’ troops two cities to plunder, are too minor to offset the

incredibly favorable image presented throughout the biography. Without these

contradictions, Plutarch's Brutus is little more than a Roman “superman,” whose intentions

are to right the wrongs of the world and care for the oppressed and the downtrodden.

Plutarch's single-minded emphasis of Brutus' virtue makes his representation unrealistic, as

it is unbelievable that anyone could be so good. As popular culture has shown, the "good

guy" representation in print and visual media is usually less appealing to audiences than

that of the flawed "bad guy." As it is, Plutarch's Brutus is a single-minded "good guy."

Plutarch's representation works well as a narrative, holds true to the historical data

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and the time line, and has a meaning, but one must acknowledge that it fails miserably as a

"proper" history on the basis of his portrayal of historical figures. Plutarch's work, whatever

its weaknesses, does in fact respect the historical data and does offer a representation of

Marcus Brutus' life. His emphasis upon Brutus' virtue creates an incredibly biased portrait

of the Roman, yet Plutarch's overall meaning is consistent with the historical data. While

not a “proper” historical representation of Brutus, Plutarch’s bland Brutus would be the

model on which future representations of Brutus would be based. In fact, his

representation seems to have been dominant until an English translation of the Lives fell

into the hands of William Shakespeare.

There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Marcus Brutus

Julius Caesar IV.iii.218-19

THREE

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE’S JULIUS CAESAR

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Having explored Plutarch's Life of Brutus, one recognizes that the Greek's biography

serves as a laboratory for testing contemporary theory regarding historical representation.

As Plutarch's Life of Brutus is populated with historical figures who demonstrate single-

minded intent, the work fails to fit the mold of what modern historians would consider a

"proper history." However, the application of the theoretical observations of Hayden White,

Wallace Martin, and Patricia Limerick to Plutarch's work demonstrates the value of their

ideas as tools for analyzing historically based text. As such a text, Plutarch’s biography of

Brutus affords one the opportunity to directly apply the precepts of proper historical

representation, such as narrative structure, temporality, the idea of “moral order,” and the

portrayal of historical figures. When one examines the text of William Shakespeare's Julius

Caesar, however, it becomes evident that the genre of drama generates further questions

in regard to historical representation.

As dramatic works frequently manipulate historical data, telescope events, and

provide insight into characters through their thoughts and the thoughts of others, the fine

line between history and fiction quickly becomes unclear. Dramatic conventions, such as

soliloquies, asides, staging, and dialogue all work to create the illusion that historical events

are unfolding before the audience's eyes. In a drama, the combination of these

conventions and historical data further complicates the issues of "proper history," as artistic

license is added to the formula of historical representation.

In the life story of Marcus Brutus, Shakespeare recognized not only the inherent

sense of tragedy and internal conflict with which he endowed many of his protagonists, but

also the opportunity to create a drama out of the historical reality of Brutus' life.

Shakespeare's drama owes a great debt to Plutarch: Plutarch's Lives of Caesar, Brutus,

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and Antony are undoubtedly the principal sources for Julius Caesar. As many of

Shakespeare's works provided updates, revisions, and retellings of myth and events based

upon historical fact, his use of Plutarch is unsurprising. Typically, Shakespeare invigorated

his source material, eliminating the tired and contrived incidents of the original. One of the

many examples of such invigoration can be found in Julius Caesar, when Brutus calls upon

the conspirators to bathe their hands in Caesar's blood. Absent from Plutarch's account,

this addition provides a tremendous visual effect and is an exciting, yet sobering reminder

of the heinous nature of Caesar's murder.

While Shakespeare may have polished the source material he borrowed from

Plutarch with such scenes, the integrity of Plutarch's narrative remains largely intact in the

drama. David C. Green, author of Julius Caesar and Its Source, summarizes the regard

with which Shakespeare approached Plutarch's work, stating:

"The respect that he [Shakespeare] must have felt for. . .Plutarch is

evidenced by his careful use of his source, the painstaking manner in which

he weaves his own material into the Plutarchian layout, and by the fact that,

when all is said and done, the end result basically adheres to the impressions

given in the Lives" (Green 4).

Shakespeare closely followed the chronology of Plutarch's biography, as Julius

Caesar shares a range of historical data with that biography. Shakespearean scholar Frank

Kermode identifies a number of common factors in his introduction to Julius Caesar:

"The leanness of Cassius, the sleekness of Antony, Brutus' bookishness,

Caesar's self-infatuation and illness, the prophecy regarding the Ides of

March, the punishment of the tribunes, the offer of a crown, the letters thrown

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in at Brutus' window, the refusal of an oath, the rejection of Cicero, the

decision not to kill Antony and Brutus' mistake in allowing him to speak at the

funeral, the courage of the sick Ligarius, the prodigies, Calpurnia's dream,

the trick of Decius Brutus, Portia's anxiety, the murder of Cinna the poet, the

apparition of Caesar's ghost, the discussion on suicide, the imprudence of

Brutus as general at Philippi, the suicides of Cassius and Brutus, and

Antony's eulogy of Brutus" (Riverside 1101).

These elements of the drama remain true to known, established historical data.

While little of this basic data is in dispute among historians, Julius Caesar‘s contribution to

the discussion of the relationship between history and literature rests upon the portrayal of

the historical figures. Whereas Plutarch's characters demonstrate single-minded intent,

Shakespeare builds upon the biographer’s representations and imbues the characters with

complexities: Caesar, the power-hungry tyrant, believes power has elevated him from the

status of man to that of a god; Cassius, the seasoned soldier, feels slighted by Caesar and

fears that Caesar's lust for power will reduce his own role in Roman society; Marc Antony,

Caesar's lieutenant, recognizes Caesar's assassination as his own opportunity to rise to

power; and Marcus Brutus, the deliberate, thoughtful stoic, seeks to eliminate Caesar not

for personal reasons, but for the noble goal of restoring the Roman Republic.

Shakespeare's treatment of Brutus in particular distinguishes the play from the Plutarch

biography, as Shakespeare not only recognizes a dichotomy in Brutus' character glossed

over by Plutarch, but uses it as the foundation for his entire work. Whereas Plutarch largely

ignores Brutus' character flaws, Shakespeare seizes upon those flaws and constructs his

entire drama around the angst of a man torn between restoring the Republic and betraying

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his benefactor.

While many might simply judge Shakespeare's Brutus as a villain for his role in the

assassination of Caesar, Shakespeare's representation of Brutus, in reality, demonstrates a

human being’s complex personality. The Brutus of Shakespeare’s drama and the historical

Brutus shared the presumedly noble goal of restoring the Roman Republic. Shakespeare

presents a Brutus, who, while pursuing this noble goal, falls into a number of human errors

which proved disastrous for the state. As Shakespearean scholar Geoffrey Bullough

states, "He [Brutus] was noble in his Republican and Stoic principles, yet he killed his

benefactor, and though he did it for the best political motives the result proved him wrong"

(Bullough 18).

Out of the historical data gleaned from his source, Shakespeare fashions a Brutus

strongly independent of the source material, as the dramatist elects to present many

historical instances differently than Plutarch. For instance, Shakespeare decides to present

instances of Brutus being judicious (such as his decision to spare Antony) as indicative of

foggy idealism; and, for Shakespeare, Cassius' ability to exploit Brutus' pride by invoking

his famous ancestor, Junius Brutus, depends upon Brutus’ desire to live up to the family

name. Yet while building upon the historical data and crafting a Brutus consistent with that

data, Shakespeare creates a Brutus who emerges largely as a literary figure. This is

evident as Shakespeare utilizes the historical data as a structure and seamlessly integrates

it with the literary license of creating a personality for Brutus based upon that data. Thus,

the Brutus of Julius Caesar is an amalgam of historical data and Shakespeare’s

imagination, as its characterization of the Roman relies heavily upon supposition and the

dramatist’s knowledge of the human condition. As Shakespeare’s Brutus faces trials in

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which he questions his own motives, hesitates to act, and makes agonizing, yet judicious

decisions, one recognizes that the challenges Brutus faces are representative of those of

humanity. While few debate assassinating one’s leader, the idea that Brutus, like every

human, faces complex, moral decisions in the process of living one’s life makes him a “real”

human being. For Shakespeare, therefore, history exists in the service of his drama, as it

provides basic plot, characters, and locale, while it is the dramatist’s imagination which

fashions the personalities of those represented in the drama.

The structure of Shakespeare's drama has much in common with the form of the

proper history as described by Hayden White and Wallace Martin. White and Martin both

state that a proper history requires selectivity when assembling its narrative, a trait which it

shares with drama. Dramatic structure (whether based upon historical data or not)

demands a similar sense of coherence and order, as it requires a cast of characters with

individual personalities, the presentation of a problem and its resolution, a figure of central

focus, a plot which holds the audience’s interest, and an insight into some aspect of the

human condition.

Had Shakespeare created a drama out of whole cloth rather than utilizing historical

data, his task would have been considerably less difficult. In a story of his own creation,

Shakespeare would have been placed under no constraints as to following a "time line" or

creating dramatic tension using historical data. But Shakespeare, from the beginning of

Julius Caesar, faced a number of historical events and "facts" provided by Plutarch that

demanded inclusion in his drama if it were to be “historical:” the prophecy regarding the

Ides of March, the actual assassination, the proscription of the senators, the decision to

spare Antony, Cassius’ and Brutus’ eventual suicides, and Antony’s eulogy for Brutus.

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As Shakespeare creates a drama using the events surrounding Caesar's

assassination, one finds that White's statement regarding the historian as being one who

fashions the facts into a whole is also applicable to the dramatist. Shakespeare’s drama,

which mixes historical data and dramatic license, proves as much a representation of the

past as a historian's account, as it also gives voice to those historical "facts." One must

recall that Shakespeare’s drama contains the historical data, an essential respect for the

time line, character development, and moral meaning that White insists be present in

historical representation. It is evident that in this regard Shakespeare’s drama, like the

historian’s account, serves as a voice for those historical “facts.”

As a voice for those facts, Shakespeare stays true to the spirit of the historical data

as presented in Plutarch. But in addition to embodying White’s idea of the historian as a

“voice” for the historical data, Julius Caesar features two other elements which White

identifies as crucial to historical writing: the narration of events and the revelation that the

events recounted have structure and meaning. Shakespeare develops both of these ideas

through the dialogue of Julius Caesar, as he utilizes his characters as instruments for

fashioning a coherent narrative. In much the same fashion, the characters’ motivations and

actions reveal the possible meanings that Shakespeare couched within the text of his

drama. Is Shakespeare emphasizing the strength of a single ruler? Or is Shakespeare

trying to make a point regarding mistrust of mob mentality? Is the drama a cautionary tale

of those seeking an end by affecting violent change in society? Or does the drama's

meaning lie with Brutus, whose singleness of purpose and selfless desire for the common

good can be seen as a model of nobility? As White emphasizes, the meaning the audience

derives from the work is not crucial to the success of the piece as historical representation

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so long as it does not violate the integrity of the historical data. As one can see a wide

number of possible meanings at work in Julius Caesar, it is clear that Shakespeare

concentrated not upon a single aspect of humanity, but upon the complex nature of all

human beings.

Though Julius Caesar features both the narrative component and meaning that

White requires of historical representation, it is important to recognize that just as Plutarch

was not necessarily seeking to write a "proper history" about Brutus, Shakespeare, too,

was motivated for other reasons. Whereas The Life of Brutus is a reportorial form of

representation, Julius Caesar is an artistic representation featuring clever dialogue, “morally

complex” characters, and suspense -- elements suggested by the historical data.

Shakespeare adheres to the data presented in Plutarch’s report, but uses supposition and

imagination to close missing gaps in data and to heighten the dramatic effect of the play.

Examples of this include the aforementioned bathing of hands in blood following Caesar’s

assassination and the argument of Brutus and Cassius preceding the battle of Phillipi.

While Shakespeare's intentions were not necessarily to write a "proper history," it is

evident that his drama, like Plutarch’s, demonstrates many aspects of White's theories

regarding such history. One should find it unsurprising, therefore, that Wallace Martin’s

theoretical ideas regarding temporality and cause and effect relationships are also evident

in Julius Caesar.

Martin notes that few people recognize the beginning of a temporal series until it

reaches a perceived conclusion. In the case of the historical events involving Julius

Caesar, one could perceive the assassination of Caesar as a possible beginning of a

series, the civil war as a middle, and Antony’s eulogy of Brutus as an end. Martin explains

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that while Caesar’s assassination is an obvious fact, one cannot put that fact into a proper

historical perspective or see it as the beginning of a series of events until a conclusion is

reached. As there are any number of possibilities as to how the series which began with

Caesar’s death could have ended, Martin would say that the series itself is unrecognizable

until a beginning, middle, and end are evident: “The present moment is teeming with

causes and beginnings, but we cannot recognize them; at some point we will say, ‘Now I

understand.’” (Martin 196).

It is the temporal series, Martin explains, that affords the historical writer a clear set

of events from which to fashion his/her historical narrative. This narrative, he states, is

based upon a reversal of the cause and effect relationship. Whereas in history, the cause

(the assassination of Caesar) leads to a clear series of effects (i.e., civil war, proscription of

the senators, the deaths of Cassius and Brutus), the historical writer is faced with a reversal

of that situation. When the historical writer begins to create a narrative, he/she faces a fully

saturated, completed temporal series. When one traces back through the effects to the

cause or beginning, Martin argues, one can find an understanding of the events that

comprise the temporal series. For example, Brutus’ choice to commit suicide rather than

surrender at Philippi displays his nobility. If one traces back through the series of events

that led to that decision, one sees that Brutus demonstrated this nobility all along, most

notably in his reasons for moving against Caesar and sparing Antony. By recognizing

Brutus’ nobility at the end and tracing it backward through the temporal series, the historian

is able to develop a narrative whose important meaning lies in Brutus’ nobility. Therefore,

one recognizes that Martin and White’s ideas work in tandem in regards to the cause and

effect relationship. Martin’s temporal series, and the cause and effects on which it is

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based, allow the historian to develop the narrative that contains the element of meaning

White deems essential to proper history.

Martin's ideas of the temporal series and cause and effect are clearly at work in

Shakespeare's drama. The temporal series afforded Shakespeare an identifiable

beginning, middle, and ending for his drama and the reversal of the cause-and-effect

relationship allowed Shakespeare to develop meaning within the structure of his drama.

Shakespeare, however, chooses to manipulate the time line by rearranging certain

historical details in order to strengthen the drama’s impact. Shakespeare’s manipulation of

the time line has considerable impact when considering his “adjustments” in light of White

and Martin’s work.

Because he used Plutarch's work as a blueprint, Shakespeare's handling of the

historical data closely follows the information as presented by Plutarch. However,

Shakespeare sometimes alters the sequence of events for dramatic effect, leaving his

shifting of chronological events apparent only to those familiar with the historical

chronology. In his introduction to the drama, Frank Kermode reminds one of

Shakespeare’s “alterations:”

"There are some changes, some theatrical, some in the interest of a new

presentation of character. . .There are understandable compressions of time:

a period of three years is got into five days; there were two battles at Philippi,

twenty days apart. Historically, the events of the opening two scenes were

separated by months (October to March). Octavius did not reach Rome until

six weeks after the death of Caesar, and eighteen months then passed

before he allied himself with Antony and Lepidus in the triumvirate"

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(Riverside 1101).

In the hands of a less experienced playwright, this shifting of material could prove

disastrous. For the practiced hand of Shakespeare, however, it is clear the dramatist

remains in control despite “alternations” to the data. The careful manipulation of the

historical data, coupled with his deft representation of historical figures, demonstrates

Shakespeare’s ability to create a theatrically successful drama, all the while essentially

respecting the flow and integrity of the historical data.

Shakespeare’s decision to manipulate his data for dramatic effect is no better

illustrated than in Act IV, where the playwright addresses the death of Brutus’ wife Portia.

According to Plutarch, Brutus' distraught widow swallowed hot coals after Brutus' own

suicide at Philippi. Shakespeare, however, consciously chooses to move her death from its

correct chronological location in order to strengthen his dramatic structure and to enhance

his representation of Brutus by allowing the character to demonstrate his stoicism and self

control. As a character, Portia emerges as a powerful influence and a foil for her husband

Brutus. Shakespeare’s decision to eliminate Portia before Brutus’ death strengthens the

drama as it continues to suggest the strength of Brutus’ character. For instance, Portia, a

strong individual in her own right, commits suicide before her husband’s own, suggesting

that Brutus is, in actuality, the stronger character as he lives longer and faces further trials.

The fact that Brutus is able to go on living and remain focused upon the task at hand in the

face of such tragedy allows Shakespeare to display his protagonist’s internal and

intellectual fortitude.

Portia’s death also serves to help Shakespeare conclude his story with the idea that

has dominated Brutus’ thoughts from the beginning of the drama: restoration of the

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republic. Shakespeare’s decision to eliminate Portia releases Brutus from familial

responsibility and allows him to clearly focus upon his goal of restoring the republic. Her

death simplifies matters as the play heads into its final act as Brutus no longer needs to

balance duty to family and state. Shakespeare, the playwright, benefits from the

elimination of Portia, as well, as he is able to focus Brutus solely upon the goal which has

driven the plot.

While serving dramatic needs such as helping provide closure to the narrative,

Portia's death also allows Shakespeare to once again illuminate Brutus' demeanor and self

control in a time of personal tragedy. Just prior to Shakespeare's representation of the

battle at Philippi, Brutus silences both Cassius and Messala regarding Portia's fate. By

doing this, Brutus, just as he had in Act I, demonstrates that he will turn his concerns

inward rather than allow them to become a hindrance to his cause. The following exchange

sheds light on this demonstration of Brutus' nobility:

Brutus: Portia is dead.

Cassius: Ha? Portia?

Brutus: She is dead.

Cassius: How scap'd I killing when I cross'd you so?

O insupportable and touching loss!

Upon what sickness?

Brutus: Impatient of my absence,

And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony

Have made themselves so strong--for with her death

That tidings came. With this she fell distract,

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And (her attendants absent) swallow'd fire.

Cassius: And died so?

Brutus: Even so.

Cassius: O ye immortal gods!

Brutus: Speak no more of her.

(IV.iii.147-158)

In this exchange, Brutus calmly explains Portia's fate to a stunned Cassius. A few

lines later, Cassius, still in shock, tries to turn the conversation back to Portia. Brutus, in

keeping with the calm, deliberate personality he has been portrayed as being, simply states

to Cassius: "No more, I pray you" (IV.iii.167). He also displays this reserved demeanor

with Messala, who inquires if he has received letters from Portia. Finally, Brutus responds

to Messala’s inquiries:

"Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala.

With meditating that she must die once,

I have the patience to endure it now."

(IV.iii.189-192)

Shakespeare, by placing Portia's death before Brutus' own, clearly enhances the

stoic and selfless representation of Brutus he established in Act I, again demonstrating

Brutus’ ability to control himself and remain focused upon his cause in a time of intense

personal turmoil. This repeated demonstration of Brutus' character is one key to the plot of

Julius Caesar. Without Shakespeare’s development of Marcus Brutus, Julius Caesar

would be just another account in the long line of dramatic, historical, and biographical

versions of the assassination of Caesar. The emphasis upon Brutus' humanity, both his

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strengths and weaknesses, is essential to the character of Brutus succeeding as proper

historical representation.

As represented by Shakespeare, Brutus is not simply the misguided patriot of the

Plutarch biography. In fact, while Green's conclusion about Plutarch's Brutus being just

"too noble" can accurately be applied to Shakespeare's Brutus, Shakespeare also spends a

great deal of time expanding Plutarch's representation of Brutus. Shakespeare adds

human fallacies and weaknesses to his Brutus, restoring the "reality" which Patricia

Limerick demands of historical representation.

Limerick's focus on issues such as stereotypical representation of women in the

history of the American West in The Legacy of Conquest offers insight into the possible

results Shakespeare may have desired in fashioning a complex representation of Brutus.

In her work, Limerick explains that viewing history from multiple points-of-view and

considering the many facets of a human being’s psyche are essential if history is to be

properly represented. A key to representation, she argues, is that human beings should be

represented as the complex creatures which they really are rather than stereotypical, one-

noted human caricatures. Portraying someone as eminently noble, she would say, is

unrealistic. Rather than being portrayed as “strong” or “weak,” Limerick argues that

historical representation must feature multifaceted representations of historical figures if it is

to serve history well. Limerick explains her rationale, pointing to the example of the

Western American prostitute:

“The history of prostitution [can] restore the participants of Western history

to a gritty, recognizably physical reality. Testifying as a witness in a Nevada

case in 1878, Belle West was asked to identify her occupation. ‘I go to bed

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with men for money,’ she said. A century later, Belle West’s frankness will

not let us take refuge in sentimental and nostalgic images of the Western

past. Acknowledge the human reality of Western prostitutes, and you have

taken a major step toward removing Western history from the domain of myth

and symbol and restoring it to actuality” (Limerick 52).

Thus, Limerick argues that a historical account must be constructed with frankness,

honesty, and balance in order for it to succeed as proper history. To present an account

which focuses solely upon a single perspective of character, Limerick says, the writer

cannot hope to avoid “fracturing a whole, living person into disconnected abstractions”

(Limerick 134).

A first step in constructing a multifaceted representation, she says, is found in

viewing history from multiple viewpoints. Just as considering multiple human

characteristics makes for a more complex representation than representation of a single

characteristic of humanity, consideration of multiple viewpoints of events adds depth that a

single perspective lacks. The historian, Limerick demands, must carefully consider the

many possible viewpoints before constructing his/her account, as focusing upon a single

viewpoint will doom the work as proper representation. She suggests that this judicious

handling of multiple viewpoints is reminiscent of the legal system:

"It is as if one were a lawyer at a trial designed on the principle of the Mad

Hatter’s tea party--as soon as one begins to understand and empathize with

the plaintiff’s case, it is time to move over and empathize with the defendant.

Seldom are there only two parties or only two points of view. Taking into

account division within groups, it is taxing to keep track of the points of view”

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(Limerick 39).

As an example of the necessity of viewing history from multiple perspectives, recall

Limerick’s example of Narcissa Prentiss Whitman. From the perspective of the

missionaries, Limerick explains, the Cayuse uprising was nothing less than a slaughter of

innocent people. Limerick argues, however, that history cannot consist of a single view

such as this if it is to be presented properly. She states that it is crucial to examine the

situation from Whitman’s perspective, the perspective of the Cayuse, and any other

perspectives which might offer insight into the incident. She cites the following evidence as

possibility of justifiable motivation on the part of the Cayuse: With the arrival of the

missionaries, the Cayuse faced a people who wanted to turn them from hunters to farmers

and from heathens to Presbyterians. In addition to this alien agenda the missionaries

sought to impose upon them, the Cayuse frequently saw their people dying of diseases

such as measles, to which they had no immunity. “Descending on the Cayuses,

determined to bring light to the ‘benighted ones’ living in ‘the thick darkness of heathenism,’

Narcissa Whitman was an intolerant invader. If she was not a villain, neither was she an

innocent victim” (Limerick 41).

The case of Narcissa Whitman illustrates Limerick’s point that history is not proper or

complete as representation unless it embraces multiple points of view. If one wrote a

history solely from the position of either the missionaries or the Cayuse, the representation

which would emerge would be hollow and single-sided. Considering the two together,

however, provides some sense of balance. For the missionaries, Narcissa Whitman was a

martyr; to the Cayuse, Whitman was an unwanted invader. In “reality,” Limerick would say,

Whitman was some of both. Without the consideration of multiple viewpoints, Limerick

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argues, historical writing fails as proper history.

As Limerick stresses the importance of considering historical situations and figures

from multiple points of view in order to establish a sense of historical "reality" in

representation, her example of Narcissa Whitman illuminates Shakespeare's Brutus, whose

noble ideals brought turmoil to Rome. Shakespeare’s Brutus can be seen from varying

perspectives as well. Brutus, a man well regarded throughout Rome for both his personal

actions and the reputation of his family, sought the very admirable goal of restoring the

republic. While this goal might be perceived as a truly honorable one in the minds of the

disenfranchised, the supporters of Caesar clearly viewed Brutus as a traitor and a menace

to Roman society; and while he sought the noble goal of restoring the republic, Brutus

instead plunged the state into civil war; instead of eliminating tyranny, Brutus manages only

to exchange the single dictator Caesar for the quarreling, self-interested triumvirate of

Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus. Therefore, while Brutus was honorable and sincere in his

intentions, his actions can also be perceived as harming Rome. This two-sided perception

of Brutus’ “success,” Limerick would argue, is essential if he is to be a proper historical

representation of the "real" Marcus Brutus. Shakespeare's Brutus is a representation which

demonstrates the "combined the roles of victim and villain" (Limerick 134) that Limerick

assigns to Narcissa Whitman.

This “combined role of victim and villain” and the portrayal of characters with

multidimensional personalities, Limerick suggests, can be labeled “moral complexity,” a

trait vital for proper historical representation. One witnesses the "moral complexity" which

Limerick demands of historical representation within Shakespeare's drama, as the

combination of Shakespeare's literary license and his use of the historical data presents a

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“morally complex” representation of Brutus. Judiciously approaching both the virtues and

vices of Brutus, Shakespeare addresses the man's strengths and weaknesses.

Shakespeare's concern with presenting multiple sides of Brutus' character allows him to

avoid "fracturing a whole, living person into disconnected abstractions" (Limerick 134).

Shakespeare begins building his "morally complex" Brutus early in Act I, when

Brutus explains to Cassius that Caesar's behavior troubles him deeply. Brutus states:

"Cassius, be not deceiv'd. If I have veil'd my look,

I turn the trouble of my countenance

Merely upon myself. Vexed I am

Of late with passions of some difference,

Conceptions only proper to myself,

Which give some soil, perhaps, to my

behaviors" (I.ii.37-43).

With these six lines of text, Shakespeare begins to establish the foundation of the

complexity which Limerick associates with legitimate historical representation. One

witnesses something of the troubling conflict within the psyche of Brutus, a man who owes

much to Julius Caesar, yet abhors his recent behavior. While this inner conflict serves as

the seed of moral complexity for a believable historical representation of Brutus, it also fuels

the plot of the drama and makes Brutus the focal point of action. Far from the cardboard

Roman cutout presented by Plutarch, Shakespeare's representation of Brutus is an

interesting, three-dimensional portrait of a man. These initial scenes with Brutus serve to

establish the representation of Brutus that Shakespeare will build upon in the four acts to

come.

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While Shakespeare spends a great deal of time in Act I cementing the nobility of

Plutarch’s Brutus, it is his continuing development of Brutus that solidifies his overall

representation. Statements uttered by Shakespeare's Brutus, such as "Let us be

sacrificers, not butchers" (II.i.167), serve to distinguish Shakespeare's Brutus from the

other conspirators. At the same time, these statements add credibility to Brutus' nobility

and establish the seriousness with which he acts.

In his "sacrificers" speech, Shakespeare's Brutus appeals to the conspirators' better

nature and vividly displays his idealism for the audience:

"We stand up against the spirit of Caesar

And in the spirit of men there is no blood;

O that we then could come by Caesar's spirit,

And not dismember Caesar! But, alas,

Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends,

Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;

Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods,

Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds;

And let our hearts, as subtle masters do,

Stir up their servants to an act of rage,

And after seem to chide 'em" (II.i.167-77).

In this speech, Brutus not only tries to reform the conspirators, who are acting

against Julius Caesar out of self interest, but also explains why he will participate in such

an act. In this instance, Shakespeare's Brutus sounds much like Plutarch's, as his

intentions and desires are both honorable and respectable. But while Plutarch's

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representation of Brutus merely focuses upon these noble characteristics, Shakespeare's

addition of weaknesses and characteristics that can be considered less than noble serve to

make his Brutus a believable historical representation, as it presents him as being less than

perfect.

One of the weaknesses which Shakespeare identifies in the character of Brutus is

his reaction to being surrounded by the hypocrisy of his fellow conspirators. While he

outwardly disdains hypocrisy and is disgusted by those who lower themselves to it,

Shakespeare's Brutus is an unconscious hypocrite. Shakespeare's illustration of this

weakness in Brutus' character is vividly displayed in two scenes. In Act III, Shakespeare

displays a Brutus which does not lower himself to hypocrisy and presents Brutus' open

disgust for hypocrisy. While the other conspirators flatter Caesar just before the murder,

Brutus refuses to practice such open hypocrisy, telling Caesar, "I kiss thy hand, but not in

flattery, Caesar" (III.i.52).

While Shakespeare's Brutus refuses to be hypocritical in the scene cited above, his

later demonstration of unconscious hypocrisy helps complicate his human character.

Brutus' tendency to be an unconscious hypocrite is illustrated clearly in the famous Act IV

quarrel between himself and Cassius. Shakespeare's Brutus says:

"I did send you

For certain sums of gold, which you denied me;

For I can raise no money by vile means.

By heaven, I had rather coin my heart

And drop my blood for drachmas than to wring

From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash

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By any indirection. I did send

To you for gold to pay my legions,

Which you denied me" (IV.ii.69-77).

In this display of hypocrisy, Shakespeare's Brutus tells Cassius that he needs money

to pay his troops, but is unwilling to extort it from the populace. Therefore, in a clear

moment of hypocrisy, he tells Cassius that he should extort the money and give it to him.

Shakespeare no doubt carefully crafted this speech in order to further reinforce the idea

that Brutus is unaware of the many parts of his mind that influence his decision making.

Additionally, Shakespeare's Brutus also proves susceptible to the fawning and

flattery that he was so disgusted at in Act III. He initially joins the plot because of the

fawning comments from Cassius and the deceptive, praising letters which were planted by

Cassius. While Plutarch's Brutus may have been solely blinded by idealism,

Shakespeare's Brutus is vulnerable to conceit and vain glory, two characteristics which

Shakespeare has Cassius recognize and exploit.

Shakespeare's Brutus does not recognize the dichotomies present in his own

character -- dichotomies which make him believably human for Shakespeare's audience

and strengthen his moral complexity. Whereas Plutarch surrounded Brutus by the

hypocrisy of the conspirators yet kept him above it, Shakespeare's noble Brutus is

vulnerable to the power of hypocrisy, and is thereby made more human. Shakespeare's

Brutus is historically believable because the representation of his character contains the

"gritty reality" (Limerick 52) which Limerick insists be present in proper history. Rather than

Plutarch's unbelievably noble representation of Brutus, Shakespeare's vision of Brutus

displays his foibles and his strengths.

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Had Shakespeare wholeheartedly adapted Plutarch's Brutus for the stage, he would

have no doubt echoed time and again the staunchly antihypocritical position Brutus

demonstrated in the Senate chamber during Act III. However, Shakespeare’s Brutus is not

a flawless man, which reminds one of Limerick’s theory that emphasizes historical

representation must address a number of facets of human character. Like Limerick's

Narcissa Whitman, Shakespeare's Brutus must be seen as a multidimensional person.

Whether or not the historical Brutus himself was an unconscious hypocrite is

irrelevant to the success of Shakespeare’s Brutus as historical representation; What is

relevant is the fact that Shakespeare endows his representation of Brutus with both

desirable and undesirable human traits, demonstrating the complexities and conflicts of the

human psyche. Plutarch's representation of Brutus fails in this regard, as it systematically

emphasizes the virtues and does little to acknowledge the darker elements present in any

human psyche. As Shakespeare addresses both the admirable and reprehensible sides of

Brutus' character, he serves historical representation better than Plutarch. It is far easier to

believe that the historical Marcus Brutus, while no doubt a noble man, was prone to many

of the same weaknesses and character flaws as contemporary audiences. Therefore, the

flawed Brutus of Shakespeare is more credible than the pristine portrait of Brutus presented

by Plutarch. As a result, Shakespeare's emphasis of "reality" -- a demonstration of the

coexistence of the "good" and "evil" of human character, so to speak -- makes his

representation of Brutus credible. Rather than present the unbelievable Brutus of

Plutarch's biography, Shakespeare's Brutus demonstrates very human flaws: Brutus is

drawn into the plot to kill Caesar through the deception of Cassius; he proves susceptible to

the hypocrisy he says he disdains; he underestimates Antony's influence upon the people

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of Rome; and while consistently deliberate in his moral actions throughout the drama, he

prematurely abandons his strategically superior position at Philippi. These examples show

a Brutus vulnerable to deception and hypocrisy, and demonstrate that while Brutus was

well-intentioned and prudent in his decision making when attempting to restore the republic,

he was, as any human is, capable of making errors. Whereas Plutarch's Brutus is a

paragon of virtue and unbelievable as historical representation from a “moral complexity”

standpoint, Shakespeare's Brutus, a man undone by the divisions of his own nature,

emerges as a highly believable, sympathetic "real" representation. Shakespeare's Brutus

succeeds as historical representation because the representation is believable and true to

the complexity of the figures and events which it features.

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Th

ere is a clear line between fiction and history but philosophers of history have reduced it.

Wallace Martin

CONCLUSION

A CLEAR LINE BETWEEN HISTORY AND FICTION?

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Having considered Plutarch’s and Shakespeare’s individual representations of

Marcus Brutus, one recognizes that the techniques and procedures used in constructing

history and literature can be shown to be substantially the same. As Plutarch’s biography

and Shakespeare’s drama share many characteristics of a “proper” history as identified by

theoreticians Wallace Martin, Hayden White, and Patricia Limerick, one realizes that the

value of the theorists’ ideas lies in their identification and definition of the conventions used

to construct history-based representational accounts.

Among the many conventions identified by the theorists, I believe that objectivity,

moral complexity, and narrativity are ideas crucial to the construction of historical and

literary representations. If one examines how those conventions function in Plutarch’s

biography and Shakespeare’s drama, it is apparent that the line between historical and

literary representation has become blurred. As these conventions indicate the similarity of

historical and literary representations, one must consider them essential to constructing

representational works.

Objectivity

As historical and realistic literary accounts often aspire to provide their audiences

with an image of “reality,” the idea of “objectivity” in historical and literary accounts is crucial

to both forms of representation. As “objectivity” is frequently defined by social scientists as

being “independent of mind,” Martin suggests that “objectivity” in the context of

representation is defined as the attempt to present materials in a way that seems not to

reflect human bias: “The narrator [of representation] never speaks in his own voice but

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simply records events, giving readers the impression that no subjective judgement or

identifiable person has shaped the story being told” (Martin 74). The writer’s attempt to

create the sense that an account is objective is grounded in his/her desire to present a

legitimate representation of “reality.” While one will see that narrative precludes the

possibility of an objective account, historians and fiction writers frequently attempt to create

the illusion of objectivity in order to validate their work as “real.”

Considering “objectivity” in the light of historical and literary works demonstrates to

audiences that the term is idealized, as no historian or literary writer can present a

representation which is “independent of mind.” The writer’s own mind creates conscious or

unconscious agendas which seep into his/her representation, suggesting meaning which

would be absent if the account could truly be “objective.” Were objectivity truly possible for

writers, it would eliminate White’s concept of moral order, an idea common to historical and

literary accounts. Moral order, where the representation concludes with meaning(s)

recognizable to the audience, proves essential in White’s concept of the proper history, as

he believes that form of history exists to convey some message about the human condition.

Were “objectivity” in place in all historical accounts, “proper history” could not exist in the

theorists’ eyes, as the absence of meaning would limit representation to the less

sophisticated forms of the annal and chronicle.

Obviously, neither Plutarch nor Shakespeare present “objective” representations in

their dramas. On the contrary, Plutarch avoids Martin’s idea of objectivity and the presence

of the narrator by overtly moralizing about Brutus’ character and speaking in the first

person:

“Through the whole course of this expedition, Brutus did many memorable

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acts of justice in dispensing rewards and punishments to such as had

deserved either; but one in particular I will relate, because he himself, and

all the noblest Romans, were gratified with it above all the rest” (Plutarch

594).

While Plutarch’s many examples of Brutus’ nobility speak for themselves, the Greek

nevertheless interjects comments such as these into the events he recounts, undermining

the alleged realism of his account.

Shakespeare, however, demonstrates Martin’s point quite well, as the playwright

cannot be found offering overt commentary in the text of the drama. While Shakespeare’s

drama is not “objective” in the textbook sense of the word, it is true to Martin’s idea of

representation presenting an illusion of “objectivity.” Shakespeare’s ideas, intentions, and

thoughts are present in the drama, yet he never interrupts the flow of his dramatic narrative

to interject a subjective comment or to speak in first person, allowing his characters to voice

his ideas. Shakespeare’s decision to allow the characters to deliver his message is

reminiscent of White’s concept that the writer must speak for the facts; Shakespeare’s

characters speak for the dramatist and the facts, making his perspective known without

resorting to first person commentary which would shatter the illusion of objectivity.

Although Shakespeare believes Brutus to be noble, he does not interject that thought;

instead, he allows other characters, including Brutus, to voice that idea. Brutus himself

projects the nobility with which Shakespeare apparently thought the historical Brutus

exhibited when he addresses the Roman people following the assassination:

“If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar’s, to him I say,

that Brutus’ love of Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand

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why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer: Not that I loved Caesar

less, but that I loved Rome more. . . As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as

he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but, as he was

ambitious, I slew him” (III.ii.17-22,24-27).

Examples such as this of Brutus’ nobly stated intentions allow the other characters to

conclude, as does Antony, that Brutus was “the noblest Roman of them all” (V.v.68).

Shakespeare, by allowing his characters speak for the facts, creates an account which

seems more “objective” than Plutarch’s.

While Plutarch and Shakespeare share mixed results with “objectivity” in their works,

the two representations suggest the importance that the illusion of objectivity plays in the

construction of historical and literary representation. While true objectivity is beyond the

writer, the need to present a representation which appears to be objective is paramount for

one seeking to create a representation which presents a picture of “reality.”

Moral Complexity

As historical and literary writers frequently aspire to create representations which

present a limited portrait of “reality,” the concept of “moral complexity” as identified by

Patricia Limerick proves essential. “Moral complexity,” which Limerick defines as

multifaceted presentation of character and events, functions as a vital tool for representing

“reality.” Limerick argues that writers seeking to create morally complex representations

must strive to present characters which demonstrate the typical complexities of the human

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psyche. For Limerick, presentation of a single characteristic as representative of a

person’s psyche is anathema to realistic historical discourse, perpetuating more

stereotypes. Limerick would say that presentation of a person as being essentially noble

(as Plutarch and Shakespeare present Brutus) is generally appropriate, so long as the

literary artist adequately presents the figure as having a multifaceted personality.

Plutarch and Shakespeare, in creating their individual representation of “reality,” do

not meet the criterion of moral complexity with equal success. Plutarch, in relying heavily

upon the known chronology of events, does offer a representation of Brutus which respects

the integrity of the historical time line and aspires to present Brutus (from Plutarch’s

perspective) in a realistic light. However, Plutarch’s portrait of Brutus does not embody

Limerick’s ideas about moral complexity, which demand that historical figures and events

be presented as being multifaceted, complex representations. Limerick’s standard allows

us to see that Plutarch’s biography, which repeatedly emphasizes Brutus’ virtues and

practically ignores his flaws, is shallow and one-dimensional. Throughout the biography,

one will not find an instance where Brutus is even slightly motivated to participate in

anything less than an honorable act. Plutarch’s emphasis of Brutus’ virtues makes this

representation a failure in terms of realism.

Shakespeare’s Brutus, however, is torn at times between vice and virtue. While he

strikes against Caesar in the same spirit as Plutarch’s Brutus, Shakespeare’s Brutus is also

represented as flawed and susceptible to hypocrisy and flattery. Cassius’ flattery lures

Brutus into the plot against Caesar; deceptive letters planted by Cassius encourage Brutus

to live up to the honor of his family name; and Brutus tells Cassius that he is too honorable

to extort money from the people to pay his troops, demanding that Cassius extort it and

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then give it to him. Throughout the text, one sees examples such as this, which present

Brutus as a flawed, realistic man with an overall honorable goal, not a paragon of virtue.

In terms of this “reality” of character representation, Limerick’s theories prove

invaluable. Her ideas, derived from examples grounded in the American West, apply well

to the Rome of Marcus Brutus. As she urges writers of Western history to:

“. . .acknowledge the human reality of Western prostitutes, and you have

taken a major step toward removing Western history from the domain of myth

and symbol and restoring it to actuality. Exclude women from Western

history, and unreality sets in. Restore them, and the Western drama gains

a fully human cast of characters -- males and females whose urges, needs,

failings, and conflicts we can recognize and even share” (Limerick 52).

Limerick’s demand that writers acknowledge the humanity of the figures and events of

Western history is a key to her theory of “moral complexity.” Moral complexity is grounded

in the complex nature of human beings and the events in which they are involved. Thus,

Limerick’s entreaty that writers include the “urges, needs, failings and conflicts” of Western

pioneers is unsurprising, as the writer’s audience can themselves identify with those traits.

Limerick insists that any representation aspiring to be considered proper history

feature the human complexities with which we typically identify. One can see, however,

that the characters presented in realistic literature often display the same “moral

complexity” which Limerick demands of “historical” representation. Stereotypes, as Limerick

has demonstrated, are anathema to historical discourse; thus, realistic representation

adopts complexity in efforts to present its readers with believable characters and “realistic”

situations.

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One can easily see that Limerick’s theoretical ideas regarding representation, which

demand multifaceted, carefully drawn, and morally complex characters and events, is as

applicable to literary works as it is to historical representation. Whether one considers

Plutarch’s biography of Brutus a literary or an historical work, one can see that Limerick’s

“moral complexity” applies to Plutarch’s Brutus in either case. One recognizes that in

history and literature, there is little difference when character presentation, complexity, and

development are evaluated using Limerick’s criteria. Although Plutarch concedes that

Brutus had a few flaws, he treats them as if they are incidental and uncommon rather than

the every day human traits which they really are. Had Plutarch dealt with Brutus’ flaws

more carefully, he could have still emphasized the man’s virtues and emerged with a

convincing portrait; Plutarch’s Brutus, however, is merely a paragon of virtue -- someone

with whom the audience may have great difficulty identifying.

Shakespeare’s Brutus, however, is a complex representation, despite the fact that

he emerges in the minds of several characters (and the audience) as “the noblest Roman

of them all” (V.v.68). An imperfect man, Shakespeare’s Brutus rises above his own

weaknesses and strives to meet goals he sees as honorable. Vulnerable to hypocrisy and

flattery, Brutus sometimes expresses base motives, such as desiring to extort money;

Shakespeare, however, has him rise above the hypocrisy to accomplish an essentially

noble task. For Shakespeare, Brutus’ many flaws are natural human characteristics with

which audiences can identify as they face moral dilemmas of their own.

As moral complexity is crucial to those seeking to create realistic representation, one

recognizes its fundamental importance in the construction of said representation. As

demonstrated by Limerick, morally complex characters and events are essential elements

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for the construction of narrative accounts, as they serve as the building blocks of

representation. As necessary precursors for narrative, the complexities of character and

event serves as fuel for the literary artist seeking to create proper representation.

Narrativity

Martin’s idea that conventional practices create “reality” for audiences proves

essential for those considering the narrative’s role in the construction of historical and

literary representations. Narrative conventions are crucial to those forms of representation,

as they afford the possibility of constructing a limited vision of “reality.” Martin suggests

that without narrative the historian or literary artist would be forced time and again to devise

a method of presenting his/her representation to an audience. Martin notes, however, that

constant innovation on the part of the writer is unnecessary in this respect, as narrative

serves as a template for historical and literary representation. The conventions of narrative

allow the writer to concentrate upon constructing a representational account using concepts

such as selectivity and moral complexity. For example, Plutarch and Shakespeare

selectively utilized the historical data available to create a work of manageable scope,

namely the story of the assassination of Caesar and Brutus’ role in it; Plutarch’s biography

and Shakespeare’s drama communicate to their respective audiences through a coherent

narrative, which concludes with a sense of moral order; and, finally, the characters

presented therein display certain characteristics which suggest (or fail to suggest) realistic

human complexity. Without the conventions of narrative, Martin indicates, the writer would

be unable to present any representation. Martin’s suggestion that conventions allow a

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writer to “create” reality depends upon the narrative’s ability to focus the data into coherent

representation.

White, however, indicates that the creation of “reality” through representation is

something of a paradox, as narrative seeks to transform the seemingly random, apparently

non-sequential events of the world into coherent, self-contained stories. As reality seems,

in itself, discontinuous, White asks the question, “What kind of notion of reality authorizes

the construction of a narrative account of reality in which continuity rather than discontinuity

govern the articulation of the discourse?” (White 10). As White notes that humans tend to

transform disorder into order in their representations of “reality,” it is only natural that written

forms of expression would adopt this tendency as well. Representing the discontinuous

world in a coherent narrative is vital to history and history-based writing, and inevitably (for

White) reveals the “creativity” of both genres: “the value attached to narrativity in the

representation of real events arises out of an image of life that is and can only be

imaginary” (White 24). Historical narratives, as White states, aspire to be as concise,

complete, and definitive as an imaginary story. White reminds us that this precision and

closure do not occur in “reality,” and that historical narratives display a coherence and

resolution that only a fictional narrative can achieve.

Despite such paradoxes inherent in representing “reality,” Plutarch and Shakespeare

both must rely upon narrative, and clearly both the biography and the drama succeed as

narrative; both accounts provide coherent, structured representations of Brutus’ role in the

assassination of Julius Caesar and demonstrate the moral order which the historical and

narrative theorists deem necessary for proper historical accounts. Plutarch’s biography,

however, is not an entirely successful narrative, as the Greek inadvertently undermines his

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work by occasionally interjecting personal commentary. While Plutarch’s narrative unfolds

smoothly and coherently in many sections of the biography, the entire narrative is not

cohesive, as Plutarch’s personal commentary consistently interrupts the rhythm of his

narrative.

Plutarch’s tendency to interject his own comments not only reinforces his theme that

Brutus is a noble role model, but also draws attention to the fact that the biography is a

construction. While audience members recognize that “reality” does not literally unfold in

front of them as a narrative account progresses, Plutarch’s failure to present a narrative

devoid of first person commentary mitigates the “reality” of his account. His overt presence

in the drama reminds one that his presentation of events is controlled by a human being, as

Plutarch constantly espouses the idea of Brutus’ nobility. A narrative representation of

history is oftentimes most successful when it is devoid of overt, subjective commentary, as

a lack of such commentary creates the illusion that the events as recounted unfold without

the implicit presence of a human “creator.”

While Plutarch’s presence is clearly felt in the biography, the presence of

Shakespeare is not overt in the narrative of Julius Caesar. As a dramatist, Shakespeare

must allow the events to unfold as if governed by “reality” itself. Characters such as

Caesar, Antony, and Brutus fuel the plot with their ideas, actions, and reactions, and the

sequence of events unfolds before the viewers’ eyes, in the way the actual historical events

might have occurred. Shakespeare, by allowing his characters to speak for him, maintains

the illusion that the events unfolding in the drama are governed by “reality,” not by a

human creator constructing a drama based upon historical data. Whereas Plutarch felt it

necessary to editorialize to make his point about Brutus’ character, Shakespeare allows his

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representation of Brutus and the characters around Brutus to suggest Shakespeare’s

attitude toward his protagonist.

While Shakespeare and Plutarch do not share equal success with narrative in their

accounts, the two writers, nevertheless, demonstrate the vital role narrative serves in

historical and literary representations. Narrative serves as the cornerstone of

representation, providing the foundation on which historical and literary accounts are

constructed. With narrative serving as a template, historical and literary writers can rely

upon its conventions to fashion a coherent representation which makes some comment

upon the virtues and vices of humanity. Plutarch and Shakespeare, whose works lie

perched on the border between history and literature, prove that narrative is absolutely

essential to those seeking to create representation which suggests meaning.

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