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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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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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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
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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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