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The Demography of the Early Roman Empire

2000, Cambridge Ancient History volume XI

The underlying demographic structure of the early Roman empire is only dimly perceptible. By and large we lack not only reliable statistical evidence for general demographic functions, but also the detailed local records that prove invaluable for early modern Europe. What we do have, in abundance, are impressionistic and often moralizing observations by literary sources; but such remarks, as vague and inconsistent as similar statements by modern lay persons, must always be considered suspect unless they can be verified. Anecdotes are of similarly marginal demographic interest. For these reasons we often have no choice but to fall back upon reasonable conjecture: likelihoods, not truths. Further, the Roman empire spanned a vast geographic range, and it endured for centuries. To judge from early modern data, little uniformity can be anticipated of it-considerably less, indeed, than the discussion in this chapter may suggest. Despite these handicaps, a picture is emerging. The Roman empire's demographic structure, to the extent we know it, broadly resembles most populations before the modern demographic transition; in particular, it is close to the norm for pre-modern Mediterranean societies, while displaying no divergences that clearly anticipate the demographic transition. It goes without saying that Rome's demographic structure fundamentally conditioned the economic, social and political institutions of the Roman empire. Roman demography can be approached in two ways. First, the population of the empire and of its regions can be examined for level, increase or decrease, age and sex structure, and so on. Second, population can be broken down into its three major demographic components: mortality, the rate at which members passed out of the population through death; fertility, the rate at which new persons were born into the population; and migration, the rate at which persons entered or left the population through physical relocation. These components jointly determined the general structure and age distribution of the Roman population, as well as its change over time.

CHAPTER 27 DEMOGRAPHY  .  The underlying demographic structure of the early Roman empire is only dimly perceptible.1 By and large we lack not only reliable statistical evidence for general demographic functions, but also the detailed local records that prove invaluable for early modern Europe. What we do have, in abundance, are impressionistic and often moralizing observations by literary sources; but such remarks, as vague and inconsistent as similar statements by modern lay persons, must always be considered suspect unless they can be verified. Anecdotes are of similarly marginal demographic interest. For these reasons we often have no choice but to fall back upon reasonable conjecture: likelihoods, not truths. Further, the Roman empire spanned a vast geographic range, and it endured for centuries. To judge from early modern data, little uniformity can be anticipated of it – considerably less, indeed, than the discussion in this chapter may suggest. Despite these handicaps, a picture is emerging. The Roman empire’s demographic structure, to the extent we know it, broadly resembles most populations before the modern demographic transition; in particular, it is close to the norm for pre-modern Mediterranean societies, while displaying no divergences that clearly anticipate the demographic transition. It goes without saying that Rome’s demographic structure fundamentally conditioned the economic, social and political institutions of the Roman empire. Roman demography can be approached in two ways. First, the population of the empire and of its regions can be examined for level, increase or decrease, age and sex structure, and so on. Second, population can be broken down into its three major demographic components: mortality, the rate at which members passed out of the population through death; fertility, the rate at which new persons were born into the population; and migration, the rate at which persons entered or left the population through physical relocation. These components jointly determined the general structure and age distribution of the Roman population, as well as its change over time. 1 On demography, see Newell ().  Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press  .   This chapter first examines the three components of Roman population, and then the empire’s gross population. .  Almost all historians now assume that Roman life expectancy at birth was approximately twenty-five years.2 This consensus rests less on ancient evidence, which is sparse and poor in quality, than on the reasonable conviction that, granted the general social and economic conditions prevailing in the Roman empire, its life expectancy is likely to have lain near the lowest levels attested for pre-modern populations. Of particular importance here are data from India and rural China, which still in the early twentieth century had life expectancies at birth in the lower twenties.3 . Probable life tables No accurately measured population has ever had so low a life expectancy, at any rate in normal times. Therefore, in order to understand what such mortality implies, we must first turn to model life tables. These computergenerated models, developed to facilitate study of demographic history and development, are based on historical data and describe ‘typical’ populations at various levels of mortality. Of the standard models, Model West is the most generalized and widely applicable, and it is chiefly used below.4 Table  gives mortality functions associated with Model West, level , in which life expectancy at birth is  years for females and . years for males.5 In this life table, three columns of statistics are provided for females and males aged exactly , , , and thereafter at five-year intervals until age . The first column states the probability that a person of given age will die before the next indicated birthday; thus, about sixty-two of one thousand -year-old females will die before their twentieth birthday, and about fifty-five of one thousand males. The second column shows the toll such mortality would exact on representative ‘cohorts’ of one hundred thousand newly born females and males; here the impact of high infant mortality rates is especially clear. The third column gives average life expectancy at successive ages; thus women aged  have on average about . years of life remaining, while their males counterparts have only . years. 2 See, e.g., Parkin () –. India: Coale and Demeny () – (data for ). China: Barclay et al. () – (data for –). 4 On life tables and models: Newell () –, –. On the reasons for preferring Model West for high mortality populations, see Coale and Demeny () , . 5 Coale and Demeny () . All data cited below on model life tables also derive from this volume and are used by permission of Academic Press, Inc., and Prof. Coale. 3 Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press   Table : Model West, level : a life table for the Roman empire? Females Age                      Males Mortality Cohort Life exp. Mortality Cohort Life exp. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Source: Coale and Demeny () . ‘Mortality’ is q(x), the likelihood that a person aged exactly x will die before the next indicated birthday; ‘Cohort’ is l(x), the survivors to exact age x; ‘Life Expectancy’ is e(x). A caveat is required at this point. This model life table can give only an approximate notion of normal Roman mortality experience. Because such models are based on little empirical data for levels of mortality as high as Rome’s, they are not entirely dependable, especially in two important respects: the structural relationship between juvenile and adult mortality levels, and the relative mortality levels of females and males.6 In any case, mortality within the Roman empire must have fluctuated considerably from period to period, region to region, and probably also from class to class. A range of ten years in life expectancy would not be unusual; thus, normal Roman life expectancy at birth is perhaps more satisfactorily set in a broad range from twenty to thirty years. 6 On infant mortality, see Bagnall and Frier () – n. , with further references. On sex differentials, see below. Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press  .   The best surviving ancient evidence, though it is often difficult to interpret, generally supports modern assumptions about Roman mortality. A good example of the problems with Roman sources is a schedule for calculating the tax value of annuities, a document commonly called Ulpian’s life table but in fact apparently created by imperial bureaucrats; it is preserved in a juristic text dating from the early third century .. Ulpian’s life table appears to give figures for adult life expectancy, and these figures are broadly consistent with Model West, level , in which female life expectancy at birth is . years, and male about ..7 Ulpian’s life table thus implies mortality rates even higher than those usually presumed for the Roman empire; but the statistical peculiarities of Ulpian’s schedule are so obvious that a degree of continuing scholarly caution may well be justified.8 On the other hand, much the same result emerges from what is generally conceded to be by far the best surviving demographic source for ordinary subjects of the Roman empire: the three hundred census returns, containing entries for more than eleven hundred persons, filed in Roman Egypt during the first to third centuries .. Despite uncertainties, the age distribution in the census returns strongly suggests that overall Egyptian life expectancy at birth was in the lower twenties, probably between  and  years.9 There is no reason to suppose that this result is entirely coincidental. Skeletal evidence from Roman cemeteries has rarely been subjected to accurate demographic analysis, and in any case the obstacles to determining the age and sex of skeletons remain formidable. Two well-studied fourth-century cemeteries from Pannonia do both yield mortality data that closely support Ulpian’s schedule.10 However, although close study of Roman cemeteries may eventually greatly augment our knowledge of demography, the results thus far are of limited value except as to health and the causes of death. Of exceptional importance, in this regard, are the  skeletons buried at Herculaneum when Mount Vesuvius erupted in .. ; although at best they represent only a cross-section of a well-off Italian population, they are already proving useful to demographic anthropologists.11 One final source is far more controversial. Especially in the Latin-speaking West, Romans often include on epitaphs the decedent’s age at death; this practice was almost universal in North Africa, but markedly less common in Europe. Although the corpus of surviving inscriptions is 7 Aemilius Macer ( ad Leg. Vic. Hered.), Dig. .. pref. (quoting Ulpian), with Frier (). Saller () -, summarizing recent scholarship. 9 Bagnall and Frier () –, summarizing discussion at pp. –; a low intrinsic growth rate is assumed. 10 Acsàdi and Nemeskeri () –; Frier (b). Compare Parkin () –, on palaeo11 demography; with Jackson () –, on palaeopathology. Bisel (). 8 Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press   numerically impressive (some , from Europe, an additional , from North Africa west of Egypt), gravestones are today widely and rightly treated with suspicion.12 In the case of the European inscriptions, no life table based on all or part of them is even remotely plausible. The inscriptions invariably underrecord juvenile mortality, but that could be corrected. More seriously, they grossly exaggerate mortality among young adults, evidently because the decedent’s tender years often influenced the decision to include age at death; further, the mortality rates for older adults are patently skewed by age exaggeration. Thus every portion of these epigraphic life tables is incurably biased.13 Roman North Africa is altogether different. Unlike in Europe, African epitaphs almost invariably give decedent’s age at death, so problems of selectivity in including age at death are less severe. Although the African epitaphs underrepresent juveniles, they produce credible mortality rates for males aged  to , and for females aged  to ; and, as table  shows, these mortality levels are reasonably comparable to Model South, level , in which both sexes have a life expectancy at birth of about . years.14 Male mortality virtually duplicates the model; female mortality is generally similar to the model, but significantly higher during the peak years of childbearing, ages  to  – perhaps a sign of high fertility. In later ages, however, mortality rates are artificially lowered owing to age exaggeration, a phenomenon that apparently begins somewhat later for women than for men. Since tombstones were moderately expensive, these epitaphs indicate that high levels of mortality obtained also among the urban well-to-do. Empirical evidence thus generally supports the modern consensus that average life expectancy of Romans at birth was normally about  years, or perhaps even slightly lower. . Causes of mortality The concepts of ‘stable’ and ‘stationary’ population are powerful theoretical tools in demography. If a population’s birth and death rates remain unchanged over many generations, and if migration is negligible, that population becomes ‘stable’, with a constant age-structure and rate of growth. If birth and death rates are also identical, then this stable population is also ‘stationary’; its numbers remain unchanging. Though in fact no historical society has ever been exactly stable (much less stationary), pre-modern 12 See just Hopkins () and Parkin () –. Szilagyi compiled this epigraphic evidence in AArchHung for  to  and  to . 13 Suder () unsuccessfully attempts to evade these problems. 14 Table  does not use the inscriptions from Carthage and Mauretania, which diverge from the pattern found elsewhere in Africa. Model South presupposes relatively low mortality from ages  to ; see Coale and Demeny () . Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press  .   Table  Reported mortality rates in Roman North Africa Females Age                Males Inscriptions Model South, level  Inscriptions Model South, level  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Source: African mortality rates – q(x) – calculated from statistics in Szilagyi (–), with five-year moving averages used for inscriptions giving age at death. Life table: Coale and Demeny () . populations can often be approximately described through these concepts.15 Under the conditions of Model West, level , a stable population, if it is stationary or slowly growing, will have annual death rates of about forty per thousand for women, forty-four per thousand for men; more than half of all deaths will be of children under ten. These death rates are very high; in early modern Europe the death rates were rarely higher than thirty-five per thousand.16 Death in the Roman world followed a seasonal pattern also found in the early modern Mediterranean: highest in late summer and early autumn, when infectious diseases took their heaviest toll; lowest in the cooler winter months.17 The major natural causes of death probably did not differ much from those prevailing in early modern Europe. Although many diseases have a history of their own – now virulent, now abating – the great 15 16 For details, see Bagnall and Frier () –. Wrigley and Schofield () –. Norberg () –, cf. Lassère () –; in modern populations deaths are usually highest in mid-winter. The seasonal pattern of Roman births almost exactly reverses that for deaths: Norberg () –. 17 Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press   scourges are certain to have been, first, the numerous ‘fevers’, including typhus, typhoid fever, Malta fever and malaria; second, pulmonary illnesses, especially the forms of pneumonia and tuberculosis. In normal circumstances, these causes were probably immediately responsible for around  per cent of all deaths. Also undoubtedly significant were dysentery and diarrhoea (especially for infants); cholera; gangrene; scurvy (especially in times of want); and, less frequently, rabies, tetanus and anthrax. Ancient medical writings describe most of these illnesses, though for advanced cases doctors could offer little more than comfort. The evidence for bubonic plague, measles, smallpox (before .. ), influenza and syphilis is less certain.18 Casual violence or accident, including tainted food and drink, also carried off a substantial number of Romans. A man of  from Ephesus died of a haemorrhage after drinking a massive dose of wine; an African widow records that her -year-old husband had been ‘deceived by a bull’.19 Military deaths, by contrast, were of little statistical significance in peacetime; the Roman army constituted less than  per cent of the empire’s population. Why did Roman death rates remain so high? The ineffectiveness of medical science explains little; medicine had no measurable impact on death rates until at least the early eighteenth century. Four interconnected reasons may perhaps be given for high Roman mortality.20 First, poor nutrition, conditioned primarily by the low level of real wages, rendered most Romans susceptible to illness; and although the Herculaneum skeletons show that at least the affluent were well nourished, they also provide some alarming evidence of lead poisoning. Second, sanitary standards were poor especially as to the disposal of human waste and garbage; large cities in particular remained fetid despite the spectacular feats of Roman engineers in providing fresh drinking water. (Rome alone probably produced about  million cubic metres of human waste each year, a fact worth remembering when we read of Romans bathing in the Tiber. Indeed, the medical writer Galen specifically warns against eating fish from the Tiber.) Third, Roman urbanism implied large and compact settlements linked by swift communications, and thus provided a ready network for infectious diseases to take hold and spread. Fourth, unlike early modern nation-states, the underbureaucratized Roman Empire could not or would not take the draconian measures required to quarantine and eradicate pestilence. The Roman empire’s vast expanse helped insulate its total population 18 See generally Grmek (). Ephesus: Meillier (). Africa: CIL . (‘a tauru deceptus’). On banditry, see Shaw (a). 20 These reasons are ‘extrinsic’ to the demographic structure. In section  below, it is suggested that high fertility (an ‘intrinsic’ reason) was ultimately responsible for high Roman mortality. 19 Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press  .   against ‘great crises of mortality’ caused by plague or famine; what for an early modern state would have been a national catastrophe, for the Romans was essentially a regional event, though no less severe in its consequences for local populations. The balance of food production was always precarious, and the even distribution of bulky staples like cereals was hampered by the high cost of overland transport; even in Egypt, usually a large net producer of cereals, food shortages occurred sporadically, and in most other areas of the empire they were fairly frequent.21 At Rome, pestilence erupted so frequently that literary sources pay it slight heed. Even natural catastrophes usually provoked new outbreaks; for instance, the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in  was soon followed by pestilence (perhaps cholera) in Rome.22 However, apart from vague references to widespread epidemics under Domitian and Hadrian,23 the early empire as a whole was spared a ‘pandemic’ until .. , when the army of Avidius Cassius, returning from Parthia, brought with it what was probably smallpox, now for the first time establishing a permanent foothold in the Mediterranean basin. This plague, the first of many that enervated the later empire, raged for a quarter century; in , at the height of its second outbreak in Rome, an eyewitness says it caused two thousand deaths per day.24 The Malthusian checks had begun. . The age structure and differential mortality Even in more normal times, high mortality rates produced a youngish population. In the stationary population of Model West, level , the average age is . for females and . for males; in the Egyptian census returns the average age is . for females and . for males, a fairly close match. Indeed, as table  shows, the general age distribution of the Egyptian population was quite close to the model: about  per cent of the population was less than , some  per cent was  to , and only slightly over  per cent was  or older. The same age distribution seems to be emerging among the Herculaneum skeletons. There is little firm evidence for major class-related differences in Roman mortality rates; studies of ‘differential mortality’ on the basis of epitaphs are highly problematic.25 If experience in the Americas is any guide, Roman slaves probably had lower than normal life expectancy, and the Herculaneum skeletons may confirm this; but slaves represented considerable capital investment, and hence were treated with some care even in the 21 22 23 Garnsey, Famine. Suet. Tit. .; cf. Dio, . .. Dio . ; HA Hadr. .. Dio . .–. Smallpox: Littman (). 25 E.g. Suder () –; cf. Salmon () –. See also section  below on the high mortality in larger Roman cities. 24 Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press   Table  Age distribution of Egyptian population Females (per cent) Age – – – – – – – – – Number: Males (per cent) Census returns Model West, level  Census returns Model West, level  . . . . . . . . .  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  . . . . . . . . . Source: Census returns: Bagnall and Frier ()  (figures updated). Life table: Coale and Demeny () , . Republic. Slaves may well have been better off in this respect than subsistence peasants of free status.26 At the opposite end of the social scale, it has been observed that the Roman Senate, which in the empire normally had about six hundred members, was maintained through annual entry of twenty quaestors each aged about .27 This implies a life expectancy of about thirty years for senators aged , which is consistent with a male life expectancy at birth of about thirty years (Model West, level ). Senators may thus have been somewhat more advantaged than the general population. Ironically, high status among the Romans usually meant urban residence during most of the year, and hence increased exposure to urban diseases that did not respect position. The incidence of tuberculosis among Pliny the Younger’s friends is eloquent in this regard, as is Tacitus’ report that numerous senators and equestrians died in the pestilence at Rome following the Great Fire of .28 It is also hard to make out a sex-based differential in mortality. However, comparative evidence indicates that, in the least developed pre-modern populations, males may frequently have enjoyed somewhat longer life expectancy than females, a situation that the demographic transition has since reversed. The situation in Roman Egypt, the best-documented 26 Evans (). Hopkins, Death and Renewal –; cf. Duncan-Jones, Structure – (on the album of Canusium). 28 Pliny, Ep. .., ..; Tac. Ann. ..–. On tuberculosis, cf. CIG  (Smyrna), IG 2  (Epidauros). 27 Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press  .   ancient population, is unclear on present evidence, but the census returns at least suggest that males had a similar or slightly higher life expectancy than females, so that the sexual imbalance normally prevailing at birth (about  male newborns for every  females) continued into adult life.29 If this inference is correct, then Model West, level , should be used for males, rather than level . . The perception of aging Under the conditions of Model West, level , only one newborn in eight survives to age . A Roman who reached this age was already ‘old’, senex; but the word senex was also applied to much younger people. Cicero, for instance, once describes a man of  as senex.30 The Egyptian census returns show that at least some ordinary Roman subjects were able to determine their ages accurately throughout their lives.31 The epitaphs imply, however, a more complex situation, further complicated by the fact that the ages come not from decedents but from their survivors. African epitaphs may indicate that accurate age remained part of a person’s ‘identity’ until about age . However, both in Africa and elsewhere, after age  the reports of age at death are increasingly given in multiples of five.32 In Africa this pattern of age-rounding obtains for nearly two-thirds of all epitaphs; in Rome and the European provinces the phenomenon is only slightly less pronounced. Preference for certain digits followed regional patterns throughout the empire; thus, in Africa there was also a proclivity toward ages ending in one, while two was preferred in Rome, and the Egyptians (on mummy labels) liked six. Such digit preference argues that those who erected the epitaphs either were not concerned to give exact ages, or were unsure of the decedent’s exact age, perhaps because the decedent had also been unsure. The second explanation is by no means impossible. In one especially notorious case, a well-off Egyptian landowner is repeatedly given inconsistent ages in a series of dated documents.33 For the African epitaphs, comparison with the model life tables suggests that after age  the Africans, both male and female, lived about nineteen ‘psychological years’ for every ten calendar years. Doubtless exaggeration was assisted by age-rounding, which allowed age to skip ahead by pentads. In Africa nearly  per cent of all adults are reported to have died at age  and over, and nearly  per cent are centenarians; but for a stationary population the comparable model life table gives  and  per cent, respectively. 29 30 31 33 Bagnall and Frier () –. Censorinus, D. N. ; Cic. De Or. . (of his teacher L. Licinius Crassus). Cf. Suder (). 32 Bagnall and Frier () –. Duncan-Jones, Structure –. Boak and Youtie ()  (Aurelius Isidorus, fourth century ..). Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press   Roman Africa took pride in the number of its elderly,34 and age exaggeration was doubtless more pronounced for this reason. But similar, though less extreme, exaggeration occurred elsewhere in the empire; in ..  a census of Italy’s eighth region produced a bevy of centenarians, none of whose ages are credible.35 The old lived on, venerated sincerely, if somewhat artificially, in a society where the old were rare. .  Harsh mortality rates placed a considerable burden on Roman society, and above all on the reproductive capabilities of Roman women. Literary sources, reflecting the perceptions of the status élite, often give the impression that Roman families commonly had few or no children.36 But this cannot have been generally true, since even a modest fall-off in the required birth rate would soon have caused a precipitous decline in population. . The gross reproduction rate If a population is to endure over a long period, the minimum requirement is that each generation of women replace itself. In demographic terms, the net reproduction rate (NRR) must be ., meaning that on average each woman reaching menarche bears one daughter who also reaches menarche. More useful, however, is the gross reproduction rate (GRR), a more abstract concept. It is calculated by aggregating the number of female births per living woman at various ages throughout the period of female fertility (by convention, ages  to ); it thus gives the number of daughters a woman will bear if she survives to age  and bears daughters at an average rate for women her age. When the effects of mortality on adult women are then weighed in, the GRR is converted to the NRR.37 Under the mortality conditions of Model West, level , a GRR of about . is needed for a stationary population, and a GRR of about . for a stable population growing at an annual rate of . per cent.38 This means that, if the Roman population was stationary or moderately growing, the average woman who reached menopause probably bore at least five to six children altogether. These rates are inexorable. For example, if the GRR had been not . daughters but only ., then the Roman population, when 34 Sall. Cat. ., with Lassère () –. Pliny, HN .–; Phlegon of Tralles, FGrH  F ; cf. Pliny, Ep. ... on Tifernum Tiberinum. Cf. Parkin () –. 36 See, e.g., Eyben (–), esp. , with sources. 37 On measuring fertility, see Newell () –. Fertility rates count only live births, not miscarriages or stillbirths. 38 Coale and Demeny () , assuming a mean age at maternity of .. This age is about right for Roman Egypt: Bagnall and Frier () –. 35 Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press  .   it stabilized, would have halved every century. But no modern historian contemplates a decline of such magnitude, and most suppose that the empire’s population was stationary or slowly growing. It must follow that the actual long-term GRR for the empire as a whole (though, of course, not necessarily for every class and region within it) remained close to, or exceeded, the GRR required for a stationary population. If literary sources appear to paint a different picture, they are not to be trusted. The projected GRR for the Roman empire may seem high, but it is in no respect extraordinary for a pre-modern population. For example, mideighteenth-century France, under mortality conditions closely similar to those posited for Rome, still had a GRR above . despite a late age for women at marriage; and the least-developed contemporary countries frequently have even higher fertility rates.39 The burden of this fertility was not, however, distributed equally among adult Roman women. Although non-marital fertility (including births to slaves) was not insignificant, free married women undoubtedly had considerably higher fertility rates than unmarried women, evidently because of the strong and enduring cultural link between marriage and procreation; as the doctor Soranus candidly observes, ‘women usually are married for the sake of children and succession, and not for mere enjoyment’.40 In Roman Egypt, for example, some  per cent of all births were within wedlock, but only around  per cent of all Egyptian women aged  to  were married at any one time; this implies marital fertility rates about four times higher than non-marital rates.41 The pattern of Roman fertility was chiefly determined by two factors: marriage customs, especially the age of free women at marriage and the probability that they remained married until menopause; and the methods by which fertility was controlled within the ancient world. . Marriage Roman women married early, and thus were able to bear legitimate children during all or almost all of their peak reproductive period. Close studies of epitaphs from the western empire indicate that women generally married in their late teens, although the best evidence (the shift in commemorators from parents to husbands) is necessarily somewhat indirect.42 Much the same pattern is also found in the Egyptian census returns, where it can be more exactly studied. Women begin to marry at age  or , shortly following menarche;  per cent or more have married by age , and by  39 For sources, see Bagnall and Frier () –. Soranus, Gyn. .. See, e.g., Treggiari (a) –; Dixon () –. 41 Bagnall and Frier () –, –. Non-marital fertility is concentrated mainly among slave 42 women. Shaw (b); Saller () –. 40 Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press   nearly all women are married or previously married.43 Maternity began soon after marriage; in Egypt, almost a quarter of all legitimate children were borne to mothers under age . This custom of early female marriage closely resembles that prevailing in pre-modern Mediterranean populations, and it is concordant with a marital regime in which at least the first marriage of women is usually controlled by their families. Among the Roman élite, marriageable daughters were often treated as dynastic pawns, and their first marriages were even more accelerated.44 Both inscriptions and the census returns show that men normally married somewhat later than women, usually in their mid-twenties, so that husbands were not infrequently some seven to ten years older than their wives.45 However, at least in Egypt, the male marriage pattern is more complex than the female: men marry over a longer period, and though many begin to marry in their late teens, others may remain unmarried until as late as their forties. Lifelong celibacy was rare for freeborn women; Rome had no spinster class. A survey of African epitaphs for women of marriageable age showed that, in those cases where it was possible to determine marital status, nearly  per cent were or had been married; and of those who were evidently unmarried, half were still under age .46 For female slaves and freedwomen, the problem of marriage was more complex; but many entered into informal unions (concubinage or contubernium), either with those of similar status or, less often, with their masters or patrons. Soldiers and sailors, forbidden to marry during their protracted term of service, also often resorted to concubinage.47 The frequency of concubinage meant that illegitimate children were common: in Egypt, perhaps around  to  per cent of free births, although higher locally and especially in villages. For both mother and child little social stigma attached to illegitimate birth.48 The Romans themselves were relentlessly monogamous, rarely even combining concubinage with marriage, and they also enforced reasonably strict rules against incest and incestuous marriage. Thus, in Egypt brother–sister marriage remained common (in the census returns, about one-sixth of all marriages) until the Egyptians were made Roman citizens in .. /.49 High mortality rates meant that many marriages were broken by the 43 Bagnall and Frier () –. On menarche and menopause in the ancient world, see 44 Amundsen and Diers (), (). Syme (); Treggiari (a) –. 45 46 Saller (a); Bagnall and Frier () –. Lassère () –. 47 48 Treggiari (a); Campbell (). Egypt: Youtie (). In general: Rawson (). 49 Bagnall and Frier () –; see generally Treggiari (a) –. In the West, close-kin marriages (e.g. with first cousins) were rare even though permitted: Saller and Shaw (a). Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press  .   death of one spouse; thus if a man aged  married a woman aged , the figures in table  imply better than one chance in four that one or both spouses would die within ten years. Divorce, in principle unrestricted by law and available on demand to either spouse, was evidently frequent among the upper classes, but its incidence among ordinary Romans is debated. However, in the Egyptian census returns divorces are not unusual, suggesting little social restraint on divorce among the lower classes as well.50 When marriages were broken by death or divorce, the former spouses not infrequently remarried. Among the upper classes the Augustan marriage legislation exerted pressure to remarry, and literary sources indicate that remarriage was normal, particularly for women still of childbearing age. Among ordinary Egyptians remarriage is also quite common, particularly after divorce; but women apparently seldom remarry after age , while men remarry, to increasingly younger wives, throughout their lives, and by age  all surviving males appear to be either married or previously married.51 . The fertility pattern Before the modern demographic transition, all accurately measured populations have a characteristic pattern of marital fertility rates across the years from menarche to menopause. This pattern is called ‘natural fertility’ because its age distribution – its shape – is determined almost entirely by the ordinary level of adult female fecundity (potential fertility): marital fertility rates of women decline gradually in their s and s, and then sharply in the s, as a direct function of declining fecundity as women age. Therefore the shape of marital fertility is evidently not influenced by the attempts of couples to limit family size after reaching what they consider to be a sufficient number of children. By contrast, today, in the aftermath of the fertility transition, family limitation is obviously a pervasive aspect of marriage; childbearing is usually concentrated in the early years of marriage, and marital fertility rates decline much more rapidly than does fecundity as women age.52 Although this may seem a mundane matter, recovering the age distribution of marital fertility is crucial to a deeper understanding of Roman demography. The only surviving evidence as to the Roman pattern of marital fertility comes from the Egyptian census returns, which apparently reflect a fairly stable population with a small annual growth rate. Table  gives both overall 50 Treggiari (a) –; Bagnall and Frier () –. Upper classes: Humbert () –. Egypt: Bagnall and Frier () –. 52 See Frier (), with bibliography, esp. Coale (), on both of which the discussion below draws heavily. 51 Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press   Table  Reconstructed fertility rates, Roman Egypt Reconstructed fertility rates Age – – – – – – – – Standardized fertility rates (– = ) All women Married women Egypt (married) Natural fertility                 . . . . . . . . . . . . Source: Fertility rates for all Egyptian women: Bagnall and Frier () ; rates for all married Egyptian women and natural fertility rates: Frier () . Fertility rates are expressed as annual births per one thousand women of the indicated age. and marital fertility rates derived from the reports in the census about the difference in age between a mother and her children.53 For each successive pentad of a woman’s life, the corresponding fertility rates express the annual number of births per one thousand women. The mean age of maternity in the census returns is about  years, typical of populations with natural fertility; the mean age of paternity is much higher, probably about  years, reproducing the wide age gap between husbands and wives. Graph  represents the values from table  after standardization: the fertility rate for married women aged  to  is assigned a value of , and fertility in subsequent pentads is measured as a percentage of that for ages  to . As this figure shows, marital fertility corresponds closely to the normal pattern for natural fertility. Therefore ordinary Egyptian couples, in so far as we can know of their behaviour, did not anticipate the modern fertility transition; they did not attempt to limit family size, and so women continue bearing children at a relatively high but declining rate well into their forties. Although this pattern is confirmed only for Roman Egypt, there is no appreciable likelihood that it, or a pattern closely similar to it, did not prevail generally in the Roman empire. The marital fertility rates in table  may seem surprisingly low. Even in their peak period of fertility (ages  to ), married women bear children in only one year out of every three, comparable to most Mediterranean populations before the fertility transition, but far below the highest rates that are known to be socially sustainable. The Egyptians could accept such 53 Overall fertility: Bagnall and Frier () –. Marital fertility: Frier () –. Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press  .   Graph  Egyptian fertility rates and natural fertility pattern low rates because, like almost all pre-modern populations, they distributed the heavy burden of childbirth as widely as possible among fertile women: not only did women marry early, but all, or virtually all, women married. But such low fertility rates force us to confront what is perhaps the central enigma of Roman demography: how did the Romans prevent a population explosion? . Fertility control Although the shape of the natural fertility pattern is nearly constant in premodern populations, the actual level of fertility varies extremely widely; some populations (such as the United States in the early nineteenth century) have elevated fertility levels, while others (such as rural China in the early twentieth century) have very low levels. The cause of this variation is, in the main, the relative effectiveness of controls on fertility; but, particularly within marriage, these controls do not have a modern form.54 If a population with the Roman empire’s general structure of mortality and nuptiality succeeds in maintaining a stationary or slowly growing population, the reason will lie about as much in voluntary or social restraints on maximum fertility, as in the harshness of its death rates.55 Ancient sources leave no doubt that Romans, or at least some Romans, were genuinely interested in controlling fertility through contraception and 54 See, e.g., Wood (), with a survey of modern scholarship. 55 Weiss () –. Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press   abortion. Medical writings in particular contain numerous discussions of both practices (which were often freely confounded); and neither was visited with substantial moral disfavour or legal sanction during the early empire.56 To be sure, the efficacy of the suggested methods is often open to question, although one recent study has argued strongly in their favour.57 In general, suggested abortifacients were probably more effective than contraceptives, though many such methods risked the mother’s life if not dosed exactly. But even if Romans had access to dependable methods of contraception and abortion, the more significant demographic question is how, and by whom, these methods were used.58 Here comparative evidence is decisive: within marriage, contraception and abortion, as ‘direct’ methods of fertility control, are emphatically associated with conscious family limitation and hence with the modern fertility transition. No general population is known to have practised family limitation before the fertility transition, and, as we have seen, Rome was apparently no exception. If Romans made use of contraception and abortion, they are likely to have done so primarily in the context of non-marital fertility, where the strong cultural link between marriage and procreation did not obtain.59 Non-marital fertility includes all illegitimate births to free and slave women, irrespective of whether such births result from non-marital relationships (such as concubinage or contubernium) that could have long duration. If not by contraception and abortion, then how? In pre-modern populations, marital fertility was apparently controlled, for the most part, by ‘indirect’ methods, such as breastfeeding, that act to delay post-partum pregnancy across the entire span of female fertility. These indirect methods do not limit family size, but instead ‘dampen’ fecundity in a fairly even way. Prolonged breastfeeding was clearly widespread in the Roman world; the doctor Soranus, for instance, recommends weaning after eighteen to twenty-four months. Only wealthy families made use of wet-nurses.60 In Egypt, wet-nursing contracts, which doubtless reflect normal breastfeeding practices, usually last for two years. Further, many of these contracts also enjoin the nurse from sexual intercourse, indicating that abstinence during lactation was considered desirable or even mandatory – a folk taboo that Roman doctors also commend and that is common in many traditional societies.61 In addition to direct and indirect forms of fertility control, the Romans also resorted to infanticide or exposure.62 Exposure differs from infanticide 56 The modern scholarship is extensive; see Parkin () –, summarizing the debate. 58 Riddle (). Frier () – (criticizing Riddle). 59 This is, at least, the likeliest explanation; see Alter (). 60 Soranus, Gyn. .; compare Parkin () –. On wet-nursing: Bradley () –. 61 See Bagnall and Frier () –, with further references. Post-partum abstinence is recommended by, e.g., Soranus (Gyn. .) and Galen (De San. Tuenda . .–, = CMG  ., p. ). 62 See esp. Harris (), with a survey of the massive bibliography. 57 Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press  .   in that the exposed child is given at least a theoretical chance of being taken in by a stranger – normally to be raised then as a slave. Infanticide and exposure were not commonly considered immoral, nor were they made illegal until the later empire; even the upper classes often put newborn children to death if they were deformed or unlikely to survive, and the lower classes allegedly did so also for economic motives or on the basis of sexual preference. The frequency of the practice cannot be determined, but it was plainly not negligible. Literary sources suggest that female newborns were more likely to be exposed than males; but surviving data on the sex ratio are inadequate to demonstrate any large effect of the practice.63 In any case, the Egyptian census data indicate that exposure was not used to limit families; it was perhaps more commonly associated with nonmarital fertility, including adulterous births, in cases where contraception or abortion were unavailing. Even within marriage, such direct and conscious forms of fertility control had their purposes, though not to limit family size but rather to ensure a safe interval between successive births; the dominant aim was to protect the health of the mother and of her earlier children, which were placed at risk by too close a spacing. The Romans were clearly aware of the risk.64 Large families were certainly not rare in the Roman world. The Italian woman honoured at consecutive secular games for bearing ten children was perhaps singular less for this fact than that all of them were still living; thus, an African widower records quite in passing that his wife bore him twelve children.65 But the absence of family limitation becomes apparent in the Egyptian census returns, where we can examine its consequence more concretely. The most striking feature, largely produced by the randomizing factor of heavy infant mortality, is the enormous variance in the number of surviving children. Couples with as many as eight children are attested,66 but large numbers of surviving children are infrequent. In complete or nearly complete returns, nine-tenths of married couples declare three or fewer surviving children, and the average number of children declared is less than two. Ancient sources that express preference for only two children presumably discount already for infant mortality. . The level of fertility In the end, although much can be surmised about Roman fertility, data are lacking to determine its precise level. Fertility rates in the general popula63 Parkin () –. On Egypt, Bagnall and Frier () –, –. See Gourevitch () . 65 Mart. .; CIL   (Hippo Regius). Other large families: Treggiari () –. 66 BGU   i = WChr , where Eirene gave birth at ages , , , ,  and  (the age of two other children is unknown); and doubtless there were other children, now deceased or departed. 64 Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press   tion were undoubtedly very high by modern standards; for example, in a well-studied group of female skeletons from a British cemetery, adult women had borne an average of about . children before their deaths, well above what is required to maintain a stationary population under conditions of high mortality (about .).67 But such samples are usually too small to permit generalization. But mortality levels were also so high, the Roman population was fairly delicately poised between the risks of under- and overpopulation; in this respect, of course, it resembles all pre-modern societies. What is astonishing about these societies is that, irrespective of their relative mortality levels, most had long-term intrinsic growth rates that lay between . and . per cent per year; that is, their birth and death rates were usually closely balanced, and population therefore grew slowly.68 The age distributions in the Egyptian census returns are most consistent with an annual growth rate around . per cent, sufficient to double the population every three and one-half centuries.69 Such a growth rate would not have been difficult to attain even under Roman mortality conditions, and there is no reason to believe that the early Roman empire fell short of it. However, the issue here is more complex than it may seem. In general, moderate population increase was probably conducive to growth in traditional economies, and hence, of itself, desirable. At some point, however, social conventions that mandated early and universal marriage could initiate a cruel cycle, first of population growth that outstripped resources, and then of an offsetting increase in mortality rates, until an equilibrium was eventually restored. France of the ancien regime may have approximated a society of this type: its population already probably far above optimum, its birth and death rates in any case much higher than in its northern European neighbours.70 Such a population had apparently fallen into the grip of Malthusian constraints, although exactly how this could have come to pass remains among the deep mysteries of historical demography. What should be stressed, in any event, is that this may well have been the normal fate of pre-modern populations, a fate from which only few escaped. Taken at its strongest, our evidence implies that the Roman empire was not among these lucky few. Roman mortality and fertility rates, to the extent that we can reconstruct them, are comparable to those of most traditional societies, at the high rather than the low end of the usual premodern range. Further, the Roman modes of fertility control, if viewed as 67 Wells () – (Cirencester, fourth century ..; thirteen women). In the model, average number of births per woman who reaches age  is calculated from table  by this formula: . times 68 ,, divided by female cohort survivors to age . Livi-Bacci () –. 69 Bagnall and Frier () –. 70 Wrigley and Schofield () xxiv–xxv, –, ; and see generally – on the demographic transition. (France had a late age of marriage, but very high fertility rates after marriage.) Rural China in the s may parallel Rome even more closely: Barclay et al. (). Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press  .   Malthusian preventive checks on population growth, were probably less responsive to short- and perhaps even long-term demographic changes than those used in early modern Europe. They may well have been effective in maintaining population equilibrium only after mortality had reached relatively elevated levels. For Rome, therefore, the fundamental demographic risk was probably not depopulation, but overpopulation, at any rate so long as its economy was unable to generate new resources to sustain a growing population. But literary sources of the early empire give exactly the opposite impression, that population decline was the imminent danger; and such sources seem directly reinforced by the Augustan marriage laws, which employed a variety of sanctions and rewards to encourage marriage and childbirth.71 The contradiction is probably just a function of social perspective, since literary sources are chiefly concerned with reproduction among the upper classes, who were also the main target of Augustus’ legislation. In this tiny élite, the failure to reproduce may indeed have been a pervasive difficulty; it has been observed, for instance, that three-quarters of senatorial families disappear entirely after just one generation.72 Granted relatively more favourable mortality rates in the élite, their failure to reproduce themselves is indeed problematic. The likeliest explanation is that, among the privileged, more individualistic conceptions of marriage had developed, leading to the widespread use of direct methods of fertility control (contraception and abortion) in an effort to limit family size. There are clear historical parallels for this: long before the onset of the general fertility transition in Europe, some small but affluent social groups were already consciously limiting their families.73 Upper-class attempts to ‘limit the number of their children’ (finire numerum liberorum) occasioned intense resentment. The social situation is perhaps best captured by the satirist Juvenal, who bitterly observes that poor women must inevitably give birth, while wealthy women resort to drugs inducing sterility or abortion.74 Nonetheless, the individualistic antinatalism of the privileged probably did not extend very far down the social scale; the municipal aristocracies of Italy, for instance, display remarkable continuity during the early empire.75 In the late first century .., under imperial patronage, alimentary schemes were set up providing financial subvention to parents who raised their children. These schemes were soon copied by wealthy private citizens. But the scale of such programmes was too small to have effected much, and they were mainly confined to Italy.76 71 72 73 75 Treggiari () – (Augustan laws), – (failure to reproduce). Garnsey and Saller, Empire () , –; compare Hopkins, Death and Renewal –. 74 Livi-Bacci (). Tac. Germ. .; Juv. Sat. .–. 76 MacMullen, Social Relations ,  n. . Duncan-Jones, Economy –, –. Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press   . Mortality, fertility and household structure Mortality and fertility rates operate as generalized probabilities, not as predictions for individual cases, which inevitably can vary quite widely from any norm. The large range in numbers of surviving children, discussed above, is a salutary example of this point: the toll of infant mortality fell with grievous force on some families, while leaving others unscathed. But the point has wider implications. The Egyptian census returns provide the only secure evidence as to the ordinary household size and structure in the early empire.77 In complete or nearly complete returns, the average household was smaller than might have been anticipated: about . family members. But again there is extraordinary variation. Some  per cent of attested households are of a ‘simple’ form: persons living alone, co-resident siblings, or conjugal (nuclear) families. The remaining households are of ‘complex’ form: either extended through the presence of near relatives, or with multiple coresident families. Such complex households could become extraordinarily large; the largest have upwards of twenty family members, and sometimes slaves or lodgers as well. It is likely that, in Egypt as a whole, at least threefifths of principal family members lived in complex households. This, too, was characteristic of Mediterranean populations in the early modern period. Particularly in villages, the strong preference for complex households clearly reflected cultural preferences as much as economic necessity. In the census of /, one village household, by no means unusual, registered four brothers, their wives and children, a total of nineteen persons; but a separate return shows that in the same village the four brothers owned considerable other property, including a house, left standing vacant.78 The fortuitous impact of demographic probabilities meant that households swelled and contracted erratically from generation to generation. Conjugal families, for instance, almost always are not young couples with their children; rather, they result from attrition, through the death of parents and other near kin, and so the couple are usually at least middleaged. In a few cases where we have successive census returns from the same household, it is clear that a family could experience difficulty reproducing itself into the next generation.79 On the other hand, because parents, too, might fall victim to high mortality, orphans were not rare; and it is actually common for households to contain children, even adult offspring, from former marriages. In one remarkable household, a family of renters from 77 The data in this section derive from Bagnall and Frier () –; see also Saller () –, 78 on generalizing from Egypt. Sample size is  households. PBrux  , . 79 In a stationary population about  per cent of all families will have no natural heir, and a further  per cent will have a daughter or daughters only, irrespective of the prevailing mortality level. Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press  .   Arsinoe, the couple has living with them not only their own daughter, but an adult son and daughter from the husband’s two prior marriages (these half-siblings have married), plus the wife’s son and daughter from her prior marriage.80 In short, the most salient characteristics of Roman households are likely to have been, ironically, their irregularity and unpredictability over time; familial dislocation was a more or less inevitable aspect of life, and many Roman social and legal institutions reflect the attempt to plan for such vagaries.81 From this perspective, it is misleading to think in terms of a typical ‘life cycle’ of the Roman family. . Reproduction among slaves For Roman demography, the institution of slavery presents a special problem. By law, the offspring of a slave woman were slaves themselves, the property of her owner; and birth is accordingly recognized as one means whereby people became slaves. But the relative importance of birth as a source of slaves is not easy to assess. Slaves could not marry, and Roman law also did not recognize the legitimacy of informal slave unions (contubernia); but such unions did receive at least a degree of social recognition and respect, and they are often mentioned in inscriptions. Still, it remains deeply problematic whether, in general, the slave population reproduced itself naturally.82 In Roman Egypt, slave families are rarely detectable in our sources; yet the census returns, where slave mothers are usually listed with their children, show that masters expected their adult female slaves to bear children, and that female slaves often did so. For this reason, female slaves were not commonly manumitted while still of childbearing age. Rough statistics indicate that slave fertility was probably about the same as that of all free women, though well below that of free married women. 83 .  The third principal demographic component is migration. The early empire erected few formal barriers to the movement of population within its borders, and it is clear from literary works (such as the Satyricon) and from inscriptions that mobile segments of the population took advantage of this fact. Further, to some extent the empire itself remained receptive to outsiders, although their immigration was often involuntary. During the first 80 81 82 83 PTebt   (= Sel Pap  ), census of .. /. Bradley () –; Saller (); Krause (). See Harris (b) –; Bradley (). On contubernium: Treggiari (b). Bagnall and Frier () –. Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press   two centuries .., migration probably worked to the general advantage of the western Mediterranean. To be sure, the numbers involved were undoubtedly small in the short run; the huge mass of the population remained attached by tradition, though not yet by law, to the soil of its birth. Yet the balance between mortality and fertility was so delicate that in the long run the transfer of even small numbers could have significant effects. . Within the empire If we leave to one side the geographic movement of the political élite to and from Rome, there were three main avenues of internal migration during the early empire. The first was military colonization.84 After Actium, Augustus had undertaken extensive resettlement of his veterans in strategically situated colonies throughout the empire. His successors continued these efforts, though at a reduced pace and with the more specific aim of settling empty or undercultivated areas; accordingly, the great majority of new post-Augustan colonies were in the West, and in some areas, such as Africa, they played a major role in urbanization.85 However, veterans generally disliked such enforced colonization, and under Hadrian the programme lapsed; veterans now settled mainly in the region of their service or retirement. Nonetheless, periodic movements of troops still effected some migration; a good and unusually well-documented example is the Syrian cohort that in  took up residence in Pannonia on the Danube.86 The second major avenue of migration involved the empire’s commercial and intellectual classes. Inscriptions make clear their drift towards the western Mediterranean. For example, onomastic studies of African inscriptions reveal large numbers of Syrians, Jews and other easterners who were not yet assimilated;87 and similar evidence has emerged in Italy, Gaul and Spain. Most of these immigrants were presumably drawn westward in hope of gain, and they are accordingly concentrated especially in port cities; but the wealth of the imperial capital was a powerful magnet also to educated Greeks, as Lucian’s essay ‘On Salaried Posts in Great Houses’ candidly acknowledges. This network of easterners settled in the West was crucial in spreading eastern religions, including Christianity. The third major avenue of migration was the flow of slaves. Slaves are a highly mobile form of capital, and it is not surprising to find evidence for their widespread dispersion in all directions across the Mediterranean; however, since slaves often received new names from their masters, onomastic studies of the slave trade are not easy. Literary sources indicate, 84 87 85 Mann Recruitment. Lassère () –. Lassère () –. 86 Fitz (). Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press  .   usually in moralistic terms, that the great majority of household slaves in Rome were of ‘eastern’ origin (usually Anatolians or Syrians); and in fact the numerous epitaphs from Rome record about twice as many freedmen (most vaguely ‘eastern’) as freeborn citizens.88 The Orontes was flowing into the Tiber, so Juvenal put it. A similar but less pronounced pattern is found throughout Italy and the western provinces, especially in port cities. To be sure, epigraphic evidence may significantly overrepresent the proportion of freedmen in the general population; but heavy migration of slaves from East to West is in any case evident, and it undoubtedly overwhelmed migration in the opposite direction.89 . Across the empire’s borders The imperial army, stationed chiefly along the Rhine–Danube frontier to the north-east and on the Armenian and Parthian frontier to the east, engaged in more or less continuous skirmishes; since enslavement was the usual fate of prisoners, it is not unlikely that –, slaves per year entered the empire by this route.90 Major wars dramatically increased the number of military slaves. An eyewitness states that Trajan’s Dacian campaigns yielded more than half a million slaves; this is doubtless exaggerated, but we have good evidence that the suppression of the Jewish revolt in  produced , slaves, and in  the defeat of Simon Bar Kochba’s revolt caused a glut in local slave markets.91 Further, Roman slave traders continued to operate across the frontiers; their efforts perhaps equalled the normal influx of slaves from military sources. A majority of these slaves doubtless ended up in the West. Augustus made fairly extensive efforts to populate the area inside the north-eastern frontier by resettling large groups of tribesmen from beyond it.92 Later Julio-Claudians continued the policy fitfully; in  Claudius allowed a Suebian king and his dependants to settle in Pannonia, and in  a governor of Moesia resettled within his province at least , Germans from across the Danube.93 Thereafter the practice apparently lapsed for a century, until in about  Marcus Aurelius revived it by resettling the Marcomanni.94 The emperor may have been motivated by depopulation following the plague of ; in the later empire resettlement was a frequent imperial response to underpopulation. Finally, some thinly settled areas at the empire’s periphery were annexed after .. : Britain, Nabataea and Dacia. None of these is likely to have 88 91 92 93 94 89 90 Taylor (). Harris (b) –. Harris (b) . Lydus, Mag. .; Joseph. BJ .; Chron. Pasc. . Dindorf. Strab. .. (p. ), .. (p. ); Suet. Aug. .; Tac. Ann. ... Tac. Ann. ..; ILS . See also Ste Croix, Class Struggle –. Dio .., ; HA Marc. ., .. Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press   had more than a few hundred thousand inhabitants at the time of annexation. Rome’s shifting border with Armenia and Parthia can be ignored for present purposes. .  The Roman demographic structure, though undeniably harsh by modern standards, posed no obstacle to modest population growth. Most of human history has been lived under conditions of mortality not unlike Rome’s. Where peace, prosperity and freedom from general epidemic have obtained, populations of the past have normally experienced a modest measure of sustained growth; there is no reason to believe that the Roman empire’s population did not grow similarly. The following section hypothetically reconstructs the pattern of such growth in the early empire. . Regions and cities The starting-point must be Julius Beloch’s famous attempt to estimate the population of the empire and its regions in .. , the year of Augustus’ death.95 Beloch believed that the empire then contained about  million persons who were fairly evenly balanced between the Greek East, with  million inhabitants, and the Latin West, with  million. The East, however, was far more densely settled than the West. By and large, Beloch’s prudent estimates have stood up extremely well to subsequent criticism.96 The main difficulty is his estimate for Anatolia and greater Syria, to which Beloch assigned a combined population of  million; this figure is incredible, since it requires a population density not achieved again until the twentieth century. A figure of about  million is considerably more plausible.97 Otherwise, the likeliest modifications of Beloch’s estimates have produced only a small cumulative downward effect on his total. Table , based on one recent set of regional estimates for the empire,98 suggests that in ..  the total population was slightly more than  million persons, of whom about  million resided in the East and  million in the West. These estimates imply that the entire Roman empire had an average population density of . inhabitants per square kilometre, obviously very low by modern standards; but the population density in the 95 Beloch () . Beloch’s later upward revision of these figures () is considerably less cred- ible. 96 Summarized in Salmon () –. For a recent critique, see Lo Cascio (), with further bibliography. Aggrandizing estimates of ancient population often tacitly accept the hoary fallacy that more is better; contrast the justified caution of Rathbone (), on Egypt. 97 Russell () –. Beloch’s estimates for Spain and Africa were also on the high side; cf. CharlesPicard () –, and Balil (). 98 McEvedy and Jones (); these estimates also closely resemble those of Russell (). Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press  .   Table : An estimate of the empire’s population in A.D.  Area ( km2) Population (millions) Density (per km2) Greek East: Greek peninsula Anatolia Greater Syria Cyprus Egypt Libya Total: ,. ,. ,. ,11. ,1. ,1. ,. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Latin West: Italy Sicily Sardinia/Corsica Maghreb Iberia Gaul/Germany Danube Region Total: ,. ,1. ,1. ,. ,. ,. ,. ,. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Roman empire: ,. . . Sources: Land area: Beloch () . Population estimates: McEvedy and Jones (), except that somewhat higher values are used for Anatolia, Greater Syria, Egypt and Italy. Land areas include client kingdoms annexed soon after .. . The Greek peninsula comprises the modern territories of Greece, Albania and Turkey in Europe. Greater Syria includes Lebanon and Palestine. East was almost twice that in the West. Only Italy and Sicily had achieved a population density comparable to that generally obtaining in the East. Since at this date annual gross national product per capita is likely to have been about  sesterces, the Roman Empire’s national product in ..  was about  billion sesterces, equivalent in commodities to , tonnes of gold. Comparative data from other pre-industrial economies suggest that, of this national product, probably less than half was monetized and about  per cent derived from agriculture, in which at least three-quarters of the workforce are likely to have been employed. Slaves may have constituted up to  per cent of the empire’s population, thus as many as  million persons; but the proportion of slaves was considerably higher in Italy, lower in Egypt and North Africa.99 99 Statistics in this paragraph derive from Goldsmith () –, except that a lower estimate of total population is employed. Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press   The Roman empire was a network of cities; as many as a sixth of its inhabitants resided in several thousand cities, a degree of urbanization that is unusually high by pre-modern standards. By ..  Rome, the imperial capital, had at least , inhabitants, more than a tenth of Italy’s population, and in the following century it may have reached  million; Rome was larger than any Western city would be until the nineteenth century.100 The empire could support only one such city; other large cities numbered only a few hundred thousand (Alexandria, Antioch, later Carthage), or less. Most cities were much smaller, usually only –, persons of whom many resided outside the city itself;101 still, the cumulative population of these cities must have been at least – million. Further, small size gave such cities a social stability that larger ones lacked; all the great cities of antiquity, with their fetid conditions and high mortality rates, were heavy net consumers of population.102 . Growth and decline What happened to the Roman empire’s population after .. ? Clearly there was room for growth, above all in the thinly settled West; and although the population of Italy apparently remained stagnant, elsewhere archaeology has provided conclusive evidence for growth, especially in Africa, Spain and Gaul.103 Exact figures cannot be known, but table  is an attempt to suggest what the Roman population might have looked like in .. . This table derives from a computer simulation using two reasonable assumptions. The first is that the population in both halves of the Mediterranean grew at a fairly constant annual rate of . per cent during the century and half from ..  to ; this rate, though very low, would double the population every . centuries.104 The second assumption is that, on average, a net of , persons migrated each year from East to West, and that , slaves also entered the empire each year, of whom three-quarters ended up in the West. These rough calculations were periodically revised to reflect territorial annexations (though not the shifting imperial border east of Syria), resettlement of barbarians within the empire, and all major known disasters including natural catastrophes, famines and plagues; the numbers obviously involve much guesswork, but on the whole they have little impact on overall population figures. In this simulation, the Roman empire’s population reached a peak of about  million persons in .. ; the Mediterranean basin would not regain that level until the sixteenth century. The figure is obviously hypothetical, but on any even remotely plausible assumptions the empire’s 100 101 102 Brunt () –. Duncan-Jones, Economy –. See just Scobie (). Africa: Lassère () –; the three Gauls: Drinkwater () –; also Frere, Britannia 104 –, on Britain. A rate of this order is supported by the Egyptian census returns. 103 Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press  .   Table : An estimate of the empire’s population in A.D.  Population (millions) Density (per km2) Increase from ..  (per cent) Greek East: Greek peninsula Anatolia Greater Syria Cyprus Egypt Libya Total: Annexations Total: . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . — . . . Latin West: Italy Sicily Sardinia/Corsica Maghreb Iberia Gaul/Germany Danube Region Total: Annexations Total: . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . — — . . . . . Roman empire: . . . Roman Pop. reattained in: } }           Source: Modern population: McEvedy and Jones (). population reached  million persons, and – million is a much likelier estimate. Table  represents, on a highly provisional basis, how this growth in population may have been distributed. Significant growth was probably confined to the major peripheral provinces of the western empire, which gradually assumed a density comparable to that of Italy and the Greek East. This steady shift westward in the balance of the empire’s population was in this theory accomplished entirely by migration; therefore, if it were assumed that the intrinsic growth rate in the heavily populated East was lower than in the West, the shift in population would be still more pronounced. Even on the assumption of equal intrinsic growth rates, the East’s population remained virtually stagnant, growing only  per cent in a century and a half; the West increased at a rate more than three times as high, with positive implications for economic Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press   growth as well.105 This shift westward in population, made possible by Rome’s political unification of the Mediterranean, was doubtless the most important and enduring demographic achievement of the Roman empire. The empire’s rising population might eventually have provoked a rise in the cost of basic foodstuffs, at any rate after land in the West came under more intensive cultivation. In Egypt the rise is clear: the median price of wheat rose by about half from the first to the second century ..106 Elsewhere in the empire the phenomenon is far less securely attested, but seems to have been similar. Rising food prices, if (as is likely) they were not offset by an equivalent rise in real wages, ought to have pauperized an increasing portion of the populace, but there is little reliable evidence for this, and in particular no clear evidence that pauperization was acute enough to cause decreased nuptiality and fertility, the preventive Malthusian checks on population growth. This happy situation endured for one hundred and fifty years. By ..  the Roman empire probably embraced about a fifth of all persons then living. In land area and population, the Roman empire all but duplicated the Eastern Han empire in China, where a census of ..  registered nearly  million persons.107 Ten years later a Roman ‘legation’, probably comprised of merchants, arrived in the Han capital, symbolizing the quickening tempo of Rome’s contacts with South Asia. Such contacts may well have caused a spill-over between hitherto isolated ‘disease pools’, a spill-over that in  unleashed upon the Roman empire a dreadful plague.108 Fifteen years later, as he lay dying, Marcus Aurelius directed his friends to mourn not him, but rather the general pestilence and death. The demographic consequences of the plague should not be exaggerated, but were clearly severe.109 Literary sources, among them eyewitnesses such as Galen and Dio, attest the plague in Egypt, Syria, Asia Minor, Greece, Italy, Gaul and Germany; they also stress its heavy toll on human life both in cities and on the land, its persistence and recurrence, and the widespread famines and that broke out in its wake. The disease, probably smallpox, ‘behaved as infections are wont to do when they break in upon virgin populations that entirely lack inherited or acquired resistances. Mortality, in other words, was heavy.’110 As much as  per cent of the empire’s total population may have 105 Duncan-Jones (). Table  is very tentative; recent archaeological evidence suggests, for instance, that the population of the Hellenistic East may have grown more than this model allows. 106 Duncan-Jones, Structure –. Real rentals and wages probably did not keep up: Muth (). In pre-modern societies,  per cent or more of average household income is usually spent on food, so the price of grain is of crucial importance. 107 108 On world and Chinese population: Durand () , . McNeill () –. 109 Gilliam (); Salmon () –. Economic effects: Duncan-Jones, Structure –. 110 McNeill () ; see also Hopkins () –. Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press  .   perished in the plague; in cities and military camps the percentage was perhaps twice as high.111 The plague would thus have undone about half a century of slow growth. The Roman empire was not dealt a mortal blow; but this sudden population drop ushered in, or immensely complicated, a host of social and economic problems, to cope with which a new dynasty was ultimately required. 111 These estimates are from Littman () –. On Egypt, see Rathbone () –. Cambridge Histories Online © Cambridge University Press, 2008 https://doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521263351.028 Published online by Cambridge University Press