I just finished Tom Holland’s excellent book on history of the demise of the Roman Republic called Rubicon. Anyone interested in the perils of our imperiled republic would do well to read it also.
What could lead the proudest, most stubbornly democratic and independent group of people in the history of the world to fall in line behind an Emperor effectively surrendering all power to him? This is the difficult question that Holland poses. He artfully works you toward his answer. Characters such as Marius and Sulla, Cicero and Cato, Pompey and Caesar are all explored.
Roman success is actually the first problem. The Rome of the early Republic was a place of virtue and class. Patricians ruled, gave patronage and expected obedience. Romans struggled to be the greatest. Men bent their bodies and pens and armies to do their duty, out think their foes, or conquer new lands. Everyone struggled to the top. Eventually, however, Roman armies filled the city with gold. Suddenly, the amounts of money at play in Roman politics tempted those with it to buy office and to buy justice (or receive reprieve from charges).
As money flowed in, vices replaced virtues. The sections of the book dealing with Roman luxury read like a chronicle of today’s lifestyles of the rich, famous, and infamous. Senators drilled holes through mountains to get salt water from the sea for their prize fishes. People begin eating and craving things that were unspeakable. Sexual promiscuity became the rage of gossip amongst the highest families.
Politics became polarized—viciously polarized. Street gangs were used to strike fear into the heart’s of Senators. These groups reminded me in an eerie way of political pressure groups in our day. Politicians stopped acting in the interest of the people and began acting in their own (or their fabulously wealthy patron’s) interest.
The army was also divorced from the populace. Caesar’s men became loyal to him—not to the Republic or its ideals. Pompey’s were the same. The Republic had lost its force as a vision that held men to a common purpose. When this was lost, the greatest men began to serve their own glory in a sum game that ended at the Rubicon, the creek that marked the territory of Italy proper. Generals were forbidden to cross the Rubicon with an army. As Caesar contemplates casting his dice, one can see (from the previous story) why he will do, why he must do, what he does next.
Moral decadence and political polarization leads to chaos. This chaos is crushed down by factions—usually led by generals with troops loyal first to them. This chaos drives people from the city, leads to mass murders, and makes life both unpredictable and, at points, savage. When this happens, people begin to be willing to give away any and all freedom if they can just have safety. When Brutus finally murders Caesar believing him (rightly) to be the final murderer of the Republic, he walks through the Forum with his bloody dagger raised. He is proud that he has murdered a tyrant—just as his ancestor, the original Brutus, chased the last king from the city. Brutus thought that the people would rise to greet him with cheers because he was restoring the Republic. Instead, they ran to their shops boarded up the windows and fled. They believed that a new round of chaos and civil war was about to begin (they were right). During times of chaos, people stop clinging to freedom and only always want peace.
Republics die because they lose force in the imagination of their citizens. In Rome, the Republic eventually became for people a symbol of prosperity and pride. It ceased to be, however, what it was meant to be—a way of life that challenged men to bear responsibility for their actions, limit their government, and live as free men. When this later view of the “republic” ceases, it is a matter of time before tyranny (usually at first subtly) replaces freedom.
Rubicon is a chilling reminder for those of us living in a republic that looks more like Rome every day.
