Roman Politics

So it’s political season here and I’m bored. So I’m going to write one of those epically long diatribes where your eyes glaze over and you comment ‘tldr, Tom.’

But stay tuned, you might learn something. Remember the Romans? What have they ever done for us, right? Well, apart from the one, possibly two most could actually name, quite a bit.

They gave us this political ladder candidates are frantically trying to climb right now. But back in the good old glory days of the Republic, there was an actual ladder and an order you had to do these things in. It was called the cursus honorum, the course of honour. Or ladder of offices, casually.

And you couldn’t just jump into it. You think not being allowed to vote at eighteen is hard? How does ten years in the military before you’re even allowed to stand for political office sound?

Yup, that’s right, you want to go into politics you had to do your time in the trenches, ten years of it, and be at least thirty. Unless you were a patrician, because the patriarchy is a thing, where you were allowed to shave two years of that number. Actually the patricians were the aristocrats, the nobles, the big important families of Rome. The more you know.

So after ten years fighting on the front line having crazy Gauls hopped up on acid trying to bash your face in you were allowed to apply for the coveted position of…Quaester.

A quaestor is an accountant. You got to be a bean counter. But at least no one was trying to kill you, right? And you got to wear a fancy toga. Seriously, it came with a fancy toga.

After a quaestor the next job you wanted was to be an Aedile. But here’s the catch, you had to wait until you were thirty-six. And that cushy government job you landed at thirty? You were only allowed to hold it for a year and it was illegal to repeat it.

But aedile was something to look forward to. They were something like super intendants, responsible for the public buildings, the food and water of Rome, the temples and overseeing the festivals and games. So yes, they were the party planners of the Roman world.

In addition to the most fashionable of togas, aediles got a few other perks. Something called imperium, which is essentially authority. Which other Romans had to respect. And starting from the rank of aedile and up they got minions. Plebs. Referred to as lictors who carried big fancy sticks, quite literally for making people respect their boss’s authority. Each aedile got two lictors to follow him around.

After aedile comes Praetor, and we’re getting some serious authority here. You also had to be thirty-nine. If you’re doing the math it means that missing out on an office the first time it comes around means you have to wait that much longer for the one after, because there’s those stand down periods. Meaning it was quite a big deal to be a suo anno, in your own year, the over achiever who gets the promotion as soon as he’s eligible for it. We all know who they are.

Praetors had two main roles. One was as a military commander, the other was as a judge. Quite a powerful combo don’t you think? Praetors also got six of the lictors each to assist them. After serving as a praetor former holders of this quite significant position would be dispatched through the Republic as provincial governors, known as pro-praetors. Oh yes, and their togas were very fancy.

Next up, and theoretically final step on the ladder, was the office of consul. You had to be forty-two, minimum. And there were only two elected in a year. No more, no less. And according to law, which is always right, you could only ever hold this position twice. The rule of two. And you had to wait ten years between runs. Fun fact, that year would be referred to as the year of ‘You-and-that-other-guy-who-was-also-a-consol.’ At this point you are most definitely a big deal.

As a consul you got sixteen of the fancy stick men, authority and the fancy toga. Oh, and two legions of Roman soldiers. You set the political political agenda for Rome, commanded armies, alternated with your buddy consul as chairman of the senate and could overrule any official in the Roman world. Except your fellow consul, which meant you always had to agree on what you were doing. Otherwise…stalemate. Although there was one other person a consul could not overrule.

Remember how I was throwing the word pleb around? It’s a bit of an insult, if used at all. Really it means commoner. The Roman body of citizens was roughly divided into two groups, patricians and plebians. The plebians were the common folk, the great seething unwashed mashes who didn’t get a vote. Well, except the did. They had their own Plebian Council and it was acknowledged and recognised by the lofty Patrician Senate. And they had their own rep, the Tribune of the Plebs.

So here’s how that worked. The Tribune was considered sacrosanct. What does that mean? It actually means the legal right to be protected from physical harm. It meant the right to intercede on behalf of any plebeian against any patrician, including the consul. That’s right, this guy could go in and veto the consuls themselves. Not bad for Joe-Lucinius-Averagus. And it came with the bonus right of exercising capital punishment against anyone who interfered with them carrying out their duties. A tribune wasn’t allowed to be more than a day’s journey from the city at any time and their house was considered a 24-7 office hours location. But the position was held in such regard they didn’t get any of the stick wielding bodyguards the patricians needed. Nobody messed with the Tribune of the Plebs.

There is one last position that might surprise you in this political rat race. It’s called Dictator. Didn’t you ever wonder where the term came from? Well, thank the Romans. Thanks Romans, for giving us dictators. It was an actual political office bestowed on people in times of severe crisis. Like…being invaded. Civil war. You ran out of grape juice for the upcoming Eleusian Mystery ecstatic rites. That sort of thing.

Here’s what being a dictator got you. For six months (because the Romans weren’t stupid) you got twenty-four of the stick lictors. Twenty-four. Your imperium authority was absolute in both civil and military matters. No one could veto what you said, not even that pleb guy. You didn’t have to listen to the Senate, any law could be ignored for the duration of the office and any person could be put to death, without trial, on your say-so, with the only proviso this was in the interest of carrying out whatever duties necessitated the appointment of a dictator. Not that it mattered, because one of the provisos was that no dictator could legally be held responsible for any actions taken while they held the role. Ever.

You’ve got six months. What do you do?

At some point the Romans, with all their checks and balances in their political systems, their vetos and stand downs and spacing out magisterial appointments, conceded that maybe this was quite a lot of authority to give to any one person. Who knew what they might do with it? So the position was abolished in 44 BC, shortly after the death of the last person to hold the title.

In case you were wondering, that would be one Gaius Julius Caesar.

Politics, am I right?