AD HONOREM SODALIS: TWO LAMBLIKE HORNS ON THE FIRST BEAST
- Mar 17, 2023
- 7 min read

It is true for individuals as for nations that self-strife, correctly waged, always begets the best of self. Not all was so rosy with the young and fledgling Roman republic, but with all its intestinal conflicts, two aspects shine out from that early period which we shall agitate as markers for her future glory. Edward Gibbon well taught us that without artificial help, human memory soon dissipates or corrupts the ideas entrusted to her charge. This artificial help, said he, was none other than the art of writing, which in all history has always clearly delineated Barbarian races from the Civilized. This art allows for the expression of thought in far more sophisticated ways than speech, ennobling the faculties with the privilege and power for precise reflection. This power has many sons, one of whom goes by the name of Progress. In this regard, the state of law at Rome was a woeful mess, heavily favoring the rich ruling Patrician families and doubtlessly oppressing the Plebs. Such injustice was among the grievances laid out during the secession of the Plebs and which was not adequately catered for by the concessions made thereafter. A new generation had come of age and demanded further protection from the ever present danger of Patrician tyranny. At the time, no one knew exactly what the law of Rome was since it was gigantic mass of oral and written tradition. This new Plebian agitation would eventually lead to the establishment of a set code of Roman law famously known as the twelve tables.
Not until coins were first popularized in 451bc as a medium of exchange, and the resultant economic crash threatened to burgeon Plebian concerns into Plebian revolt, that the Patrician senate decided to act on the matter. It was decided that the consular power for the next year would be transferred to a body of ten men, called the Decemvirate, whose main task will be to collect and condense Roman law into a single code which shall be published on bronze tablets and in the forum for all to see. Unfortunately the contents of the twelve tables have been lost to history and all we can work with are occasional references from later Roman authors. From this queer and antique piece of literature we find codified for the first time, many of the principles enshrined in the laws of modern democratic and free societies. For example in the ninth table we find specific prohibition against the passage of laws against individuals, while the the first table establishes the sanctity of the subpoena, the requirement to appear before a court. The tables covered a whole range of matters and its tedious writ showed just how scrupulous the Roman mind could be with regard to law. A most interesting law was however hidden somewhere in the ninth table, which stated that no Patrician was allowed to marry a Plebian. This of course was wildly unpopular since only Patricians could become senators and thereby had access to the riches of provinces and to power at Rome. This effectively capped on any social mobility for majority of the population and would prove to be the undoing of the Roman republic 350 yrs later when Caesar rises to power.
The twelve tables were the foundation of later Roman law, and was at the time memorized by all Romans, literate or not. This move to thus codify law was not an invention of Romans neither was it unique to them, but it did admit Rome into that select group of nations that valued the objectivity of the law above the subjectivity of capricious rulers.
The second aspect worthy of our consideration is best explained by means of juxtaposition to its undeserving extreme opposite. During the year when the Decemvirs were in office, they held ultimate authority, the unbroken chain of consular elections had been broken and effectively a new form of government had briefly been ushered in. The republic had so far got used to two Consuls at the helm, now there were ten men, and as is nature’s custom, among those ten equal men, one was more equal than the others. Apius Claudius came from a family of staunch Patricians and was a lauded enemy of just about any Plebian reform. According to the law, the Decemvirs were to disband after completing their allotted work. Claudius however, managed to influence his colleagues to stay in office and continue enjoying the ever seductive trappings of power. When the time for consular elections arrived, the Decemvirate simply barred anyone from standing for office and no elections were held. This of course led to a constitutional crisis. The people were somewhat powerless against the face of this shameless power grab, for by law all judicial authority had been bestowed upon the Decemvirate.

Ironically, thanks to human inclination to lust, the body of men who first laid down the laws were the first to break them. Weeks of political impasse passed until Claudius crossed the line in his punch drunk enjoyment of absolute power. Claudius had his eye on a beautiful Plebian girl who was betrothed to a young army officer and in order to obtain her, he declared out of the blue, that the young girl was an escaped slave girl owned by one of his clients and that she must be returned. Even by the standards of the most wretched of men with wealth and power, this was a bogus ruse. A hearing was called to decide the case, and a convincing majority of witnesses testified to the free-born status of the damsel. It is no wonder then that the people were shocked when Claudius, who oversaw the trial, ruled that the girl was indeed a runaway slave. A riot broke out, and the army, favourable to the young officer robbed of his wife, joined in. The People abandoned the city, and the Decemvirs finally resigned. Claudius was arrested but rather than face trial, he committed suicide. Order soon returned to Rome followed close behind by the much anticipated consular elections.
In contrast to this example, is the story of a man so famous for willfully laying down absolute power that American settlers, so enamored by his legend, named a town after him. Cincinnatus, after whom Cincinnati is named, comes down in history as that great symbol of Republican virtue. His is the story of an simple cabbage farmer who had absolute power thrust upon him and after its just use freely relinquished it and returned to his plough. Cincinnatus was born to a generation that knew not the kings of Rome. This is quite important, since before his time the republic was kept together by a collective living memory of the tyranny of kings. All his elders were people who had lived under the kings but when his generation would come of age, the republic, having then lost to the grave its collective memory of previous monarchical tyranny, would have to sink or swim on its own merit. As with the children of Israel who forgot God with every passing generation, Rome would be bound to forget the reason it was a republic. This would afford her the first true test, and vigilance born of love for the republic, not hatred for kings would suffice to safeguard her freeborn existence.

Cincinnatus was however not at first a simple cabbage farmer. He was born and raised a Patrician, and his early political career was as was with all Patricians, opposition to the power of Plebian Tribunes. We find him a wealthy politician with an unruly son who never misses a fight and always enjoys a brawl. It is because of these violent antics that the record picks him at his son’s pre-trial, judiciously defending his son against a Tribune. Rather than face an unfair trial, Caso, son to Cincinnatus, jumped ship and fled from Rome, leaving his father to pay bail which then left him bankrupt and the possessor of nothing but a small farm.

It is from this impoverished state that Cincinnatus’ own legend begins. In 460 bc, Cincinnatus was chosen to serve as one of the two consuls for that year. The Tribunes were obviously less than thrilled with this development, realizing that they had made an enemy of this man by going after his son, and now he was in a position of power over them, and this animosity set the tone for that year. No Tribune bill was passed and in turn, the Tribunes limited the military scope of the consuls that year. By the end of the year no compromise had been reached and this battle was set to go on for the next, however the senate with prophetic vision, passed a law stating that no magistrate, Patrician or Plebian shall serve successive years. The Tribunes dismissed this off the bat, and had themselves re-elected while the Patricians in response were set to reconfirm Cincinnatus when he announced that if they were to act no better than the Plebs, then, they were no better than the Plebs, and refused to stand for office. Reluctantly, the Patricians allowed Cincinnatus to retire to a small farm.
Not long after was he recalled from his farm to take up the role of dictator. Unlike the modern interpretation, dictatorship was another beautiful, I should say ingenious Roman invention, which only became viable at a time of great national danger and was an office occupied through popular election. This rule made it possible for Rome to circumvent the tedious bureaucracy that is the Achilles heel of democracy in times of existential peril. Checks and balances are good, but they are also heavy. In fact, Cincinnatus became dictator four times, and not once did he cling to power after the passing of danger, nor did he act out his revenge against the Tribunes who caused his financial downfall. This testimony above all else is the reason why his legend lives till today. A dictator was given full judicial and administrative authority over the whole of Rome. He essentially had the power of life or death over anyone in Rome. Most men and especially later men indeed were not able to resist the temptation, but Cincinnatus did and, on multiple occasions. More startling, after all of it, he simply went back to his cabbages and his farm much like George Washington would centuries later, himself a patron of the Order of Cincinnatus.


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