Samuel Damren
This is the third commentary in a series examining Niccolo Machiavelli’s analysis of challenges facing free governments, past and present, and his admonitions regarding the steps needed to preserve critical institutions.
The last commentary discussed the creation and role of consuls and tribunes in ancient Rome. One consul was selected by Senate nobles and another by the plebeian assembly. The role of the consuls, described by Machiavelli in “Discourses on the Ten Books of Livy,” was to jointly propose laws, enforce laws supporting the integrity of public forums and other actions.
The consuls also had authority to “indict citizens when they commit any kind of offense against free government” and “to punish those who make false accusations.”
But what happened when the consuls could not agree, yet a response was required to address an imminent substantial threat to the Republic?
In those instances, Roman law provided for appointment of “dictatorial authority,” which in Machiavelli’s estimation, “did good, not harm, to the Roman Republic.”
Dictatorial authority only applied to actions taken to address a defined and substantial threat. It only existed for the duration of the threat and required the dictator to return the Republic to its previous good order. It was crucial, according to Machiavelli, that a dictator be appointed “according to public orders, and not by his own authority.”
The duration of the appointment was generally limited from six months to one year.
Machiavelli cites the appointment of former general Lucius Cincinnatus as an exemplary example of the implementation of this law. In 458 B.C., Cincinnatus, then retired at “his small farm, which he worked with his own hands,” was appointed dictator to protect Rome when it was “under siege.”
Cincinnatus assembled an army and thereafter “routed and plundered the enemy” in 16 days. He then abdicated the dictatorship and returned home.
Notably, from Machiavelli’s perspective, Cincinnatus delivered the plunder to the Republic instead of distributing it to the troops with the aim of acquiring their personal loyalty.
Machiavelli contrasts this exercise of dictatorial authority with the later actions of Julius Caesar. After being named in public orders to conduct wars in Britain and Gaul, Caesar repeatedly violated the restrictions of that authority following his victorious return.
First, he did so by crossing the Rubicon with an army whose allegiance was pledged to him and then entering Rome to confront a political rival. Next, by manipulating obsequious supporters in the Senate who sought to bask in his recent glory, Caesar secured appointment as dictator for an unprecedented 10-year term.
Finally, after nominated to the position of consul by the Senate, Caesar named himself “dictator for life.” These actions shattered free government in ancient Rome and led to the end of the Republic.
In 16th century Italy, there was no individual comparable to Caesar for Machiavelli to similarly critique. There is, however, one in 21st century America.
During a televised Fox News town hall meeting several months ago, Donald Trump stated that if elected President in 2024, he would act as “dictator for a day.” Trump did not refer to a particular crisis that might allow him to declare martial law to possibly justify the exercise of dictatorial powers under the Constitution.
Nor did he indicate how quickly after assuming office, he would bestow dictatorial powers on himself. Presumably, it would be sometime after reliable loyalists could be installed at the Department of Defense and Justice Department; and, after a media campaign could “plow the ground” to try to legitimize whatever “crisis” might become the selected pretext.
In a more recent Time Magazine interview, Trump said that his comments on the subject were just a “joke.”
Joke or not, dictator for a day or a decade or forever is not the role for which the vast majority of Americans envision a 21st century President. Nonetheless, there exists a role in the politics of Machiavelli’s 16th century Italy which perfectly matches the role Donald Trump fills in today’s politics.
That is the subject of the next commentary in this series.
—————
Samuel Damren is an attorney and author in Ann Arbor.
The last commentary discussed the creation and role of consuls and tribunes in ancient Rome. One consul was selected by Senate nobles and another by the plebeian assembly. The role of the consuls, described by Machiavelli in “Discourses on the Ten Books of Livy,” was to jointly propose laws, enforce laws supporting the integrity of public forums and other actions.
The consuls also had authority to “indict citizens when they commit any kind of offense against free government” and “to punish those who make false accusations.”
But what happened when the consuls could not agree, yet a response was required to address an imminent substantial threat to the Republic?
In those instances, Roman law provided for appointment of “dictatorial authority,” which in Machiavelli’s estimation, “did good, not harm, to the Roman Republic.”
Dictatorial authority only applied to actions taken to address a defined and substantial threat. It only existed for the duration of the threat and required the dictator to return the Republic to its previous good order. It was crucial, according to Machiavelli, that a dictator be appointed “according to public orders, and not by his own authority.”
The duration of the appointment was generally limited from six months to one year.
Machiavelli cites the appointment of former general Lucius Cincinnatus as an exemplary example of the implementation of this law. In 458 B.C., Cincinnatus, then retired at “his small farm, which he worked with his own hands,” was appointed dictator to protect Rome when it was “under siege.”
Cincinnatus assembled an army and thereafter “routed and plundered the enemy” in 16 days. He then abdicated the dictatorship and returned home.
Notably, from Machiavelli’s perspective, Cincinnatus delivered the plunder to the Republic instead of distributing it to the troops with the aim of acquiring their personal loyalty.
Machiavelli contrasts this exercise of dictatorial authority with the later actions of Julius Caesar. After being named in public orders to conduct wars in Britain and Gaul, Caesar repeatedly violated the restrictions of that authority following his victorious return.
First, he did so by crossing the Rubicon with an army whose allegiance was pledged to him and then entering Rome to confront a political rival. Next, by manipulating obsequious supporters in the Senate who sought to bask in his recent glory, Caesar secured appointment as dictator for an unprecedented 10-year term.
Finally, after nominated to the position of consul by the Senate, Caesar named himself “dictator for life.” These actions shattered free government in ancient Rome and led to the end of the Republic.
In 16th century Italy, there was no individual comparable to Caesar for Machiavelli to similarly critique. There is, however, one in 21st century America.
During a televised Fox News town hall meeting several months ago, Donald Trump stated that if elected President in 2024, he would act as “dictator for a day.” Trump did not refer to a particular crisis that might allow him to declare martial law to possibly justify the exercise of dictatorial powers under the Constitution.
Nor did he indicate how quickly after assuming office, he would bestow dictatorial powers on himself. Presumably, it would be sometime after reliable loyalists could be installed at the Department of Defense and Justice Department; and, after a media campaign could “plow the ground” to try to legitimize whatever “crisis” might become the selected pretext.
In a more recent Time Magazine interview, Trump said that his comments on the subject were just a “joke.”
Joke or not, dictator for a day or a decade or forever is not the role for which the vast majority of Americans envision a 21st century President. Nonetheless, there exists a role in the politics of Machiavelli’s 16th century Italy which perfectly matches the role Donald Trump fills in today’s politics.
That is the subject of the next commentary in this series.
—————
Samuel Damren is an attorney and author in Ann Arbor.
