Roman politics — Background and Themes
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the government which we find in the city of Rome in early days. Continuity was given to it by the senate, or assembly of elders of the resident clans, who, on the death of the king, appointed one of their number to choose the king’s successor, whose assumption of office was dependent on the approval of the senate and the people.
Through an aristocratic revolution the kingdom was overthrown, and the king gave place to two annually elected magistrates, called later consuls, who had the right of veto on each other’s actions. The consuls were chosen from the ranks of the patricians, or ruling families, and at the end of a year became patricians again. They must therefore have been largely governed in their action by class prejudice. Consequently the position of the classes which lacked political privileges became intolerable. Another element in the situation aggravated the difficulty. Being located in the centre of Italy and on a navigable river, and being far enough from the mouth of the river to be safe from pirates, Rome grew rapidly, and the coming of a large number of immigrants to the city had a profound effect on its political history. The newcomers did not enjoy the same civil and political rights as the members of the original clans, and they were at an economic and social disadvantage.
The constitutional history of Rome for several centuries centres about the struggle of these people and of the other members of the lower classes to remove the limitations which were put on their rights in these four respects. The natural method of guarding the civil rights of the commons against the arbitrary action of the patrician consul was to limit his powers by law. But the Romans did not adopt this method. They chose class representatives, called tribunes, who were authorized to intervene in person when a plebeian was being treated unjustly and prevent the chief magistrate from carrying out his purpose. It is characteristic of the Roman, as we shall see in other cases, to take this concrete, personal way of bringing about a constitutional reform. The plebeians were at a disadvantage also, because they were kept ignorant of legal procedure and could not maintain their rights before a magistrate. The details of the law, or the accepted custom, were known only to the patrician priests and were handed down by word of mouth from one generation to another. About the middle of the fifth century, after a long struggle, this law was codified and was engraved on twelve bronze tablets, and the tablets were hung up in the Forum where they might be read by any one. These Twelve Tables[2] were regarded by the Romans as the basis of their civil liberty, and may well be placed by the side of the Mosaic Code, the laws of Hammurabi, the Gortynian Code, and Magna Charta. As we shall see later, they contained no formulation of general rights, but stated clearly and minutely the procedure to be followed in civil and criminal actions. If we may accept tradition, both these battles with the patricians were won by the very modern method of Direct Action.
This conquest of civil rights brought the plebeians a larger measure of political rights than they had enjoyed before. It was necessary for them now to organize a popular assembly of their own, in order to elect the tribunes; the tribune became their political leader, and within the next century, under his leadership, the plebeians forced the patricians to admit them to the consulship, and in consequence to the other important magistracies.
In early days the patricians had formed not only a close corporation politically, but also a social caste. Sons of patricians who married plebeian women lost the patriciate, and all the social, political, and religious privileges which went with it. By the Canuleian law in the fifth century the right to intermarry without loss of privileges was guaranteed. Henceforth the state tended to become a unit, and not two separate communities, and in the future when the interests of the two classes were in conflict prominent patricians were often led by kinship to support the plebeian cause at critical moments.
Frank Frost Abbott opens Roman Politics not with a narrative of events but with a structural comparison: the Roman system of government is divided into pre-Augustan and post-Augustan phases, and then immediately juxtaposed with modern politics. The book’s table of contents shows chapters on “The Individual and the State,” “On Constitutions,” and “The Legislative and Executive Branches of Government,” each with subsections that draw explicit parallels—and differences—between ancient and contemporary practices. Abbott’s method is to treat Roman institutions as a living laboratory for modern questions, not as a closed historical period.
Comparative Method and the Judiciary
In the section on the judiciary, Abbott moves from a general acknowledgment of Roman law as “the greatest legacy which Rome has left us” to a focused examination of criminal courts. He notes that by the early first century BCE, Rome had established eight or nine specialized courts, each under a praetor or ex-aedile, handling distinct categories: extortion by magistrates, forgery, treason, corrupt electoral practices, or peculation. Abbott argues that this specialization allowed each court to develop “peculiar competence” from long experience—a contrast to modern generalist judges. He supports this with a specific detail: the smallest known jury numbered thirty-two members, and verdicts were decided by majority vote, with a “not proven” option similar to Scottish practice. The last extant reference to Roman juries dates to the second century CE, which Abbott uses to discuss the contested lineage between Roman and modern jury systems, citing medieval legal codes like the Breviary of Alaric and the Merovingian rachimburgii as possible links.
The Political Boss and Paternalism
Abbott’s chapter “Some Political and Social Problems Common to the Romans and to Modern Peoples” includes subsections on “The Political Boss,” “The Recall,” and “Pensions, Bonuses, and Militarism.” The excerpts do not reveal his specific arguments on these topics, but the table of contents indicates he treats them as comparative case studies. In the final reflections, he comments on contemporary Italy: the organization (likely referring to the Fascist movement) “has set a bad precedent in its use of violent methods” and “establishing a military force outside the state,” yet “bids fair to give expression to the national genius.” This direct engagement with 1920s politics shows Abbott using Roman precedents to evaluate modern developments, though the excerpts limit our view of his full analysis.
Conceptions of Citizenship and Imperialism
The catalog subject “Rome – Politics and government” is addressed through Abbott’s comparative lens. In the section on citizenship, he divides the topic into peacetime and wartime contexts, suggesting a practical rather than theoretical treatment. The imperialism subsection likely examines Roman expansion alongside modern colonial powers, though the excerpts only hint at this. Abbott’s approach is evident in his repeated use of phrases like “resemblances between ancient and modern” and “differences between ancient and modern,” signaling a systematic comparison. He avoids sweeping claims about Roman uniqueness, instead grounding observations in institutional details—such as the specialized criminal courts—that invite readers to reconsider modern practices. The book’s structure, moving from government mechanics to shared social problems, reinforces this comparative mission.
Abbott’s Roman Politics is best read as a work of applied historical comparison, not a narrative history. Readers interested in the evolution of political institutions will find its detailed parallels between Roman and modern courts, citizenship, and governance more instructive than those seeking a chronological account of Roman events. The excerpts suggest a book that rewards attention to its structural choices—the pairing of ancient and modern sections, the use of specific legal examples—rather than its conclusions about any single period.
That drizzly afternoon, Abbott’s careful comparisons of Roman juries and criminal courts felt oddly contemporary, a quiet reminder that institutions rarely invent themselves fresh. Turning the last page, I idly pulled down an old volume, The Footprints of Time And a Complete Analysis of Our American System of Government, with a Concise History of the Original Colonies and of the United States, in — Text and Context, and found the same patient lineage of legal habit stretching across centuries.
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