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events are what was done by it, to it, or in its name. Since a citizen body is made up of
individuals, the rules which constitute it are the basis of the subject. The first questions
should be: who? how? where? when? We need to know the limits of the franchise, the
machinery of citizen assembly, the frequency, physical conditions and rules of order of
their meetings, the limits of their decision-making powers. The citizen body usually
deputes responsibility to a deliberative or advisory council: how were its members
chosen? how long did they serve? where, when and how were their meetings held? It
must choose executive officers to carry out its decisions and look after the
administration of its business: eligibility? means of election? length of service? extent of
powers?
However obvious these practical questions are, it is essential to start with them, to avoid
anachronism and basic misunderstanding; and it is better to carry on with them too, so
that when it comes to dealing with the enticing abstractions of policy and ideology, their
smeary colours may not wholly obscure a clear picture of real people doing real things.
In every polity there are citizens for whom the strain, expense and danger of political
activism are outweighed by public spirit, family tradition, desire for wealth or status, or
an urge to get things (and other people) sorted out what we loosely call the pursuit of
power. The historian concentrates on these political leaders, and wants to know the
modus operandi how each man gets himself elected, how he gets his way in the council
or assembly, what advantages he has over his rivals, whether a persuasive tongue or a
charismatic presence outweighs wealth, patronage or a devoted retinue.
The dangers of ignoring practical questions are graphically illustrated by the political
interpreters of the Roman Republic. In the nineteenth century, historians saw a two-
party system of nobles and populares; in the twentieth, they have seen 'factions' based
on aristocratic families and their allies. Both models presuppose cooperation in pursuit
of common ends as the norm in a polity where political life, and the traditional ethos of
the political leaders, depended on competition and rivalry. Of course there were
sometimes alliances, but they were temporary and ad hoc; of course there were
sometimes great issues which divided the political elite, but never into 'parties' in any
sense even approximately analogous to what modern English means by the term.
Instead of analysing the lists of yearly consuls into groups and factions to be endowed
with a life of their own, it makes more sense to look hard at what first-hand evidence
survives. In effect, that means Cicero, and particularly his correspondence. (There is no
substitute for the authentic experience of a man in the thick of it, and Roman historians
must face the unwelcome fact that the further away they get from Cicero's world, the
more schematic and artificial their political history is bound to be.) Part of what Cicero
shows us is perfectly familiar and intelligible in our own political terms the country-
house parties for advice on strategy, the counting of votes after a division in the Senate,
the chanting crowds in the streets of the capital. But what we should concentrate on is
the alien and unfamiliar arson and torture, and senators spitting, weeping, grovelling
on the ground and generally conducting themselves in public in a way quite inconsistent
with our preconceived notion of Roman gravitas. That sort of scene is a healthy
medicine against anachronism.
After 'who?', 'where?' and 'how?' comes the most seductive question: 'why?' Cicero's
letters reveal a predictable juxtaposition of public and personal motives as he reports to
Atticus on 'the state of the Republic' and 'my own position'. We have no such insight into
the feelings of the ordinary citizen, but legislation on land distribution, debt relief and
subsidised food gives us a fair indication of where his anxieties lay. Political issues and
political motivation are where the danger of anachronism is greatest not now because
of the difference but because of the similarities. As Thucydides knew, while human
nature remains the same the strong will do what they can and the weak will suffer what
they must. But history is to do with particular cases, and the Roman experience should
be interpreted on its own terms. It is breaking faith with the dead to use their political
preoccupations as a way of attacking our own.