Michael Arnheim

Why Rome Fell


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contains no fewer than 192 laws. Far from revealing an attempt by the emperor to curry favor with the decurions, these are mostly penal laws prohibiting decurions from seeking to evade their compulsory duties as members of local curias (town councils). Decurions’ prime duty was as tax collectors, and any shortfall had to be made up out of their own pockets, failing which they could suffer forfeiture of their property or even execution.

      What about the emperors’ relationship with the actual upper classes, particularly the senatorial aristocracy? Diocletian had a visceral dislike of, or at least total disdain for, the traditional senatorial aristocracy of the West, and he completed the job begun by previous emperors of practically eliminating them from all offices of any importance, a policy that would be reversed by Constantine but only in the West. The distinction between Diocletian and Constantine is crucial. (See Chapter 3.)

      Peter Brown’s idea of “collusion with the upper classes” as some sort of ideal model of “autocracy” seems to have been inspired by William Beik in his Absolutism and Society in Seventeenth Century France: State Power and Provincial Aristocracy in Languedoc (1985) (cited by Brown, op. cit., at p. 23.) Beik’s book is a remarkable example of how myopic concentration on a narrow period and a narrow region can result in a complete misunderstanding of the main issues involved. Why was a supposedly anti-aristocratic reign (i.e. that of Louis XIV) “…sandwiched so tightly between the aristocratic Fronde and the aristocratic eighteenth century?” asks Beik. He sees Louis XIV’s post-Fronde reign as a “success” amounting to a “class alliance” between King and aristocracy. (Beik, loc. 4506.) If Louis XIV’s class alliance was such a success, why was his reign followed by a recurrence of the earlier problems? Beik does not even look at the later period. The Cardinal de Retz, a leading participant in the Fronde, an aristocratic rising against the French Crown, predicted in 1649 that “The parlements, which fanned the flames, will one day be consumed by them.” (Cited by Cobban 1950, p. 64.) This prediction came to pass with a vengeance in 1789, 150 years later, showing that a contemporary had better insight into the forces at work than a historian viewing it with the benefit of hindsight three hundred years later. (See Chapter 6.)

      Beik’s error is compounded in his conclusion: “Absolutism was the political manifestation of a system of domination protecting the interests of a privileged class of officers and landed lords. Strong bonds linked the provincial nobility, the episcopacy, the various corps of royal officers, and the town oligarchies to the crown and to each other.” (Beik, loc. 4449.) “What sort of absolutism is suggested by these findings?” asks Beik, regarding this as almost a rhetorical question. The correct answer, though, is “No kind of absolutism.” For, far from being a picture of absolutism, this is actually a representation of some sort of shared government, a hybrid between monarchy and oligarchy, which is decidedly not a description of the reign of the “Sun King.”

      Was Diocletian an Autocrat?

      This brings us back to the fundamental question: Was monarchical power under Diocletian and the tetrarchy more autocratic than imperial power under the Principate? As mentioned above, unlike Augustus, Diocletian was not in the least bit bashful about revealing his power. Indeed, on the contrary, he revelled in displaying it. Gone was Augustus’s demure, even modest demeanor, replaced by pomp and bombast although, as we have seen, a number of Augustus’s successors had already blazed a trail toward the ostentation of the Dominate. We have the valuable insider view of the Emperor Julian, who was not taken in by the play-acting of either Augustus or Diocletian. And neither was Gibbon, from his very different vantage point. In sum, Diocletian’s actual power was probably not much greater, if at all, than that of Augustus three centuries earlier.

      The real difference between these two great rulers was in their perception of threats to their position. Augustus’s elaborate charade was undoubtedly prompted by his concern not to meet the same fate as his adoptive father assassinated by a small band of aristocrats. Hence, he eschewed titles like “king” and “dictator” redolent of one-man rule while, at the same time, he fostered his inherited popularity with the masses, who shared none of the aristocracy’s republican sensibilities but actually wanted a strong ruler to champion their cause.

      Princeps Legibus Solutus Est

      The reforms of Diocletian (r. 284–305) are generally lumped together with those of Constantine (r. 306–337). This is partly because of the scarcity of contemporary evidence of Diocletian’s reign and partly because there undoubtedly was a certain common thread running through both reigns though there was also one very major difference starting in the latter part of Constantine’s reign, as we shall see in Chapter 3. On the other hand, as we have already seen, some of the innovations attributed to Diocletian can be traced back to earlier emperors.

      The great Roman jurist Ulpian (c. 170–228) summed up the emperor’s law-making powers in the formula: Quod principi placuit legis habet vigorem (What pleases the emperor has the force of law). (Dig. I.4.1.) Any doubt about the scope of imperial power in this regard is dispelled by Ulpian’s even more laconic and sweeping pronouncement: Princeps legibus solutus est (The emperor is not bound by the laws) (Dig. 1.3.31). Taken literally, this must mean that the emperor is above the law and, therefore, an absolute monarch. It has to be remembered that Ulpian’s opinions had no official status until they were incorporated into the Digest as part of the Corpus Juris Civilis (Body of Civil Law) by the Emperor Justinian in the year 533. Yet Ulpian’s dicta were written between 211 and 222 under the Severan dynasty, with reference to his own day, and they were not entirely theoretical. Ulpian himself served as Praetorian Prefect and chief adviser to the Emperor Severus Alexander (r. 222–235), which cost him his life at the hands of the praetorian guard, whose privileges he had reduced.