But how aristocratic was it, in fact? There can probably be no full agreement on that. This is so both because of different interpretations of the system’s various aspects and because the debate touches on a question to which there is probably no objective, non-ideological answer: how far are elitism and social hierarchy compatible with genuinely free popular choice, and how far can popular acquiescence in an elitist and hierarchical system be considered free and voluntary? At any rate, although the Republican political culture was strongly influenced by the senatorial elite, it was not fully controlled by it. Popular liberty, which in principle (though certainly not always in practice) entailed popular supremacy, was a notion central to this political culture (see Chapter 28). This conferred considerable legitimacy on tribunes of the plebs, including turbulent ones, whose traditional function was to uphold this principle; when one says that legitimate political initiative had to come ‘from above’, they are included in this term (see Chapter 19). While the Republican elite was in a position to make manipulative use of the notion of popular liberty (and sometimes, indeed, of the tribunate itself), it might also be used, sometimes quite effectively, against it, and in defence of the rights and material interests of wider strata. The Roman people can be shown to have enjoyed a considerable measure of autonomy in interpreting the commonly shared civic code, with its stock of ideals, themes, catchwords and legitimate historical precedents (Morstein-Marx 2013). Some speak of a distinct popular ideology alongside the senatorial one, relying on its own version of the mos maiorum and a different interpretation of some of the basic values shared in principle by all – above all, libertas (Wiseman 2009; Arena 2012). Nobody doubts that the Republican ruling class was powerful, but the degree of its cultural and ideological power is much debated in scholarship.
Those who speak of the power of the ruling class vis-à-vis the people assume that the ruling class stood, in principle, united. In some broad and fundamental sense, it did, no doubt – at any rate, to a large degree. When it came to the fundamental interests of this class as a whole, common to all of its subdivisions, its collective power was huge; even a less than overwhelming consensus within it would probably often prove decisive. Real traitors to their class must have been extremely rare; it seems likely that even the more radical late-Republican populares were not fundamentally hostile to the system (though they were accused by their enemies of that) – except for Caesar, in the end. Hence, the fact that the people’s wishes could not translate themselves into public policy directly, but only as mediated, articulated and, thus, finally shaped by office-holders (Morstein-Marx 2004: 147, 283–284) surely narrowed, despite all the divisions within the elite, the range of what was politically practicable or even conceivable.
On the other hand, a Republican oligarch did not have to be a conscious enemy of the constitution in order to cause very considerable disruption when he chose to play the popular card; and a temptation to do so was built into the system (alongside the countervailing incentives to cultivate one’s reputation among fellow oligarchs). However, the leverage of the people in such a system should not be measured only, or even principally, by the major political controversies within the ruling class, played out before the people and encouraged by the people’s voting power, that characterised the late Republic but were not unknown in earlier times too. Competition between members of the elite and, thus, ‘divisions within the oligarchy’ that empowered the people were at the very heart of the system, precisely in its aristocratic aspect – which is why the popular and the aristocratic aspect of Republican politics cannot be analysed separately, or (solely) as a zero-sum game.
Elections – the crucial meeting-point between members of the elite and the people that could not be bypassed by any ambitious aristocrat – are the most obvious case in point. Divisions within the oligarchy, with the populus serving as the arbiter, were the very essence of Republican elections. While constant aristocratic victories at the polls reinforced the prestige not just of the individual winners, but that of the ruling class as a whole, constant aristocratic defeats, the natural other side of the coin of competitive elections,12 ‘made it plain that the people had a choice that was real enough, which is why candidates had to beg for their honours, a demeaning exchange as repellent to aristocratic sensibilities as it was vital for electoral success’ (Tatum 2013: 133; see 2007). Similarly, controversial legislation (not necessarily invoking a popular/optimate divide in the late-Republican sense), trials before the people involving, as they often did, an element of rivalry within the elite and, generally, any public debate on policy or official conduct – all these things made a division within the oligarchy very much the rule rather than the exception.
Moreover, such terms as ‘the oligarchy’ or ‘the ruling class’, in a Roman Republican context, are sometimes allowed to suggest, in scholarly discussions, more than what they are known to have amounted to (just as is the case with ‘nobility’ and ‘aristocracy’). The ruling (i.e. office-holding) class of the Republic – a circular but socially and politically meaningful, and hence legitimate and useful, term – included such people as the tribunes of the plebs whom Quintus Cicero (himself of equestrian origin, looked down on by true aristocrats) would regard as ‘mean’ (presumably, low-born) and ‘sordid’: Aulus Gabinius (said to have been the grandson of a slave; Liv. Oxy. Per. 54.193) who had carried the first of the ballot laws in 139; and Gaius Curatius who, scandalously, ordered the two aristocratic consuls of 138 imprisoned because of a conflict over conscription (Cic. Leg. 3.33 ‘ab homine ignoto et sordido’; 3.20 ‘omnium infimus homo et sordidissimus’). Our grasp of the social and cultural realities of Roman society is not firm enough to judge just how low a low-born tribune of the plebs could have been. A grandson of a slave may well have been a rich man; he must have been respectable enough for the common people who elected him, and it is probably a good guess that he was loyal, even as a reformer, to the fundamentals of the system as he saw them. However, real aristocrats would hardly regard him, or men of his ilk, as fellow oligarchs; nor do such people naturally come to mind when we hear that Republican office-holders constituted a ‘plutocratic oligarchy’ (Eder 1991: 175).
It is true that the Roman Republic was not, after all, ruled by these lower echelons of the office-holding class. Indeed, the main threat to the status quo was not from a Gabinius or a Curatius but from a Gracchus, a Clodius or a Caesar. These radical nobles were more formidable precisely because the people’s respect for, and deference to, a noble name, enshrined in tradition and fostered by the prevailing political culture, benefited them too and empowered their followers among the general public.
Whether one chooses to emphasise the power of the Republican ruling class, or the constraints on this power resulting from the reality of popular participation, depends in large measure on whether one attaches greater weight to the fundamental common interests of the elite and its readiness and ability to defend them, or to differences and disagreements within it.