The Americans Who Long for Caesar

The new right views strongman rule as the medicine for our times. Here's why they're wrong.

(Photo by David Becker via Getty Images.)

On December 7, 43 BC, the Roman statesman and philosopher Marcus Tullius Cicero found himself fleeing the nation to which he had dedicated his entire public life. In an attempt to make it to the ocean where a ship waited, a retinue of his loyal slaves-turned-guards carried the senator’s litter across the frosty ground. Halfway to their destination, a legion of Roman soldiers waylaid the refugees and served a warrant for the immediate execution of Cicero. Far from resisting, Cicero good-naturedly stuck his neck out, reportedly declaring: “There is nothing proper about what you are doing, soldier, but do try to kill me properly.”

This was just one episode in the brutal suppression of Rome’s proponents of free government. Several days earlier, Octavian Caesar, the future emperor Augustus, had joined with two former enemies to effectively end the Roman Republic in favor of despotic government. The death of Cicero was a telling prologue to the oppression that would characterize the following centuries of Roman civilization: the age of Caesarism.

Given the appalling circumstances in which it was born, it is shocking to imagine that anyone alive today could support a political philosophy that calls itself Caesarist. But within the intellectual ecosphere of the far right, several people do just that. The political theorist and prominent Trump advisor Michael Anton has suggested that an American Caesar might be inevitable. The far-right blogger Charles Haywood openly calls for Caesarist government. The influential Catholic journal First Things has provided an impassioned defense of the Emperor Augustus. As isolated statements they are not so frightening—but they are representative of a larger move away from free government on the right, one that shares disturbing ideological parallels to the fall of the Roman Republic. If we wish to preserve American democracy, it is important to understand contemporary Caesarism.

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First some history. When the Roman Republic was established in the sixth century BC, the founders intended to create a regime that fostered harmony between the various economic and social classes that composed Ancient Roman society. In so doing, they hoped to build a nation whose chief aim would be to secure the liberty of the Roman people—something they had gradually lost during the earlier reign of kings. The republican regime was built around a number of annually elected magistrates whose political power was strictly limited by legal and social conventions. Though it was unlike modern-day liberal democracy in many respects, the Roman Republic shared our concern for both popular assent and restrained political power.

The phrase “Caesar” can refer to all Roman emperors, but as a personal name it usually refers to two people: Julius Caesar and his great-nephew Octavian (later Augustus) Caesar. These men remade Rome in the final decades of the republic. Despite their shared name and methods, the two Caesars stood for slightly different visions of the Roman state.

Julius came from a long line of Roman noblemen who traced their ancestry, so it was claimed, to the goddess Venus. As a young man he made a name for himself as one of the most charismatic and ruthless political operators in a city bursting with the exceedingly ambitious. Julius belonged to the faction of Roman politicians who wanted to curb the power of the aristocrats and elevate the largely disenfranchised people of the wider empire, and his career in all its phases was dedicated to the populist cause.

For a time, Julius may have toyed with the idea of achieving his goals through conventional means. But as time wore on, and it became clear that the republican system was too tethered to economic privilege, he began to work outside of the established political system. Through careful manipulation of the Roman mob, and with the unyielding devotion of his soldiers, Julius undermined the Senate and established himself as the sole ruler of the city. By the time the Senate was forced to make him dictator for life, Julius was enacting his broad commitment to populist reform. He consolidated the welfare system—free bread to all citizens—and set to work opening the political sphere to a wider array of individuals, including non-aristocrats and even non-Romans.

In 44 BC, Julius was assassinated by a collection of Roman noblemen committed to the preservation of the republic, and Octavian—whom Julius adopted as his son—was named his heir. Despite his incredible youth, Octavian raised an army of Julius’s old legionnaires and forcefully inserted himself into the ongoing struggle for power. After temporarily joining forces with his rivals and ordering the execution of all those still loyal to the old republic, Octavian emerged as the “first citizen of Rome.”

Unlike Julius, Octavian refused to assume the title of dictator and instead ruled Rome through a combination of personal popularity and careful manipulation of the legal system. Augustus, as he soon called himself, worked to elevate Roman society, which many felt was in decline, through a renaissance of traditional art, music, and religious observance. When he died of old age, his reign was lauded as a golden age in the history of the city-empire.

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Despite their differences, the two Caesars were united by a common theme: both centralized power in their own hands. Advocates of Caesarism today see such centralization as the cost of achieving great things. Like Julius and Augustus, they argue that deep transformation can only be accomplished through upending the entire political system.

The influential far-right blogger Curtis Yarvin was one of the first in American politics to start calling for a new “Caesar” in the 2000s. According to Yarvin, America’s problems lie in its subtle transformation from a democratic regime to a theocratic oligarchy, in which a number of left-wing “priests” determine the sort of social and economic viewpoints that remain acceptable. Yarvin does not seem to wish to topple the American republic. He rather aims to find an American Caesar who can restore the lost traditions of the nation. Strangely, he argues that the rise of a Caesar figure is nothing new in America: he claims that every 75 years or so a “Caesar” rises up in America to renew the nation—citing George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and Franklin Roosevelt as prime examples. 

Other writers, such as the Harvard historian James Hankins, advocate a politics that is more recognizably Caesarism. Hankins is on the temperate side in that he stops short of openly advocating strongman rule. Still, he has made clear his belief that Augustus is the greatest statesman in the history of Rome, something which he rationalizes by observing that Augustus commanded “willing obedience” from the people. He expresses hope that a modern-day Caesar will soon rise up in America today: “In our present moment, when we seem to be sleepwalking into multiple economic crises, costly wars, the overturning of our whole system of morality, and the worst choices of political leadership our republic has ever faced… history, the teacher of prudence, offers hope: hope that springs from the knowledge that crises eventually pass, and bad times can summon great leaders from the most unexpected sources.” There is very little objectionable about this closing sentiment—we should hope that great leaders rise up to solve the crises of our age. But as the conclusion of an essay on an autocratic emperor, it is an alarming stance for a prominent historian to take.

Meanwhile, Michael Anton, a former speechwriter for Donald Trump, has spent a great deal of time on recent podcasts and in his book explaining why the time may now be ripe for an American Caesar, a form of government that lies somewhere between monarchy and tyranny. Charles Haywood, reviewing Anton’s book, argues that a Caesar is the only way to truly save Western civilization. Kevin Slack, a colleague of Anton’s at Hillsdale College, argues in War on the American Republic that the United States has been seized by an out-of-touch cosmopolitan class that includes “entrenched bureaucracy, the military, the media, and the government-sponsored corporations.” One solution is a “Red Caesar” or a leader “whose post-Constitutional rule will restore the strength of his people.”

If such ruminations were simply the ramblings of a handful of cranky intellectuals there would be very little need to address them. But these ideas are gaining currency with Blake Masters, Peter Thiel, J.D. Vance, and other darlings of the so-called “new right.” Support for strongmen in the United States is also apparent in Donald Trump’s overt desire for vengeance and the fact that an increasing number of Republicans openly admire autocratic governments in China and Russia.

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The arguments on behalf of Caesarism are compelling. In the United States today, things seem bleak: Congress is gridlocked and both sides of the political spectrum feel frozen out of the dominant culture. (It is a telling sign of political decay that both sides feel this way.) It is tempting to conclude that the republic has already fallen—or is close to doing so—and, as a consequence, we have only to trust in a single strongman to make our political dreams a reality. Even Thomas Jefferson once wondered whether Cicero was right to try and salvage an unsalvageable republic.

But this way of thinking is fatally flawed. The “reforms” of strongmen quite often plunge the state into total chaos. Under Julius Caesar’s rule, the Roman Republic was split by near constant civil war and the upheaval of continuous attempts to overthrow the tyrant. His expansion of the empire stretched the Roman bureaucracy almost to breaking point.

Even if the ruler manages to restore political order and launch a cultural renaissance—as Augustus Caesar did—the victory will likely be hollow. The Roman historian Tacitus made it clear that Augustus did not meaningfully improve a crumbling Roman society—he simply painted over the cracks. While the Romans of a bygone era had dedicated their regime to freedom, the citizens of the Augustan Age simply went through the motions of virtuous behavior while sinking further into amorality and mental slavery.  

The reason despotic rule of one man does not work is simple enough: such an arrangement is inimical to law and liberty, the twin foundations of a healthy civilization. Political liberals from Cicero to the American Founders understood that when power is undivided, nothing like human liberty can exist. Freedom is the water that permits the growth of so many other important features of a good life—virtue, equality, creativity, and so on. Each of these attributes requires that humans have the power to shape their own lives.

Let us take virtue as an example. Republics have historically been built upon the idea that citizens cannot be motivated solely by their own self-interest or personal desires. Republics thrive when citizens are virtuous—when they are motivated by public-spiritedness. Many people today on the political extremes believe that virtue must be enforced by the state. But the very opposite is true. Virtue requires a transformation of the human soul that cannot be imposed from without, but must be developed through reflection and free choice. Imposing virtue may force people to behave well—they may pretend to believe something in order to please a higher authority—but in the end, it does not cause the internal shift that defines virtue. The result is that the moment the force that is imposing virtue is removed, people descend to become the very worst sort of citizens, since they have no inbuilt mechanism to behave better.

The second foundation of a flourishing civilization—law—tends to garner more respect among Caesarists than freedom. But this is only because they do not understand the meaning of the word. By “law,” Caesarists are really referring to order, or perhaps to tranquility—a disciplined society where everyone does as they are told. What they describe as law could just as easily exist in a penal colony as in a great nation.

Since classical times the rule of law has been recognized as the opposite of Caesarism. It is a way for a society to regulate itself through systematic rules that apply to everyone. Law brings with it stability—James Madison in Federalist 49 spoke eloquently of the need for longevity in the norms that govern a regime. Permanence helps people to understand their political system and how they should interact with it. The rule of law is also a vital restraint on power—it provides an avenue through which the weak can protect themselves from the strong. Under Caesar, there is no such recourse. A strongman rules with no restraints but their own conscience. Such a society, governed by the whims of a single man, loses all the benefits of a lawful order.

In fairness to the advocates of Caesarism, they gesture at real problems when they argue that the United States, like the Roman Republic before it, has in many ways already ceased to be a regime based upon the twin principles of liberty and law. America today is dominated by a collection of oligarchic elites who often ignore the needs of everyday people. Much of the decision-making in our politics has become too concentrated in urban and financial centers. This state of affairs has led to the working class being left behind both culturally and economically, and they are unsurprisingly starting to revolt against the political establishment.

However, the situation is not quite as dire as the Caesarists would have us believe. If anything, their ability to widely disseminate their arguments proves the establishment does not, as the Caesarists claim, tyrannically control every lever of power. Though an out-of-touch elite certainly exists, it tends to be benign and incompetent—exhibiting the intellectual and moral vapidness that emerges when the government becomes cut off from those it governs—rather than nefarious and all-powerful.

But even if we had reached the dire situation extremists say we have, strongman rule is not a workable solution. Ultimately, Caesarists view equality, tradition, virtue, or some other cultural institution as the chief aim of politics—and they are willing to do anything to achieve it. In this way, they reveal not only their tyrannical impulses but a dearth of basic political knowledge. Art, virtue, and everything else of value that defines a society must be left to evolve organically. The will of a single individual cannot bring into being art—for innovation requires freedom. A strongman cannot build a well-ordered people—for that requires self-government. Caesar can never cultivate a great culture—he can only manage decline.

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It would be wrong to ignore the recent resurgence of Caesarist thought in the Western world. This ancient ideology rears its head in times of serious social unrest—times when a disaffected populace may be willing to sacrifice all that now exists for a change they imagine is necessary. This is the final and greatest strength of Caesarism. Almost no one who thinks hard about it wishes to destroy liberty and lawful civilization. They do so because their anger or resentment have overpowered all other inclinations. Caesarism—like most successful ideologies—reaches straight to the human soul and usurps all else.

Over the centuries, political liberalism gradually emerged as a response to the brutality of Caesarism. Whether found in Cicero’s Philippics against Marc Antony, Benjamin Constant’s subtle refutation of Napoleon Bonaparte, or Winston Churchill’s anti-Nazi speeches, opponents of strongmen have found a multitude of ways to express the vital necessity of law and liberty. But each time, the proponents of liberalism have done more than simply refute the arguments of the other side—they have painted a positive portrait of what a free society looks like. With almost poetic language they somehow managed to capture the ethos of a truly flourishing civilization.

Put simply, our most celebrated defenders of liberalism have well understood that Caesarism must be defeated as both an argument and a sentiment. In recent years, we have not heeded this important lesson. In the modern world, we often prefer to make our case in the language of narrow policy rather than rousing principle. But in the final analysis, as strongmen well know, it is hearts more than minds that truly determine the fate of men.

Jeffery Tyler Syck is an Assistant Professor of Political Science and History at the University of Pikeville in his native Kentucky.

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