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contact Jeremy
contact Ellen
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It's a slight coincidence that I would today be starting a novel
whose main character is named Cincinnatus. Had I started it a
few days ago, or had I not read the letters to the editor of the
New York Times on Friday, I would not know what to make of
the name, other than to think it a reference to the capital of Ohio.
(For that matter I'm not even sure that Cincinnati is the capital
of Ohio.) But in the Times on Friday was a letter (since I do not
have the paper anymore, its author must remain nameless)
chastizing the editorial board for criticizing an (also here nameless)
ex-member of the Clinton cabinet, who had taken a highly
remunerative position at a legal firm, too soon after leaving
public office. The letter writer compared the former official to
Cincinnatus, emperor [not... see below]
of Rome in the fifth century B.C.,
who returned to his agricultural life after leaving the throne.
It did not, and does not now, strike me as a very coherent
argument, but there it is.
Cincinnatus is an anti-hero. As
far as I understand the meaning of that term, he fits the bill
very well. It hit home for me when he asked "Will no one save
me? ...Can it be that no one will?" -- my immediate response
was to think, why would anyone want to save this man? His
treatment of his mother and his wife, among others, is not
calculated to elicit sympathy. And yet, there are moments
when I feel great sympathy for him.
This just in, from John Silveira:
Jeremy (or Ellen),
Cincinnatus was not and never was emperor of Rome. There was no emporer in his lifetime because Rome was still a republic
then. What he was was a senator who stepped down when his son defamed the republic. That alone would have made him
unusual, to relinquish a powerful elected office on a matter of principle. But he is remembered by history because the Roman
senate, realizing that a debating society such as they were might not be able to make a decision when the republic was in danger,
established the office of dictator. The dictator was to be elected by the senate. The office would last as long as six
months--shorter if the dictator could solve the problem in less time. But, in six months, the senate would review the appointment
and either remove him and take over themselves, remove him and replace him with another dictator, or give him six more
months. Regardless, the man filling that position was supposed to relinquish the dictatorship and the power it entailed.
What happened was that a tribe in northern Italy, called the Aequi, surrounded a Roman army at Mount Algidus. If the the
beleaugered army was lost, it was feared Rome might be lost. The senate decided the time for debate was over. They needed
action now; they needed a dictator to save the republic. But they looked around the senate, and realized they didn't trust each
other. Whoever they elected dictator would become the most powerful man in Rome and might not be willing to give up the
power once he got it.
Then someone thought of the former senator, Cincinnatus, who had quit the senate in shame. They knew that none of them would
have done it if they were in his place. They elected him, sent messengers to his farm where they discovered him behind the plow,
and told him he had to serve as dictator. He went to the city, took command of a consular army, and marched north where he
defeated the Aequi. A week later he returned to Rome and was now the most powerful man in Rome. But gave up his power,
as everyone hoped he would, and went back to finish plowing his fields.
Cincinnatus was to the Romans what Washington is to us. Washington could have become king, but knew he shouldn't.
Anyway, the Founding Fathers of this country knew the Cincinnatus story and The Society of the Cincinnati was an organiztion
they formed. It was of men who were to selflessly serve. Cincinnati is named for that organization, and therefore, indirectly after
Cincinnatus.
Oh, by the way, the capital of Ohio is Columbus.
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