There are moments when an image says more than a thousand political statements. When photographs from a modern parliament begin to resemble scenes from Renaissance paintings—or even reconstructions of the Roman Senate—an uncomfortable question arises: have we really progressed as far as we like to believe?
The events recently described in Bulgarian media as an “invaluable lesson,” centered around political confrontation and escalating tension in parliament, were not merely an isolated incident or a local scandal. They were a reminder of something far deeper and more unsettling: when respect for institutions erodes, behavior regresses—regardless of century, ideology, or technology.
Security guards forming human barriers. Elected representatives pushing, shouting, and attempting to force their way forward. Procedure collapsing under pressure. The chamber itself—designed as a space for dialogue—turning into an arena of physical confrontation. These are not signs of a healthy political culture. They are symptoms of a system under strain.
And they are far from new.
From Words to Bodies – the Moment Institutions Fail
At the heart of the parliamentary incident lies a simple but dangerous transition: the replacement of dialogue with force. Parliaments exist precisely to prevent this shift. They are meant to absorb conflict, translate anger into argument, and transform disagreement into decision-making through structured debate.
When that mechanism breaks down, the institution does not merely malfunction—it reverts.
What unfolded was not just political protest. It was a collapse of form. Rituals continued—an oath was sworn, procedures technically completed—but the spirit had already left the room. The building stood, but its meaning faltered.
History tells us that this is exactly how institutional decay begins.
The Romans – When the Language of the Republic Lost Its Power
We often speak of the Roman Republic as an ideal: a sophisticated political system built on law, representation, and institutional balance. The Senate was intended to be the intellectual heart of the Republic—a space for debate, compromise, and responsibility toward the state.
Yet it is precisely within the Roman Senate that we find some of history’s clearest warnings about how fragile civilization truly is.
During the final century of the Republic, the Senate increasingly ceased to function as a forum for deliberation and became an arena for power struggles, intimidation, and symbolic violence. Not always through open brawls, but through shouting, obstruction, deliberate provocation, and the systematic erosion of norms.
The Inflation of Language
Roman politics was built on rhetoric. Eloquence was power. But as in modern politics, a critical point was reached when words lost their value.
When every speech became an attack, every disagreement a personal insult, and every compromise a sign of weakness, language itself stopped working. Cicero’s famous speeches against Catiline (In Catilinam) are still celebrated as masterpieces of rhetoric. Yet they also mark a turning point.
The Senate ceased to be a place for resolving conflict and became a stage for public humiliation and exclusion. Catiline did not leave the chamber persuaded—he left disgraced. What followed were violence, extrajudicial executions, and a permanent shift in how power was exercised.
History repeats this pattern relentlessly:
when language becomes a weapon rather than a tool, physical violence soon follows.
From Norms to Force
The Roman Republic relied not only on written law but on mos maiorum—unwritten customs, traditions, and mutual respect among those in power. When these norms were violated, no legal framework could compensate.
Politicians began to block assemblies, sabotage procedures, mobilize crowds as threats, and openly question the legitimacy of the institution itself. The parallels to modern parliamentary crises are striking.
When the opposition no longer recognizes the majority’s right to govern—and the majority no longer sees the opposition as legitimate—what remains is force, security, and control.
The Senate as a Physical Space
The Roman Senate was not an abstract concept. It was a room. A physical space where bodies gathered. When respect for that space vanished, so did its symbolic authority.
Meetings were stormed. Magistrates were dragged away. Decisions were taken under threat. Julius Caesar’s assassination was the most dramatic example—but it was not the beginning. It was the culmination of decades of escalating norm violations.
It never starts with daggers.
It starts with interrupted speeches, raised voices, and blocked procedures.
From Rome to the Renaissance – Power in Collapse
This pattern did not end with Rome. During the Renaissance, particularly in the Italian city-states, councils and assemblies frequently mirrored the same dynamics. Florentine, Venetian, and Milanese political bodies were often scenes of factional conflict where power struggles spilled into physical confrontation.
Artists of the late Renaissance and early Baroque period captured these moments vividly. In paintings influenced by Caravaggio and Tintoretto, we see institutions stripped of idealism. Councils become crowded, chaotic spaces. Bodies collide. Authority fractures.
These works were not merely historical illustrations—they were warnings.
The Modern Scene – Old Behavior, New Cameras
When we watch footage from today’s parliaments—security personnel forming walls between elected officials, shouting overpowering procedure, spectacle replacing substance—we are not witnessing a new phenomenon.
We are witnessing an ancient one.
The difference is not behavior.
The difference is clothing, technology, and cameras.
The Romans believed their system was too advanced to collapse. They had laws, courts, offices, and traditions older than any living citizen. Yet the Republic fell—not because of enemies at the gates, but because of internal decay.
Why History Repeats Itself
History does not repeat itself mechanically. It rhymes.
The recurring pattern is rooted not in ideology but in human psychology: fear of losing power, frustration with slow processes, the desire to dominate rather than persuade.
Institutions function only as long as people believe in them. Once that belief erodes, form remains—but meaning disappears. What follows is regression.
A Mirror for Our Time
The recent parliamentary events should not be dismissed as spectacle or political theater. They are a mirror—reflecting how thin the veneer of modernity can be.
We have not outgrown these behaviors. We have merely learned to broadcast them.
Conclusion – What Rome Still Teaches Us
The Roman experience offers an uncomfortable but essential lesson:
Institutions do not die when they are attacked.
They die when they are no longer respected by those meant to uphold them.
That is why the image—both the modern photograph and its Renaissance-like echo—is so powerful. It reveals a continuity we would rather deny.
Human nature has not fundamentally changed. We possess more knowledge, more technology, and more words. But when pressure mounts, our reactions remain remarkably similar.
The Romans had a word for this condition: discordia—internal division. They understood that once discordia takes hold, it no longer matters how magnificent the building is.
And that may be the most sobering lesson of all.
By Chris...
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