We’re hearing a lot about Caesarism lately, and every time I hear that term I feel a jolt of anxiety. I’m interested in ancient Rome—have written two novels with Rome as a setting--and I love America. I ask myself: Are there grounds for comparing modern day America to Rome? Could we go the same way the Romans did…toward Caesarism?

Caesarism is one-man, dictatorial rule, centered on a charismatic leader. When Caesarism is established, the dictator sweeps away established law and constitutional checks, with the rationale that this is necessary for the good of the nation. He is special, he and his followers assure their fellow citizens; he can save the country and no one else can. Caesarism obviously involves a cult of personality. Force, however, is the main element. Julius Caesar mesmerized the masses, but his rule ultimately rested on the fact that he commanded an army.

Longevity is no guarantee that a form of government will exist forever. The Roman Republic lasted for almost five hundred years. Our republic has existed for less than half that span. When a woman asked Benjamin Franklin what form of government the Constitutional Convention had given America, he famously answered, “A republic if you can keep it.” A republic is a form of government in which leaders are elected and adhere to the rule of law. It is fragile. The Founding Fathers knew this.

I could go on and on about the ways the Roman Republic was not a democracy in the modern sense. To begin with, many people were enslaved, including about a third of those in the city of Rome. Women could not vote. Rome had no mass media. Once a man was a senator, he served for life. Still, I think we need to remember Roman history.

As the empire became bigger and richer, the ruling Senate lost the ability to govern effectively. It defended the interests of a narrow oligarchy and forfeited popular respect. You could make a case that this sounds like contemporary America. Think of Congress’s abysmal approval ratings and its unwillingness to pass measures that a large majority of the public, when polled, say they want.

The added element in Rome was violence.

In 133 B.C., a tribune of the people—an elected official—was clubbed to death on the steps of the Temple of Jupiter while addressing a crowd during an election campaign. The mob of killers was led by other public officials, notably the pontifex maximus. (In Rome that was a political as well as a religious post.) Three hundred people, who defended the tribune or just got in the way, also died.

The tribune’s name was Tiberius Gracchus. He advocated a land reform law that most of the citizenry wanted but the oligarchy blocked. Gracchus may have gone beyond his rightful authority by getting the citizens to vote to depose and replace another tribune. But in his defense we can say that the people supported him and he killed no one.

His murderers were never brought to justice. The pontifex maximus was hustled out of Rome on a diplomatic mission and died abroad.

Something ruptured in Rome with the killing of Gracchus. Afterward, other reformers were assassinated. Peaceful periods ended when violence broke out again. Ultimately there were civil wars. Julius Caesar made himself master of Rome in 49 B.C. and his adopted son Augustus consolidated one-man rule in 31 B.C. In the modern world, the chain of events wouldn’t take so long.

To me the aspect of Rome’s story that stands out is the descent into violence, encouraged by Rome’s leaders. “Let everyone who wants to save his country, follow me!” the pontifex maximus yelled when he led the mob that attacked Gracchus and his supporters.

Ineffectual government, government that could not command allegiance and respect, and above all, political violence—that was the prescription for the Roman Republic’s fall and the triumph of Caesarism. I suppose the mob that killed Gracchus could be described in modern terms as a bunch of right-wingers. But their opponents eventually responded in kind, and in the end everyone had blood on his hands. Caesar himself belonged to the political faction that claimed to admire Tiberius Gracchus.

In my books, I’ve taken a rather benign view of Caesar’s heir Augustus. By his time, the republic was such a wreck, it’s hard to completely blame him for finishing it off. I don’t think he could have saved if he wanted to (and he didn’t want to).

The protagonist of my first novel, Livia, mourns the republic her father fought for, but ultimately sees no solution for Rome but one-man rule. Rome was exhausted. People unsurprisingly wanted stability and peace. Rome looked for a strongman to save it from anarchy and more bloodshed.

As it turned out, Augustus was a pretty good ruler, for an autocrat. But some of the men who followed him were murderous tyrants. That’s the way it goes with Caesarism. I don’t think many Americans want to see the U.S. trying that path.

These days I’m chilled when I hear of violence at an American political rally. One candidate in particular uses provocative language that demonizes opponents. I see people on both sides of the partisan divide allowing themselves to be provoked.

A lesson from ancient Rome: The most dangerous enemies of a republic are people who claim they want to save their country, but legitimize and incite violence against their fellow citizens.

Americans should not follow such leaders. Hopefully, we will look at history and see them for what they are.