The Curious Case of the Roman Emperor Who Tried to Appoint His Horse a Senator (And What It Says About Us)

Right, settle in. This isn’t going to be a quick read, because frankly, the story of Caligula and Incitatus deserves a proper unpacking. You see, I was recently attempting to teach a particularly stubborn mule to appreciate the finer points of existentialism – a project I’ve since abandoned, mostly due to the mule’s unwavering commitment to eating thistles – and it got me thinking about animal intelligence, political power, and the sheer, baffling absurdity of human ambition. Now, most history books will tell you Caligula was simply mad. A tyrant. A man who fiddled while Rome… well, didn’t burn, actually, Nero gets that credit. But Caligula’s madness, I suspect, was less about a neurological malfunction and more about a profound, if deeply flawed, understanding of the Roman Senate. He’d observed them, you see. He’d *really* observed them. And he’d concluded that his horse, Incitatus, possessed roughly the same level of competence, dignity, and independent thought as the men supposedly governing the empire. Think about it. The Senate, by Caligula’s time, was largely a collection of wealthy, self-serving individuals more concerned with maintaining their privileges than with the welfare of the populace. Incitatus, on the other hand, was a horse. A perfectly good horse, by all accounts. He had a marble stall, an ivory manger, and was reportedly dressed in purple blankets. He didn’t demand bribes, didn’t engage in petty squabbles, and, crucially, didn’t pretend to have the best interests of Rome at heart. In a way, Incitatus was *more* honest than most senators. Of course, Caligula didn’t actually appoint Incitatus a senator. He *threatened* to. It was a performance, a pointed critique of the political system. A rather extravagant, equine-centric critique, admittedly. But the fact that the threat was even taken seriously speaks volumes. It’s a historical echo chamber, isn’t it? We see similar dynamics playing out today, with individuals of questionable qualification ascending to positions of power, surrounded by sycophants and fueled by ego. I spent a week in a small village in Mongolia last year, observing a yak herding competition. The yaks, I must say, were far more dignified than most politicians I’ve encountered. Perhaps we should consider a similar system of governance. A Yak Senate. It couldn’t possibly be worse. And at least they’d provide a good source of wool. It’s a sobering thought, really. That sometimes, the most rational response to irrationality is to embrace the absurd. To appoint a horse to the Senate. Or, failing that, to simply admire the quiet dignity of a yak.