Chapter Three of Einhart’s collected musings, titled “The Life of Charlemagne”, opens with a curiosity: An election. One would not expect to find the details of an electoral system when reading about the early dark ages, nor would one anticipate Charles’ path to the imperial diadem to have begun by democratic consent. But lo, it is. We get a run down of the process, the vote tallies, and the results:
The Franks, in a general assembly of the people, made them both kings on condition that they should divide the whole kingdom equally between them, Charles to take and rule the part that had to belonged to their father, Pepin, and Carloman [Jr] the part which their uncle, Carloman [Sr] had governed. The conditions were accepted, and each entered into the possession of the share of the kingdom that fell to him by this arrangement; but peace was only maintained between them with the greatest difficulty, because many of Carloman's party kept trying to disturb their good understanding, and there were some even who plotted to involve them in a war with each other.
Fascinating. Even in the year 786 they were contesting election results and threatening civil war with street thugs. But all the same, before he was Emperor Charles, he was King Carles with his fellow royal, King Carloman. The Brother-Kings.
So what exactly is this “General Assembly of the People” who are running this election? Those of you aware may want to shout out the Pleb Council of ancient Rome, and you would not be incorrect. In all likelihood, this General Assembly was a direct descendant of the Concilium Plebis of Gaul. Here, hidden in Einhart, we find a relic institution of Roman democracy lingering on, having outlived both the Republic and the Empire. A quick reminder that Augustus had made most of them illegal, save for electing local bureaucrats. In Gaul, this local bureaucrat was known as the maior palatii, or the maiordomus. Quite literally, a Butler who had filing clerk duties, along with a lot of janitorial roles. Yes, dear reader, the French Monarchy grew out of glorified Roman janitors. How appropriate.
Do note how the Janitors were picked: The plebian council drew up the borders of candidates a la our own gerrymandering style. They seem to have made contracts with them-essentially a constitution. And there's even political parties! You will also have obviously noticed that for them, winner did not take all. They were perfectly ok with two Janitors sharing power, ruling the provinces they won the election in. Yet another relic of the Roman system: a Tribunus Celerum, and a Tribunus Plebis. Perhaps America could learn a thing from this.
Now, you're probably wondering how the French came to trust janitors to be kings far more than this nerdy lore of early French democracy. Einhart feels your need to know more, and elaborates in the first two chapters. I truly think they deserve to be read in full to grasp just how much Einhart was tired of democracy. I think you might share that with him, dear reader.
The Merovingian family, from which the Franks used to choose their kings, is commonly said to have lasted until the time of Childeric [III, 743-752] who was deposed, shaved, and thrust into the cloister by command of the Roman Pontiff Stephen [II (or III) 752-757]. But although, to all outward appearance, it ended with him, it had long since been devoid of vital strength, and conspicuous only from bearing the empty epithet Royal; the real power and authority in the kingdom lay in the hands of the chief officer of the court, the so-called Mayor of the Palace [janitor], and he was at the head of affairs. There was nothing left the King to do but to be content with his name of King, his flowing hair, and long beard, to sit on his throne and play the ruler, to give ear to the ambassadors that came from all quarters, and to dismiss them, as if on his own responsibility, in words that were, in fact, suggested to him, or even imposed upon him. He had nothing that he could call his own beyond this vain title of King and the precarious support allowed by the Mayor of the Palace in his discretion, except a single country seat, that brought him but a very small income. There was a dwelling house upon this, and a small number of servants attached to it, sufficient to perform the necessary offices. When he had to go abroad, he used to ride in a cart, drawn by a yoke of oxen driven, peasant-fashion, by a Ploughman; he rode in this way to the palace and to the general assembly of the people, that met once a year for the welfare of the kingdom, and he returned him in like manner. The Mayor of the Palace took charge of the government and of everything that had to be planned or executed at home or abroad.
What a tale, dear reader. Do you agree? Here we find the noble elected office of Janitor - going back to ancient Roman establishments - had effectively reclaimed its democratic authority from the Germanic kings that had conquered Rome. The Institution had decided to placate the new role of King over several years by serving as the bridge between the Frankish conquerors and the Latin speaking people. But in filling this role, the institution robbed power from the king, until the King was a farce. In effect, 8th century France was a reemergence of Roman republican institutions.
But of course, there’s a gap here. We see Charles being elected to the role of Janitor, yes. But they do call him a king too. How did the defunct title of king and the real power of Janitor merge into one? Well Pepin was a lawyer, you see. And he sued the King. Yes, he went to Rome and sued the King of France. His opening inquiry:
"In regard to the kings of the Franks who no longer possess the royal power: is this state of things proper?"
The thing is, Pepin’s father was Charles Martel, “The Hammer”, Savior of Europe, Greatest Janitor of all time, and, friend of the Papacy. While publicly he sued the King, in reality he was BBFs with the Pope. The case was already decided. The Pope’s ruling was such:
“He should be king who possesses the Royal Power.”
This single sentence is remarkable to ponder. It’s one to deeply embed in your mind. In this sentence, the Pope had used his magic powers of statecraft to effectively legitimize the ancient Roman Institution of Janitors as the true kings of France, exiling the existing German royal line. Not because they were sinners, not because they were heretics, not because they weren’t paying taxes nor doing anything wrong. The Pope declared their royal line defunct because they were pussies. Their memes were stale. Everyone knew who Charles Martel was. He saved Europe. His hammer brings images of victory to this day. Powerful meme. Very based. Who the fuck was Childeric the III? Cringe. Total loser.
How to Hide an Institution in Plain Sight
Recent murmurs in reactionary communities have begged the question of institutional lifespans. How long do institutions last, really? Some seem immortal. The Heavenly Mandate still governs atheist China, and the Papacy lingers on. If you had keen eyes, you noticed Syrian soldiers fighting ISIS donned the crest of Ashur. Unlike Allah, Ashur wins battles. And while an image - effectively a meme - isn’t an institution, memes are in many ways akin to talisman that can store the soul of an institution when its body dies. What was thought extinct, can quickly reestablish itself when needed. Today, the cult of Ashur rises to replace Allah. But I’ll let you in on a detail: its donners are merely Christians wanting to larp as more historic identities than the Muslims, to differentiate themselves for martyrdom.
Contrarily, there are institutions that die rapidly. The League of Nations collapsed within a generation. Grass root movements like the tea party and occupy wall street dissolved as quickly as they emerged. And of course, The Merovingian dynasty failed to outlive either the Pleb Council, or the Maiordomus. They all tend to have something in common: a lack of memes. A lack of preserving their institution in the Noosphere. They are quickly hijacked and consumed by those that do.
We can almost think of the meme as the gonad of a cultural beast. They use their memes to self-manifest. The brain for them is a kind of reproductive organ they can hijack to self-perpetuate. If you’ve read Dawkins, you’ll know he invented the term meme, and gave it this definition. Past the edgy boi comments and fedora angst, you’ll find he actually has a petty awesome definition of meme.
Let’s invent a word for these cultural beasts. You should always use French words when you want to punch down. But always use Germanic to look like you’re punching up. Let’s use an anglo-saxon word, because these beasts are most certainly above us. One might be tempted to call them a demon of some sort. For all practical terms they are. Kith is a germanic word for gene, and dœr the word for beast. A gene beast would be a Kithdœr. Perhaps Dreamdyr for a meme beast?
Here’s the lesson. Institutions can last a very long time when they are Dreamdyrs. The aforementioned Gaulish Pleb Council still exists today. It is over 2000 years old since Caesar founded them. Local pleb councils still elect Maiordomus to police them (There were many besides the one that became the French Monarch). They today are called prefects. They still wear traditional Roman Garb of a Praetor.
The Roman Dreamdyr is powerful. It’s hidden. Not many think of France in this way. But in fact, France continues to be a kind of talisman bank or zoo for Roman Institutions. Its collection of Dreamdyrs often spring out resurrections for European heroism. Many find it surprising that the manlet ruling France today is going so radically nationalistic and anti-islamic. I’m not. It was always in France. It just needed the right conditions. Institutions can outlive whole eras by going into hibernation in this way.
The Institution of the Maiordomus, those Janitors, is far older. In fact, they as an institution may date back to the original pre-roman greek colonies of Massalia. And even then, they likely go back another thousand years in Greece and the Levant before their western migration. The Biblical Joseph was a Majordomus in Egypt.
Fun fact: Pepin wasn’t exactly original in his argument to grant royal charter to the office of Maiordomus. His father, Martel, had used a similar argument to merge two different Maiordomus offices into one. The Maiordomus of Neustria and of Austrasia. You see, prior to Martel, each state had its own Maiordomus. He simply merged several of them. By doing this, he effectively took power of Northern France. Pepin, being clever, simply used the same argument to take over the rest. Learn this lesson, dear Reader. Institutions are flexible. They can be merged, divided, and adapt to whatever may come. Never seek to hold an institution where it is. Ride the Dreamdyr.
These are truly ancient institutions. They endure. If you want your institution to endure, you need a Dreamdyr to ride. But be carful. They can turn ugly fast, or get lazy and quickly replaced. When you go about creating a new institution, always remember that it is he who holds royal power that should be king. If you can’t, your institution won’t last. And it shouldn’t.