Expert Analysis
Lucius Junius Brutus vs Yelu Abaoji
# The Emperor and the Republican
On a windswept plain in Inner Mongolia in the year 907, a Khitan chieftain named Yelu Abaoji raised his standard and was elected khagan of nine nomadic tribes, setting in motion a dynasty that would rule northern China for two centuries. Half a world away and fourteen centuries earlier, on a Roman hillside in 509 BCE, a stern-faced patrician named Lucius Junius Brutus watched his own sons march to their execution, their blood sealing an oath that would banish kings from Rome forever. One man built an empire; the other built a republic. Both shaped the destiny of civilizations that still echo today. What drove them, and why did their paths diverge so radically?
Origins
Yelu Abaoji was born into a world of horse and sky, where Khitan tribes roamed the steppes between the Gobi Desert and the forests of Manchuria. His father was a minor chieftain, and his early life was a brutal education in tribal warfare—alliances made and broken over sheep and grazing rights, raids that ended in slaughter, and a constant struggle for supremacy among eight rival clans. The Khitan had no written language, no cities, no concept of a state beyond the loyalty a man could command with his sword and his word. Abaoji learned to read men, not books.
Lucius Junius Brutus, by contrast, was born into the twilight of Rome’s monarchy, a world of stone temples, written laws, and Etruscan kings who claimed descent from gods. His father and brother had been murdered by the king’s agents, and Brutus survived by playing the fool—feigning idiocy to avoid the same fate. The name “Brutus” itself meant “dullard,” a mask he wore until the moment was right. Where Abaoji’s path was forged in open combat, Brutus’s was carved in silent cunning.
Rise to Power
Abaoji’s rise was a slow, patient conquest. He did not stumble into power; he engineered it. Over two decades, he outmaneuvered rival chieftains, absorbed defeated tribes into his own, and introduced Chinese-style administration to a nomadic people. When he was elected khagan in 907, it was not by accident—he had already centralized military command, created a personal bodyguard of elite warriors, and married into the powerful Xiao clan to secure alliances. His turning point came in 916, when he abandoned the title of khagan and proclaimed himself emperor, adopting Chinese court rituals and declaring his dynasty the Liao. It was a masterstroke: he claimed legitimacy not just from the steppe, but from the Celestial Empire itself.
Brutus’s rise was a single, explosive moment. The rape of Lucretia by the king’s son ignited a fury that Brutus channeled into revolution. He pulled the dagger from Lucretia’s body, held it dripping before the Roman people, and swore an oath to overthrow the monarchy. Where Abaoji built power brick by brick, Brutus ignited a firestorm. He did not seek election as consul—he was acclaimed by a people desperate for change. His power came not from institutions he created, but from the moral authority of a man who had lost everything to tyranny.
Leadership & Governance
Abaoji ruled as a pragmatist. He understood that the Khitan could not conquer China by force alone—they had to adopt Chinese methods. He established a dual administration: one system for the nomadic tribes, another for the settled Chinese populations. He ordered the creation of a Khitan script in 920, borrowing characters from Chinese but adapting them to his people’s language. He built cities, promoted agriculture, and encouraged trade along the Silk Road. His military campaigns were calculated expansions, not reckless conquests. When he defeated the Korean kingdom of Bohai in 926, he did not destroy it—he absorbed it, incorporating its bureaucracy into his own.
Brutus ruled as a revolutionary. His governance was not about building institutions, but about preventing tyranny. He made the Roman people swear an oath never to allow a king again—an oath that would define Roman politics for five centuries. As consul, he shared power with a colleague, each checking the other, and he established the principle that no man could hold sole authority. When his own sons conspired to restore the monarchy, Brutus did not hesitate. He ordered their execution with his own hand, watching as they were beaten and beheaded. It was an act of terrifying principle: the state came before blood.
Triumph & Tragedy
Abaoji’s greatest triumph was the conquest of Bohai in 926, which doubled the size of his empire and gave him access to Korean resources and ports. But his tragedy came immediately after: he died on the return march, his body giving out at the peak of his power. The succession crisis that followed nearly undid everything he had built, though the Liao dynasty survived.
Brutus’s triumph was the expulsion of the Tarquins, a moment that defined Roman identity for a millennium. His tragedy was the Battle of Silva Arsia later that same year, where he died in single combat against an Etruscan prince. But his death was not a collapse—it was a sacrifice. He fell fighting for the republic he had created, and his body was carried back to Rome in triumph.
Character & Destiny
Abaoji was a builder. He saw the future and constructed the institutions to meet it. His personality was patient, calculating, and adaptive—a steppe chieftain who learned to think like a Chinese emperor. His destiny was to create a hybrid civilization that blended nomadic and sedentary worlds, a model that would be imitated by the Mongols and Manchus centuries later.
Brutus was a destroyer. He saw injustice and tore down the system that allowed it. His personality was rigid, unbending, and absolute—a man who could kill his own sons for the sake of an idea. His destiny was to be remembered not for what he built, but for what he destroyed: monarchy itself. The Roman Republic would endure for 450 years, and Brutus was its founding myth.
Legacy
Abaoji’s legacy is the Liao dynasty, which ruled northern China for two centuries and established a pattern of dual governance that later conquest dynasties would follow. His Khitan script survives in fragments, a testament to his attempt to give his people a written identity. He is remembered as a founder, a unifier, and a pragmatist.
Brutus’s legacy is the Roman Republic and, through it, the Western tradition of republicanism. His oath against kings became a sacred text for later revolutionaries, from the assassins of Julius Caesar to the founders of the United States. He is remembered as a symbol of liberty and of the terrible costs required to sustain it.
Conclusion
One built an empire that lasted two centuries; the other built a republic that lasted half a millennium. Abaoji’s story is about how power is accumulated; Brutus’s is about how power is restrained. The Khitan emperor died on a campaign, his body returning to the steppe that raised him. The Roman consul died on a battlefield, his blood watering the roots of liberty. Both men understood that leadership demands sacrifice—but they defined sacrifice in opposite ways. Abaoji sacrificed others for the state; Brutus sacrificed himself and his own for an idea. In the end, the question is not which was greater, but which world we would rather live in: one built by a man who conquered, or one built by a man who refused to be conquered.