M. Look but on the single consulship of Laelius, and that, too, after having been set aside (though when a wise and good man like him is outvoted, the people are disappointed of a good consul, rather than be disappointed by a vain people); but the point is, would you prefer, were it in your power, to be once such a consul as Laelius, or be elected four times, like Cinna? I have no doubt in the world what answer you will make, and it is on that account I put the question to you.
I would not ask everyone this question; for someone perhaps might answer that he would not only prefer four consulates to one, but even one day of Cinna’s life to whole ages of many famous men. Laelius would have suffered had he but touched any one with his finger; but Cinna ordered the head of his colleague consul, Cn. Octavius, to be struck off; and put to death P. Crassus, and L. Caesar, those excellent men, so renowned both at home and abroad; and even M. Antonius, the greatest orator whom I ever heard; and C. Caesar, who seems to me to have been the pattern of humanity, politeness, sweetness of temper, and wit.
Could he, then, be happy who occasioned the death of these men? So far from it, that he seems to be miserable, not only for having performed these actions, but also for acting in such a manner that it was lawful for him to do it, though it is unlawful for anyone to do wicked actions; but this proceeds from inaccuracy, of speech, for we call whatever a man is allowed to do lawful.
Was not Marius happier, I pray you, when he shared the glory of the victory gained over the Cimbrians with his colleague Catulus (who was almost another Laelius; for I look upon the two men as very like one another), than when, conqueror in the civil war, he in a passion answered the friends of Catulus, who were interceding for him, “Let him die?” And this answer he gave, not once only, but often.
But in such a case, he was happier who submitted to that barbarous decree than he who issued it. And it is better to receive an injury than to do one; and so it was better to advance a little to meet that death that was making its approaches, as Catulus did, than, like Marius, to sully the glory of six consulships, and disgrace his latter days, by the death of such a man.
I would not ask everyone this question; for someone perhaps might answer that he would not only prefer four consulates to one, but even one day of Cinna’s life to whole ages of many famous men. Laelius would have suffered had he but touched any one with his finger; but Cinna ordered the head of his colleague consul, Cn. Octavius, to be struck off; and put to death P. Crassus, and L. Caesar, those excellent men, so renowned both at home and abroad; and even M. Antonius, the greatest orator whom I ever heard; and C. Caesar, who seems to me to have been the pattern of humanity, politeness, sweetness of temper, and wit.
Could he, then, be happy who occasioned the death of these men? So far from it, that he seems to be miserable, not only for having performed these actions, but also for acting in such a manner that it was lawful for him to do it, though it is unlawful for anyone to do wicked actions; but this proceeds from inaccuracy, of speech, for we call whatever a man is allowed to do lawful.
Was not Marius happier, I pray you, when he shared the glory of the victory gained over the Cimbrians with his colleague Catulus (who was almost another Laelius; for I look upon the two men as very like one another), than when, conqueror in the civil war, he in a passion answered the friends of Catulus, who were interceding for him, “Let him die?” And this answer he gave, not once only, but often.
But in such a case, he was happier who submitted to that barbarous decree than he who issued it. And it is better to receive an injury than to do one; and so it was better to advance a little to meet that death that was making its approaches, as Catulus did, than, like Marius, to sully the glory of six consulships, and disgrace his latter days, by the death of such a man.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.19
As much as I have learned from the conflicts of history, I desperately try to avoid the entanglements of political partisanship, both ancient and modern. If I share a passage such as this one with my fellow eggheads, the group will immediately start to bicker about whether Laelius or Cinna was the more “effective” ruler, and before you know it, the conversation degenerates into a grudge match about the contemporary tribal quarrels, whatever they might be for the season.
It is not uncommon for voices to be raised or insults to be hurled. Some folks will storm out of the room in protest. And it is all because we permit our preferences to enslave our principles, finding comfort in conformity before daring to think for ourselves. If his reasoning is sound, a man will be happy to explain it in friendship, yet once there is outrage, be assured that he is masking a crippling insecurity behind his battle cries. An intensity of feeling is never a substitute for a clarity of thinking, right back to the source.
I do not doubt that Cicero had his personal loyalties, but I suggest that the example is intended to go deeper than the waving of sectarian banners. Beyond the blues, the greens, or the reds, what sort of life will bring us happiness? Is it better to have four terms of the consulship with wickedness, or merely one term of the consulship with integrity? While the grasping man defines himself by the quantity of his power, the honorable man pursues the quality of his character.
I’m afraid most rulers I’ve observed, both big and small, seem obsessed with maintaining and increasing their authority, which probably fits Plato’s claim that those who are best suited to leadership are precisely those who wish to avoid it. As a child, I remember being impressed by the story of Cincinnatus, as well as Washington’s refusal to seek office for a third term. I began to worry that the great men could only be found in dusty books, hence my continuing struggle with appearing like an old codger, even when I was still a young pup.
There are, of course, many fine leaders out there, at any time or in any place, and we just don’t particularly notice them, since they have little interest in putting on a show. They understand why each instance of virtue is complete within itself, as the perfection of our human nature, and so they do not chase after more and more. They find their sole contentment in doing what is right, regardless of whether anyone else takes notice. It is the same for all walks of life, where the question of how much is supplanted by the question of how well.
Now you may object that the covetous man is surely a happy man, offering as evidence his assured swagger and his luxurious ways. If this were so, however, why is he always so anxious, so angry, so insatiable? Don’t be fooled by the act, which betrays the misery fueling the bluster. If his soul is at peace, his words and deeds will not be marked by scheming and strife.
If I must choose, let me be the consul who bravely suffers an evil rather than the consul who brazenly commits it. I will not blindly praise Laelius and Catulus, or swiftly condemn Cinna and Marius, but I will always celebrate virtue and reproach vice, with less concern for what happens to be convenient. The work of simple decency is the law of happiness.
As much as I have learned from the conflicts of history, I desperately try to avoid the entanglements of political partisanship, both ancient and modern. If I share a passage such as this one with my fellow eggheads, the group will immediately start to bicker about whether Laelius or Cinna was the more “effective” ruler, and before you know it, the conversation degenerates into a grudge match about the contemporary tribal quarrels, whatever they might be for the season.
It is not uncommon for voices to be raised or insults to be hurled. Some folks will storm out of the room in protest. And it is all because we permit our preferences to enslave our principles, finding comfort in conformity before daring to think for ourselves. If his reasoning is sound, a man will be happy to explain it in friendship, yet once there is outrage, be assured that he is masking a crippling insecurity behind his battle cries. An intensity of feeling is never a substitute for a clarity of thinking, right back to the source.
I do not doubt that Cicero had his personal loyalties, but I suggest that the example is intended to go deeper than the waving of sectarian banners. Beyond the blues, the greens, or the reds, what sort of life will bring us happiness? Is it better to have four terms of the consulship with wickedness, or merely one term of the consulship with integrity? While the grasping man defines himself by the quantity of his power, the honorable man pursues the quality of his character.
I’m afraid most rulers I’ve observed, both big and small, seem obsessed with maintaining and increasing their authority, which probably fits Plato’s claim that those who are best suited to leadership are precisely those who wish to avoid it. As a child, I remember being impressed by the story of Cincinnatus, as well as Washington’s refusal to seek office for a third term. I began to worry that the great men could only be found in dusty books, hence my continuing struggle with appearing like an old codger, even when I was still a young pup.
There are, of course, many fine leaders out there, at any time or in any place, and we just don’t particularly notice them, since they have little interest in putting on a show. They understand why each instance of virtue is complete within itself, as the perfection of our human nature, and so they do not chase after more and more. They find their sole contentment in doing what is right, regardless of whether anyone else takes notice. It is the same for all walks of life, where the question of how much is supplanted by the question of how well.
Now you may object that the covetous man is surely a happy man, offering as evidence his assured swagger and his luxurious ways. If this were so, however, why is he always so anxious, so angry, so insatiable? Don’t be fooled by the act, which betrays the misery fueling the bluster. If his soul is at peace, his words and deeds will not be marked by scheming and strife.
If I must choose, let me be the consul who bravely suffers an evil rather than the consul who brazenly commits it. I will not blindly praise Laelius and Catulus, or swiftly condemn Cinna and Marius, but I will always celebrate virtue and reproach vice, with less concern for what happens to be convenient. The work of simple decency is the law of happiness.
—Reflection written in 2/1999
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