A clever face

Caius

Ceasar

Little-Boot

Did he really deserve such a ravishing portrait in marble? The question is silly, but I will repat it: did he? So much subtlety, so much psychological empathy expended on a figure that has become the byword of tyrannical excess and sheer psychopathic malignity through the ages. For even if only a tiny fragment of the accusations leveled by Suetonius and Dion Cassius are true, the rest being calumnies reflecting the animus harbored against him by the senatorial party, still there is enough of depravity there to make one gasp. This young man insolently tossing his brow, his frightfully penetrating glance, the malicious smile emitted by his pursed lips, all this is (knowing what one does know) the quintessence of beastliness hiding under a highly polished facade. As I was standing before him I felt that one could very easily allow him/herself to be charmed by this eager face. So, again, did he deserve this?

The easy answer is that he did not, but it is a trite one. For the stuff of history consists of the canonization of various personages who just made a mark on memory. This elevation is mostly due to happenstance or privilege, and only in rare cases to ability. But ability which rides the cusp of chance equals happenstance as well; there have been untold millions of supremely gifted individuals simply swollowed by external adversity without a trace. But even those who left a good legacy had as a rule to purchase this through the suffering of myriads whom they used as the instruments of whatever beneficial goal they were working towards. Are they immune to prosecution on account of the end result, even though the mostly unstated and unreported woe of their victims was as brutally real as it gets? Hegel and his motley followers say yes, but I personally beg to differ.

And, then, there is the other circumstance that the alleged benefaction to humanity of these "world-historical" types is usually judged to be such post facto on the instigation of those who uphold and perpetuate its norms and structures. It is pronounced good simply because it was in some sense successful. But this is a terribly dangerous principle. For in the absence of a god of history who guides the outcomes according to a plan guaranteeing the triumph of virtue (whatever that might be), those who did prevail did not do so by necessity, but by mere chance. In which case it is entirely conceivable that their adversaries might have just as easily prevailed given a different conjunction of contingent factors (including ability to judge characters and situations).

We commend, for instance, the French Revolution and its Napoleonic aftermath for bringing about the abolition of feudalism and the establishment of individual rights in Europe. But who is to assert, and on the basis of what secret gnosis, that the same outcome would not have been brought about anyway, without the abhorrent butchery that those "world-historical" events involved? Why do outcomes that the collective consciousness of humanity gradually inclines towards as it processes its historical experience have to be imposed on concrete life from above, namely through the actions of chosen individuals or groups supposedly incarnating a hypostatized universal will (a Weltgeist)? Why not entertain the contrary notion that it is only through the spontaneous confluence of countless particular actions on the ground that the very same outcomes can be securely established, in which case the dazzling theoretical and rhetorical pyrotechnics of those claiming to have read the mind of history's god (Hegel's phrase) is simply de trop? But we have been intellectually cowed by the audacity of those visions, a capitulation which fully serves our natural tendency to leave the strain of thinking to others in favor of sleepwalking through our lives or of mindlessly attaching ourselves to sundry "saviors".

A more interesting, and possibly equally true, answer is that the "bad fellows" do indeed deserve the adulation that art, literature and official history have heaped on them. Firstly, because if one digs deep enough one might discover some benefits that their murderous rampage did proffer to those that survived to enjoy them. After the black death those that were spared enjoyed a much more comfortable life, for vast tracts of lands now lay without master. After the annihilation of the Pontian Greeks ordered by Stalin (an event, by the way, which the staunch Stalinist frame of mind of today's Greece studiously ignores, although one might expect that it would inflame its ingrained nationalism), the populations left behind -or more accurately the segment thereof loyal to the Party- saw their standard of living rising appreciably, as they now appropriated the property of the masses that perished during the treks to central Asia. Stalinist propaganda reels of the time proudly exhibit the stately neoclassical dwellings of the Greeks, built before the revolution, as gifts of the communist regime to the grateful proletariat. And, which is more scary, this is how the surviving proletariat itself both willingly and through brain-washing came to remember them.

As for our friend Caius Little-Boot his sworn enemies inform us that before he had used up the immense treasure that Tiberius bequeathed to him (in the record time of less than a year of his accession to the imperial dignity), he also did accomplish projects that did favor the common weal (aqueducts, baths etc., not to mention public games), δημοκρατικώτατος γὰρ εἶναι τὰ πρῶτα δόξας (Δίων Κάσσιος). That first year was remembered as blissful by the people of Rome, both against the background of the afflictions of Pretorian rule in the city as Tiberius gradually rotted into bestiality in his Capri seclusion and also on account of the memory of the beloved Germanicus, the Boot's father.

And this brings us to the second, and more significant reason, why the malefactors "deserve" their immortality in art: they are weighty symbols. An aside here: Hitler and Stalin did not achieve such immortality for their tyranny also managed to destroy art itself (Eisenstein being a baffling exception). But Caius was full of artisitc pretensions himself to the extent of becoming enamored of dance masters and pining away at their feet on stage: ἐδούλευε δὲ καὶ τοῖς ὀρχησταῖς καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις τοῖς περὶ σκηνὴν ἔχουσιν. And he had the insight to recognize Greek genius and elevate Greek art. He even dabbled in writing poetry in Greek, apart from the fact that he spoke the language fluently. He, thus, had a mighty tool at his disposal which he was far-sighted enough to further. And it served him well. Mussolini can be said to be a true follower of his in this respect. For he also seized on genuine art and gave it free reign, to the extent that the artistic legacy from Fascist times (such as poetic and visual futurism as well as architecture as evinced by the EUR complex for instance) contains a genuine aesthetic kernel that defies the ideological declamation.

So what symbol did Caligula actually become? In his own eyes obviously that of divine rulership, almighty in its deeds that mock all human standards and inclinations. To me, the supreme token of his own sudden lunge into bestliness (allegedly after an unexpected recovery from a severe illness a short time into his reign) is not so much his incestuous relation to his sisters, and especially Drusilla, not even his sadistic rapaciousness with respect to other persons' goods (wives as well as money) -although all these things are nauseating enough. It is not, further, the famous floating bridge from Puteoli to Baeae. That was a jest, a cruel jest surely bankrupting further the public coffers and subjecting to his punishing whim a multitude of unfortunates as he strode about in the breastplate of Alexander, but still a jest, as were his two floating palaces in imitation one supposes of Cleopatra. No, his vilest urge was to ship from Greece all the statues of the gods he could lay his hands on, including the famous one of Zeus from Olympia, to cut off their heads and place his own on their shoulders instead. As I look at his head in Corinth I can very well imagine it being one of those which replaced the divine prototypes upon those mutilated bodies. This delusion of divinity (at least Alexander was faking it all) pinpoints the inner origin of the actual mutilations he inflicted far and wide upon the Roman populace, the sickest one being when he ordered a section of the crowd watching the games to be pushed into the arena to be mauled by the beasts as there were no more convicts to be used that day and there was still time for fun. All this in fulfilment of the prophesy of Tiberius that he was rearing a viper for the people of Rome. But Tiberius also added: "and a star in the firmament for all humanity". And how true he was, in his twisted way. For his adoptive son is indeed one of the darkest angels to grace the annals of human evil-doing.

Caius is the symbol of the depths of degradation that human nature can plumb, in the same way that the statues that he destroyed (he was also said to be planning the destruction of the works of Virgil and Ovid) are the benchmark of the heights of life-fostering creativeness which that same nature can also attain. His most appalling attribute, revealed early on, was according to Suetonius the delight he got from the pain of others: the more excruciating the pain the more orgasmic his transport. This propensity he ably carried forward well into his reign: ἦν δὲ οὐ τὸ πλῆθος τῶν ἀπολλυμένων οὕτω τι δεινόν, καίπερ δεινὸν ὄν, ἀλλ' ὅτι τοῖς φόνοις αὐτῶν ὑπερέχαιρε καὶ τῆς τοῦ αἵματος θέας ἀπλήστως εἶχεν (Δίων Κάσσιος). His special skill lay in construing the statements of his subjects, no matter how laudatory of himself, in such a way that would always support their despoilment and physical annihilation. He was the consummate ἀργυρολόγος, as Dion Cassius also calls him. If someone praised him as the greatest emperor of all time for all his youth, he interpreted that as meaning that he was too young for the office. Hence the speaker was pronounced guilty of sacrilege. So, whether one spoke or remained silent he was equally condemned.

He hated Tiberius, of course, for having  murdered his mother and brothers. He even smothered him on his deathbed as the old brute seemed to be tarrying in giving up the ghost. But when he acceeded to office, he interpreted the denunciations of the defunct emperor that the advent of the son of the beloved Germanicus unleashed as an attack upon that same imperial office, especially if they came from senators. In his attack upon the Senate he brazenly evoked they very admonitions of Tiberius, in order to justify his murderous onslaught: δεῖ καὶ ἐμὲ μηδὲν χρηστὸν παρ' ὑμῶν προσδέχεσθαι, Dion quotes him as declaring. And the biographer continues: τοιαῦτα ἄττα  εἰπὼν αὐτὸν δὴ τὸν Τιβέριον τῶ λόγῳ παρήγαγε, λέγοντά οἱ ὅτι καὶ καλῶς καὶ ἀληθῶς πάντα ταῦτα εἴρηκας, καὶ διὰ τοῦτο μήτε φιλήσῃς τινὰ αὐτῶν μήτε φείσῃ τινός. πάντες τε γὰρ μισοῦσί σε καὶ πάντες ἀποθανεῖν εὔχονται, καὶ φονεύσουσί γε, ἂν δυνηθῶσι. μήτ' οὖν ὅπως τι χαρίσῃ πράξας αὐτοῖς ἐννόει, μήτ' ἂν τι θρυλῶσι φρόντιζε, ἀλλὰ τό τε ἡδὺ καὶ τὸ ἀσφαλὲς τὸ σεαυτοῦ μόνον ὡς καὶ δικαιότατον προσκόπει. οὕτω μὲν γὰρ οὔτε τι πείσῃ κακὸν καὶ πάντων τῶν ἡδίστων ἀπολαύσεις, καὶ προσέτι τιμηθήσῃ ὑπ' αὐτῶν, ἂν τ' ἐθέλωσιν ἂν τὲ μή......οὐδεὶς γὰρ ἀνθρώπων ἑκὼν ἄρχεται, ἀλλ' ἐφόσον μὲν φοβεῖται, θεραπεύει τὸν ἰσχυρότερον, ὅταν δὲ δὴ θαρσήσῃ, τιμωρεῖται τὸν ἀσθενέστερον.

A chill runs down one's spine listening to this. All the more so because it is a true diagnosis. This is the very genius of death pontificating.This is the discourse of pure might, shorn of any moral adornment. This is the formula of historical action reduced to its elementary components. This is Thucydides looking on from his distance of four centuries or so to witness the verification of his insights (he was the model for Dion Cassius). Machiavelli must have learned a lot from this diatribe.

All subjects hate their rulers and wish them dead. So, the ruler should not show favor to any one of them (especially the most potent among them), and he should not spare any of them. Murder is the indispensable instrument of power. The only thing the ruler must strive to effect is what is pleasant and safe for himself. If he does this he will not suffer anything adverse to his interests and he will enjoy all good things in life. Moreover, if he achieves this he will be honored, willingly or not, by those who secretly wish to destroy him. No man willingly bends to power. They will serve it as long as they are afraid of it. But if they gain in strength, they will put down the weaker party.

The most disheartening piece of this wisdom is the one claiming that the whole society will acquiesce in egregious tyranny, provided the tyrant is resolved to be unflinchingly brutal as long as it takes and he lets all know it. Of course, a conspiracy may lay him low, as it did Caius. But the tyrannicides usually do not aim to do away with tyranny, but only with the tyrant so they can take his place. Cassius Charaea, the killer of Caligula, was an exception in that harking back to his namesake who had asassinated Julius Ceasar, intended to restore the republic by giving power back to the Senate. But the dominant political actors, even though they were opposed to the fallen monster, did not concur. Poor lisping Claudius was cowering in the closet and when the Praetorians found him he thought that he was headed straight for the executioner's block. But they acclaimed him emperor instead and they disembowelled Chaeraea. Empire was the only game in town and the various factions were just vying about who would execute it most consequently. They fully shared the dead boy's horrific doctrine, except that they objected to his manner of dividing the spoils. Society, from its elites down to its last downtrodden member, had been completely gleichgeschaltet. The imperial regime was strengthnened by the murder of the wayward emperor, for that weapon had been employed which is most congenial to its tyrannical nature. Claudius would eventually be felled in the same manner. So the tyranny went on and on, and in the minds of subsequent generations it even acquired the glow of glory and beneficence, manufactured chiefly by orators, poets and historians.

So we are stuck with Caius after all. Can we see through his smirk? Can we decipher the symbolism that his, alas, attractive countenance exudes, brushing aside the mesmerizing aesthetics?