see how that can be restored, unless we were to abandon Empire, which is unthinkable."
Cicero pressed the tips of his fingers together, moved them apart, brought them together two or three times, elevated his chin, held the attention of all.
"Hmm," he said, "those are deep thoughts for one so young, and not unintelligent, not unintelligent by any means, no. Let me see now . . . Yes. I think I see where you are at error — error which is, as you sagely suggest yourself, perhaps inescapable on account of your inexperience. (And let me say in passing that I commend you for admitting your inexperience, which is a fault to which the young rarely confess, though we might all agree that it vitiates any opinion they might express on any subject.) So, my dear boy, your error consists, in my opinion, for what it is worth," he lowered his chin and smiled on us, "not an inconsiderable worth, I am perhaps entitled to believe on account of the encomia which have been lavished on me during my long and not unproductive career - very well then, your error consists in taking a purely mechanistic view of public affairs. You concentrate on the structure of the Constitution, and observe how it came under strain. But in doing so, you neglect to consider the far more important and significant question, which is not 'How?' but 'Why?' And they are not, give me leave to assure you, by any means the same thing. We can easily see how things fall apart; but why? That goes deeper, and perhaps it requires the wisdom which only age can bring even to commence to offer an answer. So, I must say that in my view we are concerned principally with a question of morality. Yes, morality, not mechanics. The sickness of the Republic lies not in its institutions — institutions which have so gloriously stood the test of time - but in the men who inhabit them. Selfishness now reigns where zeal for the public good used to flourish. We are suffering, that is to say, from what I shall call 'individualism'. What do I mean by that? Simply this: the readiness of men to respond to any public matter with the question, 'What's in it for me? Where may I find personal advantage?' rather than the question that so nobly informed the minds of our forefathers, 'What does Rome require of me?'"
He paused, looked round the table, fixing his gaze on each of us and holding it, till the other turned away, perhaps in embarrassment. Even I found myself lowering my eyes, but when I looked up I saw that the youth who had raised the matter was returning Cicero's scrutiny with a calm and candid look. A smile played around his lips, and he appeared eager to hear what the veteran orator had to impart. There was no insolence in his smile, and I do not believe that even Cicero felt any, but it was Cicero who broke off the exchange and, with an air of urgency, resumed his discourse.
"What does Rome require of me? That is the question I have put to myself throughout my long and not inglorious career. It was in full consciousness of the import of that question that I confronted the information brought to me concerning the foul conspiracy of Catiline. If each of us asks himself that question, we shall know how we should conduct ourselves. This vice, which I call 'individualism', is in my view Greek, not Roman. Let us extirpate it from our public life, and then we shall resume our antique Roman virtue. Individualism is the curse of our age and the occasion of our present discontents . . ."
His hand shook as he raised his goblet of wine, and he wiped first his lips, then his temples, with a napkin.
For my part, it seemed that he had spoken more dangerously and more rashly than he knew. This term, "individualism", which he had coined: who incarnated it but Caesar?
The party broke up. I contrived to attach myself to the youth who had aroused my interest on account of his demeanour and intelligence.
"I should know who you are," I said, as we stepped into a summer night that was now cool. "But I am
Cicero pressed the tips of his fingers together, moved them apart, brought them together two or three times, elevated his chin, held the attention of all.
"Hmm," he said, "those are deep thoughts for one so young, and not unintelligent, not unintelligent by any means, no. Let me see now . . . Yes. I think I see where you are at error — error which is, as you sagely suggest yourself, perhaps inescapable on account of your inexperience. (And let me say in passing that I commend you for admitting your inexperience, which is a fault to which the young rarely confess, though we might all agree that it vitiates any opinion they might express on any subject.) So, my dear boy, your error consists, in my opinion, for what it is worth," he lowered his chin and smiled on us, "not an inconsiderable worth, I am perhaps entitled to believe on account of the encomia which have been lavished on me during my long and not unproductive career - very well then, your error consists in taking a purely mechanistic view of public affairs. You concentrate on the structure of the Constitution, and observe how it came under strain. But in doing so, you neglect to consider the far more important and significant question, which is not 'How?' but 'Why?' And they are not, give me leave to assure you, by any means the same thing. We can easily see how things fall apart; but why? That goes deeper, and perhaps it requires the wisdom which only age can bring even to commence to offer an answer. So, I must say that in my view we are concerned principally with a question of morality. Yes, morality, not mechanics. The sickness of the Republic lies not in its institutions — institutions which have so gloriously stood the test of time - but in the men who inhabit them. Selfishness now reigns where zeal for the public good used to flourish. We are suffering, that is to say, from what I shall call 'individualism'. What do I mean by that? Simply this: the readiness of men to respond to any public matter with the question, 'What's in it for me? Where may I find personal advantage?' rather than the question that so nobly informed the minds of our forefathers, 'What does Rome require of me?'"
He paused, looked round the table, fixing his gaze on each of us and holding it, till the other turned away, perhaps in embarrassment. Even I found myself lowering my eyes, but when I looked up I saw that the youth who had raised the matter was returning Cicero's scrutiny with a calm and candid look. A smile played around his lips, and he appeared eager to hear what the veteran orator had to impart. There was no insolence in his smile, and I do not believe that even Cicero felt any, but it was Cicero who broke off the exchange and, with an air of urgency, resumed his discourse.
"What does Rome require of me? That is the question I have put to myself throughout my long and not inglorious career. It was in full consciousness of the import of that question that I confronted the information brought to me concerning the foul conspiracy of Catiline. If each of us asks himself that question, we shall know how we should conduct ourselves. This vice, which I call 'individualism', is in my view Greek, not Roman. Let us extirpate it from our public life, and then we shall resume our antique Roman virtue. Individualism is the curse of our age and the occasion of our present discontents . . ."
His hand shook as he raised his goblet of wine, and he wiped first his lips, then his temples, with a napkin.
For my part, it seemed that he had spoken more dangerously and more rashly than he knew. This term, "individualism", which he had coined: who incarnated it but Caesar?
The party broke up. I contrived to attach myself to the youth who had aroused my interest on account of his demeanour and intelligence.
"I should know who you are," I said, as we stepped into a summer night that was now cool. "But I am
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