Et tu, Brute?
The phrase that has come to signify the ultimate betrayal bears close resemblance to another momentous one-liner: “Elementary, my dear Watson”. The likeness lies in the fact that in all the four novels and 56 short stories penned by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, these words were never uttered by the
However, Holmes often did qualify his conclusions as ‘elementary’—something that continued to fascinate Watson even towards the end of his association with the world’s only ‘consulting detective’. A common exchange between the two friends would be something on the lines of:
“Remarkable,” I cried.
“Elementary,” he said.
The titular phrase under scrutiny here is purportedly credited to Gaius Julius Caesar. It is claimed that at the time of his assassination, Caesar had initially resisted his attackers but when he saw Brutus, a close friend, amongst them, he resigned himself to his fate. A little bit of detective work made it pretty obvious to me that there can be no certain record of Caesar’s last words. Closed-circuit T.V. cameras were still not the rage, after all. Moreover, Caesar was more likely to express his despair in Greek than Latin.
Indeed, the phrase came into popular usage after being used as the first half of a macaronic (text spoken or written using a mixture of languages, like Hinglish) line in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar: “Et tu brute? Then fall, Caesar!” Shakespeare, though, is often credited with too much originality. He was simply making use of a phrase that was in a common use during his time—it appears in other contemporary English and Latin plays.
Poetic justice demands that someone bear the cross of life’s cruel irony.
So, we can conclude, within the bounds of reason, that there is no way to ascertain whether Caesar uttered those words just before succumbing to his wounds. But why choose Brutus, the son to Caesar’s mistress? Why not the 60 other conspirators who publicly stabbed the great Roman general not less than 23 times? More importantly, does he deserve to carry the burden of this stigma? A crash course in history of the fall of the Roman Republic will serve to put things in perspective.
Julius Caesar emerged on the political scene of Rome by forming an alliance, the First Triumvirate, with Crassus and Pompey. Their attempts to amass political power through populist tactics (Advani and Modi would be modern Indian equivalents) were opposed by the conservative elite, the chief amongst them being Cato and Cicero, the famed orator. However, after his victory in the Gallic Wars (fought from 58 B.C. to 51 B.C.), Caesar’s military and political clout had begun to worry even his closest allies. Not to mention that the spoils of war added a tremendous amount of wealth to his coffers. With the death of Crassus in 53 B.C., the balance of power shifted irrevocably in Caesar’s favour, prompting a standoff between Caesar and Pompey.
In 50 B.C., at the instigation of Pompey, Cesar was charged with war crimes, asked to disband his armies, and appear before the Roman Senate. Since his term as the Governor of Gaul was coming to an end, this meant that he could be tried as a private citizen, sans the legal immunity he enjoyed as the Governor of a province. Therefore, he got his closest confidante, Mark Antony, elected to the post of Tribune of the Plebs (Plebs refers to the Proletariat or the working class of the Roman society). As the Tribune, Antony had veto power over any motion passed by the Senate. However, when he tried to veto the motion seeking to brand Caesar as an enemy of the state, he was violently expelled from the Senate. This move proved to be the proverbial final straw and caused Caesar to advance on Rome with a single legion—the Thirteenth Legion. When he crossed the Rubicon (a river close to Rome) in 49 B.C., he ignited the first civil war in Rome. Pompey and his supporters fled the city, even though they had significantly larger reserves of armed forces.
Leaving the charge of administering Rome to Mark Antony, Caesar pursued set himself to the task of pursuing and overpowering his opponents. After barely avoiding a catastrophic defeat at the Battle of Dyrrhachium (48 B.C.), he was finally able to rout the last of Pompey’s forces at the Battle of Pharsalus later that year. It was after this decisive victory that Cato and Scipio, two other major adversaries of Caesar, fled to Africa while Brutus and Cicero surrendered themselves, having lost their faith in the Pompeian faction. Caesar, eager to appear as a merciful leader, pardoned them and even appointed Brutus as the Governor of Gaul. Later, he would nominate Brutus as his heir in his will were Octavius, the primary successor, to die before Brutus. After several minor and major battles in Africa and Egypt, Caesar finally returned to Rome in 46 B.C. and was appointed as the Dictator for a period of ten years.
Here, it should be kept in mind that the office of the Dictator was a legal position decreed by the Senate and aimed at granting absolute authority to perform tasks beyond the influence of normal officials. The office granted Caesar sweeping powers in matters of political and military administration and holding this post he governed autocratically, more in the manner of a general than a politician. He got the Senate to shower him with triumphs (public ceremonies celebrating his military victories) and even allowed his statues to be decorated like those of Roman Gods. Many Romans found these triumphs to be in poor taste as those defeated in the civil wars had been fellow Romans and not foreign rivals. That, however, did little to dissuade Caesar. Having little regard for political structure, he ruled almost by whim. Reluctant and offending officials were brought before the Senate and divested of their office. Naturally, his autocratic methods alienated him from many patricians (or members of the nobility).
This is not to say that he was least concerned about the welfare of his people or sought to establish a dynasty. He followed a policy of clemency and granted pardon to all those who had opposed him, refusing even to confiscate their property. He sought to repair the chaotic and dysfunctional machinery of the Roman Republic where the army and not the constitution has become the means to achieve political ends. He wanted to restore peace in the empire by creating a strong central government in Rome that could reign in the truant provinces. He instituted a large array of political and social reforms that were both sound and far-sighted. For instance, he resolved the debt crisis facing the Republic, resettled war veterans abroad without dispossessing land owners, ensured a steady supply of grain from Egypt, and enlarged the Senate so as to include representatives from the outlying provinces.
However, power is inherently corrupting. So when Caesar was named Dictator perpetuo or Dictator in perpetuation in 44 B.C., it proved to be the final push that his enemies needed. They feared he had become a tyrant and would soon turn the republic into a monarchy. Guided by the Latin motto ‘Sic simper tyrannis’ or ‘Thus always to tyrants’, Brutus was persuaded to wield the knife as a symbolic gesture for the people of Rome—his ancestors had been one of the founding fathers of the Republic. Public sentiment was an important consideration as Caesar saw himself as a leader of the people despite his aristocratic origins.
On the Ides of March—March 15, 44 B.C.—Caesar was due to appear at the Senate. Mark Antony, who had vaguely learnt of the plot the night before, had set out to warn his friend before it was too late. But he was intercepted on the steps leading up to the portico of the Theatre of Pompey, the venue for the session. It is believed that the first strike had come from Casca, who pulled down Caesar’s tunic and struck him with a knife. But Caesar was able to turn around quickly and evade the blow. Within moments, however, nearly 60 Liberatores, including Brutus, went to work on the dictator and continued stabbing until he was dead. Plutarch, a Greek historian, reports that Caesar said nothing but simply pulled his toga over his head when he saw Brutus amongst his killers. He also writes that after the assassination Brutus had stepped forward, as if to say something, but had been unable to do so. The conspirators had then marched in the streets of the capital, rejoicing the tyrannicide and the ‘rebirth’ of the Republic.
In the light of these facts, one is forced to reconsider one’s stance. Was Brutus not caught in the same dilemma as his peers? Did he seek power, something he was unable to enjoy in the aftermath of the assassination, or was he merely trying to do the difficult thing? Is he not the greater tragic hero? In another universe, his betrayal might be considered to be the supreme sacrifice—an act of selflessness that put the good of his people above the welfare of his friend and family. But then again, poetic justice demands that someone bear the cross of life’s cruel irony. It is fitting that Brutus, who was almost as a son to Caesar, should find himself torn between love and duty and carry the burden of his choice for the rest of eternity.