Tiberius the Tyrant

by John Charles Tarver

The fable of the dissimulation of Tiberius grew out of two facts, his naturally reserved nature, and the mysterious tragedy which clouded the last seven years of his life. Of the nature of that tragedy, and of the question whether he was not more sinned against than sinning, it will be more convenient to speak when we reach it in the order of events; but of the personal characteristics which tempted men to ascribe to him numerous unamiable qualities, and which gave credence to the cruel insinuations of his private enemies, it is not inconvenient to speak at the present moment.

The silent man is always terrible, and Tiberius was a silent man; even when he spoke, he spoke slowly; his prepared speeches were uttered with deliberation, and it was not always easy to follow their meaning; he was in fact apt to speak above the heads of his audience, and to ascribe to them knowledge and trains of thought which they did not share with himself. His obscurity was the more alarming because it seemed to be premeditated, for when he was unexpectedly stirred by some strong emotion, his words were rapid enough and clear enough and incisive enough to make such of his hearers as had reason to dread his displeasure feel very uncomfortable. Given time for preparation, he studied the statesman’s art of non-committal oratory; he felt his responsibilities, and was so anxious to avoid injudicious expressions as to be sometimes unintelligible. The contrast between this studied reticence and his occasional vigorous invective, or biting sarcasm, was so marked as to suggest perpetually smouldering fires. Sometimes his sense of humour tempted him to an unseemly display, as when the citizens of Troy sent a belated deputation to condole with him on the death of his son, and he returned the compliment by expressing his sympathy with their grief at the loss of an eminent fellow-citizen—Hector. He was contemptuous of the arts by which popularity is gained; conscious of rectitude of purpose, and of a generally benevolent temper towards his immediate attendants and the people of Rome, he never pretended to take pleasure in things for which he had no taste in order to win favour. Simple in his tastes, inexpensive in his pleasures, he reserved his money for great emergencies, and forbore to squander it upon those sumptuous shows in which the Roman crowds delighted. It was this severity of temperament in Tiberius which Augustus endeavoured unsuccessfully to modify, himself a man naturally disposed to bask in the popular favour and genuinely enjoying the lighter side of life. We shall have to record pleasing instances of the benevolent and wise liberality of Tiberius on occasions of great distress, but the common herd is more ready to bestow its affections upon those who share its everyday amusements than upon those who provide relief for its exceptional tribulations; indeed, the man who abstains from the pleasures of others, inevitably, though unwillingly and unconsciously, assumes the position of a censor of morals, for the man who cannot enjoy with others is often unjustly credited, even in private life, with a veiled contempt for the lovers of innocent diversions. Again, seeing events from a point of view which commanded a large horizon, Tiberius did not feel the sting of words or actions which appeared to less large natures necessarily unendurable, and when he forbore to express resentment his silence was construed as an indication not of indifference, but of politic self-restraint. Men do not readily inflict humiliation on themselves by imputing to an enemy unconsciousness of their malice or contempt for its smallness; it is more satisfactory to believe that the wound has been felt, and that the victim is brooding over his revenge. The reserve of Tiberius was the more imposing because his personal appearance was in itself awe-inspiring; the tall, gaunt old man, with his large eyes, his thin lips, his bush of hair, his stooping shoulders, and, as his age increased, his fiery complexion, was a figure calculated to inspire terror, when the revelation of some unexpected meanness, some more than ordinarily unjust interpretation of his actions called forth one of those rare bursts of passion and scorching vituperation. But a man may thus terrify without possessing any propensity to cruelty; mere native superiority is terrifying, and the more so when its possessor is one whose powers are vague and believed to be unlimited.

Tiberius is not the only statesman who has underestimated the damaging effects of unpopularity; within certain limits a statesman cannot afford to be unpopular, and impairs his own usefulness if he raises an irrational prejudice against himself. There are times and occasions when it is the duty of a statesman to face public opinion, and to persist in an unpopular policy, but it is never the duty of a statesman to excite personal animosity; in so far as a public man stirs unnecessary animosities he is a failure, for it is only a rare combination of circumstances that reveals to a community the real worth of a man who has the unfortunate knack of making himself disliked. On the other hand, the worthlessness of many a man who has achieved great popularity by the unconscious flattery of the weaknesses of his fellow citizens, has often escaped notice, because the events by which alone he could be tested never happened to occur in his lifetime, or during his tenure of power.

Conscious of the strictest rectitude of purpose, contemptuous of the judgment of the crowd, equally contemptuous of the small aims and narrow outlook of even the more cultivated Roman Senators, shrewd, practical and intellectual, but not emotional or sentimental, impatient of weakness, intolerant of smallness, Tiberius was not a man to attract sympathy, or to be appreciated beyond the narrow circle of a few intimates, who understood his real aspirations. Augustus was a less noble man and a less intellectual man, but he was able to do work that Tiberius could never have done, because he was more in touch with the men through whom he had to work; where Augustus was guided by a subtle and unconscious sympathy, Tiberius practised the lessons drawn from observation and reason. The result was in most cases the same, but with this difference, that Tiberius ignored those things which are incapable of rational analysis and mathematical expression, Augustus understood them; while Tiberius refused to allow altars to be built in his honour, his sturdy common sense not permitting him to see anything supernatural in his position, Augustus, with a truer instinct, allowed himself to be canonized in his lifetime. Tiberius offended a popular sentiment by his rejection of divine honours; Augustus by his acceptance added not only to his own security, but to the strength of the Empire.

An examination of the political transactions of Tiberius for the year 15 A.D., and of the account which Tacitus gives of them, forms at once a good introduction to the study of subsequent events, and sets in a clear light the policy of the Emperor, the tendencies of the Senate, and the character of the impartiality claimed for himself by the historian.

Augustus had been dead for four months when the Senate met on the first of January to exchange compliments with the Emperor, and to inaugurate the policy of the coming year; the formal business of installing the officials in their chairs was gone through on this occasion, and all the ceremonies handed down from the Republican times were scrupulously observed.

In addition to the routine business, the Senate offered a compliment to Tiberius; they wished him to accept and adopt permanently the title of “Father of his Country,” which they had given to Augustus. Tiberius refused it. Suetonius has preserved a few lines of the speech in which he intimated his refusal: “If, however, you shall at any time find reason to mistrust my character, or my devotion to yourselves—and I pray heaven that death may save me from such a change in your opinion of me before it comes to pass—this title will add nothing to my fame, while it will convict you either of precipitation in conferring it upon me now, or of levity in forming a contrary opinion hereafter.” The concluding sentence suggests a possible touch of irony, but it does not give any ground for the assumption that Tiberius foresaw his own unpopularity, or was conscious of being unworthy of the honour, as is suggested by Suetonius. Tiberius despised the empty compliment; possibly he was irritated by the offer, but the tyrant who would think it worth his while to deprecate a compliment of this kind, because he was conscious of his unworthiness, or deliberately proposed to make himself unworthy, is rare in the annals of tyranny.

The Senate then wished to proceed to a ceremony which was not merely ceremonial, but of deep political significance. Cæsar during his short reign had prevailed on the Senate to take an oath individually that they would ratify all his transactions. It was by virtue of this proceeding that Antonius made his snatch at supreme power. After the murder of the Dictator the Senate was still pledged to the ratification of his acts, and Antonius being in possession of the papers of Cæsar was able to produce Cæsar’s authority for whatever measures he wished to carry and whatever appointments he wished to make. Augustus had reintroduced the same system, and it had been the custom during his reign to renew the oath on the first day of each official year. The Senate’s position was thus reduced from that of a legislative and executive body to that of a purely consultative body; the forms of voting, the forms of the appointment of magistrates might be maintained, senators might be free to express their opinions on questions of policy, or to raise questions and direct the attention of the Emperor to matters requiring his attention, but they were pledged in advance to accept his decision. It is a work of supererogation to enumerate the different magistracies which were combined in the one person of the Emperor, for so long as the Senators took this oath, he was above all magistracies; no power was left to the Senate except that of formally ratifying his decrees. Much the same effect has been secured in English politics by the stringent rules of party Government: members of Parliament do not take an oath to register the decrees of the leaders or leader of their party, but the practical result is the same; whatever may be said in the House of Commons, however violent the debates, the conclusion is foregone, so soon as the Government of the day has declared its intentions; practically no Bill can be introduced without its consent, no discussion held except with its connivance; the majority is pledged to vote as its leaders direct, and the march into the division lobbies is a tedious and superfluous ceremony, an antiquated and exasperating formality. Political purists may deplore such a state of things, but as a practical expedient it is supremely useful. No country was ever yet governed by an undisciplined debating society; the form of discipline may vary, but the discipline must be there.

Tiberius, however, wished to be a constitutional ruler, and to restore to the Senate its independence; he refused to allow it to swear in advance to ratify his transactions. Here again we have a few lines of his speech: “I shall always be like myself, and I shall never change my character so long as I am of sound mind; but for the sake of the precedent the Senate must be cautious not to bind itself to the transactions of any being who might be changed by some misadventure.”

The comment of Tacitus is simply: “He did not, however, gain credit for a constitutional policy in this way. For he had revived the ‘Lex Majestatis,’ etc., etc.”