Building loyalty with people and within an organization takes time, action, and dedication. People freely give their power once they are motivated to follow a given leader. No matter how much we want people to want to follow us of their own free will, it takes time, discipline, and patience to become a leader with true power. It takes an investment in the organization around you.
Caesar never took his power for granted. He spent his life creating goodwill, incentives, and intrinsic motivation within those around him and the citizens at large. He nurtured his power as an asset and dedicated his career to the relationships with the people from whom he sought to derive power. What he did take for granted was his own safety. He would never think the Senate would stain its honor with the bloodshed of assassination within its halls; he let his guard down, and it cost him his life. But even in death, as this last story shows, his followers did not cease to feel loyalty, devotion, or obligation to the great leader. Even his death could be seen as one move closer to his ultimate goal of the transformation of the Roman system.
It was 44 BC. Caesar had come an extraordinary way. He had rebuilt his family’s fortunes and cemented his personal legacy in the arc of one career. He had followed a different path and along the way heralded a new form of Roman leadership. Rather than using force and intimidation, Caesar used intrinsic motivation to find his way into the hearts and minds of the Roman people and upend the old system.
After the civil war ended, Caesar returned home to unusual peace. His enemies had fought and lost. Those who hadn’t died in battle were pardoned. He had brought order to the world. Caesar stood alone at the top of the political heap, at the apogee of his power. Though still resentful of his power and prestige, the Senate voted to appoint him dictator for life. The word dictator means “ruthless autocrat” in the modern world. In the Roman system, a dictator was an appointed position, put into place only in deeply troubled times to steady the ship of state through enlightened and decisive action.
Caesar’s next big move was to plan a war on the Parthians, a foreign empire to the east that had often bested Roman armies. As his planning reached a fever pitch, a group of increasingly desperate senators began plotting. Caesar’s consolidation of power into a single person had sent many senators into a murderous rage. Politically impotent, they turned to force, and a few days before he was to leave for the Parthian campaign, a cabal of senators was determined to attack.
On the Ides of March, the Senate gathered within the Theater of Pompey. Caesar’s former ally-turned-rival had built the magnificent edifice as the first stone theater in the city and as a monument to his glory. That morning, Caesar’s wife awoke from a nightmare in which her husband had been assassinated. She begged him not to go to the Senate that day, and he took note of her warning. She was not prone to hysteria, and he prepared to send a message to the Senate, excusing himself due to poor health. But then one of the conspirators, Decimus Brutus, arrived at Caesar’s home to ensure that he would attend the fateful meeting. He talked Caesar into attending the Senate meeting and accompanied Caesar to the theater. As Caesar made his way to the meeting, one of his allies, who had gotten word of the senatorial plot, frantically sent a dispatch to him to warn him. As Caesar arrived at the theater, he received the note and held it in his hand, but in the crush of senators moving in to attend the day’s business, he didn’t have the opportunity to open it.
Once the meeting was underway, the senators wasted little time. They advanced on the seated Caesar, stabbing wildly at the shocked leader. Quick to his feet, Caesar fought them off as best he could. But there were too many knives flying from all directions, and Caesar was soon fatally cut down. He bled to death on the floor, under the stoic, unmoving, and penetrating gaze of a marble statue of his long-dead archrival, Pompey the Great.
With their mission accomplished, the disorganized mob of slashing senators felt as though they had liberated the Roman people from a tyrant. In their minds, the death of Caesar was the liberation of the people and a triumph of the rightful power brokers over a cruel oligarch. Those who had conspired to bring about the death of Caesar, especially Marcus Brutus, certainly portrayed this as the narrative. In their minds, Caesar had come to represent oppression, the destruction of ancient rights.
But what had they really accomplished? They had eliminated the most powerful individual in their world. The nature of this power meant that countless people had followed Caesar of their free will. This will was not so easily transferred. Caesar’s death did not mean that the Senate could divvy up his power as they could the land of a conquered foreign foe. The Senate had savagely resorted to force to butcher a man they resented, but the power didn’t just go away. It had to go somewhere. Where the conspirators felt that they had taken the initiative, events would prove how little command and control of the situation they really had.
The senators misread the situation; they failed to understand the concept of the power vacuum. Caesar had set to work consolidating the distributed power of the Roman world into his own hands. When he died, the power didn’t simply diffuse itself; the system had changed, and the Senate had failed to account for this when they knifed Caesar to death on the Ides of March. It is a poignant lesson with multi-faceted implications in today’s context. Removing any leader or executive does not necessarily mean that their imprint on the organization goes away.
The Senate’s use of force took away Caesar’s life, but it didn’t take away his power. Even in his death, the people of Rome rose to his support, sending the conspirators fleeing for their lives. Power always trumps force, and power carries a legacy. The conspirators failed to understand the difference. Caesar’s murder on the Ides should be seen for what it was:the complete failure of force. The Senate, so steeped in lofty rhetoric about liberty and tyranny, acted in the most tyrannical way of all by murdering someone because of ideological differences.
In the modern world of organizational politics, people often come into conflict with one another. In sizing up an antagonist, it’s important to consider not only the individual but also the others from whom that individual has received power. The conspirators thought that by taking Caesar’s life, they could take his power. They were wrong. In fact, the Senate’s actions ended up costing them what little power and prestige they had left.
Though dead, Caesar had one more act that only increased the people’s loyalty. In death, he proved that his dedication to them had been genuine. He cared deeply for them, and he rewarded their trust and affection. When Caesar’s will was read, the people were astonished to discover that he left a sizable portion of his estate to the people of Rome. Overcoming the chronic debt that had hamstrung his earlier career, Caesar died an extremely wealthy man, and his act of generosity was a windfall for most Romans. Cash payments were to be made to every citizen of the city. His gardens and renowned art collection were to be donated to the people for their enjoyment and benefit.
The Senate had told the people that Caesar was a tyrant, a ruthless autocrat tamping down their rights and privileges, and had sought to sell the narrative that his death had liberated them. And yet, even in death, Caesar demonstrated his fealty to the people of Rome. Vanquished in life, Caesar triumphed in death. His bond to the people was secure. The Senate would never again be the driving force of Roman politics. As the people of Rome considered their windfall, they reflected on the love they had for the fallen great man who had acted as their faithful servant. Truly, in Julius Caesar we find the first great example of servant leadership. While no such term existed in his day, it didn’t need to: the people understood that he stood for them, and that he served their rights, needs, and interests.
But beyond the bequest to the people, Caesar’s will had an even bigger shocker. He posthumously adopted his great-nephew Octavius and left the bulk of his estate to the mostly unknown young man.
This choice of Octavius, which seemed strange to so many at the time, offers us critical insight into an issue central to the legacy of any leader: succession. Octavius was an unlikely successor to Caesar. Where Caesar was bold, charismatic, and courageous, Octavius was pensive, calculating, and enigmatic. He wasn’t even considered a close relative. He was a great-nephew on his mother’s side, far enough removed to barely be considered family. Worse of all, Octavius was just a teenager! Caesar had older familial and political associates with greater seasoning and experience. So why had he chosen Octavius?
While young and draped in what seemed to be yellow flags, Octavius had a few things going for him in Caesar’s eyes. Octavius had a smoldering intelligence; he had a quick mind and demonstrated a deft understanding of the complex realities of Roman politics. Caesar understood that innate talents trump external flash. In seeking a successor, the brilliant Caesar valued someone who had the same intellectual abilities. Caesar also looked past social expectations. What other people thought didn’t matter; what mattered was who would best honor and preserve Caesar’s legacy. None of the other candidates would have come close.
Octavius also had a loyal circle of friends around him, including the astonishingly competent Marcus Agrippa and the witty and cultured Gaius Maecenas. Caesar knew that his choice of Octavius came with a group of people who would be loyal supporters, moderating the young man’s impulses and helping him to make better, more measured decisions. In considering succession, Caesar demonstrated that one of the most important criteria is not just the candidate but also the people with whom that candidate is associated.
Unconventional though it may have been, Caesar’s choice of successor proved truly inspired. Caesar broadened the criteria on which typical successor decisions were, and still are, made. He saw past age and conventions of relationships and the social context that came with Octavius. And young though Octavius was, it should be noted, Caesar was in his fifties; he should have had time to further nurture and mentor the young man. Caesar hadn’t exactly expected to get murdered by a mob of senators.
On the day of his funeral, the people of Rome were restive. As the funeral oration was delivered, the combination of the people’s love of Caesar and rage at his murder boiled over. The people began throwing sticks, furniture, and any fuel they could find onto Caesar’s pyre, engulfing the Forum in flames. Much of Rome burned in the conflagration, which symbolized the eternal bond between Caesar and his followers. Truly, and quite literally, this last act of defiance on the part of the people forged in flames their relationship with their beloved leader.
The assassins were shocked. They had believed that they had liberated the people, and now those very people sought vengeance. The assassins fled for their lives, many barricading themselves as the citizens laid siege to their homes and laid waste to the city.
Caesar was truly beloved by the people of Rome. According to conventions of society, he should have had disdain for the common man, and they should have had disdain for him. He came from one of the most ancient and blue-blooded families in Roman society. Snobbery was his birthright: he was born at the very top of the social order in a society where social order meant everything. When you’re born at the top, how much thought do you really give to the people beneath you?