George Washington’s Dilemma: To Be Cato or Caesar

How the great American traversed the Roman path

Through the actions of a Caesar and the intentions of a Cato, Washington maneuvered America closer to victory and independence. "Washington Crossing the Delaware," 1856–71, by George Caleb Bingham. Chrysler Museum of Art, Virginia. Public Domain

In August 1755, George Washington had been made commander in chief of Virginia’s colonial forces. A year later, however, the 25-year-old commander became incensed at being passed over for a royal commission. He was also bitter over the manner in which his fellow Virginians, those who had “behaved like men and died like soldiers,” had been treated by the British. The Virginia Regiment had been the first to enter into the fray of the French and Indian War.

“Your endeavors in the Service and Defence of your Country must redound to your Honor, therefore pray don’t let any unavoidable Interruptions sicken your Mind in the Attempts You may pursue,” warned George William Fairfax in a letter to Washington in April of 1756. “Your good Health and Fortune is the Toast at every Table, Among the Romans such a general Acclamation and public Regard shown to any of their Chieftains were always esteemed a high Honor and gratefully accepted.”

Washington, who had a hand in starting the war at Jumonville, had constantly put his life on the line for the British and colonists. During the Battle of the Monongahela, he had two horses shot out from under him and had four bullet holes in his hat and uniform. At the end of 1758, with the war still several years from conclusion and having survived battles, smallpox, malaria, dysentery, and pleurisy, Washington resigned his commission. His entrepreneurial spirit would supersede his military passions, but according to historian Ron Chernow, Washington “had acquired a powerful storehouse of grievances that would fuel his later rage with England.”

The Roman Chieftains

Senator Catiline’s conspiracy to overthrow the Roman government in 63 B.C. was prevented and exposed by Cicero. Seated left is Catiline in “The Catiline Conspiracy,” 1792, by Jean-François Janinet after Jean-Guillaume Moitte. Etching.  National Gallery of Art, Washington. Public Domain

Cato the Younger and Julius Caesar had their first standoff in 63 B.C. debating the allegations of the Catiline Conspiracy―a conspiracy to overthrow the republic, led by Lucius Sergius Catiline, who had just lost the election to consul for the second time. Cato and Caesar argued in the Senate whether to dispense with constitutional proceedings and execute the conspirators, which included several senators, or abide by the constitution, preserve their lives, but once found guilty, sentence them to life in prison and confiscate their properties. The Senate initially agreed with Caesar’s proposal of constitutional adherence, but Cato’s rebuttal won the day.

It is hard to say which decision was the right one. What resulted after the executions and the defeat of Catiline was a continuation of political upheaval and backroom dealings that led to a civil war, the death of Cato, and the dictatorship of Caesar in 46 B.C. Though Caesar would be assassinated in 44 B.C., the republic could not be saved and would soon recede into the irretrievable past, giving way to the rule of emperors.

"The Death of Caesar," between 1673 and 1736, by Victor Honoré Janssens. Oil on canvas. Private Collection. Public Domain

The age of Julius Caesar is one of history’s greatest dramas. One of Shakespeare’s tragedies is based on the events centering around Caesar’s assassination. The colonists in America, Washington among them, were well acquainted with Shakespeare―they were British, after all. There was another British playwright that Washington enjoyed: Joseph Addison. His play “Cato, a Tragedy,” which premiered in London in 1713, was a British sensation that carried over into the colonies. Cato had been a staunch republican; Addison’s version was even more so. The play was a source of inspiration for Washington, who quoted from it often.

Washington was well-versed in the real and the fictive versions of both Cato and Caesar. When King George II died two years after Washington’s resignation, the choice to become either of those great Roman chieftains would soon present itself to Washington.

A Man of the Field: Farm and Battle

After Washington’s victory at Trenton, he was poised to become a Caesar. “General George Washington at Trenton,” 1792, by John Trumbull. Gift of the Society of the Cincinnati in Connecticut; Yale University. Public Domain

Mere weeks after resigning, Washington married Martha Custis. His farm life would expand. His entrepreneurial ideas and land speculations increased. He had transitioned from bloody fields to fertile soils, exchanging gunpowder for tobacco leaves.

When the war ended, France lost its lands west of the Mississippi River, except New Orleans. In September 1763, Washington and 19 others created the Mississippi Land Company in hopes of claiming 2.5 million acres in the Ohio Valley. The following month, though, King George III issued a royal proclamation banning British colonists from expanding west of the Appalachian Mountains. The troubles with the Crown would soon amass.

With each passing year, attempting to pay off its immense war debts, the British government continued to issue new taxes on the colonists. The colonists felt less strongly about taxation than they did about being taxed without representation. Their rights as British citizens were ignored, though their protestations would at times result in the Crown altering course. Over the following decade, more acts would be passed, interspersed with flare-ups like the Boston Massacre in 1770 and the Boston Tea Party in 1773. A final straw was the Quartering Act of 1774, a far more invasive version of the one passed in 1765. This act allowed British soldiers to be housed in private homes and businesses, like taverns and inns.

The abuse by the world’s greatest power had gone far enough. Washington met with other leaders of Fairfax County, Virginia, on July 18, 1774, to demand that their rights be restored as British citizens and “Descendants not of the Conquered, but of the Conquerors.” The Fairfax Resolves, written by him and George Mason, were a thorough rebuke to the British Crown and Parliament. Less than two months later, 56 delegates from 12 of the 13 colonies met in Philadelphia for the First Continental Congress. After more than a decade of what the colonists viewed as being ignored, abused, and reduced “under absolute despotism,” a conflict seemed inevitable. The inevitable took place on April 19, 1775, with the Massachusetts battles of Lexington and Concord. The proverbial Rubicon had been reached. Exactly two months later, Washington would be commissioned to lead the Continental Army across it.

Cato Versus Caesar

Statue of Cato reading the “Phaedo” (Plato’s dialogue recounting the last hours of Socrates's life) before committing suicide, 1840, by Jean-Baptiste Roman and François Rude. Carrara marble. Louvre Museum, Paris. Public Domain

There are arguments to be made in defense of both Cato and Caesar. Their actions were noble in their own way. Although Cato had chosen expediency over the constitution during the Catiline Conspiracy, the rest of his life was dedicated to sustaining the republic and ending political corruption. Cato hoped to retain the republic as it stood, but convince the senators to refrain from corruption. Caesar, on the other hand, had favored the constitution, but now believed that the only way to cleanse the republic of its corruption was through dictatorship. Cato was the champion of Roman tradition. Caesar was the champion of the Roman people. Cato deplored Caesar; Caesar revered Cato.

To Cato, Caesar was the harbinger of tyranny. Caesar confirmed that suspicion on January 10, 49 B.C., when he crossed the Rubicon with his army and marched on Rome. It lit the fires of civil war and, retrospectively, signaled the end of the Roman Republic.

Washington: Both Cato and Caesar

"Washington Crossing the Delaware," 1856–71, by George Caleb Bingham. Oil on canvas. Chrysler Museum of Art, Norfolk, Virginia. Public Domain

The salutary neglect practiced by the British monarchy for 150 years had given the British Americans a near unequaled freedom in the world. When the new king made it clear that those times were over, Washington personified the qualities of both Cato and Caesar. He believed, as Cato did, that nothing was more sacred and necessary than liberty. He also believed, as Caesar did, that the established government had reached its expiration. This dual conception is reflected in his statement that America was “either to be drenched with Blood or Inhabited by Slaves.”

Washington walked with a sense of destiny. He aspired to attain the glory of the great military leaders of the past, having ordered busts of the duke of Marlborough, Frederick II of Prussia, Prince Eugene of Savoy, Charles XII of Sweden, Alexander the Great, and Julius Caesar. Adhering to this sense of destiny, he portrayed an air of invincibility, which was reaffirmed during the winter of 1776–77.

After splitting his army into three groups on Christmas Day, Washington crossed the Delaware River into Trenton, New Jersey, during a snowstorm and defeated the Hessians despite missing two-thirds of his army. During the Battle of Princeton days later, Washington, on his white horse, charged within 30 yards of the enemy. The British and Continentals fired, an officer described, with Washington’s “important life hanging as it were by a single hair with a thousand deaths flying around him.”

When the smoke cleared, Washington was unharmed and unfazed, yelling to his men, “The day is our own!” The miraculous events of those two battles caught the attention of the imperial world, stirring Frederick the Great of Prussia to extol Washington and his army’s successes at Trenton and Princeton, saying that they “were the most brilliant of any recorded in the annals of military achievements.”

The Caesar in Washington’s sails was proving to be the prevailing wind. But as 1777 progressed, that wind began to change. Washington and his army had plummeted to near defeat—saved only by the stunning victory, sans Washington, at Saratoga. Huddled in the confines of Valley Forge throughout the winter of 1777–78, the great general conceived to inspire his men by way of his alter ego: Cato.

With both him and Martha in attendance, “Cato: A Tragedy” was performed for the troops. The Continental Army had triumphed in victory and suffered in defeat, but their struggle for liberty in a world “made for Caesar,” as Addison’s Cato stated, would continue for several more years.

John Kemble as Cato in Joseph Addison's “Cato: A Tragedy.” Drawing by George Cruikshank and engraved by Kirkwood in 1822. Public Domain

Washington’s Final Choice

Through the actions of a Caesar and the intentions of a Cato, Washington maneuvered America closer to victory and independence. Reminiscent of his Trenton and Princeton moments, Washington would emanate Caesar a final time at the Battle of Yorktown in September and October 1781. He personally initiated the relentless cannonade by firing the first shot. The surrender of Gen. Charles Cornwallis signaled the end of the war, though the Treaty of Paris would not be signed for another two years. The moment of Washington accepting the surrender of Cornwallis was captured in all its glory—the glory of a conqueror—by painter John Trumbull.

Trumbull's painting captures the glory of a conqueror, as Washington accepts Cornwallis's surrender after the Battle of Yorktown in 1781. "Surrender of Lord Cornwallis," 1820, by John Trumbull. Capitol Building, Washington. Public Domain

Immediately, rumors swirled concerning Washington’s next political move. He had marched on the British and won. Would America dethrone one king just to submit to another? Would Washington use his military might to establish his new empire, just as Caesar had done?

Col. Lewis Nicola proposed to Washington the idea of becoming the new nation’s first monarch. Washington’s response indicated that he had left the Caesar persona on the blood-drenched field of Yorktown: “If I am not deceived in the knowledge of myself, you could not have found a person to whom your schemes are more disagreeable … If you have any regard for your Country, concern for yourself or posterity—or respect for me, ... banish these thoughts from your Mind.”

On Dec. 22, 1783, a celebratory dinner was thrown by Congress in Washington’s honor. The following afternoon, he stood before the Continental Congress and resigned his commission. “Having now finished the work assigned me,” said Washington, “I retire from the great theater of action.” The light of Cato could not have shone more brightly.

Trumbull captured this moment as well, and upon reflection recalled:

“What a dazzling temptation was here to earthly ambition! Beloved by the military, venerated by the people, who was there to oppose the victorious chief, if he had chosen to retain that power, which he had so long held with universal approbation? The Caesars, the Cromwells, the Napoleons, yielded to the charm of earthly ambition, and betrayed their country; but Washington aspired to loftier, imperishable glory—to that glory which virtue alone can give, and which no power, no effort, no time, can ever take away or diminish.”

"General George Washington Resigning His Commission," 1817–1824, by John Trumbull. Oil on canvas; 12 feet by 18 feet. U.S. Capitol, Washington. Public Domain

It may not have been a surprise in America that Washington resigned. Across the Atlantic, however, the decision invoked both perplexity and awe. King George III was quite certain that Washington would simply take his place as ruler. When he was informed by Benjamin West, the court history painter, that Washington had in fact resigned, the king responded, “If he does that, he will be the greatest man in the world.”

Washington wasn’t the world’s greatest man because he was a Julius Caesar or a Cato. He was the greatest because he was both, consistently alternating between the two out of strategic necessity in order to defeat his enemies and inspire his troops, but never out of personal ambition.