The notion that in affairs of state the _ends_ justify the _means_ long predates the writings of Machiavelli, the figure most identified with this idea. In fact, its origins are lost in time and its practical applications have been entwined with the history of politics itself. This is despite the fact that in past ages the “rule of law” was often much stricter and carried heavier penalties than anything we have today.
Athenian democracy would ostracise or execute even its most eminent leaders if they failed in their duties or otherwise crossed the will of the _demos_, and any Roman magistrate was open to prosecution – and exile or death – for their conduct in office. Yet in every epoch there were exceptions, and rules were broken in the “public interest”, usually under self-serving pretexts. As history is always written by the _winners_, the ability of later generations – or even contemporaries – to discern what really happened remains limited.
The extraordinary events that took place in Romania at the weekend, where a presidential election was cancelled — after the voting had already begun in the run-off — because the “wrong” candidate was set to win by a landslide (the latest polls had Mr Calin Georgescu on around 70 per cent), have been justified on the same principle: an emergency measure taken _in extremis_ to safeguard a higher “good” – presumably “democracy” or some such.
The full truth of the matter remains unclear as hard, conclusive **proof** of _alleged Russian State backing_ for Mr Georgescu — the basis given by the Constitutional Court for annulling the entire electoral process, despite the same Court having already judged the first round as valid — has yet to be made public. Until such evidence is presented and the dust from Romania’s fallen democracy settles, we may look to _Roman_ history for guidance in framing our minds around this kind of high-stakes decisions on which the fate of entire political regimes sometimes depend.
The signal example in this regard is of course the Catilinarian conspiracy of 63 BC when – we are told by Cicero, likely _falsely_ – the fate of the Roman Republic teetered on the brink of collapse. Catiline, an ambitious, rogue aristocrat with a populist outlook, sought to take power at Rome through what today we would call a _coup_: a blend of political intrigue and outright rebellion. His plans included assassinating key Senate leaders, including Cicero himself – who was the senior Consul for the year – and inciting a populist uprising.
While Catiline cloaked his ambitions in promises to uplift Rome’s disenfranchised plebs, his true aim appears to have been personal power. Cicero saw this plot as an existential threat to the Republic’s survival and that demanded decisive action. Just how great the threat really was, remains in doubt: the only two direct sources on these events are Cicero’s own works – which naturally aim to magnify the danger so as to present his success as all the more glorious – and those of Sallust, who copies Cicero’s stance.
If the threat had truly been as great as Cicero suggests, Catiline’s conspiracy would have been much more visible in the documentary evidence that has been passed down to us from that period. Besides, most aspects of the conspiracy, and the people involved, were too shambolic and underpowered to match the narrative of a close-run, life-or-death struggle for the “Republic” against a lethal internal enemy.
The crunch point in the Catiline affair came over the question of what to do with a number of his associates who had been apprehended by Cicero on the basis of questionable evidence and with the help of a foreign actor, a Gallic tribe. Cicero had already unveiled the conspiracy in a fiery Senate speech against Catiline – who was, defiantly, in attendance. Opening with the famous first line of, “How long, Catiline, will you abuse our patience?” Cicero’s first Catilinarian oration not only exposed Catiline’s schemes – without any hard proof, though – but also forced him to flee Rome and join his forces in open rebellion. However, some of his co-conspirators remained in the city, plotting further violence. Cicero’s next decision – whether to try these men under Roman law or execute them quickly without trial – would define his legacy.
As a lawyer himself, Cicero fully understood the gravity of explicitly setting himself against the law which was a cornerstone of the Roman Republic. Centuries of tradition and legal safeguards, such as the lex Sempronia, protected Roman citizens from execution without a trial. Cicero knew that violating these principles, even in the name of public safety, could undermine the very system he sought to defend. Yet, in his mind – or at least by what he argued publicly –the urgency of the threat left little room for procedural rigour. When the Senate granted Cicero the _senatus consultum ultimum_ (“the final decree of the Senate”), giving him extraordinary powers to safeguard the state, he found himself walking a perilous line between lawful authority and autocratic overreach.
Cicero chose swift and decisive action based on what he thought – or claimed – was a clear and present danger. Armed with the Senate’s “advisory” approval after a famous debate in which Caesar argued _against_ the death penalty – thus playing to the populist gallery – Cicero ordered the execution of the conspirators right away. Despite the Senate vote, which was not a court, he alone carried the legal responsibility for the decision to bypass the judicial process. When the handful of condemned men had been strangled in the Carcer, Cicero announced the outcome by the simple word _Vixerunt_ (“they have lived”) and declared the Republic safe – for now. The threat inside the gates had been defeated; only Catiline remained, somewhere in Etruria, with a small band of rebels. His end came shortly after, at the hands of a consular army dispatched to finish the job.
Cicero’s handling of the crisis, though effective in the moment, was highly controversial. While the consul’s supporters hailed him as a saviour of the Republic, his critics saw his actions as a dangerous precedent for the abuse of power. Years later, this controversy over killing citizens without trial would haunt Cicero, providing political opponents, like Clodius Pulcher, the justification to exile him.
Nor did Cicero’s actions do more than simply _delay_ the fall of the Republic. Catiline was defeated, but the _illegal_ way in which Cicero and his patrician allies fended off the conspiracy only served to _strengthen_ the cause of the _populares_ – the populist side of Roman politics, which Caesar eventually led to dictatorship. In the shorter term, Catiline’s mantle was taken up by Clodius and _his_ mob of trouble-makers who ruled the Forum at Rome for years.
Cicero’s “victory” against a popular politician – albeit one who seems to have pushed things a bit too far – was no such thing, but only served to _deepen_ the crisis of Senatorial and patrician authority in the eyes of the people. This did not prevent the brilliant but vain Cicero from accepting and revelling in the title of _pater patriae_ – “father of the nation” – bestowed upon him by the Senate in the kind of backslapping and gong-sharing among elites that is so familiar to us in our age as well.
By acting decisively, Cicero thwarted an immediate crisis. Yet, his extrajudicial measures also revealed the fragility of the Republic’s legal and constitutional framework. By circumventing legal norms, he set a precedent that future leaders would exploit. As already mentioned, Caesar, for instance, invoked the language of necessity and state security to justify his crossing of the Rubicon, leading to the collapse of the Republic. Octavian, later Augustus, similarly consolidated power under the guise of restoring order, marking the transition from republic to empire.
In this sense, we may see Cicero’s response to the Catilinarian Conspiracy as the opening of the floodgates, where the tension between principle and pragmatism began to tilt decisively toward the latter. The irony is stark. Cicero’s actions may have protected the Senate’s power within the Republican system – i.e. the “old republic” – in the short term but delivered a fatal blow against the very principles that sustained it. This is the inevitable outcome of breaking the law under the guise of “saving” the state, especially without clear proof to demonstrate the nature of the threat to the _res publica_.