Lives of the Stoics: The Art of Living From Zeno to Marcus Aurelius

It was likely this intensity—and a temper that Plutarch described as “inexorable”—that led Sarpedon to introduce Cato to Stoicism, hoping that it would help the young boy to channel his rage and his righteousness properly. Centuries later, inspired by and in fact cribbing from a play about Cato, George Washington would speak often of the work required to view the intrigues of politics and the difficulties of life “in the calm light of mild philosophy.” Washington, born with the same fiery temper, knew of the importance of subsuming his passions beneath a firm constitution.

Most strong-willed leaders have a temper. It’s the truly great ones who manage to conquer it with the same courage and control with which they deal with all of life’s obstacles.

Cato would study under Antipater of Tyre, who taught him the basics of Stoicism. But unlike many Stoics of his time, the young Cato studied not only philosophy, but also oratory. Rutilius Rufus had been quiet in his own defense—that would never be Cato’s way. Still, he did his great-grandfather proud with his circumspection and bluntness.

“I begin to speak,” Cato once explained, “only when I’m certain what I’ll say isn’t better left unsaid.”

When Cato did choose to break his silence, he was compelling. “Cato practiced the kind of public speech capable of moving the masses,” Plutarch tells us. The rage and fury that had frightened Sarpedon was channeled through his training in Stoic philosophy and rhetoric into a fierce advocacy for justice that would stand out as a defining feature of his personal and political character. As Plutarch put it, “Above all, he pursued the form of goodness which consists in rigid justice that will not bend to clemency or favor.” Armed with a resolute and fearless character, Stoic ethical principles, and a powerful proficiency in public speaking, Cato would become a formidable political figure—and a rare one, in that all knew his vote could never be bought.

But before he made his name as a politician, Cato was a soldier. In 72 BC, he volunteered for service in the Third Servile War, against Spartacus. It would have been unconscionable to let someone else serve in his place. To Cato, it was the actions one took, the sacrifices one was willing to make—especially at arms defending one’s country—that made you a philosopher. And so in that war, as in the battles he fought in, he was fearless and committed, as he believed every citizen was obligated to be.

Fresh from this crucible, he was ready in 68 BC, at age twenty-seven, to stand for military tribune—the same position his father had served in before him. In fact, the Basilica Porcia, the public forum where the tribunes conducted their business, was named after its builder, his great-grandfather. Pregnant with respect for this legacy and always deeply committed to what he felt was proper, Cato would be the only candidate who actually adhered to the canvassing restrictions and campaign laws. Corruption may have been endemic in Rome, but Cato was never one to buy the argument that “everyone else is doing it.” It was a strategy that won him respect—at the very least, it made him stand out. As Plutarch recounts, “The harshness of his sentiments, and the mingling of his character with them, gave their austerity a smiling graciousness that won men’s hearts.”

That included the troops he led over the next three years as his military service took him across the empire, exposing him to the provinces. Some thought visits to these exotic locations might soften the man, or his iron grip on himself, but they were mistaken. And this in part is why he was so well liked—because he carried himself like a common soldier.

War, although it began as a grand adventure, would soon break Cato’s heart. In 67 BC, a letter brought word that his beloved brother, Caepio, was ill. Cato and Caepio had always been different, Caepio favoring luxuries and perfumes that Cato would have never allowed himself. But sometimes when it’s your brother you look the other way. Cato did more than that—he idolized Caepio and, hearing that he was near death, rushed to his side, braving wild and dangerous seas that nearly killed him, in a tiny boat with the only captain he could convince to take him.