The lawyer and epistolarian Pliny the Younger, in his correspondence with a friend, vented his anger on the sycophantic atmosphere surrounding certain courts of his era.  The centumviral courts—so called because they were composed of pools of one hundred men (centum viri)—were courts of equity dealing primarily with civil matters.  Offended by the insolence and effrontery of the practitioners and advocates before the bar who had no respect for tradition and decency, Pliny writes:

At present the bulwarks of shame and respect have collapsed, everything is open to everyone; these people are not brought here according to correct procedure, but force their way in.  The listeners who follow them are the same as the advocates:  they are rented and bought off.  The advocate is approached; in the middle of the court he is given a financial gift as openly as if he were at a dinner-party.  They glide from one case to another case for an equal reward.  Not impolitely they are called in Greek sophokleis; and in Latin we may use the term “dinnertime ovation-givers” [laudiceni].  Whether this activity is noted in either language, however, its vileness grows day by day.  [Epistulae, II.14.4—6]

Pliny uses the term laudiceni, which I have rendered as “dinnertime ovation-givers.”  It is a derisive term meant to describe those who will applaud and serve the right master, provided the pay is high enough.  The name is stitched together from two Latin words: laus (praise) and cena (dinner): or, those who give fawning praise to the host of a dinner-party.  There also existed a rich Greek city in Asia Minor named Laodicea, and it is possible that laudiceni was a pun on the city’s name.  We can imagine the disgust felt by Pliny who, as a veteran of the bar, had to watch in silence as his profession was corrupted and degraded by opportunists who cared only about enriching themselves at the expense of duty and moral rectitude.  His outrage could just as easily be directed against the political behavior observed in our own time.

Pliny’s sentiments are echoed in those of his great teacher, the rhetorician Quintilian.  In a passage discussing the value of reading and listening, Quintilian says,

Nevertheless what is morally corrupt [vitiosa] is pleasing to most people.  And even things that do not please an invited audience will be praised by them.  The opposite also occurs, in that depraved opinions do not appreciate things that are articulated with exceptional clarity.  [X.1.18—19]

Through long experience as an instructor and observer of political affairs, Quintilian knew very well that the impulses of the mob were venal and pernicious.  Neither he nor his pupil Pliny had any illusions about the corrupting influence of money in politics, the secret depravities that motivated most men, or the terrifying lust for destruction that burned in the hearts of a bored and spoiled populace.  All of these things they knew well, because they witnessed them at first hand.  They were also keenly aware of the consequences of calamitous leadership.  We are all connected; and the misfortunes of some, if not addressed with justice and humanity, will eventually be visited on the rest of us.  In this connection I find it relevant to quote a passage from the medieval political philosopher Ibn Zafar Al-Siqilli.  He writes,

It was said that we are all united in a mutual bond of protection against the misfortunes that may befall any individual; and amongst those who are at ease, the most prosperous will be he who regards as his own the calamity that befalls his neighbor…The value of good is never appreciated at the moment of its attainment and possession, but rather after it is lost, and when we desire it in vain.  And how, indeed, can we feel properly thankful for it until we are acquainted with its worth?  [Sulwan II.1; trans. by J. Kechichian & H. Dekmejian]   

In times of relative peace and prosperity, the dinnertime ovation-givers enjoy center stage.  They profit from their parasitism.  When the bulwarks of shame and decency, as noted above by Pliny, have collapsed, an appalling and unrestrained crudity is let loose.  Animated by a combination of boredom, groveling obsequiousness to those with money and power, and secret resentments, the ovation-givers will elevate a leader who gives vent to their secret passions and unassuaged furies.  They provide the ovations, but are blind to the cost of their applause.  What they take for granted can be lost in a historical instant, never to be recovered.  For nations that break abruptly with institutions and traditions that took generations to create and refine risk a collective insanity, just as the man who suddenly seeks to cut ties with his past will certainly lose all connection with reality.

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Read more essays on historical and moral subjects in the collections Digest and Centuries.