“Are you ready to do your duty for Rome?”

　　From its first line, the most important scene in Gladiator, the winner of the Academy Award for Best Picture in 2000, explores the citizen’s responsibility in a republic. This is a timeless subject; indeed, the scene can help us understand, 2,000 years after the film’s setting, what civic duty means in America and why our country seems to be developing fewer and fewer leaders with public virtue.

　　Much has been written in recent years about how political polarization and tribalism have inflamed our politics, turning debates radioactive and making elections seem existential. But we’ve failed to appreciate how this era’s animosity has all but erased serious conversations about a common good, duty, and what we need in public servants.

　　Polarization and Virtue

　　The good emperor of Gladiator, Marcus Aurelius, informs his devious, intemperate son Commodus that he will not ascend to the throne. The aged emperor begins not with an apology or political calculations but with “duty for Rome,” the unpleasant but necessary responsibilities the father and son have as citizens in that moment. Sometimes, the good leader explains, we must do the unhappy job assigned to us because that job must be done for the common good.

　　What follows is a description of two competing visions of virtue in the public square. One—that of Marcus Aurelius—is about justice, judgment, self-control, and fortitude. It would be familiar to Aristotle, Cicero, Aquinas, and our own Founders. This model fosters personal attributes that enable us to think and act well on behalf of others. That is, it leads us to become better individuals who can then better contribute to society.

　　In the film, Commodus knows he lacks these qualities, so he offers up his own strengths as a second, very different set of virtues: ambition, resourcefulness, loyalty, and a certain sort of courage. We see why the father cannot let his son rule. At the core of his son’s system is selfishness not selflessness: Commodus’s principles are not public virtues; they are means to empower himself and his friends to do as they choose.

　　The virtue of Marcus Aurelius only makes sense when the community believes in and is committed to a common good. The “common good” doesn’t mean that everyone agrees on everything; it doesn’t require uni-party government or the abolition of debate. But it does mean that citizens recognize their interdependence and their shared interests. Public virtue in this context means prioritizing and then working to advance those things that benefit the entire community (like health, security, opportunity, justice, and human flourishing). It also means that, when there are disagreements about what the common good requires, we behave in ways that facilitate the community’s discernment: We focus on the goal; we engage in constructive, civil, honest debate; we elevate public interest above personal gain; and we see our opponents as fellow citizens united in a joint effort.

　　This sense of virtue fades fast, however, when we no longer embrace a common good. As we break into political or ideological teams and see those who disagree not as fellow citizens but as permanent opponents or enemies, concepts like accommodation, prudence, curiosity, forbearance, and integrity appear counterproductive. If the goal is to dominate, if there is no expectation of future cooperation across differences, then we will prize loyalty to the tribe and look to win by any means necessary. Justice is no longer impartial, treating all the community’s citizens equally; justice, instead, serves our friends and hurts our enemies. There is no common cause; there are our interests and their interests. In this antagonistic world, Commodus’s virtues suddenly make sense. Ambition for our team, loyalty to our teammates, and resourcefulness in pursuit of our aims.

　　These two very different models of virtue will produce two very different types of leaders. When we recognize and work toward a common good, we will naturally develop and then elevate individuals known for fairness, courage, decency, and prudence. If tribalism predominates, we will identify and celebrate those who think about team first, who help our side no matter what, and who aggressively fight the other side.

　　Last week’s Trump verdict, accordingly, brought out smug satisfaction on one side, and bitter claims of lawfare on the other. But in keeping with America’s trend toward the virtues of Commodus, almost no one seems interested in actually fostering the habits necessary to improve our public life.

　　Putting Virtue to the Test

　　During the other Trump investigation—the one related to the withholding of classified documents—it was learned that President Biden may have done something similar. Robert K. Hur, a former federal prosecutor with stellar academic and professional credentials, was asked by US Attorney General Merrick Garland to temporarily leave his private law practice to take on the thankless task of investigating a sitting president. Hur, demonstrating an understanding of republican duty, agreed. A year later, Hur, in his submission to Garland and in a follow-up hearing before a House committee, described his charge, process, findings, and ultimate decision not to recommend President Biden’s prosecution. His thorough, evenhanded approach and judicious conclusion seemed to strike many political actors as antiquated or naïve at best, incomprehensible at worst. This is the consequence of our loss of common-good reasoning; the price for giving up the virtue of Marcus Aurelius for the creed of Commodus.

　　How we treat those demonstrating civic virtue determines what kind of leaders, and therefore what kind of nation, we will have.

　　It is important to understand the nature of the criticism aimed at Hur. Had he and his team poorly collected evidence or strayed from their assignment—that is, failed in their duty—they would have deserved blame. But in the congressional hearing and broader public square, he was criticized, strikingly, in Commodus’s terms. To many observers, Hur was insufficiently loyal to a tribe, insufficiently ambitious to secure a political win. Such critics only saw the investigation through the lens of personal and team interests. Truth, justice, sound judgment, and the public good were afterthoughts. Some supporters of President Biden breezed past the incriminating evidence (i.e., recordings of Biden admitting he had classified material) and only saw a gratuitous attack on their leader by someone angling for a federal judgeship. They charged Hur with a political hit job. Similarly, some of President Biden’s opponents saw Hur as a deep-state partner of a Department of Justice (“part of the Praetorian Guard” for the swamp) that absolved Biden while prosecuting Trump for similar acts. These camps were unable to decipher Hur because they only know the language of partisan wins and losses. Hur’s example of civic virtue came across as an ancient tongue requiring translation.

　　Putting this incident in a slightly broader context: We have two presidents who appear to have acted criminally with classified information. Law-breaking is virtually always wrong, but in a republic like ours, these specific actions are doubly so. If national secrets are compromised, the entire community is endangered. That is the antithesis of working toward the common good. Just as bad, these important but temporary leaders abused their public authority. They used their high office and its trappings to take and conceal secret documents, behaving as though they deserved privileges denied to their fellow citizens.

　　The proper national response (if we appreciated republican principles like duty, equality, justice, and the common good) should have been straightforward. Considering the serious allegations against these men, we should have courageously and fairly determined what course of action, even if unpopular, advances justice and the public interest. In his report and testimony, Hur followed this path, gathering facts, sticking to his official charge and the rules governing it, and presenting a conclusion based on sound, prudential judgment. He was tasked with an unpleasant job, one that his nation needed to be done. Regardless of whether one agrees entirely with the conclusion, he arrived at it responsibly. It says more about the zeitgeist than about Hur that the dominant narratives about his work seldom touched on such themes.

　　Fostering Leaders of Virtue

　　But is this episode really worse than any of the hundreds of other instances of tribalism and polarization in contemporary American public life? Yes, for two reasons. First, underlying the Biden and Trump investigations is a national security matter that is receiving insufficient attention. Russia, China, and other international adversaries are eager to exploit the lax handling of sensitive information. We must address that Biden and Trump, as well as other top officials such as Hillary Clinton, Sandy Berger, and David Petraeus, have played fast and loose with national secrets. This episode should have been understood as a moment to assess how we grant security clearances, improve the training of public officials, strengthen the oversight of classified documents, and toughen penalties for negligence and willful misconduct. But none of that has happened; instead, we’ve focused on which party gained an advantage. This shouldn’t be about political wins or losses but the nation’s security.

　　Second, America desperately needs virtuous public leaders, those who are honest and honorable, selfless and non-tribal, and committed to service and the public good. We seem to have forgotten that there is not an endless supply of such leaders. They are not an abundantly, naturally occurring phenomenon. We must identify those with these skills and dispositions. We must foster their development and celebrate them when they serve admirably. If we do none of those things and instead cheer demagogues and partisans, each seat of authority will be filled by a Commodus, not a Marcus Aurelius.

　　Indeed, because we’ve neglected civic virtue, there are fewer and fewer broadly respected figures in public life. Imagine—God forbid—that the nation needed, today, to appoint a commission to study a disaster, something along the lines of the groups that investigated the attacks of 9/11 or the Challenger accident or that wrote A Nation At Risk. It would be difficult to find 12 prominent national public officials admired by left and right alike for their smarts, wisdom, experience, integrity, and judgment. Because we seldom talk about these attributes anymore, we are failing to cultivate such leaders. And that calls into question our ability to find the next generation of fair judges and level-headed administrators and to collaboratively develop solutions for the most complicated, contentious issues in public life.

　　I’ve gotten to know Rob Hur a bit over the last few years through our joint service on a board. He is intelligent, experienced, diligent, and honorable. But are such qualities still prized in the public square? There was a time when figures with these characteristics were called to do an unpleasant task, did it admirably, and—with reputations burnished—were asked to do even more for their country. The most famous example is probably John Adams, who, as a young lawyer, defended the British soldiers accused of murdering civilians during the Boston Massacre. That service was deeply unpopular, but it was eventually recognized as an act of honor. Adams later served as a top American diplomat, vice president, and president.But there are more recent examples, Republican US Senator Howard Baker went against party interest, firmly pursuing the Watergate allegations that led to President Richard Nixon’s resignation. Baker later became his party’s Senate Majority Leader and White House Chief of Staff to the next elected Republican president. Democratic US Senator Joe Lieberman publicly broke with his party’s leader, President Bill Clinton, for the latter’s shameful conduct during the scandals of his second term. Lieberman was later selected as the vice-presidential nominee on the next Democratic ticket.

　　Unfortunately, however, too many courageous, independent, service-oriented public figures today find retirement—chosen or forced—is the reward for doing an unpleasant job well. That must end. How we treat those demonstrating civic virtue determines what kind of leaders, and therefore what kind of nation, we will have. We cannot cure this problem overnight. But we can and should do two things now. First, we need journalists and commentators to stop shining the spotlight on those who follow Commodus’s path. Yes, some officials will look for every opportunity to insult opponents, wage partisan warfare, and advance personal interests. But that doesn’t mean we need to pay them so much attention. Instead, focus more on highly effective but quiet public servants and those, like Hur, who demonstrate a commitment to the common good.

　　Second, public virtue must once again become a central part of the teaching of civics. Of course, history and constitutional structure are essential, but our Framers continuously noted the importance of virtue in the maintenance of a republic. George Washington wrote in his farewell address, “Virtue or morality is a necessary spring of popular government.” John Adams wrote, “The only foundation of a free Constitution is pure virtue” and “publicvirtueis the only foundation of republics.” Benjamin Rush argued, “Without virtue there can be no liberty.” Benjamin Franklin wrote, “Only a virtuous people are capable of freedom.” James Madison wrote, “To suppose that any form of government will secure liberty or happiness without any virtue in the people, is a chimerical idea.” And Samuel Adams argued, “He therefore is the truest friend of the liberty of his country who tries most to promote its virtue.”

　　If we want Americans to appreciate civic virtue, we must explain that it was central to our founding and celebrate public officials who live up to its demands.