It was the wont of the immortal gods sometimes to grant

Julius Caesar, master of men and interpreter of fate, once declared: “It was the wont of the immortal gods sometimes to grant prosperity and long impunity to men whose crimes they were minded to punish, in order that a complete reverse of fortune might make them suffer more bitterly.” In these words there resounds the solemn wisdom of the ancients, a warning carved from the fabric of both myth and history: that the gods, in their inscrutable justice, often delay their hand, allowing the wicked to rise higher, so that their fall may be deeper, their ruin more complete.

The meaning is clear yet terrible. When a man commits crimes, when arrogance and cruelty guide his hand, the gods do not always strike swiftly. They may grant him triumph, wealth, and power. He may walk untouched, as though above both man and law. Yet this is not blessing—it is preparation. For the higher the ascent, the more devastating the descent. When at last fortune turns, the reversal is so sharp, so total, that his former greatness only deepens the bitterness of his downfall. Thus do the immortal gods make punishment more dreadful by first allowing a false peace.

History itself offers countless witnesses to this pattern. Consider Croesus, king of Lydia, famed for his gold and riches. For years he prospered beyond measure, his wealth the envy of all. Believing himself favored by the gods, he waged war against Cyrus of Persia. But the oracle’s words were double-edged, and his arrogance blinded him. In a single campaign, his kingdom fell, his treasures were seized, and he, once the wealthiest of kings, sat bound before his conqueror’s fire. The gods had allowed him long prosperity only to make his ruin the more bitter, his reversal the more absolute.

So too in the fall of Napoleon, a figure from the later ages who seemed to echo the fate of the ancients. Rising from obscurity, he gained victory after victory, crowned himself emperor, and bent nations to his will. For years he seemed untouchable, a man beyond the reach of mortal limits. Yet when fortune turned, it turned with fury. From the frozen steppes of Russia to the fields of Waterloo, his empire collapsed, and he, once master of Europe, ended his days exiled upon a lonely rock in the sea. His greatness only magnified the bitterness of his downfall, as Caesar himself had foretold.

This truth is not only for kings and conquerors, but for all. When we see the arrogant thrive, when we see the unjust rise, let us not despair nor think the world has no order. Often the delay of judgment is the preparation for a greater reckoning. The immortal gods—or call them by another name, truth, justice, or the balance of the universe—are patient. They wait, allowing the cords of destiny to tighten until at last the guilty are snared in the very net their pride has woven.

Yet let this teaching also be a warning. Do not mistake delay for escape. Do not believe that because your actions bring no swift consequence, they will never bear fruit. Every deed, every word, every choice carries weight in the great scales of fortune. The higher you climb upon deceit or cruelty, the greater the fall when the truth is revealed. Live, therefore, with humility, and let justice guide your steps, lest the gods prepare a ruin for you more bitter than death.

O children of tomorrow, remember this: prosperity without virtue is a mirage; impunity without conscience is a trap. Seek not the fleeting favor of fortune but the enduring strength of righteousness. For the gods, though slow, are never blind. And when they choose to act, their justice is sure, and the fall of the proud is as a thunderbolt cast from heaven.

Thus the wisdom of Caesar, drawn from the annals of empire and the whispers of eternity, is passed to you: do not envy the wicked their seeming triumphs, nor grow proud in your own untested gains. Know that fortune is ever turning, and that only those whose hearts are just may stand secure when the wheel comes full circle.