Plutarch · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
The Spartans call the ancient images of the Dioscuri "dokana": these are two parallel beams joined by two crossbeams, and it is thought fitting to the brotherly-loving pair of gods that the offering should be a common and undivided one. So I too now dedicate to you, Nigrinus and Quintus, this treatise on brotherly love, a gift held in common, since you are worthy of it. For by already doing the things to which it exhorts, you will seem
to be giving testimony to them rather than being urged toward them. And your delight in the things you are doing rightly will, by your judgment, make your steadfastness the more secure, as when good and beauty-loving spectators cheer on those who are succeeding. Now Aristarchus, the father of Theodectes, mocking the great number of the sophists, used to say that in the old days seven wise men were scarcely produced, but that in his own time it would not be easy to find so many ordinary people who were not wise. And I myself
observe that brotherly love among us is as rare a thing as the hatred of brothers was among the ancients—a hatred whose few recorded instances, on account of their strangeness, life handed over to tragedies and theaters. But people nowadays, whenever they meet with brothers who get on well together, marvel at them no less than at those famous Moliones, who were supposed to have grown together in their very bodies; and they regard the sharing in common of ancestral
wealth and friends and slaves as being just as incredible and monstrous as the idea of a single soul making use of the hands and feet and eyes of two bodies. And yet nature did not place the model for the proper use of brothers far away, but within the body itself, having contrived that most of the necessary parts should be double, brotherly, and twin—hands, feet, eyes, ears, nostrils—thereby teaching
that all these were separated in this way for the sake of preservation and joint action in common, not for difference and conflict. And having split the hands themselves into many unequal fingers, she furnished the most harmonious and skillful of all instruments, so that Anaxagoras of old attributed to the hands the cause of human wisdom and understanding. But it seems that the opposite of this is true: it was not because
man had hands that he became most wise, but because he was by nature rational and skillful that he came to possess such instruments by nature. This too is plain to everyone: that from one seed and a single origin nature produced two or three or more brothers, not for the sake of difference and opposition, but so that, though separate, they might all the more cooperate with one another. For those three-bodied and hundred-handed beings, if indeed they ever existed,
being grown together in all their parts, could do nothing outside themselves or apart from one another—whereas this is precisely what belongs to brothers, who are able, through one another, both to remain at home and to travel abroad at the same time, to engage in politics and to farm, so long as they preserve that principle of goodwill and harmony which nature gave them at the start. But if they do not, they will differ in no way, I think, from feet that trip one another up, or fingers that get entangled and twisted contrary to nature by one
another. Or rather, just as in the same body the moist and the dry, the cold and the hot, sharing in one nature and nourishment, produce through concord and harmony the best and most pleasant blending and attunement—without which they say there is no enjoyment or benefit either in wealth or in royal power equal to the gods—so, if greed and faction arise among them,
they most shamefully corrupt and throw the living creature into confusion. In the same way, through the like-mindedness of brothers both family and household are healthy and flourish, and friends and companions, like a well-tuned chorus, do nothing, say nothing, and think nothing that is discordant; whereas in a state of dissension even the utterly base man gets his share of honor—the slanderous house-servant, or the flatterer who has crept in from outside as though he were a fellow-citizen, or the malicious citizen. For just as diseases in bodies that do not
admit of what is proper to them produce cravings for many strange and harmful things, so hostility toward one's own kin brings on, to fill the resulting gap, base and wicked associations flowing in from outside. The Arcadian seer, according to Herodotus, was compelled to fashion himself a wooden foot, having been deprived of his own; but a brother who wages war on his brother, and instead takes up some outsider as a companion from the marketplace or the wrestling school, seems to be doing nothing other
than voluntarily cutting off a limb of flesh that belongs and grew together with him, in order to attach and fit on an alien one. For the very need that welcomes and seeks out friendship and companionship teaches us to honor, cherish, and guard what is akin to us, since we are not able to live, nor were we born to live, without friends, without human contact, and alone. This is why Menander rightly says that we do not seek out, from drinking-parties and daily luxury, the one whom
"we shall trust with the affairs of our life," as he says, father. Does not each man think he has discovered something extraordinary if he has the mere shadow of a friend? For the many friendships that exist are truly shadows and imitations and images of that first friendship which nature has implanted in children toward parents and in brothers toward brothers; and the man who does not revere and honor that friendship—what pledge of goodwill could he possibly
give to strangers? Or what sort of man is he who addresses his companion as "brother" in expressions of affection and in letters, yet does not think he must walk even the same road as his actual brother? For just as it is madness to adorn an image of one's brother while striking and mutilating his actual body, so too honoring and revering his name among others while hating and shunning the man himself is not the mark of one who is sound of mind, nor of one who has ever grasped in his understanding
that nature is the holiest and greatest of shrines. I recall, indeed, that in Rome I myself once took up lodging with two brothers, one of whom was reputed to practice philosophy. He was, as it turned out, not only a brother but also a false and falsely-named philosopher; for when I thought it right that he should treat him, as a brother and a private citizen, in a philosophic manner, he said, "That would indeed be right toward a private citizen, but I myself do not consider it
a great or solemn thing to have come from the same parts of the body." "You, at least," I replied, "are plainly one who does not consider it a great or solemn thing to have come from those parts of the body either." But all other people, even if they do not truly think this way, at any rate say and sing that nature, and the law that preserves nature, have given to parents the first and greatest honor after the gods;
and there is nothing that men do more pleasing to the gods than repaying, willingly and eagerly, to their own parents and nurturers the "old debts lent out anew." Nor again is there any greater proof of godlessness than neglect and offense toward one's parents; and this is why, while it is forbidden to do harm to others generally, toward one's own mother and father the very failure to always be doing
and saying the things that will give them joy—even where nothing actively distressing is added—is considered unholy and unlawful. What action, then, or favor, or disposition on the part of children is more able to give parents joy than a firm goodwill and friendship toward a brother? This, indeed, is easy to learn from the opposite cases. For where sons abuse a household slave whom their father or mother honors,
and, neglecting the plants and places their parents delighted in, cause them distress; where a household-born dog that is disregarded, or a horse, touches the affectionate and honor-loving feelings of old people; and where they are vexed even over the entertainers, spectacles, and athletes which their parents used to admire, mocking and despising them—can such sons possibly be moderate toward one another when they are at odds, hating each other, speaking ill of each other, always opposing each other in deeds and actions, and
being undone by one another? No one could say so. It follows, then, that brothers who love and cherish one another, and who, wherever nature has separated them in body, restore that unity in their feelings and their affairs, sharing common conversations, pursuits, and pastimes with one another, provide their parents with a sweet and blessed old age through their brotherly love. For no father has ever been so devoted to learning, or
so devoted to honor, or so devoted to money, as he is devoted to his children; and this is why they see their sons with more pleasure loving one another than being wealthy or holding office. At any rate they say that Apollonis of Cyzicus, mother of King Eumenes and of his three other sons, Attalus, Philetaerus, and Athenaeus, used always to call herself blessed and to thank the gods, not for her wealth nor for her rule,
but because she saw her three sons acting as bodyguard to the eldest, and him living unafraid in their midst even though they bore spears and swords all around him. Just the opposite happened to Artaxerxes, who, on learning that his son Ochus had plotted against his brothers, died of despair; for grievous wars between brothers, as Euripides has said, are most grievous of all to the parents themselves; for the man who hates his own brother and is burdened by him cannot
help but find fault with the father who begot him and the mother who bore him. Pisistratus, when he was giving his grown sons in marriage, said—since he considered them fine and good men—that he wished to become the father of still more such sons. Good and just children will not only, for their parents' sake, love one another the more, but also, for one another's sake, love their parents the more; always thinking and saying that
they owe their parents gratitude for many things, but owe it most of all for their brothers, since this is the most valuable and most pleasant of all possessions that they have received from them. Homer, indeed, did well in representing Telemachus as counting the lack of brothers among his misfortunes: "for thus did the son of Cronos make our line a single line." But Hesiod does not give good advice in urging that an "only-begotten son" should be heir to his father's estate—and this from a man who had been
a pupil of the Muses, whom men always called by that name together because of their mutual goodwill and sisterly love. Toward parents, then, brotherly love is of such a kind that loving one's brother is at once a proof of loving one's mother and father as well; and toward one's own children it is a lesson and model of brotherly love unlike any other; while conversely, hatred of a brother is a wicked thing that children take up, as it were, from a copy made after their father's pattern.
For the man who has grown old amid lawsuits, factions, and contests against his own brothers, and who then urges his sons to live in harmony, is like a doctor treating others while he himself is covered in sores—he weakens his own words by his own deeds. If, at any rate, the Theban Eteocles, who had said to his brother, "I would go to the risings of the stars and the sun, and beneath the earth, were I able to do these things, so as to hold"
the greatest of the gods' dominions—tyranny—yet in turn urged his own children to honor equality, "which ever binds friends to friends, cities to cities, and allies to allies, for equality is by nature the law for men"—who would not despise such a man? And what sort of man would Atreus have been, if, after serving his brother such a feast, he had gone on to moralize to his own children about it? Indeed, the use of friends outside one's own blood, when the source itself runs corrupt,
tends to be of little benefit. This is why it is fitting to purge out hatred of brothers, which makes for a bad support in old age for parents, and an even worse rearer of children. It also serves as a slanderer and accuser before one's fellow citizens: for people suppose that men could not, out of so great a shared upbringing, familiarity, and kinship, have become enemies and foes unless they were privy to much wickedness in one another. For great causes dissolve great goodwill and friendship; and for that reason such breaches are not
easily reconciled again either. For just as things that have been glued together, even if the bonding agent loosens, can be bound and joined again, but when a body that has grown together as one is broken or torn apart, it is a hard task to find any glue or means of reunion—so friendships formed out of need, even if they break apart, are easily taken up again afterward; but brothers who have fallen away from their natural bond do not come together again easily, and even if they do come together, the reconciliation drags along a foul and
suspect scar. Now every kind of hostility between one man and another, since it is bound up with the most painful of passions—rivalry, anger, envy, resentment—is painful and turbulent; but hostility toward a brother, with whom one is bound to share in sacrifices and ancestral rites, and to be buried in the same tomb, and often to be neighbor or fellow-resident of the same lands, keeps the pain ever before one's eyes, reminding one every day
of the folly and derangement on account of which the sweetest and most kindred of faces is seen at its most sullen, and the voice, familiar and beloved from childhood, has become the most frightening thing to hear. And seeing many other pairs of brothers sharing one house, one table, undivided lands and slaves, while they themselves have divided even their friends and their guest-friends, treating as hostile everything that is dear to brothers—and all
this while it lies open for all to consider, that friends and drinking-companions are "things to be won," and in-laws and acquaintances are "things to be acquired," once the first ones, like weapons or tools, have been destroyed; but there is no acquiring a brother anew, just as there is no replacing a hand once it is cut off, or an eye once it is gouged out. And rightly did the Persian woman speak, when she chose to save her brother rather than her children, saying that she could
acquire other children, but that, her parents being dead, she could never have another brother. What then should one do, someone might say, if a brother turns out to be worthless? First, one must remember that worthlessness touches every kind of friendship, and, in the words of Sophocles, in searching out most things you will find them shameful among mortals. For neither kinship, nor friendship, nor erotic love
can be found pure and free of suffering and untouched by vice. The Spartan who married a small wife said that one must choose the least of evils; but a brother might reasonably be advised to endure the evils closest to him rather than to try those that belong to strangers—for the former is blameless, as being necessary, while the latter is blameworthy, as being a matter of choice. For it is not the drinking-companion, nor the fellow ephebe, nor the guest-friend
who is "yoked by unforged fetters of reverence," but the one of the same blood, the same upbringing, the same father and mother, toward whom it is reasonable to overlook some faults, and to say, when speaking of a brother who has done wrong, "for this reason I cannot abandon you, wretched and worthless and foolish as you are"—lest, in punishing harshly and bitterly by hating you, I unwittingly punish in you some inherited disease dripped in from
a father or a mother. For with strangers, as Theophrastus used to say, one ought not to love before judging, but to judge and then love; but where nature does not grant judgment the leading role in determining goodwill, nor waits for the proverbial bushel of salt to be shared, but has itself engendered the very beginning of the friendship, there one must not be harsh or exacting in scrutinizing faults. As it stands now, what could you say,
when some people bear easily, and even take pleasure in, the wrongs done by strangers and outsiders who have become corrupted through some drinking-party, game, or wrestling-ground, and yet are difficult and implacable toward their own brothers? Where indeed many, keeping and cherishing fierce dogs and horses, and even lynxes, cats, monkeys, and lions, cannot bear the anger, ignorance, or ambition of their brothers; while others, for the sake of concubines and
...prostitutes register houses and fields in their names on account of a building lot or a boundary corner, and go to law against their brothers? Then, having given the name "hatred of wickedness" to their hatred of a brother, they go about among their brothers casting reproach and abuse at them, while toward everyone else they show no annoyance but treat them with great and habitual familiarity. Let these, then, serve as the preamble to the whole discourse. Let us take as the starting point of our teaching not the division of paternal property, as others do, but the rivalry and jealousy over faults committed against parents while they are still living.
For the ephors, when Agesilaus kept sending an ox as a prize to each of the elders who were appointed, fined him, alleging as the charge that he was making common possessions his own by currying favor and giving gifts. One might advise a son to serve his parents not by winning their goodwill for himself alone, nor by turning it toward himself, but by the goodwill he wins toward himself; many men in this way win their brothers over, having a specious but unjust pretext for this kind of self-aggrandizement. For they rob their brothers of the greatest and finest of their paternal possessions—their parents' goodwill—stealing beneath them in an illiberal and cunning way, seizing the occasion of their parents' preoccupations and ignorance, and above all presenting themselves as orderly, obedient, and prudent in precisely those matters in which they see their brothers erring, or seeming to err.
But one ought to do the opposite: where there is anger, to join in receiving it and share in undergoing it, as if by cooperating one makes it lighter, and in services and favors somehow to include the brother as a partner; and where he is lacking, to blame the occasion, or some other activity, or his nature, as being better suited and more dignified for other things. Agamemnon's words are also fitting: that he yielded neither to hesitation nor to folly of mind, but, looking to me and awaiting my impulse, entrusted this duty to me as well. Fathers also gladly accept and believe changes of names given by their sons: they call their brothers' laziness "simplicity," their awkwardness "straightforwardness," and their contentiousness "an unyielding spirit." So the one who reconciles them gains both a lessening of anger toward the brother and, at the same time, an increase of the father's goodwill toward himself.
Having thus made his defense, one must then turn to the brother himself and take him to task more sharply, pointing out his fault and shortcoming with frankness. For one must neither indulge one's brothers nor, again, trample on them when they err—the one belongs to a man who rejoices at their misfortune, the other to one who shares in the wrongdoing—but must act toward the offender as one who cares for him and grieves with him in giving admonition. The most severe accuser a brother can have is the very man who has been the most eager advocate on his behalf before the parents. But if a brother who has done no wrong comes under blame, in other matters it is fitting to serve one's parents and bear all their anger and displeasure; disputes and pleadings on behalf of a brother who is unjustly spoken ill of or mistreated, however, are blameless and honorable when directed at them.
And one need not fear to hear Sophocles' line, "O basest of sons, going to law against your father," when speaking frankly on behalf of a brother who seems to be wronged; for such a contest makes even those who are refuted find defeat sweeter than victory. And indeed, once the father has died, is it not right to cling to one's brothers with goodwill even more than before—at once sharing tears and grief in common, that affectionate feeling repelling the suspicions sown by servants and the slanders of companions who attach themselves to one side or the other, and trusting, among other things, what is told of the brotherly love of the Dioscuri: that Polydeuces struck with his fist and killed the man who was whispering slanders against his brother to him.
As for the division of the paternal estate, one must not declare war on one another as most people do, calling on "Uproar, daughter of War," and meeting each other prepared for battle, but above all must guard that particular day, since for some it becomes the beginning of irreconcilable enmity and quarrel, and for others of friendship and concord: best of all by themselves alone; but if not, in the presence of a common friend, a fair-minded witness for both, taking and giving "by the lots of Justice," as Plato says, what is fitting and appropriate, and supposing that in doing so they are managing the care and stewardship of the estate, while use and possession lie in common, undivided among all.
But some, tearing nurses away from one another and outbidding each other for foster-children and familiar household slaves in their eager pursuit, come away having gained no more than the price of a slave, having lost the greatest and most precious of their paternal possessions—a brother's friendship and trust; and some, we know, out of sheer contentiousness and to no profit, have treated their paternal goods no more decently than plunder. Among these were Charicles and Antiochus of Opus: they even sawed an ordinary silver cup in two and cut a cloak in half before departing, as though dividing the household with a whetted blade under some tragic curse. And others recount to others, boasting, that they got the better of their brothers in the division by trickery, cunning, and sophistry—when they ought rather to take pride and think highly of themselves for prevailing by fairness, goodwill, and concession.
Hence it is worth recalling Athenodorus, and indeed everyone among us does recall him. He had an older brother named Xenon, who, while managing much of the estate, squandered it; and finally, having abducted a woman and been condemned, he lost the estate, which was confiscated into Caesar's treasury. Athenodorus was still a young man, not yet bearded; and when his share of the money was given back to him, he did not overlook his brother, but put everything together in the middle and divided it with him, and though much wronged in the distribution he felt no resentment and no regret, but bore his brother's folly gently and cheerfully—a folly that became famous throughout Greece.
Now Solon, in declaring about the constitution that equality does not cause civil strife, seemed altogether too much a man of the crowd, introducing arithmetical and democratic proportion instead of the noble geometrical kind. But the man who advises brothers within a household should, above all, do as Plato advised the citizens: remove "mine" and "not mine"; failing that, he should love equality and hold to what is equal, thereby laying a fine and lasting foundation of concord and peace. Let him also make use of famous examples, such as that of Pittacus to the king of the Lydians, who asked whether he had money: "Twice as much," he said, "as I would have wished, now that my brother is dead."
Since it is not only in the acquisition and diminution of money that the lesser becomes hostile to the greater, but in general—as Plato says, that motion arises in inequality, and rest and permanence in equality—so all inequality is dangerous for discord between brothers; yet to become equal and even in all things is impossible: for nature from the outset apportions some things unequally, and later fortune, by producing envy and jealousy, brings about the ugliest of maladies, plagues destructive not to households alone but to cities as well. One must therefore guard against and treat these things too, should they arise.
To the one who has the advantage, then, one might advise, first, that in whatever respects he seems superior, he should make these common with his brothers, sharing the honor of his reputation and including his brother in his friendships; and if he is the more capable speaker, he should offer the use of his ability, as though it were no less his brother's than his own. Then, he should display no arrogance or contempt, but rather, by yielding and lowering himself in disposition, make his superiority free of envy, and equalize, so far as possible, the unevenness of fortune by the moderation of his spirit.
Lucullus, for instance, though older, did not think it right to take command before his brother, but let his own opportunity pass and waited for his. And Polydeuces, though a god, was not willing to be a god alone, but chose rather to become a demigod together with his brother and to share in the mortal portion, on condition of imparting immortality to him. To you, someone might say, O fortunate one, who lack nothing of the advantages you possess, it is open to make your brother resemble you and share in your adornment, as though he too were enjoying a ray of the reputation, virtue, or good fortune that surrounds you—just as Plato, by placing his brothers in the finest of his own writings, made them famous, Glaucon and Adeimantus in the Republic, and Antiphon, the youngest, in the Parmenides.
Furthermore, just as inequalities arise in the natures and fortunes of brothers, so it is impossible for one to be superior in all things and in every way. For they say that the elements themselves, though composed of a single matter, possess the most opposite powers; but of two brothers born of the same mother and the same father, no one has ever seen the one wise like the sage of the Stoa—at once handsome, graceful, free-spirited, honored, rich, a powerful speaker, widely learned, and humane—while the other is ugly, graceless, servile, dishonored, poor, weak, unlearned in speech, and misanthropic. Rather, there is present in some way, even in the less distinguished and humbler, some portion of grace or ability or natural aptitude for something good, just as amid hedgehog-thorn and rough rest-harrow the flowers of soft gillyflowers grow.
These qualities, then, the one who seems to have the advantage in other respects, if he does not belittle or conceal them, nor push his brother out of every prize as though in a contest, but yields in turn and declares him better and more useful in many things, will always be removing the pretext for envy, as it were extinguishing the fuel of a fire—or rather, he will not allow it to arise or take shape at all. And the man who, in matters where he himself seems superior, always makes his brother his fellow-worker and adviser—for instance, being skilled in rhetoric, in lawsuits; in office, in politics; in friendly dealings, in practical affairs—in short, who does not allow him to be left out of any notable and honor-bringing task, but shows him to be a partner in all fine things, making use of him when present and waiting for him when absent, and altogether makes it clear that, while he is no less capable of action than his brother, he is more ready to yield to him in reputation and power, takes nothing away from himself but adds greatly to his brother.
Such, then, is what one might advise the one who has the advantage. As for the one who is left behind, he in turn must reflect that his brother is not the only one, nor the sole person, richer or more learned or more brilliant in reputation than himself, but that he himself falls short of many, and is outdone ten-thousandfold by the ten-thousands of men who gather the fruit of the wide earth. Whether it is the case that he envies everyone who goes about, or whether, alone among so many fortunate men, it is his dearest and closest kinsman who grieves him, he has left no room for anyone else's misfortune to surpass his own.
Just as Metellus thought the Romans ought to be grateful to the gods that Scipio, being such a man, was not born in another city, so let each man pray above all that he himself excel in good fortune; but if not, that his brother should have the superiority and power that is envied. But some are so ill-disposed by nature toward what is honorable that, while they take pride and think highly of themselves if they have distinguished friends, powerful and wealthy strangers, they consider the distinctions of their brothers a dimming of their own; and while they are elated by the good fortunes of their fathers and the generalships of great-grandfathers of whom they are told, from which they derived no benefit and had no share, they are downcast and humbled by the inheritances, offices, and distinguished marriages of their brothers.
And yet, above all, one ought to envy no one else either; but if one must, to turn the malice outward and channel it toward others, as those do who direct their factional strife outward against enemies: "Many Trojans and famous allies are mine to be jealous of"; "and many Achaeans, in turn, are yours," naturally disposed to envy and jealousy. Toward a brother one must not, like the pan of a scale, incline in the opposite direction, sinking oneself as he rises, but rather, as with numbers, the lesser, by multiplying the greater and being multiplied by it, together increase and are increased along with the good things involved.
For the finger that cannot write or play the lyre is not thereby inferior to the one that does, but all work together and cooperate with one another in some way, as though purposely made unequal and possessing, by way of contrast, the capacity to combine with the greatest and strongest. So too Craterus, being Antigonus's brother while the latter was king, and Perilaus, Cassander's brother, set themselves respectively to command the army and to keep the household; but the Antiochi and Seleuci, and again the Grypi and Cyzicenes, not having learned to take second place to their brothers but reaching instead for the purple and the diadem, filled themselves and one another with many evils, and filled Asia with many as well.
Since envy and jealousy toward those who have the greater share of reputation and honor arise especially in ambitious characters, it is most useful for brothers, with a view to this, not to seek honors or powers from the same sources, but each from a different one. For even among wild animals there is war between those that feed on the same things, and among athletes those who compete for the same event are rivals; but boxers are friendly to pancratiasts, and long-distance runners are well-disposed to wrestlers, and are anxious for and eager on each other's behalf: hence, of the sons of Tyndareus, Polydeuces won at boxing, Castor at the footrace.
Homer, too, has fittingly made Teucer distinguished for his archery, while his brother excelled among the hoplites: "and he would hide him behind his shining shield." And among statesmen, generals do not much envy popular leaders, nor do forensic orators envy sophists among speakers, nor physicians concerned with diet envy surgeons; rather they even join together and bear witness on one another's behalf. But to seek to be renowned and admired from the same art or ability is, among ordinary people, no different from two men who love the same woman both wishing to have more of her and to be more esteemed than the other.
Those, then, who walk by different roads do one another no good at all, whereas those who follow different pursuits both avoid envy and cooperate with one another more, as did Demosthenes and Chares, and again Aeschines and Eubulus, and Hyperides and Leosthenes—the former speaking and writing in the assembly, the latter commanding armies and acting. Hence brothers who are not naturally disposed to share reputation and power without envy must direct their desires and ambitions as far as possible away from each other, so that they may gladden one another by their good fortune rather than grieve one another.
Beyond all this, one must guard against in-laws, relatives, and a wife—who sometimes, joining in with ambition, adds wicked words: "Your brother manages and controls everything, and is admired and courted, while no one comes near you, and you have nothing to be proud of." "Well, I have," a sensible man might reply, "a brother who is well esteemed, and I share in the greater part of his power." For Socrates said he would rather have Darius as a friend than the gold coin called the daric; and to a sensible brother, a ruling brother is no less a good thing than wealth or eloquence—no less a benefit than being rich or being eminent in the power of speech and reputation. But...
These inequalities, then, are most effectively soothed in that way. But other differences arise immediately, having to do with age, among brothers who have not been properly trained. For as a rule those who are older, since they always claim the right to rule over the younger, to take the lead, and to have the greater share in every kind of reputation and influence, are burdensome and disagreeable; while the younger, in turn, chafing at the bit and growing bold, practice contempt and disregard. Out of this,
some, feeling themselves envied and cut down, run away and resent all admonition; others, forever hungry for superiority, fear the growth of their brothers as though it were their own undoing. Just as in matters of gratitude people think the receivers ought to regard the favor as greater and the givers ought to regard it as smaller, so too, in advising about the passage of time, one might urge the elder not to think it a great matter and the younger not to think it a small one,
and thereby free both of them from arrogance and neglect, from being despised and from despising. But since it is fitting for the elder to show care, to take the lead, and to admonish, while it is fitting for the younger to honor, to emulate, and to follow, the elder's care ought to have more the character of a companion than of a father — persuading rather than commanding — and should take pleasure in successes
and speak well of them, while being not merely more eager but also kinder than one who finds fault and cuts down when the younger has erred; and in the younger's emulation there should be a spirit of imitation rather than of rivalry. For imitation belongs to one who admires, but rivalry to one who envies. That is why people are fond of those who wish to become like them, but oppress and are harsh toward those who wish to become their equals. And among the many honors which it is proper for the young to render
to their elders, obedience wins the greatest approval, and together with respect it produces strong goodwill and a gratitude that yields in return. It was by this means that Cato, from childhood on, cultivated the elder Caepio through compliance, gentleness, and silence, and in the end so completely won him over, even as grown men, and filled him with such reverence toward himself, that Caepio did nothing and said nothing without his knowledge. It is recorded, for instance, that once,
when Caepio had already sealed a document as a witness, Cato, arriving later, refused to add his own seal; and Caepio, on being asked for the document, removed his own seal before even inquiring what had prompted this — for the brother had not trusted the testimony, but had suspected it. And a great reverence of brothers toward Epicurus is likewise apparent, on account of their goodwill and devotion to him, both in other matters and in philosophy,
in which they shared his enthusiasm; for even if they were mistaken in their judgment, having been persuaded from childhood on and saying that no one wiser than Epicurus had ever lived, it is worth admiring both the one who instilled this conviction and those in whom it was instilled. Moreover, among the more recent philosophers, Apollonius the Peripatetic refuted the man who said that reputation could not be shared, by making his younger brother Sotion more famous than himself. As for me,
since among the many things worthy of gratitude from fortune, the goodwill of my brother Timon toward everything else, both in the past and now, is something no one who has had any dealings with us fails to know — least of all you, our intimate friends. There are, then, further feelings that brothers of the same or nearly the same age must guard against — feelings that are small but continual and numerous, and that build up a wretched habit of grieving and provoking one another
in everything, ending finally in incurable hatreds and bitterness. For beginning to quarrel over childish games, over the raising of animals and contests, such as those of quails or fighting-cocks, then over boys' wrestling matches, dogs in the hunt, and horses in races, they are no longer able, in weightier matters, to master or check their love of victory and their ambition — just as the most powerful Greeks of our own time, rising up over rival claims
about dancers and then about lyre-players, from that point on kept matching against each other, always fighting over territory, the swimming-pools and colonnades and banqueting-halls at Aedepsus, cutting off each other's water-channels and diverting them, until they grew so savage and were so ruined that, stripped of everything by the tyrant, and having become exiles and poor men — and (I nearly said) other men entirely compared to what they had been before — the only thing that remained the same in them was their hatred of one another. For this reason
it is especially necessary to fight hard against rivalry and jealousy toward one's brothers as it steals in over small and early matters, practicing instead the habit of yielding, of giving way, and of taking pleasure in doing favors for them rather than in defeating them. For the ancients called no other victory 'Cadmean' but the one fought at Thebes between the brothers, branding it as the most shameful and the worst. What then? Do not affairs bring forth many
pretexts for disputes and disagreements even to those who seem reasonable and gentle in temperament? Indeed they do; but even there one must be on guard, so that the matters themselves may be the point of contention, without attaching to them, out of rivalry or anger, any passion like a hook, but rather, as if weighing on the scale of justice, observing the balance in common, and settling the dispute as quickly as possible by arbitration and legal judgment, clearing it away before it takes root,
the way a dye or an indelible stain does, and becomes hard to wash out; and then to imitate the Pythagoreans, who, though related by no family tie but sharing only a common philosophy, if ever they were led by anger into abuse of one another, before the sun went down, would join right hands, embrace, and be reconciled. For just as, when a fever arises from a swollen gland, there is nothing alarming about it, but if it persists after the swelling has subsided, it is thought to be a disease
with a deeper root — so too, among brothers, a disagreement that ends along with the matter that caused it belongs to that matter alone, but one that lingers on shows that the matter was merely a pretext, and that the underlying cause was corrupt and festering beneath the surface. It is worth learning of a dispute between barbarian brothers, not over a small plot of land, nor over slaves or sheep, but over the sovereignty of Persia. For when Darius died, some thought
that Ariamenes ought to be king, being the eldest of the family, while others favored Xerxes, who was the son of Atossa, the daughter of Cyrus, and had been born after Darius was already king. Now Ariamenes came down from Media not in a warlike manner, but quietly, as if to submit to judgment; and Xerxes, who was already present, was doing what belonged to a king to do. But when his brother arrived, Xerxes set aside his diadem, took off the upright tiara
that kings wear, went to meet him, and embraced him, and sending gifts, he ordered those who brought them to say, 'With these gifts Xerxes your brother now honors you; but if by the judgment and vote of the Persians he is proclaimed king, he grants you the place second after himself.' And Ariamenes replied, 'For my part, I accept the gifts, but I consider the kingship of Persia to belong to me. Still, the honor
of ranking after me I will reserve for my brothers, and to Xerxes first among the brothers.' When the trial took place, the Persians appointed Artabanus, the brother of Darius, as judge, since this was their decision, and Xerxes, trusting in the crowd, chose to be judged before him. But his mother Atossa rebuked him, saying, 'Why do you shrink from Artabanus, my son, who is your uncle and the best of the Persians? Why are you so afraid of this contest,
when it is a fine thing even to come in second, to be judged the brother of the king of Persia?' So Xerxes was persuaded, and when the pleadings had taken place, Artabanus declared that the kingship belonged to Xerxes; and Ariamenes at once leapt up, did obeisance to his brother, took him by the right hand, and seated him upon the royal throne. From that time on he held the highest place beside him and showed himself devoted to him, so that, fighting most bravely at
the sea-battle of Salamis, he fell for his brother's glory. Let this, then, stand as a pure and blameless model of goodwill and greatness of soul. As for Antiochus, one might indeed find fault with his love of power, but one might also marvel that his brotherly affection was not utterly extinguished by it. For he was at war with Seleucus over the kingdom, being the younger brother, and his mother sided with him in the struggle; yet at the height of the war,
when Seleucus had joined battle with the Galatians and been defeated, and was nowhere to be found, so that he was thought to be dead — almost the whole army having been cut down by the barbarians — Antiochus, on learning this, laid aside his purple robe, put on a dark garment of mourning, closed the palace, and mourned his brother. But a little later, when he heard that Seleucus had survived and was gathering another army, he offered sacrifice to the gods,
went out in public, and ordered the cities under his rule to offer sacrifice and to wear garlands. The Athenians, having oddly invented the myth of the gods' quarrel, mixed into it no small correction of its oddity: for they always leave out the second day of the month Boedromion, on the ground that it was on that day that the dispute between Poseidon and Athena took place. What, then, prevents us too, when a dispute arises with our relatives
and kinsmen, from setting that day aside in oblivion and reckoning it among the ill-omened days, rather than forgetting, for the sake of one day, the many good days in which we were raised and lived together? Either nature has given us in vain, and to no purpose, gentleness and the forbearance that springs from moderation of feeling, or these above all are what we ought to employ toward our kin and family. And no less than the giving of pardon to those who have erred,
the asking for it and the accepting of it when we ourselves have erred shows goodwill and affection. For this reason one must not neglect those who are angry, nor resist those who ask forgiveness, but must often anticipate, when we ourselves are at fault, our brothers' anger with an apology, and again, when wronged, meet their apology with forgiveness. It is well known in the schools that the Socratic Euclides, when he heard his brother say to him in an unreasonable
and savage way, 'May I perish if I do not take revenge on you,' replied, 'And may I perish if I do not persuade you to cease from your anger and to love us as you once loved us.' And the deed of King Eumenes, more than any words, has left no possibility of surpassing it in gentleness. For Perseus, king of the Macedonians, being his enemy, arranged for men to kill him; and those near Delphi
lay in ambush, having learned that he was walking up from the sea toward the god's shrine. Coming up behind him, they hurled great stones at his head and neck, by which he was stunned, fell, and was believed to be dead; and the report spread everywhere, and certain friends and attendants arrived at Pergamum believing themselves to be bringing first news of his death. So Attalus, the eldest of his brothers, a man
of decent character and, next to Eumenes himself, the best of them, not only was proclaimed king and put on the crown, but also married Eumenes' wife Stratonice and ruled jointly with her; but when it was reported that Eumenes was alive and approaching, he set aside the diadem, and taking up, as was his custom, his spears among the other spear-bearers, went out to meet him. Eumenes greeted him kindly in turn, and embraced the queen with honor
and affection; and having lived on for no small time afterward, blamelessly and without suspicion, he died, entrusting to Attalus both the kingdom and his wife. What then did Attalus do? After Eumenes' death, he was unwilling to raise even a single child by the woman, though she bore many, but instead reared and brought to manhood Eumenes' own son, and while he himself was still living, placed the diadem on him and proclaimed him king. But Cambyses, frightened by a dream
that his brother would become king of Asia, killed him without waiting for any proof or examination. From this the rule passed out of the line of Cyrus's succession when Cambyses himself died, and the family of Darius came to rule — a man who knew how to share not only with brothers but also with friends both business and power. It is further necessary to remember and observe this in disputes with one's brothers: to associate with their friends,
and to draw close to them especially at such times, but to avoid their enemies and not to receive them, imitating in this very thing the practice of the Cretans, who, though often at odds and at war with one another, when foreign enemies attacked, would set aside their quarrels and unite; and this practice was called by them 'syncretism.' For some people, like water seeping in upon those who are loosening and drawing apart, overturn ties of kinship and friendship, hating both parties
but attacking whichever one is weaker and more inclined to give way. For just as young and guileless friends share in the passion of a man in love, so, when a man is angry and at odds with his brother, the most malicious of his enemies seem to share his indignation and his anger. Just as Aesop's hen said to the cat, who was asking, as though out of goodwill, how she was faring in her illness, 'I would be well enough if you would go away,' so too
one must say to such a person, when he brings up talk about the quarrel, questions, and digs into some of one's secrets, 'But I have no quarrel at all with my brother, so long as neither I pay attention to slanderers, nor does he.' Yet now, somehow, when our eyes are inflamed we think we ought to turn them away from colors and objects that do not cause any blow or impact
on our sight, while in complaints, angers, and suspicions concerning our brothers, once we have fallen into them, we take pleasure and let ourselves be further stained by those who stir us up — though it would have been better to flee from and avoid one's enemies and ill-wishers, and instead to spend one's time, above all, with the brother's in-laws, relatives, and friends, going in to visit their wives and speaking freely and openly with them. And yet people say one ought not to take up a stone between brothers
walking along the road, and they are annoyed even when a dog runs between them, and fear many such trifles, none of which has ever actually divided the harmony of brothers — yet they do not notice that they are placing malicious and slanderous men between themselves and stumbling over them. Therefore, since the argument's continuity requires it, Theophrastus put it well when he said that 'if the possessions of friends are held in common, then above all the friends of friends ought to be held in common' — and this
advice one might give to brothers most of all. For private and separate associations and intimacies with others turn brothers away from one another and draw them apart; for loving different people is immediately followed by taking pleasure in different people, admiring different people, and being led by different people. For friendships shape character, and there is no greater sign of a difference in character than a difference in the choice of friends. For this reason, neither
eating together nor drinking together, nor playing together and spending the day together, holds brothers to harmony so firmly as loving the same people and hating the same people together, taking pleasure in being with the same people, and loathing and avoiding the same people together. For shared friendships bring neither slanders nor collisions; but even if some anger or complaint arises, it is dissolved through the mediation of mutual friends, who intervene and disperse it, provided
they are on familiar terms with both parties and incline with goodwill toward both alike. For just as tin welds together broken bronze and fuses it, becoming, by contact with both ends, sympathetically united with each, so too a friend who is well-suited and common to both brothers ought to reinforce their goodwill still further. But those who are unequal and unmixed, like discordant notes in a musical scale, produce division rather than harmony.
One might well raise the question whether Hesiod spoke rightly or, on the contrary, wrongly when he said that a companion should not be made equal to a brother. For the man who is fair-minded and generous, as has been said, will, by being blended together with both parties, become all the more a bond of brotherly affection; but Hesiod, it seems, was wary of the many worthless sort, on account of the jealousy and self-love so common among them. And it is indeed wise, while guarding against this, that even if one grants a friend equal goodwill, one should always reserve the first honors for one's brother—in offices and public affairs, in invitations and in introductions to men in power, and in whatever else is conspicuous to the multitude and conduces to reputation—rendering to nature its due dignity and prerogative. For a friend does not feel it so glorious to have the greater share in these things as a brother feels it shameful and inglorious to have the lesser. But on this point what seems right has been written elsewhere at greater length.
The saying of Menander is correct, that no one who loves himself is willingly neglected; it reminds and teaches us to care for our brothers and not, trusting to nature alone, to be careless of them. For even a horse is by nature fond of man, and a dog fond of its master, yet if they do not meet with attention and care they become estranged and alien; and the body, which is most closely akin to the soul, when neglected and overlooked by it, refuses to cooperate but instead does harm and abandons its tasks. Good care, then, is owed to one's brothers themselves, and even finer still is to show oneself always well-disposed and eager toward their fathers-in-law and sons-in-law in all things, to welcome and treat kindly their servants who are devoted to their masters, and to feel gratitude toward physicians who have healed them and toward loyal friends who have zealously and usefully shared with them a journey abroad or a military campaign.
One should regard a brother's wedded wife as the holiest of all sacred things, honoring and speaking well of her for her husband's sake; if she is neglected, one should share her indignation, and if she is angry, soothe her; and if she should err in some small matter, help reconcile her and urge her husband to be gentle. And if some private disagreement should arise between oneself and one's brother, one should lay the blame before her and resolve the grievance through her.
One should be most displeased at a brother's remaining unmarried and childless, and should urge and even chide him, driving him from every side toward marriage and binding him fast in lawful ties of kinship; and once he has acquired children, one should show more openly both one's goodwill toward him and one's honor toward his wife. Toward his children one should be affectionate as toward one's own, but gentler still and more mild, so that when they err, as the young do, they may not run away or, out of fear of father or mother, sink into base and disreputable company, but may have in one an aversion and refuge that at once admonishes them with kindness and pleads on their behalf.
In this way Plato too turned his nephew Speusippus back from great looseness and license, though he neither said nor did anything harsh toward him; rather, while his parents were forever reproaching and railing at the young man as he fled from them, Plato gave himself over to him kindly and without anger, and thereby instilled in him great reverence and emulation both of himself and of philosophy. And yet many of his friends found fault with him for not admonishing the youth; but he said he was indeed admonishing him thoroughly, by affording through his own life and manner of living a clear perception of the difference between what is base and what is noble.
Aleuas the Thessalian, when he proved arrogant and insolent, was checked and treated harshly by his father, but his uncle took him up and drew him close. When the Thessalians sent fire-signals to the god at Delphi concerning who should be king, the uncle secretly, without his brother's knowledge, cast in a lot on behalf of Aleuas; and when the Pythia declared this one chosen, the father denied having cast the lot on his own behalf, and everyone supposed some error had occurred in the recording of the names. They therefore sent again and inquired once more of the god; and the Pythia, as though confirming her earlier proclamation, said, "It is the ruddy one I mean, the child whom Archedice bore." And in this way Aleuas was declared king by the god because of his father's brother, and he himself far surpassed all who had gone before him, and brought his people to great glory and power.
But truly, when a brother's children prosper in success, honors, and offices, one ought to rejoice and take pride in it, and help further and spur them on toward noble deeds, and praise them unstintingly when they succeed; for to extol one's own son may perhaps seem burdensome, but to extol a brother's son is dignified, and not a mark of self-love but of love of the good, and truly something divine. Indeed, it seems to me that the very word for "nephew" points beautifully toward goodwill and affection for a brother's children.
One should also emulate the example of one's betters. Heracles, though he fathered sixty-eight children, loved his nephew no less than any of them; even now, in many places, Iolaus shares an altar with him, and men join in prayer to him, invoking him as Heracles' comrade-in-arms. And when his brother Iphicles fell in the battle near Lacedaemon, Heracles, overcome with grief, left the whole of the Peloponnese. Leucothea, when her sister died, raised the infant and helped make him a god as well; and for this reason the women of Rome, at the festivals of Leucothea whom they call Matuta, embrace and honor not their own children but those of their sisters and brothers.