Praecepta Gerendae Reipublicae

Plutarch · a new plain-English translation from the Greek

If it were fitting to use for some other purpose, Menemachus, the words “no one of all the Achaeans will fault your speech, nor will he speak against it in turn; yet you have not reached the end of your speech,” I would say them to those philosophers who exhort but teach nothing and lay down no precepts: for they are like men who trim the wicks of their lamps but pour in no oil. Seeing you, then, roused as befits your noble birth in your homeland

“to be both a speaker of words and a doer of deeds,” and since you have no time to observe at close range, in the open air of practical affairs and public contests, the life of a philosophical man, and to become a spectator of examples brought to completion in deed and not merely in word, but ask instead to receive precepts for political life—I think it in no way fitting for me to refuse, and I pray that the work may prove worthy both of your zeal and of my own eagerness. As you requested, I have made use of rather varied examples.

First, then, let it be laid down, as a foundation for a constitution like the one set out in these “Precepts for the Conduct of Public Affairs,” that one's choice of a political career rest on a ground firm and strong—namely a judgment and reasoning that has its origin in decision, and not a headlong impulse born of empty ambition or some love of contention, or of a lack of other occupations. For just as those who have nothing worthwhile to do at home spend most of their time in the marketplace even when they have no need to,

so too some people, having no worthy private business of their own to pursue, throw themselves into public affairs, treating political life as a pastime. And many who have laid hold of public business by chance, and become filled with it, are no longer easily able to withdraw, suffering the same fate as those who board a ship for a pleasure sail and are then swept out to sea: they look outward, seasick and troubled,

while being compelled to remain and make use of what is at hand—“above a calm sea's surface the fair-faced Loves of the ship's cable, cleaver of the deep, passed by them, to their divine ruin.” It is these men above all who bring the profession into disrepute through their regret and vexation, whenever, having hoped for reputation, they fall instead into disrepute, or, having expected to become objects of fear to others through their power, they are instead led into affairs full of dangers and turmoil. But the man who,

as is most fitting for him, begins to conduct public business as the noblest of tasks, from settled judgment and reasoning, is not struck with dismay by any of these things, nor does he change his mind. For one should not enter public affairs for the sake of business and profit, as did the associates of Stratocles and Dromoclides, who used to summon one another to what they jokingly called “the golden harvest,” meaning the speaker's platform; nor should one enter it as though suddenly overcome

by some passion, as Gaius Gracchus did, who, in the heat of his grief over his brother's misfortunes, had set his life at the furthest remove from public affairs, but then, inflamed with anger at the insolence and abuse of certain men toward him, plunged into politics; and quickly he was filled to overflowing with business and reputation, but when he sought to stop and desired change and quiet, he could not find a way to lay down his power, because of its very greatness, but was destroyed before he could do so:

and those who, out of rivalry or love of reputation, fashion themselves like actors for the stage, are bound to feel regret—either enslaved to those they claim to rule, or offending those they wish to please. But just as, I think, those who fall into a well by accident and without forethought are thrown into confusion and regret it, while those who climb down deliberately and with reasoning make calm use of the circumstances, and are moderate,

and are vexed at nothing, since they have the good itself, and nothing else, as the end of their actions—so too, once a man has firmly fixed his resolve within himself and made it unchanging and hard to alter, he must then turn to the study of the character of the citizens, which appears and holds sway most of all when blended together from all of them. For it is neither easy nor safe for a man straightaway to attempt to shape and remold the

nature of the people, but this requires much time and great power as well. Rather, just as wine at first is mastered by the temperament of the drinker, but gradually, as it warms and blends with him, itself shapes and transforms the drinker, so the statesman, until he has built up an influence that carries conviction from reputation and trust, must be well attuned to the dispositions that already exist, and

aim at these, understanding what the people delight in and by what they are naturally led: for instance, the Athenian people are easily moved to anger, easily turned to pity, wishing rather to suspect quickly than to be instructed calmly; just as among individuals they are more eager to help the obscure and lowly, so among speeches they welcome and prefer the playful and the amusing. Those who praise them they especially

delight in, while those who mock them they resent least; they are fearsome even to their own magistrates, yet humane even toward their enemies. Different is the character of the Carthaginian people: harsh, sullen, submissive to their rulers, oppressive to their subjects, most base in fear, most savage in anger, tenacious of decisions once made, unresponsive to play and charm, and hard. These people would never—when Cleon asked them, since he had made sacrifice and was about to entertain guests,

to postpone the assembly—have laughed and applauded and risen to their feet, nor, when a quail escaped from Alcibiades' cloak while he was speaking, would they have joined eagerly in the hunt and given it back to him; rather they would even have killed him, as one guilty of insolence and self-indulgence—seeing that they even drove out Hanno, on the charge of harboring tyrannical designs, merely for using a lion to carry his baggage on campaigns. Nor, I think, would the Thebans have refrained from reading letters

of the enemy, had they gained possession of them, as the Athenians did when they captured Philip's letter-carriers bringing a letter addressed to Olympias: they did not open it or reveal the private affectionate message of a man abroad to his wife. Nor again would the Athenians have easily borne the arrogance and pride of Epaminondas, when, refusing to defend himself against the accusation, he rose from his seat and walked out through the assembly to the gymnasium, as they in fact did bear it with ease:

and it would have taken much more still for even the Spartans to endure the insolence and buffoonery of Stratocles, who persuaded them to offer sacrifices of good news as though they had won a victory, and then, when the true report of their defeat arrived and they grew indignant, asked the people what wrong had been done to them, since they had been happy for three days on his account. Now the flatterers at court, like bird-catchers imitating the cry of their prey and making themselves resemble it, insinuate themselves most effectively

and win access to kings through deception; but it is not fitting for the statesman to imitate the temper of the people—rather he must understand it and know how to use it toward each end by which it can be won over: for ignorance of character brings about failures and disasters in political life no less than in the friendships of kings. The character of the citizens, then, once a man has gained influence and is already trusted, he must

try gently to reshape, drawing them gradually toward what is better and handling them mildly; for the transformation of the masses is a difficult undertaking. And he himself, as one who will live the rest of his life as it were in a theater open on every side, must train and adorn his own character; and if it is not easy to rid the soul entirely of its faults, at least he should remove and curtail whatever failings bloom most conspicuously and are most likely to come to light. For you have heard that

Themistocles, when he resolved to enter public life, gave up drinking parties and revelry, and, being sleepless, sober, and full of care, used to say to his companions that Miltiades' trophy would not let him sleep; and Pericles changed even his bodily bearing and manner of life—he walked gently, spoke mildly, always kept his countenance composed, and kept his hand

drawn in beneath his cloak, and walked always by the one path leading to the speaker's platform and the council chamber. For it is neither easy to manage nor simple to achieve that saving capture of the multitude by just anyone; rather one must be content if, by being startled by neither sight nor sound, as a wild and unpredictable beast might be, one can win the people's confidence in one's leadership. If, then, even these outward matters must not be neglected carelessly, how much less

should one neglect one's life and character, so that they may be pure of all reproach and slander? For those engaged in public affairs give an account not only of what they say and do in public, but their dinners too are pried into, and their bed and their marriage and their amusements and every serious pursuit. Why need one even speak of Alcibiades? Though the most energetic of all in public affairs and an undefeated general,

it was his unrestrained and reckless manner of living that destroyed him, and made his city unable to profit from his other good qualities, because of his extravagance and licentiousness. Even Cimon's fondness for wine was held against him by these same men, and the Romans, having nothing else to say against Scipio, blamed him for his fondness for sleep; and Pompey the Great was reviled by his enemies, who noticed him scratching his head with a single finger. For just as a mole

or a wart on the face causes more displeasure than scars, blemishes, or wounds on the rest of the body, so small faults appear great when seen in the lives of rulers and statesmen, on account of the reputation that most people attach to power and public office, as though it were a great matter that ought to be free of every impropriety and error. It was fitting, then, that Livius Drusus the popular leader won esteem because, when

many parts of his house lay open to the view of his neighbors, and one of the builders offered to screen them off and rearrange them for only five talents, he said, “Take ten, and make my whole house visible, so that all the citizens may see how I live”—for he was in truth a temperate and orderly man. Yet perhaps he had no need of this exposure at all: for the multitude discern

even the characters, plans, actions, and lives of statesmen that seem very deeply concealed, loving and admiring one man and resenting and despising another, no less on account of their private than their public conduct. What then? Do not cities also make use of men who live licentiously and dissolutely? Indeed, just as pregnant women crave stones and

seasick people often crave briny foods and the like, then a little later spit them out and turn away in disgust, so too the people, through luxury and insolence, for lack of better leaders make use of whoever is at hand, loathing and despising them all the while, and yet delight in having such things said to them as Plato the comic poet makes the People itself say: “Take hold, take hold of my hand as quickly as you can, for I am about to

appoint Agyrrhius general”; and again, asking for a basin and a feather so that it may vomit, saying, “Mantias stands before me at the platform and feeds Cephalus, that most hateful disease.” And the Roman people, when Carbo made some promise and added an oath and a curse besides, swore back in unison that they did not believe him. And in Sparta, when a certain Demosthenes, a licentious man, spoke an opinion that happened to be sound, the people rejected it,

but the ephors, choosing one of the elders by lot, ordered him to speak that very same proposal, as though pouring it from a foul vessel into a clean one, so that it might become acceptable to the many. So great is the weight that trust in one's character carries in public life—and its opposite as well. Not that, on this account, one should neglect the charm and power of speech, while placing the whole of virtue in conduct;

rather, holding rhetoric to be not the creator but the helper of persuasion, one should correct Menander's saying: “It is the speaker's character, not his speech, that persuades—” for both character and speech together do the work, unless indeed someone will say, as one might claim that it is not the rudder that steers the ship, and not the bridle that turns the horse, so too

it is not by speech but by character, used as a rudder and bridle, that political virtue persuades a city—virtue being, as Plato says, the most easily turned of all creatures, guided as it were by the stern and steered aright. For where even those great kings, sprung from the gods, as Homer says, magnify themselves with purple robes and scepters and spearmen and oracles of the gods, and hold the multitude in subjection by their majesty as being their superiors,

nevertheless they wished to be “speakers of words” as well, and did not neglect the grace of speech, nor of assemblies, “by which men become distinguished”; nor did they seek only Zeus the Counselor, nor Ares the War-god and Athena the Warrior-goddess, but they also called upon Calliope, “who attends upon reverend kings,” soothing with persuasion and charming away the people's stubbornness and violence. How indeed could it be

possible for a private individual, from a common cloak and a plebeian bearing, wishing to lead a city, to prevail and gain mastery over the multitude, unless he possessed speech that could win them over and draw them along? For those who pilot ships employ other men as boatswains to call the time, but the statesman must have within himself both the mind that steers and the speech that gives the command, so that he has no need of a foreign voice, nor, like

Iphicrates, out-argued by the followers of Aristophon, must he say, “The actor of my opponents is better, but my own drama is better”; nor need he often resort to those famous lines of Euripides: “Would that the race of wretched mortals were voiceless, and, alas, alas, that men's affairs have no voice of their own, so that clever speakers would count for nothing.” These sentiments perhaps may be left to Alcamenes and Nesiotes and Ictinus

and to all craftsmen and artisans who disclaim any ability to speak—just as at Athens, once, when two architects were being examined for a public work, the one, smooth and clever in speech, moved the people by delivering a well-rehearsed speech about the construction, while the other, better in his craft but unable to speak, came forward and said only, “Men of Athens, whatever this man has said,

I will actually do.” For only those honor Athena Ergane alone, as Sophocles says, who work “beside the anvil, with heavy hammer,” fashioning lifeless matter that submits to their blows; but the prophet of Athena Polias and of Themis the Counselor, “who both dissolves and convenes the assemblies of men,” employing a single instrument, speech, molding and fitting some things together, and softening and smoothing

other things that resist his work, like knots in wood or flaws in iron, thereby adorns his city. It was for this reason that the government under Pericles was, as Thucydides says, “in name a democracy, but in fact rule by the first man”—because of the power of his speech. For Cimon too was a good man, and so were Ephialtes and Thucydides, but

when this last Thucydides was asked by Archidamus, king of the Spartans, whether he or Pericles wrestled better, he replied, “One could not say: for whenever I throw him in wrestling, he claims he was not thrown at all, and he wins the argument and convinces the onlookers.” This brought fame not to that man alone, but salvation to the city as well: for by trusting and obeying him, the city preserved its existing prosperity, the

...but kept himself out of everything else. Nicias had the same policy, but lacked that kind of persuasive power, and, trying to turn the people away with an argument as blunt as a dull bit, he could not restrain or master them, but was swept along by force into Sicily and dragged down along with them. They say, indeed, that no one can hold a wolf by the ears, but a people and a city must above all be led by the ears—not, as some untrained speakers do, hunting for coarse and inartistic handles on their arguments, tugging the crowd along by the belly, feasting them or handing out money, or by staging gladiatorial shows and pyrrhic dances, always currying favor with the people, or rather flattering the mob. For leadership of the people is persuasion through speech, whereas such taming of the masses differs in nothing from the hunting and herding of irrational animals.

The statesman's speech, however, should be neither youthful and theatrical, as though he were weaving garlands for a festival out of soft and flowery words, nor again, as Pytheas said of Demosthenes' style, smelling of the lamp-wick and of sophistic over-elaboration, with bitter figures of thought and periods measured out with ruler and compass. Rather, just as musicians insist that the touch of the strings should show itself expressive of character, not merely percussive, so in the speech of the man engaged in politics, advising, and ruling, there should appear neither cleverness nor cunning; nor should he pride himself on speaking in a habitual, technical, or overly analytical manner. Instead, his speech should be full of unaffected character, genuine high-mindedness, a father's frankness, forethought, and caring intelligence, having along with the good the quality of being pleasing and persuasive, drawn both from dignified words and from ideas that are original and convincing.

Political speech admits more readily than forensic oratory the use of maxims, historical illustrations, fables, and metaphors, by which those who employ them in moderation and at the right moment are especially effective—as the man who said, "Do not make Greece one-eyed," and Demades, who said the city was governing itself by shipwrecks, and Archilochus, "let not the stone of Tantalus hang over this island," and Pericles bidding them remove the "bleariness" from the Piraeus; and Phocion, at the time of Leosthenes' victory, saying that the sprint was fine, but that he feared the long-distance race of the war. In general, weight and grandeur suit the statesman better; examples are the Philippic speeches, and among Thucydides' set speeches, Sthenelaidas' as reported by Ephorus, and that of King Archidamus at Plataea, and Pericles' speech after the plague. But as for the rhetorical displays and periods of Ephorus, Theopompus, and Anaximenes, which they draw out after arming and drawing up their armies in battle formation, one may say of them, "none of that dulls the edge of steel nearby."

Nevertheless, wit and jest sometimes properly form part of political oratory, provided it is not used for insolence or buffoonery but is spoken usefully, in rebuke or in exposing folly. Such things are best received when used in exchanges and responses; for a jest that is premeditated and initiated unprovoked smacks of buffoonery and carries a reputation for malice, as attached to the jests of Cicero and of Cato the Elder and of Euxitheus, the companion of Aristotle—for these men often mocked others when they themselves began the exchange. But when a man is defending himself, the occasion grants him both pardon and goodwill at once, as it did Demosthenes against the man who accused him of theft while mocking his habit of writing by lamplight at night: "I know I annoy you by burning my lamp." And against Demades shouting that "Demosthenes wants to correct me—the sow correcting Athena!" Demosthenes replied, "Yet this very Athena was caught committing adultery last year." Charming too was Xenainetus' reply to the citizens who reviled him because, though a general, he had fled: "Yes, together with you, dear friends."

One must be very much on guard, however, against excess in jesting, and against whatever pains the hearers unseasonably or makes the speaker himself appear ignoble and mean, as happened with Democrates' sayings: when he went up to the assembly he said that, like the city, he was weak in strength but strong in bluster; and again, at the time of the Chaeronea disaster, coming before the people, he said, "I would not have wished the city to have fared so badly that you should be listening even to my advice." The first remark was rather petty, the second nearly insane, and neither is fitting for a statesman. Phocion's terseness of speech, on the other hand, was much admired: Polyeuctus used to declare that Demosthenes was the greatest orator, but that Phocion was the most powerful speaker, since his speech packed the most sense into the fewest words. And Demosthenes himself, contemptuous of the others, used to say, whenever Phocion rose to speak, "Here comes the cleaver of my speeches."

You should try, above all, to use speech that is well considered and not empty when addressing the masses, and to do so with security, knowing that even the great Pericles used to pray, before addressing the people, that no word irrelevant to the matter at hand might occur to him. Nevertheless one's speech must also be kept versatile and well-exercised for exchanges, since the occasions in political life are sharp and often bring sudden emergencies. This is why Demosthenes, they say, was outdone by many speakers when it came to unforeseen occasions, since he shrank back and hesitated; whereas Theophrastus records of Alcibiades that he not only knew what needed to be said but also how it should be delivered, though often, in the very act of speaking, while searching for and composing his words, he would falter and break down. But the man who rises to speak prompted by the actual circumstances and by the pressing occasion has the greatest power to strike his audience with amazement, win them over, and change their minds—as, for instance, Leon of Byzantium, who once came to address the Athenians while they were in the midst of civil strife. Seen to be short of stature and laughed at, he said, "What would you say if you saw my wife, who barely reaches my knee? Yet small as we are, when we quarrel with each other, the city of Byzantium cannot contain us." This produced even greater laughter. And Pytheas the orator, when he was speaking against the honors proposed for Alexander, and someone said to him, "How dare you, so young, speak on matters of such magnitude?" replied, "Why, Alexander himself is younger than I am, and you are voting to make him a god."

One needs, too, soundness of voice and strength of breath for the contest of politics, which is not a trivial bout but an all-out fight, so that his speech, thus trained, will not repeatedly give out and fail, letting some raucous bawler with a voice like a roaring torrent overpower him. Cato, on matters where he had no hope of persuading the people or the senate because they had been won over beforehand by favors and canvassing, would simply rise and speak for the whole day, thereby using up the time allotted for the vote. On the preparation and use of speech, then, this much should suffice for one able to work out the rest for himself.

There are two ways of entering upon political life: the one is quick and brilliant in reputation, though not without danger; the other is more pedestrian and slower, but has the advantage of greater safety. Some men, as though setting out at once on some grand, conspicuous action performed on the open sea, one that demands boldness, launch themselves straight into politics, believing Pindar to be right when he says that at the beginning of a task one must set up a shining façade. For the multitude receive more readily, out of a certain satiety and surfeit with the familiar, a man who is just beginning—as spectators do a new contestant—and offices and powers that show a brilliant and rapid rise dazzle envy itself. As Ariston says, fire does not produce smoke, nor does glory produce envy, if it blazes up at once and quickly; but things that grow little by little and slowly are overtaken bit by bit by one rival after another from every side—which is why many men have withered away around the speaker's platform before they ever came into bloom. But wherever, as they say of Ladas the runner, "the sound of the starting-gate was still in his ears" when he was already being crowned as ambassador, or celebrating a triumph, or commanding gloriously, there neither the envious nor the contemptuous have equal power against him. It was in this way that Aratus came into fame, having made the overthrow of the tyrant Nicocles the starting-point of his political career; it was in this way that Alcibiades rose, by organizing the Mantinean coalition against the Lacedaemonians. Pompey, too, thought fit to celebrate a triumph before he had ever even entered the senate, and when Sulla would not allow it, said, "More people worship the rising sun than the setting one"—and Sulla, on hearing this, yielded. And the Roman people did not, from some office that came his way by chance, suddenly appoint Cornelius Scipio consul in defiance of the law while he was seeking the aedileship; rather, they did so because they had already admired, when he was a mere youth, his single combat and victory in Spain, and, a little later, his exploits as military tribune at Carthage—exploits about which the elder Cato himself exclaimed, "He alone has wisdom; the rest flit about like shadows."

Now, however, since the affairs of our cities no longer involve commands in wars, nor the overthrow of tyrannies, nor dealings with allies, what conspicuous and brilliant beginning to a political career could a man still find? There remain the public lawsuits and embassies to the emperor, which require a man of fervent spirit who combines both courage and good sense. There is also much that has been allowed to lapse among the noble practices of our cities, and much that has crept in through base custom to the city's shame or harm, which a man can take up, correct, and thereby turn attention toward himself. Indeed, a great case well argued, trustworthy advocacy on behalf of a weak party against a powerful opponent, and outspokenness on behalf of justice against a wicked governor have established some men at the outset of their political career in high repute. Not a few, too, have risen to prominence through enmity, by attacking men who held a position that was both envied and feared; for at once the strength of the man overthrown passes to the victor, along with an even better reputation. To attack a good man who holds the first place through his own virtue, out of envy—as Simmias attacked Pericles, Alcmaeon attacked Themistocles, Clodius attacked Pompey, and Meneclides the orator attacked Epaminondas—is neither good for one's reputation nor otherwise advantageous. For whenever the multitude, having wronged a good man, then quickly (as commonly happens) repent in their anger, they consider the easiest defense also the most just: to destroy the man who persuaded and instigated them. But to rise up against a base man who has made the city subject to himself through recklessness and cunning—such as Cleon was at Athens, and Cleophon—and to overthrow and humble him, makes for a brilliant entrance onto the stage of political life, as it were the opening scene of a drama.

I am not unaware that some men, by curbing an oppressive and oligarchic council—as Ephialtes did at Athens and Phormio among the Eleans—have gained both power and reputation at once; but this course carries great danger for a man just beginning his political career. That is why Solon took the safer path, when the city was divided into three factions, that of the so-called Men of the Hills, that of the Men of the Plain, and that of the Men of the Coast: by attaching himself to none of them, but remaining common to all, and saying and doing everything toward concord, he was chosen lawgiver to reconcile their differences, and thus established his own leadership. Such, then, in number and kind, are the beginnings available for the more conspicuous entrance into political life; but the safe and unhurried path was the one chosen by many famous men—Aristides, Phocion, Pammenes the Theban, Lucullus at Rome, Cato, Agesilaus the Lacedaemonian. Each of these, like ivy climbing and rising together with the strong trees it entwines, attached himself while still young and unknown to an older man already famous, and, gradually lifted up by that man's influence and growing along with him, fixed and rooted himself firmly in political life. Thus Aristides was raised up by Cleisthenes, Phocion by Chabrias, Lucullus by Sulla, Cato by Maximus, Epaminondas by Pammenes, and Agesilaus by Lysander—though this last man, out of untimely ambition and jealous rivalry for glory, insolently and quickly cast off the very guide of his actions. The others, however, served their patrons well and in a truly political spirit to the very end, and added luster to them in return—just as bodies exposed to the sun, while receiving its brightness, also increase and share back that same brightness. Those, at any rate, who envied Scipio used to declare that he was merely the actor of his exploits, and that Laelius, his companion, was their true author; yet Laelius himself was never puffed up by any of this, but continued always to compete jointly for glory with Scipio's virtue and reputation. Afranius, again, a friend of Pompey, though a man of quite humble standing, was nonetheless expected to be elected consul; yet when Pompey was working for others, he withdrew his candidacy, saying that attaining the consulship would not be as glorious for him as it would be painful and awkward if it came about without Pompey's willingness or cooperation. So, having waited patiently for just one year, he neither missed the office nor lost the friendship. Those who are thus led by the hand of others toward reputation gain the further advantage of winning the gratitude of many, and, if something unpleasant should occur, of incurring less hostility for it themselves—which is why Philip advised Alexander to make friends, while it was still possible, by associating pleasantly and showing kindness while another man was still king.

One must choose, as leader when beginning a political career, not simply the man who is famous and powerful, but the man who is such through virtue. For just as not every tree is willing to receive and support a clinging vine, but some choke and destroy its growth, so too in our cities, men who are not lovers of what is noble, but only lovers of honor and of power, do not offer young men opportunities for action, but, as though the young man's reputation were food taken from their own mouths, they crush him down through envy and wither him—as Marius did in Africa, and again in Gaul, where, after achieving many successes through Sulla's help, he ceased to employ him, resentful of his growing fame, and, using the seal-ring as his pretext, cast him off. For Sulla, when he was serving as quaestor under Marius's command in Africa, had been sent by him to Bocchus and brought back Jugurtha as a prisoner; and being a young man eager for honor, only just having tasted glory, he did not bear his good fortune with moderation, but had an image of the deed engraved on a signet ring, showing Jugurtha being handed over to him, and wore it constantly. Marius, taking offense at this, cast him off; whereupon Sulla went over to Catulus and Metellus, good men and opponents of Marius, and soon drove Marius out and crushed him in the civil war that came within a hair of overturning Rome itself. Sulla, on the other hand, promoted Pompey from his youth, rising from his seat and uncovering his head whenever Pompey approached, and gave the other young men too a share in commanding enterprises, even spurring some on against their will, and filled his armies with ambition and rivalry; and he prevailed over everyone because he wished to be not merely first alone, but first and greatest among many great men.

One must, therefore, hold fast to such men and attach oneself to them, not—like Aesop's wren, which, carried up on the eagle's shoulders, suddenly flew off and got ahead of him—snatch away their glory for oneself, but rather receive it from them together with goodwill and friendship, since, as Plato says, those who have not first learned rightly how to be ruled cannot themselves rule well either.

...capable of it. Next in order comes the question of the choice of friends, which endorses neither Themistocles' way of thinking nor Cleon's. For Cleon, when he first resolved to take up public affairs, gathered his friends together and dissolved his friendship with them, on the ground that friendship softened and distorted much of what should be a straight and just course of policy. But he would have done better to cast the love of money out of his soul and to purge himself of contentiousness, envy, and malice: for cities need not men without friends and companions, but men who are good and self-controlled. As it was, he drove away his friends, but a hundred heads of fawning flatterers, as the comic poets say, wound themselves whimpering around him; and though he was harsh and heavy toward decent men, he in turn made himself subject to the many, currying favor with them like an old nurse, giving them pay they had not earned, and courting the basest and most diseased element of the populace against the best citizens.

Themistocles, on the other hand, replied to the man who declared that he would rule well by showing himself impartial to all: "Never may I sit on such a throne, on which my friends would have no more from me than strangers." Nor was this man right either, in pledging that public policy and the common, public interest would follow friendship, and in subordinating them to private favors and personal zeal. And yet, to Simonides, when he asked for something unjust, he said, "Neither is a poet good who sings out of tune, nor a ruler decent who grants favors against the law." For it is truly dreadful and outrageous if a helmsman chooses sailors, and a shipowner chooses a helmsman, who know well how to set the tiller at the stern and the yard-arm well when the wind rises, and if some master-builder chooses assistants and craftsmen who will not ruin his work but will help bring it to its best completion — yet the statesman, who is, in Pindar's phrase, a supreme craftsman and a maker of good order and justice, will not at once choose as friends, helpers, and fellow-enthusiasts for the good men who share his temperament, but instead others who, for the sake of one need after another, bend him unjustly and by force.

He will appear no different from some builder or carpenter who through inexperience and error uses corners, rulers, and levels by which his work is bound to be thrown out of true; for friends are the living and thinking instruments of statesmen, and one must not slip along with them when they go astray, but must take care that they do not make mistakes even unwittingly. This, indeed, is what disgraced Solon and brought him into disrepute with the citizens: for when he had conceived the plan of lightening debts — the seisachtheia, as it was euphemistically called, meaning the cancellation of debts — and shared the plan with his friends before introducing it, they did a most unjust thing: they anticipated the law and borrowed large sums of money, and a short time later, when the law was brought to light, they were revealed to have bought splendid houses and much land with the money they had borrowed, while Solon incurred the charge of sharing in wrongdoing though he himself had been wronged.

Agesilaus, in his zeal for his friends, became weakest and most abject toward himself, like the Pegasus of Euripides, "cowering, yielding all the more, the more one wished it"; and by helping their misfortunes more eagerly than he ought, he seemed to make himself an accomplice in their injustices. Indeed, he saved Phoebidas when he was on trial for having seized the Cadmea without orders, saying that such things ought to be done on one's own initiative; and when Sphodrias was facing prosecution for a lawless and terrible act — for he had invaded Attica though the Athenians were friends and allies — Agesilaus, softened by the amorous pleading of Sphodrias' son, contrived to have him acquitted. And a letter of his to a certain ruler is reported in these words: "If Nicias is not guilty, acquit him; but if he is guilty, acquit him for my sake; in any case, acquit him."

Phocion, however, did not even join his own son-in-law Chares in the trial concerning the Harpalus affair, but said, "I made you my son-in-law for all just purposes," and went his way. And Timoleon of Corinth, when he could not persuade or dissuade his brother from his tyranny by teaching and entreaty, joined those who killed him. For one ought not to be a friend only up to the altar, in the sense of not joining in perjury, as Pericles once put it, but up to the point of all law, justice, and advantage — for to overlook this brings great harm both to oneself and to the community, as was shown by the failure to punish Sphodrias and Phoebidas: for it was they, not least, who plunged Sparta into the war of Leuctra. For in the case of moderate faults of friends, the reasoning proper to a statesman does not compel one to trample heavily upon them, but rather allows one, once the greatest matters of the state have been placed in safety, to help friends out of one's surplus, to stand by them, and to labor together on their behalf.

There are also favors that arouse no envy: to help a friend to office rather than merely assisting him personally; to entrust him with some distinguished administration or a benevolent embassy, one carrying, say, the honors of a governor, or a mission to a city concerning friendship and concord. But if some task is difficult yet distinguished and important, one should first assign oneself to it, and only then choose one's friend for it, as Diomedes says: "If indeed you bid me choose a companion myself, how then could I forget godlike Odysseus?" — and Odysseus in turn fittingly repays the compliment: "These horses, old man, are newcomers, Thracian, whom you ask about; their lord good Diomedes slew, and beside him twelve companions, all the best."

This is the yielding proper toward friends: it adorns those who praise no less than those who are praised; whereas self-will, as Plato says, dwells with solitude. Further, one must also let one's friends share in fine and generous favors, and bid those who have been benefited praise and love them too, as having been both the cause and the counselors of the benefit; but base and improper requests one must brush aside, not harshly but gently, teaching and consoling, explaining that they are not worthy of the friend's virtue and reputation. Best of all men in this was Epaminondas, who, when Pelopidas asked him to release the tavern-keeper from prison, refused, but shortly afterward, when his own beloved asked the same thing, released the man,

saying, "Such favors, Pelopidas, are fit to be received from little mistresses, not from generals." Cato, however, acted with heavy-handed self-will when Catulus the censor, who was among his closest friends and intimates, sought the release of one of the men being tried under Cato's quaestorship; Cato said, "It is shameful that you, whose duty it is to make us young men behave, should be thrown out by our own attendants." For in fact it was possible for him to refuse the favor while still stripping the roughness and bitterness from his words, so as not to inflict the pain willingly but only as compelled by the law and by justice.

There are also, in public life, not ignoble ways of assisting friends toward making money, when they are in need — as Themistocles did, who, after the battle, seeing a corpse wearing gold torques and a necklace, passed by himself, but turning to his friend said, "Take these for yourself; for you are not Themistocles." For public affairs often give the statesman this opportunity too, to benefit his friends. Not all men, of course, are Menemachuses: to one, then, entrust a paid advocacy on behalf of justice; to another, introduce a rich man who needs care and patronage; to another, join in some contracting venture or a lease that carries profit.

Epaminondas, when a friend approached a certain rich man and asked him for a talent, bade him say that it was by Epaminondas' own order that he gave it; and when the man who was asked came and inquired the reason, Epaminondas said, "Because this man, though honest, is poor, while you are rich, having embezzled much from the city." And Xenophon says that Agesilaus took pride in enriching his friends while remaining himself superior to money.

But since, as Simonides says, "every lark must grow a crest," and every political community brings with it certain enmities and disputes, it is especially fitting that the statesman should have thought this matter through as well. Most people, then, praise Themistocles and Aristides for laying aside their enmity at the borders whenever they went out on an embassy or a military command, and taking it up again on their return.

Some are extraordinarily pleased, too, by the example of Cretinas of Magnesia. Opposing in politics Hermeas, a man of no great power but ambitious and brilliant in spirit, when the Mithridatic War broke out and he saw the city in danger, Cretinas told Hermeas to take over the government and manage affairs himself, while he would withdraw; but if Hermeas preferred that he himself command, then Hermeas should get out of the way, so that by rivaling one another in ambition they should not destroy the city.

The proposal pleased Hermeas, and saying that Cretinas was more skilled in war than himself, he withdrew quietly with his children and wife. Cretinas escorted him on his way, giving him from his own money whatever would be more useful to a man in exile than to one under siege, and then, commanding the city most excellently, preserved it against all hope when it had come within a hair's breadth of destruction.

For if it is noble and a mark of a great spirit to proclaim, "I love my children, but I love my country more," how is it not more fitting for each man to say instead, "I hate so-and-so and wish to do him harm, but I love my country more"? For unwillingness to be reconciled with an enemy, for the sake of the very things for which one ought even to give up a friend, is savage and beastly in the extreme. Better, however, were the followers of Phocion and Cato, who did not treat political disagreements as personal enmity at all, but were formidable and unyielding only in public contests, refusing to give up what was advantageous, while in private matters they behaved without rancor and with kindness even toward those with whom they had differed in the public sphere.

For one ought to regard no citizen as an enemy, unless someone, like Aristion or Nabis or Catiline, becomes a disease and an abscess of the state; but those who are merely out of tune otherwise should be brought gently into harmony, as a musician tightens and loosens strings, not falling upon their errors with anger and insult, but rather, in Homer's more moral vein: "My friend, I did think you were wise in judgment beyond others, yet you know how to think of a better plan than this"; and whenever they say or do something good, one should not be vexed at the honors they receive, nor stingy with kind words for their fine deeds.

For in this way blame, where it is needed, will carry conviction, and we shall drive them toward vice while praising their virtue, comparing this conduct with the other as worthier and more fitting. I hold, too, that the statesman ought to bear witness to what is just even for his opponents, to help them when they are on trial against false accusers, and to distrust slanders directed at them, if these are alien to their known character — as that famous Nero did, who, shortly before he killed Thrasea, though he hated and feared him above all, nevertheless, when someone accused Thrasea of having judged a case badly and unjustly, said, "I could wish that Thrasea loved me as much as he is an excellent judge."

It is no worse, too, in rebuking others who by nature are more prone to wrongdoing, to recall the character of some more refined enemy and say, "But that man would not have said or done this." One should also remind some men of their good fathers, when they go astray — as Homer says, "Tydeus begot a son little like himself"; and Appius, contending against Scipio Africanus in the elections, said, "How you would groan, Paulus, beneath the earth, if you perceived that your son, going down to canvass for the censorship, is escorted by Philonicus the tax-farmer!"

For such remarks admonish wrongdoers and at the same time do credit to those who administer the admonishment. And Sophocles' Nestor answers in a statesmanlike way when reviled by Ajax: "I do not blame you; for though you speak ill of me, you act well." And Cato, when he had quarreled with Pompey over the matters in which Pompey and Caesar together were coercing the city, nevertheless, once they had come to war, urged that the supreme command be handed over to Pompey, adding that it belongs to the same men both to cause great evils and to put an end to them.

For blame mixed with praise, containing no insolence but frankness, producing not anger but a sting and repentance, appears kindly and therapeutic; abuse least of all becomes statesmen. Consider what was said against Aeschines by Demosthenes, and what Aeschines said against him in return, and again what Hyperides wrote against Demades — would Solon have said such things, or Pericles, or Lycurgus the Spartan, or Pittacus of Lesbos?

And yet even Demosthenes has abusive language only in his forensic speeches, while his Philippics are free of both mockery and buffoonery of every kind: for such things shame the speakers more than those who hear them, and moreover they produce confusion in affairs and throw councils and assemblies into disorder. Hence Phocion acted best of all, yielding to a man who was reviling him and ceasing to speak; and when the man had at last, with difficulty, fallen silent, Phocion came forward again and said, "Well then, you have heard about the cavalry and the hoplites; it remains for me to go through the matter of the light troops and the peltasts."

But since for many the thing is hard to restrain, and often revilers are usefully silenced by retorts, let the retort be brief in phrasing and show no anger or hot temper, but rather gentleness combined with playfulness and charm, biting in some fashion nonetheless; for it is retorts of this kind that turn back most sharply upon the one who provoked them. For just as, of missiles, those that are hurled back at the one who threw them seem to do so by some strength and solidity of the one struck deflecting them, so too what is said, spoken with the strength and intelligence of the one reviled, seems to turn back upon the revilers — as when Epaminondas answered Callistratus, who reproached the Thebans and Argives with the patricide of Oedipus and the matricide of Orestes, "When we drove out the men who did these things, you took them in."

And as the Spartan Antalcidas answered the Athenian who said, "We have often driven you from the Cephisus," "But we have never driven you from the Eurotas." And Phocion too spoke gracefully when Demades shouted, "The Athenians will kill you!" — "Yes, if they go mad; but you, if they come to their senses." And Crassus the orator, when Domitius said to him, "Did you not weep for a lamprey you kept in a fishpond, when it died?" retorted, "Did you not bury three wives without shedding a tear?"

These things, then, have some use in the rest of life as well. As for participation in public affairs, some men enter into every branch of it, as Cato did, holding that a good citizen ought, so far as he is able, to leave no concern or care unattended to; and they praise Epaminondas because, when he was appointed to the post of telearch out of envy and as an insult by the Thebans, he did not neglect it, but said,

...that not only does office reveal the man, but the man also ennobles the office: he raised the post of street-inspector to a great and dignified rank, though it had previously been nothing but a certain oversight of clearing dung from the alleys and diverting the flow of water. And I myself, to be sure, provide amusement to visitors, being seen often in public occupied with such things; but the saying remembered of Antisthenes helps me. When someone marveled that he carried salt-fish through the marketplace himself, he said, "For myself." I, on the contrary, say to those who reproach me, if I stand by while tile is being measured out, or clay and stones are being carried in, that I am not managing these things for myself but for my country. In many other matters a person might indeed seem petty and stingy, managing for himself and busying himself on his own account; but if it is done publicly and for the sake of the city, it is not ignoble — rather, care and zeal extending even to small things is the greater thing.

Others, however, think the practice of Pericles more dignified and magnificent. Among them is Critolaus the Peripatetic, who holds that, just as the ship Salaminia and the Paralus at Athens were launched not for every task but were drawn down only for necessary and great enterprises, so too a man should keep himself for the most authoritative and greatest matters, as the king of the universe does; for god concerns himself with great things, but lets the small things go, leaving them to chance, as Euripides says. Nor indeed do we praise the excessive ambition and contentiousness of Theagenes, who, having won not only the circuit of the great games but also many other contests — not only in the pancratium but also in boxing and the long race — in the end, dining at a funeral banquet, as was his custom, when the portion had been served out to everyone, leapt up and fought a pancratium bout, as if no one ought to win while he was present. Hence he amassed twelve hundred wreaths, most of which one might consider mere rubbish.

Those who strip for every political contest are no different from this man; rather, they quickly make themselves objects of blame to the many, become burdensome, and are envied even when they succeed, and if they stumble they become objects of mockery — and the admiration they enjoyed at the outset of their zealous activity gradually subsides into ridicule and laughter. Such is the point of the saying: "Metiochus commands the army, Metiochus oversees the roads, Metiochus watches the bread, Metiochus watches the meal, Metiochus mends everything, and Metiochus will come to grief." This man was one of Pericles' companions, and it was, it seems, through the power he derived from him that he acted so as to provoke envy, and to excess.

It is necessary, as they say, for the statesman to conduct himself toward the people as toward a lover, and not to leave behind, in his absence, a longing for himself. This is what Scipio Africanus used to do, living for long stretches in the countryside, at once relieving the weight of envy and giving breathing room to those who felt oppressed by his reputation. Timesias of Clazomenae, in other respects, was a good man with regard to the city, but because he did everything himself he was envied and hated without realizing it, until something of this sort happened to him. Some boys were in the road digging a knucklebone out of a pit as he was passing by; some of them said to leave it, but one of them, striking it, said, "So may I knock out Timesias' brain, as this thing has been knocked out." Timesias, hearing this and understanding that envy of him pervaded everyone, turned back, told the matter to his wife, and, bidding her pack up and follow him, set out at once from his own doorway and left the city. Themistocles too, it seems, when something similar was directed at him by the Athenians, said, "Why, my good fellows, do you grow weary of being repeatedly well treated?"

Of such sayings, some are rightly said and some not well. In goodwill and solicitude one must hold aloof from none of the public business, but must attend to everything and know each matter, and not, like a sacred vessel on a ship, lie stored away, waiting for the city's utmost needs and crises. Rather, as pilots do: some things they perform themselves with their own hands, while others they direct through other instruments, sitting apart and, through other people, turning and guiding them; they also make use of sailors, look-outs, and boatswains, and often summon some of these back to the stern and put the rudder into their hands. So it is fitting for the statesman to yield office to others and invite them to the speaker's platform with goodwill and kindness, and not to move everything in the city by his own speeches, decrees, or actions, but, having trustworthy and capable men, to fit each one to each task according to his aptitude — as Pericles employed Menippus for military commands, brought low the council of the Areopagus through Ephialtes, got the decree against the Megarians ratified through Charinus, and sent out Lampon as founder of Thurii.

For it is not only that, when power appears to be distributed among many, the weight of envy troubles one less; it is also that the business at hand is more fully accomplished. Just as the division of the hand into fingers has not weakened its use but made it skillful and versatile, so too the man who shares public business with others makes the joint action more effective. But the man who, out of an insatiable desire for glory or power, takes the whole city upon himself, and applies himself to something for which he is neither naturally suited nor trained — as Cleon did toward generalship, Philopoemen toward naval command, Hannibal toward public speaking — has no excuse when he fails, but hears applied to himself the words of Euripides: "though a carpenter, you were doing work not of carpentry," or "though unpersuasive, you served as envoy," or "though lazy, you managed the finances," or "though ignorant of accounts, you served as treasurer," or "though old and feeble, you commanded the army."

Pericles, moreover, divided power with Cimon as well: he himself ruled in the city, while Cimon manned the ships and made war on the barbarians, for the one was better suited to statesmanship, the other to war. They also praise Eubulus of Anaphlystus, because, although he possessed trust and power in the highest degree, he took no part in the affairs of Greece and did not seek generalship, but, devoting himself to the finances, increased the public revenues and greatly benefited the city through them. Iphicrates, by contrast, was mocked for practicing rhetorical exercises at home before many onlookers; for even had he been a good speaker rather than a poor one, he ought, since he cherished the reputation he had won under arms, to have left that pursuit to the sophists.

Since every populace harbors a streak of malice and a readiness to find fault with those engaged in politics, and suspects many useful measures — if they meet with no opposition or debate — of being carried out by secret conspiracy (and this above all brings political associations and friendships into disrepute), one must leave oneself no genuine enmity or quarrel with anyone. So Onomademus, the popular leader of the Chians, after prevailing in civil strife, would not allow all their opponents to be expelled, "lest," he said, "we begin to quarrel with our friends, once we are altogether rid of our enemies." That remark, however, is naive. But when the people at large regard some matter with suspicion, however great and salutary it may be, it is not right for everyone, as though arriving by prior arrangement, to voice the same opinion; rather, two or three of one's friends should stand apart and mildly speak against it, then, as though being won over by argument, change their position — for in this way they draw the people along, since the people seem to be guided by their own advantage rather than compelled.

In lesser matters, however, that touch nothing important, it is no worse — indeed truer to life — to let one's friends genuinely disagree, each employing his own judgment, so that on the most weighty and important matters they may appear to agree on the best course not by prearrangement. Now the statesman is by nature always the ruler of his city, like a leader among bees, and, bearing this in mind, he must keep public affairs constantly in hand. But as for the offices that go by the name of "authorities," to which men are elected, he should neither pursue them excessively or repeatedly — for love of office is neither dignified nor democratic — nor decline them when the people lawfully offer and summon him to them; rather, even if they fall short of his reputation, he should accept them and share in the ambition to hold them, for it is right that a man honored by the greater offices should in turn honor the lesser ones. As for the weightier offices — such as the generalship at Athens, the prytany at Rhodes, and the Boeotarchy among us — one should relax a little and give way with moderation, while adding dignity and weight to the lesser ones, so that we may be neither despised in the latter nor resented in the former.

When entering upon any office, moreover, one must have ready not only those considerations with which Pericles used to remind himself as he took up his cloak — "Take heed, Pericles: you rule free men, you rule Greeks, you rule Athenian citizens" — but must also say to himself, "You rule as one who is himself ruled, in a city subject to proconsuls, to Caesar's agents. This is not the plain of the spear," nor the ancient Sardis, nor that famed Lydian power. He must make his cloak more modest, and look from the general's headquarters toward the speaker's platform, and not think too highly of the garland or place too much trust in it, seeing the soldiers' boots above his head. Rather, he must imitate actors, who bring their own feeling, character, and dignity to the contest, yet listen to the prompter and do not overstep the rhythms and measures of the authority granted them by those who hold power. For a false step here brings not hissing, mockery, or catcalls, but for many it has brought the dread punisher, the axe that severs the neck — as it did to those associated with your own Pardalas, who forgot their proper bounds — while another, cast out onto an island, has become, in Solon's phrase, "a man of Pholegandros or Sicinus," having exchanged his Athenian homeland for that.

When we see small children trying on their fathers' sandals and putting on their garlands in play, we laugh; but when rulers in our cities foolishly urge the multitude to imitate the deeds, ambitions, and actions of their ancestors — actions ill-suited to present circumstances — they stir the masses up, and, having made themselves ridiculous, suffer things no longer merely laughable, unless indeed they are treated with utter contempt. For there are many other things from the earlier Greeks which, when recounted to men of today, can shape character and instill moderation — as at Athens, reminding people not of matters of war, but of things such as the decree of amnesty concerning the Thirty; the fining of Phrynichus for staging in tragedy the capture of Miletus; the fact that, when Cassander was refounding Thebes, the Athenians wore garlands in celebration; that, on learning of the club-massacre at Argos, in which the Argives had killed fifteen hundred of their own citizens, they ordered a purification offering to be carried around the assembly; and that during the house-searches in the affair of Harpalus, they passed over only the house of a man newly married.

These are things it is even now possible to emulate, thereby making oneself like one's ancestors. But Marathon, and the Eurymedon, and Plataea, and all such examples as make the multitude swell up and bristle with empty pride, should be left behind in the schools of the sophists. It is not enough merely to keep oneself and one's country blameless before those in power; one must also always have some friend among those highest in authority, as a firm ballast for one's political career. For the Romans themselves are most eager to support the political ambitions of their friends, and it is a fine thing to turn the fruit one gains from a great man's friendship — as Polybius and Panaetius did through Scipio's goodwill toward them, greatly benefiting their own countries — to the public happiness.

And Caesar, when he took Alexandria, kept Areius by the hand, and, conversing with him alone among his companions, rode into the city with him; then, when the Alexandrians expected the worst and begged for mercy, he said he was reconciled to them both because of the greatness of the city and because of its founder Alexander, "and thirdly," he said, "as a favor to this friend of mine." Is it really worth comparing to this favor the many-talented stewardships and administrations of provinces which most men, in pursuing them, grow old waiting at another man's door, having abandoned their own affairs at home? Or must we correct Euripides, who sings and says that if one must keep vigil and haunt another's gate and submit oneself to intimacy with the powerful, it is most noble to do so on behalf of one's country, while for other purposes one should embrace and preserve friendships based on equality and justice?

Yet in doing this, and in rendering one's country obedient to those in power, one must not further humble it, nor, when the leg is already bound, submit the neck as well — as some do, who by carrying matters both small and great to their rulers bring reproach on their own servitude, or rather destroy the political order altogether, rendering it terrified, timid, and powerless in everything. Just as those who have grown accustomed to neither dine nor bathe without a doctor's supervision do not even enjoy the health that nature grants them, so too those who bring every decree, every council session, every grant of favor, and every administrative matter before the ruling power force those in authority to be their masters more than the rulers themselves wish. The chief cause of this is the greed and contentiousness of the leading men: either, in matters where they harm their lesser fellow citizens, they are driven to force them out of the city, or, in disputes among themselves, unwilling to accept a lesser standing among their fellow citizens, they bring in their superiors to intervene. From this, the council, the people, the courts, and every office lose their authority.

One must, by soothing ordinary citizens with equal treatment and powerful men with mutual concession, hold them within the bounds of civic life and dissolve their disputes, treating this as a kind of secret political remedy for diseases — being willing oneself to be worsted among one's fellow citizens rather than to conquer through insolence and the overturning of the rights that belong to one's own country, begging each of the disputants for further concessions and teaching them how great an evil contentiousness is. As it is, rather than yield with honor and grace to fellow citizens, tribesmen, neighbors, and colleagues in office at home, men carry their quarrels off to the doors of orators and men of affairs, with great harm and shame. For physicians, in the case of diseases they cannot remove entirely, divert them out to the surface of the body; so too the statesman, if he cannot keep his city entirely free of trouble, will at least try, by concealing what is disturbed and factious within it, to heal and manage it, so that it may need outside doctors and remedies as little as possible.

Let the statesman's guiding policy, then, be one that holds fast to safety and flees the disturbing madness of empty glory, as has been said; yet in his disposition there should abide an undaunted, bold-hearted, high-spirited resolve, of the sort that enters men who, on behalf of their fatherland, stand firm against hostile men, difficult circumstances, and adverse times, and fight to the end. For he must not himself stir up storms, but must not abandon ship when they fall upon it; nor stir the city into peril, yet when it stumbles...

and to help it when it is in danger, taking up frank speech from it as a sacred anchor in the greatest crises — such as the troubles that overtook the people of Pergamum under Nero, and the Rhodians recently under Domitian, and the Thessalians earlier under Augustus, when they burned Petraeus alive. On such occasions you would not see the true statesman drowsing or cowering, nor blaming others while setting himself outside the danger, but

going on embassies, sailing, and speaking first, not saying, “We who did the killing have come — turn away destruction, Apollo!” but rather, even if he had no share in the wrongdoing of the many, taking the risks upon himself on their behalf. For this is a noble thing, and beyond its nobility the admired virtue and high spirit of a single man has often dimmed the anger felt against everyone and dissolved the fearsome bitterness of a

threat — as seems to have happened to the Persian king in his dealings with Bulis and Sperthias the Spartans, and as happened to Pompey in his dealings with Sthenno, when Pompey was about to punish the Mamertines for their revolt, and Sthenno told him he would not be acting justly if he destroyed many innocent people for the sake of one guilty man; for he himself, the one who had led the city to revolt, was the one who had persuaded his friends and forced

his enemies. This so affected Pompey that he not only let the city go but treated Sthenno with kindness. Sulla's guest-friend, faced with a like virtue but an unlike outcome, met a noble end: for when Sulla had captured Praeneste and was about to slaughter all the rest, he was ready to release that one man alone on account of their guest-friendship, saying that he did not wish to owe his safety

to the murderer of his country — and the man mingled himself among the citizens and was cut down together with them. Such crises, then, one must pray to avoid, and hope for better things. Every office is a sacred and great thing, and one must honor the officeholder above all; and the honor due to office is harmony and friendship toward one's colleagues in office far more than crowns and the purple-bordered robe. Those who suppose that serving in the army together and being young men together

is the beginning of friendship, but that holding a joint command or joint magistracy is a cause of enmity, have not escaped one of three faults: either they regard their colleagues as equals and so quarrel with them, or they envy those who are superior, or they despise those who are lowlier. One ought instead to court the superior, adorn the inferior, and honor the equal, and to greet and love them all, on the ground that they have become friends not through the dinner table or the wine-cup

or the hearth, but through a common and public vote, and in a sense possess, as an inheritance from their fatherland, this goodwill toward one another. Scipio, at any rate, got a bad name at Rome because, when he was entertaining friends at the dedication of the temple of Hercules, he did not invite his colleague in office, Mummius; for even if in other respects they did not consider themselves friends, in matters of this sort they thought it right to honor

and show courtesy on account of the office. Since, then, so small a lapse of kindness brought a reputation for arrogance upon a man otherwise as admirable as Scipio, surely anyone who diminishes the dignity of a colleague in office, or maligns his ambitious undertakings, or, in short, appropriates everything to himself out of self-will while stripping his colleague of it, could hardly appear reasonable and moderate. I remember that when I myself was still young and had been sent as an envoy along with another man

to the proconsul, and my colleague had somehow been left behind, so that I alone met with him and transacted the business, when I was about to return and report on the embassy, my father stood up and told me privately not to say “I went” but “we went,” and not “I said” but “we said,” and in general to associate my colleague with the report and share the credit in giving my account. For such conduct is not only fair and humane, but it also removes the envy that

causes pain from one's reputation. This is why great men attribute their successes to a divine power or to fortune as well — as Timoleon, who put down the tyrannies in Sicily, founded a shrine to Automatia; and Pytho, admired and honored by the Athenians for killing Cotys, said, “God did this, using my hand.” And Theopompus, the king of the Lacedaemonians, said to the man who claimed

that Sparta was kept safe because its kings knew how to rule, “Rather because the people know how to obey.” Now both of these things come about through each other. Most people say and believe that it is the work of political education to produce citizens who are governed well; for in every city the governed body is greater than the governing one, and each man rules for only a short time, while he is

governed for his whole life as a participant in a democracy. So it is the finest and most useful lesson to obey those in authority, even if they happen to be inferior in power and reputation. For it is absurd that the leading actor in tragedy, a Theodorus or a Polus, though a hired performer, should often follow and address humbly the man who speaks the third-rate parts, if that man wears the diadem and holds the scepter,

while in real actions and in political life the rich and famous man should slight and despise a magistrate who is a private citizen and a poor man, insulting and undermining, by his own personal standing, the dignity of the city, rather than increasing and adding his own reputation and power to that of the office. Just as in Sparta both the kings rose up before the ephors, and any other citizen who was summoned

did not obey by walking but ran, displaying his ready obedience to the citizens through the marketplace at a run and in haste, taking pride in honoring the magistrates — not like some tasteless and boorish people who, priding themselves as it were on a surplus of their own strength, abuse umpires at the games and revile chorus-sponsors at the Dionysia and mock generals and gymnasiarchs, not knowing or realizing that honoring others

is often more glorious than being honored oneself. For a man of great power in the city, a magistrate who serves as his bodyguard and escort brings him greater distinction than one who himself serves as bodyguard and escort to another; rather, the latter brings unpleasantness and envy, while the former brings true glory, the glory that comes from goodwill: a man seen at another's doors, greeting him first sometime, and taking him by the arm in a walk, loses nothing of himself and confers

adornment upon the city. It is also popular-minded to endure a magistrate's abuse or anger, or to quote the line of Diomedes — for glory will follow this man too — or the saying of Demosthenes, that the man in question is now not merely Demosthenes but also a lawgiver, or a chorus-sponsor, or a crowned official. One should therefore put off retaliation to a later time; for either we will call him to account once he has left office, or

we will gain by waiting for his anger to subside. Yet with zeal and forethought for the common good, and with concern for every office, one must always compete: if the officials are agreeable men, by guiding them in what needs doing, pointing it out, and letting them act on well-considered plans, while contributing to the good repute of the community; but if there is some hesitation, delay, or ill nature among them regarding

action, then he must be present in person and speak before the people, and not neglect or slacken his concern for public affairs on the ground that it is not fitting, since another holds office, to meddle and administer in his stead. For the law always gives the first rank in the constitution to the man who does what is just and understands what is advantageous. “There was a certain man,” it says, “in the army, Xenophon, who was neither

general nor captain,” but by understanding what needed to be done and daring to establish himself in a position of command, he saved the Greeks. And among the deeds of Philopoemen the most famous is this: when Nabis had seized Messene and the general of the Achaeans was unwilling to help and shrank back in cowardice, Philopoemen himself set out with the most eager men, without a formal decree, and rescued the city. Yet one should not

introduce innovations for trivial and chance reasons, but only in cases of necessity, as Philopoemen did, or for noble ends, as Epaminondas did when he extended his term as Boeotarch by four months beyond the law, during which he invaded Laconia and accomplished what he did concerning Messene — so that, if anyone should bring accusation or blame against him for this, the necessity of the act, or the greatness and nobility of the deed, might serve

as a defense against the charge, or as consolation for the risk. They record a saying of Jason, the monarch of the Thessalians, which he used to repeat whenever he used force or gave someone trouble: that it is necessary for those who want to act justly in great matters to commit small injustices. Now this maxim one could immediately recognize as the language of a despot; but the following is a more statesmanlike precept: to yield small matters to the many, granting them as favors,

in order to stand firm on greater matters and prevent them from going wrong. For the man who is excessively precise and severe about everything, yielding and giving way in nothing but always harsh and inexorable, accustoms the people to contend against him and grow resentful, when he might, by giving way a little — like a foot yielding before the great force of a wave — indulge and play along in some matters, graciously, as at sacrifices, games, and theatrical shows, while in others

pretending, as one does with the faults of the young in a household, not to see or hear — so that the power of admonishing and speaking frankly, like that of a medicine not worn out or stale but still at its full strength and credibility, may take firmer hold and bite more deeply on the greater occasions. Alexander, for instance, on hearing that his sister had taken up with one of the handsome young men, was not angry, saying that she too

should be allowed to enjoy some benefit from his kingship — though in conceding such things he was not acting rightly, nor in a manner worthy of himself; for one must not regard the dissolution of authority and its abuse as the enjoyment of it. Toward the people, the true statesman will not permit, so far as he is able, any abuse against citizens, nor confiscation of others' property, nor distribution of public funds, but by persuading, teaching, and warning he will fight against such desires as those who fed and increased

the great drone with a sting that they created in the city around Cleon, as Plato says. But if the people, taking a traditional festival and the honor of a god as their occasion, set out toward some spectacle, or a light distribution, or some act of kindness, or a display meant to win favor, let them enjoy on such occasions the pleasure that comes both from freedom and from prosperity. Indeed, in the policies of Pericles and

of Demetrius there is much of this sort, and Cimon adorned the marketplace with plantings of plane trees and covered walks; and Cato, seeing the people stirred up by Caesar in the affair of Catiline and dangerously inclined toward a change of constitution, persuaded the senate to vote distributions of money to the poor, and this gift put a stop to the disturbance and quelled the uprising. For just as a physician, after drawing off

a great deal of corrupted blood, brings in a little harmless nourishment, so the statesman, after removing something great that was disgraceful or harmful, soothes the discontented and complaining spirit with a light and kindly favor in return. It is no bad thing, too, to redirect the people's zeal toward other useful objects, as Demades did when he had control of the city's revenues: for when the people were eager to send out triremes to help

those revolting from Alexander, and were ordering him to supply the money, he said, “You have money: for I have made preparations for the Choes festival, so that each of you may receive a half-mina; but if you would rather have it for this purpose, use your own funds for it yourselves.” And in this way, so that they should not be deprived of the distribution, they let the expedition drop, and he thereby dissolved the people's grievance against Alexander. For many things

cannot be pushed away from unprofitable courses by a direct approach, but require some sort of roundabout turn and redirection, such as Phocion also used: when ordered to invade Boeotia at an inopportune time, he immediately proclaimed that all men from youth up to sixty years of age should follow him; and when the older men raised an outcry, he said, “What is so terrible? For I, your general, who am eighty years old, will be with you.” In this same way

one must also cut off untimely embassies, by enrolling among their number many of those who are unsuited for the task, and useless building projects, by ordering that everyone contribute to them, and unseemly lawsuits, by requiring that people attend and travel abroad together for them. And those who propose and instigate such measures must be the first ones dragged in and made to take part; for either, by shrinking back, they will themselves seem to be dissolving the undertaking, or, by being present, they will share in its difficulties. Where, however, something great and useful needs to be accomplished,

something that requires much contest and effort, there try to choose the best of your friends, or, among the best, the gentlest; for these will least oppose you and will most cooperate, since they possess good sense without love of contention. Furthermore, being experienced in one's own nature, one must, in matters where one is by nature weaker than another, choose those who are more capable rather than one's equals, as

Diomedes, for his reconnaissance mission, chose the prudent man to accompany him, passing over the brave ones. For undertakings are more evenly balanced, and rivalry does not arise between men who compete for honor on the basis of different virtues and abilities. So take on as a partner in a lawsuit, and as a companion in an embassy, if you are not capable of speaking, the man skilled in rhetoric — as Pelopidas took Epaminondas — and if you are unpersuasive in addressing

the crowd and are lofty in manner, as Callicratidas was, take the man who is charming and attentive; and if you are weak and ill-suited for hard work in body, take the industrious and vigorous man, as Nicias took Lamachus. For in this way Geryon would have been enviable, with his many legs, hands, and eyes, if he had directed them all with a single soul. Statesmen have the privilege of combining not only bodies and money, but also fortunes and

powers and virtues, if they are of one mind, into a single service, and thereby gain greater renown from another's contribution in the same undertaking — unlike the Argonauts, who, having left Heracles behind, were forced, sung and drugged as they passed through the women's quarters, to save themselves and steal the fleece. Entering certain temples, men leave gold outside, but they bring in iron for practically nothing at all. Since

the speaker's platform is a common shrine belonging alike to Zeus of the Council, Zeus of the City, Themis, and Justice, from the very outset strip off love of wealth and love of money, like iron thick with rust and a disease of the soul, and cast it away into the marketplaces of shopkeepers and moneylenders; keep yourself apart from it, holding that the man who profits from public funds is stealing from temples, from tombs, from friends, from

perjured testimony, that he is an untrustworthy counselor, a perjured judge, a bribe-taking magistrate — in short, a man clean of no injustice whatsoever. Hence there is no need to say much more about this. But love of honor, though a more high-spirited vice than love of gain, brings no fewer disasters in political life; for boldness attaches to it even more, since it is engendered not in idle or lowly natures but chiefly in vigorous and youthful ambitions, and the

the swelling of crowds often joining in raising it up and pushing it along with their praises makes it uncontrollable and hard to manage. Just as Plato said that the young should be told, from childhood on, that it is not right for them to wear gold about themselves or to possess it, since they already have an inborn kind mingled in their soul — hinting, I think, at the virtue that runs down to their natures from their lineage — so let us console ambition, telling it that we have within ourselves gold uncorrupted and unmixed and unstained by envy and blame: an honor that grows together with the reasoning and the review of what we have done and administered in public life. For this reason there is no need of honors painted, or molded, or wrought in bronze, in which even what is admired belongs to someone else; for it is not the man for whom the statue was made who is praised, but the one by whom it was made — as with the trumpeter and the bodyguard.

And Cato, when Rome was already by then being filled up with statues, would not allow one to be made of himself, saying, “I would rather have people asking why there is no statue of me than why there is one.” For such things bring envy, and most people think that they owe gratitude to those who have not received honors, while regarding those who have received them as burdensome, as though they were demanding repayment for their services with interest. Just as the man who has sailed safely past the Syrtis and then capsizes near the strait has accomplished nothing great or admirable, so too the man who has kept himself safe from the treasury and the public revenue office, but is then caught up over the front seat of honor or the prytaneum, has struck upon a lofty headland but is submerged all the same. The best man, then, is the one who needs none of these things,

but flees and declines them; but if it is not easy to reject some favor from the people, and their goodwill flowing toward this end, then — since the contest of public life is, for those who compete in it, not one fought for silver or for gifts, but truly a sacred one and a crown-contest — an inscription suffices, and a tablet, and a decree, and a branch of olive, as Epimenides took when he purified the city, from the acropolis. Anaxagoras, for his part, declined the honors offered him

and asked instead that on the day of his death the children be let off from their lessons to play and have a holiday. To the seven Persians who killed the Magi, they and their descendants were given the privilege of wearing the tiara tilted forward over the legs joined to the head; for this, it seems, they made into a token as they went forth to the deed. There is also something civic in

the honor paid to Pittacus: for of the land he had won, when the citizens told him to take as much as he wished, he took only as much as his javelin reached when he threw it; and the Roman Cocles took only as much as he, lame as he was, could plow around in a single day. For the reward for such a deed ought not to be payment but a token of honor, so that it may endure a long time, just as those tokens endured. As for

the three hundred statues of Demetrius of Phalerum, not one of them gathered rust or grime, but all of them were taken down while he was still alive; and the statues of Demades were melted down into chamber pots. Many such honors have suffered this fate, not only because of the baseness of the recipient but also because of the very greatness of what was given. Hence the finest and most secure safeguard of honor is modesty in its scale; while great, excessive, and weighty honors, like

disproportionate statues, are quickly overturned. I speak now of the honors which most people, following Empedocles, do not call ‘right’ but which I too, by custom, call ‘honor’; since the true honor and gratitude, founded in the goodwill and disposition of those who remember, a political man will not despise, nor will he scorn reputation by fleeing ‘to please one’s neighbors,’ as Democritus thought one should. For

not even the affection of dogs or the goodwill of horses is something to be cast aside by hunters and horse-breeders, but it is both useful and pleasant to work such a disposition toward oneself in creatures raised and familiar with us — of the kind that the dog of Lysimachus displayed, and that the poet describes concerning the horses of Achilles and Patroclus. And I think the bees too would do better if they were willing to greet and welcome those who feed and tend them

rather than sting them and grow fierce; but as it is, people subdue the bees with smoke, and lead violent horses and runaway dogs, forced, with collars and bridles; but nothing except trust in goodwill, a reputation for honorable character, and a belief in justice can make one human being gentle and tractable toward another, willingly. And Demosthenes rightly declares that the greatest safeguard for cities against tyrants is distrust; for this

above all is the part of the soul by which we are captured, the part in which we place our trust. Just as, when Cassandra was held in no repute, her prophecy was of no use to the citizens — for she says, ‘the god has set me to prophesy in vain, and among those who have suffered and lie in troubles I am called wise, but before they suffer I am thought mad’ — so too the trust placed in Archytas and the goodwill shown toward Battus greatly benefited

those who made use of them, because of their reputation. And this is the first and greatest good inherent in the reputation of statesmen: the trust which grants entry to public action. Second, that the goodwill of the many serves as a weapon for good men against the envious and the wicked — as when ‘a mother wards a fly from her child, when he lies in sweet sleep,’ warding off envy

and, in relation to positions of power, leveling the low-born with the well-born, the poor with the rich, the private citizen with the rulers; and in general, whenever truth and virtue are added to it, it becomes a fruitful and steady wind behind a political career. Consider, by contrast, the opposite disposition, as you study it in the examples. The children and wife of Dionysius were prostituted and then killed by the people of

Italy, who then burned their bodies and scattered the ashes from a ship over the sea. But when a certain Menander, who had ruled reasonably well in Bactria, died in camp, the cities held the rest of his funeral rites in common, but when it came to a contest over his remains they only with difficulty came to an agreement, so that, dividing an equal share of the ashes among themselves, they went away, and there came to be

memorials to the man among all of them. Again, the people of Acragas, once freed from Phalaris, voted that no one should wear a grey-blue cloak, because the tyrant’s bodyguards wore grey-blue loincloths. And the Persians, because Cyrus had a hooked nose, even now are enamored of hooked noses and consider them the most beautiful. Thus the strongest and at the same time most divine of all forms of love is the one that cities and peoples come to feel toward a single man on account of his virtue;

whereas the falsely-named honors that come from theaters, or distributions, or gladiatorial games, and their false witnesses, resemble the flatteries of courtesans toward crowds, always smiling upon whoever gives and grants favors — a fleeting and unstable kind of reputation. Well did the man who first said that a democracy is destroyed by the first man who bribes it understand this, namely that the many lose their strength once they become susceptible to receiving gifts; and it is necessary that

those who bribe should also think that they are destroying themselves, whenever, by purchasing reputation at great expense, they make the many strong and bold, as though the many were masters able both to give something great and to take it away. Yet this does not mean that one should be stingy in the customary forms of public generosity, since circumstances make it plain that the many hold in greater hatred a rich man who does not share his private wealth than a poor man who steals from the public treasury,

regarding the former as arrogance and contempt toward themselves, but the latter as a matter of necessity. Let acts of generosity, then, be, first, given for nothing in return — for in this way they astonish and win over recipients all the more; and next, let them come with a fitting and honorable occasion, one bound up with the honoring of a god that leads everyone toward piety; for at the same time a strong disposition and belief arises among the many that the divine is great

and majestic, whenever they see the men whom they themselves honor and consider great behaving so lavishly and eagerly toward the divine. Just as Plato removed from the young being educated the Lydian and Ionian modes of music — the one because it stirs up the mournful and grieving part of our soul, the other because it fosters what is slippery and unrestrained toward pleasures — so too you

should, of the forms of public generosity, most of all drive out of the city whichever ones stir up and nourish what is murderous and bestial, or scurrilous and unrestrained; if that is not possible, avoid them and fight hard against the many when they demand such spectacles. Always make the occasions for your expenditures decent and temperate, ones that have as their end what is honorable or necessary, or at least what is pleasant and gratifying without

harm or accompanying outrage. And if one’s means are modest, circumscribed by a fixed center and radius appropriate to need, there is nothing ignoble or base in openly admitting one’s poverty and standing apart from the public generosities of the wealthy, and in not borrowing money — which would be both pitiable and ridiculous — in order to perform public services; for such men do not escape notice as they grow weak, or trouble their friends, or flatter their creditors, so that they gain

from such expenditures neither reputation nor strength, but rather shame and contempt. For this reason it is always useful, in such matters, to remember Lamachus and Phocion: the latter, when the Athenians asked him at a sacrifice to make a contribution and kept applauding him, said, “I would be ashamed to give to you while not repaying this man, Callicles,” pointing to his creditor. Lamachus,

for his part, in the accounts of his generalships always entered a charge for money spent on shoes and a cloak for himself; and the Thessalians voted to give Hermon, who was declining office because of poverty, a jar of wine each month and a bushel of barley meal every four days. Thus it is no disgrace to admit poverty, nor are poor men left behind, in proportion to their means, by those in cities who hold feasts and finance choruses, provided they have the frankness

and trust that come from virtue. In such matters one must above all master oneself, and neither go down onto the plain as a foot-soldier to fight against cavalry, nor compete on the racetrack of reputation and power, but always try, relying on virtue and high purpose together with reason, to lead the city — men in whom there resides not only what is honorable and dignified but also what is

“more desirable than staters of Croesus’ gold,” something winning and attractive. For the good man is not stubborn or overbearing, nor is the moderate man blunt and abrupt, nor does he “walk among the citizens with a look bitter to behold”; rather, he is, first of all, approachable and accessible to all who wish to come near and address him, keeping his house unlocked, like a harbor of refuge, always open to those in need, and displaying his solicitude and kindness not only in matters of need and in actions,

but also by grieving with those who stumble and rejoicing with those who succeed; nowhere burdensome or troublesome with a crowd of servants at the baths or by seizing seats at the theaters, nor conspicuous for the sort of luxury and extravagance that provokes envy, but equal and uniform in dress and manner of life and in the upbringing of his children and the care of his wife, as one who wishes to live among the people and share their common humanity. Then, by offering himself as a well-disposed counselor and an unpaid advocate

and a kindly reconciler between husbands and wives and between friends with one another, spending no small part of the day engaged in public affairs on the platform or in the assembly hall, and then drawing to himself, for the rest of his life, all the other business and household concerns of people, from every side, like clouds driven by the northwest wind — always making himself public property through his cares — and regarding political life as a way of living and acting, not, as most do, as a burden and a public service to be discharged, by all

these things and their like he turns the attention of the many toward himself and draws them in, since they see that the flatteries and lures offered by others are counterfeit and adulterated in comparison with this man’s solicitude and good sense. For the flatterers of Demetrius did not deign to address the other kings by the title ‘king,’ but called Seleucus ‘master of elephants,’ Lysimachus ‘keeper of the treasury,’

Ptolemy ‘admiral,’ and Agathocles ‘lord of the islands’; but the many, even if at first they reject the good and sensible man, later, on coming to learn the truth about him and his character, consider this man alone to be truly political, truly a man of the people, and a ruler, while they merely regard and call the others a chorus-sponsor, a host, or a gymnasium-director. Then, just as at

banquets, when Callias or Alcibiades is footing the bill, it is Socrates who is listened to, and it is toward Socrates that everyone looks, so too in healthy cities Ismenias may give and Lichas may host dinners and Niceratus may sponsor choruses, but it is Epaminondas, Aristides, and Lysander who rule, engage in politics, and command armies. Looking to these examples, one must not be humbled or overawed by the reputation that arises among the crowds from theaters, banquet-halls, and public burial monuments,

regarding it as something that lives only a short time and dissolves together with the gladiators and the stage-sets, possessing nothing honorable or dignified. Those experienced in the tending and rearing of bees consider the hive that buzzes loudest and is fullest of commotion to be thriving and healthy; but the man to whom god has given care over the rational and political swarm judges its well-being above all by the calm

and gentleness of the people. He will, for the rest, accept and imitate, as far as he is able, the practice of Solon, but he will be at a loss and astonished at what possessed that man to write that a citizen who, in a civic faction, attaches himself to neither side should be disfranchised. For a sick body does not begin its change toward health from the parts that are sick together with it, but rather when the constitution that has grown strong in the healthy parts

drives out what is contrary to nature; so too in a people torn by faction, when the strife is not so terrible or fatal but is one that will eventually cease, what is needed is for the element unaffected and sound to be mixed in abundantly and to remain and dwell among them; for from it what is proper to health flows in from those of sound mind and passes through what is diseased. But cities that have been thrown into disorder throughout are utterly ruined, unless they meet with some external force

and, chastised by their sufferings, are forced into moderation. Yet it is not fitting to sit unmoved and unfeeling amid factional strife, hymning one’s own freedom from disturbance and the untroubled, blessed life, taking delight in the affairs of others while remaining indifferent; rather, one must at this point especially put on the buskin of Theramenes, associating with both sides and attaching oneself to neither; for you will seem, not by refusing to share in wrongdoing, to be an outsider, but by helping, to belong

to all; and your not sharing in their misfortune will incur no ill-will, if you appear to grieve equally with everyone. But the strongest course is to take precautions in advance so that factions never arise at all, and to hold this to be the greatest and finest part of the political art, as it were. For observe that, of the greatest goods for cities — peace, freedom, prosperity, abundance of men, and concord — as regards peace, at least for the present, the people have no need at all of politicians,

at the present time — for war, whether Greek or foreign, has fled from us and vanished — but of freedom they have as much as their rulers allot to the people, and perhaps more would not even be better for them; while for abundance of crops, a kindly blending of seasons, and for their wives to bear "children like their parents," and for safety for those born to them, the prudent man will pray to the gods on behalf of his own citizens.

What remains, then, for the statesman alone, out of the tasks now before him — and it is second to none of these blessings — is to instill concord and friendship always among those who dwell together, and to remove every kind of strife, faction, and ill will, treating the matter as one does in quarrels between friends: first joining company with the side that thinks itself more wronged, sharing its sense of grievance and its indignation, and then setting about to soften and instruct it,

explaining that among those who contend to force their will and win, it is those who yield who are superior not only in fairness and character but also in high-mindedness and greatness of soul, and that by conceding a little they win in the things that are finest and greatest; and further, teaching both individually and collectively, and pointing out the weakness of Greek affairs — of which it is better for sensible men to partake in only one respect —

namely to live out their lives in quiet and concord, since fortune has left no prize remaining in the middle to contend for. For what leadership, what glory, is there now for the victors? What power is there, which some trivial edict of a proconsul can dissolve or transfer to another, possessing nothing worth the effort even if it should remain? Since, then, just as a conflagration does not often begin from sacred or public places, but some lamp neglected in a house,

or some heap of rubbish that has caught fire, sends up a great flame and works public destruction, so too it is not always public rivalries over common affairs that kindle civil strife in a city; often it is private matters and personal collisions that, having advanced into the public sphere, throw the whole city into confusion. It falls to the statesman no less than to anyone to heal these things and to forestall them, so that some may not come into being at all, others may cease

quickly, and yet others may not gain magnitude or touch upon public affairs, but remain confined to the very parties in dispute — the statesman himself paying attention and pointing out to others how private matters become the causes of public ones, and small matters of great ones, when overlooked and not given care and consolation at the outset. For instance, at Delphi the greatest revolution is said to have arisen because of Crates: when Orsilaus, son of Phalis,

was about to marry his daughter, then, the mixing-bowl having spontaneously cracked in the middle during the libations, he took it as an omen, left the bride, and departed with his father. But Crates, a little later, when they were offering sacrifice, planted some gold from the sacred treasury on them and had Orsilaus and his brother hurled from the cliff without trial, and again put to death some of their friends and relatives who had taken refuge as suppliants in the temple of Athena Pronaia. After many

such deeds had occurred, the Delphians killed Crates and his fellow conspirators, and with the money — the men being called "accursed" — rebuilt the lower temples. And at Syracuse, of two intimate young men, one, having taken charge of the other's beloved to guard while he was away, corrupted him during his absence, and the other, in turn as if repaying the outrage, seduced that man's wife. One of the elders, coming before the council, urged that both be driven

out, before the city should taste of their enmity and be filled with it; he did not, however, persuade them, and as a result they fell into civil strife, and amid great disasters overturned the finest constitution. And you yourself, I daresay, have examples close to home: the enmity of Pardalas against Tyrrhenus, which came within a little of destroying Sardis, casting it, from small and private causes, into revolt and war. Therefore one must not

let the statesman despise such things — just as, in the body, there are quick spreadings of minor injuries — but must take hold of them, press on them, and give aid; for by attentiveness, as Cato says, even the great is made small, and the small is brought to nothing at all. And there is no greater device toward persuasion in these matters than for a man to offer himself, in private disputes, as a gentle and unresentful mediator, standing by the

original causes and adding to no one's contentiousness, nor anger, nor any other passion that produces harshness and bitterness in necessary disputes. Those who wrestle in the palaestra bind their hands round with soft gloves, so that their contest may not fall into anything irreparable, the blow being made gentle and painless; but in trials and lawsuits against fellow citizens it is better to contend using charges that are

clean and unadorned, and not, like arrows, to notch and poison one's dealings with slanders, malicious insinuations, and threats, making them irreparable, great, and public matters. For the man who conducts himself this way toward those under him will have the rest as well obedient to him; whereas rivalries over public affairs, once private hatreds are removed, become slight and bring

nothing that is either harsh or irreparable.

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