Orationes 46

116. I do not know why I should apologize repeatedly for treating the same matters again, the more so when I am about to speak not against men, but on behalf of men who were noble and good, and these not few in number, nor less ancient than Plato — indeed older than he, if anyone thinks even this deserves respect. It has often struck me to wonder, among the other things in the Gorgias, at the accusation which he brought against Miltiades, Themistocles, Pericles, and Cimon, and that he brought it so carelessly and so loosely, in a way that no one would have guessed before hearing the dialogue through. For in the first place the subject itself did not compel it, nor could anyone say that it did. "By Zeus," one might object, "his argument would have collapsed had he not spoken ill of these men." But it was open to him to bring his thesis to its conclusion even without this slander. For if from the very outset he had set himself this aim, and had undertaken to examine those who had taken part in the public life of Athens, then perhaps it would have arisen from the subject to speak of these men as well. But as it is, what does he say, and to what end was he directing the argument? That there are these two ways of caring for the body and the soul: one that consorts with us for pleasure, the other for what is best; and that the one aimed at pleasure is base and is flattery, while the other —

117. is serious and noble. So what harm would it have done his argument if these men had not been spoken ill of? And there would have been no greater risk that speaking to please instead of speaking what is best would be reckoned good and useful — especially since Callicles had already given up many times, as he himself shows, and in the end said: "I do not know in what way you seem to me to speak well, Socrates; but I have undergone what most people undergo: I am not altogether persuaded by you." For it certainly cannot be said that he thought he would persuade and win him over any the more by censuring those men. On the contrary, it seems to me that he would rather have exasperated him and produced the opposite effect by his abuse of them, so that in this way, as he himself puts it, he would have scared off the quarry — and that too when he already held and had as good as caught the very thing he wished to demonstrate. One may recognize this from his own words. For as the argument proceeds he says: "Must we then set about treating the city and the citizens with a view to making the citizens themselves as good as possible?" "Certainly, if that is more to your liking," says Callicles. So once it had been agreed and conceded — the very point toward which the whole argument had been driving, and to which all this was being referred — what was the loss in not attacking these men? But as it is, he plainly came to his discussion treacherously, as though he were in labor and were circling round about the road that led against them. And indeed the difference is no small one. For the one thing was to contend on behalf of truth itself, while of the other I myself would never speak; but someone else, putting the worst construction on it, might say that it comes close to malice. And yet how is it not strange that a man so far surpassing others in humanity and greatness of soul should, at least as far as his words go, give a handle for the appearance of envy? I am astonished that comedy may be composed, even if it is not permitted —

118. to ridicule by name, while the argument could not be made convincing unless he had spoken ill of certain men by name. For come, in the name of the gods: if he had happened to be born before these men, or, by Zeus, if anyone else among those above them, still earlier, had contended for this same argument, would he have been able to accuse Miltiades and Themistocles and men not yet born? Not at all. Since, then, there was something to say about the subject even apart from any mention of these men, it was not by necessity that they were spoken ill of. That, moreover, what he has said against them is not even true — over and above the fact that it is in no way fitting to slander, even if one were going to refute them most thoroughly — this I shall now try to demonstrate. And first let us examine Pericles, since it was him he undertook to examine first, to see whether the man deserved to hear such things, whether on account of his private conduct or his public life. He, then, is said to have lived so reverently that his life differed in nothing from that of the prophets and priests, and to have been so self-controlled that he walked with measured step and kept to the straight road, as the proverb has it; he chose a middle ordering of life, neither haughty nor servile, just such as Plato's discourse extols in the eldest of the Athenians. And though democratic in his policy and acting on behalf of the multitude — contrary to Thucydides son of Melesias — he kept as far as possible from vulgar rashness and cheapness, so much so that he was never seen by anyone even laughing; rather, by his guardianship of the constitution and by submitting to hold an equal share with the rest, he was as much one of the people as any man could be, while by the dignity of his judgment and by not being mastered by the same things as the many he left it to few to approach near to himself. As for money, he came to be so far superior that — the fact that he even gave up his lands —

119. to the city, I pass over, lest anyone say that he did it through fear of slander; for this too seemed to be, as it were, another token of Pericles, his contempt for money. And so he too once, speaking freely before the people and recounting the good qualities that were his, set down among the first of them this very thing, his magnanimity in such matters. So consistent was he in his life and his public conduct, and so far from living to gratify the pleasures of others, that those who have written about him say he held toward the Athenians the position of a teacher toward children; so that often, when Pericles was absent, the assembly was in great disorder and indolence, but the moment he appeared it changed at once and was sobered at the sight of him, as though they feared lest Pericles should learn of their faults. And what they say belonged to Socrates beyond the other sophists, this belonged to him beyond the other popular leaders: that when the people were elated and presumptuous he was most skilled at restraining and humbling them, and when they were dispirited and brought low he could raise them again by his words and fill them with hope, just as Socrates was wont to do with the young. To put it in a word, Pericles was the figurehead of the city — not a slave to the desires of the many, but himself ruling the many; not deigning to say what seemed best to them, but compelling them to do what seemed best to him; not attached to them in the role of a flatterer, but, for his part, nowhere giving the flatterers an opening — in his kindness and equity standing toward the people in the place of a father, but, in confining them all and keeping all beneath himself, exercising more than a tyrant's power. From all this, it seems, one may clearly see that, if any man ever was, Pericles was willingly just. For nowhere did he prize selfish gain above the laws, nor did he provide that he might be greater than his station, though he might have done so more than any —

120. Pisistratus; rather he was like one holding the Acropolis for the sake of preserving the laws and doing good impartially to all. And indeed, if you reproach Archelaus as wretched and ill-fated because he acquired his tyranny when it in no way belonged to him, overstepping justice and destroying those whom it was least likely he would, then to the man to whom it was open to be a tyrant in the same way, had he so wished, but who did not choose this and instead held the laws and justice to be of more worth than gain — how was it not fitting to rejoice with him? Now if the argument happened to concern some other matter or doctrine, I myself would not think it necessary to take refuge in witnesses, but I would show on my own how the truth stands. But since an examination lies before us of men who lived long ago — what sort of men they were and what ordering of public life they chose — there is need, Plato, of a witness, even for you who despise witnesses, though you yourself, I think, would never have been caught using none. I shall pass over all the others, though I could name many, and shall produce a single sufficient one: Thucydides son of Olorus, who seems to surpass the historians by far not only in the power and dignity of his language but also in the accuracy of his account of events. Come then, what testimony does he give about Pericles, and what does he say his character was, and how did he lead the people? For his voice would be to us as if we had Pericles himself before our eyes and, in his company, saw what sort of man he was. "For as long as he stood at the head of the city in peace he governed it with moderation and guarded it in safety, and under him it became greatest; and when the war came, here too he is seen to have foreseen its power. He survived two years and six months; and after he died his foresight regarding the war became known still more fully. For he —

121. said that they would prevail if they kept quiet, attended to their fleet, did not seek to extend their empire in wartime, and did not put the city at risk. But they did the opposite of all this, and in other matters too, seemingly outside the war, they pursued policies harmful both to themselves and to their allies according to their private ambitions and private gains; which, when they succeeded, brought honor and advantage rather to individuals, but, when they failed, became a damage to the city for the war. The cause was that he, being powerful through his standing and his judgment, and having shown himself conspicuously incorruptible by money, restrained the multitude freely, and was not led by them so much as he himself led them, because he did not speak to please by acquiring power from improper means, but, holding it on his merit, could even speak against them in their anger. At any rate, whenever he perceived them growing over-bold through insolence at the wrong moment, he would strike them down by his words into fear, and when they were again unreasonably afraid he would restore them to confidence. And so it came about that in word it was a democracy, but in fact rule by the first man. But his successors, being more on a level with one another and each grasping to become first, turned to handing affairs over to the people to suit their pleasures; from which many errors arose, as in a great city possessing an empire, and among them the expedition to Sicily." Then upon this the concluding point is just so much: that Pericles' foresight at that time so abounded — from what he himself had foreseen — that the city would very easily have prevailed over the Peloponnesians alone in the war. These things this man recounts concerning Pericles' policy and public conduct — first as one who lived in his time and was in his company, not as Plato, who plainly never even saw him; and next, not for the sake of any contentiousness, nor —

122. for the needs of a contest, nor referring everything to a single point he had set himself, but handing down the truth simply and just as it was, in the manner of history and narrative, exactly as when he narrates the Peloponnesian invasion or any other event of his own time. Now if Thucydides were in dispute about these matters, the case would be different; but since we must grant and necessarily believe that Pericles was such a man, where is it reasonable to think these slanders justified — that he was no better than a servant in place of a leader, and no more fit or suited to govern a city than the cooks? Truly flattery would be a thing of great value, if it were a name to lay upon Pericles. So go on: do not merely attach to him a portion of flattery, but bring all flattery and lay it upon him; and, by Zeus, if you like, that very form itself to which you refer everything — provided you can show that, in the man to whom these things belonged, they were allotted along with the fortune of Thearion and Mithaecus, and that he was their counterpart in political affairs. But perhaps the flatterers themselves will sooner be shown to speak the truth than we shall, if we think fit to bring such a charge against him. Come then, from where did this whole argument of his set out, and from where did he arrive at the slanders against these men? Perhaps it is not worse to frame the discussion as toward one present and in our company, reminding him thus: You said that the good citizen ought not to seek by every means to satisfy desires, neither his own nor those of the citizens, nor to set this as the limit of happiness, but to choose what is best rather than what is most pleasant; for the pleasant is not in every case good, nor again is the good for the sake of the pleasant, but the pleasant ought to be pursued for the sake of the good. Do you not turn these things round, up and down? Well done, my friend, in keeping to this principle of yours, and in speaking the truth. No one will contradict you up to this point — none, at least, who is not also against me. But look — for perhaps something else may turn out. You are describing to me, my excellent friend, the life and —

123. public conduct of Pericles when you say these things, and you do not refute the man but rather cast your vote for him, as you call it; and though it is open to you to use him as a witness for your argument, you somehow transfer the man to the side of your opponents. For what you teach in your discourse, this very man is seen to have shown first in his deeds; so that even if you had added nothing, but had stood on these statements, anyone would have found Pericles out from what has been said, like characters recognized by tokens in the plays. Look at it again, then, from the beginning, as one looks at a law. Desires must not be indulged, nor allowed to advance without limit, but the upright and self-controlled man must master his pleasures, and not accustom the citizens to seek to have more. Now Pericles was so far from being a slave to desires, or from aiming at pleasure or at gain, instead of leading toward what is best, that he is seen to have won his reputation from the very opposites of these. For he himself disdained greater possessions as much as it was at all possible, and counseled the city neither to acquire empire nor to busy itself beyond necessities, but to wage the war while keeping quiet. And surely, when he urged them to wage the war in peace, he would scarcely otherwise have allowed them to meddle in affairs at random. Moreover, he himself chose to live in good order, not in the most pleasurable way, and whenever he perceived the people behaving with insolence he restrained them. How could anyone be shown to obey Plato's precepts more plainly — if indeed one ought to say that a man so much earlier than Plato obeyed Plato — or how could Plato more be convicted of saying things contrary to himself than if he is seen at once both claiming that one ought not to consort with the peoples for pleasure or in the role of a flatterer, but for what is best, and at the same time reviling Pericles, who consorted with them not for pleasure but always from the most upright judgment? For he seems to me to do much the same as if, having first told men that they ought to govern —

124. the cities thus, as you once saw Pericles govern the Athenians, he then forbade them again to govern as that man did. For to one willing to look rightly, both in his words and in his deeds the man is seen to have fulfilled the chief points of the dialogue — I mean by his words those he addressed to the multitude on each occasion, and by his deeds both what he himself displayed to them in his daily life, deeds worthy of that frank speech, and the evils from which the city abstained in his times. For as long as Pericles addressed the people and held the multitude in check, the Athenians neither sent expeditions to Sicily nor entangled themselves in the long and interminable circuits of the war, but were even persuaded that to advance outside the walls was superfluous, and not safe, and not the act of men who knew how to preserve what they had. But when he died, they dreamed of Sicily, longed for Italy, reached after Carthage and Libya, looked round upon all mankind, found nothing enough for them, and made the war's appendage longer than itself. And the one who urged this, Plato and Socrates, was — your partner one cannot call him, but companion you yourself might say, or rather have said. How, then, could anyone justly bring these charges against Pericles, or how is it not necessary to bring them against Alcibiades, who, taking over a city accustomed to listen to its counselors, then drove it mad in this way? For Pericles, I think, associating with Anaxagoras, became better than his nature warranted, while Alcibiades, having Socrates for a companion, profited little, or rather nothing, from the association. So it is not to be endured if anyone, praising the former, blames the latter. Plato, then, as though deliberately saying the opposite of what is, or imitating the conjurers, has not only accused Pericles of what was not fitting, but says it is even a dreadful thing if anyone should charge Alcibiades with these very same matters. But from the argument —

125. it appears that to the one not even any share of the blame belongs, while to the other belongs no small part. For the one said they would prevail if they kept quiet and attended to the fleet — that is, preserved what they had — and did not seek to extend their empire; but the other was one of those who persuaded them to undertake all those many ventures. Among these many other errors were committed, and in particular the expedition to Sicily, from which they gained more enemies than allies and in the end were ruined, as we know. It was not, then, Pericles who made the city swell and become unsound, nor through whom they were stripped, as you say, of their ancient flesh, but the man who kept increasing their desires, who baited them with the money of the Egestaeans and acted as host for the Sicilian table — being such a man himself, and nowhere letting the people halt in their hopes, but always setting before them aims more remote than what they wished and needed, and pursuing policies opposite to Pericles, after that man's death. So before catching any of your adversaries, you go off having hunted down one of your friends, and you have suffered the same fate as Pindar's Peleus, who both missed his quarry and destroyed besides Eurytion, who was most dear to him. And the same thing, I think, they say happened later to Adrastus son of Gordius. For my part, then, I have at present no need to speak about Alcibiades, but I was led even to this against my will by the argument itself. But if geometry is a fine thing, and the equality in accordance with it, and one ought not to neglect these things, then I find that Pericles honored equality most beautifully, not only in private —

126. but also in public affairs. "For as long as he stood at the head in peace he governed with moderation," says the man who knew his affairs well — and this is the opposite of governing by force and grasping, of which you accuse him — "and when the war came, he alone knew what they had to do to be saved." Therefore by showing himself superior to every gain, practising justice, he was plainly just; by choosing a well-ordered life rather than one of pleasure, he gave manifest proof of self-control; and as for courage, surely he showed it in those matters in which, not to please nor in submission, but as freely as possible, he consorted with the people. He alone, then, both foreseeing what was to be and able to deal with what was present — how could he not justly bear the repute of wisdom, of the most useful kind at least, if one is willing to reckon in human terms? Then the man whom one may address by every part of virtue — courageous, just, prudent, self-controlled — this man Plato numbered among the flatterers? "For he made the Athenians chatterers," he says, "and idle and cowardly and money-loving, establishing them in a system of pay." Concerning chatterers, Plato, and the idle and the cowardly, drop the charge at once, lest some other god rouse the Trojans, and we give a handle against ourselves — least of all a fitting one, yet here too Homer's saying prevails: "Whatever word you speak, such you will hear in return." For my part I would say nothing mean, nor be led to it — may I never be so mad! — but I would sooner pass the harshest judgment on myself than willingly rob Plato of the highest praises. But there are perhaps some others who care less —

127. for your worth, especially if they catch hold of a respectable pretext, and who defend themselves on behalf of men neither base themselves nor deserving to be spoken ill of. As for the fact that I knew how to speak about these matters too — that Pericles is not liable to these charges either — it was harder to keep silent than, in trying to demonstrate it, to find what one ought to say. First, then, that he did not make them chatterers, the greatest proof, I think, is this too: that this reproach did not arise for the city in his times but later, when they already missed him brilliantly and found the men of the day talking more than they thought, and in no way preserving the good that Pericles had been. So from the very things for which they blamed the later men, and for which they were slandered by those after him, his own merits are exalted. For just as when a good physician has died, and afterward men live in great license, the disease has power to come on; so from probability he ought not only to be acquitted of the charge but for this very reason to be the more esteemed than before — just as Diotima, by being able to postpone the disease for the city ten years, set this down, I think, as a benefaction, and no one blames her for what happened afterward; but everyone might reasonably blame her for its not having been put off still earlier, while no one blames her for its happening at all. For she did not cause these things, but, so far as she could, prevented them; so that, for her part, it would not have come about in the first place. But you know how to adorn a foreign Mantinean and Milesian woman, and have very readily deemed worthy of great things whomever you please, while you bring down to the level of the base the foremost of the Greeks, men renowned among all — in no way differently than if someone were to do so to a true cook, or some other chance slave. And the cause is not ignorance of their worth —

128. but — how could I put it becomingly? You become exceedingly fond of fine speeches. But I return to my point: that, first, this reproach of chattering belongs not to the times of Pericles but to the later ones, the work of men in no way like him. Next, probability too is preserved thus: that anyone rather than Pericles would have helped them to chatter, and the charge falls so much the less upon him — and let no one wonder at the paradox — in proportion as he was the better speaker, if indeed this is true. For if he himself had handled his speeches anyhow, or dragged the matter down to something cheap, so that it was there for anyone who wished to grasp, he might reasonably have seemed to corrupt many and persuade them to chatter, neglecting thought — just as those who first display something easy quickly draw many after them. But since he himself displayed his speeches in order and in measure and with all the beauty that arises, and preserved at once the principle of Laches — or, if you like, of Plato — providing a life no worse than his words, how could he have corrupted the Athenians, or made them chatterers, who in his very speeches is seen to have honored nothing cheap or random? For the contrary seems to me to be entirely the case: that he accustomed them neither to say anything anyhow nor to act from the first impulse. At any rate one of three things must be conceded: either that there is nothing cheap or shameful in being chatterers, or that Pericles would not have made them chatterers, if indeed he was good at speaking, or — the third — that Pericles was not skilled at speaking, nor beyond the others. It remains, then, to teach that he was skilled and beyond the others. Who, then, could become more competent praisers and witnesses of his cleverness and power than those whose habit it is rather to censure than to adorn everyone? For if these are seen —

129. casting their vote, scarcely would anyone else withhold it. Now to allege a comic poet as witness on some other matter might perhaps not be strong; but in the judgment of speeches may I never become so grand as to look down on these men as worth nothing. I say this now to those to whom it is permitted; for the uninitiated the discussion is brief. There is no need at all for them to set gates upon their ears; rather, the gates are set long since. But this very thing escapes them, so utterly without perception are they, and so far are they from the holy things. So then, of the witnesses summoned by us regarding speeches for Pericles, and of those whom we should call no small sharers in experience of these matters, the one said that his tongue was the greatest of all Grecian tongues — speaking of something equal also to voice, but mixing in some of the bitterness of his craft with what comes from the truth. Yet even so he did not escape giving the first place to the man, nor failing to display the magnificence of his speeches; while the other says that he flashed and thundered and confounded all Greece as he addressed the assembly. For do not let me take this if he is finding fault with him; rather, let us take from the testimony only as much as is relevant to the present argument, and then those other points a little later, if there is need, will appear to be on our side. But the third, plainly, this one no longer even as a poet of comedy, but as one of the noble and good, has rendered his testimony untouched by envy and pure, saying that he took the orators in the contest from ten feet off, and that on him alone a certain persuasion sat upon his lips; and that all the rest was trifling beside him. At any rate he says thus, in vexation:

130. "Is there now any orator among those it is worth mentioning? The Buzyges is the best — that accursed wretch." So well do they know both whom it is fitting to tear apart for their speeches and whom it is worth admiring. Did the man, then, who so far surpassed the orators, who had persuasion on his lips, who met with so much respect from all, who heard such things from those who scrutinized everyone in other matters and ridiculed them in this very point as unable to speak — did he display some trifling and chatter in the assemblies, or did he accomplish a task beyond any man's, going through life thus not by any great surplus he was using, being himself far from idle talk and accustoming the others as far as possible to keep away from it? For let us consider what belongs to chatter and what to sensible speech. To chatter, I think, is to trifle vainly and to no purpose and to waste time idly; but to true speech belongs aiming at the occasions and the facts and preserving what is fitting everywhere. From these, I think, follow also mastery and the winning over of the souls of one's hearers. Pericles, then, who conquered so greatly and accomplished so much by the means by which he conquered, was reckoned, with reason, least of all a chatterer, but best at speaking. And indeed, in the very matters for which they blame the others, they at once acquit him and teach whom one ought to blame instead of him. But if there is need of a more dignified witness, consider what Thucydides says in his accounts of him. For you will find that everywhere he recalls him as best at speaking, and gives no room for dispute, except that this man adds to speaking that he could also act — when —

131. he says that he was first. And this witness, my good man, is one of Antiphon's companions, and, as is likely, has some pride in himself as well; yet even so he renders to that man what is fitting. Surely, then, you who praise Aspasia before Antiphon must concede this. And what need is there any longer of Thucydides? For the argument has come to the very summit of the testimony. For it is Plato himself who, hymning Aspasia as a wonderful teacher of rhetoric, takes refuge in Pericles and through him gives confirmation, and has expressly called him in just this way superior to the Greeks: so great does he plainly grant to Pericles in the matter of speeches. And yet surely it was not a sign that Aspasia shared in eloquence that Pericles spoke so well, while for the sign of Pericles' own power one must seek elsewhere; nor ought he, on Aspasia's behalf, to call him superior to the Greeks, while in his own concern reckoning him no better than the many. And he has said this about the man not here only, but elsewhere too he reasonably says that Pericles became perfect in rhetoric through his association with Anaxagoras. But let not all this stand yet. That, however, he has agreed that he became perfect in speaking is clear. How, then, could the man who so far surpassed and alone conquered before all the judges bear the repute of having let the Athenians loose to chatter at random and out of season? For I think the contrary: that he became the cause of more silence than of rashness. At any rate we know that in the other arts too, where many are alike and rivals of one another, there are many affairs and more strife; but when some one man brilliantly excels, all have already given way. So too with —

132. speaking: when some one man of the first rank arises, the rest must be content and not meddle, but be as cautious and orderly as possible about their speeches. For one would not, by the very thing in which one is best, make others worse — especially in regard to those very things in which one is best. For just as in the affairs of life, whoever shows himself orderly and self-controlled and well-disciplined in all things, no one would say that this man thereby corrupts those who meet him; rather, we should all say he is an example of self-control, if indeed we ourselves mean to seem self-controlled. So too in speeches, whoever keeps guard over the beautiful and the fitting, and nowhere overlooks the better, nor neglects order in these matters, does what is yours, Plato — reckoning, as you do, that this whole universe was called Cosmos, "order," and not disorder, nor disarray, nor any of the names of such things — and imitating, so far as he can in his own sphere, his betters. He could not, then, be the cause of idle talk, nor its leader, nor of disorder, nor of any shameful thing, any more than one can say that the trainer accustoms men to neglect the body — he whose business, the wise Plato says, is that the body shall be in good condition. But if anyone establishes his life on a level with his words, and is conspicuous not only in speaking beautifully but also in living so, how does this man accustom others to chatter, or to do anything else whatever apart from the share of the better? I cannot be persuaded of it. Rather, one of two things, I think, was bound to happen to those who in his day kept his company: either, emulating his power, they pursued something good and similar in their speeches, and the more they honored both him and his words, the more orderly and self-controlled they would keep themselves and abstain from all lawlessness; or else, despairing utterly and reckoning the thing beyond themselves, they would keep wholly quiet, since to be an orator in the way that Pericles was —

133. was not for them a fortune on equal terms. So that in either case they were least likely to be chatterers. I observe, too, in regard to tragedy, that Aeschylus incurred no charge of having introduced chatter, nor did Sophocles, sweetest to listen to, anywhere hear it said that he raised the Athenians to chatter — because, I think, they clung as far as possible to dignity and offered characters better than those of the many; but Euripides was charged with accustoming them to chatter, since he seemed to take away something of the weight and the occasions; and after him again, Aristophanes says, the young men became more than a furlong more talkative, as falling so far short of Euripides in poetry. For as order slipped away little by little, it had to be carried down to this fault and to seem to chatter rather than to compose. So too with political speeches: not the most dignified man, nor he in whom the sense led the words, nor he who thought one ought not to speak without high spirit and who had justly acquired that spirit from all that he was conscious of in himself — not this man was the one who made men chatterers instead of orderly, but the one who, for his part, prevented their being chatterers. It was not Odysseus, then, nor Nestor, who incurred the charge of corrupting the camp of the Achaeans, but rather Thersites, "who knew in his mind many words, but disorderly, / vainly, and not according to order, to wrangle with the kings." Therefore the orator like Pericles restrained him and would not let him chatter. But you do much the same as if someone should then have accused Odysseus of making a tumult in the camp — Odysseus, who stopped the others from making tumult; just as if you should say that Heracles too accustomed men to be willful and bold because he went about using the bow and the club, when in fact he was accustoming them to the very opposite, my good man —

134. accustoming all to be orderly and to abide by the laws, and to use these instruments, as they saw him do, with every regard for the better. In this way, it seems to me, one might also accuse Pericles of making men chatterers — he who so confined them all that they were silent even against their will, and was so far from rousing the multitude that he kept even the orators for the most part in quiet; so that, if not in the manner of Heracles, at least in the manner of Iolaus, he was "searing the heads of the more numerous," as the comic poet's phrase has it. And then you say that Pericles made the Athenians chatterers? As if one should accuse the teacher of making the children chatterers because he expounds everything to them. And yet this same man would not even let them so much as speak, but part of his very art was knowing how to bid them keep silence. Nor would I say that Socrates made the Athenians chatterers and contentious because he conversed with very many of them at the tables and the workshops, both with townsmen and with strangers; nor should we apply to him Hesiod's verse, where he rebukes and forbids: "Pass not by the smithy and the crowded lounge"; rather, I should bid him approach the smithies and the other workshops with confidence, where they were going to hear from him some such thing, whether some of the young or of the elder. For it would not be becoming accustomed to chatter, to hear something useful — just as, indeed, listening to Hesiod himself give this very counsel, we do not think we are losing our time or becoming worse. But if some, hearing Socrates or Pericles, and then desiring their power, imitated it badly, this is not the fault of those men. For those men, speaking what is best to their hearers, displayed their power thus, while those who missed the main point and spent their speeches on nothing useful would reasonably bear the blame, and would not even seem to do the same —

135. as those men, I think, but the very opposite — like those who draft proposals contrary to the laws, yet still set the name "laws" upon what they draft. Pericles, then, laid down the finest law concerning public speeches: nowhere to relax from dignity. How, then, is he the cause of carelessness about these things? But that the power of speaking is not in itself a thing without honor, nor brings reproach, nor is worthy of accusation, nor even of pardon, but of something better — I should be ashamed before the gods of eloquence if I sought to demonstrate it; except that I would say this much (and may anyone else, if he is vexed, turn it all upon me, and I shall not blame the divine power): that I would choose to be able to speak, with a good and self-controlled life, as beautifully as is possible for a human being, rather than to become Darius son of Hystaspes ten thousand times over; and now all things truly seem small to me beside this. And I know that Plato's affairs too, unless we are deluded, are nearly nothing other than speeches, and I congratulate him on his diction; and even if, jesting with me thus, he tries to persuade me not to be very concerned with this, I shall not be persuaded, but shall know that he is in great earnest — and most of all then, when he speaks as though in play. So we should be slandering our treasure at home if we tore these things apart. But about these matters it is not even worth speaking — and so much the less in proportion as the power of speaking is the better thing. Very well. But how did Pericles make the Athenians idle? Or will you make us all too busy, compelling us to answer each of the things said? Is not this the man who carried them everywhere, who nowhere let them sleep, commanding at Samos as one of ten generals, eclipsing all the other generals and showing them to be a name and nothing more, and reducing the Samians to —

136. siege — not keeping quiet, but sailing out with part of the ships against Caria; and after this, when he had gone, the Samians took courage and sallied out and had the better of the blockading squadron, but he turned back and again shut them in until he forced their surrender; and again, when the Euboeans revolted, leading the Athenians into Euboea; and when the Peloponnesians were reported to be at Megara, carrying them back again to Megara, and from Megara again to Euboea, until he subdued this island too? And what could one say of the circumnavigation of the Peloponnese, the landings everywhere in enemy country, and a continuity of operations not to be likened to that of any other city? Then am I to be persuaded that this man, so keen and sleepless, and — I would most gladly have said — winged, was himself idle or accustomed others to idleness? Surely I shall seem to understand nothing of affairs, if I do — a man who did not permit idleness not only to the Athenians but not even to the enemy, but made even them change their ways, so many necessities of movement did he set about them. "And justly was this added," said Demosthenes. But nonetheless Plato accused him of making them idle and cowardly. What are you saying — cowardly? Pericles, O gods, cowardly? — who, even when addressing the assembly, began straightway from this point: "Of the same judgment, men of Athens, I always hold," he said, "not to yield to the Peloponnesians." Which of all men down to that day ever once dared to say this? — they who, even when they were saving Greece, yielded to the Lacedaemonians their own claims. But he, with nothing veiled, and without waiting — if for nothing else — at least for the consolation that comes from a preamble, very readily declared at the very beginning of his speech what seemed best to himself, as one who claimed to be both himself superior to his hearers and they to their adversaries. So then — was it the voice of one accustoming them to fear the enemy and withdraw, or of one accustoming them —

137. to be confident and to disdain, and showing his courage from the outset, that we are to say it was? For my part I think the latter rather. For if he had accused him of having stirred up the war, or of being the cause of the troubles, or anything of the sort, even so it would not be true — at any rate, later all agreed that the truce was not broken on that side — but it would seem to repeat what had been said by others too. As it is, how is it possible to accuse him of cowardice, when some have already laid the opposite charges against him? For the things we cited just now from Aristophanes' comedy as standing thus — I mean: "He flashed, he thundered, he confounded Greece, / he set down laws written like drinking-songs, / about how the Megarians should..." — these are not charges of cowardice against him; but we know what they do charge, of which, if they are true, the opposites are false; and if not even those charges fittingly belong to Pericles, but he deliberated justly and necessarily on behalf of the state's interests, how is he not at once both to be acquitted of charge and to deserve every praise? Was it, then, only toward the Lacedaemonians that he was so minded, as one privately contending, but toward the others slack? — he who thought the Piraeus a sufficient base for them, and would not let them admire either the King or anyone else in all the world, and showed that their strength was, against all other men together, only half — that the rest prevailed in one place or another, but they everywhere upon the sea. And yet — was this the act of one introducing idleness and cowardice and unmanliness and lowliness and sluggishness into the city and into their souls, or do I fear lest one say something —

138. of another kind, except in so far as he will not speak rightly? As, then, you say that you hear those things said against Pericles, so listen in turn to those who say the truth about him, to which no one has spoken in contradiction down to this day — since you yourself say you accuse him not from your own judgment but from hearsay. "These things the Cretan, forsooth, of the sea," one will say. Since, then, you think fit to hear those things, but do not wish to hear these, come, I shall show you others still greater and more complete than these — signs of Pericles' courage and strength and ambition; and if you can show that any excess remains, let everything from us be nonsense. "By Zeus," for someone might say that to be bold before the war was nothing great or sufficient. But he indeed thought fit that the embassies should be received by the city while the Peloponnesians remained settled at home, but, once they had taken the field, not even after they had sent forward Melesippus. So very cowardly was he that, when he learned the enemy was advancing, he gave his answers to him in deed about all things, handing him over to those who would conduct him out of the country. And the last and greatest of all to hear of — let alone to imitate: when the war was already present and joined, and the plague pressed upon them, and the land was being ravaged, and men were perishing day by day and so many already lay dead as would have struck a small fraction of terror into the enemy, had the calamity befallen them — and when, on account of all this, he saw the multitude despondent and ill at ease, and repenting of what they had voted, and thinking fit to send heralds to the Lacedaemonians, and become other men under their misfortunes — he relaxed nothing the more, nor departed from his old judgment, nor was his soul turned by their —

139. misfortunes; but, though so far surpassing others in the face of dangers that, while the rest were despondent at these present ills, he had taken on this further and greater thing, to see the citizens so disposed that they were at a loss how to deal with them — and this not only their having submitted to the enemy, but also their bearing him ill will as the author of the present troubles — seeing them, in addition to the two things that come from fortune, the war and the plague, take on these two more, grief and exasperation against himself, set in the midst of the terrors and, so to speak, isolated on every side, he did not flinch nor withdraw, nor did he change his judgment as one changes color, set in array at once against both the citizens and the enemy; but, as if teaching them some other lesson, he went through the same things he had set forth before, and did not corrupt his doctrines in the face of dangers, nor did he play the philosopher only when at liberty, but, as if questioned about numbers or measures, he would have answered the same both after and before; so even then he uttered the same words concerning the whole situation, thinking it right neither to yield to the terrors nor to blame himself, but to be ashamed on their behalf — on behalf of others who had arisen along with the times. So that to me even Ajax, fighting and shouting before the ships, seems to be in a lighter and easier case. For his battle was against the Trojans only, and the disposition of his own people was surely favorable; but for this man the things within fared no less wretchedly than those without, and the fear from the citizens was greater than that from the enemy. In these matters Pericles showed himself nothing like the cooks, but like the foremost of the Greeks. So that to me, when I look toward these straits and the throng of his affairs, there comes the thought of some helmsman, his ship awash and the clouds bursting down, staying at the tiller and not letting go — and besides, with those aboard threatening and ready to tear him apart, holding them in check and admonishing them, and at once both struggling for the vessel and against those in the vessel.

140. From where, then, must one still contemplate his courage? For whether we look at the man from his deeds or from his words, how could anyone have shown himself more removed from all fear, or how could anyone have been better fitted by nature for high spirit, and a better leader of others to it, than one who neither thought fit that they should abandon, through fear of the enemy, what had been resolved from the first, nor himself, through fear of them, abandon the arguments on behalf of justice? But if you say that he did not lead them out, consider whether no man of military skill would accept these charges. For they would not say that in every season, nor surely in every place, one ought to fight; but that the good general ought least of all to run risks, and ought to make war by counsels rather than by hands, just as is held to be the Lacedaemonians' national practice; but if there should be need of a battle too, it is better to be willing to fight with allies than alone, and with more rather than fewer, and with better rather than worse, in whatever respect one has the advantage. For men brought into necessity are not likely to reckon accurately; but as long as one is master of his judgment, it is great folly and ill fortune to let go of safety and deliberately choose what will profit the enemy. For in that case one would already be a general for them, and would become for them, instead of for one's own, the leader on their side. Let us not, then, say this, that he did not lead them out; but let us consider this: whether, when it was fitting to lead out and fight, he overlooked it — since we hear, indeed, that the Lacedaemonians too, when the Thebans once pressed upon them and bade them come out and fight, or admit themselves worse than they were, answered that as to which of the two were the better, they would judge by the deeds done on behalf of the Greeks by each; but they would fight, not at the enemy's chosen moment nor when those men bade them, but whenever it seemed good to themselves —

141. and they would not use the Thebans as advisers about this. These things they answered, and these they did, with Agesilaus standing at their head, who, if any of the Greeks, seemed to be a lover of war. But what was Pericles to do? For tell me, in the gods' name — or rather, if you yourself had happened to be our general in those times, what did you think you ought to do or to say, when the whole of the Athenians were so many, and of the allies some were scattered among the islands, others along the mainland, and sixty thousand of an enemy army had invaded, and these Peloponnesians — for this too is no slight addition — men competent to fight even against all the Greeks, and men of whom I would say that, with the Athenians and Pericles to lead them, they would not without difficulty have brought even the whole earth beneath themselves? And I do not yet mention the plague as so great a matter, which lay upon them driving hard, and had wholly consumed some of the men and made others useless for the present need — which even apart from battle and the onset of war was no easy thing to endure. And indeed Pericles was not ignorant of this either: that if he conquered he would fight again with far more, and would find many others disputing the trophy, as the Corinthians did before, and inheriting these very same affairs; so that he reckoned he would win a Cadmean victory, while by acting otherwise —

142. he would ruin the city. For against the enemy each of their parts was at risk, but for themselves the very ground of the city lay along with the danger, and one die was being cast for everything — bodies, money, glory, hegemony, the foundation of the city, their hopes, everything one could name. He did not, then, think it right to contend in so unequal a contest, nor to risk all that was theirs for nothing greater — being prudent, I think, and using a general's reckoning. And we see, surely, that wrestlers too do not engage at the strong points of their adversaries, nor deliberately offer holds against themselves, but withdraw from these as far as possible, and try to use their own advantages and pursue victory from these. Pericles, considering this, did not give the enemy so great a hold against the city, but, letting them play the fool in Attica, he was fitting out an expedition of a hundred ships against the Peloponnese and, embarking himself, was carrying the army across. And it turned out that they had cut off some part of Attica, but he, as it were, the whole of the enemy country; so that those who had then marched as to a windfall were now compelled to flee from Attica. Thus the things he did not stir were of foresight, not cowardice, while the things he thought fit they should dare, even in such circumstances, hold the last proof of that man's courage. And yet how is it not strange, if we shall accuse him for not leading out, but shall not admire him for leading them outside Attica? And if we shall reproach him for not fighting where it was not fitting, but shall not take into account that he knew where one ought to do this? And if we shall accuse him for not filling Attica with war and confusion, but shall not reckon it to his credit that he disembarked into the enemy country and shifted the siege over to the Peloponnese? But shall we seek the things not done in place of the things done? And shall we not pardon him for not leading them out while they were sick, but shall we not —

143. admire him for leading them out even while they were sick? — he who led them, sick as they were, in such a way as not one of the healthy could purely have done. So far superior was he to the enemy and the citizens and the plague and every circumstance. And surely he would scarcely have allowed the Athenians, while they were themselves, to be idle, or to lie down beneath any men — he who did not even permit them to be sick, but, at least for the struggle for freedom and for not deserting the post of high spirit, thought fit that they be strong even beyond their present fortune. Sooner would I have thought Meleager liable to a charge of cowardice than Pericles — Pericles, whom even before his birth the god foretold from the very opposites, foretelling to his mother that she would bear a lion; and she, upon this vision, bore Pericles. So beware lest we attempt to shave a lion — not undertaking to bring a false suit against Thrasymachus, but to make a comedy of Pericles, and that too for cowardice, and then we ourselves seem braver than we ought to those who wish to bring counter-accusations, and there appear some prize, even of cowardice — or, if you like, of silence — that is without danger, as one of the Cean poets said. But indeed "flax is joined to flax," as they say. For of him who dared to say that Pericles also showed men, and any men whatever, to be money-lovers — what could one say? "By Zeus, for he was the first to establish affairs on a system of pay." But I myself am not among those who praise the system of pay, and I think I have given practical proof of this. So I have no part in the matter at all, but I have presided over speeches more cleanly than, I think, my namesake presided over the tributes —

144. if one may even speak somewhat boldly. For he, having assigned to each what was proportionate, gained such repute; but I have neither more nor less from anyone ever — nay, I have never even come to any of the distributions, unless someone willingly sent something. And the wisdom of Socrates too — whether one should call it wisdom or philosophy, or something else — this I admire as well: that he did not peddle it, nor make himself available to those who wished to buy, nor so strongly profess himself educated as to vote himself into slavery. For my part, then, as I say about these matters, I rejoice in magnificence above all else, as I persuade myself; but I see that there are in cities, as it were, certain trailing burdens, to which one must yield, as in a body. For I hear that bodies too, both the worst and the best, are compounded from the same elements, and that by each one's partaking of these in greater or smaller measure, the worse and the better are judged. So too cities must of necessity reap the fruit of human nature, even if they seem to be governed in the best way. Since even in this universe, which has partaken of so many fair things and so much good fortune, and has left, surely, nothing fair outside itself, you would find many things in which you would take the least pleasure; yet you do not on this account accuse the universe or its Maker, nor think that some other better craftsman of the whole would ever again come to be, but you grant that these things were dragged along by nature, and you do not make trouble about it. What wonder, then, if at Athens too one of all these things stood thus, just as perhaps elsewhere also, and the leaders conceded it — at once correcting the poverty and need of the many, through which not the least of errors arise, which they thought thus rather to prevent —

145. and at the same time taking care lest they work some worse evil by confining them altogether? For what was one not to expect men so many in number, and so keen, with so much money present, to do, if no one shared the moderate portion with them? Would they not have attempted to seize everything? And again, just as in private households everyone, I think, wishes to enjoy what is at hand, so it is not at all unlikely also for a city, especially one possessing an empire, in which perhaps the best man is not he who forbids everything, but he who takes account of the measured course. Or what need was there either to receive tributes still or to have troubles, if they were to be relieved by nothing from them? So that when you say these things, you are not finding fault with the pay, but with the empire. For that pay is necessary in a city, and that it is not possible even for the most dignified to pass it by without supplying it and showing kindness, I have no need of many witnesses, but one, the best of the Greeks, suffices me. Who is this? You yourself. For to the happy and good city — for how could the city of which Plato is founder not be happy? — in giving it guardians you assign them pay at public expense, on the ground that you yourself counsel nothing shameful, nor will they do anything shameful, neither party, neither those about to give nor those about to receive. But if the pay is not silver or gold, but something else, that is another argument. For pay too, I think, is likely to suit the forms of the constitutions. For if the Byzantines use iron for currency, they are not on that account justly to be laughed at by the Greeks, nor would they seem any the less to receive pay because they receive not gold or silver; nor again the Carthaginians, who use leather; unless, when some receive silver, because they do not receive the more precious —

146. gold, men will say this is anything other than pay. But I think not one man would concede this. For neither is it the law that all should choose the same nourishment, yet all alike have need of nourishment. So here too the question is not what the pay is, but whether you have spoken of pay at all — unless even Euneos sent his wine free to the Achaeans because they paid him not in silver but, some in bronze, others in gleaming iron. But not even he himself made any boast of this. Pericles, then, did not himself coin money, but, there being funds on the Acropolis, from there he supplied the pay. So that he is justly liable on neither count, neither for the coinage nor for the pay. And why do I contend so earnestly over these things? For if pay and distribution are as shameful as can be, they do not belong to Pericles' policy, nor did they begin from his times, but one of the lawgivers too knew of these things — for I pass over the rest. So the later parts of his policy he has charged him with, which we refuted a little before, and the earlier parts, those concerning the coinage, just as now in turn is being shown. How could a man use arguments more easily, or with greater license? But altogether I myself wonder whether there is any simpler or juster manner of examining whether Pericles made the Athenians money-lovers, or any others of men, Greeks or barbarians, than to look at Pericles himself and consider what sort of man he was. For Xenophon's argument seems to me to be sound. For just as we see the trainers, he said, instructing the boys partly by word, but advancing them most of all by demonstration, so he says it is right to judge Socrates too. In this way, then, let us also contemplate Pericles — how he himself was disposed toward money, and what sort of example he offered of himself to the Athenians and to the other Greeks in this respect; and if —

147. we find him ignoble and illiberal and inferior to gain, let us say that he taught the others the same things and corrupted them and made them like himself; but if he disdained money so much as I do not know whether any man ever did, how did he make them lovers of money, or how did he corrupt others in matters in which he himself was upright? — just as if you were to say that Rhadamanthys accustomed men to swear falsely, he who had such a surplus of piety and justice that even after death he is held to judge those who arrive yonder concerning their deeds in life. So you too, having first shown Pericles petty and ignoble and lowly and looking toward silver, then say that he made the others such; just as one may say of the teachers of letters — and this image is no longer Xenophon's but Plato's own. For just as, he says, the writing-masters, for the children not yet skilled at writing, first sketch the lines with the stylus and then give them the tablet and compel them to write following the guidance of the letters, so too does the city. But let us take, instead of the city, Pericles. Pericles, then, by his words, it seems, gave guidance to the Athenians, in which there was nothing illiberal or ignoble; and by his life he showed himself and offered for examination what sort of man he was. Did he, then, being such as we hear, sketch out for them a beautiful life to lead, or one bent toward gain, with their hands held out, and least likely to fare rightly? And indeed, while they heard him speak in the assemblies and in the council, his life they saw, surely, every day. So that if they looked toward him, they were likely to be superior to money. Come then, let us in turn consider this man also with regard to all the other charges, and go through them in the same manner as concerning love of money, in both these images, that of the trainer and that of the writing-master, and let us sum everything up in brief. He made them chatterers, he says —

148. and yet he himself was no chatterer. Idle — but he was energetic. Cowardly — but he is seen to conquer in courage. Money-lovers — but he least of all honored money. How, then, being himself good at speaking, competent in action, courageous, superior to money, did he make them chatterers, idle, cowardly, illiberal? For you are either telling a dream, or a riddle, or I do not know what to call it. For how is it not strange, if such as he himself was he did not make them, but such as he himself least of all was, this he wrought them into? For to me the contrary appears from these things: that he had made them, as far as in him lay, clever, energetic, courageous, magnificent — unless one must believe also against Socrates that he corrupted the young, who was to them an example of everything good. These things are not so, Plato, but one of two: either the Athenians were not such as you accused them of being, or anyone rather than Pericles was the cause, if indeed he neither displayed the wrestling-bouts badly nor offered any obscure or counterfeit or crooked lines. Let us, then, recall the points above and reason them out, and that too from what has been shown. Plato said one ought not to flatter the multitudes; but Pericles is seen to have used the greatest frankness. That one ought to fight on behalf of the better; but he fought in such crises as we displayed just now. Not to seek to satisfy the desires; he, then, restrained them and was not led rather than himself led. Nor by every means to accustom them to have more, says he who lays down the law; but he, beginning from his own hearth, chose the proportionate before the more. These things, then, seemed good to Plato; these things Pericles is seen to do. How could anyone be shown to have lived or governed more according to Plato's precepts? Or what should one have said first on his behalf, if anyone brought a charge?

149. [Plato.] But the greatest sign of Pericles' rectitude, apart from what has been said — and that he was not the one who corrupted or accustomed the Athenians to be money-lovers, or by every means to seek to have more — is this. For neither is Pericles the one who carried the tributes to infinity; rather, of this excess too, dear Socrates, if you should seek the cause, you will find your own companion. For he is the one who advanced the tributes to so great a height as it was not possible to pay even for those willing, neither obeying you in anything nor imitating Pericles. But Pericles was not such, neither here nor elsewhere, but so very far from grasping, and from counseling the Athenians to take upon themselves affairs that did not befit them, that, when in the former war they had prevailed over the Peloponnesians and held Megara, Nisaea, Troezen, Pegae, and Achaea, he persuaded them to give these back and make a peace — so far was he from teaching them besides to keep ever something more than what they had. So that I, for my part, looking to these things and judging by them, think that if Pericles had survived and had not departed earlier, the Greeks would not have run aground into the uttermost evils, but, when the Athenians held the Lacedaemonian men and Pylos, they would have sought nothing more, but would straightway have freely given these back and made a common peace for the Greeks. For he did not even counsel them to choose the war itself for the sake of grasping more, but in order not to give up what they had; and to begin with, that man did not even think it right that a war should arise, but that disputes should be settled by justice. So he knew both how to accept war out of peace and, when it was possible to keep peace, nowhere chose war; nor did he accustom them to cling to the more, but to the fitting. And yet these are demonstrations of courage, good counsel, justice — the fairest things — not of those which Plato —

150. ascribed to him. I think, then, for my part, that the surname which that man had among the Greeks — not the one of Mithaecus and Thearion, but the same as Zeus's — is the greatest testimony to the arguments on his behalf, and that he was not one of the base. Or shall we make the surname a token of Aristides' justice — for surely we ourselves were not present when he assigned the tributes — but shall not make the surname a token of Pericles' virtue and nature, which he acquired not from one part of virtue but from all together? For that one must not, in turn, dishonor the many nor neglect the repute that comes from them, but that there is in these too something well-aimed, touching upon the truth by some divine portion, Plato himself is the one who teaches and says it; and still higher, many generations before Plato, Hesiod sang, composing these verses which all chant: "Rumor is never wholly destroyed, whatever rumor many / peoples voice abroad; she too is some goddess." So Rumor bears Pericles the fairest witness, and, being herself a goddess, declares that he was greater than human measure. And surely it cannot even be said that the Athenians, faring badly under misfortunes, granted him this honor — as at a later time they conceded certain things even beyond desert, being humbled. But if ever at any other time, then too they were at their height, and the city was for them greatest under him, so that we, Plato, might call it greatest. But this is no harm to the argument. For those faring as I say must, I think, think most highly of themselves, and be farthest from lowliness, and nearest to willfulness. Then, therefore, they addressed him as Olympian —

151. so great was the concession. And yet what am I saying? For even if they had been utterly humbled, the argument would have turned about thus too against Plato. For they would then appear to be flattering him, not Pericles the Athenians. But neither did Pericles flatter the Athenians nor the Athenians Pericles. Whence, then? But seeing a man supreme both in speaking and in acting, and nowise near to servility, but most fit and competent to rule and surpassing all the rest in nature, they experienced something Homeric and thought him like the gods. Then him whom those who used him and were in his company and knew him by experience deemed worthy of the same address as the gods — shall we enroll him with Thearion and Mithaecus and I know not what third in the same? We shall not, then, seem to be sane. But, by Zeus, Cimon was some base fellow, or such as one would pray that no child of his own should become! Yet on this account too one might justly be grateful to Plato, that he enrolls this man also among the orators for us. For I should rather have feared this — lest someone should rob him of the orators and set him among the generals. But as it is, Homer's saying exactly fits: that the same man would suffice "to be both a speaker of words and a doer of deeds," if indeed Cimon too shall be with us. So it is no reproach to rhetoric that Cimon is enrolled in it. But I could have wished that my contest were with some other man too and not with Plato — and I say this both about him and about the others — that I might use confidently all the means I had, and that it might not happen to me as it does, as if, when sailing and able to be carried by a fair wind, I then slackened through cowardice; or also —

152. as if, contending with horses, when I could pass ahead both swiftly and by as much as I wished, I then deliberately held back out of sparing for the one ahead. So much more account do I make of chancing to say nothing discordant toward Plato, nor to seem, as it were, to be insolent, than of praising each of those men. And rightly; for the matter toward him is worth no less gratitude to me. Yet if both shall come about — both to absolve them of the charges against them and to have preserved for Plato all the respect and honor that is possible — and justice shall be added for both, it would be moderate every way. That Cimon, then, was not one of the elegant, nor of a kind to insinuate himself and flatter, his guardians bear witness, who would not consent to hand over to him his patrimony until far on in his age — so simple, and rather old-fashioned, did they think him. And that the affairs of Cimon were not for any man whatever, nor of the lowest sort, but that he was a man clever both at reasoning about affairs and at carrying them through, and such as not only reasonably to be of good repute among the Athenians, but also without difficulty to hold the first place among the Lacedaemonians — this would be the next thing to say. Now to relate all his affairs, or even those of the others who remain, would be wholly out of season, especially since no charge has been spoken against them to which one must reply, except that they were certain servants. But the things that are, as it were, the chief heads, and such as it is not possible to pass by even if one wished, these shall be told. And it is perhaps necessary to premise this much. For if all these things are servitude for us — to lay down laws and establish a constitution and command armies —

153. and hold yearly office in a city, and besides to deliberate beforehand, to preside, to fulfill an embassy, to judge lawsuits, to adorn festivals if it so happens — I mean, to sum up, all action and leadership, if one must call it servitude and underling's work, such as even kingship itself and all dominion, and, if you wish, going still further back, that one who rules a household does not rule rather than serve, and the comic poet's saying holds firmly and fixedly, that the master is one of the household's slaves — if these things are so, as I said, then first of all I myself do not see how everything could be turned more upside down. For if we are to define opposites by their opposites, how will each thing still preserve its own nature for us? For if rule is servitude, scarcely would anything else escape servitude; and if we should lay it down that rule is servitude, what prevents us from laying it down by these same arguments that servitude too is rule? And from this the position goes round and round for us, and never stays in the same place, but rule, having first become servitude, through that becomes rule again, and servitude, in turn first reckoned rule, by that very rule comes round to be servitude again. And thus these names will wander and shift over, being names of opposite things — or, if you like, the opposites of the thing. And indeed, with these taken away, it is not easy for us to find what is left. For if we shall stand at the head neither of many nor of few, neither of a household nor of ourselves, so to speak, and nothing shall move any of us, neither the need of country nor the ancestral hearth nor servants looking to us nor anything else of human concerns, but we shall thus flee affairs in flight and sit, as it were, in mid-air, touching nothing of the earth, nor caring about any affair, not even if someone announce to us the same things as to Meleager —

154. "Men they are slaying, and fire lays the city in ashes, / and others lead away the children and the deep-girded women" — but we shall condemn all this as illiberality and lowness, and this argument will suffice us for everything, that to busy oneself with these is to serve and to be an underling, and that to be wronged is better than to wrong — what is left but to live nearest to lifeless things, and like the sick, when they are ordered by the physicians to keep quiet? But if, then, all these things are servitude and nothing dignified, what has come over you, dear soul, that you yourself imitate the servants for us, devising a constitution and drafting laws, and you say both that tyranny contributes to the laying down of laws, and you say that philosophy needs dominion besides, and that the cities will not cease from evils before that much-hymned condition of yours comes — either the kings shall philosophize, or the philosophers shall be kings? — since, if these do not come together, philosophy and political power, there will be no further gain for men in common. And, the greatest thing of all: in the very matters in which you govern and legislate, you mark off guardians for the city, who will have the same art as Cimon, and you give them the precedence over the other citizens, having preferred them by no small margin, both honors and front seats, both living and dead, whoever in turn shall appear best of these; and altogether you spend most of your time about these men, as though this were the one safety for the city, if the guardians' affairs flourished. And you neither call them hired men, although you have assigned them pay from the others in the city, nor servants of the public — and these too men about to pass their lives sleepless on behalf of all and to risk every risk for the whole city; nor did you think they would seem truly to resemble certain hirelings and foreigners, nor that they would be maintained in the fashion and lot of Carians, having many troubles for little —

155. and that little a pay — but you think it sufficient ambition for them, if they know how to preserve the country and the whole city looks toward them. For if again all these things are fine and just for you, and the eager pursuit is not useless nor illiberal nor a thing of shame, to have established such a guard for a city and such men as will be able both to help their friends and to ward off their enemies, consider Cimon not from afar but from these, and all these will seem to you to be present as witnesses to the man, that he was no servant nor one of those who consort for pleasure, but that the affairs of his public life stood for him as freely and beautifully as possible — and almost as your affairs of public life stand, in this dangerless condition of yours. Consider him, then, not only as to how he guarded the city and the country, but also from the two extreme limits: how he conducted himself toward the Greeks and how toward the barbarians; since to you yourself too it seems right that one ought not to deal with both in the same way, but with the one as is fitting toward kinsmen, with the other as one must toward natural enemies. For when no slight or small disturbance arose in the Peloponnese — but such that the Lacedaemonians came to every extremity, the helots having risen against them, and at the same time the earthquakes pressing upon them — he, leading four thousand Athenian hoplites, whom you honor, Plato, both saved the city and the country for them and dissolved all the fears that beset them and set in order the affairs in the Peloponnese. Such was he toward the Greeks, and toward the best of the Greeks and at the same time allies. And as to what sort he was toward the barbarians and enemies — there are not for any of the Greeks more or more renowned deeds in foreign lands, nor finer trophies over barbarians, nor any in which it is fitting to admire more both the courage and the purpose. For not because —

156. they failed of what they had hoped and eagerly aimed at did he therefore think fit to let them go as if they were benefactors, nor was he unmindful of the temples outraged by them, nor of the things they had displayed in the matters in which they were able; but, thinking it right that they should owe the utmost penalty for these too, and for still greater things, which, had they succeeded, they would plainly have brought to pass, he did not think it right to keep quiet nor to advise the others to do so, nor to render thanks shamefully to the gods, content if they were safe, but what poets and lawgivers and proverbs and orators and all bid — to ward off the aggressors — this he proposed and to this he led them, not as one saying the most pleasant thing, but as one saying the most just. And besides this, he thought the truest guard of Greece to be, not if, having shut them up at home, he should let them sleep in safety, but if he should cast into the barbarians a fear of devising any such thing again in the future, and if he should thrust them away from Greece as far as possible. For these reasons he led the war out into their country, and sailed round Cyprus, coasted along Pamphylia, fought at sea against Phoenicians and Cyprians and whomever of them he engaged. And at the river Eurymedon he set up the memorials of both a sea-battle and a land-battle, conquering both in a single day. So that, while the poets had been struck with amazement at the earlier deeds, those done when the barbarians attacked, nevertheless one of them sang afterward of these — not all, but the deeds of a single day: "Since the time when the sea divided Europe from Asia, / and impetuous Ares besets the cities of mortals, / no fairer deed than this of men upon the earth / was ever wrought on the mainland and the sea together. / For these men, having slain many Medes on land, / took a hundred Phoenician ships at sea, / full of men; and greatly groaned Asia, smitten / by them with both hands by the might of war."

157. And these things he hymned not unfittingly, nor did he exalt them so much as a poet. For those former dangers were risked at the gates of Greece — some at Thermopylae itself, others off Artemisium of Euboea — but these in the midst of enemy country. And then the cities divided the danger, but both of these were the work of one man and one fleet. And those men divided, as it were, the fortune as well as the danger: for the Athenians and Themistocles conquered brilliantly off Artemisium, while those who met the foe at Thermopylae accomplished nothing more for Greece, save that they brought in their bodies, striking the barbarians with terror by their death, though unable to check them from what they had set out for. But these men, he says, conquered the enemy both by land and by sea, and took so many prisoners of them as it was a task even for all the rest to withstand. For this reason, he says, I say with confidence: "No fairer deed than this of men upon the earth / was ever wrought on the mainland and the sea together." So accurate and steadfast a guardian was that man of Greece, not only of his own city, and such defenders, Plato, he provided for the Greeks. So that as long as Cimon lived, the barbarians preferred to be dead through fear of the Greeks, and not to consider which of our people they should bring beneath themselves, but how they themselves should be saved. From which they gave up all the cities and withdrew from no small part of the inland country — the contrary of which the Lacedaemonians later conceded, toward whom you look and with whom you contend in training your own people, to whom belongs experience and habit in wars alone. By so much better did Cimon guard —

158. the Greeks, and was thus worth much both in speaking and in acting. Would he, then, have accomplished these things, or won victories so many and brilliant both by land and by sea in succession, if he had thought fit to be a slave to the multitude and not, on the contrary, to rule as exactly as was possible — or if he had led the army without order and arrangement and conceded everything they wished, and had not everywhere taken all thought and forethought for their good order and harmony and their being ready to hand for him in all things? For I think that men neither wanton nor insolent nor mastered by pleasures, but as orderly as possible and keeping their station and, as Homer says, having a sense of shame, would master the enemy and be useful both to him and to themselves. And tell me now all those things: the shipwright, how he sets the timbers in order; the builder, how he sets the stones in order; the chorus-trainer; whomever you please. For whatever of these you mention, you will be speaking on behalf of Cimon's leadership and public conduct. And indeed, when you say that this whole is called Cosmos, "order," you say rightly, as I for my part affirm, leading us on toward doing nothing at random; Cimon, then, preserved for the city what corresponds to the name of the universe. For he made all as orderly as he could. Such was his public conduct, and such things he taught both the people in the city and his followers on the campaigns. "But, by Zeus, they ostracized him, that for ten years they might not hear his voice." And again they brought him back before the ten years were out, that they might hear his voice — so much did they long for it. But you speak of how they condemned him, while you do not consider how they changed their minds. And the things they unjustly voted against both men you mention, but the things they rightly resolved you do not think are, for those who were driven out, an excuse, and for the one acquitted the greatest proof of virtue. And, it seems, those who —

159. condemned themselves repented and did not abide by what they had resolved at first; but you have brought your charge as though it were something authoritative, and you did not think fit in this to imitate the Athenians by acquitting the man of the charge, but what was harsher you imitated of them, and the rest you let go — and this, what is most absurd of all, while accusing the very Athenians, and, what is finer, not these second things but those which one would gladly attribute to Cimon. And if nothing of this kind had happened, you would have had nothing to accuse; but since they dissolved the event by their repentance and transferred the blame to themselves, do you not reckon it equal as if we had had nothing to say from the first? And surely it is far greater and finer, for the account of virtue, to have fallen and returned than not to have fled at all. For the latter belongs even to ordinary men, surely, while this was not according to the many; and the one a man might reckon to fortune, but this to being recognized as superior to the rest. For of the falling and fleeing, envy is the cause, and perhaps some other such thing might appear; but of the recall and summons before the time, there is nothing else to allege but virtue, on account of which they were ashamed in his absence and supposed his presence profitable to themselves, and, the greatest thing, thought fit to condemn themselves rather than him. So that if one must consider him by himself, what need is there to speak, if anyone offended against him? But if one must contemplate him from the rest, this man appears honored above all others. But not yet these things; for presently they will perhaps fit better. But what, of the many and great things for which one might justly praise Cimon, is the greatest and, as it were, the chief head, and belongs preeminently to that man, this I wish still to say and to render to the man as something else his due. For in few of all men, as it seems to me, both of the earlier and of the later, does this argument hold and not contend along with it nor give room to the slander, that —

160. it is, as it were, fated for the sons of noble and good men to turn out base and worth little of their fathers' virtue — he who, being the son of Miltiades and inheriting so great a peril of that man's glory, disgraced nothing of what he had, nor thought it enough to inscribe his father's name, like one claiming to win at Olympia because he is the son of an Olympic victor; but he so well and so beautifully imitated that man, and clung as it were to the tracks of his father's deeds, that even if none of the historians had happened to say whose son he was, one could from the deeds themselves conjecture his father and to whom he belonged. But our argument has come round to Miltiades himself, whom I should be more ashamed to praise than to blame; so much do I think I should say less than I wish in every way. And yet so much I would say confidently: for if Plato, rising up — I say — shall himself think fit to accuse Miltiades and shall judge this to be the better argument for him, I am ready to concede everything and not to think that man worth very much. But it does not seem to me that he would easily do so, who, even when he mentioned him, said: "Miltiades, the one at Marathon." And yet this is nearer to a kind of lament than to a reproach, and to one honoring rather than disparaging, like those whom Simonides was wont to honor in his epigrams. Nevertheless Miltiades too has a share in the catalogue, and there has come round to him the lot of the —

161. Plataeans who were marshaled by him at that time. For, no accusation against him having been spoken beforehand, he is in a way of necessity put on trial, because his name is among the servants. And yet, Plato, one of the forensic men might say, he who laid down the law did rightly in thinking fit that the suits and the indictments should be expressed plainly: "So-and-so injured me by doing this and that"; "and he proposed these illegal measures"; and if anyone brings any other charge, to state it in the same manner and not to frighten men idly. But you put off declaring, it seems, until the morrow what each of these men did or said to do wrong — as in some other dialogue — and you accuse them all in common, and not even him whom you thought fit to honor above the others, Pericles, by apportioning the charges to him and laying more of them on him than on any, not even him did you convict, nor did you show by saying or doing what he made them such; but by this one thing you honored him beyond the rest, making the charges against him more numerous and, as it were, clearer, so that one knows about what one must speak. But he has perhaps had no less even from us, so that in this respect one could not greatly blame the one who furnished the starting-point. So be it. But Miltiades, the one at Marathon — where in the chorus shall we station him, or in what rank? Or is it clear that the one before the theater and where it will be in a fine position for viewing for all? — except in so far that the man is not one to stand on the left rather than on the right wing for the Greeks. And, by Zeus, if anyone should question him and lead him back step by step from the beginning, as Plato is wont to question — by teaching what, or counseling what, —

162. did he make the Athenians better, or by leading and rearing them straightway from youth, or what sorts of customs and pursuits did he introduce into the city — we should say that he would not be at a loss for a measured and true answer, but would answer thus; and we shall write down for Miltiades the answers in the verses: "I shall, then, tell of the ancient education, how it was disposed, / when I flourished speaking what is just, and self-control was the custom. / First it was required that no one should hear the voice of a boy uttering a sound; / next, that they should walk in the streets in good order to the music-master's, / the lads of the same quarter, naked, in a body, even if it snowed like meal." Then concerning the music of that time, of what sort it was — that not the all-harmonious nor what aimed at pleasure was honored in it, but one had to sing either "Pallas, sacker of cities, terrible," or "some far-resounding shout," straining the harmony which the fathers handed down. "And if any of them played the buffoon or bent some bending, / he was thrashed with many blows, as one doing away with the Muses." Sitting at the trainer's, and so on, going through each of the rest, he will at the end set upon some of those who are vexed: "But yet these are those things / from which my training reared the men who fought at Marathon." Such things Miltiades will answer — to me neither otherwise base nor anywhere false, but befitting both him to have given this training, being a leader in those times, and the Athenians, long since educated, to come to the battle. For it was not possible, not possible, for men to become orderly and brave and superior to terrors in a single day, having been reared from the first in indolence and basely in —

163. all respects, but it was necessary that they should long beforehand have been laid hold of both by good nurture and by fitting words and by measured habits and by the best opinions. At any rate none of the Dolopians met them on that day, nor any of the others reared like them. Nor indeed was Datis, the master and leader of the enemy's camp, able either himself to become a brave man in a single day or to make those under him such, many as they were. And yet it had been told him beforehand by the King that he would be deprived of his head if he did not bring back the Eretrians and Athenians. But nonetheless fear made him no better. For those were temporary injunctions from a master, but Miltiades had long since persuaded the Athenians to consider no master but the laws, and to think no fear stronger than the beautiful and the just, nor any necessity so strong on account of which it would be fitting to become worse. For these reasons he had the means to use them. For he could not so suddenly have made them sailors, not even if it had been very necessary that they be sailors on that day, nor musicians, nor horsemen. Nor, then, good hoplites, nor, to sum up, good men profitable to themselves, could so brief a time have sufficed to make; but just as the farmers reap the fruit of their seeds many months later and not at the moment of casting them down, so too Miltiades, having laid hold of those men by old agreements, had them useful at the crisis, not taking up their lessons at the moment of need — for the chorus would have contended shamefully for him in that case — but having trained them at leisure for the need. And indeed of their training and care all Greece reaped the common fruits. And surely, even if one had nothing else to say of Miltiades, nor were it possible to find many and dignified things, it seems to me enough that the decree should stand, instead of an image —

164. of his soul, for all. Or, in the gods' name, shall we think fit that the spirit and strength of our speeches and writings be esteemed, and if there is anything in them tending toward courage or justice, shall we say it is not useless to those who wish to use it — but of that man's purpose and intention, of what sort it was and whether to be imitated by ordinary men or by the more virtuous, is the decree not a sufficient sign, which he composed in the very midst of the dangers, declaring one judgment to the Greeks concerning all that is just? And surely, if it is right to honor ancestors, how is it not right to honor Miltiades as a common ancestor of the Greeks who came after those times? For he who not only presided over their safety, but also showed of what sort men ought to be in the struggles for freedom, and set up a clear example for all, this man is most manifestly of all those of old. If, then, we praise both Solon and Lycurgus for the laws they laid down, how is it not just to praise Miltiades, who in deed laid down this law, that no one should admire the worse nor choose the easiest before the better? For let us examine Miltiades by comparison with Lycurgus. For surely it cannot be said of him either that Plato set him as one of the servants — this is not so, nor near it. Lycurgus, then, because he laid down laws looking toward courage and endurance, and because he made the citizens better in the affairs of war, is thus of good repute — like some trainer who has prepared others for victory, but has himself displayed nothing of the kind. But Miltiades, besides accustoming the citizens to the best things and preparing them to be inferior to none in the affairs of war, was himself the leader of the greatest of deeds —

165. he plainly was. So he appears to us to have become not by much second to Lycurgus, nor among any others more justly of good repute than among those who justly praise that man. And indeed, in the other works — I mean both pursuits and arts — some were honored as having begun, others as having surpassed; but Homer they praise as having both begun and brought poetry to completion as beautifully as possible. Miltiades, then, both himself began the freedom for the Greeks and left to none of the Greeks any surpassing of his own deeds — not, at least, among those we can name from the other cities. So that I fear it may be of a piece, neither to receive Homer into the city nor to be willing to praise Miltiades. Then Plato asks whom Miltiades made better, whether of the citizens or of the strangers, or whether he means slave or free, or man or woman. Whom, then, Plato, did Miltiades make worse, whether of the citizens or of the strangers — whether I mean slave or free, or man or woman? Or did association with him end in reproach and loss to any of them all? And I shall answer you brilliantly: whom did Miltiades make better? And I would not name man and woman to you, like those who inquire about small works, but, if you grant me to say it, that man made all the Athenians better and the whole city better, as I speak of a city and as I speak of a people and as it is meant of the commonwealth. For do not make me go through everything with precision, nor by a single measure, nor, like Geryon's heads, equal through...

166. You should not suppose that all men must stand in a single rank; rather, leave room for some who are inferior, since not all men are alike in war. Just so, neither in a city are all alike in judgment, any more than all bodies are equal and nearly the same; but as among the leaders themselves some are worse and some are better, so a people too could never become precisely one, but of necessity some are worse and some are better disposed in the very matter of obeying their leaders. Suppose, then, that under the leadership of Miltiades as well some drew the greatest profit from his power, others a moderate amount, and within the middle range too set down a further variation. And in a multitude one man might be less fortunate even in respect of his hearing. The sun itself cannot warm all men alike; before now a man has shivered in the clear light of noon when a chill came over him. If you examine the matter in this measured way, with regard to the power of nature, Miltiades too will appear to you to have benefited the whole city. But if you look for the best men one by one, you will not find even the Thessalian horses all excellent in a row, nor the Laconian hounds; yet the name is preserved for the breeds all the same. So examine the Athenians too in this way, looking at the whole character of their polity and how they conducted their common affairs in those times—just as we say, indeed, that a city is well governed, although it is not possible for such a city to exist in which no fault, greater or smaller, occurs, and no one does wrong at all. And further, on your own terms, you wise men, one might bring the argument round to this point: that if a city is to be well governed, then all who dwell in it must be law-abiding, both men and women; and if law-abiding, then orderly; and if orderly, then temperate; and if temperate, then prudent as well; and if all are prudent, surely no one can do wrong; so that, as long as the city is well governed, of necessity no one

167. does any wrong at all. But I do not think this is possible, nor would you ever say that, because it does not come about, therefore no city should be held to be well governed; rather, examining the common form of the polity, and at the same time judging the city against the other cities, you reckon some things, I think, to the laws and customs, and assign others to the necessities of nature. If you consider the Athenians in this way too, and do not cross-examine them man by man as the lawgivers do, I have a further addition to make to you, greater still and more wonderful: that Miltiades made not only the city better, but, besides the city, all Greece as well. And as you ask which of the citizens or of the foreigners he improved, so I declare that both the citizens and all the other Greeks were made better by that man. For he led them all toward the noblest things, so that he made no one worse, but, so far as in him lay, made all better. But look at the matter from your own definitions, paying no heed to my arguments, except where something follows from necessity. Do you say anything throughout your whole discourse other than this: that justice is noble, and that whatever a man does he must do with justice, and must always use rhetoric for the sake of what is just? "Even if a man strikes me," you say, "it makes a difference whether justly or not; and if a man drives me into exile, then, if unjustly, he is wretched"; and everywhere you employ these qualifications, saying "justly" or "unjustly." And the just you rightly hold to be noble, and its opposite base; and justice you make the mark of a happy man, injustice of his opposite; and the one you say a man must pursue as far as he can, the other flee with all the speed he has. Are not these your arguments? Do you not praise all things done justly, and blame them when done otherwise? Hold, then, and consider; for let us not, as in a battle by night, lay hands on our own friends. Is it just, then, to ward off attackers? Most just of all. And what of this—is it not just to make more account of the Greeks than of the barbarians? Anyone, surely, at least anyone who is Greek, would say so. Miltiades, then, when the barbarians were attacking the

168. Greeks, set nothing before the common safety, nor did he privately deliberate about his own affairs, nor put off to another occasion the showing of his own virtue. And yet it was open to him, had he looked not to the best but pursued the same ends as the tyrants, to join—if he wished—with Hippias and the Peisistratids in marching against Greece; or, if he wished, to come with the Aleuadae out of Thessaly, or before the Aleuadae. Nor, I think, would he have lacked men of the same mind even from Lacedaemon. And indeed the barbarians would have received him no less gladly than many others. But, as it seems, Miltiades did not think these things became him; rather, letting all this go and passing it by and judging it worth nothing in the reckoning of virtue, he gave himself to the common service of his fatherland and of the Greeks. And yet, in doing this and choosing this, did he display a mark of justice and nobility, or of vice and injustice? Or shall we say of neither? For my part, I think nothing prevents him from being called happy and enviable, if the saying of Plato is true—that a bright glory rests upon those who have served their city justly. So be it. But shall we have fears for his courage, or shall we say that the occasions which displayed it were small and trifling? Were not, I may almost say, all men at that time fallen beneath the Persians, and did not the king accomplish most things by his command? Wherever they set out, they supposed they held the place; and even those who marched against the Scythians were thought to have failed only because they could not find them. The Egyptians, the wisest of all men, did not find a single device among them all by which to escape slavery. And of Libya

169. there was then no account that divided it from Asia; rather, all was one continent, so far as the Persians were concerned. Of the Greeks, those who dwelt in Asia were enslaved—some for three generations, some for longer; the islands were of no consequence; the Eretrians, of the Euboeans, who had raised their hands in resistance, were carried off, household and all, within three days; of the others in Europe, some had already given earth and water, while others were watching for what was to come, accounting themselves more fortunate than the Eretrians only insofar as they would suffer the same things later. The Lacedaemonians, whether on account of the war against the Messenians or because they were waiting for the full moon, were themselves unable to come to the rescue. And the army had already put in at Marathon from Eretria, on equal terms. That was no time for servants, nor for submissive men, nor for those who had long known how to do what they were bidden, nor for those who look to what seems good to others, nor for those who seek how they may live in safety and think this sufficient; rather, that occasion, like a herald, summoned the bravest of the Greeks and him who had longest consorted with the best reasonings, and one who knew how a man must both save and be saved. Nor do we praise those men—I mean those who led in those times—for this, that they saved Greece in any way whatever, like the pilot you speak of who brings a cargo from Aegina or from the Pontus; rather for this, that they saved both the citizens and all men with nobility of bearing. For if they had thought it right to save them by surrendering their arms, or by coming to terms with the heralds, or by choosing the Persian king as master in place of their laws, I for one would not have thought I ought to congratulate either the words that persuaded or those who were persuaded, on their safety; rather, I would have been able to call those men servants in truth, and hirelings of the passing day, like the ferrymen—and not only, if you like, the pilots. But if, beginning with the heralds themselves and with the answer given

170. they proclaimed to the Athenians that they must practice for the contest on behalf of the freedom of the Greeks, and must not abandon the post of their high spirit, nor throw away their arms nor yield to their fears, but take up their arms and become superior to their fears—or rather, count this one fear alone, terrible and unbearable, namely to yield to baser men and to give up their ancestral bearing—if, saying these things and so prepared, they thought it right to meet the decision concerning all things and to receive whatever should come, as men who would gain alike in either event, then I do not see what ignoble service there is in this, or how it resembles the reckonings of a pilot. But if you mean this—that in the same way as in a ship the pilot is supreme, and to him belong all matters, both those of the sailors and those of the passengers, so too at that time the affairs of the Greeks came into the hands of those men and were directed by their judgment—if you mean this, and use the pilot only as an illustration, just as Homer likens men to lions and boars and many other things, not once for all, but so far as suits his purpose, if in this respect you too remember the pilot, then I grant and concede it. But if you misuse the comparison in all the same respects, and assign the same standard of justice to both, I do not know who will accept this—and I think not even you yourself. "The pilot," you say, "having taken two obols or a few drachmas, is discharged of his duty." But Miltiades did not, for two obols nor for a couple of drachmas—nor, I think, for any great sum of money—conduct his policy among the Athenians, or rather, if the truth must be told, among all the Greeks; rather he offered his virtue unpaid into the common stock for Greece, just as you say Socrates offered himself to the young. "The pilot," you say, "makes no better men of those who embark on the ship." Excellently put, Plato—and yet the pilot too perhaps makes the sailors better in seamanship at least. But I let this pass. Grant that the pilot makes no one any better; yet Miltiades, even before entering upon the danger, trained them all toward what was best, and, having led out men who were, so to speak, private persons,

171. brought them back victorious. Do not, then, my good sir, set him on a level with the pilot who carries men to Olympia; rather let us say he resembles the trainer who, having long prepared the athlete for the contest there, then led him out and brought him back a victor. And if there is added to this the further fact that he himself perished while winning the first place of the contest at the same Olympiad—Heracles! who could charge such a man with mere servitude, or who would not rejoice with him over his crowns? It is not possible for the pilot to say to any of the passengers that they must despise death, nor that they should throw themselves on purpose into the sea—only to throw out so much of the gear, and this for the safety of their bodies; so far the pilot has authority to command. But the sum of the matter has been laid down for him beforehand by his art: to save, and not to meddle. But in the words of Miltiades there was none of this—to be saved by every means, not even at the cost of throwing away their arms, should it so chance. Far from it. Rather the very opposite: not to seek to be saved by every means, but, even if they must die, to dare it on behalf of fatherland and temples and tombs and polity. You see how far he has surpassed even the pilot. And so all who were persuaded of this by him lie august in their august rest, having ended their life most nobly of all the Greeks, possessing their tomb as a monument of their virtue, and, though beneath the earth, guarding the earth itself, not held captive by it—coming closest to sharing in that address which Hesiod made for the end of the golden race, when he said: "These are called the holy spirits beneath the earth, noble, averters of evil, guardians of mortal men." And if you call those men all but spirits—nay, daemonic—you may say with confidence that they are certain guardians beneath the earth and saviors of the Greeks, averters of evil and

172. wholly good, and that they protect the land no worse than Oedipus who lies at Colonus, or any other who is believed to lie somewhere in the land for a season for the benefit of the living. And they seem to me so far to have surpassed Solon the founder that, whereas he, sown in Salamis, is thought to guard the island for the Athenians, these men, having fallen for the post to which they were assigned, preserved all Attica—nay, all the rest of Greece besides—not only by what they themselves contributed, nor by their hindering of the invaders, but because they also showed those who came after what kind of men they must be when like occasions arose. And indeed, when even for the dead among them the gain did not fall to the ground, but they themselves enjoyed the benefit of their own purpose, and all the rest the benefit of theirs, how much greater was the advantage that accrued to those at least who lived and conquered! And for my part I think that Heracles and Pan and those who came to the battle and shared the command with Miltiades are sufficient witnesses of his courage before all mankind, and that this brings to Miltiades no less

173. honor for his whole conduct of the city than the saying that brings honor to Pindar for his music—that this same god danced one of his songs for him. And indeed Plato's own voice says that Pan, son of Hermes, is skilled in speech; and elsewhere he says that he is reason itself, or at least brother to reason. This god, then, plainly so delighted in Miltiades himself—which he would not have done, surely, had he seen him to be a worthless man in respect of speech. Therefore he bears witness to all at once: that the rhetorical art is indeed an art, and not an artless knack; that Miltiades was both a craftsman of speech, and that his courage in deeds was a near match for his words. Is it then better, in the sight of men or of gods, to speak ill of Miltiades? One might think it strange that the Athenians, on the strength of these deeds, founded the temple to Pan, having taken thought no sooner; while Plato, with these deeds of Miltiades before him, dares to say the baser things and is so far from honoring him that, for his own part, he robs him even of the honor that justly belongs to him—him who, though one of ten generals, is named, so to speak, alone, and that too with Aristides son of Lysimachus present, whom not even Plato thought fit to single out for blame among them all, but was ashamed to do so. Yet that man was conspicuous at Plataea as a general beside Pausanias, whereas at Marathon he was hidden beneath Miltiades and did not dispute for an equal share, being just, as you say, and indeed doing what was just in this very thing. For he who pressed for the battle to be fought and did not allow the cause to be ruined by delay, and who took all upon himself and showed that very thing which you sing in your oracles—that a man ought not to place his hopes in others, by whose good or ill fortune both he and what is his must needs go astray, but in himself, the man who is temperate and brave and prudent—Miltiades is that one man, no other

174. at all. And for this very reason he alone of them all, as they say, was chosen to be painted with his hand stretched out, as he happened then to be exhorting the soldiers. So that man was a good orator not only on the Pnyx, in the assembly, but also at Marathon, and everywhere displayed the excellence of speech intact. And then, the Athenians buried those of their own who fell that day in that very place, and did not mingle them with the others who lie in the public tombs, but, deeming them to be greater in virtue than the rest, judged them worthy of a private honor as well; yet you did not blush to set the leader of these men—the man who began for all the Greeks the most necessary and at the same time the noblest things: safety, freedom, glory—among the cooks, and you think it not enough unless you also cast about him the utmost reproaches of slavery. What are you saying? Miltiades a slave—through whom Greece was not enslaved? And did he pass his life serving the Athenians—he through whom the Athenians did not serve the Persians in the most shameful tasks, and through whom Datis was unable to render to the king the service that had been laid upon him? And shall we enroll in the guild of the cosmeticians a man so grimy and dust-covered, more fittingly than any one of the wrestlers and the men of the gymnasium? We should indeed incur great absurdity. Consider this too—how great a proof it is of his temperance, and that, had he chanced to have a golden soul, he could not have applied to it a finer test. For that man, having accomplished so great a work and become for the Greeks the chief author of their freedom, and being reckoned all but greater than human, did not suffer the same thing as Pausanias, who set right the battle at Plataea; he was not lifted up by his deeds, nor grew insolent, nor thought any greater thoughts than before the battle. So orderly and decorous was he to the end. And yet Pausanias had not, surely, been the first to conquer the barbarians, but, looking to a pattern,

175. fought the battle at Marathon as his model; nor did he have the Lacedaemonians alone, as Miltiades had the Athenians, but with the Athenians themselves present and the rest of the Greeks, to whom this was agreeable; and indeed, since the Athenians there too accomplished most of the work along with the rest, they are said both to have destroyed the cavalry of the barbarians and to have prevailed over the Greeks ranged against them, and the assault on the wall fell wholly to them. But Miltiades did not then wait for the Lacedaemonians nor for any other men, nor did he share the work, but, having those from the city—save that some of the Plataeans, they say, came running to join—he made the danger his own, but the benefit common to all, being the first and only of the Greeks to conquer six-and-forty nations all together. So that it belonged to him to inscribe that he "destroyed the host of the Medes." For the work was, so to speak, his own. And what was earlier than this, the title "leader of the Greeks," fitted him exactly; for he began the freedom for all. Yet, even having done these things, he knew how to be temperate, and no one accused him of any such thing as Pausanias was much accused of. But we might find him given to factions and tumults, like Lysander, who did those wonderful deeds at Aegospotami and was thought to have brought down the war against the Athenians, but in truth began many great evils for the Greeks. But Miltiades neither did nor planned any such thing; he was, in a way, overcome by ambition, and at times overlooked the common advantage in seeking to advance his own friends—like

176. Agesilaus, who, being ambitious and devoted to his comrades beyond measure, took over the city of the Lacedaemonians when it ruled land and sea, and did not preserve it in that condition. And consider against whom I am measuring him: Lycurgus, Pausanias, Lysander, Agesilaus. But for these things no one could blame him; nor was he mastered by the pleasures of the body, as some have already accused Thibron the Spartan, and one might name countless others, both Greeks and barbarians. But—such are the native customs of democracy—to inform, to denounce, to confiscate, as in the case of Cleon and Cleophon and Hyperbolus and other men who were in no way orators (not, at least, if they were such men as that), but had received some phantom of rhetoric—if indeed one must call a phantom that which is in no way like the original, but in every way weaker. But he was clean of all these. How, then, was he not of advantage to the Greeks, being such a man? Or how did he not make men better, if anyone gave heed to him? These things follow of strong necessity. And if he was not learned in the heavenly bodies, like Anaxagoras—neither was Socrates wise in those matters, and that too though he had consorted with him, as they say. But Socrates was no worse than Anaxagoras—certainly not, as you yourselves would say—and so neither, perhaps, was Miltiades any worse than the sophists. And I think that even in a court of the gods Miltiades, were he tried, would be acquitted by every vote, not, as they say of Orestes, getting only half. And reasonably so; for the one slew his mother justly, but the other saved Greece justly, and paid the price of his rearing most nobly of all men, not only to his fatherland but also to the common nature of the Greek race. And indeed, city by city,

177. different men account different founders theirs, but one might justly hold that man to be the common founder of Greece. And for my part I think that even the charge he later incurred—if I must now say something about this too—is the greatest token that he far surpassed the rest. For all men thought it right to be overcome by his virtue, and that nothing was unconquered or untaken wherever Miltiades was present. Then am I to suppose that the man so brave and prudent and temperate, who through his whole life practiced virtue—that he gave himself over to some portion of flattery? The man who, even when he was on trial, showed the jurors nothing more than his wound, who did not weep, who did not lead his children up to the stand, though he had Cimon—am I to address this man so grandly as a flatterer? And was this the chief of all his policies and of his life: flattery? And how would one not justly accuse us ourselves of flattering and of doing the work of servants, not of free men, if, pursuing the favor of another, we willingly corrupt the truth? Indeed, to Plato we might grant many other things; but if we condemn him on these charges, I for one do not see what other honor we could render him. There remains, then, Themistocles—of all men the least deserving to hold the first place by descent from the second, even if it most clearly appears that this very thing belonged to him alone of all men. But rather it is perhaps a hard task to find who is second to him. For by so much did he surpass for us the man of Marathon, the famous one, the man—say it as

178. you like—by so much, then, did Themistocles surpass that man, beyond all who have come to my mind, by how much shall I say it admittedly?—by as much as Xerxes plainly surpassed Darius in all his preparations. And indeed the one conquered the king's satraps, the other the king himself; and after the battle of Marathon the king marched again, but after the sea-battle at Salamis he went off in flight. For by that defeat he was provoked, but by this one he gave up, so that he counted it sufficient gain if he should be saved. For he knew that the first time only a small part of his whole force had come, but now he was being defeated with almost all mankind. So neither did he himself have the heart to remain, nor did he send another thenceforth; for there was nothing he could hope for. Nay, even Mardonius, whom he left behind, he left as a man condemned to death, so to speak, and at the same time, as it seems to me, so that the Greeks might have someone to keep them occupied. For Miltiades, then, the demonstration of his courage came down to a single chief crisis, even though he employed it throughout his whole public life; but Themistocles was met by second tasks ever greater than the first, and the proverb came round upon him—for one wave left him only as another caught him up, until he came through the triple surges, conquering. And for Miltiades there was need of courage rather than wisdom for what was before him; but for Themistocles there was need of courage no less, if not even more, inasmuch as the fears too were greater; and besides this, he was answerable for many other qualities no less honorable that arose from the circumstances—understanding, indeed I might say a kind of divination, magnanimity, cleverness, mildness, endurance, adaptability to the occasions, to the affairs, to the men of the city, of Greece, and to the enemy. And it seems to me that what befell

179. Miltiades against the barbarians resembled rather a generalship, but that the work of Themistocles, when examined among all the Greeks, was precisely a statesmanship. So great were the things done and accomplished, some on land, some on sea; concerning which it seems to me that Homer too, had he survived and wished to speak of them, would have called upon the Muses no less than over how a single Thessalian ship was set on fire; or, if you like, over who was the first of the allies or of the Trojans themselves to stand against Agamemnon. Or rather, in that case he could not, I think, have learned who was the first to stand against the king of Asia and almost of Europe as well; but from what deeds and words he was able to accomplish these things, and against how many enemy ships and against what total armament and onset of the barbarian he drew up his line, and how human affairs then stood—this, it seems to me, he would ask and beg to be told, if even in small measure he were to lay hold of its worth. What, then, prevents us too now—and let our beginning be from the gods—from examining again how the state of the crisis stood, in the same way as we examined it just now, and showing in brief in what kind of circumstances Themistocles showed himself to be what kind of man? And yet this perhaps avails nothing. For things that cannot be set forth in speech—how could one behold that man from them? Unless one reflect on this very point: that matters concerning which it is not possible even to speak as one wishes, these that man handled as he wished. For ten years in succession the whole continent was in labor, all men contending to take vengeance for the battle of Marathon, and everything was being made ready out of every land and sea. And when Egypt revolted in the interval, the king, with no great effort, was again where he had been—so easily did he reduce it. But in the tenth year all the farthest peoples came together, and nations

180. all came, as if the inhabited world were migrating to another place; and the king set out, fearing that Greece might not contain the multitude—Greece, as it were a beginning of the whole earth—since his camp came to be wherever he wished, always. Gold and silver and bronze and iron, all were brought of equal worth, alike for land conveyances and for sea. And when the forces met at one point, the foot soldiers hid the coastline, and the ships hid the sea; and to the Greeks were reported—nothing worthy, indeed, of the evils that were coming, yet many things and of all kinds, such as had never been before. And the eclipse of the sun that occurred would not have so astounded them as the eclipse of land and sea that was taking place—owing, as it seems to me, rather to the king's desire than to his need. For he seemed truly to be sole master of land and sea, and to make and to destroy; for him Athos received the ships, and the Hellespont the foot soldiers. And besides this, walls were being built so that he might count his men by ten-thousands. And the sun was hidden by the arrows; the sea was full of ships, the land of foot soldiers, the air of missiles. To be present and to be at hand were one and the same, so that all were caught; everything shook as if Poseidon were coming down. Many of the nations were consumed for a single meal of the king. The threats of heralds did not cease as they went everywhere, demanding earth and water of whoever wished to be safe. And the oracle sent forth voices terrible and harsh to all the Greeks. They seemed likely to endure neither the rowing of the ships nor the noise of the horses. They could take courage neither in their sacrifices nor in their allies, nor even

181. find who among men might prove allies. And besides this, the one called Gelon would not give heed, the Argives held aloof, the Corcyraeans took counsel more cleverly than justly, the Thessalians, under compulsion indeed, yet were going over to the Mede; the Boeotians had fared no better than the Thessalians; the Delphians did not know what to do; and small was the sound part of Greece, and this hung upon two cities—or rather upon a single man, on whatever Themistocles should resolve or advise. In such crises, then, and in such an untimely confusion of all affairs, that man stood firm and was at no loss, nor was he dismayed, nor did he pray that the earth might swallow him, nor count blessed those long since dead, nor suffer the same thing as the many; rather he became for the Greeks like a good guardian spirit. For, taking everything upon himself and setting his own judgment in place of any other safeguard, and alone holding out with steady eyes against all things, both present and oncoming, and not turning away like those who look at the sun—which befell almost all men of that time—I would not say that he did not disappoint the hope of the Greeks, but rather that he far surpassed their expectation. For when the many thought they would suffer every extremity, and were looking to shameful contrivances and helpless refuges, he so changed the state of affairs that, if afterward, when the barbarians had departed, anyone had asked them whether they would have wished that those men had not marched against them, and that these things had not been done by them, and that the dangers had not befallen them nor the deeds been done, they would all

182. say they would rather die than have these things left undone by them. So far did he surpass not only the hopes of all who hoped the most among them, but even the prayers of the most part. And for my part I would gladly, if it were anyhow possible, ask Plato, by the gods of the Greeks: what ought Themistocles to have done in those times, or what to have said nobler than he said? Or what to have written better than he wrote? Or by what path of action to have proceeded? Or how to have led the Athenians? Or what better reckonings to have used? For tell me, by the gods—or, if not, let some other inherit the argument, let him speak, let him show—what Themistocles ought then to have done and how to have dealt with the circumstances. Should he have gathered the Athenians on the Pnyx and discoursed to them about the Forms, and taught them what justice-itself is, and what beauty-itself, and what that is which always is but has no becoming? Quickly, indeed, would becoming and being and everything else have failed them. Or should he have sought whence courage was first so named, and whence cowardice, and whether all things flow or not? They would have learned, indeed, that all things were flowing badly for them. But what, then, did he have to say or do at all? For this is the third question that has come round, like a watchword. From what shall we determine whether Themistocles was truly a counselor and leader and guide, or whether something else is the fitting name to hear? And indeed one of two things must be: either to be able to find fault with what was done by him, or to show what needful thing he left undone, having chosen the easier and pleasanter in place of the noble. And yet they say that the wisdom that comes after the event, and the reproaches made in safety, have nothing brilliant

183. nor lofty about them. I for one grant even this; and if anyone show a better action, or better words, or a juster choice, or one better for all than that which he established, as having then been possible, I am ready myself to inherit the blame. But if it is possible neither to find fault with any of his policies, nor to say of anything one might claim he ought to have done, that he did not do it, let us rather rejoice with ourselves in praising him than seek how to speak ill. Let us consider the matter in this way, bringing ourselves back to the facts themselves. There were three divisions of the Greeks: one outside the affairs—like the Argives and the Corcyraeans and the Sicilians and almost all the Italians, and the Cretans, indeed, and others, so they say; others actually joined in the march with the barbarians against Greece, like the Thessalians and all those up to Attica, save the Thespians and Plataeans, however many they were; and there remained a third, the Athenians and Lacedaemonians and as many as took refuge with them. But let it not yet be said that these were Athenians, nor that these prepared the rest. Rather, the whole Greek world was divided into so many parts, and the choice of these three lay in the midst before all, and both city and private man had to deliberate with regard to this; and the difference was not small—either, attaching themselves to the barbarian, to follow him against those who resisted; or to be allowed to keep quiet for themselves, having begged it, not to seek what would befall the others, but to count it gain if they themselves should suffer nothing; or, third, there was left to those who professed to care for the noble and the just, to contend against fire and sword and all things, and neither, though hearing, to hear the terrors, nor, though seeing, to see them, but, condemning all things as so much idle babble, to encamp beside death itself, judging this the extremity of life preferable for themselves rather than to concede anything unworthily. So be it. What, then, was it fitting the Athenians should choose then, or what should the counselor advise them? Here consider for me the resolutions of Themistocles.

184. "There the coward man and the valiant were made manifest"—not when we sit together in ambush, but when Greece stood upon the very razor's edge, whether to be or not to be. This is the first examination and trial of Themistocles. From here behold the man, beginning from the line; and bring me not gold in words, but apply the touchstone and consider. For remember your own image. The Athenians had to be among those contending for the common freedom, or to do one of the two remaining things. They had to be among the contenders. What then? Did Themistocles advise this, or hinder it? No—he was the very man who advised it. Was it not, then, this that they had to do, and this to advise? This the Athenians did, and Themistocles advised it. Up to this point, then, he advised the greatest things, and Plato has nothing to charge him with; nay, unless he praise him brilliantly, I do not think he could fail to be ashamed. For not only does he plainly bring the Athenians to these things and station them in this resolve, but the other Greeks too, so far as they shared in the affairs, this one man above all strengthened and spurred on, and persuaded them—some willing, some unwilling—to become good and profitable to themselves; he who even gave such answers to the heralds who came from the king concerning earth and water that it was possible for all the Greeks to learn what kind of answers one must give to the barbarians who come for such purposes. And he did not stop his freedom there, but killed even the interpreter, accusing him of having lent his voice, like any other instrument, to the Persian against the Greeks. And yet what terrible thing was it for the Athenians to learn what was being said, and, having learned, to deliberate? For he did not himself

185. propose it, nor compel them. But still he did not think fit to serve even so far, since it was not even proper to hear such things. Quickly indeed would he himself have served, who treated his servants thus—or have spoken before the people against what he thought best, who would not even allow the interpretation of matters about which it was not better to speak. Such, then, were the preludes of the public life of Themistocles and of the contest for freedom—nothing like those of Meles the citharode, nor like the songs Plato says that man sang, but rather the opposite. For both what is best is in them, and what is sweetest is added for every noble and free man to hear. So that to me it seems liker to the music of Terpander, except that it even surpassed it. For he brought one city, that of the Lacedaemonians, into harmony, but this man tuned and held together all Greece—for I call Greece those who were able to come to the aid of all Greece—and he became the leader of so much greater and more common a concord, one that extended further. First, then, he put an end to the wars that were then standing in Greece and to the differences and factions of all toward one another, and persuaded them to count one war alone, that against the barbarians, but themselves friends and kinsmen. Then, those of the citizens who had been exiled he advised the Athenians to bring back—among whom were some at variance with him—preserving the same judgment in matters both Greek and within the city; and this judgment was to look to the common good, putting away all pettiness of soul. Having taken over affairs, then, and become the leader of the whole danger, what kind of man did he show himself, both in understanding what was needful and in carrying it through to the end? Such that, if anyone were asked whatever the question, what it was that saved the affairs of the Greeks, he would not be left to inquire, but it would be possible for all at once to say

186. that first the gods, and then, so far as it came to men, one city, that of the Athenians, and the judgment of one man, that of Themistocles. For seeing that, unless someone should conquer the barbarians with the fleet, Greece would be undone city by city, as they attacked all in turn and ravaged them, and besides this knowing too that affairs on land had far more and more terrible difficulties, and that they would fight against far more and harder enemies than by sea, he chose first the lesser extremity in place of the greater; and then, where he should use daring at the right moment. And these things the god at Delphi confirmed by vote. Yet even when the oracle came, there was perplexity for the many as to what this "wooden wall" could be. So the old men advised holding to the acropolis—so far did they rave, for it had of old been fenced with a thorn-hedge, and they took the oracle to refer to this. And the oracle-mongers chanted everything, except that one thing of all they did not chant, namely that they must fight at sea. Nay, they advised guarding against Salamis above all—the very same men who once urged on the expedition to Sicily; for I call the same kind one and the same breed, except, of course, that the ones speaking for Alcibiades came later, while these spoke against Themistocles then—and on the whole they thought it best to seek something else, and, fleeing outside Greece, to settle another land. But in the end it was resolved by the Athenians to let the oracle-chanters be, and rather to trust Themistocles, who interpreted the wooden wall to be the triremes, and that something good lay stored up in Salamis,

187. wherefore the god had addressed it as divine; since, if some evil were going to seize the Greeks in it, the address of it would be "wretched," not "divine." But in fact it referred to the barbarians, that many of them would perish. They must therefore fight at sea. And these things, reasonably, the others found hard to put together, but Themistocles found easy to discover. For it was not when the oracles came that he first held this opinion, nor was he improvising, nor had he become wise in this wisdom on the occasion, like the prophets of god; rather, even before the Athenians sent to Delphi and before the barbarian stirred, that man long since and from afar had considered and seen these things, and had taken forethought that, on the occasion and at the time of need, he should not be at a loss. For when much money had accrued to the city from the works of the silver mines, and this was about to be distributed at random, he alone of all dared to oppose it, doing the work not of a servant, nor of one ministering to desires, nor of one filling up pleasures, but rather, as it seems to me, of a counselor and teacher—willingly passing over the pleasantest, but foreseeing and doing the best, even if it must cause pain; imitating the physician, not the cook—or rather the trainer too, as you would say—since before the danger and the hardships he did what was advantageous, and so that affairs should not give way under the Greeks. He bade the Athenians, then, to disregard the distribution, and to build ships out of the money, on the pretext of the war against the Aeginetans (for this was then at hand), but in truth foreseeing what was to come and thinking that the battle of Marathon had been, as it were, a prelude for the Athenians, and was not the end of the whole war nor its conclusion, but rather a beginning and a preparation for other greater contests. And saying these things at the outset he persuaded them, and the triremes were built; and then he persuaded them that they must use the triremes and attend to the sea, since they had no better base of operations for the war against the barbarians. And first, sailing to

188. Artemisium, he set up two trophies for two sea-battles, neither, I think, having spoken unseemly words to the Athenians or Greeks who sailed with him, nor having displayed mean deeds, but, as Pindar says, having laid for the Greeks the foundation of freedom. Then he wrote that decree, than which none more wonderful or more freedom-loving is recorded as ever having been written. But I seem to be passing over many things between; better, perhaps, to go back. For so truly was that man born, by some divine portion, on behalf of all Greece, and saw nothing better than the common advantage, that when the Greeks had gathered to one place, the Athenians surpassed almost all in the number of their ships, yet, since the Greeks were more inclined toward the Lacedaemonians and willing that they should lead, that man, best in all things, perceiving that, if he should examine the just claim precisely and a faction should arise over the leadership, all would perish miserably and they would have no resource, persuaded the Athenians to yield and concede the leadership for the time to the Lacedaemonians, promising that he would recover it for them from the willing Greeks. And he did not deceive them; he persuaded them to give up almost the name of the leadership, but not the leadership itself, since, if the truth be told, they assigned to themselves the leadership but to those others the title, and there resulted for them, besides the common safety, the prevailing over the enemy by courage and over the allies by mildness, and a bearing in every way nobler and more august; for they became leaders of leaders. And if you say, Plato, that cities have no need of triremes or dockyards, but of good counsel and

189. temperance, Themistocles not only found the triremes for the Athenians—nor, what is greater than this, used them on behalf of the common rights and for the need of all the Greeks—but he himself also brought to the cities and accomplished that good concord, which saved Greece no less than the ships themselves; or rather, he made it possible to use the ships themselves. And what I said a little before is here finely shown: by how much the man was greater than Terpander in music. For the one made the Lacedaemonians of one mind among themselves, but the other then persuaded both Athenians and Lacedaemonians to be of one mind—or rather, persuaded all the Greeks to become of a single judgment; so well and nobly did he attune Greece, and himself withdrew from the command of the fleet and persuaded the others to the leadership, though they so far surpassed and were alone a hope for affairs. And yet what greater proof of temperance and endurance did any of those who have rotted away in their threadbare cloaks ever produce? Yet, as he gave up the bearing, so he did not give up the forethought concerning affairs, as I said, nor did he yield to any city or any man, but he himself advised all things, as if he were sole leader of all, and went on adorning and shielding and instructing beforehand Eurybiades, the admiral of the Lacedaemonians, like a child—as those who hold up by their own hands men unable to swim—not exposing him, but, as it were, coaxing him with the title of the command, since that he himself was admiral and master of all, and that it was for him, the very admiral, to turn things wherever he wished, he showed throughout the whole command, and indeed then at once. For when Eurybiades was struck with consternation at the multitude of the barbarian triremes—some of which he saw bearing straight against him, and others he heard were sailing around—and was minded to abandon the contest, not on any better hope, but, as happens in such cases, counting it gain to ward off the present danger, suffering such a

190. passion and looking toward the Peloponnese, that man himself, like some god from the machine, stretched out his hand and prevented affairs from being ruined when they had begun from so shameful a beginning; and Eurybiades, when he could not persuade him by speaking, he bought—not as though deeming himself worthy to be anyone's servant, but rather using that man as a servant; and he both saved Euboea and set the affairs of the Greeks so that they were not utterly without resource, having afforded them, once they made trial, ground to trust. And when the disaster at Thermopylae was announced, and when the common prophecy—if it is right to say so—both of Pythian Apollo and of Themistocles had now for the second time become manifest, that everything lay in the ships—for both those who entered Thessaly to guard Tempe, betrayed by whomsoever it was, withdrew, and those who went to meet the enemy at Thermopylae were overwhelmed by the barbarians; and one can say not only so much about them, but that the Lacedaemonians too seem to me, having known this from the beginning, as if making expiation toward the Greeks, to have sent off only as many as they could bear to be deprived of, since failure was to be expected—when, then, things had gone thus, and those in the ships were now fleeing with all their might to within Greece, and were almost making the Peloponnese into Greece,

191. while abandoning the rest, he withdrew last with the last of the Athenians, not keeping the same rank as when it was time to sail out; for then he was first among the first. And if again you wish here too the by-work of the road—what policy he pursued toward the Ionians, not from the platform, nor seen by them, but from the rocks and the anchorages where he hoped to encounter them—what Homeric Minos could find fault with this, or what Aeacus lifting his hands on behalf of the Greeks to Zeus? Here, then, the third trial, much greater and nobler, came upon him, since the triremes carried everything, and to expect anything else was vain. For when the Greeks had withdrawn from Artemisium, the Athenians even so both made their own preparations and bade the others come to meet them in Boeotia and to take the first risk on behalf of the rest of Greece; but the others came to such a pitch of helplessness—for it is not right to call it treachery—that they did not have the heart to go out, but, fortifying across the Isthmus from sea to sea, they did much as if, wrapping themselves up, they were handing themselves over. For where it was possible for the barbarians, sailing around, to take them city by city, what good was the wall, even if it had been raised more august than that of the Babylonians and stronger than every contrivance? Therefore, with the Athenians left alone and the rest of the Greeks toiling to no profit, it remained for everything to be seized in silence, both by land and by sea. These things Themistocles, foreseeing from afar, was not dismayed at then; but when the barbarians were now pouring in from both sides, both the ships approaching in a common

192. armada and the foot soldiers bursting into Boeotia, and the fire burning everything and signaling, in place of beacon-fires, that the king was advancing, he wrote that decree: to entrust the city to Athena, guardian of Athens; to convey the children and women to Troezen, and the old men to Salamis, and that the rest, embarking on the triremes, should contend for freedom. O the great and prodigious conception, and the wonderful strength of him who first hoped to persuade these things and did not despair of so great a matter! And wonderful too was the virtue and discipline of those who were persuaded—the discipline in which they had been trained under him, to endure and bear up under everything that the divine power should grant and Themistocles advise. This decree is the noblest and most brilliant and most perfect witness under the sun in the reckoning of virtue, holding in succession a demonstration of all the best things: of taking courage in the gods, of having confidence in themselves, of being willing to suffer anything before making trial of anything shameful, and, besides these, of guarding the resolutions made from the beginning, of bearing no grudge against their like, even if they seem to have chosen the deeds of unlike men. This decree, it seems to me, no flatterer composed, nor a man with downcast eyes, nor one fawning on his hearers, but some one of the gods uttered through the tongue of Themistocles. Surely Mithaecus, who wrote the treatise on Sicilian cookery, or Sarambus the tavern-keeper—for now I have recalled the name—

193. do you think composed these things? Come, then, set beside this decree the writings of the sophists, if you like, and the laws—for I have no need to name them. And I think it would appear of less worth than not many of them. And yet it was the part of a servant, and of one pursuing the favor of the moment, above all to render service in what the many commanded; or, failing that, guessing at their mind, to say and do what he supposes will be to their pleasure, or at least to deviate a little from their desire. But Themistocles was so far from doing these things and conducting his policy with a view to the desire and pleasure of the many that, though he saw them weeping, and heard children and women lamenting, and besides some being left behind of necessity, and the whole thing being most like as if the city had been taken by storm—and reasonably so; for the future was for all in obscurity, holding a thin and untrustworthy hope, but the present was the loss of city and possessions and the whole former way of life, and not even to travel the same road, nor to settle in the same place, but to be torn apart, parents and children and wives and husbands, and everything was most dreadful to hear, let alone to endure; so that even the tame dogs, they say, howled at the abandonment, and the other beasts followed down to the sea, and there was great confusion—seeing and hearing all this, the most enduring of all men held firm—things which what kind of Odysseus, seeing his wife, could easily have borne without tears?—and taking them like children he led them out with an untroubled soul and reckonings that stood firm, not only in his eyes, as though leading them out to some procession, or as colonists, and not leading them to Salamis. And they

194. were persuaded, and, leaving behind temples and tombs and land, looked to Themistocles alone, preferring him to children and parents and the necessities of nature, and clinging to his voice as to a sacred anchor. Not even Orpheus could then have drawn them over to himself. And indeed all that he continued to say and do in Salamis, now conducting his policy among all the Greeks, and how many and what kind of utterances he sent forth on behalf of the noble and the just, and how many contests he carried through and with what affairs he was beset, whenever he had to persuade men, contending again from the beginning over the same matters; and the company he kept with Aristides, the man surnamed best of the Greeks and most just, and how they vied with one another in their dealings, and how he was not far behind in the exchanges; and the "Strike, but hear," uttered to Eurybiades beyond anything of Socrates, and countless other things—it would be endless to tell. And when no one contradicted him, but they did not dare to remain, and the words were poured out in fear, and flight was prevailing, and the most shameful things were about to come to pass—and not merely the matter of slavery, but first to run away, then to be enslaved, and to seem to the barbarians bad slaves before becoming slaves—then, then indeed, beyond all physicians who save against compulsion and against the patient's distaste, he brought the barbarians upon them

195. having deceived both sides—the one as though summoning them out of goodwill, the other as though he knew nothing of the matter; so that Aristides was good in bringing him word—and, having taken them and brought down the third and greatest of all falls, I think, and the most complete, he cast out Xerxes as a fugitive from the farthest borders of Attica, and moreover told him to flee. And the king, as though serving a master, obeyed his orders, and when bidden to pursue the Greeks he hearkened, and when commanded to flee he was persuaded, and besides he was grateful; and he who before gave orders to others against the Greeks was then compelled to listen to one of the Greeks—and that the most hated and most hostile of all. So much, it seems, did Themistocles surpass in mastery over service. Therefore, in choosing war in place of inaction, he displayed a mark of courage; and in choosing to make war against the barbarians on behalf of the Greeks, rather than against the Greeks alongside the barbarians, a mark at once of courage and of justice—choosing the fewer in place of the more and greater, and his own kin in place of the foreign. And further, by his finding out what was needful and foreseeing it and being nowhere deceived in affairs, but foretelling the future better than the prophets, he reasonably won a reputation for wisdom; and by his corrupting none of what he had resolved through the pleasures of the body, but ever giving himself leisure for the best things and attending to the reasonings concerning the leadership, and by his restraining the Athenians concerning the leadership, and in all these things—surely no one can be temperate who does not assign to that man the first place in temperance. Can

196. any of you who practice philosophy without risk give such a pledge of virtue, or, having passed through so many tests, claim to do so? And I think that on both sides, and beside both, Themistocles stands—both Miltiades and Cimon. For he plainly was the first to conquer the barbarians by sea, as Miltiades by land. So that he might reasonably seem to have begun the freedom in this respect too, and he plainly added to what already existed. For to the land-battle he added the sea-battles, and set up three trophies in place of one, just as Cimon went on to the second tasks. And indeed he took over the Greeks neither in the same security in which Cimon found them, nor in the same fears as Miltiades, but faring at the very extremity of extremities, in the first and last of dangers; in a word, he was the first and only to conquer the king himself, household and all, not as Miltiades conquered the satraps first at Marathon, and Pausanias later at Plataea. One might call the battle of Marathon a paradigm and honor it for its priority in time, but reckon the deeds of Themistocles in and by themselves, as done later in time than the battle of Marathon, yet having had their beginning at home, from that man's understanding and statesmanship. For nothing comparable had been done before by the Greeks—nay, had not even been hoped. Thus he surpasses both Miltiades and Pausanias and Cimon; and he becomes the equal of three—not of a baker and a cook and a tavern-keeper, but of men who had become something to the

197. Greeks. And he alone, indeed, plainly conquered both the land force and the naval force by right reasoning. For neither did the ships hold out, and the king departed in flight together with the greater part. And by however much one exalts the later victory at Plataea, by so much the more does he adorn the understanding and forethought of that man. For if a small fraction of the land force, left behind, nevertheless caused the Greeks trouble—and that too when paradigms now stood before them both by land and by sea—by how much it is fitting that they be superior to the barbarians, and moreover when it was a satrap of the king, not the king himself, who remained—then surely no one would have recognized the fire-bearer contending against all and not against a part, when the king was set over affairs, when no one, in the present circumstances, was at hand on whom they might take courage, when the army was advancing untouched by ills and with hopes undiminished, exalted by the deed at Thermopylae, and all but holding it before their eyes that all these too must soon lie dead. But all this the "service" and "flattery" of Themistocles, as Plato says, but, as the common vote of the Greeks holds, the wisdom and forethought of Themistocles, prevented, and imposed order on all the deeds. So that not only from what he set right when himself leading, but from what he was the cause of others setting right in the matters that came to them—as for Pausanias, for Cimon, for the rest—he would justly meet with the good repute of all. Or

198. we should do utter wrong, Plato, if we should not dare to deem worthy of even one of the fair words a man who showed such humane deeds toward the Greeks. To me, then, Themistocles seems to have become no meaner nor less honorable in commanding the Athenians than Socrates in serving in the ranks at Delium and at Amphipolis and at Potidaea. And yet you praise that man because, in the retreat from Delium, he went off courageously, and was plainly seen to be one who, if anyone laid hold of him, would defend himself well and nobly. Is it not, then, terrible—O earth and gods and leaders of words and deeds, for I am carried away to speak—to praise Socrates even for his flight, and to declare that he retreated more nobly than Laches, but, of Themistocles, who displayed his courage by pursuing and not fleeing the enemy, and of whose virtue all Greece enjoyed the benefit, to take no thought of calling him by names that belong to cowardice and unmanliness? Of him who, even when he withdrew victorious from Euboea, accomplished in the meantime such things as no one in any haste to depart would ever do. And then you say that safety is not worth much. What, then, prevents us from saying that even to the savior gods, who save us one by one, those men afforded for the Greeks the accomplishing of those things?—But I will let the blasphemy go; one may, however, suspect what follows from the argument. For my part, I would think that argument better and more just, and that one would not err in speaking thus: that the gods are in truth saviors, and these men are those who then saved Greece, but that Miltiades and Themistocles served as ministers—which is the greatest and noblest

199. power of a human being, to serve the higher powers. This, then, divine head, is the right thing to say; and I too would declare that those men became ministers and servants—not of the people of the Athenians, far from it, nor of any men at all, unless one must call presiding and commanding "serving" and "ministering." Moreover, then, one would not even allow us, by these arguments, to feel gratitude to our parents, nor to set it down to the account of benefaction, who afforded us the beginnings of living and being saved. And if one should bring in Euripides too as a witness, saying that "we ought, gathering in assembly, to lament the newborn for all the evils to which he comes," he would seem, surely, to say something very much to the point. But I think that, of the circumstances in which we find ourselves, and of living worse or better, we hold the daemon and fortune to blame—and, by Zeus, if you like, add that we ourselves too must bear a share, for there is no harm to the argument—but to those who ministered to our coming-to-be, and through whom we first came into the light, to these we think we must hold the first and greatest gratitude, after the gods who are still prior to them. If, then, to our parents, for the mere fact of existence, we hold such gratitude and confess that we owe a debt the most venerable of all debts, how can it be that Miltiades and Themistocles must not be thought to have done something more, who became for the Greeks the cause not only of living and of safety, but accustomed them to be better instead of worse in the very things they did? It seems to me absurd that, if they had betrayed some allies or a fort, or one or two ships, or had been the cause to any of exile or death, men would drive them with many and frequent reproaches and enroll them with Eurybatus and Phrynondas—as he has called Archelaus wretched, surely, and miserable, for killing those whom he ought not—but, since they freed all men both by land and by sea,

200. taking the first risk, and saved not only the bodies and the souls of those who entrusted themselves to them, but also cities and country and polity and customs and laws and the very name of the race, and left nothing whatever of courage and justice undone, but handed over Greece greater than they received it, and brought away to the gods the fitting thank-offerings for these things, and passed their lives, so to speak, keeping festival both in their deeds and in their policies, and established before all men their own virtue, which they held toward both gods and men—that we should think it right to deem them of the portion of Mithaecus and Thearion; and to say that physicians are better than cooks because they save, but to liken those who presided over the safety of the Greeks not to physicians but to cooks! And indeed, even if they made no one better but saved them, this at least was a thing physicians do, not cooks. So that they were in no way worse than physicians. How, then, were they of no worth to the Greeks? Plato himself would not concede this to himself. Elsewhere, at least, where there is no contentiousness, he says this; and he says it on behalf of the Sicilian men, in arranging a kind of royal rule for them, as though Dion himself, being of the line of which his ancestors were, says that they at least saved, which is the greatest thing, the Greeks from the barbarians, so that it is now possible to make speeches about polity; but, had they perished then, neither speech nor hope would have been left anywhere at all by any means.

201. Therefore in these words he praises those who became the cause of safety for the Greeks, and says that thanks must be paid them—and not mean thanks, but such as one would not easily even ask for oneself—and to the man who is displeased he says that "the ancestors saved the greatest thing, the Greeks, from the barbarians." Either, then, it was fitting to erase that, or these things have been refuted by those. For it is not possible to say that, while it is reasonable that thanks and gifts belong to those who saved the Greeks in Sicily, yet to those who saved all the ancient Greece, and, by the same path of statesmanship, Sicily and Italy and the Greeks wherever on earth and sea they are, to these there should be no share even of a humane word, nor should it be possible for them even to be called good men. And indeed you yourself say that you care no more for those in Cyrene than for those at Athens. Then, having allowed their descendants to speak about gifts, you thought it right to speak ill of the men themselves, and at once both refute the tyrants and blame those who were the cause of freedom for the Greeks. And here is the crown of the argument: that not even freedom is anything very august, but that for many it is better to obey others than to be free. Very well. Was it then better, also at that time, for the Athenians to obey? And indeed, not from afar, but from the very things they did, they showed themselves worthy of freedom. Moreover, it was no Dioscuri, nor Theseus son of Poseidon, nor Heracles the common champion of all, nor the best and most just of the demigods, that there was danger of obeying, but men full of insolence and evils, from whom they were likely to learn no good thing

202. whatever, but to suffer all the most shameful and most terrible things. So that how would it not have come to the most shameful of all situations, if, having earlier rescued the Heraclids into freedom, they had then themselves bowed beneath the barbarians, accounting the matter of small worth? But indeed, if they themselves were not worthy to be slaves, nor were the invaders better than they, and the danger, for those overcome, concerned the very extremities, how was this not, if anywhere, the occasion to show themselves more afraid of slavery than of death? For I will add the very words of Plato. And if this was known to everyone, and to all these things were best and most serious and the only things—come, if the truth must be told—belonging to the better argument and to political virtue brought to its extremity, how can those who afforded themselves to these things and secured for all, together with safety, their freedom, be thought of little worth either to the citizens or to the Greeks? And indeed they did not even make their freedom unbridled; for, while toward the barbarians they were so disposed as to be unwilling even to hear a voice, toward the Greeks they were so common and humane that they willingly yielded the leadership to the Lacedaemonians, though they so far surpassed them. And therefore they recovered it again from the willing Greeks. So that it was not without justice nor without temperance, Plato, that they filled the city with allies and tribute and idle babble, as you say, but, beginning from a temperate and just and wonderful rule, they guarded most nobly the bounds of freedom, leading the citizens midway between arrogance and lowliness, and not introducing the dissolute freedom, nor what one might offhand call freedom, but that which goes with justice and temperance.

203. And indeed, that to free one's fatherland—to say nothing of Greece—is no dishonorable thing, nor the work of any chance man, Plato himself is witness, or, if you like, Dion; since this too is part of that speech: "And upon all these things, with guileless and sound judgment, together with the gods, set up as king first my son, for the sake of two favors: that from me and that from my father. For the one freed the city from the barbarians in that time, and I from tyrants now twice over, of which you yourselves have been witnesses." Does Plato, then, set it down as a small or mean thing to make a city free, or to prevent one about to belong to others? Since, then, it is right to give even kingship in return for this, and that too to one's descendants, and all but to yield freedom itself to them, because their ancestors guarded freedom—then surely, that those who freed not only the citizens but the whole race of the Greeks should not be allowed even to share in the very appearance of being free, is one of the most terrible things; but that men should rob of its due portion of freedom those who in deed preserved that freedom for the others. Come, then, let us consider this too: by how much in this respect also Miltiades and Themistocles were more just than Dion and better in matters of state and more careful to preserve equality, seeing that they, in return for those deeds, asked nothing more either for themselves or for their children, but supposed it enough to have benefited the Greeks; while Dion, as you say, needed even such gifts as included that the rest should obey those of his line—not, on each occasion nor in the affairs themselves, being persuaded that these reasoned or spoke better than the rest, but once for all setting up kings, even if some among them were better. Have you not on every side convicted yourself? Seeing that even of equality and of geometry those men plainly are thus mindful, but Dion not, nor the children of Dion, and that too though

204. they had consorted with Plato, the man most terrible at geometry. And third, the letter says, one must summon the man who now commands the army of the enemy, Dionysius son of Dionysius, to become king of Syracuse willingly, the city being willing—if he is willing willingly to pass over into the form of a king—fearing the turns of fortune, and pitying his fatherland and the neglect of the temples and the tombs, lest through contentiousness he should utterly destroy everything and become a delight to the barbarians. If, then, even for the tyrant's son and the commander of the enemy's army there is a fitting occasion to be reconciled, if he is willing to become king instead of tyrant, pitying his fatherland and the neglect of temples and tombs, then surely with the benefactors of the Greeks, and through whom temples and tombs and all things were saved and Greece did not become a delight to the barbarians, it would have been reasonable to make a treaty, and to remit even the blasphemy against them, even if he had nothing more to assign them in deed. For come, by the gods—if, when those affairs were at hand, Themistocles, when the Athenians summoned him and bade him aid them with whatever he had, had asked nothing else, neither tyranny nor lawful kingship, but only this much—that he should not be called a servant by them, nor receive such a reproach, if he should set their affairs in order—had Plato been present, what would he have advised the Athenians—he who advised these things to the Syracusans? Would he not have thought the challenge of Themistocles moderate and have granted the favor? For to me it seems he would even have pledged himself for these things on behalf of his fatherland. Is it not, then, absurd that, while the deeds were still going to be, and as to how they should be done, he should pledge only this on behalf of all, but, when they have come to pass and been done and that man's virtue has become manifest to all Greeks and barbarians, nevertheless to attempt to insult him, and to be ashamed neither before temples nor tombs nor inscriptions, but to speak ill of one whom, had a man wished to praise him, it would have been a task to reach his worth? And indeed it is not the same thing to speak, in the midst of the sea, about those in the

205. boat and to display one's own good courage, and to sit outside the storm beneath the little wall—which Plato, knowing better than anyone, willingly passes over, and accuses Themistocles of embarking the Athenians on the triremes, not in these words but elsewhere, saying that they were accustomed by this to flee and not to fight standing their ground. As though you and I had routed many companies of hoplites, but Themistocles knew nothing but to flee! Yet I, if it had been possible to conquer in some other way, or even to be saved at first, would perhaps think these words had something in them; but when the choice was either to prevail by fighting at sea, or to perish on land, how was it equal, or what is the wonderful philosophy of dying in vain when it was possible to be saved with the greatest glory? In the first place, for my part I do not conceive where it has been determined that to conquer by land is noble, but by sea shameful; or that the cornel-wood and the hide are worth much, but the ship-timbers and the oar-handles worth nothing—as if one should remove the sea from the things that are, or say it came into being in vain, and strike out the realm of Poseidon, which holds second place among all things, as Homer says. Why, then, shall we not also accuse them concerning their grain, that they use mostly imported grain and have further need of the sea, when it is possible to be content with the country they farm, O most divine of men?—This means perishing by famine. And indeed, if the bringing in of grain by sea is for them necessary and saving, for the sake of the same safety they then too made use of the sea, and the portion of the noble was added to the need. And indeed neither is it possible to say that the grain had to come to them by sea, but that one need not foresee how they would be masters of the grain-convoy. Therefore there was need of triremes and of knowing how to fight at sea. How, then, was he who advised these things a busybody, or how did he not adapt himself to the nature of the country, that we may add this too? And we should seem to me to be doing the like, if we should make these accusations, as if we found fault even with the nature of Attica,

206. that the sea surrounds it almost entirely. What, then, if it seemed thus good to the higher powers? But still I let these things go for Plato's sake. Let the neighborhood be briny, as he says. If, then, Themistocles exchanged victory for victory, did he wrong the shipwrights in honoring them in place of the spear-makers? And yet the work of the sea-battle came down, surely, to the hoplites on the decks—of whom we must think the greater part were among those who risked themselves at Marathon. And if then they took on a double danger instead of a single one—the one against the enemy, the other against the sea itself—they are, I think, in no way the worse for this. But I for my part take away even these additions. Let it be wholly a fault, if there was any other means of safety for their affairs. But if all the land had been seized, and the army was flowing in like an inundation of the sea, and everything was being utterly snatched away, and there was no looking up, but some willingly joined the enemy, others were led unwillingly, and others kept fleeing ever to within Greece, and the Athenians alone were left outside; and besides this, they called even then, when affairs were in this state, on those in the alliance, and bade them, coming together with them into Boeotia, to take the first risk on behalf of the rest, but no one obeyed—rather they sat in the straits not only of the Peloponnese but also of their hopes; and it was destined to be nowhere, neither of land nor of sea—why do we judge these Achaeans from the tower? Or why do we accuse things that nowhere come to pass? For my part, I do not think the sea-battle at Salamis holds so much shame that it would have been more choiceworthy to perish before it; rather, beyond the life and the safety belonging to that time, I would call this, as it were, a gain that befell those of that time—to accomplish so great a deed and to set up a trophy common to all men, so to speak, and for all time. For they seem to me not only to have conquered their adversaries on that day, nor only the Greeks present, but also

207. to have surpassed all men in greatness of daring and in the majesty of their victory. For if one must say one thing out of all that has come to memory, one would justly call that deed the greatest. And Themistocles seems to me alone of all men, or at least among a very few, to have shown that the saying is true which long ago Alcaeus the poet uttered, and which afterward the many took up and used—that cities are not stones nor timbers nor the craft of builders, but wherever there are men who know how to save themselves, there are walls and cities. Therefore, by the truest of arguments, he did not think he was abandoning the city, but rather refitting it, as on a stage, to meet the present circumstance; for not even in the dramas does any of the competitors destroy his own nature, if for the present he changes his costume; and at that time it fell to the Athenians to put on the bearing of seafaring men and to show the city in this. For these reasons he gave up the country and the very soil of the city, but preserved its dignity most nobly of all men, and gave up walls and hearths and temples before the post of his high spirit and the things of which he had convinced himself. For he knew that, if he clung to those things and clung to life for their sake, he would quickly be deprived even of them and would destroy the men themselves besides and cast away all hopes at once; but if he should put the ships before them and stand aside for the very time of the decision, like some competitor going abroad for the sake of prizes, he easily hoped that, just as then he chose the sea in place of the land, so again out of the sea he would find both the country and the city and would use things in no way worse. And reflecting on these things he imitated the runners who from far off catch up those ahead; and, having yielded not only Attica but the whole land to Xerxes and allowed him to seize it first, but having taken so much of the sea as sufficed for the ships, he overturned for him all his hopes, and

208. rescued Greece—not accustoming the Athenians to be sailors instead of hoplites, nor finding for them in the triremes a provision for flight, nor that they should dwell on the sea for all time, like Glaucus of Anthedon, they say, or Saron who gave his name to the gulf, but the very opposite, O wonderful sir, that nevertheless they should fear no multitude of enemies nor flee, but, even if they must give up all the land, even if they must withdraw from their very bodies, should easily endure it for the sake of the higher good, and should not be slaves to their possessions nor count any pretext sufficient for becoming worse—neither a multitude of enemies, nor strength, nor that all men had consented to be slaves, nor that everything was turned upside down—but should hold both the sea more their own and every danger more endurable than living with shame. This is a good paradigm both for hoplites and for cavalry and for archers and for crews of triremes and for all the complements of a city. One must not, he says, give one's back to the enemy nor seek a shameful safety, nor, casting aside the reckonings concerning what is just, give oneself over to him who would carry one off, nor flee that one may not fight. "I, at least," he says, "did not go off in flight to Italy, nor did I think it right to found a city there, though the prophets bade me, but I remained with the triremes, where it was the time to range myself on behalf of Greece. And when the things on land had been seized, a small part of the sea sufficed me; and I counsel you too," he says, "to remain and keep your post, whether you contend in a contest of hoplites, or of cavalry, or of any kind whatever. But if you are even shut out of everything, become for me a man of the sea

209. for this time; here be a hoplite, hold out your shield from the ship, and, if it is possible, even from the very sea bear it over the surge." These things Themistocles taught, and this was the meaning of his moving the city onto the triremes; for these reasons he thought it right to make the country empty of men rather than that any captured man in it should be a slave. Than these there have come to be no nobler reasonings, nor deeds more honorable, nor any holding together more fully understanding and magnanimity and courage. Since that he did not at all think fit to disregard the city utterly, nor to flee in a circle on the triremes, but supposed that these things were advantageous for the present occasions, and, having used Salamis as a camp in the same way the earlier men used Marathon, again was mindful of the original things, he showed before long. For when the barbarians had departed, he led them up at once into the city and resettled it as before, and even extended the circuit wider, as the interpreters say, on every side; and when there was need to wall it, he alone of all found out how they would be able. How, then, did he accustom them to flee, or by what stroke of fortune—he who accustomed them, when in the utmost dangers, to pursue, not to flee, but, when they had conquered and were faring most prosperously and it was possible for them to take whatever country and city they wished, led them back to the old places and did not allow them to be unmindful of what they had? By Zeus, Plato—if someone, laying hold of you, accused you, saying how much sea you sailed across in merchant ships, and how great a wandering you wandered about Charybdis, encamped together with the sailors and in need of the oar and the oar-loop, and that too though you so disliked things of the sea and were attached to the hoplites—would you not, indeed, since you are a man of the Muses and have long since condemned the phrase—the kind I mean—decline to say, O

210. "wretch, you are mad," but would have said somewhat thus: "My good man, I did these things not because I had chosen the life of the sailors, nor adorning them in place of the hoplites, nor learning anew to go to sea in my old age, nor harming the affairs of the mainland, but it was not otherwise possible to come to Sicily"? These things, I think, you would be able to say—just as we say on behalf of Themistocles, that it was not otherwise possible for the Greeks to be saved. And indeed no one would say that, for the affairs of Dion, one had to sail to Sicily and reckon neither old age nor danger nor having been often deceived nor anything else against the just claim and the need of that man; but, for the sake of Greece and of such great affairs, one need not have used the ships, but should have refused the sea. No one would say so. And Bellerophon, my excellent friend, as the poets say, mastered the Chimaera not by embarking on the sea, but by mounting into the air upon Pegasus, and yet was not thought to be a coward—he who was even thought able to destroy whole companies. But, I think, against the fire it was not possible to hold out from the ground. And I know about Themistocles that, even if he had been able to imitate Daedalus and, having winged himself, to assail the barbarian on behalf of the Greeks, he would not have shrunk even from this; or, if, about to join a battle on foot, he had advanced from the higher ground, he would not on that account have been likely to incur the charge of cowardice. And the Lacedaemonians—you yourself say that, fighting the battle at Plataea, they were unwilling to stand their ground, but drew the Persians toward what was advantageous to themselves. For I pass over the Scythians, and how many victories they have won by fleeing. Where a man thinks he will have the advantage, there let him ward off the enemy, especially if he transgress none of the greater rights. If, then, Themistocles had used his own judgment alone concerning these matters, one might say he had brought the accusation upon himself; but since a god too

211. plainly ordained these things, I for my part hesitate to speak, but everyone would understand the rest. Themistocles, then, brilliantly escapes the charge. Or, by the gods themselves—when it is needful that Socrates should seem wisest, shall we refer the matter to a trustworthy witness, the god at Delphi, and rely on the oracles which Chaerephon and a few others knew, those who cared about Socrates; but the things of which all the Greeks are witnesses, and which the Pythia uttered most commonly of all that ever were, and which all the future followed—these we shall nowhere set down to account, nor concede that they are the greatest testimonies to the wisdom of Themistocles? For where the same thing seemed good to that man and to the god concerning the safety of the whole, what else must one say? What, then, were the things ordained? It begins from somewhere on high, and then there is this which all babble of: "Wide-seeing Zeus grants to the Trito-born a wooden wall." Has the oracle, then, said this alone? No—but, as it were, it sets its seal upon the judgment by the addition. What, then, is this? "Alone to remain unsacked"—so that, lest, when these things were thus spoken, the Athenians should think the choice lay with them either to conquer by land or by sea, and lest they should grow soft, but should know that in the ships everything stands and that otherwise it is not possible to be saved. And further he magnified it in what follows, inasmuch as the god is leader of the Muses and best at speaking, surely. For he added: "It shall profit you and your children." What does he mean by this, "It shall profit you and your children"? Not on account of the children whom they conveyed to Troezen, it seems to me, but also those who would be hereafter. So were the triremes allotted together with the fortune of the city. For if ever they fared

212. well, it was in accordance with these that faring well belonged to them at all. And not even here did he stop his proclamation, but, as though forestalling and as though cutting short the censures of Plato, he presses on, sending forth every voice and saying outright already: "Do not you await the horsemen and the foot host coming in great numbers from the mainland in quiet, but withdraw." Then there is yet a final close: "You shall yet one day stand face to face with them." And I would gladly ask those who draw their deep beards, as one of the comic poets said, and exalt Plato up to this point: if in those times we had Plato, and affairs had been entrusted to him, and then the oracle came, what words would he think he ought to speak, or what would he have thought the Athenians ought to do? Or, by Zeus, if he himself did not happen to be general, what would he have advised Themistocles? These same things that the oracles advised, or the opposite of these? For if he was not going to know the meaning of the oracles, it was not the part of a wise man, what he was about to suffer; but if, knowing and understanding, he attempted to contradict, he was accomplishing the work of anyone rather than of Plato. For it would have been a demonstration of two extreme things, of impiety toward the god and of betrayal of the safety not only of the city but of all the Greeks. And if, however much, the god commanded one thing and Plato led another way, which ought Themistocles to have obeyed, or to which giving heed would he rightly have seemed to be of sound mind? For let them resolve this one of my perplexities and take their stand beside the tripod at Delphi, which the Greeks set up from the barbarians. But indeed it was not possible for a mortal to fight against a god. And indeed neither has it reason that, of those who die in Plato's city and polity, Plato himself entrusts the honors to the Pythia and lays it down as authoritative whatever seems good to her, but what the Pythia ordained for the safety of the living and the guarding of all Greece, this he should blame in the man who obeyed and

213. administered it. For by three of the greatest things the whole safety of the Greeks plainly came down almost to Themistocles alone: by his advising at the outset to build the triremes, before even any of the many expected the barbarians to come; by his persuading them, when the war was at hand, to fight at sea; and by his foreseeing in what part of the sea it would be advantageous. For if the triremes had not been built at the outset, there would have been no navy worth speaking of for the Greeks, nor one in which, taking courage, the rest would have combined; so that, while affairs on land were without resource and there was no power existing at sea, everything would have perished without a struggle; and if the ships existed, but it had seemed good to them to carry on the war in some other way, not even so would there have been any gain. And indeed the very nature of the sea made the multitude of ships useless to the barbarians. This was the terrible contest of Themistocles, and the preliminary contest among the Greeks, that he should remain and make them cease from looking toward the Isthmus. And some say there is even a fourth thing on behalf of Themistocles, that, besides the place, he also found out the time, joining the sea-battle when the wind was coming down; which indeed Phormion too later, as it seems, imitating, defeated the Lacedaemonians at sea off Naupactus. So far is Themistocles from having accustomed the Athenians to flee, or having corrupted their spirits. But I return to the rest of the oracle. So be it. What, then, did the god utter upon these things, and how did he set in order his counsel? "O divine Salamis, you will destroy the children of women." The god, then, called Salamis divine, as though there were going to be in it deeds greater than all human measure. But Plato says that the man who accomplished these things and brought them to Salamis ruined affairs and became no better than those who minister to pleasure. And Iacchus went forth and shared

214. in the rites, and clouds from the two goddesses descended upon the sea-battle, and gods and heroes, the common allies of the Greeks, fought together, and fought at sea with them, honoring Themistocles in deed; and the name was made exact for Salamis from every side and stood as divine for all. And yet, when Salamis heard this, it was surely the sea-battle that heard it; for Salamis was, in the time before, no other region's, but the god called the sea-battle divine through it. But Plato, as it seems, refuses the victory and condemns to death those who did these things, and prefers to perish august rather than to conquer with the gods. But Homer, had he survived, would have called the man who counseled and did these things "equal to Zeus in counsel," much more, it seems to me, than the general of the Cephallenians who smeared his ships with ruddle. For if Zeus gave the ships as a gift to Athena, and Apollo declared these things, and that man from the beginning was attuned to them and in the present alone knew the same things as the gods, how was he not destined to bear this address? But not so Plato; rather, in place of calling his judgment like and divine, like that of Zeus, he likens it to Sarambus and the tavern-keepers, all of them. How could anyone have used grandeur more out of season? Come, then, let us consider this too: if, as some of the heroes are already said to have been judged before divine judges, so Themistocles too, concerning what he advised, were tried before Pythian Apollo, which vote would the god have cast concerning him? The one that condemns? But it is absurd that he himself foretold these things and gave the oracle, but should condemn the one who obeyed. For where even Orestes is said to have been acquitted, when tried among the other gods, by referring the deed to Apollo, surely the man who pleads before Apollo himself, for things he accomplished with him,

215. there was no reason that he should be convicted. Then, the man whom it was not possible to convict before the god as judge—him did Plato think fit to accuse? And if he had been tried at Athens, with no such oracle existing beforehand, I mean, and then it had seemed good to those men to entrust the matter to the god, just as earlier, they say, the matter concerning the tribes—if the god had pronounced that he had deliberated nobly—he would thereafter have had to be acquitted, and it would have been permitted to no one to say anything else against this. But since the god forestalled the charge and acquitted him, and praised the deeds beforehand, before any man knew whether they would be done, and all but spoke in his support concerning everything from the beginning and brought forth in advance the judgment he held—nevertheless Plato has not held off, but has philosophized contrary to the oracle and has accused the deeds which, before they came to pass, one of the higher powers praised. Why, then, did you not also blame the Heraclids, my excellent friend, because they did not enter the Peloponnese by land, but crossed over from Rhium to Rhium? But I think that for them too it was the same as for the Greeks under Themistocles: by land they were to be overcome, but by sea it was possible both to be saved and to conquer. And here is a great sign: for as long as they tried the entry through the Isthmus, they fared ill, but when they came to the Achaean strait, they found it to be a strait of safety for them. Wherefore the god foretold to them to make the attempt through these narrows; but they, in ignorance, turning to the other way, almost perished utterly. And the same thing held also for those

216. . . . had then surrounded the Greeks. For some of them had perished at Thermopylae, while the others were everywhere victorious in their ships. There were straits, it seems, on both sides: against the one it was right to guard, the other one had to make use of. This too, I think, is why Themistocles judged that the Isthmus should be avoided above all else, guarding against it as though against some ancient curse, and put Salamis forward in its place. And indeed those men held the Peloponnese in no way more dishonourably or more obscurely than they held their post by the ships; rather, they proved to be the forefathers of many brave hoplites, men whom not even Plato anywhere ever reproached for their conduct in war, and they brought forth their descendants in greater honour than any other glory. For Plato himself sings the praises of that Dorian camp. This camp of Themistocles, then, was shown to have come about for the Greeks no less opportunely than that one. And that the Athenians became in no way worse than before in affairs on land, this the battle at Plataea showed, in which they had only the Lacedaemonians as rivals; the battle at Mycale showed it, in which they alone were given the first place of honour; and the battle later at Oenophyta showed it, by which they gained Boeotia and the Locrians and the Phocians. And if at some later time they did stumble, well, having once conquered at sea they did not always conquer there either; yet Themistocles was nowhere the cause of either of these reverses, since both forms of strength prevailed so greatly both during his life and for no short time after his death.

The deeds, then, and the policies of Themistocles down to the sea-battle and the flight of the King were of the kind that befit a man who, as I believe, more than any other human being escaped flattery, but came as far as any in intelligence and daring, joined with temperance and complete justice. As for his later affairs, what manner of things were they, to set them out

217. briefly? Mardonius was sending heralds to the Athenians on the King's behalf, having learned by deed that the balance of affairs lay with those men, and that whichever side they should join must of necessity prevail. The ambassador was Alexander, king of the Macedonians. But the Athenians, though they heard that he would rebuild their city for them and restore their land, though they heard of other acts of kindness besides, and of friendship and alliance for all time, were not lifted up by any of these offers, nor did they shame any part of what they had earlier accomplished; rather, they chose the danger undertaken on behalf of the Greeks instead of the gifts offered against the Greeks. The ambassador they let go—that he might not suffer the same fate as the earlier messengers—because of the dignity of his office as proxenos, but they ordered him to be gone at once, and in future to bring no such messages. Such was the harvest the Athenians reaped from the statesmanship and generalship of Themistocles. To such a pitch of courage and greatness of soul and of hatred for every ignoble servitude did he lead them all, that, when their city had been taken a second time, and Mardonius again sent his proposals—the council being then at Salamis and the herald having come from Athens—when someone in the council moved to accept them, they all gathered and stoned him to death, the men stoning him and the women stoning his wife: surely no more dishonourable a deed, Plato, nor one deserving of less praise, than the deeds of those women reared in your city, whom you bid take the field together with the men, doing this and that. Does Themistocles, then, seem to you to teach servility, or rather to be instructing in such things those who gathered about him? And so, when the Lacedaemonians came at about that same time to Alexander, and were appealing to him on behalf of the Greeks, and promising to maintain the Athenians' children and wives and those past the age of service so long as the war should last, so far was he from willing to accept even this, that he deemed them in need of pardon and sent them away, as men who did not know to whom they were sending an embassy. And of the same spirit too is the pillar

218. which, after these events, they set up, bearing this inscription: that Arthmius son of Pythonax, of Zeleia, both he himself and his family, be without rights and an enemy of the people of the Athenians, because he brought the gold of the Medes into the Peloponnese. For my part I do not know what decree Plato could have framed more nobly or more solemnly than this, on the same matter. And I observe this too, that both these resolves belong to the same philosophy: for the one forbade the Guardians to acquire gold, while the other had it recorded that the man who brought in the gold of the Medes was an enemy of the city, and that, if anyone should kill him, there should be no penalty. So then, the safeguard which Plato conceived for the best-governed city, that very safeguard Themistocles thought fit to provide for Greece; and this pillar the Athenians consecrated to the goddess, setting it beside the statue brought from Marathon, considering it in no way less honourable or less useful than their other dedications—a pillar on which is written how those who try to corrupt the Greeks ought to be treated. And it seems to me that both peoples are bound to cast every favourable vote on behalf of Themistocles. For all who consider safety the most fitting and the first of goods—it was Themistocles who secured it for all the Greeks; and all who judge affairs by greatness of spirit, and hold the dangers borne for noble ends, and a glorious name, more honourable than living in security, can find no finer examples than his. And so before both sets of judges he would justly win. And indeed, after the sea-battle, when all had gathered at the Isthmus and were bringing their vote from the altar of Poseidon concerning the prize of valour, here too there is something thoughtless one might charge against the

219. Greeks, but there is also the rest of their good sense to praise, and to take it as evidence for Themistocles. For each man, casting his vote first for himself, in the second place all alike cast it for Themistocles. The vote for first place, I think, belonged to that which by nature befalls all human beings—namely, that no one loves another more than himself; so that it had no force at all, but neither was it removed from pardon. The vote for second place, however, was already a clear token of the truth, and a sign that they could not have decided otherwise. So that, had it been declared from the outset that no one should cast his vote for himself but for another, all were going to cast it for Themistocles, whom indeed every one of them preferred above every other; and he would have become first in the same way as he then became second. So now too, by voting him into second place, they were doing the very same thing as if they had voted him into first. Yet not even so did he come away with the lesser share, but won in both. The first place he had received from the truth and from himself and held it; for he alone of all men did justly the very thing the others did. The second place had already been conceded to him; so that he was first out of them all. And when the Greeks had departed and were breaking up the assembly, since they saw what was happening—and here too they refuted themselves handsomely, showing that they were not acting honestly or as citizens should, and that they had not even passed those decrees on wholly just grounds, but rather, being throttled by the utmost necessity of their affairs, and not for any favour or goodwill—Themistocles so wholly despised them all that at the moment he gave it not the slightest thought, but, when affairs had settled, he came to Lacedaemon, as though on purpose. So poor a creature was he in his ways, and a very servant indeed. And the Lacedaemonians did not hold themselves in check at his coming; rather, while he was present they honoured him as they honoured none of their own kings, and when he departed,

220. they escorted him with three hundred chosen young men as far as the borders of Laconia—the only man, of Greeks or barbarians, of earlier times or of later, to be so honoured. So far did Themistocles seem to them to surpass all other human beings. And yet, when the best of the Greeks in affairs on land were not ashamed to escort that man to the borders of their own country, how is it open to us to blame him on account of the hoplites? Or how can we refuse to praise the man whom even those who seemed to be his rivals honoured, and against their will, with honours they gave to none of all who had ever lived?

There being three seasons, then, from which one might examine Themistocles, in each of them he will appear the best and the first of men. For before the barbarians came, he reconciled the cities, and remitted the charges held against the citizens exiled from the city; when the struggles came upon them, he did not fall out with the Lacedaemonians, and alone drove out the enemy; and when affairs had settled, and the Lacedaemonians wished to exclude from the treaty all the cities that had sided with the enemy, he spoke against it and prevented it, holding that something of the same kind would result as if Greece were declared an outcast from herself by her own act. For more than thirty cities would have had to fall into that calamity. So he did not think it fitting that Greece, having prospered so brilliantly and become so far superior to her enemies, should become so much less than she had been before. How could a man have been better, or more skilled in matters of state? And though I am able to speak also of his later misfortunes, and

221. how the whole business was contrived against him, and what manner of man he showed himself to be in these things too, I could have wished that my argument required me to press on and go through these matters as well; for I think I could say of him nothing inferior or less than what has already been said. But since this lies outside my subject, and length is creeping into the discourse, I shall pass these things over, adding only this much concerning this part also: that when it became necessary to march against Greece, he chose to die, by his deed dissolving every charge against him, and showing how highly he valued his former actions and policies, and that never, of his own free will, would he set anything before what was noble and fitting—not wealth, not children, not hopes, not safety itself. Then shall we slander him for the very things for which, that he might do nothing unworthy, he thought he ought to die? And shall we call a "servant" the man who never rendered any service to the Athenians against their will, nor ever thought it right to serve the King, but chose this end instead? And how would it not be shameful and monstrous, if, having no reverence for either his life or his death, we should so lightly defame him as this? For my part I think that the priests and priestesses and whoever else prays publicly at Athens might reasonably pray for this, each year, before all their other prayers—at least in those times and for as long as it was possible—that there be born among them a man like Themistocles, and that the land bring forth this good thing along with the rest of its produce. For they would seem to me to gain no less benefit than if all their crops had multiplied a hundredfold and yet more. In other circumstances I myself should have been ashamed to make use of witnesses so many and so great as those I have cited; but there is some advantage in one further testimony, which I must bring forward.

Let us consider, then, what manner of things Aeschines—the companion of Socrates and the

222. fellow-pupil of Plato—says to us about Themistocles. "Since, then, you have dared to lay hold of the life of Themistocles, consider what manner of man you have thought fit to censure. For reflect from where the sun rises and where it sets." "But there is nothing hard, Socrates," he said, "in knowing such things." "Has it then ever yet been a care to you that, of all that country as great as the sun traverses, which is called Asia, one man is ruler?" "Indeed yes," he said, "the Great King." "Do you know, then, that that man marched here and against the Lacedaemonians, thinking that, if he should subdue these two cities, he would easily have the rest of the Greeks subject to him? And he threw the Athenians into such fear that, abandoning their land, they fled to Salamis, having chosen Themistocles as general, and entrusted to him to deal with their affairs as he should wish. And indeed these were the greatest hopes of safety for the Athenians—whatever that man should resolve on their behalf. And it was not because the affairs of the Greeks were far inferior in the multitude of ships and infantry and money, while the King's prevailed, that Themistocles lost heart at the present circumstances; rather, he knew that, unless the deciding of counsel rested with him, the rest of their resources, great in size as they were, would be of no great help; and he had recognized this, that whichever side has men of greater seriousness in virtue set over their affairs, the affairs of those men too are wont to become superior. And so the King then perceived that his own affairs were weaker, on the day he met with a man more serious than himself. And Themistocles so easily handled the King's affairs, great as they were, that, after defeating him at sea, he wished to persuade the Athenians to break up the bridge of boats that the King had yoked together. But when he was unable to do so, he sent to the King the opposite of what had been resolved by the city—namely, that, though the Athenians were bidding him break the bridge, he himself was opposing it, trying to save the King and those with him; so that not only do we and the other Greeks consider Themistocles the cause of safety, but

223. the King himself, who had been defeated in war by him alone of men, believed he had been saved by that same man." So far did that man prevail by his intelligence. For this reason, when Themistocles was once made an exile from the city, the King repaid his gratitude as one who had been saved by him, and gave him many other gifts and granted him the governorship of all Magnesia, so that even in his exile his fortunes were greater than those of many Athenians reputed to be men of nobility and worth who stayed at home. Who, then, in that time, could justly be charged with being the most powerful, other than Themistocles, who, taking command of the Greeks, overthrew the man who reigned from the rising of the sun to its setting? "Consider then, Alcibiades," I said, "that for that man, being such as he was, knowledge so great as his did not prove sufficient to guard him against being driven out and made dishonoured by the city; rather, it fell short. What then do you suppose holds for base men, who are at no pains over themselves? Is it any wonder if they cannot manage rightly even small things? And do not condemn me, Alcibiades," I said, "as one disposed strangely and impiously toward fortunes and divine things, if I credit that man with knowledge of all that he did, and think that no fortune was the cause of these works. For I could far more readily prove to you that those who hold the contrary opinion to mine are impiously disposed than that they could prove it of me—men who think that fortunes come equally to the wicked and to the good, rather than that, for those who are noble and good, being also more pious, the things that come from the gods are better." It is, then, the same Socrates who speaks both here and there; yet in Plato's discourses he appears to name Themistocles a servant and a menial, and to set him among the flatterers, while in the passages we have just now produced he bids us count him the best of the Greeks, and credits him with knowledge of all his affairs, and thinks fit to make no fortune the cause, but holds that everything belonged to that man's judgement. As for me, this addition I do not

224. accept, but I think the good fortune should be held the cause of all noble things; that these statements, however, do not agree with those, I prove. For if all this is merely an argument spoken on both sides, and one must carry through the rest of it in accordance with whatever thesis one has taken up, then let this be granted, and we seek nothing further: in any case, even so, our part is blameless. But if it is spoken in earnest, with just seriousness, and contains a judgement of the truth, which of the two must we trust, when these statements appear contrary to those? And indeed I should never set Aeschines on an equal footing with Plato—may I never so contend!—but let that judgement be left to the absurd among the sophists; I say rather that the greater and more perfect Plato is in discourse, the more, at least in the matter of Themistocles, one ought to accept that other account. For Aeschines, it is likely, says what he heard, or what comes closest to it; whereas Plato, I think, makes use of the abundance of his nature, just as he sets out countless other things in the name of Socrates, things which it is agreed that Socrates never concerned himself with—doing, I think, what is just in this very thing too, and the work of a most excellent man, namely to think it right to adorn one's teacher; except that to this it befits him to add also the unwillingness to disgrace others who do not deserve it.

These, then, are the things which it was reasonable to say about these men, leaving out none of the necessary points, yet not thinking it right to say everything in order, lest we should seem to anyone to lack taste. He insists, however, on the points where they stumbled in their dealings with the public, as if, because some thought worse of them, it were fitting for us to consider them worse, or, because certain others wronged them, it were necessary for us too not to refrain from heaping insults on them. But I should not have thought it right for anyone else to reproach them with these things, far less Plato; but rather

225. to remember the saying: "And how am I the worse, if so-and-so strikes me unjustly on the cheek?" For whether a man is exiled, or punished with money or with death, or suffers any other such thing, fortune is surely the mistress of it; but their discourses and their statesmanship, derived from what they deliberately chose, it is just to examine—and in these I do not see how I could ever pardon myself, were I to think it right to accuse them. "For it is not reasonable," he says, "for those educated by them to wrong them, nor, from those things by which they became better, to vote anything unjust." But I, for my part, would not say that they erred in that by which they became better, but rather in that they were unable to become wholly like them. And of this I find there is much excuse on both sides. For neither that men should not err at all—and these a popular assembly—nor that one should be able to make all men sinless, would anyone advance as a serious charge. For where it is not easy, and perhaps not even possible, for a single man in private life once and for all to escape blame, surely one ought to think the same of so great a city. But indeed, where even for those who erred there is reasonably pardon, surely for those who lead them toward what is best, and whom they would not obey when they erred, it would be monstrous if we should not grant it. Plato, then, does not allow us to consider the matters in which, by following them, they succeeded; but the wrongs they did against those very men—so far were they from doing what those men thought right—these he charges against them. And the benefits they reaped from their education he passes over; but the things that were not part of what they were taught, but rather remnants of human nature, these he lays upon those men who did everything in their power that they might do no wrong—just as if someone should declare that the schoolmasters who showed the boys their letters and taught them to write, so far as was possible, were the cause of the errors in these matters, if afterwards they should write something not finely nor as they

226. ought, of their own accord. But these things are not among what the teacher showed them beforehand, nor among what they were taught; rather, he set forth how they should write rightly, and what they do preserve, they preserve of his teachings, while these are their own errors—whether through want of learning, or through carelessness, or however else they came to follow—save that they are not at all on his account, nor on account of what came from him, no more than those who lack sustenance lack it on account of those who provided and gave it to them. But all these things, I think, are matters of deficiency, not of what one shared in, nor of what one reaped so far as was possible. If, then, those men taught the Athenians anything worse, let that be said against them, and no argument will excuse them from being base; but if they did not educate all, nor as exactly as possible, nor as much as they wished, why should one set down to their leadership what escaped it? For it was not from their company that the people got this; rather, in this very respect they got nothing from those men. So it was not from what they attended to in them that they erred, but from what they did not attend to that they went wrong. Thus, in the matters in which they obeyed, those who persuaded them clearly persuaded them well. Then again, music and geometry and the other arts—I mean even the quite humble ones—not all who attend their teachers acquire, but out of the many a very few; and not even in these does anyone compel the teachers themselves to be held responsible for unfailing exactness throughout, nor, if the learner does not succeed in everything, nor become like the one who taught him, does anyone set this down against that teacher as beyond dispute—neither as though he knew nothing of the art, nor as though he willfully held back, nor, to put it altogether, as doing wrong. But we know the saying of Homer, which he spoke about sons and which holds good in such cases too: "Few sons," he says, "are like their father;

the more are worse, and few are better than their father." And it has fallen out that one becomes like his teacher and another not, and the one becomes worse, the other better. So

227. we know it to be in families and in arts. But if Themistocles and Pericles and Miltiades and Cimon did not educate all the Athenians in statecraft, nor make them all in succession better, tribe by tribe and man by man, distributing knowledge like a festival-dole, shall we then say we have discovered something monstrous against them—that they themselves were no better than anyone else at these things? And you do not accuse the potter because he did not teach all men in succession to mould clay; yet you accuse the foremost among the Greeks because they did not make all men like themselves? And you are not content with the saying of your Protagoras—that if they advanced the many even in the slightest toward the better—but rather, if the people did not handle everything blamelessly and as a single man would, this you now turn against their leaders.

And indeed I observe that even the physicians, and those reputed to be very excellent, do not so utterly remove diseases that not even a trace remains in the body, but often leave some of the old ailments behind and reckon the relief they give sufficient cause for gratitude, and are not able by their complete treatments to overcome nature itself, but free a man from this disease while in no way hindering another from coming on later. For the art is not adequate to the very end, but nature prevails. What wonder, then, if those men too, having given the Athenians much good counsel and prevented many of their troubles, were not able to hold them to the end nor to heal them immortally, but were overcome by the nature of the populace—or, if one must say it, of mankind in common—and were not able once and for all to root injustice out of the city, like farmers cutting away each year the things that ravage the land, yet not reaching through the whole of the seed? If in this way some seed of injustice and folly, inevitably, escaped them too when they wished to purge the city, and remained, and not everything obeyed them, but there were things the people deliberated on their own account, what baseness does this entail for these men? Or why should one reckon the deeds of others against them—just as if, there being civil strife in the city, and these men leading the

228. one party, that of the decent men, someone should then attribute to those very men the errors of the others and of those who wronged them? And what nature has it, that men who neither did these things, but moreover thought fit to prevent them, should be blamed? But perhaps it is not right to bring the charge against them, yet right to bring it on their behalf. And indeed, for my part, I have reflected how profitably to Plato himself I clear away these charges, and what manner of handles he himself gives against himself out of these accusations, if anyone should wish to imitate him. For consider, by the gods: if, as they say of Protesilaus that he obtained leave to come among the living again from those below, or as one of the comic poets represented four of the leaders rising from the dead—among whom two of these are included—if in this way these four men of ours, concerning whom the present trial is, should obtain a resurrection, so as to be with Plato for one single day to discuss these matters; and then they were to speak, putting forward Pericles, or, if you like, Themistocles, who would stand for us upon the wing of the orators—and let no one reckon against me the harshness of the reply; for in the main there will be nothing of the sort, but we shall remit it so far as we can, and then one must suppose the words to be theirs and not mine. "He that scrapes, let him scrape back" even at the asses, the proverb surely grants; but Pericles the sons of Homer would liken rather to the lions than to the asses. So this much freedom of speech it will be permitted to grant him: as much as, if no one thinks it right to give judgement against Plato, would also let that man not be debarred from teaching from these same matters. And if anyone shall be vexed at these things on Plato's behalf, he will do the very opposite of what he wishes. For by the same things by which he will declare that Plato is being slandered, by these he will confirm how Plato slanders. But indeed, if he shall think it well, even for those reviled, to use the same handles, and

229. these not to revile in return, but to clear their own case through that man's words, how will he bid us count it clever in Plato that he spoke ill first of things which no one compelled him to, and by which he supposed he was showing those men to be worse?

They will then say, as I believe, this—or rather, let me speak as in their own person: "We, Plato, though we have heard from you many slanderous things, will not requite you with the like, nor speak ill of you, but consider you a man among the foremost and the best of the Greeks, and we rejoice with the city, not with you alone, at your nature. Altogether, from the beginning we have made it our own windfall, whatever our city should gain. And the finest of all gains is the bearing of good men—among whom we too once thought we belonged, though you do not grant it. And since you liken us also to Mithaecus, who wrote up the Sicilian cookery, it is likely that you know these things better than we do. For we know nothing of such writings, since we did not frequently mix in Sicily. But just as you had no leisure for affairs of state because of your discourses in philosophy, so we, because of our discourses in statecraft, had no leisure to learn anything of those matters there. But it is not unlikely that you should fall in with such men and writings, even if not willingly but unwillingly—just as, no doubt, you got experience of many other things even willingly, having often been conveyed across the Sicilian sea. Come then, by the very table in Sicily—whether Mithaecus set it forth or anyone else whatever—what proof have you of our baseness? That, by Zeus, we did not make all the Athenians just. But did you make Dionysius any better—if you like, the son of Hermocrates, or, if you like, the son

230. of Dionysius? For you consorted with both of them. And what benefit did they reap from you and your company? And yet you surely discoursed with them about justice and law and the constitution, and you praised to them also the equality found in geometry, and they were so fond of listening that they even sent for you, and you fell short in nothing of eagerness, that their cities might fare well through them. But you failed to notice that you yourself were caught in all the proverbs—carding wool into the fire, and boiling a stone, and sowing the rocks. For what did those men reap of your admonitions and discourses? What of divine or human matters did they manage better after that day on which they lent you their ears? What repentance for their former errors came upon them? What love of philosophizing, leaping over all else? What did they get better than the men within the city itself, or those outside it? Which of the people of Gela or Leontini, or the other Greeks in Sicily, obtained those good and just men through you and your discourses? And if none of the Greeks, to which of the barbarians—to whom of those in Sicily—did they show that they had become better? Very well. But of those dwelling in Sicily to none; yet of the barbarians or Greeks in Italy, to whom, tell me, did they conduct themselves more nobly than before? Toward what and toward what men did your statesmanship make them better? To which of the Carthaginians—if you cannot name the Greeks—or to which of the other barbarians in Libya did the tyrant display himself practising virtue, from the time he listened to Plato's teachings, whether I mean the elder or the younger? And indeed, if one must lay upon the counsellors the errors of those in power, why will men say you accuse us rather than yourself? Since it is possible to allege against you also the deeds of those men. But if you should say that these are nothing to you, by these same arguments you also acquit us, if the people of the Athenians did anything outside what we thought best. I think, then, that this will not suffice these men, but that they would now most gladly add a further point. Of what kind? This: 'Since, then, in both cases it is possible that not everything was done as the counsellor

231. thought best, which of us set about the task with the better and juster business—the man who thought fit to educate the tyrant and sailed so far from his fatherland, or those who were willing to give their own citizens the best counsel, and to make their affairs better from what was possible? What do you say, Plato, to this?' they will ask; 'and since, once and for all, we did not prevail, which of us came nearer to our original purpose? And which of us advanced things further? Did we make the Athenians better, or you the tyrants? And indeed, for them, except perhaps in a few things, everything has gone wrong, whereas for those who acted with us everything, except for a few things, has been done more nobly than among all mankind. By so much did we show those who dealt with us to be better than you showed those who dealt with you. And if you shall say that these were better by nature, by this too you prove us the wiser, if we placed some hopes in such men, and did not, as you did, wholly fail of the mark, having thought it of some use to converse with those tyrants. Then, just as you allege their nature in the things in which they became better than others, so, if they seem to you to have acted somewhat too rashly, set this down to that same nature, and do not bring it against us; nor, while the things they accomplished under our leadership you take away from the counsellors and from us who helped bring them to pass by being thought to have advised the best, do you say that the wrongs they committed against us, on their own account, are wrongs that we do. For of the former we too are in part the cause, but of the latter not even a little. But these things, as Sophocles said, are matters of suffering rather than of doing. And indeed, if to give offence and to meet with some calamity is proof of baseness and carries a just reproach for the one who suffers, consider our case and your own. What benefit did you reap from the tyrants whom you chose to educate? Did not Polycrates—" the

232. fortune that came from without—"was no better than ours to you either. Thus from the beginning, contrary to all hope and contrary to all your worth, you were shut up and reared; and if a certain Italian Greek of the Pythagoreans had not begged you off—just as you say of the chief magistrate, that he prevented one of us who was about to be cast into the pit—you yourself perhaps would have fallen into the stone-quarries, or at any rate, the second time, you would not have escaped 'the sheer streams of the Styx-water' of the strait, but would have died there in Sicily. As it is, it was Archytas who prevented it, and Dionysius was ashamed before Archytas when he sent his message and granted the favour, but he was not ashamed before Plato, with whom he had consorted and from whom he had heard those fine and solemn discourses; rather, so far was he from honouring or obeying him as he spoke, that, in order not to hear your voice, he kept you shut up like some 'worthless vagabond.' And the lot of Cimon befell you—that lot which you say the Athenians inflicted on him, unwilling to hear his voice—nor did Dionysius then think you worthy even of that, save that you were not on equal terms. For Cimon the Athenians removed so that they might not hear him for ten years, but for you it was not even possible to remove yourself, though surely you wished it and sought it, having sense, as I declare. But this was the dreadful calamity: that it was not possible to depart, but you had to remain by force and all but be nailed fast. And then your dearest friend hands you over, after these things, to a Spartan, Pollis, and not even there did he stay his outrage, but ordered that you be sold—sold, alas, the best of the Greeks, like a slave bound for export. He, that man hated by the gods, would not have committed this outrage had we been living and our triremes in being. Yet he ordered it, and Plato was led out of Sicily by Pollis, and Pollis in his turn, taking charge of you, was ashamed even before the absent Dionysius and remembered what he had enjoined, but seeing you and being in your company set you at nothing; rather, your marvellous power and persuasiveness in discourse was overcome by the commands of Dionysius. And Pollis sided with that man, and that too when he had given such

233. orders, but with you not at all. Let us add that, though a Spartan and one reared in the laws and constitution which holds second place of all in your own judgement—or rather, first of those that exist. And in vain, it seems, were all those many praises sung by you of the city of the Lacedaemonians. At any rate, the man who was once the admiral of the Lacedaemonians fell as far short of your worth as not even any one of the Persians or Scythians could have done, who had no power to understand your voice at all. And yet, if you thought fit that he should become better than Dionysius concerning you, and should resolve on something better, but he paid you no heed, but belonged to the absent man and to the one who had enjoined the basest things—how are you not utterly inferior to the tyrant? And in what respect are you justified in bringing it forward, if anyone undertaking to persuade another failed? But if you thought fit to be content with the present circumstances, while he had no respect for your silence, nor held it more sufficient than all words to set before himself the fitting reckonings concerning you—how did you obtain what was likely, or how did you reap what befitted the nature of your own self? 'By Zeus, but you are in no way worse, if Pollis and Dionysius were beside their senses.' Nor are we either, blessed sir, if some Athenian proved base toward us. So then, to such a pitch of excess did Pollis come, and was so very earnest, on being made master to deliberate concerning a man such as he had not hoped for even in a dream, and then to be shown to have deliberated something most magnificent and surpassing in humanity and culture, that, conveying you to Aegina—in which death had been proclaimed for any Athenian caught setting foot there—there he disembarks you. And here again you met with the lot of Themistocles, or rather you fared even better. For he came to the Molossians, to Admetus, an enemy

234. of his, and through him was saved; and to you it happened to be brought to trial among the common enemies of your own fatherland. And if those men had not proved better than the tyrant and his servant—and these too, doing well, were ashamed before the philosophy and reputation of Plato—you would have died there on the spot, having exchanged island for island, in the very forecourt of your fatherland, not in Sicily: so much were you going to gain. But the worthy fellow-voyager, the Spartan, did not even thus forget what he had heard from Dionysius, but sold your sacred head; and while Pollis was selling you, no one of the Greeks would buy you—so wholly were all of them gripped by your discourses—but a Libyan, a man named Anniceris, whom not one of mankind would even have known, had he not made use of your misfortunes. As it was, he did not buy Plato, but reputation for himself and the being known. And then at last Dion played the part of the marvellous benefactor, sending the ransom to the Libyan. But not even that man was outdone by Dion; rather, he released you free of charge—a man who had never before set eyes on you nor consorted with you anywhere, on islands or mainland. Coming home, then, and having escaped, like some Odysseus, not deaths only but slavery as well, and having so plainly owed your deliverance to the baseness and the kindness of others, you kept quiet for a time; but when, the elder Dionysius having died, the Dionysius who sprang from him took over the rule and summoned you again to the much-hymned Sicily—as though, along with the other things he had inherited from his father, he had inherited also the outrage against you, and were heir also of giving you orders, as to the Syracusans or the others in Sicily—you went sailing off. And of what

235. kind of treatment you reaped in turn, you yourself know: how you accomplished none of the things for which you set out, and endured many things of every sort, and these on behalf of anything rather than yourself; having only this one piece of good fortune—for it shall be said—that you did not share the lot of Philoxenus the dithyrambic poet, although in your conduct you were, in a way, his very counterpart. Do not suppose that we are ignorant of your discourses, or do not agree that they are true—that it is not lawful for a better man to be outraged or harmed by a worse. We know these things and bear witness that you speak truly; yet nonetheless that marvellous lover of yours left out not one bit of outrage and wantonness. And you perhaps were in no way outraged, but he, by the things he thought were outrages, did more of them than by those through which he knew he would do you honour. And not even so did you put an end to your association with that man and to your voyaging; but having, contrary to hope and contrary to your worth, been so released and gladly brought safely home again, you were so far from being able to give counsel to others that you did not even counsel yourself, which was all that remained. But the proverb, and Homer too, says: 'The fool knows a thing once it is done.' Yet you, the wisest of the Greeks, were not even thus instructed; rather, Dionysius mastered you again, holding out kindly hopes, and again in turn you made trial of the evils of tyranny, sailing a third time, just as wrestlers wrestle—twice having stumbled against the same man, and the third time stumbling altogether against a tyrant and a tyrannical household.

So neither did you yourself run all your course before a fair wind. Why then do you cast fortune in our teeth, when you yourself have had such experience of it? It is as if Odysseus should reproach Menelaus with his wandering: 'My good man, I too came home not with all my company, but with more

236. of them than you, and sooner than you, and having sailed an unequal course; and moreover without meddling, as you did, sitting in Sicily beside the Cyclops.' But, O Plato, most marvellous of all men, do not thrust with both hands—and that not through one of your friends and one of your enemies, but through yourself and these men, whom it were more reasonable to consider friends; or, if not, look not for what you will charge but for what you will first answer in your own defence: so many are your own affairs too. And yet you think fit to mock even the dithyrambic poets, as men set in motion only toward pleasure and gratification. But it appears that Dionysius, when he could not bring Philoxenus the Cytherian once more under his power, but that man wrote to him freely 'Go and weep,' yet got you a second and a third time into his grip after those first sojourns. You will say the pretext is a fine one for you: that you did and said all these things for the sake of Dion's affairs. Nobly indeed do you both say it and do it. Consider then our pretext too, and if you find it more dishonourable, or that we meddled for the sake of small ends, take and brand us, and become a Dionysius instead of a Plato toward us. But if, just as you endured all these things for Dion's sake and for his hospitality and friendship, so we, on behalf of the common hearth of our fatherland and of the common treaties and rights—some of us of the city, some even of the Greeks—undertook to say and do and suffer anything whatever, reverencing all the titles of Zeus, reverencing the titles and honours of all the other gods, and besides

237. the heroes and our common ancestors, and the memory of the time past and the reckoning of the age to come, and all the things that are held greatest among all men, both Greeks and barbarians—if then anything turned out contrary to our intention from these endeavours, why do you accuse us of what is not yours? And indeed, if this too must be added: we, if we did stumble somewhat, yet stumbled having acted on behalf of the things we were earnest about, whereas you did so straightaway from the very beginning. So then, if to have met with some troubles is a reproach and a censure for the counsellor, you have met with no fewer than we. And there is added the fact that you accomplished none of the things you wished. But if the deliberate choice itself must be examined by itself, then your part is reasonably blameless—and from the same considerations our part is blameless too. And there is added the fact that we mastered our affairs, and that these are greater than both the things you were earnest about and the things in which we ourselves stumbled. You, then, thinking to refute us, speak against yourself; while we, speaking on our own behalf, also tend to your case. Or rather, in your defence we too have a share, but you have not as much as we. So that, if anyone shall spare us, it is unclear whether he will spare you too; but if anyone shall condemn you, he might perhaps pardon us; and if again he will not even spare us, hardly will he spare you. Thus our winning comes about on your behalf. In view of this, look not to mine, but to yours too,' as Teucer said to someone, and do not wish to examine everything exactly, nor, there being three things to which one might look—judgement, deeds, fortune—dismissing the two, lay hold of the third, and that too when the greatest part even of this is on our side. For if we had had to foreknow these things from the start and yet deliberately give ourselves up on behalf of Greece, we should not have shrunk back, nor fallen so far short of Codrus,

238. and you too, I think, would have given this very counsel.' Since—come, by friendship—which would you rather have wished: that neither the things accomplished through us had been done for the city, nor that any of the citizens had wronged us—well then, others were going to wrong both us and them—or that, for the sake of those deeds, they should be done, even if it had to turn out so? I, for my part, think the latter. So then, since you would say you would rather have both than neither, you agree both that to us, who took part in public affairs, belongs everything that befits, and that more largely we are the cause of what tends to the city's good repute. How then were you not more justly bound to praise than to blame? For if, even to those very men who wronged us, what was well deliberated and done is of more account, and one might not unreasonably remit these things to them, how is it not just that we be released from all blame—we who have no part whatever in the accusations, but of the things that come under praise, if you are willing to speak the truth, have the greatest share? We then, though we could exalt ourselves in many ways, pass it by. But that you may know how much fairness is ours, and how far in every way we are from wishing to grasp more than our due, let the whole be common; take away, if you will, all the additions above; let us settle on equal terms—we are surely not inexperienced in treaties—and let neither you make mention to us of misfortunes, nor we use this against you. For there is no middle ground: either we too must be convicted along with you by these arguments, or both you and we must be let off guiltless, and it must suffice that certain others wronged us." When they had said these things, I think, they would readily go back again to join the majority—if indeed those men too must be thought to lie among the majority, as I, for one, do not think. I, then, should most gladly acquit them both; but if anyone thinks otherwise, the poets would call him "hard of heart." Come, then, let us also examine his examples.

239. "Good charioteers, then," he says, "do not at first fall out of their cars; but once they have tended their horses and themselves become better charioteers, then they fall out." And somewhere higher up, among the things directed against Pericles, he says: "A keeper of asses and horses and oxen, being of such a kind, would be thought bad, if, having taken them over not kicking nor butting nor biting, he showed them doing these things from wildness." But, my good man, you speak of the same individual asses and horses and oxen; whereas, of the same Athenians, all of these, I think, were leaders—Solon, I mean, and Cleisthenes and Miltiades and Pericles, and whoever each was. But the city is one, and the name one, while the men are different and different through the ages. What wonder, then, that some met with gentler and more tractable subjects, and others with rougher and more spirited—just as countless other things, surely, change with the times? For we do not gather even the fruits of the earth alike year by year—I mean neither in quantity nor in quality. Rather, the strength of the year is held to be no less than that of the land. So that, if in the earlier time the Athenians, being of easier natures, in the days of those men were already hard to hold in check, the affliction would not be outside the whole of nature—just as, with time advancing, I think, their spirit too would change according to their misfortunes. Furthermore, charioteers do not corrupt horses by this—that they train some and fail with others—but rather if they make worse the very ones they had before as good and faultless; whereas Miltiades and those after him did not have the same subjects throughout, but some were added, surely, and some passed away, and some even quit their company. How then is it just that they be judged against the charioteers, or how, as though the same horses remained theirs, must they so render account? It is as if someone should think fit that the Molionidae, and the horses of Diomedes the Thracian, should be

240. ruled in the same way as those one had from the start. And indeed the charioteers each rule their own cars by themselves, and no one interferes; and I say this very same thing concerning the keepers of the asses and the oxen; so that, if anything were mishandled, they would reasonably bear the blame securely. But not Pericles, nor Themistocles; nor did any of those men rule the Athenians alone, nor freed from anyone undertaking to do the opposite; rather, many others, surely, managed affairs of state along with them, having neither the same natures nor the same judgements; so that one ought to assign the errors to these still more than to those. For I, for my part, would say they belonged to those men by so much the more, as the wrongs were done against them. But, to speak simply, how is it just to demand a reckoning from those alone who were not the sole causes of affairs? We do not, then, blame the original charioteers, if another, taking over the same horses, shows them to be worse; rather, both charioteers and teachers win greater repute when others, set in charge of the same subjects, prove unequal to them. And, by Zeus, if even at the same time—say, on the same day—another, taking over the chariot, mounts it, the good charioteer, the famous one, is no longer answerable for the whole; but if once and for all the care is settled upon him, then these matters too are so judged, and no one inherits the misdeeds of another. But this very thing too is a base accusation—that they did not allow the better man and the one not of their own party to use his art, but tripped him up, like those in the foot-races. So too, then, concerning the statesmanship of those men: until you show that, while the philosophers reigned and were alone set over affairs, these errors were committed—I mean of Miltiades, of Themistocles, of Pericles, of

241. Cimon—do not by any means lay the blame on philosophy herself. But if you are able to refute these men by themselves, use this method and show their errors; if not, you accuse the asses rather than their keepers. For if there were no errors before those men engaged in statecraft at Athens, but all these things began from Miltiades and Themistocles and from those men, it would be another argument; nor, if some others took part in statecraft at the same time as those, would I mention it, but I grant that those men alone are accountable for everything. But if it is likely that something else too had been erred before, why do we blame the Laconians for these things? For surely you, at any rate, are permitted to jest, since this very thing—that the calamities are ancient, and, as you somewhere say, beginning from Theseus, and perhaps even from yet earlier, and that these men were not the first to stumble—I shall let pass. And yet Theseus, though exiled and destroyed, dying in Scyros, did not remain dishonoured in the eyes of the god, but the god commanded the Athenians to bring back his bones, many ages later, as they say. But nonetheless I shall let these things pass. Yet your argument about these men has gone to ruin on you. For by the fact that you have accused all of them with the same charges, you have undone what you think you hold as strong. Why? Because this charge might perhaps belong to Miltiades, but no longer to Themistocles; and if to both Miltiades and Themistocles, yet not to Cimon; and if to Miltiades and Themistocles and Cimon, yet surely not also to Pericles, but to him least of all. For Themistocles took them over from Miltiades already butting, and Cimon from Miltiades and Themistocles, and Pericles from Miltiades and Themistocles and

242. Cimon. Thus Pericles least of all was accountable, the very man whom you accused most of all, and likened, apart from the rest, to the bad keepers of asses and oxen.

Let us reflect, then, also on what we were just now speaking of: the association of Plato himself with Dionysius. For if this is the one true and just and sufficient defence and excuse on Plato's behalf, of all defences, concerning the offences the tyrant committed both while Plato was with him and again after he had withdrawn—namely, that even before he saw Plato and heard his discourses he had done many things of every kind—what prevents us, on behalf of those men too, from saying not that the affairs of the people are on equal footing with those of the tyrants, but rather that the wrongs done before their statesmanship were less than those committed by the tyrants from the start, and that the wrongs done during their statesmanship deserve not equal censure with those of the tyrants from the time they admitted Plato; and what prevents us from saying this very thing in common—that even before those men set about speaking, there were errors at Athens, and if these were less than those of Dionysius, then surely the later ones too were not comparable to his, but were such as men, being human, are likely to err? Come then, let us also consider and go through the things that befell these men. For the people did not so condemn all of them, nor did they suffer these things by a common decree, nor, to begin with, did all suffer the same. How could they? Rather, Themistocles and Cimon were ostracized. But this was not hatred nor estrangement of the people toward them, but there was a law among them concerning these matters, holding—however it held; for I pass over whether one would much praise the law—but at any rate their stumbling was not without excuse, but had, as in such cases, a certain decency, for it came about by law, as I said. And this law was such: they cut down those who stood out, removing them for ten years, and no other charge attached, nor anger as upon a proof of misdeeds. And yet how is it not monstrous, if those whom not even their removers could blame, we shall blame on account of those who removed them?—like men who know nothing

243. for certain, but accuse on some hearsay, and that hearsay not even itself clear. But I return to my point: that it was for the sake of restraining high spirits that they devised this form of exile. So then, by this greatest proof it is clear how far these men were from flattery, seeing that, in order that they might bring down their high spirit, for this reason they removed them, for no other thing of all. So that this point too you have, unawares, spoken not against them but on their behalf—you, so clever at watching what is said and refuting others. For they seem to me, reflecting on the calamities that came upon them under the Pisistratids, to wish to allow no one to think himself greater than the many, but that all be on an equal footing of power so far as possible. Were they then acting justly in driving out Cimon and Themistocles? I do not say that. But neither was it altogether shameless; rather, it both had an excuse for themselves and was no unseemly calamity for those men. And if, then, the pretext was not sufficient even for those who did it, for those who suffered it this very thing at least suffices—not to be considered base—or else we should wrong them more grievously than those who cast them out. For if those men conceded this much to themselves and admitted that the city did them no wrong at all, while we shall take even this away and add slander to their misfortune, how shall we not be harsher to them than their exile, or how shall we not wrong them more than those who wronged them from the start? So then, and for these reasons, having removed Cimon, they brought him back even thus within the appointed time, while Themistocles, in my opinion, they were prevented from recalling by the Lacedaemonians. For when the affair of Pausanias occurred, at once, falling into despondency and wishing to draw the Athenians along with them—that they might not enjoy the disgrace alone—and at the same time, if that man were left at Athens, fearing lest they should have in him a hard-fighting adversary against all their ends, and besides, bearing a grudge for the deceptions concerning the building of the walls, they accused the absent man and bade them prosecute him together with themselves, using the wickedness of Pausanias

244. as a proof against him. But Themistocles, taking the one party's plot and the other's rashness as his provision, and outwitting the King as he was wont, was deprived of his return, yet showed himself sufficient to himself against every fortune.

And so much for the affairs of Themistocles and Cimon. As for Pericles and Miltiades, the people did them no harm, neither greater nor lesser; but judges sitting in court fined each of them with money, being some small fraction of all the Athenians. Again, then, even when these things had so befallen, the whole people chose Pericles as general none the less, and entrusted everything to him, as the same witness shows whom we just now produced concerning him. And Miltiades died first—not because the judges condemned him to death, nor, as you say, because he would even have been cast into the pit, had it not been for the chief magistrate, but because his wound had become gangrenous. And of these things there are many, or rather all, as witnesses. It is clear, then, from the fact that they were reconciled with Pericles and once and for all entrusted the city to him, after the conviction for theft, as you call it, that they would have done this very thing toward Miltiades too, had not the workings of fortune prevented it. Consider, then, in what circumstances those who condemned Pericles condemned him—since you said that it was at the end of Pericles' life that they convicted him of theft. For so long as the city was at peace, he had no charge among them, neither greater nor lesser, but was admired on equal terms with the gods; and still earlier, having led out many armies of the Athenians against those unwilling to abide by what was just, he was not only blameless but in some great measure

245. first. But when at once they were compelled to be deprived of their land, and the plague lay upon them destroying everything, and there was no respite from troubles, then indeed, overcome by their calamities, they grew harsh toward him. And here recall to mind for me the example of the charioteers. For perhaps you will be caught by your own chariots and not by their wings. At any rate Nestor was the most skilled with horses, as is said, of those in his day. And Homer, among few, calls him "horseman" in his verses. So that, even in the games over Patroclus, going up to Antilochus, who was about to send down his chariot, and adding the remark that Zeus and Poseidon had taught him all horsemanship from his very boyhood, and though there was no great need to teach him, he nonetheless suggests and points out to him some of the things for the course, and how he shall conduct the contest. So great was his abundance of knowledge. Yet this man, on an occasion when there was a flight of the Achaeans, remained alone—not willingly, but because his horse was hard pressed, the horse that 'godlike Alexander, husband of fair-haired Helen, struck with an arrow on the very top of the head, where the foremost hairs of horses grow upon the skull, and where the wound is most deadly; and in pain it reared up, and the shaft sank into the brain, and it threw the horses into confusion as it rolled about the bronze.' And neither could the horse any longer obey, because of the affliction and the wound, though all the previous time it had shown itself obedient, nor had Nestor anything he could do—not, indeed, with that horse, but not even with the other horses, thrown into confusion by the suffering. Nay, he could not even easily loose the rein in the tumult, but, as upon a bronze car, he stood waiting—so far as he was not absent from holding still. So utterly was he at a loss, through the crisis and the calamity, though he was the best in the matters of the art. In the same way, I think, Pericles too, so long as nothing was past remedy, held his horses in check, and very readily they listened to him, and they reckoned his voice no whit worse than Nestor's, although indeed he used them in many and various ways,

246. both in matters of peace and of war. But when their fodder outside was destroyed, and at home they had fared wretchedly, and there was no room even to turn, but the hardships pressed upon them, dreadful and unceasing, and now their heads and inward parts were burning, now the corpses were seen many, night and day, and everything was full of men rolling and falling and at a loss, and not even the slightest good hope was preserved—then indeed, shut in on all sides and overcome by the strangeness and the excess of their present evils, they shook off the charioteer. But having shaken him off, they had been so well and nobly driven by him in the time before, that they recognized what they had done, and changed their minds, and bowing down again, surrendered to him from the beginning to rule and lead them wherever he would. So, of his horsemanship I do not know, but in discourse he was in no great degree worse than Nestor. So that, if it seems marvellous to you that at the end they condemned him, first of all this very example of the charioteer releases him from the charge. So that he comes nearer the end of Pericles, and they appear, at the very end, to have honoured him, not dishonoured him. But indeed, since both in the time before he had been held in high repute for many successive years, and after the condemnation he was again the greatest of the citizens, how is he not for both reasons enviable—both for the beginning and for the end? For the offence given to the earlier circumstances did not cast its shadow, but the being honoured after this struck off the whole calamity. For the middle is not master of both seasons, but the two together prevail over the middle. For if one must give the vote to the first, he was honoured from the beginning; and if to the later, they did not halt at the point where they condemned him, but turned again to him as

247. their better. And indeed it is not merely that two are set against one, but also that the amount of each period of time is not equal nor near it, but that the marvel of his good repute prevails by how much. So that even the middle of the whole time does not come to calamity, but stands for him amid brilliant honour. For the misfortune was a thing of a day, but his primacy was undisputed over the whole of time. So that, even if, dismissing judgement, one must examine fortune, by so much does his good fortune prevail. And indeed the one thing came about by anger, the other belonged to him from the justest judgement; and the one came from a few, the other from all alike. How then are these things equal to those? And indeed one must not think that all who drew the lot condemned the indictment against him, but that there were some who, doing well, voted also for Pericles. These, then, he had made better, and the best. Thus he boasted nobly, it seems, of both the many and the few; so that, if one must rely on the many as witnesses, it was the people who honoured him, and if on the best, he was acquitted at least so far as their part went. And if he did not educate all in succession, nor make all alike, but there are those who escaped his wish and power, what wonder is it, or how could anyone justly be indignant? Indeed not even Socrates educated all who consorted with him, but they accuse Critias the son of Callaeschrus, and they accuse Alcibiades the son of Cleinias, of deliberating the basest things for the city and of living the rest of their life least of all according to Socrates. Was Socrates then, on this account, doing wrong, or because of their baseness was he himself base? I do not think so. Rather, those men did wrong in not showing themselves like Socrates nor obeying his discourses. For if in the things in which they obeyed

248. they erred, the charge is Socrates'; but if in the things in which they disobeyed, it is theirs. You, then, by the very things in which you say they refused to obey Pericles, by these you think fit to refute Pericles. And who could make a greater defence on behalf of Miltiades and Themistocles and Pericles than this—that, obeying those men, the Athenians did what was best, but when they refused to do this, then they erred? Thus those men persuaded them to what was best, and the Athenians would always have done what was best, if they had obeyed those men to the end. And yet those who wished to make use of Socrates were with him daily, whereas with Pericles and the other orators the Athenians were together, so to speak, publicly, three days in each month. And indeed, that it is easier to hold two or three than so many at once, and to educate the young in anything at all than men advanced in years and every age in succession, who of all men does not know? Furthermore, Socrates surely enjoined nothing burdensome on those who consorted with him, save only so much as to be temperate, whereas Themistocles and Pericles and Miltiades and Cimon enjoined both to be away from the city and to risk their bodies, and ordered many things involving hardship; in which it is not wonderful if they did not endure once and for all, but rather that they held out so long. Then, releasing Socrates from the charge concerning those men, do you examine these by the wrongs that certain men committed? And indeed, what manner of things those men—I mean Critias and Alcibiades—turned out to be, and of how many great troubles they proved the cause to the city and to the rest of the Greeks, and what manner of education they displayed of their own, the historians tell; but if Plato thinks he says something strong, this—that certain Athenians wronged Miltiades himself—then Critias too laid a penalty on Socrates, and that no slight one, but one which he least accepted. For he forbade him to converse with the young. And yet what is this but a brilliant dishonour? And of this folly he persuaded the others too to take part, all who at that time held the city with him.

249. Let us add, then, that no one of Pericles' associates, nor of those from the people, brought that indictment, but one of his political opponents, or rather a man not even rightly and truly acquainted with him; whereas the one who ordered Socrates to keep away from the young and be silent was not one of the sophists nor of the rival craftsmen, but one of those who, when he was young, frequented him. So great, it seems, was the benefit he reaped from his company. Shall we then bring these things against Socrates? Surely we shall not be doing what is just.

And it seems to me that justice overtook Plato too for his discourse and his censure. I beg him to be gracious and merciful at what is said, if there is any perception in him. And I will not name Dionysius—neither the son of Hermocrates nor the son of Dionysius—nor any of those in Sicily who spent their time with him; but there are those who say, and others again declare that these speak the truth, that when he made his third journey abroad to Sicily, then certain of his companions and of those who had associated with him most closely, having been left behind at home, deliberated revolutionary things, and imitated the Athenians—or rather not the Athenians, but I mean the subjects of the Athenians, the ones who revolt. And yet what they did resembled an uprising of those subjects: they thought fit to set up rival schools against his, near his own, and built upon the Academy, and bade men in general to despise—I will not add the name in this fashion straight off—saying that he was very old and was already out of his wits. So that, my dear Plato, the very lot of Pericles befell you. And just as a moment ago you appeared to share in the fortune of Miltiades and Themistocles and Cimon, each in turn, so for you too the

250. fourth, the remaining one, has here come to meet you. For clearly, in just this way, you suffered the same thing as Pericles at the end of your life, and moreover in your old age, and being much older than his age then, were so outraged—if it is lawful to say it. And if Chabrias and Iphicrates, men of the stamp and rank of Pericles and Themistocles—so far as it is possible to liken these to those—had not perceived what was happening and grown indignant, and torn down the fortification, and ordered them in future to be temperate toward you, all that would have been full of tragedy. And yet what shall we say, O best of the Greeks—whether that they then justly dared these things against you, or that you are accountable for their madness? For my part I would say neither. And indeed one could, requiting your discourses, twist them double against you and against Socrates—that, even if these things befell you most unjustly, yet in a way you suffered what befitted, if you displayed such men as those you were educating; and the example of the sophists, which you have used against the demagogues, one might far more justly use against you, inasmuch as those who associated with the sophists are nearer to be likened to those who spent their time with you and Socrates than to those who dealt with Pericles and the men of his circle. So then, if the errors of the associates are accusations against their leaders, you have accused yourself and your companion more than Pericles and those you suppose; and, by Zeus, if you wish, I yield you the "more"—that it is "no less" suffices. But if you are guiltless, those men too, on the same grounds, are likely to be so, if indeed you remember the principle of equality and do not willingly overstep your geometry. And indeed Socrates too appears to have been convicted of the indictment for impiety in his old age, and not only at the end of his life, but having met with this very end of his life. For they assessed his penalty at death. Is it not then strange that, for all that great length of time besides, he conversed and educated those he met, and neither any of the public men bore him ill will

251. nor any of those earnest about the poets—but rather one who composed a comedy against him went away defeated, and if it pleased anyone, nothing more came of it then than laughter—yet after so long a time, and when the city was recovering herself from such great evils, and when they had sworn not to bear malice against the wrongdoers, then they took offence at his discourses? But these things were perhaps likely, perhaps not; yet they fell out thus all the same. And nonetheless Socrates is no whit the worse; and we have rendered also the likely arguments on behalf of Pericles, in which it is nothing unfair that Plato too concede, if indeed, as I said a little before, he cares for justice. For again, even this—if someone should ask Plato, supposing he himself had sat as judge over Pericles when he was on trial for theft, whether he would have been among those condemning him, and would have thought the speeches of Cleon worth more than those of Pericles—and when I say this, I mean of the truth—or whether he would not have blushed at what was happening, as I, for one, would maintain stoutly on Plato's behalf, that it is surely impossible to say he would have been like Cleon. Then the man whom you yourself would have acquitted of the charge—him you slander out of this very same charge? And how is it not strange to refuse to believe another saying it, yet to accuse him oneself? And, for the very things on account of which you would deem the speaker worse, on these to think fit that Pericles be considered base? And, blaming us for those who condemned him, to persuade us to join in condemning, as though we were about to share in some worthy thing, and not in what it was not even noble for those men to do? And they themselves did not reckon their own condemnation against him, but honoured him again as worthy and just; while we, against the man whom we have nothing else to accuse, shall dishonour him on account of the trial, and of the same men shall make strong what they erred in, but what, being of sound mind, they did, we shall count for nothing—and that too, while we agree they erred, or rather while we accuse them? And what

252. reason this had, I, for one, do not perceive. For to what would there seem to be a limit and an end of the defence on their behalf, if the things Plato charges suffice not? For instance: if the accusation of these men had been made, and the one reviling them had abused these arguments—that among the Athenians themselves they were convicted and paid the penalty as wrongdoers—and then someone had shown that these things came about not rightly nor on all just grounds, but that those who condemned them erred in judgement, or for some other reason voted thus, and not because they had judged them to be wrongdoers, this surely would have sufficed everyone, and they would have thought the matters of the charge sufficiently dissolved. Plato, then, blaming them for what befell them, and saying they were the errors of the multitude, nonetheless takes them up as a refutation against those men, and has accused them of the calamity as of a wrong, examining fortune instead of judgement, and setting down the error of others as belonging to them. And I should gladly ask those attached to him what ever they would have thought fit to say against these men, or what opinion they were persuading us to hold, if they had been able to show this—that on every just ground, with no base pretext, the Athenians condemned them—when he himself, declaring that they had been wronged contrary to law, and likening those who condemned them to kicking horses, thinks he says something strong against those men. Soon enough, if he had been able to liken those who condemned them to the Twelve Gods, he would have refrained from speaking ill of the convicted. Then he says that they did not do these things at the start—as Critias and the others who wronged him did these things straightaway at the beginning—but began to butt many years after, or after they had frequented those men. But even if they did not do these things from the start, they had at any rate in their

253. nature, surely, the power even to prevent it—a power wholly greater than belongs to man. But if Plato will accuse the men on both counts, as though he had grasped some clever point, what prevents someone from rendering the like in return, and on both counts again, taking it up contentiously, dissolving the argument thus: that if the Athenians condemned them rightly and justly, then they had not been corrupted by them—for they were doing what was just; therefore neither had those men corrupted them. So that, if they were justly convicted, they were in this respect no whit the worse; but if those men condemned them unjustly, it follows that the men were wronged, but in no way did wrong; and to those who are wronged it is reasonable to bring aid, not to accuse them; and even if it is not possible to bring aid, yet it is not just to accuse. But I leave these things to the cleverer sort; what do I myself say, and how do I take the argument? It is not just to accuse both at once, both the people and those men; or we shall plainly be slandering one of the two. For if those decisions were rightly made, those men, it seems, were doing wrong, and what befitted has been done by the people. So that it is surely not just to accuse him of these things. How then, likening him to the savage beasts, shall we rightly say we are acting? But if the people erred, both the error has been committed by them and the reproach of the men is dissolved. For we say, surely, that the Athenians erred in this very thing—in assessing against those men a penalty of exile, or of money, or of whatever they assessed for each. But what does this argument say? That those men were worthy of none of these things. And indeed, if they were doing wrong, they were worthy of them. But since they were not worthy of them, it is clear that they were not doing wrong. And to speak ill of and slander those who do no wrong is in no way to act justly.

We, then, instead of accusing both, make on behalf of both the fitting defence, neither saying that the people

254. bear the blame for everything, nor that those men should be considered worse if they stumbled at all. And we show that, there being four men, the people did not even lay a hand on two of them, and of the two they were thought to condemn, they did not even condemn these as wrongdoers, but, like children, thought fit that they withdraw before them as before a teacher. Again, then, in each pair, one is found to have met with the justest kindness from the people—the one returning within the appointed time, the other holding a generalship before he had paid the fine, and being master of all things, even of those who condemned him. How could anyone make a finer defence on behalf of both—if one must say something of the truth even concerning Plato's own arguments? If, then, the people had condemned all, and afterwards had shown no kindness to any one of them, not even thus would it have been just to say against both the wrongs committed by the others, and to think fit to render to neither the things that belonged to both for their good repute. For if from these things alone both the Athenians in common and their leaders were judged, it would be well to reproach with them; but if there are other things, better and more numerous than these—and you yourself have most nobly agreed; for at last you somewhere said that they fell into these troubles late, since in all the earlier time both those men did as they wished and the people showed itself such as it ought—how was it not right to imitate the practice of the Persians? For with them, they say, there is a law that, if any of them incurs some base charge, they do not condemn him beforehand, not even if he is convicted, until, having examined side by side both the things he did well and the things he did badly, they find the worse to prevail; but when the benefactions stand foremost, the law commands that even manifest wrongdoers be let off. Then, among the

255. barbarians it is so; but shall Plato, the best of the Greeks and the one knowing in human affairs—and I will add, in divine ones too—think fit that a man should succeed in everything together and master everything, and that too not only in the things over which his judgement is master, but also in all that pertains to fortune; or that the one who has stumbled even a little be worth nothing? We shall then seem to accuse not those men only, but the whole of human nature. But look, if you will, again to your own examples. For you will find that neither do the good charioteers win everything in succession, nor do they make such a promise, nor do the horses themselves run as if upon stated terms; rather, even the horses of Miltiades and of Cimon, reputed to have been the best, did not carry off all the contests, nor win continuously the whole time they lived. Nor again do I say that the best pilots always save all who sail with them, but that already some, overcome by a thunderbolt and a storm, have made use of a fortune mightier than their art; and that, altogether, all of them yield to Poseidon, and so it is written even in the records: "If the ship be saved, to do this and that." But that the ship will be saved, no one yet has promised. These are the things to which Homer too, looking, said: "Common is the War-god, and he slays the man that would slay." For he knew the weakness of human nature, and a sufficient example of this argument is at hand from the very text. For the mightiest of the Greeks, Achilles, is surely portrayed by him as such, and that by far; while of the barbarians, Paris is almost the softest of all, so that Hector often casts cowardice in his teeth, brother though he is, and calls him "Evil-Paris" with the addition. But nonetheless Achilles shut up all the rest of the army of the Trojans within their wall and easily slew Hector at the gates. And Paris in turn—or Evil-Paris—he so much worse than Hector, is sung as having slain Achilles himself at these very same gates. So that from the

256. utmost extremes on either side—I mean of courage and of cowardice—the verse is confirmed; and I think that not only is the War-god common, but Hermes too might justly be heard called "common." And if the proverb means to show this, or at least includes it, let this too stand as a witness; but if it has come about for some other reason, let us at least add this much—that the god would justly bear this title too, since indeed he is a god of contests. For the affairs of the crowned victors, I think, are much like those of war: no one prevails so much as he wishes, nor so as to be able to declare beforehand that he will go off victorious. And even now the spectacle of the Olympics makes this clear, ever bringing the greatest surprise—as, for instance, they say once befell Polydamas. For that man used to stop running chariots, yet at Olympia he was defeated by some small adversary. But surely Polydamas, I think, was in no respect, on the whole, worse than his opponent, nor would he justly be robbed of his whole reputation on this account. And it is not in the case of athletes only that it so falls out, while the matters of music hold the victory fixed for the better; rather here too the saying of Pindar prevails. For very truly did he sing this: "In deeds it is fortune, not strength, that conquers." Sophocles was defeated by Philocles among the Athenians with his Oedipus—O Zeus and gods!—a Philocles to whom not even Aeschylus had anything to say. Was Sophocles then, on this account, worse than Philocles? Nay, it is a disgrace to him merely to hear this—that he was better than Philocles. Countless other things one could mention; but how does Homer report the contest that took place over Patroclus? Were not the best of the horses, the Thessalian mares which Eumelus drove, "swift as birds," last of all on that occasion? And Eumelus himself falls out of the chariot, never having suffered this before, but remaining mounted, and that too while borne, as upon birds, by his

257. horses—a thing not easy for any of the others. So that even Achilles, seeing him, pitied him and says: "The best man drives his single-hoofed horses last." Is it not then paradoxical to set thus side by side, in succession, and call the same man both "last" and "best"? But nonetheless he says that human things are such—for this, I think, is the intent of the words—the same man both best and last; the very thing they say Orontes the Persian once said about the finger, that, being the same in itself, by its position it sometimes signifies the ten-thousands and sometimes no more than one. So that to me Eumelus seems to bear directly on Plato's example, both in other respects and in this—that he was not only robbed of victory, but had his elbows and mouth and nostrils torn by those best of horses, and by the very ones by which he had never before been thrown, but, driving them wherever he wished, was always admired above all men. But Ajax, by Zeus, the swiftest of the Greeks at running and the one who in pursuits caught the most, of whom this was said: "For there was no man like him to follow with his feet, when men were fleeing, when Zeus stirred up panic"—this man too reaped such-and-such other fruits of his running: running naked and clear of enemies, he went off both robbed of victory and besides filled with dung. "For Athena harmed him," says the poet; and it was this same Athena who also cast Eumelus out of his chariot. What does he mean by this? Signifying fortune through Athena, as it seems to me, that human things turn wherever she wishes, and the prizes do not in every case go to those who excel. And the other Ajax, by Zeus, the son of Telamon, the great bulwark of the Achaeans, who was instead of a wall to the Greeks—not he only, but his shield too—this man, as for how he fared concerning the discus, it would perhaps be of less account to say, though he was wont to have in his two hands a spear

258. "fitted with rivets, two-and-twenty cubits long," and, sweeping all the Trojans before it and driving them from the ships, surely he was likely to handle the discus easily and to show up as children Polypoetes and the rest—the likely winner, that is. But let us grant that this requires some other kind of skill; well then, how did he fare concerning the wrestling? And if this too was less, yet at least taking up his arms, in which he was at his greatest and finest and strongest and most robust, he caused much tumult among the Greeks. The rest I pass over; but they feared for him more than for Diomedes. So he fared here too. And yet the herald proclaimed, when once a review of all the Achaeans was being held, thus: "Of men again far the best was Telamonian Ajax." And not once, nor saying only this much, did he take his leave, but, as if on purpose, everywhere he keeps proclaiming and bearing witness: "And of Ajax, who was the best in form and frame of the other Danaans, after the blameless son of Peleus," and "Ajax, who was preeminent in form and preeminent in deeds," and "and great Telamonian Ajax would not yield to any man," and other such things—as though forestalling our judgements, that we might not be confounded at the contest, nor, if he fought worse than some other in something, on that account consider him baser, nor worse than any other of the Achaeans except Achilles. And indeed his brother too shared with him an added measure of fortune—Teucer, in the matter of archery; for he hit the cord, but let the dove itself be taken by another, and that one worse than himself.

All these things, in succession, being so—what must one think them to be? Must one not consider them as certain oracles regarding all human affairs? So that, neither if anyone seems to excel in bodily strength or in size, nor if anyone has acquired the best horses, nor if he is swift himself or fair, is any of these things master for him, unless

259. it seems good to the higher powers. If you are strong in friends, if in money, if you have reputation in the city, be lifted up by none of these, nor think bigger than your power. If you master all things, you will be mastered by fortune. This is that contest; this is what Homer says. Nothing of human affairs is secure or level or self-sufficient; rather, the strong will be overcome by the weak, when there is a season for it, and Babylon will be taken, walls and all, and again others will sack the Persians. All these things come round in alternation. So too your own saying, Plato, is preserved—that man is the plaything of god. When the charioteer falls out of the chariot in which he before stood firmly, and the pilot is at a loss how to save the ship, having already saved it many times, and the better man is made dizzy by the worse, and the slow overtakes the swift, and everything goes round, up and down, then one might see your argument, then truly it would seem to be that of some prophet—that god and fortune lead all things, and that all that is ours was, after all, but play. But if all the pilots saved all who sailed, and all the physicians saved all the sick, and the better always conquered, and the greater conquered, and this attended all these always, and none of those who began to succeed ever failed, and prayer and power differed in nothing, then all the affairs of men would be immortal, and there would perhaps be no further need of prayer, nor would the one jar wash over us, as now. But as it is, the poets, in many ways useful, are stationed here too and accompany us, ever reminding us of our nature, calling us creatures of a day and walkers upon the ground, and in every way purging away our arrogance, that not even if anyone seems to fare well should he by this

260. grow bold, nor lightly cast fortune in the teeth of another who has stumbled somewhere. And what need is there to tell how the rest stands?

But how did the matters of the lawcourts stand from the beginning? For let us come now to the very chief point. Palamedes, being the wisest of the Achaeans, was convicted at the trial for treason. And you will not say that the Athenians condemned that man. Rather, all Greece had come together, and the trial took place in the midst of them, and he was thought to be doing wrong; but that he was not justly thought so, you yourself say in the Apology of Socrates. And yet who would not say that there is great absurdity in this—that he, being more authoritative than Odysseus in respect of wisdom, as Pindar said, was then defeated by his inferior, and that too when the matter had not come to a trial of hands, nor to anything else of the kind, but to this very thing in which he was the better? And again, that the Achaeans, having received from him so many great benefits, for which it befitted them to love and admire him, then returned so thankless and unlike a recompense—he who had become their leader in nearly everything, both serious matters and those for delight of soul. And one thing greatest and most perfect and worthy of the most honour he discovered—tactics, by which it was theirs at once to be safe and to be superior to their enemies. For, as the tragedy says, they differed in nothing even from the grazing beasts before consorting with him. And they were so far from being able to number them all together, or to count how many ships they were leading, that they were not even going to find how many in number their kings were, both Agamemnon and Menelaus—nor, it seems, those men their own feet, or even their hands, each of them, far less the army. But these things Plato jests with us about the tragedians, and we have jested along. The point, then—that, owing Palamedes thanks for many great things, and justly bound to pay them even for

261. greater, they did not remember him even in the matter of their very salvation—how would one not say it is of great absurdity, and that that very man cleverly contrived all else, yet was at a loss for the things of his own defence, and that too when it was so easy and the very facts came to his aid? But concerning others he was wise, yet himself he could not help, and that too though running the race for his life, who ought—even if he were being tried among the Trojans—taken up by his wisdom, to have been able to save himself. But he went off, having met with friends and allies and those to whom he was a benefactor harder than enemies, and finding all the other devices, found not one—how he should be saved. But when they condemned him of wrongdoing, they did not do the same as the Athenians; for they did not assess money, nor exile, nor remove him so much as ten years, but killed him outright. So then, so far as fighting not to one's mind and getting the worse of slanderers, the company of Pericles shares with Palamedes in our fortune; but the things that follow even differ, and the Athenians appear far gentler than all the Greeks together, and the orators in turn to have stumbled more mildly than the orators of old, and in this at least to be wiser than Palamedes, in that—if nothing else—they were able to persuade them that they were not worthy of death at the Athenians' hands; not, as that man, who was not even useful to himself in the matter of the penalty. But I think that Palamedes and Miltiades and Pericles and all men share in the common defence which Plato himself supplies, which I mentioned a moment ago—that fortunes and seasons lead the affairs of men—since even what he further corrected and added, setting beside god and fortune art as the third, he defined while of sound mind. At any rate he says thus: "More gently, however, one must concede, as the third, that art should follow these." Most excellently, and most divinely, Plato, in very truth. If, then, in both order and power art is third,

262. how could it ever be sufficient once and for all? Or how could anyone think fit that the least and basest of things should master the more numerous and the greater? It cannot justly be so. Do not wonder, then, if Pericles, having knowledge and art, was overcome by god and fortune; nor be forgetful of the seasons, which you yourself say avail not a little, and which that man at that time clearly used when they were not at all gentle. Many surprising things both have come about and will come about among men. Among these are also the things that befell these men. Who would not say so? But these things are not yet a proof against them—that they neither knew anything good nor were able to make men better; rather, it was possible for them surely both to have the art and to be good, even if at that time, at least, they were deprived of the greater aids. Nor let us say that they proved inferior to their adversaries—no indeed, not we—but that, like men slipping, they were superior on the whole. Cleon prevailed over Pericles. Yet this same Cleon prevailed also, as he thought, over the Lacedaemonians once, and even led them bound in fetters to Athens, and—what seems greater than this—having foretold the time when he set out, and that not the longest, but only of twenty days; yet that he was not very much superior to the Lacedaemonians, Amphipolis showed, fighting against which he gave Brasidas no great work. But even when Brasidas was dead, a Myrcinian peltast sufficed to slay him fleeing, with a cast, as the informant says. And this same writer says, too, concerning the dead on either side, that no small difference came about; for seven, I think, he reckons against six hundred. So then in the trial too it was not the speeches of Pericles nor his knowledge that he overcame, nor did he prevail over him as over an ignorant man, but he profited from the season, just as at Pylos too he made use of fortune and the season; since Pericles, even dead, prevailed over Cleon, if one must tell the truth. And there is a great sign:

263. for there was no one who would not have prayed that the one rise again, so that even in the dramas they took delight in seeing him as risen; but the other, there is no one who would not have wished to lie dead in his stead. By so much was Pericles, dead, better than that man living.

Leave these things, then, to the slanderers, and do you in turn remember something of your own. For that it is nothing impossible nor unlikely that those who speak the very best things on behalf of the people should give offence to the people—but that this very thing fairly becomes a cause of their calamities, the not being willing to depart from the rightest judgement—one need not learn by hearing it from the seers; rather, Plato the son of Ariston, worth many peoples and cities, testifies expressly, speaking thus, and that too in the very passage where Socrates was in danger, not justly so. What then are the words? "For there is no man who will be safe, neither for you nor for any other multitude, who genuinely opposes and prevents many unjust and lawless things from coming to pass in the city; rather it is necessary that the one who truly fights for justice, if he is to be safe even a little while, lead a private life and not a public one." Very well, my friend. Then do you still wonder if Miltiades and Themistocles and Pericles and Cimon gave offence to the Athenians, telling them the best things and avoiding what was toward pleasure? But indeed you yourself said that from this very source the dangers were set in motion, and that it was not possible to escape them even for a little while. Whether then is it wonderful if they gave offence, and is this worthy to accuse them of, or is that other thing far more worthy to admire in them—that they held out for so great a time, and neither suffered this sooner nor, even when they did give offence, were punished with death; rather the people took some middle course, and on the one hand, being so well and nobly led by them, was ashamed and preserved a certain stamp of mildness, but on the other was not able to escape the nature of the thing, but took at least some part in the errors that befit a populace? And gladly

264. would I ask, whoever wishes to accept the question on Plato's behalf—but what, after all, did Plato himself learn, that he did not take part in public affairs? Would anyone whatever say anything other than this very thing which Socrates too appears to say to him? What else indeed? Then the very things which, fearing lest you should suffer them, you did not address the assembly—if one of those men has suffered these things, do you insist that he was not giving the best counsel? And indeed, if there was no danger at all, why did you benefit your fatherland in nothing? But if it was ready at hand to perish, why do you wonder if one of those men met with calamity, and—while you yourself, setting it down that danger follows upon speaking the best things, follow that principle—do you deprive those men, on account of the misfortunes they met, of the credit of speaking the best things? Come then, let us also consider this: when it was possible, in choosing to do what is just, to receive some such thing from them, which of the two, by the gods—how could I fittingly put it—are more public-spirited in judgement, and, even if not wholly better, at least more useful to the city: those who, foreseeing the danger present, then stood out of the way, or those who, knowing it, did not shrink back? For to me it seems that to say nothing base is common to both, but that to undertake to say the best things, rather than not to speak at all, belongs to those men as no part of the baser sort. For even if they erred somewhat, in what they chose, one will say they prevail. If then they not only chose, but also succeeded in many noble and just things, and things of common benefit, let it not turn to their disadvantage. For this, surely, it is open to them to say. And if this too may be asked—which of the two have deliberated and done things more in accord with the argument of Socrates himself and of Plato? Which argument do I mean by this? The one which is, I think, the finest of all arguments. Which is this? "You do not speak well, my man, if you think that a man in whom there is even a little use ought to take into account the risk of living or dying, but not rather to look to this alone, whenever he acts—whether he does just or unjust things, and the works of a good man or of a bad." So then, since those men appear to have taken into account none

265. of the troubles that were to be theirs, in comparison with justice, but to have given themselves unsparingly and simply on behalf of the common good, they have used the argument of Socrates. So that either it must be shown that the things they chose and undertook were neither just nor the deeds of good men, or it must be conceded that the men were worthy, even if anything whatever befell them—and by so much the more and the more greatly, as they did not fear the difficulty of the undertaking. For base they would be, by your own argument—and I now speak the very words of Plato—those of the demigods who died at Troy, both the others and the son of Thetis, who so despised the danger, set against enduring anything shameful, that when his mother told him—and I say all that follows upon this. For surely we shall not praise those of the Greeks who went to Troy, because they chose to die nobly, yet judge by what befell them those who, if they should suffer anything troublesome from public life, did not put it first nor surrender the best to fear; nor shall we say that those who grew indignant on behalf of one woman outraged used the reckoning of good men, while those who stood forth as champions of all Greece, when they were in danger on behalf of children together with women and temples and tombs and all that is, these we shall enroll among the cooks, leaving it to the demigods to judge; nor, if someone, avenging a friend, endured to die, shall we send him to the Isles of the Blessed, but if certain men set themselves, in place of all else, on behalf of the whole city and the affairs of the Greeks, then, if anything ever afterward befell them, shall we add the being ill spoken of. Not, at least, so long as we keep the arguments concerning justice. For it was fitting to take away their calamities from good men, if somehow it were possible, rather than, having nothing to do this with, to trample, as the saying goes, on those who lie fallen.

I wish, then, to make brief mention of Demosthenes of Paeania as well, for it would be nothing the worse, especially as the discourse is about orators. And I shall make mention only so far as bears upon these men. How then did that man, concerning these same men . . .

266. He has addressed himself to this, when Aeschines had charged that Demosthenes was unworthy of the crown, and had set him beside his predecessors, and all but laid him under compulsion, so as to be drawn into speaking even against his own judgement and to contend against those men because of Aeschines' slander. Yet Demosthenes, very gently and soberly and in a manner worthy of himself, turned his vehemence against Aeschines, while he kept his fair words for those men. For he says, as I recall, this: "And then you make mention of the good men of former times; and you do well." Now first, this little touch of his addition—"and you do well"—how is it not at once kindly and noble? It is not as Plato says, "You do not do well, Callicles, in making mention of these men as good; for they were not such." And then, so far was he from attempting to take away from the glory those men already possessed, in order that he himself might seem the greater, that he has referred his own policy back to theirs, declaring it to have the same aims. For he speaks thus, so far as I remember: "And indeed, if this too must be said, my own policy and purpose, if anyone examines it rightly, will be found to resemble that of the men praised in those days, and to aim at the same things, whereas yours resembles that of those who in those days brought false charges against such men." And yet there were three things, the greatest of all, that he might have said in extravagant praise of his own policy. First, that the circumstances of the times were not the same either for the Athenians or for the rest of the Greeks then and in his own day; rather, those men displayed their virtue when affairs were flourishing, while he came forward to the leadership of public affairs when all was sick and all but already ruined. Second, that the affairs of his adversaries were not comparable either, but he stood against men keen and formidable and well-drilled, and these too sharing his borders and dwelling close by, men who used at once the herald's staff and the sword, and who stripped most of his resources from out of the dark.

267. He himself appointed himself to the struggle and demanded it of the city, and things that not even seers could have foreseen or foretold he was forced at one and the same time to predict and to ward off. Third, besides these, that he, almost alone one might say, set himself against the fortune that bore down upon the Greeks, when those who shared his purpose and worked with him were few indeed, while those who spoke and acted for the opposite side were marvelously many—men over whom to prevail was far harder than over open and external enemies. Yet even so, out of disadvantages so many and so great, he draws up a kind of catalogue of allies and resources and forces, which he gathered for them by the most just means, speaking of these somewhere on his own account in the speech, even before making mention of these men. And having mentioned them, he says nothing further of that kind, but though he possessed the points of superiority I have described, he did not give them pain; he thought it enough to call his own policy like to theirs. And he even assigned the superiority to them, speaking thus: "And consider this too, and weigh it: which is the finer and better course for the city—on account of the benefits of its predecessors, which were exceedingly great, indeed no one could say how great, to lead those who do good in the present life into ingratitude and outrage; or that all who do anything with goodwill should have a share in the honour and kindness that comes from these men?" So here in this way; but elsewhere again, speaking before the Athenians many years earlier and using all freedom, persuading them to choose what is best rather than what is pleasant, though he might without making mention of the orators of old have carried through the matter of his theme, he introduced, like a serviceable episode, a reminder of Pericles and of others, speaking thus: "But I hold it the part of a just citizen to choose the safety of affairs rather than the favour that comes from speaking. For I hear—as perhaps you also do—that those who spoke in the days of our ancestors, whom all who come forward praise but by no means imitate, used this custom and this manner of statesmanship: that Aristides, that Nicias, my own namesake, that Pericles." Two things, then, one might note in these words.

268. One, that not from necessity but out of abundance and from a reasonable conviction he made mention of these men and praised them; the other, that he attributed to them the very opposite of what Plato charged them with. For Plato treats them as flatterers and slaves, servants of pleasure, who looked to nothing beyond this; whereas Demosthenes praises them plainly as men who used the most just freedom of speech, and who nowhere set the giving of favour above what is best, uttering the very same word as Thucydides. For Thucydides too, as we showed in the earlier discussions, says that Pericles possessed a marvelous degree of liberty and frankness, since he led the people rather than was led by them, and did not look to what he might say to gratify them, but counselled them what he held to be best for them. And somewhere too he praises Nicias for practising every virtue. So honourably and consistently has Demosthenes spoken concerning these men.

Come then, let us examine what follows upon this with all goodwill, as in some common assembly of the Greeks. Both men, in every respect, are at the summit, and their speeches too concern great matters. But as for the standing of the speaker himself, let each set it where he will; let it stand so for now. What I wished to say is this: which of the two was the more humane in his whole judgement and the more skilful about the words themselves in this particular respect—the one who, with no necessity upon him, chose to speak ill of these men, or the one who, though provocation was present, was not led on and did not see fit to exalt himself in passages where he was about to speak ill of others, and again, with no necessity upon him, deliberately mentioned the best of their qualities? Unless to someone rhetoric appears inferior to dialectic. And yet I, for my part, thought these were not so very separate from one another, but that dialectic was a certain part of rhetoric, like questioning a part of the whole of speech, and that they stand in the same relation in which runners share in

269. walking—though not all who walk are able to run—so do the rhetorical stand to the dialectical. But Plato I exempt from this account, for he is competent in both. Yet he shall not get away from us by leading us along with his words about these men, since that I gathered the faculties together not without reason nor unfittingly Plato himself joins in voting; for this too is perhaps not beside the matter. For when, discoursing on the correctness of names, he says that the heroes were orators, and again dialecticians, then surely he bears witness to both: that rhetoric is not the work of flatterers but of certain heroes—so that it is not fitting to liken those who practise it to cooks, but rather to heroes—and again that dialectic belongs to rhetoric. For when he joins the dialecticians to the heroes through the middle term of the name of orators, how does he not bear witness to what I say? But about these things I do not contend. What I now wish to show is this: that not only from the testimony of Demosthenes and Thucydides and Aeschines, but also from what Plato himself has conceded in these very dialogues—and, by Zeus, in this very part of his discourse in which he treats of these men—it follows that all his abuse was uttered in vain and is false; if I do not seem to anyone to be meddlesome in examining everything too exactly. Yet I wish to say this much by way of preface: if I should be convicted of falsehood, I give leave to anyone who wishes to wipe it all out, and I shall be grateful besides; but if, speaking the truth, I shall not speak most pleasantly to all, that would be another matter. The truth, at any rate—that one ought to honour it—many have said, yet there is none more worthy of credit than Plato. And it is now possible to consider what I say. For all his discourse about these men set out, I take it, from this: that there being two methods, the one to converse for the sake of pleasure, the other for the sake of what is best, the orators belong to those that look to gratification, and so harangue for

270. their own private advantage, looking to nothing else. And having mentioned these men too—because Callicles had exempted them—wishing to show that they were like the rest and no better, but were themselves also servants and such as fill men's desires, when he had charged what he wished and reproached them with their misfortunes, then, as if forgetting his first premises, or rather the whole theme, he added at the end: "So that if they were such orators, they used neither the true rhetoric—for then they would not have been cast out—nor the flattering kind." Hold now, in the gods' name. How could anyone more be convicted of saying things contrary to himself than one who, while arguing that they were flatterers and contending for this, then says again himself that they did not use the flattering art; and again, for the charges from which he absolved them he condemns them; and through the very points by which he was eager to convict them he was forced to acquit them, while through the points by which he absolved those whom he accused of flattery, through these he claims to convict rhetoric as flattery; and at one moment says these men are on a level with the rest, and at the same moment that they did not use flattery, while charging the rest with flattery? And indeed, if they deserve to be called servants and flatterers, why do you say that they did not use the flattering art? But if again they had no share in the flattering art, how do you place them among the flatterers? See whether these things do not agree with one another, but whether Callicles may not truly be entitled to give back the saying of Amphion—that Plato, in these matters at least, does not accord with himself. And yet which of his arguments must one believe—those that accuse and slander these men, or those that absolve them? For he began as an accuser, but ended like a witness come to testify on their behalf. And indeed, if he were going—for this is now the strongest point—to show them by his charges to be in some manner flatterers, and were to stand his discourse there, then perhaps, even if he charged things that were not true,

271. still he would have seemed to have some advantage from his words; but when, having said all that he thought he had against them, he then, like a juror who has heard another speaker, acquitted them of the charge, what is the use of the words? Or how has it not been all at once said both falsely and in vain? For if they were not going to appear such as he wished to show them to be, why was it necessary to slander them to no purpose? For where, even if they had been most thoroughly convicted, there still remained the argument on behalf of all rhetoric—that it is not such a thing—how is it likely that it should seem to be refuted by the very men acquitted of the charge? And as for saying that they did not even use the true rhetoric, "for they would never have been cast out," how is this not now monstrous and contrary to that other argument of his which we showed a little before—that it is not possible for one who speaks for what is just before a popular assembly to come off safe?

But let us recall his words again and set side by side what he says there and what he says here. "For there is no man who will come off safe, opposing genuinely either you or any other multitude and hindering many unjust and unlawful things from being done in the city; rather, it is necessary that the man who truly means to fight on behalf of justice, if he is to be safe even for a little while, should live a private life and not act in public." Come then, what does he say here? "For no leader of a city would ever be unjustly destroyed by the very city he leads." These statements, by Zeus, how could anyone say they are of the same mind or come to the same conclusion—at once that the man who aids justice must of necessity be destroyed by the city he leads, and at the same time, if he is destroyed, that he can never have suffered this unjustly at the hands of the city he leads? Where is there any likeness in this, or how do they come to the same point? And even if it were most certainly the case that they used neither the true rhetoric nor the flattering kind—let us grant it—I think it was still not fitting to speak ill of them. For why should one suppose them rather flatterers and base if they did not use the

272. true rhetoric, than serious and good men because they did not use the flattering kind? For if their speeches and purposes were midway between these, they were surely not those of flatterers nor of base men. You yourself, at any rate, call the things midway between good and evil no more evil than good. For how could even this still be left to them—to be midway between the two—if they were held fast in one of them? So that why should one blame them rather than praise them, if they had part in neither—neither in the honourable nor in the base? But I wonder what he would ever have done, or what fair words he would have granted them, had he meant to convict flattery, when, though his own argument carried him to the point that they could have no share in this thing, he yet did not shrink from charging things that nowhere held true. But indeed, when you yourself drew this distinction of two kinds, and called the one true rhetoric and the other the flattering kind, how do you accuse rhetoric outright as flattery, and where you acquitted the men you accused, how do you convict the rhetoric which you yourself have also called good? Well then: in what other type of speech did they engage, or in what manner did they play the orator? For if they spoke neither as men taking care nor as men granting favour, some other manner was left to them. And if there is yet some third kind besides these, you at least made no mention of it, but you distinguished these two methods—the one to converse for pleasure, the other for what is best. So that when they conversed neither for pleasure nor for what is best, for what then did they converse? Or how have they not escaped your own boundaries, which you set for them as though to catch them past all escape and beyond doubt? But let no one of those favourable to those men suppose rather of you wise men that, more than anything, you used toward the people neither the true rhetoric nor the flattering kind. For this, I take it, would lie in

273. keeping quiet. And yet, since you yourselves appear to have used neither of these, what dreadful thing has been done by those men, if even in haranguing they used neither? But perhaps it was necessary to use the one or the other, since they spoke at all, and it was not possible for them to fall short of both. That they set out to serve, then, Plato alone has said; but that their conduct was not of this kind, all declare, and besides, Plato himself has agreed. So that the one charge he alone brought, if he himself is found to dissolve it, it remains that the original opinion prevails—that they were good citizens and harangued for what is best. I, for my part, would rather say this than that, being orators, they used neither kind of rhetoric. And I consider this too: that if rhetoric is flattery, they must outright be shown to have used flattery, since they were orators. So how does he either absolve them of the charge, or call some rhetoric true? But if again rhetoric is good or serious, they must be held to care for what is best. So how does he either accuse them of not speaking for what is best, or call rhetoric flattery? But if again rhetoric is twofold, and one part of it is flattery and base haranguing, the other the championship of what is just, it follows clearly enough that they had a share at least in the one part. How then do you deprive them of both? And indeed, if you justly deprive them of both, there would be a third rhetoric again, beside both these two. So that on this argument rhetoric is no longer twofold, and Plato has surely not shown what this third kind is. And indeed, if there is something midway between speaking for pleasure and speaking for what is best, even so it was not fitting that they should be ill spoken of. For even if they did not harangue for what is best, at least they did not harangue for pleasure. Not only, then, from the points by which he absolved them of the charge of flattery is he shown to have made his abuse of them in vain, but also from the points by which he praised Aristides so brilliantly along with

274. those men. For if he had no one at all to praise, and could not find any orator who had been just and good, then perhaps one might have said that he came to this point—of convicting these men—out of abundance, that he might from every quarter confirm his argument against rhetoric. But for one about to praise anyone whatever, what gain was there in speaking ill of these? For the question was not which of the statesmen was best, nor whether Aristides was better than these, but whether it lies within rhetoric to speak on behalf of justice. So that when anyone whatever was found to be such, it amounted to the same thing as if any one of these too had been found such. And as for declaring that there had been others both at Athens and elsewhere, and, by Zeus, adding that there would be such, yet for all that coming to such a pitch of contentiousness against these men—what reason has it? For the former was to seem to be in earnest about the matter, but the latter to have wished to speak ill of certain persons privately. So that if they were justly accused, nothing more is gained for the arguments against rhetoric; but if they heard what was not fitting, on either count the abuse is in vain. But I think that, at once ashamed before the arguments spoken against them and overcome by the truth, he healed the evil not with evil—and yet not honourably—but rather refuted the evil with good, by rendering Aristides his due. And yet, if no orator is decent, why do you adorn this man? But if this man at least is clearly just, what more do you gain from their wickedness? For even if you do convict them, you do what you wish for nothing; for rhetoric is no more base on the whole. Whence, then, was he led into this? And how does he appear to say these things and those at once? Hence that question: "Do you think that the orators always speak for what is best, aiming at this, that the citizens may become as good as possible through their words, or do these too, set upon gratifying the citizens and, for the sake of their own private advantage, making light of the common good, consort with the

275. peoples as with children, trying only to gratify them, and care nothing whether they will become better or worse on this account?" For he ought, if he most wished to speak ill of rhetoric, to have avoided the question, since it is twofold for the one who is to take it up, and to have carried it through plainly, just as he did the examples—I mean the case of the pilot and of the engineer and the rest. But as it is, since the answer was not forced from one side, nor capable of capture on both, he splits the theme and assigns the second alternative to Callicles, no doubt, and says, "This is no longer a simple question that you ask. For there are some who, caring for the citizens, say what they say, and there are also such as you describe." "By Zeus," one might say, "for this is the very thing you are eager for: to show and distinguish that rhetoric is twofold, the one for what is best, the other for pleasure." But I shall think it right to inquire whether rhetoric is twofold or not, when we examine also whether philosophy is twofold, and medicine too and navigation, on account of those who, in each of the sciences, err from what is needful. And I would say many things—first, that it was not so put in the arguments against Polus, but quite simply rhetoric was there called an image of a part of statesmanship; next, that even if he most fully supposed rhetoric to be twofold, it was not in the arguments in which he had purposed to speak ill of it that he ought to appear praising it, nor to be acquitting from the very points by which he convicted. For it is one thing to declare it twofold, and another, while trying to show it outright base, to be unable to do so. For how is it not absurd—if he had convicted it of being flattery, this would stand strong, but since he was nowhere able to teach this, to take refuge in saying that it is twofold? And the greatest of all: if he thought it right to praise some of the orators and to speak ill of others, why then did Socrates take it as sufficient when he had assumed these very things, saying:

276. "For if this too is twofold, the one part of it would be flattery and base haranguing, and the other noble—to make provision that the souls of the citizens may be as good as possible, and to fight it out by saying what is best, whether it be more pleasant or less pleasant to the hearers." Having so set it down and distinguished it, again he inclined contentiously toward the other side, adding: "But you have never yet seen this rhetoric; or if you can name any of the orators of this kind, why have you not told me too who he is?" For do not, because he says thus in word, "you have never seen it"—for, most of all, what difference does it make to you whether I saw it or not, if I can name him? And then those whom he convicts—these he convicts not as being of the orators of that time, nor those whom Callicles saw, but those whom he says it is likely Callicles heard of. Therefore, when he tries to convict these, he means to speak against all. Thus, accusing rhetoric as simply an evil, he was forced to make it twofold; and having made it twofold, again he tries to take this away by wishing to speak against all. And this is plain too from the exchanges. For it goes thus: "But by Zeus, I cannot name you any one of the present orators." "How then? Can you name any of the old ones?" Clearly because none of them either proved to be good. For what could be his wish, in either reproaching these as being of the old ones, or in challenging him at all whether he can name any of all men? And yet how is it not plainly contradictory to say that he has not yet seen this rhetoric—by which he means that no such orator has ever yet existed—and again to declare that Aristides was such a man? For of these one must necessarily be false. And he came to such a pitch of disagreeing with himself that at once he says that no citizen at Athens had ever been

277. a good man, and at the same time bears witness that such men have existed elsewhere too, and even prophesies that they will exist again.

And perhaps one might wonder at this too: that he spoke ill of four in a row—and these not the meanest of the Greeks—but mentioned only one for praise, and passed over Nicias the son of Niceratus, and this though he was among the orators of his own day, except that he mentioned him too rather for slander, in the part of the discourse where he did mention him. For of his statesmanship he made no account at all. And yet Nicias was so far from haranguing the citizens for pleasure and from helping to swell their desires, that when they were victorious over the Lacedaemonians in the former war he persuaded them to make peace and seek nothing more; and again, when certain men—who had often and at length heard Socrates on these matters, but did not greatly heed his words—were urging the Athenians to sail to Sicily and to take on trouble against all mankind, he sent forth every cry, speaking against it on behalf of what was best and fighting it out like one who had come to the very summit of philosophy. But if we shall call those attached to the people flatterers, while reproaching others as oligarchs in this covert way, and shall try to convict men of what is not true, while willingly passing over the points by which we are ourselves convicted, there is no way in which we shall not give some handle to one of the orators. He ought, then, perhaps, to have granted that Nicias too was someone, and even if he did not wish to praise him, in mentioning him in this way to have felt shame within himself and to have thought that his statesmanship stood in the way of arguments against all. For either, in saying of him what he said against the others, he would have appeared to speak what was not true, or, having nothing to charge against this man, in speaking ill of all alike, even so his argument was not true. And indeed, that he has spoken ill of this man too is clear. For he is one

278. of the orators of that time, and these, surely, he has all spoken ill of. But if indeed he held Nicias too in contempt, yet at least Solon, surely, did not escape his notice—how great a worth he proved to be to the city in former times. For he was not going to ask concerning him either which of the slaves or of the freemen he made better, nor to reproach him with filling the city full of tributes and trifles without order and decorum. But if he did not make them lawful and orderly out of what was possible, then someone else, it would seem, did. He, at any rate, when it was in his power, while the city was in faction, to take the lead of whichever side he wished and play the tyrant, chose rather to be hated by both for the sake of justice; and from the rich he took away as much as was honourable, while to the people he did not give as much as it wished, but stood in the borderland most manfully and most justly of all, guarding, as it were, boundaries truly drawn as if by geometry; and neither fear of the stronger, nor honour from the many, nor anything else of the kind drew him on, nor unsettled him, nor incited him to do anything contrary to what he held best. So far was he himself from thinking it right to harangue for his own private advantage, and from filling up the desires of others, that he abstained from it utterly. And yet what does Plato say? That he places him among the poets. By Zeus—on account of his trimeters and elegiacs. Be it so. You yourself, then, say that if anyone should strip from poetry its metre and rhythm, what is left is haranguing. So that even if he never once spoke from the platform, but only sang his poems, by your own verdict and ballot he was haranguing. Or, in the gods' name—if it is needful to speak ill of rhetoric drawn from poetry, shall we say it is one and the same, or differs but little; but when in truth the poets play the orator and say things best and most useful to hear, shall we then say that this is now something else and differs greatly? It is not just, surely, nor

279. likely. And yet Solon is said to have sung what concerned the Megarians, but he did not go about singing his laws, nor his speeches on behalf of the well-to-do to the people, nor those on behalf of the many to the rich did he sing, nor all the other measures of his statesmanship did he conduct singing or in verse, but using purely the form of rhetoric; in all of which he most nobly showed that, by the most upright kind of discourse, he himself would be both orator and wise—he had, at any rate, both titles and both faculties—and that rhetoric and lawgiving are of the same nature. But, by Zeus, rhetoric is not so much inferior to lawgiving as to be a falsely fabricated image of the second and inferior thing. And indeed, if no one else appears to have made any of his contemporaries better, Solon at least appears to have made even the Athenians who were to come better, so far as he could, and these the very things that Plato most cares for. For he saw fit to make them, so far as in him lay, lawful and just and keepers of order; and not the Athenians only, I think, but many others also of the Greeks who resolved to use his laws. And then Plato does not mention this man, but examines certain others. And having praised Aristides, he said, "There have been others too," and thought it enough to add this much; but in their case he did not do the same thing, nor, even if he could not contain himself, did he take his leave after speaking ill of some one of them, but ran down all in succession. And yet what prevented him, as here, from passing over the others when he had mentioned one, from there too not speaking ill of all by name? But as it is, as if truly assigning a fourth part to statesmanship beside flattery, he made mention of one for

280. praise, but of four for the others. That, then, not even the man he praised did he praise opportunely in his own arguments, but here too he made mention of him where it least served his purpose—this might seem an exaggeration, yet I think I shall show even this without difficulty. For he has accused Miltiades and Cimon and Themistocles too and Pericles, that they gave offence to the people, and he has made this the greatest token that the Athenians became no better through them—rightly, if indeed they themselves were just and made others just. But Aristides he praised as a fair and good man and just. Yet this man too appears to have met with the Athenians no more gently toward himself, but he too was ostracized well and properly, and, by Zeus, as I think, earlier than Cimon, and earlier than Themistocles too. Choose, then, here too which of two you will. For if one must judge men from their misfortunes, and if the people condemns anyone, hold him at once to be base, then this man is no better than those; for he too does not appear unscathed in his escape, but suffered the same things as some of them. But if again nothing prevents Aristides from being held a good man, even though he was often ostracized, why do you urge against those men, as something strong, that they gave offence? For the same justice applies to both, and not even that man himself, were he alive, would have said otherwise, being just, as you say. Either, then, to blame this man too, or not to accuse those—the same considerations show it to be fitting. So, that he praises all brilliantly, and not only from the points by which he absolved them of the charge he brought, nor from the points by which he rendered Aristides his fitting praise, none of the slanders holds good, but also from the points by which he plainly says the very same things as I—on these a brief discourse will suffice me. For he who praises for their virtue those who fought in the front rank at Marathon, and calls them fathers of freedom for the

281. Greeks, and moreover for the whole continent; and who again, encomiumizing those who took up the second contests—those who fought at sea at Artemisium and Salamis, and those who sailed to Cyprus and Pamphylia, and set firm the boundaries of freedom for the Greeks; and who blames the Greeks for their folly, those who marched against the land of those men, while praising as fitting those who captured their leaders, and goes through a panegyric speech upon them unbidden—what else does this man do but adorn Miltiades and Themistocles and Cimon and Pericles with these words? For when he praises their policies, how does he not praise the men themselves? For it cannot be said that the proofs of virtue which the deeds hold for those who were persuaded must be reckoned as vice against those who persuaded them; nor that those who served should be praised as good men, while those who proposed and counselled these things one should try by the argument to make out servants; nor that those whose purposes began freedom for the Greeks should be said to have been slaves to the desires of the citizens. For if these things are otherwise mere grace and pleasure of speech, why does he accuse rhetoric of them? And why does he become one of the flatterers, speaking what is more pleasant in place of what is true, and that with no necessity upon him? But if they were spoken on all just grounds and with truth, by what greater means must one dissolve the slanders? Or whom can one make a finer witness than Plato himself, when here, and on the spot, he plainly absolves them of the charge, and elsewhere outright encomiumizes them and imitates Stesichorus in his recantation? And indeed, when laying down the laws, of the Persian wars . . . both other things concerning the polity in the time of those orators, things least in keeping with the charges of flattery, and that, had not the design of the Athenians and Lacedaemonians saved

282. the Greeks, no one could decently accuse the rest of Greece, speaking justly and what is true.

Therefore these things were done by the Athenians decently; and if decently, then in order; and if in order, then with decorum. In an orderly manner, then, did those who set them in order lead them, and they neither thought it right to speak at random, nor to overlook those men acting however they chanced. Not without temperance, then, did they fill the city with tributes and allies and such things, if indeed one must believe Plato's arguments and laws. And I will show it still more clearly, going through it word by word; for it stands thus: "For with us at that time, when the Persian assault came upon the Greeks, and perhaps upon nearly all the inhabitants of Europe, there was an ancient polity, and certain offices based on property assessments of four classes, and there dwelt within us a mistress, Reverence, through whom, being slaves to the laws of that time, we were willing to live." Therefore, when you grant me that they were reverent, you grant that they were decent men. And besides, the magnitude of the armament that came by land and by sea, casting an inescapable fear upon us, made us slaves still more to our rulers and our laws. Well done, dearest of the Greeks! For you say that the people were enslaved to those to whom it most befits to be enslaved—rulers and laws—and that those set over them ruled and prevailed, did not flatter nor were ruled. "And on account of all these things there fell to us toward one another a strong friendship." All these things are truly full of praise, both for the people and for those set over them. Then, going on, he says, "Borne upon this hope, they found that their refuge was to themselves alone and to the gods." Therefore all were temperate, as I think—rather, more so. "These things, then, all wrought friendship of one another for them—the fear then present, and that which had arisen from the former laws, to which being enslaved, by being slaves to the former laws they had possessed it"—that Reverence which we have often spoken of in the foregoing arguments, and to which we said they must be slaves who are

283. to be good. You have done away with all dispute, calling the men good, and that not only themselves but also those who attended on them. How, then, do you accuse either those as corrupted, or these as having corrupted them? Or how is it possible that they are not good, those for whom you set down that to be enslaved is good? Well then: in common you have praised these men thus, saying "those who at that time presided over us," both as a panegyrist and as a lawgiver; but privately again, where and how have you praised Pericles, whom here you have most eagerly spoken ill of? As to where, what need to say? But as to how it will be said. "For having fallen in, I think, with such a man as Anaxagoras, and being filled with the study of things on high, and arriving at the nature of mind and intelligence—the very things about which Anaxagoras made his chief discourse—from there he drew over to the art of words what was suited to it." Therefore here he bears two witnesses: both that rhetoric is not an artless routine but an art concerning words, and that Pericles was supreme in it, and he adds the cause. So far is he from reproaching flattery or service. Therefore rhetoric does not appear base from the statesmanship of Pericles, but Pericles is inscribed in these words as best in rhetoric. He appears, then, to have accused these men in common as servants and flatterers, and again to absolve them of the charge; to have accused them for this purpose, that no orator might seem to have been good at Athens, and again to praise one of the Athenian orators—and that one held by the very same charges as these, I mean Aristides—and one of two things must follow: either that he is praised undeservedly, or that he shows those men to have heard what was not fitting; and further, not this man only, but all of them in succession he has praised elsewhere, where there is no contentiousness; and again privately, declaring that Pericles became most perfect in rhetoric. How,

284. then, could anyone justly be indignant with us, when Plato himself votes that we speak the truth? For the things this man accuses these men of are not agreed by us, but the things we praise, of these he is himself a fellow-voter. So that our victory is agreed by both, but his is not granted even by himself. And to such a pitch of saying the opposite of the facts has he come that he says Pericles took over the Athenians more gentle and rendered them more savage and harsh—and that against the very man he least wished to. How, blessed sir? For if your argument is true, that they all but cast Miltiades into the pit, the whole opposite now appears: that Themistocles, taking over men most savage, made them more gentle—the ostracism, at any rate, and, if you will, the punishment of exile, were gain compared with that calamity. And again Cimon was ostracized, but was not further punished with exile, but even returned before the time. So much gentler did this man find them. And Pericles again, suffering still more moderate misfortune than this, was only fined money and was again the same in his rank and his honours. Thus from rougher and harsher they appear to have become ever gentler and easier, and Pericles, finding them nearly the most decent of all, and rendering them more gentle than he took them. Against this let the just and gentle stand, and let Homer bear witness. For he adds, "Reasonably, then, they honoured him while he lived and missed him when dead, and having been led on, they repented"; which then is worth noting along with the rest—for, having so clearly and justly praised Pericles by what we showed just now, again elsewhere he appears to disparage him. For having accused Alcibiades of dwelling with ignorance, and having said that not he alone

285. suffered this, but also the multitude of those who manage the affairs of the city, having here too built himself a road against Pericles, he tries to fasten the same charge on him too, concealing nothing, but thinking it right to convict him, as the saying goes, of knowing neither letters nor swimming. And yet, apart from these things not agreeing with those, which was better—if indeed he had to say the opposite things about the man—to say the harshest things to Phaedrus of Myrrhinus, who was nowise concerned, or to Alcibiades those gentler ones; or, having praised him to Phaedrus, to speak ill of him to the other? I think the former. For he wishes, I suppose, to convict both this man and that, and it cannot be said that he convicts Alcibiades but not Phaedrus. So that if for this reason he accused Pericles to the one, it was likely also to the other. But the difference is not small. For first, to the one he was slandering about a kinsman and a guardian; and yet, just as it was not likely that he should blame his father to him, even if he were the basest of citizens, so neither to abuse his uncle, even if he were privy to some such thing, was it opportune. For it was not the same for that man to be ill spoken of and for this man to hear arguments against him. Then the arguments were addressed to a man who would easily despise not only Pericles, but one such that what Aeschines says of him—that he would most gladly have found fault even with the twelve gods—so much pride was in him, and so much of thinking no one worth anything. Wherefore his Socrates too took a different course. But what does he say? "Knowing him to be jealous of Themistocles"—then follows the praise of Themistocles, rightly framed, I think, for two reasons: both of the truth, and of having the arguments opportune for the youth. And he does not speak ill of Themistocles in his presence, lest by hearing he should be still more corrupted; nor does he lay it up for him by way of consolation that not he alone dwells with ignorance, but that all are

286. such who manage the affairs of the city—by no means; rather, he compels him to weep, setting his head upon his knees in dejection, as not being even near to Themistocles in preparation; and besides, he stretched the argument out in due measure. For he said somewhere in passing that not even for that man did such great knowledge suffice, but that it fell short—so that the slander was removed, but what was useful for exhortation was present from both sides: both from the praise and from saying that not even these things sufficed Themistocles.

So, although in other respects Aeschines falls short of Plato, this at least he managed somehow better. But that Plato is not the best of the Greeks—he would be the basest even of the barbarians who is unwilling to say it. He seems also to draw some advantage from his nature, as kings do from their power; for instance, even about the diction itself there are places where he will be found doing this, using a greater license of words, and concerning the very subjects too, as is the case in the dialogue we mentioned a little before. For Socrates is supposed by him, surely, to be going through the funeral oration, and he makes mention of those who died at Corinth and at Lechaeum and of the peace called that of Antalcidas. And yet Socrates died in the archonship of Laches, and Eubulides was the middle archon between the battle at Corinth and that at Lechaeum. And from Laches to Eubulides, Eubulides himself was the seventh archon, and from Eubulides again the eighth archon was Theodotus, in whose time the peace was made. In all, fourteen archons together from Laches to the peace. So that not only had Socrates seen none of these things, but he did not even know, surely, whether they would come to pass; nor would his divine sign have foretold to him about things so long after him. Another instance, then. For in the Symposium he brings together to the same place Aristophanes and Socrates and Agathon, still a youth, as

287. he says. And he advances the times so far that Aristophanes, when he had ceased from his hiccups, speaking, recalls the proposed subject—and this man again after the Arcadians had been dispersed by the Lacedaemonians. But the Mantineans were dispersed by the Lacedaemonians when the peace had already been sworn. So that these things are still later than those. How then could either Aristophanes be saying these things, or Socrates hearing them, or Agathon still a youth about these times? And how could Alcibiades come reveling in upon them, and he too still young and fair, who had died before Socrates, having lived in all so many years? Unless the symposium was being held in the Elysian field. And what was this hiccup of Aristophanes? And where did you observe this? But he had, I suppose, to hiccup, that he might be mocked for gluttony. But if anyone should insist on Plato's opinion about everything, and should say that Socrates was alive when the funeral oration over those who died at Corinth and Lechaeum was spoken, and that he was drinking at Agathon's after the peace, and that Aristophanes hiccupped at the symposium, and that Alcibiades came reveling, and that Agathon and Alcibiades were youths at that time, and that all things were together—how will he not be talking nonsense in not examining further whether the man speaks somewhat by license, but, like a child, supposing it enough simply that Plato said it? Or if anyone again should believe that the Egyptian deity Theuth—for so he himself has given his name—came to be near Naucratis in Egypt, and should be unwilling to grant that Hermes is a word of the Greeks, and that from Naucratis to the city named after him, where all the Egyptians agree he came to be, the voyage up is of no few days? It is not, then, because Plato is by far the first of the Greeks that Naucratis and the city of Hermes are the same, nor again that Hermes had to be born near Naucratis,

288. but not in his own city. Nor shall we say, I think, that the iambic line, "Wise are the tyrants by intercourse with the wise," is Euripides',

nor if anyone of the wise has so spoken; for it is from the Ajax of Sophocles, the Locrian Ajax. But these things spring from the license and habit of the dialogues. For by the fact that they are all in a fair way fabrications, and that one may weave through whatever persons one wishes, there is even in the arguments themselves something that does not very strictly preserve the truth. And at the same time, it seems to me, it draws in something of freedom and magnificence, and he is not altogether precise, but, as I said, yields to his nature. Then shall we accept these things just so, simply? We shall not seem, then, to know his meaning. Nor is any of Plato's writings Plato's, nor will be—whence?—but these are of a Socrates become young and fair, and then the man who wrote did not write . . . It remains, then, for us—even if he denies the name—not to be persuaded, if we are sensible, but to know his playful jests—for let there be said what he himself would have said about himself—such as in these very arguments, no doubt, that we may not speak of remote things: there is a thesis about gymnastics and medicine, as though the matter were easy and simple, that gymnastics is altogether better than medicine. And yet I myself have already heard one of the physicians say that gymnastics deals on the whole with athletes and is concerned with this, but medicine in sum presides over all, and the difference is great. For where it is not possible even for the athletes themselves to use their strength unless health is present, how is it possible that the art which provides this for all should be inferior to that which provides for the few that thing which can never be had apart from this? And altogether he did not concede that medicine amounts to so much as to look after the sick, but that it is twofold. For the physician must both preserve the health that is present and produce that which is not yet present—

289. just as the trainer must both preserve the strength that is present and produce that which is not yet present. For it is not the part of one man to train those who are already athletes, and of another to prepare those who are to become so, but of one man and the same art. And if this is so, it is now easy to learn that gymnastics is second to medicine and comes altogether under it. For the very knowledge of for whom exercises are needful, and when, and how many, and of what kind for each individual—I mean of laymen—belongs now to the wisdom of the physician, and he is the one who sends to the trainer, if there is need. And the trainer, taking him over, will do the work of a servant, and will not contend with the physician, but will remain in the rank of the charioteer. For he too, taking over from the physician the man who is to be carried in a litter, supplies his service and exercises him in his own way. But whether it is better to be carried in a litter or not, the physician must already have considered this. And, by Zeus, the sailor, putting a man into his boat, will convey him along the shores or even on the open course, if he wishes, and will move him by rowing, leading him up and down, or even using the sails besides, and will sit like some absolute master doing what he wishes. But whether it is better for someone to sail at all, and whether this will make him healthier, this belonged to the art of medicine, not to that of seamanship. And indeed that such things too have already benefited many, and no less than the exercises in the wrestling-schools, we all in a manner know; but the charioteers do not on this account dispute with the physicians, nor do the sailors say that they themselves are marvelous guardians of health and exercise all who wish, while those others know nothing except how to destroy by shutting men up. And yet, if gymnastics is better than medicine, what prevents these too, on the same grounds, from being better than the physicians, since they too share somehow in gymnastics? Or against all these arts will this one thing be a strong point of medicine, and will it be possible to say next, with Aesop's dog, that if this did not exist, none of these others either would be

290. useful, but the very fact that one uses some one of them—does it come back again to the conclusion that one must not have recourse to it? Just as, I think, with food too: the physician judges what is needful, but the cook prepares it; yet the cook will not dispute with the physician for the leadership, no more than with the master. Some such thing one might say gymnastics is in relation to medicine—second, and subordinate, and everything rather, one might say, than superior. But concerning these matters let it be left to the physicians, on their own behalf and on their own, to say what they know and what they wish.

He also claims that lawgiving is better than justice. And yet, is lawgiving better than justice, or a part of it? For I think all, one might say, would agree that both to lay down laws, and to cast votes, and to plead for what is just, and to counsel, and to vote by show of hands, and, by Zeus, to do what one must concerning the gods themselves, and all such things, justice refers to one common head. But he says that the lesser is prior and better than the greater, and the part than the whole. And if indeed he had said that piety is better than justice, it would have been possible to praise it, on the ground that, of the two highest parts of justice, the older and better is that which concerns the gods; but as it is, it is not so, but simply, and as if truly laying down a law, he pronounces an unexamined opinion. Then he sets down two as the tendings of the body, gymnastics and medicine, and two again as those of the soul, lawgiving and justice. But where, in the gods' name, is prudence itself for us? Where temperance? Where courage? For these surely are the four parts of virtue, as one may hear men forever harping—prudence, temperance, justice, courage—of which he sets down one as twofold, justice, taking lawgiving as a part of it, but all the rest he passed over. How then is this rightly or justly laid down, on his own argument about justice? And then, where is the

291. likeness? For gymnastics and medicine are surely not virtues of the body, but sciences concerned with the use of the body, whereas justice is outright a part of the virtue concerning the soul. He does nothing else, then, but quibble over a name, as Socrates does with Polus as with a child. And this is not yet the finest of it, but that he says the sophistic art too is better than rhetoric, just as gymnastics than medicine and lawgiving than justice—keeping, I think, the same argument throughout, but stumbling in the same way about everything, like those who, having first erred in their diagrams—and I use Plato's own example—both at one time say, "It is the same, blessed sir, orator and sophist," and at another that the sophistic art is better than rhetoric and differs from it.

But, that I may not seem to be exact about everything, let us grant that he always says the same thing—that the sophistic art is better. Let us consider, then, to what this argument leads us. For here indeed the whole outrage, if one may say so, will appear plainly. Therefore the sophists are Protagoras and Hippias and Prodicus and those about them, but the orators again are Miltiades and Cimon and Pericles and Themistocles. And he appears again to set and reckon the sophists among those punished in Hades, "And lo, Tantalus I beheld," and "the next I marked," honouring them with the adornments from the Book of the Dead—Prodicus as being Tantalus, Hippias as the phantom of Heracles. And Protagoras again lives among these, having taken over a part of the house, and wishes to make display to them, and he too is marvelous in his prudence. And Socrates asks Apollodorus whether he would not be ashamed to be willing to present himself as a sophist to the Greeks. And why should one strive? For it is easy even for the chance comer to know this, how much Plato always laughs the sophists to scorn and of how much worth he holds them. Since, then, the sophistic art is better than rhetoric, and the sophists are those whom I named—these are

292. like Tantalus—and to become one of them and to take their appellation is a clear disgrace, to what does the matter of rhetoric come, or what is left to Miltiades and Cimon and Pericles and Themistocles? Is it anything but truly, like a phantom, to be borne off as inferior—and who will endure these things? And yet, when the sophists differ in no way from those punished in Hades, and the orators are worse still than these, and these again no more venerable than cooks, and comedy and tragedy must not be taught at all, but be cast out of the good city by proclamation, and the dithyramb is a kind of flattery, and the choruses base, even if they sing paeans, and we anoint Homer and send him forth as not fit to associate with the young, but as being a sorcerer and a hunter after pleasure, and all are of no worth—are not the affairs of the Greeks gone? Or how do the affairs of the Greeks not descend into wretchedness? Or in what way will Socrates henceforth be better for us, if we strike out all in succession in this way, and make so great a banishment of the Greeks as we never hear has happened even in Lacedaemon? This is not the part of gentle and just men, as say the first of the Greeks, Homer and Plato. And these things I say not in assailing Plato. Whence?—may there be for me, as Aeschylus says, neither shield-bearer nor near neighbour, whoever is not a friend to this man nor honours him as is fitting; but as Lysias said that he was a common friend of the city, so too about us one must think that we are common friends to the Greeks, and now contend on behalf of the common rights of justice. For it is not the part of a lover of Athens to cherish the Academy alone of Attica, and to judge all the rest as if it were hostile and at war; nor must one, when one has rendered all the others ridiculous, then wait to admire Plato. For this would not be an honour to Plato, but rather a dishonour to the others, and almost to Plato himself. For to hold that, when another has been judged good,

293. one is worth more by another's being judged inferior—how is it not such a thing? But just as Homer praises, saying, "Good was he who fled before, but far better he who pursued"; and again, "Of men far the best was Telamonian Ajax,

while Achilles wrought his wrath; for he was far the mightier." And elsewhere, "Mightiest were they and with the mightiest fought,

the beasts that haunt the mountains, and terribly did they destroy them"—so it is fitting that we too should stand toward our praises: to honour whom we will and whom it is just, but not to tear down those whom it is not right to, nor to think that enmity toward the one is a ground of credit toward the others, but to hold that we are now doing something like what we should if, when common friends were fighting at a banquet, one should think it right neither to take sides with either, nor even with those one held to be wronged, but should try to soothe those who began it and to reconcile them so far as possible. For if, abstaining from speaking any ill of Plato, we have rendered these men their due, we do no wrong, I think. For these things are both civic and human and pleasing to the gods through all time. For one must, O Plato, know how to praise tragedy and comedy too in their fitting parts, and the dithyramb and the choruses; nor would Apollo have appointed the setting up of choruses, if it were altogether base; nor—what is greater than this—would he have driven from his temple the man who slew Archilochus, who handled the most preeminent and most difficult kind of poetry, the iambics, declaring him unclean, and this though the slaughter befell in war. But nevertheless he honoured Archilochus and called him a servant of the Muses, not a servant of any men. Nor, then, did Archilochus, dwelling so on slanders, speak ill of the best and most renowned of the Greeks, but

294. of Lycambes and Cheides and a certain seer, and the Pericles of his own time, not the great one, and such men as these he spoke ill of. Let us not, then, outdo that man, nor do the deed of wretched Timocreon, but let us know how to speak well of what comes to pass—and that, most of all, being able to—and let us hold the saying of Homer to be good: "For there shall not be one and the same honour, not in the least." But there might be something else of the kind. Wherefore one would justly share in the portion that falls to him. But if indeed we cannot praise, yet at least we may surely keep silent. But even if we dishonour all the rest, still it was not likely that one should be so contentious or so bitter toward rhetoric; and even if toward the other orators, yet not toward the best of the Greeks, nor toward those to whom the greatest is owed for the greatest, and not only from those of their own time or those born right after them, but from almost all who came later, one may say.

Then you accuse comedy, but you yourself make comedy of Hippias, Prodicus, Protagoras, Gorgias, Euthydemus, Dionysodorus, Agathon, Cinesias, all men. And that you make comedy of the others is the lesser matter; but who is it that makes comedy of Aristophanes himself? One in whom there is much comedy, one might say. And you revile tragedy, but again, praising one of your own writings—the Laws, I think—you have called it a tragedy, and you set it down as the best of tragedies, and you yourself agree that you are a poet of tragedies; speaking truly, as I would say. But if tragedy is something base and of base men, how shall we say that you compose tragedy? For what is wholly shameful can in no way, surely, be made noble. And you say that one must not imitate the base nor liken

295. oneself to the worse; but you yourself do not altogether do this throughout, but you imitate sophists, you imitate informers, you imitate Thrasymachus who never once blushed, doorkeepers, children, a thousand sorts. But I think the Greek quality of your nature—easy and graceful and varied and divine—leading you to all these things makes you bear witness that there is a use of each of these too, having its proper occasion and a harmonious grace. And I see that even in the most august of your polities, having made some mention of this too, you think it right that the city should be Hellenic. For you say it must be so, as something distinct, evidently. Therefore these things are native to the Greeks. And yet how is it likely that about uncertain things you bid one inquire of the Pythia, but what the Pythia has already often and to many ordained, one should willingly transgress and be unwilling to reckon? What, then, has she ordained already often and to many? That those acting rightly by the law of their city act rightly. Let us not, then, disturb the customs concerning these things, especially as we too often use them and are in some way well thought of for these very things; since the dithyramb too one might think he blames, but he plainly so honours it as even to use it, and—what is finer than this—he himself agrees. For he says somewhere, speaking, that he utters not far from dithyrambs. And yet if the dithyramb is outright shameful and ignoble and illiberal, why do you compose dithyrambs, or, if not, imitate them, and that though ranked among those who compose in prose? Or what do you mean by uttering not far from dithyrambs? For you surely do not mean this—to utter not far from flatterers and servants—neither would you say this, nor shall we believe it against you, or everything would be turned utterly upside down. I hold, then, that Plato is the best poet of dithyrambs too. For how not? Yet I, for my part, have nothing to say why one must condemn the dithyrambs of Pindar such as Plato charged—

296. not only considering this very thing, that the dithyrambs are surely more manly and more solid than for anyone to think them subject to him, but also because in his hymns too, going through the sufferings that befall men in all time, and the change, he says that Cadmus heard Apollo displaying the right music. So too Pindar is a lover of the right music. And to be a lover of it is to practise the right music. For he surely does not assign this to Apollo while himself pursuing another and abandoning this, and that though forever calling on Apollo and the Muses. Then you say that all these are attached to pleasure. Shall we say, then, that you speak less than is fitting, or more? For that they have a care for pleasure too is agreed. So that, as much as it was fitting to add, by so much have you, taking it away, spoken less than the case. But that you brought against them flattery from this—how have you not spoken beyond what is fitting? Or how is your argument not in this way again to have more than is fitting? Well then: you yourself, in the gods' name, have you never said or done anything for us with a view to pleasure? Have you not composed, have you not arranged a discourse, have you not given relief, have you not introduced anything, but quite simply discourse to us in the manner of the Scythians? I, for my part, have not met to this day with anything more pleasant than this, and I would say so even to the dithyramb-makers and the tragedians themselves, if any of them asked. And then you yourself, uttering like Nestor—if indeed one must think that he too uttered some such thing, for I think you would make even the Sirens yield to you—do you accuse the rest if they say anything for pleasure too? See that someone does not rather set you down as playing than as in earnest and contending, you who even in these very arguments, in which you tear apart these peoples, brought in so much of grace and pleasure as it was possible to bring in the most, considering the whole discourse as in an unpleasant and rough thing.

297. That Plato thinks more highly than the rest I do not begrudge; but that he insults the others—if it is not bitter to say so—and that, were one his companion and counsellor, I should hold it no wrong to take this away. And I think Apollo too bade Socrates this, in bidding him make music—to take away the love of quarrel about words; since otherwise it is not easy to find what one might accuse him of. But this some have already charged; for instance, in the trial which he underwent, this seems most of all to have harmed him. And, that none of the sophists may take me up—well, Socrates was not harmed, since another too might have something to say against this—but he was the cause of harm to those of the jurors who voted against him, if indeed they did not judge what was just. But apart from these things, if he wholly desired death, first, what was death so great a matter to him? Then it was not fitting to make a defence at all in the beginning. But if he would not have escaped without more unpleasantness, this was what hindered—his having given offence to many by speaking ill. And Homer too seems long ago to prophesy and foretell these things, being, I think, the servant and assessor of Apollo. For what Odysseus says to Achilles in the Prayers, declaring it to be the exhortation of his father Peleus, this it is fitting to think Homer's appeal to all as to a common father: "to cease from mischief-working strife, that the more

the Argives may honour you, both young and old." For terrible is excessive strife, both to drive away existing goodwill and to draw on contests that did not exist. I, then, as long as he ran down to rhetoric and convicted the tyrants and went through the rest, followed as was likely, knowing indeed that none of these things is a conviction of rhetoric, but having the most just argument to set against it; yet I admired his daring and marvelled at his cleverness and his resourcefulness, and, if one must say it after his own manner, like

298. a lion at play I formed some notion, and all but beheld the man among his arguments. And if this too must be added, even Meles was not unpleasant to me, nor Cinesias, but I enjoyed the ridicule and went along so far even as the mocking by name. By no means are these men my dearest. But when he came to Miltiades and Themistocles and those about them, and, bidding farewell to these, struck the same chord, and attached Thearion, and mingled all, both ridiculous and serious, for the sake of convicting these men, and shrank from nothing at all, but spoke ill without restraint—then at last something stood in my way, and it appeared like a kind of treachery to abandon these men. What do you say? Do you not carry through the argument on its own, but bring names into the midst for us, and, abandoning the matter, speak ill of this man and that? And the law of Solon does not even allow one to write a law against an individual, but do you compose a book against individuals? And Socrates and Pythagoras did not write down even the arguments by which they lived, but philosophized on their own; but do you make comedy of the very images of the Greeks in the midst? And the poets of comedy have already abstained from names and have been able to work out their drama without making comedy by name; but you have made the foremost of the Greeks into Aristophanes' sausage-seller, and that at random and for no further need of the argument. For when Callicles had already given up and was conceding to Socrates, what was the matter in still mentioning these men, when, even if Callicles had chanced to make some objection about them, . . . it is all, I think, a laughing matter. For who does not know that Socrates and Callicles and Gorgias and Polus are all of them Plato, turning the arguments to what seems good to him? But if indeed even

299. in truth the argument had come from there, and Callicles had on purpose made mention of these men to convict Socrates, it was possible to take it thus and to say nothing slanderous; and it is worth attending to this too, if to anything. For the second part went somehow thus, as it seems to me: "Therefore if you say that these men too, dear Callicles, are certain flatterers and of those who harangue for pleasure, set down for me that these things were said against them too. For flattery is surely no better on account of Miltiades and Pericles and whomever you may name; for how is what is base by nature otherwise? So that the saying of Euripides comes about—'you say these things, not I'—that these men were no better than those of the present. But if they were of the other portion, and chose the best instead of pleasure, then these too, it seems, accuse those of whom we have discoursed of being base, and rhetoric is no better on their account—the rhetoric which up to this you have praised and which you commend to me—but is base even with these as judges; and you plainly use these as witnesses against me, men whose views appear the same as mine."

Thus, I think, it was possible to dissolve the argument, and there was no need of slanders. For the argument advanced no further outward, but stood upon the same points. For what does he say before coming to these men? "It suffices. For if this too is twofold, the one part of it would be flattery and base haranguing, the other noble"—speaking, surely, of rhetoric. And yet when this sufficed, it sufficed also to keep silent about these men. For nothing prevented rhetoric from being twofold, by conceding that these at least were good; rather, it agreed very well with that argument. For some were flatterers, and some not. For if rhetoric is not twofold, why did you divide it? But if it is such, what more is gained by convicting these? But indeed, when, having accused these too, he again praised another, he added nothing to the argument. So that Callicles could again have returned to the same holds, saying what? "It suffices. For if it is twofold, and you praise some and blame others, what has been gained for you, except that toward these you were otherwise

300. unpleasantly disposed?" For come, in the gods' name, if Callicles had straightway at the beginning held out Aristides—either naming him alone or with those others—when Socrates asked him whether he could name any of the old men, how would he have received him, or what would the result for the argument have been? For if he would have spoken ill of him too, as of these, then so, it seems, has he spoken of each of these. So that the man he praised he would have spoken ill of, had it so fallen out. But if it was not possible to accuse him, what need was there of this contentiousness, "if you can name any of the old men"? For when it was not possible to convict all, what need to challenge against all? And indeed, if there were no harm to the argument in not convicting Aristides, neither was it under necessity to speak ill of these. If, then, he praised one of them and blamed another, what more would have accrued to him? For that old point remained—"it suffices" and "it is twofold." For Socrates surely did not foreknow that Callicles would mention anyone rather than him, and for this reason asked confidently; but it was possible both to name him alone and to mention him with the others, and so the whole compass would have been poured out. What then shall we say is the difference—whether he is praised mingled in with those who are ill spoken of, and Callicles bringing him into the midst from the start, or whether, after the accusation of those, this man is praised, and Socrates is the one who mentioned him? I, for my part, would say there is no difference, at least as regards the confusion of the argument. And indeed, if one had mentioned him alone, one could have spoken ill neither of him nor of these. So there is no necessity to speak ill of these. But I think it is some such thing, by which it is most plain that Plato was already eager to accuse these men, and to name Aristides first and alone, and foresaw the man from the start, and no

301. Callicles present troubled him, nor hindered him from carrying through the argument as he wished. If, then, I think, he had straightway at the beginning mentioned Aristides, he would have had no starting-point for speaking against these, but would at once have destroyed these arguments, and the matter would have turned around to the opposite for him, so as to accomplish nothing further. But as it is, in order to accuse these, he reserved Aristides. Then, when he had gone through what he wished, that he might not seem altogether contentious, the man whom it was not possible to speak ill of at the beginning he praised among the last, as though it were now permitted, very much in the old-fashioned and artless way, as one might think. And the most solid point: for when he had gone through the accusation of those men, at the end again, playing the bold youth and adding that "the former arguments, it seems, were true, that we know no man become good in political things in this city," having said this and set his seal upon it, after many arguments still lying between he placed Aristides, praising him. So much more is it Socrates, and not Callicles, who is the one who spoke about him. Therefore neither was it of necessity for him to speak ill of these men, nor does he appear to have saved, by what one might call abundance, the point that none of the old men became good. But indeed, when he even convicted Callicles himself, against whom the arguments were directed, of being worth nothing in political things, asking all those questions that he asked—when these had been refuted, what need was there besides of an accusation of the old men? For the argument ended, surely, in the finest point and the one that most befitted: to show that the opponent and the one who urges toward statesmanship or service is base and does not know what he is talking about; and this very thing, surely, you yourself say suffices—for him to present the one to whom he addresses his arguments agreeing. That man, then, it seems, not only conceded to the argument, but was even forced by what belonged to him; so that the argument had a fitting conclusion, and it was not the same for Callicles to hear these things

302. as for Pericles or Themistocles. Whence? But he was eager for this too, to set this man on a level with those. But it is not the same thing, my good sir, Iphicles and Heracles. And still greater, I think, is the gulf between Callicles and these men; so that it was likely to spare these at least. For if the arguments concerned the living, perhaps one might have said they were spoken for the sake of admonition; but to reproach the dead, what is the occasion? For where, even if he wished to convict the living, it was not likely to accuse the absent, nor to speak to certain others, but to address them themselves—surely to contend in this way utterly by default is unseasonable. For where it was fitting to respect even the kindred of those men for their sake, how was it not likely also to respect themselves?

Let us reflect too on the law of Solon, how gentle it is—not to speak ill of the dead, even if a man himself hear it from that man's own children. Therefore the very thing—one might say—of making, without having first heard from children or from any other of those connected with them, so great an effort to declare them base, is far removed from this law. And indeed this too is not likely: that he should shrink from abusing them before their children, but should so blame them before all, both descendants and citizens and strangers; and that he should respect the children of those who died in Sicily and propose decrees for them concerning gifts, but for those who had been the cause of the greatest things to the city and to the Greeks should not spare even their names; and if, when the people had set up images of them, he disturbed them, everyone would say it was a thing to be indignant at, but when he does away with what was worth more to them—their good reputation—what must one say? And if he were a painter and imitated them in their more shameful and ridiculous aspects, he would seem not to display his art well; but when in his arguments he expounds them at their basest, and corrupts the true images of their thought, and likens them to those who have nothing in common with them, how is it likely that one should be pleased? And if upon images or

303. memorials he chiselled out the inscriptions upon them, or changed them, writing slanders in place of praises—that the people casts these men out for flattery and vice—one would say there was great outrage and dishonour; but having shut up such reproaches in so serious a work, and writing these in place of the praise that previously belonged to them, and handing it over for all to hear, does it not seem to someone that he has wrought exceedingly of his own music? And Themistocles set up a pillar against Arthmius, because he brought the gold from the Medes into the Peloponnese, but Plato has so made Themistocles and Miltiades and those whom he thought fit to list with them pilloried. And yet the pillar against that man was visible only to those dwelling near and to those who came in, but you have published the slanders against these to all men and everywhere of earth and sea. And of your own servants you never once branded any, but you have come to be as one who branded the most honoured of the Greeks and those who contended for the common freedom; and Gorgias you spared—and Socrates says somewhere, "I shrink from speaking for Gorgias' sake, lest he suppose I am making comedy of his art"—but Pericles, though dead, you did not spare, and that too; rather, to Gorgias you assign reverence on Callicles' account, but to Themistocles and the others you assign none, but make them all equal—or rather have spoken more evils of these than of him—and that knowing that every argument, once it is written down, rolls about, and whoever wishes handles it, alike one who understands and one who does not; and if anyone does not know how to hear rightly, there is danger of corruption; as one might perceive to be the case concerning these arguments too. For even if Plato most certainly used them on all just grounds—which one might say is far from being so—still it is necessary that from them men become bolder and rougher

304. and more reckless, and such as readily to leap upon rulers and elders and whomever one ought to yield to. For well does the law of the Lacedaemonians stand, and profitably, that one should once for all give way to elders—not as though the elders were in every case better and more just, all of them, but for the sake of practice and that the order be not confounded. And in arguments too it is noble to spare those who are advancing in worth, so far as is fitting, in order that no facility creep in among the many, and no habit of insulting those whom it befits them to honour. For when the greatest and most august are easily ill spoken of, and this by those reputed wisest, a contempt for the law arises in the base, so that they are benefited not so much as they are harmed. And indeed you drive out Homer not as saying everything ill, surely, nor as erring in the whole, but as it being not safe for the young at least to hear some things, even if in some other way what is said be cleverly put; but we are far from driving you out, in that we would even seat you on the throne, if you will, but we except such of your arguments; for we shall not say of these either that we shall erase them—we are not so reckless.

And indeed neither was it likely that this escaped Plato, nor is anyone of the rest ignorant, surely, that the good repute and memory of brilliant and great men, apart from the honour to the present, holds a store also against later fortunes for cities, and some men have already, through this man or that of the old ones, found a certain leniency in their calamities—which seems to have befallen the Athenians themselves often. But he appears, so far as in him lies, to rob the city of this too. For if this stood in each man's soul, and all were persuaded of it—that not even Miltiades and Themistocles and Pericles and Cimon, the very flower of the

305. Athenians, were any better than cooks or bakers, but that "I too possess in my household certain such by nature, who tend me in the same way as those tended the people of the Athenians, differing from them only so much, that they had many masters instead of one"—if they held this opinion against those men, and did not reckon that these were mere words and a certain present contentiousness and exaggeration, hardly would they respect any others, or think them worthy of any public honour for the sake of these men, to whom themselves no reverence at all was owed, as it follows from the argument. Is it not, then, painful that the Lacedaemonians felt shame before Miltiades and Themistocles, and, having mastered the city, spared it, remembering their statesmanship, but you do away with all these things by your arguments? And indeed, if you did not furnish them with walls or dockyards or allies, ashamed at the appearance of serving, but overlooked all as lesser than yourself, this at least, surely, it befitted you to leave to your fatherland—a resource for the time to come, and the appearance of being worthy of some leniency. Or, being present with them when they had met with misfortune somewhere and were about to be destroyed, if you had the power, you would not have shrunk from interceding, but by the temples and by the tombs and by the very soil you would have helped in whatever you could; and even if you had something to accuse them of—but in tearing down the reputation that would intercede for the most serviceable men, that very thing which you are eager about—what fitting work do you seem to do for statesmanship? Well then: apart from such use, toward the continual goodwill from all and toward being blended in spirit with the city, how much must the memory of these men be thought to contribute, preserved on the terms on which it was originally handed down? Therefore this at least befitted everyone who claims to be good—whether he live privately, I say, or in public—to provide as much goodwill as possible from all toward his fatherland; or, if not, at least not to corrupt the goodwill that exists,

306. nor to destroy it. For not even in this is there any service ignoble or illiberal. And I wonder at Plato, if he would never willingly have thought fit to deprive these men of libations, yet thought it his own windfall to do away with the memory and the praise conceded to them by all. And indeed, if it is statesmanlike to make punishments commensurate, this dishonour to the men has itself passed beyond the commensurate. For I think that, if there is any perception for the dead, they would account it no such calamity to be deprived not only of customary rites but even of their very memorials, nor to have failed in the last extremities even to their descendants, so great a calamity as if the Greeks should condemn them of flattery; and that, having died and accomplished what they purposed, they should bear the reproaches of slavery—the very things they fled while living, and against which they undertook to say and do everything that they might not be liable to them—and that the one who persuades men of this should be Plato, the only one able worthily to adorn their virtues, and who has indeed adorned them. But indeed, if this follows by nature for good men—to pursue good repute—how would one not say they are wronged, if they thought they must run risk and suffer anything whatever for the nobler kind of argument, or, if not, partly for this too, but, when both their words and their deeds and besides their life had reached their end, they shall bear the opposite repute? And how could we more deprive them of the wage which alone the decent have from nature, and that while agreeing that it must be so for good men, both living and dead? For it was possible, O noble sir, both to exhort the young to be just and to render the elders their due. For even if we had nothing to praise them with, yet it was possible, surely, to pass by in silence, and you would not have been liable to a charge of negligence. But it is not the case that, because Plato so far surpasses the Greeks and

307. justly thinks most highly of himself, and thought fit to accuse certain men by a kind of greatness and license of nature—at this one might most be indignant; but that certain men of utterly no worth, using this as a starting-point, have now made the business their practice, and dare even about Demosthenes—whom I would say came down to men as the very type of some eloquent Hermes—to slander whatever they chance upon. And yet who, counting himself among the living, could endure these men, who commit more solecisms than they utter, and look down on the rest as much as it befits them to be looked down upon, and examine others, but themselves never once thought fit to, and exalt virtue, but practise it not at all, but go about otherwise "phantoms of mortals outworn," Hesiod's drones, Archilochus's apes, having two shapes instead of three, no different from the tragic cow of the patched garments, august without, but within another might know what; not even by day temperate, as Demosthenes says, but for whom day and night are the same when they get the power; who say they are no worse than Zeus, but are so far worsted by an obol; and reproach the rest, not having condemned their deeds, but envying because they themselves cannot do these things. And if anyone, while they discourse about self-control, should stand right opposite holding morsels and twists of bread, they thrust out their tongue as Menelaus did his sword. For if they see Helen herself—Helen, do I say? Why, a serving-maid such as Menander made his Phrygian woman—they truly make the Satyrs of Sophocles look like child's play.

But indeed their faithlessness and greed

308. one need not learn by entrusting them with a deposit, for they themselves take whatever they can; who have given to robbery the name of fellowship, to envy that of philosophy, to poverty that of despising money. Professing humanity, they have benefited no one ever, but insult those who deal with them. And the rest they do not even see when they meet them, but for the sake of the rich they set out into foreign parts, as the Phrygians for the sake of the olive-gathering, and at their approach they at once catch the scent, and taking them in hand lead them off, and promise to hand over virtue. And the rest, even when greeted, they would not greet again kindly, but the cooks and bakers of the rich and those in the other ranks they hail at once from afar, before they have been fairly and properly seen, as though for this they had risen from bed; and they roll about in the porches, spending more time with the doorkeepers than with the masters themselves, mending their flattery with shamelessness, possessing this one token of not consorting with men for favour—that they grind everyone down by clinging on with their unpleasantness, more readily seen asking for what does not belong to them than others demanding back what is their own. For these are the men who count shamelessness freedom, and being hateful frankness, and taking philanthropy. They have come to such a pitch of wisdom that they do not charge money, but know how to take what is worth money; and if anyone chances to send less, they abide by their resolve, but if the little bag appears to them more ample, Perseus has mastered the Gorgon. And the pretext is most clever: "for the children and the wife." O most unfortunate of households! And then you peddle for these reasons? Why then do you not allow your wife too to take from wherever she can, so as to be fed the more easily? And in a most novel manner they seem to me

309. to define magnanimity—not by giving great things, but by not taking small ones now. For they show it not by bestowing great things, but by thinking it right to take great things. And already some, as I hear, have made even this a tenet: to accept what is given, but, while taking, to revile. These men alone it is fitting to set neither among flatterers nor among free men. For they deceive like flatterers, but insult like superiors, being liable to two extreme and most opposite evils, lowness and arrogance, like in their ways to the impious in Palestine. For with them too this is a token of impiety, that they do not acknowledge the higher powers; and these too in a certain way stand apart from the Greeks, or rather from all their betters—in other things more voiceless than their own shadow, but when they must speak ill of someone and slander, you would liken them not to the bronze of Dodona—for, no, by Zeus—but to the gnats that buzz in the dark; in helping to accomplish any needful thing of all the most useless, but at breaking into a house and throwing it into confusion and setting those within at odds with one another, and saying that they will manage everything, of all men the most formidable; who never once spoke or found or made any fruitful argument, did not adorn festal assemblies, did not honour the gods, did not counsel cities, did not console the grieving, did not reconcile those in faction, did not exhort the young, nor any others, took no thought for adornment in their words; but having sunk down into their holes, there they work their marvellous subtleties, drawing up arguments out of a shadow, reaping, as you said, O Sophocles, the asphodel-stalk, plaiting the rope of sand, unravelling I know not what web; for as much as they advance in wisdom, so much they take away again, thinking great things

310. if they speak ill of rhetoric—just as if slaves too do not often curse their masters under their breath, and especially the whipping-stock among them. And already some Satyr on the stage cursed Heracles, and then ducked down when he approached. And reasonably do they seem to me to speak ill of all; for they have much advantage of the matter, who, even if they make mention of no man, say ill what they say; so that they give freely from what they have. And they now dare to make mention of the best among the Greeks, as though it were permitted them; from whom, if one should take away their lying and their malignity, he would have taken away, as it were, the sinews of their life. Then they have given themselves the fairest of names, philosophy, as though they had pre-empted a seat, and the rest must at once concede, or as though such things were judged by the changing of names and not by the facts—as if that Phrynondas had renamed himself Aeacus, so as straightway to seem a twin and superior to every charge. This is a license to wrongdoing—as if a thief should think that, having stolen what was in sight, he is Rhadamanthus, or Thersites should call himself Hyacinthus or Narcissus, or Lycaon Hector, or Coroebus Palamedes, or Margites Nestor, or Battus Stentor, the man who came to Delphi about his voice. And I myself have seen, even in psalm-singing, wicked servants adorning themselves with the names of the gods, from which they had only the profit of having their bodies torn, and they became, deservedly, all the more hateful to the gods. It did not suffice the Boscyptaechmus to change his name, but when he had well and fairly called himself Fortunate, he was still more grievously unfortunate. And these men, having veiled themselves in the fair name of philosophy, think through it to steal what is within. Then the fox

311. crept in, the wily one, instead of the lion. But to begin with, they seem to me not even to know the very name of philosophy, how it stood among the Greeks and what it could mean, nor in general anything of these matters. Did not Herodotus call Solon a sophist, and Pythagoras again? Did not Androtion call the seven sages sophists—meaning the wise men—and again Socrates, this very famous man, a sophist? And again Isocrates called sophists those concerned with eristic and, as they would say of themselves, the dialecticians, but himself and the orators and those concerned with the political condition philosophers? And in the same way certain men name some of those associated with him. Does not Lysias call Plato a sophist, and again Aeschines? "Accusing him," one might say. But the others, accusing those others, have nevertheless given them this same appellation. And further, even if it were permitted to one accusing Plato to call him a sophist, what would one call these men? But I think that "sophist" was a fairly common name, and that philosophy could mean this—a kind of love of the beautiful and a pursuit concerning words, and not this present manner, but education in common. And Demosthenes and a thousand others testify to it. And not only in prose writers do these things stand so, but also in the poets. Indeed, also mocking those who practise base arts, they called even these to philosophize, in the same way as they brought the word "sophist" too to a baser meaning. Plato himself, then, who most laid hold of this designation and called this thing philosophy—both his own and Socrates' way of life, both deed and writing—has nevertheless in both senses portrayed their ways; for one might find him calling the lovers of the beautiful and lovers of learning fairly philosophers, near to the appellation of the many, and again somewhere, distinguishing these, he has privately called philosophers those concerned with the Ideas and despising bodies. So neither does he take the name from the others,

312. but grants even to those to philosophize, while those to whom he privately rendered this title are not all who say they philosophize, but those now nearly of the school of Pythagoras and Plato; since the others one might call body-lovers, but not philosophers, in Plato's idiom. Since the sophist too he seems somehow always to revile, and Plato seems to me to be the one who most rose up against the name. And the cause of this is his despising both the many and those of his own time. But he appears in this way too to have used the appellation for all good repute. Him, at any rate, whom he holds to be wisest, a god, and with whom is all the truth, this one, surely, he has called the perfect sophist.

But I let the sophist be; but for the sake of which I digressed to these things—under neither of the appellations could philosophy become a name for these men: neither, as I said, according to the common usage of the Greeks—for it had not been defined that this is to philosophize, but it was a kind of education, in which these have no share at all, beginning from the very names—nor again according to Plato's, which he thinks fit to be preserved for certain men privately. For he did not give a share of the appellation to all who are of the outward show, but to those alone whom I named. But nevertheless, before they are even able to say anything about the name itself, they give themselves airs and say that they philosophize, and that they alone know both things present and things to come, and that all the arts are under them and refer to them; men whom one need not examine by name, but carry off in heaps on wagons, like the corpses of the Corcyraeans. For what use are these to the human race, whom one could not readily use even as scapegoats, in the comic poet's phrase? But nevertheless let us grant them this at least, and not begrudge it: for this one thing let them be useful to cities—having fed them, to cast them out. For one might say there is no fairer or purer riddance of troubles and evils for them than if they should be released from these beasts. But if the god had not attached to the wickedness of their nature and to their

313. villainies a weakness and want of manliness, everything would have been uninhabitable through them, as Herodotus said about the snakes. But as it is, even an ibis would master them. And let no one think these things hold any slander against philosophy, nor are said with any unpleasantness, but rather that they are very much on behalf of philosophy and spoken against those who outrage her. And as an advocate of philosophy I now rise up and accuse these men, if indeed they must seem to be anything good. Let me recall too the bald smith who lived with the mistress. Plato did not, surely, make this man dishonouring philosophy, but as a most beautiful likeness for those who set themselves against her, and readily think themselves worthy of greater things than their measure. Since this too appears to me marvelous and divine in his philosophy—that it does not concede to all at random, which would be perilous, but that there is a selection of the men and their natures are examined. For I do not myself think that the Eleans dissolve or dishonour the Olympic festival because they do not readily admit all such contestants, but a preliminary judgement . . . it is not the same, but they seem to me even to magnify and adorn the institution more greatly by setting so great a fear before all, and by thinking fit that all proclamations among them should be made of those stripped from the start to be seen. So too we do not dishonour philosophy, but defend it, as was likely. For I think that Plato and Pythagoras themselves, rising up and taking such a one, would bid him sit far off, and it would be most nobly resolved by them on philosophy's behalf, and they would separate off those who come reveling against her, as those who separate off those who truly come reveling against it; and we too do not, surely, speak ill of all, nor have we, but of those whom it befits among the sceptre-bearers, and whoever may recognize what is said—neither

314. whoever of them is the first to bring a charge, is it against him that the words are spoken. For philosophy is both an honour to me and was mine, as it would be to any other such man. And I think that I too consorted with the best and most perfect of those who philosophized in my own time, and that I am inferior in this to not many mortals, and they have been to me in the place of foster-parents. So that I would war rather with my own household than with the philosophers. But let this not be such a case; rather, philosophy has some grace for us; since I would say I rejoice in rhetoric too, if any man does . . . and I too perhaps have some share in the war. But not on this account do I think one must praise those who outrage it; and to begin with, I do not even call them orators. But by how much the more I admire and cherish even rhetoric itself, by so much the more am I vexed at those who, unworthy of it, lie against this very thing; and on behalf of rhetoric itself I would most gladly defend it, and would try, so far as I could, to show that they deserve to hear anything rather than this. But I do not hold this opinion toward Miltiades and Themistocles and Pericles and Cimon. For against you, O Plato, these men, now drawn round, must be let go and bidden farewell, if indeed they have any share in this—but I think they have none . . . these things are no small matter. But let us recognize ourselves, and not be thrown into confusion as in a battle by day, nor imitate even this one Hellenic vice—quarreling about the leadership—but, yielding the judgement to the god, let us present ourselves in our appointed place, and become toward our predecessors such as we would in turn wish those who come after to be toward us. For it is shameful, as Demosthenes said, that those whom not even one of their enemies and foes would deprive of their praises, these should, by us, because we are akin to them, not obtain the reverence and kindness that is their due.

315. I, for my part, then, have both rendered Plato the honour that befits him and helped the men to their due, and have not been wanting. But if anyone has anything to say against these things, while keeping toward me the same fair speech as I have kept toward Plato, this man I judge a friend, both now and hereafter, not an enemy.