Orationes 54
Orationes 54 Imperial Aelius Aristides GreekIf anything at all, men of Athens, holds advantage for the city in common and confers the greatest measure of glory upon it . . .
. . . and the law of Leptines, as being unsound for us, ought to be made away with. For if he, by what he drafts and legislates, so utterly abolishes immunity that he not only strips it from those who possess it, but takes from us
ourselves the very power ever again to think anyone worthy of it—whereas through this very thing the best things from all men come to us, next after the gods—then not only is it fitting that we make no use whatever of these provisions, which are simply against us, but also that we punish and hate the man who has wrought this, and drive him out of the city altogether like some plague. For one of two things, or rather it is wholly necessary: if we truly take account of ourselves, that we take no account of this man at all, or rather that he be at once made to cease taking any account of anything; but if our concern is that he prevail—and may that be far off!—if we take account of him, we shall seem, I am well aware, to all men to take no account whatever of ourselves, but
to take much account of how our own affairs may fare ill. And who would say this? And yet if to be careless toward the city and not to exercise the forethought due to her we declare to be the mark of no good and democratic citizen, when a man, in addition to this very thing, chooses out of his abundance to draft and legislate the things that altogether ruin her, where shall we place this man? That Leptines is, then, a knave to us, men of Athens, and ill-disposed, and the like, and an adversary of the good fortune which the city was allotted from the beginning, I shall demonstrate clearly later on; but that he counsels nothing of what is needful and of what the situation most requires, but the things one must not, and innovates against the established laws of the city, introducing certain new things himself into the polity, you shall now learn from my speaking.
First, then, men of Athens, we must understand this: that though so many and so great counsellors and lawgivers have arisen from of old, not only at Athens but among all the Hellenes, none of these ever drafted or proposed any such thing—and most of all they would have said this too, had they known it to be advantageous, just as they said the rest, through which the city, with the gods' favour, is in its best condition. But this man alone, as though come from the gods and knowing the advantageous thence above all others, has come forward to these measures, and thinks he must legislate things which it was not even fitting to have conceived in the first place. Next, since practically all who lay down laws look not only to advantage, but also provide that this shall be attended with glory—on the ground that to fare well with glory is truly to fare well, but without it fortune is but half-complete—so far was Leptines from taking account of both these things that by the law he drafts he deprives the city of both, by abolishing immunity
and putting it out of the way. But let this pass for now; rather, that by the very means by which, alone of all men, he tries to abolish it and brings all his zeal to bear that it shall no longer exist for the future, by these very means more than anything he establishes it, and makes plain that it shall exist forever. For when he brings against it not the least reproach, nor thinks fit to speak ill of it, but says that certain unworthy men who shared in it abstained from the public services, he testifies to both these things: both that immunity is in the finest state and ought to remain forever with the city, and further that he himself would not even have been moved to legislate, had he seen those who shared in it to be worthy. Since, then, he would not have done this, had no one been unworthy, he proceeds against immunity neither reasonably nor of necessity, when he ought to proceed only against the unworthy, as not belonging to the matter.
And let no one say that, since certain base men shared in it, on this account immunity too must be placed among base things. Rather, since it is given as a prize to practically all the best men for their zeal on our behalf, on this account it too must of necessity be deemed worthy of zeal, along with the things that very strongly hold the city together. And otherwise no one unworthy, as I think, ever shared in it, nor anything near it, but whoever has been seen to be best in his relations toward us and has arisen at a critical moment. For such men above all the city endows with all it has and honours as is fitting, holding them the noblest from what they have done for her—even if otherwise some happen to be base and not, on their own account, worthy of reputation. So that no one, Leptines, is unworthy in this respect. Yet, even if this were
most certainly so, that it is far finer and more humane to honour the unworthy, surely, for the sake of the worthy, than to deprive the worthy too of this for the sake of the unworthy—I let it pass. But even so you fall foul of yourself. For why do you deprive of immunity not the unworthy alone, but the worthy too, without distinction? For if you are truly displeased with these men only, you ought, surely, to have mentioned these alone, and to have kept off from the rest. But as it is, in that you bring all alike under the law, you seem not to be reproaching those alone whom you name, but, casting an evil eye on all in common, to be trying to strip all men of their gifts. Or rather, you give us not to conjecture, but to know clearly, having nothing whatever to say against this.
And consider it thus too. If whoever is unworthy, as you yourself say, is also unworthy of immunity, then it is wholly necessary that the worthy obtain it, that the difference between the two
may be preserved. But if these too fall out of it along with the unworthy, then first I do not know in what they will differ from the unworthy; next, they will seem to be unworthy, though they are of the worthy. Or rather, both these things will result: that the worthy seem unworthy in this respect, and the unworthy worthy, since both will be deprived of it equally. And further, the unworthy, being so, the city showed to be worthy by sharing it with them; but you make even the worthy, by depriving them of what is their own, thus unworthy, and far worse than those others, since for those nothing new would happen by being cast out of the gift—for being unworthy, by your account, they will again be unworthy—but the worthy, who were so even before this and obtained it worthily, will be reckoned among the unworthy, deprived of it, and that with no charge whatever brought against them, as there was against the others. Therefore, both in respect of the worthy and in respect of the unworthy themselves, the matter turns out for you the opposite way, and you refute yourself—by putting forward the unworthy alone and not the worthy, depriving the worthy in vain of what is according to their worth; and again, by wishing to do despite
to the worthy too and not the unworthy alone, not even putting forward the unworthy seasonably. So, by what you say you mislead us, but by what you do you refute what you say. And though you hold out the unworthy, you keep off not even from the worthy, or rather from all of us. And so much the more from us, in that you deprive them of immunity alone, but us you wrong no less in this very respect, if indeed their affairs must be called ours.
You wrong us also by the means with which you contend to show us ungrateful toward our benefactors, and by which we shall be able neither to provide immunity for ourselves, if anyone shall need it in a crisis that calls for it, nor to have bestowed it upon any others whatsoever, either now or hereafter. And, most dreadful of all, we shall bar all men from honourable rivalry toward us, if what we long ago rightly and justly rendered to those who did us good, this we now strip from them against
all laws, on account of your laws. Which is not only strange, but altogether impious; since it is by the goodwill of the gods that men fare well, and we most of all, partly bringing in resources of our own, and partly having the rest as fellow-contenders for our good fortune—just as, when those gods do not so will, both things at home and abroad fare ill. If, then, to use pretexts that do not exist and to fabricate what is not fitting, with the result of working harm in common, is the mark of a man corrupt and unsound, while utterly to restrain those who choose to do good is the mark of one at war with the gods, and you are manifestly liable to all these charges, then, so far from being fit to introduce laws, you are not even fit at all to give a hearing to laws,
since some men prove to be hinderers of evildoings, but you, if anyone, are a craftsman of such things. And at the same time I would not call this thing of yours a law at all, but lawlessness and the overthrow of the polity and nothing sound—not only because it has nothing of what good laws are likely to have, which we all know to be the common saviours of affairs, next after the gods, but also because of so many and so great evils to the city, which, if you, men of Athens, let it pass, he would have caused.
That Leptines himself is not so confident in what he says he somehow shows by the means whereby he takes forethought for the future as well, and prescribes the penalty of death for those who shall hereafter lay down a law concerning immunity—though none of the lawgivers, as all know, added any such thing to their laws. "Yes,"
- he says, "for because the people are easily deceived, I reasonably appended this." What, then, hindered all the original lawgivers, Leptines, if this were so, from appending these things too to their own laws, instead of simply laying down what was needful in this way? Or did the gods, superior to passions, then preside over the polity, but now, since it is men who hold the demagogue's office and the common affairs are administered in this fashion, deception finds its place? But you could not say so. Rather, I think, because of having nothing base whatever, but all the best things, on their conscience as to their own laws, to them no such addition was a concern; but to you, by your concern for it, you have shown that you are not very confident in the laws you speak of.
And apart from this, if it lay with no others, but with the people alone, to vote upon all things, not even so would there be any deception to be suspected, because
the people of the Athenians are better than the judges among others, and such as the nursling of Athena is likely to be. Perhaps, even so, some such thing might have occurred. But when there is for us a wondrous council, and a people that chooses all things fitting, and a multitude of judges, noble and good, who in their exactness concerning the laws would surpass even Rhadamanthus—how is it possible for deception to pass through so many and so great a body? Or how could it have come about unnoticed by all together? And surely, if deception prevails over us and we are ready prey to such an experience, we ought, surely, in the present case too, to have suffered this at your hands. But as it is, concerning the very things about which you now introduce a law, you, in trying to deceive us—that these are among the best things for the city—are so far from easily working what you wish, that you easily fall into what you do not wish, being convicted outright of villainy and
slander. Further, then, if it is expressly agreed by all that the Athenians are most able of all men to discern what is needful, and—what is finer than this—to use it better than its discoverers, while you, by saying they are ready prey to deception, enrol them among the Meletidae, I would gladly ask you to which of the two, then, we ought to give our minds: to all the rest, or to you? For you will not say to both, I think, nor is it possible; but one of two things is necessary: either to say that all men do not think the truth concerning
us, if we are among those easily deceived, by your account; or to make no account of your idle babble, if indeed we know that the testimony and vote of all men has so much weight by general consent that not only ought a man everywhere to pursue it in affairs, and to deem it far more honourable in truth than the partial vote, but the report arising from it has even been addressed as a goddess. And of this you yourself are a witness, in wishing to take not one or two, but all the Athenians, and through them all men, as joint voters and fellow-contenders for your law, on the ground that the partial testimony is nothing without that universal one present. Very well.
But if you reckon as our being deceived the fact that, in matters concerning decrees and allies and, in general, the things laid before us for deliberation, it sometimes turns out for us contrary to expectation, so that we make
base men instead of good, and use some otherwise than we intended, you suppose what is not the case. Why? Because it is not contrary to our discernment and vote, nor that, knowing what was fitting concerning these things, we then willingly let these go and chose what was not fitting, but contrary to the irregularity of affairs and the times and whatever else one might name, that these things so fell out. For we thought we ought both to do and to say all things so that they might be best; but if nothing of what we wished has come to pass, blame the necessity of circumstances, not us. For just as the man who has handled affairs without counsel reasonably bears the resulting unpleasantness alone, but if anything good turns out, the cause must be sought elsewhere, so the man who advances to deeds with the fullest counsel succeeds, as is likely, ever and always, and obtains what he wishes; but if somewhere he
is even tripped up by some chance, even so he would be worthy of praise, since justice prevails; at least all that comes from himself is well, both in respect of forethought and of zeal and of leaving out nothing of what should be done. So that, as long as it is a matter of choosing the best things, not one man would be willingly deceived, as I at least think, even if ten thousand times he fail of his end. And you too, in your inquiry, if you find us neglecting exact inquiry and counsel where it is possible, and not yielding the whole to reasoning and judgement, but using affairs in this simple way, then at last call us easy prey and weaker than deception. But if, besides all else, this too is a distinguishing mark of the Athenians—counsels and trials and proceeding everywhere with the most and finest decrees—we who choose our very generals
not only from this body, but also bring them, when their office is over, to render account—how do you do anything but the like, in slandering these men for facility, just as if you thought fit to revile the Pythian too, as knowing nothing of what is needful, who is leader to others of what one must do and a safe counsellor, and the demagogue and prophet, so to speak, of practically the whole inhabited world in such matters? Therefore, by what has now been very clearly demonstrated to us, it has been shown that we are not only not easy to deceive, but clever above all things at convicting the deceivers; while you, by what you say, are not only unfit to be trusted in such matters, but you give us to conjecture that you yourself belong among the deceived, since you have held such an opinion concerning us.
And this, then, is of this sort and so demonstrated. But you also, when you would drive immunity out of the city, because, as
you say, the public services are thereby diminished for the city, and there is need of services, if of anything—or rather, as though cities had no need at all of these public services—first, be well assured, you fail to notice that you yourself are cutting off the very public services from the city and manifestly making war on her. For if immunity is given as a prize to those who have been zealous on our behalf, and these men, next after the gods, by their deeds hold the city together, and the city being held together it is possible both to perform public services and to do all things, then he who abolishes immunity abolishes along with it all these things too, if indeed it is not possible to perform public services unless the city's affairs stand well. But this is impossible unless all bring all their zeal to bear on her behalf; and they do bring it eagerly, themselves expecting also to be well treated by her in return. Next, even if there is need of public services for us—for there is,
and no one will deny it—yet there is far more need of those who on each occasion rival one another on our behalf and make it their zeal that our affairs be in the best state. And that I speak the truth is clear from the fact that the latter we think worthy of honour, and call them our benefactors and saviours and all such names, while of the former, as of debtors, so far from feeling gratitude for what they do, that if ever they fall short of what is needful, we are indignant and bring them to justice; and that from the former there is this very thing alone, a benefit to the city, while the latter become the cause of this and of no small glory besides. Shall we then, who excel in all things and are of the better lot—shall we count these men less because of you? And how is it not strange to do everything to acquire benefactors, while we ourselves, both those whom we now have by the gods' giving, these we shall, showing ourselves ungrateful, deprive of their honours, and those whom we are going to
have, these, unless we now show ourselves ungrateful, we shall bar from zeal on our behalf?
And not this only, men of Athens, but in this way we shall also seem worse than our own ancestors; rather, we shall show them to be men exceedingly admirable and using great-souledness, but ourselves we shall shame in the greatest things, if indeed they continued through all time doing good even to their bitterest foes, while we shall deprive those from whom we have received good even of the favours we deemed them worthy of—favours which in seeming they received from us, but in truth from themselves, by having been the cause of these things through what they did toward us. So that one might justly call what comes from them to us a favour, but what comes from us to them a return-gift and a fitting recompense. And so, having now fallen out of the immunity given them, they themselves none the less will still hold it, as worthy of it; but we shall seem to all not only ungrateful thereby, but also faithless and unstable for the future—the one if we take away what we
have given, the other if we are thus most ill-disposed toward our benefactors. And I pass over the shame that will remain forever upon the city and the common reproach: that the most ancient of the Athenians gained friends by doing good, not by being well treated, while we do all the contrary and make even those whom we had as friends into enemies, by wishing the benefits from them to us to remain altogether unmoved, but immediately overturning the things with which we requite them—thereby showing both ourselves unworthy of the good we have received, and making those others more cautious about being willing any longer to confer favours upon such men. And of how many crags and pits is this worthy? When we, who are a pattern of the noble and the
just to all others, should then incur a charge of ingratitude and faithlessness and of changing rashly and easily, and should seem to flow with the Euripus, and to corrupt our original premise, and, in short, to be no better than those who play upon the stage or in the sand—or rather, far worse. For they do what they set out to do; and they set out never to remain the same, but to change on each occasion according to need; but we, who ought to be equal and consistent throughout and to hold the same mind to the end, then carelessly are willing to shift like the Pharian Proteus, and to use our judgements with reference to others . . .
May Leptines never have such strength as to bring it about that we be supposed to be of this sort.
And surely, if, just as good repute is the wage of virtue, so there is also a return for things rightly done, it is necessary that virtue be admired, and that those who have done any good whatever be honoured, whether you call this immunity or anything else. If, then, you have it in you to deprive virtue altogether of praise, deprive also of their prizes those shown to be zealous on our behalf, and let there be no sparing at all. But if that is among absurdities, how this preserves any reason I cannot see. For neither will virtue be what it is, if it does not enjoy the applause that arises, nor will anyone come to know the best of deeds, if they lack their recompense. If, then,
- to render to both what is fitting is the part of a good man, to deprive them of these very things is the part of a malignant one. But you would not endure to fall out of your possessions and to be deprived of what is yours; rather, you seem to me to be troubled if you saw even this in a dream. Yet the immunity of which the city deemed her benefactors worthy, in withdrawing them from this, you think it a tolerable thing—when you ought to judge their case too from yourself, and not to deem them worthy of what, had it befallen you, you would not have been content with.
Rather, one of two things is necessary: either that the city too be deprived of the benefit from them, since you think these men should be deprived of the prizes from her; or that you should not trouble these men in any way, since neither do you trouble the city. But if you think fit that she enjoy forever what she has received from them, but they not, you seem to deal with matters not rightly nor justly, and besides to think the city worthy not of what was fitting,
but even of what one would simply pray against. For that she be admired daily and well spoken of and have all men as fellow-contenders for her glory, this, I know, you do in your prayers, if indeed you are not a common enemy of the polity; but you act in ways for which you would reasonably be hated by all. For surely it is not the benefactors alone, and those from whom we have gained the greatest things—not these alone shall we make enemies to ourselves, if we are persuaded by you in such matters, but simply all the rest too, not so much because of the great ingratitude toward those men, as because of using affairs with a view to deception and living after the manner of Eurybatus. And yet, when this is so, and we have brought upon ourselves the basest reputation, what more shall we have from the public services, if—I do not say the Athenians only, but all men—we acquire them as servants? And apart from this, if it were possible
both to deprive the same men of immunity and likewise to keep them as friends, even so we should be no less ungrateful, by maintaining to the end what does not belong to them, while they, besides being noble and good men through what they did toward us, would carry off a reputation for great-souledness, as not disturbed by the things in which they were dishonoured, but abiding by what they had. But if at the same time they shall be deprived of this and shall be ill-disposed toward us, as having been simply outraged by us, then surely it is manifest madness that for the sake of small and base public services we should be so slandered, and ill spoken of, and held in hatred among Hellenes and barbarians, when it is possible to do quite the contrary—to be admired and loved and, through our reverence toward these men, to incite all to the like.
And surely, concerning the very public services which Leptines says are abolished because of the immunities, I say this: that if anyone examines exactly the benefit that will accrue from this, and that which those who receive the immunities furnish the city, he will find the one greater in the whole, and more conspicuous, and worthy to be the object of prayer, but the other not only less and base altogether, and not even,
for this very reason, on account of its smallness seeming a benefit at all, but such that, if overlooked, it would do the commonwealth no harm whatever. Why? Because not all share in immunity, nor does it come simply to all, but to those to whom it is worthy to give such things as to benefactors. And these are so few that, in respect of number, they not only do not come near those who perform public services, but, had they been added to these, they would have made no difference whatever, either to the increase of number or of resources—or rather, since not to the number, much less to the increase of resources. So that if someone now asked you which you ought to choose, the contribution in public services of those who contribute nothing to the increase of the common benefit, or the great-souledness of these very men toward us, you would all, I well know,
say this, if you make yourselves your business. Is it not, then, strange, and at war with advantage, that those who bring to you the thing from which glory and gain come you should not admire nor honour equally, while those from whom there is no benefit at all you should not reproach for not doing it, and that you should value the public service that has no gain higher than the wondrous resolve of these men on your behalf—a resolve which, men of Athens, that they may not seem to belie themselves, they wish to have their prizes stand altogether unmoved for themselves, not, as I think, so much needing these things, as needing to seem noble and good to all? Or rather, because of their wish to seem noble and good to all, they need these things, surely, knowing well that, even if their being noble and good is the chief cause of their being deemed worthy of prizes, yet if this be not present, neither would the latter have come about. But since being deemed worthy of prizes shows them more to be noble and good, and makes them better known to all, just as the processional
crowns do the Olympic victors, for this reason it is needful, surely—or rather wholly necessary—that they too be deemed worthy of prizes, that they may the more be and seem noble and good to all, both now and hereafter; just as some men who have shown valour in battles, or done any other good thing whatever, since they did not share in what they ought, nor enjoyed the zeal to follow, nor became manifest as having been of that sort, but were disbelieved by the many, having been seen only by the spectators at the very time of the display.
And so, if the consideration of being honoured by the city were nothing whatever to them, they would not at all have thought fit to be good men toward her, nor to have begun honourable rivalry toward us; but if they did all those things that they might obtain it, and the hope from us furnished the starting-points of their goodness, where is it just to cut off what was most zealously pursued by them, and to undermine the matter
in its very vitals? And yet it would seem to them more moderate not to have received it at all in the first place than, having received it so brilliantly, then to be deprived of it on no account worth mentioning. For the former would have been only a certain ingratitude toward the benefactors of the city, but the latter is an outrage and disgrace to both: privately a reproach from all and hatred for the city, and the seeming that nothing whatever is to be trusted with her at all, on any terms—she who has so great a share of glory and of being admired, and is so through all things mightiest and victorious in the whole, that she alone, of the cities
under the sun, to speak briefly, has become the common beloved of men and gods. For men lead her not only in place of a fatherland, but even before their fatherland, and honour her with their whole heart and soul, as is likely for the common cause and nurse of all. For first she bore man, and first
discovered the use of life, and on this account she alone is for all men a refuge and protectress; and all, according as
need's necessity stands, as truly from two feet, as the saying is, proceed to her as to a mother, and obtain what they wish more nobly than they expected. And being thus an object of zeal to men, she is also so dear to the gods and a care to the higher powers, manifestly, that some of them long ago strove with one another over her, and others made there the decisions of their disputes with one another, and all alike, surely, through all time bring all their zeal not only to accomplish in every way what is advantageous and adds to her, but also, whenever we trip in anything, to set us right toward the better.
Therefore concerning immunity too we can reasonably say this, and worthily of the gods' forethought. For if she were among the things that do harm, by your account,
Leptines, the gods would not have allowed her to make so great a revel in the city, but, just as through the common seer and interpreter, the city's ancestral god, they ended the war against Eumolpus, and ended the plague—here Leos giving up his daughters, and there Erechtheus his child—and again in the war against the Dorians and Peloponnesians granted the city to prevail by the means whereby they brought Codrus
to die willingly—so too they would at once, in the same manner, have removed immunity out of the way, had they known it to be harmful to the city. And practically all the gods, since all of us are a care to them and all things of ours are theirs, but far more Pallas, who was allotted the city from the beginning, and Iacchus, our neighbour, who has brought forth the most and finest tokens of his goodwill and humanity toward us on every occasion that offered, but greatest of all that which all men sing of, by which in the Median war he aided us most powerfully, both by himself and by preparing a cloud to fall upon the ships of the barbarians together with the mystic strain. But, as
I said, if the matter of immunity turned to our harm, there would be reason for it to be at once ended by the gods who wish to do good to all our affairs in every way; but seeing that, being for the city not of yesterday and the day before, but from of old and from the beginning, they have deemed it worthy of no consideration to wipe it out, but rather make all zeal at every season to establish and increase it, by which on each occasion they incite the most men to do good to the city for the sake of obtaining it—it would be strange and simply at war with the gods to slander what those gods judged to be good, as though we claimed either to be better than the gods at discerning what is needful, or showed that they honour the worse.
So great and so mighty, then, men of Athens, is the glory we possess; and this not only, the gods willing, like to itself forever, but even far more conspicuous and greater still being for us, since the likely always prevails—and shall we then not prefer
this, but think the public services of Leptines safer and finer to use, which, because they are nothing as to advantage of any account to the city, she has never until now deemed worthy of any account whatever? And how shall we not provoke against ourselves the gods who from of old have been our fellow-contenders in such things, if they on each occasion do all things that the matter of our glory may proceed to greater things, but we shall think fit not only not to increase what was ours from the beginning, but even to wipe it out, and shall fasten upon ourselves as much hatred as possible, the counterpart of our former goodwill? For toward these last measures all will cast their votes, and we shall seem, men of Athens, to have prided ourselves on certain empty things in the past, and on tales rather than facts—we who by the novelty and greatness of our deeds have allowed even the tales to be disbelieved.
But strangest of all would it be if, while long ago, when the Mede offered our ancestors the most and greatest gifts—some at once, others promised, if they would join him against Hellas, but if not, threatened them with all the most shameful of all things—none of these things at all won them over or persuaded them to be base, but so far were they from having either resolved or done anything unworthy of themselves and of the great name of the Athenians that they would rather have chosen to perish utterly, themselves and theirs, than to give up in any way at all what they had from the beginning resolved on Hellas's behalf—and that under a necessity in which even acting against the laws carries pardon—we then, men of Athens, shall yield to anyone against ourselves, and Leptines shall have more success in counselling what he ought not than Xerxes had advancing upon us with practically the whole inhabited world? And surely, when
he asked through his envoys for earth and water, we did not turn to him in any way whatever, but were so disposed on the instant of hearing it that, when someone dared to say we must yield, we not only slew him at once with stones, but also threw the envoys into a pit and then heaped earth upon them, as being the only summons to good courage—and so furnished a wondrous reputation for extraordinary great-souledness to both Hellenes and barbarians at that time; whereas if we shall not now restrain Leptines, who tries to wrap the city in unbearable and perpetual reproach, we shall seem to have fallen utterly away from ourselves. And
while at that time we thought we should kill, beyond all pardon, Arthmius the Zeleian and besides the man who interpreted the letters, and voted Arthmius an enemy of the Athenian people, himself and his race disenfranchised, because the one, serving the King, brought gold into the Peloponnese, and the other lent his tongue to the King against the Hellenes; yet this Leptines, who by his legislation brings to shame not only us but also
our ancestors, this man, when we ought to punish him beyond those others, inasmuch as he injures the city beyond those others, we endure as he speaks freely and says these things, and deem him worthy of vote and counsel, whether or not we should be persuaded by his proposals.
And apart from this, the other wrongs do not bring their harm through all time, surely, but in part; but what this man now attempts to do, legislating to take away what we have given, slanders most of all the Athenians both now living and to come and gone before, as the verse has it. For neither shall we any longer be able, so to speak, to look with steady
eyes upon those whom we shall dishonour by taking away what we have given, but we shall need the cap of Hades, should they appear; and the reproach will overtake those born after us, and all will rear children and hate them as belonging to ungrateful men. And surely the ancestors' wondrous and strange zeal and earnestness not only on behalf of wrongdoers, but also their humanity toward the unfortunate and those who took refuge in the city, and their being saved—all this, I think, will seem mere talk, disbelieved because of our baseness. For our being willing again, as in repentance, to deprive those who did us good of what we did them in return—besides being the mark of the most unjust of men—all will surely take as a
proof either that the ancestors did none of the things I spoke of, or that we are nothing akin to them in race, because they, out of great-souledness, often stood forth even on behalf of those who had wronged them, as though they had done them good, and brought all zeal to bear on their behalf, while we have taken away even what we justly rendered to our benefactors, having appeared, out of ingratitude, as their bitterest foes. And I wonder at this too: if, having nothing to charge them with, we thus dishonour them so as to take away their gifts, we shall then, when they have appeared base toward us, be able to do anything more.
And apart from this, if, when a man, by the means whereby he harms another, prepares the best things for himself, he is surely not freed from blame because of his villainy, nor is he more to be praised in that respect than to be censured in the other—then surely, when a man harms both himself and another, or rather, in seeming to harm the other, fairly makes war on what is advantageous to himself, who would not justly be indignant at such a man
for both these things? We, then, if, apart from the harm to others, we had procured what is advantageous to ourselves, by your account, Leptines, would be enviable; but as it is, if we shall deprive of the gifts we gave those who hold them, we shall deprive ourselves too both of being trusted for the future and of expecting anything better any longer from anyone whatever. For so it is: if we let those keep what we rendered to our benefactors, we shall not only be doing them justice, but shall incite the rest besides to the like. But if—which God forbid—we take these things away, we shall wrong them no more than ourselves, depriving ourselves of advantages and of what we least ought; and besides, we shall seem either then to have ill-counselled what we were a little later to take away, in furnishing it to them, or, if we counselled well then, now to be taking it away not well. Further, men of Athens, if you had resolved to use altogether an unstable judgement toward everything, and to proceed everywhere with the matter according to the turns of the
Euripus, it would be nothing unlikely not only to be willing to abolish the vote concerning immunity, but also to set the idle babble of this man or that before practically all the things nobly resolved by both us and our ancestors. But if you would not so much as in a dream endure to be sick in such ways and to be at faction with yourselves in your judgements, then, so long at least as you are reckoned among Athenians and preserve this great and wondrous spirit, you will vote nothing new whatever concerning immunity, even if certain men burst ten thousand times, harping up and down on public services, but will abide once for all by what has been best and most advantageously resolved.
Consider it also thus. Of affairs, men of Athens, some have their establishment from resources prepared at home, and do not so much need time as ally; others, even if otherwise deficient, yet their having begun from far back contributes most to their being honoured;
and there are some which partake of both these, but do not partake equally of being honoured by all, but some are used more, some less, and some are, some are not. But to honour benefactors by all the means one can and to leave out nothing of what is fitting is so worth the whole, men of Athens, on both these accounts, to practise, that both all men and the gods and divinities who dwell on Olympus bear the same vote concerning it and agree according to these things—the gods setting forth as a pattern to life, that no one at all should any longer be ungrateful, Ixion
and the fortune of Ixion; while of men one cannot even say of how great a thing they deem their own parents and teachers worthy, and how they use their whole lifetime toward them, both living and dead, not only paying them the most and greatest favours in word and deed and well-nigh lifting them above their head, but, so to speak, ranking them next after the gods themselves. As, then, one would not admire the judgement of those so disposed, because they do nothing new but choose to do what reason requires, but if they fall short of this necessary tribute, then they will be convicted of the utmost injustice—so, it seems to me, one ought to vote concerning those otherwise well treated too. And let no one there put forward nature. For even if the penalty is greater in the former case, yet the ingratitude is surely the same, whether it occur concerning nature or otherwise. For he who has done this very thing to any
soldier would not seem less murderous than he who has slain a general, nor again would he who has stolen public goods seem less so than he who has robbed temples; since we shall not call that law more a law which proceeds against traitors than that which takes vengeance on burglars.
And now we, in what we give to our benefactors doing nothing new, but rendering what is due—if by these means we shall deprive them of what we furnished, we shall wrong them more greatly, I well know, than if we had never brought it to them in the first place. For the former would have been ingratitude, but the latter injustice, if what they justly received from us they shall unjustly be deprived of. And so much greater is injustice than ingratitude that ingratitude is a part of injustice; for not everyone who does injustice is therewith ungrateful toward benefactors, but he who is ungrateful toward these does this very injustice alone—the
choosing not to do what is fitting toward them. Therefore the one is hated, but of injustice we know the laws to be the punishers. Then, men of Athens, shall we, having taken away after furnishing them the things by not furnishing which we should have been ungrateful, wish such a saying to be current about us among all, that the Athenians, guarding against the lesser as an evil, willingly fell into the greater? By no means. Further, he who is unwilling to requite with the like those from whom he has been well treated bears the charge of ingratitude and injustice at once; but he who takes away what he has given, besides being liable to these, fastens upon himself, surely, the reputation of knowing how to do what one ought not, and besides of perversity and meddlesomeness. For by the means whereby he thinks he must again take away
what he has given, all are of necessity led to reckon either that he did not furnish those things out of uprightness of judgement, but that he might the more pain by their loss those whom he will deprive—or, if not this, this is left of necessity: that he furnished it then without reckoning, since again, free of any charge, he took it away. For to shift readily to other things when no necessity whatever presses—and against necessity not even the gods, they say, fight—is a wondrous proof both of the utter instability of judgement and of nothing having been resolved from the beginning; just as, on the contrary, of a strong purpose handling affairs well and with reckoning and vote is the proof not to change anything at random, but to abide by what was resolved from the beginning. Very well.
Leptines, if one should ask you for what reason we honour the gods with sacrifices and rites and processions, if you say it is for the goods we have received from them alone, you will not speak rightly; but if it is clear to all that these things look to both,
and that not only of things past but also of things to come do we through them take forethought—the latter praying that they may be very well present, and ever with all the better; for the former being grateful, and inviting them to the like and greater—what is new if we think we ought to do this very same thing toward our benefactors too, since we all know the gods to be the first benefactors, and that they established this whole from the beginning, and that they hold it together always by their continual forethought through all things, and adorn it, and rejoice in this address more than in the costliness of burnt offerings? So that in this way it is the same thing to sin against benefactors and against the gods. And surely men are in need of all things, but the gods need none of all things,
since they are the providers of all things; but if ever the things from us fall short and we do not bring in this customary contribution, we are at once accursed and polluted and traitors to the divine and the basest of the base, and must pay the penalty, according to Socrates the son of Sophroniscus. If, then, to the gods who need nothing we are debtors of so much, and this contribution is the most necessary of all, how great must this be toward men who need all things?
And beyond all these things I say this, which most of all concerns us: that even if it were least among just things to honour our benefactors and to let them keep forever what we furnished them, we even so would not depart from our customary great-souledness and from being eager in every way in common to do good to all from our resources—reasonably. For there is not, there is not for us any reckoning of money whatever, as for all others, but of a wondrous glory and of being humane out of abundance through all to all. And a clear proof is this: that long ago we had abundance of very
great wealth, but gave it all up out of love of honour and the wish to be admired, holding truly that the one abundance is the expenditure in such things—both for other reasons, and because wealth is subject to fortune, but the possession of honour is immortal and its renown will never perish—a renown which neither has anyone of all men ever been able to dispute with us even in the smallest degree, nor have we ever shrunk from any danger whatever for the sake of it, but both of persons and of goods, common and private, and of every other preparation whatever, for the sake of this very thing we have gladly been unsparing. Whence we have saved the Heraclidae, in danger of being utterly destroyed by Eurystheus, and through us they found means both to defend themselves against him and to set foot again upon Lacedaemon with much the upper hand; and we have saved not only him about Thebes
who was unfortunate and the destroyer of the Sphinx, Oedipus son of Laius—driven out of Thebes and all Boeotia by his kinsman Creon, and taken refuge with us, and deemed worthy of the greatest forethought—but also the Thebans themselves, later ill-disposed by the Laconian garrison. And surely to the Tanagraeans and the Thessalians too—the latter using faction and now coming to nothing, the Tanagraeans driven from their homes by the Thebans—we came in season, being established as the cause, next after the gods, of their not being utterly destroyed. And this same thing the Messenians and Plataeans can tell: the Plataeans, razed by the Lacedaemonians and Thebans, but saved by us; and to those razed by the Lacedaemonians we lent the greatest aid, and now the Messenians exist because of the city. And I pass over the Dryopes and Pelasgians and all the rest, whom she received in danger, and so was she set for them in place of a good genius that they have forgotten, through the good they have received, even their misfortunes.
And it is not that long ago the city was thus wondrously and great-souledly disposed toward all, but now otherwise, far short of the ancestors and unworthily of the premise; rather, but yesterday and the day before, in the Median wars, when the barbarian deemed us worthy of great things, and such as one would not have hoped, on condition of being able to gain us as allies, and the Lacedaemonians on the other side, in this very matter, came into the greatest fear because of these things, so as to promise to do good in all ways to our children and wives and old men, as long as the war should last—what manner of men did we show ourselves, and how were we disposed toward
these? For blaming the latter for having resolved unworthily of our resolve and humanity in what they promised, and not enduring at all to hear in any way whatever the former attempting impossibilities, we prepared the one to withdraw from Hellas shamefully, and rescued the others, along with Hellas, from their dangers. Again, then, we all in common thought we should contribute the money to the Lacedaemonians which the Thirty had borrowed from them against those in the Piraeus; and when affairs were established and the Lacedaemonians demanded these things back, all the rest thought the borrowers should
repay and discharge it, as was reasonable, but these very men cried out that the first token of concord would be this: if the whole people should pay it.
When, then, men of Athens, with no necessity whatever existing beforehand, but out of the most humane part of judgement alone, such things seemed the noblest to do, and we have continued through all time pursuing this noblest and most advantageous love of honour, the only one fitting for men—now, both being present, both the necessity of doing what is just and of using judgement, and of not abandoning this wondrous resolve we had from the beginning, shall we then be unwilling? And how is it not strange to be willing to rescue others from dangers by our own dangers, but, when it is possible to have both—both to be well treated by others ourselves and to deem others worthy of the like from us—then to accept being deprived of both; and those who have done the most dreadful of all things to the city and have left out no extreme of
- baseness, so that one cannot even mention them without tears, to deem worthy of so great zeal for the sake of concord, as even to undertake the greatest expense of money on their behalf; but our benefactors and friends, and those whom for this very reason we must use as the most precious things, these, being just and worthy of greater forethought than they now enjoy from us, we should be willing both to deprive of what we gave them, as though they were of no worth at all? And who does not know that thus our affairs would fall into a riddle, being now thus, now thus—or rather neither, since both thus and thus?
And surely every law, by the means whereby it through all takes thought for the common advantage, makes those who use it fare well, both in other respects and in thinking the same to the end, which is truly the mark of
prosperity. But this man, making no account of this, but innovating against the common advantage what one ought not, injures the city in the greatest things, not only setting her at variance with herself, but also depriving her of the very things that are fitting and that everyone would pray she might obtain forever. And what would be more according to prayer for cities than to acquire friends and benefactors daily? Of which this man, if he shall prevail, by withdrawing this altogether—if this shall not be, he will fill her altogether with these. If, then, the abolishing of this man's law establishes for us our friends forever and besides makes them more, but the willing to preserve it withdraws these from us, by so much is it finer and more advantageous, and truly more on behalf of the city herself, to abolish this man than to preserve him, by as much as obtaining benefactors and friends than to be deprived
of these altogether. So your law, Leptines, being altogether disadvantageous and, to say all in one word, nothing sound, will in this alone be of benefit to the city: if it shall no longer exist for the future. For he himself will pay this penalty, having nothing good at all, and will prepare the rest thereby never to be willing to babble such great nonsense.
And apart from this, consider, men of Athens, the difference between this very man and the original laws, that you may know clearly that he is so far from being to be set beside these and brought to a level with them, that he is not even justly to be called a law at all. For if they make so much account of benefactors as not only to deem them worthy of equal treatment, but to honour them, as men who began the good, even more than was fitting, while he, all the contrary, counsels that they fall out of what they had received, it is wholly necessary to give no heed at all to him as legislating things harsh and disadvantageous and proceeding to such a pitch of absurdity as never to have come even to hearing, but to leave him to those very things
with which he says he is pleased; but those whom all men of every age, and besides nature herself, hold as joint voters for what they say, not only to cherish and admire, but also to rejoice with them, since they are thus the best of all. And besides, one might justly bring against him an action of ejectment. For the others, even if they utter things various and about which one might dispute, yet, since all look to one thing alone, the gain of cities, on this account all share the same appellation, and this common name, "laws," has prevailed over all. But he,
agreeing in such things with none of these, how could he reasonably be ranked in the catalogue of these? Or rather, this would preserve reason: that, in the same manner as we honour those men as being on our behalf, and rank them as saviours and guides of life next after the gods, in the same manner we should put a stop altogether to this man as being against us. For if all good laws are a correction of evils, he who heals nothing of the kind at all, but even prepares the city to be at faction with her benefactors—the same as to say, with herself—how shall he not be for us in the lot of a Fury, remaining in our life? Then it is also altogether dreadful, men of Athens, if, while a tyrant and laws are altogether opposite, and the latter incite to doing what is just toward benefactors in every way, but the tyrant deprives them of even the gifts they had received together with their very possessions—
which Leptines now writes with no shame at all—we shall then call this man a legislator, against whom on this account we ought to call, as in the comedy, for the drums and pillories, as belying the city's character and setting her at war with those whom we least ought?
I would gladly learn from you, Leptines: if the favour you had received from someone you should then be deprived of, will you be vexed or not? Or rather, if, when you received it, you gave no heed to it at all, first I do not know for what reason you received it—for it is not possible to receive it unless one makes the most account of it. Still, if you wish, let it be granted that neither did anyone then make account of it, nor will you now, being deprived,
be vexed. But if you were glad to receive it, as indeed you were and no one will deny, then at its loss too, I well know, you will be vexed—and most of all if you yourself had done good to this man first. Then, what you yourself would never choose to have experienced, this you think fit that others should suffer at our hands; and you alone of all men think you must legislate things which, even had they been resolved long ago, ought to have been struck out altogether as being nothing to us at all, and rather to lay down a law prescribing death for whoever shall hereafter attempt such things? And if you yourself had been outraged by anyone whatever, you would perhaps never have endured it, but would have defended yourself by the means in your power; yet you, in bringing both the Athenians now living and those to be into reproach by your legislation, then are not brought to a vote? For if a man who has made a promise and then not given what he promised is reckoned among cheats and has many accusers, what blame would he who has taken away even what he gave not receive from all?
We ought, then, men of Athens, we ought—since both by nature and by time we all have it allotted us, as it were from above, to choose to do good rather than to be well treated—to be disposed toward those now using immunity in the same way as before we were well treated by them, and to deem them worthy of it. But when, having first been well treated by them, we then deemed them worthy of it, shall we again be willing to take it away from them, as though we had given it on stated terms, or as condemning ourselves for having furnished it? And what reputation concerning ourselves shall we give the Hellenes—we who hold everywhere on earth the name of great-souledness, and have been so manifestly above all men sought after by the gods for our virtue that, when once famine had seized practically the whole inhabited world, both Hellenes and barbarians, the Pythian declared the famine would not otherwise cease unless the Athenians on behalf of all
raised their hands to heaven? For besides the taking away of what is given being the utmost ingratitude, the immunity these men now have they have of themselves and from their own resources, having received it not as a favour from us, but as a kind of wage in return for the goods they did toward us. Therefore, if we take it away from them, first we shall not be taking away what we furnished as a favour to them, but they will be deprived of what, by the reckoning of justice, they are masters of; next, they will reasonably demand back the goods they did us, and far more justly than we,
if indeed we, having nothing to charge them with nor blaming them, but willingly, shall come to this, while they unwillingly and charging us with this absurdity. So that we should unawares be thrusting the sword, through ourselves, against these men—or rather, in wishing to do them despite, we shall harm ourselves so much, in that they will be deprived, unjustly, of what they held justly, while we shall not only seem to be cheats, but also for what we formerly enjoyed from them shall justly pay, because of our ingratitude toward them, the penalty of their exaction.
By so much, then, men of Athens, as to attempt the noblest things lies in the better part than to choose to do nothing good, by so much the more must we guard our faith toward them to the end than have resolved to disturb it. And surely, if, having thus contributed beforehand to us, they shall thus be dishonoured, and nothing whatever shall avail them, not even at least the having begun with favours, what ever
would they have suffered had they contributed nothing at all beforehand? Whom we ought, if not for this reason, yet for our great-souledness toward all and our natural disposition to confer favours, to let keep not only these things to the end, but more besides. But when these things come together—Heracles!—shall there be no benefit to them from these very things, of which either one would have sufficed? And apart from this, if, when they were being deemed worthy of immunity by you, they had said they feared lest in a little while you should take it away from them, you would not only have charged them with madness for being so minded, but would have rebuked them for belying your purpose. Then, what you would have charged these men with for fearing, would you willingly choose to have suffered? And yet those who put forward such things at that time would not have seemed to speak things altogether unpardonable, but for us, so disposed, there will be no excuse whatever from anyone; rather all, I well know, will disbelieve at once both our great-souledness, which they know even toward the basest of men,
and at the same time, holding it among impossibilities that we, established as counsellors of what is needful to all simply, should then use Leptines as counsellor against ourselves, so as to vote these things.
But there I return again. If, when you thought you ought to do them good in return, these men had demanded oaths against your changing, you would altogether have yielded to the demand, vexed at not being trusted, but unable at all to refuse without confirming their fear once for all. Is it not, then, strange that what you would then have confirmed by oaths, this you should now be unwilling to keep without oaths—and that too when this is truly finer and more for your glory, since then you would have seemed to keep it under the necessity of the oaths, but now, doing it apart from that necessity, you would carry off a reputation of the best judgement and most fitting for you? And it occurs to me to wonder, men of Athens, if, when certain men slander us, we would not
have endured it, but would even have brought against them an action for outrage, yet we ourselves shall be willing to slander ourselves with the most shameful of all charges. For when those who have deceived the people in what they promised we prescribe death for, if, as the law commands, on trial they be convicted, but we ourselves take away even what we have given, how shall we not seem to be plotting against ourselves, having willingly done the very things for which we deem others worthy of death? Which most of all we must guard against, not only because we, above all men, must do what is right, inasmuch as we are most of all men dear to the gods, but because this too is, most of all, free from pardon. And justly. For he who does any injustice whatever incurs blame for that alone, but he who willingly makes himself liable to the very things which among others he punishes most nobly casts against himself the vote of being
reasonably hated by all, both because he chooses to do such things, and because he censures these very things in others which he chooses to do himself. To whom I would say: if these things, my good man, happen to be among the praiseworthy, how do you deem them worthy of punishment in others? But if they are by nature of the basest lot, how do you yourself think you must use as best the very things you punish in others?
And surely, if private harm toward anyone whatever is worthy of blame, surely that which brings harm publicly and in common does not even admit of excuse. You, then, hate any base citizen whatever who has acquired no good reputation so much as even to drive him from the city as quickly as possible, that the rest too may not be harmed by him and the disease come to many. But if we confirm the law of Leptines, we shall not only seem accursed in such matters, but shall also stir up against ourselves a common
hatred, and we shall not so much deprive our benefactors of what was given as ourselves of being trusted. And if to fall out of the goodwill of all and to receive a base instead of a good reputation is far harder than to be deprived of any gifts whatever, first, we should be punishing ourselves rather than our benefactors by what we take away; next, it is also dreadfully strange and novel to bring war upon ourselves at home, and that the same men should be not in part but at once both wronging and being wronged, both executioners and sufferers. A thing which, had it come about from another, would have had some consolation for us, and would besides have seemed to add to the precedents; but for us to be ourselves doing despite to ourselves and doing ourselves harm, and—what is more dreadful than this—when it is possible not to suffer, then to choose to suffer, passes into every misery. For where we think we ought to use great-souledness even toward the insolent and slanderers and to do all things that we may then make them well-disposed toward us, surely it is manifest
madness, when . . . our benefactors and those who hold our own affairs in very high esteem and would not cease from this madness, if we wished it—instead of fairly deeming them worthy of all that befitted them and being besides ambitious on their behalf, we should show them enemies too in the very things in which we deprive them.
If, then, we have so good a judgement and have come to such a point of being simply well-disposed toward all that we are willing to make even our enemies well-disposed and to change them to what they ought, but he by what he counsels dashes us altogether against all and forces us toward what is not our nature, he is not only an enemy of the polity, so that one ought not to give him heed in any way whatever, but is also one who turns everything of the nature we have up and down like a whirlwind, and—O gods!—prepares the most reasonable in their natures and reared in good laws and customs to have less than the most lawless and savage of barbarians, if indeed
those honour their benefactors, but we dishonour ours. And while those, by savagery of judgement, against the common nature of men and against their very nearest, proceeding daily, in this one thing alone, surely, preserve that in which nature gives all men a share—I mean justice toward benefactors—the Athenians, who not only excel practically all men in goodness of nature, but have also been seen not seldom in their virtues beyond human nature, are now in danger, through Leptines, of standing outside even what is according to nature. Again, then, the Thirty, having pulled down the walls of the city, did not pull down along with them her spirit, but, that standing fast, the walls again rose far more conspicuous and finer. But Leptines now attempts to pull down not walls, but what
is altogether greater—the city's great-souledness and her being trusted. And then Thrasybulus, taking but a few men, pulled down the tyranny; but of us all, shall any one man whatever prevail? By no means, men of Athens.
Consider this too, men of Athens, that you may know clearly that Leptines says the contrary of what he set out to say, and is not ashamed to make war on his own self. For when he takes away the gifts from all the rest, but allows the descendants of Harmodius and Aristogeiton alone to keep them, he is most of all manifest as holding this thing neither altogether good nor base, but, in the case of this one alone, thinking the contrary. And it is impossible that both should hold of the same thing at once, but one of two. Yet let it be granted that at least the refutation has become manifest. But if you think the matter of the gifts something noble and just, sir, and advantageous to the city too, why do you not simply give a share
- to all, but to some and not to others? But if they seem to you disadvantageous, and you have condemned them, and think them nothing sound, why do you not deprive all of them too? But as it is, you seem, in that you deprive all the rest of what was given, but allow the descendants of Harmodius and Aristogeiton to keep these, to deem the former worthy of honour, but to dishonour all the rest—doing neither of these reasonably. Rather, you fail to notice that you honour the former unworthily, since not also all; and dishonour all unjustly, since you think only those worthy of honour. For one must give a share of the equal to both. But by the very means whereby you divide them, you join them too against your will, as though all ought equally to enjoy the gifts.
And that these too are worth much is clear from this. For by the very means whereby you furnish these to the descendants of Harmodius and Aristogeiton alone, you give us most to vote both these things: that you hold the former justly enjoy these because of their race, and that you think the gifts so worth much
as to give them, as a kind of prize, to these alone of all. Is it not, then, monstrous and altogether contradictory here to say they possess them as the best of things, but in the case of all others to reject them as worth nothing? And apart from this, in no way whatever was it fitting to mention the descendants of Harmodius and Aristogeiton. For if you say they abstain from the gifts as base, these men set up against you the contrary argument; but if as most precious, all will share them equally, and not the descendants of Harmodius and Aristogeiton alone. Further, then, we think Harmodius and Aristogeiton became so wondrous to us, and better than the rest, as even to be willing to honour them with images in the same way as the gods, and, save sacrifices, to leave out nothing in the way of honour. Yet we shall not grant that their descendants be deemed worthy of equal honour—nothing near it. For neither do we
know of Olympic victors ever having given their children a share of the wild-olive, any more than of their own appellation; nor is it possible for these to receive virtue along with their race, but often these things turn out diametrically opposite. How, then, did you mention these as agreed goods, if indeed they ought to have been mentioned at all? For if it was not fitting to mention the truly good for the reasons I gave, surely to mention things that do not exist as though they existed brings only laughter.
And I do not say that in these very matters you fail to notice that you are depriving Harmodius and Aristogeiton themselves—whom you make so much of as, for their very sake, to grant the gifts to their descendants too—of the images which they hold as a prize for being tyrannicides, a gift worthy of that wondrous daring and most fitting for them. And in which way would you have been finer and worthier of trust: in establishing the gifts altogether and agreeing in this with all men, or in establishing them in part and in part
slandering them, and forbidding them to some but conceding them to others, and not only confirming neither of these by the other, but also opposing the common vote concerning them? I, for my part, think it would have been in the former way, and all would agree. But you, by limping so in your counsels, do the work of a man who is confident not in what he says, but, so to speak, distrustful of himself. And both a lawgiver and a counsellor and every such man must declare himself purely, and not strike a double note, as the saying is. And yet, when he who claims to be trusted by others does not himself hold
the same opinion concerning what he says, hardly would he seem trustworthy to any man at all.
And it occurs to me, men of Athens, to wonder at Leptines too, how, being a knave and clever at handling affairs, he has failed to notice this: that by the means whereby he deprives the rest of their gifts, he stirs up the anagyris against himself, depriving himself of the greatest things—of free speech and reputation and discourses and the being able to come forward into the midst about whatever he chooses on each occasion. For it is not he alone who receives a gift who takes maintenance in the prytaneum or immunity or plots of land or any such thing; but whomever the people deem worthy of this right of entrance, he too receives this very thing as a gift; and these things ought so much more to be called gifts
than those, as those would more justly be called a repayment than gifts, but these are purely gifts, given to men who have contributed nothing beforehand. So that in this way we shall wrong the rest, having taken away the gifts, but he will have nothing of the kind to put forward; rather, he would be grateful had he not suffered this, and having suffered it he will surely not be justly vexed, nor cry out as wronged. Or rather, if no one shall fall out of the gifts, neither will you of your right of entrance to the assemblies; but if they shall be deprived of these, you too, be well assured, will share in the law's effect. And having lost your right of free speech, you will find that the very law you have thereby laid down perishes along with it. And things having gone in this way, you for the future will be without civic rights, but all, as before, will keep their gifts, the law having been stopped, and no one being any longer in the way hereafter. Choose, then, one of two: either, letting the law go, to keep the reputation that attaches to you; or, in seeking to set this up, besides accomplishing nothing more, to lose this too altogether.
And surely you could not say this either, that of those who obtained the gifts some, being base, and others having done the city some small good, were deemed worthy of greater things than was fitting. For most of all, even if this were so throughout, it would be more on our side. Why? Because we are by nature, from the beginning, just as in all other things, so in benefactions too, to conquer all men. At any rate all sing of us as common benefactors. But as it is, most of these things are so great and so worth much that, even if those who did them were nowhere conspicuous, it would suffice them thence to be honoured distinctly. And these men are of such a sort and have come to such a pitch of being admired that they not only dignify the gifts they had from us more than they are dignified by them, but, even if the matter of gifts were not yet customary among men, it would have become customary because of them—whom to recount one by one,
I do not mean those of former times, but even all these of our own day, would be long and beyond what is in my power. But mentioning one alone, who but yesterday and the day before was established as the cause of many great goods to the city, I leave the vote to yourselves, whether the man is worthy not of immunity only, which you gave him and his children, nor of very many other gifts and crowns besides, but also of having many others well treated because of him.
And worthy of this too is Chabrias, just as before him Timotheus, who took Corcyra, and Iphicrates, who cut down the Spartan division. 172. For he alone of those who served in public life, having gained on each occasion the most and finest victories on our behalf, and nowhere defeated, nor in any way whatever having had less of the good courage that belonged to him, not only drew envy from no one, but is acclaimed by all as having done the city the greatest good—both, among many other things, having so defeated the Lacedaemonians in a sea-battle at Naxos as to take some seventy triremes and three thousand captives, and besides bringing over seventeen cities and showing us a hundred and ten talents from the enemy, and, in a word, having appeared wondrous
through all. Then him who was so good in the whole, and praised by all, and adorned with so many and so great trophies, and continued altogether unconquered, and furnished the city the greatest resources toward prosperity—him, then, who is worthy of the greatest things and just to be honoured above all others, shall we deprive even of the immunity, far inferior to his glory, of which we deemed him worthy? And how shall he not seem both now and then to have been wronged by us in the greatest things—then obtaining what was not fitting, but now, O gods, falling out of even these? Who, even if he had not been such a man, nor had the things I spoke of belonged to him, yet by the way in which he so died for us is just to be deemed worthy of honour through practically all his descendants.
For it would be among absurdities to honour those who have died in war, both each year by funeral orations and to rear their children publicly, until, grown to manhood, they withdraw home with their full armour, but the man who, both living and even unto death, often risked himself on our behalf and set upon his life an end worthy of his purpose—him, surely, and his sons, not only not to be willing to deem worthy of the like with those, but even to deprive them of what was given; and that those who have not seldom suffered ill from him in battles should both of old and now hold this a good man and honour him distinctly, so as to rejoice with him in his deeds and extraordinary good courage, and to pray for themselves the good fortune of such a citizen—but that we, on behalf of those for whom he so brilliantly arrayed himself, and whom he adorned with great and wondrous trophies,
should both destroy his existing reputation by doing despite to his sons, as though either he had done the city no good whatever or the most shameful things of all.
And surely, if, when this man was alive, out of great-souledness he refused every favour whatever and sought nothing more for what he did toward us, but thought it enough merely to have become of much worth to the city, we ought, surely, abashed by his virtue and reckoning his extraordinary deeds as a kind of living monument, now most zealously to treat his child, and to remember the favour toward this very man, and to deem him worthy not only of immunity, but of many other things besides. But now, having long ago given a share of this both to him and to his child, shall we now resolve something else? And how is it not strange that the benefit from him stands
- altogether secure for the city, but what you intended toward him for his sake should be turned to a recantation? For Ctesippus then, son of Chabrias—but when I say this man, I mean all against whom this law is—there will be nothing more for him, fallen out of immunity; and you, men of Athens, being thus disposed toward your benefactors, will be deprived of very many noble and good men, able to do the city good on every occasion that offers. For no one of all men, I think, will any longer contend on your behalf nor be willing to run any risk, seeing virtue unpaid among you. For in this most cities are sick, according to the tragedy, when a man, being noble and zealous, carries off nothing more than the baser sort.
And surely, if it were possible only to be well treated, but not also to do good, there would be no matter. But if there is no way
for anyone to be well treated by another without first either himself having done that man good or being expected to do so—nor would a city ever fare well that did not honour those who have done good—therefore you too, if you choose to be well treated, choose also yourselves to do good to others; but if, by the means whereby you take away the gifts, you abolish this, then neither choose yourselves to be well treated, nor count for everything in your dealings with yourselves the very thing you count for nothing in your dealings with others. For if we, above all men, are just to be well treated—not only because we are most of all men habituated to this for all time, but because we, first of all, have enjoyed the best of humanity and great-souledness from the gods, both in the giving
of fruits and in becoming, the first of all, the object of the gods' strife and allotment—yet since it is not possible to obtain the one without the other present, we need surely both, that we may not, seeking the one, lose not only it but the whole; since doing good and being well treated, even if they are altogether divided from one another, yet hang of necessity upon one another in the way I said.
And I say this too: that even if, in doing good, we were not going to be well treated, not even so ought doing good, out of great-souledness, to fail to be present, since we should reckon as sufficient gain the reverence and gratitude of those well treated. But when, besides this, it is possible to expect to be well treated in return,
surely it is manifest madness to deprive ourselves of such things. For in being zealous to do good to others when it is possible, it is also possible to do good to ourselves; but in making no account of these things, it is to punish ourselves in the greatest matters. And if to be unwilling to do good is not free from blame, neither, much more, is the failing to do good in return to those who have done good—by even attempting to take away from them what was given; Heracles, anyone would be indignant beyond measure, since such a thing has never come about with any men whatever, nor would now have taken its beginning among us, where there are laws and justice, and the common advantage through all, the gods willing, ever and always prevailing for the city; and besides, we being so far from choosing to do these things that even those who have received gifts from us, if they should ever be willing to give them up again to us, we would truly count as enemies, as having
resolved in these matters unworthily both of the city's character and of our ancestors. But if this is by now unbearable, men of Athens, how great must we reckon the other?