Oration 1

They say that once, when the flute-player Timotheus first gave a performance before King Alexander, he played in the king's own manner, with great skill and musicianship — no soft melody, nor a relaxed one, nor any of the kind that lead to ease and indolence, but, I believe, the very strain that is called the orthian, the air sacred to Athena.

And Alexander at once sprang up to his arms, like a man possessed: so violently was he stirred by the music's melody and the rhythm of the playing. The cause of this was not so much the power of the music as the king's own temper, which was intense and high-spirited.

For Sardanapallus would never have been roused from his chamber and from among his women, not only not by a Timotheus or any other of the younger musicians, but not even by Marsyas himself or Olympus; nay, it seems to me that not even if Athena, were such a thing possible, had played her own strain all the way through, would that man ever have laid hand on weapons — far sooner would he have risen up to dance than to flee; so wretchedly was he undone by power and luxury.

We too, then, may reasonably prove no worse than a flute-player in the work that is ours, and may find words no less manly and high-minded than his music's strains;

and tuned, moreover, not to a single mode, but the very same of them stern and gentle, warlike and yet peaceful, lawful and truly kingly — addressed, I think, to one who wishes to be a brave and law-abiding ruler, who has need of much daring and much of clemency as well.

Timotheus, at any rate, if, just as he knew how to render some martial strain, he had also understood a melody that could make the soul just and prudent and temperate and humane — driving it not toward arms alone, but toward peace and concord and the honouring of the gods and care for men — would have been worth everything to Alexander, to attend him and play for him, and not only when he sacrificed,

but at other times also: whenever he chanced to be mourning beyond all measure and propriety, or punishing more harshly than law and equity allow, or growing angry with his own friends and companions, or scorning his mortal and true parents.

But the science and skill of music cannot supply every cure, nor a complete amendment of character; for, as the poet says, the god did not grant even this to the sons of Asclepius. The reasoned word of the prudent and the wise alone — such men as many of the ancients were — is a sufficient and perfect guide and helper to a docile and good nature, exhorting it toward every virtue and leading it harmoniously.

What discourse, then, would appear fitting and worthy of your earnestness? And from where should we find a word so perfect, we wanderers and self-taught workers of wisdom, who for the most part take what joy we can in toils and labours, but utter our words for encouragement's sake, to ourselves and to whatever passer-by we meet? Just as those who move and shift a heavy and unwieldy load chant and sing softly to lighten the work, being labourers, not singers or composers of song.

Now there are many discourses bearing on philosophy, all of them worth hearing and holding wonderful profit for those who do not listen carelessly. But the one that will be nearest and most to the point must be sought out, and, having called upon Persuasion and the Muses and Apollo, set forth as earnestly as we can.

Come, then, let us describe the character and disposition of the good king, comprehending it in brief as best we may — the man to whom the son of crooked-counselling Cronus gave the sceptre and the ordinances, that he might take counsel for his people.

For most admirably, along with many other things, did Homer, it seems to me, say this too: that not all hold the sceptre and this office from Zeus, but only the good man, and on no other just terms than that he take counsel and have care for those he rules;

not so that he may run riot and squander, filling his soul with folly and insolence and arrogance and every lawlessness, and glutting it utterly with itself, troubled as it is by fits of anger and grief and fear and pleasure and desires of every kind, but rather, so far as he can, applying his mind to himself and to his subjects, becoming in very truth the herdsman and shepherd of his peoples — not, as one has put it, their host and fellow-banqueter. And elsewhere Homer does not think it right for him even to sleep through the whole night, since he has no leisure for idleness.

For Homer too declares this, like the other wise and truthful men: that no one who is base and dissolute and a lover of money is ever able to rule even himself or be master of himself, let alone of anything else; nor will such a one ever be a king, not though all Greeks and barbarians, men and women, should say so, and not only men admire him and obey, but the very birds in flight and the beasts upon the mountains, no less than men, should yield and do his bidding.

Let us speak, then, of the king as Homer and the truth conceive him; for this account, plainly told without any flattery or abuse, of itself recognizes and praises the man who resembles the good king, in so far as he resembles him, and convicts and reproaches the one who is unlike. First, then, he is mindful of the gods and honours the divine above all; for the just and good man cannot put his trust in anything more than in the most just and most excellent gods.

But whoever, being base, supposes that he can ever please the gods, by this very thing is in the first place impious;

for he has reckoned the divine to be either foolish or wicked. After the gods he cares for men, honouring and loving the good, and showing concern for all. For who cares for a herd of cattle more than its herdsman? Who is more useful and better to a flock than its shepherd? Who is more a lover of horses than the man who is master of the most horses and gains the most from them?

And whom is it likely to be so humane as the man who has the most men under his command and is most admired by men? For it would be a strange thing if those who rule over alien and savage beasts were more kindly toward their charges than the king of men who are tame and of his own kind.

And indeed flocks love and submit to their herdsmen most of all, and horses to their drivers; huntsmen are guarded and cherished by their hounds, and so in all the rest the ruled love their rulers.

How then is it likely that creatures without reason or judgment should know and love those who care for them, while man, the most intelligent of all and the one who best knows how to repay a kindness, should be ignorant of his benefactor and plot against him? On the contrary, the gentle and humane king must of necessity be not only loved by men, but loved with passion. Knowing this, then, and being by nature such a man, he keeps his soul gracious and gentle toward all, since he reckons all to be well-disposed and friends.

And further, he thinks that by reason of his office he ought to have a larger share, not of riches or of pleasures, but of care and concern; so that he is more industrious than many others are lovers of pleasure and of money. For he knows that pleasures harm those who keep company with them in every way and quickly render them powerless against themselves, whereas labours both benefit a man in other ways and ever more increase his capacity for toil.

To him alone, accordingly, is it given to address his soldiers as fellow-soldiers and his intimates as friends, without making a mockery of the name of friendship; to be called the father of his citizens and subjects not in word only, but to display it in his deeds; while as for master, he takes no pleasure in being so called even by his slaves, much less by free men.

For he holds that he is king not so much for his own sake, being but one man, as for the sake of all men. And so he takes more joy in conferring benefits than those who receive them, and of this pleasure alone he is insatiable. The other things of kingship he counts as necessities; the doing of good alone he reckons voluntary and a thing of happiness.

Of good things he is most unsparing, as of things that will never fail, while he is by nature less the cause of any evil than the sun is the cause of darkness. Those who have seen him and been with him are loath to leave him, and those who only hear of him long to see him more than children long to find a father they have never known.

Him his enemies fear, and no one admits to being his enemy; his friends take courage, and those who are very near him reckon themselves of all men the safest. To the base man the opposite belongs: to embolden his foes, and to dismay and terrify his friends and those near him. For the gentle and harmless king it falls out that those who cling closely to him live in confidence; and those who approach and look upon him are seized not by amazement or fear, but by reverence — a thing far better and stronger than fear. For men needs must hate those whom they fear and wish to flee them, but those whom they revere they stay beside and admire.

Simplicity, then, and truth he holds to be kingly and prudent, but cunning and deceit to be foolish and slavish, seeing that even among beasts it is the most cowardly and ignoble that lie and deceive the most.

And, being ambitious of honour by nature and knowing that men are by nature disposed to honour the good, he has less hope of being honoured by the unwilling than of winning friendship from those who hate him. And he is so warlike that it rests with him to make war, yet so peaceful that nothing is left worth fighting; for he knows this too, that for those who are best prepared to wage war it is most possible to keep the peace.

He is by nature a lover of his comrades and citizens and soldiers alike. For whoever scorns his soldiery, and has never, or but rarely, set eyes on those who risk and toil for his empire, while he keeps fawning upon the useless, unarmed crowd, is in the same case as a shepherd who would not know the dogs that guard the flock with him, offering them no food and never keeping watch with them as they guard; for such a man teaches not the beasts alone, but the very dogs as well, to fall upon the flock.

And whoever pampers his soldiers, neither drilling them nor urging them to toil, while he neglects the rest of mankind, is like a steersman who ruins his sailors with surfeit and sleep all the day long, and takes no thought though the passengers and the ship are perishing.

But if a man be moderate in these things, yet dishonour those near him who are called his friends, and take no care that they shall seem to all blessed and enviable, he is unwittingly a traitor to himself and to his office, making the friends he has dispirited, and ensuring that none of the rest desires his friendship, and robbing himself of the fairest and most useful of possessions — friendship.

For who is readier to toil, when the time for it comes, than a friend? Who readier to rejoice with us in good fortune? Whose praise is sweeter than a friend's? From whom is the truth less painful? What guard, what ramparts, what arms are surer and stronger than the protection of those who wish us well?

For as many comrades as a man has won, with so many eyes he sees what he would see, with so many ears he hears what he must, and with so many minds he takes thought for his interests. It is no different than if a god had given a man with one body many souls, all of them taking forethought on his behalf.

But, to pass over the many points and state the plainest sign, this is the good king, whom good men are not ashamed to praise, neither in his own time nor in the time to come. And he, for his part, prizes not the praise of vulgar tradesmen and market-folk, but that of free and noble men, for whom it is not worth living once they have lied.

Who, then, would not call such a man and such a life blessed? From where would men not come to him, to behold him and to enjoy his fair and good intent? What sight is more august than the noble and laborious toil of a king? What sweeter than a gentle and beloved ruler, eager to do good to all and able to do it to all? What more profitable than one fair and just?

For whose life is safer than his whom all alike guard? Whose sweeter than his who reckons no man an enemy? Whose freer from grief than his who has nothing to lay to his own charge? Who is more fortunate than that man who, being good, escapes no one's notice?

I, then, have spoken plainly of the good king. If any of this appears to belong to you, blessed are you yourself for your wise and good nature, and blessed are we who share in it.

After the discourse just given, I desired to treat of the greatest and first King and Ruler, whom mortals — and those who administer the affairs of mortals — must ever imitate and have care to imitate, directing and conforming their own manner toward Him so far as is possible.

For this reason Homer too says that true kings are nurtured of Zeus and like Zeus in counsel, and he declared that Minos, who had the greatest renown for justice, became the companion of Zeus. And nearly all who have ever been kings, among Greeks or barbarians, not unworthy to obtain this title — the account shows them to be disciples and emulators of this god.

For Zeus alone among the gods is named Father and King, and Guardian of the City, and God of Friendship and of Comradeship and of Kindred, and besides these God of Suppliants and of Refuge and of Strangers, having ten thousand other titles besides, all of them good and the causes of good things;

named King by reason of his rule and power; Father, I think, by reason of his care and his gentleness; Guardian of the City by reason of law and the common good; God of Kindred because of the kinship of race that joins gods and men; God of Friendship and of Comradeship because he brings all men together and wills that they be friends to one another,

and that none be an enemy or foe to any; God of Suppliants in that he gives ear and is gracious to those who beg; God of Refuge because of the escape he grants from evils; God of Strangers because — this too being a beginning of friendship — one must not neglect strangers nor reckon any man an alien; God of Possession and of Increase, in that he is the cause of the harvests and the giver of wealth and of property, not of poverty or want — implying that straightway all these powers must attend upon the power and the title of the king.

It is fitting, then, to speak concerning the governance of the whole — what manner of thing the universe is, which, blessed and wise, journeys forever through the boundless ages, unceasingly, through boundless revolutions, with a good soul and a like guardian spirit, and forethought, and a rule most just and most excellent; and which makes us like itself, ordered as we are under one ordinance and law according to the nature common to it and to us, and sharing in the same polity.

He who honours and keeps this law and does nothing against it is lawful and dear to god and orderly; but he who, so far as in him lies, throws it into confusion and transgresses and is ignorant of it is lawless and disorderly — whether he be called a private man or a ruler; though the offence committed by the ruler is far greater and more conspicuous to all.

Therefore, just as among all generals and commanders of armies and cities and nations, whoever most imitates your manner and shows himself, so far as he can, like to your character, would be of all men your closest comrade and most dear; while if any prove opposite and unlike, he would justly meet with blame and dishonour, and, quickly stripped of his very command, would yield it to others better than himself and better able to administer it;

so likewise among kings, who, as I conceive, hold their power and stewardship from Zeus: whoever, looking to Him, orders and governs according to the law and ordinance of Zeus, justly and well, obtains a good portion and a happy end;

but whoever transgresses and dishonours Him who entrusted him with this gift, or gave it, gains nothing from all his power and authority except just this — to become manifest to all his contemporaries and to those after him as base and dissolute, fulfilling the fabled doom of Phaethon, in that he mounted a mighty and divine chariot against fate, being no fit charioteer.

And Homer too speaks somewhat thus: "Whoever is himself harsh and knows harsh deeds, on him all mortals call down sufferings to follow while he lives, and, when he is dead, all mock him; but whoever is himself blameless and knows blameless deeds, his wide renown the strangers bear to all mankind, and many call him noble."

As for my own part, as I said, I would most gladly and most eagerly tell this tale — the one concerning Zeus and the nature of the universe. But since it is greater than all the present occasion allows and requires more exact demonstrations, perhaps at some other time there will be leisure to set it forth.

But if you would care to hear a certain myth — or rather, a sacred and sound discourse told in the guise of a myth — perhaps it will not seem to you out of place, now and hereafter, as you ponder it by yourself: the tale I once heard a woman of Elis or Arcadia tell concerning Heracles.

For it chanced that once, in my exile, I was wandering — and I am deeply grateful to the gods that they did not suffer me to become a spectator of many unjust deeds; so I went over as much country as I could, in the guise and garb of a vagrant beggar, now among Greeks, now among barbarians, begging for scraps of food, not for swords or cauldrons. And once, when I had come to the Peloponnese, I did not go much to the cities,

but spent my time about the countryside, which holds much worth observing, mingling with herdsmen and huntsmen, men of noble and simple ways.

And so, as I was walking from Heraea, as it were, toward Pisa along the Alpheus, for a while I kept to the road; but in the midst of it I fell into a thicket and rough ground, where several footpaths led off to certain cattle-stations and flocks, and, meeting no one and unable to ask my way, I went astray and wandered in the heat of high noon. Seeing, then, upon a height a cluster of oaks like a grove, I made my way thither, thinking to spy out from there some road or dwelling.

I came upon some stones heaped up at random, and skins of sacrificial victims hanging, and clubs and staves — the offerings of certain herdsmen, as it appeared — and a little way off a woman seated, sturdy and tall, somewhat advanced in years, dressed otherwise in rustic garb, but with some grey locks let down.

Of her I asked about everything. And she, very gently and kindly, speaking in the Doric tongue, told me that the place was sacred to Heracles, and about herself, that she had a son who was a herdsman and that often she herself pastured the sheep; and that she had a gift of prophecy given her by the Mother of the Gods, and that all the herdsmen nearby and the farmers consulted her concerning the produce of their crops and the breeding and safety of their flocks.

"And you too," she said, "have come to this place not without divine fortune; for I will not let you go away empty." And after this she at once foretold that the time of my wandering and hardship would not be long — "nor yours," she said, "nor that of the rest of mankind."

And she said this not, as do most of those called inspired men and women — gasping and whirling her head and trying to cast a terrible look — but with full self-command and soberly. "You shall meet one day," she said, "a mighty man, ruler of the greatest land and of many peoples. To him do not hesitate to tell this tale, even if some are minded to despise you as a babbler and a vagabond.

For the words of men and all their subtleties are worth nothing against the inspiration and the utterance that comes from the gods. For whatever wise and true words men have ever held concerning the gods and the universe came to be in the soul of men not without divine will and fortune, through the first prophetic and divine men;

as they say that in Thrace one Orpheus, a son of a Muse, came to be, and another, a shepherd on some mountain of Boeotia, heard the Muses themselves; whereas all who, without divine possession and inspiration, have brought into life out of their own minds certain words as though they were true, have brought forth things absurd and base. Listen, then, to this tale, very wide awake and with your mind attentive, that, having remembered it, you may report it to that man whom I say you shall meet. It concerns this god in whose precinct we now are.

For he was, as all say, the son of Zeus by Alcmene, and king not only of Argos but of all Hellas. This the many do not know, but, because he was abroad on campaign and guarding his realm, they say that Eurystheus was king at that time — a man who was the most industrious of all and far superior to those there. These things, then, are idly said by them.

But he was king not only of Hellas; from the rising sun to its setting he ruled over all the earth and over all the men among whom there are shrines of Heracles.

And he was educated simply, not in the manifold and superfluous subtleties and knaveries of ill-starred men. They tell this too of Heracles, that he went naked, having only the lion's skin and the club.

And they say this in such a sense, that he set no great store by gold or silver or raiment, but reckoned all these things worth nothing, except to give and bestow. At any rate to many men he gave as gifts not only boundless wealth and land and herds of horses and cattle, but kingdoms and whole cities. For he believed that all things were his and nothing another's, and that to what he gave there was added the goodwill of those who received.

Nor, again, is that true which they say, that he went about alone, without an army; for it is not possible to take cities and bring down men who are tyrants, and lay commands upon all everywhere, without a force. But because he was self-reliant, eager in soul and sufficient in body and toiled beyond all others, they said that he went about alone and accomplished by himself whatever he wished.

And indeed his father took great care for him, sending him good impulses and bringing him into the company of good men. He gave him signs in everything, too, by birds and by burnt offerings and by every kind of divination.

And when he saw that he wished to rule, not from desire of pleasures or of greedy gains — for the sake of which most men crave it — but in order to do good to as many men and in as many ways as he could, knowing his nature to be noble, yet suspecting how much of him was mortal, and that there were many wicked examples among men of luxury and license, and that many turn aside, against his will, the man rightly disposed by nature, out of his own nature and judgment — reckoning all this, he sent Hermes, charging him with what must be done.

And Hermes, having come to Thebes, where Heracles in his youth was being reared, told him who he was and by whom he had been sent, and, taking him, led him by a road untold and untrodden by men, until he came to a certain conspicuous and very lofty peak of a mountain, on its outer sides terribly sheer with upright crags and a deep ravine, round which a river ran in a circle, giving up much noise and din, so that to those looking up from below the summit above appeared to be one, whereas in truth it was twofold from a single root, and the two stood far apart from each other.

Of these the one was called the royal peak, sacred to Zeus the King, and the other the tyrannic, named after Typhon. They had two approaches to them from without, each its own: the royal one safe and broad, so that a man might enter through it without danger and without stumbling, driving in a chariot, if it had been granted him by the greatest of the gods; but the other narrow and crooked and forced, so that most who attempted it perished down the crags and into the torrent, going, I suppose, contrary to justice.

Now to the many, as I said, since they see from afar, both appear to be one and almost in the same place; but the royal summit so far overtops the other that it stands above the clouds, in the very pure and clear air, while the other is far below, just about the gathering of the clouds, dark and shrouded in mist.

Leading him there, then, Hermes pointed out the nature of the place. And when Heracles, being young and ambitious, was eager to behold what was within, "Follow, then," he said, "that you may clearly see the difference of the rest, which escapes the foolish."

So first he showed him, seated upon the greater peak on a splendid throne, a woman fair of form and tall, arrayed in white raiment, holding a sceptre neither of gold nor of silver, but of another, pure and far more radiant substance, such as men most often paint for Hera;

her face bright and at once august, so that all good men took courage to look upon her, but no base man could face her, no more than a man weak of sight can look up at the disc of the sun; her aspect was settled and seen ever the same, and her gaze unchanging;

and a great auspicious silence, untroubled and calm, held the place. All was full of fruits and of thriving creatures of every kind; and there too was gold heaped up beyond measure, and silver and bronze and iron. Yet she gave no heed to the gold and took no delight in it, but rather in the fruits and the living creatures.

Seeing her, then, Heracles felt reverence and blushed, honouring and revering her as a good son does a noble mother. And he asked Hermes which of the gods she was; and he said, "This is the blessed goddess Royalty, offspring of Zeus the King." And Heracles rejoiced and took courage toward her. And again he asked about the women with her: "Who are they?" he said; "how decorous and stately and of manly bearing."

"This one," he said, "who looks at once fierce and gentle, seated on the right, is Justice, shining with the greatest and most conspicuous beauty. Beside her is Good Order, very like her and differing little in form.

And on the other side a woman exceedingly comely and delicately arrayed, smiling without distress: they call her Peace. And this strong man standing near Royalty, beside the very sceptre, in front — grey-haired and high-minded — he is called Law; and he is named also Right Reason, counsellor and assessor, without whom it is not lawful for those goddesses to do anything or even to take thought."

Hearing and seeing these things, then, he was delighted and gave heed, as one who would never forget them. Thereupon, when they had gone down and came to the tyrannic entrance, "Come," he said, "behold the other also — the one which the many love and about which they have troubles many and of every kind, the wretches, murdering one another, sons often plotting against parents and parents against sons and brothers against brothers, longing for and accounting blessed the greatest of evils, power joined with folly."

And first he showed him the things about the entrance: how one way appeared in plain view, and it too, much as I said before, was perilous and led close along the very precipice; while there were many hidden and unseen passages besides, and the whole place round about was undermined and tunnelled, beneath the very throne, I believe, and all the passages and footpaths were defiled with blood and full of corpses. By none of these did he lead him, but by a cleaner way from without, since he was, I think, to be only a spectator.

And when they had entered, they came upon Tyranny seated aloft of set purpose, pretending and likening herself to Royalty, but on a throne much loftier, as she fancied, and finer, with countless other carvings, and decked out with an inlay of gold and ivory and amber and ebony and colours of every kind. But the throne was not safe in its base, nor

firmly set, but shaking and sagging. Nor was anything else arranged in good order, but all was for show and boastfulness and luxury — many sceptres, many tiaras and diadems upon her head. And, mimicking the bearing of the other, instead of the kindly smile she grinned a mean and festering grin, and instead of the august gaze she peered out sullen and savage.

And, that she might seem high-minded, she did not look at those who approached, but overlooked and slighted them. By this she made herself hateful to all, and suspected all. Seated, she could not keep still, but kept glancing about her again and again and often leaped up from the throne. The gold she hid most shamefully in her bosom, then again, taking fright, flung it from her all at once, and straightway snatched whatever any passer-by had, even the merest trifle.

Her raiment was of every kind, now of sea-purple, now of scarlet, now of saffron; and some of her robes appeared white as well; and much of her attire was torn to shreds. She kept shifting through colours of every kind, in fear and distress and distrust and anger, and now she was seen abased by grief, now uplifted by pleasure, and at one moment she laughed in her face most wantonly, and the next she straightway broke into lament.

And there was about her a throng of women in no way like those whom I said were about Royalty, but Cruelty and Insolence and Lawlessness and Faction, who all corrupted her and were destroying her most miserably. And in place of Friendship there was present Flattery, slavish and servile, plotting no less than any of the others, but seeking most of all to bring her to ruin.

And when he had looked his fill upon these things too, Hermes asked him which of the two states pleased him, and which of the two women. "The one," he said, "I admire and love, and she seems to me to be truly a god, worthy of emulation and of being called blessed; but this latter I for my part hold most hateful and most foul, so that I would most gladly thrust her down this cliff and make away with her." Hermes, then, commended this and reported it to Zeus.

And he entrusted to Heracles the kingship over the whole race of men, as to one who was fit for it. And so, wherever he saw tyranny and a tyrant, he chastised and made away with them, among Greeks and barbarians alike; but wherever he saw a kingship and a king, he honoured and protected them. And for this reason he was the saviour of the earth and of men — not because he warded off wild beasts from them; for how great harm could a lion or a wild boar do? — but because he chastised savage and wicked men, and broke the power of arrogant tyrants and took away their dominion. And even now he still does this, and is your helper and the guardian of your rule, so long as you continue to be a king.