Well, Simonides, that the multitude should be deceived by despotic power surprises me not at all, since the mob seems to guess wholly by appearances that one man is happy, another miserable.
Despotism flaunts its seeming precious treasures outspread before the gaze of the world: but its troubles it keeps concealed in the heart of the despot, in the place where human happiness and unhappiness are stored away.
That this escapes the observation of the multitude I say, I am not surprised. But what does seem surprising to me is that men like you, whose intelligence is supposed to give you a clearer view of most things than your eyes, should be equally blind to it.
But I know well enough by experience, Simonides, and I tell you that despots get the smallest share of the greatest blessings, and have most of the greatest evils.
Thus, for instance, if peace is held to be a greatest blessing to mankind, very little of it falls to the share of despots: if war is a great evil, of that despots receive the largest share.
To begin with, so long as their state is not engaged in a war in which all take part, private citizens are free to go wherever they choose without fear of being killed. But all despots move everywhere as in an enemy’s country; at any rate they think they are bound to wear arms continually themselves, and to take an armed escort about with them at all times.
Secondly, in the event of an expedition against an enemy’s country, private citizens at least think themselves safe as soon as they have come home. But when despots reach their own city, they know that they are now among more enemies than ever.
Again, suppose that strangers invade their city in superior force; true, the weaker are conscious of danger while they are outside the walls; yet once they are inside the fortress, all feel themselves bestowed in safety. But the despot is not out of danger even when he passes within the palace gates; nay, it is just there that he thinks he must walk most warily.
Once again, to private citizens a truce or peace brings rest from war; but despots are never at peace with the people subject to their despotism, and no truce can ever make a despot confident.
There are, of course, wars that are waged by states against one another, and wars waged by the despot against his oppressed subjects. Now the hardships incidental to these wars that fall on the citizen fall also on the despot.
For both must wear arms, be watchful, run risks; and the sting of a defeat is felt by both alike.
So far, then, both are equally affected by wars. But the joys that fall to the citizens of states at war are not experienced by despots.I.e., in the wars that he wages against his subjects. The whole of this paragraph is obscurely expressed and highly artificial; and it has been variously interpreted. The text also is uncertain.
For, you know, when states defeat their foes in a battle, words fail one to describe the joy they feel in the rout of the enemy, in the pursuit, in the slaughter of the enemy. What transports of triumphant pride! What a halo of glory about them! What comfort to think that they have exalted their city!
Everyone is crying: I had a share in the plan, I killed most; and it’s hard to find where they don’t revel in falsehood, claiming to have killed more than all that were really slain. So glorious it seems to them to have won a great victory!
But when a despot harbours suspicion, and, well aware that opposition is on foot, puts the conspirators to death, he knows that he does not exalt the city as a whole; he understands that the number of his subjects will be less; he cannot look cheerful; nor does he boast himself of his achievement; nay, he belittles the occurrence as much as possible, and explains, while he is at the work, that there is nothing wrong in what he has done, so far are his deeds from seeming honourable even to himself.
Even the death of those whom he feared does not restore him to confidence; he is yet more on his guard afterwards than before. And now I have shown you the kind of war that a despot wages continually.
Turn next to friendship, and behold how despots share in it. First let us consider whether friendship is a great blessing to mankind.
When a man is loved by friends, I take it, they rejoice at his presence, delight to do him good, miss him when he is absent, greet him most joyfully on his return, rejoice with him in his good fortune, unite in aiding him when they see him tripping.Xen. Cyrop. 1.6.24
Even states are not blind to the fact that friendship is a very great blessing, and very delightful to men. At any rate, many states have a law that adulterers only may be put to death with impunity, obviously for this reason, because they believe them to be destroyers of the wife’s friendship with her husband;
although,ἐπεὶ should be rendered though, not since here, for it introduces a reason why one might suppose that there would be some restriction on the right to kill an adulterer, and not the reason why all adulterers may be killed with impunity. Compare, for instance, Plat. Prot. 335c. The accident is, of course, rape. when a woman’s lapse is the result of some accident, husbands do not honour their wives any less on that account, provided that wives seem to reserve their affection unblemished.
In my judgment, to be loved is a blessing so precious that I believe good things fall literally of themselves on him who is loved from gods and men alike.
Such, then, is the nature of this possession—a possession wherein despots above all other men are stinted. If you want to know that I am speaking the truth, Simonides, consider the question in this way.
The firmest friendships, I take it, are supposed to be those that unite parents to children, children to parents, wives to husbands, comrades to comrades.
Now you will find, if you will but observe, that private citizens are, in fact, loved most deeply by these. But what of despots? Many have slain their own children; many have themselves been murdered by their children; many brothers, partners in despotism, have perished by each other’s hand; many have been destroyed even by their own wives, aye, and by comrades whom they accounted their closest friends.
Seeing, then, that they are so hated by those who are bound by natural ties and constrained by custom to love them most, how are we to suppose that they are loved by any other being?
Next take confidence. Surely he who has very little of that is stinted in a great blessing? What companionship is pleasant without mutual trust? What intercourse between husband and wife is delightful without confidence? What squire is pleasant if he is not trusted?
Now of this confidence in others despots enjoy the smallest share. They go in constant suspicion even of their meat and drink; they bid their servitors taste them first, before the libation is offered to the gods, because of their misgiving that they may sup poison in the dish or the bowl.
Again, to all other men their fatherland is very precious. For citizens ward one another without pay from their slaves and from evildoers, to the end that none of the citizens may perish by a violent death.
They have gone so far in measures of precaution that many have made a law whereby even the companion of the bloodguilty is deemed impure; and so—thanks to the fatherland—every citizen lives in security.
But for despots the position is the reverse in this case too. Instead of avenging them, the cities heap honours on the slayer of the despot; and, whereas they exclude the murderers of private persons from the temples, the cities, so far from treating assassins in the same manner, actually put up statues of them in the holy places.
If you suppose that just because he has more possessions than the private citizen, the despot gets more enjoyment out of them, this is not so either, Simonides. Trained athletes feel no pleasure when they prove superior to amateurs, but they are cut to the quick when they are beaten by a rival athlete; in like manner the despot feels no pleasure when he is seen to possess more than private citizens, but is vexed when he has less than other despots; for he regards them as his rivals in wealth.
Nor even does the despot gain the object of his desire any quicker than the private citizen. For the private citizen desires a house or a farm or a servant; but the despot covets cities or wide territory or harbours or strong citadels, and these are far more difficult and perilous to acquire than the objects that attract the citizen.
And, moreover, you will find that even poverty is rarer among private citizens than among despots. For much and little are to be measured not by number, but in relation to the owner’s needs; so that what is more than enough is much, and what is less than enough is little.
Therefore, the despot with his abundance of wealth has less to meet his necessary expenses than the private citizen. For while private citizens can cut down the daily expenditure as they please, despots cannot, since the largest items in their expenses and the most essential are the sums they spend on the life-guards, and to curtail any of these means ruin.
Besides, when men can have all they need by honest means, why pity them as though they were poor? May not those who through want of money are driven to evil and unseemly expedients in order to live, more justly be accounted wretched and poverty-stricken?
Now, despots are not seldom forced into the crime of robbing temples and their fellow men through chronic want of cash to meet their necessary expenses. Living, as it were, in a perpetual state of war, they are forced to maintain an army, or they perish.
Despots are oppressed by yet another trouble, Simonides, which I will tell you of. They recognize a stout-hearted, a wise or an upright man as easily as private citizens do. But instead of admiring such men, they fear them,—the brave lest they strike a bold stroke for freedom, the wise lest they hatch a plot, the upright lest the people desire them for leaders.
When they get rid of such men through fear, who are left for their use, save only the unrighteous, the vicious and the servile,—the unrighteous being trusted because, like the despots, they fear that the cities may some day shake off the yoke and prove their masters, the vicious on account of the licence they enjoy as things are, the servile because even they themselves have no desire for freedom? This too, then, is a heavy trouble, in my opinion, to see the good in some men, and yet perforce to employ others.
Furthermore, even a despot must needs love his city, for without the city he can enjoy neither safety nor happiness. But despotism forces him to find fault even with his fatherland. For he has no pleasure in seeing that the citizens are stout-hearted and well armed; rather he delights to make the foreigners more formidable than the citizens, and these he employs as a body-guard.
Again, even when favourable seasons yield abundance of good things, the despot is a stranger to the general joy; for the needier the people, the humbler he thinks to find them.