Feb 9, 2008

An Appeal to Arms

Patrick Henry (May 29, 1736 – June 6, 1799)

As Patrick Henry had hurled the first defiance against Great Britain in 1765, he was the first to make an open appeal to arms in 1775. This was on March 23d, three weeks before the fight at Lexington precipitated the Revolution. Henry had returned from the Continental Congress and was now a member of the Virginia Convention, with Washington for one of his colleagues. Here he offered a resolution that the Colony should be "put into a state of defense," and sustained it by the most brilliant speech to which the Revolution gave rise.

Mr. President,
No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the House. But different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen, if, entertaining as I do opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve. 'This is no time for ceremony’. The question before the House is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at the truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offence, I should consider myself an guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven which I revere above all earthly kings.

Mr. President, it is natural for man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song, till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those, who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it. I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possibility? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet to us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned: we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free, if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we’ve been so long contending if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon, until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts is all that is left us!

They tell us that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make the proper use of those means which the God of Nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, Sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, Sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, Sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat, but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come!

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may Peace, peace but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north, will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!

Quoted from The World’s Great Orators and Their Orations, 1917, by Charles Morris. Read more!

Feb 8, 2008

The Effect of Oratory

I wanted to outline for you, my readers, the merits of reading a speech and I find the words of someone in the past stimulating on the subject.

An oration, to be fully appreciated, must be heard, not read. Much of what gave it force and effect is lost when it is committed to print. The living personality is gone the flashing eye, the vibrating voice, the impetuous gesture, the passionate declamation, the swaying and sweeping energy of eloquence which at times gives to meaningless words a controlling force. Much is lost, but by no means all. The real flesh and blood of the oration is left its logic, its truth, its quality as a product of the intellect. When thus read, apart from the personal influence of the orator and with cool and judicial mind, the sophistry, the emptiness, of many showy orations become pitifully evident, while the true merit of the really great effort grows doubly apparent. No longer taken captive by the speaker's manner and the external aids to eloquence, the reader can calmly measure and weigh his words and thoughts, with competence to reject the vapid example of speech-making and give it’s just pre-eminence to the truly great oration.

From what is above said it should be evident that the powers of the orator are not alone those of pure reasoning, of logic reduced to its finest elements. No example of oratory should be judged from such a point of view. An orator is essentially a partisan. He takes sides almost necessarily, and is apt to employ any means at his command to give the supremacy to his own side of the question at issue. He is the counterpart, not of the judge who calmly and logically weighs the two sides of the case to be decided and seeks to avoid preference to either but of the advocate, whose aim it is to convince the jury that his own side is the correct one, and who does this by employing every sophistry, every trick of speech and argument, every device to add to the strength of his client's case and lessen that of his opponent. But ordinarily the orator, partisan though he may be, has a wider audience than a jury, and a higher sense of duty to himself and his hearers than is usually to be found in a jury trial. Though it may be his purpose rather to convince than to prove, and though he may not hesitate to help his side of the argument by oratorical devices and skillful deceptions, he must have an earnest belief in the strength and cogency of his own cause or he can scarcely hope to succeed. No man can serve God and Mammon. The great oration must come from the heart and not from the lips. Yet it is not enough for a man to believe in his cause; his cause as well as his belief must be strong. The speech which does not ring true to a judicious reader is defective either in its cause or its advocate. Sophistry may weigh well on the platform, but it becomes hollow and empty in the cabinet, and the merit of no oration can be justly decided upon until it has been put to the test of the reader's mind.

While, therefore, the idea is widely entertained that an oration must be heard to be truly appreciated, this conception is far from correct. There are two things to be considered in judging every oration; the real quality and merit of the thought expressed, and the effect of delivery the speaker's powers of elocution and the magnetic influence of voice and personality. The latter has often an immense effect, and the hearer frequently leaves the presence of the orator convinced against the decision of his own intellect, taken captive by the personal powers of the speaker. To learn what the oration really contains and what force it has as a pure expression of human thought, it must be read and weighed by the mind of the auditor when in a cool and critical state. Under such conditions the verdict is often changed and the weakness and emptiness of what may have seemed irrefutable arguments are exposed.

For this reason it may be held that no one should decide as to the true merit of an oration until he has read it, and the really great orations can be enjoyed by the reader centuries even after they were delivered.

Quoted from The World’s Great Orators and Their Orations, 1917, by Charles Morris. Read more!

On the Union of Sicily Against Invaders

Hermocrates (460–407 B.C.)

(416 B.C.)

Born in 460 B.C., died in 407; promoted the union of the Sicilian cities which made possible the defeat of Athens in 413; and in 412 went to Asia Minor, where he was successful for a time, but then lost a battle, was removed from command and sent into exile; fought against Carthage; died while attempting to reinstate himself in Syracuse.



IT is not because I am of a city that is either the least powerful, or the most distressed by hostilities that I shall address you, Sicilians, but in order publicly to state what appears to me the best policy for the whole of Sicily. And now with regard to war, to prove that it is a disastrous thing, why need one particularize all the evil involved in it, and so make a long speech before those who are acquainted with it? For no one is either driven to engage in it through ignorance, or deterred from it by fear, should he think that he will gain any advantage; but it is the lot of the former to imagine the gains greater than the dangers; and the latter will face the perils rather than put up with any present loss. But if both should happen to be thus acting unseasonably, exhortations to peace would be useful. And this would be most serviceable to us too at the present time, if we did but believe it. For it was surely with a purpose of well securing our own several interests that we both went to war at first, and are endeavoring by means of conference to come to terms again with each other; and if each one should not succeed in going away with what is fair, we shall proceed to hostilities again.

We should be convinced, however, that it is not for our own separate interests alone, if we are wise, that this congress will be held; but to consider whether we shall be able any longer to save the whole of Sicily, which, as I conceive, is the object of the machinations of the Athenians. And we should regard that people as much more compulsory mediators in such case than my words; who, possessing as they do the greatest power of all the Greeks, are watching our blunders, being here with a few ships; and under the legitimate name of alliance are speciously bringing to a profitable conclusion their natural hostility to us. For if we go to war, and call them in to our aid, men who of their own accord turn their arms even upon such as do not call them in; and if we injure ourselves by means of our own resources, and at the same time pave the way for their dominion; it is probable that when they observe us worn out, they will come hereafter with a great force, and endeavor to bring all these states into subjection to them.

And yet we ought, if we are wise, to aim at acquiring for our own respective countries what does not belong to them, rather than at diminishing what they already have, both in calling in allies and incurring fresh dangers; and to consider that faction is most ruinous to states, and particularly to Sicily, the inhabitants of which are all being plotted against, while we are at variance city with city. Knowing this then, we ought to make peace, individual with individual, and state with state, and to make a common effort to save the whole of Sicily; and the thought should be entertained by no one, that tho the Dorian part of us are enemies of the Athenians, the Chalcidian race is secured by its Ionian connection. For they are not attacking our nations, because they are different, and from their hatred of one of them; but from coveting the good things of Sicily, which we possess in common. And this they have now shown upon the invitation of the Chalcidian race; for to those who had never yet assisted them on the ground of their alliance, they themselves with forwardness answered their claim, beyond the letter of the compact.

With regard to the Athenians then, so great is found to be the benefit of our taking good advice. And with regard to peace, which is acknowledged by all to be a most excellent thing, how can it fail to be incumbent on us to conclude it among ourselves? Or do you think, that whatever good thing, or the contrary, anyone has, quiet would not more effectually than war put a stop to the. Latter, and help to preserve the former; and that peace has not the less hazardous honors and splendors? With all other topics which one might discuss in many words, on such a subject as war. Considering then these things, you ought not to disregard what I say, but should rather provide each for your own safety in compliance with it. And if any one think that he shall certainly gain some advantage, either by right or might, let him not be annoyed by failure through the unexpected result; knowing that many men ere now, both while pursuing with vengeance those who have wronged them, and hoping, in other instances, to win an advantage by greater power, in the one case, so far from avenging themselves, have not even saved themselves; and in the other, instead of gaining more, have happened also to lose what they had. For vengeance is not necessarily successful, because a man is injured; nor is strength sure, because it is sanguine. But the incalculable nature of the future prevails to the greatest possible degree; and tho the most deceptive of all things, still proves the most useful; for because we are equally afraid, we are more cautious in attacking one another.

And now, on account of our indefinite fear of this unknown future, and our immediate dread of the Athenians’ presence, being alarmed on both these grounds, and thinking, with regard to any failure in our ideas of what we severally thought to achieve, that these obstacles are a sufficient bar to their fulfillment, let us send away from the country the enemy that is among us, and ourselves make peace forever, if possible; but if not that, let us make a treaty for the longest term we can, and put off our private differences to a future period. In a word, let us be convinced that by following my advice we shall each have a free city, from which we shall, as our own masters, make an equally good return to him who treats us either well or ill; but if, through not following it, we are subject to others, then, not speak of avenging ourselves on any one, we necessarily become, even if most fortunate, friends to our greatest enemies, and at variance with those with whom we ought not to be so.

And for myself, although, as I said at the beginning of my speech, I represent a most powerful city, and am more likely to attack another than to defend myself, yet I think it right to provide against these things, and to make concessions; and not so to injure my enemies as to incur greater damage myself; nor through a foolish animosity to think that I have absolute sway alike over my own plans and over fortune, which I can not control; but to give way, as far as is reasonable. And I call on you all, of your own free will, to act in the same manner as myself, and not to be compelled to do it by your enemies. For there is no disgrace in connections giving way to connections, whether a Dorian to a Dorian, or a Chalcidian to those of the same race; in a word, all of us who are neighbors, and live together in one country, and that an island, and are called by the one name of Sicilians. For we shall go to war again, I suppose, when it may so happen, and come to terms again among ourselves by means of general conferences; but to foreign invaders we shall always, if we are wise, offer united resistance, inasmuch as by our separate losses we are collectively endangered; and we shall never in future call in any allies or mediators. For by acting thus we shall at the present time avoid depriving Sicily of two blessings—riddance both of the Athenians and of civil war—and shall in future enjoy it by ourselves in freedom, and less exposed to the machinations of others.

Delivered in Syracuse before the Assembly. Reported by Thucydides. Translated by Henry Dale. Read more!

Feb 7, 2008

Against Demosthenes

Dinarchus (361–291 B.C.)

(324 B.C.)

Born in Corinth in 361 B.C., died in 291; conspicuous as an orator after the great masters had passed away; three only of his orations have survived.



THUS your minister, Athenians! who hath pronounced sentence of death on himself should he be convicted of receiving anything from Harpalus—this very man hath been clearly convicted of accepting bribes from those whom in former times he affected to oppose with so much zeal. As Stratocles hath spoken largely on this subject; as many articles of accusation have been anticipated; as the council of Areopagus hath made a report on this inquiry so consonant to equity and truth—a report confirmed and enforced by Stratocles, who hath produced the decrees enacted against these crimes—it remains that we who are now to speak (who are engaged in a cause of more importance than ever came before this state) should request the whole assembly, first, that we obtain your pardon if we should repeat some things already urged (for here our purpose is, not to abuse your patience, but to inflame your indignation); and, secondly, that you may not give up the general rights and laws of the community, or exchange the general welfare for the speeches of the accused. You see that in this assembly it is Demosthenes that is tried; in all other places your own trial is depending. On you men turn their eyes, and wait with eagerness to see how far the interests of your country will engage your care; whether you are to take on yourselves the corruption and iniquity of these men, or whether you are to manifest to the world a just resentment against those who are bribed to betray the state.

And although the dignity and propriety of this procedure have received the approbation of the people, Demosthenes has recourse to complaints, to appeals, to malicious accusations, now that he finds himself convicted of receiving twenty talents of gold. Shall then this council, on whose faith and justice we rely, even in the important case of premeditated murder, to whom we commit the vengeance due to this crime, who have an absolute power over the persons and lives of our citizens, who can punish every violation of our laws, either by exile or by death—shall this council, I say, on an inquiry into a case of bribery, at once lose all its authority? “Yes; for the Areopagus hath reported falsely of Demosthenes.” Extravagant and absurd! What! Report falsely of Demosthenes and Demades, against whom even the truth seems scarcely to be declared with safety? You who have in former times moved that this council should take cognizance of public affairs, and have applauded their reports; you, whom this whole city hath not been able to restrain within the bounds of justice, hath the council reported falsely against you? Why then did you declare to the people that you were ready to submit to death if condemned by the report of this council? Why have you availed yourself of their authority to take off so many of our citizens? Or whither shall we have recourse? To whom shall we entrust the detection of secret villainy? if you, notwithstanding all your affected regard to our popular government, are to dissolve this council, to whose protection our lives have been entrusted; to whose protection our liberty and our constitution have oftentimes been entrusted; by whose protection that person of thine hath been preserved (for, as you pretend, it hath frequently been attempted) to utter these calumnies against them; to whose care we have committed our secret archives, on which the very being of our state depends.

Has then Greece but slight, but common injuries to urge against Demosthenes and his sordid avarice? Hath the man so highly criminal the least pretense to mercy? Do not his late and former offenses call for the severest punishment? The world will hear the sentence you are this day to pronounce. The eyes of all men are fixed on you, impatient to learn the fate of so notorious a delinquent. You are they who, for crimes infinitely less heinous than his, have heavily and inexorably inflicted punishments on many. Menon was by you condemned to death for having subjected a free youth of Pallæne to his servile offices. Themistius, the Amphidnæan, who had abused a Rhodian woman that performed on the harp in the Eleusinian ceremonies, was by you condemned to death. The same sentence you pronounced on Euthymachus for prostituting a maiden of Olynthus. And now hath this traitor furnished all the tents of the Barbarians with the children and wives of the Thebans. A city of our neighbors and our allies hath been torn from the very heart of Greece. The plower and the sower now traverse the city of the Thebans, who united with us in the war against Philip. I say, the plower and the sower traverse their habitations; nor hath this hardened wretch discovered the least remorse at the calamities of a people to whom he was sent as our ambassador; with whom he lived, conversed, and enjoyed all that hospitality could confer; whom he pretends to have himself gained to our alliance; whom he frequently visited in their prosperity, but basely betrayed in their distress.

From the moment that he first began to direct our affairs, hath any one instance of good fortune attended us? Hath not all Greece, and not this state alone, been plunged in dangers, calamities, and disgrace? Many were the fair occasions which occurred to favor his administration; and all these occasions, of such moment to our interests, did he neglect. When any friend to his country, any useful citizen, attempted to do us service, so far was this leader, who is impatient to boast of his great actions, from cooperating with such men, that he instantly infected them with the contagion of his unhappy conduct.

Is it not scandalous, Athenians! That your opinion of the guilt of Demosthenes should depend only on our representations? Do you not know that he is a corrupted traitor, a public robber, false to his friends, and a disgrace to the state? What decrees, what laws have not been made subservient to his gain? There are men in this tribunal who were of the Three Hundred when he proposed the law relative to our trierarchs. Inform those who stand near you how, for a bribe of three talents, he altered and new-modeled this law in every assembly; and, just as he was feed, inserted or erased clauses. Say, in the name of Heaven! Think ye, O men of Athens! That he gained nothing by his decree which gave Diphilus the honors of public maintenance and a statue? Was he not paid for obtaining the freedom of our city to Chærephilus, and Phidon, and Pamphilus, and Philip, and such mean persons as Epigenes and Conon? Was it for nothing he procured brazen statues to Berisades and Satyrus, and Gorgippus, those detested tyrants, from whom he annually receives a thousand bushels of corn, although he is ready to lament the distresses of his fortune? Was it for nothing he made Taurosthenes an Athenian citizen, who enslaved his countrymen, and, together with his brother Callias, betrayed all Eubœa to Philip? Whom our laws forbid to appear in Athens on pain of suffering the punishment of those who return from exile. Such a man this friend to our constitution enrolled among our citizens. These and many other instances in which he hath prostituted our honors can be proved by authentic evidence. And could he who gladly descended to small gains resist the temptation of so great a sum as twenty talents?

To what cause, Athenians! Is the prosperity or the calamity of a state to be ascribed? To none so eminently as to its ministers and generals. Turn your eyes to the state of Thebes. It subsisted once; it was once great; it had its soldiers and commanders. There was a time (our elder citizens declare it, and on their authority I speak) when Pelopidas led the Sacred Band; when Epaminondas and his colleagues commanded the army. Then did the Thebans gain the victory at Leuctra; then did they pierce into the territories of Lacedæmon, before deemed inaccessible; then did they achieve many and noble deeds. The Messenians they reinstated in their city, after a dispersion of four hundred years. To the Arcadians they gave freedom and independence; while the world viewed their illustrious conduct with applause. On the other hand, at what time did they act ignobly, unworthy of their native magnanimity? When Timolaus called himself Philip’s friend, and was corrupted by his gold; when the traitor Phoxenus led the mercenary forces collected for the expedition to Amphissa; when Theagenes, wretched and corrupt, like this man, was made commander of their band; then did these three men confound and utterly destroy the affairs of that state and of all Greece. So indisputably true it is that leaders are the great cause of all the good and all the evil that can attend a community. We see this in the instance of our own state. Reflect, and say at what time was this city great and eminent in Greece, worthy of our ancestors, and of their illustrious action? When Conon (as our ancient citizens inform us) gained the naval victory at Cnidos; when Iphicrates cut off the detachment of the Lacedæmonians, when Chabrias defeated the Spartan fleet at Naxos; when Timotheus triumphed in the sea-fight near Corcyra. Then, Athenians! Then it was that the Lacedæmonians, whose wise and faithful leaders, whose adherence to their ancient institutions had rendered them illustrious, were reduced so low as to appear before us, like abject supplicants, and implore for mercy. Our state, which they had subverted, by means of those who then conducted our affairs, once more became the sovereign of Greece; and no wonder, when the men now mentioned were our generals, and Archinus and Cephalus our ministers. For what is the great security of every state and nation? Good generals and able ministers.

Let this be duly and attentively considered, and let us no longer suffer by the corrupt and wretched conduct of Demosthenes. Let it not be imagined that we shall ever want good men and faithful counselors. With all the generous severity of our ancestors, let us exterminate the whose bribery, whose treason, art evidently detected; who could not resist the temptation of gold; who hath involved his country in calamities the most grievous; let us destroy this pest of Greece; let not his contagion infect our city; then may we hope for some change of fortune, then may we expect that our affairs will flourish.

And now, my fellow citizens, consider how you are to act. The people have returned to you an information of a crime lately committed. Demosthenes stands first before you to suffer the punishment denounced against all whom this information condemns. We have explained his guilt with an unbiased attention to the laws; will you then discover a total disregard of all these offenses? Will you, when entrusted with so important a decision, invalidate the judgment Of the people, of the Areopagus, of all mankind? Will you take on yourselves the guilt of these men? Or will you give the world an example of that detestation in which this state holds traitors and hirelings that oppose our interests for a bribe? This entirely depends on you.

Despising, then, the entreaties, the false artifices of this man, let justice and integrity be your only objects. Consider the good of your country, not that of Demosthenes. This is the part of honest, upright judges. And should any man rise to plead in favor of Demosthenes, consider that such a man, if not involved in the same guilt, is at least disaffected to the state; as he would screen those from justice who have been bribed to betray its interests; as he would subvert the authority of the Areopagus, on which our lives depend, and confound and destroy all our laws and institutions.

Note: Thomas Leland, the translator of this oration, introduces it with the following interesting note: “The occasion is distinctly recounted by Plutarch, who informs us that, some time after the famous contest about the crown, in which Demosthenes gained so complete a triumph over his rival Æschines, one Harpalus, who had been in the service of Alexander, fled to Athens with the remains of an immense fortune, which had been dissipated by his luxury, and there sought refuge from the anger of his master, whose severity toward his favorites alarmed and prompted him to this flight. The orators received his money, and labored to gain him the protection of the state. Demosthenes, on the contrary, urged to his countrymen the danger of exposing themselves to an unnecessary and unjustifiable war by entertaining this fugitive. Harpalus, however, found means to soften his severity by a present of a magnificent vase, accompanied with twenty talents; and when it was expected that Demosthenes would have exerted his abilities in the Assembly against Harpalus, he pleaded indisposition, and was silent. This is the sum of Plutarch’s account. But Pausanias, who seems to have conceived a more favorable opinion of the integrity of Demosthenes, observed, as a proof of his innocence, that an authentic account was sent to Athens, after the death of Harpalus, of all the sums distributed by him in this city and of the persons to whom each was paid; and that in this account no mention was at all made of Demosthenes, altho Philoxenus, who procured it, was his particular enemy, as well as Alexander. But, however this may be, the rumor of Harpalus’s practises, and the report of the corruption of Demosthenes in particular, raised a considerable ferment at Athens.”
To this statement by Mr. Leland may be added a paragraph from the sketch of Dinarchus that appears in the “Encyclopedia Britannica”: “It must always be borne in mind that Dinarchus, was a Corinthian, a mere resident alien at Athens, whose sympathies were in favor of Athenian oligarchy under Macedonian control. Little in the man’s life, so far as we know it, enjoys our respect or esteem; his position must, at least, be broadly distinguished from that of such a man as Æschines, an Athenian citizen, who, while his city could still be served, abetted its enemies; or, from that of such a hireling as Demades. In the Harpalus affair Demosthenes was, beyond all reasonable doubt, innocent, and so probably were others of the accused.”
Read more!

Feb 6, 2008

The Second Oration Against Philip

Demosthenes (384?–322 B.C.)

(344 B.C.)

Born in 384 B.C., died in 322; entered public life when about twenty-five years old, “and from that time till his death his history is the history of Athens”; sixty of his speeches preserved, though some probably are spurious; his masterpiece, indeed the masterpiece of oratory, is “The Oration on the Crown.”



ATHENIANS! When the hostile attempts of Philip, and those outrageous violations of the peace which he is perpetually committing, are at any time the subject of our debates, the speeches on your side I find humane and just, and that the sentiments of those who inveigh against Philip never fail of approbation; but as to the necessary measures, to speak out plainly, not one has been pursued, nor anything effected even to reward the attention to these harangues. Nay, to such circumstances is our state reduced, that the more fully and evidently a man proves that Philip is acting contrary to his treaty, and harboring designs against Greece, the greater is his difficulty in pointing out your duty.

The reason is this. They who aspire to an extravagant degree of power are to be opposed by force and action, not by speeches; and yet in the first place, we public speakers are unwilling to recommend or to propose anything to this purpose, from the fear of your displeasure; but confine ourselves to general representations of the grievous, of the outrageous nature of his conduct, and the like. Then you who attend are better qualified than Philip, either to plead the justice of your cause or to apprehend it when enforced by others; but as to any effectual opposition to his present designs, in this you are entirely inactive. You see, then, the consequence, the necessary, the natural consequence, each of you excels in that which has engaged your time and application, he in acting, you in speaking. And if, on this occasion, it be sufficient that we speak with a superior force of truth and justice, this may be done with the utmost ease; but if we are to consider how to rectify our present disorders, how to guard against the danger of plunging inadvertently into still greater, against the progress of a power which may at last bear down all opposition—then must our debates proceed in a different manner; and all they who speak, and all you who attend, must prefer the best and most salutary measures to the easiest and most agreeable.

First, then, Athenians, if there be a man who feels no apprehensions at the view of Philip’s power, and the extent of his conquests, who imagines that these portend no danger to the state, or that his designs are not all aimed against you, I am amazed! and must entreat the attention of you all while I explain those reasons briefly which induce me to entertain different expectations, and to regard Philip as our real enemy; that if I appear to have looked forward with the more penetrating eye, you may join with me; if they who are thus secure and confident in this man, you may yield to their direction.

In the first place, therefore, I consider the acquisitions made by Philip, when the peace was just concluded, Thermopylæ, and the command of Phocis. What use did he make of these? He chose to serve the interest of Thebes, not that of Athens. And why? As ambition is his great passion, universal empire the sole object of his views; not peace, not tranquility, not any just purpose: he knew this well, that neither our constitution nor our principles would admit him to prevail on you by anything he could promise, by anything he could do, to sacrifice one state of Greece to your private interest; but that, as you have the due regard to justice, as you have an abhorrence of the least stain on your honor, and as you have that quick discernment which nothing can escape, the moment his attempt was made, you would oppose him with the same vigor as if you yourselves had been immediately attacked. The Thebans, he supposed (and the event confirmed his opinion), would, for the sake of any private advantage, suffer him to act toward others as he pleased; and far from opposing or impeding his designs, would be ready at his command to fight on his side. From the same persuasion he now heaps his favors on the Messenians and Argians. And this reflects the greatest luster on you, my countrymen; for by these proceedings you are declared the only invariable assert ors of the rights of Greece—the only person whom no private attachment, no views of interest, can seduce from their affection to the Greeks.

And that it is with reason he entertains these sentiments of you, and sentiments so different of the Thebans and the Argians, he may be convinced, not from the present only, but from a review of former times; for he must have been informed, I presume he cannot but have heard, that your ancestors, when, by submitting to the king, they might have purchased the sovereignty of Greece, not only scorned to listen when Alexander, this man’s ancestor, was made the messenger of such terms, but chose to abandon their city, encountered every possible difficulty, and after all this performed such exploits as men are ever eager to recite, yet with the just force and dignity no man could ever express; and therefore it becomes me to be silent on this subject; for in reality their actions are superior to the power of words. As to the ancestors of the Thebans and the Argians, the one, he knows, fought for the barbarian; the others did not oppose him. He knew, then, that both these people would attend but their private interest, without the least regard to the common cause of Greece. Should he choose you for allies, you would serve him so far only as justice would permit; but if he attached himself to them, he gained assistants in all the schemes of his ambition. This it is that then determined him, this it is that now determines him to their side rather than to yours: not that he sees they have a greater naval force than we; or that, having gained the sovereignty in the inland countries, he declines the command of the seas and the advantages of commerce; or that he has forgotten those pretenses, those promises which obtained him the peace.

But I may be told: It is true, he did act thus; but not from ambition, or from any of those motives of which I accuse him; but as he thought the cause of Thebes more just than ours. This of all pretenses he cannot now allege. Can he, who command the Lacedæmonians to quit their claim to Messene, pretend that, in giving up Orchomenus and Coronea to the Thebans, he acted from regard to justice? But now comes his last subterfuge. He was compelled, and yielded these places quite against his inclinations, being encompassed by the Thessalian horse and Theban infantry. Fine pretense! Just so, they cry, he is to entertain suspicions of the Thebans; and some spread rumors of their own framing, that he is to fortify Elatea. Yes! These things are yet to be, and so will they remain, in my opinion; but his attack on Lacedæmon, in conjunction with the Thebans and Argians, is not yet to be made. No: he is actually detaching forces, supplying money, and is himself expected at the head of a formidable army. The Lacedæmonians, therefore, the enemies of Thebes, he now infests. And will he then restore the Phocians, whom he has but just now ruined? Who can believe this? I, for my part, can never think, if Philip had been forced into those former measures, or if he had now abandoned the Thebans, that he would make this continued opposition to their enemies. No, his present measures prove that all his past conduct was the effect of choice; and from all his actions, it appears that all his actions are directly leveled against this state; and there is in some sort a necessity for this. Consider, he aims at empire, and from you alone he expects opposition. He has long loaded us with injuries; and of this he himself is most intimately conscious; for those of our possessions which he has reduced to his service he uses as a barrier to his other territories: so that, if he should give up Amphipolis and Potidæa, he would not think himself secure even in Macedon. He is therefore sensible that he entertains designs against you, and that you perceive them. Then, as he thinks highly of your wisdom, he concludes that you must hold him in that abhorrence which he merits; hence is he alarmed, expecting to feel some effects of your resentment (if you have any favorable opportunity) unless he prevent you by his attack. Hence is his vigilance awakened; his arm raised against the state; he courts some of the Thebans, and such of the Peloponnesians as have the same views with him; whom he deems too mercenary to regard anything but present interest, and too perversely stupid to foresee any consequences. And yet persons of but moderate discernment may have some manifest examples to alarm them, which I had occasion to mention to the Messenians and to the Argians. Perhaps it may be proper to repeat them here.

“Messenians!” said I, “how highly, think ye, would the Olynthians have been offended if any man had spoken against Philip at that time when he gave them up Anthemus, a city which the former kings of Macedon had ever claimed? When he drove out the Athenian colony, and gave them Potidæa? When he took all our resentment on himself, and left them to enjoy our dominions? Did they expect to have suffered thus? Had it been foretold, would they have believed it? You cannot think it! Yet, after a short enjoyment of the territories of others, they have been forever despoiled of their own by this man. Inglorious has been their fall, not conquered only, but betrayed and sold by one another; for those intimate correspondences with tyrants ever portend mischief to free states.”—“Turn your eyes,” said I, “to the Thessalians! Think ye, that when he first expelled their tyrants, when he then gave them up Nicæa and Magnesia, that they expected ever to have been subjected to those governors now imposed on them? Or that the man who restored them to their seat in the amphictyonic council would have deprived them of their own proper revenues? Yet, that such was the event, the world can testify. In like manner, you now behold Philip lavishing his gifts and promises on you. If you are wise, you will pray that he may never appear to have deceived and abused you. Various are the contrivances for the defense and security of cities; as battlements, and walls, and trenches, and every other kind of fortification; all which are the effects of labor, and attended with continual expense. But there is one common bulwark with which men of prudence are naturally provided, the guard and security of all people, particularly of free states, against the assaults of tyrants. What is this? Distrust. Of this be mindful: to this adhere: preserve this carefully, and no calamity can affect you.”—“What is it you seek?” said I. “Liberty? And do ye not perceive that nothing can be more adverse to this than the very titles of Philip? Every monarch, every tyrant is an enemy to liberty, and the opposer of laws. Will ye not then be careful lest, while ye seek to be freed from war, you find yourselves his slaves?”

It would be just, Athenians, to call the men before you who gave those promises which induced you to conclude the peace; for neither would I have undertaken the embassy, nor would you, I am convinced, have laid down your arms, had it been suspected that Philip would have acted thus when he had obtained peace. No: the assurances he then gave were quite different from the present actions. There are others also to be summoned. Who are these? The men who, at my return from the second embassy (sent for the ratification of the treaty) (Note: The Peace of 343 B.C. is here referred to. It lasted for six years. During this period Philip was constantly engaged in those intrigues against Athens which became the subjects of the Second and Third Philippics and other orations by Demosthenes.) , when I saw the state abused, and warned you of your danger, and testified the truth, and opposed with all my power the giving up Thermopylæ and Phocis—the men, I say, who then cried out that I, the water-drinker, was morose and peevish; but that Philip, if permitted to pass, would act agreeably to your desires; would fortify Thespia and Platæa; restrain the insolence of Thebes; cut through the Chersonesus at his own expense, and give you up Eubœa and Oropus, as an equivalent for Amphipolis. That all this was positively affirmed you cannot, I am sure, forget, though not remarkable for remembering injuries. And, to complete the disgrace, you have engaged your posterity to the same treaty, in full dependence on those promises; so entirely have you been seduced.

And now, to what purpose do I mention this? And why do I desire that these men should appear? I call the gods to witness, that without the least evasion I shall boldly declare the truth! Not that, by breaking out into invectives, I may expose myself to the like treatment, and once more give my old enemies an opportunity of receiving Philip’s gold; nor yet that I may indulge an impertinent vanity of haranguing; but I apprehend the time must come when Philip’s actions will give you more concern than at present. His designs, I see, are ripening. I wish my apprehensions may not prove just; but I fear that time is not far off. And when it will no longer be in your power to disregard events; when neither mine nor any other person’s information, but your own knowledge, your own senses will assure you of the impending danger, then will your severest resentment break forth. And as your ambassadors have concealed certain things, influenced (as they themselves are conscious) by corruption, I fear that they who endeavor to restore what these men have ruined may feel the weight of your displeasure; for there are some, I find, who generally point their anger, not at the deserving objects, but those most immediately at their mercy.

While our affairs, therefore, remain not absolutely desperate—while it is yet in our power to debate—give me leave to remind you all of one thing, though none can be ignorant of it. Who was the man that persuaded you to give up Phocis and Thermopylæ? which once gained, he also gained free access for his troops to Attica and to Peloponnesus, and obliged us to turn our thoughts from the rights of Greece, from all foreign interests, to a defensive war, in these very territories; whose approach must be severely felt by every one of us; and that very day gave birth to it; for had we not been then deceived, the state could have nothing to apprehend. His naval power could not have been great enough to attempt Attica by sea; nor could he have passed by land through Thermopylæ and Phocis. But he must have either confined himself within the bounds of justice and lived in a due observance of his treaty, or have instantly been involved in a war equal to that which obliged him to sue for peace.

Thus much may be sufficient to recall past actions to your view. May all the gods forbid that the event should confirm my suspicions! for I by no means desire that any man should meet even the deserved punishment of his crimes, when the whole community is in danger of being involved in his destruction.

Delivered in Athens about 344 B.C. Translated by Thomas Leland. Abridged. Read more!

Feb 5, 2008

On the State of the Chersonesus

Demosthenes (384?–322 B.C.)

(342 B.C.)

Born in 384 B.C., died in 322; entered public life when about twenty-five years old, “and from that time till his death his history is the history of Athens”; sixty of his speeches preserved, though some probably are spurious; his masterpiece, indeed the masterpiece of oratory, is “The Oration on the Crown.”



IT were to be wished, Athenians, that they who speak in public would never suffer hatred or affection to influence their counsels; but, in all that they propose, be directed by unbiased reason; particularly when affairs of state, and those of highest moment, are the object of our attention. But since there are persons whose speeches are partly dictated by a spirit of contention, partly by other like motives, it is your duty, Athenians, to exert that power which your numbers give you, and in all your resolutions and in all your actions to consider only the interest of your country. (Note: Chersonesus is the Greek word for a peninsula. In this oration Chersonesus Thracica is referred to, the same being the modern peninsula of Gallipoli, lying between the Hellespont and the Gulf of Melas.)

Our present concernment is about the affairs of the Chersonesus, and Philip’s expedition into Thrace, which has now engaged him eleven months; but most of our orators insist on the actions and designs of Diopithes. As to crimes objected to those men whom our laws can punish when we please, I, for my part, think it quite indifferent whether they be considered now or at some other time; nor is this a point to be violently contested by me or any other speaker. But when Philip, the enemy of our country, is now actually hovering about the Hellespont (Note: By the Hellespont Mr. Leland explains, in one of his notes that we are here to understand not the strait itself that separates Europe from Asia, but the cities and countries along the coast line.)
with a numerous army, and making attempts on our dominions, which, if one moment neglected, the loss may be irreparable; here our attention is instantly demanded; we should resolve, we should prepare with all possible expedition, and not run from our main concern in the midst of foreign clamors and accusations.

I have frequently been surprised at assertions made in public; but never more than when I lately heard it affirmed in the senate, that there are but two expedients to be proposed—either absolutely to declare war, or to continue in peace. The point is this: if Philip acts as one in amity with us; if he does not keep possession of our dominions contrary to his treaty; if he be not everywhere spiriting up enemies against us, all debates are at an end; we are undoubtedly obliged to live in peace, and I find it perfectly agreeable to you. But if the articles of our treaty, ratified by the most solemn oaths, remain on record, open to public inspection; if it appears that long before the departure of Diopithes and his colony, who are now accused of involving us in a war, Philip had unjustly seized many of our possessions (for which I appeal to your own decrees); if, ever since that time, he has been constantly arming himself with all the powers of Greeks and Barbarians to destroy us—what do these men mean who affirm we are either absolutely to declare war, or to observe the peace? You have no choice at all; you have but one just and necessary measure to pursue, which they industriously pass over. And what is this? To repel force by force. Unless they will affirm, that while Philip keeps from Attica and the Piræus, he does our state no injury, makes no war against us. If it be thus they state the bounds of peace and justice, we must all acknowledge that their sentiments are inconsistent with the common rights of mankind—with the dignity and the safety of Athens.

Besides, they themselves contradict their own accusation of Diopithes. For shall Philip be left at full liberty to pursue all his other designs, provided he keeps from Attica; and shall not Diopithes be permitted to assist the Thracians? And if he does, shall we accuse him of involving us in a war? But this is their incessant cry: “Our foreign troops commit outrageous devastations on the Hellespont: Diopithes, without regard to justice, seizes and plunders vessels! These things must not be suffered.” Be it so; I acquiesce! but while they are laboring to have our troops disbanded, by inveighing against that man whose care and industry support them (if they really speak from a regard to justice), they should show us, that if we yield to their remonstrances Philip’s army also will be disbanded: but it is apparent that their whole aim is to reduce the state to those circumstances which have occasioned all the losses we have lately suffered. For, be assured of this, that nothing has given Philip such advantage over us as his superior vigilance in improving all opportunities. For, as he is constantly surrounded by his troops, and his mind perpetually engaged in projecting his designs, he can in a moment strike the blow where he pleases. But we wait till some event alarms us; then we are in motion; then we prepare. To this alone I can impute it, that the conquests he has lately made he now enjoys in full security; while all your efforts are too late, all your vast expenses ineffectual; your attempts have served only to discover your enmity and inclination to oppose him; and the consequences of your misconduct are still further aggravated by the disgrace.

Know, then, Athenians, that all our orators allege at present are but words, but idle pretenses. Their whole designs, their whole endeavors are to confine you within the city; that while we have no forces in the field, Philip may be at full liberty to act as he pleases. Consider the present posture of affairs. Philip is now stationed in Thrace, at the head of a large army, and (as we are here informed) sends for reinforcements from Macedon and Thessaly. Now, should he watch the blowing of the Etesian winds, march his forces to Byzantium, and invest it; in the first place, can you imagine that the Byzantines would persist in their present folly; or that they would not have recourse to you for assistance? cannot think it. No: if there were people in whom they less confided than in us, they would receive even these into their city rather than give it up to him, unless prevented by the quickness of his attack. And should we be unable to sail thither, should there be no forces ready to support them, nothing can prevent their ruin. “But the extravagance and folly of these men exceed all bounds.” I grant it. Yet still they should be secured from danger; for this is the interest of our state. Besides, it is by no means clear that he will not march into the Chersonesus itself. On the contrary, if we may judge from the letter which he sent to you, he is determined to oppose us in that country. If then the forces stationed there be still kept up, we may defend our own dominions, and infest those of our enemy; if they be once dispersed and broken, what shall we do if he attempt the Chersonesus? “Bring Diopithes to a trial.” And how will that serve us? “No: but we will dispatch succors from hence.” What if the winds prevent us? “But he will not turn his arms thither.” Who will be our surety for this? Consider, Athenians, is not the season of the year approaching in which it is thought by some that you are to withdraw your forces from the Hellespont, and abandon it to Philip? But suppose (for this too merits our attention) that at his return from Thrace he should neither bend his force against the Chersonesus nor Byzantium, but fall on Chalcis or Megara, as he lately did on Oreum; which would be the wiser course, to oppose him here, and make Attica the seat of war, or to find him employment abroad? I think the latter.

Let these things sink deep into our minds; and let us not raise invidious clamors against those forces which Diopithes is endeavoring to keep up for the service of his country, or attempt to break them: let us rather prepare to reinforce them; grant their general the necessary supplies of money, and in every other instance favor his designs with a hearty zeal. Imagine this question proposed to Philip: “Which would be most agreeable to you, that the forces commanded by Diopithes”—of whatever kind they be, for I shall not dispute on that head—“should continue in full strength and good esteem at Athens, and be reinforced by detachments from the city; or that the clamors and invectives of certain persons should prevail to have them broken and disbanded?” I think he would choose this latter. And are there men among us laboring for that which Philip would entreat the gods to grant him? And if so, is it still a question whence our distresses have arisen?

Let me entreat you to examine the present state of Athens with an unbiased freedom; to consider how we are acting, and how our affairs are conducted. We are neither willing to raise contributions, nor do we dare to take the field, nor do we spare the public funds, nor do we grant supplies to Diopithes, nor do we approve of those subsidies he has procured himself; but we malign him, we pry into his designs, and watch his motions. Thus we proceed, quite regardless of our interests; and while in words we extol those speakers who assert the dignity of their country, our actions favor their opposers. It is usual, when a speaker rises to ask him, “What are we to do?” Give me leave to propose the like question to you: “What am I to say?” For, if you neither raise contributions, nor take the field, nor spare the public funds, nor grant subsidies to Diopithes, nor approve of those provisions he has made himself, nor take the due care of our interests, I have nothing to say. If you grant such unbounded license to informers as even to listen to their accusations of a man for what they pretend he will do, before it be yet done, what can one say?

But it is necessary to explain to some of you the effect of this behavior. (I shall speak with an undaunted freedom, for in no other manner can I speak.) It has been the constant custom of all the commanders who have sailed from this city (if I advance a falsehood let me feel the severest punishment) to take money from the Chians, and from the Erythrians, and from any people that would give it; I mean of the inhabitants of Asia. They who have but one or two ships take a talent; they who command a greater force raise a larger contribution; and the people who give this money, whether more or less, do not give it for nothing (they are not so mad); no, it is the price they pay to secure their trading vessels from rapine and piracy, to provide them with the necessary convoys, and the like, however, they may pretend friendship and affection, and dignify those payments with the name of free gifts. It is therefore evident, that as Diopithes is at the head of a considerable power, the same contributions will be granted to him. Else how shall he pay his soldiers? How shall he maintain them, who receives nothing from you, and has nothing of his own? From the skies? No; but from what he can collect, and beg, and borrow. So that the whole scheme of his accusers is to warn all people to grant him nothing, as he is to suffer punishment for crimes yet to be committed, not for any he has already committed, or in which he has already assisted. This is the meaning of their clamors. “He is going to form sieges! he leaves the Greeks exposed.” Have these men all this tenderness for the Grecian colonies of Asia? They then prefer the interests of foreigners to that of their own country. This must be the case, if they prevail to have another general sent to the Hellespont. If Diopithes commits outrages—if he be guilty of piracy, one single edict, Athenians—a single edict will put a stop to such proceedings. This is the voice of our laws; that such offenders should be impeached, and not opposed with such vast preparations of ships and money (this would be the height of madness): it is against our enemies, whom the laws cannot touch, that we ought, we must maintain our forces, send out our navies, and raise our contributions. But when citizens have offended, we can decree, we can impeach, we can recall. These are arms sufficient; these are the measures befitting men of prudence: they who would raise disorder and confusion in the state may have recourse to such as these men propose.

But dreadful as it is to have such men among us, yet the most dreadful circumstance of all is this. You assemble here, with minds so disposed, that if any one accuses Diopithes, or Chares, or Aristophon, or any citizen whatever, as the cause of our misfortunes, you instantly break forth into acclamations and applause. But if a man stands forth, and thus declares the truth: “This is all trifling, Athenians! It is to Philip we owe our calamities: he has plunged us in these difficulties; for had he observed his treaty, our state would be in perfect tranquility!” This you cannot deny; but you hear it with the utmost grief, as if it were the account of some dreadful misfortune. The cause is this (for when I am to urge the interest of my country, let me speak boldly): certain persons who have been entrusted with public affairs have for a long time past rendered you daring and terrible in council, but in all affairs of war wretched and contemptible. Hence it is, that if a citizen, subject to your own power and jurisdiction, be pointed out as the author of your misfortunes, you hear the accusation with applause; but if they are charged on a man who must first be conquered before he can be punished, then you are utterly disconcerted; that truth is too severe to be borne. Your ministers, Athenians, should take a quite contrary course. They should render you gentle and humane in council, where the rights of citizens and allies come before you; in military affairs they should inspire you with fierceness and intrepidity; for here you are engaged with enemies, with armed troops. But now, by leading you gently on to their purposes, by the most abject compliance with your humors, they have so formed and molded you that in your assemblies you are delicate, and attend but to flattery and entertainment, in your affairs you find yourselves threatened with extremity of danger.

And now, in the name of Heaven! suppose that the states of Greece should thus demand an account of those opportunities which your indolence has lost: “Men of Athens! You are ever sending embassies to us; you assure us that Philip is projecting our ruin, and that, of all the Greeks, you warn us to guard against this man’s designs.” (And it is too true we have done thus.) “But, O most wretched of mankind! when this man has been ten months detained abroad; when sickness, and the severity of winter, and the armies of his enemies rendered it impossible for him to return home, you neither restored the liberty of Eubœa nor recovered any of your own dominions. But while you sit at home in perfect ease and health (if such a state may be called health), Eubœa is commanded by his two tyrants; the one, just opposite to Attica, to keep you perpetually in awe; the other to Scyathus. Yet you have not attempted to oppose even this. No; you have submitted; you have been insensible to your wrongs; you have fully declared that if Philip were ten times to die, it would not inspire you with the least degree of vigor. Why, then, these embassies, these accusations, all this unnecessary trouble to us?” If they should say this, what could we allege? What answer could we give? I know not.

We have those among us who think a speaker fully confuted by asking, “What, then, is to be done?” To whom I answer, with the utmost truth and justness, “Not what we are now doing.” But I shall be more explicit if they will be as ready to follow as to ask advice.

First then, Athenians, be firmly convinced of these truths: that Philip does commit hostilities against us, and has violated the peace (and let us no longer accuse each other of his crimes); that he is the implacable enemy of this whole city, of the ground on which this city stands, of every inhabitant within these walls, even of those who imagine themselves highest in his favor. If they doubt this, let them think of Euthycrates and Lasthenes, the Olynthians. They who seemed the nearest to his heart, the moment they betrayed their country were distinguished only by the superior cruelty of their death. But it is against our constitution that his arms are principally directed; nor, in all his schemes, in all his actions, has he anything so immediately in view as to subvert it. And there is some sort of a necessity for this. He knows full well that his conquests, however great and extensive, can never be secure while you continue free; but that, if once he meets with any accident (and every man is subject to many), all those whom he has forced into his service will instantly revolt, and fly to you for protection; for you are not naturally disposed to grasp at empire yourselves, but to frustrate the ambitious attempts of others; to be ever ready to oppose usurpation, and assert the liberty of mankind; this is your peculiar character. And therefore it is not without regret that he sees in your freedom a spy on the incidents of his fortune. Nor is this his reasoning weak or trivial.

In the first place, therefore, we are to consider him as the enemy of our state, the implacable enemy of our free constitution. Nothing but the deepest sense of this can give you a true, vigorous, and active spirit. In the next place, be assured that everything he is now laboring, everything he is concerting, he is concerting against our city; and that wherever any man opposes him, he opposes an attempt against these walls; for none of you can be weak enough to imagine that Philip’s desires are centered in those paltry villages of Thrace (for what name else can one give to Drongilus, and Cabyle, and Mastira, and all those places he is now reducing to his obedience?); that he endures the severity of toils and seasons, and braves the utmost dangers for these, and has no designs on the ports, and the arsenals, and the navies, and the silver mines, and all the other revenues of Athens, but that he will leave them for you to enjoy; while for some wretched hoards of grain in the cells of Thrace he takes up his winter quarters in the horrors of a dungeon. Impossible! No; these and all his expeditions are really intended to facilitate the conquest of Athens.

Let us, then, approve ourselves men of wisdom; and, fully persuaded of these truths, let us shake off our extravagant and dangerous supineness; let us supply the necessary expenses; let us call on our allies; let us take all possible measures for keeping up a regular army; so that, as he has his force constantly prepared to injure and enslave the Greeks, yours too may be ever ready to protect and assist them. If you depend on occasional detachments you cannot ever expect the least degree of success; you must keep an army constantly on foot, provide for its maintenance, appoint public treasurers, and by all possible means secure your military funds; and while these officers account for all disbursements, let your generals be bound to answer for the conduct of the war. Let these be your measures, these your resolutions, and you will compel Philip to live in the real observance of an equitable peace, and to confine himself to his own kingdom (which is most for our interest), or we shall fight him on equal terms.

If any man thinks that the measures I propose will require great expense, and be attended with much toil and trouble, he thinks justly. Yet let him consider what consequences must attend the state if these measures be neglected, and it will appear that we shall really be gainers by engaging heartily in this cause. Suppose some god should be our surety (for no mortal ought to be relied on in an affair of such moment) that, if we continue quiet, and give up all our interests, he will not at last turn his arms against us; it would yet be shameful; it would (I call all the powers of Heaven to witness!) be unworthy of you, unworthy of the dignity of your country, and the glory of your ancestors, to abandon the rest of Greece to slavery for the sake of private ease. I, for my part, would die rather then propose so mean a conduct: however, if there be any other person who will recommend it, be it so; neglect your defense; give up your interests! But if there be no such counselor; if, on the contrary, we all foresee that the farther this man is suffered to extend his conquests, the more formidable and powerful enemy we must find in him, why this reluctance? why do we delay? or when, my countrymen, will we perform our duty? Must some necessity compel us? What one may call the necessity of freemen not only presses us now, but has long since been felt: that of slaves, it is to be wished, may never approach us. And how do these differ? To a freeman, the disgrace of past misconduct is the most urgent necessity; to a slave stripes and bodily pains. Far be this from us! It ought not to be mentioned.

I would now gladly lay before you the whole conduct of certain politicians; but I spare them. One thing only I shall observe: the moment that Philip is mentioned there is still one ready to start up, and cry, “What a happiness to live in peace! How grievous the maintenance of a great army! Certain persons have designs on our treasury!” Thus they delay their resolutions, and give him full liberty to act as he pleases; hence you gain ease and indulgence for the present (which I fear may at some time prove too dear a purchase); and these men recommend themselves to your favor, and are well paid for their service. But in my opinion there is no need to persuade you to peace, who sit down already thoroughly persuaded. Let it be recommended to him who is committing hostilities; if he can be prevailed on, you are ready to concur. Nor should we think those expenses grievous which our security requires, but the consequences which must arise if such expenses be denied. Then as to plundering our treasury; this must be prevented by intrusting it to proper guardians, not by neglecting our affairs. For my own part, Athenians, I am filled with indignation when I find some persons expressing their impatience, as if our treasures were exposed to plunderers, and yet utterly unaffected at the progress of Philip, who is successively plundering every state of Greece; and this, that he may at last fall with all his fury on you.

What, then, can be the reason, Athenians that, notwithstanding all his manifest hostilities, all his acts of violence, all the places he has taken from us, these men will not acknowledge that he has acted unjustly, and that he is at war with us, but accuse those of embroiling you in a war who call on you to oppose him and to check his progress? I shall tell you. That popular resentment which may arise from any disagreeable circumstances with which a war may be attended (and it is necessary, absolutely necessary that a war should be attended with many such disagreeable circumstances) they would cast on your faithful counselors, that you may pass sentence on them, instead of opposing Philip; and they turn accusers instead of meeting the punishment due to their present practices. This is the meaning of their clamors that certain persons would involve you in a war: hence have they raised all these cavils and debates. I know full well that before any Athenian had ever moved you to declare war against him, Philip had seized many of our dominions, and has now sent assistance to the Cardians. If you are resolved to dissemble your sense of his hostilities, he would be the weakest of mankind if he attempted to contradict you. But suppose he marches directly against us, what shall we say in that case? He will still assure us that he is not at war; such were his professions to the people of Oreum when his forces were in the heart of their country; and to those of Pheræ, until the moment that he attacked their walls; and thus he at first amused the Olynthians, until he had marched his army into their territory. And will you still insist, even in such a case, that they who call on us to defend our country are embroiling us in a war? Then slavery is inevitable. There is no other medium between an obstinate refusal to take arms on your part, and a determined resolution to attack us on the part of our enemy.

Nor is the danger which threatens us the same with that of other people. It is not the conquest of Athens which Philip aims at: no, it is our utter extirpation. He knows full well that slavery is a state you would not, or, if you were inclined, you could not submit to; for sovereignty is become habitual to you. Nor is he ignorant that, at any unfavorable juncture, you have more power to obstruct his enterprises than the whole world besides.

Let us then be assured that we are contending for the very being of our state; let this inspire us with abhorrence of those who have sold themselves to this man, and let them feel the severity of public justice; for it is not possible to conquer our foreign enemy until we have punished those traitors who are serving him within our walls. Else, while we strike on these as so many obstacles, our enemies must necessarily prove superior to us. And whence is it that he dares treat you with insolence (I can not give his present conduct any other name); that he utters menaces against you, while on others he confers acts of kindness (to deceive them at least, if for no other purpose)? Thus, by heaping favors on the Thessalians, he has reduced them to their present slavery. It is not possible to recount the various artifices by which he abused the wretched Olynthians, from his first insidious gift of Potidæa. But now he seduced the Thebans to his party, by making them masters of Bœotia, and easing them of a great and grievous war. And thus, by being gratified in some favorite point, these people are either involved in calamities known to the whole world, or wait with submission for the moment when such calamities are to fall on them. I do not recount all that you yourselves have lost, Athenians; but in the very conclusion of the peace, how have you been deceived? How have you been despoiled? Was not Phocis, was not Thermopylæ, were not our Thracian dominions, Doriscum, Serrium, and even our ally Cersobleptes, all wrested from us? Is he not at this time in possession of Cardia? And does he not avow it? Whence is it, I say, that he treats you in so singular a manner? Because ours is the only state where there is allowed full liberty to plead the cause of enemy; and the man who sells his country may harangue securely, at the very time that you are despoiled of your dominions. It was not safe to speak for Philip at Olynthus until the people of Olynthus had been gained by the surrender of Potidæa. In Thessaly it was not safe to speak for Philip until the Thessalians had been gained by the expulsion of the tyrants and the recovery of their rank of amphictyons; nor could it have been safely attempted at Thebes before he had restored Bœotia and extirpated the Phocians. But at Athens, although he hath robbed us of Amphipolis and the territory of Cardia; tho he awes us with his fortifications in Eubœa; though he be now on his march to Byzantium; yet his partisans may speak for Philip without any danger. Hence, some of them, from the meanest poverty, have on a sudden risen to affluence; some, from obscurity and disgrace, to eminence and honor; while you, on the contrary, from glory, have sunk into meanness; from riches, to poverty; for the riches of a state I take to be its allies, its credit, its connections, in all which you are poor. And by your neglect of these, by your utter insensibility to your wrongs, he is become fortunate and great, the terror of Greeks and Barbarians; and you abandoned and despised; splendid indeed in the abundance of your markets; but as to any real provision for your security, ridiculously deficient.

There are some orators, I find, who view your interests and their own in a quite different light. They would persuade you to continue quiet, whatever injuries are offered to you, they themselves can not be quiet, though no one offers them the least injury. When one of these men rises, I am sure to hear, “What! Will you not propose your decree? Will you not venture? No; you are timid: you want true spirit.” I own, indeed, I am not, nor would I choose to be, a bold, an importune, an audacious speaker. And yet, if I mistake not, I have more real courage than they who manage your affairs with this rash hardiness. For he who, neglecting the public interests, is engaged only in trials, in confiscations, in rewarding, in accusing, doth not act from any principle of courage, but as he never speaks but to gain your favor, never proposes measures that are attended with the least hazard; in this he has a pledge of his security, and therefore is he daring. But he who for his country’s good oftentimes opposes your inclinations; who gives the most salutary, though not always the most agreeable counsel; who pursues those measures whose success depends more on fortune than on prudence, and is yet willing to be accountable for the event; this is the man of courage; this is the true patriot: not they who, by flattering your passions, have lost the most important interests of the state—men whom I am so far from imitating, or deeming citizens of worth, that should this question be proposed to me, “What services have you done your country?” though I might recount the galleys I have fitted out, and the public entertainments I have exhibited and the contributions I have paid, and the captives I have ransomed, and many like acts of benevolence, I would yet pass them all by, and only say that my public conduct hath ever been directly opposite to theirs. I might, like them, have turned accuser, have distributed rewards and punishments; but this is a part I never assumed; my inclinations were averse; nor could wealth or honors prompt me to it. No; I confine myself to such counsels as have sunk my reputation; but, if pursued, must raise the reputation of my country. Thus much I may be allowed to say without exposing myself to envy. I should not have thought myself a good citizen had I proposed such measures as would have made me the first among my countrymen, but reduced you to the last of states; on the contrary, the faithful minister should raise the glory of his country, and on all occasions advise the most salutary, not the easiest measures. To these nature itself inclines; those are not to be promoted but by the utmost efforts of a wise and faithful counselor.

I have heard it objected, “That indeed I ever speak with reason; yet still this is no more than words—that the state requires something more effectual, some vigorous actions.” On which I shall give my sentiments without the least reserve. The sole business of a speaker is, in my opinion, to propose the course you are to pursue. This were easy to be proved. You know that when the great Timotheus moved you to defend the Eubœans against the tyranny of Thebes, he addressed you thus: “What, my countrymen! When the Thebans are actually in the island, are you deliberating what is to be done? What part to be taken? Will you not cover the seas with your navies? Why are you not at the Piræus? Why are you not embarked?” Thus Timotheus advised; thus you acted, and success ensued. But had he spoken with the same spirit, and had your indolence prevailed, and his advice been rejected, would the state have had the same success? By no means. And so in the present case: vigor and execution is your part; from your speakers you are only to expect wisdom and integrity.

I shall just give the summary of my opinion, and then descend. You should raise supplies; you should keep up your present forces, and reform whatever abuses may be found in them (not break them entirely on the first complaint). You should send ambassadors into all parts, to reform, to remonstrate, to exert all their efforts in the service of the state. But, above all things, let those corrupt ministers feel the severest punishment; let them, at all times, and in all places, be the objects of your abhorrence: that wise and faithful counselors may appear to have consulted their own interests as well as that of others. If you will act thus, if you will shake off this indolence, perhaps, even yet, perhaps, we may promise ourselves some good fortune. But if you only just exert yourselves in acclamations and applauses, and when anything is to be done sink again into your supineness, I do not see how all the wisdom of the world can save the state from ruin when you deny your assistance.

Delivered in Athens about 342 B.C., or two years later than the Second Philippic. Translated by Thomas Leland. Read more!

Feb 4, 2008

On the Crown

Demosthenes (384?–322 B.C.)

(330 B.C.)

Born in 384 B.C., died in 322; entered public life when about twenty-five years old, “and from that time till his death his history is the history of Athens”; sixty of his speeches preserved, though some probably are spurious; his masterpiece, indeed the masterpiece of oratory, is “The Oration on the Crown.”



I BEGIN, (Note: Delivered in Athens 330 B.C. Translation by Charles R. Kennedy. Abridged. “The most finished,” says R. C. Jebb, “the most splendid and the most pathetic work of ancient eloquence.”) men of Athens, by praying to every god and goddess, that the same good will, which I have ever cherished toward the commonwealth and all of you, may be requited to me on the present trial. I pray likewise—and this specially concerns yourselves, your religion, and your honor—that the gods may put it in your minds, not to take counsel of my opponent touching the manner in which I am to be heard—that would indeed be cruel!—but of the laws and of your oath; wherein (besides the other obligations) it is prescribed that you shall hear both sides alike. This means, not only that you must pass no precondemnation, not only that you must extend your good will equally to both, but also that you must allow the parties to adopt such order and course of defense as they severally choose and prefer.

Many advantages hath Æschines over me on this trial; and two especially, men of Athens. First, my risk in the contest is not the same. It is assuredly not the same for me to forfeit your regard, as for my adversary not to succeed in his indictment. To me—but I will say nothing untoward at the outset of my address. The prosecution, however, is play to him. My second disadvantage is, the natural disposition of mankind to take pleasure in hearing invective and accusation, and to be annoyed by those who praise themselves. To Æschines is assigned the part which gives pleasure; that which is (I may fairly say) offensive to all, is left for me. And if, to escape from this, I make no mention of what I have done, I shall appear to be without defense against his charges, without proof of my claims to honor; whereas, if I proceed to give an account of my conduct and measures, I shall be forced to speak frequently of myself. I will endeavor then to do so with all becoming modesty; what I am driven to do by the necessity of the case, will be fairly chargeable to my opponent, who has instituted such a prosecution.

I think, men of the jury, you will all agree that I, as well as Ctesiphon, am a party to this proceeding, and that it is a matter of no less concern to me. It is painful and grievous to be deprived of anything, especially by the act of one’s enemy; but your good will and affection are the heaviest loss, precisely as they are the greatest prize to gain.

Had Æschines confined his charge to the subject of the prosecution, I too would have proceeded at once to my justification of the decree. But since he has wasted no fewer words in the discussion of other matters, in most of them calumniating me, I deem it both necessary and just, men of Athens, to begin by shortly adverting to these points, that none of you may be induced by extraneous arguments to shut your ears against my defense to the indictment.

To all his scandalous abuse of my private life, observe my plain and honest answer. If you know me to be such as he alleged—for I have lived nowhere else but among you—let not my voice be heard, however transcendent my statesmanship! Rise up this instant and condemn me! But if, in your opinion and judgment, I am far better and of better descent than my adversary; if (to speak without offense) I am not inferior, I or mine, to any respectable citizens; then give no credit to him for his other statements—it is plain they were all equally fictions—but to me let the same good will, which you have uniformly exhibited upon many former trials, be manifested now. With all your malice, Æschines, it was very simple to suppose that I should turn from the discussion of measures and policy to notice your scandal. I will do no such thing; I am not so crazed. Your lies and calumnies about my political life I will examine forthwith; for that loose ribaldry I shall have a word hereafter, if the jury desire to hear it.

The crimes whereof I am accused are many and grievous; for some of them the laws enact heavy—most severe penalties. The scheme of this present proceeding includes a combination of spiteful insolence, insult, railing, aspersion, and everything of the kind; while for the said charges and accusations, if they were true, the state has not the means of inflicting an adequate punishment, or anything like it. For it is not right to debar another of access to the people and privilege of speech; moreover, to do so by way of malice and insult—by heaven! is neither honest, nor constitutional, nor just. If the crimes which he saw me committing against the state were as heinous as he so tragically gave out, he ought to have enforced the penalties of the law against them at the time; if he saw me guilty of an impeachable offense, by impeaching and so bringing me to trial before you; if moving illegal decrees, by indicting me for them. For surely, if he can prosecute Ctesiphon on my account, he would not have forborne to indict me myself, had he thought he could convict me. In short, whatever else he saw me doing to your prejudice, whether mentioned or not mentioned in his catalogue of slander, there are laws for such things, and punishments, and trials, and judgments, with sharp and severe penalties; all of which he might have enforced against me; and had he done so—had he thus pursued the proper method with me, his charges would have been consistent with his conduct. But now he has declined the straightforward and just course, avoided all proofs of guilt at the time, and after this long interval gets up, to play his part withal, a heap of accusation, ribaldry and scandal. Then he arraigns me, but prosecutes the defendant.

What, then, were the statements made by Æschines, through which everything was lost? That you should not be alarmed by Philip’s having passed Thermopylæ—that all would be as you desired, if you kept quiet; and in two or three days you would hear, he was their friend to whom he had come as an enemy, and that their enemy to whom he had come as a friend—it was not words that cemented attachments (such was his solemn phrase), but identity of interest; and it was the interest of all alike, Philip, the Phocians, and you, to be relieved from the harshness and insolence of the Thebans. His assertions were heard by some with pleasure, on account of the hatred which then subsisted against the Thebans. But what happened directly, almost immediately afterward? The wretched Phocians were destroyed, their cities demolished; you that kept quiet, and trusted to Æschines, were shortly bringing in your effects out of the country, while Æchines received gold; and yet more—while you got nothing but your enmity with the Thebans and Thessalians, Philip won their gratitude for what he had done.

When you had been deceived by Philip through the agency of these men, who sold themselves in the embassies, and reported not a word of truth to you—when the unhappy Phocians had been deceived and their cities destroyed—what followed? The despicable Thessalians and stupid Thebans looked on Philip as a friend, a benefactor, a savior; he was everything with them—not a syllable would they hear from any one to the contrary. You, though regarding his acts with suspicion and anger, still observed the peace; for you could have done nothing alone. The rest of the Greeks, cheated and disappointed like yourselves, gladly observed the peace, though they also had in a manner been attacked for a long time. For when Philip was marching about, subduing Illyrians and Triballians and some also of the Greeks, and gaining many considerable accessions of power, and certain citizens of the states (Æschines among them) took advantage of the peace to go there and be corrupted; all people then, against whom he was making such preparations, were attacked.

If they perceived it not, that is another question, no concern of mine. I was forever warning and protesting, both at Athens and wheresoever I was sent. But the states were diseased; one class in their politics and measures being venal and corrupt, while the multitude of private men either had no foresight, or were caught with the bait of present ease and idleness; and all were under some such influence, only they imagined each that the mischief would not approach themselves, but that by the peril of others they might secure their own safety when they chose. The result, I fancy, has been that the people, in return for their gross and unseasonable indolence, have lost their liberty; the statesmen, who imagined they were selling everything but themselves, discovered they had sold themselves first; for, instead of friends, as they were named during the period of bribery, they are now called parasites, and miscreants, and the like befitting names. Justly. For no man, O Athenians, spends money for the traitor’s benefit, or, when he has got possession of his purchase, employs the traitor to advise him in future proceedings; else nothing could have been more fortunate than a traitor. But it is not so—it never could be—it is far otherwise! When the aspirant for power has gained his object, he is master also of those that sold it; and then—then, I say, knowing their baseness, he loathes and mistrusts and spurns them.

Consider only—for, though the time of the events is past, the time for understanding them is ever present to the wise; Lasthenes was called the friend of Philip for a while, until he betrayed Olynthus—Timolaus for a while, until he destroyed Thebes—Eudicus and Simus of Larissa for a while, until they brought Thessaly under Philip’s power. Since then the world has become full of traitors, expelled and insulted, and suffering every possible calumny. How fared Aristratus in Sicyon? How Perilaus in Megara? Are they not outcasts? Hence one may evidently see, it is the vigilant defender of his country, the strenuous opponent of such men, who secures to you traitors and hirelings, Æschines, the opportunity of getting bribes: through the number of thoughse that oppose your wishes, yon are in safety and in pay; for had it depended on yourselves you would have perished long ago.

Much more could I say about those transactions, yet methinks too much has been said already. The fault is my adversary’s, for having spirted over me the dregs, I may say, of his own wickedness and iniquities, of which I was obliged to clear myself to those who are younger than the events. You, too, have probably been disgusted, who knew this man’s venality before I spoke a word. He calls it friendship indeed; and said somewhere in his speech—“the man who reproaches me with the friendship of Alexander.” I reproach you with friendship of Alexander I Whence gotten, or how merited I Neither Philip’s friend nor Alexander’s should I ever call you; I am not so mad—unless we are to call reapers and other hired laborers the friends of thoughse that hire them. That, however, is not so—how could it be? It is nothing of the kind. Philip’s hireling I called you once, and Alexander’s I call you now. So do all these men. If you disbelieve me, ask them; or rather I will do it for you. Athenians! is Æschines, think ye the hireling, or the friend of Alexander? You hear what they say!

Philip started, men of Athens, with a great advantage. It happened that among the Greeks—not some, but all alike—there sprang up a crop of traitors and venal wretches, such as in the memory of man had never been before. These he got for his agents and supporters; the Greeks, already ill-disposed and unfriendly to each other, he brought into a still worse state, deceiving this people, making presents to that, corrupting others in every way; and he split them into many parties, when they had all one interest, to prevent his aggrandizement. While the Greeks were all in such a condition—in such ignorance of the gathering and growing mischief—you have to consider, men of Athens, what policy and measures it became the commonwealth to adopt, and of this to receive a reckoning from me; for the man who assumed that post in the administration was I.

But I return to the question—What should the commonwealth, Æschines, have done, when she saw Philip establishing an empire and dominion over Greece? Or what was your statesman to advise or move?—I, a statesman at Athens?—for this is most material—I who knew that from the earliest time until the day of my own mounting the platform, our country had ever striven for precedency and honor and renown, and expended more blood and treasure for the sake of glory and the general weal than the rest of the Greeks had expended on their several interests?—who saw that Philip himself, with whom we were contending, had, in the strife for power and empire, had his eye cut out, his collarbone fractured, his hand and leg mutilated, and was ready and willing to sacrifice any part of his body that fortune chose to take, provided he could live with the remainder in honor and glory? Hardly will I any one venture to say this—that it became a man bred at Pella, then an obscure and inconsiderable place, to possess such inborn magnanimity, as to aspire to the mastery of Greece and form the project in his mind, while you, who were Athenians, day after day in speeches and in dramas reminded of the virtue of your ancestors, should have been so naturally base, as of your own free will and accord to surrender to Philip the liberty of Greece. No man will say this!

The only course then that remained was a just resistance to all his attacks upon you. Such course you took from the beginning, properly and becomingly; and I assisted by motions and counsels during the period of my political life:—I acknowledge it. But what should I have done? Was it meet that any of the Greeks should rise up to prevent these proceedings, or not? If not—if Greece was to present the spectacle (as it is called) of a Mysian prey, while Athenians had life and being, then I have exceeded my duty in speaking on the subject—the commonwealth has exceeded her duty, which followed my counsels—I admit that every measure has been a misdeed, a blunder of mine. But if some one ought to have arisen to prevent these things, who but the Athenian people should it have been? Such then was the policy which I espoused. I saw him reducing all men to subjection, and I opposed him; I continued warning and exhorting you not to make these sacrifices to Philip.

When Philip therefore was driven out of Eubœa, with arms by you, with counsels and decrees—though some persons there should burst!—by me, he sought some new position of attack upon Athens. Seeing that we use more foreign corn than any people, and wishing to command the passage of the corn-trade, he advanced to Thrace; the Byzantines being his allies, he first required them to join in the war against you, and when they refused, saying (truly enough) that they had not made alliance en such terms, he threw up entrenchments before the city, planted batteries, and laid siege to it. What course hereupon it became you to take, I will not ask again; it is manifest to all. But who was it that succored the Byzantines, and rescued them? who prevented the alienation of the Hellespont at that crisis? You, men of Athens. When I say you, I mean the commonwealth. But who advised, framed, executed the measures of state, devoted himself wholly and unreservedly to the public business?—I!—What benefits thence accrued to all, you need no further to be told; you have learned by experience. For the war which then sprang up, besides that it brought honor and renown, kept you in a cheaper and more plentiful supply of all the necessaries of life than does the present peace, which these worthies maintain to their country’s prejudice in the hope of something to come. Perish such hope! Never may they share the blessings for which you men of honest wishes pray to the gods, or communicate their own principles to you!

Thus the saving of Chersonesus and Byzantium, the preventing Philip’s conquest of the Hellespont, and the honors therefore bestowed on this country, were the effects of my policy and administration; and more than this—they proved to all mankind the generosity of Athens and the baseness of Philip. He, the ally and friend of the Byzantines, was before all eyes besieging them—what could be more shameful or outrageous?—You, who might justly on many grounds have reproached them for wrongs done you in former times, instead of bearing malice and abandoning the oppressed, appeared as their deliverers; conduct which procured you glory, good-will, honors from all men. That you have crowned many of your statesmen, every one knows; but through what other person (I mean what minister or orator), besides myself, the commonwealth has been crowned, no one can say.

Well then, men of Athens—when the Lacedæmonians had the empire of land and sea, and held the country round Attica by governors and garrisons, Eubœa, Tanagra, all Bœotia, Megara, Ægina, Cleonæ, the other islands; when our state possessed neither ships nor walls; you marched out to Haliartus, and again not many days after to Corinth; albeit the Athenians of that time had many causes of resentment against both Corinthians and Thebans for their acts in the Decelean war; but they showed no resentment, none. And yet neither of these steps took they, Æschines, for benefactors, nor were they blind to the danger; but they would not for such reasons abandon people who sought their protection; for the sake of renown and glory they willingly exposed themselves to peril; just and noble was their resolve! For to all mankind the end of life is death, though one keep one’s self shut up in a closet; but it becomes brave men to strive always for honor, with good hope before them, and to endure courageously whatever the Deity ordains.

Thus did your ancestors, thus the elder among yourselves. For, though the Lacedæmonians were neither friends nor benefactors, but had done many grievous injuries to our state, yet when the Thebans, victorious at Leuctra, sought their destruction, you prevented it, not fearing the power and reputation then possessed by the Thebans, nor reckoning up the merits of those whom you were about to fight for. And so you demonstrated to all the Greeks, that, however any people may offend you, you reserve your anger against them for other occasions; but should their existence or liberty be imperiled, you will not resent your wrongs or bring them into account.

I must return to the next in date of my political acts; and here again consider what was most beneficial for the state. I saw, men of Athens, that your navy was decaying, and that, while the rich were getting off with small payments, citizens of moderate or small fortunes were losing their substance, and the state, by reason thereof, missing her opportunities of action. I, therefore, proposed a law, by which I compelled the one class (the rich) to perform their duty, and stopped the oppression of the poor; and—what was most useful to the country—I caused her preparations to be made in time. And being indicted for it, I appeared en the charge before you, and was acquitted; and the prosecutor did not get his portion of the votes. But what sums, think ye, the chief men of the boards, or those in the second and third degrees, offered me, first, not to propose that law, secondly, when I had recorded it, to drop it en the abatement-oath? Such sums, men of Athens, as I should be afraid to tell you. And no wonder they did so; for under the former laws they might divide the charge between sixteen, spending little or nothing themselves, and grinding down the needy citizens; whereas under my law every one had to pay a sum proportioned to his means, and there was a captain for two ships, where before there was a partner with fifteen others for one ship; for they were calling themselves not captains any longer, but partners. They would have given anything to get these regulations annulled, and not be obliged to perform their duties.

Why then, wretched man, do you play the pettifogger? Why manufacture arguments? Why don’t you take hellebore (Note: Hellebore, though a poison, was used by the Greeks in mild doses to clear the brain and cure insanity.) for your malady? Are you not ashamed to bring on a cause for spite, and not for any offense?—to alter some laws, and to garble others, the whole of which should in justice be read to persons sworn to decide according to the laws? And you that act thus describe the qualities which belong to a friend of the people, as if you had ordered a statue according to contract, and received it without having what the contract required; or as if friends of the people were known by words, and not by acts and measures! And you bawl out, regardless of decency, a sort of cart-language, applicable to yourself and your race, not to me.

Again, men of Athens—I conceive abuse to differ from accusation in this, that accusation has to do with offenses for which the laws provide penalties, abuse with the scandal which enemies speak against each other according to their humor. And I believe your ancestors built these courts, not that we should assemble you here and bring forth the secrets of private life for mutual reproach, but to give us the means of convicting persons guilty of crimes against the state. Æschines knew this as well as I, and yet he chose to rail rather than to accuse.

Even in this way he must take as much as he gives; but before I enter upon such matters, let me ask him one question—Should one call you the state’s enemy, or mine, Æschines? Mine, of course. Yet, where you might, for any offense, which I committed, have obtained satisfaction for the people according to the laws, you neglected it—at the audit, on the indictments and other trials; but where I in my own person am safe on every account, by the laws, by time, by prescription, by many previous judgments on every point, by my never having been convicted of a public offense—and where the country must share, more or less, in the repute of measures which were her own—here it is you have encountered me. See if you are not the people’s enemy, while you pretend to be mine!

I am at no loss for materials concerning you and your family, but am in doubt what to mention first—whether how your father Tromes, being servant to Elpias, who kept a reading-school in the temple of Theseus, wore a weight of fetters and a collar; or how your mother, by her morning spousals in the cottage by Hero Calamites, reared up you, the beautiful statue, the eminent third-rate actor!—But all know these things without my telling—Or how the galley-piper Phormio, the slave of Dion of Phrearrii, removed her from that honorable employment. But, by Jupiter and the gods! I fear, in saying what is proper about you, I may be thought to have chosen topics unbecoming to myself. All this therefore, I shall pass by, and commence with the acts of his own life; for indeed he came not of common parents, but of such as are execrated by the people. Very lately—lately do I say?—it is but yesterday that he has become both an Athenian and an orator—adding two syllables, he converted his father from Tromes to Atrometus, and dignified his mother by the name of Glaucothea, who (as every one knows) was cared Empusa; (Note: This denotes a frightful specter or hobgoblin. According to Aristophanes (Frogs, 283) It could change itself into various shapes.—Kennedy.) having got that title (it is plain) from her doing and submitting to anything—how else could she have got it? However, you are so ungrateful and wicked by nature, that after being raised through the people from servitude to freedom, from beggary to affluence, instead of returning their kindness, you work against them as a hireling politician.

That he should cooperate openly with Philip before the war, was shocking—O heaven and earth! could it be otherwise?—against his country! Yet allow him if you please, allow him this. But when the ships had openly been made prize, Chersonesus was ravaged, the man was marching against Attica, matters were no longer doubtful, war had begun—nothing that he ever did for you can this malicious iambic-mouther show—not a resolution has Æschines, great or small, concerning the interests of the state. If he asserts it, let him prove it now while my waterglass (Note: The Athenians, to prevent the parties from saying more than was necessary, timed them by a glass in which water trickled through a narrow tube like sand in one of our minute glasses.—Kennedy.) is running. But there is none. He is reduced to an alternative;—either he had no fault to find with my measures, and therefore moved none against them; or he sought the good of the enemy, and therefore would not propose any better.

Did he abstain from speaking as well as moving, when any mischief was to be done to you? Why, no one else could speak a word. Other things, it appears, the country could endure, and he could accomplish without detection; but one last act he achieved, O Athenians, which crowned all he had done before; on which he lavished that multitude of words, recounting the decrees against the Amphissian Locrians, in hopes of distorting the truth. But the thing admits it not. No! never will you wash yourself clean from your performances there—talk as long as you will!

In your presence, men of Athens, I invoke all the gods and goddesses to whom the Attic territory belongs, and Pythian Apollo the Father-god of our state; and I implore them all! As I shall declare the truth to you, as I declared it in your assembly at the time, the very moment I saw this wretch putting his hand to the work—for I perceived, instantly perceived it—so may they grant me favor and protection! If from malice or personal rivalry I bring a false charge against my opponent, may they cut me off from every blessing!

But wherefore this imprecation, this solemn assurance? Because, though I have documents lying in the public archives, from which I shall clearly prove my assertions, though I know you remember the facts, I fear this man may be considered unequal to the mischiefs which he has wrought; as before happened, when he caused the destruction of the unhappy Phocians by his false reports to you.

The Amphissian War, I say—which brought Philip to Elatea, which caused him to be chosen general of the Amphictyons, which ruined everything in Greece—was this man’s contrivance. He is the single authoughr of all our heaviest calamities. I protested at the time, and cried out in the assembly—“You are bringing a war, Æschines, into Attica, an Amphictyonic war”—but his packed party would not let me be heard; the rest wondered, and supposed that I was bringing an idle charge against him out of personal enmity. However, the real character of those transactions, the purpose for which they were got up, the manner in which they were accomplished, hear ye now, men of Athens, as ye were prevented then. You will see that the thing was well concerted, and it will help you much to get a knowledge of public affairs, and what craftiness there was in Philip you will observe.

Philip could neither finish nor get rid of the war with Athens, unless he made the Thebans and Thessalians her enemies. Though your generals fought against him without fortune or skill, yet from the war itself and the cruisers he suffered infinite damage. He could neither export any of the produce of his country, nor import what he needed. He was not then superior to you at sea, nor able to reach Attica, unless the Thessalians followed him and the Thebans, gave him a passage; so that, while he overcame in war the generals whom you sent out—such as they were—I say nothing about that—he found himself distressed by the difference of your local position and means. Should he urge either Thessalians or Thebans to march in his own quarrel against you, none, he thought, would attend to him: but should he, under the pretense of taking up their common cause, be elected general, he trusted partly by deceit and partly by persuasion to gain his ends more easily. He sets to work therefore—observe how cleverly—to get the Amphictyons into a war, and create a disturbance in the congress. For this he thought they would immediately want him. Now, if any of the presbyters commissioned by himself or any of his allies brought it forward, he imagined that both Thebans and Thessalians would suspect the thing, and would all be on their guard; whereas, if the agent were an Athenian and commissioned by you his opponents, it would easily pass unnoticed. An thus it turned out.

How did he effect his purpose? He hires the prosecutor. No one (I believe) was aware of the thing or attending to it, and so—just as these things are usually done at Athens—Æschines was proposed for Pylæan deputy, three or four held up their hands for him, and his election was declared. When clothed with the dignity of the state he arrived among the Amphictyons, dismissing and disregarding all besides, he hastened to execute what he was hired for. He makes up a pretty speech and story, showing how the Cirrhæan plain came to be consecrated; reciting this to the presbyters, men unused to speeches and unsuspicious of any consequences.

The mention of this man’s treasonable acts brings me to the part which I have myself taken in opposition to him. It is fair you should hear my account of it for many reasons, but chiefly, men of Athens, because it would be a shame, when I have undergone the toil of exertions on your behalf, that you should not endure the bare recital of them.

When I say that the Thebans, and I may add the Athenians, were so led away by Philip’s partisans and the corrupt men of either state, as to disregard and take no precaution against a danger which menaced both, and required the utmost precaution (I mean the suffering Philip’s power to increase), and were readily disposed to enmity and strife with each other; I was constantly watchful to prevent it, not only because in my own judgment I deemed such vigilance expedient, but knowing that Aristophon, and again Eubulus, had all along desired to bring about that union, and, while they were frequently opposed upon other matters, were always agreed upon this. Men whom in their lifetime—you reptile!—you pestered with flattery, yet see not that you are accusing them in their graves: for the Theban policy that you reproach me with is a charge less affecting me than them, who approved that alliance before I did. But I must return.—I say, when Æschines had excited the war in Amphissa, and his coadjutors had helped to establish enmity with Thebes, Philip marched against us—that was the object for which these persons embroiled the states—and had we not roused up a little in time, we could never have recovered ourselves: so far had these men carried matters.

Now, Æschines, how would you have me describe you, and how myself, upon that day? Shall I call myself Batalus, your nickname of reproach, and you not even a hero of the common sort, but one of those upon the stage, Cresphontes or Creon, or the Œnomaus whom you execrably murdered once at Colyttus? Well; upon that occasion I the Batalus of Pæania was more serviceable to the state than you the Œnomaus of Cothoughcidæ. You were of no earthly use; I did everything which became a good citizen.

Had I attempted to say, that I instructed you in sentiments worthy of your ancestors, there is not a man who would not justly rebuke me. What I declare is, that such principles are your own; I show that before my time such was the spirit of the commonwealth; though certainly in the execution of the particular measures I claim a share also for myself. The prosecutor, arraigning the whole proceedings, and embittering you against me as the cause of our alarms and dangers, in his eagerness to deprive me of honor for the moment, robs you of the eulogies that should endure for ever. For should you, under a disbelief in the wisdom of my policy convict the defendant, you will appear to have done wrong not to have suffered what befell you by the cruelty of fortune. But never, never can you have done wrong, O Athenians, in undertaking the battle for the freedom and safety of all! I swear it by your forefathers—those that met the peril at Marathoughn, those that took the field at Platæa, those in the sea-fight at Salamis, and those at Artemisium, and many other brave men who repose in the public monuments, all of whom alike, as being worthy of the same honor, the country buried, Æschines, not only the successful or victorious! Justly! For the duty of brave men has been done by all: their fortune has been such as the Deity assigned to each.

Accursed scribbler! You, to deprive me of the approbation and affection of my countrymen, speak of trophies and battles and ancient deeds. with none of which had this present trial the least concern; but I!—O you third-rate actor!—I, that rose to counsel the state how to maintain her preeminence! In what spirit was I to mount the hustings? In the spirit of one having unworthy counsel to offer?—I should have deserved to perish! You yourselves, men of Athens, may not try private and public causes on the same principles: the compacts of every-day life you are to judge of by particular laws and circumstances; the measures of statesmen, by reference to the dignity of your ancestors. And if you think it your duty to act worthily of them, you should every one of you consider, when you come into court to decide public questions, that together with your staff and ticket the spirit of the commonwealth is delivered to you.

Athenians, you have had many great and renowned orators before me; the famous Callistratus, Aristophon, Cephalus, Thrasybulus, hundreds of others, yet none of them ever thoroughly devoted himself to any measure of state: for instance, the mover of a resolution would not be ambassador; the ambassador would not move a resolution; each one left for himself some relief, and also, should anything happen, an excuse. How then—it may be said—did you so far surpass others in might and boldness as to do everything yourself? I don’t say that: but such was my conviction of the danger impending over us, that I considered it left no room or thought for individual security; a man should have been only too happy to perform his duty without neglect. As to myself I was persuaded, perhaps foolishly, yet I was persuaded, that none would move better resolutions than myself, none would execute them better, none as ambassador would show more zeal and honesty. Therefore I undertook every duty myself.

Through my policy, which he arraigns, instead of the Thebans invading this country with Philip, as all expected, they joined our ranks and prevented him;—instead of the war being in Attica, it took place seven hundred furlongs from the city on the confines of Bœotia;—instead of corsair issuing from Eubœa to plunder us, Attica was in peace on the coast-side during the whole war;—instead of Philip being master of the Hellespont by taking Byzantium, the Byzantines were our auxiliaries against him Does this computation of services, think you, resemble the casting of accounts? Or should we strike these out on a balance, and not look that they be kept in everlasting remembrance? I will not set down, that of the cruelty, remarkable in cases where Philip got people all at once into his power, others have had the trial; while of the generosity, which, casting about for his future purposes, he assumed toward Athens, you have happily enjoyed the fruits. I pass that by.

If you talk about just conditions with the Thebans, Æschines, or with the Byzantines or Eubœans, or discuss now the question of equal terms, first I say—you are ignorant that of those galleys formerly which defended Greece, being three hundred in number, our commonwealth furnished two hundred, and never (as it seemed) thought herself injured by having done so, never prosecuted thoughse who advised it or expressed any dissatisfaction—shame on her if she had!—but was grateful to the gods, that, when a common danger beset the Greeks, she alone furnished double what the rest did for the preservation of all. Besides, it is but a poor favor you do your countrymen by calumniating me. For what is the use of telling us now what we should have done? Why, being in the city and present, did you not make your proposals then; if indeed they were practicable at a crisis, when we had to accept not what we liked but what the circumstances allowed? Remember, there was one ready to bid against us, to welcome eagerly those that we rejected, and give money into the bargain.

But if I am accused for what I have actually done, how would it have been, if, through my hard bargaining, the states had gone off and attached themselves to Philip, and he had become master at the same time of Eubœa, Thebes, and Byzantium? What, think ye, these impious men would have said or done? Said doubtless, that the states were abandoned—that they wished to join us and were driven away—that he had got command of the Hellespont by the Byzantines, and become master of the corn-trade of Greece—that a heavy neighbor-war had by means of the Thebans been brought into Attica—that the sea had become unnavigable by the excursion of pirates from Eubœa! All this would they have said sure enough, and a great deal besides. A wicked, wicked thing, O Athenians, is a calumniator always, every way spiteful and faultfinding. But this creature is a reptile by nature, that from the beginning never did anything honest or liberal; a very ape of a tragedian, village Œnomaus, counterfeit orator! What advantage has your eloquence been to your country? Now do you speak to us about the past? As if a physician should visit his patients, and not order or prescribe anything to cure the disease, but on the death of any one, when the last ceremonies were performing, should follow him to the grave and expound, how, if the poor fellow had done this and that, he never would have died! Idiot, do you speak now?

Even the defeat—if you exult in that which should make you groan, you accursed one!—by nothing that I have done will it appear to have befallen us. Consider it thus, O Athenians. From no embassy, on which I was commissioned by you, did I ever come away defeated by the ambassadors of Philip—neither from Thessaly, nor from Ambracia, nor from the kings of Thrace, nor from Byzantium, nor from any other place, nor on the last recent occasion from Thebes; but where his ambassadors were vanquished in argument, he came with arms and carried the day. And for this you call me to account; and are not ashamed to jeer the same person for cowardice, whom you require single-handed to overcome the might of Philip—and that, too, by words! For what else had I at my command? Certainly not the spirit of each individual, nor the fortune of the army, nor the conduct of the war, for which you would make me accountable; such a blunderer are you! 40
Yet understand me. Of what a statesman may be responsible for I allow the utmost scrutiny; I deprecate it not. What are his functions? To observe things in the beginning, to foresee and foretell them to others,—this I have done: again; wherever he finds delays, backwardness, ignorance, jealousies, vices inherent and unavoidable in all communities, to contract them into the narrowest compass, and on the other hand, to promote unanimity and friendship and zeal in the discharge of duty. All this, too, I have performed; and no one can discover the least neglect on my part. Ask any man, by what means Philip achieved most of his successes, and you will be told, by his army, and by his bribing and corrupting men in power. Well; your forces were not under my command or control; so that I can not be questioned for anything done in that department. But by refusing the price of corruption I have overcome Philip; for as the offerer of a bribe, if it be accepted, has vanquished the taker, so the person who refuses it and is not corrupted has vanquished the person offering. Therefore is the commonwealth undefeated as far as I am concerned. 41
For my part, I regard any one, who reproaches his fellow man with fortune, as devoid of sense. He that is best satisfied with his condition, he that deems his fortune excellent, can not be sure that it will remain so until the evening: how then can it be right to bring it forward, or upbraid another man with it? As Æschines, however, has on this subject (besides many others) expressed himself with insolence, look, men of Athens, and observe how much more truth and humanity there shall be in my discourse upon fortune than in his.

I hold the fortune of our commonwealth to be good, and so I find the oracles of Dodonæan Jupiter and Phythian Apollo declaring to us. The fortune of all mankind, which now prevails, I consider cruel and dreadful: for what Greek, what barbarian, has not in these times experienced a multitude of evils? That Athens chose the noblest policy, that she fares better than those very Greeks who thought, if they abandoned us, they should abide in prosperity, I reckon as part of her good fortune; if she suffered reverses, if all happened not to us as we desired, I conceive she has had that share of the general fortune which fell to our lot. As to my fortune (personally speaking) or that of any individual among us, it should, as I conceive, be judged of in connection with personal matters. Such is my opinion upon the subject of fortune, a right and just one, as it appears to me, and I think you will agree with it. Æschines says that my individual fortune is paramount to that of the commonwealth, the small and mean to the good and great, How can this possibly be?

However, if you are determined, Æschines, to scrutinize my fortune, compare it with your own, and, if you find my fortune better than yours, cease to revile it. Look then from the very beginning. And I pray and entreat that I may not be condemned for bad taste. I don’t think any person wise, who insults poverty, or who prides himself on having been bred in affluence: but by the slander and malice of this cruel man I am forced into such a discussion; which I will conduct with all the moderation which circumstances allow.

I had the advantage, Æschines, in my boyhood of going to proper schools, and having such allowance as a boy should have who is to do nothing mean from indigence. Arrived at man’s estate, I lived suitably to my breeding; was choir-master, ship-commander, rate-payer; backward in no acts of liberality public or private, but making myself useful to the commonwealth and to my friends. When I entered upon state affairs, I chose such a line of politics, that both by my country and many people of Greece I have been crowned many times, and not even you my enemies venture to say that the line I chose was not honorable. Such then has been the fortune of my life: I could enlarge upon it, but I forbear, lest what I pride myself in should give offense.

But you, the man of dignity, who spit upon others, look what sort of fortune is yours compared with mine. As a boy you were reared in abject poverty, waiting with your father in his school, grinding the ink, sponging the benches, sweeping the room, doing the duty of a menial rather than a freeborn man. After you were grown up, you attended your mother in the initiations, reading her books and helping in all the ceremonies; at night wrapping the noviciates in fawn-skin, swilling, purifying, and scouring them with clay and bran, raising them after the lustration, and bidding them say, “Bad I have scaped, and better I have found”; priding yourself that no one ever howled so lustily—and I believe him! for don’t suppose that he who speaks so loud is not a splendid howler! In the daytime you led your noble orgiasts, crowned with fennel and poplar, through the highways, squeezing the big-checked serpents, and lifting them over your head, and shouting Evœ Sabœ, and capering to the words Hyes Attes, Attes Hyes, saluted by the beldames as Leader, Conductor, Chest-bearer, Fan-bearer, and the like, getting as your reward tarts and biscuits and rolls; for which any man might well bless himself and his fortune!

When you were enrolled among your fellow townsmen—by what means I stop not to inquire—when you were enrolled, however, you immediately selected the most honorable of employments, that of clerk and assistant to our petty magistrates. From this you were removed after a while, having done yourself all that you charge others with; and then, sure enough, you disgraced not your antecedents by your subsequent life, but hiring yourself to thoughse ranting players, as they were called, Simylus and Socrates, you acted third parts, collecting figs and grapes and olives like a fruiterer from other men’s farms, and getting more from them than from the playing, in which the lives of your whole company were at stake; for there was an implacable and incessant war between them and the audience, from whom you received so many wounds, that no wonder you taunt as cowards people inexperienced in such encounters.

But passing over what may be imputed to poverty, I will come to the direct charges against your character. You espoused such a line of politics (when at last you thought of taking to them) that, if your country prospered, you lived the life of a hare, fearing and trembling and ever expecting to be scourged for the crimes of which your conscience accused you; though all have seen how bold you were during the misfortunes of the rest. A man who took courage at the death of a thousand citizens—what does he deserve at the hands of the living? A great deal more than I could say about him I shall omit; for it is not all I can tell of his turpitude and infamy which I ought to let slip from my tongue, but only what is not disgraceful to myself to mention.

Contrast now the circumstances of your life and mine, gently and with temper, Æschines; and then ask these people whose fortune they would each of them prefer. You taught reading, I went to school; you performed initiations, I received them; you danced in the chorus, I furnished it; you were assembly clerk, I was a speaker; you acted third parts, I heard you; you broke down, and I hissed; you have worked as a statesman for the enemy, I for my country. I pass by the rest; but this very day I am on my probation for a crown, and am acknowledged to be innocent of all offense; while you are already judged to be a pettifogger, and the question is, whether you shall continue that trade, or at once be silenced by not getting a fifth part of the votes. A happy fortune, do you see you have enjoyed, that you should denounce mine as miserable!

I will have done then with private topics, but say another word or two upon public. If you can mention, Æschines, a single man under the sun, whether Greek or barbarian, who has not suffered by Philip’s power formerly and Alexander’s now, well and good; I concede to you, that my fortune, or misfortune (if you please), has been the cause of everything. But if many that never saw me or heard my voice have been grievously afflicted, not individuals only but whole cities and nations; how much juster and fairer is it to consider, that to the common fortune apparently of all men, to a tide of events overwhelming and lamentable, these disasters are to be attributed. You, disregarding all this, accuse me whose ministry has been among my countrymen, knowing all the while, that a part (if not the whole) of your calumny falls upon the people, and yourself in particular. For if I assumed the sole and absolute direction of our counsels, it was open to you the other speakers to accuse me; but if you were constantly present in all the assemblies, if the state invited public discussion of what was expedient, and if these measures were then believed by all to be the best, and especially by you (for certainly from no good-will did you leave me in possession of hopes and admiration and honors, all of which attended on my policy, but doubtless because you were compelled by the truth and had nothing better to advise); is it not iniquitous and monstrous to complain now of measures, than which you could suggest none better at the time?

I should conclude, Æschines, that you undertook this cause to exhibit your eloquence and strength of lungs, not to obtain satisfaction for any wrong. But it is not the language of an orator, Æschines, that has any value, nor yet the tone of his voice, but his adopting the same views with the people, and his hating and loving the same persons that his country does. He that is thus minded will say everything with loyal intention; he that courts persons from whom the commonwealth apprehends danger to herself, rides not on the same anchorage with the people, and, therefore, has not the same expectation of safety. But—do you see?—I have; for my objects are the same with those of my countrymen; I have no interest separate or distinct. Is that so with you? How can it be—when immediately after the battle you went as ambassador to Philip, who was at that period the author of your country’s calamities, notwithstanding that you had before persisted in refusing that office, as all men know?

And who is it that deceives the state? Surely the man who speaks not what he thinks. On whom does the crier pronounce a curse? Surely on such a man. What greater crime can an orator be charged with than that his opinions and his language are not the same? Such is found to be your character. And yet you open your mouth, and dare to look these men in the faces! Do you think they don’t know you?—or are sunk in such slumber and oblivion, as not to remember the speeches which you delivered in the assembly, cursing and swearing that you had nothing to do with Philip, and that I brought that charge against you out of personal enmity without foundation? No sooner came the news of the battle, than you forgot all that; you acknowledge and avowed that between Philip and yourself there subsisted a relation of hospitality and friendship—new names these for your contract of hire. For upon what plea of equality or justice could Æschines, son of Glaucothea, the timbrel player, be the friend or acquaintance of Philip? I cannot see. No! You were hired to ruin the interests of your countrymen; and yet, though you have been caught yourself in open treason, and informed against yourself after the fact, you revile and reproach me for things which you will find any man is chargeable with sooner than I.

Many great and glorious enterprises has the commonwealth, Æschines, undertaken and succeeded in through me; and she did not forget them. Here is the proof—On the election of a person to speak the funeral oration immediately after the event, you were proposed, but the people would not have you, notwithstanding your fine voice, nor Demades, though he had just made the peace, nor Hegemon, nor any other of your party—but me. And when you and Pythocles came forward in a brutal and shameful manner (O merciful Heaven!) and urged the same accusations against me which you now do, and abused me, they elected me all the more. The reason—you are not ignorant of it—yet I will tell you. The Athenians knew as well the loyalty and zeal with which I conducted their affairs, as the dishonesty of you and your party; for what you denied upon oath in our prosperity, you confessed in the misfortunes of the republic. They considered, therefore, that men who got security for their politics by the public disasters had been their enemies long before, and were then avowedly such. They thought it right also, that the person who was to speak in honor of the fallen and celebrate their valor should not have sat under the same roof or at the same table with their antagonists; that he should not revel there and sing a pæan over the calamities of Greece in company with their murderers, and then come here and receive distinction; that he should not with his voice act the mourner of their fate, but that he should lament over them with his heart. This they perceived in themselves and in me, but not in any of you; therefore, they elected me, and not you. Nor, while the people felt thus, did the fathers and brothers of the deceased, who were chosen by the people to perform their obsequies, feel differently. For having to order the funeral banquet (according to custom) at the house of the nearest relative to the deceased, they ordered it at mine. And with reason; because, though each to his own was nearer of kin than I was, none was so near to them all collectively. He that had the deepest interest in their safety and success had upon their mournful disaster the largest share of sorrow for them all.

Of this base and infamous conspiracy and profligacy—or rather, O Athenians, if I am to speak in earnest, of this betrayal of Grecian liberty—Athens is by all mankind acquitted, owing to my counsels; and I am acquitted by you. Then do you ask me, Æschines, for what merit I claim to be honored? I will tell you. Because, while all the statesmen in Greece, beginning with yourself, have been corrupted formerly by Philip and now by Alexander, me neither opportunity, nor fair speeches, nor large promises, nor hope, nor fear, nor anything else could tempt or induce to betray aught that I considered just and beneficial to my country. Whatever I have advised my fellow citizens, I have never advised like you men, leaning as in a balance to the side of profit; all my proceedings have been those of a soul upright, honest, and incorrupt; entrusted with affairs of greater magnitude than any of my contemporaries, I have administered them all honestly and faithfully. Therefore do I claim to be honored.

These and the like measures, Æschines, are what become an honorable citizen (by their success—O earth and heaven!—we should have been the greatest of people incontestably, and deserved to be so; even under their failure the result is glory, and no one blames Athens or her policy; all condemn fortune that so ordered things); but never will he desert the interests of the commonwealth, nor hire himself to her adversaries, and study the enemy’s advantage instead of his country’s; nor on a man who has courage to advise and propose measures worthy of the state, and resolution to persevere in them, will he cast an evil eye, and, if any one privately offends him, remember and treasure it up; no, nor keep himself in a criminal and treacherous retirement you so often do. There is indeed a retirement just and beneficial to the state, such as you, the bulk of my countrymen, innocently enjoy; that however is not the retirement of Æschines; far from it. Withdrawing himself from public life when he pleases, (and that is often) he watches for the moment when you are tired of a constant speaker, or when some reverse of fortune has befallen you, or anything untoward has happened (and many are the casualties of human life); at such a crisis he springs up an orator, rising from his retreat like a wind; in full voice, with words and phrases collected, he rolls them out audibly and breathlessly, to no advantage or good purpose whatsoever, but to the detriment of some or other of his fellow citizens and to the general disgrace.

Yet from this labor and diligence, Æschines, if it proceeded from an honest heart, solicitous for your country’s welfare, the fruits should have been rich and noble and profitable to all—alliances of states, supplies of money, conveniences of commerce, enactment of useful laws, opposition to our declared enemies. All such things were looked for in former times; and many opportunities did the past afford for a good man and true to show himself; during which time you are nowhere to be found, neither first, second, third, fourth, fifth, nor sixth—not in any rank at all—certainly on no service by which your country was exalted. For what alliance has come to the state by your procurement? What succors, what acquisition of good will or credit? What embassy or agency is there of yours, by which the reputation of the country has been increased? What concern domestic, Hellenic, or foreign, of which you have had the management, has improved under it? What galleys? what ammunition? what arsenals? what repair of walls? what cavalry? What in the world are you good for? What assistance in money have you ever given, either to the rich or the poor, out of public spirit or liberality? None. But, good sir, if there is nothing of this, there is at all events zeal and loyalty. Where? when? You infamous fellow! Even at a time when all who ever spoke upon the platform gave something for the public safety, and last Aristonicus gave the sum which he had amassed to retrieve his franchise, you neither came forward nor contributed a mite—not from inability—no, for you have inherited above five talents from Philo, your wife’s father, and you had a subscription of two talents from the chairmen of the boards for what you did to cut up the navy law. But, that I may not go from one thing to another and lose sight of the question, I pass this by. That it was not poverty prevented your contributing, already appears; it was, in fact, your anxiety to do nothing against those to whom your political life is subservient. On what occasions then do you show your spirit? When do you shine out? When aught is to be spoken against your countrymen!—then it is you who are splendid in voice, perfect in memory, an admirable actor, a tragic Theocrines.

You mention the good men of olden times; and you are right so to do. Yet it is hardly fair, O Athenians, that he should get the advantage of that respect which you have for the dead, to compare and contrast me with them,—me who am living among you; for what mortal is ignorant, that toward the living there exists always more or less of ill will, whereas the dead are no longer hated even by an enemy? Such being human nature, am I to be tried and judged by the standard of my predecessors? Heaven forbid! It is not just nor equitable, Æschines. Let me be compared with you, or any persons you like of your party who are still alive. And consider this—whether it is more honorable and better for the state, that because of the services of a former age, prodigious though they are beyond all power of expression, those of the present generation should be unrequited and spurned, or that all who give proof of their good intentions should have their share of honor and regard from the people? Yet, indeed—if I must say so much—my politics and principles, if considered fairly, will be found to resemble those of the illustrious ancients, and to have had the same objects in view, while yours resemble those of their calumniators; for it is certain there were persons in those times, who ran down the living, and praised people dead and gone, with a malignant purpose like yourself.

You say that I am nothing like the ancients Are you like them, Æschines? Is your brother, or any of our speakers? I assert that none is. But pray, my good fellow (that I may give you no other name), try the living with the living and with his competitors, as you would in all cases—poets, dancers, athletes. Philammon did not, because he was inferior to Glaucus of Carystus and some other champions of a bygone age, depart uncrowned from Olympia, but, because he beat all who entered the ring against him, was crowned and proclaimed conqueror. So I ask you to compare me with the orators of the day, with yourself, with any one you like; I yield to none. When the commonwealth was at liberty to choose for her advantage, and patriotism was a matter of emulation, I showed myself a better counselor than any, and every act of state was pursuant to my decrees and laws and negotiations; none of your party was to be seen, unless you had to do the Athenians a mischief. After that lamentable occurrence, when there was a call no longer for advisers, but for persons obedient to command, persons ready to be hired against their country and willing to flatter strangers, then all of you were in occupation, grand people with splendid equipages; I was powerless, I confess, though more attached to my countrymen than you.

Two things, men of Athens, are characteristic of a well-disposed citizen—so may I speak of myself and give the least offense:—In authority, his constant aim should be the dignity and preeminence of the commonwealth; in all times and circumstances his spirit should be loyal. This depends upon nature; power and might upon other things. Such a spirit, you will find, I have ever sincerely cherished. Only see. When my person was demanded—when they brought Amphictyonic suits against me—when they menaced—when they promised—when they set these miscreants like wild beasts upon me—never in any way have I abandoned my affection for you. From the very beginning I chose an honest and straight forward course in politics, to support the honor, the power, the glory of my fatherland, these to exalt, in these to have been my being. I do not walk about the market-place gay and cheerful because the stranger has prospered, holding out my right hand and congratulating those who I think will report it yonder, and on any news of our own success shudder and groan and stoop to the earth, like these impious men, who rail at Athens, as if in so doing they did not rail at themselves; who look abroad, and if the foreigner thrives by the distresses of Greece, are thankful for it, and say we should keep him so thriving to all time.

Never, O ye gods, may those wishes be confirmed by you! If possible, inspire even in these men a better sense and feeling! But if they are indeed incurable, destroy them by themselves; exterminate them on land and sea; and for the rest of us, grant that we may speedily be released. from our present fears, and enjoy a lasting deliverance!

Note: After the failure of Æschines in this prosecution, he went into exile and at Rhodes established a school of oratory. It is related of him that, one day when he had read this oration of Demosthenes to his students, it was received with such vociferous applause that Æschines generously remarked, “What would you not have said had you heard him thunder out the words himself?” Read more!