Now Socrates thought that because he did not know the Persian king's inner life, he did not know his state of happiness either. I, however, most noble Prince, have been in your company and am perhaps as well acquainted with your character as anyone, and know that you delight in truth and frankness rather than in flattery and guile.
To begin with, you suspect irrational pleasures just as you do flattering men, and you endure hardship because you believe that it puts virtue to the test. And when I see you, O Prince, perusing the works of the ancients and comprehending their wise and close reasoning, I maintain that you are clearly a blessed man in that you wield a power second only to that of the gods and nevertheless use that power most nobly.
For the man who may taste of everything that is sweet and avoid everything that is bitter, who may pass his life in the utmost ease, who, in a word, may follow his own sweet will, not only without let or hindrance but with the approval of all—when that man, I say, is at once a judge more observant of the law than an empaneled jury, a king of greater equity than the responsible magistrates in our cities, a general more courageous than the soldiers in the ranks, a man more assiduous in all his tasks than those who are forced to work, less covetous of luxury than those who have no means to indulge in luxury, kindlier to his subjects than a loving father to his children, more dreaded by his enemies than are the invincible and irresistible gods—how can one deny that such a man's fortune is a blessing, not to himself alone, but to all others as well?
For in the case of the generality of men, those either in private station or holding some petty office, the individual's personal fortune is of slight account and concerns himself alone; but let untold cities yield obedience to a man, let countless nations be governed by his judgment, let tribes of men unnumbered and hostile to one another look to his prudence alone, and that man becomes the savior and protector of men everywhere—that is, if such be his type.
For when a man governs and holds sway over all mankind, his prudence avails to help even the imprudent, since he takes thought for all alike; his temperance serves to restrain even the intemperate, since his eye is over all alike; his justice gives of itself even to the unjust; and his courage is able, not only to save the less valiant, but even to fire them with greater courage.
For no one is such a coward as not to feel reassured when he follows a general with whom victory is certain, nor so exceeding indifferent as to sit at ease when he sees submitting to take orders that man to whom God has apportioned the right to give orders only, nor, again, so completely lost to a sense of shame that he can watch a man toiling in behalf of another although under no necessity to toil—and yet refuse him aid. This, it seems to me, is exactly Homer's view as well; for, after speaking of the ideal king, he concludes by saying,
And virtuous the people beneath him.
Such a king considers virtue a fair possession for others but an absolute necessity for himself. Who, in fact, must exercise greater wisdom than he who is concerned with the weightiest matters; who, a keener sense of justice than he who is above the law; who, a more rigorous self-control than he to whom all things are permissible; who, a stouter courage than he upon whom the safety of everything depends? And who takes greater delight in the works of virtue than he who has all men as spectators and witnesses of his own soul?—so that nothing he may do can ever be hidden any more than the sun can run its course in darkness; for, in bringing all other things to light, it reveals itself first.
These things I say in the full knowledge that my present statements will have to be repeated at greater length; and yet there is no danger of my appearing to speak aught in flattery, since I have given no slight nor fleeting evidence of my sincerity. If, in bygone days when fear made everyone think falsehood a necessity, I was the only one bold enough to tell the truth even at the peril of my life, and yet am lying now when all may speak the truth without incurring danger—then I could not possibly know the time for either frankness or flattery.
Again, all who act deliberately do so either for money, for reputation, or for some pleasurable end, or else, I suppose, for virtue's sake and because they honor goodness itself. But I could never bring myself to accept money from anyone, although many are willing to give it. Nay, little as I had, you will find that I not only shared it with others, but actually squandered it many a time. And what sort of pleasure was I seeking, when even those flatterers who openly follow the business acknowledge that to play the flatterer is of all things most distasteful? For what pleasure is there in praising someone else undeservedly merely to be deservedly blamed one's self?
Furthermore, flattery seems neither reputable nor honorable even when practiced to gain distinction, or from some other worthy motive. Nay, of all vices, I may say, flattery will be found to be the meanest.
In the first place, it debases a thing most beautiful and just, even praise, so that it no longer appears honest or sincere, and—what is most outrageous—it gives to vice the prizes of virtue. Flatterers, therefore, do much more harm than those who debase the coinage: for whereas the latter cause us to suspect the coinage, the former destroy our belief in virtue.
Then again, as I see the matter, we always call the bad man a fool, and so he really is; but for downright folly the flatterer outdoes all, since he is the only perverter of the truth who had the hardihood to tell his lies to the very persons who know best that he is lying. For who does not know his own business? Or who is so stupid as not to know whether work or idleness brings him joy, whether he finds pleasure in over-reaching another or in acting justly, and whether he is the slave of pleasure or a lover of noble deeds?
And, further, it seems to me that the flatterer fails worst just where he is most confident that he is succeeding—namely, in pleasing those whom he praises. Nay, he is odious rather than pleasing to them unless they be utter fools.
For example, he who congratulates a poor man on his wealth not only lies himself, but holds up to scorn the poverty of the man he congratulates. Again, does not he who praises a most ugly person for his beauty simply cast his ugliness in his teeth? Or how could he who calls a cripple able-bodied please him by reminding him of his misfortune?
The man, however, who lauds the fool for his wisdom is perhaps the most convincing of all on account of the stupidity of his hearer and thus does all the greater harm, since he induces the fellow to take his own counsel and not trust to intelligent men. But the man who extols the coward as a hero makes the most justifiable use of the folly of him who is flattered; since, if the craven believes him and attempts to perform heroic deeds, he will come to grief all the more speedily.
Yet, generally speaking, when the flatterer is found out, he is not only condemned, but hated as well, since his words are thought to be mockery; while, if he convinces one of the truth of his words, he gets no very great thanks.
For what great favor is he thought to confer by simply telling the truth? Besides, he is a much greater rascal than a lying witness: for the latter does not corrupt the judge, he merely deceives him; but the flatterer corrupts at the same time that he praises.
IMAGE: The Emperor Trajan
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