May 1983 - Interpretation

A JOURNAL OF POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY 

May 

1983 Volume 1 1 Number 2 

139 Arlene W. 

Saxonhouse 

An Unspoken Theme in Plato's Gorgias: War 

171 Mary Pollingue 

Nichols 

The Good Life, Slavery, and Acquisition: 

Aristotle's Introduction to Politics 

1 85 Catherine Zuckert Aristotle on the Limits and Satisfactions of 

Political Life 

207 Timothy Fuller 

Temporal Royalties and Virtue's Airy Voice 

in The Tempest 

225 Jeffrey Barnouw 

The Pursuit of Happiness in Jefferson, and 

its Background in Bacon and Hobbes 

249 Robert Sacks 

The Lion and the Ass: a 

Commentary 

on the Book of Genesis (Chapters 35-37)

JL JL A i^\to^ JL 

w*~J JL \*^f i^C^L l^JL v_^JL JL 

Volume ii J number 2 

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Editors John Hallowell Wilhelm Hennis Erich Hula 

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Thompson 

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Copyright 1983 

Interpretation

guest."' 

An Unspoken Theme in Plato's Gorgias: War 

Arlene W. 

University of Michigan 

Saxonhouse 

The Gorgias has since Hellenistic times had the subtitle Peri Rhetorikes. 

The dialogue has thus stood as the classic Platonic analysis of rhetoric, specif 

ically rhetoric as contrasted with and sometimes similar to philosophy. My 

argument is that the analysis of the dialogue must be extended to what I call 

its unspoken theme, that which lies behind the action and the discourse of the 

dialogue, war. In the background of this dialogue stands the Peloponnesian 

War and particularly Thucydides' account of that war. Within the dialogue, 

the central character, Callicles, stands for Athens, giving 

expression to the 

assumptions behind Athenian politics and revealing at the same time the inherent 

inconsistencies of her politics of international expansion. Both rhetoric and war 

express the search for domination which comes from the erotic longing for 

more. 

Philosophy as practiced by 

Socrates is also an eros driven activity. 

The dialogue contrasts the search for fulfilment and in the process offers the 

Platonic response to Thucydides' 

history of the war, 

as it forces us to reflect 

upon the relationship between rhetoric, war and philosophy. The following 

analysis of the Gorgias will thus of necessity interweave Socratic discourse 

with Thucydidean narrative and speech. 

"Of war and of battle, they say, so is it necessary to have a share, O 

Socrates." 

These are the first words of Gorgias. They are spoken by Callicles 

to Socrates and Socrates' companion, Chaerephon, as they 

arrive after 

Gorgias' 

rhetorical display has ended. Socrates recognizes the adage and responds: "But 

then, as the saying goes, we have come after the feast and arrive late" (447a). 

The sentiments here expressed, as numerous editors of the Gorgias have let us 

know, are worthy of Shakespeare's Falstaff, who in Henry IV, Part I, expresses 

much the same thought: "The latter end of a fray and the beginning 

of a feast / 

Fits a dull fighter and a keen 

Unlike Falstaff, however, whose trepi 

dation in the face of battles can provide much comic counterpoint to the story 

An earlier version of this paper was presented at the 1980 American Political Science Asso 

ciation Meetings in Washington, D.C. I am indebted to the reviewers for this journal for several 

helpful points and to a most thoughtful letter from Robert Eden. 

1. Act IV, scene 3. While it may make sense to arrive late for a battle, it hardly makes sense 

to arrive late for a war. Thus, the appearance of this word right at the beginning of the dialogue 

in a somewhat awkward usage should immediately 

alert us to its significance. Newhall Barker of 

The Dramatic and Mimetic Features of 

the 

"Gorgias" 

of Plato (Baltimore: Isaac Friedenwald, 

1891), p. 31, comments on the "artistic placing of the first word, polemou, which indicates the 

nature of the dialogue" but does not proceed to tell us in what way it does so.

agora," 

140 Interpretation 

of kings, Socrates is neither fearful of battles nor overanxious for feasts. The 

Symposium, for one, records his reluctance to hasten to feasts (174a, d)2 and, 

through the medium of Alcibiades' speech, Socrates' courage in battle. As be 

comes evident later in the Gorgias, Socrates neither avoids battles, sparring 

with words, nor eagerly 

to offer 

him.3 

awaits the verbal feasts which Polus and Gorgias are 

ready 

The ostensible cause of Socrates' tardy arrival is Chaerephon, 

friend. "He is responsible (aitios); he forced us to spend time in the 

Socrates' 

explains Socrates (447a). What Socrates does not explain is how Chaerephon 

could have forced Socrates to do anything. Had Socrates been eager to hear 

Gorgias, it is unlikely he would have allowed Chaerephon to restrain him. But 

Chaerephon as the cause of his late arrival has other connotations , 

if we 

keep 

in mind the story told in the Apology about Chaerephon's trip 

to the oracle at 

Delphi. We do know, however, that Chaerephon is given to great enthusiams. 

In the Charmides, his welcome to a Socrates just returning from the battle at 

Potideia is described by Socrates as reaching 

almost manic proportions 

(153b).4 

In the comedies of his time, his anemia and squeaky voice are intended to 

study.5 

reflect a man 

overly 

addicted to However, Chaerephon's enthusiasm for 

Socrates and for study does not preclude an interest in political things. In the 

Charmides, with great enthusiasm, he inquires of an indifferent Socrates the 

details surrounding the battle of Potideia, and indeed it is he who seats Socrates 

in the dialogue next to the future tyrant Critias. Nor does Chaerephon's en 

thusiasm for Socrates preclude other friends or prospective teachers. Though 

Philostratus records the insolent questioning 

of Gorgias by a Chaerephon,6 in 

the Gorgias, Chaerephon describes himself as 

friendly (philos) 

with Gorgias 

(447b). For this reason he will be able "to heal" the situation, the missed per 

formance, and have Gorgias for friendship's sake give Socrates a demonstra 

tion, if not today, then tomorrow. 

While Chaerephon is friendly with Gorgias, his association does not equal 

that of Callicles, for it is with Callicles that Gorgias is staying while in Athens. 

Callicles is gracious, and he invites Socrates and Chaerephon to visit him at 

any time to talk with Gorgias. But we do not wait for "whenever" (447b) for 

Socrates to talk with Gorgias. Rather, Socrates is eager to begin the questioning 

2. At the beginning 

of the Republic the promise of a feast is not enough to bribe Socrates to 

stay in the Piraeus. There must be as well the promise of discourse with young 

novel torch race (328a). 

men and of a 

3. Throughout the dialogue there is the leitmotif of Gorgias' and Polus' speeches as feasts 

(e.g., 447a and the elaborate comparison of a rhetor with a cook in Socrates' speech, 46^-4656). 

4. See Christopher Bruell, "Socratic Politics and Self-knowledge: An Interpretation of Plato's 

Charmides," 

Interpretation, 6 (1977), 142; also 

Apology 21a. 

5. Philostratus, Lives of the Sophists, 483. E. R. Dodds, 

"Introduction," 

Plato's "Gorgias" 

(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959). P- 6, provides a list of the various comedies in which Chaerephon 

appears. 

6. Philostratus 483.

person.10 

When 

An Unspoken Theme in Plato's Gorgias: War 141 

immediately. Thus the conversation takes place in an undefined space. All we 

are told is that it is within (endon, 447c). It is within this indefinite space that 

the interlocutors will try, not always successfully, to speak freely, to exercise 

their parrhesia (46ie, 487a, b) and it is within this space that Gorgias sits 

oracle-like, promising to answer any questions put to him by 

those who are 

eager, after Gorgias' display, to hear more and to test the apparent universal 

wisdom of this man who could stand in the theater at Athens and have the 

courage to say "Do you propose a theme."7 As at Delphi, Chaerephon, ex 

plicitly this time at the prompting of Socrates, is to ask the question which leads 

to Socrates' subsequent investigations. Thus the Gorgias, through Chaerephon's 

initial question and subsequent enthusiasm for the questioning 

of a pompous 

man before others (485c), becomes in abbreviated form the life which Socrates 

led after the fateful questioning 

of the oracle of Apollo. The undefined locale 

of the Gorgias becomes the setting for the trial of Socrates, where, as in the 

Apology, he attacks the values of Athens, its goals and the grounds on which 

it bases its actions. At the end of the dialogue, as in the Apology, he will talk 

about death, that which gives the final lie to the achievements of politics, a 

world of bodies and based on opinion.8 

Among the participants in the dialogue, Callicles is the one Platonic char 

acter, clearly identified by deme, Acharnia, who remains elusive, 

unnoted in 

any 

other ancient source. The other characters of the dialogue are known. 

who believed 

Gorgias is the famous orator and teacher from Leontini in Sicily 

that because of the limits of human reason, speech had more power over the 

soul than physical force or drugs could have over the body.9 Speech properly 

employed could be a magical potion capable of 

controlling individuals and 

cities. As we shall see, it is not the beauty of Gorgias' speech that attracts the 

youth who follow him to Callicles' house. It is a desire to learn his craft, not 

for its own sake, but for the power which it promises to one who possesses 

it. Polus is also from Sicily, but from the most prosperous and fair city 

of 

Agrigentum. Less famous and younger than Gorgias, he is known in antiquity 

as the author of a work entitled Techne, and is the recipient of somewhat 

scornful mention in the Phaedrus (267bc). Yet, it is Callicles who begins the 

dialogue, whose name signals its conclusion, whose grand speech provides the 

central, pivotal point in the dialogue. I myself have no doubt that Callicles was 

a real 

quite anonymous. 

Plato wants characters to remain unidentified 

they remain 

One can speculate on who Callicles was, as Dodds does, and then why he 

remains so elusive to modern researchers. His deme gives us some clues: 

7. Philostratus 482. 

8. Even Pericles who strives to give his city immortality 

historian Thucydides with his words who must do this. 

9. Gorgias, Encomium on Helen 11. 

10. See Dodds. p. 12. 

(Thucydides 11.43. 2) cannot; it is the


Acharnia, a thickly populated area north of Athens, suffered heavily in the first 

invasion of the Peloponnesians and the Acharnians "were for that reason deter 

mined to fight a war of revenge to a successful He thus conclusion."11 

comes 

from an area in which the aggressive prosecution of the Peloponnesian war is 

approved. His beloved gives us other clues: Demos, the son of Pyrilampos, ties 

Callicles to the leaders of Athens and to Plato.12 Dodds suggests an 

early death 

for this outspoken young man of the dialogue, but his insignificance perhaps 

also underscores the inability of the Athenians themselves to accept openly the 

expression of the ideas behind their actions in relation to other cities. Such 

language could only be part of conversations within houses, in the councils of 

government leaders, or in the works of exiled historians.13 Callicles may have 

been too ready to exercise his Athenian parrhesia publicly 

as well as privately. 

But perhaps Callicles is more than a real person who failed to become part 

of the standard discourse of the fifth and fourth centuries B.C. I would like 

to raise the question of whether Callicles with his grand speech 

defending the 

right of the stronger could indeed be Athens, Athens from 431 to 404, ex 

pressing in words the values which the Athenians try to defend in their deeds 

during the Peloponnesian War.14 He shows the same indifference to Socrates' 

counter-arguments which the Athenians showed to Socrates' questioning and 

similarly refuses to engage in the dialogue Socrates seeks on questions of the 

good life and the differences between real and false pleasures. 

Athens is at war. In 431, the forty-eighth year of the priestess-ship of 

Chrysis at Argos, in the Ephorate of Aenesias at Sparta, six months after the 

battle of Potideia, the Lacedaemonians break their thirty-year treaty 

with Athens 

after only 

fourteen years and invade Attica. The war between the two great 

powers of Greece has begun. The war will devastate much of Greece and signal 

the end of what we know as the glory of Hellas. The Athenians, as Thucydides 

has led us to believe, are 

fighting to protect the empire they 

acquired after the 

Persian Wars, while the Spartans fight from a fear of the expansion of Athenian 

power. The first year of the war is uneventful. The Thebans attack Plataea; the 

Lacedaemonians ravage the farms in the plains of Attica; Pericles speaks words 

of praise for Athens as he commemorates the Athenian dead. The next year, the 

11. K. J. Dover, Aristophanic Comedy (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University 

Press, 1972), p. 79. 

12. Plutarch, Lives. Pericles 13. 

of California 

13. Terrence Irwin, Plato's "Gorgias", translated with notes (Oxford: Clarendon Press. 

Clarendon Plato Series, 1979), p. 

that aggression by 

powerful states is all With 

175 asks: "How many would be shocked by Callicles' claim 

reference to Thucydides, he makes two 

points, "(1) Thucydides may be reporting, not what the Athenians actually say of themselves, 

but only what would be rational 

it is just and fine to do what 

they do." 

14. Cf. 492d. 

to 

say," 

and "(2) Even Thucydides' speakers do not say


war continues and the plague strikes. Pericles is fined and then voted back 

into office. 

Shortly afterwards, Pericles is dead (503c).* 

Some years later, around 427, while the war still rages, extending 

now to 

northern and western Greece, and while the Athenian subjects become restless 

and some, such as the Mitylenians, begin to rebel, Gorgias from Leontini visits 

Athens for the first time.* His mission is not to teach the art of rhetoric nor to 

display his talent before the crowds. Rather, he comes to Athens as an envoy 

for his city, requesting that the Athenians fulfill their treaty obligations and help 

the Ionian Leontines against the threatening Syracusans, allies of Sparta. His 

prose speech, of an elegance unheard before in the assembly, fascinates the 

Athenians,15 

but scholars differ in their assessment of his success.16 

In 422, as the war continues in the north and both sides begin to feel warweary, 

a young man named Demos, the son of Pyrilampos, was of such an age 

and 

beauty to become the beloved of an older man.* There follows shortly the 

Peace of Nicias, giving both sides in the war several years of respite from 

battle. But during this time another young 

man who had shown his courage in 

the battles of Delium and Potideia comes to dominate the Athenian political 

and social world. He secures for Athens alliances with the formerly pro-Spartan 

Argos, Mantineia, 

and Elis. He wins an unprecedented number of victories at 

the Olympic games. He parades adorned 

luxuriously through the city 

and he 

makes Eros with a thunderbolt his heraldic design. He spends time with and is 

in the awkward position of 

trying to seduce Socrates at the same time as being 

his beloved.* He, who speaks with a lisp, so scorned by Callicles (485b), 

persuades the Athenians to venture to Sicily and presents them with visions of 

great conquests extending even beyond the island of Sicily itself, on to Carthage 

and Libya. "We are told that Socrates the philosopher and Meton the astrologer 

did not believe that any good would come to the city from this venture. Socrates 

may have received a premonition of the future from his familiar guardian 

spirit."17 

But Alcibiades is not among those who die in the forests or salt mines 

of Sicily. He instead uses his artful speech to persuade and enchant the Spartans, 

urging them to send help to Syracuse and thus ensure the Athenian debacle in 

Sicily. 

Meanwhile in Macedonia, Archelaus, a slave to the king's brother, has 

murdered his master and his master's son, thrown the king's son down a well 

(47ia-d) and taken control of the kingdom.* Soon afterwards Archelaus be 

comes an ally of the Athenians, praised by 

them as a good man who acted with 

*A11 the events marked with an asterisk are described as 

having happened recently or being 

contemporaneous with the dialogue. 

15. Diodorus Siculus, xn.53. 

16. Compare for example the assessments in F. E. Adcock, "The Archidamian War, 431-421 

B.C.," 

The Cambridge Ancient History (Cambridge: University Press, 1927), V, p. 223, and A. F. 

Woodhead, The Greeks in the West (New York: Praeger, 1962), p. 83. 

17. Plutarch, Lives. Alcibiades 17.


enthusiasm to do whatever good he was able to do.18 Poets such as Euripides 

and Agathon spend time at his court. Socrates is invited, but refuses the invita 

tion.19 

Archelaus earns the praise of Thucydides: "On his accession he cut 

straight roads, and otherwise put the kingdom on a better footing 

as regards 

horses, heavy infantry, and other material than had been done by 

all the eight 

kings that had preceded him" (ii. 100.2). For the Athenians, he supplies the 

wood for the ship building on which their naval power is built. By the year 

399, the year in which Socrates is to be executed by the citizens of Athens, 

Archelaus will be dead, murdered at the hands of one of his countrymen, his 

beloved.20 

In 411 b.c, with the war now 

extending 

eastward to the coast of Asia 

Minor and Alcibiades back in favor in Athens, Euripides' play Antiope is per 

formed.* The twin sons of Antiope and Zeus are brought up by a shepherd and 

each turns to a different vocation; Amphion devotes himself to music, able to 

move stones with his lyre, Zethus turns to hunting and the care of his flocks, 

that is, to the acquisition of more and to the tending of what is already his 

own. On stage 

they 

debate the advantages of each life. Meanwhile, the war 

continues, Athens' government changing from democracy to oligarchy and back 

again. Aristocrates, a friend of Callicles,* and a member of the oligarchic Four 

Hundred, is part of an expedition to Arguinusae in 406 B.C. The Athenians 

win, but the generals, hindered by a storm and the confusion following the 

battle, fail to pluck the living and the dead from the ocean. The generals, among 

them Aristocrates, are tried upon their return to Athens.* Socrates, one of the 

prytanes in charge of the assembly on the day that they are to be tried, protests 

that the combined trial of all the generals is against the law,* but to no avail. 

The generals, including Aristocrates, are executed. Two years later, the war is 

over. 

The dialogue thus appears to take place 

during 

the timespan of the entire 

war. Some have suggested that the anachronisms give the dialogue a certain 

timelessness. Perhaps just the opposite is true. Perhaps they 

have the effect of 

giving the dialogue a certain timeliness, that is a close association with the war 

that dominates Athenian political and artistic life for these twenty-eight years. 

An understanding of the characters in the dialogue and their arguments cannot 

be disassociated from the political circumstances surrounding the dialogue, 

especially considering the frequency 

events are made throughout. 

with which references to precise political 

At the same time the political references tie the dialogue to the time period 

of the war, they also underscore the fictitious nature of the dialogue. This 

dialogue could never have taken place and perhaps this has something to do 

18. Dodds, p. 241. 

19. Aristotle, The Art of Rhetoric, I398a24. The excuse which Socrates gave 

according to 

Aristotle was "hubris." Whose, it is not clear. 

20. Alcibiades ii, I4id.

An Unspoken Theme in Plato' s Gorgias: War 145 

with Callicles' own elusiveness. Is he or is he not real? But the ahistoricity of 

the dialogue is important in itself. Thucydides' 

history 

of the war was tied to the 

events and speeches of the war, the details out of which an understanding of 

that war could emerge. Plato, the philosopher, not an historian, offers a fictional 

dialogue to explain the war to reveal its premises and underscore its vanity. 

The ahistorical dialogue, the dialogue which is impossible, certainly because of 

the timing but perhaps also because of the characters involved, suggests the 

necessity to diverge from what we would today call the facts of history 

to that 

truth which lies more fully in the fictions of Platonic dialogues than in the 

researches of any history. 

Polus comes from a city of such wealth that everyday household articles are 

fashioned out of gold and silver, and of such beauty that Pindar describes it as 

"glorious", a gods," 

"lofty city lavish above all in the gifts to the "the very 

eye 

of Sicily."21 Why Polus has joined Gorgias on his mission to Athens we are not 

told. His city is not pleading for Athenian aid. His city stands as one of the 

glories of Sicily, one of the few cities able to remain neutral during the Sicilian 

campaign. But that day 

when Athenian ships enter Syracuse's waters is far off 

when Gorgias arrives in Athens with Polus tagging 

along. And while we do not 

known why Polus comes to Athens, we do know why he follows Gorgias; he 

is eager for power, for the power which rhetoric gives, and he is assured by 

Gorgias that the way to get power in the rhetoric.22 

city is to learn the art of 

It is Polus' urge for power that drives him to follow Gorgias, that keeps him 

in close attendance to Gorgias, so that one day perhaps he may do more than 

simply articulate the role of rhetoric, that he may some day indeed exercise the 

power which rhetoric promises. 

Gorgias tries to define rhetoric for a Socrates eager to discover what pre 

cisely is its power, this power which Polus so earnestly seeks. Gorgias says it 

is the greatest good (megiston agathon) for human beings (anthropois, 452d). 

Presumably he means only some humans, those who know how to use it. It is 

good, because it is the cause (aition) of freedom (eleutheria) for humans. Again 

we must interpolate "some humans," because the freedom for some as it is 

developed in the next phrase by Gorgias does not mean for all, but the freedom 

to rule over others in the Gorgias does city.23 not acknowledge that the freedom 

21. Kathleen Freeman, Greek City-States (New York: W. W. Norton, 1963), p. 64; Pindar, 

Olympian Odes 11.6-10, and in. 2; and Frag. 1922.2. 

22. The word for power which runs through the dialogue is he dunamis; it is beyond my 

capacity at this point even to count how many times dunamis and rhetoric are conjoined in the first 

half of the dialogue. Only a reading of the dialogue with attention to this point would reveal 

the intensity of the usage of this term. Cf. Gorgias in the Encomium on Helen (paragraph 8) 

where he describes logos as the greatest dunastes, and comments that though logos has the smallest 

body 

and is least visible, it accomplishes the most divine erga. 

23. Cp. Diodotus' speech in Thucydides, in.45. 6.


for the rhetorician which he and Polus so praise means in turn slavery for 

someone else. The free person in Greece is not only 

the one who is not ruled 

over 

by others, but the one who rules over others, who turns others into slaves. 

Gorgias, confirming the power (dunamis) of rhetoric to Socrates, shows how 

the rhetorician can make slaves of other artisans. "With this dunamis, you 

will be able to make the doctor into a slave (doulon), the trainer into a slave 

(doulon)" 

(542e). Gorgias envisions that such a power to enslave others will 

be used for benign purposes, to persuade a sick man to listen to medical ad 

vice, or an assembly 

of Athenians to listen to the advice of a Pericles or a 

Themistocles, that the slave, whoever he or she may be, will benefit from the 

control of his or her master. 

ing 

Polus is not so benign in his visions of the power of rhetoric, 

which accord 

to him has the greatest power in the cities (megiston dunatai en tais 

the artisan 

polesin, 466b). He, unlike Gorgias, does not talk about enslaving 

to do good deeds. The man he envies, after whom he wishes to model himself, 

is the tyrant of Macdeonia. Archelaus is indeed free and powerful now, a master 

rather than a slave. Once he was the mere son of a slave to a king. Now he 

as king has achieved complete liberty to do as he wishes. Yes, he committed 

many crimes to acquire this freedom, killed many people, deceived others, but 

now he must be truly happy, having exchanged slavery for freedom. If Socrates 

does not admit that he too envies Archelaus, he is simply being obstreperous. 

Surely, Archelaus can do whatever he wishes in the city, he can take away his 

subjects' 

property, he can send them into exile, he can kill them, all without 

the fear of punishment. He has moved from a slave himself to one who makes 

slaves of others. Archelaus did not acheive this status through the art of rhetoric, 

but the effective use of speech can accomplish as much. Polus wishes to follow 

Archelaus' 

example; now, Polus is no more than a servant to Gorgias, answer 

ing Gorgias' questions for him when Gorgias is tired. Polus yearns for a life 

very different, when he no longer answers questions addressed to other people, 

when he has power, that is when he is free to do what he wants, when he wants 

and how he wants. 

Polus' 

vision is limited in many ways but the one which concerns us most is 

that it is limited by the walls of the city. The power he and indeed Gorgias as 

well search for is a power that remains within the city.24 

envision is a mastery over fellow citizens, a mastery 

The mastery they 

possible through words. 

They do not deal with mastery over other states, nor the mastery which Gorgias' 

mission is intended to avert from Leontini. As Thucydides' history so vividly 

shows, in this realm the most elegant speeches have no effect. When Gorgias 

had talked about the greatest power, rhetoric, he had talked about Pericles' and 

24. Despite the fact that Gorgias is on a mission 

concerning relations between states, he 

ignores the power of speech to influence cities as a whole. He sees only 

parts within a city. 

Could this be a sign that those scholars who assess his mission as a failure are correct? See pre 

ceding n. 16.


Themistocles' 

feats: they 

persuaded the Athenians to build walls and to build 

the harbor. What Gorgias leaves out in reference to both of these men is, of 

course, their role in the incredible expansion of Athenian hegemony, of the 

freedom Athenians exercised after the Persian Wars to enslave the islands of 

the Aegean, to take their resources in order to build up the free Athens, the 

dunastes or tyrannos of the Aegean. The power which Polus envies is rather a 

power which is exercised exclusively 

within the 

city.25 

Polus ignores those 

activities of Archelaus which strengthened the status of Macadeonia vis-a-vis 

the cities of Greece, his success in expanding Macedonian trade, in increasing 

Macedonia's allies, and in Hellenizing the barbarian state. 

Because Polus' understanding 

of power and political events is confined to 

relationships within the city, he can be, as Callicles points out so well, manipu 

lated by Socrates into confusion over what is natural and what is conventional. 

He functions within the city and his values are those of men within the city. He 

envies the actions of Archelaus, but he cannot call them good (kalon); he must 

call them shameful (aischron). He is trapped by the conflict between nature 

and convention, arguing that Archelaus' actions make him as an individual 

happy, but admitting that by convention, by the traditional values of the city, 

they are not good. Because he is limited by the perspective of the city, he 

cannot separate what exists by 

nature and what exists by convention; it is only 

once he leaves the city, once he can break away from the laws of the city that 

he can distinguish between the two. Within the city nomos is the same as physis; 

the laws of justice and injustice are not 

easily disregarded or dismissed (474cd). 

The praise of the person who disregards the nomoi flounders under Socrates' 

questioning which does indeed shift back and forth, as Callicles claims, from 

nomos to physis and back to nomos again.26 

Gorgias and Polus both become ashamed, as indeed they should when talking 

before men who are citizens, of their rejection of the traditional values of justice 

and virtue on which the city is built and according to which the city must 

function. Gorgias cannot take responsibility if rhetoric is used unjustly; Polus 

would use rhetoric to achieve unjust ends, but would not call the ends good. 

Callicles is the one who is willing to look outside the city, who is willing to 

disregard the traditional values totally and to look to a nature unlimited by the 

demands of the political community. He can envision a new meaning for justice, 

he can uphold a vision of inequality 

and the taking 

of what is not one's own. 

Callicles can look to the relationships between cities for the unconditioned 

motivations of human beings.27 Callicles sees himself as rising 

above the conflict 

between nature and convention so much so that he can unite the two concepts 

25. The use of the phrase en tais polesi is strikingly frequent in Polus' speech: 466a, b, d; 

467a (two times). Also Gorgias at 452d. 

26. E.g., 474c and the introduction of aischron (shameful) and 478a, b, d. 

27. See Arlene W. Saxonhouse. "Nature and Convention in Thucydides' History," Polity 10 

(1978), 461-487-

to," 


in a startling 

new phrase "the law of 

nature" 

(nomos tes physeos, 483c), a 

law of inequality supported by nature herself, as seen among 

animals and most 

significantly among nations where the question of right (dike) is only 

spoken 

of, but not followed. The relations between cities and the inclination to war 

among states become the model which Callicles will use to justify the actions 

he would like to take within the city if he could. This is why Callicles within 

the structure of the dialogue must expand the limited perspective of the earlier 

interlocutors beyond the city walls and why 

as his own person he must cast 

aspersions on those who have succumbed to the verbal power of the Socratic 

dialectic . 

Polus, the skittish young colt, has arrogantly 

praised the life of the tyrant. 

He envies Archelaus' power, assumes that Socrates must too, and yet has just 

agreed that rhetoric must be used to bring the malefactor, whether he or she 

be friend or family, to justice and punishment and 

help the enemy 

who has 

committed an injustice escape punishment. Callicles asks Chaerephon as one 

who knows Socrates well: "Is Socrates serious or is he 

playing?" 

(481b).28 

Chaerephon who may be an enthusiastic follower of Socrates, but who is not 

necessarily known for his wit, believes (emoi men dokei) that Socrates is in 

deed very 

Callicles' 

most eager 

serious.29 

"Ask him 

yourself," 

he urges Callicles, repeating exactly 

advice to Socrates earlier in the dialogue (447c). "By the gods, I am 

and so he does, adding that if what Socrates has said and Polus 

has agreed to is true, life would be turned upside down (anatetrammenos , 

481c). Socrates does not at once answer the question posed to him. Instead, he 

talks of 

suffering and of love. 

"O Callicles, if people had not the same 

suffering (pathos), but there was 

a certain 

suffering for some men and another for others, and one of us suf 

fered (espaschen) a private suffering (idion ti pathos) different from others it 

would not be easy to demonstrate (epideixasthai) to another one's own suf 

fering (pathema). I say this knowing that I and you now happen to be suf 

fering (peponthotes) the same thing, both being in love with two beloveds. I 

Alcibiades the son of Clinias and Philosophy, you the demos of Athens and 

[Demos] the son of Pyrilampos" (48icd). The discourse between Callicles and 

Socrates is to begin from a similarity of experiences, from a 

companionship in 

suffering. The epistemic basis for the dialogue between Socrates and Callicles 

is not reason, but the pain which will 

keep surfacing in the subsequent dialogue. 

Their common pain or suffering is love, the sense of lack, of needfulness. 

The Symposium is the locus classicus for the relationship between suffering 

28. At the beginning of the dialogue, Callicles had also turned to Chaerephon to learn Socrates' 

state of mind. "Is Socrates eager (ephithumei) to hear Gorgias?" he asks (447b). Callicles appears 

to have difficulty confronting Socrates directly. 

29. This does not Callicles' 

necessarily mean that Chaerephon is correct. One cannot answer 

question without further consideration of the attempt 

by Euthyphro to bring his father to justice.

Symposium." 


and love.30 Surrounding Socrates' famed speech, there are the speeches of Ari 

stophanes and Alcibiades. While Socrates talks, through the person of Diotima, 

also of pain and of a 

longing to be satisfied, he envisions a final satisfaction, 

which, however, can only be reached by the separation of the soul from the 

needs of the body, by the soul's ascent to a vision of true beauty 

which exists 

independently of the body and provides the lover with a nonphysical immor 

tality (212a). The satisfaction of true love can occur only 

when the human 

being ceases to be bounded by the needs of the body; political life focused 

on human beings in their cities is centered on the activity 

of bodies in relation 

to one another bodies organized in varied units in the city, bodies which fight 

to preserve the existence of the city, bodies which must be housed, clothed and 

fed.31 

The suffering of the body which feels love, a lack of what is outside it, 

can only cease with the abstraction from body, not before. The suffering, in 

other words, can only cease when the human being becomes divine. 

The speeches of both Aristophanes and Alcibiades refuse to deny the needs 

of the body, refuse to accept a solution which abstracts from body as Socrates, 

appearing to be convinced by Diotima, seems willing to do. They emphasize 

the longing of the body, the pains which dominate the body as it tries to fulfill 

itself, to attain a physical 

immortality 

or at least a physical completion. Both 

speeches 

by Aristophanes and Alcibiades emphasize the relationship between 

love and suffering. Aristophanes' halves search, often fruitlessly, for their other 

half. 

Alcibiades' 

satisfaction with his life before the Athenian demos is ques 

tioned, made to seem 

lacking by the presence, the words, the music of his 

Socrates. Eros is disruptive. It does not let the lover live in happy self-satisfac 

tion; it forces her to seek to possess what is outside her, be it the demos of 

Athens, the Demos of Pryilampos, or the true beauty capable of perception 

only through the mind. Eros creates longing and the pain so evident in the 

language of Aristophanes and Alcibiades. Only Diotima offers a way out of that 

pain in the state of 

unity with the beautiful. But at that point, the lover is 

no longer human, no longer distinct from that which she longs after, from 

that which she loves. The lover in a sense has died and become one with her 

beloved, has become a god. To be human is to desire, to lack, to have eros. 

Callicles and Socrates are driven by these human desires; they both love and 

both suffer. 

they 

It is philosophy 

which will stand at the end of Socrates' speech as the test 

for the political Callicles. Callicles must respond to the consistency of philos 

ophy (482a), but he cannot. He makes arguments from politics, while Socrates 

makes arguments from philosophy, from the vision which Diotima held before 

him of an eternal, unchanging beauty, an eternal, unchanging truth. However, 

30. The analysis in this section owes a great deal to the article 

by Martha Nussbaum, "The 

Speech ot Alcibiades: A reading of Plato's 

131-172. 

31. Cf. Republic u.369-374d. 

Philosophy and Literature 3 (1979),

others.32 


the solution which Diotima offers takes humans away from their bodies and 

thus rejects the political. Aristophanes and Alcibiades, the consumately political 

men, each in their own way are tied to the body 

yearnings can never be satisfied. 

They continue engaging 

and thus tied to politics. Their 

in activities of the 

city 

as each searches for a physical completion which can never be achieved. 

Thus, the polis and the political 

being strike out on new ventures. If one of 

Aristophanes' 

halves does not find its mate in one person, it continues its 

search to the next hemisphere of appropriate sex, reaching forever to others for 

an unattainable completion. Alcibiades does not 

stay by Socrates; he is drawn 

by the love of praise, of wealth and other bodies. Athens, the tyrant of the 

Aegean, does not stay satisfied with power over her empire. She pursues more, 

drawn by the wealth and challenge of Sicily; she does not herself rest, nor does 

she give rest to 

Pericles tried during the war to make her whole, to 

have her cease her endless search for more, for the unattainable completion.33 

But the wholeness Pericles offers, as we shall see, is a completion which rises 

out of "human flesh and color and other mortal nonsense to a divine beauty" 

(21 1 e). Political men, the citizens and leaders of Athens, do not desire the 

satisfaction of nonphysical wants alone. Neither Callicles nor Polus wants the 

power to persuade in speech alone, the power over the opinions of others. 

They 

want that power so that they may have power over men's and women's bodies. 

They want to be able through their power in the city to satisfy 

and longings of their physical being. 

the varied wants 

Thucydides' 

History traces the effects of human passions on the relation 

ships between and within cities. The fear of Athens is what starts the war 

(whatever the prophases, excuses, may be). The desire for more drives the 

Athenians on to invade Sicily. Eros is there as well, not always 

fully articulated, 

yet motivating the actors in this greatest of upheavals. Pericles, praising Athens 

as he commemorates her dead, exhorts her citizens to become lovers (erastes) of 

Athens. "Feast your eyes on her each 

her lovers" (11.43. 1). 

Pericles' 

day," 

he says to them, "until you become 

beautiful speech is intended to make Athens 

beautiful, capable of creating a longing, a passion for her, a passion which will 

make the Athenians forget themselves and think only of her, their beloved.34 It 

is through her that they will reach a condition of immortality, that they will be 

defined not 

by their bodies which die, but by the memories which will be their 

immortal sepulchres (11.43. 3). For Pericles, the city is what the beautiful is 

for Diotima. They both lift the individual out of her body and tie her to that 

32. Thucydides 1.70.9. 

33. Thucydides 11. 65.7). 

34. See Nussbaum, p. 156, on the role of the eromenos, the beloved, as an unmoving object 

to be desired, in Greek homosexuality. She effectively applies here the analysis of K. J. Dover, 

Greek Homosexuality (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1978), to the study of Platonic 

thought.

eromenos.^ 


which will last forever; they both give human beings an immortality 

which was 

previously reserved for the gods; they both defy the limitations of the body, one 

through the political devotion of the citizen, the other through the inquiries of 

the philosopher. 

They 

stand in opposition in their struggle for the same goal. 

However, both Thucydides and Socrates show this love to be ultimately 

impossible. The Athenian erastes does not survive 

long beyond Pericles' speech. 

The abstract love of Athens, of her beauty, is hard to sustain once the plague 

strikes the bodies of the men and women in Athens. Pericles must make clear 

in his next speech why Athens is to be loved. It is no longer for the beauty of 

her politeia and the life she creates. These fade quickly before the physical 

traumas of war and illness. She is to be loved because she protects and satisfies 

the needs of the bodies of the individuals who comprise the city, because 

without her welfare the individual's welfare would be sacrificed. Individual 

good fortune is meaningless without the city to protect that fortune. The beauti 

ful Athens of the funeral oration becomes no more than a 

tyranny (11.63. 2) 

balancing hazardously 

between the complete domination of others and the po 

tential subjection to others. Eros for Athens the city, despite all of Pericles' 

verbal and physical efforts to beautify her, fails to provide the motivating force 

for the Athenians, and eros disappears from Thucydides' history. That is, it 

disappears until Book VI, until both Sicily 

desired, to become the 

Sicily]" 

and Alcibiades stand there to be 

"And eros fell on all alike to set sail [for 

(vi.24.3). The citizens, no longer pressed to love and desire some 

thing so abstract as a politeia, can desire something tangible, something which 

relates to their bodies and not to their minds alone: the wealth of Sicily and, 

indeed, the body of Alcibiades. The static condition of contemplation, or the 

eros satisfied, asked for by Pericles did not lead anywhere. Rather, the eros for 

bodies, for more, does; it leads to Sicily, the home of Polus and Gorgias.36 

It is precisely the eros for particulars that moves polities along. The Spartans, 

characterized by their hesuchia, their quiet, their moderation, their freedom 

from longing, stay within, become mired in their ways, lack adventure and 

allow others to grow while 

they remain still. The pain or suffering, the wanting 

of more which drives the Athenians to become an empire is what leads to their 

greatness, what makes their defeat worthy 

of the attention of the greatest his 

torian as the greatest event ever. The eunomia and passivity 

of the Spartans 

leaves them as still as stones or as dead as corpses (49e).37 

When Callicles speaks violently and forcefully in the middle of the Gorgias, 

35. It is interesting to note that it is in the same book as the decision to go to Sicily that 

Thucydides includes, totally out of context, the love story of Harmodius and Aristogeiton and 

shows how eros here influenced political events (vi. 55-59). (Words derivative from eros recur 

through these passages.) 

36. The relationship between Gorgias and Sicily is underscored in the dialogue by the Sicilisms 

used by Gorgias. I must rely here on the interpretation of others, e.g.. Barker, p. 3, who cites 

450b as an example pointed to by the scholiast Olympiodorus. Dodds, p. 196, is skeptical. 

37. For the above analysis, see the Corinthians' speech in Thucydides, 1. 68-71.


he speaks not of Athens, nor of Sparta; he speaks not of Potideia nor Corcyra, 

but of nature and the natural drive for more, for more than what one has, a 

drive which can only be restrained by the enchanting words of the weak, of 

the passive, those who do not have the strength of character to acquire more, 

to seek constantly to satisfy never-ending 

needs and desires. These are the 

many 

who for their own preservation must praise temperance. Callicles does 

not mention Sparta or Sicily or Athens, but the views he expresses remind us 

of the relationships between such states, 

relationships which have gone unnoted 

in the discourse of the earlier speakers and which now rise to the surface as 

the city is seen not only from within its walls, but as part of a larger world 

where the possibilities of wholeness and completion are even more limited. 

Callicles" 

grand speech in the middle of the dialogue bears a careful exami 

nation. It is complex, divided into two parts, and not at all times coherent or 

consistent. It comes in response to Socrates' speech about love; Socrates has 

talked about the suffering of the lover, the variability of the beloved (that 

is, all except philosophy) and the consequent variety 

and often irreconcilable 

demands beloveds place on their lovers. Only philosophy, Socrates claims, does 

not ask him to be discordant (asymphonon) with himself (482c). Callicles 

does not respond directly, just as Socrates did not respond to Callicles directly 

when Callicles had asked whether Socrates was serious in his arguments with 

Polus. Callicles ignores the speech about love. Perhaps here he thinks that 

Socrates is playing, whereas in fact, it may be here that Socrates is indeed 

most serious, 

since until we understand the nature of our loves and passions as 

human beings, and particularly 

of our sufferings which come from a sense of 

what is lacking; we shall never know whether our lives are to be turned upside 

down or not. Callicles instead focuses on two different kinds of suffering, not 

those that come from the physical lack of what one yearns for, but those that 

come from shame, from a shame derived from what Callicles sees as a false 

dichotomy between nature and convention, and the enslaving of free men. 

Callicles begins with an accusation: "O Socrates, you act like an insolent 

youth, but really you are not more than a demagogue" (482c). Socrates makes 

speeches to appeal to the many, to the demos which is the beloved of Callicles. 

Socrates is trying to subvert Callicles and transfer the demos to himself. Three 

times in the next few lines Callicles is to call Socrates a demagogue, but four 

times he accuses Socrates of making others suffer, of being the cause for pain. 

Callicles seems here, as indeed elsewhere in this speech, confused. The dema 

gogue strokes the beast so as to make it satisfied, happy, willing 

to perform 

whatever task the demogogue asks of it. It is the demagogue, according to 

Socrates, who is pained 

by the disharmony within himself, disharmony caused 

by the variability of the many, by the constantly changing whims of those 

he seeks to please. But Callicles sees it otherwise; he paints the demagogue


Socrates as the one who makes others suffer. Does Callicles know what he is 

talking about? Is his grand speech flawed, as suggested by 

this initial equation 

of 

demagoguery and the suffering of the listeners, rather than demagoguery and 

the pleasing, soothing phrases Gorgias teaches? This is not the only problem 

in his grand and central speech. 

Many more are to come. 

According to Callicles, the suffering 

which Socrates causes comes from 

shame. The political, the public man is driven on 

by shame, by how he appears 

to others, by how the many view him. His value comes not from himself, but 

from the opinions of others. To be ashamed in front of others leads to suffering 

because it suggests a denial of However, esteem.38 while 

suffering 

from shame may lead to a withdrawal, 

which comes 

a removal of the self from public view 

as both Gorgias and Callicles try to do (458b, 497bc, 505d), the suffering 

which comes from eros, which Socrates and Callicles share, leads to action 

the action of pursuit of power or the beautiful. The suffering 

which Socrates 

causes to others comes, on Callicles' account, from Socrates' refusal to allow 

others to distinguish between nature and convention, to confuse the two and 

thus force others to say what they do not believe and cannot defend, for 

example, that justice and equality are noble. What public man needing to 

appeal to the many for his power would dare to say that justice is not noble, 

that virtue is not good? What public man in a 

democracy 

would dare to so of 

fend the many by openly acknowledging a doctrine of injustice and inequality? 

The Athenians, speaking to the Spartans before the war started, could not do 

it. The Corinthians had come to speak before the Spartans to urge them into war 

against Athens. The Corinthians had turned traditional words of commendation 

into words of condemnation. Sophrosune, moderation, has led to an inability to 

deal with affairs outside (ta exo pragmata, 1 .68. 

activity, makes them responsible for the slavery 

1). 

Spartan hesuchia, in 

of their friends and allies 

(1.69. 1). The Spartans are trampled on, punched in the face, and leave their 

friends unaided in situations of danger. Because they do not act to stop the 

movements of the enslaving Athenians, the Spartans are the true enslavers. 

They sit back, nursing their traditional values while the Athenians actively 

pursue more, that is, harm for Sparta's allies and for all of Greece. But even 

after this speech 

by the Corinthians, questioning 

and suggesting the danger of these virtues when one is talking 

the value of traditional virtues 

about relation 

ships between cities, the Athenian envoys who happen to be in Sparta at the 

time find it impossible to isolate their actions from traditional values. Rather 

they must argue: "Not unreasonably (oute apeikotos) do we possess what 

we 

have" 

(1.73. 1). The history 

saviour of Greece by providing 

of the Persian Wars where Athens was the 

the three most important elements in the de 

feat of the Persians (troops, leadership, and the most unhesitating enthusiasm, 

1.74. 1 ), gives them the honor and the prestige, the pride to stand where 

they 

38. Cf. Thrasymachus' 

blush, Republic 350d.

1 

submi 


do with regard to the empire 

they have. "We are worthy (axioi), O Lacedae 

monians, because of the enthusiasm shown then. . 

hostility 

(epiphthonos)" 

of their strength 

they 

(i .75. 

). They 

not to deserve so much 

did not act from the view that because 

should rule over Greece. Rather the blame must lie on 

the shoulders of the Spartans who let the allies fall under Athenian domination 

and forced the Athenians to rule. And while it may be a necessity 

lesser (hesso) are controlled by the more powerful (dunatoterou) , 

are worthy (axioi) of their position (1.76.2) 

justice and 

equality 

would be. 

that the 

the Athenians 

and indeed more eager to show 

in their dealings with their subjects than the Spartans 

In this public speech the Athenians, despite the opening given them by the 

Corinthians, show their deference to the conventional values of good and bad, 

virtue and justice. They are ashamed before the public to say what is true by 

nature. This they can do only in the privacy of a meeting 

with the leaders of 

Meios. There the language of values is discarded. Don't talk to us of right and 

wrong. You know as well as we that right "in human speech is judged from 

an equal 

necessity while the strong do what they 

can and the weak 

(v. 88). There the necessity 

of nature dominates and the strength of the Athen 

ians alone justifies her conquest. In the confines of the meeting room in Meios, 

the Athenians do not speak as public men concerned with the effect of their 

words on others or with the shame that may 

come to them for their praise of 

injustice, for their praise of inequality, for their exclusive concern with selfinterest. 

Thus, they do not have to hide their ambition for power and domination 

with fancy 

phrases of worth and recollections of noble deeds of the past. The 

demands of nature are 

starkly stated: the strong 

rule over the weak. And this 

is not 

only necessary, but approved 

by the gods (v.105.1). Right is not what 

appeals to the many, but what physis demands. 

Both Gorgias and Polus are like the Athenians at Sparta, unable to give 

up 

noble 

sounding phrases of justice and virtue, of equality and goodness. They 

are trapped by a Socrates words" 

"working evil with (483a), who sees in 

their reasons for studying 

rhetoric the same aims which the Athenians had as 

they expanded their empire, the desire for domination over others, to become 

dunastai, to be free men who enslave others, and to be unjust rather than 

suffer injustice. Callicles shakes off the chains of traditional values which limit 

the perspectives of Gorgias and Polus; he speaks as the Athenian leaders at 

Meios do, within the walls of some undefined space, given the freedom to speak 

by Socrates and which the Athenians took upon themselves as they 

talked to 

the leaders of Meios. He openly declares what others could not; perhaps they 

held back because of fear, but more likely they 

were restrained because they 

were unable to articulate the assumptions which 

underlay their statements con 

cerning good and bad, just and unjust. 

These traditional values cited in the earlier sections of the dialogue belong 

not to the real man, the aner, the one who can take more (483b). the one who


according to Callicles is able to bring to completion whatever he thinks about 

(491b).39 

They belong to the slave (andrapodos, 483b), the weakling, the one 

who cannot act whatever he "may think, for whom it is better to die than to live 

and who must call greediness (to pleonektein) unjust (483c). Callicles ap 

pears certain that it is better to live than to die. Only 

a slave would crave 

death. Life for Callicles is the passionate life, a life of constantly seeking more; 

it is the Hobbesian life where one's desires can never be fully satisfied, only 

briefly met and then instantly 

reignited. Not to have passions is to be dead. 

The real man is the eternal consumer. He seeks to satisfy his passions constantly 

and is unconcerned about the absence of an end to those passions, a final 

resting place, a finis ultimus. The slave seeks death because he seeks cessation 

from passions which can never be satisfied and thus never afford him any 

pleasures. 

We must not forget that this speech was prefaced by Socrates' speech on 

love and the suffering of the lover. Socrates the philosopher does not stop 

searching; his passion for truth and 

beauty do not come to an end either, so 

long 

as he lives as a human being. The end to the philosophic eros, as Diotima 

describes it (and indeed as it could be inferred from the Republic), w is a death 

to the life which both Callicles and Socrates know of as eternal searching. For 

Socrates death may be a resolution, a completion, though his possibly comic 

vision in the Apology (4oe-4ic) suggests that his life of eternal questioning 

would not 

necessarily end with death. For Callicles death can only 

be a sign 

of defeat, of benefit only to those who do not know how to live well, to 

satisfy 

their own passionate desires at the expense of others. Not to be able 

to control and dominate the activities of others, not to be able to defend one 

self or those one loves, to allow oneself to be trampled in the mud, such a life 

cannot be worth living. 

The importance of domination for human happiness, this Callicles knows; 

this he asserts declaratively. When Callicles analyzes the conditions and causes 

of freedom and slavery, he begins to speculate; he begins to hesitate. Oimai, 

I 

believe, he says (483b). He no longer knows. The weak are the ones who 

establish the nomoi, the traditions and the values which limit and enslave the 

actions of strong 

men. The Athenians declare to the Spartans who stand in a 

position of weakness vis-a-vis Athens: "Calculating what is in your interest, 

now you make reference to the language of justice, which has never turned 

anyone away from getting more (pleon echein) 

who had the strength to ac 

quire it" (1.76.2). The language of justice, in other words, is the discourse 

of those who are weak. The weak fear the stronger (erromenesterous 

kai dunatous, 483c); they fear that the strong 

will take more than their fair 

share, as indeed the Athenians did in Greece. And so the weak, for example 

39. Cf. the strikingly similar language in the Corinthians' speech: epitelesai ergoi ha an 

gndsin. 1.70.2. 

Callicles' 

40. vi.5o6e; vn.533a. 

strong men are hikanoi ontes ha an noesosin epitelein.


the Spartans (1.86. 1-5), say that the Athenian actions are evil, that they are 

unjust and not in accordance with the nomoi. To want more than one's fair 

(equal) share is condemned by those who are weak, by 

the slaves who cannot 

city. It 

satisfy their passions and who envy the truly strong man or the strong 

is the weak and worthless, or so Callicles believes (oimai, 483c), who love 

equality. 

Callicles appears here as no friend to democracy. But we must be careful. 

Just moments before, Socrates had described Callicles' dual love, the two 

"demoses", 

them. Certainly 

rejection of equality 

and how Callicles must alter his views and his language to please 

the Athenian demos could not be gratified to hear 

Callicles' 

or could they? If we focus on the relationships beween 

states rather than the relationships within states, then Callicles' arguments do 

indeed please the Athenians, who enslaved the rest of Greece and rejected the 

enchanting language of dike as they 

enlarged their empire. Pericles admits to 

the disheartened Athenians: the taking of the empire which they hold like a 

have been unjust (adikon), but to let it go would be dangerous 

tyrant may 

(11. 63. 2). The city 

must be viewed from two perspectives. Within, the demo 

cratic politeia demands equality among its citizens, isonomia; its unity derives 

from this equality binding all citizens together into a coherent whole. Without, 

the city stands in unequal relationship to her neighbors; the city 

stands as 

deficient, desirous of more, eager to take what is not its own, pleon echein, 

to affirm a condition of 

inequality 

rather than equality. Callicles reveals in the 

early part of his speech the incompatibility between the ground rules of action 

within the city and the ground rules which apply outside. He appeals to the 

demos, as does the beloved of Socrates, not 

by approving of their democratic, 

egalitarian principles, ones which Pericles conjures up when trying 

to make 

Athens whole and beautiful (11.37. 1-2), but rather 

by encouraging 

the 

demos' 

vision of itself as comprising the citizenry 

of the 

super-city.41 

When Callicles describes the enslaving of the real man by the many, the 

chains to which he refers serve as a metaphor for language, words of praise 

and words of blame. Words, 

Socrates' 

words, the words of the many, can 

make the strong feel shame, can restrain a Polus or an Alcibiades and make 

even a master of language such as Gorgias flustered. Words have the capacity 

to affect actions, to enslave the powerful. Gorgias is right. It is the power of 

words from which Callicles tries to break away in the first half of his speech 

and yet to reassert in the second half when he turns to relations within the city, 

where a common language and the common values associated with a common 

language are crucial. To break away from the power of words Callicles turns 

to nature, first to animals (en wis allois zoiois, 483d) tor whom there is no 

language of justice and injustice, to whom the dictates of nature speak directly, 

without the intervention of morals and virtues, and demand that the stronger 

41. Cf. Alcibiades' speech to the Athenians, esp. vi. 18.3-7.


have more than the weaker, that the lion in all his generosity takes all. After 

suggesting that this is true as well in whole cities and races, Callicles turns for 

his examples to barbarians, those who for the Greeks represent the uncivilized, 

animal-like beings who do not speak Greek, saying only bar-bar-bar, who have 

no language of justice and virtue. "With what right (poioi dikaidi) did Xerxes 

march against Greece, or his father against the Scythians? Or one would be 

able to mention myriad other cases of the 

sort" 

(483de). But Callicles does not 

provide us with more examples. Is it because he has realized the inappropriateness 

of his two examples, both of whom were defeated by 

the weak native 

inhabitants in Scythia and Greece? Or is it because he suddenly remembers the 

historian of those wars, Herodotus, who often makes clear that those who invade 

with no right, those who take more than their share and overstep their bounds, 

are punished 

by the gods whose jealousy (phthonos) 

can never be escaped? 

Callicles avoids the issue but has not Plato played with Callicles' speech, given 

him a set of false examples to prove his central but dubious point? Has not 

Plato undercut Callicles' purpose 

by making him appear foolish? 

Callicles ignores the issue of the defeats faced by Darius and Xerxes by 

turning next to the gods, to swearing by Zeus (traditionally the distributor of 

justice) that there is (or so he believes, oimai, 483c) a nomos tes physeos 

which the Persian tyrants followed in their invasions of weaker lands. But this 

nomos tes physeos may be quite different from what Callicles envisions, since 

in neither case did Zeus smile on the adventures of the invaders, 

of those who 

tried to take more than their share. The unmentioned example behind this out 

burst is, of course, Athens. The Athenians, like the barbarians and like the 

animals, are not restrained as they 

assert their dominion over others. Concern 

with one's fair share does not matter as 

they subdue one state after another, as 

they satisfy their desire for more. They are acting 

on the principles which 

Callicles suggests are endorsed 

by the gods, which the Athenians themselves, 

as the war recorded by Thucydides progresses, also suggest are santioned 

by 

the gods (v. 105. 1-3). 

But Callicles turns quickly from nations to men, to individuals. He does 

not stay long in the realm of relationships between states where his examples 

have raised doubts about the validity of his beliefs, about the future expansion 

of Athenian hegemony. Rather, he considers the fate of one caught within 

the structure of the city, within a city 

justice is used, where the strong men among 

(katadouloumetha. 483c) by our saying that equality 

where the language of justice and in 

us are charmed and enslaved 

is good and just. The 

real man, the man having a strong enough nature (physin hikanen, 484a), would 

flee our charms, (or so Callicles believes, oimai, 484a), and our words (gram 

mata) and laws which oppose nature (para physin, 484a). He would stand 

forth revealing himself as our ruler and us as his slaves; there the justice of 

nature would shine forth. Callicles here chooses to talk about a man, but he 

describes again the actions of the Athenians, who in their relations with other

[Pindar] 

truth" 


cities of Greece have shown this independence of the old values, who have 

rejected the idea that equality 

is good and just in relationships between states, 

and who stand forth revealing the true justice of nature. 

Callicles next adds to the evidence from nature (animals) and history the 

words of the pious poet from Thebes, who proclaimed that Nomos, the king 

of men and of gods, turns violence into justice, that nomos, presumably the 

nomos tes physeos which Callicles had just proclaimed, supports the actions of 

Heracles as he steals the cattle of Geryon, without payment and without sale 

(484b). However, as Martin Ostwald has pointed out in but one of several 

attempts to discover the meaning of this cited passage, the "interpretation bears 

the stamp of the nomos-physis controversy, 

which did not flourish until several 

decades after Pindar's death, and it is hazardous to retroject into Pindar' s poem 

views which were articulated 

only by Nor 

a later generation. . 

is it likely 

that Pindar wrote the poem to support the view that heroic morality is law unto 

itself makes a special point of . 

emphasizing 

Heracles and of stressing the arete of his opponent Diomedes."42 Callicles, 

unheroic qualities in 

though, does not catch this subtlety. He does not see the alternative reading 

which would suggest that the strong only declare what is just, or as another 

Platonic character phrased it, justice is the interest of the stronger.43 

Callicles 

does not know the poem well, neither the words, he admits (484b), nor, we 

may surmise, the meaning 

of the poem. He must thus turn to paraphrasing. He 

does not spend his time memorizing poems, the activity for the affected, the 

effete, those who do not act. He knows as little about 

poetry 

at this point as he 

does about philosophy, 

to the second half of his speech. 

which he now urges Socrates to abandon as he moves 

Callicles is eager to reveal the truth, his truth, to Socrates as he starts this 

second half. He had called Socrates "in 

(482c) a demagogue at the begin 

ning of the first half of his speech, but he did not understand the meaning of 

the word demagogue, much less the truth. Again he claims he is going to 

turn to the truth (484c), but his two truths are irreconcilable. One truth, that 

Socrates is a demagogue, hardly conincides with the second truth that Socrates 

as a philosopher will be unable to defend himself before the many. 

Callicles' 

understanding of what is true is not consistent from one moment to the next, 

unless we were to see him as equating philosophy and demogoguery, but this 

he does not do. His argument is that the philosopher does not understand how 

to function before the masses, to control the many rather than be controlled by 

them. 

Callicles is inconsistent precisely because he makes a fundamental shift as 

he moves from one part of his speech to the next. In the first part, he had 

42. "Pindar, Nomos, and Heracles," in Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, 69 (1965), p. 

123. See also the references in A. E. Taylor, Plato: The Man and His Work (Cleveland and New 

York: World Publishing, 1956), p. 117, n. 2; and Dodds, pp. 270-272. 

43. Republic, 1.338c.


dealt with the superman or supercity, the Athens of Greece. He had talked there 

about the relationship of one city to another, the law of power and of force, the 

realm in which force and fraud are The virtues.44 second half of the speech deals 

with relationships within the city a city based on an equality 

which had been 

denied in the first half. The second half deals with the survival of individuals 

within the set of political relationships among 

equal citizens survival, 

not 

leadership, is the topic of the second part of Callicles' speech. What is neces 

sary between states is different from what is needed within states. The opposi 

tion in the first half of the speech was between dike, justice, the battle cry 

of 

the weaker, and those who are strong, who deny equality. Within cities, how 

ever, as it is posed 

by Callicles, there is a conflict between philosophy 

which 

assumes an 

inequality between better and worse individuals, between better and 

worse pleasures, and politics which assumes an equality of all citizens, good 

and bad, before the law. 

Callicles does not refer 

immediately 

to politics as he downgrades philosophy; 

rather the phrases he uses suggest the level of politics, that of reputation, of 

seeming, of appearance. One must have the reputation of 

being kalos kagathos 

or being an eudokimos aner (a respected man, 484d), and one must know 

the pleasures and passions of others, what appeals to them and what will repel 

them. Philosophers remain not 

only nomon aperioi (inexperienced in the laws) 

but unable to manipulate the opinions of the many. 

They 

are thus laughable, 

worthy of such scorn as Polus heaps on Socrates (462e), rather than esteem. 

They are laughable whether they 

participate in private or in public affairs, just 

as or so Callicles believes (oimai, 484c) are hoi politikoi when 

they spend 

time in the activities of the philosophers, as indeed Callicles becomes by the 

end of this dialogue. 

The inconsistency is transparent and has been frequently pointed out. First, 

Callicles encourages the total disregard of the opinions of the many, their 

enchanting phrases, their enslaving nomoi, and 

subsequently 

he encourages 

attention to the opinions of the many, the weak who have enslaved the superheroes. 

How can we reconcile these two views? We can do so only 

if we 

recognize that Callicles is distinguishing, albeit not clearly, between relation 

ships within and relationships without the city. The city 

cannot endure 

easily 

the individual who stands over all, the Alcibiades, the Themistocles, even the 

Pericles.45 

It cannot survive the superhero and the praise of 

inequality 

first part. The Archelaus, so admired by Polus, is to be killed by 

own men. 

of the 

one of his 

Callicles quotes more lines of poetry; 

this time he turns to a more contem 

porary author, Euripides, an Athenian. Now that he talks about relationships 

within states, he turns to a poet from his own 

city 

rather than to a poet who 

44. Hobbes, Leviathan, ed. Michael Oakeshott (Oxford: Blackwell, i960), p. 83 (Ch. XIII). 

45. Socrates makes a point later in the dialogue of emphasizing how the great political leaders 

of Athens were all badly treated by the demos (515c and 5l6e).


speaks for all of Greece. He quotes from a passage most likely 

spoken by 

Zethus the herdsman in Euripides' Antiope. We all praise that which we do 

best. It is a plea for individuality, a recognition of the different abilities which 

we all have. It is from such natural difference, Socrates assures in the Repub 

lic, that the true city 

triot Euripides. The most correct approach 

is built. But Callicles does not agree with his compa 

or so Callicles believes (oimai, 

485a) is to partake of two ways of life and then choose one over the other, the 

Euripides' 

chosen one always being politics. He does not encourage the diversity 

Zethus praises and he does not encourage the pursuit of philosophy. The 

eudokimos aner is the one who appears to have followed the proper pattern of 

growth, the one who no longer engages in the pursuits of a child when he is 

old, the one who no longer engages in philosophizing 

when he is of an age to 

enter politics. 

Yes, philosophy is fine when one is a youth, but it is a thing 

most laughable 

when an old man practices it. The philosopher is different from the many. He 

scorns their opinions and their uniformity. He stands aloof, off in a corner 

whispering, with two or three other men, not joining in the center of activities, 

the varied meetings of the many. He is not a part of the whole and does not 

care about the opinions and values of the whole. The individual, independent 

of and uninterested in the opinions of the whole, who stood at the center of the 

earlier section of Callicles' speech, is now seen as threatening the survival and 

freedom of the city 

on which Callicles depends. 

With the shift in focus from the first half of the speech to the second half, 

there is a comparable shift in the meanings of slavery and freedom. At first the 

free man is the one who breaks the chains of the nomoi, or the Athens who 

subdues other cities and threatens those who do not submit. This is the free 

dom Polus and Callicles want. The second concept of freedom is one centered 

around the man who submits to his chains, the "liberal" man who is judged by 

his peers as noble, who possesses the requisite social graces and who can 

help 

his friends when 

they need his help.46 The slave in the first section is one 

held back by the opinions of the many; the slave in the second section is the 

one who does not attend to the opinions of the many, the one like Socrates 

whose pursuit of philosophy shows him to be illiberal, to lack the graces of a 

well educated man, to continue to lisp and to be unable to help 

his friends or 

harm his enemies. Such an individual is unmanly (anandron), like a slave 

(douloprepes), unfree (aneleutheron, 485b-d) such a man deserves a boxing 

around the ears, just as does a slave who is too stupid to understand directions. 

The free man (eleutheros) is the one trained to earn respect in battle and in 

speech, the one trained to participate in the activities of the city. 

But once again, as at the beginning of the dialogue, Callicles appears gen 

erous. He appears liberal, eager to help 

his friends. He makes a speech to 

46. See Dodds, p. 274.

. There 


Socrates, one filled with good 

feeling (eunoia, 486a), not meant to anger 

him. It is a speech modeled again on that of the restless and active Zethus in 

Euripides' 

Antiope, Zethus whose advice he had rejected moments before. The 

conceit is extensive. "I happen to suffer (peponthenai) what Euripides' Zethus 

does before Amphion. . 

come words to me to speak to you such 

as he [Zethus] spoke before his brother" (485c). Don't act like a youth, 

Socrates.47 

Give up philosophy. Become mature and learn to function in the 

city. Don't act shamefully, as do those or so I believe (oimai, 485a) who 

pursue philosophy for too long, allowing yourself to be accused and killed, 

appearing dizzy with your mouth gaping open in the courtroom, subject to the 

power of any 

who might wish to harm you. Don't allow others to be rude to 

you (as, we might note, was Polus, for example, 461c). Don't lose your power 

to help yourself. Be persuaded by me, give 

up 

music of 

affairs," 

encourages Callicles, again quoting 

what is called 

by the Athenians apragmosune , 

of the city. There is an 

irony 

the private life. "Practice the 

Zethus (486c). Avoid 

a noninvolvement in the affairs 

in this point; it is Amphion who through his 

knowledge of music is able to build the walls of Thebes, whose lyre moves 

the stones out of which the wall is built. It is he who by practicing 

his private 

music most helps the city. Yet Callicles urges: "Don't imitate those men caught 

in debates about petty things, but those for whom there is life and opinion and 

many other 

goods" 

(486cd). 

Callicles has given his speech to his dear Socrates (o phile Socrates, 486a) 

and spoken with warm brotherly feelings. Socrates, though, does not trust 

this speech. He questions Callicles' sincerity 

(489c). Why does Callicles offer Socrates this friendly 

and suggests that it is ironic 

advice, which Socrates 

does not take seriously? Does this in part explain the shift in the two halves 

of Callicles' speech? Is Callicles' speech a cover for his fear of Socrates? Is 

not Socrates the superman who does see 

clearly the fallibility of the nomoi, 

the dependence of the weak on the nomoil Is not Socrates able to rise above, 

to shake free from the chains of opinion, to shift most facilely 

in his discussion 

between nomos and physis, to recognize that dike does not come from the 

opinion of the many? Does not this knowledge, this awareness indeed enable 

him to become a demagogue? Does he not then pose serious threats for poor 

Callicles, the one who because of his eros wishes to appease the many? 

Callicles is frightened of the power of Socrates; the second half of the 

speech is an attempt to subdue the philosopher, to fit the philosopher into the 

city rather than allow him to break away 

and stand above the other slaves. The 

philosopher is not useless; he is not simply foolish. The philosopher is threaten 

ing, threatening to the power and stature of a Callicles. Philosophy does recog 

nize the distinction between nature and convention, as Callicles points out in 

47. When Callicles quotes the passage from Euripides, he changes one word significantly. 

Instead of meirakiodei (youthful, childish) in Callicles' version, there is in the original gunaikomimoi. 

Cf. Gonzalez Lodge, ed., Plato, 

"Gorgias" 

(Boston: Ginn. 1980), p. 147.

another.48 


his initial attack against Socrates. Those men supposedly whispering 

in corners 

care not a whit about the opinions of the many; the chains and the enchant 

paralyze those tied 

ments. They 

are able, should they want, to enslave, subdue, 

up by the nomoi of the many. Indeed, they do not even whisper in isolation 

in corners, two or three at a time. They 

speak out in the open 

agora, as Socrates has informed us right at the beginning 

of the dialogue (447a)- 

The philosophers thus threaten the survival of the city for they are privy to 

out in the 

the secrets of Callicles. Socrates is Callicles' enemy. The appeal to give up 

philosophy, Socrates recognizes, is not sincere. It is an appeal meant to disarm 

Socrates, to fit him into the model of the city, the equality 

of the city. It is 

an appeal to make him value what the city values, most of all life, but also 

reputation and freedom from subjection to 

Socrates' 

Callicles pretends that 

pursuit of philosophy is a mistake rather than a conscious choice. But 

because this assumption about 

Socrates' 

motives is clearly incorrect, he must 

try to disarm and subdue Socrates. 

Callicles' 

speech is divided into two halves, each with its own truth de 

pending on whether one looks at the city 

from within or from outside. The 

speech thus appears to have contradictory 

goals. Scholars have debated: is 

Callicles a democrat, or is he an oligarch?49 

The answer to such a question 

must.depend on which half one reads, which must thus suggest the inadequacy 

of such an analysis. Let us leave debates concerning 

particular political orienta 

tions aside and see Callicles as the political man, the man of action, like 

Zethus the herdsman, like Athens the city. Whether he be democrat or oligarch, 

he is the stone against which the philosopher's life is to be tested and justified. 

The philosopher must do this in response to both parts of Callicles' speech; he 

must show the deficiencies of both visions 

on the one hand, the superman and 

the supercity who scorn the opinions of the many, on the other the political 

man who is dependent on the opinions of the many, his beloved demos. 

Callicles has proclaimed that the better man must have more, that this is just 

by nature, that this is the law of nature. What, though, Socrates must ask, 

describes the better man? What is this justice that you and Pindar praise'.' This 

Callicles clarifies only under Socrates' questioning. The better are the stronger, 

the stronger are the many. Suddenly, Callicles, under Socrates' manipulation, 

turns into a democrat (458d). Superiority does indeed come from the many, 

the unity of large numbers of individuals, in the assembly 

and on the battle- 

48. Freedom is not 

being a slave for Callicles, but Socrates does not in his discourse dis 

tinguish between slave and free. Cf. 5l4d and 515a; in 514c he does not speak 

differently 

or women. 

Considering 

to men 

Callicles emphasis on manliness, this is a significant attack on 

Callicles' 

vision. 

49. G. B. Kerferd, "Plato's Treatment of Callicles in the Gorgias," 

Proceedings of the Cam 

bridge Philological Society, 20 (1974), p. 48 and in notes 2 and 3, describes the various arguments 

on either side. Kerferd sides with those who see Callicles as a democrat, p. 52.

Forms 

ruled?" 

war.52 

An Unspoken Theme in Plato' s Gorgias: War 163 

field. But Callicles will not admit such a simple equation between numerical 

superiority and the best. There are those who know how to manipulate assem 

blies, the demagogues who use language well, and there are those who know 

how to use small numbers of men as if they were many on the battlefields (for 

example, the Greeks against the Persians). Callicles clarifies. The better is not 

simply the many 

"the litter of 

those who are stronger only in terms of bodily 

slaves" 

(doulon, 488c; cf. 489d) 

nor is it 

strength. The better is the 

political ruler, Polus' Archelaus and Callicles' man of affairs, one devoted to 

the music of pragmata, that is, those who rule over others, (491b, d) those 

who are able to accomplish in deed what 

they 

have in their 

minds.50 

The 

natural justice of which he had spoken relates to the rulers within the city and 

the masters of empires. 

But Socrates introduces a new level of interaction which had not been raised 

before in Callicles' speech, nor 

by 

Polus or Gorgias namely 

ruling within 

oneself. "Come now, my friend, what of themselves? Are they ruling something 

or 

being (49 id). Callicles has difficulty 

with this notion. When at 

last he understands, he blurts out offensively, "You are cute (hedus, sweet?). 

You call fools moderate 

(sophronas)" 

(49ie). Socrates, according to Callicles, 

is offering 

a new or different form of slavery, again the obverse side of mastery. 

"How could the happy human being (eudaimon) be a slave (douleuon) to 

anything?" 

(49id) even, Callicles asks, to himself. No, the one who is to live 

correctly (orthos) must release his passions, satisfy his desires, and constantly 

fill himself up (apopimplanai). This or so Callicles believes (oimai, 492a) 

is not possible (ou dunatonf for the many 

and thus, because of their lack 

of manliness (anandrian), they find fault with the satisfying of one's desires; 

they see it as shameful intemperance. The truth (492bc) is, Socrates, that 

freedom is not mastery 

over oneself, but the total release of one's passions 

along with the power (dunamis) to satisfy those passions. Slavery is being 

unable to fill what is empty, unable to find that elusive missing 

Aristophanes' 

death. 

Socrates' 

model, and thus being miserable and finding 

half in 

life worse than 

problem, according to Callicles, is that he does not acknowl 

edge the importance of the epithumia for happiness and for life (492c). To 

be without desires is to be dead 

a stone or a corpse. 

The foreshadowings of Hobbes are startling. As Hobbes has so vividly shown 

us, these desires these insatiable desires must lead to 

satisfy one's desires leads one to build up one's strength, to develop 

The urge to 

the power 

50. See preceding footnote 39. We see Callicles here encountering the same problems as 

Thrasymachus: for both superiority must be defined with references to the mind, albeit the mind 

directed to the satisfaction of desires. It is this which makes them both interlocutors worthy of 

Socrates 

Socrates' 

51 . 

and which makes the Athens they both represent and which Pericles extolls worthy of 

attention. 

of ou dunaton appear three times in 492a. 

52. We should not forget at this point that Hobbes' first currently acknowledged published 

work is a translation of Thucydides.


to satisfy those desires, whether that power comes in the form of rhetoric, 

military strength, or manipulative wiles; it is the power of conquest, 

the denial 

of equality, the vision of the world as comprised of masters and slaves. Socrates 

accuses Callicles: he does not understand the importance of equality. He does 

not pay sufficient attention to geometry (508a). Equality 

is a realm which 

denies power over others and emphasizes friendship. Callicles, the one with 

desires to be satisfied, the one who lives by having power over others, cannot 

accept To equality.53 

accept equality as an individual or as a city interacting 

with other cities is to die. The self-satisfied city and the self-satisfied individual, 

happy with their equality, are weak. Sparta had allowed others to trample her 

in the mud, to punch her in the face. The Corinthian's advice to Sparta parallels 

Callicles' 

advice to Socrates. "Be practiced in the music of affairs (pragmata, 

486c)" 

(cp. Thucydides, 

1.72.2-4). Athens the tyrant of the Aegean has been 

active in her pursuit of inequality, in her pursuit of the power which will 

enable her to fill herself with the wealth of cities outside. There is for Athens 

as a city no final resting place; even the one Pericles urges in his funeral oration 

is only a temporary resting point, to be moved beyond once the exigencies of 

war subside. The city 

must always be in a condition of movement because there 

are those outside who threaten it. The Sparta that tried to sit still, to practice 

its traditional hesuchia, 

could not. 

Political life within the realm of one 

city to another is a life of the constant 

pursuit of more. What Callicles cannot understand because of his failure to 

study geometry 

is that the disharmonious nature of relations between states 

cannot be transferred to relations within states, that the tyrannical city pursuing 

more outside must ensure an 

equality upon which friendships and community 

(koinonia) are built within (5070-5083). The tension in Callicles is between 

eagerness for power over others, and the desire for friends, causing Callicles to 

act graciously so as to build up 

time of need should others threaten him (cf. 

a store of friends who will protect him in a 

487cd).S4 

But because he is not 

sincere in his professions of friendship, because he does not 

really treat others 

as his equals, his friends do not protect him. While he pretends that Socrates 

is his friend and that he cares for Socrates, he nevertheless tries to control 

Socrates and becomes irate and withdrawn when he cannot. It is an 

irony of 

history that Callicles becomes dependent on Socrates' pupil and friend alone 

for his survival in the minds of subsequent generations. 

53. Note Hobbes' ninth law of nature with its emphasis on the acceptance of equality as the 

way out of the state of nature (Levithan Chap. XV). We must, of course, remember that Socrates 

is not the equal of those whom he guides in his discourse with them. On this level Callicles' fear is 

Socrates' 

justified. However, unlike Callicles, inequality is not for the sake of satisfaction of 

private desires by domination over others. On this level Callicles' fear is not justified. 

54. Dodds, p. 282, summarized the evidence on the background and character of these men. 

He concludes: "The general picture which the evidence suggests is that of a group of ambitious 

young men. drawn from the jeunesse doree of Athens It certainly does not support Lamb's 

description of Callicles' as 'the typical Athenian Democrat.'"


Later in the dialogue Socrates is to describe Athens' most powerful and 

famous political leaders as ones who gorge the city, will fill her (empeplekasi, 

5i8e-5i9a) with harbors and dockyards, with walls and imports, and all 

such filth (phluarion). The politicians, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, all 

try to 

make Athens a master over her neighbors so as to fill the city 

with such 

garbage so that the citizens do not feel a lack or the need to pursue the truly 

beautiful. These are the politicians who are praised for what 

they give to the 

city, hegemony over other Greeks, while those such as Callicles and Alcibiades 

will be seized and held responsible should this hegemony or garbage be lost, 

should the Athenian demos be deprived of that which fills and satisfies it. The 

form of dialogue which Socrates tries to encourage does not profess to fill the 

participants and silent listeners with anything. It does not 

gratify them. It does 

not reach any conclusions or victory point (457a). Thus there is no mastery or 

inequality among the interlocutors. The conception of power which Socrates 

proposes in this dialogue is not the power to fill another and 

satisfy her desires, 

nor to make another serve one's own interests. It is a conception of power 

which can 

only be understood in terms of making one better, and making one 

better consists in making 

one aware of what one lacks not the dockyards or 

imports or other such filth but virtue. The Gorgias is not simply 

about rhetoric 

vs. 

philosophy as a way of life. It is also about different kinds of power. 

Rhetoric leads to domination over the opinions of others, war to the domination 

over the bodies and wealth of others. The desire for domination comes from a 

dissatisfaction with what one has, and a supposition that domination will lead 

to the fulfilment of some of those desires. Polus and Callicles give expression 

to what is to become the classic twentieth century formulation of politics who 

gets what, where, when, and how. Socrates is to question that formulation of 

politics and the conception of power implicit in it. 

do not make 

Because the politicians fill the city with harbors and walls, they 

the citizens better. They offer them the satisfaction of ports, walls, and imports, 

but the citizens therefore are not made to the feel the lack of what makes 

them better 

their lack of what is truly beautiful. They are not pricked by the 

Socratic irony into a sense of needfulness (cf. Alcibiades' 

experience, Sympo 

sium 2 1 6a). What lack they do feel comes from a desire for more of what has 

already given them pleasure, from the passions which once filled are quickly 

reignited. Socrates finds fault with the politicians for not making 

citizens 

better.55 

But we may ask why 

should they? To make them better human beings does not 

help the politicians, nor the city in its drive for mastery 

and domination. To 

make them better would be to alert them to what 

they truly lack, and that is a 

55. Scholars have had difficulty understanding how Pericles made the citizens worse, as 

Socrates claims, rather than better. They turn to such points as payment for attendance at the 

assembly and for military service. Cf., e.g., Lodge, 237; W. H. Thompson. The Gorgias of Plato 

(London. George Bell, 1905), p. 226; and Dodds, pp. 335-356. The problem here is that all 

these analyses look at the question from a political perspective, from the perspective of the city, 

not from the perspective of the philosopher.


lack which could never be satisfied 

by the city nor by 

the politicians who give 

them walls and the harbors into which the goods of the world flow. 

The politicians, though, can never provide for the city 

a state of completion. 

Filling the city is like filling the leaky jar (493ab). The walls are never enough, 

nor the harbors, nor the ships, and thus there is the need for external conquests, 

for domination over others because Athens herself, like the human body, can 

never be completely 

satisfied. It is the constant need for more, however, that 

leads to Athens' stature, and the ambivalence surrounding 

her position in 

Greece at the end of the fifth century, an ambivalence captured brilliantly by 

Thucydides, especially in the speech of the Corinthians at Sparta. Athens is 

both enslaver as she acquires more, and model to be envied, hateful and ad 

mired, 

shameful and glorious. All this is the result of her refusal to be content 

with little, to deaden her desires. And yet, of course, she loses the war; en 

couraged by politicians such as Alcibiades to desire too much, she tries to get 

too much power. The Athenians do not limit or question the nature of their 

desires for more. 

They refuse to engage in the questioning 

Gorgias.56 

Callicles during the second half of the 

Socrates urges upon 

Callicles, eager to please both demoses, refuses to accept 

any deadening of 

the desires as a necessary result of the dialogue he has with Socrates. He is a 

man of action, a man whose first thought on seeing Socrates arrive late for a 

display of words is of war and battle. He is a free man, unlimited in his 

actions, as far as he understands himself. He is not a slave, subject to the 

mastery of another. He is not one to accept the notion of completion, of ends, 

of quiet. Nor is Socrates. Callicles is an Athenian. So is Socrates. The dif 

ference between the two is Socrates' willingness to distinguish between good 

and bad desires, those which have a final even if humanly inaccessible aim 

or goal and those which will 

only lead to a desire for more. This difference 

must also stem from different conceptions of power, power over others as in the 

master and slave relationships of Callicles' vision, and power over oneself a 

power to distinguish between good and bad passions and to choose the former. 

Callicles refuses to participate seriously in the subsequent conversation. He 

continues only to be gracious, to please his honored guest Gorgias (497c, 

50 1 c). He refuses to engage in Socrates' discussions concerning worse and better 

desires, and the relationship between pleasure and pain and cessation of desire. 

The subsequent discussion carried on 

by Socrates in a comedy of his own 

making never resolves these questions. Do pain and pleasure cease at the 

moment of fulfilment? The lovers spoken of 

by Diotima and Alcibiades and 

Aristophanes feel pain as does any passionate being. The lover is thus to pursue 

the beautiful, to improve the self because of a sense of lack. Without that lack, 

there is no change, no growth, no movement toward the complete or full 

human being. Socrates cannot and does not encourage the cessation of desire, 

56. Cf. Anytus in the Meno and Socrates' description of his life of questioning in the Apology.


or eros. He urges the tempering of eros, whether for individual or for city 

(507d) and its transformation from what leads to making 

some men or cities 

masters and free, some tyrants and some subjects and slaves, into an equality 

which Callicles cannot 

fully understand and refuses to try 

to understand as he 

withdraws from the conversation and the search for true pleasures. 

Callicles' 

speech had been fraught with inconsistencies because on the one 

hand he had talked about free men and slaves, and then about the city, a city 

bound together by friendships, a city populated by others about whom one 

cares, a city 

in which one survives on the esteem of others. The two perspec 

tives clashed. The inequality of the first half clashed with the equality 

of the 

second half. Socrates tells Callicles that Callicles does not understand equality, 

that he focuses on power over others and thus cannot understand power over 

himself, and because he cannot distinguish between good pleasures and bad, 

he cannot exist in a 

community such as Socrates envisions, based on 

friendship 

and 

searching for a whole as it pursues the truly beautiful. 

The topic of war does not surface 

frequently 

in the Gorgias. It would almost 

be possible to read the dialogue, and indeed many have, as if the war which 

dominated Greece during the twenty-eight-year span of the dialogue were not 

going on. But it was. And the war's continuation must influence our under 

standing of the conditions which existed within the city 

and within the indi 

vidual. The city 

states of Greece could not exist without an awareness of the 

external threats which faced them, both from other Greeks and from the bar 

barians on the north and to the east. The Peleponnesian War dominated Athens 

at the end of the fifth century 

b.c . 

suggest some of the responses to this war. 

Euripides, Aristophanes, and Thucydides 

Socrates' 

life was touched by the 

war and Plato's understanding of Socrates and 

Socrates' 

place in the city cannot 

be disassociated from that war. 

The Gorgias is generally 

recognized as a dialogue about rhetoric, 

and about 

moral choices concerning 

what type of life one is to lead. The background of 

war, the unspoken theme of the dialogue, gives to this dialogue, as to cities 

themselves, a greater depth, where rhetoric is only 

a surface activity of the city, 

a model with its concern for victory 

and conquest, irrespective of dike, of the 

war in the background. The moral choices in their turn depend on the existence 

of a city striving for its own wholeness within an ordered cosmos (508a). War, 

however, raises the question of whether that wholeness for city 

or for individual 

is ever possible prior to death whether the leaky jar of the Sicilian or Italian 

tale is a parable that must apply to the city 

as well as to the individual as 

long as she/he/it lives. The power which Polus and Gorgias see as deriving from 

rhetoric is a limited power though they may call it the greatest good. It is 

limited to a power within the city. Callicles, like Athens and her leaders, sees 

a greater power, a power over other cities and over other peoples. But that

walls.57 


power is also limited by its never-ending nature. To live is to want; to kill the 

passions is to be dead. Neither the city 

nor the individual can ever find whole 

ness while alive in the human body. The completion sought through power over 

oneself which characterizes the philosopher's life may 

come closer than the 

city's continual search through war for power over others. War becomes the 

symbol of the inability of the city to be complete ever so long, at least, as 

cities are comprised of bodies and not the bodiless warriors and memories of 

Pericles' 

funeral oration. 

The answer which philosophy in the person of Socrates gives to Athens and 

to Callicles is not a wholeness nor a completion never accessible through the 

wars of the city, but a transformation of political 

activity from one of domina 

tion to one of 

making citizens better, that is, to lead them into a condition in 

which 

they 

will not be dependent on others either as master or as slaves but 

will be wholes in themselves and not controlled 

by the opinions, the values and 

nomoi of those surrounding them. This is not so that the individual will be able 

to dominate others, but so that she can dominate herself, not so that the world 

becomes divided into slaves and masters, but so that there is no such concept 

and the master over others disappears. Philosophy 

abhors the concept of con 

quest (457d), of masters and slaves. The best person, made best by the activities 

of the true politician, would be a complete whole, not a ruler over others, just 

as the best city 

would be a complete whole and not need to have hegemony 

over other cities. 

But, neither the best person nor the best city is possible; 

neither the complete 

person without needs, at least so long as she is alive, nor the complete city 

existing in isolation from other cities can come into being. Philosophers, as 

Socrates so 

vividly demonstrates in both the Apology and the Crito, is very 

much a part of the city. The philosopher is not self-sufficient; the philosopher 

cannot exist without the city. Likewise the city 

does not exist as a self-sufficient 

whole. It exists within a set of relationships with other cities. Wholeness would 

exclude an awareness of other cities. The chaos of the Peloponnesian War 

reveals 

definitively 

for the Greeks their participation in a world that goes beyond 

the confines of the city 

Thucydides' 

presentation of war comes from a careful articulation of para 

digmatic events. The whole war is understood 

by comprehending in detail the 

specific events which mark its progress. The Gorgias avoids the details of the 

war, the time-bound events which 

history records. Nevertheless, for Plato those 

events exist in the background. The actions and the motivations of the Athenians 

are reflected in Callicles' speech, in the assorted references to the various 

political leaders who turn Athens into an empire and a threat to the freedom of 

57. Cf. Laws, 626a, "What most men call peace is only a word; in fact there exists 

by nature 

a state of unproclaimed war between every city and every other 

city." 

The city of the Laws tries 

to escape this fact. The city of the Republic does not. The city of Athens cannot. Political 

philosophy cannot be disassociated from wars, from the topic of history.


others, who make Athens part of a society greater than herself. But the war 

itself serves to alert us to the limitations of both politics and philosophy. The 

political eros for power, for domination over others, suggests the limits and 

deficiencies of the city. Pericles had wanted for an instant to treat Athens as a 

whole, a beautiful form for all else in Greece to imitate, to raise her above the 

activities of every city. But he could not. The city at rest, as Sparta demon 

strates, cannot survive in a world that is in motion. Athens was part of the 

Greek system of states and Socrates similarly is a part of Athens' activities. 

Neither city 

nor individual, including the philosopher, 

can survive without an 

awareness of the deficiencies which make one a part of a larger unit, which in 

its turn, comprised of human bodies, is deficient and lacking 

completion. The 

unspoken theme of this dialogue helps to reveal this underlying dependence 

which can never be escaped, neither 

by 

politicians like Callicles who fail to 

recognize that the life as master is also the life as slave, 

nor the philosopher 

whose life entails the continual search for what one lacks, a search of which 

this discourse is but one example.58 

58. Leo Strauss, The City and Man (1964; rpt. Chicago and London: University 

of Chicago 

Press, Phoenix Ed., 1978), p. 239, has written at the end of his essay 

on self- 

Thucydides: "The 

sufficiency of the city as Plato and Aristotle presuppose it excludes the city's dependence on such 

a society of cities or its Thucydides' 

being essentially a member of it . The lesson of 

work 

renders questionable a presupposition of classical political philosophy; it excludes the kind of selfsufficiency 

of the city which classical political philosophy presupposes. The selfsufficient 

nor is it essentially a part of a good or just order comprising many or all cities. The 

city is neither 

lack 

of order which necessarily characterized the "society" of the cities or, in other words, the omni 

presence of War puts a much lower ceiling on the highest aspirations of any city toward justice 

admitted." 

and virtue than classical political might philosophy seem to have 

I would argue that 

from the evidence of the Gorgias, Plato is very much aware of the limits on human achievement 

which the "omnipresence of 

War" 

imposes. Classical political philosophy 

polemos with which the dialogue Peri Rhetorikes begins. 

does not ignore the

The Good Life, Slavery, and Acquisition: 

Aristotle's Introduction to Politics 

Mary P. Nichols 

Catholic University of America 

Modern readers of Aristotle's Politics are often embarrassed 

by Aristotle's 

argument for natural slavery, and perplexed 

by his seemingly unqualified con 

demnation of commerce. 

They often attribute these features of Aristotle's poli 

tics to the prejudices of his time.1 I shall argue, in contrast, that Aristotle inten 

tionally fails to demonstrate the existence of natural slavery, and that this failure 

points to the deeper issue of Book I of the Politics 

mankind's dependence on 

or slavery to nature. Masters enslave other men not because they 

deserve to 

rule those who benefit from being ruled, but because masters are naturally 

needy. 

By satisfying some of man's basic needs, commerce removes the neces 

sity of slavery, and therewith its justification. Commerce thus makes possible 

political life, which is characterized by political rule, the rule of free men over 

free men. Commerce, however, also inhibits political life to the extent that 

politics is characterized 

by freedom from rule by the bodily 

pleasures which 

commerce and wealth provide. Aristotle condemns commerce, for while it 

helps to free man from his initial dependence on nature, it also inhibits his 

actualizing his distinctive natural capacity his capacity for politics, or for 

sharing in speech about the advantageous and the just. The freedom from nature 

that commerce effects thus has both a good and a bad aspect due to the com 

plexity of nature itself. This complexity 

choice of a politics that subordinates living to living 

the openness of nature, 

in nature makes possible Aristotle's 

well. Aristotle discovered 

which allows him to construct a politics wherein man's 

dependence on nature is not slavish and commerce serves political life. 

i. Sir David Ross, for example, writes, "It is, though regrettable, not surprising that Aristotle 

should regard as belonging to the nature of things an arrangement that was so familiar a part of 

everyday Greek life as was." 

slavery Aristotle (London: Methuen, 1953), p. 241. Ross finds 

Aristotle's condemnation of the commercial class "too much a reflexion of the ordinary Greek 

prejudice against trade as an illiberal 

p. 243. See also Emest Barker, The Political 

Thought of Plato and Aristotle (New York. Dover, 1959), pp. 368, 375-76, and 389. More 

recently, R. G. Mulgan explains Aristotle's argument for natural slavery in the following way: "We 

must not forget that he is writing within a society which took the existence of slavery for 

granted and where slaves, though they did not make up the entire labour force, were 

largely 

responsible for the marginal surplus of wealth and leisure which made Greek culture and civilization 

possible." 

Mulgan finds that "no one, in the ancient world, as far as we know, advocated the 

abolition of 

slavery." 

Consequently, "[ajgainst the background of a general acceptance of slavery, 

the debate about whether slavery was natural was not, as it seems to us, about whether there 

slaves." 

should be slaves but about why there should be Hence there were only two alternatives: 

slavery is natural, or might makes right. Since the latter justification of slavery is "unthinkable" to 

Aristotle, Aristotle is left with the former. Aristotle's Political Theory, An Introductionfor Students 

of Political Theory (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1977), pp. 43~44-


I 

Near the beginning of the Politics, Aristotle says that "the city 

comes into 

being for the sake of life, but exists for the sake of the good life" (i252b30- 

31).2 

Commentators have not given sufficient attention to the problematic char 

acter of this What is statement.3 the relationship between the end of a thing's 

genesis and the end of its existence? 

According to Aristotle, something comes 

into being for the sake of its natural end, the realization of its perfection. The 

acorn, for example, comes into being 

for the sake of the oak tree. It is difficult 

to understand how something 

can have both an end of its genesis and an end 

teleology.4 

of its existence, given the common 

understanding 

of Aristotle's 

Moreover, Aristotle speaks even of artificial things as having ends peculiar to 

themselves. The shoe has two uses, one "peculiar to itself," the other as an 

article of exchange, although the shoe "did not come into being 

for the sake 

of 

exchange" 

(1257313). While man produces an artifact for an end peculiar 

to itself, he can make it serve a variety of ends. And that variety 

of ends 

includes ends that are higher than the end peculiar to the artifact. The shoe's 

end as an article of exchange is in fact higher than the end peculiar to the shoe. 

Man exchanges shoes for other items, and that exchange frees him from having 

to provide those items by his own labor. Similarly, the first associations, which 

take place naturally rather than by choice (1252326-27), come to have pur 

poses higher than those contained in their origins. The association of man and 

woman is for the sake of generation (1252326-27), 

man's "merely daily 

and the household satisfies 

needs" 

(1252^4-17). By the end of Book I, however, 

Aristotle says that the highest concern of the head of a household is the educa 

tion of its members in virtue (i259bi8-22). So too do the master and slave 

come together for the sake of "security" (1252331), but Aristotle ends his dis 

cussion of 

slavery by observing that slavery 

allows the master to turn to politics 

and philosophy 

(1255D3). Ends other than those implied in the origins can 

control development, since development can be modified 

by human choice. 

The end of the city 

also can be modified in the course of its development. 

Nature may 

not be so benevolent as to incline men to come together for the 

sake of 

living well, but nature is flexible enough to allow men to do 

so.5 

2. All references in parentheses, unless otherwise noted, are to Aristotle's Politics. The trans 

lations are mine. 

3. Ross, p. 328; Barker, p. 268; Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Politics, trans. Ernest 

L. Fortin and Peter D. O'Neill, in Medieval Political Philosophy, ed. Ralph Lerner and Muhsin 

Mahdi (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1972), p. 308. 

4. But see Aristotle's account of two "actualities" in De Anima, 4i2a-b. 

5. Aristotle accounts for moral virtue in a similar way in the Nicomachean Ethics: "the virtues 

come into being neither by nature nor contrary to 

nature" 

1103824-25. The virtues are not the 

actualization of a potential, as seeing is the actualization of sight; because we have sight, we see. 

whereas because we practice the moral virtues, we become morally virtuous. On the other hand, 

since we can acquire the moral virtues, they are not contrary to nature. We can train ourselves to

things," 

The Good Life, Slavery, and Acquisition 173 

This conclusion might seem to run counter to Aristotle's argument that man 

is a political animal. Nature does nothing in vain, and man possesses speech, 

Aristotle argues. Speech is unlike mere voice, which indicates pleasure and 

pain. Other animals make one another aware of these sensations through voice. 

Only speech, however, can indicate the advantageous and the harmful, and 

therefore the just and the The unjust.6 city is the association in which men use 

their unique faculty 

of speech to indicate these things to one another (1253310- 

18). Later in Book I, Aristotle maint3ins that what attracts animals as pleasant 

benefits them (1256326-27). Animals do not need speech because their pleasure 

is their good. For msn, in contrast, speech about the advsntsgeous is necessary 

because the pleasant can be harmful. Man thus cannot be guided simply by the 

naturally pleasant, but needs instead speech for his perfection. The teaching 

that man is a rational (and hence political) animal implies that nature has failed 

to provide man with his good, although it has allowed him reason in order to 

discover it. Nature's limited providence becomes man's opportunity. 

The question of the providence of nature underlies Aristotle's discussion of 

slavery. Before arguing that natural slaves exist, Aristotle reveals that slaves 

are advantageous, even necessary, to man. If there are no natural slaves, nature 

has not been provident. The beneficence of nature therefore turns on the exist 

ence of natural slaves. 

Early in the Politics, Aristotle describes the natural ruler as the one who 

mind" 

"can foresee with his and the natural slave as the one who "can do with 

his body" what the ruler foresees with his mind (1252332-33). It is a mistake, 

Aristotle argues, to identify the slave with the female, ss the barbarians do. 

Nature does not act "in a niggardly way"; it makes "one thing for one [pur 

pose]." 

Each being has one work rather than many, so that each may be 

perfected (125232-4). The barbarians are not fully aware of nature's abundance. 

However, in the beginning of his discussion of nstursl slavery, Aristotle ob 

served that the head of a family 

needs tools to accomplish his work: 

Every assistant is as it were a tool that serves for several tools; for if every tool could 

perform its own work when ordered, or by seeing what to do in advance, like they 

say of the statues of Daedalus and the tripods of Hephaestus, if shuttles wove and 

become courageous, but we cannot train a stone to move upwards NE, I I03ai4-H03b7. Thomas 

Aquinas also notes the similarity 

between the moral virtues "acquired through human 

cities "founded by human industry," p. 311. 

exercis 

and 

6. Aristotle's distinction between speech and voice does not depend on a complete disjunction 

between the pleasant and the advantageous. 

By the advantageous Aristotle might mean pleasure 

obtained through restraint and reflection rather than in an immediate sense. 

Moreover, how does the just and the unjust follow from the advantageous and the harmful? 

Thomas comments: "Human speech 

signifies what is useful and what is harmful. It follows 

from this that it signifies the just and the unjust. For justice and injustice consist in this, that some 

people are treated equally or unequally as regards useful and harmful p. 310. See also 

Laurence Berns, "Rational Animal Political Animal: Nature and Convention in Human Speech 

and 

Politics," 

The Review of Politics 38 (April 1976), pp. 177-78.


quills played harps of themselves, master craftsmen would have no need of assistants, 

and masters no need of slaves [I253b33-i254ai]. 

Aristotle states here that a slave must perform a variety 

slave, if he is to be a good one, has a certain complexity; 

of functions. The 

even if he has been 

made 

by nature for one job alone, he is not restricted to one job. Nature 

is acting "in a niggardly 

way," 

and certain tasks would be peformed more 

perfectly if they were man's sole occupation. Nevertheless man has become 

flexible; he is able to accomplish more than one task. Moverover, foresight is a 

condition of flexibility. Because tools cannot foresee what to do in advance, 

masters need slaves. 

By implication, a good slave foresees what should be done 

in the situation, and acts accordingly. He performs different tasks when he 

exercises foresight. 

Aristotle lets us see that a useful slave foresees what should be done without 

depending on his master, or that he possesses some of the competence that 

defines the master. To the extent that a slave is truly useful, he is less a 

natural slave. Although Aristotle implies that slaves are useful in production, 

for example, weaving, he proceeds to assert that a slave is a tool for action 

rather than for production (125438). Tools for action are articles of property, 

and articles of 

property belong to another (125439-11). In spite of Aristotle's 

suggestions concerning 

his productive 

capacity 

master. 

the independence of the slave 

his foresight as well as 

Aristotle refers us to his complete dependence on his 

Aristotle next says that although the master is the master of the slave, he 

does not 

belong to the slave in the way 

that the slave belongs to the master 

(125439-13). But would anyone suppose thst the msster belongs to the slsve? 

In ssserting the contrary, Aristotle brings up the issue of the msster's depen 

dence. From time to time in Book I, Aristotle identifies the n3tursl msster with 

the free msn (for ex3mple, i254b28-29). Slsve is the opposite of both. But 

since the msster needs the slsve, 3S Aristotle indicstes in the course of 

defining 

the nsture of the slsve, could the msster be simply independent or free? 

Hsving defined "the nsture of the 

slsve," 

Aristotle ssks "whether there is 

snyone who is by nsture 3 slave and whether it is advsntsgeous 3nd just for 

slave" 

snyone to be s (1254318-19). The 3nswer to the former question would 

seem to imply the snswer to the htter: if there is s nstursl slsve, by definition 

it is sdvsntageous and just for him to be a slave, since he nsturslly belongs 

to snother. Aristotle pursues his question 

"by looking to 

srgume 

snd 

"by 

lesrning from whst hsppens" (1254321-22). 

Aristotle observes that there is ruling snd 

being ruled throughout "sllnsture 

"In every composite thing, where msny 

things combine to mske 3 common 

one," 

there is something ruling snd something ruled. Aristotle gives exsmples: 

the soul rules the body, the mind the psssions, the msle the femsle, snd msn

theory," 

. are 

animal-like" 

ruled" 


the lower animsls. The observstion about composites, however, cannot decide 

the issue, which is whether any 

two men form such a composite. Aristotle 

ststes thst "sll men, who differ ss grestly as the body from the soul, snd the 

bessts from msn, 

. 

by nsture slsves, for whom it is best to be 

(i 254b 1 6-20). Aristotle still does not demonstrate the existence of nstursl 

slsves, but he is further elsborating the definition. But the definition is making 

the concept of a natural slave all the more problematic. If the master has a 

body as well as a soul and the slave has a soul as well as a body, how could 

the master differ from the slave as much as the soul from the body? Strictly 

speaking, for the master and the slave to reproduce the difference between the 

soul and the body, the master would have to be completely soul and the slsve 

completely body. If we hsd resson to suspect that the natural slave would not 

be useful to his msster, our suspicion is now confirmed: whst could be more 

useless thsn s desd slsve for s msster who, hsving no body, hss no needs a 

slave could satisfy? Aristotle immediately underlines the difficulty by telling us 

that the slave does "share in 

possess it (i254b23-25).7 

resson," 

but only so ss to perceive it rather thsn 

At lsst turning to "whst hsppens," Aristotle ssserts thst nature intends to 

make the bodies of free men different from those of slaves, the latter "strong 

for necessary 

service," 

the former "erect and unserviceable for such things, but 

useful for political life." Unfortunately, nature does not "often" (literally, "msny 

times") fulfill its intention. Slsves often hsve the bodies of free men, while 

free men often have souls but not bodies of free men (i254b33~34). In other 

words, if we consider only the type of body required, natural slaves do not 

often make good slaves, 

while free men often 

do.8 

In light of the development of the argument, Aristotle's conclusion is over 

stated: "It is clear therefore that some are 

by nature free men, and others 

by 

nature 

slave" 

(125531-2; emphasis mine). It is not surprising thst Aristotle now 

7. Barker finds that Aristotle cannot maintain body" 

consistently both that "the slave is a mere 

and that he possesses "the semi-rational part of the 

soul" 

and is able to listen to the voice of 

reason, p. 365. Barker argues that many of Aristotle's statements about natural slavery vitiate 

his theory 

of natural slavery. His theory, according to Barker, is like all false theories: "a false 

theory must always fall into inconsistency, if it deals with all the facts and data of its subject; and 

some of these facts must contradict the assumptions on which it 

goes," 

p. 368. Ross comes to a 

similar conclusion: "Aristotle's treatment of the question contains 

implicitly the refutation of his 

p. 242. Mulgan also notes the inconsistency between Aristotle's "seeing the slave as 

wholly 

physical and 

and his granting that "the slave has even the emotional and 

desiring 

soul," 

part of the human p. 43. See also p. 41. Mulgan observes "If [Aristotle] has given one 

of the classic defences of genetic or racial supremacy, he has done it in a way 

that makes 

refutation easy; not all such doctrines are so refuted," 

readily p. 43. 

8. What exactly is the difference between the bodies of free men and those of slaves? When 

Aristotle says that the bodies of free men are "useful for political 

life," 

he divides the occupations 

of political life into service in war and in peace, I254b29~34. Is the body 

of the warrior not 

useful for ploughing the fields? If the master (free man) subdues the slave in war, must he not be 

enough 

strong to perform the tasks of a slave ?

willing" 


concedes to the conventionslists thst some slsves 3re so by convention only 3nd 

(I25533ff.).9 

not by 

nsture 

We hsve resched the S3me result when considering both the intellectual 

C3p3city 3nd the body needed by 

the slsve. The most useful sl3ve is the msn 

excellent in mind snd body, who slso hsppens to be perfectly loysl. The ststues 

of Dsedslus, which Aristotle mentioned earlier, are useless because they run 

away. Nature "often" makes men with the souls of slaves, but with bodies 

unservicesble for necesssry work, Aristotle ssid. While such s msn might 

benefit from being ruled, s master would not benefit from ruling 

him. On the 

level of the master-slave relationship, there is no common good. 

Aristotle spesks of the friendship 

thst csn exist between s msster snd a 

slave when the slavery is natural. When slsvery is only "by convention snd by 

force," 

there can be no friendship (I255bi5-i6). When discussing acquisition, 

Aristotle maintains that war csn be justly employed "sgsinst men who sre by 

nsture fit to be ruled but who sre not 

(i256b25). The friendship 

between msster snd slsve therefore seems tenuous. It might sppesr to be pro 

moted by the s educstion of the slsve in useful skills snd in virtue, ss 

Aristotle recommends (i255b25ff.; i26ob2-3), except thst ss the slsve be 

comes more competent snd virtuous he is more obviously 

not s nstursl slsve. 

Aristotle not only fails to give a conclusive argument for the existence of natural 

slavery, he also advises masters to treat their slaves in a wsy thst prepsres them 

for freedom. 

If indeed there sre no nstural slaves, who both benefit their masters and 

benefit from being ruled, nature has failed to provide for msn. Nature is a harsh 

master: man is needy by nature, and he cannot satisfy 

his needs without violence 

and injustice to others. The advantsgeous is not 

necesssrily the just. Man is not 

simply free to pursue the good life: not only 

must he provide the necessities 

that nature does not provide for him, but he must do so 

by enslaving others 

who do not deserve to be enslaved. He cannot pursue the advantageous and 

the just, naturally good ends, without violating the one or the other. His nature 

therefore cannot lead him simply toward his good. His dependence on nature 

recalls Aristotle's description of unnatural slavery. The natural is not simply 

the good. Slavery, however, goes some distance toward freeing 

man from 

merely necessary existence. At the end of his discussion of slavery, Aristotle 

mentions how greatly advantageous slavery is: the possession of slaves frees a 

man so that he can engage in politics and philosophy (i255b37). Since slavery 

makes politics and philosophy possible, the question 

implicitly arises whether 

politics and philosophy can relieve msn of his unnatural slsvery 

to nature. 

9. Barker notes that Aristotle's distinction between natural and conventional slaves would 

diminish the number of slaves. "Aristotle's doctrine," Barker writes, "may seem to us to defend 

slavery: it is quite possible that it struck his contemporaries as also an 

attack," 

p. 369.

pleass 


II 

The lsrgest part of Book I is on scquisition. Aristotle discusses the house 

holds, the smallest associations in the city, and the relationships within the 

households. He discusses the master's relationship to his slsve, who, as an 

article of property, is msn's mesns for sction or life (125432-8). While the 

job of the hesd of the family is to use property, is it slso his job to scquire 

property? Aristotle thus raises the question of the source or origin of msn's life 

or sctivity. Does s msn provide for himself his mesns of living, or is he 

dependent on 

something external? Aristotle now brings up the possibility that a 

beneficent natures provides man with what he needs. The issue underlying the 

discussion of slavery, the beneficence of nature, 

now becomes explicit. 

Book I raises the question of nature, and of man's relationship 

Aristotle speaks of what pertains "throughout sll 

Aristotle imitstes Hippodamus, 

text of "the whole 

to nature. 

nsture" 

(1254333). In this 

who also tried to place politics within the con 

nature" 

(i267b69). Hippodamus apparently applied principles 

of mathematics to politics, and neglected the heterogeneity of nature.10 Aristotle, 

in contrast, sees not 

only 

that there are rulers and ruled throughout nature but 

also that there are 

"many different kinds of ruling and being 

But is there some order or 

unity 

ruled" 

(1254325). 

that pervsdes the diversity? Thus far in the 

discussion of slsvery there hsve appeared men who enslave and others who are 

enslaved, but no sssursnce, or even likelihood, thst those who sre enslsved sre 

nsturslly inferior to their enslsvers. Hsving 

good between master and slsve, Aristotle turns directly 

suggested that there is no common 

to the question raised 

by thst suggestion, the question of the goodness of nsture. 

In discussing the scquisition of food, Aristotle gives sn srgument for nature's 

providence. Nature provides many different kinds of food, and has differentisted 

the wsys of life of the animals by giving them different faculties for obtaining 

different foods. Some eat grass, others meat; some are nomadic, others solitary. 

So too with men, their lives differ greatly, because they 

obtain food in different 

ways. There are nomadic herdsmen, hunters of various kinds, and farmers. 

This argument for nature's providence indicates man's neediness: man's man 

ner of life itself results from the way 

in which he acquires the necessities. 

And need leads to injustice: Aristotle includes "piracy" among 

of acquisition (1256336)." He tells us that men sometimes "live 

combining 

the natural modes 

by 

the vsrious pursuits, "supplementing the more deficient life when it 

10. Leo Strauss, The City and Man (Chicago: Rand McNally, 1964), p. 19. 

11. It is difficult to see how piracy could be a just mode of acquisition. Is piracy the violent 

taking from others what they have acquired, whether through nature's providence, or through their 

own efforts? Or perhaps piracy refers to the enslaving of men. But if there are no natural slaves, as 

I have argued, then piracy in this sense also is unjust.

acquired.12 

gain." 

themselves" 

teleology" 

moves 


hsppens to fall short in being 

how to provide for himself, 

self-sufficing" 

(I265b3~5). Man must choose 

and both his independence and pleasure increase 

as he takes less of what nature provides and more of whst he scquires through 

his own efforts. Aristotle observes thst nsture bestows food on all, just as 

animals bring forth with their young enough sustenance for them "until they are 

able to provide for 

(I256bn-I2; 

emphasis mine). But he never 

theless concludes that nature provides for the mature animal as well; moreover, 

nature provides "all things for the sake of 

mesn that there is no natural barrier to man's 

scquiring 

subdue, for he immedistely 

being 

Not only is hunting 

wsr, in esses where "those of msnkind designed by 

to submit to it" (T256b25-27). 

man" 

(I256b22). He sppesrs to 

whst he is sble to 

indicates that man's natural provision might resist 

s nstursl mode of acquisition, but also 

nature for subjection refuse 

Aristotle hss discussed the nstursl modes of scquisition other thsn trade 

herding, fsrming, piracy, fishing, snd hunting 

(i256bi-2). These do not nec 

essarily bring men into association with one another. They may 

be undertaken 

alone. He concluded his discussion of these natural modes of acquisition 

by in 

cluding war among them (i256b25-27). Exchange, however, obviously brings 

men into contact with one another. Exchange is natural, Aristotle says, for men 

must obtain from others what 

they happen to lack, while they 

grows out of 

ex- 

they have in surplus (1257328). But the invention of money 

chsnge, for it is s more convenient means of 

exchanging goods. Along 

exchange what 

with the 

use of money came associstions of men in which men sgreed to 3bide by sn 

suthoritstive 

stamping 

of coins which determine their value (1 2573358".). The 

Greek word for money, nomisma, is derived from the word for convention, or 

kw, nomos (i257bio; see Nicomachean Ethics, 1133329-32). The invention 

of money therefore strengthens the bond between trsders. They 

now hsve 

sgreements or conventions thst regulste their common sctivity. Trade, slong 

with the invention of money, sppesrs instruments! in forming bonds smong 

12. Barker takes Aristotle's statement that nature provides all things for man out of context, 

and then tries to excuse it: "it was only natural that early thought should indulge itself in such 

naivete," 

p. 376. Barker nevertheless notes the distinction between this "external 

Aristotle's "fine and internal conception of teleology, in which man is the end of other things, not 

as their 'destined 

p. 376. See also Ross, p. 126. 

eater' 

but as the final aim towards the production of which nature 

13. Harry Jaffa observes that at the center of natural acquisition is hunting, a species of war, 

and at the center of unnatural acquisition is trade, culminating 

"Aristotle," 

modes of acquisition. 

History of Political Philosophy, ed. Leo Strauss and Joseph 

Cropsey (Chicago: Rand McNally, 1963), p. 80. See also Joseph Cropsey, Political Philosophy 

and 

in usury. War and trade are alternative 

and the Issues of Politics (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1977), p. 39, on "the transfor 

mation of the predation of war into the salutary predation of peace, the mercenary 

and 

quest for increase

nature 


Why does Aristotle nevertheless describe moneymsking 

as sn unnstursl mode 

of scquisition? In concluding his discussion of nstural acquisition, Aristotle 

explained that natural acquisition is limited by its end, living and eventuslly 

living well, just as any tool is limited by 

its end or function (i256b28-39). 

But now Aristotle argues thst men seek to scquire unlimited smounts of money 

becsuse they 

seek life rather than the good life. And since the desire for life 

is unlimited, men desire without limit the means to life (i257b24-30). But is 

the desire for life not limited by its end, life, as Aristotle first indicated? 

Appsrently, s desire for unlimited life accounts for unlimited moneymaking. 

Unlimited moneymaking is premised on the denial of mortality. And to deny 

one's mortality is to deny one's corporeality. Aristotle refers to those who think 

that money is "entirely a convention, and in no way by nature, because it is 

useless for the necessities, snd a man rich in money may lack the necessities 

of 

subsistence" 

(1257b 10-14). And there is the story of Midas, who came 

close to dying of hunger due to his insatiable desire for money (1257^5-17). 

Moneymaking is an unnatural mode of acquisition, then, because it removes 

man from the natural world of necessity, corporeality, and death. Moreover, 

with the advent of money, 

as articles of exchange. 

Money 

particular items such as shoes are no longer needed 

can take the place of all the particular goods 

sought through exchange; it reduces a variety 

of goods to a single measure. 

Men have invented a universal thst sppesrs to remove them from inss- 

nsture, 

much ss nsture is composed of s vsriety of entities, irreducible to one snother. 

Aristotle gives s second resson 

why 

men desire unlimited smounts of money. 

Men identify the enjoyment of bodily plessures with living well, snd conse 

quently 

seek sn unlimited smount of the mesns to these plessures (125832-8). 

The life of moneymaking thus blinds msn to his nstural neediness st the ssme 

time thst it binds him sll the more to his body. It is therefore unnstursl in 

this further sense ss well: 3 skve to bodily plessures, 

msn does not rise to the 

msnly independence of politicsl rule th3t chsrscterizes politics st its best. 

Of the forms of moneymsking, usury is "the most contrary to 

Money "came into being 

for the sake of 

but interest increases the 

amount of money itself (125805-6). We should not suppose, however, thst 

usury is unnstural because it uses money for an end other than the end for the 

sake of which money came into being. The shoe, we remember, came into 

it was used 

being for an end peculisr to itself, but before the advent of money 

for the sake of exchange as well as for its original end (1257313). And the 

city too comes into being for one end, but exists for a higher one. Aristotle 

does not take his bearings entirely from the origins. 

Usury is s psrsdigm for 

the unnstural evidently becsuse through usury 

the srtificisl comes from the 

artificisl, snd therefore hss no origin in nature. 

Usury even more radically 

than money removes man from the limits imposed by nature's heterogeneity, 

since everything that naturally comes into being does so from some particular

nothing.14 

slone" 


thing. But usury 

makes 

something While for Aristotle the 

origins do not 

necessarily completely control development, usury denies the 

come from 

origins sltogether.15 

Hsving "sufficiently distinguished [the forms of scquisition] in order to 

understsnd them," Aristotle will discuss them "in regsrd to their 

use" 

(i258b9- 

n). He divides the nstursl mode into its branches. Then, of the mode involving 

commerce, there is exchsnge, usury, snd lsbor for hire. The lstter includes 

the workers without srts, "who sre useful 

by 

mesns of their bodies 

(i258b28). The nstural slaves by definition (1252334) are now working for 

hire. The convention of money has made it possible for men to pay 

other men 

for necessary 

services. In order to pay other men, the head of the family of 

course must possess more 

money than is necessary 

for the purchase of needed 

goods. His extra money permits him to employ others to do necessary tasks 

and therewith to free himself for other occupations. Aristotle now tells us there 

is a third mode of acquisition, 

with elements of both the natural and the com 

mercial kind. He gives the examples of 

felling timber, an activity 

that does 

violence to nature in order to use it for human purposes, and mining, an 

activity that takes from nature what it does not readily provide. I believe that 

we should be reminded of Aristotle's political science, 

which must do violence 

to man's natural inclinations in order to raise him to his place at the peak of 

nature. 

Aristotle says thst he will lesve s detsiled account of these modes of acquisi 

tion to others. He recommends that "someone collect the scattered accounts 

of the successful methods used 

by 

honoring 

moneym 

which "will benefit those 

moneymaking" 

(125933-6). One such method is monopoly. Aristotle 

gives the example of a man who made one hundred talents out of his fifty. 

Far from condemning this making of money out of money, Aristotle emphasizes 

that the method can be used politically. While he shows that a private use of 

monopoly is harmful to a tyrant's affairs (1259330-32), he concludes that "to 

know [how to secure a monopoly] is useful for statesmen slso, for msny cities 

need such mesns of money" 

scquiring (1259335-37). Whst divorces msn from 

is now recommended if it csn be subordinsted to politicsl 

nsture 's heterogeneity 

ends. 

The first psrt of Book I is sbout msn's natural neediness, as it is revealed in 

the human institution of slavery. The second part of Book I is about man's sep 

arating himself from nature through unnatural modes of acquisition. Aristotle's 

suggestion for the politicsl use of commerce, which concludes his discussion of 

scquisition, provides a transition to the last part of Book I, in which Aristotle 

14. Barker admits that Aristotle objects to usury on the ground that it makes something come 

from nothing. But Barker believes that this is a false inference from the peculiarity 

of the Greek 

word for interest. For his discussion, see pp. 385-387. 

15. Jaffa suggests that Aristotle's praise of just war and his censure of trade are due to the 

fact that the root of injustice is the abolition of the limits upon 

bodily desires. "Perhaps the extreme 

of trade, culminating in usury, is more akin to the abolition of those limits than is p. 80.


returns to the family, 

s reminder of one's natural origins. He now claims that 

the family can be understood properly only 

The family remains an integral part of the city, but the city 

in the context of political life. 

exists for the sake 

of the good life. Politicsl life therefore frees man from his dependence on brute 

nature without uprooting 

him from the natural world. 

Before discussing the other relations within the family, Aristotle returns to 

the relation between the master and slave. Since the head of the 

family is more 

concerned about the virtue or excellence of its humsn members thsn of its 

insnimste property, the question of the virtue of the slsve arises. Does the 

slsve hsve only the virtue of s tool or a servant, or also such virtues as courage, 

justice, and moderation (i259b2i-26)? Aristotle has this dilemma: if the slave 

can be virtuous in the latter sense, he would be a human being, but Aristotle 

has had to describe him as less than human in order to justify 

calling 

slavery. After 

our attention to the advantages of commerce and of the statesman's use 

of commerce, Aristotle thus returns to the question of the slave's humanity. 

It now appears that the slave is capable of moral virtue, although Aristotle 

refrains from undermining his earlier argument altogether by maintaining that 

the slave is capable of moral virtue only in a sense. There are different kinds 

of courage and moderation. There is the virtue of a slave, and that of a free 

man, just as there is the virtue of a msn, 

snd that of a woman (i26oa2-28). 

But does not the diversity within humanity, and therewith within the concept 

of human excellence, call into question the unity of the good life? Book I ends 

with Aristotle's inability 

to speak of the virtue of women and children without 

considering the particular regime in which they live ( 1 260b 10-18). Presumably, 

the same applies to the virtue of a man. While virtue appears inseparable from 

political life, political life itself assumes a multiplicity 

of forms. Virtue varies 

from regime to regime. A consideration of politics 

evidently 

recslls to msn the 

irreducible nstursl diversity thst commerce tended to deny. The good life st 

which Aristotle ssid cities simed must slwsys be lived within the context of s 

particular regime. Aristotle's argument suggests by the end of Book I that there 

is a variety 

of good lives. 

16 

16. As we have seen, Aristotle distinguishes the rule of male over female from the rule of 

master over slave. CSee p. 173 of this paper.) Nevertheless both kinds of rule are defined as the rule 

of the naturally superior over the naturally inferior. Aristotle says, "The male is naturally fitter to 

nature" 

command than the female, except where there is some departure from (I259b2, emphasis 

mine). Aristotle classifies the rule of male over female as political rule, although the male's rule 

is permanent and political rule is the rule of equals who take turns ruling. Where equals take 

turns ruling, Aristotle observes, rulers try to indicate some sign of their superiority, such as modes 

of address or titles of respect, in a way reminiscent of Amasis' footpan (I258b-I259a). According 

to Herodotus, Amasis made his golden footpan into a god in imitation of his own situation: a 

former utensil had become an object of reverence, just as Amasis, formerly 

a subject, had become 

king (Herodotus, ii.172). The male's preeminence over the female, it appears, resembles the pre 

Amasis' 

eminence of footpan. Again nature is improvident, since it fails to provide men with inferior 

and obedient wives, just as it fails to provide slaves. If nature's improvidence again could be seen 

as man's opportunity, it is only by looking beyond the practical demands of life.

woman," 

observes.17 

same." 


Aristotle finds support for the diversity 

poet said, "Silence gives grace to 

of virtues from 

Aristotle 

Sophocles' 

Ajax. The 

Yet it is the 

maddened Ajax who said this, when his wife Tecmessa questioned his ac 

tivities. It is a madman, Aristotle might be saying, who does not listen to 

the good advice of a womsn. 

Yet Aristotle sppesrs to endorse Ajsx's ststement. When would silence be 

sppropriste? At the beginning of Book I, Aristotle tells when speech becomes 

sppropriste: the political community is s shsring in speech, for speech re 

veals the advantageous and the hsrmful, 

snd therefore the just and the unjust 

(1253314-16). The conjunction of the advsntsgeous and the just, ss revesled 

by speech, is the bssis of the politicsl community. But Aristotle's discussion of 

slsvery 

revesled the disjunction between the sdvsntsgeous snd the just. In 

justices may be unavoidable in establishing civil societies. And commerce, not 

simply 

advantageous for man because it distsnces him from his nstursl world 

at the ssme time it further binds him to his body snd its plessures, makes 

relief from the gross injustice of 

slavery possible. Until the existence of cities, 

the advantageous and the just for man appear to conflict. And past cities have 

probably existed for the sake of survival, or wealth. 

They 

are not ciites that 

deserve the name of cities (see i28ob7-8). Could Aristotle have thought that 

cities 

truly deserving 

to bring 

the name had not yet existed? And was it his chosen task 

such cities into existence through his political science? The grestest 

scquisition st issue in the Politics, then, is msnkind's scquisition of Aristotle's 

politicsl science. For it is in Aristotle's speech thst the end of the city's 

existence, ss opposed to the end of its genesis, mskes its first sppesrsnce 

smong 

msnkind.18 

A womsnly silence msy be sppropriate, especially 

if un 

womanly speech, like Tecmessa's, attacks a man's pride as he goes about the 

business of 

defending his honor. Aristotle's politics, after all, centers on political 

17. Sophocles, Ajax, 293. 

18. It might be objected that the end of the city's existence, the good life, first appeared in 

ancient cities that made piety the bond of their union. Such an objection depends on the ends served 

by religion. Aristotle associates veneration of the gods with the village stage of human development. 

When men were themselves ruled 

by a king they worshipped gods also ruled 

by a king; they 

likened the lives of the gods to their own (1252b). The stories of the gods thus support 

kingly 

rather than political rule: 

they indicate man's dependence and bondage rather than his self-suf 

ficiency and freedom. The good life at which the Aristotelian city aims, in this sense at least, must 

go beyond piety. 

It might be objected also that the end of the city's existence, the good life, first appeared not 

in Aristotle's speech but in Plato's. Although distinguishing Aristotle's political science from Plato's 

philosophizing about politics is beyond the scope of this paper, the following suggestion, based on 

a passage in Book I, is in order. Aristotle begins the politics with a criticism of those who 

believe that "political rule, kingly rule, household management, and despotic rule are the 

These men also believe that there is no difference between a small city and a large household 

(125238-14). It is commonly understood that Aristotle is referring to Socrates and Plato. But for 

Aristotle, political rule, as opposed to despotic rule, is essential to the city's aiming 

at the good 

life. From Aristotle's point of view, then, Plato did not understand the good life for which cities 

might exist.


rule and freedom, for political rule is that of free men over free men (I277bi6). 

Awareness of the degree of mankind's dependence on Aristotle for these things 

may not promote the manly independence necessary 

life. 

for nondespotic political 

Ajax commits suicide. Tecmessa tries to prevent his death.19 When she is 

unsuccessful, she laments his rashness and 

thereby 

affirms the goodness of 

life.20 

Suicide presupposes a distsnce from life, or sufficient detschment from 

life to discern that it is not worth living at all costs. Perhaps it is this detachment 

thst allows men to try to overcome nstursl necessity, to enslsve others, snd to 

found cities. Yet if politicsl life were 

simply unsstisfying, if it provided msn 

no sccess bsck to s nstursl world, suicide might be s proper response to the 

humsn condition. Aristotle intends to bring into existence cities, 

or communities 

that provide some degree of good living. He is sgsin playing the woman's part, 

although with 

considerably more insight than Tecmessa, and with a large degree 

of manly assertion. 

19. When Tecmessa discovers the danger to his life, she asks the chorus to help her find him: 

"Come, let's hurry. No time to sit, if we wish to save a man who is eager to die," Ajax, 81 1-12. 

20. Ajax, 891-903.

Aristotle on the Limits and Satisfactions of Political Life 

Catherine H. Zuckert 

Carleton College 

In The Human Condition, Hannah Arendt attempts to revive the ancient 

notion that the distinctively 

human lies in political action. She thus reminds 

her readers of Aristotle's famous dictum (Politics 125333-5) 

that man is s 

politicsl animal 

and its essentially controversial character at the same time she 

explicitly dissociates herself from the ancient philosophic understanding. Unlike 

the Latin commentators who reveal their misunderstanding by reducing political 

to social, she recognizes, Plato and Aristotle retain a sense of the distinctively 

public life of the polis. Nevertheless, these ancient philosophers establish the 

tradition which subordinates practice to contemplation or philosophy; and it is 

this hierarchy 

that she wishes to 

challenge.1 

As Leo Strauss has brilliantly 

shown, Plato does establish both the viability and the superiority of philosophy 

as a way of life politics.2 

by showing the limits of But the subordination of 

politics to philosophy is not so clear in the works of Aristotle. In the Nichomachean 

Ethics, he suggests three different peaks of human excellence mag 

nanimity, justice, and contemplation. And in the Politics, he presents the life of 

the statesman or jzofarixog more or less in its own terms, as a life worth 

choosing for its own sake or essentially a self-satisfying one. 

The picture Aristotle gives of political life differs, moreover, in important 

respects from the action Arendt praises. Although it is true that the Politics 

begins by showing that the polis does not emerge until or unless the neces 

sities of life are provided by the oikos, it is not true, as Arendt claims, that 

the polis is characterized by a 

sharp distinction between public and private. 

On the contrary, Aristotle shows that the regime (jioXixeia) shapes and so 

infuses all aspects of private life, especially the family 

not through totalitarian 

controls, of course, but rather by 

praise and blame expressed either in legisla 

tion or mere opinion. Second, political life as depicted by Aristotle is not 

"immortality" "distinction" 

animated 

simply by 

the desire for fame, 

or as Arendt 

clsims. Becsuse humsn life is characterized by 

several incommensurable needs, 

there is an enduring problem both of compenssting 

those who do. Politics essentislly concerns the question, who should 

providing the requirements and of 

rule, which is a question not merely of recognition or honor but ultimately of 

justice. Since this question can be answered only through complex snd con 

rationsl activity. The simple dis 

tinuing deliberstion, politics is sn inherently 

tinction between sction snd reason or theory does not fit: cpgovnoig includes 

1. Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1958), pp. 

10, 17-18, 155-56. 

2. Leo Strauss, The City 

and Man (Chicago: Rand McNally, 1963), pp. 50-138.


both. Finslly, the fundsmentsl pluralism of humsn life thst Arendt herself 

stresses mskes it impossible for sll members of s community 

to psrticipste 

fully in public or politicsl decisions. Man ss a species may 

a meaning yet to be fully explained 

be political with 

but individual distinctions are products 

of chance (birth) and plsce (the division of lsbor). Only by 

abstraction and simplification can we equate voting 

means of a vast 

with the negotiations of a 

secretary of state as political participation. We do, as Arendt urges, need a 

political." 

better appreciation of "the 

As Aristotle shows, politics is both s 

more noble snd s more limited humsn endeavor thsn we generally recognize. 

Politics is not merely a "search" for power, according to Aristotle, 

nor does 

it chsrscterize sll humsn relstions or sssocistions. On the contrary, politicsl 

sctivity srises only 

sfter humsn beings meet their more fundsmental procreative 

and economic needs. Since the members of a polity 

must continue to produce 

new generations as well as to feed and defend themselves, the requirements of 

both family snd economic organization (the division of labor) limit the scope 

of political action. Aristotle shows, however, why neither purely 

social nor 

economic relations 

satisfy human beings. And in showing why political activity 

is both necessary and desirable, Aristotle reveals the reasons 

why every polit 

ical association constitutes or involves a "regime" (jzoXltelcx) , 

ing 

that is, an order 

of disparate groups and activities in which some rule others. Through his 

discussion of regime Aristotle thus enables us to understand why political con 

flict endures, why 

all political activity and association is partisl, why there is 

never complete consensus or sgreement, snd thus why force is slwsys neces 

sary 

to maintain order. 

All human beings act from an attachment to their own existence, but they 

do not all define their existence in the same way. Msn's bssic concern to 

preserve his own life mskes economic considerations powerful in determining 

the wsy of life of individusls or communities (i 256329- I256b9), but economic 

considerations slone never suffice to explsin sny psrticulsr regime, thst is, 

humsn life sbove the level of subsistence, because the distribution of goods 

can be altered 

by force. The decision as to who rules is s decision ss to whst 

is most importsnt; since every human being values his own existence, even 

tends to overestimate his own importance, everyone in the community 

is not 

spt to sgree sbout who should rule. Some men seek honor rather thsn weslth, 

moreover; their desires csn be fulfilled only through being 

elevsted sbove 

others, and these sre the men most apt to engage in politics. Since most humsn 

beings hsve to devote most of their lives to scquiring 

the necessities of exis 

tence, very few will ever psrticipate fully in politics. The nature of any specific 

regime thus very 

much depends on the character and wisdom of the men who 

mske snd enforce the lsws. The fsct thst sll human beings and so rulers in 

particular act out of self-love (1267330-35) does not mean that all govern 

ment is necessarily oppressive or unjust. It does mean that it is extremely 

difficult to construct and maintain a regime which recognizes and gives due

"Aristotle." 

man" 

Aristotle on the Limits and Satisfactions of Political Life 187 

weight to all the different kinds of contributions or activities necessary 

to main 

tain a political 3ssociation. It requires deliberation, and such deliberative skill 

emerges only 

in the context and on the bssis of political experience. 

Aristotle's very first claim that the polis constitutes the highest and most 

comprehensive form of human association surely flies in the face of the modern 

liberal tendency to view the stste ss sepsrate and in some ways subordinate to 

society.3 

Yet our own experience in one of the least socialistic liberal democ 

racies ought to tesch us thst the lsw reaches into virtually all realms of pri 

vate endesvor, even when the object of the lsw is to protect freedom, the "right 

to 

privscy," 

for example. Even before the emergence of the welfsre state, 

however, Alexis de Tocqueville showed thst the effects of Americsn democracy 

extend far beyond the institutions of government into economic enterprise, reli 

gion, all forms of intellectusl snd srtistic endesvor, the fsmily, and even the 

individual's conception of himself. If political influence is so pervasive, it is 

also fairly clear that it is not primarily or directly 

coercive. And Aristotle's 

second 

sweeping claim is that politicsl rule differs essentislly from both despo 

tism and patriarchal authority; the rule of s politikos 

(literally "political 

but usually translated statesman) is essentially different from that of a master 

and that of a father. Our tendency (stemming from Locke) to associate govern 

ment 

primarily with legislstion lesds us not only 

to underestimate the extent of 

political influence but also to conceive of political action 

primarily 

in terms 

of command snd enforcement. Since command and force are universal, we 

conclude, so is politics. Aristotle suggests, on the contrary, that understanding 

politics primarily in terms "power" 

of involves a fundamental misconception of 

the nature of political order. 

Politicsl order represents s compound of several different but equally 

neces 

sary kinds of association. If there are no people, there will be no polis. Politi 

cal order thus includes the male-femsle procrestive relation. If there is no 

food, there will be no people, 

so the existence of political order also requires 

the intelligent organization of labor to provide the necessary goods. Aristotle 

describes the intelligent organizstion of Isbor in terms of the msster-slave relation, 

becsuse the production of goods at 

anything more than individual sub 

sistence level requires s division of lsbor. The fact that there are necessary 

economic conditions for the emergence of political order also means that politics 

is not universal; men are not able to deliberate sbout the best way 

of life until 

their vitsl needs are met. Under unfavorable circumstsnces, it msy require sll 

their time and effort merely 

to survive. 

Unlike Marx, Aristotle insists that the first form of human sssociation, the 

family, consists in the merger of two different natural relations: the erotic, 

male-female or procreative relation as well as the master-slave, or economic 

in the narrower, modern sense, division of lsbor. Self-preservstion operates 

3. Harry V. Jaffa, 

in Leo Strauss and Joseph Cropsey, ed.. History of Political 

Philosophy 

(Chicago: Rand McNally, 1972), PP- 65-68.


on a species as well as an individual level. 

"Barbarians" 

make the mistake of 

confusing the two distinct relations, Aristotle argues, when they 

trest women 

ss slsves. Procrestion is not simply snother form of production; the fsmily 

does not 

develop solely 

from the requirements of survivsl or need. On the con 

trary, Aristotle suggests, there is slwsys s positive sttrsction to life itself ss 

well as to other human beings st the root of every 

beings form family groups not merely from necessity 

humsn society. Human 

but also from desire. 

Once formed, however, the association affects both the constituent needs and 

desires. To maintain the family, and so give birth to future generations, sex 

uality 

must be restricted both with regsrd to partner and the number of progeny, 

while the need to produce snd provide 

grestly expsnds. The interplsy 

of the 

two roots of the most bssic form of humsn sssocistion is thus instructive ss to 

the nsture of the higher, more complex politicsl order. All humsn associations 

consist of several, irreducibly different parts or relations. Aristotle's approach 

to politics is thus both fundamentally pluralistic and fundamentally hierarchical. 

The concept of "regime" is central to his political science, because he understsnds 

politicsl order ss s compound or srticulstion of several, irreducibly 

different psrts. As sll parts of the household sre sffected or shaped 

by the 

requirements of raising future generations, so all parts of the political order are 

affected 

by the particular way 

of life the members of the polis seek to preserve. 

Once humsn beings meet their needs, Aristotle observes, their desires expsnd. 

They do not merely wsnt life, they wsnt s good life, the best life pos 

sible; snd in seeking the good life, they form politicsl sssocistions. In con 

trast to the formstion of the household order or fsmily, the oikos, which srises 

out of the combinstion of instinct snd need, politicsl order is instituted inten 

tionally, as a matter of conscious choice. Although men sre nsturslly inclined 

to sssociste politically, political associations do not 

spontaneously 

emerge the 

way families do. The greatest benefactor to mankind, Aristotle observes, was 

the man who first invented and instituted political order (1253331-34). 

At a subsistence level, human life is ruled 

by 

necessity. Once men produce 

more than they need, they also choose a way of life, slmost of necessity, be 

csuse instinct is so much wesker in humsn beings thsn it is in other 3nimsls. 

Humsn beings hsve to order snd direct their own lives becsuse of the indeter 

minacy or openness of human nature. They are able to order their lives by 

virtue of their rational 

faculty 

or logos. But as Jean-Jscques Rousseau later 

argued, human beings develop their speech and resson only 

in sssocistion with 

one another. There is, strictly speaking, no completely individual capacity for 

choice or self-rule. Rather than emphasize the openness or 

indeterminacy of 

human life, Aristotle thus stresses the importance and 

difficulty of making a 

good choice, that is, of 

developing man's practical reason, and its political 

foundation. 

Although human beings can and clearly do exist without associating politi 

cally, Aristotle declares that the polis is prior to the individual, because each


develops his "individuality" or particularity as well as his distinctly human 

qualities only 

in political association. The quslities which most distinguish one 

through specislizstion snd s division of lsbor. 

msn from snother 

develop only 

So long ss one man uses all his energy to provide for himself and a family, he 

is not apt to develop a talent for geometry, music or painting. Since human 

beings csnnot live at 

sny level sbove subsistence except in cooperation with 

others, the choice of s wsy of life csn be msde only through sssocistion, snd 

men sssociste with esch other only on the bssis of the friendship thst arises from 

sn sgreement sbout whst is right or just. Men who do not trust esch other do 

not deliberate together sbout whst 

they should do; they seek to defend them 

selves from possible incursions. Humsn beings thus 

develop their nstursl 

potentisl to order or direct their own lives, their logos, only in politicsl associstions. 

and political associations are founded on an sgreement about what is 

right or just. Human speech and reason extend beyond the mere animal expres 

sion of pleasure and pain to calculations of what is useful or harmful. But 

logos is not 

merely instrumental, as Aristotle understands it. How can men 

calculate what is useful without a standard of measure of what "X" is useful or 

hsrmful to? Logos thus includes the ability to articulate, compare and rank 

various desires, to determine what is right, ss well ss the cspscity to deter 

mine whst is conducive to achieving 

these ends. Men thus exercise and express 

their full rational potential 

only 

in politicsl association. 

Although individuals acquire both their distinctive talents and traits along 

with their ability to choose a way of life only in a political association, in 

dividual differences are not merely or completely products of the division of 

labor. On the contrary, Aristotle argues, there are natural differences in indi 

vidual potential; it is the existence of such differences that makes the division 

of labor rational, productive, and 

generally 

beneficial. If there were no such 

natural differences in potential, neither differentiation nor 

hierarchy of any kind 

would be just. Specialization would 

merely 

constitute a restriction and contor 

tion of human potential. All social organization would rest ultimately 

on arbi 

trary 

preferences and coercive control. The master-slave relation represents the 

simplest and most extreme esse. 

Aristotle's discussion of the master-slave relation reveals two fundamental 

characteristics of all human association: (1) the utility of a division of labor, 

and (2) the need to use force to maintain order. Like Marx, Aristotle suggests 

that the most fundamental division of labor is that between mind or soul and 

body.4 

Through an snslysis of the compound constitution of the individusl humsn 

being, however, Aristotle argues that such a division is necesssry, natural, and 

beneficial. If soul does not rule body, that is, if there is no intelligent direc 

tion of physical motion, no man will long 

survive. Rule of the soul or mind is 

thus necessary and beneficial for both ruler and ruled. By analogy, Aristotle 

4. Karl Marx, "The German Ideology," reprinted in Robert Tucker, The Marx-Engels Reader, 

2nd ed. (New York: Norton, 1978), p. 159.


therefore argues, one man has a right to control the actions of another com 

pletely, to own him, if the two are related to each other as soul is to body. 

The nstursl slsve is thus s humsn being 

with enough resson to follow orders 

but not to direct his own life. He lscks enough foresight snd control to order 

his own sffsirs sufficiently to survive without direction. Rule by 

s msster is 

good for the slsve ss well ss the msster, becsuse the slsve left slone is unsble 

to preserve himself. All humsn beings sre nsturslly 

sttached to their own exis 

tence, so preservstion msy certsinly be regsrded ss good. Although msstery is 

just when both psrties benefit, the justice of msstery does not rest on the 

consent of the slsve. It could not becsuse the nstursl or justly enslsved man 

is enslsved precisely becsuse he is not sble to determine or to do whst is best 

for himself. The masters have to determine which men ought to be slaves and 

force them to serve. Mastery 

can be just even when it rests on force rather 

than consent, but forceful conquest does not suffice to establish just rule. 

Only 

common benefit establishes justice. 

The only 

reason human beings associate with each other is for their mutual 

benefit or pleasure, but mutual benefit does not necessarily 

mean equal benefit. 

Aristotle wss 

certsinly 

not quixotic or unobservsnt enough to believe thst men 

enslsve others in order to preserve or benefit the slsves. 

They tske slsves be 

csuse 

they wsnt to use them to obtsin or to do what the masters want, for the 

benefit of the mssters, not the slsves. Aristotle does not emphssize the com 

mon benefit which for the slsves is mere preservation so much as the essen 

tially instrumental character of mastery. Despite a common opinion to the con 

trary, Aristotle argues, careful examination of the situation shows that command 

snd control of the sctions of other humsn beings snd the division of lsbor in 

volved in thst commsnd sre not good or desirable in themselves. A fortunate 

master will find a reliable steward to manage his slaves for him so that he will 

be free to engage in politics or 

philosophy (i255b30-37). Human excellence 

or virtue does not consist merely in the recognition of superiority by 

consists in a way of life, a kind of activity 

thst the psrticipsnts find 

satisfying 

in itself, 

others; it 

not as a means to some other good. Aristotle's suggestion that 

the work of slsves might be performed 

by "divine 

machines" 

msy 

mske the dif 

ference he sees between politics snd msstery clesrer to the modern reader. 

Technology, again the intelligent direction of physical force, is supposed to in 

crease our power or ability to realize our desires; it is essentially instrumental 

rather than choiceworthy or valuable in and of itself. It could only replace 

politics, deliberation and judgment by rigidly restricting the mental develop 

ment and the serve.5 

variety of life it is supposed to 

Both the emergence and continued existence of a politicsl sssocistion de 

pend upon the intelligent use of force to msintsin order snd a division of labor 

5. There are, indeed, some who fear that it will. Cf. Joseph Weizenbaum, Computer Power 

and Human Reason: From Judgment to Calculation (San Francisco: Freeman, 1976), and Jacques 

Ellul, Technological Society (New York: Knopf, 1964).

possible.7 

But, 

Aristotle on the Limits and Satisfactions of Political Life -191 

to produce enough to free some from the press of necessity. Both the need for 

coercion and a division of labor inherent in the master-slave relation 

belong 

to the household; both are necessary parts or elements of every political order, 

but neither constitutes its essence, that which makes it distinctly 

the contrary, both of these necessary 

political. On 

elements constitute limitations of politics 

the extent to which it can be free, reasonable, just and beneficial to all. 

Aristotle indicates the extent of such limitations only briefly 

when he observes 

two respects in which nature falls short of her "intention." First, she 

"intends" 

that masters and slaves be visibly distinguishable (I254b27~34). In fsct, it is 

difficult if not impossible to tell who is s nstursl slsve snd who s msster, 

becsuse the primsry difference is one of intellectual potential rather than physi 

cal strength, 

and intellectual potential cannot be seen. In order to be identified, 

intellectual potential has to be actualized, and the actualization depends upon a 

child's social (family) and, later, 

political position. As the Coleman report has 

more recently reminded us, the development of a child's intelligence depends 

very much on his family circumstances. A good family 

produce excellence, 

life does not suffice to 

moreover. As Aristotle observes (i255bi-5), outstanding 

men do not always have excellent sons, not 

only 

because public men often 

neglect their own families but also because the sons do not have the same 

potential. Human excellence is not 

simply inherited, although nature again 

"intends" 

it. Social and political order, the division of labor, does not and 

never will 

clearly and perfectly 

reflect the differences in individual potentisl 

snd talent, becsuse the development of potential into excellence presupposes 

social order. But the fact that political order can 

only 

completely duplicate the naturally 

abandon the natural as the standard of right. 

Contrary 

approximate and never 

indicated order does not lead Aristotle to 

to Marx, Aristotle suggests that the division of labor arises not so 

much from need as from the desire to live 

well.6 

One man can support himself 

to amass more than 

alone with 

only an ox. Unfortunstely, the same tendency 

they need also prevents most human beings from ever realizing their desires. 

Although acquisition ought to be defined and limited by the requirements of a 

fully sstisfying life, since the "mesns" 

utility of sny must be determined by 

its "end" or purpose, it is much essier, ss Aristotle observes, to see the utility 

of life. Most 

of goods and money thsn it is to find s fully satisfying way 

men thus devote themselves to acquiring as much as they can, because they are 

ultimately more concerned with their mere preservation than they 

sre with 

living well (I257b4i-i258&2). 

As Hobbes lster emphssizes, human beings never know exsctly 

whst 

they 

will need, so they amsss ss much ss possible to take csre of ss msny future 

contingencies as 

Aristotle insists, this unlimited desire for acqui 

sition results in a fundamental perversion. Rather than use 

money 

6. Marx, op. cit., pp. 156-58. 

7. Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan VI, XIII. 

and goods


to improve the quality of their lives by raising their level of activity, most 

men exercise and improve their faculties in order to acquire more goods. The 

first illustration Aristotle uses is indicative. Men need courage in order to live 

well, that is, not to live in fear, but in mercenary 

armies or wars for con 

quest, they make courage merely into a means of acquiring more wealth. They 

never find satisfaction in their own activity; they look only for the (external) 

rewards. 

Although Aristotle's view of the primary driving forces in the lives of most 

men is thus quite similar to Hobbes', there are two important differences. 

First, Aristotle describes a positive attachment to life rather than the negstive 

fesr of death or the unknown. The naive or natural view is that life is good, 

something to be desired. Second, Aristotle maintains that there are some few 

who are not moved 

solely by the desire for acquisition or mere life. In taking 

account 

only of the majority, Hobbes does not reveal the full human truth. A 

few can achieve full satisfaction in philosophy 

or government. If that is true, 

human life does not 

necessarily and always consist merely in striving that 

ceases only in death. So long 

as some human beings have to devote their lives 

to providing the goods, that is, so long a division of labor is necessary, every 

one will not be able to devote his or her life to politics or philosophy. 

Nevertheless, if most men seek good without end. there is bound to be 

competition and conflict on what we call economic grounds. And where there 

is conflict, force must be used to estsblish order. The use of force is therefore 

necesssry in instituting politicsl order not only 

to provide necessities in the 

form of the msster-slsve relstion but slso to desl with the conflict thst results 

from the expsnsion of desire thst follows the productive success of a division 

of labor. Since scarcity does not result so much from the limits of natural 

goods as the unlimited range of human desire, the productivity 

technology would not fundamentally 

of modern 

alter the situation. As Aristotle argues in 

Book II, acquisitive desires give rise to conflict which cannot be solved 

by 

solely 

economic means. 

Plato attempted to abolish self-interested conflict or "factions." especially 

between rich and poor, by making the citizens of his politeia as much like 

each other as possible and 

having them share everything. This most radical 

communism ever proposed is radically defective, according to Aristotle, in both 

means and end. If a political society necesssrily 

comprehends several different 

functions, conflict csnnot be reduced 

by destroying differentistion without 

destroying the possibility of politics ss well. Politicsl deliberation consists pre 

cisely in determining 

the difficult question of which activities to encourage 

smong 

which groups of citizens snd how to reward them with goods or praise. 

Like Plato, Aristotle asserts that education is the way to produce political unity, 

but Aristotle criticizes Plato for not recognizing 

the significance of economic 

function for education. If the farmers and guardians receive the same education, 

Aristotle asks, how will 

they remain able to perform their different functions?


If they don't, how does the educational scheme unify the city? Education means 

more than the acquisition of skills and common beliefs; human beings learn 

largely by doing, so their education is virtually inseparable from their way of 

life. Rsther than unity itself or in the abstract, it is the desire to foster and 

protect an accepted way 

of life that holds together different activities which 

necessarily constitute a polity. 

Although Plato purports to rely on education to unify his politeia, Aristotle 

observes, he actually depends more on the communistic institutions. Aristotle's 

critique of these institutions thus points to his understanding 

of the origin or 

core of the politicsl conflict thst Plsto tried to svoid 

sre nsturslly first attached to their own existence. By having 

self-love. Humsn beings 

all citizens own 

all property in common, Aristotle argues, Plato insures that no one will take 

care of any 

of it. Each will tend to leave the msnagement of the 

"commons" 

to others, and it will not be possible to identify the failure of any specific 

individual to contribute his share because no one hss sny 

psrticulsr responsi 

bility for any specified psrt. The ssme observstion spplies even more strongly 

to the fsmily snd the raising of children. Men care for their own, both as an 

extension of themselves and because others hold them responsible. 

By making 

the city into one big family, Plato does not extend a close tie, therefore, so 

much as dissolve it. No one 

any longer "belongs" to any 

one else. 

The foundation of the traditional family structure is not solely economic 

or primarily bssed on the general difference between the sexes in physicsl 

strength snd reproductive function, sccording to Aristotle. On the contrary, the 

fsmily 

comprises three different relstions. One is the msster-slsve or economic 

function, but thst is only 

one. Women are not properly slaves, because they 

can reason; the relation between husband and wife is a "political" one of 

equals, as opposed to the despotic rule of slaves or the monarchical guidance 

of children (1259b!). Since it involves choice, the conjugal relstion is not 

merely animal, erotic, or procreative. Third and most important, however, is 

the educationsl relstion of psrents to children. Like sdults, children csn be 

educsted 

only if their needs sre met, but most sdults will care enough to take 

the trouble only for their own children, as an extension of themselves or, at 

least, as a duty for which they are publicly and individually 

held responsible. 

The family structure is thus necessary, because men will care for their children 

only when these are publicly and privately identifisble ss theirs. As Aristotle 

indicstes in his discussion of the differences between politicsl snd subpolitical 

associations in Book I, the family is economically necessary to produce future 

generations of human beings. It is politically necessary to make most men act 

to preserve the regime by taking 

csre to psss on their own wsy of life to their 

life will therefore slso 

children. The specific chsrscter snd regulstion of fsmily 

vary according 

to the regime (1260b 12-18). 

If education is, or ought to be, the first concern of any government, a public 

system will be provided and the laws will regulate family life as well ss more

opportunity" 


formsl studies. If educstion remains almost entirely within the private family, 

the division of labor will certainly be unjust, because privste weslth snd 

family 

position will determine future occupations rather than individual potential. Citi 

zens will be encouraged to care for their own, moreover, 

rather than what is 

common. Like Plato, Aristotle is aware of the Spartan system of public and 

equal, although segregated, education for both males and females. Like Plato, 

he suggests that men will not be educated unless their mothers are also (1260a). 

Unlike Plato, however, Aristotle srgues that public efforts cannot entirely replsce 

fsmily ties. Personsl sttention is importsnt not merely 

becsuse humsn 

beings desire it, but becsuse it is such a clesr indicstion of whst is vslued. 

If educstion is truly deemed to be important, fathers will concern themselves 

with it not 

only in general, in the law, but also as it specifically concerns 

their own sons. Indeed, concern for the existence and future of their own 

families constitutes one of the strongest bonds uniting 

men in a polity. Political 

unity cannot be achieved by destroying man's attachment to his own, Aristotle 

suggests, because politics itself grows out of this self-same attachment. 

Aristotle states his full view of the political function of the family only as 

a critique of Plato, because the family structure involves another fundamental 

limitation on political justice. Plato suggested the "community of wives and 

children" 

not only in order to overcome man's attachment to his own but also 

to offer both sexes an "equal 

to 

develop their individual poten 

tial, that is, as a matter of justice rather than efficiency. In Book I, Aristotle 

claims that as the master rules the slave by nature, so the man leads the woman 

(except when the union is against nature, that is, when a woman marries her 

inferior) (1259b 1-5). He thus 

implicitly recognizes the possibility explicitly 

discussed in the Republic (4550-4563) thst s womsn inferior to 3 few men 

will still be superior to most. Since he insists thst the conjugal associstion is 

politicsl 3nd reflects in the immediste sequel thst political relstions generally 

occur between equsls, who rule snd sre ruled in turn, it is difficult to see why 

he nevertheless concludes that the man should alwsys rule (i259b5-io). In 

describing the basis of the three different kinds of rule or relations in the 

household, Aristotle explains that the parts are different. Where the slave does 

not participste in council or deliberation (fiovXevtixov) at all, both women 

and children do, but the woman's participation is axvgov, without authority, 

and the child is undeveloped (dasXeg). To ssy that the womsn deliberates 

without authority, rule or decisiveness (the alternative meanings of xvgioc;) is 

as much as to say 

that her reason does not rule because she does not rule. 

Aristotle does not give the reason why she does not rule or justify 

the ex 

ception to the ordinary equality in political relations. 

Aristotle admits that his discussion of the family and the proper excellence 

and functions of its varied psrts in Book I is not complete (i26ob8-20). The 

question must be reconsidered in the context of the discussion of the different 

regimes becsuse it is s question of the respective excellences of ruled and

ule." 


rulers. The fsmily is, sfter all, but a part of the polis, and the excellence of 

the part is relstive to the whole. When Aristotle returns to the question of the 

relative excellences of ruler and ruled in Book III (1277^4-30), he also dis 

cusses the different virtues of the two sexes. The only virtue peculiar to rulers. 

he concludes, is cbgovrjoig or practicsl resson which is and can be developed 

only in the process of governing, that is, in use. Otherwise the virtues of the 

ruler and the ruled are the same; the ruler must know how to obey (himself 

and others) before he can rule. The virtues of the two sexes differ, not because 

of differences in natural potential for deliberation, according to Aristotle, but 

because of their different household functions. According 

to the true laws of 

the household (olxovoLiia), the business of the man is to acquire where that of 

the woman is to secure. (Is Aristotle guilty of an ironic pun here? The verb 

he uses to describe the female function, cbvXctTTEtv, 

hss the ssme root ss 

the noun, tbvkaxr), thst Plsto uses to describe the rulers in the Republic.) The 

definition of the functionsl difference underlying 

sexusl differences in excel 

lence seems to refer bsck to the srt of war, described ss s form of the art of 

acquisition and so oikonomia in Book I (i256b24-28). If so, the sexual divi 

sion of labor in the household reflects differences in physical strength more 

than deliberative potential; and the woman's silence or "modesty" is a product 

more of place than intellectual deficiency. Aristotle's discussion of 

slavery 

makes it clear, moreover, that he does not regard physical strength as a legiti 

mate ground for 

Defense is usually 

considered to be just while 

tsking the property and lives 

of others is not. Perhaps for thst resson Aristotle includes the srt of wsr or 

the hunting of slsves only conditionally 

statesman. 

Only 

with the yolk, is the taking 

in the true oikonomia and art of the 

if nature provides for man's needs as she does for the chick 

of slaves just. Aristotle does not srgue thst there 

will be a sufficient number of natural slaves to serve the needs of each oikos 

or polis; on the contrary, in Book VII (1330326-33) he indicates that even in 

the best regime some who are not naturally 

slaves will be forced to serve others 

by proposing to free some of them. (A natural slave could not be freed, be 

cause he is incapable of 

taking 

does not snd cannot correspond exsctly 

potential among individuals. 

csre of himself.) Even the best politicsl order 

to the uneven distribution of nstural 

Just as slavery is finally justified not merely by a natural difference among 

individuals in talent but also as a necessary 

means or part of a greater whole, 

the political association, so is the perpetual debarment of women from poli 

tics.9 

Some must provide the necessities so that others csn be free. So Aristotle 

8. See also Arlene Saxonhouse, "Aristotle's Critique of 

Socrates' 

Community of Wives," 

paper 

prepared for presentation at the Midwest Political Science Association meetings, April 19-21. 

1979, Chicago, Illinois. 

9. Even Susan Okin, Women in Western Political Thought (Princeton: Princeton University 

Press, 1979). p. 235. admits that Aristotle treats women in accord with his general teleological 

understanding, not as exceptions to the rule for men.

"more," 


observes st the end of his critique of Plsto's Laws (i265b22-27) 

thst some one 

must msnsge the household. In Book I, however, Aristotle suggests thst it is 

desirable to find s steward to oversee the employment of one's slaves in order 

to free oneself for politics or philosophy. 

Why 

couldn't a wife also hire a 

household manager? In contrast to slsvery, the subordinstion of women does 

not sppesr to rest 

primsrily 

on the need for sn economic division of labor. 

True, the provision of necessities is a prerequisite of politicsl life; but it is 

not sufficient. Men must slso be educsted; snd ss Aristotle points out in his 

critique of Plsto's sttempt to mske politicsl order correspond to nstursl dif 

ferences, men will not sttend to the educstion of their sons unless they sre 

certsin these children sre in fsct theirs. The fundsmentsl resson women sre 

bsrred from the full development of their deliberative fsculties in public life 

sppesrs to be the need to msximize esch husbsnd's conviction thst his wife's 

children sre his own so thst he will tend to their educstion. As public con 

cern for educstion decresses, in s 

democracy for exsmple, Aristotle lster ob 

serves, so does the need to regulste the sctivities of women snd children. 

Sexusl differentistion of function does hsve a natural foundation, but that 

foundation appears to consist more in man's love of his own than in differ 

ences between the sexes in potential intellectual ability. 

Aristotle is thus very 

much aware of the role of self-interest in politics snd 

its primsrily 

economic msnifestation. He simply insists that as forms of human 

existence differ, so do the expressions and demsnds of self-interest. Since sll 

interests are not 

simply economic, he points out in his critique of Phaleas, all 

conflicts of interest cannot be solved 

solely by 

economic means. Because eco 

nomic desires extend beyond need, as soon as need is met, conflict will not 

end 

by giving all equal shares. Some will try to get more, not simply because 

they want more things, but because they wsnt honor, to be recognized 

by other 

men ss being better. Since economic desires resdily expsnd beyond need, eco 

nomic conflict is inevitsble snd csn be regulsted only by noneconomic means, 

that is, government. Government will also be based on self-interest, but interest 

of a different kind. Relatively few people in sny community hsve either the 

opportunity or the desire to psrticipate regularly in directing 

its affairs. Most 

people will be content business.10 

merely to be left alone to mansge their own 

Prompted by stsrvation, people may revolt, but such popular uprisings are rela 

tively rare and certainly not of long duration. The people who desire s place 

in government on an ongoing basis will not be prompted by need so much as a 

desire for 

which is most often a desire for recognition. 

Political conflict is thus not 

fundamentally or properly speaking 

economic in 

origin. 

Precisely for that reason, Aristotle suggests, it is possible to obtain 

civil peace, if the desire for recognition, office, or honors of the few mskes 

them unwilling to engage in purely scquisitive sctivities snd they 

sre granted 

io. Cf. Machiavelli. Prince IX.

military." 


the power to control the scquisitive desires of others with force (i267b4-io). 

The wsy in which s community sllocates offices and honors is thus absolutely 

crucial, because it determines the kinds of activities or achievements ambitious 

men pursue and whether or not 

they will see an opportunity to realize their de 

sires and so support the regime. 

Aristotle mskes us confront the fsct thst the "people" set politically only 

with leadership 

or organization. The character snd educstion of the leaders is 

thus the decisive political phenomenon, 

even in democracies. Political leaders 

can be led or educated through an appeal to their desire for recognition, but 

Aristotle reminds us that the desire for recognition is not the only motive 

which brings men into politics. Some also seek to become tyrants, to have the 

power to do whatever 

they want, or as he says, to have pleasure without pain. 

They are mistaken in this attempt, he suggests, because there are always "costs" 

or "trade-offs" in politics of the kind we have discussed in the context of the 

division of lsbor. The only 

source of pure plessure is philosophy, presumsbly 

ss Plsto argues, because the truth is the only good human being 

can share 

without losing any themselves, that is, the only good they can truly hold in 

common and noncompetitively. 

Nevertheless, Aristotle does not support Montesquieu's later suggestion that 

ancient political virtue consists fundsmentslly in an appeal to the desire for 

recognition and is basically 

Aristotle argues that this is true of ancient 

practice, particulsrly of Spsrts, but he insists thst militsry 

prowess does not 

constitute the whole of practical or political virtue. The excellence of a ruler, as 

Aristotle presents it, is primarily intellectual. It consists in duplicating 

the com 

plex determination Aristotle himself begins in Book III of what is just not 

only 

in general but also in the specific circumstances. Such considerations 

apply not 

only to the founding, the fundamental law, or the organization of offices and 

honors in the constitution, but also potentially to every 

piece of legislation, 

every particular administrative decision, because, as Aristotle observes, small 

changes, in the qualifications for voting, for example, can change the entire 

constitution (128934-6; 

1303321-25). It takes great prudence to foresee the 

long-term effects of current actions. These deliberations are thus continually 

necessary snd so difficult thst they tsx snd fully occupy 

mental snd physicsl capscity. They 

are inherently satisfying, 

s human being's entire 

although not en 

without 

tirely pain, becsuse political decisions slwsys involve hsrd 3lternstives 

snd 3lw3ys h&ve costs, since they always benefit some more than others. In any 

form of government, only 

a few participate at this level and so realize the full 

benefits. Everyone csnnot govern; 

slwsys sttend primsrily 

st most the rulers will tske turns. Most will 

to the means of their own self-preservation. 

If very few people ever take part in full political deliberation, very 

fully understand the reasons for any set of lsws. Most will obey 

few will 

on the bssis 

1 1. Montesquieu. Spirit of the Laws IV, V.


of s general trust or belief that the laws sre beneficisl. But every time the 

lsw is chsnged, this general belief will be brought into question. Aristotle thus 

criticizes 

Hippodamus' 

suggestion that innovation should be rewarded snd so 

encouraged. Since every change hss such s fundsmentsl cost, only 

msjor re 

forms should even be considered. Reform per se cannot be advocsted without 

undermining obedience to the law. 

Improvement in politics is possible and reason is the major source of im 

provement. Politicsl resson is essentislly deliberative rather thsn linesr or 

simply additive, however, for two reasons. First, there sre competing 

and 

noncommensurable 

elements to be weighed, and second, the weight of each de 

pends somewhat upon the particular circumstsnces, 

which sre slwsys chsnging. 

The most important political decision, as we have seen, is the constitutional 

one 

determining 

what the offices or honors shall be and who is eligible for 

them. In short, who should rule. This question is difficult, slthough not im 

possible to snswer, Aristotle sees, becsuse of the necessary differentiation of 

function. Several groups can claim to provide what is most essential to the 

politicsl association and, therefore, the right to have the decisive voice in its 

affairs. No one 

group can provide all the community's needs, so any group(s) 

denied the right to participate to the extent of electing 

officials st least will 

have some just grounds for complsint. The primsry 

sttschment to his own exis 

tence of esch individusl will, moreover, tend to mske esch 

group overestimste 

the importance of its own contribution and denigrate the services of others. 

Conflict almost necessarily results; whether dissent is voiced or not, there will 

never be perfect agreement or consent 

underlying any 

regime. Man's self-love 

not 

only makes unanimous consent extremely unlikely but also invalidates con 

sent as the sole measure of justice. 

Unlike modern relativists, Aristotle insists that it is possible to answer the 

question, who should rule, with reason. There are two kinds of considerations 

to be taken into account. First, there are the broad criteria set 

by the ends of 

the association. A political association is more than a market or a mutual de 

fense pact, Aristotle argues, because different polities can trade or slly with 

each other without becoming politically united (1280a). Political sssocistion in 

volves sgreement on s desirable way 

of life, and those who contribute to the 

maintensnce of this distinctive way of life have a greater claim to participate 

in the government than those who simply contribute to its subsistence by pro 

viding food or defending its territory. All contributions or services to the polity 

are not necessarily performed by discrete groups, however. Farmers can also be 

soldiers, and soldiers can become judges. In order to determine what groups 

should participate in making decisions for the community, and to what extent, 

one must also look at the specific circumstances or people to see which group 

or groups, on the whole, contribute most and so deserve to rule. 

Mechanics or artisans represent the limiting and so most revealing case. 

Clearly, mechanics and artisans are not "nstursl 

because they 

are able

"outvoted" 


to order their lives and preserve themselves. Their need to lsbor prevents them 

from doing more. They contribute to the msintensnce of the life of the city, 

but they csnnot psrticipste in politics or government in any very mesningful 

sense, becsuse they have not the time, experience, or occasion to follow and 

participate in public deliberations. The institution of political association does 

not, therefore, enable members of this class to reach their full human potentisl. 

Aristotle concludes, therefore, that they should not be citizens in sny wellordered 

regime (i 278s). Have they not been treated unjustly, we might respond; 

they, too, contribute to the common good. Should they not at lesst be sllowed to 

vote? Aristotle would respond that they enjoy the advantages of law and order; 

in exchange for their contribution to the preservation of the city, they, too, are 

preserved. Nevertheless, he concludes that it is dsngerous not to let them hsve 

some shsre in the enjoyment of power; for a polis with a 

body 

chised citizens who are numerous and poor must necessarily 

of disenfran 

be a polis which 

is full of enemies (128^28-31). Men love their own, and they 

will view the 

government as their own only if they participate in it to a certain extent. Aris 

totle thus mskes his recommendstion with regsrd to artisans in full view of 

the potential costs. 

Democracies tend to be more stable than other forms of government, Aris 

totle observes, but they also tend to be ill-governed. If the people decide issues 

or vote for a psrty platform directly, they do so on the bssis of insdequste 

information and disregard for the need to adapt to changing 

circumstances. If 

they merely vote for officials to make these decisions for them, they 

must be 

very fine judges of character (i28ib-i282a; I326b2). 

Usually they Either they blame officials for problems they had no control over, or they ele 

are not. 

vate sycophantic scoundrels. (Aristotle might well recall Athens' trestment of 

Perikles as well ss Kleon.) Most fundsmentsl, however, s government which 

elevates the necessities of life and those who provide them, whether democratic 

or oligarchic, implicitly 

endorses and frees the acquisitive desires. It will neces 

sarily be corrupt in itself and corrupt the people. The only check on the ac 

quisitive desires is reason, but Aristotle recognizes that the people who see the 

reasons 

why acquisition should be limited are few, so few that they 

be apt to press their claims to rule. 

They 

(130404-5). They see that they 

will be 

will not 

have too much practical sense 

in effect 

by 

others. To the 

extent to which all government rests on the consent of the many, it is not 

based on reason. 

Although reason can solve the political problem. Aristotle suggests that it is 

not likely to be effective very often at least not fully 

effective. The best 

regime possible 

generally is not a regime which elevates the best men (an 

"aristocracy") but one which checks the worst abuses of power. In a "mixed 

or polity, elections and offices are structured so that they balance the 

powers of the people (numbers) and their moderate 

relatively desires against 

the rapacity of the few wealthy. There are many 

possible structures or 

varia-


tions, Aristotle recognizes, but no such mixture is possible where there is not 

a substsntial middle class. 

Only the middle class has an interest in keeping the 

balance, because they 

would suffer from either expropriation and redistribution 

of all 

property by the poor or oppressive taxation by the party 

Even regimes which do not intentionally and explicitly 

of the rich. 

seek to educate their 

citizens have a formative effect, but in these regimes predominantly economic 

factors have a much more powerful role. 

Many people, Aristotle observes, believe that there are 

fundamentally only 

two types of government democracies and oligarchies. (The distinction lives 

on in contemporary 

political science in the contrast between authoritarisn and 

psrticipstory.) Distinguishing them merely 

in terms of the number of people 

involved does not describe regimes sccurstely, however. As Aristotle reminds 

us, the rule of the "people" or s "msjority" still represents the rule of the 

whole 

by s psrt, very 

often in its own self-interest. Politics is slwsys psrtial. 

The government of msny educsted middle-clsss citizens is significsntly differ 

ent, moreover, from the rule of poor pesssnts. Men tend to cstegorize all re 

gimes ss either democracies or oligsrchies, Aristotle suggests, not 

simply on 

the bssis of the number of people involved but becsuse rich snd poor sppear 

to be the only mutually exclusive characteristics of ruling classes. Since it is 

possible to be both poor snd brave or rich snd educated, democracy 

and oli 

garchy or simple economic and numerical classifications do not suffice to de 

scribe a regime. There are monarchies, aristocracies, and polities as well as 

democracies, oligarchies, and tyrannies. Whether the ruling clsss defines its 

self-interest in terms of the prosperity of the whole or over snd against other 

classes makes a fundamental difference. Even when the ruling party 

evidently and narrowly self-interested and defines its interest primarily 

is more 

in eco 

nomic terms, there are still important practicsl differences smong oligsrchies 

and democracies. 

Political action always reflects self-interest, as Aristotle presents it, but that 

fact alone does not suffice to show that it is unjust or will be effective. Like 

sll human beings, rulers act for their own good. Whether their rule is just or 

not depends on how they 

understand their own interest. The best man would 

see that it is not in his interest to abuse s slsve or srtissn; the middle clsss 

is also politically self-controlled, but for economic rather than moral reasons, 

in its public sets but not on an individual or private level. Although a mixed 

regime is not possible without a large middle class, that is, the best regime 

generally possible depends on the existence of s certsin distribution of weslth, 

the distribution of wealth is not in itself politically determinative because gov 

ernment can change the distribution through taxation or outright expropriation. 

The political effects of both the distribution of wealth snd the mode of pro 

duction, so to speak, are more indirect. They affect the polity largely through 

the effect 

they have on the characteristic attitudes of the people. 

The differences Aristotle describes among democracies and oligarchies, for


example, have two primarily economic sources: the distribution of property and 

population on the one hsnd 

related 

snd the "mode of 

Aristotle slwsys insists thst the two factors be 

production" 

on the other. If s 

democracy is com 

posed of msny smsll lsndholders or farmers, it is apt to be law-abiding snd 

highly stsble. Small lsndholders or fsrmers necesssrily hsve to spend most of 

their time sttending to their own sffsirs. Since they sre geographically dis 

persed, it is difficult for them to organize or participste 

directly in political 

deliberation very 

often. 

They will tend, therefore, to support the rule of law 

and to maintsin widespresd distribution of property (by opposing oppressive 

tsxstion), becsuse both sre in their rather immediate and narrow economic in 

terest. The same is true of sn 

oligsrchy composed of msny 

citizens who csn 

meet s relatively low property quslificstion. If, on the other hsnd, power de 

volves to urbsn day-laborers, they will be apt to meet regularly 

and to change 

the lsw frequently, becsuse it will be relstively essy for them to congregste. 

They will slso be spt to expropriste the holdings of the rich, st lesst to tsx 

property hesvily, in order to pay themselves for public service. Likewise, an 

oligarchy composed of s few very weslthy fsmilies who recognize no clsim of 

right or humsn excellence but wealth is apt to adopt very 

oppressive laws or 

even to act outside the law in an sttempt to incresse their own holdings even 

more. The distribution of weslth snd types of property held sre politically im 

portant not merely because they arouse conflict. As Aristotle argues in Book V, 

politicsl conflict seldom revolves 

solely sround the economic question; there is 

slwsys sn sdmixture of a concern for what is "right" or just. Distribution and 

the "mode of 

production" 

are politically important because they determine the 

way of life of a people, their general habits snd opinions, especially 

to the law. 

Surely it would be best if all men could rationally 

with regard 

decide what is the best 

way of life and then foster it intentionally. Lsws sre necessary, however, pre 

cisely because human beings are not entirely rational, 

society 

and not all members of a 

will ever have the leisure to engsge in extended deliberations. A divi 

sion of lsbor is necesssry 

with the result thst most men will spend most of their 

time pursuing s vsriety of essentislly economic tssks. When they 

csnnot be 

persusded to restrain their scquisitive desires intentionslly snd willingly, it is 

necesssry to use force. Force slone does not suffice to produce obedience to the 

lsw, however, becsuse it is too clear that force may be used to gratify the 

acquisitive desires of the rulers at the expense of the ruled. If most citizens 

cannot be persusded to do whst is right or commonly beneficisl for that resson 

slone, they msy still obey the lsw because they 

see it as in their own economic 

interest. Both the distribution of goods snd the kinds of property held sre sub 

ject, after all, to legal control. When the laws csnnot shspe or improve the 

chsracter of citizens directly, they may approximate the same results indirectly 

through economic regulation. 

Although Aristotle's name is justly 

associsted with the thought thst politicsl


psrticipation is the only means by 

which human beings can realize their full 

potential for self-rule, he does not advocate participation per se.12 

trary, he seems as interested as James Madison in diffusing 

directing 

into private and 

largely economic directions. Organizing and arguing 

On the con 

the energies and 

the self-interest of those who have not been educated to public service 

or pres 

suring merely to foster one's own interest at the expense of others does not 

difference between public 

develop the highest human faculties. There is a big 

deliberations concerning the good of the community, or political participation 

properly speaking, and interest group 

sctivity. Aristotle does not merely point 

out the wsy in which the privste pursuit of economic self-interest, ss opposed 

to the use of public power to sttsin economic benefits, lesds to more stable, 

less oppressive government. He slso points out the brosder effects on the chsr 

scter of the populsce, the inculcstion of s relstively 

low order of moderation 

or self-control, which is a reflection at least of man's higher and fuller capacity 

for self-rule. As a student of both Machiavelli and Montesquieu, Msdison sim 

ply drops thst concern. The question, of course, is whether we retsin sn sdequste 

understsnding 

of either legislstion or politics if we ignore the formstive 

effects, intended or sccidental, and conceive of government solely 

in terms of 

what it controls or leaves free from restraint. 

Rather than advocate participation, Aristotle supports the rule of law in 

almost all cases. The rule of law is ususlly superior to ad hoc decisions, he 

srgues, because it is freer from passion and hence more reasonable. Not only is 

the law general in application and so freer from personal interest or attachment 

than particular decisions made in particular cases, but the law is also the product 

of a prior determination of what is right without regard to particular applica 

tions. If the law is spt to be better than the legislators' direct adjudication of 

specific controversies, however, it cannot be better than the legislators' general 

understanding 

of what is right and appropriate. Laws thus always reflect the 

men who make them, that is, the ruling 

body. Good laws cease to be good, 

moreover, when 

they sre not suited to the psrticulsr people in question; they 

will not be obeyed and a negative lesson in reasonableness and order or selfcontrol 

will result. There is no substitute 

finally 

for political wisdom which 

combines knowledge of the general principles of politics with observation of 

the specific circumstances and the limits these place on the achievement of 

what is in itself desirable. In his discussion of the relative merits of the rule 

of law and the absolute rule of one man of superior wisdom. Aristotle thus 

returns at the end of Book III to the essential tension between the necessary 

conditions for political life and the realization of its end that he introduced by 

asking 

whether mechanics should be citizens. 

12. Delba Winthrop, "Aristotle and Political Responsibility," Political Theory, Vol. 3. No. 4 

(November 1975), pp. 406-22; Benjamin Barber. 

System," 

"The Undemocratic Party in Robert A. 

Goldwin, ed., Political Parties, U.S.A. (Washington, D.C.: American Enterprise Institute, 1980), 

PP- 34-49: Sheldon Wolin, Politics and Vision (Boston: Little Brown, i960), pp. 58-63.


Although the rule of law is almost slwsys to be preferred to individusl dis 

cretion, Aristotle srgues thst if one msn is wiser than sll his countrymen com 

bined, he should rule sbsolutely. He hss more resson. It would pervert the 

end of the sssocistion entirely, moreover, if the better were subordinsted to the 

worse. Nevertheless, the rule of the one best msn represents snother extreme 

and limiting case, because politicsl relstions are essentially deliberative, con 

ducted among equals, and there is no real, interpersonsl exchsnge of opinion or 

equslity in the absolute rule of one man. His rule is, therefore, not truly polit 

ical. If such an extraordinary man wished to benefit his countrymen, 

and such 

a man would, he would legislate for them. Political knowledge must be essen 

tially practical, because it concerns practice; yet the man who possesses and 

acts upon it, should the opportunity 

above politics (interestedness) itself. 

arise, also stands somewhat outside and 

Aristotle's suggestion that political knowledge properly culminates in legis 

lation and that the construction of the constitution is the fundamental political 

act differs in two importsnt respects from similsr srguments lster offered 

by 

Mschiavelli concerning the importsnce of "founding" snd 

by Roussesu on the 

role of the "Legislstor."13 Aristotle certsinly does not suggest thst the legislator 

use religion to convince the people who cannot understand the reasons for his 

new constitution to adopt it as a matter of divine will. He does recognize the 

priesthood as a political office (1322^2-37), but he seems to hsve the exist 

ing 

institutions in mind. He himself does not indicste much respect for the 

Greek Gods or their worship when he observes thst they merely 

represent pro 

jections of humsn chsrscteristics snd desires (I252b25~30). And he repestedly 

urges his resders to svoid one of the commonest mistskes politicisns mske, to 

sttempt to deceive or manipulate the people (i297b5-io; 130831-5; I308b30- 

40). The second difference follows from the first. Aristotle denies the possi 

bility of instituting any radically 

new political order. Institutions snd laws 

must be suited to the particular character of the people. If these institutions 

serve to educate as well as to benefit the people in material ways, as 

they can, 

this education will occur over time and through practice rather than precept. 

Political order is not primarily s mstter of rhetoric any 

damentally 

a product of force. 

Aristotle's Politics thus points more to the possibility 

and knowledge than to any 

more than it is fun 

of political wisdom 

specific set of reforms. Here, too, his work stands 

in marked contrast to Plsto's Republic, at least on the surface. If political 

knowledge consists largely 

of reflections on politicsl practice, and practice may 

improve on the basis of these reflections, ss Aristotle argues in Book II 

(i264ai-5; 1269a), it is extremely unlikely that any 

sion to legislate entirely 

man will hsve the occa 

from scratch. Aristotle observes that it is ss difficult 

to reform sn existing regime ss it is to design sn entirely 

new one. The leg- 

13. Prince VI; Discourses l:xi; Social Contract 11:7.


islator needs to know both the direction in which to move and the limits of the 

possible, that is, to have full political knowledge, in order to achieve even a 

small but truly beneficial change. Small changes can hsve cumulstively lsrge 

effects. 

Aristotle concentrates on whst we can know generally 

sbout politicsl sctivity 

snd organization rather than making specific recommendstions not only be 

csuse the "ought" 

depends on the particular circumstances but also because 

what we can know far exceeds what we can do. 

Even though it is difficult to find the truth in these matters of 

equality and justice, it 

is easier than to persuade those with the power to act for their own advantage to 

act justly. (I3i8bi 5) 

Aristotle addresses the Politics primarily to potential rulers, and his advice, 

most 

simply 

stated, is, obey your own laws. Political association depends on 

friendship, trust in the character, and faith in the good intentions of the gov 

ernors (i295b24-28). Such trust can grow 

only on the bssis of experience. 

The people will sccept 

sny government, Aristotle thinks, thst lesves them 

slone. 

They will even serve in the army to defend it, if they 

1-15). The most important factor in maintaining any government, therefore, is 

that the rulers 

obey their own laws; they 

are paid (1297b 

must want to preserve the constitu 

tion. Any infraction of the law must be immediately and seriously punished. 

Aristotle differs most from both modern political philosophers and con 

temporary politicsl scientists in his insistence thst justice is prscticslly 

fectively crucisl in politics. It is importsnt not only 

snd ef 

to tske sccount of whst 

people believe is right or their "values," but also to determine and to do what 

is beneficial (although not 

necessarily equally beneficial) for all members of a 

society in order to maintain a regime. The fact that all ruling 

groups claim to 

rule, ss a mstter of right, for the common good, is not 

merely a kind of 

"white-washing" 

or propaganda. It reflects the fundamental truth about politics. 

Human beings associate only for their common benefit or pleasure, and all 

these associations reflect their powers of reason. The rationality of these asso 

ciations is simply 

not complete or uniform. Few men will understand how to 

structure institutions; fewer will be farsighted enough to predict the long-term 

effects of laws (1308333-35). Although most men sre unsble to live or understsnd 

s 

fully satisfying life, they 

understsnd quite well when their lives or live 

lihoods are threatened and take messures to resist. Politicsl associations will 

last, therefore, only so long as they benefit most of the inhabitants, even 

though the benefits will 

largely be rather low and concrete 

the right to own a bit of property. 

personal safety and 

Although Aristotle srgues that it is in the interest of rulers to be just, he 

does not express much fsith in the powers of most men to exercise selfcontrol. 

The acquisitive desire is too strong, so strong thst in his "bestregim 

Aristotle would 

unnaturally and unjustly enslave some to perform the tssks of


the mechanics rather than give the contributions of necessary 

goods public rec 

ognition 

by making srtissns citizens. Short of the best regime, Aristotle ob 

serves, rulers tend to use their power to smsss s fortune snd so undermine the 

end of politicsl sssocistion itself ss well as the particular regime. In arguing the 

essential importance of justice, Aristotle does not preach 

any 

On the contrary, his Politics differs from Plato's Republic primarily because 

selfless 

"virtue." 

Aristotle puts self-interest first snd foremost. "To feel that something 

own makes an inexpressible difference. Love of oneself is surely 

natural. Self 

is one's 

ishness is justly blamed, but this is really not so much love of oneself as love 

of oneself more than one 

ought" 

(I263a4i-i263b5). Beginning 

with man's 

self-love, Aristotle shows not 

only why justice is in the interest of the rulers 

but also why 

most men are not just most of the time. 

The same desire, the desire not only to live but to live well, that gives 

rise to politics and the need for justice also limits both. The limits are, in the 

first instance, economic. As we have seen, the propagstion snd nurture of fu 

ture generations requires the fsmily structure, snd the msintensnce of the fsmily 

requires the somewhst unjust subordinstion of women. Fsmilies sre necesssry, 

psrticulsrly to educste the young. So long ss there sre differences smong 

fsmilies snd there will be differences so long 

ss there is s division of lsbor 

the division or sllocstion of tasks smong sdults, including governing, 

correspond 

perfectly 

will not 

to differences in natural potentisl. Potentisl per se is not 

visible or identifisble, snd its sctuslizstion is fostered or restricted 

by fsmily 

circumstsnce. Aristotle thus shows in psssing thst equsl 

opportunity 

in the 

modern, liberal form is something 

of a myth which can never be perfectly 

realized. Unlike Plato, Aristotle does not propose 

any "noble lies." Aristotle 

admits that women need not be confined, that it is not even appropriate, in 

democracies and that all contributions or vocations tend to be recognized in 

such regimes through universal suffrage. But he suggests that no one will lead 

a truly satisfying life in such a regime, no one perhaps but the entirely private 

philosopher, because the acquisitive desire is freed, and there is no wsy of 

satisfying thst desire for mere life or more goods on its own terms. 

Economic desires give rise to competition snd conflict, moreover, snd this 

conflict produces s need for government. If humsn beings slwsys set for their 

own good, sll governments will be psrtisl to the interests of the ruling group, 

however, snd those not in office will have reason to object. No regime will 

benefit all those under its control equally, 

and no regime will rest on universal 

consent. Force will slwsys be necesssry to msintsin order. And, ss s mstter 

of fsct in contrast to right, Aristotle observes thst politicsl power tends to 

devolve upon those who possess arms (1297b 16-20). Even the legislator who 

understsnds thst it is in his own interest to be just, to benefit his fellow citi 

zens (actually subjects) rather than to seek to enrich himself at their expense, 

will find that he is unable to benefit them all completely 

or equally. The neces 

sity of providing the basics, food and defense, mandates a division of labor


which makes it impossible for sll to psrticipate in political deliberations snd 

so to develop 

their natural potential to the fullest extent possible. Most human 

beings will continue to live under laws they 

do not make or understand. 

Unlike Plato, whose philosophers must be forced to rule (Republic 579c), 

Aristotle suggests that politics may also be an inherently satisfying activity. It 

is so st Aristotle's own level, however, in thought or deliberation rather than in 

effect. In showing the limits of political action, Aristotle thus also teaches a 

certain kind of self-restraint. If his resders do not become Utopians or radical 

reformers, they also surely do not become nihilists and despair of humanity.

Temporal Royalties and Virtue's Airy Voice 

in The Tempest 

Timothy Fuller 

The Colorado College 

The Tempest begins in a tempest which is to ssy that it begins not only 

in s storm but in the midst of time. One msy thus be reminded that the 

tempest is both without, imposed by the storm, snd the remembrance of things 

past and hoped for within. The passengers on the storm-tossed ship 

are chsr 

scters constituted out of the circumstances of storm and time. But these are 

not 

ordinary passengers. Rather, they are, in order of appearance, the ship's 

master, the boatswain, the King of Naples, and the apparent Duke of Milan. 

They are all, in greater or lesser degree, "authorities", yet 

they are all en 

compassed within the unsought commsnd of the storm itself. Both Alonso 

the king snd Antonio the duke sppesr first with s question, "Where is the 

msster?" 

Literally, they wish to know where the ship's msster is. However, 

ss the play will show, the master is the storm and hence, in that respect, 

the master is evident snd everywhere; but beyond this the msster of the storm 

is Prospero, who is not evident. It is worth reflection thst a 

king 

ask where the master is 

snd a duke 

neither of these masters is the master here. In these 

circumstances mastery 

is ambiguous. 

Next in order of appearance is the old councillor Gonzalo, who advises 

patience to the boatswain, who is angry 

at the interference of the king and 

duke. Gonzalo tries to remind him of who 

they 

are. This reminder is inef 

fective because their authority is usurped by the storm and the ship's master. 

The boatswain says to Gonzalo, 

"If you can command these elements to silence and work the peace of the present, 

we will not hand a rope more; use your 

authority" 

(i.i. 20-22). ' 

But Gonzalo also has no authority here. On the other hand, he is heartened 

by the apparent authority of the boatswain who "hath no drowning 

him" 

(i.i. 27). The bostswain is contemptuous of the howling 

who are "louder than the westher or our 

msrk upon 

of the passengers 

(i.i. 35). But the recognition 

of the boatswain's authority is then undercut by the appearance of Sebastisn, 

the brother of the King of Nsples, who curses the boatswain to a faretheewell . 

Sebastian is the first character to appear who is neither an authority nor a 

This paper was prepared for delivery at the annual meeting of The Midwest Political Science 

Association, Cincinnati, Ohio, April 16-18, 1981. 

1 All citations from The Tempest are from The Pelican Shakespeare edition edited 

by Northrop 

Frye, 1970. The New Arden Edition, edited by Frank Kermode (London, 1966), has also been 

consulted.

power 

srt" 


respecter of authority. But this seems to incite Antonio the duke to curse the 

boatswain ss well (i.i.41-42), suggesting thst this apparent authority is not 

necessarily a respecter of authority 

even though he holds it. 

becomes inevitable 

As the storm worsens and the need to abandon ship 

the King and the Prince pray 

but Sebastian and Antonio continue to complain 

snd curse. The king snd prince hsve some conventionsl piety 

st the 

threshhold 

of desth but Sebsstisn snd Antonio do not. Rsther, they 

king ss the ship 

sbsndon the 

breaks apart. Gonzalo affects a certain degree of patience 

sbout his own counsel in ssying "the wills sbove be done" (i.i. 62). 

One msy 

summsrize the first scene of the plsy by ssying thst it dramatizes 

the uncertainty of authority 

in the face of the elements. This reminds us of 

our 

temporality or mortality, and that better and worse responses can be made 

to this drama of uncertain authority. The ship's master and bostswsin respond 

with hsbitusl skill to their fsmilisr adversity; Gonzslo responds with resignation; 

the King and the Prince with conventional pieties; and Sebastian and Antonio 

with fear snd self-preserving instinct. 

The second scene tempestuousness. 

It opens with s speech of Mirsnds, the wondering one, who 

provides 

tranquility 

sntitheticsl to the first scene's 

begins, 

"If by your srt, my dearest father" (i.ii.i). The tranquility 

is presented not 

only in a rhetoric of reflection and wonder, or philosophically, for philosophy 

appears in the first scene only tangentially in Gonzalo's resignation, but also 

in the unsmbiguous relstion of 

suthority between fsther snd child, snd in the 

sense of commsnd thst is implied by reference to Prospero's 

"srt" 

But Mirsnds 

also exhibits two other characteristics in her first speech: the first is the capacity 

for suffering empathetically 

with the victims of the storm; the second is her 

insistence that if she were a "god of 

to preserve rather than to destroy 

she would have used her power 

the ship. The daughter of Prospero antici 

pates the conclusion to which Prospero himself will come at the end of the 

play, except that the literal sense in which she seems to speak will be trans 

formed in Prospero's finsl reslizstion when he ss the precise "god of 

preserves rather than destroys by an act of renouncing the very 

power which 

is his. By snticipsting in her speech Prospero's lster sction. Mirsnds transforms 

sn sbstrsct proposition sbout life into 3 self-ensctment in the midst of life. 

Prospero's renunciation will be the reslity 

power justly. 

behind Mirsnds's desire to use 

A further indicstion of this is thst Prospero, in telling Miranda the full 

background of their situation for the first time, begins by asking 

her to "Lend 

thy hsnd / And pluck my msgic gsrment from me. So, / Lie there my 

(i.ii. 23-25). This is the first occssion for Prospero to renounce his msgic 

srt. 

Underlying the spectscle which csuses Mirsnds's amszement is s history 

of events events not at sll msgical. Prospero's commsnd to "be 

(i.ii. 13) is fulfilled through Prospero's recollection. The lsying 

sside of Pros 

pero's gsrment of magical authority is connected to his revelation of the loss

sssur 

Temporal Royalties and Virtue' s Airy Voice in The Tempest 209 

of his authority in Milan. The setting aside of the magic garment is also the 

setting 

sside of the childhood illusion sbout the authoritstive psrent. 

Mirands professes to remember "rather like s dream thsn sn 

something of her esrliest childhood in Milsn. And, ss the story 

begins to be 

unfolded Mirsnda wonders whether their coming to the islsnd wss s curse or 

s blessing (i.ii.60-62). To this Prospero snswers "both" Literally it is a curse 

to be exiled, but also s 

blessing thst they were sble to survive. But it is, 

more importantly, the occasion for reflection on the proper order of things. 

Thus, the tempest produced in scene i is paralleled 

by the calmer tempest 

of recollection in scene ii, which Prospero produces in Miranda as her first 

confrontation with the ambiguities thst wonder produces. Mirsnds is swsre 

of this insofsr as she sees thst Prospero's troubled sspect is csused 

by her 

"remembrance" 

of her early childhood (i.ii.64-65). Remembrance is thus a 

blessing and a curse. But, ultimately, remembering is necessary 

have the understanding 

if one is to 

thst is the msrk of humsn wisdom on humsn things. 

For, while it is true thst Antonio's exercise of the power Prospero entrusted 

to him "set sll hesrts i' th' state / To what tune pleased his 

ear," 

it is also 

true that Prospero was the true source of this sad state of affairs. The tempest 

produced in Miranda is a reflection of the tempest within Prospero himself. 

Prospero's recollections excite Mirsnds's. The tempestuousness is constituted 

out of Prospero's inner intellectusl sscent following his sctusl political descent 

from first duke in Italy to exile, in juxtaposition to Antonio's assumption of 

the "outward face of 

a "god of 

royalty" 

(i.ii. 104), which is a political ascent to being 

power" 

but a descent in the sense of a revelstion of the corruption 

of his soul in endless smbition. 

Prospero now sees thst Antonio, unlike Prospero, csnnot comprehend the 

thought thst s library could be s sufficient dukedom. Thus, Antonio concludes 

thst Prospero is incspsble of exercising "temporal royslties". For Antonio, 

the cspscity to exercise temporal royalties seems to be exhibited in endlessly 

growing ambition. He thus made a pact with the King of Naples that, in 

return for tribute, the would support 

King his extirpation of Prospero and 

Miranda from Milan. Fearing an outcry from the people of Milan, however, 

the conspirators set Prospero and Miranda adrift in the sea rather than kill 

them outright, and so they were left "To cry to 

th' sea" 

(i.ii. 149). 

Their eventual ssfe srrivsl on this enchsnted isle wss msde possible 

by the 

generosity of Gonzslo, who hsd pity 

on them, providing them with sustensnce 

both edible snd intellectual. Prospero calls this an act of providence, and sn 

set of chsrity. This remembrance of providentisl 

charity is the second instance, 

following Miranda's innocent charitsble instinct, thst reinforces the mercifulness 

thst will eventuste from Prospero's recollections of things psst. 

This moment slso msrks the occssion of a new 

beginning 

for Prospero. 

What wss recollected ss prior misfortune is sbout to turn to his sdvsntsge. 

Fortune is now "bountiful", now his dear lady, for she has brought his enemies

stsr" 


to the shore where he currently exercises his authority. The descent from power 

into humiliation is the premise of the plays 

beginning but the action of the 

play proper is, virtually from the outset, an ascent. This structural feature 

supports the oft-made remark among the critics that this play is, in an im 

portant sense, the sequel to King Lear; and that the theme of ascent and 

descent is not only to be found repestedly 

within the plsys but runs through 

the Shskespesresn corpus generally. (See, for exsmple, D. G. Jsmes in The 

Dream of Prospero.) 

Prospero hss been presented with sn "suspicious 

whose influence he must court if his fortunes sre not forever sfter "to droop" 

(i.ii. 178-184). But if Prospero's fortunes sre not drooping, Mirsnds's eye 

lids sre, snd she perforce retires ss Prospero's servsnt Ariel mskes his first 

appesrsnce. 

Ariel reports thst he hss carried out in precise detail the raising 

of the 

storm on the ship as directed by Prospero. He has deposited Ferdinand alone 

in s ssfe snd obscure 

on the isle, dispersed the others sbout, snchored the ship 

hsrbor, snd put the crew to sleep below deck. The remsinder of Prospero's 

plsn must be csrried out between 2 p.m. snd 6 p.m. The moment of fortune 

already referred to is reinforced by 

the compression of time in which all the 

remaining action is to be undertaken, which, as noted 

by scholsrs, is roughly 

equivslent to the time it tskes to perform the plsy itself. 

In the conversation between Prospero and Ariel it turns out thst the exile 

Prospero wss preceded on the isle by the exile Sycorax, sn evil msgicisn, 

who is contrasted to the exiled good msgician. Ariel has been transferred from 

serving black magic to white magic or from serving evil to serving 

good. If 

Sycorax had the power to imprison Ariel, Prospero had the power to release 

him. The release wss predicated on service, for a time, to Prospero. Ariel 

is engaged in working 

off this indebtedness. And, although the action of the 

play is to run from 2 p.m. to 6 p.m., the freedom of Ariel is to come after 

two days (i.ii. 229), presumably to give him time to guide all back to Milan. 

During 

the dozen years when Ariel was incarcerated in a pine tree he 

howled and screamed in such a way 

as to create a tempest of his own on 

the isle. Sycorax caused this condition but did not have the power to amend 

the torment that resulted. What remains is for Ariel to become like a nymph 

of the sea and to be invisible to all but himself and Prospero. He initiates 

his invisibility by exiting, whereupon Miranda is bidden to wake up. It is 

thus clear that Miranda is not at this point to be given sight of Ariel. 

She is, however, against her wishes, to be given sight of Caliban, whom 

she detests as a villain. Caliban is Prospero's slave and is addressed as "esrth" 

(i.ii. 314). Cslibsn presents himself as the ruler of the isle by 

right as the off 

spring of Sycorax. Thus, for Caliban, Prospero is the usurper who, as we 

know, has arrived here because of 

being usurped. But Caliban had attempted 

the overthrow of Prospero by raping Miranda in the hope of populating the 

islsnd with Cslibans. This stirs Mirands to curse Cslibsn. Unable to be im 

printed with goodness, Caliban wants to imprint goodness with himself, to

Temporal Royalties and Virtue's Airy Voice in The Tempest 21 1 

subdue it to his power. To be imprinted with goodness is, for Miranda, to be 

taught how to speak snd, thus, to be sble to pursue one's purposes self 

consciously. But it would appesr thst the purposes of Cslibsn when brought 

to self-swsreness sre unsavory to ssy the least. Caliban's view is that the 

how to curse. This might be expected from the 

result of language is knowing 

offspring 

of Sycorax. 

It would appear that we have here a confrontation between two first responses 

to the human condition. One, in Miranda, has been revealed as 

seeing the 

noble in the world and 

being revolted by the ignoble. The fsct that, in her 

innocence, she may not always accurately distinguish one from the other does 

not alter the point about her disposition. The other response, in Caliban, consists 

in the heightening 

of self-assertion as the consequence of self-awareness. 

Whether it was Prospero who taught Caliban speech, or Miranda who taught 

Cslibsn whst Prospero taught her (the matter is disputed by scholars), in the 

most important sense both Miranda and Caliban are the results of Prospero's 

tutelage. Prospero has the capacity to unlock both orderliness and disorderliness 

but, in these two cases, has remained in control of both. On the isle Prospero's 

rule is both just and competent. 

The scene now shifts to Ferdinand, accompanied by the invisible but audible 

Ariel. The tempest in Ferdinand's soul, a consequence of the supposed loss 

of his father the king, is allayed 

by Ariel's music. Ferdinand intuits that the 

song is in the service of some god of the island. The sweet air calms the 

waters and also his spiritusl frenzy, 

esrth- 

snd he is led on by it. It is no 

bound sound snd it is sbove him. 

Just as Ferdinand is led on by a spirit, so Miranda, on being directed by 

Prospero to raise her eyes to look on Ferdinand, is taken by 

what she thinks 

a spirit 

Ferdinsnd himself. To Mirsnda, Ferdinand is a divine thing and 

that Prospero kept Ariel invisible to Miranda and brought 

noble. It is likely 

her directly to gaze upon Caliban in order to educate her gazing 

upon Ferdinand. 

Thus, Prospero orchestrates the first encounter of Mirands snd Ferdinsnd. Esch 

is returning from sn encounter with the distssteful: in Mirsnds's esse the 

encounter with Cslibsn; in Ferdinand's case the encounter with a storm-tossed 

sea snd the grief of losing his fsther. Ferdinand sees Mirands ss divine snd 

s goddess 

he supposes her the source of the sweet airs he has been hearing. 

The proper union of male and female is the encounter of the divine within 

the human and this is not presented as a mistsken perception on the p3rt of 

either/ It is the conclusion to which Prospero directs them both. 

Whst results is s complex insight into the problem of ruling 3nd being 

2. Upon reflection, readers may ask themselves. What is there really 

divine about this en 

counter? The answer is that Ferdinand and Miranda respond to each other 

by interpreting their 

meeting as the encountering of divinity. Moreover, their response to each other throughout the 

play is intellectualized and ritualized (they play chess) in a manner unmistakably reminiscent of 

the neoplatonic attitude that the divine is intimated in those striking human interactions which 

reveal unplumbed depths of experience, drawing thought beyond all ordinary 

sideration into the mysteries of conscious life. 

objects of con


ruled. Ferdinsnd, thinking he hss met s goddess of the islsnd, 

3sks if she csn 

direct his conduct there, snd if she is s maid. She surprises him by speaking 

his langusge. This reminds Ferdinsnd that, as his f3ther is now 

spp3rently 

desd, he is the le3ding spesker of thst lsngusge ss the new king, or thst he 

would be if he were st home in Nsples (i.ii.422ff.). Thus, divine spirit hss 

recognized divine spirit, or roysl person hss encountered royal person. Prospero 

rules Mirands snd the King of Nsples still rules Ferdinsnd; nonetheless, 

their potentisl msrks them for each other, and together they constitute the 

key to the reconciliation of Milan and Nsples thst must tske plsce lster. 

Ferdinsnd st this point understsndsbly thinks of Milsn ss subordinate to Naples 

because he thinks Alonso has ruled Antonio. But of course Prospero rules 

them all on this isle. He will be able to transfer this rule to Miranda and 

Ferdinand, thus achieving what, for example, Lear could not achieve. Prospero's 

intention has succeeded, for Ferdinand and Miranda "have changed 

now Ferdinand has ceased 

thinking 

eyes" 

and 

of Miranda as a goddess and begun to 

think her a virgin eligible to be queen of Naples.3 But just as she is not 

ready to be relessed from the tutelsge of Prospero, so Ferdinsnd is not yet 

free of due submission to the old king. 

Wishing to keep mstters complicsted for s time, Prospero sccuses Ferdinsnd 

of 

arriving with trescherous intent to usurp 

Prospero's position. Prospero's 

threst to imprison Ferdinand draws manly resistance which is immediately 

overcome 

by 

Prospero's hypnotic charm. As with the Duke in Measure for 

Measure Prospero is exemplary 

of the union of power and justice as is evi 

denced by his use of power here to unite those who should be together. 

The first scene of the second act begins with Gonzalo's speech of conso 

lation: the threshold of death is present for human beings every day 

theme of 

it is "our 

woe" 

(u.i.6) as human. But few live through impending mortality 

to enjoy 

merriment once more. One ought to weigh sorrow against comfort. 

Alonso turns this consolation aside, undoubtedly considering the apparent loss 

of his son, and Antonio and Sebastian make fun of Gonzalo. Just as they 

showed themselves to no advsntsge in the opening 

scene's confrontstion with 

desth, so now 

they seem, hsving escsped, to hsve forgotten the ordinsry 

mortslity of life which Gonzalo wisely enough has not forgotten. Gonzalo 

thus remembers, parallel to Prospero, and in remembering the human condition 

is ensbled to see opportunity in it as well as danger, and, more importantly, 

opportunity of an ennobling sort. 

It can be said that Sebastian and Antonio are mindful of opportunities 

too. However, their notion of opportunity is entirely 

and conspiracy. 

Every 

desth 

one of self-assertion 

occssion of life is the razor edge between life snd 

most 

significsntly between the life snd desth of whstever potentisl 

3. One may note here the coalescence of the divine, the political-legal, and the passionate 

in a single dramatic moment. A comparison of the method by 

Measure for Measure, among other plays, would be pertinent. 

which this is brought about in

Temporal Royalties and Virtue's Airy Voice in The Tempest 213 

for nobility there msy 

be in the soul of an individual. How such occasions 

sre used will determine whst sssessment is to be msde of the chsrscter enscted 

and so revealed. 

Every 

set is s self-disclosure. But whst is disclosed is not 

only 

sn sssessment of whst sction is required. An sction is slso s consequence 

of the understsnding 

the drsmstic identity 

thst informs the attempt st self-ensctment which constitutes 

of s 

chsrscter.4 

is entertsined, that's offered / Comes to 

As Gonzslo ssys, "When every grief 

th' entertsiner" 

(n.i. 16-17). 

Gonzslo's stoic spirit is ridiculed 

by Sebsstisn snd Antonio. The play on 

"dollar" 

and 

"dolor" 

(n.i.19) reveals the preoccupation of Sebsstisn as well 

as Gonzalo's stubborn persistsnee in trying to console Alonso, who prefers 

not to be bothered. So slso Adrisn's sttempt to see s delicste climste or 

temperance on the isle is ridiculed ss the sweet smell of the rotting lung or 

perfumed fen. Whst's green to Gonzslo is tswny to Antonio. Gonzslo sees 

them snd their garments as refreshed and glossy, not ses- water stained. He 

refuses to entertain the grief that might be expected in their situation. By 

contrast, Sebastian, when he turns to Alonso, chides him for insisting 

on the 

marriage of his daughter in Tunis against their advice and thus setting in 

train a series of events which led to their wreck and the loss of Ferdinand. 

Alonso's fate, looked at in this way, is the result of his own actions and 

parallels Prospero's. There is a way, then, in which Sebastian has a clearer 

perception thsn Gonzslo, who wishes to console, to look on the bright side. 

Gonzslo is decent but sbstrsct. He speculstes thst here is a place for a new 

commonwealth as a natural anarchy, 

close to nature and without sovereignty. 

But as Sebastian and Antonio point out, this order without a sovereign would 

be founded by an act of sovereignty. Thus, "the latter end of his common 

wealth forgets the beginning" (11. i. 154). 

Among other things, this means that 

innocence in this commonwealth would require innocence of its origins. The 

extended description given 

by Gonzalo of his vision is quite clearly 

of a 

pre- 

4. Michael Oakeshott is invoked here because he expresses a view of conduct remarkably 

like that of Shakespeare's: "This unresolved and inconclusive character of human conduct is 

qualified (and not merely concealed) 

when actions are recognized as self-enactments; that is, 

when 

they are understood in terms of the sentiments in which they 

are performed. There is at 

least the echo of an imperishable achievement when the valour of the agent and not the soonto-vanish 

victory, when his loyalty and fortitude and not the evanescent defeat, are the con 

siderations. 

But nowhere is it more than a distant echo. Self-enactment (virtuous or other 

wise) is itself an episodic and an inconclusive engagement, as ondoyant and as full of unresolved 

tensions as any other the enacted self is itself a fugitive; not a generic unity but a dramatic 

identity." 

Michael Oakeshott, On Human Conduct (Oxford, 1975). P- 84. 

Self-enactment has to do with "an agent's sentiment in choosing and performing the actions 

he chooses and performs 

the 'motive' of an action is the action itself considered in terms 

of the sentiment or sentiments in which it is chosen and performed 

choosing 

an action 

is always meaning to procure a satisfaction in a motive of some sort an agent thinking as 

he chooses to think and enacting or re-enacting himself as he wishes to be what the agent 

of his 

chooses to think is related to his understanding and respect for himself, to the integrity 

character, and not at all to his understanding of a contingent situation to which he must respond 

by choosing an 

action." 

Op. cit., pp. 70-74.


fallen psrsdise where there would be neither lsbor nor struggle nor 

mortslity 

but "sll 

sbundsnce" 

(ii.i.159). But this vision which Gonzslo intends as a 

further consolation to Alonso is to Alonso "nothing" (11. i. 166). This dream 

world commonwealth is known by Gonzalo to be nothing, that is, it is a 

speculative dream. It can be understood in parallel to Prospero's dream-world 

commonwealth which he eventually dissolves as a nothing, 

and perhaps slso in 

psrsllel to Cslibsn's sim to people the islsnd with Cslibsns. Whst is envisioned 

by esch is revelstory of the chsrscter snd motives of esch. 

Ariel sppesrs snd puts Gonzslo snd Alonso to sleep. This lesves the field 

of imsginstion to Antonio, who sees s crown on Sebsstisn's hesd. Sebsstisn 

sre in 

csnnot tell whether Antonio is swske or dresming. He sees thst they 

3 dre3ming state while awske. Antonio, on the other hsnd, 3ccuses Sebsstisn 

of not 

exercising his imsginstion snd thus sllowing 

he lives, 

or slumber while he wskes (11. i. 2 10). 

his fortunes to die while 

One might conclude st this point thst every character in the play 

is the 

embodiment of his dream within the larger dresm of life. Idyllic 3nd Mschisvellisn 

dresms 3re presented here in the common context of the lsrger dresm of 

life which overrides them all. Esch character makes s world for itself where 

its m3nifeststion of itself would be ssfe or sppropriste. Sebastian recognizes 

this by retorting 

that Antonio's speech to him is snoring. Who then is 3wske 

snd who ssleep? 

But this turns into s distinction between Antonio's smbition, which is to in 

crease Sebastian's stature threefold to be the teacher of ambition and Sebas 

tian's confession of laziness. Sebastian's natural 

tendency 

is to ebb 

(ll.i.216- 

17), but his ebbing 

encourages Antonio's ambitiousness. Antonio will teach 

Sebastian ambition in a 

way reminiscent of the manner in which, so to speak, 

he taught Prospero about ambition 

by overthrowing him. The man of ambition 

looks for opportunities to realize ambition. For now, Antonio can realize his 

ambition through Sebastian. This moment of grief for Alonso and resignation 

for Gonzslo is a new 

beginning 

for Antonio. With Ferdinand and Claribel out 

of the wsy, Antonio wishes thst he were Sebsstian (11. i. 260-61 ). 

But as Sebastian takes Antonio's meaning he remembers that Antonio over 

threw Prospero. This should be a source of discomfort to Sebastian. However, 

Antonio uses it as s mesns to persusde Sebsstisn: "True. / And look how well 

my gsrments sit upon me, / Much fester thsn before. My brother's servsnts / 

Were then my fellows; now 

they sre my 

men" 

(11. i. 266-68). Antonio thinks 

that power makes the man this is his dream whereas the play 

seems to be 

saying that power shows the man for what he is. One notes also that, whereas 

in Gonzalo's dream there would be a natural anarchy, or a spontaneous equality 

of men and women, Antonio's dream is of 

tyranny and distinction in his favor. 

His dream is consistent with his sction. This disturbing 

Sebsstisn to remind Antonio of his "conscience" 

turn of events prompts 

Antonio confesses thst T 

feel not this deity in my bosom" (11. i. 271-72). Not only is Antonio sn stheist

things" 

Temporal Royalties and 

Virtue' 

s Airv Voice in The Tempest 215 

with respect to the clsims of conscience but he has no kindred or 

brotherly 

upon" 

feeling: "Here lies your brother, / No better than the earth he lies 

(ii. i. 274-75). Antonio's contempt and ambition are a full realization of his 

Machiavellisn chsracter. He seems to be what he is because he hss sn enormous 

capacity to forget his own mortality or to be unimpressed by it. He can, in 

short, see the mortality in sll others but not in himself. He is psrsllel to 

Cslibsn in wishing to populate the world only with his own image, but becsuse, 

unlike Cslibsn, he has the sttributes of full humanity, he is a lower character 

than Caliban because he hss the cspscity 

reslity 

to dissemble in order to exploit the 

of the humsn condition. If Alonso is no better thsn the earth he lies 

upon, which, in one sense, is certainly true of human beings, then for Antonio 

it is slso true thst Prospero is no more slive thsn the books he studied in 

seclusion. Cslibsn at least recognizes that there is power in books (m.ii.89 90). 

The earth of which sll humsnity is constituted is made human in the selfenactment 

of the dreams which imprint the earthiness with form. Who con 

trols the teaching of form to matter will make a difference. Sebastian, a 

slothful fellow who describes himself as "standing 

(11. i. 2 16), that is as 

matter, will be imprinted here with Antonio's form of smbition. His quick 

submission to Antonio's plans is explained by the fact that the submissive, 

passive type, low in ambition, is easily 

persuaded. 

Having little imaginative 

vision of self-enactment, he can live on that of another. The watery Sebsstisn 

is properly 

slothful snd phlegmatic. Thus Antonio's case becomes his precedent 

(n. i. 284). Alonso's sleep 

shall be like Prospero's study. Neither study 

nor 

grief can be comprehended 

by 

the ambitious or the slothful. The alliance of 

ambition and sloth is a powerful source of wickedness in the ordering 

of humsn 

sffairs. 

Now Ariel intervenes to rouse Gonzalo and thus return the favor Gonzalo 

extended to Prospero, and Gonzalo and Alonso, being saved, set off to search for 

Ferdinand. The second scene of Act II plays Cslibsn, Trinculo and Stephano. 

Caliban's first real look at Stephano and Trinculo (11.ii.114) 

they 

are "fine 

convinces him that 

This is parallel to Miranda's first look at Ferdinand 

and offers the proper comparison of noble to bsse innocence. Cslibsn thinks 

they sre from the moon snd he will conduct these "gods" on a tour of the 

island. He prefers their drink to Prospero's servitude. They, believing them 

selves the only survivors, now plan to inherit this island kingdom. Caliban 

shows his slavish nature in wishing to submit himself to yet s new msster. 

In the mesntime, Act III, scene i, opens with the enslsved Ferdinsnd, 

whose burdens sre nothing when redeemed by the thought thst he is serving 

Mirands. She revesls her name to him, against her father's command, and 

Ferdinand opines that she is flswless and the first such a one that he has 

met. She thinks his form outstrips all imagination and ssys so, thus sgsin 

depsrting from her father's commands to honor discretion. He reveals that, 

though s log-msn now, in 3Ctuslity he is 3 prince.


There follows a series of professions in which esch seeks to be the servsnt of 

the other. Love induces self-tempering 

and marks the contrast to the ambitious 

Antonio and slothful Sebasti3n who sre incspable of love or self-restraint. 

Love is the bondage that is free (m.i.89).5 

We are 

immediately reminded of the bondage that is not free by 

appearance of Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo at the outset of Act III, 

the re 

scene ii. 

Caliban entreats Stephano to overthrow Prospero so that Stephano can rule 

and favor Caliban. Freedom here is equated with self-assertion once more. 

Again we have presented what might be called the tyrsnnicsl imsginstion ss 

opposed to the noble imsgination suffused 

by charity. But the conspiracy is 

constantly being upset by the presence of Ariel's airy voice, which makes it 

appear that Caliban is simultsneously sttscking Trinculo, thus setting 

the con 

spirators sgsinst esch other. Ariel spesks in Trinculo's voice snd thus csuses 

Stephsno to drive Trinculo further away from him. Cslibsn then proposes 

thst they murder Prospero in his sleep, so thst Stephsno will be sble to rule, 

to possess Mirsnds snd to create offspring 

for the islsnd. Thus Cslibsn will 

schieve his own sspirstion vicsriously. Csliban is to Stephano as Antonio is 

to Sebastian. 

But Ariel is intervening again and playing 

tunes which csuse fright. Cslibsn 

counsels cslmness because the isle is "full of noises, / Sounds and sweet sirs 

thst give delight and hurt 

not" 

(m.ii.130). These sounds orchestrate Caliban's 

sleeping and waking and his description spurs Stephano's desire to rule. How 

ever, Caliban reminds him that the condition of this rule is the destruction of 

Prospero. But it would appear that the sweet sound of the isle might disappear 

with the destruction of Prospero. There is nothing in the speech of Caliban 

to suggest thst the sweet sound of the isle is not dependent on Prospero snd 

Ariel even though, of course, Csliban dissociates the sound from Prospero's 

rule. When Caliban dreams, he dresms of riches thst 

drop from the clouds, 

but he does not understsnd thst the dresm of riches is fulfilled in living 

surrounded by the sweet hsrmonies of just rule. Thus, not surprisingly, he 

believes thst the sweet riches he alresdy enjoys are inferior to what would 

come if the "dreams" were to become 

"realities" 

in the reign of Stephano. 

Caliban cannot learn the deeper lesson of dreaming, and thus also cannot 

appreciate the rule of the just, which would be to live encompassed in the 

harmonious imagination. If this action is a metaphor for the dramatic art 

itself, as seems likely, then it may also be said that Caliban cannot appreciate 

the rule of the poetic as what distinguishes the human being 

from mere esrth. 

Act III, scene iii, brings us bsck to Alonso's psrty. The scene opens with 

both Gonzslo snd Alonso wesry from wsndering in s msze. Alonso tells 

Gonzslo, "Sit down snd rest. / Even here I will put off my hope, snd 

keep 

5. For Antonio, self-restraint is only concealed ambition. For Sebastian, there is only the 

inertia that prevents attempting much. For the former, everything is permissible; for the latter, 

most things are too much trouble.

Temporal Royalties and Virtue' s Airy Voice in The Tempest 217 

it / No longer for my flstterer: he is drowned" (in. iii.6-8). This is noticesbly 

s prefiguring of Prospero's renuncistion speech in Act V, scene i, 3nd reminds 

one of Prospero's first renuncistion in Act I, scene ii. Thst the "ses mocks / 

Our frustrate sesrch on tend" (m. iii. 9-10) indicstes not only the literal situstion 

ss it sppears to Alonso, but also indicstes the dresm world of the islsnd's 

relstion to the stormy condition of temporal, humsn existence, whose undulation 

mocks the powers of the human imagination to order the world in its own 

image. That this is intimated in the attitude of Gonzalo and Alonso is drsmstized 

by the contrast immediately 

Antonio snd Sebsstisn. 

made with the attitude now shsred between 

Immedistely following thst dramstic contrsst 3 new hsrmony 

snd sweet 

music srise, sccompsnied 

by s bsnquet. Typicslly, Gonzslo snd Alonso sre 

refreshed and inspired, while Sebastian and Antonio respond with touristic 

amusement. The appearing 

shspes sre, to Alonso, 

more gentle snd kind than 

human beings. And, in sn aside, Prospero editorializes that Alonso speaks 

well because some there are worse thsn devils. The gentle but monstrous 

shspes vanish but the food remains, and Alonso lapses back into his despairing 

thought that "the best is 

past ss 

"prologue" 

past" 

(in. iii. 51), which contrasts usefully 

with Antonio's 

(u.i.247). One is led to reflect that Prospero, in a manner 

very reminiscent of the Duke in Measure for Measure, has arranged things 

so that at this moment in the drama the wicked see opportunity 

where the decent 

see only cause for despair, and that this arrangement must be emblematic 

of a providentisl 

ordering thst one would nsturslly 

associste with the nsme of 

Prospero. Underlying the perceived order is snother order but it is one only 

intimsted in the vsnishing moments of time. If it is true, 

thst the good differ from God only in the element of time, 

the thought that our vision of right order is fleeting 

divine would almost 

certainly 

ss Senecs remsrked, 

reflection compels 

and ondoyant while the 

be firm and constant. But this is also connected 

to the poetic insight which underlies the play 

and connects the human condition 

to Shakespeare's art. For it is poetic vision which discovers something 

of 

grest constancy in the midst of endless becoming. One may 

agree with Douglas 

Peterson that "time in the Renaissance cosmology is only 

the measure of 

that poetic vision 

motion, a condition rather thsn sn sgent,"6 snd go on to ssy 

in responding to the intimations of immortality is agency 

par excellence. If, 

following Hooker, we were to admit that time "neither causeth things nor 

opportunities of things, although it comprise and contain both" (Ecc. Pol. 

11.383), we would be led on to think that time is suffused with being because 

time is the humsn experience which, in its fleetingness, excites unsvoidsbly 

the thought of the eternal. On the other hand, we will also note thst the 

providentisl design here is Prospero's snd thst it will come to sn end with 

the ending of the plsy. The constancy 

of the poetic vision is itself, sfter 

6. Douglas L. Peterson, Time Tide and Tempest, A Study of Shakespeare's Romances (San 

Marino, 1973). P- r7-

. . Thou 


sll, fleeting snd not constsncy unquslified. To quote Peterson sgain, "All 

temporal things sctively psrticipste in the eternal. On the other hand, to be 

more sharply aware of process is to be more remorseless- 

sharply 

aware of its 

ness and of the precariousness and 

dependency 

of one's existence upon 

it."7 

This new precariousness which denies the possibility of ignoring the temporal 

in sn act of contemplstion intimstes the superiority 

of poetic vision to philo 

sophic or theologicsl vision, superiority not in seeing further thsn philosophy 

or theology but in seeing ss creatures of crumbling dust must see: "A breath 

thou art, / Servile to sll the skyey influences . srt Desth's fool" 

(Measure for Measure, 

m.i.8 1 1). 

Humsnity is free not to be not temporal, 

but free to choose in self-ensctment its visions, snd by 

such visions to be 

known sfter the occssions of their initial sppesrsnce have passed, snd the 

instigstors with them. It is s question of seeing 

ssnd, of seeing substsntislity in the merest momentsry contiguity 

s universe in a grain of 

of goings-on. 

Time is duration to be endured. Self-ensctment is enduring according to an 

agent's self-understanding. Prospero drags his opponents into confrontation 

with time as duration but in the shelter of the island. The reduction in com 

plexity of life thus achieved allows the drsmstic evocstion of the timeless 

presence in the midst of time. It slso permits the revelstion snd assessment 

of the characters. What distinguishes one character from another is the use 

each character makes of time. Nobility of response is connected to seeing 

the contingency of the human condition as persistently occasioning the necessity 

of love and forgiveness. Whst Prospero will finslly schieve is the extension 

of the occssions of the right use of 

temporality by the marriage of Ferdinand 

and Miranda, as almost all commentators have noticed. What has changed 

from Measure for Measure to The Tempest is that the poetic vision has become 

the rule of restraint on the enchanted isle instead of the resurgent law of 

Vienna.8 

Such agency is to be seen as 

teasing constancy 

out of nothingness, and in 

this way is the mark of the play itself. The plsy msy 

be understood as an 

7. Op. cit., pp. 20-21. 

8. The reader may wonder to what extent this is a specifically 

Christian interpretation of 

the play's action. It is true that the virtues of love and forgiveness are specifically associated 

with Christiantiy. It is also true that there are many occasions of Christian symbolism in Shake 

speare's play which cannot be dismissed as mere ironies. However, what these usages meant to 

Shakespeare this author is unable to say with conviction despite having examined many com 

mentaries on this point. What is unmistakable is the dominance of poetic vision in The Tempest, 

and the relation of poetic vision to a profound confrontation with temporality, contingency, human 

failing, mortality, and reconciliation. At the very least it would seem that Shakespeare explored 

the connection between wisdom, courage, temperance, and justice on the one hand; and faith, 

hope, and charity on the other. He could not have done this without exploring Christian themes 

and ideas. It does not seem 

likely Shakespeare could have achieved the profundity he did, in fact, 

achieve 

by a merely ironic negation of the tradition which rested on the Augustinian meditation on 

the intimation of the eternal in the temporal a tradition which itself rested on an affinity for 

Plato's complementary account of what human experience must 

inevitably involve.

Temporal Royalties and Virtue's Airy Voice in The Tempest -219 

"emblematic narrative",9 that is, it is an imitation of action, or it is a recon 

struction of humsn sction from the perspective of the virtue 

implicitly possible 

in human action but not normally directly seen. It is seeing 

human action 

from above so to speak. The high characters are ritualized vis-a-vis the low 

characters who are reslistic or cynical or simply semiconscious. Thus every 

moment of time is the eternal moment snd the tssk is to see that that is so. 

Every moment is thus a promise and a peril, for at every 

moment the human 

agent is caught between merely temporal royslties and virtue's siry voice. 

Prospero's vision is s momentsry 

unificstion of these themes before time 

sweeps sll before it. But on the other hsnd, the plsy 

is the remembrance of 

a vision and a sign of its repetitive presence in all moments of human en 

durance. It is the fleeting glimpse of the unity 

of the real snd the ideal 

which st the outset of the plsy hsd been hopelessly sepsrsted as the discrepancy 

between Milan and Antonio on the one hand, snd the dukedom of the library 

on the other. 

In this reflective moment in the midst of time none of the reslities of the 

humsn condition is denied, but whst is ssserted positively is thst any moment 

can be the occasion for a deeper vision 

it must be transmitted through the visible and 

transitory 

what is to be seen never alters but 

self-ensctment of agents. 

At any rate, Ariel returns now to make the banquet vanish, and he reveals 

himself as the minister of Fate demanding of Alonso, Sebsstisn snd Antonio 

repentance and from this point on an innocent life. He disappears in a 

clap 

of thunder. Prospero praises Ariel's work and has reached the height of his 

power: 

"My high charms work, / And these, mine enemies, sre sll knit up / 

In their distractions: they now sre in my 

(in. iii. 88-90). In this hypnotic 

stste Alonso thinks the clouds, the winds snd the thunder pronounce the nsme of 

Prospero. The tempest has now revesled itself ss Fste snd 3 call to remembrance 

and hence repentance. Thus, Alonso assumes that the loss of Ferdinand is the 

recompense for his allisnce with Antonio sgsinst Prospero. Ferdinsnd is bedded 

in the ooze and now Alonso wishes to join him: "I'll seek him deeper than 

e'er plummet sounded / And with him there lie 

mudded" 

(m.iii. 100102). 

The confrontation with the ethereal hss driven Alonso towards the insensste 

mud. 

Now Alonso, Sebsstisn snd Antonio confront their own guilt. This is their 

second encounter with the tempest. The first brought them to the island, 

the second to self-awareness. 

By contrast the first scene of Act IV begins with Prospero, Ferdinand 

and Mirands, in s situstion where Prospero is beginning to release Ferdinand 

from his thralldom. Ferdinand has been tried and found good. Prospero ad 

monishes Ferdinand to be chaste. Ferdinand mskes s stirring speech for honor 

snd for "quiet dsys, fsir issue, and long 

life" 

(iv.i. 24). With a few minor 

9. Peterson, op. cit., p. 215.


lapses of passion Ferdinand and Miranda look to be composed, and now 

Ariel will produce the masque. 

The masque duly celebrates 

fertility and the cooperation of sky 

and earth 

in the lives of Ferdinand and Miands. Ferdinsnd wishes to think these sre 

spirits, but Prospero foreshadows what is to come 

by remarking, "Spirits, 

which by 

mine art / I have from their confines called to enact / My present 

fancies" 

(iv.i. 120-22). Ferdinand understandably 

wishes for time to stand still 

now for the fair thing it has revealed. But time will not stand still, for at 

the moment of harvest in the wearying August of the mssque, Prospero's fsncy 

shifts to Caliban's foul conspiracy (iv.i. 140). In the regime of Prospero the 

visions of the island shift with his fancy. This confirms the view that The 

Tempest is the story 

of the interior drama of the "dream of Prospero". "Prospero 

hsd plsyed with the thought of humsn life ss a masque, beautiful, majestic, 

transient: but it would not do. It is instesd s bitter drams of good snd evil."10 

"In the end the choice is between himself sffirming the spiritusl sources of 

society, the dependence of the temporal snd the seculsr upon the eternsl snd 

the sscred, snd s 

society 

which rejects supernstursl ssnctions snd in the event 

rejects morality itself."11 The return to human affairs, in short, is not to the 

Machiavellian perspective but to a comprehensive view 

leading 

to moderation: 

He ne'er is crowned / With immortality who fears to follow / Where airy 

voices lead. Prospero's remembrance of Caliban's conspiracy is, naturally, the 

occasion for remembering the general atmosphere of conspiracy Prospero has 

inhabited, and, necessarily, in the end, the fact that he himself has conspired 

against the conspirators. This memory produces a tempest in Prospero's own 

mind now which is evident to Ferdinand. But Prospero dismisses him snd in 

reflecting 

on Cslibsn recognizes a limit to his imaginative power to transform 

the stuff of which human beings are formed. Caliban's is a nature which 

Prospero's nurture cannot perfect. Thus, Caliban and his co-conspirators now 

creep up on Prospero's dwelling like animals and are driven out by 

spirits in 

the form of hunting dogs chasing prey. 

Now all Prospero's enemies are st his mercy, snd the sixth hour hss been 

resched. The king snd his followers hsve become penitent snd this is sufficient 

for Prospero. He shall choose virtue over vengeance snd relinquish his msgicsl 

powers. The king's party has been reduced to something less than human 

under Prospero's spell. 

They thus lie foul and muddy, at the ebb tide of their 

humanity. As they are gradually 

led back into the human condition the flood 

of reason overcomes their muddiness. Their humiliation is the prerequisite to 

repentance which is the 

beginning 

not of their degradation but of their ascent 

to some semblance of virtue. That there is virtue in Alonso has been strongly 

intimated for some time, and this is the case in his first reunion with Prospero. 

Gonzalo is of course virtuous. Sebastian and Antonio may be held by some 

10. D. G. James, The Dream of Prospero (Oxford, 1967), p. 136. 

11. James, op. cit., p. 150.

. . 

Possibly 


virtue becsuse of Prospero's direst to revesl their abortive conspiracy sgainst 

Alonso. 

Now Prospero plays on Alonso' s apparent loss of Ferdinand by saying he 

hss lost his daughter without 

saying that he has lost his daughter to Ferdinand. 

This serves to remind Alonso of his separation from his daughter Claribel. 

But having 

Ferdinand. 

had this bitter joke the restored Duke of Milan now produces 

The play's conclusion is contained in Gonzalo's reflection that in one voyage 

"all of 

us" 

hsve found "ourselves / When no msn wss his 

own" 

(v.i. 209-13). 

"Prospero trsnsvslues the wickedness snd torment on his isle into the stuff 

of dresms. . 

the lsst evil for Prospero abides in cynicism, the 

Antonio malady. Antonio is, like Iago, 

in psrts instesd of by totsl 

an antipoetic mind who sees the world 

vision." 

psrs- 

In this dilemms the eternsl is only, 

doxicslly, s momentsry 

solution within the terms of the human condition. The 

incipient lawlessness of 

humanity can be subdued "only for a moment in a 

scene created 

by a consciousness."12 

wholly poetic The enacted self is itself a 

fugitive; not s generic unity but s drsmstic identity. 

There are, however, s number of sdditionsl considerations: it would be 

difficult to study The Tempest without remarking its evanescence both in theme 

and structure, and most commentators have done so. To this point, the dis 

cussion has proceeded in an attempt to be faithful to that quality in the play, 

and to be mindful of the centrality 

of Prospero's sentiment that the fabric 

of his vision is "baseless" (iv.i. 151), that the human condition is an "insub 

stantial 

pageant" 

(iv.i. 155). On the other hand, it must be reaffirmed that 

there is a fabric and a pagesnt, snd their reslity 

is not constituted in their 

msterislity. This certifies the connection between Shskespeare and the ancient 

roots of philosophy and theology, and leaves no doubt that Shakespeare pre 

sents both a conception of excellence or nobility ss real, 

snd slso s forthright 

these quslities. Since thst schievement 

sccount of the difficulty of schieving 

is intuitive snd/or intellectusl, it is s mstter of 

seeing snd, in The Tempest, 

poetic seeing. 

It hss been suggested esrlier thst, within the specific terms of this plsy, 

poetic 

seeing 

is superior to philosophicsl or theological seeing. To the extent 

that is so in The Tempest, it is because the srt of seeing 

the 

"insubstsntisl" 

seems to demsnd poetic seeing, snd, if proof were needed, The Tempest 

itself is proof, provided one suspends a prejudice against the sheer 

possibility 

of such seeing. The rank of characters in the play is based on the vision, or 

lack of it, which 

they possess, and on the degree to which 

they can learn, 

when given a fresh chsnce, to see whst previously they 

hsd not seen. This is, 

of course, true in the highest degree of Prospero snd thus is reminiscent of 

Duke Vincentio's insight in Measure for Measure. 

12. Wylie Sypher, The Ethic of Time, Structures of Experience in Shakespeare (New York, 

1976), pp. 205-6.


On the other hsnd, there is s clesr difference of tone between The Tempest 

snd Measure for Measure. Measure for Measure is more esrthbound snd has 

a more obvious political 

teaching 

about the value of domestic or familial 

orderliness for the maintenance of political order in a condition of moderate 

virtue (between the extremes of the dissolution of the suburbs snd divine 

perfection which, on esrth, devolves into mere rules). 

Does this mesn thst Shskespesre, in moving, by s long 

route not described 

here, from Measure for Measure to The Tempest, hss gradually abandoned 

solid political 

teaching 

for a dependence on poetic imsginstion ss a kind of 

consolation for the imperfectibility of the mortal, human condition? There is 

much evidence to suggest otherwise. 

In the first place, the theme of proper marriage is maintained in The Tempest 

in a semidivine presentation. Ferdinand and Miranda are united in their vision 

of each other and reinforced 

by 

sky in the msrrisge mssque. But this is done in s wsy 

with The Tempest's internsl integrity 

the vision of cooperation between earth and 

thst remsins consistent 

snd themstic cohesion. In the second 

plsce, Prospero's descent from power which is repsired by an ascent in wisdom, 

snd his eventusl return to his proper post in Milan armed with s more compre 

hensive vision, echoes Shskespesre's recurrent theme of suffusing 

the humsn 

moral order with a larger vision that leads to the moderation that only those 

of comprehensive and sober 

understanding 

can display. 

The Tempest may then be seen as Shakespeare's greatest effort to achieve a 

philosophical expression of the thought that consistently underlies his teaching 

on moral and political life. This play seems to assert that generic unity is 

subsumed in dramstic identity. But whst does it mesn to ssy thst? Does it 

mesn thst nothing persists? On the contrary, it is quite clesr thst if there is 

not 

something in the poetic vision thst persists, the emphssis on nobility, 

excellence, snd sober judgment could not confront us so clesrly 

ss it does. 

Rsther, we must 

ssy thst no humsn sgent of such poetic seeing persists. 

To the extent thst the vision of The Tempest is specificslly Prospero's vision, 

or, for thst mstter, specificslly Shskespesre's, it must be "rounded with a 

sleep," 

dissolving to "leave not a rack behind" (iv.i.i54ff.). To the extent that 

the vision of The Tempest is not 

only Prospero's or Shakespeare's, but is 

instead at least a mysterious presence in the text itself, it obviously must 

persist. However, its presence in the text depends on its continued potential 

for being seen by 

successive observers. 

But this potential depends in some measure on the observers themselves 

who will know what 

they are being expected to see. Implied, therefore, is a 

"practice" 

of seeing which can persist but which must be reaffirmed on every 

occasion 

by those who see, thus 

distinguishing 

themselves from those who 

do not see. In this way The Tempest may be understood as a teaching of 

the highest sort, and necessarily reminiscent, in its own idiom, of the experience 

of the Platonic presentation of Socrates. To see in this sense is to put into 

practice a vision of human conduct but, simultaneously, to avoid the reduction


of such vision to a set of rules which, in the temporality of humsn things, 

cannot with sny certsinty be of permanent value in guiding 

humsn beings 

through the vicissitudes of historical existence. It is the vision to which one 

subscribes rsther thsn s command which one must obey. There is a fundamental 

optimism in this understanding 

that what is to be seen can be seen despite 

the conspiracy against it, and that it can be resffirmed in every psssing moment. 

It is thus s vision which seeks to hold together the moral sutonomy 

of humsn 

beings in the exercise of their sgency, with the possibility 

of s conception 

of whst humsn sgency 

should le3d to snd look like providing sn elusive, but 

resl, stsndard of judgment. It is this which Prospero must csrry bsck to Milsn 

snd psss on to Ferdinsnd snd Mirands. 

The purity 

or 

sdmirsbility 

of motives will not relesse us from the dsngers 

of missdventure in the mutable and uncertain circumstsnces in which we must 

try to act on those motives. On the other hsnd, the nsture of our motives, 

insofsr ss they msy be revesled to us, undoubtedly sffects our judgment of 

the actions thst proceeded under their guidsnce. Prospero's misadventure in 

originally relinquishing his political responsibilities is of a different sort from 

Antonio's in perverting his political responsibilities. 

Furthermore, Prospero's misadventure lesds to s grester, more compre 

hensive understsnding 

symbolized 

by his two renuncistions of power: the first 

insdvertent snd the second by 

choice under conditions of unlimited power. 

Prospero's initisl motives betray limited perception, subject to revision snd 

improvement, but not wickedness or mslevolence. Antonio's motives sre wicked 

snd, in the event, unimproved snd ambitiousness 

csn 

unimprovsble. 

sppsrently Antonio's 

only be magnified or diminished as circumstances dictate. It 

cannot be transformed or transposed into a different urging. 

Of Caliban, it might be said that his motives are unsettled. 

They are some 

where between instinct and reflective maturity. 

They lack the delibersteness 

which would permit us to judge with 

certainty how far he might be able to 

advsnce. Antonio is unsmbiguous in this sense, snd lower. 

The question will, of course, srise ss to whether tslk of the higher snd 

the lower, the base and the noble, the admirable and the despicable, the 

benevolent and the malicious, 

sentiment of the actor 

makes sense if self-enactment is the self-chosen 

whence comes this sppsrently 

independent standsrd 

by which to sssess motives? For Shskespesre, it seems to come from an 

swareness of the comprehensive range of possible motives for humsn beings 

to spprehend and choose smong. The range is real and imposes itself upon us. 

It is natural, if by 

natural is meant the unsought but unsvoidsble conditions 

human experience imposes upon humsn reflection. But it is not only natural. 

The range of motives is slso orderly 

snd csnnot be expressed otherwise thsn 

in terms of better or worse. Thus, we 

msy be flooded by msny possible 

motives but we are not permitted to be unaware of their implications in a 

moral sense. 

Finally, it may be remarked that no hierarchy among 

the better motives


is sppsrent. This is true enough. But whst is decisive is the revelstion of 

chsrscter in respect, first, of better or worse motives, snd second, of the 

srrsngement schieved by 

(including 

esch well-disposed individusl of the better motives 

consideration of the comprehensiveness of the range of motives so 

srrsnged). Ususlly, Shskespesre personifies the stsndsrd in s chsrscter who is 

both well-disposed snd exhibiting sn extensive array of worthy 

orderly manner. The hierarchy 

vision in each play. 

motives in an 

of the virtues thus depends on the dramatic 

The relative importance of the various good motives will depend in each 

case on the contingent conditions the play imposes on the chsrscters. The 

relstive equslity 

of the virtues does not prevent a hierarchical arrangement 

among them, but does require different arrangements in different cases. The 

coherence of the moral order struck in each case is crucial. For, in preserving 

coherence among the good things in the midst of life's contingency, one does 

not diminish one virtue for the sake of another. On the contrary, one cslls 

upon one virtue for the sske of virtue sltogether. Were this not the esse, 

contingency would overwhelm virtue. The good msn must hsve the cunning 

of virtue if he is to outwit the deceptions of the wicked and remain resilient 

to the endlessness of temporality. Surely, The Tempest is about this if it is 

about anything. 

From this point of view, the "Epilogue" of The Tempest takes on a sig 

nificant dimension: Prospero's charms are now overthrown, snd he is reduced 

to the fsint strength st the disposal of any human being 

in confrontation with 

temporality. But if he is not to be "confined" but "Sent to Naples" it will 

depend on the audience, that is, it will depend on their appropriation of his 

vision to resubstantiate it as his successors. Their gentle breath must fill his 

sails or else his project fails. The task of 

seeing now falls to them. Of course, 

his dramatic task was "to please", and he wishes to be applauded. In addition, 

he wishes to persist in the persistence of their pleasure. In the meantime, 

the play has taught us something about the rank of pleasures. Thus, while 

the audience can see what it wants to see, the play 

has provided a precept 

for seeing better. To insist thst this is not a political 

tesching 

would be to 

insist thst the dreams of politics are not encompassed 

by the dream of life.

goal' 

The Pursuit of Happiness in Jefferson 

and its Background in Bacon and Hobbes 

Jeffrey Barnouw 

John Dewey Fellow, ig83~84 

When Thomas Jefferson maintained that government is instituted among 

men to secure their inaliensble rights, including "preservstion of life, snd 

liberty snd the pursuit of happiness,"1 he was stating 

conviction widespresd 

smong his compstriots, but slso msking 

with respect to the inaliensble right to the pursuit of hsppiness 

whst he felt to be s 

particularly 

s complex 

snd subtle clsim with fsr-resching implicstions for constitutions! theory. The 

series is sn sscending order: self-preservstion is s prerequisite of liberty, snd 

liberty, for Jefferson, provides the bssis for all sorts of individual and joint 

endeavors. 

Following Hume and Montesquieu, Locke and ultimately Hobbes, 

he tends to construe political 

liberty as individusl security, ss ssfegusrding 

pursuits thst sre not themselves politicsl, nor necesssrily 

public. If he thus 

conceives of liberty in so-cslled negative terms, not as an end in itself but 

as making possible other ends, Jefferson also conceives of the 'ultimate 

as open-ended, 

Jefferson is not ssserting 

s pursuit which generates new purposes ss it progresses. 

thst legitimste government has an obligstion to 

provide for the hsppiness of its citizens. On the contrary, with regsrd to the 

constitution of the stste the emphssis is ss much on 'pursuit' ss on 'hsppiness'. 

Not only is it not the plsce of the stste to determine whst might constitute 

hsppiness or whst should be the psrticulsr gosls for its citizens; the quslity 

of endeavor itself represents s vslue both for the individusl snd for the stste. 

In securing the pursuit of hsppiness, the stste is mesnt to protect snd encourage 

s spirit of enterprise in its people, s sense of venturesome self-relisnce which 

is essenti3l to hsppiness. It msy 

seem one-sided to mske support of the indi 

vidusl' 

s spontsneous striving for self- fulfilment the crux of the legitimscy of 

the stste, until it is recognized thst the individusl 's urge to enjoy and develop 

this natural liberty is in turn crucial to the good of the whole, to maintain 

ing 

a just government snd constitution. 

The tssk of the present essay 

is to elucidate the relation of these ideas 

in Jefferson's writings against the background of analogous constellations of 

ideas in Bacon and Hobbes, who were the first to recognize and promote a 

new psychology 

of endeavor associated with the emergence of experimental 

science in the seventeenth century. Hobbes's own 

continuity 

with Bacon has 

been underestimated and neglected in the secondary literature, ss hss the extent 

I. From his "original Rough draught" of the Declaration of Independence, in The Papers of 

Thomas Jefferson, ed. Julian P. Boyd (Princeton, I950ff.), I: 423.


of his sffinities with lesding writers of the later Enlightenment.2 To discern 

continuities and sffinities is not the ssme ss tracing 

sources or influences. 

No sttempt will be msde here to contribute directly to the debste on the 

immediste sntecedents of the idess snd expressions of the Declaration of 

Independence, but it csn be shown, for example, thst the understsnding of 

endesvor in Bscon snd Hobbes is more relevsnt to Jefferson's conception of 

the pursuit of hsppiness snd its politicsl rsmificstions thsn the idess elsborsted 

by Locke under the hesding 'pursuit of hsppiness.' The lstter in fsct reflect 

s distinctly different snd even opposite psychology. Intellectusl history which 

proceeds in terms of continuities snd sffinities need not be less rigorous or 

less illuminsting 

th3n thst which insists on the sttribution of actual influence. 

Its cogency 

will depend on the depth of 

understanding 

which it reveals in 

interpreting configurations of ideas, whether in an individual writer or a par 

ticular period, and on the capacity to ground its correlations between different 

writers or disparate ages in this deeper level of coherence. 

I. THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS 

At the beginning, we must see how the pursuit of happiness is relsted, in 

Jefferson's thinking, to politicsl order snd 

liberty and to the progress that is 

bound up 

with social enlightenment. In 1786 he wrote to George Wythe that 

"no other sure foundation can be devised for the preservation of freedom 

and happiness" than "the diffusion of knowledge among the The 

people."3 

underlying idea is that only the people are a reliable judge of what is in their 

interest, and then only when they are well informed. The connection becomes 

more complex when enlightenment is taken to mean not 

only 

the advance of knowledge, and 

corresponding 

In 1 8 16 Jefferson wrote, 

the spread but 

change of interests and purposes. 

laws and institutions must go hand in hand with the progress of the human mind. 

As that becomes more developed, more enlightened, as new discoveries are made, 

new truths disclosed, and manners and opinions change with the change of circum 

times.4 

stances, institutions must advance also, and 

keep pace with the 

It is significant that this was said not to vindicate the Revolution, the 

constitution of a new republic, but to caution the present generation ss well 

2. I have followed up several strands 

linking Bacon to Hobbes, and Hobbes to various figures 

of the Enlightenment, in essays cited in notes 11, 18, 28, 35, 37, 40 and 50-52. 

3. August 13, 1786, Papers X: 244f. Cf. to James Madison, December 20, 1787. 

4. To Samuel Kercheval, July 12, 1816, in The Writings of Thomas Jefferson, ed. Andrew 

A. Lipscomb and Albert Ellery Bergh (Washington, D.C., 1903ft.), XV, 41. Next paragraph: 

XV, 40. (Where the appropriate volume of Papers has not yet been published. I will cite Writings.) 

Jefferson's letter to John Adams, June 15, 

in broader terms. 

1813, Writings XIII: 254f., makes the same point

. It 

The Pursuit of Happiness in Jefferson, Bacon and Hobbes 227 

ss posterity sgsinst venerating the Revolution in the wrong 

wsy. "Some men 

look st constitutions with ssnctimonious 

reverence." 

Jefferson remsrks. 

They ascribe to the men of the preceding age a wisdom more than human, and 

suppose what 

they did to be beyond amendment. I knew that age well; I belonged to 

it. . 

was very like the present, but without the experience of the present; and 

forty years of experience in government is worth a century of book-reading. 

Forty 

alter or to 

years esrlier he had written that "it is the right of the people to 

abolish" 

a form of government that has become destructive of their 

inalienable rights "and to institute new government, laying 

its foundation on 

such principles . 

as to them shall seem most 

likely to effect their ssfety 

and happiness." Reformulating this in 1816, Jefferson adapts the motive of 

revolution to support a provision for constitutionsl revision snd renewsl on a 

regulsr snd perpetual basis. "Esch generation is ss independent of the one pre 

ceding, as that was of sll which had gone before. It has then, like them, 

a right to choose for itself the form of government it believes most promotive 

of its own happiness." 

The Revolution sets a precedent for the government that follows from it. 

For Jefferson, at lesst, the founding 

of the Republic does not csll for per 

petuation in its originsl form, like sn achitectural foundation that can be built 

upon but not altered, but rather calls for emulation, that is, for repeated renewal 

which reaches deeper than mere sdsptation of the heritage, to measure the form 

of the present polity against the prevailing (common) sense of the goals it 

was instituted to promote. We will come back to consider the implications of 

this conception of a republic as a perpetual founding (not 'permanent revolu 

tion'), its introduction of a new understanding 

of time into the sphere of 

political constitution. 

For Jefferson it was 

precisely a safeguard, as well as a virtue, of the 

new republican form of government that it was responsive to public happiness. 

Writing from Paris in his 1786 letter to George Wythe, Jefferson saw kings, 

nobles and priests as "an sbsndoned 

confederacy 

msss of 

sgsinst the hsppiness of the 

people," 

snd conversely the pursuit of happiness of an informed 

people as security agaist the rise of priests, nobles or kings in a republic 

or representative democracy. This is Jefferson's point when he tells Wythe, 

"Preach . 

a crusade against ignorance, establish and improve the law 

for educating the common people. Let our Countrymen know that the people 

alone can protect us against these 

In the preceding 

were becoming universally 

year he had written to Richard Price that "the people 

sensible" 

of "the want of power in the federal 

head" 

as "the flaw in our constitution which might endsnger its 

destruction," 

snd thst sccordingly "s spirit to enlsrge the powers of Congress wss becoming 

general." 

In this response he recognizes an essentisl trait of republicanism, 

The happiness of governments like ours, wherein the poeple are truly the mainspring, 

is that they are never to be despaired of. When an evil becomes so glaring as to

'entail' 


strike them generally, they arouse themselves, and it is redressed. He only is then the 

popular man and can get into office who shows the best disposition to reform the 

evil. This truth was obvious on several occasions 

during the late war, and this char 

acter in our governments saved us. Calamity 

was our best physician. 

s 

The letters we have drawn on so far present a variety of contexts, yet 

a coherent outline of the relations between public happiness, as the people's 

own concern, and the progressivity and stability 

of republican government 

has begun to emerge. The capacity to recognize and respond to negative 

situations, 

with popular welfare and approval as criterion and touchstone, and 

to change accordingly, is what "promises 

permsnence" 

for s republic. The ides 

thst each generation is or should be its own focus, that the esrth (to use 

Jefferson's expression) "belongs to the living," is precisely, snd not st sll 

parsdoxicslly, the bssis of the continuity snd enduring 

strength of the polity. 

is introduced into politicsl thought with the 

A new conception of 

history 

ides thst esch generation should consider itself independent of the preceding 

snd "all which had gone before." One critic has seen this functional 

selfcenteredness 

as necessarily leading 

'rights' 

a concern for 

concern not to 

to a lsck of concern for the needs snd 

of posterity, but I think, on the contrary, that it brings with it both 

'our' 

such ss the nstionsl debt, on future 

posterity (however broadly we construe 'our') 

and the 

opinions and institutions and 

constraining situations, 

generations.6 

Jefferson in fsct offers a rationsle for concern with the rights of posterity, 

the obligstion not to foreclose their possibilities, which is bssed not in s 

responsibility entsiled in the heritsge, but precisely 

in the ides thst the fruits 

of the esrth 

belong to the living. It is in s letter to Msdison from Psris, 

September 6, 1789, thst he takes up "the question, whether one generation 

of men has a right to bind 

another." 

Again the context of French politics, 

now very different, is an importsnt influence; the preceding 

month hsd seen 

5. 

February 1, 1785, Papers VII; 631. 

6. In Inventing America: Jefferson's Declaration of Independence (New York, 1978), Garry 

purposes 

Wills goes overboard in his eagerness to debunk the 

"pulse-quickening for which 

"modem liberals" quote 'the earth belongs to the living,' 

By making each generation live only for itself, Jefferson would not only inhibit the entailing 

of one's posterity, but the enhancing of its life. He would teach men not only to live quit 

of any claim from the dead, but quit of the 

unborns' 

claims as well since only the living 

should enjoy earth's usufructs, (p. 127) 

Wills even suggests it would be consonant with Jefferson's idea if one generation were to "acquire 

the means for its own enjoyment 

by aliening the land itself sell it off and leave none of it to 

native posterity, or use up the land by short-sighted management, returning quick 

profits." 

Jefferson, 

on the contrary, counted on the interest in posterity 

as part of the self-interest of the living, 

as when he writes to the Marquis de Lafayette, April 11, 1787, criticizing the short leases on 

land in France, in contrast to England where 

long leases, linking the generations, "render the 

highly." 

farms there almost hereditary, [and] make it worth the farmers while to manure the lands 

Papers XI: 284.

usufruct' 

Enlightenment,' 

society." 


the decrees sbolishing 

'feudal' 

privileges. The immediate implication of his 

principle seems to be the very opposite of what Garry Wills inferred. "I 

set out on this ground, which I suppose to be self-evident, that the earth 

belongs in usufruct to the living; that the dead have neither powers nor rights 

over it. The portion occupied 

by any individusl cesses to be his when himself 

cesses to be, 

property 

snd reverts to the 

Jefferson srgues that a man inherits 

not by natural right, but by a law of the society of which he is a member, and to 

which he is subject. Then, no man can, by natural right, oblige the lands he occu 

pied or the persons who succeed him in that occupation, to the payment of debts 

contracted 

by him. For if he could, he might 

during his own life, eat up the usu 

fruct of the lands for several generations to come; and then the lands would 

belong 

to the dead, and not the living.7 

The principle that the earth belongs to the living and the qualification 

living' 

'in only brings out what is implied in the emphasis on 'the 

is connected with Jefferson's view that property is not s nstursl right but one 

which is estsblished 

by snd subject to the civil power. This view of property 

is in turn closely 

linked to the conception of the pursuit of hsppiness ss s 

nstursl right. In 1785 Jefferson hsd written, 

Whenever there is in any country, uncultivated lands and unemployed poor, it is 

clear that the laws of property have been so far extended as to violate natural right. 

The earth is given as a common stock for man to labour & live on. If for the encour 

agement of 

industry we allow it to be appropriated, we must take care that other 

employment be provided to those excluded from the appropriation. If we do not, 

the fundamental right to labour the earth returns to the unemployed." 

in 

Whether or not Jefferson's original reference to the pursuit of happiness 

1776 was influenced by the idea of effecting 

a correction of the con 

ventional (Lockean) triad 'life, liberty and 

that by 1789 

property,' 

it seems 

highly probable 

Jefferson saw the pursuit of hsppiness as an inalienable right 

which is incompatible with a natural right to property or inheritance, 

and that 

this conflict was sddressed in his principle 'the esrth beongs to the living.' 

When Jefferson pencilled in suggested emendstions of Lsfsyette's draft for s 

'Declsrstion of the rights of msn and 

citizen,' 

early in 1789, he bracketed 

two of the phrases put forward under the 'essential rights of msn': "le soin 

7. Papers XV: 392-93. Wills does not recognize the connection between the idea that the 

earth belongs to the living and the idea that property is not a natural but a civil right. In a 

different context, p. 231, he refers to the latter idea as setting Jefferson apart from Locke and 

linking him with Hutcheson, a correlation that has been challenged, in this regard and in general, 

in a trenchant critique of 

Inventing America by Ronald Hamowy, "Jefferson and the Scottish 

William and 

Mary Quarterly'^, no. 4 (October 1979): 503-23. If neither Locke 

nor Hutcheson saw property rights as civil in origin, Hobbes did. 

8. To the Reverend James Madison, (the statesman's cousin and President of the College of 

William and Mary,) October 28, 1785, Papers VIII: 682.


de son honneur" snd "le droit de 

bonheur."9 

lstter be replsced by "Is recherche du 

propriete" 

snd sppsrently 

suggested thst the 

The stability 

and 

continuity 

of the republic are thus seen to depend on esch 

generation and each individual being 

'self-centered' 

in and through the pursuit 

of happiness. This configuration of ideas in Jefferson's writings in effect intro 

duced a new conception of historical time into political thought, as will be 

argued below, but it is a conception (based on analogous configurations) that 

hsd slresdy 

proved its worth in other spheres of culture in the Scientific 

Revolution snd the Enlightenment. This characteristic interrelation of pursuit, 

progress and posterity 

clearly in the work of Francis Bacon. 

as dimensions of historical time can be delineated most 

ever 

Jefferson regarded Bacon as one "of the three greatest men the world has 

yet little has been written on what he might owe to Bacon.10 

Beyond any strictly identifisble debt in scientific mstters or methodology, I 

believe Jefferson msy hsve derived from his resding 

of Bscon s bssic theme 

of his political thought. Such s connection, lacking 

explicit testimony, is 

incspsble of proof, but what is important is the breadth and depth of the 

analogy, that is, its systematic character and psychological grounding. 

9. The Letters of Lafayette and Jefferson, ed. Gilbert Chinard (Baltimore, 1929). pp. 80-82; 

Chinard, Thomas Jefferson, The Apostle of Americanism (Ann Arbor, 1957), pp. 232-34. and 

Adrienne Koch, Jefferson and Madison: The Great Collaboration (New York, 1964). pp. 80-81. 

Chinard claims that Jefferson was also responsible for the insertion of an additional reason, beyond 

abuses that might arise and the need to keep abreast of the "progres des lumieres," for revising 

human institutions: "le droit des generations qui se 

succedent," 

the right of succeeding generations. 

In her discussion of 'the earth belongs to the living,' pp. 62-96, Koch resists the tendency to 

oppose 'the pursuit of happiness' to a natural right of property, citing the letter to Madison quoted 

in note 8. This issue is also addressed in chapter 3 of William B. Scott, In Pursuit of Happiness: 

American Conceptions of Property from the Seventeenth to the Twentieth Century (Bloomington, 

1977). Scott writes, p. 42, "it is tempting to conclude, but impossible to prove, that in 1776 

Jefferson sensed the disparity between certain contemporary forms of private property and Locke's 

idealized 'natural 

property' 

and that in an effort to restore the old moral content to the concept 

of individual property, Jefferson substituted in its stead the more suggestive phrase 'pursuit of 

Happiness.'" 

This is fair enough as far as it goes, but Locke's idealization was linked from 

the beginning with an interest in safeguarding established property 

relations. The Jeffersonian 

natural right to a pursuit of happiness would 

keep sovereign power at a distance in a very 

different direction. Hamowy, (see preceding note 7) p. 519 

and n. 62. made this point at just 

the time the present paper was first delivered, in slightly different form but with this same 

emphasis, at the plenary session of a conference on 'The Pan-Atlantic Enlightenment' sponsored 

by the East-Central region of the American Society for Eighteenth-Century 

of Early American History and Culture, November 8-10, 1979, at Williamsburg, Virginia. 

Studies and the Institute 

10. To Benjamin Rush, January 16, 181 1, Writings XIII: 4. Cf. to Walter Jones, January 

2, 1814, Writings XIV: 48. Douglass Adair explores one aspect of the deeper resonance of 

Bacon's ideas and attitudes in Jefferson, in his essay, "Fame and the 

founding 

Fathers," 

reprinted 

in Fame and the Founding h others (New York, 1974), pp. 3-26. esp. 16-20. The only sub 

stantive reference to Baconian method that I have been able to find is in "Report on the Methods 

for Obtaining Fresh Water from Salt,' The Complete Jefferson, ed. Saul K. Padovcr (New York, 

1943), P- 970.


Bacon conceived of science ss a 

disciplining 

of the mind through deliberate 

experience. He was thus opposed both to a nsive psssive mode of experience 

snd to reliance on teachers, tradition and particularly 

classical philosophy. 

According to Bacon, Plato and Aristotle presented (their) science as a closed 

and completed whole, exploiting and reinforcing 

the predisposition of the 

mind, which is evident in common induction or experience in its passive 

mode, to ignore "negative instances,' that is, experiences that do not fit its 

expectations, and 

thereby to preserve the vsin pretense to a knowledge without 

gaps or loose ends. 

Science, to Bacon, therefore involves overcoming a conservatism (and pride) 

native to msn's mind. The nstursl concern for continuity and closure of ex 

perience must be countered and mediated 

by curiosity, innovation and attention 

to the faults and limits of current knowledge. (It is in an analogous sense 

that sccident or even cslsmity csn be s tescher.) Experience ss initistive snd 

enterprise is the foundstion of science, for Bscon, because it throws into relief 

hand' 

the active contact with 

reality that is 'first one's 

own experience. 

Only 

this pervssive, if implicit, recourse to 'personsl' experience and the individual 

responsibility for knowledge assures a real continuity in science, that is, an 

advancement which is at the same time a form of tradition or 

handing on. 

Bacon criticized the presentstion of (supposed) science in finished form 

becsuse this seemed to him cslculated to induce awe, belief snd resssurance, 

rather than to stimulate "expectant inquiry." He attscked the misdirected venerstion 

of the schievements of the sncients and the related assumption that these 

could not be surpassed or improved, because such attitudes "tend wholly to 

the unfair circumscription of human power, and to s deliberate snd fsctitious 

despsir, which not only disturbs the suguries of hope, but also cuts the sinews 

the chances of experience 

itself."" 

and spur of industry, and throws away 

prog- 

One of the general signs which Bacon took as justifying hope is the 

ressivitv of science, which he saw prefigured in the cumulative advance of 

the mechanical arts. He contrasted this with the continual vicissitudes in the 

history of that sort of philosophy which, instead of fruits and works, seeks 

conviction and produces contention. 

All the tradition and succession of schools is still a succession of masters and scholars 

[disciples], not of inventors and those who bring to further perfection the things 

invented. In the mechanical arts we do not find it so: they, on the contrary, as 

having 

in them some breath of life, are continually growing and perfect.12 

becoming more 

II. Novum Organum. Book I. Aphorism 88, as translated in The Works of Francis Bacon, 

ed. Spedding, Ellis, and Heath (London, i857ff.), IV: 86. For fuller treatment of the themes 

of this and the following paragraphs, see my essays, "Active Experience vs. Wish-Fulfilment 

Science," 

in Francis Bacon's Moral Psychology of The Philosophical Forum 9 (1979): 78-99, 

and "Bacon and Hobbes: The Conception of Experience in the Scientific Revolution," Science/ 

Technology & the Humanities 2 (1979): 92-1 10- which are extended in the articles cited below, 

note 28. 

12. From the Preface to Instauratio Magna, as translated in Works IV: 14.

opinion' 


This progressivity, like utility itself, is an indication for Bacon that the knowl 

edge involved is rooted in reality. "Knowledge which is founded in nature 

has, like living waters, perpetual uprushings and outflowings, while knowledge 

based on opinion can, of course, vary but never increase."13 A tradition based 

on authority 

never rises higher than its original founder. 

The self-corrective and cumulative chsrscter of trades snd crafts is grounded 

in the continual recourse of these arts to practice ss 'proof in the sense of 

testing. The relstion of one thinker or generation and the next is mediated 

by s primsry involvement in practice, the individual engagement with particular 

problems. In this sense Bacon distinguished two types of 

continuity "touching 

the tradition [or handing on] of knowledge, the one Critical, the other Pedantical. 

For all knowledge is either delivered by teachers, or attained by men's 

proper endeavours."14 

A critical tradition, of which the mechanical arts and Baconian science 

are examples, and Jeffersonian republicanism perhaps another, depends for its 

continuity on the repeated initiative of individuals who bring their heritage 

to the test of their own experience. It stands in marked contrast to the passive 

sort of tradition in which, as Bacon said, followers make a 'leader of 

great, like ciphers 

coming after an integer, in that "they have never given a 

valid assent to the general opinion, for this results from an act of independent 

judgment."15 

This broad analogy 

of Baconian and Jeffersonian ideas, which may or may 

not be a reflection of direct influence, will 

help to underline a crucial point 

about the role of the 'pursuit of happiness' in Jefferson's idea of a republic. 

It is not that government should be directly 

concerned with the happiness of 

the people (a characteristic assumption of 'benevolent' absolutism), but rather 

that it should be responsive to, and indeed rely on, their concern, their pursuit. 

The determinstion of whst thst happiness is to include is precisely psrt of the 

people's own concern, snd in Jefferson's words from the Declsrstion there is 

sn emphssis not so much on " . to 

effect their ssfety 

ss on the preceding phrase, "ss to them shall seem most likely to 

snd 

hsppiness," 

The constitutive reference of the American polity to the pursuit of happiness 

of each present generation, which can of course include their care for the 

welfare of their posterity, represents a fundamental acknowledgement of the 

possible positive value of the qualitative changes and emergent realities which 

time brings. The American conception of a republic marks a radical break 

with classicsl republicanism in a number of respects, one of the most drsmstic 

13. From Redargutio philosophiarum . not translated in Works, but as "The Refutation of 

Philosophies' 

in The Philosophy of Francis Bacon, ed. Benjamin Farrington (Chicago, 1966), 

p. 127. 

14. From The Advancement of Learning, Works III: 413. 

15. From Cogitata et Visa, as translated in Philosophy of Francis Bacon, p. 95.

'private' 

. . that 

government' 

being 


chance. 

the reversal of the attitude toward time as the medium of change and 

J. G. A. Pocock has argued thst for clsssical republicanism time meant 

only instability 

the universality 

and decay. "In the Polybisn 'mixed 

of the Aristotelisn 

we recognize 

polis," 

he claims. "We recognize also that 

the aim of politics is to escape from time; that time is the dimension of 

imperfection and that change must necessarily be degenerative." This entails a 

strict opposition between 'virtue' 

and 'commerce'. 

in the classical republican and stoic sense 

The doctrine that the integrity of the polity must be founded on the integrity 

of the 

personality, and that the latter could be maintained only through devotion to univer 

sal, not particular goods, had committed both ethical and political 

theory 

to a static 

ideal. The concept of the citizen or patriot was antithetical to that of economic man, 

his culture in a temporal process: it 

multiplying his satisfactions and transforming 

encouraged the idea . 

only a Spartan rigidity of institutions could enable men 

to master the politics of time."' 

Instead of recognizing the fundamental break which American independence 

meant ss s revolution of the republicsn idesl, Pocock insists on an historical 

continuity 

of the classical 

'paradigm' 

broke and 'the Country 

whst he cslls " Jeffersonisn 

through Machiavelli, Harrington, Boling 

party' 

to the Americsn revolutionsries, psrticulsrly 

mythology."17 

This last link is based in the alleged 

opposition of agricultural and commercial wsys of life, and overlooks the 

intimate interdependence of the two, which Jefferson not only 

sought to further. 

perceived but 

I have criticized Pocock's construction of the supposed historical continuity 

of republicanism, the illusion of a persistence of the paradigm of republican 

virtue, at length 

elsewhere.18 

The clsssicsl model sketched by 

Pocock is of 

interest here in thst its incompstibility with the 'pursuit of happiness' suggests 

how fundamentslly idess of the stste must hsve been sffected by the new 

significsnce snd dignity sssumed by individual interest and initiative, both in 

the 

socioeconomic sphere and in political participation. The Revolu 

tion in America presupposed and sought to reinforce the consonsnce of privste 

pursuits snd public good, ss exemplified by Jefferson's consistent 

championing 

of the rights of commerce. His spprecistion of the rewsrds of commerce ss s 

16. "Civic Humanism and Its Role in Anglo-American Thought," in J. G. A. Pocock, Politics, 

Language and Time (New York, 1971), pp. 88, 90. 

17. For "Jeffersonian 

mythology" 

see Pocock, pp. 97L Such misconceptions are cleared up, 

and the relations between agriculture and commerce approached on a sound basis, in Joyce 

Appleby, "Commercial Farming and the 'Agrarian Myth' Republic," 

in the Early 

Journal of 

American History 68, no. 4 (March 1982), and "What is still American in the Political Philosophy 

of Thomas 

Jefferson?" 

William and 

Mary Quarterly 39, no. 2 (April 1982). 

18. "American Independence: Revolution of the Republican Ideal," in The American Revolu 

tion and Eighteenth-Century Culture, ed. Paul J. Korshin (New York, 1983).

mind" 

. Remote 

mainspring," 


way of life must be seen as contributing 

happiness. 

to his conception of the pursuit of 

If the American Revolution, as I believe, introduced s new conception of 

the polity into history, it wss in psrt because, like Bsconisn science, it broke 

through a traditional orientation of experience to the past. A new sense of the 

reality of possibility gave experience an active relation to an essentially open 

future. Bacon had written, "Men's anticipations of the new are fashioned on 

the model of the old. The old governs their imagination. Yet this is a com 

pletely fallacious pattern of thought."19 We can illustrate the relation between 

the 'new 

science' 

of the seventeenth century snd this new sense of possibility, 

thst is, the reorientstion of experience to the future, by pursuing s further 

elsborstion of Bscon's thought in Hobbes. 

Hobbes distinguishes two principsl modes of experience or thinking. Pru 

dence, the mode of prscticsl thought sppropriste to the clsssicsl conception 

of the politicsl sphere, which is tsken by Hobbes ss the model of passive 

from given appearances or effects to their 

experience, depends on 

inferring 

possible, that is, conjectured, 

causes. Based on the recall of previous associa 

tions of events, such experience is essentially past-oriented in its approach 

to the future. "The other [mode of thinking] is, when 

imagining anything 

whatsoever, we seek all the possible effects, that can 

by it be produced; that 

is to say, we imagine what we can do with it, 

when we have 

it."20 

Hobbes's immediate point is that inference from a cause thst is in our 

power to s possible, thst is, reslizsble, effect is necesssry knowledge, or science, 

in s way 

that inference from effect to possible cause csnnot be. But Hobbes's 

underlying insight links the capacity 

for science not so much with the urge 

to practical control (which is as true of prudence, shared by animsls), but 

rsther with msn's 

distinguishing trait of curiosity. All thinking 

or regulsted 

"discourse of the for Hobbes "is nothing but Seeking, or the fsculty 

of Invention." In the reorientstion of experience from psssive to sctive thst 

is connected with the Scientific Revolution, this seeking 

open future thst is no longer supposed to conform 

"required' 

to conform 

to the terms of the psst. 

is directed to sn 

expected snd 

instinctively 

Such sn openness to possibility, to whst csn be schieved 

by imsginstion 

snd endesvor, shows Jefferson to ssy to Price, with regsrd to government 

"wherein the people are truly the 

"our motto is truly 

'nil desperandum' 

"21 

As he wrote in a letter two years later, "It is part of the American 

character to consider nothing ss desperate; to surmount every difficulty by 

resolution and contrivance. . 

from sll other sid, we sre obliged 

to invent snd to execute; to find mesns within ourselves."22 

19. The Philosophy of Francis Bacon, p. 96. 

20. Leviathan, ch. 3. ed. Macpherson (Baltimore, 1968), p. 96. 

Spelling modernized. 

21. 

February 1, 1785, Papers VII: 631. 

22. To Martha Jefferson, March 28, 1787, Papers XI: 251.

'sdvsncement' 


The 'progressive' nsture of republican government in the new sense thus 

corresponded to s striving, resourceful chsrscter in the Americsn people. Hope 

snd curiosity, imsginstion snd initistive, resourcefulness snd resolution: these 

sre universsl humsn chsrscteristics. But within s psrticular historical psy 

chological constellation 

they can take on a new quality and role. Human 

nature is, to a considerable degree, historical in its constitution snd influenced 

by ideas, including ideas about human nature. We have examined the role of 

the 'pursuit of happiness' in Jefferson's political 

thinking and traced its ho 

mology with the desire for real knowledge in Bscon's conception of science 

snd its sdvsncement. 

The integration of the pursuit of hsppiness into the psychological as well 

as legal foundation of the modern state goes back, not to Bacon, however, 

but to Hobbes. It was Hobbes who first conceived of the state as 

guaranteeing 

the pursuit of happiness as a 'natural' or 'inalienable right,' and who first saw 

the state as relying for its stability and legitimacy 

on a spirit in its citizens 

which was rooted in the pursuit of happiness. To appreciate fully Hobbes's 

undeniable but indirect and scarcely acknowledged contribution to the Americsn, 

and psrticulsrly the Jeffersonisn, conception of republicsn government, we 

must follow both the legsl snd the psychologicsl strands of foundstion: the 

constitutionsl status of the pursuit of hsppiness ss s right, snd the trait of 

mind thst gives 

reslity to the pursuit snd mskes possible its role in msintsining 

s stsble polity. 

To understsnd the connection between the two strands, we must begin with 

Hobbes's conception of humsn nsture, which, like Bacon's, was both an 

snslysis snd, in the sspect of interest here, sn idesl projection. As in his 

critique of past-oriented prudential experience and the nstursl predisposition 

of the mind that is reflected in thst mode of experience, here too, in his 

elsboration of the active, initiative propensity 

of human nature, Hobbes could 

find resources for his conception in Bacon. 

II. THE HAPPINESS OF PURSUIT 

In The Advancement of Learning, Bacon is concerned not with 

only 

moti 

vating science, but with 

understanding 

motivation snd the psychologicsl bssis 

in humsn sctivity 

generally. In snticipstion of the contrast 

of 

between Pedsnticsl snd Critical types of tradition with particular reference 

to "the progression of knowledge," he writes, "since the labour and life of 

one man cannot attain to perfection of knowledge, the wisdom of tradition 

is that which inspireth the felicity 

sort of tradition or 

handing 

ss a thresd to be spun 

proceeding."23 

of continuance snd The wiser 

on of knowledge ensures that it "is delivered 

on," 

thst insight snd motivstion sre conveyed ss well. 

23. Works III: 43-

enjoying." 


One might expect thst in this context Bscon would refer either to a self 

less concern for posterity, or the higher egotism of that regard for posterity 

known as fame, but he is content here to concentrate on the method of delivery. 

For insight into the "felicity 

of continuance and 

proceedin 

from the point 

of view of the individual, we must turn to the conception of 'plessure in 

proceeding' 

which Bscon develops in his 'Georgics of the Mind,' which serve 

"to instruct snd suborn sction snd sctive life." There Bscon srgues for s 

"priority of the Active Good" which he ssys is "much upheld 

by the con 

sideration of our estste to be mortsl snd exposed to fortune." Moreover, 

he sdds, 

The pre-eminence likewise of this Active Good is upheld 

by the affection which is 

natural in man towards variety 

and proceeding; But 

in enterprises, pursuits, 

and purposes of life, there is much variety; whereof men are sensible with pleasure in 

their inceptions, progressions, recoils, reintegrations, approaches, and attainings to 

their ends.24 

In Eden before the Fall, work had been only "for exercise and experiment, 

hss sur 

use," 

and not matter of labour for the and this self-sustsining quslity 

vived st lesst with respect to intellectusl effort: 

"Only lesrned men love business 

as an action 

according to nature, taking pleasure in the action itself, 

purchase." 

and not in the 

Intellectual pursuits provide the model for 'plessure 

in 

proceeding,' 

in which sppetite is itself enjoysble snd satisfaction leads to 

new desire: "Of knowledge there is no satiety, but satisfsction snd sppetite 

sre 

perpetuslly interchsngesble."25 

Bscon spplies this model, however, to humsn desire generally. It is this 

chsrscter of life which he seeks to vindicste, in his practicsl ethics or 'Georgics 

of the Mind,' by countering snd redirecting 

bssic tendencies of stoicism. 

Bscon pits s rsther stoic Socrates sgsinst s Sophist in debste, "Socrates placing 

felicity in an equal and constant peace of mind, and the Sophist in much 

desiring 

and much 

After weighing both sides, Bacon supports the 

Sophist to the effect thst 'to sbstsin from the use of s 

thing thst you msy 

not feel s want of it; to shun the want that you may not fear the loss of it; 

are the precautions of pusillanimity 

and 

cowardice.'26 

Bacon's crucial departure from stoicism can be seen in his conception of 

how to learn from experience, to which he ironically 

assimilates the stoic 

idea of 'suffering' by an adroit reversal of its intention. For a stoic, 'suf 

fering' 

means undergoing and enduring external necessitation, but with an inner 

superiority and indifference to it. Bacon speaks rather of "a wise and industrious 

suffering, which draweth and contriveth use and sdvantage out of that which 

seemeth adverse and 

complements the undertaking 

contrary." 

In effect this is the sort of undergoing which 

or initiative aspect in that form of experience 

24. Works III: 424!'. 

25. From Advancement, Book I, Works III: 296, 272, 317. 

26. From Advancement, Book II, Works III: 427.

proceeding.' 

wsy." 


which leads to science, since the advantage which industrious suffering draws 

from adverse experience depends on "the exsct snd distinct knowledge of the 

precedent stste or disposition."27 

It is this undergoing thst is implied in the fsmous Bsconisn msxim: "Nsture 

to be commsnded must be 

obeyed," 

which is the bssis of his clsim that "human 

knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known 

the effect cannot be produced . 

and that which in contemplation is as the 

This correlation of cause-and-effect with 

cause is in operation as the rule."28 

means-and-end provides the starting point for Hobbes's conception of science 

as knowledge of effect 

by way of knowledge of cause or production, which I 

have shown to be related to a new sense of possibility snd future-orientstion 

of experience. The bssis of thst relstion is to be found in Hobbes's elaboration 

of Bscon's germinal idea of 'pleasure in 

In Hobbes this ides is expsnded and deepened in an empirical psychology 

that is centered in the conception of conatus or 'endeavor' . Here the natural 

integration of 

feeling and motive, of plessure snd appetite, which is basic to 

Hobbes's account of sensstion snd 

thinking ss well ss willing, is snslyzed 

with insight. Instesd of 

sttempting to desl with the subtleties snd difficulties 

of Hobbes's grasp 

of mentsl processes here,29 we csn content ourselves with 

one passage which reflects the positive interdependence of pleasure and active 

desire or pursuit, not at the subliminal level of conatus (that is, infinitesimal 

impulses to act which Hobbes conceives of as competing and combining as 

motives develop) but at the level of conscious striving. 

In chapter II of Leviathan, Hobbes focuses on "the difference of Manners," 

Pesce," 

"those qualities of man-kind thst concern their living together in 

To which end we are to consider, that the Felicity of this life, consisteth not in the 

repose of a mind satisfied. For there is no such Finis ultimus, (utmost aim,) nor 

Summum Bonum, (greatest Good,) as is spoken of in the Books of the old Moral 

Philosophers. Nor can a man any more live, whose Desires are at an end, than he, 

whose Senses and Imaginations are at a stand. Felicity is continual progress of the 

desire, from one object to another; the attaining 

later.30 

way to the 

of the former, being 

still but the 

For Hobbes this predisposition of human nature leads to a fundamental 

premise for the establishment of political order: "And therefore the voluntary 

actions, and inclinations of all men, tend, not only to the procuring, but slso 

to the sssuring of s contented life; snd differ only in the 

It may be surprising to have Hobbes's notorious phrase, "I put for a general 

27. Works III: 434- 

28. Novum Organum, Book I, Aphorism 3, Works IV: 47. 

29. See my essays, "Hobbes's Causal Account of Sensation," Journal of the History of 

Philosophy 18 (1980): 1 15-130, and "Vico and the Continuity of Science: The Relation of his 

Epistemology to Bacon and Hobbes," Isis 71 (1980): 609-20. 

30. Leviathan, p. 160. 

Spelling modernized here and in subsequent quotations from this work.

power," 


inclination of all mankind, 

a perpetual and restless desire of Power after 

offered as a gloss on 'the pursuit of hsppiness.' This is in psrt because a 

sinister construction has been put on Hobbes's use of the term 'power' as if it 

meant coercive power over others, where his meaning is mainly psychological 

and concerns sn expansive 'sense of self.'31 

The general meaning 

of 

'power' 

in Hobbes, which holds in this context, is "present means, to obtain some 

future apparent Good."32 The desire of "Power after 

power," 

as predicated of 

msn in general, reflects the desire to assure "the way 

of his future desire" 

and thus leads quite nsturslly 

which can 

keep all individuals in awe and order, 

to general consent in a common coercive power 

as part of its basic function 

as a power for securing 

present and future good for those individuals. 

If we can understand how the open-ended character of human desire is 

related to the foundation of the state for Hobbes, we should gain further in 

sight into the pursuit of hsppiness snd the hsppiness of pursuit thst sre pre 

supposed 

by Jefferson in the Declaration of Independence. Civil pesce for 

Hobbes is the precondition of all meaningful human pursuits, and even the 

attaining and keeping of pesce is conceived by 

him in terms of endesvor. (Compsre 

Jefferson's "Peace is my passion.") The constituting of a common coercive 

power or sovereignty releases individuals from the state of nature, that is, 

from the constant expectation of conflict, in that it makes it safe and thus 

rational to follow what he cslls "the first, snd Fundsmentsl Lsw of Nsture; 

which is, to seek Peace, and follow it."" 

In Hobbes's definition, "A Lsw of Nsture, (Lex Naturalis,) is s Precept, 

or general Rule, found out 

by Resson, by 

which s msn is forbidden to do 

thst which is destructive of his life, or taketh away the means of preserving 

the 

same." 

In the state of nature the operative rule is "'That every msn, 

ought to endesvour Pesce, ss fsr ss he hss hope of obtsining it; 

snd when he 

cannot obtain it, that he may seek, and use, all helps and sdvsntsges of 

Wsr.'" 

It is by insight into their own best interest in the long 

run thst men 

"sre commsnded to endesvour Pesce" snd led to transfer or alienate certain 

nstursl rights (Jus, "liberty to do, or to forbesr") to the common power, in 

order better to enjoy snd use other nstursl rights which Hobbes ssys must be 

thought of ss insliensble. 

"Whensoever s msn Trsnsferreth his Right, or Renounceth it; it is either in 

consideration of some Right reciprocslly transferred to himself; 

other good he hopeth for 

thereby." 

By conceiving 

or for some 

of the constitution of common 

power or sovereignty as a transfer or mutual renouncing of certain natural 

liberties on the part of all individuals, Hobbes introduces the deliberate fiction 

of the 'social 

contract' 

as a voluntary act, with the proviso: "and of the 

31. See Hobbes, Thomas White's De Mundo Examined, trans. Harold Whitmore Jones (London, 

1976), pp. 466-69, where 'potentia' 


is rendered as 'potential' 


Following paragraphs, pp. 189, 192.

esses."35 

but 

peopl 


voluntary acts of every man, the object is some Good to himself." A contract 

constitutes a mutual 

binding 

of wills or persistent endeavors over time. The 

social contract is sn open-ended one, entered into to secure future (sppsrent) 

good, hoped for snd expected. 

his natural right 

While a man, to this end, can be understood to give up 

to the use of force, for example, he csnnot be understood to "lsy down the 

right of resisting them, thst ssssult him by force, or tske swsy 

his 

life." 

Self-preservstion is sn insliensble right. But the life which is msde secure 

by sovereignty 

is more thsn mere existence. "The motive snd end for which 

this renouncing snd transferring of Right is introduced, is nothing 

else but 

the security of s msns person, in his life, snd in the mesns of so 

preserving 

life, ss not to be wesry 

of 

it." 

In the preceding 

chspter of Leviathan, "Of the Nstursl Condition of Msnkind, 

ss concerning their Felicity, snd Misery," Hobbes hsd characterized the 

state of nature ss s condition in which "there is no plsce for Industry, becsuse 

the fruit thereof is 

uncertsin," 

snd hsd concluded, "The Psssions that encline 

men to Peace are Fear of Death, Desire of such things as are 

necessary to 

commodious living, and a Hope by their Industry 

to obtain 

them." 

The civil 

state makes the future reliable to the extent that individual industriousness can 

living" 

be motivsted by the expectstion of sttsining the goods of "commodious 

through one's own efforts. 

Similsrly, st the outset of the chspter, "Of the Office of the Sovereign 

Representative," 

where Hobbes speaks of "the end, for which he was trusted 

with the Sovereign Power, namely the procuration of the safety of the 

he adds, "By Safety here is not meant a bsre Preservation, but also all other 

Contentments of life, which every man by lawful Industry, without danger 

or hurt to the Common- himself." 

wealth, shall acquire to In a parallel passsge 

"ssfety" 

in De Cive he writes of ss the preservstion of life "in order to its 

hsppiness. For to this end did men freely 

sssemble themselves snd institute s 

government, thst they might, ss much ss their human condition would afford, 

live delightfully."34 

At the same time Hobbes holds that government "can confer no more to 

[its subjects'] civil happiness, than that being 

preserved from foreign and 

civil wars, they may quietly enjoy that wealth which they have purchased by 

industry." 

their own 

Moreover, in Leviathan Hobbes stipulates that "this is 

intended should be done, not by 

care applied to Individuals ... 

by a 

. 

general Providence, 

contsined in public Instruction, snd in the msking, 

snd executing of good Lsws, to which individual persons 

msy spply their own 

Government should provide for the hsppiness of the people 

only by 

their pursuits secure. 

msking 

There have been several attempts recently to show the importance of Hobbes 

34. Leviathan, p. 376, cf. De Cive. ch. 13, para. 4. 

35. Leviathan, p. 376.


for the founding of the American republic. The affinity 

of principles is greater 

with Hobbes than with Locke or the classical republican tradition, 

and extends 

not only to Hamilton, Madison and the Federalist, but slso, snd quite centrally, 

to Jefferson and the Declaration. One could pursue this affinity 

further with 

regard to natural equity, inalienable rights, and the civil (not natural) basis 

of property, for which Hobbes is the indispensable source of ideas that proved 

crucial to the conception of the republic realized through the Revolution. 

The essentisl point here is thst the stste for Hobbes secures something 

like s nstural right to endesvor, to life not ss survivsl but ss "a continusll 

snother." 

progresse of the desire, from one object to By definition, the goods 

thst sre the object of this 'pursuit of hsppiness' could not be determined by 

the stste or by s consensus, or by snyone for snyone else. A clear implication 

of Hobbes's conception of desire is that even the individual concerned cannot 

determine, once and for all, the good that he pursues, for defining 

and interests is itself part of the pursuit, of experience seen as endeavor. 

our ends 

A further implication, disturbing to many, reflects s psrsdox in Hobbes's 

conception of endesvor in his empiricsl psychology. The object of desire is 

the efficient csuse of desire, that is, desire is a passion or passive response 

rather than s voluntsry sction, yet objects are not desired becsuse they sre 

good but good becsuse desired. This circulsrity 

represents not 

inconsistency 

but insight on Hobbes's psrt, since it reflects an undenisble festure of humsn 

experience. Recognition of this circulsrity in experience is sn essentisl fsctor in 

the relstivism proper to true tolerance of 

diversity 

of vslues. It slso supports 

sn openness to the future which snticipstes thst goods snd gosls unknown 

to the present will emerge from humsn sctivity. 

With their spprecistion of the interdependence of pursuit snd plessure, 

Bscon snd Hobbes introduced s tendency, later brought to full fruition by 

Dewey and other pragmatists, to relativize the distinction between means and 

ends, and to deny the intrinsic superiority and the fixity 

of ends. A similar 

trait has been noted in the Jeffersonian conception of human practice 

submitted to sustsined criticism 

and 

in The Lost World of Thomas Jefferson. 

For Dsniel Boorstin " Jeffersonisns [sre] men immersed in sction, who were 

reticent snd inexplicit sbout the ends of their own sctivity."37 In whst Boorstin 

36. See the essay cited in note 18, which was first given as a paper in 1976 at the Bicentennial 

Meeting of the American Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies. Frank M. Coleman, Hobbes and 

America: Exploring the Constitutional Foundations (Toronto, 1977) has a critical, but superficial 

and 

leveling view both of Hobbes and of the 'constitutional foundations.' A far better treatment 

is George Mace, Locke, Hobbes, and the Federalist Papers: An Essay on the Genesis of the 

American Political Heritage (Carbondale, 1979), which claims that Hobbes is more relevant than 

Locke not only for Madison and Hamilton but for Jefferson as well. See my reviews of these two 

works and of Richard Tuck, Natural Rights Theories: Their Origin and Development (Cambridge, 

1979), in The Eighteenth Century: A Current Bibliography, n.s. 6, for 1980. Tuck is illuminating 

on Hobbes, but mistaken in contending that the influence of natural rights theory 

was finished 

by Rousseau. 

37. The Lost World of Thomas Jefferson (Boston, i960), p. 148. Subsequent quotations are 

from pp. 149, 197, 199L, 53, and 226. See also pp. 198, 203, 214 and 239s.

changed.40 

Concept' 

for 

Enlightenment,' 

sctivity." 

Menschengeschichte," 

others." 


sees as s new sort of theodicy, actually one characteristic of the Englightenment,38 

"the Jeffersonian explsined evil, not ss intended to msgnify good, but 

ss designed indirectly 

to promote 

Boorstin links this orientstion with prsgmstism, but sees it ss s spirit which 

"stifled the very desire of men to know the gosl towsrd which they were 

moving." 

"Jeffersonisn politicsl science . 

. was not concerned with duties 

because it has left the moral ends of the human community vaguely implicit 

in 

nature." 

Boorstin notes thst "concepts of the 'public interest' . . . were 

thought," 

strikingly 

absent from Jeffersonian political but construes this simply 

as an inadvertent flaw, not s deliberate revision of republicsnism. 

Clsiming 

that "Jefferson never seriously 

mind might fit a msn to discover the proper ends of 

suggested that cosmopolitanism and breadth of 

society," 

Boorstin fsils 

to recognize thst Jefferson had discarded the premise of classical political 

thought that the proper ends of 

society could and should be determined. 

Similsrly Boorstin finds "strikingly 

little discussion of hsppiness in the 

humsnistic sense of the well-being of the individusl" in Jeffersonisn writing, 

perhaps because by 'humanistic' Boorstin means 'normative', while Jefferson 

felt that setting goals of individual pursuit was precisely 

the concern of the 

"unique individual" which Boorstin accuses him of ignoring. "Even the concept 

of hsppiness was virtuslly emptied of its personsl 

Boorstin clsims, 

but this rsther reflects s Jeffersonisn tendency to define hsppiness only formslly 

in public terms since its 'personsl' thst.39 

mesning 

wss to be just 

A tug-of-wsr between public service snd privste fulfilment is projected in 

Jefferson's letters throughout his csreer. For example, sssured that he has now 

done his part for his country, he writes to Monroe in 1782, 

If we are made in some degree for others, yet in a greater are we made for ourselves. 

It were 

contrary to feeling 

and indeed ridiculous to suppose a man has less right in 

himself than one of his neighbors or all of them put together. This would be slavery 

the preservation of which our government has been 

and not that liberty 

. 

38. E.g. Immanuel Kant, "Ueber das Misslingen aller philosophischen Versuche in der Theodizee," 

in Werke, ed. W. Weischedel (Darmstadt, 1966), VI: 105-24, which follows up the argu 

ment of "Mutmasslicher Anfang der 

Werke VI: 85-102, esp. pp. 92, ioif., 

that justifies the loss of Eden on these grounds. The moral order of the world is not to be judged 

by 

contemplative reason, standing back from its entanglements, since our obligation to act is part 

of the reality. As already for Leibniz, and for Johnson as a critic of 'philosophical' theodicy, 

man's relation to providence must be practical not intellectual. See my essays, "Readings of 

Rasselas: 'Its Most Obvious Moral' and the Moral Role of 

Literature," 

Enlightenment Essays 7, 

no. 1/2, (Spring 1976): 17-39, and "Johnson and Hume Considered as the Core of a New 

'Period 

of the 

Transactions of the Fifth International Congress on the 

Enlightenment I (Studies on Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century, 190), pp. 189-96. 

39. In his dialogue, "My Head Heart," 

and My in the context of a defense of American 

sociability, Jefferson emphasizes the respect for privacy: "There is not a country on earth, where 

there is greater tranquility; where the laws are milder, or better obeyed; where every one is more 

attentive to his own business, or meddles less with that of 

12, 1786, Papers X: 447. 

40. May 20, 1782, Papers VI: i8sf. 

To Maria Cosway, October

proud.43 


That liberty is essentially private. It is the liberty 

which entered the world 

of political thought with Hobbes, who derived it both from nstursl right snd 

from 'the silence of the lsws'. In Montesquieu this personsl liberty, secured 

by civil lsw, hss become 'politicsl liberty'. The clsssicsl republicsn identifica 

tion of 

liberty 

with political life in the sense of dedication to the public good 

has been completely 

reversed. The very idea of a public welfsre thst requires 

the suppression or sscrifice of privste interest hss become 

questionsble.41 

The [Spsrtsn or Roman] republican conception of virtue, like the stoic 

philosophical conception, is defined by its antagonism to just the sort of ap 

petite that is celebrated as basic to human life by Bacon, Hobbes and their 

Enlightenment 'followers'. Desire, fed by an active imsginstion, lesds to the 

proliferation of artificial needs. Instead of seeing 

this process as a threat to 

the integrity of the personality and attempting to undermine it by 

an internal 

discipline an approach which Rousseau adopted at certain points most prom 

inent writers of the Enlightenment affirmed the open-ended chsrscter of desire 

snd urged thst it be controlled snd corrected only 

in snd through experience 

snd socisl intercourse.42 The ongoing socisl constitution of selfhood was not 

only finally appreciated as a fact, as a 

determinability 

that could not be avoided 

by any absolutization of autonomy, but the openended 

experiential character of the self provided the basis for a profound under- 

socially interdependent and 

stsnding 

of individuslity. 

Pursuit includes sn element of effort, the meeting and overcoming of re 

sistance, which itself gives s certsin vslue to sctivity. 

Lessing represented 

this Enlightenment sense of endesvor or enterprise when he wrote: 

Not the truth in whose possession any man is, or thinks he is, but the honest effort he 

has made to find out the truth, is what constitutes the worth of a man. For it is not 

through the possession but through the 

inquiry after truth that his powers expand, and 

in this alone consists his ever growing perfection. Possession makes calm, lazy, 

The 'hsppiness of 

pursuit' 

certsinly borrows something from the plessursble 

snticipstion of s gosl, but also involves enjoyment of the effort itself. 

The pursuit of happiness can be misconstrued as a chase after an ever 

receding goal only if one identifies hsppiness with the end, the cessstion, 

of pursuit, 

or what Hobbes termed "the repose of s mind 

satisfied 

It makes 

41. In chapter 21 of Leviathan, pp. 266f., Hobbes shows that the 'liberty' which is celebrated 

by the classical republican tradition is not that of individuals, but of states, their constituted power 

"to resist, or invade other 

people." 

In a letter of October 31, 1823, Jefferson wrote, "The govern 

ment of Athens, for example, was that of the people of one city making laws for the whole 

country subjected to them. That of Lacedaemon [Sparta] was the rule of military monks over 

the laboring class of the slavery." 

people, reduced to abject Writings XV: 482. See my paper, 

"The Critique of Classical Republicanism and the 

Understanding of Modem Forms of Polity in 

Vico's New Science," Clio 9 (Spring 1980): 393-418. 

42. See the essays cited in note 38 preceding. 

43. "Eine Duplik," in Lessing, Werke, ed. H. G. Gopfert (Munich, 1970-79), VIII: 32f.

' 

'pursuit' 


a great difference whether one sees desire in s negstive or s positive light, 

ss a state opposed to or akin to fulfilment. In the pssssge quoted, Lessing, 

as a good Leibnizian, conceived of perfection as an open-ended progressive 

quality, a denial of the perfected, closed off, 

as a process is characteristic of the Enlightenment. 

finished;44 this idea of perfectio 

Pssssges embodying this perspective could be cited from Montesquieu, 

Diderot, even Roussesu, from Johnson or Burke ss well ss Hume, from Schiller 

or Herder ss well as Lessing. But there is one figure, ususlly considered 

crucisl to the Enlightenment, who poses sn obstscle to this general characterizstion: 

Locke. The conative psychology 

that was so essential to empiricism 

in Bacon and Hobbes, and the corresponding conception of humsn nsture, 

sre fsr less evident in Locke thsn in Leibniz. This is psrticulsrly importsnt 

for the topic under consideration here becsuse Locke has been claimed recently 

as the prime source of Jefferson's idea of the pursuit of happiness. A confrontstion 

with this opposing interpretstion of 'pursuit' will provide sn spt 

conclusion. 

III. 

'HAPPINESS' 

VS. PURSUIT 

In Inventing America: Jefferson's Declaration of Independence, Gsrry Wills 

devotes s chapter to snslyzing the term 'pursuit', giving 

emphssis to "elements 

necessity," 

of determination snd 

ss in the phrase 

"'necessity determines to 

the pursuit of 

bliss.'" 

His main source of examples, this one included, is a 

single chapter from Locke's Essay concerning 

work, Wills suggests, and not the political treatises, 

Human Understanding. This 

was the significant Locke 

for the eighteenth century, the one who formed a triad with Bacon and Newton. 

model' 

A 'Newtonian determines the conception of pursuit focused on by 

Wills, the csussl necessitstion of a universal gravitation of wills that are irresistably 

moved desire.45 

by 

the objects of 

'Necessary' 

In the chapter headed 

from the phrase "when in the course 

of human events it becomes necessary 

Wills claimed thst "the Declarstion's 

opening 

is Newtonisn. It lsys down the 

lsw." 

Out of a sequence of observed results, a pattern emerges, and is stated as a law. 

The revolution of the colonies, like the revolving of heaven's bodies, is a process 

open to scientific observation and description. Jefferson has come to describe it.46 

44. I emphasize this neglected aspect of Leibniz in a review in Eighteenth-Century Studies 

12, no. 3 (Spring 

1979): 433-38. 

45. Inventing America, p. 241 Contrast Hamowy (note 7 preceding), pp. 511-16. 

46. Inventing America, p. 94 In his discussion of 

Wills quotes a 

telling passage 

from Bacon's Advancement. "It is order, poursuite. sequence, and interchange of application, 

which is mighty in 

of 

the original metaphor. 

But Wills reduces the laws of nature, including those of the 'state 

to laws of physics or mechanics far too literally to catch the liveliness and power of


Accordingly Wills devotes that chapter to a discussion of 'mechanical phi 

losophy' 

in the eighteenth century, as if in explanation of the Declaration's 

opening. 

In an earlier psper I hsve srgued, on the contrary, thst this reference to 

'necessity' 

in the course of humsn events is sn sppeal to the law of nature 

in the sense of the nstursl right of self-preservstion , 

vidusl but to s people in thst 'state of 

spplied not to sn indi 

nature' 

that prevails between nations. 

In the same vein Alexander Hamilton hsd srgued esrlier, in Hobbesisn terms, 

thst "when the first principles of civil 

society sre violsted, snd the rights 

of s whole people sre invsded, 

. 

lsw of nsture. 

. men msy 

then betske themselves to the 

We might note in psssing that Hamilton adopts this srgument from Blackstone 

snd contrasts it with doctrines supposedly tsken by his opponent Sesbury 

from the sinister 'Mr. Hobbes' This should suggest how Hobbes csme to hsve 

no overt influence in Revolutionsry Americs, although his ideas, working 

through Priestley or Blackstone, Hume, Hutcheson or Locke and often in a 

direction that cut across the main tendencies of these writers 

had a decisive 

impact. This is also the case with Locke's conception of the causal neces 

sitation thst determines 'pursuit', for Locke's mechsnics of motivstion derives 

directly, but tscitly, from Hobbes. 

the 

I would not dissgree when Wills claims that Locke's denial of 'freedom of 

will' 

is not 

only consistent with but material to an understanding of pursuit. 

As he says, "The will is determined by its 

object." 

There is, however, a subtle 

but important difference in the way this ides is taken by Hobbes and by 

Locke, leading 

to a major difference in their conceptions of pursuit. Locke 

understands motivation principally in terms of 'uneasiness', that is, in negative 

terms: 

What determines the will? 

The motive, for continuing in the same State or 

Action, is only the present satisfaction in it; The motive to change is always some 

uneasiness: nothing setting us upon the change of State, or upon any new Action, 

but some uneasiness. This is the great motive that works on the Mind to put it upon 

will.4" 

Action, [i.e.] determining of the 

In the long chapter 'Of Power', on which Wills bases his argument, Locke 

adopts a quasi-Hobbesian conception of motivation, but deprived of the open 

snd 

forwsrd-urging quality that characterizes 'endeavor' in Hobbesian psy- 

47. See the beginning of the essay cited in note iS preceding. The passage from Hamilton is 

quoted in Gerald Stourzh, Alexander Hamilton and the Idea of Republican Government (Stanford, 

1970), p. 10, cf. pp. 15-22. In a letter to J. B. Colvin. September 20, 1810, Writings XII: 

419, Jefferson says, "The law of self-preservation authorizes the distressed to take a supply of 

force. In all these cases, the unwritten laws of necessity, of self-preservation, and of the public 

safety, control the written laws of meum and tuum . 

" 

that is, civil laws of property. 

48. An Essay concerning Human Understanding, ed. Peter H. Nidditch (Oxford. 1979), p. 

249. This is para. 29 of Book II, Ch. 21, to which further references will be made 

by paragraph 

within parentheses in the text. On 'uneasiness', para. 31-34.

'good' 

good' 


chology. For Hobbes conatus is not reducible to a self-preservative urge nor 

is it regulated 

by an essentially negative 'uneasiness-principle'.49 The determinist 

implications of the causal conception of motivation thus are fsr more restrictive 

in Locke thsn in Hobbes, snd Locke himself is clesrly not 

happy 

with such 

implications. He revised the chspter st several stsges in later editions, intro 

ducing a different conception of freedom, which is mixed, most uncomfortsbly, 

with the residue of the Hobbesisn conception. 

The new spprosch msy seem to complicste, but in fsct bresks with, the 

model tsken from mechsnics or grsvitstion theory, snd it does this by intro 

ducing the notion that the mind can suspend motives that are weighing or 

pulling 

on it. This is a variant of the epoche which classical sceptics and 

stoics claimed to be able to exercise on their own passions and desires. In 

contrast to Hobbes, then, for whom the will is simply the lsst desire, the 

cumulstive result of the process of deliberation ss a libration of 

competing 

(mutually corrective and interacting) motive objects or projected courses of 

sction, Locke sees the will ss 

"perfectly distinguished from desire" (30). 

Thus, while it msy 

seem s plsusible msxim that 'the greatest good determines 

the 

will,' 

Locke concludes "that good, the greater good, though apprehended 

and acknowledged to be so, does not determine the will, until our desire, raised 

proportionably to it, makes us uneasy in the it" 

want of (35). 

In the maxim which Locke is correcting, the Hobbesian relativist definition 

of 'good' was presupposed: 

wss whst wss desired, the 'grester 

thst which exerted the grester sttrsction (cf. 42). Locke has introduced a new 

normative element, 

a determination of 

'good' 

from without, and this is decisive 

for all those passages cited by Wills, though Wills either fails to see this or 

omits to acknowledge it. Wills's interpretation is thus damaged because Locke 

has in effect brought about an opposition between his idess of 

'hsppiness' 

snd pursuit. 

"Wherever there is uneasiness, there is desire," writes Locke, "for we con 

stantly desire hsppiness; and whatever we feel of uneasiness, so much, it 

is certain, we want [i.e. lack] of happiness" (39). This shows more than 

how removed Locke is from any idea of the happiness of pursuit. Locke sees 

in the unavoidsble concern with hsppiness the possibility of leverage to mske 

whst he considers to be 'the grestest a predominating determinant of the 

will, that is, 

a more constant cause of uneasiness. "How much soever Men sre 

in earnest, snd constant in pursuit of hsppiness. [Wills cites this statement 

as the first use of the formula]; yet 

they msy have a clear view of good, 

great and confessed good, without being 

concern'd for it or moved by it, 

if they think they csn mske up their hsppiness it" 

without (43). 

In the psrsgrsph 

preceding Locke hsd resffirmed the Hobbesisn perspective. 

"Whst hss sn sptness to produce Plessure in us is thst we csll . . 

'good', for 

49. Many writers on Hobbes, from Dilthey 

and Tonnies on, confuse his use of the term 

with that of Spinoza, who conflates conatus with the urge to self-preservation.

'msss' 

will' 

motion."50 

'should' 


no other resson, but for its sptness to produce Plessure . 

in us, wherein 

consists our happiness" (42). It is spparent that this can only 

be made con 

sistent with the succeeding 

confessed 

paragraph if we understand that the "grest snd 

good" 

is rsther known to be apt to produce grest hsppiness not to 

the one concerned but to someone else (like Locke) 

for' 

the other person. 

who 'knows whst's good 

Locke is in fsct tslking sbout lukewsrm Christisns who, "sstisfied of the 

possibility of s perfect, secure, snd 

lssting 

nonetheless "not moved by this greater apparent 

hsppiness in s future 

stste," 

sre 

good." 

He wants them to use 

the stoic-sceptic 

capacity to stand back from the motives that are actually 

working on them, so as to achieve "a careful and constant pursuit of true 

and solid happiness" (51, another of Wills's examples, torn from its context). 

They must not only 

of pursuit. 

interrupt but break through the constant determination 

Wills elides the main bent of Locke's composite approach in order to as 

similate to the 'Newtonian 

beyond all earthly pursuits 

will. "Freedom is the 

with s smsll 

model' 

the attraction which ultimate good 

bliss 

should (but evidently does not) exert on the human 

cspscity," 

Wills writes, "to resist the pull of things 

of hsppiness but grest proximity, in order to be true 

to the ultimste gosl of 

'resl' hsppiness." 

Although remote, 'true snd solid 

hsppiness' 

should exert a greater pull because of its magnitude, Wills would 

have the model imply. But then he must simply 

overlook the fact that this 

model has no way of accommodating such a 

"'Pursuit' 

is here used 

[he claims] as response to the gravitational 

tug of a determining 

object. In 

the push-pull pain-pleasure world Locke describes, the attraction of happiness 

gives that constant, that determination of reality, on the basis of which one 

can build a science of human 

I make no objection to such a program of 'human 

science' 

In an earlier 

essay I maintained that Hobbes's conception of motivation, which leads him to 

a denial of 'free far more consistent than that of Locke, also provides 

a sound basis for understanding and 

improving human freedom.51 But Hobbes's 

view of the social world on the model of a mechanics of 

interacting motive 

forces, attractive and repulsive, is not a "push-pull pain-pleasure 

as Locke describes. Locke was 

only 

world" 

such 

led to posit his second conception of 

freedom because his own version of motivation-modelled-on-mechanics made 

man seem more the victim of experience. Hobbes, on the contrary, with his 

parallel application of the concept 

'endesvor' 

in his sdsptation of Galilean 

mechanics and in his analysis of mind and motivation in terms of 'inner 

motions', far from reducing the lstter to the former, showed how freedom 

50. Inventing America, p. 242. 

51. "Materialism and Freedom,' Studies in Eighteenth-Century Culture 7 (1978): 193-212, 

esp. pp. 202ff.

goods." 

nece 


could snd must be understood ss adequate determination of our motives by 

our experience and of our actions 

by 

our 

motives.52 

In this respect, as in others, Leibniz was very much a follower of Hobbes, 

as is evident in his critical responses to Locke and to Samuel Clarke. The 

point of the 'endeavor' concept in the motivstion 

is nicely brought out 

analogy between mechanics snd 

by 

one of his snswers to the lstter: 

properly speaking, motives do not act upon the mind, as weights do upon a 

balance; but it is rather the mind that acts by virtue of the motives, which are its 

dispositions to act. And therefore to pretend, as the author does here, that the mind 

prefers sometimes weak motives to strong ones, and even that it prefers that which is 

indifferent before motives; this, I say, is to divide the mind from the motives, as if 

they . 

dispositions to act, by 

were outside the mind 

and as if the mind had, besides motives, other 

virtue of which it could reject or accept the 

motives." 

Where Locke maintains that, "whilst we are under any uneasiness, we cannot 

apprehend ourselves happy, or in the way to it; pain and uneasiness being, 

happiness" 

by every one, concluded and felt to be inconsistent with (36), 

Leibniz counters that "it is essential to the happiness of created beings; their 

hsppiness never consists in complete sttsinment, which would mske them 

insensste and stupefied, but in continual and uninterrupted progress towards 

greater 

The consistent Hobbesian conception of freedom not from but through the 

determinstion of our motives snd sctions, ss grounded in the concept 'endeavor', 

thus fully 

anticipates Jefferson's idea of the pursuit of happiness and its 

anslogues 

in the Continentsl Enlightenment. Initiative and 

risk-taking are as es 

determined or driven. In his 

sential to this sense of endeavor as is being 

dialogue, "My Head and My 

Heart," 

Jefferson counterposes calculation of 

possibility against enthusiasm, relsting the first to the effort to svoid psin, 

the second to the urge to positive plessure, snd hss the Hesrt claim credit 

Necessity" 

52. In "Of Liberty and Hobbes answers the charge that his view of human action 

would make deliberation or consultation useless: "It is the consultation that causeth a man, and 

necessitateth him to choose to do one thing 

rather than another, and 

is not in vain, and indeed the less in vain by 

how much the election is more 

therefore consultation 

Hobbes, Body, Man, and Citizen, ed. R. S. Peters (New York, 1962), p. 256. I have argued 

that Schiller, in a critical inversion of Kantian transcendentalism, arrives at a similar identification 

of freedom and determination, "The Morality of the Sublime: Kant Schiller," 

and Studies in 

Romanticism 19 (Winter 1980): 497-514, esp. pp. 5i3f. 

53. Para. 15 of Leibniz's answer to Clarke's Fourth Reply, Leibniz, Selections, ed. Philip 

P. Wiener (New York, 1951), p. 241 I touch on this aspect of Leibniz's continuity with Hobbes 

Leibniz," 

in "The Separation of Reason and Faith in Bacon and Hobbes, and the Theodicy of Journal of the History of Ideas 42. no. 4 (October-December, 1981): 607-28. See Leibniz, 

New Essays on Human Understanding, tr. Peter Remnant and Jonathan Bennett (Cambridge, 

1981), pp. 169, 172 and 186, on 

or 'disquiet'. 

'endeavor' 

and pp 164-66, 183 and 'uneasiness' 

188-89 on


for the success of the Revolution: "We put our existence to the hszsrd, when 

the hazard seemed sgsinst us, 

snd we ssved our 

country."54 

Even before the Revolution he hsd derived the 

colonists' 

rights from their 

emigration, "rights thus acquired at the hazard of their lives and loss of their 

fortunes." 

Esrly 

settlers of the New World hsd responded to the call 'plus 

ultra,' 

which drew them beyond the limits of settled experience, the Straits 

of Gibrsltsr of the known politicsl world. In s sense 

they 

'state of 

nsture' 

in exercising 

a right, which nature has given to all men, of departing from the country 

hsd sought out a 

in which 

chance, not choice, has placed them, of going in quest of new habitations, and of 

there establishing new societies, under such laws and regulations as, to them, shall 

happiness.55 

seem most 

likely to promote public 

A nstursl, inslienable right to the pursuit of happiness was affirmed in their 

venture. 

54. To Maria Cosway, October 12, 1786, Papers X: 451. Jefferson is clearly both 'head' 

and 'heart'; his richly ambivalent relation to stoicism needs further study. Sec his letter to John 

Adams, April 8, 1816, Writings XIV: 467. 

55. "A Summary View of the Rights of British America," Papers I: 122.

The Lion and the Ass: 

A Commentary on the Book of Genesis (Chapters 35-37) 

Robert Sacks 

St. John's College, Annapolis and Santa Fe 

CHAPTER XXXV 

I. AND GOD SAID UNTO JACOB, ARISE, GO UP TO BETH-EL, AND DWELL THERE: 

AND MAKE THERE AN ALTAR UNTO GOD, THAT APPEARED UNTO THEE WHEN 

THOU FLEDDEST FROM THE FACE OF ESAU THY BROTHER. 

What he learned in the city of Shechem forced Jacob to return to Beth-el, 

the scene of his dream. It now sppesrs to him ss though life under the condi 

tions announced in the dresm will not be possible. 

By 

virtue of their circum 

cision the Hivites hsd become followers of the New Wsy, snd their murder 

constituted the fratricide which Jacob had hoped to avoid. Jacob is forced to 

return to the scene of the former dream hoping 

sage of the first dream more explicit. 

that God would make the mes 

2. THEN JACOB SAID UNTO HIS HOUSEHOLD, AND TO ALL THAT WERE WITH 

HIM, PUT AWAY THE STRANGE GODS THAT ARE AMONG YOU, AND BE CLEAN, 

AND CHANGE YOUR GARMENTS: 

Jacob begins his journey back to Beth-el by having his house put away 

their strange gods and cleanse themselves. It may be that he suspected Rachel 

of being in possession of Labsn's gods snd surely 

wss aware of the relation 

ship between that difficulty 

snd the trouble which he ssw in Chspter 

Thirtyfour. 

Cleansing, 

which is the antidote for defilement as discussed in the commen 

tary to Gen. 34:11, is accomplished in a combination of at least three wsys 

wster, time, snd sscrifice. One of the fundamental ways of cleansing appears 

in the following verse: And upon whatsoever any of them, when they 

are dead, 

doth fall, it shall be unclean; whether it be any vessel of wood, or raiment, 

or skin, or sack, whatsoever vessel it be, wherein any work is done, it must 

be put into water, and it shall be unclean until the even; so it shall be 

cleansed (Lev. 11:32). Cleansing is done by washing in water as in the days 

of the Flood. Only water, in its kinship to chaos, is sufficient to carry away 

with it everything which is superfluous. The object itself, however, is not con 

sidered clean until evening, that strange moment when distinctions become less 

real. Evening, which had arisen by itself as an uncreated mixture of the light 

and the darkness and had been considered the beginning of the world's inability


to remain within clear confines, now, precisely 

because of its undefined chsr 

scter, provides for the possibility 

of s chsnge in character. 

We had our first glimpse of the double role that water is capable of playing 

when we were 

considering the Philistines and their relation to David in the 

commentsry to Gen. 23:1. Those men, lately come from the ses, tsught Dsvid 

respect for the Ark ss well ss the srt of wsr. We shall return to the double sig 

nificance of water in the commentary to Gen. 49:10 by considering the lions 

which stood at the base of the great lsvsbo thst held the wsters of sblution 

in front of Solomon's Temple. 

Often things csnnot be clesnsed 

immedistely snd time is required: But if she 

bear a maid child, then she shall be unclean two weeks, as in her separation: 

and she shall continue in the blood of her purifying threescore and six days 

(Lev. 12:5). 

Cleansing is the opposite of defilement, which we discussed in the com 

mentary to Gen. 34:11. In the Book of Exodus it is used over and over again 

to describe the pure gold which was used to make the utensils for the Tent of 

Meeting 

and the Ark itself (see Ex. Chapters 22 and 28). In this context the 

word pure means refined by 

fire until all of the dross has been removed (see 

Mai. 3:3). The gold used for the Ark is intentionally 

not gold in its natural 

state. Purified gold had to be used in making the Ark because gold as found 

in nature is a mixture and hence not adequate for man. 

Partly 

for these reasons 

and psrtly becsuse of most men's resction to thst world of mixtures, especislly 

during the time of sscrifice, a shsrp 

line must be drawn between that world 

and the artful world in which sacrifice becomes possible. 

Defilement in itself is never considered sinful. It is part of the world and 

must be lived with. The grestest sin, however, is to confuse the two reslms 

by psrtsking in the sscrificisl meal while in a state of defilement. For such an 

act there is no cleansing: there is only banishment (see Lev. 7:21). 

3. AND LET US ARISE, AND GO UP TO BETH-EL; AND I WILL MAKE THERE AN 

ALTAR UNTO GOD, WHO ANSWERED ME IN THE DAY OF MY DISTRESS, AND 

WAS WITH ME IN THE WAY WHICH I WENT. 

Jacob will now return to the God who was with me in the way which I 

went. Jacob's manner of 

describing 

God at this point is somewhat curious. It 

seems almost to indicate that God has been following man. Up 

has followed the path which 

lay 

to now Jscob 

ahead of him and God has come along. That 

wsy led to the city of Shechem snd the difficulties which Jscob met there. 

4. AND THEY GAVE UNTO JACOB ALL THE STRANGE GODS WHICH WERE IN 

THEIR HAND, AND ALL THEIR EARRINGS WHICH WERE IN THEIR EARS; AND 

JACOB HID THEM UNDER THE OAK WHICH WAS BY SHECHEM. 

Before returning to Beth-el Jscob purifies his house by burying 

their strange 

gods. There sppesrs to be s reference here to Chspter Thirty-one. Jscob, st

The Lion and the Ass 251 

lesst st this point, suspects thst Lsbsn's gods were indeed stolen 

by 

one of his 

household. He buried these gods together with the esrrings of which we will 

spesk in s moment under the oak which was by Shechem. 

The use of the definite srticle is peculisr snd seems to indicate the exis 

tence of a psrticular snd fsmous oak near Shechem, and indeed there was such 

an osk. 

Drsmsticslly spesking it wss s very 

old osk which lasted throughout 

most of Israel's history. Following its history in msny 

of the English transi 

tions of the Bible is, however, sometimes confusing becsuse the word for oak 

is often translated/?/^. 

So fsr ss one csn tell the oak under which Jscob buried the strange gods 

wss the osk of Moreh where Abrsm built his first sltsr to the Lord sfter he 

left Haran. And Abram passed through the land unto the place of Shechem 

and to the oak 

of Moreh. And the Canaanite was then in the land (Gen. 

12:6). Moses uses the osk of Moreh as a signpost when he gives the people 

directions to Mount Gerizim and Mount Ebel (Deut. 11:3), and it was under 

this tree that Joshua wrote and set up the Book of the Lord (Josh. 24:24). In 

spite of all of these noble enterprises the foreign gods which 

lay buried under 

this tree finally came to the surface. Abimelech, the son of Gideon, whose story 

wss told in the commentsry to Gen. 34:11, wss crowned 

king by the oak of the 

pillar that was in Shechem (Judg. 9:6). The osk becomes even more significsnt 

when one remembers that immediately after the crowning of King Abimelech, 

Jothsm gsve his fsmous psrsble of the trees, which is perhsps the most theo 

reticsl srgument sgainst 

kingship in the Bible (Judg. 9:7-15; see also the com 

mentary to Gen. 34:11). 

Earrings slso plsy 

s seessw role in the development of the Bible. The gold 

from esrrings wss used by Asron to build the Golden Cslf (Ex. 32:2), but it 

wss also used 

by Bezaleel to build the Ark (Ex. 35:22). The last-time they 

are mentioned is in connection with the Ephod which Gideon msde sfter he 

hsd refused the kingship. The Ephod is then referred to ss s 

thing which 

became a snare unto Gideon and unto his house (Judg. 8:27). It msy hsve 

collected enough of the people into one group to hsve msde Abimelech 's king 

ship possible, snd its power smong the people certsinly gsve force to Abime 

lech's contention thst if he were not msde king the sons of Gideon would tske 

power (Judg. 9:2). In s slightly lsrger context Gideon's privste Ephod may 

have set a precedent for the private Ephod of Micah which played such an im 

portant part in the decline of the Jubilee Year. It led to the first private wor 

ship away from the people, who were to have all gathered together at the House 

of the Lord (see commentary to Gen. 15:17). 

5. AND THEY JOURNEYED: AND THE TERROR OF GOD WAS UPON THE CITIES 

THAT WERE ROUND ABOUT THEM, AND THEY DID NOT PURSUE AFTER THE 

SONS OF JACOB. 

6. SO JACOB CAME TO LUZ, WHICH IS IN THE LAND OF CANAAN, THAT IS, 

BETH-EL, HE AND ALL THE PEOPLE THAT WERE WITH HIM.


7. AND HE BUILT THERE AN ALTAR, AND CALLED THE PLACE EL-BETH-EL: 

BECAUSE THERE GOD APPEARED UNTO HIM, WHEN HE FLED FROM THE FACE 

OF HIS BROTHER. 

This time Jacob hss s ssfe journey, but he returns to Beth-el to where he 

fled from the face of his brother. In spite of God's protection, Jscob is still 

confused becsuse he sees no wsy of fulfilling the divine plsn of estsblishing s 

well-ordered 

society 

upon s just foundation. 

8. BUT DEBORAH, REBEKAH'S NURSE DIED, AND SHE WAS BURIED BENEATH 

BETH-EL UNDER THE OAK: AND THE NAME OF IT WAS CALLED ALLON- 

BACHUTH. 

Deborah, Rebekah's nurse, was buried beneath another famous oak. The 

author again speaks of the oak. as if it were an oak that we should recognize. 

In order to understsnd this verse it will be necesssry to remind ourselves of 

Rebeksh's character. She was the good womsn who quietly 

csred for blind old 

wss csrried through Isaac 

Isssc most of his life snd ssw to it thst the blessing 

and delivered safely into the hands of Jacob, even though Isaac was not fully 

swsre of whst he hsd done. The womsn buried under the oak in Beth-el wss 

even more removed from the divine plsn than Rebekah. She was the woman 

who cared for Rebekah herself when she was a very young 

child. The oak at 

Beth-el lived for a long time. It was the oak under which the man of God was 

found by the Prophet after his encounter with King Jeroboam. This was the 

Josiah three hundred nineteen 

young man who predicted the coming of King 

years too early (see commentary to Gen. 20:7). 

When the lion and the ass gusrded the body of the young man of God under 

this osk 

they were guarding a promise which would not be fulfilled for many 

years to come. The same long-range care is symbolized 

by the nurse. This oak 

stands in opposition to the oak at Shechem which concealed the gods that came 

to light in the days of Abimelech, the son of Gideon. But the oak at Beth-el 

lasted much longer than the oak at Shechem and its promise was fulfilled by 

King Josiah. 

Time, snd the wsy in which it csn concesl snd revesl, preserve snd destroy, 

is part of the answer to Jacob's fears and doubts. 

The oak is called in Hebrew Allon-bachuth, the oak of tears. The significance 

of this name will be discussed in the commentsry 

to Gen. 45:14. 

9. AND GOD APPEARED UNTO JACOB AGAIN, WHEN HE CAME OUT OF PADAN- 

ARAM, AND BLESSED HIM. 

10. AND GOD SAID UNTO HIM, THY NAME IS JACOB: THY NAME SHALL NOT 

BE CALLED ANY MORE JACOB, BUT ISRAEL SHALL BE THY NAME: AND HF 

CALLED HIS NAME ISRAEL. 

I I . 

AND GOD SAID UNTO HIM, I AM GOD ALMIGHTY: BE FRUITFUL AND MUL-


TIPLY; 

A NATION AND A COMPANY OF NATIONS SHALL BE OF THEE. AND 

KINGS SHALL COME OUT OF THY LOINS; 

12. AND THE LAND WHICH I GAVE ABRAHAM AND ISAAC, TO THEE I WILL 

GIVE IT, AND TO THY SEED AFTER THEE WILL I GIVE THE LAND. 

The silent God hss finslly spoken sgain, and yet one msy also say 

that He 

hss not spoken. Jscob hsd slresdy schieved the nsme Israel sfter his wrestling 

mstch (Gen. 32:28). He knew very 

well thst he hsd been sent 

by God Al 

mighty snd thst he would become a company of nations (Gen. 28:3). The lsnd 

hsd been promised to him and to his fathers many times (Gen. 28:13), and he 

himself had already understood that he would be the father of kings (Gen. 

28:18 and commentsry). Appsrently, there is nothing 

new in the words of God. 

Appsrently, God is still silent. 

13. AND GOD WENT UP FROM HIM IN THE PLACE WHERE HE TALKED WITH 

HIM. 

14. AND JACOB SET UP A PILLAR IN THE PLACE WHERE HE TALKED WITH HIM, 

EVEN A PILLAR OF STONE: AND HE POURED A DRINK OFFERING THEREON, 

AND HE POURED OIL THEREON. 

15. AND JACOB CALLED THE NAME OF THE PLACE WHERE GOD SPAKE WITH 

HIM BETH-EL. 

The history 

is a 

fascinsting 

of pillars snd the role it plays in the development of the people 

and curious subject. Jacob was the first great builder of pillars. 

He built the first one at Beth-el after 

waking from his dream. (Gen. 28:18, 22) 

and even mentions it once to his wives (Gen. 31:13). He built another one as a 

permanent memory of his sgreement with Lsbsn (Gen. 31:45-52), snd he will 

build two in the present chspter 

one to commemorate the death of Rschel. 

one to commemorate the present moment and 

Moses slso built s pillar at the time he invited the sons of Aaron, Nadab 

and Abihu, to share his vision, and we remember well the disastrous effects 

of thst moment (see Ex. 24:9 snd commentary to Gen. 15:9). That was the last 

legitimate pillar ever raised in the New Wsy. One chapter esrlier Moses hsd 

slready 

commanded the people to smash the pillars which were dedicated to 

other gods when 

they enter into the new land (Ex. 23:24). In Leviticus they 

are commanded not to build any 

pillars (Lev. 26:1); and in the Book of Deuter 

onomy they are told not only to burn the existing pillars with fire but they 

are specifically told not to build any to God because their worship 

should be 

limited to the place which I shall choose (Deut. 12:3-5), the phrase which 

became so important for us in the commentary 

to Gen. 15:9. The text even 

goes so fsr ss to ssy the Lord hates pillars (Deut. 16:22). 

The first illegitimate pillar was built by Absalom in self-commemoration 

(II Sam. 18:18), and immediately 

after Jeroboam's revolution there were pillars 

built on every high hill, and under every green tree (I Kings 14:23).


Under the influence of his wife, Jezebel, Ahab became a great builder of 

pillars to Baal (II Kings 3:2). In that sense 

they became the counterpart in the 

southern kingdom to the altar which Jeroboam built at Beth-el in the northern 

kingdom. Although Jehu and Hezekiah began the work of 

tearing 

(II Kings 10:27 and 18:4), their final destruction came in the reign of Josiah, 

them down 

one verse prior to the highest point in the book when he destroyed the altar at 

Beth-el, long the symbol of a divided nation (II Kings 23:14). 

Perhsps the best wsy of understsnding the radical change in the Biblical atti 

tude toward pillars is to consider the present text more deeply by comparing 

it with Jacob's last journey 

to Beth-el (Gen. 28:18). On that occssion he poured 

oil on the pillar, symbolizing his awareness that there would be snother dsy in 

which the formslities snd rigor of 

kingship 

snd priesthood would come to his 

people. This time he sdds a libation of wine. 

Up 

until this point Jacob had forgotten the wine. In other words the one 

thing Jacob had forgotten is forgetting itself (see commentaries to Gen. 9:21, 

22, and 19:31). 

Understanding the verse in this way 

begins to reveal the full 

meaning of Verse Eight in which Deborah, Rebekah's nurse, died. Jacob had 

forgotten that ideas can sleep while life continues. Man's ability to forget and 

to remember is the means which will allow the New Way to be established in 

spite of the fears which Jacob felt at the end of Chapter Thirty-four. There sre 

times when men must fight their brothers, snd while scars of those battles will 

never 

completely disappear, the battles themselves will be forgotten and life 

will once more be possible. 

For reasons which will become evident, it is proper that something should 

be said at this point about what moderns might call our method of 

reading the 

Bible. It is difficult to speak of a method in the sense of s tool with which 

we come to the book, other than the notion that one should begin by assuming 

that a book is written with intelligence until the opposite is shown. Nonethe 

less it is clear that a certain way 

has developed. It began in the days of 

Abrahsm when by chance we noticed that the places in which he built altars 

became important in later times. Following the indication that the Bible wished 

to be read in such a manner, we tried to recall everything that happened in a 

given place or to a given group of men whenever their names appeared, and in 

general a story evolved. In one sense our task was msde essy because of the 

modern invention of the concordance. In another sense we have seriously failed 

to participate in the Bible when we used that book. 

If we had not had the concordance, reading the Bible would have been a 

slow process of remembering and forgetting 

which would have duplicated life 

as the author understood it. The author's way is not merely a literary device. 

It duplicstes his understsnding of men snd their wsys. Men live by traditions 

which bury themselves deep into the land only 

to arise from time to time for 

good or for bad. At times they are forgotten and then suddenly 

reappesr on 

the surfsce. The Bible is not only sn sttempt to lay the roots of 3 tradition;


it is also a dramatic showing-forth of how such traditions are possible, but one 

cannot see that presentation without, at least in some sense, participating in it. 

1 6. AND THEY JOURNEYED FROM BETH-EL; AND THERE WAS BUT A LITTLE 

WAY TO COME TO EPHRATH; AND RACHEL TRAVAILED, AND SHE HAD HARD 

LABOUR. 

17. AND IT CAME TO PASS, WHEN SHE WAS IN HARD LABOUR, THAT THE 

MIDWIFE SAID UNTO HER, FEAR NOT: THOU SHALT HAVE THIS SON ALSO. 

l8. AND IT CAME TO PASS, AS HER SOUL WAS IN DEPARTING, (FOR SHE DIED) 

THAT SHE CALLED HIS NAME BEN-ONE BUT HIS FATHER CALLED HIM 

BENJAMIN. 

The son which she had asked for has finally come, but Rachel, even on her 

death bed, csnnot rejoice in birth; the nsme she gave to her son means the 

son of my sorrow. This time Jacob can no longer accept Rachel's way and 

re-names the child the son of my 

right hand. 

19. AND RACHEL DIED, AND WAS BURIED IN THE WAY TO EPHRATH, WHICH 

IS BETHLEHEM. 

20. AND JACOB SET A PILLAR UPON HER GRAVE THAT IS THE PILLAR OF 

RACHEL'S GRAVE UNTO THIS DAY. 

21 . AND ISRAEL JOURNEYED, 

AND SPREAD HIS TENT BEYOND THE TOWER OF 

EDAR. 

22. AND IT CAME TO PASS, WHEN ISRAEL DWELT IN THAT LAND, THAT 

REUBEN WENT AND LAY WITH BILHAH HIS FATHER'S CONCUBINE: AND 

ISRAEL HEARD IT. NOW THE SONS OF JACOB WERE TWELVE: 

Now that Rachel is desd Reuben sleeps with her hsndmsid, Bilhsh. He sssumes 

thst at the desth of Rschel the connection between his father and Bilhah 

became even less than it hsd been previously. One might csll this relstionship 

sn extremely mild esse of incest. For the full story of Reuben see the com 

mentary 

to Gen. 49:3. 

23. THE SONS OF LEAH; REUBEN, JACOB'S FIRSTBORN, AND SIMEON, AND 

LEVI, AND JUDAH, AND ISSACHAR, AND ZEBULUN: 

24. THE SONS OF RACHEL: JOSEPH, AND BENJAMIN: 

25. AND THE SONS OF BILHAH, RACHEL'S HANDMAID; DAN, AND NAPHTALL 

26. AND THE SONS OF ZILPAH, LEAH'S HANDMAID; GAD AND ASHER: THESE 

ARE THE SONS OF JACOB, WHICH WERE BORN TO HIM IN PADAN-ARAM. 

27. AND JACOB CAME UNTO ISAAC HIS FATHER UNTO MAMRE, UNTO THE 

CITY OF ARBAH, WHICH IS HEBRON, WHERE ABRAHAM AND ISAAC SOJOURNED. 

So old Isaac is still alive. It has been msny years since we have seen him, 

and by 

now most of us had either forgotten him or thought that he was dead.


This is the third time death has come to s msjor chsrscter in the book. The 

first msjor chsrscter to die wss Ssrsh; she died st the sge of 

127 

yesrs (Gen. 

23:1), seven yesrs longer thsn the life thst wss granted to msn sfter the 

Flood (Gen. 6:3). Strangely enough Isaac was sixty 

years old at the birth of 

Jacob, which would mean that his life after the birth of Jacob was precisely 

120 years. In a more complicated way the same thing is true of Abraham. He 

died st the sge of 175 (Gen. 25:1). Now Isaac was born when Abraham was 

99, and Sarah died when Isaac was 40 (Gen. 25:20). If one allows one year for 

mourning, that would mean that Abraham was 140 when he married Keturah, 

or that he lived with Keturah for 35 

years. Now Ishmael was born when 

Abraham was 86, and therefore we may 

presume that he was conceived when 

Abraham was 85. In the commentary to Gen. 25:1 we showed that Abraham 

had two lives one which he led as a private man and the other which he led 

as the founder of the New Way. If one presupposes that his private life lasted 

from his birth to the conception of Ishmael and was resumed sgsin when he 

msrried Keturah, the length of that life was 85 yesrs plus 35 yesrs or exsctly 

120 yesrs, the length of life which God prescribed to msn. 

There sre 

interesting differences in the two esses which completely reflect 

the chsrscters of Abraham and Isaac. The part of Abraham's life which was 

devoted to the New Wsy lssted until he hsd seen his son safely 

married. It 

included the care he took in preserving the Way. Isaac's private life began at 

the birth of his son. Once he had passed on the seed his work was 

essentially 

over. Abraham's private life was full and rich; it produced many 

grest nstions 

and would have commsnded our respect even if he had not been chosen to 

establish the New Way, but Isaac would have remained unknown. 

Moses died at the age of 120; in his case there was no distinction between 

the two lives. 

28. AND THE DAYS OF ISAAC WERE AN HUNDRED AND FOUR-SCORE YEARS. 

29. AND ISAAC EXPIRED, AND DIED, AND WAS GATHERED UNTO HIS PEOPLE, 

BEING OLD AND FULL OF DAYS: AND HIS SONS ESAU AND JACOB BURIED HIM. 

As in the case of Abraham, Isaac is buried by both of his sons. Again his 

death seems to be private and detached from the New Way (see Gen. 25:9). 

CHAPTER XXXVI 

I . 

NOW THESE ARE THE GENERATIONS OF ESAU, WHO IS EDOM. 

2. ESAU TOOK HIS WIVES OF THE DAUGHTERS OF CANAAN; ADAH THE 

DAUGHTER OF ELON THE HITTITE, AND AHOLIBAMAH THE DAUGHTER OF 

ANAH THE DAUGHTER OF ZIBEON THE HIVITE; 

3. AND BASHEMATH ISHMAEL'S DAUGHTER, SISTER OF NEBAJOTH.


Chapter Thirty-six, the chspter 

desling with the descendsnts of Essu, is by 

fsr the most artless chapter of the entire book and perhaps the most artless 

chspter in the whole of the Bible. Hittites will become Hivites, women will 

suddenly become men, nsmes will sppesr from nowhere like rabbits out of hsts, 

snd brothers who slmost hsve identicsl names will suddenly become one. There 

are two reasons for this artlessness. First, the author, as it were, presents the 

history of Essu as if it had been preserved by his own children. In doing 

reproduces the artless chsrscter of Esau himself. There is no 

long 

so he 

tradition con 

cerning Ishmael. The way of the wild ass is not a way that keeps records. 

But Esau, as a strange mixture between the New Way and the wild ass, does 

keep records. However, they tend to get scrambled a bit. 

The other reason is more complicated. By his apparent artlessness the author 

reveals the nature of his own art. These chapters are a reasonable facsimile of 

traditions as they come down through the people snd may 

not be so unlike the 

mass of material which must have faced our author himself. 

The problem immediately 

presents itself in these first verses. Esau had mar 

ried three women. The first wss Judith the dsughter of Beeri, the Hittite; the 

second Bsshemath the daughter of Elon the Hittite (Gen. 26:34); and the third 

wss Mshalsth the dsughter of Ishmsel (Gen. 28:9). Suddenly, Judith's name 

becomes Adah who is now considered the dsughter of Elon the Hittite, who 

hsd been the father of Bashemsth. Bsshemsth, in the mesntime, hss become 

Aholibamsh the dsughter of Ansh, the dsughter of Zibeon the Hivite. And 

Mshslsth's nsme hss become Bsshemath, just to round things off. To make 

things even more difficult Anah will turn out to be male and a descendant of 

Seir, rather thsn being 

a Hivite who was supposed to have been a Hittite. We 

shall see more of this three-ring 

circus as we go along. 

4. AND ADAH BARE TO ESAU ELIPHAZ; AND BASHEMATH BARE REUEL; 

5. AND AHOLIBAMAH BARE JEUSH, AND JAALAM, AND KORAH: THESE ARE 

THE SONS OF ESAU, WHICH WERE BORN UNTO HIM IN THE LAND OF CANAAN. 

6. AND ESAU TOOK HIS WIVES, AND HIS SONS, AND HIS DAUGHTERS, AND 

ALL THE PERSONS OF HIS HOUSE, AND HIS CATTLE, AND ALL HIS BEASTS, 

AND ALL HIS SUBSTANCE WHICH HE HAD GOT IN THE LAND OF CANAAN; AND 

WENT INTO THE COUNTRY FROM THE FACE OF HIS BROTHER JACOB. 

7. FOR THEIR RICHES WERE MORE THAN THAT THEY MIGHT DWELL TOGETHER; 

AND THE LAND WHEREIN THEY WERE STRANGERS COULD NOT BEAR THEM 

BECAUSE OF THEIR CATTLE. 

There seems to be some question about the time of Esau's migration to Seir 

since in the earlier chapter he sppesrs to hsve occupied that country before 

Jacob's return. 

8. THUS DWELT ESAU IN MOUNT SEIR: ESAU IS EDOM. 

9. AND THESE ARE THE GENERATIONS OF ESAU THE FATHER OF THE EDOMITES 

IN MOUNT SEIR:


10. THESE ARE THE NAMES OF ESAU'S SONS; 

ELIPHAZ THE SON OF ADAH 

THE WIFE OF ESAU, REUEL THE SON OF BASHEMATH THE WIFE OF ESAU. 

1 1 . AND THE SONS OF ELIPHAZ WERE TEMAN, OMAR, ZEPHO, AND GATAM, 

AND KENAZ. 

Eliphsz's first-born son. Temsn. is mentioned ss the fsther of the tribe to 

which that other Eliphsz from the Book of Job belongs (Job 2:11), but none of 

the other sons mentioned in Verse Eleven ever sppesrs in the books with which 

we hsve been desling 

except for Kensz. 

We may 

not take the direct route to understanding this verse, but like the 

Children of Israel, who feared the giants and were forced to take the longer 

route which lasted forty years, we, too, must make a 

long 

excursion. Our fortyyear 

journey 

also begins in the thirteenth chapter of the Book of Numbers with 

the list of spies who were sent out to view the new land. Let us consider 

them individually. 

The tribe of Reuben sent Shammus the son of Zsccur whose grsndfsther is 

unknown. The tribes of Simeon sent Shsphst the son of Hori. The tribe of 

Judsh sent Caleb the son of Jephunneh, and Issachar sent Igal the son of Joseph, 

whose grandfather is also unknown. Ephraim sent the famous Joshua, son of 

Nun, but even his grandfather is unknown. There is little sense in going 

through the rest of the list. In only one case can the geneology 

of the spies be 

trsced bsck beyond the second generation. This is a very 

peculiar circumstance 

to find in a book which relies so 

hesvily 

lines the importsnce of fsmily 

mskes matters most strange indeed. 

on tradition snd which so often under 

trees. The fsct thst this is even true of Joshus 

At this point we must make a second detour to understsnd something about 

the character of Joshua. Soon after the Israelites had escaped Pharaoh's srmy, 

they were sttscked by the Amslekites. At thst point the son of Nun suddenly 

sppesred in the text for the first time snd becsme the leader of the army in 

battle (Ex. 17:9-14). 

Little was heard of him again until Nadab and Abihu, the sons of Aaron, 

had that strange and somewhat vulgarized vision of God which played such a 

role in the formation of the great gap 

between Moses and the people. It was 

then that Joshua wss chosen to sccompsny Moses, snd from thst time on he 

stood on the other side of the gsp 

together with Moses (Ex. 33:1 1). It wss he 

who first told Moses the significsnce of the cries thst were 

coming 

from the 

csmp during the affair of the Golden Calf (Ex. 32:17), and he agsin wsrned 

Moses when Lldsd snd Midsd were prophesying in the middle of the csmp. 

Before becoming the successor to Moses his great virtue seems to have been his 

sensitivity to the dangers of wildness. 

Aside from Joshua, Caleb was the only spy 

who wss convinced thst the 

Children of Israel hsd the prowess snd stsmins to fsce the gisnts. When they 

returned, the other spies described the besuties of the lsnd snd the horrors of


the gisnts. But Csleb ssid: Let us go up 

at once and possess it; for we are 

well able to possess it (Num. 13:30). Nonetheless the people becsme frightened 

and revolted. It was at that time that the Lord decreed that the Children of 

Israel would be forced to wander 

forty years in the desert because they 

were not 

yet able to face the giants. 

Only Caleb, the servant of God, together with 

Joshua, wss sllowed to live through that journey 

(Num. 24:22-25). 

As we mentioned at the beginning of this digression nothing 

to see the promise fulfilled 

is known about 

the fathers of any of the spies with the exception of Jephunneh, the father of 

Caleb. Jephunneh was s Kenizzite (Num. 32:12) snd hence s direct descendsnt 

of the fifth son of Eliphsz, the son of Essu, just ss Csleb's son-in-lsw, 

Othniel, 

the first of the Judges, wss himself s Kenizzite (Josh. 15:17 

3:9)- 

snd Judg. 

This rsther 

shocking 

turn of sffsirs makes a certain amount of sense in the 

light of the second chapter of Deuteronomy, in which it is pointed out that 

while Israel suffered in slavery for four hundred years in Egypt, Esau was able 

to conquer the land of the Horims who seem either to be giants or at least to 

be in close contact with giants (see Deut. 2:12, 21-23). In Caleb the son of 

Jephunneh, a direct descendsnt of Essu, we see one side of Essu's chsracter. 

Essu hss the stamina and prowess which Israel lscked, but in the next com 

mentary 

we shall meet another descendsnt snd see snother side of thst chsracter. 

12. AND TIMNA WAS CONCUBINE TO ELIPHAZ ESAU'S SON; AND SHE BARE TO 

ELIPHAZ AMALEK: THESE WERE THE SONS OF ADAH ESAU'S WIFE. 

Eliphsz hsd snother son 

by s concubine nsmed Timns, but the general sub 

ject of concubines will be discussed in the following 

chspter. Our present 

problem is to discuss Israel's relationship to that other son, Amalek. 

The country 

of Amalek was first mentioned as having been captured by 

Chedorlsomer in Chapter Fourteen during the time that he wss fighting the 

gisnts. Amslek, ss we know, wss not s gisnt, in spite of the fsct thst he will 

often be sssocisted with them. Our tssk will be to understsnd thst kinship ss 

well ss to see whst distinguishes them. 

After the Children of Israel successfully eluded the srmy of Phsrsoh by 

crossing the Ses of Reeds they 

revolted becsuse of stsrvstion. Moses success 

fully quelled the revolt, and God promised to provide manna for the starving 

people. 

The people then arrived at a place called Raphidim where there was a second 

revolt, this time over the lsck of wster. Just sbout the time wster wss pro 

vided from s rock, the Amslekites sttacked from the rear. This was the begin 

ning 

of a war which was to last for centuries. The Amalekites, being descen 

dants of Esau, were of course much more closely 

related to Israel than either 

the Moabites or the Syrians, whom we have mentioned on many occasions.


They 

were the brothers who were to have welcomed Israel and to have provided 

them with easy 

access to the Promised Land so that it would not have been 

necesssry to tske the lsnd of the Ammonites. Had this plan worked the Jordan 

River would have formed the eastern border, and the unity of the people would 

have been assured. For as we remember, it was 

simply 

the largeness of the 

country 

which forced the eastern provinces to build the first sepsrste sltar. 

The Amalekites were to have been one of the first to receive the New Way 

in fulfillment of the fundamental promise. 

By being the first people to attack 

Israel they made it clear that so long as they 

would never be fulfilled (Ex. 17:8). 

lived the universal promise 

The critical meeting between Moses and Jethro in which it was determined 

that the New Way should be a way 

of written law took place in Raphidim 

immedistely sfter this bsttle (Ex. 19:2). By relsting these two incidents, the 

suthor seems to indicste the grest difference between the Amslekites snd the 

gisnts. 

The gisnts sre the irrstionsl forces sround us whom we csn escape by means 

of borders snd covensnts but whom we can never conquer. The Amalekites on 

the other hand are our own brothers. 

In their revolt, the Children of Israel showed that the wsters of chsos still 

churned 

deeply 

within them. If the firmament is intended to hold back the 

waters of the universe and borders are to hold back the chaotic waters of the 

Philistines, these laws were intended to contain the chaotic waters within 

the hearts of the people. The Amalekites, who were closer in kin than either 

the Maobites or the Midianites, are like the waters within our souls just 

as the giants are the waters beyond the expanse. Since they are psrt of us they 

cannot be excluded by mere borders. 

Their cowsrdly sttsck from the resr wss the first indicstion thst the originsl 

method of spresding the New Wsy 

vis their nesrest of kin would not succeed. 

The cowsrdliness of the sttsck led to God's decision thst the Amslekites should 

be trested as the men who lived before the Flood. His words were as follows: 

Write this for a memorial in a book, and rehearse it in the ears of Joshua: 

for will I utterly blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under heaven 

(Ex. 17:14). 

These people next showed up as living among the giants and were seen by 

the spies who brought back the reports concerning the invincibility of the new 

land (Num. 13:28,29). 

After God rebuked the people for their revolt in the face of the gisnts, He 

turned to Csleb snd called him My servant becsuse he alone would have been 

able to face the giants. The author takes that opportunity 

to remind us sgsin 

thst the Amslekites were 

living smong the giants, but we must remind our 

selves that Caleb too was a son of Esau. 

The following morning the men woke up 

and saw the Promised Land right 

over the hill. With a sudden burst of courage 

they decided to attack imme-


diately without waiting the appointed forty years, but their courage came too 

late and 

they were defeated by the Amalekites, who chased them to a city 

called Horma (Num. 14:40-46). 

In the commentary to Gen. 49:5 we shall discuss the strange desth of Aaron. 

Thst desth hsd s profound effect on the people, snd 

immedistely 

sfter he died 

they were sble to fsce the Amslekites snd regain the city of Horma. That 

battle, while it did not mean that Israel had become giant-killers, allowed 

them to set off with confidence to the land of 

King Sihon. 

In that wonderful but brief period 

following 

the death of Joshua when it 

looked as though the Children of Israel could rule themselves under God 

without king or lesder, Judsh snd Simeon recaptured Horma with esse. 

There were several skirmishes between Israel snd the Amalekites during the 

times of the Judges. The first sttsck csme shortly sfter the death of Othniel, 

the Kenizzite. Thus, the same theme has occurred again. The Kenizzites were 

descendants of Esau. So long 

as Othniel was alive the Amalekites were no 

problem. Israel's best protection sgainst the evil side of Esau 

the Amalekites 

had always been a son of Esau himself, and Othniel the Kenizzite was such a 

man. There were a few more skirmishes, but in general the situation was quiet 

until the reign of 

King Saul. 

After Saul's first battle with the Philistines there wss snother brief bsttle 

with the Amslekites, who hsd appsrently tsken the opportunity 

to conquer 

Israelite lsnd during the Philistine war (I Sam. 14:48), but it was sometime 

later that the Amalekite wsrs becsme serious. 

Ssul's kingship hsving been well estsblished, Ssmuel reminded him of the 

divine decree sgsinst the Amalekites. 

Before the battle Ssul wsrned the Kennites, who were st that time living 

among the Amalekites, to leave so thst they 

would not be injured in the bsttle. 

The Kennites, whom we remember from the commentsry to Gen. 25:1, were 

descendsnts of Hobsb, 

Moses' 

fsther-in-lsw (Judg. 4:11). For the second time 

the text hss msde s connection between the Amslekites snd Jethro. 

Ssul was proud of his success in the fields that day, but he spared the life 

of 

Agsg their king 

God: And Saul said, They 

snd ssved the best of the cattle to present as a sacrifice to 

have brought them from the Amalekites: for the 

the oxen, to sacrifice unto the 

people spared the best of the sheep and of 

Lord thy God; and the rest we have utterly destroyed (I Sam. 15:15)- Saul's 

words of excuse to Ssmuel sre quite moving, but Ssmuel only snswers, Hath 

the Lord as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices as in obeying the 

voice 

of the Lord? Behold, to obey 

is better than sacrifice, and to hearken 

than the fat of 

rams (1 Ssm. 15:22). As s result 

Agsg wss hscked to pieces by 

Ssmuel, snd the kingship 

The sympsthetic way in which Saul's position is presented makes it evident 

wss tsken from the line of Ssul. 

that the suthor is swsre thst the esse of Amslek is s strange sffsir which must 

sppesr monstrous. It only becomes intelligible when we reslize thst we sre not


dealing with history 

but with a book about the nature of peoples and their 

wsys. Amslek csnnot be thought of ss s foreign race which is to be wiped 

out but as an internal counterpart of the external giant. Looked at in that way 

we can see why 

serve what must 

ultimately 

there are facets which might tempt even a decent man to pre 

be destroyed. 

During the early days of his rise to power, David, vassal to King Achish 

in Ziklag, pretended to his lord that he and his men had attacked Israel. But 

the truth is that during 

kites (I Sam. 27:8). 

While Saul was 

fighting 

this period David had begun his conquest of the Amale 

his last battle with the Philistines the Amalekites 

attacked the camp at Ziklag. When David returned he found Ziklag in ashes, all 

his belongings captured, and his wives tsken prisoner. But he wss sble to defest 

the Amslekites, free his wives, snd recspture his belongings with only 3 

smsll bsnd of men. 

Although King Ssul lost his throne for preserving Amslekite csttle ss a sacri 

fice to the Lord, David took possession of all the Amalekite goods and dis 

tributed them equally among all of his men, to those who fought and to those 

who did not fight. The pass3ge resds 3S follows: 

And David came to the two hundred men, which were so faint that they could not 

follow David, whom 

they had made also to abide at the brook Besor: and thev went 

forth to meet David, and to meet the people that were with him: and when David 

came near to the people, he saluted them. Then answered all the wicked men 

of 

Belial, of those that went with David, and said, Because they went not with us, we 

will not give them ought of the spoil that we have recovered, save to every 

man his 

wife and his children, that 

they may lead them away, and depart. Then said David. 

Ye shall not do so, my brethren, with that which the Lord hath given us. who hath 

preserved us, and delivered the company that came against us into our hand. For 

who will hearken unto you in this matter? But as his part is that goeth down to the 

battle, so shall his part be that tarrieth by the stuff: they 

shall part alike. And it was 

so, from that day forward . 

this day. (I Sam. 30:21-25) 

Among 

that he made it a statute and an ordinancefor Israel unto 

those to receive the spoils were the men of Horma (I Sam. 30:30). 

This insistence upon justice is intended as a revision of the simple ban on 

Amalekite goods which had been placed upon Saul. 

As we related in the commentsry to Gen. 14:4, Ssul wss wounded during 

his last Philistine war and asked his armor bearer to relieve his suffering 

with 

his sword, but the armor bearer refused (I Sam. 31:4). Two days later a man 

sppesred st Dsvid's camp to report Saul's death. According to his account, 

Saul asked him to do the same service 

by holding the sword, and the young 

man complied. When David discovered that the young 

man was an Amalekite 

his reaction was no weaker than Samuel's when he met Agag. As in the esrlier 

occssion the Amalekite youth was portrayed ss s decent msn. His exsct words 

were ss follows:


He said unto me again, Stand, I pray thee, upon me, and slay me: for anguish is 

come upon me, because my life is yet whole in me. So I stood upon him, and slew 

him, because I was sure that he could not live after that he wasfallen: and I took 

the crown that was upon his head, and the bracelet that was on his arm, and have 

brought them hither unto my lord. (II Sam. 1:9-10) 

As in the esse of Ishmsel, something 

of value was understood to be closely 

bound up 

with the Amalekites and with the Amalekite in the hesrt of Israel, 

even though it could not remain. What makes the Bible an interesting 

book is 

its awareness of that value. The tradition of the Amalekites lasted for many 

centuries. Haman, the villain in the Book of Esther, was a descendant of 

Agag 

(Esther 3:10), and the hero, Mordecsi, wss s descendsnt of Kish, the Benjsminite, 

the fsther of 

King 

Ssul (Esther 2:5). 

13. AND THESE ARE THE SONS OF REUEL: NAHATH, AND ZERAH, SHAMMAH, 

AND MIZZAH: THESE WERE THE SONS OF BASHEMATH ESAU'S WIFE. 

14. AND THESE WERE THE SONS OF AHOLIBAMAH, THE DAUGHTER OF AHAH 

THE DAUGHTER OF ZIBEON, ESAU'S WIFE: AND SHE BARE TO ESAU JEUSH. 

AND JAALAM, AND KORAH. 

15. THESE WERE DUKES OF THE SONS OF ESAU: THE SONS OF ELIPHAZ THE 

FIRST BORN SON OF ESAU: DUKE TEMAN, DUKE OMAR, DUKE ZEPHO, DUKE 

KENAZ. 

l6. DUKE KORAH, DUKE GATAM, 

AND DUKE AMALEK: THESE ARE THE DUKES 

THAT CAME OF ELIPHAZ IN THE LAND OF EDOM; THESE WERE THE SONS OF 

ADAH. 

The author goes through this list of the sons of Esau once again in order to 

show the kind of government 

they lived under. Apparently, there was no unity 

among the sons of Esau, who lived in small communities each ruled by its own 

duke. 

This repetition revesls snother difficulty 

within the tradition. If the list of 

the sons of Eliphsz, the son of Adsh, given in Verses Fourteen and Fifteen is 

compared with the list given in Verse Eleven one can see thst Korah, the son 

of Aholibamah, hss suddenly become s son of Eliphsz. This confusion is probsbly 

intentionsl on the psrt of the author because it reminds us of a similar 

difficulty in Israel hsving to do with Korah, the Levite (see Num. 16 and 

17, and commentary to Gen. 20:7). 

17. AND THESE ARE THE SONS OF REUEL ESAU'S SON: DUKE NAHATH, DUKE 

ZERAH, DUKE SAMMAH, DUKE MIZZAH: THESE ARE THE DUKES THAT CAME 

OF REUEL IN THE LAND OF EDOM: THESE ARE THE SONS OF BASHEMATH 

ESAU'S WIFE. 

18. AND THESE ARE THE SONS OF AHOLIBAMAH ESAU'S WIFE: DUKE JEUSH, 

DUKE JAALAM, DUKE KORAH: THESE WERE THE DUKES THAT CAME OF 

AHOLIBAMAH THE DAUGHTER OF ANAH, ESAU'S WIFE.


19. THESE ARE THE SONS OF ESAU, WHO IS EDOM, AND THESE ARE THEIR 

DUKES. 

Verse Seventeen is in perfect sgreement with Verse Thirteen snd Verse 

Eighteen is in perfect sgreement with Verse Fourteen except thst it must be 

remembered thst Ansh was Aholibamah's mother. 

20. THESE ARE THE SONS OF SEIR THE HORITE, WHO INHABITED THE LAND: 

LOTAN, AND SHOBAL, AND ZIBEON. AND ANAH, 

21. AND DISHON, AND EZER, AND DISHAN: THESE ARE THE DUKES OF THE 

HORITES, THE CHILDREN OF SEIR IN THE LAND OF EDOM. 

Zibeon was the grsndfsther of Essu's wife Aholibsmsh, but her mother 

Ansh hss suddenly become her uncle. It is slso peculisr thst there should be 

two brothers nsmed Dishsn snd Dishon. 

22. AND THE CHILDREN OF LOTAN WERE HORI AND HEMAN: AND LOTAN'S 

SISTER WAS TIMNA. 

Lotsn's sister, Timns, wss the mother of Amslek, st lesst for the time being. 

23. AND THE CHILDREN OF SHOBAL WERE THESE: ALVAN, AND MANAHATH, 

AND EBAL, SHEPHO, 

AND ONAM. 

24. AND THESE ARE THE CHILDREN OF ZIBEON; BOTH AJAH AND ANAH: THIS 

WAS THAT ANAH THAT FOUND THE MULES IN THE WILDERNESS, AS HE FED 

THE ASSES OF ZIBEON HIS FATHER. 

25. AND THE CHILDREN OF ANAH WERE THESE: DISHON, AND AHOLIBAMAH 

THE DAUGHTER OF ANAH. 

Ajah may have been the father of Saul's famous concubine, Rizpah, with 

whom Ishbosheth sccused Abner of hsving slept. This sccusstion wss the immediste 

csuse of Abner' s decision to lesve Ishbosheth snd join the forces of 

Dsvid (II Ssm. 3:8 and commentary to Gen. 23:1). Rizpah was also the 

mother of the sons of Saul whom David hung in order to avoid the famine 

which was sent because of the deeds which the house of Saul had done against 

the Gibeonites (II Sam. Chap. 21 and commentary to Gen. 22:6). 

Anah, the son of Zibeon, was the mother of Aholibamah, the wife of Esau. 

Dishon, the son of Anah, was also her brother or his brother as you wish, but 

as we shall soon see he was two brothers all in one. 

26. AND THESE ARE THE CHILDREN OF DISHAN; HEMDAN, AND ESHBAN, AND 

ITHRAN, AND CHERAN. 

27. THE CHILDREN OF EZER ARE THESE; BILHAN, AND ZAAVAN, 

AND AKAN. 

28. THE CHILDREN OF DISHAN ARE THESE; UZ, AND ARAN. 

29. THESE ARE THE DUKES THAT CAME OF THE HORITES; DUKE LOTAN, DUKE 

SHOBAL, DUKE ZIBEON, DUKE ANAH.


Dishon has finally become Dishan and the chsos is complete. 

30. DUKE DISHON, DUKE EZER, DUKE DISHAN: THESE ARE THE DUKES THAT 

CAME OF HORI, AMONG THEIR DUKES IN THE LAND OF SEIR. 

After s brief period of unificstion the brothers hsve now become two sgain. 

31. AND THESE ARE THE KINGS THAT REIGNED IN THE LAND OF EDOM, BE 

FORE THERE REIGNED ANY KING OVER THE CHILDREN OF ISRAEL. 

32. AND BELA THE SON OF BEOR REIGNED IN EDOM: AND THE NAME OF HIS 

CITY WAS DINHABAH. 

33. AND BELA DIED. AND JOBAB THE SON OF ZERAH OF BOZRAH REIGNED IN 

HIS STEAD. 

34. AND JOBAB DIED. AND HUSHAM OF THE LAND OF TEMANI REIGNED IN 

HIS STEAD. 

35. AND HUSHAM DIED, AND HADAD THE SON OF BEDAD, WHO SMOTE MID 

IAN IN THE FIELD OF MOAB, REIGNED IN HIS STEAD: AND THE NAME OF HIS 

CITY WAS AVITH. 

36. AND HADAD DIED, AND SAMLAH OF MASREKAH REIGNED IN HIS STEAD. 

37. AND SAMLAH DIED, AND SAUL OF REHOBOTH BY THE RIVER REIGNED IN 

HIS STEAD. 

38. AND SAUL DIED, 

AND BAAL-HANAN THE SON OF ACHBOR REIGNED IN 

HIS STEAD. 

39. AND BAAL-HANAN THE SON OF ACHBOR DIED, AND HADAR REIGNED IN 

HIS STEAD: AND THE NAME OF HIS CITY WAS PAU; AND HIS WIFE'S NAME 

WAS MEHETABEL, THE DAUGHTER OF MATRED, THE DAUGHTER OF MEZAHAB. 

The kings who ruled over Edom turn out to be a potpourri of names found 

throughout the whole of history. One can find a man named Saul, and Baalam's 

father is there, as well as the famous king 

of Syria. 

40. AND THESE ARE THE NAMES OF THE DUKES THAT CAME OF ESAU, AC 

CORDING TO THEIR FAMILIES, AFTER THEIR PLACES BY THEIR NAMES: DUKE 

TIMNA, DUKE ALVAH, DUKE JETHETH. 

41. DUKE AHOLIBAMAH, DUKE ELAH, DUKE PINON, 

42. DUKE KENAZ, DUKE TEMAN, DUKE MIBZAR, 

43. DUKE MAGDIEL, DUKE IRAM: THESE BE THE DUKES OF EDOM, ACCORD 

ING TO THEIR HABITATIONS IN THE LAND OF THEIR POSSESSION: HE IS ESAU 

THE FATHER OF THE EDOMITES. 

This list purports to be a summstion of the chapter in which the names of 

the sons of Esau are restated. It contains well known sons such as Kenaz and 

Teman. However, Timns snd Aholibsmsh hsve become transvestites, 

snd God 

only knows where the Dukes Elsh, Pinon, Mibzsr, snd s couple of the others 

csme from.


This comedy 

of errors concludes the discussion of the sons of Essu. As we 

ststed st the beginning of the chspter, it is intended to show the results of sn 

unweeded gsrden. 

Only one thing 

must be sdded. 

The book of 

Deuteronomy begins with the following verses: 

These be the words which Moses spake unto all Israel on this side Jordan in the 

wilderness, in the plain over against the Red Sea between Paran, and Tophel, and 

Laban, and Hazeroth, and Dizahab . 

the way of mount Seir unto Kadesh-barnea.) (Deut. i : i ,2) 

(There are eleven days' journey from Horeb by 

Scholsrs hsve often wished to delete Verse Two, since it mskes no sense 

geographically, not realizing that the author was concerned with more than 

geography in the simple sense of the word. 

Moses to the people. 

Deuteronomy presents itself as sn address given by 

It is a repetition in speech of the deeds contsined in the former books. In that 

sense it is the beginning 

of tradition as such. This speech which began the 

oral tradition in Israel, was delivered by the way of mount Seir, the unweeded 

garden of traditions. One day the author would pick his pen up 

for the last 

time. Perhaps he wondered whether the generations to follow would also be 

come lost in the desert and wander into the land of Seir. 

CHAPTER XXXVII 

I . 

AND JACOB DWELT IN THE LAND WHEREIN HIS FATHER WAS A STRANGER, 

IN THE LAND OF CANAAN. 

On msny occssions we have spoken of the four hundred years in Egypt. 

Actually 

it is not clear from what point one is to begin the count. The relevant 

passages from Genesis read: 

And he said unto Abram, Know of a surety that thy 

seed shall be a stranger in a 

land that is not theirs, and shall serve them: and 

they shall afflict them four hundred 

years; and also that nation whom 

they 

shall serve will I judge: and afterward shall 

they come out with great substance. And thou shalt go to thy fathers in peace; thou 

shalt be buried in a good old age. But in thefourth generation they 

again: for the iniquity of the Amorites is not yetfull. (Gen. 15:13-16) 

shall come hither 

However it is not possible to reconstruct the time sequence in Egypt. The 

closest that one can come is arrived at through the 

following verses: 

And these are the names of the sons of Levi according to their generations: Gershon, 

and Kohath, and Merari: and the years of the life of Levi were an hundred thirty and 

seven years. The sons of Gershon; Libni, and Shimi, according to theirfamilies. 

And the sons ofKohath; Amram, and Izhar, and Hebron, and Uzziel: and the rears 

of the life of Kohath were an hundred thirty and three years. And the sons of Merari: 

Mahali and Mushi: these are thefamilies of Levi according to their generations.


And Amram took him Jochebed hisfather's sister to wife; and she bare him Aaron 

and Moses: and the years of the life ofAmram were an hundred and 

thirty 

years. (Ex. 6:16-20) 

and seven 

Now since Kohath wss born before Levi went to Egypt, it is obvious the 

four hundred yesrs must have included the time which wss spent in Canaan 

as well. 

The word stranger or sojourner is used here to remind us that Jacob will 

not be able to spend the whole of his life in the Promised Land. 

2. THESE ARE THE GENERATIONS OF JACOB. JOSEPH, BEING SEVENTEEN 

YEARS OLD, WAS FEEDING THE FLOCK WITH HIS BRETHREN: AND THE LAD 

WAS WITH THE SONS OF BILHAH, AND WITH THE SONS OF ZILPAH, HIS FA 

THER'S WIVES: AND JOSEPH BROUGHT UNTO HIS FATHER THEIR EVIL REPORT. 

Verse Two is difficult to translste becsuse of the rather subtle use it mskes 

of particles. The two psrticles involved sre eth snd be. The first particle is 

usually the sign of a direct object but may 

also mean with. The second one 

usually means in or among, but may be used to show the direct object of 

verbs such as ruling or caring for. The direct object of the verb meaning to 

care for a flock usually requires the particle eth. The same two particles ap 

pear with the same verb in Verse Twelve, which 

clearly 

must be translated: 

And his brethren fed his father' s flock in Shechem. For the reader who knows 

no Hebrew the conclusion of these reflections may be summed up 

if the particles are taken in the same sense as 

they 

Twelve of the present chapter, 

the generations of Jacob. Joseph, being 

as follows: 

must be taken in Verse 

then Verse Two must be translsted: These are 

seventeen years old, shepherded his 

brothers among the sheep though he was a lad, that is the sons of Bilhah and 

the sons ofZilpah, his father' s wives. 

The words which sre translsted evil report seem to refer to something which 

frightened Joseph rsther thsn to something evil. At sny rate the only 

other time 

the words sre used is in the description of the report which the spies brought 

bsck regsrding the gisnts (Num. 13:32 snd 14:36,37). 

3. NOW ISRAEL LOVED JOSEPH MORE THAN ALL HIS CHILDREN, BECAUSE HE 

WAS THE SON OF HIS OLD AGE: AND HE MADE HIM A COAT OF MANY COLOURS. 

4. AND WHEN HIS BRETHREN SAW THAT THEIR FATHER LOVED HIM MORE 

THAN ALL HIS BRETHREN, THEY HATED HIM, 

AND COULD NOT SPEAK PEACE 

ABLY UNTO HIM. 

Verses Three and Four contain the kernel of the problem which shall face 

us for the remainder of the book. After the vision at Beth-el Jacob realized 

that a solid snd well defined order would be necesssry in the life of his people. 

This order would require s preference for the eldest son. At the ssme time 

Jscob believed his youngest son to be the most cspsble, snd he wss slso st-

AND 


trscted to Joseph's youth, psrtly becsuse Jscob himself wss the youngest son 

snd psrtly because of the heroic streak in his .character. 

The elegant coat which he presented to Joseph seems almost calculated to 

cause the brothers' anger. It wss such s cost thst Tsmsr wore; not the Tamar 

that we shall meet in the next chspter but Dsvid's dsughter, who wss abused 

by her half-brother, Amnon (II Sam. 13:12). 

For further reference it should be noted that because of his extreme youth, 

Benjamin is not yet considered as being 

one of the brothers. 

5. and joseph dreamed a dream, 

and he told it his brethren: and 

they hated him yet the more. 

6. and he said unto them, hear, i pray you, this dream which i have 

dreamed: 

7. for, behold, we were binding sheaves in the field, and lo, my 

sheaf arose, and also stood upright; and, behold, your sheaves 

stood round about, 

and made obeisance to my sheaf. 

8. and his brethren said to him, shalt thou indeed reign over us? 

or shalt thou have dominion over us? and they hated him yet the 

more for his dreams, and for his words. 

The book leaves the symbols of dresms uninterpreted, snd though the mesn 

ing is relstively clesr there is no indicstion why 

these specific symbols are 

used. The word for sheaf 

never appears again in the books with which we 

have been dealing. However, the notion of 

binding may imply the unity 

tribe. 

of each 

9. AND HE DREAMED YET ANOTHER DREAM, AND TOLD IT HIS BRETHREN, 

AND SAID, BEHOLD, I HAVE DREAMED A DREAM MORE; AND, BEHOLD, THE 

SUN AND THE MOON AND THE ELEVEN STARS MADE OBEISANCE TO ME. 

IO. 

AND HE TOLD IT TO HIS FATHER, AND TO HIS BRETHREN: AND HIS FA 

THER REBUKED HIM, AND SAID UNTO HIM, WHAT IS THIS DREAM THAT THOU 

HAST DREAMED? SHALL I AND THY MOTHER AND THY BRETHREN INDEED 

COME TO BOW DOWN OURSELVES TO THEE TO THE EARTH? 

Given the author's way of relating the world to the human soul, the dream 

may be intended literally ss well ss metaphorically. During his rulership in 

Egypt Joseph, to a large extent, wss sble to rule over the fsmine; snd if he 

csn rule over fsmine, he rules over nature, 

down to him. 

and the sun and the moon do bow 

1 1 . 

HIS BRETHREN ENVIED HIM: BUT HIS FATHER OBSERVED THE MATTER. 

12. AND HIS BRETHREN WENT TO FEED THEIR FATHER'S FLOCK IN SHECHEM. 

13. AND ISRAEL SAID UNTO JOSEPH, DO NOT THY BRE I HREN FEED THE FLOCK 

IN SHECHEM? COME, AND I WILL SEND THEE UNTO THEM. AND HE SAID 

TO HIM, HERE AM I.


14- AND HE SAID TO HIM GO I PRAY THEE, SEE WHETHER IT WILL BE WELL 

WITH THY BRETHREN, AND WELL WITH THE FLOCKS; AND BRING ME WORD 

AGAIN. SO HE SENT HIM OUT OF THE VALE OF HEBRON, AND HE CAME TO 

SHECHEM. 

Israel sent Joseph to his brothers in Shechem though he hsd observed their 

feeling towsrd him. Shechem wss the city in which they hsd slresdy killed 

their brothers the Hivites snd in which 

they 

could kill sgain. 

The words Go, I pray thee and Here am I race through the reader's mind. 

They are bits and fragments of a conversation he had heard once before. God 

was 

asking Abraham to kill his only son, and now it looks as though the same 

thing will happen again. 

Ever since the sffsir st Shechem Jscob knew thst the new land could not be 

established without bloodshed. He can see no other solution to the problem 

posed 

by the eminence of his youngest son. Jacob, like Abraham, was sacrific 

ing his dearest son and only hoped that through this sacrifice his sons, after 

reflecting on the horrors of their own deeds, would be able to pull themselves 

together and form s just society. 

Nesr the end of the dsys of the Judges there wss s series of incidents 

which mske it evident thst Jacob's fesrs, while 

they could be put to sleep, 

would one day awaken. First, there was the war between Joseph's two sons 

Ephraim and Manassah, during the judgeship of Jephthah, in which forty-two 

thousand men of Ephraim were killed (Judg. 12:6). Now as we have pointed 

out before, the days of the Judges were a constant struggle in which Israel 

would be conquered, a Judge would arise to free them, but at his death another 

enemy 

would arise. After the deaths of the Ephraimites there was a series of 

three Judges who reigned in peace. The only time in which this record was 

approached was when two Judges peacefully led Israel after the kingship of 

Abimelech. 

The problem came to light sgsin, but this time it sffected Joseph's younger 

brother Benjamin more directly. The massacre of the Benjaminites at the end 

of the Book of Judges made it evident to sll thst Israel desperately needed s 

king. In s somewhst more mitigsted 

wsy 

the same theme reoccurred when Saul 

finally united the people by hewing the yoke of oxen and sending 

to all the tribes as a call to arms against the Ammonite. 

the pieces 

15. AND A CERTAIN MAN FOUND HIM, AND. BEHOLD, HE WAS WANDERING 

IN THE FIELD: AND THE MAN ASKED HIM, SAYING, WHAT SEEKEST THOU? 

l6. AND HE SAID, I SEEK MY BRETHREN: TELL ME, 

I PRAY THEE, WHERE 

THEY FEED THEIR FLOCKS. 

17. AND THE MAN SAID, THEY ARE DEPARTED HENCE: FOR I HEARD THEM 

SAY. LET US GO TO DOTHAN. AND JOSEPH WENT AFTER HIS BRETHREN, AND 

FOUND THEM IN DOTHAN.


Fortunately 

the brothers had left Shechem before Joseph's arrival and had 

gone to Dothan. When Joseph srrived st Shechem he wss met 

by s mysterious 

msn whose identity is not revealed. Therefore, we do not know whether it was 

the man with whom Jacob wrestled that lonely evening 

or not (Gen. 32:24). 

Nor do we know whether it was one of the men who stood in front of Abra 

ham's tent (Gen. 18:2). 

Dothan, the city in which Joseph was not killed, was also the scene of the 

famous war that wasn't in the time of Elisha (II Kings 6:13 and the com 

mentary 

to Gen. 31:45). 

l8. AND WHEN THEY SAW HIM AFAR OFF, EVEN BEFORE HE CAME NEAR 

UNTO THEM, THEY CONSPIRED AGAINST HIM TO SLAY HIM. 

19. AND THEY SAID ONE TO ANOTHER, BEHOLD, THIS DREAMER COMETH. 

20. COME NOW, THEREFORE. AND LET US SLAY HIM, AND CAST HIM INTO 

SOME PIT; AND WE WILL SAY, SOME EVIL BEAST HATH DEVOURED HIM: AND 

WE SHALL SEE WHAT WILL BECOME OF HIS DREAMS. 

21. AND REUBEN HEARD IT, AND HE DELIVERED HIM OUT OF THEIR HANDS; 

AND SAID, LET US NOT KILL HIM. 

22. AND REUBEN SAID UNTO THEM, SHED NO BLOOD, BUT CAST HIM INTO 

THIS PIT THAT IS IN THE WILDERNESS, AND LAY NO HAND UPON HIM; THAT 

HE MIGHT RID HIM OUT OF THEIR HANDS, TO DELIVER HIM TO HIS FATHER 

AGAIN. 

Given the fact that Reuben slept with his father's wife in Gen. 35:22, it is 

surprising that he should be the one to try 

and save his brother's life. It is 

even more 

surprising that he should sttempt the most pious solution returning 

the son to his fsther. These sre part of the fragments of Reuben's life which 

we shall 

try to piece together in the commentary 

to Gen. 47:5. 

23. AND IT CAME TO PASS, WHEN JOSEPH WAS COME UNTO HIS BRETHREN, 

THAT THEY STRIPT JOSEPH OUT OF HIS COAT, HIS COAT OF MANY COLOURS 

THAT WAS ON HIM. 

24. AND THEY TOOK HIM, 

AND CAST HIM INTO A PIT: AND THE PIT WAS 

EMPTY, THERE WAS NO WATER IN IT. 

When the author says And the pit was empty, there was no water in it, 

he has in mind Chapter Twenty-six, Verse Thirty-seven, in which Isaac finally 

found wster after all his diggings. If finding water was Isasc's great act then 

the availability 

of such underground sources seems to be related to the hidden 

springs of tradition. The implication is thst from at lesst one point of view 

those sources have dried up 

and Joseph will have to begin again. 

25. AND THEY SAT DOWN TO EAT BREAD: AND THEY LIFTED UP THEIR EYES 

AND LOOKED, AND BEHOLD, A COMPANY OF ISHMAELITES CAME FROM GIL


EAD, WITH THEIR CAMELS BEARING SPICERY AND BALM AND MYRRH, GOING 

TO CARRY IT DOWN TO EGYPT. 

The caravan of Ishmaelites is csrrying spicery 

and balm and myrrh to be 

sold in Egypt. The brothers do not reslize thst in thirty-five yesrs they them 

selves will be msking the ssme trip, carrying spicery 

and balm and myrrh 

(see Gen. 43:1 1 , 

and for the calculation see the commentary 

to Gen. 47:28). 

26. AND JUDAH SAID UNTO HIS BRETHREN, WHAT PROFIT IS IT IF WE SLAY 

OUR BROTHER AND CONCEAL HIS BLOOD? 

27. COME, AND LET US SELL HIM TO THE ISHMAELITES, AND LET NOT OUR 

HAND BE UPON HIM; FOR HE IS OUR BROTHER AND OUR FLESH. AND HIS 

BRETHREN HEARD HIM. 

While Reuben's plan was the more pious, Judah's plan seems to be the 

wiser. This wisdom is displayed in several ways. First of all, he realizes that 

if Joseph were to return to his father's house, the same problems would arise 

again. He is also wise enough to realize thst Joseph is cspsble of msnsging 

his own sffsirs even in difficult circumstsnces. Perhsps his greatest wisdom is 

revealed in the twofold nature of the sppesl which he makes to his brothers. 

If was 

only after he had shown them that they would gain nothing by the 

murder of their brother that he appealed to the natural abhorrence of fratricide. 

He sppesls both to whst is lowest in them and to what is highest. Without the 

appeal to the lowest, they would not have heard the highest, 

sppesl to the highest they 

would hsve lesrned nothing. 

snd without the 

28. AND THERE PASSED BY MIDIANITES, MERCHANTMEN; AND THEY DREW 

AND LIFTED JOSEPH OUT OF THE PIT, AND SOLD JOSEPH TO THE ISHMAELITES 

FOR TWENTY PIECES OF SILVER: AND THEY BROUGHT JOSEPH INTO EGYPT. 

This passage has caused great difficulties over the centuries. 

According to 

Verse Twenty-eight, whoever drew Joseph out of the pit sold him to the Ish 

maelites, who in turn sold him to the Egyptians. This is essentially 

in agree 

ment with Gen. 39:1, which states that Potiphar bought Joseph from the 

Ishmaelites. One problem remains. According to Verse Thirty-six of the present 

chapter, it was the Midianites who sold Joseph to Potiphar. In addition we must 

ask ourselves why 

the Midianites are mentioned in the present verse. So far as 

the present author can see, there exist three possible solutions to the problem. 

The traditional solution given by 

the Rabbis is that the brothers took Joseph 

out of the pit and sold him to the Midianites, who in turn sold him to the 

Ishmaelites, in which case we are to interpret the present verse as saying that 

the brothers sold Joseph to the Ishmaelites via the Midianites, snd thst in Verse 

Thirty-six the Midisnites sold Joseph to Potiphsr vis the Ishmselites. The mod 

ern solution to the difficulty is to assume that there were originally two texts. 

accord- 

According to one of them the brothers sold him to the Midianites, but


ing to the other they 

sold him to the Ishmaelites. This position makes the 

further assumption that the redactor was careless or stupid. 

There is one other possibility which should be exsmined, though it too hss 

its difficulties. Since the Midisnite merchsnts sppear right before the words 

they drew, the normsl wsy of interpreting 

Verse Twenty-eight would be to 

sssume 

thst it wss the Midisnites who drew Joseph out of the pit snd sold him to 

the Ishmaelites. Under this assumption Verse Thirty-six would then be inter 

preted as it was by the Rsbbis. This interpretstion would slso sccount for Gen. 

42:22, in which Reuben ssys, Spake I not unto you, saying, Do not sin against 

the child; and ye would not hear me? Therefore, behold, also is his blood re 

quired. Reuben obviously hss in mind whst he hsd said in Verse Twenty-two 

of the present chapter, and therefore one would sssume thst he is thinking more 

sbout placing Joseph in the pit rather than about selling him into slavery. In 

Gen. 42:13 the brothers, thinking of Joseph, merely say And one is not. The 

phrase is ambiguous becsuse it could mesn either one is not with us or one no 

longer exists, thst is to ssy, he is dead. If the latter interpretation is intended, 

this would imply that the brothers did in fact believe that an evil beast found 

Joseph in the pit and devoured him. However if the first interpretation is in 

tended, no conclusions can be reached. In any case, even after 

they hsve fully 

repented the brothers never spesk of themselves ss hsving sold Joseph into 

slavery. 

Taking the Midianites, merchantmen ss the subject of the verb drew would 

mske sense if we sssume thst the Midisnites, who were 

psssing by, ssw the 

brothers put Joseph into the pit snd thst the ssme plsn occurred to them ss 

hsd occurred to Judsh. 

In the mesntime, since Reuben hsd intended to return to the pit secretly in 

order to free Joseph, it is more thsn likely 

in such a way 

thst he would have arranged matters 

thst their meal would have taken plsce st some distsnce from 

the pit, sllowing him to relesse Joseph without being noticed. 

This explsnstion would slso sccount for the fsct thst even sfter 

they repent 

the brothers never sdmit to selling 

Joseph. If it wss the Midisnites who took 

Joseph out of the pit then it is more thsn likely that the brothers believed their 

own story about the wild animal. Because of Verse Thirty-six many 

of the 

ancient commentaries assumed that the Ishmaelites bought Joseph from the 

brothers and then sold him to the Midianites. This assumption mskes more 

sense thsn the modern sssumption of s corruption in the text, but it, too, is 

unnecesssry, ss we have seen. One need only 

assume that in Verse Thirty-six 

the author means that the Midianites sold Joseph into Egypt indirectly by sell 

ing him to the Ishmaelites. 

The difficulty with this interpretation lies in Chapter Forty-five, Verses Four 

and Five, in which Joseph clearly speaks of his brothers as 

having 

into Egypt. Two possibilities remain. If Joseph's statement is to be taken lit 

sold him 

erally, one must reject the present hypothesis, in which case one is left with


the ambiguities in the present verse, in which the subject of the verb drew 

seems to be the Midisnites. The other possibility 

will be discussed in the 

commentsry 

to Gen. 45:3. 

Although there msy be no clesr wsy of solving the present difficulty, several 

other notions present themselves for our consideration. No mstter how one 

resds the present chspter it seems to be importsnt to the suthor thst the Mid 

isnites were present snd were thus swsre of the internsl conflicts within Israel. 

This msy in part account for their lster actions. On the other hand, since the 

Ishmaelites are so rarely mentioned in the Bible one feels obliged to give an 

account of their presence. It may be that the author wished to connect Joseph's 

journey over desert country 

with the wild ass. 

29. and reuben returned unto the pit; and, behold, joseph was not 

in the pit; and he rent his clothes. 

30. and he returned unto his brethren, and said, the child is not; 

and i, whither shall i go? 

31. and they took joseph's coat, and killed a kid of the goats, and 

dipped the coat in the blood; 

32. and they sent the coat of many colours, 

and they brought it 

to their father; and said, this have we found: recognize i pray you 

whether it be thy son's coat or no. 

33. and he recognized it, and said it is my son's coat; an evil beast 

hath devoured him; joseph is without doubt rent in pieces. 

34. and jacob rent his clothes, and put sackcloth upon his loins, 

and mourned for his son many days. 

35. and all his sons and all his daughters rose up to comfort 

him; but he refused to be comforted: and he said, for i will go 

down into the grave unto my son mourning. thus his father wept 

FOR HIM. 

After having heard Judsh, the brothers csnnot sctuslly bring 

tell the lie in speech, but Jscob draws the ssme conclusion 

devoured him. 

themselves to 

an evil beast hath 

It is difficult to know whst Jacob meant by the words evil beast. After God 

presented the plan for the Jubilee Year on which so much depended, He said 

the following: 

And I will give peace in the land and ye shall lie down, and none shall make you 

afraid: and I will rid evil beasts out of the land, neither shall the sword go through 

your land. (Lev. 26:6) 

Ezekiel hss Leviticus in mind when he ssys: 

Therefore will I save my flock, and they shall no more be a prey: and I willjudge 

between cattle and cattle. And I will set up one shepherd over them, and he shall 

feed them, even David; he shallfeed them, and he shall be their shepherd. And I the


Lord will be their God. And my 

servant David a prince among them; I the Lord have 

spoken it. And I will make with them a covenant 

ofpeace, and will cause the evil 

beasts to cease out of the land; and they shall dwell safely in the wilderness, and 

sleep in the woods. (Ez. 34:22-25) 

Ezekiel' 

s comment seems to be right 

the evil beasts sre men. Jscob in this 

verse is slso thinking of men snd only hopes the evil beasts will be quieted. 

Verse Thirty-five is full of strange psssions. The fsther will not be comforted 

becsuse he believes thst his comforters sre slso the murderers. The sons wish 

to comfort becsuse they sre not sure in whst wsy they sre guilty 

wsy they are innocent. The story is further complicated by 

brothers may now believe their own lie. 

snd in whst 

the fact that the 

36. AND THE MIDIANITES SOLD HIM INTO EGYPT UNTO POTIPHAR, AN OFFICER 

OF PHARAOH'S AND CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD. 

The last verse of Chapter Thirty-seven begins life again in Egypt. It has s 

double function. Not only does it sssure us thst we will hesr more of Joseph, 

but it will slso force us to see Chapter Thirty-eight as part of the Joseph 

story.

Thumos'' 

Forthcoming Articles 

Barbara Tovey 

Anne M. Cohler 

A. Anthony Smith 

Robert Sscks 

Robert L. Stone 

Shskespesre's Apology for Imitstive Poetry: The 

Tempest snd The Republic 

Montesquieu's Perception of his Audience for The 

Spirit of the Laws 

Ethics snd Politics in the World of Jurgen Hsbermss 

The Lion snd the Ass: s 

Commentsry 

Genesis (Chspters 38-39) 

Index to Interpretation, Volumes 1-10 

on the Book of 

Discussion 

Thomss West 

Response to Stewart Umphrey's "Eros and 

Reviews 

Michsel A. Gillespie 

Heidegger' 

s 

"Being and Time" and the Possibility of 

Political Philosophy by 

Mark Blitz 

Short Notices 

Will Morrisey 

Rousseau's Emile 

Introduction, Translation and 

Notes by Allan Bloom; Rousseau's Reveries 

Translation, Preface, Notes and Interpretive Essay 

by Charles E. Butterworth; Plato's "Phaedrus" by 

Ronna Burger; The Political Philosophy of the 

Frankfurt School by George Friedman; Aristotle on 

Political Reasoning by Larry Arnhart

ISSN 0020-9635

May 1983 - Interpretation

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