The Sword of Damocles

Across the stride of human history, many things do not change. Man has always had to eat, to breathe, has always known pride, humility, envy, joy and grief and has always grumbled about taxes. Some things, however, do change. Sometimes even words.

Syracuse
Photograph taken by the author

Take the word 'tyrant' for example, a label of condemnation frequently deployed in the world of today. Originally, however, the word 'tyrant' held no negative connotations at all. The Greek word τύραννος (tyrannos) simply means 'lord of a city'. The most common usage of 'tyrant' in antiquity referred to a ruler of a city state who had come to power unconventionally, neither through inheritance nor election, and does not refer to character. It was a completely neutral word, and 'tyranny' was a relatively common system of government in the world of Classical Greece, especially in Greek colonies. No Greek colony was so famous for tyranny than the great city of Syracuse, arguably the most prestigious and powerful colony of old Greece. Throughout much of their five centuries of independence, the Syracusans rejected democracy in favour of tyranny, and under the Tyrants, Syracuse became a great power in the central Mediterranean, bordered to the West by the maritime superpower of Carthage, and to the East by the growing power of Rome. High were her walls, mighty her navy and rich her coffers. It was said that the majesty of the Syracusan court rivalled that of any Kingdom, the wealth of her treasury that of any Eastern despot. The Tyrants were great patrons of the arts and sciences, and indeed one of Syracuse' citizens was none other than Archimedes himself. Strong authoritarians, the Tyrants for five hundred years kept foreign powers at bay, and when at last the great city fell to the Romans in 212 BC, it did so only after one of the most legendary sieges in history. Here is the story of a Syracusan Tyrant, and a flatterer who longed for power.

Long ago, when the power of Syracuse waxed strongest, and her treasuries earned the envy of the world,  their ruled over the city a man who had been a student of Plato himself. Dionysius II of Syracuse was a man of philosophical intent, yet alas weary with the apparent failure of men to live up to this ideal. Ever in the shadow of his father, who had warred down Carthage and raised his city to the height of its glory, he groaned under the weight of the greatest tyrant of all - expectation. For fear of any treacherous hand felling him by blade or poison, young Dionysius was restricted as a boy to the Syracusan Acropolis, forbidden from ever leaving, lest evil men seek to take advantage of him. The close instruction of Plato, most learned of men alive in the world, not merely then, but perhaps of all time, rigorously conditioned the mind of the boy. With Dionysius, it seemed, Plato's dream may come true at last, that the world would be ruled by the finest governmental system of them all - the philosopher king. An absolute ruler, firmly endowed with virtues and a solid grasp of ethics, immune to flattery and an inspiration to his people.

Down below in the city by the waterfront, a man of quite different spirit and birth had grown up. Damocles was a man who lived ever in want, and knew only envy. Where Dionysius held virtue, Damocles held vice; ambition tempered with greed, a most dangerous combination. From a young age he had set his sights high. Not on wealth, nor military prowess, but on the tyranny itself, and worked his life towards his treacherous goal. Through connections, flattery and other corrupt endeavours, he was enrolled as courtier to the tyrant himself. Triumph, it seemed, loomed close now.

Damocles stepped into the audience chamber of the royal palace, and stood breathless, robbed of words by

the awesome spectacle that greeted his eyes. A traveller of distant lands might enter this grand chamber and believe inside that he had crossed the threshold of Heaven itself. Lavish decoration abounded, in the gold that gilded the walls and ceiling, the marble columns and triumphant statues, silken damask and priceless stones from all corners of the Syracusan trade empire. Never in his life had Damocles truly believed all he had heard of this place, that it really was true. Laughter abounded, banquets prevailed and merriment thrived. But there at the head of it all, seated in resplendent glory, was Dionysius himself, neither smiling nor frowning, a stoic figure in a sea of riches. Damocles rejoiced, though confused in his foolish mind as to why the tyrant rejoiced not too at his merry lot in life.

One day, when the tyrant was not at business, Damocles approached his master. Weaving his sycophancy as he had many a time before, but never upon so mighty a target, he eulogised the tyrant. "Fortunate art thou my tyrant, in the majesty of thy rule, the bounty of thy riches, the magnificence of thy palace and all other things, for never hath there been a man more blessed by Heaven". Dionysius, well educated and philosphically conditioned, despaired of the naive ignorance of the man before him. Thus did the tyrant vow to teach the man a valuable lesson:


                           " So, Damocles, since this life delights you,
                             do you wish to taste it yourself and make trial of my fortune? "
                                   - THE OFFER OF DIONYSIUS


Difficult it was, to determine who stood more shocked, Damocles himself or the tyrant's advisers who looked on. The tyrant's retinue protested, but Dionysius bade them stay their words. Damocles, faced more openly than ever he wished with that which he sought, was overcome with joy and fervour. Replying immediately that he did wish this, Dionysius at once gave command that the royal power be bestowed upon Damocles, that he be laid upon the golden throne, set upon the finest woven rug embroidered with the feats of great heroes and kings of the past. He ordered the fineries of silver and gold be laid out before the new tyrant, hither and thither, to frame the new ruler. He ordered him clad in robes of the most decadent crimson, and the sceptre of rule placed in his hand. He ordered chosen courtiers to dote upon him and pander to his every whim, to place a garland upon his head and await with perfumes and unguents. He ordered the kitchens bring forth their finest produce and most envied dishes. The last command of Dionysius seemed a peculiar one, he ordered a shimmering sword be fastened to the glittering ceiling, and be held firm not with rope nor cord robust, but by a single horse hair, and that the blade's point should be poised over the neck of the one who sits upon the throne.  It was then that Dionysius stepped back, and the new tyrant was seated upon the Syracusan throne.

The Sword of Damocles
Painting by Richard Westall

Thus was Damocles triumphant at last, as well he thought. Bathed in all the riches of which he had dreamed there seemed no limit to his power or pleasure. He admired the finery in which he was clad. His eyes burned with the fulfilled ambitions of a vice ridden man. His gluttony arose when he cast a glance at the magnificent plates of gold. His pride welled when he saw his entourage, bowing before him. His greed conquered the most towering of pinnacles when he saw the gold, silver and gemstones overflowing from the coffers of the world. "Fortunate am I", he softly said. But then the sycophant caught a glimpse of a glint of metal in the corner of his greedy eye. Intrigued, he cast his newly royal gaze to the Heavens. With a gasp he saw the sharp, silver point hanging over his neck. Further up, there it was, the pommel held fast, or not so fast, by a single hair from the tail of a horse. The sword swayed gently in the rafters, silent as the grave. It was then that Damocles looked not at the abundance of his possessions. He looked not at the oils and unguents nor at the bowing courtiers. Neither did he look at the burnished gold nor shining silver. The woven rug might have been the coarsest hemp now, the crimson robes tattered cloth. The wreath slipped from his head.

Dionysius approached. "You see now the folly of your wish? See now the thread upon which a ruler's life hangs at every moment? The one who rules in an imperfect world has everything to lose, and those around him, everything to gain. The riches of the world are naught compared to the danger a ruler at all times is faced with, only with virtue may we stay fate's blade. Do you still consider yourself a fortunate man, Damocles?"

"No!", wailed Damocles, "I beg you, my tyrant, grant me leave, take back this burden, for I no longer wish to be fortunate!". Thus Dionysius relieved the changed man of his terror, and released him from the fear of fate. To Dionysius the sceptre was returned, to Damocles relief. So Damocles learned that day that power, even absolute, is not the rosy bliss it seems...


United Kingdom

The Tusculan Disputations (Loeb Classical Library):
Philosophical Treatises: Tusculan Disputations v. 18 (Loeb Classical Library)
(The philosophical work which contains the story of the sword of Damocles, the version with the original Latin and English side by side)

The Tusculan Disputations (Digireads):
Tusculan Disputations
(The philosophical work which contains the story of the sword of Damocles, the cheap and cheerful version!)

United States

The Tusculan Disputations (Loeb Classical Library):
Tusculan Disputations (Loeb Classical Library) (v. 18)
(The philosophical work which contains the story of the sword of Damocles, the version with the original Latin and English side by side)

The Tusculan Disputations (Forgotten Books):
The Tusculan Disputations of Cicero (Classic Reprint)
(The philosophical work which contains the story of the sword of Damocles, the cheap and cheerful version!)

The Violent and the Frauds

Filled with grief at the plight of those who took their own life, Dante and Virgil come to the edge of the grand forest of sorrow (for the previous episode in this saga, please click here). The arboreal spirits thin out, and a vast plain emerges before them, a place "whose soil refused any plant". A river of boiling blood separates the second ring from the third, a ring where the violent meet their judgement.

The Violent
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

Beyond the grisly river, our pilgrim enters the third and final ring of the Seventh Circle of Hell. A vast wasteland stretches before him, a blasted land, where no plants grow, only great shifting sands cover the ground. From the skies comes a rain of fire, kindling the sands underfoot. The souls damned to this place scream in agony, as the boiling rain sears their flesh, and the burning sands scorch their soles. Shades try desperately to brush off the fire, but to no avail, the weather is relentless, endlessly spewing its conflagration on the damned of Hell. Dante notices three groups of souls condemned to this place, and enquires of his teacher Virgil of their crime. His master replies, the souls lying down upon the fiery floor are those whose violence was unto God, those who took the Lord's name in vain and blasphemed against his will. Dante spots among them Capaneus, a man who in ancient times, during the siege of the city of Thebes, cursed the name of Zeus. The Thunderer blasted Capaneus with a thunderbolt in retribution, and now he finds himself damned in Hell. Others here crouch upon the sand. These men were usurers in life, Virgil explains. They preyed on the needy, offering money to the poor, then ruthlessly charging extortionate levels of interest. They were violent against nature, betraying the compassion man should feel for his kin. For this they now burn in Hell. There is another group too, one who wander aimlessly through the cruel desert. These are the sodomites, those who needlessly scorned 'Christian nature', now wander without purpose in Hell. Dante spots many men he knew in life, illustrious men of Florence that they were. He is grieved to see that his old mentor, Brunetto Latini, now walks among these shades. Not for the first time our pilgrim sheds a tear for the damned. The two men speak of Dante's future, and Dante remembers the kindness Latini showed him in life, thanking him for showing the true path to immortality. Many more Florentines now approach, rapacious in their extortion of gold, and all revel in the glory of their great city. But time grows short, and a huge form rises out of the abyss, as the two poets continue into Hell.

The Panderers and Seducers
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

A vast monster rises before them, a fearsome Chimaera of three forms. Bearing the head of an honest man, his docile face belies his monstrous form, the body of a dragon, with a tail crowned with a lethal sting. The monster Geryon is a fitting personification of the crimes of fraud, as souls are deceived by the creature's soft face. Tricking Geryon with his words, Virgil order the beast to bear them down to the Eighth and penultimate Circle of Hell. Deep into the bowels of Hell the monster descends, Dante clinging to his mane. Soon, our two poets make landfall in the Eighth Circle, the infernal prison of the Frauds in Hell. Ten ravines divide this Circle, called the Malebolge ("The Rotten Pockets"), where those who knowingly sowed discord and deception in life are banished. In the first of the Rotten pockets, our pilgrim spies a cruel sight. Two files of naked souls stride alongside each other, one to the fore, the other behind. Bent over with weight of sin, horned demons look on armed with whips. Revelling in cruel pleasure, the demons lash with all their might upon the backs of the souls, the crack of the whip ringing through the air, accompanied by the shout of anguish of the scourged shade. These souls were panderers and seducers in life, using the passion of others to manipulate their path in life, now they are driven through this rotten pocket by these demons on Hell. Dante spots among them a man of Bologna, Venedico Caccianemico, a man he knew in life. But fearing the sting of the lash, the man dares not speak long. Virgil too, points out the hero Jason, who in his quest for the Golden Fleece seduced the sorceress Medea, abandoning her when her use was past.

The Flatterers
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

" Now we could hear the shades in the next pouch
    whimpering, making snorting grunting sounds
    and those of blows, slapping with open palms.

  From a steaming stench below, banks abound
     with a slimy mold that stuck to them as glue,
     disgusting to behold and worse to smell... "
                  - THE TORMENT OF THE FLATTERERS


Crossing into another of the Rotten Pockets, a ghastly stench befouls our pilgrim's nose. Coming to the edge of a huge ridge, Dante and Virgil look down the gorge at a grotesque sight. An ocean of human excrement fills the valley floor, smothering and drowning many unfortunate souls cast within. Dante eyes find the head of a man, so besmirched with faeces he cannot make out his features. The man shouts up, begging why the poet stares at his indignity. Dante knows his voice, it is Alessio Intermenei, a man of Lucca, a man from whose tongue fell unceasingly obscene flatteries in life. Just as these souls spewed vile words in life, so now they wallow in this putrid filth in death. Eyes watering with the evil odour, and his nausea growing, Dante continues on his baleful journey.

The Simonists
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

The Third Rotten Pocket is one Dante takes the utmost pleasure in experiencing. For here are condemned those who committed the sin of simony, corrupt men of the church who gave money for influence, exchanging gold for a position in Saint Peter's Church. This sin takes its name from a soul who is damned here, that of Simon Magus, the man who tried to bribe Saint Peter himself to grant him the power to conjure miracles. A vast expanse of bare rock stretches before the two poets, marked by a series of holes, each no wider than the sinner thrust inside it. To our pilgrim's eyes, they remind him of those pulpits from which his priest would stand and baptise from, now in twisted perversion, those men who corrupted the hierarchy of the church lie upside down within them. From each hole emerges the feet of a sinner, and from each sole bursts purging fire, as the simonist within twitches violently in agony. Our pilgrim hears the shouts of one buried nearby, a man who mistakes Dante for his own successor. The sinner buried within is Pope Nicholas III, a man who gained the Papal throne through gold and nepotism, who lavished positions in the Roman Church upon his own kin above other men. In his infernal jabberings, Nicholas names two of his successors to Saint Peter's throne, destined to be condemned to Hell for their crimes, Pope Boniface VIII and Pope Clement V, both deeply corrupt men, disgraces to the Roman Church. On realising his mistaken assumptions, Nicholas addresses Dante with a haughty speech, showing no remorse for his crimes, condemning others in his stead. Disgusted, Dante reminds the tainted Pope that Peter offered no sum for the keys of Heaven, the price that Christ asked of him was "Follow me" and no more. Berating the corrupt Pope, Dante works up a fury. "You have built yourself a God of gold and silver! How differ you from the idolator?" Dante shouts at him. Mourning the day when the Church first acquired wealth, Dante notices Virgil eyeing him, smiling, admiring his virtue. Seeing his pupil learning from his path, Virgil embraces Dante as a noble man, denouncing the evil within God's representatives on Earth...

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics:
Dante: Inferno (Penguin Classics)
(A nice edition which also has the original Italian on the left hand page opposite the English)

Oxford World's Classics:
The Divine Comedy (Oxford World's Classics)
(Accessible and well annotated, also includes Purgatorio and Paradisio)

United States

Penguin Classics:
The Divine Comedy: Volume 1: Inferno (Penguin Classics) (Pt. 1)
(A nice edition which also has the original Italian on the left hand page opposite the English)

Oxford World's Classics:
The Divine Comedy (Oxford World's Classics)
(Accessible and well annotated, also includes Purgatorio and Paradisio)