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!)

Otho's Noble End

“Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely” is one of the most misquoted lines in popular culture. Lord Acton's famously declared words were actually "Power tends to corrupt, absolute power tends to corrupt absolutely", changing the meaning considerably. The misquotation is a phrase loudly trumpeted in the 21st century, and after the atrocities of the 20th century, it would seem to be rightly so. However, there is no shortage of a great many individuals in history who undermine this. Here is the story of one man, largely unknown and ignored even by other Roman historians, who deserves our remembrance.

The Emperor Galba
Statue in the gardens of Anglesey Abbey,
Cambridgeshire, England

AD 68. Almost a thousand years after the foundation of the city, the world was thrown into turmoil. Almost a century ago the Roman Republic, which had stood for a half a millennium, was at last dissolved. The young Gaius Caesar Octavianus, through his defeat of Mark Antony, had assumed sole rule of the Roman world. In 27 BC, he took the new name of Caesar Augustus, becoming the first Roman Emperor, giving birth to the Roman Empire, which would last for one and a half thousand years. Now, the last of his line, the Emperor Nero, is dead. Declared an enemy of the Senate and People of Rome, the infamous Emperor has taken his own life. But who should succeed him? The governor of the Roman province of Hispania Tarraconensis (Northern Spain), Servius Sulpicius Galba, seemed a good choice. 70 years of age, he had held a long distinguished career, serving in Africa, Germania, Hispania and Gaul (known as France today). 27 years earlier, when the Emperor Caligula was assassinated, he had refused calls to take up the Imperial mantle himself. A strict disciplinarian, he was quite a contrast to the extravagant Nero. Earlier in the year, Gaius Julius Vindex, Governor of Gallia Lugdunensis (Southern France), had risen in rebellion against Nero. Legions loyal to the Emperor crushed the revolt, and Vindex was slain. Galba, who had lent his support to the cause, escaped with his life only through the suicide of Nero. On June the 8th, the Senate hailed Galba as Emperor.

The Roman World AD 69 - The Year of the Four Emperors
Map created by the author

An extremely strict and ruthless taskmaster, towns which did not acknowledge Galba on his march to Rome faced stiff fines, and the ringleaders faced execution. Galba arrived in Rome to find the Imperial Treasury nigh on destitute, as a result of Nero’s boundless profligacy. As the year came to an end, the soldiers would need to be paid – a dangerous situation was rising. Sabinus, commander of the Praetorian Guard (the personal bodyguard of the Roman Emperor), promised the Guard a reward in return for supporting him as a new Emperor. The plot was foiled, and Sabinus took his own life. The Guard, however, demanded payment from Galba. An arrogant and aloof man, Galba scorned them, shouting that soldier should not be bribed in return for their loyalty. The Guard was enraged, and with the new hefty taxes the Emperor was forced to bring in, Galba found himself alienated from all classes of the Roman World, including one man who had supported him – Marcus Salvius Otho.

The Emperor Nero
Statue in the gardens of Anglesey Abbey,
Cambridgeshire, England

38 years of age, the young Otho had lead a remarkable life. Born to a distinguished Etruscan family, as a young boy he was known for his mischievous ways, frequently getting himself into trouble. An elderly lady serving the Imperial House found him delightfully charming and amusing, and before long, young Otho became introduced to the young, future Emperor Nero. The two became inseparable friends, often playing practical jokes on each other, and others. Years later, when Nero ruled the Empire, he entrusted to Otho’s care a lady, Poppaea Sabina. An attendant at court and rumoured to be one of the Emperor’s mistresses, Poppaea’s beauty was the talk of the court. Seven years younger, Otho was entranced by her the moment he saw her. Driven near mad with her, the two were soon wed. Otho was eager to introduce Poppaea to his friend, and he brought her before the Emperor, a decision he would ever after rue. Nero too was taken by her gaze, and Poppaea was seduced by the power which she believed she now wielded. Poppaea and Nero began an affair in secret, Otho unaware of their treachery. Poppaea strengthened her hold on the Emperor, and planted vile schemes in his mind. If Nero were to simply execute Otho, the whole scandal might become public, and ruin the Emperor. Poppaea’s whisperings, however, soon gave rise to a heinous plan. When he was twenty eight, the Emperor’s men arrived at Otho’s house. The Emperor declared Poppaea’s marriage to Otho void, announcing his own intentions to wed her. On Poppaea’s insistence, Nero banished Otho to govern the province of Lusitania (Portugal), conveniently one of the furthest provinces in the Empire from Rome. The news fell upon Otho with a terrible weight. Dejected utterly, wracked with the most horrific grief and the fury of injustice and the betrayal of his best friend and his wife, Otho was distraught. For ten years he existed in exile, a shadow of a man, but a new man. News later arrived that Nero, tiring of her, had murdered Poppaea. Otho put his head in his hands and wept. Once an extravagant wastrel and best friend to one of history’s most notorious tyrants, Otho experienced something of a revolution in his character. Through his own terrible suffering, he saw that of others too, and saw the errors of his old ways. His governorship of Lusitania was marked by his extraordinary fairness and virtue, and his willingness to help all who called out to him for help, regardless of social class. He was admired deeply by the legions for his deep generosity. Whenever he attended a banquet, he always stopped to talk to the guards on the door, giving every man a gold piece. Once he judged a case of two men arguing over the boundaries of each other’s territory. Otho bought the land and presented it as a gift to a wounded soldier under his care.

The Emperor Vitellius
Statue in the gardens of Anglesey Abbey,
Cambridgeshire, England

When news came of Galba’s declaration as Emperor in defiance of Nero, Otho offered his support, as the prospect of retribution against his old friend and the murderer of his wife grew strong. Yet when Galba’s support began to dwindle, the legions remembered the man who had cared for them so, and begged Otho to lead them. New Year’s Day, AD 69 arrived. The traditional oath of allegiance that all soldiers across the Empire swore to the Emperor was not taken. The Praetorian Guard bore Otho on their shoulders, and declared him Emperor. The cohort on duty on the Palatine Hill deserted Galba, and the Emperor was ambushed and slain at the foot of the Capitoline Hill. Only one guard, Sempronius Densus, honoured his duty to his Emperor, and fought to the death to defend him. As night fell, Otho stood now as the Emperor of Rome. Coming before the Senate, he declared that he would rule for all Romans, in consultation with all. Unfortunately, urgent messengers arrived in Rome that the Legions stationed on the Rhine had hailed their own commander, Aulus Vitellius, as Emperor. Delegations were sent to Vitellius, urging a restore to order, for an Emperor had been chosen. But the ambitious Vitellius ignored them. Otho, who despised Civil War as a monstrous aberration, exhausted every diplomatic option, before war became unavoidable. The Praetorians and Legions under Otho’s command denounced Vitellius and swore undying loyalty to Otho. Agents sent by Vitellius to were apprehended by the Guard, who dearly cared for the new Emperor. The omens were bad, as Otho set forth from Rome. The Tiber burst her banks and flooded the city, and the auguries boded doom. Ignoring these signs, Otho resolved to end the war quickly, and put an end to all uncertainty, as his men eagerly marched to war. Making camp at Brixellum, in northern Italy, the Othonian troops won three victories at the Alps, and the Emperor took heart. Vitellius sued for peace talks, and Otho’s forces marched out to hear the terms near Bedriacum. Then the full extent of Vitellius’ fell stratagems were laid bare. Springing a trap, the Othonian troops found not an embassy of peace, but the fully armed elite Legions of the Rhine, fresh for battle, arrayed against them. Battle was joined, and the Othonians fought valiantly, but could not hold out the crack Legions.


Back in Brixellum, a lowly soldier ran into the camp, throwing himself before Otho and his generals. With tears in his eyes he looked into the Emperor’s telling of their defeat. Otho’s generals berated the soldier, accusing him of lies and deceit. One called him a coward, who had chosen to desert rather than fight. The soldier, distraught by the allegations, knowing the penalty for desertion, threw himself upon his sword at Otho’s feet. The Emperor was shocked to his very core. The Legions around him shouted encouragements to Otho, and this was no sycophancy - they meant it. News arrived that fresh Legions from Dalmatia (modern Croatia), loyal to Otho, were on their way. Nearby troops clasped his knees, eagerly willing him on, declaring that they would stand with him to the death. But the Emperor could not take his eyes away from the soldier now dying at his feet. Tears welled in his eyes. Moved by the sight, Otho declared he would not expose his men to any further danger, men who had served him so well. The armies pleaded with Otho to lead them one last time against Vitellius. That man had dishonoured the codes of war, and deserved his fate. The Commander of the Praetorians begged him again and again not to give up, and the armies cheered. But Otho, an altruistic man, would hear nothing more of war. But deep down, he knew that there was only one way this war could end, and took a decision of leadership beyond equal in human history. Never before or since has one man commanded such admiration in defeat from his own soldiers. “It is better to die one for many, than many for one”, Otho declared:


         “ We have learned to know each other, Fortune and I… Self-control is
            harder when a man knows that his fortune cannot last… I want neither
            revenge nor consolation… Am I the man to allow the flower of Rome
            in all these famous armies to be laid down once again and lost to the country?
            Let me take with me the consciousness that you would have died for me.
            But you must stay and live. I must no longer interfere with your chance of pardon,
            nor you with my resolve. It is cowardice to go on talking about the end.
            Here is your best proof of my determination; I complain of no one.
            To blame gods or men is the mark of one who desires to live… ” 
                                           - OTHO ADDRESSES HIS MEN ONE LAST TIME

The Emperor Otho
Statue in the gardens of Anglesey Abbey,
Cambridgeshire, England

As the Legions stood, all other woes forgotten, struck dumb by the man before them, the Emperor descended from the dais and embraced each man, calling them by name. He turned to his brother and the two men held the other close. Otho looked down to his brother’s son, seeing the tears in his eyes, and comforted him. Dismissing them all, the Emperor returned to his quarters. All letters and documents which held any praise for himself or ill words for Vitellius he burned, so that none could incriminate others, and he sat down to write a letter to his sister. All the money he had he divided up and gave to his household slaves. A disturbance sounded outside. A few men who had tried to take leave had been suspected of deserting and restrained by Otho’s loyal troops. “Let us add one more night to this life”, Otho thought. He issued an order that force was to be used against no man, and left his door open well into the night for any to come and see him. Taking a drink of ice cold water, he picked up a pair of daggers. Testing the point of each, he chose one and laid it beside his pillow. Laying upon his bed, he enjoyed one last peaceful night, not without some sleep.


Dawn arrived on the 16th of April. As the rays of the sun rose in his room, Otho thrust the dagger into his breast. As the darkness fell over his eyes, his dying sigh was heard by the Guard, who rushed in. With a howl of deep pain they gazed upon their fallen Emperor. The breath of life left his body, and so ended the seventh Emperor of Rome, a man truly worthy of the name. Tears streamed in their eyes as the Guard bore Otho’s body aloft outside. The effect on those who were there was profound. Cries and shouts of grief rent the air asunder as the mightiest armed force in all history all wept as one, for one:


           “ Many of the soldiers who were present wept greatly and fervently
              and kissed his hands and feet as he lay there,
              declaring that he was the bravest of men, the one true Emperor… ”
                                             - THE REACTION OF THE ARMIES TO OTHO'S END


Otho’s body was laid upon the pyre, as his funeral was to be conducted quickly and with little fuss, as per his instructions. More than a few in the mighty array were moved beyond tears. Some could not bear to be separated from so great a man:


            “ It was then that some of the soldiers there took their own lives beside the pyre,
               not through servility or fear, but from love of their Emperor… ”
                                             - THE FINAL SACRIFICE


Never before or since has such devotion been shown to a fallen leader. The army gave him a magnificent funeral, burying him in a simple unmarked grave, for they knew that Vitellius would desecrate it if ever he found it. What happened to Vitellius, you might ask? Rome endured less than a year of his irreverent rule. Vespasian, the commander of the Eastern Legions whom Otho’s supporters called upon, who would one day build the Colosseum, marched on Rome, defeating Vitellius at Bedriacum. Vitellius met a sticky end, and a new era of peace came to Rome and the World.

Power corrupts. Or does it? I’ll leave you to make your own choice. Otho reigned as Emperor for just three months. His name deserves to be known. Many years later, the great historian Tacitus said of him:


                            “ Others may have held the sceptre longer,
                               but no one can ever have laid it down so bravely ”



United Kingdom

The Lives of the Caesars:
The Twelve Caesars (Penguin Classics)
(Biographies of Julius Caesar and the first eleven Emperors of Rome, in full salacious detail, written by the Emperor Hadrian's private secretary)

The History of the Civil War:
The Histories (Oxford World's Classics)
(A detailed account of the Year of the Four Emperors, written by one of the most erudite of ancient Romans - Tacitus)

United States

The Lives of the Caesars:
The Twelve Caesars (Penguin Classics)
(Biographies of Julius Caesar and the first eleven Emperors of Rome, in full salacious detail, written by the Emperor Hadrian's private secretary)

The History of the Civil War:
The Histories (Oxford World's Classics)
(Biographies of Julius Caesar and the first eleven Emperors of Rome, in full salacious detail, written by the Emperor Hadrian's private secretary)